and the university of florida note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h.zip) images of the original pages are available through the florida board of education, division of colleges and universities, palmm project, . (preservation and access for american and british children's literature, - .) see http://purl.fcla.edu/fcla/dl/uf .jpg or http://purl.fcla.edu/fcla/dl/uf .pdf the young american's library the yankee tea-party; or, boston in by henry c. watson, author of "the camp-fires of the american revolution," "the old bell of independence," etc. etc. with illustrations philadelphia: lindsay and blakiston * * * * * lindsay & blakiston's publications. the young american's library; a useful and attractive series of books for young people: embracing events connected with the early history of our country, and lives of its distinguished men. written with much care, and in an entertaining and instructive manner. with illustrations of important events, and beautifully illuminated title pages. * * * * * life of benjamin franklin. illustrations. franklin as a tallow chandler. franklin at the printing press. franklin's first arrival in philadelphia. franklin acting as his own porter. the philadelphia library, founded by franklin. franklin attracting lightning from the clouds. franklin signing the declaration of independence. franklin as a statesman. life of general washington. illustrations. washington at eighteen. washington crossing the allegheny. surrender of cornwallis. a view of mount vernon. washington crossing the delaware. washington at valley forge. the washington family. the tomb of washington. life of lafayette. illustrations. lafayette as commander of the national guard. lafayette offering his services to washington. lafayette at the battle of brandywine. battle of monmouth. lafayette's final interview with washington. lafayette's arrival at new york. triumphal arch at philadelphia. lafayette's tomb. life of william penn. illustrations. portrait of william penn. penn receiving instruction from his mother. penn receiving a visit from his mother in prison. penn landing at chester. visit to the indian country. penn's treaty with the indians. penn's cottage. laetitia court. penn's residence at philadelphia. life of marion. illustrations. marion as a trooper. the last shot. marion and the raw recruits. sergeant mcdonald and the tory. the famous potato dinner. colonel campbell taken prisoner. macdonald's message to colonel watson. mrs. motte and the bow and arrows. life of daniel webster. illustrations. young daniel at the saw mill. webster fishing at fryburg. webster declining the clerkship. webster expounding the constitution. the bunker hill celebration. webster at faneuil hall. marshfield, the residence of webster. webster on his farm. life of henry clay. illustrations. henry clay the statesman. the village school. the birthplace of clay. the mill boy of the slashes. the debating society. bolivar reading clay's speech to the army. the residence of mr. clay. the torchlight procession. life of andrew jackson. illustrations. a portrait of jackson. jackson's presence of mind. jackson's narrow escape. jackson and the acorns. jackson as judge. jackson and the indian prisoners. the battle of new orleans. jackson at the hermitage. life of napoleon bonaparte. illustrations. napoleon's snow fortress. the battle of the pyramids. napoleon's retreat from russia. napoleon's return from elba. the bridge of arcola. the battle of marengo. napoleon before the battle of austerlitz. napoleon drawing a plan of attack. the yankee tea-party, and other stories of the revolution. illustrations. the boston tea-party. hezekiah wyman. mr. bleeker and his son. tarleton breaking the horse. lee's legion. seizure of the bettys. exhibit of colonel mccain. general morgan. the old bell of independence, or philadelphia in . illustrations. the old state house bell. washington's prayer for the dying soldier. defeat of the skinners at deadman's lake. the story of the half-breed. the outlaws of the pines. the battle of the kegs. capture of general prescott. riley going to the place of execution. life of general taylor. illustrations. portrait of general taylor. defence of fort harrison. battle of okee chobee. capture of general la vega. the streets of monterey. capitulation of monterey. general taylor never surrenders. charge of the kentuckians at buena vista. each of these volumes is well written, in a high, moral tone by responsible authors, and contains numerous anecdotes, illustrative of the early and latter history of our country. the compact style in which these works are written, as well as their _low price_, make them well adapted for family, school, or district libraries. price per volume, - / cents, cloth gilt. in setts, neatly done up in boxes, $ . [illustration] * * * * * the yankee tea-party; or, boston in by henry c. watson preface. in explanation of the plan of this work, it may be stated, that such an occasion as that upon which the outline events happened seemed to us most proper for the object in view. a fourth of july festival in the old rendezvous of the boston tea-party is surely well calculated to excite patriotic feeling; and when to those who participated in the festival are added a number of the veterans of the war of independence, filled with glorious recollections, the effect is to turn the mind to the admiration and veneration of the men and deeds of the "trying time." no event excites more interest among americans than the destruction of the tea in boston harbour. then and there, the unconquerable resolution of freemen was first made apparent to the obstinate oppressors of our infant country. yet, until of late years, the history of the affair was very imperfectly known, and the names of the men who participated in it scarcely mentioned. in these pages will be found a faithful account of this glorious exploit, and, in connection with the other narratives, it is hoped it will kindle in the breasts of young readers an enthusiasm for liberty and a love of heroic excellence. contents. introduction the lebanon club the skirmish at lexington the fight at concord the fifer's story arnold's expedition expedition against ticonderoga putnam's escape the battle of bennington capture of general sullivan patriotism of mrs. borden escape of captain plunkett treason of rugsdale cruelty of tarlton lee's legion attack on general wayne the mutiny at morristown the treason of bettys the battle of bunker's hill exploits of peter francisco exploit of colonel allan m'lean the adventure of major lee general daniel morgan battle of oriskany conclusion introduction. those who have been associated in the performance of any deed of valor or patriotism ever feel attracted to each other by an influence stronger and nobler than that of friendship. the daring patriots who joined in resistance to the tyrannizing might of britain, were men pledged to die rather than betray each other, and to maintain their rights while they could lift the sword or aim the musket; and that pledge made them look upon each other in after years, when the storm of war was hushed and security dwelt at the fireside, as brothers whom no petty cause could sunder nor ill report make foes. these remarks apply, especially, to those who first threw themselves into the breach, and resolved that, if the british ministry would adopt such measures as the stamp act, their execution should be resisted and become difficult, and if such measures were passed as the act taxing tea, coffee, and the comforts of life, that the tea should never be landed, and thus prove a loss to its owners. the men who threw the tea into boston harbor were patriots united by a sense that union was necessary for the salvation of liberty; and they were attracted to each other by the same influence during the bloody struggle which succeeded. what wonder, then, that they loved to meet in after years, to wish each other health and happiness, and chat over the stirring events in which they had participated, and to which their first bold deed was as the spark to dry hay, kindling to a fierce blaze the ready seeds of war. it was the fourth of july in boston. throughout the city which cradled the revolution, the anniversary of the birth of the free and happy united states of america was celebrated with rejoicings unknown to the shackled people of monarchical countries. meetings were held in various parts of the city, patriotic and democratic speeches made, bells rung, cannons fired, pistols, crackers, and fireworks of all descriptions discharged, toasts drank, and festivities of all kinds indulged. the soldiers paraded the streets with fine bands discoursing most excellent music, and followed by the usual crowd. bunker hill was the scene of a large patriotic meeting, and the events of the 'trying time' were again and again recounted with much enthusiasm. but a more unusual and far more interesting meeting occurred in boston, about a quarter of a mile from the wharf known ever since the commencement of the revolution as griffin's wharf. in the upper room of an old and somewhat dilapidated tavern were assembled a party of old and young men--the representatives of two generations. three of the old men were the remaining members of the famous lebanon club; the first liberty club formed in the colonies, and the one which designed and executed the project of destroying the tea at boston. they had come from various parts of the country, upon agreement, to meet once more in the house where the disguised members of the club had met on the evening of the sixteenth of december, . the names of the old patriots were david kinnison, adam colson, and lendall pitts. five other veterans had joined the party by invitation, together with half-a-dozen young men who had arranged the meeting and paid all expenses, with a view of passing the fourth of july in a novel and interesting manner. a well-laden table extended the whole length of the room, and flags, banners, and appropriate emblems and devices, were hung on the walls. there was no formal organization, as at public festivals, no president elected, and no list of toasts prepared. it was intended to be a sociable gathering. no band of well-arranged and harmonized instruments appeared, but old jacob brown and old samuel hanson, a fifer and a drummer of the continental army, occasionally stirred the hearts and fired the eyes of the company with the music which had nerved the patriots of bunker's hill and bennington. each of the veterans sat in an arm-chair at the table, the young men being distributed among them so as to wait upon them occasionally, and show them every attention. mr. kinnison, though not the oldest man of the company, looked as if he had seen the hardest service, and received the hardest buffets of time. his features bespoke a strong and energetic mind, and his eye was full of fire and activity. his hair was grey and bushy, partly covering a large scar on his high forehead. he had evidently been a man of powerful frame, but was now bent with the weight of years, and service. the other veterans appeared to be generally of the same age, and to have seen hard toil and service. the fifer was the most remarkable of the party. in spite of his age and white hair, his puffed cheeks and the sly twinkle of his eyes gave him a kind of jolly, frolicsome appearance, which would indicate that age could not chill the humor of his heart. the lebanon club. when the company were fairly seated at the table, mr. kinnison opened the conversation by asking the young men if they had ever heard any account of the lebanon liberty club. they replied they had heard of the club, but never any definite account. "well," said mr. kinnison, "i can tell you something about it. mr. pitts, mr. colson, and myself, were members of a club consisting of seventeen men, living at lebanon, up here in maine. most of us were farmers. we knew what them folks over the river were aiming at, and we knew that there was no use of dallying about matters. our rights were to be untouched, or there must be a fight. so, you see, we lebanon men resolved to form a club, to consider what was to be done, and to do accordingly. we hired a room in the tavern of colonel gooding, and held regular meetings at night. the colonel was an american of the right color, but we kept our object secret, not even letting him into it." "if it isn't too much trouble, mr. kinnison, we should like you to tell us all about what the club had to do with the tea-party, and how that affair was conducted," said one of the young men, named hand, filling the veteran's plate. "he can tell you much better than any one else," remarked mr. pitts. "i can vouch for the bold part he took in it, and he has a better memory than the rest of us." "no flattery, pitts," returned mr. kinnison. "my memory 's bad enough, and as for taking such a bold part in that tea-party, it's all nonsense. if there was a leader, you was the man. but i'll tell these young men all i know of the affair, and what the lebanon club had to do with it." "take some of this beef, mr. brown?" interrupted hand. "much obliged, sir, but beef is rather too tough for my gums," replied the old fifer. "i'll try something else." mr. kinnison went on with his narrative. "well, the seventeen men of our club determined, whether we were aided or not, to destroy the tea which the east india company had sent to boston. the plan was soon formed, as it always is when men are determined to do a thing. we wanted no captain--each man could command for himself. we resolved to disguise ourselves in mohawk dresses, and carry such arms as would enable us to sell our lives pretty dearly; we also pledged ourselves never to reveal the names of any of the party while there was danger in it. we expected to have a fight anyhow, and the first man who faltered was to be thrown overboard with the tea. we came to boston and found the people ripe for the deed. a great meeting was to be held at the old south meeting-house, and we concluded to wait and see what would be done there. we lodged at this tavern, and held our councils up in this room. well, there was a tremendous meeting at the old south, and most of us were there to help to keep up the excitement, and to push our plan if a chance appeared. young quincy made a speech that stirred the people, and made them ready for anything which would show their spirit. the people voted with one voice that the tea should not be landed. we saw how things were going, came back to the tavern, put on our mohawk dresses, and returned to the meeting. pitts succeeded in getting into the church just about dusk and raising the war-whoop. we answered outside. then pitts cried out, 'boston harbor a tea-pot to-night!' "ay," exclaimed pitts, brandishing his knife above his head, "and 'hurra for griffin's wharf!'" "the crowd echoed griffin's wharf," continued kinnison, "and hurried towards that place. our men joined together, returned to the tavern, got our muskets and tomahawks, and collected about seventy men together, armed with axes and hatchets. then we pushed for the wharf where the east indiamen, loaded with the tea, were lying. let me see!--the ships were called the dartmouth, the--" "the eleanor, and the beaver," prompted colson. "ay, the dartmouth, the eleanor, and the beaver," continued kinnison. "you see, my memory 's weak. well, when we reached the wharf, there was a crowd of people near it. it was a clear, moonlight night, and the british squadron was not more than a quarter of a mile distant--so, you see, there was a little risk. we didn't halt long. pitts led the way on board the dartmouth, and we followed, musket and tomahawk in hand. nobody offered any show of fighting for the tea. we cut open the hatches, and some of the men went down and passed up the chests, while others cut 'em open and emptied the green stuff into the water. the crew of the vessel were afeard to stir in stopping us, for we told 'em we'd shoot the first man who interfered. i tell you, there was quick work there. when we had cleared that ship of the tea, we hurried off to the others, pitts still leading the way, and did the same kind of work for them. the people began to crowd on the wharf, and some of 'em came to help us. i guess there was about a hundred and fifty of us on the third ship, all hard at work passing up the chests, cutting 'em open and spilling the tea. within two hours, about three hundred and fifty chests of the tea were thus destroyed. the crowd cheered us once in a while, and we knew we'd have friends enough if the red-coats attempted to attack us. when we had emptied the last chest that could be found, we gave three of the loudest cheers and gained the wharf. a drummer and fifer were ready, as mr. brown and mr. hanson can inform you, and we formed a procession and marched up to this tavern. here the crowd gave our band of mohawks cheer after cheer ond then dispersed. but we didn't intend to end the night's work so quietly. we had a supper prepared just where we are now eating, and josiah quincy and some other big men came to join us. we made a night of it, i tell you. pitts, i think, got very drunk, so many wanted to drink with such a bold patriot." pitts was rather disposed to deny the assertion that he was actually drunk; but kinnison and colson said it was a fact, and he, at length, admitted that he was considerably excited, perhaps beyond the command of his reason. the company laughed at this 'getting around the stump,' and one of the young men proposed that pitts' health should be drank in a glass of ale. the beverage was ordered and the health of the patriot drank with a hearty relish. the work of demolishing the eatables then went bravely on. "mr. kinnison," said mr. colson, "there's one incident concerning that tea-party that has slipped your memory. as our procession moved from the wharf and passed the house of the tory coffin, admiral montague raised the window, and said, 'ah! boys, you have had a fine evening for your indian caper; but mind, you've got to pay the fiddler yet!' pitts here shouted, 'oh! never mind, never mind, squire! just come out, if you please, and we'll settle that bill in two minutes!' the people shouted, and the admiral thought he had better put his head in in a hurry." "that's true," remarked kinnison. "well, you see, my memory is poor. pitts would have mentioned it but for his modesty." "i recollect it well," said pitts. "if that tory coffin had shown his face that night, i wouldn't have given three cents for his life." "i think i would have had a slash at him," observed kinnison. "i felt as savage as a mohawk on a war-path." "i don't want to interrupt your eating, brown and hanson," said colson, "but couldn't you stir us up a little with the drum and fife?" "ay," added young hand, who seemed to be the general mouth-piece of the younger portion of the company, "give us the air you played when you marched up from griffin's wharf." "no objection," replied hanson. "come, brown, get out your whistle. there's a little music left in it yet, i know." the old fife was soon produced, and the drum also; and moving their chairs a short distance from the table, the veteran musicians struck up the stirring air of the old massachusetts song of liberty, once so popular throughout the colonies, and supposed to have been written by mrs. warren. "hurra!" exclaimed hand, when the musicians had concluded. "three cheers for the music and the musicians!" and three cheers were given quite lustily by the young men, and some of the old ones. "i have a copy of that song of liberty," said hand. "here it is, with the music. i'll sing it and you must all join in the chorus." "good!" said kinnison, and the others echoed him. hand then sang the following words, the young men joining in the chorus, and, occasionally, some of the veterans attempting to do likewise. come swallow your bumpers, ye tories, and roar, that the sons of fair freedom are hamper'd once more; but know that no cut-throats our spirits can tame, nor a host of oppressors shall smother the flame. in freedom we're born, and, like sons of the brave, will never surrender, but swear to defend her, and scorn to survive, if unable to save. our grandsires, bless'd heroes, we'll give them a tear, nor sully their honors by stooping to fear; through deaths and through dangers their trophies they won, we dare be their rivals, nor will be outdone. in freedom we're born, &c. let tyrants and minions presume to despise, encroach on our rights, and make freedom their prize; the fruits of their rapine they never shall keep, though vengeance may nod, yet how short is her sleep! in freedom we're born, &c. the tree which proud haman for mordecai rear'd stands recorded, that virtue endanger'd is spared; that rogues, whom no bounds and no laws can restrain. must be stripp'd of their honors and humbled again. in freedom we're born, &c. our wives and our babes, still protected, shall know, those who dare to be free shall forever be so; on these arms and these hearts they may safely rely, for in freedom we'll live, or like heroes we'll die. in freedom we're born, &c. ye insolent tyrants! who wish to enthrall; ye minions, ye placemen, pimps, pensioners, all; how short is your triumph, how feeble your trust! your honor must wither and nod to the dust. in freedom we're born, &c. when oppress'd and approach'd, our king we implore, still firmly persuaded our rights he'll restore; when our hearts beat to arms to defend a just right, our monarch rules there, and forbids us to fight. in freedom we're born, &c. not the glitter of arms, nor the dread of a fray could make us submit to their claims for a day; withheld by affection, on britons we call, prevent the fierce conflict which threatens your fall. in freedom we're born, &c. all ages shall speak with amaze and applause of the prudence we show in support of our cause; assured of our safety, a brunswick still reigns, whose free loyal subjects are strangers to chains. in freedom we're born, &c. then join hand in hand, brave americans all, to be free is to live, to be slaves is to fall; has the land such a dastard as scorns not a lord, who dreads not a fetter much more than a sword? in freedom we're born, &c. the song was much applauded for its spirit, and some of the young men wanted to give three more cheers, but hand said they were already making too much noise, and their enthusiasm cooled. the skirmish at lexington. "now," observed hand, "i should like to hear some account of how things went on during the war. we are all in the right mood for it." "i could talk enough to fill whole books about the war," replied kinnison; "but i want to hear mr. pitts and mr. colson, and the rest of the old men, spend a little breath for our amusement." "mr. kinnison was in the fight at lexington, and all the principal battles in the northern states during the war. i think he could interest you more than i," said colson. "i'll make an agreement with you," remarked kinnison. "if i tell you all i know of that skrimmage at lexington, one of you must follow me." the agreement was settled, and kinnison commenced his narrative of how the first blow of the revolution was given. "you see, after that tea scape, and the quarrels with the red-coat troops in boston, the people of massachusetts, and, in fact, of nearly all new england, began to see that there was no way of upholding their rights but by war, and they accordingly began to arm and practise military tactics. the fife and drum were to be heard every day all around the country. in our village we collected a company of about thirty men. my father, and two brothers, samuel and james, and myself, joined the company, and we used to parade and drill every day. a bold and knowing fellow, named jonathan williams, was our captain. well, early in the fall of , we heard the news that gage had fortified charlestown neck, and sent some troops to seize the gunpowder at cambridge. this roused our mettle, and we set into drilling and learning manoeuvres with more zeal. at one time a rumor reached us that the british fleet had bombarded boston, and, i tell you, the men did turn out. some of them wanted to march right down to boston. everywhere the people were crying 'to arms! to arms!' and we thought the war had commenced, sure enough; but it didn't just then. however, there was about thirty thousand men on the march to boston, and they wouldn't turn back until they found the report was a hoax. soon after, the provincial congress met, and they ordered that a large body of minute-men should be enrolled, so as to be prepared for any attack. the people of our province took the matter into their own hands, and organized a body of minute-men without orders. our company was included. we were all ready for fight, but were determined that the red-coats should strike the first blow; so we waited through the winter. in march, gage saw that great quantities of powder and balls were taken out of boston into the country, in spite of his guard on the neck. every market wagon, and every kind of baggage, was stowed with ammunition. he then sent a party of troops to salem to seize some cannon and stores our men had placed there; but colonel pickering, with a few men, made such a show, that the red-coats marched back again, without accomplishing their object. our chief deposit of stores was at concord, up here about twenty miles from boston; and when our militia-general found that gage was sending out parties to sketch the roads, with the aim of getting our stores into his hands, he sent word to our company to be on hand, and, if we could, to come up near concord. john hancock, samuel adams, and all of our other big men, left boston and went to lexington, to keep the people moving and ready for an attack." "dr. warren stayed in boston," interrupted pitts, "to keep the others informed of the movements of the red-coats." "yes," continued kinnison; "the royals, as deacon slocum used to call 'em, didn't hate warren as much as they did john hancock and the adamses. well, when captain williams heard of what general gage was after, he told us we had better be prepared to march at a minute's warning. gage sent eight hundred troops, under colonel smith and major pitcorn, on his rascally errand. they started from boston about nine o'clock on the night of the eighteenth of april, never thinking that our men knew anything about it--but we were awake." "wait a bit," said john warner, one of the veterans who had not yet spoken. "i'll tell you something. i was in boston when the red-coats started, and knew that the country militia were ready to protect the stores. i was standing on the common, talking to a few of my friends of my own politics, when i said rather loud, 'the british troops will miss their aim.' 'what aim?' inquired a person behind me. 'the cannon at concord,' replied i as i turned to see who asked the question. the man was dressed in british uniform, and he walked away as i turned to look at him. one of my friends whispered to me that it was lord percy. soon after, guards were set at every avenue, and nobody was allowed to leave the city." "i suppose lord percy went to gage and told him what he had heard," remarked kinnison. "it must have galled him a little to find they were so closely watched. well, captain williams was first, aroused by the sound of the bells ringing and cannons firing on the lexington road, and he ordered us out to march and join our friends near that place. it was a moonlight night, and we marched rapidly. when we got about half-way to lexington, we met a man who told us that the minute-men of lexington were out, but he didn't think there would be much of a fight. captain williams then thought it would be better for the company to march to concord and help defend the stores, but said that a few of us might go to lexington, and see now things went on. accordingly, my brother sam--a ripe fellow sam was--and three others, and myself, were allowed to go to lexington. we arrived there about half-past three in the morning, and found the bells ringing, cannons firing, and about a hundred minute-men drawn up in front of the meeting-house, waiting the approach of the enemy. we joined them, and placed ourselves under the orders of captain parker. between four and five o'clock, we caught sight of the red-coats coming along the road, with pitcorn at their head. i saw at once that we couldn't make much show against so many regulars, and i believe all our men thought the same; but we stood firm, with our loaded muskets in our hands. the red-coated troops were drawn up near the meeting-house, just opposite to us, and loaded their muskets. for a little while, it seemed as if neither party wanted to begin, and that we both knew a long war hung on the first fire. at last, major pitcorn and his officers rode forward, waving their swords and shouting, 'disperse, you villains--you rebels! why don't you disperse?' as we didn't stir, pitcorn turned and ordered his troops to press forward and surround us.--just then, a few scattering shots were fired at us, and we lebanon men returned 'em at once. then pitcorn fired his pistol and gave the word 'fire,' and they did fire. four of our men fell dead, and our sam was wounded in the leg. we had to retreat, although i felt savage enough to fight 'em all myself; and so i fired my musket, and took hold of sam, and helped him to get away with us. the red-coats continued to fire at us as we retreated, and some of our men paid 'em in the same coin. two or three of the men were killed as they were getting over a stone fence, and captain parker, who wouldn't run, was killed with the bayonet. i hurried sam into a house near by, saw him safe in the cellar, where the owner of the house said he would attend to him, and then joined the other lebanon men, who were running towards concord." fight at concord. "you must tell us what took place at concord, also," said young hand. "certainly," replied kinnison. "now, that i've got into the thing, i wouldn't mind telling you the whole war--but concord will do for the present. well, after a hard run, we reached concord, and found the minute-men collecting from all quarters, and under the command of colonel james barrett. the women and children were hard at work removing the stores to a wood a considerable distance off. we joined captain williams, and told him there had been a skrimmage at lexington, and that sam was wounded. colonel barrett collected all the minute-men about the place, and drew 'em up in two battalions, on the hill in the centre of concord. we had hardly formed, when we saw the red-coats coming up only about a quarter of a mile off. our officers held a short council. some were for making a bold stand where we were; but the greater number said it would be best to retreat till we were reinforced. accordingly, the back-out advice was adopted, and we retreated over the north bridge, about a mile from the common. i saw the royals come up and enter concord in two divisions. soon after, some of their companies took possession of the bridges, while the others hunted the stores. about sixty barrels of flour were broken open, a large quantity of cannon-balls thrown into the wells, the liberty-pole cut down, and the court-house set on fire. but the greater part of the stores were saved. in the meantime, the minute-men had come in from acton, carlisle, weston, littleton, and all around, and our force swelled to about four hundred men. i tell you, when the men saw the houses in concord burning, they got a _leetle_ excited--they did. adjutant hosmer made a speech to them, and they wanted to go right down and attack the red-coats at the north bridge. our company was very anxious to go, and it was settled that the attack should be made. major john buttrick took command, and ordered us to follow. there was about three hundred of us, the acton company, under captain isaac davis, taking the lead. we marched in double file, with trailed arms. i felt anxious to have a good fire at the rascals. they were on the west side of the river; but when they saw us coming, they crossed over and commenced pulling up the planks of the bridge. major buttrick called out to them to quit, and told us to hurry on to save the bridge. the red-coats formed for action, and, when we were near the bridge, fired a few shots at us. captain davis and adjutant hosmer were killed, and one acton man wounded. davis and hosmer were both brave men, and they died like heroes. seeing these men fall, major buttrick called out, 'fire, for god's sake, men, fire!' and we did pour a volley into the redcoats. i brought down one man, and he never got up again. we were getting ready to give them another, when the cowards retreated. we found three of the enemy had been killed, and the acton company took several of the wounded prisoners. i saw a mere boy, with a hatchet in his hand, run up to a britisher who wasn't quite dead, and kill him with one blow. that i didn't like, though the boy's spirit and courage pleased me." "it was butchery," said pitts. "so it was," replied kinnison; "and it caused a report to be spread that we killed and scalped all the men who fell into our hands. as i said, i didn't like it; but we had no time for thinking. the enemy saw how fast our men were coming in from all quarters, for, by that time, the whole province was aroused, and they thought it would be best to think of getting back to boston. well, they started from concord about twelve o'clock. as the main body marched along the road, the flanking parties tried to cover them, but it was of little use. we followed, and kept picking off men from their rear, while it seemed as if there was a minuteman behind every fence or tree by the road. we didn't march under any regular orders, but each man tried to do all he could with his musket. i and two or three other lebanon men kept together, and managed to pick off some men at every by-road. at one time, we just escaped the attack of a flanking party who killed some of the militia a short distance from us. we lay concealed in the bushes till they went by, and then followed them up as before. at two or three points, some companies of minute-men attacked the enemy in the open field, and killed a considerable number of them. when they reached lexington they were almost worn out, and could not have marched much farther. just then, we saw a large reinforcement of the red-coats, under lord percy, coming along the roxbury road, and we had to hold off awhile. you ought to have seen those royals, how they lay stretched on the ground, with their tongues hanging out of their mouths. i got on the top of a stone barn, and saw percy's men form a hollow square about smith's troops, in order to protect them while they got a little breath. but they could not halt long. the woods were swarming with minute-men; and, if they waited, their retreat would have been cut off. well, they started again, and our men followed as before, picking off men from the flanks and rear. at west cambridge, we met dr. warren with a party of our men, and attacked the enemy boldly. but their bayonets kept us off, and we only roused 'em so much that they plundered and burnt some houses along the road, and butchered some women and children. well, after a hard struggle, the enemy reached charlestown, and then general heath called us from the pursuit." "i've read," remarked mr. hand, "that the british loss during that day was nearly three hundred--that is, including wounded and prisoners." "it amounted to that, at least," replied kinnison; "and our loss was less than one hundred men. i think the royals got a taste of our spirit that day." "here's a man can tell you something about the retreat of the enemy," said pitts, pointing to one of the old men, named jonas davenport. "yes," said jonas; "i know a little about it. i lived near lexington. my house stood on the road. i joined the minute-men when i heard of the comin' of the british troops, and left my wife and two children home, under the care of my father, then about sixty. i told 'em to keep as quiet as possible and they would be safe. well, as i said, i joined the minute-men, and, when the rascals retreated from concord, followed and did some execution with my firelock. but one of 'em shot me in the shoulder, and i couldn't point my gun any more. i waited till the enemy had got a considerable distance on the road towards boston, and then managed to reach my house--but such a house as i found it! the windows were broken in, the doors torn off their hinges, and the furniture broken and thrown about in heaps. i called for my father and wife, but received no reply. i crawled up stairs, for i was nearly exhausted from loss of blood, and there i found my father and oldest child stretched on the floor dead. the old man had his gun still clenched in his hand, and he had, no doubt, done the enemy some damage with it. but his face was beaten in, and he had two or three bayonet stabs in his breast. the little boy had been shot through the head. i was a pretty tough-hearted man, but i fainted at the sight; and, when i came to myself, i found my wife and the youngest child bending over me crying. how they did hug and kiss me when they saw me revive! i think i did as much to them, for i never expected to see them alive. my wife told me that the old man would fire at the british as they were passing the house, and some of them stopped, broke open the doors, and knocked the things about. the old man and the little boy ran up stairs, while my wife and the other child ran from the house towards a neighbor's. as she ran away, she heard the muskets fired, but couldn't stop, as she thought the rascals were after her. she had returned as soon as she knew they were far on the road. i didn't grieve long; but sent her for the doctor at lexington to dress my wound. boys, boys, i've made many a red-coat pay for the lives of that old man and child. i hated them enough before, but that day's work made me all gall!" the memory of gratified revenge lighted up the old man's eyes as he spoke. he was a man of stern spirit, and no thought that such revenge was wrong ever crossed his mind. "i can tell you folks of something more about that retreat from concord," continued davenport. "the story is generally known up around the country here, but some of you may not have heard it. it's about old hezekiah wyman, who gained the name of 'death on the pale horse.'" "i heard the story, and saw the old man on his white horse," remarked kinnison; "but it will interest the young men, no doubt--so drive on." [illustration: hezekiah wyman.] "well, you see," began davenport, "the window of old hezekiah wyman's house looked out on the ground where the british shot our men at lexington. the old man saw the whole affair, and it made him so savage that he vowed to revenge his countrymen if he fell in doing it. "'wife,' said he, 'is there not an old gun-barrel somewhere in the garret.' "'i believe there was,' said she; 'but pray what do you want with it?' "'i should like to see if it is fit for service,' replied he. 'if i am not mistaken, it is good enough to drill a hole through a rig'lar.' "'mercy on me, husband! are you going mad? an old man like you--sixty years last november--to talk of going to war! i should think you had seen enough of fighting the british already. there lies poor captain roe and his men bleeding on the grass before your eyes. what could you do with a gun?' "the old man made no reply, but ascended the stairs, and soon returned with a rusty barrel in his hands. in spite of his wife's incessant din, he went to his shop, made a stock for it, and put it in complete order for use. he then saddled a strong white horse, and mounted him. he gave the steed the rein, and directed his course toward concord. he met the british troops returning, and was not long in perceiving that there was a wasp's nest about their ears. he dashed so closely upon the flank of the enemy that his horse's neck was drenched with the spouting blood of the wounded soldiers. then reining back his snorting steed to reload, he dealt a second death upon the ranks with his never-failing bullet. the tall, gaunt form of the assailant, his grey locks floating on the breeze, and the color of his steed, soon distinguished him from the other americans, and the regulars gave him the name of 'death on the pale horse.' a dozen bullets whizzed by his head, when he made the first assault, but, undismayed, the old patriot continued to prance his gay steed over the heads of the foot-soldiers--to do his own business faithfully, in the belief that, because others did wrong by firing at him, it would be no excuse for him to do wrong by sparing the hireling bullies of a tyrannical government. at length, a vigorous charge of the bayonet drove the old man, and the party with which he was acting, far from the main body of the british. hezekiah was also out of ammunition, and was compelled to pick up some on the road, before he could return to the charge. he then came on again and picked off an officer, by sending a slug through his royal brains, before he was again driven off. but ever and anon, through the smoke that curled about the flanks of the detachment, could be seen the white horse of the veteran for a moment--the report of his piece was heard, and the sacred person of one of his majesty's faithful subjects was sure to measure his length on rebel ground. thus did hezekiah and his neighbors continue to harass the retreating foe, until the earl percy appeared with a thousand fresh troops from boston. the two detachments of the british were now two thousand strong, and they kept off the americans with their artillery while they took a hasty meal. no sooner had they again commenced their march, than the powerful white horse was seen careering at full speed over the hills, with the dauntless old yankee on his back. "'ha!' cried the soldiers, 'there comes that old fellow again, on the white horse! look out for yourselves, for one of us has got to die, in spite of fate.' and one of them did die, for hezekiah's aim was true, and his principles of economy would not admit of his wasting powder or ball. throughout the whole of that bloody road between lexington and cambridge, the fatal approaches of the white horse and his rider were dreaded by the trained troops of britain, and every wound inflicted by hezekiah needed no repeating. but on reaching cambridge, the regulars, greatly to their comfort, missed the old man and his horse. they comforted themselves by the conjecture that he had, at length, paid the forfeit of his temerity, and that his steed had gone home with a bloody bridle and an empty saddle. not so.--hezekiah had only lingered for a moment to aid in a plot which had been laid by amni cutter, for taking the baggage-waggons and their guards. amni had planted about fifty old rusty muskets under a stone wall, with their muzzles directed toward the road. as the waggons arrived opposite this battery, the muskets were discharged, and eight horses, together with some soldiers, were sent out of existence. the party of soldiers who had the baggage in charge ran to a pond, and, plunging their muskets into the water, surrendered themselves to an old woman, called mother barberick, who was at that time digging roots in an adjacent field. a party of americans recaptured the gallant englishmen from mother barberick, and placed them in safe keeping. the captives were exceedingly astonished at the suddenness of the attack, and declared that the yankees would rise up like musketoes out of a marsh, and kill them. this chef d'oeuvre having been concluded, the harassed soldiers were again amazed by the appearance of hezekiah, whose white horse was conspicuous among the now countless assailants that sprang from every hill and ringing dale, copse and wood, through which the bleeding regiments, like wounded snakes, held their toilsome way. his fatal aim was taken, and a soldier fell at every report of his piece. even after the worried troops had entered charlestown, there was no escape for them from the deadly bullets of the restless veteran. the appalling white horse would suddenly and unexpectedly dash out from a brake, or from behind a rock, and the whizzing of his bullet was the precursor of death. he followed the enemy to their very boats; and then, turning his horse's head, returned unharmed to his household. "'where have you been, husband?' "'picking cherries,' replied hezekiah--but he forgot to say that he had first make cherries of the red-coats, by putting the pits into them." "that old man was sure death," remarked kinnison. "i knew the old fellow well. he had the name of being one of the best shots around that part of the country. i should never want to be within his range." "the old man immortalized himself," said hand. "it served the 'tarnal rascals right," observed hanson. "they only reaped what they had sown. war's a horrible matter, altogether, and i don't like it much; but i like to see it done up in that old man's style, if it is done at all." "i should like to have seen that royal officer that said he could march through our country with three regiments," said kinnison. "if he was with smith and pitcorn that day, he saw there was a little of the bulldog spirit in the yankees." "i think," observed pitts, "we might have that old, heart-firing, arm-moving tune called yankee doodle. come, brown, pipe." "ay," replied brown, "that tune came out of this here fife naturally--almost without my blowing it. for some time, i couldn't work anything else out of it." "come, pipe and drum the old tune once more," cried colson; and it was piped and drummed by brown and hanson in the real old continental style. the effect on the company was electric. knives, and forks, and feet, kept time to the well-known music. some of the old men could scarcely restrain themselves from attempting a cheer, and the young men felt themselves stirred by a feeling of patriotism they had scarcely known before. the spirit of dwelt in the music, and, as the quick notes started from fife and drum, visions of farmers leaving the plough in the furrow and shouldering the rusty and unbayoneted firelock--of citizens leaving their business and homes to grasp the sword and gun--of stout-hearted, strong-armed minute-men, untrained to war's manoeuvres, marching and battling with the well-disciplined, war-schooled, and haughty britons, made confident by a more than roman career of victory--and of the glorious fight at breed's hill--came to the minds of all present. three cheers were given, when the musicians had concluded, for the tune itself, and three more for those who had played it. "more ale," called out hand, and more ale was brought; and then hand proposed as a toast--"the memory of the men who fell on the th of april, ." this was drank standing, and a short pause ensued. fifer's story. "now," said kinnison, "i expect that some of you men who know something about them times shall keep your promise of following my story." "i'll tell you a story," replied brown, the fifer. "p'raps some of you won't swallow it; but it's all fact, and that you'll find if you choose to hunt for the papers. it's chiefly about me and my fife, and hanson and his drum." "pipe away, brown," said kinnison. "well, you see," began brown, "hanson and i were drummer and fifer in colonel brooks' regiment, at saratoga, and we were in the battle of stillwater, fought on the nineteenth of september. i'm not going to 'spin a yarn,' as the sailors say, in the way of an account of that battle, for that has been said and sung often enough. it is sufficient for me to say, that it was the hardest fought, and the bloodiest battle that ever i saw, and hans n and i were in the thickest of it, where the bullets were hailing. our regiment suffered a good deal in the way of losing men, and i saw many an old friend fall near me. but at dusk, when most of the americans were ordered to camp, i and hanson were unhurt. colonel brooks kept the field when the other officers retired with their forces. some of the men of his regiment were tired and grumbled, but he wanted to show the enemy that they had gained no advantage over us, and that our spirits were as strong as when the day's work commenced. this conduct you might have expected from what you have heard of brooks' character. he was all game--brooks was. one of those whip or die men, that are not to be found everywhere. well, as i said, our regiment remained on the field, and finally got into a skirmish with some of the german riflemen. we knew they were german riflemen by the brass match-cases on their breasts. in this skirmish, a ball struck me on the hand, went through it, and knocked my fife clear away beyond our flank. well, i couldn't part with my yankee doodle pipe in that way, without trying to get hold of it again. so i told hanson, and he put down his drum, and proposed that we should go and get it; and we did go out together, while the balls were whizzing round our ears, and got the pipe." "hold on, brown," interrupted kinnison. "wasn't it a dark night?" "yes," replied brown; "but we saw where the fife lay, by the quick flashes of the guns. didn't we, hanson?" "yes; it's a fact," replied the drummer; "and when we returned, i found a couple of balls had passed through the heads of my drum." "i told you i thought you wouldn't swallow it," observed brown; "but here's the fife, and here's the mark where the ball passed through my hand." brown exhibited the scar, and doubt seemed to be set at rest. kinnison, however, shook his head, as if unsatisfied. "there wasn't a great deal in the mere going after the fife at such a time," continued the fifer, "but i thought i'd mention it, to give you an idea of hanson's spirit." "very well," remarked hand, "we are satisfied now that both mr. brown and mr. hanson are really men of spirit." arnold's expedition. "mr. davenport," said one of the young men, "won't you entertain us with an account of something you saw or joined in, or did yourself, during the war?" "were any of you at quebec, with arnold and montgomery?" inquired one of the veterans who had been an attentive and silent listener to the preceding narratives. "i accompanied colonel arnold on the expedition up the kennebec," replied davenport. "then tell us about it, won't you?" eagerly exclaimed one of the young men. "ay, davenport, tell us about it," added kinnison. "i've never heard anything i could depend on about that march through the wilderness. old joe weston tried to give me an account of it; but his memory was very weak, and he hadn't the knack of talking so that a person could understand him." "well, you see," began davenport, "i was livin' up here on the lexington road, when i hear that general washington had planned an expedition to canada by way of the kennebec and the wilderness north of it, and that colonel arnold had been appointed to command the troops who were to undertake it. i was preparing to join the army at cambridge; but i thought that arnold's expedition would suit me better than staying in camp around boston. so i furnished myself with many little knick-nacks, shouldered my musket, and started off to offer my services. they placed me in one of the companies of major bigelow's battalion. i believe there was about eleven hundred men, in all, under arnold's command, who marched from cambridge to newburyport. there we embarked on board of eleven transports, and, on the nineteenth of september, sailed for the kennebec. i must confess, i didn't like the idea of starting so late in the year, because i knew we'd meet with some of the coldest kind of weather before we reached canada; but i had to be satisfied. at the end of two days, we had entered the kennebec and reached the town of gardiner. the only accident we had met with was the grounding of two of our transports; but we got them off without much difficulty. i forgot to mention, however, that two hundred carpenters had been sent up the river, before we started from cambridge, with orders to build two hundred batteaux at pittston, opposite gardiner. well, when we arrived at that place, we found the batteaux ready, and immediately transferred our baggage and provisions to them, and pushed up the river to fort western. at that place our real work was to commence. colonel arnold knew a great deal about the route, and he had undertaken it because he knew what he had to encounter, and how much glory he would win if he succeeded; but we men, who were to work and suffer most, knew nothing about the route; except that it was through a wilderness where few white men had set foot. before the army started from fort western, two small parties were sent forward to survey and reconnoitre the route as far as lake megantic and the dead river. next, the army began to move in four divisions. morgan and his riflemen went first; next day, green and bigelow, with three companies; next day, meigs, with four companies; and the next day, colonel enos, with the three other companies. you see, the divisions started a day apart, so as to prevent any difficulty in passing rapids and falls. colonel arnold waited to see all the troops embarked, and then passed the whole line till he overtook morgan. on the fourth day after our party--that is, green and bigelow's--started from fort western, we arrived at norridgewock falls. you may recollect, there used to be a tribe of indians called the norridgewocks, who had a village near these falls. i saw the plain where the village stood, and the ruins of the church which was destroyed by captain moulton during the war with the tribe. at the falls, all the batteaux had to be taken out of the river and transported a mile and a quarter by land. you may suppose, there was some work about that part of the journey. the banks on each side of the river were very rugged and rocky; and we had to carry the greater part of our baggage on our backs. one half of the party helped the oxen to draw the boats up to the place where they were to be put into the water again. we found some of the boats were leaky, and a great deal of the provisions damaged, which was a matter of importance, as you will see when i get farther on in my story. we were seven days in passing round that fall and repairing our boats. during those seven days, we worked as i had never seen men work before; and, strangely enough, there were very few grumblers in our party. we joked and sang lively songs, even during the hardest labor; and i got into a much better humor than i was in when i started. we had an irishman, named jim o'brien, in our mess, who was one of the best hearted and quickest-witted chaps i ever encountered; and we had a friend of his, named murtough johnson, who was as dull and blundering as o'brien was keen and ready. so, you see, with o'brien's jokes and johnson's blunders we had something to amuse us. i recollect, at one time, we were pushing our boat up on the bank clear of the water, and johnson handled his pole so clumsily that he fell into the river. o'brien hauled him out after he had a severe ducking in rather cold water. the officers worked as hard as the men. every sinew and muscle was brought into use. colonel arnold seemed to be ever active, cheering on the men, and often lending his hand to aid them." "what sort of a looking man was arnold at that time?" inquired hand. "he was then about thirty-five years old," replied davenport; "of the middle size, and rather stout, his face was rather handsome; but there was an iron look about his mouth that many a man would not like; his eyes were of a dark grey, and full of fire and restlessness. he seemed never to be satisfied unless he was moving about and doing something." "exactly as i knew him," remarked kinnison. "well," said davenport, "i'll return to my story. at the end of seven days we were ready to move on; and we soon arrived at the carratunc falls, where there was another portage. we got round that, however, without much difficulty. the banks were more level and the road not so long; but the work afterwards was tough. the stream was so rapid that the men were compelled to wade and push the batteaux against the current. there was a little grumbling among us, and quite a number of the men deserted. two days after reaching the carratunc falls, we came to the great carrying place. there work was to begin to which all our other work was play. the great carrying place extended from the kennebec to the dead river, about fifteen miles, and on the road were three small ponds. before we took our batteaux out of the water of the kennebec, we built a block-house on its banks, as a depository for provisions, so as to secure a supply in case of retreat." "i thought you said you had no extra quantity of provisions," said pitts. "i did," replied davenport. "we did not intend to leave any of our provisions at the block-house. it was built as a repository for supplies ordered up from norridgewock. well, we took the boats out of the water, and took most of the baggage and provisions out of the boats, and toiled up a steep, rocky road for more than three miles to the first pond. there the boats were put into the water, and we had a short rest. we caught plenty of fresh salmon-trout in the pond, and colonel arnold ordered two oxen to be killed and divided among us, as a sort of treat. at the second portage we built another block-house for the sick. at that time i felt sick and worn out myself, but i couldn't think of stopping, so i kept my sufferings hidden as much as i could from everybody but o'brien, who did all he could to help me. after crossing the last pond, we had several marshes and deep ravines to cross. sometimes we had to wade up to the knees in mud and water, carrying heavy bundles of baggage on our shoulders, and in constant danger of sinking into deep mud holes. ha! ha! i recollect, o'brien, johnson and myself were toiling along through one of the marshes, johnson a short distance behind, when o'brien and i heard a yell and a cry of 'och, murther!' the yell, i thought might have come from a savage, but the 'och, murther!' i knew never could. o'brien's quick eye soon discovered what was the cause of it, and i followed him back. there we found johnson, up to his neck in mud and water, yelling for help to get out of the bloody dirt. i was the first to grasp his hand, but in pulling, my foot slipped, and i fell in alongside of johnson. o'brien was more careful; he got on the baggage that johnson and i had thrown down, and by great exertions, dragged us both out; but in such a condition--covered with mud from head to foot. of course, o'brien and i laid it all on johnson's blundering. o'brien said he believed johnson's birth was a blunder of nature, she had regretted ever since; and that if he fell into a mudhole again, he should stick there. johnson admitted that he was thinking of home when he fell into the dirty place; he was just kissing his darlin' mary when his foot slipped. well, we shouldered our wet baggage, and waded on to the rest of the party, and soon after, we reached dead river. this river seemed to have a smooth current, broken by two or three little falls, and we thought we could have quite an easy progress. the boats were easily pushed along, and the men got the rest they wanted. as we were going slowly along the river, we discovered a high mountain, the summit of which appeared to be whitened with snow. near the base of the mountain we found arnold, with the two first divisions, encamped. we were all very glad to see a camp once more and enjoyed it, i tell you, as much as a good meal after a hard day's work. on the day after the arrival of our party, colonel arnold raised the pine-tree flag over his tent, the men firing a salute and giving three cheers, as soon as it was raised. on the same day, major bigelow went up to the top of the mountain, expecting to see the spires of quebec. but he weren't a moses; he didn't see the promised land. after that, i believe the people gave the major's name to the mountain. ninety men were sent back to the rear for provisions which now began to grow scarce. it began to rain before we left the encampment, and it rained the best part of three days; every man and all the baggage were drenched with water. morgan and arnold, with the first and second divisions had gone ahead, and we followed. one night, we landed at a rather late hour, and were trying to get a little rest, when we were awaked by the freshet, which came down upon us in a torrent; o'brien waked johnson and myself just in time to allow us to get out of the way. the water arose to a great height, covering the low grounds on each side of the river, and the current became very rapid. as the batteaux moved on they would get entangled among the drift wood and bushes. sometimes we wandered from the main stream into the branches, and then we would have to fall back into the proper course. the number of falls seemed to increase as we advanced, and of course, there was a portage at every one. i was almost worn out with toil and sickness, yet i was sustained by the hope of succeeding in the expedition, and of doing some injury to the enemy before i died. you know how an excited spirit will overcome weakness of body. at length a disaster happened to our party which almost checked the expedition. by some bad management, and partly by accident, seven of our batteaux were overset; o'brien, johnson and myself were among the men thrown into the water, and we had a terrible time of it, clinging to the bottom of the batteaux. we pushed the boats ashore, and not a single man was drowned; but all the baggage and provisions in the boats were lost. that made such a breach in our provisions, that the boldest hearts began to be seized with despair. we were then thirty miles from the head of chaudière river, and we had provisions for twelve days at the farthest. a council of war was held, and it was decided to send the sick and feeble men back, and press forward with the others. colonel arnold wrote to colonel greene and colonel enos, who were in the rear, to select such a number of their strongest men that could supply themselves with fifteen days' provisions, and to come on with them, leaving the others to return to norridgewock. you know how colonel enos acted upon that order; he marched back to cambridge, while colonel greene obeyed colonel arnold's instructions." "people have different opinions of that man's conduct," said kinnison. "for my part, i think he was a poor-spirited man, if not a coward." "i think so too," said davenport. "although his court-martial acquitted him, general washington, and other officers showed such dissatisfaction, that he resigned his commission." "never mind the shirk," said pitts: "tell us how the men of the right grit made out." "well," said davenport, "after colonel arnold had arranged his plans, he hurried forwards with sixty men, intending to proceed as soon as possible to the inhabitants on the chaudière and send back provisions to the main body. when we started again, the rain had changed to snow, which fell two inches deep. ice formed on the surface of the water through which we were forced to wade and drag the boats. you may talk about suffering at valley forge, but i tell you it was no kind of circumstance to what we men endured. we were cold, hungry and tired all the time, and yet we couldn't rest, for fear of starvation in the wilderness. i always think my living through it all was owing to o'brien's care and his trying to keep me in good spirits. poor fellow! he met his death at quebec. i'll never forget him. the man who could forget such service at such a time would be a blot upon the name of humanity." davenport paused, as if indulging mournful memory, and then proceeded. "near the source of the dead river, we had to pass through a string of small lakes, choked with drift-wood and rocks. so it seemed as if we met greater difficulty at every step of our advance. at last we reached the four-mile carrying place, from the dead river to the stream that leads into lake megantic. we took the batteaux out of the water and dragged and carried them over the highlands till we reached the little stream, which conducted us by a very crooked course into lake megantic. i began to think our toils and dangers would soon be over, and of course worked with a light heart. at the lake, we found lieutenant steel and the exploring party which had been sent forward to explore and clear the path at the portages. the night after our party entered the lake, we encamped on the eastern shore, where a large indian wigwam that appeared as if it had been used for a council, served to shelter us from the cold winds. colonel arnold ordered hanchet and fifty men to march by land along the shore of chaudière river, and he, himself, embarked with captain oswald, lieutenants steel and church and thirteen men, determined to proceed as soon as possible to the french inhabitants, and send back provisions to the army. this was the only plan to save the men from starvation. you see the chaudière is a rough rapid river, the water in some places boiling and foaming over a rocky bottom. the baggage had to be lashed to the boats. arnold's party fell among the rapids. three of the boats were overset, dashed to pieces against the rocks and their contents swallowed up by the waves. six men struggled for some time in the water, but were saved. that accident turned out to be a lucky one, for no sooner had the men dried their clothes and re-embarked, than one of them, who had gone forward, cried out 'a fall ahead,' and thus the whole party was saved from destruction. soon after we entered the chaudière we worked round several falls and kept clear of the rapids for a while; but it couldn't last. we lost boats here and there, till we hadn't enough to carry the men and what baggage we had with us, and so we took to the land, and began our march through the woods along the banks of the river. now a kind of suffering began, which we hadn't dreamed of when we started, but which we had been expecting before we lost our boats. we had to drag ourselves along, over rocks and ravines and through thick underwood, with starvation staring us in the face. i had never been a hearty feeder, and could bear the want of provisions better than those in good health and who had accustomed themselves to cramming. but poor johnson fainted several times on the march, and o'brien suffered more than he would tell. every thing eatable was at length entirely used. several dogs, generally favourites of their owners, had been killed and entirely devoured, even to the entrails. o'brien, johnson and myself boiled our moccasins, to see if any nourishment could be drawn from the deer-skin. but the skins were dry. it seemed as if we were doomed to starvation. no game of any kind appeared, and even the eatable roots were not to be found. i remember seeing a party of men, johnson among them, discover a well-known root in the sand and rush for it as if it had been a diamond. the man who got it devoured it instantly, though at any other time it would have made him sick." "i wonder how those men would have acted if they had met such a loaded table as this in the woods," said hand. "acted!" said davenport. "like wolves, whose bellies had been pinched with hunger for a week. you may judge from what i tell you. as we were marching slowly through the woods, a set of ragged skeletons, the foremost of the party caught sight of some canadians and indians coming towards us, with great packages and bundles which we knew were the provisions sent by colonel arnold. there was a perfect yell of joy, and the whole party rushed towards them. but major bigelow and his officers kept the men off from the food, at the sword's point. the food was then distributed in very small quantities to each man. how it disappeared! i venture to say that ten minutes after the men received their shares, they had devoured them all. the canadians and indians were ordered to keep enough provisions for the other troops, who were fed as they came up. at last we caught sight of the french settlement of sertigan, where colonel arnold had arrived some days before. the people came out to receive us; but they wondered at us as if we were more than men. they offered us plenty of food and clothing, and took care of the sick. within four or five days, the whole army was collected by small parties at sertigan." "what was the number of the troops who arrived safe?" enquired pitts. "about five hundred and fifty men, i suppose," replied davenport. "the rest had either gone back with enos, deserted, or been left at the block-house, sick." "how long did the expedition occupy?" enquired hand. "about two months," replied davenport. "for thirty-two days we traversed a dreary wilderness without meeting a human being." "it was a great feat, and the men who performed it are entitled to high renown," said hand. "many of them afterwards became distinguished," said davenport. "morgan, dearborn, meigs, febiger, greene and others were known to the enemy in after years." mr. hand now proposed three cheers for the men of arnold's expedition and three more for mr. davenport, both of which propositions were acted upon in the heartiest manner by the young men. mr. hand then said he had a song to sing to the tune of "ye mariners of england." it was not his own composition; he had found it in print, and knowing the music, thought it would be acceptable. being pressed to sing, he complied, singing the following words:-- ye freemen of columbia, who guard our native coast, whose fathers won your liberty, your country's pride and boast; your glorious standard rear again, to match your ancient foe, as she roars on your shores, where the stormy tempests blow; as she prowls for prey on every shore, where the stormy tempests blow. the spirits of your fathers shall hover o'er each plain, where in their injured country's cause the immortal brave were slain! where bold montgomery fearless fell, where carnage strew'd the field, in your might shall you fight, and force the foe to yield; and on the heights of abraham your country's vengeance wield. columbia fears no enemy that ploughs the briny main; her home a mighty continent, its soil her rich domain! to avenge our much-loved country's wrongs, to the field her sons shall fly, while alarms sound to arms, we'll conquer or we'll die. when britain's tears may flow in vain, as low her legions lie! columbia's eagle standard triumphant then shall tower, till from the land the foe depart, driven by its gallant power. then, then, ye patriot warriors! our song and feast shall flow, and no more, on our shore, shall war's dread tempests blow; but the breeze of peace shall gently breathe, like the winds that murmur low. the song was well received by the company, who were not disposed to be critical. the drum and fife were then brought into play, brown and hanson, without entreaty, striking up, "come out, ye continentallers." this rollicking tune called up such laughable associations, that one of the young men proposed that it should be sung. no one knew it entire, except brown, the fifer, who had been the musician of his mess as well as of the company, and brown complied with the repeated entreaties of the young men, singing the following ludicrous words in a cracked and weak remnant of a voice. come out, ye continentallers! we're going for to go to fight the red-coat enemy, who're plaguy "cute," you know. now, shoulder whoop!--eyes right and dress-- front!--davis, wipe your nose-- port whoop!--that's slick--now, carry whoop! mike jones, turn out your toes. charge bagnet!--that's your sort, my boys: now, quick time!--march!--that's right; just so we'd poke the enemy, if they were but in sight. halt!--shoulder whoop!--stop laughing, nick-- by platoons, wheel!--halt--dress! hold up your muzzles on the left; no talking, more or less. bill sneezer, keep your canteen down, we're going for to travel; "captain, i wants to halt a bit, my shoe is full of gravel." ho--strike up music--for'ard march! now point your toes, bob rogers; see! yonder are the red-coat men-- let fly upon 'em, sogers. this song was written in the early part of the revolutionary war to burlesque the meeting of the country militia, and afterwards became very popular. although brown had not much voice, he managed to give a correct and exceedingly laughable expression to the old song. "that may be all true enough of some of the country militia," said robinson, "but in our village, there was no such foolery. regulars--and british ones at that--couldn't have gone through a better training, or a better rill. one of the british officers at saratoga said that the new england militia were equal to regulars; and as far as marching up to cannons' mouths and driving back dragoons goes, i think they were, myself. you see, for a long time previous to the battle of lexington, we had trainings all around the country, and some of our officers were men who had seen some hard service in the old french war. why, just look at the men that ethan allen and arnold led against ticonderoga, as strong a place as was ever fortified in the northern states. there was not a bolder or better conducted enterprise in the whole war." the expedition against ticonderoga. "were either of you in the expedition against ticonderoga?" enquired hand, wishing to learn the particulars of that affair. "ay," replied a little old man, who had quit eating and fallen asleep during davenport's narrative, and had only wakened up at the sound of the drum and fife, playing "come out, ye continentallers." "i was with ethan allen. i was one of the green mountain boys, that did the thing." "then perhaps you can tell us something about it," said kinnison, "and about the quarrel between allen and arnold. i never heard the facts of the case, but from what i know of the two men, i feel sure arnold was wrong." "to be sure he was," said old timothy ransom. "to be sure he was. but i'll tell you all i know about the matter. i was at work on my farm when i heard of the battle of lexington. i belonged to a regiment of militia that used to meet for drill on a neighbouring farm. ethan allen was the colonel, and he was fit to be the leader anywhere. he would lead where any would follow, was as honest a man as ever breathed, and had a great share of strong sense. as soon as colonel allen heard that the war had really begun, he determined to seize ticonderoga, where a great quantity of munitions of war were stored. i forgot to tell you, however, that allen was commissioned a colonel by the government of vermont. he collected our boys at his residence, and marched to bennington, where he expected to be joined by more volunteers. at bennington we met colonel easton, with some men from his regiment of militia. our party then amounted to two hundred and seventy men; and, though i was one among 'em, i may be allowed to say, that a more daring, and a tougher set of men were never assembled. about dusk on the th of may, we reached castleton--that's about fourteen miles east of skenesborough. there we were to make our final arrangements. a council of war was held. colonel allen was appointed commander of the expedition, colonel easton second in command, and seth warner, third. allen, with the main force, was to march to shoreham, opposite ticonderoga, captain herrick with thirty men was to push up to skenesborough, and capture the young major skene, confine his people, and seizing all the boats he could find there, hasten to join allen at shoreham; and captain douglas was to proceed to panton, beyond crown point, and secure all the boats that should fall in his way. on the th of may, arnold arrived at castleton, with a few officers and men, and after introducing himself to our officers, showed a commission from the massachusetts committee of safety, by which he claimed the supreme command. but our boys wouldn't hear anything of the kind. we all said that ethan allen was our leader, and if he had not the command, we would march back to our homes. so colonel arnold found that he would have to join us without a command, or go back where he came from. he chose to join as a mere volunteer, smothering his claim till another occasion. on the same day on which colonel arnold arrived, mr. phelps, one of the connecticut committee who were with us, disguised himself as a countryman who wanted to be shaved, and visited ticonderoga, to spy into the condition of the garrison. he found that the walls of the old fort were broken down, and that the small garrison were careless of all discipline. as soon as colonel allen was informed of this state of things, he resolved to move on at once. we marched to the shore of the lake, opposite ticonderoga, during the night of the th of may. allen had secured a guide in a boy named nathan beman, who was fully acquainted with every secret way that led into the fortress. but we found that we hadn't boats enough to carry all the party over the lake. allen, arnold, easton, and eighty-three of the men, of whom i was one, had crossed just as the day was beginning to dawn. to wait would have been too hazardous, as the garrison, if aroused, might make a stout resistance; and we wanted to buy success as cheap as possible. colonel allen resolved to commence the attack at once. we were drawn up in three ranks on the shore nearly opposite the fort. allen then made a short address to us. he was never a man of many words. he said he knew our spirit, and hoped we would remember the cause for which we were about to strike; that would nerve the arm of a coward. he concluded by conjuring us to obey orders strictly, and to commit no slaughter that could be done without. then, with arnold at his side, allen led us stealthily up the rocks to the sally-port. i saw the sentinel snap his fusee at our bold leader, and rush into the covered way that led into the fort. we followed upon his heels, and were thus guided right into the parade within the barracks. there another sentinel made a thrust at easton. but colonel allen struck him on the head with his sword and the fellow begged for quarter. as we rushed into the parade, we gave a tremendous shout, and filed off into two divisions. the men of the garrison leaped from their beds, seized their arms, and rushed into the parade, only to be seized by our men. i snatched a musket from a red-coat's hand just as he was taking aim at captain herrick, and made the fellow shriek for quarter, by merely striking him alongside of the face with my fist. while we were securing the men, colonel allen and the boy, nathan beman, went up stairs to the door of the room in which captain delaplace and his wife were sleeping. allen gave three loud raps with the hilt of his sword on the door, and with his strong voice, ordered the captain to surrender, or the whole garrison should be slaughtered. our shouting had awakened the captain and his wife, and they sprang to the door. delaplace appeared in his shirt and drawers, and recognising colonel allen as an old friend, boldly demanded why he was disturbed. allen replied, by ordering him to surrender instantly. delaplace then said, 'by what authority do you demand it?' 'in the name of the great jehovah and the continental congress,' replied colonel allen, with the full thunder of his voice, as he raised his sword over the head of the captain. this convinced the captain that the wisest course was to comply, and so he gave the order for the troops to parade without arms. forty-eight british regulars surrendered prisoners of war, and the fort and every thing in it became ours. the regulars, with the women and children, were sent to hartford. we found nearly two hundred pieces of ordnance, and an immense quantity of ammunition of all kinds and plenty of eatables. just after the surrender, seth warner, with the rear division, crossed the lake and joined us. the prisoners were secured and then we all took a hearty breakfast. we had been up and on duty all night, and that, together with our success, made us enjoy that breakfast more than an every-day one. colonel arnold again attempted to take the command of our men and the fort. but none of us would obey his orders, and the connecticut committee said that colonel allen was the rightful commander, as the men were to be paid by connecticut, and massachusetts had furnished nothing for the enterprise, and allen had been formally chosen. arnold was forced to yield; but he sent a statement of the matter to the massachusetts assembly. that body confirmed allen's appointment and directed arnold not to interfere. on the day of the capture of ticonderoga, colonel seth warner, with a small body of our men, was sent to take possession of crown point. but a tremendous storm arose, and warner was compelled to put back and pass the night with us. but the next day, he started and captured crown point without firing a shot. you see the garrison only amounted to a serjeant and eleven men, and they didn't expect an attack; so that warner had only to come suddenly upon them, and make a bold show, and they surrendered. more than one hundred cannon were taken at that place, and thus, you see, we had something to begin the war with. colonel arnold gave up the idea of commanding at ticonderoga, but he would command somewhere, and so he soon after undertook an expedition against st. john's. it appears to me, arnold was very wrong in attempting to remove such a man as allen from the command. but i believe he was always thinking of himself alone." "i can't agree with you, ransom," said jonas davenport. "i think he was a selfish man in general; but i know he could be generous sometimes. in that expedition to canada, he helped his men whenever he could in the smallest matters, when many other commanders would have minded their own comfort alone. let us have justice done to every man. i never liked arnold as a man; but i think he was as good a soldier and general as i ever knew." "certainly as good a soldier," said kinnison. "his generalship," said pitts, "never had much play. as far as he had the chance, he proved that he had the skill and knowledge for planning military enterprises." "i preferred old putnam to arnold," said john warner. "he was quite as daring, and a much better-hearted man." "ay, a braver man than general putnam never drew a blade," said kinnison. "that man's adventures would make as interestin' a book as you'd wish to read." "i should like to hear some of them," said hand. "you've heard of his great feat at horseneck, i suppose," said jonas davenport. "yes," replied hand, "and often wondered at it." putnam's escape. "i happened to be on the spot and see that affair," said old john warner. "i was on a visit to a friend at a farm near horseneck, when the news of governor tryon's approach, with a large force, reached me. i hadn't joined the regular army, for a great many reasons; but i always took advantage of an opportunity to serve the right side. general putnam's picket of one hundred and fifty men, with two field-pieces, was the only force in that neighbourhood; but i knew old put. would have a shot at the enemy, no matter how few men he had with him. so i shouldered my firelock and went and offered my services. general putnam planted his cannon on the high ground near the meeting-house, and awaited the approach of the enemy. directly, we saw tryon, with a great force of regulars, coming along the road. our cannon blazed away at them and checked their advance for a short time. but pretty soon, we saw the dragoons and infantry preparing to make a charge, and old put. knew there wouldn't be much chance of our withstanding the shock. so he ordered us to retire into the swamp just back of our position, where we would be safe from dragoons, at least, and where we would have an even chance with the infantry. i expected to see the general follow us; but he turned his horse towards the stone steps that led down the rocks from the meeting-house. as we fell back i had time to observe him. when he reached the head of the steps, the horse stopped as if afraid of the attempt. but old putnam knew there was no time to lose, as the dragoons were nearly upon him. so he struck his spurs into the horse's sides, and they plunged down the steps together. i lost sight of the horse and rider just then; but saw the red-coat dragoons stop short at the head of the precipice, and fire their pistols after them. not one among the red-coats dared to follow, and ten chances to one if they had attempted it, they would have broken their necks; for the precipice was so high and steep as to have one hundred steps cut in it. before they could get round the brow of the height by the ordinary road, the general was far beyond their reach. tryon didn't attempt to follow us into the swamp, but soon after commenced his retreat. we fell back to stamford, where we met the general with some militia he had collected, and marched back in search of tryon. the red-coats had completed their work and were out of our reach." "that ride was but one of a whole life of such deeds," said kinnison. "there never was a man who dared more than putnam. in the old french war, he astonished the boldest savages and rangers by his feats, often throwing himself into the arms of death, as it were, and escaping without any serious hurt." "it was a great pity," said colson, "that putnam was not a younger man when the revolutionary war broke out. he had spent his best years in fighting for the old country, against the french and indians." "perhaps it was better as it was," said davenport. "i think there were brave men enough in our army." it was clear that davenport was disposed to argue the respective merits of the generals of the revolution. hand thought argument might check the flow of good-feeling, and therefore suggested that they should have more drum and fife music. brown and hanson agreed, and upon request struck up the "white cockade." this was spirit-stirring, and called forth much applause. another song was called for, and one of the young men sang the following song, written for the occasion, but which his modesty had hitherto held back. the music was that of "rule, brittania!" when our great sires this land explored, a shelter from tyrannic wrong! led on by heaven's almighty lord, they sung--and acted well the song, rise united! dare be freed! our sons shall vindicate the deed. in vain the region they would gain was distant, dreary, undisclosed; in vain the atlantic roar'd between; and hosts of savages opposed; they rush'd undaunted, heaven decreed their sons should vindicate the deed. 'twas freedom led the veterans forth, and manly fortitude to bear; they toil'd, they vanquished i such high worth is always heaven's peculiar care. their great example still inspires, nor dare we act beneath our sires. 'tis ours undaunted to defend the dear-bought, rich inheritance; and spite of each invading hand, we'll fight, bleed, die, in its defence! pursue our fathers' paths of fame, and emulate their glorious flame. as the proud oak inglorious stands, till storms and thunder root it fast, so stood our new unpractised bands, till britain roar'd her stormy blast; then, see, they vanquish'd! fierce led on by freedom and great washington. the song had very little poetry and less music in it; but patriotism applauded its spirit. mr. hand again directed the conversation in such a manner as to glean as much information from the veteran patriots as possible, and enquired if any of them had seen the hero of bennington--general john stark. "oh! yes," replied timothy ransom, "there was very few of the right-side-up men in vermont, that i didn't see and know too. see general stark! i guess i did; and seen a leetle of him at bennington, too." "i thought general stark belonged to new hampshire," said hand. "so he did," replied ransom. "the country that now makes the states of varmount and new hampshire was then called the new hampshire grants, and was governed by one assembly and one council." "what sort of a looking man was stark?" enquired pitts. "well, he weren't much to look at," said ransom. "he was about the middle height, and strongly built. he had a firm look about the face, and you might have been sure of his doing what he said he would do, just from hearing him talk. blunt and downright, he was--and didn't stop to pick words. he had seen a tougher life than any of his neighbours--fighting as a ranger and regular soldier--and you might suppose there was no nice affectation in his dress and manners like you find in some of our generals. he was a man made for service." "that's the man exactly as i saw him at saratoga," said kinnison. "did you say you was with general stark, at bennington?" enquired hand. "ay, and did my share of that day's work," replied ransom. "that _was_ a battle, my boys. if you had seen the way that the militia walked up to the enemy's cannon, and fought with regulars, you'd have said at once, there was no use of great britain trying to subdue such men." "not having had the pleasure of seeing it," replied hand, "i should like to hear what you saw of it. tell us about the affair, and how you won such a victory." the battle of bennington. "you shall hear about the battle of bennington," said ransom. "at the time burgoyne was advancing towards the hudson, the people of massachusetts and the new hampshire grants were alarmed, and feared that burgoyne would march towards boston. the whole frontier was uncovered. but the people began to feel the necessity of taking measures to check the advance of the enemy. general stark was then at home, angry with congress on account of his rank not being equal to his services. he had resigned his commission in the regular army. i was then at my farm, having gone home after serving with colonel allen. i expected to be called into service again, but didn't intend to fight under any other orders than those of john stark; because i knew the man had been badly treated, and i and most of the militia felt for him. the new hampshire assembly met, and began to adopt measures for the defence of the country. the militia was formed into two brigades. general whipple was appointed to command the first, and general stark the second. stark refused to accept the appointment. but finding that his name was a host, he was induced to yield his private griefs for the public good. he said he would assume the command of the troops, if he was not desired to join the main army, and was made accountable to no authority but that of new hampshire. his conditions were accepted, and he went to charlestown to meet the committee of safety. as soon as i heard that general stark was in the field, i hurried off to charlestown to join the militia, i knew would assemble there. i found the men were coming in from all directions, and all were in high spirits. stark sent us off to manchester, twenty miles from bennington, to join colonel warner's regiment. you know after that skrimmage at hubbardton, warner could scarcely muster more than two hundred men, and we who were sent from charlestown were to fill out his regiment. i found most of the men had been in service since the war began, and knew what fighting was; and i thought they were a match for twice their number; but i had some near neighbours in the regiment of colonel nichols at bennington: i went and joined him. as our regiment was filling up, general stark arrived at manchester, where he met general lincoln, who had come to conduct the militia across the hudson to general schuyler; but stark told him that the men were called together to protect their homes in new hampshire, and could not be taken out of that part of the country. i heard afterwards that general lincoln informed congress of the state of things in our neighbourhood, and that congress censured general stark; but he didn't care for that. he knew he was right in staying in new hampshire, and that the men who censured him knew nothing about the state of things there. well, we were called upon to meet the enemy sooner than we expected, for it appeared that baum, with his germans and indians, was on his march towards bennington. soon after, i arrived at manchester. about four hundred men had collected at bennington, when general stark arrived there, and more were coming in constantly. i guess it was on the th of august when we received information that some of baum's indians had been seen near cambridge--that's about twelve miles from bennington. then there was a stir among the men, and all sorts of preparation for a desperate battle. we all knew that we were going to fight for our homes, and that made us eager to meet the enemy. all the men of bennington who could bear arms joined us, and the old men and women and boys did all they could to get us information, and to supply our wants. general stark sent lieutenant-colonel gregg, with two hundred men, to check the enemy. in the course of the night we were informed that the indians were supported by a large body of regulars, with a train of artillery; and that the whole force of the enemy were in full march for bennington. general stark immediately called out all the militia, and sent word to colonel warner to bring his regiment from manchester. before daylight on the morning of the th of august, general stark had about eight hundred men under his command, including colonel gregg's detachment. we then moved forward to support gregg. about four or five miles from bennington, we met our detachment in full retreat, and the enemy within a mile of it. stark ordered us to halt, and we were then drawn up in order of battle. baum saw we were prepared to make fight, and halted, instead of coming up to the work like a man. a small party of our men were forced to abandon van shaick's mill, where they had been posted, but not before they had killed a few of the enemy. stark found that the enemy were busy entrenching themselves, and he tried to draw them from their position by sending out small parties to skirmish; but it was of no use, they wouldn't come out and fight; so stark fell back a mile, leaving a part of our regiment to skirmish. now you know that's a kind of fighting in which the green mountain boys were always first best. before we fell back to the main body, we had killed and wounded more than thirty of the enemy, including two indian chiefs, without losing a man." "the battle should have been all skirmishes," said kinnison. "you might have cut the enemy up piece-meal." "we tried it next day," said ransom. "it was rainy, and stark thought it best not to attempt anything more than skirmishing. our light parties appeared in the woods on every side of the enemy, and picked off the men so fast that the indians became disheartened, and began to desert baum. the rain, which prevented our troops from attacking the enemy, enabled them to complete their entrenchments, and send to general burgoyne for reinforcements; but on the morning of the th of august, we found that general stark and a council of war had agreed upon a plan of attack, and intended to execute it that day. i don't think there was a man among our troops who was not anxious for a fight. our skirmishes had put us in the humour for it. i can't exactly give you an idea of the position of the enemy, and of the real amount of skill general stark displayed in his plan of attack. but i'll try to do the best i can. the germans were posted on a rising ground near a bend in wallomsac creek, which is a branch of the hoosic river. the ground on both sides of the creek is rolling, and the position of the germans was on the highest of the small hills. peter's corps of tories were entrenched on the other side of the creek, nearly in front of the german battery, and on lower ground. during the night of the th, colonel symonds with about one hundred berkshire militia, arrived in camp. parson allen, who, you may have heard, was such a zealous whig, was with the berkshire men, and he wanted to fight right off. but general stark told him if the next day was clear, there would be fighting enough. well, when the morning of the th of august came; it was clear and bright. both armies seemed to know that day was to decide between them. general stark had given his orders to all the colonels of his regiments. colonel nichols, with our corps of about two hundred men, marched up the little creek just above the bridge, to attack the rear of the enemy's left; while colonel herrick, with three hundred men, marched to attack the rear of the right, with orders to join our party before the assault was made. colonels hubbard and stickney were ordered to march down the wallomsac, with three hundred men, near the tories, so as to turn baum's attention to that point. we started about noon, and marched through the thick woods and up from the valley towards the enemy's entrenchments. our march was rapid and silent, and the enemy didn't see us until we were near. we gave the first volley, and rushed upon them. i saw through the smoke, colonel herrick was coming up. we had the indians between us, and you should have heard them yell, and whoop, and ring their cow-bells, but they wouldn't stand; they fled through our detachments and left the hessians to shift for themselves. soon after we commenced the attack, general stark made that short address you have heard so much about. josiah wemyss, one of my old friends, was near the general when he spoke. he told me stark raised himself in his stirrups, and said: 'see there, men! there are the red-coats; before night they are ours, or molly stark will he a widow! forward!' and they did forward and rush upon the tories with such force that they drove 'em across the stream, upon the germans, who were then forced from their breastworks on the heights. then the battle became general. such a tremendous fire i never saw before, and never expect to see again. colonel baum and his dragoons fought like brave men, and for a long time could not be broken. we attacked them on one side, and stark on the other, but they stood their ground, and when their powder gave out, colonel baum led them to the charge with the sword. but it couldn't last: our men were fighting like mad, and our firelocks brought down the enemy at a tremendous rate. many of us had no bagonets--i among them, yet we marched up to the germans just the same as if we had the best arms. at last, the germans gave way and fled, leaving their artillery and baggage on the field. our men didn't pursue. you see, general stark, in order to give the men every inducement to do their best on the field, promised them all the plunder that could be taken from the enemy; and as the germans fled, we all scattered to seize on what they had left. i had the good luck to get a sword and one of the heavy hats which the dragoons wore. i didn't care much about the value of the things in regard to the money they'd bring, but i thought they'd be somewhat to keep in the family, and make them remember that battle. while i was looking for more things, i caught sight of a man riding at a furious rate towards general stark. he called out, 'rally! rally! more germans! rally!' and sure enough, we saw a large body of the enemy coming out of the woods, in good order. it was the reinforcement baum had sent for. general stark had collected a small body of men, when i hurried to join a few of our regiment that colonel nichols had rallied. i thought that our victory was about to be snatched from us; but just then colonel warner's regiment arrived from manchester, fresh and well-armed. they attacked the germans at once, while stark, with about two hundred of us, pushed forward to aid them. then began an obstinate struggle, not like the other fight with the germans and tories; but a running fight on the hills and plains, just the kind of skrimmage in which a hundred green mountain boys were worth double their number of redcoats. about sunset, the greater part of our men were engaged, and the enemy was beaten in every part of the field. we drove them from the hills down towards van shaick's, killing, wounding, and taking prisoners all the time. at van shaick's mill they made their last stand. they had placed a small party of tories in the building, and a party of germans rallied in front of it. but it was no use, the germans were driven away and the men in the house forced to surrender. our men pursued the enemy to the hoosick, and captured the greater part of 'em. i really believe, if night hadn't come on, we would have taken every man of 'em. but general stark ordered the men to return, for fear they would fire upon each other in the gloom. before i came back, however, i caught a tory lurking near the edge of the woods. now i hated tories worse than the britishers or germans, and i had a strong notion to shoot him, and i told him so; but he begged hard for his life, and said he never intended to take up arms against his countrymen again: i took him back to our troops and put him with the other prisoners." "what was the loss of the enemy that day?" enquired pitts. "i heard since, that it was nine hundred and thirty-four men, including killed, wounded, and prisoners," replied ransom. "i recollect we buried two hundred and seven of them. our own loss was one hundred killed, and about the same number wounded. besides the prisoners, we took four pieces of brass cannon, more than two hundred and fifty swords, several hundred muskets, several brass drums, and four ammunition wagons. so you see, we had plenty of plunder." "i suppose the men were not allowed to take any thing but the swords and muskets," said kinnison. "yes, the baggage fell to us," said ransom, "and all the fixins of the german camp; the cannon, drums, wagons and standards were not taken away." "i guess that was one of the completest victories ever gained," said kinnison. "only to think of militia flogging regulars in that style. what could the enemy expect from our regulars?" "there's as much credit due to general stark for that victory, as was ever given to him or as we could give to a general," said ransom. "if he had not taken command of the troops, there would have been very little resistance to baum's advance. the plan of attack was formed with great skill, and the general went into the battle with the determination to win it or leave his body on the field. such a man as john stark would make soldiers out of cowards." mr. hand here proposed three cheers for general stark and his green mountain boys, and they were given with a hearty will. one of the young men then announced that he had a song, which had been sung at an anniversary of the battle of bennington, and which he would now sing, if the company wished it. of course, the company did wish it, and the young gentleman sang the following words:-- remember the glories of patriots brave, though the days of the heroes are o'er; long lost to their country and cold in their grave, they return to their kindred no more, the stars of the field, which in victory pour'd their beams on the battle are set, but enough of their glory remains on each sword to light us to victory yet. walloomsack! when nature embellished the tint of thy fields and mountains so fair, did she ever intend a tyrant should print the footsteps of slavery there! no! freedom, whose smiles we shall never resign, told those who invaded our plains, that 't is sweeter to bleed for an age at thy shrine, than to sleep for a moment in chains. forget not the chieftain of hampshire, who stood in the day of distress by our side; nor the heroes who nourished the fields with their blood, nor the rights they secured as they died. the sun that now blesses our eyes with his light, saw the martyrs of liberty slain; o, let him not blush when he leaves us to-night, to find that they fell there in vain! brown and hanson had prepared their instruments during the singing, and immediately followed it with washington's march, to which knives and forks kept time. [illustration: mr. bleeker and his son.] "an incident occurred just after the battle of bennington, which showed the spirit of the people of the neighbourhood," said ransom, when the musicians had concluded. "old zedekiah bleeker, who lived in bennington, sent five bold sons to join our little army, just before the battle. one of them--sam. bleeker--was killed; and one of the old man's neighbours came to tell him about it--'mr. bleeker,' said the neighbour, 'your son has been unfortunate.' 'what!' said the old man, 'has he misbehaved? did he desert his post or shrink from the charge?' 'worse than that,' replied the neighbour; 'he was slain, but he was fighting nobly.' 'then i am satisfied,' said the old man; 'bring him to me.' sam's body was brought home. the old man wiped the blood from the wound, and while a tear stood in his eye, said it was the happiest day of his life, to know that he had five sons fighting for freedom and one slain for the same cause. there was a spirit of patriotism for you." "i can tell you of an instance quite as good," said old john warner. "perhaps it is better; for in this instance, a woman displayed the like spirit. a good lady in , lived on the sea-board, about a day's march from boston, where the british army then was. by some unaccountable accident, a rumour was spread, in town and country, in and about there, that the _regulars_ were on a full march for the place, and would probably arrive in three hours at farthest. this was after the battle of lexington, and all, as might be well supposed, was in sad confusion--some were boiling with rage and full of fight, some with fear and confusion, some hiding their treasures, and others flying for life. in this wild moment, when most people in some way or other, were frightened from their propriety, our heroine, who had two sons, one about nineteen years of age, and the other about sixteen, was seen preparing them to discharge their duty. the eldest she was able to equip in fine style--she took her husband's fowling-piece, 'made for duck or plover,' (the good man being absent on a coasting voyage to virginia) and with it the powder-horn and shot-bag; but the lad thinking the duck and goose shot not quite the size to kill regulars, his mother took a chisel, cut up her pewter spoons, and hammered them into slugs, and put them into his bag, and he set off in great earnest, but thought he would call one moment and see the parson, who said, well done, my brave boy--god preserve you--and on he went in the way of his duty. the youngest was importunate for his equipments, but his mother could find nothing to arm him with but an old rusty sword; the boy seemed rather unwilling to risk himself with this alone, but lingered in the street, in a state of hesitation, when his mother thus upbraided him. 'you john haines, what will your father say if he hears that a child of his is afraid to meet the british: go along; beg or borrow a gun, or you will find one, child--some coward, i dare say, will be running away, then take his gun and march forward, and if you come back and i hear you have not behaved like a man, i shall carry the blush of shame on my face to the grave.' she then shut the door, wiped the tear from her eye, and waited the issue; the boy joined the march. such a woman could not have cowards for her sons." "i heard of many such instances," said kinnison; "such a spirit was common at the time, not only in new england, but throughout the states. look at the noble conduct of some of the people of new jersey, during washington's retreat, and afterwards. the women did all they could to lessen the sufferings of the men, and many an old man wanted to join the army, knowing how much he would have to endure." the capture of general sullivan. "the women were all right during the revolution," said pitts. "i can tell you of an instance in which a woman displayed both patriotism and wisdom, though it may be rather a long story." "oh! the longer the better," said hand. "very well," said pitts, "i'll tell you about it, as near as i can recollect. one night, while the british army was encamped on long island, a party of the redcoats, galled by the death of major andre, formed a plan to cross over to the connecticut side and capture general sullivan, who commanded some of the americans stationed there, and hold him in revenge for andre's death. "it was a hazardous project, but four bold men pledged themselves to undertake it. john hartwell, a brave young officer was selected as their leader. "soon as arranged they proceeded to a boat, and made the best progress they could across the river; on gaining the shore, they made for a small clump of underwood, where they lay concealed, until they noted what direction it was best to take. "here too may be seen the tents where repose the brave men who have sworn to protect their homes and country, or die in its defence against the invaders, who seek to control their free rights. near may be seen a spacious farm house, the abode of general sullivan--the brave soldier and faithful friend--who now slept, unconscious of danger. through some neglect, the sentinels on duty had wandered from their posts, never dreaming it possible that any one would risk a landing, or could pass the tents unobserved. by a circuitous route they gained the house, and here the faithful watch-dog gave the alarm; a blow soon silenced him; and ascending the piazza, captain hartwell opened the casement, and followed by his men, stepped lightly into the sitting-room of the family. "they now struck a light, and with caution proceeded on their search--they passed through several apartments, while, strange to relate, the inmates slept on, unconscious of this deed of darkness. "they at length reached the general's room--two of the men remained outside, while captain hartwell, with another officer, entered, and stood in silence, musing on the scene before them. "a night-lamp burnt in the room, dimly revealing the face of the sleepers--whose unprotected situation could not but awake a feeling of pity even in their callous hearts. "'jack,' whispered his companion, 'by heaven i wish this part of the business had been entrusted to some one else--i could meet this man face to face, life for life, in the field of battle--but this savors too much of cowardice.' "'hold your craven tongue, low,' answered captain hartwell, 'perform your part of the play, or let some one else take your place--you forget the scrape we are in at the least alarm. we might happen to salute the rising sun from one of the tallest trees on the general's farm--an idea far from pleasing.' "'for my part, i could wish myself back on long island--but our general expects every man to do his duty--let yours be to prevent that female from screaming, while i secure her husband.' "the ear of woman is quick, and from their entering the room, not a word had escaped mrs. sullivan. at first she could scarce refrain from calling out, but her uncommon strength of mind enabled her to master her fear--she scarce knew what to think: her husband's life, herself and family, were at stake, and her courage rose in proportion as her sense of danger increased. "she scarcely dared to breathe, and even the infant at her breast seemed to partake of its mother's anxiety, and nestled closer to her bosom. "the curtains partly shaded where she lay, and breathing a prayer to heaven for protection, she silently stepped from the bed, scarce knowing how to proceed. "her woman's tact led her to appeal to their sympathies, if sympathies they had--if she died, she but risked her life for one dearer than herself whose existence to his country was invaluable--and perhaps by this means enable him to escape. in an instant she was before them, her infant at their feet, her pale beseeching face imploring what speech refused to utter. "the officers started--this sight was unexpected--the least hesitation, and all would be lost. "captain hartwell threw aside his heavy watch-cloak and said-- "'madam, let this uniform be the warrant for our honour--our object is to take your husband alive, if possible--that depends, however, on your silence.' "at this moment general sullivan awoke, and finding his wife in the hands of men whose calling he knew not, his good sword was soon in his hand, but a strong arm wrested it from him--handcuffs were placed on his wrists, and he stood their prisoner. "he enquired by what right they entered his house! 'our object, sir,' replied the officer, 'is to convey you to long island--the least expression of alarm from you, that moment you breathe your last--if peaceable, no violence will be offered.' mrs. sullivan threw herself before them, and entreaties for mercy gushed from her agonized heart. 'oh! spare him--take what money is here, but leave me my husband, the father of my children. think, if you have wives or families, what their sense of bereavement would be to see some murderous band tear you from their arms, and they left in horrid uncertainty as to your fate. take all that we have, but leave him.' a sneer of scorn curled the officer's lip, as he coolly replied-- "'madam, we are neither robbers nor assassins--the compliment on our part is quite undeserved. we are british officers.' "'then, sir,' exclaimed mrs. sullivan starting to her feet--her eyes flashing, her proud form trembling, as her own wrongs were forgot in those of her country--'shame on the cause that sanctions such a deed as this--in the silence of night to enter a peaceful dwelling and take an unoffending man from the arms of his wife and family--truly, such an act as this would well need the covering of darkness. you may call yourselves servants of britain--that is your fit appellation. take him--another victim is required for my country. but the vengeance of heaven is abroad, and, ere long, the men who war for the price of blood, will find the arm of him who fights for his fireside and liberty, nerved by a stronger consciousness of right.' "'madam,' interrupted the officer, awed by the stern majesty of her manner, 'i came not here to interchange words with a woman, or, i might speak about warring against our lawful king.--but you know, tom,' turning to his companion, 'i never was good at preaching.' 'not to a woman, certainly,' said tom, laughing, 'or rather you could never bring one to your way of thinking.' "a slight noise warned them of the impropriety of their longer remaining. the general having completed dressing, took an affectionate farewell of his wife, assuring her he would soon be enabled to return. they left the house--but to gain the shore was a matter of some difficulty. the general was rendered incapable of making the slightest noise if he had wished to, and they had tied mrs. sullivan, and bound her mouth to prevent her giving any alarm. but the tents were not so easily passed. the morning was fast approaching, and the route they came would occupy too much time to retrace it--their only plan now was to make as straight a line as possible to the shore. already had they passed one tent, when the cry 'who goes there' was heard. in a moment they gained the shadow of an adjoining tent, when a man suddenly stept before them and demanded their business. no time could be lost--the two officers proceeded on to the boat with the general, while the remainder overpowered the sentinel and joined their companions as the dawn was faintly perceptible in the east. by the time an alarm was given, they were far beyond the reach of pursuit. "their prisoner was borne triumph to their commander, who intended waiting superior orders as to the disposal of him. "in the meanwhile, mrs. sullivan was not idle. a council was called, and every plan was proposed that could tend to liberate her husband. "the womanly wit of mrs. sullivan suggested that they should cross the river in the same manner as the british had done, and seize the person of one of their influential men, and hold him as an hostage until terms could be agreed upon for the exchange of prisoners. it was a risk, and if discovered, no mercy could be expected. "the nephew of the general, a young officer of merit, and several others, volunteered their services. the following night was arranged for the purpose. "the difficulty, when the time arrived, was to procure some mode of getting over. a whale-boat was at length found, into which the adventurers got, disguised as fishermen. they soon arrived at long island and proceeded to the residence of judge jones. "with some difficulty they secured that worthy functionary, and notwithstanding his assurance as to being a good patriot, which they assured him they did not in the least question, conveyed the good man to the boat, in spite of his wish to finish his sleep out, and embarked pleased with their success. on reaching the house of mrs. sullivan they introduced their prisoner. mrs. sullivan courteously apologized for the necessity they had been under for requesting his society without due time for preparation; a suring him that the house and all in it were at his service while he honoured it as his abode. "the judge was taken quite at a loss. at any time he was a man of a few words, but the sudden transition had quite bewildered his faculties. at times he doubted whether the good old cogniac, of which he had taken a plentiful supply before retiring to rest, had not turned his head. "he stood in the centre of the apartment gazing listlessly around him, until the voice of mrs. sullivan, politely inquiring if her guest stood in need of any refreshment, recalled his fleeting thoughts. the tempting repast set before him did wonders in restoring his good humor, his sail having given him quite an appetite, and at any time a lover of the good things of life, and knowing arguments could produce no alteration in his fate, he submitted with as much good grace as possible, a little alleviated by the reflection that a woman's care was not the worst he could have fallen into. by a singular coincidence, mrs. sullivan learnt that her husband was an inmate in the house of the judge, an assurance in every way relieving, having been placed in his charge until conveyed from flatbush. "letters were soon interchanged, the americans refusing to yield their prisoner without the british doing the same. terms were accordingly entered into, and the judge prepared to take leave of his fair hostess at the same time her husband was taking leave of the judge's wife.--the judge had been highly pleased with the manners of mrs. sullivan, who did every thing in her power to make his stay agreeable. "the two boats with their respective prisoners at length set sail, and meeting on the river, they had an opportunity of congratulating each other on the happy termination of their imprisonment, which, thanks to woman's wit, so fertile in expedients, had saved them from what might have been a tragedy. with assurances of friendship they parted, the wives soon having the pleasure of embracing their husbands. subsequently letters couched in terms of the warmest gratitude were exchanged between the two ladies, for the attention paid to their respective husbands." "that mrs. sullivan was a remarkable woman," remarked colson. "but so were most of the women of our side at that time; and the fact is, such a cause as ours would have made heroes and heroines out of the weakest. besides, what won't a woman do to save her husband, at all times?" "a good stratagem--that of mrs. sullivan's," said hand. "equal to some of washington's generalship," remarked kinnison. each one of the party had some remark to make upon the courage and resource of mrs. sullivan, except brown, the fifer, who was enjoying the dreams of morpheus, and therefore deaf to the narrative. the patriotism of mrs. borden. "i heard of an instance in which a woman was still more heroic than mrs. sullivan," said ransom, "because, in this case, the lady suffered for maintaining the cause of her country. "when new york and rhode island were quietly possessed by the british armies, and the jerseys, overrun by their victorious generals, opposed but a feeble resistance to their overwhelming power, lord cornwallis, commanding a large division of their troops, stationed at bordentown, addressing mrs. borden, who resided on her estate in a mansion of superior elegance, demanded in an authoritative tone, 'where, madam, is your rebel husband--where your rebel son?' 'doing their duty to their country, under the orders of general washington,' was the prompt reply. 'we are well apprized,' rejoined that officer, of 'the influence you possess over the political creed of your family, and that to them your opinion is law. be wise, then, in time, and while mercy is tendered to you, fail not to accept it. bid them quit the standard of rebellion, and cordially unite with us, in bringing his majesty's deluded subjects to submission, and a proper sense of their errors and ingratitude, to the best of kings. your property will then be protected, and remain without injury in your possession. but, should you hesitate to profit by our clemency, the wasting of your estate and destruction of your mansion will inevitably follow.' 'begin, then, the havoc which you threaten,' replied the heroic lady: 'the sight of my house in flames, would be to me a treat, for, i have seen enough of you to know, that you never injure, what it is possible for you to keep and enjoy. the application of a torch to it i should regard as a signal for your departure, and consider the retreat of the spoiler an ample compensation for the loss of my property.' "this was one of those threats which the british never failed to carry into execution. the house was burnt, and the whole property consigned to waste and desolation. but, as had been foreseen, the perpetrator of the ruthless deed retreated, to return no more." "just like cornwallis and his red-coats," said kinnison, "burning people's houses and wasting their lands was a way of making converts, which they discovered and practised with a vengeance. mrs. borden was a strong-minded woman to have endured all this." the escape of captain plunkett. "yes," said warner, "mrs. borden was a heroine as wouldn't have disgraced the romans. but what would you think of a mere girl, whose family was opposed to our cause, exerting herself to procure the freedom of one of our officers, who had been taken by the british?" "i should say it's what young girls in love have done many a time," said kinnison. "not under such circumstances," said warner. "but i'll tell you about it as it was told to me. captain plunkett was a bold-spirited irishman, who held a commission in our army. in some way or other--it may have been at the battle of brandywine--plunkett was taken by the enemy, and soon after placed in a prison in philadelphia. previous to that, he had made many friends among the quakers of that city--and, indeed, his manners made him a general favourite, wherever he went. plunkett suffered much in prison, and his friends pitied him; but dared not attempt his release. however, there was a young girl of great beauty and strength of mind, who resolved to release the suffering soldier, at all hazards. it accidentally happened, that the uniform of captain plunkett's regiment bore a striking resemblance to that of a british corps, which was frequently set as a guard over the prison in which he was confined. a new suit of regimentals was in consequence procured and conveyed, without suspicion of sinister design, to the captain. on the judicious use of these rested the hopes of the fair friend to give him freedom. it frequently happened that officers of inferior grade, while their superiors affected to shun all intercourse with the rebels, would enter the apartments of the prisoners, and converse with them with kindness and familiarity, and then at their pleasure retire. two sentinels constantly walked the rounds without, and the practice of seeing their officers walking in and out of the interior prison, became so familiar, as scarcely to attract notice, and constantly caused them to give way without hesitation, as often as an officer showed a disposition to retire. captain plunkett took the advantage of this circumstance, and putting on his new coat, at the moment that the relief of the guard was taking place, sallied forth, twirling a switch carelessly about and ordering the exterior door of the prison to be opened, walked without opposition into the street. repairing without delay to the habitation of his fair friend, he was received with kindness, and for some days secreted and cherished with every manifestation of affectionate regard. to elude the vigilance of the british guards, if he attempted to pass into the country, in his present dress was deemed impossible. woman's wit, however, is never at a loss for contrivances, while swayed by the influences of love or benevolence. both, in this instance, may have aided invention. plunkett had three strong claims in his favour: he was a handsome man--a soldier--and an irishman. the general propensity of the quakers, in favor of the royal cause, exempted the sect in a great measure from suspicion, in so great a degree indeed, that the barriers of the city were generally entrusted to the care of their members, as the best judges of the characters of those persons who might be allowed to pass them, without injury to the british interests. a female friend, of low origin, officiating as a servant in a farm near the city, was in the family, on a visit to a relative. a pretext was formed to present her with a new suit of clothes, in order to possess that which she wore when she entered the city. captain plunkett was immediately disguised as a woman, and appeared at the barrier accompanied by his anxious deliverer. 'friend roberts,' said the enterprising girl, 'may this damsel and myself pass to visit a friend at a neighbouring farm?' 'certainly,' said roberts, 'go forward.' the city was speedily left behind, and captain plunkett found himself safe under the protection of colonel allen m'lean, a particular friend of his. whether captain plunkett ever married the young girl who had rendered him such service, i cannot say; but you may fancy he did, and it will make a pretty story." "well, now we have had enough of the women," said kinnison. "yes," said hand, "and now we must have something more of the men of the revolution. come, which of you will tell something about george washington--the father of his country?" "i can tell you of an important incident in the career of washington, which was told to me by a man who witnessed a part of it, and heard the rest," said colson. "then strike up, old boy," said kinnison, familiarly. the treason of rugsdale. "what i am now about to tell you occurred in the fall of ," began colson. "general washington was then at west point. one evening he was invited to a party given at the house of one rugsdale, an old friend. several other officers were invited to accompany him. the general seldom engaged in festivities at the period, but in respect to an old acquaintance, and, it is whispered, the solicitations of the daughter of rugsdale, he consented to honour the company with his presence. he started from west point in a barge, with some officers and men. as the barge gained the opposite bank, one of the rowers leaped on shore, and made it fast to the root of a willow which hung its broad branches over the river. the rest of the party then landed, and uncovering, saluted their commander, who returned their courtesy. "'by ten o'clock you may expect me,' said washington. 'be cautious; look well that you are not surprised. these are no times for trifling.' "'depend on us,' replied one of the party. "'i do,' he responded; and bidding them farewell, departed along the bank of the river. "after continuing his path some distance along the river's side he struck off into a narrow road, bordered thickly with brushwood, tinged with a thousand dyes of departed summer; here and there a grey crag peeped out from the foliage, over which the green ivy and the scarlet woodbine hung in wreathy dalliance; at other places the arms of the chestnut and mountain ash met in lofty fondness, casting a gloom deep almost as night. suddenly a crashing among the trees was heard, and like a deer an indian girl bounded into the path, and stood full in his presence. he started back with surprise, laid his hand upon his sword--but the indian only fell upon her knee, placed her finger on her lips, and by a sign with her hand forbade him to proceed. "'what seek you, my wild flower,' said the general. "she started to her feet, drew a small tomahawk from her belt of wampum, and imitated the act of scalping the enemy; then again waving her hand as forbidding him to advance, she darted into the bushes, leaving him lost in amazement. "there is danger," said he to himself, after a short pause, and recovering from his surprise. "that indian's manner betokens no good, but my trust is in god; he has never deserted me!" and, resuming the path, he shortly reached the mansion of rufus rugsdale. "his appearance was the signal of joy among the party assembled, each of whom vied with the other to do him honour. although grave in council, and bold in war, yet in the bosom of domestic bliss no one knew better how to render himself agreeable. the old were cheered by his consolatory word; the young by his mirthful manner; nor even in gallantry was he wanting, when it added to the cheerful spirit of the hour. the protestations of friendship and welcome were warmly tendered to him by his host. fast and thick the guests were assembling; the laugh and mingling music rose joyously around. the twilight was fast emerging into night; but a thousand sparkling lamps of beauty gave a brilliancy of day to the scene; all was happiness; bright eyes and blooming aces were every where beaming; but alas! a serpent was lurking among the flowers. "in the midst of the hilarity, the sound of a cannon burst upon the ear, startling the guests and suspending the dance. washington and the officers looked at each other with surprise, but their fears were quickly dispelled by rugsdale, who assured him it was only a discharge of ordnance in honour of his distinguished visitors. the joy of the moment was again resumed, but the gloom of suspicion had fallen upon the spirit of washington, who sat in moody silence apart from the happy throng. "a silent tap upon the shoulder aroused him from his abstraction, and looking up he perceived the person of the indian standing in the shadow of a myrtle bush close to his side. "'ha! again here!' he exclaimed with astonishment; but she motioned him to be silent, and kneeling at his feet, presented him with a bouquet of flowers. washington received it, and was about to place it in his breast, when she grasped him firmly by the arm, and pointing to it, said in a whisper '_snake! snake!_' and the next moment mingled with the company, who appeared to recognise and welcome her as one well-known and esteemed. "washington regarded the bouquet with wonder; her words and singular appearance had, however, sunk deeper into his heart, and looking closer upon the nosegay, to his surprise he saw a small piece of paper in the midst of the flowers. hastily he drew it forth, and confounded and horror-stricken, read, '_beware! you are betrayed_!' it was now apparent that he was within the den of the tiger; but to quit abruptly, might only draw the consummation of treachery the speedier upon his head. he resolved therefore that he would disguise his feelings, and trust to that power which had never forsaken him. the festivities were again renewed, but almost momentarily interrupted by a second sound of the cannon. the guests now began to regard each other with distrust, while many and moody were the glances cast upon rugsdale, whose countenance began to show symptoms of uneasiness, while ever and anon he looked from the window out upon the broad green lawn which extended to the river's edge, as if in expectation of some one's arrival. "'what can detain them?' he muttered to himself. 'can they have deceived me? why answer they not the signal?' at that moment a bright flame rose from the river, illuminating, for a moment, the surrounding scenery, and showing a small boat filled with persons making rapidly towards the shore. 'all's well,' he continued; 'in three minutes i shall be the possessor of a coronet, and the cause of the republic be no more.' "then gaily turning to washington, he said, 'come, general, pledge me to the success of your arms.' the eye of rugsdale at that moment encountered the scrutinizing look of washington, and sunk to the ground; his hand trembled violently, even to so great a degree as to partly spill the contents of the goblet. with difficulty he conveyed it to his lips--then retiring to the window, he waved his hand, which action was immediately responded to by a third sound of the cannon, at the same moment the english anthem of 'god save the king,' burst in full volume upon the ear, and a band of men attired in british uniform, with their faces hidden by masks, entered the apartment. the american officers drew their swords, but washington, cool and collected, stood with his arms folded upon his breast, and quietly remarked to them, 'be calm, gentlemen--this is an honour we did not anticipate.' then, turning to rugsdale, he said, 'speak, sir, what does this mean?' "'it means,' replied the traitor, (placing his hand upon the shoulder of washington,) 'that you are my prisoner. in the name of king george, i arrest you.' "'never,' exclaimed the general. 'we may be cut to pieces, but surrender we will not. therefore give way,' and he waved his sword to the guard who stood with their muskets levelled, as ready to fire, should they attempt to escape. in an instant were their weapons reversed, and, dropping their masks, to the horror of rugsdale, and the agreeable surprise of washington, his own brave party, whom he had left in charge of the barge, stood revealed before him. "'seize that traitor!' exclaimed the commander. 'in ten minutes from this moment let him be a spectacle between the heavens and the earth.' the wife and daughter clung to his knees in supplication, but an irrevocable oath had passed his lips that never should treason receive his forgiveness after that of the miscreant arnold. 'for my own life,' he said, while tears rolled down his noble countenance at the agony of the wife and daughter: 'for my own life i heed not; but the liberty of my native land--the welfare of millions demand this sacrifice. for the sake of humanity, i pity him; but my oath is recorded, and now in the presence of heaven, i swear i will not forgive him.' "like a thunderbolt fell these words upon the wife and daughter. they sank lifeless into the hands of the domestics, and when they had recovered to consciousness, rugsdale had atoned for his treason by the sacrifice of his life. "it appears that the indian girl, who was an especial favourite and domesticated in the family, had overheard the intentions of rugsdale to betray the american general, and other valuable officers, that evening, into the hands of the british, for which purpose they had been invited to this 'feast of judas.' hating, in her heart, the enemies of america, who had driven her tribe from their native forests, she resolved to frustrate the design, and consequently waylaid the steps of washington, as we have described, but failing in her noble purpose, she had recourse to the party left in possession of the boat. "scarcely had she given the information, and night closed round, when a company of british soldiers were discovered making their way rapidly towards the banks of the hudson, within a short distance of the spot where the american party was waiting the return of their commander. bold in the cause of liberty, and knowing that immediate action alone could preserve him, they rushed upon and overpowered them, bound them hand and foot, placed them with their companions, and sent them to the american camp at west point. having disguised themselves in the habiliments of the enemy, they proceeded to the house of rugsdale, where, at the appointed time and sign made known by the indian, they opportunely arrived to the relief of washington, and the confusion of the traitor." "who told you that story?" enquired kinnison. "an old friend of mine, named buckram; he was one of the men who disguised themselves," replied colson. "i'm inclined to believe it's a tough yarn," said kinnison. "it's true enough to the character of washington. he never let his feelings swerve him from the strict line of duty. but all that stuff about the indian girl is somebody's invention, or the most extraordinary thing of the kind i've heard tell of. i don't doubt your friend's veracity, but it's a tough yarn." "probable enough," remarked hand. "it's a very pretty story," said ransom, "and i'm inclined to swallow it as truth." "i'm satisfied of its truth," said colson. "but i wouldn't ask any of you to believe it, if there's anything in it staggers you." "i think rugsdale was served as all such traitors in such times should be served," said hanson. "hurra! for gineral washington." "three cheers for general washington!" suggested hand, and the three cheers were given. a song was called for by several voices, and a young man volunteered to favour the company with "liberty and washington," the song which follows:-- when freedom, from her starry home, look'd down upon the drooping world, she saw a land of fairy bloom, where ocean's sparkling billows curl'd; the sunbeams kiss'd its mighty floods, and verdure clad its boundless plains-- but floods and fields and leafy woods, all wore alike a despot's chains! "be free!" she cried, "land of my choice; arise! and put thy buckler on; let every patriot raise his voice for liberty and washington!" the word went forth from hill to vale, each patriot heart leapt at the sound; proud freedom's banner flapp'd the gale, and britain's chains fell to the ground. man stood erect in majesty, the proud defender of his rights: for where is he would not be free from stern oppression's deadening blights! be free--be free then, happy land! forever beam the light that shone upon the firm and dauntless band, who fought beside our washington! lo! where the forest's children rove midst woody hill and rocky glen, wild as the dark retreats they loved-- what now are towns were deserts then. the world has marked her onward way, beneath the smile of liberty; and fame records the glorious day which made the western empire free. be free--be free then, glorious land! in union be thy millions one; be strong in friendship's holy band, thy brightest star--our washington! this song and the applause which succeeded wakened the sleeping fifer, brown, who looked around him as if wondering where he was. "hallo, old boy," said kinnison, "you look frightened. what's the matter with you?" "i was dreaming," replied brown. "i thought i was at the battle of lexington, and the roar of the british guns was in my ears. but i find it is only the roar of your voices. liberty and washington was our war-cry on many a field, and i thought i heard it again." "it was our peace cry," said hand. some of the young men, we regret to say, were not members of any of the temperance societies; and as they had partaken freely of the stimulating beverages which had been called for, they were getting very noisy and losing much of that bashfulness which had hitherto kept them silent. in this state of things, mr. hand was forced to entreat one of the veterans to amuse them with some interesting incidents of the revolution. "there was a british officer, whose career has often interested me," said hand, "and that was colonel tarleton. he was a daring, fiery soldier, according to the accounts of him; but a savage man." the cruelty of tarleton. "tarleton was a regular blood-hound," said pitts, "a savage, though among civilized men. i always admired his fiery spirit and daring courage, but never could regard him as a civilized warrior. i'll tell you of an instance in which tarleton displayed his character in full. i had a tory relative in north carolina, who died not long ago. when colonel tarleton was encamped west of the haw river, cornwallis received information that lee's fiery legion had recrossed the dan, cut up several detachments of tories, and was scouring the neighbouring country in search of parties of the enemy. the british general immediately sent information to colonel tarleton, to warn him to guard against surprise. my tory relative was the messenger, and he told me about what he saw at tarleton's camp. "as soon (says the old tory) as i came in view of the british lines, i hastened to deliver myself up to the nearest patrol, informing him that i was the bearer of important despatches from lord cornwallis to colonel tarleton. the guard was immediately called out, the commander of which taking me in charge, carried me at once to tarleton's marquee. a servant informed him of my arrival, and returned immediately with the answer that his master would see me after a while, and that in the mean time i was to await his pleasure where i then was. the servant was a grave and sedate looking englishman, between and years of age, and informed me that he had known colonel tarleton from his earliest youth, having lived for many years in the family of his father, a worthy clergyman, at whose particular request he had followed the colonel to this country, with the view that, if overtaken by disease and suffering in his headlong career, he might have some one near him who had known him ere the pranksome mischief of the boy had hardened into the sterner vices of the man. 'he was always a wild blade, friend,' (said the old man) 'and many a heart-ache has he given us all, but he'll mend in time, i hope." just then my attention was arrested by the violent plungings of a horse, which two stout grooms, one on each side, were endeavouring to lead to the spot where we were standing. he was a large and powerful brute, beautifully formed, and black as a crow, with an eye that seemed actually to blaze with rage, at the restraint which was put upon him. his progress was one continued bound, at times swinging the grooms clear from the earth, as lightly as though they were but tassels hung on to the huge spanish bit, so that with difficulty they escaped being trampled under foot. i asked the meaning of the scene, and was informed that the horse was one that tarleton had heard of as being a magnificent animal, but one altogether unmanageable; and so delighted was he with the description, that he sent all the way down into moore county where his owner resided, and purchased him at the extravagant price of one hundred guineas; and that moreover, he was about to ride him that morning. 'ride him?' said i, 'why one had as well try to back a streak of lightning!--the mad brute will certainly be the death of him.' 'never fear for him,' said my companion; 'never fear for him, his time has not come yet.' by this time the horse had been brought up to where we were; the curtain of the marquee was pushed aside and my attention was drawn from the savage stud, to rivet itself upon his dauntless rider. and a picture of a man he was. rather below the middle height, and with a face almost femininely beautiful, tarleton possessed a form that was a model of manly strength and vigor. without a particle of superfluous flesh, his rounded limbs and full broad chest seemed moulded from iron, yet at the same time displaying all the elasticity which usually accompanies elegance of proportion. his dress (strange as it may appear) was a jacket and breeches of white linen, fitted to his form with the utmost exactness. boots of russet leather were half-way up the leg, the broad tops of which were turned down, and the heels garnished with spurs of an immense size and length of rowel. on his head was a low-crowned hat curiously formed from the snow white-feathers of the swan; and in his hand he carried a heavy scourge, with shot well twisted into its knotted lash. after looking round for a moment or two, as though to command the attention of all, he advanced to the side of the horse, and disdaining the use of the stirrup, with one bound threw himself into the saddle, at the same time calling on the grooms to let him go. for an instant the animal seemed paralyzed; then, with a perfect yell of rage, bounded into the air like a stricken deer. "the struggle for the mastery had commenced--bound succeeded bound with the rapidity of thought; every device which its animal instinct could teach, was resorted to by the maddened brute to shake off its unwelcome burthen--but in vain. its ruthless rider proved irresistible--and, clinging like fate itself, plied the scourge and rowel like a fiend. the punishment was too severe to be long withstood, and at length, after a succession of frantic efforts, the tortured animal, with a scream of agony, leaped forth upon the plain and flew across it with the speed of an arrow. the ground upon which tarleton had pitched his camp was an almost perfectly level plain, something more than half a mile in circumference. "around this, after getting him under way, he continued to urge his furious steed, amid the raptures and shouts of the admiring soldiery, plying the whip and spur at every leap, until wearied and worn down with its prodigious efforts, the tired creature discontinued all exertion, save that to which it was urged by its merciless rider. [illustration: tarleton breaking the horse.] "at length, exhausted from the conflict, tarleton drew up before his tent and threw himself from his saddle. the horse was completely subdued, and at the word of command followed him like a dog. the victory was complete. his eye of fire was dim and lustreless--drops of agony fell from his drooping front, while from his labouring and mangled sides the mingled blood and foam poured in a thick and clotted stream. tarleton himself was pale as death, and as soon as he was satisfied with his success, retired and threw himself on his couch. in a short time i was called into his presence and delivered my despatches. immediate orders were issued to make preparation for a return to hillsborough, so soon as all the scouts had come in; and the next morning early found us again beyond the haw river--and in good time, too, for as the last files were emerging from the stream, the advance of lee's legion appeared on the opposite bank, and, with a shout of disappointed rage, poured a volley into the ranks of the retreating columns. "i have witnessed many stirring scenes," said the old man, "both during the revolution and since, but i never saw one half so exciting as the strife between that savage man and savage horse." "it was almost equal to alexander and buce--buce--alexander the great, and that wild horse you know he tamed when a boy--what was its name?" said kinnison. "bucephalus," said hand. "that's the name," said kinnison. "tarleton was more savage, however, than even that conqueror." "the same relative told me of several other instances in which tarleton displayed his savage and merciless nature," said pitts. "after the fall of charleston, a young man named stroud, who had taken a british protection, resumed arms in defence of his country. shortly after, tarleton captured him, and without any shadow of a trial, hung him up by the public road, with a label attached to his back, announcing that such should be the fate of the man who presumed to cut him down. the body was exposed in that manner for more than three weeks, when the sister of the young man ventured out, cut the body down and gave it decent burial. at another time, a young man named wade, who had been induced to join tarleton's legion, deserted, to unite with his countrymen. he was taken, tried and sentenced to receive a thousand lashes. of course the poor fellow died under the punishment." "the wretch!" said hand. "i suppose if he had fallen into the hands of our men, they would have strung him up without mercy." "he never would have fallen alive into the hands of our men," replied pitts. "such men know that they must expect vengeance. he came near losing his life in various battles. at cowpens, colonel washington cut him with his sabre, and would have killed him, if be had turned and fought like a man; at the waxhaws, captain adam wallace made a thrust at tarleton that would have done for him, if a british trooper had not struck wallace to the earth just at the time." "there were many tarletons among the enemy," said colson, as "far as cruelty is considered, but most of them lacked his activity, and were therefore less formidable." "it seemed," said pitts, "as if tarleton never aimed to win merely, but to destroy. he said that severity alone could establish the regal authority in america. if a party of americans were surprised, they were not made prisoners, but slaughtered while asking for quarter. he was a tiger that was never satisfied until he had mangled and devoured his enemy." and so the veterans went on, talking of the cruelties of tarleton, giving his character no more quarter than he had given his unfortunate prisoners. "there was another british officer, up in these parts, who was nearly equal to tarleton," said davenport. "i mean general grey--the man who massacred our men at paoli and tappan. both these were night-attacks, it is true, and we always expect bloody work on such an occasion. but it is known that our men were bayoneted while calling for quarter, which can't be justified. did wayne slaughter the enemy at stony point? no; he spared them, although they were the men who had acted otherwise at paoli." "grey was known as the no-quarter general, i believe," said hand. "yes," said davenport; "and he was always selected to do the bloodiest work--the hangman of the enemy, as we might say." "hang tarleton and grey," said hand. "tell us something of our own men. did either of you ever see henry lee? he was always one of my favourite heroes." lee's legion. "oh! yes," said kinnison, "i frequently saw lee, before he went south with his legion. he was a noble-looking young man, with the judgment of a skilful general, and the fire of a natural soldier. i knew several of his men, who were with him through the whole campaign, under general greene. you may have heard what greene said of him. speaking of the principal officers under him, he said colonel lee was the eye of the army, and colonel washington its arm; and he afterwards said that he was more indebted to lee's judgment and activity for success, than to the qualities of any other officer. it was lee who advised greene to recross the dan, and pursue cornwallis in north carolina. even tarleton was very careful to keep out of the legion's reach, when numbers were anything like equal." "i always liked henry lee," said warner. "but he was too severe sometimes. see how he slaughtered the tories with colonel pyle at their head." "yes, he cut the poor rascals to pieces," said pitts. "i heard that about three hundred out of four hundred men were butchered on that occasion." "it's a fact," said kinnison; "but i can't think lee was too cruel there. you see, it's often necessary to strike a heavy blow to effect an object; and lee wanted to put an end to the movements of the tories, who were collecting in great numbers to join cornwallis. there was no better way than the summary one he adopted, of making them feel the consequence of being traitors to their country and to freedom." "it served them just right," said davenport. "i don't wish to defend the tories," said hand; "but i think in many instances, great injustice was done to them. many of them were honest, true-hearted men, who didn't think as the whigs did, or whose thinking did not lead them to the same conclusion. i scarcely think such men could be called traitors to their country." "no; you talk very well," said davenport; "but if you had suffered from them, you would have hated the tories just as much as we did." "well, don't dispute about it," said kinnison. "we were talking of colonel henry lee, and his brave legion. cornwallis said he never felt secure while lee was anywhere in his neighbourhood; and that he knew how to seek the weak points of an enemy and strike a blow as well as any partisan officer he ever knew. he feared lee as much as tarleton feared the night-attacks of the swamp-fox, marion. my friends in the legion told me that lee had as daring and enterprising officers under his command as the service could boast. captains rudolph, armstrong, and o'neil, and many others were the boldest kind of partisans. rudolph was a very small-sized man, but one of that sleepless, open-eyed and determined kind that seems born for enterprise and command. he led the forlorn hope in the attack on paulus hook, and at the sieges of the many forts in georgia and the carolinas; and he it was, who led the famous charge with the bayonet at eutaw springs." "i saw him soon after he joined the legion," said hanson. "colonel lee considered him his best officer, i believe." "yes," said kinnison, "he was one of the best officers in the army--conducting sieges as well as he did partisan movements. not long before the british evacuated charleston, captain rudolph performed two remarkable exploits that tell the character of the man better than words can. the left of the british line was at a place called the quarter house, near charleston, on what is called the neck. to protect this post on the water-side, the enemy had a large armed galley, well manned and equipped. captain rudolph, gaining a knowledge of the exact position of the galley and her force, formed a plan to capture, or least destroy her. he chose only sixteen men--the most daring and enterprising in the legion, and informed them of his scheme. they were eager for such enterprises, and everything was soon arranged. a night was fixed upon, and boats prepared. there was no moon upon that night, which made it favourable to secrecy. at the appointed time, rudolph and his men rowed with muffled oars and ready weapons towards the place where the galley was anchored. they had to pass very near the british sentinels on the neck, but were not discovered; and they reached the side of the galley before any of the british were aware that the enterprise was afoot. twenty-six men who were aboard the galley were made prisoners with scarcely any resistance, so sudden was the attack. these prisoners were hurried into the boats; and then captain rudolph, seeing that he couldn't get the galley away from the place in time to get out of the enemy's reach, set fire to her. the party then gave a shout and pulled away towards the shore from which they had started. the enemy were alarmed by the firing of the sentinels, the glare of the burning galley and the shout of the daring band, and fired some of their artillery after rudolph. but it was too late; the americans escaped, and the galley was burned to the water's edge." "that was equal to decatur's burning of the philadelphia," said hand. "it was," replied kinnison. "rudolph was very much of a decatur in spirit. soon after the enterprise i've just mentioned. captain rudolph attacked a party of black dragoons who were out foraging for the british. the blacks were defeated, and many of them taken. in the course of the fight, rudolph engaged one of the largest-sized and boldest of the black dragoons in a regular hand-to-hand combat; and in a very short time dismounted and captured him." "the war in the southern states had more of romance and daring enterprise connected with it than the war in the north," said hand; "though it must be owned, that the movements of the northern armies were of more consequence in the long run." "yes, there was more that most young men like to read about in the southern war," said warner; "plenty of dare-devil movements, but no canadian expedition, nor saratoga." "it's a pity there are no soldiers of the southern army here to reply to your sneers," said kinnison. "i know from what i've heard, there never were better soldiers than the men who fought under lee and morgan, and i scarcely think that george washington himself was a better general than nathaniel greene. but i was going to tell you of some other officers of lee's legion; there was lieutenant manning, an irishman, who was very much of a favourite among his brother officers on account of his good-humour in company, and his coolness and bravery in battle. many anecdotes are told of him which speak his parts, and if agreeable, i'll tell some of them to you as they were told to me." "very agreeable," said hand. "the kind of stories i like to hear," said another of the young men. "well, you shall hear, if i can recollect aright," said kinnison. "the intrigues and efforts of lord cornwallis, to excite insurrection, backed by a very formidable force, had produced among the highland emigrants a spirit of revolt, which it required all the energies of general greene to counteract, before it could be matured. the zeal and activity of lieutenant colonel lee, united to his acuteness and happy talent of obtaining intelligence of every movement, and of the most secret intentions of the enemy, pointed him out as the fittest man for this important service. he was accordingly selected with orders to impede the intercourse of lord cornwallis with the disaffected; to repress every symptom of revolt, and promptly to cut off every party that should take up arms for britain. constantly on the alert, he was equally anxious to give security to his own command, while he harassed the enemy. a secure position was, on one occasion, taken near a forked road, one division of which led directly to lord cornwallis' camp, about six miles distant. the ground was chosen in the dusk of evening; and to prevent surprise, patrols of cavalry were kept out on each fork during the night. an order for a movement before day had been communicated to every individual, and was executed with so little noise and confusion, that lieutenant manning waking at early dawn, found himself, excepting one soldier, left alone. stephen green, the attendant of captain carns, lay near him, resting on the portmanteau of his superior, and buried in profound sleep. being awakened he was ordered to mount and follow, while manning, hastening towards the fork, hoped to fall upon the track, and speedily rejoin his regiment. much rain had fallen during the night, so that, finding both roads equally cut up, manning chose at hazard, and took the wrong one. he had not proceeded far, before he saw at the door of a log-house, a rifleman leaning on his gun, and apparently placed as a sentinel. galloping up to him, he inquired if a regiment of horse and body of infantry had passed that way? 'oh, ho,' cried the man, (whistling loudly, which brought out a dozen others completely armed, and carrying each a red rag in his hat,) 'you, i suppose, are one of greene's men.' the badge which they bore, marked their principles. without the slightest indication of alarm, or even hesitation, manning pointed to the portmanteau carried by green, and exclaimed--'hush, my good fellow--no clamour for god's sake--i have _there_ what will ruin greene--point out the road to lord cornwallis' army, for all depends upon early intelligence of its contents.' 'you are an honest fellow (was the general cry), and have left the rebels just in time, for the whole settlement are in arms to join colonel pyle tomorrow (naming the place of rendezvous), where colonel tarleton will meet and conduct us to camp.' 'come,' said the man, to whom he had first spoken, 'take a drink--here's confusion to greene, and success to the king and his friends. this is the right road, and you will soon reach the army; or rather let me conduct you to it myself.' 'not for the world, my dear fellow,' replied manning; 'your direction is plain and i can follow it. i will never-consent that a faithful subject of his majesty should be subjected to the dangers of captivity or death on my account. if we should fall in with a party of rebels, and we cannot say they are not in the neighbourhood now, we should both lose our lives. i should be hanged for desertion, and you for aiding me to reach the british army.' this speech produced the effect he desired. the libation concluded, manning rode off amid the cheers of the company, and when out of sight, crossed to the other road, and urging his horse to full speed, in a short time overtook and communicated the interesting intelligence to his commander. lee was then meditating an attack upon tarleton, who had crossed the haw river to support the insurgents; but, perceiving the vast importance of crushing the revolt in the bud, he informed general greene of his plan by a confidential messenger, and hastened to the point of rendezvous, where pyle, with upwards of four hundred men, had already arrived. you have heard of the bloody work that ensued. pyle and his tories believed to the last that the soldiers of the legion were tarleton's men, and were therefore easily surprised about three hundred of them were killed--the rest fled or were made prisoners. i don't want to justify such butchery; but our men ought to be excused, according to the laws of war, when we consider that these same tories and their red-coat friends never gave the whigs quarter in case of a surprise, and that some such slaughter was necessary to make them feel that they couldn't murder without paying for it." [illustration: lee's legion.] "we've already argued that question," said davenport, "and in my mind, it is a settled point that lee was right." nobody seemed disposed to revive the argument, and kinnison continued. "in this instance you see how ready manning was to break a net or weave one. i can tell you of another instance in which he showed his daring courage, and quickness of resource in time of danger. at the battle of eutaw, after the british line had been broken, and the _old buffs_, a regiment that had boasted of the extraordinary feats that they were to perform, were running from the field, manning, sprang forward in pursuit, directing the platoon which he commanded, to follow him. he did not cast an eye behind him until he found himself near a large brick house, into which the york volunteers, commanded by cruger, were retiring. the british were on all sides of him, and not an american soldier nearer than one hundred and fifty or two hundred yards. he did not hesitate a moment, but springing at an officer who was near him, seized him by the collar, and exclaiming in a harsh tone of voice--'damn you, sir, you are my prisoner,' wrested his sword from his grasp, dragged him by force from the house, and keeping his body as a shield of defence from the heavy fire sustained from the windows, carried him off without receiving any injury. manning has often related, that at the moment when he expected that his prisoner would have made an effort for his liberty, he, with great _solemnity_, commenced an enumeration of his titles--i am, sir henry barry, deputy adjutant general of the british army, captain in the d regiment, secretary to the commandant of charleston.' 'enough, enough, sir,' said manning, 'you are just the man i was looking for; fear nothing for your life, you shall screen _me_ from danger, and i will take special care of _you_.' he had retired in this manner some distance from the brick house, when he saw captain robert joiett of the virginia line, engaged in single combat with a british officer. they had selected each other for battle a little before, the american armed with a broad-sword, the briton with a musket and bayonet. as they came together, a thrust was made at joiett, which he parried, and both dropping their artificial weapons, being too much in contact to use them with effect, resorted to those with which they had been furnished by nature. they were both men of great bulk and vigour, and while struggling each anxious to bring the other to the ground, a grenadier who saw the contest, ran to the assistance of his officer, made a longe with his bayonet, missed joiett's body, but drove it beyond the curve into his coat. in attempting to withdraw the entangled weapon, he threw both combatants to the ground; when getting it free, he raised it deliberately, determined not to fail again in his purpose, but to transfix joiett. it was at this moment that manning approached--not near enough, however, to reach the grenadier with his arm. in order to gain time, and to arrest the stroke, he exclaimed in an angry and authoritative tone--'you damn'd brute, will you murder the gentleman?' the soldier, supposing himself addressed by one of his own officers, suspended the blow, and looked around to see the person who had thus spoken to him. before he could recover from the surprise into which he had been thrown, manning, now sufficiently near, struck him with his sword across the eyes, and felled him to the ground; while joiett disengaged himself from his opponent, and snatching up the musket, as he attempted to rise, laid him dead by a blow from the butt-end of it. manning was of inferior size, but strong, and remarkably well formed. joiett was almost a giant. this, probably, led barry, who could not have wished the particulars of his capture to be commented on, to reply, when asked by his brother officers, how he came to be taken, 'i was overpowered by a huge virginian.'" "manning was a cool and ready soldier," observed pitts. "i saw him once in philadelphia, before his legion went south. he had a most determined look in spite of the good-humoured leer of his eye. he was one of the last men i should have wished to provoke; he was a complete irishman--blunders and all. i heard of his telling a black servant who was walking barefoot on the snow to put on a pair of stockings the next time he went barefoot." "great things were done by the soldiers, as well as by the officers of that legion," said kinnison. "at the siege of the stockade fort at ninety-six, colonel lee, who had charge of all the operations of the siege, thought that the fort might be destroyed by fire. accordingly, sergeant whaling, a non-commissioned officer whose term of service was about to expire, with twelve privates, was detached to perform the service. whaling saw that he was moving to certain death; as the approach to the fort was to be made in open day, and over clear, level ground, which offered no cover. but he was a brave man, and had served from the commencement of the war. it was his greatest pride never to shrink from his duty. he dressed himself neatly--took an affectionate but cheerful leave of his comrades, swung his musket over his shoulder, and with a bundle of blazing pine torches in his hand, sprang forward, followed by his little band. they reached the stockade before the enemy fired a shot. but a deliberate aim killed whaling and all his men except one, who escaped unhurt. it was the opinion of most of the officers of the legion that whaling's life was sacrificed in attempting to carry out a rash idea. but we oughtn't to judge colonel lee without being more certain of the facts." "but we know enough to say it was a very wild idea to send men up to a fort in open day, and over ground where they could have no cover," remarked ransom. "i know general john stark would never have sacrificed his men in that way." "perhaps," said hand, coming to the rescue of his hero, "a desperate measure was necessary. i've heard that at the time, lord rawdon was marching very rapidly to relieve the garrison, and colonel lee thought that every means should be tried to reduce the fort ere the siege was abandoned." "you say well," said kinnison. "as i said before, we should never judge commanders without knowing the facts of the case. never say a man has committed a fault, unless it sticks out plain to the eye. harry lee was as a common thing very sparing of the lives of his men, and he never made any military movement without very strong driving from reason, as general greene himself would have told you. whaling was a brave man and a strict soldier, or he would never have dared to approach the fort in such a way. but as i said before, they were all daring men that belonged to lee's legion. there were two soldiers of the cavalry, named bulkley and newman, who had been the warmest and the closest friends from infancy. they had both joined the army at the same time--that is, at the commencement of the war; and through the greater part of the southern campaign, they fought side by side, and each one strove to lighten the sufferings of the other. brothers could not have been more attached to each other. in the fight at quimby, where captain armstrong made a famous dragoon charge upon the th british regiment, the friends were among the foremost. the dragoons had to pass a bridge in which the enemy had made a large gap. captain armstrong led the way, but not more than a dozen men followed, to support him. at the head of this little band, armstrong cut his way through the entire british regiment. but then a well-aimed fire brought down several of the dragoons. bulkley and newman were mortally wounded at the same fire, and fell, locked in each other's arms." "a kind of damon and pythias friendship," observed hand. "yes, i believe they would have died for each other," said kinnison. "a friend told me that they were never separated, in camp or field. if one was sick, the other watched by his side. i had a comrade of the same kind during the greater part of my life; his name was williams, and he was one of the best-hearted men i ever knew. we fought through the revolution together, and both entered the army in . but i lost him during the attack on fort erie. poor williams was killed by a shell. it has been a long while since then, but i still feel as if i had lost a part of my heart when he fell. poor williams!" and kinnison appeared to be busy with the mournful recollections of the "friends of his better days." "well, you may talk as much as you please about henry lee and marion, and your other men in the south," said ransom, "but john stark or ethan allen was worth as much as either of them." "my favourite leader was mad anthony wayne," said colson. "a better soldier or a more wide-awake general was not to be found in the army during the revolution." "i know general wayne was a whole soldier," observed davenport. "did any of you ever hear or read an account of the night-attack on general wayne, near savannah, just before the close of the war?" enquired colson. "i have read something about it, and know it was a warm struggle," said kinnison. the attack on general wayne. "one of parker's light infantry told me all about it," said colson. "he says that general wayne, with eight hundred men--infantry, artillery and dragoons--were encamped at gibbons' plantation, about five miles from savannah, where the british were posted. it was the early part of february. general wayne had no idea that an enemy was nearer than savannah. but the brave creeks had been taken into the pay of the british, and their chief, gurestessego, formed a plan to surprise the continentals. never was an attack better planned; our men were sleeping with a feeling of security, when, about midnight, the creeks fell upon the camp. the sentinels were captured and the indians entered the camp, and secured the cannon; but while they were trying to make the cannon serviceable, instead of following up their success, wayne and his men recovered from their surprise and were soon in order for battle. parker's infantry charged with the bayonet and after a short struggle recovered the cannon. gunn, with his dragoons, followed up the charge, and the creeks were forced to give way. general wayne encountered the chief gurestessego in hand-to-hand combat--the general with sword and pistols, and the chief with musket, tomahawk and knife. the struggle was fierce but short. the chief was killed, and wayne escaped without any serious injury. seventeen of the creeks fell and the rest escaped in the darkness, leaving their packhorses and a considerable quantity of peltry in the hands of the victors. wayne conjectured at once that the indians would not have dared to make an attack, without being assured of the approach of the british or tories to support them, and a rumour spread that colonel browne was marching towards the camp for that purpose. in the fight, wayne had captured twelve young warriors, whom he doomed to death to prevent them joining the enemy. this was a rash act. the rumour of browne's approach was false; but the young warriors had been sacrificed before this was known. general wayne felt many a pang for this rash command, as he was a man who never would shed blood without it was necessary in the performance of his duty." "why didn't he send the indians to greene's camp, or some other american post?" enquired hand. "there was no time or men to spare if the rumour had been true," said colson. "most commanders would have acted as wayne did, under the circumstances. though i think the execution of the order might have been delayed until the enemy came in sight." "the general no doubt had good reason for his course," said kinnison. "he believed it to be his duty to do everything for the safety of the men he commanded, and expecting to be assailed by a much larger force than his own, he did right to destroy the foes he had in camp. i know it must have shocked his feelings to give the order, but he was a man who couldn't shrink or be driven from the plain line of duty. now, there was that affair with the pennsylvania line, at morristown. i've heard several men who were at morristown at the time, say that wayne was wrong in daring to oppose the mutineers--that their demands were just and reasonable, and he ought rather to have led, than opposed them. but every man who knows anything of the duty of a general and a patriot must applaud wayne." "can't you give us an account of that mutiny at morristown?" enquired hand. the mutiny at morristown. "i can tell you what was told me by men who engaged in it," said kinnison. "for myself, i was at that time, with the massachusetts troops at middlebrook. the pennsylvania line, numbering about two thousand men, was stationed at the old camp ground at morristown. most of these men believed that their term of service expired at the end of the year , though congress and some of the generals thought otherwise, or that the men were enlisted to serve until the end of the war. this difficulty about the term of enlistment was the seed of the mutiny. but there were many other things that would have roused any other men to revolt. the pennsylvanians had not received any pay for twelve months, and during the severest part of the fall, they suffered for the want of food and clothing. to expect men to bear such treatment and remain in the army when there was the slightest pretext for leaving, it was building on a sandy foundation. patriotism and starvation were not as agreeable to common soldiers as they were to some members of congress. even some of the officers--men who depended upon their pay to support their families while fighting for liberty--grumbled at the conduct of those who should have supplied them. this gave the men courage, and they determined to act boldly. they appointed a serjeant-major their major-general, and at a given signal on the morning of the st of january, the whole line, except a part of three regiments, paraded under arms, and without their regular officers, marched to the magazines, supplied themselves with provisions and ammunition, and secured six field-pieces, to which they attached horses from general wayne's stables. the regular officers collected those who had not joined the mutineers, and tried to restore order; but some of the mutineers fired, killed captain billings, and, i believe, wounded several of his men. they then ordered those who remained with the officers to join them or meet death by the bayonet, and they obeyed. then general wayne appeared, and, by threats and offers of better treatment, endeavoured to put an end to the revolt. the men all idolized wayne; they would have followed him almost anywhere, but they would not listen to his remonstrances on this occasion. wayne then cocked his pistol as if he meant to frighten them back to duty; but they placed their bayonets to his breast, and told him that, although they loved and respected him, if he fired his pistols or attempted to enforce his commands, they would put him to death. general wayne then saw their determination, and didn't fire; but he appealed to their patriotism, and they spoke of the impositions of congress. he told them that their conduct would strengthen the enemy. but ragged clothes and skeleton forms were arguments much stronger than any wayne could bring against them. the men declared their intention to march to congress at philadelphia, and demand a redress of grievances. wayne then changed his policy and resolved to go with the current and guide it. he supplied the men with provisions to prevent them from committing depredations on the people of the country, and marched with them to princeton, where a committee of serjeants drew up a list of demands. they wanted those men to be discharged whose term of service had expired, and the whole line to receive their pay and clothing. general wayne had no power to agree to these demands, and he referred further negociation to the government of pennsylvania, and a committee to be appointed by congress. but the cream of the matter is to come. the news of the revolt reached general washington and sir henry clinton on the same day. washington ordered a thousand men to be ready to march from the highlands of the hudson to quell the revolt, and called a council of war to decide on further measures. this council sanctioned general wayne's course, and decided to leave the matter to the settlement of the government of pennsylvania and congress. you see, general washington had long been worried by the sleepy way congress did business, and he thought this affair would wake them up to go to work in earnest. the british commander-in-chief thought he could gain great advantage by the revolt, and so he very promptly sent two emissaries--one a british serjeant and the other a tory named ogden--to the mutineers, offering them pardon for past offences, full pay for their past service, and the protection of the british government, if they would lay down their arms and march to new york. so certain was clinton that his offers would be accepted, that he crossed over to staten island with a large body of troops, to act as circumstances might require. but he was as ignorant of the character of our men as king george himself. they wanted to be fed and clothed, and wanted their families provided for; but they were not soldiers fighting merely for pay. every man of them knew what freedom was, and had taken the field to secure it for his country. you may judge how such men received clinton's proposals. they said they were not arnolds, and that america had no truer friends than themselves; and then seized the emissaries and their papers and handed them over to wayne and the mercy of a court-martial. the men were tried as spies, found guilty and executed. a reward which had been offered for their apprehension was tendered to the mutineers who had seized them. but they refused it. one of them said that necessity had wrung from them the act demanding justice from congress, but they wanted no reward for doing their duty to their bleeding country. congress appointed a commissioner to meet the mutineers at princeton, and soon after their demands were satisfied. a large part of the line was disbanded for the winter, and the remainder was well supplied with provisions and clothing. about the middle of january, the greater part of the new jersey line, which was encamped near pompton, followed the example of the pennsylvanians, and revolted; but different measures were taken to quell them. general washington ordered general robert howe to march with five hundred men, and reduce the rebels to submission. howe marched four days through a deep snow, and reached the encampment of the jersey troops on the th of january. his men were paraded in line, and he then ordered the mutineers to appear unarmed in front of their huts, within five minutes. they hesitated, but on a second order, they obeyed. three of the chief movers in the revolt were tried and sentenced to be shot. two of them suffered, and the third was pardoned as being less to blame. the two who were shot fell by the hands of twelve of the most guilty of the mutineers. that, i think, was piling it on rather too thick. general howe then addressed them by platoons, and ordered their officers to resume their commands. clinton had again sent an emissary to make offers to the mutineers; but the man heard of the fate of the tory and the british serjeant, and he took his papers to general howe instead of the men. these jersey mutineers were reduced to submission, without much difficulty. but the pennsylvanians displayed a determination to fight if their demands were not satisfied, and so they gained their point." "perhaps," said hand, "the jersey troops had not as much reason to revolt as the pennsylvanians." "i know they hadn't as much reason," said kinnison. "they had suffered as much for want of food and clothing, but their term of service was more certainly known." "how nobly the men treated the offers of sir henry clinton!" said hand. "i should think the british government might have learned from that affair, the spirit of the americans, and the futility of efforts to conquer men with such motives and sentiments." "they might have learned it if they had wished to learn," said pitts. "they might have learned the same thing from the boston tea-party. but they determined that they had a right to act towards us just as they pleased, and their pride was blind to consequences." "one may look through greek and roman history in vain to find men holding such noble and patriotic sentiments, while harassed with want of every kind," said hand, growing eloquent. "ah! those were times to try the metal men were made of," said colson. "the men who took up the sword and gun for freedom were resolved to win their country's safety or die in the attempt, and such men will not be bought at any price. arnold was a mere soldier--never a patriot." "i might combat that last remark," said davenport, "but i'll let it go." "come, brown, more music," exclaimed warner. "the dinner and the dull conversation makes some of us drowsy. stir us up, man!" "there's nothing like the fife and drum for rousing men," said kinnison. "i hate these finnicking, soft and love-sick instruments, such as pianos, guitars and some others they play on now-a-days. there's no manliness about them." brown and hanson, having produced their old martial instruments, then struck up "the star-spangled banner," the best of the national anthems of america. soon after the last roll of the fife had ended, hand, without invitation, struck up the anthem itself, and sang the words with great force, the whole company joining in the two last lines of every verse. the music and the anthem thoroughly roused the old as well as the young members of the company, and, at its conclusion, three cheers were lustily given for the stars and stripes. one of the young men then said that he had a song to sing, which would be new to the company; but still was not an original composition. the music was stirring and appropriate. the words were as follows:-- freemen! arise, and keep your vow! the foe are on our shore, and we must win our freedom now, or yield forevermore. the share will make a goodly glaive-- then tear it from the plough! lingers there here a crouching slave! depart, a recreant thou! depart, and leave the field to those determined to be free, who burn to meet their vaunting foes and strike for liberty. why did the pilgrim cross the wave? say, was he not your sire? and shall the liberty he gave upon his grave expire! the stormy wave could not appal; nor where the savage trod; he braved them all, and conquer'd all, for freedom and for god. we fight for fireside and for home, for heritage, for altar; and, by the god of yon blue dome, not one of us shall falter! we'll guard them, though the foeman stood like sand-grains on our shore, and raise our angry battle-flood, and whelm the despots o'er. we've drawn the sword, and shrined the sheath upon our father's tomb; and when the foe shall sleep in death, we'll sheath it o'er their doom. firm be your step, steady your file, unbroken your array; the spirits of the blest shall smile upon our deeds to-day. unfurl the banner of the free amidst the battle's cloud; its folds shall wave to liberty, or be to us a shroud. o'er those who fall, a soldier's tear exulting shall be shed; we'll bear them upon honour's bier, to sleep in honour's bed. the maiden, with her hurried breath and rapture-beaming eye, shall all forget the field of death to bless the victory. the child, o! he will bless his sire, the mother bless her son, and god, he will not frown in ire, when such a field is won. "good!" exclaimed kinnison, when the song was done. "that is a war-song of ' , i know." "it is," replied the singer; "and judging from what i have heard you say, it expresses in it the feeling of the period." "a truce to songs and music," said davenport. "i never was fond of any kind of music but that of the fife and drum, and i never needed that to put me in a condition to stand fire." "you are too gloomy," said kinnison. "i have had cause enough for gloominess," said davenport. "but i wanted to talk to you about something--and that was my reason for checking you. you talk so much about the treason of arnold, and say that he never was a patriot, that i wanted to tell you of another man's treason, not to excuse arnold, but to show you that he wasn't alone in preferring the british side of the question, and that there were bolder patriots than paulding, williams, and van wert, the captors of andré. "we know there were plenty of traitors and patriots in the country without a showing," said kinnison, "but go on with your narrative." "but this will prove that all censure should not be heaped upon arnold's head, nor all the praise on the militia-men of tarry-town," observed davenport. the treason of bettys. "when the revolutionary war broke out," said davenport, beginning his narrative, "there was a man named joseph bettys, who lived in ballston, new york, remarkable for his courage, strength and intelligence. colonel ball of the continental forces saw that bettys might be of great service to our cause, and succeeded in enlisting him as a serjeant. but he was soon afterwards reduced to the ranks, on account of his insolence to an officer, who, he said, had abused him without cause. colonel ball was not acquainted with the facts of the affair, but being unwilling to lose so active and courageous a man, he procured him the rank of a serjeant in the fleet commanded by general arnold, on lake champlain. bettys was as skilful a seaman as could be found in the service, and during the desperate fight between the fleets which occurred in the latter part of , he rendered more service than any other man except arnold himself. he fought until every commissioned officer on board of his vessel was either killed or wounded, then took command himself, and fought with such reckless and desperate spirit, that general waterbury seeing the vessel was about to sink, ordered bettys and the remnant of his crew to come on board his vessel. waterbury then stationed bettys on his quarter-deck, and gave orders through him until his vessel was crippled, and the crew mostly killed or wounded, when the colours were struck to the enemy. after that action bettys went to canada, and, turning traitor, received an ensign's commission in the british army. he then became a spy, and one of the most subtle enemies of our cause. but our men were wide awake. bettys was arrested, tried and condemned to be hung at west point. his old parents and many influential whigs entreated that he should be pardoned, promising that he would mend his life. general washington, you know, never took life where it could be spared, and so he granted the pardon. but it was generosity thrown away; bettys hated the americans the more because they had it in their power to pardon him, and resolved to make them feel he could not be humbled and led in that way. the whigs regretted the mercy that had spared the traitor. bettys recruited soldiers for the enemy in the very heart of the country; captured and carried of the most zealous patriots, and subjected them to great suffering. those against whom he had the most hatred, had their houses burned, and often lost their lives. the british commander paid him well, for he was one of the best spies and most faithful messenger that could be found. his courage and determination overcame every obstacle and encountered every danger that would have appalled weaker men. he proclaimed himself to be a man who carried his life in his hand, and was as reckless of it as he would be of that of any who should attempt to catch him. it was well understood that bettys meant precisely what he said, and that he always had a band of refugees ready to support him in any rascality he might conceive. still, there were some bold men, who had suffered from bettys' depredations, and who determined to catch him at every hazard. many attempts were made, but he eluded his pursuers by his stratagems and knowledge of the country, until early in january, , when he was seen in the neighbourhood of ballston, armed, and with snow-shoes on. three men, named cory, fulmer, and perkins, armed themselves and proceeded in pursuit. they traced bettys by a round-about track to the house of a well-known tory. they consulted a few minutes, and one of them reconnoitred to see the exact position of bettys. the traitor was at his meal, with his pistols lying on the table and his rifle resting on his arm, prepared for an attack though not suspecting foes were near. the three men, by a sudden effort, burst open the door, rushed upon bettys, and seized him in such a manner that he could make no resistance. he was then pinioned so firmly that to escape was impossible; and so the desperado, in spite of all his threats, was a tame and quiet prisoner, and no one hurt in taking him. bettys then asked leave to smoke, which was granted; and he took out his tobacco, with something else which he threw into the fire. cory saw this movement, and snatched it out, with a handful of coals. it was a small leaden box, about an eighth of an inch in thickness, containing a paper, written in cypher, which the men could not read. it was afterwards found to be a despatch to the british commander at new york, with an order upon the mayor of that city for thirty pounds, if the despatch was safely delivered. bettys knew that this paper alone would be evidence enough to hang him, and he offered the men gold to let him burn it. but they refused his highest offers. he had a considerable quantity of gold about him, and he offered them not only that but much more if they would allow him to escape; but their patriotism could stand gold as well as the gold could stand fire. they took bettys to albany, where he was tried as a spy and hung. the only reward that the three men ever received was the rifle and pistols of bettys. the men who captured andré were patriotic enough, but their work was easy compared with that of cory, fulmer and perkins. yet the names of these heroes are scarcely ever mentioned, and the story of their daring exploit is not generally known." [illustration: seizure of the bettys.] "did this affair happen before that of andré's?" enquired hand. "if so, these men only imitated the noble example of paulding, williams and van wert." "it did occur after the capture of andré," replied davenport. "but that takes nothing from the danger of the attempt, or the amount of the temptation resisted." "that's true," replied hand; "but the capture of andré, and the favour with which our countrymen regarded his captors, may have stimulated many to patriotic exertions, and thereby have made such deeds so common as not to receive special notice. i've no doubt the researches of historians will yet bring to light many such deeds." "how the conduct of such men as arnold and bettys contrasts with that of samuel adams and his fellow-patriots!" remarked warner. "when the first resistance was made to quartering the british troops in boston, samuel adams was the leader and mouth-piece of the patriots, and the royal rulers of massachusetts tried every way to induce him to abandon the cause he had espoused. in the first place, they threatened him with severe punishment. but they couldn't scare him from his chosen course. then they flattered and caressed him, but it was of no effect. at last, governor gage resolved to try whether bribes wouldn't work a change. so, he sent col. fenton to him, as a confidential messenger. the colonel visited adams, and stated his business at length, concluding with a representation that by complying, adams would make his peace with the king. the stern patriot heard him through, and then asked him if he would deliver his reply to governor gage as it should be given. the colonel said he would. then adams assumed a determined manner, and replied, 'i trust i have long since made my peace with the king of kings. no personal consideration shall induce me to abandon the righteous cause of my country. tell governor gage, it is the advice of samuel adams to him, no longer to insult the feelings of an exasperated people.' there was the highest reach of patriotic resolution." "aye, samuel adams was whole-souled and high-souled," said davenport. "no one will dispute that, who knows any thing of his history." "new england had a host of patriots at the same period," observed kinnison. "many of them did not possess the talents and energy of samuel adams, but the heart was all right." the battle of bunker's hill. "well, gentlemen," said mr. hand, "there is a most important matter, which you have omitted. you have told us nothing of bunker hill's memorable fight, in which, as bostonians and friends of liberty, we feel the deepest interest. which of you can oblige us by giving us your recollections of our first great struggle?" "mr. warner was one of col. starke's men. he can tell you all about it," said colson. "aye, if memory serves me yet," said warner, "i can tell you much of that day's struggle. i joined col. starke's regiment shortly before the battle. i always admired starke, and preferred to serve under him. i suppose you are acquainted with the general features of the battle, and therefore i will not detain you long, with reciting them. "on the sixteenth of june, , it was determined that a fortified post should be established at or near bunker's hill. "a detachment of the army was ordered to advance early in the evening of that day, and commence the erection of a strong work on the heights in the rear of charlestown, at that time called breed's hill, but from its proximity to bunker hill, the battle has taken its name from the latter eminence, which overlooks it. "the work was commenced and carried on under the direction of such engineers as we were able to procure at that time. it was a square redoubt, the curtains of which were about sixty or seventy feet in extent, with an entrenchment, or breast-work, extending fifty or sixty feet from the northern angle, towards mystic river. "in the course of the night, the ramparts had been raised to the height of six or seven feet, with a small ditch at their base, but it was yet in a rude and very imperfect state. being in full view from the northern heights of boston, it was discovered by the enemy, as soon as daylight appeared; and a determination was immediately formed by general gage, for dislodging our troops from this new and alarming position. arrangements were promptly made for effecting this important object. the movements of the british troops, indicating an attack, were soon discovered; in consequence of which orders were immediately issued for the march of a considerable part of our army to reinforce the detachment at the redoubts on breed's hill; but such was the imperfect state of discipline, the want of knowledge in military science, and the deficiency of the materials of war, that the movement of the troops was extremely irregular and devoid of every thing like concert--each regiment advancing according to the opinions, feelings, or caprice, of its commander. "colonel stark's regiment was quartered in medford, distant about four miles from the point of anticipated attack. it then consisted of thirteen companies, and was probably the largest regiment in the army. about ten o'clock in the morning, he received orders to march. the regiment being destitute of ammunition, it was formed in front of a house occupied as an arsenal, where each man received a gill-cup full of powder, fifteen balls, and one flint. "the several captains were then ordered to march their companies to their respective quarters, and make up their powder and ball into cartridges, with the greatest possible despatch. as there were scarcely two muskets in a company of equal calibre, it was necessary to reduce the size of the balls for many of them; and as but a small proportion of the men had cartridge-boxes, the remainder made use of powder-horns and ball-pouches. "after completing the necessary preparations for action, the regiment formed, and marched about one o'clock. when it reached charlestown neck, we found two regiments halted, in consequence of a heavy enfilading fire thrown across it, of round, bar, and chain shot, from the lively frigate, and floating batteries anchored in charles river, and a floating battery laying in the river mystic. major m'clary went forward, and observed to the commanders, if they did not intend to move on, he wished them to open and let our regiment pass: the latter was immediately done. "soon after, the enemy were discovered to have landed on the shore of morton's point, in front of breed's hill, under cover of a tremendous fire of shot and shells from a battery on copp's hill, in boston, which had opened on the redoubt at day-break. "major-general howe and brigadier-general pigot, were the commanders of the british forces which first landed, consisting of four battalions of infantry, ten companies of grenadiers, and ten of light infantry, with a train of field-artillery. they formed as they disembarked, but remained in that position until they were reinforced by another detachment. "at this moment, the veteran and gallant colonel stark harangued his regiment, in a short, but animated address; then directed them to give three cheers, and make a rapid movement to the rail-fence which ran to from the left, and about forty yards in the rear of the redoubt, towards mystic river. part of the grass, having been recently cut, lay in winnows and cocks on the field. another fence was taken up--the rails run through the one in front, and the hay, mown in the vicinity, suspended upon them, from the bottom to the top, which had the appearance of a breast-work, but was, in fact, no real cover to the men; it, however, served as a deception on the enemy. this wag done by the direction of the 'committee of safety,' as i afterwards heard. that committee exerted itself nobly. "at the moment our regiment was formed in the rear of the rail-fence, with one other small regiment from new hampshire, under the command of colonel reid, the fire commenced between the left wing of the british army, commanded by general howe, and the troops in the redoubt, under colonel prescott; while a column of the enemy was advancing on our left, on the shore of mystic river, with an evident intention of turning our left wing, and that veteran and most excellent regiment of welsh fusileers, so distinguished for its gallant conduct in the battle of minden, advanced in column directly on the rail-fence; when within eighty or an hundred yards, displayed into line, with the precision and firmness of troops on parade, and opened a brisk, but regular fire by platoons, which was returned by a well-directed, rapid, and fatal discharge from our whole line. "the action soon became general, and very heavy from right to left in the course of ten or fifteen minutes, the enemy gave way at all points, and retreated in great disorder; leaving a large number of dead and wounded on the field. "the firing ceased for a short time, until the enemy again formed, advanced, and recommenced a spirited fire from his whole line. several attempts were again made to turn our left; but the troops, having thrown up a slight stone-wall on the bank of the river, and laying down behind it, gave such a deadly fire, as cut down almost every man of the party opposed to them; while the fire from the redoubt and rail-fence was so well directed and so fatal, especially to the british officers, that the whole army was compelled a second time to retreat with precipitation and great confusion. at this time, the ground occupied by the enemy was covered with his dead and wounded. only a few small detached parties again advanced, which kept up a distant, ineffectual, scattering fire, until a strong reinforcement arrived from boston, which advanced on the southern declivity of the hill, in the rear of charlestown. when this column arrived opposite that angle of the redoubt which faced charlestown, it wheeled by platoons to the right, and advanced directly upon the redoubt without firing a gun. by this time, our ammunition was exhausted. a few men only had a charge left. "the advancing column made an attempt to carry the redoubt by assault, but at the first onset every man that mounted the parapet was cut down, by the troops within, who had formed on the opposite side, not being prepared with bayonets to meet the charge. "the column wavered for a moment, but soon formed again; when a forward movement was made with such spirit and intrepidity as to render the feeble efforts of a handful of men, without the means of defence, unavailing; and they fled through an open space, in the rear of the redoubt, which had been left for a gateway. at this moment, the rear of the british column advanced round the angle of the redoubt, and threw in a galling flank-fire upon our troops, as they rushed from it, which killed and wounded a greater number than had fallen before during the action. the whole of our line immediately after gave away, and retreated with rapidity and disorder towards bunker's hill; carrying off as many of the wounded as possible, so that only thirty-six or seven fell into the hands of the enemy, among whom were lt. col. parker and two or three other officers, who fell in or near the redoubt. "the whole of the troops now descended the north-western declivity of bunker's hill, and recrossed the neck. those of the new hampshire line retired towards winter hill, and the others on to prospect hill. "some slight works were thrown up in the course of the evening,--strong advance pickets were posted on the roads leading to charlestown, and the troops, anticipating an attack, rested on their arms. "it is a most extraordinary fact that the british did not make a single charge during the battle, which, if attempted, would have been decisive, and fatal to the americans, as they did not carry into the field fifty bayonets. in my company there was not one. "soon after the commencement of the action, a detachment from the british forces in boston was landed in charlestown, and within a few moments the whole town appeared in a blaze. a dense column of smoke rose to a great height, and there being a gentle breeze from the southwest, it hung like a thunder-cloud over the contending armies. a very few houses escaped the dreadful conflagration of this devoted town." exploits of peter francisco. "i say, men, the story of bunker hill is old enough, and the events of that day have caused enough dispute already. we know that we taught the red-coats a good, round lesson, and we shouldn't fight about particulars. now, young men, i'll tell you a story about a real hero," said pitts. "who was he?" enquired hand. "his name was peter francisco, and he was a trooper in our army," replied pitts. "now, i'll tell you what he did. "while the british troops were spreading havoc and desolation all around them, by their plundering and burnings in virginia, in , peter francisco had been reconnoitring, and whilst stopping at the house of a mr. wand, in amelia county, nine of tarleton's cavalry coming up with three negroes, told him he was a prisoner. seeing himself overpowered by numbers, he made no resistance; and believing him to be very peaceable they all went into the house, leaving the paymaster and francisco together. he demanded his watch, money, &c., which being delivered to him, in order to secure his plunder, he put his sword under his arm, with the hilt behind him. while in the act of putting a silver buckle into his pocket, francisco, finding so favourable an opportunity to recover his liberty, stepped one pace in his rear, drew the sword with force under his arm and instantly gave him a blow across the skull. his enemy was brave, and though severely wounded, drew a pistol, and, in the same moment that he pulled the trigger, francisco cut his hand nearly off. the bullet grazed his side. ben wand (the man of the house) very ungenerously brought out a musket, and gave it to one of the british soldiers, and told him to make use of that. he mounted the only horse they could get, and presented it at his breast. it missed fire. francisco rushed on the muzzle of the gun. a short struggle ensued, in which the british soldier was disarmed and wounded. tarleton's troop of four hundred men were in sight. all was hurry and confusion, which francisco increased by repeatedly hallooing, as loud as he could, 'come on, my brave boys! now's your time! we will soon despatch these few, and then attack the main body!' the wounded man flew to the troop; the others were panic-struck, and fled. francisco seized wand, and would have despatched him, but the poor wretch begged for his life; he was not only an object of contempt, but pity. the eight horses that were left behind, he gave him to conceal. discovering tarleton had despatched ten more in pursuit of him, francisco then made off, and evaded their vigilance. they stopped to refresh themselves, and he, like an old fox, doubled, and fell on their rear. he went the next day to wand for his horses; wand demanded two for his trouble and generous intentions. finding his situation dangerous, and surrounded by enemies where he ought to have found friends, francisco went off with his six horses. he intended to have avenged himself on wand at a future day, but providence ordained he should not be his executioner, for he broke his neck by a fall from of the very horses." "francisco displayed great courage, daring and presence of mind in that scrape," observed kinnison. "but i have heard of several encounters quite equal to it." "yes, francisco displayed great presence of mind, and that's the most valuable quality of a soldier--it will save him when courage and strength are palsied. francisco performed many singular exploits down south, and had a high reputation. he had much of the dare-devil in his nature, and it seemed as if dangerous adventures agreed with him better than easy success. he fought bravely in several battles, and was known to many of the enemy as a man to be shunned. there wasn't a man among the red-coats stout-hearted and strong-limbed enough to dare to meet him. but you said you had heard of several encounters equal to the one i just narrated," said pitts. "i did," replied kinnison. "have you ever seen a painting of the fight between colonel allan m'lean and some british troops? it used to be a common thing in boston." "i have seen the picture," said hand, "and i should like to hear the story of the affair. it must have been a desperate fight." "it was," replied kinnison. "a man who was intimately acquainted with mclean, and heard the account from his own lips, told me of it. you may boast of francisco's exploits, but here was a man who united the most daring courage and strength with a very intelligent and quick-working mind." the exploit of col. allan m'lean. "while the british occupied philadelphia," said kinnison, "col. m'lean was constantly scouring the upper end of bucks and montgomery counties, to cut off scouting parties of the enemy and intercept their supplies of provisions." "having agreed, for some purpose, to rendezvous near shoemakertown, col. m'lean ordered his little band of troopers to follow at some distance, and commanded two of them to precede the main body, but also to keep in his rear; and if they discovered an enemy, to ride up to his side and inform him of it, without speaking aloud. while leisurely approaching the place of rendezvous in this order, in the early gray of the morning, the two men directly in his rear, forgetting their orders, suddenly called out, 'colonel, the british!' faced about, and putting spurs to their horses, were soon out of sight. the colonel, looking around, discovered that he was in the centre of a powerful ambuscade, into which the enemy had silently allowed him to pass, without his observing them. they lined both sides of the road, and had been stationed there to pick up any straggling party of the americans that might chance to pass. immediately on finding they were discovered, a file of soldiers rose from the side of the highway, and fired at the colonel, but without effect; and as he put spurs to his horse, and mounted the road-side into the woods, the other part of the detachment also fired. the colonel miraculously escaped; but a shot striking his horse upon the flank, he dashed through the woods, and in a few minutes reached a parallel road upon the opposite side of the forest. being familiar with the country, he feared to turn to the left, as that course led to the city, and he might be intercepted by another ambuscade. turning, therefore, to the right, his frightened horse carried him swiftly beyond the reach of those who had fired upon him. all at once, however, on emerging from a piece of woods, he observed several british troopers stationed near the road-side, and directly in sight ahead, a farm-house, around which he observed a whole troop of the enemy's cavalry drawn up. he dashed by the troopers near him without being molested, they believing he was on his way to the main body to surrender himself. the farm-house was situated at the intersection of two roads, presenting but a few avenues by which he could escape nothing daunted by the formidable array before him, he galloped up to the cross-roads, on reaching which, he spurred his active horse, turned suddenly to the right, and was soon fairly out of reach of their pistols, though as he turned he heard them call loudly to surrender or die! a dozen were instantly in pursuit; but in a short time they all gave up the chase except two. colonel m'lean's horse, scared by the first wound he had ever received, and being a chosen animal, kept ahead for several miles, while his two pursuers followed with unwearied eagerness. the pursuit at length waxed so hot, as the colonel's horse stepped out of a small brook which crossed the road, his pursuers entered it at the opposite margin. in ascending a little hill, the horses of the three were greatly exhausted, so much so that neither could be urged faster than a walk. occasionally, as one of the troopers pursued on a little in advance of his companion, the colonel slackened his pace, anxious to be attacked by one of the two; but no sooner was his willingness discovered, than the other fell back to his station. they at length approached so near, that a conversation took place between them; the troopers calling out, 'surrender, you damn'd rebel, or we'll cut you in pieces!' suddenly one of them rode up on the right side of the colonel, and, without drawing his sword, laid hold of the colonel's collar. the latter, to use his own words, 'had pistols which he knew he could depend upon.' drawing one from the holster, he placed it to the heart of his antagonist, fired, and tumbled him dead on the ground. instantly the other came on his left, with his sword drawn, and also seized the colonel by the collar of his coat. a fierce and deadly struggle here ensued, in the course of which col. m'lean was desperately wounded in the back of his left hand, the sword of his antagonist cutting asunder the veins and tendons. seizing a favourable opportunity, he drew his other pistol, and with a steadiness of purpose which appeared even in his recital of the incident, placed it directly between the eyes of his adversary, pulled the trigger, and scattered his brains on every side of the road! fearing that others were in pursuit, he abandoned his horse in the highway: and apprehensive, from his extreme weakness, that he might die from loss of blood, he crawled into an adjacent mill-pond, entirely naked, and at length succeeded in stopping the profuse flow of blood occasioned by his wound. soon after, his men came to his relief. now, i think, mr. pitts, your hero was at least equalled in col. m'lean." [illustration: exploit of colonel m'lean.] "beaten, beaten!" exclaimed pitts. "i admit that, in resolution and daring, francisco was surpassed by m'lean. he _was_ a hero!" "major garden, in his anecdotes of the revolution, eulogizes mclean's courage and enterprise," said hand. "if courage and resolution make up the hero, our country didn't hunger for 'em during the revolution," said davenport. "yes, it's a difficult and nice matter to say who bears away the palm. but i do not believe that col. m'lean was surpassed," said kinnison. "col. henry lee was a man of the same mould," added colson. "aye, he was; and that reminds me of an adventure of his which displays his courage and resolution," replied kinnison. the adventure of major lee. "in the revolution, a prison was erected at lancaster, pennsylvania, for those red-coats who fell into our hands. the prisoners were confined in barracks, enclosed with a stockade and vigilantly guarded; but in spite of all precautions, they often disappeared in an unaccountable manner, and nothing was heard of them until they resumed their places in the british army. it was presumed that they were aided by american tories, but where suspicion should fall, no one could conjecture. gen. hazen had charge of the post. he devised a stratagem for detecting the culprits, and selected capt. lee, afterwards maj. lee, a distinguished partisan officer, to carry out his plan. it was given out that lee had left the post on furlough. he, however, having disguised himself as a british prisoner, was thrown into the prison with the others. so complete was the disguise, that even the intendant, familiar with him from long daily intercourse, did not penetrate it. had his fellow-prisoners detected him, his history might have been embraced in the proverb, 'dead men tell no tales.' "for many days he remained in this situation, making no discoveries whatever. he thought he perceived at times signs of intelligence between the prisoners and an old woman who was allowed to bring fruit for sale within the enclosure: she was known to be deaf and half-witted, and was therefore no object of suspicion. it was known that her son had been disgraced and punished in the american army, but she had never betrayed any malice on that account, and no one dreamed that she could have the power to do injury if she possessed the will. lee matched her closely, but saw nothing to confirm his suspicions. her dwelling was about a mile distant, in a wild retreat, where she shared her miserable quarters with a dog and cat. "one dark stormy night in autumn, lee was lying awake at midnight. all at once the door was gently opened, and a figure moved silently into the room. it was too dark to observe its motions narrowly, but he could see that it stooped towards one of the sleepers, who immediately rose. next it approached and touched him on the shoulder. lee immediately started up. the figure then allowed a slight gleam from a dark lantern to pass over his face, and as it did so whispered, impatiently, 'not the man--but come!' it then occurred to lee that it was the opportunity he desired. the unknown whispered to him to keep his place till another man was called; but just at that moment something disturbed him, and making a signal to lee to follow, he moved silently out of the room. they found the door of the house unbarred, and a small part of the fence removed, where they passed out without molestation. the sentry had retired to a shelter, where he thought he could guard his post without suffering from the rain; but lee saw his conductors put themselves in preparation to silence him if he should happen to address them. just without the fence appeared a stooping figure, wrapped in a red cloak, and supporting itself with a large stick, which lee at once perceived could be no other than the old fruit-woman. but the most profound silence was observed: a man came out from a thicket at a little distance and joined them, and the whole party moved onward by the guidance of the old woman. at first they frequently stopped to listen, but having heard the sentinel cry, 'all's well!' they seemed reassured, and moved with more confidence than before. "they soon came to her cottage. a table was spread with some coarse provisions upon it, and a large jug, which one of the soldiers was about to seize, when the man who conducted them withheld him. 'no,' said he, 'we must first proceed to business.' "the conductor, a middle-aged, harsh-looking man, was here about to require all present, before he could conduct them farther, to swear upon the scriptures not to make the least attempt at escape, and never to reveal the circumstances or agents in the proceeding, whatever might befal them. but before they had time to take the oath, their practised ears detected the sound of the alarm-gun; and the conductor, directing the party to follow him in close order, immediately left the house, taking with him a dark lantern. lee's reflections were not now the most agreeable. if he were to be compelled to accompany his party to the british lines in new york, he would be detected and hanged as a spy; and he saw that the conductor had prepared arms for them, which they were to use in taking the life of any one who should attempt to escape. they went on with great despatch, but not without difficulty. lee might now have deserted, in this hurry and alarm; but he had made no discovery, and he could not bear to confess that he had not nerve enough to carry him through. they went on, and were concealed in a barn the whole of the next day. provisions were brought, and low whistles and other signs showed that the owner of the barn was in collusion with his secret guests. the barn was attached to a small farm-house. lee was so near the house that he could overhear the conversation which was carried on about the door. the morning rose clear, and it was evident from the inquiries of horsemen, who occasionally galloped up to the door, that the country was alarmed. the farmer gave short and surly replies, as if unwilling to be taken off from his labour; but the other inmates of the house were eager in their questions; and, from the answers, lee gathered that the means by which he and his companions had escaped were as mysterious as ever. the next night, when all was quiet, they resumed their march, and explained to lee that, as he was not with them in their conspiracy, and was accidentally associated with them in their escape, they should take the precaution to keep him before them, just behind the guide. he submitted without opposition, though the arrangement considerably lessened his chances of escape. "for several nights they went on in this manner, being delivered over to different persons from time to time; and, as lee could gather from their whispering conversations, they were regularly employed on occasions like the present, and well rewarded by the british for their services. their employment was full of danger; and though they seemed like desperate men, he could observe that they never remitted their precautions. they were concealed days in barns, cellars, caves made for the purpose, and similar retreats; and one day was passed in a tomb, the dimensions of which had been enlarged, and the inmates, if there had been any, banished to make room for the living. the burying-grounds were a favourite retreat, and on more occasions than one they were obliged to resort to superstitious alarms to remove intruders upon their path. their success fully justified the experiment; and unpleasantly situated as he was, in the prospect of soon being a ghost himself, he could not avoid laughing at the expedition with which old and young fled from the fancied apparitions. "though the distance of the delaware was not great, they had now been twelve days on the road, and such was the vigilance and suspicion prevailing throughout the country, that they almost despaired of effecting their object. the conductor grew impatient, and lee's companions, at least one of them, became ferocious. there was, as we have said, something unpleasant to him in the glances of this fellow towards him, which became more and more fierce as they went on; but it did not appear whether it was owing to circumstances, or actual suspicion. it so happened that, on the twelfth night, lee was placed in a barn, while the rest of the party sheltered themselves in the cellar of a little stone church, where they could talk and act with more freedom; both because the solitude of the church was not often disturbed even on the sabbath, and because even the proprietors did not know that illegal hands had added a cellar to the conveniences of the building. "here they were smoking pipes with great diligence, and, at intervals not distant, applying a huge canteen to their mouths, from which they drank with upturned faces, expressive of solemn satisfaction. while they were thus engaged, the short soldier asked them, in a careless way, if they knew whom they had in their party. the others started, and took their pipes from their mouths to ask him what he meant. 'i mean,' said he, 'that we are honoured with the company of capt. lee, of the rebel army. the rascal once punished me, and i never mistook my man when i had a debt of that kind to pay.' "the others expressed their disgust at his ferocity, saying that if, as he said, their companion was an american officer, all they had to do was to watch him closely. as he had come among them uninvited, he must go with them to new york, and take the consequences; but meantime it was their interest not to seem to suspect him, otherwise he might give an alarm--whereas it was evidently his intention to go with them till they were ready to embark for new york. the other person persisted in saying that he would have his revenge with his own hand; upon which the conductor, drawing a pistol, declared to him that if he saw the least attempt to injure capt. lee, or any conduct which would lead him to suspect that his disguise was discovered, he would that moment shoot him through the head. the soldier put his hand upon his knife, with an ominous scowl upon his conductor; but he restrained himself. "the next night they went on as usual, but the manner of their conductor showed that there was more danger than before; in fact, he explained to the party that they were now not far from the delaware, and hoped to reach it before midnight. they occasionally heard the report of a musket, which seemed to indicate that some movement was going on in the country. "when they came to the bank there were no traces of a boat on the waters. their conductor stood still for a moment in dismay; but, recollecting himself, he said it was possible it might have been secured lower down the stream; and forgetting every thing else, he directed the larger soldier to accompany him. giving a pistol to the other, he whispered, 'if the rebel officer attempts to betray us, shoot him; if not, you will not, for your own sake, make any noise to show where we are.' in the same instant they departed, and lee was left alone with the ruffian. "he had before suspected that the fellow knew him, and now doubts were changed to certainty at once. dark as it was, it seemed as if fire flashed from his eye, now he felt that revenge was within his power. lee was as brave as any officer in the army; but he was unarmed; and though he was strong, his adversary was still more powerful. while he stood, uncertain what to do, the fellow seemed enjoying the prospect of revenge, as he looked on him with a steady eye. though the officer stood to appearance unmoved, the sweat rolled in heavy drops from his brow. lee soon took his resolution, and sprang upon his adversary with the intention of wresting the pistol from his hand; but the other was upon his guard, and aimed with such precision that, had the pistol been charged with a bullet, that moment would have been his last. but it seemed that the conductor had trusted to the sight of his weapons to render them unnecessary, and had therefore only loaded them with powder. as it was, the shock threw lee to the ground; but fortunately, as the fellow dropped the pistol, it fell where lee reached it; and as his adversary stooped, and was drawing his knife from his bosom, lee was able to give him a stunning blow. he immediately threw himself upon the assassin, and a long and bloody struggle began. they were so nearly matched in strength and advantage, that neither dared unclench his hold for the sake of grasping the knife. the blood gushed from their mouths, and the combat would have probably ended in favour of the assassin--when steps and voices were heard advancing, and they found themselves in the hands of a party of countrymen, who were armed for the occasion, and were scouring the banks of the river. they were forcibly torn apart, but so exhausted and breathless that neither could make an explanation; and they submitted quietly to their captors. "the party of the armed countrymen, though they had succeeded in their attempt, and were sufficiently triumphant on the occasion, were sorely perplexed how to dispose of their prisoners. after some discussion, one of them proposed to throw the decision upon the wisdom of the nearest magistrate. they accordingly proceeded with their prisoners to his mansion, about two miles distant, and called upon him to rise and attend to business. a window was hastily thrown up, and the justice put forth his night-capped head, and with more wrath than became his dignity, ordered them off; and in requital for their calling him out of bed in the cold, generously wished them in the warmest place. however, resistance was vain: he was compelled to rise; and as soon as the prisoners were brought before him, he ordered them to be taken in irons to the prison at philadelphia. lee improved the opportunity to take the old gentleman aside, and told him who he was, and why he was thus disguised. the justice only interrupted him with the occasional inquiry, 'most done?' when he had finished, the magistrate told him that his story was very well made, and told in a manner very creditable to his address; and that he should give it all the weight it seemed to require. and lee's remonstrances were unavailing. "as soon as they were fairly lodged in the prison, lee prevailed on the jailor to carry a note to gen. lincoln, informing him of his condition. the general received it as he was dressing in the morning, and immediately sent one of his aids to the jail. that officer could not believe his eyes that he saw capt. lee. his uniform, worn-out when he assumed it, was now hanging in rags about him; and he had not been shaved for a fortnight. he wished, very naturally, to improve his appearance before presenting himself before the secretary of war; but the orders were peremptory to bring him as he was. the general loved a joke full well: his laughter was hardly exceeded by the report of his own cannon; and long and loud did he laugh that day. "when capt. lee returned to lancaster, he immediately attempted to retrace the ground; and so accurate, under all the unfavourable circumstances, had been his investigation, that he brought to justice fifteen persons who had aided the escape of british prisoners. it is hardly necessary to say, to you who know the fate of revolutionary officers, that he received, for his hazardous and effectual service, no reward whatever." "a perilous adventure," observed warner, as kinnison concluded his narrative. "it was," replied davenport. "it seems rather strange how capt. lee could so disguise himself and impose upon the enemy. but he knew a thing or two more than common men, and i shouldn't wonder." "the british had many useful friends in every part of the country, during the war, and were enabled to do many such deeds," remarked colson. "fill up, my friends, another glass of ale, and drink the health of capt. lee!" added hand, rising. the company filled their glasses and drank the toast. the veterans were not as deep drinkers as their young and vigorous friends, and therefore they merely sipped their ale and sat it aside. general daniel morgan. "speaking of brave men," observed colson, "i suppose there is not one of the company who will doubt the bravery of gen. morgan, the hero of so many fields." "the man who does doubt it knows not what courage is," remarked ransom, taking another sip of the ale. "well, i'm going to tell you something about his bravery," said colson. "men have different ideas of that particular thing." "this 'thunderbolt of war,' this 'brave morgan, who never knew fear,' was, in camp, often wicked and very profane, but never a disbeliever in religion. he testified that himself. in his latter years general morgan professed religion, and united himself with the presbyterian church in winchester, va., under the pastoral care of the rev. dr. hill, who preached in that house some forty years, and may now be occasionally heard on loudon street, winchester. his last days were passed in that town; and while sinking to the grave, he related to his minister the experience of his soul. 'people thought,' said he, 'that daniel morgan never prayed;'--'people said old morgan never was afraid;'--'people did not know.' he then proceeded to relate in his blunt manner, among many other things, that the night they stormed quebec, while waiting in the darkness and storm, with his men paraded, for the word 'to advance,' he felt unhappy; the enterprise appeared more than perilous; it seemed to him that nothing less than a miracle could bring them off safe from an encounter at such an amazing disadvantage. he stepped aside and kneeled by the side of a cannon--and then most fervently prayed that the lord god almighty would be his shield and defence, for nothing less than an almighty arm could protect him. he continued on his knees till the word passed along the line. he fully believed that his safety during that night of peril was from the interposition of god. again, he said, about the battle of the cowpens, which covered him with so much glory as a leader and a soldier--he had felt afraid to fight tarleton with his numerous army flushed with success--and that he retreated as long as he could--till his men complained--and he could go no further. drawing up his army in three lines, on the hill side; contemplating the scene--in the distance the glitter of the advancing enemy--he trembled for the fate of the day. going to the woods in the rear, he kneeled in an old tree-top, and poured out a prayer to god for his army, and for himself, and for his country. with relieved spirits he returned to the lines, and in his rough manner cheered them for the fight; as he passed along, they answered him bravely. the terrible carnage that followed the deadly aim of his lines decided the victory. in a few moments tarleton fled. 'ah,' said he, 'people said old morgan never feared;'--'they thought morgan never prayed; they did not know;'--'old morgan was often miserably afraid.' and if he had not been, in the circumstances of amazing responsibility in which he was placed, how could he have been brave?" [illustration: general morgan.] "we seldom hear of a man admitting that he was ever afraid," observed hand. "but the man who never knew fear must be possessed of a small degree of intelligence and no sense of responsibility; neither of which are creditable. great generals, and soldiers, in all ages, have boasted of their freedom from dread under all circumstances. but it is a mere boast. fear is natural and useful, and i have ever observed that the man of most fear is the man of most prudence and forecast." "do you mean to say that the coward is the wisest man?" enquired kinnison, in astonishment. "oh, no. a coward is one who will not grapple with danger when he meets it, but shrinks and flies. a man who is conscious of dangers to be met, and feels a distrust of his own power to meet them, is a different sort of person," replied hand. "well, that's a very nice distinction," remarked one of the young men. "there's truth in what he says, however," said ranson. "i have felt a fear of consequences many a time, yet i know that i am not a coward; for my conduct in the time of battle, and when death was hailing around me, proves it." "i can't see any distinction between a coward and a man of many fears," remarked davenport; "though, of course, i don't know enough of words to argue the point." "to make it clearer," replied hand, "i will assert that washington was a man fearful of consequences, and some of those who refused to go to the aid of the heroes of bunker hill were cowards." "it's all plain enough to me," observed colson. but the rest of the company, by shakes of the head and meditative looks, indicated that the distinction was not perceptible to their mental vision. the battle of oriskany. "well now, my friends, i can tell you of a brave man who was not fearful enough to be prudent," observed colson. "i allude to gen. herkimer. no man can dispute his courage; and it is clear that if he had possessed more fear of indian wiles, he would not have fallen into an ambuscade." "will you tell us about the battle in which he fell?" enquired hand. "i was about to do so," replied colson. "brig. gen. herkimer was the commander of the militia of tryon county, n.y., when news was received that st. leger, with about , men, had invested fort schuyler. the general immediately issued a proclamation, calling out all the able-bodied men in the county, and appointed a place for their rendezvous and a time for them to be ready for marching to the relief of fort schuyler. "learning that gen. herkimer was approaching to the relief of the garrison, and not being disposed to receive him in his camp, st. leger detached a body of indians and tories, under brant and col. butler, to watch his approach, and to intercept, if possible, his march. the surrounding country afforded every facility for the practice of the indian mode of warfare. in the deep recesses of its forests they were secure from observation, and to them they could retreat in case they were defeated. finding that the militia approached in a very careless manner, butler determined to attack them by surprise. he selected a place well fitted for such an attack. a few miles from the fort there was a deep ravine sweeping toward the east in a semicircular form, and having a northern and southern direction. the bottom of this ravine was marshy, and the road along which the militia were marching crossed it by means of a log causeway. the ground thus partly enclosed by the ravine was elevated and level. along the road, on each side of this height of land, butler disposed his men. "about ten o'clock on the morning of the th of august, , the tryon county militia arrived at this place without any suspicions of danger. the dark foliage of the forest trees, with a thick growth of underbrush, entirely concealed the enemy from their view. the advanced guard, with about two-thirds of the whole force, had gained the elevated ground, the baggage-wagons had descended into the ravine--col. fisher's regiment was still on the east side--when the indians arose, and with a dreadful yell poured a destructive fire upon them. the advanced guard was entirely cut off. those who survived the first fire were immediately cut down with the tomahawk. the horror of the scene was increased by the personal appearance of the savages, who were almost naked and painted in a most hideous manner. they ran down each side, keeping up a constant fire, and united at the causeway; thus dividing the militia into two bodies. the rear regiment, after a feeble resistance, fled in confusion, and were pursued by the indians. they suffered more severely than they would have done had they stood their ground, or advanced to the support of the main body in front. "the latter course would have been attended with great loss, but might probably have been effected. the forward division had no alternative but to fight. facing out in every direction, they sought shelter behind the trees and returned the fire of the enemy with spirit. in the beginning of the battle, the indians, whenever they saw that a gun was fired from behind a tree, rushed up and tomahawked the person thus firing before he had time to reload his gun. to counteract this, two men were ordered to station themselves behind one tree, the one reserving his fire until the indian ran up. in this way the indians were made to suffer severely in return. the fighting had continued for some time, and the indians had begun to give way, when major watson, a brother-in-law of sir john johnson, brought up a reinforcement, consisting of a detachment of johnson's greens. the blood of the germans boiled with indignation at the sight of these men. many of the greens were personally known to them. they had fled their country, and were now returned in arms to subdue it. their presence under any circumstances would have kindled up the resentment of these militia; but coming up as they now did, in aid of a retreating foe, called into exercise the most bitter feelings of hostility. they fired upon them as they advanced, and then rushing from behind their covers, attacked them with their bayonets, and those who had none, with the butt end of their muskets. this contest was maintained, hand to hand, for nearly half an hour. the greens made a manful resistance, but were finally obliged to give way before the dreadful fury of their assailants, with the loss of thirty killed upon the spot where they first entered. major watson was wounded and taken prisoner, though afterwards left upon the field. "in this assault col. cox is said to have been killed; possessing an athletic frame, with a daring spirit, he mingled in the thickest of the fight. his voice could be distinctly heard, as he cheered on his men or issued his orders, amid the clashing of arms and the yells of the contending savages. "about one o'clock, adam helmer, who had been sent by gen. herkimer with a letter to col. gansevoort, announcing his approach, arrived at the fort. at two o'clock, lieut. col. willet, with men, sallied from the fort for the purpose of making a diversion in favour gen. herkimer, and attacked the camp of the enemy. this engagement lasted about an hour, when the enemy were driven off with considerable loss. col. willet having thrown out flanking parties, and ascertained that the retreat was not feigned, ordered his men to take as much of the spoil as they could remove, and to destroy the remainder. on their return to the fort, above the landing, and near where the old french fort stood, a party of regular troops appeared, and prepared to give battle. a smart fire of musketry, aided by the cannon from the fort, soon obliged them to retreat, when willet returned into the fort with his spoil, and without the loss of a single man. a part of that spoil was placed upon the walls of the fortress, where it waved in triumph in sight of the vanquished enemy. "this timely and well-conducted sally was attended with complete success. a shower of rain had already caused the enemy to slacken their fire, when finding by reports that their camp was attacked and taken, they withdrew and left the militia in possession of the field. "the americans lost in killed nearly , and about as many wounded and prisoners; they carried off between and of their wounded. they encamped the first night upon the ground where old fort schuyler was built. "among the wounded was gen. herkimer. early in the action his leg was fractured by a musket-ball. the leg was amputated a few days after, but in consequence of the unfavourable state of the weather, and want of skill in his surgeons, mortification ensued, and occasioned his death. on receiving his wound, his horse having been killed, he directed his saddle to be placed upon a little hillock of earth and rested himself upon it. being advised to choose a place where he would be less exposed, he replied, 'i will face the enemy.' surrounded by a few men he continued to issue his orders with firmness. in this situation, and in the heat of the battle, he very deliberately took from his pocket his tinder-box and lit his pipe, which he smoked with great composure. he was certainly to blame for not using greater caution on his march, but the coolness and intrepidity which he exhibited when he found himself ambuscaded, aided materially in restoring order and in inspiring his men with courage. his loss was deeply lamented by his friends and by the inhabitants of tryon county. the continental congress, in october following, directed that a monument should be erected to his memory, of the value of five hundred dollars. but no monument was ever erected." "i will face the enemy," said kinnison, repeating the words of the brave herkimer. "heroic words. but the general should have possessed more prudence. he had lived long enough in the neighbourhood of the indians to know their mode of warfare, and he should have sent out rangers to reconnoitre his route," remarked colson. "however," observed kinnison, "the enemy didn't get off whole-skinned. i have heard that they had more than killed. it was a hard-fought battle, and considering all circumstances, no men could have behaved better than our militia did. you see, young men, after they recovered from the confusion of the first attack, they found they had no ammunition save what they had in their cartouch-boxes. their baggage-wagons were in possession of the enemy, and they could get no water, which was in great demand in such warm weather. to fight five or six hours under such circumstances was certainly noble conduct." "another point is to be taken into consideration. the enemy were much superior in numbers," said colson. "of course; that's very important," replied ranson. "i suppose there was little mercy shown by either party. there was too much hateful fury," said hand. "you're right," remarked colson. "few tories received quarters from the militia, and fewer of the militia asked it of the tories." "herkimer should have been more cautious. though a brave soldier, we cannot consider him a good commander," said pitts. "nay, i think he was a good commander, friend pitts," replied hanson. "he was cool-headed and skilful in the hottest battle; and because he neglected sending out scouts on one occasion, you should not conclude that imprudence was part of his character." "but a commander, acquainted with indian warfare, as herkimer was, must be considered imprudent if he neglects such a common precaution as sending out scouts," observed kinnison. conclusion. "well, we won't argue the matter now. it's getting late, and we had better break our company," said warner. "but first we'll have a toast and a song," replied hand. "fill your glasses, friends. heaven knows if we may ever meet again; and your company has been too amusing and instructive for us to part suddenly." "the ale has made me feel very drowsy," said kinnison. "but you may sip our toast. gentlemen, this is the fourth of july; and surely it becomes us, as americans, to toast the memory of the men who, on this day, pledged their lives, their fortunes, and their sacred honors for the support of our independence. i therefore propose, 'the memory of the signers of the declaration of independence. may the brightness of their fame endure as long as patriotism and the love of freedom burn in the breasts of mankind!'" exclaimed hand. this was drunk standing, and a short silence ensued. hand now proposed that they should have a song, and remarked that he knew one appropriate to the occasion, which he would sing, if the old soldiers were not too weary to listen. of course, they expressed it to be their pleasure that he should sing it, and he proceeded. "the song," said he, "is called 'the last revolutionary.'" the words were as follows:-- o! where are they--those iron men, who braved the battle's storm of fire, when war's wild halo fill'd the glen, and lit each humble village spire; when hill sent back the sound to hill, when might was right, and law was will! o! where are they, whose manly breasts beat back the pride of england's might; whose stalwart arm laid low the crests of many an old and valiant knight; when evening came with murderous flame, and liberty was but a name? i see them, in the distance, form like spectres on a misty shore; before them rolls the dreadful storm, and hills send forth their rills of gore; around them death with lightning breath is twining an immortal wreath. they conquer! god of glory, thanks! they conquer! freedom's banner waves above oppression's broken ranks, and withers o'er her children's graves; and loud and long the pealing song of jubilee is borne along. 'tis evening, and december's sun goes swiftly down behind the wave, and there i see a gray-haired one, a special courier to the grave; he looks around on vale and mound, then falls upon his battle-ground. beneath him rests the hallow'd earth, now changed like him, and still and cold; the blood that gave young freedom birth no longer warms the warrior old; he waves his hand with stern command, then dies, the last of glory's band. "a very good song, but a very mournful subject," observed kinnison. "and now, friends, we'll part." "the carriages are at the door," said one of the young men, as the party arose and prepared to descend. the kindest and best wishes were exchanged between the old and young men; and over and over again were promises made to meet the next year, if possible. at length, the veterans were assisted to descend the stairs. when they reached the door, they found a crowd collected round it. the sound of the fife and drum had drawn these people there, and hearing that the survivors of the tea-party were in the house, they had become very anxious to see them. as soon as the old men appeared, they jostled around them, and it was with much difficulty that they were safely placed in the carriages by their young friends. hand and his comrades at last bade the veterans an affectionate farewell, and the carriages drove away amid cheers given by the crowd for "the boston tea-party." proofreading team. love letters of a rookie to julie _by_ barney stone headquarters co., f.a. a.e.f. illustrations _by_ gordon ross copyright by the sherwood co. all rights reserved to-- r.e.s., whose suggestions made these pages possible and palatable. [illustration: me on guard] _dere julie_ in camp (somewhere between the kitchen and the lunch counter). dere julie, well, hear i am in camp after being "rough-housed on the rattlers" for day and nites; i was so shook-up that i'm like a loose button on an overcoat--no wheres in particular. the most vivid impression in my bean is our interview in the hall-way of your flat the night (or was it morning) when we bid each other a fond fare-thee-well. never will i forget them tender and loving words you spoke, also will i remember them words spoke, by the guy on the second floor, not so tender; how was we to know you were backed up against the push button of his bell? when a boob like him lives in a flat in wartime he ought to be made to muffle his bell after p.m. i'm gonna rite the pres. about this. our going away was some deeparture; i'll bet a small piece of change that every fair young damsel on the block was present--and some damsels not so young and fair. the old maid who grabbed onto me had seen about summers and heavings knows how many winters; she was so crosseyed that if she had pulled a weep the tears would have run down the back of her neck. it was her last chance to grab a man and believe you me, she made use of the opportunity. well angel face, here i am a buck private fur fair, but believe you me, i'd rather be a private with a chicken on my knee than a kernel with an eagle on my shoulder; and i'd rather have any shoulder on a bar than a bar on my shoulder any time. yours loving dough-boy, barney. p.s.--i don't know why they call us dough boys, for thirty per aint much "dough," is it angel face? [illustration: "how wuz i to know you wuz agin the push button of his bell."] same camp. (not on the map.) dere julie, many thanks, my cherrie (that's french), fur the lovely cake you sent me, but believe you me deary, i didn't get a smell of it. i got the box about p.m. opened it at ; , and at ; ½ our band played the star spangled banner and all us fellows had to stand at attention; by the time they had finished, our company mascot, a billy goat camouflaged with a bunch of whiskers and an unshaven glue factory breath gobbled the whole blooming business. speaken of eats, the gov't certainly comes across with the gorging. that is, there's plenty of it, but the "maynew" is not as long as a search warrant. but o, my kingdom for a plate of ham and eggs. ham is scarcer here than at a jew wedding feast, and as for eggs, there ain't no sich thing in the world. i think that some of bill of berlin's ginks in this country have been hanging up birth control "info" in every hen house in the u.s. least ways sumpin has happened to corner the market. well, deary, far be it from me to say how long this war will last. i got a scheme to end it, so i'm gonna spill it to you, and here she is; lock theo. roosevelt and his three sons in the same room with william the twicer and his seven sons; whichever cums out at the end of an hour wins the war. you bet when this cums off i'll hold a ticket on theo. well honey bunch, i had a lovely dream last eve, i dreamed that you and me was holding down a park bench, with not a cop in sight. i had just taken you in my arms, and touched your ruby lips, when i suddently awoke to find the captain's pet sausage hound was licking my nose. some day there's gonna be a first class dog funeral in this camp and that lop-eared canine is gonna ride in the head wagon. it's so cold down here that if a guy wanted a hair cut all he'd haft to do would be to wet his hair, leave his hat off, and break off the icicles, more anon. yours until lillian rustle retires, barney. p.s.--i'd rather be a lamp post on broadway, than a ten story building down here. [illustration: "the captin's pet sausage hound wuz lickin' my face."] in camp c, w and h. (meaning cold, wet and hungry.) dere star of my heart, big day for us; we got our new soldier scenery--a complete set from kicks to skypieces. did you ever see a feather bed with a string tied around the middle, or a bale of hay with the middle hoop busted? that's what my appollonnaris form looks like now draped in the togs handed me by the "land of the free and the home of the brave." the pants must have been cut out with a circular saw for a bow-legged simp. i have to use a compass to find out which direction i'm going, and believe you me when i caught sight of "yours truly" in a mirror i looked like the end of a load of wood and just as handsome. these clothes remind me of the tailors sign on eur block, "a. levinsky, first class tailor. wear a suit of our clothes and you will have a fit." i am liable to have several fits before i get acquainted with 'em. if i could rent out the extra room, i could buy "makins" for a month. they call 'em fatigue uniforms, and believe you me they called 'em right--one look at 'em makes you tired. the only things that fit are the hat cord and collar ornaments. you know how it is with me julie nothing ready made fits me but a hanky. after studying the directions, i managed to make 'em hang on me. i was so interested in 'em that on my way over to the barracks, i failed to salute a major who passed; he grabbed me amid ships with one hand and pointed to his shoulder with the other; my mind bein on clothing scenery instead of salutin, i piped up, you got no kick comin, look what they handed me. me and skinny shaner got on the outside of about a ½ dozen pickled pigs feet last night at the canteen and finished off with about a quart of ice-cream apeace. along about a hour or so afterwards during the mixing process, i guess the pigs feet got cold in the ice cream and commenced to kick. skinny was doubled up so he looked like a horse shoe bend on a scenic railroad. i suggested that we each take a dose of allen's foot ease, as i heard that helped sore feet, but skinny balked; he always was stubborn like that. finally, we sent in a three alarm for a doc. [illustration: "you got no kick comin'--look what they handed me."] he asked us what we'd been eatin; we couldn't give up anything, otherwise we'd have "give up" the pigs-feet, so the doc. allowed we had the appende-come-and-get-me. that's about as near to the truth as the docs usually gets. if you're laying at death's door they generally pull you thru. the doc said "operation at once" but havin read irve cobb's book about operations i passed the buck to skinny and we both got better simultaneously to once. i don't jest "make" this appendicitis but i have a suspicion that's its a disease that costs about $ . more than the stummick ache; anyhow its sumpin you have just before your doc buys a new automobile. all the samee, we're off pigs feet fur life. yrs in health barney. p.s.--i left my other shirt at the "chinks" to be laundered. don't let him sell it for charges before i get back. dere julie, at last i am a officer; and it happened like this. to make my old lady feel good, and knowin she didn't know much of the "parley-voo" spoke in the army, i rote her that i had been made a captain in the latrines; this a.m. i gets a "billy-doo" from her asking me, now that i had got to be a high up officer, not to be too hard on the boys under me, and to always remember that i was once a buck private in the rear ranks. i hope the old lady don't think to look the word up in the dictionary, or she might, as laura blue jeans libby says "be rudely awakened." eh what? an instructor today was wising us up on overseas service, and told us the best way to rough house cooties; he didn't show us any of the pets, but did show us the scratch proof dug-outs they had made on his frame. from the way he described 'em and their habits, i imagine they are the same species of "seam squirrels" that you get in a coney island bathin suit. the first time you go to mrs. woolworth's store please buy and send me a ½ dozen graters so i can rent 'em out to the boys to scratch on. that's me. in time of piece prepare for war. i see by the papers that uncle sam says the kings must be thrown out. believe you me, he must be some poker player to throw out kings and make a hand win. skinny shaner got in dutch today at drill. we had been drillin for a hour or so, and the command was, company forward march! halt! this was kept up continuously fur about a hour, and all to wunce skinny trowed down his gun and said he'd be d---- if he would be bossed by a guy like that, he changed his mind to d---- often. skinny is always like that. ever since he's been here, he's been braggin what a fine singer he is; said his voice was trained for grand opera. he sang for us last night, a song, entitled "god give us cheap ice, for heaven's knows we have cheap skates." believe you me, his voice was trained for grand rapids instead of grand opera. yours until the william the twicer gives that dinner in paris, barney. p.s.--i hope skinny keeps well. he will if he don't try to sing again tonite. [illustration: his voice wuz trained fer grand rapids instead of grand opera] dere julie, they took away our maiden names yesterday, and give us numbers, skinny's is . yesterday his old man arrived in camp to visit him. stepping blithely up to the top sarge he pipes up "i am the father of thirty-one." "well said the sarge, you ain't got much on me, i am the father of eighteen myself." my number is . today they marched us off to listen to a hour sermon by a antiquated ol' bunch of spinnage, who at the end bawled out, no. . "art thou weary, art thou languid?" an now they give me days in the guard house because i yelled out that i certainly was. how was i to know that the ol' billy goat was givin out the him to be sang. im readin in the papers you sent me from home that bill ferguson has enlisted, which fact leads your "uncle dudley" to say that the war certainly is nearin the end, for nobody ever knowed bill to hold a job more than days at the longest. we got our first settin up exercises today. believe you me, they are more settin down than they are settin up. all the boobs have to lie on there backs, put there laigs in the air, and move 'em like he wuz ridin a bicycle. all to once skinny shaner stopped. the drill sarge stepped over and deemanded to know why he quit. "im coastin" pipes skinny, "i always do a little coastin when i ride a wheel." believe you me if skinny ever tries to ride all of them wheels in his head at one and the same time, he have to do a considerable lot of coastin. with love and mushes, barney. p.s.--i hope this war lasts till i get over. i'll make that poll parrot of a clown quince learn to say "uncle" in jig time. he won't have as much chance as a tallow legged dog chase a cat thru h----. now that the yanks have come in fur fair, kings, queens and two spots is gonna be throwed in the discard. [illustration: "coastin"] dere julie, the doc says that me and skinny will recover, but we'll never look the same. it wuz like this. day behind yesterday we wuz out for bombin practice, each one havin quite some supply of them hell on the wabash lookin things in our posesshun. of course nothing wood do skinny, but that he must have a smoke. all to once, as you read in the papers, their was a tree-mendus explosion and i went up what seamed to me about a thousand feet. on the way down, i met skinny going up, he yelled out to me, "i'll bet you five bucks that i go higher than you did." skinny is some sport. some of our training officers has seen active service in the front line trenches. yesterday was visiting day in camp; after drill, as pretty a "jane" as i have seen in this neck of woods asks one of 'em did he croak a fritz, while on the other side? "i sure did," sed he "with this mighty rite hand." whereupon, this "bunch of peeches" grabs his hand and kisses it. skinny 'lowed as how _he_ would have told her he bit him to deth. that's skinny, he's strong for the "janes." don't peeve up julie, a lot of 'em down here fall for me, but i let 'em lay; exceptin for a few i've saw, you have 'em all lashed to the mast howlin fur mercy. seems to me like we don't do anything down here but walk. it's a wonder to me that all of us don't walk in our sleep. i was telling skinny we should have joined the cavillry, but skinny said no; he 'lowed as how if he ever had to retreat he didn't want to be bothered with no horse. yours truly and affectionately, barney. [illustration: "i'll bet bucks i go higher than you."] dere julie: many thanks for the pink silk piejamas, with the red ribbon ties. skinny sez they are "a thing of beauty and a joy forever." it don't take much to make skinny poetical. when the sarge got a lamp at 'em he sed "they would move _anyone_ to poetry, if he didn't "do the dutch" first." i'm afraid the pres. is not running this trainin biz rite. what's the use of wisin up this big bunch of guys, when one company of cooks could wipe out the fritzies in twenty four hours, if they can get 'em to eat some of the stuff they wish onto us. we have seventeen kinds of meat everyday--hash. that's all rite. we can stand fur that, but when they put raisins in it on sunday and call it puddin, good nite, its enough to make a feller bat in the booze league. speakin of shufflin off reminds me that skinny 'lows as how we ought to make our wills before we hit the briny trail. the only will i'm worried about julie, is will i cum back? and that's no bullsheveki, fur you know derie when one of them tin fish strikes a transport, yer jest as well let your voice fall. say julie, i'm not fur this country down here a-tall. it has ticks; chiggers and nats all open fur biz at one and the same time. you never had a tick on you did you julie? well a dog with two sets of flees isn't any busier than said tick. they ought to draft a lot of 'em into the engineers. they are the best lil' trench diggers on earth. they always selects a place between your shoulder blades where you can't reach 'em and dig in. the think-tank of a tick is not large; but unless they have been shootin hop into themselves, they can make a guy feel as small as a bar of soap after a hard days washin. yours till the kaiser's mustash droops, barney. p.s. skinny sez this means "poor simp" but lissen, derie, fer you it means pretty sweet. [illustration: "them ticks is the best lil' trench diggers in the army."] friday the thirteenth. dere julie: a bugler is jest as popular round this camp in the a.m. as a roman nose in russia. if "yours truly" ever gets a large bunch of the mazuma i'm gonna hire a bugler to blow the revelee every morning at under my window so i can tell him to go to h----. skinny sed a jane he asked to marry him wunce told him to go to the same place; she didn't jest zactly tell in them words, but sed to go ask her paw. now skinny knowed her "old" man was dead, he also knowed what kind of a life he'd lead, so skinny was wise to what she ment when she piped "ask dad." if she'd told me that same i would have thought she was flashin a spiel for sweet caps. skinny says that's repartee, but i think its rap-artee. speakin of russia, i see by the papers that a new revolution has busted out there. that god forsaken country reminds me of a fly wheel on a automobeel-- revolutions per minute. i had a grate peece of luck this a.m. i had three portions of bacon for breakfast which same happed on account of my bein seated between a young jewish feller on one side, and a catholic feller on the other. it bein friday--nuff sed. don't ever try to tell me again that friday the thirteenth is unlucky. if i was loose from the army, i could make a million dollars in the umbrella business; its stopped pouring now, but comin in bucket fulls, and we are looking fur orders from washington any day to begin to build a ark. last nite after taps me and skinny wuz arguin about who wuz to blame for this war. confidentially julie, i think it was theo. roosevelt. do you remember julie, about ten years ago when theo. was on a trip round the world, he called on bill the twicer and bill got out his army and peeraded them in theo.'s honor? and theo. not wantin to be lackin in perliteness, slapped bill on the back and sed, "bill with an army like that you can lick the world," member him sayin that julie? well he did, and bill the two-spot, was d---- fool enuff to fall fur theo's bunk. yours 'till the klown quince sings the star spangled banner. barney. [illustration: "an' bill the twicer wuz fool enuff to fall fer theo's bunk"] camp wadsworth. dere julie:-- well, ol' girl, you can see by the heading of this that we have gone south. the plentifullest things down here is "dinges", mules and mud, and you very seldom see one without the other. you know julie "birds of a fether gathers no moss"; sumpin like that anyhow; you know julie i was never much on problems. i see a big lazy dinge yesterday asleep against a corner of the barracks when the bugle blowed the mess call; he woke up in time to hear the last notes; stretching himself and scratching his bed, he said: "dar she blows, dinner time for white folks, but just o'clock for niggers." well julie, you can bet your wrigleys and every hair on your bureau, that what sherman said about war is right; its easy to get in an' hard to get out. reminds me of the story my ol' man tells about when he lived on a farm (you know julie dere, i told you my old man was raised on a farm in brooklin, n.y.u.s.a.). he stuck his bean into a yoke, to teach a yearling calf to work double, and the way that calf started to hot foot it to the other end of long island was some exhibition of speed. he could have give the empire state express a ten mile start at peekskill and beat it into powkeepsy. he yanked my ol' man along so fast that his feet only struck the ground every other mile. if the calf had run around in a circle, my ol' man could have spit in his own face. his coat tail stuck out so straight behind you could have played a game of peaknuckle on it. finally the o' man got hep that he wasn't gonna be able to break the calf before the calf broke my ol' man's neck so he yelled out, "here we come, dum our fool souls, somebody hed us off." so julie, see if somebody bobs up who is able and willin to stop this little unpleasentness, let him go to it like a sick kitten to a hot rock. member julie that song we all usto sing comin home on the boat after a picnic at staten island of the patrick dooley east side outing and chowder club? you know julie--the chorus ends with beans! beans! beans! say kid, that song would fit in this camp like a hungry tramp at a chicken dinner. every farmer in the good ol' u.s.a. must have planted nothing but beans for the last two years. we have 'em boiled fer breakfast, baked fer dinner, and in the soup for supper. every time the chaplin (not charlie) says grace, he always "thanks the lord for these tokens of his grace," and skinny got forty-ate hours in the booby hatch fer askin me real loud like, so everybody could hear him to "please put some of them tokens on his plate." [illustration: "dinner fer white folks, but jest o'clock fer niggers--"] but all the same julie i'm glad i'm here. of course i miss you; as the poet sez "your brite smile haunts me still." never will i ferget what a beautiful picture you made the sunday before i left when i was rowin you round the lake in central park. you was settin up in the bough of the boat trailing your lily white hand in the water, and looking up into my eyes you gurgled in a voiced choking with love, emotion and beer, you said, "wouldn't it be heavenly derie, if we could go floting down life's stream in a boat like this forever and ever"--an' me paying c. an hour for the boat. of course you didn't think of that, did you derie. yours until brooklyn wins another penant, barney. dere julie: on land again, thank god! comin across we skidded several times and there were occasions when it looked like there wuzn't anything like dry land in the whole world, yet we finally landed on terra cotta, vice versi, or whatever lattin fraze they use for solid ground. believe you me, julie, i luv a life on the ocean wave like a burlecue soubrette luvs an alarm clock; that is i like it a lot, but not a heluva lot. fer four hours at a strech i leand over the side of the ship; i wuzn't interested in the ocean or the study of fishes, only i felt i had sumpin i must give up. finally, after givin up everything, even standin for some of skinny's jokes, i managed to recover sufficient to enjoy two meals before we got to the dock. believe you me, derie, you do not know how near you cum to havin to wear black, and cashin in on my life insurance. speaking of life insurance, reminds me of skinny's prayer when he turned in one night when it was stormy. "now i lay me down to sleep, i pray the lord my soul to keep, if the ship should sink before i wake, uncle sam has made a $ , mistake." and speaking of turning in brings up the subject of hammicks; show me a guy who can ride one all nite without being turned out, and i'll back him to ride the best tricky mule that p.t. bamum ever trained. about the only way to do, when the nite is ruff, and the ship is rockin, is to sit down and wait until your hammick comes around, and jump on it and choke it into insensibility. i made out to do this better than the balance of the bunch, as i had had more practice, owing to the fact i used to use this method after a nite with the boys; when i got to my street i used to sit down on the curb, and wate fur my house to come round; when it came i used to jump on it and hang on. believe you me julie, that "a life on the ocean wave" may be all rite as a song but its no noise fur a guy who was born and brung up in longacher square. will rite you again as soon as i get my land legs. yours until they build another statue to von hindenburg. barney. [illustration: "i felt as if i had somethin i _must_ give up."] dere julie, arrived in london o.k. and wet. london is worse than them that talk about it. when we got unshipped at liverpool it was rainin cats and dogs, skinny was worried over getting his new scenery wet, as he had lost his rain coat, on the way over, so he spent all morning in the rain trying to get a new one. skinny was wetter than i was when i went home after my nightie the nite you had me stay at your house because it was stormin outside. he was so wet the water was runnin offen his rist watch; skinny wasn't worried about the rist watch as he said it had been soaked many times before. well derie, i am glad i enlisted; i am sertainly gettin some experience in this little ol' scrap; and will have sumpin to relate to them slackers when i get home to 'lil ol' new york. skinny asked me did i know what a slacker stood for. i told him i didn't know everything but that most of 'em reminded me of a lemmen marine pie--yellow all thru, and not enuff crust to go over the top. however don't be too hard on 'em julie, no person is perfect as mose jackson said when he was convicted for the th time of harvestin other peoples poultry. the worst thing i haft to lissen to is skinny talkin about his first wife. he says he used to sit and hold her hand fer hours; maybe he did, and believe you me julie from other things he said about her, i believe if he'd ever let loose of her hand she would have killed him. with love, i am yours until the fritzies sing the marcel wave on unter der linden, barney. [illustration: he wuzn't worried. it had been "soaked" often--] dere julie, well ol' dear (you see i've already picked up some london wheezes) a week has flat-wheeled by since you've heard from 'lil brighteyes. last wensday skinny and me got a pass to do the burg, and our pocket books have been at half mast ever since. as we are billeted some distance from picadilly, we figgered to go downtown in a taxi, rite there our trubbles begun. we asked the pilot of the tin lizzie what the tax would be and he comes back with, " and thankee sir." can you beat it? two dollars fer me and six fer skinny. we hot footed it down and saved that much. i didn't care much about ridin with him anyhow. i think he was a jona; anyway he was so cross eyed that if he'd aimed a gun at berlin he would have shot an eye out of constantinopel. we wuz a little nervous account of not being wise to the customs, but skinny said if we kept our lids down over our ears nobody would be wise as to what was going on inside our skulls. the first place we went into was the palm tree inn. all the barkeepers and waiters was "janes." most of them wuz pretty good looking; one "jane" in particular was there with a front. skinny got one lamp at her and immediately forgot what he joined the army for. we wondered why it was called palm tree inn cause there wasn't a palm in sight, but when we showed the color of our coin, then everybody in the joint showed us a palm. the people here move slowly, and believe you me julie a spider slower than a fifth avenoo handsome cab would have a cinch spinnin a web around all of 'em. skinny says most of 'em has a long line of ancestors; but let me slip you the "info" derie, that some of 'em must be sinkers on the end of the line. i wish that i knowed as much as they think they do. yours till someone counts all the flivvers, barney. p.s. tomorrow night, skinny wants me to go to the opera with him. i'm not goin--cause i always sleep better at home. i'd rather here a soubrette dolled up in a costume that would barely pass the bord of sensers sing a song like "mother don't bother with the rolls, father's coming with a bun." [illustration: skinny got one lamp at her, and immediately forgot what he joined the army for] dere julie: these cockney birds sure chirp some language. believe you me, a guy had orto carry an interpreter around with him. me and skinny went out to a swell english camp today to take a peep at english trainin methods; outside we sees a tipical tommy atkins settin down fixin sumpin wrong with his kicks; as we heaved along side of him, he yells out to us, "i say, ol' top, have ye any lices?" skinny, thinkin he ment did we have seam squirrels commenced to bawl him out in jig time, telling him there was no such things in the good ol' u.s.a. when he came back with, "oh, i say ol' top, i didn't mean the lousy lices, i meant shoe lices." what they say over here about these cooties wouldn't look well in print, and makes me think they are harder to get rid of than a flivver. if there's one thing in life that skinny loves its sumpin good to eat. honestly, julie, i believe he thinks of eating when he's asleep. we goes into a feedin place yesterday in white chapel to satisfy what the poets call, an inner longing. i was so hungry my stomak tho't my throat was cut, skinny slips the female "biscuit shooter" a tip and sez, "now suggest a good dinner for me;" and she whispered in his listener "go to some other restaurant." serves skinny right about losing the tip for he's such a tight wad that when the company sings "old hundred" at chapel skinny sings the "ninety and nine" just to save a cent. honest julie, i don't believe he would give two bits to see the statue of liberty do the hoo-chama-cooch. speaking of the hoochy-koochy reminds me that we saw the ol' curiosity shop that charlie dickens wrote about, and desiring to become acquainted with how much skinny knowed about books, plays, and etcetery, i asked him did he ever see oliver twist? he says "no but i've seen fatima wiggle." he would miss a point if he sat down on a tack, and it would take a vaccum cleaner to sweep the cob-webs from his noodle; someday i'm gonna hang a peece of crape on his nose, for i think his brain is dead. that's why i think he always has a cold in his head, as you know julie that disease always strikes in the weakest spot. yours until one of the kaiser's sons is wounded, barney. p.s. keep offen indoor sports, fur none of 'em has got sense enuff to know when to go home. [illustration: skinny wouldn't giv cts. to see the statue of liberty do th' hoo-cha-ma-coochy] dere julie, we have caught up with the spanish influenzy--not influence! as there ain't no sich thing in the world as spanish influence. the disease is not confined to spanish people. it hit skinny and he speaks spanish with an irish accent, and has never been nearer madrid than a spanish omelet made in hoboken. you're nose gets as red as a rear light on an automobile or the beak of a park row panhandler. your knees knock together like a man who sees a collector for an installment house. the only things it don't attack is your corns. they should rename it mucilage flu because it certainly is a sticker; you have as much pep as an ingersol watch with the main spring on a two weeks vacation; but cheer up derie, there ain't goin to be any job fer any undertaker. no foreman fur a funeral is gonna say "all those desirin to kiss the corpse, will please pass up this aisle and go down the other." not for a while i hope; which reminds me of that time you and me went to the revival meetin in carnarsie. remember that julie? you know the time the undertaker put a century note in the plate, and the ol' sky pilot not knowing who it wuz prayed that "the business of the giver would increase an hundred fold." skinny went into store today to buy a birthday present for his "jane" in the u.s. steppin blithely up to a fresh sales girl he said "i wanna get something for a gift to a lady." "your wife sir?" sed she. skinny thought it would be safer to pose as a married man, so he said "yes'm." "bargain counter to the right, sir," and she went on wrasslin with her wrigleys; she was so busy with it, she wasted no more time than a blue gum coon passing a grave yard at midnight, with no rabbits foot in his pocket. the sales ladies in this emporium are always in high speed, with the throttle wide open when it comes to chatter; at another counter i asked the young lady to show me the thinnest thing in underwear. flashing a below zero look she lisped, "i'm very sorry sir, but she's just gone out to lunch." yours until the eskimos wear palm beach suits, barney. [illustration: "somethin fer my wife" says he. "bargain counter next isle" says she] dere julie: we drilled today for the first time since we landed in this land of smoke and fog. i'd enjoy these drills, in fact so would all the boys, if it wasn't fer skinny. the only one that's in step is him. he knows as much of the commands as a bowery bum knows about publishing a chinese newspaper. today we saw a german prisoner for the first time. he looked nearly human. written on his belt was "gott mit uns," an english soldier who saw it said, "but i say ol top _we have the americans with us_." so you see they're wise to us already. believe you me derie, if this war lasts six months longer, gen. pershing and his boys will make german the court language in the lower regions. skinny spent last night in the guard house. in trying to get back in camp after taps he runs plum into a sentry who said "halt, who goes there?" and skinny told him "oh never mind, i only have been here a week and you wouldn't know me ennyhow." he told me today that he didn't wanna be a kernel as there wuzn't much chance fer advancement. i think i told you julie in one of my letters how stingy this bird skinny is. last week we got a three day ferlow and beat it up to the big burg to see the sites. goin into one of the big hotels, i said to the clerk "what are your rates?" "five shillings up to ," he said. skinny called me to one side an' whispered "ask him how much it will be up to half-past eight." well, derie, we hear we're soon goin on to france, and then fare-thee-well loafin. we be busier than a paralized man with the cooties. the only thing that's lible to bother me is the language. i don't know whether i can speak it or not, i never tried it. yours until they have ham at a jewish wedding, barney. dere julie: skinny and me has at last burgled our way into society. you know derie, that what i know about the highbrow stuff would fill a book, and what skinny don't know would fill a library. believe you me derie, you needn't get jelous for i would just as soon get chummy with a flivver as i would with this bunch of "janes" who put us on exhibition, for that was exactly what we wuz in their eyes--freeks on exhibition. it happened like this: lady blue jeans shoddy or some name like that was givin an afternoon funkshun (i'm quotin from the invite so i can' tell you what it means derie) fer charity and a lot of our company was invited to come, admission free--tickets fifty cents. anyhow it was a lecture by lord somebody for the benefit of lord knows what; the nearest i could make out it was a spiel on "do married men make the best husbands." i'd like to tell you how i enjoyed the talk--but i don't use that kind of language; anyhow i'll lay a small peece of change that this bird knew less about what he was trying to talk about than you could drive into a turkey gobbler with a peggin' awl. i give in tho, that he was a brave cuss; anybody who stood up and shot "bull" like he did for two solid hours, must have been brave. everytime i looked at him i thought of that ol saw "faint heart never kissed the chamber maid." when he finished everyone in the audience was "out" exceptin an ol maid who was trying to send him a love message by eye wireless. after his batteries went dead on him we was invited to eat. it wuz the first time i ever eat out in company with skinny, and believe you me, julie, it'll be the last time while i am conscious. i'm not going to try to tell you of all his breeches of etiket 'twould take too long, but he pulled one that was a beaut. he kept mixing honey with his peas; i kep kicking him under the table, and finally i got a chanct to whisper "what in h---- was he doin that for?" he whispers back "how am i gonna make 'em stay on my knife if i dont mix 'em with sumpin." yours until country bording houses quit using canned vegtabils. barney. dere julie:-- when the kaiser is canned and i get back to the ol' job, eatin my a day, and holdin your hand in the movies at nite, i'm gonna try fer the vaudeville. we have formed a quartet in our company, and we must be pretty good fer up to the present nobody has fired anything at us but remarks. skinny tried to git in by telling us his voice was trained; the top sarge sed he guessed it was trained all-rite, all-rite, but he must of trained it selling strawberries. we have a little yiddish feller in it too, you know, julie, the one who slips me his bacon every mornin; when he ain't soldierin, he runs a little gents furnishin store on th avenoo; he's some warbler too, but persists in allus wantin to sing "keep the home fires burnin." well julie, if he has ten thou. insurance on that joint of his, as he sez he has, no wonder he wants to "keep the home fires burnin." he's all business this little jewish guy. skinny sez if he was shiprecked on a deserted eyeland he would get up the next morning and try to sell a map of the eyeland to the natives. he's a good business feller too. he rote a song once, fer a big vaudeville actor, and the actor wrote izzy to send it along and if it was good he would send a check. izzy wired back to send the check, if it was good, he'd send the song. well julie, i'd like to see your little blonde bean just about now. believe you me, julie, me for the blondes every time. skinny says that brunettes is the most popular; well maybe he's right; ennyhow his girl has been both, so i suppose he knows. i don't know whether you ever saw this "dame" of skinny's or not julie. she lives on the upper east side of new york and ways about plus in her bathin suit; believe you me, she ought to marry a traffic cop as he's the only guy i know of that can handle a crowd. i'll bet cents against bryan's chance of being pres. skinny can wear one of her stockins for a sweater. if she ever wore a striped waist she'd look like the awning over a greek candy store, she never knows when she needs a shine, fer, like bill the twospot, she can't see de feat. believe you me, angel face she looks like a model fer a tent. when her and skinny walks along broadway the newsies yell, "hully gee! here goes the claronet and the bass drum, where's the rest of the band?" i'm tellin skinny i can't see anything attractive about her, and he says "i know you can't see anything but she's got it in the bank all-rite, all-rite." speaking about this william jennins bryan, i'm readin in the papers about a bull chasin him half way across a field. imagine julie, a bull doin that to theo. rusevelt, it wouldn't go ten feet before theo would turn round, grab it by the tale and throw it. when it comes to throwin the bull theo. has any spainnard or mex lashed to the mast howling for mercy. yours until eva tanguay quits singin "i don't care." barney. p.s. tell your ol' man not to lose any sleep over the four bits i owe him on that last peaknuckle game, for if anything happens to me here you can give it to him out of the l.i. policy. nowhere in france. dere julie: at last we are in the land made famous by joan of ark, and notorious by n. bonaparty. the little burg we are billeted in is about as big as a pound of choclates after a yale-harvard football game. it's so small you can stand on the corner of rue de main and spit into the country. it looks like the ornament on a birthday cake or a picture post office card. we have been hear about week, and would have written sooner but for the second time in the life of yours truly, i am recovering from "mal dee mear" (the name is bad enuff, but the disease is worse) third class passengers call it sea-sickness, but if you have a first class cabin, you are supposed to call it mal dee mear. they say its only about miles from dover to callay; maybe it is on a calm day, but believe you me derie, we went up the hills of water to the tune of about a hundred miles. it was all-rite goin up, but julie goin down is when everything "comes up." that's if you have anything left to come up. [illustration: "i don't know what to call you," sez he, "call me an ambulance," says i.--] the game we played comin over would have been a good trainin fer a prize fiter. we tumbled round so we looked like we was shadow boxin. "snappy brand of weather" pipes one of these sailor guys. he was rite, i never remember givin a better imitation of a whip snapper; and the wind, julie dere, the wind which spends its time round the flatiron and woolworth buildings, are as the poets say "gentle zephers" to that which sweeps across the english channel when a man sized storm is on; it listens like a cross between the moan of a dyin giastacutus and a subway express behind time under the east river. i never before was so glad to set my foot on dri land. i was so tickled i could have kisst the ground if it had been hoboken, n. j.u.s.a. next time they send me to vive la france, i hope they send me by parcels post or airoplane. i bumped into the captain; he said, "i dunno what to call you," i told him he could call me an ambulance or a taxi, anything to get to land with. we have been on water so much since we swore our way into the army, that i don't know whether i'm in the army or navy. tomorrow me and skinny is gonna get a pass to look over paree. we're lookin forward to a big time with what skinny calls "ze gay chansonettes." i don't know whether he means a disease or a dance, as i don't make this parley-voo much, but i'm gonna find out before we come back. with love i am yours until my wrist watch goes hrs without takin a recess, barney. p.s. how about my other shirt, did you get it from the chinks? nowhere in france the morning after a night in paris. dere julie: so this is paris. believe you me, julie, i don't see why they wanna keep wilhelm the twicer away from this burg; give him hrs. in paree like the once around the clock we had here and it would be fare-thee-well wilhelm. there would be nothin left to say but "don't he look natural." speaking of funerals, julie reminds me that was the first thing we met up with when we arrove in paree! flowers, paul-bearers, an everything. skinny lowed as how it must be some high and mitey who had joined his fathers, and asked a frenchy standing on the curb of the "bull-yard" who the big guy wuz? shrugging his shoulders, he pipes up with sumpin which sounded like "monsewer jennyseepah." well, we didn't ever here of the poor boob, so we went over onto the next rue (make that julie. i'm getting along fine), and we runs slap bang! into a other funeral more elegant than the first; and skinny not wantin to let anything get by him, again asked the name of the guy ridin in the head waggin and he got the same answer "monsewer jennyseepah." "yer a liar," yelled skinny, "we just saw _his_ funeral on the other street." well, julie, i don't blame skinny, i was a little sore myself on the way this guy tried to string us. [illustration: me an' skinny seen the toom of napoleon the wunst.] we got along seem the sights without much trouble; the toom of napoleon the wunst, the bridge over the sane, the th of july colum and champ de lizzie; feelin hungry we drifted into a swell lookin feedin place with good lookin she waiters. now don't be nervous julie, there ain't nothin gonna happen with me and them jane's; for believe you me star of my heart, i don't _care_ what anybody says to me, but you can bet every dollar that hetty green ever gave to charity, that when i do marry, i'm gonna get a dame who bawls me out in language that i understand. well, luckily we struck a she waiter who spoke a little american; to put it as she said "i speek a leetle of what monsewer calls ze anglaise." the first thing we ordered was soop. the jane brought it in a bowl and had her thum jabbed into it, when skinny pointed to her thum in the soop, she grinned and sed "zats all rite, monsewer, it is not hot." we got along very well (considerin that skinny kept her mind offen her business by trying to send her a eye wireless) and got down to the desert. you know me julie, me for the good old fashioned pies like my ol' lady makes. gettin a lamp at what looked like a juicy huckleberry pie, i pointed to it and said in my company tone of voice "please give me a big dose of that huckleberry pie." puttin on her prettiest smile and rollin her eyes, and arching her shoulders she cum back with "if monsewer will pleese brush off ze flies, he will find it is custard pie--not ze huckleberry." its a good thing we are leaving to-morrow to go toward the front for if we staid round her long the moral of our regiment would stand at about zero minus . yours until they chase the kaiser to holland with the balance of the windmills. barney. on the hike nowhere in france. dere julie: there shure is a bunch of widows over here, both grass and sod. i say little brighteyes, do you think it possible fer a guy to get hay fever from a grass widow? ennyhow skinny got some kind uv fever when he was chummin round with these female comfort kits, and if they don't lose his trail, i can see visions of a certain (what the dickens is that french word for fat--oh yes, embumpoint), lady in hoboken, n.j.u.s.a., lookin fer a new affinity. in other words, unless the signs is misleading, skinny is gonna lose his liberty by gettin married, and its the opinion of your "'lil brighteyes" that the speech of p. henry of va. on "give me liberty or give me deth" was made, more because he was married than because he was patriotic; and all the married men, i'm told julie, are chirpin the same wheeze. of course with you derie, its different. i don't believe you would accuse a feller of keepin another woman when his pay envelope is a nickle shy on sat. night. skinny and me had a date with the pudding sisters at the canteen last nite, and believe you me, they was some babies, and was well worth the money we spent on 'em. some people we met today from belgium say that when the fritzies get soused, they hug and kiss every woman they meet. what a fat chance for that sweet maiden of fifty years who grabbed me off at the station, the day i left for camp. you can bet your wrigleys that after a regiment passed her she would make a detour and catch up with the head of it again. yours until eyetalian restaurants serve real wine. barney. p.s. after readin this letter over i tho't i'd better wise you up on that date me and skinny had with the pudding sisters at the canteen last nite. women are so suspicious you know. i ment we went down to the canteen to get some puddin, rice and tapioca. "b." [illustration: she would run and ketch up with the hed of the perseshun] dere julie: your last lovin letter was rec'd by your little bright eyes in a quaint old burg in viva la france, just back of where the yanks are making soup strainers of william the twicer's boobs by punchin them in the kitchen with that "wooden sword of america." you know julie, that story that the emp has been jabbing them in the arm with about "america couldn't fite if she would, and wouldn't if she could," and tellin em also about germany's "submarines sinking all the yanks transports etcery etcery." if bill keeps this up very long they will nickname him barnum. speaking of william the twospot, reminds me of what one of our boys, which was taken prisoner and escaped, wuz telling about what the emp said when he saw so many of our boys on the front at chato theiry; sendin fer some of his generals he deemanded they tell him what boat brung all them yanks over. one of 'em piped up and sed "i think, yer majesty it was the lusitania." being german, it went over his bed like a air ship. the way things are goin now, it looks as if william the twicer is gonna have a great future behind him: skinny sez the klown quince and his army reminds him very much of his (skinny's) brother who went out west and made twenty indians run--but the indians couldn't ketch him. believe you me derie, the boches are running faster than the color in a ct. pair of stockins. they are hot footin it faster than the train that i left for camp on pulled out of grand central station; and that pulled out so fast that when i tried to kiss you from the window when she started, i kissed a cow ten miles away. well julie dere, i miss you much believe you me. i'd rather see you just about now than a messenger with the news that piece has been sined; of course there's a lot of nice girls hear amung the red x nurses and y workers, but there's so many officers and gold braids round that fellers like us dont get any more show than a dollar at a church fair. [illustration: speakin' of william the two-spot] we're up now to where we can hear the noise of the big 's as they pound the boches from their trenches and have gotten so used to it that we can't sleep without it. every once in a while we see the ambulances comin in, and a lot of the boys have to be watched to keep em from trying to beat it back into the trenches again. we heard yesterday julie, about a detachment who went over the top and the commanding officer told em not to go beyond a certain objective during the first half hour; when the half hour was up they wuz a half mile beyond the objective. when the major of the battalion bawled out the company commander, he yelled back at him "h---- if the crown prince's men couldn't stop 'em what chance had i to stop 'em?" that's whats winning this hi' ol' scrap julie--we hit em first and apologise afterward. some of our boys was sayin to-day that they thought the war would soon be over, and when i ast skinny about it, he allowed as how that meant fer single guys only; that the war would go on fer married men just the same. corporal louie heinlein sez that song "here cums the bride is the greatest battle song of all" and louie has had a lot of experience with "janes." but with you and me julie dere, that will be sumpin else again. yours till people keep their new year's resolutions until valentines day, barney. dere julie, at last i have smelt the smoke of battel, and fer the third time since i joined the colors you don't know how near you've been to cashing that thou. insurance policy. you would have cashed it fer sure this time, if it hadn't been fer a despised cooty; never again will yours truly be hard on 'em. i have one that i'm gonna retire on a penshun. it wuz like this. our regiment wuz called upon to go into the front line trenches and while i was peepin over the top, one of them pesky "seam squirrels" commenced bitin the back of my neck. i bent my head for'd to reach over on the back of my neck to pick him off, at one and the same time a sniper cut loose at me from a big tree just outside the line of fritzies trenches; had my head been where it was before i started to get the cooty, it would have been fare-thee-well barney, so i just put mr. lifesaver back, and, as before stated, i'm gonna put him on a penshun. believe you me derie, the way our boys made that sniper climb down out of that tree would make tarzan of the apes have a hemorage, and turn green with envy; he shinned down that landscape decorashun like as if it was greased. well derie, when we first swore our way into the army, i thought skinny was a coward; i figgered if he ever got in a regular scrap with bill the twicers hired patriots his knees would knock together like a pair of castnets played by a spanish bull fiter; but i take it all back, skinny in battel is a whole team and a cross dog under the waggin. it came about like this. we was bein bumbarded by the fritzies in the most approved style and believe you me derie, the shells and shrapnels was flyin round and over our heads thicker than hungry bums around a free lunch counter; all to once skinny commenced to get a bad case of the hecups. i didn't say anything to him as i was busy with a little party of my own when all to once he yells to me, "say barney, fer heavens sake do somethin to scare me so i can get rid of these d---- hecups." so you see julie dere, you never can tell by the looks of a frog how fer it can jump. this lil' old scrap has brung out a lot of cases like skinny's; fellers in civil life that you think wouldn't have the sand to get manicured, or ther hair cut without takin cloroform, are puttin themselves on the map faster than towns on newly opened government land. even the married men in our regiment are gettin so "spiffy" that i believe they'll have sand enough to talk back to friend wif when they get back home. yours until they make bottles without false bottoms. barney. [illustration: he cum down that tree quicker than tarzan uv the apes] dere julie, well julie, a courier has just horned his way into camp with the "info" that this lil ol' scrap is over, and i've lost an other chance to be a hero; but i'm not gonna go round making a noise like a dill pickel, just because i didn't get no show to give the fritzies a upper cut. i'd rather be a live simp julie, than a dead hero, any day. its better for me ennyhow, to say "there he goes, than here he lies." believe you me derie, i've saw enuff of the damage these boch pills can do, to know that a boob who tries to stop one of 'em with his frame, has no more chance than a cent piece of ice when the thermometer is plus in the shade, or a scuttle of suds in a bowery gin mill. well ol' dear, she's over, and i didn't get a chance to croak a single fritzie. my ol' man had better luck in the civil war. he was out one hot nite with a foraging party and they run into a confed ambuscade, a big fat johnny reb took after my old man and the chase was nip and tuck fer about miles. just when the ol' gent had give himself as lost, he saw over his shoulder the confed fall down in a heap and die from being overheated. but at last julie dere, we have made the world safe fer the democrats, so you can kill the cow's young son fer little bright eyes as they did fer that young high roller mentioned in the bible. if veal is top high in the good ol' u.s.a., i'll be satisfied with a table-dee-hoty dinner at the cafe des enfants (meaning child's restaurant), i'm not particular julie, so long as every course is served with your smilin face opposite. the more i see of the "janes" over here the better i like the julies over there. i've saw 'em all and not a one can hold a tallow candle up a dark alley to my own julie. in the language of the poet you can talk of english women who like there beef and beer; of italy's black haired beauties who love there land so dere; of spanish turtle doves who sing of wealth and love; but give me the u.s. girl she wins my esteem fer everytime you kiss her you get the flavor of--boston pork & beans! [illustration: home again, across the ol' atlantic.] skinny has just arrove back in camp from the trenches and got the news about the sining of the armistice. he was caked with mud from hed to foot, which he said he didn't mind till our captin complimented him on holdin all the ground they took yesterday. i guess skinny thot he was bein kidded. i made him pull off his clothes in jig time fer if he'd ever get caught out in the rain like that he would have suffered a landslide. well derie, i don't suppose an other letter will reach you before "yours truly" so i can't say if i will rite again or not; enny-ways on our way back across the ol' atlantic we wont have to look out fer any of william the twicers tin fish, and when i get back to the land of the free and the home of the brave, i'm gonna be afraid to get on a ferry boat fer fear she might head across the ocean. and now julie, fare-thee-well until i hold you in my arms again, yours until married men have alibyes there wives believe barney. p.s. i've just learned our regiment is to leave for home at once, so plug the push button on that guys bell in the hallway. anecdotes of painters, engravers sculptors and architects, and curiosities of art. by s. spooner, m.d., author of "a biographical history of the fine arts." in three volumes. vol. ii. new york: r. worthington, publisher, broadway. copyright, s. spooner, . reëntered, g. b., . contents. titian--sketch of his life, titian's manners, titian's works, titian's imitators, titian's venus and adonis, titian and the emperor charles v., titian and philip ii., titian's last supper and el mudo, titian's old age, monument to titian, horace vernet, the colosseum, nineveh and its remains, description of a palace exhumed at nimroud, origin and antiquity of the arch, antiquities of herculaneum, pompeii, and stabiæ, ancient fresco and mosaic painting, mosaic of the battle of platæa, the aldobrandini wedding, the portland vase, ancient pictures on glass, henry fuseli; his birth, fuseli's early love of art, fuseli's literary and poetical taste, fuseli, lavater, and the unjust magistrate, fuseli's travels and his literary distinction, fuseli's arrival in london, fuseli's change from literature to painting, fuseli's sojourn in italy, fuseli's nightmare, fuseli's oedipus and his daughters, fuseli and the shakspeare gallery, fuseli's "hamlet's ghost," fuseli's titania, fuseli's election as a royal academician, fuseli and horace walpole, fuseli and the banker coutts, fuseli and professor porson, fuseli's method of giving vent to his passion, fuseli's love for terrific subjects, fuseli's and lawrence's pictures from the "tempest," fuseli's estimate of reynolds' abilities in historical painting, fuseli and lawrence, fuseli as keeper of the royal academy, fuseli's jests and oddities with the students of the academy, fuseli's sarcasms on northcote, fuseli's sarcasms on various rival artists, fuseli's retorts, fuseli's suggestion of an emblem of eternity, fuseli's retort in mr. coutts' banking house, fuseli's sarcasms on landscape and portrait painters, fuseli's opinion of his own attainment of happiness, fuseli's private habits, fuseli's wife's method of curing his fits of despondency, fuseli's personal appearance, his sarcastic disposition, and quick temper, fuseli's near sight, fuseli's popularity, fuseli's artistic merits, fuseli's milton gallery, the character of his works, and the permanency of his fame, salvator rosa, salvator rosa and cav. lanfranco, salvator rosa at rome and florence, salvator rosa's return to rome, salvator rosa's subjects, flagellation of salvator rosa, salvator rosa and the higgling prince, salvator rosa's opinion of his own works, salvator rosa's banditti, salvator rosa and massaniello, salvator rosa and cardinal sforza, salvator rosa's manifesto concerning his satirical picture, la fortuna, salvator rosa's banishment from rome, salvator rosa's wit, salvator rosa's reception at florence, histrionic powers of salvator rosa, salvator rosa's reception at the palazzo pitti, satires of salvator rosa, salvator rosa's harpsichord, rare portrait by salvator rosa, salvator rosa's return to rome, salvator rosa's love of magnificence, salvator rosa's last works, salvator rosa's desire to be considered an historical painter, don mario ghigi, his physician, and salvator rosa, death of salvator rosa, domenichino, the dulness of domenichino in youth, domenichino's scourging of st. andrew, the communion of st. jerome, domenichino's enemies at rome, decision of posterity on the merits of domenichino, proof of the merits of domenichino, domenichino's caricatures, intrigues of the neapolitan triumvirate of painters, giuseppe ribera, called il spagnoletto--his early poverty and industry, ribera's marriage, ribera's rise to eminence, ribera's discovery of the philosopher's stone, ribera's subjects, ribera's disposition, singular pictorial illusions, raffaelle's skill in portraits, jacopo da ponte, giovanni rosa, cav. giovanni centarini, guercino's power of relief, bernazzano, invention of oil painting, foreshortening, method of transferring paintings from walls and panels to canvass, works in scagliola, the golden age of painting, golden age of the fine arts in ancient rome, nero's golden palace, names of ancient architects designated by reptiles, triumphal arches, statue of pompey the great, antique sculptures in rome, ancient map of rome, julian the apostate, the tomb of mausolus, mandrocles' bridge across the bosphorus, the colossus of the sun at rhodes, statues and paintings at rhodes, sostratus' light-house on the isle of pharos, dinocrates' plan for cutting mount athos into a statue of alexander the great, pope's idea of forming mount athos into a statue of alexander the great, temple with an iron statue suspended in the air by loadstone, the temple of jupiter olympius at athens, the parthenon at athens, the elgin marbles, the first odeon at athens, perpetual lamps, the skull of raffaelle, the four finest pictures in rome, the four carlos of the th century, pietro galletti and the bolognese students, Ætion's picture of the nuptials of alexander and roxana, ageladas, the porticos of agaptos, the group of niobe and her children, statue of the fighting gladiator, the group of laocoön in the vatican, michael angelo's opinion of the laocoön, discovery of the laocoön, sir john soane, soane's liberality and public munificence, the belzoni sarcophagus, tasso's "gerusalemme liberata," george morland, morland's early talent morland's early fame, morland's mental and moral education under an unnatural parent, morland's escape from the thraldom of his father, morland's marriage and temporary reform, morland's social position, an unpleasant dilemma, morland at the isle of wight, a novel mode of fulfilling commissions, hassel's first interview with morland, morland's drawings in the isle of wight, morland's freaks, a joke on morland, morland's apprehension as a spy, morland's "sign of the black bull," morland and the pawnbroker, morland's idea of a baronetcy, morland's artistic merits,. charles jervas, jervas the instructor of pope, jervas and dr. arbuthnot, jervas' vanity, holbein and the fly, holbein's visit to england, henry viii.'s opinion of holbein, holbein's portrait of the duchess dowager of milan, holbein's flattery in portraits--a warning to painters, holbein's portrait of cratzer, holbein's portrait of sir thomas more and family, sir john vanbrugh and his critics, anecdote of the english painter, james seymour, precocity of luca giordano, giordano's enthusiasm, luca fa presto, giordano's skill in copying, giordano's success at naples, giordano, the viceroy, and the duke of diano, giordano invited to florence, giordano and carlo dolci, giordano's visit to spain, giordano's works in spain, giordano at the escurial, giordano's habits in spain, giordano's first picture painted in spain, giordano a favorite at court, giordano's return to naples, giordano's personal appearance and character, giordano's riches, giordano's wonderful facility of hand, giordano's powers of imitation, giordano's fame and reputation, remarkable instance of giordano's rapidity of execution, revival of painting in italy, giovanni cimabue, cimabue's passion for art, cimabue's famous picture of the virgin, the works of cimabue, death of cimabue, giotto, giotto's st. francis stigmata, giotto's invitation to rome, giotto's living model, giotto and the king of naples, giotto and dante, death of giotto, buonamico buffalmacco, buffalmacco and his master, buffalmacco and the nuns of the convent of faenza, buffalmacco and the nun's wine, buffalmacco, bishop guido and his monkey, buffalmacco's trick on the bishop of arezzo, origin of label painting, utility of ancient works, buffalmacco and the countryman, buffalmacco and the people of perugia, buffalmacco's novel method of enforcing payment, stefano fiorentino, giottino, paolo uccello, ucello's enthusiasm, uccello and the monks of san miniato, uccello's five portraits, uccello's incredulity of st. thomas, the italian schools of painting, claude joseph vernet, vernet's precocity, vernet's enthusiasm, vernet at rome vernet's "alphabet of tones," vernet and the connoisseur, vernet's works, vernet's passion for music, vernet's opinion of his own merits, curious letter of vernet, charles vernet, anecdote of charles vernet, m. de lasson's caricature, frank hals and vandyke, anecdotes of painters, engravers, sculptors, and architects. titian,--sketch of his life. the name of this illustrious painter was tiziano vecellio or vecelli, and he is called by the italians, tiziano vecellio da cadore. he was descended of a noble family; born at the castle of cadore in the friuli in , and died in , according to ridolfi; though vasari and sandrart place his birth in . lanzi says he died in , aged years. he early showed a passion for the art, which was carefully cultivated by his parents.--lanzi says in a note, that it is pretty clearly ascertained that he received his first instruction from antonio rossi, a painter of cadore; if so, it was at a very tender age, for when he was ten years old he was sent to trevigi, and placed under sebastiano zuccati. he subsequently went to venice, and studied successively under gentile and giovanni bellini. giorgione was his fellow-student under the last named master, with whom titian made extraordinary progress, and attained such an exact imitation of his style that their works could scarcely be distinguished, which greatly excited the jealousy of bellini. on the death of giorgione, titian rose rapidly into favor. he was soon afterwards invited to the court of alphonso, duke of ferrara, for whom he painted his celebrated picture of bacchus and ariadne, and two other fabulous subjects, which still retain somewhat of the style of giorgione. it was there that he became acquainted with ariosto, whose portrait he painted, and in return the poet spread abroad his fame in the orlando furioso. in , the senate of venice employed him to decorate the hall of the council chamber, where he represented the famous battle of cadore, between the venetians and the imperialists--a grand performance, that greatly increased his reputation. this work was afterwards destroyed by fire, but the composition has been preserved by the burin of fontana. his next performance was his celebrated picture of st. pietro martire, in the church of ss. giovanni e paolo, at venice, which is generally regarded as his master-piece in historical painting. this picture was carried to paris by the french, and subsequently restored by the allies. notwithstanding the importance of these and other commissions, and the great reputation he had acquired, it is said, though with little probability of truth, that he received such a small remuneration for his works, that he was in actual indigence in , when the praises bestowed upon him in the writings of his friend pietro aretino, recommended him to the notice of the emperor charles v., who had come to bologna to be crowned by pope clement vii. titian was invited thither, and painted the portrait of that monarch, and his principal attendants, for which he was liberally rewarded.--about this time, he was invited to the court of the duke of mantua, whose portrait he painted, and decorated a saloon in the palace with a series of the twelve cæsars, beneath which giulio romano afterwards painted a subject from the history of each. in , paul iii. visited ferrara, where titian was then engaged, sat for his portrait and invited him to rome, but previous engagements with the duke of urbino, obliged him to decline or defer the invitation. having completed his undertakings for that prince, he went to rome at the invitation of the cardinal farnese in , where he was received with marks of great distinction. he was accommodated with apartments in the palace of the belvidere, and painted the pope, paul iii., a second time, whom he represented seated between the cardinal farnese and prince ottavio. he also painted his famous picture of danaë, which caused michael angelo to lament that titian had not studied the antique as accurately as he had nature, in which case his works would have been inimitable, by uniting the perfection of coloring with correctness of design. it is said that the pope was so captivated with his works that he endeavored to retain him at rome, and offered him as an inducement the lucrative office of the leaden seal, then vacant by the death of frà sebastiano del piombo, but he declined on account of conscientious scruples. titian had no sooner returned from rome to venice, than he received so pressing an invitation from his first protector, charles v., to visit the court of spain, that he could no longer refuse; and he accordingly set out for madrid, where he arrived at the beginning of , and was received with extraordinary honors. after a residence of three years at madrid, he returned to venice, whence he was shortly afterwards invited to inspruck, where he painted the portrait of ferdinand, king of the romans, his queen and children, in one picture.--though now advanced in years, his powers continued unabated, and this group was accounted one of his best productions. he afterwards returned to venice, where he continued to exercise his pencil to the last year of his long life. titian's manners. most writers observe that titian had four different manners, at as many different periods of his life: first that of bellini, somewhat stiff and hard, in which he imitated nature, according to lanzi, with a greater precision than even albert durer, so that "the hairs might be numbered, the skin of the hands, the very pores of the flesh, and the reflection of objects in the pupils seen:" second, an imitation of giorgione, more bold and full of force; lanzi says that some of his portraits executed at this time, cannot be distinguished from those of giorgione: third, his own inimitable style, which he practiced from about his thirtieth year, and which was the result of experience, knowledge, and judgment, beautifully natural, and finished with exquisite care: and fourth, the pictures which he painted in his old age. sandrart says that, "at first he labored his pictures highly, and gave them a polished beauty and lustre, so as to produce their effect full as well when they were examined closely, as when viewed at a distance; but afterwards, he so managed his penciling that their greatest force and beauty appeared at a more remote view, and they pleased less when they were beheld more nearly; so that many of those artists who studied to imitate him, being misled by appearances which they did not sufficiently consider, imagined that titian executed his works with readiness and masterly rapidity; and concluded that they should imitate his manner most effectually by a freedom of hand and a bold pencil; whereas titian in reality took abundance of pains to work up his pictures to so high a degree of perfection, and the freedom that appears in the handling was entirely effected by a skillful combination of labor and judgment, and a few bold, artful strokes of the pencil to conceal his labor." titian's works. the works of titian, though many of his greatest productions have been destroyed by terrible conflagrations at venice and madrid, are numerous, scattered throughout europe, in all the royal collections, and the most celebrated public galleries, particularly at venice, rome, bologna, milan, florence, vienna, dresden, paris, london, and madrid. the most numerous are portraits, madonnas, magdalens, bacchanals, venuses, and other mythological subjects, some of which are extremely voluptuous. two of his grandest and most celebrated works are the last supper in the escurial, and christ crowned with thorns at milan. it is said that the works of titian, to be appreciated, should be seen at venice or madrid, as many claimed to be genuine elsewhere are of very doubtful authenticity. he painted many of his best works for the spanish court, first for the emperor charles v., and next for his successor, philip ii., who is known to have given him numerous commissions to decorate the escurial and the royal palaces at madrid. there are numerous duplicates of some of his works, considered genuine, some of which he is supposed to have made himself, and others to have been carefully copied by his pupils and retouched by himself; he frequently made some slight alterations in the backgrounds, to give them more of the look of originals; thus the original of his christ and the pharisees, or the tribute money, is now in the dresden gallery, yet lanzi says there are numerous copies in italy, one of which he saw at st. saverio di rimini, inscribed with his name, which is believed to be a duplicate rather than a copy. there are more than six hundred engravings from his pictures, including both copper-plates and wooden cuts. he is said to have engraved both on wood and copper himself, but bartsch considers all the prints attributed to him as spurious, though a few of them are signed with his name, only eight of which he describes. titian's imitators. titian, the great head of the venetian school, like raffaelle, the head of the roman, had a host of imitators and copyists, some of whom approached him so closely as to deceive the best judges; and many works attributed to him, even in the public galleries of europe, were doubtless executed by them. titian's venus and adonis. this chef-d'oeuvre of titian, so celebrated in the history of art, represents venus endeavoring to detain adonis from the fatal chase. titian is known to have made several repetitions of this charming composition, some of them slightly varied, and the copies are almost innumerable. the original is supposed to have been painted at rome as a companion to the danaë, for the farnese family, about , and is now in the royal gallery at naples. the most famous of the original repetitions is that at madrid, painted for king philip ii., when prince of spain, and about the period of his marriage with queen mary of england. there is a fine duplicate of this picture in the english national gallery, another in the dulwich gallery, and two or three more in the private collections of england. ottley thus describes this picture:-- "the figure of venus, which is seen in a back view, receives the principal light, and is without drapery, save that a white veil, which hangs from her shoulder, spreads itself over the right knee. the chief parts of this figure are scarcely less excellent in respect of form than of coloring. the head possesses great beauty, and is replete with natural expression. the fair hair of the goddess, collected into a braid rolled up at the back of her head, is entwined by a string of pearls, which, from their whiteness, give value to the delicate carnation of her figure. she throws her arms, impassioned, around her lover, who, resting with his right hand upon his javelin, and holding with the left the traces which confine his dogs, looks upon her unmoved by her solicitations, and impatient to repair to the chase. cupid, meantime, is seen sleeping at some distance off, under the shadow of a group of lofty trees, from one of which are suspended his bow and quiver; a truly poetic thought, by which, it is scarcely necessary to add, the painter intended to signify that the blandishments and caresses of beauty, unaided by love, may be exerted in vain. in the coloring, this picture unites the greatest possible richness and depth of tone, with that simplicity and sobriety of character which sir joshua reynolds so strongly recommends in his lectures, as being the best adapted to the higher kinds of painting. the habit of the goddess, on which she sits, is of crimson velvet, a little inclining to purple, and ornamented with an edging of gold lace, which is, however, so subdued in tone as not to look gaudy, its lining being of a delicate straw color, touched here and there with a slight glazing of lake. the dress of adonis, also, is crimson, but of a somewhat warmer hue. there is little or no blue in the sky, which is covered with clouds, and but a small proportion of it on the distant hills; the effect altogether appearing, to be the result of a very simple principle of arrangement in the coloring, namely, that of excluding almost all cold tints from the illuminated parts of the picture." titian and the emperor charles v. one of the most pleasant things recorded in the life of titian, is the long and intimate friendship that subsisted between him and the great and good emperor charles v., whose name is known in history as one of the wisest and best sovereigns of europe. according to vasari, titian, when he was first recommended to the notice of the emperor by pietro aretino, was in deep poverty, though his name was then known all over italy. charles, who appreciated, and knew how to assist genius without wounding its delicacy, employed titian to paint his portrait, for which he munificently rewarded him. he afterwards invited him to madrid in the most pressing and flattering terms, where he was received with extraordinary honors. he was appointed gentleman of the emperor's bed-chamber, that he might be near his person; charles also conferred upon him the order of st. jago, and made him a count palatine of the empire. he did not grace the great artist with splendid titles and decorations only, but showed him more solid marks of his favor, by be stowing upon him life-rents in naples and milan of two hundred ducats each, besides a munificent compensation for each picture. these honors and favors were, doubtless, doubly gratifying to titian, as coming from a prince who was not only a lover of the fine arts, but an excellent connoisseur. "the emperor," says palomino, "having learned drawing in his youth, examined pictures and prints with all the keenness of an artist; and he much astonished Æneas vicus of parma, by the searching scrutiny that he bestowed on a print of his own portrait, which that famous engraver had submitted to his eye." stirling, in his annals of spanish artists, says, that of no prince are recorded more sayings which show a refined taste and a quick eye. he told the burghers of antwerp that, "the light and soaring spire of their cathedral deserved to be put under a glass case." he called florence "the queen of the arno, decked for a perpetual holiday." he regretted that he had given his consent for the conversion of the famous mosque of abderahman at cordova into a cathedral, when he saw what havoc had been made of the forest of fairy columns by the erection of the christian choir. "had i known," said he to the abashed improvers, "of what you were doing, you should have laid no finger on this ancient pile. you have built _a something_, such as is to be found anywhere, and you have destroyed a wonder of the world." the emperor delighted to frequent the studio of titian, on which occasions he treated him with extraordinary familiarity and condescension. the fine speeches which he lavished upon him, are as well known as his more substantial rewards. the painter one day happening to let fall his brush, the monarch picked it up, and presented it to the astonished artist, saying, "it becomes cæsar to serve titian." on another occasion, cæsar requested titian to retouch a picture which hung over the door of the chamber, and with the assistance of his courtiers moved up a table for the artist to stand upon, but finding the height insufficient, without more ado, he took hold of one corner, and calling on those gentlemen to assist, he hoisted titian aloft with his own imperial hands, saying, "we must all of us bear up this great man to show that his art is empress of all others." the envy and displeasure with which men of pomp and ceremonies viewed these familiarities, that appeared to them as so many breaches in the divinity that hedged their king and themselves, only gave their master opportunities to do fresh honors to his favorite in these celebrated and cutting rebukes: "there are many princes, but there is only one titian;" and again, when he placed titian on his right hand, as he rode out on horseback, "i have many nobles, but i have only one titian." not less valued, perhaps, by the great painter, than his titles, orders, and pensions, was the delicate compliment the emperor paid him when he declared that "no other hand should draw his portrait, since he had thrice received immortality from the pencil of titian." palomino, perhaps carried away by an artist's enthusiasm, asserts that "charles regarded the acquisition of a picture by titian with as much satisfaction as he did the conquest of a province." at all events, when the emperor parted with all his provinces by abdicating his throne, he retained some of titian's pictures. when he betook himself to gardening, watchmaking, and manifold masses at san yuste, the sole luxury to be found in his simple apartments, with their hangings of sombre brown, was that master's st. jerome, meditating in a cavern scooped in the cliffs of a green and pleasant valley--a fitting emblem of his own retreat. before this appropriate picture, or the "glory," which hung in the church of the convent, and which was removed in obedience to his will, with his body to the escurial, he paid his orisons and schooled his mind to forgetfulness of the pomps and vanities of life. titian and philip ii. titian was not less esteemed by philip ii., than by his father, charles v. when philip married mary, queen of england, he presented him his famous picture of venus and adonis, with the following letter of congratulation, which may be found in ticozzi's life of titian: "_to philip, king of england, greeting_: "most sacred majesty! i congratulate your majesty on the kingdom which god has granted to you; and i accompany my congratulations with the picture of venus and adonis, which i hope will be looked upon by you with the favorable eye you are accustomed to cast upon the works of your servant "titian." according to palomino, philip was sitting on his throne, in council, when the news arrived of the disastrous conflagration of the palace of the prado, in which so many works by the greatest masters were destroyed. he earnestly demanded if the titian venus was among those saved, and on being informed it was, he exclaimed, "then every other loss may be supported!" titian's last supper and el mudo. palomino says that when titian's famous painting of the last supper arrived at the escurial, it was found too large to fit the panel in the refectory, where it was designed to hang. the king, philip ii., proposed to cut it to the proper size. el mudo (the dumb painter), who was present, to prevent the mutilation of so capital a work, made earnest signs of intercession with the king, to be permitted to copy it, offering to do it in the space of six months. the king expressed some hesitation, on account of the length of time required for the work, and was proceeding to put his design in execution, when el mudo repeated his supplications in behalf of his favorite master with more fervency than ever, offering to complete the copy in less time than he at first demanded, tendering at the same time his head as the punishment if he failed. the offer was not accepted, and execution was performed on titian, accompanied with the most distressing attitudes and distortions of el mudo. titian's old age. titian continued to paint to the last year of his long life, and many writers, fond of the marvellous, assert that his faculties and his powers continued to the last. vasari, who saw him in for the last time, said he "could no longer recognize titian in titian." lanzi says, "there remains in the church of s. salvatore, one of these pictures (executed towards the close of his life), of the annunciation, which attracts the attention only from the name of the master. yet when he was told by some one that it was not, or at least did not appear to have been executed by his hand, he was so much irritated that, in a fit of senile indignation, he seized his pencil and inscribed upon it, 'tizianus fecit, fecit.' still the most experienced judges are agreed that much may be learned, even from his latest works, in the same manner as the poets pronounce judgment upon the odyssey, the product of old age, but still by homer." monument to titian. a monument to titian, from the studio of the brothers zandomenghi, was erected in venice in ; and the civil, ecclesiastical, and military authorities were present at the ceremony of inauguration. it represents titian, surrounded by figures impersonating the fine arts; below are impersonations of the fifteenth and nineteenth centuries. the basement is adorned with five bas-reliefs, representing as many celebrated paintings by the great artist. horace vernet. among all the artists of our day, is one standing almost alone, and singularly characterized in many respects. he is entirely wanting in that lofty religious character which fills with pureness and beauty the works of the early masters; he has not the great and impressive historical qualities of the school of raffaelle, nor the daring sublimity of michael angelo; he has not the rich luxury of color that renders the works of the great venetians so gorgeous, nor even that sort of striking reality which makes the subjects rendered by the flemish masters incomparably life-like. yet he is rich in qualities deeply attractive and interesting to the people, especially the french people, of our own day. he displays an astonishing capacity and rapidity of execution, an almost unparalleled accuracy of memory, a rare life and motion on the canvass, a vigorous comprehension of the military tactics of the time, a wonderful aptitude at rendering the camp and field potent subjects for the pencil, notwithstanding the regularity of movement, and the unpicturesque uniformity of costume demanded by the military science of our day. before a battle-piece, of horace vernet (and only his battle-pieces are his masterpieces), the crowd stands breathless and horrified at the terrible and bloody aspect of war; while the military connoisseur admires the ability and skill of the feats of arms, so faithfully rendered that he forgets he is not looking at real soldiers in action. in the landscapes and objects of the foreground or background, there are not that charm of color and aërial depth and transparency in which the eye revels, yet there is a hard vigorous actuality which adds to the force and energy of the actors, and strengthens the idea of presence at the battle, without attracting or charming away the mind from the terrible inhumanities principally represented. no poetry, no romance, no graceful and gentle beauty; but the stern dark reality as it might be written in an official bulletin, or related in a vigorous, but cold and accurate, page of history. such is the distinguishing talent of horace vernet--talent sufficient, however, to make his pictures the attractive centres of crowds at the louvre exhibitions, and to make himself the favorite of courts and one of the _illustrissimi_ of europe. the vernets have been a family of painters during four generations. the great-grandfather of horace was a well-known artist at avignon, a hundred and fifty years ago. his son and pupil, claude joseph vernet, was the first marine painter of his time; and occupies, with his works alone, an entire apartment of the french gallery at the louvre, besides great numbers of sea-pieces and landscapes belonging to private galleries. he died in , but his son and pupil, antoine charles horace vernet, who had already during two years sat by his side in the royal academy, continued the reputation of the family during the consulate and empire. he was particularly distinguished for cavalry-battles, hunting scenes, and other incidents in which the horse figured largely as actor. in some of these pictures the hand of the son already joined itself to that of the father, the figures being from the pencil of horace; and before the death of the father, which took place in , he had already seen the artistic reputation of the family increased and heightened by the fame of his son. horace vernet was born at the louvre on the th june, , the year of the death of his grandfather, who, as painter to the king, had occupied rooms at the louvre, where his father also resided; so that horace not only inherited his art from a race of artist-ancestors, but was born amid the _chef d' oeuvres_ of the entire race of painters. of course, his whole childhood and youth were surrounded with objects of art; and it was scarcely possible for him not to be impressed in the most lively manner by the unbroken artist-life in which he was necessarily brought up. it would appear that from his childhood he employed himself in daubing on walls, and drawing on scraps of paper all sorts of little soldiers. like his father and grandfather, his principal lessons as a student were drawn from the paternal experience, and certainly no professor could more willingly and faithfully save him all the loss of time and patience occasioned by the long and often fruitless groping of the almost solitary art-student. he was also thus saved from falling into the errors of the school of david. certainly no great _penchant_ towards the antique is discoverable in his father's works; nor in his own do we find painted casts of greek statues dressed in the uniforms of the nineteenth century. at twenty, it is true, he tried, but without success, the classic subject offered to competition at the academy for the prize of visiting rome. the study of the antique did not much delight him. on the contrary, he rather joined with the innovators, whose example was then undermining the over-classic influence of david's school, the most formidable and influential of whom, a youth about his own age, and a fellow-student in his father's atelier, was then painting a great picture, sadly decried at the time, but now considered one of the masterpieces of the french school in the louvre--the "raft of the medusa." gericault was his companion in the studio and in the field, at the easel and on horseback; and we might trace here one of the many instances of the influence which this powerful and original genius exercised on the young artists of his time, and which, had it not been arrested by his premature death in january, , would have made gericault more strikingly distinguished as one of the master-spirits in french art, and the head of a school entirely the opposite to that of david. horace's youth, however, did not pass entirely under the smiles of fortune. he had to struggle with those difficulties of narrow means with which a very large number of young artists are tolerably intimate. he had to weather the gales of poverty by stooping to all sorts of illustrative work, whose execution we fancy must have been often a severe trial to him. any youth aiming at "high art," and feeling, though poor, too proud to bend in order to feed the taste, (grotesque and unrefined enough, it must be allowed,) of the good public, which artists somewhat naturally estimate rather contemptuously, might get a lesson of patience by looking over an endless series of the most variedly hideous costumes or caricatures of costume which horace was glad to draw, for almost any pecuniary consideration. a series of amusingly _naive_ colored prints, illustrating the adventures of poor la vallière with louis xiv., would strengthen the lesson. these were succeeded by lithographs of an endless variety of subjects--the soldier's life in all its phases, the "horse and its rider" in all their costumes, snatches of romances, fables, caricatures, humorous pieces, men, beasts, and things. in short, young horace tried his hand at any thing and every thing in the drawing line, at once earning a somewhat toughly-woven livelihood, and perfecting his talent with the pencil. in later years, the force and freedom of this talent were witnessed to by illustrations of a more important character in a magnificent edition of voltaire's _henriade_, published in , and of the well known _life of napoleon_ by laurent. failing, as we have said, and perhaps fortunately for him, in the achievement of the great prize of rome, he turned to the line of art for which he felt himself naturally endowed, the incidents of the camp and field. the "taking of a redoubt;" the "dog of the regiment;" the "horse of the trumpeter;" "halt of french soldiers;" the "battle of tolosa;" the "barrier of clichy, or defense of paris in " (both of which last, exhibited in , now hang in the gallery of the luxembourg), the "soldier-laborer;" the "soldier of waterloo;" the "last cartridge;" the "death of poniatowski;" the "defense of saragossa," and many more, quickly followed each other, and kept up continually and increasingly the public admiration. the critics of the painted bas-relief school found much to say against, and little in favor of, the new talent that seemed to look them inimically in the face, or rather did not seem to regard them at all. but people in general, of simple enough taste in matter of folds of drapery or classic laws of composition or antique lines of beauty, saw before them with all the varied sentiments of admiration, terror, or dismay, the soldier mounting the breach at the cannon's mouth, or the general, covered with orders, cut short in the midst of his fame. little of the romantic, little of poetical idealization, little of far-fetched _style_ was there on these canvasses, but the crowd recognized the soldier as they saw him daily, in the midst of the scenes which the bulletin of the army or the page of the historian had just narrated to them. they were content, they were full of admiration, they admired the pictures, they admired the artist; and, the spleen of critics notwithstanding, horace vernet was known as one of the favorite painters of the time. in appeared the "massacre of the mamelukes at cairo," now in the luxembourg. we do not know how the public accepted this production. we have no doubt, however, that they were charmed at the gaudy _éclat_ of the bloodthirsty tyrant, with his hookah and lion in the foreground, and dismayed at the base assassinations multiplied in the background. nor do we doubt that the critics gave unfavorable judgments thereupon, and that most of those who loved art seriously, said little about the picture. we would at all events express our own regret that the authorities do not find some better works than this and the "battle of tolosa," to represent in a public gallery the talent of the most famous battle-painter of france. the battles of jemmapes, valmy, hanau, and montmirail, executed at this time, and hung till lately in the gallery of the palais royal (now, we fear, much, if not entirely, destroyed by the mob on the th february), were much more worthy of such a place. whether it was by a considerate discernment that the mob attacked these, as the property of the ex-king, or by a mere goth-and-vandalism of revolution, we do not know; but certainly we would rather have delivered up to their wrath these others, the "property of the nation." the same hand would hardly seem to have executed both sets of paintings. it is not only the difference in size of the figures on the canvass, those of the luxembourg being life-sized, and those of the palais royal only a few inches in length, but the whole style of the works is different. the first seem painted as if they had been designed merely to be reproduced in gay silks and worsteds at the gobelins, where we have seen a copy of the "massacre of the mamelukes," in tapestry, which we would, for itself, have preferred to the original. but the latter four battles, notwithstanding the disadvantage of costume and arrangement necessarily imposed by the difference of time and country, produce far more satisfactory works of art, and come much nearer to historical painting. they are painted without pretension, without exaggeration. the details are faithfully and carefully, though evidently rapidly, executed. the generals and personages in the front are speaking portraits; and the whole scene is full of that sort of life and action which impresses one at once as the very sort of action that must have taken place. now it is a battery of artillery backed against a wood,--now it is a plain over which dense ranks of infantry march in succession to the front of the fire. here it is a scene where in the full sunlight shows the whole details of the action; there it is night--and a night of cloud and storm, draws her sombre veil over the dead and wounded covering the field. a historian might find on these canvasses, far better than in stores of manuscript, wherewith to fill many a page of history with accurate and vivid details of these bloody days; or rather, many a page of history would not present so accurate and vivid a conception of what is a field of battle. in , entry to the exhibition at the louvre being refused to his works, horace vernet made an exhibition-room of his atelier, had a catalogue made out (for what with battles, hunts, landscapes, portraits, he had a numerous collection), and the public were admitted. in he was admitted a member of the institute, and in was appointed director of the academy at rome, so that the young man who could not so far decline his antiques as to treat the classic subject of the royal academy, and thus gain the academy at rome, now went there as chief of the school, and as one of the most distinguished artists of his time. this residence for five years among the best works of the great masters of italy naturally inspired him with ideas and desires which it had not been hitherto in his circumstances to gratify. and once installed in the villa medici, which he made to resound with the voices of joy and revelry, splendid fêtes and balls, he set himself to study the italian school. a series of pictures somewhat new in subject and manner of treatment was the result of this change of circumstances and ideas. to the paris exhibition of he sent a "judith and holofernes," which is one of the least successful of his pictures in the luxembourg, where it hangs still, with another sent two years after, "raffaelle and michael angelo in the vatican." this is perhaps the best of his works at the luxembourg, all being inferior; but it has a certain dry gaudiness of color, and a want of seriousness of design, which render it unfit to be considered a master-work. one unquestionably preferable, the "arresting of the princes at the palais royal by order of anne of austria," found its way to the palais royal, so that in this, as in the other we have remarked, the king seemed to know how to choose better than the art-authorities of the "gallery of living painters." a number of other pictures testified to the activity of the artist's pencil at rome:--"combat of brigands against the pope's riflemen," "confession of the dying brigand," also at the palais royal, but also we fear destroyed by the popular vandalism of the th february; a "chase in the pontine marshes," "pope leo xii. carried into st. peter's." the favor of the public, however, still turned to the usual subject of horace vernet--the french soldier's life; finding which, on his return from rome, he recurred to his original study. in he exhibited four new battle-pieces, "friedland," "wagram," "jena," and "fontenoy," in which were apparent all his usual excellencies. the occupation of the algerine territory by the french troops afforded the artist an opportunity of exhibiting his powers in that department most suited to them. a whole gallery at versailles was set apart for the battle-painter, called the _constantine gallery_, after the most important feat of arms yet performed by the french troops in africa, the taking of the town of constantine. some of the solitary and extraordinary, we might say accidental, military exploits in europe of louis philippe's reign, are also commemorated there. the "occupation of ancona," the "entry of the army into belgium," the "attack of the citadel of antwerp," the "fleet forcing the tagus," show that nothing is forgotten of the continental doings. the african feats are almost too many to enumerate. in a "sortie of the arab garrison of constantine," the duke de nemours is made to figure in person. then we have the troops of assault receiving the signal to leave the trenches, and "the scaling of the breach." there are the "occupation of the defile of teniah," "combat of the habrah, of the sickak, of samah, of afzoum." in fine, there is the largest canvass in existence, it is said, the "taking of the smalah," that renowned occasion when the army was so _very near_ taking abd-el-kader; and the "battle of isly," which gained that splendid trophy, the parasol of command. besides these great subjects there are decorations of military trophies and allegorical figures, which seem to have been painted by some pupil of vernet. these battles were first of all exhibited to the admiration of paris in the various salons after their execution, and were then sent off to decorate versailles. there are also, in the _gallery of french history_, at versailles, several others of his, such as the "battle of bouvines;" "charles x. reviewing the national guard;" the "marshal st. cyr," and some others among those we have already named. in them the qualities of the artist are manifested more fully, we think, than in any others of his works. they are full of that energy, vivacity, and daguerreotypic verity which he so eminently displays. there is none of that pretension after "high art" which has injured the effect of some of his pictures. the rapidity of their execution too in general was such, that the public had hardly finished reading the last news of the combats, when the artist, returned in many cases from witnessing the scenes, had placed them on the canvass, and offered them to popular gaze. yet the canvasses are in many cases of great extent, and often, the figures of life-size. but the artist rarely employs the model, painting mostly from memory, a faculty most astonishingly developed in him. he generally also saves himself the trouble of preparing a smaller sketch to paint after, working out his subject at once in the definitive size. of course with more serious and elevated subjects, worked out in a more serious and elevated spirit, such a system would not do. but for the style of subject and execution required by horace vernet's artistic organization, these careful preparations would not answer. they would only tend to diminish the sweeping passion of the fiery _melée_, and freeze the swift impulsive rush of the attack or flight. vernet has several times attempted biblical subjects, but they have never succeeded so well as to add anything to his fame as a battle-painter. "judah and tamar," "agar dismissed by abraham," "rebecca at the fountain," "judith with the head of holofernes," "the good samaritan," have rather served to illustrate arab costume and manners, (which he makes out to be the same as, or very similar to, those of old biblical times,) than to illustrate his own power in the higher range of art. in the midst of painting all these, horace vernet has found time, which for him is the smallest requisite in painting, to produce an innumerable mass of pictures for private galleries, or at the command of various crowned heads; which, with many of those already mentioned, are well known all over europe by engravings. "the post of the desert," "the prayer in the desert," "the lion hunt in the desert," "council of arabs," "episode of the pest of barcelona," "the breach of constantine," "mazeppa," and a host of others, together with landscapes, portraits, &c., have served both to multiply his works in the galleries of every country in europe, and to make him one of the most popular of living artists. the colosseum. the colosseum, or coliseum, was commenced by vespasian, and completed by titus, (a. d. .) this enormous building occupied only three years in its erection. cassiodorus affirms that this magnificent monument of folly cost as much as would have been required to build a capital city. we have the means of distinctly ascertaining its dimensions and its accommodations from the great mass of wall that still remains entire; and although the very clamps of iron and brass that held together the ponderous stones of this wonderful edifice were removed by gothic plunderers, and succeeding generations have resorted to it as to a quarry for their temples and their palaces--yet the "enormous skeleton" still stands to show what prodigious works may be raised by the skill and perseverance of man, and how vain are the mightiest displays of his physical power when compared with those intellectual efforts which have extended the empire of virtue and of science. the colosseum, which is of an oval form, occupies the space of nearly six acres. it may justly be said to have been the most imposing building, from its apparent magnitude, in the world; the pyramids of egypt can only be compared with it in the extent of their plan, as they each cover nearly the same surface. the greatest length, or major axis, is feet; the greatest breadth, or minor axis, is feet. the outer wall is feet high in its whole extent. the exterior wall is divided into four stories, each ornamented with one of the orders of architecture. the cornice of the upper story is perforated for the purpose of inserting wooden masts, which passed also through the architrave and frieze, and descended to a row of corbels immediately above the upper range of windows, on which are holes to receive the masts. these masts were for the purpose of attaching cords to, for sustaining the awning which defended the spectators from the sun or rain. two corridors ran all round the building, leading to staircases which ascended to the several stories; and the seats which descended towards the arena, supported throughout upon eighty arches, occupied so much of the space that the clear opening of the present inner wall next the arena is only feet by feet. immediately above and around the arena was the podium, elevated about twelve or fifteen feet, on which were seated the emperor, senators, ambassadors of foreign nations, and other distinguished personages in that city of distinctions. from the podium to the top of the second story were seats of marble for the equestrian order; above the second story the seats appear to have been constructed of wood. in these various seats eighty thousand spectators might be arranged according to their respective ranks; and indeed it appears from inscriptions, as well as from expressions in roman writers, that many of the places in this immense theatre were assigned to particular individuals, and that each might find his seat without confusion. on extraordinary occasions, , persons could crowd into it. gibbon has given a splendid description, in his twelfth book, of the exhibitions in the colosseum; but he acknowledges his obligations to montaigne, who, says the historian, "gives a very just and lively view of roman magnificence in these spectacles." our readers will, we doubt not, be gratified by the quaint but most appropriate sketch of the old philosopher of france:-- "it was doubtless a fine thing to bring and plant within the theatre a great number of vast trees, with all their branches in their full verdure, representing a great shady forest, disposed in excellent order, and the first day to throw into it a thousand ostriches, a thousand stags, a thousand boars, and a thousand fallow deer, to be killed and disposed of by the people: the next day to cause an hundred great lions, an hundred leopards and three hundred bears to be killed in his presence: and for the third day, to make three hundred pair of fencers to fight it out to the last,--as the emperor probus did. it was also very fine to see those vast amphitheatres, all faced with marble without, curiously wrought with figures and statues, and the inside sparkling with rare decorations and enrichments; all the sides of this vast space filled and environed from the bottom to the top, with three or four score ranks of seats, all of marble also, and covered with cushions, where an hundred thousand men might sit placed at their ease; and the place below, where the plays were played, to make it by art first open and cleave into chinks, representing caves that vomited out the beasts designed for the spectacle; and then secondly, to be overflowed with a profound sea, full of sea-monsters, and loaded with ships of war, to represent a naval battle: and thirdly, to make it dry and even again for the combats of the gladiators; and for the fourth scene, to have it strewed with vermilion and storax, instead of sand, there to make a solemn feast for all that infinite number of people--the last act of only one day. "sometimes they have made a high mountain advance itself, full of fruit-trees and other flourishing sorts of woods, sending down rivulets of water from the top, as from the mouth of a fountain: other whiles, a great ship was seen to come rolling in, which opened and divided itself; and after having disgorged from the hold four or five hundred beasts for fight, closed again, and vanished without help. at other times, from the floor of this place, they made spouts of perfumed water dart their streams upward, and so high as to besprinkle all that infinite multitude. to defend themselves from the injuries of the weather, they had that vast place one while covered over with purple curtains of needle-work, and by-and-by with silk of another color, which they could draw off or on in a moment, as they had a mind. the net-work also that was set before the people to defend them from the violence of these turned-out beasts, was also woven of gold." "if there be anything excusable in such excesses as these," continues montaigne, "it is where the novelty and invention creates more wonder than expense." fortunately for the real enjoyments of mankind, even under the sway of a roman despot, "the novelty and invention" had very narrow limits when applied to matters so utterly unworthy and unintellectual as the cruel sports of the amphitheatre. probus indeed, transplanted trees to the arena, so that it had the appearance of a verdant grove; and severus introduced four hundred ferocious animals in one ship sailing in the little lake which the arena formed. but on ordinary occasions, profusion,--tasteless, haughty, and uninventive profusion,--the gorgeousness of brute power, the pomp of satiated luxury--these constituted the only claim to the popular admiration. if titus exhibited five thousand wild beasts at the dedication of the amphitheatre, trajan bestowed ten thousand on the people at the conclusion of the dacian war. if the younger gordian collected together bears, elks, zebras, ostriches, boars, and wild horses, he was an imitator only of the spectacles of carus, in which the rarity of the animals was as much considered as their fierceness. nineveh and its remains. "for very many centuries, the hoary monuments of egypt--its temples, its obelisks, and its tombs--have presented to the eye of the beholder strange forms of sculpture and of language; the import of which none could tell. the wild valleys of sinai, too, exhibited upon their rocky sides the unknown writings of a former people; whose name and existence none could trace. among the ruined halls of persepolis, and on the rock-hewn tablets of the surrounding regions, long inscriptions in forgotten characters seemed to enrol the deeds and conquests of mighty sovereigns; but none could read the record. thanks to the skill and persevering zeal of scholars of the th century, the key of these locked up treasures has been found; and the records have mostly been read. the monuments of egypt, her paintings and her hieroglyphics, mute for so many ages, have at length spoken out; and now our knowledge of this ancient people is scarcely less accurate and extensive than our acquaintance with the classic lands of greece and rome. the unknown characters upon the rocks of sinai have been deciphered, but the meagre contents still leave us in darkness as to their origin and purpose. the cuneiform or arrow-headed inscriptions of the persian monuments and tablets, have yielded up their mysteries, unfolding historical data of high importance; thus illustrating and confirming the few and sometimes isolated facts preserved to us in the scriptures and other ancient writings. of all the works, in which the progress and results of these discoveries have been made known, not one has been reproduced or made generally accessible in this country. the scholar who would become acquainted with them, and make them his own, must still have recourse to the old world. "the work of mr. layard brings before us still another step of progress. here we have not to do, with the hoary ruins that have borne the brunt of centuries in the presence of the world, but with a resurrection of the monuments themselves. it is the disentombing of temple-palaces from the sepulchre of ages; the recovery of the metropolis of a powerful nation from the long night of oblivion. nineveh, the great city 'of three days' journey,' that was 'laid waste, and there was none to bemoan her,' whose greatness sank when that of rome had just begun to rise, now stands forth again to testify to her own splendor, and to the civilization, and power, and magnificence of the assyrian empire. this may be said, thus far, to be the crowning historical discovery of the nineteenth century. but the century as yet, is only half elapsed. "nineveh was destroyed in the year before christ; less than years after rome was founded. her latest monuments, therefore, date back not less than five-and-twenty centuries; while the foundation of her earliest is lost in an unknown antiquity. when the ten thousand greeks marched over this plain in their celebrated retreat, ( b.c.) they found in one part, a ruined city called larissa; and in connection with it, xenophon, their leader and historian, describes what is now the pyramid of nimroud. but he heard not the name of nineveh; it was already forgotten in its site; though it appears again in the later greek and roman writers. even at that time, the widely extended walls and ramparts of nineveh had perished, and mounds, covering magnificent palaces, alone remained at the extremities of the ancient city, or in its vicinity, much as at the present day. "of the site of nineveh, there is scarcely a further mention, beyond the brief notices by benjamin of tudela and abulfeda, until niebuhr saw it and described its mounds nearly a century ago. in , mr. rich visited the spot; he obtained a few square sun-dried bricks with inscriptions, and some other slight remains; and we can all remember the profound impression made upon the public mind, even by these cursory memorials of nineveh and babylon." description of a palace exhumed at nimroud. "during the winter, mr. longworth, and two other english travelers, visited me at nimroud. as they were the only europeans, (except mr. ross) who saw the palace when uncovered, it may be interesting to the reader to learn the impression which the ruins were calculated to make upon those who beheld them for the first time, and to whom the scene was consequently new. mr. longworth, in a letter, thus graphically describes his visit:-- "'i took the opportunity, whilst at mosul, of visiting the excavations of nimroud. but before i attempt to give a short account of them, i may as well say a few words as to the general impression which these wonderful remains made upon me, on my first visit to them. i should begin by stating, that they are all under ground. to get at them, mr. layard has excavated the earth to the depth of twelve to fifteen feet, where he has come to a building composed of slabs of marble. in this place, which forms the northwest angle of the mound, he has fallen upon the interior of a large palace, consisting of a labyrinth of halls, chambers, and galleries, the walls of which are covered with bas-reliefs and inscriptions in the cuneiform character, all in excellent preservation. the upper part of the walls, which was of brick, painted with flowers, &c, in the brightest colors, and the roofs, which were of wood, have fallen; but fragments of them are strewed about in every direction. the time of day when i first descended into these chambers happened to be towards evening; the shades of which, no doubt, added to the awe and mystery of the surrounding objects. it was of course with no little excitement that i suddenly found myself in the magnificent abode of the old assyrian kings; where, moreover, it needed not the slightest effort of imagination to conjure up visions of their long departed power and greatness. the walls themselves were covered with phantoms of the past; in the words of byron,'three thousand years their cloudy wings expand,' unfolding to view a vivid representation of those who conquered and possessed so large a portion of the earth we now inhabit. there they were, in the oriental pomp of richly embroidered robes, and quaintly-artificial coiffure. there also were portrayed their deeds in peace and war, their audiences, battles, sieges, lion-hunts, &c. my mind was overpowered by the contemplation of so many strange objects; and some of them, the portly forms of kings and vizirs, were so life-like, and carved in such fine relief, that they might almost be imagined to be stepping from the walls to question the rash intruder on their privacy. then mingled with them were other monstrous shapes--the old assyrian deities, with human bodies, long drooping wings, and the heads and beaks of eagles; or, still faithfully guarding the portals of the deserted halls, the colossal forms of winged lions and bulls, with gigantic human faces. all these figures, the idols of a religion long since dead and buried like themselves, seemed in the twilight to be actually raising their desecrated heads from the sleep of centuries; certainly the feeling of awe which they inspired me with, must have been something akin to that experienced by their heathen votaries of old.'--_layard's nineveh and its remains_, vol. i. p. . "the interior of the assyrian palace must have been as magnificent as imposing. i have led the reader through its ruins, and he may judge of the impression its halls were calculated to make upon the stranger who, in the days of old, entered for the first time into the abode of the assyrian kings. he was ushered in through the portal guarded by the colossal lions or bulls of white alabaster. in the first hall he found himself surrounded by the sculptured records of the empire. battles, sieges, triumphs, the exploits of the chase, the ceremonies of religion, were portrayed on the walls, sculptured in alabaster, and painted in gorgeous colors. under each picture were engraved, in characters filled up with bright copper, inscriptions describing the scenes represented. above the sculptures were painted other events--the king attended by his eunuchs and warriors, receiving his prisoners, entering into alliances with other monarchs, or performing some sacred duty. these representations were enclosed in colored borders, of elaborate and elegant design. the emblematic tree, winged bulls, and monstrous animals were conspicuous among the ornaments. "at the upper end of the hall was the colossal figure of the king in adoration before the supreme deity, or receiving from his eunuch the holy cup. he was attended by warriors bearing his arms, and by the priests or presiding divinities. his robes, and those of his followers, were adorned with groups of figures, animals, and flowers, all painted with brilliant colors. the stranger trod upon the alabaster slabs, each bearing an inscription, recording the titles, genealogy, and achievements of the great king.--several door-ways, formed by gigantic winged lions or bulls, or by the figures of guardian deities, led into other apartments, which again opened into more distant halls. in each were new sculptures. on the walls of some were processions of colossal figures--armed men and eunuchs following the king, warriors laden with spoil, leading prisoners, or bearing presents and offerings to the gods. on the walls of others were portrayed the winged priests, or presiding divinities, standing before the sacred trees. "the ceilings above him were divided into square compartments, painted with flowers, or with the figures of animals. some were inlaid with ivory, each compartment being surrounded by elegant borders and mouldings. the beams as well as the sides of the chambers, may have been gilded, or even plated, with gold and silver; and the rarest woods, in which the cedar was conspicuous, were used for the wood work. square openings in the ceilings of the chambers admitted the light of day. a pleasing shadow was thrown over the sculptured walls, and gave a majestic expression to the human features of the colossal figures which guarded the entrances. through these apertures was seen the bright blue of an eastern sky, enclosed in a frame on which were painted, in varied colors, the winged circle, in the midst of elegant ornaments, and the graceful forms of ideal animals. "these edifices, as it has been shown, were great national monuments, upon the walls of which were represented in sculpture, or inscribed in alphabetic characters, the chronicles of the empire. he who entered them might thus read the history, and learn the glory and triumphs of the nation. they served at the same time to bring continually to the remembrance of those who assembled within them on festive occasions, or for the celebration of religious ceremonies, the deeds of their ancestors, and the power and majesty of their gods."--_layard's nineveh and its remains_, vol. ii. p . origin and antiquity of the arch. the origin of the arch is very uncertain. it was unknown to the egyptians, for their chambers were roofed with long flat stones, and sometimes the upper layers of stones form projections, so as to diminish the roof surface. it is also supposed that it was unknown to the greeks, when they constructed their most beautiful temples, in the th, th, and d centuries b. c., as no structure answering to the true character of the arch has been found in any of these works. minutoli has given specimens of arches at thebes; circular, and formed of four courses of bricks, and it is maintained that these belonged to a very ancient period, long before the greek occupancy of that country. the macedonians were a civilized people long before the rest of the greeks, and were, in fact, their instructors; but the greeks afterwards so far excelled them that they regarded them as barbarians. some say that etruria was the true birth-place of the arch; it was doubtless from them that the romans learned its use. tarquinius priscus conquered the etrurians, and he it was who first introduced and employed the arch in the construction of the cloacæ, or sewers of rome. the _cloaca maxima_, or principal branch, received numerous other branches between the capitoline, palatine, and quirinal hills. it is formed of three consecutive rows of large stones piled above each other without cement, and has stood nearly , years, surviving without injury the earthquakes and other convulsions that have thrown down temples, palaces, and churches of the superincumbent city. from the time of tarquin, the arch was in general use among the romans in the construction of aqueducts, public edifices, bridges, &c. the chinese understood the use of the arch in the most remote times, and in such perfection as to enable them to bridge large streams with a single span. mr. layard has shown that the ninevites knew its use at least years ago; he not only discovered a vaulted chamber, but that "arched gate-ways are continually represented in the bas-reliefs." diodorus siculus relates that the tunnel from the euphrates at babylon, ascribed to semiramis, was vaulted. there are vaults under the site of the temple at jerusalem, which are generally considered as ancient as that edifice, but some think them to have been of more recent construction, as they suppose the jews were ignorant of the arch; but it is evident that it was well known in the neighboring countries before the jewish exile, and at least seven or eight centuries before the time of herod. it seems highly probable, that the arch was discovered by several nations in very remote times. antiquities of herculaneum, pompeii, and stabiÆ. the city of herculaneum, distant about , paces from naples, was so completely buried by a stream of lava and a shower of ashes from the first known eruption of vesuvius, during the reign of titus, a. d. , that its site was unknown for many ages. the neighboring city of pompeii, on the river sarno, one of the most populous and flourishing towns on the coast, as well as stabiæ, oplontia, and teglanum, experienced the same fate. earlier excavations had already been forgotten, when three female figures, (now in the dresden gallery) were discovered while some workmen were digging a well for prince elbeuf at portici, a village situated on the site of ancient herculaneum. in the well was dug deeper, and the theatre of herculaneum was first discovered. in , pompeii and stabiæ were explored; the former place being covered with ashes rather than lava, was more easily examined. here was discovered the extensive remains of an amphitheatre. in the cellar of a villa twenty-seven female skeletons were found with ornaments for the neck and arms; lying around, near the lower door of another villa, two skeletons were found, one of which held a key in one hand, and in the other a bag of coins and some cameos, and near them were several beautiful silver and bronze vessels. it is probable, however, that most of the inhabitants of this city had time to save themselves by flight, as comparatively few bodies have been found. the excavations since the discovery, have been continued by the government, up to the present time, with more or less interruptions. for the antiquary and the archæologist, antiquity seems here to revive and awaken the sensations which schiller has so beautifully described in his poem of pompeii and herculaneum. the ancient streets and buildings are again thrown open, and in them we see, as it were, the domestic life of the ancient romans. we had never before such an opportunity of becoming acquainted with the disposition of their houses, and of their utensils. whole streets, with magnificent temples, theatres, and private mansions, have been disentombed. multitudes of statues, bas-reliefs, and other sculptures have been found in these buried cities; also many fresco paintings, the most remarkable of which are andromeda and perseus, diana and endymion, the education of bacchus, the battle of platea, &c. in one splendid mansion were discovered several pictures, representing polyphemus and galatea, hercules and the three hesperdies, cupid and a bacchante, mercury and io, perseus killing medusa, and other subjects. there were also in the store rooms of the same house, evidently belonging to a very rich family, an abundance of provisions, laid in for the winter, consisting of dates, figs, prunes, various kinds of nuts, hams, pies, corn, oil, peas, lentils, &c. there were also in the same house, vases, articles of glass, bronze, and terra-cotta, several medallions in silver, on one of which was represented in relief, apollo and diana. a great treasure of ancient books or manuscripts, consisting of papyrus rolls, has also been discovered, which has excited the greatest curiosity of the learned, in the hope of regaining some of the lost works of ancient writers; but though some valuable literary remains of grecian and roman antiquity have been more or less completely restored, the greater part remain yet untouched, no effectual means having been discovered by which the manuscripts could be unrolled and deciphered, owing to their charred and decomposed state. the following vivid sketch of the present appearance of these devoted cities, is from the pen of an american traveler:-- "in the grounds of the royal palace at portici, which are extensive, there is a small fortress, with its angles, its bastions, counter-scarps, and all the geometrical technicalities of vauban, in miniature. it was erected by charles iii., for the instruction, or perhaps more correctly speaking, the amusement of his sons. the garden on the front of the palace next to the bay, is enchanting. here, amidst statues, refreshing fountains, and the most luxurious foliage, the vine, the orange, the fig, in short, surrounded by all the poetry of life, one may while 'the sultry hours away,' till the senses, yielding to the voluptuous charm, unfit one for the sober realities of a busy world. "the towns of portici and resinia, which are in fact united, are very populous. the shops, at the season of my visit, christmas, particularly those where eatables were sold, exhibited a very gay appearance; and gilt hams, gilt cheese, festoons of gilt sausages, intermixed with evergreens, and fringes of maccaroni, illuminated virgin marys, and gingerbread holy families, divided the attention of the stranger, with the motley crowds in all the gay variety of neapolitan costume. at the depth of seventy or eighty feet beneath these crowded haunts of busy men, lies buried, in a solid mass of hard volcanic matter, the once splendid city of herculaneum, which was overthrown in the first century of the christian era, by a terrible eruption of vesuvius. it was discovered about the commencement of the last century, by the digging of a well immediately over the theatre. for many years the excavations were carried on with spirit; and the forum, theatres, porticos, and splendid mansions, were successively exposed, and a great number of the finest bronzes, marble statues, busts, &c., which now delight the visitor to the museum at naples, were among the fruits of these labors. unfortunately, the parts excavated, upon the removal of the objects of art discovered, were immediately filled up in lieu of pillars, or supports to the superincumbent mass being erected. as the work of disentombment had long since ceased, nothing remained to be seen but part of the theatre, the descent to which is by a staircase made for the purpose. by the light of a torch, carried by the _custode_, i saw the orchestra, proscenium, consular seats, as well as part of the corridors, all stripped, however, of the marbles and paintings which once adorned them. i was shewn the spot where the celebrated manuscripts were found. the reflection that this theatre had held its ten thousand spectators, and that it then lay, with the city of which it was an ornament, so horribly engulphed, gave rise to feelings in awful contrast to those excited by the elysium of portici almost immediately above. about seven miles further along the base of the mountain, lies the long lost city of pompeii. the road passes through, or rather over torre del greco, a town almost totally destroyed by the eruption in . the whole surface of the country for some distance is laid waste by the river of lava, which flowed in a stream or body, of twenty feet in depth, destroyed in its course vineyards, cottages, and everything combustible, consumed and nearly overwhelmed the town, and at last poured into the sea, where as it cooled, it formed a rugged termination or promontory of considerable height. the surface of this mass presented a rocky and sterile aspect, strongly opposed to the exuberance of vegetation in the more fortunate neighborhood. passing through torre del annunziata, a populous village, the street of which was literally lined with maccaroni hanging to dry, i soon reached pompeii. between these last mentioned places, i noticed at the corner of a road a few dwellings, upon the principal of which, an inn, was inscribed in formidable looking letters, gioachinopoli. puzzled at the moment, i inquired what this great word related to, when lo, i was told that i was now in the city of gioachinopoli, so called in compliment to the reigning sovereign, gioachino murat, the termination being added in imitation of the emperor constantine, who gave his name to the ancient byzantium! "although suffering a similar fate with the sister city herculaneum, the manner of the destruction of pompeii was essentially different, for while the former lies imbedded at a great depth in solid matter, like mortar or cement, the latter is merely covered with a stratum of volcanic ashes, the surface of which being partly decomposed by the atmosphere, affords a rich soil for the extensive vineyards which are spread over its surface. no scene on earth can vie in melancholy interest with that presented to the spectator on entering the streets of the disinterred city of pompeii. on passing through a wooden enclosure, i suddenly found myself in a long and handsome street, bordered by rows of tombs, of various dimensions and designs, from the simple cippus or altar, bearing the touching appeal of _siste viator_, stop traveler, to the patrician mausoleum with its long inscription. many of these latter yet contain the urns in which the ashes of the dead were deposited. several large semicircular stone seats mark where the ancient pompeians had their evening chat, and no doubt debated upon the politics of the day. approaching the massive walls, which are about thirty feet high and very thick, and entering by a handsome stone arch, called the herculaneum gate, from the road leading to that city, i beheld a vista of houses or shops, and except that they were roofless, just as if they had been occupied but yesterday, although near eighteen centuries have passed away since the awful calamity which sealed the fate of their inhabitants. the facilities for excavation being great, both on account of the lightness of the material and the little depth of the mass, much of the city has been exposed to view. street succeeds street in various directions, and porticos, theatres, temples, magazines, shops, and private mansions, all remain to attest the mixture of elegance and meanness of pompeii; and we can, from an inspection, not only form a most correct idea of the customs and tastes of the ancient inhabitants, but are thereby the better enabled to judge of those of contemporary cities, and learn to qualify the accounts of many of the ancient writers themselves. "pompeii is so perfectly unique in its kind, that i flatter myself a rather minute description of the state in which i saw it, will not be uninteresting. the streets, with the exception of the principal one, which is about thirty-three feet wide, are very narrow. they are paved with blocks of lava, and have raised side-walks for pedestrians, things very rare in modern europe. at the corners of the streets are fountains, and also stepping-stones for crossing. the furrows worn by the carriage wheels are strongly marked, and are not more than forty-four inches apart, thus giving us the width of their vehicles. "the houses in general are built with small red bricks, or with volcanic matter from vesuvius, and are only one or two stories high. the marble counters remain in many of the stores, and the numbers, names of the occupiers, and their occupations, still appear in red letters on the outside. the names of julius, marius, lucius, and many others, only familiar to us through the medium of our classic studies, and fraught with heroic ideas, we here see associated with the retailing of oil, olives, bread, apothecaries' wares, and nearly all the various articles usually found in the trading part of italian cities even at the present day. all the trades, followed in these various edifices, were likewise distinctly marked by the utensils found in them; but the greater part of these, as discovered, were removed for their better preservation to the great museum at naples; a measure perhaps indispensable, but which detracts in some degree from the local interest. we see, however, in the magazine of the oil merchant, his jars in perfect order, in the bakehouse are the hand mills in their original places, and of a description which exactly tallies with those alluded to in holy writ; the ovens scarcely want repairs; where a sculptor worked, there we find his marbles and his productions, in various states of forwardness, just as he left them. "the mansions of the higher classes are planned to suit the delicious climate in which they are situated, and are finished with great taste. they generally have an open court in the centre, in which is a fountain. the floors are of mosaic. the walls and ceilings are beautifully painted or stuccoed and statues, tripods, and other works of art, embellished the galleries and apartments. the kitchens do not appear to have been neglected by the artists who decorated the buildings, and although the painting is of a coarser description than in other parts of the edifices, the designs are in perfect keeping with the plan. trussed fowls, hams, festoons of sausages, together with the representations of some of the more common culinary utensils, among which i noticed the gridiron, still adorn the walls. in some of the cellars skeletons were found, supposed to be those of the inmates who had taken refuge from the shower of ashes, and had there found their graves, while the bulk of their fellow citizens escaped. in one vault, the remains of sixteen human beings were discovered, and from the circumstance of some valuable rings and a quantity of money being found with the bones, it is concluded that the master of the house was among the sufferers. in this vault or cellar i saw a number of earthen jars, called amphoræ, placed against the wall. these, which once held the purple juice, perhaps the produce of favorite vintages, were now filled to the brim with ashes. many of the public edifices are large, and have been magnificent. the amphitheatre, which is oval, upon the plan of that at verona, would contain above ten thousand spectators. this majestic edifice was disentombed by the french, to whose taste and activity, during their rule in italy, particularly in the district of naples, every lover of the arts stands indebted. i had the good fortune to be present at the clearing of a part of the arena of this colossal erection, and witnessed the disclosure of paintings which had not seen the light for above seventeen hundred years. they were executed in what is termed _fresco_, a process of coloring on wet plaster, but which, after it becomes hard, almost defies the effects of time. the subjects of those i allude to were nymphs, and the coloring of the draperies, in some instances, was as fresh as if just applied. "not far distant from the amphitheatre are two semicircular theatres, one of which is supposed to have been appropriated to tragedy and the other to comedy. the first mentioned is large, and built of stone, or a substance called _tufo_, covered with marble. it had no roof. the proscenium and orchestra remain. the stage, or rather the place where it was, is of considerable width, but so very shallow that stage effect, as regards scenery, could not have been much studied, nor indeed did the dramas of the ancients require it. the comic theatre is small, and nearly perfect. it appears to have had a roof or covering. these two theatres are close together. of the public edifices discovered, the temple of isis is one of the most interesting. it is of brick, but coated with a hard and polished stucco. the altars for sacrifice remain unmolested. a hollow pedestal or altar yet exists, from which oracles were once delivered to the credulous multitude, and we behold the secret stairs by which the priests descended to perform the office. in the chamber of this temple, which may have been a refectory, were found some of the remains of eatables, which are now in the museum. i recollect noticing egg-shells, bread, with the maker's name or initials stamped thereon, bones, corn, and other articles, all burnt black, but perfect in form. the temple of hercules, as it is denominated, is a ruin, not one of its massive fragments being left upon another. it was of the doric order of architecture, and is known to have suffered severely by an earthquake some years before the fatal eruption. not far from this temple is an extensive court or forum, where the soldiers appear to have had their quarters. in what has evidently been a prison, is an iron frame, like the modern implements of punishment, the stocks, and in this frame the skeletons of some unfortunate culprits were found. on the walls of what are called the soldiers' quarters, from the helmets, shields, and pieces of armor which have been found there, are scrawled names and rude devices, just as we find on the walls of the buildings appropriated to the same purpose in the present day. at this point of the city, travelers who have entered at the other, usually make their exit. the scene possessed far too great an interest, however, in my eyes, to be hastily passed over, and on more than one visit, i lingered among the deserted thresholds, until the moon had thrown her chaste light upon this city of the dead. the feelings excited by a perambulation of pompeii, especially at such an hour, are beyond the power of my pen to describe. to behold her streets once thronged with the busy crowd, to tread the forum where sages met and discoursed, to enter the theatres once filled with delighted thousands, and the temples whence incense arose, to visit the mansions of the opulent which had resounded with the shouts of revelry, and the humbler dwellings of the artisan, where he had plied his noisy trade, in the language of an elegant writer and philosopher, to behold all these, now tenantless, and silent as the grave, elevates the heart with a series of sublime meditations." ancient fresco and mosaic painting. the ancients well understood the arts of painting both in fresco and mosaic, as is evinced by the discoveries made at rome, but more especially at pompeii. the most remarkable pictures discovered at pompeii have been sawed from the walls, and deposited in the royal museums at naples and portici, for their preservation. not only mosaic floors and pavements are numerous in the mansions of the wealthy at pompeii, but some walls are decorated with pictures in mosaic. mosaic of the battle of platÆa. a grand mosaic, representing as some say the battle of platæa, and others, with more probability one of the victories of alexander, is now in the academy at naples. it was discovered at pompeii, and covered the whole side of the apartment where it was found. this great work is the admiration of connoisseurs and the learned, not only for its antiquity, but for the beauty of its execution. the most probable supposition is, that it is a copy of the celebrated victory of arbela, painted by philoxenes, and described by pliny as one of the most remarkable works of antiquity, with whose description the mosaic accords. the aldobrandini wedding. this famous antique fresco was discovered in the time of clement viii., not far from the church of s. maria maggiore, in the place where were the gardens of mæcenas. it was carried from thence into the villa of the princely house of the aldobrandini; hence its name. it is very beautifully executed, and evidently intended to represent or celebrate a wedding. winckelmann supposes it to be the wedding of peleus and thetis; the count bondi, that of manlius and julia. the portland vase. the most celebrated antique vase is that which, during more than two centuries, was the principal ornament of the barberini palace, and which is now known as the portland vase. it was found about the middle of the th century, enclosed in a marble sarcophagus within a sepulchral chamber under monte del grano, two miles and a half from rome, supposed to have been the tomb of alexander severus, who died in the year . it is ornamented with white opaque figures in bas-relief, upon a dark blue transparent ground; the subject of which has not hitherto received a satisfactory elucidation, though it is supposed to represent the eleusinian mysteries; but the design, and more particularly the execution, are truly admirable. the whole of the blue ground, or at least the part below the handles, must have been originally covered with white enamel, out of which the figures have been sculptured in the style of a cameo, with most astonishing skill and labor. this beautiful vase is sufficient to prove that the manufacture of glass was carried to a state of high perfection by the ancients. it was purchased by the duchess of portland for guineas, and presented to the british museum in . the subterranean ruins of herculaneum afforded many specimens of the glass manufacture of the ancients: a great variety of phials and bottles were found, and these were chiefly of an elongate shape, composed of glass of unequal thickness, of a green color, and much heavier than common glass; of these the four large cinerary urns in the british museum are very fine specimens. they are of an elegant round figure, with covers, and two double handles, the formation of which must convince persons capable of appreciating the difficulties which even the modern glass-maker would have in executing similar handles, that the ancients were well acquainted with the art of making round glass vessels; although their knowledge appears to have been extremely limited as respects the manufacture of square vessels, and more particularly of oval, octagonal, or pentagonal forms. among a great number of lachrymatories and various other vessels in the british museum, there is a small square bottle with a handle, the rudeness of which sufficiently bears out this opinion. ancient pictures of glass. a most singular art of forming pictures with colored glass seems to have been practiced by the ancients, which consisted in laying together fibres of glass of various colors, fitted to each other with the utmost exactness, so that a section across the fibres represented the object to be painted, and then cementing them into a homogeneous mass. in some specimens of this art which were discovered about the middle of the th century, the painting has on both sides a granular appearance, and seems to have been formed in the manner of mosaic work; but the pieces are so accurately united, that not even with the aid of a powerful magnifying glass can the junctures be discovered. one plate, described by winckelmann, exhibits a duck of various colors, the outlines of which are sharp and well-defined, the colors pure and vivid, and a brilliant effect is obtained by the artist having employed in some parts an opaque, and in others a transparent glass. the picture seems to be continued throughout the whole thickness of the specimen, as the reverse corresponds in the minutest points to the face; so that, were it to be cut transversely, the same picture of the duck would be exhibited in every section. it is conjectured that this curious process was the first attempt of the ancients to preserve colors by fusing them into the internal part of glass, which was, however, but partially done, as the surfaces have not been preserved from the action of the atmosphere. henry fuseli--his birth. this eminent historical painter, and very extraordinary man, was born at zurich, in switzerland, in , according to all accounts save his own; but he himself placed it in , without adding the day or month. he always spoke of his age with reluctance. once, when pressed about it, he peevishly exclaimed, "how should i know? i was born in february or march--it was some cursed cold month, as you may guess from my diminutive stature and crabbed disposition." he was the son of the painter, john caspar fuseli, and the second of eighteen children. fuseli's early love of art. during his school-boy days, as soon as released from his class, he was accustomed to withdraw to a secret place to enjoy unmolested the works of michael angelo, of whose prints his father had a fine collection. he loved when he grew old to talk of those days of his youth, of the enthusiasm with which he surveyed the works of his favorite masters, and the secret pleasure which he took in acquiring forbidden knowledge. with candles which he stole from the kitchen, and pencils which his pocket-money was hoarded to procure, he pursued his studies till late at night, and made many copies from michael angelo and raffaelle, by which he became familiar thus early with the style and ruling character of the two greatest masters of the art. fuseli's literary and poetical taste. he early manifested strong powers of mind, and with a two-fold taste for literature and art, he was placed in humanity college at zurich, of which two distinguished men, bodmer and breitenger, were professors. here he became the bosom companion of that amiable enthusiast, lavater, studied english, and conceived such a love for the works of shakspeare, that he translated macbeth into german. the writings of wieland and klopstock influenced his youthful fancy, and from shakspeare he extended his affection to the chief masters in english literature. his love of poetry was natural, not affected--he practiced at an early age the art which he admired through life, and some of his first attempts at composition were pieces in his native language, which made his name known in zurich. fuseli, lavater, and the unjust magistrate. in conjunction with his friend lavater, fuseli composed a pamphlet against a ruler in one of the bailiwicks, who had abused his powers, and perhaps personally insulted the two friends. the peasantry, it seems, conceiving themselves oppressed by their superior, complained and petitioned; the petitions were read by young fuseli and his companion, who, stung with indignation at the tale of tyranny disclosed, expressed their feelings in a satire, which made a great stir in the city. threats were publicly used against the authors, who were guessed at, but not known; upon which they distributed placards in every direction, offering to prove before a tribunal the accusations they had made. nay, fuseli actually appeared before the magistrates--named the offender boldly--arraigned him with great vehemence and eloquence, and was applauded by all and answered by none. pamphlets and accusations were probably uncommon things in zurich; in some other countries they would have dropped from the author's hands harmless or unheeded; but the united labors of fuseli and lavater drove the unjust magistrate into exile, and procured remuneration to those who had suffered. fuseli's travels, and his literary distinction. fuseli early gained a reputation for scholarship, poetry, and painting. he possessed such extraordinary powers of memory, that when he read a book once, he thoroughly comprehended its contents; and he not only wrote in latin and greek, but spoke them with the fluency of his native tongue. he acquired such a perfect knowledge of the several modern languages of europe, especially of the english, french, and italian, that it was indifferent to him which he spoke or wrote, except that when he wished to express himself with most power, he said he preferred the german. after having obtained the degree of master of arts from the college at zurich, fuseli bade farewell to his father's house, and traveled in company with lavater to berlin, where he placed himself under the care of sulzer, author of the "lexicon of the fine arts." his talents and learning obtained him the friendship of several distinguished men, and his acquaintance with english poetry induced professor sulzer to select him as one well qualified for opening a communication between the literature of germany and that of england. sir andrew mitchell, british ambassador at the prussian court, was consulted; and pleased with his lively genius, and his translations and drawings from macbeth and lear, he received fuseli with much kindness, and advised him to visit britain. lavater, who till now had continued his companion, presented him at parting with a card, on which he had inscribed in german. "do but the tenth part of what you can do." "hang that up in your bed-head," said the physiognomist, "obey it--and fame and fortune will be the result." fuseli's arrival in london. fuseli arrived in the capital of the british empire early one morning, before the people were stirring. "when i stood in london," said he, "and considered that i did not know one soul in all this vast metropolis, i became suddenly impressed with a sense of forlornness, and burst into a flood of tears. an incident restored me. i had written a long letter to my father, giving him an account of my voyage, and expressing my filial affection--now not weakened by distance--and with this letter in my hand, i inquired of a rude fellow whom i met, the way to the post office. my foreign accent provoked him to laughter, and as i stood cursing him in good shaksperian english, a gentleman kindly directed me to the object of my inquiry." fuseli's change from literature to painting. fuseli's wit, learning, and talents gained him early admission to the company of wealthy and distinguished men. he devoted himself for a considerable time after his arrival in london to the daily toils of literature--translations, essays, and critiques. among other works, he translated winckelmann's book on painting and sculpture. one day bonnycastle said to him, after dinner, "fuseli, you can write well,--why don't you write something?" "something!" exclaimed the other; "you always cry write--fuseli write!--blastation! what shall i write?" "write," said armstrong, who was present, "write on the voltaire and rousseau _row_--_there_ is a subject!" he said nothing, but went home and began to write. his enthusiastic temper spurred him on, so that he composed his essay with uncommon rapidity. he printed it forthwith; but the whole edition caught fire and was consumed! "it had," says one of his friends, "a short life and a bright ending." while busied with his translations and other literary labors, he had not forgotten his early attachment to art. he found his way to the studio of sir joshua reynolds, and submitted several of his drawings to the president's examination, who looked at them for some time, and then said, "how long have you studied in italy?" "i never studied in italy--i studied at zurich--i am a native of switzerland--do you think i should study in italy?--and, above all, is it worth while?" "young man," said reynolds, "were i the author of these drawings, and were offered ten thousand a year _not_ to practice as an artist, i would reject the proposal with contempt." this very favorable opinion from one who considered all he said, and was so remarkable for accuracy of judgment, decided the destiny of fuseli; he forsook for ever the hard and thankless _trade_ of literature--refused a living in the church from some patron who had been struck with his talents--and addressed himself to painting with heart and hand. fuseli's sojourn in italy. no sooner had fuseli formed the resolution of devoting his talents to painting, in , than he determined to visit rome. he resided in italy eight years, and studied with great assiduity the pictures in the numerous galleries, particularly the productions of michael angelo, whose fine and bold imagination, and the lofty grandeur of his works, were most congenial to his taste. it was a story which he loved to tell in after life, how he lay on his back day after day, and week after week, with upturned and wondering eyes, musing on the splendid ceiling of the sistine chapel--on the unattainable grandeur of the great florentine. during his residence abroad, he made notes and criticisms on everything he met with that was excellent, much of which he subsequently embodied in his lectures before the royal academy. his talents, acquirements, and his great conversational powers made his society courted; and he formed some valuable acquaintances at rome, particularly among the english nobility and gentry, who flocked there for amusement, and who heralded his fame at home. he also sent some of his choice drawings, illustrating shakspeare and milton, to the annual exhibitions of the royal academy. in , he left italy and returned to england, passing through switzerland and his native city. fuseli's "nightmare." soon after his return to england, fuseli painted his "nightmare," which was exhibited in . it was unquestionably the work of an original mind. "the extraordinary and peculiar genius which it displayed," says one of his biographers, "was universally felt, and perhaps no single picture ever made a greater impression in this country. a very fine mezzotinto engraving of it was scraped by raphael smith, and so popular did the print become, that, although mr. fuseli received only twenty guineas for the picture, the publisher made five hundred by his speculation." this was a subject suitable to the unbridled fancy of the painter, and perhaps to no other imagination has the fiend which murders our sleep ever appeared in a more poetical shape. fuseli's "oedipus and his daughters." this picture was a work of far higher order than his "nightmare," although the latter caught the public fancy most. it is distinguished by singular power, full of feeling and terror. the desolate old man is seated on the ground, and his whole frame seems inspired with a presentiment of the coming vengeance of heaven. his daughters are clasping him wildly, and the sky seems mustering the thunder and fire in which the tragic bard has made him disappear. "pray, sir, what is that old man afraid of?" said some one to fuseli, when the picture was exhibited. "afraid, sir," exclaimed the painter, "why, afraid of going to hell!" fuseli and the shakspeare gallery. his rising fame, his poetic feeling, his great knowledge, and his greater confidence, now induced fuseli to commence an undertaking worthy of the highest genius--the shakspeare gallery. an accidental conversation at the table of the nephew of alderman boydell, started, as it is said, the idea; and west, romney, and hayley shared with fuseli in the honor. but to the mind of the latter, such a scheme had been long present; it dawned on his fancy in rome, even as he lay on his back marveling in the sistine, and he saw in imagination a long and shadowy succession of pictures. he figured to himself a magnificent temple, and filled it, as the illustrious artists of italy did the sistine, with pictures from his favorite poet. all was arranged according to character. in the panels and accessories were the figures of the chief heroes and heroines--on the extensive walls were delineated the changes of many-colored life, the ludicrous and the sad--the pathetic and the humorous--domestic happiness and heroic aspirations--while the dome which crowned the whole exhibited scenes of higher emotion--the joys of heaven--the agonies of hell--all that was supernatural and all that was terrible. this splendid piece of imagination was cut down to working dimensions by the practiced hands of boydell, who supported the scheme anxiously and effectually. on receiving £ reynolds entered, though with reluctance, into an undertaking which consumed time and required much thought; but fuseli had no rich commissions in the way--his heart was with the subject--in his own fancy he had already commenced the work, and the enthusiastic alderman found a more enthusiastic painter, who made no preliminary stipulations, but prepared his palette and began. fuseli's "hamlet's ghost." this wonderful work, engraved for boydell's shakspeare gallery, is esteemed among the best of fuseli's works. it is, indeed, strangely wild and superhuman--if ever a spirit visited earth, it must have appeared to fuseli. the "majesty of buried denmark" is no vulgar ghost such as scares the belated rustic, but a sad and majestic shape with the port of a god; to imagine this, required poetry, and in that our artist was never deficient. he had fine taste in matters of high import; he drew the boundary line between the terrible and the horrible, and he never passed it; the former he knew was allied to grandeur, the latter to deformity and disgust. an eminent metaphysician visited the gallery before the public exhibition; he saw the hamlet's ghost of fuseli, and exclaimed, like burns' rustic in halloween, "lord, preserve me!" he declared that it haunted him round the room. fuseli's "titania." his titania (also engraved in the shakspeare gallery), overflows with elvish fun and imaginative drollery. it professes to embody that portion of the first scene in the fourth act where the spell-blinded queen caresses bottom the weaver, on whose shoulders oberon's transforming wand has placed an ass' head. titania, a gay and alluring being, attended by her troop of fairies, is endeavoring to seem as lovely as possible in the sight of her lover, who holds down his head and assumes the air of the most stupid of all creatures. one almost imagines that her ripe round lips are uttering the well-known words,-- "come sit thee down upon this flowery bed, while i thy amiable cheeks do coy, and stick musk roses in thy sleek smooth head, and kiss thy fair large ears, my gentle joy." the rout and revelry which the fancy of the painter has poured around this spell-bound pair, baffles all description. all is mirthful, tricksy, and fantastic. sprites of all looks and all hues--of all "dimensions, shapes, and mettles,"--the dwarfish elf and the elegant fay--cobweb commissioned to kill a red-hipped humble-bee on the top of a thistle, that bottom might have the honey-bag--pease-blossom, who had the less agreeable employment of scratching the weaver's head--and that individual fairy who could find the hoard of the squirrel and carry away his nuts--with a score of equally merry companions are swarming everywhere and in full employment. mustard-seed, a fairy of dwarfish stature, stands on tiptoe in the hollow of bottom's hand, endeavoring to reach his nose--his fingers almost touch, he is within a quarter of an inch of scratching, but it is evident he can do no more, and his new master is too much of an ass to raise him up. fuseli's election as a royal academician. fuseli was elected an associate of the royal academy in , and early in became an academician--honors won by talent without the slightest coöperation of intrigue. his election was nevertheless unpleasant to reynolds, who desired to introduce bonomi the architect. fuseli, to soothe the president, waited on him beforehand, and said, "i wish to be elected an academician. i have been disappointed hitherto by the deceit of pretended friends--shall i offend you if i offer myself next election?" "oh, no," said sir joshua with a kindly air, "no offence to me; but you cannot be elected this time--we must have an architect in." "well, well," said fuseli, who could not conceive how an architect could be a greater acquisition to the academy than himself--"well, well, you say that i shall not offend you by offering myself, so i must make a trial." the trial was successful. fuseli and horace walpole. concerning his picture of theodore and honorio, fuseli used to say, "look at it--it is connected with the first patron i ever had." he then proceeded to relate how cipriani had undertaken to paint for horace walpole a scene from boccaccio's theodore and honorio, familiar to all in the splendid translation of dryden, and, after several attempts, finding the subject too heavy for his handling, he said to walpole, "i cannot please myself with a sketch from this most imaginative of gothic fictions; but i know one who can do the story justice--a man of great powers, of the name of fuseli." "let me see this painter of yours," said the other. fuseli was sent for, and soon satisfied walpole that his imagination was equal to the task, by painting a splendid picture. fuseli and the banker coutts. while fuseli was laboring on his celebrated "milton gallery," he was frequently embarrassed by pecuniary difficulties. from these he was relieved by a steadfast friend--mr. coutts--who aided him while in rome, and forsook him not in any of his after difficulties. the grateful painter once waited on the banker, and said, "i have finished the best of all my works--the lazar house--when shall i send it home?" "my friend," said mr. coutts, "for me to take this picture would be a fraud upon you and upon the world. i have no place in which it could be fitly seen. sell it to some one who has a gallery--your kind offer of it is sufficient for me, and makes all matters straight between us." for a period of sixty years that worthy man was the unchangeable friend of the painter. the apprehensions which the latter entertained of poverty were frequently without cause, and coutts has been known on such occasions to assume a serious look, and talk of scarcity of cash and of sufficient securities. away flew fuseli, muttering oaths and cursing all parsimonious men, and having found a friend, returned with him breathless, saying, "there! i stop your mouth with a security." the cheque for the sum required was given, the security refused, and the painter pulled his hat over his eyes, "to hide the tear that fain would fall"-- and went on his way. fuseli and prof. porson. fuseli once repeated half-a-dozen sonorous and well sounding lines in greek, to prof. porson, and said,-- "with all your learning now, you cannot tell me who wrote that." the professor, "much renowned in greek," confessed his ignorance, and said, "i don't know him." "how the devil should you know him?" chuckled fuseli, "i made them this moment." fuseli's method of giving vent to his passion. when thwarted in the academy (which happened not unfrequently), his wrath aired itself in a polyglott. "it is a pleasant thing, and an advantageous," said the painter, on one of these occasions, "to be learned. i can speak greek, latin, french, english, german, danish, dutch, and spanish, and so let my folly or my fury get vent through eight different avenues." fuseli's love for terrific subjects. fuseli knew not well how to begin with quiet beauty and serene grace: the hurrying measures, the crowding epithets, and startling imagery of the northern poetry suited his intoxicated fancy. his "thor battering the serpent" was such a favorite that he presented it to the academy as his admission gift. such was his love of terrific subjects, that he was known among his brethren by the name of _painter in ordinary to the devil_, and he smiled when some one officiously told him this, and said, "aye! he has sat to me many times." once, at johnson the bookseller's table, one of the guests said, "mr. fuseli, i have purchased a picture of yours." "have you, sir; what is the subject?" "subject? really i don't know." "that's odd; you must be a strange fellow to buy a picture without knowing the subject." "i bought it, sir, that's enough--i don't know what the _devil_ it is." "perhaps it is the devil," replied fuseli, "i have often painted him." upon this, one of the company, to arrest a conversation which was growing warm, said, "fuseli, there is a member of your academy who has strange looks--and he chooses as strange subjects as you do." "sir," exclaimed the professor, "he paints nothing but thieves and murderers, and when he wants a model, he looks in the glass." fuseli's and lawrence's pictures from the "tempest." cunningham says, "fuseli had sketched a picture of miranda and prospero from the tempest, and was considering of what dimensions he should make the finished painting, when he was told that lawrence had sent in for exhibition a picture on the same subject, and with the same figures. his wrath knew no bounds. 'this comes,' he cried, 'of my blasted simplicity in showing my sketches--never mind--i'll teach the face-painter to meddle with my prospero and miranda.' he had no canvas prepared--he took a finished picture, and over the old performance dashed in hastily, in one laborious day, a wondrous scene from the tempest--hung it in the exhibition right opposite that of lawrence, and called it 'a sketch for a large picture.' sir thomas said little, but thought much--he never afterwards, i have heard, exhibited a poetic subject." fuseli's estimate of reynolds' abilities in historical painting. fuseli mentions reynolds in his lectures, as a great portrait painter, and no more. one evening in company, sir thomas lawrence was discoursing on what he called the "historic grandeur" of sir joshua, and contrasting him with titian and raffaelle. fuseli kindled up--"blastation! you will drive me mad--reynolds and raffaelle!--a dwarf and a giant!--why will you waste all your fine words?" he rose and left the room, muttering something about a tempest in a pint pot. lawrence followed, soothed him, and brought him back. fuseli and lawrence. "these two eminent men," says cunningham, "loved one another. the keeper had no wish to give permanent offence, and the president had as little desire to be on ill terms with one so bitter and so satirical. they were often together; and i have heard sir thomas say, that he never had a dispute with fuseli save once--and that was concerning their pictures of satan. indeed, the keeper, both with tongue and pen, took pleasure in pointing out the excellencies of his friend, nor was he blind to his defects. 'this young man,' thus he wrote in one of his early criticisms, 'would do well to look at nature again; his flesh is too glassy.' lawrence showed his sense of his monitor's accuracy by following the advice." fuseli as keeper of the royal academy. fuseli, on the whole, was liked as keeper. it is true that he was often satirical and severe on the students--that he defaced their drawings by corrections which, compared to their weak and trembling lines, seemed traced with a tar-mop, and that he called them tailors and bakers, vowing that there was more genius in the _claw_ of one of michael angelo's eagles, than in all the _heads_ with which the academy was swarming. the youths on whom fell this tempest of invective, smiled; and the keeper pleased by submission, walked up to each easel, whispered a word of advice confidentially, and retired in peace to enjoy the company of his homer, michael angelo, dante, and milton. the students were unquestionably his friends; those of the year presented him with a silver vase, designed by one whom he loved--flaxman the sculptor; and he received it very graciously. ten years after, he was presented with the diploma of the first class in the academy of st. luke at rome. fuseli's jests and oddities with the students of the academy. the students found constant amusement from fuseli's witty and characteristic retorts, and they were fond of repeating his jokes. he heard a violent altercation in the studio one day, and inquired the cause. "it is only those fellows, the students, sir," said one of the porters. "fellows!" exclaimed fuseli, "i would have you to know, sir, that those _fellows_ may one day become academicians." the noise increased--he opened the door, and burst in upon them, exclaiming, "you are a den of damned wild beasts." one of the offenders, munro by name, bowed and said, "and fuseli is our keeper." he retired smiling, and muttering "the fellows are growing witty." another time he saw a figure from which the students were making drawings lying broken to pieces. "now who the devil has done this?" "mr. medland," said an officious probationer, "he jumped over the rail and broke it." he walked up to the offender--all listened for the storm. he calmly said, "mr. medland, you are fond of jumping--go to sadler's wells--it is the best academy in the world for improving agility." a student as he passed held up his drawing, and said confidently, "here, sir--i finished it without using a crumb of bread." "all the worse for your drawing," replied fuseli, "buy a two-penny loaf and rub it out." "what do you see, sir?" he said one day to a student, who, with his pencil in his hand and his drawing before him, was gazing into vacancy. "nothing, sir," was the answer. "nothing, young man," said the keeper emphatically, "then i tell you that you ought to see _something_--you ought to see distinctly the true image of what you are trying to draw. i see the vision of all i paint--and i wish to heaven i could paint up to what i see." fuseli's sarcasms on northcote. he loved especially to exercise his wit upon northcote. he looked on his friend's painting of the angel meeting balaam and his ass. "how do you like it?" said the painter. "vastly, northcote," returned fuseli, "you are an angel at an ass--but an ass at an angel!" when northcote exhibited his judgment of solomon, fuseli looked at it with a sarcastic smirk on his face. "how do you like my picture?" inquired northcote. "much" was the answer--"the action suits the word--solomon holds out his fingers like a pair of open scissors at the child, and says, 'cut it.'--i like it much!" northcote remembered this when fuseli exhibited a picture representing hercules drawing his arrow at pluto. "how do you like my picture?" inquired fuseli. "much!" said northcote--"it is clever, very clever, but he'll never hit him." "he shall hit him," exclaimed the other, "and that speedily." away ran fuseli with his brush, and as he labored to give the arrow the true direction, was heard to mutter "hit him!--by jupiter, but he shall hit him!" fuseli's' sarcasms on various rival artists. he rarely spared any one, and on nollekens he was frequently merciless; he disliked him for his close and parsimonious nature, and rarely failed to hit him under the fifth rib. once, at the table of mr. coutts the banker, mrs. coutts, dressed like morgiana, came dancing in, presenting her dagger at every breast. as she confronted the sculptor, fuseli called out, "strike--strike--there's no fear; nolly was never known to bleed!" when blake, a man infinitely more wild in conception than fuseli himself, showed him one of his strange productions, he said, "now some one has told you this is very fine." "yes," said blake, "the virgin mary appeared to me and told me it was very fine; what can you say to that?" "say!" exclaimed fuseli, "why nothing--only her ladyship has not an immaculate taste." fuseli had aided northcote and opie in obtaining admission to the academy, and when he desired some station for himself, he naturally expected their assistance--they voted against him, and next morning went together to his house to offer an explanation. he saw them coming--he opened the door as they were scraping their shoes, and said, "come in--come in--for the love of heaven come in, else you will ruin me entirely." "how so?" cried opie "marry, thus," replied the other, "my neighbors over the way will see you, and say, 'fuseli's _done_,--for there's a bum bailiff,'" he looked at opie, "'going to seize his person; and a little jew broker,'" he looked at northcote, "'going to take his furniture,--so come in i tell you--come in!'" fuseli's retorts. one day, during varnishing time in the exhibition, an eminent portrait painter was at work on the hand of one of his pictures; he turned to the keeper, who was near him, and said, "fuseli, michael angelo never painted such a hand." "no, by pluto," retorted the other, "but you have, _many_!" he had an inherent dislike to opie; and some one, to please fuseli, said, in allusion to the low characters in the historical pictures of the death of james i. of scotland, and the murder of david rizzio, that opie could paint nothing but vulgarity and dirt. "if he paints nothing but _dirt_," said fuseli, "he paints it like an angel." one day, a painter who had been a student during the keepership of wilton, called and said, "the students, sir, don't draw so well now as they did under joe wilton." "very true," replied fuseli, "anybody may draw here, let them draw ever so bad--_you_ may draw here, if you please!" during the exhibition of his milton gallery, a visitor accosted him, mistaking him for the keeper--"those paintings, sir, are from paradise lost i hear, and paradise lost was written by milton. i have never read the poem, but i shall do it now." "i would not advise you, sir," said the sarcastic artist, "you will find it an exceedingly tough job!" a person who desired to speak with the keeper of the academy, followed so close upon the porter whose business it was to introduce him, that he announced himself with, "i hope i don't intrude." "you do intrude," said fuseli, in a surly tone. "do i?" said the visitor; "then, sir, i will come to-morrow, if you please." "no, sir," replied he, "don't come to-morrow, for then you will intrude a second time: tell me your business now!" a man of some station in society, and who considered himself a powerful patron in art, said at a public dinner, where he was charmed with fuseli's conversation, "if you ever come my way, fuseli, i shall be happy to see you." the painter instantly caught the patronizing, self-important spirit of the invitation. "i thank you," retorted he, "but i never go your way--i never even go down your street, although i often pass by the end of it!" fuseli's suggestion of an emblem of eternity looking upon a serpent with its tail in its mouth, carved upon an exhibited monument as an emblem of eternity, and a very commonplace one, he said to the sculptor, "it won't do, i tell you; you must have something new." the _something new_ startled a man whose imagination was none of the brightest, and he said, "how shall i find something new?" "o, nothing so easy," said fuseli, "i'll help you to it. when i went away to rome i left two fat men cutting fat bacon in st. martin's lane; in ten years' time i returned, and found the two fat men cutting fat bacon still; twenty years more have passed, and there the two fat fellows cut the fat flitches the same as ever. carve them! if they look not like an image of eternity, i wot not what does." fuseli's report in mr. coutts' banking house. during the exhibition of his milton pictures, he called at the banking house of mr. coutts, saying he was going out of town for a few days, and wished to have some money in his pocket. "how much?" said one of the firm. "how much!" said fuseli, "why, as much as twenty pounds; and as it is a large sum, and i don't wish to take your establishment by surprise, i have called to give you a day's notice of it!" "i thank you, sir," said the cashier, imitating fuseli's own tone of irony, "we shall be ready for you--but as the town is thin and money scarce with us, you will oblige me greatly by giving us a few orders to see your milton gallery--it will keep cash in our drawers, and hinder your exhibition from being empty." fuseli shook him heartily by the hand, and cried, "blastation! you shall have the tickets with all my heart; i have had the opinion of the virtuosi, the dilettanti, the cognoscenti, and the nobles and gentry on my pictures, and i want now the opinion of the blackguards. i shall send you and your friends a score of tickets, and thank you too for taking them." fuseli's general sarcasms on landscape and portrait painters. during the delivery of one of his lectures, in which he calls landscape painters the topographers of art, beechey admonished turner with his elbow of the severity of the sarcasm; presently, when fuseli described the patrons of portrait painting as men who would give a few guineas to have their own senseless heads painted, and then assume the air and use the language of patrons, turner administered a similar hint to beechey. when the lecture was over, beechey walked up to fuseli, and said, "how sharply you have been cutting up us poor laborers in portraiture!" "not you, sir william," exclaimed the professor, "i only spoke of the blasted fools who employ you!" fuseli's opinion of his own attainment of happiness. his life was not without disappointment, but for upwards of eighty years he was free from sickness. up to this period, and even beyond it, his spirits seemed inexhaustible; he had enjoyed the world, and obtained no little distinction; nor was he insensible to the advantages which he had enjoyed. "i have been a happy man," he said, "for i have always been well, and always employed in doing what i liked"--a boast which few men of genius can make. when work with the pencil failed, he lifted the pen; and as he was ready and talented with both, he was never obliged to fill up time with jobs that he disliked. fuseli's private habits. he was an early riser, and generally sat down to breakfast with a book on entomology in his hand. he ate and read, and read and ate--regarding no one, and speaking to no one. he was delicate and abstemious, and on gross feeders he often exercised the severity of his wit. two meals a day were all he ventured on--he always avoided supper--the story of his having supped on raw pork-chops that he might dream his picture of the nightmare, has no foundation. indeed, the dreams he delighted to relate were of the noblest kind, and consisted of galleries of the fairest pictures and statues, in which were walking the poets and painters of old. having finished breakfast and noted down some remarks on entomology, he went into his studio--painted till dinner time--dined hastily, if at home, and then resumed his labors, or else forgot himself over homer, or dante, or shakspeare, or milton, till midnight. fuseli's wife's method of curing his fits of despondency. he was subject to fits of despondency, and during the continuance of such moods he sat with his beloved book on entomology upon his knee--touched now and then the breakfast cup with his lips, and seemed resolutely bent on being unhappy. in periods such as these it was difficult to rouse him, and even dangerous. mrs. fuseli on such occasions ventured to become his monitress. "i know him well," she said one morning to a friend who found him in one of his dark moods, "he will not come to himself till he is put into a passion--the storm then clears off, and the man looks out serene." "oh no," said her visitor, "let him alone for a while--he will soon think rightly." he was spared till next morning--he came to the breakfast table in the same mood of mind. "now i must try what i can do," said his wife to the same friend whom she had consulted the day before; she now began to reason with her husband, and soothe and persuade him; he answered only by a forbidding look and a shrug of the shoulder. she then boldly snatched away his book, and dauntlessly abode the storm. the storm was not long in coming--his own fiend rises up not more furiously from the side of eve than did the painter. he glared on his friend and on his wife--uttered a deep imprecation--rushed up stairs and strode about his room in great agitation. in a little while his steps grew more regular--he soon opened the door, and descended to his labors all smiles and good humor. fuseli's method of curing his wife's anger was not less original and characteristic. she was a spirited woman, and one day, when she had wrought herself into a towering passion, her sarcastic husband said, "sophia, my love, why don't you swear? you don't know how much it would ease your mind." fuseli's personal appearance, his sarcastic disposition, and quick temper. fuseli was of low stature--his frame slim, his forehead high, and his eyes piercing and brilliant. his look was proud, wrapt up in sarcastic--his movements were quick, and by an eager activity of manner he seemed desirous of occupying as much space as belonged to men of greater stature. his voice was loud and commanding--nor had he learned much of the art of winning his way by gentleness and persuasion--he was more anxious as to say pointed and stinging things, than solicitous about their accuracy; and he had much pleasure in mortifying his brethren of the easel with his wit, and over whelming them with his knowledge. he was too often morose and unamiable--habitually despising those who were not his friends, and not unapt to dislike even his best friends, if they retorted his wit, or defended themselves successfully against his satire. in dispute he was eager, fierce, unsparing, and often precipitated himself into angry discussions with the council, which, however, always ended in peace and good humor--for he was as placable as passionate. on one occasion he flew into his own room in a storm of passion, and having cooled and come to himself, was desirous to return; the door was locked and the key gone; his fury overflowed all bounds. "sam!" he shouted to the porter, "sam strowager, they have locked me in like a blasted wild beast--bring crowbars and break open the door." the porter--a sagacious old man, who knew the trim of the keeper--whispered through the keyhole, "feel in your pocket, sir, for the key!" he did so, and unlocking the door with a loud laugh exclaimed, "what a fool!--never mind--i'll to the council, and soon show them they are greater asses than myself." fuseli's near sight. fuseli was so near-sighted that he was obliged to retire from his easel to a distance and examine his labors by means of an opera-glass, then return and retouch, and retire again to look. his weakness of sight was well known, and one of the students, in revenge for some satirical strictures, placed a bench in his way, over which he nearly fell. "bless my soul," said the keeper, "i must put spectacles on my shins!" fuseli's popularity. notwithstanding his sarcastic temper, and various peculiarities, fuseli was generally liked, and by none more than by the students who were so often made the objects of his satire. they were sensible that he was assiduous in instruction, that he was very learned and very skilful, and that he allowed no one else to take liberties with their conduct or their pursuits. he had a wonderful tact in singling out the most intellectual of the pupils; he was the first to notice lawrence, and at the very outset of wilkie, he predicted his future eminence. fuseli's artistic merits. the following critique from the pen of allan cunningham, gives a good idea of fuseli's abilities as an artist. "his main wish was to startle and astonish. it was his ambition to be called fuseli the daring and the imaginative, the illustrator of milton and shakspeare, the rival of michael angelo. his merits are of no common order. he was no timid or creeping adventurer in the region of art, but a man peculiarly bold and daring--who rejoiced only in the vast, the wild, and the wonderful, and loved to measure himself with any subject, whether in the heaven above, the earth beneath, or the waters under the earth. the domestic and humble realities of life he considered unworthy of his pencil, and employed it only on those high or terrible themes where imagination may put forth all her strength, and fancy scatter all her colors. he associated only with the demi-gods of verse, and roamed through homer, and dante, and shakspeare, and milton, in search of subjects worthy of his hand; he loved to grapple with whatever he thought too weighty for others; and assembling round him the dim shapes which imagination readily called forth, he sat brooding over the chaos, and tried to bring the whole into order and beauty. his coloring is like his design; original; it has a kind of supernatural hue, which harmonizes with many of his subjects--the spirits of the other world and the hags of hell are steeped in a kind of kindred color, which becomes their natural characters. his notion of color suited the wildest of his subjects; and the hue of satan and the lustre of hamlet's ghost are part of the imagination of those supernatural shapes." fuseli's milton gallery, the character of his works, and the permanency of his fame. the magnificent plan of the "milton gallery" originated with fuseli, was countenanced by johnson the bookseller, and supported by the genius of cowper, who undertook to prepare an edition of milton, with translations of his latin and italian poems. the pictures were to have been engraved, and introduced as embellishments to the work.--the gallery was commenced in , and completed in , containing forty-seven pictures. "out of the seventy exhibited paintings," says cunningham, on which he reposed his hopes of fame, not one can be called commonplace--they are all poetical in their nature, and as poetically treated. "some twenty of these alarm, startle, and displease; twenty more may come within the limits of common comprehension; the third twenty are such as few men could produce, and deserve a place in the noblest collections; while the remaining ten are equal in conception to anything that genius has hitherto produced, and second only in their execution to the true and recognised masterpieces of art. it cannot be denied, however, that a certain air of extravagance and a desire to stretch and strain, are visible in most of his works. a common mind, having no sympathy with his soaring, perceives his defects at once, and ranks him with the wild and unsober--a poetic mind will not allow the want of serenity and composure to extinguish the splendor of the conception; but whilst it notes the blemish, will feel the grandeur of the work. the approbation of high minds fixes the degree of fame to which genius of all degrees is entitled, and the name of fuseli is safe." salvator rosa. this celebrated painter was born at renella, a small village near naples, in . there is so much fiction mingled with his early history, that it is impossible to arrive at the truth. it is certain, however, that he commenced the study of painting under his brother-in-law, francesco fracanzani, that he passed his early days in poverty, that he was compelled to support himself by his pencil, and that he exposed his juvenile performances for sale in the public markets, and often sold them to the dealers for the most paltry prices. salvator rosa and cav. lanfranco. to the honor of cav. lanfranco, it is related that while riding in his carriage one day along the streets of naples, he observed one of salvator's pictures exposed for sale in a shop window, and surprised at the uncommon genius which it displayed, he purchased the picture, and inquired the name of the young artist. the picture dealer, who had probably found salvator's necessities quite profitable to himself, refused to communicate the desired information, whereupon lanfranco directed his scholars to watch for his pictures, and seek him out. when he had found him, he generously relieved his wants, and encouraged him in the pursuit of his studies. after receiving some instructions from aniello falcone, an eminent painter of battle-pieces, he was admitted, through the influence of lanfranco, into the academy of giuseppe ribera, called il spagnoletto, and remained there until the age of twenty, when he accompanied that master to rome. salvator rosa at rome and florence. the cardinal brancacci, having become acquainted with the merits of salvator rosa at naples, took him under his protection, and conducted him to his bishopric of viterbo, where he painted several historical works, and an altar-piece for the cathedral, representing the incredulity of st. thomas. on his return to rome, the prince gio. carlo de' medici employed him to execute several important works, and afterwards invited him to florence. during a residence of nine years in that city, he greatly distinguished himself as a painter, and also as a satirical and dramatic poet; his satires, composed in florence, have passed through several editions. his wit, lively disposition, and unusual conversational powers, drew around him many choice spirits, and his house was the great centre of attraction for the connoisseurs and literati of florence. he fitted up a private theatre, and was accustomed to perform the principal parts in his comedies, in which he displayed extraordinary talents. he painted many of his choicest pictures for the grand duke, who nobly rewarded him; also for the noble family of the maffei, for their palace at volterra. salvator rosa's return to rome. after salvator rosa's return to rome from florence, he demanded exorbitant prices for his works, and though his greatest talent lay in landscape painting, he affected to despise that branch, being ambitious of shining as an historical painter. he painted some altar-pieces and other subjects for the churches, the chief of which are four pictures in s. maria di monte santo, representing daniel in the lions' den, tobit and the angel, the resurrection of christ, and the raising of lazarus; the martyrdom of st. cosimo and st. damiano, in the church of s. giovanni. the brightest era of landscape painting is said with truth to have been in the time of pope urban viii., when flourished claude lorraine, gaspar poussin, and salvator rosa. of these, salvator was the most distinguished, though certainly not the best; each was the head of a perfectly original school, which had many followers, and each observed nature on the side in which he felt impelled to imitate her. the first admired and represented nature in her sweetest appearance; the second, in her most gorgeous array; and the third in her most convulsed and terrific aspects. salvator rosa's subjects. salvator rosa painted history, landscape, battle-pieces, and sea-ports; and of these he was most eminent in landscape. the scholar of spagnoletto, he attached himself to the strong natural style and dark coloring of that master, which well accords with his subjects. in his landscapes, instead of selecting the cultured amenity which captivates in the views of claude or poussin, he made choice of the lonely haunts of wolves and robbers; instead of the delightful vistas of tivoli and the campagna, he adopted the savage scenery of the alps, rocky precipices, caves with wild thickets and desert plains; his trees are shattered, or torn up by the roots, and in the atmosphere itself he seldom introduced a cheerful hue, except occasionally a solitary sunbeam. these gloomy regions are peopled with congenial inhabitants, ferocious banditti, assassins, and outlaws. in his marines, he followed the same taste; they represent the desolate and shelvy shores of calabria, whose dreary aspect is sometimes heightened by terrific tempests, with all the horrors of shipwreck. his battles and attacks of cavalry also partake of the same principle of wild beauty; the fury of the combatants, and the fiery animation of the horses are depicted with a truth and effect that strikes the mind with horror. notwithstanding the singularity and fierceness of his style, he captivates by the unbounded wildness of his fancy, and the picturesque solemnity of his scenes. salvator rosa wrought with wonderful facility, and could paint a well finished landscape and insert all the figures in one day; it is impossible to inspect one of his bold, rapid sketches, without being struck with the fertility of his invention, and the skill of hand that rivalled in execution the activity of his mind. he was also an excellent portrait painter. a portrait of himself is in the church degli angeli, where his remains were interred, and he introduced his own portrait into several of his pictures, one of which is in the chigi gallery, representing a wild scene with a poet in a sitting attitude, (with the features of salvator); before him stands a satyr, allusive to his satiric style of poetry. during his life-time, his works were much sought after by princes and nobles, and they are now to be found in the choicest collections of italy and of europe. there is a landscape in the english national gallery which cost guineas; a picture in the collection of sir mark sykes brought the enormous sum of guineas. flagellation of salvator rosa. it happened one day that salvator rosa, in his youth, on his way to mass, brought with him by mistake, his bundle of burned sticks, with which he used to draw, instead of his mother's brazen clasped missal; and in passing along the magnificent cloisters of the great church of the certosa at naples, sacred alike to religion and the arts, he applied them between the interstices of its doric columns to the only unoccupied space on the pictured walls. history has not detailed what was the subject which occupied his attention on this occasion, but he was working away with all the ardor which his enthusiastic genius inspired, when unfortunately the prior, issuing with his train from the choir, caught the hapless painter in the very act of scrawling on those sacred walls which required all the influence of the greatest masters to get leave to ornament. the sacrilegious temerity of the boy artist, called for instant and exemplary punishment. unluckily too, for the little offender, this happened in lent, the season in which the rules of the rigid chartreuse oblige the prior and procurator to flagellate all the frati, or lay brothers of the convent. they were, therefore, armed for their wonted pious discipline, when the miserable salvatoriello fell in their way; whether he was honored by the consecrated hand of the prior, or writhed under the scourge of the procurator, does not appear; but that he was chastised with great severity more than proportioned to his crime, is attested by one of the most scrupulous of his biographers, pascoli, who, though he dwells lightly on the fact, as he does on others of more importance, confesses that he suffered severely from the monks' flagellation. salvator rosa and the higgling prince. a roman prince, more notorious for his pretensions to _virtu_ than for his liberality to artists, sauntering one day in salvator's gallery, in the via babbuina, paused before one of his landscapes, and after a long contemplation of its merits, exclaimed, "salvator mio! i am strongly tempted to purchase this picture: tell me at once the lowest price."--"two hundred scudi," replied salvator, carelessly. "two hundred scudi! ohime! that is a price! but we'll talk of that another time." the illustrissimo took his leave; but bent upon having the picture, he shortly returned, and again inquired the lowest price. "three hundred scudi!" was the sullen reply. "carpo di bacco!" cried the astonished prince; "mi burla, vostra signoria; you are joking! i see i must e'en wait upon your better humor; and so addio, signor rosa." the next day brought back the prince to the painter's gallery; who, on entering, saluted salvator with a jocose air, and added, "well, signor amico, how goes the market to-day? have prices risen or fallen?" "four hundred scudi is the price to-day!" replied salvator, with affected calmness; when suddenly giving way to his natural impetuosity, and no longer stifling his indignation, he burst forth: "the fact is, your excellency shall not now obtain this picture from me at any price; and yet so little do i value its merits, that i deem it worthy no better fate than this;" and snatching the panel on which it was painted from the wall, he flung it to the ground, and with his foot broke it into a hundred pieces. his excellency made an unceremonious retreat, and returned no more to the enraged painter's studio. salvator rosa's opinion of his own works. while a roman nobleman was one day endeavoring to drive a hard bargain with salvator rosa, he coolly interrupted him, saying that, till the picture was finished, he himself did not know its value; "i never bargain, sir, with my pencil; for it knows not the value of its own labor before the work is finished. when the picture is done, i will let you know what it costs, and you may then take it or not as you please." salvator rosa's banditti. there is an etching by salvator rosa, which seems so plainly to tell the story of the wandering artist's captivity, that it merits a particular description. in the midst of wild, rocky scenery, appears a group of banditti, armed at all points, and with all sorts of arms; they are lying in careless attitudes, but with fierce countenances, around a youthful prisoner, who forms the foreground figure, and is seated on a rock, with his languid limbs hanging over the precipice, which may be supposed to yawn beneath. it is impossible to describe the despair depicted in this figure: it is marked in his position, in the drooping of his head, which his nerveless arms seem with difficulty to support, and the little that may be seen of his face, over which, from his recumbent attitude, his hair falls in luxuriant profusion. all is alike destitute of energy and of hope, which the beings grouped around the captive seem to have banished forever by some sentence recently pronounced; yet there is one who watches over the fate of the young victim: a woman stands immediately behind him, with her hand stretched out, while her fore finger, resting on his head, marks him as the subject of discourse which she addresses to the listening bandits. her figure, which is erect is composed of those bold, straight lines, which in art and nature, constitute the grand. even the fantastic cap or turban, from which her long dishevelled hair has escaped, has no curve of grace; and her drapery partakes of the same rigid forms. her countenance is full of stern melancholy--the natural character of one whose feelings and habits are at variance; whose strong passions may have flung her out of the pale of society, but whose womanly sympathies still remain unchanged. she is artfully pleading for the life of the youth, by contemptuously noting his insignificance; but she commands while she soothes. she is evidently the mistress or the wife of the chief, in whoso absence an act of vulgar violence may be meditated. the youth's life is saved: for that cause rarely fails, to which a woman brings the omnipotence of her feelings. salvator rosa and massaniello. it was during the residence of salvator rosa in naples, that the memorable popular tumult under massaniello took place; and our painter was persuaded by his former master, aniello falcone, to become one of an adventurous set of young men, principally painters, who had formed themselves into a band for the purpose of taking revenge on the spaniards, and were called "la compagna della morte." the tragical fate of massaniello, however, soon dispersed these heroes; and rosa, fearing he might be compelled to take a similar part in that fatal scene, sought safety by flight, and took refuge in rome. salvator rosa and cardinal sforza. salvator rosa is said never to have suffered the rank or office of his auditors to interfere with the freedom of his expressions in his poetic recitations. cardinal sforza pullavicini, one of the most generous patrons of the fine arts, and a rigid critic of his day, was curious to hear the improvisatore of the via babbuina, and sent an invitation requesting salvator's company at his palace. salvator frankly declared that two conditions were annexed to his accepting the honor of his eminence's acquaintance; first, that the cardinal should come to his house, as he never recited in any other; and second, that he should not object to any passage, the omission of which would detract from the original character of his work, or compromise his own sincerity. the cardinal accepted the conditions. the next day all the literary coxcombs of rome crowded to the levee of the hypercritical prelate to learn his opinion of the poet, whose style was without precedent. the cardinal declared, with a justice which posterity has sanctioned, that "salvator's poetry was full of splendid passages, but that, as a whole, it was unequal." salvator rosa's manifesto concerning his satirical picture la fortuna. in salvator rosa's celebrated picture of la fortuna, the nose of one powerful ecclesiastic, and the eye of another were detected in the brutish physiognomy of the swine treading upon pearls, and in an ass, scattering with his hoofs the laurel and myrtle which lay in his path; and in an old goat, reposing on roses, some there were, who even fancied they discovered the infallible lover of donna olympia, the sultana, queen of the quirinal! the cry of atheism and sedition--of contempt of established authorities--was thus raised under the influence of private pique and long-cherished envy: it soon found an echo in the painted walls where the conclave sat "in close divan," and it was handed about from mouth to mouth, till it reached the ears of the inquisitor, within the dark recesses of his house of terror. a cloud was now gathering over the head of the devoted salvator which it seemed no human power could avert. but ere the bolt fell, his fast and tried friend don maria ghigi threw himself between his protégé and the horrible fate which awaited him, by forcing the sullen satirist to draw up an apology, or rather an explanation of his offensive picture. this explanation, bearing title of a "manifesto," he obtained permission to present to those powerful and indignant persons in whose hands the fate of salvator now lay; rosa explained away all that was supposed to be personal in his picture, and proved that his hogs were not churchmen, his mules pretending pedants, his asses roman nobles, and his birds and beasts of prey the reigning despots of italy. his imprudence however, subsequently raised such a storm that he was obliged to quit rome, when he fled to florence. salvator rosa's banishment from rome. salvator rosa secretly deplored his banishment from rome; and his impatience at being separated from carlo rossi and some other of his friends, was so great that he narrowly escaped losing his liberty to obtain an interview with them. about three years after his arrival in florence, he took post-horses, and at midnight set off for rome. having reached the gardens of the "vigna navicella," and bribed the custode to lend them for a few hours, and otherwise to assist him, he dispatched a circular billet to eighteen of his friends, supplicating them to give him a rendezvous at the navicella. each believed that salvator had fallen into some new difficulty, which had obliged him to fly from florence, and all attended his summons. he received them at the head of a well furnished table, embraced them with tenderness, feasted them sumptuously, and then mounting his horse, returned to florence before his roman persecutors or tuscan friends were aware of his adventure. salvator rosa's wit. salvator rosa exhibited a clever picture, the work of an amateur by profession a surgeon, which had been rejected by the academicians of st. luke. the artists came in crowds to see it; and by those who were ignorant of the painter, it was highly praised. on being asked who had painted it by some one, salvator replied, "it was performed by a person whom the great academicians of st. luke thought fit to scorn, because his ordinary profession was that of a surgeon. but (continued he), i think they have not acted wisely; for if they had admitted him into their academy, they would have had the advantage of his services in setting the broken and distorted limbs that so frequently occur in their exhibitions." salvator rosa's reception at florence. the departure of salvator rosa from rome was an escape: his arrival in florence was a triumph. the grand duke and the princes of his house received him, not as an hireling, but as one whose genius placed him beyond the possibility of dependence. an annual income was assigned to him during his residence in florence, in the service of the court, besides a stipulated price for each of his pictures: and he was left perfectly unconstrained and at liberty to paint for whom he pleased. histrionic powers of salvator rosa. in , salvator rosa received an invitation to repair to the court of tuscany, of which he availed himself the more willingly, as by the machinations of his enemies, he was in great danger of being thrown into prison. at florence he met with the most flattering reception, not only at the court and among the nobility, but among the literary men and eminent painters with which that city abounded. his residence soon became the rendezvous of all who were distinguished for their talents, and who afterwards formed themselves into an academy, to which they gave the title of "i. percossi." salvator, during the carnivals, frequently displayed his abilities as a comic actor, and with such success, that when he and a friend of his (a bolognese merchant, who, though sixty years old, regularly left his business three months in the year, for the sole pleasure of performing with rosa) played the parts of dottore graziano and pascariello, the laughter and applause of their audience were so excessive as often to interrupt their performance for a length of time. salvator rosa's reception at the palazzo pitti. the character, in fact the manners and the talents of salvator rosa came out in strong relief, as opposed to the servile deportment and mere professional acquirements of the herd of artists of all nations then under the protection of the medici. he was received at the palazzo pitti not only as a distinguished artist, but as a guest; and the medici, at whose board pulci (in the time of their magnifico) had sung his morgante maggiore with the fervor of a rhapsodist, now received at their table another improvisatore, with equal courtesy and graciousness. the tuscan nobility, in imitation of the court, and in the desire to possess salvator's pictures, treated him with singular honor. satires of salvator rosa. the boldness and rapidity of salvator rosa's pencil, aided by the fertility of his highly poetical imagination, enabled him to paint an immense number of pictures while he was at florence; but not finding sufficient leisure to follow his other pursuits, he retired to volterra, after having resided at florence nine years, respected and beloved by all who knew him. the three succeeding years were passed in the family of the maffei, alternately at volterra and their villa at monte ruffoli, in which time he completed his satires, except the sixth, "l'invidia;" which was written after the publication of the others. he also painted several portraits for the maffei, and among others one of himself, which was afterwards presented to the grand duke of tuscany, and placed in the royal gallery at florence. salvator rosa's harpsichord. salvator rosa's confidence in his own powers was as frankly confessed as it was justified by success. happening one day to be found by a friend in florence, in the act of modulating on a very indifferent old harpsichord, he was asked how he could keep such an instrument in his house. "why," said his friend, "it is not worth a scudo." "i will wager what you please," said salvator, "that it shall be worth a thousand before you see it again." a bet was made, and rosa immediately painted a landscape with figures on the lid, which was not only sold for a thousand scudi, but was esteemed a capital performance. on one end of the harpsichord he also painted a skull and music-books. both these pictures were exhibited in the year at the british institution. rare portrait by salvator rosa. while salvator rosa was on a visit to florence, and refused all applications for his pictures he was accidentally taken in to paint what he so rarely condescended to do a portrait. there lived in florence a good old dame of the name of anna gaetano, of some celebrity for keeping a notable inn, over the door of which was inscribed in large letters, "al buon vino non bisogna fruscia" (good wine needs no bush). but it was not the good wines alone of madonna anna that drew to her house some of the most distinguished men of florence, and made it particularly the resort of the cavaliere oltramontani--her humor was as racy as her wine; and many of the men of wit and pleasure about town were in the habit of lounging in the sala commune of dame gaetano, merely for the pleasure of drawing her out. among these were lorenzo lippi and salvator rosa; and, although this tuscan dame quickly was in her seventieth year, hideously ugly, and grotesquely dressed, yet she was so far from esteeming her age an "antidote to the tender passion," that she distinguished salvator rosa by a preference, which deemed itself not altogether hopeless of return. emboldened by his familiarity and condescension, she had the vanity to solicit him to paint her portrait, "that she might," she said, "reach posterity by the hand of the greatest master of the age." salvator at first received her proposition as a joke; but perpetually teased by her reiterated importunities, and provoked by her pertinacity, he at last exclaimed, "well, madonna, i have resolved to comply with your desire; but with this agreement, that, not to distract my mind during my work, i desire you will not move from your seat until i have finished the picture." madonna, willing to submit to any penalty in order to obtain an honor which was to immortalize her charms, joyfully agreed to the proposition; and salvator, sending for an easel and painting materials, drew her as she sat before him, to the life. the portrait was dashed off with the usual rapidity and spirit of the master, and was a chef d'oeuvre. but when at last the vain and impatient hostess was permitted to look upon it, she perceived that to a strong and inveterate likeness the painter had added a long beard; and that she figured on the canvas as an ancient male pilgrim--a character admirably suited to her furrowed face, weather-beaten complexion, strong lineaments, and grey hairs. her mortified vanity vented itself in the most violent abuse of the ungallant painter, in rich tuscan billingsgate. salvator, probably less annoyed by her animosity than disgusted by her preference, called upon some of her guests to judge between them. the artists saw only the merits of the picture, the laughers looked only to the joke. the value affixed to the exquisite portrait soon reconciled the vanity of the original through her interest. after the death of madonna anna, her portrait was sold by her heirs at an enormous price, and is said to be still in existence.--_lady morgan._ salvator rosa's return to rome. at the time of salvator rosa's return to rome says pascoli, he figured away as the _great painter_, opening his house to all his friends, who came from all parts to visit him, and among others, antonio abbati, who had resided for many years in germany. this old acquaintance of the poor salvatoriello of the chiesa della morte at viterbo, was not a little amazed to find his patient and humble auditor of former times one of the most distinguished geniuses and hospitable amphitryons of the day. pascoli gives a curious picture of the prevailing pedantry of the times, by describing a discourse of antonio abbati's at salvator's dinner-table, on the superior merits of the ancient painters over the moderns, in which he "bestowed all the tediousness" of his erudition on the company. salvator answered him in his own style, and having overturned all his arguments in favor of antiquity with more learning than they had been supported, ended with an impromptu epigram, in his usual way, which brought the laugher's on his side. salvator rosa's love of magnificence. salvator rosa was fond of splendor and ostentatious display. he courted admiration from whatever source it could be obtained, and even sought it by means to which the frivolous and the vain are supposed alone to resort. he is described, therefore, as returning to rome, from which he had made so perilous and furtive an escape, in a showy and pompous equipage, with "servants in rich liveries, armed with silver hafted swords, and otherwise well accoutred." the beautiful lucrezia, as "sua governante," accompanied him, and the little rosalvo gave no scandal in a society where the instructions of religion substitute license for legitimate indulgence. immediately on his arrival in rome, salvator fixed upon one of the loveliest of her hills for his residence, and purchased a handsome house upon the monte pincio, on the piazza della trinità del monte--"which," says pascoli, "he furnished with noble and rich furniture, establishing himself on the great scale, and in a lordly manner." a site more favorable than the pincio, for a man of salvator's taste and genius, could scarcely be imagined, commanding at once within the scope of its vast prospect, picturesque views, and splendid monuments of the most important events in the history of man--the capitol and the campus martius, the groves of the quirinal and the cupola of st. peter's, the ruined palaces of the cæsars, and sumptuous villas of the sons of the reigning church. such was then, as now, the range of unrivalled objects which the pincio commanded; but the noble terrace smoothed over its acclivities, which recalled the memory of aurelian and the feast of belisarius, presented at that period a far different aspect from that which it now offers. everything in this enchanting sight was then fresh and splendid; the halls of the villa medici, which at present only echo to the steps of a few french students or english travelers, were then the bustling and splendid residence of the old intriguing cardinal carlo de medici, called the cardinal of tuscany, whose followers and faction were perpetually going to and fro, mingling their showy uniforms and liveries with the sober vestments of the neighboring monks of the convent della trinità! the delicious groves and gardens of the villa de medici then covered more than two english miles, and amidst cypress shades and shrubberies, watered by clear springs, and reflected in translucent fountains, stood exposed to public gaze all that now form the most precious treasures of the florentine gallery--the niobe, the wrestlers, the apollo, the vase, and above all, the venus of venuses, which has derived its distinguishing appellation from these gardens, of which it was long the boast and ornament. salvator rosa's last works. the last performances of salvator's pencil were a collection of portraits of obnoxious persons in rome--in other words, a series of caricatures, by which he would have an opportunity of giving vent to his satirical genius; but whilst he was engaged on his own portrait, intending it as the concluding one of the series he was attacked with a dropsy, which in the course of a few months brought him to the grave. salvator rosa's desire to be considered an historical painter. salvator rosa's greatest talent lay in landscape painting, a branch which he affected to despise, as he was ambitious of being called an historical painter. hence he called his wild scenes, with small figures merely accessory, historical paintings, and was offended if others called them landscapes. pascoli relates that prince francisco ximenes, soon after his arrival at rome, in the midst of the honors paid him, found time to visit the studio of salvator rosa, who showed him into his gallery. the prince frankly said, "i have come, signor rosa, for the purpose of seeing and purchasing some of those beautiful landscapes, whose subjects and manner have delighted me in many foreign collections."--"be it known then, to your excellency," interrupted salvator impetuously, "that i know nothing of _landscape_ painting. something indeed i do know of painting figures and historical subjects, which i strive to exhibit to such eminent judges as yourself, in order that, _once for all_, i may banish from the public mind that _fantastic humor_ of supposing i am a landscape and not an historical painter." at another time, a very rich (_ricchissimo_) cardinal called on salvator to purchase some of his pictures as he walked up and down the gallery, he paused before the landscapes, but only glanced at the historical subjects, while salvator muttered from time to time, "_sempre, sempre, paesi piccoli_," (always, always, some little landscape.) when, at length, the cardinal carelessly glanced his eye over one of salvator's great historical pictures, and asked the price, as a sort of introduction, the painter bellowed out, _un milione_; his eminence, justly offended, made an unceremonious retreat without making his intended purchases, and returned no more. don mario ghigi, his physician, and salvator rosa. (_from lady morgan's life of salvator rosa._) the princes of the family of ghigi had been among the first of the aristocratic virtuosi of rome to acknowledge the merits of salvator rosa, as their ancestors had been to appreciate the genius of raffaelle. between the prince don mario ghigi, (whose brother fabio was raised to the pontifical throne by the name of alexander vii.) and salvator, there seems to have existed a personal intimacy; and the prince's fondness for the painter's conversation was such, that during a long illness he induced salvator to bring his easel to his bedside, and to work in his chamber at a small picture he was then painting for the prince. it happened, that while rosa was sketching and chatting by the prince's couch, one of the most fashionable physicians in rome entered the apartment. he appears to have been one of those professional coxcombs, whose pretensions, founded on unmerited vogue, throws ridicule on the gravest calling. after some trite remarks upon the art, the doctor, either to flatter salvator, or in imitation of the physician of the cardinal colonna, who asked for one of raffaelle's finest pictures as a fee for saving the cardinal's life, requested don mario to give him a picture by salvator as a remuneration for his attendance. the prince willingly agreed to the proposal; and the doctor, debating on the subject he should choose, turned to salvator and begged that he would not lay pencil to canvas, until _he_, the signor dottore, should find leisure to dictate to him _il pensiero e concetto della sua pittura_, the idea and conceit of his picture! salvator bowed a modest acquiescence, and went on with his sketch. the doctor having gone the round of professional questions with his wonted pomposity, rose to write his prescription; when, as he sat before the table with eyes upturned, and pen suspended over the paper, salvator approached him on tiptoe, and drawing the pen gently through his fingers, with one of his old _coviello_ gesticulations in his character of the mountebank, he said, "_fermati dottor mio!_ stop doctor, you must not lay pen to paper till i have leisure to dictate the idea and conceit of the prescription i may think proper for the malady of his excellency." "_diavalo!_" cried the amazed physician, "you dictate a prescription! why, _i_ am the prince's physician, and not _you!_" "and _i, caro_," said salvator, "am a painter, and not _you_. i leave it to the prince whether i could not prove myself a better physician than you a painter; and write a better prescription than you paint a picture." the prince, much amused, decided in favor of the painter; salvator coolly resumed his pencil, and the medical _cognoscente_ permitted the idea of the picture to die away, _sul proprio letto_. death of salvator rosa. salvator rosa, in his last illness, demanded of the priests and others that surrounded him, what they required of him. they replied, "in the first instance to receive the sacrament as it is administered in rome to the dying." "to receive the sacrament," says his confessor, baldovini, "he showed no repugnance, but he vehemently and positively refused to allow the host, with all the solemn pomp of its procession, to be brought to his house, which he deemed unworthy of the divine presence." he objected to the ostentation of the ceremony, to its _éclat_, to the noise and bustle, smoke and heat it would create in the close sick chamber. he appears to have objected to more than it was discreet to object to in rome: and all that his family and his confessor could extort from him on the subject was, that he would permit himself to be carried from his bed to the parish church, and there, with the humility of a contrite heart, would consent to receive the sacrament at the foot of the altar. as immediate death might have been the consequence of this act of indiscretion, his family, who were scarcely less interested for a life so precious, than for the soul which was the object of their pious apprehensions, gave up the point altogether; and on account of the vehemence with which salvator spoke on the subject, and the agitation it had occasioned, they carefully avoided renewing a proposition which had rallied all his force of character and volition to their long abandoned post. the rejection of a ceremony which was deemed in rome indispensably necessary to salvation, by one who was already stamped with the church's reprobation, soon spread; report exaggerated the circumstance into a positive expression of infidelity; and the gossip of the roman ante-rooms was supplied for the time with a subject of discussion, in perfect harmony with their love for slander, bigotry, and idleness. "as i went forth from salvator's door," relates the worthy baldovini, "i met the _canonico scornio_, a man who has taken out a license to speak of all men as he pleases. 'and how goes it with salvator?' demands this canonico of me. 'bad enough, i fear.'--well, a few nights back, happening to be in the anteroom of a certain great prelate, i found myself in the centre of a circle of disputants, who were busily discussing whether the aforesaid salvator would die a schismatic, a huguenot, a calvinist, or a lutheran?--'he will die, signor canonico,' i replied, 'when it pleases god, a better catholic than any of those who now speak so slightingly of him!'--and so pursued my way." this _canonico_, whose sneer at the undecided faith of salvator roused all the bile of the tolerant and charitable baldovini, was the near neighbor of salvator, a frequenter of his hospitable house, and one of whom the credulous salvator speaks in one of his letters as being "his neighbor, and an excellent gentleman." on the following day, as the padre sat by the pillow of the suffering rosa, he had the simplicity, in the garrulity of his heart, to repeat all these idle reports and malicious insinuations to the invalid: "but," says baldovini, "as i spoke, rosa only shrugged his shoulders." early on the morning of the fifteenth of march, that month so delightful in rome, the anxious and affectionate confessor, who seems to have been always at his post, ascended the monte della trinità, for the purpose of taking up his usual station by the bed's head of the fast declining salvator. the young agosto flew to meet him at the door, and with a countenance radiant with joy, informed him of the good news, that "his dear father had given evident symptoms of recovery, in consequence of the bursting of an inward ulcer." baldovini followed the sanguine boy to iris father's chamber; but, to all appearance salvator was suffering great agony. "how goes it with thee, rosa?" asked baldovini kindly, as he approached him. "bad, bad!" was the emphatic reply. while writhing with pain, the sufferer added after a moment:--"to judge by what i now endure, the hand of death grasps me sharply." in the restlessness of pain he then threw himself on the edge of the bed, and placed his head on the bosom of lucrezia, who sat supporting and weeping over him. his afflicted son and friend took their station at the other side of the couch, and stood in mournful silence watching the issue of these sudden and frightful spasms. at that moment a celebrated roman physician, the doctor catanni, entered the apartment. he felt the pulse of salvator, and perceived that he was fast sinking. he communicated his approaching dissolution to those most interested in the melancholy intelligence, and it struck all present with unutterable grief. baldovini, however, true to his sacred calling, even in the depth of his human affliction, instantly despatched the young agosto to the neighboring convent della trinità, for the holy viaticum. while life was still fluttering at the heart of salvator, the officiating priest of the day arrived, bearing with him the holy apparatus of the last mysterious ceremony of the church. the shoulders of salvator were laid bare, and anointed with the consecrated oil; some prayed fervently, others wept, and all even still hoped; but the taper which the doctor catanni held to the lips of salvator while the viaticum was administered, burned brightly and steadily! life's last sigh had transpired, as religion performed her last rite. between that luminous and soul-breathing form of genius, and the clod of the valley, there was now no difference; and the "end and object" of a man's brief existence was now accomplished in him who, while yet all young and ardent, had viewed the bitter perspective of humanity with a philosophic eye and pronounced even on the bosom of pleasure, "nasci poena--vita labor--necesse mori." on the evening of the fifteenth of march, , all that remained of the author of regulus, of catiline, and the satires--the gay formica, the witty coviello--of the elegant composer, and greatest painter of his time and country--of salvator rosa! was conveyed to the tomb, in the church of santa maria degli angioli alle terme--that magnificent temple, unrivalled even at rome in interest and grandeur, which now stands as it stood when it formed the pinacotheca of the thermæ of dioclesian. there, accompanied by much funeral pomp, the body of salvator lay in state; the head and face, according to the italian custom, being exposed to view. all rome poured into the vast circumference of the church, to take a last view of the painter of the roman people--the "nostro signor salvatore" of the pantheon; and the popular feelings of regret and admiration were expressed with the usual bursts of audible emotions in which italian sensibility on such occasions loves to indulge. some few there were, who gathered closely and in silence round the bier of the great master of the neapolitan school; and who, weeping the loss of the man, forgot for a moment even that genius which had already secured its own meed of immortality. these were carlo rossi, francesco baldovini, and paolo oliva, each of whom returned from the grave of the friend he loved, to record the high endowments and powerful talents of the painter he admired, and the poet he revered. baldovini retired to his cell to write the life of salvator rosa, and then to resign his own; oliva to his monastery, to compose the epitaph which is still read on the tomb of his friend; and carlo rossi to select from his gallery such works of his beloved painter, as might best adorn the walls of that chapel, now exclusively consecrated to his memory. on the following night, the remains of salvator rosa were deposited, with all the awful forms of the roman church, in a grave opened expressly in the beautiful vestibule of santa maria degli angioli alle terme. never did the ashes of departed genius find a more appropriate resting place;--the pinacotheca of the thermæ of dioclesian had once been the repository of all that the genius of antiquity had perfected in the arts; and in the vast interval of time which had since elapsed, it had suffered no change, save that impressed upon it by the mighty mind of michael angelo.--_lady morgan._ domenichino. this great artist is now universally esteemed the most distinguished disciple of the school of the caracci, and the learned count algarotti prefers him even to the caracci themselves. poussin ranked him next after raffaelle, and passeri has expressed nearly the same opinion. he was born at bologna in , and received his first instruction from denis calvart, but having been treated with severity by that master, who had discovered him making a drawing after annibale caracci, contrary to his injunction, domenichino prevailed upon his father to remove him from the school of calvart, and place him in the academy of the caracci, where guido and albano were then students. the dullness of domenichino in youth. the great talents of domenichino did not develop themselves so early as in many other great painters. he was assiduous, thoughtful and circumspect; which his companions attributed to dullness, and they called him the ox; but the intelligent annibale caracci, who observed his faculties with more attention, testified of his abilities by saying to his pupils, "this ox will in time surpass you all, and be an honor to the art of painting." it was the practice in this celebrated school to offer prizes to the pupils for the best drawings, to excite them to emulation, and every pupil was obliged to hand in his drawing at certain periods. it was not long after domenichino entered this school before one of these occasions took place, and while his fellow-students brought in their works with confidence, he timidly approached and presented his, which he would gladly have withheld. lodovico caracci, after having examined the whole, adjudged the prize to domenichino. this triumph, instead of rendering him confident and presumptuous, only stimulated him to greater assiduity, and he pursued his studies with such patient and constant application, that he made such progress as to win the admiration of some of his cotemporaries, and to beget the hatred of others. he contracted a friendship with albano, and on leaving the school of the caracci, they visited together, parma, modena, and reggio, to contemplate the works of correggio and parmiggiano. on their return to bologna, albano went to rome, whither domenichino soon followed him, and commenced his bright career. the student may learn a useful lesson from the untiring industry, patience, and humility of this great artist. passeri attributes his grand achievements more to his amazing study than to his genius; and some have not hesitated to deny that he possessed any genius at all--an opinion which his works abundantly refute. lanzi says, "from his acting as a continual censor of his own productions, he became among his fellow pupils the most exact and expressive designer, his colors most true to nature, and of the best _impasto_, the most universal master in the theory of his art, the sole painter amongst them all in whom mengs found nothing to desire except a little more elegance. that he might devote his whole being to the art, he shunned all society, or if he occasionally sought it in the public theatres and markets, it was in order better to observe the play of nature's passions in the features of the people--those of joy, anger, grief, terror, and every affection of the mind, and commit it living to his tablets. thus it was, exclaims bellori, that he succeeded in delineating the soul, in coloring life, and raising those emotions in our breasts at which his works all aim; as if he waved the same wand which belonged to the poetical enchanters, tasso and ariosto." domenichino's scourging of st. andrew. domenichino was employed by the cardinal borghese, to paint in competition with guido, the celebrated frescos in the church of s. gregorio at rome. both artists painted the same subject, but the former represented the _scourging of st. andrew_, and the latter _st. andrew led away to the gibbet_. lanzi says it is commonly reported that an aged woman, accompanied by a little boy, was seen long wistfully engaged in viewing domenichino's picture, showing it part by part to the boy, and next, turning to that of guido, painted directly opposite, she gave it a cursory glance and passed on. some assert that annibale caracci took occasion, from this circumstance, to give his preference to the former picture. it is also related that while domenichino was painting one of the executioners, he actually threw himself into a passion, using high threatening words and actions, and that annibale, surprising him at that moment, embraced him, exclaiming, "to-day, my domenichino, thou art teaching me"--so novel, and at the same time so natural did it appear to him, that the artist, like the orator, should feel within himself all that he would represent to others. the communion of st. jerome. the chef-d'oeuvre of domenichino is the dying st. jerome receiving the last rites of his church, commonly called the communion of st. jerome, painted for the principal altar of st. girolamo della carita. this work has immortalized his name, and is universally allowed to be the finest picture rome can boast after the transfiguration of raffaelle. it was taken to paris by napoleon, restored in by the allies, and has since been copied in mosaic, to preserve so grand a work, the original having suffered greatly from the effects of time. lanzi says, "one great attraction in the church paintings of domenichino, consists in the glory of the angels, exquisitely beautiful in feature, full of lively action, and so introduced as to perform the most gracious offices in the piece, as the crowning of martyrs, the bearing of palms, the scattering of roses, weaving the mazy dance, and making sweet melodies." domenichino's enemies at rome. the reputation which domenichino had justly acquired at rome had excited the jealousy of some of his cotemporaries, and the applause bestowed upon his communion of st. jerome, only served to increase it. the cav. lanfranco in particular, one of his most inveterate enemies, asserted that the communion of st. jerome was little more than a copy of the same subject by agostino caracci, at the certosa at bologna, and he employed perrier, one of his pupils, to make an etching from the picture by agostino. but this stratagem, instead of confirming the plagiarism, discovered the calumny, as it proved that there was no more resemblance between the two works than must necessarily result in two artists treating the same subject, and that every essential part, and all that was admired was entirely his own. if it had been possible for modest merit to have repelled the shafts of slander, the work which he executed immediately afterwards in the church of s. lodovico, representing the life of st. cecilia, would have silenced the attacks of envy and malevolence; but they only tended to increase the alarm of his competitors, and excite them to redoubled injustice and malignity. disgusted with these continued cabals, domenichino quitted rome, and returned to bologna, where he resided several years in the quiet practice of his profession, and executed some of his most admired works, particularly the martyrdom of st. agnes for the church of that saint, and the madonna del rosario, both of which were engraved by gerard audran, and taken to paris and placed in the louvre by order of napoleon. the fame of domenichino was now so well established that intrigue and malice could not suppress it, and pope gregory xv. invited him back to rome, and appointed him principal painter, and architect to the pontifical palace. decision of posterity on the merits of domenichino. "the public," says lanzi, "is an equitable judge; but a good cause is not always sufficient without the advantage of many voices to sustain it. domenichino, timid, retiring, and master of few pupils, was destitute of a party equal to his cause. he was constrained to yield to the crowd that trampled upon him, thus verifying the prediction of monsignore agucchi, that his merits would never be rightly appreciated during his life-time. the spirit of party having passed away, impartial posterity has rendered him justice; nor is there a royal gallery but confesses an ambition to possess his works. his figure pieces are in the highest esteem, and command enormous prices." proof of the merits of domenichino. no better proof of the exalted merits of domenichino can be desired, than the fact that upwards of fifty of his works have been engraved by the most renowned engravers, as gerard audran, raffaelle morghen, sir robert strange, c. f. von muller, and other illustrious artists; many of these also have been frequently repeated. domenichino's caricatures. while domenichino was in naples, he was visited by his biographer passeri, then a young man, who was engaged to assist in repairing the pictures in the cardinal's chapel. "when he arrived at frescati," says passeri, "domenichino received me with much courtesy, and hearing that i took a singular delight in the belles-lettres, it increased his kindness to me. i remember that i gazed on this man as though he were an angel. i remained there to the end of september, occupied in restoring the chapel of st. sebastian, which had been ruined by the damp. sometimes domenichino would join us, singing delightfully to recreate himself. when night set in, we returned to our apartment; while he most frequently remained in his room, occupied in drawing, and permitting none to see him. sometimes, however, to pass the time, he drew caricatures of us all, and of the inhabitants of the villa. when he succeeded to his perfect satisfaction, he was wont to indulge in immoderate fits of laughter; and we, who were in the adjoining room, would run in to know his reason, when he showed us his spirited sketches. he drew a caricature of me with a guitar, one of carmini (the painter), and one of the guarda roba, who was lame of the gout; and of the sub-guarda roba, a most ridiculous figure--to prevent our being offended, he caricatured himself. these portraits are now preserved by signor giovanni pietro bellori." intrigues of the neapolitan triumvirate of painters. the conspiracy of bellisario corenzio, giuseppe ribera, and gio. battista caracciolo, called the neapolitan triumvirate of painters, to monopolize to themselves all valuable commissions, and particularly the honor of decorating the chapel of st. januarius, is one of the most curious passages in the history of art. the following is lanzi's account of this disgraceful cabal: "the three masters whom i have just noticed in successive order, (corenzio, ribera, and caracciolo) were the authors of the unceasing persecutions which many of the artists who had come to, or were invited to naples, were for several years subjected to. bellisario had established a supreme dominion, or rather a tyranny, over the neapolitan painters, by calumny and insolence, as well as by his station. he monopolized all lucrative commissions to himself, and recommended, for the fulfilment of others, one or other of the numerous and inferior artists that were dependent on him. the cav. massimo stanziozi, santafede, and other artists of talent, if they did not defer to him, were careful not to offend him, as they knew him to be a man of a vindictive temper, treacherous, and capable of every violence, and who was known, through jealousy, to have administered poison to luigi roderigo, the most promising and the most amiable of his scholars. "bellisario, in order to maintain himself in his assumed authority, endeavored to exclude all strangers who painted in fresco rather than in oil. annibale caracci arrived there in , and was engaged to ornament the churches of spirito santo and gesu nuovo, for which, as a specimen of his style, he painted a small picture. the greek and his adherents being required to give their opinion on this exquisite production, declared it to be tasteless, and decided that the painter of it did not possess talent for large compositions. this divine artist in consequence took his departure under a burning sun, for rome, where he soon afterwards died. but the work in which strangers were the most opposed was the chapel of s. gennaro, which a committee had assigned to the cav. d'arpino, as soon as he should finish painting the choir of the certosa. bellisorio, leaguing with spagnoletto (like himself a fierce and ungovernable man) and with caracciolo, who aspired to this commission, persecuted cesari in such a manner, that before he had finished the choir he fled to monte cassino, and from thence returned to rome. the work was then given to guido, but after a short time two unknown persons assaulted the servant of that artist, and at the same time desired him to inform his master that he must prepare himself for death, or instantly quit naples, with which latter mandate guido immediately complied. gessi, the scholar of guido, was not however intimidated by this event, but applied for, and obtained the honorable commission, and came to naples with two assistants, gio. batista ruggieri and lorenzo menini. but these artists were scarcely arrived, when they were treacherously invited on board a galley, which immediately weighed anchor and carried them off, to the great dismay of their master, who although he made the most diligent inquiries both at rome and naples, could never procure any tidings of them. "gessi in consequence also taking his departure, the committee lost all hope of succeeding in their task, and were in the act of yielding to the reigning cabal, assigning the fresco work to corenzio and caracciolo, and promising the pictures to spagnoletto, when suddenly repenting of their resolution, they effaced all that was painted of the two frescos, and intrusted the decoration of the chapel entirely to domenichino. it ought to be mentioned to the honor of these munificent persons, that they engaged to pay for every entire figure, ducats, for each half-figure ducats, and for each head ducats. they took precautions also against any interruption to the artist, threatening the viceroy's high displeasure if he were in any way molested. but this was only matter of derision to the junta. they began immediately to cry him down as a cold and insipid painter, and to discredit him with those, the most numerous class in every place, who see only with the eyes of others. they harassed him by calumnies, by anonymous letters, by displacing his pictures, by mixing injurious ingredients with his colors, and by the most insidious malice they procured some of his pictures to be sent by the viceroy to the court of madrid; and these, when little more than sketched, were taken from his studio and carried to the court, where spagnoletto ordered them to be retouched, and, without giving him time to finish them, hurried them to their destination. this malicious fraud of his rival, the complaints of the committee, who always met with some fresh obstacle to the completion of the work, and the suspicion of some evil design, at last determined domenichino to depart secretly to rome. as soon however as the news of his flight transpired, he was recalled, and fresh measures taken for his protection; when he resumed his labors, and decorated the walls and base of the cupola, and made considerable progress in the painting of his pictures. "but before he could finish his task he was interrupted by death, hastened either by poison, or by the many severe vexations he had experienced both from his relatives and his adversaries, and the weight of which was augmented by the arrival of his former enemy lanfranco. this artist superceded zampieri in the painting of the basin of the chapel; spagnoletto, in one of his oil pictures; stanzioni in another; and each of these artists, excited by emulation, rivaled, if he did not excel, domenichino. caracciolo was dead. bellisario, from his great age, took no share in it, and was soon afterwards killed by a fall from a stage, which he had erected for the purpose of retouching some of his frescos. nor did spagnoletto experience a better fate; for, having seduced a young girl, and become insupportable even to himself from the general odium which he experienced, he embarked on board a ship; nor is it known whither he fled, or how he ended his life, if we may credit the neapolitan writers. palomino, however, states him to have died in naples in , aged sixty-seven, though he does not contradict the first part of our statement. thus these ambitious men, who by violence or fraud had influenced and abused the generosity and taste of so many noble patrons, and to whose treachery and sanguinary vengeance so many professors of the art had fallen victims, ultimately reaped the merited fruit of their conduct in a violent death; and an impartial posterity, in assigning the palm of merit to domenichino, inculcates the maxim, that it is a delusive hope to attempt to establish fame and fortune on the destruction of another's reputation." giuseppe ribera, called il spagnoletto--his early poverty and industry. josé ribera, a native of valencia in spain, studied for some time under francisco ribalta, and afterwards found his way to italy. at the age of sixteen, he was living in rome, in a very destitute condition; subsisting on crusts, clothed in rags, yet endeavoring with unswerving diligence to improve himself in art by copying the frescos on the façades of palaces, or at the shrines on the corners of the streets. his poverty and industry attracted the notice of a compassionate cardinal, who happened to see him at work from his coach-window; and he provided the poor boy with clothes, and food, and lodging in his own palace. ribera soon found, however, that to be clad in good raiment, and to fare plentifully every day, weakened his powers of application; he needed the spur of want to arouse him to exertion; and therefore, after a short trial of a life in clover, beneath the shelter of the purple, he returned to his poverty and his studies in the streets. the cardinal was at first highly incensed at his departure, and when he next saw him, rated him soundly as an ungrateful little spaniard; but being informed of his motives, and observing his diligence, his anger was turned to admiration. he renewed his offers of protection, which, however, ribera thankfully declined. ribera's marriage. ribera's adventure with the cardinal, and his abilities, soon distinguished him among the crowd of young artists in rome. he became known by the name which still belongs to him, il spagnoletto, (the little spaniard,) and as an imitator of michael angelo caravaggio, the bold handling of whose works, and their powerful effects of light and shade, pleased his vigorous mind. finding rome overstocked with artists, he went to naples, where he made the acquaintance of a rich picture-dealer. the latter was so much pleased with ribera's genius, that be offered him his beautiful and well-dowered daughter in marriage. the valencian, not less proud than poor, at first resented this proposal as an unseasonable pleasantry upon his forlorn condition; but at last finding that it was made in good faith, he took "the good the gods provided," and at once stepped from solitary indigence into the possession of a handsome wife, a comfortable home, a present field of profitable labor, and a prospect of future opulence. ribera's rise to eminence. ease and prosperity now rather stimulated than relaxed his exertions. choosing for his subject the flaying of st. bartholomew, he painted that horrible martyrdom with figures of life-size, so fearfully truthful to nature that when exposed to the public in the street, it immediately attracted a crowd of shuddering gazers. the place of exhibition being within view of the royal palace, the eccentric viceroy, don pedro de giron, duke of ossuna, who chanced to be taking the air on his balcony, inquired the cause of the unusual concourse, and ordered the picture and the artist to be brought into his presence. being well pleased with both, he purchased the one for his own gallery, and appointed the other his court painter, with a monthly salary of sixty doubloons, and the superintendence of all decorations in the palace. ribera's discovery of the philosopher's stone. ribera seems to have been a man of considerable social talent, lively in conversation, and dealing in playful wit and amusing sarcasm. dominici relates that two spanish officers, visiting at his house one day, entered upon a serious discussion on the subject of alchemy. the host, finding their talk some what tedious, gravely informed them that he him self happened to be in possession of the philosopher's stone, and that they might, if they pleased, see his way of using it, the next morning at his studio. the military adepts were punctual to their appointment, and found their friend at work, not in a mysterious laboratory, but at his easel, on a half-length picture of st. jerome. entreating them to restrain their eagerness, he painted steadily on, finished his picture, sent it out by his servant, and received a small rouleau in return. this he broke open in the presence of his visitors, and throwing ten gold doubloons on the table, said, "learn of me how gold is to be made; i do it by painting, you by serving his majesty--diligence in business is the only true alchemy." the officers departed somewhat crest-fallen, neither relishing the jest, nor likely to reap any benefit from it. ribera's subjects. his subjects are generally austere, representing anchorets, prophets, apostles, &c., and frequently of the most revolting character, such as sanguinary executions, martyrdoms, horrid punishments, and lingering torments, which he represented with a startling fidelity that intimidates and shocks the beholder. his paintings are very numerous, and his drawings and etchings are highly esteemed by connoisseurs. ribera's disposition. the talents of this great painter, seem to have been obscured by a cruel and revengeful disposition, partaking of the character of his works. he was one of the triumvirate of painters, who assassinated, persecuted, or drove every talented foreign painter from naples, that they might monopolize the business. he was also a reckless libertine, and, according to dominici, having seduced a beautiful girl, he was seized with such remorse for his many crimes, as to become insupportable to himself; and to escape the general odium which was heaped upon him, he fled from naples on board a ship, and was never heard of more. this story however is doubtless colored, for, according to palomino and several other writers, ribera died at naples in . see page of this volume. singular pictorial illusions. over a certain fountain in rome, there was a cornice so skilfully painted, that the birds were deceived, and trying to alight on it, frequently fell into the water beneath. annibale caracci painted some ornaments on a ceiling of the farnese palace, which the duke of sessa, spanish ambassador to the pope, took for sculptures, and would not believe they were painted on a flat ground, until he had touched them with a lance. agostino caracci painted a horse, which deceived the living animal--a triumph so celebrated in apelles. juan sanchez cotan, painted at granada a "crucifixion," on the cross of which palomino says birds often attempted to perch, and which at first sight the keen-eyed cean bermudez mistook for a piece of sculpture. the reputation of this painter stood so high, that vincenzio carducci traveled from madrid to granada on purpose to see him; and he is said to have recognized him among the white-robed fraternity of which he was a member, by observing in the expression of his countenance, a certain affinity to the spirit of his works. it is related of murillo's picture of st. anthony of padua, that the birds, wandering up and down the aisles of the cathedral at seville, have often attempted to perch upon a vase of white lilies painted on a table in the picture, and to peck at the flowers. the preëminent modern zeuxis, however, was pierre mignard, whose portrait of the marquise de gouvernet was accosted by that lady's pet parrot, with an affectionate "_baise moi, ma maitresse!_" raffaelle's skill in portraits. raffaelle was transcendant not only in history, but in portrait. his portraits have deceived even persons most intimately acquainted with the originals. lanzi says he painted a picture of leo x. so full of life, that the cardinal datary approached it with a bull and pen and ink, for the pope's signature. a similar story is related of titian. jacopo da ponte. count algarotti relates, that annibale caracci was so deceived by a book painted upon a table by jacopo da ponte, that he stretched out his hand to take it up. bassano was highly honored by paul veronese, who placed his son carletto under him as a pupil, to receive his general instructions, "and more particularly in regard to that just disposition of lights reflected from one object to another, and in those happy counterpositions, owing to which the depicted objects seemed clothed with a profusion of light." giovanni rosa. giovanni rosa, a fleming who flourished at rome in the first part of the seventeenth century, was famous for his pictures of animals. "he painted hares so naturally as to deceive the dogs, which would rush at them furiously, thus renewing the wonderful story of zeuxis and his grapes, so much boasted of by pliny." cav. giovanni contarini. this artist was a close imitator of titian. he was extremely accurate in his portraits, which he painted with force, sweetness, and strong likeness. he painted a portrait of marco dolce, and when the picture was sent home, his dogs began to fawn upon it, mistaking it for their master. guercino's power of relief. the style of guercino displays a strong contrast of light and shadow, both exceedingly bold, yet mingled with great sweetness and harmony, and a powerful effect in relief, a branch of art so much admired by professors. "hence," says lanzi, "some foreigners bestowed upon him the title of the magician of italian painting, for in him were renewed those celebrated illusions of antiquity. he painted a basket of grapes so naturally that a ragged urchin stretched out his hand to steal some of the fruit. often, in comparing the figures of guido with those of guercino, one would say that the former had been fed with roses, and the latter with flesh, as observed by one of the ancients." bernazzano. lanzi says, "in painting landscape, fruit, and flowers, bernazzano succeeded so admirably as to produce the same wonderful effects that are told of zeuxis and apelles in greece. these indeed italian artists have frequently renewed, though with a less degree of applause. having painted a strawberry-bed in a court yard, the pea-fowls were so deceived by the resemblance, that they pecked at the wall till they had destroyed the painting. he painted the landscape part of a picture of the baptism of christ, and on the ground drew some birds in the act of feeding. on its being placed in the open air, the birds were seen to fly towards the picture, to join their companions. this beautiful picture is one of the chief ornaments in the gallery of the distinguished family of the trotti at milan." invention of oil painting. there has been a world of discussion on this subject, but there can be no doubt that john van eyck, called john of bruges, and by the italians, giovanni da bruggia, and gio. abeyk or eyck, is entitled to the honor of the invention of oil painting as applied to pictures, though mr. raspe, the celebrated antiquary, in his treatise on the invention of oil painting, has satisfactorily proved that oil painting was practised in italy as early as the th century, but only as a means of protecting metalic substances from rust. according to van mander, the method of painting in flanders previous to the time of the van eycks, was with gums, or a preparation called egg-water, to which a kind of varnish was afterwards applied in finishing, which required a certain degree of heat to dry. john van eyck having worked a long time on a picture and finished it with great care, placed it in the sun-shine to dry, when the board on which it was painted split and spoiled the work. his disappointment at seeing so much labor lost, urged him to attempt the discovery, by his knowledge of chemistry, of some process which would not in future expose him to such an unfortunate accident. in his researches, he discovered the use of linseed and nut oil, which he found most siccative. this is generally believed to have happened about . there is however, a great deal of contradiction among writers as to the van eycks, no two writers being found to agree. some assert that john van eyck introduced his invention both into italy and spain, while others declare that he never left his own country, which would seem to be true. vasari, the first writer on italian art, awards the invention to giovanni da bruggia, and gives an account of its first introduction into italy by antonello da messina, as we shall presently see. but dominici asserts that oil painting was known and practised at naples by artists whose names had been forgotten long before the time of van eyck. many other italian writers have engaged in the controversy, and cited many instances of pictures which they supposed to have been painted in oil at milan, pisa, naples, and elsewhere, as early as the th, th, and even the th centuries. but to proceed with the brothers van eyck, john and hubert--they generally painted in concert till the death of hubert, and executed many works in oil, which were held in the highest estimation at the time when they flourished. their most important work was an altar-piece, with folding doors, painted for jodocus vyts, who placed it in the church of st. bavon at ghent. the principal picture in this curious production represents the adoration of the lamb as described by st. john in the revelations. on one of the folding doors is represented adam and eve, and on the other, st. cecilia. this extraordinary work contains over three hundred figures, and is finished with the greatest care and exactness. it was formerly in the louvre, but it is now unfortunately divided into two parts, one of which is at berlin, and the other at ghent. philip i. of spain desired to purchase it, but finding that impracticable, he employed michael coxis to copy it, who spent two years in doing: it, for which he received , florins. the king placed this copy in the escurial, and this probably gave rise to the story that john van eyck visited spain and introduced his discovery into that country. in the sacristy of the cathedral at bruges is preserved with great veneration, a picture painted by john van eyck, after the death of hubert, representing the virgin and infant, with st. george, st. donatius, and other saints. it is dated . john died in . according to vasari, the fame of masaccio drew antonello da messina to rome; from thence he proceeded to naples, where he saw some oil paintings by john van eyck, which had been brought to naples from flanders, by some neapolitan merchants, and presented or sold to alphonso i., king of naples. the novelty of the invention, and the beauty of the coloring inspired antonello with so strong a desire to become possessed of the secret, that he went to bruges, and so far ingratiated himself into the favor of van eyck, then advanced in years, that he instructed him in the art. antonello afterwards returned to venice, where he secretly practised the art for some time, communicating it only to domenico veneziano, his favorite scholar. veneziano settled at florence, where his works were greatly admired both on account of their excellence and the novelty of the process. here he unfortunately formed a connexion with andrea del castagno, an eminent tuscan painter, who treacherously murdered domenico, that he might become, as he supposed, the sole possessor of the secret. castagno artfully concealed the atrocious deed till on his death-bed, when struck with remorse, he confessed the crime for which innocent persons had suffered. vasari also says that giovanni bellini obtained the art surreptitiously from messina, by disguising himself and sitting for his portrait, thus gaining an opportunity to observe his method of operating; but lanzi has shown that messina made the method public on receiving a pension from the venetian senate. many writers have appeared, who deny the above statement of vasari; but lanzi, who carefully investigated the whole subject, finds no just reason to claim for his countrymen priority of the invention, or to doubt the correctness of vasari's statement in the main. those old paintings at milan, pisa, naples, vienna, and elsewhere, have been carefully examined and proved to have been painted in encaustic or distemper. this subject will be found fully discussed in spooner's dictionary of painters, engravers, sculptors, and architects, under the articles john and hubert van eyck, antonello da messina, domenico veneziano, andrea del castagno, and roger of bruges. foreshortening. foreshortening is the art of representing figures and objects as they appear to the eye, viewed in positions varying from the perpendicular. the meaning of the term is exemplified in the celebrated ascension, in the pietá dé tárchini, at naples, by luca giordano, in which the body of christ is so much foreshortened, that the toes appear to touch the knees, and the knees the chin. this art is one of the most difficult in painting, and though absurdly claimed as a modern invention, was well known to the ancients. pliny speaks expressly of its having been practised by parrhasius and pausias. many writers erroneously attribute the invention to correggio; but lanzi says, "it was discovered and enlarged by melozzo da forli, improved by andrea mantegna and his school, and perfected by correggio and others." about the year , melozzo painted his famous fresco of the ascension in the great chapel of the santi apostoli at rome. vasari says of this work, "the figure of christ is so admirably foreshortened, as to appear to pierce the vault; and in the same manner, the angels are seen sweeping through the fields of air in different directions." this work was so highly esteemed that when the chapel was rebuilt in , the painting was cut out of the ceiling with the greatest care, and placed in the quirinal palace, where it is still preserved. method of transferring paintings from walls and panels to canvass. according to lanzi, antonio contri discovered a valuable process, by means of which he was enabled to transfer fresco paintings from walls to canvass, without the least injury to the work, and thus preserved many valuable paintings by the great masters, which obtained him wide celebrity and profitable employment. for this purpose, he spread upon a piece of canvass of the size of the painting to be transferred, a composition of glue or bitumen, and placed it upon the picture. when this was sufficiently dry, he beat the wall carefully with a mallet, cut the plaster around it, and applied to the canvass a wooden frame, well propped, to sustain it, and then, after a few days, cautiously removed the canvass, which brought the painting with it; and having extended it upon a smooth table he applied to the back of it another canvass prepared with a more adhesive composition than the former. after a few days, he examined the two pieces of canvass, detached the first by means of warm water, which left the whole painting upon the second as it was originally upon the wall. contri was born at ferrara about , and died in . palmaroli, an italian painter of the present century, rendered his name famous, and conferred a great benefit on art by his skill in transferring to canvass some of the frescos and other works of the great masters. in he transferred the famous fresco of the descent from the cross by daniello da volterra (erroneously said, as related above, to have been the first effort of the kind), which gained him immense reputation. he was employed to restore a great number of works at rome, and in other places. he was invited to germany, where, among other works, he transferred the madonna di san sisto, by raffaelle, from the original panel, which was worm-eaten and decayed, and thus preserved one of the most famous works of that prince of painters. at the present time, this art is practised with success in various european cities, particularly in london and paris. works in scagliola. guido fassi, called del conte, a native of carpi, born in , was the inventor of a valuable kind of work in imitation of marble, called by the italians _scagliola_ or _mischia_, which was subsequently carried to great perfection, and is now largely employed in the imitation of works in marble. the stone called _selenite_ forms the principal ingredient. this is pulverized, mixed with colors and certain adhesive substances which gradually become as hard as stone, capable of receiving a high polish. fassi made his first trials on cornices, and gave them the appearance of fine marble, and there remain two altar-pieces by him in the churches of carpi. from him, the method rapidly spread over italy, and many artists engaged in this then new art. annibale griffoni, a pupil of fassi, applied the art to monuments. giovanni cavignani, also a pupil of fassi, far surpassed his master, and executed an altar of st. antonio, for the church of s. niccolo, at carpi, which is still pointed out as something extraordinary. it consists of two columns of porphyry adorned with a pallium, covered with lace, which last is an exact imitation of the covering of an altar, while it is ornamented in the margin with medals, bearing beautiful figures. in the cathedral at carpi, is a monument by one ferrari, which so perfectly imitates marble that it cannot be distinguished from it, except by fracture. it has the look and touch of marble. lanzi, from whom these facts are obtained, says that these artists ventured upon the composition of pictures, intended to represent engravings as well as oil paintings, and that there are several such works, representing even historical subjects, in the collections of carpi. lanzi considers this art of so much importance, that he thus concludes his article upon it: "after the practice of modeling had been brought to vie with sculpture, and after engraving upon wood had so well counterfeited works of design, we have to record this third invention, belonging to a state of no great dimensions. such a fact is calculated to bring into higher estimation the geniuses who adorned it. there is nothing of which man is more ambitious, than of being called an inventor of new arts; nothing is more flattering to his intellect, or draws a broader line between him and the animals. nothing was held in higher reverence by the ancients, and hence it is that virgil, in his elysian fields, represented the band of inventors with their brows bound with white chaplets, equally distinct in merit as in rank, from the more vulgar shades around them." the golden age of painting. "we have now arrived," says lanzi, "at the most brilliant period of the roman school, and of modern painting itself. we have seen the art carried to a high degree of perfection by da vinci and buonarotti, at the beginning of the sixteenth century, and it is remarkable that the same period embraces not only rafaelle, but also correggio, giorgione, titian, and the most celebrated venetian painters; so that a man enjoying the common term of life might have seen the works of all these illustrious masters. the art in a few years thus reached a height to which it had never before attained, and which has never been rivalled, except in the attempt to imitate these early masters, or to unite in one style their various and divided excellencies. it seems an ordinary law of providence that individuals of consummate genius should be born and flourish at the same period, or at least at short intervals from each other, a circumstance of which velleius paterculus protested he could never discover the real cause. 'i observe,' he says, 'men of the same commanding genius making their appearance together, in the smallest possible space of time; as it happens in the case of animals of different kinds, which, confined in a close place, nevertheless, each selects its own class, and those of a kindred race separate themselves from the rest. a single age sufficed to illustrate tragedy, in the persons of Æschylus, sophocles, and euripides: ancient comedy under cratinus, aristophanes, and eumolpides, and in like manner the new comedy under menander, diphilus, and philemon. there appeared few philosophers of note after the days of plato and aristotle, and whoever has made himself acquainted with isocrates and his school, is acquainted with the summit of grecian eloquence.' the same remark applies to other countries. the great roman writers are included under the single age of octavius: leo x. was the augustus of modern italy; the reign of louis xiv. was the brilliant period of french letters; that of charles ii. of the english." this rule applies equally to the fine arts. _hoc idem_, proceeds velleius, _evenisse plastis, pictoribus, sculptoribus, quisquis temporum institerit notis reperiet, et eminentiam cujusque operis artissimis temporum claustris circumdatum_. of this union of men of genius in the same age, _causus_, he says, _quum sempre requiro, numquam invenio quas veras confidam_. it seems to him probable that when a man finds the first station in art occupied by another, he considers it as a post that has been rightfully seized on, and no longer aspires to the possession of it, but is humiliated, and contented to follow at a distance. but this solution does not satisfy my mind. it may indeed account to us why no other michael angelo, or raffaelle, has ever appeared; but it does not satisfy me why these two, and the others before mentioned, should all have appeared in the same age. i am of opinion that the age is always influenced by certain principles, universally adopted both by professors of the art, and by amateurs; which principles happening at a particular period to be the most just and accurate of their kind, produce in that age some preëminent professors, and a number of good ones. these principles change through the instability of all human affairs, and the age partakes in the change. i may add that these happy periods never occur without the circumstance of a number of princes and influential individuals rivalling each other in the encouragement of works of taste; and amidst these there always arise persons of commanding genius, who give a bias and tone to art. the history of sculpture in athens, where munificence and taste went hand in hand, favors my opinion, and it is confirmed by this golden period of italian art. nevertheless, i do not pretend to give a verdict on this important question, but leave the decision of it to a more competent tribunal. golden age of the fine arts in ancient rome. "the reign of augustus was the golden age of science and the fine arts. grecian architecture at that period was so encouraged at rome, that augustus could with reason boast of having left a city of marble where he had found one of brick. in the time of the cæsars, fourteen magnificent aqueducts, supported by immense arches, conducted whole rivers to rome, from a distance of many miles, and supplied public fountains, large public baths, besides the water necessary for those artificial seas in which naval combats were represented: , statues ornamented the public squares, the temples, the streets, and the houses; colossal statues raised on pedestals; obelisks of egyptian granite, besides, adorned various parts of the city; nor was this stupendous magnificence confined to rome, or even to italy. all the provinces of the vast empire were embellished by augustus and his successors, by the opulent nobles, by the tributary kings and the allies, with temples, circuses, theatres, palaces, aqueducts, amphitheatres, bridges, baths, and new cities. we have, unfortunately, but scanty memorials of the architects of those times; and, amidst the abundance of magnificent edifices, we search in vain for the names of those who erected them. however much the age of augustus may be exalted, we cannot think it superior, or even equal to that of alexander: the romans were late in becoming acquainted with the arts; they cultivated them more from pride and ostentation than from feeling. expensive collections were frequently made, without the possessors understanding their value; they knew only that such things were in reputation, and, to render themselves of consequence, purchased on the opinion of others. of this, the roman history gives frequent proofs. domitian squandered seven millions in gilding the temple of jupiter capitolinus only, bringing from athens a number of columns of pentelic marble, extremely beautiful, and of good proportion, but which were recut and repolished, and thus deprived of their symmetry and grace. if the romans did possess any taste for the fine arts, they left the exercise of it to the conquered--to greece, who had no longer her solon, lycurgus, themistocles, and epaminondas, but was unarmed, depressed, and had become the slave of rome. 'græcia capta ferum victorem cepit.' how poor are such triumphs to those gained by the fine arts! the means by which greece acquired and maintained such excellence, is worthy of an inquiry. it is generally allowed that climate and government have a powerful influence on the intellect. greece was peculiarly favored in these two points; her atmosphere was serene and temperate, and being divided into a number of small, but independent states, a spirit of emulation was excited, which continually called forth some improvement in the liberal arts. the study of these formed a principal branch of education in the academies and schools, to which none but the free youth were admitted. to learning alone was the tribute of applause offered. at those solemn festivals to which all greece resorted, whoever had the plurality of votes was crowned in the presence of the whole assembly, and his efforts afterwards rewarded with an immense sum of money; sometimes a million of crowns. statues, with inscriptions, were also raised to those who had thus distinguished themselves, and their works, or whatever resembled them, for ever after bore their names; distinctions far more flattering than any pecuniary reward. meticus gave his to a square which he built at athens, and the appellation of agaptos was applied to the porticos of the stadium. zeuxis, when he painted helen, collected a number of beautiful women, as studies for his subject: when completed, the agrigentines, who had ordered it, were so delighted with this performance, that they requested him to accept of five of the ladies. thebes, and other cities, fined those that presented a bad work, and looked on them ever afterwards with derision. the applause bestowed on the best efforts, was repeated by the orators, the poets, the philosophers, and historians; the cow of miron, the venus of apelles, and the cupid of praxiteles, have exercised every pen. by these means greece brought the fine arts to perfection; by neglecting them, rome failed to equal her; and, by pursuing the same course, every country may become as refined as greece."--_milizia._ nero's golden palace. according to tacitus, nero's famous golden palace was one of the most magnificent edifices ever built, and far surpassed all that was stupendous and beautiful in italy. it was erected on the site of the great conflagration at rome, which was attributed by many to the wickedness of the tyrant. his statue, feet high, stood in the midst of a court, ornamented with porticos of three files of lofty columns, each full a mile long; the gardens were of vast extent, with vineyards, meadows, and woods, filled with every sort of domestic and wild animals; a pond was converted into a sea, surrounded by a sufficient number of edifices to form a city; pearls, gems, and the most precious materials were used everywhere, and especially gold, the profusion of which, within and without, and ever on the roofs, caused it to be called the golden house; the essences and costly perfumes continually shed around, showed the extreme extravagance of the inhuman monster who seized on the wealth of the people to gratify his own desires. among other curiosities was a dining-room, in which was represented the firmament, constantly revolving, imitative of the motion of the heavenly bodies; from it was showered down every sort of odoriferous waters. this great palace was completed by otho, but did not long remain entire, as vespasian restored to the people the lands of which nero had unjustly deprived them, and erected in its place the mighty colosseum, and the magnificent temple of peace. names of ancient architects designated by reptiles. according to pliny, saurus and batrarchus, two lacedemonian architects, erected conjointly at their own expense, certain temples at rome, which were afterwards enclosed by octavius. not being allowed to inscribe their names, they carved on the pedestals of the columns a lizard and a frog, which indicated them--_saurus_ signifying a lizard, and _batrarchus_ a frog. milizia says that in the church of s. lorenzo there are two antique ionic capitals with a lizard and a frog carved in the eyes of the volutes, which are probably those alluded to by pliny, although the latter says _pedestal_. modern painters and engravers have frequently adopted similar devices as a _rebus_, or enigmatical representation of their names. see spooner's dictionary of painters, engravers, sculptors, and architects; key to monograms and ciphers, and the twenty-four plates. triumphal arches. triumphal arches are monuments consisting of a grand portico or archway, erected at the entrance of a town, upon a bridge, or upon a public road, to the glory of some celebrated general, or in memory of some important event. the invention of these structures is attributed to the romans. the earliest specimens are destitute of any magnificence. for a long time, they consisted merely of a plain arch, at the top of which was placed the trophies and statue of the triumpher. subsequently the span was enlarged, the style enriched, and a profusion of all kinds of sculptures and ornaments heaped upon them. the triumphal arches varied greatly in point of construction, form, and decoration. the arch of constantine at rome is the best preserved of all the great antique arches; the arch of septimus severus at the foot of the capitoline hill, greatly resembles that of constantine. the arch of titus is the most considerable at rome. the arch of benvenuto, erected in honor of trajan, is one of the most remarkable relics of antiquity, as well on account of its sculptures as its architecture. the arch of trajan at ancona is also one of the most elegant works of the kind. the arch of rimini, erected in honor of augustus, on the occasion of his repairing the flaminian way from that town to rome, is the most ancient of all the antique arches, and from its size, one of the noblest existing. many beautiful structures of this kind have been erected in modern times, but principally on the plan, and in imitation of some of the above mentioned. ancient medals often bear signs of this species of architecture, and some of them represent arches that have ceased to exist for centuries. triumphal arches seem to have been in use among the chinese in very ancient times. milizia says, "there is no country in the world in which those arches are so numerous as in china. they are found not only in the cities but on the mountains; and are erected in the public streets in honor of princes, generals, philosophers, and mandarins, who have benefitted the public, or signalized themselves by any great action; there are more than of these latter, of which are of extraordinary size and beauty; there are also some in honor of females. the chinese annals record men who have merited triumphal arches." milizia also says, the friezes of the chinese arches are of great height, and ornamented with sculpture. the highest arches are twenty-five feet, embellished with human figures, animals, flowers, and grotesque forms, in various attitudes, and in full relief. statue of pompey the great. the large statue of pompey, formerly in the collection of the cardinal spada, is supposed to be the same as that, at the base of which "great cæsar fell." it was found on the very spot where the senate was held on the fatal ides of march, while some workmen were engaged in making excavations, to erect a private house. the statue is not only interesting from its antiquity and historical associations, but for a curious episode that followed its discovery. the trunk lay in the ground of the discoverer, but the head projected into that of his neighbor; this occasioned a dispute as to the right of possession. the matter was at length referred to the decision of cardinal spada, who, like the wise man of old, ordered the statue to be decapitated, and division made according to _position_--the trunk to one claimant, and the head to the other. the object of the wily cardinal was not so much justice, as to get possession of the statue himself, which he afterwards did, at a tithe of what it would otherwise have cost him. the whole cost him only crowns. of antique sculptures in rome. in , there were more than , pieces of ancient sculpture in rome; (statues, busts, and relievos,) and upwards of ancient columns of marble. what multitudes of the latter have been sawed up for tables, and for wainscotting chapels, or mixed up with walls, and otherwise destroyed! and what multitudes may yet lie undiscovered underneath the many feet of earth and rubbish which buries ancient rome! when we reflect on this, it may give us some faint idea of the vast magnificence of rome in all its pristine splendor! ancient map of rome. the ichnography of rome, in the fine collection of antiquities in the palazzo farnese, was found in the temple of romulus and remus, which is now dedicated to sts. cosmo and damiano, who were also twin brothers. though incomplete, it is one of the most useful remains of antiquity. the names of the particular buildings and palaces are marked upon it, as well as the outlines of the buildings themselves; and it is so large, that the horrea lolliana are a foot and a half long; and may serve as a scale to measure any other building or palace in it. it is published in groevius's thesaurus. julian the apostate. the emperor julian commanded alypius, a learned architect of antioch, who held many important offices under that monarch, to rebuild the temple of jerusalem, a. d. , with the avowed object of falsifying the prophecy of our saviour with regard to that structure. while the workmen were engaged in making excavations for the foundation, balls of fire issued from the earth and destroyed them. this indication of divine wrath against the reprobate jews and the apostate julian, compelled him to abandon his project. the story is affirmed by many christian and classic authors. the tomb of mausolus. when mausolus, king of caria, died about b. c. , his wife artemisia, was so disconsolate, that she drank up his ashes, and resolved to erect in the city of halicarnassus, one of the grandest and noblest monuments of antiquity, to celebrate the memory of a husband whom she tenderly loved. she therefore employed bryaxis, scopas, timotheus, and leocarus, four of the most renowned sculptors and architects of the golden age of grecian art, to erect that famous mausoleum which was accounted one of the seven wonders of the world, and gave its name to all similar structures in succeeding ages. its dimensions on the north and south sides were sixty-three feet, the east and west sides were a little shorter, and its extreme height was one hundred and forty feet. it was surrounded with thirty-six splendid marble columns. byaxis executed the north side, scopas the east, timotheus the south, and leocarus the west. artemisia died before the work was completed; but the artists continued their work with unabated zeal, and they endeavored to rival each other in the beauty and magnificence with which they decorated this admirable work. a fifth sculptor, named pythis, was added to them, who executed a noble four horse chariot of marble, which was placed on a pyramid crowning the summit of the mausoleum. mandrocles' bridge across the bosphorus. mandrocles, probably a greek architect in the service of darius, king of persia, who flourished about b. c. , acquired a great name for the bridge which he constructed across the thracian bosphorus, or straits of constantinople, by order of that monarch. this bridge was formed of boats so ingeniously and firmly united that the innumerable army of persia passed over it from asia to europe. to preserve the memory of so singular a work, mandrocles represented in a picture, the bosphorus, the bridge, the king of persia seated on a throne, and the army that passed over it. this picture was preserved in the temple of juno at samos, where herodotus saw it, with this inscription:--"mandrocles, after having constructed a bridge of boats over the bosphorus, by order of the king darius of persia, dedicated this monument to juno, which does honor to samos, his country, and confers glory on the artificer." the colossus of the sun at rhodes. this prodigious statue, which, was accounted one of the seven wonders of the world, was planned, and probably executed by chares, an ancient sculptor of lindus, and a disciple of lysippus. according to strabo, the statue was of brass, and was seventy cubits, or one hundred feet high; and chares was employed upon it twelve years. it was said to have been placed at the entrance of the harbor of rhodes, with the feet upon two rocks, in such a manner, that the ships then used in commerce could pass in full sail between them. this colossus, after standing fifty-six years, was overthrown by an earthquake. an oracle had forbidden the inhabitants to restore it to its former position, and its fragments remained in the same position until a. d. , when moaviah, a calif of the saracens, who invaded rhodes in that year, sold them to a jewish merchant, who is said to have loaded nine hundred camels with them. pliny says that chares executed the statue in three years, and he relates several interesting particulars, as that few persons could embrace its thumb, and that the fingers were as long as an ordinary statue. muratori reckons this one of the fables of antiquity. though the accounts in ancient authors concerning this colossal statue of apollo are somewhat contradictory, they all agree that there was such a statue, seventy or eighty cubits high, and so monstrous a fable could not have been imposed upon the world in that enlightened age. some antiquarians have thought, with great justice, that the fine head of apollo which is stamped upon the rhodian medals, is a representation of that of the colossus. statues and paintings at rhodes. pliny says, (lib. xxxiv. cap. .) that rhodes, in his time, "possessed more than statues, the greater part finely executed; also paintings and other works of art, of more value than those contained in the cities of greece. there was the wonderful colossus, executed by chares of lindus, the disciple of lysippus." sostratus' light-house on the isle of pharos. this celebrated work of antiquity was built by sostratus, by order of ptolemy philadelphus. it was a species of tower, erected on a high promontory or rock, on the above mentioned island, then situated about a mile from alexandria. it was ft. high, divided into several stories, each decreasing in size; the ground story was hexagonal, the sides alternately concave and convex, each an eighth of a mile in length; the second and third stories were of the same form; the fourth was a square, flanked by four round towers; the fifth was circular. the whole edifice was of wrought stone; a magnificent staircase led to the top, where fires were lighted every night, visible from the distance of a hundred miles, to guide the coasting vessels. sostratus is said to have engraved an inscription on stone, and covered it with a species of cement, upon which he sculptured the name of ptolemy, calculating that the cement would decay, and bring to light his original inscription. strabo says it read, _sostratus, the friend of kings, made me_. lucian reports differently, and more probably, thus, _sostratus of cnidus, the son of dexiphanes, to the gods the saviors, for the safety of mariners_. it is also said that ptolemy left the inscription to the inclination of the architect; and that by the _gods the saviors_ were meant the reigning king and queen, with their successors, who were ambitious of the title of soteros or savior. dinocrates' plan for cutting mount athos into a statue of alexander the great. according to vitruvius, this famous architect, having provided himself with recommendatory letters to the principal personages of alexander's court, set out from his native country with the hope of gaining, through their means, the favor of the monarch. the courtiers made him promises which they neglected to perform, and framed various excuses to prevent his access to the sovereign; he therefore determined upon the following expedient:--being of a gigantic and well proportioned stature, he stripped himself, anointed his body with oil, bound his head with poplar leaves, and throwing a lion's skin across his shoulders, with a club in his hand, presented himself to alexander, in the place where he held his public audience. alexander, astonished at his herculean figure, desired him to approach, demanding, at the same time, his name:--"i am," said he, "a macedonian architect, and am come to submit to you designs worthy of the fame you have acquired. i have modelled mount athos in the form of a giant, holding in his right hand a city, and his left a shell, from which are discharged into the sea all the rivers collected from the mountain." it was impossible to imagine a scheme more agreeable to alexander, who asked seriously whether there would be sufficient country round this city to maintain its inhabitants. dinocrates answered in the negative, and that it would be necessary to supply it by sea. athos consequently remained a mountain; but alexander was so pleased with the novelty of the idea, and the genius of dinocrates, that he at once took him into his service. the design of dinocrates may be found in fischer's history of architecture. according to pliny, dinocrates planned and built the city of alexandria. pope's idea of forming mount athos into a statue of alexander the great. "i cannot conceive," said spence, the author of polymetis, to pope, "how dinocrates could ever have carried his proposal of forming mount athos into a statue of alexander the great, into execution."--"for my part," replied pope, "i have long since had an idea how that might be done; and if any body would make me a present of a welch mountain, and pay the workmen, i would undertake to see it executed. i have quite formed it sometimes in my imagination: the figure must be on a reclining posture, because of the hollowing that would be necessary, and for the city's being in one hand. it should be a rude unequal hill, and might be helped with groves of trees for the eye brows, and a wood for the hair. the natural green turf should be left wherever it would be necessary to represent the ground he reclines on. it should be so contrived, that the true point of view should be at a considerable distance. when you were near it, it should still have the appearance of a rough mountain, but at the proper distance such a rising should be the leg, and such another an arm. it would be best if there were a river, or rather a lake, at the bottom of it, for the rivulet that came through his other hand, to tumble down the hill, and discharge itself into it." diodorus siculus, says that semiramis had the mountain bajitanus, in media, cut into a statue of herself, seventeen stadii high, (about two miles) surrounded by one hundred others, probably representing the various members of her court. china, among other wonders, is said to have many mountains cut into the figures of men, animals, and birds. it is probable, however, that all these stories have originated in the imagination, from the real or fanciful resemblance of mountains, to various objects, which are found in every country, as "the old man of the mountain," mt. washington, n. h., "st. anthony's nose," in the highlands, "camel's rump," green mountains, "giant of the valley," on lake champlain, &c. it is easy to imagine a mountain as a cloud, "almost in shape of a camel," "backed like a weasel," or "very like a whale." temple with an iron statue suspended in the air by loadstone. according to pliny, dinocrates built a temple at alexandria, in honor of arsinoe, sister and wife of ptolemy philadelphus. the whole interior was to have been incrusted with loadstone, in order that the statue of the princess, composed of iron, should be suspended in the centre, solely by magnetic influence. on the death of ptolemy and of the architect, the idea was abandoned, and has never been executed elsewhere, though believed to be practicable. a similar fable was invented of the tomb of mahomet. the temple of jupiter olympius at athens. according to vitruvius, pisistratus, who flourished about b. c. , employed the four grecian architects, antistates, antimachides, calleschros, and porinus, to erect this famous temple in the place of one built in the time of deucalion, which the storms of a thousand years had destroyed. they proceeded so far with it that pisistratus was enabled to dedicate it, but after his death the work ceased; and the completion of the temple, so magnificent and grand in its design that it impressed the beholder with wonder and awe, became the work of after ages. perseus, king of macedonia, and antiochus epiphanes, nearly four hundred years after pisistratus, finished the grand nave, and placed the columns of the portico, cossutius, a roman, being the architect. it was considered, and with good reason, one of the four celebrated marble temples of greece: the other three were that of diana, at ephesus; apollo, at miletus; and ceres, at eleusis. the corinthian order prevailed in its design. in the siege that sylla laid to athens, this temple was greatly injured, but the allied kings afterwards restored it at their common expense, intending to dedicate it to the genius of augustus. livy says that among so many temples, this was the only one worthy of a god. pausanias says the emperor adrian enclosed it with a wall, as was usual with the grecian temples, of half a mile in circumference, which the cities of greece adorned with statues erected to that monarch. the athenians distinguished themselves by the elevation of a colossal statue behind the temple. this enclosure was also ornamented with a peristyle, one hundred rods in length, supported by superb marble corinthian columns, and to this façade were three grand vestibules which led to the temple. adrian dedicated it a second time. in the temple was placed a splendid statue of jupiter olympius, of gold and ivory; and the courtiers added four statues of the emperor. this wonderful structure, which is said to have cost five millions of _scudi_, is now in ruins. sixteen corinthian columns are still standing, six feet four inches and some six feet six inches, in diameter. the length of the temple, according to stuart, upon the upper step, was three hundred and fifty-four feet, and its breadth one hundred and seventy-one feet; the entire length of the walls of the peribolous is six hundred and eighty-eight feet, and the width four hundred and sixty-three feet. the parthenon at athens. this celebrated temple was built by ictinus and callicrates, two greek architects who flourished about b. c. . ictinus was celebrated for the magnificent temples which he erected to the heathen gods. among these were the famous doric temple of ceres and proserpine at eleusis, of which he built the outer cell, capable of accommodating thirty thousand persons; also the temple of apollo, near mount cotylion, in arcadia, which was considered one of the finest of antiquity, and was vaulted with stone. but his most important work was the famous parthenon at athens, erected within the citadel, by ictinus and callicrates, by order of pericles. according to vitruvius, the two artists exerted all their powers to make this temple worthy the goddess who presided over the arts. the plan was a rectangle, like most of the greek and roman; its length from east to west, was feet inches, and its width feet inches, as measured on the top step. it was peripteral, octastyle; that is, surrounded with a portico of columns, with eight to each façade. the height of the columns was feet, and their diameter feet. within the outer portico was a second, also formed of isolated columns, but elevated two steps higher than the first; from thence the interior of the temple was entered, which contained the famous statue of minerva in gold and ivory, by phidias. this famous temple was built entirely of white marble, and from its elevated position, could be seen from an immense distance. on a nearer approach, it was admired for the elegance of its proportions, and the beauty of the bas-reliefs with which its exterior was decorated. it was preserved entire until , when it was nearly destroyed by an explosion during the siege of athens by morosini. it was further dilapidated by the turks, and afterwards by lord elgin, who removed all the bas-reliefs and other ornaments practicable, and transported them to london, where they now adorn the british museum. king otho has adopted measures to preserve the edifice from further mischief. the elgin marbles. the following exceedingly interesting account of the removal of the sculptures from the parthenon, is extracted from hamilton's "memorandum on the subject of the earl of elgin's pursuits in greece." "in the year , when lord elgin was appointed his majesty's ambassador extraordinary to the ottoman porte, he was in habits of frequent intercourse with mr. harrison, an architect of great eminence in the west of england, whom his lordship consulted on the benefits that might possibly be derived to the arts in this country, in case an opportunity could be found for studying minutely the architecture and sculpture of ancient greece; whose opinion was, that although we might possess exact admeasurements of the public buildings in athens, yet a young artist could never form to himself an adequate conception of their minute details, combinations, and general effects, without having before him some such sensible representation of them as might be conveyed by casts." on this suggestion lord elgin proposed to his majesty's government, that they should send out english artists of known eminence, capable of collecting this information in the most perfect manner; but the prospect appeared of too doubtful an issue for ministers to engage in the expense attending it. lord elgin then endeavored to engage some of these artists at his own charge; but the value of their time was far beyond his means. when, however, he reached sicily, on the recommendation of sir william hamilton, he was so fortunate as to prevail on don tita lusieri, one of the best general painters in europe, of great knowledge in the arts, and of infinite taste, to undertake the execution of this plan; and mr. hamilton, who was then accompanying lord elgin to constantinople, immediately went with signor lusieri to rome, where, in consequence of the disturbed state of italy, they were enabled to engage two of the most eminent _formatori_ or moulders, to make the _madreformi_ for the casts; signor balestra, a distinguished architect there, along with ittar, a young man of promising talents, to undertake the architectural part of the plan; and one theodore, a calmouk, who during several years at rome, had shown himself equal to the first masters in the design of the human figure. after much difficulty, lord elgin obtained permission from the turkish government to establish these six artists at athens, where they systematically prosecuted the business of their several departments during three years, under the general superintendence of lusieri. accordingly every monument, of which there are any remains in athens, has been thus most carefully and minutely measured, and from the rough draughts of the architects (all of which are preserved), finished drawings have been made by them of the plans, elevations, and details of the most remarkable objects; in which the calmouk has restored and inserted all the sculpture with exquisite taste and ability. he has besides made accurate drawings of all the bas-reliefs on the several temples, in the precise state of decay and mutilation in which they at present exist. most of the bassi rilievi, and nearly all the characteristic features of architecture in the various monuments at athens, have been moulded, and the moulds of them brought to london. besides the architecture and sculpture at athens, all similar remains which could be traced through several parts of greece have been measured and delineated with the most scrupulous exactness, by the second architect ittar. in the prosecution of this undertaking, the artists had the mortification of witnessing the very _willful devastation to which all the sculpture, and even the architecture, were daily exposed on the part of the turks and travelers_: the former equally influenced by mischief and by avarice, the latter from an anxiety to become possessed, each according to his means, of some relic, however small, of buildings or statues which had formed the pride of greece. the ionic temple on the ilyssus which, in stuart's time, about the year , was in tolerable preservation, had so entirely disappeared, that its foundation was no longer to be ascertained. another temple near olympia had shared a similar fate within the recollection of many. the temple of minerva had been converted into a powder magazine, and was in great part shattered from a shell falling upon it during the bombardment of athens by the venetians, towards the end of the seventeenth century; and even this accident has not deterred the turks from applying the beautiful temple of neptune and erectheus to the same use, whereby it is still constantly exposed to a similar fate. many of the statues over the entrance of the temple of minerva, which had been thrown down by the explosion, had been powdered to mortar, because they offered the whitest marble within reach; and parts of the modern fortification, and the miserable houses where this mortar had been so applied, are easily traced. in addition to these causes of degradation, the turks will frequently climb up the ruined walls and amuse themselves in defacing any sculpture they can reach; or in breaking columns, statues, or other remains of antiquity, in the fond expectation of finding within them some hidden treasures. under these circumstances, lord elgin felt himself irresistibly impelled to endeavor to preserve, by removal from athens, any specimens of sculpture he could, without injury, rescue from such impending ruin. he had, besides, another inducement, and an example before him, in the conduct of the last french embassy sent to turkey before the revolution. french artists did then attempt to remove several of the sculptured ornaments from several edifices in the acropolis, and particularly from the parthenon. in lowering one of the metopes the tackle failed, and it was dashed to pieces; one other object was conveyed to france, where it is held in the highest estimation, and where it occupies a conspicuous place in the gallery of the louvre, and constituted national property during the french revolution. the same agents were remaining at athens during lord elgin's embassy, waiting only the return of french influence at the porte to renew their operations. actuated by these inducements, lord elgin made every exertion; and the sacrifices he has made have been attended with such entire success, that he has brought to england from the ruined temples at athens, from the modern walls and fortifications, in which many fragments had been used as blocks for building, and from excavations from amongst the ruins, made on purpose, such a mass of athenian sculpture, in statues, alti and bassi rilievi, capitals, cornices, friezes, and columns as, with the aid of a few of the casts, to present all the sculpture and architecture of any value to the artist or man of taste which can be traced at athens. in proportion as lord elgin's plan advanced, and the means accumulated in his hands towards affording an accurate knowledge of the works of architecture and sculpture in athens and in greece, it became a subject of anxious inquiry with him, in what way the greatest degree of benefit could be derived to the arts from what he had been so fortunate as to procure. in regard to the works of the architects employed by him, he had naturally, from the beginning, looked forward to their being engraved; and accordingly all such plans, elevations, and details as to those persons appeared desirable for that object, were by them, and on the spot, extended with the greatest possible care for the purpose of publication. besides these, all the working sketches and measurements offer ample materials for further drawings, if they should be required. it was lord elgin's wish that the whole of the drawings might be executed in the highest perfection of the art of engraving; and for this purpose a fund should be raised by subscription, exhibition, or otherwise; by aid of which these engravings might still be distributable, for the benefit of artists, at a rate of expense within the means of professional men. great difficulty occurred in forming a plan for deriving the utmost advantage from the marbles and casts. lord elgin's first attempt was to have the statues and bassi rilievi restored; and in that view he went to rome to consult and to employ canova. the decision of that most eminent artist was conclusive. on examining the specimens produced to him, and making himself acquainted with the whole collection, and particularly with what came from the parthenon, by means of the persons who had been carrying on lord elgin's operations at athens, and who had returned with him to rome, canova declared, "that however greatly it was to be lamented that these statues should have suffered so much from time and barbarism, yet it was undeniable that they never had been retouched; that they were the work of the ablest artists the world had ever seen; executed under the most enlightened patron of the arts, and at a period when genius enjoyed the most liberal encouragement, and had attained the highest degree of perfection; and that they had been found worthy of forming the decoration of the most admired edifice ever erected in greece. that he should have had the greatest delight, and derived the greatest benefit from the opportunity lord elgin offered him of having in his possession and contemplating these inestimable marbles." but (_his expression was_) "it would be sacrilege in him or any man to presume to touch them with his chisel." since their arrival in this country they have been laid open to the inspection of the public; and the opinions and impressions, not only of artists, but of men of taste in general, have thus been formed and collected. from these the judgment pronounced by canova has been universally sanctioned; and all idea of restoring the marbles deprecated. meanwhile the most distinguished painters and sculptors have assiduously attended the museum, and evinced the most enthusiastic admiration of the perfection to which these marbles now prove to them that phidias had brought the art of sculpture, and which had hitherto only been known through the medium of ancient authors. they have attentively examined them, and they have ascertained that they were executed with the most scrupulous anatomical truth, not only in the human figure, but in the various animals to be found in this collection. they have been struck with the wonderful accuracy, and at the same time, the great effect of minute detail; and with the life and expression so distinctly produced in every variety of attitude and action. those more advanced in years have testified great concern at not having had the advantage of studying these models; and many who have had the opportunity of forming a comparison (among these are the most eminent sculptors and painters in this metropolis), have publicly and unequivocally declared, that in the view of professional men, this collection is far more valuable than any other collection in existence. with such advantages as the possession of these unrivalled works of art afford, and with an enlightened and encouraging protection bestowed on genius and the arts, it may not be too sanguine to indulge a hope, that, prodigal as nature is in the perfections of the human figure in this country, animating as are the instances of patriotism, heroic actions, and private virtues deserving commemoration, sculpture may soon be raised in england to rival these, the ablest productions of the best times of greece. the reader is referred to the synopsis of the british museum, and to the chevalier visconti's memoirs, before quoted, for complete and authentic catalogues of these marbles, but the following brief abstract is necessary to give a view of what they consist, to readers who may reside at a distance from the metropolis, or have not those works at hand. in that part of the collection which came from the eastern pediment of the parthenon are several statues and fragments, consisting of two horses' heads in one block, and the head of one of the horses of night, a statue of hercules or theseus, a group of two female figures, a female figure in quick motion, supposed to be iris, and a group of two goddesses, one represented sitting, and the other half reclining on a rock. among the statues and fragments from the western pediment are part of the chest and shoulders of the colossal figure in the centre, supposed to be neptune, a fragment of the colossal figure of minerva, a fragment of a head, supposed to belong to the preceding, a fragment of a statue of victory, and a statue of a river god called ilissus, and several fragments of statues from the pediments, the names or places of which are not positively ascertained, among which is one supposed to have been latona, holding apollo and diana in her arms; another of the neck and arms of a figure rising out of the sea, called hyperion, or the rising sun; and a torso of a male figure with drapery thrown over one shoulder. the metopes represent the battles between the centaurs and lapithæ, at the nuptials of pirithous. each metope contains two figures, grouped in various attitudes; sometimes the lapithæ, sometimes the centaurs victorious. the figure of one of the lapithæ, who is lying dead and trampled on by a centaur, is one of the finest productions of the art, as well as the group adjoining to it of hippodamia, the bride, carried off by the centaur eurytion; the furious style of whose galloping in order to secure his prize, and his shrinking from the spear that has been hurled after him, are expressed with prodigious animation. they are all in such high relief as to seem groups of statues; and they are in general finished with as much attention behind as before. they were originally continued round the entablature of the parthenon, and formed ninety-two groups. the frieze which was carried along the outer walls of the cell offered a continuation of sculptures in low relief, and of the most exquisite beauty. it represented the whole of the solemn procession to the temple of minerva during the panathenaic festival; many of the figures are on horseback, others are about to mount, some are in chariots, others on foot, oxen and other victims are led to sacrifice, the nymphs called canephoræ, skiophoræ, &c., are carrying the sacred offering in baskets and vases; there are priests, magistrates, warriors, deities, &c., forming altogether a series of most interesting figures in great variety of costume, armor, and attitude. from the opisthodomus of the parthenon, lord elgin also procured some valuable inscriptions, written in the manner called kionedon or columnar. the subjects of these monuments are public decrees of the people, accounts of the riches contained in the treasury, and delivered by the administrators to their successors in office, enumerations of the statues, the silver, gold, and precious stones, deposited in the temple, estimates for public works, &c. odeon, or odeum. the first odeon, ([greek: ôdeion], from [greek: ôdê], a song), was built by pericles at athens. it was constructed on different principles from the theatre, being of an eliptical form, and roofed to preserve the harmony and increase the force of musical sounds. the building was devoted to poetical and musical contests and exhibitions. it was injured in the siege of sylla, but was subsequently repaired by ariobarzanes philopator, king of cappadocia. at a later period, two others were built at athens by pausanias and herodes atticus, and other greek cities followed their example. the first odeon at rome was built in the time of the emperors; domitian erected one, and trajan another. the romans likewise constructed them in several provincial cities, the ruins of one of which are still seen at catanea, in sicily. perpetual lamps. according to pausanias, callimachus made a golden lamp for the temple of minerva at athens, with a wick composed of asbestos, which burned day and night for a year without trimming or replenishing with oil. if this was true, the font of the lamp must have been large enough to have contained a year's supply of oil; for, though some profess that the economical inventions of the ancients have been forgotten, the least knowledge in chemistry proves that oil in burning must be consumed. the perpetual lamps, so much celebrated among the learned of former times, said to have been found burning after many centuries, on opening tombs, are nothing more than fables, arising perhaps from phosphorescent appearances, caused by decomposition in confined places, which vanished as soon as fresh air was admitted. such phenomena have frequently been observed in opening sepulchres. the skull of raffaelle. is preserved as an object of great veneration in the academy of st. luke, which the students visit as if in the hope of being inspired with similar talents; and it is wonderful that, admiring him so much, modern painters should so little resemble him. either they do not wish to imitate him, or do not know how to do so. those who duly appreciate his merits have attempted it, and been successful. mengs is an example of this observation. the four finest pictures in rome. the four most celebrated pictures in rome, are _the transfiguration_ by raffaelle, _st. jerome_ by domenichino, _the descent from the cross_ by daniele da volterra, and _the romualdo_ by andrea sacchi. the four carlos of the th century. it is a singular fact that the four most distinguished painters of the th century were named charles, viz.: le brun, cignani, maratta, and loti, or loth. hence they are frequently called by writers, especially the italian, "the four carlos of the th century." pietro galletti and the bolognese students. crespi relates that pietro galletti, misled by a pleasing self-delusion that he was born a painter, made himself the butt and ridicule of all the artists of bologna. when they extolled his works and called him the greatest painter in the world, he took their irony for truth, and strutted with greater self-complacency. on one occasion, the students assembled with great pomp and ceremony, and solemnly invested him with the degree of _doctor of painting_. Ætion's picture of the nuptials of alexander and roxana. Ætion gained so much applause by his picture, representing the nuptials of alexander and roxana, which he publicly exhibited at the olympic games, that proxenidas, the president, rewarded him, by giving him his daughter in marriage. this picture was taken to rome after the conquest of greece, where it was seen by lucian, who gives an accurate description of it, from which, it is said, raffaelle sketched one of his finest compositions. ageladas. this famous sculptor was a native of argos, and flourished about b. c. . he was celebrated for his works in bronze, the chief of which were a statue of jupiter, in the citadel of ithone, and one of hercules, placed in the temple at melite, in attica, after the great plague. pausanias mentions several other works by him, which were highly esteemed. he was also celebrated as the instructor of myron, phidias, and polycletus. the porticos of agaptos. according to pausanias, agaptos, a grecian architect, invented the porticos around the square attached to the greek stadii, or race courses of the gymnasiums, which gained him so much reputation, that they were called the porticos of agaptos, and were adopted in every stadium. the group of niobe and her children. pliny says there was a doubt in his time, whether some statues representing the dying children of niobe (_niobæ liberos morientes_), in the temple of apollo sosianus at rome, were by scopas or praxiteles. the well known group of this subject in the florentine gallery, is generally believed to be the identical work mentioned by pliny. whether it be an original production of one of these great artists, or as some critics have supposed, only a copy, it will ever be considered worthy of their genius, as one of the sweetest manifestations of that deep and intense feeling of beauty which the grecian artists delighted to preserve in the midst of suffering. the admirable criticism of schlegel (lectures on the drama, iii), developes the internal harmony of the work. "in the group of niobe, there is the most perfect expression of terror and pity. the upturned looks of the mother, and the mouth half open in supplication, seem to accuse the invisible wrath of heaven. the daughter, clinging in the agonies of death to the bosom of her mother, in her infantile innocence, can have no other fear than for herself; the innate impulse of self-preservation was never represented in a manner more tender and affecting. can there, on the other hand, be exhibited to the senses, a more beautiful image of self-devoting, heroic magnanimity than niobe, as she bends her body forward, that, if possible, she may alone receive the destructive bolt? pride and repugnance are melted down in the most ardent maternal love. the more than earthly dignity of the features are the less disfigured by pain, as from the quick repetition of the shocks, she appears, as in the fable, to have become insensible and motionless. before this figure, twice transformed into stone, and yet so inimitably animated--before this line of demarkation of all human suffering, the most callous beholder is dissolved in tears." statue of the fighting gladiator. the famous antique statue of the fighting gladiator, which now adorns the louvre, was executed by agasias, a greek sculptor of ephesus, who flourished about b. c. . it was found among the ruins of a palace of the roman emperors at capo d'anzo, the ancient antium, where also the apollo belvidere was discovered. the group of laocoÖn in the vatican. as laocoön, a priest of neptune, (or according to some, of apollo) was sacrificing a bull to neptune, on the shore at troy, after the pretended retreat of the greeks, two enormous serpents appeared swimming from the island of tenedos, and advanced towards the altar. the people fled; but laocoön and his two sons fell victims to the monsters. the sons were first attacked, and then the father, who attempted to defend them, the serpents coiling themselves about him and his sons, while in his agony he endeavored to extricate them. they then hastened to the temple of pallas, where, placing themselves at the foot of the goddess, they hid themselves under her shield. the people saw in this omen, laocoön's punishment for his impiety in having pierced with his spear, the wooden horse which was consecrated to minerva. thus virgil relates the story in the Æneid; others, as hyginus, give different accounts, though agreeing in the main points. the fable is chiefly interesting to us, as having given rise to one of the finest and most celebrated works of antique sculpture, namely, the laocoön, now in the vatican. it was discovered in by some workmen, while employed in making excavations in a vineyard on the site of the baths of titus. pope julius ii. bought it for an annual pension, and placed it in the belvidere in the vatican. it was taken to paris by napoleon, but was restored to its place in . it is perfect in preservation, except that the right arm of laocoön was wanting, which was restored by baccio bandinelli. this group is so perfect a work, so grand and so instructive for the student of the fine arts, that many writers of all nations have written on it. it represents three persons in agony, but in different attitudes of struggling or fear, according to their ages, and the mental anguish of the father. all connoisseurs declare the group perfect, the product of the most thorough knowledge of anatomy, of character, and of ideal perfection. according to pliny, it was the common opinion in his time, that the group was made of one stone by three sculptors, agesander, polydorus, and athenadorus, all three natives of rhodes, and the two last probably sons of the former. he says, "the laocoön, which is in the palace of the emperor titus, is a work to be preferred to all others, either in painting or sculpture. those great artists, agesander, polydorus, and athenadorus, rhodians, executed the principal figure, the sons, and the wonderful folds of the serpents, out of one piece of marble." doubts exist respecting the era of this work. maffei places it in the th olympiad, or the first year of the peloponnesian war; winckelmann, in the time of lysippus and alexander; and lessing, in the time of the first emperors. some doubt whether this is the work mentioned by pliny, because it has been discovered that the group was not executed out of one block of marble, as asserted by him. in the opinion of many judicious critics, however, it is considered an original group, and not a copy, for no copy would possess its perfections; and that it is certainly the one described by pliny, because, after his time, no known sculptor was capable of executing such a perfect work; and had there been one, his fame would certainly have reached us. it was found in the place mentioned by pliny, and the joinings are so accurate and artfully concealed, that they might easily escape his notice. there are several copies of this matchless production by modern sculptors, the most remarkable of which, are one in bronze by sansovino, and another in marble by baccio bandinelli, which last is in the medici gallery at florence. it has also been frequently engraved; the best is the famous plate by bervic, engraved for the musée francais, pronounced by connoisseurs, the finest representation of a marble group ever executed, proof impressions of which have been sold for guineas each. michael angelo's opinion of the laocoÖn. it is said that julius ii. desired angelo to restore the missing arm behind the laocoön. he commenced it, but left it unfinished, "because," said he, "i found i could do nothing worthy of being joined to so admirable a work." what a testimony of the superiority of the best ancient sculptors over the moderns, for of all modern sculptors, michael angelo is universally allowed to be the best! discovery of the laocoÖn. there is a curious letter not generally known, but published by the abate fea, from francesco da sangallo, the sculptor, to monsignore spedalengo, in which the circumstances of the discovery of the laocoön are thus alluded to. the letter is dated . he says, "it being told to the pope that some fine statues had been discovered in a vineyard near s. maria maggiore, he sent to desire my father, (giuliano da sangallo) to go and examine them. michael angelo buonarotti being often at our house, father got him to go also; and so," continues francesco, "i mounted behind my father, and we went. we descended to where the statues were. my father immediately exclaimed, 'this is the laocoön spoken of by pliny!' they made the workmen enlarge the aperture or excavation, so as to be able to draw them out, and then, having seen them, we returned to dinner." sir john soane. this eminent english architect, and munificent public benefactor, was the son of a poor bricklayer, and was born at reading in . he showed early indications of talent and a predilection for architecture; and, at the age of fifteen, his father placed him with mr. george dance (then considered one of the most accomplished of the english architects), probably in the capacity of a servant. at all events he was not regularly articled, but he soon attracted notice by his industry, activity, and talents. mr. donaldson says, "his sister was a servant in mr. dance's family, which proves that the strength of soane's character enabled him to rise to so distinguished a rank merely by his own exertions." he afterwards studied under holland, and in the royal academy, where he first attracted public notice by a design for a triumphal bridge, which drew the gold medal of that institution, and entitled him to go to italy for three years on the pension of the academy. during a residence of six years in italy, he studied the remains of antiquity and the finest modern edifices with great assiduity, and made several original designs, which attracted considerable attention; among them were one for a british senate house, and another for a royal palace. in he returned to england, and soon distinguished himself by several elegant palaces, which he was commissioned to erect for the nobility in different parts of the kingdom, the plans and elevations of which he published in a folio volume in . in the same year, in a competition with nineteen other architects, he obtained the lucrative office of surveyor and architect to the bank of england, which laid the foundation of the splendid fortune he afterwards acquired. other advantageous appointments followed; that of clerk of the woods of st. james' palace, in ; architect of the woods and forests, in ; professor of architecture in the royal academy in ; and surveyor of chelsea hospital in . in addition to his public employments, he received many commissions for private buildings. he led a life of indefatigable industry in the practice of his profession till , when he reached his eightieth year. he died in . soane's liberality and public munificence. sir john soane was a munificent patron of various public charities, and was even more liberal in his contributions for the advancement of art; he subscribed £ to the duke of york's monument; a similar sum to the royal british institution; £ to the institute of british architects; £ to the architectural society, &c. he made a splendid collection of works of art, valued at upwards of £ , before his death, converted his house into a museum, and left the whole to his country, which is now known as _sir john soane's museum_--one of the most attractive institutions in london. he devoted the last four years of his life in classifying and arranging his museum, which is distributed in twenty-four rooms, and consists of architectural models of ancient and modern edifices; a large collection of architectural drawings, designs, plans, and measurements, by many great architects; a library of the best works on art, particularly on architecture; antique fragments of buildings, as columns, capitals, ornaments, and friezes in marble; also, models, casts, and copies of similar objects in other collections; fragments and relics of architecture in the middle ages; modern sculptures, especially by the best british sculptors; greek and roman antiquities, consisting of fragments of greek and roman sculpture antique busts, bronzes, and cinerary urns; etruscan vases; egyptian antiquities; busts of remarkable persons; a collection of antique gems, cameos and intaglios, originally in the collection of m. capece latro, archbishop of tarentum, and antique gems, principally from the braschi collection; a complete set of napoleon medals, selected by the baron denon for the empress josephine, and formerly in her possession, curiosities; rare books and illuminated manuscripts; a collection of about fifty oil paintings, many of them of great value, among which are the rake's progress, a series of eight pictures by hogarth, and the election, a series of four, by the same artist; and many articles of virtu too numerous to mention here, forming altogether a most rare, unique, and valuable collection. what a glorious monument did the poor bricklayer's son erect to his memory, which, while it blesses, will cause his countrymen to bless and venerate the donor, and make his name bright on the page of history! some there are who regard posthumous fame a bubble, and present pomp substantial; but the one is godlike, the other sensual and vain. the belzoni sarcophagus. one of the most interesting and valuable relics in sir john soane's museum, is the belzoni sarcophagus. it was discovered by belzoni, the famous french traveler, in , in a tomb in the valley of beban el malouk, near gournon. he found it in the centre of a sepulchral chamber of extraordinary magnificence, and records the event with characteristic enthusiasm: "i may call this a fortunate day, one of the best, perhaps, of my life. i do not mean to say that fortune has made me rich, for i do not consider all rich men fortunate; but she has given me that satisfaction, that extreme pleasure which wealth cannot purchase--the pleasure of discovering what has long been sought in vain." it is constructed of one single piece of alabaster, so translucent that a lamp placed within it shines through, although it is more than two inches in thickness. it is nine feet four inches in length, three feet eight inches in width, and two feet eight inches in depth, and is covered with hieroglyphics outside and inside, which have not yet been satisfactorily interpreted, though they are supposed by some to refer to osirei, the father of rameses the great. it was transported from egypt to england at great expense, and offered to the trustees of the british museum for £ , , which being refused, sir john soane immediately purchased it and exhibited it free, with just pride, to crowds of admiring visitors. when belzoni discovered this remarkable relic of egyptian royalty, the lid had been thrown off and broken into pieces, and its contents rifled; the sarcophagus itself is in perfect preservation. tasso's "gerusalemme liberata." the original copy of "gerusalemme liberata," in the handwriting of tasso, is in the soane museum. it was purchased by sir john soane, at the sale of the earl of guilford's library, in . this literary treasure, which cannot be contemplated without emotion, once belonged to baruffaldi, one of the most eminent literary characters of modern italy. serassi describes it, and refers to the emendations made by the poet in the margin (serassi's edit. florence, ;) but expresses his _fear_ that it had been taken out of italy. in allusion to this expression of serassi, lord guilford has written on the fly-leaf of the ms., "i would not wish to hurt the honest pride of any italian; but the works of a great genius are the property of all ages and all countries: and i hope it will be recorded to future ages, that england possesses the original ms. of one of the four greatest epic poems the world has produced, and, beyond all doubt, the only one of the four now existing." there is no date to this ms. the first printed edition of the gerusalemme is dated . there are other rare and valuable mss. in this museum, the most remarkable of which are a commentary in latin on the epistle of st. paul to the romans, by cardinal grimani. it is adorned with exquisite miniature illustrations, painted by don giulio clovio, called the michael angelo of miniature painters. "the figures are about an inch in height," says mrs. jameson, "equaling in vigor, grandeur, and originality, the conceptions of michael angelo and of raffaelle, who were his cotemporaries and admirers." also, a missal of the fifteenth century, containing ninety-two miniatures by lucas van leyden and his scholars, executed in a truly dutch style, just the reverse of those of clovio, except in point of elaborate finishing. george morland. the life of this extraordinary genius is full of interest, and his melancholy fall full of warning and instruction. he was the son of an indifferent painter, whose principal business was in cleaning and repairing, and dealing in ancient pictures. morland showed an extraordinary talent for painting almost in his infancy, and before he was sixteen years old, his name was known far and wide by engravings from his pictures. his father, who seems to have been a man of a low and sordid disposition, had his son indented to him as an apprentice, for seven years, in order to secure his services as long as possible, and he constantly employed him in painting pictures and making drawings for sale; and these were frequently of a broad character, as such commanded the best prices, and found the most ready sale. hence he acquired a wonderful facility of pencil, but wholly neglected academic study. his associates were the lowest of the low. on the expiration of his indenture, he left his father's house, and the remainder of his life is the history of genius degraded by intemperance and immorality, which alternately excites our admiration at his great talents, our regrets at the profligacy of his conduct, and our pity for his misfortunes. according to his biographer, mr. george dawe, who wrote an impartial and excellent life of morland, he reached the full maturity of his powers, about when he was twenty-six years old; and from that time, they began and continued to decline till his death in . poor morland was constantly surrounded by a set of harpies, who contrived to get him in their debt, and then compelled him to paint a picture for a guinea, which they readily sold for thirty or forty, and which now bring almost any sum asked for them. many of his best works were painted in sponging houses to clear him from arrest. morland's early talent. morland's father having embarked in the business of picture dealing, had become bankrupt, and it is said that he endeavored to repair his broken fortunes by the talents of his son george, who, almost as soon as he escaped from the cradle, took to the pencil and crayon. very many artists are recorded to have manifested an "early inclination for art," but the indications of early talent in others are nothing when compared with morland's. "_at four, five, and six years of age_," says cunningham, "_he made drawings worthy of ranking him among the common race of students_; the praise bestowed on these by the society of artists, to whom they were exhibited, and the money which collectors were willing to pay for the works of this new wonder, induced his father to urge him onward in his studies, and he made rapid progress." morland's early fame. the danger of overtasking either the mind or body in childhood, is well known; and there is every reason to believe that young morland suffered both of these evils. his father stimulated him by praise and by indulgence at the table, and to ensure his continuance at his allotted tasks, shut him up in a garret, and excluded him from free air, which strengthens the body, and from education--that free air which nourishes the mind. his stated work for a time was making drawings from pictures and from plaster casts, which his father carried out and sold; but as he increased in skill, he chose his subjects from popular songs and ballads, such as "young roger came tapping at dolly's window," "my name is jack hall," "i am a bold shoemaker, from belfast town i came," and other productions of the mendicant muse. the copies of pictures and casts were commonly sold for three half-crowns each; the original sketches--some of them a little free in posture, and not over delicately handled, were framed and disposed of for any sum from two to five guineas, according to the cleverness of the piece, or the generosity of the purchaser. though far inferior to the productions of his manhood, they were much admired; engravers found it profitable to copy them, and before he was sixteen years old, his name had flown far and wide. morland's mental and moral education, under an unnatural parent. from ten years of age, young morland appears to have led the life of a prisoner and a slave under the roof of his father, hearing in his seclusion the merry din of the schoolboys in the street, without hope of partaking in their sports. by-and-by he managed to obtain an hour's relaxation at the twilight, and then associated with such idle and profligate boys as chance threw in his way, and learned from them a love for coarse enjoyment, and the knowledge that it could not well be obtained without money. oppression keeps the school of cunning; young morland resolved not only to share in the profits of his own talents, but also to snatch an hour or so of amusement, without consulting his father. when he made three drawings for his father, he made one secretly for himself, and giving a signal from his window, lowered it by a string to two or three knowing boys, who found a purchaser at a reduced price, and spent the money with the young artist. a common tap-room was an indifferent school of manners, whatever it might be for painting, and there this gifted lad was now often to be found late in the evening, carousing with hostlers and potboys, handing round the quart pot, and singing his song or cracking his joke. his father, having found out the contrivance by which he raised money for this kind of revelry adopted, in his own imagination, a wiser course. he resolved to make his studies as pleasant to him as he could; and as george was daily increasing in fame and his works in price, this could be done without any loss. he indulged his son, now some sixteen years old, with wine, pampered his appetite with richer food, and moreover allowed him a little pocket-money to spend among his companions, and purchase acquaintance with what the vulgar call life. he dressed him, too, in a style of ultra-dandyism, and exhibited him at his easel to his customers, attired in a green coat with very long skirts, and immense yellow buttons, buckskin breeches, and top boots with spurs. he permitted him too to sing wild songs, swear grossly, and talk about anything he liked with such freedom as makes anxious parents tremble. with all these indulgences the boy was not happy; he aspired but the more eagerly after full liberty and the unrestrained enjoyment of the profits of his pencil. morland's escape from the thraldom of his father. hassell and smith give contradictory accounts of this important step in young morland's life, which occurred when he was seventeen years old. the former, who knew him well, says that, "he was determined to make his escape from the rigid confinement which paternal authority had imposed upon him; and, wild as a young quadruped that had broken loose from his den, at length, though late, effectually accomplished his purpose." "young george was of so unsettled a disposition," says smith, "that his father, being fully aware of his extraordinary talents, was determined to force him to get his own living, and gave him a guinea, with something like the following observation: 'i am _determined_ to encourage your idleness no longer; there--take that guinea, and apply to your art and support yourself.' this morland told me, and added, that from that moment he commenced and continued wholly on his own account." it would appear by smith's relation, that our youth, instead of supporting his father, had all along been depending on his help; this, however, contradicts not only hassell, but fuseli also, who, in his edition of pilkington's dictionary, accuses the elder morland of avariciously pocketing the whole profits of his son's productions. morland's marriage, and temporary reform. after leaving his father, morland plunged into a career of wildness and dissipation, amidst which, however, his extraordinary talents kept his name still rising. while residing at kensall green, he was frequently thrown in the company of ward, the painter, whose example of moral steadiness was exhibited to him in vain. at length, however, he fell in love with miss ward, a young lady of beauty and modesty, and the sister of his friend. succeeding in gaining her affections, he soon afterwards married her; and to make the family union stronger, ward sued for the hand of maria morland, and in about a month after his sister's marriage, obtained it. in the joy of this double union, the brother artists took joint possession of a good house in high street, marylebone. morland suspended for a time his habit of insobriety, discarded the social comrades of his laxer hours, and imagined himself reformed. but discord broke out between the sisters concerning the proper division of rule and authority in the house; and morland, whose partner's claim perhaps was the weaker, took refuge in lodgings in great portland street. his passion for late hours and low company, restrained through courtship and the honey-moon, now broke out with the violence of a stream which had been dammed, rather than dried up. it was in vain that his wife entreated and remonstrated--his old propensities prevailed, and the post-boy, the pawnbroker, and the pugilist, were summoned again to his side, no more to be separated. morland's social position. morland's dissipated habits and worthless companions, produced the effect that might have been expected; and this talented painter, who might have mingled freely among nobles and princes, came strength to hold a position in society that is best illustrated by the following anecdote. raphael smith, the engraver, had employed him for years on works _from_ which he engraved, and _by_ which he made large sums of money. he called one day with bannister the comedian to look at a picture which was upon the easel. smith was satisfied with the artist's progress, and said, "i shall now proceed on my morning ride." "stay a moment," said morland, laying down his brush, "and i will go with you." "morland," answered the other, in an emphatic tone, which could not be mistaken, "i have an appointment with a _gentleman_, who is waiting for me." such a sarcasm might have cured any man who was not incurable; it made but a momentary impression upon the mind of our painter, who cursed the engraver, and returned to his palette. an unpleasant dilemma. morland once received an invitation to barnet, and was hastening thither with hassell and another friend, when he was stopped at whetstone turnpike by a lumber or jockey cart, driven by two persons, one of them a chimney-sweep, who were disputing with the toll-gatherer. morland endeavored to pass, when one of the wayfarers cried, "what! mr. morland, won't you speak to a body!" the artist endeavored to elude further greeting, but this was not to be; the other bawled out so lustily, that morland was obliged to recognize at last his companion and croney, hooper, a tinman and pugilist. after a hearty shake of the hand, the boxer turned to his neighbor the chimney-sweep and said, "why, dick, don't you know this here gentleman? 'tis my friend mr. morland." the sooty charioteer smiling a recognition, forced his unwelcome hand upon his brother of the brush; they then both whipt their horses and departed. this rencontre mortified morland very sensibly; he declared that he knew nothing of the chimney-sweep, and that he was forced upon him by the impertinence of hooper: but the artist's habits made the story generally believed, and "sweeps, your honor," was a joke which he was often obliged to hear. morland at the isle of wight. morland loved to visit this isle in his better days, and some of his best pictures are copied from scenes on that coast. a friend once found him at freshwater-gate, in a low public-house called the cabin. sailors, rustics, and fishermen, were seated round him in a kind of ring, the rooftree rung with laughter and song; and morland, with manifest reluctance, left their company for the conversation of his friend. "george," sad his monitor, "you must have reasons for keeping such company." "reasons, and good ones," said the artist, laughing; "see--where could i find such a picture of life as that, unless among the originals of the cabin?" he held up his sketch-book and showed a correct delineation of the very scene in which he had so lately been the presiding spirit. one of his best pictures contains this fac-simile of the tap-room, with its guests and furniture. a novel mode of fulfilling commissions. "it frequently happened," says one of morland's biographers, "when a picture had been bespoke by one of his friends, who advanced some of the money to induce him to work, if the purchaser did not stand by to see it finished and carry it away with him, some other person, who was lurking within sight for that purpose, and knew the state of morland's pocket, by the temptation of a few guineas laid upon the table, carried off the picture. thus all were served in their turn; and though each exulted in the success of the trick when he was so lucky as to get a picture in this easy way, they all joined in exclaiming against morland's want of honesty in not keeping his promises to them." hassell's first interview with morland. hassell's introduction to morland was decidedly in character. "as i was walking," he says, "towards paddington on a summer morning, to inquire about the health of a relation, i saw a man posting on before me with a sucking-pig, which he carried in his arms like a child. the piteous squeaks of the little animal, and the singular mode of conveyance, drew spectators to door and window; the person however who carried it minded no one, but to every dog that barked--and there were not a few--he sat down the pig, and pitted him against the dog, and then followed the chase which was sure to ensue. in this manner he went through several streets in mary-le-bone, and at last, stopping at the door of one of my friends, was instantly admitted. i also knocked and entered, but my surprise was great on finding this original sitting with the pig still under his arm, and still greater when i was introduced to morland the painter." morland's drawings in the isle of wight. a person at whose house morland resided when in the isle of wight, having set out for london, left an order with an acquaintance at cowes to give the painter his own price for whatever works he might please to send. the pictures were accompanied by a regular solicitation for cash in proportion, or according to the nature of the subject. at length a small but very highly finished drawing arrived, and as the sum demanded seemed out of all proportion with the size of the work, the conscientious agent transmitted the piece to london and stated the price. the answer by post was, "pay what is asked, and get as many others as you can at the same price." there is not one sketch in the collection thus made but what would now produce thrice its original cost. morland's freaks. one evening hassell and his friends were returning to town from hempstead, when morland accosted them in the character of a mounted patrole, wearing the parish great-coat, girded with a broad black belt, and a pair of pistols depending. he hailed them with "horse patrole!" in his natural voice; they recognised him and laughed heartily, upon which he entreated them to stop at the mother red cap, a well known public-house, till he joined them. he soon made his appearance in his proper dress, and gave way to mirth and good fellowship. on another occasion he paid a _parishioner_, who was drawn for constable, to be permitted to serve in his place, he billeted soldiers during the day, and presided in the constable's chair at night. a joke on morland. at another time, having promised to paint a picture for m. de calonne, morland seemed unwilling to begin, but was stimulated by the following stratagem. opposite to his house in paddington was the white lion. hassell directed two of his friends to breakfast there, and instructed them to look anxiously towards the artist's window, and occasionally walk up and down before the house. he then waited on morland, who only brandished his brush at the canvas and refused to work. after waiting some time, hassell went to the window and effected surprise at seeing two strangers gazing intently at the artist's house. morland looked at them earnestly--declared they were bailiffs, who certainly wanted him--and ordered the door to be bolted. hassell having secured him at home, showed him the money for his work, and so dealt with him that the picture, a landscape with six figures, one of his best productions, was completed in six hours. he then paid him, and relieved his apprehensions respecting the imaginary bailiffs--morland laughed heartily. morland's apprehension as a spy. while spending some time at yarmouth, morland was looked upon as a suspicious character, and was apprehended as a spy. after a sharp examination, the drawings he had made on the shores of the isle of wight were considered as confirmation of his guilt; he was therefore honored with an escort of soldiers and constables to newport, and there confronted by a bench of justices. at his explanation, they shook their heads, laid a strict injunction upon him to paint and draw no more in that neighborhood, and dismissed him. this adventure he considered a kind of pleasant interruption; and indeed it seems ridiculous enough in the officials who apprehended him. morland's "sign of the black bull." on one occasion, morland was on his way from deal, and williams, the engraver, was his companion. the extravagance of the preceding evening had fairly emptied their pockets; weary, hungry and thirsty, they arrived at a small ale-house by the way-side; they hesitated to enter. morland wistfully reconnoitered the house, and at length accosted the landlord--"upon my life, i scarcely knew it: is this the black bull?" "to be sure it is, master," said the landlord, "there's the sign."--"ay! the board is there, i grant," replied our wayfarer, "but the black bull is vanished and gone. i will paint you a capital new one for a crown." the landlord consented, and placed a dinner and drink before this restorer of signs, to which the travelers did immediate justice. "now, landlord," said morland, "take your horse, and ride to canterbury--it is but a little way--and buy me proper paint and a good brush." he went on his errand with a grudge, and returned with the speed of thought, for fear that his guests should depart in his absence. by the time that morland had painted the black bull, the reckoning had risen to ten shillings, and the landlord reluctantly allowed them to go on their way; but not, it is said, without exacting a promise that the remainder of the money should be paid with the first opportunity. the painter, on his arrival it town, related this adventure in the hole-in-the-wall, fleet street. a person who overheard him, mounted his horse, rode into kent, and succeeded in purchasing the black bull from the kentish boniface for ten guineas. morland and the pawnbroker. even when morland had sunk to misery and recklessness, the spirit of industry did not forsake him, nor did his taste or his skill descend with his fortunes. one day's work would have purchased him a week's sustenance, yet he labored every day, and as skilfully and beautifully as ever. a water man was at one time his favorite companion, whom, by way of distinction, morland called "my dicky." dicky once carried a picture to the pawnbroker's, wet from the easel, with the request for the advance of three guineas upon it. the pawnbroker paid the money; but in carrying it into the room his foot slipped, and the head and foreparts of a hog were obliterated. the money-changer returned the picture with a polite note, requesting the artist to restore the damaged part. "my dicky!" exclaimed morland, "an that's a good one! but never mind!" he reproduced the hog in a few minutes, and said, "there! go back and tell the pawnbroker to advance me five guineas more upon it; and if he won't, say i shall proceed against him; the price of the picture is thirty guineas." the demand was complied with. morland's idea of a baronetcy. morland was well descended. in his earlier and better days, a solicitor informed him that he was heir to a baronet's title, and advised him to assert his claim. "sir george morland!" said the painter--"it _sounds_ well, but it won't do. plain george morland will always sell my pictures, and there is more honor in being a fine painter than in being a fine gentleman." morland's artistic merit. as an artist, morland's claims are high and undisputed. he is original and alone; his style and conceptions are his own; his thoughts are ever at home, and always natural; he extracts pleasing subjects out of the most coarse and trivial scenes, and finds enough to charm the eye in the commonest occurrences. his subjects are usually from low life, such as hog-sties, farm-yards, landscapes with cattle and sheep, or fishermen with smugglers on the sea-coast. he seldom or ever produced a picture perfect in all its parts, but those parts adapted to his knowledge and taste were exquisitely beautiful. knowing well his faults, he usually selected those subjects best suited to his talents. his knowledge of anatomy was extremely limited; he was totally unfitted for representing the human figure elegantly or correctly, and incapable of large compositions. he never paints above the most ordinary capacity, and gives an air of truth and reality to whatever he touches. he has taken a strong and lasting hold of the popular fancy: not by ministering to our vanity, but by telling plain and striking truths. he is the rustic painter for the people; his scenes are familiar to every eye, and his name is on every lip. painting seemed as natural to him as language is to others, and by it he expressed his sentiments and his feelings, and opened his heart to the multitude. his gradual descent in society may be traced in the productions of his pencil; he could only paint well what he saw or remembered; and when he left the wild sea-shore and the green wood-side for the hedge ale-house and the rules of the bench, the character of his pictures shifted with the scene. yet even then his wonderful skill of hand and sense of the picturesque never forsook him. his intimacy with low life only dictated his theme--the coarseness of the man and the folly of his company never touched the execution of his pieces. all is indeed homely--nay, mean--but native taste and elegance redeemed every detail. to a full command over every implement of his art, he united a facility of composition and a free readiness of hand perhaps quite unrivalled. charles jervas. this artist was a pupil of sir godfrey kneller, and met with plentiful employment in portrait painting. his abilities were very inferior, but, says walpole, "such was the badness of the age's taste, and the dearth of good masters, that jervas sat at the head of his profession, although he was defective in drawing, coloring, composition, and likeness. in general, his pictures are a light flimsy kind of fan-painting as large as life. yet i have seen a few of his works highly colored, and it is certain that his copies of carlo maratti, whom he most studied and imitated, were extremely just, and scarcely inferior to the originals." jervas the instructor of pope. what will recommend the name of jervas to inquisitive posterity, was his intimacy with pope, whom he instructed to draw and paint. the poet has enshrined the feeble talents of the painter in "the lucid amber of his flowing lines." spence informs us, that pope was "the pupil of jervas for the space of a year said a half," meaning that he was constantly so, for that period. tillemans was engaged in painting a landscape for lord radnor, into which pope by stealth inserted some strokes, which the prudent painter did not appear to observe; and of this circumstance pope was not a little vain. in proof of his proficiency in the art of painting, pope presented his friend mr. murray, with a head of betterton the celebrated tragedian, which was afterwards at caen wood. during a long visit at holm lacy in herefordshire, he amused his leisure by copying from vandyck, in crayons, a head of wentworth, earl of strafford, which was still preserved there many years afterwards, and is said to have possessed considerable merit. for an account of pope's skill in painting fans, see vol. i. page of this work. jervas and dr. arbuthnot. jervas, who affected to be a free-thinker, was one day talking very irreverently of the bible. dr. arbuthnot maintained to him that he was not only a speculative, but a practical believer. jervas denied it. arbuthnot said that he would prove it: "you strictly observe the second commandment;" said the doctor, "for in your pictures you 'make not the likeness of anything that is in the heavens above, or in the earth beneath, or in the waters under the earth'"! jervas' vanity. his vanity and conceit knew no bounds. he copied a picture by titian in the royal collection, which he thought so vastly superior to the original, that on its completion he exclaimed with great complacency, "poor little tit, how he would stare!" walpole says, "jervas had ventured to look upon the fair lady bridgewater with more than a painter's eye; so entirely did that lovely form possess his imagination, that many a homely dame was delighted to find her picture resemble lady bridgewater. yet neither his presumption nor his passion could extinguish his self-love." one day, as she was sitting to him, he ran over the beauties of her face with rapture--'but,' said he, "i cannot help telling your ladyship that you have not a handsome ear." "no!" returned the lady, "pray, mr. jervas, what is a handsome ear?" he turned his cap, and showed her his own. when kneller heard that jervas had sent up a carriage and four horses, he exclaimed, "ah, mine got! if his horses do not draw better than he does, he will never get to his journey's end!" holbein and the fly. before holbein quitted basile for england, he intimated that he should leave a specimen of the power of his abilities. having a portrait in his house which he had just finished for one of his patrons, he painted a fly on the forehead, and sent it to the person for whom it was painted. the gentleman was struck with the beauty of the piece, and went eagerly to brush off the fly, when he found out the deceit. the story soon spread, and orders were immediately given to prevent the city being deprived of holbein's talents; but he had already departed. holbein's visit to england. furnished with recommendatory letters from his friend sir thomas more, holbein went to england, and was received into more's house, where he wrought for nearly three years, drawing the portraits of sir thomas, his relations and friends. the king, (henry viii.) visiting the chancellor, saw some of these pictures, and expressed his satisfaction. sir thomas begged him to accept which ever he liked; but his majesty inquired for the painter, who was accordingly introduced to him. henry immediately took him into his own service and told the chancellor that now he had got the artist, he did not want the pictures. an apartment in the palace was allotted to holbein, with a salary of florins besides the price of his pictures. henry viii.'s opinion of holbein. the king retained holbein in his service many years, during which time he painted the portrait of his majesty many times, and probably those of all his queens, though no portrait of catharine parr is certainly known to be from his hand. an amusing and characteristic anecdote is related, showing the opinion the king entertained of this artist. one day, as holbein was privately drawing some lady's picture for henry, a great lord forced himself into the chamber, when the artist flew into a terrible passion, and forgetting everything else in his rage, ran at the peer and threw him down stairs! upon a sober second thought, however, seeing the rashness of this act, holbein bolted the door, escaped over the top of the house, and running directly to the king, besought pardon, without telling his offence. his majesty promised he would forgive him if he would tell the truth; but on finding out the offence, began to repent of his promise, and said he should not easily overlook such insults, and bade him wait in the apartment till he learned more of the matter. immediately after, the lord arrived with his complaint, but diminishing the provocation. at first the monarch heard the story with temper, but soon broke out, reproaching the nobleman with his want of truth, and adding, "you have not to do with holbein, but with me; i tell you, of seven peasants i can make seven lords; but of seven lords i cannot make one holbein! begone, and remember that if you ever attempt to revenge yourself, i shall look on any injury offered to the painter as done to myself." holbein's portrait of the duchess dowager of milan. after the death of jane seymour, holbein was sent to flanders by the king, to paint the portrait of the duchess dowager of milan, widow of francesco sforza, whom charles v. had recommended to henry for a fourth wife, although the german emperor subsequently changed his mind, and prevented the marriage. there is a letter among the holbein mss. from sir thomas wyatt, congratulating his majesty on his escape, as the duchess' chastity was somewhat equivocal, but says walpole, "if it was, i am apt to think, considering henry's temper, that the duchess had the greater escape!"--about the same time it is said that the duchess herself, sent the king word, "that she had but one head; if she had two, one of them should be at his majesty's service." holbein's flattery in portraits--a warning to painters. holbein was dispatched by cromwell, henry's minister, to paint the lady anne of cleves, and by practising the common flattery of his profession, "he was," says walpole, "the immediate cause of the destruction of that great subject, and of the disgrace which fell upon the princess herself. he drew so favorable a likeness that henry was content to wed her; but when he found her so inferior to the miniature, the storm which should have really been directed at the painter, burst on the minister; and cromwell lost his head, because anne was _a flanders mare_, and not a venus, as holbein had represented her." holbein's portrait of cratzer. he painted the portrait of nicholas cratzer, astronomer to henry viii., which walpole mentions as being in the royal collection in france. this astronomer erected the dial at corpus christi, oxford college, in . after thirty years' residence in england, he had scarce learned to speak the language, and his majesty asking him how that happened, he replied, "i beseech your highness to pardon me; what can a man learn in only thirty years?" the latter half of this memorable sentence may remind the reader of sir isaac newton; and perhaps the study of astronomy does naturally produce such a feeling in the reflective mind. holbein's portraits of sir thomas more and family. holbein painted the portraits of the chancellor and family; and no less than six different pictures of this subject are attributed to his hand; but of these walpole thinks only two to possess good evidences of originality. one of these was in deloo's collection, and after his death was purchased by mr. roper, more's grandson. another was in the palazzo delfino at venice, where it was long on sale, the price first set being £ ; but the king of poland purchased it about , for near £ . the coloring of this work is beautiful beyond description, and the carnations have that bloom so peculiar to holbein, who touched his works until not a touch remained discernible. walpole says, "it was evidently designed for a small altar-piece to a chapel; in the middle on a throne sits the virgin and child; on one side kneels an elderly gentleman with two sons, one of them a naked infant opposite kneeling are his wife and daughters." there is recorded a bon-mot of sir thomas on the birth of his son. he had three daughters, but his wife was impatient for a son: at last they had one, but not much above an idiot--"you have prayed so long for a boy," said the chancellor, "that now we have got one who i believe will be a boy as long as he lives!" sir john vanbrugh and his critics. this eminent english architect, who flourished about the commencement of the th century, had to contend with the wits of the age. they waged no war against him as a wit, for he was not inferior; but as an architect, he was the object of their keenest derision, particularly for his celebrated work of the stupendous palace of blenheim, erected for the duke of marlborough in accordance with the vote of a grateful nation. swift was a satirist, therefore no true critic; and his disparagement of blenheim arose from party-feeling. pope was more decisive, and by the harmony of his numbers contributed to lead and bias the public opinion, until a new light emanated from the criticism of sir joshua reynolds; and this national palace is now to be considered, not on its architectural, but its picturesque merits. a criticism which caused so memorable a revolution in public taste, must be worthy of an extract. "i pretend to no skill in architecture--i judge now of the art merely as a painter. to speak then of vanbrugh in the language of a painter, he had originality of invention, he understood light and shadow, and had great skill in composition. to support his principal object he produced his second and third groups of masses; he perfectly understood in _his_ art what is most difficult in _ours_, the conduct of the background, by which the design and invention is set off to the greatest advantage. what the background is in painting, is the real ground upon which the building is erected; and no architect took greater care that his works should not appear crude and hard; that is, it did not start abruptly out of the ground, without speculation or preparation. this is the tribute which a painter owes to an architect who composed like a painter." besides this, the testimony of knight, price, and gilpin, have contributed to remove the prejudices against vanbrugh. knight says in his "principles of taste," sir john vanbrugh is the only architect i know of, who has either planned or placed his houses according to the principles recommended; and in his two chief works, blenheim and castle howard, it appears to have been strictly adhered to, at least in the placing of them, and both are certainly worthy of the best situations, which not only the respective places, but the island of great britain could afford. vanbrugh also evinced great talent as a dramatic writer, and his masterly powers in comedy are so well evinced in the relapse, the provoked wife, and other plays, that were it not for their strong libertine tendency which have properly banished them from the stage, and almost from the closet, he would have been regarded as a standard classic author in english dramatic literature. his private character seems to have been amiable, and his conduct tolerably correct. he died at his own house in whitehall, in . in his character of architect, dr. evans bestowed on him the following witty epitaph: "lie heavy on him, earth, for he laid many a heavy load on thee"! anecdote of the english painter james seymour. he was employed by the duke of somerset, commonly called "the proud duke," to paint the portraits of his horses at petworth, who condescended to sit with seymour (his namesake) at table. one day at dinner, the duke filled his glass, and saying with a sneer, "_cousin_ seymour, your health," drank it off. "my lord," said the artist, "i believe i _have_ the honor of being related to your grace." the proud peer rose from the table, and ordered his steward to dismiss the presumptuous painter, and employ an humbler brother of the brush. this was accordingly done; but when the new painter saw the spirited works of his predecessor, he shook his head, and retiring said, "no man in england can compete with james seymour." the duke now condescended to recall his discarded cousin. "my lord," was the answer of seymour, "i will now prove to the world that i am of your blood--_i won't come._" upon receiving this laconic reply, the duke sent his steward to demand a former loan of £ . seymour briefly replied that "he would write to his grace." he did so, but directed his letter, "northumberland house, opposite the trunkmaker's, charing cross." enraged at this additional insult, the duke threw the letter into the fire without opening it, and immediately ordered his steward to have him arrested. but seymour, struck with an opportunity of evasion, carelessly observed that "it was hasty in his grace to burn his letter, because it contained a bank note for £ , and that _therefore_, they were now quits." precocity of luca giordano. at the age of five years, the natural taste of lucia giordano for painting, led him to adopt the pencil as a plaything; at six he could draw the human figure with surprising correctness. the cav. stanzioni, passing by his father's shop, and seeing the child at work, stopped to see his performances, and is said to have predicted that "he would one day become the first painter of the age." before he was eight years old he painted, unknown to his father, two cherubs in a fresco, entrusted to that artist, in an obscure part of the church of s. maria nuova--figures so graceful as to attract considerable attention. this fact coming to the knowledge of the duke de medina de las torres, the viceroy of naples, he rewarded the precocious painter with some gold ducats, and recommended him to the instruction of spagnoletto, then the most celebrated painter in naples, who accordingly received him into his studio. there, says palomino, he spent nine years in close application to study, and there, he probably enjoyed the advantage of seeing velasquez, during that great artist's second visit to naples. giordano's enthusiasm. when giordano was about seventeen years old, having learned from ribera all he could teach him, he conceived a strong desire to prosecute his studies at rome. to this step, his father, who was poor, and could perhaps ill afford to lose his earnings, refused to give his consent. luca therefore embraced the earliest opportunity to abscond, and ran away on foot to the metropolis of art, where he applied himself with the greatest assiduity. he copied all the great frescos of raffaelle in the vatican several times; he next turned his rapid pencil against the works of annibale caracci in the farnese palace. meantime, his father divining the direction which the truant had taken, followed him to rome, where, after a long search, he discovered him sketching in st. peter's church. luca fa presto. giordano resided at rome about three years with his father, who seems to have been a helpless creature, subsisting by the sale of his son's drawings; but luca cared for nothing but his studies, satisfied with a piece of bread or a few maccaroni. when their purse was low, the old man would accompany him to the scene of his labors, and constantly urge him on, by repeating _luca, fa presto_, (hurry luca) which became a byword among the painters, and was fixed upon the young artist as a nickname, singularly appropriate to his wonderful celerity of execution. he afterwards traveled through lombardy to venice, still accompanied by his father, and having studied the works of correggio, titian, and other great masters, returned by way of florence and leghorn to naples, where he soon after married the donna margarita ardi, a woman of exquisite beauty, who served him as a model for his virgins, madonnas, lucretias, and venuses. giordano's skill in copying. luca giordano could copy any master so accurately as to deceive the best judges. among his patrons in his youth was one gasparo romero, who was in the habit of inflicting upon him a great deal of tedious and impertinent advice. for this he had his revenge by causing his father to send to that connoisseur as originals, some of his imitations of titian, tintoretto, and bassano, and afterwards avowing the deception; but he managed the joke so pleasantly that romero was rather pleased than offended at his skill and wit. giordano's success at naples. in , giordano painted in competition with giacomo forelli, a large picture of st. nicholas borne away by angels, for the church of s. brigida, a work of such power and splendor, that it completely eclipsed his rival, and established his reputation at the early age of twenty-three. two years after, he was employed by the viceroy to paint several pictures for the church of s. maria del pianto, in competition with andrea vaccaro. the principal subjects which fell to giordano, were the crucifixion, and the virgin and st. januarius pleading with the saviour for naples, afflicted with pestilence; these he executed with great ability. he and vaccaro having a dispute about placing the pictures, the matter was referred to the viceroy, who gave the choice to vaccaro as the senior artist; giordano immediately yielded with so much grace and discretion, that he made a firm friend of his successful rival. his master, ribera, being now dead, he soon stepped into the vacant place of that popular artist. the religious bodies of the kingdom, the dignitaries of the church, and princes and nobles, eagerly sought after his works. giordano, the viceroy, and the duke of diano. the honors heaped upon giordano by the marquess of heliche, compelled him to neglect and offend other patrons. one of these personages, the duke of diano, being very anxious for the completion of his orders, at last, lost all patience, and collaring the artist, he threatened him with personal chastisement if he did not immediately fulfil his engagements. the viceroy being informed of the insult, took up the painter's quarrel in right royal style. he invited the duke, who affected connoisseurship, to pass judgment on a picture lately painted by luca for the palace, in imitation of the style of rubens. the unlucky noble fell into the trap, and pronounced it an undoubted work by the great fleming. seeming to assent to this criticism, the viceroy replied that giordano was painting a companion to the picture, a piece of information which diano received with a sneer and a remark on the artist's uncivil treatment to persons of honor. here heliche hastily interposed, telling him that the work which he had praised was painted, not by rubens, but by giordano, and repeating the sentiment expressed by several crowned heads on like occasions, admonished him of the respect due to a man so highly endowed by his maker. "and how dare you," cried he, in a loud tone, and seizing the duke by the collar, as the latter had done to giordano, "thus insult a man, who is besides, retained in my service? know, for the future, that none shall play the brave here, so long as i bear rule in naples!" "this scene," says dominici, "passing in the presence of many of the courtiers, and some of these, witnesses of the insult offered to the painter, so mortified the pride of the provincial grandee, that he retired, covered with confusion, and falling into despondency, died soon after of a fever." giordano invited to florence. in , giordano was invited to florence by the grand duke, cosmo iii., to decorate the chapel of s. andrea corsini in the carmine. his works gave so much satisfaction to that prince, that he not only liberally rewarded him, but overwhelmed him with civilities, and presented him with a gold medal and chain, which he did him the honor to place about his neck with his own royal hands. giordano and carlo dolci. while sojourning in that city, he became acquainted with carlo dolci, then advanced in years, who is said to have been so affected at seeing the rapid neapolitan execute in a few hours what would have required him months to perform, in his own slow and laborious manner, that he fell into a profound melancholy, of which he soon after died: this circumstance dominici assures us, giordano long afterwards remembered with tears, on being shown at naples "a picture painted by poor carlino." giordano's visit to spain. the fame of giordano had already reached madrid, when don cristobal de ontañon, a favorite courtier of charles ii., returning from italy, full of admiration for giordano and his works, so sounded his praises in the royal ear, that the king invited him to his court, paying the expense of his journey, and giving him a gratuity of ducats, and appointing him his principal painter, with a salary of crowns a month. the painter embarked from naples on board one of the royal galleys, accompanied by his son nicolo, a nephew named baldassare valente, and two scholars, aniello rossi and matteo pacelli, attended by three servants. landing at barcelona, and resting there a few days, he proceeded to madrid, where he arrived in may . six of the royal coaches were sent to meet him on the road, and conduct him to the house of his friend ontañon. on the day of his arrival, by the desire of the king, he was carried to the alcaza and presented to his majesty. charles received him with great kindness, inquired how he had borne the fatigues of his journey, and expressed his joy at finding him much younger in appearance than he had been taught to expect. the painter, with his usual courtly tact, replied, that the journey he had undertaken to enter the service of so great a monarch, had revived his youth, and that in the presence of his majesty, he felt as if he were twenty again. "then," said charles smiling, "you are not too weary to pay a visit to my gallery," and led him through the noble halls of philip ii., rich with the finest pictures of italy and spain. it was probably on this occasion, that giordano, passing before velasquez's celebrated picture of the infanta and her meniñas, bestowed on it the well known name of the _theology of painting_. the king, who paid the painter the extraordinary honor to embrace him when first presented, gave him a still greater mark of his favor at parting, by kissing him on the forehead, and presenting him with the golden key as gentleman of the royal bed-chamber. giordano's works in spain. luca giordano resided in spain ten years, and in that time he executed an incredible number of grand frescos, and other works for the royal palaces, churches, and convents, as well as many more for individuals, enough to have occupied an ordinary man a long life. in the short space of two years, he painted in fresco, the stupendous ceiling of the church, and the grand staircase of the escurial; the latter, representing the battle of st. quintin, and the capture of montmorenci, is considered one of his finest works. his next productions were the great saloon in the bueno retiro; the sacristy of the great church at toledo; the ceiling of the royal chapel at madrid, and other important works. after the death of charles ii., he was employed in the same capacity by his successor, philip v. these labors raised his reputation to the highest pitch; he was loaded with riches and favors, and charles conferred upon him the honor of knighthood. giordano at the escurial. whilst giordano was employed at the escurial two doctors of theology were ordered to attend upon him, to answer his questions, and resolve any doubts that might arise as to the orthodox manner of treating his subjects. a courier was despatched every evening to madrid, with a letter from the prior to the king, rendering an account of the artist's day's work; and within the present century, some of these letters were preserved at the escurial. on one occasion he wrote thus, "sire, your giordano has painted this day about twelve figures, thrice as large as life. to these he has added the powers and dominations, with proper angels, cherubs, and seraphs, and clouds to support the same. the two doctors of divinity have not answers ready for all his questions, and their tongues are too slow too keep pace with the speed of his pencil." giordano's habits in spain. giordano was temperate and frugal. he wrought incessantly, and to the scandal of the more devout, was found at his easel, even on days of religious festivals. his daily habit was to paint from eight in the morning, till noon, when he dined and rested two hours. at two he resumed his pencil, and wrought till five or six o'clock. he then took an airing in one of the royal carriages which was placed at his disposal. "if i am idle a single day," he used to say, "my pencils get the better of me; i must keep them in subjection by constant practice." the spanish writers accuse him of avarice, and attribute his intense application to his ambition to acquire a large fortune; that he received large prices for his works, and never spent a maravedi except in the purchase of jewelry, of which he was very fond, and considered a good investment; thus he astonished palomino by showing him a magnificent pearl necklace; but it should be recollected he was in the service of the king, and had a fixed salary, by no means large, which he was entitled to receive whether he wrought or played. he was doubtless better paid for his private commissions, which he could quickly despatch, than for his royal labors. giordano's first pictures painted at madrid. the first work giordano executed in spain was a fine imitation of a picture by bassano, which happened under the following circumstances. the king, during his first interview with the painter, had remarked with regret, that a certain picture in the alcaza, by that master, wanted a companion, giordano secretly procured a frame and a piece of old venetian canvas of the size of the other, and speedily produced a picture, having all the appearance of age and a fine match to the original, and hung it by its side. the king, in his next walk through the gallery, instantly noticed the change with surprise and satisfaction, and learning the story from his courtiers, he approached the artist, and laying his hand on his shoulder, saluted him with "long life to giordano." giordano a favorite at court. no painter, not even titian himself, was more caressed at court, than giordano. not only charles ii., but philip v., delighted to do him honor, and treated him with extraordinary favor and familiarity. his brilliant success is said to have shortened the life of claudio coello, the ablest of his castilian rivals. according to dominici, that painter, jealous of giordano, and desirous of impairing his credit at the court of spain, challenged him to paint in competition with him in the presence of the king, a large composition fifteen palms high, representing the archangel michael vanquishing satan. giordano at once accepted the challenge, and in little more than three hours, produced a work which not only amazed and delighted the royal judge, but confounded poor coello. "look you, man," said the king to the discomfited spaniard, and pointing to luca fa-presto, "there stands the best painter in naples, spain, and the whole world; verily, _he_ is a painter for a king." both charles and queen mariana of neuberg, sat several times to giordano for their portraits. they were never weary of visiting his studio, and took great pleasure in his lively conversation, and exhibitions of artistic skill. one day, the queen questioned him curiously about the personal appearance of his wife, who she had learned was very beautiful. giordano dashed off the portrait of his _cara sposa_, and cut short her interrogation by saying, "here, madame, is your majesty's most humble servant herself," an effort of skill and memory, which struck the queen as something so wonderful as to require a particular mark of her approbation,--she accordingly "sent to the donna margarita a string of pearls from the neck of her most gracious sovereign." giordano would sometimes amuse the royal pair, by laying on his colors with his fingers and thumb, instead of brushes. in this manner, says palomino, he executed a tolerable portrait of don francisco filipin, a feat over which the monarch rejoiced with almost boyish transport. "it seemed to him as if he was carried back to that delightful night when he first saw his beautiful maria louisa dance a saraband at the ball of don pedro of aragon. his satisfaction found vent in a mark of favor which not a little disconcerted the recipient. removing the sculpel which the artist had permission to wear in the royal presence, he kissed him on the crown of the head, pronounced him a prodigy, and desired him to execute in the same digital style, a picture of st. francis of assisi for the queen." charles, on another occasion, complimented the artist, by saying, "if, as a king i am greater than luca, luca as a man wonderfully gifted by god, is greater than myself," a sentiment altogether novel for a powerful monarch of the th century. the queen mother, mariana of austria, was equally an admirer of the fortunate artist. on occasion of his painting for her apartment a picture of the nativity of our lord, she presented him with a rich jewel and a diamond ring of great value, from her own imperial finger. it was thus, doubtless, that he obtained the rich jewels which astonished palomino, and not by purchase. charles ii., dying in , giordano continued for a time in the service of his successor philip v., who treated him with the same marked favor, and commissioned him to paint a series of pictures as a present to his grandfather, louis xiv., of france. giordano's return to naples. the war of succession, however, breaking out, giordano was glad to seize the opportunity of re-returning to his family, on the occasion of the king's visit to naples. he accompanied the court to barcelona, in february, , but as philip delayed his embarkation, he asked and received permission to proceed by land. parting through genoa and florence to rome, he was received everywhere with distinction, and left some pictures in those cities. at rome he had the honor to kiss the feet of clement xi., and was permitted by special favor to enter the papal apartments with his sword at his side, and his spectacles upon his nose. these condescensions he repaid with two large pictures, highly praised, representing the passage of the red sea, and moses striking the rock. on his arrival at naples, he met with the most enthusiastic reception from his fellow-citizens, his renown in spain having made him still more famous at home. commissions poured into him, more than he could execute, and though rich, he does not seem to have relaxed his efforts or his habits of industry, but he did not long survive; he died of a putrid fever in january, , in the d year of his age. giordano's personal appearance and character. in person, luca giordano was of the middle height, and well-proportioned. his complexion was dark, his countenance spare, and chiefly remarkable for the size of its nose, and an expression rather melancholy than joyous. he was, however, a man of ready wit and jovial humor; he was an accomplished courtier, understood the weak points of men that might be touched to advantage, and possessed manners so engaging, that he passed through life a social favorite. his school was always filled with scholars, and as a master he was kind and popular, although, according to palomino, on one occasion he was so provoked that he broke a silver-mounted maul-stick over the head of one of his assistants. greediness of gain seems to have been his besetting sin. he refused no commission that was offered to him, and he despatched them according to the prices he received, saying that "he had three sorts of pencils, made of gold, of silver, and of wood." yet he frequently painted works gratuitously, as pious offerings to the altars of poor churches and convents. giordano's riches. giordano died very rich, leaving , ducats invested in various ways; , ducats worth of jewels; many thousands in ready money, , pounds weight of gold and silver plate, and a fine house full of rich furniture. out of this he founded an entailed estate for his eldest son, lorenzo, and made liberal provisions for his widow, two younger sons and six daughters. his sons and sons-in-law enjoyed several posts conferred on them in the kingdom of naples by the favor of charles ii. giordano's wonderful facility of hand. giordano may be said to have been born with a pencil in his hand, and by constant practice, added to a natural quickness, he acquired that extraordinary facility of hand which, while in his subsequent career, it tended to corrupt art, materially aided his fame and success. he was also indefatigable in his application. bellori says, "he made twelve different designs of the loggia and paintings by raffaelle in the vatican; and twenty after the battle of constantine by giulio romano, besides many after michael angelo, polidoro da caravaggio, and others. the demand for his drawings and sketches was so great, that luca, when obliged to take refreshments, did not retire from his work, but gaping like a young bird, gave notice to his father of the calls of nature, who, always on the watch, instantly supplied him with food, at the same time repeating, _luca, fa presto_. the only principle which his father instilled into his mind was despatch." probably no artist, not even tintoretto, produced so many pictures as giordano. lanzi says, "his facility was not derived wholly from a rapidity of pencil, but was aided by the quickness of his imagination, which enabled him clearly to perceive, from the commencement of the work, the result he intended, without hesitating to consider the component parts, or doubling, proving, and selecting, like other painters." hence giordano was also called, _il proteo della pittura_, and _il falmine della pittura_--the proteus, and the lightning of painting. as an instance of the latter, it is recorded that he painted a picture while his guests were waiting for dinner. giordano's powers of imitation. giordano had the rare talent of being able to imitate the manner of every master so successfully as frequently to deceive the best judges; he could do this also without looking at the originals, the result of a wonderful memory, which retained everything once seen. there are numerous instances of pictures painted by him in the style of albert durer, bassano, titian, and rubens, which are valued in commerce at two or three times the price of pictures in his own style. in the church of s. teresa at naples, are two pictures by him in the style of guido, and there is a holy family at madrid, which mengs says may be easily mistaken for a production of raffaelle. giordano also had several scholars, who imitated his own style with great precision. giordano's fame and reputation. perhaps no artist ever enjoyed a greater share of contemporary fame than luca giordano. possessed of inexhaustible invention, and marvellous facility of hand, which enabled him to multiply his works to any required amount he had the good fortune to hit upon a style which pleased, though it still farther corrupted the declining taste of the age. he despatched a large picture in the presence of cosmo iii., grand duke of florence, in so short a space of time as caused him to exclaim in wonder, "you are fit to be the painter of a sovereign prince." the same eulogium, under similar circumstances, was passed upon him by charles ii. a similar feat at naples, had previously won the admiration and approbation of the viceroy, the marquess de heliche, and laid the foundation of his fortune. it became _the fashion_, to admire everything that came from his prolific pencil, at madrid, as well as at naples. everywhere, his works, good or bad, were received with applause. when it was related as a wonder that giordano painted with his fingers, no angelo was found to observe, "why does not the blockhead use his brush." that giordano was a man of genius, there can be no doubt, but had he executed only a tenth part of the multitude he did, his fame would have been handed down to posterity with much greater lustre. cean bermudez says of his works in spain, "he left nothing that is absolutely bad, and nothing that is perfectly good." his compositions generally bear the marks of furious haste, and they are disfigured in many cases by incongruous associations of pagan mythology with sacred history, and of allegory with history, a blemish on the literature as well as the art of the age. bermudez also accuses him of having corrupted and degraded spanish art, by introducing a new and false style, which his great reputation and royal favoritism, brought into vogue. still, he deserves praise for the great facility of his invention, the force and richness of his coloring, and a certain grandeur of conception and freedom of execution which belong only to a great master. the royal gallery at madrid possesses no less than fifty-five of his pictures, selected from the multitude he left in the various royal palaces. there are also many in the churches. lanzi says, "naples abounds with the works of giordano, both public and private. there is scarcely a church in this great city which does not boast some of his works." remarkable instance of giordano's rapidity of execution. giordano, on his return to naples from florence, established himself in ribera's fine house, opposite the jesuit's church of s. francesco xavier. in he was commissioned by the fathers to paint a large picture for one of the principal altars, and agreed that it should be completed by the approaching festival of the patron saint. giordano, having other engagements on hand, put off the execution of the altar-piece so long, that the jesuits began to be clamorous, and at length appealed to the viceroy to exercise his authority. determined to see for himself how matters stood, that great man paid an unexpected visit to giordano's studio. the painter had barely time to escape by a back door to avoid his wrath, when the marquess de heliche entered, who perceiving that he had not touched the vast canvas with his brush, as suddenly retired, muttering imprecations and menaces. luca's dashing pencil now stood him in good stead. he immediately sketched the outlines of his composition, and setting his disciples to prepare his palettes, he painted all that day and night with so much diligence that by the following afternoon, he was able to announce to the impatient fathers the completion of the picture. the subject was the patron of the church, st. francis xavier, the great jesuit missionary, baptizing the people of japan. he is represented standing on a lofty flight of steps; behind him, in the distance, is a party of zealous converts pulling down the images of their gods, and beneath in the foreground, kneels st. francis borgia in the attitude of prayer. the picture was executed with such boldness and freedom, and excellence of coloring, that at the proper distance it produced a grand and magnificent effect. it was immediately carried to the church, and placed over the destined altar, the day before the appointed festival, and the viceroy whose anger had hardly cooled, invited to inspect it. charmed with the beauty of the work, and amazed by the celerity of its execution, he exclaimed, "the painter of this picture must be either an angel or a demon." giordano received his compliments, and made his own excuses with so much address, that the marquess, forgetting all past offences engaged him to paint in the palace, and passed much of his time by his side, observing his progress, and enjoying his lively conversation. revival of painting in italy. "poetry, painting, and sculpture," says cunningham, "are of the same high order of genius; but, as words provide at once shape and color to our thoughts, poetry has ever led the way in the march of intellect: as material forms are ready made, and require but to be skillfully copied, sculpture succeeded; and as lights and shadows demand science and experience to work them into shape, and endow them with sentiment, painting was the last to rise into elegance and sublimity. in this order these high arts rose in ancient greece; and in the like order they rose in modern italy; but none of them reached true excellence, till the light of knowledge dawned on the human mind, nor before civilization, following in the steps of barbarism, prepared the world for the reception of works of polished grace and tranquil grandeur. "from the swoon into which the fine arts were cast by the overthrow of the roman empire, they were long in waking: all that was learned or lofty was extinguished: of painting, there remained but the memory, and of sculpture, some broken stones, yet smothered in the ruins of temples and cities the rules which gave art its science were lost; the knowledge of colors was passed away, and that high spirit which filled italy and greece with shapes and sentiments allied to heaven, had expired. in their own good time, painting and sculpture arose from the ruins in which they had been overwhelmed, but their looks were altered; their air was saddened; their voice was low, though it was, as it had been in greece, holy, and it called men to the contemplation of works of a rude grace, and a but dawning beauty. these 'sisters-twin' came at first with pale looks and trembling steps, and with none of the confidence which a certainty of pleasing bestows: they came too with few of the charms of the heathen about them: of the scientific unity of proportion, of the modest ease, the graceful simplicity, or the almost severe and always divine composure of greece, they had little or none. but they came, nevertheless, with an original air and character all their own; they spoke of the presence of a loveliness and sentiment derived from a nobler source than pagan inspiration; they spoke of jesus christ and his sublime lessons of peace, and charity, and belief, with which he had preached down the altars and temples of the heathen, and rebuked their lying gods into eternal silence. "though sculpture and painting arose early in italy, and arose with the mantle of the christian religion about them, it was centuries before they were able to put on their full lustre and beauty. for this, various causes may be assigned. . the nations, or rather wild hordes, who ruled where consuls and emperors once reigned, ruled but for a little while, or were continually employed in expeditions of bloodshed and war. . the armed feet of the barbarians had trodden into dust all of art that was elegant or beautiful:--they lighted their camp-fires with the verses of euripides or virgil; they covered their tents with the paintings of protogenes and apelles, and they repaired the breaches in the walls of a besieged city, with the statues of phidias and praxiteles;--the desires of these barbarians were all barbarous. . painting and sculpture had to begin their labors anew; all rules were lost; all examples, particularly of the former, destroyed: men unable, therefore, to drink at the fountains of greece, did not think, for centuries, of striking the rock for themselves. . the christian religion, for which art first wrought, demanded sentiment rather than shape: it was a matter of mind which was wanted: the personal beauty of jesus christ is nowhere insisted upon in all the new testament: the earliest artists, when they had impressed an air of holiness or serenity on their works, thought they had done enough; and it was only when the fears of looking like the heathen were overcome, and a sense of the exquisite beauty of grecian sculpture prevailed, that the geometrical loveliness of the human form found its way into art. it may be added, that no modern people, save the italians alone, seem to share fully in the high sense of the ideal and the poetic, visible in the works of greece. "the first fruits of this new impulse were representations of christ on the cross; of his forerunner, st. john; of his virgin mother; and of his companions, the apostles. our saviour had a meek and melancholy look; the hands of the virgin are held up in prayer; something of the wildness of the wilderness was in the air of st. john, and the twelve apostles were kneeling or preaching. they were all clothed from head to heel; the faces, the hands, and the feet, alone were bare; the sentiment of suffering or rejoicing holiness, alone was aimed at. the artists of the heathen religion wrought in a far different spirit; the forms which they called to their canvas, and endowed with life and beauty, were all, or mostly naked; they saw and felt the symmetry and exquisite harmony of the human body, and they represented it in such elegance, such true simplicity and sweetness, as to render their nude figures the rivals in modesty and innocence of the most carefully dressed. a sense of this excellence of form is expressed by many writers. 'if,' says plato, 'you take a man as he is made by nature, and compare him with another who is the effect of art, the work of nature will always appear the less beautiful, because art is more accurate than nature.' maximus tyrus also says, that 'the image which is taken by a painter from several bodies, produces a beauty which it is impossible to find in any single natural body, approaching to the perfection of the fairest statues.' and cicero informs us, that zeuxis drew his wondrous picture of helen from various models, all the most beautiful that could be found; for he could not find in one body all those perfections, which his idea of that princess required. "so far did the heathens carry their notions of ideal beauty, that they taxed demetrius with being too natural, and dionysius they reproached as but a painter of men. lysippus himself upbraided the ordinary sculptors of his day, for making men such as they were in nature, and boasted of himself, that he made men as they ought to be. phidias copied his statues of jupiter and pallas from forms in his own soul, or those which the muse of homer supplied. seneca seems to wonder, that, the sculptor having never beheld either jove or pallas, yet could conceive their divine images in his mind; and another eminent ancient says, that 'the fancy more instructs the painter than the imitation; for the last makes only the things which it sees, but the first makes also the things which it never sees.' such were also, in the fulness of time and study, the ideas of the most distinguished moderns. alberti tells us, that 'we ought not so much to love the likeness as the beauty, and to choose from the fairest bodies, severally, the fairest parts.' da vinci uses almost the same words, and desires the painter to form the idea for himself; and the incomparable raphael thus writes to castiglione concerning his galatea: 'to paint a fair one, it is necessary for me to see many fair ones; but because there is so great a scarcity of lovely women, i am constrained to make use of one certain idea, which i have formed in my own fancy.' guido reni approaches still closer to the pure ideal of the great christian school of painting, when he wishes for the wings of an angel, to ascend to paradise, and see, with his own eyes, the forms and faces of the blessed spirits, that he might put more of heaven into his pictures. "of the heaven which the great artist wished to infuse into his works, there was but little in painting, when it rose to aid religion in italy. the shape was uncooth, the coloring ungraceful, and there was but the faint dawn of that divine sentiment, which in time elevated roman art to the same eminence as the grecian. yet all that christianity demanded from art, at first, was readily accomplished: fine forms, and delicate hues, were not required for centuries, by the successors of the apostles; a christ on the cross; the virgin lulling her divine babe in her bosom; the miracle of lazarus; the preaching on the mount; the conversion of st. paul; and the ascension--roughly sculptured or coarsely painted, perhaps by the unskilful hands of the christian preachers themselves--were found sufficient to explain to a barbarous people some of the great ruling truths of christianity. these, and such as these, were placed in churches, or borne about by gospel missionaries and were appealed to, when words failed to express the doctrines and mysteries which were required to be taught. such appeals were no doubt frequent, in times when greek and latin ceased to be commonly spoken, and the present languages of europe were shaping themselves, like fruit in the leaf, out of the barbarous dissonance of the wild tongues which then prevailed. these christian preachers, with their emblems and their relics, were listened to by the gothic subverters of the empire of art and elegance, with the more patience and complacency, since they desired not to share in their plunder or their conquests, and opened to them the way to a far nobler kingdom--a kingdom not of this earth. "though abundance of figures of saints were carved, and innumerable madonnas painted throughout italy, in the earlier days of the christian church, they were either literal transcripts of common life, or mechanical copies or imitations of works furnished from the great store looms of the asiatic greeks. there were thousands--nay, tens of thousands of men, who wrote themselves artists, while not one of them had enough of imagination and skill to lift art above the low estate in which the rule and square of mechanical imitation had placed it. niccolo pisano appears to have been the first who, at pisa, took the right way in sculpture: his groups, still in existence, are sometimes too crowded; his figures badly designed, and the whole defective in sentiment; but he gave an impulse--communicated through the antique--to composition, not unperceived by his scholars, who saw with his eyes and wrought with his spirit. the school which he founded produced, soon after, the celebrated ghiberti, whose gates of bronze, embellished with figures, for the church of san giovanni, were pronounced by michael angelo worthy to be the gates of paradise. while the sister art took these large strides towards fame, painting lagged ruefully behind; she had no true models, and she had no true rules; but 'the time and the man' came at last, and this man was giovanni cimabue." giovanni cimabue. this great painter is universally considered the restorer of modern painting. the italians call him "the father of modern painting;" and other nations, "the creator of the italian or epic style of painting." he was born at florence in , of a noble family, and was skilled both in architecture and sculpture. the legends of his own land make him the pupil of giunta; for the men of florence are reluctant to believe that he was instructed in painting by those greek artists who were called in to embellish their city with miracles and madonnas. he soon conquered an education which consisted in reproducing, in exact shape and color, the works of other men: he desired to advance: he went to nature for his forms; he grouped them with a new skill; he bestowed ease on his draperies, and a higher expression on his heads. his talent did not reside in the neat, the graceful, and the lovely; his madonnas have little beauty, and his angels are all of one make: he succeeded best in the heads of the old and the holy, and impressed on them, in spite of the barbarism of his times, a bold sublimity, which few have since surpassed. critics object to the fierceness of his eyes, the want of delicacy in the noses of his figures, and the absence of perspective in his compositions; but they admit that his coloring is bright and vigorous, his conceptions grand and vast, and that he loved the daring and the splendid. nevertheless, a touch of the mechanical greek school, and a rudeness all his own, have been observed in the works of this great painter. his compositions were all of a scriptural or religious kind, such as the church required: kings were his visitors, and the people of florence paid him honors almost divine. cimabue's passion for art. cimabue gave early proof of an accurate judgment and a clear understanding, and his father designed to give him a liberal education, but instead of devoting himself to letters, says vasari, "he consumed the whole day in drawing men, horses, houses, and other various fancies on his books and different papers--an occupation to which he felt himself impelled by nature; and this natural inclination was favored by fortune, for the governors of the city, had invited certain greek painters to florence, for the purpose of restoring the art of painting, which had not merely degenerated, but was altogether lost; those artists, among other works, began to paint the chapel of gondi, situated next to the principal chapel in s. maria novella, where giovanni was being educated, who often escaping from school, and having already made a commencement in the art he was so fond of, would stand watching these masters at their work the day through." vasari goes on to say, that this passion at length induced his father, already persuaded that he had the genius to become a great painter, to place giovanni under the instruction of these greek artists. from this time, he labored incessantly day and night, and aided by his great natural powers, he soon surpassed his teachers. cimabue's famous picture of the virgin. cimabue had already distinguished himself by many works, executed in fresco and distemper for the churches at florence, pisa, and assisi, when he painted his famous picture of the holy virgin for the church of s. maria novella in the former city. this picture was accounted such a wonderful performance by his fellow citizens, that they carried it from the house of cimabue to the church in solemn procession, with sound of trumpets and every demonstration of joy. "it is further reported," says vasari, "that whilst cimabue was painting this picture in a garden near the gate of san pietro, king charles the elder, of anjou, passed through florence, and the authorities of the city, among other marks of respect, conducted him to see the picture of cimabue." this picture, representing the virgin and infant jesus surrounded by angels, larger than life, then so novel, was regarded as such a wonderful performance, that all the people of florence flocked in crowds to admire it, making all possible demonstrations of delight. it still adorns the chapel of the rucellai family in the church of s. maria novella for which it was painted. the heads of the virgin, of the infant jesus, and the angels, are all fine, but the hands are badly drawn; this defect, however, is common with the quattrocentisti, or artists of the th century. the editors of the florentine edition of vasari, commenced in , by an association of learned italians, observe, "this picture, still in fair preservation, is in the chapel of the rucellai family; and whoever will examine it carefully, comparing it, not only with works before the time of cimabue, but also with those painted after him, by the florentine masters, particularly giotto, will perceive that the praises of vasari are justified in every particular." the works of cimabue. some writers assert that the works of cimabue possessed little merit when compared with those of later times; and that the extraordinary applause which he received flowed from an age ignorant of art. it should be recollected, however, that it is much easier to copy or follow, when the path has been marked out, than to invent or discover; and hence that the glorious productions of the "prince of modern painters," form no criterion by which to judge of the merits of those of the "father of modern painters." the former had "the accumulated wisdom of ages" before him, of which he availed himself freely; the latter had nothing worthy of note, but his own talents and the wild field of nature, from which he was the first of the moderns who drew in the spirit of inspiration. "giotto," says vasari, "did obscure the fame of cimabue, as a great light diminishes the splendor of a lesser one; so that, although cimabue may be considered the cause of the restoration of the art of painting, yet giotto, his disciple, impelled by a laudable ambition, and well aided by heaven and nature, was the man, who, attaining to superior elevation of thought, threw open the gate of the true way, to those who afterwards exalted the art to that perfection and greatness which it displays in our own age; when accustomed, as men are, daily to see the prodigies and miracles, nay the _impossibilities_, now performed by artists, they have arrived at such a point, that they no longer marvel at anything accomplished by man, even though it be more divine than human. fortunate, indeed, are artists who now labor, however meritoriously, if they do not incur censure instead of praise; nay, if they can even escape disgrace." it should be recollected that vasari held this language in the days of michael angelo. all the great frescos of cimabue, and most of his easel pictures, have perished. besides the picture of the virgin before mentioned, there is a st. francis in the church of s. croce, an excellent picture of st. cecilia, in that of s. stefano, and a madonna in the convent of s. paolino at florence. there are also two paintings by cimabue in the louvre--the virgin with angels, and the virgin with the infant jesus. others are attributed to him, but their authenticity is very doubtful. death of cimabue. according to vasari, cimabue died in , and was entombed in the church of s. maria del fiore at florence. the following epitaph, composed by one of the nini, was inscribed on his monument: "credidit ut cimabos picturæ castra tenere sic tenuit, vivens, nunc tenet astra poli." it appears, however, from an authentic document, cited by campi, that cimabue was employed in in executing a mosaic picture of st. john, for the cathedral of pisa; and as he left this figure unfinished, it is probable that he did not long survive that year. giotto. this great artist, one of the fathers of modern painting, was born at vespignano, a small town near florence, in . he was the son of a shepherd named bondone, and while watching his father's flocks in the field, he showed a natural genius for art by constantly delineating the objects around him. a sheep which he had drawn upon a flat stone, after nature, attracted the attention of cimabue, who persuaded his father, bondone, to allow him to go to florence, confident that he would be an ornament to the art. giotto commenced by imitating his master, but he quickly surpassed him. a picture of the annunciation, in the possession of the fathers of badia at florence, is one of his earliest works, and manifests a grace and beauty superior to cimabue, though the style is somewhat dry. in his works, symmetry became more chaste, design more pleasing, and coloring softer than before. lanzi says that if cimabue was the michael angelo of that age, giotto was the raffaelle. he was highly honored, and his works were in great demand. he was invited to rome by boniface viii., and afterwards to avignon by clement v. the noble families of verona, milan, ravenna, urbino, and bologna, were eager to possess his works. in , according to vasari, he returned from avignon, and was employed at padua, where he painted the chapel of the nunziata all' arena, divided all around into compartments, each of which represents some scriptural event. lanzi says it is truly surprising to behold, not less on account of its high state of preservation beyond any other of his frescos, than for its graceful expression, and that air of grandeur which giotto so well understood. about he was invited to naples by king robert, to paint the church of s. chiara, which he decorated with subjects from the new testament, and the mysteries of the apocalypse. these, like many of his works, have been destroyed; but there remains a madonna, and several other pictures, in this church. giotto's portraits were greatly admired, particularly for their air of truth and correct resemblance. among other illustrious persons whom he painted, were the poet dante, and clement viii. the portrait of the former was discovered in the chapel of the podesta, now the bargello, at florence, which had for two centuries been covered with whitewash, and divided into cells for prisoners. the whitewash was removed by the painter marini, at the instance of signor bezzi and others, and the portrait discovered in the "gloria" described by vasari. giotto was also distinguished in the art of mosaic, particularly for the famous death of the virgin at florence, greatly admired by michael angelo; also the celebrated navicella, or boat of st. peter, in the portico of the basilica of st. peter's at rome, which is now so mutilated and altered as to leave little of the original design. as an architect, giotto attained considerable eminence, according to milizia, and erected many important edifices, among which is the bell-tower of s. maria del fiore. the thickness of the walls is about ten feet; the height is two hundred and eighty feet. the cornice which supports the parapet is very bold and striking; the whole exterior is of gothic design, inlaid with marble and mosaic, and the work may be considered one of the finest specimens of campanile in italy. giotto's st. francis stigmata in the church of s. francesco at pisa, is a picture by giotto, representing st. francis receiving the stigmata,[a] which is in good preservation, and held in great veneration, not only for the sake of the master, but for the excellence of the work. vasari says, "it represents st. francis, standing on the frightful rocks of la verna; and is finished with extraordinary care. it exhibits a landscape with many trees and precipices, which was a new thing in those times. in the attitude and expression of st. francis, who is on his knees receiving the stigmata, the most eager desire to obtain them is clearly manifest, as well as infinite love towards jesus christ, who, from heaven above, where he is seen surrounded by the seraphim, grants those stigmata to his servant, with looks of such lively affection, that it is not possible to conceive anything more perfect. beneath this picture are three others, also from the life of st. francis, and very beautiful." [footnote a: stigmata, signifies the five wounds of the saviour impressed by himself on the persons of certain saints, male and female, in reward for their sanctity and devotion to the service.] giotto's invitation to rome. boniface viii., desirous of decorating st. peter's church with some paintings, having heard of the extraordinary talents of giotto, despatched one of his courtiers to tuscany, to ascertain the truth, as to his merits, and to procure designs from other artists for his approbation and selection. vasari says, "the messenger, when on his way to visit giotto, and to enquire what other good masters there were in florence, spoke first with many artists in siena--then, having received designs from them, he proceeded to florence, and repaired one morning to the workshop where giotto was occupied with his labors. he declared the purpose of the pope, and the manner in which that pontiff desired to avail himself of his assistance, and finally requested to have a drawing that he might send it to his holiness. giotto, who was very courteous, took a sheet of paper and a pencil dipped in a red color; then resting his elbow on his side to form a sort of compass, with one turn of the hand, he drew a circle so perfect and exact that it was a marvel to behold. this done, he turned smiling to the courtier, saying, 'there is your drawing.' 'am i to have nothing more than this?' enquired the latter, conceiving himself to be jested with. 'that is enough and to spare,' replied giotto, 'send it with the rest, and you will see if it will not be recognized.' the messenger, unable to obtain anything more, went away very ill satisfied, and fearing that he had been fooled. nevertheless, having despatched the other drawings to the pope, with the names of those who had done them, he sent that of giotto also, relating the mode in which he had made his circle, without moving his arm and without compass; from which the pope, and such of the courtiers as were well versed in the subject, perceived how far giotto surpassed all the other painters of his time. this incident becoming known, gave rise to the proverb still used in relation to people of dull wits, 'in sei più tondo che l'o di giotto,' (round as giotto's o,) the significance of which consists in the double meaning of the word _tondo_, which is used in the tuscan for slowness of intellect, and slowness of comprehension, as well as for an exact circle. the proverb besides has an interest from the circumstance which gave it birth." giotto was immediately invited to rome by the pope, who received him with distinction, and commissioned him to paint a large picture in the sacristy of st. peter's, with five others in the church, representing subjects from the life of christ, which gave so much satisfaction to the pontiff, that he commanded gold ducats to be paid to the artist, "besides conferring on him so many favors," says vasari, "that there was talk of them throughout italy." giotto's living model. giotto, about to paint a picture of the crucifixion, induced a poor man to suffer himself to be bound to a cross, under the promise of being set at liberty in an hour, and handsomely rewarded for his pains. instead of this, as soon as giotto had made his victim secure, he seized a dagger, and, shocking to tell, stabbed him to the heart! he then set about painting the dying agonies of the victim to his foul treachery. when he had finished his picture, he carried it to the pope; who was so well pleased with it, that he resolved to place it above the altar of his own chapel. giotto observed, that, as his holiness liked the copy so well, he might perhaps like to see the original. the pope, shocked at the impiety of the idea, uttered an exclamation of surprise. "i mean," added giotto, "i will show you the person whom i employed as my model in this picture, but it must be on condition that your holiness will absolve me from all punishment for the use which i have made of him." the pope promised giotto the absolution for which he stipulated, and accompanied the artist to his workshop. on entering, giotto drew aside a curtain which hung before the dead man, still stretched on the cross, and covered with blood. the barbarous exhibition struck the pontiff with horror; he told giotto he could never give him absolution for so cruel a deed, and that he must expect to suffer the most exemplary punishment. giotto, with seeming resignation, said that he had only one favor to ask, that his holiness would give him leave to finish the piece before he died. the request had too important an object to be denied; the pope readily granted it; and, in the meantime, a guard was set over giotto to prevent his escape. on the painting being replaced in the artist's hands, the first thing he did was to take a brush, and, dipping it into a thick varnish, he daubed the picture all over with it, and then announced that he had finished his task. his holiness was greatly incensed at this abuse of the indulgence he had given, and threatened giotto that he should be put to the most cruel death, unless he painted another picture equal to the one which he had destroyed. "of what avail is your threat," replied giotto, "to a man whom you have doomed to death at any rate?" "but," replied his holiness, "i can revoke that doom." "yes," continued giotto, "but you cannot prevail on me to trust to your verbal promise a second time." "you shall have a pardon under my signet before you begin." on that, a conditional pardon was accordingly made out and given to giotto, who, taking a wet sponge, in a few minutes wiped off the coating with which he had bedaubed the picture, and instead of a copy, restored the original in all its beauty to his holiness. although this story is related by many writers, it is doubtless a gross libel on the fair fame of this great artist, originating with some witless wag, who thought nothing too horrible to impose upon the credulity of mankind. it is discredited by the best authors. a similar fable is related of parrhasius. see the olynthian captive, vol. i. page of this work. giotto and the king of naples. after giotto's return to florence, about , robert, king of naples, wrote to his son charles, king of calabria, who was then in florence, desiring that he would by all means send giotto to him at naples, to decorate the church and convent of santa clara, which he had just completed, and desired to have adorned with noble paintings. giotto readily accepted this flattering invitation from so great and renowned a monarch, and immediately set out to do him service. he was received at naples with every mark of distinction, and executed many subjects from the old and new testaments in the different chapels of the building. it is said that the pictures from the apocalypse, which he painted in one of the chapels, were the inventions of dante; but dante was then dead, and if giotto derived any advantage from him, it must have been from previous discussions on the subject. these works gave the greatest satisfaction to the king, who munificently rewarded the artist, and treated him with great kindness and extraordinary familiarity. vasari says that giotto was greatly beloved by king robert, who delighted to visit him in his painting room, to watch the progress of his work, to hear his remarks, and to hold conversation with him; for giotto had a ready wit, and was always as ready to amuse the monarch with his lively conversation and witty replies as with his pencil. one day the king said to him, "giotto, i will make you the first man in naples," to which giotto promptly replied, "i am already the first man in naples; for this reason it is that i dwell at the porta reale." at another time the king, fearing that he would injure himself by overworking in the hot season, said to him, "giotto, if i were in your place, now that it is so hot, i would give up painting for a time, and take my rest." "and so would i do, certainly," replied giotto, "were i the king of naples." one day the king to amuse himself, desired giotto to _paint his kingdom_. the painter drew an ass carrying a packsaddle loaded with a crown and sceptre, while a similar saddle, also bearing the ensigns of royalty, lay at his feet; these last were all new, and the ass scented them, with an eager desire to change them for those he bore. "what does this signify, giotto?" enquired the king. "such is thy kingdom," replied giotto, "and such thy subjects, who are every day desiring a new lord." giotto and dante. the children of giotto were remarkably ill-favored. dante, one day, quizzed him by asking, "giotto, how is it that you, who make the children of others so beautiful, make your own so ugly?" "ah, my dear friend," replied the painter, "mine were made in the dark." death of giotto. "giotto," says vasari, "having passed his life in the production of so many admirable works, and proved himself a good christian, as well as an excellent painter, resigned his soul to god in the year , not only to the great regret of his fellow citizens, but of all who had known him, or even heard his name. he was honorably entombed, as his high deserts had well merited, having been beloved all his life, but more especially by the learned men of all professions." dante and petrarch were his warm admirers, and immortalized him in their verse. the commentator of dante, who was cotemporary with giotto, says, "giotto was, and is, the most eminent of all the painters of florence, and to this his works bear testimony in rome, naples, avignon, florence, padua, and many other parts of the world." buonamico buffalmacco. the first worthy successor of giotto in the florentine school, was buffalmacco, whose name has been immortalized by boccaccio in his _decameron_, as a man of most facetious character. he executed many works in fresco and distemper, but they have mostly perished. he chiefly excelled in crucifixions and ascensions. he was born, according to vasari, in , and died in , aged ; but baldinucci says that he lived later than . his name is mentioned in the old book of the company of painters, under the date of , (_editors of the florentine edition of vasari_, .). buffalmacco was a merry wag, and a careless spendthrift, and died in the public hospital. buffalmacco and his master. "among the three hundred stories of franco saccheti," says vasari, "we find it related to begin with, what our artist did in his youth--that when buffalmacco was studying with andrea tafi, his master had the habit of rising before daylight when the nights were long, compelling his scholars also to awake and proceed to their work. this provoked buonamico, who did not approve of being aroused from his sweetest sleep. he accordingly bethought himself of finding some means by which andrea might be prevented from rising so early, and soon found what he sought." now it happened that tafi was a very superstitious man, believing that demons and hobgoblins walked the earth at their pleasure. buffalmacco, having caught about thirty large beetles, he fastened to the back of each, by means of small needles, a minute taper, which he lighted, and sent them one by one into his master's room, through a crack in the door, about the time he was accustomed to rise and summon him to his labors. tafi seeing these strange lights wandering about his room, began to tremble with fright, and repeated his prayers and exorcisms, but finding they produced no effect on the apparitions, he covered his head with the bed clothes, and lay almost petrified with terror till daylight. when he rose he enquired of buonamico, if "he had seen more than a thousand demons wandering about his room, as he had himself in the night?" buonamico replied that he had seen nothing, and wondered he had not been called to work. "call thee to work!" exclaimed the master, "i had other things to think of besides painting, and am resolved to stay in this house no longer;" and away he ran to consult the parish priest, who seems to have been as superstitious as the poor painter himself. when tafi discoursed of this strange affair with buonamico, the latter told him that he had been taught to believe that the demons were the greatest enemies of god, consequently they must be the most deadly adversaries of painters. "for," said he, "besides that we always make them most hideous, we think of nothing but painting saints, both men and women, on walls and pictures, which is much worse, since we thereby render men better and more devout to the great despite of the demons; and for all this, the devils being angry with us, and having more power by night than by day, they play these tricks upon us. i verily believe too, that they will get worse and worse, if this practice of rising to work in the night be not discontinued altogether." buffalmacco then advised his master to make the experiment, and see whether the devils would disturb him if he did not work at night. tafi followed this advice for a short time, and the demons ceased to disturb him; but forgetting his fright, he began to rise betimes, as before, and to call buffalmacco to his work. the beetles then recommenced their wanderings, till tafi was compelled by his fears and the earnest advice of the priest to desist altogether from that practice. "nay," says vasari, "the story becoming known through the city, produced such an effect that neither tafi, nor any other painter dared for a long time to work at night." another laughable story is related of buffalmacco's ingenuity to rid himself of annoyance. soon after he left tafi, he took apartments adjoining those occupied by a man who was a penurious old simpleton, and compelled his wife to rise long before daylight to commence work at her spinning wheel. the old woman was often at her wheel, when buonamico retired to bed from his revels. the buzz of the instrument put all sleep out of the question; so the painter resolved to put a stop to this annoyance. having provided himself with a long tube, and removed a brick next to the chimney, he watched his opportunity, and blew salt into their soup till it was spoiled. he then succeeded in making them believe that it was the work of demons, and to desist from such early rising. whenever the old woman touched her wheel before daylight, the soup was sure to be spoiled, but when she was allowed reasonable rest, it was fresh and savory. buffalmacco and the nuns of the convent of faenza. soon after buffalmacco left his master, he was employed by the nuns of faenza to execute a picture for their convent. the subject was the slaughter of the innocents. while the work was in progress, those ladies some times took a peep at the picture through the screen he had raised for its protection. "now buffalmacco," says vasari, "was very eccentric and peculiar in his dress, as well as manner of living, and as he did not always wear the head-dress and mantle usual at the time, the nuns remarked to their intendant, that it did not please them to see him appear thus in his doublet; but the steward found means to pacify them, and they remained silent on the subject for some time. at length, however, seeing the painter always accoutred in like manner, and fancying that he must be some apprentice, who ought to be merely grinding colors, they sent a messenger to buonamico from the abbess, to the effect, that they would like to see the master sometimes at the work, and not always himself. to this buffalmacco, who was very pleasant in manner, replied, that as soon as the master came to the work he would let them know of his arrival; for he perceived clearly how the matter stood. thereupon, he placed two stools, one on the other, with a water-jar on the top; on the neck of the jar he set a cap, which was supported by the handle; he then arranged a long mantle carefully around the whole, and securing a pencil within the mouth, on that side of the jar whence the water is poured, he departed. the nuns, returning to examine the work through the hole which they had made in the screen, saw the supposed master in full robes, when, believing him to be working with all his might, and that he would produce a very different kind of thing from any that his predecessor in the jacket could accomplish, they went away contented, and thought no more of the matter for some days. at length, they were desirous of seeing what fine things the master had done, and at the end of a fortnight (during which buffalmacco had never set foot within the place), they went by night, when they concluded that he would not be there, to see his work. but they were all confused and ashamed, when one, bolder than the rest, approached near enough to discover the truth respecting this solemn master, who for fifteen days had been so busy doing nothing. they acknowledged, nevertheless, that they had got but what they merited--the work executed by the painter in the jacket being all that could be desired. the intendant was therefore commanded to recall buonamico, who returned in great glee and with many a laugh, to his labor, having taught these good ladies the difference between a man and a water-jug, and shown them that they should not always judge the works of men by their vestments." buffalmacco and the nuns' wine. buffalmacco executed an historical painting for the nuns, which greatly pleased them, every part being excellent in their estimation, except the faces, which they thought too pale and wan. buonamico, knowing that they kept the very best vernaccia (a kind of delicious tuscan wine, kept for the uses of the mass) to be found in florence, told his fair patrons, that this defect could only be remedied by mixing the colors with good vernaccia, but that when the cheeks were touched with colors thus tempered, they would become rosy and life-like enough. "the good ladies," says vasari, "believing all he said, kept him supplied with the very best vernaccia during all the time that his labors lasted, and he joyously swallowing this delicious nectar, found color enough on his palette to give his faces the fresh rosiness they so much desired." bottari says, that buonamico, on one occasion, was surprised by the nuns, while drinking the vernaccia, when he instantly spirted what he had in his mouth on the picture, whereby they were fully satisfied; if they cut short his supply, his pictures looked pale and lifeless, but the vernaccia always restored them to warmth and beauty. the nuns were so much pleased with his performances that they employed him a long time, and he decorated their whole church with his own hand, representing subjects from the life of christ, all extremely well executed. buffalmacco, bishop guido, and his monkey. "in the year ," says vasari, "buffalmacco was invited to assisi, where, in the church of san francesco, he painted in fresco the chapel of santa caterina, with stories taken from her life. these paintings are still preserved, and many figures in them are well worthy of praise. having finished this chapel, buonamico was passing through arezzo, when he was detained by the bishop guido, who had heard that he was a cheerful companion, as well as a good painter, and who wished him to remain for a time in that city, to paint the chapel of the episcopal church, where the baptistery now is. buonamico began the work, and had already completed the greater part of it, when a very curious circumstance occurred; and this, according to franco sacchetti, who relates it among his three hundred stories, was as follows. the bishop had a large ape, of extraordinary cunning, the most sportive and mischievous creature in the world. this animal sometimes stood on the scaffold, watching buonamico at his work, and giving a grave attention to every action: with his eyes constantly fixed on the painter, he observed him mingle his colors, handle the various flasks and tools, beat the eggs for his paintings in distemper--all that he did, in short; for nothing escaped the creature's observation. one saturday evening, buffalmacco left his work; and on the sunday morning, the ape, although fastened to a great log of wood, which the bishop had commanded his servants to fix to his foot, that he might not leap about at his pleasure, contrived, in despite of the weight, which was considerable, to get on the scaffold where buonamico was accustomed to work. here he fell at once upon the vases which held the colors, mingled them all together, beat up whatever eggs he could find, and, plunging the pencils into this mixture, he daubed over every figure, and did not cease till he had repainted the whole work with his own hand. having done that, he mixed all the remaining colors together, and getting down from the scaffold, he went his way. when monday morning came, buffalmacco returned to his work; and, finding his figures ruined, his vessels all heaped together, and every thing turned topsy-turvy, he stood amazed in sore confusion. finally, having considered the matter within himself, he arrived at the conclusion that some aretine, moved by jealousy, or other cause, had worked the mischief he beheld. proceeding to the bishop, he related what had happened, and declared his suspicions, by all which that prelate was greatly disturbed; but, consoling buonamico as best he could, he persuaded him to return to his labors, and repair the mischief. bishop guido, thinking him nevertheless likely to be right, his opinion being a very probable one, gave him six soldiers, who were ordered to remain concealed on the watch, with drawn weapons, during the master's absence, and were commanded to cut down any one, who might be caught in the act, without mercy. the figures were again completed in a certain time; and one day as the soldiers were on guard, they heard a strange kind of rolling sound in the church, and immediately after saw the ape clamber up to the scaffold and seize the pencils. in the twinkling of an eye, the new master had mingled his colors; and the soldiers saw him set to work on the saints of buonamico. they then summoned the artist, and showing him the malefactor, they all stood watching the animal at his operations, being in danger of fainting with laughter, buonamico more than all; for, though exceedingly disturbed by what had happened, he could not help laughing till the tears ran down his cheeks. at length he betook himself to the bishop, and said: 'my lord, you desire to have your chapel painted in one fashion, but your ape chooses to have it done in another.' then, relating the story, he added: 'there was no need whatever for your lordship to send to foreign parts for a painter, since you had the master in your house; but perhaps he did not know exactly how to mix the colors; however, as he is now acquainted with the method, he can proceed without further help; i am no longer required here, since we have discovered his talents, and will ask no other reward for my labors, but your permission to return to florence.' hearing all this, the bishop, although heartily vexed, could not restrain his laughter; and the rather, as he remembered that he who was thus tricked by an ape, was himself the most incorrigible trickster in the world. however, when they had talked and laughed over this new occurrence to their hearts' content, the bishop persuaded buonamico to remain; and the painter agreed to set himself to work for the third time, when the chapel was happily completed. but the ape, for his punishment, and in expiation of the crimes he had committed, was shut up in a strong wooden cage, and fastened on the platform where buonamico worked; there he was kept till the whole was finished; and no imagination could conceive the leaps and flings of the creature thus enclosed in his cage, nor the contortions he made with his feet, hands, muzzle, and whole body, at the sight of others working, while he was not permitted to do anything." buffalmacco's trick on the bishop of arezzo. "when the works of the chapel before mentioned, were completed, the bishop ordered buonamico--either for a jest, or for some other cause--to paint, on one of the walls of his palace, an eagle on the back of a lion, which the bird had killed. the crafty painter, having promised to do all that the bishop desired, caused a stout scaffolding and screen of wood-work to be made before the building, saying that he could not be seen to paint such a thing. thus prepared, and shut up alone within his screen, buonamico painted the direct contrary of what the bishop had required--a lion, namely, tearing an eagle to pieces; and, having painted the picture, he requested permission from the bishop to repair to florence, for the purpose of seeking certain colors needful to his work. he then locked up the scaffold, and departed to florence, resolving to return no more to the bishop. but the latter, after waiting some time, and finding that the painter did not reappear, caused the scaffolding to be taken down, and discovered that buonamico had been making a jest of him. furious at this affront, guido condemned the artist to banishment for life from his dominions; which, when buonamico learnt, he sent word to the bishop that he might do his worst, whereupon the bishop threatened him with fearful consequences. yet considering afterwards that he had been tricked, only because he had intended to put an affront upon the painter, bishop guido forgave him, and even rewarded him liberally for his labors. nay, buffalmacco was again invited to arezzo, no long time after, by the same prelate, who always treated him as a valued servant and familiar friend, confiding many works in the old cathedral to his care, all of which, unhappily, are now destroyed. buonamico also painted the apsis of the principal chapel in the church of san giustino in arezzo." in the notes of the roman and other earlier editions of vasari, we are told that the lion being the insignia of florence, and the eagle, that of arezzo, the bishop designed to assert his own superiority over the former city, he being lord of arezzo; but later commentators affirm, that guido, being a furious ghibelline, intended rather to offer an affront to the guelfs, by exalting the eagle, which was the emblem of his party, over the lion, that of the guelfs. origin of label painting. buffalmacco is generally considered the inventor of label painting, or the use of a label drawn from the mouth to represent it speaking; but it was practiced by cimabue, and probably long before his time, in italy. pliny tells us that it was practiced by the early greek painters. vasari says that buffalmacco was invited to pisa, where he painted many pictures in the abbey of st. paul, on the banks of the arno, which then belonged to the monks of vallambrosa. he covered the entire surface of the church, from the roof to the floor, with histories from the old testament, beginning with the creation of man and continuing to the building of the tower of babel. in the church of st. anastasia, he also painted certain stories from the life of that saint, "in which," says vasari, "are very many beautiful costumes and head-dresses of women, painted with a charming grace of manner." bruno de giovanni, the friend and pupil of buonamico, was associated with him in this work. he too, is celebrated by boccaccio, as a man of joyous memory. when the stories on the façade were finished, bruno painted in the same church, an altar-piece of st. ursula, with her company of virgins. in one hand of the saint, he placed a standard bearing the arms of pisa--a white cross on a field of red; the other is extended towards a woman, who, climbing between two rocks, has one foot in the sea, and stretches out both hands towards the saint, in the act of supplication. this female form represents pisa. she bears a golden horn upon her head, and wears a mantle sprinkled over with circlets and eagles. being hard pressed by the waves, she earnestly implores succor of the saint. while employed on this work, bruno complained that his faces had not the life and expression which distinguished those of buonamico, when the latter, in his playful manner, advised him to paint words proceeding from the mouth of the woman supplicating the saint, and in like manner those proceeding from the saint in reply. "this," said the wag, "will make your figures not only life-like, but even eloquently expressive." bruno followed this advice; "and this method," says vasari, "as it pleased bruno and other dull people of that day, so does it equally satisfy certain simpletons of our own, who are well served by artists as commonplace as themselves. it must, in truth, be allowed to be an extraordinary thing that a practice thus originating in jest, and in no other way, should have passed into general use; insomuch that even a great part of the campo santo, decorated by much esteemed masters, is full of this absurdity." this picture is now in the academy of the fine arts at pisa. utility of ancient works. the works of buffalmacco greatly pleased the good people of pisa, who gave him abundant employment; yet he and his boon companion bruno, merrily squandered all they had earned, and returned to florence, as poor as when they left that city. here they also found plenty of work. they decorated the church of s. maria novella with several productions which were much applauded, particularly the martyrdom of st. maurice and his companions, who were decapitated for their adherence to the faith of christ. the picture was designed by buonamico, and painted by bruno, who had no great power of invention or design. it was painted for guido campere, then constable of florence, whose portrait was introduced as st. maurice.--the martyrs are led to execution by a troop of soldiers, armed in the ancient manner, and presenting a very fine spectacle. "this picture," says vasari, "can scarcely be called a very fine one, but it is nevertheless worthy of consideration as well for the design and invention of buffalmacco, as for the variety of vestments, helmets, and other armor used in those times; and from which i have myself derived great assistance in certain historical paintings, executed for our lord, the duke cosmo, wherein it was necessary to represent men armed in the ancient manner, with other accessories belonging to that period; and his illustrious excellency, as well as all else who have seen these works, have been greatly pleased with them; whence we may infer the valuable assistance to be obtained from the inventions and performances of the old master, and the mode in which great advantages may be derived from them, even though they may not be altogether perfect; for it is these artists who have opened the path to us, and led the way to all the wonders performed down to the present time, and still being performed even in these of our days." buffalmacco and the countryman. while buonamico was employed at florence, a countryman came and engaged him to paint a picture of st. christopher for his parish church; the contract was, that the figure should be twelve braccia in length,[b] and the price eight florins. but when the painter proceeded to look at the church for which the picture was ordered, he found it but nine braccia high, and the same in length; therefore, as he was unable to paint the saint in an upright position he represented him reclining, bent the legs at the knees, and turned them up against the opposite wall. when the work was completed, the countryman declared that he had been cheated, and refused to pay for it. the matter was then referred to the authorities, who decided that buffalmacco had performed his contract, and ordered the stipulated payment to be made. [footnote b: the braccio, (arm, cubit) is an italian measure which varies in length, not only in different parts of italy, but also according to the thing measured. in parma, for example, the braccio for measuring silk is inches, for woolens and cottons and a fraction, while that for roads and buildings is only. in siena, the braccio for cloth is inches, while in florence it is , and in milan it is inches, english measure.] the writer of these pages, in his intercourse with artists, has met with incidents as comical as that just related of buonamico. some artists proceed to paint without having previously designed, or even sketched out their subject on the canvass. we know an artist, who painted a fancy portrait of a child, in a landscape, reclining on a bank beside a stream; but when he had executed the landscape, and the greater part of the figure, he found he had not room in his canvass to get the feet in; so he turned the legs up in such a manner, as to give the child the appearance of being in great danger of sliding into the water. we greatly offended the painter by advising him to drive a couple of stakes into the bank to prevent such a catastrophe. another artist, engaged in painting a full-length portrait, found, when he had got his picture nearly finished, that his canvass was at least four inches too short. "what shall i do," said the painter to a friend, "i have not room for the feet." "cover them up with green grass," was the reply. "but my background represents an interior." "well, hay will do as well." "confound your jokes; a barn is a fine place to be sure for fine carpets, fine furniture, and a fine gentleman. i'll tell you what i'll do; i'll place one foot on this stool, and hide the other beneath this chair." he did so, but the figure looked all body and no legs, and the sitter refused to take the portrait. buffalmacco and the people of perugia. the perugians engaged buonamico to decorate their market-place with a picture of the patron saint of the city. having erected an enclosure of planks and matting, that he might not be disturbed in his labors, the painter commenced his operations. ten days had scarcely elapsed before every one who passed by enquired with eager curiosity, "when the picture would be finished?" as though they thought such works could be cast in a mould. buffalmacco, wearied and disgusted at their impatient outcries, resolved on a bit of revenge. therefore, keeping the work still enclosed, he admitted the perugians to examine it, and when they declared themselves satisfied and delighted with the performance, and wished to remove the planks and matting, buonamico requested that they would permit them to remain two days longer as he wished to retouch certain parts when the painting was fully dry. this was agreed to; and buonamico instantly mounting his scaffold, removed the great gilt diadem from the head of the saint, and replaced it with a coronet of gudgeons. this accomplished, he paid his host, and set off to florence. two days having past, and the perugians not seeing the painter going about as they were accustomed to do, inquired of his host what had become of him, and learning that he had left the city, they hastened to remove the screen that concealed the picture, when they discovered their saint solemnly crowned with gudgeons. their rage now knew no bounds, and they instantly despatched horsemen in pursuit of buonamico,--but in vain--the painter having found shelter in florence. they then set an artist of their own to remove the crown of fishes and replace the gilded diadem, consoling themselves for the affront, by hurling maledictions at the head of buonamico and every other florentine. buffalmacco's novel method of enforcing payment. buffalmacco painted a fresco at calcinaia, representing the virgin with the child in her arms. but the man for whom it was executed, only made fair promises in place of payment. buonamico was not a man to be trifled with or made a tool of; therefore, he repaired early one morning to calcinaia, and turned the child in the arms of the holy virgin into a young bear. the change being soon discovered, caused the greatest scandal, and the poor countryman for whom it was painted, hastened to the painter, and implored him to remove the cub and replace the child as before, declaring himself ready to pay all demands. this buonamico agreed to do on being paid for the first and second painting, which last was only in water colors, when with a wet sponge, he immediately restored the picture to its peristine beauty. the editors of the florentine edition of vasari, ( ) say that "in a room of the priory of calcinaia, are still to be seen the remains of a picture on the walls, representing the madonna with the child in her arms, and other saints, evidently a work of the th century; and a tradition preserved to this day, declares that painting to be the one alluded to by our author." stefano fiorentino. this old florentine painter was born in . he was the grandson and disciple of giotto, whom, according to vasari, he greatly excelled in every department of art. from his close imitations of nature, he was called by his fellow citizens, "stefano the ape," (ape of nature.) he was the first artist who attempted to show the naked under his draperies, which were loose, easy, and delicate. he established the rules of perspective, little known at that early period, on more scientific principles. he was the first who attempted the difficult task of foreshortening. he also succeeded better than any of his cotemporaries in giving expression to his heads, and a less gothic turn to his figures. he acquired a high reputation, and executed many works, in fresco and distemper, for the churches and public edifices of florence, rome, and other cities, all of which have perished, according to lanzi, except a picture of the virgin and infant christ in the campo santo at pisa. he died in . giottino. tommaso stefano, called ii giottino, the son and scholar of stefano fiorentino, was born at florence in . according to vasari, he adhered so closely to the style of giotto, that the good people of florence called him giottino, and averred that the soul of his great ancestor had transmigrated and animated him. there are some frescoes by him, still preserved at assissi, and a dead christ with the virgin and st. john, in the church of s. remigio at florence, which so strongly partake of the manner of giotto as to justify the name bestowed upon him by his fellow citizens. he died in the flower of his life at florence in . paolo uccello. this old painter was born at florence in , and was a disciple of antonio veneziano. his name was mazzocchi, but being very celebrated as a painter of animals, and especially so of birds, of which last he formed a large collection of the most curious, he was called uccello (bird). he was one of the first painters who cultivated perspective. before his time buildings had not a true point of perspective, and figures appeared sometimes as if falling or slipping off the canvass. he made this branch so much his hobby, that he neglected other essential parts of the art. to improve himself he studied geometry with giovanni manetti, a celebrated mathematician. he acquired great distinction in his time and some of his works still remain in the churches and convents of florence. in the church of s. maria novella are several fresco histories from the old testament, which he selected for the purpose of introducing a multitude of his favorite objects, beasts and birds; among them, are adam and eve in paradise, noah entering the ark, the deluge, &c. he painted battles of lions, tigers, serpents, &c, with peasants flying in terror from the scene of combat. he also painted landscapes with figures, cattle and ruins, possessing so much truth and nature, that lanzi says "he may be justly called the bassano of his age." he was living in . vasari places his birth in - , and his death in , but later writers have proved his dates to be altogether erroneous. uccello's enthusiasm. "paolo uccello employed himself perpetually and without any intermission," says vasari, "in the consideration of the most difficult questions connected with art, insomuch that he brought the method of preparing the plans and elevations of buildings, by the study of linear perspective, to perfection. from the ground plan to the cornice, and summit of the roof, he reduced all to strict rules, by the convergence of intersecting lines, which he diminished towards the centre, after having fixed the point of view higher or lower, as seemed good to him; he labored, in short, so earnestly in these difficult matters that he found means, and fixed rules, for making his figures really to seem standing on the plane whereon they were placed; not only showing how in order manifestly to draw back or retire, they must gradually be diminished, but also giving the precise manner and degree required for this, which had previously been done by chance, or effected at the discretion of the artist, as he best could. he also discovered the method of turning the arches and cross-vaulting of ceilings, taught how floors are to be foreshortened by the convergence of the beams; showed how the artist must proceed to represent the columns bending round the sharp corners of a building, so that when drawn in perspective, they efface the angle and cause it to seem level. to pore over all these matters, paolo would remain alone, almost like a hermit, shut up in his house for weeks and months without suffering himself to be approached." uccello and the monks of san miniato. uccello was employed to decorate one of the cloisters of the monastery of san miniato, situated without the city of florence, with subjects from the lives of the holy fathers. while he was engaged on these works, the monks gave him scarcely anything to eat but cheese, of which the painter soon became tired, and being shy and timid, he resolved to go no more to work in the cloister. the prior sent to enquire the cause of his absence, but when paolo heard the monks asking for him, he would never be at home, and if he chanced to meet any of the brothers of that order in the street, he gave them a wide berth. this extraordinary conduct excited the curiosity of the monks to such a degree that one day, two of the brothers, more swift of foot than the rest, gave chase to paolo, and having, cornered him, demanded why he did not come to finish the work according to his agreement, and wherefore he fled at the sight of one of their body. "faith," replied the painter, "you have so murdered me, that i not only run away from you, but dare not stop near the house of any joiner, or even pass by one; and all this owing to the bad management of your abbot; for, what with his cheese-pies, and cheese-soup, he has made me swallow such a mountain of cheese, that i am all turned into cheese myself, and tremble lest the carpenters should seize me, to make their glue of me; of a certainty had i stayed any longer with you, i should be no more paolo, but a huge lump of cheese." the monks, bursting with laughter, went their way, and told the story to their abbot, who at length prevailed on uccello to return to his work on condition that he would order him no more dishes made of cheese. uccello's five portraits. uccello was a man of very eccentric character and peculiar habits; but he was a great lover of art, and applauded those who excelled in any of its branches. he painted the portraits of five distinguished men, in one oblong picture, that he might preserve their memory and features to posterity. he kept it in his own house, as a memorial of them, as long as he lived. in the time of vasari, it was in the possession of giuliano da sangallo. at the present day, (editor's florentine edition of vasari, ) all trace of this remarkable picture is lost. the first of these portraits was that of the painter giotto, as one who had given new light and life to art; the second, fillippo brunelleschi, distinguished for architecture; the third, donatello, eminent for sculpture; the fourth, uccello himself, for perspective and animals; and the fifth was his friend giovanni manetti, for the mathematics. uccello's incredulity of st. thomas. it is related, says vasari, of this master, that being commissioned to paint a picture of st. thomas seeking the wound in the side of christ, above the door of the church dedicated to that saint, in the mercato vecchio, he declared that he would make known in that work, the extent of what he had acquired and was capable of producing. he accordingly bestowed upon it the utmost care and consideration, and erected an enclosure around the place that he might not be disturbed until it should be completed. one day, his friend donatello met him, and asked him, "what kind of work is this of thine, that thou art shutting up so closely?" paolo replied, "thou shalt see it some day; let that suffice thee." donatello would not press him, thinking that when the time came, he should, as usual, behold a miracle of art. it happened one morning, as he was in the mercato vecchio, buying fruit, he saw paolo uncovering his picture, and saluting him courteously, the latter anxiously demanded what he thought of his work. donatello having examined the painting very closely, turned to the painter with a disappointed look, and said, "why, paolo, thou art uncovering thy picture at the very moment when thou shouldst be shutting it up from the sight of all!" these words so grievously afflicted the painter, who at once perceived that he would be more likely to incur derision from his boasted master-piece, than the honor he had hoped for, that he hastened home and shut himself up, devoting himself to the study of perspective, which, says vasari, kept him in poverty and depression till the day of his death. if this story be true, uccello must have painted the picture referred to in his old age. the italian schools of painting. the fame and success of cimabue and giotto, brought forth painters in abundance, and created schools all over italy. the church increasing in power and riches, called on the arts of painting and sculpture, to add to the beauty and magnificence of her sanctuaries; riches and honors were showered on men whose genius added a new ray of grace to the madonna, or conferred a diviner air on st. peter or st. paul; and as much of the wealth of christendom found its way to rome, the successors of the apostles were enabled to distribute their patronage over all the schools of italy. lanzi reckons fourteen schools of painting in italy, each of which is distinguished by some peculiar characteristics, as follows: , the florentine school; , the sienese school; , the roman school; , the neapolitan school; , the venetian school; , the mantuan school; , the modenese school; , the school of parma; , the school of cremona; , the school of milan; , the school of bologna; , the school of ferrara; , the school of genoa; , the school of piedmont. of these, the florentine, the roman, and the bolognese are celebrated for their epic grandeur of composition; that of siena for its poetic taste; that of naples for its fire; and that of venice for the splendor of its coloring. other writers make different divisions, according to style or country; thus, correggio, being by birth a lombard, and the originator of a new style, the name of the lombard school has been conferred by many upon the followers of his maxims, the characteristics of which are contours drawn round and full, the countenances warm and smiling, the union of the colors clear and strong, and the foreshortenings frequent, with a particular attention to the chiaro-scuro. others again, rank the artists of milan, mantua parma, modena, and cremona, under the one head of the lombard school; but lanzi justly makes the distinctions before mentioned, because their manners are very different. writers of other nations rank all these subdivisions under one head--the italian school. lanzi again divides these schools into epochs, as they rose from their infancy, to their greatest perfection, and again declined into mannerism, or servile imitation, or as eminent artists rose who formed an era in art. thus writers speak of the schools of lionardo da vinci, of michael angelo, of raffaelle, of correggio, of titian, of the caracci, and of every artist who acquired a distinguished reputation, and had many followers. several great artists formed such a marked era in their schools, that their names and those of their schools are often used synonymously by many writers; thus, when they speak of the roman school, they mean that of raffaelle; of the florentine, that of michael angelo; of parma or lombardy, that of correggio; of bologna, that of the caracci; but not so of the venetian and neapolitan schools, because the venetian school produced several splendid colorists, and that of naples as many, distinguished by other peculiarities. these distinctions should be borne in mind in order rightly to understand writers, especially foreigners, on italian art. claude joseph vernet. claude joseph vernet, the father of carl vernet, and the grandfather of horace, was born at avignon in . he was the son of antoine vernet, an obscure painter, who foretold that he would one day render his family illustrious in art, and gave him every advantage that his limited means would permit. such were the extraordinary talents he exhibited almost in his infancy, that his father regarded him as a prodigy, and dreaming of nothing but seeing him become the greatest historical painter of the age, he resolved to send him to rome; and having, by great economy, saved a few louis d'or, he put them into joseph's pocket, when he was about eighteen years of age, and sent him off with a wagoner, who undertook to conduct him to marseilles. vernet's precocity. the wonderful stories told about the early exhibitions of genius in many celebrated painters are really true with respect to joseph vernet. in his infancy, he exhibited the most extraordinary passion for painting. he himself has related, that on his return from italy, his mother gave him some drawings which he had executed at the age of five years, when he was rewarded by being allowed to use the pencils he had tried to purloin. before he was fifteen, he painted frieze-panels, fire-screens, coach-panels, sedan chair-panels, and the like, whenever he could get a commission; he also gave proof of that facility of conceiving and executing, which was one of the characteristics of his genius. vernet's enthusiasm. it has been before stated that vernet's father intended him for an historical painter, but nature formed his genius to imitate her sweetest, as well as most terrible aspect. when he was on his way to marseilles, he met with so many charming prospects, that he induced his companion to halt so often while he sketched them, that it took them a much longer time to reach that port than it would otherwise have done. when he first saw the sea from the high hill, called la viste, near marseilles, he stood wrapt in admiration. before him stretched the blue waters of the mediterranean as far as the eye could reach, while three islands, a few leagues from the shore, seemed to have been placed there on purpose to break the uniformity of the immense expanse of waters, and to gratify the eye; on his right rose a sloping town of country houses, intersected with trees, rising above one another on successive terraces; on his left was the little harbor of mastigues; in front, innumerable vessels rocked to and fro in the harbor of marseilles, while the horizon was terminated by the picturesque tower of bouc, nearly lost, however, in the distance. this scene made a lasting impression on vernet. nature seemed not only to invite, but to woo him to paint marine subjects, and from that moment his vocation was decided on. thus nature frequently instructs men of genius, and leads them on in the true path to excellence and renown. like the Æolian harp, which waits for a breath of air to produce a sound, so they frequently wait or strive in vain, till nature strikes a sympathetic chord, that vibrates to the soul. thus joseph vernet never thought of his forte till he first stood on la viste; and after that, he was nothing but a painter of ships and harbors, and tranquil seas, till the day when lashed to the mast, he first beheld the wild sea in such rude commotion, as threatened to engulf the noble ship and all on board at every moment. then his mind was elevated to the grandeur of the scene; and he recollected forever the minutest incident of the occasion. "it was on going from marseilles to rome," says one of his biographers, m. pitra, "that joseph vernet, on seeing a tempest gathering, when they were off the island of sardinia, was seized, not with terror, but with admiration; in the midst of the general alarm, the painter seemed really to relish the peril; his only desire was to face the tempest, and to be, so to say, mixed up with it, in order that, some day or other, he might astonish and frighten others by the terrible effects he would learn to produce; his only fear was that he might lose the sight of a spectacle so new to him. he had himself lashed to the main mast, and while he was tossed about in every direction, saturated with seawater, and excited by this hand-to-hand struggle with his model, he painted the tempest, not on his canvass, but in his memory, which never forgot anything. he saw and remembered all--clouds, waves, and rock, hues and colors, with the motion of the boats and the rocking of the ship, and the accidental light which intersected a slate-colored sky that served as a ground to the whiteness of the sea-foam." but, according to d'argenville and others, this event occurred in , when he was on his way to paris, at the invitation of louis xv. embarking at leghorn in a small felucca, he sailed to marseilles. a violent storm happened on the voyage, which greatly terrified some of the passengers, but vernet, undaunted, and struck with the grandeur of the scene, requested the sailors to lash him to the mast head, and there he remained, absorbed in admiration, and endeavoring to transfer to his sketch-book, a correct picture of the sublime scene with which he was surrounded. his grandson, horace vernet, painted an excellent picture of this scene, which was exhibited in the louvre in , and attracted a great deal of attention. vernet at rome. vernet arrived at rome in , and became the scholar of bernardino fergioni, then a celebrated marine painter, but lanzi says, "he was soon eclipsed by joseph vernet, who had taken up his abode at rome." entirely unknown in that metropolis of art, always swarming with artists, vernet lived for several years in the greatest poverty, subsisting by the occasional sale of a drawing or picture at any price he could get. he even painted panels for coach builders, which were subsequently sawed out and sold as works of great value. fiorillo relates that he painted a superb marine for a suit of coarse clothes, which brought francs at the sale of m. de julienne. finding large pictures less saleable, he painted small ones, which he sold for two sequins a-piece, till a cardinal, one day gave him four louis d'or for a marine. yet his ardor and enthusiasm were unabated; on the contrary, he studied with the greatest assiduity, striving to perfect himself in his art, and feeling confident that his talents would ultimately command a just reward. vernet's "alphabet of tones." it was the custom of vernet to rise with the lark, and he often walked forth before dawn and spent the whole day in wandering about the surrounding country, to study the ever changing face of nature. he watched the various hues presented by the horizon at different hours of the day. he soon found that with all his powers of observation and pencil, great and impassioned as they were, he could not keep pace with the rapidly changing and evanescent hues of the morning and evening sky. he began to despair of ever being able to represent on canvass the moving harmony of those pictures which nature required so little time to execute in such perfection, and which so quickly passed away. at length, after long contemplating how he could best succeed in catching and transferring these furtive tints to his canvass, bethought himself of a contrivance which he called his alphabet of tones, and which is described by renou in his "art de peindre." the various characters of this alphabet are joined together, and correspond to an equal number of different tints; if vernet saw the sun rise silvery and fresh, or set in the colors of crimson; or if he saw a storm approaching or disappearing, he opened his table and set down the gradations of the tones he admired, as quickly as he could write ten or twelve letters on a piece of paper. after having thus noted down in short hand, the beauties of the sky and the accidental effects of nature, he returned to his studio, and endeavored to make stationary on canvass the moving picture he had just been contemplating. effects which had long disappeared were thus recomposed in all their charming harmony to delight the eye of every lover of painting. vernet and the connoisseur. vernet relates, that he was once employed to paint a landscape, with a cave, and st. jerome in it; he accordingly painted the landscape, with st. jerome at the entrance of the cave. when he delivered the picture, the purchaser, who understood nothing of perspective, said, "the landscape and the cave are well made, but st. jerome is not _in_ the cave." "i understand you, sir," replied vernet, "i will alter it." he therefore took the painting, and made the shade darker, so that the saint seemed to sit farther in. the gentleman took the painting; but it again appeared to him that the saint was not in the cave. vernet then wiped out the figure, and gave it to the gentleman, who seemed perfectly satisfied. whenever he saw strangers to whom he shewed the picture, he said, "here you see a picture by vernet, with st. jerome in the cave." "but we cannot see the saint," replied the visitors. "excuse me, gentlemen," answered the possessor, "he is there; for _i_ have seen him standing at the entrance, and afterwards farther back; and am therefore quite sure that he is in it." vernet's works. far from confining himself within the narrow limits of one branch of his profession, vernet determined to take as wide a range as possible. at rome, he made the acquaintance of lucatelli, pannini, and solimene. like them, he studied the splendid ruins of the architecture of ancient rome, and the noble landscapes of its environs, together with every interesting scene and object, especially the celebrated cascades of tivoli. he paid particular attention to the proportions and attitudes of his figures, which were mostly those of fishermen and lazzaroni, as well as to the picturesque appearance of their costume. such love of nature and of art, such assiduous study of nature at different hours of the day, of the phenomena of light, and such profound study of the numerous accessories essential to beauty and effect, made an excellent landscape painter of vernet, though his fame rests chiefly on the unrivalled excellence of his marine subjects. diderot remarks, that "though he was undoubtedly inferior to claude lorraine in producing bold and luminous effects, he was quite equal to that great painter in rendering the effects of vapor, and superior to him in the invention of scenes, in designing figures, and in the variety of his incidents." at a later period, diderot compared his favorite painter to the jupiter of lucian, who, tired of listening to the lamentable cries of mankind, rose from table and exclaimed: 'let it hail in thrace!' and the trees were immediately stripped of their leaves, the heaviest cut to pieces, and the thatch of the houses scattered before the wind: then he said, "let the plague fall on asia!" and the doors of the houses were immediately closed, the streets were deserted, and men shunned one another; and again he exclaimed: 'let a volcano appear here!' and the earth immediately shook, the buildings were thrown down, the animals were terrified, and the inhabitants fled into the surrounding country; and on his crying out: 'let this place be visited with a death!' the old husbandman died of want at his door. jupiter calls that governing the world, but he was wrong. vernet calls it painting pictures, and he is right. it was with reference to the twenty-five paintings exhibited by vernet, in , that diderot penned the foregoing lines, which formed the peroration to an eloquent and lengthy eulogium, such as it rarely falls to a painter to be the subject of. among other things, the great critic there says: "there is hardly a single one of his compositions which any painter would have taken not less than two years to execute, however well he might have employed his time. what incredible effects of light do we not behold in them! what magnificent skies! what water! what ordonnance! what prodigious variety in the scenes! here, we see a child borne off on the shoulders of his father, after having been saved from a watery grave; while there, lies a woman dead upon the beach, with her forlorn and widowed husband weeping at her side. the sea roars, the wind bowls, the thunder fills the air with its peals, and the pale and sombre glimmers of the lightning that shoots incessantly through the sky, illuminate and hide the scene in turn. it appears as if you heard the sides of the ship crack, so natural does it look with its broken masts and lacerated sails; the persons on deck are stretching their hands toward heaven, while others have thrown themselves into the sea. the latter are swept by the waves against the neighboring rocks, where their blood mingles with the white foam of the raging billows. some, too, are floating on the surface of the sea, some are about to sink, and some are endeavoring to reach the shore, against which they will be inevitably dashed to pieces. the same variety of character, action, and expression is observable among the spectators, some of whom are turning aside with a shudder, some are doing their utmost to assist the drowning persons, while others remain motionless and are merely looking on. a few persons have made a fire beneath a rock, and are endeavoring to revive a woman, who is apparently expiring. but now turn your eyes, reader, towards another picture, and you will there see a calm, with all its charms. the waters, which are tranquil, smooth, and cheerful-looking, insensibly lose their transparency as they extend further from the sight, while their surface gradually assumes a lighter tint, as they roll from the shore to the horizon. the ships are motionless, and the sailors and passengers are whiling away the time in various amusements. if it is morning, what light vapors are seen rising all around! and how they have refreshed and vivified every object they have fallen on! if it is evening, what a golden tint do the tops of the mountains assume! how various, too, are the hues of the sky! and how gently do the clouds move along, as they cast the reflection of their different colors into the sea! go, reader, into the country, lift your eyes up towards the azure vault of heaven, observe well the phenomena you then see there, and you will think that a large piece of the canvass lighted by the sun himself has been cut out and placed upon the easel of the artist: or form your hand into a tube, so that, by looking through it, you will only be able to see a limited space of the canvass painted by nature, and you will at once fancy that you are gazing on one of vernet's pictures which has been taken from off his easel and placed in the sky. his nights, too, are as touching as his days are fine; while his ports are as fine as his imaginative pieces are piquant. he is equally wonderful, whether he employs his pencil to depict a subject of everyday life, or he abandons himself completely to his imagination; and he is equally incomprehensible, whether he employs the orb of day or the orb of night, natural or artificial lights, to light his pictures with: he is always bold, harmonious, and staid, like those great poets whose judgment balances all things so well, that they are never either exaggerated or cold. his fabrics, edifices, costumes, actions, men and animals are all true. when near, he astonishes you, and, at a distance, he astonishes you still more." vernet's passion for music vernet, notwithstanding he loved to depict the sea in its most convulsed and terrible aspects, was a perfect gentleman of the french school, whose manners were most amiable and engaging. what he most loved after painting was music. he had formed at rome, an intimate friendship with pergolesi, the composer, who afterwards became so celebrated, and they lived almost continually together. vernet placed a harpsichord in his studio for the express use of his friend, and while the painter, carried away by his imagination, put the waters of the mighty main into commotion, or suspended persons on the towering waves, the grave composer sought, with the tips of his fingers, for the rudiments of his immortal melodies. it was thus that the melancholy stanzas of that _chef d'oeuvre_ of sadness and sorrow, the _stabat-mater_, were composed for a little convent in which one of pergolesi's sisters resided. it seems to one that while listening to this plaintive music, vernet must have given a more mellow tint to his painting; and it was, perhaps, while under its influence, that he worked at his calms and moonlights, or, making a truce with the roaring billows of the sea, painted it tranquil and smooth, and represented on the shore nothing but motionless fishermen, sailors seated between the carriages of two cannons, and whiling away the time by relating their travels to one another, or else stretched on the grass in so quiescent a state, that the spectator himself becomes motionless while gazing on them. pergolesi died in the arms of joseph vernet, who could never after hear the name of his friend pronounced, without being moved to tears. he religiously preserved the scraps of paper, on which he had seen the music of the _stabat-mater_ dotted down before his eyes, and brought them with him to france in , at which period he was sent for by the marquis de marigny, after an absence of twenty years. vernet's love for music procured grétry a hearty welcome, when the young composer came to paris. vernet discovered his talent, and predicted his success. some of grétry's features, his delicate constitution, and, above all, several of his simple and expressive airs, reminded the painter of the immortal man to whom music owes so large a portion of its present importance; for it was pergolesi who first introduced in italy the custom of paying such strict attention to the sense of the words and to the choice of the accompaniments. vernet's opinion of his own merits. though vernet rose to great distinction, he was never fully appreciated till long after his decease. at the present day, he is placed in the first rank of marine painters, not only by his own countrymen, but by every other nation. he himself pronounced judgment on his own merits, the justness of which, posterity has sanctioned. the sentence deserves to be preserved, for it is great. comparing himself to the great painters, his rivals, he says, "if you ask me whether i painted skies better than such and such an artist, i should answer 'no!' or figures better than any one else, i should also say 'no!' or trees and landscapes better than others, still i should answer 'no!' or fogs, water, and vapors better than others, my answer would ever be the same but though _inferior to each of them in one branch of the art, i surpass them in all the others_." curious letter of vernet. the marquis de marigny, like his sister, madame de pompadour, loved and protected the arts. it was mainly through his influence that vernet was invited to paris in , and commissioned to paint the sea-ports of france. no one could have been found better fitted for the ungrateful task, which, though offering so few resources, required so much knowledge. thus imprisoned in official programme, vernet must have felt ill at ease, if we may judge from a letter which he wrote to the marquis at a subsequent period, with respect to another order. indeed, the truth of his remarks were verified in the very series just mentioned, which are not considered among his happiest productions. the following is the main part of the letter referred to, dated may th, : "i am not accustomed to make sketches for my pictures. my general practice is to compose on the canvass of the picture i am about to execute, and to paint it immediately, while my imagination is still warm with conception; the size, too, of my canvas tells me at once what i have to do, and makes me compose accordingly. i am sure, if i made a sketch beforehand, that i should not only not put in it what might be in the picture, but that i should also throw into it all the fire i possess, and the larger picture would, in consequence, become cold. this would also be making a sort of copy, which it would annoy me to do. thus, sir, after thoroughly weighing and examining everything, i think it best _that i should be left free to act as i like_. this is what i require from all those for whom i wish to do my best; and this is also what i beg your friend towards whom i am desirous of acting conscientiously, to let me do. he can tell me what size he wishes the picture to be, with the general subject of it, such as calm, tempest, sun-rise, sun-set, moon-light, landscape, marine-piece, etc., but nothing more. experience has taught me that, when i am constrained by the least thing, i always succeed worse than generally. "if you wish to know the usual prices of my pictures, they are as follows:--for every one four feet wide, and two and a half, or three high, £ , for every one three feet wide, and of a proportionate height, £ ; for every one two feet and a half wide £ ; for every one two feet wide, £ ; and for every one eighteen inches wide, £ , with larger or smaller ones as required; but it is as well to mention that i succeed much better with the large ones." charles vernet. antoine charles horace vernet was the son of claude joseph vernet, and born at bordeaux in . he acquired distinction as a painter, and was made a chevalier of the legion of honor, and of the order of st michael. he chiefly excelled in battle and parade pieces of large dimensions; and he thus commemorated the battles of rivoli, marengo, austerlitz, wagram, the departure of the marshals, and other events of french history which occurred during his artistical career. more pleasing to many are his smaller pictures, mostly referring to battles and camps. he was uncommonly successful in depicting the horse, and there are numerous equestrian portraits by him, which are greatly admired. his studies from nature, and his hunting pieces, for vivacity, spirit, and boldness of conception, are only rivaled by those of his son horace. many of his works have been lithographed; the twenty-eight plates in folio, illustrating the campaign of bonaparte in italy, are esteemed among his most successful efforts. he died in . anecdote of charles vernet. a short time before his death, charles vernet, having some business to transact with one of the public functionaries, called at his office and sent in his card. the minister left him waiting two whole hours in the anteroom before he admitted him to his presence, when the business was quickly dispatched. meeting vernet at a soiree soon afterwards, the minister apologized for his _apparent_ neglect, which not appearing very satisfactory to the veteran painter, he mildly rebuked him by observing, "it is of no consequence, sir, but permit me to say that i think a little more respect should have been shown to the son of joseph and the father of horace vernet." m. de lasson's caricature. a norman priest, who lived in the middle of the seventeenth century, named the abbé malotru, was remarkably deformed in his figure, and ridiculous in his dress. one day, while he was performing mass, he observed a smile of contempt on the face of m. de lasson, which irritated him so much that the moment the service was over, he instituted a process against him. lasson possessed the talent of caricature drawing: he sketched a figure of the ill-made priest, accoutred, as he used to be, in half a dozen black caps over one another, nine waistcoats, and as many pair of breeches. when the court before whom he was cited urged him to produce his defense, he suddenly exhibited his abbé malotru, and the irresistible laughter which it occasioned insured his acquittal. frank hals and vandyke. in the early part of frank hals' life, to accommodate his countrymen, who were sparing both of their time and money, he painted portraits for a low price at one sitting in a single hour. vandyke on his way to rome, passing through the place, sat his hour as a stranger to the rapid portrait painter. hals had seen some of the works of vandyke, but was unacquainted with his person. when the picture was finished, vandyke, assuming a silly manner, said it appeared to be easy work, and that he thought he could do it. hals, thinking to have some fun, consented to sit an hour precisely by the clock, and not to rise or look at what he fully expected to find a laughable daub. vandyke began his work; hals looked like a sitter. at the close, the wag rose with all his risible muscles prepared for a hearty laugh; but when he saw the splendid sketch, he started, looked, and exclaimed, "you must be either vandyke or the devil!" the english spy: an original work characteristic, satirical, and humorous. comprising scenes and sketches in every rank of society, being portraits drawn from the life by bernard blackmantle. the illustrations designed by robert cruikshank. by frolic, mirth, and fancy gay, old father time is borne away. london: published by sherwood, jones, and co. paternoster-row. . [illustration: cover] [illustration: frontispiece] [illustration: titlepage] bernard blackmantle{*} to the reviewers. "but now, what quixote of the age would care to wage a war with dirt, and fight with air?" messieurs the critics, after twelve months of agreeable toil, made easy by unprecedented success, the period has at length arrived when your high mightinesses will be able to indulge your voracious appetites by feeding and fattening on the work of death. already does my prophetic spirit picture to itself the black cloud of cormorants, swelling and puffing in the fulness of their editorial pride, at the huge eccentric volume which has thus thrust itself into extensive circulation without the usual _cringings_ and _cravings_ to the _pick fault tribe_. but i dare defy the venal crew that prates, from tailor place* to fustian herald thwaites.{**} * the woolly editor of the breeches makers', alias the "westminster review." ** the thing who writes the leaden (leading) articles for the morning herald. let me have good proof of your greediness to devour my labours, and i will dish up such a meal for you in my next volume, as shall go nigh to produce extermination by _surfeit_. one favour, alone, i crave--give me _abuse_ enough; let no squeamish pretences of respect for my bookseller, or disguised qualms of apprehension for your own sacred persons, deter the _natural_ inclination of your hearts. the slightest deviation from your _usual course_ to independent writers--or one step towards commendation from your _gang_, might induce the public to believe i had _abandoned my character_, and become one of your _honourable fraternity_-the very _suspicion of which_ would (to me) produce irretrievable ruin. _your masters_, the _trading brotherhood_, will (as usual) direct you in the course you should pursue; whether to approve or condemn, as their _'peculiar interests_ may dictate. most _sapient_ sirs of the secret _bandit'_ of the screen, inquisitors of literature, raise all your _arms_ and _heels_, your _daggers, masks_, and _hatchets_, to revenge the daring of an _open foe_, who thus boldly defies your _base_ and _selfish views_; for, basking at his ease in the sunshine of public patronage, he feels that his heart is rendered invulnerable to your_ poisoned shafts_. read, and you shall find i have not been parsimonious of the means to grant you _food_ and _pleasure_: errors there are, no doubt, and plenty of them, grammatical and typographical, all of which i might have corrected by an _errata_ at the end of my volume; but i disdain the wish to rob you of your office, and have therefore left them just where i made them, without a single note to mark them out; for if all the _thistles were rooted up_, what would become of the _asses?_ or of those "who pin their easy faith on critic's sleeve, and, knowing nothing, ev'ry thing believe?" fully satisfied that swarms of _literary blow flies_ will pounce upon the errors with delight, and, buzzing with the ecstasy of infernal joy, endeavour to hum their readers into a belief of the profundity of their critic erudition;--i shall nevertheless, with churchill, laughingly exclaim--"perish my muse" "if e'er her labours weaken to refine the generous roughness of a nervous line." bernard blackmantle. contents. page introduction preface, in imitation of the first satire of persius reflections, addressed to those who can think. reflections of an author--weighty reasons for writing-- magister artis ingeniique largitor venter--choice of subject considered--advice of index, the bookseller--of the nature of prefaces--how to commence a new work a few thoughts on myself a shandean scene, between lady mary old-- style and horatio heartly school--boy reminiscences. on early friend-- ship character of bernard blackmantle. by horatio heartly eton sketches of character the five principal orders of eton--doctor, dame, colleger, oppidan, and cad. a sketch taken opposite the long walk eton dames; an ode, neither amatory, ill-- natured, nor pathetic election saturday. a peep at the long chambers--the banquet--reflections on parting--arrival of the provost of king's college, cam-- bridge, and the pozers--the captain's oration--busy monday --the oppidan's farewell--examination and election of the collegers who stand for king's--the aquatic gala and fire-- works--oxonian visitors--night--rambles in eton--transfor- mations of signs and names--the feast at the christopher, with a view of the oppidan's museum, and eton court of claims an eton election scene herbert stockhore, the montem poet laureate. a sketch from the life, as he appeared in the montem procession of may, . by bernard blackmantle and robert transit life in eton; a college chaunt in praise of private tutors recollections of an old etonian eton montem farewell to eton my vale the freshman. reflections on leaving eton university--a whip--sketches on the road--the joneses of jesus--picturesque appearance of oxford from the distance--the arrival--welcome of an old etonian--visit to dr. dingyman--a university don-- presentation to the big wig--ceremony of matriculation christ church college. architectural reminiscences--descriptive remarks--simi- litude between the characters of cardinal wolsey and napoleon the dinner party. bernard blackmantle's visit to tom echo--oxford phrase- ology--smuggled dinners--a college party described-- topography of a man's room--portrait of a bachelor of arts --hints to freshmen--customs of the university college servants. descriptive sketch of a college scout--biography of mark supple--singular invitation to a spread taking possession of your rooms. topography of a vacant college larium--anecdotes and propensities of predecessors--a long shot--scout's list of necessaries--condolence of university friends the excursion to bagley wood western entrance into the metropolis. a descriptive sketch. general views of the author relative to subject and style --time and place--perspective glimpse of the great city-- the approach--cockney salutations--the toll house-- western entrance to cockney land--hyde park--sunday noon-sketches of character, costume, and scenery--the ride and drive--kensington gardens--belles and beaux- stars and fallen stars--singularities of -tales of ton- on dits and anecdotes--sunday evening--high life and low life, the contrast--cockney goths--notes, biographical, amorous, and exquisite the opera. the man of fashion--fop's alley--modern roué and frequenters--characteristic sketches in high life--blue stocking illuminati--motives and manners--meeting with the honourable lillyman lionise--dinner at long's--visit to the opera--joined by bob transit--a peep into the green room--secrets behind the curtain--noble amateurs and foreign curiosities--notes and anecdotes by horatio heartly the royal saloon. visit of heartly, lionise, and transit--description of the place--sketches of character--the gambling parsons--horse chaunting, a true anecdote--bang and her friends--moll raffle and the marquis w.--he play man--the touter-- the half-pay officer--charles rattle, esq.--life of a modern roue--b------ the tailor--the subject--jarvey and brooks the dissector--"kill him when you want him" the spread, or wine party at brazen-nose. a college wine party described--singular whim of horace eglantine--meeting of the oxford crackademonians --sketches of eccentric characters, drawn from the life-- the doctor's daughter--an old song--a round of sculls-- epitaphs on the living and the dead--tom tick, a college tale--the voyagers--notes and anecdotes the oxford rake's progress town and gown, an oxford row. battle of the togati and the town--raff--a night--scene in the high-street, oxford--description of the combatants-- attack of the gownsmen upon the mitre--evolutions of the assailants--manoeuvres of the proctors and bull--dogs-- perilous condition of blackmantle and his associates, eglan- tine, echo, and transit--snug retreat of lionise--the high-- street after the battle--origin of the argotiers, and inven- tion of cant--phrases--history of the intestine wars and civil broils of oxford, from the time of alfred--origin of the late strife--ancient ballad--retreat of the togati-- reflections of a freshman--black matins, or the effect of late drinking upon early risers--visit to golgotha, or the place of sculls--lecture from the big--wigs--tom echo receives sentence of rustication towne and gowne the stage coach, or the trip to brighton. improvements in travelling--contrast of ancient and modern conveyances and coachmen--project for a new land steam carriage--the inn--yard at the golden cross, charing cross--mistakes of passengers--variety of characters--ad- vantages of the box--seat--obstructions on the road--a pull--up at the elephant and castle--move on to kennington common--new churches--civic villas at brixton--modern taste in architecture described--arrival at croydon; why not now the king's road?--the joliffe hounds--a hunting leader--anecdotes of the horse, by coachee--the new tunnel at reigate--the baron's chamber--the golden ball --the silver ball--and the golden calf--entrance into brighton the proposition. family secrets--female tactics--how to carry the point sketches at brighton. the pavilion party--interior described--royal and noble anecdotes--the king and mathews characters on the beach and steyne, brighton. on bathing and bathers--advantages of shampooing-- french decency--brighton politeness--sketches of character --the banker's widow--miss j----s--mrs. f---- --peter paragraph, he london correspondent--j--k s----h--the french consul--paphian divinities--c---- l----, esq. squeeze into the libraries--the new plunging bath-- chain pier--cockney comicalities--royal gardens--the club house metropolitan sketches. heartly, echo, and transit start for a spree--scenes by daylight, starlight, and gaslight--black monday at tatter-- sail's--the first meeting after the great st. leger--heroes of the turf paying and receiving--dinner at fishmongers' hall --committee of greeks--the affair of the cogged dice--a regular break--down--rules for the new club--the daffy club, or a musical muster of the fancy: striking portraits-- counting the stars--covent garden, what it was and what it is--the finish--anecdotes of characters--the hall of infamy, alias the covent garden hell visit to westminster hall. worthies thereof--legal sketches of the long robe--an awkward recognition--visit to banco regis--surrey col-- legians giving a lift to a limb of the law--out of rule and in rule--"thus far shalt thou go, and no further"--park rangers personified--visit to the life academy, somerset house--r. a--ys of genius reflecting on the true line of beauty--peep into the green rooms of the two theatres royal, drury lane and covent garden--bernard blackmantle reading his new play and farce--the city ball at the mansion house--the squeeze--civic characters--return to oxford-- invite to cambridge--jemmy gordon's frolic--term ends illustrations in the english spy. (by r. cruikshank unless otherwise attributed) we hope it will be generally admitted that few volumes have a more decided claim upon the public patronage, in respect to the novelty and variety of design, as well as the number of illustrations, than the one here presented to the reader. to speak of the choice humorous talent engaged in the work would only be to re-echo the applauding sentiments of the reviewers and admirers of rich graphic excellence. cruikshank and rowlandson are names not unworthy a space upon the same roll with hogarth, gilray, and bunbury: to exhibit scenes of character in real life, sketched upon the spot, was an undertaking of no mean importance; particularly, when it is remembered how great the difficulty must have been in collecting together accurate portraits. the work, it will be perceived, contains thirty-six copper- plates, etched, aquainted, and coloured, by and under the direction of the respective artists whose names appear to the different subjects, the principal part of which are the sole production of mr. robert cruikshank. the wood engravings, twenty-eight in number, besides the _vignettes_, (which are numerous), are equally full of merit; and will be found, upon examination, to be every way worthy the superior style of typographical excellence which characterises the volume, i. the frontispiece is intended to convey a general idea of the nature of the work; combining, in rich classic taste, a variety of subjects illustrative of the polished as well as the more humble scenes of real life. it represents a gothic temple, into which the artist, mr. robert cruikshank, has introduced a greater variety of characteristic subject than was ever before compressed into one design. in the centre compartment, at the top, we have a view of a terrestrial heaven, where music, love, and gay delight are all united to lend additional grace to fashion, and increase the splendour of the revels of terpsichore. in the niches, on each side, are the twin genii, poetry and painting; while the pedestals, right and left, present the protectors of their country, the old soldier and sailor, retired upon pensions, enjoying and regaling themselves on the bounty of their king. in the centre of the plate are three divisions representing the king, lords, and commons in the full exercise of their prerogatives. the figures on each side are portraits of bernard blackmantle (the english spy), and his friend, robert transit (the artist), standing on projecting pedestals, and playing with the world as a ball; not doubting but for this piece of vanity, the world, or the reviewers for them, will knock them about in return. on the front of the pedestals are the arms of the universities of oxford and cambridge; and in the centre armorial shields of the cities of london and westminster. the picture of a modern hell, in the centre, between the pedestals, has the very appropriate emblems of misery and death, in the niches on each side. crowning the whole, the genius of wit is seen astride of an eagle, demonstrative of strength, and wielding in his hand the lash of satire; an instrument which, in the present work, has been used more as a corrective of we than personal ill-nature. ii. the five principal orders of society. the king-corinthian; an elegant female-composite; the nobleman-doric; a member of the university-ionic; and the buck of fashion-tuscan. on the left hand may be seen a specimen of the exquisite, a new order in high estimation at the west end of the town; and on the right hand stands an old order of some solidity in the eastern parts of the metropolis. fashion, taste, and fame, are emblematical of the varied pursuits of life; while the army and navy of the country are the capitals that crown the superstructure, combining the ornamental with the useful. iii. first absence, or the sons of old etona answering morning muster-roll. a view of the school-yard, eton, at the time first absence is called, and just when the learned doctor keat is reviewing the upper school. (portraits.) iv. the oppidan's museum, or eton court of claims at the christopher. bernard blackmantle and robert transit sitting in judge- ment after election saturday, apportioning the remuneration money to the different claimants of the surrounding trophies. v. eton montem, and the mount, salt hill. an accurate sketch of this ancient customary procession made upon the spot. vi. the first bow to alma mater. bernard blackmantle's introduction to the big wig on his arrival at oxford. vii. flooring of mercury, or burning the oaks. a scene in tom quadrangle, oxford. "if wits aright their tale of terror tell, a little after great mercurius fell, *** gownsmen and townsmen throng'd the water's edge to gaze upon the dreadful sacrilege: *** ------there with drooping mien a silent band canons and bedmaker together stand:-- *** in equal horror all alike were seen, and shuddering scouts forgot to cap the dean." viii. college comforts. taking possession of your rooms. bernard blackmantle taking possession of his rooms in brazennose. scout's list of wants. standing the quiz of the togati visible propensities of your predecessor. the day of purification. ix. cap-ing a proctor, or oxford bull-dogs detecting brazennose smugglers. tom echo and horace eglantine lowering the plate-basket, after the college-gates are closed, to obtain a supply of fresh provision, are detected by the proctor and town marshal with their bull-dogs: in their alarm the basket and its contents are suddenly let fall upon the proctor, who is not able to under- stand the joke. x. the arrival, or western entrance into cockney land. portrait of high and low life dandies and dandysettes. xi. the green-room of the king's theatre, r noble amateurs viewing foreign curiosities. portraits of ten noble and distinguished patrons of the opera, with those of certain daughters of terpsichore. xii. the royal saloon in piccadilly, or an hour after the opera. heartly, lionise, and transit in search of character--the gambling parsons--legs and leg-ees-tats men and touters-- moll raffle and bang. xiii. oxford transports, or university exiles. albanians doing penance for past offences. a scene sketched from the life. horace eglantine is proposing "the study of the fathers," a favourite college toast, while tom echo is enforcing obedience to the president's proposition by finishing off a shirker. dick gradus having been declared absent, is taking a cool nap with the ice-pail in his arms and his head resting upon a greek lexicon: in the left hand corner may be seen a scout bearing off a dead man, (but not without hope of resurrection). bob transit and bernard blackmantle occupy the situation on each side of dick gradus; in the right-hand corner, horace's servant is drawing the last cork from the parting bottle, which is to welcome in the peep o' day. injustice to the present authorities it should be stated, that this is a scene of other limes.--vide a. xiv. show sunday, a view in the broad walk, christ church meadows, oxford. portraits of the togati and the town, including big wigs, nobs, and dons. among the more conspicuous are dr. kett, lord g. grenville, dr. grovesnor, alderman fletcher, and mr. swan. xv. town and gown. battle of the togati and town raff of oxford, a night scene. --bernard and his friends, horace and tom, distributing among the bargees of st. clement's. xvi. black matins, or the effects of late drinking upon early risers. a most imposing scene.-time seven o'clock in the morn- ing, the last bell has just tolled, and the university men have just turned out, while the hunting-frock, boots, and appear- ance of some of the party, proclaim that they have just turned in; all are eager to save fine and imposition, and not a few are religiously disturbed in their dreams. the admirable disorder of the party is highly illustrative of the effect produced by an evening wine party in college rooms. xvii. golgotha, or the place of sculls. tom echo receiving sentence of rustication. the big wigs in a bustle. lecture on disobedience and chorus of the synod. reports from the isle of bull dogs. running foul of the quicksands of rustication after having passed point failure and the long hope. nearly blown up at point nonplus, and obliged to lay by to refit. xviii. the evening party at the pavilion, brighton. (by o. m. briohty.) interior of the yellow room--portraits of his majesty, the duke of york, and princess augusta, marquis and marchioness of conyngham, earl of arran, lord francis conyngham, lady elizabeth and sir h. barnard, sir h. turner, sir w. knighton, sir e. nagle, and sir c. paget, sketched from the life. xix. the king at home, or mathews at carlton house. a scene founded on fact; including portraits of the king, mathews, and other celebrated persons. xx. a frolic in high life, or, a visit to billings- gate. a very extraordinary whim of two very distinguished females, whose portraits will be easily recognised. xxi. characters on the steyne, brighton. portraits of illustrious, noble, and wealthy visitors--the banker's widow--a bathing group--the chain pier, &c. xxii. tom echo laid up with the heddington fever, or an oxonian very near the wall. symptoms of having been engaged too deeply in the study of hie fathers. portrait of a well-known esculapian chief. xxiii. monday after the great st. leger, or heroes of the turf paying and receiving at tattersall's. this sketch was made upon the spot by my friend transit, on the monday following the result of the last great st. leger in , when the legs were, for the most part, in mourning from the loss of their favourite sherwood. some long faces will be easily recognized, and some few round ones, though barefoots, not easily be forgotten. the tinkers were many of them levanters. here may be seen the peer and the prig, the wise one and the green one, the pigeon and the rook amalgamated together. it is almost unnecessary to say, the greater part of the characters are portraits. xxiv. exterior of fishmongers'-hall, st. james's street, with a view of a regular breakdown. portraits of the master fishmonger, and many well- known greeks and pigeons. xxv. interior of a modern hell. (vide the affair of the cogged dice.) portraits of upwards of twenty well-known punters and frequenters--greeks and pigeons, noble and ignoble--the fishmonger in a fright, or the gudgeon turned shark--expose of saint hugh's bones--secrets worth knowing. (see work.) xxvi. the daffy club, or a musical muster of the fancy. interior of tom belcher's parlour. heartly and bob in search of character. striking likenesses of boxers, betters, &c.--with a pen and ink sketch of a noted--one--a fine school for practical experience. (for key to portraits- see work.) xxvii. peep ' days and family men at the finish. a night scene near covent garden--coffee and comical company. xxviii. family men at fault, or an unexpected visit from the bishop and his chaplains. a scene near covent garden, in which are introduced certain well-known characters and bow-street officers: in- cluding messrs. bishop, smith, ruthven, and townshend. xxix. the hall of infamy, alias oyster saloon, in brydges-street, or new covent garden hell. portraits of the old harridan and her flask man tom. sketches of sharps and flats, green ones and impures. done from the life. xxx. westminster hall. portraits of well-known worthies of the bar.--the maiden brief.--dick gradus examining a witness. xxxi. surrey collegians giving a lift to a limb of the law. interior of the king's bench prison--rough-drying a lawyer. xxxii. r-a-ys of genius reflecting on the true line of beauty at the life academy, somerset house. (by t. rowlandson.) bob transit's first appearance as a student. sketching from the life. outlines of character. how to grow rich but not great. secrets worth knowing, and portraits of all the well-known. xxxiii. bernard blackmantle reading his play in the green-room of covent garden theatre. portraits of messrs. c. kemble, fawcett, farley, jones, farren, grimaldi, macready, young, t. p. cooke, chapman, blanchard, abbott, cooper, yates, and the english spy; mrs. davenport, miss chester, miss m. tree, miss love, and mrs. davison. xxxiv. bernard blackmantle reading his farce in the green room of the theatre royal, drury lane. (by t. wageman.) portraits of elliston, dowton, harley, munden, knight, liston, oxberry, sherwin, gattie, wallack, terry, g. smith, and barnard, miss stephens, mrs. orger, madame vestris, mrs. harlowe, and the english spy. the likenesses are all studies from the life. xxxv. the city ball at the mansion house. portraits of the duke of sussex, the lord mayor (waith- man) and lady mayoress, the sheriffs laurie and whittaker, aldermen wood and curtis, sir richard phillips, messrs. hone, patten, with other well-known characters. xxxvi. jemmy gordon's frolic. a cambridge tale. vide peter house. illustrations on wood from original designs by cruikshank, rowlandson, gilray, and finlay, engraved by bonner and hughes. vignette on title page. old father time borne away on the shoulders of the genii, frolic, mirth, and fancy. . the author's chamber--index, the bookseller, and ber- nard blackmantle, projecting a new work . horatio heartly reading the "english spy" to lady mary oldstyle . a correct view of eton college from the playing-fields . the five principal orders of eton--doctor, dame, colleger, oppidan, and cad. a sketch taken opposite the long walk . the cloisters, eton college . herbert stockhore, the montem poet laureate, a sketch from the life as he appeared in the montem procession of may, . accurate view of the interior of eton college hall . interior of eton school room . the oxonian reclining, an emblematical design . five characteristic orders of oxford . portrait of mr. b--the classical alma mater coachman of oxford . view of christchurch college . a bachelor of arts drinking of the pierian spring . view of bagley wood with the gipsy party. an extraordinary fine specimen of art, by bonner. . mother goose, a portrait . kensington gardons, sunday evening. portraits of well-known fashionable eccentricities . vignette.--he subject and the resurrection jarvey, or "kill him when you want him" . albanians starting for a spree, or tom tick on the road to jericho . waiting for bail . the don and the fair of st. clement's. an oxford scene . the university rake's progress . the newly invented steam coach . view of the pavilion, brighton, from the london road . a night scene, or, a rum start near b---- h----l . the widow's ultimatum. a cutting joke, with a most affecting catastrophe . college frolics, or catching urals at ch. ch. . roues rusticating in surrey, or, the first glimpse of banco regis . term, ends--adieu to fagging--the high-street, oxford --the togati in a bustle--the merry good bye the english spy. nor rank, nor order, nor condition, imperial, lowly, or patrician, shall, when they see this volume, cry, "the satirist has pass'd us by:" but, with good humour, view our page depict the manners of the age. introduction. "the proper study of mankind is man." a rhapsody. life's busy scene i sing! its countenance, and form, and varied hue, drawn within the compass of the eye. no tedious voyage, or weary pilgrimage o'er burning deserts, or tempestuous seas, my progress marks, to trace great nature's sources to the fount, and bare her secrets to the common view. in search of wonders, let the learn'd embark, from lordly elgin, to lamented park, to find out what i perhaps some river's course, or antique fragments of a marble horse; while i, more humble, local scenes portray, and paint the men and manners of the day. life's a theatre, man the chief actor, and the source from which the dramatist must cull his choicest beauties, painting up to nature the varied scenes which mark the changeful courses of her motley groups. here she opes her volume to the view of contemplative minds, and spreads her treasures forth, decked in all the variegated tints that flora, goddess of the flowery mead and silvery dell, with many coloured hue, besprinkles the luxuriant land. here, reader, will we travel forth, and in our journey make survey of all that's interesting and instructive. man's but the creature of a little hour, the phantom of a transitory life; prone to every ill, subject to every woe; and oft the more eccentric in his sphere, as rare abilities may gild his brow, setting form, law, and order at defiance. his glass a third decayed 'fore reason shines, and ere perfection crowns maturity, he sinks forgotten in his parent dust. such then is man, uncertain as the wind, by nature formed the creature of caprice, and as atropos wills, day by day, we number to our loss some mirth-enlivening soul, whose talents gave a lustre to the scene.-serious and solemn, thoughts be hence away! imagination wills that playful satire reign:--by sportive fancy led, we take the field. [illustration: page ] ~ ~~ preface, in imitation of the first satire of persius. dialogue between the author and his friend. author. however dangerous, or however vain, i am resolved. friend. you'll not offend again? author. i will, by jove! friend. take my advice, reflect; who'll buy your sketches author. many, i expect. friend. i fear but few, unless, munchausen-like, you've something strange, that will the public strike: men with six heads, or monsters with twelve tails, who patter flash, for nothing else prevails in this dull age. author. then my success is certain; i think you'll say so when i draw the curtain, and, presto! place before your wond'ring eyes a race of beings that must 'cite surprise; the strangest compound truth and contradiction owe to dame nature, or the pen of action; where wit and folly, pride and modest worth, go hand in hand, or jostle at a birth; where prince, peer, peasant, politician meet, and beard each other in the public street; ~ ~~ where ancient forms, though still admired, are phantoms that have long expired; where science droops 'fore sovereign folly, and arts are sick with melancholy; where knaves gain wealth, and honest fellows, by hunger pinch'd, blow knav'ry's bellows; where wonder rises upon wonder-- friend. hold! or you may leave no wonders to be told. your book, to sell, must have a subtle plot--mark the great unknown, wily ***** ****: print in america, publish at milan; there's nothing like this scotch-athenian plan, to hoax the cockney lack-brains. author. it shall be: books, like madeira, much improve at sea; 'tis said it clears them from the mist and smell of modern athens, so says sage cadell, whose dismal tales of shipwreck, stress of weather, sets all divine _nonsensia_ mad together; and, when they get the dear-bought novel home, "they love it for the dangers it has overcome." friend. i like your plan: "art sure there's no offence?" author. none that's intended to wound common-sense. for your uncommon knaves who rule the town, your m.p.'s, m.d.'s, r.a.'s and silk gown, empirics in all arts, every degree, just satire whispers are fair game for me. friend. the critic host beware! author. wherefore, i pray? "the cat will mew, the dog will have his day." let them bark on! who heeds their currish note knows not the world--they howl, for food, by rote. [illustration: page ] ~ ~~ reflections, addressed to those who can think. reflections of an author--weighty reasons for writing-- magister artis ingeniique largitor venter--choice of subject considered--advice of index, the book-seller--of the nature of prefaces--how to commence a new work. author (solus). i must write--my last sovereign has long since been transferred to the safe keeping of mine hostess, to whom i have the honor to be obliged. i just caught a glance of her inflexible countenance this morning in passing the parlour door; and methought i could perceive the demon aspect of suspicion again spreading his corrosive murky hue over her furrowed front. the enlivening appearance of my golden ambassador had for a few days procured me a faint smile of complacency; but the spell is past, and i shall again be doomed to the humiliation ~ ~~ of hearing mrs martha bridget's morning lectures on the necessity of punctuality. well, she must be quieted, (i.e.) promise crammed, (satisfied, under existing circumstances, is impossible): i know it will require no little skill to obtain fresh supplies from her stores, without the master-key which unlocks the flinty heart; but _nil desperandum_, he who can brave a formidable army of critics, in pursuit of the bubble fame, may at least hope to find wit enough to quiet the interested apprehensions of an old woman. and yet how mortifying is the very suspicion of inattention and disrespect. i have rung six times for my breakfast, and as many more for my boots, before either have made their appearance; the first has indeed just arrived, with a lame apology from mine hostess, that the gentleman on the first floor is a very impetuous fellow, requires prompt attention, gives a great deal of trouble--but--then he pays a great deal of money, and above all, is very punctual: here is my _quietus_ at once; the last sentence admits of no reply from a pennyless author. my breakfast table is but the spectre of former times;--no eggs on each side of my cup, or a plate of fresh lynn shrimps, with an inviting salt odour, that would create an appetite in the stomach of an invalid; a choice bit of dried salmon, or a fresh cut off the roll of some violet-scented epping butter;--all have disappeared; nay, even the usual allowance of cream has degenerated into skimmed milk, and that is supplied in such cautious quantities, that i can scarce eke it out to colour my three cups of inspiring bohea. (a knock at the door.) that single rap at the street door is very like the loud determined knock of a dun. the servant is ascending the stairs--it must be so--she advances upon the second flight;--good heavens, how stupid!--i particularly told her i should not be in town to any of these people for a month. the inattention of servants is unbearable; they can tell fibs ~ ~~ enough to suit their own purposes, but a little white one to serve a gentleman lodger, to put off an impertinent tradesman, or save him from the toils of a sheriffs officer, is sure to be marred in the relation, or altogether forgotten. i'll lock my chamber door, however, by way of precaution. (servant knocking.) "what do you want?" "mr. index, sir, the little gentleman in black." "show him up, betty, directly." the key is instantly turned; the door set wide open; and i am again seated in comfort at my table: the solicitude, fear, and anxiety, attendant upon the apprehensions of surprise, a bailiff, and a prison, all vanish in a moment. "my dear index, you are welcome; the last person i expected, although the first i could have wished to have seen: to what fortunate circumstance am i to attribute the honor of this friendly visit?" "business, sir; i am a man of business: your last publication has sold pretty well, considering how dreadfully it was cut up in the reviews; i have some intention of reprinting a short edition, if you are not too exorbitant in your demands; not that i think the whole number will be sold, but there is a chance of clearing the expenses. a portrait by wageman, the announcement of a second edition, with additions, may help it off; but then these additional costs will prevent my rewarding your merits to the extent i am sensible you deserve." "name your own terms, index, for after all you know it must come to that, and i am satisfied you will be as liberal as you can afford." put in this way, the most penurious of the speculating tribe in paper and print would have strained a point, to overcome their natural infirmity: with index it was otherwise; nature had formed him with a truly liberal heart: the practice of the trade, and the necessary caution attendant upon bookselling speculations, only operated as a check to the noble-minded generosity of the ~ ~~ man, without implanting in his bosom the avarice and extortion generally pursued by his brethren. the immediate subject of his visit arranged to our mutual satisfaction, i ventured to inquire what style of work was most likely to interest the taste of the town. 'the town itself--satire, sir, fashionable satire. if you mean to grow rich by writing in the present day, you must first learn to be satirical; use the lash, sir, as all the great men have done before you, and then, like canning in the cabinet, or gifford and jeffery as reviewers, or byron and southey as poets, you will be followed more from the fear of your pen than from the splendour of your talents, the consistency of your conduct, or the morality of your principles. sir, if you can but use the tomahawk skilfully, your fortune is certain. '_sic itur ad astra_.' read blackwood's noctea ambrosiance. take the town by surprise, folly by the ears; 'the glory, jest, and riddle of the world' is man; use your knowledge of this ancient volume rightly, and you may soon mount the car of fortune, and drive at random wherever your fancy dictates. bear in mind the greek proverb, '_mega biblion, mega kakon_.' in your remarks, select such persons who, from their elevated situations in society, ought to be above reproof, and whose vices are, therefore, more worthy of public condemnation: '------------ridiculum acri fortius ac melius magnas plerumque secat res.' by this means you will benefit the state, and improve the morals of society. the most wholesome truths may be told with pleasantry. satire, to be severe, needs not to be scurrilous. the approval of the judicious will always follow the ridicule which is directed against error, ignorance, and folly." how long little index might have continued in this strain i know not, if i had not ventured to suggest ~ ~~ that the course he pointed out was one of great difficulty, and considerable personal hazard; that to arrive at fortune by such means, an author must risk the sacrifice of many old connexions, and incur no inconsiderable dangers; that great caution would be necessary to escape the fangs of the forensic tribe, and that in voluntarily thrusting his nose into such a nest of hornets, it would be hardly possible to escape being severely stung in retaliation. "_pulchrum est accusari ah accusandis_," said my friend, the bookseller, "who has suffered more by the fashionable world than yourself? have you not dissipated a splendid patrimony in a series of the most liberal entertainments? has not your generous board been graced with the presence of royalty? and the banquet enriched by the attendant stars of nobility, from the duke to the right honorable knight commander. and have you not since felt the most cruel neglect from these your early associates, and much obliged friends, with no crime but poverty, with no reproach but the want of prudence? have you not experienced ingratitude and persecution in every shape that human baseness could find ingenuity to inflict? and can you hesitate to avail yourself of the noble revenge in your power, when it combines the advantages of being morally profitable both to yourself and society? '------------velat materna tempora myrto.' virg. 'when vice the shelter of a mask disdain'd, when folly triumph'd, and a nero reign'd, petronius rose satiric, yet polite, and show'd the glaring monster full in sight; to public mirth exposed the imperial beast, and made his wanton court the common jest.'" with this quotation, delivered with good emphasis, little index bade me good morning, and left me impressed with no mean opinion of his friendship, ~ ~~ and with an increased admiration of his knowledge of the world. but how (thought i) am i to profit by his advice? in what shape shall i commence my eccentric course? a good general at the head of a large army, on the eve of a general battle, with the enemy full in view, feels less embarrassment than a young author finds in marshalling his crude ideas, and placing the raw recruits of the brain in any thing like respectable order. for the title, that is quite a matter of business, and depends more upon the bookseller's opinion of what may be thought attractive than any affinity it may possess to the work itself. dedications are, thanks to the economy of fashion, out of date: great men have long since been laughed into good sense in that particular. a preface (if there be one) should partake something of the spirit of the work; for if it be not brief, lively, and humorous, it is ten to one but your reader falls asleep before he enters upon chapter the first, and when he wakes, fears to renew his application, lest he should be again caught napping. long introductions are like lengthy prayers before meals to hungry men, they are mumbled over with unintelligible rapidity, or altogether omitted, for the more solid gratifications of the stomach, or the enjoyments of the mind. in what fantastic shape and countenance then shall an author appear to obtain general approbation? or in what costume is he most likely to insure success? if he assumes a fierce and haughty front, his readers are perhaps offended with his temerity, and the critics enraged at his assurance. if he affects a modest sneaking posture, and humbly implores their high mightinesses to grant him one poor sprig of laurel, he is treated slightingly, and despised, as a pitiful fellow who wants that essential ingredient in the composition of a man of talent and good breeding, ycleped by the moderns confidence. if he speaks of ~ ~~ the excellence of his subject, he creates doubts both with his readers and reviewers, who will use their endeavours to convince him he has not a correct knowledge of his own abilities. but if, like a well bred man at court, he enters the drawing-room of literature in good taste, neither too mean nor too gaudy, too bold or too formal, makes his bow with the air and finish of a scholar and a gentleman, and passes on to his place, unheedful of remark (because unconscious of offence), he is sure to command respect, if he does not excite admiration. accept then, reader, this colloquial chapter, as the author's apology for a preface, an imaginary short conference, or letter of introduction, which brings you acquainted with the eccentric writer of this volume; and as in all well regulated society a person is expected to give some account of himself before he is placed upon terms of intimacy with the family, you shall in the next page receive a brief sketch of the characteristics of the author. [illustration: page ] ~ ~~ a few thoughts on myself. the early biography of a man of genius is seldom, if ever, accurately given to the public eye, unless, indeed, he is one of those _rara avis_ who, with the advantages of great qualifications, inherits high ancestral distinctions. but if, as is generally the case, from obscurity of birth and humble life he rises into notice by the force and exertion of his talents, the associates of his brighter fortunes know but little of the difficulties which have obstructed his progress, or the toils and fatigues he has endured, to arrive at that enviable point from which the temple of fame, and the road to fortune, may be contemplated with some chance of enjoyment and success. unwilling to speak of himself, lest he should incur the charge of vanity or egotism, he modestly trusts to the partial pen of friendship, or the conjectural pen of the commentator, to do justice to events which no quill could relate so well as his own, and which, if impartially and sensibly written, must advance him in the estimation of society, and convince the world that with the mastery of the great secret in his power, he was not more capable of appreciating the characters of the age than familiar with the lights and shadows of his own. "honour and shame from no condition rise; act well your part, there all the honour lies." the reader will, no doubt, anticipate that the name of bernard blackmantle is an assumed quaint cognomen, and perhaps be not less suspicious of the author's right and title to the honorary distinction annexed: ~ ~~ let him beware how he indulges in such chimeras, before he has fully entered into the spirit of the volume before him, lest, on perusal, conviction should compel him to retract the ungracious thought. to be plain, he is not desirous of any higher honorary distinction than the good opinion of his readers. and now, sons and daughters of fashion! ye cameleon race of giddy elves, who flutter on the margin of the whirlpool, or float upon the surface of the silvery stream, and, hurried forwards by the impetus of the current, leave yourselves but little time for reflection, one glance will convince you that you are addressed by an old acquaintance, and, heretofore, constant attendant upon all the gay varieties of life; of this be assured, that, although retired from the fascinating scene, where gay delight her portal open throws to folly's throng, he is no surly misanthrope, or gloomy seceder, whose jaundiced mind, or clouded imagination, is a prey to disappointment, envy, or to care. in retracing the brighter moments of life, the festive scenes of past times, the never to be forgotten pleasures of his halcyon days, when youth, and health, and fortune, blest his lot, he has no tongue for scandal--no pen for malice--no revenge to gratify, but is only desirous of attempting a true portraiture of men and manners, in the higher and more polished scenes of life. if, in the journey through these hitherto unexplored regions of fancy, ought should cross his path that might give pain to worthy bosoms, he would sooner turn aside than be compelled to embody the uncandid thought. "unknowing and unknown, the hardy muse "boldly defies all mean and partial views; "with honest freedom plays the critic's part, "and praises, as she censures, from the heart." and now, having said nearly as much as i think prudent of myself, and considerably more than my ~ ~~ bookseller usually allows by way of prefatory matter, i shall conclude this chapter by informing the reader of some facts, with which i ought to have commenced it, namely--for my parents, it must suffice that my father was a man of talent, my mother accomplished and esteemed, and, what is more to their honour, they were affectionate and kind: peace to their manes! i was very early in life bereft of both; educated at one of the public schools, i was, in due time, sent to matriculate at oxford, where, reader, i propose to commence my eccentric tour. [illustration: page ] [illustration: page ] a shandean scene, between lady mary oldstyle and horatio heartly. "i know him well," said horatio, with a half-suppressed sigh, as he finished the introductory chapter to the first volume of the english spy, or colloquial sketches of men and manners. "he is no misanthrope," said my aunt, taking off her spectacles to wipe away the pearly drop which meek-eyed pity gave to the recollection of scenes long passed. horatio paused--the book dropped instinctively upon his knee, as his raised eye involuntarily caught the benign aspect of virtue and intelligence, softened by the crystal gems of feeling. "i wish i knew where he lived," said my aunt. "i'll find him out," said horatio;-"do," said my aunt, "and tell him an old friend of his father's, on whom fortune has deigned to smile in the winter of her days, would feign extend to him as much of worldly happiness as can be derived from the enjoyment of worldly treasure." ~ ~~ by that sort of magical attraction which imperceptibly links together the souls of kindred spirits, horatio's chair had made an angular movement, of at least six degrees, in a direction nearer to his venerable relation: no lover ever pressed with more fervency of affection the yielding hand of his soul's deity, than did the grateful nephew, at this moment, clasp within his eager grasp the aged palm of bounteous charity. "i wish he may accept your kind offer," said horatio. "and why should he not?" said my aunt, with a half inclination of extricating her hand, and a penetrating glance of doubt, directed full in the face of the speaker: "i know not," said horatio, (hesitating, as if fearful of giving offence), "but,"-"but what?" said my aunt;-"but i fear his natural love of independence, and eccentricity of mind, will admit of no constraint, which his high sense of honor will anticipate must be partially the case whenever he submits himself to accept the favors of even such generous hearts as yours." "he would feel no such thing," said my aunt. "he could not resist the impression," said horatio; "your liberality would, i know, be calculated to dispossess him of the painful sensation; but if the inherent pride of the man could be subdued, or calmed into acquiescence, by breathing the enchanting air of friendship, the weight of gratitude, the secret monitor of fine-wrought minds, would overpower his tongue, and leave him, in his own estimation, a pauper of the poorest class." "then i'll adopt another mode," said my aunt; "and though i hate the affectation of secret charities, because i think the donor of a generous action is well entitled to his reward, both here and hereafter,--i'll hand out some way, anonymously or otherwise, to indulge my humour of serving him." "you are an angel!" said horatio, with his eyes fixed on the ground--(the spirit of the angel of benevolence,--quoth reason, whispering in his ear, would have been ~ ~~ a better metaphor,--certainly inhabits the aged bosom of your father's sister). horatio's upraised eye rested on the wrinkled front of his antique relative, just as the corrective thought gleamed in visionary brightness o'er his brain; the poetic inspiration of the moment fled like the passing meteor, but the feeling which excited it remained engrafted on his memory for ever. "how shall we find him out, my dear horatio?" said my aunt, her whole countenance animated with delight at the last flattering ejaculation of her nephew-"where shall we seek him?--i'll order the carriage directly." the glow of pleasure and anticipatory gratification, which at this moment beamed in the countenance of the old lady, brought back the circling current of health to the cheeks of age, and, with the blush of honest feeling, dispelled the stains of time; the furrowed streaks of care vanished from her front, and left her whole frame proportionably invigorated. if the mere contemplation of a generous action can thus inspire the young, and give new life to age, what a load of misery and deformity might not the sons and daughters of nature divest themselves of, by following the inherent dictates of benevolence! reflection, whenever he deigned to penetrate the pericranium of my cousin horatio, took entire possession of the citadel, and left him not even the smallest loophole for the observation of any passing event. he was just fixed in one of these abstracted reveries of the mind, traversing over the halcyon scenes of his collegiate days, and re-associating himself with his early friend, the author of the eccentric volume then in his hand, when the above monition sprung from his heart, like the crystal stream that sparkles in the air, when first it bursts through the mineral bondage of the womb of nature. "you are right," said my aunt. horatio started with surprise, almost unconscious of her presence, or ~ ~~ what he had said to deserve her approbation. "true happiness," she continued, "is the offspring of generosity and virtue, and never inhabits a bosom where worldly interest and selfish principles are allowed to predominate. there are many who possess all the requisites for the enjoyment of true happiness, who, from the prejudices of education, or the mistaken pride of ancestry, have never experienced the celestial rapture: they have never been amalgamated with society, are strangers to poverty themselves, and cannot comprehend its operation upon others; born and moving in a sphere where the chilling blasts of indigence never penetrate, or the clouds of adversity appal, they have no conception of the more delightful gratification which springs from the source of all earthly happiness, the pleasure and ability of administering to the wants and comforts of our fellow creatures." "yours is the true philosophy of nature, aunt," said horatio, "where principle and practice may be seen, arm in arm, like the twin sisters, charity and virtue,--a pair of antique curiosities much sought after, but rarely found amid the assemblage of _virtu_ in the collections of your modern people of fashion." "i'll alter my will to-morrow morning," thought my aunt; "this boy deserves to be as rich in acres as he already is in benevolence: he shall have the leicestershire estate added to what i have already bequeathed him, by way of codicil." "you would be delighted with my friend bernard, aunt," said horatio, "that is, when he is in good spirits; but you must not judge of him by the common standard of estimation: if, on the first introduction, he should happen to be in one of those lively humours when his whole countenance is lighted up with the brilliancy of genius, you would be enraptured by the sallies of his wit, and the solidity of his reasoning; but if, on the contrary, he should unfortunately ~ ~~ be in one of those abstracted moods when all terrestrial objects are equally indifferent, you will, i fear, form no very favourable opinion of his merit. he is an eccentric in every respect, and must not be judged of by the acquaintance of an hour. we were boys together at eton, and the associations of youth ripened with maturity into the most sincere friendly attachment, which was materially assisted by the similarity of our dispositions and pursuits, during our residence at college. your kind notice of my poor friend, aunt, has revived the fondest recollections of my life--the joyous scenes of infancy, when the young heart, free from the trammels of the world, and buoyant as the bird of spring, wings along the flowery path of pleasure, plucking at will the sweets of nature, and decking his infant brow with wreaths of fresh gathered wild flowers." horatio paused, not for want of subject, but a train of recollections overpowered his memory, producing an unspeakable sensation, which for a moment choked his utterance. "there is a blank in this work, which you shall fill up," said my aunt; "you must perform the office of an impartial historian for your friend, and before we proceed farther with this volume, give me the history of your school-boy days." [illustration: page ] ~ ~~ school-boy reminiscences. on early friendship. in many a strain of grief and joy my youthful spirit sung to thee; but i am now no more a boy, and there's a gulf 'twixt thee and me. time on my brow has set his seal; i start to find myself a man, and know that i no more shall feel as only boyhood's spirit can. etonian. there is an imperceptible but powerfully connecting link in our early associations and school-boy friendships, which is very difficult to describe, but exceedingly grateful to reflect on; particularly when the retrospective affords a view of early attachments ripened into perfection with maturity, and cementing firmly with increasing years. youth is the period of frankness and of zeal, when the young heart, buoyant with hope and cheering prospects, fills with joy, and expands in all the brightness of fancy's variety. the ambition, lures, and conflicting interests of the world, have as yet made no inroad upon the mind; the bosom is a stranger to misery, the tongue to deceit, the eye glows with all the luxuriance of pleasure, and the whole countenance presents an animated picture of health and intelligence illumined with delight. the playfulness or incaution of youth may demand correction, or produce momentary pain; but the tears of ~ ~~ infancy fall like the summer dew upon the verdant slope, which the first gleam of the returning sun kisses away, and leaves the face of nature tinged with a blush of exquisite brilliancy, but with no trace of the sparkling moisture which lately veiled its beauty. this is the glittering period of life, when the gay perspective of the future seems clothed in every attractive hue, and the objects of this world assume a grace divine: then it is that happiness, borne on the wings of innocence and light-hearted mirth, attends our every step, and seems to wait obedient to our will. what a painful reverse may not the retrospective view afford! how unlike is the finished picture to the inspiring sketch. the one breathing the soft air of nature, and sparkling in brilliant tints of variegated hues, serene, clear, and transparent, like the magic pencilling of the heavenly claude, shedding ambrosial sweets around. the reverse indistinct, and overpowered with gloomy shadows, a mixture of the terrific and the marvellous, like the stormy and convulsive scenes of the mighty genius of salvator rosa, with here and there a flash of wildest eccentricity, that only serves to render more visible the murky deformity of the whole. horatio had just finished his introductory rhapsody, when the door opened, and my aunt's servant entered with tea and toast: the simmering of the water round the heated tube of the urn, tingling in the ears of heartly, broke the thread of his narration. there was a pause of nearly a minute, while john was busy in arranging the equipage. "you should have waited till i had rung, john," said my aunt. "please your ladyship," said john, "you directed me always to bring tea in at six precisely, without waiting for orders." my aunt looked puzzled: "you are right, john, i did; and (addressing horatio) the fault of the interruption must therefore rest with me." horatio bowed; the compliment was too flattering to be ~ ~~ misunderstood. "draw the curtains, john," said my aunt, "and make up the fire: we can help ourselves to what we want--you need not wait; and do not interrupt us again until you are rung for." "this is very mysterious," thought john, as he closed to the drawing-room door; and he related what he thought to my lady's maid, when he returned to the servants' hall. "you are, no conjurer, john," said mrs. margaret, with an oblique inclination of the head, half amorous and half conceited--"the old lady's will has been signed and sealed these three years; i was present when it was made--ay, and i signed it too, and what's more, i knows all its contents; there are some people in the world (viewing herself in an opposite looking-glass) who may be very differently circumstanced some day or other." john's heart had long felt a sort of fluttering inclination to unburthen itself, by linking destinies with the merry mrs. margaret; the prospect of a handsome legacy, or perhaps an annuity, gave an additional spur to john's affectionate feelings, and that night he resolved to put the question. all this mrs. margaret had anticipated, and as she was now on the verge of forty, she very prudently thought there was no time to lose. "they are a pair of oddities," continued the waiting-maid; "i have sometimes surprised them both crying, as if their hearts would break, over a new book: i suppose they have got something very interesting, as my lady calls it and mr. horatio is sermonizing as usual."--mrs margaret was not far wrong in her conjecture, for when my aunt and horatio were again alone, she rallied him on the serious complexion of his style. [illustration: page ] ~ ~~ character of bernard blackmantle. by horatio heartly. you shall have it from his own pen, said horatio. in my portfolio, i have preserved certain scraps of bernard's that will best speak his character; prose and poetry, descriptive and colloquial, hudibrastic and pastoral, trifles in every costume of literary fancy, according with the peculiar humour of the author at the time of their inditing, from these you shall judge my eccentric friend better than by any commendation of mine. i shall merely preface these early offerings of his genius with a simple narrative of our school-boy intimacy. i had been about three months at eton, and had grown somewhat familiar with the characters of my associates, and the peculiarities of their phraseology and pursuits, when our dame's party was increased by the arrival of bernard blackmantle. it is usual with the sons of old etona, on the arrival of a fresh subject, to play off a number of school-boy witticisms and practical jokes, which though they may produce a little mortification in the first instance, tend in no small degree to display the qualifications of mind possessed by their new associate, and give him a familiarity with his companions and their customs, which otherwise would take more time, and subject the stranger to much greater inconvenience. bernard underwent all the initiatory school ceremonies and ~ ~~ humiliations with great coolness, but not without some display of that personal courage and true nobleness of mind, which advances the new comer in the estimation of his school-fellows. first impressions are almost always indelible: there was a frankness and sincerity in his manner, and an archness and vivacity in his countenance and conversation, that imperceptibly attached me to the young stranger. we were soon the most inseparable cons,{ } the depositors of each other's youthful secrets, and the mutual participators in every passing sport and pleasure. naturally cheerful, bernard became highly popular with our miniature world; there was however one subject which, whenever it was incautiously started by his companions, always excited a flood of tears, and for a time spread a gloomy abstraction over his mind. bernard had from his very infancy been launched into the ocean of life without a knowledge of his admiral{ } but not without experiencing all that a mother's fondness could supply: when others recapitulated the enjoyments of their paternal home, and painted with all the glow of youthful ardour the anticipated pleasures of the holidays, the tear would trickle down his crimsoned cheek; and quickly stealing away to some sequestered spot, his throbbing bosom was relieved by many a flood of woe. that some protecting spirit watched over his actions, and directed his course, he was well assured, but as yet he had never been able to comprehend the mystery with which he was surrounded. his questions on this point to his mother it was evident gave her pain, and were always met by some evasive answer. he had been early taught to keep his own secret, but the prying curiosity of an eton school-boy was not easily satisfied, and too often rendered the task one of great pain and difficulty. on these occasions i would seek friends. the eton phrase for father. ~ ~~ him out, and as the subject was one of too tender a nature for the tongue of friendship to dwell upon, endeavour to divert his thoughts by engaging him in some enlivening sport. his amiable manners and generous heart had endeared him to all, and in a short time his delicate feelings were respected, and the slightest allusion to ambiguity of birth cautiously avoided by all his associates, who, whatever might be their suspicions, thought his brilliant qualifications more than compensated for any want of ancestral distinction. the following portrait of my friend is from the pen of our elegant con, horace eglantine. a portrait. a heart fill'd with friendship and love, a brain free from passion's excess, a mind a mean action above, a hand to relieve keen distress. poverty smiled on his birth, and gave what all riches exceeds, wit, honesty, wisdom, and worth; a soul to effect noble needs. legitimates bow at his shrine; unfetter'd he sprung into life; when vigour with love doth combine to free nature from priestcraft and strife. no ancient escutcheon he claim'd, crimson'd with rapine and blood; he titles and baubles disdain'd, yet his pedigree traced from the flood. ennobled by all that is bright in the wreath of terrestrial fame, genius her pure ray of light spreads a halo to circle his name. the main-spring of all his actions was a social disposition, which embraced a most comprehensive view ~ ~~ of the duties of good fellowship. he was equally popular with all parties, by never declaring for any particular one: with the cricketers he was accounted a hard swipe{ } an active field{ } and a stout bowler;{ } in a water party he was a stroke{ } of the ten oar; at foot-ball, in the playing fields, or a leap across chalvey ditch, he was not thought small beer{ } of; and he has been known to have bagged three sparrows after a toodle{ } of three miles. his equals loved him for his social qualities, and courted his acquaintance as the _sine qua non_ of society; and the younger members of the school looked up to him for protection and assistance. if power was abused by the upper boys, bernard was appealed to as the mediator between the fag{ } and his master. his grants of liberties{ } to the commonalty were indiscriminate and profuse, while his influence was always exerted to obtain the same privileges for his numerous proteges from the more close aristocrats.{ } he was always to be seen attended by a shoal of dependents of every form in the school, some to get their lessons construed, and others to further claims to their respective stations in a good bat-man. to run well, or keep a good look out. strong and expert. a first rate waterman. not thought meanly of. sometimes this phrase is used in derision, as, he does not think small beer of himself. a walk. any sixth or fifth form boy can fag an oppidan underling: the collegers are exempted from this custom. the liberties, or college bounds, are marked by stones placed in different situations; grants of liberties are licences given by the head boys to the juniors to break bounds, or rather to except them from the disagreeable necessity of shirking, (i. e.) hiding from fear of being reported to the masters. to that interesting original miscellany, the 'etonian,' i am indebted for several valuable hints relative to early scenes. the characters are all drawn from observation, with here and there a slight deviation, or heightening touch, the rather to disguise and free them from aught of personal offence, than any intentional departure from truth and nature. ~ ~~ the next cricket match or water expedition. the duck and green pea suppers at surley hall would have lost half their relish without the enlivening smiles and smart repartees of bernard blackmantle. the preparations for the glorious fourth of june were always submitted to his superior skill and direction. his fiat could decide the claims of the rival boats, in their choice of jackets, hats, and favors; and the judicious arrangement of the fire-works was another proof of his taste. let it not, however, be thought that his other avocations so entirely monopolized him as to preclude a due attention to study. had it been so, his success with the [greek phrase] would never have been so complete: his desire to be able to confer obligations on his schoolfellows induced bernard to husband carefully every hour which he spent at home; a decent scholarship, and much general knowledge, was the reward of this plan. the treasure-house of his memory was well stored, and his reputation as an orator gave promise of future excellence. his classical attainments, if not florid, were liberal, and free from pedantry. his proficiency in english literature was universally acknowledged, and his love of the poets amounted to enthusiasm. he was formed for all the bustle of variegated life, and his conversation was crystallized with the sparkling attractions of wit and humour. subject to the weakness to which genius is ever liable, he was both eccentric and wayward, but he had the good sense to guard his failing from general observation; and although he often shot his arrows anonymously, he never dipt them in the gall of prejudice or ill-nature. i have dwelt upon his character with pleasure, because there are very few who know him intimately. with a happy versatility of talents, he is neither lonesome in his solitude, nor over joyous in a crowd. for his literary attainments, they must be judged of by their fruits. i cannot better conclude my attempt ~ ~~ to describe his qualifications than by offering his first essay to your notice, a school-boy tribute to friendship. true friendship. 'infido scurræ distabit amicus.' horace. how very seldom do we find a relish in the human mind for friendship pure and real; how few its approbation seek, how oft we count its censures weak, disguising what we feel. adulation lives to please, truth dies the victim of disease, forgotten by the world: the flattery of the fool delights the wise, rebuke our pride affrights, and virtue's banner's furl'd. wherefore do we censure fate, when she withholds the perfect state of friendship from our grasp, if we ourselves have not the power, the mind to enjoy the blessed hour, the fleeting treasure clasp? this (i have reason to believe his first poetical essay) was presented me on my birthday, when we had been about two years together at eton: a short time afterwards i surprised him one morning writing in his bedroom; my curiosity was not a little excited by the celerity with which i observed he endeavoured to conceal his papers. "i must see what you are about, bernard," said i. "treason, horatio," replied the young author. "would you wish to be implicated, or become a confederate? if so, take the oath of secrecy, and read." judge of my surprise, when, on casting my eye over his lucubrations, i perceived he had been sketching the portraits of the group, with ~ ~~ whom we were in daily association at our dame's. as i perceive by a glance at his work that most of his early friends have parts assigned them in his colloquial scenes, i consider the preservation of this trifle important, as it will furnish a key to the characters. [illustration: page ] ~ ~~ eton sketches of character. '----i'll paint for grown up people's knowledge, the manners, customs, and affairs of college.' portraits in my dame's dining-room. at the head of the large table on the right hand you will perceive the honourable lilyman lionise, the second son of a nobleman, whose ancient patrimony has been nearly dissipated between his evening parties at the club-houses, in french hazard, or rouge et noir, and his morning speculations with his betting book at tattersall's, newmarket, or the fives-court; whose industry in getting into debt is only exceeded by his indifference about getting out; whose acquired property (during his minority) and personals have long since been knocked down by the hammer of the auctioneer, under direction of the sheriff, to pay off some gambling bond in preference to his honest creditor; yet who still flourishes a fashionable gem of the first water, and condescends to lend the lustre of ~ ~~ his name, when he has nothing else to lend, that he may secure the advantage of a real loan in return. his patrimonial acres and heirlooms remain indeed untouched, because the court of chancery have deemed it necessary to appoint a receiver to secure their faithful transmission to the next heir. the son has imbibed a smattering of all the bad qualities of his sire, without possessing one ray of the brilliant qualifications for which he is distinguished. proud without property, and sarcastic without being witty, ill temper he mistakes for superior carriage, and haughtiness for dignity: his study is his toilet, and his mind, like his face, is a vacuity neither sensible, intelligent, nor agreeable. he has few associates, for few will accept him for a companion. with his superiors in rank, his precedent honorary distinction yields him no consideration; with his equals, it places him upon too familiar a footing; while with his inferiors, it renders him tyrannical and unbearable. his mornings, between school hours, are spent in frequent change of dress, and his afternoons in a lounge à la bond-street, annoying the modest females and tradesmen's daughters of eton; his evenings (after absence{ } is called) at home, in solitary dissipation over his box of liqueurs, or in making others uncomfortable by his rudeness and overbearing dictation. he is disliked by the dame, detested by the servants, and shunned by his schoolfellows, and yet he is our captain, a _sextile, a roue_, and above all, an honourable. tom echo. a little to the left of the exquisite, you may perceive tom's merry countenance shedding good-humour around him. he is the only one who can _absence_ is called several times in the course of the day, to prevent the boys straying away to any great distance from the college, and at night to secure them in quarters at the dames' houses: if a boy neglects to answer to his name, or is too late for the call, inquiry is immediately made at his dame's, and a very satisfactory apology must be offered to prevent punishment. manage the _sextile_ with effect: tom is always ready with a tart reply to his sarcasm, or a _cut_ at his consequence. tom is the eldest son of one of the most respectable whig families in the kingdom, whose ancestors have frequently refused a peerage, from an inherent democratical but constitutional jealousy of the crown. independence and tom were nursery friends, and his generous, noble-hearted conduct renders him an universal favorite with the school. then, after holidays, tom always returns with such a rich collection of fox-hunting stories and sporting anecdotes, and gives sock{ } so graciously, that he is the very life of dame ------'s party. there is to be sure one drawback to tom's good qualities, but it is the natural attendant upon a high flow of animal spirits: if any mischief is on foot, tom is certain to be concerned, and ten to one but he is the chief contriver: to be seen in his company, either a short time previous to, or quickly afterwards, although perfectly innocent, is sure to create a suspicion of guilt with the masters, which not unusually involves his companions in trouble, and sometimes in unmerited punishment. tom's philosophy is to live well, study little, drink hard, and laugh immoderately. he is not deficient in sense, but he wants application and excitement: he has been taught from infancy to feel himself perfectly independent of the world, and at home every where: nature has implanted in his bosom the characteristic benevolence of his ancestry, and he stands among us a being whom every one loves and admires, without any very distinguishing trait of learning, wit, or superior qualification, to command the respect he excites. if any one tells a good story or makes a laughable pun, tom retails it for a week, and all the school have the advantage of hearing and enjoying it. any proposition for a boat party, cricketing, or a toodle into windsor, or along the banks of the thames good cheer; any nicety, as pastry, &c. ~ ~~ on a sporting excursion, is sure to meet a willing response from him. he is second to none in a charitable subscription for a poor _cad_, or the widow of a drowned _bargee_; his heart ever reverberates the echo of pleasure, and his tongue only falters to the echo of deceit. horace eglantine is placed just opposite to lily man lionise, a calm-looking head, with blue eyes and brown hair, which flows in ringlets of curls over his shoulders. horace is the son of a city banker, by the second daughter of an english earl, a young gentleman of considerable expectations, and very amusing qualifications. horace is a strange composition of all the good-natured whimsicalities of human nature, happily blended together without any very conspicuous counteracting foible. facetious, lively, and poetical, the cream of every thing that is agreeable, society cannot be dull if horace lends his presence. his imitations of anacreon, and the soft bard of erin, have on many occasions puzzled the cognoscenti of eton. like moore too, he both composes and performs his own songs. the following little specimen of his powers will record one of those pleasant impositions with which he sometimes enlivens a winter's evening: to eliza. oh think not the smile and the glow of delight, with youth's rosy hue, shall for ever be seen: frosty age will o'ercloud, with his mantle of night, the brightest and fairest of nature's gay scene. or think while you trip, like some aerial sprite, to pleasure's soft notes on the dew-spangled mead, that the rose of thy cheek, or thine eyes' starry light, shall sink into earth, and thy spirit be freed. then round the gay circle we'll frolic awhile, and the light of young love shall the fleet hour bless while the pure rays of friendship our eve-tide beguile, above fortune's frowns and the chills of distress ~ ~~ the most provoking punster and poet that ever turned the serious and sentimental into broad humour. every quaint remark affords a pun or an epigram, and every serious sentence gives birth to some merry couplet. such is the facility with which he strings together puns and rhyme, that in the course of half an hour he has been known to wager, and win it--that he made a couplet and a pun on every one present, to the number of fifty. nothing annoys the exquisite _sextile_ so much as this tormenting talent of horace; he is always shirking him, and yet continually falling in his way. for some time, while horace was in the fourth form, these little _jeu-d'esprits_ were circulated privately, and smuggled up in half suppressed laughs; but being now high on the fifth, horace is no longer in fear of _fagging_, and therefore gives free license to his tongue in many a witty jest, which "sets the table in a roar." dick gradus. in a snug corner, at a side table, observe that shrewd-looking little fellow poring over his book; his features seem represented by acute angles, and his head, which appears too heavy for his body, represents all the thoughtfulness of age, like an ancient fragment of phidias or praxiteles placed upon new shoulders by some modern bust carver. dick is the son of an eminent solicitor in a borough town, who has raised himself into wealth and consequence by a strict attention to the principles of interest: sharp practice, heavy mortgages, loans on annuity, and post obits, have strengthened his list of possessions till his influence is extended over half the county. the proprietor of the borough, a good humoured sporting extravagant, has been compelled to yield his influence in st. stephen's to old gradus, that he may preserve his character at newmarket, and continue his pack and fox-hunting festivities at home. the representation of the place is now disposed of to the best bidder, but the ambition of the father has long since determined upon sending his son (when of age) ~ ~~ into parliament--a promising candidate for the "loaves and fishes." richard gradus, m.p.--you may almost perceive the senatorial honor stamped upon the brow of the young aspirant; he has been early initiated into the value of time and money; his lessons of thrift have been practically illustrated by watching the operations of the law in his father's office; his application to learning is not the result of an innate love of literature, or the ambition of excelling his compeers, but a cold, stiff, and formal desire to collect together materials for the storehouse of his memory, that will enable him to pursue his interested views and future operations on society with every prospect of success. genius has no participation in his studies: his knowledge of greek and latin is grammatical and pedantic; he reads livy, tacitus, sallust, cæsar, xenophon, thucydides, in their original language; boasts of his learning with a haughty mien and scornful look of self-importance, and thinks this school-boy exercise of memory, this mechanism of the mind, is to determine the line between genius and stupidity; and has never taken into consideration that the mere linguist, destitute of native powers, with his absurd parade of scholastic knowledge, is a solitary barren plant, when opposed to the higher occupations of the mind, to the flights of fancy, the daring combinations of genius, and the sublime pictures of imagination. dick is an isolated being, a book-worm, who never embarks in any party of pleasure, from the fear of expense; he has no talents for general conversation, while his ridiculous affectation of learning subjects him to a constant and annoying fire from the batteries of etonian wit. still, however, dick perseveres in his course, till his blanched cheeks and cadaverous aspect, from close study and want of proper exercise, proclaim the loss of health, and the probable establishment of some pulmonary affection that may, before he scarcely reaches maturity, blight the ambitious hopes of his father, and consign ~ ~~ the son "to that bourne from whence no traveller returns." horatio heartly. at the lower end of the room, observe a serene-looking head displaying all the quiet character of a youthful portrait by the divine raphael, joined to the inspiring sensibility which flashes from the almost breathing countenance and penetrating brilliancy of eye, that distinguishes a guido. that is my bosom friend, my more than brother, my mentor and my guide. horatio is an orphan, the son of a general officer, whose crimsoned stream of life was dried up by an eastern sun, while he was yet a lisping infant. his mother, lovely, young, and rich in conjugal attachment, fell a blighted corse in early widowhood, and left horatio, an unprotected bud of virtuous love, to the fostering care of lady mary oldstyle, a widowed sister of the general's, not less rich in worldly wealth than in true benevolence of heart, and the celestial glow of pure affection. heartly is a happy combination of all the good-humoured particles of human nature blended together, with sense, feeling, and judgment. learned without affectation, and liberal without being profuse, he has found out the secret of attaching all the school to himself, without exciting any sensation of envy, or supplanting prior friendships. horatio is among the alumni of eton the king of good fellows: there is not a boy in the school, colleger, or oppidan, but what would fight a long hour to defend him from insult; no--nor a sparkling eye among the enchanting daughters of old _etona_ that does not twinkle with pleasure at the elegant congée, and amiable attentions, which he always pays at the shrine of female accomplishment. generous to a fault, his purse--which the bounty of his aunt keeps well supplied--is a public bank, _pro bono publico_. his parties to _sock_ are always distinguished by an excellent selection, good taste, and superior style. in all the varied school sports and pastimes, his manly form and vigorous constitution gain him a superior ~ ~~ station among his compeers, which his cheerful disposition enables him to turn to general advantage. nor is he in less estimation with the masters, who are loud in their praises of his assiduity and proficiency in school pursuits. horatio is not exactly a genius: there is nothing of that wild eccentricity of thought and action which betokens the vivid flights of imagination, or the meteoric brightness of inspiration; his actions are distinguished by coolness, intrepidity, and good sense. he does not pretend to second sight, or a knowledge of futurity; but on the present and the past there are few who can reason with more cogency of remark, or with more classic elegance of diction: with such a concentration of qualities, it is not wonderful that his influence extends through every gradation of the juvenile band. his particular attachments are not numerous; but those who have experienced the sincerity of his private friendship must always remain his debtor--from deficiency of expression; among the most obliged of whom is--the author. bob transit. bob has no fixed situation; therefore it would be in vain to attempt to say where he may be found: sometimes he is placed next to bernard, and between him and heartly, with whom he generally associates; at other times he takes his situation at the side table, or fills up a spare corner opposite to dick gradus, or the exquisite, either of whom he annoys, during dinner, by sketching their portraits in caricature upon the cover of his latin grammar, with their mouths crammed full of victuals, or in the act of swallowing hot pudding: nor does the dame sometimes escape him; the whole table have frequently been convulsed with laughter at bob's comic representation of miss --------'s devout phiz, as exhibited during the preparatory ceremony of a dinner grace: the soul of whim, and source of fun and frolic, bob is no mean auxiliary to a merry party, or the exhilarating pleasure of a broad grin. ~ ~~ bob's _admiral_ is an r.a. of very high repute; who, having surmounted all the difficulties of obscure origin and limited education, by the brilliancy of his talents, has determined to give his son the advantage of early instruction and liberal information, as a prelude to his advancement in the arts. talent is not often hereditary (or at least in succession); but the facility of transit's pencil is astonishing: with the rapidity of a fuseli he sketches the human figure in all its various attitudes, and produces in his hasty drawings so much force of effect and truth of character, that the subject can never be mistaken. his humour is irresistible, and is strongly characterized by all the eccentricity and wit of a gilhay, turning the most trifling incidents into laughable burlesque. between him and horace eglantine there exists a sort of copartnership in the sister arts of poetry and painting: horace rhymes, and bob illustrates; and very few in the school of any note have at one time or other escaped this combination of epigram and caricature. bob has an eye to real life, and is formed for all the bustle of the varied scene. facetious, witty, and quaint, with all the singularity of genius in his composition, these juvenile _jeux d'esprits_ of his pencil may be regarded as the rays of promise, which streak with golden tints the blushing horizon of the morn of youth. as bob is not over studious, or attached to the latin and greek languages, he generally manages to get any difficult lesson construed by an agreement with some more learned and assiduous associate; the _quid pro quo_ on these occasions being always punctually paid on his part by a humorous sketch of the head master calling first absence, taken from a snug, oblique view in the school-yard, or a burlesque on some of the fellows or inhabitants of eton. in this way bob contrives to pass school muster, although these specimens of talent have, on more than one occasion, brought him to the block. it must however ~ ~~ be admitted, that in all these flights of fancy his pencil is never disgraced by any malignancy of motive, or the slightest exhibition of personal spleen. good humour is his motto; pleasure his pursuit: and if he should not prove a porson or an elmsley, he gives every promise of being equally eminent with a bunbury, gillray, or a rowlandson. varied groups are disposed around the room, and make up the back ground of my picture. many of these are yet too young to particularize, and others have nothing sufficiently characteristic to deserve it; some who have not yet committed their first fault, and many who are continually in error; others who pursue the straight beaten track to scholastic knowledge, and trudge on like learned dromedaries. two or three there are who follow in no sphere-eccentric stars, shooting from space to space; some few mischievous wags, who delight in a good joke, and will run the risk of punishment at any time to enjoy it; with here and there a little twinkling gem, like twilight planets, just emerging from the misty veil of nature. these form my dame's dinner party. reader, do not judge them harshly from this hasty sketch: take into your consideration their youth and inexperience; and if they do not improve upon acquaintance, and increase in estimation with their years, the fault must in justice rather be attributed to the author than to any deficiency in their respective merits. [illustration: page ] ~ ~~ the five principal orders of eton, doctor, dame, colleger, oppidan, and cad. a sketch taken opposite the long walk. [illustration: page ] [illustration: page ] eton dames*; an ode, neither amatory, ill-natured, nor pathetic. let oxford beaux, to am'rous belles, love's warm epistles write; or cambridge youths, in classic dells, invoke the shadowy night. * the above _jeu-d'esprit_ made its appearance on one of those joyous occasions, when the sons of old etona return from oxford and cambridge, filled with filial regard for early scenes and school-boy friendships, to commemorate a college election. it was, at the time, purposely attributed to some of these waggish visitors, a sort of privileged race, who never fail of indulging in numerous good-humoured freaks with the inhabitants of eton, to show off to the rising generation the pleasantries, whims, and improvements of a college life. the subject is one of great delicacy, but it will, i hope, be admitted by the merry dames themselves, that my friend bernard has in this, as in every other instance, endeavoured to preserve the strongest traits of truth and character, without indulging in offensive satire, or departing from propriety and decorum.--horatio heartly. ~ ~~ let cockney poets boast their flames, of ' vicked cupit' patter: be mine a verse on eton dames-- a more substantial matter. i care not if the graces three have here withheld perfection: brown, black, or fair, the same to me,-- e'en age is no objection. a pleasing squint, or but one eye, will do as well as any; a mouth between a laugh and cry, or wrinkled, as my granny. a hobbling gait, or a wooden leg, or locks of silvery gray; or name her madge, or poll, or peg, she still shall have my lay. perfection centres in the mind, the gen'rous must acknowledge: then, muse, be candid, just, and kind, to dames of eton college.* * the independent students, commonly called _oppidans_, are very numerous: they are boarded at private houses in the environs of the college; the presiding masters and mistresses of which have from time immemorial enjoyed the title of _domine_ and _dame_: the average number of _oppidans_ is from three hundred to three hundred and fifty. five principal orders of eton ~ ~~ proem. said truth to the muse, as they wander'd along, "prithee, muse, spur your pegasus into a song; let the subject be lively,--how like you the belles?" said the muse, "he's no sportsman that kisses and tells. but in females delighting, suppose we stop here, and do you bid the dames of old eton appear; in your mirror their merits, with candour, survey, and i'll sing their worth in my very best lay." no sooner 'twas said, than agreed:--it was done, wing'd mercury summon'd them every one. miss a***lo. first, deck'd in the height of the fashion, a belle, an angel, ere chronos had tipt her with snow, advanced to the goddess, and said, "you may tell, that in eton, there's no better table, you know;" and by truth 'twas admitted, "her generous board is rich, in whatever the seasons afford." the miss t*****s. of ancients, a pair next presented themselves, when in popp'd some waggish oxonian elves, who spoke of times past, of short commons, and cheese, and told tales, which did much the old ladies displease. "good morning," said truth, as the dames pass'd him by: young stomachs, if stinted, are sure to outcry. mrs. r******u. on her _domine_ leaning came dame b******u, the oldest in college, deck'd in rich furbelow. ~ ~~ she curtsied around to the _oppidan_ band, but not one said a word, and but few gave a hand. truth whisper'd the muse,, who, as sly, shook her head, saying, "where little's told, 'tis soon mended, it's said." mrs. g******e. when s******e appear'd, what a shout rent the air! the spruce widow affords the most excellent cheer; for comfort in quarters there's nothing can beat her, so up rose the lads with a welcome to greet her: the muse with true gallantry led her to place, and truth said good humour was writ in her face. mrs. d****n. with a face (once divine), and a figure still smart, and a grace that defies even time's fatal dart, dame d****n advanced, made her curtsy, and smiled: truth welcomed the fair, the grave, witty, and wild; all, all gave their votes, and some said they knew that her numbers by no measure equall'd her due. miss s******s. "by my hopes," said the muse, "here's a rare jolly pair, a right merry frontispiece, comely and fair, to good living and quarters." "you're right," nodded truth. a welcome approval was mark'd in each youth. and 'twas no little praise among numbers like theirs, to meet a unanimous welcome up stairs. miss l******d. lavater, though sometimes in error, you'll find may be here quoted safely; the face tells the mind. good humour and happiness live in her eye. her motto's contentment you'll easily spy. five principal orders of eton ~ ~~ a chair for miss l******d truth placed near the muse; for beauty to rhyme can fresh spirit infuse. mrs. v******y. v******y, in weeds led and angel along, accomplish'd and pretty, who blush'd at the throng. the old dame seem'd to say, and i'faith she might well, "sons of eton, when saw you a handsomer belle?" if any intended the widow to sneer, miss a------won their favor, and banish'd the jeer. three sisters, famed for various parts, one clerks, and one makes savoury tarts; while t'other, bless her dinner face, cuts up the viands with a grace, advanced, and met a cheerful greeting from all who glorify good eating. mrs. w. h****r. with a smile, _à la confident_, came mrs. h, whose domine writing to eton's sons teach: in college, the handiest man you can find for improvements of all sorts, both building and mind: he seem'd on good terms with himself, but the muse said, "the dame claim'd a welcome which none could refuse." dame a****s. dame a****s, respected by all, made her way through the throng that assembled at eton that day. old chronos had wrinkled her forehead, 'tis true; yet her countenance beam'd in a rich, mellow hue of good humour and worth; 'twas a pleasure to mark how the dame was applauded by each eton spark. ~ ~~ miss b*******k. long and loud were the plaudits the lady to cheer, whom the doctor had treated somewhat cavalier: "too young," said the ancient, "the proverb is trite; age and wisdom, good doctor, not always unite." "for prudence and worth," said truth, "i'll be bound she may challenge the dames of old eton around." a crowd pressing forward, the day growing late, truth whisper'd the muse, "we had better retreat; for though 'mong the dames we are free from disasters, i know not how well we may fare with the masters. there's carter, and yonge, knapp, green, and dupuis,* all coming this way with their ladies, i see. our visit, you know, was alone to the belles; the masters may sing, if they please, of themselves. truth mounted a cloud, and the poet his nag, and these whims sent next day by the post-office bag. * lower, and assistant masters, who keep boarding-houses. until lately this practice was not permitted; but it must be confessed that it is a salutary arrangement, as it not only tends to keep the youth in a better state of subjection, but in many instances is calculated to increase their progress in study, by enabling them to receive private instruction. [illustration: page [illustration: page ] ~ ~~ election saturday. a peep at the long chambers--the banquet--reflections on parting--arrival of the provost of king's college, cambridge, and the pozers--the captain's oration--busy monday--the oppidan's farewell--examination and election of the collegers who stand for king's--the aquatic gala and fireworks--oxonian visitors--night--rambles in eton-- transformations of signs and names--the feast at the christopher, with a view of the oppidan's museum, and eton court of claims. now from the schools pour forth a num'rous train, light-hearted, buoyant as the summer breeze, to deck thy bosom, eton: now each face anticipation brightens with delight, while many a fancied bliss floats gaily o'er the ardent mind, chaste as the nautilus, spreading her pearly spangles to the sun: the joyous welcome of parental love, the heart-inspiring kiss a sister yields, a brother's greeting, and the cheering smiles of relatives and friends, and aged domestics, time-honor'd for their probity and zeal, whose silvery locks recall to mem'ry's view some playful scene of earliest childhood, when frolic, mirth, and gambol led the way, ere reason gave sobriety of thought.- now bear the busy _cads_ the new-lopt bough of beech-tree to the dormitories, while active collegers the foliage raise against the chamber walls. a classic grove springs as by magic art, cool and refreshing, a luxury by nature's self supply'd, delicious shelter from the dog-star's ray. in thought profound the studious _sextile_ mark in learned converse with some ancient sage, whose aid he seeks to meet the dread provost. the captain fearless seeks the ancient stand, where old etona's sons, beneath time's altar-piece,* have immemorial welcomed _granta's_ chief. in college-hall the merry cook prepares the choicest viands for the master's banquet: a graceful, healthy throng surround the board, and temp'rance, love, and harmony, prevail. now busy dames are in high bustle caught, preparing for each oppidan's departure; and servants, like wing'd mercury, must fly o'er windsor bridge to hail the london coach. adieus on ev'ry side, farewell, farewell, rings in each passing ear; yet, nor regret nor sorrow marks the face, but all elate with cheerful tongue and brighten'd eye, unite to hail with joy etona's holiday. now comes the trial of who stands for king's, examinations difficult and deep the provost and his pozers to o'ercome. to this succeeds the grand aquatic gala, a spectacle of most imposing import, where, robed in every costume of the world, the gay youth direct the glittering prow; a fleet of well-trimm'd barks upon the bosom of old father thames, glide on to pleasure's note: ~ ~~ the expert victors are received with cheers, and the dark canopy of night's illumin'd with a grand display of brilliant fires. * shortly after the arrival of the provost, he proceeds through the cloisters, where he is met by the captain, or head boy of the school, who speaks a long latin oration before him, standing under the clock. to an old etonian the last week in july brings with it recollections of delight that time and circumstances can never wholly efface. if, beneath the broad umbrage of the refreshing grove, he seeks relief from care and sultry heat, memory recalls to his imagination the scenes of his boyhood, the ever pleasing recollections of infancy, when he reclined upon the flowery bosom of old father thames, or sought amusement in the healthful exercise of bathing, or calmly listened to the murmuring ripple of the waters, or joined the merry group in gently plying of the splashing oar. with what eager delight are these reminiscences of youth dwelt on! with what mingled sensations of hope, fear, and regret, do we revert to the happy period of life when, like the favorite flower of the month, our minds and actions rivalled the lily in her purity! who, that has ever tasted of the inspiring delight which springs from associations of scholastic friendships and amusements, but would eagerly quit the bustle of the great world to indulge in the enjoyment of the pure and unalloyed felicity which is yet to be found among the alumni of eton?--election saturday--the very sound reverberates the echo of pleasure, and in a moment places me (in imagination) in the centre of the long chambers of eton, walking beneath the grateful foliage of the beech-tree, with which those dormitories are always decorated previous to election saturday. i can almost fancy that i hear the rattle of the carriage wheels, and see the four horses smoking beneath the lodge-window of eton college, that conveys the provost of king's to attend examination and election. then too i can figure the classic band who wait to ~ ~~ receive him; the dignified little doctor leading the way, followed by the steady, calm-visaged lower master, carter; then comes benedict yonge, and after him a space intervenes, where one should have been of rare qualities, but he is absent; then follows good-humoured heath, and knapp, who loves the rattle of a coach, and pleasant, clever hawtry, and careful okes, and that shrewd sapper, green, followed by medium dupuis, and the intelligent chapman: these form his classic escort to the cloisters. but who shall paint the captain's envied feelings, the proud triumph of his assiduity and skill? to him the honourable office of public orator is assigned; with modest reverence he speaks the latin oration, standing, as is the custom from time immemorial, under the clock. there too he receives the bright reward, the approbation of the provost of king's college, and the procession moves forward to the college-hall to partake of the generous banquet. on sunday the provost of king's remains a guest with his compeer of eton. but busy monday arrives, and hundreds of oxonians and cantabs pour in to witness the speeches of the boys, and pay a tribute of respect to their former masters. the exhibition this day takes place in the upper school, and consists of sixth form oppidans and collegers. how well can i remember the animated picture eton presents on such occasions: shoals of juvenile oppidans, who are not yet of an age to have been elected of any particular school-party, marching forth from their dames' houses, linked arm in arm, parading down the street with an air and gaiety that implies some newly acquired consequence, or liberty of conduct. every where a holiday face presents itself, and good humour lisps upon every tongue. here may be seen a youthful group, all anxiety and bustle, trudging after some well-known _cad_, who creeps along towards the windsor coach-office, loaded with portmanteaus, carpet bags, and ~ ~~ boxes, like a norfolk caravan at christmas time; while the youthful proprietors of the bulky stock, all anxiety and desire to reach their relatives and friends, are hurrying him on, and do not fail to spur the _elephant_ with many a cutting gibe, at his slow progression. within doors the dames are all bustle, collecting, arranging, and packing up the wardrobes of their respective boarders; servants flying from the hall to the attic, and endangering their necks in their passage down again, from anxiety to meet the breathless impetuosity of their parting guests. books of all classes, huddled into a heap, may be seen in the corner of each bedroom, making _sock_ for the mice till the return of their purveyors with lots of plum-cake and savoury tarts. the more mature are now busily engaged in settling the fashion of their costume for the approaching gala; in receiving a visit from an elder brother, or a young oxonian, formerly of eton, who has arrived post to take _sock_ with him, and enjoy the approaching festivities. here a venerable domestic, whose silver locks are the truest emblem of his trusty services, arrives with the favorite pony to convey home the infant heir and hope of some noble house. now is garraway as lively as my lord mayor's steward at a guildhall feast-day; and the active note of preparation for the good things of this world rings through the oaken chambers of the christopher. not even the _sanctum sanctorum_ is forgotten, where, in times long past, i have quaffed my jug of bulstrode, "in cool grot," removed from the scorching heat of a july day, and enjoyed many a good joke, secure from the prying observations of the _domine_. one, and one only, class of persons wear a sorrowful face upon these joyous occasions, and these are the confectioners and fruitresses of eton; with them, election saturday and busy monday are like the herald to a jewish black fast, or a stock exchange holiday: they may as well _sport their oaks_ (to use an oxford phrase) till the ~ ~~ return of the oppidans to school, for they seldom see the colour of a customer's cash till the, to them, happy period arrives. on the succeeding days the examinations of the collegers proceed regularly; then follows the election of new candidates, and the severe trial of those who stand for king's. these scholastic arrangements generally conclude on the wednesday night, or thursday morning, and then pleasure mounts her variegated car, and drives wherever fancy may direct. formerly i find seven or eight scholars went to king's;{*} but in consequence of the fellows of eton holding pluralities, the means are impoverished, and the number consequently reduced to two or three: this is the more to be regretted, on account of the very severe and irrecoverable disappointment the scholars experience in losing their election, merely on account of age; as at nineteen they are superannuated, and cannot afterwards receive any essential benefit from the college. not the blue waves of the engia, covered with the gay feluccas of the greeks, and spreading their glittering streamers in the sun; nor the more lovely * this noble seminary of learning was founded by hen. vi. in . its establishment was then on a limited scale; it has long since been enlarged, and now consists of a provost, vice-provost, six fellows, two schoolmasters, with their assistants, seventy scholars, seven clerks, and ten choristers, besides various inferior officers and servants. the annual election of scholars to king's college, cambridge, takes place about the end of july, or the beginning of august, when the twelve senior scholars are put on the roll to succeed, but they are not removed till vacancies occur; the average number of which is about nine in two years. at nineteen years of age the scholars are superannuated. eton sends, also, two scholars to merton college, oxford, where they are denominated post-masters, and has likewise a few exhibitions of twenty-one guineas each for its superannuated scholars. the scholars elected to king's succeed to fellowships at three years' standing. ~ ~~ adriatic, swelling her translucent bosom to the gentle motion of the gondolier, and bearing on her surface the splendid cars and magnificent pageant of the doge of venice, marrying her waters to the sea, can to an english bosom yield half the delight the grand aquatic eton gala affords; where, decked in every costume fancy can devise, may be seen the noble youth of britain, her rising statesmen, warriors, and judges, the future guardians of her liberties, wealth, and commerce, all vying with each other in loyal devotion to celebrate the sovereign's natal day.{*} then doth thy silvery bosom, father thames, present a spectacle truly delightful; a transparent mirror, studded with gems and stars and splendid pageantry, reflecting a thousand brilliant variegated hues; while, upon thy flowery margin, the loveliest daughters of the land press the green velvet of luxuriant nature, outrivalling in charms of colour, form, and beauty, the rose, the lily, and the graceful pine. there too may be seen the accomplished and the gay youth labouring for pleasure at the healthful oar, while with experienced skill the expert helmsman directs through all thy fragrant windings the trim bark to victory. the race determined, the bright star of eve, outrivalled by the pyrotechnic _artiste_, hides his diminished head. now sallies forth the gay oxonian from the christopher, ripe with the rare falernian of mine host, to have his frolic gambol with old friends. pale luna, through her misty veil, smiles at these harmless pleasantries, and lends the merry group her aid to smuggle signs, alter names, and play off a thousand fantastic vagaries; while the eton townsman, robed in * the grand aquatic gala, which terminates the week's festi- vities at eton, and concludes the water excursions for the season, was originally fixed in honour of his late majesty's birthday, and would have been altered to the period of his successor's, but the time would not accord, the twelfth day of august being vacation. ~ ~~ peaceful slumber, dreams not of the change his house has undergone, and wakes to find a double transformation; his _angel_ vanished, or exchanged for the rude semblance of an oxford _bear_, with a cognomen thereto appended, as foreign to his family nomenclature "as he to hercules." in the morning the dames are wailing the loss of their polished knockers; and the barber-surgeon mourns the absence of his obtrusive pole. the optician's glasses have been removed to the door of some prying _domine_; and the large tin cocked hat has been seized by some midnight giant, who has also claimed old crispin's three-leagued boot. the golden fish has leaped into the thames. the landlord of the lamb bleats loudly for his fleece. the grocer cares not a fig for the loss of his sugar-loaves, but laughs, and takes it as a currant joke. old duplicate is resolved to have his balls restored with interest; and the lady mother of the black doll is quite pale in the face with sorrow for the loss of her child. mine host of the vine looks as sour as his own grapes, before they were fresh gilded; and spruce master pigtail, the tobacconist, complains that his large roll of real virginia has been chopped into short cut. but these are by far the least tormenting jokes. that good-humoured cad, jem miller, finds the honorary distinction of private tutor added to his name. dame ----s, an irreproachable spinster of forty, discovers that of mr. probe, man-midwife, appended to her own. mr. primefit, the eton stultz, is changed into botch, the cobbler. diodorus drowsy, d.d., of windsor, is re-christened diggory drenchall, common brewer; and the amiable mrs. margaret sweet, the eton pastry-cook and confectioner, finds her name united in bands of brass with mr. benjamin bittertart, the baker. the celebrated christopher caustic, esq., surgeon, has the mortification to find his esculapian dormitory decorated with the sign-board of mr. slaughtercalf, a german butcher; while his handsome brass pestle ~ ~~ and mortar, with the gilt galen's head annexed, have been waggishly transferred to the house of some eton dickey gossip, barber and dentist. mr. index, the bookseller, changes names with old frank finis, the sexton. the elegant door plate of miss caroline cypher, spinster, is placed on the right side of nicodemus number, b.a., and fellow of eton, with this note annexed: "new rule of addition, according to cocker." old amen, the parish clerk, is united to miss bridget silence, the pew opener; and theophilus white, m.d. changes place with mr. sable, the undertaker. but we shall become too grave if we proceed deeper with this subject. there is no end to the whimsical alterations and ludicrous changes that take place upon these occasions, when scarce a sign or door plate in eton escapes some pantomimic transformation.* * representations to the masters or authorities are scarcely ever necessary to redress these whimsical grievances, as the injured parties are always remunerated. the next day the spoils and trophies are arranged in due form in a certain snug sanctum sanctorum, the cellar of a favorite inn, well known by the name of the _oppidan's_ museum; for a view of which see the sketch made on the spot by my friend bob transit. here the merry wags are to be found in council, holding a court of claims, to which all the tradesmen who have suffered any loss are successively summoned; and after pointing out from among the motley collection the article they claim, and the price it originally cost, they are handsomely remunerated, or the sign replaced. the good people of eton generally choose the former, as it not only enable them to sport a new sign, but to put a little profit upon the cost price of the old one. the trophies thus acquired are then packed up in hampers, and despatched to oxford, where they are on similar occasions not unfrequently displayed, or hung up, in lieu of some well-known sign, such as the mitre, &c. which has been removed during the night. ~ ~~ [illustration: page ] the following jeu-d'esprits issued upon the interference of the authorities at the conclusion of the last election. the "dance of thirty sovereigns" is an allusion to the fine imposed, which was given to the poor. a ladder dance. a moving golden fish. the fall of grapes, during a heavy storm. the cock'd hat combat. a march to the workhouse. bird-cage duett, by messrs. c***** and b****. a public breakfast, with a dance by thirty sovereigns. glee--"when shall we three meet again." the barber's hornpipe, by the learned d****. the turk's head revel. saint christopher's march. the committee in danger. the cloisters, eton [illustration: page ] ~ ~~ herbert stockhore, the montem poet laureate. a sketch from the life, as he appeared in the montent procession of may, . by bernard blackmantle, and robert transit bending beneath a weight of time, and crippled as his montem ode, we found the humble son of rhyme busy beside the public road. nor laurel'd wreath or harp had he, to deck his brow or touch the note that wakes the soul to sympathy. his face was piteous as his coat, 'twas motley strange; e'en nature's self, in wild, eccentric, playful mood, had, for her pastime, form'd the elf, a being scarcely understood-- half idiot, harmless; yet a gleam of sense, and whim, and shrewdness, broke the current of his wildest stream; and pity sigh'd as madness spoke. ~ ~~ lavater, lawrence, camper, here philosophy new light had caught: judged by your doctrines 'twould appear the facial line denoted thought.{ } but say, what system e'er shall trace by scalp or visage mental worth? the ideot's form, the maniac's face, are shared alike by all on earth. "comparative anatomy--" if, stockhore, 'twas to thee apply'd, 'twould set the doubting gallist free, and spurzheim's idle tales deride. but hence with visionary scheme, though bell, or abernethy, write; be herbert stockhore all my theme, the laureate's praises i indite; he erst who sung in montem's praise, and, thespis like, from out his cart recited his extempore lays, on eton's sons, in costume smart, who told of captains bold and grand, lieutenants, marshals, seeking _salt_; of colonels, majors, cap in hand, who bade e'en majesty to halt; it is hardly possible to conceive a more intelligent, venerable looking head, than poor herbert stockhore presents; a fine capacious forehead, rising like a promontory of knowledge, from a bold outline of countenance, every feature decisive, breathing serenity and thoughtfulness, with here and there a few straggling locks of silvery gray, which, like the time-discoloured moss upon some ancient battlements, are the true emblems of antiquity: the eye alone is generally dull and sunken in the visage, but during his temporary gleams of sanity, or fancied flights of poetical inspiration, it is unusually bright and animated. according to professor camper, i should think the facial line would make an angle of eighty or ninety degrees; and, judging upon the principles laid down by lavater, poor herbert might pass for a solon. of his bumps, or phrenological protuberances, i did not take particular notice, but i have no doubt they would be found, upon examination, equally illustrative of such visionary systems. ~ ~~ told how the ensign nobly waved the colours on the famous hill; and names from dull oblivion saved, who ne'er the niche of fame can fill: who, like to campbell, lends his name.{ } to many a whim he ne'er did write; when witty scholars, to their shame, 'gainst masters hurl a satire trite.{ } but fare thee well, ad montem's bard,{ } farewell, my mem'ry's early friend the author of "the pleasures of hope," and the editor of the new monthly; but-"_tardè, quo credita lodunt, credimus_." it has long been the custom at eton, particularly during montem, to give herbert stockhore the credit of many a satirical whim, which he, poor fellow, could as easily have penned as to have written a greek ode. these squibs are sometimes very humorous, and are purposely written in doggrel verse to escape detection by the masters, who are not unfrequently the principal porsons alluded to. the following laughable production was sold by poor herbert stockhore during the last montem: we hardly think we need apologise for introducing this specimen of his muse: any account of eton characteristics must have been held deficient without it. the montem ode. may , . muses attend! the british channel flock o'er, call'd by your most obedient servant, stockhore. aid me, o, aid me, while i touch the string; montem and captain barnard's praise i sing; captain barnard, the youth so noble and bright, that none dare dispute his worthy right to that gay laurel which his brother wore, in times that remember long before. what are olympic honours compared to thine, captain, when majesty does combine with heroes, their wives, sons and daughters great, to visit this extremely splendid fête. enough! i feel a sudden inspiration fill my bowels; just as if the tolling bell had sent forth sounds a floating all along the air just such parnassian sounds, though deaf, i'm sure i hear. ~ ~~ may misery never press thee hard, ne'er may disease thy steps attend: listen, ye gents; rude boreas hold your tongue! the pomp advances, and my lyre is strung. first comes marshal thackeray, dress'd out in crack array; ar'nt he a whacker, eh? his way he picks, follow'd by six, like a hen by her chicks: enough! he's gone. as this martial marshall is to music partial, the bandsmen march all his heels upon. he who hits the balls such thumps, king of cricket-bats and stumps,-- barnard comes; sound the drums-- silence! he's past. eight fair pages, of different ages, follow fast. next comes the serjeant-major, who, like an old stager, without need of bridle walks steadily; the same dolphin major by name, major dolphin by title. next struts serjeant brown, very gay you must own; with gallant mr. hughes, in well-polish'd shoes; then sampson, who tramps on, strong as his namesake. then comes webb, who don't dread to die for his fame's sake. next shall i sing of serjeant king, and horace walpole, holding a tall pole, who follows king and antrobus, though he's "pulchrior ambobus." ~ ~~ be all thy wants by those supply'd, whom charity ne'er fail'd to move{ }: this eccentric creature has for many years subsisted entirely upon the bounty of the etonians, and the inhabitants of windsor and eton, who never fail to administer to his wants, and liberally supply him with many little comforts in return for his harmless pleasantries. then to salthill speed on, while the troops they lead on; both mr. beadon, and serjeant mitford, who's ready to fi't for't. then mr. carter follows a'ter; and denman, worth ten men, like a knight of the garter; and cumberbatch, without a match, tell me, who can be smarter? then colonel hand, monstrous grand, closes the band. pass on, you nameless crowd, pass on. the ensign proud comes near. let all that can see behold the ensign dansey; see with what elegance he waves the flag--to please the fancy. pass on, gay crowd; le mann, the big, bright with gold as a guinea-pig, the big, the stout, the fierce le mann, walks like a valiant gentleman. but take care of your pockets, here's salt-bearer platt, with a bag in his hand, and a plume in his hat; a handsomer youth, sure small-clothes ne'er put on, though very near rival'd by elegant sutton. thus then has pass'd this grand procession, in most magnificent progression. farewell you gay and happy throng! ~ ~~ etona's motto, crest, and pride, is feeling, courage, friendship, love. farewell my muse! farewell my song' farewell salthill! farewell brave captain; as ever uniform was clapt in; since fortune's kind, pray do not mock her; your humble poet, herbert stockhore. herbert stockhore was originally a bricklayer, and now resides at a little house which he has built for himself, and called mount pleasant, in a lane leading from windsor to the meadows. he has a wife and daughter, honest, industrious people, who reside with him, and are by no means displeased at the visit of a stranger to their eccentric relative. some idea of the old man's amusing qualifications may be conceived from the following description, to which i have added the account he gives of his heraldic bearings. it must be recollected that the etonians encourage these whims in the poor old man, and never lose an opportunity of impressing stockhore with a belief in the magnificent powers of his genius.--after we had heard him recite several of his unconnected extempore rhapsodies, we were to be indulged with the montem ode; this the old man insisted should be spoken in his gala dress; nor could all the entreaties of his wife and daughter, joined to those of myself and friend (fearful of appearing obtrusive), dissuade old herbert from his design. he appeared quite frantic with joy when the dame brought forth from an upper apartment these insignia of his laureateship; the careful manner in which they were folded up and kept clean gave us to understand that the good woman herself set some store by them. the wife and daughter now proceeded to robe the laureate bard: the first garment which was placed over his shoulders, and came below his waist, was a species of tunic made out of patches of bed-furniture, trimmed in the most fantastic manner with fragments of worsted fringe of all colors. over this he wore an old military jacket, of a very ancient date in respect to costume, and trimmed like the robe with fringe of every variety. a pair of loose trowsers of the same materials as the tunic were also displayed; but the fashion of the poet's head-dress exceeded all the rest for whimsicality: round an old soldier's cap a sheet of pasteboard was bent to a spiral form, rising about fourteen inches, and covered with some pieces of chintz bed-furniture of a very rich pattern; in five separate circles, was disposed as many different colors of fringes; some worsted twisted, to resemble feathers, was suspended from the side; and the whole had the most grotesque appearance, more nearly resembling the papal crown in similitude than any thing else i can conceive. ~ ~~ poor harmless soul, thy merry stave shall live when nobler poets bend; the poor old fellow seemed elated to a degree. we had sent for a little ale for him, but were informed he was not accustomed to drink much of any strong liquor. after a glass, herbert recited with great gesture and action, but in a very imperfect manner, the montem ode; and then for a few minutes seemed quite exhausted. during this exhibition my friend transit was engaged in sketching his portrait, a circumstance that appeared to give great pleasure to the wife and daughter, who earnestly requested, if it was published, to be favored with a copy. we had now become quite familiar with the old man, and went with him to view his montem car and arabian pony, as he called them, in a stable adjoining the house. on our return, my friend transit observed that his cart required painting, and should be decorated with some appropriate emblem. herbert appeared to understand the idea, and immediately proceeded to give us a history of his heraldic bearings, or, as he said, what his coat of arms should be, which, he assured us, the gentlemen of eton had subscribed for, and were having prepared at the heralds' college in london, on purpose for him to display next montem. "my grand-father," said stockhore, "was a hatter, therefore i am entitled to the beaver in the first quarter of my shield. my grandfather by my mother's side was a farmer, therefore i should have the wheat-sheaf on the other part. my own father was a pipe-maker, and that gives me a noble ornament, the cross pipes and glasses, the emblems of good fellowship. now my wife's father was a tailor, and that yields me a goose: those are the bearings of the four quarters of my shield. now, sir, i am a poet--ay, the poet laureate of montem; and that gives me a right to the winged horse for my crest. there's a coat of arms for you," said poor herbert; "why, it would beat every thing but the king's; ay, and his too, if it wasn't for the lion and crown." the attention we paid to this whim pleased the poor creature mightily; he was all animation and delight. but the day was fast declining: so, after making the poor people a trifling present for the trouble we had given them, my friend transit and myself took our farewell of poor herbert, not, i confess, without regret; for i think the reader will perceive by this brief sketch thero is great character and amusement in his harmless whims. i have been thus particular in my description of him, because he is always at montem time an object of much curiosity; and to every etonian of the last thirty years, his peculiarities must have frequently afforded amusement. ~ ~~ and when atropos to the grave thy silvery locks of gray shall send, etona's sons shall sing thy fame, _ad montem_ still thy verse resound, still live an ever cherish'd name, as long as _salt_{ } and sock abound. salt is the name given to the money collected at montem. [illustration: page ] the doubtful point. "why should i not read it," thought horatio, hesitating, with the mss. of life in eton half opened in his hand. a little chesterfield deity, called prudence, whispered--"caution." "well, miss hypocrisy," quoth the student, "what serious offence shall i commit against propriety or morality by reading a whimsical jeu-d'esprit, penned to explain the peculiar lingual localisms of eton, and display her chief characteristic follies." "it is slang," said prudence. "granted," said horatio: "but he who undertakes to depict real life must not expect to make a pleasing or a correct picture, without the due proportions of light and shade. 'vice to be hated needs but to be seen.' playful satire may do more towards correcting the evil than all the dull lessons of sober-tongued morality can ever hope to effect." candour, who just then happened to make a passing call, was appointed referee; and, without hesitation, agreed decidedly with horatio.{ } life at eton will not, i hope, be construed into any intention of the author's to follow in the track of any previous publication: his object is faithfully to delineate character, not to encourage vulgar phraseology, or promulgate immoral sentiment. ~ ~~ life in eton; a college chaunt in praise of private tutors.{ } time hallowed shades, and noble names, etonian classic bowers; pros,{ } masters, fellows, and good dames,{ } where pass'd my school-boy hours; private tutor, in the eton school phrase, is another term for a _cad_, a fellow who lurks about college, and assists in all _sprees_ and sports by providing dogs, fishing tackle, guns, horses, bulls for baiting, a badger, or in promoting any other interdicted, or un-lawful pastime. a dozen or more of these well known characters may be seen loitering in front of the college every morning, making their arrangement with their pupils, the _oppidans_, for a day's sport, to commence the moment school is over. they formerly used to occupy a seat on the low wall, in front of the college, but the present headmaster has recently interfered to expel this assemblage; they still, however, carry on their destructive intercourse with youth, by walking about, and watching their opportunity for communication. the merits of these worthies are here faithfully related, and will be instantly recognised by any etonian of the last thirty years. _pros_. eton college is governed by a provost, vice- provost, six fellows, a steward of the courts, head-master, and a lower, or second master; to which is added, nine assistant masters, and five extra ones, appointed to teach french, writing, drawing, fencing, and dancing. the school has materially increased in numbers within the last few years, and now contains nearly five hundred scholars, sons of noblemen and gentlemen, and may be truly said to be the chief nursery for the culture of the flower of the british nation.--see note to page . _dames_. the appellation given to the females who keep boarding-houses in eton. these houses, although out of the college walls, are subject to the surveillance of the head master and fellows, to whom all references and complaints are made. ~ ~~ come list', while i with con,{ } and sock{ } and chaunt,{ } both ripe and mellow, tell how you knowledge stores unlock, to make a clever fellow.{ } for greek and latin, classic stuff, let tug muttons{ }compose it; give oppidans{ } but blunt{ }enough, what odds to them who knows it. a dapper dog,{ } a right coolfish,{ } who snugly dines on pewter; quaffs bulstrode ale,{ } and takes his dish. con. a con is a companion, or friend; as, "you are cons of late." sock signifies eating or drinking niceties; as, pastry, jellies, bishop, &c. chaunt, a good song; to versify. this is not intended as an imputation on the learned fellows of eton college, but must be taken in the vulgar acceptation--you're a clever fellow, &c. tug muttons, or tugs, collegers, foundation scholars; an appellation given to them by the oppidans, in derision of the custom which has prevailed from the earliest period, and is still continued, of living entirely on roast mutton; from january to december no other description of meat is ever served up at college table in the hall. there are seventy of these young gentlemen on the foundation who, if they miss their election when they are nineteen, lose all the benefits of a fellowship. oppidans, independent scholars not on the foundation. blunt, london slang (for money), in use here. a dapper doc, any thing smart, or pleasing, as, "ay, that's dapper," or, "you are a dapper dog." a right cool fish, one who is not particular what he says or does. bulstrode ale, a beverage in great request at the christopher. when the effects were sold at bulstrode, garraway purchased a small stock of this famous old ale, which by some miraculous process he has continued to serve out in plentiful quantities ever since. the joke has of late been rather against mine host of the christopher, who, however, to do him justice, has an excellent tap, which is now called the queen's, from some since purchased at windsor: this is sold in small quarts, at one shilling per jug. ~ ~~ in private with his tutor.{ } in lieu of ancient learned lore, which might his brain bewilder, rum college slang he patters o'er, with cads{ }who chouse{ } the guilder. who's truly learn'd must read mankind, truth's axiom inculcates: the world's a volume to the mind, instructive more than pulpits.{ } come fill the bowl with _bishop_ up, _clods,{ } fags,{ } and skugs{ } and muttons{ }_; when _absence_{ } calls ye into sup, drink, drink to me, ye gluttons. i'll teach ye how to kill dull care, improve your box of knowledge,{ } many of the young noblemen and gentlemen at eton are accompanied by private tutors, who live with them to expedite their studies; they are generally of the college, and recommended by the head master for their superior endowments. cad, a man of all work, for dirty purposes, yclept private tutor. see note , page . chouse the guilder. chouse or chousing is generally applied to any transaction in which they think they may have been cheated or overcharged. guilder is a cant term for gold. nothing in the slightest degree unorthodox is meant to be inferred from this reasoning, but simply the sentiment of this quotation-'the proper study of mankind is man.' clods, as, "you clod," a town boy, or any one not an etonian, no matter how respectable. fags, boys in the lower classes. every fifth form boy has his fag. scug or skug, a lower boy in the school, relating to sluggish. muttons. see note . absence. at three-quarters past eight in summer, and earlier in winter, several of the masters proceed to the different dames' houses, and call absence, when every boy is compelled to be instantly in quarters for the night, on pain of the most severe punishment. box of knowledge, the pericranium. with all that's witty, choice, and rare, 'fore all the _slugs_{ } of college. of private tutors, vulgo cads, a list i mean to tender; the qualities of all the lads, their prices to a _bender_.{ } first, shampo carter{ } doffs his _tile_, to dive, to fish, or fire; there's few can better time beguile, and none in sporting higher. slugs of college, an offensive appellation applied to the fellows of eton by the townsmen. bender, a sixpence. note from bernard blackmantle, m.a. to shampo carter and co. p.t.'s:-- messieurs the cads of eton, in handing down to posterity your multifarious merits and brilliant qualifications, you will perceive i have not forgotten the signal services and delightful gratifications so often afforded me in the days of my youth. be assured, most assiduous worthies, that i am fully sensible of all your merits, and can appreciate justly your great usefulness to the rising generation. you are the sappers and miners of knowledge, who attack and destroy the citadel of sense before it is scarcely defensible. it is no fault of yours if the stripling of eton is not, at eighteen, well initiated into all the mysteries of life, excepting only the, to him, mysterious volumes of the classics. to do justice to all was not within the limits of my work; i have therefore selected from among you the most distinguished names, and i flatter myself, in so doing, i have omitted very few of any note; if, however, any efficient member of your brotherhood should have been unintentionally passed by, he has only to forward an authenticated copy of his biography and peculiar merits to the publisher, to meet with insertion in a second edition. bernard blackmantle. bill carter is, after all, a very useful fellow, if it was only in teaching the young etonians to swim, which he does, by permission of the head master. tile, a hat. ~ ~~ joe cannon, or my lord's a gun,{ } a regular nine pounder; to man a boat, stands number one, and ne'er was known to flounder. there's foxey hall{ } can throw the line with any walton angler; to tell his worth would task the nine, or pose a cambridge wrangler. next, pickey powell{ } at a ball is master of the wicket; can well deliver at a call a trite essay on cricket. jem flowers { } baits a badger well, for a bull _hank, or tyke_, sir; and as an out and out bred _swell_,{ } was never seen his like. a gun--"he's a great gun," a good fellow, a knowing one. joe is a first rate waterman, and by the etonians styled "admiral of the fleet." "not a better fellow than jack hall among the cads," said an old etonian, "or a more expert angler." barb, gudgeon, dace, and chub, seem to bite at his bidding; and if they should be a little shy, why jack knows how to "go to work with the net." who, that has been at eton, and enjoyed the manly and invigorating exercise of cricket, has not repeatedly heard jem powell in tones of exultation say, "only see me '_liver thin here_ ball, my young master?" and, in good truth, jem is right, for very few can excel him in that particular: and then (when jem is _bacchi plenis_,) who can withstand his _quart of sovereigns_. on such occasions jem is seen marching up and down before the door of his house, with a silver quart tankard filled with gold--the savings of many years of industry. jem flowers is an old soldier; and, in marshalling the forces for a bull or a badger-bait, displays all the tactics of an experienced general officer. caleb baldwin would no more bear comparison with jem than a flea does to an elephant. when it is remembered how near eton is to london, and how frequent the communication, it will appear astonishing, but highly creditable to the authorities, that so little of the current slang of the day is to be met with here. ~ ~~ there's jolly jem,{ } who keeps his punt, and dogs to raise the siller; of _cads_, the captain of the hunt, a right and tight good miller. next barney groves,{ } a learned wight, the impounder of cattle, dilates on birth and common right, and threats _black slugs_ with battle. big george { } can teach the use of fives, or pick up a prime terrier; or _spar_, or keep the game alive, with beagle, bull, or harrier. savager{ } keeps a decent nag, jem miller was originally a tailor; but having dropt a stitch or two in early life, _listed_ into a sporting regiment of cads some years since; and being a better shot at hares and partridges than he was considered at the _heavy goose_, has been promoted to the rank of captain of the private tutors. jem is a true jolly fellow; his house exhibits a fine picture of what a sportsman's hall should be, decorated with all the emblems of fishing, fowling, and hunting, disposed around in great taste. barney groves, the haughward, or impounder of stray cattle at eton, is one of the most singular characters i have ever met with. among the ignorant barney is looked up to as the fountain of local and legal information; and it is highly ludicrous to hear him expatiate on his favourite theme of "our birthrights and common rights;" tracing the first from the creation, and deducing argument in favor of his opinions on the second from doomsday book, through all the intricate windings of the modern inclosure acts. barney is a great stickler for reform in college, and does not hesitate to attack the fellows of eton (whom he denominates black slugs), on holding pluralities, and keeping the good things to themselves. as barney's avocation compels him to travel wide, he is never interrupted by water; for in summer or winter he readily wades through the deepest places; he is consequently a very efficient person in a sporting party. george williams, a well-known dog fancier, who also teaches the art and science of pugilism. savager, a livery-stable keeper, who formerly used to keep a good tandem or two for hire, but on the interference of the head master, who interdicted such amusements as dangerous, they have been put down in eton. ~ ~~ but's very shy of lending, since she put down her tandem _drag_,{ } for fear of keates offending. but if you want to splash along in glory with a _ginger_,{ } or in a stanhope come it strong, try isaac clegg,{ } of windsor. if o'er old father thames you'd glide, and cut the silvery stream; with hester's{ } eight oars mock the tide, he well deserves a _theme_. there's charley miller, and george hall,{ } can beasts and birds restore, sir; and though they cannot bark or squall, look livelier than before, sir. handy jack's { } a general blade, there's none like garraway, sir; boats, ducks, or dogs, are all his trade, he'll fit you to a say, sir. dr a g, london slang for tilbury, dennet, stanhope, &c. a ginger, a showy, fast horse. isaac clegg is in great repute for his excellent turn outs, and prime nags; and, living in windsor, he is out of the jurisdiction of the head master. hester's boats are always kept in excellent trim. at eton exercise on the water is much practised, and many of the scholars are very expert watermen: they have recently taken to boats of an amazing length, forty feet and upwards, which, manned with eight oars, move with great celerity. every saturday evening the scholars are permitted to assume fancy dresses; but the practice is now principally confined to the steersman; the rest simply adopting sailors' costume, except on the fourth of june, or election saturday, when there is always a grand gala, a band of music, and fireworks, on the island in the thames. miller and hall, two famous preservers of birds and animals; an art in high repute among the etonians. a famous boatman, duck-hunter, dog-fighter; or, according to the london phrase--good at everything. ~ ~~ tom new { } in manly sports is old, a tailor, and a trump, sir; and _odd fish bill_,{ } at sight of gold, will steer clear of the bump,"{ } sir. a list of _worthies_, learn'd and great in every art and science, that noble youths should emulate, to set laws at defiance: the church, the senate, and the bar, by these in ethics grounded, must prove a meteoric star, of brilliancy compounded. ye lights of eton, rising suns, of all that's great and godly; the nation's hope, and dread of _duns_, let all your acts be _motley_. learn arts like these, ye oppidan, if you'd astonish greatly the senate, or the great divan, with classics pure, and stately. give greek and latin to the wind, bid pedagogues defiance: these are the rules to grace the mind with the true gems of science. tom new, a great cricketer. bill fish, a waterman who attends the youngest boys in their excursions. the bump, to run against each other in the race. ~ ~~ apollo's visit to eton. ~ ~~ this whimsical production appeared originally in , in an eton miscellany entitled the college magazine; the poetry of which was afterwards selected, and only fifty copies struck off: these have been carefully suppressed, principally we believe on account of this article, as it contains nothing that we conceive can be deemed offensive, and has allusions to almost all the distinguished scholars of that period, besides including the principal contributors to the etonian, a recent popular work: we have with some difficulty filled up the blanks with real names; and, at the suggestion of several old etonians, incorporated it with the present work, as a fair criterion of the promising character of the school at this particular period. the practice of thus distinguishing the rising talents of eton is somewhat ancient. we have before us a copy of verses dated , in which waller, the poet, and other celebrated characters of his time, are particularised. at a still more recent period, during the mastership of the celebrated doctor barnard, the present earl of carlisle, whose classical taste is universally admitted, distinguished himself not less than his compeers, by some very elegant lines: those on the late right hon. c. j. fox we are induced to extract as a strong proof of the noble earl's early penetration and foresight. "how will my fox, alone, by strength of parts. shake the loud senate, animate the hearts of fearful statesmen? while around you stand both peers and commons listening your command. ~ ~~ while _tully's_ sense its weight to you affords, his nervous sweetness shall adorn your words. what praise to pitt,{ } to townshend, e'er was due, in future times, my pox, shall wait on you." at a subsequent period, the leading characters of the school were spiritedly drawn in a periodical newspaper, called the world, then edited by major topham, and the rev. mr. east, who is still, i believe, living, and preaches occasionally at whitehall. from that publication, now very scarce, i have selected the following as the most amusing, and relating to distinguished persons. the great earl of chatham. recollections of an old etonian. the lords littleton--father and son, formed two opposite characters in their times. the former had a distinguished turn for pastoral poetry, and wrote some things at eton with all the enthusiasm of early years, and yet with all the judgment of advanced life. the latter showed there, in some traits of disposition, what was to be expected from him; but he too loved the muses, and cultivated them. he there too displayed the strange contraries of being an ardent admirer of the virtues of classic times, while he was cheating at chuck and all-fours; and though he affected every species of irreligion, was, in fact, afraid of his own shadow. the whole north family have, in succession, adorned this school with their talents--which in the different branches were various, but all of mark and vivacity. to the younger part, dampier was the tutor; who, having a little disagreement with frank north on the hundred steps coming down from the terrace, at windsor, they adjusted it, by frank north's rolling his tutor very quickly down the whole of them. the tutor has since risen to some eminence in the church. lord cholmondeley was early in life a boy of great parts, and they have continued so ever since, though not lively ones. earl of buckingham was a plain good scholar, but ~ ~~ would have been better at any other school, for he was no poet, and verse is here one of the first requisites; besides, he had an impediment in his speech, which, in the hurry of repeating a lesson before a number of boys, was always increased. it was inculcated to him by his dame--that he must look upon himself as the reverse of a woman in every thing, and not hold--that whoever "_deliberates is lost_." lord harrington was a boy of much natural spirit. in the great rebellion, under _forster_, when all the boys threw their books into the thames, and marched to salt hill, he was amongst the foremost. at that place each took an oath, or rather swore, he would be d------d if ever he returned to school again. when, therefore, he came to london to the old lord harrington's, and sent up his name, his father would only speak to him at the door, insisting, at the same time, on his immediate return. "sir," said the son, "consider i shall be d--d if i do!" "and i" answered the father, "will be d--d if you don't!" "yes, my lord," replied the son, "but you will be d--d together i do or no!" the storers. anthony and tom, for west indians, were better scholars than usually fell to the share of those _children of the sun_, who were, in general, too gay to be great. the name of the elder stands to this day at the head of many good exercises; from which succeeding genius has stolen, and been praised for it. tom had an odd capability of running round a room on the edge of the wainscot, a strange power of holding by the foot: an art which, in lower life, might have been serviceable to him in the showing it. and anthony, likewise, amongst better and more brilliant qualifications, had the reputation of being amongst the best dancers of the age. in a political line, perhaps, he did not _dance attendance_ to much purpose. harry conway, brother to the present marquis of ~ ~~ hertford, though younger in point of learning, was older than his brother, lord beauchamp; but he was not so forward as to show this preeminence: a somewhat of modesty, a consciousness of being younger, always kept him back from displaying it. in fact, they were perfectly unlike two irish boys--the wades, who followed them, and who, because the younger was taller, used to fight about which was the eldest. pepys. a name well known for barnard's commendation of it, and for his exercises in the _musæ etonenses_. he was amongst the best poets that eton ever produced. kirkshaw, son to the late doctor, of leeds, and since fellow of trinity college. when his father would have taken him away, he made a singular request that he might stay a year longer, not wishing to be made a man so early. many satiric latin poems bear his name at eton, and he continued that turn afterwards at cambridge. he was remarkable for a very large head; but it should likewise be added, there was a good deal in it. on this head, his father used to hold forth in the country. he was, without a figure, the head of the school, and was afterwards in the caput at the university. wyndham, under barnard, distinguished himself very early as a scholar, and for a logical acuteness, which does not often fall to the share of a boy. he was distinguished too both by land and by water; for while he was amongst the most informed of his time, in school hours, in the playing fields, on the water, with the celebrated boatman, my guinea piper at cricket, or in rowing, he was always the foremost. he used to boast, that he should in time be as good a boxer as his father was, though he used to add, that never could be exactly known, as he could not decently have a _set-to_ with him. ~ ~~ fawkener, the major, was captain of the school; and in those days was famed for the "_suaviter in modo_," and for a turn for gallantry with the windsor milliners, which he pursued up the hundred steps, and over the terrace there. as this turn frequently made him overrun the hours of absence, on his return he was found out, and flogged the next morning; but this abated not his zeal in the cause of gallantry, as he held it to be, like _ovid_, whom he was always reading, suffering in a fair cause. fawkener, everard, minor, with the same turn for pleasure as his brother, but more open and ingenuous in his manner, more unreserved in his behaviour, then manifested, what he has since been, the bon vivant of every society, and was then as since, the admired companion in every party. prideaux was remarkable for being the gravest boy of his time, and for having the longest chin. had he followed the ancient "_sapientem pascere barbam_," there would in fact have been no end of it. with this turn, however, his time was not quite thrown away, nor his gravity. in conjunction with dampier, langley, and serjeant, who were styled the learned cons, he composed a very long english poem, in the same metre as the bath guide, and of which it was then held a favour to get a copy. he had so much of advanced life about him, that the masters always looked upon him as a man; and this serious manner followed him through his pastimes. he was fond of billiards; but he was so long in making his stroke, that no boy could bear to play with him: when the game, therefore, went against him, like fabius-_cunctando restituit rem_; and they gave it up rather than beat him. hulse. amongst the best tennis-players that eton ever sent up to windsor, where he always was. as a poet he distinguished himself greatly, by winning one of the medals given by sir john dalrymple. his ~ ~~ exercise on this occasion was the subject of much praise to doctor forster, then master, and of much envy to his contemporaries in the sixth form, who said it was given to him because he was head boy. these were his arts; besides which he had as many tricks as any boy ever had. he had nothing when præpositer, and of course ruling under boys, of dignity about him, or of what might enforce his authority. when he ought to have been angry, some monkey trick always came across him, and he would make a serious complaint against a little boy, in a hop, step, and a jump. montague. having a great predecessor before him under the appellation of "_mad montague_" had always a consolatory comparison in this way in his favor. in truth, at times he wanted it, for he was what has been termed a genius: but he was likewise so in talent. he was an admirable poet, and had a neatness of expression seldom discoverable at such early years. in proof, may be brought a line from a latin poem on cricket: "_clavigeri fallit verbera--virga cadit_." and another on scraping a man down at the _robin hood_: "_radit arenosam pes inimicus humum_." the scratching of the foot on the sandy floor is admirable. during a vacation, lord sandwich took him to holland; and he sported on his return a dutch-built coat for many weeks. the boys used to call him _mynheer montague_; but his common habit of oddity soon got the better of his coat. he rose to be a young man of great promise, as to abilities; and died too immaturely for his fame. tickell, the elder. _manu magis quam capite_ should have been his motto. by natural instinct he loved ~ ~~ fighting, and knew not what fear was. he went amongst his school-fellows by the name of hannibal, and old tough. a brother school-fellow of his, no less a man than the marquis of buckingham, met, and recognised him again in ireland, and with the most marked solicitude of friendship, did every thing but assist him, in obtaining a troop of dragoons, which he had much at heart. tickell, minor, should then have had the eulogy of how much elder art thou than thy years! in those early days his exercises, read publicly in school, gave the anticipation of what time and advancing years have brought forth. he was an admirable scholar, and a poet from nature; forcible, neat, and discriminating. the fame of his grandsire, the tickell of addison, was not hurt by the descent to him. his sister, who was the beauty of windsor castle, and the admiration of all, early excited a passion in a boy then at school, who afterwards married her. of this sister he was very fond; but he was not less so of another female at windsor, a regard since terminated in a better way with his present wife. his pamphlet of _anticipation_, it is said, placed him where he since was, under the auspices of lord north; but his abilities were of better quality, and deserved a better situation for their employment. lord plymouth, then lord windsor, had to boast some distinctions, which kept him aloof from the boys of his time. he was of that inordinate size that, like falstaff, four square yards on even ground were so many miles to him; and the struggles which he underwent to raise himself when down might have been matter of instruction to a minority member. in the entrance to his dame's gate much circumspection was necessary; for, like some good men out of power, he found it difficult to get in. when in school, or otherwise, he was not undeserving of praise, either as to temper or ~ ~~ scholarship; and whether out of the excellence of his christianity, or that of good humour, he was not very adverse to good living; and he continued so ever after. lord leicester had the reputation of good scholarship, and not undeservedly. in regard to poetry, however, he was sometimes apt to break the eighth commandment, and prove lie read more the musee etonenses than his prayer-book. inheriting it from lord townshend, the father of caricaturists, he there pursued, with nearly equal ability, that turn for satiric drawing. the master, the tutors, slender prior, and fat roberts,--all felt in rotation the effects of his pencil. there too, as well as since, he had a most venerable affection for heraldry, and the same love of collecting together old titles, and obsolete mottos. once in the military, he had, it may be said, a turn for arms. in a zeal of this kind he once got over the natural mildness of his temper, and was heard to exclaim--"there are two griffins in my family that have been missing these three centuries, and by g-, i'll have iliem back again!"-this passion was afterwards improved into so perfect a knowledge, that in the creation of peers he was applied to, that every due ceremonial might be observed; and he never failed in his recollection on these antiquated subjects. tom plummer gave then a specimen of that quickness and vivacity of parts for which he was afterwards famed. but not as a scholar, not as a poet, was he quick alone; he was quick too in the wrong ends of things, as well as the right, with a plausible account to follow it. in fact, he was born for the law; clear, discriminating, judicious, alive, and with a noble impartiality to all sides of questions, and which none could defend better. this goes, however, only to the powers of his head; in those of the heart no one, and in the best ~ ~~ and tenderest qualities of it, ever stood better. he was liked universally, and should be so; for no man was ever more meritorious for being good, as he who had all the abilities which sometimes make a man otherwise. in the progress of life mind changes often, and body almost always. both these rules, however, he lived to contradict; for his talents and his qualities retained their virtue; and when a boy he was as tall as when a man, and apparently the same. capel loft. in the language of eton the word gig comprehended all that was ridiculous, all that was to be laughed at, and plagued to death; and of all gigs that was, or ever will be, this gentleman, while a boy, was the greatest. he was like nothing, "in the heavens above, or the waters under the earth;" and therefore he was surrounded by a mob of boys whenever he appeared. these days of popularity were not pleasant. luckily, however, for himself, he found some refuge from persecution in his scholarship. this scholarship was much above the rate, and out of the manner of common boys. as a poet, he possessed fluency and facility, but not the strongest imagination. as a classic, he was admirable; and his prose themes upon different subjects displayed an acquaintance with the latin idiom and phraseology seldom acquired even by scholastic life, and the practice of later years. beyond this, he read much of everything that appeared, knew every thing, and was acquainted with every better publication of the times. even then he studied law, politics, divinity; and could have written well upon those subjects. these talents have served him since more effectually than they did then; more as man than boy: for at school he was a kind of gray beard: he neither ran, played, jumped, swam, or fought, as ~ ~~ other boys do. the descriptions of puerile years, so beautifully given by _gray_, in his ode: "who, foremost, now delight to cleave, with pliant arm, thy glassy wave? the captive linnet which enthrall? what idle progeny succeed, to chase the rolling circle's speed, or urge the flying ball?" all these would have been, and were, as non-descriptive of him as they would have been of the lord chancellor of england, with a dark brow and commanding mien, determining a cause of the first interest to this country. added to this, in personal appearance he was most unfavored; and exemplified the irish definition of an open countenance--a mouth from ear to ear. lord hinchinbroke, from the earliest period of infancy, had all the marks of the montagu family. he had a good head, and a red head, and a roman nose, and a turn to the _ars amatoria_ of ovid, and all the writers who may have written on love. as it was in the beginning--may be said now. though in point of scholarship he was not in the very first line, the descendant of lord sandwich could not but have ability, and he had it; but this was so mixed with the wanderings of the heart, the vivacity of youthful imagination, and a turn to pleasure, that a steady pursuit of any one object of a literary turn could not be expected. but it was his praise that he went far in a short time; sometimes too far; for barnard had to exercise himself, and his red right arm, as the vengeful poet expresses it, very frequently on the latter end of his lordship's excursions. in one of these excursions to windsor, he had the good or ill fortune to engage in a little amorous amement with a young lady, the consequence of ~ ~~ which was an application to lucina for assistance. of this doctor barnard was informed, and though the remedy did not seem tending towards a cure, he was brought up immediately to be flogged. he bore this better than his master, who cried out, after some few lashes--"psha! what signifies my flogging him for being like his father? what's bred in the bone will never get out of the flesh." gibbs. some men are overtaken by the law, and some few overtake it themselves. in this small, but happy number, may be placed the name in question; and a name of better promise, whether of man or boy, can scarcely be found any where. at school he was on the foundation; and though amongst the collegers, where the views of future life, and hope of better days, arising from their own industry, make learning a necessity, yet to that he added the better qualities of genius and talent. as a classical scholar, he was admirable in both languages. as a poet, he was natural, ready, and yet distinguished. amongst the best exercises of the time, his were to be reckoned, and are yet remembered with praise. for the medals given by sir john dalrymple for the best latin poem, he was a candidate; but though his production was publicly read by doctor forster, and well spoken of, he was obliged to give way to the superiority of another on that occasion. describing the winding of the thames through its banks, it had this beautiful line: "_rodit arundineas facili sinuamine ripas------_" perfect as to the picture, and beautiful as to the flowing of the poetry. he had the good fortune and the good temper to be liked by every body of his own age; and he was not enough found out of bounds, or trespassing against "sacred order," to be disliked by those of greater age who were set over him. ~ ~~ after passing through all the different forms at eton, he was removed to cambridge; where he distinguished himself not less than at school in trials for different literary honors. there he became assistant tutor to sir peter burrell, who then listened to his instructions, and has not since forgotten them. as a tutor, he was somewhat young; but the suavity of his manners took away the comparison of equality; and his real knowledge rendered him capable of instructing those who might be even older than himself. [illustration: page ] apollo's visit to eton.{ } t'other night, as apollo was quaffing a gill with his pupils, the muses, from helicon's rill, (for all circles of rank in parnassus agree in preferring cold water to coffee or tea) the discourse turned as usual on critical matters, and the last stirring news from the kingdom of letters. but when poets, and critics, and wits, and what not, from jeffery and byron, to stoddart and stott,{ } had received their due portion of consideration, cried apollo, "pray, ladies, how goes education? for i own my poor brain's been so muddled of late, in transacting the greater affairs of the state; and so long every day in the courts i've been stewing, i've had no time to think what the children were doing. there's my favorite byron my presence inviting, and milman, and coleridge, and moore, have been writing; and my ears at this moment confoundedly tingle, from the squabbling of blackwood with cleghorn and pringle: but as all their disputes seem at length at an end, and the poets my levee have ceased to attend; since the weather's improving, and lengthen'd the days, for a visit to eton i'll order my chaise: this poem, the reader will perceive, is an humble imitation of leigh hunt's "feast of the poets;" and the lines distinguished by asterisks are borrowed or altered from the original. a writer in "the morning post," mentioned by lord byron, in his "english bards and scotch reviewers." ~ ~~ there's my sister diana my day coach to drive, and i'll send the new canto to keep you alive. so my business all settled, and absence supply'd, for an earthly excursion to-morrow i'll ride." thus spoke king apollo; the muses assented; and the god went to bed most bepraised and contented. 'twas on saturday morning, near half past eleven, when a god, like a devil, came driving from heaven, and with postboys, and footmen, and liveries blazing, soon set half the country a gaping and gazing. when the carriage drove into the christopher yard, how the waiters all bustled, and garraway stared; and the hostlers and boot-catchers wonder'd, and swore "they'd ne'er seen such a start in their lifetime before!" i could tell how, as soon as his chariot drew nigh, every cloud disappear'd from the face of the sky; and the birds in the hedges more tunefully sung, and the bells in st. george's spontaneously rung; and the people, all seized with divine inspiration, couldn't talk without rhyming and versification. but such matters, though vastly important, i ween, are too long for the limits of your magazine. now it soon got abroad that apollo was come, and intended to be, for that evening, "at home;" and that cards would be issued, and tickets be given, to all scholars and wits, for a dinner at seven. so he'd scarcely sat clown, when a legion came pouring of would-be-thought scholars, his favor imploring. first, buller stept in, with a lengthy oration about "scandalous usage," and "hard situation:" and such treatment as never, since eton was started, ~ ~~ had been shown to a genius, like him, "broken-hearted." he'd " no doubt but his friends in parnassus must know how his fine declamation was laugh'd at below; and how keate, like a blockhead ungifted with brains, had neglected to grant him a prize for his pains. he was sure, if such conduct continued much longer, the school must grow weaker, and indolence stronger; that the rights of sixth form would be laid in the dust, and the school after that, he thought, tumble it must. but he knew that apollo was learned and wise, and he hoped that his godship would give him a prize; or, at least, to make up for his mortification, would invite him to dinner without hesitation." now apollo, it seems, had some little pretence to a trifling proportion of wisdom and sense: so without ever asking the spark to be seated, he thus cut short his hopes, and his projects defeated. "after all, mr. buller, you've deign'd to repeat, i'm afraid that you'll think me as stupid as keate: but to wave all disputes on your talents and knowledge, pray what have you done as the captain of college? have you patronized learning, or sapping commended? have you e'er to your fags, or their studies, attended? to the school have you given of merit a sample, and directed by precept, or led by example?" ***** what apollo said more i'm forbidden to say, but buller dined not at his table that day. next, a smart little gentleman march'd with a stare up, a smoothing his neckcloth, and patting his hair up; and with bows and grimaces quadrillers might follow, said, " he own'd that his face was unknown to apollo; ~ ~~ but he held in hand what must be his apology, a short treatise he'd written on _british geology_; and this journal, he hoped, of his studies last week, in philosophy, chemistry, logic, and greek, might appear on perusal: but not to go far in proclaiming his merits--his name was tom carr: and for proofs of his talents, deserts, and what not, he appeal'd to miss baillie, lord byron, and scott." here his speech was cut short by a hubbub below, and in walk'd messrs. maturin, cookesly, and co., and begg'd leave to present to his majesty's finger-- if he'd please to accept--no. of the linger.{ } mr. maturin "hoped he the columns would view with unprejudiced judgment, and give them their due, nor believe all the lies, which perhaps he had seen, in that vile publication, that base magazine,{ } which had dared to impeach his most chaste lucubrations, of obscenity, nonsense, and such accusations. nay, that impudent work had asserted downright, that chalk differ'd from cheese, and that black wasn't white; but he hoped he might meet with his majesty's favor;" and thus, hemming and hawing, he closed his palaver. now the god condescended to look at the papers, but the first word he found in them gave him the vapours: for the eyes of apollo, ye gods! 'twas a word quite unfit to be written, and more to be heard; 'twas a word which a bargeman would tremble to utter, and it put his poor majesty all in a flutter; but collecting his courage, his laurels he shook, and around on the company cast such a look, that e'en turin and dumpling slank off to the door, and the lion was far too much frighten'd to roar; an eton periodical of the time. the college magazine. ~ ~~ while poor carr was attack'd with such qualms at the breast, that he took up his journal, and fled with the rest. when the tumult subsided, and peace 'gan to follow, goddard enter'd the room, with three cards for apollo, and some papers which, hardly five minutes before, three respectable gownsmen had left at the door. with a smile of good humour the god look'd at each, for he found that they came from blunt, chapman, and neech.{ } blunt sent him a treatise of science profound, showing how rotten eggs were distinguish'd from sound; some "remarks on debates," and some long-winded stories, of society whigs, and society tories; and six sheets and a half of a sage dissertation, on the present most wicked and dull generation. from chapman came lectures on monk, and on piety; on simeon, and learning, and plays, and sobriety; with most clear illustrations, and critical notes, on his own right exclusive of canvassing votes. from neech came a medley of prose and of rhyme, satires, epigrams, sonnets, and sermons sublime; but he'd chosen all customs and rules to reverse, for his satires were prose, and las sermons were verse. phoebus look'd at the papers, commended all three, and sent word he'd be happy to see them to tea. the affairs of the morning thus happily o'er, phoebus pull'd from his pocket twelve tickets or more, which the waiters were ordered forthwith to disperse 'mongst the most approved scribblers in prose and in verse: 'mongst the gentlemen honor'd with cards, let me see, there was howard, and coleridge, and wood, and lavie, the society's props; curzon, major and minor, principal contributors to the etonian. ~ ~~ bowen, hennicker, webbe, were invited to dinner: the theologist buxton, and petit, were seen, and philosopher jenyns, and donald maclean; bulteel too, and dykes; but it happen'd (oh shame!) that, though many were ask'd, very few of them came. as for coleridge, he "knew not what right phobus had, d--n me, to set up for a judge in a christian academy; and he'd not condescend to submit his latinity, nor his verses, nor greek, to a heathen divinity. for his part, he should think his advice an affront, full as bad as the libels of chapman and blunt. he'd no doubt but his dinner might be very good, but he'd not go and taste it--be d--d if he would." dean fear'd that his pupils their minds should defile, and maclean was engaged to the duke of argyll; in a deep fit of lethargy petit had sunk, and theologist buxton with _bishop_ was drunk; bulteel too, and dykes, much against their own will, had been both pre-engaged to a party to mill; and philosopher jenyns was bent on his knees, to electrify spiders, and galvanize fleas. but the rest all accepted the god's invitation, and made haste to prepare for this jollification. now the dinner was handsome as dinner could be, but to tell every dish is too tedious for me; such a task, at the best, would be irksome and long, and, besides, i must haste to the end of my song. 'tis enough to relate that, the better to dine, jove sent them some nectar, and bacchus some wine. from minerva came olives to crown the dessert, and from helicon water was sent most alert, of which howard, 'tis said, drank so long and so deep, that he almost fell into poetical sleep.{ } when the cloth was removed, and the bottle went round, "nec fonte labra prolui c'aballino, nec in bicipiti sommasse parnasso." persius. ~ ~~ wit, glee, and good humour, began to abound, though lord chesterfield would not have call'd them polite, for they all often burst into laughter outright. ***** but swift flew the moments of rapture and glee, and too early, alas! they were summon'd to tea. with looks most demure, each prepared with a speech, at the table were seated blunt, chapman, and neech. phobus stopt their orations, with dignity free, and with easy politeness shook hands with all three; and the party proceeded, increased to a host, to discuss bread and butter, tea, coffee, and toast. as their numbers grew larger, more loud grew their mirth, and apollo from heav'n drew its raptures to earth: with divine inspiration he kindled each mind, till their wit, like their sugar, grew double refined; and an evening, enliven'd by conviviality, proved how much they were pleased by the god's hospitality. thalia.{ } this poem is attributed to j. moultrie, esq. of trinity college, cambridge. [illustration: page ] [illustration: page ] eton montem. stand by, old cant, while i admire the young and gay, with souls of fire, unloose the cheerful heart. hence with thy puritanic zeal; true virtue is to grant and feel-- a bliss thou'lt ne'er impart. i love thee, montem,--love thee, by all the brightest recollections of my youth, for the inspiring pleasures which thy triennial pageant revives in my heart: joined with thy merry throng, i can forget the cares and disappointments of the world; and, tripping gaily with the light-hearted, youthful band, cast off the gloom of envy and of worldly pursuit, reassociating myself with the joyous scenes of my boyhood. nay, more, i hold thee in higher veneration than ever did antiquarian worship the relics of _virtu_. [illustration: page ] ~ ~~ destruction light upon the impious hand that would abridge thy ancient charter;--be all thy children, father etona, doubly-armed to defend thy ancient honors;--let no modern goth presume to violate thy sacred rights; but to the end of time may future generations retain the spirit of thy present race; and often as the happy period comes, new pleasures wait upon the eton montem.{ } the ancient custom, celebrated at eton every third year, on whit-tuesday, and which bears the title of the montem, appears to have defied antiquarian research, as far as relates to its original institution. it consiste of a procession to a small tumulus on the southern side of the bath road, which has given the name of salt-hill to the spot, now better known by the splendid inns that are established there. the chief object of this celebration, however, is to collect money for salt, according to the language of the day, from all persons who assemble to see the show, nor does it fail to be exacted from travellers on the road, and even at the private residences within a certain, but no inconsiderable, range of the spot. the scholars appointed to collect the money are called _salt- bearers_; they are arrayed in fancy dresses, and are attended by others called scouts, of a similar, but less showy appearance. tickets are given to such persons as have paid their contributions, to secure them from any further demand. this ceremony is always very numerously attended by etonians, and has frequently been honored with the presence of his late majesty, and the different branches of the royal family. the sum collected on the occasion has sometimes exceeded l., and is given to the senior scholar, who is called captain of the school. this procession appears to be coeval with the foundation; and it is the opinion of mr. lysons, that it was a ceremonial of the bairn, or boy- bishop. he states, that it originally took place on the th of december, the festival of st. nicholas, the patron of children; being the day on which it was customary at salisbury, and in other places where the ceremony was observed, to elect the boy-bishop from among the children belonging to the cathedral. this mock dignity lasted till innocents' day; and, during the intermediate time, the boy performed various episcopal functions. if it happened that he died before the allotted period of this extraordinary mummery had expired, he was buried with all the ceremonials which were used at the funerals of prelates. in the voluminous collections relating to antiquities, bequeathed by mr. cole, who was himself of eton and king's colleges, to the british museum, is a note which ~ ~~ mentions that the ceremony of the bairn or boy-bishop was to be observed by charter, and that geoffry blythe, bishop of lichfield, who died in , bequeathed several ornaments to those colleges, for the dress of the bairn-bishop. but on what authority this industrious antiquary gives the information, which, if correct, would put an end to all doubt on the subject, does not appear. but, after all, why may not this custom be supposed to have originated in a procession to perform an annual mass at the altar of some saint, to whom a small chapel might have been dedicated on the mount called salt-hill; a ceremony very common in catholic countries, as such an altar is a frequent appendage to their towns and populous villages? as for the selling of salt, it may be considered as a natural accompaniment, when its emblematical character, as to its use in the ceremonies of the roman church, is contemplated. till the time of doctor barnard, the procession of the montem was every two years, and on the first or second tuesday in february. it consisted of something of a military array. the boys in the remove, fourth, and inferior forms, marched in a long file of two and two, with white poles in their hands, while the sixth and fifth form boys walked on their flanks as officers, and habited in all the variety of dress, each of them having a boy of the inferior forms, smartly equipped, attending on him as a footman. the second boy in the school led the procession in a military dress, with a truncheon in his hand, and bore for the day the title of marshal: then followed the captain, supported by his chaplain, the head scholar of the fifth form, dressed in a suit of black, with a large bushy wig, and a broad beaver decorated with a twisted silk hatband and rose, the fashionable distinction of the dignified clergy of that day. it was his office to read certain latin prayers on the mount at salt-hill the third boy of the school brought up the rear as lieutenant. one of the higher classes, whose qualification was his activity, was chosen ensign, and carried the colours, which were emblazoned with the college arms, and the motto, _pro mort el monte_. this flag, before the procession left the college, he flourished in the school-yard with all the dexterity displayed at astley's and places of similar exhibition. the same ceremony was repeated after prayers, on the mount. the regiment dined in the inns at salt-hill, and then returned to the college; and its dismission in the school-yard was announced by the universal drawing of all the swords. those who bore the title of commissioned officers were exclusively on the foundation, and carried spontoons; the rest were considered as serjeants and corporals, and a most curious assemblage of figures they exhibited. the two principal salt-bearers consisted of an oppidan and a colleger: the former was generally some nobleman, whose figure and personal connexions might advance the interests of the collections. they were dressed like running footmen, and carried, each of them, a silk bag to receive the contributions, in which was a small quantity of salt. during doctor barnard's mastership, the ceremony was made triennial, the time changed from february to whit- tuesday, and several of its absurdities retrenched. an ancient and savage custom of hunting a ram by the foundation scholars, on saturday in the election week, was abolished in the earlier part of the last century. the curious twisted clubs with which these collegiate hunters were armed on the occasion are still to be seen in antiquarian collections. ~ ~~ what coronation, tournament, or courtly pageant, can outshine thy splendid innocence and delightful gaiety? what regal banquet yields half the pure enjoyment the sons of old etona experience, when, after months of busy preparation, the happy morn arrives ushered in with the inspiring notes of "_auld lang syne_" from the well-chosen band in the college breakfast-room? then, too, the crowds of admiring spectators, the angel host of captivating beauties with their starry orbs of light, and luxuriant tresses, curling in playful elegance around a face beaming with divinity, or falling in admired negligence over bosoms of alabastrine whiteness and unspotted purity within! grey-bearded wisdom and the peerless great, the stars of honor in the field and state, the pulpit and the bar, send forth their brightest ornaments to grace etona's holiday. oxford and cambridge, too, lend their classic aid, and many a grateful son of _alma mater_ returns to acknowledge his obligations to his early tutors and swell the number of the mirthful host. here may be seen, concentrated in the quadrangle, the costume of every nation, in all the gay variety that fancy can devise: the persian spangled robe, and the embroidered greek vest; the graceful spanish, and the picturesque italian, the roman toga and the tunic, and the rich old english suit. pages in red frocks, and marshals in their satin ~~ doublets; white wands and splendid turbans, plumes, and velvet hats, all hastening with a ready zeal to obey the call of the muster-roll. the captain with his retinue retires to pay his court to the provost; while, in the doctor's study, may be seen, gathered around the dignitary, a few of those great names who honor eton and owe their honor to her classic tutors. twelve o'clock strikes, and the procession is now marshalled in the quadrangle in sight of the privileged circle, princes, dukes, peers, and doctors with their ladies. here does the ensign first display his skill in public, and the montem banner is flourished in horizontal revolutions about the head and waist with every grace of elegance and ease which the result of three months' practice and no little strength can accomplish. twelve o'clock strikes, and the procession moves forward to the playing fields on its route to salt-hill. now look the venerable spires and antique towers of eton like to some chieftain's baronial castle in the feudal times, and the proud captain represents the hero marching forth at the head of his parti-coloured vassals! the gallant display of rank and fashion and beauty follow in their splendid equipages by slow progressive movement, like the delightful lingering, inch by inch approach to st. james's palace on a full court-day. the place itself is calculated to impress the mind with sentiments of veneration and of heart-moving reminiscences; seated in the bosom of one of the richest landscapes in the kingdom, where on the height majestic windsor lifts its royal brow; calmly magnificent, over-looking, from his round tower, the surrounding country, and waving his kingly banner in the air: 'tis the high court of english chivalry, the birth-place, the residence, and the mausoleum of her kings, and "i' the olden time," the prison of her captured monarchs. "at once, the sovereign's and ~ ~~ the muses' seat," rich beyond almost any other district in palaces, and fanes, and villas, in all the "pomp of patriarchal forests," and gently-swelling hills, and noble streams, and waving harvests; there denham wrote, and pope breathed the soft note of pastoral inspiration; and there too the immortal bard of avon chose the scene in which to wind the snares of love around his fat-encumbered knight. who can visit the spot without thinking of datchet mead and the buck-basket of sweet anne page and master slender, and mine host of the garter, and all the rest of that merry, intriguing crew? and now having reached the foot of the mount and old druidical barrow, the flag is again waved amid the cheers of the surrounding thousands who line its sides, and in their carriages environ its ancient base.{ } now the salt-bearers and the pages bank their collections in one common stock, and the juvenile band partake of the captain's banquet, and drink success to his future prospects in botham's port. then, too, old herbertus stockhore--he must not be forgotten; i have already introduced him to your notice in p. , and my friend bob transit has illustrated the sketch with his portrait; yet here he demands notice in his official character, and perhaps i cannot do better than quote the humorous account given of him by the elegant pen of an old etonian { } "who is that buffoon that travesties the travesty? who is that old cripple alighted from his donkey-cart, who dispenses doggrel and grimaces in all the glory of plush and printed calico?" "that, my most noble cynic, is a prodigious personage. shall birth-days and coronations be recorded in immortal odes, and montem not have its minstrel he, sir, is herbertus stockhore; who first called upon his muse in the good old days of paul whitehead,-- see plate of the montem, sketched on the spot. see knight's quarterly magazine, no. ii. ~ ~~ run a race with pye through all the sublimities of lyres and fires,--and is now hobbling to his grave, after having sung fourteen montems, the only existing example of a legitimate laureate. "he ascended his heaven of invention, before the vulgar arts of reading and writing, which are banishing all poetry from the world, could clip his wings. he was an adventurous soldier in his boyhood; but, having addicted himself to matrimony and the muses, settled as a bricklayer's labourer at windsor. his meditations on the house-tops soon grew into form and substance; and, about the year , he aspired, with all the impudence of shad well, and a little of the pride of petrarch, to the laurel-crown of eton. from that day he has worn his honors on his 'cibberian forehead' without a rival." "and what is his style of composition?" "vastly naïve and original;--though the character of the age is sometimes impressed upon his productions. for the first three odes, ere the school of pope was extinct, he was a compiler of regular couplets such as-- 'ye dames of honor and lords of high renown, who come to visit us at eton town.'" during the next nine years, when the remembrance of collins and gray was working a glorious change in the popular mind, he ascended to pindarics, and closed his lyrics with some such pious invocation as this:-- 'and now we'll sing god save the king, and send him long to reign, that he may come to have some fun at montem once again. ' during the first twelve years of the present century, the influence of the lake school was visible in his ~ ~~ productions. in my great work i shall give an elaborate dissertation on his imitations of the high-priests of that worship; but i must now content myself with a single illustration:-- 'there's ensign ronnell, tall and proud, doth stand upon the hill, and waves the flag to all the crowd, who much admire his skill. and here i sit upon my ass, who lops his shaggy ears; mild thing! he lets the gentry pass, nor heeds the carriages and peel's.' he was once infected (but it was a venial sin) by the heresies of the cockney school; and was betrayed, by the contagion of evil example, into the following conceits: 'behold admiral keato of the terrestrial crew, who teaches greek, latin, and likewise hebrew; he has taught captain dampier, the first in the race, swirling his hat with a feathery grace, cookson the marshal, and willoughby, of size, making minor serjeant-majors in looking-glass eyes.' but he at length returned to his own pure and original style; and, like the dying swan, he sings the sweeter as he is approaching the land where the voice of his minstrelsy shall no more be heard. there is a calm melancholy in the close of his present ode which is very pathetic, and almost shakspearian:-- 'farewell you gay and happy throng! farewell my muse! farewell my song! farewell salt-hill! farewell brave captain.' yet, may it be long before he goes hence and is no more seen! may he limp, like his rhymes, for at least a dozen years; for national schools have utterly annihilated our hopes of a successor!" "i will not attempt to reason with you," said the inquirer, "about the pleasures of montem;--but to an ~ ~~ etonian it is enough that it brings pure and ennobling recollections--calls up associations of hope and happiness--and makes even the wise feel that there is something better than wisdom, and the great that there is something nobler than greatness. and then the faces that come about us at such a time, with their tales of old friendships or generous rivalries. i have seen to-day fifty fellows of whom i remember only the nick-names;--they are now degenerated into scheming m.p.'s, or clever lawyers, or portly doctors; -but at montera they leave the plodding world of reality for one day, and regain the dignities of sixth-form etonians." { } to enumerate all the distinguished persons educated at eton would be no easy task; many of the greatest ornaments of our country have laid the foundation of all their literary and scientific wealth within the towers of this venerable edifice. bishops fleetwood and pearson, the learned john hales, dr. stanhope, sir robert walpole, the great earl camden, outred the mathematician, boyle the philosopher, waller the poet, the illustrious earl of chatham, lord lyttelton, gray the poet, and an endless list of shining characters have owned eton for their scholastic nursery: not to mention the various existing literati who have received their education at this celebrated college. the local situation of eton is romantic and pleasing; there is a monastic gloom about the building, finely contrasting with the beauty of the surrounding scenery, which irresistibly enchains the eye and heart. [illustration: page ] ~ ~~ farewell to eton. horatio had just concluded the last sentence of the description of the eton montem, when my aunt, who had now exceeded her usual retiring time by at least half an hour, made a sudden start, upon hearing the chimes of the old castle clock proclaim a notice of the midnight hour. "heavens! boy," said lady mary oldstyle, "what rakes we are! i believe we must abandon all intention of inviting your friend bernard here; for should his conversation prove half as entertaining as these miscellaneous whims and scraps of his early years, we should, i fear, often encroach upon the midnight lamp." "you forget, aunt," replied horatio, "that the swallow has already commenced his spring habitation beneath the housings of our bed-room window, that the long summer evenings will soon be here, and then how delightful would be the society of an intelligent friend to accompany us in our evening perambulations through the park, to chat away half an hour with in the hermitage, or to hold converse on your favourite subject botany, and run through all the varieties of the _camelia japonica_, or the _magnolia fuscata_; then too, i will confess, my own selfishness in the proposition, the pleasure of my friend's company in my fishing excursions, would divest my favourite amusement of its solitary character." ~ ~~ my aunt nodded assent, drew the cowl of her ancient silk cloak over the back part of her head, and, with a half-closed eye, muttered out, in tones of sympathy, her fullest accordance in the proposed arrangement. "i have only one more trifle to read," said horatio, "before i conclude the history of our school-boy days." "we had better have the bed-candles," said my aunt. "you had better hear the conclusion, aunt," said horatio, "and then we can commence the english spy with the evening of to-morrow." my aunt wanted but little excitement to accede to the request, and that little was much exceeded in the promise of horatio's reading bernard's new work on the succeeding evening, when she had calculated on being left in solitary singleness by her nephew's visit to the county ball. "you must know, aunt," said horatio, "that it has been a custom, from time immemorial at eton, for every scholar to write a farewell ode on his leaving, which is presented to the head master, and is called a vale; in addition, some of the most distinguished characters employ first-rate artists to paint their portraits, which, as a tribute of respect, they present to the principal. dr. barnard had nearly a hundred of these grateful faces hanging in his sanctum sanctorum, and the present master bids fair to rival his learned and respected predecessor. ~ ~~ my friend's vale, like every other production of his pen, is marked by the distinguishing characteristic eccentricity of his mind. the idea, i suspect, was suggested by the earl of carlisle's elegant verses, to which he has previously alluded; you will perceive he has again touched upon the peculiarities of his associates, the _dramatis persono_ of 'the english spy,' and endeavoured, in prophetic verse, to unfold the secrets of futurity, as it relates to their dispositions, prospects, and pursuits in life." [illustration: page ] my vale. in infancy oft' by observance we trace what life's future page may unfold; who the senate, the bar, or the pulpit may grace, who'll obtain wreathe of fame or of gold. my vale, should my muse prove but willing and free, parting sorrows to chase from my brain, shall in metre prophetic, on some two or three, indulge in her whimsical vein. first keate let me give to thy talents and worth, a tribute that all will approve; when atropos shall sever thy life's thread on earth thou shalt fall rich in honor and love. revered as respected thy memory last, ~ ~~ long, long, as etona is known, engraved on the hearts of thy scholars, the blast of detraction ne'er sully thy stone. others too i could name and as worthy of note, but my vale 'twould too lengthy extend: sage _domine_ all,--all deserving my vote, who the tutor combine with the friend. but a truce with these ancients, the young i must seek, the juvenile friends of my heart, of secrets hid in futurity speak, and tell how they'll each play their part. first heartly, the warmth of thy generous heart shall expand with maturity's years; new joys to the ag'd and the poor thou'lt impart, and dry up pale misery's tears. next honest tom echo, the giddy and gay, in sports shall all others excel; and the sound of his horn, with "ho! boys, hark--away!" re-echo his worth through life's dell. ~ ~~ horace eglantine deep at pierian spring inspiration poetic shall quaff, in numbers majestic with shakespeare to sing, or in lyrics with pindar to laugh. little gradus, sage dick, you'll a senator see, but a lawyer in every sense, whose personal interest must paramount be, no matter whate'er his pretence. the exquisite lilyman lionise mark, of fashion the fool and the sport; with the gamesters a dupe, he shall drop like a spark, forgot by the blaze of the court. bob transit,--if prudent, respected and rich by his talent shall rise into note; and in fame's honor'd temple be sure of a niche, by each r.a.'s unanimous vote. bernard blackmantle's fortune alone is in doubt, for prophets ne'er tell of themselves; but one thing his heart has a long time found out, ~ ~~ 'tis his love for etonian elves. for the college, and dames, and the dear playing fields where science and friendship preside, for the spot which the balm of true happiness yields, as each day by its fellow doth glide. adieu, honor'd masters! kind dames, fare thee well! ye light-hearted spirits adieu! how feeble my vale--my griev'd feelings to tell as etona declines from my view. [illustration: page ] [illustration: page ] ~ ~~ "men are my subject, and not fictions vain; oxford my chaunt, and satire is my strain." [illustration: page ] five characteristic orders of oxford. [illustration: page ] ~ ~~ the freshman. reflections on leaving eton--a university whip--sketches on the road--the joneses of jesus--picturesque appearance of oxford from the distance--the arrival--welcome of an old etonian--visit to dr. dingyman--a university don-- presentation to the big wig--ceremony of matriculation. "yes; if there be one sacred scene of ease, where reason yet may dawn, and virtue please; where ancient science bursts again to view with mightier truths, which athens never knew, one spot to order, peace, religion dear; rise, honest pride, nor blush to claim it here." who shall attempt to describe the sensations of a young and ardent mind just bursting from the trammels of scholastic discipline to breathe the purer air of classic freedom--to leap at once from ~ ~~ boyhood and subjection into maturity and unrestricted liberty of conduct; or who can paint the heart's agitation, the conflicting passions which prevail when the important moment arrives that is to separate him from the associates of his infancy; from the endearing friendships of his earliest years; from his schoolboy sports and pastimes (often the most grateful recollections of a riper period); or from those ancient spires and familiar scenes to which his heart is wedded in its purest and earliest love. reader, if you have ever tasted of the delightful cup of youthful friendship, and pressed with all the glow of early and sincere attachment the venerable hand of a kind instructor, or met the wistful eye and hearty grasp of parting schoolfellows, and ancient dames, and obliging servants, you will easily discover how embarrassing a task it must be to depict in words the agitating sensations which at such a moment spread their varied influence over the mind. i had taken care to secure the box seat of the old oxford, that on my approach i might enjoy an uninterrupted view of the classic turrets and lofty spires of sacred {academus}. contemplation had fixed his seal upon my young lips for the first ten miles of my journey. abstracted and thoughtful, i had scarce turned my eye to admire the beauties of the surrounding scenery, or lent my ear to the busy hum of my fellow passengers' conversation, when a sudden action of the coach, which produced a sensation of alarm, first broke the gloomy mist that had encompassed me. after my fears had subsided, i inquired of the coachman what was the name of the place we had arrived at, and was answered henley.-"stony henley, sir," said our driver: "you might have discovered that by the _bit of a shake_ we just now experienced. i'll bet a _bullfinch_{ } that you know the place well enough, my young master, before you've been two terms at oxford." a sovereign. ~ ~~ this familiarity of style struck me as deserving reprehension; but i reflected this classic jehu was perhaps licensed by the light-hearted sons of _alma mater_ in these liberties of speech. suspending therefore my indignation, i proceeded,--"and why so?" said i inquisitively:--"why i know when i was an under graduate{ } of ----, where my father was principal, i used to keep a good _prad_ here for a bolt to the village,{ } and then i had a fresh hack always on the road to help me back to chapel prayers."{ } the nonchalance of the speaker, and the easy indifference with which he alluded to his former situation in life, struck me with astonishment, and created a curiosity to know more of his adventures; he had, i found, brought himself to his present degradation by a passion for gaming and driving, which had usurped every just and moral feeling. his father, i have since learned, felt his conduct deeply, and had been dead some time. his venerable mother having advanced him all her remaining property, was now reduced to a dependence upon the benevolence of a few liberal-minded oxford friends, and this son of the once celebrated head of--------college was now so lost to every sense of shame that he preferred the oxford road to exhibit himself on in his new character of a {university whip}. the circumstances here narrated are unfortunately too notorious to require further explanation: the character, drawn from the life, forms the vignette to this chapter. a cant phrase for a stolen run to the metropolis. no unusual circumstance with a gay oxonian, some of whom have been known to ride the same horse the whole distance and back again after prayers, and before daylight the next morning. when (to use the oxford phrase) a man is confined to chapel, or compelled to attend chapel prayers, it is a dangerous risk to be missing,--a severe imposition and sometimes rustication is sure to be the penalty. ~ ~~ immediately behind me on the roof of the vehicle sat a rosy-looking little gentleman, the rotundity of whose figure proclaimed him a man of some substance; he was habited in a suit of clerical mixture, with the true orthodox hat and rosette in front, the broadness of its brim serving to throw a fine mellow shadow over the upper part of a countenance, which would have formed a choice study for the luxuriant pencil of some modern rubens; the eyes were partially obscured in the deep recesses of an overhanging brow, and a high fat cheek, and the whole figure brought to my recollection a representation i had somewhere seen of silenus reproving his bacchanals: the picture was the more striking by the contrasted subjects it was opposed to: on one side was a spare-looking stripling, of about the age of eighteen, with lank hair brushed smoothly over his forehead, and a demure, half-idiot-looking countenance, that seemed to catch what little expression it had from the reflection of its sire, for such i discovered was the ancient's affinity to this cadaverous importation from north wales. the father, a welsh rector of at least one hundred and fifty pounds per annum, was conveying his eldest born to the care of the principal of jesus, of which college the family of the joneses{ } had been a leading name since the time of their great ancestor hugh ap price, son of rees ap rees, a wealthy burgess of brecknock, who founded this college for the sole use of the sons of cambria, in . david jones or, wine and worsted. hugh morgan, cousin of that hugh whose cousin was, the lord knows who, was likewise, as the story runs, tenth cousin of one david jones. david, well stored with classic knowledge, was sent betimes to jesus college; paternal bounty left him clear for life one hundred pounds a year; and jones was deem'd another croesus among the commoners of jesus. it boots not here to quote tradition, in proof of david's erudition;-- he could unfold the mystery high, of paulo-posts, and verbs in u; scan virgil, and, in mathematics, prove that straight lines were not quadratics. all oxford hail'd the youth's _ingressus_, and wond'ring welshmen cried "cot pless us!" it happen'd that his cousin hugh through oxford pass'd, to cambria due, and from his erudite relation receiv'd a written invitation. ~ ~~ hugh to the college gate repair'd, and ask'd for jones;--the porter stared! "jones! sir," quoth he, "discriminate: of mr. joneses there be eight." "ay, but 'tis david jones," quoth hugh; quoth porter, "we've six davids too." "cot's flesh!" cries morgan, "cease your mockings, my david jones wears worsted stockings!" quoth porter, "which it is, heaven knows, for all the eight wear worsted hose." "my cot!" says hugh, "i'm ask'd to dine with cousin jones, and quaff his wine." "that one word 'wine' is worth a dozen," quoth porter, "now i know your cousin; the wine has stood you, sir, in more stead than david, or the hose of worsted; you'll find your friend at number nine-- we've but one jones that quaffs his wine." all these particulars i gleaned from the rapid delivery of the welsh rector, who betrayed no little anxiety to discover if i was of the university; how long i had been matriculated; what was my opinion of the schools, and above all, if the same system of extravagance was pursued by the students, and under-graduates. too cautious to confess myself a freshman, i was therefore compelled to close the inquiry with a simple negative to his early questions, and an avowal of my ignorance in the last particular. the deficiency was, however, readily supplied by an old gentleman, who sat on the other side of the reverend mr. jones. i had taken ~ ~~ him, in the first instance, for a doctor of laws, physic, or divinity, by the studied neatness of his dress, the powdered head, and ancient appendage of a _queue_; with a measured manner of delivery, joined to an affected solemnity of carriage, and authoritative style. he knew every body, from the vice-chancellor to the scout; ran through a long tirade against driving and drinking, which he described as the capital sins of the sons of _alma mater_, complimented the old rector on his choice of a college for his son, and concluded with lamenting the great extravagance of the young men of the present day, whose affection for long credit compelled honest tradesmen to make out long bills to meet the loss of interest they sustain by dunning and delay. "observe, sir," said he, "the youth of england in our happy age! see, to their view what varied pleasure springs, cards, tennis, hilliards, and ten thousand things; 'tis theirs the coat with neater grace to wear, or tie the neckcloth with a royal air: the rapid race of wild expense to run; to drive the tandem or the chaise and one; to float along the isis, or to fly in haste to abingdon,--who knows not why? to gaze in shops, and saunter hours away in raising bills, they never think to pay: then deep carouse, and raise their glee the more, while angry duns assault th' unheeding door, and feed the best old man that ever trod, the merry poacher who defies his god." "you forget the long purses, sir e--," said our classical jehu, "which some of the oxford tradesmen have acquired by these long practices of the university, sir e--." the little welsh rector bowed with astonishment, while his rustic scion stared with wild alarm to find himself for the first time in his life in company with a man of title. a wink from coachee accompanied with an action of his _rein angle_ against my side, followed by a suppressed laugh, prepared me ~ ~~ for some important communications relative to my fellow traveller. "an old _snyder_,"{ } whispered jehu, "who was once mayor of oxford, and they do say was knighted by mistake,--' a thing of shreds and patches,' 'who, by short skirts and little capes, items for buckram, twist, and tapes, ' has, in his time, fine drawn half the university; but having retired from the seat of trade, now seeks the seat of the muses, and writes fustian rhymes and bell-men's odes at christmas time: a mere clod, but a great man with the corporation." we had now arrived on the heights within a short distance of the city of oxford, and i had the gratification for the first time to obtain a glance of sacred _academus_ peeping from between the elm groves in which she is embowered, to view those turrets which were to be the future scene of all my hopes and fears. never shall i forget the sensations, "----when first these glistening eyes survey'd majestic oxford's hundred towers display'd; and silver isis rolling at her feet adorn the sage's and the poet's seat: saw radcliffe's dome in classic beauty rear'd, and learning's stores in bodley's pile revered; first view'd, with humble awe, the steps that stray'd slow in the gloom of academic shade, or framed in thought, with fancy's magic wand, wise bacon's arch; thy bower, fair rosamond." in the bosom of a delightful valley, surrounded by the most luxuriant meadows, and environed by gently swelling hills, smiling in all the pride of cultivated beauty, on every side diversified by hanging wood, stands the fair city of learning and the arts. the two great roads from the capital converge upon the small church of st. clement, in the eastern suburb, from whence, advancing in a westerly direction, you ~ ~~ arrive at magdalen bridge, so named from the college adjoining, whose lofty graceful tower is considered a fine specimen of architecture. the prospect of the city from this point is singularly grand and captivating; on the left, the botanical garden, with its handsome portal; beyond, steeples and towers of every varied form shooting up in different degrees of elevation. the view of the high-street is magnificent, and must impress the youthful mind with sentiments of awe and veneration. its picturesque curve and expansive width, the noble assemblage of public and private edifices in all the pride of varied art, not rising in splendid uniformity, but producing an enchantingly varied whole, the entire perspective of which admits of no european rival-- "the awful tow'rs which seem for science made; the solemn chapels, which to prayer invite, whose storied windows shed a holy light--" the colleges of queen's and all souls', with the churches of st. mary and all saints' on the northern side of the street, and the venerable front of university college on the south, present at every step objects for contemplation and delight. whirling up this graceful curvature, we alighted at the mitre, an inn in the front of the high-street, inclining towards carfax. a number of under graduates in their academicals were posted round the door, or lounging on the opposite side, to watch the arrival of the coach, and amuse themselves with quizzing the passengers. among the foremost of the group, and not the least active, was my old schoolfellow and con, tom echo, now of christ church. the recognition was instantaneous; the welcome a hearty one, in the true etonian style; and the first connected sentence an invitation to dinner. "i shall make a party on purpose to introduce you, old chap," said tom, "that is, ~ ~~ as soon as you have made your bow to the _big wig_:{ } but i say, old fellow, where are you entered we are most of us overflowingly full here." i quickly satisfied his curiosity upon that point, by informing him i had been for some time enrolled upon the list of the foundation of brazennose, and had received orders to come up and enter myself. our conversation now turned upon the necessary ceremonies of matriculation. tom's face was enlivened to a degree when i showed him my letter of introduction to dr. dingyman, of l-n college. "what, the opposition member, the oxford palladio? why, you might just as well expect to move the temple of the winds from athens to oxford, without displacing a fragment, as to hope the doctor will present you to the vice-chancellor.--it won't do. we must find you some more tractable personage; some good-humoured nob that stands well with the principals, tells funny stories to their ladies, and drinks his three bottles like a true son of orthodoxy." "for heaven's sake! my dear fellow, if you do not wish to be pointed at, booked for an eccentric, or suspected of being profound, abandon all intention of being introduced through that medium. a first interview with that singular man will produce an examination that would far exceed the perils of the _great go_{ }-he will try your proficiency by the chart and scale of truth." "be that as it may, tom," said i, not a little alarmed by the account i had heard of the person to whom i was to owe my first introduction to alma mater, "i shall make the attempt; and should i fail, i shall yet hope to avail myself of your proffered kindness." a big wig. head of a college. a don. a learned man. a nob. a fellow of a college. the principal examining school. ~ ~~ after partaking of some refreshment, and adjusting my dress, we sallied forth to lionise, as tom called it, which is the oxford term for gazing about, usually applied to strangers. proceeding a little way along the high street from the mitre, and turning up the first opening on our left hand, we stood before the gateway of lincoln college. here tom shook hands, wished me a safe passport through what he was pleased to term the "_oxonia purgata_" and left me, after receiving my promise to join the dinner party at christ church. i had never felt so awkwardly in my life before: the apprehensions i was under of a severe examination; the difficulty of encountering a man whose superior learning and endowments of mind had rendered him the envy of the university, and above all, his reputed eccentricity of manners, created fears that almost palsied my tongue when i approached the hall to announce my arrival. if my ideas of the person had thus confounded me, my terrors were doubly increased upon entering his chamber: shelves groaning with ponderous folios and quartos of the most esteemed latin and greek authors, fragments of grecian and roman architecture, were disposed around the room; on the table lay a copy of stuart's athens, with a portfolio of drawings from palladio and vitruvius, and pozzo's perspective. in a moment the doctor entered, and, advancing towards me, seized my hand before i could scarcely articulate my respects. "i am glad to see you--be seated--you are of eton, i read, an ancient name and highly respected here--what works have you been lately reading?" i immediately ran through the list of our best school classics, at which i perceived the doctor smiled. "you have been treated, i perceive, like all who have preceded you: the bigotry of scholastic prejudices is intolerable. i have been for fifty years labouring to remove the veil, and have yet contrived ~ ~~ to raise only one corner of it. nothing," continued the doctor, "has stinted the growth and hindered the improvement of sound learning more than a superstitious reverence for the ancients; by which it is presumed that their works form the summit of all learning, and that nothing can be added to their discoveries. under this absurd and ridiculous prejudice, all the universities of europe have laboured for many years, and are only just beginning to see their error, by the encouragement of natural philosophy. experimental learning is the only mode by which the juvenile mind should be trained and exercised, in order to bring all its faculties to their proper action: instead of being involved in the mists of antiquity." can it be possible, thought i, this is the person of whom my friend tom gave such a curious account? can this be the man who is described as a being always buried in abstracted thoughtfulness on the architer cural remains of antiquity, whose opinions are said never to harmonize with those of other heads of colleges; who is described as eccentric, because he has a singular veneration for truth, and an utter abhorrence of the dogmas of scholastic prejudice there are some few characters in the most elevated situations of life, who possess the amiable secret of attaching every one to them who have the honour of being admitted into their presence, without losing one particle of dignity, by their courteous manner. this agreeable qualification the doctor appeared to possess in an eminent degree. i had not been five minutes in his company before i felt as perfectly unembarrassed as if i had known him intimately for twelve months. it could not be the result of confidence on my part, for no poor fellow ever felt more abashed upon a first entrance; and must therefore only be attributable to that indescribable condescension of easy intercourse which is the sure characteristic of a superior mind. ~ ~~ after inquiring who was to be my tutor, and finding i was not yet fixed in that particular, i was requested to construe one of the easiest passages in the Æneid; my next task was to read a few paragraphs of monkish latin from a little white book, which i found contained the university statutes: having acquitted myself in this to the apparent satisfaction of the doctor, he next proceeded to give me his advice upon my future conduct and pursuits in the university; remarked that his old friend, my father, could not have selected a more unfortunate person to usher me into notice: that his habits were those of a recluse, and his associations confined almost within the walls of his own college; but that his good wishes for the son of an old friend and schoolfellow would, on this occasion, induce him to present me, in person, to the principal of brazennose, of whom he took occasion to speak in the highest possible terms. having ordered me a sandwich and a glass of wine for my refreshment, he left me to adjust his dress, preparatory to our visit to the dignitary. during his absence i employed the interval in amusing myself with a small octavo volume, entitled the "oxford spy:" the singular coincidence of the following extract according so completely with the previous remarks of the doctor, induced me to believe it was his production; but in this suspicion, i have since been informed, i was in error, the work being written by shergold boone, esq. a young member of the university. "thus i remember, ere these scenes i saw, but hope had drawn them, such as hope will draw, a shrewd old man, on isis' margin bred, smiled at my warmth, and shook his wig, and said: 'youth will be sanguine, but before you go, learn these plain rules, and treasure, when you know. wisdom is innate in the gown and band; their wearers are the wisest of the land. ~ ~~ science, except in oxford, is a dream; in all things heads of houses are supreme { } proctors are perfect whosoe'er they be; logic is reason in epitome: examiners, like kings, can do no wrong; all modern learning is not worth a song: passive obedience is the rule of right; to argue or oppose is treason quite:{ } mere common sense would make the system fall: things are worth nothing; words are all in all." on his return, the ancient glanced at the work i had been reading, and observing the passage i have just quoted, continued his remarks upon the discipline of the schools.--"in the new formed system of which we boast," said the master, "the philosophy which has enlightened the world is omitted or passed over in a superficial way, and the student is exercised in narrow and contracted rounds of education, in which his whole labour is consumed, and his whole time employed, with little improvement or useful knowledge. he has neither time nor inclination to attend the public lectures in the several departments of philosophy; nor is he qualified for that attendance. all that he does, or is required to do, is to prepare himself to pass through these contracted rounds; to write a theme, or point an epigram; but when he enters upon life, action, or profession, both the little go, and the great go, he will find to be a by go; for he will find that he has gone by the best part of useful and substantial learning; know all men by these presents, that children in the uni- versities eat pap and go in leading strings till they are fourscore. --terro filius. in a work quaintly entitled "phantasm of an university," there occurs this sweeping paragraph, written in the true spirit of radical reform: "great advantages might be obtained by gradually transforming christ church into a college of civil polity and languages; magdalen, queen's, university, into colleges of moral philosophy; new and trinity into colleges of fine arts; and the five halls into colleges of agriculture and manufactures." ~~ or that it has gone by him: to recover which he must repair from this famous seat of learning to the institutions of the metropolis, or in the provincial towns. i have just given you these hints, that you may escape the errors of our system, and be enabled to avoid the pomp of learning which is without the power, and acquire the power of knowledge without the pomp." here ended the lecture, and my venerable conductor and myself made the best of our way to pay our respects to the principal of my future residence. arrived here--the principal, a man of great dignity, received us with all due form, and appeared exceedingly pleased with the visit of my conductor; my introduction was much improved by a letter from the head master of eton, who, i have no doubt, said more in my favour than i deserved. the appointment of a tutor was the next step, and for this purpose i was introduced to mr. jay, a smart-looking little man, very polite and very portly, with whom i retired to display my proficiency in classical knowledge, by a repetition of nearly the same passages in homer and virgil i had construed previously with the learned doctor; the next arrangement was the sending for a tailor, who quickly produced my academical robes and cap, in the which, i must confess, i at first felt rather awkward. i was now hurried to the vice-chancellor's house adjoining pembroke college, where i had the honour of a presentation to that dignitary; a mild-looking man of small stature, with the most affable and graceful manners, dignified, and yet free from the slightest tinge of _hauteur_. his reception of my tutor was friendly and unembarrassing; his inquiries relative to myself directed solely to my proficiency in the classics, of which i had again to give some specimens; i was then directed to subscribe my name in a large folio album, which proved to contain the thirty-nine articles, not one ~ ~~ sentence of which i had ever read; but it was too late for hesitation, and i remembered tom echo had informed me i should have to attest to a great deal of nonsense, which no one ever took the pains to understand. the remainder of this formal initiation was soon despatched: i separately abjured the damnable doctrines of the pope, swore allegiance to the king, and vowed to preserve the statutes and privileges of the society i was then admitted into; paid my appointed fees, made my bow to the vice-chancellor, and now concluded that the ceremony of the _togati_ was all over: in this, however, i was mistaken; my tutor requesting some conference with me at his rooms, thither we proceeded, and arranged the plan of my future studies; then followed a few general hints relative to conduct, the most important of which was my obeisance to the dignitaries, by capping{ } whenever i met them; the importance of a strict attendance to the lectures of logic, mathematics, and divinity, to the certain number of twenty in each term; a regular list of the tradesmen whom i was requested to patronize; and, lastly, the entry of my name upon the college books and payment of the necessary _caution money_.{ } _entering_ keeps one term; but as rooms were vacant, i was fortunate in obtaining an immediate appointment. as the day was now far advanced, i deemed it better to return to my inn and dress for the dinner party at christ church. capping--by the students and under graduates is touching the cap to the vice-chancollor, proctors, fellows, &c. when passing. at christ church tradesmen and servants must walk bareheaded through the quadrangle when the dean, canons, censors, or tutors are present. at pembroke this order is rigidly enforced, even in wet weather. at brazennose neither servants nor tradesmen connected with the college are allowed to enter it otherwise. it is not long since a certain bookseller was discommoned for wearing his hat in b- n-e quadrangle, and literally ruined in consequence. caution money--a sum of money deposited in the hands of the treasurer or bursar by every member on his name being entered upon the college books, as a security for the payment of all bills and expenses contracted by him within the walls of the college. this money is returned when the party takes his degree or name off the books; and no man can do either of these without receipts in full from the butler, manciple, and cook of their respective colleges. ~ ~~ [illustration: page ] [illustration: page ] ~ ~~ architectural reminiscences--descriptive remarks--similitude between the characters of cardinal wolsey and napoleon. it was past five o'clock when i arrived before the majestic towers of christ church.--the retiring sun brightening the horizon with streaks of gold at parting, shed a rich glow over the scene that could not fail to rivet my attention to the spot. not all the fatigues of the day, nor the peculiarities of my new situation, had, in the least, abated my admiration of architectural beauties. the noble octagonal tower in the enriched gothic style, rising like a colossal ~ ~~ monument of art among the varied groups of spires, domes, and turrets, which from a distance impress the traveller with favourable ideas of the magnificence of oxford, first attracted my notice, and recalled to my memory two names that to me appear to be nearly associated (by comparison) with each other, wolsey and napoleon; both gifted by nature with almost all the brightest qualifications of great minds; both arriving at the highest point of human grandeur from the most humble situations; equally the patrons of learning, science, and the arts; and both equally unfortunate, the victims of ambition: both persecuted exiles; yet, further i may add, that both have left behind them a fame which brightens with increasing years, and must continue to do as every passing day removes the mist of prejudice from the eyes of man. such were the thoughts that rushed upon my mind as i stood gazing on the splendid fabric before me, from the western side of st. aidates, unheedful of the merry laughter-loving group of students and under-graduates, who, lounging under the vaulted gateway, were amusing themselves at my expense in quizzing a freshman in the act of lionising. the tower contains the celebrated _magnus thomas_, recast from the great bell of osney abbey, by whose deep note at the hour of nine in the evening the students are summoned to their respective colleges. the upper part of the tower displays in the bracketed canopies and carved enrichments the skilful hand of sir christopher wren, whose fame was much enhanced by the erection of the gorgeous turrets which project on each side of the gateway.{ } not caring to endure a closer attack of the _togati_, who had now approached me, i crossed and entered the great quadrangle, or, according to oxford phraseology, _tom quad_. the irregular nature of the buildings here by no means assimilate with the elegance of the exterior entrance. it was here, in lord orford's opinion, that he "caught the graces of the true gothic taste." [illustration: page ] ~ ~~ the eastern, northern, and part of the southern sides of the quadrangle are, i have been since informed, inhabited by the dean and canons; the western by students. the broad terrace in front of the buildings, the extent of the arena, and the circular basin of water in the centre, render this an agreeable promenade.--i had almost forgotten the deity of the place (i hope not symbolical), a leaden mercury{ }; the gift of dr. john radcliffe, which rises from the centre of the basin, on the spot where once stood the sacred cross of st. frideswide, and the pulpit of the reformer, wickliffe. since pulled down and destroyed. the dinner party. bernard blackmantles visit to tom echo---oxford phraseology- smuggled dinners--a college party described--topography of a man's boom--portrait of a bachelor of arts--hints to freshmen--customs of the university. ~ ~~ "when first the freshman, bashful, blooming, young, blessings which here attend not handmaids long, assumes that cap, which franchises the man, and feels beneath the gown dilate his span; when he has stood with modest glance, shy fear, and stiff-starch'd band before our prime vizier, and sworn to articles he scarcely knew, and forsworn doctrines to his creed all new: through fancy's painted glass he fondly sees monastic turrets, patriarchal trees, the cloist'ral arches' awe-inspiring shade, the high-street sonnetized by wordsworth's jade, his raptured view a paradise regards, nurseling of hope! he builds on paper cards." on the western side of tom quad, up one flight of stairs, by the porter's aid i discovered the battered oaken door which led to the _larium_ of my friend echo: that this venerable bulwark had sustained many a brave attack from besiegers was visible in the numerous bruises and imprints of hammers, crowbars, and other weapons, which had covered its surface with many an indented scar. the utmost caution was apparent in the wary scout,{ } a scout, at christ church, performs the same duties for ten or twelve students as a butler and valet in a gentleman's family. there are no women bedmakers at any college except christ church, that duty being performed by the scout. ~ ~~ who admitted me; a necessary precaution, as i afterwards found, to prevent the prying eye of some inquisitive domine, whose nose has a sort of instinctive attraction in the discovery of smuggled dinners.{ } within i found assembled half a dozen good-humoured faces, all young, and all evidently partaking of the high flow of spirits and animated vivacity of the generous hearted tom echo. a college introduction is one of little ceremony, the surname alone being used,--a practice, which, to escape quizzing, must also be followed on your card. "here, old fellows," said tom, taking me by the hand, and leading me forwards to his companions, "allow me to introduce an ex{ }-college man,--blackmantle of brazennose, a freshman{ } and an etonian: so, lay to him, boys; he's just broke loose from the land of sheepishness,{ } passed pupils straits{ } and the isle of matriculation{ } to follow dads will,{ } in the port of stuffs{ }; from which, if he can steer clear of the fields of temptation{ } smuggled dinners are private parties in a student's room, when the dinner is brought into college from a tavern: various are the ingenious stratagems of the togati to elude the vigilance of the authorities: trunks, packing-boxes, violoncello-cases, and hampers are not unfrequently directed as if from a waggon or coach-office, and brought into college on the shoulders of some porter. tin cans of soup are drawn up by means of a string from the back windows in the adjoining street. it is not long since mr. c- of christ church was expelled for having a dinner smuggled into college precisely in the manner adopted by tom echo. a university man who is visiting in a college of which he is not a member. the usual phrase for initiating a freshman on his first appearance in a party or frisk. land of sheepishness--school-boy's bondage. pupil's straits--interval between restraint and liberty. isle of matriculation--first entrance into the university. dad's will--parental authority. port for stay's--assumption of commoner's gown. fields of temptation--the attractions held out to him. ~ ~~ he hopes to make the _land of promise_,{ } anchor his bark in the _isthmus of grace_,{ } and lay up snugly for life on the _land of incumbents_."{ } "for heaven's sake, tom," said i," speak in some intelligible language; it's hardly fair to fire off your battery of oxonian wit upon a poor freshman at first sight." at this moment a rap at the _oak_ announced an addition to our party, and in bounded that light-hearted child of whim, horace eglantine:--"what, blackmantle here? why then, tom, we can form as complete a trio as ever got _bosky_{ } with _bishop_{ } in _the province of bacchus_,{ }! why, what a plague, my old fellow, has given you that rueful-looking countenance? i am sure you was not plucked upon _maro common_ or _homer downs_{ } in passing examination with the big wig this morning; or has tom been frisking{ } you already with some of his jokes about the _straits of independency_{ }; the _waste of ready_{ }; the dynasty of venus,{ } or the quicksands of rustication{ }. land of promise--the fair expectations of a steady novice in oxford. isthmus of grace--obtainment of the grace of one's college. land of incumbents--good livings. bosky is the term used in oxford to express the style of being "half seas over." bishop--a good orthodox mead composed of port wine and roasted oranges or lemons. province of bacchus--inebriety. maro common and homer downs allude to the Æneid of virgil and the iliad of homer--two books chiefly studied for the little-go or responsions. frisking--hoaxing. straits of independency--frontiers of extravagance. waste of ready, including in it hoyle's dominions-- course of gambling, including loo tables. dynasty of venus--indiscriminate love and misguided affections. quicksands of rustication--on which our hero may at any time run foul when inclined to visit a new county. ~ ~~ cheer up, old fellow! you are not half way through the ceremony of initiation yet. we must brighten up that solemn phiz of yours, and give you a lesson or two on college principles? if i had been thrown upon some newly-discovered country, among a race of wild indians, i could not have been more perplexed and confounded than i now felt in endeavouring to rally, and appear to comprehend this peculiar phraseology. a conversation now ensuing between a gentleman commoner, whom the party designated pontius pilate{ } and tom echo, relative to the comparative merits of their hunters, afforded me an opportunity of surveying the _larium_ of my friend; the entrance to which was through a short passage, that served the varied purposes of an ante-room or vestibule, and a scout's pantry and boot-closet. on the right was the sleeping-room, and at the foot of a neat french bed i could perceive the wine bin, surrounded by a regiment of _dead men_{ } who had, no doubt, departed this life like heroes in some battle of bacchanalian sculls. the principal chamber, the very _penetrale_ of the muses, was about six yards square, and low, with a rich carved oaken wainscoting, reaching to the ceiling; the monastic gloom being materially increased by two narrow loopholes, intended for windows, but scarcely yielding sufficient light to enable the student to read his _scapula or lexicon_{ } with the advantage of a meridian sun: the fire-place was immensely wide, emblematical, no doubt, of the capacious stomachs of the good fathers and fellows, the ancient inhabitants of this _sanctum_; but the most singularly-striking characteristic was the modern decorations, introduced by the present occupant. a quaint cognomen applied to him from the rapidity with which he boasted of repeating the nicene creed,--i.e. offering a bet that no would give any man as far as "pontius pilate," and beat him before he got to the "resurrection of the dead." dead men--empty bottles. scapula, hederic, and lexicon, the principal dictionaries in use for studying greek. ~ ~~ over the fire-place hung a caricature portrait of a well-known bachelor of arts, drinking at the _pierian spring, versus_ gulping down the contents of a pembroke _overman_,{ } sketched by the facetious pencil of the humorist, rowlandson. [illustration: page ] eccÈ signum. i could not help laughing to observe on the one side of this jolly personage a portrait of the little female giovanni vestris, under which some wag had inscribed, "_a mistress of hearts_," and on the other a full-length of jackson the pugilist, with this motto--"a striking likeness of a fancy lecturer." an herman--at pembroke, a large silver tankard, holding two quarts and half a pint, so called from the donor, mr. george overman. the late john hudson, the college tonsor and _common room man_,{*} was famous for having several times, for trifling wagers, drank a full overman of strong beer off at a draught. a tun, another vessel in use at pembroke, is a half pint silver cup. a whistler, a silver pint tankard also in use there, was the gift of mr. anthony whistler, a cotemporary with shenstone. * common room man, a servant who is entirely employed in attending upon the members of the common room. junior common room, a room in every college, except christ church, set apart for the junior members to drink wine in and read the newspapers. n.b. there is but one common room at christ church; none but masters of arts and noblemen can be members of it,--the latter but seldom attend. the last who attended was the late duke of dorset. all common rooms are regularly furnished with newspapers and magazines. _curator of the common rooms_.-a senior master of arts, who buys the wine and inspects the accounts. ~ ~~ in the centre of the opposite side hung the portrait of an old _scout_, formerly of brazennose, whose head now forms the admission ticket to the college club. right and left were disposed the plaster busts of aristotle and cicero; the former noseless, and the latter with his eyes painted black, and a huge pair of mustachios annexed. a few volumes of the latin and greek classics were thrown into a heap in one corner of the room, while numerous modern sporting publications usurped their places on the book shelves, richly gilt and bound in calf, but not lettered. the hunting cap, whip, and red coat were hung up like a trophy between two foxes' tails, which served the purpose of bell pulls. at this moment, my topographical observations were disturbed by the arrival of the scout with candles, and two strange-looking fellows in smock frocks, bringing in, as i supposed, a piano forte, but which, upon being placed on the table, proved to be a mere case: the top being taken off, the sides and ends let down in opposite directions, and the cloth pulled out straight, displayed an elegant dinner, smoking hot, and arranged in as much form as if the college butler had superintended the feast. "come, old fellow," said tom, "turn to--no ceremony. i hope, jem," addressing his scout, "you took care that no ~ ~~ college telegraph{ } was at work while you were smuggling the dinner in." "i made certain sure of that, sir," said jem; "for i placed captain cook{ } sentinel at one corner of the quadrangle, and old brady at the other, with directions to whistle, as a signal, if they saw any of the _dons_ upon the look out." finding we were not likely to be interrupted by the _domine_, tom took the chair. the fellows in the smock frocks threw off their disguises, and proved to be two genteelly dressed waiters from one of the inns. "close the oak, jem," said horace eglantine, "and take care no one knocks in{ } before we have knocked down the contents of your master's musical melange." "_punning_ as usual, eglantine," said the honourable mr. sparkle, a gentleman commoner. "yes; and _pun_-ishing too, old fellow!" said horace. "where's the _cold tankard_,{ } echo? a college telegraph--a servant of a college, who carries an account of every trifling offence committed, either by gentlemen or servants, to the college officers. well-known characters in christ church. knocking in--going into college after half-past ten at night. the names of the gentlemen who knock in are entered by the porter in a book kept for that purpose, and the next morning it is carried to the dean and censors, who generally call upon the parties so offending to account for being out of college at so late an hour. a frequent recurrence of this practice will sometimes draw from the dean a very severe reprimand. knocking in money--fines levied for knocking into college at improper hours: the first fine is fixed at half-past ten, and increased every half hour afterwards. these fines are entered on the batter book, and charged among the battels and decrements,* a portion of which is paid to the porter quarterly, for being knocked up. cold tankard--a summer beverage, used at dinner, made of brandy, cider, or perry, lemons cut in slices, cold water, sugar, nutmeg, cinnamon, and the herbs balm and burridge. sometimes sherry or port wine is substituted for cider. the tankard is put into a pitcher, which is iced in a tub, procured from the confectioners. * decrements.--the use of knives, folks, spoons, and other necessaries, with the firing, &c. for the hall and chapel. ~ ~~ we must give our old _con_, blackmantle, a warm reception." "sure, that's a paddyism"{ } said a young irish student. "nothing of the sort," replied horace: "are we not all here the sons of isis (ices)? and tell me where will you find a group of warmer hearted souls?" "bravo! bravo!" shouted the party. "that fellow eglantine will create another _pun_-ic war," said sparkle. "i move that we have him crossed in the buttery{ } for making us laugh during dinner, to the great injury of our digestive organs, and the danger of suffocation." "what! deprive an englishman of his right to battel{ }" said echo: "no; i would sooner inflict the orthodox fine of a double bumper of _bishop_." "bravo!" said horace: "then i plead guilty, and swallow the imposition." "i'll thank you for a cut out of the back of that _lion_,"{ } tittered a man opposite. with all the natural timidity of the hare whom he thus particularised, i was proceeding to help him, when echo inquired if he should send me the breast of a swiss { } and the facetious eglantine, to increase my confusion, requested to be allowed to cut me a slice off the wing of a wool bird.{ } a paddyism is called in this university a "thorpism" from mr. thorp, formerly a hosier of some note in the city. he was famous for making blunders and coining new words, was very fond of making long speeches, and when upon _the toe_, never failed to convulse his hearers with laughter. crossed in the buttery--not allowed to battel, a punishment for missing lecture. by being frequently crossed, a man will lose his term. battels--bread, butter, cheese, salt, eggs, &c. a lion--a hare. siciss--a pheasant. wing of a wool bird--shoulder of lamb. ~ ~~ to have remonstrated against this species of persecution would, i knew, only increase my difficulties; summoning, therefore, all the gaiety i was master of to my aid, i appeared to participate in the joke, like many a modern _roué_, laughing in unison without comprehending the essence of the whim, merely because it was the fashion. what a helpless race, old father etona, are thine (thought i), when first they assume the oxford man; spite of thy fostering care and classic skill, thy offspring are here little better than cawkers{ } or wild indians. "is there no glossary of university wit," said i, "to be purchased here, by which the fresh may be instructed in the art of conversation; no _lexicon balatronicum_ of college eloquence, by which the ignorant may be enlightened?" "plenty, old fellow," said echo: "old grose is exploded; but, never fear, i will introduce you to the _dictionnaire universel_,{ } which may always be consulted, at our _old grandmammas_' in st. clement's, or eglantine can introduce you at vincent's,{ } where better known as the poor curate of h----, crossed the channel. cawker--an eton phrase for a stranger or novice. dictionnaire universel--a standing toast in the common room at-----college. the origin of the toast is as follows: when buonaparte was at elba, dr. e-, one of the wealthy senior fellows of ---- college. soon after his arrival at paris, as he was walking through the streets of that city, he was accosted by an elegantly dressed cyprian, to whom he made a profound bow, and told her (in english), that he was not sufficiently acquainted with the french language to comprehend what she had said to him, expressing his regret that he had not his french and english dictionary with him. scarcely had he pronounced the word dictionary, when the lady, by a most astonishing display, which in england would have disgraced the lowest of the frail sisterhood, exclaimed, "behold the dictionnaire universel, which has been opened by the learned of all nations."{ } dr. e--, on his return from france, related this anecdote in the common room at ---------, and the dictionnaire universel has ever since been a standing toast there. a well known respectable bookseller near brazennose, who has published a whimsical trifle under the title of "oxford in epitome" very serviceable to freshmen. you may purchase "oxford in epitome," with a key accompaniment explaining the whole art and mystery of the _finished style_. ~ ~~ after a dissertation upon _new college puddings_,{ } rather a choice dish, an elegant dessert and ices was introduced from jubbers.{ } the glass now circulated freely, and the open-hearted mirth of my companions gave me a tolerable idea of many of the leading eccentricities of a collegian's life. the oxford toast, the college divinity, was, i found, a miss w-, whose father is a wealthy horse-dealer, and whom all agreed was a very amiable and beautiful girl. i discovered that sadler, randal, and crabbe were rum ones for prime hacks--that the _esculapii dii_ of the university, the demi-gods of medicine and surgery, were messrs. wall and tuckwell--that all proctors were tyrants, and their men savage bull dogs--that good wine was seldom to be bought in oxford by students--and pretty girls were always to be met at bagley wood--that rowing a fellow{ } was considered good sport, and an idle master{ } a jolly dog--that all tradesmen were duns, and all gownsmen suffering innocents--and lastly. new college puddings--a favourite dish with freshmen, made of grated biscuit, eggs, suet, moist sugar, currants and lemon-peel, rolled into balls of an oblong shape, fried in boiling fat, and moistened with brandy. a celebrated oxford pastry-cook. rowing a fellow--going with a party in the dead of the night to a man's room, nailing or screwing his oak up, so as it cannot be opened on the inside, knocking at his door, calling out fire, and when he comes to the door, burning a quantity of shavings, taken from halfpenny faggots dipped in oil from the staircase lamps, so as to impress him with an idea that the staircase, in which his rooms are, is on fire. and when he is frightened almost out of his senses, setting up a most hideous horse-laugh and running away. this joke is practised chiefly upon quiet timid men. an idle master--a master of arts on the foundation, who does not take pupils. ~ ~~ i was informed that a freshman was a scamp without seasoning--and a fellow of no spirit till he had been pulled up before the big wig and suffered imposition{ } fine, and rustication.{ } it was now half an hour since old _magnus thomas_ had tolled his heavy note, most of the party were a little cut,{ } and the salt pits of attic wit had long since been drained to the very bottom--sparkle proposed an adjournment to the temple of bacchus,{ } while echo and a man of trinity set forth for the plains of betteris.{ } pleading the fatigues of the day, and promising to attend a spread{ } on the morrow to be given by horace eglantine, i was permitted to depart to my inn, having first received a caution from echo to steer clear of the don peninsula{ } and the seat of magistracy.{ } on regaining my inn, i was not a little surprised to hear the smirking barmaid announce me by my christian and surname, directing the waiter to place candles for mr. bernard blackmantle in the _sanctum_. how the deuce, thought i, have these people discovered my family nomenclature, or are we here under the same system of _espionage_ as the puerile inhabitants of france, where every hotel-keeper, waiter, and servant, down to the very shoe-black, is a spy upon your actions, and a creature in the pay of the police{ } "pray, waiter," said i, "why is this snug little _larium__ designated the sanctum_?" imposition--translations set by the principal for absence and other errors. rustication is the term applied to temporary dismissal for non-observance of college discipline. a little cut--half seas over. temple of bacchus--some favourite inn. plains of betteris--the diversion of billiards. a spread--a wine party. the don peninsula--the range of all who wear long black hanging sleeves, and bear the name of domini. seat of magistracy--proctor's authority. the tact of the oxford tradesmen in this particular is very ingenious.--the strength of a man's account is always regulated by the report they receive on his entering, from some college friend, respecting the wealth of his relations, or the weight of his expectancies. ~ ~~ "because it's extra-proctorial, sir: none of the town _raff_ are ever admitted into it, and the marshal and his bull dogs never think of intruding here. with your leave, sir, i'll send in master--he will explain things better; and mayhap, sir, as you are fresh, he may give you a little useful information." "do so,--send me in a bottle of old madeira and two glasses, and tell your master i shall be happy to see him." in a few moments i was honoured with the company of mine host of the mitre, who, to do him justice, was a more humorous fellow than i had anticipated. not quite so ceremonious as he of the christopher at eton, or the superlative of a bond-street _restaurateur_; but with an unembarrassed roughness, yet respectful demeanour, that partook more of the sturdy english farmer, or an old weather-beaten sportsman, than the picture i had figured to myself of the polished landlord of the principal inn in the sacred city of learning. we are too much the creatures of prejudice in this life, and first impressions are not unfrequently the first faults which we unthinkingly commit against the reputation of a new acquaintance. master peake was, i discovered, a fellow of infinite jest, an old fox-hunter, and a true sportsman; and supposing me, from my introduction by tom echo to his house, to be as fond of a good horse, a hard run, and a black bottle, as my friend, he had eagerly sought an opportunity for this early introduction. "no man in the country, sir," said peake, "can boast of a better horse or a better wife: i always leave the management of the bishop's cap to the petticoat; for look ye, sir, gown against gown is the true orthodox system, i believe.--when i kept the blue pig{ } by the town hall, the big wigs used to grunt a little now and then about the gemmen of the university getting _bosky_ in a _pig-sty_; so, egad, i thought i would fix them at last, and removed here; for i knew it would be deemed sacrilegious to attack the mitre, or hazard a pun upon the head of the church. the blue boar, since shut up. ~ ~~ if ever you should be _tiled_ up in _eager heaven_,{ } there's not a kinder hearted soul in christendom than mrs. peake: dr. wall says that he thinks she has saved more gentlemen's lives in this university by good nursing and sending them niceties, than all the material medicals put together. you'll excuse me, sir, but as you are fresh, take care to avoid the _gulls_{ }; they fly about here in large flocks, i assure you, and do no little mischief at times." "i never understood that gulls were birds of prey," said i.--"only in oxford, sir; and here, i assure you, they bite like hawks, and pick many a poor young gentleman as bare before his three years are expired, as the crows would a dead sheep upon a common. every thing depends upon your obtaining an honest scout, and that's a sort of _haro ravis_ (i think they call the bird) here." suppressing my laughter at my host's latinity, i thought this a fair opportunity to make some inquiries relative to this important officer in a college establishment. "i suppose you know most of these ambassadors of the togati belonging to the different colleges'?" "i think i do, sir," said peake, "if you mean the scouts; but i never heard them called by that name before. if you are of christ church, i should recommend dick cook, or, as he is generally called, gentleman cook, as the most finished, spritely, honest fellow of the whole. dick's a trump, and no telegraph,--up to every frisk, and down to every move of the domini, thorough bred, and no want of courage?" Æager haven--laid up in the depot of invalids. gulls--knowing ones who are always on the look out for freshmen. ~ ~~ "but not having the honour of being entered there, i cannot avail myself of dick's services: pray tell me, who is there at brazennose that a young fellow can make a confidant of?" "why, the very best old fellow in the world,--nothing like him in oxford,--rather aged, to be sure, but a good one to go, and a rum one to look at;--i have known mark supple these fifty years, and never heard a gentleman give him a bad word: shall i send for him, sir? he's the very man to put you _up to a thing or two_, and finish you off in prime style." "in the morning, i'll see him, and if he answers your recommendation, engage with him: "for, thought i, such a man will be very essential, if it is only to act as interpreter to a young novice like myself. the conversation now turned to sporting varieties, by which i discovered mine host was a leading character in the neighbouring hunts; knew every sportsman in the field, and in the course of half an hour, carried me over godrington's manors, moystoris district, and somerset range,{ } taking many a bold leap in his progress, and never losing _sight of the dogs_. "we shall try your mettle, sir," said he, "if we catch you out for a day's sport; and if you are not quite mounted at present to your mind, i have always a spare nag in the stable for the use of a freshman." the three packs of hounds contiguous to oxford. though i did not relish the concluding appellation, coming from a tavern-keeper, i could not help thanking peake for his liberal offer; yet without any intention of risking my neck in a steeple chase. the interview had, however, been productive of some amusement and considerable information. the bottle was now nearly finished; filling my last glass, i drank success to the mitre, promised to patronise the landlord, praise the hostess, coquet with the little cherry-cheek, chirping lass in the bar, and kiss as many of the chamber-maids as i could persuade to let me. wishing mine host a good night, and ringing for my bed-candle, i proceeded to put the last part of my promise into immediate execution. college servants. descriptive sketch of a college scout--biography of mark supple--singular invitation to a spread. the next morning, early, while at breakfast, i received a visit from mr. mark supple, the _scout_, of whom mine host of the mitre had on the preceding night spoken so highly. there was nothing certainly very prepossessing in his exterior appearance; and if he had not previously been eulogised as the most estimable of college servants, i should not have caught the impression from a first glance. he was somewhere about sixty years of age, of diminutive stature and spare habit, a lean brother with a scarlet countenance, impregnated with tints of many a varied hue, in which however the richness of the ruby and the soft purple of the ultramarine evidently predominated. his forehead was nearly flat; upon his eyebrows and over his _os frontis_ and scalp, a few straggling straight hairs were extended as an apology for a wig, but which was much more like a discarded crow's nest turned upside down. immense black bushy eyebrows overhung a pair of the queerest looking oculars i had ever seen; below which sprung forth what had once been, no doubt, a nose, and perhaps in youth an elegant feature; but, heaven help the wearer! it was now grown into such a strange form, and presented so many choice exuberances, that one might have supposed it was the original bardolph's, and charged with the additional sins of every succeeding generation. the loss of his ~ ~~ teeth had caused the other lip to retire inwards, and consequently the lower one projected forth, supported by a huge chin, like the basin or receiver round the crater of a volcano. his costume was of a fashion admirably corresponding with his person. it might once have graced a dean, or, perhaps, a bishop, but it was evident the present wearer was not by when the _artiste_ of the needle took his measure or instructions. three men of mark's bulk might very well have been buttoned up in the upper habiliment; and as for the _inexpressibles_, they hung round his _ultimatum_ like the petticoat trowsers of a dutch smuggler: then for the colour, it might once have been sable or a clerical mixture; but what with the powder which the collar bore evidence it had once been accustomed to, and the weather-beaten trials it had since undergone, it was quite impossible to specify. the _beaver_ was in excellent keeping, _en suite_, except, perhaps, from the constant application of the hand to pay due respect to the dignitaries, it was here and there enriched with some more shining qualities. i at first suspected this ancient visitor was a hoax of my friend tom echo's, who had concerted the scheme with the landlord; but a little conversation with the object of my surprise soon convinced me it was the genuine mark supple, the true college _scout_, and no counterfeit. "the welcome of isis to you, sir," said the old man. "the domini of the bishops cap here gave me a hint you wished to see me.--i have the honour to be mark supple, sir, senior scout of brazennose, and as well known to all the members of the university for the last fifty years, as magdalen bridge, or old magnus thomas. the first of your name, sir, i think, who have been of oxford--don't trace any of the blackmantles here antecedent--turned over my list this morning before i came--got them all arranged, sir, take notice, in chronological order, from the friars of ~ ~~ oseny abbey down to the university of bucks of --very entertaining, sir, take notice--many a glorious name peeping out here and there--very happy to enrol the first of the blackmantles in my remembrancer, and hope to add m. a. and m. s. s. which signifies honour to you, as master of arts, and glory to your humble servant, mark supple scout--always put my own initials against the gentleman's names whom i have attended, take notice." the singularity of the ancient's climax amused me exceedingly--there was something truly original in the phrase: the person and manners of the man were in perfect keeping. "you must have seen great changes here, mark," said i; "were you always of brazennose?" "i was born of christ church, sir, take notice, where my father was college barber, and my mother a bed-maker; but the students of that period insisted upon it that i was so like to a certain old big wig, whose christian name was mark, that i most censoriously obtained the appellation from at least a hundred godfathers, to the no small annoyance of the dignitary, take notice. my first occupation, when a child, was carrying billet doux from the students of christ church to the tradesmen's daughters of oxford, or the nuns of st. clement's, where a less important personage might have excited suspicion and lost his situation. from a college mercury, i became a college devil, and was promoted to the chief situation in _glorio_,{ } alias _hell_, where i continued for some time a shining character, and sharpened the edge of many a cutting thing, take notice. here, some wag having a design upon my reputation, put a large piece of cobbler's wax into the dean's boots one morning, which so irritated the _big wig_ that i was instantly expelled college, discommoned, and blown up at point non plus, take notice. glorio.--a place in christ church called the scout's pantry, where the boots and shoes and knives are cleaned, and a small quantity of geneva, or bill holland's double, is daily consumed during term time. ~ ~~ having saved a trifle, i now commenced stable-keeper, bought a few prime hacks, and mounted some of the best tandem turn outs in oxford, take notice: but not having wherewithal to stand tick, and being much averse to dunning, i was soon sold up, and got a birth in brazennose as college scout, where i have now been upwards of forty years, take notice. no gentleman could ever say old mark supple deceived him. i have run many risks for the gown; never cared for the town; always stuck up for my college, and never telegraphed the big wigs in my life, take notice."--"is your name blackmantle?" said a sharp-looking little fellow, in a grey frock livery, advancing up to me with as much _sang froid_ as if i had been one of the honest fraternity of college servants. being answered in the affirmative, and receiving at the same time a look that convinced him i was not pleased with his boldness, he placed the following note in my hand and retired.{ } the usual style of invitation to a college wine party or spread. [illustration: page ] the above is an exact copy of a note received from a man of brazennose. ~ ~~ handing the note to old mark--"pray," said i, not a little confused by the elegance of the composition, "is this the usual style of college invitations?" mark mounted his spectacles, and having deciphered the contents, assured me with great gravity that it was very polite indeed, and considering where it came from, unusually civil. another specimen of college ceremony, thought i;--"but come, mark, let us forth and survey my rooms." we were soon within-side the gates of brazennose; and mark having obtained the key, we proceeded to explore the forsaken chamber of the muses. [illustration: page ] taking possession of your rooms. topography of a vacant college larium--anecdotes and propensities of predecessors--a long shot--scout's list of necessaries--condolence of university friends. ascending a dark stone staircase till the oaken beams of the roof proclaimed we had reached the domiciliary abode of genius, i found myself in the centre of my future habitation, an attic on the third floor: i much doubt if poor belzoni, when he discovered the egyptian sepulchre, could have exhibited more astonishment. the old bed-maker, and the scout of my predecessor, had prepared the apartment for my reception by gutting it of every thing useful to the value of a cloak pin: the former was engaged in sweeping up the dust, which, from the clouds that surrounded us, would not appear to have been disturbed for six months before at least. i had nearly broken my shins, on my first entrance, over the fire-shovel and bucket, and i was now in more danger of being choked with filth. "who inhabited this delightful place before, mark?" "a mad wag, but a generous gentleman, sir, take notice, one charles rattle, esq., who was expelled college for smuggling, take notice: the proctor, with the town marshal and his bull dogs, detected him and two others one night drawing up some fresh provision in the college plate-basket. mr. rattle, in his fright, dropped the fair nun of st. clement's plump upon the proctor, who could not understand the joke; but, having recovered ~ ~~ his legs, entered the college, and found one of the fair sisters concealed in mr. rattle's room, take notice. in consequence he was next day pulled up before the big wigs, when, refusing to make a suitable apology, he received sentence of expulsion, take notice." "he must have been a genius," quoth i, "and a very eccentric one too, from the relics he has left behind of his favourite propensities." in one corner of the room lay deposited a heap of lumber, thrown together, as a printer would say, in _pie_, composed of broken tables, broken bottles, trunks, noseless bellows, books of all descriptions, a pair of _muffles_, and the cap of sacred academus with a hole through the crown (emblematical, i should think, of the pericranium it had once covered), and stuck upon the leg of a broken chair. the rats, those very agreeable visitors of ancient habitations, were seen scampering away upon our entrance, and the ceiling was elegantly decorated with the smoke of a candle in a great variety of ornamented designs, consisting of caricatures of dignitaries and the christian names of favourite damsels. there was poor cicero, with a smashed crown, turned upside down in the fire-place, and a map of oxford hanging in tatters above it; a portrait of tom crib was in the space adjoining the window, not one whole pane of which had survived the general wreck; but what most puzzled me was the appearance of the cupboard door: the bottom hinge had given way, and it hung suspended by one joint in an oblique direction, exhibiting, on an inside face, a circle chalked for a target and perforated with numerous holes this door was in a right line with the bedroom, and, when thrown open, covered a loop-hole of a window that looked across the quadrangle directly into the principal's apartments.{ } [illustration: page ] ~ ~~ it was in this way (as mark informed me) my predecessor amused himself in a morning by lying in bed and firing at the target, till, unhappily, on one occasion the ball passed through a hole in the door, the loop-hole window, and, crossing the quadrangle, entered whizzing past the dignitary's ear and that of his family who were at breakfast with him into the back of the chair he had but a moment before providentially quitted to take a book from his library shelves. the affair occasioned a strict search, and the door in question bore too strong an evidence to escape detection; rattle was rusticated for a term, but, returning the same singular character, was always in some scrape or other till his final expulsion. having given the necessary orders for repairs, mark made one of his best bows, and produced a long scroll of paper, on which was written a list of necessaries?{ } "which," said the ancient, "take notice, every gentleman provides on his taking possession of his rooms." "and every gentleman's scout claims upon his leaving, take notice" said i. mark bowed assent. i had now both seen and heard enough of college comforts to wish myself safe back again at eton in the snug, clean, sanded dormitory of my old dame. looking first at my purse and then at the list of necessaries, i could not resist a sigh on perceiving my _new guinea_{ } to be already in danger, that it would require some caution to steer clear of the forest of debt,{ } and keep out of _south jeopardy_,{ } and some talent to gain the _new settlements_{ } or prevent my being ultimately laid up in the _river tick_{ } condemned in the _vice-chancellor's court_,{ } and consigned, for the benefit of the captors, to _fort marshal_.{ } the circumstance here alluded to actually occurred some time since, when g- c-n and lord c-e nearly shot dr. capplestone of oriel and his predecessor, dr. eveleigh: the former was expelled in consequence. a list of necessaries consists of all the necessary culinary articles, tea equipage, brooms, brushes, pails, &c. &c. &c. new guinea--first possession of income. forest of debt--payment of debts. south jeopardy--terrors of insolvency. next settlements--final reckoning. river tick--springing out of standing debts, which only==> vice-chancellor's court--creditor's last shift. fort marshal--university marshal's post, charge themselves at the expiration of three years by leaving the lake of credit, and meandering through the haunts of a hundred creditors. ~ ~~ "rather romantic, but not elegant," said some voices at the door, which, on turning my head, i discovered to be my two friends, echo and eglantine, who, suspecting the state of the rooms, from the known character of the previous occupier, had followed me up stairs to enjoy the pleasure of quizzing a novice. "a snug appointment this, old fellow," said echo. "very airy and contemplative" rejoined eglantine, pointing first to the broken window, and after to the mutilated remains of books and furniture. "quite the larium of a man of genius," continued the former, "and very fine scope for the exhibition of improved taste." "and an excellent opportunity for raillery," quoth i. "well, old fellow," said tom, "i wish you safe through _dun territory_{ } and the _preserve of long bills_{ }: if you are not pretty well _blunted_,{ } the first start will try _your wind._" "courage, blackmantle," said eglantine, "we must not have you laid up here in the _marshes of impediment_{ } with all the horrors of _east jeopardy_,{ } as if you was lost in the _cave of antiquity_{ }: rally, my old fellow, for _the long hope_,{ }shoot past _mounts_ dun territory--circle of creditors to be paid. preserve of long bills--stock of debts to be discharged. blunted--london slang for plenty of money. marshes of impediment--troublesome preparation for the schools. east jeopardy--terrors of anticipation. cave of antiquity--depot of old authors. the long hope--johnson defines "a hope" to be any sloping plain between two ridges of mountains. here it is the symbol of long expectations in studying for a degree. ~ ~~ _aldrich and euclid_,{ } the _roman tumuli_{ } and _point failure_{ } and then, having gained _fount stagira_{ } pass easily through _littlego vale_,{ } reach the summit of the _pindaric heights_{ } and set yourself down easy in the _temple of bacchus_{ } and the _region of rejoicing"{ } "or if you should fall a sacrifice in the district of {sappers_,{ } old fellow!" said echo, "or founder in _dodd's sound_,{ } why, you can retreat to _cam roads_,{ } or lay up for life in the _bay of condolence_."{ } "for heaven's sake, let us leave the _gulf of misery_," said i, alluding to the state of my rooms, "and bend our course where some more amusing novelty presents itself." "to bagley wood," said echo, "to break cover and introduce you to the egyptians; only i must give my scout directions first to see the old bookseller{ } and have my _imposition_{ } ready for being absent from chapel this morning, or else i shall be favoured with another mount aldrich, mount euclid--logic and mathematics. tumuli raised by the romans--difficulties offered by livy and tacitus in the studies for first class honours. point failure--catastrophe of plucking. fount stagira--fount named after the birth-place of aris- totle. littlego vale--orderly step to the first examination. pindaric heights--study of pindar's odes. temple of bacchus--merry-making after getting a liceat. region of rejoicing--joy attendant on success in the schools. district of sabers--track of those who sap at their quarto and folio volumes. dodd's sound--where the candidate will have to acknowledge the receipt of a certificate empowering him to float down bachelor creek. cam roads--retreat to cambridge by way of a change. bay of condolence--where we console our friends, if plucked, and left at a nonplus. a well-known bookseller in oxford generally called imposition g-, from his preparing translations for the members of the university. imposition--see prick bill. ~ ~~ visit from the _prick bill_."{ } "agreed," said eglantine, "and blackmantle and myself will, in the meantime, visit sadler, and engage a couple of his prime hacks to accompany you." prick bills--at christ church, junior students who prick with a pin the names of those gentlemen who are at chapel. immediately after the service, the bills, with the noblemen and gentlemen commoners' names, are taken to the dean; those with the students and commoners' names, to the acting censor for the week; and the bachelors' bills to the sub-dean, who generally inform the prick bills what impositions shall be set those gentlemen who absented themselves from chapel: these are written upon strips of paper and carried to the gentlemen by the prick bill's scouts. copy of an original imposition. "sp particular m m c. p. b."--signifies translate no. spectator to the word "particular" by monday morning at chapel time.--prick bill. [illustration: page ] [illustration: page ] the excursion to bagley wood. oxford scholars and oxford livery men--how to insure a good horse and prevent accidents--description of bagley wood--a freshman breaking cover--interview with the egyptian-- secrets of futurity unveiled--abingdon beauties--singular anecdote and history of mother goose. ~ ~~ the ride to bagley wood introduced me to some new features of a college life, not the least entertaining of which was the dialogue before starting between my friend eglantine, the livery-stable keeper, and his man, where we went to engage the horses. eglan. (to the ostler) well, dick, what sort of a stud, hey? any thing rum, a ginger or a miller, three legs or five, got by whirlwind out of skyscraper? come, fig out two lively ones. dick. i mun see measter first, zur, before i lets any gentleman take a nag out o' yard. it's more as my place is worth to act otherwise. eglan. what coming tip-street over us, hey, dick? ~ ~~ _frisking the freshman_ here, old fellow? (pointing to me). it won't do--no go, dick--he's my friend, a _cawker_ to be sure, but must not _stand sam_ to an _oxford raff_, or a yorkshire _johnny raw_. dick. i axes pardon, zur. i didna mean any such thing, but ever since you rode the grey tit last, she's never been out o' stall. eglan. not surprised at that, dick. never crossed a greater slug in my life--she's only fit to carry a dean or a bishop--no go in her. dick. no, zur, measter zays as how you took it all out on her. eglan. why, i did give her a winder, dick, to be sure, only one day's hunting, though, a good hard run over somerset range, not above sixty miles out and home. dick. ay, i thought as how you'd been in some break-neck tumble-down country, zur, for tit's knuckels showed she'd had a somerset or two. eglan. well, blister the mare, dick! there's _half a bull_ for your trouble: now put us on the right scent for a good one: any thing young and fresh, sprightly and shewy? dick. why, there be such a one to be zure, zur, but you munna split on me, or i shall get the zack for telling on ye. if you'll sken yon stable at end o' the yard, there be two prime tits just com'd in from abingdon fair, thorough-bred and devils to go, but measter won't let 'em out. eglan. won't he? here he comes, and we'll try what a little persuasion will do. (enter livery man.) well, old fellow, i've brought you a new friend, blackmantle of brazennose: what sort of _praxis_ can you give us for a trot to bagley wood, a short ride for something shewy to _lionise_ a bit? livery m. nothing new, sir, and you know all the stud pretty well (knowingly). suppose you try the grey mare you rode t'other day, and i'll find a quiet one for your friend. ~ ~~ eglan. if i do, i am a _black horse_. she's no paces, nothing _but a shuffle_, not a _leg to stand on_. livery m. every one as good as the principal of all-souls. not a better bred thing in oxford, and all horses here gallop by instinct, as every body knows, but they can't go for ever, and when gentlemen ride steeple chases of sixty miles or more right a-head, they ought to find their own horse-flesh. eglan. what coming _crabb_ over us, old fellow, hey very well, i shall bolt and try randall, and that's all about it. come along, blackmantle. my friend's threat of withdrawing his patronage had immediately the desired effect. horace's judgment in horse-flesh was universally admitted, and the knowing dealer, although he had suffered in one instance by hard riding, yet deeply calculated on retrieving his loss by some unsuspecting freshman, or other university nimrod in the circle of eglantine's acquaintance. by this time echo had arrived, and we were soon mounted on the two fresh purchases which the honest yorkshireman had so disinterestedly pointed out; and which, to do him justice, deserved the eulogium he had given us on their merits. one circumstance must not however be forgotten, which was the following notice posted at the end of the yard. "to prevent accidents, gentlemen pay _before mounting_." "how the deuce can this practice of paying beforehand prevent accidents?" said i. "you're fresh, old fellow," said echo, "or you'd understand after a man breaks his neck he fears no duns. now you know by accident what old humanity there means." bagley is about two miles and a half from oxford on the abingdon road, an exceedingly pleasant ride, leaving the sacred city and passing over the old bridge where formerly was situated the study or observatory of the celebrated friar bacon. not an object in the shape of a petticoat escaped some raillery, and scarcely ~~ a town _raff_ but what met with a corresponding display of university wit, and called forth many a cutting joke: the place itself is an extensive wood on the summit of a hill, which commands a glorious panoramic view of oxford and the surrounding country richly diversified in hill and dale, and sacred spires shooting their varied forms on high above the domes, and minarets, and towers of rhedycina. this spot, the favourite haunt of the oxonians, is covered for many miles with the most luxuriant foliage, affording the cool retreat, the love embowered shades, over which prudence spreads the friendly veil. here many an amorous couple have in softest dalliance met, and sighed, and frolicked, free from suspicion's eye beneath the broad umbrageous canopy of nature; here too is the favourite retreat of the devotees of cypriani, the spicy grove of assignations where the velvet sleeves of the proctor never shake with terror in the wind, and the savage form of the university _bull dog_ is unknown. a party of wandering english arabs had pitched their tents on the brow of the hill just under the first cluster of trees, and materially increased the romantic appearance of the scene. the group consisted of men, women, and children, a tilted cart with two or three asses, and a lurcher who announced our approach. my companions were, i soon found, well known to the females, who familiarly approached our party, while the male animals as condescendingly betook themselves into the recesses of the wood. "black nan," said echo, "and her daughter, the gypsy beauty, the bagley brunette."--"shall i tell your honour's fortune?" said the elder of the two, approaching me; while eglantine, who had already dismounted and given his horse to one of the brown urchins of the party, had encircled the waist of the younger sibyl, and was tickling her into a trot in an opposite direction. "ay do, nan," ~ ~~ said echo, "cast his nativity, open the book of fate, and tell the boy his future destiny." it would be the height of absurdity to repeat half the nonsense this oracle of bagley uttered relative to my future fortunes; but with the cunning peculiar to her cast, she discovered i was fresh, and what tormented me more, (although on her part it was no doubt accidental) alluded to an amour in which my heart was much interested with a little divinity in the neighbourhood of eton. this hint was sufficient to give tom his cue, and i was doomed to be pestered for the remainder of the day with questions and raillery on my progress in the court of love. on our quitting the old gypsy woman, a pair of buxom damsels came in sight, advancing from the abingdon road; they were no doubt like ourselves, i thought, come to consult the oracle of bagley, or, perhaps, were the daughters of some respectable farmer who owned the adjoining land. all these doubts were, however, of short duration; for tom echo no sooner caught sight of their faces, than away he bounded towards them like a young colt in all the frolic of untamed playfulness, and before i could reach him, one of the ladies was rolling on the green carpet of luxuriant nature. in the deep bosom of bagley wood, impervious to the eye of authority, many a sportive scene occurs which would alarm the ethics of the solemn sages of the cloistered college. they were, i discovered, sisters, too early abandoned by an unfeeling parent to poverty, and thus became an easy prey to the licentious and the giddy, who, in the pursuit of pleasure, never contemplate the attendant misery which is sure to follow the victim of seduction. there was something romantic in their story: they were daughters of the celebrated mother goose, whose person must have been familiar to every oxonian for the last sixty years prior to her decease, which occurred but a short time since of ~ ~~ this woman's history i have since gleaned some curious particulars, the most remarkable of which (contained in the annexed note) have been authenticated by living witnesses.{ } her portrait, by a member of all souls, is admirable, and is here faithfully copied. [illustration: page ] "_mother goose_," formerly a procuress, and one of the most abandoned of her profession. when from her advanced age, and the loss of her eye-sight, she could no longer obtain money by seducing females from the path of virtue, she married a man of the name of h., (commonly called gentleman h.) and for years was led by him to the students' apartments in the different colleges with baskets of the choicest flowers. her ancient, clean, and neat appearance, her singular address, and, above all, the circumstance of her being blind, never failed of procuring her at least ten times the price of her posy, and which was frequently doubled when she informed the young gentlemen of the generosity, benevolence, and charity of their grandfathers, fathers, or uncles whom she knew when they were at college. she had several illegitimate children, all females, and all were sacrificed by their unnatural mother, except one, who was taken away from her at a very tender age by the child's father's parents. when of age, this child inherited her father's property, and is now (i believe) the wife of an irish nobleman, and to this time is unconscious that mother goose, of oxford, gave her birth. the person who was instrumental in removing the child is still living in oxford, and will testify to the authenticity of the fact here related. his present majesty never passed through oxford without presenting mother goose with a donation, but of course without knowing her early history. ~ ~~ having, as echo expressed it, now broke cover, and being advanced one step in the study of the fathers, we prepared to quit the abingdon fair and rural shades of bagley on our return to oxford, something lighter in pocket, and a little too in morality. we raced the whole of the distance home, to the great peril of several groups of town raff whom we passed in our way. on our arrival my friends had each certain lectures to attend, or college duties to perform. an idle freshman, there was yet three hours good before the invitation to the spread, and as kind fortune willed it to amuse the time, a packet arrived from horatio heartley. he had been spending the winter in town with his aunt, lady mary oldstyle, and had, with his usual tact, been sketching the varied groups which form the circle of fashionable life. it was part of the agreement between us, when leaving each other at eton, that we should thus communicate the characteristic traits of the society we were about to amalgamate with. he has, in the phraseology of the day, just come out, and certainly appears to have made the best use of his time. kensington gardens--sunday evening. singularities of . [illustration: page ] ~ ~~ western entrance into the metropolis; a descriptive sketch. general views of the author relative to subject and style-- time and place--perspective glimpse of the great city--the approach--cockney salutations--the toll house--western entrance to cockney land--hyde park--sunday noon-- sketches of character, costume, and scenery--the ride and drive--kensington gardens--belles and beaux--stars and fallen stars--singularities of --tales of ton--on dits and anecdotes--sunday evening--high life and low life, the contrast--cockney goths--notes, biographical, amorous, and exquisite. [illustration: page ] its wealth and fashion, wit and folly, pleasures, whims, and melancholy: of all the charming belles and beaux who line the parks, in double rows; of princes, peers, their equipage, the splendour of the present age; of west-end fops, and crusty cits, who drive their gigs, or sport their tits; with all the groups we mean to dash on who form the busy world of fashion: proceeding onwards to the city, with sketches, humorous and witty. the man of business, and the change, will come within our satire's range: nor rank, nor order, nor condition, imperial, lowly, or patrician, shall, when they see this volume, cry-- "the satirist has pass'd us by," but with good humour view our page depict the manners of the age. our style shall, like our subject, be distinguished by variety; familiar, brief we could say too-- (it shall be whimsical and new), but reader that we leave to you. 'twas morn, the genial sun of may o'er nature spread a cheerful ray, when cockney land, clothed in her best, we saw, approaching from the west, and 'mid her steeples straight and tall espied the dome of famed st. paul, surrounded with a cloud of smoke from many a kitchen chimney broke; a nuisance since consumed below by bill of michael angelo.{ } the coach o'er stones was heard to rattle, m. a. taylor's act for compelling all large factories, which have steam and other apparatus, to consume their own smoke. ~ ~~ the guard his bugle tuned for battle, the horses snorted with delight, as piccadilly came in sight. on either side the road was lined with vehicles of ev'ry kind, and as the rapid wheel went round, there seem'd scarce room to clear the ground. "gate-gate-push on--how do--well met-- pull up--my tits are on the fret-- the number--lost it--tip then straight, that covey vants to bilk the gate." the toll-house welcome this to town. your prime, flash, bang up, fly, or down, a tidy team of prads,--your castor's quite a joliffe tile,--my master. thus buck and coachee greet each other, and seem familiar as a brother. no chinese wall, or rude barrier, obstructs the view, or entrance here; nor fee or passport,--save the warder, who draws to keep the roads in order; no questions ask'd, but all that please may pass and repass at their ease. in cockney land, the seventh day is famous for a grand display of modes, of finery, and dress, of cit, west-ender, and noblesse, who in hyde park crowd like a fair to stare, and lounge, and take the air, or ride or drive, or walk, and chat on fashions, scandal, and all that.-- here, reader, with your leave, will we commence our london history. 'twas sunday, and the park was full with mistress, john, and master bull, and all their little fry. the crowd pour in from all approaches, tilb'ries, dennets, gigs, and coaches; ~ ~~ the bells rung merrily. old dowagers, their fubsy faces{ } painted to eclipse the graces, pop their noddles out of some old family affair that's neither chariot, coach, or chair, well known at ev'ry rout. but bless me, who's that coach and six? "that, sir, is mister billy wicks, a great light o' the city, tallow-chandler, and lord mayor{ }; miss flambeau wicks's are the fair, who're drest so very pretty. it's only for a year you know he keeps up such a flashy show; and then he's melted down. the man upon that half-starved nag{ } is an ex-s------ff, a strange wag, half flash, and half a clown. but see with artful lures and wiles the paphian goddess, mrs. g***s,{ } there are from twenty to thirty of these well known relics of antiquity who regularly frequent the park, and attend all the fashionable routs,--perfumed and painted with the utmost extravagance: if the wind sets in your face, they may be scented at least a dozen carriages off. it is really ludicrous to observe the ridiculous pride of some of these ephemeral things;--during their mayoralty, the gaudy city vehicle with four richly caparisoned horses is constantly in the drive, with six or eight persons crammed into it like a family waggon, and bedizened out in all the colours of the rainbow;--ask for them six months after, and you shall find them more suitably employed, packing rags, oranges, or red herrings. this man is such a strange compound of folly and eccentricity, that he is eternally in hot water with some one or other. mrs. fanny g- -s, the ci-devant wife of a corn merchant, a celebrated courtezan, who sports a splendid equipage, and has long figured upon town as a star of the first order in the cyprian hemisphere. she has some excellent qualities, as poor m---------n can vouch; for when the fickle goddess fortune left him in the lurch, she has a handsome annuity from a sporting peer, who was once the favoured swain. ~ ~~ from out her carriage peeps; she nods to am'rous mrs. d-----,{ } who bends with most sublime congee, while ruin'd-----------sleeps. who follows 'tis the hopeful son of the proud earl of h-----------n, who stole the parson's wife.{ } the earl of h-----------and flame, for cabriolets she's the dame,{ } a dasher, on my life. jack t----- shows his pleasant face{ }; a royal likeness here you'll trace, you'd swear he was a guelph. see lady mary's u------walk,{ } and though but aide-de-camp to york, an adonis with himself, mrs. d---------, alias mrs. b-k-y, alias miss montague, the wife of poor jem b-k-y, the greater his misfortune,--a well known paphian queen, one of five sisters, who are all equally notorious, and whose history is well known. she is now the favoured sultana of a ci-devant banker, whose name she assumes, to the disgrace of himself and family. the clerical cornuto recovered, in a crim. con. action, four thousand pounds for the loss of his frail rib, from this hopeful sprig of nobility. mrs. s------, a most voluptuous lady, the discarded chère amie of the late lord f- -d, said to be the best carriage woman in the park: she lies in the earl of h------- --'s cabriolet most delightfully stretched out at full length, and in this elegant posture is driven through the park. captain t------l of the guards, whose powerful similitude to the reigning family of england is not more generally admitted than his good-humoured qualities are universally admired. the hon. general u---------, aide-de-camp to the duke of york, whose intrigue with lady mary------------was, we have heard, a planned affair to entrap a very different person. be that as it may, it answered the purpose, and did not disturb the friendship of the parties. the honourable general has obtained the appellation of the park adonis, from his attractive figure and known gallantries. ~ ~~ a-----------y mark, a batter'd beau,{ } who'll still the fatal dice-box throw till not a guinea's left. beyond's the brothers b-----e,{ } of gold and acres quite as free, by gaming too bereft. here trips commercial dandy ra-k-s,{ } lord a------y, the babe of honour--once the gayest of the gay, where fashion holds her bright enchanting court; now wrinkled and depressed, and plucked of every feather, by merciless greek banditti. such is the infatuation of play, that he still continues to linger round the fatal table, and finds a pleasure in recounting his enormous losses. a---y, who is certainly one of the most polished men in the world, was the leader of the dandy club, or the unique four, composed of beau brummell, sir henry mildmay, and henry pierrepoint, the ambassador, as he is generally termed. when the celebrated dandy ball was given to his majesty (then prince of wales), on that occasion the prince seemed disposed to cut brummell, who, in revenge, coolly observed to a------y, when he was gone,--"big ben was vulgar as usual." this was reported at carlton house, and led to the disgrace of the exquisite.--shortly afterwards he met the prince and a------y in public, arm in arm, when the former, desirous of avoiding him, quitted the baron: brummell, who observed his motive, said loud enough to be heard by the prince,--"who is that fat friend of yours?" this expression sealed his doom; he was never afterwards permitted the honour of meeting the parties at the palace. the story of "george, ring the bell," and the reported conduct of the prince, who is said to have obeyed the request and ordered mr. brummell's carriage, is, we have strong reasons for thinking, altogether a fiction: brummell knew the dignity of his host too well to have dared such an insult. the king since generously sent him l. when he heard of his distress at calais. brummell was the son of a tavern-keeper in st. james's, and is still living at calais. the brothers are part of a flock of r------r geese, who have afforded fine plucking for the greeks. parson ambrose, the high priest of pandemonium, had a leg of one and a wing of the other devilled for supper one night at the gothic hall. they have cut but a lame figure ever since. a quaint cognomen given to the city banker by the west- end beaux;--he is a very amiable man. ~ ~~ who never plays for heavy stakes, but looks to the main chance. there's georgy w-b-ll, all the go,{ } the mould of fashion,--the court beau, since brummell fled to france: his bright brass harness, and the gray, the well known black cabriolet, is always latest there; the reason,--george, with captain p------ the lady-killing coterie, come late--to catch the fair. see w-s-r, who with pious love,{ } for her, who's sainted now above, a sister kindly takes; so, as the ancient proverb tells, "the best of husbands, modern belles, are your reformed rakes." in splendid mis'ry down the ride alone,--see ****** lady glide,{ } neglected for a--------. what's fame, or titles, wealth's increase, compared unto the bosom's peace? they're bubbles,--nothing more. george, although a _roué_ of the most superlative order, is not deficient in good sense and agreeable qualifications. since poor beau brummell's removal from the hemisphere of fashion, george has certainly shone a planet of the first magnitude: among the fair he is also considered like his friend, captain p-r-y, a perfect lady-killer:--many a little milliner's girl has had cause to regret the seductive notes of a.z.b. limmer's hotel. the marquis of w-c-t-r has, since his first wife's death, married her sister.--reformation, we are happy to perceive, is the order of the day. the failure of howard and gibbs involved more than one noble family in embarrassments. the amours of this child of fortune are notorious both on the continent and in this country. it is very often the misfortune of great men to be degraded by great profligacy of conduct: the poor lady is a suffering angel. ~ ~~ observe yon graceful modest group{ } who look like chaste diana's troop, the ladies molineaux; with sefton, the nimrod of peers, as old in honesty,--as years, a stanch true buff' and blue. "what portly looking man is that in plain blue coat,--to whom each hat is moved in ride and walk!" that pleasant fellow, be it known, is heir presumptive to the throne, 'tis frederick of york.{ } a better, kinder hearted soul you will not and, upon the whole, within the british isle. but see where p-t's wife appears,{ } who changed, though rather late in years, for honest george ar-le. now by my faith it gives me pain the female branches of the sefton family are superior to the slightest breath of calumny, and present an example to the peerage worthy of more general imitation. no member of the present royal family displays more agreeable qualifications in society than the heir presumptive.--un-affected, affable, and free, the duke may be seen daily pacing st. james's-street, pall-mall, or the park, very often wholly un-attended: as his person is familiar to the public, he never experiences the slightest inconvenience from curiosity, and he is so generally beloved, that none pass him who know him without paying their tribute of respect. in all the private relations of life he is a most estimable man,--in his public situation indefatigable, prompt, and attentive to the meanest applica- tion. a more lamentable instance of the profligacy of the age cannot be found than in the history of the transaction which produced this exchange of wives and persons. a wag of the day published a new list of promotions headed as follows,-- lady b------n to be lady a------r p-t,--by exchange--lady p-t to be duchess of a------e,--by promotion--lady charlotte w--y to be lady p-t, vice lady p-t, promoted. ~ ~~ to see thee, cruel lady j-,{ } regret the golden ball. tis useless now:--"the fox and grapes" remember, and avoid the apes which wait an old maid's fall. gay lady h-----e's twinkling star{ } it is not long since that, inspired by love or ambition, a wealthy commoner sought the promise of the fair hand of lady j-, nor was the consent of her noble father (influenced by certain weighty reasons*) wanting to complete the anticipated happiness of the suitor.--all the preliminary forms were arranged,--jointure and pin money liberally fixed,--some legal objections as to a covenant of forfeiture overcame, a suitable establishment provided. the happy day was fixed, when--"mark inconstant fickle woman"--the evening previous to completion (to the surprise of all the town), she changed her mind; she had reconsidered the subject!--the man was wealthy, and attractive in person; but then-- insupportable objection--he was a mere plebeian, a common esquire, and his name was odious,--lady j- b- ,--she could never endure it: the degrading thought produced a fainting fit,--the recovery a positive refusal,--the circumstance a week's amusement to the fashionable world. reflection and disappointment succeeded, and a revival was more than once spoken of; but the recent marriage of the bachelor put an end to all conjecture, and the poor lady was for some time left to bewail in secret her single destiny. who can say, when a lady has the golden ball at her foot, where she may kick it? circumstances which have occurred since the above was written prove that the lady has anticipated our advice. her ladyship's crimson vis-à-vis and her tall footman are both highly attractive--there are no seats in the vehicle--the fair owner reclines on a splendid crimson velvet divan or cushion. she must now be considered a beauty of the last century, being already turned of fifty: still she continued to flourish in the annals of--fashion, until within the last few years; when she ceased to go abroad for amusement, finding it more convenient to purchase it at home. as her parties in grosvenor-square are of the most splendid description, and her dinners (where she is the presiding deity, and the only one) are frequent, and unrivalled for a display of the "savoir vivre," her ladyship can always draw on the gratitude of her guests for that homage to hospitality which she must cease to expect to her charms, "now in the sear and yellow leaf:"--she is a m-nn- rs-"verbum sal." speaking of m-nn-ra, where is the portly john (the regent's double, as he was called some few years since), and the amiable duchess, who bestowed her hand and fortune upon him?--but, n'importe. * the marquis is said to have shown some aversion in the first instance, till h-s b- sent his rent roll for his inspection: this was immediately returned with a very satisfactory reply, but accompanied with a more embarrassing request, namely, a sight of his pedigree. ~ ~~ glimmers in eclipse,--afar's the light of former time. in gorgeous pride and vis-à-vis,{ } a-b-y's orange livry see, the gayest in the clime. camac and wife, in chariot green, constant as turtle-doves are seen, with two bronze slaves behind; next h-tf-d's comely, widow'd dame,{ } with am'rous g------, a favourite name, when g------was true and kind. "the gorgeous a-b-y in the sun-flower's pride." this lady's vis-à-vis by far the most splendidly rich on town. her footmen (of which there are four on drawing-room days) are a proper emblem of that gaudy flower--bright yellow liveries, black lower garments, spangled and studded. there is a general keeping in this gorgeous equipage, which is highly creditable to the taste of the marchioness, for the marquis, "good easy man," (though a bruce), he is too much engaged preserving his game at ro-er-n park, and keeping up the game in st. stephen's (where his influence is represented by no less than eight "sound men and true"), to attend to these trifling circumstances. this, with a well paid rental of upwards of £ , per annum, makes the life of this happy pair pass in an uninterrupted stream of fashionable felicity. the marchioness is said to bear the neglect of a certain capricious friend with much cool philosophy. soon after the intimacy had ceased, they met by accident. on the sofa, by the side of the inconstant, sat the reigning favourite; the marchioness placed herself (uninvited) on the opposite side: astonishment seized the ****; he rose, made a very graceful bow to one of the ladies, and coolly observed to the marchesa--"if this conduct is repeated, i must decline meeting you in public." this was the cut royal. ~ ~~ see s-b-y's peeress, whom each fool of fashion meets in sunday school,{ } to chat in learned lore; where rhyming peers, and letter'd beaus, blue stocking belles to love dispose, and wit is deem'd a bore. with brave sir ronald, toe to toe, see mrs. m-h-l a-g-lo,{ } superb equestriana. next--that voluptuous little dame,{ } who sets the dandy world in flame, the female giovanni. erin's sprightly beauteous belle, gay lady g-t-m, and her swell the yorkshire whiskerandoes.{ } the dulness of the marchioness's sunday evening conver- saziones have obtained them the fashionable appellation of the sunday-school. lord byron thought it highly dangerous for any wit to accept a second invitation, lest he should be inoculated with ennui. mrs. m- a-g-e, a very amiable and accomplished woman, sister to sir h-y v-ne t-p-t. she is considered the best female equestrian in the ride. a consideration for the delicacy of our fair readers will not allow us to enter upon the numerous amours of this favourite of apollo and the muses, and not less celebrated intriguant. she may, however, have ample justice entailed upon her under another head. latterly, since the police have been so active in suppressing the gaming houses, a small party have met with security and profit for a little chicken hazard in curzon-street, at which mr. c-t has occasionally acted as croupier and banker. elliston used to say, when informed of the sudden indisposition or absence of a certain little actress and singer-"ay, i understand; she has a more profitable engagement than mine this evening." the amorous trio, cl-g-t, charles h-r-s, and the exquisite master g-e, may not have cause to complain of neglect. the first of these gentlemen has lately, we understand, been very successful at play; we trust experience will teach him prudence. his lordship commands the york hussars, in defence of whose whiskers he sometime since made a quixotic attack upon a public writer. as he is full six feet high, and we are not quite five, prudence bids us place our finger on our lip. ~ ~~ pale lambton, he who loves and hates by turns, what pitts, or pit, creates, led by the whig fandangoes. sound folly's trumpet, fashion's drums,-- here great a------y w------ce comes,{ } 'mong tailors, a red button. with luminarious nose and cheeks, which love of much good living speaks, observe the city glutton: sir w-m, admiral of yachts, of turtles, capons, port, and pots, in curricle so big. jack f-r follows;--jack's a wag,{ } a------y w------o, esq. otherwise the renowned billy button, the son and heir to the honours, fortune, and shopboard of the late billy button of bedford-street, covent garden. the latter property he appears to have transferred to the front of the old brown landau, where the aged coachman, with nose as flat as the ace of clubs, sits, transfixed and rigid as the curls of his caxon, from three till six every sunday evening, urging on a cabbage-fed pair of ancient prods, which no exertion of the venerable jehu has been able for the last seven years to provoke into a trot from hyde park gate to that of cumberland and back again. the contents of the vehicle are equally an exhibition. billy, with two watches hung by one chain, undergoing the revolutionary movements of buckets in a well, and his eye-glass set round with false pearls, are admirably "en suite" with his bugle optics. the frowsy madam in faded finery, with all the little buttons, attended by a red-haired poor relation from inverness (who is at once their governess and their victim), form the happy tenantry of this moving closet. no less than three, crests surmount the arms of this descendant of wallace the great. a waggish hibernian, some few months since, added a fourth, by chalking a goose proper, crested with a cabbage, which was observed and laughed at by every one in the park except the purblind possessor of the vehicle, who was too busy in looking at himself. honest jack is no longer an m.p., to the great regret of the admirers of senatorial humours. some few years since, being btuehi plenus, he reeled into st. stephen's chapel a little out of a perpendicular; when the then dignified abbot having called him to order, he boldly and vociferously asserted that "jack f-r of rose-hill was not to be set down by any little fellow in a wig. "this offence against the person and high office of the abbot of st. stephen's brought honest jack upon his knees, to get relieved from a troublesome serjeant attendant of the chapel. knowing his own infirmities, and fearing perhaps that he might be com- pelled to make another compulsory prayer, jack resigned his pretensions to senatorial honors at the last general election. his chief amusement, when in town, is the watching and tormenting the little marchandes des modes who cross over or pass in the neighbourhood of regent-street--he is, however, perfectly harmless. an unlucky accident, occasioned by little th-d the wine merchant overturning f-z-y in his tandem, compelled the latter to sell out of the army, but not without having lost a leg in the service. a determined patriot, he was still resolved to serve his country. a barrister on one leg might be thought ominous of his client's cause, or afford food for the raillery of his opponent. the bar was therefore rejected. but the church opened her arms to receive the dismembered son of mars (a parson with a cork leg, or two wooden ones, or indeed without a leg to stand on, was not un-orthodox), and f-z-y was soon inducted to a valuable benefice. he is now, we believe, a pluralist, and, if report be true, has shown something of the old soldier in his method of retaining them. f-y married miss wy-d-m, the daughter of mrs. h-s, who was the admired of his brother, l-d p-. he is generally termed the fighting parson, and considered one of the best judges of a horse in town: he sometimes does a little business in that way among the young ones. ~ ~~ a jolly dog, who sports his nag, or queers the speaker's wig: to venus, jack is stanch and true; to bacchus pays devotion too, but likes not bully mars. next him, some guardsmen, exquisite,- a well-dress'd troop;--but as to fight, it may leave ugly scars. here a church militant is seen,{ } who'd rather fight than preach i ween, once major, now a parson; with one leg in the grave, he'll laugh, chant up a pard, or quaintly chaff, to keep life's pleasant farce on. ~ ~~ lord arthur hill his arab sports, and gentle-usher to the courts: see horace and kang c-k,{ } who, with the modern mokamna c-m-e, must ever bear the sway for ugliness of look. a pair of ancients you may spy,{ } sir edward and sir carnaby, from brighton just set free; the jesters of our lord the king, who loves a joke, and aids the thing in many a sportive way. a motley group come rattling on,{ } horace s-y-r, gentleman usher to the king, and k-g c-k, said to be the ugliest man in the british army: in the park he is rivalled only by c-c. for the benefit of all the married ladies, we would recommend both of these singularities to wear the veil in public. sir ed-d n-g-e. his present majesty is not less fond of a pleasant joke than his laughter-loving predecessor, charles ii. the puke of clarence, while at the pavilion (a short time since), admired a favourite grey pony of sir e-d n-e's; in praise of whose qualities the baronet was justly liberal. after the party had returned to the palace, the duke, in concert with the k-g, slily gave directions to have the pony painted and disfigured (by spotting him with water colour and attaching a long tail), and then brought on the lawn. in this state he was shown to sir e--, as one every way superior to his own. after examining him minutely, the old baronet found great fault with the pony; and being, at the duke's request, induced to mount him, objected to all his paces, observing that he was not half equal to his grey. the king was amazingly amused with the sagacity of the good- humoured baronet, and laughed heartily at the astonishment he expressed when convinced of the deception practised upon him. sir c-n-y h-s-ne, although a constant visitor at the pavilion, is not particularly celebrated for any attractive qualification, unless it be his unlimited love of little ladies. he is known to all the horse dealers round london, from his constant inquiries for a "nice quiet little horse to carry a lady;" but we never heard of his making a purchase. the middle order of society was formerly in england the most virtuous of the three--folly and vice reared their standard and recruited their ranks in the highest and the lowest; but the medium being now lost, all is in the extreme. the superlative dandy inhabitant of a first floor from the ground in bond-street, and the finished inhabitant of a first floor from heaven (who lives by diving) in fleet- street, are in kindness and habits precisely the same. ~ ~~ who ape the style and dress of ton, and scarce are worth review; yet forced to note the silly elves, who take such pains to note themselves, we'll take a name or two. h-s-ly, a thing of shreds and patches,{ } whose manners with his calling matches, that is, he's a mere goose. old st-z of france, a worthy peer, from shopboard rais'd him to a sphere of ornament and use. the double dandy, fashion's fool, the lubin log of liverpool, fat mister a-p-ll, upon his cob, just twelve hands high, a mountain on a mouse you'll spy trotting towards the mall. sir *-----*-, the chicken man,{ } young priment, as he is generally termed, the once dashing foreman and cutter out, now co-partner of the renowned baron st-z, recently made a peer of france. who would not be a tailor (st-z has retired with a fortune of £ , . )! lord de c-ff-d, some time since objecting to certain items in his son's bill from st-z, as being too highly charged, said, "tell mr. s- i will not pay him, if it costs me a thousand pounds to resist it. " st-z, on hearing this, said, "tell his lordship that he shall pay the charge, if it costs me ten thousand to make him." h-s-ly with some little satisfaction was displaying to a customer the prince of c-b-g's bill for three months (on the occasion of his highness's new field-marshal's suit, we suppose): "here," said he, "see what we have done for him: his quarter's tailor's bill now comes to more than his annual income formerly amounted to." mr. h-s-ly sports a bit of blood, a dennet, and a filly; and, for a tailor, is a superfine sort of dandy, but with a strong scent of the shop about him. the redoubtable general's penchant for little girls has obtained him the tender appellation of the chicken man. many of these _petits amours_ are carried on in the assumed name of sir lewis n-t-n, aided by the skill and ingenuity of captain *-. youth may plead whim and novelty for low intrigue; but the aged beau can only resort to it from vitiated habit. ~ ~~ with pimp *-a-t in the van, the spy of an old spy; who beat up for recruits in town, mong little girls, in chequer'd gown, of ages rather shy. that mild, complacent-looking face,{ } who sits his bit of blood with grace, is tragic charley young: with dowager savant a beau, who'll spout, or tales relate, you know, nobility among. "sure such a pair was never seen" by nature form'd so sharp and keen as h-ds-n and jack l-g; or two who've play'd their cards so well, as many a pluck'd roué can tell, whose purses once were strong: both deal in pipes--and by the nose have led to many a green horn's woes a few gay bucks to surrey, where marshal jones commands in chief a squadron, who to find relief are always in a hurry. they're folloiv'd by a merry set-- cl-m-ris, l-n-x, young b-d-t, whom they may shortly follow. that tall dismember'd dandy mark, who strolls dejected through the park, with cheeks so lank and hollow; that's badger b-t-e, poet a-- the mighty author of "to-day," this truly respectable actor is highly estimated among a large circle of polished society; where his amusing talents and gentlemanly demeanour render him a most entertaining and agreeable companion. ~ ~~ forgotten of "to-morrow;" a superficial wit, who 'll write for shandy little books of spite, when cash he wants to borrow. the pious soul who 's driving by, and at the poet looks so shy, is parson a- the gambler;{ } his deaf-lugg'd daddy a known blade in pandemonium's fruitful trade, 'mong paphians a rambler. augusta h-ke (or c-i) moves along the path--her little doves-- decoys, upon each arm. where 's jehu martin, four-in-hand, an exile in a foreign land from fear of legal charm. a pensioner of cyprian queen, the bond-street tailor here is seen, the tally-ho so gay. next p------s,{ } who by little goes, the parson is so well known, and has been so plentifully be-spattered on all sides, that we shall, with true orthodox charity, leave him with a strong recommendation to the notice of the society for the suppression of vice, with this trite remark, "_vide hic et ubique_." this man, who is now reported to be worth three hundred thousand pounds, was originally a piece-broker in bedford- bury, and afterwards kept a low public house in vinegar- yard, drury-lane; from whence he merged into an illegal lottery speculation in northumberland-street, strand, where he realized a considerable sum by insurances and little goes; from this spot he was transplanted to norris-street, in the haymarket, managing partner in a gaming-house, when, after a run of ill luck, an affair occurred that would have occasioned some legal difficulty but for the oath of a pastry-cook's wife, who proved an alibi, in return for which act of kindness he afterwards made her his wife. obtaining possession of the rooms in pall-mall (then the celebrated e. o. tables, and the property of w-, the husband, by a sham warrant), the latter became extremely jealous; and, to make all comfortable, our hero, to use his own phrase, generously bought the mure and coll.--mrs. w--and her son--both since dead: the latter rose to very high rank in an honourable profession. the old campaigner has now turned pious, and recently erected and endowed a chapel. he used to boast he had more promissory notes of gambling dupes than would be sufficient to cover the whole of pall-mall; he may with justice add, that he can command bank notes enough to cover cavendish-square. ~ ~~ and west-end hells, to fortune rose by many a subtle way. patron of bull-baits, racings, fights, a chief of black-legg'd low delights-- 'tis the new m------s, f-k; time was, his heavy vulgar gait, with one of highest regal state took precedence of rank: but now, a little in disgrace since j-e usurp'd his m------'s place, a stranger he's at court; unlike the greatest and the best who went before, his feather'd nest is well enrich'd by sport. f- -y disastrous, honour's child; l-t-he the giddy, gay, and wild, and sportive little jack; the prince of dandies join the throng, where gwydir spanks his fours along, the silvery grays or black. the charming f-te, and colonel b-,{ } snugly in close carriage see with crimson coats behind: and mrs. c--, the christmas belle, we shall not follow the colonel's example, or we could give some extracts from the letters of a. female corespondent of his that would be both curious and interesting; but _n'importe_, consideration for the lady alone prevents the publication. in town he is always discovered by a group of would-be exquisites, the satellites of the jupiter of b-k-y c-t-e at gl-r; or at ch---------m they have some name; but here they are more fortunate, for o'er them oblivion throws the friendly veil. ~ ~~ with banker's clerk, a tale must tell to all who are not blind. ah! poodle byng appears in view,{ } who gives at whist a point or two to dowagers in years. and see where ev'ry body notes the star of fashion, romeo coates{ } the amateur appears: but where! ah! where, say, shall i tell are the brass cocks and cockle shell? ill hazard, rouge et noir if it but speak, can tales relate of many an equipage's fate, and may of many more. ye rude canaille, make way, make way, the countess and the count--------,{ } this gentleman is generally designated by the name of "the whist man:" he holds a situation in the secretary of state's office, and is in particular favour with all the old dowagers, at whose card parties it is said he is generally fortunate. he has recently been honoured with the situation of grand chamberlain to their black majesties of the sandwich isles. poor borneo's brilliancy is somewhat in eclipse, and though not quite a fallen star, he must not run on black too long,--lest his diamond-hilted sword should be the price of his folly. the countess of ---------------is the daughter of governor j-----------; her mother's name was patty f-d, the daughter of an auctioneer who was the predecessor of the present mr. christie's father. patty, then a very beautiful woman, went with him to india, and was a most faithfull and attentive companion.--on the voyage home with j------- -----and her three children, by him, the present countess, and her brothers james and george, they touched at the cape, where the old governor most ungratefully fell in love with a young portuguese lady, whom he married and brought to england in the same ship with his former associate, whom he soon after completely abandoned, settling l. a year upon her for the support of herself and daughter; his two sons, james and george, he provided with writerships in the company's service, and sent to india. james died young, and george returned to england in a few years, worth , pounds.--he lingered in a very infirm state of health, the effects of the climate and mrs. m-, alias madame haut gout; and at his death, being a bachelor, he left the present countess, his sister who lived with him, the whole of his property. there are various tales circulated in the fashionable world relative to the origin and family of the count, who has certainly been a most fortunate man: he is chiefly indebted for success with the countess to his skill as an amateur on the flute, rather than to his paternal estates. the patron of foreigners, he takes an active part in the affairs of the opera-house.--poor tori having given some offence in this quarter, was by his influence kept out of an engagement; but it would appear he received some amends, by the following extract from a fashionable paper of the day. a certain fashionable------l, who was thought to be _au comble de bonheur_, has lately been much tormented with that green-eyed monster, jealousy, in the shape of an opera singer. _plutôt mourir que changer_, was thought to be the motto of the pretty round-faced english------------s; but, alas! like the original, it was written on the sands of disappointment, and was scarcely read by the admiring husband, before his joy was dashed by the prophetic wave, and the inscription erased by a favoured son of apollo. _l'oreille est le chemin du cour_: so thought the ------l, and forbade the ----------s to hold converse with monsieur t.; but _les femmes peuvent tout, parce-qu'elles gouvernent ceux qui gouvernent tous_. a meeting took place in grosvenor-square, and, amid the interchange of doux yeux, the ---------l arrived: a desperate scuffle ensued; the intruder was banished the house, and, as he left the door, is said to have whistled the old french proverb of _le bon temps viendra_. this affair has created no little amusement among the _beau monde_. all the dowagers are fully agreed on one point, that _l'amour est une passion qui vient souvent sans qu'on s'en apperçoîve, et, qui s'en va aussi de même_. ~ ~~ who play _de prettee_ flute, who charm _une petit_ english ninnie, till all the joueur j------'s guinea him _pochée en culotte_. who follows? 'tis the signor tori, 'bout whom the gossips tell a story, with some who've gone before: "the bird in yonder cage confined can sing of lovers young and kind," but there, he'll sing no more. ~ ~~ lord l------looks disconsolate,{} no news from spain i think of late, per favour m--------i. ne'er heed, my lord, you still may find some opera damsel true and kind, who'll prove less coy and naughty. "now by the pricking of my thumbs, there's something wicked this way comes," 'tis a-'s false dame,{ } who at almack's, or in the park, with whispers charms a clucal spark, to blight his wreath of fame. observe, where princely devonshire,{ } his lordship, though not quite so deeply smitten as the now happy swain, had, we believe, a little __penchant for the charming little daughter of terpsichore. "what news from spain, my lord, this morning?" said sir c. a. to lord l------"i have no connexion with the foreign office," replied his lordship.--"i beg pardon, my lord, but i am sure i met a spanish messenger quitting your house as i entered it." on the turf, his lordship's four year old (versus five) speculations with cove b-n have given him a notoriety that will, we think, prevent his ruining himself at newmarket. like the immortal f-e, he is one of the opera directors, and has a great inclination for foreign curiosities. vide the following extract.-- "the new corps de ballot at the opera this season, , is entirely composed of parisian elegantes, selected with great taste by lord l---------, whose judgment in these matters is perfectly con amore. in a letter to a noble friend on this subject, lord l--------says that he has seen, felt, and (ap-) proved them all------to be excellent artistes with very finished movements." certain ridiculous reports have long been current in the fashionable world, relative to a mysterious family affair, which would preclude the noble duke's entering into the state of matrimony: it is hardly necessary to say they have no foundation in truth. the duke was certainly born in the same house and at nearly the same time (in florence) when lady e. f-st-r, since duchess of d-, was delivered of a child--but that offspring is living, and, much to the present duke's honour, affectionately regarded by him. the duke was for some years abroad after coming to his title, owing, it is said, to an unpleasant affair arising out of a whist party at a great house, which was composed of a prince, lords l------and y------th, another foreign prince, and a colonel b-, of whom no one has heard much since.--a noble mansion in piccadilly was there and then assigned to the colonel, who at the request of the -e, who had long wished to possess it as a temporary residence, during some intended repairs at the great house, re-conveyed it to the------. on the receipt of a note from y- the next morning, claiming the amount of the duke's losses, he started with surprise at the immense sums, and being now perfectly recovered from the overpowering effects of the bottle, hastened with all speed to take the opinions of two well-known sporting peers, whose honour has never been questioned, lords f-y and s-n; they, upon a review of the circumstances, advised that the money should not be paid, but that all matters in dispute should be referred to a third peer, earl g-y, who was not a sporting man: to this effect a note was written to the applicant, but not before some communication had taken place with a very high personage; the consequence was that no demand was ever afterwards made to the referee. lord g- c- afterwards re- purchased the great house with the consent of the duke from the fortunate holder, as he did not like it to be dismembered from the family. we believe this circumstance had a most salutary effect in preventing any return of a propensity for play. charley loves good place and wine, and charley loves good brandy, and charley's wife is thought divine, by many a jack a dandy. parody on an old nursery rhyme. { } a character of devonshire. [illustration: page ] ~ ~~ [illustration: page ] ~ ~~ in action, heart, and mind, a peer, avoids the public gaze; graceful, yet simple in attire, you'd take him for a plain esquire; "his acts best speak his praise." that queer, plain, yellow chariot, mark, which drives so rapid through the park, the servants clothed in gray-- that's george, incog.--george who? george-king,{ } of whom near treason 'tis to sing, in this our sportive lay. kings like their subjects should have air and exercise, without the stare which the state show attends; i love to see in public place the monarch, who'll his people face, and meet like private friends. so may the crown of this our isle re ever welcomed with a smile, and, george, that smile be thine! then when the time,--and come it must, that crowns and sceptres shall be dust, thou shalt thy race outshine, shalt live in good men's hearts, and tears, from age to age, while mem'ry rears the proud historic shrine. from the diary of a politician. "through manchester-square took a canter just now, met the old yellow chariot, and made a low bow; this did of course, thinking 'twas loyal and civil, but got such a look,--oh! 'twas black as the devil. how unlucky!--incog, he was traveling about, and i like a noodle must go find him out! mem. when next by the old yellow chariot i ride, to remember there is nothing princely inside." tom moore, ~ ~~ what rueful-looking knight is that,{ } with sunken eye and silken hat, lord p-r-m, the delicate dandy. laced up in stays to show his waist, and highly rouged to show his taste, his whiskers meeting 'neath his chin, with gooseberry eye and ghastly grin, with mincing steps, conceited phrase, such as insipid p- displays: these are the requisites to shine a dandy, exquisite, divine. ancient dandies.--a confession. the doctor{*}, as we learn, once said, to mistress thrale-- howe'er a man be stoutly made, and free from ail, in flesh and bone, and colour thrive, "he's going down at ." yet horace could his vigour muster and would not till a later lustre f one single inch of ground surrender to any swain in cupid's calendar. but one i think a jot too low, and t'other is too high, i know. yet, what i've found, i'll freely state-- the thing may do till.-- but that's a job--for then, in truth, one's but a clumsy sort of youth: and maugre looks, some evil tongue will say the dandy is not young:-- for 'mid the yellow and the sear, {**} though here and there a leaf be green no more the summer of the year it is, than when one swallow's seen. * johnson. t---------------------fuge suspicari cujus octavum trepidavit otas claudere lustrum.--od. . . ii. now tottering on to forty years, my age forbids all jealous fears. ** "my may of life is fallen into the sear and yellow leaf."--macbeth. ~ ~~ pinch'd in behind and 'fore? whose visage, like la mancha's chief, seems the pale frontispiece to grief, as if 'twould ne'er laugh more: whose dress and person both defy the poet's pen, the painter's eye, 'tis _outre tout nature_. his arab charger swings his tail, curvets and prances to the gale like death's pale horse,-- and neighing proudly seems to say, here fashion's vot'ries must pay homage of course: tis p-h-m, whom mrs. h-g-s at opera and play-house dodges since he gain'd josephine; tailors adorn a thousand ways, and (though time won't) men may make slays; the dentist, barber, make repairs, new teeth supply, and colour hairs; but art can ne'er return the spring-- and spite of all that she can do, _a beau's_ a very wretched thing at ! the late princess charlotte issued an order, interdicting any one of her household appearing before her with frightful fringes to their leaden heads. in consequence of this cruel command, p-r-m, being one of the lords of the bed-chamber, was compelled to curtail his immense whiskers. a very feeling ode appeared upon the occasion, entitled my whiskers, dedicated to the princess; it was never printed, but attributed to thomas moore. the kiss, or lady francis w- w-'s frolic, had nearly produced a fatal catastrophe. how would poor lady anne w-m have borne such a misfortune? or what purling stream would have received the divine form of the charming mrs. h-d-s? but alas! he escaped little w-'s ball, only to prove man's base ingratitude, for he has since cut with both these beauties for the interesting little josephine, the protégée of t------y b-t, and the sister of the female giovanni. ~ ~~ ye madly vicious, can it be! a mother sunk in infamy, to sell her child is seen. let bow-street annals, and tom b-t,{ } who paid the mill'ner, tell the rest, it suits not with our page; just satire while she censures,--feels,-- verse spreads the vice when it reveals the foulness of the age. 'tis half-past five, and fashion's train no longer in hyde park remain, bon ton cries hence, away; the low-bred, vulgar, sunday throng, who dine at two, are ranged along on both sides of the way; with various views, these honest folk descant on fashions, quiz and joke, or mark a shy cock down{ }; for many a star in fashion's sphere can only once a week appear in public haunts of town, lest those two ever watchful friends, the step-brothers, whom sheriff sends, john doe and richard roe, a taking pair should deign to borrow, to wit, until all souls, the morrow, the body of a beau; poor tom b-t has paid dear for his protection of the josephine: fifteen hundred pounds for millinery in twelve months is a very moderate expenditure for so young a lady of fashion. it is, to be sure, rather provoking that such an ape as lord ------should take command of the frigate, and sail away in defiance of the chartered party, the moment she was well found and rigged for a cruize. see common plea reports, the sunday men, as they are facetiously called in the fashionable world, are not now so numerous as formerly: the facility of a trip across the channel enables many a shy cock to evade the scrutinizing eye and affectionate attachment of the law. but sunday sets the pris'ner free, he shows in park, and laughs with glee at creditors and bum. then who of any taste can bear the coarse, low jest and vulgar stare of all the city scum, of fat sir gobble, mistress fig, in buggy, sulky, coach, or gig, with dobbin in the shay? at ev'ry step some odious face, of true mechanic cut, will place themselves plump in your way. now onward to the serpentine, a river straight as any line, near kensington, let's walk; or through her palace gardens stray, where elegantes of the day ogle, congee, and talk. here imperial fashion reigns, here high bred belles meet courtly swains by assignation. made at almack's, argyle, or rout, while lady mother walks about in perturbation, watching her false peer, or to make a benedict of some high rake, to miss a titled prize. here, cameleon-colour'd, see beauty in bright variety, such as a god might prize. here, too, like the bird of juno, fancy's a gaudy group, that you know, of gay _marchands des modes_. haberdashers, milliners, fops from city desks, or bond-street shops, and belles from oxford-road, crowds here, commingled, pass and gaze, and please themselves a thousand ways; ~ ~~ some read the naughty rhymes which are on ev'ry alcove writ, immodest, lewd attempt at wit, disgraceful to the times. here scotland's dandy irish earl,{ } with noblet on his arm would whirl, and frolic in this sphere; with mulberry coat, and pink cossacks, the red-hair'd thane the fair attacks, f-'s ever on the leer; and when alone, to every belle the am'rous beau love's tale will tell, intent upon their ruin. beware, macduff, the fallen stars! venus aggrieved will fly to mars; there's mischief brewing. what mountain of a fair is that, whose jewels, lace, and spanish hat, proclaim her high degree, with a tall, meagre-looking man, who bears her reticule and fan? that was maria d-, now the first favourite at court, his lordship is equally celebrated in the wars of mars and venus, as a general in the service of spain. when lord m-d-ff, in the desperate bombardment of matagorda (an old fort in the bay of cadiz), the falling of a fragment of the rock, struck by a shell, broke, his great toe; in this wounded state he was carried about the alameda in a cherubim chair by two bare-legged gallegos, to receive the condolations of the grandees, and, we regret to add, the unfeeling jeers of the british, who made no scruple to assert that his lordship had, as usual, "put his foot in it." the noble general would no doubt have added another leaf to bis laurel under the auspices of the ex-smuggler, late illustrissimo general ballasteros, had not he suddenly become a willing captive to the soul-subduing charms of the beauteous antonia of terrifa, of whose history and melancholy death we may speak hereafter. on a late occasion, he has been honoured with the star of the guelphic order (when, for the first time in his life, he went on his knees), as some amends for his sudden dismissal from the bed-chamber. noblet, who has long since been placed upon the pension list, has recently retired, and is succeeded by a charming little parisian actress who lives in the new road, and plays with the french company now at tottenham-street theatre. lord l---------has also a little interest in the same concern. his lordship's _affaires des cour_ with antonia, noblet, and m---------, though perfectly platonic, have proved more expensive than the most determined votary to female attractions ever endured: for the gratification of this innocent passion, marr's{*} mighty pines have bit the dust, and friendly purses bled. ~ ~~ and, if we may believe report, she holds the golden key of the backstairs, and can command a potent influence in the land, but k------n best can tell; tis most clear, no ill betide us, near the georgium sidus this planet likes to dwell. lovely as light, when morning breaks{ } above the hills in golden streaks, observe yon blushing rose, uxbridge, the theme of ev'ry tongue, the sylph that charms the ag'd and young, where grace and virtue glows. gay lady h-e her lounge may take,{ } reclining near the indian lake., and think she's quite secure; the beautiful little countess, the charming goddess of the golden locks, was a miss campbell, a near relation of the duke of argyll. she is a most amiable and interesting elegante. although lord l-e is the constant attendant of lady h-, report says the attachment is merely platonic. his lordship was once smitten with her sister; and having thero suffered the most cruel disappointment, consoles himself for his loss in the sympathizing society of lady h------. * marr forest, belonging to his lordship, producing the finest mast pines in the empire; the noble earl has lately cut many scores of them ami some old friends, rather than balk his fancy. ~ ~~ as well might c- -ft hope to pass upon the town his c-----r lass for genuine and pure. see warwick's charming countess glide,{ } with constant harry by her side, along the gay _parterre_; and look where the loud laugh proclaims the cits and their cameleon dames, the gaudy cheapside fair, drest in all colours o' the shop, fashion'd for the easter hop, to grace the civic feast, where the great lord mayor presides o'er tallow, ribands, rags, and hides, the sultan o' the east. the would-be poet, ch-s l-h,{ } comes saunt'ring with his graces three, the little gay coquettes. after, view the cyprian corps of well-known traders, many score, from bang to angel m-tz, a heedless, giddy, laughing crew, who'd seem as if they never knew of want or fell despair; yet if unveil'd the heart might be, you'd find the demon, misery, had ta'en possession there. think not that satire will excuse, ye frail, though fair; or that the muse will silent pass ye by: to you a chapter she'll devote, where all of fashionable note lady sarah saville, afterwards lady monson, now countess of warwick, a most beautiful, amiable, and accomplished woman. by constant "harry" is meant her present earl. see amatory poems by ch-os l-h. we could indulge our readers with a curious account of the demolition of the paphian car at covent garden theatre, but the story is somewhat musty. ~ ~~ shall find their history. "vice to be hated, needs but be seen;" and thus shall ev'ry paphian queen be held to public view; and though protected by a throne, the gallant and his miss be shown in colours just and true. the countess of ten thousand see,{ } the dear delightful savante b-, who once was sold and bought: the magic-lantern well displays the scenes of long forgotten days, and gives new birth to thought. nay, start not, here we'll not relate the break-neck story gossips prate within the em'rald isle: no spirit gray, or black, or brown, we'll conjure up, with hideous frown, to chase the dimpled smile. in fleeting numbers, as we pass, we find these shadows in our glass, we move, and they're no more. but see where chief of folly's train, the beautiful and accomplished countess is a lovely daughter of hibernia; her maiden name was p-r, and her father an irish magistrate of high respectability. her first matrimonial alliance with captain f-r proved unfortunate; an early separation was the consequence, which was effected through the intervention of a kind friend, captain j-s of the th. shortly afterwards her fine person and superior endowments of mind made an impression upon the earl that nothing but the entire possession of the lady could allay. the affair of lord a- and mrs. b- is too well known to need repetition--it could not succeed a second time. abelard f- having paid the debt of nature, there was no impediment but a visit to the temple of hymen, on which point the lady was determined; and the yielding suitor, wounded to the vital part, most readily complied. it is due to the countess to admit, that since her present elevation, her conduct has been exemplary and highly praiseworthy. ~ ~~ conceited, simple, rash, and vain, comes lib'ral master g-e,{ } a dandy, half-fledged exquisite, who paid nine thousand pounds a night to female giovanni. reader, i think i hear you say, "what pleasure had he for his pay?" upon my word, not any; for soon as v-t-s got the cash, she set off with a splendid dash from op'ra to paris; left cl-t and this simple fool,{ } who no doubt's been an easy tool, to spend it with charles h-s. see, carolina comes in view, a lamb, from merry melbourne's ewe, who scaped the fatal knife. h-ll-d's blue stocking rib appears, who makes amends in latter years for early cause of strife. catullus george, the red-hair'd bard, whose rhymes, pedantic, crude, and hard, he calls translations, follows the fair; a nibbling mouse from westminster, by cam hobhouse expell'd his station. now twilight, with his veil of gray, the stars of fashion frights away the carriage homeward rolls along to music-party, cards and song, a very singular adventure, which occurred in . the enamoured swain, after settling an annuity of seven hundred pounds per annum upon the fair inconstant, had the mortification to find himself abandoned on the very night the deeds were completed, the lady having made a precipitate retreat, with a more favoured lover, to paris. the affair soon became known, and some friends interfered, when the deeds were cancelled. captain citizen cl-t, an exquisite of the first order, for a long time the favourite of the reigning sultana. ~ ~~ and many a gay delight. the goths of essex-street may groan,{ } turn up their eyes, and inward moan, they dare not here intrude; dare not attack the rich and great, the titled vicious of the state, the dissolute and lewd. vice only is, in some folks' eyes, immoral, when in rags she lies, by poverty subdued; but deck her forth in gaudy vest, with courtly state and titled crest, she's every thing that's good. "doth kalpho break the sabbath-day? why, kalpho hath no funds to pay; how dare he trespass then? how dare he eat, or drink, or sleep, or shave, or wash, or laugh, or weep, or look like other men?" my lord his concerts gives, 'tis true, the speaker holds his levee too, and fashion cards and dices; but these are trifles to the sin of selling apples, joints, or gin-- the present times have very properly been stigmatized as the age of cant. the increase of the puritans, the smooth-faced evangelical, and the lank-haired sectarian, with their pious love-meetings and bible associations, have at last roused the slumbering spirit of the constituted authorities, who are now making the most vigorous efforts to impede the progress of these anti-national and hypocritical fanatics, who, mistaking the true dictates of religion and benevolence, have, in their inflamed zeal, endeavoured to extirpate every species of innocent recreation, and have laid formidable siege to honest-hearted mirth and rustic revelry. "i am no prophet, nor the son of one; "but if ever the noble institutions of my country suffer any revolutionary change, it is my humble opinion it will result from these sainted associations, from these pious opposers of our national characteristics, and the noblest institution of our country, the foundation stone of our honour and glory, the established church of england. there is (in my opinion) more mischief to be apprehended to the state from the humbug of piety than from all the violence of froth, political demagogues, or the open-mouthed howl of the most hungry radicals. let it be understood i speak not against toleration in its most extended sense, but war only with hypocrisy and fanaticism, with those of whom juvenal has written--"_qui aurios simulant el baechemalia vivinit_." ~ ~~ low, execrable vices. cease, persecutors, mock reclaimers, ye jaundiced few, ye legal maimers of the lone, poor, and meek; ye moral fishers for stray gudgeons, ye sainted host of old curmudgeons, who ne'er the wealthy seek! if moralists ye would appear, attack vice in its highest sphere, the cause of all the strife; the spring and source from whence does flow pollution o'er the plains below, through all degrees of life. [illustration: page ] the opera. the man of fashion--fop's alley--modern roué and frequenters--characteristic sketches in high life--blue stocking illuminati--motives and mariners--meeting with the honourable lillyman lionise--dinner at long's--visit to the opera--joined by bob transit--a peep into the green room-- secrets behind the curtain--noble amateurs and foreign curiosities--notes and anecdotes by horatio heartly. ~ ~~ the opera, to the man of fashion, is the only tolerable place of public amusement in which the varied orders of society are permitted to participate. here, lolling at his ease, in a snug box on the first circle, in dignified security from the vulgar gaze, he surveys the congregated mass who fill the arena of the house, deigns occasionally a condescending nod of recognition to some less fortunate _roué_, or younger brother of a titled family, who is forcing his way through the well-united phalanx of vulgar faces that guard the entrance to _fop's alley_; or, if he should be in a state of single blessedness, inclines his head a little forward to cast round an inquiring glance, a sort of preliminary overture, to some fascinating daughter of fashion, whose attention he wishes to engage for an amorous interchange of significant looks and melting expressions during the last act of the opera. for the first, he would not be thought so _outré_ as to witness it--the attempt would require a sacrifice of the dessert and madeira, and completely revolutionize ~ ~~ the regularity of his dinner arrangement. the divertissement he surveys from the side wings of the stage, to which privilege he is entitled as an annual subscriber; trifles a little badinage with some well-known operatic intriguant, or favourite danseusej approves the finished movements of the male artistes, inquires of the manager or committee the forthcoming novelties, strolls into the green room to make his selection of a well-turned ankle or a graceful shape, and, having made an appointment for some non play night, makes one of the distinguished group of operatic cognoscenti who form the circle of taste in the centre of the stage on the fall of the curtain. this is one, and, perhaps, the most conspicuous portrait of an opera frequenter; but there are a variety of characters in the same school all equally worthy of a descriptive notice, and each differing in contour and force of chiaroscuro as much as the one thousand and one family maps which annually cover the walls of the royal academy, to the exclusion of meritorious performances in a more elevated branch of art. the dowager duchess of a------ retains her box to dispose of her unmarried daughters, and enjoy the gratification of meeting in public the once flattering groups of noble expectants who formerly paid their ready homage to her charms and courted her approving smile; but then her ducal spouse was high in favour, and in office, and now these "summer flies o' the court" are equally steady in their devotion to his successor, and can scarcely find memory or opportunity to recognise the relict of their late ministerial patron. lord e------ and the marchioness of r.------ subscribe for a box between them, enjoying the proprietorship in alternate weeks. during the marchesa's periods of occupation you will perceive lady h., and the whole of the blue stocking illuminati, irradiating from this point, like the tributary stars round some major planet, forming ~ ~~ a grand constellation of attraction. here new novels, juvenile poets, and romantic tourists receive their fiat, and here too the characters of one half the fashionable world undergo the fiery ordeal of scrutinization, and are censured or applauded more in accordance with the prevailing on dits of the day, or the fabrications of the club, than with any regard to feeling, truth, or decorum. the following week-, how changed the scene!--the venerable head of the highly-respected lord e------ graces the corner, like a corinthian capital finely chiseled by the divine hand of praxiteles; the busy tongue of scandal is dormant for a term, and in her place the solons of the land, in solemn thoughtfulness, attend the sage injunctions of their learned chief. too enfeebled by age and previous exertion to undergo the fatigues of parliamentary duty, the baron here receives the visits of his former colleagues, and snatching half an hour from his favourite recreation, gives a decided turn to the politics of a party by the cogency of his reasoning and the brilliancy of his arguments. the earl of f------has a grand box on the ground tier, for the double purpose of admiring the chaste evolutions of the sylphic daughters of terpsichore, and of being observed himself by all the followers of the cameleon-like, capricious goddess, fashion. the g------b-----, the wealthy commoner, fortune's favoured child, retains a box in the best situation, if not on purpose, yet in fact, to annoy all those within hearing, by the noisy humour of his bacchanalian friends, who reel in at the end of the first act of the opera, full primed with the choicest treasures of his well stocked bins, to quiz the young and modest, insult the aged and respectable, and annihilate the anticipated pleasures of the scientific and devotees of harmony, by the coarseness of their attempts at wit, the overpowering clamour of their conversation, and ~ ~~ the loud laugh and vain pretence to taste and critic skill. the ministerialists may be easily traced by their affectation of consequence, and a certain air of authority joined to a demi-official royal livery, which always distinguishes the corps politique, and is equally shared by their highly plumed female partners. the opposition are equally discernible by outward and visible signs, such as an assumed nonchalance, or apparent independence of carriage, that but ill suits the ambitious views of the wearer, and sits as uneasily upon them as their measures would do upon the shoulders of the nation. added to which, you will never see them alone; never view them enjoying the passing scene, happy in the society of their accomplished wives and daughters, but always, like restless and perturbed spirits, congregating together in conclave, upon some new measure wherewith to sow division in the nation, and shake the council of the state. and yet to both these parties a box at the opera is as indispensable as to the finished courtezan, who here spreads her seductive lures to catch the eye, and inveigle the heart of the inexperienced and unwary. but what has all this to do with the opera? or where will this romantic correspondent of mine terminate his satirical sketch? i think i hear you exclaim. a great deal more, mr. collegian, than your philosophy can imagine: you know, i am nothing if not characteristic; and this, i assure you, is a true portrait of the place and its frequenters. i dare say, you would have expected my young imagination to have been encompassed with delight, amid the mirth-inspiring compositions of corelli, mozart, or rossini, warbled forth by that enchanting siren, de begnis, the scientific pasta, the modest caradori, or the astonishing catalani:--heaven enlighten your unsuspicious mind! attention to the merits of the ~ ~~ performance is the last thing any fashionable of the present day would think of devoting his time to. no, no, my dear bernard, the opera is a sort of high 'change, where the court circle and people of ton meet to speculate in various ways, and often drive as hard a bargain for some purpose of interest or aggrandisement, as the plebeian host of all nations, who form the busy group in the grand civic temple of commerce on cornbill. you know, i have (as the phrase is), just come out, and of course am led about like a university lion, by the more experienced votaries of ton. an accident threw the honourable lillyman lionise into my way the other morning; it was the first time we had met since we were at eton: he was sauntering away the tedious hour in the arcade, in search of a specific for ennui, was pleased to compliment me on possessing the universal panacea, linked arms immediately, complained of being devilishly cut over night, proposed an adjournment to long's--a light dinner--maintenon cutlets--some of the queensberry hock{ } (a century and a half old)--ice-punch-six whin's from an odoriferous hookah--one cup of renovating fluid (impregnated with the parisian aromatic { }); and then, having reembellished our persons, sported{ } a figure at the opera. in the grand entrance, we enlisted bob transit, between whom and the honourable, i congratulated myself on being in a fair way to be enlightened. bob knows every body--the exquisite was not so general in his information; but then he occasionally furnished some little anecdote of the surrounding elegantes, relative to affairs de l'amour, or pointed out the superlative of the haut class, without which much of the interesting would have escaped my notice. the late duke of queensberry's famous old hock, which since his decease was sold by auction. a parisian preparation, which gives a peculiar high flavour and sparkling effect to coffee. an oxford phrase. ~ ~~ in this society, i made my first appearance in the green room; a little, narrow, pink saloon at the back of the stage, where the dancers congregate and practise before an immense looking-glass previous to their appearance in public. to a fellow of warm imagination and vigorous constitution, such a scene is calculated to create sensations that must send the circling current into rapid motion, and animate the heart with thrilling raptures of delight. before the mirror, in all the grace of youthful loveliness and perfect symmetry of form, the divine little fairy sprite, the all-conquering andalusian venus, mercandotti, was exhibiting her soft, plump, love-inspiring person in pirouétte: before her stood the now happy swain, the elegant h------ b-, on whose shoulder rested the earl of fe-, admiring with equal ecstasy the finished movements of his accomplished protégée{ }; on the right hand of the earl stood the single duke of d--------------e, quizzing the little daughter of terpsichore through his eye-glass; on the opposite of the circle was seen the noble it was very generally circulated, and for some time believed, that the charming little andalusian venus was the natural daughter of the earl of f-e: a report which had not a shadow of truth in its foundation, but arose entirely out of the continued interest the earl took in the welfare of the lady from the time of her infancy, at which early period she was exhibited on the stage of the principal theatre in cadiz as an infant prodigy; and being afterwards carried round (as is the custom in spain) to receive the personal approval and trifling presents of the grandees, excited such general admiration as a beautiful child, that the earl of f- e, then lord m- and a general officer in the service of spain, adopted the child, and liberally advanced funds for her future maintenance and instruction, extending his bounty and protection up to the moment of her fortunate marriage with her present husband. it is due to the lady to add, that in every instance her conduct has been marked by the strictest sense of propriety, and that too in situations where, it is said, every attraction was offered to have induced a very opposite course. ~ ~~ musical amateur b-----h, supported by the director de r-s on one hand, and the communicative manager, john ebers, of bond-street, on the other; in a snug corner on the right hand of the mirror was seated one of his majesty's most honourable privy council, the earl of w-----d, with a double dollond's operatic magnifier in his hand, studying nature from this most delightful of all miniature models. "a most perfect divinity," whispered the exquisite. "a glorious fine study," said transit,--and, pulling out his card-case and pencil, retired to one corner of the room, to make a mem., as he called it, of the scene. (see plate.) "who the deuce is that eccentric-looking creature with the marquis of hertford?" said i. "hush," replied the exquisite, "for heaven's sake, don't expose yourself! not to know the superlative roué of the age, the all-accomplished petersham, would set you down for a barbarian at once." "and who," said i, "is the amiable fair bending before the admiring worter?" "an old and very dear acquaintance of the earl of f-e, mademoiselle noblet, who, it is said, displays much cool philosophy at the inconstancy of her once enamoured swain, consoling herself for his loss, in the enjoyment of a splendid annuity." a host of other bewitching forms led my young fancy captive by turns, as my eye travelled round the magic circle of delight: some were, i found, of that yielding spirit, which can pity the young heart's fond desire; with others had secured honourable protection: and if his companion's report was to be credited, there were very few among the enchanting spirits before yet with whom that happiness which springs from virtuous pure affection was to be anticipated. if was no place to moralize, but, to you who know my buoyancy of spirit, and susceptibility of mind, i must confess, the reflection produced a momentary pang of the keenest misery. [illustration: page ] the royal saloon. visit of heartly, lionise, and transit--description of the place--sketches of character--the gambling parsons--horse chaunting, a true anecdote--bang and her friends--moll raffle and the marquis w.--the play man--the touter--the half-pay officer--charles rattle, esq.--life of a modern roué-b------ the tailor--the subject--jarvey and brooks the dissector-- "kill him when you want him" ~ ~~ after the opera, bob transit proposed an adjournment to the royal saloon, in piccadilly, a place of fashionable resort (said bob) for shell-fish and sharks, greeks and pigeons, cyprians and citizens, noble and ignoble--in short, a mighty rendezvous, where every variety of character is to be found, from the finished sharper to the finished gentleman; a scene pregnant with subject for the pencil of the humorist, and full of the richest materials for the close observer of men and manners. hither we retired to make a night of it, or rather to consume the hours between midnight and morning's dawn. the place itself is fitted up in a very novel and attractive style of decoration, admirably calculated for a saloon of pleasure and refreshment; but more resembling a turkish kiosk than an english tavern. on the ground floor, which is of an oblong form and very spacious, are a number of divisions enclosed on each side with rich damask curtains, having each a table and seats for the reception of supper or drinking parties; at the extreme end, and ~ ~~ on each side, mirrors of unusual large dimensions give an infinity of perspective, which greatly increases the magnificence of the place. in the centre of the room are pedestals supporting elegant vases filled with choice exotics. a light and tasteful trellis-work surrounds a gallery above, which forms a promenade round the room, the walls being painted to resemble a conservatory, in which the most luxuriant shrubs are seen spreading their delightful foliage over a spacious dome, from the centre of which is suspended a magnificent chandelier. here are placed, at stated distances, rustic tables, for the accommodation of those who choose coffee and tea; and leading from this, on each side, are several little snug private boudoirs for select parties, perfectly secure from the prying eye of vulgar curiosity, and where only the privileged few are ever permitted to enter. it was in this place, surrounded by well-known greeks, with whom he appeared to be on the most intimate terms, that transit pointed out to my notice the eccentric vicar of k**, the now invisible author of l****, whose aphorisms and conduct bear not the slightest affinity to each other--nor was he the only clerical present; at the head of a jolly party, at an adjoining table, sat the ruby-faced parson john a-----e, late proprietor of the notorious gothic hall, in pall mall, a man of first rate wit and talent, but of the lowest and most depraved habits. "the divine is a character" said bob, "who, according to the phraseology of the ring, is 'good at every thing:' as he came into the world without being duly licensed, so he thinks himself privileged to pursue the most unlicensed conduct in his passage through it. as a specimen of his ingenuity in horse-dealing, i'll give you an anecdote.--it is not long since that the parson invited a party of bucks to dinner, at his snug little villa on the banks of the thames, near richmond, in surrey. previous to the repast, the reverend ~ ~~ led his visitors forth to admire the gardens and surrounding scenery, when just at the moment they had reached the outer gate, a fine noble-looking horse was driven past in a tilbury by a servant in a smart livery.--'what a magnificent animal!' said the parson; 'the finest action i ever beheld in my life: there's a horse to make a man's fortune in the park, and excite the envy and notice of all the town.' 'who does he belong to?' said a young baronet of the party, who had just come out. 'i'll inquire,' said the parson: 'the very thing for you, sir john.' away posts the reverend, bawling after the servant, 'will your master sell that horse, my man?' 'i can't say, sir,' said the fellow, 'but i can inquire, and let you know.' 'do, my lad, and tell him a gentleman here will give a handsome price for him.' away trots the servant, and the party proceed to dinner. as soon as the dessert is brought in, and the third glass circulated, the conversation is renewed relative to the horse--the whole party agree in extolling his qualities; when, just in the nick of time, the servant arrives to say his master being aged and infirm, the animal is somewhat too spirited for him, and if the gentleman likes, he may have him for one hundred guineas. 'a mere trifle,' vociferates the company. 'cheap as rivington's second-hand sermons,' said the parson. the baronet writes a check for the money, and generously gives the groom a guinea for his trouble--drives home in high glee--and sends his servant down next morning to the parson's for his new purchase--orders the horse to be put into his splendid new tilbury, built under the direction of sir john lade--just reaches grosvenor-gate from hamilton-place in safety, when the horse shows symptoms of being a miller. baronet, nothing daunted, touches him smartly under the flank, when up he goes on his fore-quarters, smashes the tilbury into ten thousand pieces, bolts away with the traces and shafts, and leaves the baronet with a broken head ~ ~~ on one side of the road, and his servant with a broken arm on the other. 'where the devil did you get that quiet one from, sir john!' said the honourable fitzroy st-----e, whom the accident had brought to the spot. 'the parson bought him of an old gentleman at richmond yesterday for me.' 'done, brown as a berry,' said fitzroy: 'i sold him only on saturday last to the reverend myself for twenty pounds as an incurable miller. why the old clerical's turned coper{ }--;a new way of raising the wind--letting his friends down easy--gave you a good dinner, i suppose, sir john, and took this method of drawing the bustle{ } for it: an old trick of the reverend's.' after this it is hardly necessary to say, the servant was a confederate, and the whole affair nothing more or less than a true orthodox farce of horse chaunting,{ } got up for the express purpose of raising a temporary supply."{ } a horse-dealer. money. tricking persons into the purchase of unsound or vicious horses. a practice by no means uncommon among a certain description of dashing characters, who find chaunting a horse to a green one, a snug accidental party at chicken hazard, or a confederacy to entrap some inexperienced bird of fashion, where he may be plucked by greek banditti, pay exceedingly well for these occasional dinner parties. at this moment our attention was engaged by the entrance of a party of exquisites and elegantes, dressed in the very extreme of opera costume, who directed their steps to the regions above us. "i'll bet a hundred," said the honourable, "i know that leg," eyeing a divine little foot and a finely turned ankle that was just then discernible from beneath a rich pink drapery, as the possessor ascended the gallery of the conservatory, lounging on the arm of the irish earl of c------; " the best leg in england, and not a bad figure for an ancient," continued lionise: "that is the celebrated mrs. bertram, alias bang--everybody ~ ~~ knows bang; that is, every body in the fashionable world. she must have been a most delightful creature when she first came out, and has continued longer in bloom than any of the present houris of the west; but i forgot you were fresh, and only in training, heartly--i must introduce you to bang: you will never arrive at any eminence among the haut classe unless you can call these beauties by name." "and who the deuce is bang?" said i: "not that elegantly-dressed female whom i see tripping up the gallery stairs yonder, preceded by several other delightful faces." "the same, my dear fellow: a fallen star, to be sure, but yet a planet round whose orbit move certain other little twinkling luminaries whose attractive glimmerings are very likely to enlighten your obscure sentimentality. bang was the daughter of a bathing-woman at brighton, from whence she eloped early in life with a navy lieutenant-has since been well known as a dasher of the first water upon the pave--regularly sports her carriage in the drive--and has numbered among her protectors, at various times, the marquis w------, lord a------, colonel c------, and, lastly, a descendant of the mighty wallace, who, in an auto-biographical sketch, boasts of his intimacy with this fascinating cyprian. she has, however, one qualification, which is not usually found among those of her class--she has had the prudence to preserve a great portion of her liberal allowances, and is now perfectly independent of the world. we must visit one of her evening parties in the neighbourhood of euston-square, when she invites a select circle of her professional sisters to a ball and supper, to which entertainment her male visitors are expected to contribute liberally. she has fixed upon the earl, i should think, more for the honour of the title than with any pecuniary hopes, his dissipation having left him scarce enough to keep up appearances." "the amiable who precedes her," said i, "is of the same class, i ~ ~~ presume--precisely, and equally notorious." "that is the celebrated mrs. l------, better known as moll raffle, from the circumstance of her being actually raffled for, some years since, by the officers of the seventh dragoons, when they were quartered at rochester: like her female friend, she is a woman of fortune, said to be worth eighteen hundred per annum, with which she has recently purchased herself a spanish cavalier for a husband. a curious anecdote is related of moll and her once kind friend, the marquis of w--------, who is said to have given her a bond for seven thousand pounds, on a certain great house, not a mile from hyde-park corner, which he has since assigned to a fortunate general, the present possessor; who, thinking his title complete, proceeded to take possession, but found his entry disputed by the lady, to whom he was eventually compelled to pay the forfeiture of the bond. come along, my boy," said lionise; "i'll introduce you at once to the whole party, and then you can make your own selection." "not at present: i came here for general observation, not private intrigue, and must confess i have seldom found a more diversified scene." "i beg pardon, gentlemen," said an easy good-looking fellow, with something rather imposing in his manner--"shall i intrude here?--will 'you permit me to take a seat in your box?" "by all means," replied i; bob, at the same moment, pressing his elbow into my side, and the exquisite raising his glass very significantly to his eye, the stranger continued--"a very charming saloon this, gentlemen, and the company very superior to the general assemblage at such places: my friend, the earl of c------, yonder, i perceive, amorously engaged; lord p------, too, graces the upper regions with the delightful josephine: really this is quite the café royal of london; the accommodation, too, admirable--not merely confined to refreshments; i am told there are excellent billiard ~ ~~ tables, and snug little private rooms for a quiet rubber, or a little chicken hazard. do you play, gentlemen? very happy to set you for a main or two, by way of killing time." that one word, play, let me at once into the secret of our new acquaintance's character, and fully explained the distant reception and cautious bearing of my associates. my positive refusal to accommodate produced a very polite bow, and the party immediately retired to reconnoitre among some less suspicious visitants. "a nibble," said transit, "from an ivory turner."{ } "by the honour of my ancestry," said lionise, "a very finished sharper; i remember lord f------ pointing him out to me at the last newmarket spring meeting, when we met him, arm in arm, with a sporting baronet. what the fellow was, nobody knows; but he claims a military title--captain, of course--perhaps has formerly held a lieutenancy in a militia regiment: he now commands a corps of sappers on the greek staff, and when he honoured us with a call just now was on the recruiting service, i should think; but our friend, heartly, here, would not stand drill, so he has marched off on the forlorn hope, and is now, you may perceive, concerting some new scheme with a worthy brother touter,{ } who is on the half pay of the british army, and receives full pay in the service of the greeks. we must make a descent into hell some night," said transit, "and sport a few crowns at roulette or rouge et noir, to give heartly his degree. we shall proceed regularly upon college principles, old fellow: first, we will visit the little go in king-street, and then drop into the great go, alias watiers, in piccadilly; after which we can sup in crockford's pandemonium among parliamentary pigeons, unfledged a tats man, a proficient with the bones, one who knows every chance upon the dice. a decoy, who seduces the young or inexperienced to the gaming table, and receives a per centage upon their losses. ~ ~~ ensigns of the guards, broken down titled legs, and ci-devant bankers, fishmongers, and lightermen; and here comes the very fellow to introduce us--an old college chum, charles rattle, who was expelled brazennose for smuggling, and who has since been pretty well plucked by merciless greek banditti and newmarket jockeys, but who bears his losses with the temper of a philosopher, and still pursues the destructive vice with all the infatuation of the most ardent devotee." "how d'ye do, old fellows?--how d'ye do? who would have thought to have met the philosopher (pointing to me) at such a place as this, among the impures of both sexes, legs and leg-ees? come to sport a little blunt with the table or the traders, hey! heartly? always suspected you was no puritan, although you wear such a sentimental visage. well, old fellows, i am glad to see you, however,--come, a bottle of champagne, for i have just cast off all my real troubles--had a fine run of luck to-night--broke the bank, and bolted with all the cash. just in the nick of time-off for epsom to-morrow--double my bets upon the derby, and if the thing comes off right, i'll give somebody a thousand or two to tie me up from playing again above five pounds stakes as long as i live. the best thing you ever heard in your life--a double to do. ned c-----d having heard i had just received a few thousands, by the sale of the yorkshire acres, planned it with colonel t----- to introduce me to the new club, where a regular plant was to be made, by some of his myrmidons, to clear me out, by first letting me win a few thousands, when they were to pounce upon me, double the stakes, and finish me off in prime style, fleecing me out of every guinea--very good-trick and tie, you know, is fair play--and for this very honest service, my friend, the colonel, was to receive a commission, or per centage, in proportion to my losses: the very last man in the world that the old pike could ~ ~~ have baited for in that way--the colonel's down a little, to be sure, but not so low as to turn confederate to a leg--so suppressed his indignation at the proposition, and lent himself to the scheme, informing me of the whole circumstances--well, all right--we determined to give the old one a benefit--dined with him to-day--a very snug party--devilish good dinner--superb wines--drank freely--punished his claret--and having knocked about saint hugh's bones{ } until i was five thousand in pocket, politely took my leave, without giving the parties their revenge. never saw a finer scene in the course of my life-such queer looks, and long faces, and smothered wailings when they found themselves done by a brace of gudgeons, whom they had calculated upon picking to the very bones! come, old fellows, a toast: here's fishmonger's hall, and may every suspected gudgeon prove a shark." the bottle now circulated freely, and the open-hearted rattle delighted us with the relation of some college anecdotes, which i shall reserve for a hearty laugh when we meet. the company continued to increase with the appearance of morning; and here might be seen the abandoned profligate, with his licentious female companion, completing the night's debauch by the free use of intoxicating liquors--the ruined spendthrift, fresh from the gaming-table, loudly calling for wine, to drown the remembrance of his folly, and abusing the drowsy waiter only to give utterance to his irritated feelings. in a snug corner might be seen a party of sober, quiet-looking gentlemen, taking their lobster and bucellas, whose first appearance would impress you with the belief of their respectability, but whom, upon inquiry, you would discover to be greek banditti, retired hither to divide their ill gotten spoils. it was among a party of this description that rattle pointed out a celebrated writer, whose lively style and accurate description of saint hugh's bones, a cant phrase for dice. ~ ~~ men and manners display no common mind. yet here he was seen associated with the most depraved of the human species--the gambler by profession, the common cheat! what wonder that such connexions should have compelled him for a time to become an exile to his country, and on his return involved him in a transaction that has ended in irretrievable ruin and disgrace? "by the honour of my ancestry," said lionise, "yonder is that delectable creature, old crony, the dinner many that is the most surprising animal we have yet found among the modern discoveries--polite to and point--always well dressed--keeps the best society--or, i should say, the best society keeps him: to an amazing fund of the newest on dits and anecdotes of ton, always ready cut and dried, he joins a smattering of the classics, and chops logic with the learned that he may carve their more substantial fare gratis; has a memory tenacious as a chief judge on matter of invitation, and a stomach capacious as a city alderman in doing honour to the feast; pretends to be a connoisseur in wines, although he never possessed above one bottle at a time in his cellaret, i should think, in the whole course of his life; talks about works of art and virtu as if sir joshua reynolds had been his nurse--claude his intimate acquaintance--or praxiteles his great great grandfather. the fellow affects a most dignified contempt for the canaille, because, in truth, they never invite him to dinner--is on the free list of all the theatres, from having formerly been freely hiss'd upon their boards--a retired tragedy king on a small pension, with a republican stomach, who still enacts the starved apothecary at home, from penury, and liberally crams his voracious paunch, stuffing like father paul, when at the table of others. with these habits, he has just managed to scrape together some sixty pounds per annum, upon which, by good management, he contrives to live like an emperor; for instance, he keeps a regular book of ~ invitations, numbers his friends according to the days of the year, and divides and subdivides them in accordance with their habits and pursuits, so that an unexpected invitation requires a reference to his journal: if you invite him for saturday next, he will turn to his tablets, apologise for a previous engagement, run his eye eagerly down the column for an occasional absentee, and then invite himself for some day in the ensuing week, to which your politeness cannot fail to accede. you will meet him in london, brighton, bath, cheltenham, and margate during the fashionable periods; at all of which places he has his stated number of dinner friends, where his presence is as regularly looked for as the appearance of the swallow. among the play men he is useful as a looker on, to make one at the table when they are thin of customers, or to drink a young one into a proper state for plucking: in other society he coins compliments for the fair lady of the mansion, extols his host's taste and good fellowship at table, tells a smutty story to amuse the _bon vivants_ in their cups, or recites a nursery rhyme to send the children quietly to bed; and in this manner crony manages to come in for a good dinner every day of his life. call on him for a song, and he'll give you, what he calls, a free translation of a latin ode, by old walter de mapes, archdeacon of oxford in the eleventh century, a true _gourmands_ prayer-- mihi est propositum in tabernâ mon.' i'll try and hum you crony's english version of the cantilena. 'i'll in a tavern end my days, midst boon companions merry, place at my lips a lusty flask replete with sparkling sherry, that angels, hov'ring round, may cry, when i lie dead as door-nail, 'rise, genial deacon, rise, and drink of the well of life eternal.' ***** ~ ~~ 'various implements belong to ev'ry occupation; give me an haunch of venison--and a fig for inspiration! verses and odes without good cheer, i never could indite 'em; sure he who meagre, days devised is d-----d ad infinitum! ***** 'mysteries and prophetic truths, i never could unfold 'em without a flagon of good wine and a slice of cold ham; but when i've drained my liquor out, and eat what's in the dish up, though i am but an arch-deacon, i can preach like an arch- bishop.'" "a good orthodox ode," said transit, "and admirably suited to the performer, who, after all, it must be allowed, is a very entertaining fellow, and well worthy of his dinner, from the additional amusement he affords. i remember meeting him in company with the late lord coleraine, the once celebrated colonel george hanger, when he related an anecdote of the humorist, which his lordship freely admitted to be founded on fact. as i have never seen it in print, or heard it related by any one since, you shall have it instanter: it is well known that our present laughter-loving monarch was, in earlier years, often surrounded, when in private, by a coruscation of wit and talent, which included not only the most distinguished persons in the state, but also some celebrated bon vivants and amateur vocalists, among whom the names of the duke of orleans, earl of derby, charles james fox, richard brinsley sheridan, the facetious poet lauréat to the celebrated beefsteak club, tom hewardine, sir john moore, mr brownlow, captain thompson, bate dudley, captain morris, and colonel george hanger, formed the most conspicuous characters at the princely anacreontic board. but 'who would be grave--when wine can save the heaviest soul from thinking, and magic grapes give angel's shapes to every girl we're drinking!' ~ ~~ it was on one of these festive occasions, when whim, and wit, and sparkling wine combined to render the festive scene the 'feast of reason and the flow of soul,' that the prince of wales invited himself and his brother, the duke of york, to dine with george hanger. an honour so unlooked for, and one for which george was so little prepared (as he then resided in obscure lodgings near soho-square), quite overpowered the colonel, who, however, quickly recovering his surprise, assured his royal highness of the very high sense he entertained of the honour intended him, but lamented it was not in his power to receive him, and his illustrious brother, in a manner suitable to their royal dignity. 'you only wish to save your viands, george,' said the prince: 'we shall certainly dine with you on the day appointed; and whether you reside on the first floor or the third, never mind--the feast will not be the less agreeable from the altitude of the apartment, or the plainness of the repast.' thus encouraged, george was determined to indulge in a joke with his royal visitors. on the appointed day, the prince and duke arrived, and were shown up stairs to george's apartments, on the second floor, where a very tasteful banquet was set out, but more distinguished by neatness than splendour: after keeping his illustrious guests waiting a considerable period beyond the time agreed on, by way of sharpening their appetites, the prince good-humouredly inquired what he meant to give them for dinner?' only one dish,' said george; 'but that one will, i flatter myself, be a novelty to my royal guests, and prove highly palatable.' 'and what may that be?' said the prince. 'the wing of a wool-bird,' replied the facetious colonel. it was in vain the prince and duke conjectured what this strange title could import, when george appeared before them with a tremendous large red baking dish, ~ ~~ smoking hot, in which was supported a fine well-browned shoulder of mutton, dropping its rich gravy over some crisp potatoes. the prince and his brother enjoyed the joke amazingly, and they have since been heard to declare, they never ate a heartier meal in their life, or one (from its novelty to them in the state in which it was served up), which they have relished more. george had, however, reserved a _bonne bouche_, in a superb dessert and most exquisite wines, for which the prince had heard he was famous, and which was, perhaps, the principal incitement to the honour conferred." after a night spent in the utmost hilarity, heightened by the vivacity and good-humour of my associates, to which might be added, the full gratification of my prevailing _penchant_ for the observance of character, we were on the point of departing, when transit, ever on the alert in search of variety, observed a figure whom (in his phrase) he had long wished to book; in a few moments a sketch of this eccentric personage was before us. "that is the greatest original we have yet seen," said our friend bob: "he is now in the honourable situation of croupier to one of the most notorious hells in the metropolis. this poor devil was once a master tailor of some respectability, until getting connected with a gang of sharpers, he was eventually fleeced of all his little property: his good-natured qualifications, and the harmless pleasantries with which he abounds, pointed him out as a very proper person to act as a confederate to the more wealthy legs; from a pigeon he became a bird of prey, was enlisted into the corps, and regularly initiated into all the diabolical mysteries of the black art. for some time he figured as a decoy upon the town, dressed in the first style of fashion, and driving an unusually fine horse and elegant stanhope, until a circumstance, arising out of a ~ ~~ joke played off upon him by his companions, when in a state of intoxication, made him so notorious, that his usefulness in that situation was entirely frustrated, and, consequently, he has since been employed within doors, in the more sacred mysteries of the greek temple. the gentleman i mean is yonder, with the joliffe tile and sharp indented countenance: his real name is b------; but he has now obtained the humorous cognomen of 'the subject' from having been, while in a state of inebriety, half stripped, put into a sack, and in this manner conveyed to the door of mr. brooks, the celebrated anatomist in blenheim-street, by a hackney night-coachman, who was known to the party as the resurrection jarvey. on his being deposited in this state at the lecturer's door, by honest jehu, who offered him for sale, the surgeon proceeded to examine his subject, when, untying the sack, he discovered the man was breathing: 'why, you scoundrel,' said the irritable anatomist, 'the man's not dead.' 'not dead!' re-echoed coachee, laughing at the joke, 'why, then, kill him when you want him!' the consequence of this frolic had, however, nearly proved more serious than the projectors anticipated: the anatomist, suspecting it was some trick to enter his house for burglarious purposes, gave the alarm, when jarvey made his escape; but poor b------was secured, and conveyed the next morning to marlborough-street, where it required all the ingenuity of a celebrated old bailey solicitor to prevent his being committed for the attempt to rob a bonehouse." after this anecdote, we all agreed to separate. transit would fain have led us to the covent-garden finish, which he describes as being unusually rich in character; but this was deferred until another night, when i shall introduce you to some new acquaintances.--adieu. lady mary oldstyle and the d'almaine family are off to-morrow for brighton, from which place expect some few descriptive sketches. horatio heartly. [illustration: page ] the spread,{ } or wine party at brazen-nose. ~ ~~ "hear, momus, hoar! blithe sprite, whose dimpling cheek of quips, and cranks ironic, seems to speak, who lovest learned victims, and whose shrine groans with the weight of victims asinine. nod with assent! thy lemon juice infuse! though of male sex, i woo thee for a muse." _a college wine party described--singular whim of horace eglantine--meeting of the oxford crackademonians--sketches of eccentric characters, drawn from the life--the doctor's daughter--an old song--a round of sculls--epitaphs on the living and the dead--tom tick, a college tale--the voyagers --notes and anecdotes._ a college wine party i could very well conceive from the specimen i had already of my companion's frolicsome humours, was not unlikely to produce some departure from college rules which might eventually involve me in _rustication, fine_, or _imposition_. to avoid it was impossible; it was the first invitation of an early friend, and must be obeyed. the anticipation of a bilious head-ache on the morrow, or perhaps a first appearance before, or lecture from, the vice-chancellor, principal, or proctor, made me somewhat tardy in my appearance at the _spread_. the butler was just marching a second a spread. a wine party of from thirty to one hundred and twenty persons. the party who gives the spread generally invites all the under-graduates he is acquainted with; a dessert is ordered either from jubber's, or sadler's, for the number invited, for which he is charged at per head. ~ ~~ reinforcement of _black men, or heavy artillery_ from the college magazine, across the quadrangle, for the use of the dignitaries' table; when i, a poor solitary _freshman_, advanced with sentimental awe and fearful stride beneath the arched entrance of brazen-nose. where eglantine's rooms were situated i had no means of knowing, his card supplying only the name of his college; to make some inquiry would be necessary, but of whom, not a creature but what appeared much too busily employed, as they ran to and fro laden with wine and viands, to answer the interrogatories of a stranger. i was on the point of retreating to obtain the requisite information from the waiter at the mitre, when old mark supple made his appearance, with "your servant, sir: i have been in search of you at your inn, by command of mr. eglantine, _take notice_--who with a large party of friends are waiting your company to a _spread_." "a large party, mark?" said i, suspecting there was some secret drama in rehearsal, in which i was to play a principal part. "a very large party, sir, and a very extraordinary one too, _take notice_--such a collection as i never saw before within the walls of a college--living curiosities, _take notice_--all the _comicals_ of oxford brought together,{ } and this this adventure, strange as it may appear, actually occurred a short time since, when mr. j*****n of brazen-nose invited the characters here named to an entertainment in the college. sir richard steele, when on a visit to edinburgh, indulged in a similar freak: he made a splendid feast, and whilst the servants were wondering for what great personages it was intended, he sent them into the streets, to collect all the eccentrics, beggars, and poor people, that chance might throw in their way, and invite them to his house. a pretty large party being mustered, they were well plied with whiskey-punch and wine; when, forgetting their cares, and free from all restraint, they gave loose to every peculiarity of their respective characters. when the entertainment was over, sir richard declared, that besides the pleasure of filling so many hungry bellies, and enjoying an hour of rich amusement, he had gleaned from them humour enough to form a good comedy, or at least a farce. the spread, or wine party at brazen-nose is what mr. eglantine calls his _museum of character_, but which i should call a _regiment of caricatures, take notice_--but i heard him say, that he had invited them on purpose to surprise you; that he knew you was fond of eccentricity, and that he thought he had prepared a great treat. i only wish he may get rid of them as easily as he brought them there, for if the bull-dogs should gain scent of them there would be a pretty row, _take notice_." mark's information, instead of producing the alarm he evidently anticipated, had completely dispelled all previous fears, and operated like the prologue to a rich comedy, from which i expected to derive considerable merriment: following, therefore, my conductor up one flight of stairs on the opposite side of the space from which i had entered, i found myself at the closed _oak_ of my friend. "mr. eglantine is giving them a _chaunt_" said mark, who had applied his ear to the key-hole of the door: "we must wait till the song is over, or you will be fined in a double bumper of _bishop_, for interrupting the _stave, take notice_." curiosity prompted me to follow mark's example, when i overheard horace chanting part of an old satirical ballad on john wilkes, to the tune of the dragon of wantley; commencing with-- and ballads i have heard rehearsed by harmonists itinerant, who modern worthies celebrate, yet scarcely make a dinner on't. some of whom sprang from noble race, and some were in a pig-sty born, dependent upon royal grace or triple tree of tyburn. chorus. john wilkes he was for middlesex, they chose him knight of the shire: he made a fool of alderman bull, and call'd parson home a liar. ~ ~~ the moment silence was obtained, old mark gave three distinct knocks at the door, when horace himself appeared, and we were immediately admitted to the temple of the muses; where, seated round a long table, appeared a variety of characters that would have rivalled (from description) the beggars' club in st. giles's--the covent-garden finish--or the once celebrated peep o' day boys in fleet-lane. at the upper end of the table were tom echo and bob transit, the first smoking his cigar, the second sketching the portraits of the motley group around him on the back of his address cards; at the lower end of the room, on each side of the chair from which eglantine had just risen to welcome me, sat little dick gradus, looking as knowing as an old bailey counsel dissecting a burglary case, and the honourable lillyman lionise, the eton _exquisite_, looking as delicate and frightened as if his whole system of ethics was likely to be revolutionized by this night's entertainment. to such a society a formal introduction was of course deemed essential; and this favour horace undertook by recommending me to the particular notice of the _crackademonians_ (as he was pleased to designate the elegant assemblage by whom we were then surrounded), in the following oration: "most noble _cracks_, and worthy cousin _trumps_--permit me to introduce a brother of the _togati, fresh_ as a new-blown rose, and innocent as the lilies of st. clement's. be unto him, as ye have been to all gownsmen from the beginning, ever ready to promote his wishes, whether for spree or sport, in term or out of term--against the _inquisition_ and their _bull-dogs_--the town _raff_ and the _bargees_--well _blunted or stiver cramped_--against _dun or don--nob or big wig_--so may you never want a bumper of _bishop_: and thus do i commend him to your merry keeping." "full charges, boys," said echo, "fill up their glasses, count dennett{ }; count dennett, hair-dresser at corpus and oriel colleges, a very eccentric man, who has saved considerable property; celebrated for making bishops' wigs, playing at cribbage, and psalm-singing. ~ ~~here's brother blackmantle of brazen-nose." "a speech, a speech!" vociferated all the party. "yes, worthy brother _cracks_," replied i, "you shall have a speech, the very acme of oratory; a brief speech, composed by no less a personage than the great lexicographer himself, and always used by him on such occasions at the club in ivy-lane. here's all your healths, and _esto perpétua_." "bravo!" said eglantine;" the boy improves. now a toast, a university lass--come, boys, the doctor's daughter; and then a song from crotchet c--ss."{ } burton ale. an ancient oxford ditty. of all the belles who christ church bless, none's like the doctor's daughter{ }; who hates affected squeamishness almost as much as water. unlike your modern dames, afraid of bacchus's caresses; she far exceeds the stoutest maid of excellent queen bess's. hers were the days, says she, good lack, the days to drink and munch in; when butts of burton, tuns of sack, wash'd down an ox for luncheon. confound your _nimpy-pimpy_ lass, who faints and fumes at liquor; give me the girl that takes her glass like moses and the vicar. mr. c--ss, otherwise crotchet c--ss, bachelor of music, and organist of christ church college, st. john's college, and st. mary's church. an excellent musician, and a jolly companion: he published, some time since, a volume of chants. a once celebrated university toast, with whose eccentricities we could fill a volume; but having received an intimation that it would be unpleasant to the lady's feelings, we gallantly forbear. ~ ~~ true emblem of immortal ale, so famed in british lingo; stout, beady, and a little _stale_-- long live the burton stingo! "a vulgar ditty, by my faith," said the exquisite, "in the true english style, all _fol de rol_, and a vile chorus to split the tympanum of one's auricular organs: do, for heaven's sake, echo, let us have some _divertissement_ of a less boisterous character." "agreed," said eglantine, winking at echo; "we'll have a _round of sculls_. every man shall sing a song, write a poetical epitaph on his right hand companion, or drink off a double dose of rum booze."{ } "then i shall be confoundedly _cut_," said dick gradus, "for i never yet could chant a stave or make a couplet in my life." "and i protest against a practice," said lionise, "that has a tendency to trifle with one's _transitory tortures_." "no appeal from the chair," said eglantine: "another bumper, boys; here's the fair _nuns of st. clement's_." "to which i beg leave to add," said echo, "by way of rider, their favourite pursuit, _the study of the fathers_." by the time these toasts had been duly honoured, some of the party displayed symptoms of being _moderately cut_, when echo commenced by reciting his epitaph on his next friend, bob transit:-- here rests a wag, whose pencil drew life's characters of varied hue, bob transit--famed in humour's sphere for many a transitory year. though dead, still in the "english spy" he'll live for ever to the eye. here uncle white{ } reclines in peace, secure from nephew and from niece. rum booze--flip made of white or port wine, the yolks of eggs, sugar and nutmeg. uncle white, a venerable bed-maker of all souls' college, eighty-three years of age; has been in the service of the college nearly seventy years: is always dressed in black, and wears very largo silver knee and shoe-buckles; his hair, which is milk-white, is in general tastefully curled: he is known "to, and called uncle by, every inhabitant of the university, and obtained the cog-nomen from his having an incredible number of nephews and nieces in oxford. in appearance he somewhat resembles a clergyman of the old school. ~ ~~ of all-souls' he, alive or dead; of milk-white name, the milk-white head. by uncle white. here lies billy chadwell,{ } who perform'd the duties of a dad well. by billy chadwell. ye maggots, now's your time to crow: old boggy hastings{ } rests below. by boggy hastings. a grosser man ne'er mix'd with stones than lies beneath--'tis figgy jones.{ } by figgy jones. here marquis wickens{ } lies incrust, in clay-cold consecrated dust: no more he'll brew, or pastry bake; his sun is set--himself a cake. billy chadwell, of psalm-singing notoriety, since dead; would imitate syncope so admirably, as to deceive a whole room full of company--in an instant he would become pale, motionless, and ghastly as death; the action of his heart has even appeared to be diminished: his sham fits, if possible, exceeded his fainting. he was very quarrelsome when in his cups; and when he had aggravated any one to the utmost, to save himself from a severe beating would apparently fall into a most dreadful fit, which never failed to disarm his adversary of his rage, and to excite the compassion of every by-stander. old boggy hastings supplies members of the university and college servants who are anglers with worms and maggots. tommy j***s, alias figgy jones, an opulent grocer in the high-street, and a common-councilman in high favour with the lower orders of the freemen; a sporting character. marquis wickens formerly a confectioner, and now a common brewer. he accumulated considerable property as a confectioner, from placing his daughters, who were pretty genteel girls, behind his counter, where they attracted a great many gownsmen to the shop. no tradesman ever gained a fortune more rapidly than this man: as soon as he found himself inde-pendent of the university, he gave up his shop, bought the sun inn, built a brewhouse, and is now gaining as much money by selling beer as he formerly did by confectionery. ~ ~~ by marquis wickens. ye _roués_ all, be sad and mute; who now shall cut the stylish suit? _buck_ sheffield's{ }gone--ye oxford men, where shall ye meet his like again? by buck sheffield. maclean{ } or _tackle_, which you will, in quiet sleeps beneath this hill. ye anglers, bend with one accord; the stranger is no more abroad. by maclean. here rests a punster, jemmy wheeler{ } in wit and whim a wholesale dealer; unbound by care, he others bound, and now lies gathered underground. sheffield, better known by the name of buck sheffield, a master tailor and a member of the common council. maclean, an old bacchanalian scotchman, better known by the name of tackle: a tall thin man, who speaks the broad scotch dialect; makes and mends fishing-tackle for members of the university; makes bows and arrows for those who belong to the archery society; is an indifferent musician, occasionally amuses under-graduates in their apartments by playing to them country dances and marches on the flute or violin. he published his life a short time since, in a thin octavo pamphlet, entitled "the stranger abroad, or the history of myself," by maclean. jemmy wheeler of magpie-lane, a bookbinder, of punning celebrity; has published two or three excellent versified puns in the oxford herald. he is a young man of good natural abilities, but unfortunately applies them occasionally to a loose purpose. ~ ~~ by jemmy wheeler. a speedy-man, by nimble foe, lies buried in the earth below: the baron perkins,{ } mercury to all the university. men of new college, mourn his fate, who _early_ died by drinking _late_. by baron perkins. ye oxford _duns_, you're done at last; here smiler w----d{ } is laid fast. no more his _oak_ ye need assail; he's book'd inside a wooden jail. by smiler w---- of c---- college. a thing called exquisite rests here: for human nature's sake i hope, without uncharitable trope, 'twill ne'er among us more appear. william perkins, alias baron perkins, alias the baron, a very jovial watchman of holywell, the new college speedy- man,{*} and factotum to new college. mr. w----d, alias smiler w----d, a commoner of ----. this gentleman is always laughing or smiling; is long-winded, and consequently pestered with _duns_, who are sometimes much chagrined by repeated disappointments; but let them be ever so crusty, he never fails in laughing them into a good humour before they leave his room. it was over smiler's oak in----, that some wag had printed and stuck up the following notice: men traps and spring guns set here to catch _duns_. * a _speedy-man_ at new college is a person employed to take a letter to the master of winchester school from the warden of new college, acquaint-ing him that a fellowship or scholarship is become vacant in the college, and requiring him to send forthwith the next senior boy. the speedy-man always performs his journey on foot, and within a given time. ~ ~~ by lillyman lionise. here rests a poet--heaven keep him quiet, for when above he lived a life of riot; enjoy'd his joke, and drank his share of wine-- a mad wag he, one horace eglantine.{ } the good old orthodox beverage now began to display its potent effects upon the heads and understandings of the party. all restraint being completely banished by the effect of the liquor, every one indulged in their characteristic eccentricities. dick gradus pleaded his utter incapability to sing or produce an impromptu rhyme, but was allowed to substitute a prose epitaph on the renowned school-master of magdalen parish, fatty t--b,{ } who lay snoring under the table. "it shall be read over him in lieu of burial service," said echo. "agreed, agreed," vociferated all the party; and jemmy this whim of tagging rhymes and epitaphs, adopted by horace eglantine, is of no mean authority. during the convivial administration of lord north, when the ministerial dinners were composed of such men as the lords sandwich, weymouth, thurlow, richard rigby, &c, various pleasantries passed current for which the present time would be deemed too refined. among others, it was the whim of the day to call upon each member, after the cloth was drawn, to tag a rhyme to the name of his left hand neighbour. it was first proposed by lord sandwich, to raise a laugh against the facetious lord north, who happened to sit next to a mr. mellagen, a name deemed incapable of a rhyme. luckily, however, for lord north, that gentleman had just informed him of an accident that had befallen him near the pump in pall mall; when, therefore, it came to his turn, he wrote the following distich:-- oh! pity poor mr. mellagen, who walking along pall mall, hurt his foot when down he fell, and fears he won't get well again. fatty t----, better known as the sixpenny schoolmaster: a little fat man, remarkable for his love of good living. ~ ~~ jumps,{ } the parish clerk of saint peter's, was instantly mounted on a chair, at the head of the defunct schoolmaster, to recite the following whim:-- epitaph on a glutton. beneath this table lie the remains of fatty t***; who more than performed the duties of an excellent eater, an unparalleled drinker, and a truly admirable sleeper. his stomach was as disinterested as his appetite was good; so that his impartial tooth alike chewed the mutton of the poor,and the turtle of the rich. james james, alias jemmy jumps, alias the oxford caleb quotum, a stay-maker, and parish-clerk of saint peter le bailey--plays the violin to parties on water excursions, attends public-house balls--is bellows-blower and factotum at the music-room--attends as porter to the philharmonic and oxford choral societies--is constable of the race-course and race balls--a bill distributor and a deputy collector of poor rates--calls his wife his _solio_. he often amuses his companions at public-houses by reciting comic tales in verse. a woman who had lost a relative desired jemmy jumps to get a brick grave built. on digging up a piece of ground which had not been opened for many years, he discovered a very good brick grave, and, to his great joy, also discovered that its occupant had long since mouldered into dust. he cleaned the grave out, procured some reddle and water, brushed the bricks over with it, and informed the person that he had a most excellent _second-hand grave to sell as good as new_, and if she thought it would suit her poor departed friend, would let her have it at half the price of a new one: this was too good an offer to be rejected; but jemmy found, on measuring the coffin, that his second-hand grave was too short, and consequently was obliged to dig the earth away from the end of the grave and beat the bricks in with a beetle, before it would admit its new tenant. ~ ~~ he was a zealous opposer of the aqua-_arian_ heresy, a steady devourer of beef-steaks, a stanch and devout advocate for _spiced bishop_, a firm friend to bill holland's _double x_, and an active disseminator of the bottle, he was ever uneasy unless employed upon the good things of this world; and the interment of a _swiss_ or lion, or the dissolution of a pasty, was his great delight. he died full of drink and victuals, in the undiminished enjoyment of his digestive faculties, in the forty-fifth year of his appetite. the collegians inscribed this memento, in perpetual remembrance of his _pieous_ knife and fork. "very well for a _trencher_ man," said horace; "now we must have a recitation from strasburg.{ } come, you jolly old teacher of hebrew, mount the rostrum, and "give us a taste of your quality." "ay, or by heavens we'll baptize him with a bumper of bishop," said echo. "for conscience sake, mishter echo, conshider vat it is you're about; i can no more shpeek in english than i can turn christian--i've drank so much of your red port to-day as voud make anoder red sea." "ay, and you shall be drowned in it, you old _sheenie_," said tom, "if you don't give us a speech." "a speech, a speech!" resounded from all { } strasburg, an eccentric jew, who gave lessons in hebrew to members of the university. ~ ~~the yet living subjects of the party. "veil, if i musht, i musht; but i musht do it by shubstitute then; my old friend, mark supple here, vill give you the history of tom tick." to this echo assented, on account of the allusions it bore to the albanians, some of whom were of the party. old mark, mounted on the chair at the upper end of the table, proceeded with the tale. [illustration: page ] the oxford rake's progress. tom was a tailor's heir, a dashing blade, whose sire in trade enough had made, by cribbage, short skirts, and little capes, long bills, and items for buckram, tapes, buttons, twist, and small ware; which swell a bill out so delightfully, or perhaps i should say frightfully, ~ ~~ that is, if it related to myself. suffice it to be told in wealth he roll'd, and being a fellow of some spirit, set up his coach; to 'scape reproach, he put the tailor on the shelf, and thought to make his boy a man of merit. on old etona's classic ground, tom's infant years in circling round were spent 'mid greek and latin; the boy had parts both gay and bright, a merry, mad, facetious sprite, with heart as soft as satin. for sport or spree tom never lack'd; a _con_{ } with all, his sock he crack'd with _oppidan_ or gownsman: could _smug_ a sign, or quiz the _dame_, or row, or ride, or poach for game, with _cads_, or eton townsmen. tom's _admiral_ design'd, most dads are blind to youthful folly, that tom should be a man of learning, to show his parent's great discerning, a parson rich and jolly. to oxford tom in due time went, upon degree d.d. intent, but more intent on ruin: _a freshman_, steering for the _port of stuff's_,{ } round _isle matricula_, and _isthmus of grace_, intent on living well and little doing. here tom came out a dashing blood, kept doll at woodstock, and a stud for hunting, race, or tandem; could _bag_ a proctor, _floor a raff_, or stifle e'en a _hull-dog's gaff_, get _bosky_, drive at random. eton phraseology--a friend. oxford phraseology--all these terms have been explained in an earlier part of the work. ~ ~~ [illustration: page ] but long before the first term ended, tom was inform'd, unless he mended, he'd better change his college. which said, the _don_ was hobbling to the shelf where college butler keeps his book of _battell_; tom nimbly ran, erased his name himself, to save the scandal of the students' prattle. in oxford, be it known, there is a place where all the mad wags in disgrace retire to improve their knowledge; the town _raff_ call it _botany bay_, its inmates _exiles, convicts_, and they say saint alban takes the student refugees: here tom, to 'scape _point non plus_, took his seat after a _waste of ready_--found his feet safe on the shores of indolence and ease; here, 'mid choice spirits, in the _isle of flip_, dad's will, and _sapping_, valued not young _snip_; scapula, homer, lexicon, laid by, join'd the peep-of-day boys in full cry.{ } a saving sire a sad son makes this adage suits most modern rakes, it was in the actual participation of these bacchanalian orgies, during the latter days of dr. w----y, the former head of the hall, when infirmities prevented his exercising the necessary watchful-ness over the buoyant spirits committed to his charge, that my friend bob transit and myself were initiated into the mysteries of the albanians. the accompanying scene, so faithfully delineated by his humorous pencil, will be fresh in the recollection of the _choice spirits_ who mingled in the joyous revelry. to particularise character would be to "betray the secrets of the prison-house," and is besides wholly unnecessary, every figure round the board being a portrait; kindred souls, whose merrie laughter-loving countenances and jovial propensities, will be readily recognised by every son of _alma mater_ who was at oxford during the last days of the _beaux esprits_ of alban hall. (_see plate_.) in justice to the learned grecian who now presides, it should be told, that these scenes are altogether suppressed. ~ ~~ and tom above all others. i should have told before, he was an only child, and therefore privileged to be gay and wild, having no brothers, whom his example might mislead into extravagance, or deed ridiculous and foolish. three tedious years in oxford spent, in midnight brawl and merriment, tom bid adieu to college, to cassock-robe of orthodox, to construe and decline--the box, supreme in stable knowledge; to dash on all within the ring, bet high, play deep, or rioting, at long's to sport his figure in honour's cause, some small affair give modern bucks a finish'd air, tom pull'd the fatal trigger. he kill'd his friend--but then remark, his friend had kill'd another spark, so 'twas but trick and tie. the cause of quarrel no one knew, not even tom,--away he flew, till time and forms of law, to fashionable vices blind, excuses for the guilty find, call murder a _faux pas_. the tinsell'd coat next struck his pride, how dashing in the park to ride a cornet of dragoons; upon a charger, thorough bred, to show off with a high plumed head, the gaze of legs and spoons; to rein him up in all his paces, then splash the passing trav'lers' faces, and spur and caper by; ~ ~~ get drunk at mess, then sally out to lisle-street fair, or beat a scout, or black a waiter's eye. of all the clubs,--the clippers, screws, the fly-by-nights, four horse, and blues, the daffy, snugs, and peep-o-day, tom's an elect; at all the hells, at bolton-row, with tip-top swells, and tat's men, deep he'd play. his debts oft paid by snyder's{ } pelf, who paid at last a debt himself, which all that live must pay. tom book'd{ } the old one snug inside, wore sables, look'd demure and sigh'd some few short hours away; till from the funeral return'd, then tom with expectation burn'd to hear his father's will:-- "twice twenty thousand pounds in cash,"-- "that's prime," quoth tom, "to cut a dash "at races or a mill,"-- "all my leaseholds, house and plate, my pictures and freehold estate, i give my darling heir; not doubting but, as i in trade by careful means this sum have made, he'll double it with care."-- "ay, that i will, i'll hit the nick, seven's the main,--here ned and dick bring down my blue and buff; take off the hatband, banish grief, 'tis time to turn o'er a new leaf, sorrow's but idle stuff." fame, trumpet-tongued, tom's wealth reports, his name is blazon'd at the courts of carlton and the fives. his equipage, his greys, his dress, his polish'd self, so like _noblesse_, "is ruin's sure perquise." flash for tailor. screwed up in his coffin. ~ ~~ beau brummell's bow had not the grace, alvanly stood eclipsed in face, the _roués_ all were mute, so exquisite, so chaste, unique, the mark for every leg and greek, who play the concave suit.{ } at almack's, paradise o' the west, tom's hand by prince and peer is press'd, and fashion cries supreme. his op'ra box, and little quean, to lounge, to see, and to be seen, makes life a pleasant dream. such dreams, alas! are transient light, a glow of brightness and delight, that wakes to years of pain. tom's round of pleasure soon was o'er, and clam'rous _duns_ assail the door when credit's on the wane. his riches pay his folly's price, and vanish soon a sacrifice, then friendly comrades fly; his ev'ry foible dragg'd to light, and faults (unheeded) crowd in sight, asham'd to show his face. beset by tradesmen, lawyers, _bums_,{ } he sinks where fashion never comes, a wealthier takes his place. _beat at all points, floor'd, and clean'd out_, tom yet resolv'd to brave it out, cards cut in a peculiar manner, to enable the leg to fleece his pigeon securely. "persons employed by the sheriff to hunt and seize human prey: they are always bound in sureties for the due execution of their office, and thence are called _bound bailiff's_, which the common people have corrupted into a much more homely ex-pression--_to wit, bum-bailiffs or bums_."--l _black com_. . ~ ~~ if die he must, die game. some few months o'er, again he strays 'midst scenes of former halcyon days, on other projects bent; no more ambitious of a name, or mere unprofitable fame, on gain he's now intent, to deal a flush, or cog a die, or plan a deep confed'racy to pluck a pigeon bare. elected by the legs a brother, his plan is to entrap some other in greeting's fatal snare. here for a time his arts succeed, but vice like his, it is decreed, can never triumph long: a noble, who had been his prey, convey'd the well cogg'd bones away, exposed them to the throng. now blown, "his occupation's" o'er, indictments, actions, on him pour, his ill got wealth must fly; and faster than it came, the law can fraud's last ill got shilling draw, tom's pocket soon drain'd dry. again at sea, a wreck, struck down, by fickle fortune and the town, without the means to bolt. his days in bed, for fear of bums, at night among the legs he comes, who gibe him for a dolt. he's cut, and comrades, one by one, avoid him as they would a dun. here finishes our tale-- tom tick, the life, the soul, the whim of courts and fashion when in trim, is left-- waiting for bail. ~ ~~ [illustration: page ] by the time old mark supple had finished his somewhat lengthy tale, the major part of the motley group of eccentrics who surrounded us were terribly cut: the garrulous organ of jack milburn was unable to articulate a word; _goose_ b----l, the gourmand, was crammed full, and looked, as he lay in the arms of morpheus, like a fat citizen on the night of a lord mayor's dinner--a lump of inanimate mortality. in one corner lay a poor little grecian, papa chrysanthus demetriades, whom tom echo had plied with bishop till he fell off his chair; count dennet was safely deposited beside him; and old will stewart,{ } the poacher, was just humming himself to sleep with the fag end of an old ballad as he sat upon the ground portraits of the three last-mentioned eccentrics will be found in page , sketched from the life. ~ ~~ resting his back against the defunct grecian. a diminutive little cripple, johnny holloway, was sleeping between his legs, upon whose head tom had fixed a wig of immense size, crowned with an opera hat and a fox's tail for a feather. "now to bury the dead," said eglantine; "let in the lads, mark." "now we shall have a little sport, old fellows," said echo: "come, transit, where are your paints and brushes?" in a minute the whole party were most industriously engaged in disfiguring the objects around us by painting their faces, some to resemble tattooing, while others were decorated with black eyes, huge mustachios, and different embellishments, until it would have been impossible for friend or relation to have recognised any one of their visages. this ceremony being completed, old mark introduced a new collection of worthies, who had been previously instructed for the sport; these were, i found, no other than the well-known oxford _cads_, marston will, tom webb, harry bell, and dick rymal,{ } all out and outers, as echo reported, for a spree with the gown, who had been regaled at some neighbouring public house by eglantine, to be in readiness for the wind-up of his eccentric entertainment; to the pious care of these worthies were consigned the strange-looking mortals who surrounded us. the plan was, i found, to carry them out quietly between two men, deposit them in a cart which they had in waiting, and having taken them to the water-side, place them in a barge and send them drifting down the water in the night to iffley, where their consternation on recovering the next morning and strange appearance would be sure to create a source of merriment both for the city and university. the instructions were most punctually obeyed, and the amusement the freak afterwards afforded the good people of oxford will not very well-known sporting cads, who are always ready to do a good turn for the _togati_, either for sport or spree. ~ ~~quickly be forgotten. thus ended the spread--and now having taken more than my usual quantity of wine, and being withal fatigued by the varied amusements of the evening, i would fain have retired to rest: but this, i found, would be contrary to good fellowship, and not at all in accordance with _college principles_. "we must have a spree" said echo, "by way of finish, the rum ones are all shipped off safely by this time--suppose we introduce blackmantle to our _grandmamma_, and the pretty _nuns_ of st. clement's." "soho, my good fellows," said transit; "we had better defer our visit in that direction until the night is more advanced. the old don{ } of----, remember, celebrates the paphian mysteries in that quarter occasionally, and we may not always be able to _shirk_ him as effectually as on the other evening, when echo and myself were snugly enjoying a _tête-a-tête_ with maria b----and little agnes s----{ }; we accidentally caught a glimpse of _old morality_ cautiously toddling after the pious mrs. a--ms, _vide-licet_ of arts,{ } a lady who has been regularly matriculated at this university, and taken up her degrees some years since. it was too rich a bit to lose, and although at the risk of discovery, i booked it immediately _eo instunti. 'exegi monumentum aere perennius_'--and here it is." we all must reverence dons; and i'm about to talk of dons--irreverently i doubt. for many a priest, when sombre evening gray mantles the sky, o'er maudlin bridge will stray-- forget his oaths, his office, and his fame, and mix in company i will not name. _aphrodisiacal licenses_. paphian divinities in high repute at oxford. pretty much in the same sense, probably, in which moore's gifted leman fanny is by him designated mistress of arts. and oh!--if a fellow like me may confer a diploma of hearts, with my lip thus i seal your degree, my divine little mistress of arts. for an account of fan's proficiency in astronomy, ethics, (not the nicomachean), and eloquence, see moore's epistles, vol. ii. p. . ~ ~~ [illustration: pge ] "an excellent likeness, i'faith, is it," said eglantine; whose eyes twinkled like stars amid the wind-driven clouds, and whose half clipped words and unsteady motion sufficiently evinced that he had paid due attention to the old laws of potation. "there's nothing like the _cloth_ for comfort, old fellows; remember what a man of christ church wrote to george colman when he was studying for the law. 'turn parson, colman, that's the way to thrive; your parsons are the happiest men alive. judges, there are but twelve; and never more, but stalls untold, and bishops twenty-four. of pride and claret, sloth and venison full, yon prelate mark, right reverend and dull! ~ ~~ he ne'er, good man, need pensive vigils keep to preach his audience once a week to sleep; on rich preferment battens at his ease, nor sweats for tithes, as lawyers toil for fees.' if colman had turned parson he would have had a bishoprick long since, and rivalled that jolly old ancient walter de mapes. then what an honour he would have been to the church; no drowsy epistles spun out in lengthened phrase, 'like to the quondam student, named of yore, who with aristotle calmly choked a boar;' but true orthodox wit: the real light of grace would have fallen from his lips and charmed the crowded aisle; the rich epigrammatic style, the true creed of the churchman; no fear of canting innovations or evangelical sceptics; but all would have proceeded harmoniously, ay, and piously too--for true piety consists not in purgation of the body, but in purity of mind. then if we could but have witnessed colman filling the chair in one of our common rooms, enlivening with his genius, wit, and social conversation the learned _dromedaries_ of the sanctum, and dispelling the habitual gloom of a college hospitium, what chance would the sectarians of wesley, or the infatuated followers even of that arch rhapsodist, irving, have with the attractive eloquence and sound reasoning of true wit?" "bravo! bravo!"vociferated the party. "an excellent defence of the church," said echo, "for which eglantine deserves to be inducted to a valuable benefice; suppose we adjourn before the college gates are closed, and install him under the mitre." a proposition that met with a ready acquiescence from all present.{ } the genius of wit, mirth, and social enjoyment, can never find more sincere worshippers than an oxford wine-party seated round the festive board; here the sallies of youth, unchecked by care, the gaiety of hearts made glad with wine and revelry, the brilliant flashes of genius, and the eye beaming with delight, are found in the highest perfection. the merits of the society to which the youthful aspirant for fame and glory happens to belong often afford the embryo poet the theme of his song. impromptu parodies on old and popular songs often add greatly to the enjoy-ment of the convivial party. the discipline of the university prohibits late hours; and the evenings devoted to enjoyment are not often disgraced by excess. [illustration: page ] ~ ~~ [illustration: page ] town and gown, an oxford row. battle of the togati and the town-raff--a night-scene in the high-street, oxford--description of the combatants--attack of the gunsmen upon the mitre--evolutions of the assailants--manoeuvres of the proctors and bull dogs-- perilous condition of blackmantle and his associates, eglantine, echo, and transit--snug retreat of lionise--the high-street after the battle--origin of the argotiers, and invention of cant-phrases--history of the intestine wars and civil broils of oxford, from the time of alfred--origin of the late strife--ancient ballad--retreat of the togati-- reflections of a freshman--black matins, or the effect of late drinking upon early risers--visit to golgotha, or the place of sculls--lecture from the big-wigs--tom echo receives sentence of rustication. [illustration: page ] the clocks of oxford were echoing each other in proclaiming the hour of midnight, when eglantine led the way by opening the door of his _hospitium_ to descend into the quadrangle of brazen-nose. "steady, steady, old fellows," said horace; "remember the don on the first-floor--hush, all be silent as the grave till you pass his oak." "let us _row_ him--let us fumigate the old fellow," said echo; "this is the night of purification, lads--bring some pipes, and a little frankincense, mark." and in this laudable ~ ~~enterprise of blowing asafoetida smoke through the don's key-hole the whole party were about to be instantly engaged, when an accidental slip of eglantine's spoiled the joke. while in the act of remonstrating with his jovial companions on the dangerous consequences attending detection, the scholar sustained a fall which left him suddenly deposited against the oak of the crabbed old master of arts, who inhabited rooms on the top of the lower staircase; fortunately, the dignitary had on that evening carried home more _liquor_ than _learning_ from the common room, and was at the time of the accident almost as sound asleep as the original founder. "there lies the domini of the feast," said echo, "knocked down in true orthodox style by the bishop--follow your leader, boys; and take care of your craniums, or you may chance to get a few phreno-lo-lo-logi-cal bu-lps--i begin to feel that hard study has somewhat impaired my artic-tic-u-u-la-tion, but then i can always raise a per-pendic-dic-u-u-lar, you see--always good at mathemat-tics. d--n aristotle, and the rest of the saints! say i: you see what comes of being logical." all of which exultation over poor eglantine's disaster, echo had the caution to make while steadying himself by keeping fast hold of one of the balustrades on the landing; which that arch wag transit perceiving, managed to cut nearly through with a knife, and then putting his foot against it sent tom suddenly oft in a flying leap after his companion, to the uproarious mirth of the whole party. by the time our two friends had recovered their legs, we were all in marching order for the mitre; working in sinuosities along, for not one of the party could have moved at right angles to any given point, or have counted six street lamps without at least multiplying them to a dozen. in a word, they were ripe for any spree, full of frolic, and bent on mischief; witness the piling a huge load of coals ~ ~~against one man's door, screwing up the oak of another, and _milling the glaze_ of a third, before we quitted the precincts of brazen-nose, which we did separately, to escape observation from the cerberus who guarded the portal. it is in a college wine-party that the true character of your early associates are easily discoverable: out of the excesses of the table very often spring the truest impressions, the first, but indelible affection which links kindred spirits together in after-time, and cements with increasing years into the most inviolable friendship. here the sallies of youth, unchecked by care, or fettered by restraint, give loose to mirth and revelry; and the brilliancy of genius and the warm-hearted gaiety of pure delight are found in the highest perfection. the blue light of heaven illumined the magnificent square of radcliffe, when we passed from beneath the porch of brazen-nose, and tipping with her silvery light the surrounding architecture, lent additional beauty to the solemn splendour of the scene. sophisticated as my faculties certainly were by the copious libations and occurrences of the day, i could yet admire with reverential awe the imposing grandeur by which i was surrounded. a wayward being from my infancy, not the least mark of my eccentricity is the peculiar humour in which i find myself when i have sacrificed too freely to the jolly god: unlike the major part of mankind, my temperament, instead of being invigorated and enlivened by the sparkling juice of the grape, loses its wonted nerve and elasticity; a sombre gloominess pervades the system, the pulse becomes nervous and languid, the spirits flagging and depressed, and the mind full of chimerical apprehensions and _ennui_. it was in this mood that eglantine found me ruminating on the noble works before me, while resting against a part of the pile of radcliffe library, contemplating ~ ~~the elegant crocketed pinnacles of all souls, the delicately taper spire of st. mary's, and the clustered enrichments and imperial canopies of masonry, and splendid traceries which every where strike the eye: all of which objects were rendered trebly impressive from the stillness of the night, and the flittering light by which they were illumined. i had enough of wine and frolic, and had hoped to have _shirked_ the party and stolen quietly to my lodgings, there to indulge in my lucubrations on the scene i had witnessed, and note in my journal, according to my usual practice, the more prominent events of the day, when horace commenced with-- "where the devil, old fellow, have you been hiding yourself? i've been hunting you some time. a little _cut_, i suppose: never mind, my boy, you'll be better presently. here's glorious sport on foot; don't you hear the war-cry?" at this moment a buzz of distant voices broke upon the ear like the mingled shouts of an election tumult. "there they are, old fellow: come, buckle on your armour--we must try your mettle to-night. all the university are out--a glorious row--come along, no shirking---the _togati_ against the town raff--remember the sacred cause, my boy." and in this way, spite of all remonstrance, was i dragged through the lane and enlisted with the rest of my companions into a corps of university men who were just forming themselves in the high-street to repel the daring attack of the very scum of the city, who had ill-treated and beaten some gownsmen in the neighbourhood of st. thomas's, and had the temerity to follow and assail them in their retreat to the high-street with every description of villanous epithet, and still more offensive and destructive missiles. "stand fast there, old fellows," said echo; who, although _devilishly cut_, seemed to be the leader of the division. "where's old mark supple?" "here i am sir, _take notice_" said the old scout, who appeared as active as ~ ~~an american rifleman. "will peake send us the bludgeons?" "he won't open his doors, sir, for anybody, _take notice_." "then down with the mitre, my hearties;" and instantly a rope was thrown across the _bishop's cap_ by old mark, and the tin sign, lamp, and all came tumbling into the street, smashed into a thousand pieces. peake (looking out of an upper window in his night-cap). doey be quiet, and go along, for god's zake, gentlemen! i shall be _ruinated and discommoned_ if i open my door to any body. tom echo. you infernal old fox-hunter! if you don't doff your knowledge bag and come to the door, we'll mill all your glaze, burst open your gates, and hamstring all your horses. mrs. peake (in her night-gown). stand out of the way, peake; let me speak to the gentlemen. gentlemen, doey, gentlemen, consider my reputation, and the reputation of ray house. o dear, gentlemen, doey go somewhere else--we've no sticks here, i azzure ye, and we're all in bed. doey go, gentlemen, pray do. transit. dame peake, if you don't open your doors directly, we'll break them open, and unkennel that old bagg'd fox, your husband, and drink all the black strap in your cellar, and--and play the devil with the maids. mrs. peake. don'te say so, don'te say so, mr. transit; i know you to be a quiet, peaceable gentleman, and i am zure you will befriend me: doey persuade 'em to go away, pray do, ~ ~~ mark supple. dame peake mrs. peake. oh, mr. mark supple, are you there i talk to the gentlemen, mr. mark, pray do. mark supple. it's no use, dame peake; they won't be gammon'd, take notice. if you have any old broom-handles, throw 'em out directly, and if not, throw all the brooms you have in the house out of window--throw out all your sticks--throw peake out. i'm for the gown, _take notice_. down with the town! down with the town! bill mags. (the waiter, at a lower window.) hist, hist, mr. echo; mr. eglantine, hist, hist; master's gone to the back of the house with all the sticks he can muster; and here's an old kitchen-chair you can break up and make bludgeons of (throwing the chair out of window), and here's the cook's rolling-pin, and i'll go and forage for more ammunition. horace eglantine. you're a right good fellow, bill; and i'll pay you before i do your master; and the brazen-nose men shall make your fortune. tom echo. but where's the academicals i sent old captain cook for we shall be beating one another in the dark without caps and gowns. captain cook. (a scout of christ church.) here i be, zur. that old rogue, dick shirley, refuses to send any gowns; he says he has nothing but noblemen's gowns and gold tufts in his house. ~ ~~ the hon. lillyman lionise. by the honour of my ancestry, that fellow shall never draw another stitch for christ church as long as he lives. come along, captain: by the honour of my ancestry, we'll uncase the old _snyder_; we'll have gowns, i warrant me, noble or not noble, gold tufts or no tufts. come along, cook. in a few moments old captain cook and the exquisite returned loaded with gowns and caps, having got in at the window and completely cleared the tailor's shop of all his academicals, in spite of his threats or remonstrances. in the interim, old mark supple and echo had succeeded in obtaining a supply of broom-handles and other weapons of defence; when the insignia of the university, the toga and cap, were soon distributed indiscriminately: the numbers of the university men increased every moment; and the yell of the town raff seemed to gain strength with every step as they approached the scene of action. gown! gown! town! town! were the only sounds heard in every direction; and the clamour and the tumult of voices were enough to shake the city with dismay. the authorities were by no means idle; but neither proctors or pro's, or marshal, or bull-dogs, or even deans, dons, and dignitaries, for such there were, who strained their every effort to quell the disturbance, were at all attended to, and many who came as peace-makers were compelled in their own defence to take an active part in the fray. from the bottom of the high-street to the end of the corn-market, and across again through st. aldate's to the old bridge, every where the more peaceable and respectable citizens might be seen popping their noddles out of window, and rubbing their half-closed eyes with affright, to learn the cause of the alarming strife. ~ ~~of the strong band of university men who rushed on eager for the coming fray, a number of them were fresh light-hearted etonians and old westminsters, who having just arrived to place themselves under the sacred banners of academus, thought their honour and their courage both concerned in defending the _togati_: most of these youthful zealots had as usual, at the beginning of a term, been lodged in the different inns and houses of the city, and from having drank somewhat freely of the welcome cup with old schoolfellows and new friends, were just ripe for mischief, unheedful of the consequences or the cause. on the other hand, the original fomenters of the strife had recruited their forces with herds of the lowest rabble gathered from the purlieus of their patron saints, st. clement and st. thomas, and the shores of the charwell,--the bargees, and butchers, and labourers, and scum of the suburbians: a huge conglomerated mass of thick sculls, and broad backs, and strengthy arms, and sturdy legs, and throats bawling for revenge, and hearts bursting with wrathful ire, rendered still more frantic and desperate by the magic influence of their accustomed war-whoop. these formed the base barbarian race of oxford truands,{ } including every vile thing that passes under the generic name of raff. from college to college the mania spread with the rapidity of an epidemic wind; and scholars, students, and fellows were every where in motion: here a stout bachelor of arts might be seen knocking down the ancient cerberus who opposed his passage; there the iron-bound college gates were forced open by the united power of the youthful inmates. in another quarter might be seen the heir of some noble family risking his neck in the headlong leap { }; and near him, a party of the _togati_ scaling the sacred battlements with as much energetic zeal as the ancient crusaders would have displayed against the ferocious saracens. the french _truands_ were beggars, who under the pretence of asking alms committed the most atrocious crimes and excesses. it was on one of these occasions that the celebrated charles james fox made that illustrious leap from the window of hertford college. ~ ~~scouts flying in every direction to procure caps and gowns, and scholars dropping from towers and windows by bell-ropes and _sheet-ladders_; every countenance exhibiting as much ardour and frenzied zeal, as if the consuming elements of earth and fire threatened the demolition of the sacred city of rhedycina. it was on the spot where once stood the ancient conduit of carfax, flanked on the one side by the venerable church of st. martin and the colonnade of the old butter-market, and on the other by the town-hall, from the central point of which terminate, south, west, and north, st. aldate's, the butcher-row, and the corn-market, that the scene exhibited its more substantial character. it was here the assailants first caught sight of each other; and the yell, and noise, and deafening shouts became terrific. in a moment all was fury and confusion: in the onset the gown, confident and daring, had evidently the advantage, and the retiring raff fell back in dismay; while the advancing and victorious party laid about them with their quarter-staves, and knuckles drawing blood, or teeth, or cracking crowns at every blow, until they had driven them back to the end of the corn-market. it was now that the strong arm and still stronger science of the sturdy bachelors of brazen-nose, and the square-built, athletic sons of cambria, the jones's of jesus, proved themselves of sterling mettle, and bore the brunt of the battle with unexampled courage: at this instant a second reinforcement arriving from the canals and wharfs on the banks of the isis, having forced their way by george-lane, brought timely assistance to the town raff, and enabled them again to rally and present so formidable an appearance, ~ ~~that the _togati_ deemed it prudent to retreat upon their reserve, who were every moment accumulating in immense numbers in the high-street: to this spot the townsmen, exulting in their trifling advantage, had the temerity to follow and renew the conflict, and here they sustained the most signal defeat: for the men of christ church, and pembroke, and st. mary's hall, and oriel, and corpus christi, had united their forces in the rear; while the front of the gown had fallen back upon the effective trinitarians, and albanians, and wadhamites, and men of magdalen, who had by this time roused them from their monastic towers and cells to fight the holy war, and defend their classic brotherhood: nor was this all the advantages the gown had to boast of, for the _scouts_, ever true to their masters, had summoned the lads of the fancy, and marston will, and harry bell, and a host of out and outers, came up to the scratch, and floored many a _youkel_ with their _bunch of fives_. it was at this period that the conflict assumed its most appalling feature, for the townsmen were completely hemmed into the centre, and fought with determined courage, presenting a hollow square, two fronts of which were fully engaged with the infuriated gown. long and fearful was the struggle for mastery, and many and vain the attempts of the townsmen to retreat, until the old oxford night coach, in its way up the high-street to the star inn in the corn-market, was compelled to force its passage through the conflicting parties; when the bull-dogs and the constables, headed by marshal holliday and old jack smith, united their forces, and following the vehicle, opened a passage into the very centre of the battle, where they had for some time to sustain the perilous attacks of oaths, and blows, and kicks from both parties, until having fairly wedged themselves between the combatants, they succeeded by threats and entreaties, and seizing a few of the ringleaders on ~ ~~both sides, to cause a dispersion, and restore by degrees the peace of the city. it was, however, some hours before the struggle had completely subsided, a running fight being kept up by the various straggling parties in their retreat; and at intervals the fearful cry of town and gown would resound from some plebeian alley or murky lane as an unfortunate wight of the adverse faction was discovered stealing homewards, covered with mud and scars. of my college friends and merry companions in the fray, tom echo alone remained visible, and he had (in his own phraseology) _dropped his sash_: according to hudibras, he looked "as men of inward light are wont to turn their opticks in upon't;" or, in plain english, had an _invisible_ eye. the "_disjecta fragmenta_" of his academical robe presented a most pitiful appearance; it was of the ragged sort, like the _mendicula impluviata_ of plautus, and his under habiliments bore evident marks of his having bitten the dust (i.e. mud) beneath the ponderous arm of some heroic blacksmith or bargee; but yet he was lively, and what with blows and exertion, perfectly sobered. "what, blackmantle? and alive, old fellow? well clone, my hearty; i saw you set to with that fresh water devil from charwell, the old bargee, and a pretty milling you gave him. i had intended to have seconded you, but just as i was making up, a son of vulcan let fly his sledge-hammer slap at my _smeller_, and stopped up one of my _oculars_, so i was obliged to turn to and finish him off; and when i had completed the job, you had bolted; not, however, without leaving your marks behind you. but where's eglantine? where's transit? where's the honourable? by my soul the _roué_ can handle his _mauleys_ well; i saw him floor one of the raff in very prime style. but come along, my hearty; we must walk over the ~ ~~field of battle and look after the wounded: i am desperately afraid that eglantine is _booked inside_--saw him surrounded by the _bull-dogs_--made a desperate effort to rescue him--and had some difficulty to clear myself; but never mind, ''tis the fortune of war,' and there's very good lodging in the castle. surely there's mark supple with some one on his back. what, mark, is that you?" "no, sir--yes, sir--i mean, sir, it's a gentleman of our college--o dearey me, i thought it had been a proctor or a bull-dog--for heaven's sake, help, sir! here's mr. transit quite senseless, _take notice_--picked him up in a doorway in lincoln-lane, bleeding like a pig, _take notice_. o dear, o dear, what a night this has been! we shall all be sent to the castle, and perhaps transported for manslaughter. for heaven's sake, mr. echo, help! bear his head up--take hold of his feet, mr. blackmantle, and i'll go before, and ring at dr. tuckwell's bell, _take notice_." in this way poor transit was conveyed to the surgery, where, after cleansing him from the blood and dirt, and the application of some aromatics, he soon recovered, and happily had not sustained any very serious injury. from old mark we learned that eglantine was a captive to the bull-dogs, and safely deposited in the castle along with marston will, who had fought nobly in his defence: of lionise we could gain no other tidings than that mark had seen him at the end of the fray climbing up to the first floor window of a tradesman's house in the high-street, whose daughter it was well known he had a little intrigue with, and where, as we concluded, he had found a balsam for his wounds, and shelter for the night. it was nearly three o'clock when i regained my lodging and found mags, the waiter of the mitre, on the look-out for me: echo had accompanied me home, and in our way we had picked up a wounded man of university college, who had suffered severely in the contest. it was worthy ~ ~~the pencil of a hogarth to have depicted the appearance of the high-street after the contest, when we were cautiously perambulating from end to end in search of absent friends, and fearing at every step the approach of the proctors or their bull-dogs: the lamps were almost all smashed, and the burners dangling to and fro with the wind, the greater part extinguished, or just emitting sufficient light to make night horrible. on the lamp-irons might be seen what at first sight was most appalling, the figure of some hero of the _togati_ dangling by the neck, but which, on nearer approach, proved to be only the dismembered academical of some gentleman-commoner hung up as a trophy by the town raff. broken windows and shutters torn from their hinges, and missiles of every description covering the ground, from the terrific scotch paving-pebble torn up from the roads, to the spokes of coach-wheels, and the oaken batons, and fragments of lanterns belonging to the town watch, skirts of coats, and caps, and remnants of _togas_ both silken and worsted, bespoke the quality of the heroes of the fray; while here and there a poor terrified wretch was exposing his addle head to the mildews of the night-damp, fearing a revival of the contest, or anxiously watching the return of husband, brother, father, or son.{ } this picture of an oxford row is not, as the general reader might imagine, the mere fiction of the novelist, but the true description of a contest which occurred some few years since; the leading features of which will be (although the names have been, except in one or two instances, studiously suppressed) easily recognised by many of the present sons of alma mater who shared in the perils and glory of the battle. to those who are strangers to the sacred city, and these casual effervescences of juvenile spirit, the admirable graphic view of the scene by my friend bob transit (see plate) will convey a very correct idea. to the credit of the more respectable and wealthy class of oxford citizens it should be told, they are now too sensible of their own interest, and, besides, too well-informed to mix with these civil disturbances; the lower orders, therefore, finding themselves unequal to the contest without their support, submit to the _togati_; and thus the civil wars that have raged in oxford with very little interruption from the days of alfred seem for the present extinguished. ~ ~~ on our arrival at the mitre, poor mrs. peake, half frightened to death, was up and busy in administering to the sufferers various consolatory draughts composed of bishop, and flesh and blood{ } and _rumbooze_; while the chambermaids, and peake, and the waiters were flying about the house with warm water, and basins, and towels, to the relief of the numerous applicants, who all seemed anxious to wash away the dirty remembrances of the disgusting scene. hitherto i had been so busily engaged in defending myself and preserving my friends, that i had not a moment for reflection. it has been well observed, that "place an englishman in the field of battle, no matter what his political feelings, he will fight like a lion, by instinct, or the mere force of example;" so with the narrator of this contest. i had not, up to this time, the least knowledge of the original cause of the row. i have naturally an aversion to pugilistic contests and tumultuous sports, and yet i found by certain bruises, and bumps, and stains of blood, and stiffness of joints, and exhaustion, and the loss of my upper garment, which i had then only just discovered, that i must have borne a _pretty considerable_{ } part in the contest, and carried away no small share of victorious laurels, since i had escaped without any very visible demonstration of my adversaries' prowess; but for this i must acknowledge myself indebted to my late private tutor the eton cad, joe cannon, whose fancy lectures on noseology, and the science of the milling system, had enabled me to brandy and port wine, half and half. an oxford phrase. ~ ~~defend my bread-basket, cover up my peepers, and keep my nob out of chancery{ }: a merit that all the use of a peculiar cant phraseology for different classes, it would appear, originated with the argoliers, a species of french beggars or monkish impostors, who were notorious for every thing that was bad and infamous: these people assumed the form of a regular government, elected a king, established a fixed code of laws, and invented a language peculiar to themselves, constructed probably by some of the debauched and licentious youths, who, abandoning their scholastic studies, associated with these vagabonds. in the poetical life of the french robber cartouche, a humorous account is given of the origin of the word _argot_; and the same author has also compiled a dictionary of the language then in use by these people, which is annexed to the work. hannan, in his very singular work, published in , entitled "a caveat, or warning for common cursitors (runners), vulgarly called vagabones," has described a number of the words then in use, among what he humorously calls the "lued lousey language of these lewtering beskes and lasy lovrels." and it will be remembered that at that time many of the students of our universities were among these cursitors, as we find by an old statute of the xxii of hen. viii.; "that scholars at the universities begging without licence, were to be punished like common cursi- tors." the vagabonds of spain are equally celebrated for their use of a peculiar slang or cant, as will be seen on reference to a very curious work of rafael frianoro, entitled" _il vagabondo, overo sferzo de bianti e vagabondi_." _viterbo_, , mo. as also in those excellent novels, "lazarillo do tormes," and "guzman de alfarache." the _romany_ or gipsies' dialect is given with the history of that singular people by mr. grellman; an english translation of which was published in , by roper, in quarto: from those works, grose principally compiled his "lexicon ballatronicum." in the present day we have many professors of slang, and in more ways than one, too many of cant; the greater part of whom are dull impostors, who rather invent strange terms to astonish the vulgar than adhere to the peculiar phrases of the persons they attempt to describe. it has long been matter of regret with the better order of english sporting men, that the pugilistic contests and turf events of the day are not written in plain english, "which all those who run might read," instead of being rendered almost unintelligible by being narrated in the language of beggars, thieves, and pickpockets--a jargon as free from true wit as it is full of obscenity. ~ ~~keate's{ } learning would not have compensated for under the peculiar circumstances in which i was placed. it was now that the mischief was done, and many a sound head was cracked, and many a courageous heart was smarting 'neath their wounds in the gloomy dungeons of the castle, or waiting in their rooms the probing instrument and plasters of messrs. wall, or kidd, or bourne, that a few of us, who had escaped tolerably well, and were seated round a bowl of bishop in the snug _sanctum sanctorum_ of the mitre, began to inquire of each other the origin of the fray. after a variety of conjectures and vague reports, each at variance with the other, and evidently deficient in the most remote connexion with the true cause of the strife, it was agreed to submit the question to the waiter, as a neutral observer, who assured us that the whole affair arose out of a trifling circumstance, originating with some mischievous boys, who, having watched two gownsmen into a cyprian temple in the neighbourhood of saint thomas, circulated a false report that they had carried thither the wives of two respectable mechanics. without taking the trouble to inquire into the truth or falsehood of the accusation, the door was immediately beset; the old cry of town and gown vociferated in every direction; and the unfortunate wights compelled to seek their safety by an ignominious flight through a back door and over the meadows. the tumult once raised, it was not to be appeased without some victim, and for this purpose they thought proper to attack a party of the _togati_, who were returning home from a little private sport with a well-known fancy lecturer: the opportunity was a good one to show-off, a regular fight commenced, and the raff were floored in every direction, until their numbers increasing beyond all the highly respected and learned head-master of eton college. ~ comparison, the university men were compelled to raise the cry of gown, and fly for succour and defence to the high-street: in this way had a few mischievous boys contrived to embroil the town and university in one of the most severe intestine struggles ever remembered. [illustration: page ] _a true chronicle of ye bloodie fighte betweene the clerkes of and scholairs of oxenforde, and the townsmen of the citie, who were crowdinge rounde the easterne gaite to see the kinge enter in his progresse wostwarde._ ~ ~~ sir gierke of oxenforde, prepare your robis riche, and noble cheere. ye kinge with alle his courtlie trane is spurring on your plaice to gane. and heere ye trumpet's merrie note, his neare approache proclaims, i wote; ye doctors, proctors, scholairs, go, and fore youre sovereigne bend ye lowe. now comes the kinge in grande arraie; and the scholairs presse alonge the waye, till ye easterne gaite was thronged so rounde, that passage coulde no where be founde. then the sheriffe's men their upraised speares did plye about the people's eares. and woe the day; the rabble route their speares did breake like glasse aboute. then the doctors, proctors, for the kinge, most lustilie for roome did singe; but thoughe theye bawled out amaine, no passage throughe the crowde coulde gane. ye northern gownsmen, a bold race, now swore they'd quicklie free the plaice; with stalwart gripe, and beadle's staffe theye clefte the townsmen's sculls in half. ~ ~~ and now the wrathful rabble rave, and quick returne withe club and stave; and heades righte learn'd in classic lore felt as they'd never felt before. now fierce and bloody growes the fraye: in vaine the mayore and sheriffe praye for peace--to cool the townsmens' ire, intreatie but impelles the fire. downe with the towne! the scholairs cry; downe with the gowne! the towne reply. loud rattle the caps of the clerkes in aire, and the citizens many a sortie beare; and many a churchman fought his waye, like a heroe in the bloodie fraye. and one right portlie father slewe of rabble townsmen not a fewe. and now 'mid the battle's strife and din there came to the easterne gate, the heralde of our lorde the kinge, with his merrie men all in state. "god help us!" quoth the courtlie childe, "what means this noise within? with joye the people have run wilde." and so he peeped him in, and throughe the wicker-gate he spied, and marvelled much thereat, the streets withe crimson current dyed, and towne and gowne laide flat. then he called his merrie men aloud, to bringe him a ladder straighte; the trumpet sounds--the warlike crowde in a moment forget theire hate. up rise the wounded, down theire arms both towne and gowne do lie; the kinge's approache ye people charmes, and alle looke merrilie. for howe'er towne and gowne may fighte, yet bothe are true to ye kinge. so on bothe may learning and honour lighte, let all men gailie singe.{ } ~ ~~ the above imitation of the style of the ancient ballad is founded on traditional circumstances said to have occurred when the pacific king james visited oxford.--_bernard blackmantle_. _intestine broils and civil wars of oxford_.--anthony wood, the faithful historian of oxford, gives an account of a quarrel between the partisans of st. guinbald and the residents of oxford, in the days of alfred, on his refounding the university, a.d. . after his death the continual inroads of the danes kept the oxonians in perpetual alarm, and in the year they destroyed the town by fire, and repeated their outrage upon the new built town in . seven years after, swein, the danish leader, was repulsed by the inhabitants in a similar attempt, who took vengeance on their im-placable enemy by a general massacre on the feast of st. brice. in the civil commotions under the saxon prince, oxford had again its full share of the evils of war. after the death of harold, william the conqueror was bravely opposed by the citizens in his attempt to enter oxford, which effecting by force, he was so much exas- perated at their attachment to harold, that he bestowed the government of the town on robert de oilgo, a norman, with permission to build a castle to keep his oxford subjects in awe. the disturbances during the reign of stephen and his successor were frequent, and in the reign of john, a. d. , an unfortunate occurrence threatened the entire destruction of oxford as a seat of learning. a student, engaged in thoughtless diversion, killed a woman, and fled from justice. a band of citizens, with the mayor at their head, surrounded the hall to which he belonged, and demanded the offender; on being informed of his absence, the lawless multitude seized three of the students, who were entirely unconnected with the transaction, and ob-tained an order from the weak king (whose dislike to the clergy is known), to put the innocent persons to death--an order which was but too promptly obeyed. the scholars, justly en-raged by this treatment, quitted oxford, some to cambridge and reading, and others to maidstone, in kent. the offended students also applied to the pope, who laid the city under an interdict and discharged all professors from teaching in it. this step completely humbled the citizens, who sent a deputation of the most respectable to wait on the pope's legate (then at westminster) to acknowledge their rashness and request mercy; the legate (nicholas, bishop of tusculum, ) granted their petition only on the most humiliating terms. the mayor and corporation were en-joined, by way of penance, to proceed annually, on the day dedicated to st. nicholas, to all the parish churches bare-headed, with hempen halters round their necks, and whips in their hands, on their bare feet, and in their' shirts, and there pray the benefit of absolution from the priests, repeating the penitential psalms, and to pay a mark of silver per annum to the students of the hall peculiarly injured; in addition to which they were, on the recurrence of the same day, to entertain one hundred poor scholars "_honestis refectionibus_," the abbot of evesham yearly paying sixteen shillings towards the festival expense a part of this ceremony, but without the degrading marks of it, is continued to this day. henry iii. occasionally resided at oxford, and held there many parliaments and councils: in the reign of this king the university flourished to an unexampled degree, the number of students being estimated at fifteen thousand. its popularity was about this time also greatly increased from the circumstance of not less than one thousand students quitting the learned institutions of paris, and repairing to oxford for instruction; but these foreigners introduced so dangerous a levity of manners, that the pope deemed it necessary to send his legate for the purpose of reforming " certain flagrant corruptions of the place." the legate was at first treated with much affected civility, but an occasion for quarrel being soon found, he would, in all probability, have been sacrificed upon the spot, had he not hidden himself in a belfry from the fury of the assailants. this tumult was, by the exercise of some strong measures, speedily appeased; but the number of students was at this period infinitely too great to preserve due subordination. they divided themselves into parties, among which the north and south countrymen were the most violent, and their quarrels harassing and perpetual. according to the rude temper of the age, these disputes were not settled by argument, but by dint of blows; and the peace of the city was in this way so often endangered, that the king thought it expedient to add to the civil power two aldermen and eight burgesses assistant, together with two bailiffs. from petty and intestine broils, the students appear to have acquired a disposition for political inter- ference. when prince edward, returning from paris, marched with an army towards wales, coming to oxford he was by the burghers refused admittance, "on occasion of the tumults now prevailing among the barons:" he quartered his soldiers in the adjacent villages, and "lodged himself that night in the royal palace of magdalen," the next morning proceeding on his intended journey; but the scholars, who were shut in the town, being desirous to salute a prince whom they loved so much, first assembled round _smith-gate_, and demanded to be let into the fields, which being refused by one of the bailiffs, they returned to their hostels for arms and broke open the gate, whereupon the mayor arrested many of them, and, on the chancellor's request, was so far from releasing them that he ordered the citizens to bring out their banners and display them in the midst of the street; and then embattling them, commanded a sudden onset on the rest of the scholars remaining in the town; and much blood-shed had been committed had not a scholar, by the sound of the school-bell in saint mary's church, given notice of the danger that threatened the students, then at dinner. on this alarm they straightways armed and went out, and in a tremendous conflict subdued and put the townsmen to flight. in consequence of this tumult, the king required the scholars to retire from the city during the time of holding his parliament; the chief part of the students accordingly repaired to northampton, where, shortly after the insurgent barons had fortified themselves, on the king's laying siege to the place, the scholars, offended by their late removal, joined with the nobility, and repaired to arms under their own standard, behaving in the fight with conspicuous gallantry, and greatly increasing the wrath of the king; who, however, on the place being subdued, was restrained from pur-suing them to extremities, from prudential motives. as the kingdom became more settled, the disturbances were less frequent, and within the last century assumed the character of sportive rows rather than malicious feuds. on a recent lamentable occasion (now happily forgotten) the political feelings of the gown and town in some measure revived the spirit of the "olden time;" but since then peace has waved her olive-branch over the city of oxford, and perfect harmony, let us hope, will exist between town and gown for evermore. ~ ~~ the veil of night was more than half drawn, ere the youthful inmates of the mitre retired to rest; and many of the party were compelled to put up with sorry accommodation, such was the influx of ~ ~~gownsmen who, shut out of lodging and college, had sought this refuge to wait the approaching morn;--a morn big with the fate of many a scholastic woe--of lectures and reprovals from tutors, and fines and impositions and denunciations from principals, of proctorial reports to the vice-chancellor, and examinations before the _big wigs_, and sentences of expulsion ~~and rustication: coming evils which, by anticipation, kept many a man awake upon his pillow, spite of the perilous fatigue which weighed so heavy upon the exhausted frame. the freshman had little to fear: he could plead his ignorance of college rules, or escape notice altogether, from not having yet domiciled within the walls of a college. although i had little to expect from the apprehension of any of these troubles, as my person was, from my short residence, most likely unknown to any of the authorities--yet did morpheus refuse his soporific balsam to the mind--i could not help thinking of my young and giddy companions, of the kind-hearted eglantine, immured within the walls of a dungeon; of the noble-spirited echo, maltreated and disfigured by the temporary loss of an eye; of the facetious bob transit, so bruised and exhausted, that a long illness might be expected; and, lastly, of our eton sextile, the incomparable exquisite lionise, who, if discovered in his dangerous frolic, would, perhaps, have to leap out of a first floor window at the risk of his neck, sustain an action for damages, and his expulsion from college at the same time. little dick gradus, with his usual cunning, had shirked us at the commencement of hostilities; and the honourable mr. sparkle had been carried home to his lodging, early in the fray, more overcome by hard drinking than hard fighting, and there safely put to bed by the indefatigable mark supple, to whose friendly zeal and more effective arm we were all much indebted. in this reflective mood, i had watched the retiring shadows of the night gradually disperse before the gray-eyed morn, and had just caught a glimpse of the golden streaks which illumine the face of day, when my o'er-wearied spirit sank to rest. [illustration: page ] a little before seven o'clock i was awoke by echo, who came into my room to borrow some clean linen, to enable him to attend chapel prayers at christ church. judge my surprise when i perceived my one-eyed ~ ~~warrior completely restored to his full sight, and not the least appearance of any participation in the affair of the previous night. "what? you can't comprehend how i managed my black optic? hey, old fellow," said echo; "you shall hear: knocked up transit, and made him send for his colours, and paint it over--looks quite natural, don't it?--defy the big wigs to find it out--and if i can but make all right by a sop to the old cerberus at the gate, and _queer_ the _prick bills_ at chapel prayers, i hope to escape the _quick-sands of rustication_, and pass safely through the _creek of proctorial jeopardy_. if you're fond of fun, old fellow, jump up and view the christ church men proceeding to _black matins_ this morning. after the roysten hunt yesterday--the dinner at the black bear at woodstock--and the _town and gown row_ of last night, there will be a motley procession this morning, i'll bet a hundred." the opportunity was a rare one to view the effect of late drinking upon early risers (see plate); slipping on my academicals, therefore, i accompanied my friend tom to morning prayers,--a circumstance, as i have since been informed, which would have involved me in very serious disgrace, had the appearance of an _ex college_ man at vespers attracted the notice of any of the big wigs. fortunately, however, i escaped the prying eyes of authority, which, on these occasions, are sometimes as much under the dominion of morpheus--and literally walk in their sleep from custom--as the young and inexperienced betray the influence of some more seductive charm. the very bell that called the drowsy student from his bed seemed to rise and fall in accordant sympathy with the lethargic humour that prevailed, tolling in slow and half-sounding notes scarcely audible beyond the college gates. the broken light, that shed its misty hue through the monastic aisle of painted windows and clustered columns, gave an increased appearance of drowsiness to the scene; while the chilling air of the ~ ~~morning nipped the young and dissolute, as it fell in hazy dews upon the bare-headed sons of _alma mater_, within many of whose bosoms the fires of the previous night's debauch were but scarce extinguished. then came the lazy unwashed _scout_, crawling along the quadrangle, rubbing his heavy eyes, and cursing his hard fate to be thus compelled to give early notice to some slumbering student of the hour of seven, waking him from dreams of bliss, by thundering at his _oak_ the summons to _black matins_. now crept the youthful band along the avenue, and one by one the drowsy congregation stole through the gothic ante-chamber that leads to christ church chapel, like unwilling victims to some pious sacrifice. here a lengthened yawn proclaimed the want of rest, and near a tremulous step and heavy half-closed eye was observed, pacing across the marble floor, with hand pressed to his _os frontis_, as if a thousand odd and sickly fantasies inhabited that chamber of the muses. now two friends might be seen, supporting a third, whose ghastly aspect bespoke him fresh in the sacred mysteries of college parties and of bacchus; but who had, nevertheless, undergone a tolerable seasoning on the previous night. there a jolly nimrod, who had just cleared the college walls, and reached his rooms time enough to cover his hunting frock and boots with his academicals, was seen racing along, to 'scape the _prick bill's_ report, with his round hunting cap in his hand, in lieu of the square tufted trencher of the schools. night-caps thrown off in the entry--shoes and stockings tied in the aisle--a red slipper and the black jockey boot decorating one pair of legs was no uncommon sight; while on every side rushed forward the anxious group with gowns on one arm, or trailing after them, or loosely thrown around the shoulders to escape tribulation, with here and there a sentimental-looking personage of portly habit and solemn gait moving slowly on, filled up the motley picture. the prayers were, indeed, brief, and ~ ~~hurried through with a rapidity that, i dare say, is never complained of by the _togati_; but is certainly little calculated to impress the youthful mind with any serious respect for these relics of monkish custom, which, after all, must be considered more in the light of a punishment for those who are compelled to attend than any necessary or instructive service connected with the true interests of orthodoxy. in a quarter of an hour the whole group had dispersed to their respective rooms, and within the five minutes next ensuing, i should suppose, the greater part were again comfortably deposited beneath their bedclothes, snoozing away the time till ten or twelve, to make up for these inroads on the slumbers of the previous night. a few hours spent in my friend's rooms, lolling on the sofa, while the scout prepared breakfast, and tom decorated his person, brought the awful hour of the morning, when all who had taken any very conspicuous share in the events of the previous night were likely to hear of their misdoings, and receive a summons to appear before the vice-chancellor in the divinity school, better known by the name of _golgotha_, or the place of skulls, (see plate); where, on this occasion, he was expected to meet the big wigs, to confer on some important measures necessary for the future peace and welfare of the university. the usual time had elapsed for these unpleasant visitations, and echo was chuckling finely at his dexterity in evading the eye of authority, nor was i a little pleased to have escaped myself, when a single rap at the oak, not unlike the hard determined thump of an inflexible dun, in one moment revived all our worst apprehensions, and, unfortunately, with too much reason for the alarm. the proctors had marked poor tom, and traced him out, and this visit was from one of their bull-dogs, bringing a summons for echo to attend before the vice-chancellor and dignitaries. "what's to be done, old fellow?" said echo; "i shall be ~ ~~expelled to a certainty--and, if i don't strike my own name off the books at the buttery hatch, shall be prevented making a retreat to cam roads.--you're out of the scrape, that's clear, and that affords me some hope; for as you are fresh, your word will pass for something in extenuation, or arrest of judgment." after some little time spent in anticipating the charges likely to be brought against him, and arranging the best mode of defence, it was agreed that echo should proceed forthwith to _golgotha_, and there, with undaunted front, meet his accusers; while i was to proceed to transit and lionise, and having instructed them in the story we had planned, meet him at the _place of skulls_, fully prepared to establish, by the most incontrovertible and consistent evidence, that we were not the aggressors in the row. a little persuasion was necessary to convince both our friends that their presence would be essential to echo's acquittal; they had too many just qualms, and fears, and prejudices of this inquisitorial court not to dread perhaps detection, and a severe reprimand themselves: having, however, succeeded in this point, we all three compared notes, and proceeded to where the vice-chancellor and certain heads of houses sat in solemn judgment on the trembling _togati_. echo was already under examination; one of the _bull-dogs_ had sworn particularly to tom's being a most active leader in the fray of the previous night; and having, in the contest, suffered a complete disorganization of his lower jaw, with the total loss of sundry of his _front rails_, he took this opportunity of affixing the honour of the deed to my unlucky friend, expecting, no doubt, a very handsome recompense would be awarded him by the court. expostulation was in vain: transit, lionise, and myself were successively called in and examined very minutely, and although we all agreed to a letter in our story, and made a very clever ~ ~~defence of the culprit, we yet had the mortification to hear from little dodd, who kept the door, and who is always best pleased when he can convey unpleasant tidings to the gown, that echo had received sentence of rustication for the remainder of the term; and that eglantine, in consideration of the imprisonment he had already undergone, and some favourable circumstances in his case, was let off with a fine and imposition. [illustration: page ] thus ended the row of the _town and gown_, as far as our party was personally concerned; but many of the members of the different colleges were equally unfortunate in meeting the heavy censures and judgments of authority. i have just taken possession of my _hospitium_, and set down with a determination _to fagg_; do, therefore, keep your promise, and enliven the dull routine of college studies with some account of the world at brighton. bernard blackmantle. on what dread perils doth the youth adventure, who dares within the fellows' bog to enter. [illustration: page b] [illustration: page ] the stage coach, or the trip to brighton. _improvements in travelling--contrast of ancient and modern conveyances and coachmen--project for a new land steam carriage--the inn-yard at the golden cross, charing cross-- mistakes of pas-sengers--variety of characters--advantages of the box-seat--obstructions on the road--a pull-up at the elephant and castle--move on to kensington common--hew churches--civic villas at brixton--modern taste in architecture described-arrival at croydon; why not now the king's road?--the joliffe hounds--a hunting leader-- anecdotes of the horse, by coachee--the new tunnel at reigate--the baron's chamber--the golden ball--the silver ball--and the golden calf--entrance into brighton._ ~ ~~ that every age is an improved edition of the former i am not (recollecting the splendid relics of antiquity) prepared to admit; but that the present is particularly distinguished for discoveries in science, and vast improvements in mechanical arts, every accurate observer must allow: the _prodigious_ inventions of late years cannot fail in due time of producing that perfectibility, the great consummation denominated the millennium. of all other improvements, perhaps the most conspicuous are in the powers of motion as connected with the mode and means of travelling. with what astonishment, were it possible to reanimate the clay-cold relics, would our ancestors survey the accelerated perfection to which coaching is brought in the present day! the journey from london to brighton, for instance, was, half-a-century since, completed at great risk in twenty-four hours, over a rough road that threatened destruction at every turn; and required the most laborious exertion to reach the summit of precipices that are now, like a ruined spendthrift, cut through and through: the declivities too have disappeared, and from its level face, the whole country would appear to have undergone another revolutionary change, even to the horses, harness, and the driver of the vehicle. in such a country as this, where a disposition to activity and a rambling propensity to seek their fortunes forms one of the most distinguishing characteristics, it was to be expected that travelling would be brought to great perfection; but the most sanguine in this particular could never have anticipated the rapidity with which we are now whirled from one end of the kingdom to the other; fifty-two miles in five hours and a quarter, five changes of horses, and the same coachman to whisk you back again to supper over the same ground, and within the limits of the same day. no _ruts or quarterings_ now--all level as a bowling-green--half-bred blood cattle--bright brass harness--_minute and a half time_ to change--and a well-bred gentlemanly fellow for a coachman, who amuses you ~ ~~with a volume of anecdotes, if you are fortunate enough to secure the box-seat, or touches his hat with the _congee_ of a courtier, as he pockets your tributary shilling at parting. no necessity either for settling your worldly affairs, or taking an affectionate farewell of a long string of relations before starting; travelling being now brought to a security unparalleled, and letters patent having passed the great seal of england to ensure, by means of _safety coaches_, the lives of her rambling subjects. there requires but one other invention to render the whole perfect, and that, if we may believe the newspapers, is very near completion--a coach to go without horses: to this i beg leave to propose, the steam apparatus might be made applicable to all the purposes of a portable kitchen. the coachman, instead of being a good judge of horse-flesh, to be selected from a first rate london tavern for his proficiency in cooking, a known prime hand at decomposing a turtle; instead of a book of roads, in the inside pocket should be placed a copy of mrs. glasse on cookery, or dr. kitchener on culinaries; where the fore-boot now is might be constructed a glazed larder, filled with all the good things in season: then too the accommodation to invalids, the back seat of the coach, might be made applicable to all the purposes of a shampooing or vapour bath--no occasion for molineux or his black rival mahomed; book your patients inside back seat in london, wrap them up in blankets, and give directions to the cook to keep up a good steam thermometer during the journey, °, and you may deliver them safe at brighton, properly hashed and reduced for any further medical experiments. (see engraving, p. .) the accommodation to fat citizens, and western _gourmands_, would be excellent, the very height of luxury and refinement--inhaling the salubrious breeze one moment, and gurgling down the glutinous calipash the next; no ~ ~~exactions of impudent waiters, or imposing landlords, or complaints of dying from hunger, or choking from the want of time to masticate; but every wish gratified and every sense employed. then how jovial and pleasant it would appear to see perched up in front a john bull-looking fellow in a snow-white jacket, with a night-cap and apron of the same, a carving-knife in a case by his side, and a poker in his hand to stir up the steam-furnace, or singe a highwayman's wig, should any one attack the coach; this indeed would be an improvement worthy of the age, and call forth the warmest and most grateful tributes of applause from all ranks in society. for myself, i have always endeavoured to read "men more than books," and have ever found an endless diversity of character, a never-failing source of study and amusement in a trip to a watering-place: perched on the top in summer, or pinched inside in winter of a stage-coach, here, at leisure and unknown, i can watch the varied groups of all nations as they roam about for profit or for pleasure, and note their varieties as they pass away like the retiring landscape, never perhaps to meet the eye again. the excursion to brighton was no sooner finally arranged, than declining the proffered seat in d'almaine's travelling carriage, i packed up my portmanteau, and gave directions to my servant to book me outside at the golden cross, by the seven o'clock morning coach, for brighton; taking care to secure the box-seat, by the payment of an extra shilling to the porter. an inn-yard, particularly such a well-frequented one as the golden cross, charing cross, affords the greatest variety of character and entertainment to a humorist. vehicles to all parts of the kingdom, and from the inscription on the dover coaches, i might add to all parts of the world, _via paris_. "does that coach go the whole way to france?" said an ~ ~~unsuspecting little piece of female simplicity to me, as i stood lolling on the steps at the coach-office door. "certainly," replied i, unthinkingly. "o, then i suppose," said the speaker, "they have finished the projected chain-pier from dover to calais." "france and england united? nothing more impossible," quoth i, correcting the impression i had unintentionally created. "are you going by the brighton, mam?" "yes, i be." "can't _take_ all that luggage." "then you sha'n't _take_ me." "don't wish to be __taken for a waggon-man." "no, but by jasus, friend, you are a wag-on-her," said a merry-faced hibernian, standing by. "have you paid down the _dust_, mam?" inquired the last speaker. "i have paid for my place, sir," said the lady; "and i shall lose two, if i don't go." "then by the powers, cookey, you had better pay for one and a half, and that will include luggage, and then you'll be a half gainer by the bargain." "what a cursed narrow hole this is for a decent-sized man to cram himself in at?" muttered an enormous bulky citizen, sticking half-way in the coach-door, and panting for breath from the violence of his exertions to drag his hind-quarters after him. "take these hampers on the top, jack," said the porter below to the man loading the coach, and quietly rested the baskets across the projecting _ultimatum_ of the fat citizen (to the no little amusement of the bystanders), who through his legs vociferated, "i'll indict you, fellows; i'll be----if i don't, under dick martin's act." "it must be then, my jewel," said the waggish hibernian, "for overloading a mule." "do we take _the whole_ of you to-day, sir?" said coachee, assisting to push him in. "what do you mean by _the whole_? i am only one man." "a master tailor," said coachee, aside, "he must be then, with the _pickings_ of nine poor journeymen in his paunch." "ish tere any room outshide te coach?" bawled out a black-headed little israelite; "ve shall be all shmotered vithin, ~ ~~tish hot day; here are too peepels inshite, vat each might fill a coach by temselves." "all right--all right; take care of your heads, gemmen, going under the gateway; give the bearing rein of the near leader one twist more, and pole up the off wheeler a link or two. all right, tom--all right--stand away from the horses' heads, there--ehewt, fee'e't!"--smack goes the whip, and away goes the brighton times like a congreve rocket, filled with all manner of combustibles. the box-seat has one considerable advantage--it exempts you from the inquisitive and oftentimes impertinent conversation of a mixed group of stage-coach passengers; in addition to which, if you are fond of driving, a foible of mine, i confess, it affords an opportunity for an extra lesson on the noble art of _handling the ribbons_, and at the same time puts you in possession of all the topographical, descriptive, and anecdotal matter relative to the resident gentry and the road. the first two miles from the place of starting is generally occupied in clearing obstructions on the road, taking up old maids at their own houses, with pug-dogs, pattens, and parrots, or pert young misses at their papas' shop-doors; whose mammas take this opportunity of delaying a coach-load of people to display their maternal tenderness at parting, while the junior branches of the family hover round the vehicle, and assail your ears with lisping out their eternal "good b'yes," and the old hairless head of the family is seen slyly _tipping_ coachee an extra shilling to take care of his darling girl. the elephant and castle produces another _pull-up_, and here a branch-coach brings a load of lumber from the city, which, while the porter is stowing away, gives time to exhibit the _lions_ who are leaving london in every direction. king's bench rulers with needy habiliments, and lingering looks, sighing for term-time and ~ ~~a _horse_,{ } on one side the road, and jews, newsmen, and _touters_, on the other; who nearly _give away_ their goods, if you believe them, for the good of the nation, or force you into a coach travelling in direct opposition to the road for which you have been booked, and in which your luggage may by such mischance happily precede you at least half a day. at length all again is declared right, the supervisor delivers his _way-bill_, and forward moves the coach, at a somewhat brisker pace, to kennington common. i shall not detain my readers here with a long dull account of the unfortunate rebels who suffered on this spot in ; but rather direct their attention to a neat protestant church, which has recently been erected on the space between the two roads leading to croydon and sutton, the portico of which is in fine architectural taste, and the whole building a very great accommodation and distinguished ornament to the neighbourhood. about half a mile farther, on the rise of brixton hill, is another newly erected church, the portico in the style of a greek temple, and in an equally commanding situation: from this to croydon, ten miles, you have a tolerable specimen of civic taste in rural architecture. on both sides of the road may be seen a variety of incongruous edifices, called villas and cottage _ornées_, peeping up in all the pride of a retired linen-draper, or the consequential authority of a man in office, in as many varied styles of architecture as of dispositions in the different proprietors, and all exhibiting (in their possessors' opinion) claims to the purest and most refined taste. for example, the basement story is in the chinese or venetian style, the first floor in that of the florid gothic, with tiles and a pediment _à-la-nash_, at the bank; a doorway with inclined jambs, and a hieroglyphic _à-la-greek_: a gable-ended glass _lean to_ on a day-rule, so called. ~ ~~one side, about big enough for a dog-kennel, is called a green-house, while a similar erection on the other affords retirement for the _tit_ and tilbury; the door of which is always set wide open in fine weather, to display to passers-by the splendid equipage of the occupier. the parterre in front (green as the jaundiced eye of their less fortunate brother tradesmen) is enriched with some dozens of vermilion-coloured flower-pots mounted on a japanned verdigris frame, sending forth odoriferous, balmy, and enchanting gales to the grateful olfactory organs, from the half-withered stems of pining and consumptive geraniums; to complete the picture, two unique plaster casts of naked figures, the apollo belvidere and the venus de medici, at most a foot in altitude, are placed on clumsy wooden pedestals of three times that height before the parlour-windows, painted in a chaste flesh-colour, and guarded by a whitechapel bull-cdog, who, like another cerberus, sits growling at the gate to fright away the child of poverty, and insult the less wealthy pedestrian. happy country! where every man can consult his own taste, and build according to his own fancy, amalgamating in one structure all the known orders and varieties, persian, egyptian, athenian, and european. croydon in contained the _archiepiscopal palace_ of the celebrated archbishop parker, who, as well as his successor whitgift, here had frequently the honour to entertain queen elizabeth and her court: the manor since the reign of william the conqueror has belonged to the archbishops of canterbury. the church is a venerable structure, and the stately tower, embowered with woods and flanked by the surrey hills, a most picturesque and commanding object; the interior contains some monuments of antiquity well worthy the attention of the curious. the town itself has little worthy of note except the hospital, ~ ~~founded by archbishop whitgift for a warder and twenty poor men and women, decayed housekeepers of croyden and lambeth: a very comfortable and well-endowed retirement. "this was formerly the king's road," said coachee, "but the radicals having thought proper to insult his majesty on his passing through to brighton during the affair of the late queen, he has ever since gone by the way of sutton: a circumstance that has at least operated to produce one christian virtue among the inhabitants, namely, that of humility; before this there was no _getting change_ for a civil sentence from them." to merstham seven miles, the road winds through a bleak valley called smithem bottom, till recently the favourite resort of the cockney gunners for rabbit-shooting; but whether from the noise of their harmless double-barrel _nocks_, or the more dreadful carnage of the croydon poachers, these animals are now exceedingly scarce in this neighbourhood. just as we came in sight of merstham, the distant view halloo of the huntsman broke upon our ears, when the near-leader rising upon his haunches and neighing with delight at the inspiring sound, gave us to understand that he had not always been used to a life of drudgery, but in earlier times had most likely carried some daring nimrod to the field, and bounded with fiery courage o'er hedge and gate, through dell and brake, outstripping the fleeting wind to gain the honour of _the brush_. ere we had gained the village, reynard and the whole field broke over the road in their scarlet frocks, and dogs and horses made a dash away for a steeple chase across the country, led by the worthy-hearted owner of the pack, the jolly fox-hunting colonel, hilton jolliffe, whose residence caps the summit of the hill. from hence to reigate, four miles farther, there was no circumstance or object of interest, if i except a very romantic tale coachee ~ ~~narrated of his hunting leader, who had of course been bred in the stud of royalty itself, and had since been the property of two or three sporting peers, when, having put out a _spavin_, during the last hunting season, he was sold for a __machiner; but being since fired and turned out, he had come up all right, and was now, according to coachee's disinterested opinion, one of the best hunters in the kingdom. as i was not exactly the customer coachee was looking for, being at the time pretty well mounted, i thought it better to indulge him in the joke, particularly as any doubt on my part might have soured the whip, and made him sullen for the rest of the journey. at reigate a trifling accident happened to one of the springs of the coach, which detained us half an hour, and enabled me to pay a visit to the celebrated sand cavern, where, it is reported, the barons met, during the reign of king john, to hold their councils and draw up that great _palladium_ of english liberty, _magna charta_, which was afterwards signed at runnymede. there was something awful about this stupendous excavation that impressed me with solemn thoughtfulness; it lies about sixty feet from the surface of the earth, and is divided into three apartments with arched roofs, the farthest of which is designated the barons' chamber. time flowed back upon my memory as i sat in the niches hewn out in the sides of the cavern, and meditation deep usurped my mind as i dwelt on the recollections of history; on the "majestic forms, and men of other times, retired to fan the patriotic fire, which, bursting forth at runnymede, with rays of glory lightened all the land!" near to the mouth of this cavern stands the remains of holms castle, celebrated in the history of the civil wars between charles the first and his parliament; and on the site of an ancient monastic establishment, ~ ~~near to the spot, has been erected a handsome modern mansion called the priory of holmsdale, the name of the valley in which the town is situate. returning to the inn i observed the new tunnel, which we had previously passed under, a recent work of great labour and expense, which saves a considerable distance in the approach to the town; it has been principally effected by a wealthy innkeeper, and certainly adds much to the advantage and beauty of the place. coachee had now made all right, and his anxious passengers were again replaced in their former situations to proceed on our journey. the next stage, ten miles, to crawley, a picturesque place, afforded little variety, if i except an immense elm which stands by the side of the road as you enter, and has a door in front to admit the curious into its hollow trunk. our next post was cuckfield, nine miles, where i did not discover any thing worthy of narration; from this to brighton, twelve miles, coachee amused me with some anecdotes of persons whom we passed upon the road. a handsome chariot, with a most divine little creature in the inside, and a good-looking _roué_, with huge mustachios, first attracted my notice: "that is the golden ball," said coachee, "and his new wife; he often _rolls down_ this road for a day or two--spends his cash like an emperor--and before he was _tied up_ used to tip pretty freely for _handling the ribbons_, but that's all up now, for _mamsell_ mercandotti finds him better amusement. a gem-man who often comes down with me says his father was a slopseller in ratcliffe highway, and afterwards marrying the widow of admiral hughes, a rich old west india nabob, he left this young gemman the bulk of his property, and a very worthy fellow he is: but we've another rich fellow that's rather notorious at brighton, which we distinguish by the name of the _silver ball_, only he's a bit of a _screw_, and has lately ~ ~~got himself into a scrape about a pretty actress, from which circumstance they have changed his name to the _foote ball_. i suppose you guess where i am now," said coachee, tipping me one of his knowing winks. "do you see that machine before us, a sort of cabriolet, with two horses drove in a curricle bar? that is another _swell_ who is very fond of brighton, a jew gentleman of the name of solomon, whom the wags have made a christian of by the new appellation of the _golden calf_; but his godfathers were never more out in their lives, for in _splitting a bob_, it's my opinion, he'd bother all bevis marks and the stock exchange into the bargain." in this way we trotted along, gathering good air and information at every step, until we were in sight of brighton downs, a long chain of hills, which appear on either side; with their undulating surfaces covered with the sweet herb wild thyme, and diversified by the numerous flocks of south-down sheep grazing on their loftiest summits. after winding through the romantic valley of preston, the white-fronted houses and glazed bricks of brighton break upon the sight, sparkling in the sun-beams, with a distant glimpse of the sea, appearing, at first sight, to rise above the town like a blue mountain in the distance: we entered the place along what is called the london road, with a view of the pavilion before us, the favourite abode of royalty, shooting its minaret towers and glass dome upwards in the most grotesque character, not unlike the representations of the kremlin at moscow; exciting, at the first glance, among the passengers, the most varied and amusing sallies of witticisms and conjectures.--having procured a sketch of it from this view, i shall leave you to contemplate, while i retire to my inn and make the necessary arrangements for refreshment and future habitation. by way of postscript, i enclose you a very entertaining scene i witnessed between d'almaine and ~ ~~his wife the night previous to my journey: they are strange creatures; but you love eccentrics, and may be amused with this little drama, which formed the motive for my visit. horatio heartly. [illustration: page ] the proposition. _family secrets--female tactics--how to carry the point._ ~ ~~"it was ever thus, d'almaine," said lady mary; "always hesitating between a natural liberality of disposition, and a cold, calculating, acquired parsimony, that has never increased our fortune in the sum of sixpence, or added in the slightest degree to our domestic comforts." "all the _prejudice of education_" said d'almaine, good-humouredly; "my old uncle, the banker, to whose bounty we are both much indebted, my dear, early inculcated these notions of thrift into the brain of a certain lighthearted young gentleman, whose buoyant spirits sometimes led him a little beyond the _barrier of prudence_, and too often left him environed with difficulties in the _marshes of impediment_. 'look before you leap,' was a wise saw of the old gentleman's; and 'be just before you're generous,' a proverb that never failed to accompany a temporary supply, or an additional demand upon his generosity."--"hang your old uncle!" replied lady mary, pouting and trying to look ill-tempered in the face of lord henry's good-natured remonstrance,--"i never ask a favour for myself, or solicit you to take the recreation necessary to your own health and that of your family, but i am pestered with the revised musty maxims of your dead old uncle. he has been consigned to the earth these ten years, and ~ ~~if it were not for the ten thousand per annum he left us, ought long since to have shared the fate of his ancestry, whose names were never heard more of than the tributary tablet imparts to the eye of curiosity in a country church, and within whose limits all inquiry ends." "gratitude, lady mary, if not respect for my feelings, should preserve that good man's name from reproach." lord henry's eye was unusually expressive--he continued:--"the coronet that graces your own soul-inspiring face would lack the lustre of its present brilliancy, but for the generous bequest of the old city banker, whose _plum_ was the _sweetest windfall_ that ever dropt into the empty purse of the poor possessor of an ancient baronial title. the old battlements of crackenbury have stood many a siege, 'tis true; but that formidable engine of modern warfare, the _catapulta_ of the auctioneer, had, but for him, proved more destructive to its walls than the battering-ram and hoarse cannonades of ancient rebels." ~ ~~when a woman is foiled at argument, she generally has recourse to finesse. lady mary had made up her mind to carry her point; finding therefore the right column of her vengeance turned by the smart attack of d'almaine's raillery, she was determined to out-flank him with her whole park of well-appointed artillery, consisting of all those endearing, solicitous looks and expressions, that can melt the most obdurate heart, and command a victory over the most experienced general. it was in vain that lord henry urged the unusual heavy expenses of the season in town,--the four hundred paid for the box at the opera,--or the seven hundred for the greys and the new barouche,--the pending demand from messrs. rundell's for the new service of plate,--and the splendid alterations and additions just made to the old family hall,--with ~ ~~numerous other most provoking items which the old steward had conjured up, as if on purpose, to abridge the pleasures of lady mary's intended tour. "it was very _distressing_--she heartily wished there was no such thing as money in the world--it made people very miserable--they were a much happier couple, she contended, when they were merely honourables, and lived upon a paltry two thousand and the expectancy--there never was any difficulty then about money transactions, and a proposition for a trip to a watering-place was always hailed with pleasure."--"true, lady mary; but then you forget we travelled in a stage coach, with your maid on the outside, while my man servant, with a led-horse, followed or preceded us. then, we were content with lodgings on the west-cliff, and the use of a kitchen: now, we require a splendid establishment, must travel in our own chariot, occupy half a mews with our horses, and fill half a good-sized barrack with our servants. then, we could live snug, accept an invitation to dinner with a commoner, and walk or ride about as we pleased, without being pointed at as _lions_ or _raro aves_ just broke loose from the great state aviary at st. james's." "we shall scarcely be discovered," said lady mary, "among the stars that surround the regal planet."--"we shall be much mortified then," said lord henry, facetiously.--"you are very provoking, d'almaine. i know your turf speculations have proved fortunate of late: i witnessed sir charles paying you a large sum the other morning; and i have good reason for thinking you have been successful at the club, for i have not heard your usual morning salutation to your valet, who generally on the occasion of your losses receives more checks than are payable at your bankers. you shall advance me a portion of your winnings, in return for which i promise you good health, good society, and, perhaps, if the stars _shoot ~ ~~rightly_, a good place for our second son. in these days of peace, the distaff can effect more than the field-marshal's baton."--"always provided," said my sire (clapping his hand upon his _os frontis_), "that nothing else _shoots out_ of such condescensions." "but why has brighton the preference as a watering place?" said lord henry: "the isle of wight is, in my opinion, more retired; southampton more select; tunbridge wells more rural; and worthing more social."--"true, d'almaine; but i am not yet so old and woe-begone, so out of conceit with myself, or misanthropic with the world, to choose either the retired, the select, the rural, or the social. i love the bustle of society, enjoy the promenade on the steyne, and the varied character that nightly fills the libraries; i read men, not books, and above all i enjoy the world of fashion. where the king is, there is concentrated all that is delightful in society. your retired dowagers and opposition peers may congregate in rural retirement, and sigh with envy at the enchanting splendour of the court circle; those only who have felt its cheering influence can speak of its inspiring pleasures; and all who have participated in the elegant scene will laugh at the whispers of malignity and the innuendoes of disappointment, which are ever pregnant with some newly invented _on dit_ of scandalous tendency, to libel a circle of whom they know nothing but by report; and that report, in nine instances out of ten, 'the weak invention of the enemy.'" "bravo, lady mary; your spirited defence of the pavilion party does honour to your heart, and displays as much good sense as honest feeling; but a little interest, methinks, lurks about it for all that: i have not forgotten the honour we received on our last visit; and you, i can perceive, anticipate a renewal of the same gratifying condescension; so give james his instructions, and let him proceed to brighton to-morrow to make the necessary arrangements for our arrival." ~ ~~thus ended the colloquy in the usual family manner, when well-bred men entertain something more than mere respect for their elegant and accomplished partners. [illustration: page ] sketches at brighton. _the pavilion party--interior described--royal and noble anecdotes--king and mathews_. ~ ~~i had preceded d'almaine and the countess only a few hours in my arrival at brighton; you know the vivacity and enchanting humour which ever animates that little divinity, and will not therefore be surprised to hear, on her name being announced at the pavilion, we were honoured with a royal invitation to an evening party. i had long sighed for an opportunity to view the interior of that eccentric building; but to have enjoyed such a treat, made doubly attractive by the presence of the king, reposing from the toils of state in his favourite retreat, and surrounded by the select circle of his private friends, was more than my most sanguine expectations could have led me to conjecture. suspending, therefore, my curiosity until the morrow, relative to the steyne, the beach, the libraries, and the characters, i made a desperate effort in embellishing, to look unusually stylish, and as usual, never succeeded so ill in my life. our residence on the grand parade is scarcely a hundred yards from, and overlooks the pavilion--a circumstance which had quite escaped my recollection; for with all the natural anxiety of a young and ardent mind, i had fully equipped myself before the count had even thought of entering his dressing-room. half-an-hour's lounge at the projecting window of our new habitation, on a tine summer's evening, gave me an opportunity of remarking the ~ ~~singular appearance the front of this building presents: "if minarets, rising together, provoke from the lips of the vulgar the old-fashioned joke-- '_de gustibus non est_ (i think) _disputandum_' the taste is plebeian that quizzes at random." there is really something very romantic in the style of its architecture, and by no means inelegant; perhaps it is better suited for the peculiar situation of this marine palace than a more classical or accredited order would be. it has been likened, on its first appearance, to a chess-board; but, in my thinking, it more nearly resembles that soul-inspiring scene, the splendid banquet table, decorated in the best style of modern grandeur, and covered with the usual plate and glass enrichments: for instance, the central dome represents the water magnum, the towers right and left, with their pointed spires, champagne bottles, the square compartments on each side are exactly like the form of our fashionable liqueur stands, the clock tower resembles the centre ornament of a plateau, the various small spires so many enriched _candelabra_, the glass dome a superb dessert dish; but "don't expect, my dear boy, i can similies find for a heap of similitudes so undefined. and why should i censure tastes not my concern? 'tis as well for the arts that all tastes have their turn." if i had written for three hours on the subject, i could not have been more explicit; you have only to arrange the articles in the order enumerated, and you have a model of the upper part of the building before you. at nine o'clock we made our _entré_ into the pavilion, westward, passing through the vestibule and hall, when we entered one of the most superb apartments that art or fancy can devise, whether for richness of effect, decoration, and design: this is ~ ~~called the _chinese gallery_, one hundred and sixty-two feet in length by seventeen feet in breadth, and is divided into five compartments, the centre being illumined with a light of stained glass, on which is represented the god of thunder, as described in the chinese mythology, surrounded by the imperial five-clawed dragons, supporting pendent lanterns, ornamented with corresponding devices. the ceiling or cove is the colour of peach blossom; and a chinese canopy is suspended round from the lower compartment with tassels, bells, &c.: the furniture and other decorations, such as cabinets, chimney-piece, trophies, and banners, which are in the gallery, are all in strict accordance with the chinese taste; while on every side the embellishments present twisted dragons, pagodas, and mythological devices of birds, flowers, insects, statues, formed from a yellow marble; and a rich collection of oriental china. the extreme compartments north and south are occupied by chased brass staircases, the lateral ornaments of which are serpents, and the balusters resemble bamboo. in the north division is the _fum_{ } or chinese bird of royalty: this gallery opens into the music room, an apartment forty-two feet square, with two recesses of ten feet each, and rising in height forty-one feet, to a dome thirty feet in diameter. the magnificence and imposing grandeur of effect surpasses all effort at detail. it presented a scene of enchantment which brought to recollection the florid descriptions, in the persian tales, of the palaces of the genii: the prevailing decoration is executed in green gold, and produces a most singularly splendid effect. on the walls are twelve highly finished paintings, views in china, principally near pekin, imitative of the crimson japan. the fum is said to be found in no part of the world but china. it is described as of most admirable beauty; and their absence for any time from the imperial city regarded as an omen of misfortune to the royal family. the emperor and mandarins have the semblance of these birds embroidered on their vestments. ~ ~~the dome appears to be excavated out of a rock of solid gold, and is supported by an octagonal base, ornamented with the richest chinese devices; at each angle of the room is a pagoda-tower, formed of the most costly materials in glass and china, with lamps attached; beneath the dome and base is a splendid canopy, supported by columns of crimson and gold, with twisted serpents of enormous size, and terrific expression surrounding them. a magnificent organ, by sinclair, the largest and best in the kingdom, occupies the north recess, twenty feet in width, length, and height: there are two entrances to this room, one from the _egyptian gallery_, and another from the yellow drawing-room, each under a rich canopy, supported by gold columns. a beautiful chimney-piece of white statuary marble, and an immense mirror, with splendid draperies of blue, red, and yellow satin, rare china jars, and ornaments in ormolu, increase the dazzling brilliancy of the apartment. as this was my first appearance in the palace, the countess, very considerately, proposed to sir h----t----, who conducted us, that we should walk through the other public apartments, before we were ushered into the presence chamber--a proposition the good-natured equerry very readily complied with. repassing, therefore, the whole length of the chinese gallery, the southern extremity communicates with the _royal banqueting room_, sixty feet in length, by forty-two in breadth: the walls are bounded at the height of twenty-three feet by a cornice, apparently inlaid with pearls and gold, from which spring four ecliptic arches, supported by golden columns, surmounted with a dome, rising to a height of forty-five feet, and constructed to represent an eastern sky; beneath which is seen spreading the broad umbrageous foliage of the luxuriant plantain, bearing its fruit and displaying, in all the progressive stages, ~ ~~the different varieties, from the early blossom to maturity: curious chinese symbols are suspended from the trunk, and connect themselves with a grand lustre, rising to a height of thirty feet, and reflecting the most varied and magical effect, being multiplied by other lustres, in the several angles adjoining. the walls are decorated with groups of figures, nearly the size of life, portraying the costume of the higher classes of the chinese; domestic episodes, painted on a ground of imitative pearl, richly wrought, in all the varied designs of chinese mythology. the furniture is of the most costly description--rose-wood inlaid with mother-of-pearl, and enriched with _or molu_ chasings of the most elegant design; the effect of which is admirably contrasted with the rich glossy jars of blue porcelain, of english manufacture, and magnificent brilliancy. centrally, between these magnificent apartments, is the rotunda or saloon; an oblong interior of fifty-five feet in length, the decoration chaste and classical in the extreme, being simply white and gold, the enriched cornice being supported by columns and pilasters, and the whole decoration uniting coolness with simplicity. the passages to some of the minor apartments are unique in their style of embellishment, which appears to be of polished white marble, but is, in fact, nothing but a superior dutch tile, cemented smoothly, in plaster of paris, and highly varnished. there are many other private and anterooms to the west of the chinese gallery, the decorations of which are more simple, but in a corresponding style. we had now arrived at the _yellow room (see plate_), where we understood his majesty would receive his evening party. [illustration: page ] the apartment is fifty-six feet in length, by twenty in breadth, and is hung round with a rich fluted drapery of yellow satin, suspended from the ceiling, and representing a magnificent chinese tent, from the centre of which hangs a chandelier of ~ ~~the most splendid design, the light of which is diffused through painted glasses, resembling in shape and colour every variety of the tulip, exciting the greatest admiration. the chimney-piece is chinese, the stove formed by _chimera_ chased in _or molu_, the figures above being models or automatons, of nearly the size of life, dressed in splendid costume, occasionally moving their heads and arms. the furniture of the room is of a similar character to those already described, except the seats, which are ottomans of yellow velvet, the window draperies being of the same splendid material. it was in this truly royal apartment we had the honour of waiting the approach of his majesty, who entered, at about a quarter before ten, apparently in the enjoyment of the most excellent health and highest spirits. he was preceded by sir a. f. barnard and lord francis conyngham, the grooms in waiting, and entered with the princess augusta leaning on his arm, the left of her royal highness being supported by the duke of york; the marquis of conyngham followed, leading in his marchioness; and the beautiful and accomplished lady elizabeth honoured sir william knighton as her conductor. the old earl of arran came hobbling on his crutches, dreadfully afflicted with the gout. sir c. paget, that merry son of neptune, with sir e. nagle, followed; the rear being brought up by the fascinating countess of warwick and her ever constant earl. _(see plate.)_ do not imagine, my dear bernard, that i shall so far outrage the honourable feelings of a gentleman as to relate every word, look, or action, of this illustrious party, for the rude ear of eager curiosity. those only who have witnessed the monarch in private life, freed from the weight of state affairs, and necessary regal accompaniments, can form a correct judgment of the unaffected goodness of his heart; the easy affability, and pliant condescension, with which he can divest ~ ~~every one around him of any feeling of restraint--the uncommon sprightliness and vivacity he displays in conversation--the life and soul of all that is elegant and classical, and the willing participator and promoter of a good joke. suffice it to say, the reception was flattering in the extreme, the entertainment conversational and highly intellectual. the moments flew so quickly, that i could have wished the hour of eleven, the period of the king's retiring, had been extended to the noontide of the morrow. but is this all, i think i can hear you say, this friend of my heart dares to repose with me on a subject so agreeable? no--you shall have a few _on dits_, but nothing touching on the scandalous; gleanings, from sir e---- and sir c----, the jesters of our sovereign lord the king; but nothing that might excite a blush in the cheek of the lovely countess, to whom i was indebted for the honour and delight i on that occasion experienced. imprimis:--i know you are intimate with that inimitable child of whim, charles mathews. he is in high estimation with royalty, i assure you; and annually receives the king's command to deliver a selection from his popular entertainments before him--an amusement of which his majesty speaks in terms of the warmest admiration. on the last occasion, a little _scena_ occurred that must have been highly amusing; as it displays at once the kind recollections of the king, and his amiable disposition. as i had it from sir c----, you may depend upon its authenticity. i shall denominate it the king at home, or mathews in carlton palace. _(see plate.)_ [illustration: page ] previous to mathews leaving this country for america, he exhibited a selection from his popular entertainments, by command of his majesty, at carlton palace.--a party of not more than six or eight persons were present, including the princess augusta and the marchioness of conyngham. during ~ ~~the entertainment (with which the king appeared much delighted), mathews introduced his imitations of various performers on the british stage, and was proceeding with john kemble in the stranger, when he was interrupted by the king, who, in the most affable manner, observed that his general imitations were excellent, and such as no one who had ever seen the characters could fail to recognise; but he thought the comedian's portrait of john kemble somewhat too boisterous.--"he is an old friend, and i might add, tutor of mine," observed his majesty: "when i was prince of wales he often favoured me with his company. i will give you an imitation of john kemble," said the good-humoured monarch. mathews was electrified. the lords of the bed-chamber eyed each other with surprise. the king rose and prefaced his imitations by observing, "i once requested john kemble to take a pinch of snuff with me, and for this purpose placed my box on the table before him, saying 'kemble, oblige (obleege) me by taking a pinch of snuff' he took a pinch, and then addressed me thus:--(here his majesty assumed the peculiar carriage of mr. kemble.) 'i thank your royal highness for your snuff, but, in future, do extend your royal jaws a little wider, and say oblige.'" the anecdote was given with the most powerful similitude to the actor's voice and manners, and had an astonishing effect on the party present. it is a circumstance equally worthy of the king and the scholar. mathews, at the conclusion, requested permission to offer an original anecdote of kemble, which had some affinity to the foregoing. kemble had been for many years the intimate friend of the earl of aberdeen. on one occasion he had called on that nobleman during his morning's ride, and left mrs. kemble in the carriage at the door. john and the noble earl were closely engaged on some literary subject a very long time, while mrs. kemble was ~ ~~shivering in the carriage (it being very cold weather). at length her patience being exhausted, she directed her servant to inform his master that she was waiting, and feared the cold weather would bring on an attack of the rheumatism. the fellow proceeded to the door of the earl's study, and delivered his message, leaving out the final letter in rheumatism.--this he had repeated three several times, by direction of his mistress, before he could obtain an answer. at length, kemble, roused from his subject by the importunities of the servant, replied, somewhat petulantly, "tell your mistress i shall not come, and, fellow, do you in future say '_tism_." among the party assembled on this occasion was the favoured son of esculapius, sir w---- k----, the secret of whose elevation to the highest confidence of royalty is one of those mysteries of the age which it is in vain to attempt to unravel, and which, perhaps, cannot be known to more than two persons in existence: great and irresistible, however, must that influence be, whether moral or physical, which could obtain such dominion over the mind as to throw into the shade the claims of rank and courtly _lions_, and place an humble disciple of esculapius on the very summit of royal favour. of his gentlemanly and amusing talents in society every one must speak in terms of the highest praise, and equally flattering are the reports of his medical skill; but many are the fleeting causes and conjectures assigned for his supremacy--reports which may not be written here, lest i assist in the courtly prattle of misrepresentation. sir w---- was, i believe, the executor of an old and highly-favoured confidential secretary; might not _certain circumstances_ arising out of that trust have paved the way to his elevation? if the intense merits of the individual have raised him to the dazzling ~ ~~height, the world cannot value them too highly, and sufficiently extol the discrimination of the first sovereign and first gentleman of the age who could discover and reward desert with such distinguished honour. but if his elevation is the result of any sacrifice of principle, or of any courtly intrigue to remove a once equally fortunate rival, and pave his path with gold, there are few who would envy the favoured minion: against such suspicion, however, we have the evidence of a life of honour, and the general estimation of society. of his predecessor, and the causes for his removal, i have heard some curious anecdotes, but these you shall have when we meet. a very good story is in circulation here among the court circle relative to the eccentric lady c---- l----, and a young marchioness, who, spite of the remonstrances of her friends and the general good taste of the ladies in that particular, recently selected an old man for a husband, in preference to a choice of at least twenty young and titled, dashing _roués_: the whim and caprice of the former is notorious, while the life and animation of the little marchioness renders her the brightest star of attraction in the hemisphere of fashion. "i should like to see billingsgate, amazingly," said the marchioness to her eccentric friend, while reading a humorous article on the subject in the morning chronicle. "it must be entertaining to hear the peculiar phraseology and observe the humorous vulgarities of these _naiades_, if one could do so _incog_." "and why not, my dear?" said lady c----; "you know there never was a female quixote in existence among the petticoat blue-stockings, from lady wortley montague to lady morgan, who was more deeply affected with the tom and jerry _mania_ than i am: leave all to me, and i'll answer for taking you there safely, enjoying the scene securely, and escaping without chance of detection." with lady ~ ~~c---- a whim of this description is by no means unusual, and the necessary attendance of a confidential servant to protect, in case of danger, a very essential personage. to this mercury, lady c---- confided her plan; giving directions for the completion of it on the morning of the morrow, and instructing him to obtain disguises from his wife, who is an upper servant in the family, for the use of the ladies. john, although perfectly free from any alarm on account of lady c----, should the whim become known, was not so easy in respect to the young and attractive marchioness, whose consort, should any thing unpleasant occur, john wisely calculated, might interfere to remove him from his situation. with this resolve he prudently communicated the ladies' intention to a confidential friend of the marquis, who, on receiving an intimation of their intentions, laughed at the whim, and determined to humour the joke, by attending the place, properly disguised, to watch at a distance the frolic of the ladies. the next morning, at the appointed hour, the footman brought a hackney-coach to the door, and the ladies were quickly conveyed to the scene of action, followed (unknowingly) by the marquis and his friend. here they amused themselves for some time in walking about and observing the bustle and variety of the, to them, very novel scene; soon, however, fatigued with the mobbing, thrusting, and filthiness, which is characteristic of the place, the marchioness was for returning, remarking to her friend that she had as yet heard none of that singular broad humour for which these nymphs of the fish-market were so celebrated. "then you shall have a specimen directly," said lady c----, "if i can provoke it; only prepare your ethics and your ears for a slight shock; "and immediately approaching an old fresh-water dragon, who sat behind an adjoining stall, with a countenance spirited in the ~ ~~extreme, and glowing with all the beautiful varieties of the ultra-marine and vermilion, produced by the all-potent properties of hodge's full-proof, she proceeded to cheapen the head and shoulders of a fine fish that lay in front of her, forcing her fingers under the gills, according to the approved custom of good housewives, to ascertain if it was fresh. [illustration: page ] after a parley as to price, lady c---- hinted that she doubted its being perfectly sweet: the very suspicion of vending an unsavoury article roused the old she-dragon at once into one of the most terrific passions imaginable, and directing all her ire against the ladies, she poured forth a volley of abuse fiery and appalling as the lava of a volcano, which concluded as follows.--"not sweet, you ----," said the offended deity; "how can i answer for its sweetness, when you have been tickling his gills with your stinking paws " _(see plate.)_ the marchioness retreated at the first burst of the storm, but lady c----continued to provoke the old naiad of the shambles, till she had fully satisfied her humour. again safely escorted home by the liveried mercury, the ladies thought to have enjoyed their joke in perfect security; but what was their astonishment, when on meeting the marquis and a select party at dinner, to find the identical fish served up at their own table, and the marquis amusing his friends by relating the whole circumstances of the frolic, as having occurred to two ladies of distinction during the laughter-loving days of charles the second. i need not animadvert upon the peculiar situation of the ladies, who, blushing through a crimson veil of the deepest hue, bore the raillery of the party assembled with as much good sense as good nature; acknowledging the frolic, and joining in the laugh the joke produced. beneath, you have one of our facetious friend bob transit's humorous sketches of an incident said to have occurred near b---- h----: in which an eccentric ~ ~~lady chose to call up the servants in the dead of the night, order out the carriage, and mounting the box herself, insisted upon giving the footman, who had been somewhat tardy in leaving his bed, a gentle airing in his shirt. [illustration: page ] characters on the beach and steyne, brighton. _on bathing and bathers--advantages of shampooing--french decency--brighton politeness--sketches of character--the banker's widow--miss jefferies--mrs. f----l--peter paragraph, the london correspondent--jack smith--the french consul--paphian divinities--c---- l----, esq.-- squeeze into the libraries--the new plunging bath--chain pier--cockney comicalities--royal gardens--the club house._ ~ ~~the next morning early i proceeded to the beach to enjoy the delightful and invigorating pleasure of sea-bathing. the clean pebble shore extending, as it does here, for a long distance beneath the east cliff, is a great advantage to those who, from indisposition or luxury, seek a dip in the ocean. one practice struck me as being a little objectionable, namely, the machines of the males and females being placed not only within sight of each other, but actually close alongside; by which circumstance, the sportive nymphs sometimes display more of nature's charms to the eager gaze of her wanton sons than befits me to tell, or decency to dwell on. i could not, however, with all the purity of my ethics, help envying a robust fellow who was assisting in clucking the dear unencumbered creatures under the rising wave.{ } some of the female bathers are very adventurous, and from the great drawback of water many accidents have occurred. i was much amused one morning with three sisters, in the machine adjoining mine, continually crying out to a male attendant "to push on, and not be afraid of the consequences; we can all swim well," said one of the miss b----'s (well known as the _marine graces_). "but my machine a'n't water-tight," replied the bathing-man, "and if i trust it any farther in, i shall never be able to get it out again." a frenchman who came down to bathe with his wife and sister insisted upon using the same machine with the ladies; the bathing-women remonstrated, but _monsieur_ retorted very fairly thus--"_mon dieu i vat is dat vat you tell me about décence. tromperie_--shall i no dip _mon femme a sour_ myself vith quite as much _bienséance_ as dat vulgar brute vat i see ducking de ladies yondere?" ~ ~~the naiads of the deep are a strange race of mortals, half fish and half human, with a masculine coarseness of manner that, i am told, has been faithfully copied from their great original, the once celebrated martha gun. it is not unusual for these women to continue in the water up to their waists for four hours at a time, without suffering the least affection of cold or rheumatism, and living to a great age. a dingy empiric has invented a new system of _humbug_ which is in great repute here, and is called _shampooing_; a sort of stewing alive by steam, sweetened by being forced through odoriferous herbs, and undergoing the pleasant sensation of being dabbed all the while with pads of flannels through holes in the wet blankets that surround you, until the cartilaginous substances of your joints are made as pliable as the ligaments of boiled calves' feet, your whole system relaxed and unnerved, and your trembling legs as useless in supporting your body as a pair of boots would be without the usual quantity of flesh and bone within them. the steyne affords excellent subject for the study of character, and the pencil of the humorist; the walks round are paved with brick, which, when the thermometer is something above eighty-six in the shade (the case just now), is very like pacing your parched feet over the pantiles of a turkish stove. there is, indeed, a ~ ~~grass-plot within the rails, but the luxury of walking upon it is reserved for the fishermen of the place exclusively, except on some extraordinary occasion, when the whole rabble of the town are let loose to annoy the visitants by puffing tobacco smoke in their faces, or jostling and insulting them with coarse ribaldry, until the genteel and decent are compelled to quit the promenade. i have had two or three such specimens of brighton manners while staying here, and could only wish i had the assistance of about twenty of the _oxford_togati_, trinitarians, or bachelors of brazennose. i think we should hit upon some expedient to tame these brutes, and teach them civilized conduct--an herculean labour which the town authorities seem afraid to attempt. the easy distance between this and the metropolis, with the great advantages of expeditious travelling, enable the multitudinous population of london to pour forth its motley groups, in greater variety than at any other watering place, margate excepted, with, however, this difference in favour of the former, that the mixture had more of the sprinkling of fashion about them, here and there a name of note, a splendid equipage, or a dazzling star, to illumine the dull nomenclatures in the library books of the johnson's, the thomson's, the brown's, and the levi's. the last-mentioned fraternity congregate here in shoals, usurp all the best lodgings, at the windows of which they are to be seen soliciting notice, with their hooked noses, copper countenances, and inquisitive eyes, decked out in all the faded finery of petticoat-lane, or bevis marks; while the heads of the houses of israel run down on a saturday, after the stock exchange closes, and often do as much business here on the sabbath, in gambling speculations for the _account day_, as they have done all the week before in london. here, too, you have the felicity to meet your tailor in his tandem, your ~ ~~butcher on his _trotter_, your shoemaker in a _fly_, and your wine-merchant with his bit of blood, his girl, and tilbury, making a greater splash than yourself, and pleasantly pointing you out to observation as a long-winded one, a great gambler, or some other such gratuitous return for your ill-bestowed patronage. to amalgamate with such _canaille_ is impossible--you are therefore driven into seclusion, or compelled to confine your visits and amusements to nearly the same circle you have just left london to be relieved from. among the "observed" of the present time, the great star of attraction is the rich banker's widow, who occupies the corner house of the grand parade, eclipsing in splendid equipages and attendants an eastern nabob, or royalty itself. good fortune threw old crony in my way, just as i had caught a glimpse of the widow's cap: you know his dry sarcastic humour and tenacious memory, and perhaps i ought to add, my inquisitive disposition. from him i gleaned a sketch of the widow's history, adorned with a few comments, which gallantry to the fair sex will not allow me to repeat. she had just joined conversation with the marquis of h----, who was attended by jackson, the pugilist; an illustrious personage and a noble earl were on her left; while behind the _jolie_ dame, at a respectful distance, paced two liveried emblems of her deceased husband's bounty, clad in the sad habiliments of woe, and looking as merry as mutes at a rich man's funeral. _(see plate.) [illustration: page ] "she has the reputation of being very charitable," said i. "she has," responded crony; "but the total neglect of poor wewitzer, in the hour of penury and sickness, is no proof of her feeling, much less of her generosity. i have known her long," continued crony, "from her earliest days of obscurity and indigence to these of unexampled prosperity, and i never could agree with common report in that particular." i dare say i looked at this moment very ~ ~~significantly; for crony, without waiting my request, continued his history. "her father was the gay and dissolute jack kinnear, well known in dublin for his eccentricities about the time of the rebellion, in which affair he made himself so conspicuous that he was compelled to expatriate, and fled to england by way of liverpool; where his means soon failing, jack, never at a loss, took up the profession of an actor, and succeeded admirably. his animated style and attractive person are still spoken of with delight by many of the old inhabitants of carlisle, rochdale, kendal, and the neighbouring towns of lancashire, where he first made his appearance in an itinerant company, then under the management of a man of the name of bibby, and in whose house, under very peculiar circumstances, our heroine was born; but 'merit and worth from no condition rise; act well your part--there all the honour lies.' ~ ~~that little harriet was a child of much promise there is no doubt, playing, in her mother's name, at a very early period, all the juvenile parts in bibby's company with great _éclat_ until she attained the age of eighteen, when her abilities procured her a situation to fill the first parts in genteel comedy in the theatres-royal manchester and liverpool. from this time her fame increased rapidly, which was not a little enhanced by her attractive person, and consequent number of admirers; for even among the cotton lords of manchester a fine-grown, raven-locked, black-eyed brunette, arch, playful, and clever, could not fail to create sensations of desire: but at this time the affections of the lady were fixed on a son of thespis, then a member of the same company, and to whom she was shortly afterwards betrothed; but the marriage, from some capricious cause or other, was never consummated: the actor, well-known as scotch grant, is now much reduced in life, and a member of ~ ~~one of the minor companies of the metropolis. on her quitting liverpool, in , she played at the stafford theatre during the election contest, where, having the good-fortune to form an intimacy with the hortons, a highly-respectable family then resident there, and great friends of sheridan, they succeeded, on the return of that gentleman to parliament for the borough of stafford, to obtain from him an engagement for our heroine at the theatre-royal drury lane, of which he was at that time proprietor. 'brevity is the soul of wit,'" said crony: "i shall not attempt to enumerate all the parts she played there; suffice it to say, she was successful, and became a great favourite with the public. it was here she first attracted the notice of the rich old banker, who having just discarded another actress, mrs. m----r, whom he had kept some time, on account of an intimacy he discovered with the lady and p----e, the oboe player, he made certain propositions, accompanied with such liberal presents, that the fair yielded to the all-powerful influence, not of love, but gold; and having, through the interference of poor w----, secured to herself a settlement which made her independent for life, threw out the well-planned story of the lottery ticket, as a 'tub to the whale': a stratagem that, for some time, succeeded admirably, until a malicious wag belonging to the company undertook to solve the riddle of her prosperity, by pretending to bet a wager of one hundred, that the lady had actually gained twenty thousand pounds by the lottery, and he would name the ticket: with this excuse, for what otherwise might have been deemed impertinent, he put the question, and out of the reply developed the whole affair. all london now rung with the splendour of her equipage, the extent of her charities, and the liberality of her conduct to an old actor and a young female friend, miss s----n, who was invariably seen with ~ ~~her in public. such was the notoriety of the intimacy, that the three married daughters of the banker, all persons of title and the highest respectability, thought it right to question their father, relative to the truth of the reports in circulation. whatever might have been their apprehensions, their fears were quieted by the information, that the lady in question was a natural daughter, born previous to the alliance to which they owed their birth: this assurance not only induced the parties to admit her to their presence, but she was also introduced to, and became intimate with, the wife of the man to whom she owes her present good fortune. it was now, that, feeling herself secure, she displayed that capricious feeling which has since marked her character: poor w----r, her mentor and defender, was on some mere pretence abandoned, and a sturdy blustering fellow, in the same profession, substituted for the sincere adviser, the witty and agreeable companion: it was to r----d she sent a present of one thousand pounds, for a single ticket, on his benefit night. but her ambition had not yet attained its highest point: the banker's wife died, and our fortunate heroine was elected to her place while yet the clay-cold corse of her predecessor remained above ground; a circumstance, which brought down a heavy calamity on the clerical who performed the marriage rites,{ } but which was remedied by an annuity from the banker. from this period, the haughty bearing of the lady exceeded all bounds; the splendour of her establishment, the extravagance of her parties, and the munificence of her charities, trumpeted forth by that many-tongued oracle, the public press, eclipsed the brilliancy of the saturnine b----n, the author of 'the stage,' a poem, on hearing the day after her marriage with the banker, a conversation relative to her age, said he was sure the party were all in error, as there could be no doubt the lady was on the previous night _under age_. ~ ~~royal banquets, and outshone the greatest and wealthiest of the stars of fashion. about this time, her hitherto inseparable companion made a slip with a certain amorous manager; and such was the indignation of our moral heroine on the discovery, that she spurned the unfortunate from her for ever, and actually turned the offending spark out of doors herself, accompanying the act with a very unladylike demonstration of her vengeance. b----d, her most obsequious servant, died suddenly. poor dr. j---- a----s, who gave up a highly respectable and increasing practice, in greek-street, soho, as a physician, to attend, exclusively, on the 'geud auld mon' and his rib, met such a return for his kindness and attention, that he committed suicide. her next friend, a mr. g----n, a very handsome young man, who was induced to quit his situation in the bank for the office of private secretary, made a mistake one night, and eloped with the female confidante of the banker's wife, a crime for which the perpetrator could never hope to meet with forgiveness. it is not a little singular," said crony, "that almost all her intimate acquaintances have, sooner or later, fallen into disrepute with their patroness, and felt how weak is the reliance upon the capricious and the wayward." on the death of the old banker, our heroine had so wheedled the dotard, that he left her, to the surprise of the world, the whole of his immense property, recommending only certain legacies, and leaving an honourable and high-minded family dependent upon her bountiful consideration. "i could relate some very extraordinary anecdotes arising out of that circumstance," said crony; "but you must be content with one, farcical in the extreme, which fully displays the lady's affection for her former profession, and shows she is a perfect mistress of stage effect. on the removal of the shrivelled remains of the old dotard for interment, his affectionate rib accompanied the ~ ~~procession, and when they rested for the night at an inn on the road, guarded them in death as she had done in the close of life, by sleeping on a sofa in the same room. cruel, cruel separation! what a scene for the revival of 'grief à la mode!' "but she is unhappy with all her wealth," said the cynic. "careless as some portion of our nobility are in their choice of companions for their sports or pleasures, they have yet too much consideration left of what is due to their rank, their wives, and daughters, not to hesitate before they receive----. but never mind," said crony; "you know the rest. you must have heard of a recent calamity which threatened the lady; and on which that mad wag, john bull, let fly some cutting jokes. a very sagacious police magistrate, accompanied by one of his _indefatigables_, went to _inspect the premises_, accompanied by a gentleman of the faculty; but, after all their united efforts to unravel the mystery, it turned out a mere _scratch_, a very flat affair. [illustration: page ] ~ ~~"i think," said crony, "we have now arrived at the ultimatum of the widow's history, and may as well take a turn or two up the steyne, to look out for other character. the ancient female you perceive yonder, leaning on her tall gold-headed cane, is miss j----s, a maid of honour to the late queen charlotte, and the particular friend of mrs. f----l: said to be the only one left out of eight persons, who accompanied two celebrated personages, many years since, in a stolen matrimonial speculation to calais. she is as highly respected as her friend mrs. f----l is beloved here." "who the deuce is that strange looking character yonder, enveloped in a boat-cloak, and muffled up to the eyes with a black handkerchief?" "that is a very important personage in a watering place, i assure you," replied crony; "being no other than the celebrated peter paragraph, the london correspondent to the morning post, who involves, to use his own phrase, the whole hemisphere of fashion in his mystifications and reports: informs the readers of that paper how many rays of sunshine have exhilarated the brightonians during the week, furnishes a correct journal of fogs, rains, storms, shipwrecks, and hazy mists; and, above all, announces the arrivals and departures, mixing up royal and noble fashionables and _kitchen stuff'_ in the same beautiful obscurity of diction. peter was formerly a _friseur_; but has long since quitted the shaving and cutting profession for the more profitable calling of collector of _on dits_ and _puffs extraordinaire_. the swaggering broad-shouldered blade who follows near him, with a frontispiece like the red lion, is the well-known radical, jack s----h, now agent to the french consul for this place, and the unsuccessful candidate for the _independent_ borough of shoreham." "a complete eccentric, by all my hopes of pleasure! crony, who are those two dashing divinities, who come tripping along so lively yonder?" "daughters of ~ ~~pleasure," replied the cynic; "a pair of justly celebrated paphians, west-end comets, who have come here, no doubt, with the double view of profit and amusement. the plump looking dame on the right, is aug--ta c--ri, (otherwise lady h----e); so called after the p--n--ss a----a, her godmamma. her father, old ab--t, one of q----n c----te's _original_ german pages, brought up a large family in respectability, under the fostering protection of his royal mistress. aug----ta, at the early age of fifteen, eloped from st. james's, on a matrimonial speculation with a young musician, mr. an----y c----, (himself a boy of )! from such a union what could be expected? a mother at , and a neglected dishonoured wife, before she had counted many years of womanhood. if she fell an unresisting victim to the seduction which her youth, beauty, and musical talents attracted, '_her stars were more to blame than she._' let it be recorded, however, that her conduct as wife and mother was free from reproach, until a _depraved, unnatural_ man (who by the way has since fled the country) set her the example of licentiousness. "amongst her earliest admirers, was the wealthy citizen, mr. s---- m----, a bon vivant, a _five-bottle_ man (who has, not unaptly, been since nominated a representative in p----l for one of the _cinque ports_). to this witty man's generous care she is indebted for an annuity, which, with common prudence, ought to secure her from want during her own life. on her departure from this lover, which proceeded entirely from her own caprice and restless extravagance, the vain aug--ta launched at once into all the dangerous pleasures of a cyprian life. the court, the city, and the _'change_, paid homage to her charms. one high in the r----l h----h----id wore her chains for many months; and it was probably more in the spirit of revenge for open neglect, than admiration of such a ~ ~~faded beau, that lady g---- b---- admitted the e---- of b----e to usurp the husband's place and privilege. it is extraordinary that the circumstance just mentioned, which was notorious, was not brought forward in mitigation of the damages for the loss of conjugal joys; and which a jury of citizens, with a tender feeling for their own honour, valued at ten thousand pounds. my lord g---- b---- pocketed the injury and the ten thousand,; and his noble substitute has since made the 'amende honorable' to public morals, by uniting his destinies with an amiable woman, the daughter of a doctor of music, and a beauty of the sister country, who does honour to the rank to which she has been so unexpectedly elevated. "mrs. c----i had no acquaintance of her own sex in the world of gaiety but one; the beautiful, interesting, mademoiselle st. m--g--te, then ( and ) in the zenith of her charms. the gentle ad--l--de, whose sylph-like form, graceful movements, and highly polished manner, delighted all who knew her, formed a strange and striking contrast to the short, fat, bustling, salacious aug--ta, whose boisterous bon-mots, and horse-laughical bursts, astonished rather than charmed. both, however, found abundance of admirers to their several tastes. it was early in the spring of that the subject of this article had the good or evil fortune to attract the eye of a noble lord of some notoriety, who pounced on his plump prey with more of the amorous assurance of the bird of jove than the cautious hoverings of the wary h--ke. love like his admitted of no delay. preliminaries were soon arranged, under the auspices of that experienced matron, madame d'e--v--e, whose address, in this delicate negotiation, extorted from his lordship's generosity, besides a cheque on h----d and g--bbs for a cool hundred, the payment of 'brother martin's' old score, of long standing, for bed and board at madame's house of business, little st. martin's-~ ~~street. the public have been amused with the ridiculous story of the mock marriage; but whatever were his faults or follies, and he is since called to his account, his l--ds--p stands guiltless of this. 'tis true, her 'ladyship' asserted, nay, we believe, swore as much; but she is known to possess such boundless imaginative faculties, that her nearest and dearest friends have never yet been able to detect her in the weakness of uttering a palpable truth. the assumption of the name and title arose out of a circumstance so strange, so ridiculous, and so unsavoury, that, with all our 'gusto' for fun, we must omit it: suffice it to say, that it originated in--what?--gentle reader--in a dose of physic!!! for further particulars, apply to mrs. c----l, of the c--s--le s--t--h--ll. after this strange event, which imparted to her ladyship all the honours of the coronet, mrs. c----i was to be seen in the park, from day to day; the envy of every less fortunate dolly, and the horror of the few friends which folly left her lordly dupe. in this state of doubtful felicity her ladyship rolled on (for she almost lived in her carriage) for three years; when, alas! by some cruel caprice of love, or some detected intrigue, or from the holy scruples of his lordship's reverend adviser, padre ambrosio, this connexion was suddenly dissolved at paris; when mrs. c----, no longer acknowledged as my lady, was at an hour's notice packed off in the dilly for dover, and her jewels, in half the time, packed up in their casket and despatched to lafitte's, in order to raise the ways and means for the peer and his ghostly confessor! "her ladyship's next attempt at notoriety was her grand masked ball at the argyll rooms in ; an entertainment which, for elegant display and superior arrangement, did great credit to her taste, or to that of her broad-shouldered milesian friend, to whom it is said the management of the whole was committed. the expense of this act of folly has been variously ~ ~~estimated; and the honour of defraying it gratuitously allotted to an illustrious commander, whose former weakness and culpability has been amply redeemed by years of truly r----l benevolence and public service. we can state, however, that neither the purse or person of the royal d----contributed to the _éclat_ of the _fête_. an amorous hebrew city clerk, who had long '_looked and loved_' at humble distance, taking advantage of his uncle's absence on the continent in a _diamond hunting_ speculation, having left the immediate jewel of his soul, his cash, at home, the enamoured youth seized the very 'nick o' time,' furnished half the funds for the night, for half a morning's conversation in upper y--street: her ladyship's indefatigable industry furnished the other moiety in a couple of days. a mr. z--ch--y contributed fifty, which coming to the ears of his sandy-haired lassie, his own paid forfeit of his folly, to their almost total abstraction from the thick head to which they project with asinine pride. since this splash in the whirlpool of fashionable folly, her 'ladyship,' for she clings to the rank with all the tenacity of a fencible field officer, has lived in comparative retirement near e--dg--e r--d, nursing a bantling of the new era, and singing '_john anderson my joe_' to her now 'gude man;' only occasionally relapsing into former gaieties by a sly trip to box hill or virginia water with the grandson of a barber, a flush but gawky boy, who, forgetting that it is to the talents and judicial virtues of his honoured sire he owes his elevation, rejects that proud and wholesome example; and, by his arrogance and vanity, excites pity for the father and contempt for the son. her ladyship, who by her own confession has been 'just nine and twenty' for the last ten years, may still boast of her conquests. her amour with the _yellow dwarf_ of g--vs--r p--e is too good to be lost. they are followed by one, who, time was, would have chased them round the steyne ~ ~~and into cover with all the spirit of a true sportsman; but his days of revelry are past,--that is the celebrated _roué_, c---- l----, a '_trifle light as air,_' yet in nature's spite a very ultra in the pursuit of gallantry. to record the number of frail fair ones to whose charms he owned ephemeral homage would fill a volume. the wantons wife whose vices sunk her from the drawing-room to the lobby; the{ } kitchen wench, whose pretty face and lewd ambition raised her to it; the romance bewildered{ } miss, and the rude unlettered { } villager, the hardened drunken profligate, and the timid half-ruined victim (the almost infant jenny!) have all in turn tasted his bounty and his wine, have each been honoured with a page in his trifles: of his caresses he wisely was more chary. which of the frail sisterhood has not had a ride in g---- l----'s worn out in the service and which in its day might be said to roll mechanically from c----l----to c----s-s--t, with almost instinctive precision. but his days of poesy and nights of folly are now past! honest c----has taken the hint from nature, and retired, at once, from the republics of venus and of letters. a kind, a generous, and a susceptible heart like his must long ere this have found, in the arms of an amiable wife, those unfading and honourable joys which, reflection must convince him, were not to be extracted from those foul and polluted sources from whence he sought and drew a short-lived pleasure." you know crony's affection for a good dinner, and will not therefore be surprised that i had the honour of his company this day; but i'faith he deserved his reward for the cheerfulness and amusement with which he contrived to kill time. lady b----e. mrs. h----y. louisa v----e. mrs. s--d--s. mrs. s--mm--ns. ~ ~~in the evening it was proposed to visit the libraries; but as these places of public resort are not always eligible for the appearance of a star, crony and myself were despatched first to reconnoitre and report to the countess our opinions of the assembled group. the association of society has perhaps undergone a greater change in england within the last thirty years than any other of our peculiar characteristics; at least, i should guess so from crony's descriptions of the persons who formerly honoured the libraries with their presence; but whose names (if they now condescend to subscribe) are entered in a separate book, that they may not be defiled by appearing in the same column with the plebeian host of the three nations who form the united family of great britain. "ay, sir," said crony, with a sigh that bespoke the bitterness of reflection, "i remember when this spot (luccombe's library) was the resort of all the beauty and brilliancy that once illumined the hemisphere of calton palace,--the satellites of the heir apparent, the brave, the witty, and the gay,--the soul-inspiring, mirthful band, whose talents gave a splendid lustre to the orb of royalty, far surpassing the most costly jewel in his princely coronet. but they are gone, struck to the earth by the desolating hand of the avenger death, and have left no traces of their genius upon the minds of their successors." of the motley assemblage which now surrounds us it would be difficult to attempt a picture. the pencil of a cruikshank or a rowlandson might indeed convey some idea; but all weaker hands would find the subject overpowering. a mob of manufacturers, melting hot, elbowing one another into ill-humour, by their anxiety to teach their offspring the fashionable vice of gaming; giving the pretty innocents a taste for _loo_, which generally ends in _loo_-sening what little purity of principle the prejudice of education has left upon their intellect. in our more fashionable _hells_, wine and choice _liqueurs_ are the stimulants ~ ~~to vice; here, the seduction consists in the strumming of an ill-toned piano, to the squeaking of some poor discordant whom poverty compels to public exposure; and who, generally being of the softer sex, pity protects from the severity of critical remark. i need not say our report to the dalmaines was unfavourable; and the divine little countess, frustrated in her intentions of honouring the libraries with her presence, determined upon promenading up the west cliff, attended by old crony and myself. the bright-eyed goddess of the night emitted a ray of more than usual brilliancy, and o'er the blue waters of the deep spread forth a silvery and refulgent lustre, that lent a charm of magical inspiration to the rippling waves. for what of nature's mighty works can more delight, than '----circling ocean, when the swell by zephyrs borne from off the main, heaves to the breeze, and sinks again?' the deep murmuring of the hollow surge as it rolls over the pebble beach, the fresh current of saline air that braces and invigorates, and the uninterrupted view of the watery expanse, are attractions of delight and contemplation which are nowhere to be enjoyed in greater perfection than at brighton. the serenity of the evening induced us to pass the barrier of the chain-pier, and bend our steps towards the projecting extremity of that ingenious structure. an old welsh harper was touching his instrument with more than usual skill for an itinerant professor, while the plaintive notes of the air he tuned accorded with the solemnity of the surrounding scene. "i could pass an evening here," said the countess, in a somewhat contemplative mood, "in the society of kindred spirits, with more delightful gratification than among the giddy throng who meet at almack's." crony bowed to the ground, overpowered by the ~ ~~compliment; while your humble servant, less obsequious, but equally conscious of the flattering honour, advanced my left foot sideways, drew up my right longitudinally, and touched my beaver with a _congée_, that convinced me i had not forgotten the early instructions of our old eton posture-master, the all-accomplished signor angelo. "a __wery hextonishing vurk, this here pier," said a fat, little squab of a citizen, sideling up to crony like a full-grown porpoise; "_wery hexpensive_, and _wery huseless, i thinks_" continued the intruder. crony reared his crest in silent indignation, while his visage betokened an approaching storm; but a significant look from the countess gave him the hint that some amusement might be derived from the _animal_; who, without understanding the contempt he excited, proceeded--"_vun_ of the new _bubble_ companies' _specks, i supposes, vat old daddy boreas vill blow avay sum night in a hurrikin_. it puts me _wery_ much in mind of a two bottle man." "why so?" said crony. "bekause it's only half seas _hover_." this little civic _jeu d'esprit_ made his peace with us by producing a hearty laugh, in which he did not fail to join in unison. "but are you aware of the usefulness and national importance of the projector's plans? said crony. "not i," responded the citizen: "i hates all projections of breweries, bridges, buildings, and boring companies, from the golden-lane speck to the vaterloo; from thence up to the new street, and down to the tunnel under the thames, vich my banker, sir william curtis, says, is the greatest bore in london." "but humanity, sir," said crony, "has, i hope, some influence with you; and this undertaking is intended not only for the healthful pleasure of the brighton visitors, but for the convenience of vessels in distress, and the landing of passengers in bad weather." "ay, there it is,--that's hexactly vat i thought; to help our rich people more easily out of ~ ~~the country, and bring a set of poor half-starved foreigners in: vy, i'm told it's to be carried right across the channel in time, and then the few good ones ve have left vill be marching off to the enemy." this conceit amused the countess exceedingly, and was followed by many other equally strange expressions and conjectures; among which, crony contrived to persuade him that great amusement was to be derived in bobbing for mackerel and turbot with the line: a pleasure combining so much of profit in expectancy that the old citizen was, at last, induced to admit the utility of the chain-pier. retracing our steps towards the steyne, we had one more good laugh at our companion's credulity, who expressed great anxiety to know what the huge wheel was intended for, which is at the corner by the barrier, and throws up water for the use of the town; but which, crony very promptly assured him, was the grand action of the improved roasting apparatus at the york hotel. we now bade farewell to our amusing companion, and proceeded to view the new plunging bath at the bottom of east-street, built in the form of an amphitheatre, and surrounded by dressing-rooms, with a fountain in the centre, from which a continued supply of salt-water is obtained. the advantages may be great in bad weather; but to my mind there is nothing like the open sea, particularly as confined water is always additionally cold. on our arrival at home, a parcel from london brought the enclosed from tom echo, upon whom the sentence of rustication has, i fear, been productive of fresh follies. [illustration: page ] dear heartily, having cut college for a _bolt_ to the _village_,{ } i expected to have found you in the _bay of condolence_,{ } but hear you left your _moorings_ lately london, so called at oxford. the consolation afforded by friends when _plucked_ or rusticated. ~ ~~to _waste the ready_ among the _sharks_ at brighton. though not quite at _point nonplus_, i am very near the _united kingdoms_ of _sans souci and sans sixsous_,{ } and shall bring to, and wait for company, in the province of bacchus. i have only just quitted _Æager haven_, and been very near the _wall_{ }; have sustained another dreadful fire from _convocation castle,_{ } which had nigh shattered my _fore-lights_, and was very near being _blown up_ in attempting to pass the _long hope_.{ } if you wish to save an old etonian from _east jeopardy_,{ } set sail directly, and tow me out of the _river tick_ into the _region of rejoicing_; then will we get _bosky_ together, sing old songs, tell merry tales, and _spree_ and _sport_ on the _states of independency_. yours truly, the _oxford rustic_, london. tom echo. p. s. i should not have cut so suddenly, but joined bob transit and eglantine in giving two of the old big wigs a flying leap t'other evening, as they left christ church hall, in return for rusticating me:--to escape suspicion, broke away by the mail. i know your affection for a good joke, so induced bob to book it, and let me have the sketch, which i here enclose. riddance of cares, and, ultimately, of sixpences. the depot of invalids; dr. wall being a celebrated surgeon, whose skill is proverbial in the cure of the headington or bagley fever. for a view of poor tom during his suffering--_(see plate by bob transit.)_ the house of convocation in oxford, when the twenty-five heads of colleges and the masters meet to transact and investigate university affairs. the symbol of long expectation in studying for a degree. terrors of anticipation. the remaining phrases have all been explained in an earlier part of the work. ~ ~~ [illustration: page ] mad as the d'almaine's must think me for obeying such a summons, i have just bade them adieu, and am off to-morrow, by the earliest coach, for london. the only place i have omitted to notice, in my sketches of brighton, is the club house on the steyne parade, where a few _old rooks_ congregate, to keep a sharp look-out for an unsuspecting _green one_, or a wealthy _pigeon_, who, if once _netted_, seldom succeeds in quitting the trap without being plucked of a few of his feathers. the greatest improvement to a place barren of foliage and the agreeable retirement of overshadowed walks, is the royal gardens, on the level at the extremity of the town, in a line with the steyne enclosures as you enter from the london road. the taste, variety, and accommodation displayed in this elegant place of amusement, renders it certainly the most attractive of public gardens, while the arrangements are calculated to gratify all ~ ~~classes of society without the danger of too crowded an assemblage. let us see you when term ends; and in the interim expect a long account of sprees and sports in the village. horatio heartly. [illustration: page ] metropolitan sketches. _heartly, echo, and transit start for a spree--scenes by daylight, starlight, and gaslight--black mon-day at tattersall's--the first meeting after the great st. leger-- heroes of the turf paying and receiving--dinner at fishmongers' hall--com-mittee of greeks--the affair of the cogged dice--a regular break-down--rules for the new club-- the daffy club, or a musical muster of the fancy: striking portraits--counting the stars--covent garden, what it was, and what it is--the finish--anecdotes of characters--the hall of infamy, alias the covent garden hell._ of all the scenes where rich and varied character is to be found in the metropolis and its environs, none can exceed that emporium for sharps and flats, famed tattersall's, whether for buying a good horse, betting a round sum, or, in the sporting phrase, learning how to make the best of every thing. "shall we take a _tooddle_ up to hyde-park corner?" said echo; "this is the settling day for all bets made upon the great doncaster st. léger, when the _swells book up_, and the knowing ones _draw_ their _bussel_:--_black_ monday, as sir john lade terms it, when the event has not come off right." "a noble opportunity," replied transit, "for a picture of turf curiosities. come, heartly, throw philosophy aside, and let us set forth for a day's enjoyment, and then to finish with a night of frolic. an occasional spree is as necessary to the relaxation of the mind, as exercise is to ~ ~~ensure health. the true secret to make life pleasant, and study profitable, is to be able to throw off our cares as we do our morning gowns, and, when we sally forth to the world, derive fresh spirit, vigour, and information from cheerful companions, good air, and new objects. high 'change among the heroes of the turf presents ample food for the humorist; while the strange contrast of character and countenance affords the man of, feeling and discernment subject for amusement and future contemplation." it was in the midst of one of the most numerous meetings ever remembered at tattersall's, when barefoot won the race, contrary to the general expectation of the knowing ones, that we made our _entré_. with echo every sporting character was better known than his college tutor, and not a few kept an eye upon the boy, with hopes, no doubt, of hereafter benefiting by his inexperience, when, having got the whip-hand of his juvenile restrictions, he starts forth to the world a man of fashion and consequence, with an unencumbered property of fifteen thousand per annum, besides expectancies. "here's a game of chess for you, transit," said echo; "why, every move upon the board is a character, and not one but what is worth booking. observe the arch slyness of the jockey yonder, ear-wigging his patron, a young blood of the fancy, into a _good thing_; particularising all the capabilities and qualities of the different horses named, and making the event (in his own estimation) as _sure as the bank of england_:--how finely contrasted with the easy indifference of the dignified sportsman near him, who leaves all to chance, spite of the significant nods and winks from a regular _artiste_ near him, who never suffers him to make a bet out of the ring, if it is possible to prevent him, by throwing in a little suspicion, in order that he and his friends may have the plucking of their victim exclusively. the portly-looking man in the left-hand corner _(see ~ ~~plate)_ is mr. tanfield, one of the greatest betting men on the turf; who can lose and pay twenty thousand without moving a muscle, and pocket the like sum without indulging in a smile; always steady as old time, and never giving away a chance, but carefully keeping his eye upon cocker (i. e. his book), to see how the odds stand, and working away by that system which is well understood under the term management. in front of him is the sporting earl of sefton, and that highly-esteemed son of nimrod, colonel hilton joliffe,--men of the strictest probity, and hence often appointed referees on matters in dispute. [illustration: page ] lawyer l----, and little wise-man, are settling their differences with _bluff_ bland, who carries all his bets in his memory till he reaches home, because a book upon the spot would be useless. in the right-hand corner, just in front of old general b----n, is john gully, once the pugilist, but now a man of considerable property, which has been principally acquired by his knowledge of calculation, and strict attention to honourable conduct: there are few men on the turf more respected, and very few among those who keep _betting_ books whose conduct will command the same approbation. the old beau in the corner is sir lumley s----n, who, without the means to bet much, still loves to linger near the scene of former extravagance." "a good disciple of lavater," said transit, "might tell the good or ill fortunes of those around him, by a slight observance of their countenances. see that merry-looking, ruby-faced fellow just leaving the door of the subscription-room: can any body doubt that he has _come off all right_?--or who would dispute that yon pallid-cheeked gentleman, with a long face and quivering lip, betrays, by the agitation of his nerves, the extent of his sufferings? the peer with a solemn visage tears out his last check, turns upon his heel, whistles a tune, and sets against the gross amount of his losses another mortgage of ~ ~~the family acres, or a _post obit_ upon some expectancy: the regular sporting man, the out and outer, turns to his book-- 'for there he finds, _no matter who has won_,{ } whichever animal, or mare, or colt; nay, though each horse that started for't should bolt, or all at once fall lame, or die, or stray, he yet must pocket hundreds by the day.'" two or three amusing scenes took place among those who wanted, and those who had nothing to give, but yet were too honourable to _levant_: many exhibited outward and visible signs of inward grief. a man of metal dropped his last sovereign with a sigh, but chafed a little about false reports of chaunting up a losing horse, doing the _thing neatly_, keeping the secret, and other such like delicate innuendoes, which among sporting men pass current, provided the losers pay promptly. several, who had gone beyond their depth, were recommended to the consideration of the humane, in hopes that time might yet bring them about. we had now passed more than two hours among the motley group, when tom, having exchanged the time o'day with most of his sporting friends, proposed an adjournment to _fishmongers' hall_, or, as he prefaced it, with a visit to the new club in st. james's-street; to which resort of greeks and gudgeons we immediately proceeded. [illustration: page ] we had just turned the corner of st. james's-street, and were preparing to ascend the steps which lead to the new club, as crockford's establishment is termed, when old crony accosted me. to all but betting men, this must appear impossible; but management is every thing; and with a knowledge of the secret, according to turf logic, it is one hundred to one against calculation, and, by turf mathematics, five hundred to one against any event coming right upon the square. in the sporting phrase, 'turf men never back any thing to win;' they have no favourites, unless there is a x; and their common practice is to accommodate all, by taking the odds, till betting is reduced to a _certainty_. ~ ~~he had it seems come off by the brighton ten o'clock coach, and was now, "according to his usual custom i' the afternoon," on the look-out for an _invite_ to a good dinner and a bottle. as i knew he would prove an agreeable, if not a very useful companion in our present enterprise, i did not hesitate to present him to echo and transit, who, upon my very flattering introduction, received him graciously; although bob hinted he was rather _too old_ for a _play-fellow_, and echo whispered me to keep a _sharp lookout_, as he strongly suspected he was a _staff officer_ of the _new greek corps of sappers and miners_. in london you can neither rob nor be robbed genteelly without a formal introduction: how echo had contrived it i know not, but we were very politely ushered into the grand club-room, a splendid apartment of considerable extent, with a bow-window in front, exactly facing white's. to speak correctly of the elegance and taste displayed in the decorations and furniture, not omitting the costly sideboard of richly-chased plate, i can only say it rivalled any thing i had ever before witnessed, and was calculated to impress the young mind with the most extravagant ideas of the wealth and magnificence of the members or _committee_. the honourable mr. b----, one of the brothers of the earl of r----, was the _procureur_ to whom, i found, we were indebted, for the present _honour_--a gay man, of some fashionable notoriety, whose fortune is said to have suffered severely by his attachment to the _orthodox orgies_ at the once celebrated gothic hall, when parson john ambrose used to officiate as the presiding minister. "here he is a member of the committee," said crony, "and, with his brother and the old lord f----, the marquis h----, colonel c----, and the earl of g----, forms the _secret directory_ of the new club, which is considered almost as good a thing as a mexican mine; for, if report speaks truly, the amount ~ ~~of the profits in the last season exceeded one hundred thousand pounds, after payment of expenses." a sudden crash in the street at this moment drew the attention of all to the window, where an accident presented a very ominous warning to those within _(see plate)_. "a regular break down," said echo. "_floored_" said transit, "_but not much the matter_." "i beg your pardon, sir," said a wry-mouthed portly-looking gentleman, who stood next to bob; "it is a very _awkward_ circumstance to have occurred just here: i'll bet ten to one it spoils all the _play_ to-night; and if any of those newspaper fellows get to hear of it, _fishmongers' hall_ and its members will figure in print again to-morrow;" and with that he bustled off to the street to assist in re-producing a _move_ with all possible celerity. "who the deuce was the queer-looking _cawker_?" we all at once inquired of crony. "what, gentlemen! not know the director-general, the accomplished commander-in-chief, the thrice-renowned cocker crockford? (so named from his admirable tact at calculation): why, i thought every one who had witnessed a horse-race, or a boxing-match, or betted a guinea at tattersall's, must have known the _director_, who has been a notorious character among the sporting circles for the last thirty years: and, if truth be told, is not the worst of a bad lot. about five-and-twenty years since i remember him," said crony, "keeping a snug little fishmonger's shop, at the corner of essex-street, in the strand, where i have often betted a guinea with him on a trotting match, for he was then fond of _the thing_, and attended the races and fights in company with old jerry cloves, the lighterman, who is now as well _breeched_ as himself. it is a very extraordinary fact," continued crony, "and one which certainly excites suspicion, that almost all those who have made large fortunes by the turf or play are men of obscure origin, who, but a few years since, were not worth a guinea, ~ ~~while those by whom they have risen are now reduced to beggary." how many representatives of noble houses, and splendid patrimonies, handed down with increasing care from generation, to generation, have been ruined and dissipated by this pernicious vice! --the gay and inexperienced nipped in the very bud of life, and plunged into irretrievable misery--while the high-spirited and the noble-minded victims to false honour, too often seek a refuge from despair in the grave of the suicide! such were the reflections that oppressed my mind while contemplating the scene before me: i was, however, roused from my reverie by crony's continuation of the _director's_ history. "he bears the character of an honourable man," said our mentor, "among the play world, and has the credit of being scrupulously particular in all matters of play and pay. for the fashion of his manners, they might be much improved, certainly; but for generosity and a kind action, there are very few among the _greeks_ who excel the old fishmonger. he was formerly associated with t--l-r and others in the french hazard bank, at watier's club house, corner of bolton-row; but t--l-r, having purchased the house without the knowledge of his partners, wanted so many exclusive advantages for himself, that the director withdrew, just in time to save himself from the obloquy of an affair which occurred shortly afterwards, in which certain persons were charged with using false dice. the complainant, a young sprig of fashion, seized the _unhallowed bones_, and bore them off in triumph to a stick shop in the neighbourhood; where, for some time afterwards, they were exhibited to the gaze of many a fashionable dupe. the circumstance produced more than one good effect--it prevented a return of any disposition to play on the part of the detector, and closed the house for ever since." after the dinner, which was served up in a princely style, we were invited by the honourable to ~ ~~view the upper apartment, called the grand saloon, a true picture of which accompanies this, from the pencil of my friend, bob transit, and into which he has contrived to introduce the affair of the cogged dice _(see plate)_, a licence always allowable to poets and painters in the union of time and place. the characters here will speak for themselves. [illustration: page ] they are all sketches from the life, and as like the originals as the reflection of their persons would be in a looking-glass. by the frequenters of such places they will be immediately recognised; while to the uninitiated the family cognomen is of little consequence, and is omitted, as it might give pain to worthy bosoms who are not yet irrecoverably lost. by the strict rules of _fishmongers' hall_, the members of brookes', white's, boodle's, the cocoa tree, alfred and travellers' clubs only are admissible; but this restriction is not always enforced, particularly where there is a chance of a _good bite_. the principal game played here is french hazard, the director and friends supplying the bank, the premium for which, with what the box-money produces, forms no inconsiderable source of profit. it is ridiculous to suppose any unfair practices are ever resorted to in the general game; in a mixed company they would be easily detected, and must end in the ruin of the house: but the chances of the game, calculation, and superior play, give proficients every advantage, and should teach the inexperienced caution. "it is heart-rending," said crony, whom i had smuggled into one corner of the room, for the purpose of enjoying his remarks free from observation, "to observe the progress of the unfortunate votaries to this destructive vice, as they gradually proceed through the various stages of its seductive influence. the young and thoughtless are delighted with the fascination of the scene: to the more profligate sensualist it affords an opportunity of enjoying the choicest _liqueurs_, coffee, and wines, ~ ~~free of expense; and, although he may have no money to lose himself, he can do the house a _good turn_, by introducing some _pigeon_ who has _just come out_; and he is therefore always a welcome visitor. at crockford's, all games where the aid of mechanism would be necessary are cautiously avoided, not from any moral dislike to _rouge et noir or roulette_, but from the apprehension of an occasional visit from the police, and the danger attending the discovery of such apparatus, which, from its bulk, cannot easily be concealed. in the space of an hour echo had lost all the money he possessed, and had given his i o u for a very considerable sum; although frequently urged to desist by transit, who, with all his love of life and frolic, is yet a decided enemy to gaming. one excess generally leads to another. from tattersall's we had passed to crockford's; and on quitting the latter it was proposed we should visit tom belcher's, the castle tavern, holborn, particularly as on this night there was a weekly musical muster of the _fancy_, yclept the _daffy club_; a scene rich in promise for the pencil of our friend bob, of sporting information to echo, and full of characteristic subject for the observation of the english spy--of that eccentric being, of whom, i hope, i may continue to sing '_esto perpétua_!' life is, with him, a golden dream, a milky way, where all's serene. wit's treasured stores his humour wait,-- his volume, man in every state,-- from grave to gay, from rich to poor, from gilded dome to rustic door. through all degrees life's varied page, he shows the manners of the age. the daffy club presents to the eye of a calm observer a fund of entertainment; to the merry mad-wag who is fond of _life_, blowing his _steamer_, and drinking _blue ruin_, until all is blue before him, a ~ ~~source of infinite amusement; the convivial finds his antidote to the rubs and jeers of this world in a rum chaunt; while the out and outer may here open his mag-azine of tooth-powder, cause a grand explosion, and never fear to meet a broadside in return. the knowing cove finds his account in looking out for the green ones, and the greens find their head sometimes a little heavier, and their pockets lighter, by an accidental rencontre with the fancy. to see the place in perfection, a stranger should choose the night previous to some important mill, when our host of the castle plays second, and all the lads are mustered to _stump up_ their blunt, or to catch the important _whisper_ where the _scene of action_ is likely to be (for there is always due caution used in the disclosure), to take a peep at the pugilists present, and trot off as well satisfied as if he had partaken of a splendid banquet with the great mogul. the long room is neatly fitted up, and lighted with gas; and the numerous sporting subjects, elegantly framed and glazed, have rather an imposing effect upon the entrance of the visitor, and among which may be recognised animated likenesses of the late renowned jem belcher, and his daring competitor (that inordinate glutton) burke. the fine whole-length portrait of mr. jackson stands between those of the champion and tom belcher; the father of the present race of boxers, old joe ward; the jew phenomenon, dutch sam; bob gregson, in water colours, by the late john emery, of covent garden theatre; the scientific contest between humphreys and mendoza; also the battle between crib and jem belcher; a finely executed portrait of the late tremendous molineux; portraits of gulley, randall, harmer, turner, painter, tom owen, and scroggins, with a variety of other subjects connected with the turf, chase, &c, including a good likeness of the dog trusty, the champion of the canine race in fifty battles, and the favourite ~ ~~animal of jem belcher, the gift of lord camelford--the whole forming a characteristic trait of the sporting world. the long table, or the ring, as it is facetiously termed, is where the _old slanders_ generally perch themselves to receive the visits of the swells, and give each other the office relative to passing events: and what set of men are better able to speak of society in all its various ramifications, from the cabinet-counsellor to the _cosey costermonger_? jemmy soares, the president, must be considered a _downy one_; having served five apprenticeships to the office of sheriffs representative, and is as good a fellow in his way as ever _tapped a shy one_ upon the shoulder-joint, or let fly a _ca sa_ at your goods and chattels. lucky bob is a fellow of another stamp, "a _nation good vice_" as ever was attached to the house of _brunswick_. then comes our host, a civil, well-behaved man, without any of the exterior appearance of the ruffian, or perhaps i should say of his profession, and with all the good-natured qualifications for a peaceable citizen, and an obliging, merry landlord: next to him you will perceive the _immortal typo_, the all-accomplished pierce egan; an eccentric in his way, both in manner and person, but not deficient in that peculiar species of wit which fits him for the high office of historian of the ring. the ironical praise of blackwood he has the good sense to turn to a right account, laughs at their satire, and pretends to believe it is all meant in _right-down earnest_ approbation of his extraordinary merits. for a long while after his great instructor's neglect of his friends, pierce kept undisturbed possession of the throne; but recently competitors have shown themselves in the field _well found_ in all particulars, and carrying such witty and weighty ammunition wherewithal, that they more than threaten "to push the hero from his stool."{ } tom the editors of the annals of sporting, and bell's life in london, are both fellows of infinite wit. ~ ~~spring, who is fond of _cocking_ as well as fighting, is seen with his bag in the right-hand corner, chaffing with the duck-lane doss man; while lawyer l----e, a true sportsman, whether for the turf or chase, is betting the odds with brother adey, greek against greek. behind them are seen the heroes scroggins and turner; and at the opposite end of the table, a wake-ful one, but a grosser man than either, and something of the _levanter_: the bald-headed stag on his right goes by the quaint cognomen of the _japan oracle_, from the retentive memory he possesses on all sporting and pugilistic events. the old waiter is a picture every frequenter will recognise, and the smoking a dozer no unusual bit of a spree. here, my dear bernard, you have before you a true portrait of the celebrated daffy{ } club, done from the life by our the great lexicographer of the fancy gives the following definition of the word daffy. the phrase was coined at the mint of the fancy, and has since passed current without ever being overhauled as queer. the colossus of literature, after all his nous and acute researches to explain the synonyms of the english language, does not appear to have been down to the interpretation of daffy; nor indeed does bailey or sheridan seem at all fly to it; and even slang grose has no touch of its extensive signification. the squeamish fair one who takes it on the sly, merely to cure the vapours, politely names it to her friends as white wine. the swell chaffs it as blue ruin, to elevate his notions. the laundress loves dearly a drain of ould tom, from its strength to comfort her inside. the drag fiddler can toss off a quartern of max without making a wry mug. the costermonger illumines his ideas with a flash of lightning.' the hoarse cyprian owes her existence to copious draughts of jacky. the link-boy and mud larks, in joining their browns together, are for some stark naked. and the out and outers, from the addition of bitters to it, in order to sharpen up a dissipated and damaged victualling office, cannot take any thing but fuller's earth. much it should seem, therefore, depends upon a name; and as a soft sound is at all times pleasing to the listener--to have denominated this sporting society the gin club would not only have proved barbarous to the ear, but the vulgarity of the chant might have deprived it of many of its elegant friends. it is a subject, however, which it must be admitted has a good deal of taste belonging to it--and as a sporting man would be nothing if he was not flash, the daffy club meet under the above title. ~ ~~mutual friend, bob transit (see plate), in closing my account of which i have only to say, we were not disappointed in our search after variety, and came away high in spirits, and perfectly satisfied with the good-humour and social intercourse of our eccentric associates. [illustration: ] the sad, the sober, and the sentimental were all gone to roost, before our merry trio sallied forth from the castle tavern, ripe for any sport or spree. of all the bucks in this buckish age, your london buck is the only true fellow of spirit; with him life never begins too early, or finishes too late; how many of the west-end _roués_ ride twenty miles out, in a cold morning, to meet the hounds, and after a hard day's run mount their hack and ride twenty miles home to have the pleasure of enjoying their own fire-side, or of relating the hair-breadth perils and escapes they have encountered, to their less active associates at long's or stevens's, the cider cellar, or the coal-hole! the general introduction of gas throws too clear a light upon many dark transactions and midnight frolics to allow the repetition of the scenes of former times: here and there to be sure an odd nook, or a dark cranny, is yet left unenlightened; but the leading streets of the metropolis are, for the most part, too well illuminated to allow the _spreeish_ or the _sprightly_ to carry on their jokes in security, or bolt away with safety when a charley thinks proper to set his _child a crying_.{ } we had crossed the road, in the direction of chancery-lane, expecting to have met with a hackney _rattler_, but not one was to be found upon the stand, when bob espied the broad _tilt_ of a _jarvey perched_ upon his _shop-board_, and impelling along, with no little labour of the whip, a pair of _anatomies_, whose external appearance showed they springing his rattle. ~ ~~had benefited very little by the opening of the ports for oats, or the digestive operation of the new corn-bill. "hired, old jarvey?" said echo, fixing himself in the road before the fiery charioteer. "no, but tired, young davey," replied the dragsman. "take a fare to covent garden?" "not if i knows it," was the knowing reply; "so stir your stumps, my tight one, or i shall drive over you." "you had better take us," said transit. "i tell you i won't; i am a day man, going home, and i don't take night jobs." "but i tell you, you must," said echo; "so round with your drag, and we'll make your last day a long day, and give you the benefit of resurrection into the bargain." "why, look ye, my jolly masters, if you're up to a lark of that 'ere sort, take care you don't get a floorer; i've got a rum customer inside what i'm giving a lift to for love--only josh hudson, the miller; and if he should chance to wake, i think he'll be for dusting some of your jackets." "what, my friend josh inside?" vociferated echo, "then it's all right: go it, my hearties; mount the box one on each hand, and make him drive us to the finish--while i settle the matter with the inside passenger." josh, who had all this time been taking _forty winks_, while on his road to his crony belcher's, soon recognised his patron, echo; and jarvey, finding that all remonstrance was useless, thought it better to make a "virtue of necessity;" so turning his machine to the right about, he, in due time, deposited us in the purlieus of covent garden. the hoarse note of the drowsy night-guard reverberated through the long aisle of the now-forsaken piazzas, as the trembling flame of the parish lamp, flittering in its half-exhausted jet, proclaimed the approach of day; the heavy rumbling of the gardeners' carts, laden with vegetables for the ensuing market, alone disturbed the quiet of the adjoining streets. in a dark angle might be seen the houseless wanderer, or the abandoned profligate, ~ ~~gathered up like a lump of rags in a corner, and shivering with the nipping air. the gloom which surrounded us had, for a moment, chilled the wild exuberance of my companions' mirth; and it is more than probable we should have suspended our visit to the _finish_, at least for that night, had not the jocund note of some uproarious bacchanalian assailed our ears with the well-known college chant of old walter de mapes, "_mihi est propositum in tabernâ mori_," which being given in g major, was re-echoed from one end to the other of the arched piazza: at a little distance we perceived the jovial singer reeling forwards, or rather working his way, from right to left, in sinuosities, along, or according to nautical phrase, upon __tack and half tack, bearing up to windward, in habiliments black as a crow, with the exception of his neckcloth and under vest; but judge our surprise and delight, when, upon nearer approach, we discovered the _bon vivant_ to be no other than our old friend crony, who had been sacrificing to the jolly god with those choice spirits the members of the beefsteak club,{ } who meet in a room built expressly this club, which may boast among its members some of the most distinguished names of the age, including royalty itself, owed its origin to the talents of those celebrated artists richards and loutherbourg, whose scenic performances were in those days often exhibited to a select number of the nobility and gentry, patrons of the drama and the arts, in the painting-room of the theatre, previous to their being displayed to the public. it was on one of those occasions that some noblemen surprised the artist cooking his beef- steak for luncheon in his painting-room, and kindly partaking of the _déjeuné à la fourchette_, with him, suggested and established the beef-steak club, which was originally, and up to the time of the fire, held in an apart-ment over the old theatre royal, covent garden; but since that period the members have been accommodated by mr. arnold, who built the present room expressly for their use. in page of this work, allusion will be found by name to some of the brilliant wits who graced this festive board, and gave a lustre to the feast. in the old place of meeting the identical gridiron on which richards and loutherbourg operated was to be seen attached to the ceiling, emblematical of the origin of the society, which may now be considered as the only relic left of that social intercourse which formerly existed in so many shapes between those who were distinguished for their noble birth and wealth, and the poorer, but equally illustrious, of the children of genius. it would be an act of injustice to the present race of scenic artists to close this note without acknowledging their more than equal merits to their predecessors: the grieves (father and sons), phillips, marinari, wilson, tomkins, and stanfield, are all names of high talent; but the novelty of their art has, from its general cultivation, lost much of this peculiar attraction. ~ ~~for them over the audience part of the english opera house. the ruby glow of the old boy's countenance shone like an omen of the merry humour of his mind. "what, out for a spree, boys, or just bailed from the watch-house, which is it? the alpha or omega, for they generally follow one another?" "then you are in time for the _equivoque_, crony," said echo; "so enlist him, transit;" and without more ceremony, crony was marched off, __vi et armis, to the _finish_, a coffee-house in james-street, covent garden, where the _peep-o'-day boys_ and _family men_ meet to conclude the night's debauch _(see plate)_; "_video meliora proboque, détériora sequoi_;" you will exclaim, and 'tis granted; but "_lusus animo debent aliquando dari, ad cogitandum melior ut red eat sibi_," says phodrus, and be the poet's apology mine, for i am neither afraid or ashamed to confess myself an admirer of life in all its variegated lights and shadows, deriving my amusement from the great source of knowledge, the study of that eccentric volume--man. the new police act has, in some measure, abated the extent of these nuisances, the low coffee-shops of the metropolis, which were, for the greater part, little better than a rendezvous for thieves of every description, depots both for the ~ ~~plunder and the plunderer; where, if an unthinking or profligate victim once entered, he seldom came out without experiencing treatment which operated like a severe lesson, that would leave its moral upon his mind as long as he continued an inhabitant of the terrestrial world. [illustration: page ] the attempt to describe the party around us baffled even the descriptive powers of old crony; some few, indeed, were known to the man of the world as reputed sharpers,--fellows who are always to be found lingering about houses of such resort, to catch the inexperienced; when, having sacrificed their victim either by gambling, cheating, or swindling, they divide the profits with the keeper of the house, without whose assistance they could not hope to arrive at the necessary information, or be enabled to continue their frauds with impunity; but, thus protected, they have a ready witness at hand to speak to their character, without the suspicion of his being a confederate in their villany. here might be seen the woman of pleasure, lost to every sense of her sex's shame, consuming the remaining portion of the night by a wasteful expenditure of her ill-acquired gains upon some abandoned profligate, bearing, indeed, the outward form of man, but presenting a most degrading spectacle--a wretch so lost to all sense of honour and manhood as meanly to subsist on the wages of prostitution. one or two characters i must not omit: observe the fair cyprian with the ermine tippet, seated on the right of a well-known _billiard sharp_, who made his escape from dublin for having dived a little too deep into the pockets of his brother emeralders; here he passes for a swell, and has abandoned his former profession for the more honest union of callings, a pimp and playman, in other words, a finished _greek_. the lady was the _chère amie_ of the unfortunate youth hayward (designated as the modern macheath), who suffered an ignominious death. he was betrayed and sold to the ~ ~~officers by this very woman, upon whom he had lavished the earnings of his infamy, when endeavouring to secrete himself from the searching eye of justice. the unhappy female on the other side was early in life seduced by the once celebrated lord b----, by whose title, to his lasting infamy, she is still known: what she might have been, but for his arts, reflection too often compels her to acknowledge, when sober and sinking under her load of misery; at other times she has recourse to liquor to drown her complicated misfortunes; when wild and infuriated, she more nearly resembles a demon than a woman, spreading forth terror and destruction upon all around; in this state she is often brought to the police-office, where the humanity of the magistrates, softened perhaps by a recollection of her wrongs, generally operates to procure for her some very trifling and lenient sentence.{ } the life of a woman of the town. ah! what avails how once appear'd the fair, when from gay equipage she falls obscure? in vain she moves her livid lips in prayer; what man so mean to recollect the poor? from place to place, by unfee'd bailiffs drove, as fainting fawns from thirsty bloodhounds fly; see the sad remnants of unhallow'd love in prisons perish, or on dunghills die. pimps and dependents once her beauties praised, and on those beauties, vermin-like, they fed; from wretchedness the crew her bounty raised, when by her spoils enrich'd--deny her bread. through street to street she wends, as want betides, like shore's sad wife, in winter's dismal hours; the bleak winds piercing her unnourish'd sides, her houseless head dripping with drizzy showers. sickly she strolls amidst the miry lane, while streaming spouts dash on her unclothed neck; by famine pinch'd, pinch'd by disease-bred pain, contrition's portrait, and rash beauty's wreck. ~ ~~we had now passed from the first receptacle to an inner and more elegant apartment, where we could be accommodated with suitable refreshments, wine, spirits, or, in fact, any thing we pleased to order and were disposed to pay for; a practice at most of these early coffee-houses, as they are denominated. the company in this room were, as far as appearances went, of rather a better order; but an event soon occurred which convinced us that their morality was perhaps more exceptionable than the motley group which filled the outer chamber. a bevy of damsels were singing, flirting, and drinking, to amuse their companions,--when all at once the doors were forced open, and in rushed three of the principal officers of bow-street, the indefatigable bishop, the determined smith, and the resolute ruthven (see plate), all armed and prepared for some dreadful encounter: in an instant their followers had possessed themselves of the doors--flight, therefore, was in vain; and bob transit, in attempting it, narrowly escaped an awkward crack on the crania from old jack townshend, who being past active service, was posted at the entrance with the beak himself, to do garrison duty. [illustration: page ] "_the traps! the traps!_" vociferated some one in the adjoining room; "_douse the glims! stash it--stash it!_" was the general exclamation in ours: but before the party could effect their purpose, the principals were in safe custody: and the reader (i.e. pocket-book) containing all the stolen property, preserved from the flames by the wary eye and prompt arm of the _indefatigable_ bishop. before any one was allowed to depart the room, a general muster and search took place, in which poor bob transit felt most awkward, as some voluptuous sketches found in his pocket called forth she dies; sad outcast! heart-broke by remorse; pale, stretch'd against th' inhospitable doors; while gathering gossips taunt the flesh less corse, and thank their gods _that they were never w--res!_ ~ ~~the severe animadversion of his worship, the beak, who lamented that such fine talent should be thus immorally applied: with this brief lecture, and a caution for the future, we were allowed to escape; while almost all the rest, male and female, were marched off to an adjoining watch-house, to abide the public examination and fiat of the morrow. of all the party, old crony was the most sensibly affected by the late rencontre; twenty bottles of soda-water could not have produced a more important change. his conversation and appearance had, in an instant, recovered their wonted steadiness; and before we were half across the market, crony was moralizing upon the dangers of the scene from which we had so recently and fortunately escaped. but hearts young and buoyant as ours, when lighted up by the fire of enterprise, and provoked to action by potent charges of the grape, were not to be dashed by one repulse, or compelled to beat a retreat at the first brush with a reconnoitring party; we had sallied forth in pursuit of a spree, and frolic we were determined upon, "while misty night, with silent pace, steals gradual o'er the wanton chase." there is something very romantic in prowling the streets of the metropolis at midnight, in quest of adventure; at least, so my companions insisted, and i had embarked too deeply in the night's debauch to moralize upon its consequences. how many a sober-looking face demure when morning dawns would blush to meet the accusing spirit of the night, dressed out in all the fantasies of whim and eccentricity with which the rosy god of midnight revelry clothes his laughter-loving bacchanals-- "while sleep attendant at her drowsy fane, parent of ease, envelopes all your train!" the lamentations of old crony brought to mind the ~ ~~complaints of honest jack falstaff against his associates. "there is no truth in villanous man!" said our monitor. "i remember when a gentleman might have reeled round the environs of covent garden, in and out of every establishment, from the bedford to mother butlers, without having his pleasures broken in upon by the irruptions of bow-street mohawks, or his person endangered by any association he chose to mix with; but we are returning to the times of the _roundheads_ and the _puritans; cant,_ vile hypocritical _cant_, has bitten the ear of authority, and the great officers of the state are infected with the jesuitical mania. 'man is a ship that sails with adverse winds, and has no haven till he land at death. then, when he thinks his hands fast grasp the bank, conies a rude billow betwixt him and safety, and beats him back into the deep again.'" "i subscribe to none of their fooleries," said i; "for i am of the true orthodox--love my king, my girl, my friend, and my bottle: a truce with all their raven croakings; they would overload mortality, and press our shoulders with too great a weight of dismal miseries. but come, my boys, we who have free souls, let us to the banquet, while yet sol's fiery charioteer lies sleeping at his eastern palace in the lap of thetis--let us chant carols of mirth to old jove or bully mars; and, like chaste votaries, perform our orgies at the shrine of venus, ere yet aurora tears aside the curtain that conceals our revels." in this way we rallied our cameleon-selves, until we again found shelter from the dews of night in carpenter's coffee-house; a small, but well-conducted place, standing at the east end of the market, which opens between two and three o'clock in the morning, for the accommodation of those who are hourly arriving with waggon loads of vegetable commodities. here, over a bottle of mulled port, crony gave us the history of ~ ~~what covent garden used to be, when the eminent, the eccentric, and the notorious in every walk of life, were to be found nightly indulging their festivities within its famous precincts. "covent garden," said crony, once so celebrated for its clubs of wits and convents of fine women, is grown as dull as _modern athens_, and its ladies of pleasure almost as vulgar as scotch landladies; formerly, the first beauties of the time assembled every evening under the piazzas, and promenaded for hours to the soft notes of the dulcet lute, and the silver tongues of amorous and persuasive beaus; then the gay scene partook of the splendour of a venetian carnival, and such beauties as the kitten, peggy yates, sally hall the brunette, betsy careless, and the lively mrs. stewart, graced the merry throng, with a hundred more, equally famed, whose names are enrolled in the cabinet of love's votaries. then there was a celebrated house in charles-street, called the _field of blood_, where the droll fellows of the time used nightly to resort, and throw down whole regiments of _black_ artillery; and then at tom or moll king's, a coffee-house so called, which stood in the centre of covent garden market, at midnight might be found the bucks, bloods, demireps, and choice spirits of london, associated with the most elegant and fascinating cyprians, congregated with every species of human kind that intemperance, idleness, necessity, or curiosity could assemble together. there you might see tom king enter as rough as a bridewell whipper, roaring down the long room and rousing all the sleepers, thrusting them and all who had empty glasses out of his house, setting everything to rights,--when in would roll three or four jolly fellows, claret-cosey, and in three minutes put it all into uproar again; playing all sorts of mad pranks, until the guests in the long room were at battle-royal together; for in those days pugilistic encounters were equally common as with the present ~ ~~times, owing to the celebrity of broughton and his amphitheatre, where the science of boxing was publicly taught. then was the spiller's head in clare-market, in great vogue for the nightly assemblage of the wits; there might be seen hogarth, and betterton the actor, and dr. garth, and charles churchill, the first of english satirists, and the arch politician, wilkes, and the gay duke of wharton, and witty morley, the author of joe miller, and walker, the celebrated macheath, and the well-known bab selby, the oyster-woman, and fig, the boxer, and old corins, the clerical attorney.--all "hail, fellow, well met."{ } and a friend of mine has in his possession a most extraordinary picture of hogarth's, on this subject, which has never yet been engraved from. it is called st. james's day, or the first day of oysters, and represents the interior of the spiller's head in clare-market, as it then appeared. the principal figures are the gay and dissolute duke of wharton, for whom the well-known bab selby, the oyster-wench, is opening oysters; spiller is standing at her back, patting her shoulder; the figure sitting smoking by the side of the duke is a portrait of morley, the author of joe miller; and the man standing behind is a portrait of the well-known attendant on the duke's drunken frolics, fig, the brother of fig, the boxer: the person drinking at the bar is corins, called the parson-attorney, from his habit of dressing in clerical attire; the two persons sitting at the table represent portraits of the celebrated dr. garth, and betterton, the actor; the figures, also, of walker, the celebrated macheath, and lavinia fenton, the highly-reputed polly, afterwards duchess of bolton, may be recognised in the back-ground. the circumstances of this picture having escaped the notice of the biographer of hogarth is by no means singular. mr. halls, one of the magistrates at bow-street, has, among other choice specimens by hogarth, the lost picture of the harlot's progress; the subject telling her fortune by the tea-grounds in her cup, admirably characteristic of the artist and his story. in my own collection i have the original picture of the fish-women of calais, with a view of the market-place, painted on the spot, and as little known as the others to which i have alluded. there are, no doubt, many other equally clever performances of hogarth's prolific pencil which are not generally known to the public, or have not yet been engraved. ~ ~~in the same neighbourhood, in russel-court, at the old cheshire cheese, the inimitable but dissolute tom brown wrote many of his cleverest essays. then too commenced the midnight revelries and notoriety of the cider cellar, in maiden-lane, when sim sloper, bob washington, jemmy tas well, totty wright, and harry hatzell, led the way for a whole regiment more of frolic-making beings who, like falstaff, were not only, witty themselves, but the cause of keeping it alive in others: to these succeeded porson the grecian, captain thompson, tom hewerdine, sir john moore, mr. edwin, mr. woodfall, mr. brownlow, captain morris, and a host of other highly-gifted men, the first lyrical and political writers of the day,--who frequented the cider cellar after the meetings of the _anacreontic, beefsteak_, and _humbug_ clubs then held in the neighbourhood, to taste the parting bowl and swear eternal friendship. in later times, her majesty the queen of bohemia{ } raised her standard in tavistock-row, covent garden, where she held a midnight court for the wits; superintended by the renowned daughter of hibernia, and maid of honour to her majesty, the facetious mother butler--the ever-constant supporter of richard brinsley sheridan, esquire, and a leading feature in all the memorable westminster elections of the last fifty years. how many jovial nights have i passed and jolly fellows have i met in the snug _sanctum sanctorum!_ a little _crib_, as the _fishmongers_ would call it, with an entrance through the bar, and into which none were ever permitted to enter without a formal introduction and the gracious permission of the hostess. among those who were thus specially privileged, and had the honour of the _entré_, were the reporters for the morning papers, the leading members of the _eccentrics_, the actors and musicians of the two theatres royal, merry members of both houses of the sign of the house. ~ ~~parliament, and mad wags of every country who had any established claim to the kindred feelings of genius. such were the frequenters of the finish. here, poor tom sheridan, with a comic gravity that set discretion at defiance, would let fly some of his brilliant drolleries at the _improvisatore_, theodore hook; who, lacking nothing of his opponent's wit, would quickly return his tire with the sharp encounter of a satiric epigram or a brace of puns, planted with the most happy effect upon the weak side of his adversary's merriment. there too might be seen the wayward and the talented george cook, gentlemanly in conduct, and full of anecdote when sober, but ever captious and uproarious in his cups. then might be heard a strange encounter of expressions between the queen of covent garden and the voluptuary, lord barrymore,{ } seconded by his brother, the pious augustus. in one corner might be seen poor dermody, the poet, shivering with wretchedness, and mother butler pleading his cause with a generous feeling that does honour to her heart, collecting for him a temporary supply which, alas! his imprudence generally dissipated with the morrow. here, george sutton manners,{ } and peter finnerty,{ } and james brownly,{ } inspired by frequent potations of the real designated cripplegate and newgate. the relative of the present archbishop of canterbury, and then editor of the satirist magazine. peter finnerty was a reporter on the chronicle. the his- tory of finnerty's political persecutions in his own country (ireland), and afterwards in this, are interwoven with our history. the firmness and honesty of his mind had endeared him to a very large circle of patriot friends. he was eloquent, but impetuous, his ideas appearing to flow too fast for delivery. with all the natural warmth of his country, he had a heart of sterling gold. finnerty died in , very shortly after his friend perry. james brownly, formerly a reporter on the times; of whom sheridan said, hearing him speak, that his situation ought to have been in the body of the house of commons, instead of the gallery. brownly possessed very rare natural talents, was originally an upholsterer in catherine- street, strand, and by dint of application acquired a very correct knowledge of the tine arts: he was particularly skilled in architecture and heraldry. in addition to his extraordinary powers as an orator, he was a most elegant critic, and a very amiable man. he died in , much regretted by all who knew him. ~ ~~rocrea whiskey, would hold forth in powerful contention, until mine hostess of the _finish_{ } would put an end to the debate; and the irritation it would sometimes engender, by disencumbering herself of a few of her milesian monosyllables. then would bounce into the room, felix m'carthy, the very cream of comicalities, and the warm-hearted james hay ne, and frank phippen, and michael nugent, and the eloquent david power, and memory middleton, and father proby, just to sip an emulsion after the close of their labours in reporting a long debate in the house of commons. here, too, i remember to have seen for the first time in my life, the wayward byron, with the light of genius beaming in his noble countenance, and an eye brilliant and expressive as the evening star; the rich juice of the tuscan grape had diffused an unusual glow over his features, and inspired him with a playful animation, that but rarely illumined the misanthropic gloominess of his too sensitive mind. an histrionic star alike distinguished for talent and eccentricity accompanied him--the gallant, gay lothario, kean. but i should consume the remnant of the night to retrace more of the fading recollections of the _finish_. that it was a scene where prudence did not always preside, is true; but there was a rich union of talent and character always to be found within its circle, that mother butler, the queen of covent-garden, for many years kept the celebrated finish, where, if shut out of your lodging, you might take shelter till morning, very often in the very best of company. the house has, since she left it, been shut up through the suspension of its licence. mother butler was a witty, generous-hearted, and very extraordinary woman. she is, i believe, still living, and in good circumstances. ~ ~~prevented any very violent outrage upon propriety or decorum. in the present day, there is nothing like it--the phoenix,{ } offley's,{ } the coal-hole,{ } and what yet remains of the dismembered eccentrics,{ } bears no comparison to the ripe drolleries and a society established at the wrekin tavern in broad- court, in imitation of the celebrated club at brazennose college, oxford, and of whom i purpose to take some notice hereafter. the burton ale rooms; frequented by baby bucks, black- legs and half-pay officers. a tavern in fountain-court, strand, kept by the poet rhodes; celebrated for the saturday ordinary. in the room, where of old the eccentrics {*} met; when mortals were brilliants, and fond of a whet, and _hecate_ environ'd all london in jet. where adolphus, and shorri',{**} and famed charley fox, with a hundred good whigs led by alderman cox, put their names in the books, and their cash in the box; where perpetual whittle,{***} facetiously grand, on the president's throne each night took his stand, with his three-curly wig, and his hammer in hand: then brownly, with eloquence florid and clear, pour'd a torrent of metaphor into the ear, with well-rounded periods, and satire severe. here too peter finnerty, erin's own child, impetuous, frolicsome, witty, and wild, with many a tale has our reason beguiled: then wit was triumphant, and night after night was the morn usher'd in with a flood of delight. * the eccentrics, a club principally composed of persons connected with the press or the drama, originally established at the swan, in chandos-street, covent-garden, under the name of the brilliants, and afterwards removed to the sutherland arms, in may's-buildings, st. martin's-lane; --here, for many years, it continued the resort of some of the first wits of the time; the chair was seldom taken till the theatres were over, and rarely vacated till between four and five in the morning. ** sheridan, charles fox, adolphus, and many of the most eminent men now at the bar, were members or occasional frequenters. *** james whittle, esq., of fleet-street, (or, as he was more generally denominated, the facetious jemmy whittle, of the respectable firm of laurie and whittle, booksellers and publishers) was for some years perpetual president of the society, and by his quaint manners, and good-humoured sociality, added much to the felicity of the scene--he is but recently dead. ~ ~~pleasant witticisms which sparkled forth in endless variety among the choice spirits who frequented the _sanctum sanctorum_ of the _old finish_. "there is yet, however, one more place worthy of notice," said crony; "not for any amusement we shall derive from its frequenters, but, simply, that it is the most notorious place in london." thither it was agreed we should adjourn; for crony's description of _madame and messieurs_ the _conducteurs_ was quite sufficient to produce excitement in the young and ardent minds by which he was then surrounded. i shall not pollute this work by a repetition of the circumstances connected with this place, as detailed by old crony, lest humanity should start back with horror and disgust at the bare mention, and charity endeavour to throw discredit on the true, but black recital. the specious pretence of selling shell-fish and oysters is a mere trap for the inexperienced, as every description of expensive wines, liqueurs, coffee, and costly suppers are in more general request, and the wanton extravagance exhibited within its vortex is enough to strike the uninitiated and the moralist with the most appalling sentiments of horror and dismay. yet within this _saloon (see plate)_ did we enter, at four o'clock in the morning, to view the depravity of human nature, and watch the operation of licentiousness upon the young and thoughtless. [illustration: page ] a newgate turnkey would, no doubt, recognize many old acquaintances; in the special hope of which, bob transit has faithfully delineated some of the most conspicuous characters, as they appeared on that occasion, lending their hearty assistance in the general scene of maddening uproar. it was past five o'clock in the morning ere we quitted this den of dreadful depravity, heartily tired out by the night's adventures, yet solacing ourselves with the reflection that we had seen much and suffered little either in respect to our purses or our persons. visit to westminster hall. _worthies thereof--legal sketches of the long robe--the maiden brief--an awkward recognition--visit to banco regis-- surrey collegians giving a lift to a limb of the late, "thus far shalt thou go and no farther"--park rangers--visit to the life academy--r--a--ys of genius reflecting on the true line of beauty--arrival of bernard black-mantle in london--reads his play and farce in the green rooms of the two theatres royal, drury lane and covent garden--sketches of theatrical character--the city ball at the mansion house-- the squeeze--civic characters--return to alma mater--the wind-up--term ends_. ~ ~~a note from dick gradus invited echo and myself to hear his opening speech in westminster hall. "i have received my _maiden brief_" writes the young counsel, "and shall be happy if you will be present at my first attempt, when, like a true _amicus curio_, the presence of an old school-fellow will inspire confidence, and point out what may strike him as defective in my style." "we will all go," said transit; "echo will be amused by the oratory of the bar, and i shall employ my pencil to advantage in taking notes, not of _short hand_, but of _long heads_, and still _longer faces_." the confusion created by the building of the new courts at westminster has literally choked up, for a time, that noble specimen of gothic architecture--the ancient hall; the king's bench sittings are therefore temporarily held in the sessions house, a small, but ~ ~~rather compact octangular building, on the right of parliament-street. hither we hasted, at nine o'clock in the morning, to take a view of the court, judges, and counsel, and congratulate our friend gradus on his _entrée_. it has been said, that the only profession in this country where talents can insure success, is the law. if by this is meant talents of a popular kind, the power of giving effect to comprehensive views of justice and the bonds of society, a command of language, and a faculty of bringing to bear upon one point all the resources of intellect and knowledge, they are mistaken; they speak from former experience, and not from present observation: they are thinking of the days of a mingay or an erskine, not of those of a marryat or a scarlett; of the time when juries were wrought upon by the united influence of zeal and talent, not when they are governed by _precedents and practice_; when men were allowed to feel a little, as well as think a great deal; when the now common phrase of possessing the _ear of the court_ was not understood, and the tactician and the bully were unknown to the bar. it is asserted, that one-fifth of the causes that come before our courts are decided upon mere matters of form, without the slightest reference to their merits. every student for the bar must now place himself under some special pleader, and go through all the complicated drudgery of the office of one of these underlings, before he can hope to fill a higher walk; general principles, and enlarged notions of law and justice, are smothered in laborious and absurd technicalities; the enervated mind becomes shackled, until the natural vigour of the intellect is so reduced, as to make its bondage cease to seem burdensome. dick, with a confidence in his own powers, has avoided this degrading preparation; it is only two months since he was first called to the bar, and with a knowledge of his father's influence and property added to his own talents, he hopes to make a ~ ~~stand in court, previous to his being transplanted to the commons house of parliament. a tolerable correct estimate may be formed of the popularity of the judges, by observing the varied bearings of respect evinced towards them upon their entrance into court. mr. justice best came first, bending nearly double under a painful infirmity, and was received by a cold and ceremonious rising of the bar. to him succeeded his brother holroyd, a learned but not a very brilliant lawyer, and another partial acknowledgment of the counsel was observable. then entered the chief justice, sir charles abbot, with more of dignity in his carriage than either of the preceding, and a countenance finely expressive of serenity and comprehensive faculties: his welcome was of a more general, and, i may add, genial nature; for his judicial virtues have much endeared him to the profession and the public. but the universal acknowledgment of the bar, the jury, and the reporters for the public press, who generally occupy the students' box, was reserved for mr. justice bayley; upon whose entrance, all in court appeared to rise with one accord to pay a tribute of respect to this very distinguished, just, and learned man. all this might have been accidental, you will say; but it was in such strict accordance with my own feelings and popular opinion besides, that, however invidious it may appear, i cannot resist the placing it upon record. to return to the chief justice: he is considered a man of strong and piercing intellect, penetrating at once to the bottom of a cause, when others, even the counsel, are very often only upon the surface; his intuition in this respect is proverbial, and hence much of the valuable time of the court is saved upon preliminary or immaterial points. added to which, he is an excellent lawyer, shrewd, clear, and forcible in his delivery, very firm in his judgments, and mild in his ~ ~~language; with a patient command of temper, and continued appearance of good-humour, that adds much to his dignity, and increases public veneration. that he has been the architect of his own elevation is much to be applauded; and it is equally honourable to the state to acknowledge, that he is more indebted to his great talents and his legal knowledge for his present situation than to any personal influence of great interest{ }: of him it may be justly said, he hath "a piercing wit quite void of ostentation; high-erected thoughts seated in a heart of courtesy; an eloquence as sweet in the uttering, as slow to come to the uttering." _sir p. sidney's arcadia_. it was dick gradus's good-luck to be opposed to scarlett in a case of libel, where the latter was for the defendant. "of all men else at the bar, i know of no one whom i so much wish to encounter," said gradus. his irritable temper, negligence in reading his briefs, and consummate ignorance{ } in any thing beyond term-reports, renders him an easy conquest to a quiet, learned, and comprehensive mind. the two former are qualifications gradus possesses in a very superior degree, and he proved he was in no wise deficient in his opponent's great requisite; i suppose we must call it confidence; but another phrase would be more significant. scarlett is a great tactician; and in defending his client, never hesitates to take we hear that an allusion in page of this work has been supposed to relate to a near relative of the respected chief justice: if it bears any similitude, it is the effect of accident alone; the portrait being drawn for another and a very different person, as the reference to altitude might have shown. see the castigation he received in the courier of friday. dec. , , for his total ignorance of the common terms of art. "----that trick of courts to wear silk at the cost of flattery." _james shirley's poems_. ~ ~~what i should consider the most unfair, as they are ungentlemanly advantages. but there "be they that use men's writings like brute beasts, to make them draw which way they list." _t. nash's lenten stuff_, . his great success and immense practice at the bar is more owing to the scarcity of silk-gowns{ } than the profundity of his talents. the perpetual simper that plays upon his ruby countenance, when finessing with a jury, has, no doubt, its artful effect; although it is as foreign to the true feelings of the man, as the malicious grin of the malignant satirist would be to generosity and true genius. of his oratory, the _aureum flumen orationis_ is certainly not his; and, if he begins a sentence well, he seldom arrives at the conclusion on the same level: he is always most happy in a reply, when he can trick his adversary by making an abusive speech, and calling no witnesses to prove his assertions. our friend gradus obtained a verdict, and after it the congratulations of the court and bar, with whom scarlett is, from his superciliousness, no great favourite. owen feltham, in his resolves, well says, that "arrogance is a weed that ever grows upon a dunghill."{ } the contrast between scarlett and his great opponent, mr. serjeant copley, generally speaking, the management of two-thirds of the business of the court is entrusted to _four silk-gowns_, and about twice as many _worsted_ robes behind the bar. an impromptu written in the court of king's bench during a recent trial for libel. the learned pig. "my learned friend," the showman cries; the pig assents--the showman lies; so counsel oft address a brother in flattering lie to one another; calling their friend some legal varlet, who lies, and bullies, till he's scarlett. ~ ~~the present attorney-general, is a strong proof of the truth of this quotation. to a systematic and profound knowledge of the law, this gentleman unites a mind richly stored with all the advantages of a liberal education and extensive reading, not merely confined to the dry pursuit in which he is engaged, but branching forth into the most luxuriant and highly-cultivated fields of science and the arts. on this account, he shines with peculiar brightness at _nisi prius_; and is as much above the former in the powers of his mind and splendour of his oratory, as he is superior to the presumptuousness of scarlett's vulgarity. mr. marryat is said to possess an excellent knowledge of the heavy business of his profession; and it must be admitted, that his full, round, heavy-looking countenance, and still heavier attempts at wit and humour, admirably suit the man to his peculiar manner: after all, he is a most persevering counsel; not deficient in good sense, and always distinguished by great zeal for his client's interests. mr. gurney is a steady, pains-taking advocate, considered by the profession as a tolerable criminal lawyer, but never affecting any very learned arguments in affairs of principles or precedents. in addressing a jury, he is both perspicuous and convincing; but far too candid and gentlemanly in his practice to contend with the trickery of scarlett.--mr. common-serjeant denman is a man fitted by nature for the law. i never saw a more judicial-looking countenance in my life; there is a sedate gravity about it, both "stern and mild," firm without fierceness, and severe without austerity:--he appears thoughtful, penetrating, and serene, yet not by any means devoid of feeling and expression:--deeply read in the learning of his profession, he is yet much better than a mere lawyer; for his speeches and manners must convince his hearers that he is an accomplished gentleman. of brougham, it may be justly said,~ ~~ ----" his delights are dolphin-like; they show his back above the elements he lives in:" his voice, manner, and personal appearance, are not the happiest; but the gigantic powers of his mind, and the energy of his unconquerable spirit, rise superior to these defects. his style of speaking is marked by a nervous freedom of the most convincing character; he aims little at refinement, and labours more to make himself intelligible than elegant. in zeal for his clients, no man is more indefatigable; and he always appears to dart forward with an undaunted resolution to overcome and accomplish. but here i must stop sketching characters, and refer you to a very able representation of the court, the bar, and jury, by our friend transit, in which are accurate likenesses of all i have previously named, and also of the following worthies, messrs. raine, pollock, ashworth, courtney, starkie, williams, parke, rotch, piatt, patterson, raper, browne, lawrence, and whately, to which are added some whom-- "god forbid me if i slander them with the title of learned, for generally they are not."--nash's lenten stuff, . [illustration: page ] we were just clearing the steps of the court house, when a jolly-looking, knowing sort of fellow, begged permission to speak to echo. a crimson flush o'erspread tom's countenance in a moment. transit, who was down, as he phrased it, tipped me a wink; and although i had never before seen either of the professional brothers-in-law, john doe and richard roe, the smart jockey-boots, short stick, sturdy appearance, and taking manners of the worthy, convinced me at once, that our new acquaintance was one or other of those well-known personages: to be brief, poor tom was arrested for a large sum by a bond-street hotel-keeper, who had trusted him somewhat too long. ~ ~~arrangement by bail was impossible: this was a proceeding on a judgment; and with as little ceremony, and as much _sang froid_ as he would have entered a theatre, poor tom was placed inside a hackney coach, accompanied by the aforesaid personage and his man, and drove off in apparent good spirits for the king's bench prison, where transit and myself promised to attend him on the morrow, employing the mean time in attempting to free him from durance vile. it was about twelve at noon of the next day, when transit and myself, accompanied by tom's creditor and his solicitor, traversed over waterloo bridge, and bent our steps towards the abode of our incarcerated friend. "the winds of march, with many a sudden gust, about saint george's fields had raised the dust; and stirr'd the massive bars that stand beneath the spikes, that wags call _justice abbot's teeth_." the first glimpse of the obelisk convinced us we had entered the confines of _abbot's park_, as the rules are generally termed, for here bob recognised two or three among the sauntering rangers, whose habiliments bore evidence of their once fashionable notoriety; "and still they seem'd, though shorn of many a ray, not less than some arch dandy in decay." "a very pretty _bit of true life_," said bob; and out came the sketch book to note them down, which, as we loitered forward, was effected in his usual rapid manner, portraying one or two well-known characters; but for their cognomens, misfortune claims exemption:--to them we say, "thou seest thou neither art mark'd out or named, and therefore only to thyself art shamed." _j. withers's abuses strict and whipt_. ~ ~~ [illustration: page ] to be brief, we found echo, by the aid of the crier, safely tiled in at ten in twelve, happy to all appearance, and perfectly domiciled, with two other equally fresh associates. the creditor and his solicitor chose to wait the issue of our proposition in the lobby; a precaution, as i afterwards found, to be essentially necessary to their own safety; for, "he whom just laws imprison still is free beyond the proudest slaves of tyranny." although i must confess the exhibition we had of _freedom in banco regis_ was rather a rough specimen; a poor little limb of the law, who had formerly been a leg himself, had, like other great lawyers, ratted, and commenced a furious warfare upon some old cronies, for divers penalties and perjuries, arising out of greek prosecutions: too eager to draw the blunt, he had been inveigled into the interior of the prison, and there, after undergoing a most delightful pumping upon, ~ ~~was _rough-dried_ by being tossed in a blanket (see plate). [illustration: page ] this entertainment we had the honour of witnessing from echo's room window; and unless the marshal and his officers had interfered, i know not what might have been the result. a very few words sufficed to convince tom of the necessity of yielding to his creditor's wishes. a letter of licence was immediately produced and signed, and the gay-hearted echo left once more at liberty to wing his flight wherever his fancy might direct. on our road home, it was no trifling amusement to hear him relate "the customs of the place, the manners of its mingled populace, the lavish waste, the riot, and excess, neighbour'd by famine, and the worst distress; the decent few, that keep their own respect, and the contagion of the place reject; the many, who, when once the lobby's pass'd, away for ever all decorum cast, and think the walls too solid and too high, to let the world behold their infamy." ever on the alert for novelty, we hopped into and dined at the coal hole tavern in the strand, certainly one of the best and cheapest ordinaries in london, and the society not of the meanest. rhodes himself is a punster and a poet, sings a good song, and sells the best of wine; and what renders mine host more estimable, is the superior manners of the man. here was congregated together a mixed, but truly merry company, composed of actors, authors, reporters, clerks in public departments, and half-pay officers, full of whim, wit, and eccentricity, which, when the mantling bowl had circulated, did often "set the table in a roar." in the evening, transit proposed to us a visit to the life academy, somerset house, where he was an admitted student; but on trying the experiment, was not able to effect our introduction: you must therefore be content with ~ ~~his sketch of the _true sublime_, in which he has contrived to introduce the portraits of several well-known academicians _(see plate)_. [illustration: page ] thus far horatio heartly had written, when the unexpected appearance of bernard blackmantle in london cut short the thread of his narrative. "where now, mad-cap?" said the sincere friend of his heart: "what unaccountable circumstance can have brought you to the village in term and out of vacation?" "a very uncommon affair, indeed, for a young author, i assure you: i have had the good fortune to receive a notice from the managers of the two theatres royal, that my play is accepted at covent garden, and my farce at drury lane, and am come up post-haste to read them in the green rooms to-morrow, and take the town by storm before the end of the next month." "it is a dangerous experiment," said horatio. "i know it," replied the fearless bernard; "but he who fears danger will never march on to fortune or to victory. i am sure i have a sincere friend in charles kemble, if managerial influence can ensure the success of my play; and i have cast my farce so strong, that even with all elliston's mismanagement, it cannot well fail of making a hit. _nil desperandum_ is my motto; so a truce with your friendly forebodings of doubts, and fears, and critics' _scratches_; for i am determined 'to seek the bubble reputation even in the cannon's mouth.'" thus ended the colloquy, and on the morning of the morrow bernard was introduced, in due form, to the _dramatis personæ_ of the theatre royal, covent garden (see plate). [illustration: page ] there is as much difference between the rival companies of the two patent theatres as there is between the habits and conduct of the managers: in covent garden, the gentlemanly manners of charles kemble, and his amiable desire to make all happy around him, has imparted something of a kindred feeling to the ~ ~~performers; and hence, assisted by the friendly ancient fawcett, the whole of the establishment has all the united family feeling of a little commonwealth, struggling to secure its independence and popularity. here bernard's reception was every thing a young author could wish: kind attention from the company, and considerative hints for the improvement of his play, accompanied with the good wishes of all for its success, left an impression of gratitude upon the mind of the young author, that gave fresh inspiration to his talents, and increased his confidence in his own abilities. at drury lane the case was far otherwise; and the want of that friendly attention which distinguished the rival company proved very embarrassing to the early buddings of dramatic genius. perhaps a slight sketch of the scene might not prove uninstructive to young authors, or fail in its intended effect upon old actors. reader, imagine bernard blackmantle, an enthusiastic and eccentric child of genius, seated at the green-room table, reading his musical farce to the surrounding company, and then judge what must be the effect of the following little scene. programme. bernard blackmantle reading; mr. elliston speaking to spring, the box-office keeper; and mr. winston in a passion, at the door, with the master carpenter; mr. knight favouring the author with a few new ideas; and the whole company engaged in the most amusing way, making side speeches to one another (see plate). dowton. 'gad, renounce me--little valorous--d----d annoying, (_looking at his watch_)--these long rehearsals always spoil my vauxhall dinner--more hints to the author--better keep them for his next piece. ~ ~~munden (sputtering). my wigs and eyes--dowton's a better part than mine; i'll have a fit of the gout, on purpose to get out of it--that's what i will. knight (to the author). my dear boy, it strikes me that it might be much improved. (aside) got an idea; but can't let him have it for nothing. harley (to elliston). if this piece succeeds, it can't be played every night--let fitz. understudy it--don't breakfast on beef-steaks, now. if you wish to enjoy health--live at pimlico--take a run in the parks--and read abernethy on constitutional origin. terry (to mrs. orger). it's a remarkable thing that the manager should allow these d----d interruptions. if it was my piece, i would not suffer it--that's my opinion. wallace (to himself). what a little discontented mortal that is!--it's the best part in the piece, and he wishes it made still better. elliston (awakening). silence there, gentlemen, or it will be impossible to settle this important point--and my property will, in consequence, be much deteriorated. (enter boy with brandy and water.) proceed, sir--(to author, after a sip)--very spirited indeed. [illustration: page ] enter sam. spring, touching his hat. spring. underline a special desire, sir, next week? elliston. no, sam., i fear our special desires are nearly threadbare. prompter's boy calling in at the door. mr. octavius clarke would be glad to speak with mr. elliston. elliston. he be d----d! silence that noise between messrs. winston and bunn--and turn out waterloo tom. madame vestris. my dear elliston, do you mean to keep us here all day? ~ ~~elliston (whispering). i had rather keep you all night, madame. sherwin (to g. smith). i wish it may be true that one of our comedians is going to the other house; i shall then stand some chance for a little good business--at present i have only two decent parts to my back. liston (as stiff as a poker). if i pass an opinion, i must have an increase of salary; i never unbend on these occasions. mrs. orger (to the author). this part is not so good as sally mags. i must take my friend's opinion in the city. miss stephens (laughing). i shall only sing one stanza of this ballad--it's too sentimental. miss smithson (aside, but loud enough for the manager to hear). ton my honour, mr. elliston never casts me any thing but the sentimental dolls and _la la_ ladies. g-- smith (in a full bass voice). nor me any thing but the rough cottagers and banditti men; but, never mind, my bass solo will do the trick. gattie (yawning). i wish it was twelve o'clock, for i'm half asleep, and i've made a vow never to take snuff before twelve; if you don't believe me, ask mrs. g. after the hit i made in monsieur tonson, it's d--d hard they don't write more frenchmen. madame vestris. mr. author, can't you make this a breeches part?--i shall be _all abroad_ in petticoats. bernard blackmantle. i should wish to be _at home_ with madame vestris. mrs. harlowe. really, mr. author, this part of mine is a mere clod's wife--nothing like so good as dame ashfield. could not you introduce a supper-scene? at length silence is once more obtained; the author finishes his task, and retires from the _green-room_ ~ ~~looking as blue as megrim, and feeling as fretful as the renowned sir plagiary. of the success or failure of the two productions, i shall speak in the next volume; when i propose to give the first night of a new play, with sketches of some of the critical characters who usually attend. in the evening, transit, echo, and heartly enlisted me for the lord mayor's ball at the mansion house--a most delightful squeeze; and, it being during waithman's mayoralty, abounding with lots of character for my friend bob; to whose facetious pencil, i must at present leave the scene (see plate); intending to be more particular in my civic descriptions, should i have the honour of dining with the corporation next year in their guildhall. [illustration: page a] the wind-up of the term rendered it essentially necessary that i should return to oxford with all possible expedition, as my absence at such a time, if discovered, might involve me in some unpleasant feeling with the big wigs. hither i arrived, in due time to save a lecture, and receive an invitation to spend a few weeks in the ensuing year at cambridge, where my kind friend horace eglantine has entered himself of trinity; and by the way of inducement, has transmitted the characteristic sketch of the notorious jemmy gordon playing off one of his mad pranks upon the big wigs of peter-house, (see plate) the particulars of which, will, with more propriety, come into my sketches at cambridge. [illustration: page b] we are here all bustle--scouts packing up and posting off to the coach-offices with luggage--securing places for students, and afterwards clearing places for themselves--oxford duns on the sharp look-out for shy-ones, and pretty girls whimpering at the loss of their lovers--dons and big wigs promising themselves temporal pleasures, and their ladies reviling the mantua-makers for not having used sufficient expedition--some taking their last farewell of _alma mater_, and others sighing to behold the joyous faces of affectionate kindred and early friends. long ~ ~~bills, and still _longer_ promises passing currently--and the high-street exhibiting a scene of general confusion, until the last coach rattles over magdalen bridge, and oxford tradesmen close their _oaks_. bernard blackmantle. [illustration: page ] term ends. conclusion of volume one. [illustration: page ] volume ii. the english spy an original work, characteristic, satirical, and humorous, comprising scenes and sketches in every rank of society, being portraits of the illustrious, eminent, eccentric and notorious drawn from the life by bernard blackmantle the illustrations designed by robert cruikshank vol. ii [illustration: spines] by frolic, mirth, and fancy gay, old father time is borne away. london: published by sherwood, gilbert, and piper, paternoster-row. . london. printed by thomas davison, whitefriars [illustration: titlepage] [illustration: title ] illustrations in the english spy. to face page i. a short set-to at long's hotel; or, stopford not getting the best of it. ii. courtiers carousing in a cadger's ken. iii. the wake; or, teddy o'rafferty's last appearance. a scene in the holy land. iv. the cyprian's ball at the argyll room. v. john liston and the lambkins; or, the citizen's treat. vi. the great actor; or, mr punch in all his glory. amusements of the lower orders. scene in leicester-fields. vii. college ghosts. a frolic of the westminster blacks. a scene in dean's yard. viii. the marigold family on a party of plea- sure; or, the effect of a storm in the little bay of biscay, otherwise, chelsea reach. hints to fresh water sailors, the alderman and family running foul of the safety. a bit of fun for the westminster scholars. how to make ducks and geese swim after they are cooked. calamities of a cit's water party to richmond. ix. the epping hunt on easter monday; or, cockney comicalities in full chase. lots of characters and lots of accidents, runaways and fly-aways, no goes and out and outers, the flask and the foolish, gibs, spavins, millers and trumpeters. the stag against the field. bob transit's excursion with the nacker man. x. the tea-pot row at harrow; or, the battle of hog lane. harrow boys making a smash among the crockery, a scene sketched from the life, dedicated to the sons of noblemen and gentlemen participators in the sport. xi. the cit's sunday ordinary at the gate house, highgate; or, every hog to his own apple. another trip with the marigold family. specimens of gormandizing. inhabitants of cockayne ruralizing. cits and their cubs. cutting capers, a scramble for a dinner. xii. bulls and bears in high bustle; or, billy wright's pony made a member of the stock exchange. interior view of the money market. portraits of well-known stock brokers. a scene sketched from the life. xiii. the promenade at cowes. with portraits of noble commanders and members of the royal yacht club. xiv. the return to port. sailors carousing, or a jollification on board the piranga. xv. point street, portsmouth. chairing the cockswain. british tars and their girls in high glee. xvi. evening and in high spirits, a scene at long's hotel, bond-street. well-known roués and their satellites. portraits from the life, including the pea green hayne, tom best, lord w. lennox, colonel berkeley, mr. jackson, white headed bob, hudson the tobacconist, john long, &c. &c. xvii. morning, and in low spirits, a lock up scene in a sponging house, carey street.-- a bit of good truth. for particulars, see work; or inquire of fat radford, the domini of the domxts. xviii. the house of lords in high debate. sketched at the time when ii. r. h. the duke of york was making his celebrated speech upon the catholic question. portraits of the dukes of york, gloucester, wellington, de- vonshire, marquesses of anglesea and hertford, earls of liver- pool, grey, westmorland, bathurst, eldon, and pomfret, lords holland, king, ellenborough, &c. &c. and the whole bench of bishops. xix. the point of honour decided; or, the leaden arguments of a love affair. view in hyde park. tom echo engaged in an affair of honour. a chapter on duelling. xx. the great subscription room at brookes's. opposition members engaged upon hazardous points. por- traits of the great and the little well-known parliamentary characters. xxi. the evening in the circular room; or, a squeeze at carlton palace. exquisites and elegantes making their way to the presence chamber. portraits of stars of note and ton, blue ribands and red ribands, army and navy. xxii. the high street, cheltenham. well-known characters among the chelts. xxiii. going out. a view of berkeley hunt kennel. xxiv. the royal wells at cheltenham; or, spas- modic affections from spa waters. chronic affections and cramp comicalities. xxv. the bag-men's banquet. a view of the commercial room at the bell inn, chelten- ham. portraits of well-known travellers. xxvi. the oakland cottages, cheltenham; or, fox hunters and their favourites, a tit bit, done from the life. dedicated to the members of the berkeley hunt. xxvii. doncaster race course during the great st. leger race, . well-known heroes of the turf. legs and loungers. xxviii. the comical procession from gloucester to berkeley. xxix. the post office, bristol. arrival of the london mail. lots of news, and new characters. portraits of well-known bristolians. xxx. fancy ball at the upper rooms, bath. xxxi. the pump room, bath. visitors taking a sip with king bladud. xxxii. the old beau and false belle; or, mr. b. and miss l. a bath story. xxxiii. the public baths at bath; or, stewing alive. bernard blackmantle and bob transit taking a dip with king bladud. union of the sexes. welsh wigs and decency. no swimming or plunging allowed. xxxiv. milsom street and bond street, or bath swells. well-known characters at the court of king bladud. xxxv. the buff club at the pig and whistle, avon street, bath. a bit of real life in the territories of old king bladud. xxxvi. the bowling alley at worcester; or, the well-known characters of the hand and glove club. engravings on wood. . the gate house, highgate, citizens toiling up the hill to the sunday ordinary . a lame duck waddling out of the stock exchange . the dandy candy man, a cheltenham vignette . the floating harbour and welsh back, bristol. . bath market-place, with portraits of the celebrated orange women . the sporting club at the castle tavern. portraits of choice spirits . the battle of the chairs . vignette. portraits of blackmantle the english spy, and transit the english spy. nor rank, nor order, nor condition, imperial, lowly, or patrician, shall, when they see this volume, cry, "the satirist has pass'd us by:" but, with good humour, view our page depict the manners of the age. vide work. introduction to the second volume. bernard blackmantle to the public. "the muse's office was by heaven design'd to please, improve, instruct, reform mankind." --churchill. readers!--friends, i may say, for your flattering support has enabled me to continue my sketches of society to a second volume with that prospect of advantage to all concerned which makes labour delightful--accept this fresh offering of an eccentric, but grateful mind, to that shrine where alone he feels he owes any submission--the tribunal of public opinion. in starting for the goal of my ambition, the prize of your approbation, i have purposely avoided the beaten track of other periodical writers, choosing for my subjects scenes and characters of real life, transactions of our own times, _characteristic, satirical, and humorous_, confined to no particular place, and carefully avoiding every thing like personal ill-nature or party feeling. my associates, the artists and publishers, are not less anxious than myself to acknowledge their gratitude; and we intend to prove, by our united endeavours, how highly we appreciate the extensive patronage we have already obtained. bernard blackmantle, ode, congratulatory and advisiory, to bernard blackmantle, esq. on the completion of his first volume of the spy. "i smell a rat."--book of common parlance. "more sinned against than sinning."--william shakspeare. "the very _spy_ o' the time."--ibid. well done, my lad, you've run on strong amidst the bustle of life's throng, nor thrown a _spavin_ yet; you've gone at score, your pace has told; i hope, my boy, your wind will hold-- you've others yet to fret. you've told the town that you are _fly_ to cant, and rant, and trickery; and that whene'er you doze, like bristol men, you never keep but one eye closed--so you can tweak e'en then a scoundrel's nose. pull up, and rinse your mouth a bit; it is hot work, this race of wit, and sets the bellows piping; next vol. you'll grind _the flats_ again, and file the _sharps_ unto the grain, their very stomachs griping. ~ ~~ but why, good bernard, do you dream that we reviewers scorn the cream{ } arising from your jokes? upon my soul, we love some fun as well as any 'neath the sun, although we fight in cloaks. heav'n help thee, boy, we are not they who only go to damn a play, and cackle in the pit; like good sir william curtis{ } we can laugh at _nous_ and drollery, though of ourselves 'twere writ. was yours but sky blue milk and water, we'd hand you over to the slaughter of cow committee-men{ }; for butterflies, and "such small deer," are much beneath our potent spear-- the sharp gray goose-wing'd pen. see my friend bernard's _cracker_ to the reviewers in no. , a perfect fifth of november bit of _firework_, i can assure you, good people. but it won't go off with me without a brand from the bonfire in return. "bear this bear all." have you ever dared the "salt sea ocean," my readers, with the alderman admiral? if not, know that he has as pretty a collection of caricatures in his cabin, and all against his own sweet self, as need be wished to heal sea-sickness. is not this magnanimity? i think so. the baronet is really "a worthy gentleman." vide advertisements of "alderney milk company." what company shall we keep next, my masters? mining companies, or steam brick companies, or washing companies? how many of them will be in the suds anon? pshaw! throw physic to the projectors--i prefer strong beer well hopped. but yours we feel is sterner stuff, and though perchance _too much in huff_, _more natural_ you will swear; it really shows such game and pluck, that we could take with you "pot luck," and deem it decent fare. but, 'pon our _conscience_, bonny lad, (we've got _some_, boy), it is too bad so fiercely to show fight; gadzooks, 'tis time when comes the foe to strip and sport a word and blow, my dear pugnacious wight! 'tis very wise, t own, to pull fast by the horns some butting bull, when 'gainst yourself he flies; but to attack that sturdy beast, when he's no thoughts on you to feast, is very _otherwise_. but we'll forgive your paper balls, which on our jackets hurtless falls, like hail upon a tower: pray put wet blankets on your ire; really, good sir, we've no desire to blight so smart a flower. well, then, i see no reason why there should be war, good mister spy so, faith! we'll be allies; and if we must have fights and frays, we'll shoot at pride and poppinjays, and folly as it flies. there's field enough for both to _beat_ employment for our hands, eyes, feet, to mark the quarry down, _black game_ and white game a full crop, fine birds, fine feathers for to lop, in country and in town. ~ ~~ new city _specs_, new west-end rigs, new gas-blown boots, new steam-curl'd wigs, new fashionable schools, new dandies, and new bond-street dons, and new intrigues, and new crim cons, new companies of fools.{ } maria foote and edmund kean, the "lions" just now of the scene, shall yield to newer fun; for all our wonders at the best are cast off for a newer vest, after a nine days' run. old beaux at bath, manoeuvring belles, and pump-room puppies, melsom swells, and mr. _heaviside_,{ } and cheltenham carders,{ } every _runt_, see note , page . mr. heaviside, the polite m. c. of bath. he has the finest cauliflower head of hair i over remember; but it covers a world of wit, for all that, and therefore however it may appear, it certainly is not the heavy side of him. cards, cards, cards, nothing but cards from "rosy morn to dewy eve" at the town of cheltenham. whist, with the sun shining upon their sovereigns, one would think a sovereign remedy for their waste of the blessed day--_écarte_, whilst the blue sky is mocking the blue countenances of your thirty pound losers in as many seconds. is it not marvellous? fathers, husbands, men who profess to belong to the church. by jupiter! instead of founding the new university they talk about, they had better make it for the pupilage of perpetual card-players, and let them take their degrees by the cleverness in odd tricks, or their ability in shuffling. "no offence, gregory." "no wonder they have their decrepit ones, their ranters." ~ ~~ the playhouse, berkeley, and "the hunt," with marshall{ } by their side. all these and more i should be loth to let escape from one or both, so saddle for next heat: the bell is rung, the course is cleared, mount on your hobby, "nought afear'd," _black-jacket_ can't be beat. "dum _spiro_ spero" shout, and ride till you have 'scalp'd old folly's hide, and none a kiss will waft her; bind all the fools in your new book, that "i spy!" may lay my hook, and d--n them nicely after. an honest reviewer.{ } given at my friend, "sir john barleycorn's" chambers, tavistock, covent garden, this the th, day of february, , "almost at odds with morning." mr. marshall, the m. c. of cheltenham. "wear him in your heart's core, horatio." i knew him well, a "fellow of infinite jest." a long reign and a merry one to him. my anonymous friend will perceive that i estimate his wit and talent quite as much as his honesty: had he not been such a _rara avis_ he would have been consigned to the "tomb of all the capulets." cytherean beauties. "the trav'ller, if he chance to stray, may turn uncensured to his way; polluted streams again are pure, and deepest wounds admit a cure; but woman no redemption knows-- the wounds of honour never close." --moore. ~ ~~tremble not, ye fair daughters of chastity! frown not, ye moralists! as your eyes rest upon the significant title to our chapter, lest we should sacrifice to curiosity the blush of virtue. we are painters of real life in all its varieties, but our colouring shall not be over-charged, or our characters out of keeping. the glare of profligacy shall be softened down or so neutralized as not to offend the most delicate feelings. in sketching the reigning beauties of the time, we shall endeavour to indulge the lovers of variety without sacrificing the fair fame of individuals, or attempting to make vice respectable. pleasure is our pursuit, but we are accompanied up the flowery ascent by contemplation and reflection, two monitors that shrink back, like sensitive plants, as the thorns press upon them through the ambrosial beds of new-blown roses. in our record of the daughters of pleasure, we shall only notice those who are distinguished as _belles of ton--stars_ of the first magnitude in the hemisphere of fashion; and of these the reader may say, with one or two exceptions, they "come like shadows, so depart." we would rather excite sympathy and pity for the ~ ~~unfortunate, than by detailing all we know produce the opposite feelings of obloquy and detestation. "unhappy sex! when beauty is your snare, exposed to trials, made too frail to bear." then, oh! ye daughters of celestial virtue, point not the scoffing glance at these, her truant children, as ye pass them by--but pity, and afford them a gleam of cheerful hope: so shall ye merit the protection of him whose chief attribute is charity and universal benevolence. and ye, lords of the creation! commiserate their misfortunes, which owe their origin to the baseness of the seducer, and the natural depravity of your own sex. ladies of distinction, "dans le parterre des impures." "simplex sigillum veri." "nought is there under heav'n's wide hollowness that moves more dear, compassion of the mind, than beauty brought t' unworthy wretchedness." ~ ~~if ever there was a fellow formed by nature to captivate and conquer the heart of lovely woman, it is that arch-looking, light-hearted apollo, horace eglantine, with his soul-enlivening conversational talents, his scraps of poetry, and puns, and fashionable anecdote; his chivalrous form and noble carriage, joined to a mirth-inspiring countenance and soft languishing blue eye, which sets half the delicate bosoms that surround him palpitating between hope and fear; then a glance at his well-shaped leg, or the fascination of an elegant compliment, smilingly overleaping a pearly fence of more than usual whiteness and regularity, fixes the fair one's doom; while the young rogue, triumphing in his success, turns on his heel and plays off another battery on the next pretty susceptible piece of enchanting simplicity that accident may throw into his way. "who is that attractive star before whose influential light he at present seems to bow with adoration?" "a _fallen one_," said crony, to whom the question was addressed, as he rode up the drive in hyde park, towards cumberland-gate, accompanied by bernard blackmantle. "a _fallen one_" reiterated the oxonian--"impossible!" "why, i have marked the fair daughter of fashion myself for the last fortnight constantly in the drive with one of the most superb ~ ~~equipages among the _ton_ of the day." "true," responded crony, "and might have done so for any time these three years." in london these daughters of pleasure are like physicians travelling about to destroy in all sorts of ways, some on foot, others on horseback, and the more finished lolling in their carriages, ogling and attracting by the witchery of bright eyes; the latter may, however, very easily be known, by the usual absence of all armorial bearings upon the panel, the chariot elegant and in the newest fashion, generally dark-coloured, and lined with crimson to cast a rich glow upon the occupant, and the servants in plain frock liveries, with a cockade, of course, to imply their mistresses have _seen service_. i know but of one who sports any heraldic ornament, and that is the female giovanni, who has the very appropriate crest of a serpent coiled, and preparing to spring upon its prey, _à la cavendish_. the _elegante_ in the dark _vis_, to whom our friend horace is paying court, is the _ci-devant_ lady ros--b--y, otherwise clara w----. by the peer she has a son, and from the plebeian a pension of two hundred pounds per annum: her origin, like most of the frail sisterhood, is very obscure; but clara certainly possesses talents of the first order, and evinces a generosity of disposition to her sisters and family that is deserving of commendation. in person, she is plump and well-shaped, but of short stature, with a fine dark eye and raven locks that give considerable effect to an otherwise interesting countenance. a few years since she had a penchant for the stage, and played repeatedly at one of the minor theatres, under the name of "the lady;" a character clara can, when she pleases, support with unusual _gaieté_: instance her splendid parties in manchester-street, manchester-square, where i have seen a coruscation of beauties assembled together that must have made great havoc in their time among the hearts of the young, the gay, and the generous. like ~ ~~most of her society, clara has no idea of prudence, and hence to escape some pressing importunities, she levanted for a short time to scotland, but has since, by the liberal advances of her present delusive, been enabled to quit the interested apprehensions of the _dun_ family. the swaggering belle in the green pelisse yonder, on the _pavé_, is the celebrated courtezan, mrs. st*pf**d, of curzon-street, may-fair. how she acquired her present cognomen i know not, unless it was for her _stopping_ accomplishment in the polite science of pugilism and modern patter, in both of which she is a finished proficient, as poor john d------, a dashing savoury chemist, can vouch for. on a certain night, she followed this unfaithful swain, placing herself (unknown to him) behind his carriage, to the house of a rival sister of cytherea, mrs. st**h**e, and there enforced, by divers potent means, due submission to the laws of constancy and love; but as such compulsory measures were not in _good taste_ with the _protector's_ feelings, the contract was soon void, and the lady once more liberated to choose another and another swain, with a pension of two hundred pounds per annum, and a well-furnished house into the bargain. she was formerly, and when first she came out, the _chère amie_ of tom b-----, who had, in spite of his science recently, in a short affair at long's hotel, not much the best of it. (see plate). [illustration: page ] from him she bolted, and enlisted with an officer of the nineteenth lancers; but not liking the house of montague, she obtained the grant of a furlough, and has since indulged in a plurality of lovers, without much attention to size, age, persons, or professions. of her talent in love affairs, we have given some specimens; and her courage in war can never be doubted after the formidable attack she recently made upon general sir john d***e, returning through hounslow from a review, from which _rencontre_ she has obtained the appropriate appellation of the _brazen ~ ~~ bellona_. a pretty round face, dark hair, and fine bushy eyebrows, are no mean attractions; independent of which the lady is always upon good terms with herself. the _belle whip_ driving the cabriolet, with a chestnut horse and four white legs, is the _edgeware diana_ mrs. s***h, at present engaged in a partnership affair, in the foreign line, with two citizens, messrs o. r. and s.; the peepholes at the side of her machine imply more than mere curiosity, and are said to have been invented by general ogle, for the use of the ladies when on active service. the beautiful little water lily in the chocolate-coloured chariot, with a languishing blue eye and alabaster skin, is mrs. ha****y, otherwise k**d***k, of gr--n-street, a great favourite with all who know her, from the elegance of her manners and the attractions of her person (being perfect symmetry); at present she is under the _special protection_ of a city stave merchant, and has the _reputation_ of being very sincere in her attachments. "you must have been a desperate fellow in your time, crony," said i, "among the belles of this class, or you could never have become so familiar with their history." "it is the fashion," replied the veteran, "to understand these matters; among the _bons vivants_ of the present day a fellow would be suspected of _chastity_, or regarded as _uncivilized_, who could not run through the history of the reigning beauties of the times, descanting upon their various charms with poetical fervor, or illuminating, as he proceeds, with some choice anecdotes of the _paphian divinities_, their protectors and propensities; and to do the fair _citherians_ justice, they are not much behindhand with us in that respect, for the whole conversation of the sisterhood turns upon the figure, fortune, genius, or generosity of the admiring beaux. to a young and ardent mind, just emerging from scholastic discipline, with feelings uncontaminated by ~ ~~fashionable levities, and a purse equal to all pleasurable purposes, a correct knowledge of the mysteries of the _citherian principles of astronomy_ may be of the most essential consequence, not less in protecting his _morals and health_ than in the preservation of life and fortune. one half the duels, suicides, and _fashionable bankruptcies_ spring from this polluted source. the stars of this order rise and fall in estimation, become fixed planets or meteors of the most enchanting brilliancy, in proportion not to the grace of modesty, or the fascination of personal beauty, but to the notoriety and number of their amours, and the peerless dignity of their plurality of lovers. "place the goddess of love on the pedestal of chastity, in the sacred recesses of the grove of health, veiled by virgin innocence, and robed in celestial purity, and who among the _cameleon_ race of fashionable _roués_ would incur the charge of _vandalism_, or turn aside to pay devotion at her shrine? but let the salacious deity of impurity mount the car of profligacy, and drive forth in all the glare of crimson and gold, and a thousand devotees are ready to sacrifice their honour upon her profligate altars, or chain themselves to her chariot wheels as willing slaves to worship and adore." "let us take another turn up the drive," said i, "for i am willing to confess myself much interested in this _new system of astronomy_, and perhaps we may discover a few more of the _terrestrial planets_, and observe the _stars_ that move around their frail orbits." "i must first make you acquainted with the signs of the _paphian zodiac_," said crony; "for every one of these attractions have their peculiar and appropriate fashionable appellations. i have already introduced you to the _bang bantum_, mrs bertram; the _london leda_, moll raffles; the _spanish nun_, st. margurite; the _sparrow hawk_, augusta c****e{ }; the _golden_ see vol. i. ~ ~~_pippin_, mrs. c.; the _white crow_, clara w****; the _brazen bellona_, mrs. st**f**d; the _edgeware diana_, mrs. s**th; and the _water lily symmeterian_, ha**l*y--_all planets_ of the first order, carriage curiosities. let us now proceed to make further observations. the _jolie_ dame yonder, in the phaeton, drawn by two fine bays, is called the _white doe_, from her first deer protector; and although somewhat on the decline, she is yet an exhibit of no mean attraction, and a lady of fortune. thanks to the liberality of an old hewer of stone, and the talismanic powers of the _golden ball_, deserted by her last swain since his marriage, she now reclines upon the velvet cushion of independence, enjoying in the kilburn retreat, her _otium cum dignitate_, secure from the rude winds of adversity, and in the occasional society of a few old friends. the lovely thais in the brown chariot, with a fine roman countenance, dark hair, and sparkling eyes, is the favourite elect of a well-known whig member; here she passes by the name of the _comic muse_, the first letter of which will also answer for the leading initial of her theatrical cognomen. her, private history is well-known to every son of _old etona_ who has taken a _toodle_ over windsor-bridge on a market-day within the last fifteen years, her parents being market gardeners in the neighbourhood; and her two unmarried sisters, both fine girls, are equally celebrated with the bath orange-women for the neatness of their dress and comeliness of their persons. there is a sprightliness and good-humour about the _comic muse_ that turns aside the shafts of ill-nature; and had she made her selection more in accordance with propriety, and her own age, she might have escaped our notice; but, alas!" said crony, "she forgets that 'the rose's age is but a day; its bloom, the pledge of its decay, sweet in scent, in colour bright, it blooms at morn and fades at night. ~ ~~at this moment a dashing little horsewoman trotted by in great style, followed by a servant in blue and gold livery; her bust was perfection itself, but studded with the oddest pair of _ogles_ in the world, and crony assured me (report said) her person was supported by the shortest pair of legs, for an adult, in christendom. "that is the _queen_ of the _dandysettes_," said my old friend, "sophia, selina, or, as she is more generally denominated, _galloping_ w****y, from a _long pole_, who settled the interest of five thousand upon her for her natural life; she is since said to have married her groom, with, however, this prudent stipulation, that he is still to ride behind her in public, and answer all demands in _propria persona_. she is constantly to be seen at all masquerades, and may be easily known by her utter contempt for the incumbrance of decent costume." "how d'ye do? how d'ye do?" said a most elegant creature, stretching forth her delicate white kid-covered arm over the _fenêtre_ of lord hxxxxxxx*h's _vis à vis_. "ah! _bon jour, ma chère amie_," said old crony, waving his hand and making one of his best bows in return. "you are a happy dog," said i, "old fellow, to be upon such pleasant terms with that divinity. no plebeian blood there, i should think: a peeress, i perceive, by the coronet on the panels." "_a peine cognoist, ou la femme et le melon_," responded crony, "you shall hear. among the _ton_ she passes by the name of vestina the titan, from her being such a finished tactician in the campaigns of venus;. her ordinary appellation is mrs. st--h--pe: whether this be a _nom de guerre or a nom de terre_, i shall not pretend to decide; if we admit that _la chose est toute_, _et que la nom n'y fait rien_, the rest is of no consequence. it would be an intricate task to unravel the family web of our fashionable frail ones, although that of many frail fashionables stands high in heraldry. the lady in question, although in 'the sear o' the leaf,' is yet in high request; 'fat, fair, and forty' shall i say? ~ ~~alas! that would have been more suitable ten years since; but, _n'importe_, she has the science to conceal the ravages of time, and is yet considered attractive. no one better understands the art of intrigue; and she is, moreover, a travelled dame, not deficient in intellect, full of anecdote; and as _conjugation and declension_ go hand in hand with some men of taste, she has risen into notice when others usually decline. a sporting colonel is said to have formerly contributed largely to her comforts, and her tact in matters of business is notorious; about two hundred per annum she derived from the stock exchange, and her present _peerless protector_ no doubt subscribes liberally. to be brief, laura has money in the funds, a splendid house, carriage, gives her grand parties, and lives proportionably expensive and elegant; yet with all this she has taken care that the age of gold may succeed to the age of brass, that the retirement of her latter days may not be overclouded by the storms of adversity. she had two sisters, both gay, who formerly figured on the _pavé_, sarah and louisa; but of late they have disappeared, report says, to _conjugate_ in private. turn your eyes towards the promenade," said crony, "and observe that constellation of beauties, three in number, who move along _le verd gazon_: they are denominated the _red rose_, the _moss rose_, and the _cabbage rose_. the first is rose co*l**d, a dashing belle, who has long figured in high life; her first appearance was in company with lord william f***g***ld, by whom she has a child living; from thence we trace her to the protection of another peer, lord ty*****], and from him gradually declining to the rich relative of a northern baronet, sportive little jack r*****n, whose favourite _lauda finem_ she continued for some time; but as the law engrossed rather too much of her protector's affairs, so the fair engrossed rather too much of the law; whether she has yet given up ~ ~~practice in the king's bench i cannot determine, but her appearance here signifies that she will accept a fee from any side; rose has long since lost every tint of the maiden's blush, and is now in the full blow of her beauty and maturity, but certainly not without considerable personal attractions; with some her _nom de guerre_ is _rosa longa_, and a wag of the day says, that rose is a beauty in _spite of her teeth_. the _moss rose_ has recently changed her cognomen with her residence, and is now mrs. f**, of beaumout-street; she was never esteemed a _planet_, and may be now said to have sunk into a star of the second order, a little _twinkling light_, useful to assist elderly gentlemen in finding their way to the paphian temple. the _cabbage rose_ is one of your vulgar beauties, ripe as a peach, and rich in countenance as the ruby: if she has never figured away with the peerage, she has yet the credit of being entitled to _three balls_ on her coronet, and an _old uncle_ to support them: she has lately taken a snug box in park-place, regent's-park, and lives in very good style. the belle in the brown chariot, gray horses, and blue liveries is now the lady of a baronet, and one of three _graceless graces_, the elxxxxx's, who, because their father kept a livery stable, must needs all go to _rack_: she has a large family living by mr. v*l*b***s, whom she left for the honour of her present connexion. that she is married to the baronet, there is no doubt; and it is but justice to add, she is one among the many instances of such compromises in fashionable life who are admitted into society upon sufferance, and falls into the class of demi-respectables. among the park beaux she is known by the appellation of the _doldrums_ her two sisters have been missing some time, and it is said are now rusticating in paris." my friend eglantine had evidently fled away with the white crow, and the fashionables were rapidly decreasing in the drive, when crony, whose scent of ~ ~~dinner hour is as staunch as that of an old pointer at game, gave evident symptoms of his inclination to masticate. "we must take another opportunity to finish our lecture on the principles of _citherian astronomy_," said the old beau, "for as yet we are not half through the list of constellations. i have a great desire to introduce you to harriette wilson and her sisters, whose true history will prove very entertaining, particularly as the fair writer has altogether omitted the genuine anecdotes of herself and family in her recently published memoirs." at dinner we were joined by horace eglantine and bob transit, from the first of whom we learned, that a grand fancy ball was to take place at the argyll rooms in the course of the ensuing week, under the immediate direction of four fashionable impures, and at the expense of general trinket, a broad-shouldered milesian, who having made a considerable sum by the commissariat service, had returned home to spend his peninsular pennies among the paphian dames of the metropolis. for this entertainment we resolved to obtain tickets, and as the ci-devant lady h***e was to be patroness, crony assured us there would be no difficulty in that respect, added to which, he there promised to finish his sketches of the citherian beauties of the metropolis, and afford my friend transit an opportunity of sketching certain portraits both of paphians and their paramours. [illustration: page ] the wake; or, teddy o'rafferty's last appearance. a scene in the holy land. ~ ~~ 'twas at teddy o'rafferty's wake, just to comfort ould judy, his wife, the lads of the hod had a frake. and kept the thing up to the life. there was father o'donahoo, mr. delany, pat murphy the doctor, that rebel o'shaney, young terence, a nate little knight o' the hod, and that great dust o'sullivan just out o' quod; then florence the piper, no music is riper, to all the sweet cratures with emerald fatures who came to drink health to the dead. not bryan baroo had a louder shaloo when he gave up his breath, to that tythe hunter death, than the howl over teddy's cowld head: 'twas enough to have rais'd up a saint. all the darlings with whiskey so faint, and the lads full of fight, had a glorious night, when ould teddy was wak'd in his shed. --original. he who has not travelled in ireland should never presume to offer an opinion upon its natives. it is not from the wealthy absentees, who since the union have abandoned their countrymen to wretchedness, for the advancement of their own ambitious views, that we can form a judgment of the exalted irish: nor is it from the lowly race, who driven forth by starving penury, crowd our more prosperous shores, ~ ~~that we can justly estimate the true character of the peasantry of that unhappy country. the memoirs of captain rock may have done something towards removing the national prejudices of englishmen; while the frequent and continued agitation of that important question, the emancipation of the catholics, has roused a spirit of inquiry in every worthy bosom that will much advantage the oppressed, and, eventually, diffuse a more general and generous feeling towards the irish throughout civilized europe. i have been led into this strain of contemplation, by observing the ridiculous folly and wasteful expenditure of the nobility and fashionables of great britain; who, neglecting their starving tenantry and kindred friends, crowd to the shores of france and italy in search of scenery and variety, without having the slightest knowledge of the romantic beauties and delightful landscapes, which abound in the three kingdoms of the rose, the shamrock, and the thistle. how much good might be done by the examples of a few illustrious, noble, and wealthy individuals, making annual visits to ireland and scotland! what a field does it afford for true enjoyment! how superior, in most instances, the accommodations and security; and how little, if at all inferior, to the scenic attractions of foreign countries. then too the gratification of observing the progress of improvement in the lower classes, of administering to their wants, and consoling with them under their patient sufferings from oppressive laws, rendered perhaps painfully necessary by the political temperature of the times or the unforgiving suspicions of the past. but i am becoming sentimental when i ought to be humorous, contemplative when i should be characteristic, and seriously sententious when i ought to be playfully satirical. forgive me, gentle reader, if from the collapse of the spirit, i have for a moment turned aside from the natural gaiety of my ~ ~~style, to give utterance to the warm feelings of an eccentric but generous heart. but, _allons_ to the wake. "plaze ye'r honor," said barney o'finn (my groom of the chambers), "may i be _axing_ a holiday to-night?" "it will be very inconvenient, barney; but------" "but, your honor's not the jontleman to refuse a small trate o' the sort," said barney, anticipating the conclusion of my objection. there was some thing unusually anxious about the style of the poor fellow's request that made me hesitate in the refusal. "it's not myself that would be craving the favor, but a poor dead cousin o' mine, heaven rest his sowl!" "and how can the granting of such a request benefit your departed relation, barney?" quoth i, not a little puzzled by the strangeness of the application. "sure, that's mighty _dare_ of comprehension, your honor. teddy o'rafferty was my own mother's brother's son, and devil o' like o' him there was in all kilgobbin: we went to ould father o'rourke's school together when we were spalpeens, and ate our _paraters_ and butter-milk out o' the same platter; many's the scrape we've been in together: bad luck to the ould schoolmaster, for he flogged all the _larning_ out o' poor teddy, and all the liking for't out of barney o'finn, that's myself, your honor--so one dark night we took advantage of the moon, and having joined partnership in property put it all into a limerick silk handkerchief, with which we made the best of our way to dublin, travelling stage arter stage by the ould-fashioned conveyance, pat adam's ten-toed machine. many's the drap we got on the road to drive away care. all the wide world before us, and all the fine family estate behind,--pigs, poultry, and relations,--divil a tenpenny did we ever touch since. it's not your honor that will be angry to hear a few family misfortins," said barney, hesitating to proceed with his narration, "give me my hat, fellow," said ~ ~~i, "and don't torture me with your nonsense."-- "may be it an't nonsense your honor means?" "and why not, sirrah?"--"bekase it's not in your nature to spake light o' the dead." up to this point, my attention had been divided between the morning chronicle which lay upon my breakfast table, and barney's comical relation; a glance at the narrator, however, as he finished the last sentence, convinced me that i ought to have treated him with more feeling. he was holding my hat towards me, when the pearly drop of affliction burst uncontrollably forth, and hung on the side of the beaver, like a sparkling crystal gem loosed from the cavern's roof, to rest upon the jasper stone beneath. i would have given up my mastership of arts to have recalled that word nonsense: i was so touched with the poor fellow's pathos.--" shall i tell your onor the _partikilars_?" "ay, do, barney, proceed."--"well, your onor, we worked our way to london togither--haymaking and harvesting: 'taste fashions the man' was a saw of ould father o'rourke's; 'though divil a taste had he, but for draining the whiskey bottle and bating the boys, bad luck to his mimory! 'is it yourself?' said i, to young squire o'sullivan, from scullanabogue, whom good fortune threw in my way the very first day i was in london.--'troth, and it is, barney,' said he: 'what brings you to the sate of government?' 'i'm seeking sarvice and fortune, your onor,' said i. 'come your ways, then, my darling,' said he; and, without more to do, he made me his _locum tenens_, first clerk, messenger, and man of all work to a maynooth milesian. there was onor enough in all conscience for me, only it was not vary profitable. for, altho' my master followed the law, the law wouldn't follow him, and he'd rather more bags than briefs:--the consequence was, i had more banyan days than the man in the wilderness. divil a'care, i got a character by my conduct, and a good place when i left him, as your ~ ~~govonor can testify. as for poor teddy, divil a partikle of taste had he for fashionable life, but a mighty pratty notion of the arts, so he turned operative arkitekt; engaged himself to a layer of bricks, and skipped nimbly up and down a five story ladder with a long-tailed box upon his shoulder--pace be to his ashes! he was rather too fond of the _crature_--many's the slip he had for his life--one minute breaking a jest, and the next breaking a joint; till there wasn't a sound limb to his body. arrah, sure, it was all the same to teddy--only last monday, he was more elevated than usual, for he had just reached the top of the steeple of one of the new churches with a three gallon can of beer upon his _knowledge-box_, and, perhaps a little too much of the _crature_ inside o! it. 'shout, teddy, to the honour of the saint,' said the foreman of the works (for they had just completed the job). poor teddy's religion got the better of his understanding, for in shouting long life to the dedicatory saint, he lost his own--missed his footing, and pitched over the scaffold like an odd chimney-pot in a high wind, and came down smash to the bottom with a head as flat as a bump. divil a word has he ever spake since; for when they picked him up, he was dead as a dublin bay herring--and now he lies in his cabin in dyot-street, st. giles, as stiff as a poker,--and to-night, your onor, we are going to _wake_ him, poor sowl! to smoke a pipe, and spake an _horashon_ over his corpse before we put him dacently to bed with the shovel. then, there's his poor widow left childless, and divil a rap to buy paraters wid--bad luck to the eye that wouldn't drap a tear to his mimory, and cowld be the heart that refuses to comfort his widow!" here poor barney could no longer restrain his feelings, and having concluded the family history, blubbered outright. it was a strange mixture of the ludicrous and the sorrowful; but told with such an artless simplicity and genuine traits of feeling, that i would have defied the most ~ ~~volatile to have felt uninterested with the speaker. "you shall go, by all means, barney," said i: "and here is a trifle to comfort the poor widow with." "the blessings of the whole calendar full on your onor!" responded the grateful irishman. what a scene, thought i, for the pencil of my friend bob transit!"could a stranger visit the place," i inquired, without molestation or the charge of impertinence, barney?" "divil a charge, your onor; and as to impertinence, a wake's like a house-warming, where every guest is welcome." with this assurance, i apprised barney of my intention to gratify curiosity, and to bring a friend with me; carefully noted down the direction, and left the grateful fellow to pursue his course. the absurdities of funeral ceremonies have hitherto triumphed over the advances of civilization, and in many countries are still continued with almost as much affected solemnity and ridiculous parade as distinguished the early processions of the pagans, heathens, and druids. the honours bestowed upon the dead may inculcate a good moral lesson upon the minds of the living, and teach them so to act in this life that their cold remains may deserve the after-exordium of their friends; but, in most instances, funeral pomp has more of worldly vanity in it than true respect, and it is no unusual circumstance in the meaner ranks of life, for the survivors to abridge their own comforts by a wasteful expenditure and useless parade, with which they think to honour the memory of the dead. the egyptians carry this folly perhaps to the most absurd degree; their catacombs and splendid tombs far outrivalling the habitations of their princes, together with their expensive mode of embalming, are with us matters of curiosity, and often induce a sacrilegious transfer of some distinguished mummy to the museums of the connoisseur. the athenians, greeks, and romans, had each their peculiar funeral ceremonies in the exhumation, ~ ~~sacrifices, and orations performed on such occasions; and much of the present customs of the romish church are, no doubt, derivable from and to be traced to these last-mentioned nations. in the present times, no race of people are more superstitious in their veneration for the ancient customs of their country and funeral rites, than the lower orders of the irish, and that folly is often carried to a greater height during their domicile in this country than when residing at home. it was about nine o'clock at night when eglantine, transit, and myself sallied forth to st. giles's in search of the wake, or, as bob called it, on a crusade to the holy land. formerly, such a visit would have been attended with great danger to the parties making the attempt, from the number of desperate characters who inhabited the back-slums lying in the rear of broad-street: where used to be congregated together, the most notorious thieves, beggars, and bunters of the metropolis, amalgamated with the poverty and wretchedness of every country, but more particularly the lower classes of irish, who still continue to exist in great numbers in the neighbourhood. here was formerly held in a night-cellar, the celebrated beggars' club, at which the dissolute lord barrymore and colonel george hanger, afterwards lord coleraine, are said to have often officiated as president and vice-president, attended by their profligate companions, and surrounded by the most extraordinary characters of the times; the portraits and biography of whom may be seen in smith's 'vagabondiana,' a very clever and highly entertaining work. it was on this spot that george parker collected his materials for 'life's painter of variegated characters,' and among its varieties, that grose and others obtained the flash and patter which form the cream of their humorous works. formerly, the beggars' ordinary, held in a cellar was a scene worthy ~ ~~of the pencil of a hogarth or a cruikshank; notorious impostors, professional paupers, ballad-singers, and blind fiddlers might here be witnessed carousing on the profits of mistaken charity, and laughing in their cups at the credulity of mankind; but the police have now disturbed their nightly orgies, and the mendicant society ruined their lucrative calling. the long table, where the trenchers consisted of so many round holes turned out in the plank, and the knives, forks, spoons, candle-sticks, and fire-irons all chained to their separate places, is no longer to be seen. the night-cellar yet exists, where the wretched obtain a temporary lodging and straw bed at twopence per head; but the augean stable has been cleansed of much of its former impurities, and scarce a vestige remains of the disgusting depravity of former times. [illustration: page ] a little way up dyot-street, on the right hand from holborn, we perceived the gateway to which barney had directed me, and passing under it into a court filled with tottering tenements of the most wretched appearance, we were soon attracted to the spot we sought, by the clamour of voices apparently singing and vociferating together. the faithful barney was ready posted at the door to receive us, and had evidently prepared the company to show more than usual respect. an old building or shed adjoining the deceased's residence, which had been used for a carpenter's shop, was converted for the occasion from its general purpose to a melancholy hall of mourning. at one end of this place was the corpse of the deceased, visible to every person from its being placed on a bed in a sitting posture, beneath a tester of ragged check-furniture; large sheets of white linen were spread around the walls in lieu of tapestries, and covered with various devices wrought into fantastic images of flowers, angels, and seraphim. a large, fresh-gathered posy in the bosom of the deceased had a most striking effect, when contrasted ~ ~~with the pallidness of death; over the lower parts of the corpse was spread a counterpane, covered with roses, marigolds, and sweet-smelling flowers; whilst on his breast reposed the cross, emblematical of the dead man's faith; and on a table opposite, at the extreme end, stood an image of our redeemer, before which burned four tall lights in massive candlesticks, lent by the priest upon such occasions to give additional solemnity to the scene. there is something very awful in the contemplation of death, from which not even the strongest mind can altogether divest itself. but at a _wake_ the solemn gloom which generally pervades the chamber of a lifeless corpse is partially removed by the appearance of the friends of the deceased arranged around, drinking, singing, and smoking tobacco in profusion. still there was something unusually impressive in observing the poor widow of o'rafferty, seated at the feet of her deceased lord with an infant in her arms, and all the appearance of a heart heavily charged with despondency and grief. an old irishwoman, seated at the side of the bed, was making the most violent gesticulations, and audibly calling upon the spirit of the departed "to see how they onor'd his mimory," raising the cross before her, while two or three others came up to the head, uttered a short prayer, and then sat down to drink his sowl out of purgation. (see plate.) [illustration: page ] but the most extraordinary part of the ceremony was the _howl_, or oration spoken over the dead man by a rough-looking, broad-shouldered emeralder, who descanted upon his virtues as if he had been an hero of the first magnitude, and invoked every saint in the calendar to free the departed from perdition. for some time decorum was pretty well preserved; but on my friends bob transit and horace eglantine sending barney out for a whole gallon of whiskey, and a proportionate quantity of pipes and tobacco, the dull scene of silent meditation ~ ~~gave way to sports and spree, more accordant with their feelings; and the kindred of the deceased were too familiar with such amusements to consider them in any degree disrespectful. there is a volatile something in the irish character that strongly partakes of the frivolity of our gallic neighbours; and it is from this feature that we often find them gay amidst the most appalling wants, and humorous even in the sight of cold mortality. a song was soon proposed, and many a ludicrous stave sung, as the inspiring cup made the circle of the company. "luke caffary's kilmainham minit," an old flash chant, and "the night before larry was stretched," were among the most favourite ditties of the night. a verse from the last may serve to show their _peculiar_ character. "the night before larry was stretch'd, the boys they all paid him a visit; and bit in their sacks too they fetch'd, they sweated their duds till they riz it. for larry was always the lad, when a friend was condemn'd to the squeezer. but he'd fence all the foss that he had to help a poor friend to a sneezer, and moisten his sowl before he died." ere eleven o'clock had arrived, the copious potations of whiskey and strong beer, joined to the fumes of the tobacco, had caused a powerful alteration in the demeanor of the assembled group, who now became most indecorously vociferous. "by the powers of poll kelly!" said the raw-boned fellow who had howled the lament over the corpse, "i'd be arter making love to the widow mysel', only it mightn't be altogether dacent before teddy's put out o' the way." "you make love to the widow!" responded the smart-looking florence m'carthy; "to the divil i pitch you, you bouncing bogtrotter! it's myself alone that will have that onor, bekase teddy o'rafferty wished me to take his wife as a legacy. 'it's all i've got, mr. florence,' ~ ~~said he to me one day, 'to lave behind for the redemption of the small trifle i owe you.'" "it aint the like o' either of you that will be arter bamboozling my cousin, mrs. judy o'rafferty, into a blind bargain," said barney o'finn; in whose noddle the whiskey began to fumigate with the most valorous effect. "you're a noble-spirited fellow, barney," said horace eglantine, who was using his best exertions to produce a _row_. "at them again, barney, and tell them their conduct is most indecent." thus stimulated and prompted, barney was not tardy in re-echoing the charge; which, as might have been expected, produced an instantaneous explosion and general battle. in two minutes the company were thrown into the most appalling scene of confusion--chairs and tables upset, bludgeons, pewter pots, pipes, glasses, and other missiles flying about in all directions, until broken heads and shins were as plentiful as black eyes, and there was no lack of either--women screaming and children crying, making distress more horrible. in this state of affairs, bob transit had climbed up and perched himself upon a beam to make observations; while the original fomenter of the strife, that mad wag eglantine, had with myself made our escape through an aperture into the next house, and having secured our persons from violence were enabled to become calm observers of the affray, by peeping through the breach by which we had entered. in the violence of the struggle, poor teddy o'rafferty was doomed to experience another upset before his remains were consigned to the tomb; for just at the moment that a posse of watchmen and night-constables arrived to put an end to the broil, such was the panic of the assailants that in rushing towards the bed to conceal themselves from the _charlies_, they tumbled poor teddy head over heels to the floor of his shed, leaving his head's antipodes sticking up where his head should have been; a ~ ~~circumstance that more than any thing else contributed to appease the inflamed passions of the group, who, shocked at the sacrilegious insult they had committed, immediately sounded a parley, and united to reinstate poor teddy o'rafferty in his former situation. this was the signal for horace and myself to proceed round to the front door, and pretending we were strangers excited by curiosity, succeeded, by a little well-timed flattery and a small trifle to drink our good healths, in freeing the assailants from all the horrors of a watch-house, and eventually of restoring peace and unanimity. it was now past midnight; leaving therefore poor barney o'finn to attend mass, and pay the last sad tribute to his departed relative, on the morning of the morrow we once more bent our steps towards home, laughing as we went at the strange recollections of the wake, the row, and last appearance of teddy o'rafferty.{ } requiescat in pace. as the reader might not think this story complete without gome account of the concluding ceremonies, i have ascertained from barney that his cousin teddy was quietly borne on the shoulders of his friends to the church of st. paneras, where he was safely deposited with his mother- earth, a bit of a bull, by the by; and after the mourners had made three circles round his ashes, and finished the ceremony by a most delightful howl and prayers said over the crossed spades, they all retired peaceably home, moderately laden with the juice of the _crature_. [illustration: page ] the cyprian's ball, or sketches of characters at the venetian carnival. scene.--argyll rooms. ~ ~~ "hymen ushers the lady astrea, the jest took hold of latona the cold, ceres the brown, with bright cytherea, thetis the wanton, bellona the bold; shame-faced aurora with witty pandora, and maia with flora did company bear;" (and many 'tis stated went there to be mated, who all their lives have been hunting the fair. ) blackmantle, transit, eglantine, and crony's visit to the venetian carnival--exhibits--their char-acters drawn from the life--general trinket, the m.c.--crony's singidar anecdote of the great earl of chesterfield, and origin of the debouchettes--the omissions in the wilson memoirs supplied--biographical reminiscences of the amiable mrs. debouchette--harriette and lier sisters--amy--mary--fanny-- julia--sophia--charlotte and louisa--paphians and their paramours--peers and plebeians--the bang bantam--london leda --spanish nun--sparrow hawk--golden pippin--white crow-- brazen bellona--edgeware diana ~ ~~ water lily--white doe--comic muse--queen of the dansysettes--vestina the titan--the red rose--moss rose and cabbage rose--the doldrum stars of erin--wren of paradise-- queen of the amazons--old pomona--venus mendicant--venus callypiga--goddess of the golden locks--mocking bird--net perdita--napoleon venus--red swan--black swan--blue-eyed luna--tartar sultana the bit of rue--brompton ceres-- celestina conway--lucy bertram--water wagtail--tops and bottoms--the pretenders--the old story--lady of the priory-- little white morose--queen of trumps--giovanni the syren, with ileal names "unexed--original portraits and anecdotes of the dukes of m------and d------, marquisses ii------ and ii ----, earls w------, f------, and c------, lords p------, a------, m------, and n------, llonourables b------c, l------s, and f------s--general trinket--colonel caxon--messrs. ii--b--h, r------, d------, and b------, and other innumerables. it was during the fashionable season of the year , when augusta corri, _ci-devant_ lady hawke,{ } shone forth under her newly-acquired title a planet of the first order, that a few amorous noblemen and wealthy dissolutes, ever on the _qui vive_ for novelty, projected and sanctioned the celebrated venetian carnival given at the argyll-rooms under the patronage of her ladyship and four other equally celebrated courtezans. of course, the female invitations were confined exclusively to the sisterhood, but restricted to the planets and stars of cytherea, the carriage curiosities, and fair impures of the most dashing order and notoriety; and never were the revels of terpsichore kept up with more spirit, or graced with a more choice collection of beautiful, ripe, and wanton fair ones. in page of our first volume we have given a brief biographical sketch of her ladyship and her amours. ~ ~~nor was there any lack of distinguished personages of the other sex; almost all the leading _roués_ of the day being present, from lord p******** tom b***, including many of the highest note in the peerage, court calendar, and army list. the elegance and superior arrangement of this cytherean _fête_ was in the most exquisite taste; and such was the number of applications for admissions, and the reported splendour of the preparations, that great influence in a certain court was necessary to insure a safe passport into the territories of the paphian goddess. the enormous expense of this act of folly has been estimated at upwards of two thousand pounds; and many are the dupes who have been named as bearing proportions of the same, from a royal duke to a hebrew star of some magnitude in the city; but truth will out, and the ingenuity of her ladyship in raising the wind has never been disputed, if it has ever been equalled, by any of her fair associates. the honour of the arrangement and a good portion of the expense were, undoubtedly, borne by a broad-shouldered milesian commissary-general, who has since figured among the ton under the quaint cognomen of general trinket, from his penchant for filling his pockets with a variety of cheap baubles, for the purpose of making presents to his numerous dulcineas; a trifling extravagance, which joined to his attachment to _rouge et noir_ has since consigned him to durance vile. the general is, however, certainly a fellow of some address, and, as a master of the ceremonies, deserves due credit for the superior genius he on that occasion displayed. during dinner, crony had been telling us a curious anecdote of the great earl of chesterfield and miss debouchette, the grandmother of the celebrated courtezans, harriette wilson and sisters. "at one of the places of public entertainment at the hague, a very beautiful girl of the name of debouchette, who ~ ~~acted as _limonadière_, had attracted the notice of a party of english noblemen, who were all equally anxious to obtain so fair a prize. intreaties, promises of large settlements, and every species of lure that the intriguers could invent, had been attempted and played off without the slightest success; the fair _limonadière_ was proof against all their arts. in this state of affairs arrived the then elegant and accomplished earl of chesterfield, certainly one of the most attractive and finished men of his time, but, without doubt, equally dissipated, and notorious for the number of his amours. whenever a charming girl in the humbler walks of life becomes the star of noble attraction and the reigning toast among the _roués_ of the day, her destruction may be considered almost inevitable. the amorous beaux naturally inflame the ardour of each other's desires by their admiration of the general object of excitement; until the honour of possessing such a treasure becomes a matter of heroism, a prize for which the young and gay will perform the most unaccountable prodigies, and, like the chivalrous knights of old, sacrifice health, fortune, and eventually life, to bear away in triumph the fair conqueror of hearts. such was the situation of miss debouchette, when the earl of chesterfield, whose passions had been unusually inflamed by the current reports of the lady's beauty, found himself upon inspection that her attractions were irresistible, but that it would require no unusual skill to break down and conquer the prudence and good sense with which superior education had guarded the mind of the fair _limonadière_. to a man of gallantry, obstacles of the most imposing import are mere chimeras, and readily fall before the ardour of his impetuosity; 'faint heart never won fair lady,' is an ancient but trite proverb, that always encourages the devotee. the earl had made a large bet that he would carry off the lady. in ~ ~~england, among the retiring and the most modest of creation's lovely daughters, his success in intrigues had become proverbial; yet, for a long time, was he completely foiled by the fair debouchette. no specious pretences, nor the flattering attentions of the most polished man in europe, could induce the lady to depart from the paths of prudence and of virtue; every artifice to lure her into the snare of the seducer had been tried and found ineffectual, and his lordship was about to retire discomfited and disgraced from the scene of his amorous follies, with a loss of some thousands, the result of his rashness and impetuosity, when an artifice suggested itself to the fertile brain of his foreign valet, who was an experienced tactician in the wars of venus. this was to ascertain, if possible, in what part of the mansion the lady slept; to be provided with a carriage and four horses, and in the dead of the night, with the assistance of two ruffians, to raise a large sheet before her window dipt in spirits, which being lighted would burn furiously, and then raising the cry of fire, the fair occupant would, of course, endeavour to escape; when the lover would have nothing more to do than watch his opportunity, seize her person, and conveying it to the carriage in waiting, drive off secure in his victory. the scheme was put in practice, and succeeded to the full extent of the projector's wishes; but the affair, which made considerable noise at the time, and was the subject of some official remonstrances, had nearly ended in a more serious manner. the brother of the lady was an officer in the army, and both the descendants of a poor but ancient family; the indignity offered to his name, and the seduction of his sister, called forth the retributive feelings of a just revenge; he sought out the offender, challenged him, but gave him the option of redeeming his sister's honour and his own by marriage. alas! that was impossible; the earl was already engaged. a meeting took place, ~ ~~when, reflection and good sense having recovered their influence over the mind of the dissipated lover, he offered every atonement in his power, professed a most unlimited regard for the lady, suggested that his destruction would leave her, in her then peculiar state, exposed to indigence, proposed to protect her, and settle an annuity of two hundred pounds per annum upon her for her life; and thus circumstanced the brother acceded, and the affair was, by this interposition of the seconds, amicably arranged. there are those yet living who remember the fair _limonadière_ first coming to this country, and they bear testimony to her superior attractions. the lady lived for some years in a state of close retirement, under the protection of the noble earl, in the neighbourhood of chelsea, and the issue of that connexion was a natural son, mr. debouchette, whom report states to be the father of harriette wilson and her sisters. 'ere man's corruptions made him wretched, he was born most noble, who was born most free.' --otway. so thought young debouchette; for a more wild and giddy fellow.in early life has seldom figured among the medium order of society. whether the mother of the cyprians was really honoured with the ceremony of the ritual, i have no means of knowing," said crony; "but i well remember the lady, before these her beauteous daughters had trodden the slippery paths of pleasure: there was a something about her that is undefinable in language, but conveys to the mind impressions of no very pure principles of morality; a roving eye, salacious person, and swaggering carriage, with a most inviting condescension, always particularized the elder silk-stocking grafter of chelsea, while yet the fair offspring of her house were lisping infants, innocent and beautiful as playful lambs. debouchette himself was a right jolly fellow, careless of domestic ~ ~~happiness, and very fond of his bottle; and indeed that was excusable, as during a long period of his life he was concerned in the wine trade. to the conduct and instructions of the mother the daughters are indebted for their present share of notoriety, with all the attendant infamy that attaches itself to harriette and her sisters:--and this perhaps is the reason why mrs. rochford, alias harriette wilson, so liberally eulogises, in her memoirs, a parent whose purity of principle is so much in accordance with the exquisite delicacy of her accomplished daughter. as the girls grew up, they were employed, amy and harriette, at their mother's occupation, the grafting of silk stockings, while the junior branches of the family were operative clear starchers, as the old board over the parlour window used to signify, which brummel would facetiously translate into getters up of fine linen, when petersham did him the honour of driving him past the door, that he might give his opinion upon the rising merits of the family, who, like fragrant exotics, were always placed at the window by their judicious parent, to excite the attention of the curious. but, allons" said crony, "we shall be late at the carnival, and i would not miss the treat of such an assemblage for the honour of knighthood." a very few minutes brought transit, eglantine, crony, and myself, within the vortex of this most seductive scene. waltzing was the order of the night-- "endearing waltz! to thy more melting tune bow irish jig and ancient rigadoon; scotch reels avaunt! and country dance forego your future claims to each fantastic toe. waltz--waltz alone both legs and arms demands, liberal of feet and lavish of her hands. hands, which may freely range in public sight, where ne'er before--but--pray 'put out the light.'" a coruscation of bright eyes and beauteous forms shed a halo of delight around, that must have warmed the cyprian's ball ~ ~~the heart and animated the pulse of the coldest stoic in christendom. the specious m. c, general o'm***a, introduced us in his best style, quickly bowing each of us into the graces of some fascinating fair, than whom "not cleopatra on her galley's deck display'd so much of leg or more of neck." for myself, i had the special honour of being engaged to the honourable mrs. j-- c******y, otherwise padden, who, whatever may have been her origin,{ } has certainly acquired the ease and elegance of mrs. padden is said to have been originally a servant-maid at plymouth, and the victim of early seduction. when very young, coming to london with her infant in search of a captain d----- in the d--------e militia, her first but inconstant swain, chance threw her in her abandoned condition into the way of colonel c-----, who was much interested by her tale of sorrow, and more perhaps by her then lovely person, to obtain possession of which, he took a house for her, furnished it, and (as the phrase is) _set her up_. how long the duke's _aide-de-camp_ continued the favourite lover is not of any consequence; but both parties are known to have been capricious in _affaires de cour_. her next acknowledged protector was the light-hearted george d-----d, then a great gun in the fashionable world: to him succeeded an _amorous thane_, the irish earl of f-----e; and when his lordship, satiated by possession, withdrew his eccentric countenance, lord mo--f--d succeeded to the vacant couch. the venetian masquerade is said to have produced a long carnival to this _belle brunette_, who seldom kept _lent_; and who hero met, for the first time, a now noble marquess, then lord y--------, to whose liberality she was for some time indebted for a very splendid establishment; but the precarious existence of such connexions is proverbial, and mrs. padden has certainly had her share of fatal experience. her next paramour was a diamond of the first water, but no star, a certain dashing jeweller, mr. c-----, whose charmer she continued only until kind fortune threw in her way her present constant jack. with the hoy-day of the blood, the fickleness of the heart ceases; and mrs. padden is now in the "sear o' the leaf," and somewhat _passée_ with the town. it does therefore display good judgment in the lady to endeavour, by every attention and correct conduct, to preserve an attachment that has now existed for some considerable time. ~ ~~indeed it is hardly possible to find a more conversational or attractive woman, or one less free from the vulgarity which usually accompanies ladies of her caste. with this fair i danced a waltz, and then danced off to my friend crony, who had been excused a display of agility on the score of age, and from whom i anticipated some interesting anecdotes of the surrounding stars. (see plate.) [illustration: page ] the montagues, five sisters, all fine women, and celebrated as the stars of erin, shone forth on this occasion with no diminished ray of their accustomed brilliancy; mrs. drummond, otherwise h--n dr--y ba--y, me--t--o, or bulkly, the last being the only legal _cognomen_ of the fair, led the way, followed by maria cross, otherwise latouche, matilda chatterton, isabella cummins, and amelia hamilton, all ladies of high character in the court of cytherea, whose amours, were i to attempt them, would exceed in volumes, if not in interest, the chronicles of their native isle. among the most interesting of the fairy group was the beautiful louisa rowley, since married to lord l**c**les, and that charming little rosebud, the captivating josephine, who, although a mere child, was introduced under the special protection of the celebrated mr. b***, who has since been completely duped by the little _intriguante_, as also was hep second lover lord p********? who succeeded in the lady's favour afterwards; but from whom she fled to lord h****t, since whose death, an event which occurred in paris, i hear she has reformed, and is now following the example of an elder sister, by preparing herself for the stage. "who is that dashing looking brunette in the turban, that is just entering the room?" inquired transit, who appeared to be mightily taken with the fair incognita. "that lady, with the mahogany skin and _piquant_ appearance, is the favourite mistress of the poor duke of ma**b****h," responded crony, "and is no other than ~ ~~the celebrated poll-----pshaw! everybody has heard of the queen of the amazons, a title given to the lady, in honour, as i suppose, of his grace's fighting ancestor. poll is said to be a great voluptuary; but at any rate she cannot be very extravagant, that is, if she draws all her resources from her protector's present purse. do you observe that _jolie dame_ yonder sitting under the orchestra? that is the well-known nelly mansell, of crawford-street, called the _old pomona_, from the richness of her _first fruits_. nelly has managed her affairs with no trifling share of prudence, and although in the decline of life, she is by no means in declining circumstances. h**re the banker married her niece, and the aunt's cash-account is said to be a very comfortable expectancy. the _elegante_ waltzing so _luxuriantly_ with h------ b------ h------ is the lovely emma richardson, sometime since called standish or davison, a cytherean of the very first order, and the sister planet to the equally charming ellen hanbury, otherwise bl-----g-----ve, constellations of the utmost brilliancy, very uncertain in their appearance, and equally so, if report speaks truth, in their attachment to either jupiter, mars, vulcan, or apollo. the first is denominated _venus mendicant_, from her always pleading poverty to her suitors, and thus artfully increasing their generosity towards her. sister ellen has obtained the appellation of _venus callipyga_, from her elegant form and generally half-draped appearance in public. do you perceive the swarthy amazon waddling along yonder, whom the old earl of w-----d appears to be eyeing with no little anticipation of delight? that is a lady with a very ancient and most fish-like flavor, odoriferous in person as the oily female esquimaux, or the more _fragrant_ feminine inhabitants of russian tartary and the crimea; she has with some of her admirers obtained the name of _dolly drinkwater_, from her known dislike to any ~ ~~thing _stronger_ than pure french brandy. her present travelling cognomen is mrs. sp**c*r, otherwise _black moll_; and a wag of the day, who is rather notorious for the variety of his taste, has recently insisted upon re-christening her by the _attractive nom de guerre_ of _nux vomica_. the little goddess of the golden locks, dancing with a well-known _roué_, is fanny my*rs, a very efficient partner in the dance, and if report be true not less engaging in the sacred mysteries of cytherea." it would fill the ample page to relate the varied anecdote with which crony illustrated, as he proceeded to describe the scyllo and charybdes of the unwary and the gay; who in their voyage through life are lured by the syrens of sweet voice, and the pyrrhas of sweet lip, the cleopatras of modern times, the conquerors of hearts, and the voluptuous rioters in pleasurable excesses, of those of whom byron has sung,-- "round all the confines of the yielding waist, the strangest hand may wander undisplaced. * * * till some might marvel with the modest turk, if 'nothing follows all this palming work.'" to draw all the portraits who figured in the fascinating scene of gay delight would be a task of almost equal magnitude with the herculean labours, and one which in attempting, i fear some of my readers may censure me for already dwelling too long upon: but let them remember, i am a professed painter of real life, not the inventor or promoter of these delectable _nocte attici_ and depraved orgies; that in faithfully narrating scenes and describing character, the object of the author and artist is to show up vice in all its native deformity; that being known, it may be avoided, and being exposed, despised. but i must crave permission to extend my notice of the cythereans to a few more characters, ere yet the mirth-inspiring notes of the band have ceased to vibrate, or the graceful ~ ~~fair ones to trip it lightly on fantastic toe; this done, i shall perhaps take a peep into the supper-room, drink champagne, and pick the wing of a chicken while i whisper a few soft syllables into the ear of the nearest _elegante_; and then--gentle reader, start not--then----- "the breast thus _publicly_ resign'd to man in _private_ may resist him--if it can." but here the curtain shall drop upon all the fairy sirens who lead the young heart captive in their silken chains; and the _daughters of pleasure_ and the _sons of profligacy_ may practise the mysteries of cytherea in private, undisturbed by the pen of the satirist or the pencil of the humorist. "the scandalizing group in close conference in the left-hand corner, behind lord william lenox and another dashing ensign in the guards, is composed," said crony, "of mrs. nixon, the _ci-devant_ mrs. baring, nugent's old.flame, mrs. christopher harrison, the two sisters, mesdames gardner and peters, and the well-known kitty stock, all minor constellations, mostly on the decline, and hence full of envious jealousy at the attention paid by the beaux to the more attractive charms of the newly discovered planets, the younger sisterhood of the convent." "if we could but get near enough to overhear their conversation," said transit, "we should, no doubt, obtain possession of a few rich anecdotes of the paphians and their paramours." "i have already enough of the latter," said i, "to fill a dozen albums, without descending to the meanness of becoming a listener. amorous follies are the least censurable of the sins of men, when they are confined to professed courtezans. the heartless conduct of the systematic seducer demands indignation; but the trifling peccadillos of the sons of fortune and the stars of fashion may be passed by, without any serious personal exposure, since _time, ~ ~~cash, and constitution are the three practising physicians_ who generally effect a radical cure, without the aid of the satirist. but come, crony, you must give us the _nom de guerre_ of the last-mentioned belles: you have hitherto distinguished all the cythereans by some eccentric appellation; let us therefore have the list complete." "by all means, gentlemen," replied the old beau: "if i must stand godfather to the whole fraternity of cyprians, i think i ought, at least, to have free access to every convent in christendom; but i must refer to my tablets, for i keep a regular entry of all the new appearances, or i should never remember half their designations. mrs. n------has the harmonious appellation of the _mocking bird_, from her silly habit of repeating every word you address to her. mrs. b------is called the _new perdita_, from a royal conquest she once made, but which we have only her own authority for believing; at any rate, she is known to be fond of a _new-gent_, and the title may on that account be fairly her own. mrs. c-----h------ has the honour of being distinguished by the appropriate name of the _napoleon venus_, from the similarity of her contour with the countenance of that great man. the two sisters, mesdames g------and p------, are well known by the flattering distinctions of the red and the black swan, from the colour of their hair and the stateliness of their carriage; and kitty stock has the poetical cognomen of _blue-eyed lima_. now, you have nearly the whole vocabulary of love's votaries," said old crony; "and be sure, young gentlemen, you profit by the precepts of experience; for not one of these frail fair ones but in her time has made as many conquests as wellington, and caused perhaps as much devastation among the sons of men as any hero in the world. but a new light breaks in upon us," said crony, "in the person of mrs. simmons, the _tartar sultana_, whom you may observe conversing with lords h------d and p-----m in the centre of the room. poor n--g--nt the cyprian's ball ~ ~~will long remember her prowess in battle, when the strength of her passion had nearly brought matters to a point, and that not a very tender one; but the swain cut the affair in good time, or might have been cruelly cut himself. messrs. h--h and r--s--w could also give some affecting descriptions of the tartar sultana's rage when armed with jealousy or resentment. her residence, no. , b--k--r-street, has long been celebrated as the three x x x; a name probably given to it by some spark who found the sultana three times more cross than even common report had stated her to be." the night was now fast wearing away, when crony again directed our attention to the right-hand corner of the room, where, just under the orchestra, appeared the elder sister of the notorious harriette wilson seated, and in close conversation with the milesian m. c, o'm--------a, who, according to his usual custom, was dispensing his entertaining anecdotes of all his acquaintance who graced the present scene. "that is amy campbell, otherwise sydenham, &e., &c, but now legally bochsa, of whom harriette has since told so many agreeable stories relative to the black puddings and argyle; however, considerable suspicion attaches itself to harriette's anecdotes of her elder sister, particularly as she herself admits they were not very good friends, and harriette never would forgive amy for seducing the duke of argyle from his allegiance to her. mrs. campbell was for some years the favourite sultana of his grace, and has a son by him, a fine boy, now about twelve years of age, who goes by the family name, and for whose support the kind-hearted duke allows the mother a very handsome annuity. amy is certainly a woman of considerable talent; a good musician, as might have been expected from her attachment to the harpist, and an excellent linguist, speaking the french, spanish, and italian languages with the greatest fluency. in her person she begins to exhibit the ravages of time, is somewhat _embonpoint_, with ~ ~~dark hair and fine eyes, but rather of the keen order of countenance than the agreeable; and report says, that the signior composer, amid his plurality of wives, never found a more difficult task to preserve the equilibrium of domestic harmony. by the side of this fair one, arm in arm with a well-known bookseller, you may perceive harriette kochforte, alias wilson, who, according to her own account, has had as many amours as the grand seignor can boast wives, and with just as little of affection in the _affaires de cour_ as his sublime highness, only with something more of publicity. harriette gives the honour of her introduction into the mysteries of cytherea to the earl of craven; but it is well known that a certain dashing solicitor's clerk then living in the neighbourhood of chelsea, and near her amiable mamma's residence, first engrossed, her attention, and by whom she exhibited increasing symptoms of affection, which being properly engrafted on the person of the fair stockinger, in due time required a release from a practitioner of another profession; an innocent affair that now lies buried deep in an odd corner at the old churchyard at chelsea, without a monumental stone or epitaph to point out the early virtues of the fair cytherean. to this limb of the law succeeded the honourable be-- --y c------n, who was then too volatile and capricious to pay his devotions at any particular shrine for more than a week together. it was this cold neglect of the honourable's that has, perhaps, secured him from mention in her memoirs; since harriette never speaks of her beaux without giving the reader to suppose they were desperately in love with herself: then there was more of the dignified in an affair with an earl, and madame harriette has a great notion of preserving her consequence, although, it must be confessed, she has latterly shown the most perfect indifference to the preservation of character. the the cyprian's ball ~ ~~circumstance which first gave miss wilson her great notoriety was the affair with the young marquis of worcester, then just _come out_, and a willing captive to her artful wiles. so successfully did she inveigle her noble swain, and so completely environ his heart, that in the fulness of his boyish adoration of the fair cytherean, he executed in her favour a certain promise in writing, not a promise to pay, for that might have been of no consequence, nor a promise of settlement, nor a promise to protect, nothing so unsettled,--nothing less did the fair intriguante obtain than a full, clear, and definite promise of marriage, with a sufficient penalty thereunto attached to make the matter alarming and complete, with every appearance on his part to ratify the contract. in this state of things, information reached his grace of b--f--t of his noble heir's intention, who not much relishing the intended honour, or perhaps doubting the permanency of his son's passion (for to question the purity of the lady was impossible), entered into a negotiation with harriette, by which, on condition of her resigning the promise and pledging herself never to see the marquis more on familiar terms, this disinterested woman was to receive eight hundred pounds per annum--so anxious was his grace to prevent a mes-alliance in his family. but, alas for harriette! jealousy for once got the better of her love of gain; her pride was wounded to see a sister flirting with her affianced lord, and in a moment of irritation, she in a most unequivocal manner publicly asserted her right to his person: the gallant yielded, the bond was __null and void, the _promise burnt_, his grace relieved from the payment of eight hundred pounds per annum, and his son the marquis, profiting by past experience, not so green as to renew the former obligation. "my intention is not to pirate the lady's memoirs, and so rob her of the fair gain of her professional ~ ~~experience," said crony, when i mentioned these circumstances to him afterwards; "i only mean to supply certain trifling omissions in the biography of harriette and her family, which the fair narrator has very modestly suppressed. it is but a few months since, that passing accidentally into warwick-court, holborn, to call upon an old friend, a navy lieutenant on half-pay, i thought i recognised the well-known superlative wig of the dandy rochforte, thrust longitudinally forward from beneath the sash of a two pair of stairs window.--can it be possible? thought i: and then again, i asked myself, why not? for the last time i saw him he was rusticating in surrey, beating the balls about in _banco regis_; from which black place he did not escape without a little white-washing: however, he's a full colonel of some unknown corps of south american independents for all that, and was once in his life, although for a very short time, a full cornet, in lincoln stanhope's regiment, the th dragoons, i think it was, and has never clipped his mustachios since, one would imagine, by their length and ferocious appearance. to be brief, i had scarcely placed my glass into the orifice before my imperfect vision, when harriette appeared at the adjoining window, and instantly recognizing an old acquaintance, invited me up stairs. 'times are a little changed,' said she, 'mr. crony, since last we met:' 'true, madam,' i responded; and then to cheer the belle a little, i added, 'but not persons, i perceive, for you are looking as young and as attractive as ever.' the compliment did not seem to please the colonel in the wig, who turned round, looked frowningly, and then twirled the dexter side of his lip wing into a perfect circle. it is not possible that this thing can affect jealousy of such a woman as harriette? thought i: so proceeded with our conversation: and he shortly resumed his polite amusement of spitting upon the children who were ~ ~~playing marbles beneath his window. 'i am really married to that monster, yonder,' said she, in an under tone: 'how do you like my choice?' 'i am not old enough in the gentleman's acquaintance to hazard an opinion on his merits,' quoth i; 'but you are a woman of experience, belle harriette, and should be a good judge of male bipeds, although i cannot say much in favour of your military taste.' 'and you was always a _quiz_, crony,' retorted belle harriette: 'remember my sister mary, who is now mrs. bochsa,{ } how you used to annoy her about her gaudy style of dressing, when we used to foot it at chelsea:--but i there were in all eight sisters of the debouchettes, and three brothers; but only one of the latter is living. of the girls, amy is now mrs. bochsa; mary, married to a nephew of sir richard bo****hs, a great irish contractor; harriette, actually married to cornet rochforte; fanny expired in the _holy keeping_ of the present marquis of h-----; sophia has been raised to the peerage, by the style and title of lady b-----k, and by her subsequent conduct well deserves her elevation; julia, an affectionate girl, clung to the house of coventry through poor tom's days of adversity, and died early, leaving some unprotected orphans; charlotte and louisa, younger sisters, the first now about eighteen and very beautiful, although a little lame, have been educated and brought up by their elder sister, the baroness, and are by her intended for the church--vestals for hymen's altar: at any rate, i hope they will escape the _sacrifices of cytherea_. harriette is now about forty years of age: she was, when at her zenith, always celebrated rather for her tact in love affairs, and her talent at invention, than the soft engaging qualifications of the frail fair, which fascinate the eye and lead the heart captive with delight: her conversational powers were admirable; but her temper was outrageous, with a natural inclination to the satirical:--to sum up her merits at once, she was what a _connoisseur_ would have called a bold fine woman, rather than an engaging handsome one--more of the english bellona than the _venus de medici_. crony's account of the round room and belle harriette's first views of publishing are, i have since learned, strictly correct. there is not a person mentioned in her memoirs, or scarcely one of any note in the court-guide, of whom she has at any time had the slightest knowledge, that have not been applied to repeatedly within the last three years, and received threats of exposure to compel them to submit to extortion. ~ ~~want your assistance.' egad, i dare say, i looked rather comical at this moment, for in truth i was somewhat alarmed at the last phrase. harriette burst into a loud fit of laughter; the colonel drew in his elegant wig, and deigned a smile; while i, involuntarily forcing my hand into the pocket of my inexpressibles, carefully drove the few sovereigns i had up into one corner, fearing the belle harriette had a mighty notion of laying strong siege to them: in this, however, i was agreeably disappointed; for recovering herself, she acknowledged she had perceived my embarrassment, but assured me i need be under no alarm on this occasion, as, at present, she only wanted to borrow a few--ideas: what a relief the last short word afforded! 'i have been writing some sketches of my life,' said she, 'and am going to publish: give me your opinion, crony, upon its merits;' and without more ceremony, she thrust a little packet of papers into my hand, headed 'sketches in the round room at the opera house;' in which all the characters of the opera frequenters were tolerably well drawn, nor was the dialogue deficient in spirit; but the titles were all fictitious--such as my lord red head, for the marquess of h-----d, lord pensiveham, for p------m, and so on to the end of the chapter. having glanced through the contents, i recommended her to colburn, as the universal speculator in paper and print; but his highness is playing _magnifico_, à la murray, in his new mansion, it would seem; for he, as i have since learned, refused to publish. at length, after trying allman and others, belle harriette hit upon stockdale, who having made some bad hits in his time, thought a little _courtesanish_ scandal could not make bad worse. under his superintendence real names were substituted for the fictitious; and it is said, that the choice notes of the lady are interwoven and extended, connected and illustrated, by the same elegant apollo who used to write love letters for mary ann, and ~ ~~love epistles to half a thousand, including bang and the bantum, in the dark refectory of the celebrated mother wood, the lady of the priory, or lisle-street convent." "if such is the case, 'how are the mighty fallen!'" said i.------but let us return to the ball-room. as the night advanced, a few more stars made their appearance in the firmament of beauty; among these, crony pointed out some of the demirespectables, attracted thither either by curiosity or the force of old habit: among these was charles wy--h--m's bit of rue, that herb of grace, the once beautiful mrs. ho--g--s, since closely connected with the whiskered lord p-----, to whose brother, the honourable f------g, her daughter, the elegant miss w--------n, had the good fortune to be early married. in the same group appeared another star of no mean attraction, the honourable mrs. l-----g, whose present husband underwent the ordeal of a crim. con. trial to obtain her person. 'par nobile fratum,' the world may well say of the brothers, p------ and l-----g; while f--------y, with all his eccentricities, has the credit of being a very good husband. three little affected mortals, the misses st--ts, crony introduced by the name of the pretenders, from the assumed modesty and great secrecy with which they carry on their amours. '_pas à pas on va bien loin_,' says the old french proverb, and rightly too," remarked our ancient; "for if you boys had not brought me here, i should never have known the extent of my experience, or have attempted to calculate the number of my female acquaintances." in the supper-room, which opened at four o'clock in the morning, waud had spread forth a banquet every way worthy the occasion: a profuse display of the choicest viands of the season and delicacies of the most costly character graced the splendid board, where the rich juice of the grape, and the inviting ripeness of the dessert, were only equalled by the voluptuous votaries who ~ ~~surrounded the repast. it was now that ceremony and the cold restraint of well regulated society were banished, by the free circulation of the glass. the eye of love shot forth the electric flash which animates the heart of young desire, lip met lip, and the soft cheek of violet beauty pressed the stubble down of manliness. then, while the snowy orbs of nature undisguised heaved like old ocean with a circling swell, the amorous lover palmed the melting fair, and led her forth to where shame-faced aurora, with her virgin gray, the blue-eyed herald of the golden morn, might hope in vain to draw aside the curtain and penetrate the mysteries of cytherea. and now, gentle reader, be ye of the hardy sex, who dare the glories of the healthful chase and haunt the peopled stream of gay delight--or of that lovely race, from which alone man's earthly joys arise, the soft-skinned conquerors of hearts--be ye prudes or stoics, chaste as virgin gold, or cold as alpine snow--confess that i have strictly kept my promise here, nor strayed aside in all my wanderings among the daughters of pleasure, to give pain to worthy bosoms or offend the ear of nicest modesty. pity for the unfortunate, and respect for the feelings of the relatives of the vicious and the dissolute, has prevented the insertion of many anecdotes, with which crony illustrated his sketches of character. enough, it is presumed, has been done to show vice in all its native deformity, without wounding the ear by one immoral or indelicate expression. for the unhappy fair ones who form the principal portraits, it should be remembered they have been selected from those only who are notorious, as belles of the first order, stars of fashion, and if not something indebted to fortune they would have escaped enrolment here. when beauty and poverty are allied, it must too often fall a victim to the eager eye of roving lust; for, even to the titled ~ ~~profligate, beauty, when arrayed in a simple garb of spotless chastity, seems "----fairer she in innocence and homespun vestments spread, than if cerulean sapphires at her ears shone pendent, or a precious diamond cross heaved gently on her panting bosom white. but let the frail remember, that the allurements of wealth and the blandishments of equipage fall off with possession and satiety; to the force of novelty succeeds the baseness of desertion. for a short time, the fallen one is fed like the silk-worm upon the fragrant mulberry leaf, and when she has spun her yellow web of silken attraction, sinks into decay, a common chrysalis, shakes her trembling and emaciated wings in hopeless agony, and then flutters and droops, till death steps in and relieves her from an accumulation of miseries, ere yet the transient summer of youth has passed over her devoted head. bernard blackmantle. [illustration: page ] the philosophy of laughter; or, mr punch in all his glory. thoughts on the philosophy of laughter--bernard blackmantle in search of a wife--first visit to the marigold family-- sketches of the alderman, his lady, and daughter--anecdote of john liston, and the citizen's dinner party--of the immortal mr. punch--some account of the great actor--a street scene, sketched from the life--the wooden drama--the true sublime. [illustration: page ] ~ ~~ you may sing of old thespis, who first in a cart, to the jolly god bacchus enacted a part; miss thalia, or mrs. melpomene praise, or to light-heel'd terpsichore offer your lays. but pray what are these, bind them all in a bunch, compared to the acting of signor punch? of garrick, or palmer, or kemble, or cooke, your moderns may whine, or on each write a book; or mathews, or munden, or fawcett, suppose they could once lead the town as they pleased by the nose; a fig for such actors! tied all in a bunch, mere mortals compared to old deified punch. not chester can charm us, nor foote with her smile, like the first blush of summer, our bosoms beguile, half so well, or so merrily drive caro away, as old punch with his judy in amorous play. kean, young, and macready, though thought very good, have heads, it is true, but then they're not of wood. ~ ~~ be ye ever so dull, full of spleen or ennui, mighty punch can enliven your spirits with glee. not honest jack harley, or liston's rum mug can produce half the fun of his juggity-jug: for a right hearty laugh, tie thorn all in a bunch, not an actor among them like signor punch. --bernard blackmantle. it was the advice of the prophet tiresias to menippus, who had travelled over the terrestrial globe fend descended into the infernal regions in search of content, to be merry and wise; "to laugh at all the busy farce of state, employ the vacant hour in mirth and jest." "the merrier the heart the longer the life," says burton in his anatomy of melancholy. mirth is the principal of the three salernitan doctors, dr. merryman, dr. diet, and dr. quiet. the nepenthes of homer, the bowl of retenus, and the girdle of venus, are only the ancient types of liveliness and mirth, by the free use of which the mind is dispossessed of dulness, and the cankerworm of care destroyed. seneca calls the happiness of wealth bracteata félicitas, tinfoiled happiness, and infelix félicitas, an unhappy felicity. a poor man drinks out of a wooden dish, and eats his hearty meal with a wooden spoon; while the rich man, with a languid appetite, picks his dainties with a silver fork from plates of gold--but, in auro bibitur venenum; the one rinds health and happiness in his pottered jug, while the other sips disease and poison from his jewelled cup. a good laugh is worth a guinea, (to him who can afford to pay for it) at any time; but it is best enjoyed when it comes gratuitously and unexpectedly, and breaks in upon us like the radiant beams of a summer sun forcing its way through the misty veil of an inland fog. i had been paying a morning visit to a wealthy ~ ~~citizen, mr. alderman marigold, and family, at the express desire of my father, who had previously introduced me for the purpose of fixing my--affection --tush--no, my attention, to the very weighty merits of miss biddy marigold, spinster; a spoiled child, without personal, but with very powerful attractions to a poor colebs. two hours' hard fighting with the alderman had just enabled me to retreat from the persecution of being compelled to give an opinion upon the numerous bubble companies of the time, without understanding more than the title of either; to this succeeded the tiresome pertinacity of mrs. marigold's questions relative to the movements, ondits, and fashionable frivolities westward, until, fairly wearied out and disgusted, i sat down a lion exhausted, in the window seat, heartily wishing myself like liston{ } safe out of purgatory; when the sound john liston, the comedian, is in private life not less conspicuous for finished pleasantry and superior manners than he is on the stage for broad humour; but nothing can offend the actor more than an invitation given merely in the expectation of his displaying at table some of his professional excellences. john had, on one occasion, accepted an invitation to dine with a wealthy citizen en famille; the repast over--the wine had circulated--a snug friend proposed the health of mr. liston; and john returned thanks with as much dignity as a minister of state eating white bait at blackwall with the worshipful company of fishmongers. then came the amiable civilities of the lady of the mansion, evidently intended to ingratiate herself with the actor, the better to secure his assent to her request, but not a muscle of the comedian gave the least encouragement. the little citizens, who were huddled round their mamma, and had been staring at the actor in anxious expectation, were growing very impatient. the eldest boy had already recited young norval's speech to lady douglas, by way of prologue; but the actor still continued mute, never for a moment unbending to the smirking encourage-ment of his hostess, or the jolly laugh-exciting reminiscences of his ruby-faced host; as, for instance, "lord, mr. liston, what a funny figure you looked t'other night in moll flaggon!" or, "how you made thorn laugh in tony lumpkin! and then what a fright you was in mrs. cheshire. couldn't you give us a touch just now?" "ay, do, mr. liston, pray do," vociferated a dozen tongues at once, including mamma, the little misses and mastery. "the children have been kept up two hours later than usual on purpose," said the lady mother. "ay, come, my good fellow," reiterated the cit, "take another glass, and then give us some-thing funny to amuse the young ones." this was the finishing blow to liston's offended dignity--to be invited to dinner by a fat fleshmonger, merely to amuse his uncultivated cubs, was too much for the nervous system of the comedian to bear; but how to retreat?" i have it," thought john, "by the cut direct;" rising and bowing, therefore, to the company, as if intending to yield to their entreaties, he begged permission to retire to make some little arrangement in his dress, to personate vanish; when, leaving them in the most anxious expectation for more than half an hour, on ringing the bell, they learned from the servant that mr. liston had suddenly vanished by the street- door, and was, of course, never seen in that direction more. ~ ~~of a cracked trumpet in the street arrested my attention. "i vonder vat that ere hinstrument can mean, my dear!" said mrs. alderman marigold, (advancing to the window with eager curiosity). "it's wery likely some fire company's men marching to a bean-feast, or a freemason's funeral obscenities," replied the alderman. when another blast greeted our ears with a few notes of "see the conquering hero comes," "la, mamma," whined out miss biddy marigold, "i declare, it's that filthy fellow punch coming afore our vindow vith his imperence; i prognosticated how it voud be, ven the alderman patronised him last veek by throwing avay a whole shilling upon his fooleries." "you've no taste for fun, biddy," replied the alderman; at the same time making his daughter and myself a substitute for crutches, by resting a hand upon each shoulder. "i never laid out a shilling better in the whole course of my life. a good laugh beats all the french medicine, and drives the gout out at the great toe. i mean to pension mr. punch at a shilling a veek to squeak before my vindow of a saturday, in preference to paying six guineas for a ~ ~~box to hear all that outlandish squeaking at the hopera." "la, pa, how ungenteel!" said miss biddy; "i declare you're bringing quite a new-sense to all the square, vat vith your hurdy-gurdy vonien, french true-baw-dears, and barrel organ-grinders, nobody has no peace not at all in the neighbourhood." during this elegant colloquy, the immortal mr. punch had reared his chequered theatre upon the pavement opposite, the confederate showman had concealed himself beneath the woollen drapery, and the italian comedian had just commenced his merry note of preparation by squeaking some of those little snatches of tunes, which act with talismanic power upon the locomotive faculties of all the peripatetics within hearing, attracting everybody to the travelling stage, young and old, gentle and simple; all the crowd seem as if magic chained them to the spot, and each face exhibits as much anxiety, and the mind, no doubt, anticipates as much or more delight, than if they were assembled to see charles kemble, young, and macready, all three acting in one fine tragedy. there is something so indescribably odd and ridiculous about the whole paraphernalia of mr. punch, that we are irresistibly compelled to acknowledge the superiority of the lignum vito roscius over the histrionic corps of mere flesh and blood. the eccentricity of this immortal personage, his foreign, funny dialogue, the whim and strange conceit exhibited in his wooden drama, the gratuitous display, and the unrestricted laugh he affords--all combine to make mr. punch the most popular performer in the world. of italian origin, he has been so long domiciled in england, that he may now be considered naturalized by common consent. indeed, i much question, if a greater misfortune could befall the country, than the removal or suppression of mr. punch and his laugh-provoking drolleries:--it would be considered a national calamity; but mirth protect ~ ~~us from such a terrible mishap! another sound from an old cracked trumpet, something resembling a few notes of "arm, arm, ye brave," and an accompaniment by the great actor himself of a few more "tut, tut, tutura, lura, lu's," in his own original style, have now raised excitement to the highest pitch of expectation. the half inflated lungs of the alderman expand by anticipation, and his full foggy breathings upon the window-glass have already compelled me more than once to use my handkerchief to clear away the mist. the assembled group waiting the commencement of his adventures, now demands my notice. what a scene for my friend transit! i shall endeavour to depict it for him. the steady looking old gentleman in the fire-shovel clerical castor, how sagaciously he leers round about him to see if he is likely to be recognised! not a countenance to whom he is known; he smiles with self-complacency at the treat he is about to enjoy; plants himself in a respectable doorway, for three reasons; first, the advantage from the rise of the step increasing his altitude; second, the security of his pockets from attacks behind; and third, the pretence, should any goth to whom he is known, observe him enjoying the scene, that he is just about to enter the house, and has merely been detained there by accident. excellent apologist!--how ridiculous!--excessive delicacy, avaunt! give me a glorious laugh, and "throw (affectation) to the dogs; i'll have none of it." now the farce begins: up starts the immortal hero himself, and makes his bow; a simultaneous display of "broad grins" welcomes his felicitous entrée; and for a few seconds the scene resembles the appearance of a popular election candidate, sir francis burdett, or his colleague, little cam hobhouse, on the hustings in covent garden; nothing is heard but one deafening shout of clamorous approbation. observe the butcher's boy has stopped his ~ ~~horse to witness the fun, spite of the despairing cook who waits the promised joint; and the jolly lamp-lighter, laughing hysterically on the top of his ladder, is pouring the oil from his can down the backs and into the pockets of the passengers beneath, instead of recruiting the parish-lamp, while the sufferers are too much interested in the exhibition to feel the trickling of the greasy fluid. the baker, careless of the expectant owner's hot dinner, laughs away the time until the pie is quite cold; and the blushing little servant-maid is exercising two faculties at once, enjoying the frolics of signor punch, and inventing some plausible excuse for her delay upon an expeditious errand. how closely the weather-beaten tar yonder clasps his girl's waist! every amorous joke of signor punch tells admirably with him; till, between laughing and pressing, poll is at last compelled to cry out for breath, when jack only squeezes her the closer, and with a roaring laugh vociferates, "my toplights! what the devil will that fellow punch do next, poll?" the milkman grins unheedful of the cur who is helping himself from out his pail; and even the heavy-laden porter, sweating under a load of merchandise, heaves up his shoulders with laughter, until the ponderous bale of goods shakes in the air like a rocking-stone. (see plate.) inimitable actor! glorious signor punch! show me among the whole of the dramatis persona in the patent or provincial theatres, a single performer who can compete with the mighty wooden roscius. [illustration: page ] the alderman's eulogium on mr. punch was superlatively good. "i love a comedy, mr. blackmantle," said he, "better than a tragedy, because it makes one laugh; and next to good eating, a hearty laugh is most desirable. then i love a farce still better than a comedy, because that is more provokingly merry, or broader as the critics have it; then, sir, a pantomime beats both comedy and ~ ~~farce hollow; there's such lots of fun and shouts of laughter to be enjoyed in that from the beginning to the end. but, sir, there's one performance that eclipses all these, tragedy, comedy, farce, and pantomime put together, and that is mister punch--for a right-down, jolly, split-my-side burst of laughter, he's the fellow; name me any actor or author that can excite the risibilities of the multitude, or please all ages, orders, and conditions, like the squeaking pipe and mad waggeries of that immortal, merry-faced itinerant. if any man will tell me that he possesses genius, or the mellow affections, and that he can pass punch, 'nor cast one longing, lingering look behind;' then, i say, that man's made of 'impenetrable stuff;' and, being too wise for whimsicality, is too phlegmatic for genius, and too crabbed for mellowness." mark, what a set of merry open-faced rogues surround punch, who peeps down at them as cunningly as "a magpie peeping into a marrow bone; "--how luxuriantly they laugh, or stand with their eyes and mouths equally distended, staring at the minikin effigy of fun and phantasy; thinking, no doubt, "he bin the greatest wight on earth." and, certainly, he has not his equal, as a positive, dogmatic, knock-me-down argument-monger; a dare devil; an embodied phantasmagoria, or frisky infatuation. i have often thought that punch might be converted to profitable use, by being made a speaking pasquin; and, properly instructed, might hold up his restless quarter staff, in terrorem, over the heads of all public outragers of decency; and by opening the eyes of the million, who flock to his orations, enlighten them, at least, as much as many greater folks, who make more noise than he, and who, ~ ~~like him, often get laughed at, without being conscious that they are the subjects of merriment. the very name of our old friend punch inspires us in our social moments. what other actor has been commemorated by the potential cup? is not the sacred bowl of friendship dedicated to the wooden hero? would you forget the world, its cares, vexations, and anxieties, sip of the mantling, mirth-inspiring cordial, and all within is jollity and gay delight. "for punch cures the gout, the cholic, and the phthisic, and it is to every man the very best of physic." honest, kind-hearted punch! i could write a volume in thy praise, and then, i fear, i should leave half thy merits untold. thou art worth a hundred of the fashionable kickshaws that are daily palmed upon us to be admired; and thy good-humoured efforts to please at the expense of a broken pate can never be sufficiently praised. but now the curtain rises, and mr. punch steals from behind his two-foot drapery: the very tip of his arched nose is the prologue to a merry play; he makes his bow to the multitude, and salutes them with all the familiarity of an old acquaintance. what a glorious reception does he meet with from an admiring audience! and now his adventures commence--his "dear judy," the partner of his life, by turns experiences all the capricious effects of love and war. what a true picture of the storms of life!--how admirable an essay on matrimonial felicity! then his alternate uxoriousness to the lady, and his fondlings of that pretty "kretur" with the family countenance; his chivalrous exploits on horseback, and mimic capering round the lists of his chequered tilt-yard; his unhappy differences with the partner of his bosom, and her lamentable catastrophe; the fracas with the sheriff's substitute; and his interview with that incomprehensible personage, ~ ~~the knight of the sable countenance, who salutes him with the portentous address of "schalabala! schalabala! schalabala!" his successive perils and encounters with the ghost of the martyred judy; and, after his combat with the great enemy of mankind, the devil himself, "propria marte" his temporary triumph; and, finally, his defeat by a greater man than old lucifer, the renowned mr. john ketch. talk of modern dramas, indeed!--show me any of your dimonds, reynolds, dibdins, or crolys that can compare with punchiana, in the unities of time, place, costume, and action, intricate and interesting plot, situations provokingly comical and effective, and a catastrophe the most appallingly surprising and agreeable. then his combats aux batons are superior even to bradley and blanchard; but the ne plus ultra of his exploits, the cream of all his comicalities, the grand event, is the ingenious trick by which mr. punch, when about to suffer on the scaffold, disposes of the executioner, and frees himself from purgatory, by persuading the unsuspecting hangman, merely for the sake of instruction to an uninitiated culprit, to try his own head in the noose: punch, of course, seizes the perilous moment--runs him up to the top of the fatal beam--mr. john ketch hangs suspended in the air--punch shouts a glorious triumph--all the world backs him in his conquest--the old cracked trumpet sounds to victory--the showman's hat has made the transit of the circle, and returns half-filled with the voluntary copper contributions of the happy audience. the alderman drops his tributary shilling, while his fat sides shake with laughter; even mrs. marigold and the amiable miss biddy have become victims to the vulgar inspiration, and are laughing as heartily as if they were enjoying the grimaces of the first of buffos, signor ambrogetti. and now the curtain falls, and the busy group disperse their several ways, chuckling with delight over the ~ ~~recollections of the mad waggeries of immortal mr. punch. all hail! thou first great mimic chief, physician to the mind's relief; thrice hail! most potent punch. not momus' self, should he appear, could dim the lustre of thy sphere; so hail! all hail! great punch. bernard blackmantle. [illustration: page ] the westminster scholar. reminiscences of former times--lamentations of old crony-- ancient sports and sprees--modern im-provements--hints to builders and buyers--some account of the school and its worthies--recollections of old schoolfellows--sketches of character--the living and the dead. "fast by, an old but noble fabric stands, no vulgar work, but raised by princely hands; which, grateful to eliza's memory, pays, in living monuments, an endless praise." from a poem by a westminster scholar, written during dr. friend's mastership, in . ~ ~~ [illustration: page ] "what say you to a stroll through _thorney island_,{ } this morning?" said old crony, with whom i had been taking a _déjeuné à la fourchette_; "you have indulged your readers with all the whims and eccentricities of eton and of oxford, and, in common justice, you must not pass by the _westminster blacks_."{ } crony had, i learned, been a foundation scholar during the mastership of dr. samuel smith; when the poet churchill, robert lloyd, (the son of the under-master) bonnel thornton, george colman the elder, richard cumberland, and a host of other highly-gifted names, were associated within the precincts of the abbey cloisters. our way towards the abbey ground, so called by the monkish writers; but, since busby's time, more significantly designated by the scholars _birch island.--vide tidier_. black------s from westminster; ruff--s from winchester; and gentlemen from eton.--_old cambridge proverb_. ~ ~~westminster from the surrey side of vauxhall bridge, where crony had taken up his abode, lay through the scene of his earliest recollections; and, not even crockery himself could have been more pathetic in his lamentations over the improvements of modern times. "here," said crony, placing himself upon the rising ground which commands an uninterrupted view of the bank, right and left, and fronts the new road to chelsea, and, the grosvenor property; "here, in my boyish days, used the westminster scholars to congregate for sports and sprees. many a juvenile frolic have i been engaged in beneath the shadowy willows that then o'ercanopied the margin of old father thames; but they are almost all destroyed, and with them disappears the fondest recollections of my youth. upwards, near yonder frail tenement which is now fast mouldering into decay, lived the beautiful gardener's daughter, the flower of millbank, whose charms for a long time excited the admiration of many a noble name, ay, and inspired many a noble strain too, and produced a chivalrous rivalry among the young and generous hearts who were then of westminster. close to that spot all matches on the water were determined; and beneath yon penthouse, many a jovial cup have i partook of with the contending parties, when the aquatic sports were over, in the evening's cool retirement, or seated on the benches which then filled up the space between the trees in front of watermans' hall, as the little public house then used to be called. about half a mile above was the favourite bathing-place; and just over the water below lambeth palace, yet may be seen doo's house, where, from time immemorial, the westminster boys had been supplied with funnies, skiffs, wherries, and sailing-boats. the old mill which formerly stood on the right-hand of the river, and from which the place derived its name, has now entirely disappeared; and in lieu of the ~ ~~green fields and pleasant walks with which this part of the suburbs abounded, we have now a number of square brick-dust tubs, miscalled cottages _ornée_, and a strange-looking turkish sort of a prison called a penitentiary, which from being judiciously placed in a swamp is rendered completely uninhabitable. cumberland-gardens, on the opposite side, was, in former times, in great vogue; here the cits used to rusticate on a summer's evening, coming up the water in shoals to show their dexterity in rowing, and daring the dangers of the watery element to _blow a cloud_ in the fresh air, and ruralise upon the 'margin of old father thames.' [illustration: page ] but where can the westminster boys of the present day look for amusements? there's no snug spot now for a dog-tight or a badger-bait. earl grosvenor has converted all the green lanes into macadamised roads, and covered the turf with new brick tenements. no taking a pleasant toodle with a friend now along the sequestered banks, or shooting a few sparrows or fieldfares in the neighbourhood of the _five chimnies_{ } not a space to be found free from the encroachments of modern speculators, or big enough for a bowling alley or a cricket match. tothill-fields have altogether disappeared; and the wand of old merlin would appear to have waved over and dispersed the most trifling vestiges and recollections of the past. a truce with your improvements!" said crony, combating my attempt to harmonise his feelings; "tell me what increases the lover's boldness and the maiden's tenderness more than the fresh and fragrant air, the green herbage, and the quiet privacy of retired spots, where all nature yields a delightful inspiration to the mind. there where the lovers find delight, the student finds repose, secluded from the busy haunts of men, and yet able, by a few strides, to mingle again at pleasure with the world, the man of since called the five-fields, chelsea; and a favourite resort of the westminster scholars of that time, but now built upon. ~ ~~contemplation turns aside to consult his favourite theme, and having run out his present stock of thoughtful meditation, wheels him round, and finds himself one of the busy group again.{ } as we advance the rogent's-park, formerly called marylebone, is an improve-ment of this nature. it was originally a park, and had a royal palace in it, where, i believe, queen elizabeth occasionally resided. it was disbarked by oliver cromwell, who settled it on colonel thomas harrison's regiment of dragoons for their pay; but at the restoration of charles ii. it passed into the hands of other possessors; from which time it has descended through different proprietors, till, at length, it has reverted to the crown, by whose public spirit a magnificent park is secured to the inhabitants of london. the expense of its planting, &c. must have been enormous; but money cannot be better laid out than on purposes of this lasting benefit and national ornament. the plan and size of the park is in every respect worthy of the nation. it is larger than hyde-park, st. james's, and the greenpark together; and the trees planted in it about twelve years ago have already become umbrageous. the water is very extensive. as you are rowed on it, the variety of views you come upon is admirable: sometimes you are in a narrow stream, closely overhung by the branches of trees; presently you open upon a wide sheet of water, like a lake, with swans sunning themselves on its bosom; by and by your boat floats near the edge of a smooth lawn fronting one of the villas; and then again you catch the perspective of a range of superb edifices, the elevation of which is contrived to have the effect of one palace. the park, in fact, is now belted with groups of these mansions, entirely excluding all sight of the streets. those that are finished, give a satisfactory earnest of the splendid spirit in which the whole is to be accomplished. there will be nothing like it in europe. the villas in the interior of the park are planted out from the view of each other, so that the inhabitant of each seems, in his prospect, to be the sole lord of the surround-ing picturesque scenery. in the centre of the park there is a circular plantation of im-mense circumference, and in the interior of this you are in a perfect arcadia. the mind cannot conceive any thing more hushed, more sylvan, more entirely removed from the slightest evidence of proximity to a town. nothing is audible there except the songs of birds and the rustling of leaves. kensington gardens, beautiful as they are, have no seclusion so perfect as this. ~ ~~in life we cling still closer to the recollections of our infancy; the cheerful man loves to dwell over the scenes and frolics of his boyish days; and we are stricken to the very heart by the removal or change of these pleasant localities; the loss of an old servant, an old building, or an old tree, is felt like the loss of an old friend. the paths, and fields, and rambles of our infancy are endeared to us by the fondest and the purest feelings of the mind; we lose sight of our increasing infirmities, as we retrace the joyous mementos of the past, and gain new vigour as we recall the fleeting fancies and pleasant vagaries of our earliest days. i am one of those," continued crony, "who am doomed to deplore the destructive advances of what generally goes by the name of improvement; and yet, i am not insensible to the great and praiseworthy efforts of the sovereign to increase the splendour of the capital westward; but leave me a few of the green fields and hedgerow walks which used to encircle the metropolis, or, in a short space, the first stage from home will only be half-way out of london. a humorous writer of the day observes, that 'the rage for building fills every pleasant outlet with bricks, mortar,rubbish,and eternal scaffold-poles, which, whether you walk east, west, north, or south, seem to be running after you. i heard a gentleman say, the other day, that he was sure a resident of the suburbs could scarcely lie down after dinner, and take a nap, without finding, when he awoke, that a new row of buildings had started up since he closed his eyes. it is certainly astonishing: one would think the builders used magic, or steam at least, and it would be curious to ask those gentlemen in what part of the neighbouring counties they intend london should end. not content with separate streets, squares, and rows, they are actually the founders of new towns, which in the space of a few months become finished and inhabited. the precincts of london have more the appearance of a newly-discovered colony than ~ ~~the suburbs of an ancient city.{ } and what, sir, will be the pleasant consequences of all this to posterity? instead of having houses built to encumber the earth for a century or two, it is ten to one but they disencumber the mortgagee, by falling down with a terrible crash during the first half life, and, perhaps, burying a host of persons in their ruins. mere paste-board palaces are the structures of the present times, composed of lath and plaster, and parker's cement, a few coloured bricks, a fanciful viranda, and a balcony, embellished within by the _décorateur_, and stuccoed or whitewashed without, to give them a light appearance, and hide the defects of an ignorant architect or an unskilful builder; while a very few years introduces the occupant to all the delightful sensations of cracked walls, swagged floors, bulged fronts, sinking roofs, leaking gutters, inadequate drains, and other innumerable ills, the effects of an originally bad constitution, which dispels any thing like the hopes of a reversionary interest, and clearly proves that without a renovation equal to resurrection, both the building and the occupant are very likely to fall victims to a rapid consumption." in this way did crony contrive to beguile the time, until we found ourselves entering the arena in front of the dean's house, westminster. "here, alone," said my old friend, "the hand of the innovator has not been permitted to intrude; this spot remains unpolluted; but, for the neighbourhood, alas!" sighed crony, "that is changed indeed. the tavern in union-street, for instance: in what a very short time back were the bays-water-fields, there is now a populous district, called by the inhabitants "moscow;" and at the foot of primrose- hill we are amazed by coming upon a large complication of streets, &c. under the name of "portland town." the rustic and primaeval meadows of kilburn are also filling with raw buildings and incipient roads; to say nothing of the charming neighbourhood of st. john's wood farm, and other spots nearer town. ~ ~~where charles churchill, and lloyd, and bonnel thornton used to meet and mix wit, and whim, and strong potation, has sunk into a common pot-house, and is wholly neglected by the scholars of the present time: not that they are a whit more moral than their predecessors, but, professing to be more refined, they are now to be found at the tavistock, or the hummums, at long's, or steven's; more polished in their pleasures, but more expensive in their pursuits." [illustration: page ] as we approached the centre of dean's-yard, crony's visage evidently grew more sentimental; the curved lips of the cynic straightened to an expression of kindlier feeling, and ere we had arrived at the school-door, the old eccentric had mellowed down into a generous contemplatist. "ay," said crony, "on this spot, mr. black mantle, half a century ago, was i, a light-hearted child of whim, as you are now, associated with some of the greatest names that have since figured in the history of our times, many of whom are now sleeping in their tombs beneath a weight of worldly honours, while some few have left a nobler and a surer monument to exalt them with posterity, the well-earned tribute of a nation's gratitude, the never-fading fame which attaches itself to good works and great actions. among the few families of my time who might be styled ''_magni nominis_' in college, were the finches, the drummonds, (arch-bishop's sons), and the markhams. tom steele{ } was on the foundation also, and had much fame in playing davus. the hothams{ } were considered among the lucky hits of westminster; the byngs{ } thought not as lucky as they should have been. mr. drake{ } a descendant of the celebrated sir richard steele, the associate of addison in the spectator, tatler, crisis, &c. sir henry and sir william hotham, admirals in the british navy. viscount torrington, a rear-admiral of the blue. thomas tyrwhitt drake, esq., (i believe) member for agmondesham, bucks. ~ ~~of amersham was one of the best scholars of his time; for a particular act of beneficence, two guineas given out of his private pocket-money to a poor sufferer by a fire, dr. smith gave him a public reward of some books. lord carmarthen{ } here came to the title, on the death of his eldest brother. here too he found the jacksons, and what was more, the jacksons{ } found him. lord foley had, during his stay here, two narrow escapes for his life, once being nearly drowned in the thames, and secondly, by a hack-horse running away with him: the last incident was truly ominous of the noble lord's favourite, but unfortunate pursuits{ }. sir john st. aubyn is here said to have formed his attachments with several established characters in the commercial world, as mr. beckett, and others; which afterwards proved of the highest consequence to his pursuits and success in life. lord bulkley had the credit of being one of the handsomest and best-humoured boys of his time, and so he continued through life. michael angelo taylor{ } was remarkable for his close application, under his tutor hume, and the tutor as remarkable for application to him. hatton, junior. lawyers, if not always good scholars, generally are something better; with much strong practical sense, and a variety of all that "makes a ready man; "hatton was all this, both as to scholarship, and the pertinent application of it. though a nephew of lord mansfield, and bred up under his auspices, he was not more remarkable than his brother george for the love of bullion. his abilities were great, and they would have been greatly thought of, had he been personally less locomotive. "ah, ah," said his uncle, "you'll never prosper till you learn to stay in a place." he replied, "o never fear, sir, do but get me a place; and i'll learn of you to stay in it." the present duke of leeds. dr. cyril jackson, afterwards sub-preceptor to his majesty, george the fourth, and since canon of christ church, oxford. he refused the primacy of ireland; was an excellent governor of his college, and died universally respected at fulpham, in sussex, in . dr. william jackson, his brother, who was bishop of oxford, was also regius professor of greek to that university; he died in . his lordship's attachment to the turf is as notorious as his undeviating practice of the purest principles of honour. it will not excite surprise, that such conduct has not been in such pursuits successful. the member for durham. ~ ~~lord deerhurst (now earl of coventry) had then, as now, very quick parts, and early insight into beautiful composition. whatever good thing he met with, he was always ready with an immediate parallel; latin, greek, or from honesty into english, nothing came amiss to him. he had a quick sense of the ridiculous; and could scout a character at all absurd and suspicious, with as much pleasant scurrility as a gentleman need have. banks always made his own exercises, as his exercises have since made him. he was a diligent and good boy; and though an early arithmetician, and fond of numbers, he was as soon distinguished for very honourable indifference to number one. douglas (now, i believe, marquis of queensberry) was remarkable for the worst penmanship in the school, and the economy of last moments; till then he seldom thought of an exercise. his favourite exercise was in tothill-fields; from whence returning once very late, he instantly conceived and executed some verses, that were the best of his day. on another day, he was as prompt, and thought to have been more lucky than before; when, lo, the next morning he was flogged! for the exercise was so ill written, that it was not legible even by himself. lord maiden was remarkable for his powers of engaging, and he then, as since, made some engagements, which might as well have been let alone. he made an early promise of all he has since performed. he was very fond of dramatic entertainments, and he enacted much; was accounted a good actor; so was his crony, jack wilson, so well known at mrs. hobart's, &c., for his fal de ral tit and for his duets with lady craven, lady a. foley, &c, &c. lord mansfield, then william murray, here began his career. when at school, he was not remarkable for personal courage, or for mental bravery; though one of the stoutest boys of his standing, he was often beat by boys a year or two below him; and though then acute and voluble, his opinions were suppressed and retracted before minds less powerful but more intrepid than his own. of his money allowance he was always so good a manager, ~ ~~that he could lend to him who was in need. the famous exercise which niçois made such a rout about, was in praise of abundance: an english theme on this thesis, from horace-- "_dulce est de magno tollore acervo_. " he was in college; and no man on earth could conjecture that in his own _acervo_ there would ever be aggrandizement, such as it has since occurred. lord stormont at school began his knack of oral imitations, and when a child, could speak quite as well as afterwards; after his uncle, the disgusting pronunciation of the letter o then too infected his language; he made it come to the ear like an a. humorously glancing at this affectation, onslow or stanhope said "murray's horse is an ass." markham, the archbishop of york, made an early display of classical taste, and the diligent cultivation of it. some of his school exercises are extant, and show more than a promise of that refinement and exactness, which afterwards distinguished his performances at christ church. the latin version of the fragment of simonides, as beautiful as any thing in the whole range of poetical imitation, though published in the oxford lachrymo as mr. bournes, is known to be written by mr. markham. at school, too, markham's conversation had a particularity known to distinguish it. war was his favourite topic, and caught, perhaps, from the worthy major, his father, and from his crony webb, afterwards the general. it was apparent upon all occasions; when he was to choose his reading as a private study, in the sixth form, cæsar was his first book; and so continuing through most of his leisure time addicted to this sort of inquiry, the archbishop was afterwards able to talk war with any soldier in england. but, indeed, what is there he could not talk equal to any competitor? to the archbishop markham, and through him to westminster, attach the credit of the good scholarship of the present king. this is little less than a credit to the country. the marquis of stafford had fame for his english exercises; and after saying this of his wednesday nights' themes, let it also be noted, that he had fame for other exercises of old england. he could ride, run, row, and bat better than most of his comtemporaries; in his potations, too, he was rather deep; but though deep, yet clear; and though gentle, yet not dull. at once a most jolly fellow, and the most magnificent of his time,--and so "_ab incepto processerit_." the duke of dorset, then sackville, (since dead) was good-humoured, manly, frank, and passionately fond of various school ~ ~~exercises; as billiards, at the alehouse in union-street, (then perhaps a tavern) and _double-fives_ between the two walls at the school-door. for tothill-fields fame as to cricket, he was yet more renowned: there he was the champion of the town-boys against those in college; and in the great annual match, he had an innings that might have lasted till the time baccelli _run him out_, had not the other side given up the game. as to the school itself, there it was easy to catch him out; though such was his address, that he was seldom caught out. when he was in school, really few boys were there to better purpose; he made several good prose exercises both in english and latin; and, what is rare for a boy of rank, with but small aid from the tutor. at school, he shot and rowed pretty well; and as he could not always pay for his boat in specie, somebody proposed a barter of _tothill-fields game_; but he had a soul above it, and what was more, at his elbow another soul, saying, _carpamus dulcia_, and of my dressing. that friend was lord edward bentinck, whose culinary fame began on the sparrows and fieldfares knocked down about the five chimnies and jenny's whim. at a bill of fare, and the science how dinner should be put before him, he was then, as since, unrivalled; yet more to his good memorial, he knew how a dinner should be put before other people. for one day, as he was beginning to revel in a surreptitious banquet in the bowling-alley, his share of the mess lord edward gave to the relief of want, which then happened to be wandering by the window.--"this praise shall last." old elwes, the late member for berks, may occur, on the mention of want wandering by, though, notwithstanding appearance, he suffered nobody about him to be in such wants as himself. penurious, perhaps, on small objects; in those which are greater, he was certainly liberal almost to prodigality. the hoarding principle might be strong in him, but in the conduct of it he was often generous, always easy. no man in england probably lost more money in large sums, for want of asking for it: for small money, as in farthings to street beggary, few men probably have lost less. what he had not sufficiently cultivated, was the habit of letting money easily go. so far, he was the reverse of charles the second; for on greater occasions, again i say it, he seemed to own the act under the ennobling impulse of systematic generosity, expanding equally in self-denial, and in social sympathy. he was among the most dispassionate and tender-tempered men alive; and, considering ~ ~~all things, it might be reasonable to allot him the meed of meekness upon earth, and of that virtue which seeketh not her own reward. his ruling passion was the love of ease. the beginnings of all this were more or less discernible at school, where lord mansfield gave him the nick-name of jack meggot. his other little particularities were the best running and walking in the school, and the commencement of his fame for riding, which, in the well-known trials in the swiss academy, outdid all competition. worsley, of the board of works, alone divided the palm; he rode more gracefully. elwes was by far the boldest rider. the duke of portland (who died in ) was among the _delicciæ_ of each form at westminster, in all that appertained to temper, the tenderness and warmth of feeling, suavity of approach, and the whole passive power of pleasing. thus much internal worth, tempered with but little of those showy powers which dazzle and seduce, gave early promise that he would escape all intriguing politics, and never degrade himself by the projects of party; for a party-man must always be comparatively mean, even on a scale of vicious dignity; in violence, subordinate to the ruffian; in chicane, below a common town-sharper. he had, happily, no talents for party; he was better used by nature. he seemed formed for the kindliest offices of life; to appreciate the worth, and establish the dignity of domestic duties; to exemplify the hardest tasks of friendship and affinity; to display each hospitable charm. all that he afterwards did for chace price, and lord eduard, appeared as a flower in its bud, in dean's-yard and tothill-fields, with the fruit-woman under the gateway, and the coffee-house then opposite. in his school-exercises, fame is not remembered to have followed any but his wednesday evening themes: some of them were incomparably the best of the standing. in the rest of the school business, said the master to him one day, "you just keep on this side whipping." his smaller habits were none remarkable, except that his diet was rather more blameable in the article of wine. a little too early; a little too much. this, probably, more than any hereditary taint, made him, in immediate manhood, a martyr to the gout. against this, his ancestor's nostrum was tried in vain; the disease would not yield, till it was overborne by abstinence, which, to the praise of the duke's temper, he began and continued, with a splendour of resolution not any where exceeded. ~ ~~the duke had been long estranged from all animal food but fish, and every fermented liquor. according to the old latin distich, the poetry of a water-drinker is said to be short-lived, and not fit to live: was this proverbial doom extended to what was not poetry, it might be checked by the prose of the duke of portland. most of his common letters were among the models of epistolary correspondence. the duke of beaufort{ } exhibited at school more of the rudiments of a country gentleman, than the rudiments of busby; he knew a horse practically, while other boys took it only from description in virgil. _stare loco nescit_, was however his motto; and through all the demesnes adjacent to his little reign, on the water, and in the water, he was well; on horseback he was yet better; and to ride, or tie, on foot, or on horseback, no boy of his time was more ready at every good turn. he loved his friend; and, such were the engaging powers of his very frank and pleasant manner, his friends all loved him. some encumbrances, _solito de more_ of all boys, with the coffee-house, for jellies, fruit, &c, left when he left school, he afterwards discharged with singular éclat. in regard to scholarship, he was by no means wanting; though it must be owned, he wanted always to be better strangers with them. like many other boys, he knew much more than he was aware of; for he had as much aversion to the greek epigrams, as the best critic could have; and in terence, as he could find nothing to laugh, lloyd often raised an opposite emotion. lloyd, had he lived to this time, would have taken terence as a main ingredient in his enjoyments. so benevolent is nature to fit the feelings of man to his destiny. m'donald, afterwards solicitor general, was in college, and had then about him much that was remarkable for good value. the different ranks in college are rather arduous trials of temper; and he that can escape without imputation through them, and be, as it is called, a junior without meanness, and a senior without obduracy, exhibits much early promise, both as to talents and virtue. this early promise was m 'donald's. he was well-respected in either rank, and he deserved it; for he obeyed the time, without being time-serving; he commanded, as one not forgetting what it was to obey. _par negotiis, neque supra_, characterised his scholarship. died in . ~ ~~he had in every form sufficiency, and sometimes eminence. he had more facility in greek than most boys; his english exercises were conspicuous for language and neatness of turn. he was a very uncorrupt boy, and his manners were rather elevated; yet it is not remembered that he lost popularity even with the worst boys in the school; the whole secret of which was _specie minus quam vi_. he was better than he seemed. there was no pride, no offending wish at seclusion. though not so remarkable for book knowledge as his brother sir james, who thus, indeed, was nothing less than a prodigy, yet was m'donald extremely well and very variously read. in miscellaneous information, far more accomplished than any boy of his time. markham, the master, had a high opinion of him; and once, in the midst of strong and favourable prognostics, said, "there was nothing against him but what was for him; rank and connections, and the too probable event of thence advancing into life too forward and too early." markham spoke with much sagacity. the _rosa sera_ is the thing, for safe and spreading efflorescence. well as the wreath might be about m'donald's brow, it had probably been better, if gathered less eagerly, if put on later. cock langford was the son of the auctioneer-- and there never was an inheritance of qualities like it. he would have made as good an auctioneer as his father; a better could not bo. cock langford, so called, from the other auctioneer cock, very early in the school discovered great talents for ways and means; and, by private contract, could do business as much and as well as his father. his exercises were not noted for any excess of merit, or the want of it. he certainly had parts, if they had been put in their proper direction: that was trade. in that he might have been conspicuously useful. as he was in college, and nothing loath in any occasion that led to notice, in spite of a lisp in his speech, he played davus in the phormio; which he opened with singidar absurdity, as the four first words terminate in the letter s, which he, from the imperfection in his speech, could not help mangling. from the patronage of lord orford, mr. langford had one of the best livings in norfolk, £ a year; and afterwards, i understand, very well exemplified the useful and honourable duties of a clergyman resident on his benefice. hamilton. every thing is the creature of accident; as that ~ ~~works upon time and place, so are the vicissitudes which follow; vicissitudes that reach through the whole allotment of man, even to the charm of character, and the qualities which produce it. physically speaking, human nature can redress itself of climate, can generate warmth in high latitudes, and cold at the equator; but in respect to mind and manners, from the law of latitude there is no appeal. man, like the plants that grow for him, has a proper sky and soil: with them to flourish, without them to fade; through either kingdom, vegetable and moral, in situations that are aquatic, the alpine nature cannot live. all this applies to hamilton wasting himself at westminster. "wild nature's vigour working at his root;" his situation should have been accordingly; where he might have spread wide and struck deep. with more than boyish aptitudes and abilities, he should not thus have been lost among boys. his incessant intrepidity, his restless curiosity, his undertaking spirit, all indicated early maturity; all should have led to pursuits, if not better, at least of more pith and moment than the mere mechanism of dead language! this by hamilton (disdaining as a business what as an amusement perhaps might have delighted him) was deemed a dead letter, and as such, neglected; while he bestowed himself on other mechanism, presenting more material objects to the mind. [illustration: page ] exercises out of school took place of exercises within. not that like sackville or hawkins, he had a ball at every leisure moment in his hand; but, preferably to fives or cricket, he would amuse himself in mechanical pursuits; little in themselves, but great as to what they might have been convertible. in the fourth form, he produced a red shoe of his own making. and though he never made a pocket watch, and probably might mar many, yet all the interior machinery he knew and could name. the whole movement he took to pieces, and replaced. the man who is to find out the longitude, cannot have beginnings; better than these. count bruhl, since madge's death, the best watch-maker of his time, did not raise more early wonder. besides this, hamilton was to be found in every daring oddity. lords burlington and kent, in all their rage for porticos, were nothing to him in a rage for pediments. for often has the morning caught him scaling the high pediments of the school-door, and at peril of ins life clambering down, opening the door within, before the boy who kept the gate could come with the key. his evenings set upon no less perils; in pranks with gunpowder; in leaping from unusual heights into the ~ ~~thames. as a practical geographer of london, and heaven only knows how many miles round it, omniscient jackson himself could not know more. all this, surely, was intrinsically right, wrong only in its direction. had he been sent to woolwich, he might have come out, if not a rival of the duke of richmond, then master of the ordnance, at least a first-rate engineer. in economical arts and improvements, nothing less than national, he might have been the duke of bridgewater of ireland. had the sea been his profession, lord mulgrave might have been less alone in the rare union of science and enterprise. but all this capability of usefulness and fair fame, was brought to nought by the obstinate absurdity of the people about him; nothing could wean them from westminster. his grandfather roan, or rohan, an old man who saved much money in rathbone-place, and spent but little of it every evening at slaughter's coffee-house, holding out large promise to property, so became absolute; and absolute nonsense was his conduct to his grandson. he persevered in the school; where, if a boy disaffects book-knowledge, his books are only bought and sold. and after westminster, when the old man died, as if solicitous that every thing about his grave, but poppy and mandragora, should grow downwards, his will declared his grandson the heir, but not to inherit till he graduated at cambridge. to cambridge therefore he went; where having pursued his studies, as it is called, in a ratio inverse and descending, he might have gone on from bad to worse; and so, as many do, putting a grave face upon it, he might have had his degree. but his animal spirits, and love of bustle, could not go off thus undistinguished; and so, after coolly attempting to throw a tutor into the cam--after shaking all cambridge from its propriety by a night's frolic, in which he climbed the sign-posts, and changed the principal signs, he was rusticated; till the good-humour of the university returning, he was re-admitted, and enabled to satisfy his grandfather's will! after that, he behaved with much gallantry in america; and with good address in that very disagreeable affair, the contested marriage of his sister with mr. beresford the clergyman. indeed, through the intercourse of private life he was very amiable. the same suavity of speech, courteous attentions, and general good-nature, he had when a boy, continued and improved: good qualities the more to be prized, as the less probable, from his bold and eager temper, from the turbulence of his wishes, and the hurry of his pursuits. ~ ~~jekyl had in part, when a boy, the same happy qualities which afterwards distinguished him so entirely: in his economy of time, in his arts of arranging life, and distributing it exactly, between what was pleasant and what was grave. with vigorous powers and fair pursuits, the doing one thing at a time is the mode to do every thing. had jekyl no other excellence than this, i could not be surprised when he became attorney-general. "when you got into the place of your ancestor, sir joseph," said the tutor of jekyl to him, "let this be your motto: _et properare loco, et cesare_." "jekyl," said mrs. hobart one day, struck with the same address and exactness, "do you know, if you were a painter, poussin would be nothing to you in the balance of a scene." several of his english exercises, and his verses, will not easily be forgotten. and it will be remembered also, in a laughable way, that he was as mischievous as a gentleman need be; the mobbing a vulgar, the hoaxing a quiz, all the dialect of the thames below chelsea-reach, and the whole reach of every thing, pleasant but wrong, which the school statutes put out of reach, but what are the practice of the wits, and of every gentleman who would live by the statutes. all these were among jekyl's early peculiarities, and raised his fame very high for spirit and cleverness. "so sweet and voluble was his discourse." he was very popular among all the boys of his time. and he had a knack yet more gratifying, of recommending himself to the sisters and cousins of the boys he visited. and he well held up in theory what he afterwards exemplified in fact. for in one of the best themes of the time on this subject, "_non formosus erat, sod erat facundus ulysses_," he was much distinguished. ~ ~~"but the grave has closed upon most of the gay spirits of my earlier time," said crony; "and i alone remain the sad historian. yonder porch leads to the dormitory and school-room.{ } 'there busby's awful picture decks the place, shining where once he shone a living grace.' this school was founded by queen elizabeth in , for the education of forty boys, denominated king's scholars from the royalty of their founders; besides which, the nobility and gentry send their sons thither for instruction, so that this establishment vies with eton in celebrity and respectability. the school is not endowed with lands and possessions specifically appropriated to its own maintenance, but is attached to the general foundation of the collegiate church of westminster, as far as relates to the support of the king's scholars. it is under the care of the dean and chapter of westminster, conjointly with the dean of christ church, oxford, and the master of trinity, cambridge, respect-ing the election of scholars to their respective colleges. the foundation scholars sleep in the dormitory, a building erected from the design and under the superintendence of the celebrated earl of burlington, in the reign of george the first; and in this place the annual theatrical exhibitions take place; the scenery and arrangements having been contrived under the direction of mr. garrick, were presented by archbishop markham, the former master of the school. the king's scholars are distin- guished from the town-boys, or independents, by a gown, cap, and college waistcoat; they have their dinner in the hall, but seldom take any other meal in college; they pay for education and accommodation as the town-boys; eight of them are generally elected at the end of the fourth year to the colleges above-named; they have studentships at oxford, and scholarships at cambridge; the former worth from forty to sixty pounds per annum, but the latter of small beneficial consideration. the scholars propose themselves for the foundation by challenge, and contend with each other in latin and greek every day for eight weeks successively, when the eight at the head of the number are chosen according to vacancies. this contest occasions the king's scholarships to be much sought after, as it becomes the ground-work of reputation, and incites desire to excel. there are four boys who are called bishop's boys, from their being established by williams, bishop of lincoln; they have a gratuitous education, and a small allowance which is suffered to accumulate till the period of their admission into st. john's college, cambridge; they are distinguished by wearing a purple gown, and are nominated by the dean and head- master. what a cloud of recollections, studded with bright and variegated lights, passes before my inward vision! stars of eminence in every branch of learning, science, and public duties, who received their education within those walls; old westminsters, whose fame will last as long as old england's records, and who shall doubt ~ ~~that will be to the end of time? here grew into manhood and renown the lord burleigh, king, bishop of london, the poet cowley, the great dryden, charles montague, earl of halifax, dr. south, matthew prior, the tragedian rowe, bishop hooper, kennet, bishop of peterborough, dr. friend, the physician, king, archbishop of dublin, the philosopher locke, atterbury, bishop of rochester, bourne, the latin poet, hawkins browne, boyle, earl of cork and orrery, carteret, earl of granville, charles churchill, the english satirist, frank nicholls, the anatomist, gibbon, the historian, george colman, bonnel thornton, the great earl of mansfield, clayton mordaunt cracherode, richard cumberland, the poet cowper. these are only a few of the great names which occur to me at this moment; but here is enough to immortalize the memory of the old westminsters." on feasters and feasting. on the attachment of the moderns to good eating and drinking--its consequences and operation upon society-- different description of dinner parties--royal--noble-- parliamentary--clerical--methodistical--charitable-- theatrical--legal--parochial--literary--commercial and civil gourmands--sketches at a side-table, by bernard blackmantle. ~ ~~ "there are, while human miseries abound, a thousand ways to waste superfluous wealth, without one fool or flatterer at your board, without one hour of sickness or disgust." --armstrong. in such esteem is good eating held by the moderns, that the only way in which englishmen think they can celebrate any important event, or effect any charitable purpose, is by a good dinner. from the palace to the pot-house, the same affection for good eating and drinking pervades all classes of mankind. the sovereign, when he would graciously condescend to bestow on any individual some mark of his special favour, invites him to the royal banquet, seats him _tète-à-tête_ with the most polished prince in europe; by this act of royal notice exalts him in the public eye, and by the suavity and elegance of his manners rivets his affections and secures his zeal for the remainder of his life. the ministers too have their state dinners, where all important questions are considered before they are submitted to the grand council of the nation. the bishops dine in holy ~ ~~conclave to benefit christianity, and moralize over champagne on the immorality of mankind. the judges dine with the lord chancellor on the first day of term, and try their powers of mastication before they proceed to try the merits of their fellow citizens' causes. a lawyer must eat his way to the bar, labouring most voraciously through his commons dinners in the temple or lincoln's inn halls, before he has any chance of success in common law, common pleas, or common causes in the court of king's bench or chancery. the speaker's parliamentary dinners are splendid spreads for poor senators; but sometimes the feast is infested with rats, whom his majesty's royal rat-catcher immediately cages, and contrives, by the aid of a blue or red ribband, to render extremely useful and docile. your orthodox ministers dine on tithes, turtle, and easter offerings, until they become as sleek as their own velvet cushions, and eke from charity to mankind almost as red in the face from the ruby tint of red port, and the sorrowful recollections of sin and death. the methodist and sectarians have their pious love feasts--bachelor's fare, bread and butter and kisses, with a dram of comfort at parting, i suppose. the deaf, the dumb, the lame, the blind, all have their annual charitable dinnerings; and even the actor's fund is almost entirely dependent on the fund of amusement they contrive to offer to their friends at their annual fund dinner. the church-wardens dine upon a child, and the overseers too often upon the mite extorted from the poor. even modern literature is held in thraldom by the banquetings of modern booksellers and publishers, who by this method contrive to cram the critics with their crudities, and direct the operation of their servile pens in the cutting up of poor authors. at the publisher's club, held at the albion, dr. kitchener and will jerdau rule the roast; here these worthies may be heard commenting with ~ ~~profound critical consistency on culinaries and the classics, gurgling down heavy potations of black strap, and making still heavier remarks upon black letter bibliomania, until all the party are found labouring "_dare pondus idonea fumo_," or, in the language of cicero, it may be justly said of them, "_damnant quod non intelligent_." the magnifico murray has his merry meetings, where new books are made palatable to certain tastes by sumptuous feastings, and a choice supply of old wines. colburn brings his books into notice by first bringing his dinner _coteries_ into close conclave; and longman's monthly melange of authors and critics is a literary statute dinner, where every guest is looking out for a liberal engagement. [illustration: page ] even the booksellers themselves feast one another before they buy and sell; and a trade sale, without a trade dinner to precede it, would be a very poor concern indeed. fire companies and water companies, bubble companies and banking companies, all must be united and consolidated by a good dinner company. your fat citizen, with a paunch that will scarce allow him to pass through the side avenue of temple bar, marks his feast days upon his sheet almanack, as a lawyer marks his term list with a double dash, thus =, and shakes in his easy chair like a sack of blubber as lie recapitulates the names of all the glorious good things of which he has partaken at the annual civic banquet at fishmonger's hall, or the bible association dinner at the city of london tavern: at the mention of white bait, his lips smack together with joy, and he lisps out instinctively blackwall: talk of a rump steak and dolly's, his eyes grow wild with delight; and just hint at the fine green fat of a fresh killed turtle dressed at birch's, and his whole soul's in arms for a corporation dinner. reader, i have been led into this strain of thinking by an excursion i am about to make with alderman marigold and family, ~ ~~to enjoy the pleasures of a sunday ordinary in the suburbs of the metropolis; an old fashioned custom that is now fast giving way to modern notions of refinement, and is therefore the more worthy of characteristic record. bernard blackmantle. [illustration: page b] a sunday ramble to highgate, or, the cits ordinary. bernard blackmantle's first excursion with the marigold family--lucubrations of the alderman on the alterations of the times--sketches and recollections on the road--the past and the present--arrival at the gate house, highgate--the cit's ordinary--traits of character--the water drinker, the vegetable eater, and the punster--tom cornish, the gourmand--anecdote of old tattersall and his beef eater-- young tat. and the turnpike man. ~ ~~"may i never be merry more," said the alderman, "if we don't go a maying on sunday next, and you must accompany us, master blackmantle: i always make a country excursion once a year, to wit, on the first sunday in may, when we join a very jolly party at the gate house, highgate, and partake of an excellent ordinary." "i thought, pa, you would have given up that vulgar custom when we removed westward, and you were elected alderman of the ward of cheap." "ay," said mrs. marigold, "if you wish to act politely to your wife and daughter write to the star and garter at richmond, or the toy at hampton court, and order a choice dinner beforehand for a select party; then we should be thought something of, and be able to dine in comfort, without being ~ ~~_scrowged_ up in a corner by a leadenhall landlady, or elbowed out of every mouthful by a smithfield salesman." "there it is, mr. blackmantle, that's the evil of a man having a few pounds more in his purse than his neighbours--it makes him miserable with his family at home, and prevents him associating with old friends abroad. if you marry my biddy, make these conditions with her--to dispense with all mrs. marigold's maxims on modern manners, and be at liberty to smoke your pipe where, and with whom you please." "i declare, pa, one would imagine you wished mr. blackmantle to lose all his manners directly after marriage, and all respect for his intended bride beforehand." "nothing of the sort, miss sharpwit; but, ever since i made the last fortunate contract, you and your mother have contracted a most determined dislike to every thing social and comfortable--haven't i cut the coger's society in bride lane, and the glee club at the ram in smithfield? don't i restrain myself to one visit a week to the jolly old scugs{ } society in abchurch lane? haven't i declined the chair of the free and easy johns, and given up my command in the lumber troop?--are these no sacrifices? is it nothing to have converted my ancestors' large estate in thames street into warehouses, and emigrated westward to be confined in one of your kickshaw cages in tavistock square? don't i keep a chariot and a chaise for your comfort, and consent to be crammed up in a corner at a concert party to hear some foreign stuff i don't understand? plague take your drives in hyde park and promenades in kensington gardens! give me the society where i can eat, drink, laugh, joke, and smoke blue coat boys. the others are all well-known anacreontic meetings held in the city. ~ ~~as i like, without being obliged to watch every word and action, as if my tongue was a traitor to my head, and my stomach a tyrant of self-destruction." the alderman's remonstrance was delivered with so much energy and good temper, that there was no withstanding his argument; a hearty laugh, at the conclusion, from miss biddy and myself, accompanied by an ejaculation of "poor man, how ill you are used!" from his lady, restored all to good-humour, and obtained the "_quid pro quo_," a consent on their parts to yield to old customs, and, for once in a way, to allow the alderman to have a day of his own. the next morning early an open barouche received our party, the coachman being particularly cautioned not to drive too fast, to afford the alderman an opportunity of _luxuriating_ upon the reminiscences of olden time. as the carriage rolled down the hill turning out of the new road the alderman was particularly eloquent in pointing out and describing the once celebrated tea gardens, bagnigge wells. "in my young days, sir, this place was the great resort of city elegance and fashion, and divided the town with vauxhall. here you might see on a sunday afternoon, or other evenings, two thirds of the corporation promenading with their wives and daughters; then there was a fine organ in the splendid large room, which played for the entertainment of the company, and such crowds of beautiful women, and gay fellows in embroidered suits and lace ruffles, all powdered and perfumed like a nosegay, with elegant cocked hats and swords in their sides; then there were such rural walks to make love in, take tea or cyder, and smoke a pipe; you know, mrs. marigold, you and i have had many a pleasant hour in those gardens during our courting days, when the little naked cupid used to sit astride of a swan, and the water spouted from its beak as high as the ~ ~~monument; then the grotto was so delightful and natural as life, and the little bridge, and the gold fish hopping about underneath it, made it quite like a terrestrial paradise{ }; but about that time dr. whitfield and the countess of huntingdon undertook to save the souls of all the sinners, and erected a psalm-singing shop in tottenham court road, where they assembled the pious, and made wry faces at the publicans and sinners, until they managed to turn the heads without turning the hearts of a great number of his majesty's liege subjects, and by the aid of cant and hypocrisy, caused the orthodox religion of the land to be nearly abandoned; but we are beginning to be more enlightened, mr. blackmantle, and understand these _trading_ missionaries and _bible merchants_ much better than they could wish us to have done. then, sir, the pantheon, in spa fields, was a favourite place of resort for the bucks and gay ladies of the time; and sadler's wells and islington spa were then in high repute for their mineral waters. at white conduit house the jews and jewesses of the metropolis held their carnival, and city apprentices used to congregate at dobney's bowling-green, afterwards named, in compliment to garrick's stratford procession, the jubilee tea-gardens; those were the times to grow rich, mr. blackmantle, when half-a-crown would cover the day's expenditure of five persons, and behave liberally too."--in our way through islington, the alderman pointed out to us the place as formerly celebrated for a weekly consumption of cakes and ale; and as we passed through holloway, informed us that it was in former time equally notorious for its cheese-cakes, the fame of which attracted vast numbers on upon reference to an old print of bagnigge wells, i find the alderman's description of the place to be a very faithful portrait. the pantheon is still standing, but converted into a methodist chapel. ~ ~~the sunday, who, having satiated themselves with pastry, would continue their rambles to the adjacent places of hornsey wood house, colney hatch, and highgate, returning by the way of hampstead to town. the topographical reminiscences of the alderman were illustrated as we proceeded by the occasional sallies of mrs. marigold's satire: "she could not but regret the depravity of the times, that enabled low shop-keepers and servants to dress equal to their betters: it is now quite impossible to enjoy society and be comfortable in public, without being associated with your tallow-chandler, or your butcher, or take a pleasant drive out of town, without meeting your linen-draper, or your tailor, better mounted or in a more fashionable equipage than yourself." "all for the good of trade," said the alderman: "it would be very hard indeed if those who enable others to cut a dash all the week could not make a splash themselves on a sunday; besides, my dear, it's a matter of business now-a-days: many of your kickshaw tradesmen west of temple bar find it as necessary to consult _appearances_ in the park and watch the _new come outs_, as i do to watch the stock market: if they find their customers there in good feather and high repute, they venture to cover another leaf in their ledger; but if, on the contrary, they appear shy, only show of a sunday, and are cut by the nobs, why then they understand it's high time to close the account, and it's very well for them if they are ever able to _strike a balance_." at the conclusion of this colloquy, we had arrived at the gate house, highgate, just in time to hear the landlord proclaim that dinner was that moment about to be served up: the civic rank of the alderman did not fail to obtain its due share of servile attention from boniface, who undertook to escort our party into the room, and having announced the consequence ~ ~~of his guests, placed the alderman and his family at the head of the table. i have somewhere read, "there is as much valour expected in feasting as in fighting; "and if any one doubts the truth of the axiom, let him try with a hungry stomach to gratify the cravings of nature at a crowded ordinary--or imagine a well disposed group of twenty persons, all in high appetite and "eager for the fray" sitting down to a repast scantily prepared for just half the number, and crammed into a narrow room, where the waiters are of necessity obliged to wipe every dish against your back, or deposit a portion of gravy in your pocket, to say nothing of the sauce with which a remonstrance is sure to fill both your ears. most of the company present upon this occasion appeared to have the organs of destructiveness to an extraordinary degree, and mine host of the gate house, who is considered an excellent physiognomist, looked on with trembling and disastrous countenance, as he marked the eager anxiety of the expectant _gourmands_ sharpening their knives, and spreading their napkins, at the shrine of sensuality, exhibiting the most voracious symptoms of desire to commence the work of demolition. a small tureen of mock turtle was half lost on its entrance, by being upset over the leg of a dancing-master, who capered about the room to double quick time, from the effects of a severe scalding; on which the alderman (with a wink) observed, that the gentleman had no doubt caused many a _calf s head to dance_ about in his time, and now he had met with a rich return. "i'll bring an action against the landlord for the carelessness of his waiter." "you had better not," said the alderman. "why not, sir?" replied the smarting son of terpsichore. "because you have only _one leg to stand on_." this sally produced a general laugh, and restored all to good humour. on the appearance of a fine cod's head and shoulders, the ~ ~~rosy gills of marigold seemed to extend with extatic delight; while a dozen voices assailed him at once with "i'll take fish, if you please." "ay, but you don't take me for a fag: if you please, gentlemen, i shall help the ladies first, then myself and friend, and afterwards you may divide the _omnium and scrip_ just as you please." "what a strange animal!" whispered the dancing master to his next neighbour, an old conveyancer. "yes, sir," replied the man of law, "a city shark, i think, that will swallow all our share of the fish." "don't you think, mr. alderman," said a lusty lady on the opposite side of the table, "the fish is rather _high_?" "no, ma'ain, it's my opinion," (looking at the fragments) "the company will find it rather low." "ay, but i mean, mr. alderman, it's not so _fresh_ as it might be." "why the head did whisper to me, ma'am, that he had not been at sea these ten days; only i thought it rude to repeat what was told me in confidence, and i'm not fond of _fresh things_ myself, am i, mrs. marigold? shall i help you to a little fowl, ma'am, a wing, or a merry thought?" "egad! mr. alderman, you are always ready to assist the company with the latter." "yes, ma'am, always happy to help the ladies to a __tit bit: shall i send you the _recorder's nose_? bless my heart, how warm it is! here, joe, hang my wig behind me, and place that calf's-head before me." (see plate.) "very sorry, ma'am, very sorry indeed," said mr. deputy flambeau to the lady next him, whose silk dress he had just bespattered all over; "could not have supposed this little pig had so much gravy in him," as lady macbeth says. "i wish you'd turn that ere nasty thing right round, mr. deputy," growled out a city ~ ~~costermonger, "'cause my wife's quite alarmed for her _grose_ de naples." "not towards me, if you please, mr. deputy," simpered out miss marigold, "because thereby hangs a tail, i.e. (tale)." "that's my biddy's ultimatum," said the alderman; "she never makes more than one good joke a day." "if they are all as good as the last, they deserve the benefit of frequent resurrection, alderman." "why so, mr. blackmantle?" "because they will have the merit of being very funny upon a very grave subject--_jeu d'esprits_ upon our latter end." "could you make room for three more gentlemen?" said the waiter, ushering in three woe-begone knights of the trencher, who, having heard the fatal clock strike when at the bottom of the hill, and knowing the punctuality of the house, had toiled upwards with breathless anxiety to be present at the first attack, and arrived at the end of the second course, _just in time to be too late_. "confound all clocks and clockmakers! set my watch by bishopsgate church, and made sure i was a quarter too fast." "very sorry, gentlemen, very sorry, indeed," said boniface; "nothing left that is eatable--not a chop or a steak in the house; but there is an excellent ordinary at the spaniards, about a mile further down the lane; always half an hour later than ours." "ay, it's a grievous affair, landlord; but howsomdever, if there's nothing to eat, why we must go: we meant to have done you justice to-day--but never mind, we'll be in time for you another sunday, old gentleman, depend upon it; "and with this significant promise the three _hungarians_ departed, not a little disappointed. "those three men are no ordinary customers," said our host; "they have done us the honour to dine here _before_, and what is more, of leaving nothing _behind_; one of them is the celebrated yorkshireman, tom ~ ~~cornish, whom general picton pitted against a hanoverian glutton to eat for a fortnight, and found, at the end of a week, that he was a whole bullock, besides twelve quartern loaves, and half a barrel of beer, ahead of his antagonist; and if the hanoverian had not given up, tom would have eaten the rations of a whole company. his father is said to have been equally gluttonous and penurious, and could eat any given quantity: this person once dining with a member of the society of friends, who was also a scion of elwes' school, after having eat enough for four moderate visitors, re-helped himself, exclaiming, 'you see it's cut and come again with me! 'to which the sectarian gravely replied, 'friend, cut again thou may'st, but come again thou never shalt.'" "ay, that's a very good joke, landlord," said the alderman; "but you know i am up to your jokes: you think these long stories will save your mutton, but there you're wrong--they only give time to take breath; so bring in the sirloin and the saddle of mutton, waiter; and when we've done dinner i'll tell you an anecdote of old tattersall and his beef-eater, which occurred at this house in a former landlord's time. come, mr. blackmantle, let me send you a slice of the sirloin, and tell us what you think of good eating." "that the wit of modern times directs all its rage _ad gulam_; and the only inducement to study is _erudito luxu_, to please the palate, and satisfy the stomach. even my friend ebony, the northern light, has cast off the anchorite, and sings thus jollily: 'the science of eating is old, its antiquity no man can doubt: though adam was squeamish, we're told, eve soon found a _dainty bit_ out.' "we talk of the degeneracy of the moderns, as if men now-a-days were in every respect inferior to their ~ ~~ancestors; but i maintain, and challenge contradiction, that there are many stout rubicund gentlemen in this metropolis that might be backed for eating or drinking with any bacchanalian or masticator since the days of adam himself. what was _offellius bibulus_, the roman parasite, or _silenus ebrius_, or _milo_, who could knock down an ox, and eat him up directly afterwards, compared to tom cornish, or richardson the oyster eater?{ } or what are all these opposed to the oxonian, who, a short time since, went to the swan at bedford, and ordered dinner? a goose being brought, he hacked it in a style at which mrs. glass would have fainted; indeed so wretched was the mutilated anatomy, in appearance, from bad carving, that, being perfectly ashamed of it, he seized the moment when some poor mendicant implored his charity at the window, deposited the remains of the goose in his apron, rang the bell, and asked for his bill: the waiter gazed a moment at the empty dish, and then rushing to the landlord, exclaimed, 'oh! measter, measter, the gentleman eat the goose, bones and all!' and the worthies of bedford believe the wondrous tale to this day." to return to tom cornish, our host informed us his extraordinary powers of mastication were well known, and dreaded by all the tavern-keeping fraternity who had sunday ordinaries within ten miles round london, with some of whom he was a regular annuitant, receiving a trifle once a year, in lieu of giving them a _benefit_, as he terms the filling of his voracious paunch. a story is told of his father, who is said to have kept a very scanty table, that dining one saturday with in , says evelyn in his diary, "one richardson, amongst other feats, performed the following: taking a live coal on his tongue, he put on it a raw oyster; the coal was blown on with a bellows, till it flamed in his mouth, and so remained till the oyster gaped, and was quite boiled." certainly the most simple of all cooking apparatus. ~ ~~his son at an ordinary in cambridge, he whispered in his ear, "tom, you must eat for to-day and to-morrow." "o yes," retorted the half-starved lad, "but i han't eaten for yesterday, and the day before yet, father." in short, tom makes but one hearty meal in a week, and that one might serve a troop of infantry to digest. the squalling of an infant at the lower end of the room, whose papa was vainly endeavouring to pacify the young gourmand with huge spoonfuls of mock-turtle, drew forth an observation from the alderman, that had well nigh disturbed the entire arrangement of the table, and broke up the harmony of the scene "with most admired disorder;" for on the head of the marigold family likening the youngster's noise to a chamber organ, and quaintly observing that they always had music during dinner at fishmongers' hall, the lady mother of the infant, a jolly dame, who happened to be engaged in the shell fish line, took the allusion immediately to herself, and commenced such a furious attack upon the alderman as proved her having been regularly matriculated at the college in thames street. when the storm subsided the ladies had vanished, and the alderman moved an adjournment to what he termed the _snuggery_, a pleasant little room on the first floor, which commanded a delightful prospect over the adjacent country. here we were joined by three eccentric friends of the marigold family, who came on the special invitation of the alderman, mr. peter pendragon, a celebrated city punster, mr. philotus wantley, a vegetable dieter, and mr. galen cornaro, an abominator of wine, and a dyspeptic follower of kitchener and abernethy--a trio of singularities that would afford excellent materials for my friend richard peake, the dramatist, in mixing up a new _monopolylogue_ for that facetious child of whim and wit, the inimitable charles mathews. our first story, while the wine was decantering, proceeded from the ~ ~~alderman, who having been driven from the dinner table somewhat abruptly by the amiable _caro sposa_ of the fish-merchant, had failed in giving us his promised anecdote of old tattersall and his beef-eater. "i have dined with him often in this house," said the alderman, "in my earlier days, and a pleasant, jovial, kindhearted fellow he was, one who would ride a long race to be present at a good joke, and never so happy as when he could trot a landlord, or knock down an argument monger with his own weapons. the former host of the gate house was a bit of a screw, and old tat knew this; so calling in one day, as if by accident, tat sat him down to a cold round of beef, by way of luncheon, and having taken some half ounce of the meat, with a few pickles, requested to know what he had to pay for his eating. 'three shillings, sir,' said the waiter. 'three devils!' ejaculated tat, with strong symptoms of surprise, for in those days three shillings would have nearly purchased the whole round: 'send in your master.' in walks the host, and tat renewed his question, receiving in reply a reiteration of the demand, but accompanied with this explanation, that peck high or peck low, it was all the same price: 'in short, sir,' said the host, 'i keep this house, and i mean the house should keep me, and the only way i find to insure that is to make the short stomachs pay for the long ones.' 'very well,' said tat, paying the demand, 'i shall remember this, and bring a friend to dine with you another day.' at this time tat had in his employ a fellow called oxford will, notorious for his excessive gluttony, a very famine breeder, who had won several matches by eating for a wager, and who had obtained the appellation of tattersall's beef-eater. this fellow tat dressed in decent style, and fixing him by his side in the chaise, drove up to the gate house on a sunday to dine at the ordinary, taking care to be in excellent time, and making a previous appointment with a few friends ~ ~~to enjoy the joke. at dinner will was, by arrangement, placed in the chair, and being well instructed and prepared for execution, was ably supported by tat and his friends: the host, too, who was in excellent humour, quite pleased to see such a numerous and respectable party, apologised repeatedly, observing that he would have provided more abundantly had he known of the intended honour: in this way all things proceeded very pleasantly with the first course, will not caring to make any very wonderful display of his masticatory prowess with either of the _unsubstantials_, fish or soup; but when a fine _aitch-bone_ of beef came before the gourmand, he stuck his fork into the centre, and, unheedful of the ravenous solicitations of those around him requesting a slice, proceeded to demolish the whole joint, with as much celerity as the hyena would the harmless rabbit: the company stared with astonishment; the landlord, to whom the waiters had communicated the fact, entered the room in breathless haste; and on observing the empty dish, and hearing will direct the waiter to take away the bone and bring him a clean plate, was apparently thunder-struck: but how much was his astonishment increased upon perceiving will help himself to a fine young turkey, stuffed with sausages, which he proceeded to dissect with anatomical ability, and by this time the company understanding the joke, he was allowed uninterruptedly to deposit it in his immense capacious receptacle, denominated by old tat the _fathomless vacuum_. hitherto the company had been so completely electrified by the extra-ordinary powers of the glutton, that astonishment had for a short time suspended the activity of appetite, as one great operation of nature will oftentimes paralyze the lesser affections of the body; but, as will became satisfied, the remainder of the party, stimulated by certain compunctious visitings of nature, called cravings of the stomach, gave evident symptoms of ~ ~~a very opposite nature: in vain the landlord stated his inability to produce more viands, he had no other provisions in the house, it was the sabbath-day, and the butchers' shops were shut, not a chop or a steak could be had: here will feigned to join his affliction with the rest--he could have enjoyed a little snack more, by way of finish. this was the climax; the party, according to previous agreement, determined to proceed to the next inn to obtain a dinner; the landlord's remonstrance was perfectly nugatory; they all departed, leaving tat and his man to settle with the infuriated host; and when the bill was brought in they refused to pay one sixpence more than the usual demand of three shillings each, repeating the landlord's own words, that peck high or peck low, it was all the same price." with the first glass of wine came the inspiring toast of "the ladies," to which mr. philotus wantley demurred, not on account of the sex, for he could assure us he was a fervent admirer, but having studied the wise maxims of pythagoras, and being a disciple of the brahma school, abominators of flesh and strong liquors, he hoped to be excused, by drinking the ladies in _aqua pura_.--" water is a monstrous drink for christians!" said the alderman, "the sure precursor of coughs, colds, consumptions, agues, dropsies, pleurisies, and spleen. i never knew a water-drinker in my life that was ever a fellow of any spirit, mere morbid anatomies, starvelings and hypochondriacs: your water-drinkers never die of old age, but melancholy."--"right, right, alderman," said mr. pendragon; "a cup of generous wine is, in my opinion, excellent physic; it makes a man lean, and reduces him to friendly dependence on every thing that bars his way: sometimes it is a little grating to his feelings, to be sure, but it generally passes off with an hic-cup. according to galen, sir, the waters of _astracan_ breed worms in those who taste them; those ~ ~~of _verduri_, the fairest river in macedonia, make the cattle who drink of them black, while those of peleca, in thessaly, turn every thing white; and bodine states that the stuttering of the families of aquatania, about labden, is entirely owing to their being water-drinkers: a man might as well drink of the river styx as the river thames, '_stygio monstrum conforme paludi_,' a monstrous drink, thickened by the decomposition of dead christians and dead brutes, and purified by the odoriferous introduction of gas water and puddle water, joined to a pleasant and healthy amalgamation of all the impurities of the common sewers. 'as nothing goes in so thick, and nothing comes out so thin, it must follow, of course, that no-thing can be worse, as the dregs are all left within.'" "very well, mr. pendragon, very well, indeed," said mr. galen cornaro, an eccentric of the same school, but not equally averse to wine; "'temperance is a bridle of gold; and he who uses it rightly is more like a god than a man.' i have no objection to a cup of generous wine, provided nature requires it--but 'simple diet,' says pliny, 'is best;' for many dishes bring many diseases. do you know john abernethy, sir? he is the _manus dei_ of my idolatry. 'what ought i to drink?' inquired a friend of mine of the surgeon. 'what do you give your horse, sir?' was the question in reply. 'water.' 'then drink water,' said abernethy. after this my friend was afraid to put the question of eatables, lest the doctor should have directed him to live on oats. 'your modern good fellows,' continued john, 'are only ambitious of rivalling a brewer's horse; who after all will carry more liquor than the best of them.' 'what is good to assist a weak digestion?' said another patient. 'weak food and warm clothing,' was the reply; 'not, ~ ~~however, forgetting my _blue pill_.' when you have dined well, sleep well: wrap yourself up in a warm watch-coat, and imitate your dog by basking yourself at full length before the fire; these are a few of the abernethy maxims for dyspeptic patients." i had heard much of this celebrated man, and was desirous of gleaning some more anecdotes of his peculiarities. with this view i laid siege to mr. galen cornaro, who appeared to be well acquainted with the whims of the practitioner. "i remember, sir," said my informant, "a very good fellow of the name of elliot, a bass-singer at the concerts and theatres of the metropolis; a man very much resembling john abernethy in person, and still more so in manner; one who under a rough exterior carried as warm a heart as ever throbbed within the human bosom. elliot had fallen ill of the jaundice, and having imbibed a very strong dislike to the name of doctor, whether musical or medical, refused the solicitations of his friends to receive a visit from any one of the faculty; to this eccentricity of feeling he added a predilection for curing every disease of the body by the use of simples, decoctions, and fomentations extracted from the musty records of old culpepper, the english physician. pursuing this principle, elliot every day appeared to grow worse, and drooped like the yellow leaf of autumn in its sear; until his friends, alarmed for his safety, sent to abernethy, determined to take the patient by surprise. imagine a robust-formed man, sinking under disease and _ennui_, seated before the fire, at his side a table covered with phials and pipkins, and near him his _vade mecum_, the renowned culpepper. a knock is heard at the door. 'come in!' vociferates the invalid, with stentorian lungs yet unimpaired; and enter john abernethy, not a little surprised by the ungraciousness of his reception. 'who are you?' said elliot in thorough-bass, just inclining his head half round to recognize his visitor, ~ ~~without attempting to rise from his seat: abernethy appeared astonished, but advancing towards his patient, replied, 'john abernethy.' 'elliot. oh, the doctor! 'abernethy. no, not the doctor; but plain john abernethy, if you please. 'elliot. ay, my stupid landlady sent for you, i suppose. 'abernethy. to attend a very stupid patient, it would appear. 'elliot. well, as you are come, i suppose i must give you your fee. (placing the gold upon the table.) 'abernethy (looking rather cross.) what's the matter with you? 'elliot. can't you see? 'abernethy. oh yes, i see very well; then tasting some of the liquid in the phials, and observing the source from whence the prescriptions had been extracted, the surgeon arrived at something that was applicable to the disease. who told you to take this? 'elliot. common sense. 'abernethy putting his fee in his pocket, and preparing to depart. good day. 'elliot (reiterating the expression.) good day! why, you mean to give me some advice for my money, don't you? 'abernethy, with the door in his hand. follow common sense, and you'll do very well.' "thus ended the interview between abernethy and elliot. it was the old tale of the stammerers personified; for the professional and the patient each conceived the other an imitator. on reaching the ground-floor the surgeon was, however, relieved from his embarrassment by the communication of the good woman of the house, who, in her anxiety to serve elliot, had produced this extraordinary scene. abernethy laughed heartily--assured her that the patient would do well--wrote a prescription for him--begged ~ ~~he might hear how he proceeded--and learning he was a professional man, requested the lady of the mansion to return him his fee." "ay," said the alderman, "that was just like john abernethy. i remember when he tapped poor mrs. marigold for the dropsy, he was not very tender, to be sure, but he soon put her out of her tortures. and when on his last visit i offered him a second twenty pound note for a fee, i thought he would have knocked me down; asked me if i was the fool that gave him such a sum on a former occasion; threw it back again with indignation, and said he did not rob people in that manner." no professional man does more generous actions than john abernethy; only it must be after his own fashion. "come, gentlemen, the bottle stands still," said mr. pendragon, "while you are running through the merits of drinking. does not rabelais contend that good wine is the best physic?' because there are more old tipplers than old physicians.' custom is every thing; only get well seasoned at the first start, and all the rest of life is a summer's scene. snymdiris the sybarite never once saw the sun rise or set during a course of twenty years; yet he lived to a good old age, drank like a centaur, and never went to bed sober." and when his glass was out, he fell like some ripe kernel from its shell. "i was once an anti-gastronomist and a rigid antisaccharinite; sugar and milk were banished from my breakfast-table, vegetables and puddings my only diet, until i almost ceased to vegetate, and my cranium was considered as soft as a custard; and curst hard it was to cast off all culinary pleasures, sweet reminiscences of my infancy, commencing with our first spoonful of pap, for all young protestants are papists; to this day my heart (like wordsworth's) ~ ~~overflows at the sight of a pap-boat--the boat a child first mans; to speak naughty-cally, as a nurse would say, how many a row is there in the pap-boat--how many squalls attend it when first it comes into contact with the skull! but i am now grown corpulent; in those days i was a lighter-man, and i believe i should have continued to live (exist) upon herbs and roots; but dr. kitchener rooted up all my prejudices, and overturned the whole system of my theory by practical illustrations. "thus he that's wealthy, if he's wise, commands an earthly paradise; that happy station nowhere found, but where the glass goes freely round. then give us wine, to drown the cares of life in our declining years, that we may gain, if heav'n think fitting, by drinking, what was lost by eating: for though mankind for that offence were doom'd to labour ever since, yet mercy has the grape impower'd to sweeten what the apple sour'd." to this good-humoured sally of pendragon succeeded a long dissertation on meats, which it is not _meet_ i should relate, being for the most part idle conceits of mr. galen cornaro, who carried about him a long list of those prescribed eatables, which engender bile, breed the _incubus_, and produce spleen, until, according to his bill of fare, he had left himself nothing to subsist upon in this land of plenty but a mutton-chop, or a beef-steak. what pleased me most was, that with every fresh bottle the two disciples of pythagoras and abernethy became still more vehement in maintaining the necessity for a strict adherence to the theory of water and vegetable economy; while their zeal had so far blinded their recollection, that when the ladies returned from their walk to join us at tea, they were both "_bacchi plenis_," as colman has it, something inclining from ~ ~~a right line, and approaching in its motion to serpentine sinuosities. a few more puns from mr. pendragon, and another story from the alderman, about his friend, young tattersall, employing scroggins the bruiser, disguised as a countryman to beat an impudent highgate toll-keeper, who had grossly insulted him, finished the amusements of the day, which mrs. marigold and miss biddy declared had been spent most delightfully, so rural and entertaining, and withal so economical, that the alderman was induced to promise he would not dine at home again of a sunday for the rest of the summer. to me, at least, it afforded the charm of novelty; and if to my readers it communicates something of character, blended with pleasure in the perusal, i shall not regret my sunday trip with the marigold family and first visit to the gate house, highgate. [illustration: page ] the stock exchange. ~ ~~ have you ever seen donnybrook fair? or in a _caveau_ spent the night? on waterloo's plains did you dare to engage in the terrific fight? has your penchant for life ever led you to visit the finish or slums, at the risk of your pockets and head? or in banco been fixed by the bums? in a smash at the hells have you been, when pigeons were pluck'd by the bone? or enjoy'd the magnificent scene when our fourth george ascended his throne? have you ever heard tierney or canning a commons' division address? or when to the gallery ganging, been floor'd by a rush from the press? has your taste for the fine arte impell'd you to visit a bull-bait or fight? or by rattles and charleys propell'd, in a watch-house been lodged for the night? in a morning at bow-street made one of a group just to bother sage birnie? stood the racket, got fined, cut and run, being fleeced by the watch and attorney? or say, have you dined in guildhall with the mayor and his corporate souls? or been squeezed at a grand civic ball, with dealers in tallow and coals? mere nothings are these, though the range through all we have noticed you've been, when compared to the famed stock exchange, that riotous gambling scene. ~ ~~ the unexpected legacy--bernard blackmantle and bob transit visit capel court--characters in the stocks--bulls, bears and bawds, brokers, jews and jobbers--a new acquaintance, peter principal--his account of the market--the royal exchange--tricks upon travellers--slating a stranger--the hebrew star and his satellites--dividend hunters and paragraph writers--the new bubble companies--project extraordinary--prospectus in rhyme of the life, death, burial, and resurrection company--lingual localisms of the stock exchange explained--the art and mystery of jobbing exposed--anecdotes of the house and its members--flying a tile--billy wright's brown pony--selling a twister--a peep into botany bay--flats and flat-catchers--the rotunda and the transfer men--how to work the telegraph--create a rise-- put on the pot--bang down the market--and waddle out a lame duck. a bequest of five hundred pounds by codicil from a rich old aunt had most unexpectedly fallen to my friend transit, who, quite unprepared for such an overwhelming increase of good fortune, was pondering on the best means of applying this sudden acquisition of capital, when i accidentally paid him a visit in half-moon street. "give me joy, bernard," said bob; "here's a windfall;" thrusting the official notice into my hand; "five hundred pounds from an old female miser, who during her lifetime was never known to dispense five farthings for any generous or charitable purpose; but being about to _slip her wind_ and make a _wind-up_ of her accounts, was kind enough to remember at parting that she had a poor relation, an ~ ~~artist, to whom such a sum might prove serviceable, so just hooked me on to the tail end of her testamentary document and booked me this legacy, before she booked herself inside for the other world. and now, my dear bernard," continued bob, "you are a man of the world, one who knows 'what's what, and that's as high as metaphysic wit can fly.' i am puzzled, actually bewildered what to do with this accumulation of wealth: only consider an eccentric artist with five hundred pounds in his pocket; why it must prove his death-warrant, unless immediate measures are taken to free him from its magical influence. shall i embark it in some of the new speculations? the milk company, or the water company, the flesh, fish, or fowl companies, railways or tunnel-ways, or in short, only put me in the right way, for, at present, i am mightily abroad in that respect." "then my advice is, that you keep your money at home, or in other words, fund it; unless you wish to be made fun of and laughed at for a milksop, or a bubble merchant, or be taken for one of the gudgeon family, or a chicken butcher, a member of the poultry company, where fowl dealing is considered all fair; or become a liveryman of the worshipful company of minors (i.e. miners), where you may be fleeced à la hayne, by legs, lawyers, bankers and brokers, demireps and contractors'; or, perhaps, you ~ ~~will feel disposed to embark in a new company, of which i have just strung together a prospectus in rhyme: a speculation which has, at least, much of novelty in this country to recommend it, and equally interests all orders of society. it is not surprising, we see, that lawyers, bankers, and brokers are found at the bottom of most of the new schemes. their profits are certain, whatever the fate of the gudgeon family. the brokers, in particular, have a fine harvest of it. their charges being upon the full nominal amount of the shares sold, they get twice as much by transferring a single l. share in a speculation, although only l. may have been paid on it, as by the purchase or sale of l. consols, of which the price is l. or, to make the matter plainer to the uninitiated, suppose an individual wishes to lay out l. in the stock-market. if he orders his broker to purchase into the british funds, the latter will buy him about l. three per cent, consols; and the brokerage, at one-eighth per cent, will be about s. but if the same person desires to invest the same sum in the stock of a new mine or rail-road company, which is divided into l. shares, on each of which say l. is paid, and there is a premium of l. (as is the case at this moment with a stock we have in our eye) his broker's account will then stand thus:-- bought shares in the ---- company. first instalment of l. paid £ premium l. per share brokerage £ per cent, on , l. stock which will leave mr. adventurer to pay l. s. to his broker, and to pay l. more on each of his shares, when the------company "call" for it! or, let us reverso the case, and suppose our speculator, having been an original subscriber for shares in the ---- company, and having consequently obtained them for nothing, wishes to sell, finding them at a premium of s. per share, and either fearing they may go lower, or not being able to pay even the first instalment called for by the directors. if he is an humble tradesman, he is perhaps eager to realise a profit obtained without labour, and hugs him-self at the idea of the hundred crowns and the hundred shillings he shall put into his pocket by this pleasant process. away he posts to cornhill, searches out a broker, into whose hands he puts the letter entitling him to the shares, with directions to sell at the current premium. the broker takes a turn round 'change, finds a customer, and the whole affair is settled in a twinkling, by an entry or two in the broker's memorandum-book, and the drawing of a couple of cheques. our fortunate speculator, who is anxiously waiting at batson's the return of his man of business, and spending perhaps s. d. in bad negus and tough sandwiches, on the strength of his good luck, is then presented with a draft on a banker for l. neatly folded up in a small slip of foolscap, containing the following satisfactory particulars:-- sold shares in the------company--nothing paid--prem. s. £ brokerage, / per cent, on , l. stock by cheque he stares wildly at this document, utterly speechless, for five minutes, during which the broker, after saying he shall be happy to "do" for him another time, throws a card on the table, and exit. the lucky speculator wanders into 'change with the account in his hand, and appeals to several jews to know whether he has not been cheated: some abuse him for the insinuation against so "respectable" a man as mr.----- the broker; others laugh in his face; and all together hustle him into the street. he goes home richer by l.. s. d. than when he went out, and finds that a wealthy customer, having called three times in his absence to give him a particular order, had just left the shop in a rage, swearing he would no longer encourage so inattentive a tradesman.-- _examiner_. the life, death, burial, and resurrection company. capital.--one hundred millions shares.--one pound. ~ ~~ in this age of projectors, when bubbles are spread with illusive attractions to bother each head, when bulls, bears, jews, and jobbers all quit capelcourt to become speculators and join in the sport, who can wonder, when interest with intellect clashes, we should have a new club to dispose of our ashes; to rob death of its terrors, and make it delightful to give up your breath, and abolish the frightful old custom of lying defunct in your shroud, surrounded by relatives sobbing aloud? we've a scheme that shall mingle the "grave with the gay," and make it quite pleasant to die, when you may. first, then, we propose with the graces of art, like our parisian friends, to make ev'ry tomb smart; and, by changing the feelings of funeral terrors, remove what remain'd of old catholic errors. our plan is to blend in the picturesque style smirke, soane, nash, and wyatville all in one pile. so novel, agreeable, and grateful our scheme, that death will appear like a sweet summer's dream; and the horrid idea of a gloomy, cold cell, will vanish like vapours of mist from a dell. ~ thus changed, who'll object a kind friend to inhume, when his sepulchre's made like a gay drawing-room a diversified, soothing commixture of trees, umbrageous and fann'd by the perfumed breeze; with alcoves, and bowers, and fish-ponds, and shrubs, select, as in life, from intrusion of scrubs; while o'er your last relics the violet-turf press must a flattering promise afford of success. "lie light on him, earth," sung a poet of old; our earth shall be sifted, and never grow cold; no rude weight on your chest--how like ye our scheme { } where your grave will be warm'd by a process of steam, which will boil all the worms and the grubs in their holes, and preserve from decay ev'ry part but your souls. our cemetery, centred in fancy's domain, shall by a state edict eternal remain to all parties open, the living or dead; or christian, or atheist, here rest their head, in a picturesque garden, and deep shady grove, where young love smiles, and fashion delighteth to rove. to render the visitors' comforts complete, and afford the grieved mourners a proper retreat, the directors intend to erect an hotel, where a _table d'hôte_ will be furnished well; not with the "cold meats of a funeral feast," but a banquet that's worthy a nabob at least; of _lachryma christi_, and fine _vin de grave_, and cordial compounds, a choice you may have. twice a week 'tis proposed to illumine the scene, and to waltz and quadrille on the velvety green; while colinet's band and the opera corps play and dance with a spirit that's quite _con amore_, a committee of taste will superintend the designs and inscriptions to each latter end. ~ ~~ take notice, no cross-bones or skulls are allowed, or naked young cherubims riding a cloud; in short, no allusions that savour of death, nor aught that reminds of a friend's parting breath. the inscriptions and epitaphs, elegies too, must all be poetical, lively, and new; such as never were heard of, or seen heretofore, to be written by proctor, sam. rogers, or moore. in lieu of a sermon, glee-singers attend, who will chant, like the cherubims, praise without end. three decent old women, to enliven the hours, attend with gay garlands and sacred flowers, the emblems of grief--artificial, 'tis true, but very like nature in a general view. lord graves will preside, and vice-president coffin will pilot the public into the offing. the college of surgeons and humane society have promised to send a delightful variety. the visitors all are physicians of fame; and success we may, therefore, dead certainty name. to the delicate nervous, who'd wish a snug spot, a romantic temple, or moss-cover'd grot, let them haste to john ebers, and look at the plan; where the grave-book lies open, its merits to scan. gloves, hatbands, and essence of onions for crying, white 'kerchiefs and snuff, and a cordial worth trying, the attendants have ready; and more--as time presses, no objection to bury you in fancy dresses. our last proposition may frighten you much; we propose to reanimate all by a touch, by magic revive, if a century old, the bones of a father, a friend, or a scold. in short, we intend, for all--but a wife, to bring whom you please in a moment to life; that is, if the shares in our company rise,-- if not 'tis a bubble, like others, of lies. --bernard blackmantle. ~ ~~the recitation of this original _jeu d'esprit_ had, i found, the salutary effect of clearing my friend transit's vision in respect to the _speculation mania_; and being by this time fully accoutred and furnished with the possibles, we sallied forth to make a purchase in the public funds. there is something to be gleaned from every event in this life, particularly by the eccentric who is in search of characteristic matter. i had recently been introduced to a worthy but singular personage in the city, mr. peter principal, stock broker, of the firm of hazard and co.--a man whose probity was never yet called in question, and who, having realized a large property by the most honourable means, was continually selected as broker, trustee, and executor by all his acquaintance. to him, therefore, i introduced my friend bob, who being instantly relieved from all his weighty troubles, and receiving in return the bank receipts, we proceeded to explore the regions of pluto (i.e. the money market), attended by peter principal as our guide and instructor. on our entrance into capel court we were assailed by a motley group of jews and gentiles, inhabitants of lower tartary (i.e. botany bay{ }), who, suspecting we came there on business, addressed us in a jargon that was completely unintelligible either to transit or myself. one fellow inquired if i was a bull,{ } and his companion wished to know if transit was a bear{ }; another eagerly offered to give us _five eighths_, or sell us, at the same price, for the account'{ }; while a fourth thrust his a place so named, without the stock exchange, where the lame ducks and fallen angels of upper tartary assemble when expelled the house, to catch a hint how the puff's and bangs succeed in the private gambling market; when if they can saddle their neighbour before he is up to the variation, it is thought good jobbing. persons that purchase with a view for a rise in the funds. one who sells with a view to a fall in the price of stock. a certain future day, fixed upon by the committee of the stock exchange, for the settlement of _time bargains_--they are usually appointed at an interval of six weeks, and the price of stocks on this given day determines the speculator's gain or loss. ~ ~~copper countenance into my face, and offered to do business with me at a fiddle.{ } "tush, tush," said peter principal to the increasing multitude which now barred our passage, "we are only come to take a look, and watch the operation of the market." "_dividend hunters_{ } i suppose," said a knowing looking fellow, sarcastically, "ear wigging{ }--hey, mr. principal, something good for the pull out{ }? well, if the gentlemen wish to put on the pot, although it be for a pony,{ } i'm their man, only a little rasping,{ } you know." to this eloquent appeal succeeded a similar application from a son of israel, who offered to accommodate us in any way we wished, either for the _call_{l } or _put_{ }; to which friendly offer little principal put his direct negative, and, after innumerable when a broker has got money transactions of any conse- sequence, as there is no risk in these cases, he will fiddle one finger across the other, signifying by this that the jobber must give up half the turn of the market price to him, which he pockets besides his commission. those who suppose by changing stock they get double interest, by receiving four dividends in one year instead of two; but in this they are deceived, as the jobber, when he changes stock, gains the advantage; for instance, if he buys consols at sixty, when he sells out there will be deducted one and a half per cent. for the dividend. when bargains are done privately by a whisper, to conceal the party's being a bull. buying or selling for ready money. pony, , l. giving greater turns to the jobbers than those regulated in the market. _call_. buying to call more at one-eighth or one-fourth above the price on a certain day, if the buyer chooses, and the price is in his favour. _put_. selling to put more to it on a certain day, at one-eighth or one-fourth under the market price. ~ ~~attacks of this sort, we reached the upper end of the court, and found ourselves upon the steps which lead to the regions of upper tartary, (i.e.) the stock exchange. at this moment our friend principal was summoned by his clerk to attend some antique spinster, who, having scraped together another hundred, had hobbled down to annex it to her previous amount of consols. "you must not attempt to enter the room by yourselves," said principal; "but accompany me back to the royal exchange, where you can walk and wait until i have completed the old lady's _job_." while principal was gone to invest his customer's stock, we amused ourselves with observing the strange variety of character which every where presents itself among the groups of all nations who congregate together in this arena of commerce. perhaps a more fortunate moment for such a purpose could not have occurred: the speculative transactions of the times had drawn forth a certain portion of the stock exchange, gamblers, or inhabitants of upper tartary, who, like experienced sharpers of another description, never suffer a good thing to escape them. capel court was partially abandoned for exchange bubbles,{ } and new companies opened a new system of fraudulent enrichment for these sharks of the money market. the speculative mania, which at this time raged with un- precedented violence among a large portion of his majesty's liege subjects, gave the "john bull" a glorious opportunity for one of their witty satires, in which the poet has very humorously described the bubbles of . tune--"run, neighbours, run." run, neighbours, run, you're just in time to get a share in all the famous projects that amuse john bull; run, take a peep on 'change, for anxious crowds beset us there, each trying which can make himself the greatest gull. no sooner are they puff'd, than a universal wish there is for shares in mines, insurances in foreign loans and fisheries. ~ ~~ no matter where the project lies, so violent the mania, in africa, new providence, peru, or pennsylvania! run, neighbours, run, you're just in time to get a share in all the famous bubbles that amuse john bull. few folks for news very anxious at this crisis are, for marriages, and deaths, and births, no thirst exists; all take the papers in, to find out what the prices are of shares in this or that, upon the broker's lists. the doctor leaves his patient--the pedagogue his lexicon, for mines of real monte, or for those of anglo-mexican: e'en chili bonds don't cool the rage, nor those still more romantic, sir, for new canals to join the seas, pacific and atlantic, sir. run, neighbours, run, you're just in time to get a share in all the famous bubbles that amuse john bull. at home we have projects too for draining surplus capital, and honest master johnny of his cash to chouse; though t'other day, judge abbott gave a rather sharpish slap at all. and eldon launched his thunder from the upper house. investment banks to lend a lift to people who are undone-- proposals for assurance--there's no end of that, in london; and one amongst the number, who in parliament now press their bills, for lending cash at eight per cent, on coats and inexpressibles. run, neighbours, run, you're just in time to get a share in all the famous bubbles that amuse john bull. no more with her bright pails the milkman's rosy daughter works, a company must serve you now with milk and cream; perhaps they've some connexion with the advertising water-works, that promise to supply you from the limpid stream. another body corporate would fain some pence and shillings get, by selling fish at hungerford, and knocking up old billingsgate: another takes your linen, when it's dirty, to the suds, sir, and brings it home in carriages with four nice bits of blood, sir. run, neighbours, run, you're just in time to get a share in all the famous bubbles that amuse john bull. ~ when greenwich coaches go by steam on roads of iron railing, sir, how pleasant it will be to see a dozen in a line; and ships of heavy burden over hills and valleys sailing, sir, shall cross from bristol's channel to the tweed or tyne. and dame speculation, if she ever fully hath her ends, will give us docks at bermondsey, st. saviour's, and st. catherine's; while side long bridges over mud shall fill the folks with wonder, sir, and lamp-light tunnels all day long convey the cocknies under, sir. run, neighbours, run, you're just in time to get a share in all the famous bubbles that amuse john bull. a tunnel underneath the sea, from calais straight to dover, sir, that qualmish folks may cross by land from shore to shore, with sluices made to drown the french, if e'er they would come over, sir, has long been talk'd of, till at length 'tis thought a monstrous bore. amongst the many scheming folks, i take it he's no ninny, sir, who bargains with the ashantees to fish the coast of guinea, sir; for, secretly, 'tis known, that another brilliant view he has, of lighting up the famous town of timbuctoo with oil gas. run, neighbours, run, you're just in time to get a share in all the famous bubbles that amuse john bull. then a company is form'd, though not yet advertising, to build, upon a splendid scale, a large balloon, and send up tools and broken stones for fresh mac-adamizing the new discover'd turnpike roads which cross the moon. but the most inviting scheme of all is one proposed for carrying large furnaces to melt the ice which hems poor captain parry in; they'll then have steam boats twice a week to all the newly-seen land, and call for goods and passengers at labrador and greenland! run, neighbours, run, you're just in time to get a share in all the famous bubbles that amuse john bull, ~ ~~high 'change was a subject full of the richest materials for my friend bob, who, without knowing more of the characters than their exterior appearances of eccentricity and costume exhibited, proceeded to _book_, as he termed it, the leading features. every now and then there was a rush to different parts of the arena, and an appearance of great anxiety among the crowd to catch the attention of a person who flourished a large parchment above their heads with all the pride and importance of a field marshal's baton. this was, i found, no other than the leading agent of some newly projected company, who took this method of _indulging_ the subscribers with shares, or letting the fortunate applicants know how many of these speculative chances the committee had allowed them to possess. the return of little principal afforded me a key to the surrounding group, without which their peculiar merits would have been lost to the world, or have remained individually unknown, like the profit of many of the modern speculations. "you must not suppose," said principal, "that great talents make great wealth here, or that honourable conduct and generous feelings command respect--no such thing; men are estimated upon 'change in proportion to the supposed amount of their property, and rise or fall in the worldly opinion of their associates as prosperity or adversity operates upon the barometer of their fortunate speculations; a lucky hit will cause a dolt to be pointed out as a clever fellow, when, the next turn of the market proving unsuccessful, he is despised and insulted: so much are the frequenters of 'change influenced by the most sordid and mercenary feelings, that almost all of them are the willing dupes of riches and good fortune. however, as you are strangers here, gentlemen, i will introduce you, _entre nous_, to a few of the characters who thrive by the destruction of thousands of their fellow-creatures. the bashaw in black yonder, who rests his elephantic trunk against a pillar of the exchange, with his hands thrust into his breeches pockets, is the hebrew star--the jewish luminary, a very shiloh among the peoples of his own persuasion, and, i am sorry to say, much too potent ~ ~~with the orthodox ministers of george the fourth. the fellow's insolence is intolerable, and his vulgarity and ignorance quite unbearable. he commenced his career in manchester by vending trinkets and spectacle-cases in the streets of that town, from which station he gradually rose to the important occupation of a dealer in _fag ends_, from which he ascended to the dignity of a bill-broker, when, having the command of money, and some wealthy hebrew relatives conveniently distributed over the continent for the transaction of business, he took up his abode in london, and towards the termination of the late war, when a terrible smash took place among some of his tribe, he found means to obtain their confidence, and having secured, by the aid of spies, the earliest foreign intelligence, he rapidly made a colossal fortune in the british funds, without much risk to himself. it is said he can scarcely write his own name, and it only requires a minute's conversation to inform you of the general ignorance of his mind; in short, he is one of hazlitt's men, with only one idea, but that one entirely directed to the accumulation of gold. a few years since some of the more respectable members of the stock exchange, perceiving the thraldom in which the public funds of the country were held by the tricks and manouvres of the jew party, determined to make a stand against them: among these was a highly respected member of parliament, a great sporting character, and a very worthy man. his losses proved excessive, but they were promptly paid. in order to weaken his credit, and, if possible, shake his confidence and insult his feelings, the jew took an opportunity, during high 'change, of telling him, 'dat he had got his cote and vaistcote, and he should very soon have his shirt into de bargain:' in this prophecy, however, mr. mordecai was mistaken; for the market took a sudden turn, and the gentleman alluded to recovered all his losses in a short time, to the great discomfiture ~ ~~of the high priest and the jews. in private life he is equally abrupt and vulgar, as the following anecdote will prove, at his own table: a christian broker solicited some trifling favour, observing, he had granted what he then requested to another member of the house, who was his brother-in-law. 'vary true, vary true,' said solomon gruff, as he is sometimes called, 'but then you do not shleep vid my shister, my boy; dat makes all de differance.' at present this fellow's influence is paramount at most of the courts of europe, at some of which his family enjoy considerable honours; in short, he is the head of the locust tribe, and the leader of that class of speculators whom a witty writer has well described in the following lines, addressed to the landholders: 'the national debt may be esteemed a mass of filth which grows corrupter every day; and in this heap, as always comes to pass, reptiles and vermin breed, exist, decay. 'tis now so huge, that he must be an ass who thinks it ever can be clear'd away: and the time's quickly coming, to be candid, when funded men will swallow up the landed. 'then will these debt-bred reptiles, hungry vermin, fed from the mass corrupt of which i spoke, usurp your place. a jew, a dirty german, who has grown rich by many a lucky stroke, shall rule the minister, and all determined to treat your bitter sufferings as a joke. said i, he shall! it will be nothing new; the treasury now is govern'd by a jew.' [illustration: page ] the tall dandy-looking youth standing near the great man is a scion of the former head of the hebrew family: his father possessed very superior talents, but was too much attached to splendid society to die rich; his banquets were often graced by royalty, and his liberality and honourable conduct proverbial, until misfortune produced a catastrophe that will not bear ~ ~~repeating. the very name of the sire causes a feeling of dislike in the breast of the colossus, and consequently the son is no partaker in the good things which the great man has to dispose of. the three tall jews standing together are brothers, and all members of the stock exchange; their affinity to the high priest, more than their own talents, renders their fortunes promising. observe the pale-faced genteel-looking man.on the right hand side of the arena--that is major g--s, an unsuccessful speculator in the funds, but a highly honourable officer, who threw away the proceeds of his campaigns in the peninsula among the sharks of the stock exchange and the lesser gamblers of st. james's: he has lately given to the world a sketch of his own life, under the assumed name of 'ned clinton, or the commissary,' in which he has faithfully narrated scenes and characters. the little, jolly, fresh-coloured gentleman near him is tommy b--h, a great speculator in the funds, a lottery contractor, and wine merchant, and quite at home in the tea trade. the immense fat gent behind him is called the dinner man and m. c. of vaux hall, of which place tommy b--h holds a principal share; his office is to write lyrics for the lottery, and gunpowder puffs for the genuine tea company, paragraphs for vauxhall, and spirited compositions in praise of spiritless wines: amid all these occupations it is no wonder, considering his bulk, that he invariably falls asleep before the dinner cloth is removed, and snores most mellifluously between each round of the bottle. the sharp-visaged personage to the left of him is the well known count bounce---------"--"excuse me, mr. principal," said i, "but i happen to know that worthy well myself; that is, i believe, sam dixon, the _coper_ of barbican, a jobber in the funds, it would appear, as well as in horses, coaches, and chaises: of the last named article i have had a pretty good specimen from his emporium myself, ~ ~~which, i must ever remember, was at the risk of my life.--"do you observe that stout-looking gentleman yonder with large red whiskers, in a drab surtout, like a stage coachman? that is the marquis of h-----------, one of the most fortunate gamblers (i.e. speculators) of the present day: during the war his lordship acquired considerable sums of money by acting on his priority of political information, his policy being to make one of the party in power, without holding office, and by this means be at liberty to act in the money market as circumstances required: among the _roués_ of the west he has not been less successful in games of chance, until his coffers are crammed with riches; but it must be admitted he is liberal in his expenditure, and often-times generous to applicants, particularly sporting men, who seek his favours and assistance. the little club of sage personages who are mustered together comparing notes, in the corner of the dutch walk, are the paragraph-writers for the morning and evening press; very potent personages here, i assure you, for without their kind operation the public could never be gulled to any great extent. the most efficient of the group is the elegant-looking tall man who has just moved off to consult his patron, the hebrew star, who gives all his foreign information exclusively to the leviathan of the press, of which paper mr. a-----------r is the representative. next to him in importance, information, and talent, is the reporter for the globe and traveller, g--------s m--------e, a shrewd clever fellow, with considerable tact for business. mr. f--------y, of the courier, stands near him on his left; and if he does but little with the stocks, he does that little well. the sandy-haired laddie with the high cheek bones and hawk-like countenance is m'c-----------h, of the chronicle, but a wee bit of a _wastrell_ in stock exchange affairs; and the mild-looking young gentleman who is in ~ ~~conversation with him represents the mighty little man of the morning herald. the rest of the public prints are mostly supplied with stock exchange information by a bandy-legged jew, a very solomon in funded wisdom, who pens paragraphs at a penny a line for the papers, and puts into them whatever the projectors dictate, in the shape of a puff, at per agreement. the knot of swarthy-looking athletic fellows, many of whom are finger-linked together, and wear rings in their ears, are american captains, and traders from the shores of the atlantic. that jolly-looking ruby-faced old gentleman in black, who is laughing at the puritanical tale of his lank brother, alderman shaw, is the celebrated grand city admiral, sir w. curtis, a genuine john bull, considered worth a _plum_ at least, and the author of a million of good jokes. observe that quiet-looking pale-faced gentleman now crossing the arena: from the smartness of his figure and the agility with which he bustles among the crowd, you would suppose him an active young man of about five-and-twenty, while, in fact, about sixty summers have rolled over his head; such are the good effects of temperance, system, and attention to diet. here he is known by the designation of mr. evergreen; a name, perhaps, affixed to him with a double meaning, combining in view the freshness of his age and his known attachment to theatricals, of which pursuits, as a recreation, he is devotedly fond. as a broker, lottery contractor, and a man of business, mr. d----- stands no. one for promptitude, probity, and the strictest sense of honour; wealthy without pride, and learned without affectation, his company is eagerly sought for by a large circle of the literati of the day, with whom, from his anecdotal powers, he is in high repute: on stage affairs he is a living 'biographia dramatica,' and charles mathews, it is said, owes much of his present celebrity to the early advice and persevering friendship of this worthy man. the pair ~ ~~of tall good-looking gentlemen on the french walk are messrs. j. and h------s***h, merchants in the city, and authors at the west end of the town: here they have recently been designated by the title of their last whimsical production, and now figure as messrs. gaiety and gravity, cognomens by no means inapplicable to the temper, feeling, and talent of the witty brothers. but come," said principal, "the 'change is now becoming too full to particularize, and as this is _settling_ day at the stock exchange, suppose we just walk across to the alley, take a look at the market, and see how the _account_ stands."--in passing down saint bartholomew lane, accident threw in our way the respected chief magistrate of the city, john garrett, esq. of whose sire little principal favoured us with some entertaining anecdotes.--"old francis garrett, who began business in the tea trade without cash, but with great perseverance and good credit, _cut up_ at his death for near four hundred thousand pounds, and left his name in the firm to be retained for seven years after his decease, when his posthumous share of the profits was to be divided among his grand-children. as he generally travelled for orders himself, he was proverbial for despatch; and has been known to call a customer up in the morning at four o'clock to settle his account, or disturb his repose in the night, if old francis was determined to make a lamp of the moon, and pursue his route. a very humorous story is related of him. arriving at benson, near henley, on a sunday morning, just as his customer, a mr. newberry, had proceeded to church, old francis was very importunate to prevail upon the servant-maid to call him out, in order that he might proceed to oxford that night: after much persuasion she was induced to accompany him to the church, to point out the pew where her master sat. at their entrance the eccentric figure of the tea-broker caused a general movement of recognition among the congregation; but francis, ~ ~~nothing abashed, was proceeding up the aisle with his cash instead of prayer-book in his hand, when his attention was arrested by the clergyman's text, 'paul we know, and silas we know, but who art thou?' the singular coincidence of the words, added to the authoritative style of the pastor, quite staggered francis garrett, who, however, quickly recovering, made a low bow, and then, in a true business-like style, proceeded to, apologize to the reverend and congregation for this seeming want of respect, adding he was only old francis garrett, of thames-street, the tea broker, whom every body knew, come to settle a small account with his friend mr. newberry. the eccentricity of the man was notorious, and this, perhaps, better than the apology, induced the clergyman to overlook the offence; but the story will long be remembered by the good people of benson, and never fail to create a laugh in the commercial room among the merry society of gentlemen travellers. the son, who has deservedly risen to the highest civic honours, is a worthy and highly honourable man, whose conduct since he has been elected lord mayor reflects great credit upon his fellow citizens' choice."--we had now mounted the steps which lead to the stock exchange, or, as principal, who, though one among them, may be said not to be one of them, observed, we had arrived at the _wolves' den_, "the secret arcana of which place, with its curious intricacies and perplexing paradoxical systems and principles, i shall now," continued our friend, "endeavour to explain; from which exposition the public will be able to see the monster that is feeding on the vitals of the country, while smiling in its face and tearing at its heart, yet cherished by it, as the lacedemonian boy cherished the wolf that devoured him. i am an enemy to all monopolies," said principal, "and this is one of the worst the country is infested with. "a private or exclusive market, that is, a market ~ ~~into which the public have not the liberty or privilege of either going to make, or to see made, bargains in their own persons, is one where the most sinister arts are likely to prevail. the stock exchange is of this description, and accordingly is one where the public are continually gulled out of their money by a system of the most artful and complicated traffic--a traffic calculated to raise the hopes of novices, to puzzle the wits of out-door speculators, and sure to have the effect of diminishing the property of those who are not members of the fraternity.{ } "one of the principles of the stock exchange is, that the public assist against themselves, which is not the less true than paradoxical. it is contrary to the generally-received opinion that stocks should either be greatly elevated or depressed, without some apparent cause: it is contrary to natural inference that they should rise,--not from the public sending in to purchase, or to buy or sell, which however frequently happens. it follows, therefore, that the former is occasioned by the arts of the interested stock-jobbers, and the latter by out-door speculators, who have the market price _banged down_ upon them by those whose business and interest it is to fleece them all they can. in the language of the stock exchange, you must be either a _bull or a bear,_ a _buyer or a seller_: now as it is not necessary you should have one shilling of property in the funds to embark in this speculation, but may just as well sell a hundred thousand pounds of stock as one pound, according to the practice of time bargains, which is wagering contrary to law--so neither party can be compelled to complete their agreement, or to pay whatever the difference of the amount may be upon the stock when the account closes: all transactions the mode of exchanging stock in france is in public. a broker stands in the situation of an auctioneer, and offers it to the best bidder. ~ ~~are, therefore, upon honour; and whoever declines to pay his loss is posted upon a black board, declared a defaulter, shut out of the association, and called by the community a _lame duck_. "it is not a little extraordinary, while the legislature and the judges are straining every nerve to suppress low gambling and punish its professors, they are the passive observers of a system pregnant with ten times more mischief in its consequences upon society, and infinitely more vicious, fraudulent, and base than any game practised in the hells westward of temple bar; but we are too much in the practice of gaping at a gnat and swallowing a camel, or the great subscription-houses, such as white's, brooke's, and boodle's, would not have so long remained uninterrupted in this particular, while the small fry that surround them, and which are, by comparison, harmless, are persecuted with the greatest severity. as there is a natural disposition in the human mind for gambling, and as it is visible to all the world that many men (cobblers, carpenters, and other labourers), by becoming stock-jobbers, are suddenly raised from fortunes of a few pounds to hundreds of thousands, therefore every falling shop-keeper or merchant flies to this disinterested seminary with the same hope: but the jobbers, perceiving their transactions interrupted by these persons intruding, in order to keep them at a distance, formed themselves into a body, and established a market composed of themselves, excluding every person not regularly known to the craft.{ } as the brokers found difficulty always to meet with people that would accommodate them either to buy or sell without waiting in the regular an article in their by-laws expresses, that no new member shall be admitted who follows any other trade or business, or in any wise is subject to the bankrupt laws: at the same time it is curious to observe, that most of them are either _soi-disant_ merchants or shopkeepers. ~ ~~market in the bank, to save themselves time they got accommodated among these gamblers in buying or selling as they wished; at the same time they gave the jobber one-eighth per cent, for such accommodation. as the loss was nothing to the broker, of course this imposition was looked over, because it saved his own time, and did not diminish his own commission.{ } it is clear, therefore, that the stock exchange is a self-constituted body, without any charter, but merely established at the will of the members, to the support of which a subscription is paid by each individual. they are ruled by by-laws, and judged by a committee, chosen from among themselves. this committee, as well as the members, are regularly re-balloted once in every year; of course no person is admitted within the walls of this house who does not regularly pay his subscription. "in this way has the stock market been established and forced from its original situation by a set of jobbers and brokers, who are all, it will be seen, interested in keeping their transactions from the eye of the public. these men being always ready either to buy or sell, renders it easy for the brokers to get their business done, having no trouble but merely stepping into the stock exchange. if a broker wants to buy l. stock, or any other sum, for a principal, the jobber will readily sell it, although perhaps possessing no part of it himself at the time, but will take his chance of other brokers coming to put him in possession of it, and may have to purchase the amount in two or three different transactions,{ } but in doing that he will take care to call the price lower than he sold at.{ } if the system of the private market had tended to lessen the broker's commission, he would have gone or stood any where else to transact business for his principals. this at present only applies to young beginners, but old jobbers, who have enjoyed the system long enough, have been put in pos-session of large fortunes, and are now enabled to buy into or sell out of their own names to the amount of hundreds of thousands. should other brokers not come into the market to sell to him, he is then obliged, at a certain hour of the day, to go among his brethren to get it at the most suitable price possible. this is sometimes the cause of a momentary rise, and what is known by the jobbers turning out bears for the day. a depression some-times takes place on the same principle when they are bulls for a future day, and cannot take stock. ~ ~~after the stock is transferred from the seller to the buyer, instead of the money, he will write you a draft on his banker, although he has no effects to discharge the same till such time as he is put in possession of it also by the broker whom he sold it to; and it sometimes occurs, such drafts having to pass through the clearing-house,{ } the principal is not certain whether his money, is safe till the day following. in this way does the floating stock pass and repass through the stock exchange to and from the public, each jobber seizing and laying his hand on as much as he can, besides the eighth per cent. certain, which the established rule gives in their favour: the price frequently gives way, or rises much more to his advantage, which advantage is lost to the principals, and thrown into the pockets of middle men by the carelessness and indolence of the broker, who will not trouble himself in looking out for such persons as he might do business with in a more direct way.{ } when the stock market was more public, that is, when they admitted the public by paying sixpence a day, competitors for government loans were to be seen in numbers, which enabled ministers to make good bargains for the country{ }; a room situated in lombard-street, where the banking clerks meet for the mutual exchange of drafts. the principal business commences at three o'clock in the afternoon, and the balances are paid and received at five o'clock. query,--when a broker has to buy and sell for two different principals, may he not act as a jobber also, and put the turns into his own pocket? in such cases the jobbers are convenient cloaks to disguise the transaction. the loans taken by boyd and co., goldsmidt, and others, were generally contracted for upon much better terms for the country than those taken by the stock exchange; but as they were contending against what is known by the interests of the house, they all were ruined in their turns, as the jobbers could always depreciate the value of stocks by making sales for time of that they did not possess. ~ ~~but, since the establishment of the present private market, the stock-jobbers have been found to have so much power over the price of stocks, after loans had been contracted for, that real monied men, merchants, and bankers, have been obliged to creep in under the wings of this body of gamblers, and be satisfied with what portion of each loan this junto pleases to deal out to them."--in this way little principal opened the secret volume of the stock exchange frauds, and exposed to our view the vile traffic carried on there by the _flat-catchers of the money market_. in ordinary cases it would be a task of extreme peril for a stranger to intrude into this _sanctum sanctorum_; but as our friend, the broker, was highly respected, we were allowed to pass through unmolested--a favour that will operate in suppressing our notice of certain characters whom we recognized within. it will, however, hardly be credited that in this place, where every man is by profession a gambler, and sharping is the great qualification, so much of their time is devoted to tricks and fancies that would disgrace a school-boy. among these the most prominent is hustling a stranger; an ungenerous and unmanly practice, that is too often played off upon the unsuspecting, who have been, perhaps, purposely invited into the den for the amusement of the wolves. another point of amusement is _flying a tile, or slating_ a man, as the phrases of the stock exchange describe it. an anecdote is told of one of their own members which will best convey an idea of this trick. one who was ever foremost in _slating_ his brothers, or kicking about a new castor, had himself just sported a new hat, but, with prudence which is proverbial among the craft, he would leave his new _tile_ at the counting-house, ~ ~~and proceed to the stock exchange in an old one kept for the purpose: this becoming known to some of the wags, members of the house, they despatched a note and obtained the new hat, which no sooner made its appearance in the house than it was thrown up for general sport; a joke in which none participated more freely than the unsuspecting owner, whose chagrin may be very well conceived, when, on his return to his counting-house from capel-court, he discovered that he had been assisting in kicking his own property to pieces. another trick of these wags is the screwing up a number of pieces of paper longitudinally with a portion of black ink inside them, and lying on the table before some person, whom they will endeavour to engage in serious conversation upon the state of the market, when it is ten to one if he does not roll some of these _twisters_ between his fingers, and from agitation or deep thought on his approaching losses, or the risk of his speculations, blacken his fingers and his face, to the horse-laughical amusement of the by-standers. one of the best among the recent jokes my friend bob has depicted to the life. (see plate.) the fame of mr. wright's brown pony had often reached the ears of his brother brokers, but hitherto the animal himself was personally unknown: to obviate this difficulty, some sportive wight ascertained the stable where the old gentleman usually left his nag during the time he was attending the market, and by a well-executed forgery succeeded in bringing the pony to capel-court, when, without further ceremony, he was introduced into the house during the high bustle of the market, to the no small amusement of the house and the utter astonishment of his owner. there is a new stock exchange established in capel-court, where a number of jews, shopkeepers, and tradesmen assemble, and jobbers who have emigrated from their friends in the upper house, some ~ ~~of whom have either been _ducks_, or have retired out of it on some honourable occasion; but as all is conducted upon honour in this traffic of gambling, these men also set up the principle of honour, on which they risk what has been honourably brought away from their honourable fellow labourers in the principal vineyard: these men stand generally in the alley, and, hearing what is going on in the other market (as they speculate also upon the price established there), they will give advice to strangers who may be on the out-look to make, as they expect, a speedy fortune by dabbling in the stocks. if they find a person to be respectable, they will offer to do business with him on the principle of their brethren, and also exact the one-eighth per cent, as they do, trusting to his honour, that (although they do not know where he lives) he will appear on or before the settling day to balance the account, and pay or receive the difference.{ } these jobbers speculate a great deal upon puts and calls, and will give a chance sometimes for a mere trifle. they have not, like the private market, the public generally to work upon, the by-laws in the stock exchange prohibiting any broker or jobber, being a regular member, from dealing with them, on pain of forfeiting his right to re-enter; but, notwithstanding, some of the brokers, and even the jobbers inside, will run all risks when there appears a good chance of getting a turn on the price in their favour: from this cause, however, the alley, or new stock exchange jobbers, are obliged to gamble more directly with each other; consequently many get thrown to the leeward, and those who stand longest are generally such as have other resources from the trade or there have many lately entered into gambling transactions with these gentlemen, and have taken the profit so long as they were right in their speculations; but as soon as a loss came upon them, knowing they have no black board, they walk themselves coolly away with what they get. ~ ~~occupation they carry on elsewhere. from this place, called by the members of the _house lower tartary, or hell_, the next step of degradation, when obliged to waddle out of the court, is the _rotunda of new botany bay_. here may be seen the private market in miniature; a crowd of persons calling themselves jobbers and brokers, and, of course, a market to serve any person who will deal with them; the same system of _ear-wigging_, nods, and winks, is apparent, and the same _fiddling, rasping_, and attempts at overreaching each other, as in upper tartary, or the den; and of course, while they rasp and fiddle, their principals have to pay for the music: but as no great bargains are contracted here (these good things being reserved for a select few in the private market), the jobbers, who are chiefly of little note, are glad if they can pick up a few shillings for a day's job, by cutting out money stock for servants' and other people's small earnings. here may be seen my lord's footman from the west end of the town, who is a great politician, and knows for a certainty that the stocks will be down; therefore he wants to sell out his l. savings, to get in at less: here also may be some other lord's footman, who has taken a different view of things, and wants to buy; and, although their respective brokers might meet each other, and transact business in a direct way, at a given price, notwithstanding they either do, or they pretend to have given the jobbers the turn,{ } that is, the one sold at one-eighth, and the other bought at one-fourth.--this market, as in the alley, is ruled by the prices established in the private gambling market, which being the case, some will have messengers running to and from this market to see how the puffs and bangs proceed; and if they can saddle their neighbour before he knows the price is changed, it is thought good jobbing. from the stock some act both as jobbers and brokers, and will charge a com-mission for selling their own stock. ~ ~~exchange to the rotunda, every where, it will be perceived, a system of gambling and deception is practised upon the public, and the country demoralized and injured by a set of men who have no principle but interest, and acknowledge no laws but those of gain. [illustration: page ] as this was settling-day, we had the gratification to observe one unfortunate howled out of the craft for having speculated excessively; and not being able or willing to pay his differences, he was compelled to waddle{ }; which he did, with a slow step and melancholy countenance, accompanied by the hootings and railings of his unfeeling tribe, as he passed down the narrow avenue from upper tartary, proclaimed to the lower regions and the world a lame duck those who become ducks are not what are termed true jobbers; they are those who either job or speculate, or are half brokers and half jobbers, and are left to pay out-door speculators' accounts; or if a jobber lend himself to get off large amounts of stock, in cases where the broker does not wish the house to know he is operating, he generally gives him an immediate advantage in the price in a private bargain; this is termed being such-a-one's bawd. the isle of wight. ~ ~~ garden of england! spangle of the wave! loveliest spot that albion's waters lave! hail, beauteous isle! thou gem of perfumed green, fancy's gay region, and enchantment's scone. here where luxuriant nature pours, in frolic mood, her choicest stores, bedecking with umbrageous green and richest flowers the velvet scene, begirt by circling ocean's swell, enrich'd by mountain, moor, and dell; here bright hygeia, queen of health, bestows a gift which bankrupts wealth. the oxford student--reflections on the close of a term--the invitation--arrival at southampton--remarks--the steam boat-- advantages of steam--voyage to the isle of wight-- southampton water--the solent sea and surrounding scenery-- marine villas, castles, and residences--west cowes--its harbour and attractions--the invalid or the convalescent-- the royal yacht club--circular in rhyme--aquatic sports considered in a national point of vieio--a night on board the rover yacht--the progress of navigation--the embarkation--the soldier's wife--sketches of scenery and characters--evening promenaders--excursions in the island, to ryde, newport, shanklin chine, bonchurch, the needle rocks--descriptive poetry--morning, noon, and night-- the regatta--the pilot's review--the race ball--adieu to vectis. the oxford commemoration was just over, and the newdigate laurels graced the brow of the victor; the ~l l~~last concert which brings together the scattered forces of _alma mater_, on the eve of a long vacation, had passed off like the note of the cygnet; the rural shades of christchurch meadows were abandoned by the classic gownsmen, and the aquatic sons of brazen-nose and jesus had been compelled to yield the palm of marine superiority to their more powerful opponents, the athletic men of exeter. the flowery banks of isis no longer presented the attractive evening scene, when all that is beautiful and enchanting among the female graces of oxford sport like the houris upon its velvet shores, to watch the prowess of the college youth: the regatta had terminated with the term; even the high street, the usually well-frequented resort of prosing dons, and dignitaries, and gossiping masters of arts, bore a desolate appearance. now and then, indeed, the figure of a solitary gownsman glanced upon the eye, but it was at such long and fearful intervals, and then, vision-like, of such short duration, that, with the closed oaks of the tradesmen, and the woe-begone faces of the starving _scouts and bed-makers_, a stranger might have imagined some ruthless plague had swept away, "at one fell swoop," two-thirds of the population of rhedycina. it was at this dull period of time, that a poor student, having passed successfully the scylla and charybdis of an oxonian's fears, the great go and little go, and exhausted by long and persevering efforts to obtain his degree, had just succeeded in adding the important academical letters to his name, when he received a kind invitation from an old brother etonian to spend a few weeks with him in the isle of wight, "the flowery seat of the muses," said horace eglantine, (the inviter), "and the grove of hygeia; the delightful spot, above all others, best calculated to rub off the rust of college melancholy, engendered by hard reading, invigorate the studious mind, and divest the hypochrondriac of _la maladie ~ ~~imaginaire!_'" "and where," said bernard blackmantle, reasoning within himself, "is the student who could withstand such an attractive summons? friendship, health, sports, and pleasures, all combined in the prospective; a view of almost all the blessings that render life desirable; the charm that binds man to society, the medicine that cures a wounded spirit, and the cordial which reanimates and brightens the intellectual faculties of the philosopher and the poet; in short, the health-inspiring draught, without which the o'ercharged spirit would sink into earth, a prey to black despondency, or linger out a wearisome existence only to become a gloomy misanthrope, a being hateful to himself and obnoxious to all the world." with nearly as much alacrity as the lover displays when, on the wings of anticipated delight, he hastes to seek the beloved of his soul, did i, bernard blackmantle, pack up my portmanteau, and make the best of my way to southampton, from which place the steam boat conveys passengers, morning and evening, to and from the island. southampton has in itself very little worthy the notice of the lover of the characteristic and the humorous, at least that i discovered in a few hours' ramble. it is a clean well-built town, of considerable extent and antiquity, particularly its entrance gate, enlivened by numerous elegant shops, whose blandishments are equally attractive with the more fashionable _magazines de modes_ of the british metropolis. the accommodations for visitors inclined to bathe or walk have been much neglected, and the vapours arising from its extended shores at low water are, in warm weather, very offensive; but the influx of strangers is, nevertheless, very great, from its being the port most eligible to embark from for either havre de grace, guernsey, jersey, or the isle of wight. the market here is accounted excellent, and from this source the visitors of cowes are principally ~ ~~supplied with fruit, fish, fowl, and delicacies. the steam boat is a new scene for the painter of real life, and the inquisitive observer of the humorous and eccentric. the facility it affords of a quick and certain conveyance, in defiance of wind and tide, ensures its proprietors, during the summer months, a harvest of success. its advantages i have here attempted to describe in verse, a whim written during my passage; and this will account for the odd sort of measure adopted, which i attribute to the peculiar motion of the vessel, and the clanking of the engine; for, as everybody knows, poets are the most susceptible of human beings in relation to local circumstances. the advantages of steam. if adam or old archimedes could wake as from a dream, how the ancients would be puzzled to behold arts, manufactures, coaches, ships, alike impell'd by steam; fire and water changing bubbles into gold. steam's universal properties are every day improving, all you eat, or drink, or wear is done by steam; and shortly it will be applied to every thing that's moving, as an engine's now erecting to write novels by the ream. fine speeches in the parliament, and sermons 'twill deliver; to newspapers it long has been applied; in king's bench court or chancery a doubtful question shiver with an argument already "cut and dried." its benefits so general, and uses so extensive, that steam ensures the happiness of all mankind; we grow rich by its economy, and travel less expensive to the indies or america, without the aid of wind. here we are, then, on board the steam boat, huge clouds of smoke rolling over our heads, and the reverberatory paddles of the engine just beginning to cut the bosom of southampton water. every where the eye of the traveller feasts with delight upon the surrounding scenery and objects, while his cranium is protected from the too powerful heat of a summer's ~ ~~sun by an elegant awning spread from side to side of the forecastle, and under which he inhales the salubrious and saline breezes, enjoying an uninterrupted prospect of the surrounding country. on the right, the marine villas of sir arthur pagett and sir joseph yorke, embowered beneath the most luxuriant foliage, claim the notice of the traveller; and next the antique ruins of netley abbey peep out between the portals of a line of rich majestic trees, bringing to the reflective mind reminiscences of the past, of the days of superstition and of terror, when the note of the gloomy bell reverberated through the arched roofs the funeral rite of some departed brother, and, lingering, died in gentle echoings beneath the vaulted cloisters, making the monkish solitude more horrible; but now, as keate has sung, "mute is the matin bell, whose early call warn'd the gray fathers from their humble beds; no midnight taper gleams along the wall, or round the sculptured saint its radiance sheds." at the extremity of the new forest, and commanding the entrance to the river, the picturesque fort called calshot castle stretches forth, like the martello towers in the bay of naples, an object of the most romantic appearance; and at a little distance from it rises the stately tower of eaglehurst, with its surrounding pavilions and plantations. to the westward is the castle of hurst; and now opens to the astonished traveller's view the wight, extending eastward and westward far as the eye can compass, but yet within its measurement from point to point. ------"here in this delicious garden is variety without end; sweet interchange of hills and valleys, rivers, woods, and plains; now land, now sea, and shores with forests crown'd, rocks, dens, and caves." the coast presents a combination of romantic, pastoral, and marine beauties, that are deservedly the ~ ~~theme of admiration, and certainly no spot of the same extent, in the three kingdoms, perhaps in the world, can boast of such a diversity of picturesque qualities, of natural charms, and local advantages--attractions which have justly acquired for it the emphatic distinction of the garden of england. every where the coast is adorned with cottages or villas, hill or vale, enriched by the most luxuriant foliage, and crowned in the distance by a chain of lofty downs; while in front the coasts of gosport and portsmouth, and that grand naval station for england's best bulwarks, spithead, present a forest of towering masts and streamers, which adds much to the natural grandeur of the scene. as we near cowes we are delighted with a variety of striking objects: the chaste and characteristic seat of norris, the residence of lord henry seymour, massive in its construction, and remarkable for the simplicity of its style and close approximation to the ancient castle. on the brow of the hill the picturesque towers of east cowes castle rise from a surrounding grove, and present a very beautiful appearance, which is materially increased upon nearer inspection by the rapid spread of the deep-hued ivy clinging to its walls, and giving it an appearance of age and solidity which is admirably relieved by the diversity of the lighter foliage. on the other side projects from a point westward cowes castle, the allotted residence of the governor, but now inhabited by the marquis of anglesey and his family, to whose partiality for aquatic sports cowes is much indebted for its increasing consequence and celebrity. the building itself, although much improved of late, is neither picturesque nor appropriate; but the adjoining scenery, and particularly the marine villas of lord grantham and the late sir j. c. hippesley, have greatly increased the beauty of the spot, which first strikes the eye of a stranger in his progress to west cowes from ~ ~~southampton water. the town itself rises like an amphitheatre from the banks of a noble harbour, affording security and convenience for large fleets of ships to ride at anchor safely, or to winter in from stress of weather, or the repair of damages. but here ends my topographical sketches for the present. the inspiring air of "home, sweet home," played by the steward upon the key bugle, proclaims our arrival; the boat is now fast drawing to her moorings at the fountain quay, the boatmen who flock along-side have already solicited the care of my luggage, and the hand of my friend, horace eglantine, is stretched forth to welcome my arrival at west cowes. the first salutations over with my friend eglantine, i could not help expressing my surprise at the sailor-like appearance of his costume. "all the go here, old fellow," said horace; "we must start that long-tailed gib of yours for a nice little square mizen, just enough to cover your beam and keep your bows cool; so bear a hand, my boy, and let us drop down easy to our births, and when properly rigged you shall go on board my yacht, the rover, and we will bear away for the westward. only cast off that sky scraper of yours before the boom sweeps it overboard, and cover your main top with a waterloo cap: there, now, you are cutter rigg'd, in good sailing trim, nothing queer and yawl-like about you." in this way i soon found myself metamorphosed into a complete sailor, in appearance; and as every other person of any condition, from the marquis downwards, adopted the same dress, the alteration was indispensably necessary to escape the imputation of being considered a goth. among the varied sports in which the nobility and gentry of england have at any time indulged, or that have, from the mere impulse of the moment and the desire of novelty, become popular, none have been more truly national and praiseworthy than the establishment of the royal yacht club. the promotion ~ ~~of aquatic amusement combines the soundest policy in the pursuit of pleasure, two points but rarely united; in addition to which it benefits that class of our artizans, the shipwrights, who, during a time of profound peace, require some such auxiliary aid; nor is it less patriotic in affording employment to sea-faring men, encouraging the natural characteristic of britons, and feeding and fostering a branch of service upon which the country must ever rely for its support and defence in time of peril. to the owners it offers advantages and attractions which are not, in other pursuits, generally attainable; health here waits on pleasure,--science benefits by its promotion,--friends may partake without inconvenience or much additional expense,--travel is effected with economy,--and change of scene and a knowledge of foreign coasts obtained without the usual privations and incumbrances attendant upon the public mode of conveyance. by a recent regulation, any gentleman's pleasure yacht may enter the ports of france, or those of any other power in alliance with england, exempted from the enormous exactions generally extorted from private and merchant vessels, as harbour and other dues,--a privilege of no mean consequence to those who are fond of sailing. in addition, there are those, and of the service too, who contend, that since the establishment of the royal yacht club, by their building superior vessels, exciting emulation, and creating a desire to excel in naval architecture, and also by the superiority of their sailing, the public service of the country has been much benefited, particularly as regards our lighter vessels, such as revenue cutters and cruizers. this club, which originated with some gentlemen at cowes in the year , now comprises the name of almost every nobleman and gentleman in the kingdom who keeps a yacht, and is honoured with that of the sovereign, and other members of his family, ~ ~~as its patrons. cowes harbour is the favourite rendezvous; and here in the months of july and august may be seen above one hundred fine vessels built entirely for purposes of pleasure, and comprising every size and variety of rigging, from a ship of three hundred tons burthen to the yawl of only eight or ten. it was just previous to that delightful spectacle, the regatta, taking place, when the roads and town presented an unusually brilliant appearance, that i found myself agreeably seated on board the rover, a cutter yacht of about thirty tons, who, if she was not fitted up with all the superiority of many of those which surrounded me, had at least every comfortable and necessary accommodation for half a dozen visitors, without incommoding my friend horace or his jovial crew. i had arrived at cowes a low-spirited weakly invalid, more oppressed in mind than body; but a few trips with my friend eglantine to sea, on board the rover, and some equally pleasant rambles among the delightful scenery which surrounds the bay of cowes, had in one week's residence banished all symptoms of dispepsia and nervous debility, and set the master of arts once more upon his legs again. some idea of my condition, on leaving _alma mater_, may be obtained by the following effusion of my muse, who, to do her justice, is not often sentimental, unless when sickness presses her too close. the invalid. light-hearted mirth and health farewell, twin sisters of my youthful days, who through life's early spangled dell would oft inspire my humble lays. fancy, cameleon of the mind, the poet's treasure, life, and fame, thou too art fled, with wreath to bind the budding of some happier name. ~ ~~ oppression's sway, or fortune's frown, my buoyant spirits once could bear; but now chimeras press me down, and all around seems fell despair. with fev'rish dreams and frenzied brain, when hecate spreads her veil, i'm crost; my body sinks a prey to pain, and all but lingering hope is lost. with the return of health and spirits, horace insisted i should write the "l'allegro" to this "il penseroso" effusion. so, finding the jade had recovered her wonted buoyancy, i prayed her mount on gayest wing, and having spread her pinions to the sun, produced the following impromptu. the convalescent. welcome, thou first great gift below, hygeian maid, with rosy glow, thrice welcome to my call. let misers hug their golden store, i envy none the servile ore; to me thou art all in all. thou spring of life, and herald fair, whose charm dispels disease and care, and yields a summer joy, all hail! celestial seraph, hail! thou art the poet's coat of mail, his mirth without alloy. there is a prepossessing something in the life of a sailor which improves the natural attachment of englishmen to every thing nautical; so much so, that i never heard of one in my life who was not, after a single trip, always fond of relating his hair-breadth perils and escapes, and of seizing every opportunity to display his marine knowledge by framing his conversation _ship shape_, and decorating his oratory with a few of those lingual localisms, which to a landsman must be almost unintelligible without the aid of ~ ~~a naval glossary. a fortnight's tuition under the able auspices of my friend horace had brought me into tolerable good trim in this particular; i already knew the difference between fore and aft, a gib, a mainsail, and a mizen;could hand a rope, or let go the foresail upon a tack; and having gained the good opinion of the sailing captain, i was fast acquiring a knowledge how to box the binnacle and steer through the needle's eye. but, my conscience! as the dominie says, i could never learn how to distinguish the different vessels by name, particularly when at a little distance; their build and rigging being to my eye so perfectly similar. in all this, however, my friend horace was as completely at home as if he had studied naval architecture at the college; the first glance of a vessel was quite enough for him: like an old sportsman with the pedigree of a horse or a dog, only let him see her, through his glass head or stern, or upon a lee lurch, and he would hail her directly, specify her qualities and speed, tell you where she was built, and who by, give you the date of her register, owner's name, tonnage, length and breadth of her decks, although to the eye of the uninitiated there was no distinguishing mark about her, the hull being completely black, and the rigging, to a rope, like every other vessel of the same class. "for instance," said horace, "who could possibly mistake that beautiful cutter, the pearl? see how she skims along like a swan with her head up, and stern well under the wind! then, look at her length; there's a bowsprit, my boy! full half the measurement of her hull; and her new mainsail looks large enough to sweep up every breath of wind between the sea and the horizon. then only direct your fore lights to her trim; every rope just where it should be, and not a line too much; and when she fills well with a stiff breeze, not a wrinkle in all her canvas from the gib to the gaff topsail. then observe how she dips in the bows, and what a breadth she ~ ~~has; why she's fit for any seas; and if the arrow ever shoots past her, i'll forfeit every shot in my lockers." "avast there! master horace," said our master at the helm, who was an old cowes pilot, and as bluff as a deal sea-boat; "the pearl is a noble sailer; but a bird can't fly without wings, nor a ship run thirteen knots an hour without a good stiff breeze. if the light winds prevail, the arrow will have the advantage, particularly now she's cutter rigged, and has got the marquis's old mainsail up to take the wind out of his eye." "ay, ay," said horace, "you must tell that story to the marines, old boy; it will never do for the sailors." "mayhap, your honours running right a-head with the pearl, and betting your blunt all one way; but, take an old seaman's advice; may i get no more rest than a dog-vane, or want a good _grego_{ } in a winter's watch, if i don't think you had better keep a good look-out for the wind's changing aft; and be ready to haul in your weather-braces, and bear the back-stays abreast the top-br'im, ere the boatswain's mate pipes the starboard-watch a-hoy." "tush, tush, old fellow," said horace, with whom i found lord anglesey's cutter stood a one at lloyd's. "may my mother sell vinegar, and i stay at home to bottle it off, if i would give a farthing per cent, to be ensured for my whole risk upon the grand match! mind your weather roll, master--belay every inch of that. there now; look out a-head; there's the liberty giving chase to the julia, and the jack-o'lantern weathering the swallow upon every tack. his grace of norfolk won't like that; but a pleasure hack must not be expected to run against a thorough-bred racer. there is but one yawl in the club, and that is the little eliza, that can sail alongside a cutter; but then sir george thomas is a tar for all weathers--a true blue jacket--every thing so snug--cawsand rig--no topmasts--all so square and trim, that nothing of his bulk can a watch-coat. ~ ~~beat him." in this way my friend eglantine very soon perfected me in nautical affairs, or, to use his expression, succeeded in putting a "timber head in the ship;" and the first use i made of my newly acquired information was to pen a _jeu d'esprit_, in the way of a circular in rhyme, inviting the members of the royal yacht club to assemble in cowes-roads. the whim was handed about in ms., and pleased more from its novelty than merit; but as it contains a correct list of the club at this period, and as the object of the english spy is to perpetuate the recollections of his own time, i shall here introduce it to the notice of my readers. a circular, addressed to the members op the royal yacht club. come, lads, bend your sails; o'er the blue waters thronging, in barks like the sea-mew that skims o'er the lave; all you to the royal yacht squadron belonging, come, muster at cowes, for true sport on the wave.{ } first our king,{ } heaven bless him! who's lord of the sea, and delights in the sport of the circling wave, commands you attend him wherever ye be, sons of ocean, ye loyal, ye witty, and brave. here anglesey,{ } waterloo's hero, shall greet ye; the club generally assemble in cowes-roads about the middle of july to commence their aquatic excursions, which are continued until after the regatta in august. his majesty is graciously pleased to honour the club by becoming its patron. the marquis of anglesey is a principal promoter of this truly british sport, and resides with his family at cowes castle during the season. the pearl cutter, tons, and the liberty cutter, tons, are both his property. ~ ~~ the pearl, and the liberty, cutters in trim, the welds { } in the arrow and julia too meet ye, the match for eight hundred affording you whim. here grantham{ } his nautilus, steer'd by old hollis, shall cut through the wave like a beautiful shell; and symonds{ } give chase in the yawl the cornwallis, and webster{ } the scorpion manage right well; and williams{ } the younger, and owen{ } his dad, from the shores of beaumaris have run the gazelle; and craven{ } his may-fly wings o'er like a lad that is used to the ocean, and fond of its swell. come, lads, bear a hand--here's sir george hove in sight, with his little eliza{ } so snug and so trim; tan sails, cawsand rigg'd--for all weather she's tight; you must sail more than well, if you mean to beat him. then steady, boys, steady--here's yarborough's{ } falcon, a very fine ship, but a little too large; and here is a true son of neptune to talk on, vice-admiral hope,{ } k.cb. in his barge. joseph and james welds, esqrs., of southampton, the wealthy and spirited owners of the arrow yawl, tons, and the julia, tons. these gentlemen evince the greatest spirit in challenging and sailing any of the club. lord grantham, nautilus, cutter, tons, a new and very fast sailer. owner vessel class tons capt. j. c. symonds, r.n. adm. cornwallis yawl sir godfrey webster scorpion, cutter t. p. williams, esq., hussar, schooner, and the blue-eyed maid, cutter, owen williams, esq. gazelle cutter earl craven may-fly yawl sir george thomas, bart. eliza yawl lord yarborough commodore falcon ship vice-admiral sir w. johnston hope, k.c.b., who is here in one of the admiralty yachts. ~ ~~ come, lads, spread your canvas for health and for pleasure, for both are combined in this true british sport; come, muster in cowes-roads without further leisure, blue jackets and trowsers for dresses at court. see deerhurst{ } his mary sticks to like a lover, and lindegren's{ }dove wings it over the main; powell's { } briton, 'tis very well known, is a rover, in union the pagets{ }must ever remain; here's smith's { }jack o'lantern and chamberlayne's fairy,{ } earl harborough's{ } ann, and f. pake's rosabelle{ } lord willoughby's { } antelope, penleaze's { }mary, and gauntlet's{ }water-sprite sails very well. come, jolly old curtis,{ } bear up in your emma, eight cheerily laden with turtle and port; and melville{ } set sail if you'd scape the dilemma of being too late for our aquatic sport. see norfolk { }already is here in the swallow, and the don giovanni a challenge has sent, which lyons { } accepts, and intends to beat hollow, that is if the londoner should not repent. owner vessel viscount deerhurst mary j. lindegren, esq. dove. j. b. powell, esq. briton right hon. sir a. paget union t. a. smith, jun. esq. jack o'lantern w. chamberlayne, esq. fairy earl of harborough ann f. pare, esq. rosabelle lord willoughby do broke antelope j. s. penleaze, esq. mary captain j. gauntlet water sprite sir william curtis, bart. rebecca maria, yawl, tons. and emma, schooner, tons. lord melville admiralty yacht duke of norfolk swallow yawl captain edmund lyons (the polar navigator) had just launched the queen mab. ~ ~~ but look, what a crowd of fine yachts are arriving! the elizabeth,{ }unicorn,{ } cygnet,{ } and jane,{ } the eliza, sabrina,{ } madora,{ } all striving to beat one another as coursing the main. a fleet of small too, at anchor are riding; the margaret{ } sapphire,{ } the molly,{ } and hind,{ } the orion,{ } and dormouse{ } and janette{ }abiding the time when each vessel shall covet the wind. then, boys, bend your sails, and weigh for our regatta, we've a sylph?{ and a rambler{ } and a merry maid,{ } a syren{ } a cherub{ } a charlotte{ } and at her a corsair( } who looks as if nothing afraid. here the lord of the isles{ } and freebooter rob roy,{ } by a will o' the wisp{ } are led over the deep; j. fleming, esq. elizabeth h. perkins, esq. unicorn, j. reynolds, esq. cygnet hon. william hare jane james maxie, esq. sâbrina h. hopkins, esq. madora hon. william white margaret james dundas, esq. sapphire lieutenant-colonel harris charming molly capt. herringham, r.n. hind james smith, esq. orion . p. peach, esq. dormouse capt. c. wyndham, r.n. janette r. w. newman, esq. sylph j. h. durand, esq. jolly rambler joseph gulston, esq. merry-maid t. lewin, esq. syren t. challen, esq. cherub john vassall, esq. charlotte corbett, esq. corsair colonel seale lord of the isles w. gaven, esq. rob roy e. h. dolatield, esq. will o' the wisp and the highland lass{ } blushes a welcome of joy, as alongside the wombwell{ } she anchors to sleep. here the donna del lago{ } consorts with rostellan,{ } to the new grove,{ } lord nelson{ } louisa { } attends, galatea{ } runs a harrie{ } in chase of the erin,{ } and here with the club list my circular ends. owner vessel class tons lieut.-gen. mackenzie highland lass yawl t. harman, esq. wombivell cutter s. halliday, esq. lady of die lake yawl marquis of thoruond rostellan schooner john roche, esq. new grove cutter reverend c. a. north lord nelson cutter arch. swinton, esq. louisa yawl c. r. m. talbot, esq. galatea schooner sir r. j. a. kemys harrier schooner t. allen, esq. erin schooner ~ ~~ "a right merrie conceit," said horace, "and a good-humoured jingle that must be gratifying to all mentioned, and will serve as a record of the present list of the yacht club to future times. we must petition the commodore to enter you upon the ship's books as poet-laureate to the squadron: you shall pen lyrics for our annual club-dinner at east cowes, compose sea-chants for our cabin jollifications, sing the praises of our wives and sweethearts, and write a congratulatory ode descriptive of our vessels, crews, and commanders, at the end of every season; and your reward shall be a birth on board any of the fleet when you choose a sail, and a skin-full of grog whenever you like to command it. so come, old fellow, give us a spice of your qualifications for your new office; something descriptive of the science of navigation, from its earliest date to the perfection of a first-rate man of war." ~ ~~ the progress of navigation, an original song; dedicated to the members of the royal yacht club. in the first dawn of science, ere man could unfold the workings of nature, or valued dull gold; ere yet he had ventured to dare ocean's swell, or could say by the moon how the tides rose and fell; a philosopher seated one day on the brink of the silvery margin thus took him to think: "if on this side the waters are girted by land, what controls the wide expanse, i'd fain understand." thus buried in thought had he ponder'd till now, but a beautiful nautilus sail'd to and fro; just then a sly breeze raised the curls from his eyes, and he woke from a dream to extatic surprise. o'er his head a huge oak spread a canopy round, whose trunk being hollow, he levell'd to ground; with a branch form'd a mast, and some matting a sail, and thus rudely equipp'd dared the perilous gale; of the winds and the waves both the mercy and sport, his bark was long tost without guidance to port, and the storms of the ocean went nigh to o'erwhelm, when the tail of the dolphin suggested a helm. ry degrees, the canoe to a cutter became, and order and form newly-moulded the same, ropes, rigging, and canvas, and good cabin room, a bowsprit, a mizen, a gib, and a boom. from the cutter, the schooner, brig, frigate arose; till britons, determined to conquer their foes, built ships like to castles, they call'd men of war, the fame of whose broadsides struck terror afar. now boldly, philosophy aided by skill, bent his course o'er the blue waters sailing at will, but dubious the track, for as yet 'twas unknown how to steer 'twixt the poles for a north or south zone, ~ ~~ till the magnet's attraction, by accident found, taught man how the globe he could traverse around; new worlds brought to light, and new people to view, and by commerce connected turk, christian, and jew. all this while, father neptune lay snug in his bed, till he heard a sad riot commence o'er his head, folks firing, and fighting, and sailing about, when his godship popp'd up just to witness the rout; it happen'd in one of those actions to be when europe combined fought the isle of the sea, and, as usual, were conquer'd, sunk, fired, or run, that old neptune acknowledged each briton his son. "from this time," said his godship, "henceforth, be it known, little england's the spot for the ocean-king's throne; and this charter i grant, and enrol my decree, that my brave sons, the britons, are lords of the sea." "there's nothing like a good song," said horace, "for conveying information on nautical subjects, or promoting that national spirit which is the pride and glory of our isle. i question if the country are not more indebted to old charles dibdin for his patriotic effusions during the late war, than to all the psalm-singing admirals and chaplains of the fleet put together. i know that crab gambier, and the methodist privateers who press all sail to pick up a deserter from the orthodox squadron, do a great deal of mischief among our seamen; for as corporal trim says, 'what time has a sailor to palaver about creeds when it blows great guns, or the enemies of his country heave in sight? a sailor's religion is to perform his duty aloft and do good below; honour his king, love his girl, obey his commander, and burn, sink, and destroy the foes of his country.' here we have an occasional exhibition of this sort on board the depot vessel in the harbour, when the _bethel_ flag ~ ~~is hoisted, and the voice of the puritan is heard from east cowes to eaglehurst; as if there were not already conventicles enough on shore for those who are disposed to separate themselves from the established church, without the aid of a floating chapel, furnished by the government agent to subvert the present order of things. on this point, you know, i was always a liberal thinker, but a firm friend to the church, as being essential to the best interests of the state. an old college chum of ours, who has been unusually fortunate in obtaining ecclesiastical preferment, thought proper to send me a friendly lecture in one of his letters the other day on this subject, to which i returned the following answer, and put an end to his scruples, as i think, for ever: i have entitled it the universalist. 'to a friend who questioned the propriety of his religious opinions. 'you ask what creed is mine? and where i seek the lord in holy prayer? what sect i follow? by what rule, perhaps you mean, i play the fool? i answer, none; yet gladly own i worship god, but god alone. no pious fraud or monkish lies shall teach me others to despise; whate'er their creed, i love them all, so they before their maker fall. the sage, the savage, and refined, on this one point are equal blind: shall man, the creature of an hour, arraign the all-creative power? or, by smooth chin, or beard unshaved, decree who shall or not be saved? presumptuous priests, in silk and lawn, may lib'ral minds denounce with scorn; the reason's clear--remove the veil, their trade and interest both must fail. ~ i hold that being worse than blind, where bigotry usurps the mind; and more abhor him who for pelf, denouncing others, damns himself. look round, observe creation's work, from afric's savage to the turk; through polish'd europe turn your eye, to where the sun of liberty on western shores illumes the wave, that flows o'er many a patriot's grave; as varied as their skin's the creed, by which they hope they shall succeed in presence of their god, to prove their claim to his eternal love; a claim that must and will have weight, no matter what their creed or state. by modes of faith let none presume to fix his fellow-creature's doom.'" "a truce with religion, horace," said i; "it is a controversy that generally ends in making friends foes, and foes the most implacable of persecutors: with the one it shuts out all hope of reconciliation, with the other breeds a war of extermination; so come, lad, leave theology to the fathers--we that have liberal souls tolerate all creeds. more hollands, steward: here's a glass to all our college acquaintance, not forgetting grandmamma and the pretty nuns of saint clement's. where the deuce is all that singing we hear above, steward?" "on board the transport, your honour." "ay, i remember, i saw the poor devils embark this morning, and a doleful sight it was--one hundred of my fellow-creatures, in the prime of life, consigned to an early grave, transported to the pestilential climate of sierre leone: inquire for them three months hence, and you shall find them--not where they will find you--but where whole regiments of their predecessors have been sacrificed, on the unhealthy shores--victims to the false policy of holding what is worse than useless, and of enslaving the original owners of the soil. ~ ~~liquor, and the reflection of their desperate fortunes, have driven them mad, and now they give vent to their feelings in a forced torrent of wild mirth, in which they would bury the recollections of those they are parted from for ever. on the beach this morning i witnessed a most distressing scene: wives separated by force from their husbands, and children torn from the fond embraces of parents whose parting sighs were all they could yield them on this side the grave. 'push off the boat, and, officer, see that no women are permitted on board,' said the superintending lieutenant of the depot, with a voice and manner hard and unfeeling as the iron oracle of authority. my heart sickened at the sight, and the thrilling scream of a widowed wife, as she fell senseless on the causeway, created an impression that my pitying muse could not resist recording. 'the soldier's wipe. 'there's a pang which no pencil nor pen can express, a heart-broken sigh which despondency breathes, when the soul, overcharged with oppressive distress, of the tear of relief the sad bosom bereaves. 'twas thus on the shore, like a statue of grief, the wife of the soldier her babe fondly press'd; not a word could she utter, no tear gave relief, but sorrow convulsively heaved her soft breast. now nearer she presses--now severed for life the waves bear the lord of her bosom from view; distraction suspends the red current of life, and she sinks on the beach as he sighs out adieu.'" "zounds, old fellow, how sentimental you are growing!" said horace: "you must read these pathetic pieces to the marines; they will never do for the sailors. here, steward, bear a hand, muster the crew aft, and let us have a tune, jack's alive, malbrook, or the college hornpipe;" an order that was quickly carried into execution, as most of the ~ ~~men on board i found played some wind instrument, the effect of which upon the stillness of the water was enchantingly sweet. during the occasional rests of the band, horace sung one of those delightful melodies, written in imitation of moore, for which he was celebrated when a boy at eton. the evening tide. tune--" the young may moon." whither so fast away, my dear? the star of eve is bright and clear, and the parting day, as it fades away, to lovers brings delight, my dear: then 'neath night's spangled veil, my dear, come list t' the young heart's tale sincere; yon orb of light, so chaste and bright, love's magic yields within her sphere. then through the shady grove, my love, let's wander with the cooing dove, till the starry night, to morning's light, shall break upon our wooing, love. as life's young dream shall pass, my love, together let us gaily row, and day by day, in sportive play, enjoy life's meeting gloss, my love. [illustration: page ] it was on one of those warm evenings in the month of july, when scarcely a zephyr played upon the wanton wave, and the red sun had sunk to rest behind the castle turrets, giving full promise of another sultry day, that our little band had attracted a more than usual display of promenaders on the walk extending from the fort point to the marine hotel. with the report of the evening gun, or, as horace termed it, the _admiral's grog bell_, we had quitted the cabin, and mustering our little party upon deck, suffered the rover to drift nearer in shore with the tide, that we might enjoy the gratifying spectacle of more closely observing the young, the beautiful, and the ~ ~~accomplished _elegantes_ who traversed to and fro upon the beach to catch the soft whispers of the saline air. at the castle causeway a boat had just landed a group of beautiful children, who appeared clinging round a tall well-formed man, in a blue jacket and white trowsers, resting a hand upon each of two fine boys dressed in a similar style: he walked on, with a slight affection of lameness, towards the castle entrance, preceded by three lovely little female fairies, who gambolled in his path like sportive zephyrs.--"there moves one of the bravest men, and best of fathers, in his majesty's dominions," said horace--"the commander of the pearl." "what," said i, "the marquis of anglesey?" "the same--who here seeks retirement in the bosom of his family, and without ostentation enjoys a pleasure, which, in its pursuit, produces permanent advantage to many, and enables others, his friends and relations, to participate with him in his amusements. we are much indebted to the marquis for the promotion of this truly british sport, who with his brothers, sir charles and sir arthur, were among the first members of the royal yacht club. the group of blue jackets to the left, whom the marquis recognised as he passed, consist of that merry fellow, sir godfrey webster, who lias a noble yacht here, the scorpion; the commander of the sabrina, james manse, esq. another jovial soul; the two williams's, father and son, who have both fine yachts in our roads; sir charles sullivan; and the polar navigator, captain lyons, who has just launched a beautiful little boat called the queen mab, with whom he means to bewitch the don giovanni of london." "who is that interesting female leaning over the railings in front of the gothic house, attended by a dark pensive-looking swain, with a very intelligent countenance? methinks there is an air of style about the pair that speaks nobility; and yet i have observed ~ ~~they appear too fond of each other's society to be fashionables." "that is the delightful lady f. l. gower and her lord: i thought you would have recognised that star instantly, from the splendid picture of her by lawrence, which hangs in the stafford gallery at cleveland-house. the elegant group pacing the lawn in front of the castellated mansion, on this side of lord gower, is the amiable countess of craven and her family: the earl, that generous and once merry-hearted soul, i lament to hear, is a victim to the gout; but it is hoped a few trips on board the may-fly will restore him to health, and the enjoyment of his favourite pursuit." "by my soul, horace," said i, "here comes a splendid creature, a very divinity, my boy: i' faith just such a woman as might melt the heart of a corsair." "by my honour you have hit the mark exactly," replied eglantine, "for she is already the corsair's bride, and corbett feels, as he ought to do, not a little proud of his good fortune. the raven-haired graces accompanying that true son of neptune, sir george thomas, are daughters of the baronet, and, report says, very accomplished girls. now by all that's fascinating and charming, hither comes the beautiful miss seymour, mrs. fitzherbert's _protégé_, and his majesty's little pet--an appellation i have often heard him salute her by. the magnificent-looking belle by her side is a relation, the charming mrs. seymour, acknowledged to be a star of the first magnitude in female attractions. the three portly-looking gentlemen whose grog-blossomed visages speak their love of the good things of this world are the admirals scott and hope, and that facetious of all funny senators, sir isaac coffin. if you are an admirer of the soft and the sentimental, of the love-enkindling eye, and madonna-like expression of countenance, observe that band of arcadian shepherdesses in speckled dresses yonder--bristol diamonds of the first and purest ~ ~~water, i assure you; and their respected father, the wealthy proprietor of miles's-court, bristol, may well be delighted with his amiable and beauteous daughters. the little dapper-looking man in the white hat yonder is the liberal, good-tempered duke of norfolk; and the dashing _roué_ by his side, the legitimate heir to his title, is the earl of surrey, whose son, the young baron of mowbray, follows hand in hand with captain wollaston, an old man-of-war's man, who sails the swallow cutter. the female group assembled in front of the king's-house are the minor constellations from east cowes, and the congregated mixture of oddities who grace the balconies of the pavilion boarding-house comprise every grade of society from the oxford invalid to the retired shopkeeper, the messieurs _newcomes_ of the island." "a rich subject for a more extended notice," said i, "when on some future occasion i visit margate or brighton, where the diversity of character will be more numerous, varied, and eccentric than in this sequestered spot." as the evening advanced, the blue-eyed maid of heaven spread forth her silvery light across the glassy surface of the deep, yielding a magic power to the soul-inspiring scene, and, by reflection, doubling the objects on the sea, whose translucent bosom scarcely heaved a sigh, or murmured forth a ripple on the ear; and now, amid the stillness of the night, we were suddenly amused with the deep-sounding notes of the key-bugle reverberating over the blue waters with most harmonious effect. "we are indebted to that mad wag, ricketts, for this unexpected pleasure," said horace; "he is an amateur performer of no mean talent, and delights in surprising the visitors in this agreeable manner." "rover, a-hoy," hailed a voice from the shore; off went our boat, and on its return brought an accession to our party of half a dozen right merry fellows, among whom was that choice spirit, henry day, whose facetious powers of oratory and whim are ~ ~~universally esteemed, and have often afforded us amusement, when enjoying an evening among the eccentrics of london and the brilliants of the press, who assemble for social purposes at the wrekin. the days are too well known and respected as a family of long standing in the island to require the eulogy of the english spy, but to acknowledge their hospitality and kindness he penned the following tribute ere he quitted the shores of vectis. love, law, and physic. in vectis' isle three happy days by any may be seen: first, james, who loves by social ways to animate mirth's scene; an honest lawyer, henry, next with speech and bottle plies you; and when by fell disease perplex'd, charles physics and revives you. "love, law, and physic," here combine to claim the poet's praise: may fortune's sunbeams ever shine on three such worthy days. a few more songs and a few more grogs brought on the hour of ten; and now our friends having departed to their homes, horace and myself took a turn or two upon deck, smoked out our cigars, conjured up the reminiscences of our school-boy days, and having spent a few moments in admiration of the starry canopy which spread its spangled brightness over our heads, we sought again the cabin, drank a parting glass to old friends, turned into our births, and soon were cradled by the motion of the vessel into sweet repose. the events of the former evening, the novelty of the scene, and, above all, the magnificence of nature, as she appeared when viewed from sea, in her diurnal progress through the transition ~ ~~of morning, noon, and night, all inspired my muse to attempt poetic sketches of the character of the surrounding island scenery. a delightful pleasure i have endeavoured to convey to my readers in the following rhymes. morning in the isle of wight. when o'er the foreland glimmering day just breaks above the eastern lulls, and streaks of gold through misty gray dispels night's dark and vap'rous chills; then, when the landsman 'gins to mow the perfumed crop on grounds above, and sailors chant the "yeo, heave yeo," then young hearts wake to life and love. when still and slow the murmuring swell of ocean, rising from his throne, o'erleaps the beach, and matin's bell to prayer invites the college drone; then, when the pennant floats on high, and anchor's weigh'd again to rove, and tuneful larks ascend the sky, then young hearts wake to life and love. when, by unerring nature's power, creation breaks the spell of night, and plants their leaves expand and flow'r, and all around breathes gay delight; then when the herdsman opes his fold to let the merry lambkin rove, and distant hills are tipt with gold, then young hearts wake to life and love, ~ ~~ noon in the isle of wight. when toiling 'neath meridian sun the boatman plies the lab'ring oar, and sportive nymphs the margin shun of ocean's pebble-parched shore; then when beneath some shadowy cliff, o'er-hanging wood, or leafy vale, the trav'ller rests, haul'd up the skiff, then lovers breathe their am'rous tale. when nature, languid, seems to rest, nor moves a leaf, or heaves a wave, and zephyrs sleep, by sol caress'd, and sportive swallows skim the lave; then, when by early toil oppress'd, the peasant seeks the glen or dale, enjoys his frugal meal and rest, then lovers breathe their am'rous tale. when close beneath the forest's pride the upland's group of cattle throng, and sultry heat dissevers wide the feather'd host of tuneful song; then when a still, dead, settled calm o'er earth, and air, and sea prevail, and lull'd is ev'ry spicy balm, then lovers breathe their am'rous tale. ~ ~~ evening in the isle of wight. when twilight tints with sober gray the distant hills, and o'er the wave the mellow glow of parting day crimsons the shipwreck'd sailor's grave; then when the sea-bird seeks the mast, and signal lights illume the tower, and sails are furl'd, and anchors cast, then, then is love's delicious hour. when o'er the beach the rippling wave breaks gently, heaving to and fro, like maiden bosoms, ere the knave of hearts has ting'd their cheek with woe; then, when the watch their vigils keep, and grog, and song, and jest have power to laugh to scorn the peril'd deep, then, then is love's delicious hour. when cynthia sheds her mystic light in silv'ry circles o'er the main; and hecate spreads her veil of night o'er hearts that ne'er may meet again; then, anna, blest with thee, i stray 'mid scenes of bliss--through nature's bower; while eve's star guides us on our way, then, then is love's delicious hour. it has often been observed by inquisitive travellers, that in most of our country villages not only the three best houses are inhabited by the lawyer, the parson, and the doctor, but three-fourths of the whole property of the place is generally monopolized by the same disinterested triumvirate: however true the satire ~ ~~may be in a general sense, it certainly does not apply to cowes, where the liberal professions are really practised by liberal minds, and where the desire to do good outweighs the desire to grow rich. but the good people of cowes are not without their nabobs; for instance, the eastern shores of the river are under the dominion of lord henry seymour and mr. nash, who there rule over their humble tenantry with mild paternal sway. on the western side, the absolute lords of the soil are messrs. bennett and ward: the first, like other great landed proprietors, almost always an absentee; and the last somewhat greedy to grapple at every thing within his reach. "who does that fine park and mansion belong to?" said a stranger, surveying northwood from the summit of the hill. "king george," replied the islander. "and who owns the steam-boats, which i now see arriving?" "king george," reiterated the fellow. "and who is the largest proprietor of the surrounding country?" "king george." "indeed!" said the stranger, "i was not aware that the crown lands were so extensive in the wight. have you much game?" "ees, ees." "and who is the lord of the manor?" "king george." "and these new roads i see forming, are they also done by king george?" "ees, ees, he ought to gi' us a few new ones, i think; bekase ize zure he's stopped up enou of our old ones." "what, by some new inclosure act, i suppose?" "naye, naye, by some old foreclosure acts, i expect." "why, you do not mean to say that our gracious sovereign is a money-lender and mortgagee?" "no; but our ungracious king be the', and a money-maker too." "fellow, take care; you are committing treason against the lord's anointed." "ees, ees, he be a 'nointed one, zure enou," retorted the fellow, laughing outright in the traveller's face. "sirrah," said the offended stranger, "i shall have you taken before a justice." "ees, ees, ize heard o' them ere chaps at east cowes, but ize ~ ~~not much respect for 'em." "not care for the magistrate!" "lord love you,--you be one of the mr. newcome, ize warrant me; why, we've gotten no zuch animal here, nothing o' sort nearer as newport; and lawyer day can out-talk the best of them there, whenever he likes." "there must be some mistake here," said the stranger, cooling a little of his choler: "did you not tell me, fellow, that the king of england owned all the land here, and the steam-boats, and the manor, and the town, and the people, and-----------." "hold, hold thee there," said the islander; "i said, king george; and here he comes, in his four-wheeled calabash, and before he undertakes to give us any more new roads, i wish he'd set about mending his own queer ways" however strong the current of prejudice may run against squire ward in the island, among a few of the less wealthy residents, it must be admitted, that he is hospitable even to a proverb, a sincere and persevering friend, and a liberal master to his tenantry: the christmas festivities at northwood, when the poor are plentifully regaled with excellent cheer, smacks of a good old english custom, that shall confer upon the donor lasting praise, and hand down his name to posterity with better chance of grateful remembrance than all his mine of wealth can purchase; there are some well authenticated anecdotes in circulation of george ward, which prove that he has, with all his eccentricities, "a tear for pity, and a hand, open as day, to melting charity." to his enterprising spirit cowes is indebted for much of its present popularity, the facility of travelling to and from the island being greatly aided by the steamboats (his property) from portsmouth and southampton; but much yet remains to be done by the inhabitants themselves, if they wish to secure their present high partronage, and increase with succeeding seasons the number of their visitors. the promenade, admirably situate for the enjoyment of the sea ~ ~~breeze, and the delightful spectacle of a picturesque harbour filled with a forest of beautiful pleasure yachts, is of an evening generally obstructed by the assemblage of a juvenile band of both sexes, of the very lowest description, who render it utterly impossible for the delicate ear of female propriety to hazard coming in contact with their boisterous vulgarities. the beautiful walk round the castle battery is wholly usurped by this congregated mass of rabble; and yet the appointment of a peace-officer, a useful animal i never once saw at cowes, would remove the objection, and preserve a right of way and good order among the crowd that would at least render it safe, if not pleasant, to traverse the extended shore. the visit of their royal highnesses the duke and duchess of cambridge to john nash, esq. the eminent architect, at east cowes castle, gave a new lustre to the enchanting scene, and afforded the english spy a favourable opportunity for completing his sketches of the scenery and character of the island. among the festivities which the presence of the royal visitors gave birth to, the most attractive and delightful was the grand _déjeuné a la fourchette_, given at st. lawrence by the commodore of the yacht club, the right honourable lord yarborough. the invitations to meet the royal party were very general, including all of note and respectability on the island, and extending to the number of six hundred persons, for whom a most liberal and princely banquet was prepared upon the lawn of a delightful cottage, near his seat of appuldurcombe. the spot selected for this entertainment was situated under a bold line of cliffs, extending in a semicircular form for above a mile in length, and inclosing one of the most romantic of nature's variegated scenes, abounding with hill, and dale, and rich umbrageous foliage, delightfully increased by the inspiring freshness of the sea breeze, and the unbroken view of the channel in front, and ~ ~~rendered still more attractive and picturesque by the numerous tents and temporary pavilions which had been erected for the accommodation of the visitors, spreading over a line of ground like an encampment in the pyrenees, a similitude of feature that was more powerfully increased when the well-concerted echo of the signal bugles resounded from hill to hill, and the cannon's loud report, from the battery beneath, reverberating through the surrounding hill and dale, proclaimed for many a mile the gladsome tidings of the approach of royalty. the scene was, beyond description, magnificent; the assemblage of fashionables included a long list of noble and distinguished persons, who, on the approach of the duke and duchess, congregated upon an eminence, immediately opposite the entrance to the lawn, and by their loyal cheers, and smiles, and birthday suits, gave honest welcome to their monarch's brother, and in the fulness of their hearty zeal, paid a grateful tribute to their absent king. the ungenial state of the morning's weather had prevented many of the yachts from coming round, but a few jolly hearts had weathered the needles, and displayed their loyalty by decorating their vessels with all the colours of all the nations of the world. at an appointed signal the tents were thrown open, and the royal party having retired to the pavilion, the company sat down to an entertainment, where a profusion of choice wines and viands covered the extended line; then commenced the interchange of bright eyes and soft sayings, and the rosy blush of maiden beauty tinged the cheek of many a sylphic form as the accomplished beau challenged the fair to wine with him, and many a heart from that day's sportive scene shall date the first impression of the soveieign passion which blends with life's red current all of happiness or misery here below. the repast over, the company again met the royal party and promenaded on the lawn, and while thus ~ ~~engaged, a new delight was prepared for them--a scene not less congenial than peculiar to the english character, and one which may well uplift that honest pride of country which ever animates a briton's heart. the tables being again replenished, the peasantry of the surrounding districts were admitted and regaled with unrestricted hospitality. and round the gay board cheerful industry shone, in a pureness and brightness to wealth oft unknown; 'twas a feast where a monarch might wish to preside, for the cottager's comfort's his country's pride; and benevolence smiled on the heart-moving scene, and music and beauty enlivened the green, while the labourer, gratefully raising the glass, gave his king, then his donor, his dame, and his lass. the commodore's liberality is proverbial; he had sold his old yacht, the falcon, and the new vessel was not likely to be launched this season, yet he would not forego the pleasure of a grand fête, and as it could not be given on board his own ship, according to annual custom, he seized upon this opportunity of the royal visit to unite loyalty and friendship under one banner, and it must be recorded, that he displayed an excellence of arrangement which left no wish ungratified. an excursion round the island, sailing in a westerly direction, is one of most delightful amusement to a lover of the picturesque; the circuit is nearly eighty miles, every where presenting new features of the most beautiful variety and romantic scenery, a voyage we made in the rover in about eight hours. clearing sconce point, which is the first object worthy notice from cowes, you perceive the cottage, battery, and residence of captain farrington on the rise of the hill, and beyond are gurnet and harness bays closely succeeding one another, the shores above being well diversified with foliage and richly cultivated grounds. from this station the coast gradually sinks towards newtown river, where the luxuriant woods of swainton are perceived rising in the distance, crowned by ~ ~~shalfleet church and a rich country as far as calbourne, the landscape bounded by a range of downs which stretch to the extremity of the island. the coast at hamsted, the farm estate of john nash, esq. presents a very bold outline, and approaching yarmouth, which has all the appearance of an ancient french fort, the view of the opposite point, called norton, is very picturesque, presenting a well-wooded promontory, adorned with numerous elegant residences; from this spot the coast begins to assume a very bold, but sterile aspect, composed of steep rugged slopes, and dull-coloured earthy cliffs, till the attention of the voyager is suddenly arrested by the first view of the needle rocks, situate at the termination of a noble promontory called freshwater cliffs, which extend along a line of nearly three miles, and at a part called mainbench are six hundred feet above the sea level, in some places perpendicular, and in others overhanging the ocean in a most terrific manner; at the extreme point, or needles, is the light-house, where the view of the bays and cliffs beneath is beyond description awfully sublime, and the precipices being covered with myriads of sea-fowl of all description, who breed in the crannies of the rocks, if called into action by the report of a gun fill the air with screams and cries of most appalling import; the grandeur of the scene being much increased by the singularly majestic appearance of the needle rocks, rearing their craggy heads above the ocean, and giving an awful impression of the storms and convulsions which must have shaken and devoured this once enormous mass. their present form bears no resemblance to their name, which was derived from a spiral rock, about one hundred and twenty feet high, that fell in the year , and left the present fragments of its grandeur to moulder away, like the base of some proud column of antiquity. on the opposite coast is hurst castle, a circular fort, built by henry ~ ~~the eighth; and on the north side of the promontory is alum bay, the most beautiful and unique feature of the sea cliffs of albion. for about a quarter of a mile from the needles the precipice is one entire glare of white chalk, which curves round to, and is joined by a most extraordinary mixture of vertical strata, composed of coloured sands and ocherous earths blending into every variety of tint, and so vivid and beautiful in colour, that they have been not unfrequently compared to the prismatic hues of the rainbow. it was on this spot the fomone, a frigate of fifty guns, returning home, after an absence of three years, with some persian princes on board, in june, , struck upon the rocks and went to pieces: the appearance of a wreck, in such an extraordinary situation, must have formed a combination of grand materials for the painter, that would be truly sublime. at saint catherine's, in the cliffs, is the gloomy ravine called blackgang chine, which should be visited by the traveller at sunset, when the depth of shade materially increases the savage grandeur of its stupendous and terrific effect. tradition reports, that the awful chasm beneath was formerly the retreat of a gang of pirates, from which it derived its name. the total absence of vegetation, and the dusky hue of the soil, combined with the obvious appearance of constant decay, the dismembered fragments, and the streamlet to which it owes its origin, falling perpendicularly over a ledge of hard rock from above seventy feet high, producing a wild echo in the cavity beneath, all conspire to render it the most striking and astonishing of nature's wildest works. the view off the sand rock presents the tasteful marine villas of sir willoughby gordon and mrs. arnold, whose well-cultivated grounds and rich plantations reach down to the sea shore. saint lawrence brings to view the romantic cottage of lord yarborough, succeeded by steep hill, the lovely retreat of the late earl dysart; ~ ~~the romantic flank of saint boniface down, and in the distance the fairy land of bonchurch, whose enchanting prospects and picturesque scenery have so often called forth the varied powers of the painter and the poet, where sportive nature, clothed in her gayest vest, presents a diversified landscape, abounding with all the delightful combinations of rural scenery, of rich groves, and dells, and meads of green, and rocks, and rising grounds; streams edged with osiers, and the lowing herd spread over the luxuriant land. as you approach east end, you perceive an extensive scene of devastation, caused by the frequent landslips near to luccombe chine, and the romantic chasm of shanklin, from which spot sandown comes next in view, and sailing under the towering culver cliffs we arrive at the eastern extremity of the island. at bimbridge a very dangerous ledge spreads out into the sea, and gaining brading haven the old church tower of saint helen's proclaims you are fast gaining upon that delightful watering-place, the town of ryde, whose picturesque pier, shooting forth into the ocean, and covered with groups of elegant visitors, forms an object of the most pleasing description. from this point the whole line of coast to cowes wears a rich and highly-cultivated appearance, being divided into wood, arable, and pasture lands, diversified by the villas of earl spencer, mr. g. player, and mr. fleming, when, having passed wooten creek, the next object is norris castle; and now, having cleared the point, you are once more landed in safety at the vine key, and my old friend, mrs. harrington, whose pleasant countenance, obliging manners, and good accommodation, are the universal theme of every traveller's praise, has already made her best curtsy to welcome you back to cowes. the regatta was, indeed, a glorious scene, when the harbour was literally filled with a forest of masts and streamers, the vessels of the royal yacht ~ ~~club spread forth their milk white canvas to the gale, many of those who were riding at anchor being decorated from head to stem, over-mast, with the signal colours of most of the squadron and the ensigns of the different nations. on the shore, and round the castle battery, the congregated groups of lovely females traversed to and fro, and the witchery of blight eyes and beauteous faces upon the manly hearts of the sons of neptune must have been magically triumphant. the pearl beat the arrow, and the julia the liberty,--thus equalizing the victory between the contending parties. the procession of the pilot boats, about forty in number, was a very animated scene; and in the sailing match of the succeeding day, our little craft, the rover, came in second, and received the awarded prize. the race ball at east cowes gave the young and fair another opportunity of riveting their suitors' chains, and the revels of terpsichore were kept up with spirit until the streaking blush of golden morn shone through the dusky veil which hecate spreads around the couch of drowsy night. but the day of parting was at hand; the last amusement of the time was a match made between captain lyon and a mr. davey, of london, to sail their respective yachts, the queen mab and the don giovanni, upon the challenge of the last mentioned, a stipulated distance, for a sum of two hundred guineas--an affair which did not, to use a sporting phrase, _come off well_, for the don most ungallantly refused to meet his fair opponent; and being wofully depressed in spirits, either from apprehension of defeat, or sea sickness, or some such fresh water fears, the little queen was compelled to sail over the course alone to claim the reward of her victory. and now the sports of the season being brought to a conclusion, and the rough note of old boreas and the angry groanings of father neptune giving token of approaching storms, i bade farewell to vectis, my ~ ~~friend horace transporting me in his yacht to southampton water. reader, if i should appear somewhat prolix in my descriptions, take a tour yourself to the island, visit the delightful scenery with which it abounds, participate in the aquatic excursions of the place, and meet, as i have done, with social friends, and kind hearts, and lovely forms, and your own delightful feelings will be my excuse for extending my notice somewhat beyond my usual sketchy style. farewell to vectis. blest isle, fare thee well! land of pleasure and peace, may the beaux and the belles on thy shores still increase: how oft shall my spirit, by absence opprest, revisit thy scenes, and in fancy be blest, in the magic of slumber still sport on thy wave, and dream of delights that i waken to crave. farewell, merry hearts! fare ye well, social friends! adieu! see the rover her canvas unbends; land of all that is lovely for painting or verse, farewell! ere in distance thy beauties disperse, now calshot is passed, now receding from view, once more, happy vectis, a long, last adieu. [illustration: page ] portsmouth in time of peace. ~ ~~ where now are the frolicsome care-killing souls, with their girls and their fiddlers, their dances and bowls? where now are the blue jackets, once on our shore the promoters of merriment, spending their store? where now are our tars in these dull piping times? laid up like old hulks, or enlisted in climes where the struggle for liberty calls on the brave, the peruvians, the greeks, or brazilians to save from the yoke of oppression--there, britons are found dealing death and destruction to tyrants around; for wherever our tars rear the banner of fame, they are still the victorious sons of the main. a trip to portsmouth on board the medina steam-boat--the change from war to peace--its consequences--the portsmouth greys--the man of war's man--tom tackle and his shipmate-- lamentation of a tar--the hero cochrane--an old acquaintance--reminiscences of the past--sketches of point- street and gosport beach--naval anecdotes--"a man's like a ship on the ocean of life." "bear a hand, old fellow!" said horace eglantine one morning, coming down the companion hatchway of the rover: "if you have any mind for a land-cruise, let us make portsmouth to-day on board the steamer, while our yacht goes up the harbour to get her copper polished and her rigging overhauled." in earlier days, while yet the light-heartedness of youth ~ ~~and active curiosity excited my boyish spirit, i had visited portsmouth, and the recollection of the scenes i then witnessed was still fresh upon my memory. the olive-branch of peace now waved over the land of my fathers; and while the internal state of the country, benefited by its healing balm, flourished, revived, invigorated and prosperous, portsmouth and gosport, and such like sea-ports, were almost deserted, and the active bustle and variety which but now reigned among their inhabitants had given way to desolation and abandonment: at least such was the account i had received from recent visitors. i was, therefore, anxious from observation to compare the present with the past; and, with this view, readily met the invitation of my friend horace eglantine. the voyage from cowes to portsmouth on board the steam-boat, performed, as it now is, with certainty, in about an hour and a half, is a delightful excursion; and the appearance of the entrance to the harbour from sea, a most picturesque and imposing scene. the fortifications, which are considered the most complete in the world, stretching from east to west, on either side command the sea far as the cannons' power can reach. nor is the harbour less attractive, flanked on each side by the towns of gosport and portsmouth, and filled with every description of vessel from the flag-ship of england's immortal hero, nelson, which is here moored in the centre, a monument of past glory, to the small craft of the trader, and the more humble ferry-boat of the incessant applicant, who plys the passenger with his eternal note of "common hard, your honour." one of my companions on board the medina was an old man of war's man, whose visage, something of the colour and hardness of dried salmon, sufficiently indicated that the possessor had weathered many a trying gale, and was familiar with all the vicissitudes of the mighty deep. with the habitual roughness of ~ ~~his manners was combined a singular degree of intelligence, and he evinced a disposition to be communicative, of which i found it very agreeable to avail myself. on approaching the harbour, my attention was arrested by the sight of a number of boats rowed by men arrayed in a grotesque uniform of speckled jackets, whose freights, to judge from appearances, must have been of no common weight, as the rowers seemed compelled to use a degree of exertion little inferior to that employed by galley-slaves. i inquired of my nautical mentor who these men were, and in what description of service they were occupied. "them, master," replied he, releasing the quid from his mouth, and looking with his weather-eye unutterable things; "they are the _portsmouth greys_." my countenance spoke plainly enough that this reply had by no means made me _au fait_ to the subject of my question, and my informant accordingly proceeded--"shiver my timbers, mate, they are as rum a set, them boat's crews, as ever pulled an oar--chaps as the public keeps out of their own pocket for the public good; and it's been but just a slip, as one may say, between the cup and the lip, as has saved a good many on 'em from being run up to the yard-arm. some on 'em forgot to return things as they _found_ rather too easy, and some, instead of writing their own name, _by mistake_ wrote somebody's else's; so government sent 'em here, at its own charge, to finish their _edication_. you see the _floating academy_ as is kept a purpose for 'em," said he, pointing to the receiving-hulk for the convicts at this station, which was lying in the harbour: "them as is rowing in the boats," added the talkative seaman, "has been a getting stones, and ballast, and such like, for the repairs of the harbour; they does all the rough and dirty jobs as is to be done about the works and place--indeed, we calls 'em the _port admiral's skippers_." i now fully understood the import of the term _portsmouth greys_, which had before been an enigma to ~ ~~me; and comprehended that the unhappy beings before me were of the ill-fated children of suff'ring and sin, with conscience reproaching and sorrow within; bosoms that mis'ry and guilt could not sever, hearts that were blighted and broken for ever: where each, to some vice or vile passion a slave, shared the wreck of the mind, and the spirit's young grave. whose brief hist'ry of life, ere attain'd to its prime, unfolded a volume of madness and crime, such as leaves on the forehead of manhood a stain which tears over shed seek to blot out in vain; a stain which as long as existence will last, embitt'ring the future with thoughts of the past. i might have indulged much longer in these reflections, but my musing mood was interrupted by the medina reaching her destination, and we disembarked safely at portsmouth point. [illustration: page ] on landing, the worthy veteran, who had, by his confabulation during the voyage, claimed, in his own opinion, a right of becoming my companion for a time, a privilege which, in such a scene, and at such a place, it will easily be believed i was not averse from granting him, proceeded along with me _carpere iter comités parati_, up point street, and at one of the turnings my friend made a sudden stop. "my eyes!" he exclaimed, "may i perish, but that is my old messmate, tom tackle. many's the can of flip we've scuttled while on board the _leander_ frigate together; and when we were obliged to part convoy and go on board different ships, there was above a little matter of brine about both our eyes." at this moment tom tackle came up with us: the warmth of affection with which his old shipmate had spoken of him had interested me not a little in his favour, and his mutilated frame spoke volumes in behalf of the gallantry he had displayed in the service of his country. one eye was entirely ~ ~~lost; one coat-sleeve hung armless by his side; and one vanished leg had its place superseded by a wooden substitute. i gazed upon the "unfortunate brave" with mingled pity and veneration; yet, so true is the observation of the ancient, "_res sunt humanæ flobilo ludibrium_" that is, human feelings and affairs are a singular compound of the ludicrous and the lamentable, that i could not avoid giving way to my mercurial disposition, and congratulating my fellow-voyager on the ease with which he had recognized his old comrade by his present remaining half. "lord help your honour!" said he, "a seaman's weather-gauge is made for squalls--foul weather or fair--in stays or out of trim--sailing all right before the wind, or coming up under jury-masts; he's no tar that cannot make out an old friend at a cable's length, and bring to without waiting for signals of distress. shiver my timbers, if i should not know my old messmate here while there's a timber rib left in his hulk, or a shoulder-boom to hang a blue jacket on. but, my toplights, tom!" continued he, "where's all the girls, and the tiddlers, and the jews, and bumboat-women that used to crowd all sail to pick up a spare hand ashore? not a shark have i seen in the harbour, and all the old grog-shops with their foul-weather battens up and colours half-mast." "all in mourning for mr. nap, shipmate," said tom; "we've had no fun here since they cooped him up on board the bellerophon, and stowed him away at st. helena. all the jews have cut and run, and all the bumboat-women retired upon their fortunes; the poor landlords are most of them in the bilboes at winchester: and as for a pretty girl--whew!--not such an article to be had at point now, either for love or money: and all this comes of the peace--shiver my odd forelight! mate, if it lasts much longer, it will be the ruin of the navy. ~ ~~~how i long to hear the sound of the boatswain's whistle once more! 'up hammocks, boys--clear the decks, and prepare for action! 'that's the way to live and be merry; then the music of a good broadside pouring into an enemy's under-works, and cutting her slap in two between wind and water--that's glory, my christian! may i never taste grog again, if we are not all ruined by the peace. there's only one fighting fellow left of the old stock of commanders, and they have turned him out of the navy lest he should infect the psalm-singers. look out a-head there, shipmate; d'ye see that fine frigate, the peranga, now lying oft' spithead, and can you ever forget basque roads and the gallant cochrane? i just got a glimpse of his figure head t'other morning, coming up point here; so i hauled to and threw my shattered hulk slap across his headway, lowering my top-gallants as i passed round under his bows. 'officer,' said he, 'you and i should know one another, methinks.' 'success attend your honour,' said i; 'do you remember your master-gunner when you captured the spanish galleon, who carried away a spar or two in the action?' 'what, tom tackier said he: 'heaven help thee, lad! i'd give the bounty of a good boat's crew if i could put you into sailing-trim and commission again; but here, officer, is something to drink to old acquaintance with, and if you can find your way on board the peranga to-morrow, i'll take care they don't throw you over the ship's side before you have had a skinfull of grog: 'so seizing fast hold of my single tin with both his grappling-irons, i thought he would have shook it out of the goose-neck at parting; and when i went on board next day, he treated me like a port-admiral, and sent me on shore with every cranny well-filled, from my beef-tub to my grog-bucket, and put a little more of the right sort o' stuff" in my jacket pockets to pay harbour dues with. that's the commander for me! and now i hear, after having taken ~ ~~and destroyed all the spanish king's navy, he's off to give the grand signor a taste of his quality. my forelights! how i should like to see him with his double rows of grinders wide open, bearing down upon a whole fleet of mussulmen--there'd be weeping, and wailing, and gnashing o' teeth among the turks! i wouldn't give my wooden pin for the whole of the grand sultan's flotilla. but come, shipmate, may i never want 'bacca, if we don't drink his health, and that 'ere gemman you've taken in tow shall join us, if he likes." i was too much amused to desire to part company just yet, and the good-humoured tars perceiving my bent, linked themselves to each arm, and in this way, laughing at the curiosity we provoked, did our party reach the middle of point-street, and brought ourselves to anchor under the head of old admiral benbow, where tom assured us we should be supplied with the best of grog and ship-stores of the first quality. horace had proceeded to escort some ladies, whom he met with on board the steamboat, to the house of a friend in the high-street, where i had appointed to meet him in the space of an hour. sitting myself down therefore with my two jovial associates, i determined to humour the frolic which had brought me into the society of such eccentric characters. "shiver my timbers! jem," said the one-legged mariner, "but you never make any inquiries after betsy bluff, among your other old friends. it's true, the wench has got spliced again, to be sure; but then, you know, she waited three years, and had the log-books overhauled first." "ay, ay, tom, so they say she did; but i never believed 'em: howsomedever, that wasn't the worst of it; for having got my will and my power in her possession, she drew all my pay and prize-money, and when at last i got home from an enemy's keeping, i had not a shot left in the locker to keep myself. but the mischief did not end even there, for she disgraced me, ~ ~~and the british flag, by marrying a half-starved tailor, and setting him up in the sally port with the money that i had been fighting the enemies of my country for. may i never get groggy again, if i couldn't have forgiven her freely if she'd taken some honest-hearted fellow, like yourself, in tow, who had got disabled in the service, or consorted with a true man of war's man, all right and tight; but to go and lash herself alongside of such a crazy land lubber as this ninth degree of manhood--may i never taste 'bacca again if bet's conduct is bearable! she's no wife of mine, tom; and when i go to pieces, a wreck in this world, may i be bolted into old belzy's caboose if she shall be a copper fastening the better for jem buntline!" during the recital of this story the countenance of the old tar assumed a fiery glow of honest indignation, and when he had finished the tale, his fore lights gave evident signs that his heart had been long beating about in stormy restlessness at the remembrance of his wife's unfaithfulness. "cheer up, messmate," said tom; "i see how the land lies. come, fill your pipe, and i'll sing you the old stave i used to chant on saturday nights, when we messed together on board the leander. a man's like a ship on the ocean of life, the sport both of fair and foul weather, where storms of misfortune, and quicksands of strife, and clouds of adversity gather. if he steers by the compass of honour, he'll find, no matter what latitude meets him, a welcome in every port to his mind, and a friend ever ready to greet him. if love takes the helm in an amorous gale, of the rocks of deception beware, steer fairly for port, and let reason prevail, and you're thus sure to conquer the fair. for the bay of deceit keep a steady look out, steer clear of the shoals of distress, ~ ~~ yet ever be ready to tack and about when the black waves of misery press. like a vessel, digest out in all colours, d'ye see, are the virtues and vices of life: blue and red are the symbols of friendship and glee, white and black of ill-humour and strife. true worth, like true honour, is born of no clime, but known by true courage and feeling, where power and pity in unison chime, and the heart is above double dealing." [illustration: page ] "ay, tom, now you're on the right tack--a good song, and a jovial friend, and let the marines blubber about love and lullaby, it'll never do for the sailors. as we are overhauling old friends, do you remember charley capstan, the coxswain's mate of the leander v "shiver my timbers, but i do; and a bit of tough yarn he was, too: hard as old junk without, and soft as captain's coop meat within. wasn't i one of the crew that convoyed him up this very street when returning from a cruise off the straits, we heard that charley's old uncle had slipt his cable, and left him cash enough to buy out and build a ship of his own? that was a gala, messmate! there was charley, a little fat porpoise, as round as a nine-pounder, mounted on an eighteen gallon cask of the real jamaica, lashed to a couple of oars, and riding astride, on his messmates' shoulders, up to the point. then such a jolly boat's crew attended him, rigged out with bran new slops, and shiners on their topmasts, with the leander painted in front, and half a dozen fiddlers scraping away 'jack's alive,' and all the girls decked out in their dancing dresses, with streamers flying about their top-gallants, and loose nettings over their breastworks--that was a gala, messmate! and didn't charley treat all point to the play that night, and engage the whole of the gallery cabin for his own friends' accommodation; and when the reefers in the hold turned saucy, didn't you and two or three more ~ ~~drop down upon 'em, and having shook the wind out of their sails, run up the main haliards again, without working round by the gangway?" "right, tom, right; and don't you remember the illumination, when we stuck up ten pound of lighted candles round the rim of the gallery before the play began, and when jane shore was in the midst of her grief, charley gave the signal, and away they went, like a file of marines from a double broadside, right and left, tumbling about the ears of the reefers and land lubbers in the chicken coops below? those were the days of glory, messmate, when old jack junk, who had never seen a play before, took it all for right down arnest matter o' fact; and when poor mrs. shore came to ask charity of that false-hearted friend of hers, what was jealous of her, and fell down at the door, overcome by grief and hunger, poor jack couldn't stand it no longer; so after suffering the brine to burst through the floodgates of his heart, till he was as blind as our chaplain to sin, he jumped up all at once, and made for the offing, blubbering as he went, 'may i be blistered, if ever i come to see such cruel stuff as this again!' then didn't stephen collins, and kelly, and maxfield, the three managers, come upon deck, and drink success to the leander's crew, out of a bucket of grog we had up for the purpose, and the ould mare of portsmouth sent his compliments to us, begging us not to break our own necks or set fire to the playhouse? another glass, jem, to the crew of the leander: don't you remember the ducking ould mother macguire, the bum-boat woman, received, for bringing paw-paw articles on board, when we came in to refit?" "may i never want 'bacca, if i shall ever forget that old she crocodile! wasn't it her that brought that sea-dragon, bet bluff, on board, and persuaded me to be spliced to her? shiver her timbers for it!" "avast there! messmate," said tom: "when you ~ ~~can't skuttle an enemy, it's best to sail right away from her hulk before she blows up and disables her conqueror. may i never get groggy, if i shall ever forget the joke between you and the old sheenie, when you threatened to throw him overboard for selling you a dumb time-keeper. 'blesh ma heart,' said the jew, while his under works shook like a cutter's foresail going about, 'how could you expect de vatch to go well, ven de ship vas all in confushion?' an excuse that saved him from sailing ashore in a skuttle-bucket." "have you weathered gosport lately?" inquired jem: "there used to be a little matter of joviality going forward there upon the beach in war time, but i suppose it's all calm enough now." "all ruined by the peace; and all that glorious collection of the kings and queens of england, and her admirals and heroes, which used to swing to and fro in the wind, when every house upon the beach was a grog-shop, are past, vanished, or hanging like pirates in tatters; the sound of a fiddle never reaches their ears; and the parlour-floors, where we used to dance and sing till all was blue, are now as smooth and as clean as the decks of lord nelson's flag ship, the victory, which lies moored in our harbour, like a greenwich pensioner, anchored in quiet, to drop to pieces with old age. you may fire a nine-pounder up the principal street at noon-day now and not hurt any body; and if the peace lasts much longer, horses may graze in their roads, and persons receive pensions for inhabiting the vacant houses." the period within which i had promised to join horace eglantine had now elapsed. it was no easy task to separate myself from my nautical friends, and the amusement they had afforded me demanded some acknowledgment in return; calling, therefore, for a full bowl of punch, we drank success to the british navy, toasted wives and sweethearts, honoured our gracious king, shook ~ ~~hands at parting, like old friends, and having promised to renew my acquaintance before i left portsmouth, i bade adieu to jolly jem buntline and what remained of his noble messmate, the lion-hearted tom tackle. [illustration: page ] evening, and in high spirits. a scene at long's hotel. ~ ~~ sketches of character--fashionable notorieties--modern philosophy--the man of genius and the buck--"a short life and a merry one "--a short essay on--john longs--long corks --long bills--long credits--long-winded customers--the ancients and the moderns, a contrast by old crony. ye bucks who in manners, dress, fashion, and shiny, so often have hail'd me as lord of your gang-- "o lend me your ears!" whilst i deign to relate the cause of my splendour, the way to be great; my own chequered life condescend to unfold, and give a receipt of more value than gold; reveal t' ye the spot where the graces all dwell, and point out the path like myself to excel. --pursuits of fashion. only contrive to obtain the character of an eccentric, and you may ride the _free horse_ round the circle of your acquaintance for the remainder of your life. if my readers are not by this time fully satisfied of my peculiar claims to the appellation of an _oddity_, i have no hopes of obtaining pardon for the past whims and fancies of a volatile muse, or anticipating patronage for the future wanderings of a restless and inquisitive humorist. but my bookseller, a steady, persevering, inflexible sort of personage, whose habits of business are as rigid as a citizen of the last century, or a puritan of the cromwell commonwealth, has lately suffered the marble muscles of his frigid countenance to unbend with a sort of mechanical ~ ~~inclination to an expression of--what shall i say--lib--lib--liberality; no, no, that will never do for a bookseller--graciousness--ay, that's a better phrase for the purpose; more characteristic of his manner, and more congenial to my own feelings. well, to be plain then, whenever a young author can pass through an interview with the headman of the firm without hearing any thing in the shape of melancholy musings, serious disappointments, large numbers on hand, doubtful speculation, and such like pleasant innuendoes, he may rest satisfied that his book is selling well, and his publisher realizing a fair proportion of profit for his adventurous spirit. i am just now enjoying that pleasant gratification, the reflection of having added to my own comforts without having detracted from the happiness of others. in short, my scheme improves with every fresh essay, and my friend bob transit, who has just joined me in a bottle of iced claret at long's, has been for some minutes busily engaged in booking mine host and his exhibits; while i, under pretence of writing a letter, have been penning this introduction to a chapter on fashion and its follies, annexing thereunto a few notes of characters, that may serve to illustrate that resort of all that is exquisite and superlative in the annals of high ton. "evening, and in high spirits," --a scene worthy of the acknowledged talent of the artist, and full of fearful and instructive narrative for the pen of the english spy. seated snugly in one corner of long's new and splendid coffee-room, we had resolved on our entering to depart early; but the society we had the good fortune to be afterwards associated with might have tempted stronger heads than those of either bob transit the artist, or bernard blackmantle the moralist. [illustration: page ] "waiter, bring another bottle of iced claret, and tell long to book it to the king's lieutenant." "by the honour of my ancestry," said the honourable lillyman lionise, "but i am devilishly cut already." ~ ~~"you do well, mighty well, sir, to swear by the honour of your ancestors; for very few of your modern stars have a ray of that same meteoric light to illumine their own milky way." "that flash of your wit, lieutenant, comes upon one like the electric shock of an intended insult, and i must expect you will apologize." "then i fear, young valiant, you will die of the disease that has killed more brave men than the last twenty years' war." "and what is that, sir, may i ask?" "expectation, my jewel! i've breakfasted, dined, supped, and slept upon it for the last half century, and am not one step higher in the army list yet." "but, lieutenant, let me observe that--that--" "that we are both pretty nigh bosky, and should not therefore be too fastidious in our jokes over the bottle." enter waiter. "the claret, gentlemen. mr. long's compliments, and he requests permission to assure you that it is some of the late duke of queensberry's choice stock, marked a one." "which signifies, according to long's edition of cocker, that we must pay double for the liqueur. come, lionise, fill a bumper; and let us tails of the lion toast our caput, the sovereign, the first corinthian of his day, and the most polished prince in the world." "tiger, tiger,"{ } ejaculated a soft voice in the adjoining box; "ask tom who the trumps are in the next stall, and if they are known here, tell them the honourable thomas optimus fills a bumper to their last toast." since the death of the earl of barrymore, tom has succeeded to the "vacant chair" at long's; nor is the tiger mercury the only point in which he closely resembles his great prototype. ~ ~~a smart, clever-looking boy of about fifteen years of age darted forward to execute the honourable's commands; when having received the requisite information from the waiter, he approached the lieutenant and his friend, and with great politeness, but no lack of confidence, made the wishes of his master known to the _bon vivants_; the consequence was, an immediate interchange of civilities, which brought the honourable into close contact with his merry neighbours; and the result, a unanimous resolution to make a night of it. at this moment our _tête-à-tête_ was interrupted by the appearance of old crony, who, stanch as a well-trained pointer to the scent of game, had tracked me hither from my lodgings; from him i learned the lieutenant was a fellow of infinite jest and sterling worth; a descendant of the o'farellans of tipperary, whose ancestry claimed precedence of king bryan baroch; a specimen of the antique in his composition, robust, gigantic, and courageous; time and intestine troubles had impaired the fortunes of his house, but the family character remained untainted amid the conflicting revolutions that had convulsed the emerald isle. enough, however, was left to render the lieutenant independent of his military expectations: he had joined the army when young; seen service and the world in many climates; but the natural uncompromising spirit which distinguished him, partaking perhaps something too much of the pride of ancestry, had hitherto prevented his soliciting the promotion he was fairly entitled to. like a majority of his countrymen, he was cold and sententious as a laplander when sober, and warm and volatile as a frenchman when in his cups; half a dozen duels had been the natural consequence of an equal number of intrigues; but although the scars of honour had seared his manly countenance, his heart and person were yet devoted to the service of the ladies. fame had trumpeted forth his prowess in the wars of ~ ~~venus, until notoriety had marked him out an object of general remark, and the king's lieutenant was as proud of the myrtle-wreath as the hero of waterloo might be of the laurel crown. but see, the door opens; how perfumed, what style! long bows to the earth. what an exquisite smile! such a coffee-house visitor banishes pain: while optimus rising, cries "welcome, joe hayne! may you never want cash, boy--here, waiter, a glass; lieutenant, you'll join us in toasting a lass. i'll give you an actress--maria the fair." "i'll drink her; but, tom, you have ruined me there. by my hopes! i am blown, cut, floor'd, and rejected, at the critical moment, sirs, when i expected to revel in bliss. but, here's white-headed bob, my prime minister; he shall unravel the job. and if jackson determines you've not acted well, i'll mill you, tom optimus, though you're a swell." "sit down, joe; be jolly--'twas carter alone that has every obstacle in your way thrown. nay, never despair, man--you'll yet be her liege; but rally again, boy, you'll carry the siege." thus quieted, joe sat him down to get mellow; for joe at the bottom's a hearty good fellow. "have you heard the report," said optimus, "that harborough is actually about to follow your example, and marry an actress? ay, and his old flame, mrs. stonyhewer, is ready to die of love and a broken heart in consequence." "just as true, my jewel, as that i shall be gazetted field-marshal; or that you, mr. optimus, will be accused of faithfulness to lady emily. our young friend here, the rich commoner, has given currency to such a variety of common reports, that the false jade grows bold enough to beard us in our very teeth." "why, zounds! lieutenant," said lionise, "how very sentimental you are becoming." "it's a way of mine, jewel, to appear singular in some sort of society." ~ ~~"and satirical in all, i'll vouch for you, lieutenant;" said optimus. "by jasus, you've hit it! if truth be satire, it's a language i love, although it's not very savoury to some palates." "will the duke marry the banker's widow, joel that's the grand question at tattersall's, now your match with maria's off, and earl rivers's greyhounds are disposed of. only give me the office, boy, in that particular, and i'll give you a company to-morrow, if money will purchase one; and realize a handsome fortune by betting on the event." "then i'll bet cox and greenwood's cash account against the commander-in-chief's, that the widow marries a beau-clerc, becomes in due time duchess of st. alban's, and dies without issue, leaving her immense property as a charitable bequest to enrich a poor dukedom; and thus, having in earlier life degraded one part of the peerage, make amends to the butes, the guildfords, and the burdetts, by a last redeeming act to another branch of the aristocracy." "at it again, lieutenant; firing ricochet shot, and knocking down duck and drake at the same time." "sure, that has been the great amusement of my life; in battle and abroad i have contrived to knock down my share of the male enemies of my country; in peace and at home i've a mighty pleasant knack of winging a few female bush fighters." "but the widow, my dear fellow, is now a woman of high { } character; has not the moral marquis of hertford undertaken to remove all ------and disabilities? and did he not introduce the lady to the fashionable world at his own hotel, the piccadilly (peccadillo) guildhall? was not the fête at holly grove attended by h.r.h. the duke of york, and mrs. c--y, and all the virtuous portion of our nobility? and has she not since been admitted to the parties at the duke of "query--did mr. optimus mean _high_ as game is _high_? ~ ~~devonshire's, and what is still more wonderful, been permitted to appear at court, and since, in the royal presence, piously introduced to the whole bench of bishops?" "by jasus, that's true; and i beg belle harriette's pardon. but, i well remember, i commanded the cityguard in the old corn-market, dublin, on the very night her reputed father, jolly jack kinnear, as the rebels called him, contrived to wish us good morning very suddenly, and took himself off to the sate of government." i shall be obliged to entertain the world with a few of her eccentricities some day or other; the ghost of poor ralph wewitzer cries loudly for revenge. the sapient police knight, when he _secured the box of letters_ for his patroness, little suspected that they had all been _previously copied_ by lieutenant terence o'farellan of the king's own. a mighty inquisitive sort of a personage, who will try his art to do her justice, spite of "leather or prunella." the party was at this moment increased by the arrival of lord william, on whose friendly arm reposed the berkley adonis--"_par nobile fratrum_." "give me leave, lieutenant," said his lordship, "to introduce my friend the colonel." "and give me leave," whispered optimus, "to withdraw my friend hayne, for 'two suns shine not in the same hemisphere.'" "the man that makes a move in the direction of the door makes me his enemy," said the lieutenant, loudly. and the whole party were immediately seated. hitherto, my friend crony and myself had been too pleasantly occupied with the whim, wit, and anecdote of the lieutenant, to pay much attention to the individuality of character that surrounded the festive board; but, having now entered upon our second bottle, the humorist commenced his satirical sketches.-- "holding forth to the gaze of this fortunate time the extremes of the beautiful and the sublime." ~ ~~"suppose i commence with the pea-green count," said crony. "i know the boy's ambition is notoriety; and an artist who means to rise in his profession should always aim at painting first-rate portraits, well-known characters; because they are sure to excite public inquiry, thus extending the artist's fame, and securing the good opinion of his patrons by the gratification of their unlimited vanity. the sketch too may be otherwise serviceable to the rising generation; the mr. greens and newcomes of the world of fashion, if they would avoid the sharks who infest the waters of pleasure, and are always on the anxious _look-up_ for a nibble at a new 'come out.' "the young exquisite's connexion with the fancy, or rather with the lowest branch of that illustrious body, the bruising fraternity and their boon companions, had been, though not an avowed, a real source of jealousy to many of his dear bosom friends at long's hotel, from the moment of the count's making his _début_, '_imberbis juvenis, tandem custode remote_,' into the fashionable world. that he would be ultimately floored by his milling _protégés_ it did not require the sagacity of a conjurer to foresee; nor was it likely that the term of such a catastrophe would be so tediously delayed, as to subject any one who might be eager to witness its arrival to that sickness of the heart which arises from hope deferred. but this process for scooping out the silver (or foote) ball, as he has since been designated, by no means suited the ideas of the worthies before alluded to. the learned scriblerus makes mention of certain _doctors_,{ } frequently seen at white's in his day, of a modest and upright appearance, with no air of overbearing, and habited like true masters of arts in black and white only. they were justly styled, says the above high authority, a cant phrase for dice, ~ ~~subtiles and graves, but not always irrefragabiles, being sometimes examined and, by a nice distinction, divided and laid open. the descendants of these doctors still exist, and have not degenerated, either in their numbers or their merits, from their predecessors. they take up their principal residence in some well-known mansions about the neighbourhood of the court, and many of the gentlemen who honoured the count with their especial notice on his _entrée_ into public life are understood to be familiarly acquainted with them. now could they have only instilled into the young gentleman a wish to be introduced to these doctors, or once prevailed upon him to take them in hand for the purpose of deciding what might be depending upon the result of the investigation; nay, could they even have spurred him on to an exhibition of his tactics, in manoeuvring 'those party-colour'd troops, a shining train, drawn forth to combat on the velvet plain;' they could have so delightfully abridged the task which to their impatient eyes appeared to be much too slow in executing, could have spared their dear friend so much unnecessary time and labour in disencumbering himself of the superfluity of worldly dross which had fallen to his share. a little _cogging, sleeving, and palming_; nay, a mere spindle judiciously planted, or a few long ones introduced on the weaving system, could have effected in one evening what fifty milling matches, considering the 'glorious uncertainty' attaching to pugilistic as well as legal contests, might fail to accomplish. by this method, too, the person in whom they kindly took so strong an interest would, even when he had lost every thing, have escaped the imputation of having dissipated his property. it would have been comfortably distributed in respectable dividends among a few gentlemen of acknowledged talent, instead of floating in air like the leaves of the ~ ~~sibyl, and alighting in various parts of the inner and outer ring; now depositing a few cool hundreds in the pockets of a sporting priestley bookseller, or the brother of a westminster abbott; now contributing a small modicum to brighten the humbler speculations of the dean-street casemen, or the battersea gardener. "but to this conclusion horatio would not come. he was good for backing and betting on pugilists, but on the turf he would do little, and at the tables nothing. his zealous friends had therefore no chance in the way they would have liked best; but being men of the world, and knowing, like gay's bear, that 'there might be picking ev'n in the carving of a chicken,' they did not disdain to make the most in their power by watching the motions of his hobby, and if this was not a sufficient prize to furnish much cause for exultation, it was at least one that it would have been unwise to reject. "a contemporary writer has exerted to the utmost the very little talent he possesses to represent the peagreen's uniform resistance to all the temptations of cards and dice, as a proof of his possessing a strength of mind and decision of character rarely found in young men of his fortune and time of life. in the elegant language of this apologist, the count, by this prudent abstinence, 'has shown himself not half so green as some supposed, and the sharps, and those who have tried on the grand mace with him, have discovered that he was no flat.' how far this negative eulogium may be gratifying to the feelings of the individual on whom it is bestowed, i will not say; in my character of english spy i have been under the necessity of carefully observing this fortunate youth, _depuis que la rose venait d'eclore_, in other words, from the time that he became, or rather might ~ ~~have become, his own master; and i should certainly not attribute his refraining from the tables to any superior strength of mind: indeed, it would be singular if such a characteristic belonged to a man whose own hired advocate could only vindicate his client's heart at the expense of his head. pope tells us, that to form a just estimate of any one's character, we must study his ruling passion; and by adopting this rule, we shall soon obtain a satisfactory clew both to the exquisite count's penchant for the prize-ring, and his aversion to the _hells_. some persons exhibit an inexplicable union of avarice and extravagance, of parsimony and prodigality--something of this kind is observable in the gentleman in question. but self predominates with him in all; and being joined to rather alow species of vanity, and a strong inclination to be what is vulgarly called _cock of the walk_, it has uniformly displayed itself in an insatiate thirst for notoriety. now pugilists, from the very nature of their profession, must be public characters; while the gamester, to the utmost of his power, does what he does 'by stealth, and blushes to find it fame.' to be the patron of some noted bruiser, to bear him to the field of action in your travelling barouche, accompanied by tom crib the xx champion, tom spring the x champion, jack langan and tom cannon the would-be champions, and lily white richmond, is sure to make your name as notorious, though perhaps not much more reputable, than those of your associates; but the man who, like 'the youth that fired the ephesian dome,' aims at celebrity alone, in frequenting the purlieus of the gaming-house only 'wastes his sweetness on the desert air.' moreover, the members of the ebony clubs being compelled to assume the appearance, and adopt the manners, insensibly imbibe too much of the feelings of gentlemen, to be likely to pay, to the most passive _pigeon_ that ever submitted to _rooking_, the cap in hand homage rendered by a ~ ~~practitioner within the pins and binders of the prize-ring to the swell who takes five pounds worth of benefit tickets, or stands a fifty in the stakes for a milling match. "these motives seem to me sufficient to have prompted the count's predominating attachment to the prize-ring and its heroes, which, however, having as i have before remarked, been viewed with no favourable eye by some of his comrades, his recent ill-luck at warwick could hardly be expected to escape the jests and sarcasms of his bottle companions." "'fore god," said optimus, "this backing of your man against the black diamond has been but a bad spec. out heavyish i suppose, ay, joe?" count. why, a stiffish bout, i must confess; and what's more, i'm not by any means without my suspicions about the correctness of the thing. optimus. what, cross and jostle work again? a second edition of virginia water? but i thought you felt assured that cannon would not do wrong for the wealth of windsor castle? count. true, i did feel so, and others confirmed me in my assurance, but i believe i was wofully mistaken; and curse me if i don't think they were all in the concern of doing me. optimus. was not there a floating report about the bargeman receiving a thousand to throw it over? count. something of the sort; but don't believe it. two bills for five hundred, but so drawn that they could not be negotiated. i shall certainly, said the count, give notice to the stake-holders not to give up the battle-money for the present. optimus. pshaw! that will never do. a thing of that nature must be done at the time. besides, cannon stood two hundred in his own money, and says he will freely pay his losses. count. a pretty do that, when he had a cheque ~ ~~of mine for the sum he put down. but i've stopped payment of that at my banker's. optimus. and will as surely be obliged to revoke that order, as well as to give up disputing the stakes. no, no, joe; get out of the business now as you can, and cut it. i always thought and told you, that i thought your man had no chance. but his going to fight so out of condition, in a contest where all his physical powers were necessary, does look as if you had been put in for a piece of ready made luck. but what could you expect? can any good thing come out of nazareth? that a gentleman can patronize such fellows! count. i am still of opinion that the spirit of national courage is much promoted-------- optimus. spirit of a fiddle-stick! nonsense, man; that card will win no trick now. you, like others might have thought so once; but you have seen enough by this time to know that the system is on altogether a different tack; that its stanchest upholders and admirers are bullies, sharpers, pickpockets, pothouse keepers, coachmen, fradulent bankrupts, the jon bee's and big b's, and all the lowest b's of society in station and character, whose only merit, if such it can be called, is the open disclaiming of any thing like honour or principle. and after having been a patron of such a set of wretches, you will end by becoming, according to circumstances, the object of their vulgar abuse, or the butt of their coarse ridicule. "the latter, i understand,"said lord william, "is pretty much the case already. a friend of mine was telling me, that one of the precious brotherhood, on hearing that joe meant to dispute his bets, asked what better could be expected from a foote-mam out of place?" "no more of that, hal, if thou lovest him," exclaimed optimus, who immediately perceived, by his ~ ~~countenance, that the last hit had been too hard. much more has been said upon this affair than it is worth. let us change the subject. "by my conscience," exclaimed the lieutenant, "and here's an excellent episode to wind up the drama with, headed, 'the foote ball's farewell to the ring:' i'll read it you, with permission, and afterwards, colonel, you shall have a copy of it for next sunday's 'age;' it will save the magnanimous little b., your accommodating editor, or his locum tenens, the fat gent, the trouble of straining their own weak noddles to produce any more soft attempts at the scandalous and the sarcastic. "by the honour of my ancestry," rejoined the gloucestershire colonel, "do you take me for a reporter to the paper in question?" "why not?" said the lieutenant, coolly: "if you are not a reporter and a supporter too, my gallant friend, by the powers of poll kelly but you are the most ill-used man in his majesty's dominions!" "sir, i stand upon my honour," said the colonel, petulantly. "by the powers, you may, and very easily too," whispered o'farellan, in a side speech to his left hand companion; "for it has been trodden under foote by others these many months. to be plain with you, colonel, there are certain big whispers abroad, that you and your noble associate, the amiable yonder, with that beautiful obliquity of vision, which is said to have pierced the heart of a northern syren, are the joint telegraphs of the age. sure no man in his senses can suspect messieurs the conducteurs of knowing any thing of what passes in polished life, or think-- "ah, my dear wewitzer," said belle harriet, now mrs. goutts, speaking to the late comedian, of some female friend, "she has an eye! an eye, that would pierce through a deal board." "by heavens," said wewitzer, "that must be then a gimhlet eye." ~ ~~of charging them with any personal knowledge of the amusing incidents they pretend to relate, beyond a certain little wanton's green room _on dits_, or the chaste conversations of the blushless naiads who sport and frolic in the cytherian mysteries which are nightly performed in the dark groves of vauxhall. take a word of advice from an old soldier, colonel: it is worse than leading a forlorn hope to attempt to storm a garrison single handed; club secrets must be protected by club laws, for 'tis an old eton maxim, that tales told out of school generally bring the relater to the block. but my friend stanhope will no doubt explain this matter with a much better grace when he comes in contact with the tale-bearer." "hem," instinctively ejaculated horace c-----t, the once elegant apollo of hyde park, "thereby hangs a tale; 'tis a vile age, and the sooner we forget it, the better--i am for love and peace." "i.e. a piece" responded the lieutenant. horace smiled, and continued, "come, tom duncombe, i'll give our mutual favourite, the female giovanni. lads, fill your glasses; we toast a deity, and one, too, who has equal claims upon most of us for the everlasting favours she has conferred." "'fore gad, lieutenant," simpered out lord william, squaring himself round to resume the conversation with the veteran, "if you do not mind your hits, we must positively cut. my friend, the colonel, will certainly set his blacks{ } upon you, and i shall be obliged to speak to little magnanimous, the ex-brummagem director, to strike off a counterfeit impression of you in his scandalous sunday chronicle, 'pon honour, i must." a very curious tradition is connected with a certain castle near gloucester, which foretells, that the family name shall be extinct when the race of the blacks* cease to be peculiar to the family; a prophecy that i think not very likely to be fulfilled, judging by the conduct of the present race of representatives. * a species of danish blood-hound, whose portraits and names are carved in the oaken cornice of one of the castle chambers. ~ ~~"the divil a care," said the lieutenant, laughingly; "to arms with you, my lord william; my fire engine will soon damp the ardour of little magnanimous, and an extra dose of tom bish's compounds put his friend, the fat gent, where his readers have long been, in sweet somniferous repose. but zounds, gentlemen, i am forgetting the count, whose pardon i crave, for bestowing my attention on minor constellations while indulged with the overpowering brilliancy of his meteoric presence." "the 'farewell to the ring,'" vociferated the count. "come, lieutenant, give us the episode: i long to hear all my misfortunes strung together in rhyme." "by the powers, you shall have it, then; and a true history it is, as ever was said or sung in church, chapel, or conventicle, with only one little exception--by the free use of poetic license, the satirist has fixed his hero in a very embarrassing situation--just locked him up at radford's steel hotel in carey street, chancery lane, coning over a long bill of john long's, and a still longer one of the lawyers, with a sort of codicil, by way of refresher, of the house charges, and a smoking detainer tacked on to its tail, by hookah hudson, long enough to put any gentleman's pipe out. [illustration: page ] there's the argument, programme, or fable. now for the characters; they are all drawn from the life by the english spy (see plate), under the amusing title of 'morning, and in low spirits, a scene in a lock-up house;' a very appropriate spot for a lament to the past, and "'tis past, and the sun of my glory is set. how changed in my case is the fortune of war! with no money to back, and no credit to bet, no more in the fancy i shine forth a star. ~ ~~ "accursed be the day when my bargeman i brought to fight with jos. hudson!--the thought is a sting. i sighing exclaim, by experience taught, farewell to tom cannon, farewell to the ring! "by the blackwater vict'ry made drunk with success, endless visions of milling enchanted my nob; i thought my luck in: so i could do no less than match 'gainst the streatham my white-headed bob. "i've some reason to think that there, too, i was done; for it oft has been hinted that battle was cross'd: but i well know that all which at yately i won, with a thousand _en outre_ at bagshot i lost. "at warwick a turn in my favour again appear'd, and my crest i anew rear'd with pride; hudson's efforts to conquer my bargeman were vain, i took the _long odds_, and i floor'd _the flash side_. "but with training, and treating, and sparring, and paying for all through the nose, as most do in beginning their fancy career, i am borne out in saying, i was quite out of pocket in spite of my winning. "so when bob fought old george, being shortish of money, and bearing in mem'ry the bagshot affair, in my former pal's stakes i stood only _a pony_, (which was never return'd, so i'm done again there). "to be perfectly safe, on the old one i betted; for the knowing ones told me the thing was made right: if it had been, a good bit of blunt i'd have netted; but a double x spoilt it, and bob won the fight. ~ ~~ "but the famed stage of warwick, and ward, were before me-- i look'd at tom cannon, and thought of the past; i was sure he must win, and that wealth would show'r o'er me, so, like richard, i set all my hopes on a cast; "and the die was soon thrown, and my luck did not alter-- i was floor'd at all points, and my hopes were a hum; i'm at tattersall's all but believed a defaulter, and here, in a spunging house, shut by a bum. "'mid the lads of the fancy i needs must aspire to be quite _au fait_; and i have scarcely seen of mills half a score, ere i'm fore'd to retire-- o thou greenest among all the green ones, pea green! "and what have i gain'd, but the queer reputation of a whimsical dandy, half foolish, half flash? to bruisers and sharpers, in high and low station, a poor easy dupe, till deprived of my cash. "all you who would enter the circle i've quitted, reflect on my fate, and think what you're about: by brib'ry betray'd, or by cunning outwitted, in the fancy each novice is quickly clean'd out. "for me it has lost its attractions and lustre; the thing's done with me, and i've done with the thing: the blunt for my bets i must manage to muster, then farewell to tom cannon, farewell to the ring!" the reading of this morceau produced, as might have been expected, considerable merriment on the ~ ~~one hand, and some little discussion upon the other; the angry feelings of the commander in chief and his pals overbalancing the mirthful by their solemnly protesting against the exposure of the secrets of the prison house, which, in this instance, they contended, were violently distorted by some enemy to the modern accomplishment of pugilism. in a few moments all was chaos, and the stormy confusion of tongues, prophetk: of the affair ending in a grand display and milling catastrophe; the apprehensions of which induced john long, and john long's man, to be on the alert in removing the service, _en suite_, of superb cut glass, which had given an additional lustre to the splendour of the dessert. the arrival of other characters, and the good humour of the count, joined to a plentiful supply of soda water and iced punch, had, however, the effect of cooling the malcontents, who had no sooner recovered their wonted hilarity, than old crony proceeded to particularize, by a comparison of the past with the present, interspersing his remarks with anecdotes of the surrounding group. "these are your modern men of fashion," said crony; "and the specimen you have this day had of their conduct and pursuits an authority you may safely quote as one generally characteristic. 'to support this new fashion in circles of _ton_. new habits, new thoughts, must of course be put on; taste, feeling, and friendship, laid by on the shelf, and nothing or worshipp'd, or thought of, but--self.' [illustration: page ] "it was not thus in the days of our ancestors: the farther we look back, the purer honour was. in the days of chivalry, a love promise was a law; the braver the knight, the truer in love: then, too, religion, delicacy, sentiment, romantic passion, disinterested friendship, loyalty to king, love of country, a thirst for fame, bravery, nay, heroism, characterized ~ ~~the age, the nation, the noble, the knight, and esquire. mercy! what 'squires we have now-a-days! at a more recent date, all was courtliness, feeling, high sentiment, proud and lofty bearing, principle, the word inviolable, politeness at its highest pitch of refinement: lovers perished to defend their ladies' honour; now they live to sully it: the nobility and the people were distinct in dress and address; but, above all, amenity and good-breeding marked the distinction, and the line was unbroken. now, dress is all confusion, address far below par, amenity is a dead letter, and as to breeding, it is confined to the breeding of horses and dogs, except when law steps in to encourage the breeding of disputes; not to mention the evils arising from crossing the old breed; nor can we much wonder at it, when we reflect on the altered way of life, the change of habits, and the declension of virtue, arising from these very causes. 'each hopeful hero now essays to start to spoil the intellect, destroy the heart, to render useless all kind nature gave, and live the dupe of ev'ry well dress'd knave; to herd with gamblers, be a blackleg king, and shine the monarch of the betting ring.' "men of family and fashion, in those golden days, passed their time in courts, in dancing-rooms, and at clubs composed of the very cream of birth and elegance. you heard occasionally of lord such-a-one being killed in a duel, or of the baronet or esquire dying from cold caught at a splendid _fête_, or by going lightly clad to his magnificent vis-à-vis, after a select masquerade; but you never read his death in a newspaper from a catarrh caught in the watch-house, from & fistic fight, or in a row at a hell--things now not astonishing, since even men with a title and a name of rank pass their time in the stable, at common hells, at the fives-court--the hall of infamy; in the watch-house, the justice-room, and make the finish in ~ ~~the fleet, king's bench, or die in misery and debt abroad. in the olden times, a star of fashion was quoted for dancing at court, for the splendour of his equipages, his running footmen and black servants, his expensive dress, his accomplishments, his celebrity at foreign courts, his fine form, delicate hand, jewels, library, &c. &c. now fame (for notoriety is so called) may be obtained by being a greek, or pigeon, by being mistaken for john the coachman, when on the box behind four tits; by being a good gentleman miller, by feeding the fancy, standing in print for crim. con., breaking a promise of marriage once or twice, and breaking as many tradesmen as possible afterwards; breaking the watchman's head on the top of the morn; and lastly, breaking away (in the skirmish through life) for calais, or the low countries. there is as much difference between the old english gentleman and him who ought to be the modern representative of that name, as there is between a racer and a hack, a fine spaniel and a cross of the terrier and bull dog. in our days of polish and refinement, we had a lord stair, a sedley, a sir john stepney, a sir william hamilton, and many others, as our ambassadors, representing our nation as the best bred in the world; and by their grace and amiability, gaining the admiration of the whole continent. we had, in remoter times, our lords bolingbroke, chesterfield, and lyttleton, our steele, &c, the celebrated poets, authors, and patterns of fashion and elegance of the age. we had our argyle, 'the state's whole thunder form'd to wield, and shake at once the senate and the field.' we had our virtuosi of the highest rank, our rich and noble authors in abundance. the departed byron stood alone to fill their place. the classics were cultivated, not by the learned profession only, but by the votaries of fashion. now, our greek scholars are of ~ ~~another cast.{ } in earlier days the chivalrous foe met his opponent in open combat, and broke a lance for the amusement of the spectators, while he revenged his injuries in public. now, the practice of duelling{ } has become almost a profession, and the privacy with which it is of necessity conducted renders it always subject to suspicion (see plate); independent of which, the source of quarrel is too often beneath the dignity of gentlemen, and the wanton sacrifice of life rather an act of bravado than of true courage.{ } "adeipe nunc danaûm insidiai, et----ab uno, disce omnes!" the greek population of the fashionable world comprises a very large portion of society, including among its members names and persons of illustrious and noble title, whose whole life and pleasure in life appears to "rest upon the hazard of a die." the modern greek, though he cannot boast much resemblance to achilles, ajax, patroclus, or nestor, is, nevertheless, a close imitator of the equally renowned chief of ithaca. to describe his person, habits, pursuits, and manners, would be to sketch the portrait of one or more _finished roués_, who are to be found in most genteel societies. the mysteries of his art are manifold, and principally consist in the following rules and regulations, put forth by an old member of the corps, whose conscience returned to torture him when his reign of earthly vice was near its close. elements of greeking. . a greek should be like a mole, visible only at night. . he should be a niggard of his speech, and a profligate with his liquor, giving freely, but taking cautiously. . he must always deprecate play in public, and pretend an entire ignorance of his game. . he must be subtle as the fox, and vary as the well-trained hawk; never showing chase too soon, or losing his pigeon by an over eager desire to pluck him. . he must be content to lose a little at first, that he may thereby make a final hit decisive. . he must practise like a conjuror in private, that his slippery tricks in public may escape observation. palming the _digits_ requires no ordinary degree of agility. . he must secure a confederate, who having been pigeoned, has since been enlightened, and will consent to decoy others to the net. . he should have once held the rank of captain, as an introduction to good society, and a privilege to bully any one who may question his conduct. . he must always put on the show of generosity with those he has plucked--that is, while their bill, bond, post obit, or other legal security is worth having. ~ ~~ . he should be a prince of good fellows at his own table, have the choicest wines for particular companies, and when a grand hit cannot be made, refuse to permit play in his own house; or on a decisive occasion, let his decoy or partner pluck the pigeon, while he appears to lose to some confederate a much larger sum. . he must not be afraid to fight a duel, mill & rumbustical green one, or bully a brother sharper who attempts to poach upon his preserves. . he must concert certain signals with confederates for _working the broads_ (i.e. cards), such as fingers at whist: toe to toe for an ace, or the left hand to the eye for a king, and so on, until he can make the fate of a rubber certain. on this point he must be well instructed in the arts of _marked cards, briefs, broads, corner bends, middle ditto, curves, or kingston bridge_, and other arch tricks of _slipping, palming, forcing_, or even _substituting_, whatever card may be necessary to win the game. such are a few of the elements of modern greeking, contained in the twelve golden rules recorded above, early attention to which may save the inexperienced from ruin. [illustration: page ] elements of duelling. "the british code of duel," a little work professing to give the necessary instructions for _man-killing according to honour_, lays down the following rules as indispensable for the practice of principals and seconds in the pleasant and humane amusement of shooting at each other. " . to choose out a snug sequestered spot, where the ground is level, and no natural, terrestrial, or celestial line presenting itself to assist either party in his views of sending his opponent into eternity. . to examine the pistols; see that they are alike in quality and length, and load in presence of each other. . to measure the distance; ten paces of not less than thirty inches being the minimum, the parties to step to it, not from it. . to fire by signal and at random; it being considered unfair to take aim at the man whose life you go out to take. . not to deliver the pistols cocked, lest they should go off un-expectedly; and after one fire the second should use his endeavours to produce a reconciliation. . if your opponent fire in the air, it is very unusual, and must be a case of extreme anguish when you are obliged to insist upon another shot at him. . three fires must be the ultimatum in any case; any more reduces duel to a conflict for blood," says the code writer; "if the parties can afford it, there should be two surgeons in attendance, but if economical, one mutual friend will suffice; the person receiving the first fire, in case of wound, taking the first dressing. . it being always understood that wife, children, parents, and relations are no impediment with men of very different relative stations in society to their meeting on equal terms." the _consistency, morality, justice, and humanity of this code, i leave to the gratifying reflection of those who have most honourably killed their man_. ~ ~~ 'for, as duelling now is completely a science, and sets, the old bailey itself at defiance; now hibernians are met with in every street, 'tis as needful to know how to shoot as to eat.' the following singular challenge is contained in a letter from sir william herbert, of st. julian's, in monmouthshire, father-in-law to the famous lord herbert, of cherbury, to a gentleman of the name of morgan. the original is in the british museum. "sir--peruse this letter, in god's name. be not disquieted. i reverence your hoary hair. although in your son i find too much folly and lewdness, yet in you i expect gravity and wisdom. "it hath pleased your son, late at bristol, to deliver a challenge to a man of mine, on the behalf of a gentleman (as he said) as good as myself; who he was, he named not, neither do i know; but if he be as good as myself, it must either be for virtue, for birth, for ability, or for calling and dignity. for virtue i think he meant not, for it is a thing which exceeds his judgment: if for birth, he must be the heir male of an earl, the heir in blood of ten earls; for, in testimony thereof, i bear their several coats. besides, he must be of the blood royal, for by my grandmother devereux i am lineally and legitimately descended out of the body of edward iv. if for ability he must have a thousand pounds a year in possession, a thousand pounds more in expectation, and must have some thousands in substance besides. if for calling and dignity, he must be knight or lord of several seignories in several kingdoms, a lieutenant of his county, and a counsellor of a province. "now to lay all circumstances aside, be it known to your son, or to any man else, that if there be any one who beareth the name of gentleman, and whose words are of reputation in his county, that doth say, or dare say, that i have done unjustly, spoken an untruth, stained my credit and reputation in this matter, or in any matter else, wherein your son is exasperated, i say he lieth in his throat, and my sword shall maintain my word upon him, in any place or province, wheresoever he dare, and where i stand not sworn to observe the peace. but if they be such as are within my governance, and over whom i have authority, i will for their re-formation chastise them with justice, and for their malaport misdemeanour bind them to their good behaviour. of this sort, i account your son, and his like; against whom i will shortly issue my warrant, if this my warning doth not reform them. and so i thought fit to advertise you hereof, and leave you to god. "i am, &c. "wm. herbert." ~ ~~"the art of fencing formerly distinguished the gentleman, who then wore a sword as a part of his dress. he is now contented with a regular stand-up fight, and exhibits a fist like a knuckle-bone of mutton--hard, coarse, and of certain magnitude. the bludgeon hammer-headed whip, or a vulgar twig, succeeds the clouded and amber-headed cane; and instead of the snuff-box being rare, and an article of parade, to exhibit a beauty's miniature bestowed in love, or that of a crowned head, given for military or diplomatic services, all ranks take snuff out of cheap and vulgar boxes, mostly of inferior french manufacture, with, not unfrequently, indecent representations on them; or you have wooden concerns with stage coaches, fighting-cocks, a pugilistic combat, or an ill-drawn neck and neck race upon them. the frill of the nobleman and gentleman's linen once bore jewels of high price, or a conceit, like a noted beauty's eye, set in brilliants less sparkling than what formed the centre. now, a fox, a stag, or a dog, worthily occupies the place of that enchanting resemblance. in equitation, we had sir sydney meadows, a pattern and a prototype for gentlemen horsemen. the melton hunt now is more in vogue, and the sons of our nobility ride like their own grooms and postboys--ay, and dress like them too. autrefois, a man of fashion might be perceived ere he was seen, from a reunion ~ ~~of rich and costly perfumes. now, snuff and tobacco, the quid, the pinch, and the cigar, announce his good taste. the cambric pocket-handkerchief was the only one known in the olden times. the belcher (what a name! ) supplies its place, together with the bird's eye, or the colours of some black or white boxer. an accomplished man was the delight of all companies in former times. an out and outer, one up to every thing, down as a nail or the knocker of newgate, a trump, or a trojan, now carry the mode of praise; one that can _patter flash, floor a charley, mill a coal-heaver_, come coachey in prime style, up to every rig and row in town, and down to every move upon the board, from a nibble at the club to a dead hit at a hell; can swear, smoke, take snuff, lush, play at all games, and throw over both sexes in different ways--he is the finished man. the attributes of a modern fine gentleman are, to have his address at his club, and his residence any where; to lounge, laugh, lisp, and loll away the time from four to eight, when having dressed, eat his olives, he goes to almack's if he can, or struts into fop's alley at the opera in boots, in defiance of decency or the remonstrance of the door-keepers; talks loud to be noticed; and having handed some woman of fashion to her carriage, gets in after her without invitation, and, as a matter of course, behaves rudely in return; makes a last call at the club in his way home to learn the issue of the debate, and try his luck at french hazard or fleecing a novice. (see plate.) [illustration: page ] if his fortune should be one thousand per annum, his income may be extended to five, by virtue of credit and credulity. if he comes out very early in life, say eighteen, he will scarcely expect to be visible at twenty-four; but if he does not appear until he is twenty-one, and then lives all his days, he may die fairly of old age, infirmity, and insolvency, at twenty-six. his topographical knowledge of town is bounded by the fashionable ~ ~~directory, which limits his recognition, on the north, by oxford-street, on the east, by bond-street, on the south, by pall mall, and on the west, by park-lane. ask him where is russell square, and he stares at you for a rustic; inquire what authors he reads, and he answers weatherbey and rhodes; ask what are their works, and he laughs outright at your ignorance of the 'racing calendar,' 'annals of sporting,' 'boxiana,' and 'turf remembrancer;' question his knowledge of science, it consists in starch _à la brummel_{ }; of mathematics, in working problems on the cards; of algebra, in calculating the long odds, or squaring the chances of the dice; he tells you, his favourite book is his betting account, that john bull is the only newspaper worth reading, and that you must never expect to be admitted into good society if the cut of your coat does not bear outward proofs of its being fabricated either in saint james's street or bond street; that the great requisites are _confidence, indifference, and nonchalance_; as, for instance, george wombwell being thrown out of his tilbury on high gate hill, when driving captain burdett, and both being dreadfully bruised, george is picked when brummel fell into disgrace, he devised the starched neckcloth, with the design of putting the prince's neck out of fashion, and of bringing his royal highness's muslin, his bow, and wadding, into contempt. when he first appeared in this stiffened cravat, tradition says that the sensation in st. james's-street was prodigious; dandies were struck dumb with envy, and washerwomen miscarried. no one could conceive how the effect was produced--tin, card, a thousand contrivances were attempted, and innumerable men cut their throats in vain experiments; the secret, in fact, puzzled and baffled every one, and poor dandy l------d died raving mad of it; his mother, sister, and all his relations waited on brummel, and on their knees implored him to save their kinsman's life by the explanation of the mystery; but the beau was obdurate, and l------d miserably perished. when brummel fled from england, he left this secret a legacy to his country; he wrote on a sheet of paper, on his dressing-table, the emphatic words, "starch is the man." ~ up by a countryman, when he inquires, very coolly, if 't'other blackguard is not quite dead:' his amours are more distinguished by their number than attractions, and the first point is, not attachment, but notoriety; the lady always being the more desirable, in proportion to the known variety of her gallants; that of all the pleasures of this life, there is nothing like a squeeze at court (see plate), or being wedged into a close room at a crowded rout. [illustration: page ] a ruffian was never thought of by our forefathers; the exquisite was; but he was more sublimated than the exquisite of the nineteenth century. the dandy is of modern date; but there is some polish on him--suppose it be on his boots alone. shape and make are attended to by him; witness the cumberland corset, and his making what he can of every body. then, again, he must have a smattering of french, and affect to be above old england. when he smokes, he does it from vanity, to show his _écume de mer_ pipe. he may have a gold snuff-box and a little diamond pin; and when he swears, he lisps it out like a baby's lesson. sometimes (not often) he plays upon the guitar; and the peninsular war may have made a man of him, and a linguist too; but he is far below the ancient exquisites (who touched the lute, the lyre, and violoncello). and he is an egotist in every thing--in gallantry, in conversation, in principle, and in heart. nor has the deterioration of the gentleman been confined to england only--polite and ceremonious france has felt her change. the revolution brought in coarse and uncivilised manners. the awkward and unsuccessful attempt at spartan and roman republican manners; the citizen succeeding to monsieur; the blasphemous, incredulous, atheistical principles instilled into the then growing generation of all classes; the system of equality, subversive of courtliness, and the obliging attentions and suavities of society, poisoned at once the source ~ ~~of morals and of manners; for there can be nothing gentlemanlike in atheism, radicalism, and the level, ling system. to this state of things succeeded a reign of terror, assassination, and debauchery; and lastly, a military despotism, in which the private soldier rose to the marshals baton; a groom in the stables of the prince of condé saw himself ennobled; peers and generals had brothers still keeping little retail shops; and a drum-boy lived to see his wife--a washerwoman, or fish vender--a duchess (madame lefevre). how can we expect breeding from such materials? bayonets gave brilliancy to the imperial court; and the youth of the country were all soldiers, without dreaming of the gentleman, except in a low bow and flourish of the hat; a greater flourish of self-praise, and a few warm, loose, and dangerous compliments to the fairer sex, became more than even the objects of their passion, but less so of their attentions and prepossessing assiduities. this military race taught us to smoke, to snuff, to drink brandy, and to swear; for although john bull never was backward in that point, yet st. giles's and not st. james's, was the _rendezvous_ for those who possessed that brutal and invincible habit. these were not amongst the least miseries and curses which the war produced; and they have left such mischievous traces behind them, that the mature race in france laugh at the old court, and at all old civil and religious principles, whilst our demoralized youth play the same game at home. and if a bolingbroke or a chesterfield was now to appear, he would be quizzed by all the smokers, jokers, hoaxers, glass-cockers, blacklegs, and fancy-fellows of the town, amongst whom all ranks are perfectly lost, and morality is an absolute term. o tempora! o moses! (as the would-be lady sckolard said.) nor does moses play second best in these characters of the day. moses has crept into all circles; from the ring to the peerage and baronetage, the stage, the ~ ~~race-course; and our clubs are tinged with the israelitish: they may lend money, but they cannot lend a lustre to the court, or to the gilded and painted saloons of the _beau monde_. the style of things is altered; we mean not the old style and new in point of date, but in point of brilliancy in the higher circles. our ancestors never bumped along the streets, with a stable-boy by their side, in a one-horse machine, which is now the _bon ton_ in imitation of our gallic neighbours, whose equipage is measured by their purse. where do you now see a carriage with six horses, and three outriders, and an _avant courier_, except on lord mayor's day? yet how common this was with the nobility _d'autrefois_. two grooms are no longer his grace's and my lord's attendants, but each is followed by one groom in plain clothes, not very dissimilar from the man he serves. do we ever see the star of nobility in the morning, to guard him who has a right to it from popular rudeness and a confusion of rank? all is now privacy, concealment, equality in exterior, musty and meanness: not that the plain style of dress would be exceptionable, if we could say in verity-- 'we have within what far surpasseth show.' but the lining is now no better (oftentimes worse) than the coat. our principles and our politeness are on a par--at low-water mark. the tradesman lives like the gentleman, and the nobleman steps down a degree to be, like other people, up to all fashionable habits and modern customs; whilst the love for gain, at the clubs, on the turf, in the ring, and in private life, debases one part of society, and puts down the other, which becomes the pigeon to the rook. whilst all this goes on, the press chronicles and invents follies for us; and there are men stupid enough to glory in their depravity, to be pleased with their own deformity of mind, body, or dress, of their affectations, ~ ~~and their leading of a party. there is something manly in the yacht club, in a dexterously driving four fleet horses in hand, in reining in the proud barb, and in gymnastic exercises: but the whole merit of these ceases, when my lord (like him of carroty beard) becomes the tar without his glory, and wears the check shirt without the heart of oak--when the driver becomes the imitator of the stage and hackney box--when the rider is the unsuccessful rival of the jockey; and the frequenter of the gymnastic arena becomes a bruiser, or one turning strength into money, be the bet or the race what it may. 'shades of our ancestors! whose fame of old in ev'ry time the echoing world has told! whose dauntless valour and heroic deeds, each british bosom yet enraptur'd reads! deeds, which in ev'ry country, clime, and age, have fill'd the poet's and historian's page; of ev'ry muse the theme, and ev'ry pen: ye i invoke! and ye, my countrymen, if british blood yet flows within your veins, if for your country aught of love remains, o make your first, your chief, your only care, that which first rais'd and made you what you were.'" [illustration: page ] cheltonian characters. a trip to the spas. chapter i. ~ ~~ bernard blackmantle and bob transit pay a visit to the chelts--privileges of a spy--alarm at chelten-him--the rival editors--the setting of a great son--how to sink in popularity and respect--a noble title--an old flame-- poetical _jeu d'esprit_, by vinegar penn--muriatic acid--an attorney-general's opinion on family propensities given without a fee!!--the cheltenham dandy, or the man in the cloak, a sketch from the life-noble anecdote of the fox- hunting parson--bury-ing alive at berkeley--public theatricals in private--"a michaelmas preachment," by an honest reviewer--a few words for ourselves--the grand marshall--interesting story of a former m. c. "oh, i've been to countries rare; seen such sights, 'twould make you stare." [illustration: page ] "that last chapter of yours, blackmantle, on john long and john long's customers, will long remain a memorial of your scrutinizing qualifications, and, as i think, will prevent your taking your port, punch, pines, or soda-water in bond-street for some time to come, lest 'suspicion, which ever haunts the guilty mind,' should in the course of conversation convict you; and then, my dear fellow, you would certainly go off pop like the last-mentioned article in the above reference to the luxuries of long's hotel." ~ ~~"bravo, bob transit!" said i; "this comes mighty well from you, sir, my _fidus achates_.--'_a bon chat bon rat_'--the _fidus and audax_ satirists of the present times. and who, sir, dares to doubt our joint authority? are we not the very spies o' the age? 'joint monarchs of all we survey; our right there is none to dispute.' from the throne to, the thatched cottage, wherever there is character, 'there fly we,' and, on the wings of merry humour, draw with pen and pencil a faithful portraiture of things as they are; not tearing aside the hallowed veil of private life, but seizing as of public right on public character, and with a playful vein of satire proving that we are of the poet's school; 'form'd to delight at once and lash the age.' at this season of the year fashion cries out of town; so, pack up, master robert, and let us to chelt's retiring banks, where beaux and beauties throng, to drink at spas and play rum pranks, that here will live in song. what cheltenham was, is no business of ours; what it is, as regards its buildings, salubrious air, and saline springs, its walks, views, libraries, theatre, and varieties, my friend williams, whose shop at the corner of the assembly rooms is the grand lounge of the literati, will put the visitor into possession of for the very moderate sum of five shillings. but, reader, if you would search deeper into society, and know something of the whim and character of the frequenters and residents of this fashionable place of public resort, you must consult the english spy, and trace in his pages and the accompanying plates of his friend bob transit the faithful likenesses of the scenes and persons who figure in the maze of fashion, ~ ~~or attract attention by the notoriety of their amours, the eccentricity of their manners, or the publicity of their attachments to the ball or the billiard-room, the card or the hazard-table, the turf or the chase; for in all of these does cheltenham abound. from the _cercle de la basse to the cercle de la haute_, from the nadir to the zenith, 'i know ye, and have at ye all'--ye busy, buzzing, merry, amorous groups of laughter-loving, ogling, ambling, gambling cheltenham folk. 'a chiel's among ye taking notes, and faith, he'll print them.' to spy out your characteristic follies, ye sons and daughters of pleasure, have we, bernard blackmantle and robert transit, esquires, travelled down to cheltenham to collect materials for an odd chapter of a very odd book, but one which has already established its fame by continued success, and, as i hope owes much of its increasing prosperity to its characteristic good-humour; so, without more preface, imagine a little dapper-looking fellow of about five feet something in altitude, attended by a tall sharp-visaged gentleman in very spruce costume, parading up and down the high-street, cheltenham--lounging for a few minutes in williams's library--making very inquisitive remarks upon the passing singularities--and then the little man most impertinently whispering to his friend with the quixotic visage, book him, bob--when out comes the note book of both parties, and down goes somebody. afterwards see them popping into this shop, and then into the other, spying and prying about--occasionally nodding perhaps to a london actor, who shines forth here a star of the first magnitude; john liston, for instance, or tyrone power--then posting off to the well walks, or disturbing the peaceful dead by ambling over their graves in search of humorous epitaphs--making their way down to the berkeley kennel in north-street (see plate), ~ ~~or paying a visit to the paphian divinities at the oakland cottages under the cleigh hills--trotting here and there--making notes and sketches until all cheltenham is in a state of high excitement, and the rival editors of the chronicle and journal, messrs. halpine and judge, are so much alarmed that they are almost prepared to become friends, and unite their forces for the time against the common enemy. [illustration: page ] imagine such an animated, whispering, gazing, inquiring scene, as i have here presented you with a slight sketch of, and, reader, you will be able to form some idea of the first appearance of the english spy and his friend the artist, among the ways and walks of merry cheltenham. then here 'at once, i dedicate my lay to the gay groups that round me swarm, like may-bees round the honied hive, when fields are green, and skies are warm and all in nature seems alive.' time was, a certain amorous colonel carried every thing here, and bore away the belle from all competitors; the hunt, the ball, the theatre, and the card-party all owned his sovereign sway; although it must be admitted, that, in the latter amusement, he seldom or ever hazarded enough to disturb his financial recollections on the morrow. but time works wonders--notoriety is of two complexions, and what may render a man a very agreeable companion to foxhunters and frolicsome lordlings, is not always the best calculated to recommend him in the eyes of the accomplished and the rigid in matters of moral propriety. but other equally celebrated and less worthy predilections have been trumpeted forth in courts and newspapers, until the fame of the colonel has spread itself through every grade of society, and, unlike that wreath which usually decks the gallant soldier's brow, a cypress chaplet binds the early gray, and makes admonitory signal of the ill-spent past. the wrongs of an injured ~ ~~and confiding husband, whose fortunes, wrecked by the false seducer, have left him a prey to shattered ruin, yet live in the remembrance of some honest cheltenham hearts; and although these may feel for the now abandoned object of his illicit passion, there are but few who, while they drop a tear of pity as she passes them daily in the street, do not invoke a nobler feeling of indignation upon the ruthless head of him who forged the shafts of misery, and pierced at one fell blow the hearts of husband, wife, and children! what father that has read maria's hapless tale of woe, and marked the progress of deceptive vice, will hereafter hazard the reputation of his daughters by suffering them to mix in cheltenham society with the branded seducer and his profligate associates? gallantry, an unrestricted love of the fair sex, and a predilection for variety, may all be indulged in this country to any extent, without betraying confidence on the one hand or innocence upon the other, without outraging decency, or violating the established usages of society. while the profligate confines his sensual pleasures with such objects as i allude to within the walls of his harem, the moralist has no right to trespass upon his privacy; it is only when they are blazoned forth to public view, and daringly opposed to public scorn, that the lash of the satirist is essentially useful, if not in correcting, at least in exposing the systematic seducer, and putting the inexperienced and the virtuous on their guard against the practice of profligacy. it is the frequency and notoriety of such scenes that has at last alarmed the chelts, who, fearing more for their suffering interests than for their suffering fellow-creatures, begin to murmur rather loudly against the berkeley adonis, representing that the town itself suffers in respectability and increase of visitors, by its being known as the rendezvous of the bloods and blacks of berkeley. the truth of this assertion may be gathered from the ~ ~~following _jeu d' esprit_, only one among a hundred of such squibs that have been very freely circulated in cheltenham and the neighbourhood within the last year. 'news from cheltenham. 'the season runs smartly in cheltenham's town, the gossips are up, and the colonel is down; he has taken the place of the famous old gun { } that exploded last year, and created some fun. were no lives then lost? some say, yes! and some, no! the report even shook the old walls of glasgow.{ } and the bushe was found out to be no safe retreat, for in love, as in war, you may chance to be beat; and a hell-shaming fellow can never be reckon'd, whate'er he may publish, a capital second.' "but now having had our fling at his vices, let us speak of him more agreeably; for the fellow hath some qualifications which, if humour suit, enables him to shine forth a star of the first magnitude among _bons vivants_ and sporting characters, who ride, amble, and vegetate upon the banks of the chelt. such is his love of hunting, a pleasure in which he not only indulges himself, but enables others, his friends, to participate with him, by keeping up a numerous stud of thirty well trained horses, and a double pack of fox-hounds, that no appropriate day may be lost, nor any opportunity missed, of pursuing the sports of the chase. this is as it should be, and smacks of that glorious spirit which animated his ancestors; although the violence of his temper will sometimes break out even here, in the field, when some young and forward nimrod, unable to restrain his fiery steed, _o'er-caps_ the hounds, or crosses the scent. as the chelts are, or have been, greatly benefited by the hounds being kept alternately during the hunting months between a good-morrow to you, captain gun. miss glasgow, divine perfection of antique virgin purity! what could the poet mean by this allusion? ~ ~~cheltenham and gloucester, they must at least feel some little gratitude to be due to the man who is the cause of such an increase of society, and consequent expenditure of cash. but, say they, we lose in a fourfold degree; for the respectable portion of the fashionable visitants have of late cut us entirely, to save their sons and daughters from pollution and ruin, by association or the force of example. 'tis not in the nature of the english spy rudely to draw aside the curtain, even to expose the midnight revelries and debaucheries, of which he possesses some extraordinary anecdotes; events, which, if recorded here, would, in the language of the poet, 'give ample room, and verge enough, the characters of hell to trace; how through each circling year, on many a night, have severn's waves re-echoed with affright the shrieks of (maids) through berkeley's roofs that ring.' "but let these tales be told hereafter, as no doubt they will be, by the creatures who now pander to vice, when the satiated and the sullen chief sinks into decay, or cuts from his emaciated trunk the filthy excrescences which, like poisonous fungus, suck the sap of honour and of life. the colonel hath had many trials in this life, and much to break down a noble and a proud spirit. in earlier days, a question of birthright, while it cut off one entail, brought on another, which entailed a name, not the ancient gift of a monarch, but one still more ancient, and, according to dodsley's chronology of the kings of england, the origin of british sovereignty itself--a '_filius nullius,_' a title that left it open to the wearer to have established his own fame, and to have been the architect of a nobler fortune; for 'who nobly acts may hold to scorn the man who is but nobly born.' "had the colonel acted thus, there is little doubt but long ere this the kind heart of his majesty would have ~ ~~warmed into graciousness as he reflected upon the untoward circumstances which removed from the eldest born of an ancient house the honours of its armorial bearings; the _engrailed bar_ might have been erased from the shield, and the coronet of nobility have graced the elder brother, without invading the legal designation or claims of the legitimate younger; but i sing of a day that is gone and past, of a chance that is lost, and a die that's cast. and even now, while i am sermonizing on late events but too notorious, the busy hum of many voices buzzes a tale upon the ear that sickens with its unparalleled profligacy; but the english spy, the faithful historian of the present times, refuses to stain his pages by giving credit to, or recording, the imputed profligate connexion. adieu, _monsieur_ the colonel; fain would i have passed you by without this comment; but your association with the black spirits of the 'age'{ } has placed you upon a pedestal, the proper mark for satire to shoot her barbed arrows at. "but let us take a turn down the high street; and as i live here comes an old flame of the colonel's, miss r*g*rs, who is now turned into mrs. e***n, and who, it is said, most wickedly turned her pen, and pointed the following _jeu d'esprit_ against her late protector, when he was laid up by a serious accident, which happened to his knee after the more serious loss of a--_foote_. "a fellow-feeling makes us wondrous kind" says pope; and it would appear so from the intimacy which subsists between the colonel and his jackall bunn, the would-be captain, who it is said is the _filius nullius_ of old ben bunn the _conveyancer_, not of legal title or estate by roll of parchment, but of the very soil itself. lord w. lennox, too, no doubt, prides himself upon the illegitimate origin of his ancestry; and the publisher of the infamous scandals manufactured in the quadrant is also of the same kidney, being the reputed natural son of jolly old bardolph jennyns. what the remaining portion of the coterie spring from, the gents and bs., the sensitive nose of a sensible man will very easily discover. ~ ~~ 'to cupid's colonel help, ye people all; he's missed his _footing_, 'pride has had a fall;' the knee's uncapp'd, the calf laid open quite, the foote presents the most distressing sight; its form so perfect, pity none were nigh, with warning voice to guard from injury. waltzers! your peerless partner view, the gallant gay lothario quite _perdu; sans foote_ to rest upon, his claims deny'd to take a birth by english nobles' side. let him to cheltenham, 'tis not to go far; he's sure to find a _seat--on irish car_.' "i am told, but i cannot discover the allusion myself, that miss b*g*rs was prompted to this effusion of the satiric muse by the green-eyed monster, jealousy, observe that machine yonder, rumbling up the street like an irish jaunting-car, that contains the numerous family of m***r, the vinegar merchant, whose lady being considered by the chelts as lineally descended from the tartar race, they have very facetiously nicknamed muriatic acid. the mad wag with the sandy whiskers yonder, and somewhat pleasant-looking countenance, is a second-hand friend of the colonel's; mark how he is ogling the young thing in the milliner's shop through the window: his daily occupation, making assignations, and his nightly amusement, a new favourite. a story is told of his father, a highly respected legal character in the emerald isle, that, on being asked by a friend why his son had left the country, replied, 'by jasus, sir, it was high time: sure i am there's enough of the family left behind. is not his lady in a _promising_ way, and both his female servants, and those of two or three of his friends, and are not both mine in a similar situation? zounds, sir, if he had remained here much longer, there would not have been a single female in the whole country. however, 'good wine, they say, needs no bushe,' so i shall leave him unmarked by his family cognomen, lest this ~ ~~should be taken as a puff-card of his capabilities, and thereby add to the list of his cytherean exploits. in a late affair, when the colonel was called out (but did not come), sir patrick beat about the bushe for him very judiciously, and by great skill in diplomacy enabled his friend to come off second best. but here comes one who stands at odds with description, and attracts more notice in cheltenham than even the colonel, his companions, and all the metropolitan visitory put together. if i was to lend myself to the circulation of half the strange tales related of him by the chelts, i could fill a small-sized volume; but brevity is the soul of wit, and the eccentric mackey, with all his peculiarities and strange fancies for midnight mastications, has a soul superior to the common herd, and a 'heart and hand, open as day, to melting charity.' it is strange, 'passing strange,' that one so rich and fond of society, and well-descended withal, should choose thus to ape the ridiculous; a man, too, if report speaks truly, of no ordinary talents as a writer on finance, and an expounder of the solar system. vanity! vanity! what strange fantasies and eccentric fooleries dost thou sometimes fill the brain of the biped with, confining thy freaks, however, to that strange animal--man. the countenance of our eccentric is placid and agreeable, and, provided it was cleared of a load of snuff, which weighs down the upper lip, might be said to be, although in the sear o' the leaf, highly intellectual; but the old scotch cloak, the broad-brimmed hat of the covenanter, the loose under vest, the thread-bare coat shaking in the wind, like the unmeasured garment of the scarecrow, and the colour-driven nankeens, grown short by age and frequent hard rubbings; then, too, the flowing locks of iron gray straggling over the shoulders like the withered tendrils of a blighted vine--all conspire to arrest the attention of an inquisitive eye; yet the chelts know but little ~ ~~about his history, beyond his being a man of good property, the proprietor of the vittoria boarding-house, inoffensive in manners, obliging in disposition, and intelligent in conversation. his great penchant is a midnight supper, stewed chicken and mushrooms, or any other choice and highly-seasoned dish; to enjoy which in perfection, he hath a maiden sleeping at the foot of his bed ready to attend his commands, which, it is said, are communicated to her in a very singular way; no particle of speech being used to disturb the solemn silence of the night, but a long cane reaching downwards to the slumbering maid, by certain horizontal taps against her side, propelled forward by the hand of the craving _gourmand_, wakes her to action, and the banquet, piping-hot from the stew-pan, smokes upon the board, unlike a vision, sending up real and enchanting odoriferous perfumes beneath his olfactory organs. extraordinary as this account may appear, it is, i believe, strictly true, and is the great feature of the eccentric's peculiarities, all the minor whims and fancies being of a subordinate and uninteresting nature. i shall conclude my notice of him by relating an action that would do honour to a king, and will excuse the eccentric with the world, although his follies were ten times more remarkable. during the suspension of payments by one of the cheltenham banks, and when all the poorer class of mechanics and labourers were in a most piteous situation from the unprecedented number of one pound provincial notes then in circulation, mr. mackey, to his eternal-honour be it related, and without the remotest interest in the bank, stepped nobly forward, unsolicited and unsupported, gave to all the poor people who held the one pound notes the full value for them, reserving to himself only the chance of the dividend. ye berkeleys, ducies, lennoxes, cravens, hammonds, bushes, molineauxes, and coventrys, and all the long list of cheltenham gay! ~ ~~show me an action like this ye have done--a spirit so noble, when did you display?--do you see that rosy-gilled fellow coming this way, with a hunting-whip in his hand? in costume, more like a country horse-dealer than a country clergyman; yet such he was, until the bishop of the diocese removed the clerical incumbrance of the cassock, to give the wearer freer license to indulge his vein for hunting, coursing, cock-fighting, and the unrestricted pleasures of the table and the bottle. a good story is told of him and his friend, the colonel, who, having invited some unsophisticated farmer to partake of the festivities of the castle, laid him low with strong potations of _black strap_, and in that state had him carried forth to the stable-yard, where he was immured up to his neck in warm horse-dung, the pious ex-chaplain reading the burial-service over him in presence of the surviving members of the hunt." "who the deuce is that pleasant-looking fellow," said bob, "who appears to give and gain the _quid pro quo_ from every body that passes him?" "that, my dear fellow, is the grand marshal of all the merry meetings here, and a very gentlemanly, jovial, and witty fellow; just such a man as should fill the office of master of the ceremonies, having both seen and experienced enough of the world to know how to estimate character almost at a first interview; he is highly and deservedly respected. there is a very affecting anecdote in circulation respecting his predecessor, the detail of which i much regret that i have lost; but the spirit of the affair was too strongly imprinted upon my memory to be easily obliterated. he had, it appears, loved a beauteous girl in early life, and met with a reciprocal return; but the stern mandate of parental authority prevented their union. the lover, almost broken-hearted, sought a distant clime, and, after years of peril, returned to england, bringing with him a wife. the match had been one ~ ~~of interest, and they are seldom those of domestic bliss. it proved so here--he became dissipated, and squandered away the property he had possessed himself of by marriage. in this situation, he collected together the wreck of his fortunes, and retired to cheltenham, where his amiable qualities and gentlemanly conduct endeared him to a large circle of acquaintance, and, in the end, he was induced to accept the situation of master of the ceremonies. time rolled on, and his former partner being dead, he was, from his volatile and thoughtless disposition, again plunged in difficulties, and imprisoned for debt. the circumstance became known to her at whose shrine in early life he had vowed eternal devotion: with a still fond recollection of him, who alone had ever shared her heart, she hastened to the spot, and, being now a wealthy spinster, paid all his debts and released him from durance. gratitude and love both pointed out the course for the obliged m. c. to pursue; but, alas! there is nothing certain in the anticipations of complete happiness in this life. the lady fell suddenly sick, and died on the very day they were to have been married, leaving him sole executor of her property. the calamitous event made such a deep impression upon a feeling mind, already shaken by trouble and disease, that finding his prospects of bliss again blighted without a chance of recovery, he fell into a state of despondency, and was, within a week, laid a corpse by the side of his first love. at the post-office,--purposely placed out of the way by the sagacious chelts to give strangers the trouble of making inquiries,--i received the following whim from the same witty pen who wrote me, anonymously, an inauguration ode to commence my second volume with." "who is this whimsical spirit in the clouds?" said bob. "ay, lad," i retorted, "that's just the inquiry i have been making for the last eight months: ~ ~~although it would appear we have--_ad interim_--been running, riding, racing, rowing, and sailing together in various parts of the kingdom, you perceive, bob, there are more spies than ourselves at work. however, this must be some protecting geni who hovers over our heads and fans the air on silken wing, wafting zephyr-like the ambrosial breeze, where'er our merry fancies stray. anon, 'we'll drink a measure the table round;' and if we forget the 'honest reviewer,' may we lose all relish for a racy joke, and be forgotten ourselves by the lovers of good fellowship and good things." "which we never shall be," said bob; "for those eccentric _tomes_ of ours must and will continue to amuse a laughter-loving age, when we are booked inside and bound for t'other world." there was not a little egotism, methought, about friend transit's eulogy; but as every parent has a sort of poetical licence allowed him in praising his own bantlings, perhaps the patronage bestowed by the public upon the english spy may excuse a little vanity in either the author or the artist. "but you are the great magician o' the south yourself, bernard," continued transit, "and will you not use your power, you who can 'call spirits from the vasty deep'" "true, bob; i can call, but will they come when i shall command? however, let us retire to our inn, and after dinner we'll chant his lay; and if he dances not to the music of his own metre, then hath he no true inspiration in him, and is a poet without vanity, a _vara avis_ who delighteth not in receiving the reward of merit; so on, old fellow, to our quarters, where we will 'carve the goose, and quaff the wine,' and wish our sprite were here to dine-- we'd give him hearty cheer; a welcome such as hand and heart to kindred spirits should impart, where friendship reigns sincere.' ~ ~~we would punish him for sending his odes to us without sending his family cognomen therewith. have we not done him immortal honour--placed him in front of our second volume like a golden dedication, and what is more, selected him from many a pleasant whim, to stand by our side; the only associate who can claim one line engrafted on to the never-ending fame of the english spy?--but to the 'preachment;' let us have another taste of his quality." a second ode to bernard blackmantle, esq. or a michaelmas-day preachment. by an honest reviewer. "_iterumque, iterumque vocabo_."--ancient classics. "'tis a lucky day, boy, and we'll do goods on't." --winter's tale. "ours is the skie, where at what fowle we please our hawks shall flie." --anon. ay, here i come once more, great sir, out of pure love to minister some golden truths to thee; faustus ye're not, nor frankenstein, yet, being up to trap, i ween you'll need a sprite like me. eve watch'd you closely, my young squire, since at vol. two i cool'd the ire that left a little stain; and therefore wonder not, sweet spy, since both of us at follies fly, your "tonson comes again." ~ ~~ this is the day of michaelmas. many would say, ay, "let that pass" as a forgotten thing. not so with us, our rent we pay, and do we not, on quarter-day, our taxes to the king? since, then, "our withers are unwrung," and we need wish no blister'd tongue to creditors and duns, let's carve the goose, and quaff the wine, and toast september twenty-nine, nor mark how fast time runs. we've clone the same; that is, we've quaffd, and sung, and danced, and drunk, and laugh'd, when we were half seas over; i don't mean tipsy, bless you, no! but when we pass'd, like dart from bow, cowes roads on board the rover. so pipe all hands; for though no gale from sea-wash'd shores distend our sail, we'll man a vessel here. this room's our ship; this wine's our tide; and the good friends we sit beside, the messmates of our cheer. ay, this looks well; now till the glass to king, to country, and our lass, and all of pluck and feather; that done around, and nothing loth, since we are "learned thebans" both, we'll have some talk together. you've been to cheltenham, i find, and, zounds! you really ride the wind, to bath and worcester too; to south'ton and the isle of wight, as if increase of appetite with every new dish grew. ~ but it was really _infra dig_. spite of your old horse and new gig, you did not, some fine morn, drive up to malcolm ghur, d'ye see,{ } and leave two pretty cards for me and sir john barleycorn. we would have been your chorus, sir, or, an' you pleased, your trumpeter, and _lioned_ you about; have shown you every pretty girl, and every _nouvelle_ quadrille twirl, and every crowded rout. at eight o' morns have call'd you down, (what would they say of that in town?) to swallow pump-room water; at eight o' nights have call'd you up, (our grandams used just then to sup), to 'gin the dinner slaughter. have whisk'd you o'er to colonel b's, or drove you up to captain p's, dons unto cheltenham steady. but i forget the world, good lack, have play'd enough with such a pack of great court-cards already. malcolm ghur, one of the very prettiest of the many pretty newly-erected mansions that give a character to the environs of cheltenham. to its proprietor do i owe much for hospitality; a merrier man, withal, dwells not in my remembrance; he is of your first-rate whist players, though he rarely now joins in the game. as the chaplain of the county-lodge of f. m. he is much distinguished; and, at the dinners of the friendly brothers--which are luxurious indeed, and all for the "immortal memory" of william, king of that name, and whose portrait ornaments their reading- room--who better than he can "set the table in a roar"? ~ ~~ have set you down at ten pound whist with a-------y, and the _au fait_ list,{ } turning your nights to days; or, somewhat wiser, bid you mix where less expensive are odd tricks, and where friend r-------n plays.{ } have made you try a double trade, by clapping you in masquerade, to jaunt at fancy-balls; you would have seen some merry sights on two or three particular nights, in good miss-----------'s halls.{ } you could have gone as harlequin, or clad yourself in zamiel's skin, your tending spirits we; or "peeping tom" may be more apt, since all are in your record clapp'd we send to coventry. colonel a------y, certainly tho first whist player of the rooms. if he ever drilled a company of raw recruits half as well as he manages a handful of bad cards, he must have been the very admirable crichton of soldiership. mr. r------n, a facetious and good-humoured son of erin; true as clock-work to the board of green cloth, though he has been an age making a fortune from it. among the most fashionable amusements of cheltenham are the fancy-balls, given by two or three of the principal sojourners in that place, of card-playing, scandal, freemasonry, and hot water--god knows how many are in the latter ingredient! the most splendid i recollect was given by colonel---------, or rather miss---------, whose _protégé_ he married; touching which alliance, there is a story of some interest and much romance. of that, as pierce egan says very wittily in every critique, "of that anon." there certainly was some fun and humour displayed by a few of the characters on the particular evening i mention; the two best performers were a reverend gentleman as one of russell's waggoners, inimitably portrayed, and captain b. a-----e, not the author of "to day," but his brother, as an indian prince. the dress, appearance, and language to the life. ~ ~~ yet still you've shown us, my smart beau, things that we should and should not know, vide the oakland cots. bernard blackmantle, learned spy, don't you think hundreds will cry fie, if you expose such plots? you should have told them as i do, and yet i love your hunters too, that nothing is so vile as strutting up and down a street, dirt-spatter'd o'er from head to feet, in the horse-jockey style. _ne sutor ultra crep_, should tell these red-coats 'tis a paltry swell, such careless customs backing; if they must strut in spurs and boots, for once i'd join the chalk recruits, and shout, "use turner's blacking." howe'er, push on--there are of all, good, bad, high, low, and short, and tall, that seek from you decrees. fear not, strike strong--you must not fly-- we will have shots enough--i'm by, a mephistopheles. there surely is much and offensive vanity in the practice adopted by many members of the b. h. of appearing on the pro-menades and in the rooms of cheltenham, bespattered o'er with the slush and foam of the hunting field. every situation has its decent appropriations, and one would suppose comfort would have taught these nimrods a better lesson. it is pardonable for children to wear their valentines on the th of february, or for a young ensign to strut about armed _cap à pie_ for the first week of his appointment; but the fashion of showing off in a red jerkin, soiled smalls, mudded boots, and blooded spurs, is not imitable: there is nothing of the old manhood of sport in it; foppery and fox-hunting are not synonymous. members of the b. h. look to it; follow no leader in this respect. or, if you must needs persevere, turn your next fox out in the ball-room, and let the huntsman's horn and the view halloo supersede the necessity of harps and fiddle-strings. ~ ~~ we'll learn and con them each by heart, set them in note books by our art, each lord, and duke, and tailor. from dr. s------{ } to peter k------, u------, o------, and i------, and e-----, and a------, down to the ploughman naylor.{ } then let them sow their crop of cares, their flowers, their weeds, their fruit, their tares, not looking ere they leap. we, like the folks in jamie's book{ } will i' the dark sharp up our hook, and, my own barnard, reap. dr. s---------e, a very singular, but a very hearty kind of caleb quotem. he has been soldier, and sailor, doctor, and, i believe, divine. he is as well known at the best parties as the wells and the market-house. he gives feasts fit for the gods at home, and invariably credits his neighbours' viands as being jove's nectar or the fruits of paradise, so as to him they be not forbidden. short commons could not upset his politeness. his anecdotes have a spice of the old courtier about them; but the line old _chanson à boire_, from gammar gurton's needle, "back and side go bare, go bare, both foot and hand go cold; but belly, god send good ale enough, whether it be new or old;" he really gives beautifully, and with a spice of the olden time quite delightful. mr. naylor, of the plough hotel; an excellent boniface, a good friend, and a merry companion. as a boy, i recollect him keeping the castle at marlborough; at "frisky eighteen," i have contributed to his success at the crown at portsmouth; and i now, older, and it may be, a little wiser grown, patronize him occasionally at cheltenham. vide hogg's brownie of bodsbeck. a trip to the spas. ~ ~~ chapter ii. the spas--medicinal properties--interesting specimens of the picturesque--"spasmodic affections from spa waters"-- grotesque scripture--the goddess hygeia--humorous epitaph-- characters in the high street--traveller's hall, or sketches in the commercial room at the bell inn, cheltenham. "for walks and for waters, for beaux and for belles, there's nothing in nature to rival their wells." inquisitive traveller, if you would see the well-walks in perfection, you must rise early, and take a sip of the saline aperients before you taste of the more substantial meal which the _plough_-man. naylor, or the cheltenham _bell_-man, or the _shep-herd_ of the _fleece_, will be sure to prepare for your morning mastication. fashion always requires some talismanic power to draw her votaries together, beyond the mere healthful attractions of salubrious air, pleasant rides, romantic scenery, and cheerful society; and this magnet the chelts possess in the acknowledged medicinal properties of their numerous spas, the superior qualities of which have been thus pleasantly poetized:-- "they're a healthful, and harmless, and purgative potion, and as purely saline as the wave of the ocean, whilst their rapid effects like a---- ----hush! never mind; we'll leave their effects altogether behind." in short, if you wish to obtain benefit by the drinking of the waters, you must do it _dulcius ex ipso fonte_, as my lord bottle-it-out's system, the nobleman who originally planned the well-walks, of sending it home ~ ~~to the drinkers in bed, has long since been completely exploded; while, on the other hand, its rapid effects have been very faithfully delineated by my friend transit's view of the royal wells, as they appeared on the morning of our visitation, presenting some very interesting specimens of the picturesque in the cruikshank style, actually drawn upon the spot, and affording to the eye of a common observer the most indubitable proofs of the active properties of the sulphate of soda, and oxide of iron, and gases, that none but the muse of a byron would attempt to describe in the magic of sound, lest it made a report ere he'd quitted the ground; and poets are costive, as all the world knows, and value no fame that smells under their nose. "would you like to take off a glass of the waters, sir?" said a very respectable-looking old lady to my friend transit, who was at that moment too busily engaged in taking off the water-drinkers to pay attention to her request. "there's a beautiful contortion!" exclaimed bob; sketching a beau who exhibited in his countenance all the horrors of cholera, and was running away as fast as his legs could carry him. "see, with what alacrity the old gentleman is moving off yonder, making as many wry faces as if he had swallowed an ounce of corrosive sublimate--and the ladies too, bless me, how their angelic smiles evaporate, and the roseate bloom of their cheeks is changed to the delicate tint of the lily, as they partake of these waters. what an admirable school for study is this! here we can observe every transition the human countenance is capable of expressing, from a ruddy state of health and happiness, to one of extreme torture, without charging our feelings with violence, and knowing that the pains are those of the patient's own seeking, and the penalties not of any long duration." in short, my friend bob furnished, instanter, the subject of "spasmodic affections from, ~ ~~spa waters," (see plate); certainly one of his most spirited efforts. [illustration: page ] but we must not pass by the elegant structure of montpelier spa, the property of pearson thompson, esquire, whose gentlemanly manners, superior talents, and kind conduct, have much endeared him to all who know him as an acquaintance, and more to those who call him their friend. passing on the left-hand side of the upper well-walk, we found ourselves before this tasteful structure, and were much delighted with the arrangement of the extensive walks and grounds by which it is surrounded:--a health-inspiring spot, and as we are told, "where thompson's supreme and immaculate taste has a paradise form'd from a wilderness waste; with his walks rectilineous, all shelter'd with trees, that shut out the sunshine and baffle the breeze, and a field, where the daughters of erin{ }may roam in a fence of sweet-brier, and think they're at home." the sherborne spa, but recently erected, is indeed a very splendid building, and forms a very beautiful object from the high-street, from which it is plainly seen through a grove of trees, forming a vista of nearly half a mile in length, standing on a gentle eminence, presenting on both sides gravelled walks, with gardens and elegant buildings, that display great taste in architecture. the pump-room is a good specimen of the grecian ionic, said to be correctly modelled from the temple on the river ilissus at athens, and certainly is altogether a work worthy of admiration. the grotesque colossal piece of sculpture which crowns the central dome, as well as the building, has been wittily described by the author of the "cheltenham mail." the great number of irish families who reside and congregate at cheltenham fully justifies the poet's particular allusion to the fair daughters of erin. ~ ~~ "and then lower down, in fine leckampton stone, we've the fane of _ilissus_ in miniature shown; and crown'd with hygeia--a bouncer, my lud! and as plump, ay, as any princess of the blood, carved in stone, but a good imitation of wood: with her vest all in plaits, like some ancient costume, but or roman or grecian, i'm loth to presume, so i cannot be _poz_ yet i blush to confess, that her limbs are shown off in a little undress; whilst the goddess herself, _en bon point_ as she is, with her curls _à la grecque_, and but little _chemise_, is so plump and so round, my dear sir, it is plain, she must bring _the robust_ into fashion again." coming back through the churchyard from alstone spa, we discovered the following humorous epitaph. "here lies john ball; an unfortunate fall, by crossing a wall, brought him to his end." peace to his manes! but, with such a notice above him to excite attention, it is well he hears not, or ten times a clay his sleep might be sadly disturbed. once more we are in the high street, where i shall just sketch two or three singularities, without which my notice of the eccentrics of cheltenham might be deemed imperfect. the dashing knight coming this way on horseback, with his double-pommelled saddle, is a well-known cheltenham resident, whose love of the good things of this world induced him to look into the kitchen for a helpmate, and he found one, who not only supplies his table with excellent dishes, but also furnishes the banquet with a liberal quantity of sauce. the group of _roués_ to the right, standing under the portico (i suppose i must call it) to the rooms, is composed of that good-humoured fellow ormsby, who sometimes figures here as an amateur actor, and, whether on or off the stage, is generally respected for the amiable qualities of his heart. the ~ ~~gentleman with the _blue bauble_ round his neck is, or was, a lieutenant-colonel, and still loves to fire a great gun now and then, when he gets into the trenches before seringapatam; but i must leave others to unriddle the character, while i pay my respects to another military hero, who is no less famous among the chelts for his attachment to the stage--lieutenant-colonel b*****ll, of whom it would be difficult for any one who knew him to speak disrespectfully. sir john n****tt and his son, who are here called the inseparables, finish the picture upon this spot, with the exception of my old friend the jack of trumps, r*l*y, whose arch-looking visage i perceive peeping out like the first glance of a court card in the rear of a bad hand; but let him pass: the mirror of the english spy reflects good qualities as well as bad ones, and i should not do him justice if i denied him a fair proportion of both. descending to observe the eccentrics in a more humble sphere, who can pass by the dandy candy man with his box of sweetmeats, clean in person as a new penny, and his sturdy figure most religiously decorated with lawn sleeves, and a churchman's _tablier_ in front; while his ruddy weather-beaten countenance, and hairy foraging cap, give him the appearance of a scotch presbyterian militant in the days of the covenanters. then, too, his wares cure all diseases, from a ravaging consumption to a frame-shaking hooping cough; and not unlikely are as efficacious as the nostrums of the less mundivagant professors of patent empiricism. of all men in the world your coach _cad_ has the quickest eye for detecting a stranger; and who but sam spring, the box-book keeper of drury lane, whose eternal bow has grown proverbial, could ask an impudent question with more politeness than mr. court, the _chargé de affaires_ in the high street, for the conflicting interests of half a hundred coach proprietors "do you travel to-day, sir?--very happy to send for your luggage--go by the early coach, sir?--our porter ~ ~~shall call you up, only let me put you down at our office." thus actually bowing you into his book a week before you had any serious intention of travelling, by the very circumstance of reminding you of the mode by which you intend to reach home. i could add to these sketches a few singularities among the trading brotherhood of the chelts; but we may meet again: and after all it would, perhaps, be considered invidious to point out the honest tradesman to public notice, merely because he has caught something of the eccentricities of his betters, or, like them, is led away by the force of example. errata. in chapter i, page , contents, dele hi, and for penn, read pun. the man in the cloak, noble anecdote of, instead of the fox* hunting parson,--printer. traveller's hall. ~ ~~ sketches in the commercial room at the bell inn, cheltenltam--the traveller's ordinary--trade puns--bolton trotters and trottees--song, all the booksellers--curious sporting anecdote of a commercial man--song, the knight of the saddle bags--private theatricals in public--visit to the oakland cottages, a night scene. an invitation to dine with the traveller to a london house in the paper and print line, yclept booksellers, introduced the english spy and his friend, the artist, to the scene here presented (see plate). [illustration: page ] reader, if you wish to make a figure among the chelts and be thought any thing of, you will, of course, domicile at the plough; but if your object is a knowledge of life, social conversation, a great variety of character, and a never-failing fund of mirth and anecdote, join the gentleman travellers who congregate at the bell or the fleece, where you will meet with merry fellows, choice viands, good wine, excellent beds, and a pretty chambermaid into the bargain. your commercial man is often a fellow of infinite jest, a travelling vocabulary of provincial knowledge, and a faithful narrator of the passing events of the time. who can speak of the increasing prosperity, or calculate upon the falling interests of a town, so well as your flying man of business the moment he enters a new place he expects the landlord to be ready, cap in hand, to welcome him; he first sees his horse into a stall, and lectures the ostler upon the art of rubbing him down--orders boots to ~ ~~bring in his travelling bags or his driving box, and bids the waiter send the chambermaid to show him his bed-room--grumbles that it is too high up, has no chimney in the apartment, or is situate over the kitchen or the tap-room--swears a tremendous oath that he will order his baggage to be taken to the next house, and frightens the poor girl into the giving him one of the best bed-apartments, usually reserved for the coffee-room company. returning below, he abuses the waiter for not giving him his letters, that have been waiting his arrival a week, before he went up stairs--directs boots to be ready to make the circuit of the town with him after dinner, carrying his pattern-books, perhaps half a hundred-weight of birmingham wares, brass articles, or patterns of coffin furniture; and having thus succeeded in putting the whole house into confusion, only to let them know that the brummagem gentleman has arrived on his annual visit to the chelts, with a new stock of every thing astonishing in the brass line, he places himself down at a side table, to answer to his principals for being some days later on his march than they had concluded--remits a good sum in bills and acceptances, and adds thereunto a sheet of orders, that will suffice to keep the firm in good temper for a week to come: sometimes, indeed, the postscript contains a hint of an expected "whereas," or strong suspicions of an act of insolvency, but always couched in the most consolatory terms, hoping the dividend will turn out to be better than present circumstances might lead them to expect. in his visits to his customers he is the most courteous, obliging fellow imaginable; there is no trouble he thinks too much if he is likely to obtain his last account and a fresh order; then, too, his generosity is unbounded: he invites the tradesman to take wine with him at his inn, inquires kindly after all the family, hopes business is thriving, makes an offer of ~ ~~doing any thing for him along the road, and bows himself and his pattern-cards out of the shop, with as much humility and apparent sense of obligation as the most expert courtier could put on when his sovereign deigns to confer upon him some special mark of his royal favour. it is at his inn alone that his independence breaks forth, and here he often assumes as much consequence as if he was the head of the firm he represents, and always carried about him a _plum_ at least in his breeches pocket. this is a general character, and one, too, formed upon no slight knowledge of commercial men; but with all this, the man of the world will admire them and seek their company; first, that his accommodations are generally better, and the charges not subject to the caprice of the landlord; and, secondly, for the sake of society; for what on earth can be more horrible than to be shut up in a lone room, a stranger in a provincial town, to eat, drink, and pass the cheerless hour, a prey to solitude and _ennui_? but there is sometimes a little fastidiousness about these _knights of the saddle-bag_, in admitting a stranger to hob and nob with them; to prevent a knowledge, therefore, of our pursuits, my friend bob was instructed, before entering the room, to sink the arts, and if any inquisitive fellow should inquire what line he travelled in, to reply, in the print line; while your humble servant, it was agreed, should represent some firm in the spring trade; and thus armed against suspicion, we boldly marched into the commercial-room just as the assembled group of men of business were sitting down to dinner, hung our hats upon a peg, drew our chairs, uninvited, to the table, fully prepared to feel ourselves at home, and do ample justice to the "bagmen's banquet." the important preliminary point settled, of whom the duty of chairman devolved on, a situation, as i understood, always filled in a commercial room by ~ ~~the last gentleman traveller who makes it his residence, we proceeded to business. the privilege of finding fault with the dinner, which, by the by, was excellent, is always conceded to the ancients of the fraternity of traders; these gentlemen who, having been half a century upon the road, remember all the previous proprietors of the hotel to the fifteenth or twentieth generation removed, make a point of enumerating their gracious qualities upon such occasions, to keep the living host and representative _up to the mark_, as they phrase it. for instance--the old buck in the chair, who was a city tea broker, found fault with the fish: "there vas nothing of that ere sort to be had good but at billingsgate, where all the best fish from all the vorld vas, as he contended, to be bought cheaper as butcher's meat." the result of which remark induced the young wags at the table to finish a very fine brill, without leaving him a taste, while he was abusing it. "this soup is not like friend birch's," said mr. obadiah pure, a gentleman in the drug line; "it hath a watery and unchristianlike taste with it." "ay," replied a youngster at the bottom of the table, with whom it appeared to be in request, "i quake for fear while i am eating it, only i know there can be no drugs in it, or you would not find fault with a customer." "thou art one of the newly imported, friend," replied mr. pure, "and art yet like a young bear, with all thy troubles to come." "true," said the wag, "thou may be right, friend; but i shall not be found a _bruin_ with thy materials for all that." this sally put down the drug merchant for the rest of the dinner-time. "you had better take a little fish or soup before they are cold," said the chairman, to a bluff-looking beef-eater at his back, who was arranging his papers and samples. "sir, i never eat warm wittals, drink hot liquors, wear a great coat, or have my bed warmed." "the natural heat of your ~ ~~constitution, i suppose, excuses you," said i, venturing upon a joke. "sir, you had better heat your natural meal, while it is hot, without attempting to heat other people's tempers," was the reply; to which bob retorted, by saying, "it was quite clear the gentleman was not mealy-mouthed." "this beef smells a little of hounslow heath," said a jeweller's gentleman, on my right. "why so, sir?" was inquired by one who knew him. "because it has hung rather too long to be sightly." "you should not have left out the chains in that joke, sam," said his friend; "they would have linked it well together, and sealed the subject." "who takes port?" inquired the chairman. "i must sherry directly after dinner, gentlemen," said one. "what," retorted the company, "boxing the wine bin! committing treason, by making a sovereign go farther than he is required by law. fine him, mr. chairman." "gentlemen, it is not in my power; he is a bottle conjuror, i assure you, 'a good man and true;' he only retires to bleed a patient, and will return instanter." "happy to take a glass of wine with you, sir." "what do you think of that port, sir?" "excellent." "ay, i knew you would say so; the house of barnaby blackstrap, brothers, and company, of upper thames street, have always been famous for selling wines of the choicest vintage. do me the honour, sir, of putting a card of ours in your pocket: i sent this wine into this house in jennings's time, for the grand dinner, when the first stone of the new rooms over the way was laid, and john kelly, the proprietor, took the chair. you are lucky, sir, in meeting me here; they always pull out an odd bottle from the family bin, marked a-- , when i visit them." "yes, and some _odd sort_ of wine at any other time," grumbled out a queer-looking character at a side table opposite. "that's nothing but spleen, mr. sable," said the knight of the ruby countenance: "you and i have met occasionally at this house together now for three and twenty years; and although i never ~ ~~come a journey without taking an order from them, i thank heaven, i never knew you to receive one yet: many a dead man have we seen in this room, but none of them requiring a coffin plate to tell their age, and very few of them that were like to receive the benefit of resurrection." "i shall book you inside, mr. blackstrap,'' replied sable, "for joking on my articles of trade, which is contrary to the established usage of a commercial room." "do any thing you like but bury me," said the _bon vivant_." gentlemen, as chairman, it is my duty to put an end to all grave subjects. will you be kind enough to dissect that turkey?" "i don't see the bee's wing in this port, mr. blackstrap, that you are bouncing about," said a london traveller to a timber-merchant. "no, sir," said the humorist, "it is not to be seen until you are a deal higher in spirits; the film of the wing is seldom discernible in such mahogany-coloured wine as this." "sir, i blush like rose wood at your impertinence." "ay, sir, and you'll soon be as red as logwood, or as black as ebony, if you will but do justice to the bottle," was the reply. "there is no being cross-grained with you," said the timber-merchant. "not unless you cut me," retorted blackstrap, "and you are not sap enough for that." "gentlemen," continued the facetious wine-merchant, "if we do not get a little fruit, i shall think we have not met with our dessert; and although there may be some among us whose principals are worth a plum, there are very few of their representatives, i suspect, who will offer any objections to my reasons." thus pleasantly apostrophised, the fruit made its appearance, and with it a fresh supply of the genuine oporto, which our merry companion, blackstrap, called "his _old particular_." one of his stories, relative to a joke played off upon the bolton trotters, by his friend sable, the travelling undertaker, is too good to be lost. in lancashire the custom of hoaxing is called ~ ~~_trotting_, and in many instances, particularly at bolton, is still continued, and has frequently been played off upon strangers with a ruinous success. sable had, it would appear, taken up his quarters at a commercial inn, and, as is usual with travellers, joined the tradesmen in the smoking room at night to enjoy his pipe, and profit, perhaps, by introduction in the way of business. the pursuit of the undertaker and dealer in coffin furniture was no sooner made generally known, than it was unanimously agreed to trot him, by giving him various orders for articles in his line, which none of the parties had any serious intention of paying for or receiving. with this view, one ordered a splendid coffin for himself, and another one for his wife; a third gave instructions for an engraved plate and gilt ornaments; and a fourth chose to order an elegant suite of silver ornaments to decorate the last abode of frail mortality: in this way the company were much amused with the apparent unsuspecting manner of sable, who carefully noted down all their orders, and pledged himself to execute them faithfully. the bolton people did not fail to circulate this good joke, as they then thought it, among their neighbours, and having given fictitious names, expected to have had additional cause for exultation when the articles arrived; but how great was their surprise and dismay, when in a short time every order came, directed properly to the person who had given it! coffins and coffin-plates, silk shrouds and velvet palls, and all the expensive paraphernalia of the charnel-house were to be seen carried about from the waggon-office in bolton, to be delivered at the residences of the principal inhabitants. many refused to receive these mementoes of their terrestrial life, and others denied having ever ordered the same. sable, however, proved himself too _fast a trotter_ for the bolton people; for having, by the assistance of the waiter, obtained the true description of his ~ ~~customers on the night of the joke, and finding they were most of them wealthy tradesmen, he very wisely determined to humour the whim, and execute the orders given, and in due course of time insisted upon payment for the same. thus ended the story of the bolton trotters, which our merry companion concluded, by observing, that it put an end to sporting, in that way, for some time; and by the chagrin it caused to many of the trottees, distanced them in this life, and sent them off the course in a galloping consumption.{ } "there's honour for you," said sable, "civilized a _a bolton definition_.--when the bolton canal was first pro-posed, the athenians (for that bolton is the athens of lancashire no one can doubt) could not well understand how boats were to be raised above the level of the sea. a lock to them was as incom-prehensible as locke on the human understanding. a celebrated member of a celebrated trotting club was amongst the number of those who could not comprehend the mystery. unwilling to appear ignorant upon a question which formed the common topic of conversation, he applied to a scientific gentleman in the neighbourhood for an accurate description of a lock. it happened that the man of science had on one occasion been a _trottee_, and was glad to have an opportunity of retaliation. "a lock," said he, "is a quantity of sawdust congealed into boards, which, being let down into the water in a perpendicular slope- level, raises it to the declivity of the sea above!"--" eh?" said the athenian, "what dun yo' say?" the gentleman repeated his description, and the worthy boltonian recorded every word in the tablet of his memory. sometime afterwards he had the honour of dining with some worshipful brothers of the quorum, men as profoundly ignorant of the law as any of the unpaid magistracy need to be, but who, having seen canals, knew well enough what locks were. our athenian took an early opportunity of adverting to the proposed "cut," and introduced his newly-acquired learning in the following terms: "ah! measter fletcher, it's a foine thing a lock; yo' know'n i loike to look into them theere things; a lock is a perpendicular slop level, which, being let into the sea, is revealed into boards, that raises it to the declivity of the sea above!"--as it is the province and privilege of the ignorant to laugh at a greater degree of ignorance than their own, it may be supposed that their worships enjoyed a hearty laugh at the expense of their attic brother. ~ ~~whole district of english barbarians by one action, and, what is more, they have never ventured to trot with any one of our fraternity since." the conversation now took a turn relative to the affairs of trade; and if any one had been desirous of knowing the exact degree of solvency in which the whole population of the county of gloucester was held by these flying merchants and factors, they might easily have summed up the estimate from the remarks of the company. they were, however, a jovial party; and my friend bob and myself had rarely found ourselves more pleasantly circumstanced, either as regarded our social comforts, or the continued variety of new character with which the successive speakers presented us. as the evening approached our numbers gradually diminished, some to pursue their journeys, and others to facilitate the purposes of trade. the representative of the house of blackstrap and co., his friend sable, the timber merchant, our inviter the bookseller, and the two interlopers, remained fixed as fate to the festive board, until the chairman, and scarce any one of the company, could clearly define, divide, and arrange the exact arithmetical proportions of the dinner bill. after a short cessation of hostilities, during which our commercial friends despatched their london letters, and bob and the english spy, to escape the suspicion of not having any definable pursuit, emigrated to the high street; we returned to our quarters, and found the whole party debating upon a proposition of the bon vivants, to have another bottle, and make a night of it by going to the theatre at half price; a question that was immediately carried, _nemine contradicente_. mr. margin, our esteemed companion, who represented the old established house of sherwood and co., was known to sing a good stave, and what was still more attractive, was himself a child of song--one of the inspired of the nine, who, at the anacreontic club, held in ivy lane, would often amuse ~ ~~the society with an original chant; "whose fame," as blackstrap expressed it, "had extended itself to the four corners of the island, wherever the sporting works of sherwood and co., or the travelled histories of the messrs. longmans, have found readers and admirers." "gentlemen," said mr. margin, "my songs are all of a local nature; whims written to amuse a meeting of the trade for a dinner at the albion or the london, when the booksellers congregate together to buy copyrights, or sell at a reduced price the refuse of their stock. but, such as it is, you shall have it instanter." all the booksellers; a new song, by a london traveller. tune--family pride--irish air. first, longmans are famous for travels, will sherwood for sporting and fun, old ridgway the science unravels how politic matters are done. the ponderous tomes of deep learning, the heavy, profound, and the flat, by baldwin and cradock's discerning, are cheaper by half to come at. baines deals out to methodist readers cant, piously strung into rhyme; while rivingtons, 'gainst the seceders, with church and king hatchard will chime. john murray's the lords' own anointed, i mean not indeed to blaspheme, but the peers have him solely appointed to sell what their highnesses scheme. ~ ~~ colburn defies day and martin to beat him with " real japan;" if puffing will sell books, 'tis certain, he'll rival the bookselling clan. catechisms for miss and for master, for ladies who're fond oft, romance, sheriff whittaker publishes faster than booksellers' porters can dance. operatives, mechanics, combiners, knight and lacey will publish for you; they'll tickle ye out of your shiners, by teaching the power o' the screw. an architect looks out for taylor, a general egerton seeks; tommy tegg at the trade is a railer, but yet for a slice of it sneaks. richardson furnishes india with all books from europe she buys; near st. paul's, in old harris's window, the juveniles look for a prize. cadell is scotch ebony's factor, collecting the news for blackwood; john miller 's the man for an actor, america 's done him some good. the newmans of fam'd leadenhall in very old novels abound; while kelly, respected by all, as sheriff of london is found. will simpkin supplieth the trade from his office in stationers' court; and stockdale too much cash has made by publishing harriette 's report. ~ ~~the english spy antiquarians seek arch of cornhill; joe butterworth furnishes law; and major his pockets will fill by giving to walton _éclat_. where, with old parson ambrose, the legs once in gothic hall pigeons could fleece, there, hurst and co. now hang on pegs the fine arts of rome and of greece. john ebers with opera dancers is too much engaged for to look how the bookselling business answers, and publishes only "ude's cook." hookham and carpenter both are as cautious as caution can be; while andrews, nor chapple, a sloth are in trade, both as lib'ral as free. billy sams is a loyal believer, and publishes prints by the score; but his likeness, i will not deceive her, of chester _is not con amore_. if the world you are ganging to see, its manners and customs to note, in the strand, you must call upon leigh, where you'll find a directory wrote. cincinnatus like, guiding the plough, on harding each farmer still looks; clerc smith is the man for a bow, and his shop is as famous for books. _facetiæ_ collectors, give ear, who with mack letter spirits would deal; if rich in old lore you'd appear, pay a visit to priestley and weale. ~ ~~ there's ogle, and westley, and black, with mawman, and kirby, and cole, and souter, and wilson--alack! i cannot distinguish the whole. for robins, and hunter, and poole, and evans, and scholey, and co. would fill out my verse beyond rule, and my pegasus halts in the bow. the radicals all are done up; sedition is gone to the dogs; and benbow and cobbett may sup with their worthy relations the hogs. so here i will wind up my list with underwood, callow, and highley; who bring to the medicals grist, by books on diseases wrote dryly. just one word at parting i crave-- if italian, french, german, or dutch, to bother your noddle you'd have, send to berthoud, or treuttel and wurtz, or zotti, or dulau, or bohn, but they're all very good in their way; bossange, bothe, boosey and son, all expect _monsieur jean_ bull to pay. "a right merrie conceit it is," said blackstrap, "and an excellent memoranda of the eminent book-sellers of the present time." "ay, sir," continued the veteran; "all our old ballads had the merit of being useful, as well as amusing. there was 'chevy chase, and 'king john and his barons,' and 'merry sherwood,' all of them exquisite chants; conveying information to the mind, and relating some grand historical fact, while they charmed the ear. but ~ ~~your modern kickshaws are all about 'no, my love, no,' or 'sigh no more, lady,' or some such silly stuff that nobody cares to learn the words of, or can understand if they did. i remember composing a ballad in this town myself, some few years since, on a very strange adventure that happened to one of our commercial brethren. he had bought an old hunter at bristol to finish his journey homeward with, on account of his former horse proving lame, and just as he was entering cheltenham by the turnpike-gate at the end of the town, the whole of the berkeley hunt were turning out for a day's run, and having found, shot across the road in full cry. away went the dogs, and away went the huntsmen, and plague of any other way would the old hunter go: so, despite of the two hundred weight of perfumery samples contained in his saddle-bags, away went delcroix's deputy over hedge and ditch, and straight forward for a steeple chase up the cleigh hills; but in coming down rather briskly, the courage of the old horse gave way, and down he came as groggy before as a chelsea pensioner, smashing all the appendages of trade, and spilling their contents upon the ground, besides raising such an odoriferous effluvia on the field, that every one present smelt the joke.--but you shall have the song." the knight of the saddle-bags; a true relation of a traveller's adventure at cheltenham. tune--the priest of kajaga. a knight of the saddle-bags, jolly and gay, rode near to blithe cheltenham's town; his coat was a drab, and his wig iron-gray, and the hue of his nag was a brown. ~ ~~ from bristol, through glo'ster, the merry man came; and jogging along in a trot, on the road happ'd to pass him, in pursuit of game, of berkeley's huntsmen a lot. tally-ho! tally-ho! from each voice did resound; hark forward! now cheer'd the loud pack; sir knight found his horse spring along like a hound,' for the devil could not hold him back. away went sly reynard, away went sir knight, with the saddle-bags beating the side of his horse, as he gallop'd among them in fright; 'twas in vain that the hunt did deride. now up the cleigh hills, and adown the steep vale, crack, crack, went the girths of his saddle; sir knight was dismounted, o piteous tale! in wasjies the fishes might paddle. as prostrate he lay, an old hound that way bent gave tongue as he pass'd him along; which attracted the pack, who thus drawn by the scent, would have very soon ended his song. for o! it was strange, but, though strange, it was true! with perfumery samples, his bags with essences, musks, and rich odours a few, he had joined peradventure the nag's. the field took the joke in good-humour and jest; sir knight was invited to dine at the plough the same day, where a fine haunch was dress'd, and naylor gave excellent wine. from that time, 'raong the chelts, has a knight of the bag been look'd on as a man of spirit; for who but a knight could have hunted a nag so laden, and come off with merit? ~ ~~a visit from two of the commercial gentlemen of the fleece gave blackstrap another opportunity of showing off, which he did not fail to avail himself of in no very measured paces, by ridiculing the rival house, and extending his remarks to the taste of the frequenters. to which one of them replied, "mine host of the fleece is no 'wolf in sheep's clothing,' but a right careful good shepherd, who provides well for his flock; and although the fleece hangs over his door, it is not symbolical of any fleecing practices within." "ay," said the other, defending his hotel; "then, sir, we live like farmers at a harvest-home, and sleep on beds of down beneath coverings of lamb's wool; and our attendant nymphs of the chamber are as beautiful and lively as arcadian shepherdesses, and chaste as the goddess diana." "very good," retorted blackstrap; "but you know, gentlemen, that the beaux of this house must be better off for the belle. we will allow you of the fleece your rustic enjoyments, seeing that you are country gentlemen, for your hotel is certainly out of the town." a good-natured sally that quickly restored harmony, and called forth another song from the muse of blackstrap. health, competence, and good-humour. let titles and fame on ambition be shed, or history's page of great heroes relate; the motto i'd choose to encircle my head is competence, health, and good-humour elate. ~ ~~ the chaplet of virtue, by friendship entwined, sheds a lustre that rarely encircles the great; while health and good-humour eternally find a competence smiling on every state. no luxuries seeking my board to encumber, contented receiving what providence sends; age brightens with pleasure, while virtue may number competence, health, and good-humour as friends. then, neighbours, let's smile at old chronos and care; still shielded with honour, we're fearless of fate: with the sports of the field and the joys of the fair, we've competence, health, and good-humour elate. at the conclusion of this fresh specimen of our chairman's original talent, it was proposed we should adjourn to the theatre, where certain fashionable amateurs were amusing themselves at the expense of the public. "sir, i dislike these half and half vagabonds," said blackstrap, with one of his original gestures, "who play with an author before the public, that they may the more easily play with an actress in private. yon coxcomb, for instance, who buffoons brutus, with his brothers, are indeed capital brutes by nature, but as deficient of the art histrionic as any biped animals well can be. i remember a very clever artist exhibiting a picture of the colonel and his mother's son, augustus, with a captain austin, in the exhibition of the royal academy for the year , in the characters of brutus, marc antony, and julius cæsar, which caused more fun than anything else in the collection, and produced more puns among the cognoscenti than any previous work of art ever gave rise to. the romans were such rum ones--brutus was a black down-looking biped, with gray whiskers, and a growl upon his lip; marc antony, without the remotest mark of the ancient hero about him; and ~ ~~cassius looked as if he had been cashiered by the commander of some strolling company of itinerants for one, whose placid face could neither move to woe, nor yield grimace; and yet they were all accounted excellent likenesses, perfect originals, like wombwell's bonassus, only not quite so natural." during this rhapsody of blackstrap's, transit on the one side, and the english spy on the other, endeavoured to restrain the torrent of his satire by assuring him that the very persons he was alluding to were the amateurs on the stage before him; and that certain critical faces behind him were paid like the painter, of whom he had previously spoken, to produce flattering portraits in print, and might possibly make a satirical sketch of the bon vivant at the same time; an admonition that had not the slightest effect in abridging his strictures upon amateur actors. but as the english spy intends to finish his sketches on this subject, in a visit to the national theatres, he has until then treasured up in his mind's stores the excellent and apposite, though somewhat racy anecdotes, with which the comical commercial critic illustrated his discourse. the "liquor in, the wit's out," saith the ancient proverb; and, although my "spirit in the clouds" had already hinted at the dangerous consequences likely to result from a visit to the "oakland cottages," yet such was the flexibility of my friend transit's ethics, his penchant for a spree, and the volatile nature of his disposition, when the ripe falerian set the red current mantling in his veins, that not all my philosophy, nor the sage monitions of blackstrap, nor thought, nor care, nor friendly intercession could withhold the artist from making a pilgrimage to the altar of love. for be it known to the amorous beau, these things are not permitted to pollute the sanctity of the sainted chelts; but in a snug convent, situate a full mile and a half from cheltenham, at the extremity ~ ~~of a lane where four roads meet, and under the cleigh hills, the lady abbess and the fair sisters of cytherea perform their midnight mysteries, secure from magisterial interference, or the rude hand of any pious parochial poacher. start not, gentle reader; i shall not draw aside the curtain of delicacy, or expose "the secrets of the prison-house:" it is enough for me to note these scenes in half tints, and leave the broad effects of light and shadow to the pencils of those who are amorously inclined and well-practised in giving the finishing------touch. but to return to my friend transit. bright luna tipt with silvery hue the surrounding clouds, and o'er the face of nature spread her mystic light; the blue concave of high heaven was illumined by a countless host of starry meteors, and the soft note of philomel from the grove came upon the soul-delighted ear like the sweet breathings of the eolian harp, or the celestial cadences of that heart-subduing cherub, stephens; when we set out on our romantic excursion. reader, you may well start at the introduction of the plural number; but say, what man could abandon his friend to such a dangerous enterprise? or what moralists refuse his services where there was such a probability of there being so much need for them? but we are poor frail mortals; so a truce with apology, or prithee accept one in the language of moore: "dear creatures! we can't live without them, they're all that is sweet and seducing to man; looking, sighing, about and about them, we dote on them, die for them, do all we can." to be brief: we found excellent accommodation, and spent the night pleasantly, free from the sin of single blessedness. many a choice anecdote did the paphian divinities furnish us with of the _gay well-known_ among the chelts; stories that will be told again and again over the friendly bottle, but must not be recorded ~ ~~here. whether transit, waking early from his slumbers, was paying his devotions to venus or the water-bottle, i know not; but i was awoke by him about eight in the morning, and heard the loud echo of the huntsman's hallo in my ear, summoning me to rise and away, for the sons of nimrod had beset the house; information which i found, upon looking through the window, was alarmingly true, but which did not appear either to surprise or affright the fair occupants of the cottages, who observed, it was only some of the "berkeley hunt going out," (see plate), who, if they did not find any where else, generally came looking after a brush in that neighbourhood. [illustration: page ] "then the best thing we can do," said transit, "is to brush off, before they brush up stairs and discover a couple of poachers among their game." this, however, the ladies would by no means admit, and the huntsmen quickly riding away, we took our chocolate with the lady abbess and her nuns, made all matters perfectly pleasant, saluted the fair at parting, and bade adieu to the oakland cottages. upon our return to our inn, we received a good-humoured lecture from blackstrap, who was just, as he phrased it, on the wing for bristol and bath, "where" said he, "if you will meet me at old matthew temple's, the castle inn, i will engage to give you a hearty welcome, and another bottle of the old particular;" a proposition that was immediately agreed to, as the route we had previously determined upon. one circumstance had, during our sojourn in the west, much annoyed my friend transit and myself; we had intended to have been present at the doncaster race meeting for , and have booked both the betting men and their betters. certainly a better bit of sport could never have been anticipated, but we were neither of us endowed with ubiquity, and were therefore compelled to cry content in the west when our hearts and inclinations were in the ~ ~~north. "if now your 'spirit in the clouds,' your merry unknown, he that sometimes shoots off his witty arrows at the same target with ourselves, should archly suspect that old tom whipcord was not upon the turf, i would venture a cool hundred against the field, that we should have a report from him, 'ready cut and dried,' and quite as full of fun and whim as if you had been present yourself, master bernard, aided and assisted by our ally, tom whipcord of oxford." "heaven forgive you, blackmantle, for the sins you have laid upon that old man's back! you are not content with working him hard in the 'annals' every month, but you must make him mount the box of some of the short stages, and drive over the rough roads of the metropolis, where he is in danger of having his wheel locked, or meeting with a regular upset at every turn." though bob has given sufficient proofs of his spirit in danger, i certainly never suspected him to be possessed of the spirit of divination, and yet his prophetic address had scarcely concluded before boots announced a parcel for bernard blackmantle, esq. forwarded from london, per favour of mr. williams. and, heaven preserve me from the charge of imposing upon my reader's credulity! but, as i live, it was his very hand--another sketch by my attendant sprite, "the spirit in the clouds," and to the very tune of transit's anticipations, and my wishes. a familiar epistle to bernard blackmantle, esq., humorous description of doncaster races, the great st. leger, horses, and characters, in . by an honest reviewer, alias "the spirit in the clouds."{ } "all hail, great master! grave sir, hail! i come to answer thy best pleasure; be't to fly, to swim, to dive into the fire, to ride on the curl'd clouds; to thy strong bidding, task ariel, and all his quality. prospero. why, that's my spirit! shakspeare--tempest. "good morrow to my worthy masters; and a merry christmas to you all!"--the bellman. "mendiei, mimi, balatrones."--hor. "mimics, beggars, and characters of all sorts and sizes." --free translation. my good mr. spy, will you not exclaim, mercy upon us! here is a text and title as long and as voluminous as a modern publication, or the sermon of the fox-hunting parson, who, when compelled to see last number of the spy, part xxi. p. . ~ ~~preach on a saint's day, mounted the pulpit in his sporting toggery, using his gown as "a cloak of maliciousness?" but have patience, sweet spy; be kindly-minded, dear bernard: like john of magna charta memory, "i have a thing to say;" and do now be a good attentive hubert to hear me out. "indeed, since you have inspirited, if not inspired me, by the 'immortal honour' of dubbing me your 'associate,' i were wanting in common gratitude not to attempt, by the return of moon, for i believe that luminary, like your numbers, comes out new every fourth week, to convey to you the swellings-over of my gratitude for the kind and fine things you have been pleased to cheer me with; although even yet, though the time will come, i can neither withdraw my vizor, nor disclose my 'family cognomen.' [illustration: page ] it was true, and joy it was 'twas true, that we were at rowings, sailings, feastings, and dancings together, but how comes it we were not at the great racings together? that neither you, nor your ministers, they who, "----correspondent to command, perform thy spiriting gently----" were at the grand muster of the north, the doncaster meeting? bernard, i tell thee all the world was there; from royalty and loyalty down to the dustman and democracy. then such "sayings and doings," a million of hooks could hardly have had an eye to all. you have read of the confusion of tongues, of "babel broke loose," of the crusaders' contributory encampment peopled by dozens of nations; you have seen the inside of a patent theatre on the first night of a christmas pantomime, or mingled in an opera-house masquerade; have listened to a covent-garden squabble, a billingsgate commotion, or a watch-house row; but in the whole course of your life, varied as ~ ~~it has been, active as it has proved, you never have, never could have experienced any thing at all to eclipse or even to equal the "hey, fellow, well met" congregatory musters, and the "beautiful and elegant confusions" of doncaster town in the race week of (september) eighteen hundred and twenty-five! i am not, however, about to inflict upon you a "list of the horses," nor "the names, weights, and colours of the riders;" but i cannot help thinking that the english spy will not have quite completed his admirable gallery of portraits, and his unique museum of curiosities for the benefit and delight of posterity, if he omit placing in their already splendid precincts two or three heads and sketches, which the genius of notoriety is ready to contribute as her own, and which to pass over would be as grievous to miss, as mrs. waylett's breeches,{ } characters at the haymarket theatre, or a solution of euclid by one of dr. birkbeck's "operatives." allow me, then, who am not indeed "without vanity," once more to "stand by your side," or rather for you, and to attempt, albeit i have not your magic pencil, another taste of my quality, by dashing off _con amore_ the lions of the north. there frequently occur circumstances in a younker's life which lie never, in all his after career, forgets. i remember a very worthy and a very handsome old gentlewoman, the wife of an eminent physician, once being exceedingly wroth, it was almost the only time i ever knew her seriously angry, because a nephew of hers asserted all women were, what in the vulgate is called "knock-knee'd," and almost threatened to prove the contrary. had she lived in our days, the truth, almost on any evening on our stage, might be ascertained, and i fear not at all to the satisfaction of the defender of her sex's shape. nature never intended women to wear the breeches, and the invention of petticoats was the triumph of art. why will eve's daughters publicly convince us they are not from top to toe perfect? ~ ~~as, however, some that attend my sitting are quite as difficult to manage as the conspirators of prospero's isle, it may be as well if, like ariel, i sing to them as i lay on the colours of identification. bear in mind still, that i am a "spirit in the clouds," and, therefore, there can be nothing of "_michin malachi_" in my melody. i love a race-course, that i do; but then, good folks, it is as true, only don't blab, i tell it you, i can't love all its people; for though i'm somewhat down and fly, is slang gone out, sweet mister spy? of trade with them i am as shy as jumping from a steeple. yet what with fashion's feather'd band, and pawing steeds, and crowded stand; its sights are really very grand, which to deny were sin. but then, though fast the horses run, few gain by "clone," and "done," and "done," for what a damper to the fun! those "only laugh who win." oh! what a mixture must we greet in rooms, at inns, on turf, in street; be "hand and glove" with all we meet, old files, and new-bronzed faces! with marquis, lord, and duke, and squire, we now keep up the betting fire; and then the guard of the "highflyer" we book at northern races.{ } a song would be no song at all without notes; i must there-fore try a few. i can assure you they are not mere humming ones. _allons_--"all is not gold that glitters," neither is it all "prunella" that blows a horn upon the stern of a coach. the "york highflyer" i really am not to go down gratis "next jour-ney" for puffing it is a good coach, and the guard is a good guard, and he ventured a "good bit" of money on the léger, and was "floored," for "cleveland" was a slow one. however, it didn't balk his three days' holiday, nor spoil his new coat, nor blight his nosegay. i saw him after his defeat, looking as rosy as pistol, and heard him making as much noise as one; "nor malice domestic nor foreign levy" could hurt him. ~ ~~ look in that room,{ } judge for yourself; see what a struggle's made for wealth, what crushings, bawlings for the pelf, 'twixt high heads and low legs. that is lord k----,{ } and that lord d-----,{ } that's gully{ }; yon's fishmonger c;{ } a octree-man that; that, harry lee,{ } who stirr'd mendoza's pegs. or walk up stairs; behold yon board, rich with its thrown-down paper hoard, but oh! abused, beset, adored by wine-warm'd folks o' nights. the playing cog, the paying peer, pigeon and greek alike are here; and some are clear'd, and others clear; ask bayner,{ } and such wights. the new subscription room; where down stairs more than the "confusion of tongues" prevails, and above a man's character, if in-sured, would go under the column of "trebly hazardous." it is really a pity that hone-racing should appear so close a neighbour to gambling as it does at doncastor. my men of letters are not merely alphabet men, but bona fide characters of consideration upon the turf. i confess lord kennedy is a bit of a favourite of mine, ever since i saw him so good-natured at the pigeon-shooting matches at battersea; and greatly rejoiced was i to find him unplucked at the more desperate wagerings of the north. he really is clever in the main, and no subject for st. luke's, though he depends much on a bedlamite. gulley, crock-ford, and bland, need no character; and every body knows harry lee fought a pluck battle with old dan. but it is "box harry" with fighters now. poor rayner of c. g. t.--hundreds at one fell swoop! all his morning's winnings gone in one evening's misfortune. let him think on't when next he plays "the school of reform." ~ ~~ nay, thick as plagues of egypt swarm these emblems of the devil's charm, when the fall'n angel works a harm to eve's demented brood; worse than of famish'd shark the maw, worse than snake's tooth, or tiger's claw, the gambler's fish{ } spits from its maw hell's poison-filled food! but, halt! who're they so deep in port, who jostle thus the dons of sport, with all th' assumed airs of court, from which indeed they are? but not from court of carlton, nor james's court, nor any one; but where "the fancy" used to run to see the creatures spar. the one's a diamond, that you see, but yet a black one i agree, and in the way of chancery a smart ward in his time; the other he's from vinsor down, and though a great gun in that town, has lately been quite basted brown, and gone off--out of time.{ } the spotted ball now, worse in its woe-causing than the apple of ida, is disgorged from a splendidly gilded fish. what a pity it is that the eternal vociforators of "red wins, black loses," et vice versa, could not be turned into jonahs, and their odd fish into a whale, and let all be cast into the troubled waters (without a three days' redemption) they brew for others! "there never were such times." x xs, in the ring, and failures in the fives court, overcome us now without our special wonder; for boxers are become betters to extents that would make the fathers of the p.r. bless themselves and bolt. cannon and ward were, however, both on the right side, and the nods with which they honoured their old acquaintance were certainly improvements upon the style of the academy for manners in saint martin's street. ~ ~~ look, here's a bevy; who but they! just come to make the poor tykes pay the charge of post-horses and chay, that brought them to some tune; lo! piccadilly goodered laughs, as when some novice, reeling, quaffs his gooseberry wine in tipsy draughts, at his so pure saloon.{ } good gracious, too! (oh, what a trade can oyster sales at night be made!) here swallowing wine, like lemonade, sits mrs. h's man{ }! and by the loves and graces all, by vestris' trunks, maria's shawl, there trots the nun herself, so tall, a flirting of a fan, and blushing like the "red, red rose," with paly eyes and a princely nose, and laced in nora crinas clothes, (cool, like a cucumber,) with beaver black, with veil so green, and huntress boots 'neath skirt quite clean, she looks diana's self--_a quean_, in habit trimm'd with fur. and mr. wigelsworth he flew,{ } and miss and mistress w. to bow and court'sy to the new arrival at their boy; "lightly tread, 'tis hallow'd ground." i dare not go on; you have been before me, bernard: (vide vol. i. p. , of spy). but really it will be worth while for us to look in on goodered some fine morning, say three, a.m., when he gets his print of memnon home, to which, at sheardowns, he was so liberal as to subscribe. he will discourse to you of the round table! "if i stand here, i saw him."--shakespeare, hamlet. the host of the black boy at doncastor, who really pro- vided race ordinaries in no ordinary way. ~ ~~ though he was black, yet she was fair; and sure i am that nothing there with that clear nymph could aught compare, or more glad eyes employ. but where there is, after all, but little reason in many of the scenes witnessed at the period i quote, why should i continue to rhyme about them? let it therefore suffice, that with much of spirit there was some folly, with a good deal of splendour an alloy of dross, and, with real consequence, a good deal of that which was assumed. like a showy drama, the players (there was a goodly company in the north), dresses (they were of all colours of the rainbow), and decorations (also various and admirable), during the time of performance, were of the first order; but that over, and the green and dressing rooms displayed many a hero sunk into native insignificance, and the trappings of tamerlane degenerated to the hungry coat of a jeremy diddler (and there were plenty of "raising the wind" professors at doncaster), or the materiel of the king and queen of denmark to the dilapidated wardrobe of mr. and mrs. sylvester daggerwood. _mais apropos de le drame, monsieur l'espion_, what is your report of our theatres? have you seen the monkeys? are they not, for a classic stage, grand, ----those happiest smiles that play'd on her ripe lip, seem'd not to know what guests were in her eyes, which parted thence as pearls from diamonds dropt. in brief, her room would be a rarity most beloved, if all could so become it." shakespeare, a little altered. i would just say here, that if any disapprove of my picture of the lady, they may take bernard blackmantle's ~ ~~_magnifique, et admirable_? do they not awake in you visions of rapturous delight, as you contrast their antics and mimicry, their grotesque and beautiful grimaces, their cunning leers, with the eye of garrick, the stately action of kemble, the sarcasm of cooke, the study of henderson, the commanding port of siddons, the fire of kean, the voice of young, the tones of o'neill? when you see them, as the traveller dampier has it, "dancing from tree to tree over your head," and hear them "chattering, and making a terrible noise," do you not think of lord chesterfield, and exclaim, "a well-governed stage is an ornament to society, an encouragement to wit and learning, and a school of virtue, modesty, and good manners?" do you not feel, when you behold the flesh and blood punch and man-monkey of covent garden theatre "twist his body into all manner of shapes," or "monsieur gouffe," of the surrey, "hang himself for the benefit of mr. bradley," that we may pay our money, and "see, and see, and see again, and still glean something new, something to please, and something to instruct;" and, lastly, in a fit of enthusiasm, exclaim, "to wake the soul by tender strokes of art, to raise the genius and to mend the heart, to make mankind in conscious virtue bold, live o'er each scene, and be what they behold;" for this great jocko's self first leap'd the stage; for this was puffd in ev'ry well-bribed page, from evening "courier" down to sunday "age!"{ } it is suspicious, to say the least of it, this excess of praise to an old representation; for, after all, punch, the original punch, punch in the street, though not so loud, is ten times more to "our manner born," and much more original. that the beings who banish legitimate performers should puff, till we grow sick, a "thing of shreds and patches!" but "the world is still deceived by ornament." ~ ~~but charles kemble pays well on occasions, and gold would make "hyperion" of a "satyr." seriously, mr. blackmantle, the town is overrun with monkeys; they are as busy, and as importunate, as lady montague's boys on may day, or the guy fawkes representatives on the fifth of november. they are "here, there, and every where," and the baboon monopolists of exeter 'change and the tower are ruined by the importation:--a free trade in the article with the patentees of our classic theatres, as the purchasing-merchants, has done the business for mr. cross and the beef-eaters. like the athenian audience, the "thinking people" of england are more pleased with the mimic than the real voice of nature; and the four-footed puggys of the brazils, like the true pig of the grecian, are cast in the shade by their reasoning imitator! in short, not to be prosy on a subject which has awakened poetry and passion in all, hear, as the grave-diggers say, "the truth on't."{ } when winter triumph'd o'er the summer's flame, and c. g. opened, punchinello came; each odd grimace of monkey-art he drew, exhausted postures and imagined new: the stage beheld him spurn its bounded reign, and frighten'd fiddlers scraped to him in vain; his seven-leagued leaps so well the fashion fit, that all adore him--boxes, gallery, pit,{ } it is suspicious, to say the least of it, this excess of praise to an old representation; for, after all, punch, the original punch, punch in the street, though not so loud, is ten times more to "our manner born," and much more original. that the beings who banish legitimate performers should puff, till we grow sick, a "thing of shreds and patches!" but "the world is still deceived by ornament." one dr. samuel johnson has something like this, but then his lines were in praise of a "poor player," of a man who wasted much paper in writing dramas now thought nothing of. this is his doggrel. ~ ~~but i must have done. christmas will soon be here, and "i have a journey, sirs, shortly to go" to be prepared for its delights, and to fit myself for its festivities; and yet i am unwilling, acute bernard, merry echo, cheerful eglantine, correct transit, to "shake hands and part," without tendering the coming season's congratulations; so if it like you, dear spies o' the time, i will, like the swan, go off singing. marching along with berried brow, and snow flakes on his "frosty pow," see father christmas makes his bow, and proffers jovial cheer; about him tripping to and fro, picking the holly as they go, and kiss-allowing misletoe, his merry elves appear. then broach the barrel, fill the bowl, and let us pledge the hearty soul, though swift the waning minutes roll, and time will stay for none; lads, we will have a gambo still, for though we've made the foolish feel, and shamed the sinner in his ill, our withers are unwrung. "when learning's triumph o'er her barb'rous foes first rear'd the stage, immortal skakspeare rose; each change of many-colour'd life he drew, exhausted worlds, and then imagined new; existence saw him spurn her bounded reign, and panting time toil'd after him in vain: his powerful strokes presiding truth impress'd, and unresisted passion storm'd the breast." ~ ~~ no poison in the cup have ye, in all your travell'd history, pour'd for the hearty, good, and free; this will your book evince: so "here's the king!"fill, fill for him, then for our country, to the brim; with it, good souls, we'll sink or swim. huzzah! 'tis gall'd jades wince! but now, adieu; o'er hill and plain i scud, ere we shall meet again; meantime, all prosp'rous be your reign, and friends attend in crowds; before your splendid course is o'er, and blackmantle shall please no more, you'll know, though yet i'm doom'd to soar, your spirit in the clouds.{ }" november, . adieu, thou facetious sprite, and may the graybeard time tread lightly on thy buoyant spirits! meet thee or not hereafter, thou shalt live in my remembrance a cherished name, long as memory holds her influence o'er the eccentric mind of bernard blackmantle. here, too, must transit and myself take a farewell of merry cheltenham, ever on the wing for novelty: our sketches have been brief, but full of genuine character; nor can they, as i hope, be considered in any instance as violating our established rule--of being true to nature, without offending the ear of chastity, or exciting aught but "a. word to the wise," &c. get honest "tom whipcord" to take you by his hand on valentine's night to the "noctes" muster of the _sporting annals_ gents. you will know me by a brace of "bleeding hearts" in my plaited neckerchief, and a blue bunch of ribbons in my sinister side, as big as the herald newspaper, the gifts of my lady-love. ~ ~~the approving smile of the lovers of mirth, and the patrons of life's merriments. we had intended to have drawn aside the curtain of the theatre and the castle, and have shown forth to the gaze of the public the unhallowed mysteries which are sometimes performed there; but reflection whispered, that morality might find more cause to blush at the recital than her attendants would benefit by the exposure; and is is lamentably true, that some persons would cheerfully forfeit all claim to respectability of character for the honour of appearing in print, depicted in their true colours, as systematic and profligate seducers. to disappoint this infamous ambition, more than from any fear of the threatened consequences, we have left the sable colonel and his dark satellites to grope on through the murky ways of waywardness and intrigue, without staining our pages with a full relation of their heartless conduct, since to have revived the now forgotten tales might have given additional pain to some beauteous victims whose fair names have dropped into lethe's waters, like early spring flowers nipped by the lingering hand of slow-paced winter; or, in other instances, have disturbed the repose of an unsuspecting husband, or have stung the aged heart of a doting parent--evils we could not have avoided, had we determined upon rehearsing the love scenes and intrigues of certain well-known cheltenham amateurs. adieu, merry chelts! we're for quitting our quarters; adieu to the chase, to thy walks and thy waters, to thy hunt, ball, and theatre, and card tables too, and to all thy gay fair ones, a long, long adieu! blackmantle and transit, the spy and his friend, through gloucester and bristol, to bath onward bend. to show how amused they have been in your streets, they give you, at parting, this man of sweetmeats; a character, famous as mackey, the dandy, the london importer of horehound and candy; the cheapest of doctors, whose nostrums dispense a cure for all ills that affect taste or sense, i doubt not quite as good as one half your m.d.'s, though sweet is the physic and simple the fees; this, at least, you'll admit, as we dart from your view that our vignette presents you with a sweet adieu! a visit to gloucester and berkeley. sketches on the mood--singular introduction to an old friend--a tithe cause tried--a strange assemblage of witnesses--traits of character--effects of the farmers' success--an odd cavalcade--rejoicings at berkeley. ~ ~~the road from cheltenham to gloucester affords a good view of the cotswold and stroudwater hills, diversified by the vales of evesham, gloucester, and berkeley, bounded on the east by the severn, and presenting in many situations a very rich picturesque appearance. we are not of the dull race who dwell on musty records and ancient inscriptions, or travel through a county to collect the precise date when the first stone of some now moss-crowned ruin was embedded in the antique clay beneath. let the dead sleep in peace; we are not _anti-queer-ones_ enough to wish the mouldering reliques of our ancestors arrayed in chronological order before our eyes, nor do we mean to risk our merry lives in exploring the monastic piles and subterranean vaults and passages of other times. no; our office is with the living, with the enriched gothic of modern courts, and the finished corinthian capitals of society, illustrating, as we proceed, with choice specimens of the rustic and the grotesque; now laughing over our wine with the tuscan bacchanal, or singing a soft tale of love in the ear of some chaste daughter of the composite order; ~ ~~trifling perhaps a little harmless badinage with a simple ionic, or cracking a college joke with a learned doric; never troubling our heads, or those of our readers, about the origin or derivation of these orders, whether they came from early greece or more accomplished home; or be their progenitors of saxon, norman, danish, or of anglo-saxon character, we care not; 'tis ours to depict them as they at present appear, leaving to the profound topographers and compilers of county histories all that relates to the black letter lore of long forgotten days. gloucester is proverbial for its dulness, and from the dirty appearance of the streets and houses, was, by my friend transit, denominated the black city; a designation he maintained to be strictly correct, since it has a cathedral, a bishop, and a black choir of canonicals, and was from earliest times the residence of a black brotherhood of monks, whose black deeds are recorded in the black letter pages of english history; to which was added another confirmatory circumstance, that upon our entrance it happened the assizes for the county had just commenced, and the black gowns of banco regis, and of the law, were preparing to try the blacks of gloucestershire, out of which arose a black joke, that will long be remembered by the inhabitants of berkeley, and the tenantry of the sable colonel. we had made our domicile at the ham inn, by the recommendation of our cheltenham host, where we met with excellent accommodations, and what, beside, we could never have anticipated to have met with in such a place, one of the richest scenes that had yet presented itself in the course of our eccentric tour. the unusual bustle that prevailed in every department of the inn, together with a concatenation of sounds now resembling singing and speaking, and the occasional scraping of some ill-toned violins above our heads, induced us to make a few inquisitive ~ ~~remarks to mine host of the ham, that quickly put us in possession of the following facts. it appeared, that a suit respecting the right of the vicar of berkeley to the great tithes of that town had been long pending in the court of chancery, in which the reverend was opposed to his former friend, the colonel, the churchwardens of berkeley, and the whole of the surrounding tenantry. now this cause was, by direction of the lord chancellor, to be tried at these assizes, and, in consequence, the law agents had been most industrious in bringing together, by subpoena, all the ancient authorities of the county, the aged, the blind, and the halt, to give evidence against their worthy pastor; and as it is most conducive to success in law, the keeping witnesses secure from tampering, and in good-humour with the cause, the legal advisers had prepared such festive cheer at the bam, for those of the popular interest, as would have done honour to the colonel's banquet at the castle. such was the information we obtained from our host, to whose kind introduction of us to the lawyers we were afterwards indebted for a very pleasant evening's amusement. we were ushered into the room by one of the legal agents as two gentlemen from london, who, being strangers in the place, were desirous of being permitted to spend their evening among such a jovial society. the uproarious mirth, and rude welcome, with which this communication was received by the company, added to the clouds of smoke which enveloped their chairman, prevented our immediate recognition of him; but great and pleasant indeed was our surprise to find the most noble, the very learned head of the table, to be no other than our old eton _con._ little dick gradus, to whose lot it had fallen to conduct this action, and defend the interests of the agriculturalists against the mercenary encroachments of the church militant. this was indeed no common cause; and the greatest difficulty ~ ~~our friend gradus had to encounter was the restricting within due bounds of moderation the over-zealous feelings of his witnesses. it was quite clear a parson's tithes, if left to the generosity of his parishioners, would produce but a small modicum of his reverence's income. the jovial farmer chuckled with delight at the prospect of being able to curtail the demands of his canonical adversary. "measter carrington," said he, "may be a very good zort of a preacher, but i knows he has no zort of business with tithing my property; and if zo be as the gentleman judge will let me, gad zooks! but i will prove my words, better than he did the old earl's marriage, when he made such a fool of himsel' before the peers in parliament." "that's your zort, measter tiller," resounded from all the voices round the table. "let the clergy zow for themselves, and grow for themselves, as the varmers do; what a dickens should we work all the week for the good of their bodies, when they only devote one hour in the whole seven days for the benefit of our zouls?" "that's right, measter coppinger," said some one next to the speaker; "you are one hundred years of age, and pray how many times have you heard the parson preach?" "i never zeed him in his pulpit in the whole courze of my life; but then you know that were my fault, i might if i would; but i'ze been a main close attendant upon the church for all that: during the old earl's lifetime, i was a sort of deputy huntsman, and then the parson often followed me; and when i got too old to ride, i was made assistant gamekeeper, and then i very often followed the parson; so you zee i'ze a true churchman, every inch of me; only i don't like poaching, and when his reverence wants me to help him sack his tithes, old jack coppinger will tell him to his head, he may e'en carry the bag himself." "a toast from the chair! let's hear the lawyer' zentiments on this zubject," said another; with which request gradus complied, by giving, "may he who ~ ~~ploughs and plants the soil reap all its fruits!" "ay, measter gradus, that is as it should be," reiterated a farmer on his right, "zo i'll give you, 'the varmers against the parsons,' and there's old tom sykes yonder, the thatcher, he will give you a zong about the 'tithe pig and the tenth child,' a main good stave, i do azzure you." a request which the old thatcher most readily complied with, to the great delight of all present; for independent of his dialect, which was of the true rich west-country character, there was considerable wit and humour in the song, and an archness of manner in the performer, that greatly increased the good-humour of the society. in this way the evening was spent very pleasantly; and as the cause was to come on the first thing on the ensuing morning, transit and myself determined to await the issue, anticipating that, if our merry-hearted companions, the rustics, should be successful, there would be no lack of merriment, and some exhibition of good sport both for the pen and pencil. we had strayed after breakfast to view the cathedral, which is very well worthy the attention of the curious, and certainly contains some very ancient relics of the great and the good of earliest times. on our return, the deafening shouts of the multitude, who were congregated outside the sessions house, proclaimed a favourable verdict for the farmers, who, in the excess of their joy at having beaten their reverend adversary, gave loose to the most unrestrained expressions of exultation: a messenger was immediately despatched to berkeley to convey, express, the glad tidings; and the head farmers of the parish, with whom were the church-wardens, determined to commemorate their victory by roasting a bullock whole on the brow of the hill which overlooked their vicar's residence, and for the preparation of which festivity they also sent their instructions. the next grand point was, how to ~ ~~convey the witnesses, who were very numerous, to the scene of action, a distance of eighteen miles. to have despatched them in post-chaises, could they have found a sufficient number in gloucester, was neither in accordance with economy, nor with the wishes of the parties themselves, who were very anxious to have a grand procession, and enjoy themselves as they went along in smoking, singing, drinking, and proclaiming their triumph to their neighbours and friends. mine hostess of the ram, with every female in her establishment, had been, from the moment the verdict was given to the departure of the group, busily engaged in making large blue favours, of the colonel's colour, to decorate the hats of the visitors, until mr. boots arrived with the dismaying intelligence, that not another yard of riband, of the colour required, could be obtained in all the city of gloucester. with equal industry and perseverance the host himself had put in requisition every species of conveyance that he could muster, which was calculated to suit the views of the parties, and form a grand cavalcade; without much attention to the peculiar elegance of the vehicles, to be sure, but with every arrangement for social comfort. it had been decided that my friend transit and myself should accompany richard gradus, esq. the solicitor to the fortunate defendants, in a post coach in front, preceded by four of mine host's best horses, with postillions decorated with blue favours, and streamers flying from the four corners of the carriage; and now came the marshalling of the procession to follow. [illustration: page ] one of the colonel's hay vans had been supplied with seats, lengthwise, in which the first division of farmers placed themselves, not, however, forgetting to take in a good supply of ale and pipes with them; next in order was one of the old-fashioned double-bodied stages, which had not been cleaned, or out of the coach-yard, for twenty years before, and both in the ~ ~~inside and on the roof of which the more humble rustics and farmers' labourers were accommodated: this vehicle was drawn by four cart horses, of the roughest description; the rear of the whole being brought up by a long black funeral hearse, with three horses, unicorn fashion, on the roof of which the men sate sidewise, while the interior was, by gradus's orders, well filled with casks of the best gloucester ale. about a dozen of the farmers, on horseback, rode by the side of the vehicles; and in this order, with the accompaniment of a bugle in the hay van, and a couple of blind fiddlers scraping on the centre of the roof of the hearse, did we sally forth in most grotesque order, amid the joyous acclamations of the multitude, on our way to berkeley, every countenance portraying exultation and good-humour, and every where upon the road meeting with a corresponding welcome. a more humorous or whimsical procession cannot well be imagined, men, animals, and vehicles being perfectly unique. by the time we had reached our destination, the potent effects of the gloucester ale, added to the smoking and vociferous expressions of joy that attended us throughout, had left very few of our rustic friends without the visible and outward signs of their inward devotions to the jolly god. on our arrival near to berkeley, we were met by crowds of the joyous inhabitants, and proceeded onward to the spot selected for the festive scene, where we found the bullock already roasting on the top of the hill, and where also they had pitched a tent, and brought some small cannon, with which they fired a _feu de joie_ on our arrival, taking special care to point their artillery in the direction of the vicar's residence. on the opposite side of the road was the church; and it is not a little singular, that the steeple, belfry, and tower are completely detached from the body of the building. the vicar, dreading the riotous joy of his parishioners upon ~ ~~this occasion, had locked up the church, and issued his mandate to the wardens to prevent a merry peal; but these persons insisting that as the church was detached from the belfry, the vicar had no authority over it, they directed the ringers to give them a triple bob major, which canonical music was merrily repeated at intervals, to the great dismay of the parson, who, over and above the loss he was likely to sustain in his future interests, had by this defect suffered under a legal expenditure of some thousands of pounds. the colonel did not show, perhaps from prudential motives of respect to his old friend, but his agents were well instructed in their duty, and there was no lack of a plentiful supply of provision and ale for his tenantry to make right merry with. thus ended our trip to berkeley, where, after taking a view of the castle on the following morning, and surveying the delightful scenery with which that most ancient building is surrounded, we bade adieu to our friend gradus, and mounted the cheltenham coach, as it passed through, on our way to bristol. [illustration: page ] [illustration: page ] a day in bristol. a glance at the bristolians--their pursuits and characteristics--the london mail--a walk to the hot wells and clifton--blackmantle and transit start for the territories of king bladud. ~ ~~the worthy bristolians must not feel offended if we pass them by rather briefly; had ours been a tour of business, connected with commercial pursuit instead of a search after whim and character, we should no doubt have found materials enough to have filled a dozen chapters; but such pursuits are foreign to the eccentric volumes of the english spy, whose sole aim is humour, localized, and embracing characteristic scenes. such is the above sketch, which struck transit and myself, as we took a stroll down bridge-street while our breakfast was preparing at the white hart; it was a bit of true life, and cannot fail to please: but, after all, bristol resembles london so closely, at least the ~ ~~eastern part of the metropolis, that although we saw much that would have been worthy the attention of the antiquary and the curious in their several churches and museums, or might, with great advantage, have been transferred to the note book of the topographer, yet we met with none of that peculiar whimsical character that distinguishes the more fashionable places of resort. the sole object of the bristolians is trade, and every face you meet with has a ledger-like countenance, closely resembling the calculating citizen of london, whose every thought is directed to the accumulation of wealth, by increased sales of merchandize, or the overreaching his neighbour in taking the first advantage of the market. [illustration: page ] the arrival of the london mail, which comes in about ten o'clock in the morning, afforded transit another opportunity of picking up what little of character there was to be found. at bristol there is always a great anxiety to obtain the london news and price current; so much so, that the leading merchants and others assemble in front of the post-office, which also joins the exchange, to wait the arrival of the mail (see plate), and receive the letters of advice which are to regulate their concerns. it is but justice to add, there is no place in the kingdom of the same distance to which the conveyance is quicker, and the facility of delivery more promptly attended to. after breakfast we took a stroll round the docks, and then bent our steps towards the heights, and along the delightful walk which leads to the hot wells and clifton. to attempt a just description of the magnificent and romantic scenery which surrounds clifton, as it is viewed from the downs, would occupy more space than our limits will allow us to devote to the beauties of landscape; and would, besides, interfere with an intention which transit and myself have in view at some future period of our lives, namely, the making a topographical and characteristic tour through the united kingdoms, which being divided into counties, ~ ~~and embracing not only the historical and the picturesque, will be enlivened by all the humorous vagaries, eccentric characters, and peculiar sports of each, written in a colloquial style; and embracing the lingual localisms, proverbs, and provincialisms of the inhabitants: thus producing a humorous but most correct view of the present state of society and manners. the materials for such a work have gradually presented themselves during the progress of the present eccentric volumes; but, as our object here has been good-humoured satire joined to comic sketches of existing persons and scenes, more in the way of anecdote than history, we hope to meet with the same kind friends in a more extended work, among those who have journeyed onwards with us through two years--pleasantly we must suppose, by their continued support; and profitably, we are gratefully bound to acknowledge, to all parties interested. an early dinner at clifton, and a pleasant walk back by the terrace-road, brought us once more into the busy streets of bristol, where after sauntering away the time until five o'clock, we mounted a bath coach, and started forwards with a fresh impetus, and much promise of amusement, to explore the territories of king bladud. [illustration: page ] [illustration: page ] sketches in bath. ~ ~~ first view of the elegant city--meeting with old blackstrap --domicile at the castle tavern--matthew and mrs. temple worthy characters--sportsmans hall--bath heroes of the turf the ring, and the chace--portraits and peculiarities drawn from the life. may i ne'er flutter in the thoughtless train with fashion's elves, the giddy, and the vain; may i ne'er stroll again with milsom swells to tully's shop, or lounge with pump-room belles; may i no more to sidney gardens stray, if, bath, i wrong thee in my hum'rous lay. court of king blad', where crescents circling rise above each other till they reach the skies; and hills o'er-topping with their verdant green the abbey church, are in the distance seen: ~ ~~where inns invite ye, and where lodgings smile a ready welcome to some grecian pile; where chairmen wait ye, ready to attend and box ye up upon your latter end; where summer breezes on hygeia wait, and cards and fashion hold their courts of state. hither we're come to bath, to spy and tell what reigning follies mark the beau and belle; what stars eccentric move within thy sphere, or who's the greatest lion of the year. "have at ye all," we satirists give no quarter; yet shall our mirth prove grateful as bath water. the distant appearance, or first glimpse of the city of bath, is enough to impress a stranger with the most favourable opinions of the place. the regularity of the streets, and the tasteful character of the architecture of the principal buildings, are certainly superior to that of any other place of public resort in england; added to which, there is an attention to cleanliness apparent in the costume of the lower classes that is not so conspicuous in other places. "blest source of health! seated on rising ground, with friendly hills by nature guarded round; from eastern blasts and sultry south secure, the air's balsamic, and the soil is pure." surrounded by delightful scenery, and guarded from the piercing north winds by the hilly barriers of nature, the spot seems above all others best calculated to restore the health of the valetudinarian, whose constitution has become shattered and infirm by a course of fashionable dissipation, or a lengthened residence in the pestilential climates of the indies. "sweet bath! the liveliest city of the land; where health and pleasure ramble hand in hand, where smiling belles their earliest visit pay, and faded maids their lingering blooms delay. delightful scenes of elegance and ease! realms of the gay, where every sport can please." ~ ~~thus sings the bath poet, bayly; who, if he is somewhat too servile an imitation of moore in his style, has certainly more of originality in his matter than generally distinguishes poems of such a local nature. one of the greatest characters in the city of bath was the worthy host of our hotel, the castle; at whose door stood the rubicund visage of our cheltenham friend, blackstrap, ready to give us a hearty welcome, and introduce us to matthew temple, who making one of his best bows, led the way into the coffee-room, not forgetting to assure us that mistress temple, who was one of the best women in the world, would take the greatest care that we had every attention paid to our commands and comforts; and, in good truth, honest matthew was right, for a more comely, good-humoured, attentive, kind hostess exists not in the three kingdoms of his gracious majesty george the fourth. in short, mrs. temple is the major-domo of the castle, while honest matthew, conscious of his own inability to direct the active operations of the garrison within doors, beats up for recruits without; attends to all the stable duty and the commissariat, keeps a sharp look-out for new arrivals by coach, and a still sharper one that no customer departs without paying his bill; and thus having made his daily bow to the inns and the outs, honest matthew retires at night to take his glass of grog with the choice spirits who frequent sportsman's hall, a snug little smoking room on the left of the gateway, where the heroes of the turf and the lads of the fancy nightly assemble to relate their sporting anecdotes, sing a merry chaunt, book the long odds, and blow a friendly cloud in social intercourse and good fellowship. i do not know that it matters much at what end of bath society i commence my sketches; and experience has taught me, that the more fashionable frivolities of high life seldom present the same opportunity for the ~ ~~study of character, which is to be found in the merry, open-hearted, mirthful meetings of the medium classes and the lower orders. the pleasure we had felt in blackstrap's society at cheltenham, induced us to engage him to dine in the coffee-room, with our early friends heartly and eglantine, both of whom being then at bath, we had invited to meet us, in the expectation that dick gradus, having arranged his legal affairs at berkeley, would, by the dinner hour, arrive to join such a rare assemblage of old eton _cons_--a gratification we had the pleasure to experience; and never did the festive board resound with more pleasant reminiscences from old friends: the social hour fled gaily, and every fresh glass brought its attendant joke. heartly and eglantine had, we found, been sufficiently long in bath to become very able instructors to transit and myself in all that related to the haute class, and old barnaby blackstrap was an equally able guide to every description of society, from the mediums down to the strange collections of vagrant oddities which are to be found in the back janes and suburbs of the city of bath. it has been well said, in a spirited reply to the reverend mr. ek--r--s--l's illiberal satire, entitled "the bath man," that "london has its divisions of good and bad sets as well as bath; nay, every little set has its lower set; bank looks down contemptuously upon wealth; those who are asked to carlton palace cut the muligatawny set; the ancient aristocracy call law-lords and _parvenues_ a bad set; and so downward through the whole scale of society, from almack's to a sixpenny hop, 'still in the lowest deep a lower deep,' and human pride will ever find consolation that there is something to be found beneath it. plain men, accustomed to form their notions of good and evil on more solid foundations than grades of fashionable distinctions, will not consent to stigmatize as bad any class of society because there may happen to ~ ~~be a class above it." and what better apology could we desire for our eccentric rambles through every grade of bath society? with us every set has its attractions, and i have known my friend transit cut a nobleman and half a dozen honourables for the delightful gratification of enjoying the eccentricities of a beggars' club, and being enabled to sketch from the life the varied exhibition of passion and character which such a meeting would afford him. it will not, therefore, create any surprise in my readers, that our first evening in bath should have been devoted to the social pipe; the pleasant account blackstrap gave us of the sporting party, in matthew temple's snuggery, induced us to adjourn thither in the evening, where we might enjoy life, smoke our cigars, join a little chaffing about the turf and the ring, sip our punch and grog, enjoy a good chaunt, and collect a little character for the pages of the english spy. to such as are fond of these amusements, most heartily do i recommend a visit to the sporting parlour at the castle, where they will not fail to recognise many of the jovial characters represented in the opposite page; and as old time pays no respect to worth and mellow-hearted mortals, but in his turn will mow down my old friend matthew and his merry companions, i am desirous to perpetuate their memory by a song, which will include all of note who upon this occasion joined the festive scene. [illustration: page ] sportsman's hall. a scene at the castle. ~ ~~ come all you gay fellows, so merry and witty, ye somerset lads of the elegant city, ye sons of the turf who delight in a race, and ye nimrods of bath who are fond of the chase; come join us, and pledge us, like true brothers all, at old matthew temple's, the castle and ball. will partridge, the father of sports, in the chair, with honest george wingrove will welcome you there, while handy, who once on two horses could ride, and merry jack bedford will meet you beside; then for sport or for spree, or to keep up the ball, we've an excellent fellow, you'll own, in bill hall. ~ ~~ captain beaven, a yeoman of merry renown, will keep up the joke with the gay ones from town, while, if you'd go off in a canter or speed, you've only to take a few lessons with mead; then sharland can suit every beau to a t, so haste to the castle, ye lovers of glee. sweet margerim, clerk of the course, will be found with any young sportsman to trot o'er the ground, though his honesty, since at wells races 'twas tried, it must be admitted, has bolted aside; the newcombe's are good at all sports in the ring, while, like chanticleer, hunt the cocker will sing. jack langley, the fam'd 'squire western of bath, a jolly fox-hunter, who's fond of a laugh, with mellow tom williams, of brewers a pair, are the bacchanals form'd for to banish dull care; then haste to the castle, ye true merry sprites, where the song, and the chase, and the fancy delights. give a host more to name of the jovial and free, that my song would extend till to-morrow d'ye see: but a truce to particulars; take them all round, there's nothing in bath like themselves to be found; where harmony, friendship, and mirth can combine, the pleasures of life with kind hearts and good wine. and in good truth, there is no place within the dominions of king bladud, where the social man can find more cheerful companions, the sporting man more kindred spirits, and the lovers of the characteristic and the humorous meet with a greater variety of genuine eccentricity, unalloyed with any baser or offensive material. matthew temple himself is a great original, pure somerset, perfectly good-natured, ever ready to oblige, and although for many years the commander-in-chief of the castle, is yet in all the chicanery of his ~ ~~ profession, and the usual obtrusiveness of a landlord, as unlike the generality of his brethren as a raw recruit is to an effective soldier. old master william partridge is also worthy of notice as the father of the turf, and then if you would ride to hounds, no man in bath can mount you better, or afford you such good corn, great attentions, and a warm stall for a prime hack. rich in anecdote, and what is still better, with a charitable purse and a worthy heart, there are few men who have earned for themselves more respect in this life, or deserve it better, than william handy, esq. the once celebrated equestrian, who having realized a handsome competency, retired, some years since, to bath, to enjoy his _otium cum dignitate_: here, at an advanced age, with all the spirits of youth, and a lively interest in every thing relating to sporting, you will meet with the character i have described; and, take my word for it, will not be disappointed in the likeness. among the bon vivants of sportsmans' hall i must not omit that care-killing soul captain beaven, whose easy flow of good-humour and love of good sport is not less conspicuous than his love for a pretty lass, and his delight in a good song and a cheerful glass. honest george wingrove, a wealthy baker, and the patriarch of the room, will never prove a crusty customer, i am sure; and if that good-looking fellow mead, the riding-master, does sometimes "o'erstep the modesty of nature" in his mode of addressing his pupils, adopting the familiar style of addressing them by their christian name--as, for instance, "set upright, sally; more forward, eliza; keep your rein-hand more square, ellen;" and soon; he hath, however, yet many good points that amply compensate for this perverseness of habit. among the genuine good ones, the real thing, as the sporting phrase has it, not a biped in bath beats tom williams, who, agreeable to our eton gradus, is good at every thing: a more jovial, worthy-hearted, respected soul breathes not within the merry court of king bladud, and very ~ ~~few there that can rival him in a good horse, a long run, or as a lively companion. tom is married to the sister of bartley, the comedian, and carries with him into private life the estimation which ever attends him in public. for a rum story, a bit of real life, or a roguish joke, who shall excel jack bedford? and then, if your honour would knock the balls about, why "jack's the lad" to accommodate you. and little bill hall, who keeps the kingston billiard-rooms, will be most happy to make his best bow to you without any view to the mace. but, i' faith, i am sketching away here in sportsman's hall at old matthew temple's, and could continue so to do for another chapter; forgetting, as transit says, that we have yet to traverse the whole city of bath through, spying into the vagaries and varieties of the more polished, and taking a slight occasional glance at the lowest grade of society, in order to diversify and keep up the chiaroscuro of our pictures. [illustration: page ] merry reader, for such i hope thou art, we have now travelled on for nearly two years together; and many a varied scene in life's pilgrimage have we set before you, from the gilded dome of royalty to the humble shed of the emeralder; but our visit to bath will afford you a richer treat than aught that has yet preceded it. it was when the party broke up at temple's, and that was not before the single admonition of old father time had sounded his morning bell, that a few _bon vivants_ of the castle, accompanied by the english spy and his merry friends, sallied forth in quest of strange adventure; for it must be admitted, that in the elegant city "candles and ladies' eyes oft shine most bright, when both should be extinguish'd for the night." a fancy ball at the upper rooms on this night had attracted all the elegance, fashion, and beauty to be found within the gay circle of pleasure, and thither ~ ~~we bent our steps, having first provided ourselves with the necessary introductions. the scene above all others in the fascination of gay life and the display of female charms is a fancy ball; a species of entertainment better suited to the modest character of our countrywomen than the masquerade, and, in general, much better liked in this country, where the masked entertainment, unless in private, is always avoided by females of rank and character. one of the most amusing scenes which first presented itself to our notice on approaching the entrance to the rooms was the eager anxiety and determined perseverance of the liveried mercuries and bath dromedaries, alias chairmen, to procure for their respective masters and mistresses a priority of admission; an officious zeal that was often productive of the most ludicrous circumstances, and, in two or three instances, as far as indispensable absence from the pleasures of the night could operate, of the most fatal effects. a well-known city beau, who had been at considerable expense in obtaining from london the splendid dress of a greek prince, was completely upset and rolled into the kennel by his chairmen running foul of a sedan, in which lord molyneaux and his friend lord ducie had both crammed themselves in the dress of tyrolese chieftains. the countess of d--------, who personated psyche, in attempting to extricate herself from an unpleasant situation, in which the obstinacy of her chairmen had placed her, actually had her glittering wings torn away, unintentionally, from her shoulders by the rude hand of a bath rustic, whose humanity prompted him to attempt her deliverance. old lady l--------, in the highest state of possible alarm, from feeling her sedan inclining full twenty degrees too much to the right, popped her head up, and raising the top part of the machine, screamed out most piteously for assistance, and on drawing it back ~ ~~again, tore off her new head-dress, and let her false front shut in between the flap of the chair, by which accident, all the beautiful parisian curls of her ladyship were rendered quite flat and uninteresting. an old gentleman of fortune, who was suffering under hypochondriacal affection, and had resolved to attempt sir john falstaff, received the end of a sedan pole plump in his chest, by which powerful application he was driven through the back part of the machine, and effectually cured of "_la maladie imaginaire_" by the acuteness of a little real pain. the flambeau of a spruce livery servant setting fire to the greasy tail of a bath chairman's surtout produced a most awkward _rencontre_, by which a husband and wife, who had not been associated together for some years, but were proceeding to the ball in separate chairs, were, by the accidental concussion of their sedans in a moment of alarm, actually thrown into each other's arms; and such was the gallantry of the gentleman, that he marched into the ball-room bearing up the slender frame of his heretofore forsaken rib, to whom he from that time has become reunited. the lady mayoress of the city was excessively indignant on finding her preeminence of _entrée_ disputed by the wife of a bristol butcher; while the chair of the master of the ceremonies was for some time blocked in between the sedans of two old tabbies, whose expressions of alarm, attempts at faintings, and little flights of scandal, had so annoyed the poor m. c. that when he entered the ball-room, he felt as irritable as a tantalized lover between two female furies. in short, the scene was rich in amusement for the group of merry hearts who had left the castle in quest of adventure; and while we were enjoying the ludicrous effects produced by the jostling of the sedans, my friend transit had sketched the affair in his usual happy style, and designated it thus: ~ ~ the battle of the chairs. "the chairs are order'd, and the moment comes, when all the world assemble at the rooms." illustration: page ] for the ball-room itself, it was the most splendid scene that the magic power of fancy could devise. the variety of characters, the elegance of the dresses, and the beauty of the graceful fair, joined to their playful wit and accomplished manners, produced a succession of delights which banished from the heart of man the recollection of his mortal ills, and gave him, for the passing time, a semblance of elysian pleasures. the rooms are admirably calculated for this species of entertainment, and are, i believe, the largest in england; while the excellent regulations and arrangements adopted by the master of the ceremonies to prevent any of those unpleasant intrusions, too often admitted into mixed assemblies, deserved the highest commendation. it is from scenes of this description that the writer on men ~ ~~and manners extracts his characters, and drawing aside from the mirth-inspiring group, contemplates the surrounding gaieties, noting down in his memory the pleasing varieties and amusing anecdotes he has there heard; pleasantries with which at some future time he may enliven the social circle of his friends, or by reviving in print, recall the brightest and the best recollections of those who have participated in their gay delights. "in this distinguish'd circle you will find many degrees of man and woman kind." and as i am here "life's painter, the very spy o' the time," i shall endeavour to sketch a few of the leading bath characters; most of the gay well-known being upon this occasion present, and many an eccentric star shining forth, whose light it would be difficult to encounter in any other circle. the accompanying view of the rooms by transit will convey a correct idea of the splendour of the entertainment, and the fascinating appearance of the assembled groups. "ranged on the benches sit the lookers-on, who criticise their neighbours one by one; each thinks herself in word and deed so bless'd, that she's a bright example for the rest. numerous tales and anecdotes they hatch, and prophesy the dawn of many a match; and many a matrimonial scheme declare, unknown to either of the happy pair; much delicate discussion they advance, about the dress and gait of those who dance; one stoops too much; and one is so upright, he'll never see his partner all the night; one is too lazy; and the next too rough; this jumps too high, and that not high enough. thus each receives a pointed observation, not that it's scandal--merely conversation." a three months' sojournment at bath had afforded my friend eglantine an excellent opportunity for ~ ~~estimating public character, a science in which he was peculiarly well qualified to shine; since to much critical acumen was joined a just power of discrimination, aided by a generosity of feeling that was ever enlivened by good-humoured sallies of playful satire. to horace eglantine, i may apply the compliment which cleland pays to pope--he was incapable of either saying or writing "a line on any man, which through guilt, through shame, or through fear, through variety of fortune, or change of interest, he would ever be unwilling to own." it too often happens that the cynic and the satirist are themselves more than tinged with the foibles which they so severely censure in others. "you shall have a specimen of this infirmity," said horace, "in the person of peter paul pallet; a reverend gentleman whom you will observe yonder in the dress of a chinese mandarin. some few years since this pious personage took upon himself the task of lashing the prevailing follies of society in a satire entitled bath characters, and it must be admitted, the work proves him to have been a fellow of no ordinary talent; but an unfortunate amour with the wife of a reverend brother, which was soon after made public, added to certain other peculiarities and eccentricities, have since marked the satirist himself as one of the most prominent objects for the just application of his own weapon." come hither, paul pallet, your portrait i'll paint: you're a satirist, reverend sir, but no saint. but as some of his characters are very amusing, and no doubt very correct portraits of the time, , my readers shall have the advantage of them, that they may be the better able to contrast the past with the present, and form their own conclusions how far society has improved in morality by the increase of methodism, the influx of evangelical breathings, or the puritanical pretensions of bible societies. i shall pass by his description of the club; gaming ever was ~ ~~and ever will be a leading fashionable vice, which only poverty and ruin can correct or cure. the clergy must, however, be greatly delighted at the following picture of the cloth, drawn by one of their holy brotherhood. "the bath church," says the satirist, "is filled with croaking ravens, chattering jays, and devouring cormorants; black-headed fanatics and white-headed 'dreamers of dreams;' the aqua-fortis of mob politics, and the mawkish slip-slop of modern divinity; rank cayenne pepper, and genuine powder of post!" really a very flattering description of our clerical comforters, but one which, i lament to say, will answer quite as well for , with, perhaps, a little less of enthusiasm in the composition, and some faint glimmerings of light opposed to the darkness of bigotry and the frauds of superstition. methodism is said to be on the wane--we can hear no better proof that true religion and good sense are coming into fashion. the sketch of mrs. vehicle, by the same hand, is said to have been a true copy of a well-known female gambler; it is like a portrait of sir joshua reynolds, a picture worthy of preservation from its intrinsic merits, long after the original has ceased to exist: how readily might it be applied to half a score card-table devotees of the present day! "observe that _ton_ of beauty, mrs. vehicle, who is sailing up the passage, supported like a nobleman's coat of arms by her amiable sisters, the virtuous widow on one side, and the angelic miss speakplain on the other. by my soul! the same roses play upon her cheeks now that bloomed there winters ago, the natural tint of that identical patent rouge which she has enamelled her face with for these last twenty years; her gait and presence, too, are still the same--_vera incessa patuit dea_; she yet boasts the enchanting waddle of a dutch venus, and the modest brow of a tower-hill diana. ah, jack, would you but take a few lessons from my old friend ~ ~~at the science of shuffle and cut, you would not rise so frequently from the board of green cloth, as you now do, with pockets in which the devil might dance a saraband without injuring his shins against their contents. why, man, she is a second breslaw with a pack; i have known her deal four honours, nine trumps to herself three times in the course of one rubber, and not cut a higher card to her adversary than a three during the whole evening. sensible of her talents, and of the impropriety of hiding them in a napkin, she chose bath, independence, and her own skill in preference to a country parsonage, conjugal control, and limited pin-money. her _caro sposo_ meanwhile retired to his living; and now blesses himself on his escape from false deals, odd tricks, and every honour but the true one." one more sketch, and i have done; but i cannot pass by the admirable portrait of a bath canonical, "jolly old dr. mixall, rosy as a ripe tomata, and round as his own right orthodox wig, 'with atlantean shoulders, fit to bear the weight of mightiest monarchies!' awful and huge, he treads the ground like one of bruce's moving pillars of sand! what a dark and deep abyss he carries before him--the grave insatiate of turtle and turbot, red mullet and john dories, haunches and pasties, claret, port, and home-brewed ale! but his good-humour alone would keep him at twenty stone were he to cease larding himself for a month to come; and when he falls, may the turf lie lightly on his stomach! then shall he melt gently into rich manure; 'and fat be the gander that feeds on his grave.'" "but now for the moderns," said horace; "for the enchanting fair, 'whose snow-white bosoms fascinate the eye, swelling in all the pride of _nudity_; ~ ~~ the firm round arm, soft cheek, and pouting lip, and backs exposed below the jutting hip; to these succeed dim eyes, and wither'd face», and pucker'd necks as rough as shagreen cases, but whose kind owners, hon'ring bladud's ball, benevolently show their little all.'" but i must not particularize here, as i intend sketching the more prominent personages during a morning lounge in milsom-street; when, appearing in their ordinary costume, they will be the more easily recognised in print, and remain a more lasting memorial of bath eccentrics, sketches in bath--chapter ii. ~ ~~ well-known characters in the pump-room taking a sip with king bladud--free sketches of fair game--the awkward rencontre, or mr. b------and miss l.--public bathing or stewing alive--sober thoughts--milsom-street swells--a visit to the pig and whistle, avon-street--of the buff club. to the pump-room we went, where the grave, and the gay, and the aged, and the sickly, lounge time away; where all the choice spirits are seen making free with the sov'reign cordial, the true _eau de vie_. [illustration: page ] the _déjeuné_ over, the first place to which the stranger in bath is most desirous of an introduction is the pump-room; not that he anticipates restoration to health from drinking the waters, or imagines the virtues of immortality are to be found by immersion in the baths; but if he be a person of any condition, he is naturally anxious to _show off_ make his bow to the gay throng, and, at the same time, elucidate the exact condition of bath society. if, however, he is a mere plebeian in search of novelty, coupling pleasure with business, or an invalid sent here by his doctors to end his days, he is still anxious, while life remains, to see and be seen; to observe whom he can recognise among the great folks he has known in the metropolis, or perchance, meet consolation from some suffering fellow citizen, who, like himself, has been conveyed to bath to save his family the misery of seeing him expire beneath his own roof. "what an admirable variety of character does this scene present," said transit, who, on our first ~ ~~entrance, was much struck with the magnificence of the rooms, and still more delighted with the immense display of eccentricities which presented themselves. "i must introduce you, old fellow," said eglantine, "to a few of the oddities who figure here. the strange-looking personage in the right-hand corner is usually called dick solus, from his almost invariably appearing abroad by himself, or dangling after the steps of some fair thespian, to the single of whom he is a very constant tormentor. mrs. egan of the theatre, 'who knows what's what,' has christened him mr. dillytouch; while the heroes of the sock and buskin as invariably describe him by the appellation of shake, from an unpleasant action he has both in walking and sitting. the sour-visaged gentleman at this moment in conversation with him is the renowned peter paul pallet, esq., otherwise the reverend mr. m-----------. behind them appears a celebrated dentist and his son, who has attained the rank of m.d., both well known here by the titles of the grand duke of tusk-aney and count punn-tusk-y, a pair of worthies always on the lookout for business, and hence very constant attendants at the promenade in the pump-room. the old gentleman in the chintz morning-gown hobbling along on crutches, from the gout, is a retired vinegar merchant, the father of a chancery m.p., of whom the bath wags say, 'that when in business, he must always have carried a sample of his best vinegar in his face.'" at this moment old blackstrap advanced, and requested permission to introduce to our notice jack physick, an honest lawyer, and, as he said, one of the cleverest fellows and best companions in bath. jack had the good fortune to marry one of the prettiest and most attractive actresses that ever appeared upon the bath stage, miss jamieson, upon which occasion, the wags circulated many pleasant _jeux d'esprits_ on the union of "love, law, and physic." the arrival of a very pompous gentleman, who appeared to ~ ~~excite general observation, gave my friend eglantine an opportunity of relating an anecdote of the eccentric, who figures in pultney-street under the cognomen of the bath bashaw. "there," said horace, "you may see him every morning decorated in his flannel _robe de chambre_ and green velvet cap, seated outside in his balcony, smoking an immensely large german pipe, and sending forth clouds of fragrant perfume, which are pleasantly wafted right or left as the wind blows along the breakfast tables of his adjoining neighbours. this eccentric was originally a foundling discovered on the steps of a door in rath, and named by the parochial officers, parish: by great perseverance and good fortune he became a hambro' merchant, and in process of time realized a handsome property, which, much to his honour and credit, he retired to spend a portion of among the inhabitants of this city, thus paying a debt of gratitude to those who had protected him in infancy when he was abandoned by his unnatural parents. the little fellow yonder with a military air, and no want of self-conceit, is a field-officer of the bath volunteers, adjutant captain o'donnel, a descendant from the mighty king bryan baroch, and, as we say at eton, no _small beer man_, i assure you." "who is that gigantic fellow just entering the rooms'?" said heartly. "that is long heavisides," replied eglantine, "whom handsome jack and two or three more of the bath wits have christened, in derision, mr. light-sides, a right pleasant fellow, quite equal in intellect and good-humour to the altitude of his person, which, i am told, measures full six feet six." "gentlemen," said the facetious blackstrap, "here comes an old lady who has paid dearly for a bit of the brown, lately the relict of the late admiral m'dougal, and now fresh at seventy the blooming wife of a young spark who has just attained the years of discretion, at least, as far as regards ~ ~~pecuniary affairs; for before leading the old lady into church, she very handsomely settled three thousand per annum upon her adonis, as some little compensation to his feelings, for the rude jests and jeers he was doomed to bear with from his boon companions." "eyes right, lads," said eglantine; "the tall stout gentleman in a blue surtout and white trowsers is general b---------." "pshaw! never mind his name," said heartly; "what are his peculiarities?" "why--imprimis, he has a lovely young female commander in chief by his side--is a great reader with a very little memory. a very good story is told of him, that i fear might be applied with equal justice to many other great readers; namely, that some wags having at different times altered the title-page, and pasted together various leaves of a popular scotch novel, they thus successfully imposed upon the general the task of reading the same matter three times over--by this means creating in his mind an impression, not very far from the truth, that all the works of the great unknown bore a very close similitude to each other; an opinion which the general is said to maintain very strenuously unto this hour. of all the characters in the busy scene of life which can excite a pleasurable sensation in the close observer of men and manners, is your gay ancient, whether male or female; the sprightly evergreens of society, whose buoyant spirits outlive the fiery course of youth, while their playful leafage buds forth in advanced life with all the freshness, fragrance, and vigour of the more youthful plants. such," said eglantine, "is the old beau yonder, my friend curtis, who is here quaintly denominated the everlasting. [illustration: page ] the jolly bacchanalian, who accompanies him in his morning's lounge, is charles davis, a right jolly fellow, universally respected, although, it must be admitted, he is a _party_ man, since in a ~ ~~show of hands, charles must always, unfortunately, be on one side." a promenade up and down the room, and a visit to the goddess hygeia, for such, i suppose, the ancient matron who dispenses the healing draught must be designated, gave us an opportunity of observing the fresh arrivals, among whom we had the pleasure to meet with an old naval officer, known to heartly, a victim to the gout, wheeled about in a chair, expecting, to use his own sea phrase, to go to pieces every minute, but yet full of spirits as an admiral's grog bottle, as fond of a good joke as a fresh-caught reefer, and as entertaining as the surgeon's mate, or the chaplain of the fleet. "i say, master heavtly," said the captain, "the frigate yonder with the brown breast works, and she with the pink facings, look something like privateers. my forelights, master heartly, but if i had the use of my under works, i should be for firing a little grape shot across their quarters to see if i could not bring them into action!" "and i will answer for it, they would not show any objection to lie alongside of you, captain," said eglantine, "while you had got a shot left in your locker. mere cyprian traders, captain, from the gulf of venus, engaged in gudgeon bawling, or on the lookout for flat fish. the little craft, with the black top, is called the throgmorton; and the one alongside the ormsby of berkeley is the pretty lacy, a prime frigate, and quite new in the service. if you have a mind to sail up the straits of cytherea, captain, i can answer for it we shall fall in with a whole fleet of these light vessels, the two sisters; the emery's; the yawl, thomson; that lively little cutter, jackson; the transports, king and hill; the lugger, lewis; and the country ship, the lady grosvenor, all well found, and ready for service, and only waiting to be well manned. a good story is just now afloat about the lacy, who, being recently taken up for private trade by commodore bowen, was ~ ~~discovered to be sailing under false colours. it appears, that during the commander's absence a dashing enemy, the captain of the hussar, a man of war, had entered the cabin privately, and having satisfied himself of the state of the vessel, took an opportunity to overhaul the ship's stores, when drinking rather freely of some choice love~age, a cordial kept expressly for the commodore's own use, he was unexpectedly surprised by the return of the old commander on board; and in making his escape through the cabin window into a boat he had in waiting, unfortunately left his time-piece and topmast behind. this circumstance is said to have put the commodore out of conceit with his little frigate, who has since been paid off', and is now chartered for general purposes." at this little episode of a well-known bath story, the captain laughed heartily, and transit was so much amused thereat, that on coming in contact with the commodore and the captain in our perambulations, he furnished the accompanying sketch of that very ludicrous scene, under the head of the bath beau and frail belle, or mr. b------and miss l-----. an excellent band of music, which continues to play from one to half past three o'clock every day during the season, greatly increases the attraction to the rooms, and also adds much to the cheerfulness and gaiety of the scene. we had now nearly exhausted our materials for observation; and having, to use transit's phrase, booked every thing worthy of note, taken each of us a glass of the bath water, although i confess not swallowing it without some qualmish apprehensions from the recollection of the four lines in anstey's bath guide. "they say it is right that for every glass, a tune you should take that the water may pass; so while little tabby was washing her rump, the ladies kept drinking it out of the pump." ~ ~~a very pleasant piece of satire, but somewhat, as i understand, at the expense of truth, since the well from which the water in the pump room is obtained is many feet below the one that supplies the baths; situation certainly assists the view of the satirist. i ought not to pass over here the story told us by our old friend blackstrap, respecting the first discovery of these waters by bladud, the son of lud hudibras, king of britain; a fabulous tale, which, for the benefit of the city all true bathonians are taught to lisp with their horn book, and believe with their creed, as genuine orthodox; and on which subject my friend horace furnished the following impromptu. oh, lud! oh, lud! that hogs and mud{ } should rival sage m.d.'s; and hot water, in this quarter, cure each foul disease. "throw physic to the dogs, i'll have none on't,'" said horace: "if hot water can effect such wonders, why, a plague on all the doctors! let a man be content to distil his medicine fresh from his own teakettle, or make his washing copper serve the double purpose for domestic uses and a medicated bath. 'but what is surprising, no mortal e'er view'd any one of the physical gentlemen stew'd. from the day that king bladud first found out these bogs, and thought them so good for himself and his hogs, not one of the faculty ever has tried these excellent waters to cure his own hide; though many a skilful and learned physician, with candour, good sense, and profound erudition, obliges the world with the fruits of his brain, their nature and hidden effects to explain.' see the fabulous account alluded to in warner's history of bath, where bladud is represented to have discovered the properties of the warm springs at beechen wood swainswick, by observing the hogs to wallow in the mud that was impregnated therewith, and thus to have derived the knowledge of a cure for 'tis leprous affection. ~ ~~but _allons_, lads," said horace, "we are here to follow the fashion, and indulge in all the eccentricities of the place; to note the follies of the time, and depict the chief actors, without making any personal sacrifice to correct the evil. our satire will do more to remove old prejudices when it appears in print, aided by bob transit's pencil, than all our reasonings upon the spot can hope to effect, although we followed mr. m'culloch's economy, and lectured upon decency from break of day to setting sun. in quitting the pump-room we must not, however, omit to notice the statue of beau nash, before which transit appears, in _propria personæ_, sketching off the marble memento, without condescending to notice the busts of pope and newton, which fill situations on each side; a circumstance which in other times produced the following epigram from the pen of the witty earl of chesterfield. "the statue plac'd the busts between adds satire to the strength; wisdom and wit are little seen, but folly at full length." such is the attachment of man to the recollections of any thing associated with pleasure, that it is questionable if the memory of old joe miller is not held in higher estimation by the moderns than that of father luther, the reformer; and while the numerous amusing anecdotes in circulation tend to keep alive the fame of nash, it is not surprising that the merry pay court to his statue, being in his own dominions, before they bow at the classic shrine of pope, or bend in awful admiration beneath the bust of the greatest of philosophers. "'twas said of old, deny it now who can, the only laughing animal is man." and we are about to present the reader with a right merry scene, one, too, if he has any fun in his composition, or loves a good joke, must warm the cockles ~ ~~of his heart. who would ever have thought, in these moralizing times, when the puritans are raising conventicles in every town and village, and the cant of vice societies has spread itself over the land, that in one of our most celebrated places of fashionable resort, there should be found baths where the young and the old, the beauteous female and the gay spark, are all indiscriminately permitted to enjoy the luxurious pleasure together. that such is the case in bath no one who has recently participated in the pleasures of immersion will dispute, and in order to perpetuate that gratification, bob transit has here faithfully delineated the scene which occurred upon our entering the king's bath, through the opening from the queen's, where, to our great amusement and delight, we found ourselves surrounded by many a sportive nymph, whose beauteous form was partially hidden by the loose flannel gown, it is true; but now and then the action of the water, produced by the continued movements of a number of persons all bathing at the same time, discovered charms, the which to have caught a glimpse of in any other situation might have proved of dangerous consequences to the fair possessors. the baths, it must be admitted, are delightful, both from their great extent and their peculiar properties, as, on entering from the queen's bath you may enjoy the water at from to degrees, or requiring more heat have only to walk forward, through the archway, to obtain a temperature of . the first appearance of old blackstrap's visage floating along the surface of the water, like the grog-blossomed trunk of the ancient bardolph, bound up in a welsh wig, was truly ludicrous, and produced such an unexpected burst of laughter from my merry companions, that i feared some of the fair naiads would have fainted in the waters from fright, and then heaven help them, for decency would have prevented our rushing to their assistance. the notices to prevent gentlemen ~ ~~from swimming in the baths are, in my opinion, so many inducements or suggestions for every young visitor to attempt it. among our mad wags, horace eglantine was more than once remonstrated with by the old bathing women for indulging in this pleasure, to the great alarm of the ladies, who, crowding together in one corner with their aged attendants, appeared to be in a high state of apprehension lest the loose flannel covering that guards frail mortality upon these occasions should be drawn aside, and discover nature in all her pristine purity--an accident that had very nearly happened to myself, when, in endeavouring to turn round quickly, i found the water had disencumbered my frame of the yellow bathing robe, which floated on the surface behind me. [illustration: page ] one circumstance which made our party more conspicuous, was, the rejection of the welsh wigs, which not all the entreaties of the attendant could induce any of the wags to wear. the young ladies disfigure themselves by wearing the black bonnets of the bathing women; but spite of this masquerading in the water, their lovely countenances and soul-subduing eyes, create sensations that will be more easily conceived than prudently described. a certain facetious writer, who has published his "walks through bath," alluding to this practice, speaks of it as having been prohibited in the fifteenth century. how long such prohibition, if it ever took place, continued, it is not for me to know; but if the bath peripatetic historian had made it his business to have seen what he has described, he would have found, that the practice of bathing males and females together in _puris naturalibus_ was still continued in high perfection, in spite of the puritans, the vice society, or the prohibition of bishop beckyngton.{ } it appears, that about the middle of the fifteenth century it was the custom for males and females to bathe together, in puris naturalibus, which was at length prohibited by bishop beckyngton, who ordered, by way of distinction, the wearing of breeches and petticoats; this indecency was suppressed, after considerable difficulty, at the end of the sixteenth century, (quere, what indecency does our author of the "walks through bath" mean? the incumbrance of the breeches and petticoats, we must imagine). it also seems, that about it was the fashion for both sexes to bathe together indiscriminately, and the ladies used to decorate their heads with all the advantages of dress, as a mode of attracting attention and heightening their charms. the husband of a lady in one of the baths, in company with beau nash, was so much enraptured with the appearance of his wife, that he very im-prudently observed, "she looked like an angel, and he wished to be with her." nash immediately seized him by the collar, and threw him into the bath; this circumstance produced a duel, and nash was wounded in his right arm: it however had the good effect of establishing the reputation of nash, who shortly after became master of the ceremonies. ~ ~~ "you cannot conceive what a number of ladies were wash'd in the water the same as our maid is: how the ladies did giggle and set up their clacks all the while an old woman was rubbing their backs; oh! 'twas pretty to see them all put on their flannels, and then take the water, like so many spaniels; and though all the while it grew hotter and hotter, they swam just as if they were hunting an otter. 'twas a glorious sight to behold the fair sex all wading with gentlemen up to their necks, and view them so prettily tumble and sprawl in a great smoking kettle as big as our hall; and to-day many persons of rank and condition were boil'd, by command of an able physician." from the baths we migrated to the grand promenade of fashion, milsom street, not forgetting to take a survey of the old abbey church, which, as a monument of architectural grandeur without, and of dread monition within, is a building worthy the attention of the antiquarian and the philosopher; while perpetuating the remembrance of many a cherished name to worth, to science, and to virtue dear, the artist and the amateur may derive much gratification from examining the many excellent ~ ~~pieces of sculpture with which the abbey abounds. but for us, gay in disposition, and scarcely allowing ourselves time for reflection, such a scene had few charms, unless, indeed, the english spy could have separated himself from the buoyant spirits with which he was attended, and then, wrapt in the gloom of the surrounding scene, and given up to serious contemplation, the emblems of mortality which decorate the gothic pile might have conjured up in his mind's eye the forms of many a departed spirit, of the blest shades of long-lost parents and of social friends, of those who, living, lent a lustre to the arts, of witty madcaps frost-bitten by the sable tyrant death, nipped in the very bud of youth, while yet the sparkling jest was ripe upon the merry lip, and the ruddy glow of health upon the cheek gave earnest of a lengthened life------but, soft! methinks i hear my reader exclaim, "how now, madcap, moralizing mr. spy? art thou, too, bitten by the desire to philosophize, thou, 'the very spy o' the time,' the merry buoyant rogue who has laughed all serious scenes to scorn, and riding over hill, and dale, and verdant plain upon thy fiery courser, fleet as the winds, collecting the cream of comicalities, and, beshrew thee, witling, plucking the brightest flowers that bloom in the road of pleasure to give thy merry garland's perfume, and deck thy page withal, art thou growing serious? then is doomsday near; and poor, deserted, care-worn man left unprotected to the tempest's rage!" not so, good reader, we are still the same merry, thoughtless, laughing, buoyant sprite that thou hast known us for the last two years; but the archer cannot always keep his bow upon the stretching point; so there are scenes, and times, and fancies produced by recollective circumstances and objects, which create strange conceits even in the light-hearted bosom of the english spy. such was the train of reflections which rushed in ~ ~~voluntarily upon my mind as i noted down the passing events of the day, a practice usual with me when, retiring from the busy hum of men, i seek the retirement of my chamber to commit my thoughts to paper. i had recently passed through the depository where rest the remains of a tender mother--had sought the spot, unnoticed by my light-hearted companions, and having bedewed with tears of gratitude her humble grave, gave vent to my feelings, by the following tribute to a parent's worth. my mother's grave. beneath yon ivy-mantled wall, in a lone corner, where the earth presents a rising green mound, all of her who lov'd and gave me birth lies buried deep. no trophied stone, or graven verse denotes the spot: her worth her epitaph alone, the green-sward grave her humble lot. how silent sleep the virtuous dead! for them few sculptured honours rise, no marble tablet here to spread a fame--their every act implies. no mockery here, nor herald's shield, to glitter o'er a bed of clay; but snow-drops and fresh violets yield a tribute to worth pass'd away. tread lightly, ye who love or know en life's young road a parent's worth, who yet are strangers to the woe of losing those who gave you birth, ~ ~~ who cherish'd, fondled, fed, and taught from infancy to manhood's pride, directing every opening thought, teaching how reason's power should guide. ye rich and bold, ye grave and gay, ye mightiest of the sons of men, wealth, honours, fame shall sink away, and all be equalized again; save what the sculptor may pourtray, and any tyrant, fool, or knave who has the wealth, may in that way his name from dull oblivion save; that is, he may perpetuate his worthlessness, his frauds, and crimes; no matter what his tomb relate, his character lives with the times. shade of my parent! couldst thou hear the voice of him, thine only child, implore thy loss with filial tear, and deck thy grave with sonnets wild, 'twould all thy troubles past repay, thy anxious cares, thy hopes and fears, to find as time stole life away, thy mem'ry brighten'd with his years. yes, sacred shade! while mem'ry guides this ever wild eccentric brain, while reason holds or virtue chides, still will i pour the filial strain. "what," said my old friend horace eglantine, after reading this tribute to parental worth, "bernard blackmantle moralizing; our spy turned ~ ~~monody-maker, writing epitaphs, and elegies, and odes to spirits that have no corporal substance, when there are so many living subjects yet left for his merrier muse to dwell upon? come, old fellow, shake off this lethargy of the mind, this vision of past miseries, and prepare for present merriments. 'the streets begin to fill, the motley throng to see and to be seen, now trip along; some lounge in the bazaars, while others meet to take a turn or two in milsom-street; some eight or ten round mirvan's shop remain, to stare at those who gladly stare again.' in short, my dear fellow, we are all waiting your company to join the swells in milsom-street; where, i have no doubt, you will find many a star of fashion, whose eccentricities you will think justly entitles him to a niche in your gallery of living characters. 'lords of the creation, who, half awake, adorn themselves their daily lounge to take; each lordly man his taper waist displays, combs his sweet locks, and laces on his stays, ties on his starch'd cravat with nicest care, and then steps forth to petrify the fair.' such, for instance, is that roué yonder, the very prince of bath fops, handsome jack, whose vanity induces him to assert that his eyebrows are worth one hundred per annum to any young fellow in pursuit of a fortune: it should, however, be admitted, that his gentlemanly manners and great good-nature more than compensate for any little detractions on the score of self-conceit. what the son is, the father was in earlier life; and the old beau is not a little gratified to observe the estimation in which his son is held by the fair sex, on account of his attractive person and still more prepossessing manners. "you have heard of peagreen hayne's exploits at burdrop park; and here comes the proprietor of the ~ ~~place, honest tom calley, as jovial a true-hearted english gentleman as ever followed a pack of foxhounds, or gloried in preserving and promoting the old english hospitalities of the table: circumstances, the result of some hard runs and long odds, have a little impaired the family exchequer; however the good wishes of all who know him attend him in adversity. but the clouds which have for a time obstructed his sunshine of mirth are fast wearing away, and when he shall return to the enjoyment of his patrimonial acres, he will be sure to meet a joyous welcome from all surrounding him, accompanied with the heartfelt congratulations of those to whom in bath he is particularly endeared. the smart little fellow driving by in his cabriolet is beau burgess, a single star, and one of no mean attraction among the fair spinsters, who can estimate the merits and admire the refulgence of ten thousand sovereign attendant satellites. [illustration: page ] bath is, perhaps, now the only place in the kingdom where there is yet to be found a four-in-hand club; a society of gentlemen jehus, who formerly in london cut no inconsiderable figure in the annals of fashion, and who, according to our mode of estimating the amusements of the gay world, were very unfairly satirized, seeing, that with the pursuit of pleasure was combined the additional employment of a large number of mechanics, and a stimulus given, not only to the improvement of a noble breed of horses, but to the acquirement of a knowledge, the perfection of which in the metropolis is particularly necessary to the existence of the peripatetic pleasures of his majesty's subjects. here we have colonel allen, who puts along a good team in very prime style, and having lately been spliced to a good fortune, is a perfect master in the _manage_-ment of the bit. "squire richards is, also, by no means a contemptible knight of the ribbons, only he sometimes measures ~ ~~his distance a little too closely; a practice, which if he does not improve upon, may some day, in turning a corner, not bring him off right. 'a follower of the buxton school and a true knight of the throng,' says old tom whipcord in the annals of sporting, 'must not expect to drive four high-bred horses well with an opera-glass stuck in his right ogle.' a bit of good advice that will not only benefit the squire if he attends to it, but perhaps save the lives of one or two of the bath pedestrians. the leader of the club, who, by way of distinction from his namesake the colonel, is designated scotch allen, is really a noble whip, putting along four horses in first-rate style, all brought well up to their work, and running together as close and as regular as the wheels of his carriage. the comical little character upon the strawberry pony is the bath adonis; a fine specimen of the irish antique, illustrated with a beautiful brogue,and emblazoned with a gold coat of arms. the amours of old b-----------in bath would very well fill a volume of themselves; but the anecdote i gave you in the pump-room of little lacy and her paramour will be sufficient to show you in what estimation he is held by the ladies." "give me leave to introduce you to a raer fellow," said heartly; "an old friend of mine, who has all his lifetime been a wholesale dealer in choice spirits, and having now bottled off enough for the remainder of his life, is come to spend the evening of his days in bath among the bon vivants of the elegant city, enjoying the tit bits of pleasure, and courting the sweet society of the pretty girls. by heavens! boys, we shall be found out, and you, mr. spy, will be the ruin of us all, for here comes our old sporting acquaintance, charles bannatyne, with his jackall at his heels, accompanied by that mad wag oemsby, the cheltenham amateur of fashion, and the gallant little lieutenant valombre, who having formerly made a rich capture of spanish dollars, is perhaps upon the look-out here ~ ~~for a frigate well-laden with english specie, in order to sail in consort, and cruize off the straits of independence for life. well, success attend him," said heartly; "for he well deserves a good word whether at sea or on shore. the military-looking gentleman yonder, who is in close conversation with that rough diamond, ellis, once a london attorney, is the highly-respected colonel fitzgerald, whom our friend transit formerly caricatured under the cognomen of colonel saunter, a good-humoured joke, with which he is by no means displeased himself." "but, my dear fellows," said transit, "if we remain fixed to this spot much longer, we shall have the eyes of all the _beau monde_ upon us, and stand a chance of being pointed at for the rest of the time that we remain in bath." a piece of advice that was not wholly unnecessary, for being personally known to a few of the sporting characters, our visit to the elegant city had spread like wildfire, and on our appearance in milsom-street, a very general desire was expressed by the beaux to have a sight of the english spy and his friend transit, by whose joint labours they anticipated they might hereafter live to fame. one of the most remarkable personages of the old school still left to bath is the celebrated captain mathews, the author of "a short treatise on whist," and the same gentleman who at an early period of life contested with the late r. b. sheridan, upon lansdowne, for the fair hand of the beauteous miss lindly, the lady to whom the wit was afterwards married. in this way did my pleasant friends heartly and eglantine continue to furnish me with brief notices of the most attractive of the stars of fashion who usually lounge away the mornings in milsom-street, exchanging the familiar nod and "how d'ye do?" and holding sweet discourse among their fragrant selves upon the pursuits of the _haute classe_, the merits of the last new novel, or the fortune of the last unmarried feminine ~ ~~arrival. to these may be added reminiscences of the last night's card-table and remarks upon the balls at the rooms; for "two musical parties to bladud belong, to delight the old rooms and the upper; one gives to the ladies a supper, no song, and the other a song and no supper." "the _jolie_ dame to the right," said horace, "is the mother of england's best friend, the secretary for the foreign department, george canning, a man to whom we are all indebted for the amalgamation of party, and the salvation of the country the clerical who follows immediately behind mrs. hunn is a reverend gentleman whose daughters both recently eloped from his house on the same morning attended by favoured lovers to bind with sacred wreaths their happy destinies at the shrine of hymen." we had now reached the bottom of the street again, after having made at least a dozen promenades to and fro, and were on the point of retiring to our hotel to dress for dinner, when heartly directed my attention to a dashing roue, who, dressed in the extreme of superlative style, was accompanied by a beautiful piece of fair simplicity in the garb of a puritan. "that," said my friend, "is the beautiful miss d**t--one of the faithful, whom the dashing count l***c***t has recently induced to say ay for life: thus gaining a double prize of no mean importance by one stroke of good luck--a fine girl and a fine fortune into the bargain." i must not forget our friend the consulting surgeon h***ks, or omit to notice that in bath the faculty are all distinguished by some peculiar title of this sort, as, the digestive physician, the practical apothecary, and the operative chemist; a piece of quackery not very creditable to their acknowledged skill and general respectability. at dinner we were again joined by our facetious ~ ~~friend blackstrap, who, to use his own phraseology, having made "a good morning's work of it," hoped he might be permitted to make one among us, a request with which we were most willing to comply. in the evening, after the bottle had circulated freely, some of our party proposed a visit to the theatre, but as bath theatricals could not be expected to afford much amusement to london frequenters of the theatres royal, transit suggested our sallying forth for a spree;" for," said he, "i have not yet booked a bit of true life since i have been in bath. the pump-room, the bathers, and the swells in milsom-street, are all very well for the lovers of elegant life; but our sporting friends and old college chums will expect to see a genuine touch or two of the broad humour of bath--something suburban and funny. cannot you introduce us to any thing pleasant of this sort!" said transit, addressing blackstrap: "perhaps give us a sight of the interior of a snug convent, or show us where the bath wonderfuls resort to carouse and sing away their cares."--"it is some years since," said blackstrap, "that in the company of a few merry wags, i paid a visit to the buff-club in avon-street: but as you, gentlemen, appear disposed for a little fun, if you will pledge yourselves to be directed by me, i will undertake to introduce you to a scene far exceeding in profligacy and dissipation the most florid picture which our friend transit has yet furnished of the back settlements in the holy-land." with this understanding, and with no little degree of anticipatory pleasure, did our merry group set forth to take a survey of the interior of the long room at the pig and whistle in avon-street. of the origin of this sign, blackstrap gave us a very humorous anecdote: the house was formerly, it would appear, known by the sign of the crown and thistle, and was at that time the resort of the irish traders who visited bath to dispose of their linens. one of these emeralders ~ ~~having lost his way, and being unable to recollect either the name of the street or the sign of his inn, thus addressed a countryman whom he accidentally met: "sure i've quite forgotten the sign of my inn." "be after mentioning something like it, my jewel," said his friend. "sure it's very like the pig and whistle," replied the enquirer. "by the powers, so it is:--the crown and thistle, you mean;" and from this mistake of the emeralder, the house has ever since been so designated. upon our visit to this scene of uproarious mirth, we found it frequented by the lowest and most depraved characters in society; the mendicants, and miserable of the female sex, who, lost to every sense of shame or decency, assemble here to indulge in profligacies, the full description of which must not stain the pages of the english spy. [illustration: page ] as a scene of low life, my friend transit has done it ample justice, where the portraits of lady grosvenor as one of the cyprian frequenters is designated, the toad in a hole, and lucy the fair, will be easily recognised. a gallon of gin for the ladies, and a liberal distribution of beer and tobacco for the males, made us very welcome guests, and insured us, during our short stay, at least from personal interruption. it may be asked why such a house is licensed by the magistracy; but when it is known that characters of this sort will always be found in well-populated places, and that the doors are regularly closed at eleven o'clock, it is perhaps thought to be a measure of prudence to let them continue to assemble in an obscure part of the suburbs, where they congregate together under the vigilant eye of the police, instead of being driven abroad to seek fresh places of resort, and by this means increase the evils of society. the next morning saw my friend transit and myself again prepared to separate from our friends heartly and eglantine, on our way to worcester, ~ ~~where we had promised to pay a visit to old crony on our road back to london. reader, if our sketches in bath are somewhat brief, remember we are ever on the wing in search of novelty, and are not disposed to stay one day longer in any place than it affords fresh food for pen and pencil in the characters we have sketched we disclaim any thought of personal offence; eccentrics are public property, and must not object to appear in print, seeing that they are in the journey through life allowed to ride a free horse, without that curb which generally restrains the conduct of others but i must here take my farewell of the elegant city of that attractive spot of which bayley justly sings "in this auspicious region all mankind (whate'er their taste) congenial joys may find; here monied men may pass for men of worth; and wealthy cits may hide plebeian birth. here men devoid of cash may live with ease, appear genteel, and pass for what they please." waggeries at worcester. ~ ~~the meeting with an old friend at worcester induced us to domicile there for the space of three days, during which time i will not say we were laid up with lavender, but certainly near enough to scent it. most of our worcester acquaintance will however understand what is meant by this allusion to one of the pleasantest fellows that ever commanded the uncivil customers in the castle, since the time of the civil wars. the city is perhaps as quiet a dull place as may be found within his majesty's dominions, where a cannon-ball might be fired down the principal street at noon-day without killing more than the ruby-nosed incumbent of a fat benefice, a superannuated tradesman, or a manufacturer of crockery-ware. no stranger should, however, pass through the place without visiting the extensive china works of messrs. flight and barr, to which the greatest facility is given by the proprietors; and the visit must amply repay any admirer of the arts. a jovial evening, spent with our old friend of the castle, had ended with a kind invitation from him to partake of a spread at his hotel on the following morning; but such was the apprehensions of transit at the idea of entering this mansion of the desolate, from being troubled with certain qualmish remembrances of the previous night's debauch, that not all my intreaties, nor the repeated messages of the worthy commander of the castle, could bring our friend transit to book. ~ ~~to those who know my friend john, and there are few of any respectability who do not both know and admire him, his facetious talent will require but little introduction. lavender is what a man of the world, whose business it has been to watch over the interests of society, should be, superior in education and in mind, to any one i ever met with filling a similar situation: the governor of the castle is a companion for a lord, or to suit the purposes of justice, instantly metamorphosed into an out and outer, a regular knowing cove, whose knowledge of flash and the cant and slang used by the dissolute is considered to be superior to that of any public officer. a specimen of this will be found in the following note, which a huge fellow of a turnkey brought to my bedside, and then apologised for disturbing me, by pleading the governor's instructions. "queer coves, "i hope you have left your dabs,{ } and nobs,{ } all right: perhaps prime legs{ } is queer in the oration-box{ } from a too frequent use of the steamer{ } last darky.{ } i make this fakement{ } to let you know i and morning spread are waiting. steel-hotel, yours, &c. june , . lockit." [illustration: page ] my readers will very readily conceive that with such a companion we were not long in tracing out what little of true life was to be found in worcester, and certainly one of the pleasantest scenes in which we participated was a visit to the subscription bowling alley, where, in the summer time, the most respectable of the inhabitants of worcester meet every evening beds. heads. cruikshank.. cranium. a pipe. night. a note. ~ ~~for recreation; and a right pleasant company we found them. the caleb quotem of the society, dr. davis, united in one person all the acquirements of the great original: he not only keeps the time of the city, but keeps all the musicians of the place in time; regulates the watch and the watches, and plays a solo _à la dragonetti_ upon the double bass. sam swan is another choice spirit, who sings a good chant, lives well respected, and sails down the stream of time as pleasantly as if he was indeed a royal bird. an old burdettite, will shunk, recognised in us a partizan of the government candidate at one of the westminster elections: "but, sir," said will, "politics and i have nearly parted; for you must know, i am tolerably _well breeched_, and can fairly say i am hand and glove with all the first nobility in the kingdom." a truth to which captain corls readily assented by explaining that master william shunk was a first-rate glover, and considered worth a plum at least: "in short, sir," said the captain, "he is a nabob here, and brings to my mind some of the eastern princes with whom i have met during my campaigns in the east." the very mention of which exploit induced our friend the governor to tip us the office, and the joke was well humoured until silver powell, who they say comes from norfolk, interrupted our travels in india, with, "captain, can't you see that ere athlantic fellow, the governor, is making fun of you to amuse his london friends." a hint that appeared to strike the captain very forcibly, for it struck him dumb. a good-humoured contest between honest joe shelton, and probert the school-master, elicited some very comical exposures in the way of recriminations. joe, it would appear, is an artist in economy; and an old story about a lobster raised joe's ire to its height, and produced the lex taliones on probert, ~ ~~whose habits of frugality wanted his competitor's humour to make them pass current. transit, who had been amusing himself with sketching the characters, had become acquainted with a sporting reverend, whose taste for giblets had proved rather expensive; and who was most desirous of appearing in print: a favor merry stephen godson, the lawyer, requested might also be extended to him." "ay," said john portman, "and if you want a character for your foreground rich in colour, my phiz is much at your service; and here's george brookes, the radical, to form a good dark object in the distance." in this way the evening passed off very pleasantly. our friend had made the object of our visit to the bowling alley known to some few of his intimates, circumstance that i have no doubt rather operated to prevent a display of some of those good-humoured eccentricities with which it is not unfrequently marked. upon my return to town, i received a farewell ode from my spirit in the clouds, evidently written under a misconception that the english spy was about to withdraw himself for a time, from his sketches on men and manners, when in fact, although his labours will here close with the completion of a second volume, his friends will find, that he is most desirous of still engaging their attentions in a new form, attended not only by all his former associates, but uniting in his train the brightest and the merriest of all the choice spirits of the age. bernard blackmantle to his readers. to prevent a misconception, and do himself justice, the author of the english spy feels it necessary to state, that in every instance the subjects for the plates illustrating this work have been furnished by his pen, and not unfrequently, the rough ideas have ~ ~~first emanated from his own pencil; while he states this fact to prevent error, he is most anxious to acknowledge the great assistance he has derived from the inimitable humour and graphic skill in the execution of the designs, by his friend robert transit. [illustration: page ] a short ode at parting, from his "spirit in the clouds" to the english spy. ~ ~~ prospero. now does my project gather to a head; my charms crack not; my spirits obey: ----how's the day? ariel. on the sixth hour; at which time, my lord, you said our work should cease. --shakspkare's tempest. so fare you well; i have left you commands. ibid.--as you like it. "'tis true, and pity 'tis, 'tis true," that though on fairest winds we flew, i in the clouds, beneath them you, we still must parted be; and that, e'en whilst the world still hung on what you wrote, and what i sung, enamour'd of our double tongue, exits my bernard b-----. well, all great actors must have pause, when toiling in a patriot cause, and ere another scene he draws, new characters to cast, ~ ~~ secure of having played his part, as nature dictates, from the heart, 'tis fair before another start, he brush up from the last. but how will humbugs of the age, (i don't mean mr. b.'s dull page,) crow that they scape satiric rage, and get off in whole skins; how will dramatic fools rejoice! no more is heard great bernard's voice, and that, heav'n knows, there is a choice, their flummery begins.{ } but go your ways; it may be wise, to let these puny, pestering flies buzz about people's ears and eyes, a season or two longer; there must be evil mixed with good, a bottom to the clearest flood, and let them stand where others stood, till shown who is the stronger. then, fortune-hunting squires of bath, fine as the burmese jewell'd rath,{ } pray totter o'er your bond-street path, a respite short is yours. i speak of would-be actors (male and female), vain and incompetent managers, flippant and unequal critics, puffed and translating authors, in short, of all before and behind the curtain who have injured, or may injuro, the legitimate drama. let the theatres, like our trade, be free, and monopoly thrive not, and for their success the spirit will ever pray; at present, it is "a mad world, my masters;" and i am afraid mr. rayner with his long and set speeches, as chairman of thomas's shakspeareans, will not mend the matter. we note this to him in a friendly way; seeing, that he is a worthy fellow, and a clever caliban, and really loves shakspeare next to newmarket and doncaster. the burmese carriage is certainly a curious machine of indian workmanship; but it is, we should fancy, mere outside--fine to look at, but a "rum one to go," like the be-togged, be-booted, be-spurred, furred, and cloaked half pays, fortune-hunters, gentlemen with the brogue, &c. that pay their court so assiduously to mrs. dolland's cheesecakes and mr. heaviside's quadrilles. but the world is often ornament caught. ~ ~~ and daughter-selling mothers, still lure the young boys, their eyes may kill, to wed your flesh and blood, and fill your purse, and pay your tours. ye london blacks, ye cheltenham whites,{ } ye turners of the days to nights, make, make the most of all your flights, whilst i and bernard doze; but still be sure, by this same token, we still shall sleep with one eye open{ } and the first hour our nap is broken, you'll pay for't through the nose. there are indeed "black spirits and white spirits" of all sorts and sizes, at all times and places; and a well-cut coat and a white satin dress are frequently equally dangerous glossings to frail and cunning mortality within. to be sure, we have brought down the "tainted wethers of dame nature's flock" with the double barrels of wit and satire, right and left; but like mushrooms or mole-hills, they are a breeding, increasing species, and it will be only a real battue of sharp-shooting that will destroy the coveys. nevertheless, "i have a rod in pickle, their------------------" i declare the spirit is growing earthly. the bristol men "down along," sleep, they say, in this way and hence is it rare for jew or gentile, turk or infidel, to get the blind side of them. some of them, however, have ere now been done brown, and that too by being too fanciful and neat in their likings. these tales of the sleepers of an eye are too good to be lost; they shall be bound up in the volume of my brain, hereafter to be perused with advantage. at present, "i hear a voice thou canst not hear; i see a hand thou canst not see; it calls to me from yonder sphere, it points to where my brethren be." ~ when that time comes, and come it must, for what we say is not pie-crust, to yield to every trifling thrust, england shall see some fun. like "eagles in a dove-cote," we both rooks and pigeons will make flee, whilst every cashless company shall, laugh'd at, "cut and run." thus telling painted folly's sect, what they're to look to, what expect, my farewell words i now direct to thee, migrating spy; that done, deliver'd all commands, i man a cloud-ship with brave hands, and sail to (quitting mortal lands), my parlour in the sky. bernard, farewell; may rosy health companion'd by that cherub wealth, be constant to you, like myself, your own departing spirit. not that you're going to die; no, no, you'll only take a nap or so; but yet i wish you, 'fore you go, these blessings to inherit. bernard, farewell; pray think of me, when you ride earth, or cross the sea; on both, you know, i've been with thee, and sung some pretty things; great spy, farewell; when next you rise to make of fools a sacrifice, you'll hear, down-cleaving from the skies, the rustle of my wings. january, . ~ ~~ bernard blackmantle and bob transit, [illustration: page ] the end. our american holidays lincoln's birthday our american holidays a series of anthologies upon american holidays, each volume a collection of writings from many sources, historical, poetic, religious, patriotic, etc., presenting each american festival as seen through the eyes of the representative writers of many ages and nations. edited by robert haven schauffler _ mo. each volume $ . net_ now ready thanksgiving lincoln's birthday christmas memorial day in preparation washington's birthday easter arbor day flag day fourth of july new year's day moffat, yard & company east th street new york our american holidays lincoln's birthday a comprehensive view of lincoln as given in the most noteworthy essays, orations and poems, in fiction and in lincoln's own writings edited by robert haven schauffler new york moffat, yard and company copyright, , by moffat, yard and company new york published, january, nd printing--june, rd printing--july, th printing--feb. contents page preface ix introduction xi i a birdseye view of lincoln abraham lincoln's autobiography a brief summary of lincoln's life _osborn h. oldroyd_ ii early life lincoln's education _horace greeley_ abe lincoln's honesty the boy that hungered for knowledge abraham lincoln _florence e. pratt_ young lincoln's kindness of heart a voice from the wilderness _charles sumner_ choosing abe lincoln captain iii maturity lincoln's marriage how lincoln and judge b---- swapped horses lincoln as a man of letters _h. w. mabie_ lincoln's presence of body how lincoln became a national figure _ida m. tarbell_ lincoln's love for the little ones how lincoln took his altitude iv in the white house how lincoln was abused sonnet in _john james piatt_ lincoln the president _james russell lowell_ abraham lincoln _frank moore_ the proclamation _john greenleaf whittier_ the emancipation _james a. garfield_ the emancipation group _john greenleaf whittier_ abraham lincoln's christmas gift _nora perry_ v death of lincoln o captain! my captain! _walt whitman_ abraham lincoln's death _walt whitman_ hushed be the camps to-day _walt whitman_ to the memory of abraham lincoln _william cullen bryant_ crown his bloodstained pillow _julia ward howe_ the death of abraham lincoln _walt whitman_ our sun hath gone down _phoebe cary_ tolling _lucy larcom_ abraham lincoln _rose terry cooke_ effect of the death of lincoln _henry ward beecher_ hymn _oliver wendell holmes_ abraham lincoln _tom taylor_ vi tributes the martyr chief _james russell lowell_ abraham lincoln _ralph waldo emerson_ washington and lincoln _william mckinley_ lincoln _theodore roosevelt_ lincoln's grave _maurice thompson_ tributes to lincoln abraham lincoln _h. h. brownell_ tributes abraham lincoln _joel benton_ on the life-mask of abraham lincoln _richard watson gilder_ lincoln _george h. boker_ abraham lincoln _james a. garfield_ an horatian ode _r. h. stoddard_ some foreign tributes to lincoln _harriet beecher stowe_ the gettysburg ode _bayard taylor_ tributes lincoln _macmillan's magazine_ abraham lincoln _r. h. stoddard_ lincoln _edna dean proctor_ when lilacs last in the dooryard bloom'd _walt whitman_ vii the whole man lincoln, the man of the people _edwin markham_ life and character of abraham lincoln _george bancroft_ abraham lincoln _goldwin smith_ greatness of his simplicity _h. a. delano_ horace greeley's estimate of lincoln lincoln _j. t. trowbridge_ the religious character of lincoln _b. b. tyler_ to the spirit of lincoln _r. w. gilder_ lincoln as a typical american _phillips brooks_ lincoln as cavalier and puritan _h. w. grady_ lincoln, the tender-hearted _h. w. bolton_ the character of lincoln _w. h. herndon_ "with charity for all" _w. t. sherman_ lincoln's birthday _ida v. woodbury_ february twelfth _m. h. howliston_ two february birthdays _l. m. hadley and c. z. denton_ viii lincoln's place in history the three greatest americans _theodore roosevelt_ his choice and his destiny _f. m. bristol_ abraham lincoln _robert g. ingersoll_ lincoln _paul laurence dunbar_ the grandest figure _walt whitman_ abraham lincoln _lyman abbott_ "lincoln the immortal" _anonymous_ the crisis and the hero _frederic harrison_ lincoln _john vance cheney_ majestic in his individuality _s. p. newman_ ix lincoln yarns and sayings the question of legs how lincoln was presented with a knife "weeping water" mild rebuke to a doctor x from lincoln's speeches and writings lincoln's life as written by himself the injustice of slavery speech at cooper institute first inaugural address letter to horace greeley emancipation proclamation thanksgiving proclamation gettysburg address remarks to negroes on the streets of richmond second inaugural address preface an astounding number of books have been written on abraham lincoln. our library of congress contains over one thousand of them in well-nigh every modern language. yet, incredible as it may seem, no miner has until to-day delved in these vast fields of lincolniana until he has brought together the most precious of the golden words written of and by the man of the people. howe has collected a few of the best poems on lincoln; rice, oldroyd and others, the elder prose tributes and reminiscences. mcclure has edited lincoln's yarns and stories; nicolay and hay, his speeches and writings. but each successive twelfth of february has emphasized the growing need for a unification of this scattered material. the present volume offers, in small compass, the most noteworthy essays, orations, fiction and poems on lincoln, together with some fiction, with characteristic anecdotes and "yarns" and his most famous speeches and writings. taken in conjunction with a good biography, it presents the first succinct yet comprehensive view of "the first american." the introduction gives some account of the celebration of lincoln's birthday and of his principal biographers. note the editor and publishers wish to acknowledge their indebtedness to houghton, mifflin & company; the mcclure company, r. s. peale and j. a. hill co.; charles scribner's sons; dana estes company; mr. david mckay, mr. joel benton, mr. c. p. farrell and others who have very kindly granted permission to reprint selections from works bearing their copyright. introduction abraham lincoln, sixteenth president of the united states, was born at nolin creek, kentucky, on feb. , . as the following pages contain more than one biographical sketch it is not necessary here to touch on the story of his life. lincoln's birthday is now a legal holiday in connecticut, delaware, illinois, minnesota, new jersey, new york, north dakota, pennsylvania, washington (state) and wyoming, and is generally observed in the other northern states. in its inspirational value to youth lincoln's birthday stands among the most important of our american holidays. its celebration in school and home can not be made too impressive. "rising as lincoln did," writes edward deems, "from social obscurity through a youth of manual toil and poverty, steadily upward to the highest level of honor in the world, and all this as the fruit of earnest purpose, hard work, humane feeling and integrity of character, he is an example and an inspiration to youth unparalleled in history. at the same time he is the best specimen of the possibilities attainable by genius in our land and under our free institutions." in arranging exercises for lincoln's birthday the teacher and parent should try not so much to teach the bare facts of his career as to give the children a sense of lincoln's actual personality through his own yarns and speeches and such accounts as are given here by herndon, bancroft, mabie, tarbell, phillips brooks and others. he should show them lincoln's greatest single act--emancipation--through the eyes of garfield and whittier. he should try to reach the children with the thrill of an adoring sorrow-maddened country at the bier of its great preserver; with such a passion of love and patriotism as vibrates in the lines of whitman, brownell and bryant, of stoddard, procter, howe, holmes, lowell, and in the throbbing periods of henry ward beecher. his main object should be to make his pupils love lincoln. he should appeal to their national pride with the foreign tributes to lincoln's greatness; make them feel how his memory still works through the years upon such contemporary poets as gilder, thompson, markham, cheney and dunbar; and finally through the eyes of harrison, whitman, ingersoll, newman and others, show them our hero set in his proud, rightful place in the long vista of the ages. in order to use the present volume with the best results it is advisable for teacher and parent to gain a more consecutive view of lincoln's life than is offered here. the standard biography of lincoln is the monumental one in ten large volumes by nicolay and hay, the president's private secretaries. this contains considerable material not found elsewhere, but since its publication in much new matter has been unearthed, especially by the enterprise of miss ida tarbell, whose "life" in two volumes contains the essentials of the larger official work, is well balanced, and written in a simple, vigorous style perfectly adapted to the subject. if only one biography of lincoln is to be read, miss tarbell's will, on the whole, be found most satisfactory. the older lives, written by lincoln's friends and associates, such as lamon and herndon, make up in vividness and the intimate personal touch what they necessarily lack in perspective. arnold's life deals chiefly with the executive and legislative history of lincoln's administration. the life by the novelist j. g. holland deals popularly with his hero's personality. the memoirs by barrett, abbott, howells, bartlett, hanaford and power were written in the main for political purposes. among the later works there stand out morse's scholarly and serious account (in the american statesmen series) of lincoln's public policy; the vivid portrayal of lincoln's adroitness as a politician by col. mcclure in abraham lincoln and men of war times; whitney's life on the circuit with lincoln, with its fund of entertaining anecdotes; abraham lincoln, an essay by carl schurz; james morgan's "short and simple annals" of abraham lincoln the boy and the man; frederick trevor hill's brilliant account of lincoln the lawyer, the result of much recent research; the study of his personal magnetism in alonzo rothschild's lincoln, master of men; and the true abraham lincoln by curtis--a collection of sketches portraying lincoln's character from several interesting points of view. abraham lincoln the man of the people by norman hapgood is one of most recent and least conventional accounts. it is short, vigorous, vivid, and intensely american. among the many popular lives for young people are: abraham lincoln, the pioneer boy, by w. m. thayer; abraham lincoln, the backwoods boy, by horatio alger, jr.; abraham lincoln, by charles carleton coffin; the true story of abraham lincoln the american, by e. s. brooks; the boy lincoln, by w. o. stoddard; and--most important of all--nicolay's boy's life of abraham lincoln. r. h. s. i a birdseye view of lincoln abraham lincoln's autobiography the following autobiography was written by mr. lincoln's own hand at the request of j. w. fell of springfield, ill., december , . in the note which accompanied it the writer says: "herewith is a little sketch, as you requested. there is not much of it, for the reason, i suppose, that there is not much of me." "i was born february , , in hardin co., ky. my parents were both born in virginia, of undistinguished families--second families, perhaps i should say. my mother, who died in my tenth year, was of a family of the name of hanks, some of whom now reside in adams co., and others in mason co., ill. my paternal grandfather, abraham lincoln, emigrated from rockingham co., va., to kentucky, about or , where, a year or two later, he was killed by indians, not in battle, but by stealth, when he was laboring to open a farm in the forest. his ancestors, who were quakers, went to virginia from berks co., pa. an effort to identify them with the new england family of the same name ended in nothing more definite than a similarity of christian names in both families, such as enoch, levi, mordecai, solomon, abraham, and the like. "my father, at the death of his father, was but six years of age, and grew up literally without any education. he removed from kentucky to what is now spencer co., ind., in my eighth year. we reached our new home about the time the state came into the union. it was a wild region, with many bears and other wild animals still in the woods. there i grew up. there were some schools, so-called, but no qualification was ever required of a teacher beyond 'readin', writin', and cipherin', to the rule of three. if a straggler, supposed to understand latin, happened to sojourn in the neighborhood, he was looked upon as a wizard. there was absolutely nothing to excite ambition for education. of course, when i came of age i did not know much. still, somehow, i could read, write, and cipher to the rule of three, but that was all. i have not been to school since. the little advance i now have upon this store of education i have picked up from time to time under the pressure of necessity. "i was raised to farm work, at which i continued till i was twenty-two. at twenty-one i came to illinois, and passed the first year in macon county. then i got to new salem, at that time in sangamon, now menard county, where i remained a year as a sort of clerk in a store. then came the black hawk war, and i was elected a captain of volunteers--a success which gave me more pleasure than any i have had since. i went into the campaign, was elected, ran for the legislature the same year ( ), and was beaten--the only time i have ever been beaten by the people. the next and three succeeding biennial elections i was elected to the legislature. i was not a candidate afterward. during the legislative period i had studied law, and removed to springfield to practice it. in i was elected to the lower house of congress. was not a candidate for re-election. from to , both inclusive, practiced law more assiduously than ever before. always a whig in politics, and generally on the whig electoral ticket, making active canvasses. i was losing interest in politics when the repeal of the missouri compromise aroused me again. what i have done since then is pretty well known. "if any personal description of me is thought desirable, it may be said i am in height six feet four inches, nearly; lean in flesh, weighing, on an average, one hundred and eighty pounds; dark complexion, with coarse black hair and gray eyes--no other marks or brands recollected. "yours very truly, a. lincoln." a brief summary of lincoln's life by osborn h. oldroyd from "words of lincoln" the sun which rose on the th of february, , lighted up a little log cabin on nolin creek, hardin co., ky., in which abraham lincoln was that day ushered into the world. although born under the humblest and most unpromising circumstances, he was of honest parentage. in this backwoods hut, surrounded by virgin forests, abraham's first four years were spent. his parents then moved to a point about six miles from hodgensville, where he lived until he was seven years of age, when the family again moved, this time to spencer co., ind. the father first visited the new settlement alone, taking with him his carpenter tools, a few farming implements, and ten barrels of whisky (the latter being the payment received for his little farm) on a flatboat down salt creek to the ohio river. crossing the river, he left his cargo in care of a friend, and then returned for his family. packing the bedding and cooking utensils on two horses, the family of four started for their new home. they wended their way through the kentucky forests to those of indiana, the mother and daughter (sarah) taking their turn in riding. fourteen years were spent in the indiana home. it was from this place that abraham, in company with young gentry, made a trip to new orleans on a flatboat loaded with country produce. during these years abraham had less than twelve months of schooling, but acquired a large experience in the rough work of pioneer life. in the autumn of the mother died, and abraham experienced the first great sorrow of his life. mrs. lincoln had possessed a very limited education, but was noted for intellectual force of character. the year following the death of abraham's mother his father returned to kentucky, and brought a new guardian to the two motherless children. mrs. sally johnson, as mrs. lincoln, brought into the family three children of her own, a goodly amount of household furniture, and, what proved a blessing above all others, a kind heart. it was not intended that this should be a permanent home; accordingly, in march, , they packed their effects in wagons, drawn by oxen, bade adieu to their old home, and took up a two weeks' march over untraveled roads, across mountains, swamps, and through dense forests, until they reached a spot on the sangamon river, ten miles from decatur, ill., where they built another primitive home. abraham had now arrived at manhood, and felt at liberty to go out into the world and battle for himself. he did not leave, however, until he saw his parents comfortably fixed in their new home, which he helped build; he also split enough rails to surround the house and ten acres of ground. in the fall and winter of , memorable to the early settlers of illinois as the year of the deep snow, abraham worked for the farmers who lived in the neighborhood. he made the acquaintance of a man of the name of offutt, who hired him, together with his stepbrother, john d. johnson, and his uncle, john hanks, to take a flatboat loaded with country produce down the sangamon river to beardstown, thence down the illinois and mississippi rivers to new orleans. abraham and his companions assisted in building the boat, which was finally launched and loaded in the spring of , and their trip successfully made. in going over the dam at rutledge mill, new salem, ill., the boat struck and remained stationary, and a day passed before it was again started on its voyage. during this delay lincoln made the acquaintance of new salem and its people. on his return from new orleans, after visiting his parents,--who had made another move, to goose-nest prairie, ill.,--he settled in the little village of new salem, then in sangamon, now menard county. while living in this place, mr. lincoln served in the black hawk war, in , as captain and private. his employment in the village was varied; he was at times a clerk, county surveyor, postmaster, and partner in the grocery business under the firm name of lincoln & berry. he was defeated for the illinois legislature in by peter cartwright, the methodist pioneer preacher. he was elected to the legislature in , and for three successive terms thereafter. mr. lincoln wielded a great influence among the people of new salem. they respected him for his uprightness and admired him for his genial and social qualities. he had an earnest sympathy for the unfortunate and those in sorrow. all confided in him, honored and loved him. he had an unfailing fund of anecdote, was a sharp, witty talker, and possessed an accommodating spirit, which led him to exert himself for the entertainment of his friends. during the political canvass of , mr. lincoln made the acquaintance of mr. john t. stuart of springfield, ill. mr. stuart saw in the young man that which, if properly developed, could not fail to confer distinction on him. he therefore loaned lincoln such law books as he needed, the latter often walking from new salem to springfield, a distance of twenty miles, to obtain them. it was very fortunate for mr. lincoln that he finally became associated with mr. stuart in the practice of law. he moved from new salem to springfield, and was admitted to the bar in . on the th of november, , mr. lincoln married miss mary todd of lexington, ky., at the residence of ninian w. edwards of springfield, ill. the fruits of this marriage were four sons; robert t., born august , ; edward baker, march , , died february , ; william wallace, december , , died at the white house, washington, february , ; thomas ("tad"), april , , died at the clifton house, chicago, ill., july , . mrs. lincoln died at the house of her sister, springfield, july , . in mr. lincoln was elected to congress, as a whig, his opponent being peter cartwright, who had defeated mr. lincoln for the legislature in . the most remarkable political canvass witnessed in the country took place between mr. lincoln and stephen a. douglas in . they were candidates of their respective parties for the united states senate. seven joint debates took place in different parts of the state. the legislature being of mr. douglas' political faith, he was elected. in mr. lincoln came before the country as the chosen candidate of the republican party for the presidency. the campaign was a memorable one, characterized by a novel organization called "wide awakes," which had its origin in hartford, conn. there were rail fence songs, rail-splitting on wagons in processions, and the building of fences by the torch-light marching clubs. the triumphant election of mr. lincoln took place in november, . on the th of february, , he bade farewell to his neighbors, and as the train slowly left the depot his sad face was forever lost to the friends who gathered that morning to bid him god speed. the people along the route flocked at the stations to see him and hear his words. at all points he was greeted as the president of the people, and such he proved to be. mr. lincoln reached washington on the morning of the rd of february, and on the th of march was inaugurated president. through four years of terrible war his guiding star was justice and mercy. he was sometimes censured by officers of the army for granting pardons to deserters and others, but he could not resist an appeal for the life of a soldier. he was the friend of the soldiers, and felt and acted toward them like a father. even workingmen could write him letters of encouragement and receive appreciative words in reply. when the immortal proclamation of emancipation was issued, the whole world applauded, and slavery received its deathblow. the terrible strain of anxiety and responsibility borne by mr. lincoln during the war had worn him away to a marked degree, but that god who was with him throughout the struggle permitted him to live, and by his masterly efforts and unceasing vigilance pilot the ship of state back into the haven of peace. on the th of april, , after a day of unusual cheerfulness in those troublous times, and seeking relaxation from his cares, the president, accompanied by his wife and a few intimate friends, went to ford's theater, on tenth street, n. w. there the foul assassin, j. wilkes booth, awaited his coming and at twenty minutes past ten o'clock, just as the third act of "our american cousin" was about to commence, fired the shot that took the life of abraham lincoln. the bleeding president was carried to a house across the street, no. , where he died at twenty-two minutes past seven the next morning. the body was taken to the white house and, after lying in state in the east room and at the capitol, left washington on the st of april, stopping at various places en route, and finally arriving at springfield on the rd of may. on the following day the funeral ceremonies took place at oak ridge cemetery, and there the remains of the martyr were laid at rest. abraham lincoln needs no marble shaft to perpetuate his name; his _words_ are the most enduring monument, and will forever live in the hearts of the people. ii early life lincoln's education[ ] by horace greeley let me pause here to consider the surprise often expressed when a citizen of limited schooling is chosen to fill, or is presented for one of the highest civil trusts. has that argument any foundation in reason, any justification in history? of our country's great men, beginning with ben franklin, i estimate that a majority had little if anything more than a common-school education, while many had less. washington, jefferson, and madison had rather more; clay and jackson somewhat less; van buren perhaps a little more; lincoln decidedly less. how great was his consequent loss? i raise the question; let others decide it. having seen much of henry clay, i confidently assert that not one in ten of those who knew him late in life would have suspected, from aught in his conversation or bearing, that his education had been inferior to that of the college graduates by whom he was surrounded. his knowledge was different from theirs; and the same is true of lincoln's as well. had the latter lived to be seventy years old, i judge that whatever of hesitation or rawness was observable in his manner would have vanished, and he would have met and mingled with educated gentlemen and statesmen on the same easy footing of equality with henry clay in his later prime of life. how far his two flatboat voyages to new orleans are to be classed as educational exercise above or below a freshman's year in college, i will not say; doubtless some freshmen learn more, others less, than those journeys taught him. reared under the shadow of the primitive woods, which on every side hemmed in the petty clearings of the generally poor, and rarely energetic or diligent, pioneers of the southern indiana wilderness, his first introduction to the outside world from the deck of a "broad-horn" must have been wonderfully interesting and suggestive. to one whose utmost experience of civilization had been a county town, consisting of a dozen to twenty houses, mainly log, with a shabby little court-house, including jail, and a shabbier, ruder little church, that must have been a marvelous spectacle which glowed in his face from the banks of the ohio and the lower mississippi. though cairo was then but a desolate swamp, memphis a wood-landing, and vicksburg a timbered ridge with a few stores at its base, even these were in striking contrast to the sombre monotony of the great woods. the rivers were enlivened by countless swift-speeding steamboats, dispensing smoke by day and flame by night; while new orleans, though scarcely one fourth the city she now is, was the focus of a vast commerce, and of a civilization which (for america) might be deemed antique. i doubt not that our tall and green young backwoodsman needed only a piece of well-tanned sheepskin suitably (that is, learnedly) inscribed to have rendered those two boat trips memorable as his degrees in capacity to act well his part on that stage which has mankind for its audience. [ ] _by permission of mr. joel benton._ abe lincoln's honesty from "anecdotes of abraham lincoln and lincoln's stories." lincoln could not rest for an instant under the consciousness that he had, even unwittingly, defrauded anybody. on one occasion, while clerking in offutt's store, at new salem, ill., he sold a woman a little bill of goods, amounting in value by the reckoning, to two dollars six and a quarter cents. he received the money, and the woman went away. on adding the items of the bill again, to make sure of its correctness, he found that he had taken six and a quarter cents too much. it was night, and, closing and locking the store, he started out on foot, a distance of two or three miles, for the house of his defrauded customer, and, delivering over to her the sum whose possession had so much troubled him, went home satisfied. on another occasion, just as he was closing the store for the night, a woman entered, and asked for a half pound of tea. the tea was weighed out and paid for, and the store was left for the night. the next morning, lincoln entered to begin the duties of the day, when he discovered a four-ounce weight on the scales. he saw at once that he had made a mistake, and, shutting the store, he took a long walk before breakfast to deliver the remainder of the tea. these are very humble incidents, but they illustrate the man's perfect conscientiousness--his sensitive honesty--better perhaps than they would if they were of greater moment. the boy that hungered for knowledge from "anecdotes of abraham lincoln and lincoln's stories." in his eagerness to acquire knowledge, young lincoln had borrowed of mr. crawford, a neighboring farmer, a copy of weems' life of washington--the only one known to be in existence in that section of country. before he had finished reading the book, it had been left, by a not unnatural oversight, in a window. meantime, a rain storm came on, and the book was so thoroughly wet as to make it nearly worthless. this mishap caused him much pain; but he went, in all honesty, to mr. crawford with the ruined book, explained the calamity that had happened through his neglect, and offered, not having sufficient money, to "work out" the value of the book. "well, abe," said mr. crawford, after due deliberation, "as it's you, i won't be hard on you. just come over and pull fodder for me for two days, and we will call our accounts even." the offer was readily accepted, and the engagement literally fulfilled. as a boy, no less than since, abraham lincoln had an honorable conscientiousness, integrity, industry, and an ardent love of knowledge. abraham lincoln[ ] by florence evelyn pratt lincoln, the woodsman, in the clearing stood, hemmed by the solemn forest stretching round; stalwart, ungainly, honest-eyed and rude, the genius of that solitude profound. he clove the way that future millions trod, he passed, unmoved by worldly fear or pelf; in all his lusty toil he found not god, though in the wilderness he found himself. lincoln, the president, in bitter strife, best-loved, worst-hated of all living men, oft single-handed, for the nation's life fought on, nor rested ere he fought again. with one unerring purpose armed, he clove through selfish sin; then overwhelmed with care, his great heart sank beneath its load of love; crushed to his knees, he found his god in prayer. [ ] _from the youth's companion._ young lincoln's kindness of heart from "anecdotes of abraham lincoln." an instance of young lincoln's practical humanity at an early period of his life is recorded, as follows: one evening, while returning from a "raising" in his wide neighborhood, with a number of companions, he discovered a straying horse, with saddle and bridle upon him. the horse was recognized as belonging to a man who was accustomed to excess in drink, and it was suspected at once that the owner was not far off. a short search only was necessary to confirm the suspicions of the young men. the poor drunkard was found in a perfectly helpless condition, upon the chilly ground. abraham's companions urged the cowardly policy of leaving him to his fate, but young lincoln would not hear to the proposition. at his request, the miserable sot was lifted to his shoulders, and he actually carried him eighty rods to the nearest house. sending word to his father that he should not be back that night, with the reason for his absence, he attended and nursed the man until the morning, and had the pleasure of believing that he had saved his life. a voice from the wilderness by charles sumner abraham lincoln was born, and, until he became president, always lived in a part of the country which, at the period of the declaration of independence, was a savage wilderness. strange but happy providence, that a voice from that savage wilderness, now fertile in men, was inspired to uphold the pledges and promises of the declaration! the unity of the republic on the indestructible foundation of liberty and equality was vindicated by the citizen of a community which had no existence when the republic was formed. a cabin was built in primitive rudeness, and the future president split the rails for the fence to inclose the lot. these rails have become classical in our history, and the name of rail-splitter has been more than the degree of a college. not that the splitter of rails is especially meritorious, but because the people are proud to trace aspiring talent to humble beginnings, and because they found in this tribute a new opportunity of vindicating the dignity of free labor. choosing "abe" lincoln captain from "choosing 'abe' lincoln captain, and other stories" when the black hawk war broke out in illinois about , young abraham lincoln was living at new salem, a little village of the class familiarly known out west as "one-horse towns," and located near the capital city of illinois. he had just closed his clerkship of a year in a feeble grocery, and was the first to enlist under the call of governor reynolds for volunteer forces to go against the sacs and foxes, of whom black hawk was chief. by treaty these indians had been removed west of the mississippi into iowa; but, thinking their old hunting-grounds the better, they had recrossed the river with their war paint on, causing some trouble, and a great deal of alarm among the settlers. such was the origin of the war; and the handful of government troops stationed at rock island wanted help. hence the state call. mr. lincoln was twenty-three years old at that time, nine years older than his adopted state. the country was thinly settled, and a company of ninety men who could be spared from home for military service had to be gathered from a wide district. when full, the company met at the neighboring village of richland to choose its officers. in those days the militia men were allowed to select their leaders in their own way; and they had a very peculiar mode of expressing their preference for captains. for then, as now, there were almost always two candidates for one office. they would meet on the green somewhere, and at the appointed hour, the competitors would step out from the crowds on the opposite sides of the ground, and each would call on all the "boys" who wanted him for captain to fall in behind him. as the line formed, the man next the candidate would put his hands on the candidate's shoulder; the third man also in the same manner to the second man; and so on to the end. and then they would march and cheer for their leader like so many wild men, in order to win over the fellows who didn't seem to have a choice, or whose minds were sure to run after the greater noise. when all had taken sides, the man who led the longer line, would be declared captain. mr. lincoln never outgrew the familiar nickname, "abe," but at that time he could hardly be said to have any other name than "abe"; in fact he had emerged from clerking in that little corner grocery as "honest abe." he was not only liked, but loved, in the rough fashion of the frontier by all who knew him. he was a good hand at gunning, fishing, racing, wrestling and other games; he had a tall and strong figure; and he seemed to have been as often "reminded of a little story" in ' as in ' . and the few men not won by these qualities, were won and held by his great common sense, which restrained him from excesses even in sports, and made him a safe friend. it is not singular therefore that though a stranger to many of the enlisted men, he should have had his warm friends who at once determined to make him captain. but mr. lincoln hung back with the feeling, he said, that if there was any older and better established citizen whom the "boys" had confidence in, it would be better to make such a one captain. his poverty was even more marked than his modesty; and for his stock of education about that time, he wrote in a letter to a friend twenty-seven years later: "i did not know much; still, somehow, i could read, write, and cipher to the rule of three, but that was all." that, however, was up to the average education of the community; and having been clerk in a country grocery he was considered an educated man. in the company mr. lincoln had joined, there was a dapper little chap for whom mr. lincoln had labored as a farm hand a year before, and whom he had left on account of ill treatment from him. this man was eager for the captaincy. he put in his days and nights "log-rolling" among his fellow volunteers; said he had already smelt gun-powder in a brush with indians, thus urging the value of experience; even thought he had a "martial bearing"; and he was very industrious in getting those men to join the company who would probably vote for him to be captain. muster-day came, and the recruits met to organize. about them stood several hundred relatives and other friends. the little candidate was early on hand and busily bidding for votes. he had felt so confident of the office in advance of muster-day, that he had rummaged through several country tailor-shops and got a new suit of the nearest approach to a captain's uniform that their scant stock could furnish. so there he was, arrayed in jaunty cap, and a swallow-tailed coat with brass buttons. he even wore fine boots, and moreover had them blacked--which was almost a crime among a country crowd of that day. young lincoln took not one step to make himself captain; and not one to prevent it. he simply put himself "in the hands of his friends," as the politicians say. he stood and quietly watched the trouble others were borrowing over the matter as if it were an election of officers they had enlisted for, rather than for fighting indians. but after all, a good deal depends in war, on getting good officers. as two o'clock drew near, the hour set for making captain, four or five of young lincoln's most zealous friends with a big stalwart fellow at the head edged along pretty close to him, yet not in a way to excite suspicion of a "conspiracy." just a little bit before two, without even letting "abe" himself know exactly "what was up," the big fellow stepped directly behind him, clapped his hands on the shoulders before him, and shouted as only prairie giants can, "hurrah for captain abe lincoln!" and plunged his really astonished candidate forward into a march. at the same instant, those in league with him also put hands to the shoulders before them, pushed, and took up the cheer, "hurrah for captain abe lincoln!" so loudly that there seemed to be several hundred already on their side; and so there were, for the outside crowd was also already cheering for "abe." this little "ruse" of the lincoln "boys" proved a complete success. "abe" had to march, whether or no, to the music of their cheers; he was truly "in the hands of his friends" then, and couldn't get away; and it must be said he didn't seem to feel very bad over the situation. the storm of cheers and the sight of tall abraham (six feet and four inches) at the head of the marching column, before the fussy little chap in brass buttons who was quite ready, caused a quick stampede even among the boys who intended to vote for the little fellow. one after another they rushed for a place in "captain abe's" line as though to be first to fall in was to win a prize. a few rods away stood that suit of captain's clothes alone, looking smaller than ever, "the starch all taken out of 'em," their occupant confounded, and themselves for sale. "abe's" old "boss" said he was "astonished," and so he had good reason to be, but everybody could see it without his saying so. his "style" couldn't win among the true and shrewd, though unpolished "boys" in coarse garments. they saw right through him. "buttons," as he became known from that day, was the last man to fall into "abe's" line; he said he'd make it unanimous. but his experience in making "abe" captain made himself so sick that he wasn't "able" to move when the company left for the "front," though he soon grew able to move out of the procession. thus was "father abraham," so young as twenty-three, chosen captain of a militia company over him whose abused, hired-hand he had been. it is little wonder that in ' after three elections to the state legislature and one to congress, mr. lincoln should write of his early event as "a success which gave me more pleasure than any i have had since." the war was soon over with but little field work for the volunteers; but no private was known to complain that "abe" was not a good captain. iii maturity lincoln's marriage--a peep into lincoln's social life in , in his thirty-third year, mr. lincoln married miss mary todd, a daughter of hon. robert s. todd, of lexington, kentucky. the marriage took place in springfield, where the lady had for several years resided, on the fourth of november of the year mentioned. it is probable that he married as early as the circumstances of his life permitted, for he had always loved the society of women, and possessed a nature that took profound delight in intimate female companionship. a letter written on the eighteenth of may following his marriage, to j. f. speed, esq., of louisville, kentucky, an early and a life-long personal friend, gives a pleasant glimpse of his domestic arrangements at this time. "we are not keeping house," mr. lincoln says in his letter, "but boarding at the globe tavern, which is very well kept now by a widow lady of the name of beck. our rooms are the same dr. wallace occupied there, and boarding only costs four dollars a week.... i most heartily wish you and your fanny would not fail to come. just let us know the time, a week in advance, and we will have a room prepared for you, and we'll all be merry together for awhile." he seems to have been in excellent spirits, and to have been very hearty in the enjoyment of his new relation. the private letters of mr. lincoln were charmingly natural and sincere. his personal friendships were the sweetest sources of his happiness. to a particular friend, he wrote february , : "yours of the sixteenth, announcing that miss ---- and you 'are no longer twain, but one flesh,' reached me this morning. i have no way of telling you how much happiness i wish you both, though i believe you both can conceive it. i feel somewhat jealous of both of you now, for you will be so exclusively concerned for one another that i shall be forgotten entirely. my acquaintance with miss ---- (i call her thus lest you should think i am speaking of your mother), was too short for me to reasonably hope to be long remembered by her; and still i am sure i shall not forget her soon. try if you can not remind her of that debt she owes me, and be sure you do not interfere to prevent her paying it. "i regret to learn that you have resolved not to return to illinois. i shall be very lonesome without you. how miserably things seem to be arranged in this world! if we have no friends we have no pleasure; and if we have them, we are sure to lose them, and be doubly pained by the loss. i did hope she and you would make your home here, yet i own i have no right to insist. you owe obligations to her ten thousand times more sacred than any you can owe to others, and in that light let them be respected and observed. it is natural that she should desire to remain with her relations and friends. as to friends, she could not need them anywhere--she would have them in abundance here. give my kind regards to mr. ---- and his family, particularly to miss e. also to your mother, brothers and sisters. ask little e. d. ---- if she will ride to town with me if i come there again. and, finally, give ---- a double reciprocation of all the love she sent me. write me often, and believe me, yours forever, lincoln." how lincoln and judge b---- swapped horses from "anecdotes of abraham lincoln." when abraham lincoln was a lawyer in illinois, he and a certain judge once got to bantering one another about trading horses; and it was agreed that the next morning at o'clock they should make a trade, the horses to be unseen up to that hour, and no backing out, under a forfeiture of $ . at the hour appointed the judge came up, leading the sorriest-looking specimen of a horse ever seen in those parts. in a few minutes mr. lincoln was seen approaching with a wooden saw-horse upon his shoulders. great were the shouts and the laughter of the crowd, and both were greatly increased when mr. lincoln, on surveying the judge's animal, set down his saw-horse, and exclaimed: "well, judge, this is the first time i ever got the worst of it in a horse trade." abraham lincoln as a man of letters[ ] by hamilton wright mabie from "warner's library of the world's best literature." born in and dying in , mr. lincoln was the contemporary of every distinguished man of letters in america to the close of the war; but from none of them does he appear to have received literary impulse or guidance. he might have read, if circumstances had been favorable, a large part of the work of irving, bryant, poe, hawthorne, emerson, lowell, whittier, holmes, longfellow, and thoreau, as it came from the press; but he was entirely unfamiliar with it apparently until late in his career and it is doubtful if even at that period he knew it well or cared greatly for it. he was singularly isolated by circumstances and by temperament from those influences which usually determine, within certain limits, the quality and character of a man's style. and mr. lincoln had a style,--a distinctive, individual, characteristic form of expression. in his own way he gained an insight into the structure of english, and a freedom and skill in the selection and combination of words, which not only made him the most convincing speaker of his time, but which have secured for his speeches a permanent place in literature. one of those speeches is already known wherever the english language is spoken; it is a classic by virtue not only of its unique condensation of the sentiment of a tremendous struggle into the narrow compass of a few brief paragraphs, but by virtue of that instinctive felicity of style which gives to the largest thought the beauty of perfect simplicity. the two inaugural addresses are touched by the same deep feeling, the same large vision, the same clear, expressive and persuasive eloquence; and these qualities are found in a great number of speeches, from mr. lincoln's first appearance in public life. in his earliest expressions of his political views there is less range; but there is the structural order, clearness, sense of proportion, ease, and simplicity which give classic quality to the later utterances. few speeches have so little of what is commonly regarded as oratorial quality; few have approached so constantly the standards and character of literature. while a group of men of gift and opportunity in the east were giving american literature its earliest direction, and putting the stamp of a high idealism on its thought and a rare refinement of spirit on its form, this lonely, untrained man on the old frontier was slowly working his way through the hardest and rudest conditions to perhaps the foremost place in american history, and forming at the same time a style of singular and persuasive charm. there is, however, no possible excellence without adequate education; no possible mastery of any art without thorough training. mr. lincoln has sometimes been called an accident, and his literary gift an unaccountable play of nature; but few men have ever more definitely and persistently worked out what was in them by clear intelligence than mr. lincoln, and no speaker or writer of our time has, according to his opportunities, trained himself more thoroughly in the use of english prose. of educational opportunity in the scholastic sense, the future orator had only the slightest. he went to school "by littles," and these "littles" put together aggregated less than a year; but he discerned very early the practical uses of knowledge, and set himself to acquire it. this pursuit soon became a passion, and this deep and irresistible yearning did more for him perhaps than richer opportunities would have done. it made him a constant student, and it taught him the value of fragments of time. "he was always at the head of his class," writes one of his schoolmates, "and passed us rapidly in his studies. he lost no time at home, and when he was not at work was at his books. he kept up his studies on sunday, and carried his books with him to work, so that he might read when he rested from labor." "i induced my husband to permit abe to read and study at home as well as at school," writes his stepmother. "at first he was not easily reconciled to it, but finally he too seemed willing to encourage him to a certain extent. abe was a dutiful son to me always, and we took particular care when he was reading not to disturb him,--would let him read on and on until he quit of his own accord." the books within his reach were few, but they were among the best. first and foremost was that collection of literature in prose and verse, the bible: a library of sixty-six volumes, presenting nearly every literary form, and translated at the fortunate moment when the english language had received the recent impress of its greatest masters of the speech of the imagination. this literature mr. lincoln knew intimately, familiarly, fruitfully; as shakespeare knew it in an earlier version, and as tennyson knew it and was deeply influenced by it in the form in which it entered into and trained lincoln's imagination. then there was that wise and very human text-book of the knowledge of character and life, "Ã�sop's fables"; that masterpiece of clear presentation, "robinson crusoe"; and that classic of pure english, "the pilgrim's progress." these four books--in the hands of a meditative boy, who read until the last ember went out on the hearth, began again when the earliest light reached his bed in the loft of the log cabin, who perched himself on a stump, book in hand, at the end of every furrow in the plowing season--contained the elements of a movable university. to these must be added many volumes borrowed from more fortunate neighbors; for he had "read through every book he had heard of in that country, for a circuit of fifty miles." a history of the united states and a copy of weems's "life of washington" laid the foundations of his political education. that he read with his imagination as well as with his eyes is clear from certain words spoken in the senate chamber at trenton in . "may i be pardoned," said mr. lincoln, "if on this occasion i mention that way back in my childhood, the earliest days of my being able to read, i got hold of a small book, such a one as few of the members have ever seen,--weems's 'life of washington.' i remember all the accounts there given of the battle-fields and struggles for the liberties of the country; and none fixed themselves upon my imagination so deeply as the struggle here at trenton, new jersey. the crossing of the river, the contest with the hessians, the great hardships endured at that time,--all fixed themselves on my memory more than any single revolutionary event; and you all know, for you have all been boys, how those early impressions last longer than any others." "when abe and i returned to the house from work," writes john hanks, "he would go to the cupboard, snatch a piece of corn bread, sit down, take a book, cock his legs up as high as his head, and read. we grubbed, plowed, weeded, and worked together barefooted in the field. whenever abe had a chance in the field while at work, or at the house, he would stop and read." and this habit was kept up until mr. lincoln had found both his life work and his individual expression. later he devoured shakespeare and burns; and the poetry of these masters of the dramatic and lyric form, sprung like himself from the common soil, and like him self-trained and directed, furnished a kind of running accompaniment to his work and his play. what he read he not only held tenaciously, but took into his imagination and incorporated into himself. his familiar talk was enriched with frequent and striking illustrations from the bible and "Ã�sop's fables." this passion for knowledge and for companionship with the great writers would have gone for nothing, so far as the boy's training in expression was concerned, if he had contented himself with acquisition; but he turned everything to account. he was as eager for expression as for the material of expression; more eager to write and to talk than to read. bits of paper, stray sheets, even boards served his purpose. he was continually transcribing with his own hand thoughts or phrases which had impressed him. everything within reach bore evidence of his passion for reading, and for writing as well. the flat sides of logs, the surface of the broad wooden shovel, everything in his vicinity which could receive a legible mark, was covered with his figures and letters. he was studying expression quite as intelligently as he was searching for thought. years afterwards, when asked how he had attained such extraordinary clearness of style, he recalled his early habit of retaining in his memory words or phrases overheard in ordinary conversation or met in books and newspapers, until night, meditating on them until he got at their meaning, and then translating them into his own simpler speech. this habit, kept up for years, was the best possible training for the writing of such english as one finds in the bible and in "the pilgrim's progress." his self-education in the art of expression soon bore fruit in a local reputation both as a talker and a writer. his facility in rhyme and essay-writing was not only greatly admired by his fellows, but awakened great astonishment, because these arts were not taught in the neighboring schools. in speech too he was already disclosing that command of the primary and universal elements of interest in human intercourse which was to make him, later, one of the most entertaining men of his time. his power of analyzing a subject so as to be able to present it to others with complete clearness was already disclosing itself. no matter how complex a question might be, he did not rest until he had reduced it to its simplest terms. when he had done this he was not only eager to make it clear to others, but to give his presentation freshness, variety, attractiveness. he had, in a word, the literary sense. "when he appeared in company," writes one of his early companions, "the boys would gather and cluster around him to hear him talk. mr. lincoln was figurative in his speech, talks and conversation. he argued much from analogy, and explained things hard for us to understand by stories, maxims, tales and figures. he would almost always point his lesson or idea by some story that was plain and near to us, that we might instantly see the force and bearing of what he said." in that phrase lies the secret of the closeness of mr. lincoln's words to his theme and to his listeners,--one of the qualities of genuine, original expression. he fed himself with thought, and he trained himself in expression; but his supreme interest was in the men and women about him, and later, in the great questions which agitated them. he was in his early manhood when society was profoundly moved by searching which could neither be silenced nor evaded; and his lot was cast in a section where, as a rule, people read little and talked much. public speech was the chief instrumentality of political education and the most potent means of persuasion; but behind the platform, upon which mr. lincoln was to become a commanding figure, were countless private debates carried on at street corners, in hotel rooms, by the country road, in every place where men met even in the most casual way. in these wayside schools mr. lincoln practiced the art of putting things until he became a past-master in debate, both formal and informal. if all these circumstances, habits and conditions are studied in their entirety, it will be seen that mr. lincoln's style, so far as its formal qualities are concerned, is in no sense accidental or even surprising. he was all his early life in the way of doing precisely what he did in his later life with a skill which had become instinct. he was educated, in a very unusual way, to speak for his time and to his time with perfect sincerity and simplicity; to feel the moral bearing of the questions which were before the country; to discern the principles involved; and to so apply the principles to the questions as to clarify and illuminate them. there is little difficulty in accounting for the lucidity, simplicity, flexibility, and compass of mr. lincoln's style; it is not until we turn to its temperamental and spiritual qualities, to the soul of it, that we find ourselves perplexed and baffled. but mr. lincoln's possession of certain rare qualities is in no way more surprising than their possession by shakespeare, burns, and whitman. we are constantly tempted to look for the sources of a man's power in his educational opportunities instead of in his temperament and inheritance. the springs of genius are purified and directed in their flow by the processes of training, but they are fed from deeper sources. the man of obscure ancestry and rude surroundings is often in closer touch with nature, and with those universal experiences which are the very stuff of literature, than the man who is born on the upper reaches of social position and opportunity. mr. lincoln's ancestry for at least two generations were pioneers and frontiersmen, who knew hardship and privation, and were immersed in that great wave of energy and life which fertilized and humanized the central west. they were in touch with those original experiences out of which the higher evolution of civilization slowly rises; they knew the soil and the sky at first hand; they wrested a meagre subsistence out of the stubborn earth by constant toil; they shared to the full the vicissitudes and weariness of humanity at its elemental tasks. it was to this nearness to the heart of a new country, perhaps, that mr. lincoln owed his intimate knowledge of his people and his deep and beautiful sympathy with them. there was nothing sinuous or secondary in his processes of thought: they were broad, simple, and homely in the old sense of the word. he had rare gifts, but he was rooted deep in the soil of the life about him, and so completely in touch with it that he divined its secrets and used its speech. this vital sympathy gave his nature a beautiful gentleness, and suffused his thought with a tenderness born of deep compassion and love. he carried the sorrows of his country as truly as he bore its burdens; and when he came to speak on the second immortal day at gettysburg, he condensed into a few sentences the innermost meaning of the struggle and the victory in the life of the nation. it was this deep heart of pity and love in him which carried him far beyond the reaches of statesmanship or oratory, and gave his words that finality of expression which marks the noblest art. that there was a deep vein of poetry in mr. lincoln's nature is clear to one who reads the story of his early life; and this innate idealism, set in surroundings so harsh and rude, had something to do with his melancholy. the sadness which was mixed with his whole life was, however, largely due to his temperament; in which the final tragedy seemed always to be predicted. in that temperament too is hidden the secret of the rare quality of nature and mind which suffused his public speech and turned so much of it into literature. there was humor in it, there was deep human sympathy, there was clear mastery of words for the use to which he put them; but there was something deeper and more pervasive,--there was the quality of his temperament; and temperament is a large part of genius. the inner forces of his nature played through his thought; and when great occasions touched him to the quick, his whole nature shaped his speech and gave it clear intelligence, deep feeling, and that beauty which is distilled out of the depths of the sorrows and hopes of the world. he was as unlike burke and webster, those masters of the eloquence of statesmanship, as burns was unlike milton and tennyson. like burns, he held the key of the life of his people; and through him, as through burns, that life found a voice, vibrating, pathetic, and persuasive. [ ] _by permission of r. s. peale and j. a. hill co._ lincoln's presence of body from "abe lincoln's yarns and stories" on one occasion, colonel baker was speaking in a court-house, which had been a storehouse, and, on making some remarks that were offensive to certain political rowdies in the crowd, they cried: "take him off the stand!" immediate confusion followed, and there was an attempt to carry the demand into execution. directly over the speaker's head was an old skylight, at which it appeared mr. lincoln had been listening to the speech. in an instant, mr. lincoln's feet came through the skylight, followed by his tall and sinewy frame, and he was standing by colonel baker's side. he raised his hand, and the assembly subsided into silence. "gentlemen," said mr. lincoln, "let us not disgrace the age and country in which we live. this is a land where freedom of speech is guaranteed. mr. baker has a right to speak, and ought to be permitted to do so. i am here to protect him, and no man shall take him from this stand if i can prevent it." the suddenness of his appearance, his perfect calmness and fairness, and the knowledge that he would do what he had promised to do, quieted all disturbance, and the speaker concluded his remarks without difficulty. how lincoln became a national figure by ida m. tarbell from "the life of abraham lincoln."[ ] "the greatest speech ever made in illinois, and it puts lincoln on the track for the presidency," was the comment made by enthusiastic republicans on lincoln's speech before the bloomington convention. conscious that it was he who had put the breath of life into their organization, the party instinctively turned to him as its leader. the effect of this local recognition was at once perceptible in the national organization. less than three weeks after the delivery of the bloomington speech, the national convention of the republican party met in philadelphia, june , to nominate candidates for the presidency and vice-presidency. lincoln's name was the second proposed for the latter office, and on the first ballot he received one hundred and ten votes. the news reached him at urbana, ill., where he was attending court, one of his companions reading from a daily paper just received from chicago, the result of the ballot. the simple name lincoln was given, without the name of the man's state. lincoln said indifferently that he did not suppose it could be himself; and added that there was "another great man" of the name, a man from massachusetts. the next day, however, he knew that it was himself to whom the convention had given so strong an endorsement. he knew also that the ticket chosen was frémont and dayton. the campaign of the following summer and fall was one of intense activity for lincoln. in illinois and the neighboring states he made over fifty speeches, only fragments of which have been preserved. one of the first important ones was delivered on july , , at a great mass meeting at princeton, the home of the lovejoys and the bryants. the people were still irritated by the outrages in kansas and by the attack on sumner in the senate, and the temptation to deliver a stirring and indignant oration must have been strong. lincoln's speech was, however, a fine example of political wisdom, an historical argument admirably calculated to convince his auditors that they were right in their opposition to slavery extension, but so controlled and sane that it would stir no impulsive radical to violence. there probably was not uttered in the united states on that critical th of july, , when the very foundation of the government was in dispute and the day itself seemed a mockery, a cooler, more logical speech than this by the man who, a month before, had driven a convention so nearly mad that the very reporters had forgotten to make notes. and the temper of this princeton speech lincoln kept throughout the campaign. in spite of the valiant struggle of the republicans, buchanan was elected; but lincoln was in no way discouraged. the republicans had polled , , votes in the country. in illinois, they had given frémont nearly , votes, and they had elected their candidate for governor, general bissell. lincoln turned from arguments to encouragement and good counsel. "all of us," he said at a republican banquet in chicago, a few weeks after the election, "who did not vote for mr. buchanan, taken together, are a majority of four hundred thousand. but in the late contest we were divided between frémont and fillmore. can we not come together for the future? let every one who really believes and is resolved that free society is not and shall not be a failure, and who can conscientiously declare that in the last contest he had done what he thought best--let every such one have charity to believe that every other one can say as much. thus let bygones be bygones; let past differences as nothing be; and with steady eye on the real issue let us reinaugurate the good old 'central idea' of the republic. we can do it. the human heart is with us; god is with us. we shall again be able, not to declare that 'all states as states are equal,' nor yet that 'all citizens as citizens are equal,' but to renew the broader, better declaration, including both these and much more, that 'all men are created equal.'" the spring of gave lincoln a new line of argument. buchanan was scarcely in the presidential chair before the supreme court, in the decision of the dred scott case, declared that a negro could not sue in the united states courts and that congress could not prohibit slavery in the territories. this decision was such an evident advance of the slave power that there was a violent uproar in the north. douglas went at once to illinois to calm his constituents. "what," he cried, "oppose the supreme court! is it not sacred? to resist it is anarchy." lincoln met him fairly on the issue in a speech at springfield in june, . "we believe as much as judge douglas (perhaps more) in obedience to and respect for the judicial department of government.... but we think the dred scott decision is erroneous. we know the court that made it has often overruled its own decisions, and we shall do what we can to have it overrule this. we offer no resistance to it.... if this important decision had been made by the unanimous concurrence of the judges, and without any apparent partisan bias, and in accordance with legal public expectation and with the steady practice of the departments throughout our history, and had been in no part based on assumed historical facts which are not really true; or if, wanting in some of these, it had been before the court more than once, and had there been affirmed and reaffirmed through a course of years, it then might be, perhaps would be, factious, nay, even revolutionary, not to acquiesce in it as a precedent. but when, as is true, we find it wanting in all these claims to the public confidence, it is not resistance, it is not factious, it is not even disrespectful, to treat it as not having yet quite established a settled doctrine for the country." let douglas cry "awful," "anarchy," "revolution," as much as he would, lincoln's arguments against the dred scott decision appealed to common sense and won him commendation all over the country. even the radical leaders of the party in the east--seward, sumner, theodore parker--began to notice him, to read his speeches, to consider his arguments. with every month of lincoln grew stronger, and his election in illinois as united states senatorial candidate in against douglas would have been insured if douglas had not suddenly broken with buchanan and his party in a way which won him the hearty sympathy and respect of a large part of the republicans of the north. by a flagrantly unfair vote the pro-slavery leaders of kansas had secured the adoption of the lecompton constitution allowing slavery in the state. president buchanan urged congress to admit kansas with her bogus constitution. douglas, who would not sanction so base an injustice, opposed the measure, voting with the republicans steadily against the admission. the buchananists, outraged at what they called "douglas's apostasy," broke with him. then it was that a part of the republican party, notably horace greeley at the head of the new york "tribune," struck by the boldness and nobility of douglas's opposition, began to hope to win him over from the democrats to the republicans. their first step was to counsel the leaders of their party in illinois to put up no candidate against douglas for the united states senatorship in . lincoln saw this change on the part of the republican leaders with dismay. "greeley is not doing me right," he said. "... i am a true republican, and have been tried already in the hottest part of the anti-slavery fight; and yet i find him taking up douglas, a veritable dodger,--once a tool of the south, now its enemy,--and pushing him to the front." he grew so restless over the returning popularity of douglas among the republicans that herndon, his law-partner, determined to go east to find out the real feeling of the eastern leaders towards lincoln. herndon had, for a long time, been in correspondence with the leading abolitionists and had no difficulty in getting interviews. the returns he brought back from his canvass were not altogether reassuring. seward, sumner, phillips, garrison, beecher, theodore parker, all spoke favorably of lincoln and seward sent him word that the republicans would never take up so slippery a quantity as douglas had proved himself. but greeley--the all-important greeley--was lukewarm. "the republican standard is too high," he told herndon. "we want something practical.... douglas is a brave man. forget the past and sustain the righteous." "good god, righteous, eh!" groaned herndon in his letter to lincoln. but though the encouragement which came to lincoln from the east in the spring of was meagre, that which came from illinois was abundant. there the republicans supported him in whole-hearted devotion. in june, the state convention, meeting in springfield to nominate its candidate for senator, declared that abraham lincoln was its first and only choice as the successor of stephen a. douglas. the press was jubilant. "unanimity is a weak word," wrote the editor of the bloomington "pantagraph," "to express the universal and intense feeling of the convention. _lincoln!_ lincoln!! lincoln!!! was the cry everywhere, whenever the senatorship was alluded to. delegates from chicago and from cairo, from the wabash and the illinois, from the north, the center, and the south, were alike fierce with enthusiasm, whenever that loved name was breathed. enemies at home and misjudging friends abroad, who have looked for dissension among us on the question of the senatorship, will please take notice that our nomination is a unanimous one; and that, in the event of a republican majority in the next legislature, no other name than lincoln's will be mentioned, or thought of, by a solitary republican legislator. one little incident in the convention was a pleasing illustration of the universality of the lincoln sentiment. cook county had brought a banner into the assemblage inscribed, 'cook county for abraham lincoln.' during a pause in the proceedings, a delegate from another county rose and proposed, with the consent of the cook county delegation, 'to amend the banner by substituting for "cook county" the word which i hold in my hand,' at the same time unrolling a scroll, and revealing the word 'illinois' in huge capitals. the cook delegation promptly accepted the amendment, and amidst a perfect hurricane of hurrahs, the banner was duly altered to express the sentiment of the whole republican party of the state, thus: 'illinois for abraham lincoln.'" on the evening of the day of his nomination, lincoln addressed his constituents. the first paragraph of his speech gave the key to the campaign he proposed. "a house divided against itself cannot stand. i believe this government cannot endure permanently half slave and half free. i do not expect the house to fall--but i do expect it will cease to be divided. it will become all one thing or all the other." then followed the famous charge of conspiracy against the slavery advocates, the charge that pierce, buchanan, chief justice taney, and douglas had been making a concerted effort to legalize the institution of slavery "in all the states, old as well as new, north as well as south." he marshaled one after another of the measures that the pro-slavery leaders had secured in the past four years, and clinched the argument by one of his inimitable illustrations. "when we see a lot of framed timbers, different portions of which we know have been gotten out of different times and places and by different workmen,--stephen, franklin, roger and james,[a] for instance,--and we see these timbers joined together, and see they exactly make the frame of a house or a mill, all the tenons and mortises exactly fitting, and all the lengths and proportions of the different pieces exactly adapted to their respective places, and not a piece too many or too few, not omitting even the scaffolding--or, if a single piece be lacking, we see the place in the frame exactly fitted and prepared yet to bring such a piece in--in such a case we find it impossible not to believe that stephen and franklin and roger and james all understood one another from the beginning, and all worked upon a common plan or draft, drawn up before the first blow was struck." the speech was severely criticised by lincoln's friends. it was too radical. it was sectional. he heard the complaints unmoved. "if i had to draw a pen across my record," he said, one day, "and erase my whole life from sight, and i had one poor gift of choice left as to what i should save from the wreck, i should choose that speech and leave it to the world unerased." the speech, was, in fact, one of great political adroitness. it forced douglas to do exactly what he did not want to do in illinois; explain his own record during the past four years; explain the true meaning of the kansas-nebraska bill; discuss the dred scott decision; say whether or not he thought slavery so good a thing that the country could afford to extend it instead of confining it where it would be in course of gradual extinction. douglas wanted the republicans of illinois to follow greeley's advice: "forgive the past." he wanted to make the most among them of his really noble revolt against the attempt of his party to fasten an unjust constitution on kansas. lincoln would not allow him to bask for an instant in the sun of that revolt. he crowded him step by step through his party's record, and compelled him to face what he called the "profound central truth" of the republican party, "slavery is wrong and ought to be dealt with as wrong." but it was at once evident that douglas did not mean to meet the issue squarely. he called the doctrine of lincoln's "house-divided-against-itself" speech "sectionalism"; his charge of conspiracy "false"; his talk of the wrong of slavery extension "abolitionism." this went on for a month. then lincoln resolved to force douglas to meet his arguments, and challenged him to a series of joint debates. douglas was not pleased. his reply to the challenge was irritable, even slightly insolent. to those of his friends who talked with him privately of the contest, he said: "i do not feel, between you and me, that i want to go into this debate. the whole country knows me, and has me measured. lincoln, as regards myself, is comparatively unknown, and if he gets the best of this debate,--and i want to say he is the ablest man the republicans have got,--i shall lose everything and lincoln will gain everything. should i win, i shall gain but little. i do not want to go into a debate with abe." publicly, however, he carried off the prospect confidently, even jauntily. "mr. lincoln," he said patronizingly, "is a kind, amiable, intelligent gentleman." in the meantime his constituents boasted loudly of the fine spectacle they were going to give the state--"the little giant chawing up old abe!" many of lincoln's friends looked forward to the encounter with foreboding. often, in spite of their best intentions, they showed anxiety. "shortly before the first debate came off at ottawa," says judge h. w. beckwith of danville, ill., "i passed the chenery house, then the principal hotel in springfield. the lobby was crowded with partisan leaders from various sections of the state, and mr. lincoln, from his greater height, was seen above the surging mass that clung about him like a swarm of bees to their ruler. he looked careworn, but he met the crowd patiently and kindly, shaking hands, answering questions, and receiving assurances of support. the day was warm, and at the first chance he broke away and came out for a little fresh air, wiping the sweat from his face. "as he passed the door he saw me, and, taking my hand, inquired for the health and views of his 'friends over in vermilion county.' he was assured they were wide awake, and further told that they looked forward to the debate between him and senator douglas with deep concern. from the shadow that went quickly over his face, the pained look that came to give quickly way to a blaze of eyes and quiver of lips, i felt that mr. lincoln had gone beneath my mere words and caught my inner and current fears as to the result. and then, in a forgiving, jocular way peculiar to him, he said, 'sit down; i have a moment to spare and will tell you a story.' having been on his feet for some time, he sat on the end of the stone steps leading into the hotel door, while i stood closely fronting him. "'you have,' he continued, 'seen two men about to fight?' "'yes, many times.' "'well, one of them brags about what he means to do. he jumps high in the air, cracking his heels together, smites his fists, and wastes his breath trying to scare everybody. you see the other fellow, he says not a word,'--here mr. lincoln's voice and manner changed to great earnestness, and repeating--'you see the other man says not a word. his arms are at his side, his fists are closely doubled up, his head is drawn to the shoulder, and his teeth are set firm together. he is saving his wind for the fight, and as sure as it comes off he will win it, or die a-trying.' "he made no other comment, but arose, bade me good-by, and left me to apply that illustration." it was inevitable that douglas's friends should be sanguine, lincoln's doubtful. the contrast between the two candidates was almost pathetic. senator douglas was the most brilliant figure in the political life of the day. winning in personality, fearless as an advocate, magnetic in eloquence, shrewd in political manoeuvring, he had every quality to captivate the public. his resources had never failed him. from his entrance into illinois politics in , he had been the recipient of every political honor his party had to bestow. for the past eleven years he had been a member of the united states senate, where he had influenced all the important legislation of the day and met in debate every strong speaker of north and south. in , and again in , he had been a strongly supported, though unsuccessful candidate for the democratic presidential nomination. in he was put at or near the head of every list of possible presidential candidates made up for . how barren lincoln's public career in comparison! three terms in the lower house of the state assembly, one term in congress, then a failure which drove him from public life. now he returns as a bolter from his party, a leader in a new organization which the conservatives are denouncing as "visionary," "impractical," "revolutionary." no one recognized more clearly than lincoln the difference between himself and his opponent. "with me," he said, sadly, in comparing the careers of himself and douglas, "the race of ambition has been a failure--a flat failure. with him it has been one of splendid success." he warned his party at the outset that, with himself as a standard-bearer, the battle must be fought on principle alone, without any of the external aids which douglas's brilliant career gave. "senator douglas is of world-wide renown," he said; "all the anxious politicians of his party, or who have been of his party for years past, have been looking upon him as certain, at no distant day, to be the president of the united states. they have seen in his round, jolly, fruitful face, post-offices, land-offices, marshal-ships, and cabinet appointments, chargéships and foreign missions, bursting and sprouting out in wonderful exuberance, ready to be laid hold of by their greedy hands. and as they have been gazing upon this attractive picture so long, they cannot, in the little distraction that has taken place in the party, bring themselves to give up the charming hope; but with greedier anxiety they rush about him, sustain him, and give him marches, triumphal entries, and receptions beyond what even in the days of his highest prosperity they could have brought about in his favor. on the contrary, nobody has ever expected me to be president. in my poor, lean, lank face, nobody has ever seen that any cabbages were sprouting out. these are disadvantages, all taken together, that the republicans labor under. we have to fight this battle upon principle, and upon principle alone." if one will take a map of illinois and locate the points of the lincoln and douglas debates held between august and october , , he will see that the whole state was traversed in the contest. the first took place at ottawa, about seventy-five miles southwest of chicago, on august ; the second at freeport, near the wisconsin boundary, on august . the third was in the extreme southern part of the state, at jonesboro, on september . three days later the contestants met one hundred and fifty miles northeast of jonesboro, at charleston. the fifth, sixth, and seventh debates were held in the western part of the state; at galesburg, october ; quincy, october ; and alton, october . constant exposure and fatigue were unavoidable in meeting these engagements. both contestants spoke almost every day through the intervals between the joint debates; and as railroad communication in illinois in was still very incomplete, they were often obliged to resort to horse, carriage, or steamer, to reach the desired points. judge douglas succeeded, however, in making this difficult journey something of a triumphal procession. he was accompanied throughout the campaign by his wife--a beautiful and brilliant woman--and by a number of distinguished democrats. on the illinois central railroad he had always a special car, sometimes a special train. frequently he swept by lincoln, side-tracked in an accommodation or freight train. "the gentleman in that car evidently smelt no royalty on our carriage," laughed lincoln one day, as he watched from the caboose of a laid-up freight train the decorated special of douglas flying by. it was only when lincoln left the railroad and crossed the prairie at some isolated town, that he went in state. the attentions he received were often very trying to him. he detested what he called "fizzlegigs and fireworks," and would squirm in disgust when his friends gave him a genuine prairie ovation. usually, when he was going to a point distant from the railway, a "distinguished citizen" met him at the station nearest the place with a carriage. when they were come within two or three miles of the town, a long procession with banners and band would appear winding across the prairie to meet the speaker. a speech of greeting was made, and then the ladies of the entertainment committee would present lincoln with flowers, sometimes even winding a garland about his head and lanky figure. his embarrassment at these attentions was thoroughly appreciated by his friends. at the ottawa debate the enthusiasm of his supporters was so great that they insisted on carrying him from the platform to the house where he was to be entertained. powerless to escape from the clutches of his admirers, he could only cry, "don't, boys; let me down; come now, don't." but the "boys" persisted, and they tell to-day proudly of their exploit and of the cordial hand-shake lincoln, all embarrassed as he was, gave each when at last he was free. on arrival at the towns where the joint debates were held, douglas was always met by a brass band and a salute of thirty-two guns (the union was composed of thirty-two states in ), and was escorted to the hotel in the finest equipage to be had. lincoln's supporters took delight in showing their contempt of douglas's elegance by affecting a republican simplicity, often carrying their candidate through the streets on a high and unadorned hay-rack drawn by farm horses. the scenes in the towns on the occasion of the debates were perhaps never equalled at any other of the hustings of this country. no distance seemed too great for the people to go; no vehicle too slow or fatiguing. at charleston there was a great delegation of men, women and children present which had come in a long procession from indiana by farm wagons, afoot, on horseback, and in carriages. the crowds at three or four of the debates were for that day immense. there were estimated to be from eight thousand to fourteen thousand people at quincy, some six thousand at alton, from ten thousand to fifteen thousand at charleston, some twenty thousand at ottawa. many of those at ottawa came the night before. "it was a matter of but a short time," says mr. george beatty of ottawa, "until the few hotels, the livery stables, and private houses were crowded, and there were no accommodations left. then the campaigners spread out about the town, and camped in whatever spot was most convenient. they went along the bluff and on the bottom-lands, and that night, the camp-fires, spread up and down the valley for a mile, made it look as if an army was gathered about us." when the crowd was massed at the place of the debate, the scene was one of the greatest hubbub and confusion. on the corners of the squares, and scattered around the outskirts of the crowd, were fakirs of every description, selling painkillers and ague cures, watermelons and lemonade; jugglers and beggars plied their trades, and the brass bands of all the four corners within twenty-five miles tooted and pounded at "hail columbia, happy land," or "columbia, the gem of the ocean." conspicuous in the processions at all the points was what lincoln called the "basket of flowers," thirty-two young girls in a resplendent car, representing the union. at charleston, a thirty-third young woman rode behind the car, representing kansas. she carried a banner inscribed: "i will be free"; a motto which brought out from nearly all the newspaper reporters the comment that she was too fair to be long free. the mottoes at the different meetings epitomized the popular conception of the issues and the candidates. among the lincoln sentiments were: illinois born under the ordinance of ' . free territories and free men, free pulpits and free preachers, free press and a free pen, free schools and free teachers. "westward the star of empire takes its way; the girls link on to lincoln, their mothers were for clay." abe the giant-killer. edgar county for the tall sucker. a striking feature of the crowds was the number of women they included. the intelligent and lively interest they took in the debates caused much comment. no doubt mrs. douglas's presence had something to do with this. they were particularly active in receiving the speakers, and at quincy, lincoln, on being presented with what the local press described as a "beautiful and elegant bouquet," took pains to express his gratification at the part women everywhere took in the contest. while this helter-skelter outpouring of prairiedom had the appearance of being little more than a great jollification, a lawless country fair, in reality it was with the majority of the people a profoundly serious matter. with every discussion it became more vital. indeed, in the first debate, which was opened and closed by douglas, the relation of the two speakers became dramatic. it was here that douglas hoping to fasten on lincoln the stigma of "abolitionist," charged him with having undertaken to abolitionize the old whig party, and having been in a subscriber to a radical platform proclaimed at springfield. this platform douglas read. lincoln, when he replied, could only say he was never at the convention--knew nothing of the resolutions; but the impression prevailed that he was cornered. the next issue of the chicago "press and tribune" dispelled it. that paper had employed to report the debates the first shorthand reporter of chicago, mr. robert l. hitt--now a member of congress and the chairman of the committee on foreign affairs. mr. hitt, when douglas began to read the resolutions, took an opportunity to rest, supposing he could get the original from the speaker. he took down only the first line of each resolution. he missed douglas after the debate, but on reaching chicago, where he wrote out his report, he sent an assistant to the files to find the platform adopted at the springfield convention. it was brought, but when mr. hitt began to transcribe it he saw at once that it was widely different from the one douglas had read. there was great excitement in the office, and the staff, ardently republican, went to work to discover where the resolutions had come from. it was found that they originated at a meeting of radical abolitionists with whom lincoln had never been associated. the "press and tribune" announced the "forgery," as it was called in a caustic editorial, "the little dodger cornered and caught." within a week even the remote school-districts of illinois were discussing douglas's action, and many of the most important papers of the nation had made it a subject of editorial comment. almost without exception douglas was condemned. no amount of explanation on his part helped him. "the particularity of douglas's charge," said the louisville "journal," "precludes the idea that he was simply and innocently mistaken." lovers of fair play were disgusted, and those of douglas's own party who would have applauded a trick too clever to be discovered could not forgive him for one which had been found out. greeley came out bitterly against him, and before long wrote to lincoln and herndon that douglas was "like the man's boy who (he said) didn't weigh so much as he expected and he always knew he wouldn't." douglas's error became a sharp-edged sword in lincoln's hand. without directly referring to it, he called his hearers' attention to the forgery every time he quoted a document by his elaborate explanation that he believed, unless there was some mistake on the part of those with whom the matter originated and which he had been unable to detect, that this was correct. once when douglas brought forward a document, lincoln blandly remarked that he could scarcely be blamed for doubting its genuineness since the introduction of the springfield resolutions at ottawa. it was in the second debate, at freeport, that lincoln made the boldest stroke of the contest. soon after the ottawa debate, in discussing his plan for the next encounter, with a number of his political friends,--washburne, cook, judd, and others,--he told them he proposed to ask douglas four questions, which he read. one and all cried halt at the second question. under no condition, they said, must he put it. if it were put, douglas would answer it in such a way as to win the senatorship. the morning of the debate, while on the way to freeport, lincoln read the same questions to mr. joseph medill. "i do not like this second question, mr. lincoln," said mr. medill. the two men argued to their journey's end, but lincoln was still unconvinced. even after he reached freeport several republican leaders came to him pleading, "do not ask that question." he was obdurate; and he went on the platform with a higher head, a haughtier step than his friends had noted in him before. lincoln was going to ruin himself, the committee said despondently; one would think he did not want the senatorship. the mooted question ran in lincoln's notes: "can the people of a united states territory in any lawful way, against the wish of any citizen of the united states, exclude slavery from its limits prior to the formation of a state constitution?" lincoln had seen the irreconcilableness of douglas's own measure of popular sovereignty, which declared that the people of a territory should be left to regulate their domestic concerns in their own way subject only to the constitution, and the decision of the supreme court in the dred scott case that slaves, being property, could not under the constitution be excluded from a territory. he knew that if douglas said no to this question, his illinois constituents would never return him to the senate. he believed that if he said yes, the people of the south would never vote for him for president of the united states. he was willing himself to lose the senatorship in order to defeat douglas for the presidency in . "i am after larger game; the battle of is worth a hundred of this," he said confidently. the question was put, and douglas answered it with rare artfulness. "it matters not," he cried, "what way the supreme court may hereafter decide as to the abstract question whether slavery may or may not go into a territory under the constitution; the people have the lawful means to introduce it or exclude it as they please, for the reason that slavery cannot exist a day or an hour anywhere unless it is supported by local police regulations. those police regulations can only be established by the local legislature, and if the people are opposed to slavery, they will elect representatives to that body who will, by unfriendly legislation, effectually prevent the introduction of it into their midst. if, on the contrary, they are for it, their legislature will favor its extension." his democratic constituents went wild over the clever way in which douglas had escaped lincoln's trap. he now practically had his election. the republicans shook their heads. lincoln only was serene. he alone knew what he had done. the freeport debate had no sooner reached the pro-slavery press than a storm of protest went up. douglas had betrayed the south. he had repudiated the supreme court decision. he had declared that slavery could be kept out of the territories by other legislation than a state constitution. "the freeport doctrine," or "the theory of unfriendly legislation," as it became known, spread month by month, and slowly but surely made douglas an impossible candidate in the south. the force of the question was not realized in full by lincoln's friends until the democratic party met in charleston, s. c., in , and the southern delegates refused to support douglas because of the answer he gave to lincoln's question in the freeport debate of . "do you recollect the argument we had on the way up to freeport two years ago over the question i was going to ask judge douglas?" lincoln asked mr. joseph medill, when the latter went to springfield a few days after the election of . "yes," said medill, "i recollect it very well." "don't you think i was right now?" "we were both right. the question hurt douglas for the presidency, but it lost you the senatorship." "yes, and i have won the place he was playing for." from the beginning of the campaign lincoln supplemented the strength of his arguments by inexhaustible good humor. douglas, physically worn, harassed by the trend which lincoln had given the discussions, irritated that his adroitness and eloquence could not so cover the fundamental truth of the republican position but that it would up again, often grew angry, even abusive. lincoln answered him with most effective raillery. at havana, where he spoke the day after douglas, he said: "i am informed that my distinguished friend yesterday became a little excited--nervous, perhaps--and he said something about fighting, as though referring to a pugilistic encounter between him and myself. did anybody in this audience hear him use such language? (cries of "yes.") i am informed further, that somebody in his audience, rather more excited and nervous than himself, took off his coat, and offered to take the job off judge douglas's hands, and fight lincoln himself. did anybody here witness that war-like proceeding? (laughter and cries of "yes.") well, i merely desire to say that i shall fight neither judge douglas nor his second. i shall not do this for two reasons, which i will now explain. in the first place, a fight would prove nothing which is in issue in this contest. it might establish that judge douglas is a more muscular man than myself, or it might demonstrate that i am a more muscular man than judge douglas. but this question is not referred to in the cincinnati platform, nor in either of the springfield platforms. neither result would prove him right nor me wrong; and so of the gentleman who volunteered to do this fighting for him. if my fighting judge douglas would not prove anything, it would certainly prove nothing for me to fight his bottle-holder. "my second reason for not having a personal encounter with the judge is, that i don't believe he wants it himself. he and i are about the best friends in the world, and when we get together he would no more think of fighting me than of fighting his wife. therefore, ladies and gentlemen, when the judge talked about fighting, he was not giving vent to any ill feeling of his own, but merely trying to excite--well, enthusiasm against me on the part of his audience. and as i find he was tolerably successful, we will call it quits." more difficult for lincoln to take good-naturedly than threats and hard names was the irrelevant matters which douglas dragged into the debates to turn attention from the vital arguments. thus douglas insisted repeatedly on taunting lincoln because his zealous friends had carried him off the platform at ottawa. "lincoln was so frightened by the questions put to him," said douglas, "that he could not walk." he tried to arouse the prejudice of the audience by absurd charges of abolitionism. lincoln wanted to give negroes social equality; he wanted a negro wife; he was willing to allow fred douglass to make speeches for him. again he took up a good deal of lincoln's time by forcing him to answer to a charge of refusing to vote supplies for the soldiers in the mexican war. lincoln denied and explained, until at last, at charleston, he turned suddenly to douglas's supporters, dragging one of the strongest of them--the hon. o. b. ficklin, with whom he had been in congress in --to the platform. "i do not mean to do anything with mr. ficklin," he said, "except to present his face and tell you that he personally knows it to be a lie." and mr. ficklin had to acknowledge that lincoln was right. "judge douglas," said lincoln in speaking of this policy, "is playing cuttlefish--a small species of fish that has no mode of defending himself when pursued except by throwing out a black fluid which makes the water so dark the enemy cannot see it, and thus it escapes." the question at stake was too serious in lincoln's judgment, for platform jugglery. every moment of his time which douglas forced him to spend answering irrelevant charges he gave begrudgingly. he struggled constantly to keep his speeches on the line of solid argument. slowly but surely those who followed the debates began to understand this. it was douglas who drew the great masses to the debates in the first place; it was because of him that the public men and the newspapers of the east, as well as of the west, watched the discussions. but as the days went on it was not douglas who made the impression. during the hours of the speeches the two men seemed well mated. "i can recall only one fact of the debates," says mrs. william crotty, of seneca, illinois, "that i felt so sorry for lincoln when douglas was speaking, and then to my surprise i felt so sorry for douglas when lincoln replied." the disinterested to whom it was an intellectual game, felt the power and charm of both men. partisans had each reason enough to cheer. it was afterwards, as the debates were talked over by auditors as they lingered at the country store or were grouped on the fence in the evening, or when they were read in the generous reports which the newspapers of illinois and even of other states gave, that the thoroughness of lincoln's argument was understood. even the first debate at ottawa had a surprising effect. "i tell you," says mr. george beatty of ottawa, "that debate set people thinking on these important questions in a way they hadn't dreamed of. i heard any number of men say: 'this thing is an awfully serious question, and i have about concluded lincoln has got it right.' my father, a thoughtful, god-fearing man, said to me, as we went home to supper, 'george, you are young, and don't see what this thing means, as i do. douglas's speeches of "squatter sovereignty" please you younger men, but i tell you that with us older men it's a great question that faces us. we've either got to keep slavery back or it's going to spread all over the country. that's the real question that's behind all this. lincoln is right.' and that was the feeling that prevailed, i think, among the majority, after the debate was over. people went home talking about the danger of slavery getting a hold in the north. this territory had been democratic; la salle county, the morning of the day of the debate, was democratic; but when the next day came around, hundreds of democrats had been made republicans, owing to the light in which lincoln had brought forward the fact that slavery threatened." it was among lincoln's own friends, however, that his speeches produced the deepest impression. they had believed him to be strong, but probably there was no one of them who had not felt dubious about his ability to meet douglas. many even feared a fiasco. gradually it began to be clear to them that lincoln was the stronger. could it be that lincoln really was a great man? the young republican journalists of the "press and tribune"--scripps, hitt, medill--began to ask themselves the question. one evening as they talked over lincoln's argument a letter was received. it came from a prominent eastern statesman. "who is this man that is replying to douglas in your state?" he asked. "do you realize that no greater speeches have been made on public questions in the history of our country; that his knowledge of the subject is profound, his logical unanswerable, his style inimitable?" similar letters kept coming from various parts of the country. before the campaign was over lincoln's friends were exultant. their favorite was a great man, "a full-grown man," as one of them wrote in his paper. the country at large watched lincoln with astonishment. when the debates began there were republicans in illinois of wider national reputation. judge lyman trumbull, then senator; was better known. he was an able debater, and a speech which he made in august against douglas's record called from the new york "evening post" the remark: "this is the heaviest blow struck at senator douglas since he took the field in illinois; it is unanswerable, and we suspect that it will be fatal." trumbull's speech the "post" afterwards published in pamphlet form. besides trumbull, owen lovejoy, oglesby, and palmer were all speaking. that lincoln should not only have so far outstripped men of his own party, but should have out-argued douglas, was the cause of comment everywhere. "no man of this generation," said the "evening post" editorially, at the close of the debate, "has grown more rapidly before the country than lincoln in this canvass." as a matter of fact, lincoln had attracted the attention of all the thinking men of the country. "the first thing that really awakened my interest in him," says henry ward beecher, "was his speech parallel with douglas in illinois, and indeed it was that manifestation of ability that secured his nomination to the presidency." but able as were lincoln's arguments, deep as was the impression he had made, he was not elected to the senatorship. douglas won fairly enough; though it is well to note that if the republicans did not elect a senator they gained a substantial number of votes over those polled in . lincoln accepted the result with a serenity inexplicable to his supporters. to him the contest was but one battle in a "durable" struggle. little matter who won now, if in the end the right triumphed. from the first he had looked at the final result--not at the senatorship. "i do not claim, gentlemen, to be unselfish," he said at chicago in july. "i do not pretend that i would not like to go to the united states senate; i make no such hypocritical pretense; but i do say to you that in this mighty issue, it is nothing to you, nothing to the mass of the people of the nation, whether or not judge douglas or myself shall ever be heard of after this night; it may be a trifle to either of us, but in connection with this mighty question, upon which hang the destinies of the nation perhaps, it is absolutely nothing." the intense heat and fury of the debates, the defeat in november, did not alter a jot this high view. "i am glad i made the late race," he wrote dr. a. h. henry. "it gave me a hearing on the great and durable question of the age which i would have had in no other way; and though i now sink out of view and shall be forgotten, i believe i have made some marks which will tell for the cause of civil liberty long after i am gone." at that date perhaps no one appreciated the value of what lincoln had done as well as he did himself. he was absolutely sure he was right and that in the end people would see it. though he might not rise, he knew his cause would. "douglas had the ingenuity to be supported in the late contest both as the best means to break down and to uphold the slave interest," he wrote. "no ingenuity can keep these antagonistic elements in harmony long. another explosion will soon occur." his whole attention was given to conserving what the republicans had gained--"we have some one hundred and twenty thousand clear republican votes. that pile is worth keeping together;" to consoling his friends--"you are feeling badly," he wrote to n. b. judd, chairman of the republican committee, "and this too shall pass away, never fear"; to rallying for another effort,--"the cause of civil liberty must not be surrendered at the end of one or even one hundred defeats." if lincoln had at times a fear that his defeat would cause him to be set aside, it soon was dispelled. the interest awakened in him was genuine, and it spread with the wider reading and discussion of his arguments. he was besieged by letters from all parts of the union, congratulations, encouragements, criticisms. invitations for lectures poured in upon him, and he became the first choice of his entire party for political speeches. the greater number of these invitations he declined. he had given so much time to politics since that his law practice had been neglected and he was feeling poor; but there were certain of the calls which could not be resisted. douglas spoke several times for the democrats of ohio in the campaign for governor and lincoln naturally was asked to reply. he made but two speeches, one at columbus on september and the other at cincinnati on september , but he had great audiences on both occasions. the columbus speech was devoted almost entirely to answering an essay by douglas which had been published in the september number of "harper's magazine," and which began by asserting that--"under our complex system of government it is the first duty of american statesmen to mark distinctly the dividing-line between federal and local authority." it was an elaborate argument for "popular sovereignty" and attracted national attention. indeed, at the moment it was the talk of the country. lincoln literally tore it to bits. "what is judge douglas's popular sovereignty?" he asked. "it is, as a principle, no other than that if one man chooses to make a slave of another man, neither that other man nor anybody else has a right to object. applied in government, as he seeks to apply it, it is this: if, in a new territory into which a few people are beginning to enter for the purpose of making their homes, they choose to either exclude from their limits or to establish it there, however one or the other may affect the persons to be enslaved, or the infinitely greater number of persons who are afterward to inhabit that territory, or the other members of the families, or communities, of which they are but an incipient member, or the general head of the family of states as parent of all--however their action may affect one or the other of these, there is no power or right to interfere. that is douglas's popular sovereignty applied." it was in this address that lincoln uttered the oft-quoted paragraphs: "i suppose the institution of slavery really looks small to him. he is so put up by nature that a lash upon his back would hurt him, but a lash upon anybody else's back does not hurt him. that is the build of the man, and consequently he looks upon the matter of slavery in this unimportant light. "judge douglas ought to remember, when he is endeavoring to force this policy upon the american people, that while he is put up in that way, a good many are not. he ought to remember that there was once in this country a man by the name of thomas jefferson, supposed to be a democrat--a man whose principles and policy are not very prevalent amongst democrats to-day, it is true; but that man did not exactly take this view of the insignificance of the element of slavery which our friend judge douglas does. in contemplation of this thing, we all know he was led to exclaim, 'i tremble for my country when i remember that god is just!' we know how he looked upon it when he thus expressed himself. there was danger to this country, danger of the avenging justice of god, in that little unimportant popular sovereignty question of judge douglas. he supposed there was a question of god's eternal justice wrapped up in the enslaving of any race of men, or any man, and that those who did so braved the arm of jehovah--that when a nation thus dared the almighty, every friend of that nation had cause to dread his wrath. choose ye between jefferson and douglas as to what is the true view of this element among us." one interesting point about the columbus address is that in it appears the germ of the cooper institute speech delivered five months later in new york city. lincoln made so deep an impression in ohio by his speeches that the state republican committee asked permission to publish them together with the lincoln-douglas debates as campaign documents in the presidential election of the next year. in december he yielded to the persuasion of his kansas political friends and delivered five lectures in that state, only fragments of which have been preserved. unquestionably the most effective piece of work he did that winter was the address at cooper institute, new york, on february . he had received an invitation in the fall of to lecture at plymouth church, brooklyn. to his friends it was evident that he was greatly pleased by the compliment, but that he feared that he was not equal to an eastern audience. after some hesitation he accepted, provided they would take a political speech if he could find time to get up no other. when he reached new york he found that he was to speak there instead of brooklyn, and that he was certain to have a distinguished audience. fearful lest he was not as well prepared as he ought to be, conscious, too, no doubt, that he had a great opportunity before him, he spent nearly all of the two days and a half before his lecture in revising his matter and in familiarizing himself with it. in order that he might be sure that he was heard he arranged with his friend, mason brayman, who had come on to new york with him, to sit in the back of the hall and in case he did not speak loud enough to raise his high hat on a cane. mr. lincoln's audience was a notable one even for new york. it included william cullen bryant, who introduced him; horace greeley, david dudley field, and many more well known men of the day. it is doubtful if there were any persons present, even his best friends, who expected that lincoln would do more than interest his hearers by his sound arguments. many have confessed since that they feared his queer manner and quaint speeches would amuse people so much that they would fail to catch the weight of his logic. but to the surprise of everybody lincoln impressed his audience from the start by his dignity and his seriousness. "his manner was, to a new york audience, a very strange one, but it was captivating," wrote an auditor. "he held the vast meeting spellbound, and as one by one his oddly expressed but trenchant and convincing arguments confirmed the soundness of his political conclusions, the house broke out in wild and prolonged enthusiasm. i think i never saw an audience more thoroughly carried away by an orator." the cooper union speech was founded on a sentence from one of douglas's ohio speeches:--"our fathers when they framed the government under which we live understood this question just as well, and even better, than we do now." douglas claimed that the "fathers" held that the constitution forbade the federal government controlling slavery in the territories. lincoln with infinite care had investigated the opinions and votes of each of the "fathers"--whom he took to be the thirty-nine men who signed the constitution--and showed conclusively that a majority of them "certainly understood that no proper division of local from federal authority nor any part of the constitution forbade the federal government to control slavery in the federal territories." not only did he show this of the thirty-nine framers of the original constitution, but he defied anybody to show that one of the seventy-six members of the congress which framed the amendments to the constitution ever held any such view. "let us," he said, "who believe that 'our fathers who framed the government under which we live understood this question just as well, and even better, than we do now,' speak as they spoke, and act as they acted upon it. this is all republicans ask--all republicans desire--in relation to slavery. as those fathers marked it, so let it be again marked, as an evil not to be extended, but to be tolerated and protected only because of and so far as its actual presence among us makes that toleration and protection a necessity. let all the guaranties those fathers gave it be not grudgingly, but fully and fairly, maintained. for this republicans contend, and with this, so far as i know or believe, they will be content." one after another he took up and replied to the charges the south was making against the north at the moment:--sectionalism, radicalism, giving undue prominence to the slave question, stirring up insurrection among slaves, refusing to allow constitutional rights, and to each he had an unimpassioned answer inpregnable with facts. the discourse was ended with what lincoln felt to be a precise statement of the opinion of the question on both sides, and of the duty of the republican party under the circumstances. this portion of his address is one of the finest early examples of that simple and convincing style in which most of his later public documents were written. "if slavery is right," he said, "all words, acts, laws, and constitutions against it are themselves wrong, and should be silenced and swept away. if it is right, we cannot justly object to its nationality--its universality; if it is wrong, they cannot justly insist upon its extension--its enlargement. all they ask we could readily grant, if we thought slavery right; all we ask they could as readily grant, if they thought it wrong. their thinking it right and our thinking it wrong is the precise fact upon which depends the whole controversy. thinking it right, as they do, they are not to blame for desiring its full recognition as being right; but thinking it wrong, as we do, can we yield to them? can we cast our votes with their views, and against our own? in view of our moral, social, and political responsibilities, can we do this? "wrong, as we think slavery is, we can yet afford to let it alone where it is, because that much is due to the necessity arising from its actual presence in the nation; but can we, while our votes will prevent it, allow it to spread into the national territories, and to overrun us here in these free states? if our sense of duty forbids this, then let us stand by our duty fearlessly and effectively. let us be diverted by none of those sophistical contrivances wherewith we are so industriously plied and belabored--contrivances such as groping for some middle ground between right and wrong: vain as the search for a man who should be neither a living man nor a dead man; such as a policy of 'don't care' on a question about which all true men do care; such as union appeals beseeching true union men to yield to disunionists, reversing the divine rule, and calling, not the sinners, but the righteous to repentance; such as invocations to washington, imploring men to unsay what washington said and undo what washington did. "neither let us be slandered from our duty by false accusations against us, nor frightened from it by menaces of destruction to the government, nor of dungeons to ourselves. let us have faith that right makes might, and in that faith let us to the end dare to do our duty as we understand it." from new york lincoln went to new hampshire to visit his son robert, then at phillips exeter academy. his coming was known only a short time before he arrived and hurried arrangements were made for him to speak at concord, manchester, exeter and dover. at concord the address was made in the afternoon on only a few hours' notice; nevertheless, he had a great audience, so eager were men at the time to hear anybody who had serious arguments on the slavery question. something of the impression lincoln made in new hampshire may be gathered from the following article, "mr. lincoln in new hampshire," which appeared in the boston "atlas and bee" for march : the concord "statesman" says that notwithstanding the rain of thursday, rendering travelling very inconvenient, the largest hall in that city was crowded to hear mr. lincoln. the editor says it was one of the most powerful, logical and compacted speeches to which it was ever our fortune to listen; an argument against the system of slavery, and in defence of the position of the republican party, from the deductions of which no reasonable man could possibly escape. he fortified every position assumed, by proofs which it is impossible to gainsay; and while his speech was at intervals enlivened by remarks which elicited applause at the expense of the democratic party, there was, nevertheless, not a single word which tended to impair the dignity of the speaker, or weaken the force of the great truths he uttered. the "statesman" adds that the address "was perfect and was closed by a peroration which brought his audience to their feet. we are not extravagant in the remark, that a political speech of greater power has rarely if ever been uttered in the capital of new hampshire. at its conclusion nine roof-raising cheers were given; three for the speaker, three for the republicans of illinois, and three for the republicans of new hampshire." on the same evening mr. lincoln spoke at manchester, to an immense gathering in smyth's hall. the "mirror," a neutral paper, gives the following enthusiastic notice of his speech: "the audience was a flattering one to the reputation of the speaker. it was composed of persons of all sorts of political notions, earnest to hear one whose fame was so great, and we think most of them went away thinking better of him than they anticipated they should. he spoke an hour and a half with great fairness, great apparent candor, and with wonderful interest. he did not abuse the south, the administration, or the democrats, or indulge in any personalities, with the solitary exception of a few hits at douglas's notions. he is far from prepossessing in personal appearance, and his voice is disagreeable, and yet he wins your attention and good will from the start. "he indulges in no flowers of rhetoric, no eloquent passages; he is not a wit, a humorist or a clown; yet, so great a vein of pleasantry and good nature pervades what he says, gliding over a deep current of practical argument, he keeps his hearers in a smiling good mood with their mouths open ready to swallow all he says. his sense of the ludicrous is very keen, and an exhibition of that is the clincher of all his arguments; not the ludicrous acts of persons, but ludicrous ideas. hence he is never offensive, and steals away willingly into his train of belief, persons who are opposed to him. for the first half hour his opponents would agree with every word he uttered, and from that point he began to lead them off, little by little, cunningly, till it seemed as if he had got them all into his fold. he displays more shrewdness, more knowledge of the masses of mankind than any public speaker we have heard since long jim wilson left for california." from new hampshire lincoln went to connecticut, where on march he spoke at hartford, on march at new haven, on march at woonsocket, on march at norwich. there are no reports of the new hampshire speeches, but two of the connecticut speeches were published in part and one in full. their effect was very similar, according to the newspapers of the day, to that in new hampshire, described by the "atlas and bee." by his debates with douglas and the speeches in ohio, kansas, new york and new england, lincoln had become a national figure in the minds of all the political leaders of the country, and of the thinking men of the north. never in the history of the united states had a man become prominent in a more logical and intelligent way. at the beginning of the struggle against the repeal of the missouri compromise in , abraham lincoln was scarcely known outside of his own state. even most of the men whom he had met in his brief term in congress had forgotten him. yet in four years he had become one of the central figures of his party; and now, by worsting the greatest orator and politician of his time, he had drawn the eyes of the nation to him. it had been a long road he had travelled to make himself a national figure. twenty-eight years before he had deliberately entered politics. he had been beaten, but had persisted; he had succeeded and failed; he had abandoned the struggle and returned to his profession. his outraged sense of justice had driven him back, and for six years he had travelled up and down illinois trying to prove to men that slavery extension was wrong. it was by no one speech, by no one argument that he had wrought. every day his ceaseless study and pondering gave him new matter, and every speech he made was fresh. he could not repeat an old speech, he said, because the subject enlarged and widened so in his mind as he went on that it was "easier to make a new one than an old one." he had never yielded in his campaign to tricks of oratory--never played on emotions. he had been so strong in his convictions of the right of his case that his speeches had been arguments pure and simple. their elegance was that of a demonstration in euclid. they persuaded because they proved. he had never for a moment counted personal ambition before the cause. to insure an ardent opponent of the kansas-nebraska bill in the united states senate, he had at one time given up his chance for the senatorship. to show the fallacy of douglas's argument, he had asked a question which his party pleaded with him to pass by, assuring him that it would lose him the election. in every step of this six years he had been disinterested, calm, unyielding, and courageous. he knew he was right, and could afford to wait. "the result is not doubtful," he told his friends. "we shall not fail--if we stand firm. we shall not fail. wise counsels may accelerate or mistakes delay it; but, sooner or later, the victory is sure to come." the country, amazed at the rare moral and intellectual character of lincoln, began to ask questions about him, and then his history came out; a pioneer home, little schooling, few books, hard labor at all the many trades of the frontiersman, a profession mastered o' nights by the light of a friendly cooper's fire, an early entry into politics and law--and then twenty-five years of incessant poverty and struggle. the homely story gave a touch of mystery to the figure which loomed so large. men felt a sudden reverence for a mind and heart developed to these noble proportions in so unfriendly a habitat. they turned instinctively to one so familiar with strife for help in solving the desperate problem with which the nation had grappled. and thus it was that, at fifty years of age, lincoln became a national figure. [ ] _by special permission of the mcclure company._ [a] _stephen_ a. douglas, _franklin_ pierce, _roger_ taney, _james_ buchanan. lincoln's love for the little ones soon after his election as president and while visiting chicago, one evening at a social gathering mr. lincoln saw a little girl timidly approaching him. he at once called her to him, and asked the little girl what she wished. she replied that she wanted his name. mr. lincoln looked back into the room and said: "but here are other little girls--they would feel badly if i should give my name only to you." the little girl replied that there were eight of them in all. "then," said mr. lincoln, "get me eight sheets of paper, and a pen and ink, and i will see what i can do for you." the paper was brought, and mr. lincoln sat down in the crowded drawing-room, and wrote a sentence upon each sheet, appending his name; and thus every little girl carried off her souvenir. during the same visit and while giving a reception at one of the hotels, a fond father took in a little boy by the hand who was anxious to see the new president. the moment the child entered the parlor door he, of his own accord and quite to the surprise of his father, took off his hat, and, giving it a swing, cried: "hurrah for lincoln!" there was a crowd, but as soon as mr. lincoln could get hold of the little fellow, he lifted him in his hands, and, tossing him towards the ceiling, laughingly shouted: "hurrah for you!" it was evidently a refreshing incident to lincoln in the dreary work of hand-shaking. how lincoln took his altitude soon after mr. lincoln's nomination for the presidency, the executive chamber, a large fine room in the state house at springfield, was set apart for him, where he met the public until after his election. as illustrative of the nature of many of his calls, the following brace of incidents were related to mr. holland by an eye witness: "mr. lincoln, being seated in conversation with a gentleman one day, two raw, plainly-dressed young 'suckers' entered the room, and bashfully lingered near the door. as soon as he observed them, and apprehended their embarrassment, he rose and walked to them, saying, 'how do you do, my good fellows? what can i do for you? will you sit down?' the spokesman of the pair, the shorter of the two, declined to sit, and explained the object of the call thus: he had had a talk about the relative height of mr. lincoln and his companion, and had asserted his belief that they were of exactly the same height. he had come in to verify his judgment. mr. lincoln smiled, went and got his cane, and, placing the end of it upon the wall, said: "'here, young man, come under here.' "the young man came under the cane, as mr. lincoln held it, and when it was perfectly adjusted to his height, mr. lincoln said: "'now, come out, and hold up the cane.' "this he did while mr. lincoln stepped under. rubbing his head back and forth to see that it worked easily under the measurement, he stepped out, and declared to the sagacious fellow who was curiously looking on, that he had guessed with remarkable accuracy--that he and the young man were exactly the same height. then he shook hands with them and sent them on their way. mr. lincoln would just as soon have thought of cutting off his right hand as he would have thought of turning those boys away with the impression that they had in any way insulted his dignity." iv in the white house how lincoln was abused with the possible exception of president washington, whose political opponents did not hesitate to rob the vocabulary of vulgarity and wickedness whenever they desired to vilify the chief magistrate, lincoln was the most and "best" abused man who ever held office in the united states. during the first half of his initial term there was no epithet which was not applied to him. one newspaper in new york habitually characterized him as "that hideous baboon at the other end of the avenue," and declared that "barnum should buy and exhibit him as a zoological curiosity." although the president did not, to all appearances, exhibit annoyance because of the various diatribes printed and spoken, yet the fact is that his life was so cruelly embittered by these and other expressions quite as virulent, that he often declared to those most intimate with him, "i would rather be dead than, as president, be thus abused in the house of my friends." sonnet in by john james piatt[ ] stern be the pilot in the dreadful hour when a great nation, like a ship at sea with the wroth breakers whitening at her lee, feels her last shudder if her helmsman cower; a godlike manhood be his mighty dower! such and so gifted, lincoln, may'st thou be with thy high wisdom's low simplicity and awful tenderness of voted power: from our hot records then thy name shall stand on time's calm ledger out of passionate days-- with the pure debt of gratitude begun, and only paid in never-ending praise-- one of the many of a mighty land, made by god's providence the anointed one. [ ] _by permission of houghton, mifflin & company._ lincoln the president by james russell lowell from the essay in "my study windows" never did a president enter upon office with less means at his command, outside his own strength of heart and steadiness of understanding, for inspiring confidence in the people, and so winning it for himself, than mr. lincoln. all that was known to him was that he was a good stump-speaker, nominated for his availability--that is, because he had no history--and chosen by a party with whose more extreme opinions he was not in sympathy. it might well be feared that a man past fifty, against whom the ingenuity of hostile partisans could rake up no accusation, must be lacking in manliness of character, in decision of principle, in strength of will; that a man who was at best only the representative of a party, and who yet did not fairly represent even that, would fail of political, much more of popular, support. and certainly no one ever entered upon office with so few resources of power in the past, and so many materials of weakness in the present, as mr. lincoln. even in that half of the union which acknowledged him as president, there was a large, and at that time dangerous minority, that hardly admitted his claim to the office, and even in the party that elected him there was also a large minority that suspected him of being secretly a communicant with the church of laodicea. all that he did was sure to be virulently attacked as ultra by one side; all that he left undone, to be stigmatized as proof of lukewarmness and backsliding by the other. meanwhile he was to carry on a truly colossal war by means of both; he was to disengage the country from diplomatic entanglements of unprecedented peril undisturbed by the help or the hindrance of either, and to win from the crowning dangers of his administration, in the confidence of the people, the means of his safety and their own. he has contrived to do it, and perhaps none of our presidents since washington has stood so firm in the confidence of the people as he does after three years of stormy administration. mr. lincoln's policy was a tentative one, and rightly so. he laid down no programme which must compel him to be either inconsistent or unwise, no cast-iron theorem to which circumstances must be fitted as they rose, or else be useless to his ends. he seemed to have chosen mazarin's motto, _le temps et moi_. the _moi_, to be sure, was not very prominent at first; but it has grown more and more so, till the world is beginning to be persuaded that it stands for a character of marked individuality and capacity for affairs. time was his prime-minister, and, we began to think, at one period, his general-in-chief also. at first he was so slow that he tired out all those who see no evidence of progress but in blowing up the engine; then he was so fast, that he took the breath away from those who think there is no getting on safely while there is a spark of fire under the boilers. god is the only being who has time enough; but a prudent man, who knows how to seize occasion, can commonly make a shift to find as much as he needs. mr. lincoln, as it seems to us in reviewing his career, though we have sometimes in our impatience thought otherwise, has always waited, as a wise man should, till the right moment brought up all his reserves. _semper nocuit differre paratis_, is a sound axiom, but the really efficacious man will also be sure to know when he is not ready, and be firm against all persuasion and reproach till he is. one would be apt to think, from some of the criticisms made on mr. lincoln's course by those who mainly agree with him in principle, that the chief object of a statesman should be rather to proclaim his adhesion to certain doctrines, than to achieve their triumph by quietly accomplishing his ends. in our opinion, there is no more unsafe politician than a conscientiously rigid doctrinaire, nothing more sure to end in disaster than a theoretic scheme of policy that admits of no pliability for contingencies. true, there is a popular image of an impossible he, in whose plastic hands the submissive destinies of mankind become as wax, and to whose commanding necessity the toughest facts yield with the graceful pliancy of fiction; but in real life we commonly find that the men who control circumstances, as it is called, are those who have learned to allow for the influence of their eddies, and have the nerve to turn them to account at the happy instant. mr. lincoln's perilous task has been to carry a rather shaky raft through the rapids, making fast the unrulier logs as he could snatch opportunity, and the country is to be congratulated that he did not think it his duty to run straight at all hazards, but cautiously to assure himself with his setting-pole where the main current was, and keep steadily to that. he is still in wild water, but we have faith that his skill and sureness of eye will bring him out right at last. a curious, and, as we think, not inapt parallel, might be drawn between mr. lincoln and one of the most striking figures in modern history--henry iv. of france. the career of the latter may be more picturesque, as that of a daring captain always is; but in all its vicissitudes there is nothing more romantic than that sudden change, as by a rub of aladdin's lamp, from the attorney's office in a country town of illinois to the helm of a great nation in times like these. the analogy between the characters and circumstances of the two men is in many respects singularly close. succeeding to a rebellion rather than a crown, henry's chief material dependence was the huguenot party, whose doctrines sat upon him with a looseness distasteful certainly, if not suspicious, to the more fanatical among them. king only in name over the greater part of france, and with his capital barred against him, it yet gradually became clear to the more far-seeing even of the catholic party that he was the only center of order and legitimate authority round which france could reorganize itself. while preachers who held the divine right of kings made the churches of paris ring with declamations in favor of democracy rather than submit to the heretic dog of a béarnois--much as our _soi-disant_ democrats have lately been preaching the divine right of slavery, and denouncing the heresies of the declaration of independence--henry bore both parties in hand till he was convinced that only one course of action could possibly combine his own interests and those of france. meanwhile the protestants believed somewhat doubtfully that he was theirs, the catholics hoped somewhat doubtfully that he would be theirs, and henry himself turned aside remonstrance, advice, and curiosity alike with a jest or a proverb (if a little high, he liked them none the worse), joking continually as his manner was. we have seen mr. lincoln contemptuously compared to sancho panza by persons incapable of appreciating one of the deepest pieces of wisdom in the profoundest romance ever written; namely, that, while don quixote was incomparable in theoretic and ideal statesmanship, sancho, with his stock of proverbs, the ready money of human experience, made the best possible practical governor. henry iv. was as full of wise saws and modern instances as mr. lincoln, but beneath all this was the thoughtful, practical, humane, and thoroughly earnest man, around whom the fragments of france were to gather themselves till she took her place again as a planet of the first magnitude in the european system. in one respect mr. lincoln was more fortunate than henry. however some may think him wanting in zeal, the most fanatical can find no taint of apostasy in any measure of his, nor can the most bitter charge him with being influenced by motives of personal interest. the leading distinction between the policies of the two is one of circumstances. henry went over to the nation; mr. lincoln has steadily drawn the nation over to him. one left a united france; the other, we hope and believe, will leave a reunited america. we leave our readers to trace the further points of difference and resemblance for themselves, merely suggesting a general similarity which has often occurred to us. one only point of melancholy interest we will allow ourselves to touch upon. that mr. lincoln is not handsome nor elegant, we learn from certain english tourists who would consider similar revelations in regard to queen victoria as thoroughly american in their want of _bienséance_. it is no concern of ours, nor does it affect his fitness for the high place he so worthily occupies; but he is certainly as fortunate as henry in the matter of good looks, if we may trust contemporary evidence. mr. lincoln has also been reproached with americanism by some not unfriendly british critics; but, with all deference, we cannot say that we like him any the worse for it, or see in it any reason why he should govern americans the less wisely. people of more sensitive organizations may be shocked, but we are glad that in this our true war of independence, which is to free us forever from the old world, we have had at the head of our affairs a man whom america made as god made adam, out of the very earth, unancestried, unprivileged, unknown, to show us how much truth, how much magnanimity, and how much statecraft await the call of opportunity in simple manhood when it believes in the justice of god and the worth of man. conventionalities are all very well in their proper place, but they shrivel at the touch of nature like stubble in the fire. the genius that sways a nation by its arbitrary will seems less august to us than that which multiplies and reinforces itself in the instincts and convictions of an entire people. autocracy may have something in it more melodramatic than this, but falls far short of it in human value and interest. experience would have bred in us a rooted distrust of improvised statesmanship, even if we did not believe politics to be a science, which, if it cannot always command men of special aptitude and great powers, at least demands the long and steady application of the best powers of such men as it can command to master even its first principles. it is curious, that, in a country which boasts of its intelligence, the theory should be so generally held that the most complicated of human contrivances, and one which every day becomes more complicated, can be worked at sight by any man able to talk for an hour or two without stopping to think. mr. lincoln is sometimes claimed as an example of a ready-made ruler. but no case could well be less in point; for, besides that he was a man of such fair-mindedness as is always the raw material of wisdom, he had in his profession a training precisely the opposite of that to which a partisan is subjected. his experience as a lawyer compelled him not only to see that there is a principle underlying every phenomenon in human affairs, but that there are always two sides to every question, both of which must be fully understood in order to understand either, and that it is of greater advantage to an advocate to appreciate the strength than the weakness of his antagonist's position. nothing is more remarkable than the unerring tact with which, in his debate with mr. douglas, he went straight to the reason of the question; nor have we ever had a more striking lesson in political tactics than the fact, that, opposed to a man exceptionally adroit in using popular prejudice and bigotry to his purpose, exceptionally unscrupulous in appealing to those baser motives that turn a meeting of citizens into a mob of barbarians, he should yet have won his case before a jury of the people. mr. lincoln was as far as possible from an impromptu politician. his wisdom was made up of a knowledge of things as well as of men; his sagacity resulted from a clear perception and honest acknowledgment of difficulties, which enabled him to see that the only durable triumph of political opinion is based, not on any abstract right, but upon so much of justice, the highest attainable at any given moment in human affairs, as may be had in the balance of mutual concession. doubtless he had an ideal, but it was the ideal of a practical statesman--to aim at the best, and to take the next best, if he is lucky enough to get even that. his slow, but singularly masculine intelligence taught him that precedent is only another name for embodied experience, and that it counts for even more in the guidance of communities of men than in that of the individual life. he was not a man who held it good public economy to pull down on the mere chance of rebuilding better. mr. lincoln's faith in god was qualified by a very well-founded distrust of the wisdom of man. perhaps it was his want of self-confidence that more than anything else won him the unlimited confidence of the people, for they felt that there would be no need of retreat from any position he had deliberately taken. the cautious, but steady, advance of his policy during the war was like that of a roman army. he left behind him a firm road on which public confidence could follow; he took america with him where he went; what he gained he occupied, and his advanced posts became colonies. the very homeliness of his genius was its distinction. his kingship was conspicuous by its work-day homespun. never was ruler so absolute as he, nor so little conscious of it; for he was the incarnate common-sense of the people. with all that tenderness of nature whose sweet sadness touched whoever saw him with something of its own pathos, there was no trace of sentimentalism in his speech or action. he seems to have had but one rule of conduct, always that of practical and successful politics, to let himself be guided by events, when they were sure to bring him out where he wished to go, though by what seemed to unpractical minds, which let go the possible to grasp at the desirable, a longer road. * * * * * no higher compliment was ever paid to a nation than the simple confidence, the fireside plainness, with which mr. lincoln always addresses himself to the reason of the american people. this was, indeed, a true democrat, who grounded himself on the assumption that a democracy can think. "come, let us reason together about this matter," has been the tone of all his addresses to the people; and accordingly we have never had a chief magistrate who so won to himself the love and at the same time the judgment of his countrymen. to us, that simple confidence of his in the right-mindedness of his fellow-men is very touching, and its success is as strong an argument as we have ever seen in favor of the theory that men can govern themselves. he never appeals to any vulgar sentiment, he never alludes to the humbleness of his origin; it probably never occurred to him, indeed that there was anything higher to start from than manhood; and he put himself on a level with those he addressed, not by going down to them, but only by taking it for granted that they had brains and would come up to a common ground of reason. in an article lately printed in "the nation," mr. bayard taylor mentions the striking fact, that in the foulest dens of the five points he found the portrait of lincoln. the wretched population that makes its hive there threw all its votes and more against him, and yet paid this instinctive tribute to the sweet humanity of his nature. their ignorance sold its vote and took its money, but all that was left of manhood in them recognized its saint and martyr. mr. lincoln is not in the habit of saying, "this is my opinion, or my theory," but, "this is the conclusion to which, in my judgment, the time has come, and to which, accordingly the sooner we come the better for us." his policy has been the policy of public opinion based on adequate discussion and on a timely recognition of the influence of passing events in shaping the features of events to come. one secret of mr. lincoln's remarkable success in captivating the popular mind is undoubtedly an unconsciousness of self which enables him, though under the necessity of constantly using the capital i, to do it without any suggestion of egotism. there is no single vowel which men's mouths can pronounce with such difference of effect. that which one shall hide away, as it were, behind the substance of his discourse, or, if he bring it to the front, shall use merely to give an agreeable accent of individuality to what he says, another shall make an offensive challenge to the self-satisfaction of all his hearers, and an unwarranted intrusion upon each man's sense of personal importance, irritating every pore of his vanity, like a dry northeast wind, to a goose-flesh of opposition and hostility. mr. lincoln has never studied quintilian; but he has, in the earnest simplicity and unaffected americanism of his own character, one art of oratory worth all the rest. he forgets himself so entirely in his object as to give his i the sympathetic and persuasive effect of we with the great body of his countrymen. homely, dispassionate, showing all the rough-edged process of his thought as it goes along, yet arriving at his conclusions with an honest kind of every-day logic, he is so eminently our representative man, that, when he speaks, it seems as if the people were listening to their own thinking aloud. the dignity of his thought owes nothing to any ceremonial garb of words, but to the manly movement that comes of settled purpose and an energy of reason that knows not what rhetoric means. there has been nothing of cleon, still less of strepsiades striving to underbid him in demagogism, to be found in the public utterances of mr. lincoln. he has always addressed the intelligence of men, never their prejudice, their passion, or their ignorance. * * * * * on the day of his death, this simple western attorney, who according to one party was a vulgar joker, and whom the doctrinaires among his own supporters accused of wanting every element of statesmanship, was the most absolute ruler in christendom, and this solely by the hold his good-humored sagacity had laid on the hearts and understandings of his countrymen. nor was this all, for it appeared that he had drawn the great majority, not only of his fellow-citizens, but of mankind, also, to his side. so strong and so persuasive is honest manliness without a single quality of romance or unreal sentiment to help it! a civilian during times of the most captivating military achievement, awkward, with no skill in the lower technicalities of manners, he left behind him a fame beyond that of any conqueror, the memory of a grace higher than that of outward person, and of gentlemanliness deeper than mere breeding. never before that startled april morning did such multitudes of men shed tears for the death of one they had never seen, as if with him a friendly presence had been taken away from their lives, leaving them colder and darker. never was funeral panegyric so eloquent as the silent look of sympathy which strangers exchanged when they met on that day. their common manhood had lost a kinsman. abraham lincoln january first, eighteen hundred and sixty-three by frank moore stand like an anvil, when 'tis beaten with the full vigor of the smith's right arm! stand like the noble oak-tree, when 'tis eaten by the saperda and his ravenous swarm! for many smiths will strike the ringing blows ere the red drama now enacting close; and human insects, gnawing at thy fame, conspire to bring thy honored head to shame. stand like the firmament, upholden by an invisible but almighty hand! he whomsoever justice doth embolden, unshaken, unseduced, unawed shall stand. invisible support is mightier far, with noble aims, than walls of granite are; and simple consciousness of justice gives strength to a purpose while that purpose lives. stand like the rock that looks defiant far o'er the surging seas that lash its form! composed, determined, watchful, self-reliant, be master of thyself, and rule the storm! and thou shalt soon behold the bow of peace span the broad heavens, and the wild tumult cease; and see the billows, with the clouds that meet, subdued and calm, come crouching to thy feet. the proclamation[ ] by john greenleaf whittier saint patrick, slave to milcho of the herds of ballymena, sleeping, heard these words: "arise, and flee out from the land of bondage, and be free!" glad as a soul in pain, who hears from heaven the angels singing of his sins forgiven, and, wondering, sees his prison opening to their golden keys, he rose a man who laid him down a slave, shook from his locks the ashes of the grave, and onward trod into the glorious liberty of god. he cast the symbols of his shame away; and passing where the sleeping milcho lay, though back and limb smarted with wrong, he prayed, "god pardon him!" so went he forth: but in god's time he came to light on uilline's hills a holy flame; and, dying, gave the land a saint that lost him as a slave. o, dark, sad millions, patiently and dumb waiting for god, your hour, at last, has come, and freedom's song breaks the long silence of your night of wrong! arise, and flee! shake off the vile restraint of ages! but, like ballymena's saint, the oppressor spare, heap only on his head the coals of prayer. go forth, like him! like him return again, to bless the land whereon, in bitter pain, ye toiled at first, and heal with freedom what your slavery cursed. [ ] _by special permission of messrs. houghton, mifflin & company._ the emancipation proclamation from the address delivered before congress on february , , presenting to the re-united states, on behalf of mrs. elizabeth thompson, carpenter's painting--the first reading of the emancipation proclamation before the cabinet. by james abram garfield let us pause to consider the actors in that scene. in force of character, in thoroughness and breadth of culture, in experience of public affairs, and in national reputation, the cabinet that sat around that council-board has had no superior, perhaps no equal in our history. seward, the finished scholar, the consummate orator, the great leader of the senate, had come to crown his career with those achievements which placed him in the first rank of modern diplomatists. chase, with a culture and a fame of massive grandeur, stood as the rock and pillar of the public credit, the noble embodiment of the public faith. stanton was there, a very titan of strength, the great organizer of victory. eminent lawyers, men of business, leaders of states and leaders of men, completed the group. but the man who presided over that council, who inspired and guided its deliberations, was a character so unique that he stood alone, without a model in history or a parallel among men. born on this day, sixty-nine years ago, to an inheritance of extremest poverty; surrounded by the rude forces of the wilderness; wholly unaided by parents; only one year in any school; never, for a day, master of his own time until he reached his majority; making his way to the profession of the law by the hardest and roughest road;--yet by force of unconquerable will and persistent, patient work he attained a foremost place in his profession, "and, moving up from high to higher, became on fortune's crowning slope the pillar of a people's hope, the centre of a world's desire." at first, it was the prevailing belief that he would be only the nominal head of his administration,--that its policy would be directed by the eminent statesmen he had called to his council. how erroneous this opinion was may be seen from a single incident. among the earliest, most difficult, and most delicate duties of his administration was the adjustment of our relations with great britain. serious complications, even hostilities, were apprehended. on the st of may, , the secretary of state presented to the president his draught of a letter of instructions to minister adams, in which the position of the united states and the attitude of great britain were set forth with the clearness and force which long experience and great ability had placed at the command of the secretary. upon almost every page of that original draught are erasures, additions, and marginal notes in the handwriting of abraham lincoln, which exhibit a sagacity, a breadth of wisdom, and a comprehension of the whole subject, impossible to be found except in a man of the very first order. and these modifications of a great state paper were made by a man who but three months before had entered for the first time the wide theatre of executive action. gifted with an insight and a foresight which the ancients would have called divination, he saw, in the midst of darkness and obscurity, the logic of events, and forecast the result. from the first, in his own quaint, original way, without ostentation or offense to his associates, he was pilot and commander of his administration. he was one of the few great rulers whose wisdom increased with his power, and whose spirit grew gentler and tenderer as his triumphs were multiplied. this was the man, and these his associates, who look down upon us from the canvas. the present is not a fitting occasion to examine, with any completeness, the causes that led to the proclamation of emancipation; but the peculiar relation of that act to the character of abraham lincoln cannot be understood, without considering one remarkable fact in his history. his earlier years were passed in a region remote from the centers of political thought, and without access to the great world of books. but the few books that came within his reach he devoured with the divine hunger of genius. one paper, above all others, led him captive, and filled his spirit with the majesty of its truth and the sublimity of its eloquence. it was the declaration of american independence. the author and the signers of that instrument became, in his early youth, the heroes of his political worship. i doubt if history affords any example of a life so early, so deeply, and so permanently influenced by a single political truth, as was abraham lincoln's by the central doctrine of the declaration,--the liberty and equality of all men. long before his fame had become national he said, "that is the electric cord in the declaration, that links the hearts of patriotic and liberty-loving men together, and that will link such hearts as long as the love of freedom exists in the minds of men throughout the world." that truth runs, like a thread of gold, through the whole web of his political life. it was the spear-point of his logic in his debates with douglas. it was the inspiring theme of his remarkable speech at the cooper institute, new york, in , which gave him the nomination to the presidency. it filled him with reverent awe when on his way to the capital to enter the shadows of the terrible conflict then impending, he uttered, in independence hall, at philadelphia, these remarkable words, which were prophecy then but are history now:-- "i have never had a feeling, politically, that did not spring from the sentiments embodied in the declaration of independence. i have often pondered over the dangers which were incurred by the men who assembled here, and framed and adopted that declaration of independence. i have pondered over the toils that were endured by the officers and soldiers of the army who achieved that independence i have often inquired of myself what great principle or idea it was that kept this confederacy so long together. it was not the mere matter of the separation of the colonies from the mother land, but that sentiment in the declaration of independence which gave liberty, not alone to the people of this country, but, i hope, to the world for all future time. it was that which gave promise that, in due time, the weight would be lifted from the shoulders of all men. this is the sentiment embodied in the declaration of independence. now, my friends, can this country be saved upon that basis? if it can, i will consider myself one of the happiest men in the world if i can help to save it. if it cannot be saved upon that principle, it will be truly awful. but if this country cannot be saved without giving up that principle, i was about to say, i would rather be assassinated on this spot than surrender it." deep and strong was his devotion to liberty; yet deeper and stronger still was his devotion to the union; for he believed that without the union permanent liberty for either race on this continent would be impossible. and because of this belief, he was reluctant, perhaps more reluctant than most of his associates, to strike slavery with the sword. for many months, the passionate appeals of millions of his associates seemed not to move him. he listened to all the phases of the discussion, and stated, in language clearer and stronger than any opponent had used, the dangers, the difficulties, and the possible futility of the act. in reference to its practical wisdom, congress, the cabinet and the country were divided. several of his generals had proclaimed the freedom of slaves within the limits of their commands. the president revoked their proclamations. his first secretary of war had inserted a paragraph in his annual report advocating a similar policy. the president suppressed it. on the th of august, , horace greeley published a letter, addressed to the president, entitled "the prayer of twenty millions," in which he said, "on the face of this wide earth, mr. president, there is not one disinterested, determined, intelligent champion of the union cause who does not feel that all attempts to put down the rebellion and at the same time uphold its inciting cause are preposterous and futile." to this the president responded in that ever-memorable reply of august , in which he said:-- "if there be those who would not save the union unless they could at the same time save slavery, i do not agree with them. "if there be those who would not save the union unless they could at the same time destroy slavery, i do not agree with them. "my paramount object is to save the union, and not either to save or to destroy slavery. "if i could save the union without freeing any slave, i would do it. if i could save it by freeing all the slaves, i would do it,--and if i could do it by freeing some and leaving others alone, i would also do that. "what i do about slavery and the colored race, i do because i believe it helps to save the union; and what i forbear, i forbear because i do not believe it would help to save the union. i shall do less whenever i shall believe that what i am doing hurts the cause, and i shall do more whenever i believe doing more will help the cause." thus, against all importunities on the one hand and remonstrances on the other, he took the mighty question to his own heart, and, during the long months of that terrible battle-summer, wrestled with it alone. but at length he realized the saving truth, that great, unsettled questions have no pity for the repose of nations. on the nd of september, he summoned his cabinet to announce his conclusion. it was my good fortune, on that same day, and a few hours after the meeting, to hear, from the lips of one who participated, the story of the scene. as the chiefs of the executive departments came in, one by one, they found the president reading a favorite chapter from a popular humorist. he was lightening the weight of the great burden which rested upon his spirit. he finished the chapter, reading it aloud. and here i quote, from the published journal of the late chief justice, an entry, written immediately after the meeting, and bearing unmistakable evidence that it is almost a literal transcript of lincoln's words. "the president then took a graver tone, and said: 'gentlemen, i have, as you are aware, thought a great deal about the relation of this war to slavery; and you all remember that, several weeks ago, i read to you an order i had prepared upon the subject, which, on account of objections made by some of you, was not issued. ever since then my mind has been much occupied with this subject, and i have thought all along that the time for acting on it might probably come. i think the time has come now. i wish it was a better time. i wish that we were in a better condition. the action of the army against the rebels has not been quite what i should have best liked. but they have been driven out of maryland, and pennsylvania is no longer in danger of invasion. when the rebel army was at frederick, i determined as soon as it should be driven out of maryland to issue a proclamation of emancipation, such as i thought most likely to be useful. i said nothing to any one, but i made a promise to myself and (hesitating a little) to my maker. the rebel army is now driven out, and i am going to fulfil that promise. i have got you together to hear what i have written down. i do not wish your advice about the main matter, for that i have determined for myself. this i say without intending anything but respect for any one of you. but i already know the views of each on this question. they have been heretofore expressed, and i have considered them as thoroughly and carefully as i can. what i have written is that which my reflections have determined me to say. if there is anything in the expressions i use, or in any minor matter which any one of you thinks had best be changed, i shall be glad to receive your suggestions. one other observation i will make. i know very well that many others might, in this matter as in others, do better than i can; and if i was satisfied that the public confidence was more fully possessed by any one of them than by me, and knew of any constitutional way in which he could be put in my place, he should have it. i would gladly yield it to him. but though i believe i have not so much of the confidence of the people as i had some time since, i do not know that, all things considered, any other person has more; and, however this may be, there is no way in which i can have any other man put where i am. i must do the best i can and bear the responsibility of taking the course which i feel i ought to take.' "the president then proceeded to read his emancipation proclamation, making remarks on the several parts as he went on, and showing that he had fully considered the subject in all the lights under which it had been presented to him." the proclamation was amended in a few matters of detail. it was signed and published that day. the world knows the rest, and will not forget it till "the last syllable of recorded time." the emancipation group[ ] by john greenleaf whittier moses kimball, a citizen of boston, presented to the city a duplicate of the freedman's memorial statue erected in lincoln square, washington, after a design by thomas ball. the group, which stands in park square, represents the figure of a slave, from whose limbs the broken fetters have fallen, kneeling in gratitude at the feet of lincoln. the verses which follow were written for the unveiling of the statue, december , . amidst thy sacred effigies if old renown give place, o city, freedom-loved! to his whose hand unchained a race take the worn frame, that rested not save in a martyr's grave; the care-lined face, that none forgot, bent to the kneeling slave. let man be free! the mighty word he spake was not his own; an impulse from the highest stirred these chiselled lips alone. the cloudy sign, the fiery guide, along his pathway ran, and nature, through his voice, denied the ownership of man. we rest in peace where these sad eyes saw peril, strife, and pain; his was the nation's sacrifice, and ours the priceless gain. o symbol of god's will on earth as it is done above! bear witness to the cost and worth of justice and of love. stand in thy place and testify to coming ages long, that truth is stronger than a lie, and righteousness than wrong. [ ] _by special permission of messrs. houghton, mifflin & company._ abraham lincoln's christmas gift[ ] by nora perry 'twas in eighteen hundred and sixty-four, that terrible year when the shock and roar of the nation's battles shook the land, and the fire leapt up into fury fanned, the passionate, patriotic fire, with its throbbing pulse and its wild desire to conquer and win, or conquer and die, in the thick of the fight when hearts beat high with the hero's thrill to do and to dare, 'twixt the bullet's rush and the muttered prayer. in the north, and the east and the great northwest, men waited and watched with eager zest for news of the desperate, terrible strife,-- for a nation's death or a nation's life; while over the wires there flying sped news of the wounded, the dying and dead. "defeat and defeat! ah! what was the fault of the grand old army's sturdy assault at richmond's gates?" in a querulous key men questioned at last impatiently, as the hours crept by, and day by day they watched the potomac army at bay. defeat and defeat! it was here, just here, in the very height of the fret and fear, click, click! across the electric wire came suddenly flashing words of fire, and a great shout broke from city and town at the news of sherman's marching down,-- marching down on his way to the sea through the georgia swamps to victory. faster and faster the great news came, flashing along like tongues of flame,-- mcallister ours! and then, ah! then, to that patientest, tenderest, noblest of men, this message from sherman came flying swift,-- "i send you savannah for a christmas gift!" [ ] _by permission of houghton, mifflin & company._ v death of lincoln o captain! my captain![ ] by walt whitman o captain! my captain! our fearful trip is done, the ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won, the port is near, the bells i hear, the people all exulting, while follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring; but o heart! heart! heart! o the bleeding drops of red, where on the deck my captain lies, fallen cold and dead. o captain! my captain! rise up and hear the bells; rise up--for you the flag is flung--for you the bugle trills, for you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths--for you the shores a-crowding, for you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning; here captain! dear father! this arm beneath your head! it is some dream that on the deck, you've fallen cold and dead. my captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still, my father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will, the ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done, from fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won; exult, o shores, and ring, o bells! but i with mournful tread, walk the deck my captain lies, fallen cold and dead. [ ] _by permission of david mckay._ abraham lincoln's death--a description of the scene at ford's theatre[ ] walt whitman the day (april , ) seems to have been a pleasant one throughout the whole land--the moral atmosphere pleasant, too--the long storm, so dark, so fratricidal, full of blood and doubt and gloom, over and ended at last by the sunrise of such an absolute national victory, and utter breaking down of secessionism--we almost doubted our senses! lee had capitulated beneath the apple tree at appomattox. the other armies, the flanges of the revolt, swiftly followed. and could it really be, then? out of all the affairs of this world of woe and passion, of failure and disorder and dismay, was there really come the confirmed, unerring sign of peace, like a shaft of pure light--of rightful rule--of god? but i must not dwell on accessories. the deed hastens. the popular afternoon paper, the little evening star, had scattered all over its third page, divided among the advertisements in a sensational manner in a hundred different places: "the president and his lady will be at the theatre this evening." lincoln was fond of the theatre. i have myself seen him there several times. i remember thinking how funny it was that he, in some respects the leading actor in the greatest and stormiest drama known to real history's stage through centuries, should sit there and be so completely interested in those human jack-straws, moving about with their silly little gestures, foreign spirit, and flatulent text. so the day, as i say, was propitious. early herbage, early flowers, were out. i remembered where i was stopping at the time, the season being advanced, there were many lilacs in full bloom. by one of those caprices that enter and give tinge to events without being at all a part of them, i find myself always reminded of the great tragedy of that day by the sight and odor of these blossoms. it never fails. on this occasion the theatre was crowded, many ladies in rich and gay costumes, officers in their uniforms, many well-known citizens, young folks, the usual clusters of gas-lights, the usual magnetism of so many people, cheerful, with perfumes, music of violins and flutes--and over all, and saturating, that vast, vague wonder, victory, the nation's victory, the triumph of the union, filling the air, the thought, the sense, with exhilaration more than all perfumes. the president came betimes and, with his wife, witnessed the play, from the large stage boxes of the second tier, two thrown into one, and profusely draped with the national flag. the acts and scenes of the piece--one of those singularly witless compositions which have at least the merit of giving entire relief to an audience engaged in mental action or business excitements and cares during the day, as it makes not the slightest call on either the moral, emotional, esthetic or spiritual nature--a piece ("our american cousin") in which, among other characters so called, a yankee, certainly such a one as was never seen, or at least ever seen in north america, is introduced in england, with a varied fol-de-rol of talk, plot, scenery, and such phantasmagoria as goes to make up a modern popular drama--had progressed through perhaps a couple of its acts, when in the midst of this comedy, or tragedy, or non-such, or whatever it is to be called, and to offset it, or finish it out, as if in nature's and the great muse's mockery of these poor mimics, come interpolated that scene, not really or exactly to be described at all (for on the many hundreds who were there it seems to this hour to have left little but a passing blur, a dream, a blotch)--and yet partially to be described as i now proceed to give it: there is a scene in the play representing the modern parlor, in which two unprecedented english ladies are informed by the unprecedented and impossible yankee that he is not a man of fortune, and therefore undesirable for marriage catching purposes; after which, the comments being finished, the dramatic trio make exit, leaving the stage clear for a moment. there was a pause, a hush, as it were. at this period came the murder of abraham lincoln. great as that was, with all its manifold train circling around it, and stretching into the future for many a century, in the politics, history, art, etc., of the new world, in point of fact, the main thing, the actual murder, transpired with the quiet and simplicity of any commonest occurrence--the bursting of a bud or pod in the growth of vegetation, for instance. through the general hum following the stage pause, with the change of positions, etc., came the muffled sound of a pistol shot, which not one-hundredth part of the audience heard at the time--and yet a moment's hush--somehow, surely a vague, startled thrill--and then, through the ornamented, draperied, starred, and striped space-way of the president's box, a sudden figure, a man, raises himself with hands and feet, stands a moment on the railing, leaps below to the stage (a distance of perhaps or feet), falls out of position, catching his boot heel in the copious drapery (the american flag), falls on one knee, quickly recovers himself, rises as if nothing had happened (he really sprains his ankle, but unfelt then)--and the figure, booth, the murderer, dressed in plain black broadcloth, bare-headed, with a full head of glossy, raven hair, and his eyes, like some mad animal's flashing with light and resolution, yet with a certain strange calmness, holds aloft in one hand a large knife--walks along not much back of the foot-lights--turns fully towards the audience his face of statuesque beauty, lit by those basilisk eyes, flashing with desperation, perhaps insanity--launches out in a firm and steady voice the words _sic semper tyrannis_--and then walks with neither slow nor very rapid pace diagonally across to the back of the stage, and disappears. (had not all this terrible scene--making the mimic ones preposterous--had it not all been rehearsed, in blank, by booth, beforehand?) a moment's hush, incredulous--a scream--the cry of murder--mrs. lincoln leaning out of the box, with ashy cheeks and lips, with involuntary cry, pointing to the retreating figure, "he has killed the president." and still a moment's strange, incredulous suspense--and then the deluge!--then that mixture of horror, noises, uncertainty--(the sound, somewhere back, of a horse's hoofs clattering with speed) the people burst through chairs and railings, and break them up--that noise adds to the queerness of the scene--there is extricable confusion and terror--women faint--quite feeble persons fall, and are trampled on--many cries of agony are heard--the broad stage suddenly fills to suffocation with a dense and motley crowd, like some horrible carnival--the audience rush generally upon it--at least the strong men do--the actors and actresses are there in their play costumes and painted faces, with moral fright showing through the rouge--some trembling, some in tears, the screams and calls, confused talk--redoubled, trebled--two or three manage to pass up water from the stage to the president's box--others try to clamber up--etc., etc. in the midst of all this the soldiers of the president's guard, with others, suddenly drawn to the scene, burst in--some altogether--they storm the house, through all the tiers, especially the upper ones--inflamed with fury, literally charging the audience with fixed bayonets, muskets and pistols, shouting "clear out! clear out!..." such the wild scene, or a suggestion of it, rather, inside the play house that night. outside, too, in the atmosphere of shock and craze, crowds of people filled with frenzy, ready to seize any outlet for it, came near committing murder several times on innocent individuals. one such case was especially exciting. the infuriated crowd, through some chance, got started against one man, either for words he uttered, or perhaps without any cause at all, and were proceeding at once to hang him on a neighboring lamp-post, when he was rescued by a few heroic policemen, who placed him in their midst and fought their way slowly and amid great peril toward the station house. it was a fitting episode of the whole affair. the crowd rushing and eddying to and fro, the night, the yells, the pale faces, many frightened people trying in vain to extricate themselves, the attacked man, not yet freed from the jaws of death, looking like a corpse, the silent, resolute half dozen policemen, with no weapons but their little clubs, yet stern and steady through all those eddying swarms--made indeed a fitting side scene to the grand tragedy of the murder. they gained the station house with the protected man, whom they placed in security for the night and discharged in the morning. and in the midst of that night pandemonium of senseless hate, infuriated soldiers, the audience and the crowd--the stage, and all its actors and actresses, its paint pots, spangles and gaslight--the life blood from those veins, the best and sweetest of the land, drips slowly down.... such, hurriedly sketched, were the accompaniments of the death of president lincoln. so suddenly, and in murder and horror unsurpassed, he was taken from us. but his death was painless. [ ] _by permission of david mckay._ hush'd be the camps to-day[ ] (may , ) by walt whitman hush'd be the camps to-day, and soldiers, let us drape our war-worn weapons, and each with musing soul retire to celebrate our dear commander's death. no more for him life's stormy conflicts, nor victory, nor defeat--no more time's dark events, charging like ceaseless clouds across the sky. but sing, poet, in our name. sing of the love we bore him--because you, dweller in camps, know it truly. as they invault the coffin there, sing--as they close the doors of earth upon him--one verse, for the heavy hearts of soldiers. [ ] _by permission of david mckay._ to the memory of abraham lincoln ( ) by william cullen bryant o, slow to smite and swift to spare, gentle and merciful and just! who, in the fear of god, didst bear the sword of power--a nation's trust. in sorrow by thy bier we stand, amid the awe that hushes all, and speak the anguish of a land that shook with horror at thy fall. thy task is done--the bond are free; we bear thee to an honored grave, whose noblest monument shall be the broken fetters of the slave. pure was thy life; its bloody close hath placed thee with the sons of light, among the noble host of those cause of right. crown his bloodstained pillow by julia ward howe crown his blood-stained pillow with a victor's palm; life's receding billow leaves eternal calm. at the feet almighty lay this gift sincere; of a purpose weighty, and a record clear. with deliverance freighted was this passive hand, and this heart, high-fated, would with love command. let him rest serenely in a nation's care, where her waters queenly make the west more fair. in the greenest meadow that the prairies show, let his marble's shadow give all men to know: "our first hero, living, made his country free; heed the second's giving, death for liberty." the death of abraham lincoln[ ] by walt whitman thus ended the attempted secession of these states; thus the four years' war. but the main things come subtly and invisibly afterward, perhaps long afterward--neither military, political, nor (great as those are), historical. i say, certain secondary and indirect results, out of the tragedy of this death, are, in my opinion, greatest. not the event of the murder itself. not that mr. lincoln strings the principal points and personages of the period, like beads, upon the single string of his career. not that his idiosyncrasy, in its sudden appearance and disappearance, stamps this republic with a stamp more mark'd and enduring than any yet given by any one man--(more even than washington's)--but, join'd with these, the immeasurable value and meaning of that whole tragedy lies, to me, in senses finally dearest to a nation (and here all our own)--the imaginative and artistic senses--the literary and dramatic ones. not in any common or low meaning of those terms, but a meaning precious to the race, and to every age. a long and varied series of contradictory events arrives at last at its highest poetic, single, central, pictorial denouement. the whole involved, baffling, multiform whirl of the secession period comes to a head, and is gather'd in one brief flash of lightning-illumination--one simple, fierce deed. its sharp culmination, and as it were solution, of so many bloody and angry problems, illustrates those climax-moments on the stage of universal time, where the historic muse at one entrance, and the tragic muse at the other, suddenly ringing down the curtain, close an immense act in the long drama of creative thought, and give it radiation, tableau, stranger than fiction. fit radiation--fit close! how the imagination--how the student loves these things! america, too, is to have them. for not in all great deaths, nor far or near--not cæsar in the roman senate-house, nor napoleon passing away in the wild night-storm at st. helena--not paleologus, falling, desperately fighting, piled over dozens deep with grecian corpses--not calm old socrates, drinking the hemlock--outvies that terminus of the secession war, in one man's life, here in our midst, in our own time--that seal of the emancipation of three million slaves--that parturition and delivery of our at last really free republic, born again, henceforth to commence its career of genuine homogeneous union, compact, consistent with itself. [ ] _by permission of david mckay._ our sun hath gone down[ ] by phoebe cary our sun hath gone down at the noonday, the heavens are black; and over the morning the shadows of night-time are back. stop the proud boasting mouth of the cannon, hush the mirth and the shout;-- god is god! and the ways of jehovah are past finding out. lo! the beautiful feet on the mountains, that yesterday stood; the white feet that came with glad tidings, are dabbled in blood. the nation that firmly was settling the crown on her head, sits, like rizpah, in sackcloth and ashes, and watches her dead. who is dead? who, unmoved by our wailing, is lying so low? o, my land, stricken dumb in your anguish, do you feel, do you know, that the hand which reached out of the darkness hath taken the whole? yea, the arm and the head of the people-- the heart and the soul! and that heart, o'er whose dread awful silence a nation has wept; was the truest, and gentlest, and sweetest, a man ever kept! once this good man, we mourn, overwearied, worn, anxious, oppressed, was going out from his audience chamber for a season to rest; unheeding the thousands who waited to honor and greet, when the cry of a child smote upon him, and turned back his feet. "three days hath a woman been waiting," said they, "patient and meek." and he answered, "whatever her errand, let me hear; let her speak!" so she came, and stood trembling before him, and pleaded her cause; told him all; how her child's erring father had broken the laws. humbly spake she: "i mourn for his folly, his weakness, his fall"; proudly spake she: "he is not a traitor, and i love him through all!" then the great man, whose heart had been shaken by a little babe's cry; answered soft, taking counsel of mercy, "this man shall not die!" why, he heard from the dungeons, the rice-fields, the dark holds of ships; every faint, feeble cry which oppression smothered down on men's lips. in her furnace, the centuries had welded their fetter and chain; and like withes, in the hands of his purpose, he snapped them in twain. who can be what he was to the people; what he was to the state? shall the ages bring to us another as good, and as great? our hearts with their anguish are broken, our wet eyes are dim; for us is the loss and the sorrow, the triumph for him! for, ere this, face to face with his father our martyr hath stood; giving unto his hand the white record, with its great seal of blood! [ ] _by permission of houghton, mifflin & company._ tolling[ ] (april , ) by lucy larcom tolling, tolling, tolling! all the bells of the land! lo, the patriot martyr taketh his journey grand! travels into the ages, bearing a hope how dear! into life's unknown vistas, liberty's great pioneer. tolling, tolling, tolling! see, they come as a cloud, hearts of a mighty people, bearing his pall and shroud; lifting up, like a banner, signals of loss and woe; wonder of breathless nations, moveth the solemn show. tolling, tolling, tolling! was it, o man beloved, was it thy funeral only over the land that moved? veiled by that hour of anguish, borne with the rebel rout, forth into utter darkness, slavery's curse went out. [ ] _by permission of houghton, mifflin & company._ abraham lincoln[ ] "strangulatus pro republica" by rose terry cooke hundreds there have been, loftier than their kind, heroes and victors in the world's great wars: hundreds, exalted as the eternal stars, by the great heart, or keen and mighty mind; there have been sufferers, maimed and halt and blind, who bore their woes in such triumphant calm that god hath crowned them with the martyr's palm; and there were those who fought through fire to find their master's face, and were by fire refined. but who like thee, oh sire! hath ever stood steadfast for truth and right, when lies and wrong rolled their dark waters, turbulent and strong; who bore reviling, baseness, tears and blood poured out like water, till thine own was spent, then reaped earth's sole reward--a grave and monument! [ ] _by permission of houghton, mifflin & company._ effect of the death of lincoln by henry ward beecher again a great leader of the people has passed through toil, sorrow, battle and war, and come near to the promised land of peace into which he might not pass over. who shall recount our martyr's sufferings for this people? since the november of , his horizon has been black with storms. by day and by night, he trod a way of danger and darkness. on his shoulders rested a government dearer to him than his own life. at its integrity millions of men were striking at home. upon this government foreign eyes lowered. it stood like a lone island in a sea full of storms, and every tide and wave seemed eager to devour it. upon thousands of hearts great sorrows and anxieties have rested, but not on one such, and in such measure, as upon that simple, truthful, noble soul, our faithful and sainted lincoln. never rising to the enthusiasm of more impassioned natures in hours of hope, and never sinking with the mercurial, in hours of defeat, to the depths of despondency, he held on with immovable patience and fortitude, putting caution against hope, that it might not be premature, and hope against caution that it might not yield to dread and danger. he wrestled ceaselessly, through four black and dreadful purgatorial years, wherein god was cleansing the sin of his people as by fire. at last, the watcher beheld the gray dawn for the country. the mountains began to give forth their forms from out the darkness and the east came rushing toward us with arms full of joy for all our sorrows. then it was for him to be glad exceedingly that had sorrowed immeasurably. peace could bring to no other heart such joy and rest, such honor, such trust, such gratitude. but he looked upon it as moses looked upon the promised land. then the wail of a nation proclaimed that he had gone from among us. not thine the sorrow, but ours, sainted soul. thou hast, indeed, entered the promised land, while we are yet on the march. to us remain the rocking of the deep, the storm upon the land, days of duty and nights of watching; but thou art sphered high above all darkness and fear, beyond all sorrow and weariness. rest, o weary heart! rejoice exceedingly,--thou that hast enough suffered! thou hast beheld him who invisibly led thee in this great wilderness. thou standest among the elect. around thee are the royal men that have ennobled human life in every age. kingly art thou, with glory on thy brow as a diadem. and joy is upon thee for evermore. over all this land, over all the little cloud of years that now from thine infinite horizon moves back as a speck, thou art lifted up as high as the star is above the clouds that hide us, but never reach it. in the goodly company of mount zion thou shalt find that rest which thou hast sorrowing sought in vain; and thy name, an everlasting name in heaven, shall flourish in fragrance and beauty as long as men shall last upon the earth, or hearts remain, to revere truth, fidelity and goodness. never did two such orbs of experience meet in one hemisphere, as the joy and the sorrow of the same week in this land. the joy was as sudden as if no man had expected it, and as entrancing as if it had fallen a sphere from heaven. it rose up over sobriety, and swept business from its moorings, and ran down through the land in irresistible course. men embraced each other in brotherhood that were strangers in the flesh. they sang, or prayed, or deeper yet, many could only think thanksgiving and weep gladness. that peace was sure; that government was firmer than ever; that the land was cleansed of plague; that the ages were opening to our footsteps, and we were to begin a march of blessings; that blood was staunched and scowling enmities were sinking like storms beneath the horizon; that the dear fatherland, nothing lost, much gained, was to rise up in unexampled honor among the nations of the earth--these thoughts, and that undistinguishable throng of fancies, and hopes, and desires, and yearnings, that filled the soul with tremblings like the heated air of midsummer days--all these kindled up such a surge of joy as no words may describe. in one hour, joy lay without a pulse, without a gleam or breath. a sorrow came that swept through the land as huge storms sweep through the forest and field, rolling thunder along the sky, disheveling the flowers, daunting every singer in thicket or forest, and pouring blackness and darkness across the land and up the mountains. did ever so many hearts, in so brief a time, touch two such boundless feelings? it was the uttermost of joy; it was the uttermost of sorrow--noon and midnight, without a space between. the blow brought not a sharp pang. it was so terrible that at first it stunned sensibility. citizens were like men awakened at midnight by an earthquake, and bewildered to find everything that they were accustomed to trust wavering and falling. the very earth was no longer solid. the first feeling was the least. men waited to get strength to feel. they wandered in the streets as if groping after some impending dread, or undeveloped sorrow, or some one to tell them what ailed them. they met each other as if each would ask the other, "am i awake, or do i dream?" there was a piteous helplessness. strong men bowed down and wept. other and common griefs belonged to someone in chief; this belonged to all. it was each and every man's. every virtuous household in the land felt as if its firstborn were gone. men were bereaved and walked for days as if a corpse lay unburied in their dwellings. there was nothing else to think of. they could speak of nothing but that; and yet of that they could speak only falteringly. all business was laid aside. pleasure forgot to smile. the city for nearly a week ceased to roar. the great leviathan lay down, and was still. even avarice stood still, and greed was strangely moved to generous sympathy and universal sorrow. rear to his name monuments, found charitable institutions, and write his name above their lintels, but no monument will ever equal the universal, spontaneous, and sublime sorrow that in a moment swept down lines and parties, and covered up animosities, in an hour brought a divided people into unity of grief and indivisible fellowship of anguish. this nation has dissolved--but in tears only. it stands four-square, more solid to-day than any pyramid in egypt. this people are neither wasted, nor daunted, nor disordered. men hate slavery and love liberty with stronger hate and love to-day than ever before. the government is not weakened; it is made stronger. how naturally and easily were the ranks closed! another steps forward, in the hour that one fell, to take his place and his mantle; and i avow my belief that he will be found a man true to every instinct of liberty; true to the whole trust that is reposed in him; vigilant of the constitution; careful of the laws; wise for liberty, in that he himself, through his life, has known what it was to suffer from the stings of slavery, and to prize liberty from bitter personal experiences. where could the head of government of any monarchy be smitten down by the hand of an assassin, and the funds not quiver or fall one-half of one per cent? after a long period of national disturbance, after four years of drastic war, after tremendous drafts on the resources of the country, in the height and top of our burdens, the heart of this people is such that now, when the head of government is stricken down, the public funds do not waver, but stand as the granite ribs in our mountains. republican institutions have been vindicated in this experience as they never were before; and the whole history of the last four years, rounded up by this cruel stroke, seems in the providence of god, to have been clothed now, with an illustration, with a sympathy, with an aptness, and with a significance, such as we never could have expected nor imagined. god, i think, has said, by the voice of this event, to all nations of the earth: "republican liberty, based upon true christianity, is firm as the foundation of the globe." even he who now sleeps has, by this event, been clothed with new influence. dead, he speaks to men who now willingly hear what before they refused to listen to. now his simple and weighty words will be gathered like those of washington, and your children and your children's children shall be taught to ponder the simplicity and deep wisdom of utterances which, in their time, passed, in party heat, as idle words. men will receive a new impulse of patriotism for his sake, and will guard with zeal the whole country which he loved so well. i swear you, on the altar of his memory, to be more faithful to the country for which he has perished. they will, as they follow his hearse, swear a new hatred to that slavery against which he warred, and which, in vanquishing him, has made him a martyr and a conqueror. i swear you, by the memory of this martyr, to hate slavery, with an unappeasable hatred. they will admire and imitate the firmness of this man, his inflexible conscience for the right, and yet his gentleness, as tender as a woman's, his moderation of spirit, which not all the heat of party could inflame, nor all the jars and disturbances of his country shake out of place. i swear you to an emulation of his justice, his moderation, and his mercy. you i can comfort; but how can i speak to that twilight million to whom his name was as the name of an angel of god? there will be wailing in places which no minister shall be able to reach. when, in hovel and in cot, in wood and in wilderness, in the field throughout the south, the dusky children, who looked upon him as that moses whom god sent before them to lead them out of the land of bondage, learn that he has fallen, who shall comfort them? o, thou shepherd of israel, that didst comfort thy people of old, to thy care we commit the helpless, the long-wronged, and grieved. and now the martyr is moving in triumphal march, mightier than when alive. the nation rises up at every stage of his coming. cities and states are his pallbearers, and the cannon beats the hours with solemn progression. dead, dead, dead, he yet speaketh. is washington dead? is hampden dead? is david dead? is any man that was ever fit to live dead? disenthralled of flesh, and risen in the unobstructed sphere where passion never comes, he begins his illimitable work. his life now is grafted upon the infinite, and will be fruitful as no earthly life can be. pass on, thou that hast overcome. your sorrows, o people, are his peace. your bells and bands and muffled drums sound triumph in his ear. wail and weep here; god made it echo joy and triumph there. pass on. four years ago, o illinois, we took from your midst an untried man, and from among the people. we return him to you a mighty conqueror. not thine any more, but the nation's; not ours, but the world's. give him place, o ye prairies. in the midst of this great continent his dust shall rest, a sacred treasure to myriads who shall pilgrim to that shrine to kindle anew their zeal and patriotism. ye winds that move over the mighty places of the west, chant his requiem. ye people, behold a martyr whose blood as so many articulate words, pleads for fidelity, for law, for liberty. hymn[ ] by oliver wendell holmes o thou of soul and sense and breath, the ever-present giver, unto thy mighty angel, death, all flesh thou didst deliver; what most we cherish, we resign, for life and death alike are thine, who reignest lord forever! our hearts lie buried in the dust with him, so true and tender, the patriot's stay, the people's trust, the shield of the offender; yet every murmuring voice is still, as, bowing to thy sovereign will, our best loved we surrender. dear lord, with pitying eye behold this martyr generation, which thou, through trials manifold, art showing thy salvation! o let the blood by murder split wash out thy stricken children's guilt, and sanctify our nation! be thou thy orphaned israel's friend, forsake thy people never, in one our broken many blend, that none again may sever! hear us, o father, while we raise with trembling lips our song of praise, and bless thy name forever! [ ] _by permission of houghton, mifflin & company._ abraham lincoln foully assassinated april , by tom taylor (mark lemon) in london punch. you lay a wreath on murdered lincoln's bier, you, who with mocking pencil wont to trace, broad for the self-complacent british sneer, his length of shambling limb, his furrowed face, his gaunt, gnarled hands, his unkempt, bristling hair, his garb uncouth, his bearing ill at ease, his lack of all we prize as debonair, of power or will to shine, of art to please; you whose smart pen backed up the pencil's laugh, judging each step as though the way were plain; reckless, so it could point its paragraph, of chief's perplexity, or people's pain: beside this corpse, that bears for winding-sheet the stars and stripes he lived to rear anew, between the mourners at his head and feet, say, scurrile jester, is there room for you? yes: he had lived to shame me from my sneer, to lame my pencil, and confute my pen:-- to make me own this man of princes peer, this rail-splitter a true-born king of men. my shallow judgment i had learned to rue, noting how to occasion's height he rose; how his quaint wit made home-truth seem more true; how, iron-like, his temper grew by blows. how humble, yet how hopeful he could be: how in good fortune and in ill, the same: nor bitter in success, nor boastful he, thirsty for gold, nor feverish for fame. he went about his work,--such work as few ever had laid on head and heart and hand,-- as one who knows, where there's a task to do, man's honest will must heaven's good grace command; who trusts the strength will with the burden grow, that god makes instruments to work his will, if but that will we can arrive to know, nor tamper with the weights of good and ill. so he went forth to battle, on the side that he felt clear was liberty's and right's, as in his peasant boyhood he had plied his warfare with rude nature's thwarting mights,-- the uncleared forest, the unbroken soil, the iron-bark, that turns the lumberer's axe, the rapid, that o'erbears the boatsman's toil, the prairie, hiding the mazed wanderer's tracks, the ambushed indian, and the prowling bear;-- such were the deeds that helped his youth to train: rough culture,--but such trees large fruit may bear, if but their stocks be of right girth and grain. so he grew up, a destined work to do, and lived to do it: four long suffering years, ill-fate, ill-feeling, ill-report, lived through, and then he heard the hisses change to cheers. the taunts to tribute, the abuse to praise, and took both with the same unwavering mood: till, as he came on light, from darkling days, and seem to touch the goal from where he stood, a felon hand, between the goal and him, reached from behind his back, a trigger prest,-- and those perplexed and patient eyes were dim, those gaunt, long-laboring limbs were laid to rest! the words of mercy were upon his lips, forgiveness in his heart and on his pen, when this vile murderer brought swift eclipse to thoughts of peace on earth, good-will to men. the old world and the new, from sea to sea, utter one voice of sympathy and shame! sore heart, so stopped when it at last beat high; sad life, cut short just as its triumph came. a deed accurst! strokes have been struck before by the assassin's hand, whereof men doubt if more of horror or disgrace they bore; but thy foul crime, like cain's, stands darkly out. vile hand, that brandest murder on a strife, whate'er its grounds, stoutly and nobly striven; and with the martyr's crown crownest a life with much to praise, little to be forgiven. vi tributes the martyr chief[ ] from the harvard commemoration ode, by james russel lowell life may be given in many ways, and loyalty to truth be sealed as bravely in the closet as the field, so generous is fate; but then to stand beside her, when craven churls deride her, to front a lie in arms, and not to yield-- this shows, methinks, god's plan and measure of a stalwart man, limbed, like the old heroic breeds, who stands self-poised on manhood's solid earth, not forced to frame excuses for his birth, fed from within with all the strength he needs. such was he, our martyr chief, whom late the nation he had led, with ashes on her head, wept with the passion of an angry grief: forgive me, if from present things i turn to speak what in my heart will beat and burn, and hang my wreath on his world-honored urn. nature, they say, doth dote, and cannot make a man save on some worn-out plan, repeating us by rote: for him her old-world moulds aside she threw, and, choosing sweet clay from the breast of the unexhausted west, with stuff untainted shaped a hero new, wise, steadfast in the strength of god, and true. how beautiful to see once more a shepherd of mankind indeed, who loved his charge, but never loved to lead; one whose meek flock the people joyed to be, not lured by any cheat of birth, but by his clear-grained human worth, and brave old wisdom of sincerity! they knew that outward grace is dust; they could not choose but trust in that sure-footed mind's unfaltering skill, and supple-tempered will that bent like perfect steel to spring again and thrust. his was no lonely mountain-peak of mind, thrusting to thin air o'er our cloudy bars, a seamark now, now lost in vapors blind, broad prairie rather, genial, level-lined, fruitful and friendly for all human kind, yet also nigh to heaven and loved of loftiest stars. nothing of europe here, or, then, of europe fronting mornward still, ere any names of serf and peer could nature's equal scheme deface; here was a type of the true elder race, and one of plutarch's men talked with us face to face. i praise him not; it were too late; and some innative weakness there must be in him who condescends to victory such as the present gives, and cannot wait, safe in himself as in a fate. so always firmly he; he knew to bide him time, and can his fame abide, still patient in his simple faith sublime, till the wise years decide. great captains, with their guns and drums, disturb our judgment for the hour, but at last silence comes: these are all gone, and, standing like a tower, our children shall behold his fame, the kindly-earnest, brave, foreseeing man, sagacious, patient, dreading praise, not blame, new birth of our new soil the first american. [ ] _by permission of houghton, mifflin & company._ abraham lincoln[ ] remarks at the funeral services held in concord, april , by ralph waldo emerson we meet under the gloom of a calamity which darkens down over the minds of good men in all civil society, as the fearful tidings travel over sea, over land, from country to country, like the shadow of an uncalculated eclipse over the planet. old as history is, and manifold as are its tragedies, i doubt if any death has caused so much pain to mankind as this has caused, or will cause, on its announcement; and this, not so much because nations are by modern arts brought so closely together, as because of the mysterious hopes and fears which, in the present day, are connected with the name and institutions of america. in this country, on saturday, every one was struck dumb, and saw at first only deep below deep, as he meditated on the ghastly blow. and perhaps, at this hour, when the coffin which contains the dust of the president sets forward on its long march through mourning states, on its way to his home in illinois, we might well be silent and suffer the awful voices of the time to thunder to us. yes, but that first despair was brief: the man was not so to be mourned. he was the most active and hopeful of men; and his work has not perished: but acclamations of praise for the task he has accomplished burst out into a song of triumph, which even tears for his death cannot keep down. the president stood before us as a man of the people. he was thoroughly american, had never crossed the sea, had never been spoiled by english insularity or french dissipation; a quiet native, aboriginal man, as an acorn from the oak; no aping of foreigners, no frivolous accomplishments, kentuckian born, working on a farm, a flatboat-man, a captain in the black hawk war, a country lawyer, a representative in the rural legislature of illinois;--on such modest foundations the broad structure of his fame was laid. how slowly, and yet by happily prepared steps, he came to his place. all of us remember--it is only a history of five or six years--the surprise and the disappointment of the country at his first nomination by the convention at chicago. mr. seward, then in the culmination of his good fame, was the favorite of the eastern states. and when the new and comparatively unknown name of lincoln was announced (notwithstanding the report of the acclamations of that convention), we heard the result coldly and sadly. it seemed too rash, on a purely local reputation, to build so grave a trust in such anxious times; and men naturally talked of the chances in politics as incalculable. but it turned out not to be chance. the profound good opinion which the people of illinois and of the west had conceived of him, and which they had imparted to their colleagues, that they also might justify themselves to their constituents at home, was not rash, though they did not begin to know the riches of his worth. a plain man of the people, an extraordinary fortune attended him. he offered no shining qualities at the first encounter; he did not offend by superiority. he had a face and manner which disarmed suspicion, which inspired confidence, which confirmed good will. he was a man without vices. he had a strong sense of duty, which it was very easy for him to obey. then he had what farmers call a long head; was excellent in working out the sum for himself; in arguing his case and convincing you fairly and firmly. then it turned out that he was a great worker; had prodigious faculty of performance; worked easily. a good worker is so rare; everybody has some disabling quality. in a host of young men that start together and promise so many brilliant leaders for the next age, each fails on trial; one by bad health, one by conceit, or by love of pleasure, or lethargy, or an ugly temper,--each has some disqualifying fault that throws him out of the career. but this man was sound to the core, cheerful, persistent, all right for labor, and liked nothing so well. then he had a vast good nature, which made him tolerant and accessible to all; fair minded, leaning to the claim of the petitioner; affable, and not sensible to the affliction which the innumerable visits paid to him when president would have brought to any one else. and how this good nature became a noble humanity, in many a tragic case which the events of the war brought to him, every one will remember; and with what increasing tenderness he dealt when a whole race was thrown on his compassion. the poor negro said of him, on an impressive occasion, "massa linkum am ebery-where." then his broad good humor, running easily into jocular talk, in which he delighted and in which he excelled, was a rich gift to this wise man. it enabled him to keep his secret; to meet every kind of man and every rank in society; to take off the edge of the severest decisions; to mask his own purpose and sound his companion; and to catch with true instinct the temper of every company he addressed. and, more than all, it is to a man of severe labor, in anxious and exhausting crises, the natural restorative, good as sleep, and is the protection of the overdriven brain against rancor and insanity. he is the author of a multitude of good sayings, so disguised as pleasantries that it is certain they had no reputation at first but as jests; and only later, by the very acceptance and adoption they find in the mouths of millions, turn out to be the wisdom of the hour. i am sure if this man had ruled in a period of less facility of printing, he would have become mythological in a very few years, like Ã�sop or pilpay, or one of the seven wise masters, by his fables and proverbs. but the weight and penetration of many passages in his letters, messages, and speeches, hidden now by the very closeness of their application to the moment, are destined hereafter to wide fame. what pregnant definitions; what unerring common sense; what foresight; and, on great occasion, what lofty, and more than national, what humane tone! his brief speech at gettysburg will not easily be surpassed by words on any recorded occasion. this, and one other american speech, that of john brown to the court that tried him, and a part of kossuth's speech at birmingham, can only be compared with each other, and with no fourth. his occupying the chair of state was a triumph of the good sense of mankind, and of the public conscience. this middle-class country had got a middle-class president, at last. yes, in manners and sympathies, but not in powers, for his powers were superior. this man grew according to the need. his mind mastered the problem of the day; and as the problem grew, so did his comprehension of it. rarely was man so fitted to the event. in the midst of fears and jealousies, in the babel of counsels and parties, this man wrought incessantly with all his might and all his honesty, laboring to find what the people wanted, and how to obtain that. it cannot be said there is any exaggeration of his worth. if ever a man was fairly tested, he was. there was no lack of resistance, nor of slander, nor of ridicule. the times have allowed no state secrets; the nation has been in such ferment, such multitudes had to be trusted, that no secret could be kept. every door was ajar, and we know all that befell. then, what an occasion was the whirlwind of the war. here was place for no holiday magistrate, no fair-weather sailor; the new pilot was hurried to the helm in a tornado. in four years,--four years of battle-days,--his endurance, his fertility of resources, his magnanimity, were sorely tried and never found wanting. there, by his courage, his justice, his even temper, his fertile counsel, his humanity, he stood a heroic figure in the centre of a heroic epoch. he is the true history of the american people in his time. step by step he walked before them; slow with their slowness, quickening his march by theirs, the true representative of this continent; an entirely public man; father of his country, the pulse of twenty-millions throbbing in his heart, the thought of their minds articulated by his tongue. adam smith remarks that the axe, which in houbraken's portraits of british kings and worthies is engraved under those who have suffered at the block, adds a certain lofty charm to the picture. and who does not see, even in this tragedy so recent, how fast the terror and ruin of the massacre are already burning into glory around the victim? far happier this fate than to have lived to be wished away; to have watched the decay of his own faculties; to have seen--perhaps even be--the proverbial ingratitude of statesmen; to have seen mean men preferred. had he not lived long enough to keep the greatest promise that ever man made to his fellow men,--the practicable abolition of slavery? he had seen tennessee, missouri, and maryland emancipate their slaves. he had seen savannah, charleston, and richmond surrendered; had seen the main army of the rebellion lay down its arms. he had conquered the public opinion of canada, england, and france. only washington can compare with him in fortune. and what if it should turn out, in the unfolding of the web, that he had reached the term; that this heroic deliverer could no longer serve us; that the rebellion had touched its natural conclusion, and what remained to be done required new and uncommitted hands,--a new spirit born out of the ashes of the war; and that heaven, wishing to show the world a completed benefactor, shall make him serve his country even more by his death than by his life? nations, like kings, are not good by facility and complaisance. "the kindness of kings consists in justice and strength." easy good nature has been the dangerous foible of the republic, and it was necessary that its enemies should outrage it, and drive us to unwonted firmness, to secure the salvation of this country in the next ages. the ancients believed in a serene and beautiful genius which ruled in the affairs of nations; which, with a slow but stern justice, carried forward the fortunes of certain chosen houses, weeding out single offenders or offending families, and securing at last the firm prosperity of the favorites of heaven. it was too narrow a view of the eternal nemesis. there is a serene providence which rules the fate of nations, which makes little account of time, little of one generation or race, makes no account of disasters, conquers alike by what is called defeat or by what is called victory, thrusts aside enemy and obstruction, crushes everything immoral as inhuman, and obtains the ultimate triumph of the best race by the sacrifice of everything which resists the moral laws of the world. it makes its own instruments, creates the man for the time, trains him in poverty, inspires his genius, and arms him for his task. it has given every race its own talent, and ordains that only that race which combines perfectly with the virtues of all shall endure. [ ] _by permission of houghton, mifflin & company._ washington and lincoln by william mckinley the greatest names in american history are washington and lincoln. one is forever associated with the independence of the states and the formation of the federal union; the other with universal freedom and the preservation of the union. washington enforced the declaration of independence as against england. lincoln proclaimed the fulfilment not only to a down-trodden race in america, but to all people for all time who may seek the protection of our flag. these illustrious men achieved grander results for mankind within a single century than any other men ever accomplished in all the years since the first flight of time began. washington drew his sword not for a change of rulers upon an established throne, but to establish a new government which should acknowledge no throne but the tribute of the people. lincoln accepted war to save the union, the safeguard of our liberties, and re-established it on indestructible foundations as forever "one and indivisible." to quote his own words: "now we are contending that this nation under god, shall have a new birth of freedom, and that government of the people, by the people, for the people shall not perish from the earth." lincoln by theodore roosevelt abraham lincoln--the spirit incarnate of those who won victory in the civil war--was the true representative of this people, not only for his own generation, but for all time, because he was a man among men. a man who embodied the qualities of his fellow-men, but who embodied them to the highest and most unusual degree of perfection, who embodied all that there was in the nation of courage, of wisdom, of gentle, patient kindliness, and of common sense. lincoln's grave by maurice thompson may one who fought in honor for the south uncovered stand and sing by lincoln's grave? why, if i shrunk not at the cannon's mouth, nor swerved one inch for any battle-wave, should i now tremble in this quiet close hearing the prairie wind go lightly by from billowy plains of grass and miles of corn, while out of deep repose the great sweet spirit lifts itself on high and broods above our land this summer morn? meseems i feel his presence. is he dead? death is a word. he lives and grander grows. at gettysburg he bows his bleeding head; he spreads his arms where chickamauga flows, as if to clasp old soldiers to his breast, of south or north no matter which they be, not thinking of what uniform they wore, his heart a palimpsest, record on record of humanity, where love is first and last forevermore. he was the southern mother leaning forth, at dead of night to hear the cannon roar, beseeching god to turn the cruel north and break it that her son might come once more; he was new england's maiden pale and pure, whose gallant lover fell on shiloh's plain; he was the mangled body of the dead; he writhing did endure wounds and disfigurement and racking pain, gangrene and amputation, all things dread. he was the north, the south, the east, the west, the thrall, the master, all of us in one; there was no section that he held the best; his love shone as impartial as the sun; and so revenge appealed to him in vain; he smiled at it, as at a thing forlorn, and gently put it from him, rose and stood a moment's space in pain, remembering the prairies and the corn and the glad voices of the field and wood. and then when peace set wing upon the wind and northward flying fanned the clouds away, he passed as martyrs pass. ah, who shall find the chord to sound the pathos of that day! mid-april blowing sweet across the land, new bloom of freedom opening to the world, loud pæans of the homeward-looking host, the salutations grand from grimy guns, the tattered flags unfurled; and he must sleep to all the glory lost! sleep! loss! but there is neither sleep nor loss, and all the glory mantles him about; above his breast the precious banners cross, does he not hear his armies tramp and shout? oh, every kiss of mother, wife or maid dashed on the grizzly lip of veteran, comes forthright to that calm and quiet mouth, and will not be delayed, and every slave, no longer slave but man, sends up a blessing from the broken south. he is not dead, france knows he is not dead; he stirs strong hearts in spain and germany, in far siberian mines his words are said, he tells the english ireland shall be free, he calls poor serfs about him in the night, and whispers of a power that laughs at kings, and of a force that breaks the strongest chain; old tyranny feels his might tearing away its deepest fastenings, and jewelled sceptres threaten him in vain. years pass away, but freedom does not pass, thrones crumble, but man's birthright crumbles not, and, like the wind across the prairie grass, a whole world's aspirations fan this spot with ceaseless panting after liberty, one breath of which would make dark russia fair, and blow sweet summer through the exile's cave and set the exile free; for which i pray, here in the open air of freedom's morning-tide, by lincoln's grave. tributes to lincoln a man of great ability, pure patriotism, unselfish nature, full of forgiveness to his enemies, bearing malice toward none, he proved to be the man above all others for the struggle through which the nation had to pass to place itself among the greatest in the family of nations. his fame will grow brighter as time passes and his great great work is better understood. _u. s. grant._ at the moment when the stars of the union, sparkling and resplendent with the golden fires of liberty, are waving over the subdued walls of richmond the sepulchre opens, and the strong, the powerful enters it. _sr. rebello da silva._ he ascended the mount where he could see the fair fields and the smiling vineyards of the promised land. but, like the great leader of israel, he was not permitted to come to the possession. _seth sweetser._ in his freedom from passion and bitterness; in his acute sense of justice; in his courageous faith in the right, and his inextinguishable hatred of wrong; in his warm and heartfelt sympathy and mercy; in his coolness of judgment; in his unquestioned rectitude of intention--in a word, in his ability to lift himself for his country's sake above all mere partisanship, in all the marked traits of his character combined, he has had no parallel since washington, and while our republic endures he will live with him in the grateful hearts of his grateful countrymen. _schuyler colfax._ abraham lincoln by henry howard brownell dead is the roll of the drums, and the distant thunders die, they fade in the far-off sky; and a lovely summer comes, like the smile of him on high. lulled, the storm and the onset. earth lies in a sunny swoon; stiller splendor of noon, softer glory of sunset, milder starlight and moon! for the kindly seasons love us; they smile over trench and clod (where we left the bravest of us)-- there's a brighter green of the sod, and a holier calm above us in the blessed blue of god. the roar and ravage were vain; and nature, that never yields, is busy with sun and rain at her old sweet work again on the lonely battle-fields. how the tall white daisies grow, where the grim artillery rolled! (was it only a moon ago? it seems a century old)-- and the bee hums in the clover, as the pleasant june comes on; aye, the wars are all over,-- but our good father is gone. there was tumbling of traitor fort, flaming of traitor fleet-- lighting of city and port, clasping in square and street. there was thunder of mine and gun, cheering by mast and tent,-- when--his dread work all done, and his high fame full won-- died the good president. in his quiet chair he sate, pure of malice or guile, stainless of fear or hate,-- and there played a pleasant smile on the rough and careworn face; for his heart was all the while on means of mercy and grace. the brave old flag drooped o'er him, (a fold in the hard hand lay)-- he looked, perchance, on the play-- but the scene was a shadow before him, for his thoughts were far away. 'twas but the morn (yon fearful death-shade, gloomy and vast, lifting slowly at last), his household heard him say, "'tis long since i've been so cheerful, so light of heart as to-day." 'twas dying, the long dread clang-- but, or ever the blessèd ray of peace could brighten to-day, murder stood by the way-- treason struck home his fang! one throb--and, without a pang, that pure soul passed away. kindly spirit!--ah, when did treason bid such a generous nature cease, mild by temper and strong by reason, but ever leaning to love and peace? a head how sober; a heart how spacious; a manner equal with high or low; rough but gentle, uncouth but gracious, and still inclining to lips of woe. patient when saddest, calm when sternest, grieved when rigid for justice' sake; given to jest, yet ever in earnest if aught of right or truth were at stake. simple of heart, yet shrewd therewith, slow to resolve, but firm to hold; still with parable and with myth seasoning truth, like them of old; aptest humor and quaintest pith! (still we smile o'er the tales he told.) yet whoso might pierce the guise of mirth in the man we mourn, would mark, and with grieved surprise, all the great soul had borne, in the piteous lines, and the kind, sad eyes so dreadfully wearied and worn. and we trusted (the last dread page once turned, of our dooms-day scroll), to have seen him, sunny of soul, in a cheery, grand old age. but, father, 'tis well with thee! and since ever, when god draws nigh, some grief for the good must be, 'twas well, even so to die,-- 'mid the thunder of treason's fall, the yielding of haughty town, the crashing of cruel wall, the trembling of tyrant crown! the ringing of hearth and pavement to the clash of falling chains,-- the centuries of enslavement dead, with their blood-bought gains! and through trouble weary and long, well hadst thou seen the way, leaving the state so strong it did not reel for a day. and even in death couldst give a token for freedom's strife-- a proof how republics live, and not by a single life, but the right divine of man, and the many, trained to be free,-- and none, since the world began, ever was mourned like thee. dost thou feel it, o noble heart! (so grieved and so wronged below), from the rest wherein thou art? do they see it, those patient eyes? is there heed in the happy skies for tokens of world-wide woe? the land's great lamentations, the mighty mourning of cannon the myriad flags half-mast-- the late remorse of the nations, grief from volga to shannon! (now they know thee at last.) how, from gray niagara's shore to canaveral's surfy shoal-- from the rough atlantic roar to the long pacific roll-- for bereavement and for dole, every cottage wears its weed, white as thine own pure soul, and black as the traitor deed. how, under a nation's pall, the dust so dear in our sight to its home on the prairie passed,-- the leagues of funeral, the myriads, morn and night, pressing to look their last. nor alone the state's eclipse; but tears in hard eyes gather-- and on rough and bearded lips, of the regiments and the ships-- "oh, our dear father!" and methinks of all the million that looked on the dark dead face, 'neath its sable-plumed pavilion, the crone of a humbler race is saddest of all to think on, and the old swart lips that said, sobbing, "abraham lincoln! oh, he is dead, he is dead!" hush! let our heavy souls to-day be glad; for again the stormy music swells and rolls, stirring the hearts of men. and under the nation's dome, they've guarded so well and long, our boys come marching home, two hundred thousand strong. all in the pleasant month of may, with war-worn colors and drums, still through the livelong summer's day, regiment, regiment comes. like the tide, yesty and barmy, that sets on a wild lee-shore, surge the ranks of an army never reviewed before! who shall look on the like again, or see such host of the brave? a mighty river of marching men rolls the capital through-- rank on rank, and wave on wave, of bayonet-crested blue! how the chargers neigh and champ, (their riders weary of camp), with curvet and with caracole!-- the cavalry comes with thunderous tramp, and the cannons heavily roll. and ever, flowery and gay, the staff sweeps on in a spray of tossing forelocks and manes; but each bridle-arm has a weed of funeral, black as the steed that fiery sheridan reins. grandest of mortal sights the sun-browned ranks to view-- the colors ragg'd in a hundred fights, and the dusty frocks of blue! and all day, mile on mile, with cheer, and waving, and smile, the war-worn legions defile where the nation's noblest stand; and the great lieutenant looks on, with the flower of a rescued land,-- for the terrible work is done, and the good fight is won for god and for fatherland. so, from the fields they win, our men are marching home, a million are marching home! to the cannon's thundering din, and banners on mast and dome,-- and the ships come sailing in with all their ensigns dight, as erst for a great sea-fight. let every color fly, every pennon flaunt in pride; wave, starry flag, on high! float in the sunny sky, stream o'er the stormy tide! for every stripe of stainless hue, and every star in the field of blue, ten thousand of the brave and true have laid them down and died. and in all our pride to-day we think, with a tender pain, of those so far away they will not come home again. and our boys had fondly thought, to-day, in marching by, from the ground so dearly bought, and the fields so bravely fought, to have met their father's eye. but they may not see him in place, nor their ranks be seen of him; we look for the well-known face, and the splendor is strangely dim. perish?--who was it said our leader had passed away? dead? our president dead? he has not died for a day! we mourn for a little breath such as, late or soon, dust yields; but the dark flower of death blooms in the fadeless fields. we looked on a cold, still brow, but lincoln could yet survive; he never was more alive, never nearer than now. for the pleasant season found him, guarded by faithful hands, in the fairest of summer lands; with his own brave staff around him, there our president stands. there they are all at his side, the noble hearts and true, that did all men might do-- then slept, with their swords and died. and around--(for there can cease this earthly trouble)--they throng, the friends that have passed in peace, the foes that have seen their wrong. (but, a little from the rest, with sad eyes looking down, and brows of softened frown, with stern arms on the chest, are two, standing abreast-- stonewall and old john brown.) but the stainless and the true, these by their president stand, to look on his last review, or march with the old command. and lo! from a thousand fields, from all the old battle-haunts, a greater army than sherman wields, a grander review than grant's! gathered home from the grave, risen from sun and rain-- rescued from wind and wave out of the stormy main-- the legions of our brave are all in their lines again! many a stout corps that went, full-ranked, from camp and tent, and brought back a brigade; many a brave regiment, that mustered only a squad. the lost battalions, that, when the fight went wrong, stood and died at their guns,-- the stormers steady and strong, with their best blood that bought scrap, and ravelin, and wall,-- the companies that fought till a corporal's guard was all. many a valiant crew, that passed in battle and wreck,-- ah, so faithful and true! they died on the bloody deck, they sank in the soundless blue. all the loyal and bold that lay on a soldier's bier,-- the stretchers borne to the rear, the hammocks lowered to the hold. the shattered wreck we hurried, in death-fight, from deck and port,-- the blacks that wagner buried-- that died in the bloody fort! comrades of camp and mess, left, as they lay, to die, in the battle's sorest stress, when the storm of fight swept by,-- they lay in the wilderness, ah, where did they not lie? in the tangled swamp they lay, they lay so still on the sward!-- they rolled in the sick-bay, moaning their lives away-- they flushed in the fevered ward. they rotted in libby yonder, they starved in the foul stockade-- hearing afar the thunder of the union cannonade! but the old wounds all are healed, and the dungeoned limbs are free,-- the blue frocks rise from the field, the blue jackets out of the sea. they've 'scaped from the torture-den, they've broken the bloody sod, they're all come to life again!-- the third of a million men that died for thee and for god! a tenderer green than may the eternal season wears,-- the blue of our summer's day is dim and pallid to theirs,-- the horror faded away, and 'twas heaven all unawares! tents on the infinite shore! flags in the azuline sky, sails on the seas once more! to-day, in the heaven on high, all under arms once more! the troops are all in their lines, the guidons flutter and play; but every bayonet shines, for all must march to-day. what lofty pennons flaunt? what mighty echoes haunt, as of great guns, o'er the main? hark to the sound again-- the congress is all a-taunt! the cumberland's manned again! all the ships and their men are in line of battle to-day,-- all at quarters, as when their last roll thundered away,-- all at their guns, as then, for the fleet salutes to-day. the armies have broken camp on the vast and sunny plain, the drums are rolling again; with steady, measured tramp, they're marching all again. with alignment firm and solemn, once again they form in mighty square and column,-- but never for charge and storm. the old flag they died under floats above them on the shore, and on the great ships yonder the ensigns dip once more-- and once again the thunder of the thirty guns and four! in solid platoons of steel, under heaven's triumphal arch, the long lines break and wheel-- and the word is, "forward, march!" the colors ripple o'erhead, the drums roll up to the sky, and with martial time and tread the regiments all pass by-- the ranks of our faithful dead, meeting their president's eye. with a soldier's quiet pride they smile o'er the perished pain, for their anguish was not vain-- for thee, o father, we died! and we did not die in vain. march on, your last brave mile! salute him, star and lace, form round him, rank and file, and look on the kind, rough face; but the quaint and homely smile has a glory and a grace it never had known erewhile-- never, in time and space. close round him, hearts of pride! press near him, side by side,-- our father is not alone! for the holy right ye died, and christ, the crucified, waits to welcome his own. tributes a statesman of the school of sound common sense, and a philanthropist of the most practical type, a patriot without a superior--his monument is a country preserved. _c. s. harrington._ now all men begin to see that the plain people, who at last came to love him and to lean upon his wisdom, and trust him absolutely, were altogether right, and that in deed and purpose he was earnestly devoted to the welfare of the whole country, and of all its inhabitants. _r. b. hayes._ abraham lincoln[ ] by joel benton some opulent force of genius, soul, and race, some deep life-current from far centuries flowed to his mind, and lighted his sad eyes, and gave his name, among great names, high place. but these are miracles we may not trace-- nor say why from a source and lineage mean he rose to grandeur never dreamt or seen, or told on the long scroll of history's space. the tragic fate of one broad hemisphere fell on stern days to his supreme control, all that the world and liberty held dear pressed like a nightmare on his patient soul. martyr beloved, on whom, when life was done, fame looked, and saw another washington! [ ] _by permission of the author._ on the life-mask of abraham lincoln[ ] by richard watson gilder this bronze doth keep the very form and mold of our great martyr's face. yes, this is he: that brow all wisdom, all benignity; that human, humorous mouth; those cheeks that hold like some harsh landscape all the summer's gold; that spirit fit for sorrow, as the sea for storms to beat on; the lone agony those silent, patient lips too well foretold. yes, this is he who ruled a world of men as might some prophet of the elder day-- brooding above the tempest and the fray with deep-eyed thought and more than mortal ken. a power was his beyond the touch of art or armed strength--his pure and mighty heart. [ ] _by permission of houghton, mifflin & company._ tributes to him belongs the credit of having worked his way up from the humblest position an american freeman can occupy to the highest and most powerful, without losing, in the least, the simplicity and sincerity of nature which endeared him alike to the plantation slave and the metropolitan millionaire. the most malignant party opposition has never been able to call in question the patriotism of his motives, or tarnish with the breath of suspicion the brightness of his spotless fidelity. ambition did not warp, power corrupt, nor glory dazzle him. _warren h. cudworth._ by his steady, enduring confidence in god, and in the complete ultimate success of the cause of god which is the cause of humanity, more than in any other way does he now speak to us, and to the nation he loved and served so well. _p. d. gurley._ chieftain, farewell! the nation mourns thee. mothers shall teach thy name to their lisping children. the youth of our land shall emulate thy virtues. statesmen shall study thy record, and learn lessons of wisdom. mute though thy lips be, yet they still speak. hushed is thy voice, but its echoes of liberty are ringing through the world, and the sons of bondage listen with joy. _matthew simpson._ lincoln by george henry boker. crown we our heroes with a holier wreath than man e'er wore upon this side of death; mix with their laurels deathless asphodels, and chime their pæans from the sacred bells! nor in your prayers forget the martyred chief, fallen for the gospel of your own belief, who, ere he mounted to the people's throne, asked for your prayers, and joined in them his own. i knew the man. i see him, as he stands with gifts of mercy in his outstretched hands; a kindly light within his gentle eyes, sad as the toil in which his heart grew wise; his lips half-parted with the constant smile that kindled truth, but foiled the deepest guile; his head bent forward, and his willing ear divinely patient right and wrong to hear: great in his goodness, humble in his state, firm in his purpose, yet not passionate, he led his people with a tender hand, and won by love a sway beyond command, summoned by lot to mitigate a time frenzied with rage, unscrupulous with crime, he bore his mission with so meek a heart that heaven itself took up his people's part; and when he faltered, helped him ere he fell, eking his efforts out by miracle. no king this man, by grace of god's intent; no, something better, freeman,--president! a nature, modeled on a higher plan, lord of himself, an inborn gentleman! abraham lincoln james a. garfield in the great drama of the rebellion there were two acts. the first was the war, with its battles and sieges, its victories and defeats, its sufferings and tears. just as the curtain was lifting on the second and final act, the restoration of peace and liberty, the evil spirit of the rebellion, in the fury of despair, nerved and directed the hand of an assassin to strike down the chief character in both. it was no one man who killed abraham lincoln; it was the embodied spirit of treason and slavery, inspired with fearful and despairing hate, that struck him down in the moment of the nation's supremest joy. sir, there are times in the history of men and nations when they stand so near the veil that separates mortals from the immortals, time from eternity, and men from god that they can almost hear the beatings and pulsations of the heart of the infinite. through such a time has this nation passed. when two hundred and fifty thousand brave spirits passed from the field of honor, through that thin veil, to the presence of god, and when at last its parting folds admitted the martyr president to the company of those dead heroes of the republic, the nation stood so near the veil that the whispers of god were heard by the children of men. awe-stricken by his voice, the american people knelt in tearful reverence and made a solemn covenant with him and with each other that this nation should be saved from its enemies, that all its glories should be restored, and, on the ruins of slavery and treason, the temples of freedom and justice should be built, and should survive forever. it remains for us, consecrated by that great event and under a covenant with god, to keep that faith, to go forward in the great work until it shall be completed. following the lead of that great man, and obeying the high behests of god, let us remember that: he has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat; he is sifting out the hearts of men before his judgment seat; oh, be swift, my soul, to answer him! be jubilant, my feet! our god is marching on. an horatian ode[ ] by richard henry stoddard not as when some great captain falls in battle, where his country calls, beyond the struggling lines that push his dread designs to doom, by some stray ball struck dead: or in the last charge, at the head of his determined men, who must be victors then! nor as when sink the civic great, the safer pillars of the state, whose calm, mature, wise words suppress the need of swords!-- with no such tears as e'er were shed above the noblest of our dead do we to-day deplore the man that is no more! our sorrow hath a wider scope, too strange for fear, too vast for hope,-- a wonder, blind and dumb, that waits--what is to come! not more astonished had we been if madness, that dark night, unseen, had in our chambers crept, and murdered while we slept! we woke to find a mourning earth-- our lares shivered on the hearth,-- to roof-tree fallen,--all that could affright, appall! such thunderbolts, in other lands, have smitten the rod from royal hands, but spared, with us, till now, each laurelled cæsar's brow! no cæsar he, whom we lament, a man without a precedent, sent it would seem, to do his work--and perish too! not by the weary cares of state, the endless tasks, which will not wait, which, often done in vain, must yet be done again: not in the dark, wild tide of war, which rose so high, and rolled so far, sweeping from sea to sea in awful anarchy:-- four fateful years of mortal strife, which slowly drained the nation's life, (yet, for each drop that ran there sprang an armed man!) not then;--but when by measures meet,-- by victory, and by defeat,-- by courage, patience, skill, the people's fixed "we will!" had pierced, had crushed rebellion dead,-- without a hand, without a head:-- at last, when all was well, he fell--o, how he fell! the time,--the place,--the stealing shape,-- the coward shot,--the swift escape,-- the wife,--the widow's scream,-- it is a hideous dream! a dream?--what means this pageant, then? these multitudes of solemn men, who speak not when they meet, but throng the silent street? the flags half-mast, that late so high flaunted at each new victory? (the stars no brightness shed, but bloody looks the red!) the black festoons that stretch for miles, and turn the streets to funeral aisles? (no house too poor to show the nation's badge of woe!) the cannon's sudden, sullen boom,-- the bells that toll of death and doom,-- the rolling of the drums,-- the dreadful car that comes? cursed be the hand that fired the shot! the frenzied brain that hatched the plot! thy country's father slain by thee, thou worse than cain! tyrants have fallen by such as thou, and good hath followed--may it now! (god lets bad instruments produce the best events.) but he, the man we mourn to-day, no tyrant was: so mild a sway in one such weight who bore was never known before! cool should be he, of balanced powers. the ruler of a race like ours, impatient, headstrong, wild,-- the man to guide the child! and this he was, who most unfit (so hard the sense of god to hit!) did seem to fill his place. with such a homely face,-- such rustic manners,--speech uncouth,-- (that somehow blundered out the truth!) untried, untrained to bear the more than kingly care! ay! and his genius put to scorn the proudest in the purple born, whose wisdom never grew to what, untaught, he knew-- the people, of whom he was one. no gentleman like washington,-- (whose bones, methinks, make room, to have him in their tomb!) a laboring man, with horny hands, who swung the axe, who tilled his lands, who shrank from nothing new, but did as poor men do! one of the people! born to be their curious epitome; to share, yet rise above their shifting hate and love. common his mind (it seemed so then), his thought the thoughts of other men: plain were his words, and poor-- but now they will endure! no hasty fool, of stubborn will, but prudent, cautious, pliant, still; who, since his work was good, would do it, as he could. doubting, was not ashamed to doubt, and, lacking prescience, went without: often appeared to halt, and was, of course, at fault: heard all opinions, nothing loth, and loving both sides, angered both: was--not like justice, blind, but watchful, clement, kind. no hero, this, of roman mould; nor like our stately sires of old: perhaps he was not great-- but he preserved that state! o honest face, which all men knew! o tender heart, but known to few! o wonder of the age, cut off by tragic rage! peace! let the long procession come, for hark!--the mournful, muffled drum-- the trumpet's wail afar,-- and see! the awful car! peace! let the sad procession go, while cannon boom, and bells toll slow: and go, thou sacred car, bearing our woe afar! go, darkly borne, from state to state, whose loyal, sorrowing cities wait to honor all they can the dust of that good man! go, grandly borne, with such a train as greatest kings might die to gain: the just, the wise, the brave attend thee to the grave! and you, the soldiers of our wars, bronzed veterans, grim with noble scars, salute him once again, your late commander--slain! yes, let your tears, indignant, fall, but leave your muskets on the wall: your country needs you now beside the forge, the plough! (when justice shall unsheathe her brand,-- if mercy may not stay her hand, nor would we have it so-- she must direct the blow!) and you, amid the master-race, who seem so strangely out of place, know ye who cometh? he who hath declared ye free! bow while the body passes--nay, fall on your knees, and weep, and pray! weep, weep--i would ye might-- your poor, black faces white! and children, you must come in bands, with garlands in your little hands, of blue, and white, and red, to strew before the dead! so sweetly, sadly, sternly goes the fallen to his last repose: beneath no mighty dome. but in his modest home; the churchyard where his children rest, the quiet spot that suits him best: there shall his grave be made, and there his bones be laid! and there his countrymen shall come, with memory proud, with pity dumb, and strangers far and near, for many and many a year! for many a year, and many an age, while history on her ample page the virtues shall enroll of that paternal soul! [ ] _by permission of charles scribner's sons._ some foreign tributes to lincoln from "the lives and deeds of our self-made men"[ ] by mrs. harriet beecher stowe ( ) on the first of may, , sir george grey, in the english house of commons, moved an address to the crown, to express the feelings of the house upon the assassination of mr. lincoln. in this address he said that he was convinced that mr. lincoln "in the hour of victory, and in the triumph of victory, would have shown that wise forbearance, and that generous consideration, which would have added tenfold lustre to the fame that he had already acquired, amidst the varying fortunes of the war." in seconding the second address, at the same time and place, mr. benjamin disraeli said: "but in the character of the victim, and in the very accessories of his almost latest moments, there is something so homely and so innocent that it takes the subject, as it were, out of the pomp of history, and out of the ceremonial of diplomacy. it touches the heart of nations, and appeals to the domestic sentiments of mankind." in the house of lords, lord john russell, in moving a similar address, observed: "president lincoln was a man who, although he had not been distinguished before his election, had from that time displayed a character of so much integrity, sincerity and straightforwardness, and at the same time of so much kindness, that if any one could have been able to alleviate the pain and animosity which have prevailed during the civil war, i believe president lincoln was the man to have done so." and again, in speaking of the question of amending the constitution so as to prohibit slavery, he said: "we must all feel that there again the death of president lincoln deprives the united states of the man who was the leader on this subject." mr. john stuart mill, the distinguished philosopher, in a letter to an american friend, used far stronger expressions than these guarded phrases of high officials. he termed mr. lincoln "the great citizen who had afforded so noble an example of the qualities befitting the first magistrate of a free people, and who, in the most trying circumstances, had gradually won not only the admiration, but almost the personal affection of all who love freedom or appreciate simplicity or uprightness." professor goldwin smith writing to the london daily news, began by saying, "it is difficult to measure the calamity which the united states and the world have sustained by the murder of president lincoln. the assassin has done his best to strike down mercy and moderation, of both of which this good and noble life was the mainstay." senhor rebello da silva, a member of the portuguese chamber of peers, in moving a resolution on the death of mr. lincoln, thus outlined his character: "he is truly great who rises to the loftiest heights from profound obscurity, relying solely on his own merits as did napoleon, washington, lincoln. for these arose to power and greatness, not through any favor or grace, by a chance cradle, or genealogy, but through the prestige of their own deeds, through the nobility which begins and ends with themselves--the sole offspring of their own works.... lincoln was of this privileged class; he belonged to this aristocracy. in infancy, his energetic soul was nourished by poverty. in youth, he learned through toil the love of liberty, and respect for the rights of man. even to the age of twenty-two, educated in adversity, his hands made callous by honorable labor, he rested from the fatigues of the field, spelling out, in the pages of the bible, in the lessons of the gospel, in the fugitive leaves of the daily journal--which the aurora opens, and the night disperses--the first rudiments of instruction, which his solitary meditations ripened. the chrysalis felt one day the ray of the sun, which called it to life, broke its involucrum, and it launched forth fearlessly from the darkness of its humble cloister into the luminous spaces of its destiny. the farmer, day-laborer, shepherd, like cincinnatus, left the ploughshare in the half-broken furrow, and, legislator of his own state, and afterwards of the great republic, saw himself proclaimed in the tribunal the popular chief of several millions of people, the maintainer of the holy principle inaugurated by wilberforce." there are some vague and some only partially correct statements in this diffuse passage; but it shows plainly enough how enthusiastically the portuguese nobleman had admired the antique simplicity and strength of mr. lincoln's character. dr. merle d'aubigne, the historian of the reformation, writing to mr. fogg, u. s. minister to switzerland, said: "while not venturing to compare him to the great sacrifice of golgotha, which gave liberty to the captives, is it not just, in this hour, to recall the word of an apostle (i john iii, ): 'hereby perceive we the love of god, because he laid down his life for us: and we ought to lay down our lives for the brethren?' who can say that the president did not lay down his life by the firmness of his devotion to a great duty? the name of lincoln will remain one of the greatest that history has to inscribe on its annals.... among the legacies which lincoln leaves to us, we shall all regard as the most precious, his spirit of equity, of moderation, and of peace, according to which he will still preside, if i may so speak, over the restoration of your great nation." the "democratic association" of florence, addressed "to the free people of the united states," a letter, in which they term mr. lincoln "the honest, the magnanimous citizen, the most worthy chief magistrate of your glorious federation." the eminent french liberal, m. edouard laboulaye, in a speech showing a remarkably just understanding and extremely broad views with respect to the affairs and the men of the united states, said: "mr. lincoln was one of those heroes who are ignorant of themselves; his thoughts will reign after him. the name of washington has already been pronounced, and i think with reason. doubtless mr. lincoln resembled franklin more than washington. by his origin, his arch good nature, his ironical good sense, and his love of anecdotes and jesting, he was of the same blood as the printer of philadelphia. but it is nevertheless true that in less than a century, america has passed through two crises in which its liberty might have been lost, if it had not had honest men at its head; and that each time it has had the happiness to meet the man best fitted to serve it. if washington founded the union, lincoln has saved it. history will draw together and unite those two names. a single word explains mr. lincoln's whole life: it was duty. never did he put himself forward; never did he think of himself; never did he seek one of those ingenious combinations which puts the head of a state in bold relief, and enhances his importance at the expense of the country; his only ambition, his only thought was faithfully to fulfil the mission which his fellow-citizens had entrusted to him.... his inaugural address, march , , shows us what progress had been made in his soul. this piece of familiar eloquence is a master-piece; it is the testament of a patriot. i do not believe that any eulogy of the president would equal this page on which he had depicted himself in all his greatness and all his simplicity.... history is too often only a school of immorality. it shows us the victory of force or stratagem much more than the success of justice, moderation, and probity. it is too often only the apotheosis of triumphant selfishness. there are noble and great exceptions; happy those who can increase the number, and thus bequeath a noble and beneficent example to posterity! mr. lincoln is among these. he would willingly have repeated, after franklin, that 'falsehood and artifice are the practice of fools who have not wit enough to be honest.' all his private life, and all his political life, were inspired and directed by this profound faith in the omnipotence of virtue. it is through this, again, that he deserves to be compared with washington; it is through this that he will remain in history with the most glorious name that can be merited by the head of a free people--a name given him by his cotemporaries, and which will be preserved to him by posterity--that of honest abraham lincoln." a letter from the well-known french historian, henri martin, to the paris siècle, contained the following passages: "lincoln will remain the austere and sacred personification of a great epoch, the most faithful expression of democracy. this simple and upright man, prudent and strong, elevated step by step from the artisan's bench to the command of a great nation, and always without parade and without effort, at the height of his position; executing without precipitation, without flourish, and with invincible good sense, the most colossal acts; giving to the world this decisive example of the civil power in a republic; directing a gigantic war, without free institutions being for an instant compromised or threatened by military usurpation; dying, finally, at the moment when, after conquering, he was intent on pacification, ... this man will stand out, in the traditions of his country and the world, as an incarnation of the people, and of modern democracy itself. the great work of emancipation had to be sealed, therefore, with the blood of the just, even as it was inaugurated with the blood of the just. the tragic history of the abolition of slavery, which opened with the gibbet of john brown, will close with the assassination of lincoln. "and now let him rest by the side of washington, as the second founder of the great republic. european democracy is present in spirit at his funeral, as it voted in its heart for his re-election, and applauded the victory in the midst of which he passed away. it will wish with one accord to associate itself with the monument that america will raise to him upon the capitol of prostrate slavery." the london globe, in commenting on mr. lincoln's assassination, said that he "had come nobly through a great ordeal. he had extorted the admiration even of his opponents, at least on this side of the water. they had come to admire, reluctantly, his firmness, honesty, fairness and sagacity. he tried to do, and had done, what he considered his duty, with magnanimity." the london express said, "he had tried to show the world how great, how moderate, and how true he could be, in the moment of his great triumph." the liverpool post said, "if ever there was a man who in trying times avoided offenses, it was mr. lincoln. if there ever was a leader in a civil contest who shunned acrimony and eschewed passion, it was he. in a time of much cant and affectation he was simple, unaffected, true, transparent. in a season of many mistakes he was never known to be wrong.... by a happy tact, not often so felicitously blended with pure evidence of soul, abraham lincoln knew when to speak, and never spoke too early or too late.... the memory of his statesmanship, translucent in the highest degree, and above the average, and openly faithful, more than almost any of this age has witnessed, to fact and right, will live in the hearts and minds of the whole anglo-saxon race, as one of the noblest examples of that race's highest qualities. add to all this that abraham lincoln was the humblest and pleasantest of men, that he had raised himself from nothing, and that to the last no grain of conceit or ostentation was found in him, and there stands before the world a man whose like we shall not soon look upon again." in the remarks of m. rouher, the french minister, in the legislative assembly, on submitting to that assembly the official despatch of the french foreign minister of the chargé at washington, m. rouher remarked, of mr. lincoln's personal character, that he had exhibited "that calm firmness and indomitable energy which belong to strong minds, and are the necessary conditions of the accomplishment of great duties. in the hour of victory he exhibited generosity, moderation and conciliation." and in the despatch, which was signed by mr. drouyn de l'huys, were the following expressions: "abraham lincoln exhibited, in the exercise of the power placed in his hands, the most substantial qualities. in him, firmness of character was allied to elevation of principle.... in reviewing these last testimonies to his exalted wisdom, as well as the examples of good sense, of courage, and of patriotism, which he has given, history will not hesitate to place him in the rank of citizens who have the most honored their country." in the prussian lower house, herr loewes, in speaking of the news of the assassination, said that mr. lincoln "performed his duties without pomp or ceremony, and relied on that dignity of his inner self alone, which is far above rank, orders and titles. he was a faithful servant, not less of his own commonwealth than of civilization, freedom and humanity." [ ] _by permission of dana estes company._ from 'the gettysburg ode' by bayard taylor after the eyes that looked, the lips that spake here, from the shadows of impending death, those words of solemn breath, what voice may fitly break the silence, doubly hallowed, left by him? we can but bow the head, with eyes grown dim, and as a nation's litany, repeat the phrase his martyrdom hath made complete, noble as then, but now more sadly sweet: "let us, the living, rather dedicate ourselves to the unfinished work, which they thus far advanced so nobly on its way, and saved the perilled state! let us, upon this field where they, the brave, their last full measure of devotion gave, highly resolve they have not died in vain!-- that, under god, the nation's later birth of freedom, and the people's gain of their own sovereignty, shall never wane and perish from the circle of the earth!" from such a perfect text, shall song aspire to light her faded fire, and into wandering music turn its virtue, simple, sorrowful, and stern? his voice all elegies anticipated; for, whatsoe'er the strain, we hear that one refrain: "we consecrate ourselves to them, the consecrated!" [transcriber's note: some of the poem omitted in original.] tributes thank god for abraham lincoln! however lightly the words may sometimes pass your lips, let us speak them now and always of this man sincerely, solemnly, reverently, as so often dying soldiers and bereaved women and little children spoke them. thank god for abraham lincoln--for the lincoln who died and whose ashes rest at springfield--for the lincoln who lives in the hearts of the american people--in their widened sympathies and uplifted ideals. thank god for the work he did, is doing, and is to do. thank god for abraham lincoln. _james willis gleed._ let us not then try to compare and to measure him with others, and let us not quarrel as to whether he was greater or less than washington, as to whether either of them set to perform the other's task would have succeeded in it, or, perchance would have failed. not only is the competition itself an ungracious one, but to make lincoln a competitor is foolish and useless. he was the most individual man who ever lived; let us be content with this fact. let us take him simply as abraham lincoln, singular and solitary, as we all see that he was; let us be thankful if we can make a niche big enough for him among the world's heroes, without worrying ourselves about the proportion which it may bear to other niches; and there let him remain forever, lonely, as in his strange lifetime, impressive, mysterious, unmeasured, and unsolved. _john t. morse, jr._ those who are raised high enough to be able to look over the stone walls, those who are intelligent enough to take a broader view of things than that which is bounded by the lines of any one state or section, understand that the unity of the nation is of the first importance, and are prepared to make those sacrifices and concessions, within the bounds of loyalty, which are necessary for its maintenance, and to cherish that temper of fraternal affection which alone can fill the form of national existence with the warm blood of life. the first man after the civil war, to recognize this great principle and to act upon it was the head of the nation,--that large and generous soul whose worth was not fully felt until he was taken from his people by the stroke of the assassin, in the very hour when his presence was most needed for the completion of the work of reunion. _henry van dyke._ lincoln from _macmillan's magazine_, england lincoln! when men would name a man just, unperturbed, magnanimous, tried in the lowest seat of all, tried in the chief seat of the house-- lincoln! when men would name a man who wrought the great work of his age, who fought and fought the noblest fight, and marshalled it from stage to stage, victorious, out of dusk and dark, and into dawn and on till day, most humble when the pæans rang, least rigid when the enemy lay prostrated for his feet to tread-- this name of lincoln will they name, a name revered, a name of scorn, of scorn to sundry, not to fame. lincoln, the man who freed the slave; lincoln whom never self enticed; slain lincoln, worthy found to die a soldier of his captain christ. abraham lincoln this man whose homely face you look upon, was one of nature's masterful, great men; born with strong arms, that unfought battles won, direct of speech, and cunning with the pen. chosen for large designs, he had the art of winning with his humor, and he went straight to his mark, which was the human heart; wise, too, for what he could not break he bent. upon his back a more than atlas-load, the burden of the commonwealth, was laid; he stooped, and rose up to it, though the road shot suddenly downwards, not a whit dismayed. hold, warriors, councillors, kings! all now give place to this dead benefactor of the race! _richard henry stoddard._ lincoln[ ] by edna dean proctor now must the storied potomac laurels for ever divide, now to the sangamon fameless give of its century's pride. sangamon, stream of the prairies, placidly westward that flows, far in whose city of silence calm he has sought his repose. over our washington's river sunrise beams rosy and fair, sunset on sangamon fairer-- father and martyr lies there. kings under pyramids slumber, sealed in the lybian sands; princes in gorgeous cathedrals decked with the spoil of the lands kinglier, princelier sleeps he couched 'mid the prairies serene, only the turf and the willow him and god's heaven between! temple nor column to cumber verdure and bloom of the sod-- so, in the vale by beth-peor, moses was buried of god. break into blossom, o prairies! snowy and golden and red; peers of the palestine lilies heap for your glorious dead! roses as fair as of sharon, branches as stately as palm, odors as rich as the spices-- cassia and aloes and balm-- mary the loved and salome, all with a gracious accord, ere the first glow of the morning brought to the tomb of the lord wind of the west! breathe around him soft as the saddened air's sigh when to the summit of pisgah moses had journeyed to die. clear as its anthem that floated wide o'er the moabite plain, low with the wail of the people blending its burdened refrain. rarer, o wind! and diviner,-- sweet as the breeze that went by when, over olivet's mountain, jesus was lost in the sky. not for thy sheaves nor savannas crown we thee, proud illinois! here in his grave is thy grandeur; born of his sorrow thy joy. only the tomb by mount zion hewn for the lord do we hold dearer than his in thy prairies, girdled with harvests of gold. still for the world, through the ages wreathing with glory his brow, he shall be liberty's saviour-- freedom's jerusalem thou! [ ] _by permission of houghton, mifflin & company._ when lilacs last in the dooryard bloom'd[ ] by walt whitman i when lilacs last in the dooryard bloom'd, and the great star early droop'd in the western sky in the night, i mourn'd, and yet shall mourn with ever-returning spring. ever-returning spring, trinity sure to me you bring, lilac blooming perennial and drooping star in the west, and thought of him i love. ii o powerful western fallen star! o shades of night--o moody, tearful night! o great star disappear'd--o the black murk that hides the star! o cruel hands that hold me powerless--o helpless soul of me! o harsh surrounding cloud that will not free my soul. iii in the dooryard fronting an old farm-house near the white-wash'd palings, stands the lilac-bush tall-growing with heart-shaped leaves of rich green, with many a pointed blossom rising delicate, with the perfume strong i love, with every leaf a miracle--and from this bush in the dooryard, with delicate-color'd blossoms and heart-shaped leaves of rich green, a sprig with its flower i break. iv in the swamp in secluded recesses, a shy and hidden bird is warbling a song. solitary the thrush, the hermit withdrawn to himself, avoiding the settlements, sings by himself a song. song of the bleeding throat, death's outlet song of life (for well, dear brother, i know, if thou wast not granted to sing thou would'st surely die). v over the breast of the spring, the land, amid cities, amid lanes and through old woods, where lately the violets peep'd from the ground, spotting the gray debris, amid the grass in the fields each side of the lanes, passing the endless grass. passing the yellow-spear'd wheat, every grain from its shroud in the dark-brown fields uprisen, passing the apple-tree blows of white and pink in the orchards, carrying a corpse to where it shall rest in the grave, night and day journeys a coffin. vi coffin that passes through lanes and streets, through day and night with the great cloud darkening the land, with the pomp of the inloop'd flags with the cities draped in black, with the show of the states themselves as of crape-veil'd women standing, with processions long and winding and the flambeaus of the night, with the countless torches lit, with the silent sea of faces and the unbared heads, with the waiting depot, the arriving coffin, and the sombre faces, with dirges through the night, with the thousand voices rising strong and solemn, with all the mournful voices of the dirges pour'd around the coffin, the dim-lit churches and the shuddering organs--where amid these you journey, with the tolling, tolling bells' perpetual clang, here, coffin that slowly passes, i give you my sprig of lilac. vii (nor for you, for one alone, blossoms and branches green to coffins all i bring, for fresh as the morning, thus would i chant a song for you, o sane and sacred death. all over bouquets of roses, o death, i cover you over with roses and early lilies, but mostly and now the lilac that blooms the first. copious i break, i break the sprigs from the bushes, with loaded arms i come, pouring for you, for you and the coffins all of you, o death). viii o western orb sailing the heaven, now i know what you must have meant as a month since i walk'd, as i walk'd in silence the transparent shadowy night, as i saw you had something to tell as you bent to me night after night, as you droop'd from the sky low down as if to my side (while the other stars all look'd on), as we wander'd together the solemn night (for something, i know not what, kept me from sleep), as the night advanced, and i saw on the rim of the west how full you were of woe, as i stood on the rising ground in the breeze in the cool transparent night, as i watch'd where you pass'd and was lost in the netherward black of the night, as my soul in its trouble dissatisfied sank, as where you, sad orb, concluded, dropt in the night, and was gone. ix sing on there in the swamp, o singer, bashful and tender, i hear your notes, i hear your call, i hear, i come presently, i understand you, but a moment i linger, for the lustrous star has detain'd me, the star, my departing comrade holds and detains me. x o how shall i warble myself for the dead one there i loved? and how shall i deck my song for the large sweet soul that has gone? and what shall my perfume be for the grave of him i love? sea-winds blown from east and west, blown from the eastern sea and blown from the western sea, till there on the prairies meeting, these and with these and the breath of my chant, i'll perfume the grave of him i love. xi o what shall i hang on the chamber walls? and what shall the pictures be that i hang on the walls, to adorn the burial-house of him i love? pictures of growing spring and farms and homes, with the fourth-month eve at sundown, and the gray smoke lucid and bright, with floods of the yellow gold of the gorgeous, indolent, sinking sun, burning, expanding the air, with the fresh sweet herbage under foot, and the pale green leaves of the trees prolific, in the distance the flowing glaze, the breast of the river, with a wind-dapple here and there, with ranging hills on the banks, with many a line against the sky, and shadows, and the city at hand with dwellings so dense, and stacks of chimneys, and all the scenes of life and the workshops, and the workmen homeward returning. xii lo, body and soul--this land, my own manhattan with spires, and the sparkling and hurrying tides, and the ships, the varied and ample land, the south and the north in the light, ohio's shores and flashing missouri, and ever the far-spreading prairies cover'd with grass and corn. lo, the most excellent sun so calm and haughty, the violet and purple morn with just-felt breezes, the gentle soft-born measureless light, the miracle spreading, bathing all, the fulfill'd noon, the coming eve delicious, the welcome night and the stars, over my cities shining all, enveloping man and land. xiii sing on, sing on, you gray-brown bird, sing from the swamps, the recesses, pour your chant from the bushes, limitless out of the dusk, out of the cedars and pines. sing on, dearest brother, warble your reedy song, loud human song, with voice of uttermost woe. o liquid and free and tender! o wild and loose to my soul--o wondrous singer! you only i hear--yet the star holds me (but will soon depart), yet the lilac with mastering odor holds me. xiv now while i sat in the day and look'd forth, in the close of the day with its light and the fields of spring, and the farmers preparing their crops, in the large unconscious scenery of my land with its lakes and forests, in the heavenly aerial beauty (after the perturb'd winds and the storms), under the arching heavens of the afternoon swift passing, and the voices of children and women, the many-moving sea-tides, and i saw the ships how they sail'd, and the summer approaching with richness, and the fields all busy with labor, and the infinite separate houses, how they all went on, each with its meals and minutia of daily usages, and the streets, how their throbbings throbb'd, and the cities pent--lo, then and there, falling upon them all and among them all, enveloping me with the rest, appear'd the cloud, appear'd the long black trail, and i knew death, its thought, and the sacred knowledge of death. then with the knowledge of death as walking one side of me, and the thought of death close-walking the other side of me, and in the middle as with companions, and as holding the hands of companions, i fled forth to the hiding, receiving night that talks not, down to the shores of the water, the path by the swamp in the dimness, to the solemn shadowy cedars and ghostly pines so still. and the singer so shy to the rest receiv'd me, the gray-brown bird i know receiv'd us comrades three, and he sang the carol of death, and a verse for him i love. from deep secluded recesses, from the fragrant cedars and the ghostly pines so still, came the carol of the bird. and the charm of the carol rapt me, as i held as if by their hands my comrades in the night, and the voice of my spirit tallied the song of the bird. _come, lovely and soothing death, undulate round the world, serenely arriving, arriving, in the day, in the night, to all, to each, sooner or later, delicate death._ _prais'd be the fathomless universe, for life and joy, and for objects and knowledge curious, and for love, sweet love--but praise! praise! praise! for the sure-enwinding arms of cool-enfolding death. dark mother, always gliding near with soft feet, have none chanted for thee a chant of fullest welcome?_ _then i chant it for thee, i glorify thee above all, i bring thee a song that when thou must indeed come, come unfalteringly._ _approach, strong deliveress, when it is so, when thou hast taken them i joyously sing the dead, lost in the loving, floating ocean of thee, laved in the flood of thy bliss, o death._ _from me to thee, glad serenades, dances for thee i propose saluting thee, adornments and feastings for thee, and the sights of the open landscape and the high-spread sky are fitting, and life and the fields, and the huge and thoughtful night._ _the night in silence under many a star, the ocean shore and the husky whispering wave whose voice i know, and the soul turning to thee, o vast and well-veil'd death, and the body gratefully nestling close to thee._ _over the tree-tops i float thee a song, over the rising and sinking waves, over the myriad fields and the prairies wide, over the dense-pack'd cities all and the teeming wharves and ways, i float this carol with joy, with joy to thee, o death._ xv to the tally of my soul, loud and strong kept up the gray-brown bird, with pure deliberate notes spreading, filling the night. loud in the pines and cedars dim, clear in the freshness moist and the swamp-perfume, and i with my comrades there in the night. while my sight that was bound in my eyes unclosed, as to long panoramas of visions. and i saw askant the armies, i saw as in noiseless dreams hundreds of battle-flags, borne through the smoke of the battles and pierc'd with missiles i saw them, and carried hither and yon through the smoke, and torn and bloody, and at last but a few shreds left on the staffs (and all in silence), and the staffs all splinter'd and broken. i saw battle-corpses, myriads of them, and the white skeletons of young men, i saw them, i saw the debris and debris of all the slain soldiers of the war, but i saw they were not as was thought, they themselves were fully at rest, they suffer'd not, the living remain'd and suffer'd, the mother suffer'd, and the armies that remain'd suffer'd. xvi passing the visions, passing the night, passing, unloosing the hold of my comrade's hands, passing the song of the hermit bird and the tallying song of my soul, victorious song, death's outlet song, yet varying ever-altering song, as low and wailing, yet clear the notes, rising and falling, flooding the night, sadly sinking and fainting, as warning and warning, and yet again bursting with joy, covering the earth and filling the spread of the heaven, as that powerful psalm in the night i heard from recesses, passing, i leave thee lilac with heart-shaped leaves, i leave thee there in the door-yard, blooming, returning with spring. i cease from song for thee, from my gaze on thee in the west, fronting the west, communing with thee, o comrade lustrous with silver face in the night. yet each to keep and all, retrievements out of the night, the song, the wondrous chant of the grey-brown bird, and the tallying chant, the echo arous'd in my soul, with the lustrous and drooping star with the countenance full of woe, with the holders holding my hand nearing the call of the bird, comrades mine and i in the midst, and their memory ever to keep, for the dead i loved so well. for the sweetest, wisest soul of all my days and lands--and this for his dear sake, lilac and star and bird twined with the chant of my soul, there in the fragrant pines and cedars, dusk and dim. [ ] _by permission of david mckay._ vii the whole man lincoln, the man of the people[ ] by edwin markham _revised especially for this volume._ when the norn mother saw the whirlwind hour greatening and darkening as it hurried on, she left the heaven of heroes and came down to make a man to meet the mortal need. she took the tried clay of the common road-- clay warm yet with the genial heat of earth, dashed through it all a strain of prophecy; tempered the heap with thrill of human tears; then mixed a laughter with the serious stuff. into the shape she breathed a flame to light that tender, tragic, ever-changing face. here was a man to hold against the world, a man to match the mountains and the sea. the color of the ground was in him, the red earth; the smack and smell of elemental things-- the rectitude and patience of the rocks; the good-will of the rain that falls for all; the courage of the bird that dares the sea; the gladness of the wind that shakes the corn; the friendly welcome of the wayside well; the mercy of the snow that hides all scars; the undelaying justice of the light that gives as freely to the shrinking flower as to the great oak flaring to the wind-- to the grave's low hill as to the matterhorn that shoulders out the sky. born of the ground, the great west nursed him on her rugged knees. her rigors keyed the sinews of his will; the strength of virgin forests braced his mind; the hush of spacious prairies stilled his soul. the tools were his first teachers, kindly stern. the plow, the flail, the maul, the echoing ax taught him their homely wisdom, and their peace. a rage for knowledge drove his restless mind: he fed his spirit with the bread of books, he slaked his thirst at all the wells of thought. hunger and hardship, penury and pain waylaid his youth and wrestled for his life. they came to master, but he made them serve. from prairie cabin up to capitol, one fire was on his spirit, one resolve-- to strike the stroke that rounds the perfect star. the grip that swung the ax on sangamon was on the pen that spelled emancipation. he built the rail-pile as he built the state, pouring his splendid strength through every blow, the conscience of him testing every stroke, to make his deed the measure of a man. so came the captain with the thinking heart; and when the judgment thunders split the house, wrenching the rafters from their ancient rest, he held the ridgepole up, and spiked again the rafters of the home. he held his place-- held the long purpose like a growing tree-- held on through blame and faltered not at praise. and when he fell in whirlwind, he went down as when a lordly cedar green with boughs goes down with a great shout upon the hills, and leaves a lonesome place against the sky. [ ] _all rights reserved by the author._ from the memorial address to congress on the life and character of abraham lincoln by george bancroft _senators, representatives of america:_ that god rules in the affairs of men is as certain as any truth of physical science. on the great moving power which is from the beginning hangs the world of the senses and the world of thought and action. eternal wisdom marshals the great procession of the nations, working in patient continuity through the ages, never halting and never abrupt, encompassing all events in its oversight, and ever effecting its will, though mortals may slumber in apathy or oppose with madness. kings are lifted up or thrown down, nations come and go, republics flourish and wither, dynasties pass away like a tale that is told; but nothing is by chance, though men, in their ignorance of causes, may think so. the deeds of time are governed, as well as judged, by the decrees of eternity. the caprice of fleeting existences bends to the immovable omnipotence, which plants its foot on all the centuries and has neither change of purpose nor repose. sometimes, like a messenger through the thick darkness of night, it steps along mysterious ways; but when the hour strikes for a people, or for mankind, to pass into a new form of being, unseen hands draw the bolts from the gates of futurity; an all-subsiding influence prepares the minds of men for the coming revolution; those who plan resistance find themselves in conflict with the will of providence rather than with human devices; and all hearts and all understandings, most of all the opinions and influences of the unwilling, are wonderfully attracted and compelled to bear forward the change, which becomes more an obedience to the law of universal nature than submission to the arbitrament of man. in the fulness of time a republic rose up in the wilderness of america. thousands of years had passed away before this child of the ages could be born. from whatever there was of good in the systems of former centuries she drew her nourishment; the wrecks of the past were her warnings. with the deepest sentiment of faith fixed in her inmost nature, she disenthralled religion from bondage to temporal power, that her worship might be worship only in spirit and in truth. the wisdom which had passed from india through greece, with what greece had added of her own; the jurisprudence of rome; the mediæval municipalities; the teutonic method of representation; the political experience of england; the benignant wisdom of the expositors of the law of nature and of nations in france and holland, all shed on her their selectest influence. she washed the gold of political wisdom from the sands wherever it was found; she cleft it from the rocks; she gleaned it among ruins. out of all the discoveries of statesmen and sages, out of all the experience of past human life, she compiled a perennial political philosophy, the primordial principles of national ethics. the wise men of europe sought the best government in a mixture of monarchy, aristocracy, and democracy; america went behind these names to extract from them the vital elements of social forms, and blend them harmoniously in the free commonwealth, which comes nearest to the illustration of the natural equality of all men. she intrusted the guardianship of established rights to law, the movements of reform to the spirit of the people, and drew her force from the happy reconciliation of both. republics had heretofore been limited to small cantons, or cities and their dependencies; america, doing that of which the like had not before been known upon the earth, or believed by kings and statesmen to be possible, extended her republic across a continent. under her auspices the vine of liberty took deep root and filled the land; the hills were covered with its shadow, its boughs were like the goodly cedars, and reached unto both oceans. the fame of this only daughter of freedom went out into all the lands of the earth; from her the human race drew hope. neither hereditary monarchy nor hereditary aristocracy planted itself on our soil; the only hereditary condition that fastened itself upon us was servitude. nature works in sincerity, and is ever true to its law. the bee hives honey; the viper distils poison; the vine stores its juices, and so do the poppy and the upas. in like manner every thought and every action ripens its seed, each according to its kind. in the individual man, and still more in a nation, a just idea gives life, and progress, and glory; a false conception portends disaster, shame, and death. a hundred and twenty years ago a west jersey quaker wrote: "this trade of importing slaves is dark gloominess hanging over the land; the consequences will be grievous to posterity." at the north the growth of slavery was arrested by natural causes; in the region nearest the tropics it throve rankly, and worked itself into the organism of the rising states. virginia stood between the two, with soil, and climate, and resources demanding free labor, yet capable of the profitable employment of the slave. she was the land of great statesmen, and they saw the danger of her being whelmed under the rising flood in time to struggle against the delusions of avarice and pride. ninety-four years ago the legislature of virginia addressed the british king, saying that the trade in slaves was "of great inhumanity," was opposed to the "security and happiness" of their constituents, "would in time have the most destructive influence," and "endanger their very existence." and the king answered them that, "upon pain of his highest displeasure, the importation of slaves should not be in any respect obstructed." "pharisaical britain," wrote franklin in behalf of virginia, "to pride thyself in setting free a single slave that happened to land on thy coasts, while thy laws continue a traffic whereby so many hundreds of thousands are dragged into a slavery that is entailed on their posterity." "a serious view of this subject," said patrick henry in , "gives a gloomy prospect to future times." in the same year george mason wrote to the legislature of virginia: "the laws of impartial providence may avenge our injustice upon our posterity." conforming his conduct to his convictions, jefferson, in virginia and in the continental congress, with the approval of edmund pendleton, branded the slave-trade as piracy; and he fixed in the declaration of independence, as the corner-stone of america: "all men are created equal, with an unalienable right to liberty." on the first organization of temporary governments for the continental domain, jefferson, but for the default of new jersey, would, in , have consecrated every part of that territory to freedom. in the formation of the national constitution, virginia, opposed by a part of new england, vainly struggled to abolish the slave trade at once and forever; and when the ordinance of was introduced by nathan dane without the clause prohibiting slavery, it was through the favorable disposition of virginia and the south that the clause of jefferson was restored, and the whole northwestern territory--all the territory that then belonged to the nation--was reserved for the labor of freemen. the hope prevailed in virginia that the abolition of the slave-trade would bring with it the gradual abolition of slavery; but the expectation was doomed to disappointment. in supporting incipient measures for emancipation, jefferson encountered difficulties greater than he could overcome, and, after vain wrestlings, the words that broke from him, "i tremble for my country when i reflect that god is just, that his justice cannot sleep forever," were words of despair. it was the desire of washington's heart that virginia should remove slavery by a public act; and as the prospects of a general emancipation grew more and more dim, he, in utter hopelessness of the action of the state, did all that he could by bequeathing freedom to his own slaves. good and true men had, from the days of , suggested the colonizing of the negro in the home of his ancestors; but the idea of colonization was thought to increase the difficulty of emancipation, and, in spite of strong support, while it accomplished much good for africa, it proved impracticable as a remedy at home. madison, who in early life disliked slavery so much that he wished "to depend as little as possible on the labor of slaves"; madison, who held that where slavery exists "the republican theory becomes fallacious"; madison, who in the last years of his life would not consent to the annexation of texas, lest his countrymen should fill it with slaves; madison, who said, "slavery is the greatest evil under which the nation labors--a portentous evil--an evil, moral, political, and economical--a sad blot on our free country"--went mournfully into old age with the cheerless words: "no satisfactory plan has yet been devised for taking out the stain." the men of the revolution passed away; a new generation sprang up, impatient that an institution to which they clung should be condemned as inhuman, unwise, and unjust. in the throes of discontent at the self-reproach of their fathers, and blinded by the lustre of wealth to be acquired by the culture of a new staple, they devised the theory that slavery, which they would not abolish, was not evil, but good. they turned on the friends of colonization, and confidently demanded: "why take black men from a civilized and christian country, where their labor is a source of immense gain, and a power to control the markets of the world, and send them to a land of ignorance, idolatry, and indolence, which was the home of their forefathers, but not theirs? slavery is a blessing. were they not in their ancestral land naked, scarcely lifted above brutes, ignorant of the course of the sun, controlled by nature? and in their new abode have they not been taught to know the difference of the seasons, to plough, and plant, and reap, to drive oxen, to tame the horse, to exchange their scanty dialect for the richest of all the languages among men, and the stupid adoration of follies for the purest religion? and since slavery is good for the blacks, it is good for their masters, bringing opulence and the opportunity of educating a race. the slavery of the black is good in itself; he shall serve the white man forever." and nature, which better understood the quality of fleeting interest and passion, laughed as it caught the echo, "man" and "forever!" a regular development of pretensions followed the new declaration with logical consistency. under the old declaration every one of the states had retained, each for itself, the right of manumitting all slaves by an ordinary act of legislation; now the power of the people over servitude through their legislatures was curtailed, and the privileged class was swift in imposing legal and constitutional obstructions of the people themselves. the power of emancipation was narrowed or taken away. the slave might not be disquieted by education. there remained an unconfessed consciousness that the system of bondage was wrong, and a restless memory that it was at variance with the true american tradition; its safety was therefore to be secured by political organization. the generation that made the constitution took care for the predominance of freedom in congress by the ordinance of jefferson; the new school aspired to secure for slavery an equality of votes in the senate, and while it hinted at an organic act that should concede to the collective south a veto power on national legislation, it assumed that each state separately had the right to revise and nullify laws of the united states, according to the discretion of its judgment. the new theory hung as a bias on the foreign relations of the country; there could be no recognition of hayti, nor even of the american colony of liberia; and the world was given to understand that the establishment of free labor in cuba would be a reason for wresting that island from spain. territories were annexed--louisiana, florida, texas, half of mexico; slavery must have its share in them all, and it accepted for a time a dividing line between the unquestioned domain of free labor and that in which involuntary labor was to be tolerated. a few years passed away, and the new school, strong and arrogant, demanded and received an apology for applying the jefferson proviso to oregon. the application of that proviso was interrupted for three administrations, but justice moved steadily onward. in the news that the men of california had chosen freedom, calhoun heard the knell of parting slavery, and on his deathbed he counseled secession. washington, and jefferson, and madison had died despairing of the abolition of slavery; calhoun died in despair at the growth of freedom. his system rushed irresistibly to its natural development. the death-struggle for california was followed by a short truce; but the new school of politicians, who said that slavery was not evil, but good, soon sought to recover the ground they had lost, and, confident of securing kansas, they demanded that the established line in the territories between freedom and slavery should be blotted out. the country, believing in the strength and enterprise and expansive energy of freedom, made answer, though reluctantly: "be it so; let there be no strife between brethren; let freedom and slavery compete for the territories on equal terms, in a fair field, under an impartial administration"; and on this theory, if on any, the contest might have been left to the decision of time. the south started back in appallment from its victory, for it knew that a fair competition foreboded its defeat. but where could it now find an ally to save it from its own mistake? what i have next to say is spoken with no emotion but regret. our meeting to-day is, as it were, at the grave, in the presence of eternity, and the truth must be uttered in soberness and sincerity. in a great republic, as was observed more than two thousand years ago, any attempt to overturn the state owes its strength to aid from some branch of the government. the chief justice of the united states, without any necessity or occasion, volunteered to come to the rescue of the theory of slavery; and from his court there lay no appeal but to the bar of humanity and history. against the constitution, against the memory of the nation, against a previous decision, against a series of enactments, he decided that the slave is property; that slave property is entitled to no less protection than any other property; that the constitution upholds it in every territory against any act of a local legislature, and even against congress itself; or, as the president for that term tersely promulgated the saying, "kansas is as much a slave state as south carolina or georgia; slavery, by virtue of the constitution, exists in every territory." the municipal character of slavery being thus taken away, and slave property decreed to be "sacred," the authority of the courts was invoked to introduce it by the comity of law into states where slavery had been abolished, and in one of the courts of the united states a judge pronounced the african slave-trade legitimate, and numerous and powerful advocates demanded its restoration. moreover, the chief justice, in his elaborate opinion, announced what had never been heard from any magistrate of greece or rome; what was unknown to civil law, and canon law, and feudal law, and common law, and constitutional law; unknown to jay, to rutledge, ellsworth and marshall--that there are "slave races." the spirit of evil is intensely logical. having the authority of this decision, five states swiftly followed the earlier example of a sixth, and opened the way for reducing the free negro to bondage; the migrating free negro became a slave if he but entered within the jurisdiction of a seventh; and an eighth, from its extent, and soil, and mineral resources, destined to incalculable greatness, closed its eyes on its coming prosperity, and enacted, as by taney's dictum it had the right to do, that every free black man who would live within its limits must accept the condition of slavery for himself and his posterity. only one step more remained to be taken. jefferson and the leading statesmen of his day held fast to the idea that the enslavement of the african was socially, morally and politically wrong. the new school was founded exactly upon the opposite idea; and they resolved, first, to distract the democratic party, for which the supreme court had now furnished the means, and then to establish a new government, with negro slavery for its corner-stone, as socially, morally, and politically right. as the presidential election drew on, one of the great traditional parties did not make its appearance; the other reeled as it sought to preserve its old position, and the candidate who most nearly represented its best opinion, driven by patriotic zeal, roamed the country from end to end to speak for union, eager, at least, to confront its enemies, yet not having hope that it would find its deliverance through him. the storm rose to a whirlwind; who would allay its wrath? the most experienced statesmen of the country had failed; there was no hope from those who were great after the flesh: could relief come from one whose wisdom was like the wisdom of little children? the choice of america fell on a man born west of the alleghenies, in the cabin of poor people of hardin county, kentucky--abraham lincoln. his mother could read, but not write; his father would do neither; but his parents sent him, with an old spelling-book, to school, and he learned in his childhood to do both. when eight years old he floated down the ohio with his father on a raft, which bore the family and all their possessions to the shore of indiana; and, child as he was, he gave help as they toiled through dense forests to the interior of spencer county. there, in the land of free labor, he grew up in a log-cabin, with the solemn solitude for his teacher in his meditative hours. of asiatic literature he knew only the bible; of greek, latin, and mediæval, no more than the translation of Ã�sop's fables; of english, john bunyan's pilgrim's progress. the traditions of george fox and william penn passed to him dimly along the lines of two centuries through his ancestors, who were quakers. otherwise his education was altogether american. the declaration of independence was his compendium of political wisdom, the life of washington his constant study, and something of jefferson and madison reached him through henry clay, whom he honored from boyhood. for the rest, from day to day, he lived the life of the american people, walked in its light, reasoned with its reason, thought with its power of thought, felt the beatings of its mighty heart, and so was in every way a child of nature, a child of the west, a child of america. at nineteen, feeling impulses of ambition to get on in the world, he engaged himself to go down the mississippi in a flatboat, receiving ten dollars a month for his wages, and afterwards he made the trip once more. at twenty-one he drove his father's cattle as the family migrated to illinois, and split rails to fence in the new homestead in the wild. at twenty-three he was a captain of volunteers in the black hawk war. he kept a store. he learned something of surveying, but of english literature he added to bunyan nothing but shakespeare's plays. at twenty-five he was elected to the legislature of illinois, where he served eight years. at twenty-seven he was admitted to the bar. in he chose his home in springfield, the beautiful centre of the richest land in the state. in he was a member of the national congress, where he voted about forty times in favor of the principle of the jefferson proviso. in he sought, eagerly but unsuccessfully, the place of commissioner of the land office, and he refused an appointment that would have transferred his residence to oregon. in he gave his influence to elect from illinois, to the american senate, a democrat, who would certainly do justice to kansas. in , as the rival of douglas, he went before the people of the mighty prairie state, saying, "this union cannot permanently endure half slave and half free; the union will not be dissolved, but the house will cease to be divided"; and now, in , with no experience whatever as an executive officer, while states were madly flying from their orbit, and wise men knew not where to find counsel, this descendant of quakers, this pupil of bunyan, this offspring of the great west, was elected president of america. he measured the difficulty of the duty that devolved upon him, and was resolved to fulfil it. as on the eleventh of february, , he left springfield, which for a quarter of a century had been his happy home, to the crowd of his friends and neighbors, whom he was never more to meet, he spoke a solemn farewell: "i know not how soon i shall see you again. a duty has devolved upon me, greater than that which has devolved upon any other man since washington. he never would have succeeded, except for the aid of divine providence, upon which he at all times relied. on the same almighty being i place my reliance. pray that i may receive that divine assistance, without which i cannot succeed, but with which success is certain." to the men of indiana he said: "i am but an accidental, temporary instrument; it is your business to rise up and preserve the union and liberty." at the capital of ohio he said: "without a name, without a reason why i should have a name, there has fallen upon me a task such as did not rest even upon the father of his country." at various places in new york, especially at albany, before the legislature, which tendered him the united support of the great empire state, he said: "while i hold myself the humblest of all the individuals who have ever been elevated to the presidency, i have a more difficult task to perform than any of them. i bring a true heart to the work. i must rely upon the people of the whole country for support, and with their sustaining aid, even i, humble as i am, cannot fail to carry the ship of state safely through the storm." to the assembly of new jersey, at trenton, he explained: "i shall take the ground i deem most just to the north, the east, the west, the south, and the whole country, in good temper, certainly with no malice to any section. i am devoted to peace, but it may be necessary to put the foot down firmly." in the old independence hall, of philadelphia, he said: "i have never had a feeling politically that did not spring from the sentiments embodied in the declaration of independence, which gave liberty, not alone to the people of this country, but to the world in all future time. if the country cannot be saved without giving up that principle, i would rather be assassinated on the spot than surrender it. i have said nothing but what i am willing to live and die by." travelling, in the dead of night to escape assassination, lincoln arrived at washington nine days before his inauguration. the outgoing president, at the opening of the session of congress, had still kept as the majority of his advisors men engaged in treason; had declared that in case of even an "imaginary" apprehension of danger from notions of freedom among the slaves, "disunion would become inevitable." lincoln and others had questioned the opinion of taney; such impugning he ascribed to the "factious temper of the times." the favorite doctrine of the majority of the democratic party on the power of a territorial legislature over slavery he condemned as an attack on "the sacred rights of property." the state legislature, he insisted, must repeal what he called "their unconstitutional and obnoxious enactments," and which, if such, were "null and void" or "it would be impossible for any human power to save the union." nay! if these unimportant acts were not repealed, "the injured states would be justified in revolutionary resistance to the government of the union." he maintained that no state might secede at its sovereign will and pleasure; that the union was meant for perpetuity, and that congress might attempt to preserve it, but only by conciliation; that "the sword was not placed in their hands to preserve it by force"; that "the last desperate remedy of a despairing people would be an explanatory amendment recognizing the decision of the supreme court of the united states." the american union he called "a confederacy" of states, and he thought it a duty to make the appeal for the amendment "before any of these states should separate themselves from the union." the views of the lieutenant-general, containing some patriotic advice, "conceded the right of secession," pronounced a quadruple rupture of the union "a smaller evil than the reuniting of the fragments by the sword," and "eschewed the idea of invading a seceded state." after changes in the cabinet, the president informed congress that "matters were still worse"; that "the south suffered serious grievances," which should be redressed "in peace." the day after this message the flag of the union was fired upon from fort morris, and the insult was not revenged or noticed. senators in congress telegraphed to their constituents to seize the national forts, and they were not arrested. the finances of the country were grievously embarrassed. its little army was not within reach; the part of it in texas, with all its stores, was made over by its commander to rebels. one state after another voted in convention to secede. a peace congress, so called, met at the request of virginia, to concert the terms of a capitulation which should secure permission for the continuance of the union. congress, in both branches, sought to devise conciliatory expedients; the territories of the country were organized in a manner not to conflict with any pretensions of the south, or any decision of the supreme court; and, nevertheless, the representatives of the rebellion formed at montgomery a provisional government, and pursued their relentless purpose with such success that the lieutenant-general feared the city of washington might find itself "included in a foreign country," and proposed, among the options for the consideration of lincoln, to bid the wayward states "depart in peace." the great republic appeared to have its emblem in the vast unfinished capitol, at that moment surrounded by masses of stone and prostrate columns never yet lifted into their places, seemingly the moment of high but delusive aspirations, the confused wreck of inchoate magnificence, sadder than any ruin of egyptian thebes or athens. the fourth of march came. with instinctive wisdom the new president, speaking to the people on taking the oath of office, put aside every question that divided the country, and gained a right to universal support by planting himself on the single idea of union. the union he declared to be unbroken and perpetual, and he announced his determination to fulfil "the simple duty of taking care that the laws be faithfully executed in all the states." seven days later, the convention of confederate states unanimously adopted a constitution of their own, and the new government was authoritatively announced to be founded on the idea that the negro race is a slave race; that slavery is its natural and normal condition. the issue was made up, whether the great republic was to maintain its providential place in the history of mankind, or a rebellion founded on negro slavery gain a recognition of its principle throughout the civilized world. to the disaffected lincoln had said, "you can have no conflict without being yourselves the aggressors." to fire the passions of the southern portion of the people, the confederate government chose to become aggressors, and, on the morning of the twelfth of april, began the bombardment of fort sumter, and compelled its evacuation. it is the glory of the late president that he had perfect faith in the perpetuity of the union. supported in advance by douglas, who spoke as with the voice of a million, he instantly called a meeting of congress, and summoned the people to come up and repossess the forts, places, and property which had been seized from the union. the men of the north were trained in schools; industrious and frugal; many of them delicately bred, their minds teeming with ideas and fertile in plans of enterprise; given to the culture of the arts; eager in the pursuit of wealth, yet employing wealth less for ostentation than for developing the resources of their country; seeking happiness in the calm of domestic life; and such lovers of peace, that for generations they had been reputed unwarlike. now, at the cry of their country in its distress, they rose up with unappeasable patriotism; not hirelings--the purest and the best blood in the land. sons of a pious ancestry, with a clear perception of duty, unclouded faith and fixed resolve to succeed, they thronged around the president, to support the wronged, the beautiful flag of the nation. the halls of theological seminaries sent forth their young men, whose lips were touched with eloquence, whose hearts kindled with devotion, to serve in the ranks, and make their way to command only as they learned the art of war. striplings in the colleges, as well the most gentle and the most studious, those of sweetest temper and loveliest character and brightest genius, passed from their classes to the camp. the lumbermen from the forests, the mechanics from their benches, where they had been trained, by the exercise of political rights, to share the life and hope of the republic, to feel their responsibility to their forefathers, their posterity and mankind, went to the front, resolved that their dignity, as a constituent part of this republic, should not be impaired. farmers and sons of farmers left the land but half ploughed, the grain but half planted, and, taking up the musket, learned to face without fear the presence of peril and the coming of death in the shocks of war, while their hearts were still attracted to their herds and fields, and all the tender affections of home. whatever there was of truth and faith and public love in the common heart, broke out with one expression. the mighty winds blew from every quarter, to fan the flame of the sacred and unquenchable fire. for a time the war was thought to be confined to our own domestic affairs, but it was soon seen that it involved the destinies of mankind; its principles and causes shook the politics of europe to the centre, and from lisbon to pekin divided the governments of the world. there was a kingdom whose people had in an eminent degree attained to freedom of industry and the security of person and property. its middle class rose to greatness. out of that class sprung the noblest poets and philosophers, whose words built up the intellect of its people; skilful navigators, to find out for its merchants the many paths of the oceans; discoverers in natural science, whose inventions guided its industry to wealth, till it equalled any nation of the world in letters, and excelled all in trade and commerce. but its government was become a government of land, and not of men; every blade of grass was represented, but only a small minority of the people. in the transition from the feudal forms the heads of the social organization freed themselves from the military services which were the conditions of their tenure, and, throwing the burden on the industrial classes, kept all the soil to themselves. vast estates that had been managed by monasteries as endowments for religion and charity were impropriated to swell the wealth of courtiers and favorites; and the commons, where the poor man once had his right of pasture, were taken away, and, under forms of law, enclosed distributively within the domains of the adjacent landholders. although no law forbade any inhabitant from purchasing land, the costliness of the transfer constituted a prohibition; so that it was the rule of the country that the plough should not be in the hands of its owner. the church was rested on a contradiction; claiming to be an embodiment of absolute truth, it was a creature of the statute-book. the progress of time increased the terrible contrast between wealth and poverty. in their years of strength the laboring people, cut off from all share in governing that state, derived a scant support from the severest toil, and had no hope for old age but in public charity or death. a grasping ambition had dotted the world with military posts, kept watch over our borders on the northeast, at the bermudas, in the west indies, appropriated the gates of the pacific, of the southern and of the indian ocean, hovered on our northwest at vancouver, held the whole of the newest continent, and the entrances to the old mediterranean and red sea, and garrisoned forts all the way from madras to china. that aristocracy had gazed with terror on the growth of a commonwealth where freeholders existed by the million, and religion was not in bondage to the state, and now they could not repress their joy at its perils. they had not one word of sympathy for the kind-hearted poor man's son whom america had chosen for her chief; they jeered at his large hands, and long feet, and ungainly stature; and the british secretary of state for foreign affairs made haste to send word through the places of europe that the great republic was in its agony; that the republic was no more; that a headstone was all that remained due by the law of nations to "the late union." but it is written, "let the dead bury their dead"; they may not bury the living. let the dead bury their dead; let a bill of reform remove the worn-out government of a class, and infuse new life into the british constitution by confiding rightful power to the people. but while the vitality of america is indestructible, the british government hurried to do what never before had been done by christian powers; what was in direct conflict with its own exposition of public law in the time of our struggle for independence. though the insurgent states had not a ship in an open harbor, it invested them with all the rights of a belligerent, even on the ocean; and this, too, when the rebellion was not only directed against the gentlest and most beneficent government on earth, without a shadow of justifiable cause, but when the rebellion was directed against human nature itself for the perpetual enslavement of a race. and the effect of this recognition was, that acts in themselves piratical found shelter in british courts of law. the resources of british capitalists, their workshops, their armories, their private arsenals, their shipyards, were in league with the insurgents, and every british harbor in the wide world became a safe port for british ships, manned by british sailors, and armed with british guns, to prey on our peaceful commerce; even on our ships coming from british ports, freighted with british products, or that had carried gifts of grain to the english poor. the prime minister, in the house of commons, sustained by cheers, scoffed at the thought that their laws could be amended at our request, so as to preserve real neutrality; and to remonstrances, now owned to have been just, their secretary of state answered that they could not change their laws ad infinitum. the people of america then wished, as they always have wished, as they still wish, friendly relations with england, and no man in england or america can desire it more strongly than i. this country has always yearned for good relations with england. thrice only in all its history has that yearning been fairly met: in the days of hampden and cromwell, again in the first ministry of the elder pitt, and once again in the ministry of shelburne. not that there have not at all times been just men among the peers of britain--like halifax in the days of james the second, or a granville, an argyll, or a houghton in ours; and we cannot be indifferent to a country that produces statesmen like cobden and bright; but the best bower anchor of peace was the working class of england, who suffered most from our civil war, but who, while they broke their diminished bread in sorrow, always encouraged us to persevere. the act of recognizing the rebel belligerents was concerted with france--france, so beloved in america, on which she had conferred the greatest benefits that one people ever conferred on another; france, which stands foremost on the continent of europe for the solidity of her culture, as well as for the bravery and generous impulses of her sons; france, which for centuries had been moving steadily in her own way towards intellectual and political freedom. the policy regarding further colonization of america by european powers, known commonly as the doctrine of monroe, had its origin in france, and if it takes any man's name, should bear the name of turgot. it was adopted by louis the sixteenth, in the cabinet of which vergennes was the most important member. it is emphatically the policy of france, to which, with transient deviations, the bourbons, the first napoleon, the house of orleans have adherred. the late president was perpetually harassed by rumors that the emperor napoleon the third desired formally to recognize the states in rebellion as an independent power, and that england held him back by her reluctance, or france by her traditions of freedom, or he himself by his own better judgment and clear perception of events. but the republic of mexico, on our borders, was, like ourselves, distracted by a rebellion, and from a similar cause. the monarchy of england had fastened upon us slavery which did not disappear with independence; in like manner, the ecclesiastical policy established by the spanish council of the indies, in the days of charles the fifth and philip the second, retained its vigor in the mexican republic. the fifty years of civil war under which she had languished was due to the bigoted system which was the legacy of monarchy, just as here the inheritance of slavery kept alive political strife, and culminated in civil war. as with us there could be no quiet but through the end of slavery, so in mexico there could be no prosperity until the crushing tyranny of intolerance should cease. the party of slavery in the united states sent their emissaries to europe to solicit aid; and so did the party of the church in mexico, as organized by the old spanish council of the indies, but with a different result. just as the republican party had made an end of the rebellion, and was establishing the best government ever known in that region, and giving promise to the nation of order, peace, and prosperity, word was brought us, in the moment of our deepest affliction, that the french emperor, moved by a desire to erect in north america a buttress for imperialism, would transform the republic of mexico into a secundo-geniture for the house of hapsburg. america might complain; she could not then interpose, and delay seemed justifiable. it was seen that mexico could not, with all its wealth of land, compete in cereal products with our northwest, nor in tropical products with cuba, nor could it, under a disputed dynasty, attract capital, or create public works, or develop mines, or borrow money; so that the imperial system of mexico, which was forced at once to recognize the wisdom of the policy of the republic by adopting it, could prove only an unremunerating drain on the french treasury for the support of an austrian adventurer. meantime a new series of momentous questions grows up, and forces itself on the consideration of the thoughtful. republicanism has learned how to introduce into its constitution every element of order, as well as every element of freedom; but thus far the continuity of its government has seemed to depend on the continuity of elections. it is now to be considered how perpetuity is to be secured against foreign occupation. the successor of charles the first of england dated his reign from the death of his father; the bourbons, coming back after a long series of revolutions, claimed that the louis who became king was the eighteenth of that name. the present emperor of the french, disdaining a title from election alone, calls himself napoleon the third. shall a republic have less power of continuance when invading armies prevent a peaceful resort to the ballot-box? what force shall it attach to intervening legislation? what validity to debts contracted for its overthrow? these momentous questions are, by the invasion of mexico, thrown up for solution. a free state once truly constituted should be as undying as its people: the republic of mexico must rise again. it was the condition of affairs in mexico that involved the pope of rome in our difficulties so far that he alone among sovereigns recognized the chief of the confederate states as a president, and his supporters as a people; and in letters to two great prelates of the catholic church in the united states gave counsels for peace at a time when peace meant the victory of secession. yet events move as they are ordered. the blessing of the pope at rome on the head of duke maximilian could not revive in the nineteenth century the ecclesiastical policy of the sixteenth, and the result is only a new proof that there can be no prosperity in the state without religious freedom. when it came home to the consciousness of the americans that the war which they were waging was a war for the liberty of all the nations of the world, for freedom itself, they thanked god for giving them strength to endure the severity of the trial to which he put their sincerity, and nerved themselves for their duty with an inexorable will. the president was led along by the greatness of their self-sacrificing example, and as a child, in a dark night, on a rugged way, catches hold of the hand of its father for guidance and support, he clung fast to the hand of the people, and moved calmly through the gloom. while the statesmanship of europe was mocking at the hopeless vanity of their efforts, they put forth such miracles of energy as the history of the world had never known. the contributions to the popular loans amounted in four years to twenty-seven and a half hundred millions of dollars; the revenue of the country from taxation was increased sevenfold. the navy of the united states, drawing into the public service the willing militia of the seas, doubled its tonnage in eight months, and established an actual blockade from cape hatteras to the rio grande; in the course of the war it was increased five-fold in men and in tonnage, while the inventive genius of the country devised more effective kinds of ordnance, and new forms of naval architecture in wood and iron. there went into the field, for various terms of enlistment, about two million men, and in march last the men in the army exceeded a million: that is to say, nine of every twenty able-bodied men in the free territories and states took some part in the war; and at one time every fifth of their able-bodied men was in service. in one single month one hundred and sixty-five thousand men were recruited into service. once, within four weeks, ohio organized and placed in the field forty-two regiments of infantry--nearly thirty-six thousand men; and ohio was like other states in the east and in the west. the well-mounted cavalry numbered eighty-four thousand; of horses and mules there were bought, from first to last, two-thirds of a million. in the movements of troops science came in aid of patriotism, so that, to choose a single instance out of many, an army twenty-three thousand strong, with its artillery, trains, baggage, and animals, were moved by rail from the potomac to the tennessee, twelve hundred miles, in seven days. on the long marches, wonders of military construction bridged the rivers, and wherever an army halted, ample supplies awaited them at their ever-changing base. the vile thought that life is the greatest of blessings did not rise up. in six hundred and twenty-five battles and severe skirmishes blood flowed like water. it streamed over the grassy plains; it stained the rocks; the undergrowth of the forests was red with it; and the armies marched on with majestic courage from one conflict to another, knowing that they were fighting for god and liberty. the organization of the medical department met its infinitely multiplied duties with exactness and despatch. at the news of a battle, the best surgeons of our cities hastened to the field, to offer the untiring aid of the greatest experience and skill. the gentlest and most refined of women left homes of luxury and ease to build hospital tents near the armies, and serve as nurses to the sick and dying. beside the large supply of religious teachers by the public, the congregations spared to their brothers in the field the ablest ministers. the christian commission, which expended more than six and a quarter millions, sent nearly five thousand clergymen, chosen out of the best, to keep unsoiled the religious character of the men, and made gifts of clothes and food and medicine. the organization of private charity assumed unheard-of dimensions. the sanitary commission, which had seven thousand societies, distributed, under the direction of an unpaid board, spontaneous contributions to the amount of fifteen millions in supplies or money--a million and a half in money from california alone--and dotted the scene of war, from paducah to port royal, from belle plain, virginia, to brownsville, texas, with homes and lodges. the country had for its allies the river mississippi, which would not be divided, and the range of mountains which carried the stronghold of the free through western virginia and kentucky and tennessee to the highlands of alabama. but it invoked the still higher power of immortal justice. in ancient greece, where servitude was the universal custom, it was held that if a child were to strike its parent, the slave should defend the parent, and by that act recover his freedom. after vain resistance, lincoln, who had tried to solve the question by gradual emancipation, by colonization, and by compensation, at last saw that slavery must be abolished, or the republic must die; and on the first day of january, , he wrote liberty on the banners of the armies. when this proclamation, which struck the fetters from three millions of slaves, reached europe, lord russell, a countryman of milton and wilberforce, eagerly put himself forward to speak of it in the name of mankind, saying: "it is of a very strange nature"; "a measure of war of a very questionable kind"; an act "of vengeance on the slave owner," that does no more than "profess to emancipate slaves where the united states authorities cannot make emancipation a reality." now there was no part of the country embraced in the proclamation where the united states could not and did not make emancipation a reality. those who saw lincoln most frequently had never before heard him speak with bitterness of any human being, but he did not conceal how keenly he felt that he had been wronged by lord russell. and he wrote, in reply to other cavils: "the emancipation policy and the use of colored troops were the greatest blows yet dealt to the rebellion; the job was a great national one, and let none be slighted who bore an honorable part in it. i hope peace will come soon, and come to stay; then will there be some black men who can remember that they have helped mankind to this great consummation." the proclamation accomplished its end, for, during the war, our armies came into military possession of every state in rebellion. then, too, was called forth the new power that comes from the simultaneous diffusion of thought and feeling among the nations of mankind. the mysterious sympathy of the millions throughout the world was given spontaneously. the best writers of europe waked the conscience of the thoughtful, till the intelligent moral sentiment of the old world was drawn to the side of the unlettered statesman of the west. russia, whose emperor had just accomplished one of the grandest acts in the course of time, by raising twenty millions of bondmen into freeholders, and thus assuring the growth and culture of a russian people, remained our unwavering friend. from the oldest abode of civilization, which gave the first example of an imperial government with equality among the people, prince kung, the secretary of state for foreign affairs, remembered the saying of confucius, that we should not do to others what we would not that others should do to us, and, in the name of his emperor, read a lesson to european diplomatists by closing the ports of china against the warships and privateers of "the seditious." the war continued, with all the peoples of the world, for anxious spectators. its cares weighed heavily on lincoln, and his face was ploughed with the furrows of thought and sadness. with malice towards none, free from the spirit of revenge, victory made him importunate for peace, and his enemies never doubted his word, or despaired of his abounding clemency. he longed to utter pardon as the word for all, but not unless the freedom of the negro should be assured. the grand battles of fort donelson, chattanooga, malvern hill, antietam, gettysburg, the wilderness of virginia, winchester, nashville, the capture of new orleans, vicksburg, mobile, fort fisher, the march from atlanta, and the capture of savannah and charleston, all foretold the issue. still more, the self-regeneration of missouri, the heart of the continent; of maryland, whose sons never heard the midnight bells chime so sweetly as when they rang out to earth and heaven that, by the voice of her own people, she took her place among the free; of tennessee, which passed through fire and blood, through sorrows and the shadow of death, to work out her own deliverance, and by the faithfulness of her own sons to renew her youth like the eagle--proved that victory was deserved, and would be worth all that it cost. if words of mercy, uttered as they were by lincoln on the waters of virginia, were defiantly repelled, the armies of the country, moving with one will, went as the arrow to its mark, and, without a feeling of revenge, struck the death-blow at rebellion. where, in the history of nations, had a chief magistrate possessed more sources of consolation and joy than lincoln? his countrymen had shown their love by choosing him to a second term of service. the raging war that had divided the country had lulled, and private grief was hushed by the grandeur of the result. the nation had its new birth of freedom, soon to be secured forever by an amendment of the constitution. his persistent gentleness had conquered for him a kindlier feeling on the part of the south. his scoffers among the grandees of europe began to do him honor. the laboring classes everywhere saw in his advancement their own. all peoples sent him their benedictions. and at this moment of the height of his fame, to which his humility and modesty added charms, he fell by the hand of the assassin, and the only triumph awarded him was the march to the grave. this is no time to say that human glory is but dust and ashes; that we mortals are no more than shadows in pursuit of shadows. how mean a thing were man if there were not that within him which is higher than himself; if he could not master the illusions of sense, and discern the connexions of events by a superior light which comes from god! he so shares the divine impulses that he has power to subject ambition to the ennoblement of his kind. not in vain has lincoln lived, for he has helped to make this republic an example of justice, with no caste but the caste of humanity. the heroes who led our armies and ships into battle and fell in the service--lyon, mcpherson, reynolds, sedgwick, wadsworth, foote, ward, with their compeers--did not die in vain; they and the myriads of nameless martyrs, and he, the chief martyr, gave up their lives willingly "that government of the people, by the people, and for the people, shall not perish from the earth." the assassination of lincoln, who was so free from malice, has, by some mysterious influence, struck the country with solemn awe, and hushed, instead of exciting, the passion for revenge. it seems as if the just had died for the unjust. when i think of the friends i have lost in this war--and every one who hears me has, like myself, lost some of those whom he most loved--there is no consolation to be derived from victims on the scaffold, or from anything but the established union of the regenerated nation. in his character lincoln was through and through an american. he is the first native of the region west of the alleghenies to attain to the highest station; and how happy it is that the man who was brought forward as the natural outgrowth and first fruits of that region should have been of unblemished purity in private life, a good son, a kind husband, a most affectionate father, and, as a man, so gentle to all. as to integrity, douglas, his rival, said of him: "lincoln is the honestest man i ever knew." the habits of his mind were those of meditation and inward thought, rather than of action. he delighted to express his opinions by an apothegm, illustrate them by a parable, or drive them home by a story. he was skilful in analysis, discerned with precision the central idea on which a question turned, and knew how to disengage it and present it by itself in a few homely, strong old english words that would be intelligible to all. he excelled in logical statements more than in executive ability. he reasoned clearly, his reflective judgment was good, and his purposes were fixed; but, like the hamlet of his only poet, his will was tardy in action, and, for this reason, and not from humility or tenderness of feeling, he sometimes deplored that the duty which devolved on him had not fallen to the lot of another. lincoln gained a name by discussing questions which, of all others, most easily lead to fanaticism; but he was never carried away by enthusiastic zeal, never indulged in extravagant language, never hurried to support extreme measures, never allowed himself to be controlled by sudden impulses. during the progress of the election at which he was chosen president he expressed no opinion that went beyond the jefferson proviso of . like jefferson and lafayette, he had faith in the intuitions of the people, and read those intuitions with rare sagacity. he knew how to bide time, and was less apt to run ahead of public thought than to lag behind. he never sought to electrify the community by taking an advanced position with a banner of opinion, but rather studied to move forward compactly, exposing no detachment in front or rear; so that the course of his administration might have been explained as the calculating policy of a shrewd and watchful politician, had there not been seen behind it a fixedness of principle which from the first determined his purpose, and grew more intense with every year, consuming his life by its energy. yet his sensibilities were not acute; he had no vividness of imagination to picture to his mind the horrors of the battlefield or the sufferings in hospitals; his conscience was more tender than his feelings. lincoln was one of the most unassuming of men. in time of success, he gave credit for it to those whom he employed, to the people, and to the providence of god. he did not know what ostentation is; when he became president he was rather saddened than elated, and conduct and manners showed more than ever his belief that all men are born equal. he was no respecter of persons, and neither rank, nor reputation, nor services overawed him. in judging of character he failed in discrimination, and his appointments were sometimes bad; but he readily deferred to public opinion, and in appointing the head of the armies he followed the manifest preference of congress. a good president will secure unity to his administration by his own supervision of the various departments. lincoln, who accepted advice readily, was never governed by any member of his cabinet, and could not be moved from a purpose deliberately formed; but his supervision of affairs was unsteady and incomplete, and sometimes, by a sudden interference transcending the usual forms, he rather confused than advanced the public business. if he ever failed in the scrupulous regard due to the relative rights of congress, it was so evidently without design that no conflict could ensue, or evil precedent be established. truth he would receive from any one, but when impressed by others, he did not use their opinions till, by reflection, he had made them thoroughly his own. it was the nature of lincoln to forgive. when hostilities ceased, he, who had always sent forth the flag with every one of its stars in the field, was eager to receive back his returning countrymen, and meditated "some new announcement to the south." the amendment of the constitution abolishing slavery had his most earnest and unwearied support. during the rage of war we get a glimpse into his soul from his privately suggesting to louisiana, that "in defining the franchise some of the colored people might be let in," saying: "they would probably help, in some trying time to come, to keep the jewel of liberty in the family of freedom." in he avowed himself "not in favor of" what he improperly called "negro citizenship," for the constitution discriminates between citizens and electors. three days before his death he declared his preference that "the elective franchise were now conferred on the very intelligent of the colored men, and on those of them who served our cause as soldiers"; but he wished it done by the states themselves, and he never harbored the thought of exacting it from a new government, as a condition of its recognition. the last day of his life beamed with sunshine, as he sent, by the speaker of this house, his friendly greetings to the men of the rocky mountains and the pacific slope; as he contemplated the return of hundreds of thousands of soldiers to fruitful industry; as he welcomed in advance hundreds of thousands of emigrants from europe; as his eye kindled with enthusiasm at the coming wealth of the nation. and so, with these thoughts for his country, he was removed from the toils and temptations of this life, and was at peace. hardly had the late president been consigned to the grave when the prime minister of england died, full of years and honors. palmerston traced his lineage to the time of the conqueror; lincoln went back only to his grandfather. palmerston received his education from the best scholars of harrow, edinburg, and cambridge; lincoln's early teachers were the silent forests, the prairie, the river, and the stars. palmerston was in public life for sixty years; lincoln for but a tenth of that time. palmerston was a skilful guide of an established aristocracy; lincoln a leader, or rather a companion, of the people. palmerston was exclusively an englishman, and made his boast in the house of commons that the interest of england was his shibboleth; lincoln thought always of mankind, as well as his own country, and served human nature itself. palmerston, from his narrowness as an englishman, did not endear his country to any one court or to any one nation, but rather caused general uneasiness and dislike; lincoln left america more beloved than ever by all the peoples of europe. palmerston was self-possessed and adroit in reconciling the conflicting factions of the aristocracy; lincoln, frank and ingenuous, knew how to poise himself on the ever-moving opinions of the masses. palmerston was capable of insolence towards the weak, quick to the sense of honor, not heedful of right; lincoln rejected counsel given only as a matter of policy, and was not capable of being wilfully unjust. palmerston, essentially superficial, delighted in banter, and knew how to divert grave opposition by playful levity; lincoln was a man of infinite jest on his lips with saddest earnestness at his heart. palmerston was a fair representative of the aristocratic liberality of the day, choosing for his tribunal, not the conscience of humanity, but the house of commons; lincoln took to heart the eternal truths of liberty, obeyed them as the commands of providence, and accepted the human race as the judge of his fidelity. palmerston did nothing that will endure; lincoln finished a work which all time cannot overthrow. palmerston is a shining example of the ablest of a cultivated aristocracy; lincoln is the genuine fruit of institutions where the laboring man shares and assists to form the great ideas and designs of his country. palmerston was buried in westminster abbey by the order of his queen, and was attended by the british aristocracy to his grave, which, after a few years, will hardly be noticed by the side of the graves of fox and chatham; lincoln was followed by the sorrow of his country across the continent to his resting-place in the heart of the mississippi valley, to be remembered through all time by his countrymen, and by all the peoples of the world. as the sum of all, the hand of lincoln raised the flag; the american people was the hero of the war; and, therefore, the result is a new era of republicanism. the disturbances in the country grew not out of anything republican, but out of slavery, which is a part of the system of hereditary wrong; and the expulsion of this domestic anomaly opens to the renovated nation a career of unthought of dignity and glory. henceforth our country has a moral unity as the land of free labor. the party for slavery and the party against slavery are no more, and are merged in the party of union and freedom. the states which would have left us are not brought back as subjugated states, for then we should hold them only so long as that conquest could be maintained; they come to their rightful place under the constitution as original, necessary, and inseparable members of the union. we build monuments to the dead, but no monuments of victory. we respect the example of the romans, who never, even in conquered lands, raised emblems of triumph. and our generals are not to be classed in the herd of vulgar warriors, but are of the school of timoleon, and william of nassau, and washington. they have used the sword only to give peace to their country and restore her to her place in the great assembly of the nations. senators and representatives of america: as i bid you farewell, my last words shall be words of hope and confidence; for now slavery is no more, the union is restored, a people begins to live according to the laws of reason, and republicanism is intrenched in a continent. abraham lincoln by goldwin smith abraham lincoln is assuredly one of the marvels of history. no land but america has produced his like. this destined chief of a nation in its most perilous hour was the son of a thriftless and wandering settler. he had a strong and eminently fair understanding, with great powers of patient thought, which he cultivated by the study of euclid. in all his views there was the simplicity of his character. both as an advocate and as a politician he was "honest abe." as an advocate he would throw up his brief when he knew that his case was bad. he said himself that he had not controlled events, but had been guided by them. to know how to be guided by events, however, if it is not imperial genius, is practical wisdom. lincoln's goodness of heart, his sense of duty, his unselfishness, his freedom from vanity, his long suffering, his simplicity, were never disturbed either by power or by opposition. to the charge of levity no man could be less open. though he trusted in providence, care for the public and sorrow for the public calamities filled his heart and sat visibly upon his brow. his state papers are excellent, not only as public documents, but as compositions, and are distinguished by their depth of human feeling and tenderness, from those of other statesmen. he spoke always from his own heart to the heart of the people. his brief funeral oration over the graves of those who had fallen in the war is one of the gems of the language. greatness of his simplicity by h. a. delano he was uneducated, as that term goes to-day, and yet he gave statesmen and educators things to think about for a hundred years to come. beneath the awkward, angular and diffident frame beat one of the noblest, largest, tenderest hearts that ever swelled in aspiration for truth, or longed to accomplish a freeman's duty. he might have lacked in that acute analysis which knows the "properties of matter," but he knew the passions, emotions, and weaknesses of men; he knew their motives. he had the genius to mine men and strike easily the rich ore of human nature. he was poor in this world's goods, and i prize gratefully a fac-simile letter lying among the treasures of my study written by mr. lincoln to an old friend, requesting the favor of a small loan, as he had entered upon that campaign of his that was not done until death released the most steadfast hero of that cruel war. men speculate as to his religion. it was the religion of the seer, the hero, the patriot, and the lover of his race and time. amid the political idiocy of the times, the corruption in high places, the dilettante culture, the vaporings of wild and helpless theorists, in this swamp of political quagmire, o lincoln, it is refreshing to think of thee! horace greeley's estimate of lincoln from "greeley on lincoln" when i last saw him, some five or six weeks before his death, his face was haggard with care, and seamed with thought and trouble. it looked care-ploughed, tempest-tossed, weather-beaten, as if he were some tough old mariner, who had for years been beating up against the wind and tide, unable to make his port or find safe anchorage. judging from that scathed, rugged countenance, i do not believe he could have lived out his second term had no felon hand been lifted against his priceless life. the chief moral i deduce from his eventful career asserts the might that slumbers in a peasant's arm! the majestic heritage, the measureless opportunity, of the humblest american youth. here was an heir of poverty and insignificance, obscure, untaught, buried throughout his childhood in the frontier forests, with no transcendent, dazzling abilities, such as make their way in any country, under any institutions, but emphatically in intellect, as in station, one of the millions of strivers for a rude livelihood, who, though attaching himself stubbornly to the less popular party, and especially so in the state which he has chosen as his home, did nevertheless become a central figure of the western hemisphere, and an object of honor, love, and reverence throughout the civilized world. had he been a genius, an intellectual prodigy, like julius caesar, or shakespeare, or mirabeau, or webster, we might say: "this lesson is not for us--with such faculties any one could achieve and succeed"; but he was not a born king of men, ruling by the resistless might of his natural superiority, but a child of the people, who made himself a great persuader, therefore a leader by dint of firm resolve, and patient effort, and dogged perseverance. he slowly won his way to eminence and renown by ever doing the work that lay next to him--doing it with all his growing might--doing it as well as he could, and learning by his failure, when failure was encountered, how to do it better. wendell phillips once coarsely said, "he grew because we watered him"; which was only true in so far as this--he was open to all impressions and influences, and gladly profited by all the teachings of events and circumstances, no matter how adverse or unwelcome. there was probably no year of his life in which he was not a wiser, larger, better man than he had been the year preceding. it was of such a nature--patient, plodding, sometimes groping, but ever towards the light--that tennyson sings: perplext in faith, but pure in deeds, at last he beat his music out. there lives more faith in honest doubt, believe me, than in half the creeds. there are those who profess to have been always satisfied with his conduct of the war, deeming it prompt, energetic, vigorous, masterly. i did not, and could not, so regard it. i believed then--i believe this hour,--that a napoleon i., a jackson, would have crushed secession out in a single short campaign--almost in a single victory. i believed that an advance to richmond , strong might have been made by the end of june, ; that would have insured a counter-revolution throughout the south, and a voluntary return of every state, through a dispersion and disavowal of its rebel chiefs, to the councils and the flag of the union. but such a return would have not merely left slavery intact--it would have established it on firmer foundations than ever before. the momentarily alienated north and south would have fallen on each other's necks, and, amid tears and kisses, have sealed their reunion by ignominiously making the black the scapegoat of their bygone quarrel, and wreaking on him the spite which they had purposed to expend on each other. but god had higher ends, to which a bull run, a ball's bluff, a gaines's mill, a groveton, were indispensable: and so they came to pass, and were endured and profited by. the republic needed to be passed through chastening, purifying fires of adversity and suffering: so these came and did their work and the verdure of a new national life springs greenly, luxuriantly, from their ashes. other men were helpful to the great renovation, and nobly did their part in it; yet, looking back through the lifting mists of seven eventful, tragic, trying, glorious years, i clearly discern that the one providential leader, the indispensable hero of the great drama--faithfully reflecting even in his hesitations and seeming vacillations the sentiment of the masses--fitted by his very defects and shortcomings for the burden laid upon him, the good to be wrought out through him, was abraham lincoln. lincoln by j. t. trowbridge heroic soul, in homely garb half hid, sincere, sagacious, melancholy, quaint; what he endured, no less than what he did, has reared his monument, and crowned him saint. the religious character of abraham lincoln[ ] by b. b. tyler in , the bullet of an assassin suddenly terminated the life among men of one who was an honor to his race. he was great and good. he was great because he was good. lincoln's religious character was the one thing which, above all other features of his unique mental and moral as well as physical personality, lifted him above his fellow men. because an effort has been made to parade abraham lincoln as an unbeliever, i have been led to search carefully for the facts in his life bearing on this point. the testimony seems to be almost entirely, if not altogether, on one side. i cannot account for the statement which william h. herndon makes in his life of the martyred president, that, "mr. lincoln had no faith." for twenty-five years mr. herndon was abraham lincoln's law partner in springfield, ill. he had the best opportunities to know abraham lincoln. when, however, he affirms that "mr. lincoln had no faith," he speaks without warrant. it is simply certain that he uses words in their usually accepted signification, although his statement concerning lincoln is not true. abraham lincoln was a man of profound faith. he believed in god. he believed in christ. he believed in the bible. he believed in men. his faith made him great. his life is a beautiful commentary on the words, "this is the victory that overcometh the world, even our faith." there was a time in lincoln's experience when his faith faltered, as there was a time when his reason tottered, but these sad experiences were temporary, and abraham lincoln was neither an infidel nor a lunatic. it is easy to trace in the life of this colossal character, a steady growth of faith. this grace in him increased steadily in breadth and in strength with the passing years, until it came to pass that his last public utterances show forth the confidence and the fire of an ancient hebrew prophet. it is true that lincoln never united with the church, although a lifelong and regular attendant on its services. he had a reason for occupying a position outside the fellowship of the church of christ as it existed in his day and in his part of the world. this reason lincoln did not hesitate to declare. he explained on one occasion that he had never become a church member because he did not like and could not in conscience subscribe to the long and frequently complicated statements of christian doctrines which characterized the confessions of the churches. he said: "when any church will inscribe over its altar as its sole qualification for membership the savior's condensed statement of the substance of both law and gospel, 'thou shalt love the lord thy god with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind, and thy neighbor as thyself,' that church will i join with all my heart and soul." abraham lincoln in these words recognizes the central figure of the bible, jesus of nazareth, as "the saviour." he recognizes god as the supreme lawgiver, and expresses readiness, while eschewing theological subtleties, to submit heart and soul to the supreme lawgiver of the universe. his faith, according to this language, goes out manward as well as godward. he believed not only in god, but he believed in man as well, and this christianity, according to christ, requires of all disciples of the great teacher. about a year before his assassination lincoln, in a letter to joshua speed, said: "i am profitably engaged in reading the bible. take all of this book upon reason that you can and the balance on faith, and you will live and die a better man." he saw and declared that the teaching of the bible had a tendency to improve character. he had a right view of this sacred literature. its purpose is character building. leonard swett, who knew abraham lincoln well, said at the unveiling of the chicago monument that lincoln "believed in god as the supreme ruler of the universe, the guide of men, and the controller of the great events and destinies of mankind. he believed himself to be an instrument and leader in this country of the force of freedom." from this it appears that his belief was not merely theoretical, but that it was practical. he regarded himself as an instrument, as moses was an instrument in the hands of almighty god, to lead men into freedom. it was after his election, in the autumn of , and but a short time before his inauguration as president of the united states, that in a letter to judge joseph gillespie, he said: "i have read on my knees the story of gethsemane, where the son of god prayed in vain that the cup of bitterness might pass from him. i am in the garden of gethsemane now, and my cup of bitterness is full and overflowing." from this it is clear that he believed the jesus of the gospels to be "the son of god." and what a sense of responsibility he must at the time of writing this letter have experienced to cause him to declare, "i am in the garden of gethsemane now, and my cup of bitterness is full and overflowing!" only a superlatively good man, only a man of genuine piety, could use honestly such language as this. these words do not indicate unbelief or agnosticism. if ever a man in public life in these united states was removed the distance of the antipodes from the coldness and bleakness of agnosticism, that man was abraham lincoln. this confession of faith, incidentally made in a brief letter to a dear friend, is not only orthodox according to the accepted standards of orthodoxy, but, better, it is evangelical. to him the hero of the gospel histories was none other than "the son of god." by the use of these words did lincoln characterize jesus of nazareth. herndon has said in his life of abraham lincoln that he never read the bible, but alexander williamson, who was employed as a tutor in president lincoln's family in washington, said that "mr. lincoln very frequently studied the bible, with the aid of cruden's concordance, which lay on his table." if lincoln was not a reader and student of the inspired literature which we call the bible, what explanation can be made of his language just quoted, addressed to judge gillespie, "i have read on my knees the story of gethsemane, where the son of god prayed in vain that the cup of bitterness might pass from him"? i have admitted that in lincoln's experience there was a time when his faith faltered. it is interesting to know in what manner he came to have the faith which in the maturity of his royal manhood and in the zenith of his intellectual powers he expressed. one of his pastors--for he sat under the ministry of james smith, has told in what way lincoln came to be an intelligent believer in the bible, in jesus as the son of god, and in christianity as divine in its origin, and a mighty moral and spiritual power for the regeneration of men and of the race. mr. smith placed before him, he says, the arguments for and against the divine authority and inspiration of the scriptures. to the arguments on both sides lincoln gave a patient, impartial, and searching investigation. he himself said that he examined the arguments as a lawyer investigates testimony in a case in which he is deeply interested. at the conclusion of the investigation he declared that the arguments in favor of the divine authority and inspiration of the bible is unanswerable. so far did lincoln go in his open sympathy with the teachings of the bible that on one occasion in the presence of a large assembly, he delivered the address at an annual meeting of the springfield, illinois, bible society. in the course of his address he drew a contrast between the decalog and the most eminent lawgiver of antiquity, in which he said: "it seems to me that nothing short of infinite wisdom could by any possibility have devised and given to man this excellent and perfect moral code. it is suited to men in all the conditions of life, and inculcates all the duties they owe to their creator, to themselves, and their fellow men." lincoln prepared an address, in which he declared that this country cannot exist half slave and half-free. he affirmed the saying of jesus, "a house divided against itself cannot stand." having read this address to some friends, they urged him to strike out that portion of it. if he would do so, he could probably be elected to the united states senate; but if he delivered the address as written, the ground taken was so high, the position was so advanced, his sentiments were so radical, he would probably fail of gaining a seat in the supreme legislative body of the greatest republic on earth. lincoln, under those circumstances, said: "i know there is a god, and that he hates the injustice of slavery. i see the storm coming, and i know that his hand is in it. if he has a place and a work for me, and i think he has, i believe i am ready. i am nothing but truth is everything. i know i am right, because i know that liberty is right, for christ teaches it, and christ is god." and yet we are asked to believe that a man who could express himself in this way and show this courage was a doubter, a skeptic, an unbeliever, an agnostic, an infidel. "christ is god." this was lincoln's faith in , found in a letter addressed to the hon. newton bateman. lincoln's father was a christian. old uncle tommy lincoln, as his friends familiarly called him, was a good man. he was what might be called a ne'er-do-well. as the world counts success, thomas lincoln, the father of abraham lincoln, was not successful, but he was an honest man. he was a truthful man. he was a man of faith. he worshipped god. he belonged to the church. he was a member of a congregation in charleston, ill., which i had the honor to serve in the beginning of my ministry, known as the christian church. he died not far from charleston, and is buried a few miles distant from the beautiful little town, the county seat of coles county, ill. during the last illness of his father, lincoln wrote a letter to his step-brother, john johnston, which closes with the following sentences: "i sincerely hope that father may recover his health, but at all events tell him to remember to call upon and confide in our great, and good, and merciful maker, who will not turn away from him in any extremity. he notes the fall of the sparrow, and numbers the hairs of our heads, and he will not forget the dying man who puts his trust in him. say to him that if we could meet now it is doubtful whether it would not be more painful than pleasant, but that if it be his lot to go now he will soon have a joyful meeting with loved ones gone before, and where the rest of us, through the mercy of god, hope ere long to join them." from this it appears that lincoln cherished a hope of life everlasting through the mercy of god. this sounds very much like the talk of a christian. although lincoln was not a church member, he was a man of prayer. he believed that god can hear, does hear, and answer prayer. lincoln said in conversation with general sickles concerning the battle of gettysburg, that he had no anxiety as to the result. at this general sickles expressed surprise, and inquired into the reason for this unusual state of mind at that period in the history of the war. lincoln hesitated to accede to the request of general sickles, but was finally prevailed upon to do so, and this is what he said: "well, i will tell you how it was. in the pinch of your campaign up there, when everybody seemed panic stricken, and nobody could tell what was going to happen, oppressed by the gravity of our affairs, i went into my room one day and locked the door, and got down on my knees before almighty god, and prayed to him mightily for victory at gettysburg. i told him this was his war, and our cause his cause, but that we could not stand another fredericksburg or chancellorsville. and i then and there made a solemn vow to almighty god that if he would stand by our boys at gettysburg i would stand by him. and he did and i will. and after that (i don't know how it was, and i can't explain it) but soon a sweet comfort crept into my soul that things would go all right at gettysburg, and that is why i had no fears about you." such faith as this will put to the blush many who are members of the church. it was afterward that general sickles asked him what news he had from vicksburg. he answered that he had no news worth mentioning, but that grant was still "pegging away" down there, and he thought a good deal of him as a general, and had no thought of removing him notwithstanding that he was urged to do so; and, "besides," he added, "i have been praying over vicksburg also, and believe our heavenly father is going to give us victory there too, because we need it, in order to bisect the confederacy and have the mississippi flow unvexed to the sea." when he entered upon the task to which the people of the united states had called him, at the railway station in springfield on the eve of his departure to washington to take the oath of office, he delivered an address. it is a model. i quote it entire. it is as follows: "my friends, no one not in my position can realize the sadness i feel at this parting. to this people i owe all that i am. here i have lived more than a quarter of a century. here my children were born, and here one of them lies buried. i know not how soon i shall see you again. i go to assume a task more than that which has devolved upon any other man since the days of washington. he never would have succeeded except for the aid of divine providence, upon which he at all times relied. i feel that i cannot succeed without the same divine blessing which sustained him, and on the same almighty being i place my reliance for support. and i hope you, my friends, will all pray that i may receive that divine assistance, without which i cannot succeed, but with which success is certain. again, i bid you an affectionate farewell." at the time of lincoln's assassination these words were printed in a great variety of forms. in my home for a number of years, beautifully framed, these parting words addressed to the friends of many years in springfield, ill., ornamented my humble residence. and yet one of his biographers refers to this address as if its genuineness may well be doubted. at the time of its delivery it was taken down and published broadcast in the papers of the day. but it would be wearisome to you to recite all the evidences bearing on the religious character of abraham lincoln. john g. nicolay well says: "benevolence and forgiveness were the very basis of his character; his world-wide humanity is aptly embodied in a phrase of his second inaugural: 'with malice toward none, with charity for all.' his nature was deeply religious, but he belonged to no denomination; he had faith in the eternal justice and boundless mercy of providence, and made the golden rule of christ his practical creed." in this passage mr. nicolay refers especially to lincoln's second inaugural address. this address has the ring of an ancient hebrew prophet. only a man of faith and piety could deliver such an address. after the struggles through which the country had passed lincoln's self-poise, his confidence in god, his belief in and affection for his fellow men, remained unabated. in lincoln's second inaugural address he used these words: "neither party expected for the war the magnitude or the duration which it has already attained: neither anticipated that the cause of the conflict might cease when or even before the conflict itself should cease. each looked for an easier triumph, and a result less fundamental and astounding. both read the same bible and pray to the same god, and each invokes his aid against the other. it may seem strange that any men should dare to ask a just god's assistance in wringing their bread from the sweat of other men's faces; but let us judge not, that we be not judged. the prayers of both could not be answered: that of neither has been answered fully. "the almighty has his own purposes. 'wo unto the world because of offenses, for it must needs be that offenses come; but we to that man by whom the offense cometh.' if we shall suppose that american slavery is one of those offenses which, in the providence of god, must needs come, but which, having continued through his appointed time, he now wills to remove, and that he gives to both north and south this terrible war, as the wo due to those by whom the offense came, shall we discern therein any departure from those divine attributes which the believers in a living god always ascribe to him. fondly do we hope, fervently do we pray, that this mighty scourge of war may speedily pass away. yet, if god wills that it continue until all the wealth piled by the bondsman's two hundred and fifty years of unrequited toil shall be sunk, and until every drop of blood drawn with a lash shall be paid with another drawn by a sword, as was said three thousand years ago, so still it must be said. 'the judgments of the lord are true and righteous altogether.' "with malice toward none, with charity for all, with firmness in the right as god gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in; to bind up the nation's wounds; to care for him who shall have borne the battle, and for his widow and his orphan--to do all which may achieve and cherish a just and lasting peace among our selves and with all nations." the spirit of this address, under the circumstances, is intensely christian, and it is one of the most remarkable speeches in the literature of the world. when lincoln was urged to issue his proclamation of emancipation he waited on god for guidance. he said to some who urged this matter, who were anxious to have the president act without delay: "i hope it will not be irreverent for me to say that, if it is probable that god would reveal his will to others on a point so connected with my duty, it might be supposed he would reveal it directly to me, for, unless i am more deceived in myself that i often am, it is my earnest desire to know the will of providence in this matter, and if i can learn what it is, i will do it." stoddard, in his life of lincoln, gives attention beyond any of his biographers to the religious side of lincoln's character. commenting on the inaugural from which i have quoted, mr. stoddard said: "his mind and soul have reached the full development in a religious life so unusually intense and absorbing that it could not otherwise than utter itself in the grand sentences of his last address to the people. the knowledge had come, and the faith had come, and the charity had come, and with all had come the love of god which had put away all thought of rebellious resistance to the will of god leading, as in his earlier days of trial, to despair and insanity." i wish to call special attention to lincoln's temperance habits. he was a teetotaler so far as the use of intoxicating liquors as a beverage was concerned. when the committee of the chicago convention waited upon lincoln to inform him of his nomination he treated them to ice-water and said: "gentlemen, we must pledge our mutual healths in the most healthy beverage which god has given to man. it is the only beverage i have ever used or allowed in my family, and i cannot conscientiously depart from it on the present occasion. it is pure adam's ale from the spring." mr. john hay, one of his biographers, says: "mr. lincoln was a man of exceedingly temperate habits. he made no use of either whisky or tobacco during all the years that i knew him." abraham lincoln was a model in every respect but one. it was a mistake on the part of this great and good man that he never identified himself openly with the church. i know what can be said in favor of his position. it is not, however, satisfactory. if all men were to act in this matter as lincoln did, there would be no church. this is obvious. hence the mistake which he made. otherwise, as to his personal habits; as to his confidence in god; as to his faith in man; as to his conception and use of the bible; as to his habits of prayer; as to his judicial fairness; as to his sympathy with men--in all these respects, as in many others, abraham lincoln is a character to be studied and imitated. [ ] _from 'the homiletic review,' funk & wagnalls, publishers._ to the spirit of abraham lincoln[ ] (reunion at gettysburg twenty-five years after the battle) by richard watson gilder shade of our greatest, o look down to day! here the long, dread midsummer battle roared, and brother in brother plunged the accursed sword;-- here foe meets foe once more in proud array yet not as once to harry and to slay but to strike hands, and with sublime accord weep tears heroic for the souls that soared quick from earth's carnage to the starry way. each fought for what he deemed the people's good, and proved his bravery with his offered life, and sealed his honor with his outpoured blood; but the eternal did direct the strife, and on this sacred field one patriot host now calls thee father,--dear, majestic ghost! [ ] _by permission of houghton, mifflin & company._ lincoln as a typical american by phillips brooks while i speak to you to-day, the body of the president who ruled this people, is lying, honored and loved, in our city. it is impossible, with that sacred presence in our midst, for me to stand and speak of ordinary topics which occupy the pulpit. i must speak of him to-day; and i therefore undertake to do what i have intended to do at some future time, to invite you to study with me the character of abraham lincoln, the impulse of his life and the causes of his death. i know how hard it is to do it rightly, how impossible it is to do it worthily. but i shall speak with confidence, because i speak to those who love him, and whose ready love will fill out the deficiencies in a picture which my words will weakly try to draw. we take it for granted, first of all, that there is an essential connection between mr. lincoln's character and his violent and bloody death. it is no accident, no arbitrary decree of providence. he lived as he did, and he died as he did, because he was what he was. the more we see of events the less we come to believe in any fate, or destiny, except the destiny of character. it will be our duty, then, to see what there was in the character of our great president that created the history of his life, and at last produced the catastrophe of his cruel death. after the first trembling horror, the first outburst of indignant sorrow, has grown calm, these are the questions which we are bound to ask and answer. it is not necessary for me even to sketch the biography of mr. lincoln. he was born in kentucky fifty-six years ago, when kentucky was a pioneer state. he lived, as a boy and man, the hard and needy life of a backwoodsman, a farmer, a river boatman, and, finally, by his own efforts at self-education, of an active, respected, influential citizen, in the half organized and manifold interests of a new and energetic community. from his boyhood up he lived in direct and vigorous contact with men and things, not as in older states and easier conditions with words and theories; and both his moral convictions and intellectual opinions gathered from that contact a supreme degree of that character by which men knew him; that character which is the most distinctive possession of the best american nature; that almost indescribable quality which we call, in general, clearness or truth, and which appears in the physical structure as health, in the moral constitution as honesty, in the mental structure as sagacity, and in the region of active life as practicalness. this one character, with many sides, all shaped of the same essential force and testifying to the same inner influences, was what was powerful in him and decreed for him the life he was to live and the death he was to die. we must take no smaller view then this of what he was. it is the great boon of such characters as mr. lincoln's, that they reunite what god has joined together and man has put asunder. in him was vindicated the greatness of real goodness and the goodness of real greatness. the twain were one flesh. not one of all the multitudes who stood and looked up to him for direction with such a loving and implicit trust can tell you to-day whether the wise judgments that he gave came most from a strong head or a sound heart. if you ask them, they are puzzled. there are men as good as he, but they do bad things. there are men as intelligent as he, but they do foolish things. in him, goodness and intelligence combined and made their best result of wisdom. for perfect truth consists not merely in the right constituents of character, but in their right and intimate conjunction. this union of the mental and moral into a life of admirable simplicity is what we most admire in children; but in them it is unsettled and unpractical. but when it is preserved into manhood, deepened into reliability and maturity, it is that glorified childlikeness, that high and reverend simplicity, which shames and baffles the most accomplished astuteness, and is chosen by god to fill his purposes when he needs a ruler for his people, of faithful and true heart, such as he had, who was our president. another evident quality of such character as this will be its freshness or newness, if we may so speak; its freshness or readiness,--call it what you will,--its ability to take up new duties and do them in a new way, will result of necessity from its truth and clearness. the simple natures and forces will always be the most pliant ones. water bends and shapes itself to any channel. air folds and adapts itself to each new figure. they are the simplest and the most infinitely active things in nature. so this nature, in very virtue of its simplicity, must be also free, always fitting itself to each new need. it will always start from the most fundamental and eternal conditions, and work in the straightest, even though they be the newest ways, to the present prescribed purpose. in one word, it must be broad and independent and radical. so that freedom and radicalness in the character of abraham lincoln were not separate qualities, but the necessary results of his simplicity and childlikeness and truth. here then we have some conception of the man. out of this character came the life which we admire and the death which we lament to-day. he was called in that character to that life and death. it was just the nature, as you see, which a new nation such as ours ought to produce. all the conditions of his birth, his youth, his manhood, which made him what he was, were not irregular and exceptional, but were the normal conditions of a new and simple country. his pioneer home in indiana was a type of the pioneer land in which he lived. if ever there was a man who was a part of the time and country he lived in, this was he. the same simple respect for labor won in the school of work and incorporated into blood and muscle; the same unassuming loyalty to the simple virtues of temperance and industry and integrity; the same sagacious judgment which had learned to be quick-eyed and quick-brained in the constant presence of emergency; the same direct and clear thought about things, social, political and religious, that was in him supremely, was in the people he was sent to rule. surely, with such a type-man for ruler, there would seem to be but a smooth and even road over which he might lead the people whose character he represented into the new region of national happiness, and comfort, and usefulness, for which that character had been designed. the cause that abraham lincoln died for shall grow stronger by his death, stronger and sterner. stronger to set its pillars deep into the structure of our nation's life; sterner to execute the justice of the lord upon his enemies. stronger to spread its arms and grasp our whole land into freedom; sterner to sweep the last poor ghost of slavery out of our haunted homes. so let him lie there in our midst to-day and let our people go and bend with solemn thoughtfulness and look upon his face and read the lessons of his burial. as he passed here on his journey from the western home and told us what, by the help of god, he meant to do, so let him pause upon his way back to his western grave and tell us, with a silence more eloquent than words, how bravely, how truly, by the strength of god, he did it. god brought him up as he brought david up from the sheep-folds to feed jacob, his people, and israel, his inheritance. he came up in earnestness and faith, and he goes back in triumph. as he pauses here to-day, and from his cold lips bids us bear witness how he has met the duty that was laid on him, what can we say out of our full hearts but this:--"he fed them with a faithful and true heart, and ruled them prudently with all his power." the shepherd of the people! that old name that the best rulers ever craved. what ruler ever won it like this dead president of ours? he fed us faithfully and truly. he fed us with counsel when we were in doubt, with inspiration when we sometimes faltered, with caution when we would be rash, with calm, clear, trustful cheerfulness through many an hour, when our hearts were dark. he fed hungry souls all over the country with sympathy and consolation. he spread before the whole land feasts of great duty and devotion and patriotism, on which the land grew strong. he fed us with solemn, solid truths. he taught us the sacredness of government, the wickedness of treason. he made our souls glad and vigorous with the love of liberty that was in his. he showed us how to love truth and yet be charitable--how to hate wrong and all oppression, and yet not treasure one personal injury or insult. he fed all his people, from the highest to the lowest, from the most privileged down to the most enslaved. best of all, he fed us with a reverent and genuine religion. he spread before us the love and fear of god just in that shape in which we need them most, and out of his faithful service of a higher master, who of us has not taken and eaten and grown strong? "he fed them with a faithful and true heart." yes, till the last. for at the last, behold him standing with hand reached out to feed the south with mercy, and the north with charity, and the whole land with peace, when the lord who had sent him called him, and his work was done! he stood once on the battlefield of our own state, and said of the brave men who had saved it, words as noble as any countryman of ours ever spoke. let us stand in the country he has saved, and which is to be his grave and monument, and say of abraham lincoln what he said of the soldiers who had died at gettysburg. he stood there with their graves before him, and these are the words he said: "we cannot dedicate, we cannot consecrate, we cannot hallow this ground. these brave men who struggled here have consecrated it far beyond our power to add or detract. the world will little note nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. it is for us the living rather to be dedicated to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. it is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us, that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion; that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain; and this nation, under god shall have a new birth of freedom; and that government of the people, by the people and for the people, shall not perish from the earth." may god make us worthy of the memory of abraham lincoln! lincoln as cavalier and puritan by h. w. grady the virtues and traditions of both happily still live for the inspiration of their sons and the saving of the old fashion. but both puritan and cavalier were lost in the storm of their first revolution, and the american citizen, supplanting both, and stronger than either, took possession of the republic bought by their common blood and fashioned in wisdom, and charged himself with teaching men free government and establishing the voice of the people as the voice of god. great types like valuable plants are slow to flower and fruit. but from the union of these colonists, from the straightening of their purposes and the crossing of their blood, slow perfecting through a century, came he who stands as the first typical american, the first who comprehended within himself all the strength and gentleness, all the majesty and grace of this republic--abraham lincoln. he was the sum of puritan and cavalier, for in his ardent nature were fused the virtues of both, and in the depths of his great soul the faults of both were lost. he was greater than puritan, greater than cavalier, in that he was american, and that in his homely form were first gathered the vast and thrilling forces of this ideal government--charging it with such tremendous meaning and so elevating it above human suffering that martyrdom, though infamously aimed came as a fitting crown to a life consecrated from its cradle to human liberty. let us, each cherishing his traditions and honoring his fathers, build with reverent hands to the type of this simple but sublime life, in which all types are honored, and in the common glory we shall win as americans, there will be plenty and to spare for your forefathers and for mine. lincoln, the tender-hearted by h. w. bolton his biography is written in blood and tears; uncounted millions arise and call him blessed; a redeemed and reunited republic is his monument. history embalms the memory of richard the lion-hearted; here, too, our martyr finds loyal sepulture as lincoln the tender-hearted. he was brave. while assassins swarmed in washington, he went everywhere, without guard or arms. he was magnanimous. he harbored no grudge, nursed no grievance; was quick to forgive, and was anxious for reconciliation. hear him appealing to the south: "we are not enemies, but friends. we must not be enemies. though passion may have strained, it must not break, our bonds of affection. the mystic chords of memory, stretching from every battlefield and patriot grave to every loving heart and hearthstone, all over this broad land, will yet swell the chorus of the union, when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature." he was compassionate. with what joy he brought liberty to the enslaved. he was forgiving. in this respect he was strikingly suggestive of the saviour. he was great. time will but augment the greatness of his name and fame. perhaps a greater man never ruled in this or any other nation. he was good and pure and incorruptible. he was a patriot; he loved his country; he poured out his soul unto death for it. he was human, and thus touched the chord that makes the whole world kin. the character of lincoln by w. h. herndon (lincoln's law partner) the true peculiarity of mr. lincoln has not been seen by his various biographers; or, if seen, they have failed wofully to give it that prominence which it deserves. it is said that newton saw an apple fall to the ground from a tree, and beheld the law of the universe in that fall; shakespeare saw human nature in the laugh of a man; professor owen saw the animal in its claw; and spencer saw the evolution of the universe in the growth of a seed. nature was suggestive to all these men. mr. lincoln no less saw philosophy in a story, and a schoolmaster in a joke. no man, no men, saw nature, fact, thing, or man from his stand-point. his was a new and original position, which was always suggesting, hinting something to him. nature, insinuations, hints and suggestions were new, fresh, original and odd to him. the world, fact, man, principle, all had their powers of suggestion to his susceptible soul. they continually put him in mind of something. he was odd, fresh, new, original, and peculiar, for this reason, that he was a new, odd, and original creation and fact. he had keen susceptibilities to the hints and suggestions of nature, which always put him in mind of something known or unknown. hence his power and tenacity of what is called association of ideas must have been great. his memory was tenacious and strong. his susceptibility to all suggestions and hints enabled him at will to call up readily the associated and classified fact and idea. as an evidence of this, especially peculiar to mr. lincoln, let me ask one question. were mr. lincoln's expression and language odd and original, standing out peculiar from those of all other men? what does this imply? oddity and originality of vision as well as expression; and what is expression in words and human language, but a telling of what we see, defining the idea arising from and created by vision and view in us? words and language are but the counterparts of the idea--the other half of the idea; they are but the stinging, hot, heavy, leaden bullets that drop from the mold; and what are they in a rifle with powder stuffed behind them and fire applied, but an embodied force pursuing their object? so are words an embodied power feeling for comprehension in other minds. mr. lincoln was often perplexed to give expression to his ideas: first, because he was not master of the english language: and, secondly, because there were no words in it containing the coloring, shape, exactness, power, and gravity of his ideas. he was frequently at a loss for a word, and hence was compelled to resort to stories, maxims, and jokes to embody his idea, that it might be comprehended. so true was this peculiar mental vision of his, that though mankind has been gathering, arranging, and classifying facts for thousands of years, lincoln's peculiar stand-point could give him no advantage of other men's labor. hence he tore up to the deep foundations all arrangements of facts, and coined and arranged new plans to govern himself. he was compelled, from his peculiar mental organization, to do this. his labor was great, continuous, patient and all-enduring. the truth about this whole matter is that mr. lincoln read less and thought more than any man in his sphere in america. no man can put his finger on any great book written in the last or present century that he read. when young he read the bible, and when of age he read shakespeare. this latter book was scarcely ever out of his mind. mr. lincoln is acknowledged to have been a great man, but the question is, what made him great? i repeat, that he read less and thought more than any man of his standing in america, if not in the world. he possessed originality and power of thought in an eminent degree. he was cautious, cool, concentrated, with continuity of reflection; was patient and enduring. these are some of the grounds of his wonderful success. not only was nature, man, fact and principle suggestive to mr. lincoln, not only had he accurate and exact perceptions, but he was causative, i. e., his mind ran back behind all facts, things and principles to their origin, history and first cause, to that point where forces act at once as effect and cause. he would stop and stand in the street and analyze a machine. he would whittle things to a point, and then count the numberless inclined planes, and their pitch, making the point. mastering and defining this, he would then cut that point back, and get a broad transverse section of his pine stick, and peel and define that. clocks, omnibuses and language, paddle-wheels and idioms, never escaped his observation and analysis. before he could form any idea of anything, before he would express his opinion on any subject, he must know it in origin and history, in substance and quality, in magnitude and gravity. he must know his subject inside and outside, upside and down side. he searched his own mind and nature thoroughly, as i have often heard him say. he must analyze a sensation, an idea, and words, and run them back to their origin, history, purpose and destiny. he was most emphatically a remorseless analyzer of facts, things and principles. when all these processes had been well and thoroughly gone through, he could form an opinion and express it, but no sooner. he had no faith. "say so's" he had no respect for, coming though they might from tradition, power or authority. all things, facts and principles had to run through his crucible and be tested by the fires of his analytic mind; and hence, when he did speak, his utterances rang out gold-like, quick, keen and current upon the counters of the understanding. he reasoned logically, through analogy and comparison. all opponents dreaded him in his originality of idea, condensation, definition and force of expression, and woe be to the man who hugged to his bosom a secret error if mr. lincoln got on the chase of it. i say, woe to him! time could hide the error in no nook or corner of space in which he would not detect and expose it. [transcriber's note: part of this was omitted in original.] the great predominating elements of mr. lincoln's peculiar character, were: first, his great capacity and power of reason; secondly, his excellent understanding; thirdly, an exalted idea of the sense of right and equity; and, fourthly, his intense veneration of what was true and good. his reason ruled despotically all other faculties and qualities of his mind. his conscience and heart were ruled by it. his conscience was ruled by one faculty--reason. his heart was ruled by two faculties--reason and conscience. i know it is generally believed that mr. lincoln's heart, his love and kindness, his tenderness and benevolence, were his ruling qualities; but this opinion is erroneous in every particular. first, as to his reason. he dwelt in the mind, not in the conscience, and not in the heart. he lived and breathed and acted from his reason--the throne of logic and the home of principle, the realm of deity in man. it is from this point that mr. lincoln must be viewed. his views were correct and original. he was cautious not to be deceived; he was patient and enduring. he had concentration and great continuity of thought; he had a profound analytic power; his visions were clear, and he was emphatically the master of statement. his pursuit of the truth was indefatigable, terrible. he reasoned from his well-chosen principles with such clearness, force, and compactness, that the tallest intellects in the land bowed to him with respect. he was the strongest man i ever saw, looking at him from the stand-point of his reason--the throne of his logic. he came down from that height with an irresistible and crushing force. his printed speeches will prove this; but his speeches before courts, especially before the supreme courts of the state and nation, would demonstrate it: unfortunately, none of them have been preserved. here he demanded time to think and prepare. the office of reason is to determine the truth. truth is the power of reason--the child of reason. he loved and idolized truth for its own sake. it was reason's food. conscience, the second great quality and force of mr. lincoln's character, is that faculty which loves the just: its office is justice; right and equity are its correlatives. it decides upon all acts of all people at all times. mr. lincoln had a deep, broad, living conscience. his great reason told him what was true, good and bad, right, wrong, just or unjust, and his conscience echoed back its decision; and it was from this point that he acted and spoke and wove his character and fame among us. his conscience ruled his heart; he was always just before he was gracious. this was his motto, his glory: and this is as it should be. it cannot be truthfully said of any mortal man that he was always just. mr. lincoln was not always just; but his great general life was. it follows that if mr. lincoln had great reason and great conscience, he was an honest man. his great and general life was honest, and he was justly and rightfully entitled to the appellation, "honest abe." honesty was his great polar star. mr. lincoln had also a good understanding; that is, the faculty that understands and comprehends the exact state of things, their near and remote relations. the understanding does not necessarily inquire for the reason of things. i must here repeat that mr. lincoln was an odd and original man; he lived by himself and out of himself. he could not absorb. he was a very sensitive man, unobtrusive and gentlemanly, and often hid himself in the common mass of men, in order to prevent the discovery of his individuality. he had no insulting egotism, and no pompous pride; no haughtiness, and no aristocracy. he was not indifferent, however, to approbation and public opinion. he was not an upstart, and had no insolence. he was a meek, quiet, unobtrusive gentleman.... read mr. lincoln's speeches, letters, messages and proclamations, read his whole record in his actual life, and you cannot fail to perceive that he had good understanding. he understood and fully comprehended himself, and what he did and why he did it, better than most living men. [transcriber's note: part of this was omitted in original.] there are contradictory opinions in reference to mr. lincoln's heart and humanity. one opinion is that he was cold and obdurate, and the other opinion is that he was warm and affectionate. i have shown you that mr. lincoln first lived and breathed upon the world from his head and conscience. i have attempted to show you that he lived and breathed upon the world through the tender side of his heart, subject at all times and places to the logic of his reason, and to his exalted sense of right and equity; namely, his conscience. he always held his conscience subject to his head; he held his heart always subject to his head and conscience. his heart was the lowest organ, the weakest of the three. some men would reverse this order, and declare that his heart was his ruling organ; that always manifested itself with love, regardless of truth and justice, right and equity. the question still is, was mr. lincoln a cold, heartless man, or a warm, affectionate man? can a man be a warm-hearted man who is all head and conscience, or nearly so? what, in the first place, do we mean by a warm-hearted man? is it one who goes out of himself and reaches for others spontaneously because of a deep love of humanity, apart from equity and truth, and does what it does for love's sake? if so, mr. lincoln was a cold man. or, do we mean that when a human being, man or child, approached him in behalf of a matter of right, and that the prayer of such a one was granted, that this is an evidence of his love? the african was enslaved, his rights were violated, and a principle was violated in them. rights imply obligations as well as duties. mr. lincoln was president; he was in a position that made it his duty, through his sense of right, his love of principle, his constitutional obligations imposed upon him by oath of office, to strike the blow against slavery. but did he do it for love? he himself has answered the question: "i would not free the slaves if i could preserve the union without it." i use this argument against his too enthusiastic friends. if you mean that this is love for love's sake, then mr. lincoln was a warm-hearted man--not otherwise. to use a general expression, his general life was cold. he had, however, a strong latent capacity to love; but the object must first come as principle, second as right, and third as lovely. he loved abstract humanity when it was oppressed. this was an abstract love, not concrete in the individual, as said by some. he rarely used the term love, yet was he tender and gentle. he gave the key-note to his own character when he said, "with malice toward none, with charity for all," he did what he did. he had no intense loves, and hence no hates and no malice. he had a broad charity for imperfect man, and let us imitate his great life in this. "but was not mr. lincoln a man of great humanity?" asks a friend at my elbow, a little angrily; to which i reply, "has not that question been answered already?" let us suppose that it has not. we must understand each other. what do you mean by humanity? do you mean that he had much of human nature in him? if so, i will grant that he was a man of humanity. do you mean, if the above definition is unsatisfactory, that mr. lincoln was tender and kind? then i agree with you. but if you mean to say that he so loved a man that he would sacrifice truth and right for him, for love's sake, then he was not a man of humanity. do you mean to say that he so loved man, for love's sake, that his heart led him out of himself, and compelled him to go in search of the objects of his love, for their sake? he never, to my knowledge, manifested this side of his character. such is the law of human nature, that it cannot be all head, all conscience, and all heart at one and the same time in one and the same person. our maker made it so, and where god through reason blazed the path, walk therein boldly. mr. lincoln's glory and power lay in the just combination of head, conscience, and heart, and it is here that his fame must rest, or not at all. not only were mr. lincoln's perceptions good; not only was nature suggestive to him; not only was he original and strong; not only had he great reason, good understanding; not only did he love the true and good--the eternal right; not only was he tender and kind--but in due proportion and in legitimate subordination, had he a glorious combination of them all. through his perceptions--the suggestiveness of nature, his originality and strength; through his magnificent reason, his understanding, his conscience, his tenderness and kindness, his heart, rather than love--he approximated as nearly as most human beings in this imperfect state to an embodiment of the great moral principle, "do unto others as ye would they should do unto you." "with charity for all" by william t. sherman i know, when i left him, that i was more than ever impressed by his kindly nature, his deep and earnest sympathy with the afflictions of the whole people, resulting from the war, and by the march of hostile armies through the south; and that his earnest desire seemed to be to end the war speedily, without more bloodshed or devastation, and to restore all the men of both sections to their homes. in the language of his second inaugural address he seemed to have "charity for all, malice toward none," and, above all, an absolute faith in the courage, manliness, and integrity of the armies in the field. when at rest or listening, his legs and arms seemed to hang almost lifeless, and his face was care-worn and haggard; but the moment he began to talk his face lightened up, his tall form, as it were, unfolded, and he was the very impersonation of good-humor and fellowship. the last words i recall as addressed to me were that he would feel better when i was back at goldsboro'. we parted at the gang-way of the river queen about noon of march th, and i never saw him again. of all the men i ever met, he seemed to possess more of the elements of greatness, combined with goodness, than any other. lincoln's birthday ida vose woodbury again thy birthday dawns, o man beloved, dawns on the land thy blood was shed to save, and hearts of millions, by one impulse moved, bow and fresh laurels lay upon thy grave. the years but add new luster to thy glory, and watchmen on the heights of vision see reflected in thy life the old, old story, the story of the man of galilee. we see in thee the image of him kneeling before the close-shut tomb, and at the word "come forth," from out the blackness long concealing there rose a man; clearly again was heard the master's voice, and then, his cerements broken, friends of the dead a living brother see; thou, at the tomb where millions lay, hast spoken: "loose him and let him go!"--the slave was free. and in the man so long in thraldom hidden we see the likeness of the father's face, clod changed to soul; by thy atonement bidden, we hasten to the uplift of a race. spirit of lincoln! summon all thy loyal; nerve them to follow where thy feet have trod, to prove, by voice as clear and deed as royal, man's brotherhood in our one father--god. february twelfth by mary h. howliston it was early in the evening in a shop where flags were sold. there were large flags, middle-sized flags, small flags and little bits of flags. the finest of all was old glory. old glory was made of silk and hung in graceful folds from the wall. "attention!" called old glory. starry eyes all over the room looked at him. "what day of the month is it?" "february twelfth," quickly answered the flags. "whose birthday is it?" "abraham lincoln's." "where is he buried?" "springfield, illinois." "very well," said old glory, "you are to take some of uncle sam's children there to-night." "yes, captain," said the flags, wondering what he meant. "first, i must know whether you are good american flags. how many red stripes have you?" "seven!" was the answer. "how many white stripes?" "six!" "how many stars?" "forty-five!" shouted the large flags. the little ones said nothing. "ah, i see," said old glory, "but you are not to blame. do you see that open transom?" he went on. "go through it into the street, put your staffs into the hands of any little boys you find and bring them here." "yes, captain," called the flags, as they fluttered away. last of all, old glory pulled his silken stripes into the hallway and waited for the flags to come back. "it's much too cold for little girls," he said to himself. "their pretty noses might freeze." by and by the flags came back, each bringing a small boy. old glory looked at them. "what's the matter?" said he; "you don't seem pleased." no one spoke, the little boys stared with round eyes at old glory, but held tightly to the flags. at last one of the flags said: "please, captain, these are the only little boys we could find." "well!" said old glory. "and we think they don't belong to uncle sam," was the answer. "why not?" said old glory. "some of them are ragged," called one flag. "and some are dirty," said another. "this one is a colored boy," said another. "some of them can't speak english at all." "the one i found, why, he blacks boots!" "and mine is a newsboy." "mine sleeps in a dry goods box." "mine plays a violin on the street corner." "just look at mine, captain!" said the last flag proudly, when the rest were through. "what about him?" asked old glory. "i'm sure he belongs to uncle sam; he lives in a brown-stone house and he wears such good clothes!" "of course i belong to uncle sam," said the brown-stone boy quickly, "but i think these street boys do not." "there, there!" said old glory; "i'll telephone to washington and find out," and old glory floated away. the little boys watched and waited. back came old glory. "it's all right," said he, "uncle sam says every one of you belongs to him and he wants you to be brave and honest, for some day he may need you for soldiers; oh, yes! and he said, 'tell those poor little chaps who have such a hard time of it and no one to help them, that mr. lincoln was a poor boy too, and yet he was the grandest and best of all my sons.'" the moon was just rising. it made the snow and ice shine. "it's almost time," said old glory softly. "hark! you must not wink, nor cough nor sneeze nor move for three-quarters of a minute!" that was dreadful! the newsboy swallowed a cough. the boot-black held his breath for fear of sneezing. the brown-stone boy shut his eyes so as not to wink. they all stood as if turned to stone. tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, came a faint sound of bells. nothing else was heard but the beating of their own hearts. in exactly three-quarters of a minute, old glory said, "what do you think of that?" behold! a wonderful fairy sleigh, white as a snowdrift, and shining in the moonlight as if covered with diamond dust. it was piled high with softest cushions and robes of fur. it was drawn by thirteen fairy horses, with arching necks and flowing manes and tails. each horse wore knots of red, white and blue at his ears and the lines were wound with ribbons of the same. "jump in," said old glory. into the midst of the cushions and furs they sprang. crack went the whip, tinkle went the bells. over the house-tops, through the frosty air, among the moonbeams, up and away sailed fairy horses and sleigh, american flags and uncle sam's boys. santa claus with his reindeer never went faster. presently the tinkling bells were hushed, and the fairy horses stood very still before the tomb of abraham lincoln. "come," said old glory, and he led them inside. you must get your father or mother to tell you what they saw there. just before they left, a dirty little hand touched old glory and a shrill little voice said: "i'd like to leave my flag here. may i?" "and may i?" said another. old glory looked around and saw the same wish in the other faces. "you forget," said he, "that the flags are not yours. it would not be right to keep them. what did the people call mr. lincoln? you don't know? well, i'll tell you. it was 'honest old abe,' and uncle sam wants you to be like him." again the merry bells tinkled, again the proud horses, with their flowing manes and tails, sprang into the air, and before the moon had said "good-night" to the earth, they were back at the flag shop. the very moment they reached it, horses and sleigh, cushions and robes, melted away and the children saw them no more. two february birthdays (exercise for the schoolroom) by lizzie m. hadley and clara j. denton for eight boys. this dialogue, or exercise, is to be given by eight boys. while they and the school are singing the first song the boys march upon the stage and form into a semicircle, the four boys speaking for washington on the right, the other four (for lincoln) on the left. portraits of washington and lincoln should be placed in a convenient position on the stage beneath a double arch wreathed with evergreens. the portraits should be draped with american flags. each one of the boys should wear a small american flag pinned to his coat. song. tune, _rally 'round the flag_ we are marching from the east, we are marching from the west, singing the praises of a nation. that all the world may hear of the men we hold so dear, singing the praises of a nation. chorus for washington and lincoln, hurrah, all hurrah, sing as we gather here from afar, yes, for washington and lincoln, let us ever sing, sing all the praises of a nation. yes, we love to sing this song, as we proudly march along, singing the praises of the heroes. through this great and happy land, we would sound their names so grand. singing the praises of our heroes. chorus all: we have come to tell you of two men whose names must be linked together as long as the nation shall stand, washington and lincoln. they stand for patriotism, goodness, truth and true manliness. hand in hand they shall go down the centuries together. first speaker on the washington side: virginia sends you greeting. i come in her name in honor of her illustrious son, george washington, and she bids me tell you that he was born in her state, feb. , . all: 'twas years and years ago. first speaker: yes, more than a hundred and seventy, nearly two centuries. all: a long time to be remembered. first speaker: yes, but washington's name is still cherished and honored all over the land which his valor and wisdom helped save, and, for generations yet to come, the children of the schools shall give him a million-tongued fame. second speaker: virginia bids me tell you that as a boy, washington was manly, brave, obedient and kind, and that he never told a lie. song: (either as solo or chorus). air, _what can the matter be?_ dear, dear, who can believe it? dear, dear, who can conceive it? dear, dear, we scarce can believe that never did he tell a lie. o, surely temptation must oft have assailed him, but courage and honor we know never failed him, so let us all follow his wondrous example, and never, no never tell lies. and never, no never, tell lies. third speaker: a brave and manly boy, he began work early in life, and, in , when only sixteen years old, he was a surveyor of lands, and took long tramps into the wilderness. in came the revolutionary war, and he was appointed commander-in-chief of the american army. in he was elected president of the convention which framed the constitution of our country. fourth speaker: in he was chosen first president of the united states. he was re-elected in and, at the close of the second term he retired to private life at his beautiful and beloved home, mt. vernon. he died there, dec. , , honored and mourned by the whole nation, and leaving to the world a life which is a "pattern for all public men, teaching what greatness is and what is the pathway to undying fame," and richly deserving the title, "father of his country." all: "first in war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of his countrymen," he was second to none in the humble and endearing scenes of private life. boys representing lincoln: washington was a great and good man, and so, too, was the man whom we delight to honor, whose title, "honest abe," has passed into the language of our times as a synonym for all that is just and honest in man. first speaker on the lincoln side: kentucky is proud to claim abraham lincoln as one of her honored sons, and she bids me say that he was born in that state in hardin county, feb. , . indiana, too, claims him, he was her son by adoption, for, when but seven years old, his father moved to the southwestern part of that state. illinois also has a claim upon him. it was there that he helped build a log cabin for a new home, and split rails to fence in a cornfield. afterwards he split rails for a suit of clothes, one hundred rails for every yard of cloth, and so won the name, "the rail-splitter." second speaker: in he became a flat-boatman and twice went down the river to new orleans. in he served as captain of a company in the black hawk war. after the war he kept a country store, and won a reputation for honesty. then, for a while, he was a surveyor, next, a lawyer, and in he was elected to the legislature of illinois. third speaker: in he was made a member of congress, in he was elected president of the united states. fourth speaker: the civil war followed, and in he was elected president for the second term. on april he was shot by an assassin and died on the morning of the th. song by school: air, _john brown's body_ in spite of changing seasons of the years that come and go, still his name to-day is cherished in the hearts of friend and foe, and the land for which he suffered e'er shall honor him we know, while truth goes marching on. chorus both groups together: to both these men, george washington and abraham lincoln, we, the children of the nation, owe a debt of gratitude which we can only repay by a lifetime of work, for god, humanity, and our country. both have left behind them words of wisdom, which, if heeded, will make us wiser and better boys and girls, and so wiser and better men and women. two boys from the washington group: washington said, "without virtue and without integrity, the finest talents and the most brilliant accomplishments can never gain the respect or conciliate the esteem of the most valuable part of mankind." two boys from the lincoln group: lincoln said, "i have one vote, and i shall always cast that against wrong as long as i live." two boys from washington group: "if to please the people we offer what we ourselves disapprove, how can we afterwards defend our work?" two boys from lincoln group: lincoln said, "in every event of life, it is right makes might." all: o, wise and great! their like, perchance, we ne'er shall see again, but let us write their golden words upon the hearts of men. song: tune _"america"_ turn now unto the past, there, long as life shall last, their names you'll find. faithful and true and brave, sent here our land to save. men whom our father gave, brave, true, and kind. (_exeunt_) viii lincoln's place in history the three greatest americans by theodore roosevelt as the generations slip away, as the dust of conflict settles, and as through the clearing air we look back with keener vision into the nation's past, mightiest among the mighty dead, loom up the three great figures of washington, lincoln and grant. these three greatest men have taken their places among the great men of all nations, the great men of all times. they stood supreme in the two great crises of our history, in the two great occasions, when we stood in the van of all humanity, and struck the most effective blows that have ever been struck for the cause of human freedom under the law. his choice and his destiny by f. m. bristol as god appeared to solomon and joseph in dreams to urge them to make wise choices for the power of great usefulness, so it would appear that in their waking dreams the almighty appeared to such history-making souls as paul and constantine, alfred the great, washington, and lincoln. it was the commonest kind of a life this young lincoln was living on the frontier of civilization, but out of that commonest kind of living came the uncommonest kind of character of these modern years, the sublimest liberative power in the history of freedom. lincoln felt there, as a great awkward boy, that god and history had something for him to do. he dreamed his destiny. he chose to champion the cause of the oppressed. he vowed that when the chance came he would deal slavery a hard blow. when he came to his high office, he came with a character which had been fitting itself for its grave responsibilities. he had been making wise choices on the great questions of human rights, of national union, of constitutional freedom, of universal brotherhood. from "reminiscences of abraham lincoln"[ ] by robert g. ingersoll strange mingling of mirth and tears, of the tragic and grotesque, of cap and crown, of socrates and rabelais, of Ã�sop and marcus aurelius, of all that is gentle and just, humorous and honest, merciful, wise, laughable, lovable and divine, and all consecrated to the use of man; while through all, and over all, an overwhelming sense of obligation, of chivalric loyalty to truth, and upon all the shadow of the tragic end. nearly all the great historic characters are impossible monsters, disproportioned by flattery, or by calumny deformed. we know nothing of their peculiarities, or nothing but their peculiarities. about the roots of these oaks there clings none of the earth of humanity. washington is now only a steel engraving. about the real man who lived and loved and hated and schemed we know but little. the glass through which we look at him is of such high magnifying power that the features are exceedingly indistinct. hundreds of people are now engaged in smoothing out the lines of lincoln's face--forcing all features to the common mold--so that he may be known, not as he really was, but, according to their poor standard, as he should have been. lincoln was not a type. he stands alone--no ancestors, no fellows, and no successors. he had the advantage of living in a new country, of social equality, of personal freedom, of seeing in the horizon of his future the perpetual star of hope. he preserved his individuality and his self-respect. he knew and mingled with men of every kind; and, after all, men are the best books. he became acquainted with the ambitions and hopes of the heart, the means used to accomplish ends, the springs of action and the seeds of thought. he was familiar with nature, with actual things, with common facts. he loved and appreciated the poem of the year, the drama of the seasons. in a new country, a man must possess at least three virtues--honesty, courage and generosity. in cultivated society, cultivation is often more important than soil. a well executed counterfeit passes more readily than a blurred genuine. it is necessary only to observe the unwritten laws of society--to be honest enough to keep out of prison, and generous enough to subscribe in public--where the subscription can be defended as an investment. in a new country, character is essential; in the old, reputation is sufficient. in the new, they find what a man really is; in the old, he generally passes for what he resembles. people separated only by distance are much nearer together than those divided by the walls of caste. it is no advantage to live in a great city, where poverty degrades and failure brings despair. the fields are lovelier than paved streets, and the great forests than walls of brick. oaks and elms are more poetic than steeples and chimneys. in the country is the idea of home. there you see the rising and setting sun; you become acquainted with the stars and clouds. the constellations are your friends. you hear the rain on the roof and listen to the rhythmic sighing of the winds. you are thrilled by the resurrection called spring, touched and saddened by autumn, the grace and poetry of death. every field is a picture, a landscape; every landscape, a poem; every flower, a tender thought; and every forest, a fairy-land. in the country you preserve your identity--your personality. there you are an aggregation of atoms, but in the city you are only an atom of an aggregation. lincoln never finished his education. to the night of his death he was a pupil, a learner, an inquirer, a seeker after knowledge. you have no idea how many men are spoiled by what is called education. for the most part, colleges are places where pebbles are polished and diamonds are dimmed. if shakespeare had graduated at oxford, he might have been a quibbling attorney or a hypocritical parson. lincoln was a many-sided man, acquainted with smiles and tears, complex in brain, single in heart, direct as light; and his words, candid as mirrors, gave the perfect image of his thought. he was never afraid to ask--never too dignified to admit that he did not know. no man had keener wit or kinder humor. he was not solemn. solemnity is a mask worn by ignorance and hypocrisy--it is the preface, prologue, and index to the cunning or the stupid. he was natural in his life and thought--master of the story-teller's art, in illustration apt, in application perfect, liberal in speech, shocking pharisees and prudes, using any word that wit could disinfect. he was a logician. logic is the necessary product of intelligence and sincerity. it cannot be learned. it is the child of a clear head and a good heart. he was candid, and with candor often deceived the deceitful. he had intellect without arrogance, genius without pride, and religion without cant--that is to say, without bigotry and without deceit. he was an orator--clear, sincere, natural. he did not pretend. he did not say what he thought others thought, but what he thought. if you wish to be sublime you must be natural--you must keep close to the grass. you must sit by the fireside of the heart; above the clouds it is too cold. you must be simple in your speech: too much polish suggests insincerity. the great orator idealizes the real, transfigures the common, makes even the inanimate throb and thrill, fills the gallery of the imagination with statues and pictures perfect in form and color, brings to light the gold hoarded by memory, the miser--shows the glittering coin to the spendthrift, hope--enriches the brain, ennobles the heart, and quickens the conscience. between his lips, words bud and blossom. if you wish to know the difference between an orator and an elocutionist--between what is felt and what is said--between what the heart and brain can do together and what the brain can do alone--read lincoln's wondrous words at gettysburg, and then the speech of edward everett. the oration of lincoln will never be forgotten. it will live until languages are dead and lips are dust. the speech of everett will never be read. the elocutionists believe in the virtue of voice, the sublimity of syntax, the majesty of long sentences, and the genius of gesture. the orator loves the real, the simple, the natural. he places the thought above all. he knows that the greatest ideas should be expressed in the shortest words--that the greatest statues need the least drapery. lincoln was an immense personality--firm but not obstinate. obstinacy is egotism--firmness, heroism. he influenced others without effort, unconsciously; and they submitted to him as men submit to nature, unconsciously. he was severe with himself, and for that reason lenient with others. he appeared to apologize for being kinder than his fellows. he did merciful things as stealthily as others committed crimes. almost ashamed of tenderness, he said and did the noblest words and deeds with that charming confusion--that awkwardness--that is the perfect grace of modesty. as a noble man, wishing to pay a small debt to a poor neighbor, reluctantly offers a hundred-dollar bill and asks for change, fearing that he may be suspected either of making a display of wealth or a pretense of payment, so lincoln hesitated to show his wealth of goodness, even to the best he knew. a great man stooping, not wishing to make his fellows feel that they were small or mean. he knew others, because perfectly acquainted with himself. he cared nothing for place, but everything for principle; nothing for money, but everything for independence. where no principle was involved, easily swayed--willing to go slowly, if in the right direction--sometimes willing to stop, but he would not go back, and he would not go wrong. he was willing to wait. he knew that the event was not waiting, and that fate was not the fool of chance. he knew that slavery had defenders, but no defense, and that they who attack the right must wound themselves. he was neither tyrant nor slave. he neither knelt nor scorned. with him, men were neither great nor small,--they were right or wrong. through manners, clothes, titles, rags and race he saw the real--that which is. beyond accident, policy, compromise and war he saw the end. he was patient as destiny, whose undecipherable hieroglyphs were so deeply graven on his sad and tragic face. nothing discloses real character like the use of power. it is easy for the weak to be gentle. most people can bear adversity. but if you wish to know what a man really is, give him power. this is the supreme test. it is the glory of lincoln that, having almost absolute power, he never abused it, except upon the side of mercy. wealth could not purchase, power could not awe this divine, this loving man. he knew no fear except the fear of doing wrong. hating slavery, pitying the master--seeking to conquer, not persons, but prejudices--he was the embodiment of the self-denial, the courage, the hope, and the nobility of a nation. he spoke, not to inflame, not to upbraid, but to convince. he raised his hands, not to strike, but in benediction. he longed to pardon. he loved to see the pearls of joy on the cheeks of a wife whose husband he had rescued from death. lincoln was the grandest figure of the fiercest civil war. he is the gentlest memory of our world. [transcriber's note: part of this was omitted in original.] [ ] _by permission of mr. c. p. farrell._ lincoln[ ] paul laurence dunbar hurt was the nation with a mighty wound, and all her ways were filled with clam'rous sound, wailed loud the south with unremitting grief, and wept the north that could not find relief. then madness joined its harshest tone to strife: a minor note swelled in the song of life till, stirring with the love that filled his breast, but still, unflinching at the right's behest grave lincoln came, strong-handed, from afar,-- the mighty homer of the lyre of war! 'twas he who bade the raging tempest cease, wrenched from his strings the harmony of peace, muted the strings that made the discord,--wrong, and gave his spirit up in thund'rous song. oh, mighty master of the mighty lyre! earth heard and trembled at thy strains of fire: earth learned of thee what heav'n already knew, and wrote thee down among her treasured few! [ ] _by permission of mrs. mathilde dunbar._ the grandest figure[ ] by walt whitman glad am i to give even the most brief and shorn testimony in memory of abraham lincoln. everything i heard about him authentically, and every time i saw him (and it was my fortune through to ' to see, or pass a word with, or watch him, personally, perhaps twenty or thirty times), added to and annealed my respect and love at the passing moment. and as i dwell on what i myself heard or saw of the mighty westerner, and blend it with the history and literature of my age, and conclude it with his death, it seems like some tragic play, superior to all else i know--vaster and fierier and more convulsionary, for this america of ours, than eschylus or shakespeare ever drew for athens or for england. and then the moral permeating, underlying all! the lesson that none so remote, none so illiterate--no age, no class--but may directly or indirectly read! abraham lincoln's was really one of those characters, the best of which is the result of long trains of cause and effect--needing a certain spaciousness of time, and perhaps even remoteness, to properly enclose them--having unequaled influence on the shaping of this republic (and therefore the world) as to-day, and then far more important in the future. thus the time has by no means yet come for a thorough measurement of him. nevertheless, we who live in his era--who have seen him, and heard him, face to face, and in the midst of, or just parting from, the strong and strange events which he and we have had to do with, can in some respects bear valuable, perhaps indispensable testimony concerning him. how does this man compare with the acknowledged "father of his country?" washington was modeled on the best saxon and franklin of the age of the stuarts (rooted in the elizabethan period)--was essentially a noble englishman, and just the kind needed for the occasions and the times of -' . lincoln, underneath his practicality, was far less european, far more western, original, essentially non-conventional, and had a certain sort of out-door or prairie stamp. one of the best of the late commentators on shakespeare (professor dowden), makes the height and aggregate of his quality as a poet to be, that he thoroughly blended the ideal with the practical or realistic. if this be so, i should say that what shakespeare did in poetic expression, abraham lincoln essentially did in his personal and official life. i should say the invisible foundations and vertebrae of his character, more than any man's in history, were mystical, abstract, moral and spiritual--while upon all of them was built, and out of all of them radiated, under the control of the average of circumstances, what the vulgar call horse-sense, and a life often bent by temporary but most urgent materialistic and political reasons. he seems to have been a man of indomitable firmness (even obstinacy) on rare occasions, involving great points; but he was generally very easy, flexible, tolerant, respecting minor matters. i note that even those reports and anecdotes intended to level him down, all leave the tinge of a favorable impression of him. as to his religious nature, it seems to me to have certainly been of the amplest, deepest-rooted kind. dear to democracy, to the very last! and among the paradoxes generated by america not the least curious, was that spectacle of all the kings and queens and emperors of the earth, many from remote distances, sending tributes of condolence and sorrow in memory of one raised through the commonest average of life--a rail-splitter and flat-boatman! considered from contemporary points of view--who knows what the future may decide?--and from the points of view of current democracy and the union (the only thing like passion or infatuation in the man was the passion for the union of these states), abraham lincoln seems to me the grandest figure yet, on all the crowded canvas of the nineteenth century. [ ] _by permission of david mckay._ abraham lincoln by lyman abbott to comprehend the current of history sympathetically, to appreciate the spirit of the age, prophetically, to know what god, by his providence, is working out in the epoch and the community, and so to work with him as to guide the current and embody in noble deeds the spirit of the age in working out the divine problem,--this is true greatness. the man who sets his powers, however gigantic, to stemming the current and thwarting the divine purposes, is not truly great. abraham lincoln was made the chief executive of a nation whose constitution was unlike that of any other nation on the face of the globe. we assume that, ordinarily, public sentiment will change so gradually that the nation can always secure a true representative of its purpose in the presidential chair by an election every four years. mr. lincoln held the presidential office at a time when public sentiment was revolutionized in less than four years.... it was the peculiar genius of abraham lincoln, that he was able, by his sympathetic insight, to perceive the change in public sentiment without waiting for it to be formulated in any legislative action; to keep pace with it, to lead and direct it, to quicken laggard spirits, to hold in the too ardent, too impetuous, and too hasty ones, and thus, when he signed the emancipation proclamation, to make his signature, not the act of an individual man, the edict of a military imperator, but the representative act of a great nation. he was the greatest president in american history, because in a time of revolution he grasped the purposes of the american people and embodied them in an act of justice and humanity which was in the highest sense the act of the american republic. lincoln the immortal 'address for lincoln's birthday' anonymous from cæsar to bismarck and gladstone the world has had its soldiers and its statesmen, who rose to eminence and power step by step through a series of geometrical progression, as it were, each promotion following in regular order, the whole obedient to well-established and well-understood laws of cause and effect. these were not what we call "men of destiny." they were men of the time. they were men whose career had a beginning, a middle and an end, rounding off a life with a history, full, it may be, of interesting and exciting events, but comprehensible and comprehensive, simple, clear, complete. the inspired men are fewer. whence their emanation, where and how they got their power, and by what rule they lived, moved and had their being, we cannot see. there is no explication to these lives. they rose from shadow and went in mist. we see them, feel them, but we know them not. they arrived, god's word upon their lips; they did their office, god's mantle upon them; and they passed away god's holy light between the world and them, leaving behind a memory half mortal and half myth. from first to last they were distinctly the creations of some special providence, baffling the wit of man to fathom, defeating the machinations of the world, the flesh and the devil until their work was done, and passed from the scene as mysteriously as they had come upon it; luther, to wit; shakespeare, burns, even bonaparte, the archangel of war, havoc and ruin; not to go back into the dark ages for examples of the hand of god stretched out to raise us, to protect and to cast down. tried by this standard and observed in an historic spirit, where shall we find an illustration more impressive than in abraham lincoln, whose life, career and death might be chanted by a greek chorus as at once the prelude and the epilogue of the most imperial theme of modern times. born as low as the son of god in a hovel, of what real parentage we know not; reared in penury, squalor, with no gleam of light, nor fair surroundings; a young manhood vexed by weird dreams and visions, bordering at times on madness; singularly awkward, ungainly, even among the uncouth about him; grotesque in his aspects and ways, it was reserved for this strange being, late in life, without name or fame or ordinary preparation, to be snatched from obscurity, raised to supreme command, and entrusted with the destiny of a nation. the great leaders of his party were made to stand aside; the most experienced and accomplished men of the day, men like seward and chase and sumner, statesmen famous and trained, were sent to the rear; while this comparatively unknown and fantastic figure was brought by unseen hands to the front and given the reins of power. it is entirely immaterial whether we believe in what he said or did, whether we are for him or against him; but for us to admit that during four years, carrying with them such a pressure of responsibility as the world has never witnessed before, he filled the measure of the vast space allotted him in the actions of mankind and in the eyes of the world, is to say that he was inspired of god, for nowhere else could he have acquired the enormous equipment indispensable to the situation. where did shakespeare get his genius? where did mozart get his music? whose hand smote the lyre of the scottish plowman? and stayed the life of the german priest? god alone; and, so surely as these were raised up by god, inspired by god was abraham lincoln, and, a thousand years hence, no story, no tragedy, no epic poem will be filled with greater wonder than that which tells of his life and death. if lincoln was not inspired of god, then were not luther, or shakespeare, or burns. if lincoln was not inspired by god, then there is no such thing on earth as special providence or the interposition of divine power in the affairs of men. the crisis and the hero by frederic harrison the great struggle which has for ever decided the cause of slavery of man to man, is, beyond all question, the most critical which the world has seen since the great revolutionary outburst. if ever there was a question which was to test political capacity and honesty it was this. a true statesman, here if ever, was bound to forecast truly the issue, and to judge faithfully that cause at stake. we know now, it is beyond dispute, that the cause which won was certain to win in the end, that its reserve force was absolutely without limit, that its triumph was one of the turning-points in modern civilization. it was morally certain to succeed, and it did succeed with an overwhelming and mighty success. from first to last both might and right went all one way. the people of england went wholly that way. the official classes went wholly some other way. one of the great key-notes of england's future is simply this--what will be her relations with that great republic? if the two branches of the anglo-saxon race are to form two phases of one political movement, their welfare and that of the world will be signally promoted. if their courses are marred by jealousies or contests, both will be fatally retarded. real confidence and sympathy extended to that people in the hour of their trial would have forged an eternal bond between us. to discredit and distrust them, then, was to sow deep the seeds of antipathy. yet, although a union in feeling was of importance so great, although so little would have secured it, the governing classes of england wantonly did all they could to foment a breach. a great political judgment fell upon a race of men, our own brothers; the inveterate social malady they inherited came to a crisis. we watched it gather with exultation and insult. there fell on them the most terrible necessity which can befall men, the necessity of sacrificing the flower of their citizens in civil war, of tearing up their civil and social system by the roots, of transforming the most peaceful type of society into the most military. we magnified and shouted over every disaster; we covered them with insult; we filled the world with ominous forebodings and unjust accusations. there came on them one awful hour when the powers of evil seemed almost too strong; when any but a most heroic race would have sunk under the blows of their traitorous kindred. we chose that moment to give actual succour to their enemy, and stabbed them in the back with a wound which stung their pride even more than it crippled their strength. they displayed the most splendid examples of energy and fortitude which the modern world has seen, with which the defence of greece against asia, and of france against europe, alone can be compared in the whole annals of mankind. they developed almost ideal civic virtues and gifts; generosity, faith, firmness; sympathy the most affecting, resources the most exhaustless, ingenuity the most magical. they brought forth the most beautiful and heroic character who in recent times has ever led a nation, the only blameless type of the statesman since the days of washington. under him they created the purest model of government which has yet been seen on the earth--a whole nation throbbing into one great heart and brain, one great heart and brain giving unity and life to a whole nation. the hour of their success came; unchequered in the completeness of its triumph, unsullied by any act of vengeance, hallowed by a great martyrdom. lincoln[ ] by john vance cheney the hour was on us; where the man? the fateful sands unfaltering ran, and up the way of tears he came into the years, our pastoral captain. forth he came, as one that answers to his name; nor dreamed how high his charge, his work how fair and large,-- to set the stones back in the wall lest the divided house should fall, and peace from men depart, hope and the childlike heart. we looked on him; "'tis he," we said, "come crownless and unheralded, the shepherd who will keep the flocks, will fold the sheep." unknightly, yes; yet 'twas the mien presaging the immortal scene, some battle of his wars who sealeth up the stars. not he would take the past between his hands, wipe valor's tablets clean, commanding greatness wait till he stand at the gate; not he would cramp to one small head the awful laurels of the dead, time's mighty vintage cup, and drink all honor up. no flutter of the banners bold, borne by the lusty sons of old, the haughty conquerors sent forward to their wars; not his their blare, their pageantries, their goal, their glory, was not his; humbly he came to keep the flocks, to fold the sheep. the need comes not without the man; the prescient hours unceasing ran, and up the way of tears he came into the years, our pastoral captain, skilled to crook the spear into the pruning hook, the simple, kindly man, lincoln, american. [ ] _by permission of 'the interior,' chicago._ majestic in his individuality by j. p. newman human glory is often fickle as the winds, and transient as a summer day, but abraham lincoln's place in history is assured. all the symbols of this world's admiration are his. he is embalmed in song; recorded in history; eulogized in panegyric; cast in bronze; sculptured in marble; painted on canvas; enshrined in the hearts of his countrymen, and lives in the memories of mankind. some men are brilliant in their times, but their words and deeds are of little worth to history; but his mission was as large as his country, vast as humanity, enduring as time. no greater thought can ever enter the human mind than obedience to law and freedom for all. some men are not honored by their contemporaries, and die neglected. here is one more honored than any other man while living, more revered when dying, and destined to be loved to the last syllable of recorded time. he has this three-fold greatness,--great in life, great in death, great in the history of the world. lincoln will grow upon the attention and affections of posterity, because he saved the life of the greatest nation, whose ever-widening influence is to bless humanity. measured by this standard, lincoln shall live in history from age to age. great men appear in groups, and in groups they disappear from the vision of the world; but we do not love or hate men in groups. we speak of gutenberg and his coadjutors, of washington and his generals, of lincoln and his cabinet: but when the day of judgment comes, we crown the inventor of printing; we place the laurel on the brow of the father of his country, and the chaplet of renown upon the head of the saviour of the republic. some men are great from the littleness of their surroundings; but he only is great who is great amid greatness. lincoln had great associates,--seward, the sagacious diplomatist; chase, the eminent financier; stanton, the incomparable secretary of war; with illustrious senators and soldiers. neither could take his part nor fill his position. and the same law of the coming and going of great men is true of our own day. in piping times of peace, genius is not aflame, and true greatness is not apparent; but when the crisis comes, then god lifts the curtain from obscurity, and reveals the man for the hour. lincoln stands forth on the page of history, unique in his character, and majestic in his individuality. like milton's angel, he was an original conception. he was raised up for his times. he was a leader of leaders. by instinct the common heart trusted in him. he was of the people and for the people. he had been poor and laborious; but greatness did not change the tone of his spirit, or lessen the sympathies of his nature. his character was strangely symmetrical. he was temperate, without austerity; brave, without rashness; constant, without obstinacy. his love of justice was only equalled by his delight in compassion. his regard for personal honor was only excelled by love of country. his self-abnegation found its highest expression in the public good. his integrity was never questioned. his honesty was above suspicion. he was more solid than brilliant; his judgment dominated his imagination; his ambition was subject to his modesty, and his love of justice held the mastery over all personal considerations. not excepting washington, who inherited wealth and high social position, lincoln is the fullest representative american in our national annals. he had touched every round in the human ladder. he illustrated the possibilities of our citizenship. we are not ashamed of his humble origin. we are proud of his greatness. ix lincoln's yarns and sayings the question of legs whenever the people of lincoln's neighborhood engaged in dispute; whenever a bet was to be decided; when they differed on points of religion or politics; when they wanted to get out of trouble, or desired advice regarding anything on the earth, below it, above it, or under the sea, they went to "abe." two fellows, after a hot dispute lasting some hours, over the problem as to how long a man's legs should be in proportion to the size of his body, stamped into lincoln's office one day and put the question to him. lincoln listened gravely to the arguments advanced by both contestants, spent some time in "reflecting" upon the matter, and then, turning around in his chair and facing the disputants, delivered his opinion with all the gravity of a judge sentencing a fellow-being to death. "this question has been a source of controversy," he said, slowly and deliberately, "for untold ages, and it is about time it should be definitely decided. it has led to bloodshed in the past, and there is no reason to suppose it will not lead to the same in the future. "after much thought and consideration, not to mention mental worry and anxiety, it is my opinion, all side issues being swept aside, that a man's lower limbs, in order to preserve harmony of proportion, should be at least long enough to reach from his body to the ground." a famous story--how lincoln was presented with a knife! "in the days when i used to be 'on the circuit,'" said lincoln, "i was accosted in the cars by a stranger, who said: "'excuse me, sir, but i have an article in my possession which belongs to you.' "'how is that?' i asked, considerably astonished. "the stranger took a jack-knife from his pocket. 'this knife,' said he, 'was placed in my hands some years ago, with the injunction that i was to keep it until i found a man uglier than myself. i have carried it from that time to this. allow me now to say, sir, that i think you are fairly entitled to the property.'" "fooling" the people lincoln was a strong believer in the virtue of dealing honestly with the people. "if you once forfeit the confidence of your fellow-citizens," he said to a caller at the white house, "you can never regain their respect and esteem. "it is true that you may fool all the people some of the time; you can even fool some of the people all the time; but you can't fool all of the people all the time." lincoln's name for "weeping water" "i was speaking one time to mr. lincoln," said governor saunders, of nebraska, "of a little nebraskan settlement on the weeping waters, a stream in our state." "'weeping water!'" said he. "then with a twinkle in his eye, he continued. "'i suppose the indians out there call it minneboohoo, don't they? they ought to, if laughing water is minnehaha in their language.'" lincoln's confab with a committee on grant's whisky just previous to the fall of vicksburg, a self-constituted committee, solicitous for the morale of our armies, took it upon themselves to visit the president and urge the removal of general grant. in some surprise mr. lincoln inquired, "for what reason?" "why," replied the spokesman, "he drinks too much whisky." "ah!" rejoined mr. lincoln, dropping his lower lip. "by the way, gentlemen, can either of you tell me where general grant procures his whisky? because, if i can find out, i will send every general in the field a barrel of it!" mild rebuke to a doctor dr. jerome walker, of brooklyn, told how mr. lincoln once administered to him a mild rebuke. the doctor was showing mr. lincoln through the hospital at city point. "finally, after visiting the wards occupied by our invalid and convalescing soldiers," said dr. walker, "we came to three wards occupied by sick and wounded southern prisoners. with a feeling of patriotic duty, i said: 'mr. president, you won't want to go in there; they are only rebels.' "i will never forget how he stopped and gently laid his large hand upon my shoulder and quietly answered, 'you mean confederates!' and i have meant confederates ever since. "there was nothing left for me to do after the president's remark but to go with him through these three wards; and i could not see but that he was just as kind, his hand-shakings just as hearty, his interest just as real for the welfare of the men, as when he was among our own soldiers." x from lincoln's speeches and writings lincoln's life as written by himself the compiler of the "dictionary of congress" states that while preparing that work for publication in , he sent to mr. lincoln the usual request for a sketch of his life, and received the following reply: "born february , , in hardin co., kentucky. education defective. profession a lawyer. have been a captain of volunteers in black hawk war. postmaster at a very small office. four times a member of the illinois legislature, and was a member of the lower house of congress. yours, etc. a. lincoln." the injustice of slavery (_speech at peoria, ill., october , _) this declared indifference, but, as i must think, covert zeal, for the spread of slavery, i cannot but hate. i hate it because of the monstrous injustice of slavery itself; i hate it because it deprives our republic of an example of its just influence in the world; enables the enemies of free institutions with plausibility to taunt us as hypocrites; causes the real friends of freedom to doubt our sincerity; and, especially, because it forces so many really good men among ourselves into an open war with the very fundamental principles of civil liberty, criticising the declaration of independence and insisting that there is no right principle of action but self-interest. the doctrine of self-government is right,--absolutely and eternally right,--but it has no just application, as here attempted. or, perhaps, i should rather say, that whether it has such just application depends upon whether a negro is not, or is, a man. if he is not a man, in that case he who is a man may, as a matter of self-government, do just what he pleases with him. but if the negro is a man, is it not to that extent a total destruction of self-government to say that he, too, shall not govern himself? when the white man governs himself that is self-government; but when he governs himself, and also governs another man, that is more than self-government--that is despotism. what i do say is, that no man is good enough to govern another man without that other's consent. the master not only governs the slave without his consent, but he governs him by a set of rules altogether different from those which he prescribes for himself. allow all the governed an equal voice in the government; that, and that only, is self-government. slavery is founded in the selfishness of man's nature--opposition to it, in his love of justice. these principles are an eternal antagonism; and when brought into collision so fiercely as slavery extension brings them, shocks and throes and convulsions must ceaselessly follow. repeal the missouri compromise--repeal all compromise--and repeal the declaration of independence--repeal all past history--still you cannot repeal human nature. i particularly object to the new position which the avowed principles of the nebraska law gives to slavery in the body politic. i object to it, because it assumes that there can be moral right in the enslaving of one man by another. i object to it as a dangerous dalliance for a free people,--a sad evidence that feeling prosperity, we forget right,--that liberty as a principle we have ceased to revere. little by little, but steadily as man's march to the grave, we have been giving up the old for the new faith. near eighty years ago we began by declaring that all men are created equal; but now from that beginning we have run down to the other declaration that for some men to enslave others is a 'sacred right of self-government.' these principles cannot stand together. they are as opposite as god and mammon. our republican robe is soiled and trailed in the dust. let us purify it. let us turn and wash it white, in the spirit, if not in the blood, of the revolution. let us turn slavery from its claims of 'moral right' back upon its existing legal rights, and its arguments of 'necessity.' let us return it to the position our fathers gave it, and there let it rest in peace. let us re-adopt the declaration of independence, and the practices and policy which harmonize with it. let north and south--let all americans--let all lovers of liberty everywhere, join in the great and good work. if we do this, we shall not only have saved the union, but shall have so saved it, as to make and to keep it forever worthy of saving. we shall have so saved it that the succeeding millions of free, happy people, the world over, shall rise up and call us blessed to the latest generations. speech at cooper institute, february , i defy anyone to show that any living man in the whole world ever did, prior to the beginning of the present century (and i might almost say prior to the beginning of the last half of the present century), declare that, in his understanding, any proper division of local from federal authority, or any part of the constitution, forbade the federal government to control as to slavery in the federal territories. to those who now so declare, i give, not only 'our fathers who framed the government under which we live,' but with them all other living men within the century in which it was framed, among whom to search, and they shall not be able to find the evidence of a single man agreeing with them. i do not mean to say we are bound to follow implicitly in whatever our fathers did. to do so would be to discard all the lights of current experience, to reject all progress, all improvement. what i do say is, that if we would supplant the opinions and policy of our fathers in any case, we should do so upon evidence so conclusive, and argument so clear, that even their authority, fairly considered and weighed, cannot stand; and most surely not in a case whereof we ourselves declare they understood the question better than we. let all who believe that 'our fathers, who framed the government under which we live,' understood this question just as well, and even better, than we do now, speak as they spoke, and act as they acted upon it. it is exceedingly desirable that all parts of this great confederacy shall be at peace, and in harmony, one with another. let us republicans do our part to have it so. even though much provoked, let us do nothing through passion and ill-temper. even though the southern people will not so much as listen to us, let us calmly consider their demands, and yield to them if, in our deliberate view of our duty, we possibly can. judging by all they say and do, and by the subject and nature of their controversy with us, let us determine, if we can, what will satisfy them. wrong as we think slavery is, we can yet afford to let it alone where it is, because that much is due to the necessity arising from its actual presence in the nation. but can we, while our votes will prevent it, allow it to spread into the national territories, and to overrun us here in these free states? if our sense of duty forbids this, then let us stand by our duty, fearlessly and effectively. let us be diverted by none of those sophistical contrivances wherewith we are so industriously plied and belabored--contrivances such as groping for some middle ground between the right and wrong, vain as the search for a man who should be neither a living man nor a dead man; such as a policy of 'don't care' on a question about which all true men do care; such as union appeals beseeching true union men to yield to disunionists, reversing the divine rule, and calling, not the sinners, but the righteous to repentance; such as invocations to washington imploring men to unsay what washington said, and undo what washington did. let us have faith that right makes might, and in that faith, let us, to the end, dare to do our duty, as we understand it. first inaugural address, march , apprehension seems to exist among the people of the southern states, that by the occasion of a republican administration, their property and their peace and personal security are to be endangered. there has never been any reasonable cause for such apprehension. indeed, the most ample evidence to the contrary has all the while existed, and been open to their inspection. it is found in nearly all the published speeches of him who now addresses you. i do but quote from one of those speeches, when i declared that "i have no purpose, directly or indirectly, to interfere with the institution of slavery, in the states where it exists." i believe i have no lawful right to do so, and i have no inclination to do so. those who nominated and elected me did so with the full knowledge that i had made this and many similar declarations, and had never recanted them. i now reiterate these sentiments, and in doing so, i only press upon the public attention the most conclusive evidence of which the case is susceptible, that the property, peace, and security of no section are to be in any wise endangered by the now incoming administration. i take the official oath to-day with no mental reservations, and with no purpose to construe the constitution or laws by any hypercritical rules; and, while i do not choose now to specify particular acts of congress as proper to be enforced, i do suggest that it will be much safer for all, both in official and private stations, to conform to and abide by all those acts which stand unrepealed, than to violate any of them, trusting to find impunity in having them held to be unconstitutional. it is seventy-two years since the first inauguration of a president under our national constitution. during that period, fifteen different and very distinguished citizens have in succession administered the executive branch of the government. they have conducted it through many perils, and generally with great success. yet, with this scope for precedent, i now enter upon the same task, for the brief constitutional term of four years, under great and peculiar difficulties. i hold, that in the contemplation of universal law and the constitution, the union of these states is perpetual. perpetuity is implied, if not expressed, in the fundamental law of all national governments. it is safe to assert that no government proper ever had a provision in its organic law for its own termination. continue to execute all the express provisions of our national constitution, and the union will endure forever. to those, however, who really love the union may i not speak? before entering upon so grave a matter as the destruction of our national fabric, with all its benefits, its memories, and its hopes, would it not be well to ascertain why we do it? will you hazard so desperate a step while any portion of the ills you fly from have no real existence? will you, while the certain ills you fly to are greater than all the real ones you fly from? will you risk the commission of so fearful a mistake? all profess to be content in the union if all constitutional rights can be maintained. is it true, then, that any right plainly written in the constitution has been denied? i think not. happily, the human mind is so constituted that no party can reach to the audacity of doing this. all the vital rights of minorities and of individuals are so plainly assured to them by affirmations and negations, guarantees and prohibitions, in the constitution, that controversies never arise concerning them. but no organic law can ever be framed with a provision specifically applicable to every question which may occur in practical administration. no foresight can anticipate, nor any document of reasonable length contain, express provision for all possible questions. shall fugitives from labor be surrendered by national or by state authority? the constitution does not expressly say. must congress protect slavery in the territories? the constitution does not expressly say. from questions of this class spring all our constitutional controversies, and we divide upon them into majorities and minorities. if the minority will not acquiesce, the majority must, or the government must cease. there is no alternative for continuing the government but acquiescence on the one side or the other. if the minority will secede rather than acquiesce, they make a precedent which, in turn, will ruin and divide them; for a minority of their own will secede from them whenever a majority refuses to be controlled by such a minority. for instance, why should not any portion of a new confederacy, a year or two hence, arbitrarily secede again, precisely as portions of the present union now claim to secede from it? all who cherish disunion sentiments are now being educated to the exact temper of doing this. is there such perfect identity of interest among the states to compose a new union as to produce harmony only, and prevent renewed secession? plainly, the central idea of secession is the essence of anarchy. physically speaking, we cannot separate; we cannot move our respective sections from each other, nor build an impassable wall between them. a husband and wife may be divorced, and go out of the presence and beyond the reach of each other; but the different parts of our country cannot do this. they cannot but remain face to face; and intercourse, either amicable or hostile, must continue between them. is it possible, then, to make that intercourse more advantageous or more satisfactory after separation than before? suppose you go to war, you cannot fight always; and when, after much loss on both sides, and no gain on either, you cease fighting, the identical questions as to terms of intercourse are again upon you. why should there not be patient confidence in the ultimate justice of the people? is there any better or equal hope in the world? in our present differences is either party without faith of being in the right? if the almighty ruler of nations with his eternal truth and justice be on your side of the north, or on yours of the south, that truth and that justice will surely prevail by the judgment of this great tribunal of the american people. by the frame of government under which we live, this same people have wisely given their public servants but little power for mischief, and have with equal wisdom provided for the return of that little to their own hands at very short intervals. while the people retain their virtue and vigilance, no administration, by any extreme of wickedness or folly, can very seriously injure the government in the short space of four years. my countrymen, one and all, think calmly and well upon the whole subject--nothing valuable can be lost by taking time. if there be an object to hurry any of you, in hot haste, to a step which you would never take deliberately, that object will be frustrated by taking time, but no good object can be frustrated by it. such of you as are now dissatisfied still have the old constitution unimpaired, and, on the sensitive point, the laws of your own framing under it; while the new administration will have no immediate power if it wanted to change either. if it were admitted that you who are dissatisfied hold the right side in the dispute, there still is no single good reason for precipitate action. intelligence, patriotism, christianity, and a firm reliance on him who has never yet forsaken this favored land, are still competent to adjust in the best way all our present difficulties. in your hands, my dissatisfied countrymen, and not in mine, is the momentous issue of civil war. the government will not assail you. you can have no conflict without being yourselves the aggressors. you have no oath registered in heaven to destroy the government, while i shall have the most solemn one to preserve, protect, and defend it. i am about to close. we are not enemies, but friends. we must not be enemies. though passion may have strained, it must not break our bonds of affection. the mystic chords of memory, stretching from every battle field and patriot grave, to every loving heart and hearthstone all over this broad land, will yet swell the chorus of the union when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature. letter to horace greeley the administration, during the early months of the war for the union, was greatly perplexed as to the proper mode of dealing with slavery, especially in the districts occupied by the union forces. in the summer of , when mr. lincoln was earnestly contemplating his proclamation of emancipation, horace greeley, the leading republican editor, published in his paper, the new york tribune, a severe article in the form of a letter addressed to the president, taking him to task for failing to meet the just expectations of twenty millions of loyal people. thereupon mr. lincoln sent him the following letter:-- executive mansion, washington, august , . hon. horace greeley. _dear sir:_ i have just read yours of the th, addressed to myself through the new york tribune. if there be in it any statements or assumptions of fact which i may know to be erroneous, i do not now and here controvert them. if there be in it any inferences which i may believe to be falsely drawn, i do not now and here argue against them. if there be perceptible in it an impatient and dictatorial tone, i waive it in deference to an old friend, whose heart i have always supposed to be right. as to the policy i "seem to be pursuing," as you say, i have not meant to leave any one in doubt. i would save the union. i would save it in the shortest way under the constitution. the sooner the national authority can be restored, the nearer the union will be "the union as it was." if there be those who would not save the union unless they could at the same time destroy slavery, i do not agree with them. my paramount object in this struggle is to save the union and is not either to save or destroy slavery. if i could save the union without freeing any slave, i would do it; and if i could save it by freeing all the slaves, i would do it; and if i could do it by freeing some and leaving others alone, i would also do that. what i do about slavery and the colored race, i do because i believe it helps to save this union; and what i forbear, i forbear because i do not believe it would help to save the union. i shall do less, whenever i shall believe what i am doing hurts the cause; and i shall do more, whenever i shall believe doing more will help the cause. i shall try to correct errors when shown to be errors; and i shall adopt new views so fast as they shall appear to be true views. i have here stated my purpose according to my view of official duty, and i intend no modification of my oft-expressed personal wish that all men, everywhere, could be free. yours, a. lincoln. emancipation proclamation (_issued january , _) now therefore, i, abraham lincoln, president of the united states, by virtue of the power vested in me as commander-in-chief of the army and navy, in a time of actual armed rebellion against the authority of the government of the united states, as a fit and necessary war measure for suppressing said rebellion, do, on this first day of january, in the year of our lord one thousand eight hundred and sixty-three, and in accordance with my purpose so to do, publicly proclaimed for the full period of one hundred days from the date of the first above-mentioned order, designate as the states and parts of states therein the people whereof, respectively, are this day in rebellion against the united states, the following, to wit: arkansas, texas and louisiana (except the parishes of st. bernard, plaquemines, jefferson, st. john, st. charles, st. james, ascension, assumption, terrebonne, la fourche, st. mary, st. martin and orleans, including the city of new orleans), mississippi, alabama, florida, georgia, south carolina, north carolina, and virginia (except the forty-eight counties designated as west virginia, and also the counties of berkley, accomac, northampton, elizabeth city, york, princess anne, and norfolk, including the cities of norfolk and portsmouth), which excepted parts are for the present left precisely as if this proclamation were not issued; and by virtue of the power and for the purpose aforesaid, i do order and declare that all persons held as slaves within designated states, or parts of states, are, and henceforward shall be free, and that the executive government of the united states, including the military and naval authorities thereof, will recognize and maintain the freedom of the said persons; and i hereby enjoin upon the people so declared free to abstain from all violence, unless in necessary self-defense; and i recommend to them that, in all cases when allowed, they labor faithfully for reasonable wages. and i further declare and make known that such persons, of suitable condition, will be received into the armed service of the united states, to garrison forts, positions, stations, and other places, and to man vessels of all sorts in said service. and upon this act, sincerely believed to be an act of justice, warranted by the constitution upon military necessity, i invoke the considerate judgment of mankind, and the gracious favor of almighty god. thanksgiving proclamation (_issued october , _) the year that is drawing toward its close has been filled with the blessings of fruitful fields and healthful skies. to these bounties, which are so constantly enjoyed that we are prone to forget the source from which they come, others have been added, which are of so extraordinary a nature that they cannot fail to penetrate and soften even the heart which is habitually insensible to the ever-watchful providence of almighty god. in the midst of a civil war of unequaled magnitude and severity, which has sometimes seemed to invite and provoke the aggression of foreign states, peace has been preserved with all nations, order has been maintained, the laws have been respected and obeyed, and harmony has prevailed everywhere, except in the theater of military conflict. the needful diversion of wealth and strength from the fields of peaceful industry to the national defense has not arrested the plow, the shuttle, or the ship. the ax has enlarged the borders of our settlements, and the mines, as well of iron and coal as of the precious metals, have yielded even more abundantly than heretofore. population has steadily increased, notwithstanding the waste that has been made by the camp, the siege, and the battlefield, and the country, rejoicing in the consciousness of augmented strength and vigor, is permitted to expect continuance of years with large increase of freedom. no human council hath devised, nor hath any mortal hand worked out, these great things. they are the gracious gifts of the most high god, who, while dealing with us in anger for our sins, hath nevertheless remembered mercy. it seemed to me fit and proper that they should be solemnly, reverentially, and gratefully acknowledged as with one heart and voice, by the whole american people. i recommend too, that, while offering up the ascriptions justly due to him for such singular deliverances and blessings, they do also, with humble penitence for our national perverseness and disobedience, commend to his tender care all those who have become widows, orphans, mourners, or sufferers in the lamentable civil strife in which we are unavoidably engaged, and fervently implore the interposition of the almighty hand to heal the wounds of the nation, and to restore it, as soon as may be consistent with divine purposes, to the full enjoyment of peace, harmony, tranquillity, and union. address on the battlefield of gettysburg (_at the dedication of the cemetery, november , _) four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal. now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. we are met on a great battlefield of that war. we have come to dedicate a portion of that field as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. it is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this. but, in a larger sense, we cannot dedicate--we cannot consecrate--we cannot hallow--this ground. the brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. the world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. it is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. it is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us--that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion--that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain--that this nation, under god, shall have a new birth of freedom--and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth. remarks to negroes in the streets of richmond the president walked through the streets of richmond--without a guard except a few seamen--in company with his son "tad," and admiral porter, on the th of april, , the day following the evacuation of the city. colored people gathered about him on every side, eager to see and thank their liberator. mr. lincoln addressed the following remarks to one of these gatherings: my poor friends, you are free--free as air. you can cast off the name of slave and trample upon it; it will come to you no more. liberty is your birthright. god gave it to you as he gave it to others, and it is a sin that you have been deprived of it for so many years. but you must try to deserve this priceless boon. let the world see that you merit it, and are able to maintain it by your good works. don't let your joy carry you into excesses; learn the laws, and obey them. obey god's commandments, and thank him for giving you liberty, for to him you owe all things. there, now, let me pass on; i have but little time to spare. i want to see the capitol, and must return at once to washington to secure to you that liberty which you seem to prize so highly. second inaugural address, march , fellow-countrymen: at this second appearing to take the oath of the presidential office, there is less occasion for an extended address than there was at the first. then a statement, somewhat in detail, of a course to be pursued seemed fitting and proper. now, at the expiration of four years, during which public declarations have been constantly called forth on every point and phase of the great contest which still absorbs the attention and engrosses the energies of the nation, little that is new could be presented. the progress of our arms, upon which all else chiefly depends, is as well known to the public as to myself, and it is, i trust, reasonably satisfactory and encouraging to all. with high hope for the future, no prediction in regard to it is ventured. on the occasion corresponding to this, four years ago, all thoughts were anxiously directed to an impending civil war. all dreaded it; all sought to avert it. while the inaugural address was being delivered from this place, devoted altogether to saving the union without war, insurgents' agents were in the city seeking to destroy it without war--seeking to dissolve the union and divide its effects by negotiation. both parties deprecated war; but one of them would make war rather than let the nation survive, and the other would accept war rather than let it perish. and the war came. the prayer of both could not be answered--those of neither have been answered fully. the almighty has his own purposes. "woe unto the world because of offenses! for it must needs be that offenses come; but woe to that man by whom the offense cometh." if we shall suppose that american slavery is one of those offenses which, in the providence of god, must needs come, but which, having continued through his appointed time, he now wills to remove, and that he gives to north and south this terrible war as the woe due to those by whom the offense came, shall we discern therein any departure from those divine attributes which the believers in a living god always ascribe to him? fondly do we hope, fervently do we pray, that this mighty scourge of war may soon pass away. yet, if god wills that it continue until all the wealth piled by the bondsman's two hundred and fifty years of unrequited toil shall be sunk, and until every drop of blood drawn by the lash shall be paid by another drawn with the sword, as was said three thousand years ago, so still it must be said, "the judgments of the lord are true and righteous altogether." with malice toward none, with charity for all, with firmness in the right, as god gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in; to bind up the nation's wounds; to care for him who shall have borne the battle, and for his widow and for his orphan; to do all which may achieve and cherish a just and lasting peace among ourselves, and with all nations. the end. transcriber's notes: table of contents part vi: a section of tributes beginning on page is not included in the table. unchanged. table of contents part vii: a section called 'lincoln, the tender-hearted' by h. w. botton should be by h. w. bolton. changed. table of contents part ix: a section called "'fooling' the people" on page is not included in the table of contents. unchanged. table of contents part ix: a section called 'lincoln's confab with a committee on grant's whisky' is not included in the table of contents. unchanged. page : more definite than a similarity of christain names typo: changed to [christian]. page : answer inpregnable with facts. spelling of inpregnable is probably correct for that time. unchanged. page : buy and exhibit him as a zoological curriosity. likely misspelling. changed to curiosity page : fac-simile spelled as in original. unchanged. hyphenation appears as either option in original: careworn/care-worn deathblow/death-blow dooryard/door-yard lifelong/life-long masterpiece/master-piece stepbrother/step-brother the book of anecdotes, and budget of fun; containing a collection of over one thousand of the most laughable sayings and jokes of celebrated wits and humorists. philadelphia: geo. g. evans, publisher, no. chestnut street. . entered according to the act of congress, in the year , by g. g. evans in the clerk's office of the district court for the eastern district of pennsylvania. preface. nothing is so well calculated to preserve the healthful action of the human system as a good, hearty laugh. it is with this indisputable and important sanitary fact in view, that this collection of anecdotes has been made. the principle in selecting each of them, has been, not to inquire if it were odd, rare, curious, or remarkable; but if it were really funny. will the anecdote raise a laugh? that was the test question. if the answer was "yes," then it was accepted. if "no," then it was rejected. anything offensive to good taste, good manners, or good morals, was, of course, out of the question. book of anecdotes, and budget of fun lord mansfield and his coachman. the following is an anecdote of the late lord mansfield, which his lordship himself told from the bench:--he had turned off his coachman for certain acts of peculation, not uncommon in this class of persons. the fellow begged his lordship to give him a character. "what kind of character can i give you?" says his lordship. "oh, my lord, any character your lordship pleases to give me, i shall most thankfully receive." his lordship accordingly sat down and wrote as follows:--"the bearer, john ----, has served me three years in the capacity of coachman. he is an able driver, and a very sober man, i discharged him because he cheated me."--(signed) "mansfield." john thanked his lordship, and went off. a few mornings afterwards, when his lordship was going through his lobby to step into his coach for westminster hall, a man, in a very handsome livery, made him a low bow. to his surprise he recognized his late coachman. "why, john," says his lordship, "you seem to have got an excellent place; how could you manage this with the character i gave you?" "oh! my lord," says john, "it was an exceeding good character, and i am come to return you thanks for it; my new master, on reading it, said, he observed your lordship recommended me as an able driver and a sober man. 'these,' says he, 'are just the qualities i want in a coachman; i observe his lordship adds he discharged you because you cheated him. hark you, sirrah,' says he, 'i'm a yorkshireman, and i'll defy you to cheat _me_.'" a disclaimer. general zaremba had a very long polish name. the king having heard of it, one day asked him good humouredly, "pray, zaremba, what is your name?" the general repeated to him immediately the whole of his long name. "why," said the king, "the devil himself never had such a name." "i should presume not, sire," replied the general, "as he was _no relation of mine_." a considerate darkie. "cÆsar," said a planter to his negro, "climb up that tree and thin the branches." the negro showed no disposition to comply, and being pressed for a reason, answered: "well, look heah, massa, if i go up dar and fall down an' broke my neck, dat'll be a thousand dollars out of your pocket. now, why don't you hire an irishman to go up, and den if _he_ falls and kills himself, dar won't be no loss to nobody?" ocular demonstration. mr. newman is a famous new england singing-master; _i. e._, a teacher of vocal music in the rural districts. stopping over night at the house of a simple minded old lady, whose grandson and pet, enoch, was a pupil of mr. newman, he was asked by the lady how enoch was getting on. he gave a rather poor account of the boy, and asked his grandmother if she thought enoch had any ear for music. "wa'al," said the old woman, "i raaly don't know; won't you just take the candle and see?" a sufficient reason. there was once a clergyman in new hampshire, noted for his long sermons and indolent habits. "how is it," said a man to his neighbour, "parson ----, the laziest man living, writes these interminable sermons?" "why," said the other, "he probably gets to writing and he is too lazy to stop." inconsiderate cleanliness. "bring in the oysters i told you to open," said the head of a household growing impatient. "there they are," replied the irish cook proudly. "it took me a long time to clean them; but i've done it, and thrown all the nasty insides into the strate." yankee thrift. quoth patrick of the yankee: "bedad, if he was cast away on a dissolute island, he'd get up the next mornin' an' go around sellin' maps to the inhabitants." safe man. a poor son of the emerald isle applied for employment to an avaricious hunks, who told him he employed no irishmen; "for," said he, "the last one died on my hands, and i was forced to bury him at my own expense." "ah! your honour," said pat, brightening up, "and is that all? then you'll give me the place, for sure i can get a certificate that i niver died in the employ of any master i iver sarved." a pair of husbands. a country editor perpetrates the following upon the marriage of a mr. husband to the lady of his choice: "this case is the strongest we have known in our life; the husband's a husband, and so is the wife." art criticism. at a recent exhibition of paintings, a lady and her son were regarding with much interest, a picture which the catalogue designated as "luther at the diet of worms." having descanted at some length upon its merits, the boy remarked, "mother, i see luther and the table, but where are the worms?" cutting a swell. "a sturdy-looking man in cleveland, a short time since, while busily engaged in cow-hiding a dandy, who had insulted his daughter, being asked what he was doing, replied: "_cutting a swell_;" and continued his amusement without further interruption. talleyrand. to a lady who had lost her husband, talleyrand once addressed a letter of condolence, in two words: "oh, madame!" in less than a year, the lady had married again, and then his letter of congratulation was, "ah, madame!" that's nothing. a man, hearing of another who was years old, said contemptuously: "pshaw! what a fuss about nothing! why, if my grandfather was alive he would be one hundred and fifty years old." large pocket-book. the most capacious pocket-book on record is the one mentioned by a coroner's jury in iowa, thus:--"we find the deceased came to his death by a visitation of god, and not by the hands of violence. we find upon the body a pocket-book containing $ , a check on fletcher's bank for $ , and two horses, a wagon, and some butter, eggs, and feathers." degradation. we once heard of a rich man, who was badly injured by being run over. "it isn't the accident," said he, "that i mind; that isn't the thing, but the idea of being run over by an infernal swill-cart makes me mad." deaf to his own call. a new orleans paper states, there is in that city a hog, with his ears so far back, that he can't hear himself squeal. dr. parr. dr. parr had a great deal of sensibility. when i read to him, in lincoln's inn fields, the account of o'coigly's death, the tears rolled down his cheeks. one day mackintosh having vexed him, by calling o'coigly "a rascal," parr immediately rejoined, "yes, jamie, he was a bad man, but he might have been worse; he was an irishman, but he might have been a scotchman; he was a priest, but he might have been a lawyer; he was a republican, but he might have been an apostate." good. during a recent trial at auburn, the following occurred to vary the monotony of the proceedings: among the witnesses was one, as verdant a specimen of humanity as one would wish to meet with. after a severe cross-examination, the counsel for the government paused, and then putting on a look of severity, and an ominous shake of the head, exclaimed: "mr. witness, has not an effort been made to induce you to tell a different story?" "a different story from what i have told, sir?" "that is what i mean." "yes sir; several persons have tried to get me to tell a different story from what i have told, but they couldn't." "now, sir, upon your oath, i wish to know who those persons are." "waal, i guess you've tried 'bout as hard as any of them." the witness was dismissed, while the judge, jury, and spectators, indulged in a hearty laugh. i'll vote for the other man. the following story is told of a revolutionary soldier who was running for congress. it appears that he was opposed by a much younger man who had "never been to the wars," and it was his practice to tell the people of the hardships he had endured. says he: "fellow-citizens, i have fought and bled for my country--i helped whip the british and indians. i have slept on the field of battle, with no other covering than the canopy of heaven. i have walked over frozen ground, till every footstep was marked with blood." just about this time, one of the "sovereigns," who had become very much affected by this tale of woe, walks up in front of the speaker, wiping the tears from his eyes with the extremity of his coat-tail, and interrupting him, says: "did you say that you had fought the british and the injines?" "yes, sir, i did." "did you say you had followed the enemy of your country over frozen ground, till every footstep was covered with blood?" "yes!" exultingly replied the speaker. "well, then," says the tearful "sovereign," as he gave a sigh of painful emotion, "i'll be blamed if i don't think you've done enough for your country, and i'll vote for the other man!" the height of impudence. taking shelter from a shower in an umbrella shop. declining an office. "ben," said a politician to his companion, "did you know i had declined the office of alderman?" "_you_ declined the office of alderman? was you elected?" "o, no." "what then? nominated?" "no, but i attended our party caucus last evening, and took an active part; and when a nominating committee was appointed, and were making up the list of candidates, i went up to them and begged they would not nominate me for alderman, as it would be impossible for me to attend to the duties?" "show, jake; what reply did they make?" "why, they said they hadn't thought of such a thing." good witnesses. an attorney before a bench of magistrates, a short time ago, told the bench, with great gravity, "that he had two witnesses in court, in behalf of his client, and they would be sure to speak the truth; for he had had no opportunity to communicate with them!" talleyrand's wit. "ah! i feel the torments of hell," said a person, whose life had been supposed to be somewhat of the loosest. "already?" was the inquiry suggested to m. talleyrand. certainly, it came natural to him. it is, however, not original; the cardinal de retz's physician is said to have made a similar exclamation on a like occasion. a fighting fowl. during colonel crockett's first winter in washington, a caravan of wild animals was brought to the city and exhibited. large crowds attended the exhibition; and, prompted by common curiosity, one evening colonel crockett attended. "i had just got in," said he; "the house was very much crowded, and the first thing i noticed, was two wild cats in a cage. some acquaintance asked me if they were like wild cats in the backwoods; and i was looking at them, when one turned over and died. the keeper ran up and threw some water on it. said i, 'stranger, you are wasting time: my look kills them things; and you had much better hire me to go out of here, or i will kill every varmint you've got in the caravan.' while i and he were talking, the lions began to roar. said i, 'i won't trouble the american lion, because he is some kin to me; but turn out the african lion--turn him out--turn him out--i can whip him for a ten dollar bill, and the zebra may kick occasionally, during the fight.' this created some fun; and i then went to another part of the room, where a monkey was riding a pony. i was looking on, and some member said to me, 'crockett, don't that monkey favor general jackson?' 'no,' said i, 'but i'll tell you who it does favor. it looks like one of your boarders, mr. ----, of ohio.' there was a loud burst of laughter at my saying so, and, upon turning round, i saw mr. ----, of ohio, within three feet of me. i was in a right awkward fix; but bowed to the company, and told 'em, i had either slandered the monkey, or mr. ----, of ohio, and if they would tell me which, i would beg his pardon. the thing passed off, but the next morning, as i was walking the pavement before my door, a member came to me and said, 'crockett, mr. ----, of ohio, is going to challenge you.' said i, 'well, tell him i am a fighting fowl. i s'pose if i am challenged, i have the right to choose my weapons?' 'oh yes,' said he. 'then tell him,' said i, 'that i will fight him with bows and arrows.'" elephant. when the great lord clive was in india, his sisters sent him some handsome presents from england; and he informed them by letter, that he had returned them an "_elephant_;" (at least, so they read the word;) an announcement which threw them into the utmost perplexity; for what could they possibly do with the animal? the true word was "equivalent." "the last war." mr. pitt, once speaking in the house of commons, in the early part of his career, of the glorious war which preceded the disastrous one in which the colonies were lost, called it "the last war." several members cried out, "the last war but one." he took no notice; and soon after, repeating the mistake, he was interrupted by a general cry of "the last war but one--the last war but one." "i mean, sir," said mr. pitt, turning to the speaker, and raising his sonorous voice, "i mean, sir, the last war that britons would wish to remember." whereupon the cry was instantly changed into an universal cheering, long and loud. kisses. when an impudent fellow attempts to kiss a tennessee girl, she "cuts your acquaintance;" all their "divine luxuries are preserved for the lad of their own choice." when you kiss an arkansas girl, she hops as high as a cork out of a champagne bottle, and cries, "whew, how good!" catch an illinois girl and kiss her, and she'll say, "quit it now, you know i'll tell mamma!" a kiss from the girls of old williamson is a tribute paid to their beauty, taste, and amiability. it is not _accepted_, however, until the gallant youth who offers it is _accepted_ as the lord of their hearts' affections, and firmly united with one, his "chosen love," beneath the same bright star that rules their destiny for ever. the common confectionery make-believe kisses, wrapped in paper, with a verse to sweeten them, won't answer with them. we are certain they won't, for we once saw such a one handed to a beautiful young lady with the following:-- i'd freely give whole years of bliss, to gather from thy lips one kiss. to which the following prompt and neat response was immediately returned:-- young men present these to their favourite miss, and think by such means to entrap her; but la! they ne'er catch us with this kind of kiss, the right kind hain't got any wrapper. if you kiss a mississippian gal she'll flare-up like a scorched feather, and return the compliment by bruising your sky-lights, or may-be giving the _quid pro quo_ in the shape of a blunder-_buss_. baltimore girls, more beautiful than any in the world, all meet you with a half-smiling, half-saucy, come-kiss-me-if-you-dare kind of a look, but you must be careful of the first essay. after that no difficulty will arise, unless you be caught attempting to kiss another--then look out for thundergust. when a broome girl gets a _smack_, she exclaims, "if it was anybody else but you, i'd make a fuss about it." american wonders. "she be a pretty craft, that little thing of yours," observed old tom. "how long may she take to make the run?" "how long? i expect in just no time; and she'd go as fast again, only she won't wait for the breeze to come up with her." "why don't you heave to for it?" said young tom. "lose too much time, i guess. i have been chased by an easterly wind all the way from your land's-end to our narrows, and it never could overhaul me." "and i presume the porpusses give it up in despair, don't they?" replied old tom with a leer; "and yet i've seen the creatures playing before the bows of an english frigate at her speed, and laughing at her." "they never play their tricks with me, old snapper; if they do, i cut them in halves, and a-starn they go, head part floating one side, and tail part on the other." "but don't they join together again when they meet in your wake?" inquired tom. "shouldn't wonder," replied the american captain. "my little craft upset with me one night, in a pretty considerable heavy gale; but she's smart, and came up again on the other side in a moment, all right as before. never should have known anything about it, if the man at the wheel had not found his jacket wet, and the men below had a round turn in all the clues of their hammocks." "after that round turn, you may belay," cried tom laughing. "yes, but don't let's have a stopper over all, tom," replied his father. "i consider all this excessively diverting. pray, captain, does everything else go fast in the new country?" "everything with us clear, slick, i guess." "what sort of horses have you in america?" inquired i. "our kentuck horses, i've a notion, would surprise you. they're almighty goers at a trot, beat a n. w. gale of wind. i once took an englishman with me in a gig up alabama country, and he says, 'what's this great church yard we are passing through?' 'stranger,' says i, 'i calculate it's nothing but the mile-stones we are passing so slick.' but i once had a horse, who, i expect, was a deal quicker than that; i once seed a flash of lightning chase him for half an hour round the clearance, and i guess it couldn't catch him." no harm. "mother," said a little fellow the other day, "is there any harm in breaking egg shells?" "certainly not, my dear, but why do you ask?" "cause i dropt the basket jist now, and see what a mess i'm in with the yolk." taken down a peg. an irishman, observing a dandy taking his usual strut in broadway, stepped up to him and inquired: "how much do you ax for thim houses?" "what do you ask me that for?" "faith, an' i thought the whole strate belonged to ye," replied the irishman. dutch marriage. an old dutch farmer, just arrived at the dignity of justice of the peace, had his first marriage case. he did it up in this way. he first said to the man: "vell, you vants to be marrit, do you? vell, you lovesh dis voman so goot as any voman you have ever seen?" "yes," answered the man. then to the woman: "vell, do you love dis man so better as any man you have ever seen?" she hesitated a little, and he repeated: "vell, vell, do you like him so vell as to be his vife?" "yes, yes," she answered. "vell, dat ish all any reasonable man can expect. so you are marrit; i pronounce you man and vife." the man asked the justice what was to pay. "nothing at all, nothing at all; you are velcome to it if it vill do you any good." save the material. a rich old farmer at crowle, near bantry, england, speaking to a neighbour about the "larning" of his nephew, said:--"why i shud a made tom a lawyer, i think, but he was sich a good hand to hold a plough that i thought 'twere a pity to spoil a good ploughboy." be discreet. if your sister, while tenderly engaged in a tender conversation with her tender sweetheart, asks you to bring a glass of water from an adjoining room, you can start on the errand, but you need not return. you will not be missed--that's certain; we've seen it tried. don't forget this, little boys. traveler's tale. a traveler, relating his adventures, told the company that he and his servant had made fifty wild arabs run; which startling them, he observed that there was no great matter in it--"for," said he, "we ran, and they ran after us." an opinion. a tipsy irishman, leaning against a lamp post as a funeral was passing by, was asked who was dead. "i can't exactly say, sir," said he, "but i presume it's the gentleman in the coffin." garrick. a certain lord wished garrick to be a candidate for the representation of a borough in parliament. "no, my lord," said the actor, "i would rather play the part of a great man on the stage than the part of a fool in parliament." jonathan's last. the people live uncommon long at vermont. there are two men there so old that they have quite forgotten who they are, and there is nobody alive who can remember it for them. metaphysics. a scotch blacksmith, being asked the meaning of metaphysics, explained it as follows:--"when the party who listens disna ken what the party who speaks means, and when the party who speaks disna ken what he means himsel'--that is metaphysics." forensic eloquence. the _wheeling gazette_ gives the following, as an extract from the recent address of a barrister "out west," to a jury:--"the law expressly declares, gentlemen, in the beautiful language of shakspeare, that where no doubt exists of the guilt of the prisoner, it is your duty to fetch him in innocent. if you keep this fact in view, in the case of my client, gentlemen, you will have the honor of making a friend of him, and all his relations; and you can allers look upon this occasion, and reflect with pleasure, that you have done as you would be done by. but if, on the other hand, you disregard the principle of law, and set at nought my eloquent remarks, and fetch him in guilty, the silent twitches of conscience will follow you over every fair cornfield, i reckon; and my injured and down-trodden client will be apt to light on you one of these dark nights, _as my cat lights on a sasserful of new milk_." a definition in political economy. "will you never learn, my dear, the difference between real and exchangeable value?" the question was put to a husband, who had been lucky enough to be tied up to a political economist in petticoats. "oh yes, my dear, i think i begin to see." "indeed!" responded the lady. "yes," replied the husband. "for instance, my dear, i know your deep learning, and all your other virtues. that's your _real_ value. but i know, also, that none of my married friends would swap wives with me. that's your _exchangeable_ value. couldn't understand. "ah, pat, pat," said a schoolmistress to a thick-headed urchin into whose muddy brain she was attempting to beat the alphabet--"i'm afraid you'll never learn anything. now, what's that letter, eh?" "sure, and i don't know ma'am," replied pat. "thought you might have remembered that." "why, ma'am?" "because it has a dot over the top of it." "och, ma'am, i mind it well; but sure i thought it was a speck." "well, now remember, pat, it's i." "you, ma'am?" "no! no! not u but i." "not i, but you, ma'am--how's that?" "not u, but i, blockhead!" "och, yis, faith; now i have it, ma'am. you mean to say, that not i but you are a blockhead?" "fool! fool!" exclaimed the pedagoguess bursting with rage. "just as you please," quietly responded pat, "fool or blockhead--it's no matter, so long as yer free to own it!" great calf. at a cattle show, recently, a fellow who was making himself ridiculously conspicuous, at last broke forth--"call these ere prize cattle? why, they ain't nothin' to what our folks raised. my father raised the biggest calf of any man round our parts." "i don't doubt it," remarked a bystander, "and the noisiest." go in and win. "ma, i am going to make some soft soap, for the fair this fall!" said a beautiful miss of seventeen, to her mother, the other day. "what put that notion into your head, sally?" "why, ma, the premium is just what i have been wanting." "pray, what is it?" "a 'westchester farmer,' i hope he will be a good looking one!" not here. a correspondent from northampton, mass., is responsible for the following:--"a subscriber to a moral-reform paper, called at our post office, the other day, and enquired if _the friend of virtue_ had come. "no," replied the postmaster, "there has been no such person here for a long time." gentlemen and their debts. the late rev. dr. sutton, vicar of sheffield, once said to the late mr. peach, a veterionary surgeon, "mr. peach, how is it you have not called upon me for your account?" "oh," said mr. peach, "i never ask a gentleman for money." "indeed!" said the vicar, "then how do you get on if he don't pay?" "why," replied mr. peach, "after a certain time i conclude that he is not a gentleman, and then i ask him." charles james fox and his friend. i saw lunardi make the first ascent in a balloon, which had been witnessed in england. it was from the artillery ground. fox was there with his brother, general f. the crowd was immense. fox, happening to put his hand down to his watch, found another hand upon it, which he immediately seized. "my friend," said he to the owner of the strange hand, "you have chosen an occupation which wilt be your ruin at last." "o mr. fox," was the reply, "forgive me, and let me go! i have been driven to this course by necessity alone; my wife and children are starving at home." fox, always tender-hearted, slipped a guinea into the hand, and then released it. on the conclusion of the show, fox was proceeding to look what o'clock it was. "good god!" cried he, "my watch is gone!" "yes," answered general f., "i know it is; i saw your friend take it." "saw him take it! and you made no attempt to stop him?" "really, you and he appeared to be on such good terms with each other, that i did not choose to interfere."--_rogers' table-talk._ ministerial drinking. stothard the painter happened to be, one evening, at an inn on the kent road, when pitt and dundas put up there on their way from walmer. next morning, as they were stepping into their carriage, the waiter said to stothard, "sir, do you observe these two gentlemen?" "yes," he replied; "and i know them to be mr. pitt and mr. dundas." "well, sir, how much wine do you suppose they drank last night?"--stothard could not guess.--"seven bottles, sir." parr and erskine. dr. parr and lord erskine are said to have been the vainest men of their time. at a dinner some years since, dr. parr, in ecstasies with the conversational powers of lord erskine, called out to him, though his junior, "my lord, i mean to write your epitaph." "dr. parr," replied the noble lawyer, "it is a temptation to commit suicide." senatorial peculiarity. a few days since, says the _new york courier_, mr. wise appealed to the speaker of the house of representatives for protection against mr. adams, who, he alleged, was "_making mouths at him_." precisely the same complaint was subsequently made by a gentleman from massachusetts, against mr. marshall of kentucky; but the latter gentleman defended himself by saying, "it was only a _peculiar mode he had of chewing his tobacco_." family fleas. when the late lord erskine, then going the circuit, was asked by his landlord how he slept, he replied, "union is strength; a fact of which some of your inmates seem to be unaware; for had they been unanimous last night, they might have pushed me out of bed." "fleas!" exclaimed boniface, affecting great astonishment, "i was not aware that i had a single one in the house." "i don't believe you have," retorted his lordship, "they are all married, and have uncommonly large families." pulpit pleasantry. one day, naisr-ed-din ascended the pulpit of the mosque, and thus addressed the congregation:--"oh, true believers, do you know what i am going to say to you?" "no," responded the congregation. "well, then," said he, "there is no use in my speaking to you." and he came down from the pulpit. he went to preach a second time, and asked the congregation, "oh, true believers, do you know what i am going to say to you?" "we know," replied the audience. "ah, as you know," said he, quitting the pulpit, "why should i take the trouble of telling you?" when next he came to preach, the congregation resolved to try his powers; and when he asked his usual question, replied, "some of us know, and some of us do not know." "very well," said he, "let those who know, tell those who do not know."--_turkish jest-book._ affectionate husband. the other day, mrs. snipkins being unwell, sent for a medical man, and declared that she was poisoned, and that mr. snipkins did it. "i didn't do it," shouted snipkins. "it's all gammon; she isn't poisoned. prove it, doctor--open her on the spot--i'm willing." brummell. "may i help you to some beef?" said the master of the house to the late mr. brummell. "i never eat beef, nor horse, nor anything of that sort," answered the astonished and indignant epicure. bathos. some years ago, during a discussion respecting the bank of waterford, an honourable member said, "i conjure the right honourable the chancellor of the exchequer to pause in his dangerous career, and desist from a course only calculated to inflict innumerable calamities on my country--to convulse the entire system of society with anarchy and revolution--to shake the very pillars of civil government itself--and to cause _a fall in the price of butter in waterford_." dangerous visits. a person who was recently called into court, for the purpose of proving the correctness of a doctor's bill, was asked by the lawyer whether the doctor did not make several visits after the patient was out of danger? "no," replied the witness, "i considered the patient in danger as long as the doctor continued his visits!" nonsense. being asked to give a definition of nonsense, dr. johnson replied, "sir, it is nonsense to bolt a door with a boiled carrot." conceit. i believe every created crittur in the world thinks that he's the most entertainin' one on it, and that there's no gettin' on anyhow without him. _consait grows as natural as the hair on one's head, but is longer in comin' out._--_sam slick's wise saws._ kissing by proxy. one of the deacons of a certain church asked the bishop if he usually kissed the bride at weddings. "always," was the reply. "and how do you manage when the happy pair are negroes?" was the next question. "in all such cases," replied the bishop, "the duty of kissing is appointed to the deacons!" a bargain. "i reckon i couldn't drive a trade with you to-day, squire?" said a genuine specimen of a yankee pedler, as he stood at the door of a certain merchant in st. louis. "i reckon you calculate about right, for you can't," was the sneering reply. "wall, i guess you needn't get huffy 'bout it. now here's a dozen ginooine razer strops--worth two dollars and a half; you may have 'em for two dollars." "i tell you i don't want any of your strops--so you may as well be going along." "wall, now, look here, squire, i'll bet you five dollars, that if you make me an offer for them 'ere strops, we'll have a trade yet!" "done!" replied the merchant, placing the money in the hands of a bystander. the yankee deposited a like sum. "now," said the merchant, "i'll give you a picayune for the strops." "they're yourn," said the yankee, as he quietly pocketed the stakes. "but," said he, after a little reflection, and with great apparent honesty, "i'll trade back." the merchant's countenance brightened. "you are not so bad a chap, after all," said he. "here are your strops--give me the money." "there it is," said the yankee, as he received the strops and passed over the sixpence. "a trade is a trade; and, now you are wide awake, the next time you trade with that 'ere sixpence you'll do a little better than buy razer strops." and away walked the pedler with his strops and his wager, amidst the shouts of the laughing crowd. conundrums. what is the difference between a big man and a little man?--one is a tall fellow and the other not at all. why is a betting-list keeper like a bride?--because he's taken for better or worse. why is a person asking questions the strangest of all individuals?--because he's the querist. why is a thief called a "jail-bird?"--because he has been a "robbin." why should an editor look upon it as ominous when a correspondent signs himself "nemo?"--because there is an omen in the very letters. ready reply. a gentleman asked a friend, in a somewhat knowing manner, "pray, sir, did you ever see a cat-fish?" "no," was the response, "but i've seen a rope walk." a yankee prayer. in the state of ohio, there resided a family, consisting of an old man, of the name of beaver, and his three sons, all of whom were hard "pets," who had often laughed to scorn the advice and entreaties of a pious, though very eccentric, minister, who resided in the same town. it happened one of the boys was bitten by a rattlesnake, and was expected to die, when the minister was sent for in great haste. on his arrival, he found the young man very penitent, and anxious to be prayed with. the minister calling on the family, knelt down, and prayed in this wise:--"o lord! we thank thee for rattlesnakes. we thank thee because a rattlesnake has bit jim. we pray thee send a rattlesnake to bite john; send one to bite bill; send one to bite sam; and, o lord! send the biggest kind of a rattlesnake to bite the old man; for nothing but rattlesnakes will ever bring the beaver family to repentance." chief justice bushe. counsellor (afterwards chief justice) bushe, being asked which of mr. power's company of actors he most admired, maliciously replied, "the prompter; for i heard the most, and saw the least of him." presence of mind. i once observed to a scotch lady, "how desirable it was in any danger _to have presence of mind_." "i had rather," she rejoined, "_have absence of body_."--_rogers' table-talk._ glory without danger. a man hearing the drum beat up for volunteers for france, in the expedition against the dutch, imagined himself valiant enough, and thereupon enlisted himself; returning again, he was asked by his friends, "what exploits he had performed there?" he said, "that he had cut off one of the enemy's legs;" and being told that it would have been more honorable and manly to have cut off his head, said, "oh! you must know his head was cut off before." lord chesterfield. witticisms are often attributed to the wrong people. it was lord chesterfield, not sheridan, who said, on occasion of a certain marriage, that "nobody's son had married everybody's daughter." lord chesterfield remarked of two persons dancing a minuet, that "they looked as if they were hired to do it, and were doubtful of being paid." unanimity. a scotch parson, in his prayer, said, "lord, bless the grand council, the parliament, and grant that they may hang together." a country fellow standing by, replied, "yes, sir, with all my heart, and the sooner the better--and i am sure it is the prayer of all good people." "but, friends," said the parson, "i don't mean as that fellow does, but pray they may all hang together in accord and concord." "no matter what cord," replied the other, "so 'tis but a strong one." simplicity. the bishop of oxford, having sent round to the churchwardens in his diocese a circular of inquiries, among which was:--"does your officiating clergyman preach the gospel, and is his conversation and carriage consistent therewith?" the churchwarden near wallingford replied:--"he preaches the gospel, but does not keep a carriage." patriotism and liberality. a lady solicitor for the mount vernon fund visited one of the schools in boston, says the bee, to collect offerings from the children. on the dismission of the school, one of the boys went home, and said to his father--"papa! general washington's wife came to our school to-day, trying to raise some money to buy a graveyard for him where he's buried, and i want a dime to put into the contribution-box." in an ecstasy of patriotism the gentleman contributed. sheridan. sheridan was one day much annoyed by a fellow-member of the house of commons, who kept crying out every few minutes, "hear! hear!" during the debate he took occasion to describe a political contemporary that wished to play rogue, but had only sense enough to act fool. "where," exclaimed he, with great emphasis, "where shall we find a more foolish knave or a more knavish fool than he?" "hear! hear!" was shouted by the troublesome member. sheridan turned round, and, thanking him for the prompt information, sat down amid a general roar of laughter. the way to win a kiss. the late mr. bush used to tell a story of a brother barrister:--as the coach was about starting, before breakfast, the modest limb of the law approached the landlady, a pretty quakeress, who was seated near the fire, and said he "could not think of going without giving her a kiss." "friend," said she, "thee must not do it." "oh! by heavens, i will!" replied the barrister. "well, friend, as thou hast sworn, thee may do it; but thee must not make a practice of it." a butcher's compliment. in the bristol market, a lady laying her hand on a joint of veal, said, "i think, mr. f., this veal is not quite so white as usual." "put on your _glove_, madam," replied the dealer, "and you will think differently." it may be needless to remark, that the veal was ordered home without another word of objection. drunkenness. a gentleman finding his servant intoxicated, said--"what, drunk again, sam! i scolded you for being drunk last night, and here you are drunk again." "no, massa, same drunk, massa, same drunk," replied sambo. can't be beat. a lively hibernian exclaimed, at a party where theodore hook shone as the evening star, "och, master theodore, but you're the hook that nobody can bait." mrs. ramsbottom's letter from paris.[*] _paris, december th, ._ my dear mr. bull,--having often heard travelers lament not having put down what they call _memorybillious_ of their journies, i was determined while i was on my _tower_, to keep a _dairy_ (so called from containing the cream of one's information), and record everything which recurred to me--therefore i begin with my departure from london. resolving to take time by the _firelock_, we left montague place at o'clock by mr. fulmer's pocket thermometer, and proceeded over westminister bridge to _explode_ the european continent. i never pass whitehall without dropping a tear to the memory of charles the second, who was decimated, after the rebellion of , opposite the horse guards--his memorable speech to archbishop caxon rings in my ears whenever i pass the spot. i reverted my head and affected to look to see what o'clock it was by the dial, on the opposite side of the way. it is quite impossible not to notice the improvements in this part of the town, the beautiful view which one gets of westminster hall and its curious roof, after which, as everybody knows, its builder was called william roofus. amongst the lighter specimens of modern architecture is ashley's _ampletheatre_, on your right, as you cross the bridge (which was built, mr. fulmer informed me, by the court of arches and house of peers). in this ampletheatre there are equestrian performances, so called because they are exhibited _nightly_ during the season. the toll at the marsh gate is _ris_ since we last came through--it was here we were to have taken up lavinia's friend, mr. smith, who has promised to go with us to dover--but we found his servant instead of himself with a _billy_, to say he was sorry he could not come, because his friend, sir john somebody, wished him to stay and go down to _poll_ at lincoln. i have no doubt that this _poll_, whoever she may be, is a very respectable young woman, but mentioning her by her christian name only in so abrupt a manner had a very unpleasant appearance at any rate. nothing remarkable occurred till we reached the _obstacle_ in st. george's fields, where our attention was arrested by those great institutions--the school for the _indignant_ blind, and the _misanthropic_ society for making shoes, both of which claim the gratitude of the nation. at the bottom of the lane, leading to peckham, i saw that they had removed the _dollygraph_ which used to stand upon the declivity to the right of the road--the dollygraphs are all to be superseded by _serampores_. when we came to the green man at blackheath, we had an opportunity of noticing the errors of former travellers, for the heath is green and the man is black. mr. fulmer endeavoured to account for this, by saying, that mr. colman has discovered that moors being black, and heaths being a kind of moor, he looks upon the confusion of words as the cause of the mistake. n. b.--mr. colman is the _itinerary_ surgeon, who constantly resides at st. pancras. as we went near woolwich, we saw at a distance the artillery officers on a common, a firing away in mortars like anything. at dartford they make gunpowder--here we changed horses. at the inn we saw a most beautiful _roderick random_ in a pot covered with flowers--it is the finest i ever saw, except those at dropmore. when we got to rochester, we went to the crown inn and had a cold _collection_--the charge was _absorbant_. i had often heard my poor dear husband talk of the influence of the crown, and the bill of _wrights_, but i had no idea what it really meant, till we had to pay one. as we passed near chatham, i saw several _pitts_, and mr. fulmer shewed me a great many buildings--i believe he said they were _fortyfications_, but i think there must have been fifty of them; he also showed me the lines at chatham, which i saw quite distinctly, with the clothes drying on them. rochester was remarkable in king charles's time, for being a very witty and dissolute place, as i have read in books. at canterbury, we stopped ten minutes to visit all the remarkable buildings and curiosities in it, and about its neighborhood; the church is most beautiful. when oliver cromwell conquered william the third, he _perverted_ it into a stable--the stalls are now standing. the old _virgin_, who shewed us the church, wore buckskin _breaches and powder_--he said it was an archypiscopal sea--but i saw no sea, nor do i think it possible he could see it either, for it is at least seventeen miles off. we saw mr. thomas à beckett's tomb--my poor husband was extremely intimate with the old gentleman, and one of his nephews, a very nice young man, who lives near golden square, dined with us twice, i think, in london. in trinity chapel is the monument of eau de cologne, just as it is now exhibiting at the _diarrhoea_ in the regent's park. it was late when we got to dover. we walked about while our dinner was preparing, looking forward to our snug tête-à-tête of three. we went to look at the sea--so called, perhaps, from the uninterrupted view one has when upon it. it was very curious to see the locks to keep the water here, and the _keys_ which are on each side of them, all ready, i suppose, to open them if they are wanted. we were awake with the owl next morning, and a walking away before eight, we went to see the castle,--which was built, the man told us, by seizer, so called, i conclude, from seizing everything he could lay his hands upon. the man said moreover that he had invaded britain and conquered it, upon which i told him, that if he repeated such a thing in my presence again, i should write to the government about him. we saw the inn where alexander the _autograph_ of all the russians lived when he was here--and as we were going along, we met twenty or thirty dragons mounted on horses, and the ensign who commanded them was a friend of mr. fulmer's--he looked at lavinia and seemed pleased with her _tooting assembly_--he was quite a "sine qua non" of a man, and wore tips on his lips, like lady hopkins' poodle. i heard mr. fulmer say he was a son of _marrs_; he spoke as if everybody knew his father, so i suppose he must be the son of the poor gentleman who was so barbarously murdered some years ago, near ratcliff highway--if he is, he is uncommon genteel. at o'clock we got into a boat and rowed to the packet; it was a very fine and clear day for the season, and mr. fulmer said he should not dislike pulling lavinia about all the morning--this, i believe, was a _naughty-call_ phrase--which i did not rightly comprehend, because mr. f. never offered to talk in that way on shore to either of us. the packet is not a _parcel_, as i imagined, in which we were to be made up for exportation, but a boat of very considerable size; it is called a cutter--why i do not know, and did not like to ask. it was very curious to see how it rolled about--however i felt quite mal-á-propos--and instead of exciting any of the soft sensibility of the other sex, a great unruly man, who held the handle of the ship, bid me lay hold of a companion, and when i sought his arm for protection, he introduced me to a ladder, down which i _ascended_ into the cabin, one of the most curious places i ever beheld--where ladies and gentlemen are put upon shelves like books in a library, and where tall men are doubled up like bootjacks, before they can be put away at all. a gentleman in a heavy cap without his coat laid me perpendicular on a mattrass, with a basin by my side, and said that was my birth. i thought it would have been my death, for i never was so ill-disposed in all my life. i behaved extremely ill to a very amiable middle-aged gentleman, who had the misfortune to be attending on his wife, in a little bed under me. there was no _symphony_ to be found among the tars (so called from their smell), for just before we went off i heard them throw a painter overboard, and directly after they called out to one another to hoist up the ensign. i was too ill to inquire what the poor young gentleman had done; but after i came up stairs, i did not see his body hanging anywhere, so i conclude they cut him down--i hope it was not young mr. marr, a venturing after my lavy. i was quite shocked to find what democrats the sailors are--they seem to hate the nobility--especially the law lords. the way i discovered this _apathy_ of theirs to the nobility, was this--the very moment we lost sight of england and were close to france, they began, one and all, to swear first at the peer, and then at the bar, in such gross terms as made my very blood run cold. i was quite pleased to see lavinia sitting with mr. fulmer in the traveling carriage on the outside of the packet; but lavinia afforded great proofs of her good bringing up, by commanding her feelings. it is curious what could have agitated the _billy ducks_ of my stomach, because i took every precaution which is recommended in different books to prevent ill-disposition. i had some mutton chops at breakfast, some scotch marmalade on bread and butter, two eggs, two cups of coffee, and three of tea, besides toast, a little fried whiting, some potted char, and a few shrimps, and after breakfast i took a glass of warm white wine negus and a few oysters, which lasted me till we got into the boat, where i began eating gingerbread nuts all the way to the packet, and there was persuaded to take a glass of bottled porter to keep everything snug and comfortable. adieu, yours truly, dorothea julia ramsbottom. [*] this jeu d'esprit is attributed to theodore hook. very busy. some one asked a lad how it was he was so short for his age? he replied, "father keeps me so busy i haint time to grow." john bull. the english are a calm, reflecting people; they will give time and money when they are convinced; but they love dates, names, and certificates. in the midst of the most heart-rending narratives, bull requires the day of the month, the year of our lord, the name of the parish, and the countersign of three or four respectable householders. after these affecting circumstances, he can no longer hold out; but gives way to the kindness of his nature--puffs, blubbers, and subscribes!--_sydney smith._ yankee ingenuity. in some of our towns we don't allow smokin' in the streets, though most of them we do, and where it is agin law, it is two dollars fine in a gineral way. well, sassy went down to boston, to do a little chore of business there, where this law was, only he didn't know it. so, soon as he gets off the coach, he outs with his case, takes a cigar, lights it, and walks on, smoking like a furnace flue. no sooner said than done. up steps a constable and says, "i'll trouble you for two dollars for smokin' agin law, in the streets." sassy was as quick as wink on him. "smokin'!" says he; "i warn't a smokin'." "o, my!" says constable, "how you talk, man! i won't say you lie, 'cause it aint polite, but it's very like the way i talk when i fib. didn't i see you with my own eyes?" "no," says sassy, "you didn't. it don't do always to believe your own eyes, they can't be depended on more than other people's. i never trust mine, i can assure you. i own i had a cigar in my mouth, but it was because i liked the flavor of tobacco, but not to smoke. i take it don't convene with the dignity of a free and enlightened citizen of our almighty nation, to break the law, seein' that he makes the law himself, and is his own sovereign, and his own subject, too. no, i warn't smokin', and if you don't believe me, try this cigar yourself, and see if it aint so. it han't got no fire in it." well, constable takes the cigar, puts it into his mug, and draws away at it, and out comes the smoke like anythin'. "i'll trouble _you_ for two dollars, mr. high sheriff's representative," says sassy, "for smokin' in the streets; do you underconstand, my old coon?" well, constable was taken all aback; he was finely bit. "stranger," says he, "where was you raised?" "to canady line," says sassy. "well," says he, "you're a credit to your broughtens up. we'll let the fine drop, for we are about even, i guess. let's liquor," and he took him into a bar and treated him to a mint julep. it was generally considered a great bite, that, and i must say, i don't think it was bad--do you?--_sam slick._ comfortable. theodore hook, when surprised, one evening, in his arm-chair, two or three hours after dinner, is reported to have apologised, by saying: "when one is alone, the bottle _does_ come round so often." it was sir hercules langrishe, who, being asked, on a similar occasion, "have you finished all that port (three bottles) without assistance?" answered, "no, not quite that; i had the assistance of a bottle of madeira." horne tooke. when horne tooke was at school, the boys asked him "what his father was?" tooke answered, "a turkey merchant." (he was a poulterer.) he once said to his brother, a pompous man, "you and i have reversed the natural course of things; you have risen by your gravity; i have sunk by my levity." to judge ashhurst's remark, that the law was open to all, both to the rich and to the poor, tooke replied, "so is the london tavern." he said that hume wrote his history, as witches say their prayers--backwards. lamb and erskine. counsellor lamb, an old man when lord erskine was in the height of his reputation, was of timid manners and nervous disposition, usually prefacing his pleadings with an apology to that effect; and on one occasion, when opposed, in some cause, to erskine, he happened to remark that "he felt himself growing more and more timid as he grew older." "no wonder," replied the witty, but relentless barrister; "every one knows the older a _lamb_ grows, the more _sheepish_ he becomes." the truth told by mistake. i shall not easily forget the sarcasm of swift's simile as he told us of the prince of orange's harangue to the mob of portsmouth:--"we are come," said he, "for your good--for _all_ your _goods_." "a universal principle," added swift, "of all governments; but, like most other truths, only told by mistake."--_ethel churchill._ talleyrand's wit. talleyrand being asked, if a certain authoress, whom he had long since known, but who belonged rather to the last age, was not "a little tiresome?" "not at all," said he, "she was perfectly tiresome." a gentleman in company was one day making a somewhat zealous eulogy of his mother's beauty, dwelling upon the topic at uncalled for length--he himself having certainly inherited no portion of that kind under the marriage of his parents. "it was your father, then, apparently, who may not have been very well favoured," was talleyrand's remark, which at once released the circle from the subject. when madame de staël published her celebrated novel of _delphine_, she was supposed to have painted herself in the person of the heroine, and m. talleyrand in that of an elderly lady, who is one of the principal characters. "they tell me," said he, the first time he met her, "that we are both of us in your novel, in the disguise of women." rulhières, the celebrated author of the work on the polish revolution, having said, "i never did but one mischievous work in my life." "and when will it be ended?" was talleyrand's reply. "is not geneva dull?" asked a friend of talleyrand. "especially when they amuse themselves," was the reply. "she is insupportable," said talleyrand, with marked emphasis, of one well known; but, as if he had gone too far, and to take off something of what he had said, he added, "it is her only defect." bussing. buss--to kiss. re-bus--to kiss again. blunder-buss--two girls kissing each other. omni-bus--to kiss all the girls in the room. bus-ter--a general kisser. _e pluri_-bus _unum_--a thousand kisses in one. wanted. "you want a flogging, that's what you do;" said a parent to his unruly son. "i know it, dad; but i'll try to get along without it," replied the brat. national school scenes. the following anecdotes were told by the late bishop of chichester, as having occurred to himself. at the annual examination of the charity schools, around the city of chichester, he was seated in the front row of the school room, together with his daughters, and the family of the noble house of richmond, when the bishop kindly took part in the examination, and put several questions. to one boy, he said, "we have all sinned and come short of the glory of god. now, does that passage mean that _every one_ of us has sinned?" the boy hesitated--but upon a repetition of the question, the lad replied, "every one except your lordship, and the company sitting on the front form." the same bishop, at one of his confirmations, saw a school girl inclined to be inattentive and troublesome; he therefore held up his finger as a warning. these children, being accustomed to _signs_ from their teachers, of which they were expected to declare the meaning, did not suppose that the elevation of the bishop's finger, was an exception to their general rule of reply to such tokens, they therefore all arose together, and from the middle of the church exclaimed in an exulting tone, "_perpendicular_," to the astonishment and consternation of the better inclined, and to the amusement, we fear, of not a few of the congregation. mrs. partington. "so there's another rupture of mount vociferous," said mrs. partington, as she put up her specs; "the paper tells us about the burning lather running down the mountain, but it don't tell how it got a fire." an hibernian m. p. a very laughable incident occurred in the house of commons. an irish member, whose name i will not mention, having risen, he was assailed by loud cries of "spoke! spoke!" meaning, that having spoken once already, he had no right to do it a second time. he had, evidently, a second speech struggling in his breast for an introduction into the world, when seeing after remaining for some time on his legs, that there was not the slightest chance of being suffered to deliver a sentence of it, he observed, with imperturbable gravity, and in a rich tipperary brogue, "if honorable gintlemin suppose that i was going to spake again, they are quite mistaken. i merely rose for the purpose of saying that i had nothing more to say on the subject." the house was convulsed with laughter, for a few seconds afterwards, at the exceeding ready wit of the hibernian m. p.--_random recollections of the lords and commons.--new series._ modesty. there is a young lady down east, so excessively modest, that every night before retiring, she closes the window curtain, to prevent the "man in the moon" from looking in. she is related to the young lady who would not allow the _christian observer_ to remain in her room over night. american toast. "the ladies; the only endurable aristocracy, who rule without laws--judge without jury--decide without appeal, and are never in the wrong." passing a counterfeit. diggs saw a note lying on the ground, but knew that it was a counterfeit, and walked on without picking it up. he told the story to smithers, when the latter said: "do you know, diggs, you have committed a very grave offence?" "why, what have i done?" "you have passed a counterfeit bill, knowing it to be such," said smithers, without a smile, and fled. lord chesterfield. lord chesterfield being given to understand that he would die by inches, very philosophically replied, "if that be the case, i am happy that i am not so tall as sir thomas robinson." a penny. a good woman called on dr. b---- one day in a great deal of trouble, and complained that her son had swallowed a penny. "pray madam," said the doctor, "was it a counterfeit?" "no, sir, certainly not;" was the reply. "then it will pass, of course," rejoined the facetious physician. johnson. a lady, after performing, with the most brilliant execution, a sonata on the pianoforte, in the presence of dr. johnson, turning to the philosopher, took the liberty of asking him if he was fond of music? "no madam," replied the doctor; "but of all noises i think music is the least disagreeable." clever lampoon. upon frederick prince of wales, son of george the second, a prince whom people of all parties are now agreed in thinking no very great worthy, nor superior to what a lively woman has here written upon him; for if we understand horace walpole rightly, who says the verses were found among her papers, they were the production of the honourable miss rollo, probably daughter of the fourth lord rollo, who was implicated in the rebellion. frederick was familiarly termed _feckie_ and _fed_. "here lies prince fed, gone down among the dead. had it been his father, we had much rather; had it been his mother, better than any other; had it been his sister, few would have miss'd her; had it been the whole generation, ten times better for the nation; but since 'tis only fed, there's no more to be said." in his shirt sleeves. a good story is told of a "country gentleman," who, for the first time, heard an episcopal clergyman preach. he had read much of the aristocracy and pride of the church, and when he returned home he was asked if the people were "stuck up." "pshaw! no," replied he, "why the minister preached in his shirt-sleeves." a mormon preacher. the _boston herald_, in announcing the death of elder g. adams, a mormon preacher, says:--"on his second visit to boston, the elder preached, baptized converts, whipped a newspaper editor, and played a star engagement at the national theatre. he was industrious, and filled up all his time. we have a fund of anecdotes concerning this strange mortal, which we shall be glad to print at some other time. we close this article by briefly adverting to the chastisement he gave an editor, for strongly criticising his performance of _richard iii_. the office of the editor was in washington street, where propeller now keeps. adams armed himself with a cowhide, and watched for his victim. soon, the unsuspecting fellow came down the stairs, and adams sprang upon him, exclaiming, "the lord has delivered thee into my hands, and i shall give thee forty stripes, save one, scripture measure. brother graham, keep tally." so saying, he proceeded to lay on the punishment with hearty good will. in the meantime, a large crowd had gathered around the avenging priest and the delinquent. when the tally was up, adams let the man go, and addressed the crowd as follows: "men and brethren, my name is elder george j. adams, preacher of the everlasting gospel. i have chastised mine enemy. i go this afternoon to fulfil an engagement at the providence theatre, where i shall play one of shakspeare's immortal creations. i shall return to this city, at the end of the week, and will, by divine permission, preach three times next sabbath, on the immortality of the soul, the eternity of matter, and in answer to the question 'who is the devil?' may grace and peace be with you.--amen!" john kemble. john kemble was often very amusing when he had had a good deal of wine. he and two friends were returning to town, in an open carriage, from the priory, (lord abercorn's,) where they had dined; and as they were waiting for change at a toll-gate, kemble, to the amazement of the toll-keeper, called out, in the tone of rolla, "we seek no _change_; and, least of all, such _change_ as he would bring us." a surprise. a green 'un, who had never before seen a steamboat, fell through the hatchway, down into the hold, and being unhurt, thus loudly expressed his surprise--"well, if the darned thing aint holler." queer duel. an englishman and a frenchman having quarrelled, they were to fight a duel. being both great cowards, they agreed (for their mutual safety, of course) that the duel should take place in a room perfectly dark. the englishman had to fire first. he groped his way to the hearth, fired up the chimney, and brought down--the frenchman, who had taken refuge there. lawyers. "a lawyer," said lord brougham, in a facetious mood, "is a learned gentleman, who rescues your estate from your enemies, and keeps it himself." a frenchman puzzled with the word "box." sir--in the course of my study in the english language, which i made now for three years, i always read your periodically, and now think myself capable to write at your magazin. i love always the modesty, or you shall have a letter of me very long time pass. but, never mind. i would well tell you, that i am come to this country to instruct me in the manners, the customs, the habits, the policies, and the other affairs general of great britain. and truly i think me good fortunate, being received in many families, so as i can to speak your language now with so much facility as the french. i am but a particular gentleman, come here for that what i said; but, since i learn to comprehend the language, i discover that i am become an object of pleasantry, and for himself to mock, to one of your comedians even before i put my foot upon the ground at douvres. he was mr. mathew, who tell of some contretems of me and your word detestable _box_. well, never mind. i know at present how it happen, because i see him since in some parties and dinners; and he confess he love much to go travel and mix himself altogether up with the stage coach and vapouring boat for fun, what he bring at his theatre. well, never mind. he see me, perhaps, to ask a question in the paque-bot--but he not confess after, that he goed and bribe the garçon at the hotel and the coachman to mystify me with all the boxes; but, very well, i shall tell you how it arrived, so as you shall see that it was impossible that a stranger could miss to be perplexed, and to advertise the travellers what will come after, that they shall converse with the gentleman and not with the badinstructs. but, it must that i begin. i am a gentleman, and my goods are in the public rentes, and a chateau with a handsome propriety on the banks of the loire, which i lend to a merchant english, who pay me very well in london for my expenses. very well. i like the peace nevertheless that i was force, at other time, to go to war with napoleon. but it is passed. so i come to paris in my proper post-chaise, where i selled him, and hire one, for almost nothing at all, for bring me to calais all alone, because i will not bring my valet to speak french here where all the world is ignorant. the morning following, i get upon the vapouring boat to walk so far as douvres. it was fine day, and after i am recover myself of a malady of the sea, i walk myself about the ship, and i see a great mechanic of wood with iron wheel, and thing to push up inside, and handle to turn. it seemed to be ingenious, and proper to hoist great burdens. they use it for shoving the timber, what come down of the vessel, into the place; and they tell me it was call "jacques in the _box_:" and i was very much pleased with the invention so novel. very well. i go again promenade upon the board of the vessel, and i look at the compass, and little boy sailor come and sit him down, and begin to chatter like the little monkey. then the man that turns a wheel about and about laugh, and say, "very well, jacques," but i not understand one word the little fellow say. so i make inquire, and they tell me he was "_box_ the compass." i was surprise, but i tell myself, "well, never mind;" and so we arrive at douvres. i find myself enough well in the hotel, but as there has been no _table d'hôte_, i ask for some dinner, and it was long time i wait: and so i walk myself to the customary house, and give the key to my portmanteau to the douaniers, or excisemen, as you call, for them to see as i had no smuggles in my equipage. very well. i return at my hotel, and meet one of the waiters, who tell me (after i stand little moment to the door to see the world what pass by upon a coach at the instant), "sir," he say, "your dinner is ready." "very well," i make response, "where was it?" "this way, sir," he answer, "i have put it in a _box_ in the _café_ room." "well, never mind," i say to myself, "when a man himself finds in a stranger country, he must be never surprised. '_nil admirari._' keep the eyes open and stare at nothing at all." i found my dinner only there there, because i was so soon come from france; but, i learn, another sort of the box was a partition and table particular in a saloon, and i keep there when i eated some good sole fritted, and some not cooked mutton cutlet; and a gentleman what was put in another _box_, perhaps mr. mathew, because nobody not can know him twice, like a cameleon he is, call for the "pepper-_box_." very well. i take a cup of coffee, and then all my hards and portmanteau come with a wheel-barrow; and, because it was my resolution to voyage up at london with the coach, and i find my many little things was not convenient, i ask the waiter where i may buy a night sack, or get them tie up all together in a burden. he was well attentive at my cares, and responded, that he shall find me a _box_ to put them all into. well, i say nothing to all but "yes," for fear to discover my ignorance; so he brings the little _box_ for the clothes and things into the great _box_ what i was put into; and he did my affairs in it very well. then i ask him for some spectacle in the town, and he sent boot boy with me so far as the theatre, and i go in to pay. it was shabby poor little place, but the man what set to have the money, when i say, "how much," asked me if i would not go into the _boxes_. "very well," i say, "never mind--oh yes--to be sure;" and i find very soon the _box_ was the loge, same thing. i had not understanding sufficient in your tongue then to comprehend all what i hear--only one poor maiger doctor, what had been to give his physic too long time at a cavalier old man, was condemned to swallow up a whole _box_ of his proper pills. "very well," i say, "that must be egregious. it is cannot be possible," but they bring a little _box_ not more grand nor my thumb. it seemed to be to me very ridiculous; so i returned to my hotel at despair how i could possibility learn a language what meant so many differents in one word. i found the same waiter, who, so soon as i come in, tell me--"sir, did you not say that you would go by the coach to-morrow morning?" i replied--"yes; and i have bespeaked a seat out of the side, because i shall wish to amuse myself with the country, and you have no cabriolets in your coaches." "sir," he say, very polite, "if you shall allow me, i would recommend you the _box_, and then the coachman shall tell everything." "very well," i reply, "yes--to be sure--i shall have a _box_ then--yes;" and then i demanded a fire into my chamber, because i think myself enrhumed upon the sea, and the maid of the chamber come to send me in bed: but i say, "no so quick, if you please; i will write to some friend how i find myself in england. very well--here is the fire, but perhaps it shall go out before i have finish." she was pretty laughing young woman, and say, "oh no, sir, if you pull the bell, the porter, who sits up all night, will come, unless you like to attend to it yourself, and then you will find the coal-_box_ in the closet." well--i say nothing but "yes--oh yes." but, when she is gone, i look direct into the closet, and see a _box_ not no more like none of the other _boxes_ what i see all day than nothing. well--i write at my friends, and then i tumble about when i wake, and dream in the sleep what should possible be the description of the _box_, what i must be put in to-morrow for my voyage. in the morning, it was very fine time, i see the coach at the door, and i walk all around before they bring the horses; but i see nothing what they can call _boxes_, only the same kind as what my little business was put into. so i ask for the post of letters at a little boots boy, who showed me by the quay, and tell me, pointing by his finger at a window--"there see, there was the letter-_box_," and i perceive a crevice. "very well--all _box_ again to-day," i say, and give my letter to the master of postes, and go away again at the coach, where i very soon find out what was coach-_box_, and mount myself upon it. then come the coachman habilitated like the gentleman, and the first word he say was--"keep horses! bring my _box_-coat!" and he push up a grand capote with many scrapes. "but--never mind," i say; "i shall see all the _boxes_ in time." so he kick his leg upon the board, and cry "cheat!" and we are out into the country in lesser than one minute, and roll at so grand pace, what i have had fear we will be reversed. but after little times, i take courage and we begin to entertain together: but i hear one of the wheels cry squeak, so i tell him, "sir, one of the wheel would be greased;" then he make reply nonchalancely, "oh it is nothing but one of the _boxes_ what is too tight." but it is very long time after as i learn that wheel a _box_ was pipe of iron what go turn round upon the axle. well--we fly away at the pace of charge. i see great castles, many; then come a pretty house of country well ornamented, and i make inquire what it should be. "oh!" responded he, "i not remember the gentleman's name, but it is what we call a snug country _box_." then i feel myself abymed at despair, and begin to suspect that he amused himself. but, still i tell myself, "well, never mind; we shall see." and then after sometimes, there come another house, all alone in a forest, not ornated at all. "what, how you call that?" i demand of him--"oh!" he responded again, "that is a shooting-_box_ of lord killfot's." "oh!" i cry at last out," that is little too strong;" but he hoisted his shoulders and say nothing. well, we come at a house of country, ancient with the trees cut like some peacocks, and i demand--"what you call these trees?" "_box_, sir," he tell me. "devil is in the _box_," i say at myself. "but, never mind; we shall see." so i myself refreshed with a pinch of snuff and offer him, and he take very polite, and remark upon an instant--"that is a very handsome _box_ of yours, sir." "morbleu!" i exclaimed with inadvertencyness, but i stop myself. then he pull out his snuff-_box_, and i take a pinch, because i like at home to be sociable when i am out at voyages, and not show some pride with inferior. it was of wood beautiful with turnings, and colour of yellowish. so i was pleased to admire very much, and inquire the name of the wood, and again he say--"_box_, sir."--well, i hold myself with patience, but it was difficilly; and we keep with great gallop, till we come at a great crowd of the people. then i say, "what for all so large concourse?" "oh!" he response again, "there is one grand _boxing_ match--a battle here to-day." "peste!" i tell myself, "a battle of _boxes_! well, never mind! i hope it can be a combat at the outrance, and they all shall destroy one another, for i am fatigued." well--we arrive at an hotel, very superb, all as it ought, and i demand a morsel to refresh myself. i go into a saloon, but, before i finish, great noise come into the passage, and i pull the bell's rope to demand why so great tapage? the waiter tell me, and he laugh at same time, but very civil no less--"oh, sir, it is only two of the women what quarrel, and one has given another a _box_ on the ear." well--i go back on the coach-box, but i look, as i pass, at all the women ear, for the _box_; but not none i see. "well," i tell myself once more, "never mind, we shall see;" and we drive on very passable and agreeable times till we approached ourselves near london: but then come one another coach of the opposition to pass by, and the coachman say--"no, my boy, it shan't do!" and then he whip his horses, and made some traverse upon the road, and tell to me, all the times, a long explication what the other coachman have done otherwhiles, and finish not till we stop, and the coach of opposition come behind him in one narrow place. well--then he twist himself round, and, with full voice, cry himself out at the another man, who was so angry as himself--"i'll tell you what, my hearty! if you comes some more of your gammon at me, i shan't stand, and you shall yourself find in the wrong _box_." it was not for many weeks after as i find out the wrong _box_ meaning. well--we get at london, at the coaches office, and i unlightened from my seat, and go at the bureau for pay my passage, and gentleman very polite demanded if i had some friend at london. i converse with him very little time in voyaging, because he was in the interior; but i perceive he is real gentleman. so, i say--"no, sir, i am stranger." then he very honestly recommend me at an hotel, very proper, and tell me--"sir, because i have some affairs in the banque, i must sleep in the city this night; but to-morrow i shall come at the hotel, where you shall find some good attentions if you make the use of my name." "very well," i tell myself, "this is best." so we exchange the cards, and i have hackney coach to come at my hotel, where they say--"no room, sir--very sorry--no room." but i demand to stop the moment, and produce the card what i could not read before, in the movements of the coach with the darkness. the master of the hotel take it from my hand, and become very polite of the instant, and whisper to the ear of some waiters, and these come at me, and say--"oh yes, sir, i know mr. _box_ very well. worthy gentleman, mr. box. very proud to incommode any friend of mr. box. pray inlight yourself, and walk in my house." so i go in, and find myself very proper, and soon come so as if i was in my own particular chamber; and mr. box come next day, and i find very soon that he was the _right_ box, and not the _wrong_ box. ha, ha! you shall excuse my badinage--eh? but never mind--i am going at leicestershire to see the foxes hunting, and perhaps will get upon a coach-box in the spring, and go at edinburgh; but i have fear i cannot come at your "noctes," because i have not learn yet to eat so great supper. i always read what they speak there twice over, except what mons. le "shepherd" say, what i read three time; but never could comprehend exactly what he say, though i discern some time the grand idea, what walk in darkness almost "visible," as your divine milton say. i am particular fond of the poetry. i read three books of the "paradise lost" to mr. box, but he not hear me no more--he pronounce me perfect. after one such compliment, it would be almost the same as ask you for another, if i shall make apology in case i have not find the correct idiotism of your language in this letter; so i shall not make none at all--only throw myself at your mercy, like a great critic. i have the honour of subscribe myself, your much obedient servant, louis le cheminant. p. s. ha! ha! it is very droll! i tell my valet, we go at leicestershire for the hunting fox. very well. so soon as i finish this letter, he come and demand what i shall leave behind in orders for some presents, to give what people will come at my lodgments for christmas _boxes_.--_blackwood's magazine._ absurdities. to attempt to borrow money on the plea of extreme poverty.--to lose money at play, and then fly into a passion about it.--to ask the publisher of a new periodical how many copies he sells per week.--to ask a wine merchant how old his wine is.--to make yourself generally disagreeable, and wonder that nobody will visit you, unless they gain some palpable advantage by it.--to get drunk, and complain the next morning of a headache.--to spend your earnings on liquor, and wonder that you are ragged.--to sit shivering in the cold because you won't have a fire till november.--to suppose that reviewers generally read more than the title-page of the works they praise or condemn.--to judge of people's piety by their attendance at church.--to keep your clerks on miserable salaries, and wonder at their robbing you.--not to go to bed when you are tired and sleepy, because "it is not bed time."--to make your servants tell lies for you, and afterwards be angry because they tell lies for themselves.--to tell your own secrets, and believe other people will keep them.--to render a man a service voluntarily, and expect him to be grateful for it.--to expect to make people honest by hardening them in a jail, and afterwards sending them adrift without the means of getting work.--to fancy a thing is cheap because a low price is asked for it.--to say that a man is charitable because he subscribes to an hospital.--to keep a dog or a cat on short allowance, and complain of its being a thief.--to degrade human nature in the hope of improving it.--to praise the beauty of a woman's hair before you know whether it did not once belong to somebody else.--to expect that your tradespeople will give you long credit if they generally see you in shabby clothes.--to arrive at the age of fifty, and be surprised at any vice, folly, or absurdity your fellow creatures may be guilty of. good reason. an irishman being asked why he wore his stockings wrong side out, replied, "because there's a hole on the ither side ov 'em." putting down a lady. at a religious meeting, a lady persevered in standing on a bench, and thus intercepting the view of others, though repeatedly requested to sit down. a reverend old gentleman at last rose, and said, gravely, "i think, if the lady knew that she had a large hole in each of her stockings, she would not exhibit them in this way." this had the desired effect--she immediately sunk down on her seat. a young minister standing by, blushed to the temples, and said, "o brother, how could you say what was not the fact?" "not the fact!" replied the old gentleman; "if she had not a large hole in each of her stockings, i should like to know how she gets them on." woman's rights. miss lucy stone, of boston, a "woman's rights" woman, having put the question, "marriage--what is it?" an irish echo in the _boston post_ inquires, "wouldn't you like to know?" a compromise. a boy was caught in the act of stealing dried berries in front of a store, the other day, and was locked up in a dark closet by the grocer. the boy commenced begging most pathetically to be released, and after using all the persuasion that his young imagination could invent, proposed, "now, if you'll let me out, and send for my daddy, he'll pay you for them, and _lick me besides_." this appeal was too much for the grocer to stand out against. election morals. an elector of a country town, who was warmly pressed during the recent contest to give his vote to a certain candidate, replied that it was impossible, since he had already promised to vote for the other. "oh," said the candidate, "in election matters, promises, you know, go for nothing." "if that is the case," rejoined the elector, "i promise you my vote at once."--_galignani's messenger._ a quandary. the _new orleans picayune_ defines a quandary thus:--"a baker with both arms up to the elbows in dough, and a flea in the leg of his trowsers." we have just heard a story which conveys quite as clever an idea of the thing as the _picayune's_ definition. an old gentleman, who had studied theological subjects rather too much for the strength of his brains, determined to try his luck in preaching; nothing doubting but that matter and form would be given him, without any particular preparation on his own part. accordingly on sunday he ascended the pulpit, sung and prayed, read his text, and stopped. he stood a good while, first on one leg, and then on the other, casting his eyes up towards the rafters, and then on the floor, in a merciless quandary. at length language came to his relief:--"if any of you down there think you can preach, just come up here and try it!"--_north carolina patriot._ elegant extract. a perfumer should make a good editor, because he is accustomed to making "elegant extracts." evidence of a jockey. the following dialogue was lately heard at an assizes:-- _counsel_: what was the height of the horse?--_witness_: sixteen feet. _counsel_: how old was he?--_witness_: six years. _counsel_: how high did you say he was?--_witness_: sixteen hands. _counsel_: you said, just now, sixteen feet.--_witness_: sixteen _feet_! did i say sixteen _feet_? _counsel_: you did.--_witness_: _if i did say sixteen feet, it was sixteen feet!_--you don't catch me crossing myself! the cape cod yankee. a yankee visiting boston, introduced himself, as follows: "my name is ichabod eli erastus pickrel; i used to keep a grocery store deown cape cod. patience doolittle, she kept a notion store, right over opposite. one day, patience come into my store arter a pitcher of lasses, for home consumption, (ye see, i'd had a kind of a sneaking notion arter patience, for some time,) so, ses i, 'patience, heow would you like to be made mrs. pickrel?' upon that, she kerflounced herself rite deown on a bag of salt, in a sort of kniption fitt. i seased the pitcher, forgetting what was in it, and soused the molasses all over her, and there she sat, looking like mount vesuvius, with the lava running deown its sides; ye see, she was kivered with love, transport, and molasses. she was a master large gal, of her bigness, she weighed three hundred averdupoise, and _a breakfast over_. she could throw eanermost any feller in our neighborhood, at _indian hugs_. arter awhile, she kum tu, and i imprinted a kiss right on her bussers, that is, as near as i could for the molasses, and twan't more than a spell and a half, before _we caught a couple of little pickrels_. the whooping cough collered one of them, and _snaked him rite eout of town_. the other one had a fight with the measles, and got licked. mrs. pickrel took to having the typhus fever for a living, and twan't more than a half a spell, before she busted up, and left me a disconsolate wider-er-er. if you know of any putty gals that is in the market, just tell them that i'm thar myself." joseph and potiphar's wife. a dutch boy, being asked why joseph would not sleep with potiphar's wife, replied, after considerable hesitation, "_i schpose he vash not schleepy_." she didn't take any. a little girl, after returning from church, where she saw a collection taken up for the first time, related what took place, and, among other things, she said, with all her childish innocence, "that a man passed round a plate that had some money on it, _but she didn't take any_." definitions. a lady walking with her husband on the beach, inquired of him, the difference between exportation and transportation. "why, my dear," replied he, "if you were on board yonder vessel, you would be _exported_, and i should be _transported_." chancery. every animal has its enemies; the land tortoise has two enemies--man and the boa constrictor. man takes him home and roasts him; and the boa constrictor swallows him whole, shell and all, and consumes him slowly in the interior, _as the court of chancery does a great estate_.--_sydney smith._ smart uns. first class in astronomy, stand up. "where does the sun rise?" "please, sir, down in our meadow; i seed it yesterday!" "hold your tongue, you dunce; where does the sun rise?" "i know--in the east!" "right, and why does it rise in the east?" "because the _'east_ makes _everything_ rise." "out, you booby!" mrs. partington. mrs. partington lately remarked to a legal friend: "if i owes a man a debt, and makes him the lawless tenant of a blank bill, and he infuses to incept it, but swears out an execration and levels it upon my body, if i wouldn't make a pollywog of him drown me in the nuxwine sea." to those about to go to law. to him that goes to law, nine things are requisite:-- st, a good deal of money; nd, a good deal of patience; rd, a good cause; th, a good attorney; th, a good counsel; th, good evidence; th, a good jury; th, a good judge; th, good luck. even with all these, a wise man should hesitate before going to law. error corrected. the rev. sydney smith, preaching a charity sermon, frequently repeated the assertion that, of all nations, englishmen were the most distinguished for generosity and the love of their species. the collection happened to be inferior to his expectations, and he said that he had evidently made a great mistake, for that his expression should have been, that they were distinguished for the love of their _specie_. a query. which travels at the greater speed, heat or cold? heat: because you can easily catch cold. backgammon. tom brown says, "a woman may learn one useful doctrine from the game of backgammon, which is, not to take up her man till she's sure of him." talleyrand again. monsieur de semonville, one of the ablest tacticians of his time, was remarkable for the talent with which, amidst the crush of revolutions, he always managed to maintain his post and take care of his personal interests. he knew exactly where to address himself for support, and the right time of availing himself of it. when talleyrand, one of his most intimate friends, heard of his death, he reflected for a few minutes, and then drily observed, "i can't for the life of me make out what interest semonville had to serve by dying just now." an evening party. a friend of mine, in portland place, has a wife who inflicts upon him, every season, two or three immense evening parties. at one of those parties, he was standing in a very forlorn condition, leaning against the chimney-piece, when a gentleman coming up to him, said, "sir, as neither of us is acquainted with any of the people here, i think we had best go home." sam slick hooking lucy's gown. "well, just as i was ready to start away, down comes lucy to the keepin' room, with both arms behind her head, a fixin' of the hooks and eyes. 'man alive,' says she, 'are you here yet? i thought you was off gunnin' an hour ago; who'd a thought you was here?' 'gunnin'?' says i, 'lucy, my gunnin' is over, i shan't go no more, now, i shall go home; i agree with you; shiverin' alone under a wet bush, for hours, is no fun; but if lucy was there'--'get out,' says she, 'don't talk nonsense, sam, and just fasten the other hook and eye of my frock, will you?' she turned round her back to me. well, i took the hook in one hand, and the eye in the other; but arth and seas! my eyes fairly snapped again; i never see such a neck since i was raised. it sprung right out o' the breast and shoulder, full round, and then tapered up to the head like a swan's, and the complexion would beat the most delicate white and red rose that ever was seen. lick, it made me all eyes! i jist stood stock still, i couldn't move a finger, if i was to die for it. 'what ails you, sam,' says she, 'that you don't hook it?' 'why,' says i, 'lucy, dear, my fingers is all thumbs, that's a fact, i can't handle such little things as fast as you can.' 'well, come,' says she, 'make haste, that's a dear, mother will be comin' directly;' and at last i shut to both my eyes, and fastened it; and when i had done, says i, 'there is one thing i must say, lucy.' 'what's that?' says she. 'that you may stump all connecticut to show such an angeliferous neck as you have. i never saw the beat of it in all my born days--it's the most----' 'and you may stump the state, too,' says she, 'to produce such another bold, forrard, impedent, onmannerly tongue, as you have--so there now--so get along with you.'"--_sam slick._ a great calf. sir william b., being at a parish meeting, made some proposals which were objected to by a farmer. highly enraged, "sir," says he to the farmer, "do you know that i have been at two universities, and at two colleges at each university?" "well, sir," said the farmer, "what of that? i had a calf that sucked two cows, and the observation i made was, the more he sucked, the greater calf he grew."--_flowers of anecdote._ taxation. there is one passage in the scriptures, to which all the potentates of europe seem to have given their unanimous assent and approbation, and to have studied so thoroughly, as to have it at their fingers' ends:--"there went out a decree in the days of augustus cæsar, that all the world should be taxed."--_c. c. colton._ an itinerant martyr. "jim," said one fast man, yesterday to another, "it is reported that you left the east, on account of your belief, an itinerant martyr." "how," replied jim, flattered by the remark, "how's that?" "why, a police officer told me that you believed everything you saw belonged to you, and as the public didn't, you left." see--saw. "noggs, jr," speaking of a blind wood sawyer, says: "while none ever _saw_ him _see_, thousands have _seen_ him _saw_." fellow-feeling. a countryman was dragging a calf by a rope in a cruel manner. an irishman asked him if that was the way "he threated a fellow creathur?" misapplication of words by foreigners. the misapplication of english words by foreigners is often very ludicrous. a german friend saluted us once with, "oh, good bye, good bye!"--meaning, of course, "how d'ye do?" it is said that dr. chalmers once entertained a distinguished guest from switzerland, whom he asked if he would be helped to kippered salmon. the foreign divine asked the meaning of the uncouth word "kippered," and was told that it meant "preserved." the poor man, in a public prayer, soon after, offered a petition that the distinguished divine might long be "kippered to the free church of scotland." what is a spoon? a "spoon" is a thing that is often near a lady's lips without kissing them. this is like the definition of a "muff," viz., a thing which holds a lady's hand without squeezing it. a certificate of marriage. "you say, mrs. smith, that you have lived with the defendant for eight years. does the court understand from that, that you are married to him?" "in course it does." "have you a marriage certificate?" "yes, your honor, three on 'em--two gals and a boy." verdict for the plaintiff. unfair advantage. one of the best things lately said upon age--a very ticklish subject by the way--was the observation of mr. james smith to mr. thomas hill. "hill," said the former gentleman, "you take an unfair advantage of an accident: the register of your birth was burnt in the great fire of london, and you avail yourself of the circumstance to give out that you are younger than you are." two-fold illustration. sir fletcher norton was noted for his want of courtesy. when pleading before lord mansfield, on some question of manorial right, he chanced unfortunately to say, "my lord, i can illustrate the point in an instant in my own person: i myself have two little manors." the judge immediately interposed, with one of his blandest smiles, "we all know it, sir fletcher." a yankee story. an englishman was bragging of the speed on english railroads to a yankee traveler seated at his side in one of the cars of a "fast train," in england. the engine bell was rung as the train neared a station. it suggested to the yankee an opportunity of "taking down his companion a peg or two." "what's that noise?" innocently inquired the yankee. "we are approaching a town," said the englishman; "they have to commence ringing about ten miles before they get to a station, or else the train would run by it before the bell could be heard! wonderful, isn't it? i suppose they haven't invented bells in america yet?" "why, yes," replied the yankee, "we've got bells, but can't use them on our railroads. we run so 'tarnal fast that the train always keeps ahead of the sound. no use whatever; the sound never reaches the village till after the train gets by." "indeed!" exclaimed the englishman. "fact," said the yankee; "had to give up bells. then we tried steam whistles--but they wouldn't answer either. i was on a locomotive when the whistle was tried. we were going at a tremendous rate--hurricanes were nowhere, and i had to hold my hair on. we saw a two-horse wagon crossing the track about five miles ahead, and the engineer let the whistle on, screeching like a trooper. it screamed awfully, but it wasn't no use. the next thing i knew, i was picking myself out of a pond by the roadside, amid the fragments of the locomotive, dead horses, broken wagon, and dead engineer lying beside me. just then the whistle came along, mixed up with some frightful oaths that i had heard the engineer use when he first saw the horses. poor fellow! he was dead before his voice got to him. after that we tried lights, supposing these would travel faster than the sound. we got some so powerful that the chickens woke up all along the road when we came by, supposing it to be morning. but the locomotive kept ahead of it still, and was in the darkness, with the lights close on behind it. the inhabitants petitioned against it; they couldn't sleep with so much light in the night time. finally, we had to station electric telegraphs along the road, with signal men to telegraph when the train was in sight; and i have heard that some of the fast trains beat the lightning fifteen minutes every forty miles. but i can't say as that is true; the rest i know to be so."--_new york tribune._ ancient descent. not long since a certain noble peer in yorkshire, who is fond of boasting of his norman descent, thus addressed one of his tenants, who, he thought, was not speaking to him with proper respect: "do you not know that my ancestors came over with william the conqueror?" "and, mayhap," retorted the sturdy saxon, nothing daunted, "they found mine here when they comed." the noble lord felt that he had the worst of it. bad's the best. mr. canning was once asked by an english clergyman how he had liked the sermon he had preached before him. "why, it was a short sermon," quoth canning. "oh, yes," said the preacher; "you know i avoid being tedious." "ah, but," replied canning, "you _were_ tedious." queer duels. a certain man of pleasure, about london, received a challenge from a young gentleman of his acquaintance; and they met at the appointed place. just before the signal for firing was given, the man of pleasure rushed up to his antagonist, embraced him, and vehemently protested that he could not lift his arm "_against his own flesh and blood_!" the young gentleman, though he had never heard any imputation cast upon his mother's character, was so much staggered, that (as the ingenious man of pleasure had foreseen) no duel took place. humphrey howarth, the surgeon, was called out, and made his appearance in the field, stark naked, to the astonishment of the challenger, who asked him what he meant. "i know," said h., "that if any part of the clothing is carried into the body, by a gunshot wound, festering ensues; and therefore i have met you thus." his antagonist declared, that fighting with a man _in puris naturalibus_, would be quite ridiculous; and accordingly they parted, without further discussion. lord alvanley, on returning home, after his duel with young o'connell, gave a guinea to the hackney-coachman, who had driven him out, and brought him back. the man, surprised at the largeness of the sum, said, "my lord, i only took you to ----." alvanley interrupted him, "my friend, the guinea is _for bringing me back_, not for taking me out." provoking. to kneel before your goddess, and burst both pantaloon straps. teaching a foreigner to speak english. my friend, the foreigner, called on me to bid me farewell, before he quitted town, and on his departure, he said, "i am going at the country." i ventured to correct his phraseology, by saying that we were accustomed to say "going into the country." he thanked me for this correction and said he had profited by my lesson, and added, "i will knock _into your_ door, on my return."--_memorials._ philosophy. _experimental_ philosophy--asking a man to lend you money. _moral_ philosophy--refusing to do it. ingenious advertisement. sydney smith, once upon a time, despatched a pretentious octavo, in the _edinburgh_, with a critique, one paragraph in length; that achievement is matched by the disposal of a work in the _courier and enquirer_, as follows, by ingeniously employing the opening sentence of the book itself:-- "_the history of rasselas, prince of abyssinia._ a tale by samuel johnson, ll. d. a new edition, with illustrations. mo., pp. . new york: c. s. francis & co. "ye who listen with credulity to the whispers of fancy, and pursue with eagerness the phantoms of hope; who expect that age will perform the promises of youth, and that deficiencies of the present day will be supplied by the morrow; attend to the history of _rasselas_, prince of abyssinia." curious conveyance. sutton was part of the demesne of john of gaunt, the celebrated duke of lancaster, who gifted it to an ancestor of the proprietor, sir j. m. burgoyne, as appears from the following quaint lines:-- "i, john of gaunt, do give and do grant, unto roger burgoyne, and the heirs of his loin, both sutton and potton, until the world's rotten." smoking manners. a kentuckian visited a merchant at new york, with whom, after dinner, he drank wine and smoked cigars, spitting on the carpet, much to the annoyance of his host, who desired a spittoon to be brought for his troublesome visitor; he, however, pushed it away with his foot, and when it was replaced, he kicked it away again, quite unaware of its use. when it had been thrice replaced, the kentuckian drawled out to the servant who had brought it: "i tell you what; you've been pretty considerable troublesome with that ere thing, i guess; if you put it there again, i'm hung if i don't spit in it." landseer and sidney smith. mr. landseer, the best living animal painter, once asked the late rev. sydney smith if he would grant him a sitting, whereupon the rev. canon biblically replied--"is thy servant a dog that he should do this thing?" speckled butter. "do you want to buy a real lot of butter?" said a yankee notion dealer, who had picked up a load at fifty different places, to a boston merchant. "what kind of butter is it?" asked the buyer. "the clean quill; all made by my wife; a dairy of forty cows, only two churnings." "but what makes it so many different colors?" said the merchant. "darnation! hear that, now. i guess you wouldn't ax that question if you'd see my cows, for they are a darned sight speckleder than the butter is." a logical baggage master. the post of baggage master on a railroad train is not an enviable one. there is often a wide difference between the company's regulations, and the passenger's opinion of what articles, and what amount of them, properly come under the denomination of baggage; and this frequently subjects the unlucky official of the trunks and bandbox department to animated discussions with a certain class of the traveling public. we heard lately an anecdote of george, the affable b. m. on capt. cobb's train on the virginia and tennessee road, which is too good to be lost. a passenger presented himself at a way station on the road, with two trunks and a saddle for which he requested checks. the baggage master promptly checked the trunks, but demanded the extra charge of twenty-five cents for the saddle. to this the passenger demurred, and losing his temper, peremptorily asked:-- "will you check my baggage, sir?" "are you a horse?" quietly inquired george. "what do you mean, sir?" exclaimed the irritated traveler. "you claim to have this saddle checked as baggage?" "certainly--it is baggage," positively returned the passenger. "well," said the imperturbable george, "by the company's regulations nothing but wearing apparel is admitted to be baggage, and if the saddle is your wearing apparel, of course you must be a horse! now, sir, just allow me to strap it on your back, and it shall go to the end of the road without any extra charge whatever." the traveller paid his quarter and offered george his hat.--_bristol news._ a physician's life. nothing vexes a physician so much as to be sent for in great haste, and to find, after his arrival, that nothing, or next to nothing, is the matter with his patient. we remember an "urgent case" of this kind, recorded of an eminent english surgeon. he had been sent for by a gentleman who had just received a slight wound, and gave his servant orders to go home with all haste imaginable, and fetch a certain plaster. the patient turning a little pale, said: "heavens, sir! i hope there is no danger!" "indeed there is!" answered the surgeon: "for if the fellow doesn't run there like a cart horse, the wound will be healed before he can possibly get back." a constellation. the following conversation occurred between a theatrical manager and an aspirant for thespian honors: "what is your pleasure?" asked the manager. "an engagement at your theatre," said the applicant. "but you stammer." "like hatterton." "you are very small." "like kean." "you speak monotonously." "like macready." "and through the nose." "like booth." "and you make faces." "like burton." "you have badly shaped legs." "like wallack." "and brawny arms." "like forrest." "an obese person." "like blake." "but you unite the defects of all these stars." "th-th-that's just it. if you engage me, you will need no stars at all." interest. "pa, what is the interest of a kiss?" asked a sweet sixteen of her sire. "well, really, i don't know. why do you ask?" "because george borrowed a kiss from me last night, and said he would pay it back with interest after we were married." flatfooted courtship. one long summer afternoon there came to mr. davidson's the most curious specimen of an old bachelor the world ever heard of. he was old, gray, wrinkled, and odd. he hated women, especially old maids, and wasn't afraid to say so. he and aunt patty had it hot and heavy, whenever chance threw them together; yet still he came, and it was noticed that aunt patty took unusual pains with her dress whenever he was expected. one day the contest waged unusually strong. aunt patty left him in disgust and went out into the garden. "the bear!" she muttered to herself, as she stooped to gather a blossom which attracted her attention. "what did you run away for?" said a gruff voice close to her side. "to get rid of you." "you didn't do it, did you?" "no, you are worse than a burdock bur." "you won't get rid of me neither." "i won't! eh?" "only in one way." "and what?" "marry me!" "what! us two fools get married? what will people say?" "that's nothing to us. come, say yes or no, i'm in a hurry." "well, no, then." "very well, good bye. i shan't come again." "but stop a bit--what a pucker to be in!" "yes or no?" "i must consult"-- "all right--i thought you was of age. good bye." "jabez andrews, don't be a fool. come back, come back, i say. why, i believe the critter has taken me for earnest. jabez andrews, i'll consider." "i don't want no considering. i'm gone. becky hastings is waiting for me. i thought i'd give you the first chance. all right. good bye." "jabez! jabez! that stuck up becky hastings shan't have him, if i die for it. jabez--yes. do you hear? y-e-s!" amusing incident in court. at the durham assizes, a very deaf old lady, who had brought an action for damages against a neighbor, was being examined, when the judge suggested a compromise, and instructed counsel to ask her what she would take to settle the matter. "what will you take?" asked a gentleman in a bob-tailed wig, of the old lady. the old lady merely shook her head at the counsel, informing the jury, in confidence, that "she was very hard o' hearing." "his lordship wants to know what you will take?" asked the counsel again, this time bawling as loud as ever he could in the old lady's ear. "i thank his lordship kindly," the ancient dame answered stoutly, "and if it's no ill convenience to him, i'll take a little warm ale." (roars of laughter.)--_english paper._ bad dinner. theodore hook, in describing a badly dressed dinner, observed that everything was sour but the vinegar. printer and dutchman. seldom does a live dutchman get the credit of more smart things than are set down to him in this catechism that he puts to a journeyman printer. a dutchman sitting at the door of his tavern in the far west, is approached by a tall, thin yankee, who is emigrating westward on foot, with a bundle on a cane over his shoulder: "vell, misther valking sthick, vat you vant?" "rest and refreshments," replied the printer. "super and lotchin, i reckon?" "yes, supper and lodging, if you please." "pe ye a yankee peddler, mit chewelry in your pack, to sheat the gals?" "no, sir, i am no yankee peddler." "a singin'-master, too lazy to work?" "no, sir." "a shenteel shoemaker, vat loves to measure te gals' feet and hankles petter tan to make te shoes?" "no, sir, or i should have mended my own shoes." "a pook achent, vat podders te school committees till they do vat you vish, shoost to get rid of you?" "guess again, sir. i am no book agent." "te tyfels! a dentist, preaking te people's jaws at a dollar a shnag, and running off mit my daughter?" "no sir, i am no tooth-puller." "prenologus, ten, feeling te young folks, heads like so much cabbitch?" "no, i am no phrenologist." "vell, ten, vat the mischief can you be? shoost tell, and ye shall have te pest sassage for supper, and shtay all night, free gratis, mitout a cent, and a shill of whiskey to start mit in te morning." "i am an humble disciple of faust--a professor of the art that preserves all arts--a typographer at your service." "votch dat?" "a printer, sir: a man that prints books and newspapers." "a man vat printish nooshpapers! oh yaw! yaw! ay, dat ish it. a man vat printish nooshpapers! yaw! yaw! valk up! a man vat printish nooshpapers! i vish i may pe shot if i didn't dink you vas a poor old dishtrict schoolmaster, who verks for notting and poards around--i tought you vas him!" truth stranger than fiction. a new orleans lady recently eloped, leaving a note, bidding her idolizing husband good bye, and requesting him not to mourn for the children, as "none of them were his." telling one's age. a lady, complaining how rapidly time stole away, said, "alas! i am near thirty." scarron, who was present, and knew her age, said, "do not fret at it, madam; for you will get further from that frightful epoch every day." all flesh is dust. "mamma," said a promising youth of some four or five years, "if all people are made of dust, ain't niggers made of coal-dust?" talleyrand. at a time when public affairs were in a very unsettled state, a gentleman, who squinted terribly, asked talleyrand how things were going on. "why, as you see, sir," was the reply. kitchiner and colman. the most celebrated wits and _bon vivans_ of the day graced the dinner-table of the late dr. kitchiner, and, _inter alios_, the late george colman, who was an especial favourite; his interpolation of a little monosyllable in a written admonition which the doctor caused to be placed on the mantel-piece of the dining-parlour will never be forgotten, and was the origin of such a drinking bout as was seldom permitted under his roof. the caution ran thus: "come at seven, go at eleven." colman briefly altered the sense of it; for, upon the doctor's attention being directed to the card, he read, to his astonishment, "come at seven, go it at eleven!" which the guests did, and the claret was punished accordingly. credit. among the witty aphorisms upon this unsafe topic, are lord alvanley's description of a man who "muddled away his fortune in paying his tradesmen's bills;" lord orford's definition of timber, "an excrescence on the face of the earth, placed there by providence for the payment of debts;" and pelham's argument, that it is respectable to be arrested, because it shows that the party once had credit. swift. in the reign of king william, it happened that the king had either chosen or actually taken this motto for his stage coach in ireland: "non rapui, sed recepi,"--"i did not steal it, but received it," alluding to his being called to the throne by the people. this was reported to swift by one of the court emissaries. "and what," said he to the dean, "do you think the prince of orange has chosen for his motto?" "dutch cheese," said the dean. "no," said the gentleman, "but 'non rapui, sed recepi.'" "aye," said the dean, "but it is an old saying and a true one, '_the receiver is as bad as the thief._'" all corned. a showman giving entertainments in lafayette, ind., was offered by one man a bushel of corn for admission. the manager declined it, saying that all the members of his company had been corned for the last week. the sewing machine. "what do you think of the new sewing machine?" inquired a gentleman of his friend, who was somewhat of a wag. "oh," replied the punster, "i consider it a capital make shift." politeness. an irish officer, in battle, happening to bow, a cannon ball passed over his head, and took off the head of a soldier who stood behind him; "you see," said he, "that a man never loses by politeness." george selwyn. george selwyn, as everybody knows, delighted in seeing executions; he never missed _being in at a death_ at tyburn. when lord holland (the father of charles fox) was confined to bed, by a dangerous illness, he was informed by his servant that mr. selwyn had recently called to inquire for him. "on his next visit," said lord holland, "be sure you let him in, whether i am alive or a corpse; for, if i am alive, i shall have great pleasure in seeing _him_; and if i am a corpse, _he will have great pleasure in seeing me_." chancery pun. lord eldon (the chancellor) related of his predecessor, _lord erskine_, that, being at a dinner party with captain parry, after his first voyage of discovery, he (lord erskine) asked the intrepid navigator, what himself and his hardy crew lived on, when frozen up in the polar seas. "on _the seals_, to be sure," replied parry. "and a very good living, too," said the ex-chancellor, "if you keep them long enough!"--_twiss's life of lord eldon._ kilts. i shall be off to the highlands this fall; but cuss 'em, they han't got no woods there; nuthin' but heather, and that's only high enough to tear your clothes. that's the reason the scotch don't wear no breeches; they don't like to get 'em ragged up that way for everlastinly; they can't afford it; so they let 'em scratch and tear their skin, for that will grow agin, and trousers won't.--_sam slick._ lord ellenborough. lord ellenborough had infinite wit. when the income-tax was imposed, he said that lord kenyon (who was not very nice in his habits) intended, in consequence of it, to lay down--his pocket-handkerchief. a lawyer, one day, pleading before him, and using several times, the expression, "my unfortunate client," lord ellenborough suddenly interrupted him: "there, sir, the court is with you." evidence. the following is the next best thing to the evidence concerning the stone "_as big as a piece of chalk_." "were you traveling on the night this affair took place?" "i should say i was, sir." "what kind of weather was it? was it raining at the time?" "it was so dark that i could not see it raining; but i felt it dropping, though." "how dark was it?" "i had no way of telling; but it was not light, by a jug full." "can't you compare it to something?" "why, if i was going to compare it to anything, i should say it was about as dark as a stack of black cats." an up and down reply. during the examination of a witness, as to the locality of stairs in a house, the counsel asked him, "which way the stairs ran?" the witness, who, by the way, was a noted wag, replied, that "one way they ran up stairs, but the other way they ran down stairs." the learned counsel winked both eyes and then took a look at the ceiling. snoring. a western statesman, in one of his tours in the far west, stopped all night at a house, where he was put in the same room with a number of strangers. he was very much annoyed by the snoring of two persons. the black boy of the hotel entered the room, when our narrator said to him: "ben, i will give you five dollars if you will kill that man next to me who snores so dreadfully." "can't kill him for five dollars, but if massa will advance on the price, i'll try what i can do." by this time the stranger had ceased his nasal fury. the other was now to be quieted. so stepping to him he woke him, and said: "my friend, [he knew who he was,] you're talking in your sleep, and exposing all the secrets of the brandon bank, [he was a director,] you had better be careful." he was careful, for he did not go to sleep that night. tanning. "daddy," said a hopeful urchin to his parental relative, "why don't our schoolmaster send the editor of the newspaper an account of all the lickings he gives to the boys?" "i don't know, my son," replied the parent, "but why do you ask me such a question?" "why, this paper says that mr. b. has tanned three thousand hides at his establishment during the past year, and i know that old grimes has tanned our hides more'n twice that many times--the editor ought to know it." a printer in court. a suit came on the other day in which a printer named kelvy was a witness. the case was an assault and battery that came off between two men named brown and henderson. "mr. kelvy, did you witness the affair referred to?" "yes, sir." "well, what have you to say about it?" "that it was the best piece of punctuation i have seen for some time." "what do you mean by that?" "why, that brown dotted one of henderson's eyes, for which henderson put a period to brown's breathing for about half a minute." the court comprehended the matter at once, and fined the defendant fifty dollars. taking the paper. "sir," said a pompous personage who once undertook to bully an editor, "do you know that i take your paper?" "i've no doubt you take it," replied the man of the quill, "for several of my honest subscribers have been complaining lately about their papers being missing in the morning." impressive discourse. it is stated that the rev. george trask, of pittsburg, lectured so powerfully in webster, a few days ago, against the use of tobacco, that several of his audience went home and burned their cigars--holding one end of them in their mouths. how "george" became a teetotaler. a short time since, a young man living in ogdensburgh, n. y., whose name we shall call george, took to drinking rather more than usual, and some of his friends endeavored to cure him. one day, when he was in rather a loose condition, they got him in a room, and commenced conversing about _delirium tremens_, directing all their remarks to him, and telling him what fearful objects, such as snakes and rats, were always seen by the victims of this horrible disease. when the conversation had waxed high on this theme, one of the number stepped out of the room, and from a trap which was at hand let a large rat into the room. none of his friends appeared to see it, but the young man who was to be the victim seized a chair and hurled it at the rat, completely using up the piece of furniture in the operation. another chair shared the same fate, when his friends seized him, and with terror depicted on their faces, demanded to know what was the matter. "why, don't you see that cursed big rat?" said he, pointing to the animal, which, after the manner of rats, was making his way round the room, close to the walls. they all saw it, but all replied that they didn't see it--"_there was no rat_." "but there _is_!" said he, as another chair went to pieces in an ineffectual attempt to crush the obnoxious vermin. at this moment they again seized him, and after a terrific scuffle threw him down on the floor, and with terror screamed-- "charley! run for a doctor!" charley started for the door, when george desired to be informed "what the devil was up." "up!" said they, "why, you've got the _delirium tremens_!" charley opened the door to go out, when george raised himself on his elbow, and said, "charley, where are you going?" "going!" said charley, "going for a doctor." "going for a doctor!" rejoined george; "for what?" "for what?" repeated charley, "why, you've got the _delirium tremens_!" "the _delirium tremens_--have i?" repeated george. "how do you know i've got the delirium tremens?" "easy enough," says charley; "you've commenced _seeing rats_." "seeing rats!" said george, in a sort of musing way; "seeing rats. think you must be mistaken, charley." "mistaken!" said charley. "yes, mistaken," rejoined george. "_i ain't the man--i haven't seen no rat!_" the boys let george up after that, and from that day to this he hasn't touched a glass of liquor, and "_seen no rats_"--not the first rat. bishop burnet. bishop burnet, once preaching before charles ii., was much warmed by his subject, and uttering a religious truth in a very earnest manner, with great vehemence struck his fist upon the desk, and cried out in a loud voice, "who dare deny this?" "faith," observed the king, in a tone not quite so loud as the preacher, "nobody that is within the reach of that great fist of yours." ana from "moore's life." mercer mentioned that, on the death of the danish ambassador here, (in paris,) some commissaire of police, having come to the house for the purpose of making a _procès verbal_ of his death, it was resisted by the suite, as an infringement of the ambassador's privilege, to which the answer of the police was, that _un ambassadeur dès qu'il est mort, rentre dans la vie privée._--"an ambassador, when dead, returns to private life." lord bristol and his daughters came in the evening; the rancliffes, too. mr. rich said, at dinner, that a curé (i forget in what part of france) asked him once, whether it was true that the english women wore rings in their noses? to which mr. r. answered, that "in the north of england, near china, it was possible they might, but certainly not about london." we talked of wordsworth's exceedingly high opinion of himself; and she mentioned, that one day, in a large party, wordsworth, without anything having been previously said that could lead to the subject, called out suddenly, from the top of the table to the bottom, in his most epic tone, "davy!" and, on davy's putting forth his head, in an awful expectation of what was coming, said, "do you know the reason why i published the 'white doe' in quarto?" "no, what was it?" "to show the world my own opinion of it." bushe told of an irish country squire, who used, with hardly any means, to give entertainments to the militia, &c., in his neighborhood; and when a friend expostulated with him, on the extravagance of giving claret to these fellows, when whiskey punch would do just as well, he answered, "you are very right, my dear friend; but i have the claret on tick, and where the devil would i get credit for the _lemons_?" douglas mentioned the story of some rich grazier, in ireland, whose son went on a tour to italy, with express injunctions from the father, to write to him whatever was worthy of notice. accordingly, on his arrival in italy, he wrote a letter, beginning as follows: "dear father, the alps is a very high mountain, and bullocks bear no price." lady susan and her daughters, and the kingstons, came in the evening, and all supped. a french writer mentions, as a proof of shakspeare's attention to particulars, his allusion to the climate of scotland, in the words, "hail, hail, all hail!"--_grêle, grêle, toute grêle._ met luttrell on the boulevards, and walked with him. in remarking rather a pretty woman who passed, he said, "the french women are often in the suburbs of beauty, but never enter the town." company at lord holland's, allen, henry fox, the _black_ fox, (attached to the embassy,) denon, and, to my great delight, lord john russell, who arrived this morning. lord holland told, before dinner, (_a propos_ of something,) of a man who professed to have studied "euclid," all through, and upon some one saying to him, "well, solve me that problem," answered, "oh, i never looked at the cuts." after williams and i had sung one of the "irish melodies," somebody said, "everything that's national, is delightful." "except the national debt, ma'am," says poole. took tea at vilamil's, and danced to the piano-forte. wrote thirteen or fourteen lines before i went out. in talking of the organs in gall's craniological system, poole said he supposed a drunkard had a _barrel_ organ. dined at lattin's: company, lords holland, john russell, thanet, and trimelstown; messrs. maine de biron and denon, luttrel and concannon. abundance of noise and irish stories from lattin; some of them very good. a man asked another to come and dine off boiled beef and potatoes, with him. "that i will," says the other; "and it's rather odd it should be exactly the same dinner i had at home for myself, _barring the beef_." some one, using the old expression about some light wine he was giving, "there's not a head-ache in a hogshead of it," was answered; "no, but there's a belly-ache in every glass of it." denon told an anecdote of a man, who, having been asked repeatedly to dinner, by a person whom he knew to be but a shabby amphitryon, went at last, and found the dinner so meagre and bad, that he did not get a bit to eat. when the dishes were removing, the host said, "well, now the ice is broken, i suppose you will ask me to dine with you, some day."--"most willingly." "name your day, then."--"_aujourd'hui par example_," answered the dinnerless guest. luttrel told of a good phrase of an attorney's, in speaking of a reconciliation that had taken place between two persons whom he wished to set by the ears, "i am sorry to tell you, sir, that a compromise has _broken out_ between the parties." catchup question. a person meeting a friend running through the rain, with an umbrella over him, said, "where are you running to in such a hurry, _like a mad mushroom_?" a rebuke. a yankee, whose face had been mauled in a pot-house brawl, assured general jackson that he had received his scars in battle. "then," said old hickory, "be careful the next time you run away, and don't look back." a gentleman. "there can be no doubt," said mrs. nickleby, "that he is a gentleman, and has the manners of a gentleman, and the appearance of a gentleman, although he does wear smalls, and gray worsted stockings. that may be eccentricity, or he may be proud of his legs. i don't see why he shouldn't be. the prince regent was proud of his legs, and so was daniel lambert, who was also a fat man; _he_ was proud of his legs. so was miss biffin: she was--no, "added mrs. nickleby, correcting herself, "i think she had only toes, but the principle is the same."--_dickens._ modesty. there is a young man in cincinnati, who is so modest that he will not "embrace an opportunity." he would make a good mate for the lady who fainted when she heard of the naked truth. national paradoxes. somebody once remarked, that the englishman is never happy, but when he is miserable; the scotchman is never at home, but when he is abroad; and the irishman is never at peace, but when he is fighting. a dutch jury. judge jones, of indiana, who never allows a chance for a joke to pass him, occupied the bench when it became necessary to obtain a juryman in a case in which l----and b---- were employed as counsel. the former was an illiterate hibernian, the latter decidedly german in his modes of expression: the sheriff immediately proceeded to look around the room in search of a person to fill the vacant seat, when he espied a dutch jew, and claimed him as his own. the dutchman objected. "i can't understant goot englese." "what did he say?" asked the judge. "i can't understant goot englese," he repeated. "take your seat," cried the judge, "take your seat; that's no excuse. you are not likely to hear any of it!" under that decision he took his seat. a yellow fever joke. the _mobile advertiser_, of the th ult., tells the following good story of a notorious practical joker of that city, yclept "straight-back dick." dick was at the wharf, one day last week, when one of the up river boats arrived. he watched closely the countenance of each passenger as he stepped from the plank upon the wharf, and at length fastened his gaze upon an individual, who, from his appearance and manner, was considerably nearer mobile than he had ever been before. he was evidently ill at ease, and had probably heard the reports which were rife in the country relative to the hundreds dying in mobile every hour from yellow fever. the man started off towards dauphin street, carpet sack in hand, but had not proceeded far when a heavy hand was laid upon his shoulder, and he suddenly stopped. upon turning round, he met the cold, serious countenance of dick, and it seemed to send a thrill of terror throughout his whole frame. after looking at him steadily for about a minute, dick slowly ejaculated: "yes, you are the man. stand straight!" with fear visible in his countenance, the poor fellow essayed to do as commanded. "straighter yet!" said dick. "there, that will do," and taking from his pocket a small tape measure, he stooped down and measured him from the sole of his boot to the crown of his hat, took a pencil and carefully noted the height in his pocket book, to the utter amazement of the stranger; after which he measured him across the shoulders, and again noted the dimensions. he then looked the stranger firmly in the face and said: "sir, i am very sorry that it is so, but i really will not be able to finish it for you before morning." "finish what?" asked the stranger, endeavoring in vain to appear calm. "why, your coffin, to be sure! you see, i am the city undertaker, and the people are dying here so fast, that i can hardly supply the demand for coffins. you will have to wait until your turn comes, which will be to-morrow morning--say about o'clock." "but what do i want with a coffin? i have no idea of dying!" "you haven't, eh? sir, you will not live two hours and a half. i see it in your countenance. why, even now, you have a pain--a slight pain--in your back." "y-yes, i believe i h-have," replied the trembling hoosier. "exactly," said dick, "and in your limbs too?" "yes, stranger, you're right, and i begin to feel it in the back of my neck and head." "of course you do, and unless you do something for it, you'll be dead in a short time, i assure you. take my advice now, go back aboard the boat, swallow down a gill of brandy, get into your state-room, and cover up with blankets. stay there till you perspire freely, then leave here like lightning!" hoosier hurried on board the boat, and followed dick's instructions to the letter. he says he never will forget the kindness of the tall man in mobile, who gave him such good advice. let off. "boy! did you let off that gun?" exclaimed an enraged schoolmaster. "yes, master." "well, what do you think i'll do to you?" "why, let me off!" complimentary. a gentleman expatiating upon the good looks of women, declared that he had never yet seen an ugly woman. one who was extremely flat nosed, said, "sir, i defy you not to find me ugly." "you, madam," he replied, "are an angel fallen from heaven, only you have fallen on your nose." keen retort. a priest said to a peasant whom he thought rude, "you are better fed than taught." "shud think i was," replied the clodhopper, "as i feeds myself and you teaches me." the auctioneer at home. an auctioneer, vexed with his audience, said: "i am a mean fellow--mean as dirt--and i feel at home in this company." sacks and bags. mr. lover tells a good anecdote of an irishman giving the pass-word at the battle of fontenoy, at the same time the great saxe was marshal. "the pass-word is saxe; now don't forget it, pat," said the colonel. "saxe! faith an' i won't. wasn't me father a miller?" "who goes there?" cries the sentinel, after he had arrived at the pass. pat looked as confidential as possible, and whispered in a sort of howl, "bags, yer honor." iteration. a servant girl, on leaving her place, was accosted by her master as to her reason for leaving. "mistress is so quick-tempered that i cannot live with her," said the girl. "well," said the gentleman, "you know it is no sooner begun than it's over." "yes, sir, and no sooner over than begun again." quid pro quo. in a case tried at the king's bench, a witness was produced who had a very red nose; and one of the counsel, an impudent fellow, being desirous to put him out of countenance, called out to him, after he was sworn, "well, let's hear what you have to say, with your copper nose." "why, sir," said he, "by the oath i have taken, i would not exchange my copper nose for your brazen face." hard squeezing. a gentleman from new york, who had been in boston for the purpose of collecting some money due him in that city, was about returning, when he found that one bill of a hundred dollars had been overlooked. his landlord, who knew the debtor, thought it a doubtful case; but added that if it _was_ collectable at all, a tall, rawboned yankee, then dunning a lodger in another part of the hall, would "worry it out" of the man. calling him up, therefore, he introduced him to the creditor, who showed him the account. "wall, squire," said he, "'taint much use o' tryin', i guess. i _know_ that critter. you might as well try to squeeze ile out of bunker hill monument as to c'lect a debt out of him. but _any_ how, squire, what'll you give, sposin' i _do_ try?" "well, sir, the bill is one hundred dollars, i'll give you--yes, i'll give you half, if you'll collect it." "'greed," replied the collector, "there's no harm in _tryin'_, any way." some weeks after, the creditor chanced to be in boston, and in walking up tremont street, encountered his enterprising friend. "look o' here," said he, "squire. i had considerable luck with that bill o' yourn. you see, i stuck to him like a log to a root, but for the first week or so 'twant no use--not a bit. if he was home, he was short; if he _wasn't_ home i could get no satisfaction. 'by the by,' says i, after goin' sixteen times, 'i'll fix you!' says i. so i sat down on the door-step, and sat all day and part of the evening, and i began airly _next_ day; but about ten o'clock he 'gin in.' _he paid me_ my _half, and i gin him up the note!_" pat's response. an irishman was about to marry a southern girl for her property. "will you take this woman to be your wedded wife?" said the minister. "yes, your riverence, and the _niggers_ too," said pat. wanted satisfaction. "well, pat, jimmy didn't quite kill you with a brickbat, did he?" "no, but i wish he had." "what for?" "so i could have seen him hung, the villain!" mean _vs._ means. "is mr. brown a man of means?" asked a gentleman of old mrs. fizzleton, referring to one of her neighbors. "well i reckon he ought to be," drawled out the old bel-dame, "for he is just the meanest man in town." what happened to our house. arter we wus married, we'll say about a year, wun mornin' thar wus a terrible commoshun in our house--old wimmin a runnin in an out, and finally the doctor he cum. i was in a great hurry myself, wantin to heer, i hardly noed what, but after a while, an ole granny of a woman, as had been very busy about that, poked her head into the room whar i was a walkin' about and ses: ses she, "mr. sporum, hit's a gal." "what," ses i. "a gal," ses she, an with that she pops her head back agin. well, thinks i, i'm the daddy uv a gal, and begin to feel my keepin' mitely--i'd rather it was a boy tho', thinks i, fur then he'd feel neerur to me, as how he'd bare my name and there be less chance fur the sporums to run out, but considerin' everything, a gal will do mi'ty well. jist then the ole nuss pokes her head out agin and ses, ses she, "anuther wun, mr. sporum; a fine boy." "anuther," ses i, "that's rather crowdin' things on to a feller." she laffed and poked her he'd back. well, thinks i, this is no joke sure, at this lick i'll have family enuff to do me in a few years. jis then the ole she devil (always shall hate her) pokes her he'd in, and ses, ses she, "anuther gal, mr. sporum." "anuther whot," ses i. "anuther gal," ses she. "well," ses i, "go rite strate and tell sal i won't stand it, i don't want 'em, and i ain't goin' to have 'em; dus she think i'm a turk? or a mormon? or brigham young? that she go fur to have tribbles?--three at a pop! dus she think i'm wurth a hundred thousand dollars? that i'm jo'n jacob aster, or mr. roschile? that i kin afford thribbles, an clothe an feed an school three children at a time? i ain't a goin' to stand it no how, i didn't want 'em, i don't want 'em, and ain't a going to want 'em now, nur no uther time. hain't i bin a good and dootiful husband to sal? hain't i kep' in doors uv a nite, an quit chawn tobacker and smokin' segars just to please her? hain't i attended devine worship reg'lar? hain't i bought her all the bonnets an frocks she wanted? an then for her to go an have thribbs. she noed better an hadn't orter dun it. i didn't think sal wud serve me such a trick now. have i ever stole a horse? have i ever done enny mean trick, that she should serve me in this way?" an with that i laid down on the settee, an felt orful bad, an the more i tho't about it, the wus i felt. presently sal's mammy, ole miss jones, cums in an ses, ses she, "peter, cum in and see what purty chillun you've got." "chillun!" says i, "you'd better say a 'hole litter. now miss jones, i luv sal you no, an have tried to make a good husban', but i call this a scaly trick, an ef thar's any law in this country i'm goin' to see ef a woman kin have thribbs, an make a man take keer uv 'em. i ain't goin' to begin to do it," ses i. with that she laffed fit to kill herself, an made all sorts of fun of me, an sed enny uther man would be proud to be in my shoes. i told her i'd sell out mi'ty cheap ef enny body wanted to take my place. well, the upshot uv it wus that she pursuaded me that i wus 'rong, an got me to go into the room whar they all wus. when i got in, sal looked so lovin' at me, an reached out her little hands so much like a poor, dear little helpless child, that i forgot everything but my luv for her, and folded her gently up tu my h'art like a precious treasure, and felt like i didn't keer ef she had too and forty uv em. jist then number wun set up a whine like a young pup, an all the ballance follered. _them thribbles noed their daddy._ well, everything wus made up, an sal promised she wud never do it agin; an sense then i have bin at work sertin, workin all day to make bred for them thribs, an bissy nus'n uv 'em at nite. the fact is, ef i didn't have a mi'ty good constitushun, i'd had to giv' in long ago. number wun has the collick an wakes up number too an he wakes up number three, an so it goes, an me a flying about all the time a tryin' to keep 'em quiet. generous child. _mother_--here, tommy, is some nice castor oil, with orange ice in it. _doctor_--now, remember, don't give it all to tommy, leave some for me. _tommy_--(who has "been there")--doctor's a nice man, ma, give it all to the doctor! all the reciprocating on one side. "can you return my love, dearest julia?" "certainly, sir, i don't want it i'm sure." how he meant to do better. a few days since, as a lady of rather inquisitive character was visiting our county seat, among other places she called at the jail. she would ask the different prisoners for what crime they were in there. it went off well enough, till she came to a rather hard looking specimen of humanity, whom she asked: "what are you in here for?" "for stealing a horse." "are you not sorry for it?" "yes." "won't you try and do better next time?" "_yes! i'll steal two._" dutch soliloquy. a dutchman's heart-rending soliloquy is described thus: "she lofes shon mickle so much better as i, pecause he's cot koople tollers more as i has!" just alike. a stuttering man at a public table, had occasion to use a pepper box. after shaking it with all due vengeance, and turning it in various ways, he found that the pepper was in no wise inclined to come forth. "t-th-this-p-pep-per box," he exclaimed, with a sagacious grin, "is so-something like myself." "why?" asked a neighbor. "p-poor-poor delivery," he replied. story of a wig. lord ellenborough was once about to go on the circuit, when lady e. said that she should like to accompany him. he replied that he had no objections, provided she did not encumber the carriage with bandboxes, which were his utter abhorrence. they set off. during the first day's journey, lord ellenborough, happening to stretch his legs, struck his feet against something below the seat. he discovered that it was a bandbox. his indignation is not to be described. up went the window, and out went the bandbox. the coachman stopped; and the footman, thinking that the bandbox had tumbled out of the window by some extraordinary chance, was going to pick it up, when lord ellenborough furiously called out, "drive on!" the bandbox accordingly was left by a ditch side. having reached the county-town, where he was to officiate as judge, lord ellenborough proceeded to array himself for his appearance in the court-house. "now," said he, "where's my wig,--where _is_ my wig?" "my lord," replied his attendant, "it was thrown out of the carriage window." a singular forgiveness. sir walter scott, in his article in the _quarterly review_, on the culloden papers, mentions a characteristic instance of an old highland warrior's mode of pardon. "you must forgive even your bitterest enemy, kenmuir, now," said the confessor to him, as he lay gasping on his death-bed. "well, if i must, i must," replied the chieftain, "but my curse be on you, donald," turning towards his son, "if you forgive him." cabbage and ditto. we have just now heard a cabbage story which we will cook up for our laughter loving readers: "oh! i love you like anything," said a young countryman to his sweetheart, warmly pressing her hand. "ditto," said she gently returning his pressure. the ardent lover, not happening to be over and above learned, was sorely puzzled to understand the meaning of ditto--but was ashamed to expose his ignorance by asking the girl. he went home, and the next day being at work in a cabbage patch with his father, he spoke out: "daddy, what's the meaning of ditto?" "why," said the old man, "this here is one cabbage head, ain't it?" "yes, daddy." "well, that ere's ditto." "rot that good-for-nothing gal!" ejaculated the indignant son; "she called me a cabbage head, and i'll be darned if ever i go to see her again." flag at half-mast. an old sailor, at the theatre, said he supposed that dancing girls wore their dresses at half-mast as a mark of respect to departed modesty. longfellow. some one having lavishly lauded longfellow's aphorism, "suffer, and be strong," a matter-of-fact man observed that it was merely a variation of the old english adage, "grin, and bear it." a sorrel sheep. some years ago, a bill was up before the alabama legislature for establishing a botanical college at wetumpka. several able speakers had made long addresses in support of the bill when one mr. morrisett, from monroe, took the floor. with much gravity he addressed the house as follows: "mr. speaker, i cannot support this bill unless assured that a distinguished friend of mine is made one of the professors. he is what the bill wishes to make for us, a regular root doctor, and will suit the place exactly. he became a doctor in two hours, and it only cost him twenty dollars to complete his education. he bought a book, sir, and read the chapter on fevers, that was enough. he was called to see a sick woman indeed, and he felt her wrist, looked into her mouth, and then, turning to her husband, asked solemnly, if he had a 'sorrel sheep?' 'why, no, i never heard of such a thing.' said the doctor, nodding his head knowingly, 'have you got a sorrel horse then?' 'yes,' said the man, 'i drove him to the mill this morning.' 'well,' said the doctor, 'he must be killed immediately, and some soup made of him for your wife.' the woman turned her head away, and the astonished man inquired if something else would not do for the soup, the horse was worth a hundred dollars, and was all the one he had. 'no,' said the doctor, 'the book says so, and if you don't believe it i will read it to you: good for fevers--sheep sorrel or horse sorrel. there, sir.' 'why, doctor,' said the man and his wife, 'it don't mean a sorrel sheep or horse, but--' 'well, i know what i am about,' interrupted the doctor; 'that's the way we doctors read it, and we understand it.' "now," continued the speaker, amidst the roars of the house, "unless my sorrel doctor can be one of the professors, i must vote against this bill." the blow most effectually killed the bill, it is needless to state. editorials. a noted chap once stepped in the sanctum of a venerable and highly respected editor, and indulged in a tirade against a citizen with whom he was on bad terms. "i wish," said he, addressing the man with the pen, "that you would write a severe article against r----, and put it in your paper." "very well," was the reply. after some more conversation the visitor went away. the next morning he came rushing into the office, in a violent state of excitement. "what did you put in your paper? i have had my nose pulled and been kicked twice." "i wrote a severe article, as you desired," calmly returned the editor, "and signed your name to it."--_harrisburgh telegraph._ compensation. a miserly old farmer, who had lost one of his best hands in the midst of hay-making, remarked to the sexton, as he was filling up the grave: "it's a sad thing to lose a good mower, at a time like this--but after all, poor tom was a great eater." just right. "is that clock right over there?" asked a visitor. "right over there? certainly; 'tain't nowhere else." funny mistake. lord seaforth, who was born deaf and dumb, was to dine, one day, with lord melville. just before the time of the company's arrival, lady melville sent into the drawing-room, a lady of her acquaintance, who could talk with her fingers to dumb people, that she might receive lord seaforth. presently, lord guilford entered the room, and the lady, taking him for lord seaforth, began to ply her fingers very nimbly: lord guilford did the same; and they had been carrying on a conversation in this manner for about ten minutes, when lady melville joined them. her female friend immediately said, "well, i have been talking away to this dumb man." "dumb!" cried lord guilford; "bless me, i thought _you_ were dumb."--i told this story (which is perfectly true) to matthews; and he said that he could make excellent use of it, at one of his evening entertainments; but i know not if he ever did.--_rogers' table-talk._ filial affection. "if ever i wanted anything of my father," said sam, "i always asked for it in a very 'spectful and obliging manner. if he didn't give it to me, i took it, for fear i should be led to do anything wrong, through not having it. i saved him a world o' trouble this way, sir."--_dickens._ definite information. "well, robert, how much did your pig weigh?" "it did not weigh as much as i _expected_, and i always thought it _wouldn't_."--_detroit spectator._ frenchmen's english. copied, three years ago, from a card in the _hôtel du rhin_, at boulogne. "special omnibus, on the arrived and on the départure, of every convoy of the railway. restoration on the card, and dinners at all hour. table d'hôte at ten half-past, one, and five o'clock. bathing place horses and walking carriage. interpreter attached to the hôtel. great and little apartments with saloon for family. this établissement entirely new, is admirably situed, on the centre of the town at proximity of the theatre and coach office, close by the post horses offer to the travellers all the comfortable désirable and is proprietor posse by is diligence and is good tenuous justifyed the confidence wich the travellers pleased to honoured him." (the orthography and pointing of the stops, are precisely as printed in the card.) admiral duncan. admiral duncan's address to the officers, who came on board his ship for instructions previous to the engagement with admiral de winter, was both laconic and humorous, "gentlemen, you see a severe _winter_ approaching; i have only to advise you to keep up a good fire." tom dibdin's toast. poor tom dibdin, a convivial, but always a sober man, gives a delicate allusion to the drinking propensity, in the following toast:--"may the man who has a good wife, never be addicted to liquor (_lick her_.)"--_bentley's miscellany._ kicking a yankee. a very handsome friend of ours, who a few weeks ago was poked out of a comfortable office up the river, has taken himself to bangor for a time to recover from the wound inflicted upon his feelings by our "unprincipled and immolating administration." change of air must have had an instant effect upon his spirits, for, from galena, he writes us an amusing letter, which, among other things, tells of a desperate quarrel that took place on board of a boat, between a real live tourist and a real live yankee settler. the latter trod on the toes of the former, whereupon the former threatened to "kick out of the cabin" the latter. "you'll kick me out of this cabing?" "yes, sir, i'll kick you out of this cabin!" "you'll kick _me_, mr. hitchcock, out of this cabing?" "yes, sir, i'll kick _you_, mr. hitchcock!" "well, i guess," said the yankee, very coolly, after being perfectly satisfied that it was himself that stood in such imminent danger of assault, "i guess, since you talk of kicking, you've never heard me tell about old bradly and my mare to hum?" "no, sir, nor do i wish--" "wall, guess it won't set you back much, any how, as kicking's generally best to be considered on. you see old bradly is one of those sanctimonious, long-faced hypocrites who put on a religious suit every sabbath day morning, and with a good deal of screwing, manage to keep it on till after sermon in the afternoon; and as i was a universalist, he allers picked me out as a subject for religious conversation--and the darned hypocrite would talk about heaven, and hell, and the devil--the crucifixion and prayer without ever winking. wall, he had an old roan mare that would jump over any fourteen rail fence in illinois, and open any door in any barn that hadn't a padlock on it. tu or three times i found her in my stable, and i told bradly about it, and he was 'very sorry--an unruly animal--would watch'--and a hull lot of such things; all said in a serious manner, with a face twice as long as old deacon farrar's on sacrament day. "i knew, all the time, he was lying, and so i watched him and his old roan tu; and for three nights regular, old roan came to my stable about bed-time, and just at day-light bradly would come, bridle her, and ride off. i then just took my old mare down to a blacksmith's shop and had some shoes made with corks about four inches long, and had 'em nailed on her hind feet. your heels, mister, ain't nuthin to 'em. i took her hum--gave her about ten feet halter, tied her right in the centre of the stable, fed her well with oats at nine o'clock, and after taking a good smoke, went to bed, knowing that my old mare was a truth-telling animal, and that she'd give a good report of herself in the morning. "i hadn't got fairly asleep before the old woman hunched me, and wanted to know what on airth was the matter out in the stable. so says i, 'go to sleep, peggy, it's nothing but kate--she's kicking off flies, i guess.' putty soon she hunched me again, and says, 'mr. hitchcock, du get up, and see what in the world is the matter with kate, for she is kicking most powerfully.' "'lay still, peggy, kate will take care of herself, i guess.' "well the next morning, about daylight, bradly, with bridle in hand, cum to the stable, and true as the book of genesis, when he saw the old roan's sides, starn, and head, he cursed and swore worse than you did, mister, when i came down on your toes. after breakfast that morning, joe davis cum down to my house, and says he-- "'bradly's old roan is nearly dead--she's cut all to pieces, and can scarcely move.' "'i want to know,' says i; 'how on airth did it happen?' "now joe was a member of the same church with bradly, and whilst we were talking, up cum the everlastin hypocrite, and says he, "'my old mare is ruined!' "'du tell!' says i. "'she is all cut to pieces,' says he; 'do you know whether she was in your stable, mr. hitchcock, last night?' "wall, mister, with this i let out: 'do i _know_ it?'--(the yankee here, in illustration, made way for him, unconsciously, as it were.) 'do i know it, you no-souled, shad-bellied, squash-headed old night owl, you!--you hay-lookin, corn-cribbin, fodder-fudgin, cent-shavin, whitlin-of-nothin, you? kate kicks like a dumb beast, but i have reduced the thing to a science!'" the yankee had not ceased to advance, nor the dandy, in his astonishment, to retreat; and now the motion of the latter being accelerated by the apparent demonstration on the part of the former to suit the action to the word, he found himself in the "social hall," tumbling backwards over a pile of baggage, tearing the knees of his pants as he scrambled up, and a perfect scream of laughter stunning him on all sides. the defeat was total. a few moments afterward he was seen dragging his own trunk ashore, while mr. hitchcock finished his story on the boiler deck.--_st. louis reveille._ dancing their rags off. two unsophisticated country lasses visited niblo's in new york during the ballet season. when the short-skirted, gossamer clad nymphs made their appearance on the stage they became restless and fidgety. "oh, annie!" exclaimed one _sotto voce_. "well, mary?" "it ain't nice--i don't like it." "hush." "i don't care, it ain't nice, and i wonder aunt brought us to such a place." "hush, mary, the folks will laugh at you." after one or two flings and a pirouette, the blushing mary said: "oh, annie, let's go--it ain't nice, and i don't feel comfortable." "do hush, mary," replied the sister, whose own face was scarlet, though it wore an air of determination: "it's the first time i ever was at a theatre, and i suppose it will be the last, _so i am just going to stay it out, if they dance every rag off their backs_!" disinterested advice. "husband, i have the asthma so bad that i can't breathe." "well, my dear, i wouldn't try; nobody wants you to." an editor dreaming on wedding cake. a bachelor editor out west, who had received from the fair hand of a bride, a piece of elegant wedding-cake to dream on, thus gives the result of his experience. "we put it under the head of our pillow, shut our eyes sweetly as an infant blessed with an easy conscience, and snored prodigiously. the god of dreams gently touched us, and lo! in fancy we were married! never was a little editor so happy. it was 'my love,' 'dearest,' 'sweetest,' ringing in our ears every moment. oh! that the dream had broken off here. but no! some evil genius put it into the head of our ducky to have pudding for dinner just to please her lord. "in a hungry dream, we sat down to dinner. well, the pudding moment arrived, and a huge slice almost obscured from sight the plate before us. "'my dear,' said we fondly, 'did you make this?' "'yes, my love, ain't it nice?' "'glorious--the best bread pudding i ever tasted in my life.' "'plum pudding, ducky,' suggested my wife. "'o, no, dearest, bread pudding. i was always fond of 'em.' "'call them bread pudding!' exclaimed my wife, while her lips slightly curled with contempt. "'certainly, my dear--reckon i've had enough at the sherwood house, to know bread pudding, my love, by all means.' "'husband--this is really too bad--plum pudding is twice as hard to make as bread pudding, and is more expensive, and is a great deal better. i say this is plum pudding, sir!' and my pretty wife's brow flushed with excitement. "'my love, my sweet, my dear love,' exclaimed we soothingly, 'do not get angry. i am sure it is very good, if it is bread pudding.' "'you mean, low wretch,' fiercely replied my wife, in a higher tone, 'you know it's plum pudding.' "'then, ma'am, it's so meanly put together and so badly burned, that the devil himself wouldn't know it. i tell you, madam, most distinctly and emphatically, that it is bread pudding and the meanest kind at that.' "'it is plum pudding,' shrieked my wife, as she hurled a glass of claret in my face, the glass itself tapping the claret from my nose. "'bread pudding!' gasped we, pluck to the last, and grasped a roasted chicken by the left leg. "'plum pudding!' rose above the din, as i had a distinct perception of feeling two plates smashed across my head. "'bread pudding!' we groaned in a rage, as the chicken left our hand and flying with swift wing across the table landed in madam's bosom. "'plum pudding!' resounded the war-cry from the enemy, as the gravy-dish took us where we had been depositing a part of our dinner, and a plate of beets landed upon our white vest. "'bread pudding forever!' shouted we in defiance, dodging the soup tureen, and falling beneath its contents. "'plum pudding!' yelled the amiable spouse; noticing our misfortune, she determined to keep us down by piling upon our head the dishes with no gentle hand. then in rapid succession, followed the war-cries. 'plum pudding!' she shrieked with every dish. "'bread pudding,' in smothered tones, came up from the pile in reply. then it was 'plum pudding,' in rapid succession, the last cry growing feebler, till just as i can distinctly recollect, it had grown to a whisper. 'plum pudding' resounded like thunder, followed by a tremendous crash as my wife leaped upon the pile with her delicate feet, and commenced jumping up and down, when, thank heaven! we awoke, and thus saved our life. we shall never dream on wedding cake again--that's the moral." pat query. a gentleman was threatening to beat a dog who barked intolerably. "why," exclaimed an irishman, "would you beat the poor dumb animal for spakin' out?" friendly visits. a gentleman was speaking the other day of the kindness of his friends in visiting him. one old aunt in particular visited him twice a year, and stayed six months each time. remote. "i'd have you to know, mrs. stoker, that my uncle was a banister of the law." "a fig for your banister," retorted mrs. grumly, turning up her nose, "haven't i a cousin as is a corridor in the navy?" a cat story. a philosophical old gentleman was one day passing a new school-house, erected somewhere towards the setting sun borders of our glorious union, when his attention was suddenly attracted to a crowd of persons gathered around the door. he inquired of a boy, whom he met, what was going on. "well, nothin', 'cept the skule committy, and they're goin' in." "a committee meets to-day! what for?" "well," continued the boy, "you see bill, that's our biggest boy, got mad at the teacher, and so he went all round and gathered dead cats. nothin' but cats, and cats, and cats. oh! it was orful, them cats!" "pshaw! what have the cats to do with the school committee?" "now, well, you see bill kept a bringing cats and cats; allers a pilin' them up yonder," pointing to a huge pile as large in extent as a pyramid, and considerably aromatic, "and he piled them. nothing but cats, cats!" "never mind, my son, what bill did; what has the committee met for?" "then bill got sick haulin' them, and everybody got sick a nosin' them, but bill got madder, and didn't give it up, but kept a pilin' up the cats and--" "can you tell what the committee are holding a meeting for?" "why, the skule committy are goin' to hold a meetin' up here to say whether they'll move the skule house or the cats." the old gentleman evaporated immediately. conundrums. if a husband were to see his wife drowning, what single letter of the alphabet would he name?--_answer._ let-her b. what is most like a hen stealing?--_ans._ a cock _robbing_ (robin). what wind would a hungry sailor wish for, at sea?--_ans._--a wind that blows _fowl_ and then _chops_. when is a lane dangerous to walk in?--_ans._ when the hedges are _shooting_, and the _bull-rushes_ out. in what color should a secret be kept?--_ans._ in violet (inviolate). what proof is there that robinson crusoe found his island inhabited?--_ans._ because he saw a great swell pitching into a little cove. what was joan of arc made of?--_ans._ _maid_ of orleans. why is the county of bucks, like a drover's stick?--_ans._ because it runs into _oxon_ (oxen) and herts (_hurts_). who is the greatest dandy you meet at sea?--_ans._ the great _swell_ of the ocean. why may it be presumed that moses wore a wig?--_ans._ because he was sometimes seen with aaron (hair on), and sometimes without. love. a little sighing, a little crying, a little dying, and a deal of lying.--_jonathan._ the thief and the duke. the great duke of marlborough, passing the gate of the tower, after having inspected that fortress, was accosted by an ill-looking fellow, with, "how do you do, my lord duke? i believe your grace and i have now been in every jail in the kingdom?" "i believe, my friend," replied the duke, with surprise, "this is the only jail i ever visited." "very like," replied the other, "but i have been in all the rest." loss of time. a devotee lamented to her confessor, her love of gaming. "ah, madam," replied the priest, "it is a grievous sin:--in the first place, consider the loss of time." "yes," replied the fair penitent, "i have often begrudged the time lost in _shuffling_ and _dealing_." unexpected reply. a preacher, in arabia, having for his text, a portion of the koran, "i have called noah," after twice repeating his text, made a long pause; when an arab present, thinking that he was waiting for an answer, exclaimed, "if noah will not come, call somebody else." generous. "i will save you a thousand pounds," said a young buck to an old gentleman. "how?" "you have a daughter, and you intend to give her ten thousand pounds as her portion." "i do." "sir, i will take her with nine thousand." friendly banter. friend grace, it seems, had a very good horse and a very poor one. when seen riding the latter, he was asked the reason (it turned out that his better half had taken the good one). "what!" said the bantering bachelor, "how comes it you let your mistress ride the better horse?" the only reply was--"friend, when thee beest married theel't know." taking a receipt. the hartford times vouches for the truth of the following story: "pat malone, you are fined five dollars for assault and battery on mike sweeney." "i have the money in me pocket, and i'll pay the fine, if your honor will give me the resate." "we give no receipts here. we just take the money. you will not be called upon a second time for your fine." "but your honor, i'll not be wanting to pay the same till after i get the resate." "what do you want to do with it?" "if your honor will write one and give it to me, i'll tell you." "well, there's your receipt. now what do you want to do with it?" "i'll tell your honor. you see, one of those days i'll be after dying, and when i go to the gate of heaven i'll rap, and st. peter will say, 'who's there?' and i'll say, 'it's me, pat malone,' and he'll say, 'what do you want?' and i'll say, 'i want to come in,' and he'll say, 'did you behave like a dacent boy in the other world, and pay all the fines and such things?' and i'll say, 'yes, your holiness,' and then he'll want to see the resate, and i'll put my hand in my pocket and take out my resate and give it to him, and i'll not have to go ploddin' all over hell to find your honor to get one." kind father. an old gentleman says, he is the last man in the world to tyrannize over a daughter's affections. so long as she marries the man of _his_ choice, he don't care who she loves. destroying the romance. a capital story is told of a young fellow who one sunday strolled into a village church, and during the service was electrified and gratified by the sparkling of a pair of eyes which were riveted upon his face. after the service he saw the possessor of the shining orbs leave the church alone, and emboldened by her glances, he ventured to follow her, his heart aching with rapture. he saw her look behind, and fancied she evinced some emotion at recognizing him. he then quickened his pace, and she actually slackened hers, as if to let him come up with her--but we will permit the young gentleman to tell the rest in his own way: "noble young creature!" thought i, "her artless and warm heart is superior to the bonds of custom. "i had reached within a stone's throw of her. she suddenly halted, and turned her face toward me. my heart swelled to bursting. i reached the spot where she stood, she began to speak, and i took off my hat as if doing reverence to an angel. "'are you a peddler?' "'no, my dear girl, that is not my occupation.' "'well, i don't know,' continued she, not very bashfully, and eyeing me very sternly, 'i thought when i saw you in the meetin' house that you looked like a peddler who passed off a pewter half dollar on me three weeks ago, an' so i just determined to keep an eye on you. brother john has got home now, and says if he catches the fellow he'll wring his neck for him; and i ain't sure but you're the good-for-nothing rascal after all!'" doing a yankee. sir allen mcnab was once traveling by steamer, and as luck would have it, was obliged to occupy a state-room with a full blooded yankee. in the morning, while sir allen was dressing, he beheld his companion making thorough researches into his (sir allen's) dressing case. having completed his examination, he proceeded coolly to select the tooth-brush, and therewith to bestow on his long yellow teeth an energetic scrubbing. sir allen said not a word. when jonathan had concluded, the old scotchman gravely set the basin on the floor, soaped one foot well, and taking the tooth-brush, applied it vigorously to his toes and toe-nails. "you dirty fellow," exclaimed the astonished yankee, "what the mischief are you doing that for?" "oh," said sir allen coolly, "that's the brush i always do it with." drovers _vs._ fops. dinner was spread in the cabin of that peerless steamer, the new world, and a splendid company were assembled about the table. among the passengers thus prepared for gastronomic duty, was a little creature of the genus fop, decked daintily as an early butterfly, with kids of irreproachable whiteness, "miraculous" neck-tie, and spider-like quizzing glass on his nose. the little delicate animal turned his head aside with, "waitah!" "sah!" "bwing me a pwopellah of a fwemale woostah!" "yes, sah!" "and, waitah, tell the steward to wub my plate with a vegetable, wulgarly called onion, which will give a delicious flavow to my dinnah." while the refined exquisite was giving his order, a jolly western drover had listened with opened mouth and protruding eyes. when the diminutive creature paused, he brought his fist down upon the table with a force that made every dish bounce, and then thundered out: "here you darned ace-of-spades!" "yes, sah!" "bring me a thunderin' big plate of skunk's gizzards!" "sah!" "and, old ink pot, tuck a horse blanket under my chin, and rub me down with brickbats while i feed!" the poor dandy showed a pair of straight coat-tails instanter, and the whole table joined in a "tremenjous" roar. story of an almanac maker. david ditson was and is the great almanac man, calculating the signs and wonders in the heavens, and furnishing the astronomical matter with which those very useful annuals abound. in former years it was his custom, in all his almanacs, to utter sage predictions as to the weather, at given periods in the course of the revolving year. thus he would say, 'about--this--time--look--out--for--a--change--of--weather; and by stretching such a prophecy half-way down the page, he would make very sure that in some one of the days included, the event foretold would come to pass. he got cured of this spirit of prophecy, in a very remarkable manner. one summer day, clear and calm as a day could be, he was riding on horseback; it was before railroads were in vogue, and being on a journey some distance from home, and wishing to know how far it was to the town he was going to visit, he stopped at the roadside and inquired of a farmer at work in the field. the farmer told him it was six miles; "but," he added, "you must ride sharp, or you will get a wet jacket before you reach it." "a wet jacket!" said the astronomer; "you don't think it is going to rain, do you?" "no, i don't _think_ so, i know so," replied the farmer; "and the longer you sit there, the more likely you are to get wet." david thought the farmer a fool, and rode on, admiring the blue sky uncheckered by a single cloud. he had not proceeded more than half the distance to the town before the heavens were overcast, and one of those sudden showers not unusual in this latitude came down upon him. there was no place for shelter, and he was drenched to the skin. but the rain was soon over, and david thought within himself, that old man must have some way of guessing the weather that beats all my figures and facts. i will ride back and get it out of him. it will be worth more than a day's work to learn a new sign. by the time he had reached the farmer's field again, the old man had resumed his labor, and david accosted him very respectfully: "i say, my good friend, i have come all the way back to ask you how you were able to say that it would certainly rain to-day?" "ah," said the sly old fellow, "and wouldn't you like to know!" "i would certainly; and as i am much interested in the subject, i will willingly give you five dollars for your rule." the farmer acceded to the terms, took the money, and proceeded to say: "well, you see now, we all use david ditson's almanacs around here, and he is the greatest liar that ever lived; for whenever he says 'it's going to rain,' we know it ain't; and when he says 'fair weather,' we look out for squalls. now this morning i saw it put down for to-day _very pleasant_, and i knew for sartin it would rain before night. that's the rule. use david's almanac, and always read it just t'other way." the crest-fallen astronomer plodded on his weary way, another example of a fool and his money soon parted. but that was the end of his prophesying. since that he has made his almanacs without weatherwise sayings, leaving every man to guess for himself. how to board and lodge in new york. the _philadelphia chronicle_ calls the hero of the following story a yankee, but he will wager a sixpence that he was born in pennsylvania. but no matter, it is a good joke:--"'what do you charge for board?' asked a tall green mountain boy, as he walked up to the bar of a second-rate hotel in new york--'what do you ask a week for board and lodging?' 'five dollars.' 'five dollars! that's too much; but i s'pose you'll allow for the times i am absent from dinner and supper?' 'certainly; thirty-seven and a half cents each.' here the conversation ended, and the yankee took up his quarters for two weeks. during this time, he lodged and breakfasted at the hotel, but did not take either dinner or supper, saying his business detained him in another portion of the town. at the expiration of the two weeks, he again walked up to the bar, and said, 's'pose we settle that account--i'm going, in a few minutes.' the landlord handed him his bill--'two weeks board at five dollars--ten dollars.' 'here, stranger,' said the yankee, 'this is wrong--you've made a mistake; you've not deducted the times i was absent from dinner and supper-- days, two meals per day; meals, at - / cents each; dollars cents. if you've not got the fifty cents that's due to me, _i'll take a drink, and the balance in cigars_!" never say die. "the politicians have thrown me overboard," said a disappointed politician; "but i have strength enough to swim to the other side." how to become a connoisseur. sposin' it's pictures that's on the carpet, wait till you hear the name of the painter. if it's rubens, or any o' them old boys, praise, for it's agin the law to doubt them; but if it's a new man, and the company ain't most especial judges, criticise. "a leetle out o' keeping," says you. "he don't use his grays enough, nor glaze down well. that shadder wants depth. general effect is good, though parts ain't. those eyebrows are heavy enough for stucco," says you, and other unmeaning terms like these. it will pass, i tell you. your opinion will be thought great. them that judged the cartoons at westminster hall, knew plaguey little more nor that. but if this is a portrait of the lady of the house, hangin' up, or it's at all like enough to make it out, stop--gaze on it, walk back, close your fingers like a spy-glass, and look through 'em amazed like--enchanted--chained to the spot. then utter, unconscious like, "that's a most beautiful pictur'. by heavens! that's a speakin' portrait. it's well painted, too. but whoever the artist is, he is an unprincipled man." "good gracious!" she'll say, "how so?" "'cause, madam, he has not done you justice."--_sam slick._ boots. "i bought _them_ boots to wear only when i go into genteel society," said one of the codfish tribe, to a wag, the other day. "oh, you did, eh?" quoth the wag. "well, then, in that case, _them_ boots will be likely to last you a lifetime, and be worth something to your heirs."--exit codfish, rather huffy. sour krout. when the territory now composing the state of ohio was first organized into a government, and congressmen about being elected, there were two candidates, both men of standing and ability, brought out in that fertile region watered by the beautiful muskingum. mr. morgan, the one, was a reluctant aspirant for the honor, but he payed his respects to the people by calling meetings at various points and addressing them. in one part of the district there was a large and very intelligent german settlement, and it was generally conceded that their vote, usually given one way, would be decisive of the contest. to secure this important interest, mr. morgan, in the course of the campaign, paid this part of the district a visit, and by his condescension and polite manner, made a most favourable impression on the entire population--the electors, in fact, all pledging themselves to cast their votes for him. colonel jackson, the opposing candidate, and ambitious for the office, hearing of this successful move on the part of his opponent, determined to counteract it if possible. to this end he started for the all-important settlement. on introducing himself, and after several fruitless attempts to dissipate the favourable effects of mr. morgan's visit, he was finally informed by one of the leading men of the precinct that: "it ish no good you coming hare, colonel shackson, we have all promisht to vote for our friendt, meisther morgans." "ah! ha!" says the colonel: "but did you hear what mr. morgan did when he returned from visiting you?" "no, vat vas it?" "why, he ordered his chamber-maid to bring him some soap and warm water, that he might wash the sour krout off his hands." the colonel left, and in a few days the election coming off, each candidate made his appearance at the critical german polls. the votes were then given _viva voce_, and you may readily judge of mr. morgan's astonishment as each lusty dutchman announced the name of colonel shackson, holding up his hand toward the outwitted candidate, and indignantly asking: "ah! ha! meisther morgans, you zee ony zour krout dare?" it is needless to say that colonel shackson took a seat in the next congress. confession. "susan, stand up and let me see what you have learned. what does c-h-a-i-r spell?" "i don't know, marm." "why, you ignorant critter! what do you always sit on?" "oh, marm, i don't like to tell." "what on earth is the matter with the gal?--tell what is it." "i don't like to tell--it was bill crass's knee, but he never kissed me but twice." "airthquake and apple-sarse!" exclaimed the schoolmistress, and she fainted. a hay field anecdote. an old gentleman who was always bragging how folks used to work in his young days, one time challenged his two sons to pitch on a load of hay as fast as he could load it. the challenge was accepted and the hay-wagon driven round and the trial commenced. for some time the old man held his own very creditably, calling out, tauntingly, "more hay! more hay!" thicker and faster it came. the old man was nearly covered; still he kept crying, "more hay! more hay!" until struggling to keep on the top of the disordered and ill-arranged heap, it began first to roll, then to slide, and at last off it went from the wagon, and the old man with it. "what are you down here for?" cried the boys. "i came down after hay," answered the old man, stoutly. which was a literal fact. he had come down after the wagon load, which had to be pitched on again rather more deliberately. why brother dickson left the church. mr. dickson, a colored barber, was shaving one of his customers, a respectable citizen, one morning, when a conversation occurred between them respecting mr. dickson's former connection with a colored church in the place. "i believe you are connected with the church in ----street, mr. dickson," said the customer. "so, sah, not at all." "what! are you not a member of the african church?" "not dis year, sah." "why did you leave their communion, mr. dickson? if i may be permitted to ask." "why, i tell you, sah," said mr. dickson, strapping a concave razor on the palm of his hand. "it was just like dis. i jined dat church in good faif. i gib ten dollars toward de stated preaching ob de gospel de fus' year, and de peepil all call me brudder dickson. de second year my business not good, and i only gib five dollars. dat year the church peepil call me mr. dickson. "dis razor hurt you, sah?" "no; the razor goes very well." "well, sah, de third year i felt very poor, sickness in my family, and didn't gib nuffin for the preaching. well, sah, after dat they call me old nigger dickson, and i leff 'em." so saying, mr. dickson brushed his customer's hair and the gentleman departed, well satisfied with the reason why mr. dickson left the church. foresight. a young lady in the interior, thinks of going to california to get married, for the reason that she has been told that in that country the men folks "rock the cradle." vice versa. what is the difference between an attempted homicide, and a hog butchery? one is an assault with intent to kill, and the other is a kill with intent to salt. human nature. here, reader, is a little picture of _one_ kind of "human nature," that, while it will make you laugh, conveys at the same time a lesson not unworthy of heed. the story is of a gentleman traveling through canada in the winter of , who, after a long day's ride, stopped at a roadside inn called the "lion tavern," where the contents of the stage coach, numbering some nine persons, soon gathered round the cheerful fire. among the occupants of the room was an ill-looking cur, who had shown its wit by taking up its quarters in so comfortable an apartment. after a few minutes the landlord entered, and observing the dog, remarked: "fine dog, that! is he yours, sir?" appealing to one of the passengers. "no, sir." "_beautiful_ dog! _yours_, sir?" addressing himself to a second. "_no!_" was the blunt reply. "come here, pup! perhaps he is _yours_, sir?" "no!" was again the reply. "very sagacious animal! belongs to you, i suppose, sir?" "no, he doesn't!" "then he is _yours_, and you have a treasure in him, sir?" at the same time throwing the animal a cracker. "no, sir, he is not!" "oh!" (_with a smile_) "he belongs to _you_, as a matter of course, then?" addressing the last passenger. "_me!_ i wouldn't have him as a gift!" "then, you dirty, mean, contemptible whelp, get out!" and with that the host gave him such a kick as sent him howling into the street, amidst the roars of the company. there was _one_ honest dog in that company, but the two-legged specimen was a little "too sweet to be wholesome." john kemble. moore mentions in his diary a very amusing anecdote of john kemble. he was performing one night at some country theatre, in one of his favourite parts, and being interrupted from time to time by the squalling of a child in one of the galleries, he became not a _little_ angry at the rival performance. walking with solemn step to the front of the stage, and addressing the audience in his most tragic tone, he said: "unless _the play_ is stopped, _the child_ can not possibly go on!" the loud laugh which followed this ridiculous transposition of his meaning, relaxed even the nerves of the immortal hamlet, and he was compelled to laugh with his auditors. confession. a priest of basse bretagne, finding his duty somewhat arduous, particularly the number of his confessing penitents, said from the pulpit one sunday: "brethren, to avoid confusion at the confessional this week, i will on monday confess the liars, on tuesday the thieves, wednesday the gamblers, thursday the drunkards, friday the women of bad life, and saturday the libertines." strange to relate, nobody came that week to confess their sins. a sleepy deacon. there are times and seasons when sleep is never appropriate, and with these may be classed the sleep of the good old cincinnati deacon. the deacon was the owner and overseer of a large pork-packing establishment. his duty it was to stand at the head of the scalding trough, watch in hand, to "time" the length of the scald, crying "hog in!" when the just slaughtered hog was to be thrown into the trough, and "hog out!" when the watch told three minutes. one week the press of business compelled the packers to unusually hard labor, and saturday night found the deacon completely exhausted. indeed, he was almost sick the next morning, when church time came; but he was a leading member, and it was his duty to attend the usual sabbath service, if he could. he went. the occasion was of unusual solemnity, as a revival was in progress. the minister preached a sermon, well calculated for effect. his peroration was a climax of great beauty. assuming the attitude of one intently listening, he recited to the breathless auditory: "hark, they whisper; angels say-- "_hog in!_" came from the deacon's pew, in a stentorian voice. the astonished audience turned their attention from the preacher. he went on, however, unmoved-- "sister spirit, come away." "_hog out!_" shouted the deacon, "_tally four_." this was too much for the preacher and the audience. the latter smiled, some snickered audibly, while a few boys broke for the door, to "split their sides," laughing outside, within full hearing. the preacher was entirely disconcerted, sat down, arose again, pronounced a brief benediction, and dismissed the anything else than solemn minded hearers. the deacon soon came to a realizing sense of his unconscious interlude, for his brethren reprimanded him severely; while the boys caught the infection of the joke, and every possible occasion afforded an opportunity for them to say, "_hog in!_" "_hog out!_" lost in a fog. "suppose you are lost in a fog," said lord c---- to his noble relative, the marchioness, "what are you most likely to be?" "mist, of course," replied her ladyship. no mistake. "you don't seem to know how to take me," said a vulgar fellow to a gentleman he had insulted. "yes, i do," said the gentleman, taking him by the nose. respect for appearances. on a sunday, a lady called to her little boy, who was tossing marbles on the side walk, to come in the house. "don't you know you should not be out there, my son?" said she. "go into the back yard, if you want to play marbles; it is sunday." "i will," answered the little boy; "but ain't it sunday in the back yard, mother?" making the responses. an ignorant fellow, who was about to get married, resolved to make himself perfect in the responses of the marriage service; but, by mistake, he committed the office of baptism for those of riper years; so when the clergyman asked him in the church, "wilt thou have this woman to be thy wedded wife?" the bridegroom answered, in a very solemn tone, "i renounce them all." the astonished minister said, "i think you are a fool!" to which he replied, "all this i steadfastly believe." personal identity. an ill-looking fellow was asked how he could account for nature's forming him so ugly. "nature was not to blame," said he; "for when i was two months old, i was considered the handsomest child in the neighborhood, but my nurse one day _swapped_ me away for another boy just to please a friend, whose child was rather plain looking." ike partington and pugilism. mrs. partington was much surprised to find ike, one rainy afternoon, in the spare room, with the rag-bag hung to the bed-post, which he was belaboring very lustily with his fists as huge as two one cent apples. "what gymnastiness are you doing here?" said she, as she opened the door. he did not stop, and merely replying, "training," continued to pitch in. she stood looking at him as he danced around the bag, busily punching its rotund sides. "that's the morrissey touch," said he, giving one side a dig; "and that," hitting the other side, "is the benicia boy." "stop!" she said, and he immediately stopped after he had given the last blow for morrissey. "i am afraid the training you are having isn't good," said she, "and i think you had better train in some other company. i thought your going into compound fractures in school would be dilatorious to you. i don't know who mr. morrissey is, and i don't want to, but i hear that he has been whipping the pernicious boy, a poor lad with a sore leg, and i think he should be ashamed of himself." ike had read the "_herald_," with all about "the great prize fight" in it, and had become entirely carried away with it. george selwyn. george selwyn was telling at dinner-table, in the midst of a large company, and with great glee, of the execution of lord lovat, which he had witnessed. the ladies were shocked at the levity he manifested, and one of them reproached him, saying, "how could you be such a barbarian as to see the head of a man cut off?" "oh," said he, "if that was any great crime, i am sure i made amends for it; for i went to see it sewed on again." prompt reply. a fop in company, wanting his servant, called out: "where's that blockhead of mine?" a lady present, answered, "on your shoulders, sir." division of time. "murphy," said an employer, the other morning, to one of his workmen, "you came late this morning, the other men were an hour before you." "sure, and i'll be even wit 'em to-night, then." "how, murphy?" "why, faith, i'll quit an hour before 'em all, sure." a groom. a groom is a chap, that a gentleman keeps to clean his 'osses, and be blown up, when things go wrong. they are generally wery conceited consequential beggars, and as they never knows nothing, why the best way is to take them so young, that they can't pretend to any knowledge. i always get mine from the charity schools, and you'll find it wery good economy, to apply to those that give the boys leather breeches, as it will save you the trouble of finding him a pair. the first thing to do, is to teach him to get up early, and to hiss at everything he brushes, rubs, or touches. as the leather breeches should be kept for sundays, you must get him a pair of corderoys, and mind, order them of large size, and baggy behind, for many 'osses have a trick of biting at chaps when they are cleaning them; and it is better for them to have a mouthful of corderoy, than the lad's bacon, to say nothing of the loss of the boy's services, during the time he is laid up.--_john jorrock's sporting lectures._ in a quiver. a coquette is said to be an imperfect incarnation of cupid, as she keeps her beau, and not her arrows, in a quiver. satisfactory answers. yankees are supposed to have attained the greatest art in parrying inquisitiveness, but there is a story extant of a "londoner" on his travels in the provinces, who rather eclipses the cunning "yankee peddler." in traveling post, says the narrator, he was obliged to stop at a village to replace a shoe which his horse had lost; when the "paul pry" of the place bustled up to the carriage-window, and without waiting for the ceremony of an introduction, said: "good-morning, sir. horse cast a shoe i see. i suppose, sir, you are going to--?" here he paused, expecting the name of the place to be supplied; but the gentleman answered: "you are quite right; i generally go there at this season." "ay--ahem!--do you? and no doubt you are now come from--?" "right again, sir; i _live_ there." "oh, ay; i see: you do! but i perceive it is a london shay. is there anything stirring in london?" "oh, yes; plenty of other chaises and carriages of all sorts." "ay, ay, of course. but what do folks say?" "they say their prayers every sunday." "that isn't what i mean. i want to know whether there is anything new and fresh." "yes; bread and herrings." "ah, you are a queer fellow. pray, mister, may i ask your name?" "fools and clowns," said the gentleman, "call me 'mister;' but i am in reality one of the clowns of aristophanes; and my real name is _brekekekex koax_! drive on, postilion!" now this is what we call a "pursuit of knowledge under difficulties" of the most _obstinate_ kind. baron rothschild. there is a good story told recently of baron rothschild, of paris, the richest man of his class in the world, which shows that it is not only "money which makes the mare go" (or horses either, for that matter), but "_ready_ money," "unlimited credit" to the contrary notwithstanding. on a very wet and disagreeable day, the baron took a parisian omnibus, on his way to the bourse or exchange; near which the "nabob of finance" alighted, and was going away without paying. the driver stopped him, and demanded his fare. rothschild felt in his pocket, but he had not a "red cent" of change. the driver was very wroth: "well, what did you get _in_ for, if you could not pay? you must have _known_ that you had no money!" "i am baron rothschild!" exclaimed the great capitalist; "and there is my card!" the driver threw the card in the gutter: "never heard of you before," said the driver, "and don't want to hear of you again. but i want my fare--and i must have it!" the great banker was in haste. "i have only an order for a million," he said. "give me change;" and he proffered a "coupon" for fifty thousand francs. the conductor stared, and the passengers set up a horselaugh. just then an "agent de change" came by, and baron rothschild borrowed of him the six sous. the driver was now seized with a kind of remorseful respect; and turning to the money-king, he said: "if you want ten francs, sir, i don't mind lending them to you on my own account!" mrs. caudle's umbrella. one of the best chapters in "mrs. caudle's curtain lectures," is where that amiable and greatly abused angel reproaches her inhuman spouse with loaning the family umbrella: "ah! that's the third umbrella gone since christmas! what were you to do? why, let him go home in the rain. i don't think there was any thing about _him_ that would spoil. take cold, indeed! he does not look like one o' the sort to take cold. he'd better taken cold, than our only umbrella. do you hear the rain, caudle? i say do you _hear the rain_? do you hear it against the windows? nonsense; you can't be asleep with such a shower as that. do you _hear_ it, i say? oh, you _do_ hear it, do you? well, that's a pretty flood, i think, to last six weeks, and no stirring all the time out of the house. poh! don't think to fool _me_, caudle: _he_ return the umbrella! as if any body ever _did_ return an umbrella! there--do you hear it? worse and worse! cats and dogs for six weeks--always six weeks--and no umbrella! "i should like to know how the children are to go to school, to-morrow. they shan't go through _such_ weather, _that_ i'm determined. no; they shall stay at home, and never learn anything, sooner than go and get wet. and when they grow up, i wonder who they'll have to thank for knowing nothing. people who can't feel for their children ought never to _be_ fathers. "but _i_ know why you lent the umbrella--_i_ know very well. i was going out to tea to mother's, to-morrow;--you _knew_ that very well; and you did it on purpose. don't tell me; _i_ know: you don't want me to go, and take every mean advantage to hinder me. but don't you think it, caudle. no; if it comes down in buckets-full, i'll go all the more: i will; and what's more, i'll walk every step of the way; and you know that will give me my death," &c., &c., &c. follow your nose. "pray, sir, what makes you walk so crookedly?" "oh, my nose, you see, is crooked, and i have to follow it!" lorenzo dow. lorenzo dow is still remembered by some of the "old fogies" as one of the most eccentric men that ever lived. on one occasion he took the liberty, while preaching, to denounce a rich man in the community, recently deceased. the result was an arrest, a trial for slander, and an imprisonment in the county jail. after lorenzo got out of "limbo," he announced that, in spite of his (in his opinion) unjust punishment, he should preach, at a given time, a sermon about "another rich man." the populace was greatly excited, and a crowded house greeted his appearance. with great solemnity he opened the bible, and read, "and there was a rich man who died and went to ----;" then stopping short, and seeming to be suddenly impressed, he continued: "brethren, i shall not mention the place this rich man went to, for fear he has some relatives in this congregation who will sue me for defamation of character." the effect on the assembled multitude was irresistible, and he made the impression permanent by taking another text, and never alluding to the subject again. smart waiter. the following story, although latterly related of "a distinguished southern gentleman, and former member of the cabinet," was formerly told, we are _almost_ quite certain, of the odd and eccentric john randoph of roanoke, with certain omissions and additions. be that as it may, the anecdote is a good one, and "will do to keep." "the gentleman was a boarder in one of the most splendid of the new york hotels; and preferring not to eat at the _table d'hôte_, had his meals served in his own parlor, with all the elegance for which the establishment had deservedly become noted. "being somewhat annoyed with the airs of the servant who waited upon him--a negro of 'the blackest dye'--he desired him at dinner one day to retire. the negro bowed, and took his stand behind the gentleman's chair. supposing him to be gone, it was with some impatience that, a few minutes after, the gentleman saw him step forward to remove his soup. "'fellow!' said he, 'leave the room! i wish to be alone.' "'excuse me, sah,' said cuffee, drawing himself stiffly up, 'but _i'se 'sponsible for de silver_!'" couldn't find it out. mr. slocum was not educated in a university, and his life has been in by-paths, and out-of-the-way places. his mind is characterized by the literalness, rather than the comprehensive grasp of great subjects. mr. slocum can, however, master a printed paragraph, by dint of spelling the hard words, in a deliberate manner, and manages to gain a few glimpses of men and things, from his little rocky farm, through the medium of a newspaper. it is quite edifying to hear mr. slocum reading the village paper aloud, to his wife, after a hard day's work. a few evenings since, farmer slocum was reading an account of a dreadful accident, which happened at the factory in the next town, and which the village editor had described in a great many words. "i declare, wife, that was an awful accident over to the mills," said mr. slocum. "what was it about, mr. slocum?" "i'll read the 'count, wife, and then you'll know all about it." mr. s. began to read: "_horrible and fatal accident._--it becomes our melancholy and painful duty, to record the particulars of an accident that occurred at the lower mill, in this village, yesterday afternoon, by which a human being, in the prime of life, was hurried to that bourne from which, as the immortal shakspeare says, 'no traveler returns.'" "du tell!" exclaimed mrs. s. "mr. david jones, a workman, who has but few superiors this side of the city, was superintending one of the large drums--" "i wonder if 'twas a brass drum, such as has 'eblubust unum' printed on't," said mrs. slocum. --"when he became entangled. his arm was drawn around the drum, and finally his whole body was drawn over the shaft, at a fearful rate. when his situation was discovered, he had revolved with immense velocity, about fifteen minutes, his head and limbs striking a large beam a distinct blow at each revolution." "poor creeter! how it must have hurt him!" "when the machinery had been stopped, it was found that mr. jones's arms and legs were macerated to a jelly." "well, didn't it kill him?" asked mrs. s., with increasing interest. "portions of the dura mater, cerebrum, and cerebellum, in confused masses, were scattered about the floor; in short, the gates of eternity had opened upon him." here, mr. slocum paused to wipe his spectacles, and the wife seized the opportunity to press the question. "was the man killed?" "i don't know--haven't come to that place yet; you'll know when i've finished the piece." and mr. slocum continued reading: "it was evident, when the shapeless form was taken down, that it was no longer tenanted by the immortal spirit--that the vital spark was extinct." "was the man killed? that's what i want to come at," said mrs. slocum. "do have a little patience, old woman," said mr. slocum, eyeing his better half, over his spectacles, "i presume we shall come upon it right away." and he went on reading: "this fatal casualty has cast a gloom over our village, and we trust that it will prove a warning to all persons who are called upon to regulate the powerful machinery of our mills." "now," said mrs. slocum, perceiving that the narration was ended, "now, i should like to know whether the man was killed or not?" mr. slocum looked puzzled. he scratched his head, scrutinized the article he had been perusing, and took a graceful survey of the paper. "i declare, wife," said he, "it's curious, but really the paper don't say." caught on a jury. the following, which we have heard told as a fact, some time ago, may be beneficial to some gentleman who has a young and unsuspecting wife: a certain man, who lived about ten miles from k----, was in the habit of going to town, about once a week, and getting on a regular spree, and would not return until he had time to "cool off," which was generally two or three days. his wife was ignorant of the cause of his staying out so long, and suffered greatly from anxiety about his welfare. when he would return, of course his confiding wife would inquire what had been the matter with him, and the usual reply was, that he was caught on the jury, and couldn't get off. having gathered his corn, and placed it in a large heap, he, according to custom, determined to call in his neighbors, and have a real corn-shucking frolic. so he gave ned, a faithful servant, a jug and an order, to go to town and get a gallon of whiskey--a very necessary article on such occasions. ned mounted a mule, and was soon in town, and, equipped with the whiskey, remounted to set out for home, all buoyant with the prospect of fun at shucking. when he had proceeded a few hundred yards from town, he concluded to take the "stuff," and not satisfied with once, he kept trying until the world turned round so fast, that he turned off the mule, and then he went to sleep, and the mule to grazing. it was now nearly night, and when ned awoke it was just before the break of day, and so dark, that he was unable to make any start towards home until light. as soon as his bewilderment had subsided, so that he could get the "point," he started with an empty jug, the whiskey having run out, and afoot, for the mule had gone home. of course he was contemplating the application of a "two year old hickory," as he went on at the rate of two forty. ned reached home about breakfast time, and "fetched up" at the back door, with a decidedly guilty countenance. "what in thunder have you been at, you black rascal?" said his master. ned knowing his master's excuse to his wife, when he went on a spree, determined to tell the truth, if he died for it, and said: "well, massa, to tell the truth, i was kotch on the jury, and couldn't get off."--_nashville news._ a cure by laughter. an aged widow had a cow, which fell sick. in her distress for fear of the loss of this her principal means of support, she had recourse to the rector, in whose prayers she had implicit faith, and humbly besought his reverence to visit her cow, and pray for her recovery. the worthy man, instead of being offended at this trait of simplicity, in order to comfort the poor woman, called in the afternoon at her cottage, and proceeded to visit the sick animal. walking thrice round it, he at each time gravely repeated: "_if she dies she dies, but if she lives she lives._" the cow happily recovered, which the widow entirely attributed to the efficacy of her pastor's prayer. some short time after, the rector himself was seized with a quinsy, and in imminent danger, to the sincere grief of his affectionate parishioners, and of none more than the grateful widow. she repaired to the parsonage, and after considerable difficulty from his servants, obtained admission to his chamber, when thrice walking round his bed, she repeated "_if he dies he dies, but if he lives he lives_;" which threw the doctor into such a fit of laughter, that the imposthume broke, and produced an immediate cure. good prayer. a witty lawyer once jocosely asked a boarding-house keeper the following question: "mr. ----, if a man gives you five hundred dollars to keep for him, and he dies, what do you do? do you pray for him?" "no, sir," replied ----, "i pray for another like him." non sum qualis eram. a noble and learned lord, when attorney general, being at a consultation where there was considerable difference of opinion between him and his brother counsel, delivered his sentiments with his usual energy, and concluded by striking his hand on the table, and saying, "this, gentlemen, is _my opinion_." the peremptory tone with which this was spoken so nettled the solicitor, who had frequently consulted him when a young barrister, that he sarcastically repeated, "your opinion! i have often had your opinion for five shillings." mr. attorney with great good humour said, "very true, and probably you then paid its full value." one swallow does not make a summer. one winter day, the prince of wales went into the thatched house tavern, and ordered a steak: "but," said his royal highness, "i am devilish cold, bring me a glass of hot brandy and water." he swallowed it, another, and another. "now," said he, "i am comfortable, bring my steak." on which mr. sheridan took out his pencil, and wrote the following impromptu: "the prince came in, said it was cold, then put to his head the rummer; till _swallow_ after _swallow_ came, when he pronounced it summer." classical bull. milton. adam, the goodliest of _men since born his sons; the fairest of her daughters eve_. give the devil his due. at the grand entertainment given at vauxhall in july, , to celebrate the victories of the marquis of wellington, the fire-works, prepared under the direction of general congreve, were the theme of universal admiration. the general himself was present, and being in a circle where the conversation turned on monumental inscriptions, he observed that nothing could be finer than the short epitaph on purcel, in westminster abbey. "he has gone to that place where only his own harmony can be exceeded." "why, general," said a lady, "it will suit you exactly, with the alteration of a single word. "he is gone to that place, where only his own _fire-works_ can be exceeded." a sound reason. a certain cabinet minister being asked why he did not promote merit? "because," answered he, "merit did not promote me." modern improvements. an eminent barrister arguing a cause respecting the infringement of a patent for buckles, took occasion to hold forth on its vast improvement; and by way of example, taking one of his own out of his shoe, "what," exclaimed he, "would my ancestors have said to see my feet ornamented with this?" "aye," observed mr. mingay, "what would they have said to see your feet ornamented with either shoes or stockings?" a hoosier at the astor. b. met on the train an elderly hoosier, who had been to the show-case exhibition at new york, and who had seen the _hi po dro me_, as he called it. "did you remain long in new york?" asked b. "well, no," he answered thoughtfully, "only two days, for i saw there was a right smart chance of starving to death, and i'm opposed to that way of going down. i put up at one of their taverns, and allowed i was going to be treated to the whole." "where did you stop?" said b., interrupting him. "at the astor house. i allow you don't ketch me in no such place again. they rung a _gong_, as they call it, four times after breakfast, and then, when i went to eat, there wasn't nary vittles on the table." "what was there?" b. ventured to inquire. "well," said the old man, enumerating the items cautiously, as if from fear of omission--"there was a clean plate wrong side up, a knife, a clean towel, a split spoon, and a hand bill, and what was worse," added the old man, "the insultin' nigger up and asked me what i wanted. '_vittles_,' said i, '_bring in your vittles and i'll help myself!_'" economy. "bubby, why don't you go home and have your mother sew up that awful hole in your trowsers?" "oh, you git eout, old 'oman," was the respectful reply, "our folks are economizing, and a hole will last longer than a patch any day." quaker _vs._ quaker. old jacob j---- was a shrewd quaker merchant in burlington, new jersey, and, like all shrewd men, was often a little too smart for himself. an old quaker lady of bristol, pennsylvania, just over the river, bought some goods at jacob's store, _when he was absent_, and in crossing the river on her way home, she met him aboard the boat, and, as was usual with him upon such occasions, he immediately pitched into her bundle of goods and untied it to see what she had been buying. "oh now," says he, "how much a yard did you give for that, and that?" taking up the several pieces of goods. she told him the price, without, however, saying where she had got them. "oh now," says he again, "i could have sold you those goods for so much a yard," mentioning a price a great deal lower than she had paid. "you know," says he, "i can undersell every body in the place;" and so he went on criticising and undervaluing the goods till the boat reached bristol, when he was invited to go to the old lady's store, and when there the goods were spread out on the counter, and jacob was asked to examine the goods again, and say, in the presence of witnesses, the price he would have sold them at per yard, the old lady, meanwhile, taking a memorandum. she then went to the desk and made out a bill of the difference between what she had paid and the price he told her; then coming up to him, she said, "now, jacob, thee is sure thee could have sold those goods at the price thee mentioned?" "oh now, yes," says he. "well, then, thy young man must have made a mistake; for i bought the goods from thy store, and of course, under the circumstances, thee can have no objection to refund me the difference." jacob, being thus cornered, could, of course, under the circumstances, have no objection. it is to be presumed that thereafter jacob's first inquiry must have been, "oh now, where did you get such and such goods?" instead of "oh now, how much did you pay?" hem _vs._ haw. mr. oberon (a man about town) was lately invited to a sewing party. the next day a friend asked him how the entertainment came off. "oh, it was very amusing," replied oberon, "the ladies hemmed and i hawed." poetry done to order. on one occasion a country gentleman, knowing joseph green's reputation as a poet, procured an introduction to him, and solicited a "first-rate epitaph" for a favorite servant who had lately died. green asked what were the man's chief qualities, and was told that "cole excelled in all things, but was particularly good at raking hay, which he could do faster than anybody, the present company, of course, excepted." green wrote immediately-- "here lies the body of john cole: his master loved him like his soul; he could rake hay; none could rake faster, except that raking dog, his master." the rival candidates. two candidates disputed the palm for singing, and left the decision to dr. arne, who having heard them exert their vocal abilities, said to the one, "you, sir, are the worst singer i ever heard." on which the other exulting, the umpire, turning to him, said, "and as for you, sir, you cannot sing at all." parliamentary oratory. a member of parliament took occasion to make his maiden speech, on a question respecting the execution of a particular statute. rising solemnly, after three loud hems, he spoke as follows: "mr. speaker, have we laws, or have we not laws? if we have laws, and they are not executed, for what purpose were they made?" so saying, he sat down full of self-consequence. another member then rose, and thus delivered himself: "mr. speaker, did the honourable member speak to the purpose, or not speak to the purpose? if he did not speak to the purpose, to what purpose did he speak?" a broad hint. an irish gentleman, of tolerable assurance, obtruded his company where he was far from being welcome; the master of the house, indeed, literally kicked him down stairs. returning to some acquaintance whom he had told his intention of dining at the above house, and being asked why he had so soon returned, he answered, "i got a hint that my company was not agreeable." parliamentary oratory. mr. addison, whose abilities no man can doubt, was from diffidence totally unable to speak in the house. in a debate on the union act, desirous of delivering his sentiments, he rose, and began, "mr. speaker, _i conceive_"--but could go no farther. twice he repeated, unsuccessfully, the same attempt; when a young member, possessed of greater effrontery than ability, completely confused him, by rising and saying, "mr. speaker, the honourable gentleman _has conceived three times, and brought forth nothing_." a severe reproof. the late duke of grafton, one of the last of the old school of polished gentlemen, being seated with a party of ladies in the stage-box of drury-lane theatre, a sprig of modern fashion came in booted and spurred. at the end of the act, the duke rose, and made the young man a low bow: "i beg leave, sir, in the name of these ladies, and for myself, to offer you our thanks for your forbearance." "i don't understand you; what do you mean?" "i mean, that as you have come in with your boots and spurs, to thank you for that you have not brought your horse too." canine learning. a foreigner would be apt to suppose that all the dogs of england were literary, on reading a notice on a board stuck up in a garden at millbank: "all dogs found in this garden will be shot." a stratagem. a traveler coming, wet and cold, into a country ale-house on the coast of kent, found the fire completely blockaded. he ordered the landlord to carry his horse half a peck of oysters. "he cannot eat oysters," said mine host. "try him," quoth the traveller. the company all ran out to see the horse eat oysters. "he won't eat them, as i told you," said the landlord. "then," coolly replied the gentleman, who had taken possession of the best seat, "bring them to me, and i'll eat them myself." a necessary hint. over the chimney-piece, in the parlor of a public house, in fleet street, is this inscription: "_gentlemen learning to spell, are requested to use yesterday's paper._" a reason. a country parish clerk, being asked how the inscriptions on the tombs in the church-yard were so badly spelled? "because," answered _amen_, "the people are so niggardly, that they won't pay for good spelling." capital jokes. while a counsellor was pleading at the irish bar, a louse unluckily peeped from under his wig. curran, who sat next to him, whispered what he saw. "you joke," said the barrister. "if," replied mr. curran, "you have many such _jokes_ in your head, the sooner you _crack_ them the better." rapid traveling. a dignified clergyman, possessor of a coal mine, respecting which he was likely to have a law-suit, sent for an attorney in order to have his advice. our lawyer was curious to see a coal-pit, and was let down by a rope. before he was lowered, he said to the parson, "doctor, your knowledge is not confined to the surface of the world, but you have likewise penetrated to its inmost recesses; how far may it be from this to hell?" "i don't know, exactly," answered he, gravely, "but if you let go your hold, _you'll be there in a minute_." a misappellation. a young officer being indicted for an assault on an aged gentleman, mr. erskine began to open the case thus: "this is an indictment against a soldier for assaulting an old man." "sir," indignantly interrupted the defendant, "i am no soldier, i am an officer!" "i beg your pardon," said mr. erskine; "then, gentlemen of the jury, this is an indictment against _an officer_, who is _no soldier_, for assaulting an old man." connubial bliss. i once met a free and easy actor, who told me he had passed three festive days at the marquis and marchioness of ---- without any invitation, convinced (as proved to be the case) that my lord and my lady, not being on _speaking terms_, each would suppose the other had asked him.--_reynold's life and times._ quick firing. when mr. thelwell was on his trial for high treason, he wrote this note to his counsel, mr. erskine: "i am determined to plead my own cause." erskine answered, "if you do, you'll be hanged." thelwell replied, "i'll be hanged if i do." the hardships of life. a dramatic author, not unconscious of his own abilities, observed, that he knew nothing so terrible as reading a play in the green-room, before so critical an audience. "i know something more terrible," said mrs. powell. "what is that?" "to be obliged to sit and hear it read." symptoms of civilization. walking stuart, being cast away on an unknown shore, where, after he and his companions had proceeded a long way without seeing a creature, at length, to their great delight, they descried _a man hanging on a gibbet_. "the joy," says he, "which this _cheering sight_ excited, cannot be described; for it convinced us that we were in a _civilized country_." an improvement. a gentleman asked his _black diamond merchant_ the price of coals. "ah!" said he, significantly shaking his head, "coals are coals, now." "i am glad to hear that," observed the wit, "for the last i had of you, were half of them slates." a sentimental fossil. "what is your name?" "my name is norval, on the grampian hills." "where did you come from?" "i come from a happy land, where care is unknown." "where are you lodging now?" "i dreamt i dwelt in marble halls." "where are you going to?" "far, far o'er hill and dell." "what is your occupation?" "some love to roam." "are you married?" "long time ago. polly put the kettle on." "how many children have you?" "there's doll, and bet, and moll, and kate, and--" "what is your wife's name?" "o no, we never mention her." "did your wife oppose your leaving her?" "she wept not, when we parted." "in what condition did you leave her?" "a rose tree in full bearing." "is your family provided for?" "a little farm, well tilled." "did your wife drive you off?" "oh, sublime was the warning." "what did your wife say to you, that induced you to _slope_?" "come, rest in this bosom." "was your wife good-looking?" "she wore a wreath of roses." "did your wife ever treat you badly?" "oft in the stilly night." "when you announced your intention of emigrating, what did she say?" "oh, dear, what can the matter be?" "and what did you reply?" "sweet kitty clover, you bother me so!" "where did you last see her?" "near the lakes, where drooped the willow." "what did she say to you, when you were in the act of leaving?" "a place in thy memory, dearest!" "do you still love her?" "'tis said that absence conquers love." "what are your possessions?" "the harp that once through tara's halls--" "what do you propose to do with it?" "i'll hang my harp on a willow tree." "where do you expect to make a living?" "over the water with charley." an inscription. mr. campbell, a highland gentleman, through whose estate in argyleshire runs the military road which was made under the direction of general wade, in grateful commemoration of its benefits, placed a stone seat on the top of a hill, where the weary traveler may repose, after the labour of his ascent, and on which is judiciously inscribed, _rest, and be thankful_. it has, also, the following sublime distich: "had you seen this road, _before it was made_, you would lift up your hands, and bless general wade." pun alphabetical. "there was a man hanged this morning; one _vowel_." "well, let us be thankful, _it was neither u nor i_." shakspearean cookery. an argument took place in a coffee-house, between two men of _taste_, as to the best method of dressing a beefsteak. they referred the matter to a comedian, who, having an eye to the _shop_, said he preferred shakspeare's recipe to either of theirs, "shakspeare's recipe!" they both exclaimed. "aye, shakspeare's recipe: 'if when 'twere done, 'twere well done, then 'twere well, it were done quickly.'" a reproof. mr. king and mr. lewis walking together in birmingham, a chimney sweeper and his boy passed them. the lad stared at them, exclaiming, "they be players!" "hush! you dog," says the old sweep, "you don't know what you may come to yourself yet." a reasonable bill. an undertaker waited on a gentleman, with the bill for the burial of his wife, amounting to _l._ "that's a vast sum," said the widower, "for laying a silent female horizontally; you must have made some mistake!" "not in the least," answered the coffin-monger, "handsome hearse--three coaches and six, well-dressed mutes, handsome pall--nobody, your honor, could do it for less." the gentleman rejoined: "it is a large sum, mr. crape; but as i am satisfied the poor woman would have given twice as much to bury me, i must not be behind her in an act of kindness; there is a check for the amount." a partnership. the marquis della scallas, an italian nobleman, giving a grand entertainment, his major domo informed him that there was a fisherman below with a remarkably fine fish, but who demanded for it a very uncommon price--he won't take any money, but insists on a hundred strokes of the strappado on his bare shoulders. the marquis surprised, ordered him in, when he persisted in his demand. to humor him the marquis complied, telling his groom not to lay on too hard. when he had received the fiftieth lash, he cried, "hold! i have got a partner, to whom i have engaged that he should have half of whatever i was to receive for my fish--your lordship's porter, who would admit me only on that condition." it is almost unnecessary to add, that the porter had his share well paid, and that the fisherman got the full value for his prize. life insurance. james ii., when duke of york, found his brother, king charles, in hyde-park, unattended, at what was considered a perilous time. the duke expressed his surprise that his majesty should venture alone in so public a place. "james," said the king, "take care of yourself; no man in england will kill me to make you king." an irish notice. in a pool across a road in the county of tipperary is stuck up a pole, having affixed to it a board, with this inscription: "_take notice, that when the water is over this board the road is impassable._" mouths and meat. a poor man, with a family of seven children, complained to his richer neighbor of his hard case, his heavy family, and the inequality of fortune. the other callously observed, that whenever providence sent mouths it sent meat. "true," said the former, "but it has sent to you the _meat_, and me the _mouths_." the benefit of lying. a fellow was tried for stealing, and it was satisfactorily proved that he had acknowledged the theft to several persons, yet the jury acquitted him. the judge, surprised, asked their reason. the foreman said that he and his fellows knew the prisoner to be such an abominable liar, that they could not believe one word he said. a broad hint. a german prince being one day on a balcony with a foreign minister, told him, "one of my predecessors made an ambassador leap down from this balcony." "perhaps," said his excellency, "it was not the fashion then for ambassadors to wear swords." preferment. an auctioneer having turned publican, was soon after thrown into the king's bench; on which the following paragraph appeared in the morning post: "mr. a., who lately quitted the _pulpit_ for the _bar_, has been promoted to the _bench_." shoes misused. a lady bespoke a pair of dress shoes from an eminent shoemaker in jermyn-street. when they were brought home she was delighted with them. she put them on the same evening, and went to a ball, where she danced. next day, examining her favorite shoes, she found them almost in pieces. she sent for the tradesman, and showed him them. "good god!" said he, "it is not possible." at length, recollecting himself, he added, "how stupid i am! as sure as death your ladyship must have _walked in them_." a supposition. in the time of the persecution of the protestants in france, the english ambassador solicited of louis xiv. the liberation of those sent to the galleys on account of their religion. "what," answered the monarch, "would the king of england say, were i to demand the liberation of the prisoners in newgate?" "the king, my master," replied the minister, "would grant them to your majesty, if you reclaimed them as brothers." a character supported. a beggar asking alms under the character of a poor scholar, a gentleman put the question, _quomodo vales?_ the fellow, shaking his head, said he did not understand his honor. "why," said the gentleman, "did you not say you were a poor scholar?" "yes," replied the other, "a very poor scholar; so much so that i don't understand a word of latin." an especial favor. a baronet scientifically skilled in pugilism, enjoyed no pleasure so much as giving gratuitous instructions in his favorite art. a peer paying him a visit, they had a sparring-match, in the course of which he seized his lordship behind, and threw him over his head with a violent shock. the nobleman not relishing this rough usage, "my lord," said the baronet, respectfully, "i assure you that i never show this manoeuvre except to my particular friends." a charm. buchanan the historian was, from his learning, thought in his days of superstition to be a wizard. an old woman, who kept an ale-house in st. andrews, consulted george, in hopes that by necromantic arts he might restore her custom, which was unaccountably decreasing. he readily promised his aid. "every time you brew, maggy," says he, "go three times to the left round the copper, and at each round take out a ladle-full of water in the devil's name; then turn three times round to the right, and each time throw in a ladle-full of malt in god's name; but above all, wear this charm constantly on your breast, and never during your life attempt to open it, or dread the worst." she strictly conformed, and her business increased astonishingly. on her death her friends ventured to open and examine the charm, when they found it to contain these words: "if maggy will brew good ale, maggy will have good sale." short dialogue. _lady_: you can not imagine, captain, how deeply i feel the want of children, surrounded as i am by every comfort--nothing else is wanting to render me supremely happy. _captain o'flinn_: faith, ma'am, i've heard o' that complaint running in families; p'rhaps your mother had not any childer either? a blunt witness. at a late term of the court of sessions a man was brought up by a farmer, accused of stealing some ducks. "how do you know they are your ducks?" asked the defendant's counsel. "oh, i should know them _any_ where," replied the farmer; and he went on to describe their different peculiarities. "why," said the prisoner's counsel, "those ducks can't be such a rare breed; i have some very like them in my own yard." "that's not unlikely, sir," replied the farmer; "they are not the _only_ ducks i have had stolen lately!" "call the _next_ witness!" question solved. a mathematician being asked by a stout fellow, "if two pigs weigh twenty pounds, how much will a large hog weigh?" "jump into the scales," was the reply, "and i'll tell you in a minute!" the mathematician "had him there!" scottish theatricals. a company of performers announced in their bills the opening of a theatre at montrose, with the farce of _the devil to pay_, to be followed with the comedy of _the west indian_. adverse winds, however, prevented the arrival of their scenes from aberdeen, in time for representation, on the evening appointed. it was therefore found necessary to give notice of the postponement of the performance, which was thus delivered by the town-crier: "o yes! o yes! o yes! this is to let you to wit, that the play-ackers havena' got their screens up yet frae aberdeen, and so canna begin the night; but on monday night, god willing, there will be _the deevil to pay in the west indies_." the cunning fool. a gentleman had a son who was deemed an idiot. the little fellow, when nine or ten years of age, was fond of drumming, and once dropt his drum-stick into the draw-well. he knew that his carelessness would be punished by its not being searched for, and therefore did not mention his loss, but privately took a large silver punch-ladle, and dropped it into the same well. strict inquiry took place; the servants all pleaded ignorance, and looked with suspicion on each other; when the young gentleman, who had thrust himself into the circle, said he had observed something shine at the bottom of the draw-well. a fellow was dropt down in the bucket, and soon bawled out from the bottom, "i have found the punch-ladle, so wind me up." "stop," roared out the lad, "stop, _now your hand's in, you may as well bring up my drum-stick_." the dean instructed. a gentleman having sent a turbot as a present to swift, the servant who carried it entered the doctor's study abruptly, and laying down the fish, said, "master has sent you this turbot." "heyday! young man," exclaimed the dean, "is this the way you behave yourself? let me teach you better. sit down on this chair, and i will show you how to deliver such a message." the boy sat down, and the dean going to the door, with the fish in his hand, came up to the table, and making a low bow, said, "sir, my master presents his kind compliments, and begs your acceptance of this turbot." "does he?" answered the boy, assuming all the consequence of his situation. "here, john! (_ringing_,) take this honest lad down to the kitchen, and let him have as much as he can eat and drink; then send him up to me, and i'll give him half a crown." advice. a gentleman, who used to frequent the chapter coffee-house, being unwell, thought he might make so free as to steal an opinion concerning his case; accordingly, one day he took an opportunity of asking one of the faculty, who sat in the same box with him, what he should take for such a complaint? "i'll tell you," said the doctor, "you should _take advice_." miracle of miracles. the author of the life of st. francis xavier, asserts, that "by one sermon he converted _ten thousand persons_ in a _desert_ island." credat judÆus apella, non ego. a gentleman, talking of the tenacity of life in turtles, asserted that he had himself seen the head of one, which had been cut off three weeks, open its jaws. the circle around did not exactly contradict him, but exhibited expressive appearances of incredulity. the historian referred himself to a stranger, whose polite attention to the tale flattered him that it had received his full credence, which was corroborated by the other observing that he had himself seen strong instances of the turtle's tenaciousness of life. the stranger answered, "your account is a very extraordinary one; could you have believed it if you had not seen it yourself?" the narrator readily answered, "no." "then," replied the other, to his infinite mortification, and the gratification of the company, "i hope you will pardon me if i do not believe it." warning. a servant telling her master that she was going to give her mistress warning, as she kept scolding her from morning till night, he exclaimed with a sigh, "happy girl! i wish i could give her warning too!" irish recruiting. a serjeant enlisted a recruit, who on inspection turned out to be a woman. being asked by his officer how he made such a blunder, he said, "plase your honor i could not help it; i enlisted this _girl_ for a _man_, and _he_ turns out to be a _woman_." scene in a police office. the prisoner in this case, whose name was dickey swivel, alias "stove pipe pete," was placed at the bar, and questioned by the judge to the following effect: _judge_: bring the prisoner into court. _pete_: here i am, bound to blaze, as the spirits of turpentine said, when he was all a fire. _judge_: we'll take a little fire out of you. how do you live? _pete_: i ain't particular, as the oyster said when they asked if he'd be roasted or fried. _judge_: we don't want to know what the oyster said or the turpentine either. what do you follow? _pete_: anything that comes in my way, as the engine said when he run over a little nigger. _judge_: don't care anything about the locomotive. what's your business? _pete_: that's various, as the cat said when she stole the chicken off the table. _judge_: if i hear any more absurd comparisons, i will give you twelve months. _pete_: i am done, as the beef steak said to the cook. _judge_: now, sir, your punishment shall depend on the shortness and correctness of your answers. i suppose you live by going around the docks? _pete_: no, sir. i can't go around docks without a boat, and i hain't got none. _judge_: answer me now, sir. how do you get your bread? _pete_: sometimes at the baker's, and sometimes i eat taters. _judge_: no more of your stupid nonsense. how do you support yourself? _pete_: sometimes on my legs, and sometimes on a cheer, (chair.) _judge_: how do you keep yourself alive? _pete_: by breathing, sir. _judge_: i order you to answer this question correctly. how do you do? _pete_: pretty well, thank you, judge. how do _you_ do? _judge_: i shall have to commit you. _pete_: well, you have committed yourself first, that's some consolation. cheap traveling. a youth of more vanity than talent, bragging that during his travels he never troubled his father for remittances, and being asked how he lived on the road, answered, "_by my wits._" "then," replied his friend, "you must have traveled _very cheaply_." nautical polemics. two sailors on board of a man of war had a sort of religious dispute over their grog, in which one of them referred to the _apostle paul_. "he was no apostle," said the other; and this minor question, after much altercation, they agreed to refer to the boatswain's mate, who after some consideration declared "that paul was certainly never _rated_ as an apostle on the books, because he is not in the list, which consisted only of twelve; but then he was an _acting apostle_." the best customers. dr. radcliff and dr. case being together in a jovial company over their bottle, the former, filling his glass, said, "come, brother case, here's to all the fools that are your patients." "i thank you, my wise brother radcliff," answered case, "let me have all the fools, and you are heartily welcome to all the rest of the practice." a west india legislator. in the jamaica house of assembly, a motion being made for leave to bring in a bill to prevent the frauds of wharfingers, mr. paul phipps, member for st. andrew, rose and said, "mr. speaker, i second the motion; the wharfingers are to a man a set of rogues; i know it well; _i was one myself for ten years_." thy own mouth shall condemn thee. a player applied to the manager of a respectable country company for an engagement for himself and his wife, stating that his lady was capable of all the first line of business; but as to himself, he was _the worst actor in the world_. they were engaged, and the lady answered the character given of her. the husband having had the part of a mere walking gentleman sent him for his first appearance, asked the manager, indignantly, how he could put him into so paltry a part. "sir," answered the other, "here is your own letter, stating that you are the worst actor in the world." "true," replied the other, "but then i had not seen you." avoid all offence. during the riots of , when most persons, to save their houses, wrote on their doors, _no popery_, grimaldi, to avoid all mistakes, chalked up on his, _no religion_. a liberal price. louis xi. in his youth used to visit a peasant, whose garden produced excellent fruit. when he ascended the throne, his friend presented him a turnip of extraordinary size. the king smiled, and remembering his past pleasures, ordered a thousand crowns to the peasant. the lord of the village hearing of this liberality, thus argued with himself: "if this fellow get a thousand crowns for his turnip, i have only to present a capital horse to the munificent monarch, and my fortune is made." accordingly he carries to court a beautiful barb, and requests his majesty's acceptance of it. louis highly praised the steed, and the donor's expectation was raised to the highest, when the king called out, "bring me my turnip!" and presenting it to the seigneur, added, "this turnip cost me a thousand crowns, and i give it you for your horse." a precedent. in a trial in the king's bench, mr. erskine, counsel for the defendant, was charged by his opponent with traveling out of his way. mr. erskine in answer said, it reminded him of the celebrated whitefield, who being accused by some of his audience of rambling in his discourse, answered, "if you will ramble to the devil, i must ramble after you." a convenient nap. an oxford scholar, calling early one morning on another, when in bed, says, "jack, are you asleep?" "why?" "because, i want to borrow half a crown of you." "then i am asleep." literary correspondence. dr. johnson, about the end of the year , completed the copy of his dictionary, not more to his own satisfaction, than that of mr. millar, his bookseller, who, on receiving the concluding sheet, sent him the following note: "andrew millar sends his compliments to mr. samuel johnson, with the money for the last sheet of the copy of the dictionary, and thanks god he has done with him." to which, the lexicographer returned the following answer: "samuel johnson returns his compliments to mr. andrew millar, and is very glad to find, as he does by his note, that andrew millar has the grace to thank god for anything." a proper address. the keeper of a mad-house, in a village near london, published an address in a newspaper, inviting customers, and commencing with, "worthy the attention of the insane!" a debt of honor. moody, the actor, was robbed of his watch and money. he begged the highwayman to let him have cash enough to carry him to town, and the fellow said, "well, master moody, as i know you, i'll lend you half a guinea; but, remember, honor among thieves!" a few days after, he was taken, and moody hearing that he was at the brown bear, in bow street, went to enquire after his watch; but when he began to speak of it, the fellow exclaimed, "is that what you want? i thought you had come to pay the half guinea you borrowed of me." a relic. a student, showing the museum at oxford to a party, among other things produced a rusty sword. "this," said he, "is the sword with which balaam was going to kill his ass." "i thought," said one of the company, "that balaam had no sword, but only wished for one." "you are right, sir," replied the student, nowise abashed, "this is the very sword he wished for." stupidity personified. m. bouret, a french farmer-general, of immense fortune, _but stupid to a proverb_, being one day present, when two noblemen were engaged, in a party, at piquet, one of them happening to play a wrong card, exclaimed, "oh, what a bouret i am!" offended at this liberty, bouret said instantly, "sir, you are an ass." "_the very thing i meant_," replied the other. the difficulty surmounted. executions not being very frequent in sweden there are a great number of towns in that country without an executioner. in one of these a criminal was sentenced to be hanged which occasioned some little embarrassment, as it obliged them to bring a hangman from a distance at a considerable expense, besides the customary fee of two crowns. a young tradesman, belonging to the city council, giving his sentiments, said, "i think, gentlemen, we had best give the malefactor the two crowns, and let him go and be hanged where he pleases." humorous mistakes. the humors of the telegraph are very amusing. a year or so since, the agent of the delaware and hudson freighting line, at honesdale, pennsylvania, sent the following dispatch to the agent at new york: "d. horton--dear sir: please send me a shipping-book for ." the dispatch received, read as follows: "d. horton:--please send me a shipping-box eighteen feet by nine." the following might have been more disastrous in its results; the same parties were concerned. mr. horton wrote to the proprietor of the line that he had been subpoenaed on a trial to be held in the supreme court of new york, and that as navigation was about to open, it would be necessary to send a man to perform his office duties. the following reply was entrusted to the tender care of the telegraph wire: "see the judge at once and get excused. i cannot send a man in your place." when received, it read as follows: "see the judge at once and get executed; i can send a man in your place." mr. h. claims on the margin of the dispatch a stay of execution. not long since a gentleman telegraphed to a friend at cleveland an interesting family affair, as follows: "sarah and little one are doing well." the telegraph reached its destination, when it read thus: "sarah and litter are doing well." the recipient telegraphed back the following startling query: "for heaven's sake, how many?" sleeping in church. a clergyman observed in his sermon, that this was unpardonable, as people did it with their _eyes open_. wrapt up in the admiration of his own discourse, he did not observe that from its tediousness his audience one by one had slipped away, until there only remained a natural. lifting up his eyes, he exclaimed, "what! all gone, except this poor idiot!" "aye," says the lad, "and _if i had not been a poor idiot i had been gone too_." economy. a lady asked her butler how she might best save a barrel of excellent small beer; he answered, "by placing a cask of strong beer by it." a constellation of bulls. a letter written during the irish rebellion. _my dear sir_:--having now a little _peace and quietness_, i sit down to inform you of a dreadful _bustle and confusion_ we are in from these blood-thirsty rebels, most of whom are, however, thank god, _killed or dispersed_. we are in a pretty _mess_; can get _nothing to eat_, nor any _wine_ to drink, _except whiskey_; and when we _sit down_ to dinner, we are obliged to _stand_ with arms in both hands: _whilst i write this letter, i hold a sword in one hand and a pistol in the other. i concluded_, from the _beginning_, that this would be the _end_ of it; and i see i was right, for _it is not half over yet_. at present there is such _goings on_, that every thing is _at a stand_. i should have answered your letter _a fortnight ago_, but _it only came this morning_. indeed, hardly a mail arrives _safe_, without being _robbed_. yesterday the coach with the mails from dublin was _robbed_ near this town: but the _bags_ had been judiciously _left behind_, for fear of accidents; and by good luck there was nobody _in the coach_, except _two outside_ passengers, who had nothing for the thieves to take. last thursday an alarm was given, that a gang of rebels were advancing hither, under the french _standard_; but they had no _colors_, nor any _drums_ except _bagpipes_. immediately every _man_ in the place, including _women and children_, ran out to meet them. we soon found our force _much too little_; and they were _far_ too _near_ for us to think of retreating; so to it we went: _death_ was _in every face_; but by the time _half_ our little party was _killed_, we began to be _all alive_. the rebels fortunately had no _guns_, except _cutlasses and pikes_; and as we had plenty of _muskets and ammunition_, we put them all to the _sword_: not a soul of them _escaped_, except some that were _drowned_ in the adjoining bog; and in a very short time nothing was to be _heard_ but _silence_. their _uniforms_ were _all_ of _different shapes_ and _colours_--in general they were green. after the action we rummaged their camp; all we found was a few _pikes without heads_, a parcel of _empty bottles full_ of water, and a bundle of _blank_ french commissions _filled up_ with irishmen's names. troops are now stationed every where _round_ the country, which exactly _squares_ with my ideas. nothing, however, can save us but a union, which would turn our _barren hills_ into fruitful _valleys_. i have only _leisure_ to add, that i am in _great haste_. yours truly, j. b. p. s. if you do not _receive this in course_, it must have _miscarried_, therefore _write_ immediately to _let me know_. the logician rewarded. a farmer's son, who had been bred at the university, coming home to visit his parents, a couple of chickens were brought to the table for supper. "i can prove," said he, "by logic, that these two chickens are three." "well, let us hear," said the old man. "this," cried the scholar, "is one; and this is two; one and two make three." "very good," replied the father, "your mother shall have the first chicken, i will have the second, and you, for your great learning, shall have the third." double punishment. the captain of the magnanime found it necessary one day to order a negro on board a flogging. being tied up, the captain harangued him on his offence. quaco, naked and shivering in the month of december, exclaimed, "massa! if you preachee, preachee; if you floggee, floggee; but no preachee and floggee too." reason and a proverb explained. in a party of wits an argument took place as to the definition of a reasonable animal. speech was principally contended for; but on this dr. johnson observed, that parrots and magpies speak; were they therefore rational? "women," he added, "we know, are rational animals; but would they be less so if they spoke less?" jamie boswell contended that cookery was the criterion of reason; for that no animal but man did cook. "that," observed burke, "explains to me a proverb, which i never before could understand--_there is reason in the roasting of eggs_." a general complaint. the lieutenant colonel of one of the irish regiments in the french service being dispatched from fort keil by the duke of berwick to the king of france, with a complaint of some irregularities that had occurred in that regiment, his majesty observed passionately, that the irish troops gave him more trouble than all his forces besides. "sir," said the officer, "all your majesty's enemies make the same complaint." coolness in action. in the action off camperdown, admiral de winter asked one of his lieutenants for a quid of tobacco. in the act of presenting it, the lieutenant was carried off by a cannon-ball. "i must be obliged to _you_ then," said the admiral, turning to another officer, "for you see our friend is gone away with his tobacco box." a caution. a traveler coming into an inn in a very cold night, stood rather too close before the kitchen fire. a rogue in the chimney corner told him, "sir, you'll burn your spurs." "my boots, you mean," said the gentleman. "no, sir," replied the other, "they are burnt already." improvement. a french marquis boasted of the inventive genius of his nation, especially in matters of dress and fashion; "for instance," said he, "the ruffle, that fine ornament of the hand, which has been followed by all other nations." "true," answered the englishman, "but we generally improve on your inventions; for example, _in adding the shirt to the ruffle_." an amendment. at the time of the jubilee, , a meeting was held of the felons in newgate to pray his majesty for their pardon and liberation on the auspicious occasion. one of them observed, that it would be better, for them and their successors, to petition that all felonies be tried in the _court of chancery_. the learned dog. frank sims, the theatrical registrar, had a dog named bob, and a sagacious dog he was; but he was a pusillanimous dog, in a word, an arrant coward, and above all things he dreaded the fire of a gun. his master having taken him once to the enclosed part of hyde park next to kensington gardens, when the guards were exercising, their first fire so alarmed bob that he scampered off, and never after could be prevailed on to enter that ground. one day he followed his master cordially till he arrived at its entrance, where a board is placed, with this inscription: "do shoot all dogs _who_ shall be found within this inclosure;" when immediately he turned tail, and went off as fast as his legs could carry him. a french gentleman, surprised at the animal's rapid retreat, politely asked mr. sims what could be the cause. "don't you see," said sims, "what is written on the board?" to the utter astonishment of the frenchman, who had never before seen a dog that could read. cause of bulls. sir richard steele, being asked why his countrymen were so addicted to making bulls, said, he believed there must be something in the air of ireland, adding, "i dare say, _if an englishman were born there_ he would do the same." mot-malin. a noted miser boasted that he had lost five shillings without uttering a single complaint. "i am not at all surprised at that," said a wit, "_extreme sorrow is mute_." as the fool thinks the bell clinks. a widow, desirous of marrying her servant john, consulted the curate on the subject. "i am not yet beyond the age of marriage." "marry then." "but people will say that my intended is too young for me." "don't marry." "he would assist me in managing the business." "marry then." "but i am afraid he would soon despise me." "don't marry." "but on the other hand a poor widow is despised who has no protector." "marry then." "i am sadly afraid, however, that he would take up with the wenches." "then don't marry." uncertain from these contradictory responses, the dame consulted the bells when ringing, and which seemed to repeat, "marry your man john." she took this oracular advice, married, and soon repented. she again applied to the curate, who told her, "you have not observed well what the bells said; listen again." she did so, when they distinctly repeated, "don't marry john." a double entendre. a gentleman inspecting lodgings to be let, asked the pretty girl who showed them, "and are you, my dear, to be let with the lodgings?" "no," answered she, "i am to be let--_alone_." reason on both sides. charles ii. asked bishop stillingfleet how it happened that he preached in general without book, but always read the sermons which he delivered before the court. the bishop answered, that the awe of seeing before him so great and wise a prince made him afraid to trust himself. "but will your majesty," continued he, "permit me to ask you a question in my turn? why do you read your speeches to parliament?" "why doctor," replied the king, "i'll tell you very candidly. i have asked them so often for money, that i am ashamed to look them in the face." self taught genius. in a company of artists, the conversation turned on the subject, whether self-taught men could arrive at the perfection of genius combined with instruction. a german musician maintained the affirmative, and gave himself as an example. "i have," said he, "made a fiddle, which turns out as good as any cremona i ever drew a bow over, all _out of my own head_; aye, and i have got _wood enough left to make another_." an artful request. a gentleman traveling from paris to calais, was accosted by a man walking along, who begged the favor of him to let him put his great coat in his carriage. "with all my heart," said the gentleman, "but if we should be going different ways, how will you get your great coat?" "sir," answered the other, with apparent _naïvetè_, "i shall be in it." a felony. a young gentleman, a clerk in the treasury, used every morning, as he came from his lady mother's to the office, to pass by the canal in the green park, and feed the ducks then kept there, with bread and corn, which he carried in his pocket for the purpose. one day, having called his grateful friends, the _ducky, ducky, duckies_, he found unfortunately that he had forgotten them. "poor duckies!" he cried, "i am sorry i have not brought your allowance, _but here is sixpence for you to buy some_," and threw in a sixpence, which one of them caught and gobbled up. at the office he very wisely told the story to the other gentlemen there, with whom he was to dine next day. one of the party putting the landlord up to the story, desired him to have ducks at the table, and put a sixpence in the body of one of them, which was taken care to be placed before our hero. on cutting it up, and discovering the sixpence in its belly, he ordered the waiter to send up his master, whom he loaded with the epithets of rascal and scoundrel, swearing that he would have him prosecuted for robbing the king of his ducks; "for," said he, "gentlemen, i assure you, on my honor, that yesterday morning, _i gave this sixpence to one of the ducks in the green park_."' convincing evidence. a certain clergyman having been examined as a witness in the king's bench, the adverse counsel, by way of brow-beating, said, "if i be not mistaken, you are known as the _bruising parson_." "i am," said the divine, "and if you doubt it i will give it you _under my hand_." too bad. a man who was sentenced to be hung was visited by his wife, who said: "my dear, would you like the children to see you executed?" "no," replied he. "that's just like you," said she, "for you never wanted the children to have any enjoyment." parliamentary bull. in the irish bank-bill, passed in june , there is a clause, providing, that the profits shall be _equally_ divided; and the _residue go to the governor_. another. in a bill for pulling down the old newgate in dublin, and rebuilding it on the same spot, it was enacted, that the prisoners should remain in the _old jail_ till the new one was completed. classical bull. milton. the deeds themselves, though _mute_, _spoke loud_ the doer. another. shakspeare. i will strive with things impossible, yea, _get the better of them_. another. dr. johnson. turn from the glittering bribe your scornful eye, nor sell for gold _what gold can never buy_. classical bull. dr. johnson. every monumental inscription should be in latin; for that being a _dead_ language, it will always _live_. another. _ibid._ nor yet perceived the vital spirit fled, but still fought on, _nor knew that he was dead_. another. _ibid._ shakspeare has not only _shown_ human nature as it is, but as it would be found _in situations to which it cannot be exposed_. another. _ibid._ these observations were made _by favor of a contrary wind_. another. dryden. a horrid _silence_ first _invades the ear_. another. pope. when first young maro, in his noble mind, a work _t'outlast immortal rome designed_. depravity of the age. an itinerant clergyman preaching on this subject, said that little children, _who could neither speak nor walk_, were to be seen _running about the street, cursing and swearing_. the signal. a monk having intruded into the chamber of a nobleman, who was at the point of death, and had lost his speech, continued crying out, "my lord, will you make the grant of such and such a thing to our monastery? it will be for the good of your soul." the peer, at each question, nodded his head. the monk, on this, turned round to the son and heir, who was in the room: "you see, sir, my lord, your father, gives his assent to my request." to this, the son made no reply; but turning to his father, asked him, "is it your will, sir, that i kick this monk down stairs?" the nod of assent was given, and the permission put in force with hearty good will. a long bow. a dealer in the marvellous was a constant frequenter of a house in lambeth-walk, where he never failed to entertain the company with his miraculous tales. a bet was laid, that he would be surpassed by a certain actor, who, telling the following story, the palm was not only given to him by the company, but the story teller, ashamed, deserted the house: "gentlemen," said the actor, "when i was a lad, at sea, as we lay in the bay of messina, in a moonlight night, and perfectly calm, i heard a little splashing, and looking over the ship's bow, i saw, as i thought, a man's head, and to my utter surprise, there arose out of the water a man, extremely well-dressed, with his hair highly powdered, white silk stockings, and diamond buckles, his garment being embroidered with the most brilliant scales. he walked up the cable with the ease and elegance of a richer. stepping on deck, he addressed me in english, thus: 'pray, young man, is the captain on board?' i, with my hair standing on end, answered, 'yes, sir.' at this moment, the captain, overhearing our conversation, came on deck, and received the visitor very courteously, and without any apparent surprise. asking his commands, the stranger said, 'i am one of the submarine inhabitants of this neighborhood. i had, this evening, taken my family to a ball, but on returning to my house, i found the fluke of your anchor jammed so close up to my street door, that we could not get in. i am come therefore, to entreat you, sir, to weigh anchor, so that we may get in, as my wife and daughters are waiting in their carriage, in the street.' the captain readily granted the request of his aquatic visitor, who took his leave with much urbanity, and the captain returned to bed." good humor restored. one evening, at the haymarket theatre, the farce of the _lying valet_ was to be performed, _sharp_, by mr. shuter; but that comedian being absent, an apology was made, and it was announced that the part would be undertaken by mr. weston, whose transcendent comic powers were not then sufficiently appreciated. coming on with mrs. gardner, in the part of _kitty pry_, there was a tumultuous call of "shuter! shuter!" but tom put them all in good temper, by asking, with irresistibly quaint humor, "why should i _shoot her_? she plays her part very well." the reverse. the abbé tegnier, secretary to the french academy, one day made a collection of a pistole a head from the members, for some general expense. not observing that the president rose, who was very penurious, had put his money in the hat, he presented it to him a second time. m. rose assured him that he had put in his pistole. "i believe it," said the abbé, "though i did not see it." "and i," said fontenelle, "saw it, and could not believe it." sterling composition. at a party of noblemen of wit and genius, it was proposed to try their skill in composition, each writing a sentence on whatsoever subject he thought proper, and the decision was left to dryden, who formed one of the company. the poet having read them all, said, "there are here abundance of fine things, and such as do honor to the noble writers, but i am under the indispensable necessity of giving the palm to my lord dorset; and when i have read it, i am convinced your lordships will all be satisfied with my judgment--these are the inimitable words: "'i promise to pay to john dryden, on order, the sum of five hundred pounds. dorset.'" a card pun. a butcher's boy, running against a gentleman with his tray, made him exclaim, "the _deuce_ take the _tray_!" "sir," said the lad, "the _deuce can't take the tray_." a whimsical idea. the late sir thomas robinson was a tall, uncouth figure, and his appearance was still more grotesque, from his hunting-dress: a postilion's cap, a tight green jacket, and buckskin breeches. being at paris, and going in this habit to visit his sister, who was married, and settled there, he arrived when there was a large company at dinner. the servant announced m. robinson, and he entered, to the great amazement of the guests. among others, an abbé thrice lifted his fork to his mouth, and thrice laid it down, with an eager stare of surprise. unable longer to restrain his curiosity, he burst out with, "excuse me, sir, are you the _robinson crusoe_ so famous in history?" an irish soldier's quarters. two irish soldiers being stationed in a borough in the west of england, got into a conversation respecting their quarters. "how," said the one, "are you quartered?" "pretty well." "what part of the house do you sleep in?" "upstairs." "in the garret, perhaps?" "the garret! no, dennis o'brien would never sleep in the garret." "where then?" "why, i know not what you call it; but if the house were turned topsy turvy, i should be in the cellar." that's so. a distinguished wag about town says, the head coverings the ladies wear now-a-days, are barefaced false hoods. the perpetrator of this is still at large. a marshal humbled. a french field marshal who had attained that rank by court favour, not by valour, received from a lady the present of a drum, with this inscription--"_made to be beaten_." the same _hero_, going one evening to the opera, forcibly took possession of the box of a respectable abbé, who for this outrage brought a suit in a court of honour, established for such cases under the old government. the abbé thus addressed the court: "i come not here to complain of admiral suffrein, who took so many ships in the east indies. i come not to complain of count de grasse, who fought so nobly in the west; i come not to complain of the duke de crebillon, who took minorca; but i come to complain of the marshal b----, who _took my box_ at the opera, and _never took any thing else_." the court paid him the high compliment of refusing his suit, declaring that he had himself inflicted sufficient punishment. a courtly compliment. a french officer, just arrived, and introduced to the court at vienna, the empress told him she heard he had in his travels visited a lady renowned for her beauty; and asked if it was true that she was the most handsome princess of her time. the courtier answered, "_i thought so yesterday._" a congratulation. at a circuit dinner, a counsellor observed to another, "i shall certainly hang your client." his friend answered, "i give you joy of your new office." algerine wit. a frenchman, taken into slavery by an algerine, was asked what he could do. his answer was, that he had been used to a _sedentary_ employment. "well, then," said the pirate, "you shall have a pair of feather breeches, to sit and hatch chickens." a royal decision. the princess of prussia, having ordered some silks from lyons, they were stopped for duties by an excise officer, whom she ordered to attend her with the silks, and receive his demand. on his entrance into her apartment, the princess flew at the officer, and seizing the merchandise, gave him two or three hearty cuffs on the face. the mortified exciseman complained to the king in a memorial, to which his majesty returned the following answer: "the loss of the duties belonging to my account, the silks are to remain in the possession of the princess, and the cuffs with the receiver. as to the alleged dishonor, i cancel the same, at the request of the complainant; but it is, of itself, null; for the white hand of a fair lady cannot possibly dishonor the face of an exciseman. frederick." _berlin, nov. th, ._ fellow feeling. a lady's favorite dog having bitten a piece out of a male visitor's leg, she exclaimed, "poor dear little creature! _i hope it will not make him sick._" unreasonable fasting. two gentlemen, wishing to go into a tavern on one of the national fast-days, found the door shut; and on their knocking, the waiter told them from within, that his master would allow no one to enter during service on the fast-day. "your master," said one of them, "might be contented _to fast himself_, without making his _doors fast too_." a whimsical idea. a noble lord asked a clergyman at the foot of his table, why, if there was a goose at dinner, it was always placed next the parson. "really," said he, "i can give no reason for it; but your question is so odd, that i shall never after see a _goose_ without thinking of your lordship." the breeches-maker captain. a captain in a volunteer corps, drilling his company, had occasion to desire one of the gentlemen to step farther out in marching. the order not being attended to, was repeated in a peremptory tone, when the private exclaimed, "i cannot, captain, _you have made my breeches too tight_." tit for tat. two contractors, who had made large fortunes, had a quarrel. one of them, in the midst of the altercation, asked the other contemptuously, "do you remember, sir, when you were my footman?" the other answered, "i do; and had you been my footman, you would have been a footman still." sound argument. a sailor being about to set out for india, a citizen asked him: "where did your father die?" "in shipwreck." "and where did your grandfather die?" "as he was fishing, a storm arose, and the bark foundering, all on board perished." "and your great-grandfather?" "he also perished on board a ship which struck on a rock." "then," said the citizen, "if i were you, _i would never go to sea_." "and pray, mr. philosopher," observed the seaman, "where did your father die?" "in his bed." "and your grandfather?" "in his bed." "and your great-grandfather?" "he and all my ancestors died quietly in their beds." "then, if i were you, _i would never go to bed_." ingratitude. when the _school for scandal_ was first performed, mr. cumberland sat in the front of the stage box with the most complete apathy; its wit and humor never affected his risible muscles. this being reported to mr. sheridan, he observed, "that was very ungrateful, for i am sure i laughed heartily at his tragedy of _the battle of hastings_." reasons for dram-drinking. a gentleman in a coffee-house called, "waiter! bring me a glass of brandy; i am very hot." another, "waiter! a glass of brandy; i am devilish cold." mr. quin, "waiter! give me a glass of brandy; because i like it." smuggling. a lady asked a silly but conceited scotch nobleman, how it happened that the scots who came out of their own country were in general of more abilities than those who remained at home. "madam," said he, "the reason is obvious; at every outlet there are persons stationed to examine those who pass, that for the honor of the country no one be permitted to leave it who is not a person of understanding." "then," said she, "i presume your lordship was smuggled." a mis-under-standing. a gentleman desired his boot-maker, as he took measure, to observe particularly that one of his legs was bigger than the other, and of course to make one of his boots bigger than the other. when they were brought home, trying the larger boot on the small leg, it went on easily, but when he attempted the other, his foot stuck fast. "you are a pretty tradesman," said he, "i ordered you to make one of the boots _larger than the other_; and, instead of that, you have made one of them _smaller than the other_." the double bull. "how can you call these blackberries, when they are red?" "don't you know that _black_ berries are always _red_ when they are _green_?" irish dreaming. when general and mrs. v. were in dublin, they were perpetually teased by an old woman whom they had relieved, but whose importunity had no bounds; every time she could find an opportunity she had a fresh tale to extract money from their pockets. one day as they were stepping into their carriage, molly accosted them: "ah! good luck to your honor's honor, and your ladyship's honor,--to be sure i was not dreaming of you last night; i dreamt that your honor's honor gave me a pound of tobacco, and her ladyship gave me a pound of taa." "aye, my good woman," says the general, "but you know dreams always go by contraries." "do they so?" replied she, "then it must be that your honor will give me the taa, and her ladyship the tobacco." the provident wife. a tailor dying said to his wife, who was plunged in tears, "my dear, don't let my death afflict you too much. i would recommend you to marry thomas, our foreman; he is a good lad and a clever workman, and would assist you to carry on the trade." "my love," answered the disconsolate dame, "make yourself easy on that score, for tom and i have settled the matter already." the cockney's baggage. sut lovingood sends the following to an exchange. a full-blooded cockney who is now taking notes on the united states, chanced to be on one of our southern trains, when a "run off" took place, and a general mixing up of things was the consequence. cockney's first act, after straightening out his collapsed hat, was to raise a terrible 'ubbub about 'is baggage, and among other things, wanted to know, "hif railroads hin hamerika wasn't responsible for baggage stolen, smashed, or missing?" "well, yes," said the tennessean addressed, "but it is a deuce of a job to get your pay." "why so?" "they will perhaps admit your claim, but then _they offer to fight you for it_; that's a standing american rule. there is the man employed by this road to _fight for baggage_," pointing to a huge bewhiskered train-hand, who stood by with his sleeves rolled up, "i think, if my memory serves me, he has fought for sixty-nine lots, _an' blamed if he haint won 'em all_. they gave him the empty trunks for his pay, and he is making a hundred dollars a month in selling trunks, valises, carpet-bags, and satchels. have you lost any baggage?" "no, no, not hat hall. hi just hasked to learn your custom hin case hi _did_ lose hany. hi don't _think_ hi'll lose mine 'owever." here the train-hand who overheard the talk, stepped up, and inquired, "have you lost anything?" "ho no! ho no!" replied cockney, with unusual energy. "can't i sell you a trunk?" "thank you, sir. no, i think i have a supply." "well, if you do either lose baggage or want to buy a trunk _already marked_, deuced if i ain't the man to call on." it is needless to say that instead of raising cain generally, as cockney had been doing, he betook him to zealously writing notes on american customs during the remainder of the delay. probably he indited something fully equal to the _london times_ georgia railroad story. equivoque. a scholar put his horse into a field belonging to morton college, on which the master sent him a message, that if he continued his horse there, he would cut off his tail. "say you so!" answered the scholar, "go tell your master, if he cuts off my horse's tail, i will cut off his ears." this being delivered to the master, he in a passion sent for the scholar, who appearing before him, he said sternly, "how now, sir, what mean you by that menace you sent me?" "sir," said the youth, "i menaced you not; i only said, _if you cut off my horse's tail, i would cut off his ears_." the lost found. a servant being sent with half a dozen living partridges in a present, had the curiosity to open the lid of the basket containing them, when they all made their escape. he proceeded, however, with the letter: the gentleman to whom it was addressed having read it, said, "i find _in this letter_ half a dozen of partridges." "do you, indeed?" cried pat, "i am glad you have _found them in the letter_, for they all _flew out of the basket_." a fillip to a king. the earl of st. albans was, like many other staunch loyalists, little remembered by charles ii. he was, however, an attendant at court, and one of his majesty's companions in his gay hours. on one such occasion, a stranger came with an important suit for an office of great value, just vacant. the king, by way of joke, desired the earl to personate him, and ordered the petitioner to be admitted. the gentleman, addressing himself to the supposed monarch, enumerated his services to the royal family, and hoped the grant of the place would not be deemed too great a reward. "by no means," answered the earl, "and i am only sorry that as soon as i heard of the vacancy i conferred it upon my faithful friend the earl of st. albans [pointing to the king], who has constantly followed the fortunes both of my father and myself, and has hitherto gone unrewarded." charles granted for this joke what the utmost real services looked for in vain. a merited reward. a physician, during his attendance on a man of letters, remarking that the patient was very punctual in observing his regimen and taking his prescriptions, exclaimed with exultation, "my dear sir, you really _deserve to be ill_!" cockneyism. a londoner told his friend that he was going to margate for a change of _hair_. "you had better," said the other, "go to the _wig-maker's shop_." a story applied. mr. balfour, a scotch advocate of dry humour, but much pomposity, being in a large company, where the convivial earl of kelly presided, was requested to give a song, which he declined. lord kelly, with all the despotism of a chairman, insisted that if he would not sing, he must tell a story or drink a pint bumper of wine. mr. balfour, being an abstemious man, would not submit to the latter alternative, but consented to tell a story. "one day," said he, "a thief, prowling about, passed a church, the door of which was invitingly open. thinking that he might even there find some prey, he entered, and was decamping with the pulpit-cloth, when he found his exit interrupted, the doors having been in the interim fastened. what was he to do to escape with his plunder? he mounted the steeple, and let himself down by the bell-rope; but scarcely had he reached the bottom when the consequent noise of the bell brought together people, who seized him. as he was led off to prison he addressed the bell, _as i now address your lordship_; said he, '_had it not been for your long tongue and your empty head i had made my escape_.'" amor patriÆ. a dispute arose as to the site of goldsmith's _deserted village_. an irish clergyman insisted that it was the little hamlet of auburn, in the county of westmeath. one of the company observed that this was improbable, as dr. goldsmith had never been in that part of the country. "why, gentlemen," exclaimed the parson, "was milton in hell when he wrote his _paradise lost_?" a quaker joke. a correspondent sends the buffalo express the following good thing for the hot weather: k----, the quaker president of a pennsylvania railroad, during the confusion and panic last fall, called upon the w---- bank, with which the road had kept a large regular account, and asked for an extension of a part of its paper falling due in a few days. the bank president declined rather abruptly, saying, in a tone common with that fraternity, "mr. k., your paper _must be paid at maturity_. we _cannot renew it_." "very well," our quaker replied, and left the bank. but he did not let the matter drop here. on leaving the bank, he walked quietly over to the depot and telegraphed all the agents and conductors on the road, to reject the bills on the w---- bank. in a few hours the trains began to arrive, full of panic, and bringing the news of distrust of the w---- bank all along the line of the road. stock-holders and depositors flocked into the bank, making the panic, inquiring, "what is the matter?" "is the bank broke?" a little inquiry by the officers showed that the trouble originated in the rejection of the bills by the railroad. the president seized his hat, and rushed down to the quaker's office, and came bustling in with the inquiry: "mr. k., have you directed the refusal of our currency by your agents?" "yes," was the quiet reply. "why is this? it will ruin us!" "well, friend l., i supposed thy bank was about to fail, as thee could not renew a little paper for us this morning." it is needless to say mr. l. renewed all the quaker's paper, and enlarged his line of discount, while the magic wires carried all along the road to every agent the sedative message, "the w---- bank is all right. thee may take its currency." a royal physician. henry viii. hunting in windsor forest, struck down about dinner to the abbey of reading, where, disguising himself as one of the royal guards, he was invited to the abbot's table. a sirloin was set before him, on which he laid to as lustily as any _beef-eater_. "well fare thy heart," quoth the abbot, "and here in a cup of sack i remember the health of his grace your master. i would give a hundred pounds that i could feed on beef as heartily as you do. alas! my poor queasy stomach will scarcely digest the wing of a chicken." the king heartily pledged him, thanked him for his good cheer, and departed undiscovered. shortly after, the abbot was sent to the tower, kept a close prisoner, and fed on bread and water, ignorant of the cause, and terrified at his situation. at last, a sirloin of beef was set before him, on which his empty stomach made him feed voraciously. "my lord!" exclaimed the king entering from a private closet, "instantly deposit your hundred pounds, or no going hence. i have been your physician, and here, as i deserve it, i demand my fee." a selfish pun. a certain tavern-keeper, who opened an oyster-shop as an appendage to his other establishment, was upbraided by a neighboring oyster-monger, as being ungenerous and _selfish_; "and why," said he, "would you not have me _sell-fish_?" sympathy. a good deacon making an official visit to a dying neighbor, who was a very churlish and universally unpopular man, put the usual question--"are you willing to go, my friend?" "oh, yes," said the sick man, "i am." "well," said the simple minded deacon, "i am glad you are, for _all the neighbors are willing_!" maternal advice. a noble lord being in his early years much addicted to dissipation, his mother advised him to take example by a gentleman, whose food was herbs, and his drink water. "what! madam," said he, "would you have me to imitate a man, who _eats like a beast, and drinks like a fish_!" proverbs applied. a "fat and greasy citizen," having made a ridiculous motion in the common council, observed afterwards at a select _dinner party_, (or rather _party dinner_,) that he was afraid he should be _hauled over the coals_ for it. an alderman present observed, "_then all the fat would be in the fire._" proof of yorkshire. a lad, seeing a gentleman in a public house eating eggs, said, "be so good, sir, as give me a little salt." "salt, for what?" "perhaps, sir, you'll ask me to eat an egg, and i should like to be ready." "what country are you from, my lad?" "i's yorkshire, sir." "i thought so--well, there take your egg." "thank you, sir." "well, they are great horse-stealers in your country are not they?" "yes; my father, though an honest man, would think no more of taking a horse, than i would of drinking your glass of ale," _taking it off_. "yes, i see you are yorkshire." scotch weather. on a very wet day in the west of scotland, a traveler, who had been detained a week by bad weather, peevishly asked a native, if it always rained in that country? he replied, drily, "no, it _snows sometimes_." an observation exemplified. a boy on the stage danced very finely and obtained much applause. a senior dancer enviously observed, that he never knew a clever boy turn out a great man. the boy said, "sir, you must have been a very clever boy." tit for tat. dobbs was up and doing, april fool day. a singular phenomenon was to be seen in the vicinity of his place of business. dobbs went home from his store, the last evening in march, and while taking his tea, remarked to his wife, that his colored porter had been blessed with an increase in his family. "why," said mrs. d., "that makes nine!" "exactly," said he; "but the singularity about this new comer, is, that one half of its face is black." "dear me!" exclaimed mrs. d., "that is singular, indeed. how strange! what can be the cause of such disfigurement?" "can't say," replied dobbs, "but it is a curiosity worth seeing, to say the least of it." "so i should think," returned his better half. "i will go down in the morning, and take such delicacies as the woman needs, and see the child at the same time." dobbs knew she would, so he went out to smoke a cigar, and the subject was dropped for the evening. next morning after he went to his store, the kind-hearted woman made up a basket of nice things, and taking the servant girl, went down to cheer up the mother, and see the singular child. when dobbs came home to dinner, his wife looked surprised. before he had time to seat himself, she said: "have you seen cousin john? he was here, this morning, to pay you the money you lent him, and as he could not wait for you, and must leave town again to-day; i told him you would be at the store, at half-past two. "how fortunate!" said he; "i need just that amount to take up a note to-morrow. just two, now," said dobbs, looking at his watch, "i will go down at once, for fear of missing him." "can't you have dinner first?" said his affectionate wife, "you will be in time." "no," said he, "i want that money, and would not like to miss him, so i will go at once." "by the by," said the lady, "how came you to tell me such a story about one side of that child's face being white?" "no, no," said he, as he put on his hat, "you are mistaken. i said one side was black. you did not ask me about the other side; _that was black, too_. first of april, my dear, first of april, you know." dobbs departed in haste, and did not return again until tea time, and then he looked disappointed. "what is the matter, my dear?" said mrs. d. "why, i missed cousin john, and i needed the thousand dollars to take up a note to-morrow. and every one is so short, i cannot raise it." "oh! is that all?" returned she, "then it's all right. cousin john paid me the money, and said you could send him a receipt by mail." "but," asked dobbs, "why couldn't you tell me so at dinner time, and not say he would be at the store, to pay me, at half-past two, and so send me off without my dinner, besides causing me so much anxiety for nothing?" "i am sorry you have had so much anxiety and trouble," returned his wife; "but you are mistaken in supposing i told you he would be at the store, at that time. i said i told him _you_ would be there, at half-past two, and knowing you were in want of that money, i knew you would not fail. _first of april, my dear, first of april, you know!_" dobbs caved in; he acknowledged the corn, and mr. and mrs. dobbs enjoyed a pleasant supper. the regret. joseph ii. emperor of germany, traveling incognito, stopped at an inn in the netherlands, where, it being fair time, and the house crowded, he readily slept in an outhouse, after a slender supper of bacon and eggs, for which, and bed, he paid the charge of about three shillings and sixpence, english. a few hours after, some of his majesty's suite coming up, the landlord appeared very uneasy at not having known the rank of his guest. "pshaw! man," said one of the attendants, "joseph is accustomed to such adventures, and will think nothing of it." "very likely," replied mine host, "but i shall. i can never forgive myself for having an emperor in my house, and letting him off for three and sixpence." not to be twice deceived. a person, more ready to borrow than to pay, prevailed on a friend to lend him a guinea, on a solemn promise of returning it the ensuing week, which, to the surprise of the lender, he punctually kept. shortly after, he made an application for a larger sum. "no," said the other, "you have deceived me once, and i will take care you shall not do so a second time." murder and suicide. a clergyman preaching against lending money on usury, asserted it to be as great a sin as _murder_. some time after, he applied to a parishioner to lend him twenty pounds. "what!" said the other, "after declaring your opinion that to lend money on usury, was as bad as _murder_?" "i do not mean," answered the parson, "that you should lend it to me on usury, but _gratis_." "that," replied the parishioner, "would, in my opinion, be as bad as _suicide_." a challenge. a son of galen, when a company was making merry by ridicule on physicians, exclaimed, "i defy any person i ever attended, to accuse me of ignorance or neglect." "that you may do, doctor, _dead men tell no tales_." a qualification. a young nobleman, lately admitted a member of the board of agriculture, observed, as he took his seat, that he himself was an extensive farmer. the company knowing his lordship's pursuits to be very different, stared a little at the declaration; but he explained it, by saying, he had sowed a great deal of _wild oats_. quick work. mrs. partington, speaking of the rapid manner in which wicked deeds are perpetrated, said that it only required two _seconds_ to fight a duel. non committal. a calm, blue-eyed, self-composed, and self-possessed young lady, in a village "down east," received a long call the other day, from a prying old spinster, who, after prolonging her stay beyond even her own conception of the young lady's endurance, came to the main question which brought her thither: "i've been asked a good many times if you was engaged to dr. c----. now, if folks enquire again whether you be or not, what shall i tell them i think?" "tell them," answered the young lady, fixing her calm blue eyes in unblushing steadiness upon the inquisitive features of her interrogator, "tell them that you think you don't know, and you're sure it's none of your business." grief. a dutchman having suddenly lost an infant son, of whom he was very fond, thus vented his inconsolable grief over the loss of his child. "i don't see wot dit make him die; he was so fatter as butter. i wouldn't haf him tie for five dollars!" judicious remark. a negro, whom dr. franklin brought over from america, observed, that the only gentleman in this country was the hog--"everything work: _man_ work, _woman_ work, _horse_ work, _bullock_ work, _ass_ work, _fire_ work, _water_ work, _smoke_ work, _dog_ work, _cat_ work; but the _hog_, he eat, he sleep, he do nothing all day--he be the only gentleman in england." a knotty pun. the late caleb whitefoord, seeing a lady knotting fringe for a petticoat, asked her, what she was doing? "knotting, sir," replied she; "pray mr. whitefoord, can you knot?" he answered, "_i can-not._" retort from a child. a very diminutive man, instructing his young son, told him if he neglected his learning he would never grow tall. the child observed, "father, did you ever learn anything?" an apt scholar. "john, what is the past of see?" "seen, sir." "no, john, it is saw." "yes, sir, and if a _sea_-fish swims by me it becomes a _saw_-fish, when it is past and can't be _seen_." "john, go home. ask your mother to soak your feet in hot water, to prevent a rush of brains to the head." classical bull. pope. eight callow _infants_ filled the mossy nest, _herself the ninth._ another. home. beneath a mountain's brow, the most remote and _inaccessible_ by _shepherds trod_. a rowland for an oliver. a sailor examined on an assault committed on board of ship, was asked by the counsel, whether the plaintiff or defendant struck first. "i know nothing," said he, "of plaintiff and defendant; i only know, as i have said already, that tom knocked jack down with a marlinspike." "here," said the counsel, "is a pretty witness, who does not know the plaintiff from the defendant!" proceeding in his cross examination, the counsel asked where the affray happened? the answer was, "abaft the binnacle." "abaft the binnacle! where's that?" "here," said the witness, "is a pretty counsel for you, that does not know abaft the binnacle!" the counsel, not yet abashed, asked, "and pray, my witty friend, how far were you from tom when he knocked down jack?" "just five feet seven inches." "you are very accurate; and how do you happen to know this so very exactly?" "i thought some fool would ask me, and so i measured it." slang. lord mansfield examining a witness, asked, "what do you know of the defendant?" "o! my lord, _i was up to him_." "up to him! what do you mean by that?" "mean, my lord! why, _i was down upon him_." "up to him and down upon him! what does the fellow mean?" "why i mean, my lord, _i stagged him_." "i do not understand your language, friend." "lord! what a flat you must be!" scientific distinctions. an eminent physician, and fellow of the royal society, seeing over the door of a paltry ale-house, _the crown and thistle_, by malcolm mac tavish, m.d., f.r.s., walked in, and severely rebuked the landlord for this presumptuous insult on science. boniface, with proper respect, but with a firmness that showed he had been a soldier, assured the doctor that he meant no insult to science. "what right then," asked he, "have you to put up those letters after your name?" "i have," answered the landlord, "as good a right to these as your honor, as _drum major of the royal scots fusileers_." corporal punishment. a soldier having been sentenced to receive military punishment, one of the drummers refused to inflict it, saying it was not his duty. "not your duty, sirrah!" said the adjutant, "what do you mean?" "i know very well," replied tattoo, "that it is not my duty; i was present at the court martial, and heard the colonel say he was to receive _corporal_ punishment. i am no _corporal_, but only a _drummer_." an apology. lieutenant o'brien, called _sky-rocket jack_, was blown up in the edgar, but saved on the carriage of a gun. having got on board the admiral's ship, all dirty and wet, he said, "i hope, sir, you will excuse my appearing before you in this dishabille, as i came away _in such a devil of a hurry_." blindness _vs._ sight. a blind man having hidden a hundred guineas in the corner of his garden, a neighbor, who observed him in the act, dug them up, and took them. the blind man, missing his money, suspected who was the thief; but to accuse him would serve no purpose. he called on him, saying he wished to take his advice; that he was possessed of two hundred guineas, one hundred of which he had deposited in a secret spot; now he wished to have his opinion, whether he should conceal the remainder in the same place, or if he had better put it in the hands of a banker. the neighbor advised him, by all means, as the safest way, to hide it along with the rest, and hastened to replace what he had taken, in the hope of catching double the sum. but the blind man, having recovered his treasure, took occasion to tell his neighbor, "blind as i am, _i can see as far into a mill-stone as you_." a retort. a spendthrift rallying a miser, among other things, said, "i'll warrant these buttons on your coat were your great-grandfather's." "yes," answered he, "and i have likewise got my great-grandfather's lands." a christian precept. a physician seeing old bannister about to drink a glass of brandy, said, "don't drink that poisonous stuff! brandy is the worst enemy you have." "i know that," answered charles, "but we are commanded _to love our enemies_." vanity humbled. a consequential scotch laird riding on the footpath of the high road between edinburgh and dalkeith, met a respectable farmer-looking man on foot, whom he insolently ordered to get out of the way. the other answered, "i am in the proper way, while you very improperly ride on the footpath." "do you know, sir, to whom you are talking?" "not i, indeed." "i am mr. ----, of ----." "very likely." "and i am one of the trustees for this road." "then you are a very bad trustee, thus to misuse the foot-way, and interrupt passengers." "you are an impudent scoundrel, and i have a great mind to have you laid by the heels. what is your name, fellow?" "_henry, duke of montague._" a lesson. a miser having heard of another still more parsimonious than himself, waited on him to gain instruction. he found him reading over a small lamp, and having explained the cause of his visit, "if that be all," said the other, "we may as well put out the lamp, we can converse full as well in the dark." "i am satisfied," said the former, "that as an economist i am much your inferior, and i shall not fail to profit by this lesson." a legislator. an irish member, adverting to the great number of _suicides_ that had occurred, moved for leave to bring in a bill to make it a capital offence! dear wine. mr. elwes, who united the most rigid parsimony with the most gentlemanly sentiments, received a present of some very _fine wine_ from a wine merchant, who knew that nothing could so win his heart as small gifts. it had the effect to obtain from him the loan of several hundred pounds. mr. elwes, who could never ask a gentleman for money, and who was a perfect philosopher as to his losses, used jocularly to say, "it was indeed very fine wine; for it cost him twenty pounds a bottle." a good hit. a gentleman being out a-shooting with mr. elwes, missed a dozen times successively. at length, firing at a covey of partridges, he lodged two pellets in mr. elwes's cheek, which gave him considerable pain; but on the other apologizing, and expressing his sorrow for the unfortunate accident, "my dear sir," said the old man, "i give you joy of your improvement; _i knew you would hit_ something _by and by_." spending time. "what makes you spend your time so freely, jack?" "because it's the only thing i have to spend." the lesson profited by. an attorney traveling with his clerk to the circuit, the latter asked his master what was the chief point in a lawsuit. he answered, "if you will pay for a couple of fowls to our supper, i'll tell you." this being agreed to, the master said, "the chief point was _good witnesses_." arrived at the inn, the attorney ordered the fowls, and when the bill was brought in, told the clerk to pay for them according to agreement. "o sir," said he, "where are your _good witnesses_?" black work well paid. a clergyman meeting a chimney sweeper, asked whence he came? "i have been sweeping your reverence's chimneys." "how many were there?" "twenty, sir." "well, and how much do you get a chimney?" "only a shilling a piece, sir." "why, i think a pound is pretty well for your morning's work." "yes, sir, _we black-coats_ get our money easy enough." proof of identity. richard ii., on the pope reclaiming, as a son of the church, a bishop whom he had taken prisoner in battle, sent him the prelate's _coat of mail_, and in the words of the scripture asked him, "know now whether this be _thy son's coat_ or not?" no loss for an excuse. the welsh formerly drank their ale, mead, or metheglin out of earthen vessels, glazed and painted, within and without, with _dainty devices_. a farmer in the principality, who had a curious quart mug, with an angel painted on the bottom, on the inside, found that a neighbor who very frequently visited him, and with the customary hospitality had the first draught, always gave so hearty a swig as to leave little for the rest of the party. this, our farmer three or four times remonstrated against, as unfair; but was always answered, "hur does so love to look at that pretty angel, that hur always drinks till hur can see its face." the farmer on this set aside his angel cup, and the next shrewsbury fair, bought one with the figure of the devil painted at the bottom. this being produced, foaming with ale, to his guest, he made but one draught, and handed it to the next man quite empty. being asked his reason, as he could not now wish to look at the angel, he replied, "no, but hur cannot bear to leave that ugly devil a drop." the general challenged. general craig, when in dublin, called his servant to get ready his horse, but pat was missing, and when he did make his appearance, he was _not perfectly sober_. the general asked where he had been? "i have been, sir," answered he, "where you dare not show your face, and doing what you dare not do, brave as you are." "where, and what?" demanded the general, sternly. "why, i have been _at the whiskey shop, spending my last sixpence_." a question answered. a sailor on ship-board, having fallen from the mizen-top, but his fall having been broken by the rigging, got up on the quarter deck, little hurt. the lieutenant asked where he _came from_? "plase your honor," replied he, "i came from _the north of ireland_." a counsellor. when lord chesterfield was in administration, he proposed a person to his late majesty, as proper to fill a place of great trust, but which the king himself was determined should be given to another. the council, however, resolved not to indulge the king, _for fear of a dangerous precedent_. it was lord chesterfield's business to present the grant of the office for the king's signature. not to incense his majesty, by asking him abruptly, he, with accents of great humility, begged to know with whose name his majesty would be pleased to have the blanks filled up? "_with the devil's!_" replied the king, in a paroxysm of rage. "and shall the instrument," said the earl, coolly, "run as usual--_to our trusty and well-beloved cousin and counsellor?_" an hibernian capture. lieutenant connolly, an irishman, in the service of the united states, during the american war, having himself taken three hessians prisoners, and being asked by the general, how he took them, he answered, "_i surrounded them._" a bon bouche. an irish counsellor, author of one of the numerous pamphlets which emanated from the press on the subject of the union, meeting a brother barrister, asked him if he had seen his publication. the other answered, that he had, that very day, been dipping into part of it, and was delighted with its contents. quite elated, the author asked his friend what part of the contents pleased him so much. "it was," answered the other, "a _mince pie_ which i got from the pastry cook's, wrapped up in half a sheet of your work." can't be worse. a very plain man was acting the character of mithridates, in a french theatre, when monima said to him, "my lord, you change countenance;" a young fellow in the pit, cried, "for heaven's sake, let him." virtue cheap. a stone mason was employed to engrave the following epitaph on a tradesman's wife: "a virtuous woman is a crown to her husband." the stone, however, being narrow, he contracted the sentence in the following manner: "a virtuous woman is _s._ to her husband." thorough work. a bricklayer fell through the rafters of an unfinished house, and nearly killed himself; a bystander declared that he ought to be employed, as he went smartly through his work. not to be done brown. dr. brown courted a lady for many years unsuccessfully; during which time, he had always accustomed himself to propose her health, whenever he was called upon for a lady. but being observed, one evening, to omit it, a gentleman reminded him that he had forgotten to toast his favorite lady. "why, indeed," said the doctor, "i find it all in vain; i have toasted her so many years, and cannot make her brown, that i am determined to toast her no longer." fitness of things. an irish sergeant, on a march, being attacked by a dog, pierced the animal with his halbert. on the complaint of the owner, the superior officer said to the offender, "murphy, you were wrong in this. you should have struck the dog with the butt end of your halbert, and not with your blade." "plaise your honor," says murphy, "and i would have been glad for to save myself the trouble of claining my iron, if he had only been so kind as to bite me with his tail, instead of his teeth." letting on. a lawyer, in ireland, who was pleading the cause of an infant plaintiff, took the child up in his arms, and presented it to the jury, suffused with tears. this had a great effect, till the opposite lawyer asked what made him cry? "he pinched me!" answered the little innocent. the whole court was convulsed with laughter. an infallible receipt. as louis xiv. was, one severe frosty day, traveling from versailles to paris, he met a young man, very lightly clothed, tripping along in as much apparent comfort as if it had been in the midst of summer. he called him,--"how is it," said the king, "that, dressed as you are, you seem to feel no inconvenience from the cold, while, notwithstanding my warm apparel, i cannot keep from shivering?" "sire," replied the pedestrian, "if your majesty will follow my example, i engage that you will be the warmest monarch of europe." "how so?" asked the king. "your majesty need only, like me, _carry all your wardrobe on your back_." an apt scholar. "george, what does c a t spell?" "don't know, sir." "what does your mother keep to catch mice?" "trap, sir." "no, no, what animal is very fond of milk?" "a baby, sir." "you dunce, what was it scratched your sister's face?" "my nails, sir." "i am out of all patience! there, do you see that animal on the fence?" "yes, sir." "do you know its name?" "yes, sir." "then tell me what c a t spells." "kitten, sir." propensities. the american general lee, being one day at dinner where there were some scotch officers, took occasion to say, that when he had got a glass too much, he had an unfortunate propensity to abuse the scotch, and therefore should such a thing happen, he hoped they would excuse him. "by all means," said one of the caledonians, "we have all our failings, especially when in liquor. i have myself, when inebriated, a very disagreeable propensity, if i hear any person abusing my country, to take the first thing i can lay hold of, and knock that man down. i hope therefore the company will excuse me if anything of the kind should happen." general lee did not that afternoon indulge his propensity. unconscionable expectation. a culprit having been adjudged, on a conviction of perjury, to lose his ears, when the executioner came to put the sentence in force, he was rather disappointed at finding the fellow had been cropped before. the criminal with great _sang froid_ exclaimed, "what! do you think i am always obliged to find you ears?" a case of alarm. an irish gentleman, hearing that his widowed mother was married again, said, in great perturbation, "i hope she won't have a son _older than me_, to cut me out of the estate!" indian finesse. soon after the settlement of new england, governor dudley saw a stout indian idling in the market-place of boston, and asked him why he did not work? he said he had nobody to employ him, but added, "why don't you work, massa?" "oh!" says the governor, "my head works; but come, if you are good for any thing i will give you employment." he accordingly took him into his service, but soon found him to be an idle and thievish vagabond. for some tricks one day, his excellency found it necessary to order him a whipping, which he did by a letter he desired him to carry, addressed to the provost marshal. jack's guilty conscience made him suspect the contents, and meeting another indian, he gave him a glass of rum to carry it for him. the poor devil willingly undertook to deliver it, and the marshal, as directed, caused the bearer to receive a hearty flogging. when this reached the governor's ears, he asked mr. jack how he dared do such a thing. "ah! massa," said he, "_head work_!" economical. mrs. partington says that she did not marry her second husband because she loved the male sex, but just because he was the size of her first protector, and would come so good to wear his old clothes out. good toast. at a dinner in springfield, mass., recently, a lady sent the following volunteer toast:--"_spruce_ old bachelors--the _ever greens_ of society." new cause of imprisonment. a counsel having been retained to oppose a person justifying bail in the court of king's bench, after asking some common-place questions, was getting rather aground, when a waggish brother, sitting behind, whispered him to interrogate the bail as to his having been a prisoner in gloucester gaol. thus instructed, our learned advocate boldly asked, "when, sir, were you last in gloucester gaol?" the bail, a reputable tradesman, with astonishment declared that he never was in a gaol in his life. the counsel persisted; but not being able to get any thing more out of him, turned round and asked his friendly brother, for what the man had been imprisoned? the answer was, "_for suicide_." without hesitation, he then questioned him thus: "now, sir, i ask you on your oath, and remember i shall have your words taken down, were you not _imprisoned_ in gloucester gaol _for the crime of suicide_?" the bishop answered. an ignorant rector had occasion to wait on a bishop, who was so incensed at his stupidity that he exclaimed, "what _blockhead_ gave you a living?" the rector respectfully bowing, answered, "your lordship." simplicity _vs._ wit. a country booby boasting of the numerous acres he enjoyed, ben jonson peevishly told him, "for every acre you have of land, i have an acre of wit." the other, filling his glass, said, "my service to you, mr. _wiseacre_!" an eligible corps. mr. bensley, before he went on the stage, was a captain in the army. one day he met a scotch officer who had been in the same regiment. the latter was happy to meet his old messmate, but was ashamed to be seen with a player. he therefore hurried bensley to an unfrequented coffee-house, where he asked him very seriously, "hoo could ye disgrace the corps by turning a play-actor?" mr. bensley answered, that he by no means considered it in that light; on the contrary, that a respectable performer of good conduct was much esteemed, and kept the best company. "and what, man," said the other, "do you get by this business of yours?" "i have," replied mr. b., "at present an income of near a thousand a year." "a thousand a year!" exclaimed saunders, astonished, "_hae ye ony vacancies in your corps?_" an invitation. a little girl, who was at dinner among a large party, fearing she had been forgotten to be helped, crumbled some bread upon her plate, saying at the same time to a boiled chicken near her, "_come biddy, come!_" an arch question. dominico, the harlequin, going to see louis xiv. at supper, which was served in gold, fixed his eyes on a dish of partridges. the king, of whom he was a favourite, said, "give that dish to dominico." "_and the partridges too, sire?_" said the actor. the king repeated, smiling, "and the partridges too." if the cap fits. the following advertisement was some years ago posted up at north shields: "whereas several idle and disorderly persons have lately made a practice of riding on an ass belonging to mr. ----, the head of the ropery stairs; now, lest any accident should happen, he takes this method of informing the public, that he has determined _to shoot his said ass_, and cautions any person who may be riding on it at the time, to take care of himself, lest by some unfortunate mistake he should shoot the _wrong one_." a privileged place. a beau highwayman and a miserable chimney sweeper were to be hanged together at newgate for their respective deserts. when the ordinary was exhorting them, previously to the execution, the latter brushed rather rudely against the former, to hear what the parson was saying. "you black rascal!" said the highwayman, "what do you mean by pressing on me so?" poor sweep, whimpering, said, "_i am sure i have as good a right here as you have._" advantage of spectacles. dr. franklin always wore spectacles. one day, on ludgate hill, a porter passing him was nearly pushed off the pavement by an unintentional motion of the doctor. the fellow, with characteristic insolence, exclaimed, "damn your spectacles!" franklin, smiling, observed, "it is not the first time they have _saved my eyes_." a rare bit. the following extract from the inimitable "autocrat of the breakfast table," is a fair specimen of the author's genius for humor: do i think that the particular form of lying often seen in newspapers, under the title, "from our foreign correspondent," does any harm?--why, no,--i don't know that it does. i suppose it doesn't really deceive people any more than the "arabian nights," or "gulliver's travels" do. sometimes the writers compile _too_ carelessly, though, and mix up facts out of geographies, and stories out of the penny papers, so as to mislead those who are desirous of information. i cut a piece out of one of the papers, the other day, which contains a number of improbabilities, and, i suspect, misstatements. i will send up and get it for you, if you would like to hear it.----ah, this is it; it is headed "our sumatra correspondence." "this island is now the property of the stamford family,--having been won, it is said, in a raffle, by sir ----stamford, during the stock-gambling mania of the south-sea scheme. the history of this gentleman may be found in an interesting series of questions (unfortunately not yet answered) contained in the 'notes and queries.' this island is entirely surrounded by the ocean, which here contains a large amount of saline substance, crystallizing in cubes remarkable for their symmetry, and frequently displays on its surface, during calm weather, the rainbow tints of the celebrated south-sea bubbles. the summers are oppressively hot, and the winters very probably cold; but this fact cannot be ascertained precisely, as, for some peculiar reason, the mercury in these latitudes never shrinks, as in more northern regions, and thus the thermometer is rendered useless in winter. "the principal vegetable productions of the island are the pepper tree and the bread-fruit tree. pepper being very abundantly produced, a benevolent society was organized in london during the last century for supplying the natives with vinegar and oysters, as an addition to that delightful condiment. [note received from dr. d. p.] it is said, however, that, as the oysters were of the kind called _natives_ in england, the natives of sumatra, in obedience to a natural instinct, refused to touch them, and confined themselves entirely to the crew of the vessel in which they were brought over. this information was received from one of the oldest inhabitants, a native himself, and exceedingly fond of missionaries. he is said also to be very skillful in the _cuisine_ peculiar to the island. "during the season of gathering the pepper, the persons employed are subject to various incommodities, the chief of which is violent and long-continued sternutation, or sneezing. such is the vehemence of these attacks, that the unfortunate subjects of them are often driven backwards for great distances at immense speed, on the well-known principle of the æolipile. not being able to see where they are going, these poor creatures dash themselves to pieces against the rocks or are precipitated over the cliffs, and thus many valuable lives are lost annually. as, during the whole pepper-harvest, they feed wholly on this stimulant, they become exceedingly irritable. the smallest injury is resented with ungovernable rage. a young man suffering from the _pepper-fever_, as is called, cudgeled another most severely for appropriating a superannuated relative of trifling value, and was only pacified by having a present made him of a pig of that peculiar species of swine called the _peccavi_ by the catholic jews, who, it is well known, abstain from swine's flesh in imitation of the mahometan buddhists. "the bread-tree grows abundantly. its branches are well known to europe and america under the familiar name of _maccaroni_. the smaller twigs are called _vermicelli_. they have a decided animal flavor, as may be observed in the soups containing them. maccaroni, being tubular, is the favourite habitat of a very dangerous insect, which is rendered peculiarly ferocious by being boiled. the government of the island, therefore, never allows a stick of it to be exported without being accompanied by a piston with which its cavity may at any time be thoroughly swept out. these are commonly lost or stolen before the maccaroni arrives among us. it therefore always contains many of these insects, which, however, generally die of old age in the shops, so that accidents from this source are comparitavely rare. "the fruit of the bread-tree consists principally of hot rolls. the buttered-muffin variety is supposed to be a hybrid with the cocoa-nut palm, the cream found on the milk of the cocoa-nut exuding from the hybrid in the shape of butter, just as the ripe fruit is splitting, so as to fit it for the tea-table, where it is commonly served up with cold"-- --there,--i don't want to read any more of it. you see that many of these statements are highly improbable.--no, i shall not mention the paper.--no, neither of them wrote it, though it reminds me of the style of these popular writers. i think the fellow who wrote it must have been reading some of their stories, and got them mixed up with his history and geography. i don't suppose _he_ lies;--he sells it to the editor, who knows how many squares off "sumatra" is. the editor, who sells it to the public----by the way, the papers have been very civil----haven't they?--to the--the--what d'ye call it?--"northern magazine,"--isn't it?--got up by some of those come-outers, down east, as an organ for their local peculiarities. shakspeare quoted. a vile scraper making a discordant sound with his violin, a friend observed, "if your instrument could speak, it would address you in the words of hamlet: "_though you can fret me, you cannot play upon me_." caution to gamesters. a german baron at a gaming house, being detected in an _odd trick_, one of the players fairly threw him out of the one pair of stairs window. on this outrage he took the advice of foote, who told him never to play _so high again_. at the bar. a criminal being asked, in the usual form, what he had to say why judgment of death should not be passed against him, answered, "why, i think there has been quite enough said about it already--if you please we'll drop the subject." hock. a pedantic fellow called for a bottle of hock at a tavern, which the waiter, not hearing distinctly, asked him to repeat. "a bottle of hock--hic, hæc, hoc," replied the visitor. after sitting, however, a long time, and no wine appearing, he ventured to ring again, and enquire into the cause of delay. "did i not order some hock, sir? why is it not brought in?" "because," answered the waiter, who had been taught latin grammar, "you afterwards _declined_ it." doric wit. a person asking another, while viewing the front of covent-garden theatre, of what order the pillars at the entrance were, received the answer, "why, sir, i am not very conversant in the orders of architecture; but from their being at the entrance of the house, i take it for granted, it must be the dor-ic." family likeness. a yankee, speaking of his children, said he had seven sons, none of whom looked alike but jonathan, and jonathan did look just alike. actual experiment. "la me! good old neighbor," cried mrs. popps, "what are you going to do with that great ugly crow?" "why, you see, we hear as how they live a hundred years, so husband and i got one to try." a tremendous threat. a man being convicted of bigamy, at the wexford assizes, the judge, in pronouncing sentence, thus addressed the prisoner: "yours is a most atrocious case, and i am sorry that the greatest punishment which the law allows me to inflict, is, that you be transported to parts beyond the seas, for seven years; but if i had my will, you should not escape thus easily; i would sentence you to _reside in the same house with both your wives, for the term of your natural life_." inquisitive. a smart old yankee lady, being called into court as a witness, grew impatient at the questions put to her, and told the judge she would quit the stand, for he was "raly one of the most inquisitive old gentlemen she ever see." grafting. a lady, being so unfortunate as to have her husband hang himself on an apple tree, the wife of a neighbor immediately came to beg a branch of the tree for grafting. "for who knows," said she, "but it may bear the same kind of fruit?" in orders. a country squire introduced his baboon, in clerical habits, to say grace. a clergyman, who was present, immediately left the table, and asked ten thousand pardons for not remembering, that his lordship's nearest relation was in orders. no stranger. a humorous divine, visiting a gentleman whose wife none of the most amiable, overheard his friend say, "if it were not for the stranger in the next room, i would kick you out of doors." upon which, the clergyman stepped in, and said, "pray, sir, make no stranger of me." both one. an honest clergyman, in the country, was reproving a married couple for their frequent dissensions, seeing they were both one. "both one!" cried the husband; "were you to come by our door sometimes, when we quarrel, you would swear we were twenty." press and squeeze. a frenchman having frequently heard the word _press_ made use of to imply _persuade_, as, "press that gentleman to take some refreshment," "press him to stay to-night," thought he would show his talents, by using a synonymous term; and therefore made no scruple, one evening, to cry out in company, "pray _squeeze_ that lady to sing." too much of a good thing. a certain gentleman, not well skilled in orthography, requested his friend to send him _too_ monkeys. the _t_ not being distinctly written, his friend concluded his _too_ was intended for . with difficulty, he procured fifty, which he sent; adding, "the other fifty, agreeable to your order, will be forwarded as soon as possible." long nose. a gentleman having put out a candle, by accident, one night, ordered his waiting-man, who was a simple being, to light it again in the kitchen. "but take care, john," added he, "that you do not hit yourself against anything, in the dark." mindful of the caution, john stretched out both his arms at full length, before him; but unluckily, a door, which stood half open, passed between his hands, and struck him a woful blow upon the nose. "dickens!" muttered he, when he recovered his senses a little, "i always heard that i had a plaguey long nose, but i vow i never have thought, before, that it was longer than my arm." riding double. an irish sailor, as he was riding, made a pause; the horse, in beating off the flies, caught his hind foot in the stirrup. the sailor observing it, exclaimed, "how now, dobbin, if you are going to get on, i will get off; for, by the powers, i will not ride double with you." begin right. an irishman, some years ago, attending the university of edinburgh, waited upon one of the most celebrated teachers of the german flute, desiring to know on what terms he would give him a few lessons. the flute-player informed him that he generally charged two guineas for the first month, and one guinea for the second. "then, by my sowl," replied the cunning hibernian, "i'll come the second month." interview between the editor and phoenix. the thomas hunt had arrived, she lay at the wharf at new town, and a rumor had reached our ears that "the judge" was on board. public anxiety had been excited to the highest pitch to witness the result of the meeting between us. it had been stated publicly that "the judge" would whip us the moment he arrived; but though we thought a conflict probable, we had never been very sanguine as to its terminating in this manner. coolly we gazed from the window of the office upon the new town road; we descried a cloud of dust in the distance; high above it waved a whip lash, and we said, "'the judge' cometh, and 'his driving is like that of jehu the son of nimshi, for he driveth furiously.'" calmly we seated ourselves in the "_arm chair_," and continued our labors upon our magnificent pictorial. anon, a step, a heavy step, was heard upon the stairs, and "the judge" stood before us. "in shape and gesture proudly eminent, he stood like a tower: ... but his face deep scars of thunder had intrenched, and care sat on his faded cheek; but under brows of dauntless courage and pride, waiting revenge." "we rose, and with an unfaltering voice said: "well, judge, how do you do?" he made no reply but commenced taking off his coat. we removed ours, also our cravat. * * * * * the sixth and last round, is described by the pressman and compositors, as having been fearfully scientific. we held "the judge" down over the press by our nose (which we had inserted between his teeth for that purpose), and while our hair was employed in holding one of his hands we held the other in our left, and with the "sheep's foot" brandished above our head, shouted to him, "say waldo," "never!" he gasped-- "o my bigler!" he would have muttered, but that he "dried up," ere the word was uttered. at this moment we discovered that we had been laboring under a "misunderstanding," and through the amicable intervention of the pressman, who thrust a roller between our faces (which gave the whole affair a very different complexion), the _matter_ was finally settled on the most friendly terms--"and without prejudice to the honor of either party." we write this while sitting without any clothing, except our left stocking, and the rim of our hat encircling our neck like a "ruff" of the elizabethan era--that article of dress having been knocked over our head at an early stage of the proceedings, and the crown subsequently torn off, while "the judge" is sopping his eye with cold water, in the next room, a small boy standing beside the sufferer with a basin, and glancing with interest over the advertisements on the second page of the san diego herald, a fair copy of which was struck off upon the back of his shirt, at the time we held him over the press. thus ends our description of this long anticipated personal collision, of which the public can believe precisely as much as they please; if they disbelieve the whole of it, we shall not be at all offended, but can simply quote as much to the point, what might have been the commencement of our epitaph, had we fallen in the conflict, "here lies phoenix." _phoenixiana._ incredulity. a gentleman telling a very improbable story, and observing one of the company cast a doubtful eye, "zounds, sir," says he, "_i saw the thing happen._" "if you did," says the other, "i _must_ believe it; but i would not have believed it if i had seen it myself." a second methuselah. a statuary was directed to inscribe on a monument the age of the deceased, namely . the person who gave the order recollecting, however, that it should have been , desired the sculptor to add one year more; and the veteran to whose memory this stone was erected, is recorded as having "departed this life at the advanced age of !" a school teacher. a gentleman from swampville, state of new york, was telling how many different occupations he had attempted. among others he had tried school teaching. "how long did you teach?" asked a by-stander. "wal, i didn't teach long; that is, i only _went_ to teach." "did you hire out?" "wal, i didn't hire out; i only _went_ to hire out." "why did you give it up?" "wal, i gave it up--for some reason or nuther. you see, i traveled into a deestrict and inquired for the trustees. somebody said mr. snickles was the man i wanted to see. so i found mr. snickles,--named my objic--interduced myself--and asked him what he thought about lettin' me try my luck with the big boys and unruly gals of the deestrict. he wanted to know if i really thought myself capable; and i told him i wouldn't mind him asken me a few easy questions in 'rithmetic, jography, or showin' my handwritin'. but he said, no, never mind, he could tell a good teacher by his _gait_. 'let me see you walk off a little ways,' says he, 'and i can tell jis's well's i'd heared you examined,' says he. "he sot in the door as he spoke, and i thought, he looked a little skittish; but i was consider'bly frustrated, and didn't mind much; so i turned about and walked off as smart as i know'd how. he said he would tell me when to stop, so i kep' on 'till i tho't i'd gone far 'nough; i then 'spected suthin' was to pay, and looked round. _the door was shet, and snickles was gone!_" posthumous honor. "sancho," said a dying planter to his faithful slave, "for your services i shall leave it in my will, that you shall be buried in our family vault." "ah, massa!" replied sancho, "me rather have de money or de freedom. besides, if the devil come in the dark to look for massa, he make the mistake, and carry away poor negro man." the antigallican. a frenchman in a coffee-house called for a gill of wine, which was brought him in a glass. he said it was the _french_ custom to bring wine in a _measure_. the waiter answered, "sir, we wish for no _french measures_ here." sweet definition. a sprightly school girl who attends the "central high," where the teachers have a way of inciting the pupils to understand what they say in the classes, was reading the "last of the huggermuggers;" and stirred by the spirit of inquiry, stimulated by her teachers, if not by natural feminine curiosity, asked a boy cousin of hers, the meaning of huggermugger. john looked thoughtful for a moment, and then said--"i'll show you;" and before the incipient woman had time to make any further remark, john had his arm around her waist, and subjected it to a gentle pressure--"that's hugger; and this," putting his lips to hers in affectionate collision, "is _mug ger_!" "yes," said the not more than half displeased sarah ann, "and this is the _last_ of the huggermuggers, for if you ever attempt to give me another such definition, i'll box your ears. i've a great mind to tell mr. hall, as i go to school, what sort of dictionary you are carrying about you all the time."--_boston transcript._ couldn't afford it. "i don't care much about the bugs," said mr. wormly to the head of a genteel private boarding house, "but the fact is, madam, i havn't the blood to spare--you see that yourself." pull devil--pull baker. a question for the spike society. "would the devil beat his wife if he had one?" "guess not--for the women generally beat the devil." provoking. "hallo, boy, did you see a rabbit cross the road there just now?" "a rabbit?" "yes, be quick! a rabbit." "was it a kinder gray varmint?" "yes, yes!" "a longish critter, with a short tail?" "yes, be quick or he'll gain his burrow." "had it long legs behind, and big ears?" "yes, yes!" "and sorter jumps when it runs?" "yes, i tell you; jumps when it runs!" "well, i hain't seen such a critter about here." when presidents dine. on davy crocket's return to his constituents after his first session in congress, a nation of them surrounded him one day, and began to interrogate him about washington. "what time do they dine in washington, colonel?" "why," said he, "common people, such as you are, get their dinners about one o'clock, but the gentry and big bugs dine at three. as for representatives we dine at four, and the aristocracy and the senators don't get theirs till five." "well, when does the president fodder?" asked another. "old hickory!" exclaimed the colonel, attempting to appoint a time appropriate to the dignity of the station. "old hickory! well he don't dine until the next day!" cook's strike. a few weeks ago a wealthy family in philadelphia, having hired a cook who had been highly recommended to them, she was ordered one day to prepare among other things, a hash for dinner. the hash came and was charming--all eagerly partaking of it until the dish was scraped out. so popular after this did the hash of the new cook become, that it was nothing but hash every day. at last the poor cook, bringing in a large dish of it, the perspiration pouring down her face, which was red as a coal of fire, she set it down, and turned to her mistress and drawing herself up said: "madam, i strikes!" "strikes! why, what is the matter, betty?" "cause, ma'am, i can't give you hash every day and forever--_me jaws is all broke down, and me teeth is all wore out, chawing it up for ye's!_" bad state. a schoolmaster in a neighboring town, wishing to discover the talents of his scholars for geography, asked one of the youngest of them, what state he lived in? to which the boy replied, "a state of sin and misery." presence of mind. a poor fellow, in scotland, creeping through the hedge of an orchard, with an intention to rob it, was seen by the owner, who called out to him, "sawney, hoot, hoot, man, where are you ganging?" "back agen," says sawney. extravagance. an irish "gintleman" had occasion to visit the south some time since. when he returned, he remarked to a friend that the southern people were very extravagant. upon being asked why so, he remarked, that where he stayed they had a _candlestick_ worth eleven hundred dollars. "why, how in the world could it cost that much?" inquired a friend. "och, be gorry, it was nuthin' mor'n a big nager fellow holdin a torch for us to eat by." somewhere. a lady who gave herself great airs of importance, on being introduced to a gentleman for the first time, said, with much cool indifference, "i think, sir, i have seen you somewhere." "very likely you may," replied the gentleman, with equal sang froid, "as i have been there very often." good shot. a physician, who lived in london, visited a lady who resided in chelsea. after continuing his visits for some time, the lady expressed an apprehension that it might be inconvenient for him to come so far on her account. "oh! by no means," replied the doctor; "i have another patient in the neighborhood, and i always set out hoping to kill two birds with one stone." oriental wit. a young man, going on a journey, intrusted a hundred deenars to an old man. when he came back, the old man denied having had any money deposited with him, and he was had up before the khazee. "where were you, young man, when you delivered this money?" "under a tree." "take my seal and summon that tree," said the judge. "go, young man, and tell the tree to come hither, and the tree will obey you when you show it my seal." the young man went in wonder. after he had been gone some time, the khazee said to the old man, "he is long--do you think he has got there yet?" "no," said the old man; "it is at some distance; he has not got there yet." "how knowest thou, old man," cried the khazee, "where that tree is?" the young man returned and said the tree would not come. "he has been here, young man, and given his evidence--the money is thine." bad lights. an irish gentleman, in company, observing that the lights were so dim as only to render the darkness visible, called out lustily, "here, waiter, let me have a couple of dacent candles, that i may see how those others burn." pair of spectacles. two brothers having been sentenced to death, one was executed first. "see," the other brother said, "what a lamentable spectacle my brother makes! in a few minutes i shall be turned off; and then you will see a pair of spectacles." smart girl. a country girl, riding by a turnpike-road without paying toll, the gate-keeper hailed her and demanded his fee. on her demanding his authority, he referred her to his sign, where she read, "a man and horse, six cents." "well," says she, "you can demand nothing of me, as this is but a woman and a mare." crooked stick. as a number of persons were lately relating to each other the various extraordinary incidents which had fallen within their observation, a traveler attracted their attention by the following: "as i was passing through a forest, i heard a rustling noise in the bushes near the road: and being impelled by curiosity, i was determined to know what it was. when i arrived at the spot, i found it was occasioned by a large stick of wood, which was so very crooked that it would not lie still." a clincher. grace greenwood, in speaking of a certain and too fashionable kind of parental government, in her lecture at cleveland, a few evenings since, told this refreshing little story: a gentleman told his little boy, a child of four years, to shut the gate. he made the request three times, and the youngster paid no sort of attention to it. "i have told you three times, my son, to shut the gate," said the gentleman sorrowfully. "and i've told you _free_ times," lisped the child, "that i won't do it. you must be stupid." a misconception. a barber having a dispute with a parish clerk on a point of grammar, the latter said it was a downright _barbarism, indeed_. "what!" exclaimed the other, "do you mean to insult me? _barberism, indeed!_ i'd have you to know that a barber can speak as good grammar as a parish clerk any day in the week." squibob's antidote for fleas. from phoenixiana. the following recipe from the writings of miss hannah more, may be found useful to your readers: in a climate where the attacks of fleas are a constant source of annoyance, any method which will alleviate them becomes a _desideratum_. it is, therefore, with pleasure i make known the following recipe, which i am assured has been tried with efficacy. boil a quart of tar until it becomes quite thin. remove the clothing, and before the tar becomes perfectly cool, with a broad flat brush, apply a thin, smooth coating to the entire surface of the body and limbs. while the tar remains soft, the flea becomes entangled in its tenacious folds, and is rendered perfectly harmless; but it will soon form a hard, smooth coating, entirely impervious to his bite. should the coating crack at the knee or elbow joints, it is merely necessary to retouch it slightly at those places. the whole coat should be renewed every three or four weeks. this remedy is sure, and having the advantage of simplicity and economy, should be generally known. so much for miss more. a still simpler method of preventing the attacks of these little pests, is one which i have lately discovered myself;--in theory only--i have not yet put it into practice. on feeling the bite of the flea, thrust the part bitten immediately into boiling water. the heat of the water destroys the insect and instantly removes the pain of the bite. you have probably heard of old parry dox. i met him here a few days since, in a sadly seedy condition. he told me that he was still extravagantly fond of whiskey, though he was constantly "running it down." i inquired after his wife. "she is dead, poor creature," said he, "and is probably far better off than ever she was here. she was a seamstress, and her greatest enjoyment of happiness in this world was only so, so." the obsequious carpenter. a carpenter having neglected to make a gibbet ordered, on the ground of his not having been paid for a former one, was severely rated by the sheriff. "fellow," said he, "how dared you neglect making the gibbet that was ordered for me?" "i humbly beg your pardon," said the carpenter, "had i known that it was _for your worship_, i should have left everything else to do it." a double entendre. a lady who strove by the application of washes, paint, &c., to improve her countenance, had her vanity not a little flattered by a gentleman saying, "madam, every time i look at your face i discover some _new beauty_." a reproof. a young fellow in a coffee house venting a parcel of common place abuse on the clergy, in the presence of mr. sterne, and evidently leveled at him, laurence introduced a panegyric on his dog, which he observed had no fault but one, namely, that whenever he saw a parson he fell a barking at him. "and how long," said the youth, "has he had this trick?" "ever since he was a _puppy_." a good turn. "i understand, jones, that you can turn anything neater than any other man in town." "yes, mr. smith, i said so." "well, mr. jones, i don't like to brag, but there is no man on earth that can turn a thing as well as i can whittle it, mr. jones. jest name the article that i can't whittle, that you can turn, and i'll give you a dollar if i don't do it to the satisfaction of those gentlemen present." "well, mr. smith, suppose we take two grindstones, just for a trial, you may whittle and i'll turn." a distinction. shuter, one day meeting a friend with his coat patched at the elbow, observed, he should be ashamed of it. "how so?" said the other, "it is not the first time i have seen you _out at the elbows_." "very true," replied ned, "i should think nothing of exhibiting twenty holes; a hole is the _accident of the day_; but a patch is _premeditated poverty_." consolation. in a party of young fellows, the conversation turned on their learning and education, and one of the company having delivered his thoughts on the subject very respectably, his neighbor, neither extremely wise nor witty, said, "well, jack, you are certainly not the greatest fool living." "no," answered he, "nor shall i be while you live." result of kissing the butcher. "my dear," said an affectionate wife, "what shall we have for dinner to-day?" "one of your smiles," replied the husband. "i can dine on that every day." "but i can't," replied the wife. "then take this," and he gave her a kiss and went to his business. he returned to dinner. "this is excellent steak," said he, "what did you pay for it?" "why, what you gave me this morning, to be sure," replied the wife. "you did!" exclaimed he; "then you shall have the money next time you go to market." not you but i. a tradesman pressing one of his customers for payment of a bill, the latter said, "you need not be in such a hurry; i am not going to run away." "but," says the creditor, "_i am._" my brother's hunting-lodge. from sir jonah barrington's sketches. i met with a ludicrous instance of the dissipation of even latter days, a few months after my marriage. lady b---- and myself took a tour through some of the southern parts of ireland, and among other places visited castle durrow, near which place my brother, henry french barrington, had built a hunting-cottage, wherein he happened to have given a house-warming the previous day. the company, as might be expected at such a place and on such an occasion, was not the most select; in fact, they were "_hard-going_" sportsmen. among the rest, mr. joseph kelly, of unfortunate fate, brother to mr. michael kelly (who by-the-by does not say a word about him in his reminiscences), had been invited, to add to the merriment by his pleasantry and voice, and had come down from dublin for the purpose. of this convivial assemblage at my brother's, he was, i suppose, the very life and soul. the dining-room had not been finished when the day of the dinner-party arrived, and the lower parts of the walls having only that morning received their last coat of plaster, were, of course, totally wet. we had intended to surprise my brother; but had not calculated on the scene i was to witness. on driving to the cottage-door i found it open, while a dozen dogs, of different descriptions, showed ready to receive us not in the most polite manner. my servant's whip, however, soon sent them about their business, and i ventured into the parlor to see what cheer. it was about ten in the morning: the room was strewed with empty bottles--some broken--some interspersed with glasses, plates, dishes, knives, spoons, &c., all in glorious confusion. here and there were heaps of bones, relics of the former day's entertainment, which the dogs, seizing their opportunity, had picked. three or four of the bacchanalians lay fast asleep upon chairs--one or two others on the floor, among whom a piper lay on his back, apparently dead, with a table-cloth spread over him, and surrounded by four or five candles, burnt to the sockets; his chanter and bags were laid scientifically across his body, his mouth was wide open, and his nose made ample amends for the silence of his drone. joe kelly and a mr. peter alley were fast asleep in their chairs, close to the wall. had i never viewed such a scene before, it would have almost terrified me; but it was nothing more than the ordinary custom which we called _waking the piper_, when he had got too drunk to make any more music. i went out, and sent away my carriage and its inmate to castle durrow, whence we had come, and afterward proceeded to seek my brother. no servant was to be seen, man or woman. i went to the stables, wherein i found three or four more of the goodly company, who had just been able to reach their horses, but were seized by morpheus before they could mount them, and so lay in the mangers awaiting a more favourable opportunity. returning hence to the cottage, i found my brother, also asleep, on the only bed which it then afforded: he had no occasion to put on his clothes, since he had never taken them off. i next waked dan tyron, a wood-ranger of lord ashbrook, who had acted as maitre d'hôtel in making the arrangements, and providing a horse-load of game to fill up the banquet. i then inspected the parlor, and insisted on breakfast. dan tyron set to work: an old woman was called in from an adjoining cabin, the windows were opened, the room cleared, the floor swept, the relics removed, and the fire lighted in the kitchen. the piper was taken away senseless, but my brother would not suffer either joe or alley to be disturbed till breakfast was ready. no time was lost; and, after a very brief interval, we had before us abundance of fine eggs, and milk fresh from the cow, with brandy, sugar, and nutmeg, in plenty; a large loaf, fresh butter, a cold round of beef, which had not been produced on the previous day, red herrings, and a bowl dish of potatoes roasted on the turf ashes; in addition to which, ale, whiskey, and port, made up the refreshments. all being duly in order, we at length awakened joe kelly, and peter alley, his neighbor: they had slept soundly, though with no other pillow than the wall; and my brother announced breakfast with a _view holloa_! the twain immediately started, and roared in unison with their host most tremendously! it was, however, in a very different tone from the _view holloa_, and perpetuated much longer. "come, boys," says french, giving joe a pull, "come!" "oh, murder!" says joe, "i can't!"--"murder!--murder!" echoed peter. french pulled them again, upon which they roared the more, still retaining their places. i have in my lifetime laughed till i nearly became spasmodic; but never were my risible muscles put to greater tension than upon this occasion. the wall, as i said before, had only that day received a coat of mortar, and of course was quite soft and yielding, when joe and peter thought proper to make it their pillow; it was, nevertheless, setting fast, from the heat and lights of an eighteen hours' carousal; and, in the morning, when my brother awakened his guests, the mortar had completely set and their hair being the thing most calculated to amalgamate therewith, the entire of joe's stock, together with his _queue_, and half his head, was thoroughly and irrecoverably bedded in the greedy and now marble cement, so that, if determined to move, he must have taken the wall along with him, for separate it would not. one side of peter's head was in the same state of imprisonment. nobody was able to assist them, and there they both stuck fast. a consultation was now held on this pitiful case, which i maliciously endeavored to prolong as much as i could, and which was, in fact, every now and then interrupted by a roar from peter or joe, as they made fresh efforts to rise. at length, it was proposed by dan tyron to send for the stone cutter, and get him to cut them out of the wall with a chisel. i was literally unable to speak two sentences for laughing. the old woman meanwhile tried to soften the obdurate wall with melted butter and new milk--but in vain. i related the school story how hannibal had worked through the alps with hot vinegar and hot irons: this experiment likewise was made, but hannibal's solvent had no better success than the old crone's. peter alley, being of a more passionate nature, grew ultimately quite outrageous: he roared, gnashed his teeth, and swore vengeance against the mason; but as he was only held by one side, a thought at last struck him: he asked for two knives, which being brought, he whetted one against the other, and introducing the blades close to his skull, sawed away at cross corners till he was liberated, with the loss only of half his hair and a piece of his scalp, which he had sliced off in zeal and haste for his liberty. i never saw a fellow so extravagantly happy! fur was scraped from the crown of a hat, to stop the bleeding; his head was duly tied up with the old woman's _praskeen_; and he was soon in a state of bodily convalescence. our solicitude was now required solely for joe, whose head was too deeply buried to be exhumed with so much facility. at this moment, bob casey, of ballynakill, a very celebrated wig-maker, just dropped in, to see what he could pick up honestly in the way of his profession, or steal in the way of anything else; and he immediately undertook to get mr. kelly out of the mortar by a very expert but tedious process, namely clipping with his scissors, and then rooting out with an oyster-knife. he thus finally succeeded, in less than an hour, in setting joe once more at liberty, at the price of his queue, which was totally lost, and of the exposure of his raw and bleeding occiput. the operation was, indeed, of a mongrel description--somewhat between a complete tonsure and an imperfect scalping, to both of which denominations it certainly presented claims. however, it is an ill wind that blows nobody good! bob casey got the making of a skull-piece for joe, and my brother french had the pleasure of paying for it, as gentlemen in those days honored any order given by a guest to the family shopkeeper or artisan. a partnership. after divine service at worcester cathedral, where a remarkably fine anthem had been performed, the organ-blower observed to the organist, "i think we have performed mighty well to-day." "_we_ performed!" answered the organist, "if i am not mistaken it was _i_ that performed." next sunday, in the midst of a voluntary, the organ stopped all at once. the organist, enraged, cried out, "why don't you blow?" the fellow, popping out his head, said, "shall it be _we_ then?" a wit for ladies. a lady of vivacity was by a waggish friend proposed to be made acquainted with a gentleman of infinite wit, an offer she gladly accepted. after the interview, her friend asked how she liked him. she said, "delightfully! i have hardly ever found a person so agreeable." the damsel, uninterrupted in her own loquacity, had not discovered that this witty gentleman was----_dumb_! a braggadocio reproved. an officer relating his feats to the marshal de bessompiere, said, that in a sea-fight he had killed men with his own hand: "and i," said the marshal, "descended through a chimney in switzerland to visit a pretty girl." "how could that be," said the captain, "since there are no chimneys in that country?" "what, sir!" said the marshal, "i have allowed you to kill men in a fight, and surely you may permit me to descend a chimney in switzerland." mrs. munchausen. a traveled london lady gives the following incident, among others, to a circle of admiring friends, on her return from america: "i was a dinin' haboard a first-class steamboat on the hoeigho river. the gentleman next me, on my right, was a southerner, and the gentleman on my left was a northerner. well, they gets into a kind of discussion on the habbolition question, when some 'igh words hariz. 'please to retract, sir,' said the southerner. 'won't do it,' said the northerner. 'pray, ma'am,' said the southerner, 'will you 'ave the goodness to lean back in your chair?' 'with the greatest pleasure,' said i, not knowin' what was a comin'. when what does my gentleman do but whips out an 'oss pistil as long as my harm, and shoots my left 'and neighbor dead! but that wasn't hall! for the bullet, comin' out of the left temple, wounded a lady in the side. she huttered an 'orrifick scream. 'pon my word, ma'am,' said the southerner, 'you needn't make so much noise about it, for i did it by a mistake.'" "and was justice done the murderer?" asked a horrified listener. "hinstantly, dear madam," answered miss l----. "the cabin passengers set right to work, and lynched him. they 'ung 'im in the lamp chains right hover the dinin' table, and then finished the dessert. but for my part, it quite spoiled my happetite." old babes. a hibernian, seeing an old man and woman in the stocks, said that they put him in mind of "the babes in the wood." a sell. the river _monitor_ tells the following story: a countryman (farmer) went into a store in boston, the other day, and told the keeper that a neighbor of his had entrusted him some money to expend to the best advantage, and he meant to do it where he would be the best treated. he had been used very ill by the traders in boston, and he would not part with his neighbor's money until he had found a man who would treat him about right. with the utmost suavity the trader says: "i think i can treat you to your liking; how do you want to be treated?" "well," said the farmer, with a leer in his eye, "in the first place, i want a glass of toddy," which was forthcoming. "now i will have a nice cigar," says the countryman. it was promptly handed him, leisurely lighted, and then throwing himself back with his feet as high as his head, he commenced puffing away like a spaniard. "now what do you want to purchase?" says the store-keeper. "my neighbor," said the countryman, "handed me two cents when i left home, to buy a plug of tobacco--have you got that article?" the store-keeper sloped instanter. a sell. a witty knave bargained with a seller of lace in london for as much as would reach from one of his ears to the other. when they had agreed, it appeared that one of his ears was nailed at the pillory in bristol. practical joking. a few days since, writes an attorney, as i was sitting with brother d----, in his office, court square, a client came in, and said-- "squire d----, w----, the stabler, shaved me dreadfully, yesterday, and i want to come up with him." "state your case," says d----. "i asked him," said client, "how much he would charge me for a horse and wagon to go to dedham. he said one dollar and a half. i took the team, and when i came back, i paid him one dollar and a half, and he said he wanted another dollar and a half for coming back, and made me pay it." d---- gave him some legal advice, which the client immediately acted upon as follows: he went to the stabler and said-- "how much will you charge me for a horse and wagon to go to salem?" stabler replied--"five dollars." "harness him up!" client went to salem, came back by railroad, and went to the stabler, saying-- "here is your money," paying him five dollars. "where is my horse and wagon?" says w. "he is at salem," says client; "i only hired him to go to salem." solitude. "you are always yawning," said a woman to her husband. "my dear friend," replied he, "the husband and wife are _one_; and when i am _alone_, i grow weary." speaking out in dreams. a correspondent of the _richmond dispatch_ tells the following in a letter from one of the springs: an amusing incident occurred in the cars of the virginia and tennessee road, which must be preserved in print. it is too good to be lost. as the train entered the big tunnel, near this place, in accordance with the usual custom _a lamp_ was lit. a servant girl, accompanying her mistress, had sunk in a profound slumber, but just as the lamp was lit she awoke, and half asleep imagined herself in the infernal regions. frantic with fright, she implored her maker to have mercy on her, remarking at the same time, "the devil has got me at last." her mistress, sitting on the seat in front of the terrified negress, was deeply mortified, and called upon her--"molly, don't make such a noise; it is i, be not afraid." the poor african immediately exclaimed, "oh, missus, dat you? jest what i 'spected; i always thought if eber i got to de bad place, i would see you dar." these remarks were uttered with such vehemence, that not a word was lost, and the whole coach became convulsed with laughter. goodbye. a minikin three-and-a-half-feet colonel, being one day at the drill, was examining a strapper of six feet four. "come, fellow, hold up your head; higher, fellow!" "yes, sir." "higher, fellow--higher." " what--so, sir?" "yes, fellow." "and am i always to remain so?" "yes, fellow, certainly." "why then, good bye. colonel, for i never shall see you again." melancholy accident.--death of a young man. from phoenixiana. mr. mudge has just arrived in san diego from arkansas; he brings with him four yoke of oxen, seventeen american cows, nine american children, and mrs. mudge. they have encamped in the rear of our office, pending the arrival of the next coasting steamer. mr. mudge is about thirty-seven years of age, his hair is light, not a "sable silvered," but a _yaller_ gilded; you can see some of it sticking out of the top of his hat; his costume is the national costume of arkansas, coat, waistcoat, and pantaloons of homespun cloth, dyed a brownish yellow, with a decoction of the bitter barked butternut--a pleasing alliteration; his countenance presents a determined, combined with a sanctimonious expression, and in his brightly gleaming eye--a red eye we think it is--we fancy a spark of poetic fervor may be distinguished. mr. mudge called on us yesterday. we were eating watermelon. perhaps the reader may have eaten watermelon, if so, he knows how difficult a thing it is to speak, when the mouth is filled with the luscious fruit, and the slippery seed and sweet though embarrassing juice is squizzling out all over the chin and shirt-bosom. so at first we said nothing, but waved with our case knife toward an unoccupied box, as who should say sit down. mr. mudge accordingly seated himself, and removing his hat (whereat all his hair sprang up straight like a jack in a box), turned that article of dress over and over in his hands, and contemplated its condition with alarming seriousness. "take some melon, mr. mudge," said we, as with a sudden bolt we recovered our speech and took another slice ourself. "no, i thank you," replied mr. mudge, "i wouldn't choose any, now." there was a solemnity in mr. mudge's manner that arrested our attention; we paused, and holding a large slice of watermelon dripping in the air, listened to what he might have to say. "thar was a very serious accident happened to us," said mr. mudge, "as we wos crossin' the plains. 'twas on the bank of the peacus river. thar was a young man named jeames hambrick along and another young feller, he got to fooling with his pistil, and he shot jeames. he was a good young man and hadn't a enemy in the company; we buried him thar on the peacus river, we did, and as we went off, these here lines sorter passed through my mind." so saying, mr. mudge rose, drew from his pocket--his waistcoat pocket--a crumpled piece of paper, and handed it over. then he drew from his coat-tail pocket, a large cotton handkerchief, with a red ground and yellow figure, slowly unfolded it, blew his nose--an awful blast it was--wiped his eyes, and disappeared. we publish mr. mudge's lines, with the remark, that any one who says they have no poets or poetry in arkansas, would doubt the existence of william shakspeare: dirge on the death of jeames hambrick. by mr orion w. mudge, esq. it was on june the tenth our hearts were very sad for it was by an awful accident we lost a fine young lad jeames hambric was his name and alas it was his lot to you i tell the same he was accidently shot on the peacus river side the sun was very hot and its there he fell and died where he was accidently shot on the road his character good without a stain or blot and in our opinions growed until he was accidently shot a few words only he spoke for moments he had not and only then he seemed to choke i was accidently shot we wrapped him in a blanket good for coffin we had not and then we buried him where he stood when he was accidently shot and as we stood around his grave our tears the ground did blot we prayed to god his soul to save he was accidently shot this is all, but i writ at the time a epitaff which i think is short and would do to go over his grave:-- epitaff. here lies the body of jeames hambrick who was accidently shot on the bank of the peacus river by a young man he was accidently shot with one of the large size colt's revolver with no stopper for the cock to rest on it was one of the old fashion kind brass mounted and of such is the kingdom of heaven. truly yourn, orion w mudge esq casuistical arithmetic. a brace of partridges being brought in to supper for three gentlemen; "come, tom," said one of them, "you are fresh from the schools, let us see how learnedly you can divide these two birds among us three." "with all my heart;" answered tom, "there is one for _you two_ and here is one for _me too_." johnsonian advice. mrs. b. desired dr. johnson to give his opinion of a new work she had just written; adding, that if it would not do, she begged him to tell her, for she had other _irons in the fire_, and in case of its not being likely to succeed, she could bring out something else. "then," said the doctor, after having turned over a few leaves, "_i advise you, madam, to put it where your other irons are._" blunders of sir boyle roche. from sir jonah barrington's sketches. the baronet had certainly one great advantage over all other bull and blunder makers: he seldom launched a blunder from which some fine aphorism or maxim might not be easily extracted. when a debate arose in the irish house of commons on the vote of a grant which was recommended by sir john parnel, chancellor of the exchequer, as one not likely to be felt burdensome for many years to come--it was observed in reply, that the house had no just right to load posterity with a weighty debt for what could in no degree operate to their advantage. sir boyle, eager to defend the measures of government, immediately rose, and in a very few words, put forward the most unanswerable argument which human ingenuity could possibly devise. "what, mr. speaker!" said he, "and so we are to beggar ourselves for fear of vexing posterity! now, i would ask the honorable gentleman, and this _still more_ honorable house, why we should put ourselves out of our way for _posterity_: for what has _posterity_ done for _us_?" sir boyle, hearing the roar of laughter which of course followed this sensible blunder, but not being conscious that he had said anything out of the way, was rather puzzled, and conceived that the house had misunderstood him. he therefore begged leave to explain, as he apprehended that gentlemen had entirely mistaken his words: he assured the house that "by _posterity_, he did not at all mean our _ancestors_, but those who were to come _immediately_ after _them_." upon hearing this _explanation_, it was impossible to do any serious business for half an hour. sir boyle roche was induced by government to fight as hard as possible for the union: so he did, and i really believe fancied, by degrees, that he was right. on one occasion, a general titter arose at his florid picture of the happiness which must proceed from this event. "gentlemen," said sir boyle, "may titther, and titther, and titther, and may think it a bad measure; but their heads at present are hot, and will so remain till they grow cool again; and so they can't decide right now; but when the _day of judgment_ comes, _then_ honorable gentlemen will be satisfied at this most excellent union. sir, there is no levitical degrees between nations, and on this occasion i can see neither sin nor shame in _marrying our own sister_." he was a determined enemy to the french revolution, and seldom rose in the house for several years without volunteering some abuse of it. "mr. speaker," said he, in a mood of this kind, "if we once permitted the villanous french masons to meddle with the buttresses and walls of our ancient constitution, they would never stop, nor stay, sir, till they brought the foundation-stones tumbling down about the ears of the nation! there," continued sir boyle, placing his hand earnestly on his heart, his powdered head shaking in unison with his loyal zeal, while he described the probable consequences of an invasion of ireland by the french republicans; "there mr. speaker! if those gallican villains should invade us, sir, 'tis on _that very table_, may-be, these honorable members might see their own destinies lying in heaps a-top of one another!' here perhaps, sir, the murderous _marshallaw-men_ (marseillois) would break in, cut us to mince-meat, and throw our bleeding heads upon that table, to stare us in the face!" sir boyle, on another occasion, was arguing for the habeas corpus suspension bill in ireland: "it would surely be better, mr. speaker," said he, "to give up not only a _part_, but, if necessary, even the _whole_, of our constitution, to preserve _the remainder_!" a placeman. "i cannot conceive," said one nobleman to another, "how you manage; my estate is better than yours, yet you live better than i do." "my lord, i have a place." "a place! i never heard of it; what place?" "i am _my own steward_." let us start fair. many years ago, while a clergyman on the coast of cornwall was in the midst of his sermon, the alarm was given, _a wreck! a wreck!_ the congregation, eager for their prey, were immediately making off, when the parson solemnly entreated them to hear only five words more. this arrested their attention until the preacher, throwing off his canonicals, descended from the pulpit, exclaiming, "now, let's all start fair!" degrees of comparison. an irishman meeting his friend, said, "i've just met our old acquaintance patrick, and he's grown so thin, i could hardly know him. you are thin, and i am thin; but he is _thinner than both of us put together_." a misunderstanding. a poor curate for his sunday dinner sent his servant to a chandler's shop, kept by one paul, for bacon and eggs on credit. this being refused, the damsel, as she had nothing to cook, thought she might as well go to church, and entered as her master, in the midst of his discourse, referring to the apostle, repeated, "what says paul?" the good woman, supposing the question addressed to her, answered, "paul says, sir, that he'll give you no more trust till you pay your old score." a story teller. a person of this description, seated with his pot companions, was in the midst of one of his best stories, when he was suddenly called away to go on board of a vessel, in which he was to sail for jamaica. returning in about a twelvemonth, he resumed his old seat, among his cronies. "well, gentlemen," proceeded he, "as i was saying----" a retort. an irish peer, who sports a ferocious pair of whiskers, meeting a celebrated barrister, the latter asked, "when do you mean to put your _whiskers_ on the _peace establishment_?" his lordship answered, "when you put your _tongue_ on the _civil list_." a loud letter. "what are you writing such a big hand for, pat?" "why, you see my grandmother's dafe, and i'm writing a loud letter to her." go the whole. a peasant, being at confession, accused himself of having stolen some hay. the father-confessor asked him how many bundles he had taken from the stack: "that is of no consequence," replied the peasant; "you may set it down a wagon-load; for my wife and i are going to fetch the remainder soon." sharp boy. a man driving a number of cattle to boston, one of his cows went into a barn-yard, where there stood a young lad. the drover calls to the boy, "stop that cow, my lad, stop that cow." "i am no constable, sir." "turn her out then." "she is right side out now, sir." "well, speak to her then." the boy took off his hat, and very handsomely addressed the cow, with "your servant, madam." the drover rode into the yard, and drove the cow out himself. high family. a person was boasting that he was sprung from a high family in ireland. "yes," said a bystander, "i have seen some of the same family so high that their feet could not touch the ground." settling. "mr. jenkins, will it suit you to settle that old account of yours?" "no, sir, you are mistaken in the man, i am not one of the old _settlers_." cause of regret. a lad, standing by while his father lost a large sum at play, burst into tears. on being asked the cause, "o sir," answered he, "i have read that alexander wept because his father philip gained so many conquests that he would leave him _nothing to gain_; i on the contrary weep for fear that you will leave me _nothing to lose_." the proper person. a gentleman passing through clement's inn, and receiving abuse from some impudent clerks, was advised to complain to the principal, which he did thus: "i have been abused here, by some of the _rascals_ of this inn, and i come to acquaint you of it, as i understand you are the _principal_." an awkward situation. lord lyttleton asked a clergyman the use of his pulpit for a young divine he had brought down with him. "i really know not," said the parson, "how to refuse your lordship; but if the gentleman preach better than i, my congregation will be dissatisfied with me afterwards; and if he preach worse, he is not fit to preach at all." call again to-morrow. a heretic in medicine being indisposed, his physician happened to call. being told that the doctor was below, he said, "tell him to call another time; i am unwell, and can't see him now." joke from harper's drawer. who is not carried back to good old times as he reads this sketch of connecticut goin' to meetin' fifty years ago? it is a genuine story contributed to the drawer: "in the early part of the ministry of rev. jehu c----k, who preached many years in one of the pleasant towns in the western part of connecticut, it was the custom of many of the good ladies from the distant parts of his parish to bring with them food, which they ate at noon; or as they used to say, 'between the intermission.' some brought a hard-boiled egg, some a nut-cake, some a sausage; but one good woman, who had tried them all, and found them all too dry, brought some pudding and milk. in order to bring it in a dish from which it would not spill over on the road, and yet be convenient to eat from, she took a pitcher with a narrow neck at the top, but spreading at the bottom. arrived at the meeting-house, she placed it under the seat. the exercises of the day soon commenced, and the old lady became wholly rapt in her devotional feelings. though no philosopher, she knew by practice--as many church-goers seem to have learned--that she could receive and 'inwardly digest' the sermon by shutting her eyes, and opening her mouth, and allowing all her senses to go to sleep. while thus prepared, and lost to all external impressions, she was suddenly startled by a rustling and splashing under the seat. she had no time to consider the cause before she discovered her dog, put, backing out with the neck of the pitcher over his head, and the pudding and milk drizzling out. poor put had been fixing his thoughts on material objects alone; and taking advantage of the quietness of the occasion, had crept under the seat of his mistress, where he was helping himself to a dinner. his head had glided easily through the narrow portion of the pitcher; but, when quite in, it was as securely fixed as an eel in a pot. unable to extricate himself, he had no alternative but to be smothered or back out. the old lady bore the catastrophe in no wise quietly. a thousand terrible thoughts rushed into her mind; the ludicrous appearance of the dog and pitcher, the place, the occasion, the spattering of her garments, the rascally insult of the puppy--but, above all, the loss of her 'sabber-day' dinner. at the top of her voice she cried, "'get out, put! get out! oh, jehu! i'm speakin' right out in meetin'! oh! i'm talkin' all the time!' "the scene that followed is not to be described. the frightened old lady seized her dog and pitcher, and rushed out of meeting; the astonished preacher paused in the midst of his discourse, while the whole congregation were startled out of their propriety by the explosion; and it was some time before order and the sermon were again resumed." armond. armond, the great comedian, had a great curiosity to see louis xiv. in chapel, and accordingly presented himself one morning during service at the door. the sentinel refused to admit him. "but, friend," said armond, "you must let me pass; i am his majesty's barber." "ah, that may be," said the sentinel, "but the king does not shave in church." mrs. partington's very last. "where did you get so much money, isaac?" said mrs. partington, as he shook a half handful of copper cents before her, grinning all the while like a rogue that he is; "have you found the hornicopia or has anybody given you a request?" she was a little anxious. "i got it from bets," said he, chucking them into the air, and allowing half of them to clatter and rattle about the floor with all the importance of dollars. "got them from bets, did you?" replied she; "and who is bets that she should give you money?--she must be some low creature, or you would not speak of her so disrespectably. i hope you will not get led away by any desolate companions, isaac, and become an unworthy membrane of society." how tenderly the iron-bowed spectacles beamed upon him! "i mean bets," said he, laughing, "that i won on burlingame." "dear me!" she exclaimed, "how could you do so when gaming is such a horrid habit? why, sometimes people are arranged at the bar for it." she was really uneasy until he explained that, in imitation of older ones, he had bet some cents on burlingame and had won. adoration. at a late court, a man and his wife brought cross actions, each charging the other with having committed assault and battery. on investigation, it appeared that the husband had pushed the door against the wife, and the wife in turn pushed the door against the husband. a gentleman of the bar remarked that he could see no impropriety in a man and his wife a-_door_-ing each other. naughty charles lamb. charles lamb once, while riding in company with a lady, descried a party denuded for swimming a little way off. he remarked: "those girls ought to go to a more retired place." "they are boys," replied the lady. "you may be right," rejoined charlie, "i can't distinguish so accurately as you, at such a distance." too green. "sallie," said a young man to his red-haired sweetheart, "keep your head away from me; you will set me on fire." "no danger," was the contemptuous answer, "you are too green to burn." high company. a gascon was vaunting one day, that in his travels he had been caressed wherever he went, and had seen all the great men throughout europe. "have you seen the dardanelles?" inquired one of the company. "parbleu!" says he; "i most surely have seen them, when i dined with them several times." emphasis. the force of emphasis is clearly shown in the following brief colloquy, between two lawyers: "sir," demanded one, indignantly, "do you imagine me to be a scoundrel?" "no, sir," said the other coolly, "i do not _imagine_ you to be one." a forgetful man. a man, endowed with an extraordinary capacity for forgetfulness, was tried some time ago, at paris, for vagabondage. he gave his name as auguste lessite, and believed he was born at bourges. as he had forgotten his age, the registry of all the births in that city, from to , was consulted, but only one person of the name of lessite had been born there during that time, and that was a girl. "are you sure your name is lessite?" asked the judge. "well, i thought it was, but maybe it ain't." "are you confident you were born at bourges?" "well, i always supposed i was, but i shouldn't wonder if it was somewhere else." "where does your family live at present?" "i don't know; i've forgotten." "can you remember ever having seen your father and mother?" "i can't recollect to save myself; i sometimes think i have, and then again i think i haven't." "what trade do you follow?" "well, i am either a tailor or a cooper, and for the life of me i can't tell which: at any rate, i'm either one or the other." an acute hint. an irish footman carrying a basket of game from his master to his friend, waited some time for the customary fee, but seeing no appearance of it, he scratched his head, and said, "sir, if my master should say, paddy, what did the gentleman give you?--_what would your honor have me to tell him?_" cockney narrative. i _laid_ at my friend's house last night, and _just_ as i _laid me down_ to sleep, i heard a rumbling at the window of my chamber, which was _just_ over the kitchen, a sort of portico, the top of which was _just_ even with the floor of my room. well, i _just_ peeped up, and as the moon was _just_ rising, i _just_ saw the head of a man; so i _got me up_ softly, _just_ as i was, in my shirt, _goes_ to where the pistols _laid_ that i had _just_ loaded, and laid them _just_ within my reach. i hid myself behind the curtains, _just_ as he was completely in the room. _just_ as i was about to lift my hand to shoot him, _thinks i_, would it be _just_ to kill _this here_ man, without _one_ were sure he came with an _unjust_ intention? so i _just_ cried out _hem!_ upon which he fell to the ground, and there he _laid_, and i could _just_ see that he looked _just_ as if he was dead; so i _just_ asked him what business he had in _that there_ room? poor man! he could _just_ speak, and said he had _just_ come to see mary! sincere regret. to a gentleman who was continually lamenting the loss of his first wife before his second, she one day said, "_indeed, sir, no one regrets her more than i do._" hard case. a polite young lady recently asserted that she had lived near a barn-yard, and that it was impossible for her to sleep in the morning, on account of the outcry made by a "gentleman hen." big words. the best hit we have lately seen at the _rather_ american fashion of employing big crooked words, instead of little straight ones, is in the following dialogue between a highfalutin lawyer and a plain witness: "did the defendant knock the plaintiff down with _malice prepense_?" "no, sir; he knocked him down with a flat-iron." "you misunderstand me, my friend; i want to know whether he attacked him with any evil intent?" "o no, sir, it was outside of the tent." "no, no; i wish you to tell me whether the attack was at all a preconcerted affair?" "no, sir; it was not a free concert affair--it was at a circus." laconic and decisive. a wealthy jew, having made several ineffectual applications for leave to quit berlin, at length sent a letter to the king imploring permission to travel for the benefit of his health, to which he received the following answer: "dear ephraim, "nothing but death shall part us. "frederick." theatrical criticism. when woodward first played sir john brute, garrick was present. a few days after, when they met, woodward asked garrick how he liked him in the part, adding, "i think i struck out some beauties in it." "_i think,_" said garrick, "_that you struck out all the beauties in it._" a mistake. fredrick i. of prussia, when a new soldier appeared on the parade, was wont to ask him, "how old are you?--how long have you been in my service?--have you received your pay and clothing?" a young frenchman who had volunteered into the service, being informed by his officer of the questions which the monarch would ask, took care to have the answers ready. the king, seeing him in the ranks, unfortunately reversed the questions: q. how long have you been in my service? a. twenty-one years, and please your majesty. q. how old are you? a. one year. the king, surprised, said, "either you or i must be a fool." the soldier, taking this for the third question, relative to his pay and clothing, replied, "_both_, and please your majesty." consolation. an irish officer had the misfortune to be dreadfully wounded in one of the late battles in holland. as he lay on the ground, an unlucky soldier, who was near him, and was also severely wounded, made a terrible howling, when the officer exclaimed, "what do you make such a noise for? _do you think there is nobody killed but yourself?_" several negatives. "mister, i say, i don't suppose you don't know of nobody who don't want to hire nobody to do nothing, don't you?" "yes, i don't." different lines. a person arrived from a voyage to the east indies inquired of a friend after their mutual acquaintance, and, among the rest, one who had the misfortune to be hanged during his absence: "how is tom moody?" "he is dead." "he was in the grocery line when i left this." "he was in quite a different _line_ when he died." negro wit. a jamaica planter, with a nose as fiery and rubicund as that of the _illuminating_ bardolph, was taking his _siesta_ after dinner, when a mosquito lighting on his _proboscis_, instantly flew back. "aha! massa mosquito," cried quacco, who was in attendance, "_you burn your foot!_" theatrical bon-mot. in a very thin house in the country, an actress spoke very low in her communication with her lover. the actor, whose benefit it happened to be, exclaimed with a face of woeful humor, "my dear, you may speak out, there is nobody to hear us." conciseness. louis xiv. traveling, met a priest riding post. ordering him to stop, he asked hastily, "whence? whither? for what?" he answered, "bruges--paris--a benefice." "you shall have it." allies will fall out. a gentleman having to fight a main in the country, gave charge to his servant to carry down two cocks. pat put them together in a bag; on opening which, at his arrival, he was surprised to find one of them dead, and the other terribly wounded. being rebuked by his master for putting them in the same bag, he said he thought there was no danger of them hurting each other, as they were going to fight _on the same side_. catching a tartar. an irish soldier called out to his companion: "hollo! pat, i have taken a prisoner." "bring him along, then; bring him along!" "he won't come." "then come yourself." "_he won't let me._" antigallican. a downright john bull going into a coffee-house, briskly ordered a glass of brandy and water; "but," said he, "bring me none of your cursed _french stuff_." the waiter said respectfully, "_genuine british_, sir, i assure you." impracticability. a gentleman in the pit, at the representation of a certain tragedy, observed to his neighbor, he wondered that it was not hissed: the other answered, "people can't both yawn and hiss at once." a dialogue. the late caleb whitfoord, finding his nephew, charles smith, playing the violin, the following hits took place: _w._ i fear, charles, you _lose_ a great deal of _time_ with this fiddling. _s._ sir, i endeavor to _keep time_. _w._ you mean rather to _kill time_. _s._ no, i only _beat time_. an unlucky compliment. a french gentleman congratulated madame denis on her performance of the part of lara. "to do justice to that part," said she, "the actress should be young and handsome." "ah, madam!" replied the complimenter, "you are a complete proof of the contrary." a command anticipated. in the campaign in holland last war, a party marching through a swamp, was ordered to form _two deep_. a corporal immediately exclaimed, "i'm _too deep_ already; i am up to the middle." a small mistake. an uninformed irishman, hearing the _sphinx_ alluded to in company, whispered to his neighbor, "sphinx! who is that?" "a monster, man." "oh!" said our hibernian, not to seem unacquainted with his family, "_a munster-man_! i thought he was from connaught." a home truth. when the late duchess of kingston wished to be received at the court of berlin, she got the russian minister there to mention her intention to his prussian majesty, and to tell him at the same time, "that her fortune was at rome, her bank at venice, but that her heart was at berlin." the king replied, "i am sorry we are only intrusted with the worst part of her grace's property." shining wit. a buck having his boots cleaned, threw down the money haughtily to the irish shoe-black, who as he was going away said, "by my soul, all the _polish_ you have is on your boots, and that i gave you." a fatal step prevented. a beggar importuned a lady for alms; she gave him a shilling. "god bless your ladyship!" said he, "this will prevent me from executing my resolution." the lady, alarmed, and thinking he meditated suicide, asked what he meant. "alas, madam!" said he, "but for this shilling i should have been obliged to go _to work_." a common error corrected. a sailor being in a company where the shape of the earth was disputed, said, "why look ye, gentlemen, they pretend to say the earth is _round_; now i have been all _round_ it, and i, jack oakum, assure you it is _as flat as a pancake_." a yankee judge and a kentucky lawyer. few persons in this part of the country are aware of the difference that exists between our manners and customs, and those of the people of the western states. their elections, their courts of justice, present scenes that would strike one with astonishment and alarm. if the jurors are not, as has been asserted, run down with dogs and guns, color is given to charges like this, by the repeated successful defiances of law and judges that occur, by the want of dignity and self-respect evinced by the judges themselves, and by the squabbles and brawls that take place between members of the bar. there is to be found occasionally there, however, a judge of decision and firmness, to compel decorum even among the most turbulent spirits, or at least to punish summarily all violations of law and propriety. the following circumstances which occurred in kentucky were related to us by a gentleman who was an eye witness of the whole transaction. several years since, judge r., a native of connecticut, was holding a court at danville. a cause of considerable importance came on, and a mr. d., then a lawyer of considerable eminence, and afterwards a member of congress, who resided in a distant part of the state, was present to give it his personal supervision. in the course of mr. d.'s argument, he let fall some profane language, for which he was promptly checked and reprimanded by the judge. mr. d., accustomed to unrestrained license of tongue, retorted with great asperity, and much harshness of language. "mr. clerk," said the judge coolly, "put down twenty dollars fine to mr. d." "by ----," said mr. d.; "i'll never pay a cent of it under heaven, and i'll swear as much as i ----please." "put down another fine of twenty dollars, mr. clerk." "i'll see the devil have your whole generation," rejoined mr. d., "before my pockets shall be picked by a cursed yankee interloper." "another twenty dollar fine, mr. clerk." "you may put on as many fines as you please, mr. judge, but by ---- there's a difference between imposing and collecting, i reckon." "twenty dollars more, mr. clerk." "ha, ha!" laughed mr. d. with some bitterness, "you are trifling with me, i see, sir; but i can tell you i understand no such joking; and by ----, sir, you will do well to make an end of it." "mr. clerk," said the judge with great composure, "add twenty dollars more to the fine, and hand the account to the sheriff. mr. d., the money must be paid immediately, or i shall commit you to prison." the violence of the lawyer compelled the judge to add another fine; and before night, the obstreperous barrister was swearing with all his might to the bare walls of the county jail. the session of the court was terminated, and the lawyer, seeing no prospect of escape through the mercy of the judge, after a fortnight's residence in prison, paid his fine of a hundred and twenty dollars, and was released. he now breathed nothing but vengeance. "i'll teach the yankee scoundrel," said he, "that a member of the kentucky bar is not to be treated in this manner with impunity." the judge held his next court at frankfort, and thither mr. d. repaired to take revenge for the personal indignity he had suffered. judge r. is as remarkable for resolute fearlessness as for talents, firmness, and integrity; and after having provided himself with defensive weapons, entered upon the discharge of his duties with the most philosophic indifference. on passing from his hotel to the court-house, the judge noticed that a man of great size, and evidently of tremendous muscular strength, followed him so closely as to allow no one to step between. he observed also that mr. d., supported by three or four friends, followed hard upon the heels of the stranger, and on entering the court room, posted himself as near the seat of the judge as possible--the stranger meantime taking care to interpose his huge body between the lawyer and the judge. for two or three days, matters went on this way; the stranger sticking like a burr to the judge, and the lawyer and his assistants keeping as near as possible, but refraining from violence. at length, the curiosity of judge r. to learn something respecting the purposes of the modern hercules became irrepressible, and he invited him to his room, and inquired who he was, and what object he had in view in watching his movements thus pertinaciously. "why, you see," said the stranger, ejecting a quid of tobacco that might have freighted a small skiff, "i'm a ringtailed roarer from big sandy river; i can outrun, outjump, and outfight any man in kentucky. they telled me in danville, that this 'ere lawyer was comin down to give you a lickin. now i hadn't nothin agin that, only he wan't a goin to give you fair play, so i came here to see you out, and now if you'll only say the word, we can flog him and his mates, in the twinkling of a quart pot." mr. d. soon learned the feeling in which the champion regarded him, and withdrew without attempting to execute his threats of vengeance upon the judge. judge peters. on his entrance into philadelphia, general lafayette was accompanied in the barouche by the venerable judge peters. the dust was somewhat troublesome, and from his advanced age, &c., the general felt and expressed some solicitude lest his companion should experience inconvenience from it. to which he replied: general you do not recollect that i am a judge--i do not regard the dust, i am accustomed to it. the lawyers throw dust in my eyes almost every day in the court-house." witty apology. a physician calling one day on a gentleman who had been severely afflicted with the gout, found, to his surprise, the disease gone, and the patient rejoicing in his recovery over a bottle of wine. "come along, doctor," exclaimed the valetudinarian, "you are just in time to taste this bottle of madeira; it is the first of a pipe that has just been broached." "ah!" replied the doctor, "these pipes of madeira will never do; they are the cause of all your suffering." "well, then," rejoined the gay incurable, "fill up your glass, for now that we have found out the cause, the sooner we get rid of it the better." benevolence. "take a ticket, sir, for the widow and orphans fund of the spike society?" "well, y-e-a-s!--don't care much though for the orphans, but _i goes in strong for the widows_!" mrs. partington on education. mrs. partington, after listening to the reading of an advertisement for a young ladies' boarding school, said: "for my part, i can't deceive what on airth eddication is coming to. when i was young, if a girl only understood the rules of distraction, provision, multiplying, replenishing, and the common dominator, and knew all about the rivers and their obituaries, the covenants and domitories, the provinces and the umpires, they had eddication enough. but now they are to study bottomy, algierbay, and have to demonstrate supposition of sycophants of circuses, tangents and diogenes and parallelogramy, to say nothing about the oxhides, corostics, and abstruse triangles!" thus saying, the old lady leaned back in her chair, her knitting work fell in her lap, and for some minutes she seemed in meditation. obeying orders. a certain general of the united states army, supposing his favorite horse dead, ordered an irishman to go and skin him. "what! is silver tail dead?" asked pat. "what is that to you?" said the officer, "do as i bid you, and ask me no questions." pat went about his business, and in about two hours returned. "well, pat, where have you been all this time?" asked the general. "skinning your horse, your honor." "did it take you two hours to perform the operation?" "no, your honor, but then you see it took me about half an hour to catch the horse." "catch him! fires and furies--was he alive?" "yes, your honor, and i could not skin him alive, you know." "skin him alive! did you kill him?" "to be sure i did, your honor--and sure you know i must obey orders without asking questions." a reason. as a nobleman was receiving from louis xiii. the investiture of an ecclesiastical order, and was saying, as is usual on that occasion, _domine, non sum dignus._--"lord, i am not worthy." "i know that well enough," replied the king, "but i could not resist the importunity of my cousin cardinal richelieu, who pressed me to give it you." canvassing. at an election, a candidate solicited a vote. "i would rather vote for the devil than you," was the reply. "but in case your friend is not a candidate," said the solicitor, "might i then count on your assistance?" wit of an irish jarvey. an anecdote, illustrative of the wit of irish "jarveys," is going the rounds in dublin. mr. ---- is a man of aldermanic proportions. he chartered an outside car, t'other day, at island bridge barrack, and drove to the post-office. on arriving he tendered the driver sixpence, which was strictly the fare, though but scant remuneration for the distance. the jarvey saw at a glance the small coin, but in place of taking the money which mr. ----held in his hands, he busied himself putting up the steps of the vehicle, and then, going to the well at the back of the car, took thence a piece of carpeting, from which he shook ostentatiously the dust, and straightway covered his horse's head with it. after doing so he took the "fare" from the passenger, who, surprised at the deliberation with which the jarvey had gone through the whole of these proceedings, inquired, "why did you cover the horse's head?" to which the jarvey, with a humorous twinkle of his eye, and to the infinite amusement of approving bystanders, replied, "why did i cover the horse's head? is that what you want to know? well, because i didn't want to let the dacent baste see that he carried so big a load so far for sixpence?" it should be added, in justice to the worthy citizen, that a half crown immediately rewarded the witty jarvey for his ready joke. a consequence. a gentleman complained that his apothecary had so stuffed him with drugs, that he was _sick_ for a fortnight after he was _quite well_. a sea chaplain. the captain of a man of war lost his chaplain. the first lieutenant, a scotchman, announced his death to his lordship, adding he was sorry to inform him that the chaplain died a roman catholic. "well, so much the better," said his lordship. "oot awa, my lord, how can you say so of a _british clergyman_?" "_why, because i believe i am the first captain that ever could boast of a chaplain who had any religion at all._" the modest barrister. a counsel, examining a very young lady, who was a witness in a case of assault, asked her, if the person who was assaulted did not give the defendant very ill language, and utter words so bad that he, the learned counsel, had not _impudence_ enough to repeat? she replied in the affirmative. "will you, madam, be kind enough," said he, "to tell the court what these words were?" "why, sir," replied she, "if _you_ have not _impudence_ enough to speak them, how can you suppose that _i_ have?" a distinction. a lady came up one day to the keeper of the light-house near plymouth, which is a great curiosity. "i want to see the light-house," said the lady. "it cannot be complied with," was the reply. "do you know who i am, sir?" "no, madam." "i am the captain's _lady_." "_if you were his wife, madam, you could not see it without his order!_" consequence. a pragmatical fellow, who travelled for a mercantile house in town, entering an inn at bristol, considered the traveling room beneath his dignity, and required to be shown to a private apartment; while he was taking refreshment, the good hostess and her maid were elsewhere discussing the point, as to what class their customer belonged. at length the bill was called for, and the charges declared to be enormous. "sixpence for an egg! i never paid such a price since i traveled for the house!" "there!" exclaimed the girl, "i told my mistress i was sure, sir, that you was no gentleman." another gentleman going into a tavern on the strand, called for a glass of brandy and water, with an air of great consequence, and after drinking it off, inquired what was to pay? "fifteen pence, sir," said the waiter. "fifteen pence! fellow, why that is downright imposition: call your master." the master appeared, and the guest was remonstrating, when "mine host" stopped him short, by saying, "sir, fifteen pence is the price we charge to gentlemen; if any persons not entitled to that character trouble us, we take what they can afford, and are glad to get rid of them." proof of civilization. a person who had resided some time on the coast of africa, was asked if he thought it possible to civilize the natives? "as a proof of the possibility of it," said he, "i have known negroes who thought as little of a _lie_ or an _oath_ as any european whatever." man and beast. "i and disraeli put up at the same tavern last night," said a dandified snob, the other day. "it must have been a house of accommodation then for man and beast," replied a bystander. satisfactory proof. a noble, but not a learned lord, having been suspected to be the author of a very severe but well written pamphlet against a gentleman high in office, he sent him a challenge. his lordship professed his innocence, assuring the gentleman that he was not the author; but the other would not be satisfied without a denial under his hand. my lord therefore took the pen and began, "_this is to scratify, that the buk called the ----_" "oh, my lord!" said the gentleman, "i am perfectly satisfied that your lordship did not write the book." languages characterized. charles v., speaking of the different languages of europe, thus described them: "the _french_ is the best language to speak to one's friend--the _italian_ to one's mistress--the _english_ to the people--the _spanish_ to god--and the _german_ to a horse." con. of the silver fork school. why is a man eating soup with a fork like another kissing his sweetheart? do you give it up? because it takes so long to get enough of it. dog-fancying; or injured innocence. bob pickering, short, squat, and squinting, with a yellow "wipe" round his "squeeze," was put to the bar on violent suspicion of dog-stealing. _mr. davis_, silk-mercer, dover-street, piccadilly, said:--about an hour before he entered the office, while sitting in his parlor, he heard a loud barking noise, which he was convinced was made by a favorite little dog, his property. he went out, and in the passage caught the prisoner in the act of conveying it into the street in his arms. _mr. dyer:_ what have you to say? you are charged with attempting to steal the dog. _prisoner:_ (_affecting a look of astonishment_)--vot, me _steal_ a dog? vy, i'm ready and villing to take my solomon hoth 'at i'm hinnocent of sitch an hadwenture. here's the _factotal_ of the consarn as i'm a honest man. i vos a coming along hoxfud-street, ven i seed this here poor dumb hanimal a running about vith not nobody arter him, and a looking jest as if he vas complete lost. vhile i vos in this here sittivation, a perfect gentleman comes up to me, and says he, "vot a cussed shame," says he, "that 'ere handsome young dog should be vithout a nateral pertectur! i'm blow'd, young man," says he, "if i vos you if i vouldn't pick it up and prewent the wehicles from a hurting on it; and," says he, "i'd adwise you, 'cause you looks so _werry honest_ and so werry respectable, to take pity on the poor dumb dog and go and buy it a ha'porth of wittles." vell, my lord, you see i naterally complied vith his demand, and vos valking avay vith it for to look for a prime bit of _bowwow_ grub, ven up comes this here good gentleman, and vants to swear as how i vos arter _prigging_ on it! _mr. dyer:_ how do you get your living? _prisoner:_ vorks along vith my father and mother--and lives vith my relations wot's perticler respectable. _mr. dyer:_ policeman, do you know anything of the prisoner? _policeman:_ the prisoner's three brothers were transported last session, and his mother and father are now in clerkenwell. the prisoner has been a dog-stealer for years. _prisoner:_ take care vot you say--if you proves your vords, vy my carrecter vill be hingered, and i'm blowed if you shan't get a "little vun in" ven i comes out of _quod_. _mr. dyer:_ what is the worth of the dog? _mr. davis:_ it is worth five pounds, as it is of a valuable breed. _prisoner:_ there, your vership, you hear it's a waluable dog--now is it feasible as i should go for to prig a dog wot was a waluable hanimal? the magistrate appeared to think such an occurrence not at all unlikely, as he committed him to prison for three months. a scotchman's consolation. a scotchman who put up at an inn, was asked in the morning how he slept. "troth, man," replied donald, "no very weel either, but i was muckle better aff than the bugs, for deil a ane o' them closed an e'e the hale nicht." the coalheaver and the fine arts. a small-made man, with a carefully cultivated pair of carroty-colored mustaches, whose style of seedy toggery presented a tolerably good imitation of a "polish militaire," came before the commissioners to establish his legal right to fifteen pence, the price charged for a whole-length likeness of one _mister_ robert white, a member of the "black and thirsty" fraternity of coalheavers. the complainant called himself signor johannes benesontagi, but from all the genuine characteristics of cockayne which he carried about him, it was quite evident he had germanized his patronymic of john benson to suit the present judicious taste of the "pensive public." signor benesontagi, a peripatetic professor of the "fine arts," it appeared was accustomed to visit public-houses for the purpose of caricaturing the countenances of the company, at prices varying from five to fifteen pence. in pursuit of his vocation he stepped into the "vulcan's head," where a conclave of coalheavers were accustomed nightly to assemble, with the double view of discussing politics and pots of barclay's entire. he announced the nature of his profession, and having solicited patronage, he was beckoned into the box where the defendant was sitting, and was offered a shilling for a _full-length_ likeness. this sum the defendant consented to enlarge to fifteen pence, provided the artist would agree to draw him in "full fig:"--red velvet smalls--nankeen gaiters--sky-blue waistcoat--canary wipe--and full-bottomed fantail. the bargain was struck and the picture finished, but when presented to the sitter, he swore "he'd see the man's back _open and shet_ afore he'd pay the wally of a farden piece for sitch a reg'lar 'snob' as he was made to appear in the portrait." the defendant was hereupon required to state why he refused to abide by the agreement. "vy, my lords and gemmen," said coaly, "my reasons is this here. that 'ere covey comes into the crib vhere i vos a sitting blowing a cloud behind a drop of heavy, and axes me if as how i'd have my picter draw'd. vell, my lords, being a little 'lumpy,' and thinking sitch a consarn vould please my sall, i told him as i'd stand a 'bob,' and be my pot to his'n, perwising as he'd shove me on a pair of prime welwet breeches wot i'd got at home to vear a sundays. he said he vould, and 'at it should be a 'nout-a-nout' job for he'd larnt to draw _phisogomony_ under _sir peter laurie_." "it's false!" said the complainant, "the brother artist i named was sir thomas lawrence." "vere's the difference?" asked the coalheaver. "so, my lords, this here persecutor goes to vork like a briton, and claps this here thingamy in my fist, vich ain't not a bit like me, but a blessed deal more likerer a _bull with a belly-ache_." (_laughter._) the defendant pulled out a card and handed it to the bench. on inspection it was certainly a monstrous production, but it did present an ugly likeness of the coalheaver. the commissioners were unanimously of opinion it was a good fifteen-penny copy of the defendant's countenance. "'taint a bit like me?" said the defendant, angrily. "vy, lookee here, he's draw'd me vith a _bunch of ingans_ a sticking out of my pocket. i'm werry fond of sitch wegetables, but i never carries none in my pockets." "a bunch of onions!" replied the incensed artist--"i'll submit it to any gentleman who is a _real_ judge of the 'fine arts,' whether that (_pointing to the appendage_) can be taken for any thing else than the gentleman's _watch-seals_." "ha! ha! ha!" roared the coalheaver; "my votch-seals! come, that's a good 'un--i never vore no votch-seals, 'cause i never had none--so the pictur can't be _like_ me." the commissioners admitted the premises, but denied the conclusion; and being of opinion that the artist had made out his claim, awarded the sum sought, and costs. the defendant laid down six shillings one by one with the air of a man undergoing the operation of having so many teeth extracted, and taking up his picture, consoled himself by saying, that "pr'aps his foreman, bill jones, vould buy it, as he had the luck of vearing a votch on sundays." retort courteous. soon after whitefield landed in boston, on his second visit to this country, he and dr. chauncey met in the street, and, touching their hats with courteous dignity, bowed to each other. "so you have returned, mr. whitefield, have you?" he replied, "yes, reverend sir, in the service of the lord." "i am sorry to hear it," said chauncey. "so is the devil!" was the answer given, as the two divines, stepping aside at a distance from each other, touched their hats and passed on. teach your grandmother to suck an egg. "you see, grandma, we perforate an aperture in the apex, and a corresponding aperture in the base; and by applying the egg to the lips, and forcibly inhaling the breath, the shell is entirely discharged of its contents." "bless my soul," cried the old lady, "what wonderful improvements they do make! now in my young days we just made a hole in each end and sucked." accommodating boarder. the landlord of an hotel at brighton entered, in an angry mood, the sleeping apartment of a boarder, and said, "now, sir, i want you to pay your bill, and you _must_. i've asked you for it often enough; and i tell you now, that you don't leave my house till you pay it!" "good!" said his lodger; "just put that in writing; make a regular agreement of it; i'll stay with you as long as i live!" accommodating cook. _mistress:_ "i think, cook, we must part this day month." _cook:_ (in astonishment)--"why, ma'am? i am sure i've let you 'ave your own way in most everything?" good shot. a son of erin, while hunting for rabbits, came across a jackass in the woods, and shot him. "by me soul and st. patrick," he exclaimed, "i've shot the father of all the rabbits." billingsgate rhetoric. an action in the court of common pleas, in , between two billingsgate fishwomen, afforded two junior barristers an opportunity of displaying much small wit. the counsel for the plaintiff stated, that his client, mrs. isaacs, labored in the humble, but honest vocation of a fishwoman, and that while she was at billingsgate market, making those purchases, which were afterwards to furnish dainty meals to her customers, the defendant davis grossly insulted her, and in the presence of the whole market people, called her a thief, and another, if possible, still more opprobrious epithet. the learned counsel expatiated at considerable length on the value and importance of character, and the contempt, misery, and ruin, consequent upon the loss of it. "character, my lord," continued he, "is as dear to a fishwoman, as it is to a duchess. if 'the little worm we tread on feels a pang as great as when a giant dies;' if the vital faculties of a sprat are equal to those of a whale; why may not the feelings of an humble retailer of 'live cod,' and 'dainty fresh salmon,' be as acute as those of the highest rank in society?" another aggravation of this case, the learned counsel said, was, that his client was an _old maid_; with what indignation, then, must she hear that foul word applied to her, used by the moor of venice to his wife? his client was not vindictive, and only sought to rescue her character, and be restored to that _place_ in society she had so long maintained. the judge inquired if that was the _sole_ object of the plaintiff, or was it not rather baiting with a _sprat_ to catch a _herring_? two witnesses proved the words used by the defendant. the counsel for the defendant said, his learned brother on the opposite side had been _floundering_ for some time, and he could not but think that mrs. isaacs was a _flat fish_ to come into court with such an action. this was the first time he had ever heard of a fishwoman complaining of abuse. the action originated at billingsgate, and the words spoken (for he would not deny that they had been used) were nothing more than the customary language, the _lex non scripta_, by which all disputes were settled at that place. if the court were to sit for the purpose of reforming the language at billingsgate, the sittings would be interminable, actions would be as plentiful as mackerel at midsummer, and the billingsgate fishwomen would oftener have a new suit at guildhall, than on their backs. under these circumstances, the learned counsel called on the jury to reduce the damages to a _shrimp_. verdict. damages, _one penny_. hang together or hang separately. richard penn, one of the proprietors, and of all the governors of pennsylvania, under the old régime, probably the most deservedly popular,--in the commencement of the revolution, (his brother john being at that time governor,) was on the most familiar and intimate terms with a number of the most decided and influential whigs; and, on a certain occasion, being in company with several of them, a member of congress observed, that such was the crisis, "they must all _hang together_." "if you do not, gentlemen," said mr. penn, "i can tell you, that you will be very apt to _hang separately_." webster matched by a woman. in the somewhat famous case of mrs. bogden's will, which was tried in the supreme court some years ago, mr. webster appeared as counselor for the appellant. mrs. greenough, wife of rev. william greenough, late of west newton, a tall, straight, queenly-looking woman with a keen black eye--a woman of great self-possession and decision of character, was called to the stand as a witness on the opposite side from mr. webster. webster, at a glance, had the sagacity to foresee that her testimony, if it contained anything of importance, would have great weight with the court and jury. he therefore resolved, if possible, to break her up. and when she answered to the first question put to her, "i believe--" webster roared out: "we don't want to hear what you believe; we want to hear what you know!" mrs. greenough replied, "that is just what i was about to say, sir," and went on with her testimony. and notwithstanding his repeated efforts to disconcert her, she pursued the even tenor of her way, until webster, becoming quite fearful of the result, arose apparently in great agitation, and drawing out his large snuff-box thrust his thumb and finger to the very bottom, and carrying the deep pinch to both nostrils, drew it up with a gusto; and then extracting from his pocket a very large handkerchief, which flowed to his feet as he brought it to the front, he blew his nose with a report that rang distinct and loud through the crowded hall. _webster:_ mrs. greenough, was mrs. bogden a neat woman? _mrs. greenough:_ i cannot give you very full information as to that, sir; she had one very dirty trick. _webster:_ what was that, ma'am? _mrs. greenough:_ she took snuff! the roar of the court-house was such that the future defender of the constitution subsided, and neither rose nor spoke again until after mrs. greenough had vacated her chair for another witness--having ample time to reflect upon the inglorious history of the man who had a stone thrown on his head by a woman. a temperance lecture. "daddy, i want to ask you a question." "well, my son." "why is neighbor smith's liquor shop like a counterfeit dollar?" "i can't tell, my son." "because you can't pass it," said the boy. a darned subject. a female writer says, "nothing looks worse on a lady than darned stockings." allow us to observe that stockings which _need darning_ look much worse than darned ones--darned if they don't! go it. it is astonishing how "toddy" promotes independence. a philadelphia old "brick," lying, a day or two since, in the gutter in a very spiritual manner, was advised in a friendly way to economize, as "flour was going up." "let it go up," said old bottlenose, "i kin git as 'high' as flour kin--any day." tapping. a gentleman in the highlands of scotland was attacked with a dropsy, brought on by a too zealous attachment to his bottle; and it gained upon him, at length, to such a degree, that he found it necessary to abstain entirely from all spirituous liquors. yet though discharged from drinking himself, he was not hindered from making a bowl of punch to his friends. he was sitting at this employment, when his physicians, who had been consulting in an adjoining room, came in to tell him, that they had just come to a resolution to tap him. "you may tap me as you please," said the old gentleman, "but ne'er a thing was ever tapped in my house that lasted long." the saying was but too true, he was tapped that evening, and died the next day. diamond cut diamond. a few weeks ago a "sporting character" _looked in_ at the hygeia hotel, just to see if he could fall in with any subjects, but finding none, and understanding from the respectful proprietor, mr. parks, that he could not be accommodated with a private room wherein to exercise the mysteries of his craft, he felt the time begin to hang heavy on his hands; so in order to dispel _ennui_ he took out a pack of cards and began to amuse the by-standers in the bar-room with a number of ingenious tricks with them, which soon drew a crowd around him. "now," said he, after giving them a good shuffle and slapping the pack down upon the table, "i'll bet any man ten dollars i can cut the jack of hearts at the first attempt." nobody seemed inclined to take him up, however, till at last a weather-beaten new england skipper, in a pea-jacket, stumped him by exclaiming, "darned if i don't bet you! but stop; let me see if all's right." then taking up and inspecting it, as if to see that there was no deception in it, he returned it to the table, and began to fumble about in a side pocket, first taking out a jack-knife, then a twist of tobacco, &c., till he produced a roll of bank notes, from which he took one of $ and handed it to a by-stander; the gambler did the same, and taking out a pen-knife, and literally cutting the pack in two through the middle, turned with an air of triumph to the company, and demanded if he had not _cut_ the jack of hearts. "no, i'll be darned if you have!" bawled out jonathan, "for here it is, safe and sound." at the same time producing the card from his pocket, whither he had dexterously conveyed it while pretending to examine the pack, to see if it was "all right." the company were convulsed with laughter, while the poor "child of chance" was fain to confess that "_it was hard getting to windward of a yankee._" a high authority. mr. curran was once engaged in a legal argument; behind him stood his colleague, a gentleman whose person was remarkably tall and slender, and who had originally intended to take orders. the judge observing that the case under discussion involved a question of ecclesiastical law; "then," said curran, "i can refer your lordship to a _high_ authority behind me, who was once intended for the church, though in my opinion he was fitter for the steeple." mistaken this time. col. moore, a veteran politician of the old dominion, was a most pleasant and affable gentleman, and a great lisper withal. he was known by a great many, and professed to know many more; but a story is told of him in which he failed to convince either himself or the stranger of their previous acquaintance. all things to all men, he met a countryman, one morning, and in his usual hearty manner stopped and shook hands with him, saying-- "why, how _do_ you do, thir? am very glad to thee you; a fine day, thir, i thee you thill ride the old gray, thir." "no, sir, this horse is one i borrowed this morning." "oh! ah! well, thir, how are the old gentleman and lady?" "my parents have been dead about three years, sir!" "but how ith your wife, thir, and the children?" "i am an unmarried man, sir." "thure enough. do you thill live on the old farm?" "no, sir; i've just arrived from ohio, where i was born." "well, thir, i gueth i don't know you after all. good morning, thir." one of the boys. neighbor t---- had a social party at his house a few evenings since, and the "dear boy," charles, a five-year old colt, was favored with permission to be seen in the parlor. "pa" is somewhat proud of his boy, and charles was of course elaborately gotten up for so great an occasion. among other extras, the little fellow's hair was treated to a liberal supply of eau de cologne, to his huge gratification. as he entered the parlor, and made his bow to the ladies and gentlemen-- "lookee here," said he proudly, "if any one of you smells a smell, that's _me_!" the effect was decided, and charles, having thus in one brief sentence delivered an illustrative essay on human vanity, was the hero of the evening. boy all over. a distinguished lawyer says, that in his young days, he taught a boy's school, and the pupils wrote compositions; he sometimes received some of a peculiar sort. the following are specimens: "_on industry._--it is bad for a man to be _idol_. industry is the best thing a man can have, and a wife is the next. prophets and kings desired it long, and without the site. finis." "_on the seasons._--there is four seasons, spring, summer, autumn, and winter. they are all pleasant. some people may like the spring best, but as for me,--give me liberty, or give me death. the end."--_olive branch._ preparation for dining. an irish housemaid who was sent to call a gentleman to dinner, found him engaged in using a tooth-brush. "well, is he coming?" said the lady of the house, as the servant returned. "yes, ma'am, directly," was the reply; "he's just sharpening his teeth." poetry and prigging. between poets and prigs, though seemingly "wide as the poles asunder" in character, a strong analogy exists--and that list of "petty larceny rogues" would certainly be incomplete, which did not include the parnassian professor. the difference, however, between prigs and poets appears to be--that the former hold the well-known maxim of "honor among thieves" in reverence, and steal only from the public, while the latter, less scrupulous, steal unblushingly from one another. this truth is as old as homer, and its proofs are as capable of demonstration as a mathematical axiom. should the alliance between the two professions be questioned, the following case will justify our assertion. mike smith, a ragged urchin, who, though hardly able to peep over a police bar, has been in custody more than a dozen times for petty thefts, was charged by william king, an industrious cobbler and ginger-beer merchant, with having stolen a bottle of "ginger-pop" from his stall. the prosecutor declared the neighborhood in which his stall was situated--that more than cretan labyrinth called the "dials"--was so infested with "young _warmint_" that he found it utterly impossible to turn one honest penny by his ginger-pop, for if his eyes were off his board for an instant, the young brigands who were eternally on the look-out, took immediate advantage of the circumstance, and on his next inspection, he was sure to discover that a bottle or two had vanished. while busily employed on a pair of boots that morning, he happened to cast his eyes where the ginger-pop stood, when, to his very great astonishment, he saw a bottle move off the board just for all the world as if it had possessed the power of locomotion. a second was about to follow the first, when he popped his head out at the door and the mystery was cleared up, for there he discovered the young delinquent making a rapid retreat on all-fours, with the "ginger-pop," the cork of which had flown out, fizzing from his breeches-pocket. after a smart administration of the strappado, he proceeded to examine the contents of his pinafore, which was bundled round him. this led to the discovery that the young urchin had been on a most successful forage for a dinner that morning. he had a delicate piece of pickled pork, a couple of eggs, half a loaf, part of a carrot, a china basin, and the lid of a teapot; all of which, on being closely pressed, he admitted were the result of his morning's legerdemain labor. mr. dyer inquired into the parentage of the boy, and finding that they were quite unable, as well as unwilling, to keep him from the streets, ordered that he should be detained for the present. the boy when removed to the lock-up room--a place which familiarity with had taught him to regard with indifference--amused himself by giving vent to a poetical inspiration in the following admonitory distich, which he scratched on the wall: "him as prigs wot isn't _his'n_-- ven he's cotched--vill go to _pris'n_." nautical sermon. when whitefield preached before the seamen at new york, he had the following bold apostrophe in his sermon: "well, my boys, we have a clear sky, and are making fine headway over a smooth sea, before a light breeze, and we shall soon lose sight of land. but what means this sudden lowering of the heavens, and that dark cloud arising from beneath the western horizon? hark! don't you hear distant thunder? don't you see those flashes of lightning? there is a storm gathering! every man to his duty! how the waves rise and dash against the ship! the air is dark! the tempest rages! our masts are gone! the ship is on her beam ends! what next?" it is said that the unsuspecting tars, reminded of former perils on the deep, as if struck by the power of magic, arose with united voices and minds, and exclaimed, "_take to the long boat._" brevet major. a nobleman having given a grand party, his tailor was among the company, and was thus addressed by his lordship: "my dear sir, i remember your face, but i forget your name." the tailor whispered in a low tone--"i made your breeches." the nobleman, taking him by the hand, exclaimed--"major breeches, i am happy to see you." advertizing high. a tipsy loafer mistook a globe lamp with letters on it, for the queen of night: "i'm blessed," said he, "if somebody haint stuck an advertisement on the moon!" couldn't believe it. governor s---- was a splendid lawyer, and could talk a jury out of their seven senses. he was especially noted for his success in criminal cases, almost always clearing his client. he was once counsel for a man accused of horse-stealing. he made a long, eloquent, and touching speech. the jury retired, but returned in a few moments, and, with tears in their eyes, proclaimed the man not guilty. an old acquaintance stepped up to the prisoner and said: "jim, the danger is past; and now, honor bright, didn't you steal that horse?" "well, tom, i've all along thought i took that horse; but since i've heard the governor's speech, i don't believe i did!" large snake. an indian came to a certain "agency," in the northern part of iowa, to procure some whiskey for a young warrior that had been bitten with a rattlesnake. at first the agent did not credit the story, but the earnestness of the indian, and the urgency of the case, overcame his scruples, and turning to get the liquor, he asked the indian how much he wanted. "four quarts," answered the indian. "four quarts?" asked the agent in surprise; "so much as that?" "yes," replied the indian, speaking through his set teeth, and frowning as savagely as though about to wage war against the snake tribe, "four quarts--_snake very big_." dangers of dusting; or, more beauties of modern legislation. bob smith and bill davis, a couple of boys in the full costume of the "order" chummy, were charged with the high crime and misdemeanor of having attempted to violate that portion of the british constitution, contained in the act relating to the removal of rubbish, by carrying off a portion of the contents of lord derby's dusthole, the property of the dust contractor. "please your lordship's grace," said the dust contractor's deputy, "master and me has lately lost a hunaccountable lot o' dust off our beat, and as ve nat'rally know'd 'at it couldn't have vanished if no body had a prigged it, vy consekvent_lye_ i keeps a look out for them 'ere unlegal covies vot goes out a dusting on the _cross_. vhile i vos out in growener-skvare, i saw'd both these here two young criminals slip down his lordship's airy and begin a shoveling his lordship's stuff into von of their sackses. i drops on 'em in the werry hidentikle hact, and collers both on 'em vith master's property." _mr. conant:_ you hear the charge, my lads--what have you to say in defence? _smith:_ ve vorks for the house, my lud. _mr. conant:_ is it your business to take away the dust? _smith:_ no, my lud--ve're the rig'lar chimbly sveeps vot sveeps his ludship's chimblys. both on us call'd on his ludship to arsk if his ludship's chimblys vonted sveeping--and ve larnt that they didn't; so, my lud, as ve happened to see a lady sifting cinders in his ludship's airy, ve arks'd her if she could be so werry hobliging as to let us have a shovelful. she granted our demand vith the greatest perliteness, and jest as ve vos about to cut our sticks, that there chap comes up and lugs us avay to this here hoffice. _mr. conant:_ the case is proved, and the act says you must be fined _l._ have you got _l._ a-piece? _smith:_ (_grinning from ear to ear_)--me got ten _pounds!_ i should like to see a cove vot ever had sitch a precious sum _all at vonce_. all as ever i got is threeha'pence-farden, and a bag of marbles; (_to the other_)--you got any capital, bill? _bill:_ ain't got nuffin--spent my last _brown_ on vensday for a baked tater. mr. conant looked over the act with a view of ascertaining if power had been granted to mitigate; but the legislature had so carefully provided for the enormity of the offence, that nothing less than the full penalty would, according to the act, satisfy the justice of the case. the fine of _l._ each was imposed, or ten days' imprisonment. arboreal. a rather foolish man of great wealth, was asked one day, if he had his genealogical tree. "i don't know," he replied; "i have a great many trees, and i dare say i have that one. i will ask my gardener." explicit. in an irish provincial journal there is an advertisement running thus:-- "wanted--a handy laborer, who can plow a married man and a protestant, with a son or daughter." bad cough. a friend of ours was traveling lately, while afflicted with a very bad cough. he annoyed his fellow travelers greatly, till finally one of them remarked in a tone of displeasure-- "sir, that is a very bad cough of yours." "true, sir," replied our friend, "but you will excuse me--it's the best i've got." justice. a workman, who was mounted on a high scaffold to repair a town clock, fell from his elevated station, upon a man who was passing. the workman escaped unhurt, but the man upon whom he fell, died. the brother of the deceased accused the workman of murder, had him arrested, and brought to trial. he pursued him with the utmost malignity, and would not admit a word in his defence. at length the judge, provoked at his unfounded hostility, gave the following judgment: "let the accused stand in the same spot whereon the dead man stood, and let the brother mount the scaffold, to the workman's old place and fall upon him. thus will justice be satisfied." the brother withdrew his suit. posthumous. an irish student was once asked what was meant by posthumous works. "they are such works," says the paddy, "as a man writes after he is dead." an instance of remarkable coolness. knickerbocker magazine picks up a good many good things. in the december number we find a story which runs thus:--"judge b., of new haven, is a talented lawyer and a great wag. he has a son, sam, a graceless wight, witty, and, like his father fond of mint juleps and other palatable "fluids." the father and son were on a visit to niagara falls. each was anxious to "take a nip," but (one for example, and the other in dread of hurting the old man's feelings) equally unwilling to drink in the presence of the other. "sam," said the judge, "i'll take a short walk--be back shortly." "all right," replied sam, and after seeing the old gentleman safely around the corner, he walked out quickly, and ordered a julep at a bar-room. while _in concocto_, the judge entered, and (sam just then being back of a newspaper, and consequently viewing, though viewless,) ordered a julep. the second was compounded, and the judge was just adjusting his tube for a cooling draught, when sam stepped up, and taking up his glass, requested the bar-tender to take his pay for both juleps from the bill the old gentleman had handed out to him! the surprise of the judge was only equalled by his admiration for his son's coolness; and he exclaimed, "sam! sam!--you need no julep to cool _you_!" sam "allowed" that he didn't." liberality. "please, sir," said a little beggar girl to her charitable patron, "you have given me a bad sixpence." "never mind," was the reply, "you may keep it for your honesty." pedantry reproved. a young man, who was a student in one of our colleges, being very vain of his knowledge of the latin language, embraced every opportunity that offered, to utter short sentences in latin before his more illiterate companions. an uncle of his, who was a seafaring man, having just arrived from a long voyage, invited his nephew to visit him on board of the ship. the young gentleman went on board, and was highly pleased with everything he saw. wishing to give his uncle an idea of his superior knowledge, he tapped him on the shoulder, and pointing to the windlass, asked, "quid est hoc?" his uncle, being a man who despised such vanity, took a chew of tobacco from his mouth, and throwing it in his nephew's face, replied, "hoc est _quid_." bon mot. mr. bethel, an irish counselor, as celebrated for his wit as his practice, was once robbed of a suit of clothes in rather an extraordinary manner. meeting, on the day after, a brother barrister in the hall of the four courts, the latter began to condole with him on his misfortune, mingling some expressions of surprise at the singularity of the thing. "it is extraordinary indeed, my dear friend," replied bethel, "for without vanity, it is the first _suit_ i ever lost." cause of grief. an affectionate wife lamenting over her sick husband, he bade her dry her tears, for possibly he might recover. "alas! my dear," said she, "the thought of it makes me weep." where you ought to have been. a clergyman who is in the habit of preaching in different parts of the country, was not long since at an inn, where he observed a horse jockey trying to take in a simple gentleman, by imposing upon him a broken-winded horse for a sound one. the parson knew the bad character of the jockey, and taking the gentleman aside, told him to be cautious of the person he was dealing with. the gentleman finally declined the purchase, and the jockey, quite nettled, observed--"parson, i had much rather hear you preach, than see you privately interfere in bargains between man and man, in this way." "well," replied the parson, "if you had been where you ought to have been, last sunday, you might have heard me preach." "where was that?" inquired the jockey. "in the state prison," returned the clergyman. counsel and witness. a gentleman who was severely cross-examined by mr. dunning, was repeatedly asked if he did not lodge in the verge of the court; at length he answered that he did. "and pray, sir," said the counsel, "for what reason did you take up your residence in that place?" "to avoid the rascally impertinence of _dunning_," answered the witness. working a passage. a paddy applied to work his passage on a canal, and was employed to lead the horses which drew the boat--on arriving at the place of destination, he swore, "that he would sooner go on foot, than work his passage in america." timothy dexter. according to his own account, was born in malden, massachusetts. "i was born," says he, (in his celebrated work, a pikel for the knowing ones,) " , jan. ; on this day in the morning, a great snow storm in the signs of the seventh house; whilst mars came forward, jupiter stood by to hold the candle. i was born to be a great man." lord dexter, after having served an apprenticeship to a leather dresser, commenced business in newburyport, where he married a widow, who owned a house and a small piece of land; part of which, soon after the nuptials, was converted into a shop and tan-yard. by application to his business, his property increased, and the purchase of a large tract of land near penobscot, together with an interest which he bought in the ohio company's purchase, afforded him so much profit, as to induce him to buy up public securities at forty cents on the pound, which securities soon afterwards became worth twenty shillings on the pound. his lordship at one time shipped a large quantity of _warming pans_ to the _west indies_, where they were sold at a great advance on prime cost, and used for molasses ladles. at another time, he purchased a large quantity of _whalebone for ships' stays_,--the article rose in value upon his hands, and he sold it to great advantage. property now was no longer the object of his pursuit: but popularity became the god of his idolatry. he was charitable to the poor, gave large donations to religious societies, and rewarded those who wrote in his praise. his lordship about this time acquired his peculiar taste for style and splendor; and to enhance his own importance in the world, set up an elegant equipage, and at great cost, adorned the front of his house with numerous figures of illustrious personages. by his order, a tomb was dug under his summer-house in his garden, during his life, which he mentions in "a pikel for the knowing ones," in the following ludicrous style: "here will lie in this box the first lord in americake, the first lord dexter made by the voice of hampsher state my brave fellows affirmed it they give me the titel and so let it gone for as much as it will fetch it wonte give me any breade but take from me the contrary fourder i have a grand toume in my garding at one of the grasses and the tempel of reason over the toume and my coffen made and all ready in my hous panted with white lead inside and outside tuched with greane and bras trimings eight handels and a gold lock: i have had one mock founrel it was so solmon and there was so much criing about spectators i say my hous is eaqal to any mansion house in twelve hundred miles and now for sale for seven hundred pounds weight of dollars by me timothy dexter." lord dexter believed in transmigration, sometimes; at others he was a deist. he died on the d day of oct. , in the th year of his age. telegraph. a husband telegraphed to his wife: "what have you got for breakfast, and how is the baby?" the answer came back, "buckwheat cakes and the measles." conundrums. what tune is that which ladies never call for? why, the spit-toon. when is a lady's neck not a neck? when it is a little bare. (_bear!_) when is music like vegetables? when there are two _beats_ to the measure. why was the elephant the last animal going into noah's ark? because he waited for his trunk. why is a poor horse greater than napoleon? because in him there are _many_ bony parts. neat reply. a lady wished a seat. a portly, handsome gentleman brought one and seated her. "oh, you're a jewel," said she. "oh, no," replied he, "i'm a jeweller--i have just set the jewel." could there have been anything more gallant than that? on the stump. a speaker at a stump meeting out west, declared that he knew no east, no west, no north, no south. "then," said a tipsy bystander, "you ought to go to school and larn your geography." literary husband. "i wish," said a beautiful wife to her studious husband, "i wish i was a book." "i wish you were--an _almanac_," replied her lord, "and then i would get a new one every year." just then the silk rustled. economy. "blast your stingy old skin!" said a runner to a competitor, before a whole depot full of bystanders: "i knew you when you used to hire your children to go to bed without their suppers, and after they got to sleep you'd go up and steal their pennies to hire 'em with again the next night!" a trick. the following story is told of a boy who was asked to take a jug and get some beer for his father, who had spent all his money for strong drink. "give me the money, then, father," replied the son. "my son, any body can get the beer with money, but to get it without money, that is a trick." so the boy took the jug and went out. shortly he returned, and placing the jug before his father, said, "drink." "how can i drink, when there is no beer in the jug?" "to drink beer out of a jug," says the boy, "where there is beer, anybody could do that; but to drink beer out of a jug where there is no beer, that is a trick!" quick time. a gentleman was one day arranging music for a young lady to whom he was paying his addresses. "pray, miss d----," said he, "what time do you prefer?" "oh," she replied carelessly, "any time will answer, but the quicker the better." strong affection. there is a man who says he has been at evening parties out west, where the boys and girls hug so hard that their sides cave in. he says he has many of his own ribs broken that very way. very affecting. a professional beggar boy, some ten years of age, ignorant of the art of reading, bought a card to put on his breast, and appeared in the public streets as a "poor widow with eight small children." hard shave. "does the razor take hold well?" inquired a darkey, who was shaving a gentleman from the country. "yes," replied the customer, with tears in his eyes, "it takes hold first rate, but it don't let go worth a cent." couldn't tell his father. cicero was of low birth, and metellus was the son of a licentious woman. metellus said to cicero, "dare you tell your father's name?" cicero replied, "can your mother tell yours?" a saucy doctor. "why, doctor," said a sick lady, "you give me the same medicine that you are giving my husband. why is that?" "all right," replied the doctor, "what is sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander." exposing a parson. a minister was one sabbath examining a sunday school in catechism before the congregation. the usual question was put to the first girl, a strapper, who usually assisted her father, who was a publican, in waiting upon customers. "what is your name?" no reply. "what is your name?" he repeated, "none of your fun, mr. minister," said the girl; "you know my name well enough. don't you say when you come to our house on a night, 'bet, bring me some more ale?'" the congregation, forgetting the sacredness of the place, were in a broad grin, and the parson looked daggers. natural history. "papa, can't i go to the zoologerical rooms to see the camomile fight the rhy-no-sir-ee-hoss?" "sartin, my son, but don't get your trowsers torn. strange, my dear, what a taste that boy has for nat'ral history. no longer ago than yesterday he had a pair of thomas-cats hanging by their tails to the clothes line." images generously made available by internet archive (http://www.archive.org) note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/ / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/ / -h.zip) images of the original pages are available through internet archive. see http://www.archive.org/details/mrpunchawheelhum londuoft mr. punch awheel. the humours of motoring and cycling. illustration: mr punch awheel * * * * * punch library of humour edited by j. a. hammerton designed to provide in a series of volumes, each complete in itself, the cream of our national humour, contributed by the masters of comic draughtsmanship and the leading wits of the age to "punch," from its beginning in to the present day. mr. punch awheel * * * * * illustration: _owner of violently palpitating motor car._ "there's no need to be alarmed. it will be all right as soon as i've discovered the what-d'ye-call-it!" * * * * * mr. punch awheel. the humours of motoring and cycling. as pictured by phil may, l. raven hill, bernard partridge, tom browne, a. s. boyd, h. m. brock, c. e. brock, gunning king, charles pears, g. d. armour, g. h. jalland, fred pegram, f. h. townsend, g. l. stampa, lance thackeray, and others. with illustrations published by arrangement with the proprietors of "punch" the educational book co. ltd. * * * * * the punch library of humour _twenty-five volumes, crown vo, pages fully illustrated._ life in london country life in the highlands scottish humour irish humour cockney humour in society after dinner stories in bohemia at the play mr. punch at home on the continong railway book at the seaside mr. punch afloat in the hunting field mr. punch on tour with rod and gun mr. punch awheel book of sports golf stories in wig and gown on the warpath book of love with the children * * * * * editor's note. among the characteristics which are essentially british, is the tendency to receive almost any innovation, be it a new style of dress or a new method of locomotion, with some degree of distrust which shows itself in satirical criticism; to be followed soon after by the acceptance of the accomplished fact and complete approval. in this trait of our national character, as in all others, mr. punch proves himself a true born britisher. when the bicycle was first coming into popularity, he seemed rather to resent the innovation, and was more ready to see the less attractive side of cycling than its pleasures and its practical advantages. so, too, with the automobile. only recently has mr. punch shown some tendency to become himself an enthusiast of the whirling wheel. this diffidence in joining the ranks of the cyclists or the motorists is due entirely to mr. punch's goodness of heart and his genuine british love of liberty. the cycling scorcher and the motoring road-hog are two abominations which he most naturally holds in the greatest contempt. against them he is never tired of directing his most scathing satire; but while this is entirely praiseworthy it tends a little to give a false impression of his attitude towards two of the most delightful sports which modern ingenuity has invented. after all, the scorcher and the road-hog are the least representative followers of the sports which their conduct brings into question, and it is very easy to over-estimate their importance. for that reason, in the compiling of the present volume the editor has endeavoured to make a selection which will show mr. punch in his real attitude towards motoring and cycling, in which, of course, it is but natural and all to our delight that he should see chiefly their humours, so largely the result of misadventure. but as he has long since ceased to jibe at the lady who cycles or to regard male cyclists as "cads on castors,"--in the phrase of edmund yates,--and ceased also to view the motor car as an ingenious device for public slaughter, his adverse views have not in the present volume been unduly emphasised. * * * * * mr. punch awheel enterprising pro-motor. one of our special correspondents started out to try the effect of taking notes from his motor-car whilst proceeding at top-speed. the experiment took place in june; but we have only just received the following account of the result. "started away and turned on full head of smell--steam, i mean. over southwark bridge, fizz, kick, bang, rattle! flew along old kent road; knocked down two policemen on patrol duty ('knocked 'em in the old kent road'); fizzed on through new cross and lewisham at awful nerve-destroying, sobbing pace, 'toot toot-ing' horn all the way. no good, apparently, to some people, who would not, or possibly _could_ not, get out of the way. cannoned milk-cart entering eltham village, ran into 'bus, but shot off it again, at a tangent, up on to the footpath, frightening old lady into hysterics. onwards we went, leaping and flying past everything on the road, into open country. ran over dog and three chickens, and saw tandem horses take fright and bolt; dust flew, people yelled at us and we yelled at people. came round sharp corner on to donkey standing in road. 'boosted' him up into the air and saw him fall through roof of outhouse! whirr-r-up! bang! rattle! fizz-izz--bust!" "where am i?--oh, in hospital--oh, really?--seems nice clean sort of place.--how long----? oh, been here about six weeks--have i, really? and what----? oh, _both_ arms, you say?--and left leg? ah--by the way, do you know anyone who wants to buy a motor----? what, no motor left?--by jove! that's funny, isn't it?--well, i think i'll go to sleep again now." * * * * * _ethel_ (_with book_). "what's an autocrat, mabel?" _mabel._ "person who drives an auto-car, of course, silly." * * * * * the best lubricant for cycles.--castor oil. * * * * * illustration: "wouldn't yer like ter 'ave one o' them things, liza ann?" "no. i wouldn't be seen on one. i don't think they're nice for lidies!" * * * * * motor questions what rushes through the crowded street with whirring noise and throbbing beat, exhaling odours far from sweet? the motor-car. whose wheels o'er greasy asphalte skim, exacting toll of life and limb, (what is a corpse or so to _him_)? the motorist's. who flies before the oily gust wafted his way through whirling dust, and hopes the beastly thing will bust? the pedestrian. who thinks that it is scarcely fair to have to pay for road repair while sudden death lies lurking there? the ratepayer. who as the car goes whizzing past at such law-breaking stands aghast, (for forty miles an hour _is_ fast)? the policeman. who hears the case with bland surprise, and over human frailty sighs, the while he reads between the lies? the magistrate. * * * * * illustration: fickle fortune "and only yesterday i was fined five pounds for driving at excessive speed!" * * * * * illustration: in dorsetshire _fair cyclist._ "is this the way to wareham, please?" _native._ "yes, miss, yew seem to me to ha' got 'em on all right!" * * * * * so unselfish!--"oh yes, i gave my husband a motor-car on his birthday." "but i thought he didn't like motor-cars!" "he doesn't. but i _do_!" * * * * * _q._ why is the lady bikist of an amorous disposition? _a._ because she is a sigh-cling creature. * * * * * illustration: crowded out.--_stage-struck coster_ (_to his dark-coloured donkey_). "othello, othello, _your_ occupation 'll soon be gone!" * * * * * hints for biking beginners . insure your life and limbs. the former will benefit your relations, the latter yourself. . learn on a hired machine. the best plan is to borrow a machine from a friend. it saves hiring. should the tyre become punctured, the brake be broken, the bell cracked, the lamp missing, and the gear out of gear, you will return it as soon as possible, advising your friend to provide himself with a stronger one next time. . practise on some soft and smooth ground. for example, on a lawn; the one next door for choice. a muddy road, although sufficiently soft, is not recommended--the drawbacks are obvious. . choose a secluded place for practising. it may at first sight appear somewhat selfish to deprive your neighbours of a gratuitous performance which would be certain to amuse them. nevertheless, be firm. . get someone to hold you on. engage a friend in an interesting conversation while you mount your bicycle. do you remember _mr. winkle's_ dialogue with _sam weller_ when he attempted skating? you can model your conversation on this idea. friend will support you while you ride and talk. keep him at it. it will be excellent exercise for _him_, physically and morally. also economical for _you_; as, otherwise, you would have to pay a runner. . don't bike; trike. * * * * * a new terror.--_johnson._ hullo, thompson, you look peekish. what's wrong? _thompson._ the vibration of motor-carring has got on my liver. _johnson._ i see, automobilious! * * * * * on the brighton road.--_cyclist_ (_to owner of dog over which he has nearly ridden_). take your beast out of my way! what right has he here? _owner._ well, he pays seven and sixpence a year for the privilege of perambulation, and _you_ pay nothing! * * * * * the very oldest motor-car.--the whirligig of time. * * * * * illustration: "hi! whip behind!" "yah! 'e ain't got none!" * * * * * illustration: adding insult to injury.--_tramp photographer._ "now, sir, just as you are for a shillin'!" [_and little binks, who prides himself upon his motor driving, is trying his best to get his wife to promise not to tell anyone about the smash._] * * * * * a question of etiquette dear mr. punch,--knowing you to be a past master in the art of courtesy, i venture to submit the following hard case to your judgment. the other morning, being a none too experienced cyclist, i ventured into the park on my "wheel" at an early hour, thinking to have a little practice unobserved. judge of my horror when, as i was wobbling along, i was suddenly confronted by the duchess of xminster and her daughters, all expert riders! her grace and the ladies wiseacre bowed to me in the most affable way, but, afraid to leave go of the handles of my machine, i could only nod in return. and i have always been renowned for the elegance with which i remove my _chapeau_! these noble ladies have since cut me dead. i cannot blame them, but i venture to suggest, for your approval, that the raising of the right elbow, such as is practised by coachmen, gentle and simple, should be adopted by all cyclists. i think that i could manage the movement. yours in social despair, amelius ambergris _bayswater._ * * * * * illustration: _cow-boy_ (_to young lady who has taken refuge_). "would you mind openin' the gate, miss? they're a-comin' in there." * * * * * an admirable improvement in motor-cars is about to be introduced by one of our leading firms. cars are frequently overturned, and the occupants buried underneath. in future, on the bottom of every car made by the firm in question there will be engraved the words, "here lies----," followed by a blank space, which can be filled up by the purchaser. * * * * * _he._ "do you belong to the psychical society?" _she._ "no; but i sometimes go out on my brother's machine!" * * * * * illustration: wheel and woe.--a brooklyn inventor has patented a cycle-hearse. * * * * * illustration: unlicensed pedallers.--cyclists. * * * * * to marie, riding my bicycle brake, brake, brake on my brand-new tyre, marie! and i would that my tongue could utter the thoughts that arise in me. o well for the fishmonger's boy that his tricycle's mean and squalid; o well for the butcher lad that the tyres of his wheel are solid! and the reckless scorchers scorch with hanging purple heads, but o for the tube that is busted up and the tyre that is cut to shreds. brake, brake, brake-- thou hast broken indeed, marie, and the rounded form of my new dunlop will never come back to me. * * * * * a suggestion in nomenclature.--the old name of "turnpike roads" has, long ago, with the almost universal disappearance of the ancient turnpikes, become obsolete. nowadays, bicycles being "always with us," why not for "turnpike roads" substitute "turn-bike roads"? this ought to suit the "b. b. p.," or "bicycling british public." * * * * * illustration: "oh, did you see a gentleman on a bicycle as you came up?" "no; but i saw a man sitting at the bottom of the hill mending an old umbrella!" * * * * * that bicycle lamp the other sunday afternoon i rode over on my bicycle to see the robinsons. they live seven miles away. tomkins and others were there. people who live in remote country places always seem pleased to see a fellow creature, but robinson and his wife are unusually hospitable and good-natured. after i had had some tea, and thought of leaving, a hobnail was discovered in the tyre of tomkin's bicycle. he, being very athletic, was playing croquet, a game which requires vast muscular strength. however, he said that his tyres were something quite new, and that in one minute one man, or even one child, could stick one postage-stamp, or anything of the sort, over that puncture and mend it. so all the rest of us and the butler, principally the butler, who is an expert in bicycles, went at it vigorously, and after we had all worked for nearly an hour the tyre was patched up, and tomkins, having finished his game, rode coolly away. i was going to do the same, but robinson wouldn't hear of it--i must stay to dinner. i said i had no lamp for riding home in the dark. he would lend me his. i said i should have to dine in knickerbockers. that didn't matter in the country. so i stayed till . . the next sunday i rode over again. i started directly after lunch, lest i should seem to have come to dinner, and i gave the butler that lamp directly i arrived. but it was all no good, for i stayed till , and had to borrow it again. "bring it back to-morrow morning," said robinson, "and help us with our hay-making." again dined in knickerbockers. on monday i resolved to be firm. i would leave by daylight. rode over early. after some indifferent hay-making and some excellent lunch, i tried to start. no good. robinson carried me off to a neighbour's tennis-party. after we returned from that, he said i must have some dinner. couldn't ride home all those seven miles starving. knickerbockers didn't matter. again dined there and rode home at . . so i still have robinson's lamp. now i want to know how i am going to get it back to his house. if i have it taken by anybody else he will think i don't care to come, which would be quite a mistake. have vowed that i will not dine there again except in proper clothes. if i cross his hospitable threshold, even before breakfast, i shall never get away before bedtime. can't ride seven miles in evening dress before breakfast even in the country. besides, whatever clothes i wore, i should never be able to leave by daylight. i should still have his lamp. can't take a second lamp. would look like inviting myself to dinner. so would the evening clothes at breakfast. what is to be done? * * * * * illustration: the retort curteous.--_motorist_ (_cheerfully--to fellow-guest in house party_). "what luck? killed anything?" _angler_ (_bitterly_). "no. have you?" * * * * * illustration: _vicar's daughter._ "oh, withers, your mistress tells me you are saving up to take a little shop and look after your mother. i think it is such a sweet idea!" _withers._ "well, yes, miss, i did think of it; but now i've got the money i've changed my mind, and i'm going to buy myself one of these 'ere bicycles instead!" * * * * * illustration: a story without words * * * * * illustration: the inference.--_giles_ (_who has been rendering "first aid" to wrecked motor-cyclist_). "naw, marm, i doan't think as 'e be a married man, 'cos 'e says _this_ be the worst thing wot 'as ever 'appened to un!" * * * * * illustration: saving the situation _effie_ (_to whom a motor-brougham is quite a novelty_). "oh, mummy dear, look! there's a footman and a big coachman on the box, and there isn't a horse or even a pony! what _are_ they there for?" _mummy dear_ (_not well versed in electricity and motor-mechanism_). "well, you see, effie dear--the--(_by a happy inspiration_) but, dear, you're not old enough to understand." * * * * * the _daily mail_ has discovered that the "motor-cough" is "caused by the minute particles of dust raised by motor-cars which lodge themselves in the laryngeal passage." if people _will_ use their gullets as garages, what can they expect? * * * * * illustration: _horsey wag_ (_to mr. and mrs. tourey, who are walking up a hill_). "and do you always take your cycles with you when you go for a walk?" * * * * * in east dorsetshire.--_cyclist (to native)._ how many miles am i from wimborne? _native._ i dunno. _cyclist._ am i near blandford? _native._ i dunno. _cyclist (angrily)._ then what do you know? _native._ i dunno. [_cyclist speeds to no man's land in the new forest._ * * * * * our barterers bicycle.--thoroughly heavy, lumbering, out-of-date machine, recently doctored up to look like new, for sale. cost, second-hand, six years ago, £ . will take £ for it. bargain. would suit a dyspeptic giant, or a professional strong man in want of violent exercise. safety cycle.--pneumatic tyres. a real beauty. makers well known in bankruptcy court. owner giving up riding in consequence of the frame being thoroughly unsafe, and the tyres constantly bursting. would exchange for one of broadwood's grand pianos or a freehold house in the country. * * * * * illustration: the ? of the day.--should there be a speed (and dust) limit? * * * * * the queen's highway.--_infuriated cyclist_ (_after a collision with a fast-trotting dog-cart_). i shall summon you to-morrow! i've as much right on the road as you, jehu! _irate driver._ and i shall summon _you_! this thoroughfare's mine as well as yours, let me tell you, scorcher! _pedestrian_ (_who has been nearly killed by the collision, and is lying prostrate after being cannoned on to the path, very feebly_). and what about me, gentlemen? have i any right of way? * * * * * the constant strain of driving motor-cars is said to be responsible for a form of nervous break-down which shows a decided tendency to increase. one certainly comes across a number of cars afflicted in this way. * * * * * "pikes and bikes" (_by a "riding poet"_) in years gone by our sires would try to abrogate the highway "pikes." no tolls to-day, can bar the way, but freeing of the road brought "bikes"; and there are many northern tykes, who would prefer the "pikes" to "bikes." * * * * * illustration: _old lady_ (_describing a cycling accident_). "'e 'elped me hup, an' brushed the dust orf on me, an' put five shillin' in my 'and, an' so i says, 'well, sir, i'm sure you're _hactin'_ like a gentleman,' i says, 'though i don't suppose you are one,' i says." * * * * * a motor-car, proceeding along the high street the other evening, took fright, it is supposed, at a constable on point-to-point duty, and exploded, blowing the occupants in various directions over the adjoining buildings. the policeman is to be congratulated upon averting what might have been a serious accident. * * * * * a well-known motorist has been complaining of the campaign waged against motor-cars by humorous artists, who never seem to tire of depicting accidents. "one common and ludicrous error in many drawings," he said, "is the placing of the driver on the wrong side of the car." but surely, in an accident, that is just where he would find himself. * * * * * _sympathetic lady._ "i hope you had a good holiday, miss smith." _overworked dressmaker._ "oh yes, my lady. i took my machine with me, you know!" _s. l._ "what a pity; you should give up needle and thread when you're out for a----" _o. d._ "oh, i don't mean my sewing machine! i refer to my bicycle!" * * * * * illustration: scene--_a remote district in the wolds._ _driver of motor-car_ (_who has just pulled up in response to urgent summons from countrywoman_). "well, what's the matter? what is it?" _countrywoman._ "hi, man, look! you've been an' left yer 'oss on the 'ill!" * * * * * the cycling governess i no longer teach my classes their shakespeare and the glasses, and the uses of the globes, as was my custom; but all they'll learn from me is to ride the iron gee-- all other lessons utterly disgust 'em! the girls no more will meddle with the painful piano-pedal, they'll only touch the pedal of their "humber"; like their grannies, they begin at an early age to "spin," but the road it is their spinning-wheels encumber. so wheeling now my trade is, and finishing young ladies in the proper kind of bicycling deportment; _i_'m nearly finished, too, and battered black and blue, for of falls i've had a pretty large assortment! * * * * * woe on the wheel. there was a "scorching" girl, who came down an awful purl, and scarified her nose, and scarred her forehead. she thought, when first she rode, biking very, _very_ good, but now she considers it horrid! * * * * * illustration: _winny_ (_one mile an hour_) _to annie_ (_two miles an hour_). "scorcher!" * * * * * the favourite of the motor-cars.--_pet_roleum. * * * * * in england, says a french writer, motoring is not considered a sport because it does not involve killing anything. this is but one more example of continental aspersion. * * * * * as a result of his trip over the gordon-bennett course, the roman catholic archbishop of dublin now recommends the motor-car for pastoral visits. this will be no new thing. for years past some people have looked on the motor-car in the light of a visitation. * * * * * cycling conundrum.--_q._ what article of the cyclist girl's attire do a couple of careless barbers recall to mind? _a._ a pair of nickers. * * * * * motorists are still expressing their indignation at a recent disgraceful incident when one of their number, because he could not pay a fine at once, was taken to prison, and forced to don ugly convict garb in the place of his becoming goggles and motor coat. * * * * * illustration: _engineer._ "there's certainly a screw loose somewhere." _simple simon_ (_with gleeful satisfaction_). "he-he! i knaws where 't be too!" _car owner_ (_intensely interested_). "what do you mean, boy?" _simple simon._ "he-he! why i've got 'un! all the folks say as 'ow i've got a screw loose somewheres!" * * * * * wheels within wheels _dialogue between two young gentlemen, dressed in knickerbocker suits, gaiters, and golf caps. they have the indescribable air which proclaims the votary of the "bike"._ _first young gentleman._ yes; i certainly agree with the french view of it. cycling shouldn't be indulged in without care. _second y. g._ they say in paris that no one should become an habitual cyclist without "medical authorisation." _first y. g._ yes. quite right. then, when you are permitted, you ought to travel at a moderate pace. about five miles an hour is quite enough for a beginner. _second y. g._ enough! why, too much! you can't be too careful! then, if you break off for a time, you ought to begin all over again. you should "gradually acquire speed"; not rush at it! _first y. g._ certainly. i read in the _lancet_ only the other day that merely increasing the pace of a bike a couple of miles an hour was sufficient to send up the normal pulse to ! _second y. g._ most alarming! and yet i can see from your costume you are a cyclist. _first y. g._ not at all. i am pleased with the costume, and, like yourself, have adopted it. now do not laugh at me. but, between ourselves, i have never been on a bicycle in my life! _second y. g._ no more have i! [_curtain._ * * * * * illustration: "enough is as good as a feast."--_nervous lady cyclist._ "i hope it isn't very deep here." _ferryman._ "sax hunderd an' fefty-nine feet, miss." * * * * * the provincial journal which, the other day, published the following paragraph:--"private letters from madagascar state that two cyclists have visited the island, causing the loss of lives and immense damage to property," and followed it up with a leader virulently attacking motor-cyclists, now informs us that the word should have been "cyclones." the printer has been warned. * * * * * "anti-motor" writes to point out that one advantage of holding motor races like those that have just taken place in ireland is that after each race there are fewer motors. * * * * * the trail of the motor.--"collector. young man wants collecting."--_advt. in provincial paper._ * * * * * illustration: _old farmer jones_ (_who has been to a local cattle-show, and seen a horseless carriage for the first time_). "mosher carsh may be all very well--(_hic!_)--but they can't find 'er way home by 'emshelves!" * * * * * should motorists wear masks? ["plus de lunettes spéciales pour mm. les chauffeurs. ils devront conduire comme les cochers ordinaires à yeux nus ou avec les lunettes ordinaires de myopes ou de presbytes. nos sportsmen déclarent que ces lunettes de motoristes favorisent l'anonymat. ces lunettes sont de véritables masques. on fait sous ce masque ce qu'on n'oserait pas faire à visage découvert. en france il est défendu de se masquer en dehors du temps de carnaval ... si le masque tombe, la vitesse des motors deviendra fatalement normale."--_m. n. de noduwez in the "times."_] mr. punch has collected a few brief opinions upon the subject of the above-quoted letter. mr. kipling writes: "through dirt, sweat, burns, bursts, smells, bumps, breakdowns, and explosions i have attained to the perfect joy of the scorcher. i have suffered much on the southern british highways. my tibetan devil-mask shall therefore add to their terrors. besides, i wore gig-lamps at school. what do they know of sussex who only burwash know?" mr. beerbohm tree telephones: "the most beautiful of all arts is that of make-up. we cannot all resemble _caliban_, but why should not the motorist aspire in that direction? life is but a masque, and all roads lead to 'his majesty's.'" miss marie corelli telegraphs: "i am all for anonymity and everything that tends to the avoidance of advertisement. if people must ride in motors, let them have the decency to disguise themselves as effectually as possible, and shun all contact with their kind." mr. jem smith, cabdriver, in the course of an interview, said: "masks? not 'arf! let 'em out on the fifth of november, and throw a match in their oil-tanks--that's what _i_'d do! _i_'d anonymous the lot of 'em!" policeman xx. (in the _rôle_ of a labourer behind a hedge on the brighton road): "'oo are you a-gettin' at? do you see any mote in my eye? if you want to know the time, i've a stop-watch!" * * * * * illustration: division of labour.--it is not the business of ducal footmen to clean the family bicycles. the ladies ermyntrude and adelgitha have to do it themselves. * * * * * _enthusiastic motorist_ (_to perfect stranger_). _i_ swear by petrol, sir; always use it myself. now what, may i ask, do _you_ use? _perfect stranger._ oats! * * * * * illustration: juggernautical.--_unfortunate cyclist_ (_who has been bowled over by motor-car_). "did you see the number?" _jarge._ "yes, there was three on 'em. two men and a woman." * * * * * illustration: expectation.--the browns welcoming the robinsons (awfully jolly people, don't you know,) from whom they have had a letter saying that they will arrive early in the day by motor. * * * illustration: realisation.--the browns, when the arrivals have removed their motor glasses, etc., disclosing not the robinsons, but those awful bores, the smiths. * * * * * there was a new woman (_neo-nursery rhyme_) there was a new woman, as i've heard tell, and she rode a bike with a horrible bell, she rode a bike in a masculine way, and she had a spill on the queen's highway. while she lay stunned, up came doctor stout, and he cast a petticoat her "knickers" about, to hide the striped horrors which bagged at the knees. when the new woman woke, she felt strange and ill at ease; she began to wonder those skirts for to spy, and cried, "oh, goodness gracious! i'm sure this isn't i! but if it is i, as i hope it be, i know a little vulgar boy, and he knows me; and if it is i, he will jeer and rail, but if it isn't i, why, to notice me he'll fail." so off scorched the new woman, all in the dark, but as the little vulgar boy her knickers failed to mark, he was quite polite, and she began to cry, "oh! jimmy doesn't cheek me, so i'm sure this _isn't_ i!" * * * * * the pace that kills have a care how you speed! take the motorist's case:-- on his tomb you can read, "requiescat in pace." * * * * * illustration: life's little ironies.-- _motorist._ "conductor! how can i strike the harrow road?" _conductor._ "'arrer road? let's see. second to right, third to--it's a good way, sir. i tell 'ee, sir. just follow that green bus over there; that'll take you right to it!" * * * * * wonders on wheels (_by an old beginner_) wonder if my doctor was right in ordering me to take this sort of exercise. wonder whether i look very absurd while accepting the assistance of an attendant who walks by my side and keeps me from falling by clutches at my waistbelt. wonder whether it would have been better to go to hyde park instead of battersea. wonder whether the policeman, the postman, the nurse with the perambulator, the young lady reading the novel, and the deck passengers on the passing steamboat are laughing at me. wonder whether i shall keep on now that my attendant has let go. wonder whether the leading wheel will keep straight on until we have passed that lamp-post. wonder whether the next spill i have will be less painful than the last. wonder why mats are not laid down by the county council in the roads for the comfort of falling cyclists. wonder why the cycle suddenly doubled up and landed me in the gutter. wonder whether the pretty girl in the hat, whose face is hidden by a novel, smiled at my misadventure. wonder whether the person who has just come to grief over yonder is using good language or words of an inferior quality. wonder whether my attendant is right in urging me to remount and have another try. wonder whether i look well wobbling. wonder whether the elderly spinster with the anxious manner and air of determination is really enjoying herself. wonder whether, when i have completed my first hour, i shall want another. wonder whether the imp of a boy will run with me. wonder whether my second fall in five minutes beats the record. wonder, considering the difficulty of progressing half a dozen paces in as many minutes, how those marvellous feats are performed at olympia. wonder if i shall ever advance upon my present rate of speed, _i.e._, three-quarters of a mile an hour. wonder, finally, if the placards warning cyclists in battersea park against the dangers of "furious riding" can possibly be posted for my edification. * * * * * the scorcher he travels along at the top of his speed, you might think that his life was at stake; to beauties of nature he never pays heed, for the record he's trying to break. he stiffens his muscles and arches his back as if he were still on the cinder-path track. he races regardless of life and of limb, caring naught for the folk in his way; for chickens and children are nothing to him, and his mad career nothing can stay; so wildly he wheels as if urged by a goad; by coachmen he's christened "the curse of the road." he'll pass on the left and he'll ride on the right, for the rules of the road caring naught; his lamp he will not take the trouble to light till a pretty smart lesson he's taught. but lecture and fine him as much as you will, the trail of the scorcher is over him still. * * * * * rhyme for record-makers rattle-it, rattle-it, "biking" man; make us a "record" as fast as you can; score it, and print it as large as life, and someone will "cut" it ere you can say knife! * * * * * illustration: unwilling to give up horses altogether, captain pelham effected a compromise. his first appearance in the park created quite a sensation. * * * * * illustration: flattery--with an object _jocasta_ (_with an axe of her own to grind, ingratiatingly_). "oh yes, papa, it does suit you. i never saw you look so nice in anything before!" * * * * * illustration: mems for motorists.--if your car suddenly appears to drag heavily, you may be sure there is something to account for it. * * * * * illustration: "have you ever tried riding without the handles? it's delightfully easy, all but the corners." * * * illustration: !!! so it seems! * * * * * broken on the wheel _first lesson._--held on by instructor, a tall, muscular young man. thought it was so easy. cling for dear life to handle, as beginners in horsemanship cling to the reins. instructor says i must not. evidently cannot hold on by my knees. ask him what i am to hold on by. "nothing," he says. how awful! feel suspended in the air. that is what i ought to be. at present am more on ground; anyway one foot down. even when in movement position of feet uncertain. go a few yards, supported. muscular instructor rather hot and tired, but says civilly, "you're getting on nicely, sir." at this get off unexpectedly, and, when i am picked up, reply, "very likely," only my feet were off the pedals all the time. then rest, and watch little children riding easily. one pretty girl. wonder whether she laughed at me. probably. shall have another try. _second lesson._--held on by another instructor, who urges me "to put more life into it." hope it won't be the death of me. work in a manner which even the treadmill, i imagine, could not necessitate, and get the wheel round a few times. painful wobbling. instructor says i must pedal more quickly. can't. rest a minute. panting. awfully hot. observe little children going round comfortably. pretty girl here again, looking as fresh and cool as possible. suddenly manage to ride three yards unsupported. then collapse. but am progressing. shall come again soon. _third lesson._--endeavour to get on alone. immediately get off on other side. nearly upset the pretty girl. polite self-effacement impossible when one is at the mercy of a mere machine. after a time manage better. and at last get started and ride alone for short distances. always tumble off ignominiously just as i meet the pretty girl. instructor urges me to break the record. hope i shan't break my neck. finally go all round the ground. triumph! pretty girl seems less inclined to laugh. delightful exercise, bicycle riding! shall come again to-morrow. _fourth lesson._--high north-east wind. hot sun. regular may weather. clouds of coal-dust from track. pretty girl not there at all. start confidently. endeavour to knock down a wall. wall does not suffer much. start again. faster this time. the pretty girl has just come. will show what i can do now. career over large hole. bicycle sinks, and then takes a mighty leap. unprepared for this. am cast into the air. picked up. can't stand. something broken. doctor will say what. anyhow, clothes torn, bruised, disheartened. dare not catch the eye of pretty girl. carried home. shall give up bicycle riding. awful fag, and no fun. * * * * * in its "hints for bicyclists," _home chat_ says: "a little fuller's earth dusted inside the stockings, socks and gloves, keeps the feet cool." nothing, however, is said of the use of rubber soles as a protection against sunstroke. * * * * * overheard at a motor meeting.-- _inquirer._ "i wonder what they call those large, long cars?" _well-informed friend._ "those? oh, i believe those are the flying kilometres, a french make." * * * * * people who are in favour of increasing the rates--motorists. * * * * * illustration: the perils of cycling.--(_a sketch in battersea park._) _angelina._ "come along, dear!" * * * * * illustration: motoring phenomena--and how to read the signs * * * * * illustration: _the squire._ "but i tell you, sir, this road is private, and you shall not pass except over my prostrate body!" _cyclist._ "all right, guv'nor, i'll go back. i've done enough hill climbing already!" * * * * * the moral bike _truth_ has discovered that temperance is promoted, and character generally reformed, by the agency of the bicycle--in fact, the guilty class has taken to cycling. that is so. go into any police-court, and you will find culprits in the dock who have not only taken to cycling but have also taken other people's cycles. ask any burglar among your acquaintance, and he will tell you that the term safety bicycle has a deeper and truer meaning for him, when, in pursuit of his vocation, he is anxious not to come in collision with the police. look, too, at the scorcher on his saturday afternoon exodus. where could you have a more salient and striking example of pushfulness and determination to "get there" over all obstacles? he is, in fact, an example of nietzsche's "ueber-mensch," the over-man who rides over any elderly pedestrian or negligible infant that may cross his path. then the lady in bloomers. she is a great reforming agent. she looks so unsightly, that if all her sisters were dressed like her flirtation would die out of the land and there would be no more cakes and ale. think also of all the virtues called into active exercise by one simple puncture: patience, while you spend an hour by the wayside five miles from anywhere; self-control, when "swears, idle swears, you know not what they mean, swears from the depth of some divine despair rise in the heart and gather to the lips," as tennyson has so sympathetically put it; fortitude, when you have to shoulder or push the moral agent home; and a lot of other copy-book qualities. lastly, the adventurer who proceeds without a light within curfew hours, the sportsman who steals a march on the side-walk, and the novice who tries a fall with the first omnibus encountered--are all bright instances of british independence, and witnesses to _truth_. truly, the bike is an excellent substitute for the treadmill and the reformatory! * * * * * illustration: "as others see us."-- _obliging motorist._ "shall i stop the engine?" _groom._ "never mind that, sir. but if you gents wouldn't mind just gettin' out and 'idin' behind the car for a minute,--the 'orses think it's a menagery comin'." * * * * * illustration: the miltonic cyclist * * * * * wake up, england! ["british lady motor-drivers," says _motoring illustrated_, "must look to their laurels. miss rosamund dixey, of boston, u.s.a., invariably has her sweet, pet, fat, white pig sitting up beside her in the front of her motor car."] we are losing our great reputation our women are not up-to-date; for a younger, more go-a-head nation has beaten us badly of late; is there nowhere some fair englishwoman who'd think it not too _infra dig._ to be seen with (and treat it as human) a sweet--pet--fat--white--pig? there is no need to copy our cousins, a visit or two to the zoo will convince you there must be some dozens of animal pets that would do, with a "grizzly" perched up in your motor, just think how the people would stare, saying, "is that a man in a coat or a big--grey--tame--he--bear?" think how _chic_ it would look in the paper (_society's doings_, we'll say), "mrs. so-and-so drove with her tapir, and daughter (the tapir's) to-day. mrs. thingummy too and her sister drove out for an hour and a half, and beside them (the image of mr.) a dear--wee--pink--pet--calf!" * * * * * illustration: "did you get his number?" "no; but i saw exactly what she was wearing and how much she paid for the things!" * * * * * the motors' defence union a pedestrians' protection league is being formed to uphold the rights of foot-passengers on the highways. as no bane is without its antidote, an opposition union is to be organised, having in view the adoption of the following regulations:-- . every pedestrian must carry on his front and back a large and conspicuous number as a means of easy and rapid identification. . no foot passenger shall quit the side-walk, except at certain authorised crossings. in country lanes and places where there is no side-walk the ditch shall be considered equivalent to the same. . each foot-passenger about to make use of such authorised crossings shall thrice sound a danger-signal on a hooter, fog-horn or megaphone; and, after due warning has thus been given, shall traverse the road at a speed of not less than twelve miles an hour. the penalty for infringement to be forty shillings or one month. . any pedestrian obstructing a motor by being run over, causing a motor to slow down or stop, or otherwise deranging the traffic, shall be summarily dealt with: the punishment for this offence to be five years' penal servitude, dating from arrest or release from hospital, as the case may be. . should the pedestrian thus trespassing on the highway lose his life in an encounter with a motor-car, he shall not be liable to penal servitude; compensation for shock and loss of time, however, shall be paid from his estate to the driver of the car, such amount being taxed by the coroner. . all cattle, sheep, pigs, swine, hares, rabbits, conies, and other ground game, and every goose, duck, fowl, or any animal whatsoever with which the motor shall collide shall, _ipso facto_, be confiscated to the owner of the motor. . any comment, remark, reflection, sneer or innuendo concerning the shape, speed, appearance, noise, smell, or other attribute of a motor-car, or of its occupants, shall be actionable; and every foot-passenger thus offending shall be bound over in the sum of £ to keep the peace. * * * * * the scotchman who tumbled off a bicycle says that in future he intends to "let wheel alone." * * * * * illustration: _mabel's three bosom friends_ (_all experts--who have run round to see the christmas gift_). "hullo, mab!. why, what on earth are you doing?" _mab_ (_in gasps_). "oh--you see--it was awfully kind of the pater to give it to me--but i have to look after it myself--and i knew i should _never have breath enough to blow the tyres out_!" * * * * * illustration: an accommodating party.--_lady driver._ "can you show us the way to great missenden, please?" _weary willie._ "cert'nly, miss, cert'nly. we're agoin' that way. 'op up, joe. anythink to oblige a lady!" * * * * * among the correspondence in the _daily mail_ on the subject of "the motor problem," there is a letter from a physician, who exposes very cynically a scheme for improving his practice. "i am," he says, "a country doctor, and during the last five years have had not a single case of accident to pedestrians caused by motor car.... as soon as i can afford it i intend to buy a motor." * * * * * illustration: how not _bikist._ "now then, ethel, see me make a spurt round this corner." * * * illustration: to do it _first villager._ "what's up, bill?" _second villager._ "oh, only a gent awashin' the dust off his bike." * * * * * it is a bad workman who complains of his tools, yet even the best of them may be justly annoyed when his spanner goes completely off its nut. * * * * * "motor cycle for sale, - / h.-p., equal to - / h.-p." _--provincial paper._ discount of / h.-p. for cash? * * * * * song of the scorcher. (_after reading the protests and plans of the cyclophobists_) i know i'm a "scorcher," i know i am torcher to buffers and mivvies who're not up to date; but grumpy old geesers, and wobbly old wheezers, ain't goin' to wipe me and my wheel orf the slate. i mean to go spinning and 'owling and grinning at twelve mile an hour through the thick of the throng. and shout, without stopping, whilst, frightened and flopping, my elderly victims like ninepins are dropping,-- "so long!" the elderly bobby, who's stuffy and cobby, ain't got arf a chance with a scorcher on wheels; old buffers may bellow, and young gals turn yellow, but what do i care for their grunts or their squeals? no, when they go squiffy i'm off in a jiffy, the much-abused "scorcher" is still going strong. and when mugs would meddle, i shout as i pedal-- "so long!" wot are these fine capers perposed by the papers? these 'ints about lassos and butterfly nets? to turn scorcher-catchers the old pewter-snatchers in 'elmets must take fewer stodges and wets! wot, treat _hus_ like bufflers or beetles! the scufflers in soft, silent shoes, turn red injins? you're wrong! it's all bosh and bubble! i'm orf--at the double!-- "so long!" * * * * * illustration: _owner_ (_as the car insists upon backing into a dike_). "don't be alarmed! keep cool! try and keep cool!" [_friend thinks there is every probability of their keeping very cool, whether they try to or not!_ * * * * * illustration: _village constable_ (_to villager who has been knocked down by passing motor cyclist_). "you didn't see the number, but could you swear to the man?" _villager._ "i did; but i don't think 'e 'eard me." * * * * * illustration: the joys of motoring.--no, this is not a dreadful accident. he is simply tightening a nut or something, and she is hoping he won't be much longer. * * * * * suggested additional taxation _£_ _s._ _d._ for every motor car if with smell extra offensive ditto motor car proceeding at over ten miles an hour, for each additional mile for every bicycle used for "scorching" * * * * * the original classical bicyclist.--"ixion; or, the man on the wheel." * * * * * my steam motor-car ( ) monday.--i buy a beautiful steam motor-car. am photographed. ( ) tuesday.--i take it out. pull the wrong lever, and back into a shop window. a bad start. ( ) wednesday morning.--a few things i ran over. ( ) wednesday afternoon.--took too sharp a turn. narrowly escaped knocking down policeman at the corner. ran over both his feet. ( ) thursday morning.--got stuck in a ditch four miles from home. ( ) thursday evening.--arrive home. back the car into the shed. miss the door and knock the shed down. ( ) friday.--ran over my neighbour's dog. ( ) saturday.--silly car breaks down three miles from home. hire a horse to tow it back. ( ) sunday.--filling up. petrol tank caught fire. wretched thing burnt. thank goodness! * * * illustration: my steam motor-car * * * * * modern romance of the road ["it is said that the perpetrators of a recent burglary got clear away with their booty by the help of an automobile. at this rate we may expect to be attacked, ere long, by automobilist highwaymen."--_paris correspondent of daily paper._] it was midnight. the wind howled drearily over the lonely heath; the moon shone fitfully through the driving clouds. by its gleam an observer might have noted a solitary automobile painfully jolting along the rough road that lay across the common. its speed, as carefully noted by an intelligent constable half-an-hour earlier, was . miles an hour. to the ordinary observer it would appear somewhat less. two figures might have been descried on the machine; the one the gallant hubert de fitztompkyns, the other lady clarabella, his young and lovely bride. clarabella shivered, and drew her sables more closely around her. "i am frightened," she murmured. "it is so dark and cold, hubert, and this is a well-known place for highwaymen! suppose we should be attacked?" "pooh!" replied her husband, deftly manipulating the oil-can. "who should attack us when 'tis common talk that you pawned your diamonds a month ago? besides, we have a swivel-mounted maxim on our machine. ill would it fare with the rogue who--heavens! what was that?" from the far distance sounded a weird, unearthly noise, growing clearer and louder even as hubert and his wife listened. it was the whistle of another automobile! in a moment hubert had turned on the acetylene search-light, and gazed with straining eyes down the road behind him. then he turned to his wife. "'tis cutthroat giving us chase," he said simply. "pass the cordite cartridges, please." lady clarabella grew deathly pale. "i don't know where they are!" she gasped. "i think--i think i must have left them on my dressing-table." "then we are lost. cutthroat is mounted on his bony black jet, which covers a mile a minute--and he is the most blood-thirsty ruffian on the road. shut off steam, clarabella! we can but yield." "never!" cried his wife. "here, give me the lever; we are nearly at the top of this tremendously steep hill--we will foil him yet!" hubert was too much astonished to speak. by terrific efforts the gallant automobile arrived at the summit, when clarabella applied the brake. then she gazed down the narrow road behind her. "take the starting-lever, hubert," she said, "and do as i tell you." ever louder sounded the clatter of their pursuer's machine; at last its head-light showed in the distance, as with greatly diminished speed it began to climb the hill. "now!" shrieked clarabella. "full speed astern, hubert! let her go!" the automobile went backwards down the hill like a flash of lightning. cutthroat had barely time to realise what was happening before it was upon him. too late he tried to steer black jet out of the way. there was a yell, a sound of crashing steel, a cloud of steam. when it cleared away, it revealed hubert and clarabella still seated on their machine, which was only slightly damaged, while cutthroat and black jet were knocked into countless atoms! * * * * * illustration: great self-restraint.--_lady in pony-cart_ (_who has made several unsuccessful attempts to pass persevering beginner occupying the whole road_). "unless you soon fall off, i'm afraid i shall miss my train!" * * * * * illustration: "these trailers are splendid things! you must really get one and take me out, percy!" * * * * * illustration: the rival forces. (scene--_lonely yorkshire moor. miles from anywhere._) _passing horse-dealer_ (_who has been asked for a tow by owners of broken-down motor-car_). "is it easy to pull?" _motorist._ "oh yes. very light indeed!" _horse-dealer._ "then supposin' you pull it yourselves!" [_drives off._ * * * * * illustration: _the owner_ (_after five breakdowns and a spill_). "are y-you k-keen on r-riding home?" _his friend._ "n-not very." _the owner._ "l-let's l-leave it a-and _walk_, s-shall we?" * * * * * illustration: sunday morning.-- _cyclist_ (_to rural policeman_). "nice crowd out this morning!" _rural policeman_ (_who has received a tip_). "yes, an' yer can't do with 'em! if yer 'ollers at 'em, they honly turns round and says, 'pip, pip'!" * * * * * illustration: _rustic_ (_to beginner, who has charged the hedge_). "it's no good, sir. they things won't jump!" * * * * * the universal juggernaut.--"anyone," says the _daily telegraph_, "who has driven an automobile will know that it is quite impossible to run over a child and remain unconscious of the fact." _any one who has driven an automobile!_ heavens! what a sweeping charge! is there none innocent? * * * * * illustration: "'tain't no use tellin' me you've broke down! stands to reason a motor-caw goin' down 'ill's _bound_ to be goin' too fast. so we'll put it down at about thirty mile an hour! your name and address, sir, _hif_ you please." * * * * * urbs in rure ["when every one has a bicycle and flies to the suburban roads, the suburban dwellers will desert their houses and come back to crowded london to find quiet and freedom from dust."--_daily paper._] time was desire for peace would still my footsteps lure to richmond hill, or to the groves of burnham i, much craving solitude, would fly; thence, through the summer afternoon, 'mid fragrant meads, knee-deep in june, lulled by the song of birds and bees, i'd saunter idly at mine ease to that still churchyard where, with gray, i'd dream a golden hour away, forgetful all of aught but this-- that peace was mine, and mine was bliss. but now should my all-eager feet seek out some whilom calm retreat, "pip, pip!" resounds in every lane, "pip, pip!" the hedges ring again, "pip, pip!" the corn, "pip, pip!" the rye, "pip, pip!" the woods and meadows cry, as through the thirsty, fever'd day, the red-hot scorchers scorch their way. peace is no longer, rest is dead, and sweetest solitude hath fled; and over all, the cycling lust hath spread its trail of noise and dust. so, would i woo the joys of quiet, i see no more the country's riot, but the comparatively still environment of ludgate hill. there, 'mongst the pigeons of st. paul's, i muse melodious madrigals, or loiter where the waters sport 'mid the cool joys of fountain court, where, undisturbed by sharp "pip, pip!" my nimble numbers lightly trip, and country peace i find again in chancery and fetter lane. * * * * * vehicular progression.--_mr. ikey motor_ (_to customer_). want a machine, sir? certainly, we've all sorts to suit your build. _customer._ it isn't for me, but for my mother-in-law. _mr. ikey motor._ for your mother-in-law! how would a steam roller suit her? [mr. i. m. _is immediately made aware that the lady in question has overheard his ill-timed jest, while the customer vanishes in blue fire._ * * * * * experto crede.--what is worse than raining cats and dogs?--hailing motor omnibuses. * * * * * illustration: comprehensive.--_owner_ (_as the car starts backing down the hill_). "pull everything you can see, and put your foot on everything else!" * * * * * illustration: _farmer_ (_in cart_). "hi, stop! stop, you fool! don't you see my horse is running away?" _driver of motor-car_ (_hired by the hour_). "yes, it's all very well for you to say 'stop,' but i've forgotten how the blooming thing works!" * * * * * illustration: simple enough _yokel_ (_in pursuit of escaped bull, to timmins, who is "teaching himself"_). "hi, mister! if yer catch hold of his leading-stick, he can't hurt yer!" * * * * * anti-bicyclist motto.--rather a year of europe than a cycle of to-day. * * * * * motto for those who "bike."--"and wheels rush in where horses fear to tread." * * * * * illustration: a case of mistaken identity.-- _major mustard_ (_who has been changing several of his servants_). "how dare you call yourself a chauffeur?" _alfonsoe._ "mais non! non, monsieur! je ne suis pas 'chauffeur.' j'ai dit que je suis le chef. mais monsieur comprehend not!" * * * * * cycles! cycles!! cycles!!! something absolutely new the little handle-bar spring no more accidents! no more stolen cycles! all our bicycles are fitted with the little handle-bar spring, which, when pressed, causes the machine to fall into pieces. anyone can press the spring, but it takes an expert three months to rebuild it, thus trebling the life of a bicycle. we are offering this marvellous invention at the absurd price of guineas cash down, or weekly instalments of guinea. [special reductions to company promoters and men with large families.] we can't afford to do it for less, because when once you have bought one you will never want another. advice to purchasers don't lose your head when the machine runs away with you down the hill; simply press the spring. don't wait for your rich uncle to die; just send him one of our cycles. don't lock your cycle up at night; merely press the spring. don't be misled by other firms who say that their machines will also fall to pieces; they are only trying to sell their cycles; we want to sell you. note.--we can also fit this marvellous little spring to perambulators, bath-chairs, and bathing machines. we append below some two out of our million testimonials. the other , are expected every post. _july, ._ dear sirs,--i bought one of your cycles in may, , and it is still as good as when i received it. i attribute this solely to the little handle-bar spring, which i pressed as soon as i received the machine. p.s.--what do you charge for rebuilding a cycle? _august, ._ gentlemen,--last month i started to ride to barnet on one of your cycles. when ascending muswell hill, i lost control of the machine, but i simply pressed the spring, and now i feel that i cannot say enough about your bike. i shall never ride any other again. p.s.--i should very much like to meet the inventor of the "little handle-bar spring." * * * * * illustration: _friend._ "going about thirty, are we? but don't you run some risk of being pulled up for exceeding the legal pace?" _owner._ "not in a sober, respectable-looking car like this. of course, if you go about in a blatant, brass-bound, scarlet-padded, snorting foreign affair, like _that_, you are bound to be dropped on, no matter how slow you go!" * * * * * illustration: an ambuscade.--captain de smythe insidiously beguiles the fair laura and her sister to a certain secluded spot where, as he happens to know, his hated rival, mr. tomkyns, is in the habit of secretly practising on the bicycle. he (captain de s.) calculates that a mere glimpse of mr. t., as he wobbles wildly by on that instrument, will be sufficient to dispel any illusions that the fair laura may cherish in her bosom respecting that worthy man. * * * * * illustration: _our own undergraduate_ (_fresh from his euclid_). "ha! two riders to one prop." * * * * * illustration: insult added to injury.--_wretched boy._ "hi, guv'nor! d'yer want any help?" * * * * * the perfect automobilist [_with acknowledgments to the editor of "the car"_] who is the happy road-deer? who is he that every motorist should want to be? the perfect automobilist thinks only of others. he is an auto-altruist. he never wantonly kills anybody. if he injures a fellow-creature (and this will always be the fellow-creature's fault) he voluntarily buys him a princely annuity. in the case of a woman, if she is irreparably disfigured by the accident, he will, supposing he has no other wife at the time, offer her the consolation of marriage with himself. he regards the life of bird and beast as no less sacred than that of human beings. should he inadvertently break a fowl or pig he will convey it to the nearest veterinary surgeon and have the broken limb set or amputated as the injury may require. in the event of death or permanent damage, he will seek out the owner of the dumb animal, and refund him fourfold. to be on the safe side with respect to the legal limit, the perfect automobilist confines himself to a speed of ten miles per hour. he will even dismount at the top of a steep descent, so as to lessen the impetus due to the force of gravity. if he is compelled by the nature of his mission to exceed the legal limit (as when hurrying, for instance, to fetch a doctor in a matter of life or death, or to inform the government of the landing of a hostile force) he is anxious not to shirk the penalty. he will, therefore, send on a swift messenger to warn the police to be on the lookout for him; and if he fails to run into any trap he will, on returning, report himself at all the police-stations on his route, or communicate by post with the constabularies of the various counties through which he may have passed. at the back of his motor he carries a watering-cart attachment for the laying of dust before it has time to be raised. lest the noise of his motor should be a cause of distraction he slows down when passing military bands, barrel organs, churches (during the hours of worship), the houses of parliament (while sitting), motor-buses, the stock exchange, and open-air meetings of the unemployed. if he meets a restive horse he will turn back and go down a side road and wait till it has passed. if all the side roads are occupied by restive horses he will go back home; and if the way home is similarly barred he will turn into a field. he encourages his motor to break down frequently; because this spectacle affords an innocent diversion to many whose existence would otherwise be colourless. it is his greatest joy to give a timely lift to weary pedestrians, such as tramps, postmen, sweeps, and police-trap detectives; even though, the car being already full, he is himself compelled to get out and do the last fifty or sixty miles on foot. he declines to wear goggles because they conceal the natural benevolence of the human eye divine, which he regards as the window of the soul; also (and for the same reason he never wears a fur overcoat) because they accentuate class distinctions. finally--on this very ground--the perfect automobilist will sell all his motor-stud and give the proceeds to found an almshouse for retired socialists. * * * * * illustration: _obliging horseman_ (_of riverside breeding_). "ave a tow up, miss?" * * * * * illustration: _cyclist._ "why can't you look where you're going?" _motorist._ "how the dickens could i when i didn't know!" * * * * * illustration: _middle-aged novice._ "i'm just off for a tour in the country--'biking' all the way. it'll be four weeks before i'm back in my flat again." _candid friend._ "ah! bet it won't be four hours before you're flat on your back again!" * * * * * the last record (_the wail of a wiped-out wheelman_) air--"_the lost chord_" reading one day in our "organ," i was happy and quite at ease. a band was playing the "_lost chord_," outside--in three several keys. but _i_ cared not how they were playing, those puffing teutonic men; for i'd "cut the record" at cycling, and was ten-mile champion then! it flooded my cheeks with crimson, the praise of my pluck and calm; though that band seemed blending "kafoozleum" with a touch of the hundredth psalm. but my joy soon turned into sorrow, my calm into mental strife; for my record was "cut" on the morrow, and it cut _me_, like a knife. a fellow had done the distance in the tenth of a second less! and henceforth my name in silence was dropt by the cycling press. i have sought--but i seek it vainly-- with that record again to shine, midst crack names in our cycling organ, but they never mention mine. it may be some day at the oval i may cut that record again, but at present the cups are given to better--_or_ luckier--men! * * * * * illustration: the motor-bath _nurse._ "oh, baby, look at the diver!" * * * * * a song of the road tinkle, twinkle, motor-car, just to tell us where you are, while about the streets you fly like a comet in the sky. when the blazing sun is "off," when the fog breeds wheeze and cough, round the corners as you scour with your dozen miles an hour-- then the traveller in the dark, growling some profane remark, would not know which way to go while you're rushing to and fro. on our fears, then, as you gloat (ours who neither "bike" nor "mote"), just to tell us where you are-- tinkle, twinkle, motor-car. * * * * * "motor body."--"one man can change from a tonneau to a landaulette, shooting brake, or racing car in two minutes, and, when fixed, cannot be told from any fixed body."--_advt. in the_ "_autocar._" the disguise would certainly deceive one's nearest relations, but as likely as not one's dog would come up and give the whole show away by licking the sparking plug. * * * * * illustration: _chauffeur._ "pardon, monsieur. this way, conducts she straight to hele?" _major chili pepper_ (_a rabid anti-motorist and slightly deaf_). "certainly it will, sir if you continue to drive on the wrong side of the road!" * * * * * illustration: "facilis _bikist_ (_gaily_). "here we go down! down! down! down!" * * * illustration: descensus!" _the same_ (_very much down_). "never again with _you_, my bikey!" * * * * * should motors carry maxims?--under the title "murderous magistrate," the _daily mail_ printed some observations made by a barrister who reproves canon greenwell for remarking from the durham county bench that if a few motorists were shot no great harm would be done. the same paper subsequently published an article headed, "maxims for motorists." retaliation in kind is natural, and a maxim is an excellent retort to a canon. but why abuse the canon first? * * * * * so many accidents have occurred lately through the ignition of petrol that a wealthy motorist, we hear, is making arrangements for his car to be followed, wherever it may go, by a fully-equipped fire-engine, and, if this example be followed widely, our roads will become more interesting than ever. * * * * * are there motor-cars in the celestial regions? professor schaer, of geneva, has discovered what _he_ describes as a new comet plunging due south at a rate of almost degrees a day, and careering across the milky way regardless of all other traffic. * * * * * illustration: our election--polling day _energetic committeeman._ "it's all right. drive on! he's voted!" * * * * * the motocrat i am he: goggled and unashamed. furred also am i, stop-watched and horse-powerful. millions admit my sway--on both sides of the road. the plutocrat has money: i have motors. the democrat has the rates; so have i--two--one for use and one for county courts. the autocrat is dead, but i--i increase and multiply. i have taken his place. i blow my horn and the people scatter. i stand still and everything trembles. i move and kill dogs. i skid and chickens die. i pass swiftly from place to place, and horses bolt in dust storms which cover the land. i make the dust storms. for i am omnipotent; i make everything. i make dust, i make smell, i make noise. and i go forward, ever forward, and pass through or over almost everything. "over or through" is my motto. the roads were made for me; years ago they were made. wise rulers saw me coming and made roads. now that i am come, they go on making roads--making them up. for i break things. roads i break and rules of the road. statutory limits were made for me. i break them. i break the dull silence of the country. sometimes i break down, and thousands flock round me, so that i dislocate the traffic. but i _am_ the traffic. i am i and she is she--the rest get out of the way. truly, the hand which rules the motor rocks the world. * * * * * motor car-acteristics (_by an old whip_) jerking and jolting, bursting and bolting, smelling and steaming, shrieking and screaming, snorting and shaking, quivering, quaking, skidding and slipping, twisting and tripping, bumping and bounding, puffing and pounding, rolling and rumbling, thumping and tumbling. such i've a notion, motor-car motion. * * * * * illustration: adding insult to injury _cyclist_ (_to foxhunter, thrown out_), "oi say, squoire, 'ave you seen the 'ounds?" * * * * * illustration: true philosophy.--_ploughman._ "ah, things be different like wi' them an' us. they've got a trap wi' no 'osses, an' we 'm got 'osses wi' no trap." * * * * * illustration: the reckless one _wife of injured cyclist_ (_who, having found considerable difficulty in getting on his bicycle, and none whatever in coming off, has never ventured to attempt more than three miles in the hour_). "well, i do believe he's had a lesson at last! i warned him about 'scorching.' i said to him, what have _you_ got to do with the 'record'?" * * * * * illustration: an inopportune time jones, while motoring to town to fulfil an important engagement, has the misfortune to get stuck up on the road, and has sent his chauffeur to the village for assistance. in the meantime several village children gather around and sing, "god rest you, merry gentleman, let nothing you dismay," etc. * * * * * the great motor mystery.--at lancaster two motorists were fined, according to the _manchester evening news_, "for driving a motor-car over a trap near carnforth, at twenty-nine and thirty-four miles per hour respectively." we are of the opinion that the action of the second gentleman in driving at so high a speed over the poor trap when it was already down was not quite in accordance with the best traditions of english sport. * * * * * illustration: breaking it gently.-- _passer-by._ "is that your pork down there on the road, guv'nor?" _farmer._ "pork! what d'ye mean? there's a pig o' mine out there." _passer-by._ "ah, but there's a motor-car just been by." * * * * * illustration: exclusive.-- _fair driver._ "will you stand by the pony for a few minutes, my good man?" _the good man._ "pony, mum? no, i'm a motor-minder, i am. 'ere, bill! 'orse." * * * * * crazy tales the duchess of pomposet was writhing, poor thing, on the horns of a dilemma. painful position, very. she was the greatest of great ladies, full of fire and fashion, and with a purple blush (she was born that colour) flung bangly arms round the neck of her lord and master. the unfortunate man was a shocking sufferer, having a bad unearned increment, and enduring constant pain on account of his back being broader than his views. "pomposet," she cried, resolutely. "duky darling!" (when first married she had ventured to apostrophise him as "ducky," but his grace thought it _infra dig._, and they compromised by omitting the vulgar "c.") "duky," she said, raising pale distinguished eyes to a chippendale mirror, "i have made up my mind." "don't," expostulated the trembling peer. "you are so rash!" "what is more, i have made up yours." "to make up the mind of an english duke," he remarked, with dignity, "requires no ordinary intellect; yet i believe with your feminine hydraulics you are capable of anything, jane." (that this aristocratic rib of his rib should have been named plain jane was a chronic sorrow.) "don't keep me in suspense," he continued; "in fact, to descend to a colloquialism, i insist on your grace letting the cat out of the bag with the least possible delay." "as you will," she replied. "your blood be on your own coronet. prepare for a shock--a revelation. i have fallen! not once--but many times." "wretched woman!--i beg pardon!--wretched grande dame! call upon debrett to cover you!" "i am madly in love with----" "by my taffeta and ermine, i swear----" "peace, peace!" said jane. "compose yourself, ducky--that is plantagenet. forgive the slip. i am agitated. my mind runs on slips." the duke groaned. "horrid, awful slips!" with a countenance of alabaster he tore at his sandy top-knot. "i have deceived you. i admit it. stooped to folly." a supercilious cry rent the air as the duke staggered on his patrician limbs. with womanly impulse--flinging caste to the winds--jane caught the majestic form to her palpitating alpaca, and, watering his beloved features with duchessy drops, cried in passionate accents, "my king! my sensitive plant! heavens! it's his unlucky back! be calm, plantagenet. i have--been--learning--to--_bike_! there! on the sly!" the duke flapped a reviving toe, and squeezed the august fingers. "i am madly enamoured of--my machine." the peer smoothed a ruffled top-knot with ineffable grace. "likewise am determined _you_ shall take lessons. now it is no use, duky. i mean to be tender but firm with you." the potentate gave a stertorous chortle, and, stretching out his arms, fell in a strawberry-leaf swoon on the parquet floor, his ducal head on the lap of his adored jane. * * * * * illustration: the freemasonry of the wheel.--"rippin' wevver fer hus ciciklin' chaps, ain't it?" * * * * * illustration: brothers in adversity _farmer._ "pull up, you fool! the mare's bolting!" _motorist._ "so's the car!" * * * * * illustration: quite respectful _fair cyclist._ "is that the incumbent of this parish?" _parishioner._ "well, 'e's the _vicar_. but, wotever some of us thinks, we never calls 'im a _hencumbrance_!" * * * * * illustration: _gipsy fortune-teller_ (_seriously_). "let me warn you. somebody's going to cross your path." _motorist._ "don't you think you'd better warn the other chap?" * * * * * the scorcher (_after william watson_) i do not, in the crowded street of cab and "'bus" and mire, nor in the country lane so sweet, hope to escape thy tyre. one boon, oh, scorcher, i implore, with one petition kneel, at least abuse me not before thou break me on thy wheel. * * * * * illustration: a motorist wishes to point out the very grave danger this balloon-scorching may become, and suggests a speed limit be made before things go too far. * * * * * the muggleton motor-car; or, the wellers on wheels _a pickwickian fragment up-to-date_ as light as fairies, if not altogether as brisk as bees, did the four pickwickian shades assemble on a winter morning in the year of grace, . christmas was nigh at hand, in all its _fin-de-siècle_ inwardness; it was the season of pictorial too-previousness and artistic anticipation, of plethoric periodicals, all shocker-sensationalism sandwiched with startling advertisements; of cynical new-humour and flamboyantly sentimental chromo-lithography. but we are so taken up by the genial delights of the new christmas that we are keeping mr. pickwick and his phantom friends waiting in the cold on the chilly outside of the muggleton motor-car, which they had just mounted, well wrapped up in antiquated great coats, shawls, and comforters. mr. weller, senior, had, all unconsciously, brought his well-loved whip with him, and was greatly embarrassed thereby. "votever shall i do vith it, sammy?" he whispered, hoarsely. "purtend it's a new, patent, jointless fishing-rod, guv'nor," rejoined sam, in a stygian aside. "nobody 'ere'll 'ave the slightest notion vot it really is." "when are they--eh--going to--ahem--put the horses to?" murmured mr. pickwick, emerging from his coat collar, and looking about him with great perplexity. "'_osses?_" cried the coachman, turning round upon mr. pickwick, with sharp suspicion in his eye. "'_osses?_ d'ye say. oh, who are you a-gettin' at?" mr. pickwick withdrew promptly into his coat-collar. the irrepressible sam came immediately to the aid of his beloved master, whom he would never see snubbed if _he_ knew it. "there's vheels vithin vheels, as the bicyclist said vhen he vos pitched head foremost into the vatchmaker's vinder," remarked mr. weller, junior, with the air of a solomon in smalls. "but vot sort of a vheel do you call that thing in front of you, and vot's its pertikler objeck? a top of a coach instead o' under it?" "this yer wheel means revolution," said the driver. "it do, samivel, it do," interjected his father dolorously. "and in my opinion it's a worse revolution than that there french one itself. a coach vithout 'osses, vheels instead of vheelers, and a driver vithout a vhip! oh sammy, sammy, to think it should come to _this_!!!" the driver--if it be not desecration to a noble old name so to designate him--gave a turn to his wheel and the autocar started. mr. winkle, who sat at the extreme edge, waggled his shadowy legs forlornly in the air; mr. snodgrass, who sat next to him, snorted lugubriously; mr. tupman turned paler than even a stygian shade has a right to do. mr. pickwick took off his glasses and wiped them furtively. "sam," he whispered hysterically in the ear of his faithful servitor, "sam, this is dreadful! a--ahem!--vehicle with no visible means of propulsion pounding along like--eh--saint denis without his head, is more uncanny than charon's boat." "let's get down, sammy, let's get down at once," groaned mr. weller the elder. "i can't stand it, samivel, i really can't. think o' the poor 'osses, sammy, think o' the poor 'osses as ain't there, and vot they must feel to find theirselves sooperseeded by a hugly vheel and a pennorth o' peteroleum, &c.!" "hold on, old nobs!" cried the son, with frank filial sympathy. "think of the guv'nor, father, and vait for the first stoppage. never again vith the muggleton motor! vhy, it vorse than a hortomatic vheelbarrow, ain't it, mr. pickwick?" "ah, sammy," assented mr. weller, senior, hugging his whip, affectionately. "vorse even than vidders, sammy, the red-nosed shepherd, or the mulberry one hisself!" * * * * * a bear in a motor-car attracted much attention in the city last week. it had four legs this time. * * * * * the _motor car_ declares, on high medical authority, that motoring is a cure for insanity. we would therefore recommend several motorists we know to persevere. * * * * * illustration: gentle satire--"i say, bill, look 'ere! 'ere's a old cove out record-breaking!" * * * * * illustration: motor mania.-- _the poet_ (_deprecatingly_). "they say she gives more attention to her motor-cars than to her children." _the butterfly._ "of course. how absurd you are! motor-cars require more attention than children." * * * * * illustration: sour grapes _first scorcher._ "call _that_ exercise?" _second scorcher._ "no. _i_ call it sitting in a draught!" * * * * * illustration: not to be caught.-- _motorist_ (_whose motor has thrown elderly villager into horse-pond_). "come along, my man, i'll take you home to get dry." _elderly villager._ "no, yer don't. i've got yer number, and 'ere i stays till a hindependent witness comes along!" * * * * * illustration: _pedestrian._ "i hear brown has taken to cycling, and is very enthusiastic about it!" _cyclist._ "enthusiastic! not a bit of it. why, he never rides before breakfast!" * * * * * illustration: grotesqueries _words wanted to express feelings_ when your motor refuses to move, twenty miles from the nearest town. * * * * * illustration: so inconsiderate "jove! might have killed us! i must have a wire screen fixed up." * * * * * browning on the road. round the bend of a sudden came z , and i shot into his front wheel's rim; and straight was a fine of gold for him, and the need of a brand-new bike for me. * * * * * illustration: "if doughty deeds my lady please" "mamma! mr. white says he is longing to give you your first bicycle lesson!" * * * * * a wish (_by a wild wheelman. a long way after rogers_) mine be a "scorch" without a spill, a loud "bike" bell to please mine ear; a chance to maim, if not to kill, pedestrian parties pottering near. my holloa, e'er my prey i catch, shall raise wild terror in each breast; if luck or skill that prey shall snatch from my wild wheel, the shock will test. on to the bike beside my porch i'll spring, like falcon on its prey, and lucy, on _her_ wheel shall "scorch," and "coast" with me the livelong day. to make old women's marrow freeze is the best sport the bike has given. to chase them as they puff and wheeze, on rubber tyre--by jove, 'tis heaven! * * * * * the biker biked henpeck'd he was. he learnt to bike. "now i can go just where i like," he chuckled to himself. but she had learnt to bike as well as he, and, what was more, had bought a new machine to sweetly carry two. ever together now they go, he sighing, "this is wheel _and_ woe." * * * * * illustration: "where ignorance is bliss," &c. _he_ (_alarmed by the erratic steering_). "er--and have you driven much?" _she_ (_quite pleased with herself_). "oh, no--this is only my second attempt. but then, you see, i have been used to a _bicycle_ for years!" * * * * * illustration: misunderstood _donald_ (_who has picked up fair cyclist's handkerchief_). "hi! woman! woman!" _fair cyclist_ (_indignantly_). "'woman'! how _dare_ you----" _donald_ (_out of breath_). "i beg your pardon, sir! i thought you was a woman. i didna see your _trews_." * * * * * automobile dust-carts, says the _matin_, are to be used in paris henceforth. we had thought every motor-car was this. * * * * * illustration: english dictionary illustrated.--"coincidence." the falling or meeting of two or more lines or bodies at the same point. * * * * * reflections of a motor-racer two a.m.! time to get up, if i'm to be ready for the great paris-berlin race at . . feel very cold and sleepy. pitch dark morning, of course. moon been down hours. must get into clothes, i suppose. oilskins feel very clammy and heavy at this hour in the morning. button up tunic and tuck trousers into top boots. put on peaked cap and fasten veil tightly over face, after covering eyes with iron goggles and protecting mouth with respirator. wind woollen muffler round neck and case hands in thick dogskin gloves with gauntlets. look like nansen going to discover north pole. or tweedledum about to join battle with tweedledee. effect on the whole unpleasing. great crowds to see us off. nearly ran over several in effort to reach starting post. very careless. people ought not to get in the way on these occasions. noise appalling. cheers, snatches of _marseillaise_, snorts of motors, curses of competitors, cries of bystanders knocked down by enthusiastic _chauffeurs_, shouts of _gendarmes_ clearing the course. spectators seem to find glare of acetylene lamps very confusing. several more or less injured through not getting out of the way sufficiently quickly. at last the flag drops. we are off. pull lever, and car leaps forward. wonder if wiser to start full speed or begin gently? decide on latter. result, nearly blinded by dust of competitors in front, and suffocated by stench of petroleum. fellow just ahead particularly objectionable in both respects. decide to quicken up and pass him. can't see a foot before me on account of his dust. suddenly run into the stern of his car. apologise. can't i look where i'm going? of course i can. not my fault at all. surly fellow! proceed to go slower. fellow behind runs into _me_. confound him, can't he be more careful? says he couldn't see me. idiot! put on speed again. car in front just visible through haze of dust. hear distant crash. confound the man, he's run into a dray! just time to swerve to the right, and miss wreck of his car by an inch. clumsy fellow, blocking my road in that way. at last clear space before me. go up with a rush. wind whistles past my ears. glorious! what's that? run over an old woman? very annoying. almost upset my car. awkward for next chap. body right across the road. spill him to a certainty. morning growing light, but dust thicker than ever. scarcely see a yard in front of me. must trust to luck. fortunately road pretty straight here. just missed big tree. collided with small one. knocked it over like a ninepin. lucky i was going so fast. car uninjured, but tree done for. man in car just ahead very much in my way. shout to him to get out of the light. turns round and grins malevolently. movement fatal. he forgets to steer and goes crash into ditch. what's that he says? help? silly fellow, does he think i can stop at this pace? curious how ignorant people seem to be of simplest mechanical laws. magnificent piece of road here. nothing in sight but a dog. run over it. put on full speed. seventy miles an hour at least. can no longer see or hear anything. trees, villages, fields rush by in lightning succession. fancy a child is knocked down. am vaguely conscious of upsetting old gentleman in gig. seem to notice a bump on part of car, indicating that it has passed over prostrate fellow citizen, but not sure. sensation most exhilarating. immolate another child. really most careless of parents leaving children loose like this in the country. some day there will be an accident. might have punctured my tyre. chap in front of me comes in sight. catching him up fast. he puts on full speed. still gaining on him. pace terrific. sudden flash just ahead, followed by loud explosion. fellow's benzine reservoir blown up apparently. pass over smoking ruins of car. driver nowhere to be seen. probably lying in neighbouring field. that puts _him_ out of the race. eh? what's that? aix in sight? gallop, says browning. better not, perhaps. road ahead crowded with spectators. great temptation to charge through them in style. mightn't be popular, though. slow down to fifteen miles an hour, and enter town amid frantic cheering. most interesting. wonderfully few casualties. dismount at door of hotel dusty but triumphant. * * * * * illustration: _first cyclist_ (_cross-eyed_). "why the dickens don't you look where you're going?" _second cyclist_ (_cross-eyed_). "why don't you go where you're looking?" * * * * * illustration: quite impossible.--_motorist._ "what! exceeding the legal limit? _do_ we look as if we would do such a thing?" * * * * * illustration: the interpretation of signs _custodian._ "this 'ere's a private road, miss! didn't yer see the notice-board at the gate, sayin' 'no thoroughfare'?" _placida._ "oh yes, of course. why, that's how i knew there was a way through!" * * * * * illustration: after the accident "toujours la politesse." * * * * * illustration: quite a little holiday _cottager._ "what's wrong, biker? have you had a spill?" _biker._ "oh, no. i'm having a rest!" * * * * * illustration: whats in a name? _old gent_ (_lately bitten with the craze_). "and that confounded man sold me the thing for a safety!" * * * * * _motoring illustrated_ suggests the institution of a motor museum. if we were sure that most of the motor omnibuses at present in our streets would find their way there, we would gladly subscribe. * * * * * protection against motor-cars sir,--i recently read with interest a letter in the _times_ from "a cyclist since ." in it he announced his intention of carrying a tail-light in order to avoid being run into from behind. the idea is admirable, and my wife and i, as pedestrians since and respectively, propose to wear two lamps each in future, a white and a red. we are, however, a little exercised to know whether we should carry the white in front and the red behind, or _vice versâ_. for in walking along the right side of a road we shall appear on the wrong side to an approaching motor-car. would it not therefore be better for us to have the tail-light in front. your most humble and obedient servant, lux prÃ�postera. p.s.--would such an arrangement make us "carriages" in the eye of the law? at present we appear to be merely a sub-division of the class "unlighted objects." * * * * * cure for motor-scorchers (_suggested as being even more humane than the proposal of_ sir r. payne-gallwey).--give them automobile beans! * * * * * illustration: slow and sure _john._ "i've noticed, miss, as when you 'as a motor, you catches a train, not _the_ train!" * * * * * how the match came off a harmony on wheels (_miss angelica has challenged mr. wotherspoon to a race on the queen's highway._) _fytte ._ _mr. w._ fine start! (faint heart!) _miss a._ horrid hill! (feeling ill!) _fytte ._ _mr. w._ going strong! come along! _fytte ._ _miss a._ road quite even! perfect heaven! _fytte ._ _mr. w._ goal in view! running true! _miss a._ make it faster! spur your caster! _fytte ._ _mr. w._ fairly done! _miss a._ match is won! [_they dismount. pause._ _mr. w._ what! confess! _miss a._ well then--yes! * * * * * illustration: _motor fiend._ "why don't you get out of the way?" _victim._ "_what!_ are you coming back?" * * * * * motorobesity (_a forecast_) in the spring of st. john skinner came back from africa, after spending nine or ten years somewhere near the zambesi. he travelled up to waterloo by the electric train, and the three very stout men who were in the same first-class compartment seemed to look at him with surprise. on arriving at his hotel he pushed his way through a crowd of fat persons in the hall. then he changed his clothes, and went round to his club to dine. the dining-room was filled with members of extraordinary obesity, all eating heartily. in the fat features of one of them he thought he recognised a once familiar face. "round," said he, "how are you?" the stout man stopped eating, and gazed at him anxiously. "why," he murmured, after a while, in the soft voice that comes from folds of fat, "it must be skinner. my dear fellow, what is the matter with you? have you had a fever?" "i'm all right," answered the other; "what makes you think i've been ill?" "ill, man!" said round, "why you've wasted away to nothing. you're a perfect skeleton." "if it's a question of bulk," remarked skinner, "i'm much more surprised. you've grown so stout, every fellow in the club seems so stout, everyone i've seen is as fat as--as--as you are." "heavens!" exclaimed round, "you don't mean to say i've been putting on more flesh? i'm the light weight of the club. i only weigh sixteen stone. no, no, you're chaffing, or you judge by your own figure." "not a bit," said the other; "you and i used to weigh about the same. what on earth has happened to you all?" "well," said round, "perhaps you're right. it's very much what the doctors say. it's the fashionable complaint, motorobesity. sit down, and dine with me, and i'll tell you what the idea is. you see, it's like this. for ten years or so everybody who could afford a motor of some sort has had one. we've all had one. not to have a motor has been simply ridiculous, if not disreputable. so everybody has ridden about all day in the fresh air, never had any exercise, and got an enormous appetite. besides, in the summer we've always been drinking beer to wash down the dust, and in the winter soup, or spirits, or something to warm us. my dear fellow, you can't think what an appetite motoring gives you. i had an enormous steak for my lunch at winchester to-day, and a great lump of plum cake with my tea at aldershot, and my aunt, the general's wife, made me bring a bag of biscuits to eat on the way up, and yet i'm so hungry now that i should feel quite uncomfortable if the thirst those biscuits, and the dust, gave me didn't make me almost forget it. i suppose everyone is really getting fat. one notices it when one does happen to see a thin fellow like you. why, in all the clubs they've had to have new arm-chairs, because the old ones were too narrow. however, i've talked enough about motoring. so glad to see you again, old chap. of course you'll get a motor as soon as possible." "well," said skinner, "i rather think i shall buy a horse." "my dear fellow," cried round, "what an idea! horse-riding is such awfully bad form. besides, you can't go any pace. look at me. i wouldn't get on a horse, and be shaken to pieces." "i should think not," said skinner, "but i think i should prefer that to motorobesity." * * * * * an advertisement in _the motor_ quotes the testimony of a gentleman from moreton-in-the-marsh, who states that he has run a certain car "nearly , miles in four months, and is more than pleased with it." as this works out (on a basis of twenty-four hours' running _per diem_) at about miles per hour, we have pleasure in asking what the police are doing in moreton-in-the-marsh and its vicinity. * * * * * noticing an advertisement of a book entitled "the complete motorist," an angry opponent of the new method of locomotion writes to suggest that the companion volume, "the complete pedestrian," had better be written at once before it becomes impossible to find an entire specimen. * * * * * maxim for cyclists.--"_try_-cycle before you _buy_-cycle." * * * * * illustration: motorist (a novice) has been giving chairman of local urban council a practical demonstration of the ease with which a motor-car can be controlled when travelling at a high speed. * * * * * illustration: love's endurance _miss dolly_ (_to her fiancé_). "oh, jack, this _is_ delightful! if you'll only keep up the pace, i'm sure i shall soon gain confidence!" [_poor jack has already run a mile or more, and is very short of condition._ * * * * * illustration: tu quoque.--_cyclist_ (_a beginner who has just collided with freshly-painted fence_). "confound your filthy paint! now, just look at my coat!" _painter._ "'ang yer bloomin' coat! _'ow about my paint?_" * * * * * illustration: note to the superstitious it is considered lucky for a black cat to cross your path. * * * * * illustration: waiting for _a study of rural_ "w'y, i remembers the time w'en i'd 'ave stopped _that_ for furious drivin', an' i reckon it's only goin' about a paltry fifteen mile an hour!" * * * illustration: bigger game _police methods_ "_ar!_ now them cyclists is puttin' on a fairish pace! summat about twenty mile an hour, i s'pose. but 'tain't no business o' mine. _i'm_ 'ere to stop _motor-caws_. wot ho!" * * * * * love in a car ["i have personal knowledge of marriages resulting from motor-car courtships."--the hon. c. s. rolls.--_daily express._] when reginald asked me to drive in his car i knew what it meant for us both, for peril to love-making offers no bar, but fosters the plighting of troth. to the tender occasion i hastened to rise, so bought a new frock on the strength of it, some china-blue chiffon--to go with my eyes-- and wrapped up my head with a length of it. "get in," said my lover, "as quick as you can!" he wore a black smear on his face, and held out the hand of a rough artisan to pilot me into my place. like the engine my frock somehow seemed to mis-fire, for reginald's manner was querulous, but after some fuss with the near hind-wheel tyre we were off at a pace that was perilous. "there's brown just behind, on his second-hand brute, he thinks it can move, silly ass!" said reggie with venom, "ha! ha! let him hoot, i'll give him some trouble to pass." my service thenceforth was by reggie confined (he showed small compunction in suing it) to turning to see how far brown was behind, but not to let brown see me doing it. brown passed us. we dined off his dust for a league-- it really was very poor fun-- till, our car showed symptoms of heat and fatigue, reggie had to admit he was done. to my soft consolation scant heed did he pay, but with taps was continually juggling, and his words, "will you keep your dress further away?" put a stop to this incipient smuggling. "he'd never have passed me alone," reggie sighed, "the car's extra heavy with you." "why ask me to come?" i remarked. he replied, "i thought she'd go better with two." when i touched other topics, forbearingly meek, from his goggles the lightnings came scattering, "what chance do you give me of placing this squeak," he hissed, "when you keep up that chattering?" at that, i insisted on being set down and returning to london by train, and i vowed fifty times on my way back to town that i never would see him again. next week he appeared and implored me to wed, with a fondly adoring humility. "the car stands between us," i rigidly said. "i've sold it!" he cried with agility. his temples were sunken, enfeebled his frame, there was white in the curls on his crest; when he spoke of our ride in a whisper of shame i flew to my home on his breast. by running sedately i'm certain that love to such passion would never have carried us, which settles the truth of the legend above-- it was really the motor-car married us. * * * * * illustration: _miller_ (_looking after cyclist, who has a slight touch of motor mania_). "well, to be sure! there do be some main ignorant chaps out o' london. 'e comes 'ere askin' me 'ow many 'orse power the old mill ad got." * * * * * illustration: _cyclist_ (_whose tyre has become deflated_). "have you such a thing as a pump?" _yokel._ "'ees, miss, there's one i' the yard." _cyclist._ "i should be much obliged if you would let me use it." _yokel._ "that depends 'ow much you want. watter be main scarce wi' us this year! oi'll ask feyther." * * * * * illustration: _smart girl_ (_to keen motorist_). "my sister has bought a beautiful motor-car." _keen motorist._ "really! what kind?" _smart girl._ "oh, a lovely sage green, to go with her frocks." * * * * * illustration: _mrs. binks_ (_who has lost control of her machine_). "oh, oh, harry! please get into a bank soon. i must have something soft to fall on!" * * * * * illustration: _miss heavytopp._ "i'm afraid i'm giving you a lot of bother, but then, it's only my _first_ lesson!" _exhausted instructor_ (_sotto voce_). "i only hope it won't be my _last_!" * * * * * illustration: sorrows of a "chauffeur" _ancient dame._ "what d'ye say? they call he a 'shuvver,' do they? i see. they put he to walk behind and shove 'em up the hills, i reckon." * * * * * a cycle of cathay.--_the yorkshire evening post_, in reporting the case of a motor-cyclist charged with travelling at excessive speed on the highway at selby, represents a police-sergeant as stating that "he timed defendant over a distance of years, which was covered in secs." the contention of the defendant that he had been "very imperfectly timed" has an air of captiousness. * * * * * "many roads in the district are unfit for motorists," is the report of the tadcaster surveyor to his council. we understand the inhabitants have resolved to leave well alone. * * * * * at a meeting of the four wheeler's association, a speaker boasted, with some justification, that a charge which is brought every day against drivers of motor-cars has never been brought against members of their association, namely, that of driving at an excessive speed. * * * * * rumour is again busy with the promised appearance of a motor-bus which is to be so quiet that you will not know that there is one on the road until you have been run over. * * * * * illustration: an unpardonable mistake.--_short-sighted old lady._ "porter!" * * * * * illustration: nosce teipsum.--_lady cyclist_ (_touring in north holland_). "what a ridiculous costume!" * * * * * illustration: _sporting constable_ (_with stop-watch--on "police trap" duty, running excitedly out from his ambush, to motorist just nearing the finish of the measured furlong_). "for 'evin's sake, guv'nor, let 'er rip, and ye'll do the in seven and a 'arf!" * * * * * my motor cap [motor-caps, we are informed, have created such a vogue in the provinces, that ladies, women and factory girls may be seen wearing them on every occasion, though unconnected, in other respects, with modern methods of locomotion.] a motor car i shall never afford with a gay vermilion bonnet, of course i _might_ happen to marry a lord, but it's no good counting on it. i have never reclined on the seat behind, and hurtled across the map, but my days are blest with a mind at rest, for i wear a motor cap. i am done with gainsborough, straw and toque, my dresses are bound with leather, i turn up my collar like auto-folk, and stride through the pitiless weather; with a pound of scrag in an old string bag, in a tram with a child on my lap, wherever i go, to shop or a show, i wear a motor cap. i don't know a silencer from a clutch, a sparking-plug from a bearing, but no one, i think, is in closer touch with the caps the women are wearing; i'm _au fait_ with the trim of the tailor-made brim, the crown and machine-stitched strap; though i've neither the motor, the sable-lined coat, nor the goggles--i wear the cap. * * * * * illustration: no, this isn't a collection of tubercular microbes escaping from the congress; but merely the montgomery-smiths in their motor-car, enjoying the beauties of the country. * * * * * lines by a rejected and dejected cyclist you do not at this juncture feel, as i, the dreadful smart, and you scorn the cruel puncture of the tyre of my heart! but mayhap, at some life-turning, when the wheel has run untrue, you will know why i was burning, and was scorched alone, by you! * * * * * illustration: finis bradbury, agnew, & co. ld., printers, london and tonbridge note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h.zip) kings in exile * * * * * * the macmillan company new york · boston · chicago dallas · san francisco macmillan & co., limited london · bombay · calcutta melbourne the macmillan co. of canada, ltd. toronto * * * * * * [illustration: "the gray master."] kings in exile by charles g. d. roberts author of "the backwoodsmen," etc. illustrated new york the macmillan company all rights reserved copyright by perry, mason & co. ( ), the curtis publishing co. ( - ), the associated sunday magazines ( ), the red book magazine ( ). copyright, , by the macmillan company. set up and electrotyped. published february, . reprinted june, ; july, december, . norwood press j. s. cushing co.--berwick & smith co. norwood, mass., u.s.a. contents page last bull the king of the flaming hoops the monarch of park barren the gray master the sun-gazer the lord of the glass house back to the water world lone wolf the bear's face the duel on the trail illustrations facing page "the gray master." _frontispiece_ "last bull, standing solitary and morose on a little knoll in his pasture." "only to be hurled back again with a vigor that brought him to his knees." "when the grizzly saw her, his wicked little dark eyes glowed suddenly red." "almost over his head, on a limb not six feet distant, crouched, ready to spring, the biggest puma he had ever seen." "he reached the tree just in time to swing well up among the branches." "for perhaps thirty or forty yards the bull was able to keep up this almost incredible pace." "then the second puma pounced." "he launched himself on a long, splendid sweep over the gulf." "after this the eagle came regularly every three or four hours with food for the prisoner." "and the writhing tentacles composed themselves once more to stillness upon the bottom, awaiting the next careless passer-by." "without the slightest hesitation he whipped up two writhing tentacles and seized him." last bull last bull that was what two grim old sachems of the dacotahs had dubbed him; and though his official title, on the lists of the zoölogical park, was "kaiser," the new and more significant name had promptly supplanted it. the park authorities--people of imagination and of sentiment, as must all be who would deal successfully with wild animals--had felt at once that the name aptly embodied the tragedies and the romantic memories of his all-but-vanished race. they had felt, too, that the two old braves who had been brought east to adorn a city pageant, and who had stood gazing stoically for hours at the great bull buffalo through the barrier of the steel-wire fence, were fitted, before all others, to give him a name. between him and them there was surely a tragic bond, as they stood there islanded among the swelling tides of civilization which had already engulfed their kindreds. "last bull" they had called him, as he answered their gaze with little, sullen, melancholy eyes from under his ponderous and shaggy front. "last bull"--and the passing of his race was in the name. here, in his fenced, protected range, with a space of grassy meadow, half a dozen clumps of sheltering trees, two hundred yards of the run of a clear, unfailing brook, and a warm shed for refuge against the winter storms, the giant buffalo ruled his little herd of three tawny cows, two yearlings, and one blundering, butting calf of the season. he was a magnificent specimen of his race--surpassing, it was said, the finest bull in the yellowstone preserves or in the guarded canadian herd of the north. little short of twelve feet in length, a good five foot ten in height at the tip of his humped and huge fore-shoulders, he seemed to justify the most extravagant tales of pioneer and huntsman. his hind-quarters were trim and fine-lined, built apparently for speed, smooth-haired, and of a grayish lion-color. but his fore-shoulders, mounting to an enormous hump, were of an elephantine massiveness, and clothed in a dense, curling, golden-brown growth of matted hair. his mighty head was carried low, almost to the level of his knees, on a neck of colossal strength, which was draped, together with the forelegs down to the knees, in a flowing brown mane tipped with black. his head, too, to the very muzzle, wore the same luxuriant and sombre drapery, out of which curved viciously the keen-tipped crescent of his horns. dark, huge, and ominous, he looked curiously out of place in the secure and familiar tranquillity of his green pasture. for a distance of perhaps fifty yards, at the back of the pasture, the range of the buffalo herd adjoined that of the moose, divided from it by that same fence of heavy steel-wire mesh, supported by iron posts, which surrounded the whole range. one sunny and tingling day in late october--such a day as makes the blood race full red through all healthy veins--a magnificent stranger was brought to the park, and turned into the moose-range. the newcomer was a new brunswick bull moose, captured on the tobique during the previous spring when the snow was deep and soft, and purchased for the park by one of the big eastern lumber-merchants. the moose-herd had consisted, hitherto, of four lonely cows, and the splendid bull was a prize which the park had long been coveting. he took lordly possession, forthwith, of the submissive little herd, and led them off at once from the curious crowds about the gate to explore the wild-looking thickets at the back of the pasture. but no sooner had he fairly entered these thickets than he found his further progress barred by the steel-meshed fence. this was a bitter disappointment, for he had expected to go striding through miles of alder swamp and dark spruce woods, fleeing the hated world of men and bondage, before setting himself to get acquainted with his new followers. his high-strung temper was badly jarred. he drew off, shaking his vast antlers, and went shambling with spacious stride down along the barrier towards the brook. the four cows, in single file, hurried after him anxiously, afraid he might be snatched away from them. last bull, standing solitary and morose on a little knoll in his pasture, caught sight of the strange, dark figure of the running moose. a spark leapt into his heavy eyes. he wheeled, pawed the sod, put his muzzle to the ground, and bellowed a sonorous challenge. the moose stopped short and stared about him, the stiff hair lifting angrily along the ridge of his massive neck. last bull lowered his head and tore up the sod with his horns. [illustration: "last bull, standing solitary and morose on a little knoll in his pasture."] this vehement action caught the eyes of the moose. at first he stared in amazement, for he had never seen any creature that looked like last bull. the two were only about fifty or sixty yards apart, across the little valley of the bushy swamp. as he stared, his irritation speedily overcame his amazement. the curious-looking creature over there on the knoll was defying him, was challenging him. at this time of year his blood was hot and quick for any challenge. he gave vent to a short, harsh, explosive cry, more like a grumbling bleat than a bellow, and as unlike the buffalo's challenge as could well be imagined. then he fell to thrashing the nearest bushes violently with his antlers. this, for some reason unknown to the mere human chronicler, seemed to be taken by last bull as a crowning insolence. his long, tasselled tail went stiffly up into the air, and he charged wrathfully down the knoll. the moose, with his heavy-muzzled head stuck straight out scornfully before him, and his antlers laid flat along his back, strode down to the encounter with a certain deadly deliberation. he was going to fight. there was no doubt whatever on that score. but he had not quite made up his wary mind as to how he would deal with this unknown and novel adversary. they looked not so unequally matched, these two, the monarch of the western plains, and the monarch of the northeastern forests. both had something of the monstrous, the uncouth, about them, as if they belonged not to this modern day, but to some prehistoric epoch when earth moulded her children on more lavish and less graceful lines. the moose was like the buffalo in having his hind-quarters relatively slight and low, and his back sloping upwards to a hump over the immensely developed fore-shoulders. but he had much less length of body, and much less bulk, though perhaps eight or ten inches more of height at the tip of the shoulder. his hair was short, and darker than that of his shaggy rival, being almost black except on legs and belly. instead of carrying his head low, like the buffalo, for feeding on the level prairies, he bore it high, being in the main a tree-feeder. but the greatest difference between the two champions was in their heads and horns. the antlers of the moose formed a huge, fantastic, flatly palmated or leaflike structure, separating into sharp prongs along the edges, and spreading more than four feet from tip to tip. to compare them with the short, polished crescent of the horns of last bull was like comparing a two-handed broadsword to a bowie-knife. and his head, instead of being short, broad, ponderous, and shaggy, like last bull's, was long, close-haired, and massively horse-faced, with a projecting upper lip heavy and grim. had there been no impregnable steel barrier between them, it is hard to say which would have triumphed in the end, the ponderous weight and fury of last bull, or the ripping prongs and swift wrath of the moose. the buffalo charged down the knoll at a thundering gallop; but just before reaching the fence he checked himself violently. more than once or twice before had those elastic but impenetrable meshes given him his lesson, hurling him back with humiliating harshness when he dashed his bulk against them. he had too lively a memory of past discomfitures to risk a fresh one now in the face of this insolent foe. his matted front came against the wire with a force so cunningly moderated that he was not thrown back by the recoil. and the keen points of his horns went through the meshes with a vehemence which might indeed have done its work effectively had they come in contact with the adversary. as it was, however, they but prodded empty air. the moose, meanwhile, had been in doubt whether to attack with his antlers, as was his manner when encountering foes of his own kind, or with his knife-edged fore-hoofs, which were the weapons he used against bears, wolves, or other alien adversaries. finally he seemed to make up his mind that last bull, having horns and a most redoubtable stature, must be some kind of moose. in that case, of course, it became a question of antlers. moreover, in his meetings with rival bulls it had never been his wont to depend upon a blind, irresistible charge,--thereby leaving it open to an alert opponent to slip aside and rip him along the flank,--but rather to fence warily for an advantage in the locking of antlers, and then bear down his foe by the fury and speed of his pushing. it so happened, therefore, that he, too, came not too violently against the barrier. loudly his vast spread of antlers clashed upon the steel meshes; and one short prong, jutting low over his brow, pierced through and furrowed deeply the matted forehead of the buffalo. as the blood streamed down over his nostrils, obscuring one eye, last bull quite lost his head with rage. drawing off, he hurled himself blindly upon the barrier--only to be hurled back again with a vigor that brought him to his knees. but at the same time the moose, on the other side of the fence, got a huge surprise. having his antlers against the barrier when last bull charged, he was forced back irresistibly upon his haunches, with a rudeness quite unlike anything that he had ever before experienced. his massive neck felt as if a pine tree had fallen upon it, and he came back to the charge quite beside himself with bewilderment and rage. [illustration: "only to be hurled back again with a vigor that brought him to his knees."] by this time, however, the keepers and park attendants were arriving on the scene, armed with pitchforks and other unpleasant executors of authority. snorting, and bellowing, and grunting, the monstrous duellists were forced apart; and last bull, who had been taught something of man's dominance, was driven off to his stable and imprisoned. he was not let out again for two whole days. and by that time another fence, parallel with the first and some five or six feet distant from it, had been run up between his range and that of the moose. over this impassable zone of neutrality, for a few days, the two rivals flung insult and futile defiance, till suddenly, becoming tired of it all, they seemed to agree to ignore each other's existence. after this, last bull's sullenness of temper appeared to grow upon him. he was fond of drawing apart from the little herd, and taking up his solitary post on the knoll, where he would stand for an hour at a time motionless except for the switching of his long tail, and staring steadily westward as if he knew where the great past of his race had lain. in that direction a dense grove of chestnuts, maples, and oaks bounded the range, cutting off the view of the city roofs, the roar of the city traffic. beyond the city were mountains and wide waters which he could not see; but beyond the waters and the mountains stretched the green, illimitable plains--which perhaps (who knows?) in some faint vision inherited from the ancestors whose myriads had possessed them, his sombre eyes, in some strange way, _could_ see. among the keepers and attendants generally it was said, with anxious regret, that perhaps last bull was "going bad." but the head-keeper, payne, himself a son of the plains, repudiated the idea. _he_ declared sympathetically that the great bull was merely homesick, pining for the wind-swept levels of the open country (god's country, payne called it!) which his imprisoned hoofs had never trodden. be this as it may, the fact could not be gainsaid that last bull was growing more and more morose. the spectators, strolling along the wide walk which skirted the front of his range, seemed to irritate him, and sometimes, when a group had gathered to admire him, he would turn his low-hung head and answer their staring eyes with a kind of heavy fury, as if he burned to break forth upon them and seek vengeance for incalculable wrongs. this smouldering indignation against humanity extended equally, if not more violently, to all creatures who appeared to him as servants or allies of humanity. the dogs whom he sometimes saw passing, held in leash by their masters or mistresses, made him paw the earth scornfully if he happened to be near the fence. the patient horses who pulled the road-roller or the noisy lawn-mower made his eyes redden savagely. and he hated with peculiar zest the roguish little trick elephant, bong, who would sometimes, his inquisitive trunk swinging from side to side, go lurching lazily by with a load of squealing children on his back. bong, who was a favored character, amiable and trustworthy, was allowed the freedom of the park in the early morning, before visitors began to arrive who might be alarmed at seeing an elephant at large. he was addicted to minding his own business, and never paid the slightest attention to any occupants of cage or enclosure. he was quite unaware of the hostility which he had aroused in the perverse and brooding heart of last bull. one crisp morning in late november, when all the grass in the park had been blackened by frost, and the pools were edged with silver rims of ice, and mists were white and saffron about the scarce-risen sun, and that autumn thrill was in the air which gives one such an appetite, bong chanced to be strolling past the front of last bull's range. he did not see last bull, who was nothing to him. but, being just as hungry as he ought to be on so stimulating a morning, he did see, and note with interest, some bundles of fresh hay on the other side of the fence. now, bong was no thief. but hay had always seemed to him a free largess, like grass and water, and this looked like very good hay. so clear a conscience had he on the subject that he never thought of glancing around to see if any of the attendants were looking. innocently he lurched up to the fence, reached his lithe trunk through, gathered a neat wisp of the hay, and stuffed it happily into his curious, narrow, pointed mouth. yes, he had not been mistaken. it was good hay. with great satisfaction he reached in for another mouthful. last bull, as it happened, was standing close by, but a little to one side. he had been ignoring, so far, his morning ration. he was not hungry. and, moreover, he rather disapproved of the hay because it had the hostile man-smell strong upon it. nevertheless, he recognized it very clearly as his property, to be eaten when he should feel inclined to eat it. his wrath, then, was only equalled by his amazement when he saw the little elephant's presumptuous gray trunk reach in and coolly help itself. for a moment he forgot to do anything whatever about it. but when, a few seconds later, that long, curling trunk of bong's insinuated itself again and appropriated another bundle of the now precious hay, the outraged owner bestirred himself. with a curt roar, that was more of a cough or a grunt than a bellow, he lunged forward and strove to pin the intruding trunk to the ground. with startled alacrity bong withdrew his trunk, but just in time to save it from being mangled. for an instant he stood with the member held high in air, bewildered by what seemed to him such a gratuitous attack. then his twinkling little eyes began to blaze, and he trumpeted shrilly with anger. the next moment, reaching over the fence, he brought down the trunk on last bull's hump with such a terrible flail-like blow that the great buffalo stumbled forward upon his knees. he was up again in an instant and hurling himself madly against the inexorable steel which separated him from his foe. bong hesitated for a second, then, reaching over the fence once more, clutched last bull maliciously around the base of his horns and tried to twist his neck. this enterprise, however, was too much even for the elephant's titanic powers, for last bull's greatest strength lay in the muscles of his ponderous and corded neck. raving and bellowing, he plunged this way and that, striving in vain to wrench himself free from that incomprehensible, snake-like thing which had fastened upon him. bong, trumpeting savagely, braced himself with widespread pillars of legs, and between them it seemed that the steel fence must go down under such cataclysmic shocks as it was suffering. but the noisy violence of the battle presently brought its own ending. an amused but angry squad of attendants came up and stopped it, and bong, who seemed plainly the aggressor, was hustled off to his stall in deep disgrace. last bull was humiliated. in this encounter things had happened which he could in no way comprehend; and though, beyond an aching in neck and shoulders, he felt none the worse physically, he had nevertheless a sense of having been worsted, of having been treated with ignominy, in spite of the fact that it was his foe, and not he, who had retired from the field. for several days he wore a subdued air and kept about meekly with his docile cows. then his old, bitter moodiness reasserted itself, and he resumed his solitary broodings on the crest of the knoll. when the winter storms came on, it had been last bull's custom to let himself be housed luxuriously at nightfall, with the rest of the herd, in the warm and ample buffalo-shed. but this winter he made such difficulty about going in that at last payne decreed that he should have his own way and stay out. "it will do him no harm, and may cool his peppery blood some!" had been the keeper's decision. so the door was left open, and last bull entered or refrained, according to his whim. it was noticed, however,--and this struck a chord of answering sympathy in the plainsman's imaginative temperament,--that, though on ordinary nights he might come in and stay with the herd under shelter, on nights of driving storm, if the tempest blew from the west or northwest, last bull was sure to be out on the naked knoll to face it. when the fine sleet or stinging rain drove past him, filling his nostrils with their cold, drenching his matted mane, and lashing his narrowed eyes, what visions swept through his troubled, half-comprehending brain, no one may know. but payne, with understanding born of sympathy and a common native soil, catching sight of his dark bulk under the dark of the low sky, was wont to declare that _he_ knew. he would say that last bull's eyes discerned, black under the hurricane, but lit strangely with the flash of keen horns and rolling eyes and frothed nostrils, the endless and innumerable droves of the buffalo, with the plains wolf skulking on their flanks, passing, passing, southward into the final dark. in the roar of the wind, declared payne, last bull, out there in the night, listened to the trampling of all those vanished droves. and though the other keepers insisted to each other, quite privately, that their chief talked a lot of nonsense about "that there mean-tempered old buffalo," they nevertheless came gradually to look upon last bull with a kind of awe, and to regard his surly whims as privileged. it chanced that winter that men were driving a railway tunnel beneath a corner of the park. the tunnel ran for a short distance under the front of last bull's range, and passed close by the picturesque cottage occupied by payne and two of his assistants. at this point the level of the park was low, and the shell of earth was thin above the tunnel roof. there came a sunday afternoon, after days of rain and penetrating january thaw, when sun and air combined to cheat the earth with an illusion of spring. the buds and the mould breathed of april, and gay crowds flocked to the park, to make the most of winter's temporary repulse. just when things were at their gayest, with children's voices clamoring everywhere like starlings, and bong, the little elephant, swinging good-naturedly up the broad white track with all the load he had room for on his back, there came an ominous jar and rumble, like the first of an earthquake, which ran along the front of last bull's range. with sure instinct, bong turned tail and fled with his young charges away across the grassland. the crowds, hardly knowing what they fled from, with screams and cries and blanched faces, followed the elephant's example. a moment later and, with a muffled crash, all along the front of the range, the earth sank into the tunnel, carrying with it half a dozen panels of last bull's hated fence. almost in a moment the panic of the crowd subsided. every one realized just what had happened. moreover, thanks to bong's timely alarm, every one had got out of the way in good season. all fear of earthquake being removed, the crowd flocked back eagerly to stare down into the wrecked tunnel, which formed now a sort of gaping, chaotic ditch, with sides at some points precipitous and at others brokenly sloping. the throng was noisy with excited interest and with relief at having escaped so cleanly. the break had run just beneath one corner of the keepers' cottage, tearing away a portion of the foundation and wrenching the structure slightly aside without overthrowing it. payne, who had been in the midst of his sunday toilet, came out upon his twisted porch, half undressed and with a shaving-brush covered with lather in his hand. he gave one look at the damage which had been wrought, then plunged indoors again to throw his clothes on, at the same time sounding the hurry call for the attendants in other quarters of the park. last bull, who had been standing on his knoll, with his back to the throngs, had wheeled in astonishment at the heavy sound of the cave-in. for a few minutes he had stared sullenly, not grasping the situation. then very slowly it dawned on him that his prison walls had fallen. yes, surely, there at last lay his way to freedom, his path to the great open spaces for which he dumbly and vaguely hungered. with stately deliberation he marched down from his knoll to investigate. but presently another idea came into his slow mind. he saw the clamorous crowds flocking back and ranging themselves along the edge of the chasm. these were his enemies. they were coming to balk him. a terrible madness surged through all his veins. he bellowed savage warning and came thundering down the field, nose to earth, dark, mountainous, irresistible. the crowd yelled and shrank back. "he can't get across!" shouted some. but others cried: "he can! he's coming! save yourselves!" and with shrieks they scattered wildly across the open, making for the kiosks, the pavilions, the trees, anything that seemed to promise hiding or shelter from that onrushing doom. at the edge of the chasm--at this point forming not an actual drop, but a broken slide--last bull hardly paused. he plunged down, rolled over in the débris, struggled to his feet again instantly, and went ploughing and snorting up the opposite steep. as his colossal front, matted with mud, loomed up over the brink, his little eyes rolling and flaming, and the froth flying from his red nostrils, he formed a very nightmare of horror to those fugitives who dared to look behind them. surmounting the brink, he paused. there were so many enemies, he knew not which to pursue first. but straight ahead, in the very middle of the open, and far from any shelter, he saw a huddled group of children and nurses fleeing impotently and aimlessly. shrill cries came from the cluster, which danced with colors, scarlet and yellow and blue and vivid pink. to the mad buffalo, these were the most conspicuous and the loudest of his foes, and therefore the most dangerous. with a bellow he flung his tail straight in the air, and charged after them. an appalling hush fell, for a few heart-beats, all over the field. then from different quarters appeared uniformed attendants, racing and shouting frantically to divert the bull's attention. from fleeing groups black-coated men leapt forth, armed only with their walking-sticks, and rushed desperately to defend the flock of children, who now, in the extremity of their terror, were tumbling as they ran. some of the nurses were fleeing far in front, while others, the faithful ones, with eyes starting from their heads, grabbed up their little charges and struggled on under the burden. already last bull was halfway across the space which divided him from his foes. the ground shook under his ponderous gallop. at this moment payne reappeared on the broken porch. one glance showed him that no one was near enough to intervene. with a face stern and sorrowful he lifted the deadly . winchester which he had brought out with him. the spot he covered was just behind last bull's mighty shoulder. the smokeless powder spoke with a small, venomous report, unlike the black powder's noisy reverberation. last bull stumbled. but recovering himself instantly, he rushed on. he was hurt, and he felt it was those fleeing foes who had done it. a shade of perplexity darkened payne's face. he fired again. this time his aim was true. the heavy expanding bullet tore straight through bone and muscle and heart, and last bull lurched forward upon his head, ploughing up the turf for yards. as his mad eyes softened and filmed, he saw once more, perhaps,--or so the heavy-hearted keeper who had slain him would have us believe,--the shadowy plains unrolling under the wild sky, and the hosts of his vanished kindred drifting past into the dark. the king of the flaming hoops the king of the flaming hoops chapter i the white, scarred face of the mountain looked straight east, over a vast basin of tumbled, lesser hills, dim black forests, and steel-blue loops of a far-winding water. here and there long, level strata of pallid mist seemed to support themselves on the tree-tops, their edges fading off into the startling transparency that comes upon the air with the first of dawn. but that was in the lower world. up on the solitary summit of white face the daybreak had arrived. the jagged crest of the peak shot sudden radiances of flame-crimson, then bathed itself in a flow of rose-pinks and thin, indescribable reds and pulsating golds. swiftly, as the far horizon leapt into blaze, the aërial flood spread down the mountain-face, revealing and transforming. it reached the mouth of a cave on a narrow ledge. as the splendor poured into the dark opening, a tawny shape, long and lithe and sinewy, came padding forth, noiseless as itself, as if to meet and challenge it. half emerging from the entrance upon the high rock-platform which formed its threshold, the puma halted, head uplifted and forepaws planted squarely to the front. with wide, palely bright eyes she stared out across the tremendous and mysterious landscape. as the colored glory rushed down the mountain, rolling back the blue-gray transparency of shadow, those inscrutable eyes swept every suddenly revealed glade, knoll, and waterside where deer or elk might by chance be pasturing. she was a magnificent beast, this puma, massive of head and shoulder almost as a lioness, and in her calm scrutiny of the spaces unrolling before her gaze was a certain air of overlordship, as if her supremacy had gone long unquestioned. suddenly, however, her attitude changed. her eyes narrowed, her mighty muscles drew themselves together like springs being upcoiled, she half crouched, and her head turned sharply to the left, listening. far down the narrow ledge which afforded the trail to her den she had caught the sound of something approaching. as she listened, she crouched lower and lower, and her eyes began to burn with a thin, green flame. her ears would flatten back savagely, then lift themselves again to interrogate the approaching sounds. her anger at the intrusion upon her private domain was mixed with some apprehension, for behind her, in a warm corner of the den, curled up in a soft and furry ball like kittens, were her two sleeping cubs. her trail being well marked and with her scent strong upon it, she knew it could be no ignorant blunderer that drew near. it was plainly an enemy, and an arrogant enemy, since it made no attempt at stealth. the steps were not those of any hunter, white man or indian, of that she presently assured herself. with this assurance, her anxiety diminished and her anger increased. her tail, long and thick, doubled in thickness and began to jerk sharply from side to side. crouching to the belly, she crept all the way out upon the ledge and peered cautiously around a jutting shoulder of rock. the intruder was not yet in sight, because the front of white face, though apparently a sheer and awful precipice when viewed from the valley, was in fact wrinkled with gullies and buttresses and bucklings of the tortured strata. but the sound of his coming was now quite intelligible to her. that softly ponderous tread, that careless displacing of stones, those undisguised sniffings and mumblings could come only from a bear, and a bear frankly looking for trouble. well, he was going to find what he was looking for. with an antagonism handed down to her by a thousand ancestors, the great puma hated bears. many miles north of white face, on the other side of that ragged mountain-ridge to which he formed an isolated and towering outpost, there was a fertile valley which had just been invaded by settlers. on every hand awoke the sharp barking of the axe. rifle-shots startled the echoes. masterful voices and confident human laughter filled all the wild inhabitants with wonder and dismay. the undisputed lord of the range was an old silver-tip grizzly, of great size and evil temper. furious at the unexpected trespass on his sovereignty, yet well aware of his powerlessness against the human creature that could strike from very far off with lightning and thunder, he had made up his mind at once to withdraw to some remoter range. nevertheless, he had lingered for some days, sullenly expecting he knew not what. these formless expectations were most unpleasantly fulfilled when he came upon a man in a canoe paddling close in by the steep shore of the lake. he had hurled himself blindly down the bank, raging for vengeance, but when he reached the water's edge, the man was far out of reach. then, while he stood there wavering, half minded to swim in pursuit, the man had spoken with the lightning and the thunder, after the terrifying fashion of his kind. the bear had felt himself stung near the tip of the shoulder, as if by a million wasps at once, and the fiery anguish had brought him to his senses. it was no use trying to fight man, so he had dashed away into the thickets, and not halted till he had put miles between himself and the inexplicable enemy. for two days, with occasional stops to forage or to sleep, the angry grizzly had travelled southward, heading towards the lonely peak of white face. as the distance from his old haunts increased, his fears diminished; but his anger grew under the ceaseless fretting of that wound on his neck just where he could not reach to lick and soothe it. the flies, however, could reach it very well, and did. as a consequence, by the time he reached the upper slopes of white face, he was in a mood to fight anything. he would have charged a regiment, had he suddenly found one in his path. when he turned up a stone for the grubs, beetles, and scorpions which lurked beneath it, he would send it flying with a savage sweep of his paw. when he caught a rabbit, he smashed it flat in sheer fury, as if he cared more to mangle than to eat. at last he stumbled upon the trail of a puma. as he sniffed at it, he became, if possible, more angry than ever. pumas he had always hated. he had never had a chance to satisfy his grudge, for never had one dared to face his charge; but they had often snarled down defiance at him from some limb of oak or pine beyond his reach. he flung himself forward upon the trail with vengeful ardor. when he realized, from the fact that it was a much-used trail and led up among the barren rocks, that it was none other than the trail to the puma's lair, his satisfaction increased. he would be sure to find either the puma at home or the puma's young unguarded. [illustration: "when the grizzly saw her, his wicked little dark eyes glowed suddenly red."] when the puma, at last, saw him emerge around a curve of the trail, and noted his enormous stature, she gave one longing, wistful look back over her shoulder to the shadowed nook wherein her cubs lay sleeping. had there been any chance to get them both safely away, she would have shirked the fight, for their sakes. but she could not carry them both in her mouth at once up the face of the mountain. she would not desert either one. she hesitated a moment, as if doubtful whether or not to await attack in the mouth of the cave. then she crept farther out, where the ledge was not three feet wide, and crouched flat, silent, watchful, rigid, in the middle of the trail. when the grizzly saw her, his wicked little dark eyes glowed suddenly red, and he came up with a lumbering rush. with his gigantic, furry bulk, it looked as if he must instantly annihilate the slim, light creature that opposed him. it was a dreadful place to give battle, on that straight shelf of rock overhanging a sheer drop of perhaps a thousand feet. but scorn and rage together blinded the sagacity of the bear. with a grunt he charged. not until he was within ten feet of her did the crouching puma stir. then she shot into the air, as if hurled up by the release of a mighty spring. quick as a flash the grizzly shrank backward upon his haunches and swept up a huge black paw to parry the assault. but he was not quite quick enough. the puma's spring overreached his guard. she landed fairly upon his back, facing his tail; but in the fraction of a second she had whirled about and was tearing at his throat with teeth and claws, while the terrible talons of her hinder paws ripped at his flanks. with a roar of pain and amazement the grizzly struggled to shake her off, clutching and striking at her with paws that at one blow could smash in the skull of the most powerful bull. but he could not reach her. then he reared up, and threw himself backwards against the face of the rock, striving to crush her under his enormous weight. and in this he almost succeeded. just in time, she writhed around and outward, but not quite far enough, for one paw was caught and ground to a pulp. but at the next instant, thrust back from the rock by his own effort, the bear toppled outward over the brink of the shelf. grappling madly to save himself, he caught only the bowed loins of the puma, who now sank her teeth once more into his throat, while her rending claws seemed to tear him everywhere at once. he crushed her in his grip; and in a dreadful ball of screeching, roaring, biting, mangling rage the two plunged downward into the dim abyss. once, still locked in the death-grip, they struck upon a jutting rock, and bounded far out into space. then, as the ball rolled over in falling, it came apart; and separated now, though still very close together, the two bodies fell sprawlingly, and vanished into the blue-shadowed deeps which the dawn had not yet reached. upon this sudden and terrible ending of the fight appeared a bearded frontiersman who had been trailing the grizzly for half an hour and waiting for light enough to secure a sure shot. with something like awe in his face he came, and knelt down, with hands gripping cautiously, and peered over the dreadful brink. "gee! but that there cat was game!" he muttered, drawing back and sweeping a comprehensive gaze across the stupendous landscape, as if challenging denial of his statement. obviously the silences were of the same opinion, for there came no suggestion of dissent. carefully he rose to his feet and pressed on towards the cave. without hesitation he entered, for he knew that the puma's mate some weeks before had been shot, far down in the valley. he found the kittens asleep and began to fondle them. at his touch, and the smell of him, they awoke, spitting and clawing with all their mother's courage. young as they were, their claws drew blood abundantly. "gritty little devils!" growled the man good-naturedly, snatching back his hand and wiping the blood on his trouser-leg. then he took off his coat, threw it over the troublesome youngsters, rolled them in it securely, so that not one protesting claw could get out, and started back to the camp with the grumbling and uneasy bundle in his arms. three months later, the two puma cubs, sleek, fat, full of gayety as two kittens of like age, and convinced by this time that man was the source and origin of all good things, were sold to a travelling collector. one, the female, was sent down to a zoölogical garden on the pacific coast. the other, the male, much the larger and at the same time the more even-tempered and amenable to teaching, found its way to the cages of an animal-trainer in the east. chapter ii "king's kind of ugly to-night, seems to me; better keep yer eyes peeled!" said andy hansen, the assistant trainer, the big, yellow-haired swede who knew not fear. neither did he know impatience or irritability; and so all the animals, as a rule, were on their good behavior under his calm, masterful, blue eye. yet he was tactful with the beasts, and given to humoring their moods as far as convenient without ever letting them guess it. "oh, you go chase yourself, andy!" replied signor tomaso, the trainer, with a strong new england accent. "if i got to look out for king, i'd better quit the business. don't you go trying to make trouble between friends, andy." "of course, bill, i know he'd never try to maul _you_," explained hansen seriously, determined that he should not be misunderstood in the smallest particular. "but he's acting curious. look out he don't get into a scrap with some of the other animals." "i reckon i kin keep 'em all straight," answered the trainer dryly, as he turned away to get ready for the great performance which the audience, dimly heard beyond the canvas walls, was breathlessly awaiting. the trainer's name was william sparks, and his birthplace big chebeague, maine; but his lean, swarthy face and piercing, green-brown eyes, combined with the craving of his audiences for a touch of the romantic, had led him to adopt the more sonorous pseudonym of "signor tomaso." he maintained that if he went under his own name, nobody would ever believe that what he did could be anything wonderful. except for this trifling matter of the name, there was no fake about signor tomaso. he was a brilliant animal-trainer, as unacquainted with fear as the swede, as dominant of eye, and of immeasurably greater experience. but being, at the same time, more emotional, more temperamental than his phlegmatic assistant, his control was sometimes less steady, and now and again he would have to assert his authority with violence. he was keenly alive to the varying personalities of his beasts, naturally, and hence had favorites among them. his especial favorite, who heartily reciprocated the attachment, was the great puma, king, the most intelligent and amiable of all the wild animals that had ever come under his training whip. as hansen's success with the animals, during the few months of his experience as assistant, had been altogether phenomenal, his chief felt a qualm of pique upon being warned against the big puma. he had too just an appreciation of hansen's judgment, however, to quite disregard the warning, and he turned it over curiously in his mind as he went to his dressing-room. emerging a few minutes later in the black-and-white of faultless evening dress, without a speck on his varnished shoes, he moved down along the front of the cages, addressing to the occupant of each, as he passed, a sharp, authoritative word which brought it to attention. with the strange, savage smell of the cages in his nostrils, that bitter, acrid pungency to which his senses never grew blunted, a new spirit of understanding was wont to enter tomaso's brain. he would feel a sudden kinship with the wild creatures, such a direct and instant comprehension as almost justified his fancy that in some previous existence he had himself been a wild man of the jungle and spoken in their tongue. as he looked keenly into each cage, he knew that the animal whose eyes for that moment met his was in untroubled mood. this, till he came to the cage containing the latest addition to his troupe, a large cinnamon bear, which was rocking restlessly to and fro and grumbling to itself. the bear was one which had been long in captivity and well trained. tomaso had found him docile, and clever enough to be admitted at once to the performing troupe. but to-night the beast's eyes were red with some ill-humor. twice the trainer spoke to him before he heeded; but then he assumed instantly an air of mildest subservience. the expression of a new-weaned puppy is not more innocently mild than the look which a bear can assume when it so desires. "ah, ha! old sport! so it's you that's got a grouch on to-night; i'll keep an eye on you!" he muttered to himself. he snapped his heavy whip once, and the bear obediently sat up on its haunches, its great paws hanging meekly. tomaso looked it sharply in the eye. "don't forget, now, and get funny!" he admonished. then he returned to the first cage, which contained the puma, and went up close to the bars. the great cat came and rubbed against him, purring harshly. "there ain't nothing the matter with _you_, boy, i reckon," said tomaso, scratching him affectionately behind the ears. "andy must have wheels in his head if he thinks i've got to keep my eyes peeled on _your_ account." out beyond the iron-grilled passage, beyond the lighted canvas walls, the sharp, metallic noises of the workmen setting up the great performing-cage came to a stop. there was a burst of music from the orchestra. that, too, ceased. the restless hum of the unseen masses around the arena died away into an expectant hush. it was time to go on. at the farther end of the passage, by the closed door leading to the performing cage, hansen appeared. tomaso opened the puma's cage. king dropped out with a soft thud of his great paws, and padded swiftly down the passage, his master following. hansen slid wide the door, admitting a glare of light, a vast, intense rustle of excitement; and king marched majestically out into it, eying calmly the tier on climbing tier of eager faces. it was his customary privilege, this, to make the entrance alone, a good half minute ahead of the rest of the troupe; and he seemed to value it. halfway around the big cage he walked, then mounted his pedestal, sat up very straight, and stared blandly at the audience. a salvo of clapping ran smartly round the tiers--king's usual tribute, which he had so learned to expect that any failure of it would have dispirited him for the whole performance. signor tomaso had taken his stand, whip in hand, just inside the cage, with hansen opposite him, to see that the animals, on entry, went each straight to his own bench or pedestal. any mistake in this connection was sure to lead to trouble, each beast being almost childishly jealous of its rights. inside the long passage an attendant was opening one cage after another; and in a second more the animals began to appear in procession, filing out between the immaculate signor and the roughly clad swede. first came a majestic white angora goat, carrying high his horned and bearded head, and stepping most daintily upon slim, black hoofs. close behind, and looking just ready to pounce upon him but for dread of the signor's eye, came slinking stealthily a spotted black-and-yellow leopard, ears back and tail twitching. he seemed ripe for mischief, as he climbed reluctantly on to his pedestal beside the goat; but he knew better than to even bare a claw. and as for the white goat, with his big golden eyes superciliously half closed, he ignored his dangerous neighbor completely, while his jaws chewed nonchalantly on a bit of brown shoe-lace which he had picked up in the passage. close behind the leopard came a bored-looking lion, who marched with listless dignity straight to his place. then another lion, who paused in the doorway and looked out doubtfully, blinking with distaste at the strong light. tomaso spoke sharply, like the snap of his whip, whereupon the lion ran forward in haste. but he seemed to have forgotten which was his proper pedestal, for he hopped upon the three nearest in turn, only to hop down again with apologetic alacrity at the order of the cracking whip. at last, obviously flustered, he reached a pedestal on which he was allowed to remain. here he sat, blinking from side to side and apparently much mortified. the lion was followed by a running wolf, who had shown his teeth savagely when the lion, for a moment, trespassed upon his pedestal. this beast was intensely interested in the audience, and, as soon as he was in his place, turned his head and glared with green, narrowed eyes at the nearest spectators, as if trying to stare them out of countenance. after the wolf come a beautiful bengal tiger, its black-and-golden stripes shining as if they had been oiled. he glided straight to his stand, sniffed at it superciliously, and then lay down before it. the whip snapped sharply three times, but the tiger only shut his eyes tight. the audience grew hushed. tomaso ran forward, seized the beast by the back of the neck, and shook him roughly. whereupon the tiger half rose, opened his great red mouth like a cavern, and roared in his master's face. the audience thrilled from corner to corner, and a few cries came from frightened women. the trainer paused for an instant, to give full effect to the situation. then, stooping suddenly, he lifted the tiger's hind-quarters and deposited them firmly on the pedestal, and left him in that awkward position. "there," he said in a loud voice, "that's all the help you'll get from me!" the audience roared with instant and delighted appreciation. the tiger gathered up the rest of himself upon his pedestal, wiped his face with his paw, like a cat, and settled down complacently with a pleased assurance that he had done the trick well. at this moment the attention of the audience was drawn to the entrance, where there seemed to be some hitch. tomaso snapped his whip sharply, and shouted savage orders, but nothing came forth. then the big swede, with an agitated air, snatched up the trainer's pitchfork, which stood close at hand in case of emergency, made swift passes at the empty doorway, and jumped back. the audience was lifted fairly to its feet with excitement. what monster could it be that was giving so much trouble? the next moment, while tomaso's whip hissed in vicious circles over his head, a plump little drab-colored pug-dog marched slowly out upon the stage, its head held arrogantly aloft. volleys of laughter crackled around the arena, and the delighted spectators settled, tittering, back into their seats. the pug glanced searchingly around the cage, then selecting the biggest of the lions as a worthy antagonist, flew at his pedestal, barking furious challenge. the lion glanced down at him, looked bored at the noise, and yawned. apparently disappointed, the pug turned away and sought another adversary. he saw king's big tail hanging down beside his pedestal. flinging himself upon it, he began to worry it as if it were a rat. the next moment the tail threshed vigorously, and the pug went rolling end over end across the stage. picking himself up and shaking the sawdust from his coat, the pug growled savagely and curled his little tail into a tighter screw. bristling with wrath, he tiptoed menacingly back toward the puma's pedestal, determined to wipe out the indignity. this time his challenge was accepted. tomaso's whip snapped, but the audience was too intent to hear it. the great puma slipped down from his pedestal, ran forward a few steps, and crouched. with a shrill snarl the pug rushed in. at the same instant the puma sprang, making a splendid tawny curve through the air, and alighted ten feet behind his antagonist's tail. there he wheeled like lightning and crouched. but the pug, enraged at being balked of his vengeance, had also wheeled, and charged again in the same half second. in the next, he had the puma by the throat. with a dreadful screech the great beast rolled over on his side and stiffened out his legs. the pug drew off, eyed him critically to make sure that he was quite dead, then ran, barking shrill triumph, to take possession of the victim's place. then the whip cracked once more. whereupon the puma got up, trotted back to his pedestal, mounted it, and tucked the pug protectingly away between his great forepaws. the applause had not quite died away when a towering, sandy-brown bulk appeared in the entrance to the cage. erect upon its hind legs, and with a musket on its shoulder, it marched ponderously and slowly around the circle, eying each of the sitting beasts--except the wolf--suspiciously as it passed. the watchful eyes of both signor tomaso and hansen noted that it gave wider berth to the puma than to any of the others, and also that the puma's ears, at the moment, were ominously flattened. instantly the long whip snapped its terse admonition to good manners. nothing happened, except that the pug, from between the puma's legs, barked insolently. the sandy-brown bulk reached its allotted pedestal,--which was quite absurdly too small for it to mount,--dropped the musket with a clatter, fell upon all fours with a loud _whoof_ of relief, and relapsed into a bear. the stage now set to his satisfaction, signor tomaso advanced to the centre of it. he snapped his whip, and uttered a sharp cry which the audience doubtless took for purest italian. immediately the animals all descended from their pedestals, and circled solemnly around him in a series of more or less intricate evolutions, all except the bear, who, not having yet been initiated into this beast quadrille, kept his place and looked scornful. at another signal the evolutions ceased, and all the beasts, except one of the lions, hurried back to their places. the lion, with the bashful air of a boy who gets up to "speak his piece" at a school examination, lingered in the middle of the stage. a rope was brought. the swede took one end of it, the attendant who had brought it took the other, and between them they began to swing it, very slowly, as a great skipping-rope. at an energetic command from signor tomaso the lion slipped into the swinging circle, and began to skip in a ponderous and shamefaced fashion. the house thundered applause. for perhaps half a minute the strange performance continued, the whip snapping rhythmically with every descent of the rope. then all at once, as if he simply could not endure it for another second, the lion bolted, head down, clambered upon his pedestal, and shut his eyes hard as if expecting a whipping. but as nothing happened except a roar of laughter from the seats, he opened them again and glanced from side to side complacently, as if to say, "didn't i get out of that neatly?" the next act was a feat of teetering. a broad and massive teeter-board was brought in, and balanced across a support about two feet high. the sulky leopard, at a sign from tomaso, slouched up to it, pulled one end to the ground, and mounted. at the centre he balanced cautiously for a moment till it tipped, then crept on to the other end, and crouched there, holding it down as if his very life depended on it. immediately the white goat dropped from his pedestal, minced daintily over, skipped up upon the centre of the board, and mounted to the elevated end. his weight was not sufficient to lift, or even to disturb, the leopard, who kept the other end anchored securely. but the goat seemed to like his high and conspicuous position, for he maintained it with composure and stared around with great condescension upon the other beasts. the goat having been given time to demonstrate his unfitness for the task he had undertaken, tomaso's whip cracked again. instantly king descended from his pedestal, ran over to the teeter-board, and mounted it at the centre. the goat, unwilling to be dispossessed of his high place, stamped and butted at him indignantly, but with one scornful sweep of his great paw the puma brushed him off to the sawdust, and took his place at the end of the board. snarling and clutching at the cleats, the leopard was hoisted into the air, heavily outweighed. the crowd applauded; but the performance, obviously, was not yet perfect. now came the white goat's opportunity. he hesitated a moment, till he heard a word from tomaso. then he sprang once more upon the centre of the board, faced king, and backed up inch by inch towards the leopard till the latter began to descend. at this point of balance the white goat had one forefoot just on the pivot of the board. with a dainty, dancing motion, and a proud tossing of his head, he now threw his weight slowly backward and forward. the great teeter worked to perfection. signor tomaso was kept bowing to round after round of applause while the leopard, the goat, and king returned proudly to their places. after this, four of the red-and-yellow uniformed attendants ran in, each carrying a large hoop. they stationed themselves at equal distances around the circumference of the cage, holding the hoops out before them at a height of about four feet from the ground. at the command of tomaso, the animals all formed in procession--though not without much cracking of the whip and vehement command--and went leaping one after the other through the hoops--all except the pug, who tried in vain to jump so high, and the bear, who, not knowing how to jump at all, simply marched around and pretended not to see that the hoops were there. then four other hoops, covered with white paper, were brought in, and head first through them the puma led the way. when it came to the bear's turn, the whip cracked a special signal. whereupon, instead of ignoring the hoop as he had done before, he stuck his head through it and marched off with it hanging on his neck. all four hoops he gathered up in this way, and, retiring with them to his place, stood shuffling restlessly and grunting with impatience until he was relieved of the awkward burden. a moment later four more hoops were handed to the attendants. they looked like the first lot; but the attendants took them with hooked handles of iron and held them out at arm's length. touched with a match, they burst instantly into leaping yellow flames; whereupon all the beasts, except king, stirred uneasily on their pedestals. the whip snapped with emphasis; and all the beasts--except king, who sat eying the flames tranquilly, and the bear, who whined his disapproval, but knew that he was not expected to take part in this act--formed again in procession, and ran at the flaming hoops as if to jump through them as before. but each, on arriving at a hoop, crouched flat and scurried under it like a frightened cat--except the white goat, which pranced aside and capered past derisively. pretending to be much disappointed in them, signor tomaso ordered them all back to their places, and, folding his arms, stood with his head lowered as if wondering what to do about it. upon this, king descended proudly from his pedestal and approached the blazing terrors. with easiest grace and nonchalance he lifted his lithe body, and went bounding lightly through the hoops, one after the other. the audience stormed its applause. twice around this terrifying circuit he went, as indifferent to the writhing flames as if they had been so much grass waving in the wind. then he stopped abruptly, turned his head, and looked at tomaso in expectation. the latter came up, fondled his ears, and assured him that he had done wonders. then king returned to his place, elation bristling in his whiskers. while the flaming hoops were being rushed from the ring and the audience was settling down again to the quiet of unlimited expectation, a particularly elaborate act was being prepared. a massive wooden stand, with shelves and seats at various heights, was brought in. signor tomaso, coiling the lash of his whip and holding the heavy handle, with its loaded butt, as a sceptre, took his place on a somewhat raised seat at the centre of the frame. hansen, with his pitchfork in one hand and a whip like tomaso's in the other, drew nearer; and the audience, with a thrill, realized that something more than ordinarily dangerous was on the cards. the tiger came and stretched itself at full length before tomaso, who at once appropriated him as a footstool. the bear and the biggest of the lions posted themselves on either side of their master, rearing up like the armorial supporters of some illustrious escutcheon, and resting their mighty forepaws apparently on their master's shoulders, though in reality on two narrow little shelves placed there for the purpose. another lion came and laid his huge head on tomaso's knees, as if doing obeisance. by this time all the other animals were prowling about the stand, peering this way and that, as if trying to remember their places; and the big swede was cracking his whip briskly, with curt, deep-toned commands, to sharpen up their memories. only king seemed quite clear as to what he had to do--which was to lay his tawny body along the shelf immediately over the heads of the lion and the bear; but as he mounted the stand from the rear, his ears went back and he showed a curious reluctance to fulfil his part. hansen's keen eyes noted this at once, and his whip snapped emphatically in the air just above the great puma's nose. still king hesitated. the lion paid no attention whatever, but the bear glanced up with reddening eyes and a surly wagging of his head. it was all a slight matter, too slight to catch the eye or the uncomprehending thoughts of the audience. but a grave, well-dressed man, with copper-colored face, high cheek-bones and straight, coal-black hair, who sat close to the front, turned to a companion and said:-- "those men are good trainers, but they don't know everything about pumas. _we_ know that there is a hereditary feud between the pumas and the bears, and that when they come together there's apt to be trouble." the speaker was a full-blooded sioux, and a graduate of one of the big eastern universities. he leaned forward with a curious fire in his deep-set, piercing eyes, as king, unwillingly obeying the mandates of the whip, dropped down and stretched out upon his shelf, his nervous forepaws not more than a foot above the bear's head. his nostrils were twitching as if they smelled something unutterably distasteful, and his thick tail looked twice its usual size. the sioux, who, alone of all present, understood these signs, laid an involuntary hand of warning upon his companion's knee. just what positions the other animals were about to take will never be known. king's sinews tightened. "ha-ow!" grunted the sioux, reverting in his excitement to his ancient utterance. there was a lightning sweep of king's paw, a shout from hansen, a _wah_ of surprise and pain from the bear. king leaped back to the top of the stand to avoid the expected counter-stroke. but not against him did the bear's rage turn. the maddened beast seemed to conclude that his master had betrayed him. with a roar he struck at tomaso with the full force of his terrible forearm. tomaso was in the very act of leaping forward from his seat, when the blow caught him full on the shoulder, shattering the bones, ripping the whole side out of his coat, and hurling him senseless to the floor. the change in the scene was instantaneous and appalling. most of the animals, startled, and dreading immediate punishment, darted for their pedestals,--_any_ pedestals that they found within reach,--and fought savagely for the possession of the first they came to. the bear fell furiously upon the body of tomaso. cries and shrieks arose from the spectators. hansen rushed to the rescue, his fork clutched in both hands. attendants, armed with forks or iron bars, seemed to spring up from nowhere. but before any one could reach the spot, an appalling screech tore across the uproar, and king's yellow body, launched from the top of the stand, fell like a thunderbolt upon the bear's back. the shock rolled the bear clean over. while he was clawing about wildly, in the effort to grapple with his assailant, hansen dragged aside the still unconscious tomaso, and two attendants carried him hurriedly from the stage. audience and stage alike were now in a sort of frenzy. animals were fighting here and there in tangled groups; but for the moment all eyes were riveted on the deadly struggle which occupied the centre of the stage. for all that he had less than a quarter the weight and nothing like a quarter the bulk of his gigantic adversary, the puma, through the advantage of his attack, was having much the best of the fight. hansen had no time for sentiment, no time to concern himself as to whether his chief was dead or alive. his business was to save valuable property by preventing the beasts from destroying each other. it mattered not to him, now, that king had come so effectively to tomaso's rescue. prodding him mercilessly with his fork, and raining savage blows upon his head, he strove, in a cold rage, to drive him off; but in vain. but other keepers, meanwhile, had run in with ropes and iron bars. a few moments more and both combatants were securely lassoed. then they were torn apart by main force, streaming with blood. blinded by blankets thrown over their heads, and hammered into something like subjection, they were dragged off at a rush and slammed unceremoniously into their dens. with them out of the way, it was a quick matter to dispose of the other fights, though not till after the white goat had been killed to satisfy that ancient grudge of the leopard's, and the wolf had been cruelly mauled for having refused to give up his pedestal to one of the excited lions. only the pug had come off unscathed, having had the presence of mind to dart under the foundations of the frame at the first sign of trouble, and stay there. when all the other animals had been brought to their senses and driven off, one by one, to their cages, he came forth from his hiding and followed dejectedly, the curl quite taken out of his confident tail. then word went round among the spectators that tomaso was not dead--that, though badly injured, he would recover; and straightway they calmed down, with a complacent sense of having got the value of their money. the great cage was taken apart and carried off. the stage was speedily transformed. and two trick comedians, with slippers that flapped a foot beyond their toes, undertook to wipe out the memory of what had happened. chapter iii the show was touring the larger towns of the northwest. on the following day it started, leaving tomaso behind in hospital, with a shattered shoulder and bitter wrath in his heart. at the next town, hansen took tomaso's place, but, for two reasons, with a sadly maimed performance. he had not yet acquired sufficient control of the animals to dare all tomaso's acts; and the troupe was lacking some of its most important performers. the proud white goat was dead. the bear, the wolf, and one of the lions were laid up with their wounds. and as for the great puma, though _he_ had come off with comparatively little hurt, his temper had apparently been quite transformed. hansen could do nothing with him. whether it was that he was sick for tomaso, whom he adored, or that he stewed in a black rage over the blows and pitchforkings, hitherto unknown to him, no one could surely say. he would do nothing but crouch, brooding, sullen and dangerous, at the back of his cage. hansen noted the green light flickering fitfully across his pale, wide eyes, and prudently refrained from pressing matters. he was right. for, as a matter of fact, it was against the big swede exclusively, and not against man in general, that king was nursing his grudge. in a dim way it had got into his brain that hansen had taken sides with the bear against him and tomaso, and he thirsted for vengeance. at the same time, he felt that tomaso had deserted him. day by day, as he brooded, the desire for escape--a desire which he had never known before--grew in his heart. vaguely, perhaps, he dreamed that he would go and find tomaso. at any rate, he would go--somewhere, anywhere, away from this world which had turned unfriendly to him. when this feeling grew dominant, he would rise suddenly and go prowling swiftly up and down behind the bars of his cage like a wild creature just caught. curiously enough--for it is seldom indeed that fate responds to the longing of such exiles from the wild--his opportunity came. late at night the show reached a little town among the foothills. the train had been delayed for hours. the night was dark. everything was in confusion, and all nerves on edge. the short road from the station to the field where the tents were to be set up was in bad repair, or had never been really a road. it ran along the edge of a steep gully. in the darkness one wheel of the van containing king's cage dropped to the hub into a yawning rut. under the violence of the jolt a section of the edge of the bank gave way and crashed down to the bottom of the gully, dragging with it the struggling and screaming horses. the cage roof was completely smashed in. to king's eyes the darkness was but a twilight, pleasant and convenient. he saw an opening big enough to squeeze through; and beyond it, beyond the wild shouting and the flares of swung lanterns, a thick wood dark beneath the paler sky. before any one could get down to the wreck, he was out and free and away. crouching with belly to the earth, he ran noiselessly, and gained the woods before any one knew he had escaped. straight on he ran, watchful but swift, heading for the places where the silence lay heaviest. within five minutes hansen had half the men of the show, with ropes, forks, and lanterns, hot on the trail. within fifteen minutes, half the male population of the town was engaged in an enthusiastic puma hunt. but king was already far away, and making progress that would have been impossible to an ordinary wild puma. his life among men had taught him nothing about trees, so he had no unfortunate instinct to climb one and hide among the branches to see what his pursuers would be up to. his idea of getting away--and, perhaps, of finding his vanished master--was to keep right on. and this he did, though of course not at top speed, the pumas not being a race of long-winded runners like the wolves. in an hour or two he reached a rocky and precipitous ridge, quite impassable to men except by day. this he scaled with ease, and at the top, in the high solitude, felt safe enough to rest a little while. then he made his way down the long, ragged western slopes, and at daybreak came into a wild valley of woods and brooks. by this time king was hungry. but game was plentiful. after two or three humiliating failures with rabbits--owing to his inexperience in stalking anything more elusive than a joint of dead mutton, he caught a fat wood-chuck, and felt his self-respect return. here he might have been tempted to halt, although, to be sure, he saw no sign of tomaso, but beyond the valley, still westward, he saw mountains, which drew him strangely. in particular, one uplifted peak, silver and sapphire as the clear day, and soaring supreme over the jumble of lesser summits, attracted him. he knew now that that was where he was going, and thither he pressed on with singleness of purpose, delaying only when absolutely necessary, to hunt or to sleep. the cage, the stage, the whip, hansen, the bear, even the proud excitement of the flaming hoops, were swiftly fading to dimness in his mind, overwhelmed by the inrush of new, wonderful impressions. at last, reaching the lower, granite-ribbed flanks of old white face itself, he began to feel curiously content, and no longer under the imperative need of haste. here it was good hunting. yet, though well satisfied, he made no effort to find himself a lair to serve as headquarters, but kept gradually working his way onward up the mountain. the higher he went, the more content he grew, till even his craving for his master was forgotten. latent instincts began to spring into life, and he lapsed into the movements and customs of the wild puma. only when he came upon a long, massive footprint in the damp earth by a spring, or a wisp of pungent-smelling fur on the rubbed and clawed bark of a tree, memory would rush back upon him fiercely. his ears would flatten down, his eyes would gleam green, his tail would twitch, and crouching to earth he would glare into every near-by thicket for a sight of his mortal foe. he had not yet learned to discriminate perfectly between an old scent and a new. about this time a hunter from the east, who had his camp a little farther down the valley, was climbing white face on the trail of a large grizzly. he was lithe of frame, with a lean, dark, eager face, and he followed the perilous trail with a lack of prudence which showed a very inadequate appreciation of grizzlies. the trail ran along a narrow ledge cresting an abrupt but bushy steep. at the foot of the steep, crouched along a massive branch and watching for game of some sort to pass by, lay the big puma. attracted by a noise above his head he glanced up, and saw the hunter. it was certainly not tomaso, but it looked like him; and the puma's piercing eyes grew almost benevolent. he had no ill-feeling to any man but the swede. other ears than those of the puma had heard the unwary hunter's footsteps. the grizzly had caught them and stopped to listen. yes, he was being followed. in a rage he wheeled about and ran back noiselessly to see who it was that could dare such presumption. turning a shoulder of rock, he came face to face with the hunter, and at once, with a deep, throaty grunt, he charged. the hunter had not even time to get his heavy rifle to his shoulder. he fired once, point blank, from the hip. the shot took effect somewhere, but in no vital spot evidently, for it failed to check, even for one second, that terrific charge. to meet the charge was to be blasted out of being instantly. there was but one way open. the hunter sprang straight out from the ledge with a lightning vision of thick, soft-looking bushes far below him. the slope was steep, but by no means perpendicular, and he struck in a thicket which broke the full shock of the fall. his rifle flew far out of his hands. he rebounded, clutching at the bushes; but he could not check himself. rolling over and over, his eyes and mouth choked with dust and leaves, he bumped on down the slope, and brought up at last, dazed but conscious, in a swampy hole under the roots of a huge over-leaning tree. [illustration: "almost over his head, on a limb not six feet distant, crouched, ready to spring, the biggest puma he had ever seen."] striving to clear his eyes and mouth, his first realization was that he could not lift his left arm. the next, that he seemed to have jumped from the frying-pan into the fire. his jaws set themselves desperately, as he drew the long hunting-knife from his belt and struggled up to one knee, resolved to at least make his last fight a good one. almost over his head, on a limb not six feet distant, crouched, ready to spring, the biggest puma he had ever seen. at this new confronting of doom his brain cleared, and his sinews seemed to stretch with fresh courage. it was hopeless, of course, as he knew, but his heart refused to recognize the fact. then he noted with wonder that not at him at all was the puma looking, but far over his head. he followed that look, and again his heart sank, this time quite beyond the reach of hope. there was the grizzly coming headlong down the slope, foam slavering from his red jaws. bewildered, and feeling like a rat in a hole, the hunter tried to slip around the base of the tree, desperately hoping to gain some post of vantage whence to get home at least two or three good blows before the end. but the moment he moved, the grizzly fairly hurled himself downwards. the hunter jumped aside and wheeled, with his knife lifted, his disabled left arm against the tree trunk. but in that same instant, a miracle! noiselessly the puma's tawny length shot out overhead and fell upon the bear in the very mid-rush of the charge. at once it seemed as if some cataclysmic upheaval were in progress. the air, as it were, went mad with screeches, yells, snarls, and enormous thick gruntings. the bushes went down on every side. now the bear was on top, now the puma. they writhed over and over, and for some seconds the hunter stared with stupefaction. then he recovered his wits. he saw that the puma, for some inexplicable reason, had come to his help. but he saw, also, that the gigantic grizzly must win. instead of slipping off and leaving his ally to destruction, he ran up, waited a moment for the perfect opportunity, and drove his knife to the hilt into the very centre of the back of the bear's neck, just where it joined the skull. then he sprang aside. strangely the noise died away. the huge bulk of the grizzly sank slowly into a heap, the puma still raking it with the eviscerating weapons of his hinder claws. a moment more and he seemed to realize that he had achieved a sudden triumph. bleeding, hideously mangled, but still, apparently, full of fighting vigor, he disengaged himself from the unresisting mass and looked around him proudly. his wild eyes met those of the hunter, and the hunter had an anxious moment. but the great beast looked away again at once, and seemed, in fact, to forget all about the man's existence. he lay down and commenced licking assiduously at his wounds. filled with astonishment, and just now beginning to realize the anguish in his broken arm, the hunter stole discreetly away. after an hour or two the puma arose, rather feebly, passed the body of his slain foe without a glance, and clambered up the slope to the ledge. he wanted a place of refuge now, a retreat that would be safe and cool and dark. up and up he followed the winding of that narrow trail, and came out at last upon a rocky platform before a black-mouthed cave. he knew well enough that he had killed the owner of the cave, so he entered without hesitation. here, for two days, he lay in concealment, licking his wounds. he had no desire to eat; but two or three times, because the wounds fevered him, he came forth and descended the trail a little way to where he had seen a cold spring bubbling from the rocks. his clean blood, in that high, clean air, quickly set itself to the healing of the hurts, and strength flowed back swiftly into his torn sinews. at dawn of the third day he felt himself suddenly hungry, and realizing that he must seek some small game, even though not yet ready for any difficult hunting, he crept forth, just as the first thin glory of rose light came washing into the cave. but before he started down the trail he paused, and stood staring, with some dim half memory, out across the transparent, hollow spaces, the jumbled hilltops, misty, gray-green forests, and steel-bright loops of water to which he had at last come home. the monarch of park barren the monarch of park barren chapter i from the cold spring lakes and sombre deeps of spruce forest, over which the bald granite peak of old saugamauk kept endless guard, came reports of a moose of more than royal stature, whose antlers beggared all records for symmetry and spread. from a home-coming lumber cruiser here, a wandering indian there, the word came straggling in, till the settlements about the lower reaches of the river began to believe there might be some truth behind the wild tales. then--for it was autumn, the season of gold and crimson falling leaves, and battles on the lake-shores under the white full moon--there followed stories of other moose seen fleeing in terror, with torn flanks and bleeding shoulders; and it was realized that the prowess of the great moose bull was worthy of his stature and his adornment. apparently he was driving all the other bulls off the saugamauk ranges. by this time the matter became of interest to the guides. the stories gathered in from different quarters, so it was hard to guess just where the gigantic stranger was most likely to be found. to north and northeast of the mountain went the two armstrongs, seeking the stranger's trail; while to south and southeastward explored the crimmins boys. if real, the giant bull had to be located; if a myth, he had to be exploded before raising impossible hopes in the hearts of visiting sportsmen. then suddenly arrived corroboration of all the stories. it came from charley crimmins. he was able to testify with conviction that the giant bull was no figment of indian's imagination or lumberman's inventive humor. for it was he whose search had been successful. in fact, he might have been content to have it just a shade less overwhelmingly successful. that there is such a thing as an embarrassment of success was borne in upon him when he found himself jumping madly for the nearest tree, with a moose that seemed to have the stature of an elephant crashing through the thickets close behind him. he reached the tree just in time to swing well up among its branches. then the tree quivered as the furious animal flung his bulk against it. crimmins had lost his rifle in the flight. he could do nothing but sit shivering on his branch, making remarks so uncomplimentary that the great bull, if he could have appreciated them, would probably have established himself under that tree till vengeance was accomplished. but not knowing that he had been insulted, he presently grew tired of snorting at his captive, and wandered off through the woods in search of more exciting occupation. then, indignant beyond words, charley descended from his retreat, and took his authoritative report in to the settlements. [illustration: "he reached the tree just in time to swing well up among the branches."] at first it was thought that there would be great hunting around old saugamauk, till those tremendous antlers should fall a prize to some huntsman not only lucky but rich. for no one who could not pay right handsomely for the chance might hope to be guided to the range where such an unequalled trophy was to be won. but when the matter, in all its authenticated details, came to the ears of uncle adam, dean of the guides of that region, he said "_no_" with an emphasis that left no room for argument. there should be no hunting around the slopes of saugamauk for several seasons. if the great bull was the terror they made him out to be, then he had driven all the other bulls from his range, and there was nothing to be hunted but his royal self. "well," decreed the far-seeing old guide, "we'll let him be for a bit, till his youngsters begin to grow up like him. then there'll be no heads in all the rest of new brunswick like them that comes from old saugamauk." this decree was accepted, the new brunswick guides being among those who are wise enough to cherish the golden-egged goose. in the course of that season the giant moose was seen several times by guides and woodsmen--but usually from a distance, as the inconsiderate impetuosity of his temper was not favorable to close or calm observation. the only people who really knew him were those who, like charley crimmins, had looked down upon his grunting wrath from the branches of a substantial tree. upon certain important details, however, all observers agreed. the stranger (for it was held that, driven by some southward wandering instinct, he had come down from the wild solitudes of the gaspé peninsula) was reckoned to be a good eight inches taller at the shoulders than any other moose of new brunswick record, and several hundredweight heavier. his antlers, whose symmetry and palmation seemed perfect, were estimated to have a spread of sixty inches at least. that was the conservative estimate of uncle adam, who had made his observations with remarkable composure from a tree somewhat less lofty and sturdy than he would have chosen had he had the time for choice. in color the giant was so dark that his back and flanks looked black except in the strongest sunlight. his mighty head, with long, deeply overhanging muzzle, was of a rich brown; while the under parts of his body, and the inner surfaces of his long, straight legs, were of a rusty fawn color. his "bell"--as the shaggy appendix that hangs from the neck of a bull moose, a little below the throat, is called--was of unusual development, and the coarse hair adorning it peculiarly glossy. to bring down such a magnificent prize, and to carry off such a trophy as that unmatched head and antlers, the greatest sportsmen of america would have begrudged no effort or expense. but though the fame of the wonderful animal was cunningly allowed to spread to the ears of all sportsmen, its habitat seemed miraculously elusive. it was heard of on the upsalquitch, the nipisiguit, the dungarvan, the little sou'west, but never, by some strange chance, in the country around old saugamauk. visiting sportsmen hunted, spent money, dreamed dreams, followed great trails and brought down splendid heads, all over the province; but no stranger with a rifle was allowed to see the proud antlers of the monarch of saugamauk. the right of the splendid moose to be called the monarch of saugamauk was settled beyond all question one moonlight night when the surly old bear who lived in a crevasse far up under the stony crest of the mountain came down and attempted to dispute it. the wild kindreds, as a rule, are most averse to unnecessary quarrels. unless their food or their mates are at stake, they will fight only under extreme provocation, or when driven to bay. they are not ashamed to run away, rather than press matters too far and towards a doubtful issue. a bull moose and a bear are apt to give each other a wide berth, respecting each other's prowess. but there are exceptions to all rules, especially where bears, the most individual of our wild cousins, are concerned. and this bear was in a particularly savage mood. just in the mating season he had lost his mate, who had been shot by an indian. the old bear did not know what had happened to her, but he was ready to avenge her upon any one who might cross his path. unluckily for him, it was the great moose who crossed his path; and the luck was all charley crimmins's, who chanced to be the spectator of what happened there beside the moonlit lake. charley was on his way over to the head of the nipisiguit, when it occurred to him that he would like to get another glimpse of the great beast who had so ignominiously discomfited him. peeling a sheet of bark from the nearest white birch, he twisted himself a "moose-call," then climbed into the branches of a willow which spread out over the edge of the shining lake. from this concealment he began to utter persuasively the long, uncouth, melancholy call by which the moose cow summons her mate. sometimes these vast northern solitudes seem, for hours together, as if they were empty of all life. it is as if a wave of distrust had passed simultaneously over all the creatures of the wild. at other times the lightest occasion suffices to call life out of the stillness. crimmins had not sounded more than twice his deceptive call, when the bushes behind the strip of beech crackled sharply. but it was not the great bull that stepped forth into the moonlight. it was a cow moose. she came out with no effort at concealment, and walked up and down the beach, angrily looking for her imagined rival. when the uneasy animal's back was towards him, crimmins called again, a short, soft call. the cow jumped around as if she had been struck, and the stiff hair along her neck stood up with jealous rage. but there was no rival anywhere in sight, and she stood completely mystified, shaking her ungainly head, peering into the dark undergrowth, and snorting tempestuously as if challenging the invisible rival to appear. then suddenly her angry ridge of hair sank down, she seemed to shrink together upon herself, and with a convulsive bound she sprang away from the dark undergrowth, landing with a splash in the shallow water along shore. at the same instant the black branches were burst apart, and a huge bear, forepaws upraised and jaws wide open, launched himself forth into the open. disappointed at missing his first spring, the bear rushed furiously upon his intended victim, but the cow, for all her apparent awkwardness, was as agile as a deer. barely eluding his rush, she went shambling up the shore at a terrific pace, plunged into the woods, and vanished. the bear checked himself at the water's edge, and turned, holding his nose high in the air, as if disdaining to acknowledge that he had been foiled. crimmins hesitatingly raised his rifle. should he bag this bear, or should he wait and sound his call again a little later, in the hope of yet summoning the great bull? as he hesitated, and the burly black shape in the moonlight also stood hesitating, the thickets rustled and parted almost beneath him, and the mysterious bull strode forth with his head held high. he had come in answer to what he thought was the summons of his mate; but when he saw the bear, his rage broke all bounds. he doubtless concluded that the bear had driven his mate away. with a bawling roar he thundered down upon the intruder. the bear, as we have seen, was in no mood to give way. his small eyes glowed suddenly red with vengeful fury, as he wheeled and gathered himself, half crouching upon his haunches, to meet the tremendous attack. in this attitude all his vast strength was perfectly poised, ready for use in any direction. the moose, had he been attacking a rival of his own kind, would have charged with antlers down, but against all other enemies the weapons he relied upon were his gigantic hoofs, edged like chisels. as he reached his sullenly waiting antagonist he reared on his hind-legs, towering like a black rock about to fall and crush whatever was in its path. like pile-drivers his fore-hoofs struck downwards, one closely following the other. the bear swung aside as lightly as a weasel, and eluded, but only by a hair's breadth, that destructive stroke. as he wheeled he delivered a terrific, swinging blow, with his armed forepaw, upon his assailant's shoulder. the blow was a fair one. any ordinary moose bull would have gone down beneath it, with his shoulder-joint shattered to splinters. but this great bull merely staggered, and stood for a second in amazement. then he whipped about and darted upon the bear with a sort of hoarse scream, his eyes flashing with a veritable madness. he neither reared to strike, nor lowered his antlers to gore, but seemed intent upon tearing the foe with his teeth, as a mad horse might. at the sight of such resistless fury crimmins involuntarily tightened his grip on his branch and muttered: "that ain't no _moose_! it's a--" but before he could finish his comparison, astonishment stopped him. the bear, unable with all his strength and weight to withstand the shock of that straight and incredibly swift charge, had been rolled over and over down the gentle slope of the beach. at the same moment the moose, blinded by his rage and unable to check himself, had tripped over a log that lay hidden in the bushes, and fallen headlong on his nose. utterly cowed by the overwhelming completeness of this overthrow, the bear was on his feet again before his conqueror, and scurrying to refuge like a frightened rat. he made for the nearest tree, and that nearest tree, to crimmins's dismay, was crimmins's. the startled guide swung himself hastily to a higher branch which stretched well out over the water. before the great bull could recover his footing, the fugitive had gained a good start. but desperately swift though he was, the doom that thundered behind him was swifter, and caught him just as he was scrambling into the tree. those implacable antlers ploughed his hind-quarters remorselessly, till he squealed with pain and terror. his convulsive scrambling raised him, the next instant, beyond reach of that punishment; but immediately the great bull reared, and struck him again and again with his terrible hoofs, almost crushing the victim's maimed haunches. the bear bawled again, but maintained his clutch of desperation, and finally drew himself up to a safe height, where he crouched on a branch, whimpering pitifully, while the victor raged below. at this moment the bear caught sight of crimmins eying him steadily. to the cowed beast this was a new peril menacing him. with a frightened glance he crawled out on another branch, as far as it could be trusted to support his weight. and there he clung, huddled and shivering like a beaten puppy, looking from the man to the moose, from the moose to the man, as if he feared they might both jump at him together. but the sympathies of crimmins were now entirely with the unfortunate bear, his fellow-prisoner, and he looked down at the arrogant tyrant below with a sincere desire to humble his pride with a rifle-bullet. but he was too far-seeing a guide for that. he contented himself with climbing a little lower till he attracted the giant's attention to himself, and then dropping half a handful of tobacco, dry and powdery, into those snorting red nostrils. it was done with nice precision, just as the giant drew in his breath. he got the fullest benefit of the pungent dose; and such trivial matters as bears and men were instantly forgotten in the paroxysms which seized him. his roaring sneezes seemed as if they would rend his mighty bulk asunder. he fairly stood upon his head, burrowing his muzzle into the moist leafage, as he strove to purge the exasperating torment from his nostrils. crimmins laughed till he nearly fell out of the tree, while the bear forgot to whimper as he stared in terrified bewilderment. at last the moose stuck his muzzle up in the air and began backing blindly over stones and bushes, as if trying to get away from his own nose. plump into four or five feet of icy water he backed. the shock seemed to give him an idea. he plunged his head under, and fell to wallowing and snorting and raising such a prodigious disturbance that all the lake shores rang with it. then he bounced out upon the beach again, and dashed off through the woods as if a million hornets were at his ears. weak with laughter, crimmins climbed down out of his refuge, waved an amiable farewell to the stupefied bear, and resumed the trail for the nipisiguit. chapter ii for the next two years the fame of the great moose kept growing, adding to itself various wonders and extravagances till it assumed almost the dimensions of a myth. sportsmen came from all over the world in the hope of bagging those unparalleled antlers. they shot moose, caribou, deer, and bear, and went away disappointed only in one regard. but at last they began to swear that the giant was a mere fiction of the new brunswick guides, designed to lure the hunters. the guides, therefore, began to think it was time to make good and show their proofs. even uncle adam was coming around to this view, when suddenly word came from the crown land department at fredericton that the renowned moose must not be allowed to fall to any rifle. a special permit had been issued for his capture and shipment out of the country, that he might be the ornament of a famous zoölogical park and a lively proclamation of what the new brunswick forests could produce. the idea of taking the king of saugamauk alive seemed amusing to the guides, and to crimmins particularly. but uncle adam, whose colossal frame and giant strength seemed to put him peculiarly in sympathy with the great moose bull, declared that it could and should be done, for he would do it. upon this, scepticism vanished, even from the smile of charley crimmins, who voiced the general sentiment when he said,-- "uncle adam ain't the man to bite off any more than he can chew!" but uncle adam was in no hurry. he had such a respect for his adversary that he would not risk losing a single point in the approaching contest. he waited till the mating season and the hunting season were long past, and the great bull's pride and temper somewhat cooled. he waited, moreover, for the day to come--along towards midwinter--when those titanic antlers should loosen at their roots, and fall off at the touch of the first light branch that might brush against them. this, the wise old woodsman knew, would be the hour of the king's least arrogance. then, too, the northern snows would be lying deep and soft and encumbering, over all the upland slopes whereon the moose loved to browse. along toward mid-february word came to uncle adam that the monarch had "yarded up," as the phrase goes, on the southerly slope of old saugamauk, with three cows and their calves of the previous spring under his protection. this meant that, when the snow had grown too deep to permit the little herd to roam at will, he had chosen a sheltered area where the birch, poplar, and cherry, his favorite forage, were abundant, and there had trodden out a maze of deep paths which led to all the choicest browsing, and centred about a cluster of ancient firs so thick as to afford covert from the fiercest storms. the news was what the wise old woodsman had been waiting for. with three of his men, a pair of horses, a logging-sled, axes, and an unlimited supply of rope, he went to capture the king. it was a clear, still morning, so cold that the great trees snapped sharply under the grip of the bitter frost. the men went on snowshoes, leaving the teams hitched in a thicket on the edge of a logging road some three or four hundred yards from the "moose-yard." the sun glittered keenly on the long white alleys which led this way and that at random through the forest. the snow, undisturbed and accumulating for months, was heaped in strange shapes over hidden bushes, stumps, and rocks. the tread of the snowshoes made a furtive crunching sound as it rhythmically broke the crisp surface. far off through the stillness the great moose, lying with the rest of the herd in their shadowy covert, caught the ominous sound. he lurched to his feet and stood listening, while the herd watched him anxiously, awaiting his verdict as to whether that strange sound meant peril or no. for reasons which we have seen, the giant bull knew little of man, and that little not of a nature to command any great respect. nevertheless, at this season of the year, his blood cool, his august front shorn of its ornament and defence, he was seized with an incomprehensible apprehension. after all, as he felt vaguely, there was an unknown menace about man; and his ear told him that there were several approaching. a few months earlier he would have stamped his huge hoofs, thrashed the bushes with his colossal antlers, and stormed forth to chastise the intruders. but now, he sniffed the sharp air, snorted uneasily, drooped his big ears, and led a rapid but dignified retreat down one of the deep alleys of his maze. this was exactly what uncle adam had looked for. his object was to force the herd out of the maze of alleys, wherein they could move swiftly, and drive them floundering through the deep, soft snow, which would wear them out before they could go half a mile. spreading his men so widely that they commanded all trails by which the fugitives might return, he followed up the flight at a run. and he accompanied the pursuit with a riot of shouts and yells and laughter, designed to shake his quarry's heart with the fear of the unusual. wise in all woodcraft, uncle adam knew that one of the most daunting of all sounds, to the creatures of the wild, was that of human laughter, so inexplicable and seemingly so idle. at other times the great bull would merely have been enraged at this blatant clamor and taken it as a challenge. but now he retreated to the farthest corner of his maze. from this point there were but two paths of return, and along both the uproar was closing in upon him. over the edge of the snow--which was almost breast-high to him, and deep enough to bury the calves, hopelessly deep, indeed, for any of the herd but himself to venture through--he gave a wistful look towards the depths of the cedar swamps in the valley, where he believed he could baffle all pursuers. then his courage--but without his autumnal fighting rage--came back to him. his herd was his care. he crowded the cows and calves between himself and the snow, and turned to face his pursuers as they came running and shouting through the trees. when uncle adam saw that the king was going to live up to his kingly reputation and fight rather than be driven off into the deep snow, he led the advance more cautiously till his forces were within twenty-five or thirty paces of the huddling herd. here he paused, for the guardian of the herd was beginning to stamp ominously with his great, clacking hoofs, and the reddening light in his eyes showed that he might charge at any instant. he did not charge, however, because his attention was diverted by the strange action of the men, who had stopped their shouting and begun to chop trees. it amazed him to see the flashing axes bite savagely into the great trunks and send the white chips flying. the whole herd watched with wide eyes, curious and apprehensive; till suddenly a tree toppled, swept the hard blue sky, and came down with a crashing roar across one of the runways. the cows and calves bounded wildly, clear out into the snow. but the king, though his eyes dilated with amazement, stood his ground and grunted angrily. a moment more and another tree, huge-limbed and dense, came down across the other runway. two more followed, and the herd was cut off from its retreat. the giant bull, of course, with his vast stride and colossal strength, could have smashed his way through and over the barrier; but the others, to regain the safe mazes of the "yard," would have had to make a detour through the engulfing snow. though the king was now fairly cornered, uncle adam was puzzled to know what to do next. in his hesitation, he felled some more trees, dropping the last one so close that the herd was obliged to crowd back to avoid being struck by the falling top. this, at last, was too much for the king, who had never before known what it was to be crowded. while his followers plunged away in terror, burying themselves helplessly before they had gone a dozen yards, he bawled with fury and charged upon his tormentors. [illustration: "for perhaps thirty or forty yards the bull was able to keep up this almost incredible pace."] though the snow, as we have seen, came up to his chest, the giant's strength and swiftness were such that the woodsmen were taken by surprise, and uncle adam, who was in front, was almost caught. in spite of his bulk, he turned and sprang away with the agility of a wildcat; but if his snowshoes had turned and hindered him for one half second, he would have been struck down and trodden to a jelly in the smother of snow. seeing the imminence of his peril, the other woodsmen threw up their rifles; but uncle adam, though extremely busy for the moment, saw them out of the corner of his eye as he ran, and angrily ordered them not to shoot. he knew what he was about, and felt quite sure of himself, though the enemy was snorting at his very heels. for perhaps thirty or forty yards the bull was able to keep up this almost incredible pace. then the inexorable pull of the snow began to tell, even upon such thews as his, and his pace slackened. but his rage showed no sign of cooling. so, being very accommodating, uncle adam slackened his own pace correspondingly, that his pursuer might not be discouraged. and the chase went on. but it went slower, and slower, and slower, till at last it stopped with uncle adam still just about six feet in the lead, and the great moose still blind-mad, but too exhausted to go one foot farther. then uncle adam chuckled softly and called for the ropes. there was kicking, of course, and furious lunging and wild snorting, but the woodsmen were skilful and patient, and the king of old saugamauk was conquered. in a little while he lay upon his side, trussed up as securely and helplessly as a papoose in its birch-bark carrying-cradle. there was nothing left of his kingship but to snort regal defiance, to which his captors offered not the slightest retort. in his bonds he was carried off to the settlements, on the big logging-sled, drawn by the patient horses whom he scorned. chapter iii after this ignominy, for days the king was submissive, with the sullen numbness of despair. life for him became a succession of stunning shocks and roaring change. he would be put into strange box-prisons, which would straightway begin to rush terribly through the world with a voice of thunder. through the cracks in the box he would watch trees and fields and hills race by in madness of flight. he would be taken out of the box, and murmuring crowds would gape at him till the black mane along his neck would begin to rise in something of his old anger. then some one would drive the crowd away, and he would slip back into his stupor. he did not know which he hated most,--the roaring boxes, the fleeing landscapes, or the staring crowds. at last he came to a loud region where there were no trees, but only what seemed to him vast, towering, naked rocks, red, gray, yellow, brown, full of holes from which issued men in swarms. these terrible rocks ran in endless rows, and through them he came at last to a wide field, thinly scattered with trees. there was no seclusion in it, no deep, dark, shadowy hemlock covert to lie down in; but it was green, and it was spacious, and it was more or less quiet. so when he was turned loose in it, he was almost glad. he lifted his head, with a spark of the old arrogance returning to his eyes. and through dilating nostrils he drank the free air till his vast lungs thrilled with almost forgotten life. the men who had brought him to the park--this bleak barren he would have called it, had he had the faculty of thinking in terms of human speech, this range more fitted for the frugal caribou than for a ranger of the deep forests like himself--these men stood watching him curiously after they had loosed him from his bonds. for a few minutes he forgot all about them. then his eyes fell on them, and a heat crept slowly into his veins as he looked. slowly he began to resume his kingship. his eyes changed curiously, and a light, fiery and fearless, flamed in their depths. his mane began to bristle. "it's time for us to get out of this. that fellow's beginning to remember he has some old scores to settle up!" remarked the director coolly to the head-keeper and his assistants; and they all stepped backwards, with a casual air, towards the big gate, which stood ajar to receive them. just as they reached it, the old fire and fury surged back into the exile's veins, but heated seven fold by the ignominies which he had undergone. with a hoarse and bawling roar, such as had never before been heard in those guarded precincts, he launched himself upon his gaolers. but they nimbly slipped through the gate and dropped the massive bars into their sockets. they were just in time. the next instant the king had hurled himself with all his weight upon the barrier. the sturdy ironwork and the panels on either side of the posts clanged, groaned, and even yielded a fraction of an inch beneath the shock. but in the rebound they thrust their assailant backward with startling violence. bewildered, he glared at the obstacle, which looked so slender, yet was so strong to balk him of his vengeance. then, jarred and aching, he withdrew haughtily to explore his new domain. the director, gazing after him, nodded with supreme satisfaction. "those fellows up in new brunswick told no lies!" said he. "he certainly is a peach!" assented the head-keeper heartily. "when he grows his new antlers, i reckon we will have to enlarge the park." the great exile found his new range interesting to explore, and began to forget his indignation. privacy it had not, for the trees at this season were all leafless, and there were no dense fir or spruce thickets into which he could withdraw, to look forth unseen upon this alien landscape. but there were certain rough boulders behind which he could lurk. and there were films of ice, and wraiths of thin snow in the hollows, the chill touch of which helped him to feel more or less at home. in the distance he caught sight of a range of those high, square rocks wherein the men dwelt; and hating them deeply, he turned and pressed on in the opposite direction over a gentle rise and across a little valley; till suddenly, among the trees, he came upon a curious barrier of meshed stuff, something like a gigantic cobweb. through the meshes he could distinctly see the country beyond, and it seemed to be just the country he desired, more wooded and inviting than what he had traversed. confidently he pushed upon the woven obstacle; but to his amazement it did not give way before him. he eyed it resentfully. how absurd that so frail a thing should venture to forbid him passage! he thrust upon it again, more brusquely, to be just as brusquely denied. the hot blood blazed to his head, and he dashed himself upon it with all his strength. the impenetrable but elastic netting yielded for a space, then sprang back with an impetuosity that flung him clear off his feet. he fell with a loud grunt, lay for a moment dismayed, then got up and eyed his incomprehensible adversary with a blank stare. he was learning so many strange lessons that it was difficult to assimilate them all at once. the following morning, when he was feasting on a pile of the willow and poplar forage which he loved, and which had appeared as if by magic close beside the mysterious barrier, he saw some men, perhaps a hundred yards away, throw open a section of the barrier. forgetting to be angry at their intrusion on his range, he watched them curiously. a moment more, and a little herd of his own kind, apparently quite indifferent to the men, followed them into the range. he was not surprised at their appearance, for his nose had already told him there were moose about. but he was surprised to see them on friendly terms with man. there were several cows in the herd, with a couple of awkward yearlings; and the king, much gratified, ambled forward with huge strides to meet them and take them under his gracious protection. but a moment later two fine young bulls came into his view, following the rest of the herd at a more dignified pace. the king stopped, lowered his mighty front, laid back his ears like an angry stallion, and grunted a hoarse warning. the stiff black hair along his neck slowly arose and stood straight up. the two young bulls stared in stupid astonishment at this tremendous apparition. it was not the fighting season, so they had no jealousy, and felt nothing but a cold indifference toward the stranger. but as he came striding down the field his attitude was so menacing, his stature so formidable, that they could not but realize there was trouble brewing. it was contrary to all traditions that they should take the trouble to fight in midwinter, when they had no antlers and their blood was sluggish. nevertheless, they could not brook to be so affronted, as it were, in their own citadel. their eyes began to gleam angrily, and they advanced, shaking their heads, to meet the insolent stranger. the keepers, surprised, drew together close by the gate; while one of them left hurriedly and ran towards a building which stood a little way off among the trees. as the king swept down upon the herd, bigger and blacker than any bull they had ever seen before, the cows shrank away and stood staring placidly. they were well fed, and for the time indifferent to all else in their sheltered world. still, a fight is a fight, and if there was going to be one, they were ready enough to look on. alas for the right of possession when it runs counter to the right of might! the two young bulls were at home and in the right, and their courage was sound. but when that black whirlwind from the fastnesses of old saugamauk fell upon them, it seemed that they had no more rights at all. side by side they confronted the onrushing doom. at the moment of impact, they reared and struck savagely with their sharp hoofs. but the gigantic stranger troubled himself with no such details. he merely fell upon them, like a blind but raging force, irresistible as a falling hillside and almost as disastrous. they both went down before him like calves, and rolled over and over, stunned and sprawling. the completeness of this victory, establishing his supremacy beyond cavil, should have satisfied the king, especially as this was not the mating season and there could be no question of rivalry. but his heart was bursting with injury, and his thirst for vengeance was raging to be glutted. as the vanquished bulls struggled to recover their feet, he bounded upon the nearest and trod him down again mercilessly. the other, meanwhile, fled for his life, stricken with shameless terror; and the exile, leaving his victim, went thundering in pursuit, determined that both should be annihilated. it was a terrifying sight, the black giant, mane erect, neck out-thrust, mouth open, eyes glaring with implacable fury, sweeping down upon the fugitive with his terrific strides. but just then, when another stride would have sufficed, a strange thing happened! a flying noose settled over the pursuer's head, tightened, jerked his neck aside, and threw him with a violence that knocked the wind clean out of his raging body. while his vast lungs sobbed and gasped to recover the vital air, other nooses whipped about his legs; and before he could recover himself even enough to struggle, he was once more trussed up as he had been by uncle adam amid the snows of saugamauk. in this ignominious position, his heart bursting with shame and impotence, he was left lying while his two battered victims were lassoed and led away. since it was plain that the king would not suffer them to live in his kingdom, even as humble subjects, they were to be removed to some more modest domain; for the king, whether he deserved it or not, was to have the best reserved for him. it was little kingly he felt, the fettered giant, as he lay there panting on his side. the cows came up and gazed at him with a kind of placid scorn, till his furious snortings and the undaunted rage that flamed in his eyes made them draw back apprehensively. then, the men who had overthrown him returned. they dragged him unceremoniously up to the gate, slipped his bonds, and discreetly put themselves on the other side of the barrier before he could get to his feet. with a grunt he wheeled and faced them with such hate in his eyes that they thought he would once more hurl himself upon the bars. but he had learned his lesson. for a few moments he stood quivering. then, as if recognizing at last a mastery too absolute even for him to challenge, he shook himself violently, turned away, and stalked off to join the herd. that evening, about sundown, it turned colder. clouds gathered heavily, and there was the sense of coming snow in the air. a great wind, rising fitfully, drew down out of the north. seeing no covert to his liking, the king led his little herd to the top of a naked knoll, where he could look about and choose a shelter. but that great wind out of the north, thrilling in his nostrils, got into his heart and made him forget what he had come for. out across the alien gloom he stared, across the huddled, unknown masses of the dark, till he thought he saw the bald summit of old saugamauk rising out of its forests, till he thought he heard the wind roar in the spruce tops, the dead branches clash and crack. the cows, for a time, huddled close to his massive flanks, expecting some new thing from his vast strength. then, as the storm gathered, they remembered the shelter which man had provided for them, and the abundant forage it contained. one after the other they turned and filed away slowly down the slopes, through the dim trees, towards the corner where they knew a gate would stand open for them, and then a door into a warm-smelling shed. the king, lost in his dream, did not notice their going. but suddenly, feeling himself alone, he started and looked about. the last of the yearlings, at its mother's heels, was just vanishing through the windy gloom. he hesitated, started to follow, then stopped abruptly. let them go! they would return to him probably. turning back to his station on the knoll, he stood with his head held high, his nostrils drinking the cold, while the winter night closed in upon him, and the wind out of his own north rushed and roared solemnly in his face. the gray master the gray master chapter i why he was so much bigger, more powerful, and more implacably savage than the other members of the gray, spectral pack, which had appeared suddenly from the north to terrorize their lone and scattered clearings, the settlers of the lower quah-davic valley could not guess. those who were of french descent among them, and full of the old acadian superstitions, explained it simply enough by saying he was a _loup-garou_, or "wer-wolf," and resigned themselves to the impossibility of contending against a creature of such supernatural malignity and power. but their fellows of english speech, having no such tradition to fall back upon, were mystified and indignant. the ordinary gray, or "cloudy," wolf of the east they knew, though he was so rare south of labrador that few of them had ever seen one. they dismissed them all, indifferently, as "varmin." but this unaccountable gray ravager was bigger than any two such wolves, fiercer and more dauntless than any ten. though the pack he led numbered no more than half a dozen, he made it respected and dreaded through all the wild leagues of the quah-davic. to make things worse, this long-flanked, long-jawed marauder was no less cunning than fierce. when the settlers, seeking vengeance for sheep, pigs, and cattle slaughtered by his pack, went forth to hunt him with dogs and guns, it seemed that there was never a wolf in the country. nevertheless, either that same night or the next, it was long odds that one or more of those same dogs who had been officious in the hunt would disappear. as for traps and poisoned meat, they proved equally futile. they were always visited, to be sure, by the pack, at some unexpected and indeterminable moment, but treated always with a contumelious scorn which was doubtless all that such clumsy tactics merited. meanwhile the ravages went on, and the children were kept close housed at night, and cool-eyed old woodsmen went armed and vigilant along the lonely roads. the french _habitant_ crossed himself, and the saxon cursed his luck; and no one solved the mystery. yet, after all, as arthur kane, the young schoolmaster at burnt brook cross-roads, began dimly to surmise, the solution was quite simple. a lucky gold-miner, returning from the klondike, had brought with him not only gold and an appetite, but also a lank, implacable, tameless whelp from the packs that haunt the sweeps of northern timber. the whelp had gnawed his way to freedom. he had found, fought, thrashed, and finally adopted, a little pack of his small, eastern kin. he had thriven, and grown to the strength and stature that were his rightful heritage. and "the gray master of the quah-davic," as kane had dubbed him, was no _loup-garou_, no outcast human soul incarcerate in wolf form, but simply a great alaskan timber-wolf. but this, when all is said, is quite enough. a wolf that can break the back of a full-grown collie at one snap of his jaws, and gallop off with the carcass as if it were a chipmunk, is about as undesirable a neighbor, in the night woods, as any _loup-garou_ ever devised by the _habitant's_ excitable imagination. all up and down the quah-davic valley the dark spruce woods were full of game,--moose, deer, hares, and wild birds innumerable,--with roving caribou herds on the wide barren beyond the hill-ridge. nevertheless, the great gray wolf would not spare the possessions of the settlers. his pack haunted the fringes of the settlements with a needless tenacity which seemed to hold a challenge in it, a direct and insolent defiance. and the feeling of resentment throughout the valley was on the point of crystallizing into a concerted campaign of vengeance which would have left even so cunning a strategist as the gray master no choice but to flee or fall, when something took place which quite changed the course of public sentiment. folk so disagreed about it that all concerted action became impossible, and each one was left to deal with the elusive adversary in his own way. this was what happened. in a cabin about three miles from the nearest neighbor lived the widow baisley, alone with her son paddy, a lad under ten years old, and little for his age. one midwinter night she was taken desperately ill, and paddy, reckless of the terrors of the midnight solitudes, ran wildly to get help. the moon was high and full, and the lifeless backwoods road was a narrow, bright, white thread between the silent black masses of the spruce forest. now and then, as he remembered afterwards, his ear caught a sound of light feet following him in the dark beyond the roadside. but his plucky little heart was too full of panic grief about his mother to have any room for fear as to himself. only the excited amazement of his neighbors, over the fact that he had made the journey in safety, opened his eyes to the hideous peril he had come through. willing helpers hurried back with him to his mother's bedside. and on the way one of them, a keen huntsman who had more than once pitted his woodcraft in vain against that of the gray master, had the curiosity to step off the road and examine the snow under the thick spruces. perhaps imagination misled him, when he thought he caught a glimpse of savage eyes, points of green flame, fading off into the black depths. but there could be no doubt as to the fresh tracks he found in the snow. there they were,--the footprints of the pack, like those of so many big dogs,--and among them the huge trail of the great, far-striding leader. all the way, almost from his threshold, these sinister steps had paralleled those of the hurrying child. close to the edge of the darkness they ran,--close, within the distance of one swift leap,--yet never any closer! why had the great gray wolf, who faced and pulled down the bull moose, and from whose voice the biggest dogs in the settlements ran like whipped curs--why had he and his stealthy pack spared this easy prey? it was inexplicable, though many had theories good enough to be laughed to scorn by those who had none. the _habitants_, of course, had all their superstitions confirmed, and with a certain respect and refinement of horror added: here was a _loup-garou_ so crafty as to spare, on occasion! he must be conciliated, at all costs. they would hunt him no more, his motives being so inexplicable. let him take a few sheep, or a steer, now and then, and remember that _they_, at least, were not troubling him. as for the english-speaking settlers, their enmity cooled down to the point where they could no longer get together any concentrated bitterness. it was only a big rascal of a wolf, anyway, scared to touch a white man's child, and certainly nothing for a lot of grown men to organize about. some of the women jumped to the conclusion that a certain delicacy of sentiment had governed the wolves in their strange forbearance, while others honestly believed that the pack had been specially sent by providence to guard the child through the forest on his sacred errand. but all, whatever their views, agreed in flouting the young schoolteacher's uninteresting suggestion that perhaps the wolves had not happened, at the moment, to be hungry. as it chanced, however, even this very rational explanation of kane's was far from the truth. the truth was that the great wolf had profited by his period of captivity in the hands of a masterful man. into his fine sagacity had penetrated the conception--hazy, perhaps, but none the less effective--that man's vengeance would be irresistible and inescapable if once fairly aroused. this conception he had enforced upon the pack. it was enough. for, of course, even to the most elementary intelligence among the hunting, fighting kindreds of the wild, it was patent that the surest way to arouse man's vengeance would be to attack man's young. the intelligence lying behind the wide-arched skull of the gray master was equal to more intricate and less obvious conclusions than that. among all the scattered inhabitants of the quah-davic valley there was no one who devoted quite so much attention to the wonderful gray wolf as did the young school-teacher. his life at the burnt brook cross-roads, his labors at the little burnt brook school, were neither so exacting nor so exciting but that he had time on his hands. his preferred expedients for spending that time were hunting, and studying the life of the wild kindreds. he was a good shot with both rifle and camera, and would serve himself with one weapon or the other as the mood seized him. when life, or his dinner, went ill with him, or he found himself fretting hopelessly for the metropolitan excitement of the little college city where he had been educated, he would choose his rifle. and so wide-reaching, so mysterious, are the ties which enmesh all created beings, that it would seem to even matters up and relieve his feelings wonderfully just to kill something, if only a rabbit or a weasel. but at other times he preferred the camera. naturally kane was interested in the mysterious gray wolf more than in all the other prowlers of the quah-davic put together. he was quite unreasonably glad when the plans for a concerted campaign against the marauder so suddenly fell through. that so individual a beast should have its career cut short by an angry settler's bullet, to avenge a few ordinary pigs or sheep, was a thing he could hardly contemplate with patience. to scatter the pack would be to rob the quah-davic solitudes of half their romance. he determined to devote himself to a study of the great wolf's personality and characteristics, and to foil, as far as this could be done without making himself unpopular, such plots as might be laid for the beast's undoing. recognizing, however, that this friendly interest might not be reciprocated, kane chose his rifle rather than his camera as a weapon, on those stinging, blue-white nights when he went forth to seek knowledge of the gray wolf's ways. his rifle was a well-tried repeating winchester, and he carried a light, short-handled axe in his belt besides the regulation knife; so he had no serious misgivings as he trod the crackling, moonlit snow beneath the moose-hide webbing of his snowshoes. but not being utterly foolhardy, he kept to the open stretches of meadow, or river-bed, or snow-buried lake, rather than in the close shadows of the forest. but now, when he was so expectant, the wolf-pack seemed to find business elsewhere. for nights not a howl had been heard, not a fresh track found, within miles of burnt brook cross-roads. then, remembering that a watched pot takes long to boil, kane took fishing-lines and bait, and went up the wide, white brook-bed to the deep lake in the hills, whence it launches its shallow flood towards the quah-davic. he took with him also for companionship, since this time he was not wolf-hunting, a neighbor's dog that was forever after him--a useless, yellow lump of mongrel dog-flesh, but friendly and silent. after building a hasty shelter of spruce boughs some distance out from shore in the flooding light, he chopped holes through the ice and fell to fishing for the big lake trout that inhabited those deep waters. he had luck. and soon, absorbed in the new excitement, he had forgotten all about the great gray wolf. it was late, for kane had slept the early part of the night, waiting for moonrise before starting on his expedition. the air was tingling with windless cold, and ghostly white with the light of a crooked, waning moon. suddenly, without a sound, the dog crept close against kane's legs. kane felt him tremble. looking up sharply, his eyes fell on a tall, gray form, sitting erect on the tip of a naked point, not a hundred yards away, and staring, not at him, but at the moon. in spite of himself, kane felt a pricking in his cheeks, a creeping of the skin under his hair. the apparition was so sudden, and, above all, the cool ignoring of his presence was so disconcerting. moreover, through that half-sinister light, his long muzzle upstretched towards the moon, and raised as he was a little above the level on which kane was standing, the wolf looked unnaturally and impossibly tall. kane had never heard of a wolf acting in this cool, self-possessed, arrogantly confident fashion, and his mind reverted obstinately to the outworn superstitions of his _habitants_ friends. but, after all, it was this wolf, not an ordinary brush-fence wolf, that he was so anxious to study; and the unexpected was just what he had most reason to expect! he was getting what he came for. kane knew that the way to study the wild creatures was to keep still and make no noise. so be stiffened into instant immobility, and regretted that he had brought the dog with him. but he need not have worried about the dog, for that intelligent animal showed no desire to attract the gray master's notice. he was crouched behind kane's legs, and motionless except for his shuddering. for several minutes no one stirred--nothing stirred in all that frozen world. then, feeling the cold begin to creep in upon him in the stillness, kane had to lift his thick-gloved hands to chafe his ears. he did it cautiously, but the caution was superfluous. the great wolf apparently had no objection to his moving as much as he liked. once, indeed, those green, lambent eyes flamed over him, but casually, in making a swift circuit of the shores of the lake and the black fringe of the firs; but for all the interest which their owner vouchsafed him, kane might as well have been a juniper bush. knowing very well, however, that this elaborate indifference could not be other than feigned, kane was patient, determined to find out what the game was. at the same time, he could not help the strain beginning to tell on him. where was the rest of the pack? from time to time he glanced searchingly over his shoulder towards the all-concealing fir woods. at last, as if considering himself utterly alone, the great wolf opened his jaws, stretched back his neck, and began howling his shrill, terrible serenade to the moon. as soon as he paused, came far-off nervous barkings and yelpings from dogs who hated and trembled in the scattered clearings. but no wolf-howl made reply. the pack, for all the sign they gave, might have vanished off the earth. and kane wondered what strong command from their leader could have kept them silent when all their ancient instincts bade them answer. as if well satisfied with his music, the great wolf continued to beseech the moon so persistently that at last kane lost patience. he wanted more variety in the programme. muttering, "i'll see if i can't rattle your fine composure a bit, my friend!" he raised his rifle and sent a bullet whining over the wolf's head. the wolf cocked his ears slightly and looked about carelessly, as if to say, "what's that?" then coolly resumed his serenade. nettled by such ostentatious nonchalance, kane drove another bullet into the snow within a few inches of the wolf's forefeet. this proved more effective. the great beast looked down at the place where the ball had struck, sniffed at it curiously, got up on all fours, and turned and stared steadily at kane for perhaps half a minute. kane braced himself for a possible onslaught. but it never came. whirling lightly, the gray master turned his back on the disturber of his song, and trotted away slowly, without once looking back. he did not make directly for the cover, but kept in full view and easy gunshot for several hundred yards. then he disappeared into the blackness of the spruce woods. thereupon the yellow mongrel, emerging from his shelter behind kane's legs, pranced about on the snow before him with every sign of admiration and relief. but kane was too puzzled to be altogether relieved. it was not according to the books for any wolf, great or small, to conduct himself in this supercilious fashion. looking back along the white bed of the brook, the path by which he must return, he saw that the sinking of the moon would very soon involve it in thick shadow. this was not as he wished it. he had had enough of fishing. gathering up his now frozen prizes, and strapping the bag that contained them over his shoulder, so as to leave both hands free, he set out for home at the long, deliberate, yet rapid lope of the experienced snowshoer; and the yellow dog, confidence in his companion's prowess now thoroughly established, trotted on heedlessly three or four paces ahead. already the shadow of the woods lay halfway across the bed of the brook, but down the middle of the strip of brightness, still some five or six paces in breadth, kane swung steadily. as he went, he kept a sharp eye on the shadowed edge of his path. he had gone perhaps a mile, when all at once he felt a tingling at the roots of his hair, which seemed to tell him he was being watched from the darkness. peer as he would, however, he could catch no hint of moving forms; strain his ears as he might, he could hear no whisper of following feet. moreover, he trusted to the keener senses, keener instincts, of the dog, to give him warning of any furtive approach; and the dog was obviously at ease. he was just beginning to execrate himself for letting his nerves get too much on edge, when suddenly out from the black branches just ahead shot a long, spectral shape and fell upon the dog. there was one choked yelp--and the dog and the terrible shape vanished together, back into the blackness. it was all so instantaneous that before kane could get his rifle up they were gone. startled and furious, he fired at random, three times, into cover. then he steadied himself, remembering that the number of cartridges in his chamber was not unlimited. seeing to it that his axe and knife were both loose for instant action, he stopped and replenished his winchester. then he hurried on as fast as he could without betraying haste. as he went, he was soon vividly conscious that the wolves--not the gray master alone, but the whole pack also--were keeping pace with him through the soundless dark beyond the rim of the spruces. but not a hint of their grim companioning could he see or hear. he felt it merely in the creeping of his skin, the elemental stirring of the hair at the back of his neck. from moment to moment he expected the swift attack, the battle for his life. but he was keyed up to it. it was not fear that made his nerves tingle, but the tense, trembling excitement of the situation. even against these strange, hidden forces of the forest, his spirit felt sure of victory. he felt as if his rifle would go up and speak, almost of itself, unerringly at the first instant of attack, even before the adversary broke into view. but through all the drawn-out length of those last three miles his hidden adversaries gave no sign, save that once a dead branch, concealed under the snow, snapped sharply. his rifle was at his shoulder, it seemed to him, almost before the sound reached his ear. but nothing came of it. then a panic-mad rabbit, stretched straight out in flight, darted across the fast narrowing brightness of his path. but nothing followed. and at last, after what seemed to him hours, he came out upon the open pastures overlooking burnt brook settlement. here he ran on a little way; and then, because the strain had been great, he sat down suddenly upon a convenient stump and burst into a peal of laughter which must have puzzled the wolves beyond measure. after this, though well aware that the gray master's inexplicable forbearance had saved him a battle which, for all his confidence, might quite conceivably have gone against him, kane's interest in the mysterious beast was uncompromisingly hostile. he was bitter on account of the dog. he felt that the great wolf had put a dishonor upon him; and for a few days he was no longer the impartial student of natural history, but the keen, primitive hunter with the blood-lust hot in his veins. then this mood passed, or, rather, underwent a change. he decided that the gray master was, indeed, too individual a beast to be just snuffed out, but, at the same time, far too dangerous to be left at liberty. and now all the thought and effort that could be spared from his daily duties at the cross-roads were bent to the problem of capturing the great wolf alive. he would be doing a service to the whole quah-davic valley. and he would have the pleasure of presenting the splendid captive to his college town, at that time greatly interested in the modest beginnings of a zoölogical garden which its citizens were striving to inaugurate. it thrilled his fancy to imagine a tin placard on the front of a cage in the little park, bearing the inscription-- canis occidentalis. eastern north america. presented by arthur kane, esq. after a few weeks of assiduous trapping, however, kane felt bound to acknowledge that this modest ambition of his seemed remote from fulfilment. every kind of trap he could think of, that would take a beast alive, he tried in every kind of way. and having run the whole insidious gamut, he would turn patiently to run it all over again. of course, the result was inevitable, for no beast, not even such a one as the gray master, is a match, in the long run, for a man who is in earnest. yet kane's triumph, when it blazed upon his startled eyes at last, was indirect. in avoiding, and at the same time uncovering and making mock of, kane's traps, the great wolf put his foot into another, a powerful bear-trap, which a cunning old trapper had hidden near by, without bait. the trap was secured to a tree by a stout chain--and rage, strain, tear as he might, the gray master found himself snared. in his silent fury he would probably have gnawed off the captive foot, for the sake of freedom. but before he came to that, kane arrived and occupied his attention fully. kane's disappointment, at finding the splendid prize in another trap than his own, was but momentary. he knew his successful rival would readily part with his claims, for due consideration. but he was puzzled as to what should be done in the immediate emergency. he wanted to go back home for help, for ropes, straps, and a muzzle with which he had provided himself; but he was afraid lest, in his absence, the trapper might arrive and shoot the captive, for the sake of the pelt and the bounty. in his uncertainty he waited, hoping that the trapper might come soon; and by way of practice for the serious enterprise that would come later, as well as to direct the prisoner's mind a little from his painful predicament, kane began trying to lasso him with a coil of heavy cord which he carried. his efforts in this direction were not altogether successful, but the still fury which they aroused in the great wolf's breast doubtless obscured the mordant anguish in his foot. one terrific leap at his enemy, resulting in an ignominious overthrow as the chain stopped him in mid-air, had convinced the subtle beast of the vanity of such tactics. crouching back, he eyed his adversary in silence, with eyes whose hatred seemed to excoriate. but whenever the running noose at the end of the cord came coiling swiftly at his head, with one lightning snap of his long teeth he would sever it as with a knife. by the time kane had grown tired of this diversion the cord was so full of knots that no noose would any longer run. but at this point the old trapper came slouching up on his snowshoes, a twinkle of elation in his shrewd, frosty, blue eyes. "i reckon we'll show the varmint now as how he ain't no _loup-garou_!" he remarked, lightly swinging his axe. but kane hastily intervened. "_please_ don't kill him, dave!" he begged. "_i_ want him, bad! what'll you take for him?" "just as he stands?" demanded the old trapper, with a chuckle. "i ain't a-goin' to deliver the goods to yer door, ye know!" "no," laughed kane, "just as he stands, right here!" "well, seein' as it's you, i don't want no more'n what his pelt'ld fetch, an' the bounty on his nose," answered the trapper. "all right," said kane. "you wait here a bit, will you, an' keep him amused so's he won't gnaw his paw off; an' i'll run back to the cross-roads and get some rope and things i guess i'll be needing." when he got back with rope, straps, a big mastiff-muzzle, and a toboggan, he found dave in a very bad humor, and calling the watchful, silent, crouching beast hard names. in his efforts to amuse himself by stirring that imperturbable and sinister quiet into action, he had come just within the range of the gray master's spring. swift as that spring was, that of the alert backwoodsman was just swift enough to elude it--in part. dave's own hide had escaped, but his heavy jacket of homespun had had the back ripped clean out of it. but now, for all his matchless strength, courage, and craft, the gray master's game was played out. the fickle fates of the wild had pronounced against him. he could not parry two flying nooses at once. and presently, having been choked for a few moments into unconsciousness, he awoke to find himself bound so that he could not move a leg, and his mighty jaws imprisoned in a strange cage of straps and steel. he was tied upon the toboggan, and being dragged swiftly through the forest--that free forest of which he had so long felt himself master--at the heels of his two conquerors. his only poor consolation was that the hideous, crunching thing had been removed from his bleeding paw, which, however, anguished cruelly for the soothing of his tongue. chapter ii during the strenuous and dangerous weeks while kane was gaoler to his dreaded captive, his respect for the grim beast's tameless spirit by no means diminished; but he had no shadow of misgiving as to the future to which he destined his victim. he felt that in sending the incomparable wolf to the gardens, where he would be well cared for, and at the same time an educative influence, he was being both just and kind. and it was with feelings of unmixed delight that he received a formal resolution of gratitude from the zoölogical society for his valued and in some respects unique donation. it was about a year and a half later that kane had occasion to revisit the city of his alma mater. as soon as possible he hurried to inspect the little gardens, which had already marched so far towards success as to be familiarly styled "the zoo." there were two or three paddocks of deer, of different north american species--for the society was inclined to specialize on the wild kindreds of native origin. there were moose, caribou, a couple of bears, raccoons, foxes, porcupines, two splendid pumas, a rather flea-bitten and toothless tiger, and the gray master, solitary in his cage! a sure instinct led kane straight to that cage, which immediately adjoined the big double cage of the pumas. as he approached, he caught sight of a tall, gray shape pacing, pacing, pacing, pacing to and fro behind the bars with a sort of measured restlessness that spoke an immeasurable monotony. when he reached the front of the cage, kane saw that the great wolf's eyes were noting nothing of what was about him, but dim with some far-off vision. as he marked the look in them, and thought of what they must be remembering and aching for, his heart began to smite him. he felt his first pang of self-reproach, for having doomed to ignominious exile and imprisonment this splendid creature who had deserved, at least, to die free. as he mused over this point, half angrily, the gray master suddenly paused, and his thin nostrils wrinkled. perhaps there still clung about kane's clothes some scent of the spruce woods, some pungent breath of the cedar swamps. he turned and looked kane straight in the eyes. there was unmistakable recognition in that deep stare. there was also, to kane's sensitive imagination, a tameless hate and an unspeakable but dauntless despair. convicted in his own mind of a gross and merciless misunderstanding of his wild kindreds, whom he professed to know so well, he glanced up and saw the painted placard staring down at him, exactly as he had anticipated---- canis occidentalis. eastern north america. presented by arthur kane, esq. the sight sickened him. he had a foolish impulse to tear it down and to abase himself with a plea for pardon before the silent beast behind the bars. but when he looked again, the gray master had turned away, and was once more, with indrawn, far-off vision in his eyes, pacing, pacing, pacing to and fro. kane felt overwhelmed with the intolerable weariness of it, as if it had been going on, just like that, ever since he had pronounced this doom upon his vanquished adversary, and as if it would go on like that forever. in vain by coaxing word, by sharp, sudden whistle, by imitations of owl, loon, and deer calls, which brought all the boys in the place admiringly about him, did he strive to catch again the attention of the captive. but not once more, even for the fleeting fraction of a second, would the gray master turn his eyes. and presently, angry and self-reproachful, kane turned on his heel and went home, pursued by the enthusiasm of the small boys. after this, kane went nearly every day to the little "zoo"; but never again did he win the smallest hint of notice from the gray master. and ever that tireless pacing smote him with bitterest self-reproach. half unconsciously he made it a sort of penance to go and watch his victim, till at last he found himself indulging in sentimental, idiotic notions of trying to ransom the prisoner. realizing that any such attempt would make him supremely ridiculous, and that such a dangerous and powerful creature could not be set free anywhere, he consoled himself with a resolve that never again would he take captive any of the freedom-loving, tameless kindreds of the wilderness. he would kill them and have cleanly done with it, or leave them alone. one morning, thinking to break the spell of that eternal, hopeless pacing by catching the gray master at his meals, kane went up to the gardens very early, before any of the usual visitors had arrived. he found that the animals had already been fed. the cages were being cleaned. he congratulated himself on his opportune arrival, for this would give him a new insight into the ways of the beasts with their keepers. the head-keeper, as it chanced, was a man of long experience with wild animals, in one of the chief zoölogical parks of the country. long familiarity, however, had given him that most dangerous gift, contempt. and he had lost his position through that fault most unforgivable in an animal keeper, drunkenness. owing to this fact, the inexperienced authorities of this little "zoo" had been able to obtain his services at a comparatively moderate wage--and were congratulating themselves on the possession of a treasure. on this particular morning, biddell was not by any means himself. he was cleaning the cage of the two pumas, and making at the same time desperate efforts to keep his faculties clear and avoid betraying his condition. the two big cats seemed to observe nothing peculiar in his manner, and obeyed him, sulkily, as usual; but kane noticed that the great wolf, though pacing up and down according to his custom, had his eyes on the man in the next cage, instead of upon his own secret visions. biddell had driven the two pumas back through the door which led from the open cage to the room which served them for a den, and closed the door on them. then, having finished his duties there, he unfastened the strong door between this cage and that of the gray master, and stepped through, leaving the door slightly ajar. biddell was armed, of course, with a heavy-pronged fork, but he carried it carelessly as he went about his work, as if he had long since taught the sombre wolf to keep at a distance. but to-day the wolf acted curiously. he backed away in silence, as usual, but eyed the man fixedly with a look which, as it seemed to kane, showed anything rather than fear. the stiff hair rose slightly along his neck and massive shoulders. kane could not help congratulating himself that he was not in the keeper's place. but he felt sure everything was all right, as biddell was supposed to know his business. when biddell came to the place where the wolf was standing, the latter made way reluctantly, still backing, and staring with that sinister fixity which kane found so impressive. he wondered if biddell noticed. he was just on the point of speaking to him about it, through the bars, when he chanced to glance aside to the cage of the pumas. biddell, in his foggy state of mind, had forgotten to close an inner door connecting the two rooms in the rear. the pumas had quietly passed through, and emerged again into their cage by the farther entrance. catching sight of the door into the wolf's cage standing ajar, they had crept up to it; and now, with one great noiseless paw, the leader of the two was softly pushing it open. kane gave an inarticulate yell of warning. no words were needed to translate that warning to the keeper, who was sobered completely as he flashed round and saw what was happening. with a sharp command he rushed to drive the pumas back and close the gate. but one was already through, and the other blocked the way. at this tense instant, while kane glanced swiftly aside to see if any help were in sight, the gray master launched himself across the cage. kane could not see distinctly, so swiftly did it happen, whether the man or the intruding puma was the object of that mad rush. but in the next second the man was down, on his face, with the silent wolf and the screeching puma locked in a death grapple on top of him. [illustration: "then the second puma pounced."] horrified, and yelling for help, kane tore at the bars, but there was no way of getting in, the door being locked. he saw that the wolf had secured a hold upon the puma's throat, but that the great cat's claws were doing deadly work. then the second puma pounced, with a screech, upon the gray master's back, bearing him down. at this moment biddell rolled out from under the raving, writhing heap, and staggered to his feet, bleeding, but apparently uninjured. with his fork and his booted foot he threw himself upon the combatants furiously, striving to separate them. after what seemed to kane an age he succeeded in forcing off the second puma and driving it through the gate, which he shut. then he returned to the fight. but he had little more to do now, for the fight was over. though no wolf is supposed to be a fair match for a puma, the gray master, with his enormous strength and subtle craft, might perhaps have held his own against his first antagonist alone. but against the two he was powerless. the puma, badly torn, now crouched snarling upon his unresisting body. biddell forced the victor off and drove him into a corner, where he lay lashing his sides with heavy, twitching tail. the keeper was sober enough now. one long look at the great wolf's body satisfied him it was all over. he turned and saw kane's white face pressed against the bars. with a short laugh he shook himself, to make sure he was all sound, then pushed the body of the gray master gently with his foot. yet there was respect, not disrespect, in the gesture. "i wouldn't have had that happen for a thousand dollars, mr. kane!" said he in a voice of keen regret. "that was a great beast, an' we'll never get another wolf to match him." kane was on the point of saying that it would _not_ have happened but for certain circumstances which it was unnecessary for him to specify. he realized, however, that he was glad it had happened, glad the long pacing, pacing, pacing was at an end, glad the load of his self-reproach was lifted off. so he said something quite different. "well, biddell, he's _free_! and maybe, when all's said, that was just what he was after!" then he turned and strode hurriedly away, more content in his heart than he had felt for days. the sun-gazer the sun-gazer chapter i to jim horner it seemed as if the great, white-headed eagle was in some way the uttered word of the mountain and the lake--of the lofty, solitary, granite-crested peak, and of the deep, solitary water at its base. as his canoe raced down the last mad rapid, and seemed to snatch breath again as it floated out upon the still water of the lake, jim would rest his paddle across the gunwales and look upward expectantly. first his keen, far-sighted, gray eyes would sweep the blue arc of sky, in search of the slow circling of wide, motionless wings. then, if the blue was empty of this far shape, his glance would range at once to a dead pine standing sole on a naked and splintered shoulder of the mountain which he knew as "old baldy." there he was almost sure to see the great bird sitting, motionless and majestic, staring at the sun. floating idly and smoking, resting after his long battle with the rapids, he would watch, till the immensity and the solitude would creep in upon his spirit and oppress him. then, at last, a shrill yelp, far off and faint, but sinister, would come from the pine-top; and the eagle, launching himself on open wings from his perch, would either wheel upward into the blue, or flap away over the serried fir-tops to some ravine in the cliffs that hid his nest. one day, when jim came down the river and stopped, as usual, to look for the great bird, he scanned in vain both sky and cliff-side. at last he gave up the search and paddled on down the lake with a sense of loss. something had vanished from the splendor of the solitude. but presently he heard, close overhead, the beat and whistle of vast wings, and looking up, he saw the eagle passing above him, flying so low that he could catch the hard, unwinking, tameless stare of its black and golden eyes as they looked down upon him with a sort of inscrutable challenge. he noted also a peculiarity which he had never seen in any other eagle. this one had a streak of almost black feathers immediately over its left eye, giving it a heavy and sinister eyebrow. the bird carried in the clutch of its talons a big, glistening lake trout, probably snatched from the fish-hawk; and jim was able to take note of the very set of its pinion-feathers as the wind hummed in their tense webs. flying with a massive power quite unlike the ease of his soaring, the eagle mounted gradually up the steep, passed the rocky shoulder with its watch-tower pine, and disappeared over the edge of a ledge which looked to horner like a mere scratch across the face of the mountain. "there's where his nest is, sure!" muttered horner to himself. and remembering that cold challenge in the bird's yellow stare, he suddenly decided that he wanted to see an eagle's nest. he had plenty of time. he was in no particular hurry to get back to the settlement and the gossip of the cross-roads store. he turned his canoe to land, lifted her out and hid her in the bushes, and struck back straight for the face of "old baldy." the lower slope was difficult to climb, a tangle of tumbled boulders and fallen trunks, mantled in the soundless gloom of the fir-forest. skilled woodsman though he was, horner's progress was so slow, and the windless heat became so oppressive to his impatience, that he was beginning to think of giving up the idle venture, when suddenly he came face to face with a perpendicular and impassable wall of cliff. this curt arrest to his progress was just what was needed to stiffen his wavering resolution. he understood the defiance which his ready fancy had found in the stare of the eagle. well, he had accepted the challenge. he would not be baffled by a rock. if he could not climb over it, he would go round it; but he would find the nest. with an obstinate look in his eyes, horner began to work his way along the foot of the cliff towards the right. taking advantage of every inch of ascent that he could gain, he at last found, to his satisfaction, that he had made sufficient height to clear the gloom of the woods. as he looked out over their tops, a light breeze cooled his wet forehead, and he pressed on with fresh vigor. presently the slope grew a trifle easier, the foothold surer, and he mounted more rapidly. the steely lake, and the rough-ridged, black-green sea of the fir-tops began to unroll below him. at last he rounded an elbow of the steep, and there before him, upthrust perhaps a hundred feet above his head, stood the outlying shoulder of rock, crowned with its dead pine, on which he was accustomed to see the eagle sitting. even as he looked, motionless, there came a rushing of great wings; and suddenly there was the eagle himself, erect on his high perch, and staring, as it seemed to horner, straight into the sun. when horner resumed his climbing, the great bird turned his head and gazed down upon him with an ironic fixity which betrayed neither dread nor wonder. concluding that the nest would be lying somewhere within view of its owner's watch-tower, horner now turned his efforts towards reaching the dead pine. with infinite difficulty, and with a few bruises to arm and leg, he managed to cross the jagged crevice which partly separated the jutting rock-pier from the main face of the cliff. then, laboriously and doggedly, he dragged himself up the splintered slope, still being forced around to the right, till there fell away below him a gulf into which it was not good for the nervous to look. feeling that a fate very different from that of lot's wife might be his if he should let himself look back too indiscreetly, he kept his eyes upon the lofty goal and pressed on upwards with a haste that now grew a trifle feverish. it began to seem to him that the irony of the eagle's changeless stare might perhaps not be unjustified. not till horner had conquered the steep and, panting but elated, gained the very foot of the pine, did the eagle stir. then, spreading his wings with a slow disdain, as if not dread but aversion to this unbidden visitor bade him go, he launched himself on a long, splendid sweep over the gulf, and then mounted on a spacious spiral to his inaccessible outlook in the blue. leaning against the bleached and scarred trunk of the pine, horner watched this majestic departure for some minutes, recovering his breath and drinking deep the cool and vibrant air. then he turned and scanned the face of the mountain. [illustration: "he launched himself on a long, splendid sweep over the gulf."] there it lay, in full view--the nest which he had climbed so far to find. it was not more than a hundred yards away. yet, at first sight, it seemed hopelessly out of reach. the chasm separating the ledge on which it clung from the outlying rock of the pine was not more than twenty feet across; but its bottom was apparently somewhere in the roots of the mountain. there was no way of passing it at this point. but horner had a faith that there was a way to be found over or around every obstacle in the world, if only one kept on looking for it resolutely enough. to keep on looking for a path to the eagle's nest, he struggled forward, around the outer slope of the buttress, down a ragged incline, and across a narrow and dizzy "saddle-back," which brought him presently upon another angle of the steep, facing southeast. clinging with his toes and one hand, while he wiped his dripping forehead with his sleeve, he looked up--and saw the whole height of the mountain, unbroken and daunting, stretched skyward above him. but to horner the solemn sight was not daunting in the least. "gee!" he exclaimed, grinning with satisfaction. "i _hev_ circumvented that there cervice, sure's death!" of the world below he had now a view that was almost overpoweringly unrestricted; but of the mountain, and his scene of operations, he could see only the stretch directly above him. a little calculation convinced him, however, that all he had to do was to keep straight on up for perhaps a hundred and fifty feet, then, as soon as the slope would permit, work around to his left, and descend upon the nest from above. incidentally, he made up his mind that his return journey should be made by another face of the mountain--any other, rather than that by which he had rashly elected to come. it seemed to horner like a mile, that last hundred and fifty feet; but at last he calculated that he had gained enough in height. at the same time he felt the slope grow easier. making his way towards the left, he came upon a narrow ledge, along which he could move easily side-wise, by clinging to the rock. presently it widened to a path by which he could walk almost at ease, with the wide, wild solitude, dark green laced with silver watercourses, spread like a stupendous amphitheatre far below him. it was the wilderness which he knew so well in detail, yet had never before seen as a whole; and the sight, for a few moments, held him in a kind of awed surprise. when, at last, he tore his gaze free from the majestic spectacle, there, some ten or twelve yards below his feet, he saw the object of his quest. it was nothing much to boast of in the way of architecture, this nest of the kings of the air--a mere cart-load of sticks and bark and coarse grass, apparently tumbled at haphazard upon the narrow ledge. but in fact its foundations were so skilfully wedged into the crevices of the rock, its structure was so cunningly interwoven, that the fiercest winds which scourged that lofty seat were powerless against it. it was a secure throne, no matter what tempests might rage around it. sitting half erect on the nest were two eaglets, almost full grown, and so nearly full feathered that horner wondered why they did not take wing at his approach. he did not know that the period of helplessness with these younglings of royal birth lasted even after they looked as big and well able to take care of themselves as their parents. it was a surprise to him, also, to see that they were quite unlike their parents in color, being black all over from head to tail, instead of a rich brown with snow-white head, neck, and tail. as he stared, he slowly realized that the mystery of the rare "black eagle" was explained. he had seen one once, flying heavily just above the tree-tops, and imagined it a discovery of his own. but now he reached the just conclusion that it had been merely a youngster in its first plumage. as he stared, the two young birds returned his gaze with interest, watching him with steady, yellow, undaunted eyes from under their flat, fierce brows; with high-shouldered wings half raised, they appeared quite ready to resent any familiarity which the strange intruder might be contemplating. horner lay face downward on his ledge, and studied the perpendicular rock below him for a way to reach the next. he had no very definite idea what he wanted to do when he got there; possibly, if the undertaking seemed feasible, he might carry off one of the royal brood and amuse himself with trying to domesticate it. but, at any rate, he hoped to add something, by a closer inspection, to his rather inadequate knowledge of eagles. and this hope, indeed, as he learned the next moment, was not unjustified. cautiously he was lowering himself over the edge, feeling for the scanty and elusive foothold, when all at once the air was filled with a rush of mighty wings, which seemed about to overwhelm him. a rigid wing-tip buffeted him so sharply that he lost his hold on the ledge. with a yell of consternation, which caused his assailant to veer off, startled, he fell backwards, and plunged down straight upon the nest. it was the nest only that saved him from instant death. tough and elastic, it broke his fall; but at the same time its elasticity threw him off, and on the rebound he went rolling and bumping on down the steep slopes below the ledge, with the screaming of the eagles in his ears, and a sickening sense in his heart that the sunlit world tumbling and turning somersaults before his blurred sight was his last view of life. then, to his dim surprise, he was brought up with a thump; and clutching desperately at a bush which scraped his face, he lay still. at the same moment a flapping mass of feathers and fierce claws landed on top of him, but only to scramble off again as swiftly as possible with a hoarse squawk. he had struck one of the young eagles in his fall, hurled it from the nest, and brought it down with him to this lower ledge which had given him so timely a refuge. for several minutes, perhaps, he lay clutching the bush desperately and staring straight upwards. there he saw both parent eagles whirling excitedly, screaming, and staring down at him; and then the edge of the nest, somewhat dilapidated by his strange assault, overhanging the ledge about thirty feet above. at length his wits came back to him, and he cautiously turned his head to see if he was in danger of falling if he should relax his hold on the bush. he was in bewildering pain, which seemed distributed all over him; but in spite of it he laughed aloud, to find that the bush, to which he hung so desperately, was in a little hollow on a spacious platform, from which he could not have fallen by any chance. at that strange, uncomprehended sound of human laughter the eagles ceased their screaming for a few moments and wheeled farther aloof. with great difficulty and anguish horner raised himself to a sitting position and tried to find out how seriously he was hurt. one leg was quite helpless. he felt it all over, and came to the conclusion that it was not actually broken; but for all the uses of a leg, for the present at least, it might as well have been putty, except for the fact that it pained him abominably. his left arm and shoulder, too, seemed to be little more than useless encumbrances, and he wondered how so many bruises and sprains could find place on one human body of no more than average size. however, having assured himself, with infinite relief, that there were no bones broken, he set his teeth grimly and looked about to take account of the situation. chapter ii the ledge on which he had found refuge was apparently an isolated one, about fifty or sixty feet in length, and vanishing into the face of the sheer cliff at either end. it had a width of perhaps twenty-five feet; and its surface, fairly level, held some soil in its rocky hollows. two or three dark-green seedling firs, a slim young silver birch, a patch or two of wind-beaten grass, and some clumps of harebells, azure as the clear sky overhead, softened the bareness of this tiny, high-flung terrace. in one spot, at the back, a spread of intense green and a handbreadth of moisture on the rock showed where a tiny spring oozed from a crevice to keep this lonely oasis in the granite alive and fresh. at the farthest edge of the shelf, and eying him with savage dread, sat the young eagle which had fallen with him. horner noticed, with a kind of sympathy, that even the bird, for all his wings, had not come out of the affair without some damage; for one of its black wings was not held up so snugly as the other. he hoped it was not broken. as he mused vaguely upon this unimportant question, his pain so exhausted him that he sank back and lay once more staring up at the eagles, who were still wheeling excitedly over the nest. in an exhaustion that was partly sleep and partly coma, his eyes closed. when he opened them again, the sun was hours lower and far advanced towards the west, so that the ledge was in shadow. his head was now perfectly clear; and his first thought was of getting himself back to the canoe. with excruciating effort he dragged himself to the edge of the terrace and looked down. the descent, at this point, was all but perpendicular for perhaps a hundred feet. in full possession of his powers, he would find it difficult enough. in his present state he saw clearly that he might just as well throw himself over as attempt it. not yet disheartened, however, he dragged himself slowly towards the other end of the terrace, where the young eagle sat watching him. as he approached, the bird lifted his wings, as if about to launch himself over and dare the element which he had not yet learned to master. but one wing drooped as if injured, and he knew the attempt would be fatal. opening his beak angrily, he hopped away to the other end of the terrace. but horner was paying no heed to birds at that moment. he was staring down the steep, and realizing that this ledge which had proved his refuge was now his prison, and not unlikely to become also his tomb. sinking back against a rock, and grinding his teeth with pain, he strove to concentrate his attention upon the problem that confronted him. was he to die of thirst and hunger on this high solitude before he could recover sufficiently to climb down? the thought stirred all his dogged determination. he _would_ keep alive, and that was all there was about it. he _would_ get well, and then the climbing down would be no great matter. this point settled, he dismissed it from his consideration and turned his thoughts to ways and means. after all, there was that little thread of a spring trickling from the rock! he would have enough to drink. and as for food--how much worse it would have been had the ledge been a bare piece of rock! here he had some grass, and the roots of the herbs and bushes. a man could keep himself alive on such things if he had will enough. and, as a last resource, there was the young eagle! this idea, however, was anything but attractive to him; and it was with eyes of good-will rather than of appetite that he glanced at his fellow-prisoner sitting motionless at the other extremity of the ledge. "it'ld be hard lines, pardner, ef i should hev to eat you, after all!" he muttered, with a twisted kind of grin. "we're both of us in a hole, sure enough, an' i'll play fair as long as i kin!" as he mused, a great shadow passed over his head, and looking up, he saw one of the eagles hovering low above the ledge. it was the male, his old acquaintance, staring down at him from under that strange, black brow. he carried a large fish in his talons, and was plainly anxious to feed his captive young, but not quite ready to approach this mysterious man-creature who had been able to invade his eyrie as if with wings. horner lay as still as a stone, watching through half-closed lids. the young eagle, seeing food so near, opened its beak wide and croaked eagerly; while the mother bird, larger but wilder and less resolute than her mate, circled aloof with sharp cries of warning. at last, unable any longer to resist the appeals of his hungry youngster, the great bird swooped down over him, dropped the fish fairly into his clutches, and slanted away with a hurried flapping which betrayed his nervousness. as the youngster fell ravenously upon his meal, tearing it and gulping the fragments, horner drew a deep breath. "there's where i come in, pardner," he explained. "when i kin git up an appetite for that sort of vittles, i'll go shares with you, ef y'ain't got no objection!" having conceived this idea, horner was seized with a fear that the captive might presently gain the power of flight and get away. this was a thought under which he could not lie still. in his pocket he always carried a bunch of stout salmon-twine and a bit of copper rabbit-wire, apt to be needed in a hundred forest emergencies. he resolved to catch the young eagle and tether it securely to a bush. his first impulse was to set about this enterprise at once. with excruciating effort he managed to pull off his heavy woollen hunting-shirt, intending to use it as the toreador uses his mantle, to entangle the dangerous weapons of his adversary. then he dragged himself across to the other end of the ledge and attempted to corner the captive. for this he was not quite quick enough, however. with a flop and a squawk the bird eluded him, and he realized that he had better postpone the undertaking till the morrow. crawling back to his hollow by the bush, he sank down, utterly exhausted. not till the sharp chill which comes with sunset warned him of its necessity, was he able to grapple with the long, painful problem of getting his shirt on again. through the night he got some broken sleep, though the hardness of his bed aggravated every hurt he had suffered. on the edge of dawn he saw the male eagle come again--this time more confidently and deliberately--to feed the captive. after he was gone, horner tried to move, but found himself now, from the night's chill and the austerity of his bed, altogether helpless. not till the sun was high enough to warm him through and through, and not till he had manipulated his legs and arms assiduously for more than an hour, did his body feel as if it could ever again be of any service to him. then he once more got off his shirt and addressed himself to the catching of the indignant bird whom he had elected to be his preserver. though the anguish caused by every movement was no less intense than it had been the afternoon before, he was stronger now and more in possession of his faculties. before starting the chase, he cut a strip from his shirt to wind around the leg of the young eagle, in order that he might be able to tether it tightly without cutting the flesh. the bird had suddenly become most precious to him! very warily he made his approaches, sidling down the ledge so as to give his quarry the least possible room for escape. as he drew near, the bird turned and faced him, with its one uninjured wing lifted menacingly and its formidable beak wide open. holding the heavy shirt ready to throw, horner crept up cautiously, so intent now upon the game that the anguish in the leg which he dragged stiffly behind him was almost forgotten. the young bird, meanwhile, waited, motionless and vigilant, its savage eyes hard as glass. at last a faint quiver and shrinking in the bird's form, an involuntary contracting of the feathers, gave warning to horner's experienced eye that it was about to spring aside. on the instant he flung the shirt, keeping hold of it by the sleeve. by a singular piece of luck, upon which he had not counted at all, it opened as he threw it, and settled right over the bird's neck and disabled wing, blinding and baffling it completely. with a muffled squawk it bounced into the air, both talons outspread and clawing madly; but in a second horner had it by the other wing, pulling it down, and rolling himself over upon it so as to smother those dangerous claws. he felt them sink once into his injured leg, but that was already anguishing so vehemently that a little more or less did not matter. in a few moments he had his captive bundled up with helplessness, and was dragging it to a sturdy bush near the middle of the terrace. here, without much further trouble, he wrapped one of its legs with the strip of flannel from his shirt, twisted on a hand-length of wire, and then tethered it safely with a couple of yards of his doubled and twisted cord. just as he had accomplished this to his satisfaction, and was about to undo the imprisoning shirt, it flashed across his mind that it was lucky the old eagles had not been on hand to interfere. he glanced upward--and saw the dark form dropping like a thunderbolt out of the blue. he had just time to fling himself over on his back, lifting his arm to shield his face, and his foot to receive the attack, when the hiss of that lightning descent filled his ears. involuntarily he half closed his eyes. but no shock came, except a great buffet of air on his face. not quite daring to grapple with that ready defence, the eagle had opened its wings when within a few feet of the ledge, and swerved upward again, where it hung hovering and screaming. horner saw that it was the female, and shook his fist at her in defiance. had it been his old acquaintance and challenger, the male, he felt sure that he would not have got off so easily. puzzled and alarmed, the mother now perched herself beside the other eaglet, on the edge of the nest. then, keeping a careful eye upon her, lest she should return to the attack, horner dexterously unrolled the shirt, and drew back just in time to avoid a vicious slash from the talons of his indignant prisoner. the latter, after some violent tugging and flopping at his tether and fierce biting at the wire, suddenly seemed to conclude that such futile efforts were undignified. he settled himself like a rock and stared unwinkingly at his captor. it was perhaps an hour after this, when the sun had grown hot, and horner, having slaked his thirst at the spring in the rock, had tried rather ineffectually to satisfy his hunger on grass roots, that the male eagle reappeared, winging heavily from the farthest end of the lake. from his talons dangled a limp form, which horner presently made out to be a duck. "good!" he muttered to himself. "i always did like fowl better'n fish." when the eagle arrived, he seemed to notice something different in the situation, for he wheeled slowly overhead for some minutes, uttering sharp yelps of interrogation. but the appeals of the youngster at last brought him down, and he delivered up the prize. the moment he was gone, horner crept up to where the youngster was already tearing the warm body to pieces. angry and hungry, the bird made a show of fighting for his rights; but his late experience with his invincible conqueror had daunted him. suddenly he hopped away, the full length of his tether; and horner picked up the mangled victim. but his appetite was gone by this time; he was not yet equal to a diet of raw flesh. tossing the prize back to its rightful owner, he withdrew painfully to grub for some more grass roots. [illustration: "after this the eagle came regularly every three or four hours with food for the prisoner."] after this the eagle came regularly every three or four hours with food for the prisoner. sometimes it was a fish--trout, or brown sucker, or silvery chub--sometimes a duck or a grouse, sometimes a rabbit or a muskrat. always it was the male, with that grim black streak across the side of his white face, who came. always horner made a point of taking the prize at once from the angry youngster, and then throwing it back to him, unable to stomach the idea of the raw flesh. at last, on the afternoon of the third day of his imprisonment, he suddenly found that it was not the raw flesh, but the grass roots, which he loathed. while examining a fine lake-trout, he remembered that he had read of raw fish being excellent food under the right conditions. this was surely one of those right conditions. picking somewhat fastidiously, he nevertheless managed to make so good a meal off that big trout that there was little but head and tail to toss back to his captor. "never mind, pardner!" he said seriously. "i'll divide fair nex' time. but you know you've been havin' more'n your share lately." but the bird was so outraged that for a long time he would not look at these remnants, and only consented to devour them, at last, when horner was not looking. after this horner found it easy enough to partake of his prisoner's meals, whether they were of fish, flesh, or fowl; and with the ice-cold water from the little spring, and an occasional mouthful of leaves and roots, he fared well enough to make progress towards recovery. the male eagle grew so accustomed to his presence that he would alight beside the prisoner, and threatened horner with that old, cold stare of challenge, and frequently horner had to drive him off in order to save his share of the feast from the rapacity of the eaglet. but as for the female, she remained incurably suspicious and protesting. from the upper ledge, where she devoted her care to the other nestling, she would yelp down her threats and execrations, but she never ventured any nearer approach. for a whole week the naked hours of day and dark had rolled over the peak before horner began to think himself well enough to try the descent. his arm and shoulder were almost well, but his leg, in spite of ceaseless rubbing and applications of moist earth, remained practically helpless. he could not bear his weight on it for a second. his first attempt at lowering himself showed him that he must not be in too great haste. it was nearly a week more before he could feel assured, after experiments at scaling the steep above him, that he was fit to face the terrible steep below. then he thought of the eaglet, his unwilling and outraged preserver! after a sharp struggle, of which both his arms and legs bore the marks for months, he caught the bird once more and examined the injured wing. it was not broken; and he saw that its owner would be able to fly all right in time, perhaps as soon as his more fortunate brother in the nest above. satisfied on this point, he loosed all the bonds and jumped back to avoid the indomitable youngster's retort of beak and claws. unamazed by his sudden freedom, the young eagle flopped angrily away to the farther end of the ledge; and horner, having resumed his useful shirt, started to climb down the mountain, whose ascent he had so heedlessly adventured nearly two weeks before. as he lowered himself over the dizzy brink, he glanced up, to see the male eagle circling slowly above him, gazing down at him with the old challenge in his unwinking, golden eyes. "i reckon you win!" said horner, waving the imperturbable bird a grave salutation. "but you're a gentleman, an' i thank you fer your kind hospitality." it was still early morning when horner started to descend the mountain. it was dusk when he reached the lake and flung himself down, prostrated with fatigue and pain and strain of nerve, beside his canoe. from moment to moment, through spells of reeling faintness and spasmodic exhaustion, the silent gulfs of space had clutched at him, as if the powers of the solitude and the peak had but spared him so long to crush him inexorably in the end. at last, more through the sheer indomitableness of the human spirit than anything else, he had won. but never afterwards could he think of that awful descent without a sinking of the heart. for three days more he made his camp by the lake, recovering strength and nerve before resuming his journey down the wild river to the settlements. and many times a day his salutations would be waved upward to that great, snowy-headed, indifferent bird, wheeling in the far blue, or gazing at the sun from his high-set watch-tower of the pine. chapter iii two or three years later, it fell in horner's way to visit a great city, many hundreds of miles from the gray peak of "old baldy." he was in charge of an exhibit of canoes, snowshoes, and other typical products of his forest-loving countrymen. in his first morning of leisure, his feet turned almost instinctively to the wooded gardens wherein the city kept strange captives, untamed exiles of the wilderness, irreconcilable aliens of fur and hide and feather, for the crowds to gape at through their iron bars. he wandered aimlessly past some grotesque, goatish-looking deer which did not interest him, and came suddenly upon a paddock containing a bull moose, two cows, and a yearling calf. the calf looked ungainly and quite content with his surroundings. the cows were faded and moth-eaten, but well fed. he had no concern for them at all. but the bull, a splendid, black-shouldered, heavy-muffled fellow, with the new antlers just beginning to knob out from his massive forehead, appealed to him strongly. the splendid, sullen-looking beast stood among his family, but towered over and seemed unconscious of them. his long, sensitive muzzle was held high to catch a breeze which drew coolly down from the north, and his half-shut eyes, in horner's fancy, saw not the wires of his fence, but the cool, black-green fir thickets of the north, the gray rampikes of the windy barrens, the broad lily leaves afloat in the sheltered cove, the wide, low-shored lake water gleaming rose-red in the sunset. "it's a shame," growled horner, "to keep a critter like that shut up in a seven-by-nine chicken-pen!" and he moved on, feeling as if he were himself a prisoner, and suddenly homesick for a smell of the spruce woods. it was in this mood that he came upon the great dome-roofed cage containing the hawks and eagles. it was a dishevelled, dirty place, with a few uncanny-looking dead trees stuck up in it to persuade the prisoners that they were free. horner gave a hasty glance and then hurried past, enraged at the sight of these strong-winged adventurers of the sky doomed to so tame a monotony of days. but just as he got abreast of the farther extremity of the cage, he stopped, with a queer little tug at his heart-strings. he had caught sight of a great, white-headed eagle, sitting erect and still on a dead limb close to the bars, and gazing through them steadily, not at him, but straight into the eye of the sun. "shucks! it ain't possible! there's millions o' bald eagles in the world!" muttered horner discontentedly. it was the right side of the bird's head that was turned towards him, and that, of course, was snowy white. equally, of course, it was as, horner told himself, the height of absurdity to think that this grave, immobile prisoner gazing out through the bars at the sun could be his old friend of the naked peak. nevertheless, something within his heart insisted it was so. if only the bird would turn his head! at last horner put two fingers between his mouth, and blew a whistle so piercing that every one stared rebukingly, and a policeman came strolling along casually to see if any one had signalled for help. but horner was all unconscious of the interest which he had excited. in response to his shrill summons the eagle had slowly, very deliberately, turned his head, and looked him steadily in the eyes. yes, there was the strange black bar above the left eye, and there, unbroken by defeat and captivity, was the old look of imperturbable challenge! horner could almost have cried, from pity and homesick sympathy. those long days on the peak, fierce with pain, blinding bright with sun, wind-swept and solitary, through which this great, still bird had kept him alive, seemed to rush over his spirit all together. "gee, old pardner!" he murmured, leaning as far over the railing as he could. "but ain't you got the grit! i'd like to know who it was served this trick on you. but don't you fret. i'll get you out o' this, ef it takes a year's arnings to do it! you wait an' see!" and with his jaws set resolutely he turned and strode from the gardens. that bird should not stay in there another night if he could help it. horner's will was set, but he did not understand the difficulties he had to face. at first he was confronted, as by a stone wall, by the simple and unanswerable fact that the bird was not for sale at any price. and he went to bed that night raging with disappointment and baffled purpose. but in the course of his efforts and angry protestations he had let out a portion of his story--and this, as a matter of interest, was carried to the president of the society which controlled the gardens. to this man, who was a true naturalist and not a mere dry-as-dust cataloguer of bones and teeth, the story made a strong appeal, and before horner had quite made up his mind whether to get out a writ of _habeas corpus_ for his imprisoned friend, or commit a burglary on the cage, there came a note inviting him to an interview at the president's office. the result of this interview was that horner came away radiant, convinced at last that there was heart and understanding in the city as well as in the country. he had agreed to pay the society simply what it might cost to replace the captive by another specimen of his kind; and he carried in his pocket an order for the immediate delivery of the eagle into his hands. to the practical backwoodsman there was no fuss or ceremony now to be gone through. he admired the expeditious fashion in which the keeper of the bird-house handled his dangerous charge, coming out of the brief tussle without a scratch. trussed up as ignominiously as a turkey--proud head hooded, savage talons muffled, and skyey wings bound fast, the splendid bird was given up to his rescuer, who rolled him in a blanket without regard to his dignity, and carried him off under his arm like a bundle of old clothes. beyond the outskirts of the city horner had observed a high, rocky, desolate hill which seemed suited to his purpose. he took a street car and travelled for an hour with the bundle on his knees. little his fellow-passengers guessed of the wealth of romance, loyalty, freedom, and spacious memory hidden in that common-looking bundle on the knees of the gaunt-faced, gray-eyed man. at the foot of the hill, at a space of bare and ragged common, horner got off. by rough paths, frequented by goats, he made his way up the rocky slope, through bare ravines and over broken ridges, and came at last to a steep rock in a solitude, whence only far-off roofs could be seen, and masts, and bridges, and the sharp gleam of the sea in the distance. this place satisfied him. on the highest point of the rock he carefully unfastened the bonds of his prisoner, loosed him, and jumped back with respect and discretion. the great bird sat up very straight, half raised and lowered his wings as if to regain his poise, looked horner dauntlessly in the eye, then stared slowly about him and above, as if to make sure that there were really no bars for him to beat his wings against. for perhaps a full minute he sat there. then, having betrayed no unkingly haste, he spread his wings to their full splendid width and launched himself from the brink. for a few seconds he flapped heavily, as if his wings had grown unused to their function. then he got his rhythm, and swung into a wide, mounting spiral, which horner watched with sympathetic joy. at last, when he was but a wheeling speck in the pale blue dome, he suddenly turned and sailed off straight towards the northeast, with a speed which carried him out of sight in a moment. horner drew a long breath, half wistful, half glad. "them golden eyes of yourn kin see a thunderin' long ways off, pardner," he muttered, "but i reckon even you can't make out the top of 'old baldy' at this distance. it's the eyes o' your heart ye must have seen it with, to make for it so straight!" the lord of the glass house the lord of the glass house chapter i in the sheltered caribbean cove the water was warm as milk, green and clear as liquid beryl, and shot through with shimmering sun. under that stimulating yet mitigated radiance the bottom of the cove was astir with strange life, grotesque in form, but brilliant as jewels or flowers. long, shining weeds, red, yellow, amber, purple, and olive, waved sinuously among the weed-like sea-anemones which outshone them in colored sheen. fantastic pink-and-orange crabs sidled awkwardly but nimbly this way and that. tiny sea-horses, yet more fantastic, slipped shyly from one weed-covert to another, aware of a possible peril in every gay but menacing bloom. and just above this eccentric life of the shoal sea-floor small fishes of curious form shot hither and thither, live, darting gleams of gold and azure and amethyst. now and again a long, black shadow would sail slowly over the scene of freakish life--the shadow of a passing albacore or barracouta. instantly the shining fish would hide themselves among the shining shells, and every movement, save that of the unconsciously waving weeds, would be stilled. but the sinister shadow would go by, and straightway the sea-floor would be alive again, busy with its affairs of pursuit and flight. the floor of the cove was uneven, by reason of small, shell-covered rocks and stones being strewn over it at haphazard. from under the slightly overhanging base of one of these stones sprouted what seemed a cluster of yellowish gray, pink-mottled weed-stems, which sprawled out inertly upon the mottled bottom. over the edge of the stone came swimming slowly one of the gold-and-azure fish, its jewelled, impassive eyes on the watch for some small prey. up from the bottom, swift as a whip-lash, darted one of those inert-looking weed-stems, and fastened about the bright fish just behind the gills. fiercely the shining one struggled, lashing with tail and fins till the water swirled to a boil over the shell-covered rock, and the sea-anemones all about shut their gorgeous, greedy flower-cups in a panic. but the struggle was a vain one. slowly, inexorably, that mottled tentacle curled downward with its prey, and a portion of the under side of the rock became alive! two ink-black eyes appeared, bulging, oval, implacable; and between them opened a great, hooked beak, like a giant parrot's. there was no separate head behind this gaping beak, but eyes and beak merely marked the blunt end of a mottled, oblong, sac-like body. [illustration: "and the writhing tentacles composed themselves once more to stillness upon the bottom, awaiting the next careless passer-by."] as the victim was drawn down to the waiting beak, among the bases of the tentacles, all the tentacles awoke to dreadful life, writhing in aimless excitement, although there was no work for them to do. in a few seconds the fish was torn asunder and engulfed--those inky eyes the while unwinking and unmoved. a darker, livid hue passed fleetingly over the pallid body of the octopus. then it slipped back under the shelter of the rock; and the writhing tentacles composed themselves once more to stillness upon the bottom, awaiting the next careless passer-by. once more they seemed mere inert trailers of weed, not worth the notice of fish or crab. and soon the anemones near by reopened their treacherous blooms of yellow and crimson. whether because there was something in the gold-and-azure fish that disturbed his inward content, or because his place of ambush had somehow grown distasteful to his soft, unarmored body, the octopus presently bestirred himself and crawled forth into the open, walking awkwardly on the incurled tips of his tentacles. it looked about as comfortable a method of progression as for a baby to creep on the back of its hands. the traveller himself did not seem to find it altogether satisfactory, for all at once he sprang upward nimbly, clear of the bottom, and gathered his eight tentacles into a compact parallel bunch extending straight out past his eyes. in this attitude he was no longer clumsy, but trim and swift-looking. beneath the bases of the tentacles, on the under side of the body, a sort of valve opened spasmodically and took in a huge gulp of water, which was at once ejected with great force through a tube among the tentacles. driven by the strange propulsion of this pulsating stream, the elongated shape shot swiftly on its way, but travelling backward instead of forward. the traveller had apparently taken his direction with care before he started, however, for he made his way straight to another rock, weedier and more overhanging than the first. here he stopped, settled downward, and let his tentacles once more sprawl wide, preparatory to backing his spotted body-sac into its new quarters. this was the moment when he was least ready for attack or defence; and just at this moment a foraging dolphin, big-jawed and hungry, shot down upon him through the lucent green, mistaking him, perhaps, for an overgrown but unretaliating squid. the assailant aimed at the big, succulent-looking body, but missed his aim, and caught instead one of the tentacles which had reared themselves instantly to ward off the attack. before he realized what was happening, another tentacle had curled about his head, clamping his jaws firmly together so that he could not open them to release his hold; while yet others had wrapped themselves securely about his body. the dolphin was a small one; and such a situation as this had never come within range of his experience. in utter panic he lashed out with his powerful tail and darted forward, carrying the octopus with him. but the weight upon his head, the crushing encumbrance about his body, were too much for him, and bore him slowly downward. suddenly two tentacles, which had been trailing for an anchorage, got grip upon the bottom--and the dolphin's frantic flight came to a stop abruptly. he lashed, plunged, whirled in a circle, but all to no purpose. his struggles grew weaker. he was drawn down, inexorably, till he lay quivering on the sand. then the great beak of the octopus made an end of the matter, and the prey was dragged back to the lair beneath the weed-covered rock. a long time after this, a shadow bigger and blacker than that of any albacore--bigger than that of any shark or saw-fish--drifted over the cove. there was a splash, and a heavy object came down upon the bottom, spreading the swift stillness of terror for yards about. the shadow ceased drifting, for the boat had come to anchor. then in a very few minutes, because the creatures of the sea seem unable to fear what does not move, the life of the sea-floor again bestirred itself, and small, misshapen forms that did not love the sunlight began to convene in the shadow of the boat. presently, from over the side of the boat descended a dark tube, with a bright tip that seemed like a kind of eye. the tube moved very slowly this way and that, as if to let the eye scan every hiding-place on the many-colored bottom. as it swept over the rock that sheltered the octopus, it came to a stop. those inert, sprawling things that looked like weeds appeared to interest it. then it was softly withdrawn. a few moments later, a large and tempting fish appeared at the surface of the water, and began slowly sinking straight downward in a most curious fashion. the still eyes of the octopus took note at once. they had never seen a fish behave that way before; but it plainly was a fish. a quiver of eagerness passed through the sprawling tentacles, for their owner was already hungry again. but the prize was still too far away, and the tentacles did not move. the curious fish, however, seemed determined to come no nearer, and at last the waiting tentacles came stealthily to life. almost imperceptibly they drew themselves forward, writhing over the bottom as casually as weeds adrift in a light current. and behind them those two great, inky, impassive eyes, and then the fat, mottled, sac-like body, emerged furtively from under the rock. the bottom, just at this point, was covered with a close brown weed, and almost at once the body of the octopus and his tentacles began to change to the same hue. when the change was complete, the gliding monster was almost invisible. he was now directly beneath that incomprehensible fish; but the fish had gently risen, so that it was still out of reach. for a few seconds the octopus crouched, staring upward with motionless orbs, and gathering himself together. then he sprang straight up, like a leaping spider. he fixed two tentacles upon the tantalizing prey; then the other tentacles straightened out, and with a sharp jet of water from his propulsion tube he essayed to dart back to his lair. to his amazement, the prey refused to come. in some mysterious way it managed to hold itself--or was held--just where it was. amazement gave way to rage. the monster wrapped his prize in three more tentacles, and then plunged his beak into it savagely. the next instant he was jerked to the surface of the water. a blaze of fierce sun blinded him, and strong meshes enclosed him, binding and entangling his tentacles. in such an appalling crisis most creatures of sea or land would have been utterly demoralized by terror. not so the octopus. maintaining undaunted the clutch of one tentacle upon his prize, he turned the others, along with the effectual menace of his great beak, to the business of battle. the meshes fettered him in a way that drove him frantic with rage, but two of his tentacles managed to find their way through, and writhed madly this way and that in search of some tangible antagonist on which to fasten themselves. while they were yet groping vainly for a grip, he felt himself lifted bodily forth into the strangling air, and crowded--net, prey, and all--into a dark and narrow receptacle full of water. this fate, of course, was not to be tamely endured. though he was suffocating in the unnatural medium, and though his great, unwinking eyes could see but vaguely outside their native element, he was all fight. one tentacle clutched the rim of the metal vessel; and one fixed its deadly suckers upon the bare black arm of a half-seen adversary who was trying to crowd him down into the dark prison. there was a strident yell. a sharp, authoritative voice exclaimed: "look out! don't hurt him! _i'll_ make him let go!" but the next instant the frightened darky had whipped out a knife and sliced off a good foot of the clutching tentacle. as the injured stump shrank back upon its fellows like a spade-cut worm, the other tentacle was deftly twisted loose from its hold on the rim, and the captive felt himself forced down into the narrow prison. a cover was clapped on, and he found himself in darkness, with his prey still gripped securely. upset and raging though he was, there was nothing to be done about it, so he fell to feasting indignantly upon the prize for which he had paid so dear. chapter ii left to himself, the furious prisoner by and by disentangled himself from the meshes of the net, and composed himself as well as he could in his straitened quarters. then for days and days thereafter there was nothing but tossing and tumbling, blind feeding, and uncomprehended distress; till at last his prison was turned upside down and he was dropped unceremoniously into a great tank of glass and enamel that glowed with soft light. bewildered though he was, he took in his surroundings in an instant, straightened his tentacles out before him, and darted backwards to the shelter of an overhanging rock which he had marked on the floor of the tank. having backed his defenceless body under that shield, he flattened his tentacles anxiously among the stones and weeds that covered the tank-bottom, and impassively stared about. it was certainly an improvement on the black hole from which he had just escaped. light came down through the clear water, but a cold, white light, little like the green and gold glimmer that illumined the slow tide in his caribbean home. the floor about him was not wholly unfamiliar. the stones, the sand, the colored weeds, the shells,--they were like, yet unlike, those from which he had been snatched away. but on three sides there were white, opaque walls, so near that he could have touched them by stretching out a tentacle. only on the fourth side was there space--but a space of gloom and inexplicable moving confusion from which he shrank. in this direction the floor of sand and stones and weeds ended with a mysterious abruptness; and the vague openness beyond filled him with uneasiness. pale-colored shapes, with eyes, would drift up, sometimes in crowds, and stare in at him fixedly. it daunted him as nothing else had ever done, this drift of peering faces. it was long before he could teach himself to ignore them. when food came to him,--small fish and crabs, descending suddenly from the top of the water,--at such times the faces would throng tumultuously in that open space, and for a long time the many peering eyes would so disconcert him as almost to spoil his appetite. but at last he grew accustomed even to the faces and the eyes, and disregarded them as if they were so much passing seaweed, borne by the tide. his investigating tentacles had shown him that between him and the space of confusion there was an incomprehensible barrier fixed, which he could see through but not pass; and that if he could not get out, neither could the faces get in to trouble him. thus, well fed and undisturbed, the octopus grew fairly content in his glass house, and never guessed the stormy life of the great city beyond his walls. for all he knew, his comfortable prison might have been on the shore of one of his own bahaman keys. he was undisputed lord of his domain, narrow though it was; and the homage he received from the visitors who came to pay him court was untiring. his lordship had been long unthreatened, when one day, had he not been too indifferent to notice them, he might have seen that the faces in the outer gloom were unusually numerous, the eyes unusually intent. suddenly there was the accustomed splash in the water above him. that splash had come to him to mean just food, unresisting victims, and his tentacles were instantly alert to seize whatever should come within reach. this time the splash was unusually heavy, and he was surprised to see a massive, roundish creature, with a little, pointed tail sticking out behind, a small, snake-like head stretched out in front, and two little flippers outspread on each side. with these four flippers the stranger came swimming down calmly towards him. he had never seen anything at all like this daring stranger; but without the slightest hesitation he whipped up two writhing tentacles and seized him. the faces beyond the glass surged with excitement. when that abrupt and uncompromising clutch laid hold upon the turtle, his tail, head, and flippers vanished as if they had never been, and his upper and lower shells closed tight together till he seemed nothing more than a lifeless box of horn. absolutely unresisting, he was drawn down to the impassive eyes and gaping beak of his captor. the tentacles writhed all over him, stealthily but eagerly investigating. then the great parrot-beak laid hold on the shell, expecting to crush it. making no impression, however, it slid tentatively all over the exasperating prize, seeking, but in vain, for a weak point. [illustration: "without the slightest hesitation he whipped up two writhing tentacles and seized him."] this went on for several minutes, while the watching faces outside the glass gazed in tense expectancy. then at last the patience of the octopus gave way. in a sudden fury he threw himself upon the exasperating shell, tumbling it over and over, biting at it madly, wrenching it insanely with all his tentacles. and the faces beyond the glass surged thrillingly, wondering how long the turtle would stand such treatment. shut up within his safe armor, the turtle all at once grew tired of being tumbled about, and his wise discretion forsook him. he did not mind being shut up, but he objected to being knocked about. some prudence he had, to be sure, but not enough to control his short temper. out shot his narrow, vicious-looking head, with its dull eyes and punishing jaws, and fastened with the grip of a bulldog upon the nearest of the tentacles, close to its base. a murmur arose outside the glass. the rage of the octopus swelled to a frenzy, and in his contortions the locked fighters bumped heavily against the glass, making the faces shrink back. the small stones on the bottom were scattered this way and that, and the fine silt rose in a cloud that presently obscured the battle. had the turtle had cunning to match his courage, the lordship of the glass house might have changed holders in that fight. had he fixed his unbreakable grip in the head of his foe, just above the beak, he would have conquered in the end. but as it was, he had now a vulnerable point, and at last the octopus found it. his beak closed upon the exposed half of the turtle's head, and slowly, inexorably, sheared it clean off just behind the eyes. the stump shrank instantly back into the shell; and the shell became again the unresisting plaything of the tentacles, which presently, as if realizing that it had no more power to retaliate, flung it aside. in a few minutes the silt settled. then the eager faces beyond the glass saw the lord of the tank crouching motionless before his lair, his ink-like eyes as impassive and implacable as ever, while the turtle lay bottom side up against the glass, no more to be taken account of than a stone. back to the water world back to the water world chapter i an iron coast, bleak, black, and desolate, without harborage for so much as a catboat for leagues to north or south. a coast so pitiless, so lashed forever by the long, sullen rollers of the north atlantic, so tormented by the shifting and treacherous currents of the tide between its chains of outlying rocky islets, that no ship ever ventured willingly within miles of its uncompromising menace. a coast so little favored by summer that even in glowing august the sun could reach it seldom through its cold and drenching fogs. perhaps half a mile off shore lay the islands--some of them, indeed, mere ledges, deathtraps for ships, invisible except at low tide, but others naked hills of upthrust rock, which the highest tides and wildest hurricanes could not overwhelm. even on the loftiest of them there was neither grass, bush, nor tree to break the jagged outlines, but day and night, summer and winter long, the sea-birds clamored over them, and brooded by the myriad on their upper ledges. these islands were fretted, on both their landward and their seaward sides, by innumerable caves. in one of these caves, above the reach of the highest tide, and facing landward, so that even in the wildest storms no waves could invade it, the pup of the seal first opened his mild eyes upon the misty northern daylight. of all the younglings of the wild, he was perhaps the most winsome, with his soft, whitish, shadowy-toned, close, woolly coat, his round, babyish head, his dark, gentle eyes wide with wonder at everything to be seen from the cave mouth. he lay usually very near the entrance, but partly hidden from view by a ragged horn of rock. while alone--which was a good part of the time, indeed, like most fishermen's children--he would lie so still that his woolly little form was hardly to be distinguished from the rock that formed his couch. he had no desire to attract public attention--for the only public that might have been attracted to attend consisted of the pair of great sea eagles whose shadows sometimes swooped aross the ledge, or of an occasional southward-wandering white bear. as for the innumerable gulls, and gannets, and terns, and lesser auks, which made the air forever loud about these lonely islets, nothing could have induced them to pay him any attention whatever. they knew him, and his people, to be harmless; and that was all their winged and garrulous companies were concerned to know. but to the little seal, on the other hand, the noisy birds were incessantly interesting. filled with insatiable curiosity, his mild eyes gazed out upon the world. the sea just below the cave was, of course, below his line of vision; but at a distance of some hundred yards or so--a distance which varied hugely with the rising and falling of the tide--he caught sight of the waves, and felt himself strangely drawn to them. whether leaden and menacing under the drift of rain and the brooding of gray clouds, or green-glinting under the sheen of too rare sunshine, he loved them and found them always absorbing. the sky, too, was worth watching, especially when white fleeces chased each other across a patch of blue, or wonderful colors, pallid yet intense, shot up into it at dawn from behind a far-off line of saw-toothed rocks. the absences of the mother seal were sometimes long, for it required many fish to satisfy her appetite and keep warm her red blood in those ice-cold arctic currents. fish were abundant, to be sure, along that coast, where the invisible fruitfulness of the sea made compensation for the blank barrenness of the land; but they were swift and wary, and had to be caught, one at a time, outwitted and outspeeded in their own element. the woolly cub, therefore, was often hungry before his mother returned. but when, at last, she came, flopping awkwardly up the rocky slope, and pausing for an instant to reconnoitre, as her round, glistening head appeared over the brink of the ledge, the youngster's delight was not all in the satisfying of his hunger and in the mothering of his loneliness. as he snuggled under her caress, the salty drip from her wet, sleek sides thrilled him with a dim sense of anticipation. he connected it vaguely with that endless, alluring dance of the waves beyond his threshold. when he had grown a few days older, the little seal began to turn his attention from the brighter world outside to the shadows that surrounded him in his cave. his interest was caught at once by a woolly gray creature like himself, only somewhat smaller, which lay perhaps seven or eight feet away, at the other side of the cave, and farther back. he had not realized before that his narrow retreat was the home of two families. being of a companionable disposition, he eyed his newly discovered neighbor with immense good-will. finding no discouragement in the mild gaze that answered his, he presently raised himself on his flippers, and with laborious, ungainly effort flopped himself over to make acquaintance. both youngsters were too unsophisticated for ceremony, too trusting for shyness, so in a very few minutes they were sprawling over each other in great content. in this baby comradeship the stranger's mother, returning to her household duties, found them. she was smaller and younger than our pup's dam, but with the same kindly eyes and the same salty-dripping coat. so, when her own baby fell to nursing, the pup insisted confidently on sharing the entertainment. the young mother protested, and drew herself away uneasily, with little threatening grunts; but the pup, refusing to believe she was in earnest, pressed his point so pertinaciously that at length he got his way. when, half an hour later, the other mother returned to her charge, well filled with fish and well disposed toward all the world, she showed no discontent at the situation. she belonged to the tribe of the "harbor seals," and, unlike her pugnacious cousins, the big "hoods," she was always inclined towards peace and a good understanding. there was probably nothing that could have brought the flame of wrath into her confiding eyes, except an attack upon her young, on whose behalf she would have faced the sea-serpent himself. without a moment's question, she joined the group; and henceforth the cave was the seat of a convenient partnership in mothers. it was perhaps a week or two later, when the islands were visited by a wonderful spell of sun and calm. it was what would have been called, farther south, indian summer. all along the ledges, just above the mark of the diminished surf, the seals lay basking in the glow. the gulls and mews clamored rapturously, and squabbled with gay zest over the choicer prizes of their fishing. it appeared to be generally known that the bears, displeased at the warmth, had withdrawn farther north. the sea took on strange hues of opal and lilac and thrice-diluted sapphire. even the high black cliffs across the charmed water veiled their harshness in a skyey haze. it was a time for delicious indolence, for the slackening of vigilance, for the forgetfulness of peril. and it was just at this very time that it came the young seal's way to get his first lesson in fear. he was lying beside his mother, about a dozen feet out from the mouth of the cave. a few steps away basked his little cave-mate--alone for the moment, because its mother had flung herself vehemently down the slope to capture a wounded fish which had just been washed ashore. as she reached the water's edge, a wide shadow floated across the rocks. she wheeled like a flash and scrambled frantically up the steep. but she was too late. she saw the other mothers near by throw their bodies over those of their young, and lift their faces skyward with bared, defiant fangs. she saw her own little one, alone in the bright open, gaze around in helpless bewilderment and alarm. he saw her coming, and lifting himself on his weak flippers, started towards her with a little cry. then came a terrible hissing of wings in the air above, and he cowered, trembling. the next instant, with a huge buffet of wind in all the upturned faces, a pair of vast, dark pinions were outspread above the trembler; great clutching talons reached down and seized him by neck and back; and his tiny life went out in a throttled whimper. the nearest seal, the mother of the pup, reared on her flippers and lunged savagely at the marauder. but all she got was a blinding slash of rigid wing-tips across her face. then, launching himself from the brink of the slope, the eagle flapped scornfully away across the water toward the black cliffs, his victim hanging limply from his claws. and all along the ledges the seals barked furiously after him. the pup, whom death had brushed so closely, could not be persuaded for hours to leave the shelter of his mother's side, even after she had led him back to the cave. but now he found himself the exclusive proprietor of two mothers; for the bereaved dam, thenceforth, was no less assiduously devoted to him than his own parent. with such care, and with so abundant nourishment, he throve amazingly, outstripping in growth all the other youngsters of his age along the ledges. his terror quickly passed away from him; but the results of the lesson long remained, in the vigilance with which his glance would sweep the sky, and question every approach of wings more wide than those of gull or gannet. it was not long after this grim chance that the pup's woolly coat began to change. a straight, close-lying under-fur pushed swiftly into view, and the wool dropped out--a process which a certain sense of irritation in his skin led him to hasten by rubbing his back and sides against the rock. in an astonishingly short time his coat grew like his mother's--a yellowish gray, dotted irregularly with blackish spots, and running to a creamy tone under the belly. as soon as this change was completed to his mother's satisfaction, he was led down close to the water's edge, where he had never been allowed before. eagerly as he loved the sight of the waves, and the salty savor of them, when the first thin crest splashed up and soused him he shrank back daunted. it was colder, too, that first slap in his face, than he had expected. he turned, intending to retreat a little way up the rocks and consider the question, in spite of the fact that there was his little mother in the water, swimming gayly a few feet out from shore and coaxing him with soft cries. he was anxious to join her--but not just yet. then, all at once the question was decided for him. his real mother, who was just behind him, suddenly thrust her muzzle under his flank, and sent him rolling into deep water. he came up at once, much startled. straightway he found that he could move in the water much more easily and naturally than on shore--and he applied the discovery to getting ashore again with all possible haste. but his mother, awaiting him at the edge, shoved him off relentlessly. feeling much injured, he turned and swam out to his other mother. here the first one joined him; and in a few minutes amazement and resentment alike were lost in delight, as he began to realize that this, at last, was life. here, and not sprawling half helplessly on the rocks, was where he belonged. he swam, and dived, and darted like a fish, and went wild with childish ecstasy. he had come to his own element. after this, he hardly ever returned to the cave, but slept close at the side of one or the other of his mothers, on the open rocks just a few feet above the edge of tide. a little later came a period of mad weather, ushering in the autumn storms. snow and sleet drove down out of the north, and lay in great patches over the more level portions of the islets above tide. the wind seemed as if it would lift the islets bodily and sweep them away. the vast seas, green and black and lead-color, thundered down upon the rocks as if they would batter them to fragments. the ledges shuddered under the incessant crashing. when the snow stopped, on its heels came the vanguard of the arctic cold. the ice formed instantly in all the pools left by the tide. along the edges of the tide it was ground to a bitter slush by the perpetual churning of the waves. after a week or two of this violence, the seals--who, unlike their polar cousins, the "harps" and the "hoods," were no great lovers of storm and the fiercer cold--began to feel discontented. presently a little party of them, not more than a score in all, with a few of the stronger youngsters of that season, on a sudden impulse left their stormy ledges and started southward. the pup, who, thanks to his double mothering, was far bigger and more capable than any of his mates, went with his partner-mothers in the very forefront of the migration. straight down along the roaring coast they kept, usually at a distance of not more than half a mile from shore. they had, of course, no objection to going farther out, but neither had they any object in doing so, since the fish-life on which they fed as they journeyed was the more abundant where the sea began to shoal. with their slim, sleek, rounded bodies, thickest at the fore flippers and tapering finely to tail and muzzle, each a lithe and close-knit structure of muscle and nerve-energy, they could swim with astounding speed; and therefore, although there was no hurry whatever, they went along at the pace of a motor-boat. all this time the gale was lashing the coast, but it gave them little concern. down in the black troughs of the gigantic rollers there was always peace from the yelling of the wind--a tranquillity wherein the gulls and mews would snatch their rest after being buffeted too long about the sky. near the tops of the waves, of course, it was not good to be, for the gale would rip the crests off bodily and tear them into shreds of whipping spray. but the seals could always dive and slip smoothly under these tormented regions. moreover, if weary of the tossing surfaces and the tumult of the gale, they had only to sink themselves down, down, into the untroubled gloom beneath the wave-bases, where greenish lights gleamed or faded with the passing of the rollers overhead, and where strange, phosphorescent shapes of life crawled or clung among the silent rocks. longer than any other red-blooded animal, except the whale, could their lungs go without fresh oxygen; so, though they knew nothing of those great depths where the whales sometimes frequent, it was easy for them to go deep enough to get below the storm. sometimes a break in the coast-line, revealing the mouth of an inlet, would tempt the little band of migrants. hastening shoreward, they would push their way inland between the narrowing banks, often as far as the head of tide, gambolling in the quiet water, and chasing the salmon fairly out upon the shoals. like most discriminating creatures, they were very fond of salmon, but it was rarely, except on such occasions as this, that they had a chance to gratify their taste. after perhaps a week of this southward journeying, the travellers found themselves one night at the head of a little creek where the tide lapped pleasantly on a smooth, sandy beach. they were already getting into milder weather, and here, a half mile inland, there was no wind. the sky was overcast, and the seals lay in contented security along the edge of the water. the blacker darkness of a fir forest came down to within perhaps fifty paces of their resting-place. but they had no anxieties. the only creatures that they had learned to fear on shore besides man were the polar bears; and they knew they were now well south of that deadly hunter's range. as for eagles, they did not hunt at night; and, moreover, they were a terror only in the woolly-coated, baby stage of a seal's existence. but it often enough happens that wild animals, no less than human beings, may be ignorant of something which their health requires them to know. there was another bear in labrador--a smallish, rusty-coated, broad-headed, crafty cousin of the ordinary american black bear. and one of these, who had acquired a taste for seal, along with some cleverness in gratifying that taste, had his headquarters, as it chanced, in that near-neighboring fir wood. the pup lay crowded in snugly between his two mothers. he liked the warmth of being crowded; for the light breeze, drawing up from the water, was sharp with frost. there is such a thing, however, as being just a little too crowded, and presently, waking up with a protest, he pushed and wriggled to get more space. as he did so, he raised his head. his keen young eyes fell upon a black something a little blacker than the surrounding gloom. the black something was up the slope halfway between the water and the wood. it looked like a mass of rock. but the pup had a vague feeling that there had been no rock thereabouts when he went to sleep. a thrill of apprehension went up and down his spine, raising the stiffish hairs along his neck. staring with all his eyes through the dimness, he presently saw the black shape move. yes, it was drawing nearer. with a shrill little bark of terror he gave the alarm, at the same time struggling free and hurling himself toward the water. in that same instant the bear rushed, coming down the slope as it were in one plunging jump. the seals, light sleepers all, were already awake and floundering madly back to the water. but for one of them, and that one the pup's assistant mother, the alarm came too late. just as she was turning, bewildered with terror of she knew not what, the dark bulk of the bear landed upon her, crushing her down. a terrific blow on the muzzle broke her skull, and she collapsed into a quivering mass. the rest of the band, after a moment of loud splashing, swam off noiselessly for the safe retreat of the outer ledges. and the bear, after shaking the body of his victim to make sure it was quite dead, dragged it away with a grunt of satisfaction into the fir wood. after this tragedy, though the travellers continued to ascend the creeks and inlets when the whim so moved them, they took care to choose for sleep the ruder security of outlying rocks and islands, and cherished, by night and by day, a wholesome distrust of dark fir woods. but for all their watchfulness their journeying was care-free and joyous, and from time to time, as they went, their light-heartedness would break out into aimless gambols, or something very like a children's game of tag. nothing, however, checked their progress southward, and presently, turning into the belle isle straits, they came to summer skies and softer weather. at this point, under the guidance of an old male who had followed the southward track before, they forsook the labrador shore-line and headed fearlessly out across the strait till they reached the coast of newfoundland. this coast they followed westward till they gained the gulf of st. lawrence, then, turning south, worked their way down the southwest coast of the great island province, past shores still basking in the amethystine light of indian summer, through seas so teeming with fish that they began to grow lazy with fatness. here the pup and other younger members of the company felt inclined to stay. but their elders knew that winter, with the long cold, and the scanty sun, and the perilous grinding of tortured ice-floes around the shore-rocks, would soon be upon them; so the journey was continued. on they pressed, across the wide gateway of the gulf, from cape ray to north cape, the eastern point of nova scotia. good weather still waited upon their wayfaring, and they loitered onward gayly, till, arriving at the myriad-islanded bay of the tuskets, near the westernmost tip of the peninsula, they could not, for sheer satisfaction, go farther. here was safe seclusion, with countless inaccessible retreats. here was food in exhaustless plenty; and here was weather benignant enough for any reasonable needs. it was just here, off the tuskets, that the pup got another lesson. hitherto his ideas of danger had been altogether associated with the land where eagles swooped out of a clear sky and bears skulked in the darkness, and where, moreover, he himself was incapable of swift escape. but now he found that the sea, too, held its menace for the gentle kindred of the seals. it was a still, autumnal morning, blue and clear, with a sunny sparkle on sea and air. the seals were most of them basking luxuriously on the seaward ledges of one of the outermost islands, while half a dozen of the more energetic were amusing themselves with their game of tag in the deep water. pausing for a moment to take breath, after a sharp wrestling-match far down among the seaweeds, the pup's observant eyes caught sight of a small, black triangular object cutting swiftly the smooth surface of the swells. he stared at it curiously. it was coming towards him, but it did not, to his uninitiated eyes, look dangerous. then he became conscious of a scurrying of alarm all about him; and cries of sharp warning reached him from the sentinels on the ledge. like a flash he dived, at an acute angle to the line of approach of the mysterious black object. even in the instant, it was close upon him, and he caught sight of a long, terrible, gray shape, thrice as long as a seal, which turned on one side in its rush, showing a whitish belly, and a gaping, saw-toothed mouth big enough to take him in at one gulp. only by a hair's-breadth did he avoid that awful rush, carrying with him as he passed the sound of the snapping jaws and the cold gleam of the shark's small, malignant eye. hideously frightened, he doubled this way and that, with a nimbleness that his huge pursuer could not hope to match. it took the shark but a few seconds to realize that this was a vain chase. an easier quarry caught his eye. he darted straight shoreward, where the deep water ran in abruptly to the very lip of the ledge. the pup came to the surface to watch. one of the younger seals, losing its wits utterly with fright, and forgetting that its safety lay in the deep water where it could twist and dodge, was struggling frantically to clamber out upon the rocks. it had almost succeeded, indeed. it was just drawing up its narrow, tail-like hind flippers, when the great, rounded snout of the shark shot into the air above it. the monstrous shape descended upon it, and fell back with it into the water, leaving only a splash and trickle of blood upon the lip of the ledge. the other seals tossed their heads wildly, jumped about on their fore-flippers, and barked in lively dismay; and in a few moments, as if the matter had been put to vote and carried unanimously, they betook themselves in haste to one of the inner islands, where they knew that the shark, who hates shoal water, would not venture to follow them. in this sheltered archipelago the little herd might well have passed the winter. but after a few weeks of content the southing spirit again seized upon the old male who had hitherto been the unquestioned leader. at this point, however, his authority went to pieces. when he resumed the southward wandering, less than half the herd accompanied him. but among those faithful were the pup and his mild-eyed mother. rounding the extremity of nova scotia, the travellers crossed the wide mouth of the bay of fundy, and lingered a few days about the lofty headlands of grand manan. by this time they had grown so accustomed to ships of all kinds, from the white-sailed fishing-smack to the long, black, churning bulk of the ocean liner, that they no longer heeded them any more than enough to give them a wide berth. one and all, these strange apparitions appeared quite indifferent to seals, so very soon the seals became almost indifferent to them. off the island of campobello, however, something mysterious occurred which put an end to this indifference, although none of the band could comprehend it. a beautiful, swift, white craft, with yellow gleams flashing here and there from her deck as the sun caught her polished brasswork, was cleaving the light waves northward. the seals, their round, dark heads bobbing above the water at a distance of perhaps three hundred yards from her port-quarter, gazed at the spectacle with childlike interest. they saw a group of men eying them from the deck of the swift monster. all at once from this group spurted two thin jets of flame. the pup heard some tiny vicious thing go close over his head with a cruel whine, and _zip_ sharply through a wave-crest just beyond. on the instant, even before the sharp clatter of the two reports came to their ears, all the seals dived, and swam desperately to get as far away as possible from the terrifying bright monster. when they came to the surface again, they were far out of range. but the restless old male, their leader, was not among them. the white yacht was steaming away into the distance, with its so-called sportsmen congratulating themselves that they had almost certainly killed something. the little band of seals waited about the spot for an hour or two, expecting the return of their chief; and then, puzzled and apprehensive, swam away toward the green-crested shore-line of maine. here, lacking a leader, their migration came to an end. there seemed no reason to go farther, since here was everything they wanted. the pup, by this time an expert pursuer of all but the swiftest fish, was less careful now to keep always within his mother's reach, though the affection between the two was still ardent. one day, while he was swimming some little distance apart from the herd, he noticed a black-hulled boat rocking idly on the swells near by. it was too near for his comfort, so he dived at once, intending to seek a safer neighborhood. but as luck would have it, he had hardly plunged below the surface when he encountered an enormous school of young herring. what throngs of them there were! and how crowded together! never had he seen anything like it. they were darting this way and that in terrific excitement. he himself went wild at once, dashing hither and thither among them with snapping jaws, destroying many more than he could eat. and still they seemed to throng about him ever the more closely. at last he got tired of it, and dashed straight ahead to clear the shoal. the next moment, to his immeasurable astonishment, he was checked and flung back by a fine, invisible barrier. no, it was not quite invisible. he could see a network of meshes before him. puzzled and alarmed, he shot up to the surface to reconnoitre. as his head rose above the water, his heart fairly stopped for a second with dismay. the black side of the fishing boat was just above him, and the terrifying eyes of men looked straight down into his. instantly he dived again, through the ever thickening masses of the herring. but straightway again he met the fine, invincible barrier of the net. frantically he struggled to break through it, but only succeeded in coiling it about him till he could not move a flipper. and while he wriggled there impotently, under the squirming myriads of the fish, he was lifted out into the air and dragged into the boat. seeing the damage he had wrought in their catch, the fishermen were for knocking their captive straightway on the nose. but as he lay there, looking up with innocent eyes of wonder and appeal through the meshes, something in his baby helplessness softened the captain's heart. "hold hard, jim," he ordered, staying a big sailor's hand. "blamed if the little varmint ain't got eyes most as soft as my libby's. i reckon he'll make a right purty pet fer the kid, an' kind of keep her from frettin' after her canary what died last sunday." "he don't much resemble a canary, ephraim," laughed jim, dropping the belaying-pin. "i reckon he'll fill the bill fine, all the same," said the captain. so the pup was carried prisoner to eastport. chapter ii as it happened, miss libby was a child of decided views. one of the most decided of her views proved to be that a seal pup, with very little voice and that little by no means melodious, was no substitute for a canary. she refused to look at the pup at all, until her father, much disappointed, assured her that she should have a canary also without further delay. and even then, though she could not remain quite indifferent to the pup's soft eyes and confiding friendliness, she never developed any real enthusiasm for him. she would minister amiably to his wants, and laugh at his antics, and praise his good temper, and stroke his sleek, round head, but she stuck resolutely to her first notion, that he was quite too "queer" for her to really love. she could never approve of his having flippers instead of fore paws, and of his lying down all the time even when he walked. as for his hind feet, which stuck out always straight behind him and close together, like a sort of double-barrelled tail, she was quite sure they had been fixed that way by mistake, and she could not, in spite of all her father's explanations as to the advantages, for a seal, of that arrangement, ever bring herself to accept them as normal. miss libby's mother proved even less cordial. her notions of natural history being of the most primitive, at first view she had jumped to the conclusion that the pup was a species of fish; and in this opinion nothing could ever shake her. "well, i never!" she had exclaimed. "if that ain't just like you, eph barnes. as if it wa'n't enough to have to eat fish, an' talk fish, an' smell fish, year in an' year out, but you must go an' bring a live fish home to flop aroun' the house an' keep gittin' under a body's feet every way they turn! an' what's he goin' to eat, anyways, i'd like to know?" "he eats _fish_, but he ain't no manner of fish himself, mother, no more than you nor i be!" explained captain ephraim, with a grin. "an' he won't be in your way a mite, for he'll live out in the yard, an' i'll sink the half of a molasses hogshead out there an' fill it with salt water for him to play in. he's an amusin' little beggar, an' gentle as a kitten." "well, i'd have you know that _i_ wash my hands of him, ephraim!" declared mrs. barnes, with emphasis. and so it came about that the pup presently found himself, not libby's special pet, but captain ephraim's. two important members of the barnes family were a large yellow cat and a small, tangle-haired, blue-gray mop of a skye terrier. at the first glimpse of the pup, the yellow cat had fled, with tail as big as a bottle-brush, to the top of the kitchen dresser, where she crouched growling, with eyes like green full moons. the terrier, on the other hand, whose name was toby, had shown himself rather hospitable to the mild-eyed stranger. unacquainted with fear, and always inclined to be scornful of whatever conduct the yellow cat might indulge in, he had approached the newcomer with a friendly wagging of his long-haired stump of a tail, and sniffed at him with pleased curiosity. the pup, his lonely heart hungering for comradeship, had met this civil advance with effusion; and thenceforward the two were fast friends. by the time the yellow cat and mrs. barnes had both got over regarding the pup as a stranger, he had become an object of rather distant interest to them. when he played at wrestling matches with toby in the yard,--which always ended by the pup rolling indulgently on his back, while toby, with yelps of excitement, mounted triumphantly between his fanning flippers,--the yellow cat would crouch upon the woodpile close by and regard the proceedings with intent but non-committal eye. mrs. barnes, for her part, would open the kitchen door and surreptitiously coax the pup in, with the lure of a dish of warm milk, which he loved extravagantly. then--this being while libby was at school and captain ephraim away on the water--she would seat herself in the rocking-chair by the window with her knitting and watch the pup and toby at their play. the young seal was an endless source of speculation to her. "to think, now," she would mutter to herself, "that i'd be a-settin' here day after day a-studyin' out a critter like that, what's no more'n jest plain _fish_ says i, if he _do_ flop roun' the house an' drink milk like a cat. he's right uncanny; but there ain't no denyin' but what he's as good as a circus when he gits to playin' with toby." as mrs. barnes had a very good opinion of toby's intelligence, declaring him to be the smartest dog in maine, she gradually imbibed a certain degree of respect for toby's friend. and so it came about that the pup acquired a taste which no seal was ever intended to acquire--a taste for the luxurious glow of the kitchen fire. when at last the real atlantic winter had settled down upon the coast, binding it with bitter frost and scourging it with storm, then captain ephraim spent most of his time at home in his snug cottage. he had once, on a flying visit to new york, seen a troupe of performing seals, which had opened his eyes to the marvellous intelligence of these amphibians. it now became his chief occupation, in the long winter evenings, to teach tricks to the pup. and stimulated by abundant prizes in the shape of fresh herrings and warm milk, right generously did the pup respond. he learned so fast that before spring the accomplished toby was outstripped; and as for the canary,--an aristocratic golden fellow who had come all the way from boston,--miss libby was constrained to admit that, except when it came to a question of singing, her pet was "not in it" with her father's. mrs. barnes' verdict was that "canaries seemed more natural-like, but couldn't rightly be called so interestin'." between libby and her father there was always a lot of gay banter going on, and now captain ephraim declared that he would teach the pup to sing as well as the canary. the obliging animal had already acquired a repertoire of tricks that would have made him something of a star in any troupe. the new demand upon his wits did not disturb him, so long as it meant more fish, more milk, and more petting. captain ephraim took a large tin bucket, turned it upside down on the floor, and made the pup rest his chest upon the bottom. then, tying a tin plate to each flipper, he taught the animal to pound the plates vigorously against the sides of the bucket, with a noise that put the shrill canary to shamefaced silence and drove the yellow cat in frantic amazement from the kitchen. this lesson it took weeks to perfect, because the pup himself always seemed mortified at the blatant discords which he made. when it was all achieved, however, it was not singing, but mere instrumental music, as libby triumphantly proclaimed. her father straightway swore that he was not to be downed by any canary. a few weeks more, and he had taught the pup to point his muzzle skyward and emit long, agonizing groans, the while he kept flapping the two tin plates against the bucket. it was a wonderful achievement, which made toby retreat behind the kitchen stove and gaze forth upon his friend with grieved surprise. but it obliged libby, who was a fair-minded child, to confess to her father that she and her pet were vanquished. all this while the pup was growing, as perhaps no harbor seal of his months had grown before. when spring came, he saw less of captain ephraim, but he had compensation, for the good captain now diverted into his modest grounds a no-account little brook which was going begging, and dug a snug little basin at the foot of the garden for the pup to disport himself therein. all through the summer he continued to grow and was happy, playing with toby, offending the yellow cat, amusing miss libby, and affording food for speculation to mrs. barnes over her knitting. in the winter captain ephraim polished him up in his old tricks, and taught him some new ones. but by this time he had grown so big that mrs. barnes began to grumble at him for taking up too much room. he was, as ever, a model of confiding amiability, in spite of his ample jaws and formidable teeth. but one day toward spring he showed that this good nature of his would not stand the test of seeing a friend ill-used. it happened in this way. toby, who was an impudent little dog, had managed to incur the enmity of a vicious half-breed mastiff, which lived on a farm some distance out of eastport. the brute was known to have killed several smaller dogs; so whenever he passed the barnes' gate, and snarled his threats at toby, toby would content himself with a scornful growl from the doorstep. but one morning, as the big mongrel went by at the tail of his master's sled, toby chanced to be very busy in the snow near the gate digging up a precious buried bone. the big dog crept up on tiptoe, and went over the gate with a scrambling bound. toby had just time to lift his shaggy little head out of the snow and turn to face the assault. his heart was great, and there was no terror in the growl with which he darted under the foe's huge body and sank his teeth strategically into the nearest hind paw. but the life would have been crushed out of him in half a minute, had not the pup, at this critical juncture, come flopping up awkwardly to see how his little friend was faring. now the pup, as we have seen, was simply overflowing with good-will towards dogs, and cats, and every one. but that was because he thought they were all friendly. he was amazed to find here a dog that seemed unfriendly. then all at once he realized that something very serious was happening to his playmate. his eyes reddened and blazed; and with one mighty lunge he flung himself forward upon the enemy. with that terrific speed of action which could snap up a darting mackerel, he caught the mastiff in the neck, close behind the jaw. his teeth were built to hold the writhings of the biggest salmon, and his grip was that of a bulldog--except that it cut far deeper. the mastiff yelped, snapped wildly at his strange antagonist, and then, finding himself held so that he could not by any possibility get a grip, strove to leap into the air and shake his assailant off. but the pup held him down inexorably, his long teeth cutting deeper and deeper with every struggle. for perhaps half a minute the fight continued, the mad contortions of the entangled three (for toby still clung to his grip on the foe's hind paw) tearing up the snow for a dozen feet in every direction. the snow was flecked with crimson,--but suddenly, with a throbbing gush, it was flooded scarlet. the pup's teeth had torn through the great artery of his opponent's neck. with a cough the brute fell over, limp and unresisting as a half-filled bran sack. at this moment the mastiff's owner, belatedly aware that the tables were being turned on his vicious favorite, came yelling and cursing over the gate, brandishing a sled stake in his hands. but at the same time arrived captain ephraim, rushing bareheaded from the kitchen, and stepped in front of the new arrival. one glance had shown him that the fight was over. "hold hard there, baiseley!" he ordered in curt tones. then he continued more slowly--"it ain't no use makin' a fuss. that murderin' brute of yourn begun it, an' come into my yard to kill my own little tike here. he's got just what he deserved. an' if the pup here hadn't 'a' done it, i'd 'a' done it myself. see?" baiseley, like his mongrel follower, was a bully. but he had discretion. he calmed down. "that there dog o' mine, captain ephraim, was a good dog, an' worth money. i reckon ye'll hev to pay me ten dollars for that dog, an' we'll call it square." "reckon i'll have to owe it to ye, hank! mebbe i'll pay it some day when you git han'somer 'n you are now!" laughed captain ephraim dryly. he gave a piercing whistle through his teeth. straightway toby, sadly bedraggled, came limping up to him. the pup let go of his dead enemy, and lifted his head to eye his master inquiringly. his whole front was streaming with blood. "go wash yerself!" ordered the captain picking up a chip and hurling it into the pond, which was now half empty of ice. the pup floundered off obediently to get the chip, and baiseley, muttering inarticulate abuse, slouched away to his sled. chapter iii toward the end of april there came a great change in the pup's affairs. primarily, the change was in captain ephraim's. promoted to the command of a smart schooner engaged in cod-fishing on the grand banks, he sold his cottage at eastport and removed his family to gloucester, massachusetts. at the same time, recognizing with many a pang that a city like gloucester was no place for him to keep a seal in, he sold the pup, at a most consoling price indeed, to the agent of an english animal trainer. with the prospect of shortly becoming the cynosure of all eyes at shepherd's bush or earl's court, the pup was shipped on a freighter for liverpool. with his pervasive friendliness, and seeking solace for the absence of toby and captain ephraim, the pup proved a most privileged and popular passenger. all went well till the ship came off cape race, newfoundland. then that treacherous and implacable promontory made haste to justify its reputation; and in a blind sou'wester the ship was driven on the ledges. while she was pounding to pieces, the crew got away in their boats, and presently the pup found himself reviving half-forgotten memories amid the buffeting of the huge atlantic rollers. he felt amazingly at home, but very lonely. bobbing his head as high as he could above the water, he stared about him in every direction, dimly hoping to catch sight of captain ephraim or toby--or even of the unsociable yellow cat. they were nowhere to be seen. well, company he must have. after fish, of which there was no lack in those teeming waters, company was his urgent demand. he headed impatiently for the coast, which he could not see indeed, but which he felt clearly in the distance. the first land he encountered was a high hogback of rock which proved to be an island. swimming around under its lea, he ran into a little herd of seals of his own kind, and hastened confidently to fraternize with them. the strangers, mostly females and young males, met his advances with a good-natured indifference. one of the herd, however, a big dog-seal who seemed to consider himself the chief, would have none of him, but grumbled and showed his teeth in a most unpleasant manner. the pup avoided him politely, and crawled out upon the rocks, about twenty feet away, beside two friendly females. he wanted to get acquainted, that was all. but the old male, after grumbling for several minutes, got himself worked up into a rage, and came floundering over the rocks to do up the visitor. roughly he pushed the two complaisant females off into the water, and then, with a savage lunge, he fell upon the pup. but in this last step the old male was ill-advised. hitherto the pup had felt diffident in the face of such a reception, but now a sudden red rage flared into his eyes. young as he was, he was as big as his antagonist, and, here on land, a dozen times more nimble. here came in the advantage of captain ephraim's training. when the old male lunged upon him, he simply wasn't there. he had shot aside, and wheeled like a flash, and secured a hold at the root of his assailant's flipper. of course in this position he too received some sharp punishment. but he held on like a bulldog, worrying, worrying mercilessly, till all at once the other squealed, and threw up his muzzle, and struggled to get away. the pup, satisfied with this sign of submission, let him go at once, and he flounced off furiously into the water. as a prompt result of this victory, the pup found himself undisputed leader of the little herd, his late antagonist, after a vain effort to effect a division, having slipped indolently into a subordinate place. this suited the pup exactly, who was happy himself, and wanted everybody else to be so likewise. as spring advanced, the herd worked their way northward along the newfoundland coast, sometimes journeying hurriedly, sometimes lingering for days in the uninhabited inlets and creek mouths. the pup was in a kind of ecstasy over his return to the water world, and indulged in antics that seemed perhaps frivolous in the head of so important a family. but once in a while a qualm of homesickness would come over him, for toby, and the captain, and a big tin basin of warm milk. and in one of these moods he was suddenly confronted by men. the herd was loitering off a point which marked the entrance to a shallow cove, when round the jutting rocks slid a row-boat, with two fishermen coming out to set lines. they had no guns with them, fortunately. they saw the seals dive and vanish at the first glimpse of them, as was natural. but to their amazement, one seal--the biggest, to their astonished eyes, in the whole north atlantic--did not vanish with the rest. instead of that, after eying them fearlessly at a distance of some fifty feet, he swam deliberately straight toward them. now there is nothing very terrifying, except to a fish, in the aspect of even the biggest harbor seal; but to these fishermen, who knew the shyness of the seals, it was terrifying to the last degree that one should conduct himself in this unheard-of way. they stopped rowing, and stared with superstitious eyes. "howly mother!" gasped one, "that b'ain't no seal, mike!" "what d'ye s'pose he wants wid us, barney, annyhow?" demanded mike, in an awed voice. "sure, an' it's a _sign_ for the one or t'other of us. it's gittin' back to shore we'd better be," suggested barney, pulling round hard on the bow oar. as the mysterious visitor was still advancing, this counsel highly commended itself to mike, who would have faced a polar bear with no weapon but his oar, but had no stomach for a parley with the supernatural. in another moment the boat was rushing back up the cove with all the speed their practised muscles could impart. but still, swimming leisurely in their wake, with what seemed to them a dreadful deliberation, the pup came after them. "don't ye be comin' nigh _me_!" cried mike, somewhat hysterically, "or i'll bash yer face wid the oar, mind!" "whisht!" said barney, "don't ye be after talkin' that way to a sperrit, or maybe he'll blast ye!" "i'm thinkin', now," said mike, presently, in a hushed voice, "as maybe it be dan sheedy's sperrit, comin' back to ha'nt me coz i didn't give up them boots o' his to his b'y, accordin' to me promise." "shure an' why not that?" agreed barney, cheered by the hope that the visitation was not meant for him. a moment more and the boat reached the beach with an abruptness that hurled both rowers from their seats. scrambling out upon the shingle, they tugged wildly at the boat to draw her up. but the pup, his eyes beaming affection, was almost on their heels. with a yell of dismay mike dashed up the shore toward their shack; but barney, having less on his conscience, delayed to snatch out of the bow the precious tin pail in which they carried their bait. then he followed mike. but looking back over his shoulder, he saw his mysterious pursuer ascend from the water and come flopping up the shore at a pace which assuredly no _mortal_ seal could ever accomplish on dry land. at that he fell over a boulder, dropped the pail of bait, picked himself up with a startled yell, and made a dash for the shack as if all the fiends were chasing him. slamming the door behind them, the two stared fearfully out of the window. their guns, loaded with slugs, leaned against the wall, but they would never be guilty of such perilous impiety as to use them. when he came to the tin pail and the spilled bait the pup was pleased. he knew very well what the pail was for, and what the men expected of him. he had no objection to being paid in advance, so he gobbled the bait at once. it was not much, but he had great hopes that, if he acquitted himself well, he might get a pan of warm milk. cheerfully he hoisted his massive chest upon the pail, and then, pounding jerkily with his flippers as hard as he could, he lifted his muzzle heavenward and delivered himself of a series of prolonged and anguished groans. this was too much for his audience. "howly mother, save us!" sobbed barney, dropping upon his knees, and scrabbling desperately in his untidy memory for some fragments of his childhood's prayers. "don't, dan, don't!" pleaded mike, gazing out with wild eyes at the pup's mystical performance. "i'll give back them boots to the b'y. i'll give 'em back, dan! let me be now, won't 'ee, old mate?" thus adjured, the pup presently stopped, and stared expectantly at the shack, awaiting the pan of warm milk. when it did not come, he was disgusted. he had never been kept waiting this way before. these men were not like captain ephraim. in a minute or two he rolled off the pail, flopped heavily down the beach, and plunged back indignantly into the sea. as his dark head grew smaller and smaller in the distance, the men in the shack threw open the door, and came out as if they needed fresh air. "i always _said_ as how dan had a good heart," muttered mike, in a shaken voice. "an' shure, now, ye see, barney, he ain't after bearin' no grudge." "but ye'll be takin' back them boots to young dan, this very day of our lives," urged barney. "an' ye'll be after makin' it all right wid the widdy sheedy, afore ye're a day older, now." "shure, an' to wanst ain't none too quick for me, an' me receavin' a hint loike that!" agreed mike. as for the pup, after this shock to his faith in man, he began to forget the days of his comfortable captivity. his own kind proved vastly interesting to him, and in a few weeks his reversion was complete. by that time his journeyings had led him, with his little herd, far up the coast of labrador. at last he came to a chain of rocky islands, lying off a black and desolate coast. the islands were full of caves, and clamorous with sea-birds, and trodden forever by a white and shuddering surf. here old memories stirred dimly but sweetly within him--and here he brought his wanderers to rest. lone wolf lone wolf chapter i not, like his grim ancestors for a thousand generations, in some dark cave of the hills was he whelped, but in a narrow iron cage littered with straw. two brothers and a sister made at the same time a like inauspicious entrance upon an alien and fettered existence. and because their silent, untamable mother loved too savagely the hereditary freedom of her race to endure the thought of bearing her young into a life of bondage, she would have killed them mercifully, even while their blind baby mouths were groping for her breasts. but the watchful keeper forestalled her. whelps of the great gray timber wolf, born in captivity, and therefore likely to be docile, were rare and precious. the four little sprawlers, helpless and hungrily whimpering, were given into the care of a foster-mother, a sorrowing brown spaniel bitch who had just been robbed of her own puppies. when old enough to be weaned, the two brothers and the sister, sturdy and sleek as any wolf cubs of the hills, were sold to a dealer in wild animals, who carried them off to hamburg. but "lone wolf," as toomey, the trainer, had already named him, stayed with the circus. he was the biggest, the most intelligent, and the most teachable cub of the whole litter, and toomey, who had an unerring eye for quality in a beast, expected to make of him a star performer among wolves. job toomey had been a hunter and a trapper in the backwoods of new brunswick, where his instinctive knowledge of the wild kindreds had won him a success which presently sickened him. his heart revolted against the slaughter of the creatures which he found so interesting, and for a time, his occupation gone, he had drifted aimlessly about the settlements. then, at the performance of a travelling circus, which boasted two trained bears and a little trick elephant, he had got his cue. it was borne in upon him that he was meant to be an animal trainer. then and there he joined the circus at a nominal wage, and within six months found himself an acknowledged indispensable. in less than a year he had become a well-known trainer, employed in one of the biggest menageries of america. not only for his wonderful comprehension and command of animals was he noted, but also for his pose, to which he clung obstinately, of giving his performances always in the homespun garb of a backwoodsman, instead of in the conventional evening dress. "lone wolf!" it seemed a somewhat imaginative name for the prison-born whelp, but as he grew out of cub-hood his character and his stature alike seemed to justify it. influenced by the example of his gentle foster-mother, he was docility itself toward his tamer, whom he came to love well after the reticent fashion of his race. but toward all others, man and beast alike, his reserve was cold and dangerous. toomey, apparently, absorbed all the affection which his lonely nature had to spare. in return for this singleness of regard, toomey trained him with a firm patience which never forgot to be kind, and made him, by the time he was three years old, quite the cleverest and most distinguished performing wolf who had ever adorned a show. he was now as tall as the very tallest great dane, but with a depth of shoulder and chest, a punishing length and strength of jaw, that no dog ever could boast. when he looked at toomey, his eyes wore the expression of a faithful and understanding follower; but when he answered the stares of the crowd through the bars of his cage, the greenish fire that flamed in their inscrutable depths was ominous and untamed. in all save his willing subjection to toomey's mastery, he was a true wolf, of the savage and gigantic breed of the northwestern timber. to the spectators this was aggressively obvious; and therefore the marvel of seeing this sinister gray beast, with the murderous fangs, so submissive to toomey's gentlest bidding, never grew stale. in every audience there were always some spectators hopefully pessimistic, who vowed that the great wolf would some day turn upon his master and tear his throat. to be sure, lone wolf was not by any means the only beast whom the backwoodsman had performing for the delectation of his audiences. but all the others--the lions, the leopards, the tiger, the elephant, the two zebras, and the white bear--seemed really subdued, as it were hypnotized into harmlessness. it was lone wolf only who kept the air of having never yielded up his spirit, of being always, in some way, not the slave but the free collaborator. ordinarily, in spite of the wild fire smouldering in his veins, lone wolf was well enough content. the show was so big and so important that it was accustomed to visit only the great centres, and to make long stops at each place. at such times his life contained some measure of freedom. he would be given a frequent chance of exercise, in some secure enclosure where he could run, and jump, and stretch his mighty muscles, and breathe deep. and not infrequently--after dark as a rule--his master would snap a massive chain upon his collar, and lead him out, on leash like a dog, into the verdurous freshness of park or country lane. but when the show was on tour, then it was very different. lone wolf hated fiercely the narrow cage in which he had to travel. he hated the harsh, incessant noise of the grinding rails, the swaying and lurching of the trucks, the dizzying procession of the landscape past the barred slits which served as windows to his car. moreover, sometimes the unwieldy length of the circus train would be halted for an hour or two on some forest siding, to let the regular traffic of the line go by. then, as his wondering eyes caught glimpses of shadowed glades, and mysterious wooded aisles, and far-off hills and horizons, or wild, pungent smells of fir thicket and cedar swamp drew in upon the wind to his uplifted nostrils, his veins would run hot with an uncomprehended but savage longing for delights which he had never known, for a freedom of which he had never learned or guessed. at such times his muscles would ache and quiver, till he felt like dashing himself blindly against his bars. and if the halt happened to take place at night, with perhaps a white moon staring in upon him from over a naked hill-top, he would lift his lean muzzle straight up toward the roof of his cage and give utterance to a terrible sound of which he knew not the meaning, the long, shrill gathering cry of the pack. this would rouse all the other beasts to a frenzy of wails and screeches and growls and roars; till toomey would have to come and stop his performance by darkening the cage with a tarpaulin. at the sound of toomey's voice, soothing yet overmastering, the great wolf would lie down quietly, and the ghostly summons of his far-ravaging fathers would haunt his spirit no more. after one of these long journeys, the show was halted at an inland city for a stop of many weeks; and to house the show a cluster of wooden shanties was run up on the outskirts of the city, forming a sort of mushroom village flanked by the great white exhibition tents. in one of these shanties, near the centre of the cluster, lone wolf's cage was sheltered, along with the cages of the puma, the leopard, and the little black himalayan bear. immediately adjoining this shanty was the spacious open shed where the elephants were tethered. that same night, a little before dawn, when the wearied attendants were sleeping heavily, lone wolf's nostrils caught a strange smell which made him spring to his feet and sniff anxiously at the suddenly acrid air. a strange reddish glow was dispersing the dark outside his window. from the other cages came uneasy mutterings and movements, and the little black bear, who was very wise, began to whine. the dull glow leaped into a glare and then the elephants trumpeted the alarm. instantly the night was loud with shoutings, and tramplings, and howlings, and rushings to and fro. a cloud of choking smoke blew into lone wolf's cage, making him cough and wonder anxiously why toomey didn't come. the next moment toomey came, with one of the keepers, and an elephant. frantically they began pushing and dragging out the cages. but there was a wind; and before the first cage, that of the puma, was more than clear of the door, the flames were on top of them like a leaping tiger. panic-stricken, the elephant screamed and bolted. the keeper, shouting, "we can't save any more in this house. let's git the lions out!" made off with one arm over his eyes, doggedly dragging the heavy cage of the puma. the keeper was right. he had his work cut out for him, as it was, to save the screeching puma. as for toomey, his escape was already almost cut off. but he could not endure to save himself without giving the imprisoned beasts a chance for their lives. dashing at the three remaining cages, he tore them open; and then, with a summons to lone wolf to follow him, he threw his arms over his face and dashed through the flames. the three animals sprang out at once into the middle of the floor, but their position seemed already hopeless. the leopard, thoroughly cowed, leaped back into his cage and curled up in the farthest corner, spitting insanely. lone wolf dashed at the door by which toomey had fled, but a whirl of flame in his face drove him back to the middle of the floor, where the little bear stood whimpering. just at this moment a massive torrent of water from a fire engine crashed through the window, drenching lone wolf, and knocking the bear clean over. the beneficent stream was whisked away again in an instant, having work to do elsewhere than on this already doomed and hopeless shed. but to the wise little bear it had shown a way of escape. out through the window he scurried, and lone wolf went after him in one tremendous leap just as the flames swooped in and licked the floor clean, and slew the huddled leopard in its cage. outside, in the awful heat, the alternations of dazzling glare and blinding smoke, the tumult of the shouting and the engines, the roar of the flames, the ripping crash of the streams, and the cries of the beasts, lone wolf found himself utterly confused. but he trusted, for some reason, to the sagacity of the bear, and followed his shaggy form, bearing diagonally up and across the wind. presently a cyclone of suffocating smoke enveloped him, and he lost his guide. but straight ahead he darted, stretched out at top speed, belly to the ground, and in another moment he emerged into the clear air. his eyes smarting savagely, his nose and lips scorched, his wet fur singed, he hardly realized at first his escape, but raced straight on across the fields for several hundred yards. then, at the edge of a wood, he stopped and looked back. the little bear was nowhere to be seen. the night wind here blew deliciously cool upon his face. but there was the mad red monster, roaring and raging still as if it would eat up the world. the terror of it was in his veins. he sprang into the covert of the wood, and ran wildly, with the one impulse to get as far away as possible. before he had gone two miles, he came out upon an open country of fields, and pastures, and farmyards, and little thickets. straight on he galloped, through the gardens and the farmyards as well as the open fields. in the pastures the cattle, roused by the glare in the sky, stamped and snorted at him as he passed, and now and then a man's voice yelled at him angrily as his long form tore through flowerbeds or trellised vines. he had no idea of avoiding the farmhouses, for he had at first no fear of men; but at length an alert farmer got a long shot at him with a fowling-piece, and two or three small leaden pellets caught him in the hind quarters. they did not go deep enough to do him serious harm, but they hurt enough to teach him that men were dangerous. thereupon he swerved from the uncompromising straight line of his flight, and made for the waste places. when the light of the fire had quite died out behind him, the first of the dawn was creeping up the sky; and by this time he had come to a barren region of low thickets, ragged woods, and rocks thrusting up through a meagre, whitish soil. till the sun was some hours high lone wolf pressed on, his terror of the fire now lost in a sense of delighted freedom. by this time he was growing hungry, and for an instant the impulse seized him to turn back and seek his master. but no, that way lay the scorching of the flames. instead of turning, he ran on all the faster. suddenly a rabbit bounded up, almost beneath his nose. hitherto he had never tasted living prey, but with a sure instinct he sprang after the rabbit. to his fierce disappointment, however, the nimble little beast was so inconsiderate as to take refuge in a dense bramble thicket which he could not penetrate. his muzzle, smarting and tender from the fire, could not endure the harsh prickles, so after prowling about the thicket for a half-hour in the wistful hope that the rabbit might come out, he resumed his journey. he had no idea, of course, where he wanted to go, but he felt that there must be a place somewhere where there were plenty of rabbits and no bramble thickets. late in the afternoon he came upon the fringes of a settlement, which he skirted with caution. in a remote pasture field, among rough hillocks and gnarled, fire-scarred stumps, he ran suddenly into a flock of sheep. for a moment he was puzzled at the sight, but the prompt flight of the startled animals suggested pursuit. in a moment he had borne down the hindermost. to reach for its throat was a sure instinct, and he feasted, with a growing zest of savagery, upon the hot flesh. before he realized it, he was dragging the substantial remnant of his meal to a place of hiding under an overhanging rock. then, well content with himself, he crept into a dark thicket and slept for several hours. when he awoke, a new-risen moon was shining, with something in her light which half bewildered him, half stung him to uncomprehended desires. skulking to the crest of a naked knoll, he saw the landscape spread out all around him, with the few twinkling lights of the straggling village below the slopes of the pasture. but not for lights, or for villages, or for men was his concern. sitting up very straight on his gaunt haunches, he stretched his muzzle toward the taunting moon, and began to sound that long, dreadful gathering cry of his race. it was an unknown or a long-forgotten voice in those neighborhoods, but none who heard it needed to have it explained. in half a minute every dog in the settlement was howling, barking, or yelping, in rage or fear. to lone wolf all this clamor was as nothing. he paid no more attention to it than as if it had been the twittering of sparrows. then doors opened, and lights flashed as men came out to see what was the matter. clearly visible, silhouetted against the low moon, lone wolf kept up his sinister chant to the unseen. but presently, out of the corner of his eye, he noted half a dozen men approaching up the pasture, with the noisy dogs at their heels. men! that was different! could it be that they wanted him? all at once he experienced a qualm of conscience, so to speak, about the sheep he had killed. it occurred to him that if sheep belonged to men, there might be trouble ahead. abruptly he stopped his serenading of the moon, slipped over the crest of the knoll, and made off at a long, tireless gallop which before morning had put leagues between himself and the angry villagers. after this he gave a wide berth to settlements; and having made his first kill, he suddenly found himself an accomplished hunter. it was as if long-buried memories had sprung all at once to life,--memories, indeed, not of his own but of his ancestors',--and he knew, all at once, how to stalk the shy wild rabbits, to run down and kill the red deer. the country through which he journeyed was well stocked with game, and he fed abundantly as he went, with no more effort than just enough to give zest to his freedom. in this fashion he kept on for many days, working ever northward just because the wild lands stretched in that direction; and at last he came upon the skirts of a cone-shaped mountain, ragged with ancient forest, rising solitary and supreme out of a measureless expanse of wooded plain. from a jutting shoulder of rock his keen eyes noted but one straggling settlement, groups of scattered clearings, wide apart on the skirts of the great hill. they were too far off to mar the vast seclusion of the height; and lone wolf, finding a cave in the rocks that seemed exactly designed for his retreat, went no farther. he felt that he had come into his own domain. chapter ii the settlers around the skirts of lost mountain were puzzled and indignant. for six weeks their indignation had been growing, and the mystery seemed no nearer a solution. something was slaughtering their sheep--something that knew its business and slaughtered with dreadful efficiency. several honest dogs fell under suspicion, not because there was anything whatever against their reputations, but simply because they had the misfortune to be big enough and strong enough to kill a sheep if they wanted to, and the brooding backwoods mind, when troubled, will go far on the flimsiest evidence. of all the wrathful settlers the most furious was brace timmins. not only had he lost in those six weeks six sheep, but now his dog, a splendid animal, half deerhound and half collie, had been shot on suspicion by a neighbor, on no better grounds, apparently, than his long legs and long killing jaws. still the slaughtering of the flocks went on with undiminished vigor. and a few days later brace timmins avenged his favorite by publicly thrashing his too hasty neighbor in front of the cross-roads store. the neighbor, pounded into exemplary penitence, apologized, and as far as the murdered dog was concerned, the score was wiped clean. but the problem of the sheep killing was no nearer solution. if not brace timmins' dog, as every one made prudent haste to acknowledge, then whose dog was it? the life of every dog in the settlement, if bigger than a wood-chuck, hung by a thread, which might, it seemed, at any moment turn into a halter. brace timmins loved dogs; and not wishing that others should suffer the unjust fate which had overtaken his own, he set his whole woodcraft to the discovery of the true culprit. before he had made any great progress, however, on this trail, a new thing happened, and suspicion was lifted from the heads of all the dogs. joe anderson's dog, a powerful beast, part sheep-dog and part newfoundland, with a far-off streak of bull, and the champion fighter of the settlements, was found dead in the middle of anderson's sheep pasture, his whole throat fairly ripped out. he had died in defence of his charges, and it was plainly no dog's jaws that had done such mangling. what dog indeed could have mastered anderson's "dan"? "it's a bear, gone mad on mutton," pronounced certain of the wise ones, idling at the cross-roads store. "ye see as how he hain't _et_ the dawg, noways, but jest bit him to teach him not to go interferin' as regards sheep." "ye're all off," contradicted timmins, with authority. "a bear'd hev' tore him an' batted him an' mauled him more'n he'd hev' bit him. a bear thinks more o' usin' his fore paws than what he does his jaws, if he gits into any kind of an onpleasantness. no, boys, our unknown friend up yonder's a _wolf_, take my word for it." joe anderson snorted, and spat accurately out through the door. "a _wolf_!" he sneered. "go chase yerself, brace timmins. i'd like to see any wolf as could 'a' done up my dan that way!" "well, keep yer hair on, joe," retorted timmins, easily. "i'm a-goin' after him, an' i'll show him to you in a day or two, as like as not!" "i reckon, joe," interposed the storekeeper, leaning forward across the counter, "as how there be other breeds of wolf besides the sneakin' little gray varmint of the east here, what's been cleaned out of these parts fifty year ago. if brace is right,--an' i reckon he be,--then it must sure be one of them big timber wolves we read about, what the lord's took it into his head to plank down here in our safe old woods to make us set up an' take notice. you better watch out, brace. if ye don't git the brute first lick, he'll git you!" "_i'll_ watch out!" drawled timmins, confidently; and selecting a strong, steel trap-chain from a box beside the counter, he sauntered off to put his plans in execution. these plans were simple enough. he knew that he had a wide-ranging adversary to deal with. but he himself was a wide ranger, and acquainted with every cleft and crevice of lost mountain. he would find the great wolf's lair, and set his traps accordingly, one in the runway, to be avoided if the wolf was as clever as he ought to be, and a couple of others a little aside to really do the work. of course, he would carry his rifle, in case of need, but he wanted to take his enemy alive. for several arduous but exciting days timmins searched in vain alike the dark cedar swamps and the high, broken spurs of the mountain. then, one windless afternoon, when the forest scents came rising to him on the clear air, far up the steep he found a climbing trail between gray, shelving ledges. stealthy as a lynx he followed, expecting at the next turn to come upon the lair of the enemy. it was a just expectation, but as luck would have it, that next turn, which would have led him straight to his goal, lay around a shoulder of rock whose foundations had been loosened by the rains. with a kind of long growl, rending and sickening, the rock gave way, and sank beneath timmins' feet. moved by the alert and unerring instinct of the woodsman, timmins leaped into the air. both high and wide he sprang, and so escaped being engulfed in the mass which he had dislodged. on the top of the ruin he fell, but he fell far and hard; and for some fifteen or twenty minutes after that fall he lay very still, while the dust and débris settled into silence under the quiet flooding of the sun. at last he opened his eyes. for a moment he made no effort to move, but lay wondering where he was. a weight was on his legs, and glancing downward, he saw that he was half covered with earth and rubbish. then he remembered. was he badly hurt? he was half afraid, now, to make the effort to move, lest he should find himself incapable of it. still, he felt no serious pain. his head ached, to be sure; and he saw that his left hand was bleeding from a gash at the base of the thumb. that hand still clutched one of the heavy traps which he had been carrying, and it was plainly the trap that had cut him, as if in a frantic effort to escape. but where was his rifle? cautiously turning his head, he peered around for it, but in vain, for during the fall it had flown far aside into the thickets. as he stared solicitously, all at once his dazed and sluggish senses sprang to life again with a scorching throb, which left a chill behind it. there, not ten paces away, sitting up on its haunches and eying him contemplatively, was a gigantic wolf, much bigger, it seemed to him, than any wolf had any right to be. timmins' first instinct was to spring to his feet, with a yell that would give the dreadful stranger to understand that he was a fellow it would not be well to tamper with. but his woodcraft stayed him. he was not by any means sure that he _could_ spring to his feet. still less was he sure that such an action would properly impress the great wolf, who, for the moment at least, seemed not actively hostile. stillness, absolute immobility, was the trump-card to be always played in the wilderness when in doubt. so timmins kept quite still, looking inquiringly at lone wolf. and lone wolf looked inquiringly at him. for several minutes this waiting game went on. then, with easy nonchalance, lone wolf lifted one huge hind paw and vigorously scratched his ear. this very simple action was a profound relief to timmins. "sartain," he thought, "the crittur must be in an easy mood, or he'd never think to scratch his ear like that. or mebbe he thinks i'm so well buried i kin wait, like an old bone!" just then lone wolf got up, stretched himself, yawned prodigiously, came a couple of steps nearer, and sat down again, with his head cocked to one side, and a polite air of asking, "do i intrude?" "sartain sure, i'll never ketch him in a better humor!" thought timmins. "i'll try the human voice on him." "git to h---- out of that!" he commanded in a sharp voice. lone wolf cocked his head to the other side interrogatively. he had been spoken to by toomey in that voice of authority, but the words were new to him. he felt that he was expected to do something, but he knew not what. he liked the voice--it was something like toomey's. he liked the smell of timmins' homespun shirt--it, too, was something like toomey's. he became suddenly anxious to please this stranger. but what was wanted of him? he half arose to his feet, and glanced around to see if, perchance, the inexplicable order had been addressed to some one else. as he turned, timmins saw, half hidden in the heavy fur of the neck, a stout leather collar. "i swear!" he muttered, "if tain't a _tame_ wolf what's got away!" with that he sat up; and pulling his legs, without any very serious hurt, from their covering of earth and sticks he got stiffly to his feet. for a moment the bright landscape reeled and swam before him, and he had a vague sense of having been hammered all over his body. then he steadied himself. he saw that the wolf was watching him with the expression of a diffident but friendly dog who would like to make acquaintance. as he stood puzzling his wits, he remembered having read about the great fire which had recently done such damage to sillaby and hopkins' circus, and he concluded that the stranger was one of the fugitives from that disaster. "come here, sir! come here, big wolf!" said he, holding out a confident hand. "wolf"--that was a familiar sound to lone wolf's ears! it was at least a part of his name! and the command was one he well understood. wagging his tail gravely, he came at once, and thrust his great head under timmins' hand for a caress. he had enjoyed his liberty, to be sure, but he was beginning to find it lonely. timmins understood animals. his voice, as he talked to the redoubtable brute beside him, was full of kindness, but at the same time vibrant with authority. his touch was gentle, but very firm and unhesitating. both touch and voice conveyed very clearly to lone wolf's disciplined instinct the impression that this man, like toomey, was a being who had to be obeyed, whose mastery was inevitable and beyond the reach of question. when timmins told him to lie down, he did so at once, and stayed there obediently while timmins gathered himself together, shook the dirt out of his hair and boots, recovered his cap, wiped his bleeding hand with leaves, and hunted up his scattered traps and rifle. at last timmins took two bedraggled but massive pork sandwiches, wrapped in newspaper, from his pocket, and offered one to his strange associate. lone wolf was not hungry, being full of perfectly good mutton, but being too polite to refuse, he gulped down the sandwich. timmins took out the steel chain, snapped it on to lone wolf's collar, said, "come on!" and started homeward. and lone wolf, trained to a short leash, followed close at his heels. timmins' breast swelled with exultation. what was the loss of one dog and half a dozen no-account sheep to the possession of this magnificent captive and the prestige of such a naked-handed capture? he easily inferred, of course, that his triumph must be due, in part at least, to some resemblance to the wolf's former master, whose dominance had plainly been supreme. his only anxiety was as to how the great wolf might conduct himself toward settlement society in general. assuredly nothing could be more lamb-like than the animal's present demeanor, but timmins remembered the fate of joe anderson's powerful dog, and had his doubts. he examined lone wolf's collar, and congratulated himself that both collar and chain were strong. it was getting well along in the afternoon when timmins and lone wolf emerged from the thick woods into the stumpy pastures and rough burnt lands that spread back irregularly from the outlying farms. and here, while crossing a wide pasture known as smith's lots, an amazing thing befell. of course timmins was not particularly surprised, because his backwoods philosophizing had long ago led him to the conclusion that when things get started happening, they have a way of keeping it up. days, weeks, months, glide by without event enough to ripple the most sensitive memory. then the whimsical fates do something different, find it interesting, and proceed to do something else. so, though timmins had been accustomed all his life to managing bulls, good-tempered and bad-tempered alike, and had never had the ugliest of them presume to turn upon him, he was not astonished now by the apparition of smith's bull, a wide-horned, carrot-red, white-faced hereford, charging down upon him in thunderous fury from behind a poplar thicket. in a flash he remembered that the bull, which was notoriously murderous in temper, had been turned out into that pasture to act as guardian to smith's flocks. there was not a tree near big enough for refuge. there was not a stick big enough for a weapon. and he could not bring himself to shoot so valuable a beast as this fine thoroughbred. "shucks!" he muttered in deep disgust. "i might 'a' knowed it!" dropping lone wolf's chain, he ran forward, waving his arms and shouting angrily. but that red onrushing bulk was quite too dull-witted to understand that it ought to obey. it was in the mood to charge an avalanche. deeply humiliated, timmins hopped aside, and reluctantly ran for the woods, trusting to elude his pursuer by timely dodging. hitherto lone wolf had left all cattle severely alone, having got it somehow into his head that they were more peculiarly under man's protection than the sheep. now, however, he saw his duty, and duty is often a very well-developed concept in the brain of dog and wolf. his ears flattened, his eyes narrowed to flaming green slits, his lips wrinkled back till his long white fangs were clean bared, and without a sound he hurled himself upon the red bull's flank. looking back over his shoulder, timmins saw it all. it was as if all his life lone wolf had been killing bulls, so unerring was that terrible chopping snap at the great beast's throat. far forward, just behind the bull's jaws, the slashing fangs caught. and timmins was astounded to see the bull, checked in mid-rush, plunge staggering forward upon his knees. from this position he abruptly rolled over upon his side, thrown by his own impetus combined with a dexterous twist of his opponent's body. then lone wolf bounded backward, and stood expectant, ready to repeat the attack if necessary. but it was not necessary. slowly the great red bull arose to his feet, and stared about him stupidly, the blood gushing from his throat. then he swayed and collapsed. and lone wolf, wagging his tail like a dog, went back to timmins' side for congratulations. the woodsman gazed ruefully at his slain foe. then he patted his defender's head, recovered the chain with a secure grip, and said slowly:-- "i reckon, partner, ye did yer dooty as ye seen it, an' mebbe i'm beholden to ye fer a hul' skin, fer that there crittur was sartinly amazin' ugly an' spry on his pins. but ye're goin' to be a responsibility some. ye ain't no suckin' lamb to hev aroun' the house, i'm thinkin'." to these remarks, which he judged from their tone to be approving, lone wolf wagged assent, and the homeward journey was continued. timmins went with his head down, buried in thought. all at once, coming to a convenient log, he seated himself, and made lone wolf lie down at his feet. then he took out the remaining sandwich,--which he himself, still shaken from his fall, had no desire to eat,--and contemplatively, in small fragments, he fed it to the wolf's great blood-stained jaws. at last he spoke, with the finality of one whose mind is quite made up. "partner," said he, "there ain't no help for it. bill smith's a-goin' to hold _me_ responsible for the killin' o' that there crittur o' his'n, an' that means a pretty penny, it bein' a thoroughbred, an' imported at that. he ain't never a-goin' to believe but what i let you loose on to him a purpose, jest to save _my_ hide! shucks! moreover, ye may's well realize y'ain't _popular_ 'round these parts; an' first thing, when i wasn't lookin', somebody'd be a-puttin' somethin' onhealthy into yer vittles, partner! we've kind o' took to each other, you an' me; an' i reckon _we'd_ git on together _fine_, me always havin' me own way, of course. but there ain't no help fer it. ye're too hefty a proposition, by long odds, fer a community like lost mountain settlement. i'm a-goin' to write right off to sillaby an' hopkins, an' let them have ye back, partner. an' i reckon the price they'll pay'll be enough to let me square myself with bill smith." and thus it came about that, within a couple of weeks, lone wolf and toomey were once more entertaining delighted audiences, while the settlement of lost mountain, with timmins' prestige established beyond assault, relapsed into its uneventful quiet. the bear's face the bear's face chapter i "there ain't no denying but what you give us a great show, job," said the barkeeper, with that air of patronage which befits the man who presides over and autocratically controls the varied activities of a saloon in a canadian lumber town. "it _is_ a good show!" assented job toomey, modestly. he leaned up against the bar in orthodox fashion, just as if his order had been "whiskey fer mine!" but being a really great animal trainer, whose eye must be always clear and his nerve always steady as a rock, his glass contained nothing stronger than milk and vichy. fifteen years before, job toomey had gone away with a little travelling menagerie because he loved wild animals. he had come back famous, and the town of grantham mills, metropolis of his native county, was proud of him. he was head of the menagerie of the sillaby and hopkins' circus, and trainer of one of the finest troupes of performing beasts in all america. it was a great thing for grantham mills to have had a visit from the sillaby and hopkins' circus on its way from one important centre to another. there had been two great performances, afternoon and evening. and now, after the last performance, some of toomey's old-time acquaintances were making things pleasant for him in the bar of the continental. "i don't see how ye do it, job!" said sanderson, an old river-man who had formerly trapped and hunted with toomey. "i mind ye was always kind o' slick an' understandin' with the wild critters; but the way them lions an' painters an' bears an' wolves jest folly yer eye an' yer nod, willin' as so many poodle dogs, beats me. they seem to like it, too." "they _do_," said toomey. "secret of it is, _i_ like _them_; so by an' by they learn to like me well enough, an' try to please me. i make it worth their while, too. also, they know i'll stand no fooling. fear an' love, rightly mixed, boys--plenty of love, an' jest enough fear to keep it from spilin'--that's a mixture'll carry a man far--leastways with animals!" the barkeeper smiled, and was about to say the obvious thing, but he was interrupted by a long, lean-jawed, leather-faced man, captain of one of the river tugs, whose eyes had grown sharp as gimlets with looking out for snags and sandbanks. "the finest beast in the whole menagerie, that big grizzly," said he, spitting accurately into a spacious box of sawdust, "i noticed as how ye didn't have _him_ in your performance, mr. toomey. now, i kind o' thought as how i'd like to see you put _him_ through his stunts." toomey was silent for a moment. then, with a certain reserve in his voice, he answered-- "oh, he ain't exactly strong on stunts." the leather-faced captain grinned quizzically. "which does he go shy on, mr. toomey, the love or the fear?" he asked. "both," said toomey, shortly. then his stern face relaxed, and he laughed good-humoredly. "fact is, i think we'll have to be sellin' that there grizzly to some zoölogical park. he's kind of bad fer my prestige." "how's that, job?" asked sanderson, expectant of a story. "well," replied toomey, "to tell you the truth, boys,--an' i only say it because i'm here at home, among friends,--it's _me_ that's afraid of _him_! an' he knows it. he's the only beast that's ever been able to make me feel fear--the real, deep-down fear. an' i've never been able to git quit of that ugly notion. i go an' stand in front o' his cage; an' he jest puts that great face of his up agin the bars an' stares at me. an' i look straight into his eyes, an' remember what has passed between us, an' i feel afraid still. yes, it wouldn't be much use me tryin' to train _that_ bear, boys, an' i'm free to acknowledge it to you all." "tell us about it, job!" suggested the barkeeper, settling his large frame precariously on the top of a small, high stool. an urgent chorus of approval came from all about the bar. toomey took out his watch and considered. "we start away at . a.m.," said he. "an' i must make out to get a wink o' sleep. but i reckon i've got time enough. as you'll see, however, before i git through, the drinks are on me, so name yer pison, boys. meanwhile, you'll excuse me if i don't join you this time. a man kin hold jest about so much vichy an' milk, an' i've got my load aboard. "it was kind of this way," he continued, when the barkeeper had performed his functions. "you see, for nigh ten years after i left grantham mills, i'd stuck closer'n a burr to my business, till i began to feel i knew 'most all there was to know about trainin' animals. men do git that kind of a fool feelin' sometimes about lots of things harder than animal-trainin'. well, nothin' would do me but i should go back to my old business of _trappin'_ the beasts, only with one big difference. i wanted to go in fer takin' them alive, so as to sell them to menageries an' all that sort of thing. an' it was no pipe dream, fer i done well at it from the first. but that's not here nor there. i was gittin' tired of it, after a lot o' travellin' an' some lively kind of scrapes; so i made up my mind to finish up with a grizzly, an' then git back to trainin', which was what i was cut out fer, after all. "well, i wanted a grizzly; an' it wasn't long before i found one. we were campin' among the foothills of the upper end of the sierra nevada range, in northern california. it was a good prospectin' ground fer grizzly, an' we found lots o' signs. i wanted one not too big fer convenience, an' not so old as to be too set in his ways an' too proud to larn. i had three good men with me, an' we scattered ourselves over a big bit o' ground, lookin' fer a likely trail. when i stumbled on to that chap in the cage yonder, what captain bird admires so, i knew right off _he_ wasn't what i was after. but the queer thing was that _he_ didn't seem to feel that way about _me_. he was after me before i had time to think of anything jest suitable to the occasion." "where in thunder was yer gun?" demanded the river-man. "that was jest the trouble!" answered toomey. "ye see, i'd stood the gun agin a tree, in a dry place, while i stepped over a bit o' boggy ground, intendin' to lay down an' drink out of a leetle spring. well, the bear was handier to that gun than i was. when he come fer me, i tell ye i didn't go back fer the gun. i ran straight up the hill, an' him too close at my heels fer convenience. then i remembered that a grizzly don't run his best when he goes up hill on a slant, so on the slant i went. it worked, i reckon, fer though i couldn't say i gained on him much, it was soothin' to observe that he didn't seem to gain on me. "fer maybe well on to three hundred yards it was a fine race, and i was beginnin' to wonder if the bear was gittin' as near winded as i was, when slap, i come right out on the crest of the ridge, which jest ahead o' me jutted out in a sort of elbow. what there was on the other side i couldn't see, and couldn't take time to inquire. i jest had to chance it, hopin' it might be somethin' less than a thousand foot drop. i ran straight to the edge, and jest managed to throw myself flat on my face an' clutch at the grasses like mad to keep from pitchin' clean out into space. it _was_ a drop, all right,--two hundred foot or more o' sheer cliff. "an' the bear was not thirty yards behind me. "i looked at the bear, as i laid there clutchin' the grass-roots. then i looked down over the edge. i didn't feel frightened exactly, so fur; didn't _know_ enough, maybe, to be _frightened_ of _any_ animal. but jest at this point i was mighty anxious. you'll believe, then, it was kind o' good to me to see, right below, maybe twenty foot down, a little pocket of a ledge full o' grass an' blossomin' weeds. there was no time to calculate. i could let myself drop, an' maybe, if i had luck, i could stop where i fell, in the pocket, instead of bouncin' out an' down, to be smashed into flinders. or, on the other hand, i could stay where i was, an' be ripped into leetle frayed ravellin's by the bear; an' that would be in about three seconds, at the rate he was comin'. well, i let myself over the edge till i jest hung by the fingers, an' then dropped, smooth as i could, down the rock face, kind of clutchin' at every leetle knob as i went to check the fall. i lit true in the pocket, an' i lit pretty hard, as ye might know, but not hard enough to knock the wits out o' me, the grass an' weeds bein' fairly soft. an' clawin' out desperate with both hands, i caught, an' stayed put. some dirt an' stones come down, kind o' smart, on my head, an' when they'd stopped i looked up. there was the bear, his big head stuck down, with one ugly paw hangin' over beside it, starin' at me. i was so tickled at havin' fooled him, i didn't think o' the hole i was in, but sez to him, saucy as you please, 'thou art so near, an' yet so far.' at this he give a grunt, which might have meant anything, an' disappeared. "'ye know enough to know when you're euchred,' says i. an' then i turned to considerin' the place i was in, an' how i was to git out of it. "to git out of it, indeed! the more i considered, the more i wondered how i'd ever managed to stay in it. it wasn't bigger than three foot by two, or two an' a half, maybe, in width, out from the cliff-face. on my left, as i sat with my back agin the cliff, a wall o' rock ran out straight, closin' off the pocket to that side clean an' sharp, though with a leetle kind of a roughness, so to speak--nothin' more than a roughness--which i calculated _might_ do, on a pinch, fer me to hang on to if i wanted to try to climb round to the other side. i _didn't_ want to jest yet, bein' still shaky from the drop, which, as things turned out, was just as well for me. "to my right a bit of a ledge, maybe six or eight inches wide, ran off along the cliff-face for a matter of ten or a dozen feet, then slanted up, an' widened out agin to another little pocket, or shelf like, of bare rock, about level with the top o' my head. from this shelf a narrow crack, not more than two or three inches wide, kind o' zigzagged away till it reached the top o' the cliff, perhaps forty foot off. it wasn't much, but it looked like somethin' i could git a good finger-hold into, if only i could work my way along to that leetle shelf. i was figurin' hard on this, an' had about made up my mind to try it, an' was reachin' out, in fact, to start, when i stopped sudden. "a good, healthy-lookin' rattler, his diamond-pattern back bright in the sun, come out of the crevice an' stopped on the shelf to take a look at the weather. "it struck me right off that he was on his way down to this pocket o' mine, which was maybe his favorite country residence. i didn't like one bit the idee o' his comin' an' findin' me there, when i'd never been invited. i felt right bad about it, you bet; and i'd have got away if i could. but not bein' able to, there was nothin' fer me to do but try an' make myself onpleasant. i grabbed up a handful o' dirt an' threw it at the rattler. it scattered all 'round him, of course, an' some of it hit him. whereupon he coiled himself like a flash, with head an' tail both lifted, an' rattled indignantly. there was nothin' big enough to do him any damage with, an' i was mighty oneasy lest he might insist on comin' home to see who his impident caller was. but i kept on flingin' dirt as long as there was any handy, while he kept on rattlin', madder an' madder. then i stopped, to think what i'd better do next. i was jest startin' to take off my boot, to hit him with as he come along the narrow ledge, when suddenly he uncoiled an' slipped back into the crevice. "either it was very hot, or i'd been a bit more anxious than i'd realized, for i felt my forehead wet with sweat; i drew my sleeve across it, all the time keeping my eyes glued on the spot where the rattler'd disappeared. jest then, seemed to me, i felt a breath on the back o' my neck. a kind o' cold chill crinkled down my backbone, an' i turned my face 'round sharp. "will you believe it, boys? i was nigh jumpin' straight off that there ledge, right into the landscape an' eternity! there, starin' 'round the wall o' rock, not one inch more than a foot away from mine, was the face o' the bear. "well, i was scared. there's no gittin' round that fact. there was something so onnatural about that big, wicked face hangin' there over that awful height, an' starin' so close into mine. i jest naturally scrooged away as fur as i could git, an' hung on tight to the rock so's not to go over. an' _then_ my face wasn't more'n two feet away, do the best i could; an' that was the time i found what it felt like to be right down scared. i believe if that face had come much closer, i'd have _bit_ at it, that minute, like a rat in a hole. "for maybe thirty seconds we jest stared. then, i kind o' got a holt of myself, an' cursed myself good fer bein' such a fool; an' my blood got to runnin' agin. i fell to studyin' how the bear could have got there; an' pretty soon i reckoned it out as how there must be a big ledge runnin' down the cliff face, jest the other side o' the wall o' the pocket. an' i hugged myself to think i hadn't managed to climb 'round on to that ledge jest before the bear arrived. i got this all figgered out, an' it took some time. but still that face, hangin' out there over the height, kept starin' at me; an' i never saw a wickeder look than it had on to it, steady an' unwinkin' as a nightmare. it is curious how long a beast _kin_ look at one without winkin'. at last, it got on to my nerves so i jest couldn't stand it; an' snatching a bunch of weeds (i'd already flung away all the loose dirt, flingin' it at the rattler), i whipped 'em across them devilish leetle eyes as hard as i could. it was a kind of a child's trick, or a woman's, but it worked all right, fer it made the eyes blink. that proved they were real eyes, an' i felt easier. after all, it _was_ only a bear; an' he couldn't git any closer than he was. but that was a mite too close, an' i wished he'd move. an' jest then, not to be gittin' _too_ easy in my mind, i remembered the rattler. "another cold chill down my backbone! i looked 'round right smart. but the rattler wasn't anywhere in sight. that, however, put me in mind of what i'd been goin' to do to _him_. a boot wasn't much of a weapon agin a bear, but it was the only thing handy, so i reckoned i'd have to make it do. i yanked it off, took it by the toe, an' let that wicked face have the heel of it as hard as i could. i hadn't any room to swing, so i couldn't hit very hard. but a bear's nose is tender, on the tip; an' it was jest there, of course, i took care to land. there was a big snort, kind o' surprised like, an' the face disappeared. "i felt a sight better. "fer maybe five minutes nothin' else happened. i sat there figgerin' how i was goin' to git out o' that hole; an' my figgerin' wasn't anyways satisfactory. i knew the bear was a stayer, all right. there'd be no such a thing as tryin' to crawl 'round that shoulder o' rock till i was blame sure _he_ wasn't on t'other side; an' how i was goin' to find _that_ out was more than i could git at. there was no such a thing as climbin' _up_. there was no such a thing as climbin' _down_. an' as fer that leetle ledge an' crevice leadin' off to the right,--well, boys, when there's a rattler layin' low fer ye in a crevice, ye're goin' to keep clear o' that crevice. it wanted a good three hours of sundown, an' i knew my chaps wouldn't be missin' me before night. when i didn't turn up for dinner, of course they'd begin to suspicion somethin', because they knew i was takin' things rather easy an' not followin' up any long trails. it looked like i was there fer the night; an' i didn't like it, i tell you. there wasn't room to lay down, and if i fell asleep settin' up, like as not i'd roll off the ledge. there was nothing fer it but to set up a whoop an' a yell every once in a while, in hopes that one or other of the boys _might_ be cruisin' 'round near enough to hear me. so i yelled some half a dozen times, stoppin' between each yell to listen. gittin' no answer, at last i decided to save my throat a bit an try agin after a spell o' restin' an' worryin'. jest then i turned my head; an' i forgot, right off, to worry about fallin' off the ledge. there, pokin' his ugly head out o' the crevice, was the rattler. i chucked a bunch o' weeds at him, an' he drew back in agin. but the thing that jarred me now was, how would i keep him off when it got too dark fer me to see him. he'd be slippin' home quiet like, thinkin' maybe i was gone, an' mad when he found i wasn't, fer, ye see, _he_ hadn't no means of knowin' that i couldn't go _up_ the rock jest as easy as i come down. i feared there was goin' to be trouble after dark. an' while i was figgerin' on that till the sweat come out on my forehead, i turned agin, an' there agin was the bear's face starin' round the rock not more'n a foot away. "you'll understand how my nerves was on the jumps, when i tell you, boys, that i was scared an' startled all over again, like the first time i'd seen it. with a yell, i fetched a swipe at it with my boot; but it was gone, like a shadow, before i hit it; an' the boot flew out o' my hand an' went over the cliff, an' me pretty nigh after it. i jest caught myself, an' hung on, kind o' shaky, fer a minute. next thing, i heard a great scratchin' at the other side o' the rock, as if the brute was tryin' to git a better toehold an' work some new dodge on me. then the face appeared agin, an' maybe, though perhaps that was jest my excited imagination, it was some two or three inches closer this time. "i lit out at it with my fist, not havin' my other boot handy. but lord, a bear kin dodge the sharpest boxer. that face jest wasn't there, before i could hit it. then, five seconds more, an' it was back agin starin' at me. i wouldn't give it the satisfaction o' tryin' to swipe it agin, so i jest kept still, pretendin' to ignore it; an' in a minute or two it disappeared. but then, a minute or two more an' it was back agin. an' so it went on, disappearin', comin' back, goin' away, comin' back, an' always jest when i _wasn't_ expectin' it, an' always sudden an' quick as a shadow, till _that_ kind o' got on to my nerves too, an' i wished he'd stay one way or t'other, so as i could know what i was up against. at last, settlin' down as small as i could, i made up my mind i jest wouldn't look that way at all, face or no face, but give all my attention to watchin' for the rattler, an' yellin' fer the boys. judgin' by the sun,--which went mighty slow that day,--i kept that game up for an hour or more; an' then, as the rattler didn't come any more than the boys, i got tired of it, an' looked 'round for the bear's face. well, that time it wasn't there. but in place of it was a big brown paw, reachin' round the edge of the rock all by itself, an' clawin' quietly within about a foot o' my ear. that was all the farthest it would reach, however, so i tried jest to keep my mind off it. in a minute or two it disappeared; an' then back come the face. "i didn't like it. i preferred the paw. but then, it kept the situation from gittin' monotonous. "i suppose it was about this time the bear remembered somethin' that wanted seein' to down the valley. the face disappeared once more, and this time it didn't come back. after i hadn't seen it fer a half-hour, i began to think maybe it had _really_ gone away; but i knew how foxy a bear could be, an' thought jest as like as not he was waitin', patient as a cat, on the other side o' the rock fer me to look round so's he could git a swipe at me that would jest wipe my face clean off. i didn't try to look round. but i kept yellin' every little while; an' all at once a voice answered right over my head. i tell you it sounded good, if _'twasn't_ much of a voice. it was steevens, my packer, lookin' down at me. "'hello, what in h---- are ye doin' down there, job?' he demanded. "'waiting fer you to git a rope an' hoist me up!' says i. 'but look out fer the bear!' "'bear nothin'!' says he. "'chuck an eye down the other side,' says i. "he disappeared, but came right back. 'bear nothin',' says he agin, havin' no originality. "'well, he _was_ there, 'an' he stayed all the afternoon,' says i. "'reckon he must 'a' heard ye was an animal trainer, an' got skeered!' says steevens. but i wasn't jokin' jest then. "'you cut fer camp, an' bring a rope, an' git me out o' this, _quick_, d'ye hear?' says i. 'there's a rattler lives here, an' he's comin' back presently, an' i don't want to meet him. slide!' "well, boys, that's all. that bear _wasn't_ jest what i'd wanted; but feelin' ugly about him, i decided to take him an' break him in. we trailed him, an' after a lot o' trouble we trapped him. he was a sight more trouble after we'd got him, i tell you. but afterwards, when i set myself to tryin' to train him, why, i might jest as well have tried to train an earthquake. do you suppose that grizzly was goin' to be afraid o' _me?_ he'd seen me afraid o' _him_, all right. he'd seen it in my eyes! an' what's more, _i_ couldn't forgit it; but when i'd look at him i'd _feel_, every time, the nightmare o' that great wicked face hangin' there over the cliff, close to mine. so, he don't perform. what'll ye take, boys? it's hot milk, this time, fer mine." the duel on the trail the duel on the trail white and soft over the wide, sloping upland lay the snow, marked across with the zigzag gray lines of the fences, and spotted here and there with little clumps of woods or patches of bushy pasture. the sky above was white as the earth below, being mantled with snow-laden cloud not yet ready to spill its feathery burden on the world. one little farm-house, far down the valley, served but to emphasize the spacious emptiness of the silent winter landscape. out from one of the snow-streaked thickets jumped a white rabbit, its long ears waving nervously, and paused for a second to look back with a frightened air. it had realized that some enemy was on its trail, but what that enemy was, it did not know. after this moment of perilous hesitation, it went leaping forward across the open, leaving a vivid track in the soft surface snow. the little animal's discreet alarm, however, was dangerously corrupted by its curiosity; and at the lower edge of the field, before going through a snake fence and entering another thicket, it stopped, stood up as erect as possible on its strong hind quarters, and again looked back. as it did so, the unknown enemy again revealed himself, just emerging, a slender and sinister black shape, from the upper thicket. a quiver of fear passed over the rabbit's nerves. its curiosity all effaced, it went through the fence with an elongated leap and plunged into the bushes in a panic. here it doubled upon itself twice in a short circle, trusting by this well-worn device to confuse the unswerving pursuer. then, breaking out upon the lower side of the thicket, it resumed its headlong flight across the fields. meanwhile the enemy, a large mink, was following on the trail with the dogged persistence of a sleuth-hound. sure of his methods, he did not pause to see what the quarry was doing, but kept his eyes and nose occupied with the fresh tracks. his speed was not less than that of the rabbit, and his endurance was vastly greater. being very long in the body, and extremely short in the legs, he ran in a most peculiar fashion, arching his lithe back almost like a measuring-worm and straightening out like a steel spring suddenly released. these sinuous bounds were grotesque enough in appearance, but singularly effective. the trail they made, overlapping that of the rabbit, but quite distinct from it, varied according to the depth of the surface snow. where the snow lay thin, just deep enough to receive an imprint, the mink's small feet left a series of delicate, innocent-looking marks, much less formidable in appearance than those of the pad-footed fugitive. but where the loose snow had gathered deeper the mink's long body and sinewy tail from time to time stamped themselves unmistakably. when the mink reached the second thicket, his keen and experienced craft penetrated at once the poor ruses of the fugitive. cutting across the circlings of the trail, he picked it up again with implacable precision, making almost a straight line through the underbrush. when he emerged again into the open, the rabbit was in full view ahead. the next strip of woodland in the fugitive's path was narrow and dense. below it, in a patch of hillocky pasture ground, sloping to a pond of steel-bright ice, a red fox was diligently hunting. he ran hither and thither, furtive, but seemingly erratic, poking his nose into half-covered moss-tufts and under the roots of dead stumps, looking for mice or shrews. he found a couple of the latter, but these were small satisfaction to his vigorous winter appetite. presently he paused, lifted his narrow, cunning nose toward the woods, and appeared to ponder the advisability of going on a rabbit hunt. his fine, tawny, ample brush of a tail gently swept the light snow behind him as he stood undecided. all at once he crouched flat upon the snow, quivering with excitement, like a puppy about to jump at a wind-blown leaf. he had seen the rabbit emerging from the woods. absolutely motionless he lay, so still that, in spite of his warm coloring, he might have been taken for a fragment of dead wood. and as he watched, tense with anticipation, he saw the rabbit run into a long, hollow log, which lay half-veiled in a cluster of dead weeds. instantly he darted forward, ran at top speed, and crouched before the lower end of the log, where he knew the rabbit must come out. within a dozen seconds the mink arrived, and followed the fugitive straight into his ineffectual retreat. such narrow quarters were just what the mink loved. the next instant the rabbit shot forth--to be caught in mid-air by the waiting fox, and die before it had time to realize in what shape doom had come upon it. all unconscious that he was trespassing upon another's hunt, the fox, with a skilful jerk of his head, flung the limp and sprawling victim across his shoulder, holding it by one leg, and started away down the slope toward his lair on the other side of the pond. as the mink's long body darted out from the hollow log he stopped short, crouched flat upon the snow with twitching tail, and stared at the triumphant intruder with eyes that suddenly blazed red. the trespass was no less an insult than an injury; and many of the wild kindreds show themselves possessed of a nice sensitiveness on the point of their personal dignity. for an animal of the mink's size the fox was an overwhelmingly powerful antagonist, to be avoided with care under all ordinary circumstances. but to the disappointed hunter, his blood hot from the long, exciting chase, this present circumstance seemed by no means ordinary. noiseless as a shadow, and swift and stealthy as a snake, he sped after the leisurely fox, and with one snap bit through the great tendon of his right hind leg, permanently laming him. as the pang went through him, and the maimed leg gave way beneath his weight, the fox dropped his burden and turned savagely upon his unexpected assailant. the mink, however, had sprung away, and lay crouched in readiness on the snow, eying his enemy malignantly. with a fierce snap of his long, punishing jaws the fox rushed upon him. but--the mink was not there. with a movement so quick as fairly to elude the sight, he was now crouching several yards away, watchful, vindictive, menacing. the fox made two more short rushes, in vain; then he, too, crouched, considering the situation, and glaring at his slender black antagonist. the mink's small eyes were lit with a smouldering, ruddy glow, sinister and implacable; while rage and pain had cast over the eyes of the fox a peculiar green opalescence. for perhaps half a minute the two lay motionless, though quivering with the intensity of restraint and expectation. then, with lightning suddenness, the fox repeated his dangerous rush. but again the mink was not there. as composed as if he had never moved a hair, he was lying about three yards to one side, glaring with that same immutable hate. at this the fox seemed to realize that it was no use trying to catch so elusive a foe. the realization came to him slowly--and slowly, sullenly, he arose and turned away, ignoring the prize which he could not carry off. with an awkward limp, he started across the ice, seeming to scorn his small but troublesome antagonist. having thus recovered the spoils, and succeeded in scoring his point over so mighty an adversary, the mink might have been expected to let the matter rest and quietly reap the profit of his triumph. but all the vindictiveness of his ferocious and implacable tribe was now aroused. vengeance, not victory, was his craving. when the fox had gone about a dozen feet, all at once the place where the mink had been crouching was empty. almost in the same instant, as it seemed, the fox was again, and mercilessly, bitten through the leg. this time, although the fox had seemed to be ignoring the foe, he turned like a flash to meet the assault. again, however, he was just too late. his mad rush, the snapping of his long jaws, availed him nothing. the mink crouched, eying him, ever just beyond his reach. a gleam of something very close to fear came into his furious eyes as he turned again to continue his reluctant retreat. again, and again, and yet again, the mink repeated his elusive attack, each time inflicting a deep and disastrous wound, and each time successfully escaping the counter-assault. the trail of the fox was now streaked and flecked with scarlet, and both his hind legs dragged heavily. he reached the edge of the smooth ice and turned at bay. the mink drew back, cautious for all his hate. then the fox started across the steel-gray glair, picking his steps that he might have a firm foothold. a few seconds later the mink once more delivered his thrust. feinting towards the enemy's right, he swerved with that snake-like celerity of his, and bit deep into the tender upper edge of the fox's thigh, where it plays over the groin. it was a cunning and deadly stroke. but in recovering from it, to dart away again to safe distance, his feet slipped, ever so little, on the shining surface of the ice. the delay was only for the minutest fraction of a second. but in that minutest fraction lay the fox's opportunity. his wheel and spring were this time not too late. his jaws closed about the mink's slim backbone and crunched it to fragments. the lean, black shape straightened out with a sharp convulsion and lay still on the ice. though fully aware of the efficacy and finality of that bite, the fox set his teeth, again and again, with curious deliberation of movement, into the limp and unresisting form. then, with his tongue hanging a little from his bloody jaws, he lifted his head and stared, with a curious, wavering, anxiously doubtful look, over the white familiar fields. the world, somehow, looked strange and blurry to him. he turned, leaving the dead mink on the ice, and painfully retraced his deeply crimsoned trail. just ahead was the opening in the log, the way to that privacy which he desperately craved. the code of all the aristocrats of the wild kindred, subtly binding even in that supreme hour, forbade that he should consent to yield himself to death in the garish publicity of the open. with the last of his strength he crawled into the log, till just the bushy tip of his tail protruded to betray him. there he lay down with one paw over his nose, and sank into the long sleep. for an hour the frost bit hard upon the fields, stiffening to stone the bodies but now so hot with eager life. then the snow came thick and silent, filling the emptiness with a moving blur, and buried away all witness of the fight. * * * * * * charles g. d. roberts' the backwoodsmen _illustrated cloth mo $ . _ "'the backwoodsmen' shows that the writer knows the backwoods as the sailor knows the sea. indeed, his various studies of wild life in general, whether cast in the world of short sketch or story or full-length narrative, have always secured an interested public.... mr. roberts possesses a keen artistic sense which is especially marked when he is rounding some story to its end. there is never a word too much, and he invariably stops when the stop should be made.... few writers exhibit such entire sympathy with the nature of beasts and birds as he."--_boston herald._ "when placed by the side of the popular novel, the strength of these stories causes them to stand out like a huge primitive giant by the side of a simpering society miss, and while the grace and beauty of the girl may please the eye for a moment, it is to the rugged strength of the primitive man your eyes will turn to glory in his power and simplicity. in simple, forceful style mr. roberts takes the reader with him out into the cold, dark woods, through blizzards, stalking game, encountering all the dangers of the backwoodsmen's life, and enjoying the close contact with nature in all her moods. his descriptions are so vivid that you can almost feel the tang of the frosty air, the biting sting of the snowy sleet beating on your face, you can hear the crunch of the snow beneath your feet, and when, after heartlessly exposing you to the elements, he lets you wander into camp with the characters of the story, you stretch out and bask in the warmth and cheer of the fire."--_western review._ l. w. brownell's photography for the sportsman naturalist _illustrated cloth vo $ . net_ "it often occurs that he who finds delight in woodcraft finds also a pleasure in preserving by photography what he finds to interest him in his wanderings in the open. to such this book appeals with a peculiar force, for the author is evidently at once familiar with wood and field life and an adept with the camera."--_boston transcript._ photography for the sportsman naturalist is in the american sportsman library series the other volumes in the series are _the american thoroughbred_, _american yachting_, _bass, pike, perch, and other fish_, _big game fishes of the united states_, _the deer family_, _guns, ammunition, and tackle_, _lawn tennis and lacrosse_, _musk-ox, bison, sheep, and goat_, _riding and driving_, _rowing and track athletics_, _salmon and trout_, _the sporting dog_, _the trotting and the pacing horse_, _upland game birds_, _and the water fowl family_. the price of each volume is $ . net. published by the macmillan company - fifth avenue, new york ernest ingersoll's life of animals: the mammals _colored plates and photographic illustrations_ _cloth vo $ . net_ "bountifully illustrated with new colored plates drawn and painted by the author's daughter, and with more than a hundred photographs, many of them taken by the author himself, the text of the volume gives a succinct and lucid account of the life of the mammals,... their ancestry, their place in nature, their means of livelihood, and their general characteristics."--_new york herald._ "an exceedingly entertaining and informing book containing the latest information concerning the whole group of mammals, that branch of animal creation most interesting to man because he is one himself. there are numberless works on this topic or related ones, but we know of none that is so comprehensive as this in a single volume.... there is an amazing amount of information written simply but with authority. every man, woman, and child who takes up this book will hate to put it down for a moment."--_philadelphia inquirer._ "there are pictures and anecdotes for the little ones of the family, adventures and curious habits to attract the eager minds of older lads, guiding information and suggestion for the student, and the whole is treated in the light of the latest facts. many novelties, apart from the simple, homely, almost humorous method of handling a truly scientific subject, characterize the volume. nowhere else is so intelligently traced the relation between the past (fossil history) and the present of the families in this most important of all animal tribes; nowhere else will be found explained many curious customs, such as the origin of the habit of storing winter food, how the opossum came to 'play 'possum,' and why beavers dam up streams. the book is written from the american point of view, yet the whole world is covered and the newest material has been utilized. it would be difficult to find a book on natural history which could make a stronger appeal to the reader, old or young, who is interested in natural history than this volume by ernest ingersoll."--_brooklyn daily eagle._ "there is not a page of the whole volume but is full of interest, and the many splendid photographs of the existing and prehistoric mammals add greatly to the value of the book. one lays it down with reluctance and with the feeling that the author has added largely to the sum of human knowledge."--_toronto globe._ "a large and admirable book.... interesting as fiction, scientifically exact, simply expressed, this well-prepared volume will almost literally repeople the earth for many readers. those who already love natural history will rejoice in its fascinating richness of information, while it would be difficult to imagine a more readable and comprehensive introduction to the numerous big and little brethren of the woods and fields."--_chicago record-herald._ published by the macmillan company - fifth avenue, new york lieut.-col. j. h. patterson's in the grip of the nyika _illustrated cloth vo $ . net_ "nyika merely means wilderness, and its grip is conveyed very forcefully to the pages of colonel patterson's book, which holds the reader as closely as the nyika holds those who venture into it.... colonel patterson has a particularly interesting way of describing things he sees.... the whole volume is filled with exciting incidents and many illustrations from photographs of odd animals and queer people."--_boston transcript._ the man-eaters of tsavo and other east african adventures with foreword by mr. frederick c. selous _illustrated cloth vo $ . net_ "the account of how colonel patterson overcame the many difficulties that confronted him in building his bridge across the tsavo river makes excellent reading, while the courage he displayed in attacking, single-handed, lions, as well as rhinoceroses and other animal foes, was surpassed by his pluck, tact, and determination in quelling a formidable mutiny which once broke out among his native workers."--_new york herald._ theodore s. van dyke's the still hunter _illustrated, cloth vo $ . net_ "a vivid account of the most exciting sport in the world.... the record of years of experience.... it is crammed full of valuable advice for the deer hunter, and has the advantage of having been written before hunting became more of a pastime than a serious business, requiring untiring energy, great patience, cool nerves, and perfect sight."--_chicago tribune._ edwyn sandys' sporting sketches _cloth mo $ . net_ "mr. sandys is a real sportsman with a wide experience, and he writes agreeably and without effort to make his work unusual or picturesque. it is just the sort of description you would expect from a man who had really done the things narrated.... he describes in such manner that even one who has never held gun or rod cannot but partake of something of the writer's enthusiasm."--_chicago tribune._ published by the macmillan company - fifth avenue, new york outdoor stories for boys and girls by j. w. fortescue the story of a red deer cloth, mo, $. ; leather, $ . by jack london tales of the fish patrol illustrated by g. varian, cloth, mo, $ . by charles major the bears of blue river illustrated by a. b. frost, cloth, mo, $ . uncle tom andy bill illustrated. cloth, mo, $ . by edwyn sandys sportsman joe illustrated. mo, $ . trapper jim illustrated. mo, $ . by ernest ingersoll an island in the air illustrated by william mccullough, cloth, mo $ . by stewart edward white the magic forest colored illustrations by joseph gleeson, cloth, mo, $ . net by mabel osgood wright dogtown illustrated with photographs, cloth, mo, $ . net gray lady and the birds colored illustrations, cloth, mo, $ . net published by the macmillan company - fifth avenue, new york [frontispiece: "jaws, monstrous and wet, grabbing at him in enraged confusion"] the way of the wild by f. st. mars with twelve illustrations by harry rountree new york frederick a. stokes company publishers copyright, , by frederick a. stokes company published in england under the title "pinion and paw" all rights reserved contents i gulo the indomitable ii blackie and co. iii under the yellow flag iv nine points of the law v pharaoh vi the cripple vii "set a thief"---- viii the where is it? ix lawless little love x the king's son xi the highwayman of the marsh xii the furtive feud xiii the storm pirate xiv when nights were cold xv fate and the fearful xvi the eagles of loch royal xvii ratel, v.c. xviii the day illustrations "jaws, monstrous and wet, grabbing at him in enraged confusion" . . . _frontispiece_ "the owl had lost a foot on the turn "a shrew-mouse, thirsting for blood, but who got poison instead" "this one had simply streaked out of the night from nowhere" "landed full upon the dumbfounded water-vole--splash!" "a 'silver tabby' floated among the twigs, looking for him" "an angry eagle-owl" "turning over and over, in one long, sickening dive back to earth" "that little black-headed fellow doing the stalking act upon that python was great" "shooting straight upwards on the top of what appeared to have been a submarine mine in a mild form" "he clutched, and tore, and gulped, and gorged" "all allowed that he was the pluckiest beast on earth" the way of the wild i gulo the indomitable if his father had been a brown bear and his mother a badger, the result in outward appearance would have been gulo, or something very much like him. but not all the crossing in the world could have accounted for his character; that came straight from the devil, his master. gulo, however, was not a cross. he was himself, gulo, the wolverine, _alias_ glutton, _alias_ carcajou, _alias_ quick-hatch, _alias_ fjeldfras in the vernacular, or, officially, _gulo luscus_. but, by whatever name you called him, he did not smell sweet; and his character, too, was of a bad odor. a great man once said that he was like a bear cub with a superadded tail; but that great man cannot have seen his face. if he had, he would have looked for his double among the fiends on the top of notre dame. there was, in fact, nothing like him on this earth, only in a very hot place not on the earth. he was, in short, a beast with brains that only man, and no beast, ought to be trusted with; and he had no soul. god alone knows if love, which softens most creatures, had ever come to gulo; his behavior seemed to show that it had not. perhaps love was afraid of him. and, upon my soul, i don't wonder. it was not, however, a hot, but a very cold, place in the pine-forest where gulo stood, and the unpitying moon cast a dainty tracery through the tasseled roof upon the new and glistening snow around him--the snow that comes early to those parts--and the north-east wind cut like several razors. but gulo did not seem to care. wrapped up in his ragged, long, untidy, uncleanly-looking, brown-black cloak--just his gray-sided, black fiend's face poking out--he seemed warm enough. when he lifted one paw to scratch, one saw that the murderous, scraping, long claws of him were nearly white; and as he set his lips in a devilish grin, his fangs glistened white in the moonlight, too. verily, this was no beast--he would have taped four feet and a quarter from tip to tip, if you had worn chain-mail and dared to measure him--no beast, i say, to handle with white-kid ball gloves. things were possible from him, one felt, that were not possible of any other living creature--awful things. suddenly he looked up. the branches above him had stirred uneasily, as if an army were asleep there. and an army was--of wood-pigeons. thousands upon thousands of wood-pigeons were asleep above his head, come from heaven knows where, going to--who could tell in the end? all at once one fell. without apparent reason or cause, it fell. and the wolverine, with his quick, intelligent eyes, watched it fall, from branch to branch, turning over and over--oh! so softly--to the ground. when he had poked his way to it--walking flat-footed, like a bear or a railway porter--it was dead. slain in a breath! without a flutter, killed! by what? by disease--diphtheria. but not here would the terrible drama be worked out. this was but an isolated victim, first of the thousands that would presently succumb to the fell disease far, far over there, to the westward, hundreds of miles away, in england and wales, perhaps, whither they were probably bound. but the poor starved corpse, choked to death in the end maybe, was of no use to the wolverine. as he sniffed it he found that out. the thing was wasted to the bones even. and turning away from it--he suddenly "froze" in his tracks where he stood. one of those little wandering eddies which seem to meander about a forest in an aimless sort of way, coming from and going now hither, as if the breeze itself were lost among the still aisles, had touched his wet muzzle; and its touch spelt--"man!" if it had been the taint of ten thousand deaths it could not have affected him more. he became a beast cast in old, old bronze, and as hard as bronze; and when he moved, it was stiffly, and all bristly, and on end. animals have no counting of time. in the wild, things happen as swiftly as a flash of light; or, perhaps, nothing happens at all for a night, or a day, or half a week. therefore i do not know exactly how long that wolverine was encircling that scent, and pinning it down to a certain spot--himself unseen. all animals, almost, can do that, but none, not even the lynx or the wild cat, so well as the wolverine. he is the one mammal that, in the wild, is a name only--a name to conjure with. he found, in the end, that there was no man; but there _had_ been. he found--showing himself again now--that a man--a hunter, a trapper, one after fur--had made himself here a _cache_, a store under the earth; and--well, the wolverine's great, bear-like claws seemed made for digging. he dug--and, be sure, if there had been any danger there he would have known it. he dug like a north-country miner, with swiftness and precision, stopping every now and again to sit back on his haunches, and, with humped shoulders, stare--scowl, i mean--round in his lowering, low-browed fashion. once a bull-elk, nearly a six-footer, but he loomed large as an elephant, came clacking past between the ranked tree-boles, stopping a moment to straddle a sapling and browse; while the wolverine, sitting motionless and wide-legged, watched him. once a lynx, with its eternal, set grin, floated by, half-seen, half-guessed, as if a wisp of wood mist had broken loose and was floating about. once a fox, somewhere in the utter silence of the forest depths, barked a hoarse, sharp, malicious sound; and once, hoarser still and very hollowly, a great horned owl hooted with disconcerting suddenness. (the scream of a rabbit followed these two, but whether fox or owl had been in at that killing the wolverine never knew.) twice a wood-hare turning now to match the whiteness of its surroundings, finicked up one of the still, silent forest lanes towards him, stopped, faced half-round, sat "frozen" for a fraction, and vanished as if it were a puff of wind-caught snow. (and, really, one had no idea till now that the always apparently lifeless forest could have been so full of life in the dark hours.) but all these things made no difference to the wolverine, to gulo, though he "froze" with habitual care to watch them--for your wild creature rarely takes chances. details must never be overlooked in the wild. he dug on, and in digging came right to the _cache_, roofed and anchored all down, safe beyond any invasion, with tree-trunks. and--and, mark you, not being able to pull tree-trunks out of the ground, and being too large to squeeze between them, he gnawed through one! gnawed through it, he did, and came down to the bazaar below. so far, he had been only beast. now we see why i said he had more brains than were good for any animal except man. he bit through the canvas, or whatever it was that protected the _cached_ articles. he got his head inside. he felt about purposefully, and backed out, dragging a trap with him. with it he removed into the inky shadows, and it was never found again. he returned. he thrust his head in a second time, got hold of something, and backed out. it was another trap, and with it he vanished also; and it, too, was never found. he returned, and went, and a third trap went with him. the fourth investigation revealed an ax. it he partly buried. the fifth yielded a bag of flour, which he tore up and scattered all over the place. the sixth inroad produced a haunch of venison, off which he dined. the seventh showed another haunch, and this he buried somewhere unseen in the shades. the eighth overhaul gave up some rope, in which he nearly got himself entangled, and which he finally carried away, bitten and frayed past use. the ninth search rewarded him with tea, which he scattered, and bacon, which he buried. what he could not drag out, he scattered. what he failed to remove, he defiled. and, at last, when he had made of the place, not an orderly _cache_, but a third-rate _débâcle_, he sauntered, always slouching, always grossly untidy, hump-backed, stooping, low-headed, and droop-tailed, shabbily unrespectable, out into the night, and the darkness of the night, under the trees. by the time day dawned he was as if he never had been--a memory, no more. heaven knows where he was! gulo appeared quite suddenly and very early, for him, next afternoon, beside some tangled brush on the edge of a clearing. he was sitting up, almost bolt-upright, and he was shading his eyes with his forepaws. a man could not have done more. and, in fact, he did not look like an animal at all, but like some diabolically uncouth dwarf of the woods. a squirrel was telling him, from a branch near by, just what everybody thought of his disgraceful appearance; and two willow-grouse were clucking at him from some hazel-tops; whilst a raven, black as coal against the white of the woods, jabbed in gruff and very rude remarks from time to time. but gulo was taking no notice of them. he was used to attentions of that kind; it was a little compliment--of hate--they all paid him. he was looking persistently down the ranked, narrowing perspective of the buttressed forest glade to where it faded in the blue-gray mist, southward, as if he expected something to come from there. something was coming from there now; and there had been a faint, uneasy sort of whisper in that direction for some time. now it was unmistakable. a cow-elk, first of the wary ones to move on alarm, came trotting by, her roman nose held well out; a red-deer hind, galloping lightly like some gigantic hare, her big ears turned astern; a wolf, head up, hackles alift, alternately loping and pivoting, to listen and look back, a wild reindeer, trotting heavily, but far more quickly than he seemed to be--all these passed, now on one side, now on the other, often only glimpses between the tree-boles, while the wolverine sat up and shaded his eyes with his paws. something was moving those beasts, those haunters of the forest, and no little thing either. something? what? very softly down the glade runs a waiting, watching shade, and the whisper spreads and widens far and near; and the sweat is on thy brow, for he passes even now-- he is fear, o little hunter, he is fear. down came gulo in that grim silence which was, except for his domestic arguments, characteristic of the beast, and trotted to a pool hard by. the pool was spring-fed, and covered, as to every dead leaf and stone, with fine green moss of incomparable softness. he drank swiftly and long, then flung about with a half-insolent, half-aggressive wave of his tail, and set off at a rolling, clumsy, shuffling shamble. at ordinary times that deceiving gait would have left nearly everything behind, but this afternoon it was different. gulo had barely shed the shelter of the dotted thickets before he realized, and one saw, the fact. he broke his trot. he began to plunge. nevertheless, he got along. there was pace, of a sort. certainly there was much effort. he would have outdistanced you or me easily in no time, but it was not you or i that came, and who could tell how fast that something might travel? the trouble was the snow--that was the rub, and a very big and serious rub, too, for him. now, if the snow had been a little less it would not have mattered--a little more, and he could have run easily along the hard crust of it; but it was as it was, only about two feet, just enough to retard him, and no more. and it is then, when the snow is like that, just above a couple of feet deep, that man can overtake friend wolverine--if he knows the way. most men don't. on that he trusted. at any other time--but this was not any other time. sound carries a long way in those still parts, and as he hurried gulo heard, far, far behind in the forest, the faint, distant whir of a cock-capercailzie--the feathered giant of the woods--rising. it was only a whisper, almost indistinguishable to our ears, but enough, quite enough, for him. taken in conjunction with the mysterious shifting of the elk and the red deer and the reindeer and the wolf, it was more than enough. he increased his pace, and for the first time fear shone in his eyes--it was for the first time, too, in his life, i think. a lynx passed him, bounding along on enormous, furry legs. it looked all legs, and as it turned its grinning countenance to look at him he cursed it fluently, with a sudden savage growl, envious, perhaps, of its long, springing hindlegs. something, too--the same something--must have moved the lynx, and gulo shifted the faster for the knowledge. half-an-hour passed, an hour slid by, and all the time gulo kicked the miles behind him, with that dogged persistency that was part of his character. nothing had passed him for quite a while, and he was all alone in the utterly still, silent forest and the snow, pad-pad-padding along like a moving, squat machine rather than a beast. at last he stopped, and, spinning round, sat up. a gray-blue haze, like the color on a wood-pigeon, was creeping over everything, except in the west, where the sky held a faint, luminous, pinky tinge that foretold frost. it was very cold, and the snow, which had never quite left off, was falling now only in single, big, wandering flakes. the silence was almost terrifying. then, as gulo sat up, from far away, but not quite so far away, his rounded ears, almost buried in fur, caught faintly--very, very faintly--a sound that brought him down on all fours, and sent him away again at a gallop with a strange new light burning in his little, wide-set eyes. it was the unmistakable sound of a horse sneezing--once. gulo did not wait to hear if it sneezed twice. he was gone in an instant. man, it seemed, had not been long in answering that challenge of the _cache_ escapade. after that there was no such thing as time at all, only an everlasting succession of iron-hard tree-trunks sliding by, and shadows--they ran when they saw him, some of them, or gathered to stare with eyes that glinted--dancing past. the moon came and hung itself up in the heavens, mocking him with a pitiless, stark glare. (he would have given his right forepaw for a black night and a blinding snowstorm.) it almost seemed as if they were all laughing at him, gulo the dreaded, the hated hater, because it was his turn at last, who had so freely dealt in it, to know fear. hours passed certainly, hours upon hours, and still, his breath coming quickly and less easily now with every mile, gulo stuck to the job of putting the landscape behind him with that grim pertinacity of his that was almost fine. at last the trees stopped abruptly, and he was heading, straighter than crows fly, across a plain. the plain undulated a little, like a sea, a dead sea, of spotless white, with nothing alive upon it--only his hunched, slouching, untidy, squat form and his shadow, "pacing" him. at the top of the highest undulation he stopped, and glowered back along the trail. ahead, the forest, starting again, showed as a black band a quarter of an inch high. behind, the forest he had already left lay dwarfed in a ruled, serried line. but that was not all. something was moving out upon the spotless plain of snow, something which appeared to be no more than crawling, ant-like, but was really traveling very fast. it looked like a smudged dot, nothing more; but it was a horse, really, galloping hard, with a light sleigh, and a man in it, behind. the horse had no bells, and it was not a reindeer as usual. pace was wanted here, and the snow was not deep enough to impede the horse, who possessed the required speed under such conditions. the horse had been trotting along the trail, till it came to the place where gulo had looked back and heard the sneeze, and knew he was being followed. then it had started to gallop, and, with ears back and teeth showing, had never ceased to gallop. this, apparently, was not the first wolverine that horse had trailed. it seemed to have a personal grudge against the whole fell clan of wolverine, and to be bent upon trampling gulo to death. gulo watched it for about one quarter of a second. then he quitted, and the speed he had put up previously was nothing to that which he showed now--uselessly. and, far behind him, the man in the sleigh drew out his rifle from under the fur rugs. he judged that the time had about come. the end was very near. but he judged wrong. gulo made the wood at length. with eyes of dull red, and breath coming in short, rending sobs, he got in among the trees. he did it, though the feat seemed impossible, for the trees had been so very far away. got in among the trees--yes, but dead-beat, and--to what end? to be "treed" ignominiously and calmly shot down, picked off like a squirrel on a larch-pole. that was all. and that was the orthodox end, the end the man took for granted. in a few minutes the horse was in the forest too, was close behind gulo. in spite of the muffling effect of snow, his expectant ears could hear the quadruple thud of the galloping hoofs, and-- hup! whuff! biff-biff! grrrrrr! grr-ur-ururrh! grrrr-urr! it had all happened quick as a flash of light. a huge, furry, reeking mass rising right in the wolverine's path from behind a tree, towering over him, almost mountainous to his eyes, like the very shape of doom! himself hurling sideways, and rolling over and over, snarling, to prevent the crowning disaster of collision with this terrible portent! a blow, two blows, with enormous paws whose claws gleamed like skewers, whistling half-an-inch above his ducked head! jaws, monstrous and wet, grabbing at him in enraged confusion, and rumblings deep down in the inside of the thing that ran cold lightning-sparks all up his spine. that was what gulo saw and heard. the wolverine rolled, clawing and biting, three times, and without a pause sprang to his feet again, and leapt madly clear, stumbled on a hidden tree-root, rolled over again twice, and up, and hurled, literally with his last gasp and effort, headlong through the air behind a tree-bole, where he remained all asprawl and motionless, except for his heaving sides, too utterly done at last for _any_ terror to move him. there followed instantly a horse's wild snort; another; a shout; the crack of a rifle cutting the silence as a knife cuts a taut string; another crack; an awful, hoarse growl; the furious thudding of horse's hoofs stampeding and growing fainter and fainter; and an appalling series of receding, short, coughing, terrifying, grunting roars. then silence and utter stillness only, and the cold, calm moon staring down over all. gulo picked himself up after a bit, and slouched round the tree to investigate. he found tracks there, and blood; and the tracks were the biggest footprints of a bear--a brown bear--that he had ever come across, and i suppose that he must have sniffed at a few in his time. presumably the man had fired at the bear when the startled horse shied. presumably, too, the bear was hit. he had gone straight away in the track of horse and man, anyway, and--he had saved the wolverine's life, after, with paw and teeth, doing his best to end it. possibly he had been disturbed in the process of making his winter home. gulo lay low, or hunted very furtively, after that for some time, until it was little less dark in the east than it had been, and the gaunt tree-trunks were standing out a fraction from the general gloom. the moon had apparently nearly burnt itself out. still, it yet appeared to be night. gulo was a long way out of his own hunting-district, and guessed that it was about time for him to get himself out of sight. he had a passionate hatred of the day, by the way, even beyond most night hunters. on the way he smelt out and dug up a grouse beneath the snow. dawn found him, or, rather, failed to find him, hidden under a tangled mass that was part windfall, part brush-wood, and part snow. the place had belonged to a fox the night before, and that red worthy returned soon after dawn. he thrust an inquiring sharp muzzle inside, took one sniff, and, with every hair alift, retired in haste, without waiting to hear the villainous growl that followed him. the smell was enough for him--a most calamitous stink. it snowed all that day, and things grew quieter and quieter, except in the tree-tops, where the wind spoke viciously between its teeth. when gulo came out that evening, he had to dig part of the way, and he viewed a still and silent, white world, under a sky like the lid of a lead box, very low down. he stood higher against the tree-trunks than he had done the night before, and, though he did not know it, was safe from any horse, for the snow was quite deep. the cold was awful, but it did not seem to trouble him, as he slouched slowly southward. there appeared to be nothing alive at all throughout this white land, but you must never trust to that in the wild. things there are very rarely what they seem. for instance, gulo came into a clearing, dim under the night sky, though it would never be dark that night. to the ear and the eye that clearing was as empty as a swept room. to gulo's nose it was not, and he was just about to crouch and execute a stalk, when half the snow seemed to get up and run away. the runners were wood-hares. they had "frozen" stiff on the alarm from their sentries. but it was not gulo who had caused them to depart. him, behind a tree, they had not spotted. something remained--something that moved. and gulo saw it when it moved--not before. it was an ermine, a stoat in winter dress, white as driven snow. then it caught sight of gulo, or, more likely, the gleam of his eyes, and departed also. gulo slouched on, head down, back humped, tail low, a most dejected-looking, out-at-heels tramp of the wilderness. once he came upon a wild cat laying scientific siege to a party of grouse. the grouse were nowhere to be seen; nor was the wild cat, after gulo announced his intention to break his neutrality. gulo knew where the grouse were. he dug down into the snow, and came upon a tunnel. he dug farther, and came upon other tunnels, round and clean, in the snow. all the tunnels smelt of grouse, but devil a grouse could he find. he had come a bit early. it was as yet barely night, and he should have waited till later, when they would be more asleep. however, he dug on along the tunnels, driving the grouse before him. and then a strange thing happened. about three yards ahead of him the snow burst--burst, i say, like a six-inch shell, upwards. there was a terrific commotion, a wild, whirring, whirling smother, a cloud of white, and away went five birds, upon heavily beating wings, into the gathering gloom. gulo went away, too, growling deep down inside of, and to, himself. he was hungry, was gulo. indeed, there did not seem to be many times when he was not hungry. also, being angry--not even a wild animal likes failure--he was seeking a sacrifice; but he had crossed the plain, which the night before had been as a nightmare desert to him, and the moon was up before his chance came. he crossed the trail of the reindeer. he did not know anything about those reindeer, mark you, whether they were wild or semi-tame; and _i_ do not know, though _he_ may have done, how old the trail was. it was sufficient for him that they _were_ reindeer, and that they had traveled in the general direction that he wanted to go. for the rest--he had the patience, perhaps more than the patience, of a cat, the determination of a bulldog, and the nose of a bloodhound. he trailed those reindeer the better part of that night, and most of the time it snowed, and part of the time it snowed hard. by the time a pale, frozen dawn crept weakly over the forest tree-tops gulo must have been well up on the trail of that herd, and he had certainly traveled an astonishing way. he had dug up one lemming--a sort of square-ended relation of the rat, with an abbreviated tail--and pounced upon one pigmy owl, scarce as large as a thrush, which he did not seem to relish much--perhaps owl is an acquired taste--before he turned a wild cat out of its lair--to the accompaniment of a whole young riot of spitting and swearing--and curled up for the day. he was hungry when he went to sleep. also, it was snowing then. when he woke up it was almost dark, and snowing worse than ever. if it could have been colder, it was. while he cleaned himself gulo took stock of the outside prospect, so far as the white curtain allowed to sight, and by scent a good deal that it did not. this without appearing outside the den, you understand. and if there had been any enemy in hiding, waiting for him outside, he would have discovered the fact then. he had many enemies, and no friends, had gulo. all that he received from all whom he met was hate, but he gave back more than he got. in the lucid terms of the vernacular, he "was a hard un, if you like." nothing and nobody saw the wolverine leave that lair that was not his. he must have chosen one blinding squall of snow for the purpose, and was half a mile away, still on the track of the reindeer, before he showed himself--shuffling along as usual, a ragged, hard-bitten ruffian. and three hours later he came up with his prey. gulo knew it, but nobody else could have done. there were just the straight trees ahead, and all around the eternal white, frozen silence, and the snow falling softly over everything; but gulo was as certain that there was the herd close ahead as he was that he was ravenous. and thereafter gulo got to work, the peculiar work, a special devilish genius for which appears to be given to the wolverine. he ceased to exist. at least, nothing of him was seen, not a tail, not an eye-gleam. yet during the next two hours he learnt everything, private and public, there was to be learnt. also, he had been over the surroundings almost to a yard. nothing could have escaped him. no detail of risk and danger, of the chance of being seen even, had been overlooked; for he was a master at his craft, the greatest master in the wild, perhaps. the wolf? my dear sirs, the wolf was an innocent suckling cub beside gulo, look you, and his brain and his cunning were not the brain and the cunning of a beast at all, but of a devil. when, after a very long time, he reappeared upon his original track, it was as a dark blotch, indistinguishable from a dozen other dark blots of moon-shadow, creeping forward belly-flat in the snow. this belly-creep, hugging always every available inch of cover, he kept up till he came to a big clearing, and--there were the reindeer. at least, there was one reindeer, a doe, standing with her back towards him--a quite young doe. the rest were half-hidden in the snow, which they had trampled into a maze of paths in and out about the clearing, which was, in fact, what is called their "yard." a minute of tense silence followed after gulo had got as close as he could without being seen. then he rushed. the reindeer swung half-round, gave one snort, and a great bound. but gulo had covered half the intervening space before she knew, and when she bounded it was with him hanging on to her. followed instantly a wild upspringing of snorting beasts, and a mad, senseless stampede of floundering deer all round and about the clearing--a fearful mix-up, somewhere in the midst of which, half-hidden by flying, finely powdered snow, gulo did his prey horribly to death. there was something ghastly about this murder, for the deer was so big, and gulo comparatively small. the fearful work of his jaws and his immense strength seemed wrong somehow, and out of all proportion to his size. this remarkable power of his jaws had that sinister disproportion only paralleled by the power of the jaws of a hyena; indeed, his teeth very much resembled a hyena's teeth. with the deer rushing all around him, gulo fed, ravenously and horribly, but not for long. a new light smoldered in his eyes now as he lifted his carmine snout, and one saw that, for the moment, the beast was mad, crazed with the lust of killing, seeing red, and blinded by blood. then the massacre began. it was not a hunt, because each deer, thinking only of itself, feared to break from the trodden mazy path of the "yard," and risk the slow, helpless, plunging progress necessary in the deep snow. wherefore panic took them all over again, and they dashed, often colliding, generally hindering each other, hither and thither, up and down the paths of the "yard" with the hopeless, helpless, senseless, blind abandon of sheep. the result was a shambles. this part we skip. probably--nay, certainly--nature knows best, and is quite well aware what she is up to, and it is perhaps not meant that we should put her in the limelight in her grisly moods. suffice it to say that gulo seemed to stop at length, simply because even he could not "see red" forever, and with exhaustion returned sense, and with sense--in his case--in-born caution. he removed, leaving a certain number of reindeer bleeding upon the ground. some of them were dead. in an hour dawn would be conspiring to show him up before the world, and he was not a beast sweet to look upon at that moment--indeed, at any moment, but less so now. now, it is surprising how far a wolverine can shift his clumsy-looking body over snow in an hour, especially if he has reasons. this one had good reasons, and he was no fool. he knew quite well the kind of little hell he had made for himself behind there, and he did not stay to let the snow cover him. he traveled as if he were a machine and knew no fatigue; and the end of that journey was a hole in a hollow among rocks. dawn was throwing a wan light upon all things when he thrust his short, sharp muzzle inside that hole, to be met by a positively hair-raising volley of rasping, vicious growls. he promptly ripped out a string of ferocious, dry, harsh growls in return, and for half-a-minute the air became full of growls, horrible and blood-curdling, each answering each. then he lurched in over the threshold, and coolly dodged a thick paw, with tearing white claws, that whipped at him with a round-arm stroke out of the pitch-darkness. the stroke was repeated, scraping, but in nowise hurting his matted coat, as he rose on his hindlegs and threw himself upon the striker. followed a hectic thirty seconds of simply diabolical noises, while the two rolled upon the ground, grappling fiendishly in the darkness. then they parted, got up, growled one final roll of fury at each other, fang to fang, and, curling up, went to sleep. but it was nothing, only the quite usual greeting between gulo and his wife. they were a sweet couple. there appeared to be no movement, or any least sign of awakening, on the part of either of the couple between that moment and sometime in the afternoon, when, so far as one could see, gulo suddenly rolled straight from deep sleep out on to the snow, and away without a sound, at his indescribable shamble and at top speed. mrs. gulo executed precisely the same amazing maneuver, and at exactly the same moment, as far as could be seen, on the other side, and shuffled off into the forest. they gave no explanation for so doing. they said never a word--nothing. one moment they were curled up, asleep; the next they had gone, scampered, apparently into the land of the spirits, and were no more. nor did there seem to be any reason for this extraordinary conduct except--except---- well, it is true that a willow-grouse, white as the snowy branch he sat upon, _did_ start clucking somewhere in the dim tree regiments, a snipe did come whistling sadly over the tree-tops, and a raven, jet against the white, did flap up, barking sharply, above the pointed pine-tops; but that was nothing--to us. to the wolverines it was everything, a whole wireless message in the universal code of the wild, and they had read it _in their sleep_. through their slumbers it had spelt into their brains, and instantly snapped into action that wonderful, faultless machinery that moved them to speed as if automatically. then the chase began, grim, steady, relentless, dogged--the chase of death, the battle of endurance. a pause followed after the vanishing of the hated wolverines. a crow lifted on rounded vans, marking their departure, and it was seen. a blackcock launched from a high tree with a whir and a bluster like an aeroplane, showing their course, and it was noted. an eagle climbed heavily and ponderously over the low curtain of the snow mist, pointing their way, and it was followed. all the wild, all the world, seemed to be against the wolverines. the brigands were afoot by day. the scouts were marking their trail. then a lynx, moving with great bounds on his huge swathed paws, shot past between the iron-hard tree-boles; a fox followed, scudding like the wind on the frozen crest; a hare, white as a waste wraith, flashed by, swift as a racing white cloud-shadow; a goshawk screamed, and drew a straight streaking line across a glade. and then came the men, side by side, deadly dumb, with set faces, the pale sun glinting coldly cruel upon the snaky, lean barrels of their slung rifles, moving with steady, fleet, giant strides on their immense spidery ski that were eleven feet long, which whispered ghostily among the silent aisles of nature's cathedral of a thousand columns. the brothers were on the death-trail of gulo at last; the terrible, dreaded brothers, who could overtake a full-grown wolf in under thirty minutes on ski, and whose single bullet spelt certain death. now for it; now for the fight. now for the great test of the "star" wild outlaw against the "star" human hunters--at last. the reindeer were to be avenged. then time took the bit of silence between his teeth and seconds became hours, and minutes generations. no sound made the wolverines as they rolled along in indian file, except for the soft whisper of the snow underfoot. no noise encompassed the brothers as they sped swiftly side by side over the glittering white carpet, save for the slither of the snow under their weight. all the wild seemed to be standing still, holding its breath, looking on, spell-bound; and save for the occasional crash of a collapsing snow-laden branch, sounding magnified as in a cave, all the forest about there was as still as death. half-an-hour passed, and gulo flung his head around, glancing over his shoulder a little uneasily, but with never a trace of fear in his bloodshot eyes. then he grunted, and the two fell apart silently and instantly, gradually getting farther and farther from each other on a diverging course, till his wife faded out among the trees. but never for an instant did either of them check that tireless, deceptive, clumsy, rolling slouch, that slid the trees behind, as telegraph-poles slide behind the express carriage window. half-an-hour passed, and one of the brothers, peering up and along the trail a little anxiously, saw the forking of the line ahead. then he grunted, and the two promptly separated without a word, gradually increasing the distance between them on the widening fork till they were lost to each other among the marshaled trunks. but never for an instant did they relax that swift, ghostly glide on the wonderful ski, that slid the snow underfoot as a racing motor spins over the ruts. an hour passed. sweat was breaking out in beads upon the faces of the brothers, now miles apart, but both going in the same general direction over the endless wastes of snow, and upon their faces was beginning to creep the look of that pain that strong men unbeaten feel who see a beating in sight; but never for a moment did they slacken their swift, mysterious glide. an hour passed. foam began to fleck the evilly up-lifted lips glistening back to the glistening fangs of the wolverines, now miles apart, but still heading in the same general line, and upon their faces began to set a look of fiends under torture; but never for a moment did they check their indescribable shuffling slouch. after that all was a nightmare, blurred and horrible, in which endless processions of trees passed dimly, interspersed with aching blanks of dazzling white that blinded the starting eyes, and man and beast stumbled more than once as they sobbed along, forcing each leg forward by sheer will alone. at last, on the summit of a hog-backed, bristling ridge, gulo stopped and looked back, scowling and peering under his low brows. beneath him, far away, the valley lay like a white tablecloth, all dotted with green pawns, and the pawns were trees. but he was not looking for them. his keen eyes were searching for movement, and he saw it after a bit, a dot that crept, and crept, and crept, and--_stopped_! gulo sat up, shading his eyes against the watery sun with his forepaws, watching as perhaps he had never watched in his life before. for a long, long while, it seemed to him, that dot remained there motionless, far, far away down in the valley, and then at length, slowly, so slowly that at first the movement was not perceptible, it turned about and began to creep away--creep, creep, creep away by the trail it had come. gulo watched it till it was out of sight, fading round a bend of the hills into a dark, dotted blur that was woods. then he dropped on all fours, and breathed one great, big, long, deep breath. that dot was the one of the brothers that had been hunting him. and almost at the same moment, five miles away, his wife had just succeeded in swimming a swift and ice-choked river. she was standing on the bank, watching another dot emerge into the lone landscape, and that dot was the other one of the brothers. they had failed to avenge the reindeer, and the wolverines were safe. safe? bah! wild creatures are never safe. nature knows better than that, since by safety comes degeneration. there was a warning--an instant's rustling hissing in the air above--less than an instant's. but that was all, and for the first time in his life--perhaps because he was tired, fagged--gulo failed to take it. and you must never fail to take a warning if you are a wild creature, you know! there are no excuses in nature. retribution was swift. gulo yelled aloud--and he was a dumb beast, too, as a rule, but i guess the pain was excruciating--as a hooked stiletto, it appeared, stabbed through fur, through skin, deep down through flesh, right into his back, clutching, gripping vise-like. another stiletto, hooked, too, worse than the first one, beat at his skull, tore at his scalp, madly tried to rip out his eyes. vast overshadowing pinions--as if they were the wings of azrael--hammered in his face, smothering him, beating him down. ah, but i have seen some fights, yet never such a fight as that; and never again do i want to see such a fight as the one between gulo and the golden eagle that made a mistake in his pride of power. all the awful, cruel, diabolical, clever, devilish, and yet almost human fury that was in that old brute of a gulo flamed out in him at that moment, and he fought as they fight who go down to hell. it was frightful. it was terrifying. heaven alone knows what the eagle thought he had got his claws into. it was like taking hold of a flash of forked lightning by the point. it was--great! still, flight _is_ flight, and lifting-power is lifting-power. gulo, even gulo, could not get over that. he could not stop those vast vans from flapping; and as they flapped they rose, the eagle rose, he--though it was like the skinning of his back alive--rose too, wriggling ignominiously, raging, foaming, snapping, kicking, but--he rose. slowly, very slowly, the great bird lifted his terrible prey up and up--ten, twenty, thirty, forty feet, but no higher. that was the limit of his lift, the utmost of his strength; and at that height parallel with the ridge, he began to carry the wolverine along, the wolverine that was going mad with rage in his grasp. it was a mistake, of course--a mistake for the wolverine to be out on the open ridge in stark daylight; another mistake for the eagle, presuming on his fine, lustful pride of strength, to attack him. and then suddenly gulo got his chance. it hit him bang in the face, nearly blinding him as it passed--the tree-top. like lightning gulo's jaws clashed shut upon it, his claws gripped, and--he thought his back was going to come off whole. but he stuck it. he was not called gulo the indomitable for nothing. and the eagle stopped too. he had to, for he would not let go; nor would gulo. an awful struggle followed, in the middle of which the pine-top broke, gave way, and, before either seemed to know quite what was happening, down they both came, crashing from branch to branch, to earth. the fall broke the king of the birds' hold, but not the fighting fury of the most hated of all the beasts. he rose up, half-blind, almost senseless, but mad with rage beyond any conception of fury, did old gulo, and he hurled himself upon that eagle. what happened then no man can say. there was just one furious mix-up of whirling, powdered snow, that hung in the air like a mist, out of which a great pinion, a clawing paw, a snapping beak, a flash of fangs, a skinny leg and clutching, talons, a circling bushy tail appeared and vanished in flashes, to the accompaniment of stupendous flappings and abominably wicked growls. * * * * * * that night the lone wolf, scouting along the ridge-top, stopped to sniff intelligently at the scattered, torn eagle's feathers lying about in the trampled snow, at the blood, at the one skinny, mailed, mightily taloned claw still clutching brown-black, rusty fur and red skin; at the unmistakable flat-footed trail of gulo, the wolverine, leading away to the frowning, threatening blackness of the woods. he could understand it all, that wolf. indeed, it was written there quite plainly for such as could read. he read, and he passed on. he did not follow gulo's bloody trail. no--oh, dear, no! probably, quite probably, he had met gulo the indomitable before, and--was not that enough? ii blackie and co. blackie flung himself into the fight like a fiery fiend cut from coal. he did not know what the riot was about--and cared less. he only knew that the neutrality of his kingdom was broken. some one was fighting over his borders; and when fighting once begins, you never know where it may end! (this is an axiom.) therefore he set himself to stop it at once, lest worse should befall. he found two thrushes apparently in the worst stage of d.t.'s. one was on his back; the other was on the other's chest. both were in a laurel-bush, half-way up, and apparently they kept there, and did not fall, through a special dispensation of providence. both fought like ten devils, _and both sang_. that was the stupefying part, the song. it was choked, one owns; it was inarticulate, half-strangled with rage, but still it _was_ song. a cock-chaffinch and a hen-chaffinch were perched on two twigs higher up, and were peering down at the grappling maniacs. also two blue titmice had just arrived to see what was up, and a sparrow and one great tit were hurrying to the spot--all on blackie's "beat," on blackie's very own hunting-ground. apparently a trouble of that kind concerned everybody, or everybody thought it did. blackie arrived upon the back of the upper and, presumably, winning thrush with a bang that removed that worthy to the ground quite quickly, and in a heap. the second thrush fetched up on a lower branch, and by the time the first had ceased to see stars he had apparently regained his sanity. he beheld blackie above him, and fled. perhaps he had met blackie, professionally, before, i don't know. he fled, anyway, and blackie helped him to flee faster than he bargained for. by the time blackie had got back, the first thrush was sitting on a branch in a dazed and silly condition, like a fowl that has been waked up in the night. blackie presented him with a dig gratis from his orange dagger, and he nearly fell in fluttering to another branch. and blackie flew away, chuckling. he knew that, so far as that thrush was concerned, there would be no desire to see any more fighting for some time. but, all the same, blackie was not pleased. he was worked off his feet providing rations for three ugly youngsters in a magnificently designed and exquisitely worked and interwoven edifice, interlined with rigid cement of mud, which we, in an off-hand manner, simply dismiss as "a nest." the young were his children; they might have been white-feathered angels with golden wings, by the value he put on them. the thrush episode was only a portent, and not the first. he had no trouble with the other feathered people he tolerated on his beat. blackie went straight to the lawn. (jet and orange against deep green was the picture.) now, if you and i had searched that dry lawn with magnifying-glasses, in the heat of the sun, there and then, we should not have found a single worm, not the hint or the ghost of one; yet that bird took three long, low hops, made some quick motion with his beak--i swear it never seemed to touch the ground, even, let alone dig---executed a kind of jump in the air--some say he used his legs in the air--and there he was with a great, big, writhing horror of a worm as big as a snake (some snakes). thrushes bang their worms about to make them see sense and give in; they do it many times. blackie banged his giant only a little once or twice, and then not savagely, like a thrush. also, again, he may or may not have used his feet. moreover, he gave up two intervals to surveying the world against any likely or unlikely stalking death. yet that worm shut up meekly in most unworm-like fashion, and blackie cut it up into pieces. the whole operation took nicely under sixty seconds. blackie gave no immediate explanation why he had reduced his worm to sections. it did not seem usual. instead, he eyed the hedge, eyed the sky, eyed the surroundings. nothing seemed immediately threatening, and he hopped straight away about three yards, where instantly, he conjured another and a smaller worm out of nowhere. with this unfortunate horror he hopped back to the unnice scene of the first worm's decease, and carved that second worm up in like manner. then he peeked up all the sections of both worms, packing them into his beak somehow, and flew off. and the robin who was watching him didn't even trouble to fly down to the spot and see if he had left a joint behind. he knew his blackbird, it seemed. blackie flew away to his nest, but not to a nest in a hedge. to dwell in a hedge was a rule of his clan, but the devil a rule did he obey. nests in hedges for other blackbirds, perhaps. he, or his wife, had different notions. wherefore flew he away out into the grass field behind the garden. men had been making excavations there, for what mad man-purpose troubled him not--digging a drain or something. no matter. into the excavation he slipped---very, very secretly, so that nobody could have seen him go there--and down to the far end, where, twelve feet below the surface, on a ledge of wood, where the sides were shored with timber, his mate had her nest. here he delivered over his carved joints to the three ugly creatures which he knew as his children and thought the world of, and appeared next flying low and quickly back to the garden. that is to say, he had contrived to slip from the nest so secretly that that was the first time he showed. a sparrow-hawk, worried with a family of her own, took occasion to chase him as he flew, and he arrived in among the young lime-trees that backed the garden, switchbacking--that was one of his tricks of escape, made possible by a long tail--and yelling fit to raise the world. the sparrow-hawk's skinny yellow claw, thrust forward, was clutching thin air an inch behind his central tail-feathers, but that was all she got of him--just thin air. there was no crash as he hurled into the green maze; but she, failing to swerve exactly in time, made a mighty crash, and retired somewhat dazed, thankful that she retained two whole wings to fly with. there is no room for big-winged sparrow-hawks in close cover, anyway, and blackie, who was born to the leafy green ways, knew that. blackie's yells had called up, as if by magic, a motley crowd of chaffinches, hedge-sparrows, wrens, robins, &c., from nowhere at all, and they could be seen whirling in skirmishing order--not too close--about the retreating foe. blackie himself needed no more sparrow-hawk for a bit, and preferred to sit and look on. if the little fools chose to risk their lives in the excitement of mobbing, let them. his business was too urgent. twenty lightning glances around seemed to show that no death was on the lurk near by. also, a quick inspection of other birds' actions--he trusted to them a good deal--appeared to confirm this. then he flew down to the lawn, and almost immediately had a worm by the tail. worms object to being so treated, and this one protested vigorously. also, when pulled, they may come in halves. so blackie did not pull _too_ much. he jumped up, and, while he was in the air, scraped the worm up with his left foot, or it may have been both feet. the whole thing was done in the snap of a finger, however, almost too quickly to be seen. the worm, once up, was a dead one. blackie seemed to kill it so quickly as almost to hide the method used. in a few seconds more it was a carved worm in three or four pieces--an unnice sight, but far more amenable to reason that way. blackie was in rather long grass, and nerve-rackingly helpless, by the same token. he could not see anything that was coming. wherefore every few seconds he had to stand erect and peer over the grass-tops. it made no difference to the worm, however; it was carved just the same. blackie now hopped farther on in search of more worms, but found a big piece of bread instead. it was really the hen-chaffinch who found the bread, and he who commandeered it from her. now he disclosed one fact, and that was that bread would do for his children as well as worms. anyhow, he stuffed his beak about half up with bread, returned for the pieces of worm, collected these, and retired up into the black cover of a fir-tree. no doubt he was expected to go right home with that load, then and there. even a cock-blackbird with young, however, must feed, and, if one judged by the excess amount of energy--if that were possible--used up, must feed more than usual. that seemed to be why he hid his whole load in the crook of a big bough, and, returning to the lawn, ate bread--he could wait to catch no worms for his own use, it appeared--as fast as he could. three false alarms sent him precipitantly into his tree upon this occasion, and one real alarm--a passing boy--caused a fourth retreat. these operations were not performed in a moment, and by the time he got back to his nest--mind, he had to contrive to approach it so that he was seen by nobody, and his was a conspicuous livery, too--his children appeared to be in the last stages of exhaustion. that, however, is young birds all over; they expect their parents to be mere feeding-machines, guaranteed to produce so many meals to the hour, and hang the difficulties and the risks. there was no sign of blackie's wife. presumably she was working just as hard on her own "beat" as he had been on his--their hunting-grounds were separate, though they joined--and would soon be back. blackie did not wait. he managed again the miracle of getting away from his nest without appearing to do so, and next turned up on the summer-house roof. fatherlike, he thought he had done enough for a bit, and would enjoy a "sunning reaction" on the summerhouse roof. it was rather a good place, a look-out tower from which he could slip over the side into the hedges, which met at the corner where it was, if trouble turned up. trouble did turn up, but not quite what he had expected. he had been sitting there, wing-stretching, leg-stretching, and "preening" his feathers, and had finally left off just to sit and do nothing, when--lo! his wife popped up over the side without warning, and right upon him. she was very dark brown, not black, and had a paler throat than the palish throat of most hen blackbirds--nearly white, in fact. she said nothing. nor did blackie, but he looked very uncomfortable. she did more than say nothing. she went for him, beak first, and very angrily indeed; and he, not waiting to receive her, fled down to the lawn, and began worm-hunting for dear life. a whole lecture could not have said more. mrs. blackie remained on the roof for about a minute, looking round, and then flew off to her own hunting-ground. she was wilder and less trusting of the world than blackie, and did not care for his lawn in full view of the house windows. and blackie did not even stop his work to watch her go. apparently they had, previously in their married life, arrived at a perfect understanding. this time, too, blackie got a big and a small worm. the small he coiled like a rope, and held up towards the base of his beak; the big he carved up into sections, which he held more towards the tip. the large ones, it seemed, were too awkward and lively simply to carry off rolled up whole. the journey that followed was a fearful one in blackie's life, for he met half-way the very last foe in the world he was expecting--namely, an owl. truly, it was a very small owl, scarce bigger than himself; but it was an owl, and, like all its tribe, armed to the teeth. men called it a little owl. that was its name--little owl. blackie didn't care what men called it; he knew it only as one of the hundred or so shapes that death assumed for his benefit. just at that time it happened to be cloudy, and little owls often hunt by day. but how was blackie to know that, little owls being a comparatively new introduction into those parts? blackie screamed and fled. the owl did not scream, but fled, too--after blackie. blackie had no means of judging how close _that_ foe was behind by the whir of its wings. owls' wings don't talk, as a rule; they have a patent silencer, so to speak, in the fluffy-edged feathers. therefore blackie was forced to do his best in breaking the speed record, and trust to luck. it was a breathless and an awful few seconds, and it seemed to him like a few hours. the owl came up behind, going like a cloud-shadow, and about as fast, and blackie, glancing over his shoulder, i suppose, yelled afresh. the terror was so very close. then blackie remembered another excavation, just like the one his nest was in, a little off his course to the left, and he tacked towards it, twisting his course wonderfully, thanks to the long tail. and the owl lost a foot on the turn. i think it was expecting blackie to make for the hedge at all costs. but, be that as it may, that foot was never made up again, for blackie vanished into the trench next instant, like a blown-out light, and, though the hunter searched for him carefully, he never put in an appearance again while that owl was within sight of the place. [illustration: "the owl lost a foot on the turn"] all signs of uproar on the passing of the little owl had died down some time before blackie turned up again, and then it was in the garden, so he must have got from the tunnel unseen. he still hung gamely to the food for his young, and now made another attempt to deliver that food where it belonged. he was half-way there, indeed, before he saw the boys--three boys--with two rows of birds' eggs threaded on strings. they were passing so close to the trench that one nearly fell into it, and, of course, any one could see that they were bird-nesting. blackie swerved off sharply to the far hedge, his heart nearly bursting with anxiety, little knowing that the boys had never even thought of looking in the trench for nests. it seemed the last place in the world to find one. it may have been, moreover, that he feared that his wife was home, in which case she might have lost her head, and, dashing out with a scream, "blown the whole gaff," as they say in the vernacular. apparently madam was not at home, by good luck, for the boys passed, and blackie once more executed the magic of getting into his nest without seeming to do so. and here he stayed. dusk was setting in, and his young were fourteen days old. they showed it in their disobedience, and were not in the least inclined to keep as quiet as they should, considering their father had but just warned them, in his own way, to "lie doggo," because of the gray shape he had seen sliding out into the field, a gray shape which was a cat. they were more like thrushes than blackbirds, those youngsters, with their speckly fawn breasts; and they were not like the adults of either in their frog-like attitudes and heavy ways. frankly, they were not beautiful, even at that stage; and a fortnight before, when they had been larger than the eggs they had come out of, they were positively reptilian and repulsive. blackie said the blackbird equivalent to "be quiet, you little fools!" as quietly and as sternly as he could three or four times, and perched on the top of a wheelbarrow to watch the gray shadow which was a cat. that sudden death, however, was more afraid of the open than blackie, even, and, moreover, wasn't expecting blackbirds' nests in the middle of fields. it turned back; and at length mrs. blackie, who had been on a general survey round about to see what foes of the night were on the move--and a fine hubbub she had made in the process--came home, reporting all well. then they slept; at least, they ceased to be any further seen or heard. think, however, how you would sleep if every few minutes you could hear sounds in your house one-third of which were probably the noises of a burglar. think, also, how you would feel if you knew that that burglar was a murderer, and that that murderer was, in all likelihood, looking for you, or some one just like you. yet those birds were happy enough, i fancy. it was barely pale gray. it was cold and wan and washed, and wonderfully clean and sweet, and wet with dews, when a lark climbed invisibly into the sky and suddenly burst into song, next morning. there was something strange and out of place, in a way, in this song, breaking out of the night; and as it and another continued to break the utter silence for ten minutes, it seemed rather as if it were still night, and not really dawn at all. dawn appeared to be waiting for something else to give it authority, so to speak, and at the end of ten minutes that something else came--the slim form of blackie, streaking, phantom-like, through the mist from the trench out in the field to the summer-house in the garden. here, mounted upon the very top, he stood for a moment, as one clearing his throat before blowing a bugle, and then, full, rich, deep, and flute-like, he lazily gave out the first bars of his song. instantly, almost as if it had been a signal, a great tit-mouse sang out, "tzur ping-ping! tzur ping-ping!" in metallic, ringing notes; a thrush struck in with his brassy, clarion challenge, thrush after thrush taking it up, till, with the clear warble of robin and higher, squeaking notes of hedge-sparrow and wren joining in, the wonderful first bars of the dawn hymn of the birds rolled away over the fields to the faraway woods, and beyond. blackie sang on for a bit, in spite of the fact that people said that it was not considered "the thing" for a blackbird with such domestic responsibilities to sing. and two other blackbirds helped him to break the man-made rule. as a matter of fact, i fancy he was not taking chances upon the ground while the mist hung to cover late night prowlers, for as soon as the gay and gaudy chaffinches had stuck themselves up in the limes and the sycamores, and started their own smashing idea of song, he was down upon the lawn giving the early worm a bad time. then it was that he heard a rumpus that shot him erect, and sent his extraordinarily conspicuous orange dagger of a beak darting from side to side in that jerky way of listening that many birds affect. "twet-twet-et-et-et! twet! twet-twet-twet-et-et-twet!" came the unmistakable voice of one in a temper, scolding loudly. and he knew that scold--had heard it before, by jove! and who should know it if not he, since it was the voice of his wife? perhaps he heaved a sigh as he rose from the deliciously cool, wet lawn--where it was necessary to take long, high hops if you wanted to avoid getting drenched--and winged his way towards the riot. his wife was calling him, and it came from the other side of the garden, _her_ side, behind the house. perhaps it was a cat, or a rat, or something. anything, almost, would set her on like that if experience, plus the experience of blackbirds for hundreds of generations working blindly in her brain--and not the experience of books--had taught her that the precise creature whom she saw was a danger and a menace to young blackbirds. all the same, when blackie arrived he _was_ surprised, for all that he saw was a grayish bird with "two lovely black eyes," not by any means as large as a blackbird. when it flew it kept low, with a weak and peculiar flight that was deceiving; and when mrs. blackie, following it, and yelling like several shrews, got too close, it turned its head, and said, "wark! wark!" in a harsh and warning way. blackie joined in with his deeper "twoit-twoit-twoit!" just by way of lending official dignity to the proceedings. whereupon his wife, feeling that he had backed her up, redoubled her excitement and shrill abuse. and they spent two solid hours at this fool's game, helped by a robin, a blue tit, and a chaffinch or two--the chaffinch must have his finger in every pie--following that gray bird from nowhere, while it moved about the garden in its shuffling flight, or alternately sat and scowled at them. but it must be admitted that blackie himself looked rather bored, and might have gone off for breakfast any time, if he had dared. as a matter of fact, however, the bird did not stand upon the register of bad deeds as being a terror of even the mildest kind of blackbirds. red-backed shrike was her name, female was her sex, and from africa had she come. goodness knows where she was going, but not far, probably; and the largest thing in the bird line she appeared able to tackle was something of the chaffinch size. but, all the same, mrs. blackie seemed jolly well certain that she knew better. then arrived the bombshell. one of the blackie youngsters, stump-tailed, frog-mouthed, blundering, foolish, gawky, and squawking, landed, all of a heap, right into the very middle of the picnic-party. mrs. blackie very nearly had a fit on the spot, and the shrike judged that the time had about arrived for her to quit that vicinity. blackie himself, to do him justice, kept cool enough to do nothing. wives will say that he was just husband all over, but there were reasons abroad. one of them shot past blackie, who was low down, a second later and a yard away, and had he not been absolutely still, and therefore as invisible as one of the most conspicuous of birds in the wild can be, he would have known in that instant, or the next, what lies upon the other side of death. another reason shot through the lower hedge, and, both together, they fell upon the young bird. they were the cat of the house and her half-grown kitten, and they were upon the unhappy youngster before you could shout, "murder!" what followed was painful. mrs. blackie went clean demented. blackie went--not so demented. (it always appeared to me that his was a more practical mind than his wife's, perhaps because he wore a more conspicuous livery.) mrs. blackie kept passing and repassing the cats' backs, flying from bough to bough, and sometimes touching and sometimes not touching them. it was useless, of course, this pathetic charging; and it was foolish. blackie charged, too, but not within feet. suddenly the old cat, who had had one eye upon mrs. blackie the whole time, sprang up and struck quickly twice. there was a chain of shrieks from mrs. blackie, and down she went in the grip of the clawed death. she never got up again. what had happened was simple enough. one of the laborers working on the trench, knowing of the nest, had, out of curiosity, approached a little too close, when the bevy of youngsters, being ready to fly, but not knowing it before this great fright, burst apart at his approach like a silent cannon cracker. the fear showed them they could use their wings. all three had made, flying low and weakly, for the nearest hedge, which was the garden hedge--two to the side which comprised their father's hunting-ground, and one to the side dominated by their ma. and the old cat and her kitten had seen them coming, and had given chase. * * * * * * blackie discovered his remaining progeny sitting about in bushes, squawking, a few minutes later, when he returned, somewhat agitated to his precious lawn, and there he promptly proceeded to feed them. the task was such a large one, and took so long, and so many worms had to be cut up, and so much bread, and, i may say, when all else failed, so many daisies had to be picked, before he finally silenced their ceaseless, craving remarks, that, by the time he had finished feeding himself and had a clean up, something of the pain of the tragedy had gone from him. and fine fat blackbirds he made of those youngsters, too, in the end, i want to tell you, for he stuck to 'em like a brick. iii under the yellow flag a little past noon each day the sun covered a crack between two boards on the summer-house floor, and up through that aperture, for three days, had come a leggy, racy-looking, wolfish black spider. each day, as it grew hotter, she extended her sphere of jerky investigation, vanishing down the crack again when the sun passed from it. to-day she prolonged her roamings right up the wall of the summer-house and along a joist bare of all save dust, and--well, the spider walked straight on, moving with little jerks as if by intermittent clockwork, and she seemed to stroll right on top of the wasp lying curled up on her side. only when one of the latter's delicate feelers shifted round towards her, as though in some uncanny way conscious of her approach, did she leap back as if she had touched an electric wire. then she froze--flat. the wasp was lying curled up, as we have said, upon her side, her head tucked in, her wings drawn down, her jaws tight shut upon a splinter of wood. she had been there half-a-year, asleep, hibernating, and in that state, without any other protection than the summer-house roof and walls, had survived the frosts of winter. the wasp did not move further. the spider appeared to be taking things in, measuring her chances, weighing the risk against her famished hunger--possibly her late husband had been her last meal, months ago--marking the vital spot upon her prey, aiming for the shot, which must be true, for one does not miss in attacking a wasp--and live. only, she would not have risked it at all, perhaps, if the wasp had seemed alive, or more alive, at any rate. then came the shot--one cannot in justice call it a spring; it was too instant to be termed that. the spider simply was upon the wasp without seeming to go there; but the wasp was not there, or, rather, her vital spot wasn't. she had kicked herself round on her side, like a cart-wheel, lying flat, with her feet, and the spider's jaws struck only hard cuirass. before the spider, leaping back, wolf-like, could lunge in her lightning second stroke, the wasp was on her feet, a live thing, after all. the warmth had been already soaking the message of spring into her cold-drugged brain, and now this sudden attack had finished what the warmth had begun. she was awake, on her feet, a live and dangerous proposition; groggy, it is true; dazed, half-working, so to speak; but a force to be reckoned with--after half-a-year. and one saw, too, at a glance that she was different from ordinary wasps--would make two, in fact, of any ordinary wasp; and her great jaws looked as if they could eat one and comfortably deal with more; whilst her dagger-sting, now unsheathed and ready--probably for the first time--could deliver a wound twice as deep and deadly as the ordinary wasp. she was, in short, a queen-wasp; a queen of the future, if fate willed; a queen as yet without a kingdom, a sovereign uncrowned, but of regal proportions and queenly aspect, for all that; for in the insect world royalties are fashioned upon a super-standard that marks them off from the common herd. the spider hesitated. she knew the danger of the stripes of yellow--the yellow flag, so to speak. the fear of it is upon every insect that lives. at the same time, the queen was undoubtedly yet numb. antagonists decide in the insect world like a flash of light, and quick as thought they act. the spider attacked now so quickly that she seemed to have vanished, and she met--jaws. back she shot, circled, shot in again, and she met--sting! it was never clear whether that sting went home. the spider did. she fell--fell plump to the floor, only not breaking what spiders have in place of a neck because of the fact that, being a spider, she never moved anywhere, not even upon a spring, without anchoring a line of web down first. therefore, an inch from the ground, she fetched up with a jerk upon the line that she had anchored up on the joist, spun round, let herself drop the rest of the way, and ran into the crack between the boards of the floor. goodness knows if she lived. the wasp, with that extremely droll, lugubrious look on her long, mask-like face which makes the faces of insects so funny and uncanny, like pantomime masks, sat down as if nothing had happened, apparently to scheme out the best way to possess herself of a kingdom and become a queen in fact as well as in name. really, she was cleaning herself--combing her antennae with her forelegs, provided with bristle hairs for the purpose, scraping and polishing her wings, as if they did not already shine like mother-o'-pearl, and washing her quaint face. she was still rather groggy from the effects of her long sleep and the cold endured--it is a wonder how she had stood the latter at all--and when, with a subdued inward sort of hum, she finally launched herself in flight, she nearly fell to the ground before righting herself and flying in a zigzag heavily across the lawn. a cock-chaffinch up in the limes saw her, and condescending at last to break his song, described a flashing streak of wine-red breast and white wing-bars in the sun. he appeared to recognize her sinister yellow shield in time, however, and returned to his perch with a flourish, leaving the wasp to go on and begin dancing up the wall of the house till she came to the open window. here she vanished within. the sunlight sat on the floor of the room inside, and the baby sat in the sunlight; and the wasp, apparently still half-awake, went, or, rather, nearly tumbled, and sat beside the baby. they made an odd picture there--the golden sun, the sunny, golden-headed baby, and that silent, yellow she-devil, crawling, crawling, crawling, with her narrow wings gleaming like gems. then the child put out her chubby hand to seize that bright-yellow object--how was she to know that it was the yellow signal of danger in the insect world that she saw? and, of course, being a baby, she was going to stuff it into her mouth. but fate had use for that wasp--perhaps for that baby. wherefore there was a little scream, a pair of woman's arms swept down and whisked that baby into the air, and a high-heeled shoe whisked the astonished wasp into a corner. here she swore savagely, vibrating her head with tremendous speed in the process, rose heavily and menacingly, made to fly out, hit the upper window, which was shut, and which she could not see, but felt, and fell to the floor again, where she apparently had brain-fever, buzzing round and round on her back like a top the while. and then, rising suddenly, the queen flew away, hitting nothing in the process, but getting through the lower and open part of the window. she seemed anxious to make sure of not getting into the house again. she flew right away, rising high to top the garden hedge, and dropping low on the far side, to buzz and poke about in and out, up along the hedge-bank that bordered the hayfield. she flew as one looking for something, and every insect in her way took jolly good care--in the shape of scintillating streaks and dashes--to get out of it. the mere sight of that yellow-banded cuirass shining in the sun was apparently quite enough for them--most of them, anyway. as a matter of fact, she was looking for a site for a city. she had ambition, and would found her a city, a city of her very own, with generous streets at right angles, on the american plan; and she would be queen of it. it was a big idea, and we should have said an impossible one, seeing that at that moment she was the city and its population and its queen all rolled into one, so to speak. queen-wasps, however, also on the american plan, ruled the word "impossible" out of their dictionary long ago. they "attempt the end, and never stand to doubt." the queen came to rest on a bare patch of ground an front of a hole, and a black and hairy spider, with two hindlegs missing on the offside, spun round in the entrance of that hole to face her. he had not been noticeable until he moved. she left him in a hurry, and thereafter resumed her endless searching along the hedge-bank. a dozen times she vanished into a hole, and, after a minute or so, came out again with the air of one dissatisfied. half-a-dozen times she came out tail first, buzzing warnings and very angry, at the invitation of a bumble-bee queen, a big, hook-jawed, carnivorous beetle in shining mail, and so forth, but she never lost her head. finally, she came to a mole-hole that suited her. the other burrows had all turned out to be field-mouse holes, leading ultimately into a main tunnel that ran the whole length of the hedge apparently, and was a public way for all the little whiskered ones. but this tunnel, bored by the miner mole, ran nowhither, having caved in not far from the entrance, and was very sound of construction, with a nice dry slope. she selected a wide spot where the tunnel branched, each branch forming a _cul-de-sac_. here she slew swiftly several suspicious-looking little tawny beetles and one field-cricket, who put up a rare good fight for it, found loafing about the place. it pleased the queen that here, in this spot, she would found her a city. but first she must, as it were, take the latitude and the longitude of this her stronghold to be. she must know where her city was, must make absolutely dead sure, certain, of finding it again when she went out. otherwise, if she lost it--well, there would be an end to it before it had begun, so to speak. for this purpose, therefore, she rose slowly, humming to herself some royal incantation--rose, upon a gradually widening corkscrew spiral, into the air. she was, in point of fact, surveying the district round her capital to be, marking each point--bush, stone, grass-tuft, tree-trunk, flower-cluster, clod, branch, anything and everything, great and small--and jotting down in indelible memory fluid, upon whatever she kept for a brain, just precisely the position of every landmark. and as she rose her circles ever widened, so that at last her big compound eyes took in quite a big stretch of sunlit picture, to be photographed upon her memory, and there remain forevermore. it took her some time, for it was some job; but once done, it was done for good. next, alighting with great hustle--now that the work was once begun--the queen ran into her tunnel, and made sure that nobody had "jumped her claim" in the interval. she found an ant, red and ravenous, taking too professional an interest in the place, and she abolished that ant with one nip; though, as you may be sure, the tiny insect fought like a bulldog. then she executed a shallow excavation upon the site of the future city itself, carrying each pellet of earth outside beyond the entrance. this also took time, though she worked at fever-pitch, almost with fury; but she managed to finish it, and fly away into the landscape in a remarkably short while, considering. here once again she appeared to be searching for something through the yellow sunshine and the falling blossom-petals--confetti from spring's wedding. and presently she found it, or seemed to--an old gate, off its hinges. but the wood was rotting, and she was no fool. she knew her job--the job she had never done before, by the way--and after humming around it in a fretful, undecided sort of fashion for some while, she flew on. apparently she was looking for wood, but not _any_ wood. cut wood appeared to be her desire, and that oak; at least, she put behind her a deal board lying half-overgrown, after one careful professional inspection. her way was through a perilous world, beset by a thousand foes, mostly in the nature of traps and lines and barbed-wire entanglements set by spiders. as a rule you didn't see these last at all--nor did she; but her yellow-and-black badge usually won her a way of respect--and hate--and she cut or struggled herself clear of such web-lines as her feelers failed to spot in time. at last she found some real oak rails, and set to work upon them at once, planing with her sharp shear-jaws. a tiger-beetle, gaudy and hungry-eyed, sought to pounce upon her in this task. he was long-legged, and keen, and lean, and very swift; but she shot aloft just in time; and when she came down again, with a z-zzzzp, as quickly as she went up, sting first, he had wisely dodged into a cranny, where he defied her with open and jagged jaws. again getting to work, she planed off a pellet of good sound wood--it looked like a nail-scrape, the mark she made--and masticating it and moistening it with saliva, whirred back like a homing aeroplane to her city in the making. there was a whir and a buzz as she passed through the portals of her main gate from the light of day, and she reappeared again, backing out, "looking daggers," as we say, and brandishing her poisoned dart--her sting, if you insist, on the end of her tail--in the air. but she still hung on to her pellet. presumably some unlucky visitor had called in her absence. more sounds of concentrated argument followed, and finally there fell out, rather than rushed out, a small and amazingly slender black wasp, one of those hermits who seem to consecrate their lives to lonely working for a family they never see. this unhappy one slid down the bank, curled up at the bottom, uncurled, curled up again, and--remained curled. apparently _her_ day's work was done, which comes of falling foul of the yellow flag. arrived inside, at her hallowed chamber, our queen carefully selected a rootlet in the roof--not just any old rootlet, mark you; never any "old" anything, you will notice, but a good, sound, well-found rootlet that you could hang five or six pounds' weight to; indeed, three rootlets before she had finished. to these rootlets she fastened--gummed would be a more correct word--her pellet of wasp-paper, in the form of a thin layer, and hurried away, singing, for more. this was, so to speak, the foundation-stone of the city, laid, be it noticed, not haphazard--our queen never did any business that way--but with mathematical regard as to what was to follow. in very fact, too, it was the foundation-stone of her city, only upside-down, though that is nothing. wasps always do things that way, which is unlike ants, those other and greater city builders. back came the queen very soon with another load, and pasted that--thin--to the first layer, hurrying, bustling, humming a happy song continuously to herself. then away again for more, and in the process to a lively battle with a robber-fly, who appeared set upon robbing her of her blood. it tried, like the beetle, to stalk her and pounce upon her back, what time she was planing out wood for paper-pulp; but her back wasn't there when it pounced, and her jaws were. it "waited on," hovering like a falcon, and twice as keen, and when she got to work again, dropped like a hurled lance-head, only to be met with jaws, wide and ready, as before. it went away, watching from afar--far for an insect--from "the little speedwell's darling blue" upon the hedge-bank, and just as she was moistening the load, gathered ready to fly off, delivered its final ultimatum--a marvelously persistent murderer. this time it, or, rather, she, was received with the point--the poisoned point--and, turning like a spent lightning-flash to avoid it, found the queen hard on her heels, following all down the gay hedge-ditch, humming high, in nearly a shriek of rage. finally, she turned, to do battle for her life, and the two, grappling, fell as shooting-stars fall, gleaming, athwart the sun, with a brrr-r like a fused wire, and finished the job, rolling over and over on the ground--rolling over and over among the stalks of bluebells, like the heavens "upraising from the earth." it is written, however, that few in the insect world can withstand a queen of the yellow devils, and in a few seconds the wasp got up and flew home again, quite unperturbed. the robber-fly did not get up, and she was not quite unperturbed, but died as they die who are poisoned with formic acid, and very soon was still. by the time the shadows crept across the entrance to the derelict mole-hole, warning the wasp back--for your true wasp is a worshiper of the sun--the queen had formed a disc of paper, and suspended there-from, in the middle, a stalk, also of paper, which widened out at its base, and became, as it were, the outlines of four six-sided cells. the cells were in the shape of a cross--that cross which you will always find at the foundation of the cities of the waspfolk, and, in a way, a sign or mark of their nationality--the cross in the market-square, so to speak, outwards from which the city grew. the queen, satisfied apparently with her new city so far, hung up and went to sleep. when anything or anybody came to prospect for house lots, or edible victims, during the still, silent, silver night, she hummed very severely, like an electric fan, to let the intruders know who she was, and they mostly backed out again in a hurry. if they took a step nearer the hum rose an octave, and became very wicked, and that, so far as most of them were concerned, finished it. two, however, there were who would not take even that hint. one was a shrew-mouse, thirsting for blood, but who got poison instead, and next morning was found running about with his mouth somewhere concealed behind his ear, if one may be pardoned the expression, in consequence; and the other was a carnivorous beetle, in black, purple-shot armor, and armed with jaws toothed like lobsters' claws. the queen took some nasty scars from those same jaws before she got home with the poisoned point, a clean thrust 'twist breastplate and armlet, and the invader doubled up on the spot where he was, and had to be dragged out in the morning--not the dawning, for the sun had well stoked up before our wasp would have anything to do with him. [illustration: "a shrew-mouse, thirsting for blood, but who got poison instead"] she found the day already in full swing when she rose, buzzing, from her front-gate, late--for wasps hate early morning chill, like red indians--and, circling once, swung straight away. she jumped into full hustle right off, you see. she did not merely work; she superworked. forced to short hours by her constitution, she had to make up for it in the time she got, and she did. she allowed nothing to stop her. if anything tried to, she mostly stopped it, for there was no compromise about this nation-builder; she reached her goal every time. it was on this journey that a spotted fly-catcher, sitting on a gatepost, made a euclid figure at her in midair as she passed. she had not power to fight the bird's beak, and her poison-dagger was useless here; nor do fly-catchers often miss. this, however, was an occasion when one of them did--by an eighth of an inch--and only some electric-spark-like dodging on the part of the insect in the air made even that one miss possible. it was so quick, you could not see what happened. that day the cross of cells in this budding city was developed further, and a low wall built round each cell. moreover, more cells were built, always taking the cross as the center of all things--six-sided cells, with a low, incomplete wall, or, rather, parapet, partitioning each off, to the number of about twenty-four cells in all. each cell was closed, of course, at the top, the top being its floor, and open at the bottom, the bottom being, if i may so put it, the top; for, as has already been said, wasp cities are built upside-down, and everybody walks and hangs on his head, being so fitted for the purpose. if you don't hang, you tumble straight down into the scooped-out cavity below; but nobody ever does that till he dies, for that cavity is at once the cemetery and the refuse-heap and the dust-bin of the city, a haunt of tiny ghouls--beetle, spider, and fly ghouls--and other loathsome horrors, the scavengers, hyenas, vultures, and jackals of the wasp world. now, after making the first cell, or, rather, the part cell, with its low parapet, the queen laid an egg--it was very minute, that egg--inside the cell, gumming it against the top, on the angle nearest the center of the city. it had to be cemented there; otherwise it would have fallen out. in the next cell she laid an egg, too, cementing it up to the top in the same manner--always in the angle nearest the center of the city--and in the next another egg, and so on, up to the twenty-four or so. it is a little doubtful precisely how long she took over the process, because, for one thing, she made so many journeys backwards and forwards to get wood-pulp from the rails for paper manufacture--she used paper for everything; and, for another thing, she began to roof over the whole affair with a hanging umbrella made of layers of the finest paper that you ever did see--much finer than that made by the ordinary common or garden worker-wasp of the jam-pots and the stewed-fruit dish, for was she not a queen, and therefore not common in anything she did?--and it became, in consequence, rather hard to see what she really was "at." most of the time that the sky remained cloudy she used up at this job, and also when there was a shower of rain, for she hated rain and all shadow and darkness. her purpose, in regard to this paper roofing, was to keep out any possible dripping that might come through the earth roof in wet weather, and to store up and multiply the heat from her body. terrific heat, to be sure; nevertheless important in the scheme of things. when all was completed, this city, this mighty kingdom, measured about one and a half inches round. when all was completed, also, the wasp flew out for a drink and a feed. but first she cleaned. the most fastidious cat was a grimy tramp in comparison to her in habits, and in all her spare time--goodness alone knows how she squeezed in any spare time at all during those hustling days!--her first, and generally her last, act was to clean. she could not afford dirt. to be dirty, with her, was to die even more quickly than she would, anyway; for, you see, she did not breathe through her mouth, but all over herself, so to speak--through her armor, or hair-like tubes in that same. from bluebell to cowslip and lily she picked her way, sipping honey and humming a wicked little hum through her teeth, as it were, and on to where daisies pied, and violets blue, and cuckoo buds of yellow hue, and lady-smocks all silver white, do paint the meadows with delight. now she toyed with a yellow oxlip, now paused at a purple lungwort; but most she went into the garden, and hovered, still as a humming-bird, among the rose-leaves and branches, especially those growing against the sun-bathed old wooden porch, and for so long that one wondered what she was doing there. she was licking up the "honey-dew," which, translated, is the juice exuded by the plant-lice or "green-fly," which swarmed all over the rose-trees. this "honey-dew" was sweet, and in great demand among such insects as had tastes that way; in fact, the enterprising ants--who are always a decade ahead of everybody else--were, in one place, building mud sheds over the said herds of plant-lice to prevent their precious "honey-dew" being exploited by others. thus a week passed, the queen fussing daily about her embryo city, adding paper covering here, strengthening a wall there, warning off an inquisitive insect somewhere else, and adding her heat to the natural stuffiness of the place, though one would scarcely have thought she could have made much difference. at times, too, in the hot sun, she appeared here or there outside, drinking honey from some flower, or sipping "honey-dew," much to the ants' disgust and anger. then, at the end of the week, the first egg hatched out within the city, and, frankly, what came forth was not lovely. it was a legless grub, fat, presumably blind, and helpless; and it would have fallen head downwards out of the cell, as it hatched, if it had not had the sense to hook its tail into its own egg-shell, which in turn, as we know, was already fastened to the top of the cell. but it had jaws, and in addition, apparently, an appetite to use them. whether the queen loved it, her first baby, was hard to tell. did she, indeed, ever love anything? she certainly did her duty by it; but what was the use of setting up to be a queen, anyway, if she could not do that? and, moreover, you've got to do your duty in the wild. there's no profit in monkeying with nature, as is possible with civilization, for the penalty thereof is death. wherefore did our queen, after making quite sure that the sack-like atom with a mouth, hanging upside-down in the cell, and wriggling like anything to show its hunger, was alive, sound, and quite all there, quit home in a hurry, and with a loud buzz, in search of rations. but there was a change in her manner from that adopted when looking for food for herself, and for good reason. _then_ her object had been honey; now it was--scalps! from force of habit, more perhaps than from force of reasoning, she flew to the rose-trees, and there fixed in her shear jaws not more than two of the helpless, fool, unarmed, soft, juicy green-fly, which are really no more, if one may so put it, than living, infinitesimal "white" grapes. that she was challenged by a sentry ant--about as big to her as a bulldog to us--that the sentry gave the alarm, that the guard turned out from one of the ants' "cowsheds" over some of the green-fly, and that she went away in a hurry, with half-a-dozen furious ants on their hindlegs, trying to get hold of her retiring feet with their jaws, was a matter treated by her with insolent unconcern. she had got her scalps, and winging home in a hurry to her baby, fed it upon green-fly. the baby did not feed nicely, and the picture of the glistening, corsleted devil queen-mother, with her lugubrious, mask-like face, and the wriggling, hanging sack babe, and the luckless, fool, helpless green-fly between them, was not a pretty one. here maternity was not a sunday-sermon subject, yet it was maternity all the same. by this time other eggs in other cells were splitting, and giving out legless grub horrors, as seeds that give forth plants, each wriggling mummy taking care to hook itself up to its shell by the tail at once, lest it perish. and the queen's work from that moment really began. till then she had only tinkered at it, apparently. now she got going "real some," and--well, all the insect world outside knew it. the terror of the yellow flag spread. upon an hour she would appear, dropping, hawk-like and terrible, out of the sun-glare, and neatly pick up a soft and juicy caterpillar from a cabbage-stalk. upon another hour she would be discovered, feet tucked up and wary, darting, like an iridescent gleam, around the angry ants, among the green-fly on the rose-bushes. the drowsy hum of the kettle on the kitchen fire, and the steady, low hum of the house-fly dance in the middle of the room, would be answered in the long, hot afternoons by her wicked warning drone as she came sailing in at the open window, like the insolent pirate that she was, to go out again a minute later with a helpless fly between her jaws. the first heat of the sun, drinking up the dew, would discover her sailing forth to war; his full, sizzling rays would reveal her waging violent warfare with the bluebottle flies over some carcass; into his amber light of the noon her yellow flag would suddenly rise from out the cool shade of the larder, where she had been carving meat, and "when the sun mended his twisted copper nets," he would flash in bronze from her glistening cuirass as she droned by high over some wriggling grub, caterpillar, or palsied fly fast locked in her jaws--and all for her young, all for her couple of dozen legless horrors, hanging by their tails, each in its narrow cell, in darkness and in dead silence, in the embryo city under the secret earth. time was when these same grubs grew so fat and big that they no longer hung, but became fast wedged in their dormitories; time when the queen had to set to and extend downwards the wall of each cell lest the growing inmates bulge over, and, obsessed with their ravening hunger, incontinently eat each other; and time at last when, one after the other, each grub, having grown out of more than one suit of clothes and donned new ones, cast its skin for the last time, refused all further food, spun a cocoon of silk with a dome-shaped silken floor to each cell, and for a period retired from the prying eyes of the world, even of its own mother, into the sacred sanctuary of the chrysalis state. then the queen's labor lightened a little for a period, so that you could again see her at spare moments sucking nectar from the flowers for herself, robbing the jam-dish, or lapping up the "honey-dew" of the green-fly. finally came _the_ day. it dawned all right, and there was nothing about it to show that it was going to be different from any other fine day; yet, as soon as the wasp woke up, she knew that, for her, it was the day of fate. a very cursory inspection of the budding city showed at once that during the night things had been happening and changes taking place. the domed floors of several of the cells were palpitating with life from within, and there were sounds of the gnawing and tearing of the silken screens. the queen became greatly excited, and began to hum and dance a little step-dance to herself, all alone in the darkness among the cells, as she saw her triumph evolving before her eyes. and, almost as if the hum had called it, there rushed at her, out of the blackness across the comb, a--a thing. she knew by instinct that it was an enemy. indeed, it could not well be anything else, but it fought like a black devil. it was, in point of fact, a mole-cricket, a creature just like its namesake, if an insect can be said to resemble an animal, only that its jaws were like unto the jaws of a lobster. it was a fearsome apparition, and very much larger even than the queen. the good god alone knoweth why it had chosen that moment and place to run apparently amok. but, if the mole-cricket ran amok, the queen-wasp went berserk. it was a thing unthinkable that in that moment of triumph she, and the awakening city with her, should be cut off--unthinkable and impossible, unthinkable and maddening. therefore she fought as few wasps have probably fought before or since, and they are pretty expert exponents, and scarcely backward ones, of warfare. the battle that followed was awful. almost at the start the two insects, grappling, fell headlong to the excavation the queen had made below the city, and there, rolling over and over, continued the struggle in the dark among the refuse, the queen eternally feeling with her poison-dagger for a space to drive home her death-blow between the other's smooth, shining armor-plates; the cricket eternally endeavoring to behead the queen between its awful jaws. it was a fight to the death, as most insect duels are, and it could not last long. it was too tense, too fiendish, too shockingly wicked for that. suddenly the queen's body shot out like a spring. the opening she had been feeling for had appeared, and she had driven her death-blow home. at the same instant, with a supreme effort, she bent double and shot herself free, the last convulsive, shearing crush of her foe's laws clashing to so close above her head that they actually caught in their death-grip, and held, till she pulled them out by the roots, two bristles of her neck. and then--well, then the queen hurried back up to her city, just in time to help out of its cell the first of her children--and citizens at last--the first limp, clambering, damp, newly painted, freshly bedecked young worker-wasp, perfect from feeler to sting, from wing to claw. quickly they broke out now from the cocoons, and the queen bustled from one to the other, assisting, cleaning, encouraging; for it is a tricky job for an insect to come out of its chrysalis-case. the queen's work, however, was really done; for, though for a day or two, till their cuirasses and wings hardened, these new young worker-wasps only did light labor, acting as nurses to the others that were following, and so on, they quickly took upon their own shoulders the whole of the work of the city: the nursing and feeding of the young, the hunting, the building, the scavenging, and the waiting upon and feeding the queen-mother herself completely, so that she should henceforth labor not, nor fight, nor waste herself in the chase, but should keep at home and lay countless eggs, and eggs, and always nothing but eggs, for the workers to rear for the benefit of the state. * * * * * * to-day that city has a population of nearly , , and contains over , cells; and the queen is still there, laying eggs, eggs, and again eggs, till-- iv nine points of the law sharp's the word with her.--swift. some people never know when they are well off. it is a complaint which afflicts cats, you may have noticed, and gets them into much trouble that their contemptuous temper might otherwise leave them free from. the silver tabby would have done better if she had remained asleep upon miss somebody's arm-chair, instead of squatting, still as marble, out in a damp field on a damp night, watching a rabbits' "stop"--which is vernacular for a bunnies' nursery--and thinking how nice raw, pink baby-rabbit would taste if she got the chance to sample it. she didn't. at least, she hadn't for an hour and a half; but, then, what's an hour and a half to a cat? apparently the silver tabby could wait, just like that, utterly inert, till the crack of doom--or dawn. mind you, she was not alone. she had company. one always has in the wild at night, or nearly always. you couldn't see that company, but i don't know whether the silver tabby could. who can tell how much a cat sees, anyway? nor do i think the company could see her, she being still, and wild eyes not being good at picking out the still form. neither could they hear her, for she said nothing; neither did she purr. they must have smelt her, though. anyway, she seemed to be a little island in the mist--the faint, faint, ethereal dew-mist--where nobody walked. you could hear them--a rustle here, a squeak there, a thud somewhere else, a displaced leaf, a cracked twig--this only once--a drumming, a patter, a sniff, a snuffle, a sigh; but they all passed by on the other side, so to say, and gave the silver tabby room to think. apparently cats are not considered good company in the wild; lonely creatures, they are best left alone. no mother-rabbit came to the "stop"--which the cat knew to be there--to feed her babies, which the cat, thanks to her nose, knew to be there, too. no baby-rabbits came out to be fed--or to feed the cat either. "stops" are secrets, kept from the rest of rabbitdom by the wise mothers, and, they hope, from other inquisitive people also. the little short holes in the middle of the field are plugged up by the old does with grass and fur when they are away, which is pretty often. then the silver tabby heard a thump come out of the night--a thud, hollow, resounding, and noticeable. it was repeated after an interval, and again repeated. there was a certain note of insistence about it--like a signal. and if the cat had been a wild creature she would have thrown up the sponge, or gone away, and returned secretly later, or, anyway, not persisted in crouching there; for those thuds were a signal, and they meant that the game was up. in other words, some wily old mother circling the approach, or some wandering back-eddy of wind, had given the cat away; she had been scented, and rabbit after rabbit, squatting invisible in the night, was thumping the ground with its feet to say so and warn all off whom it might concern. the silver tabby, however, neither wild nor satisfied to be tame, did not know. she sat on, and in doing so wondered, perhaps, at the scarcity of rabbits thereabouts. she sat, or hunched, or crouched, or couched, or whatever you call that precise position of cats, which is neither lying down nor sitting up, for some time longer--for another twenty minutes, to be precise; and all the while the thuds of mystery serenaded her from nowhere in particular out of the dark--and from down-wind. then she must have come to the conclusion that she was being made a fool of, for she got up, stretched herself lazily, with arched back and bared claws, and yawned a bored feline yawn. and even as she did so she was aware of a sudden final flourish of thuds, and then dead-silence. next moment, in that same dead-silence, she distinctly heard something coming towards her, and that something was taking no pains to conceal the fact. now, in the wild it is not the custom to go towards anything and take no pains to conceal the fact. the unhealth of such a procedure is swiftly borne in upon such rash ones as make the experiment, and they seldom live long enough to pass their folly on. only the mighty can afford not to walk circumspectly, and they are very few, and, with man about, even they have learnt wisdom. that is why the wild is so guarded, and why self-effacement becomes almost a religion therein. even the cat knew this, i fancy. anyway, she looked surprised as she crouched again, and quickly. now, of all the wild-people, probably one of the most brazen is the pig; it is also one of the bravest. i mean, the wild pig. and it would seem that he, or she, who came that way was a pig, only a precious little one. you know the ways of a pig? how you can hear him coming long before he comes; how he must snuffle, and grunt, and poke dead leaves, and snort, and tread on things, and snore. very good. so it was here; and these things did this new-comer, who approached through the mist--only all in a dwarfed way, as if they were done by a tiny grown-up pig. its gruntings were almost to itself; its snortings, snorings, and sniffings quite small; and its snorts little miniature ones. only, in the profound silence of the night, and in comparison with the furtive noises of all the rest of the night-wild, they sounded quite loud. the cat, as she crouched, passed from supercilious surprise to amazement. you could tell that by the roundness of her eyes. she had no knowledge of pigs, and had never met any of the wild-folk gone mad; yet it seemed that one must have done so now, and that one--to her growing uneasiness--was coming straight towards her. i fancy that in that moment she thought of the warm fire, the singing kettle, the saucer of milk, and miss somebody's best arm-chair. the thing, whatever it was, came straight on in a more or less zigzag line, till the cat could make it out dimly in the moonlight, a blotched, roughly egg-shaped form, less than a foot long, so low to the ground that it appeared to be running on wheels, and covered all over with prickles, like a rugby ball into which tin tacks had been driven head first, the sharp ends pointing outwards and backwards. its head was the small end, and much lower than its back. its eyes, little and pig-like, set in a black cowl, gleamed red in the tired moonlight; and its face was the face of a pig, nothing else--just pure pig; insolent, cunning, vulgar, and blatant. occasionally men name a wild beast correctly, and this little beast could only have one name--hedgehog: it was obvious on the face of it. but the cat, being a cat and an aristocrat, knew, as has been said, nothing about pigs, real or only so called. she had killed a shrew once, and spat it out for tasting abominably and smelling worse; and shrews are cousins of the hedgehogs, of the same great clan, insectivora--far removed from the pigs, really--and that is the nearest she had got. she had never heard of hedgehogs, and never, never met a beast that walked through the wild as if he owned it. and, more, he expected her to get out of his way, which she did with feline and concentrated remarks; and he--by the whiskers and talons!--the fool exposed his back--turned his back openly, a thing no wild beast in its senses would do, unless running away. and that, for a cat who had waited close on two hours for baby business that didn't turn up, had got most unfashionably drenched, and had, moreover, in her time, tackled more than one grown-up rabbit, which was considerably larger than any hedgehog--that, i say, was, for the silver tabby, too much. she sprang. rather, she executed two bounds, and somewhat unexpectedly found herself on top of the hedgehog. i say "unexpectedly," because she had hitherto bounded upon wild-folk who contrived mostly not to be there. this one contrived nothing, except to stop still. and the cat executed a third bound--_off_ the hedgehog, and rather more violently and more quickly than the first two. also, she spat. when she had got over the intense pain--and cats feel pain badly--of sharp spines digging into her soft and tender forefoot-pads, she stopped, about two yards away, and glared at the hedgehog as if he had played off a foul upon her, and she was surprised to see that he was no longer egg-shaped, but rolled up into himself like a ball, so to speak, and utterly quiescent. (i wonder if she remembered the little wood-lice that she had so often amused herself playing with in idle hours. they rolled themselves up just like that. perhaps she thought she'd come upon the colossus of all the wood-lice.) anyway, after she had spat off at him all the vile remarks she could think of for the moment, without producing any more reply than she would get from the average stone, she came back, drawn with curiosity as by strings. the hedgehog did not move; there was no need. it was for the cat to make the next move--if she chose. he did not care. all things were one to him, and all the views which he presented to the world were points, a _cheval-de-frise_, a coiled ball of barbed wire, a living gibraltar, what you will, but, anyway, practically impregnable; and the beggar knew it. "he who believeth doth not make haste"--that seemed to be his motto, and he had, by the same token, a fine facility for withstanding a siege. he felt the cat, that cat who did not know hedgehogs, pat him tentatively. then he heard her swearing softly and tensely at the painful result. she did not pat again--at least, only once, and, in spite of care, that hurt her worse than ever. then she began growling, low and beastily--for all the cat tribe have a horrible growl; you may have noticed it. perhaps the hedgehog smiled. i don't know. he knew that growl, anyhow; had heard it before--the anger of utter exasperation. he was an exasperating brute, too, for he never said anything, only shut himself up, and let others do the arguing, if they were fools enough to do so. suddenly he heard the growl stop. followed a tense pause, during which he tightened his back-muscles under his spines, and tucked himself in, to meet any coming shock, more tightly than ever. followed the pause a short warning hiss, jerked out almost in fright, it seemed--that cat's hiss that is only a bluff, and meant to imitate a snake--a sudden explosion of snarls, and a thud. a fractional silence, then a perfect boil-over of snarls, and thud upon thud. now, our friend hedgehog was an old hand, and he had heard many and curious sounds take place outside himself, so to speak; but, all the same, he was just tickled to death to know what, in claws and whiskers, was happening out there in the leering moonlight now; so much so, indeed, that at last he risked it, and took a furtive peep out of a chink in himself, as it were. and what he saw might have amazed him, if he had not been a hedgehog and scarcely ever amazed at anything. he just got a snapshot view of the cat's fine ringed tail whirling round and round as she balanced herself on the swerve, vanishing into the ghostly moonlight haze of the night; and in front of him, close beside him, squatting, stare-eyed and phlegmatic, he saw the form of a big, gaunt, old doe-rabbit. and i think he knew what had happened. he seemed to, anyway, and remained rolled up. rabbits are thoughtless, headstrong, headlong, hopeless, helpless cowards as a race and a rule. "the heart of a rabbit," they say in france, speaking of a coward. but all races and rules have exceptions. occasionally the exceptions are old buck-rabbits, who know a thing or two; but more often they are old doe-rabbits with young. and, mark you, from the point of view of those wild-folk, there may be easier rough handfuls to tackle than old doe-rabbits with young. this one had simply streaked out of the night from nowhere--and behind--and knocked the cat flying before she knew. then, ere ever the feline could gather her wits, the old doe had descended upon her with an avalanche of blows--punches they were with the forefeet, all over the head and the nose, where a cat hates to be hit--and all so swiftly, so irresistibly, that that cat had never been given a chance to consider before she was stampeded into the night. it was the silver tabby's first experience of mrs. rabbit doing the devoted-mother act, and, by the look of her--tail only--and the speed at which she was going, it appeared most likely that it would be her last. [illustration: "this one had simply streaked out of the night from nowhere"] meanwhile the old doe-rabbit sat there in the moonlight as immovable and impassive as a buddha, and the hedgehog, peering at her, guessed that the time to unroll was not yet. he knew that it would hurt any one to attack him; the cat knew it; all rabbits in their senses knew it; but was that mother-rabbit in her senses? he concluded to lie low and remain a fortress, therefore. then, after waiting about five minutes, as if she knew that cats sometimes steal back, the old doe-rabbit came to a "stop" quite close to the hedgehog, and went in. she remained there some time, during which a fox came by and sniffed at the hedgehog, but was quite wise as to the foolishness of doing more; and a deadly, curved-backed, flat-headed little murderer of a stoat galloped by, and sniffed too, but was no bigger fool than the fox, and went his way. both missed the "stop" by about two yards, though i don't know what would have happened if they had found it. digging and death in the former case, and battle and blood in the latter, perhaps. but no matter, they passed on their unlawful occasions; and half-an-hour after the going of the stoat the old doe-rabbit came out, and dissolved into the moon-haze. then the hedgehog came out, too--of himself, and--well, dissolved into the "stop." what happened in there it was too dark to see, but not to hear; and what one could hear was--pitiful. he was there some time, for your hedgehog rarely hurries; and when he came out again, his little pig's eyes gleaming red under their spined cowl, it was with the same snuffling, softly grunting deliberation with which he had gone in; but the pale moon, that showed the gleam in his eyes, showed also blood on his snout, and on the bristles of his forefeet, blood. then, slowly, snorting, sniffing very audibly--as loud as a big dog often does--grunting softly in an undertone, as if talking to himself, he departed, rustling through the grass, leaving an irregular winding track behind in the dew and the gossamer, as he searched, eternally searched, for food. the hedgehog moved through the night as if he owned it and had no fear of anything on earth; but many, it would seem, had cause to fear him. he turned and snorted, and snatched up a slug. three very quick and suggestive--quite audible--scrunches, and it was gone. he described a half-circle, sniffing very loudly, and chopped up a grub. he paused for a fraction to nose out a beetle, and disposed of it with the same quick three or four chopping scrunches. (it sounded rather like a child eating toast-crusts.) he continued, always wandering devious, always very busy and ant-like, always snorting loudly; grabbed another beetle, and then a worm--all by scent, apparently--and reached the hedge-ditch, where, in the pitch-darkness, he could still be heard snorting and scrunching hapless insects, slugs, and worms at scarcely more than one-minute intervals. and he never stopped. he seemed to have been appointed by nature as a sort of machine, a spiked "tank," to sniff tirelessly about, reducing the surplus population of pests, as if he were under a curse--as, indeed, the whole of the great order of little beasts to which he belonged, the insectivora, are--which, afflicting him with an insatiable hunger, drove him everlastingly to hunt blindly through the night for gastronomic horrors, and to eat 'em. anyway, he did it, and in doing it seemed to make himself worthy of the everlasting thanks and protection of the people who owned that land--thanks which to date he had never received. strange to say, he never stopped of his own free-will, though he was stopped: once when he walked up to a man kneeling--and he was a poacher--and did not see him till, if i may so put it, the man coughed, when he ran like winkle into the hedge, and promptly became a ball for ten minutes; and once when he came upon a low, long, sinister, big, and grunting shadow, which again, if i be allowed the term, he did not see, though quite close, till he heard it grunt, when he instantly jerked himself into a ball on the spot and in the open. in both cases it seemed, on the face of it, more as if he had scented, rather than had either seen or heard, the dangers, and in both cases he had come within two yards of them--though they were not hidden--before scenting, seeing, or hearing them, whichever he did do. now, books and men have said that friend hedgehog fears only two things: gypsies and badgers--who eat him. i should not be surprised at anything the "gyp" did; nor, to this day, can we stake much on our knowledge of the secret badger; but this badger, at any rate, seemed to know nothing of books and men. he was delving for roots when the hedgehog cast up out of the night and jumped him to "attention" by his loud sniffs--much like a big dog's, i said. thereafter, however, when our prickly friend was represented as a ball only, and was as silent as the grave, the badger took no further notice of him, beyond keeping one eye--the weather eye--upon him, and treating him to a low growl, or curse, truly, from time to time. the hedgehog, however, once there, did not seem keen upon unrolling and exposing himself till the badger had gone, which it did finally, vanishing so suddenly and unexpectedly into the dark as almost to seem to have been a ghost. and after some minutes the hedgehog straightened out, and ate his way--one can call it nothing else--to the hedge. here he came upon a wounded mouse, complaining into the night in a little, thin voice, because its back was broken, and it could not return to its hole. it was a harvest mouse, rejoicing in the enormous weight of . grains and a length of mm., but with as much love of life and fear of death as an elephant. heaven knows what had smitten it! perhaps it was one of the very few who just escape the owl, or who foil that scientific death, the weasel, at the last moment--but no matter. the result was the same--death, anyway. the hedgehog saw its eyes shining like stars in a little jet of moonlight, and i fear the hedgehog slew far less adroitly than the owl, and not nearly so scientifically as the weasel; but he slew, none the less, and he did that which he did. from thence we find our hedgehog, still wandering devious, but with always a direction, just as an ant has, heading his way down-ditch to a farm, and all the way he ate--beetles mostly, but with slugs and worms thrown in. now, those of the wild-folk who approach the farm, even by night, do so with their life in their paws, and most of them know it. far, far safer would it be to remain in wood or field-hedge, gorse-patch or growing crop. yet they go, like the adventurers of old. first of all, if he approached by ditch, before getting to the farm proper, the hedgehog knew that he must pass the entrenchments of the rat-folk, and that alone was enough to put off many, for the rat-folk are no longer strictly wild, and, wild or tame, are hated with that cordiality that only fear can impose. i don't know that our hedgehog was given to fearing anything very much. he came of a brave race, and one cursed, moreover, with a vile, quick temper, more than likely to squash in its incipient stage any fear that might threaten to exist; but he did most emphatically detest rats, except to eat them--a compliment which the rats would have returned, if they had got a chance. as a matter of fact, it is unlikely that prickles--for such was the name of our hedgehog--would have gone that risky way, traveled so unhealthily far, left his more or less--mostly less--safe home wood at all, had it not been that it is sometimes with hedgehogs as it is with men--in the warm seasons--their fancy turns to thoughts of love. prickles's fancy had so turned, not lightly, for he was of an ancient and antediluvian race, heavy in thought, but certainly to love. and love, i want you to realize, in the wild, or anywhere else, for the matter of that, is the very devil. "unite and multiply; there is no other law or aim than love," one great savant despairingly assorts is nature's cry, and adds that she mutters to herself under her breath, "and exist afterwards if you can. that is no concern of mine." to be precise, prickles, who did more business with his nose than all the rest of his organs put together, was following a love-trail. a lady hedgehog, a flapper undoubtedly, and beautiful--all loves are beautiful in imagination--had passed that way. why _that_ unhealthful way, heaven knew; but, allowing for the capriciousness of the sex, and mad because in love, prickles followed, slowly, deliberately, heavily, as befitted one descended from one of the oldest races on earth. the air was heavy with the scent of may and of honeysuckle, and his way was a green-gold--silver where the moon cascaded down the hedge--and blue-black bridal-path, arched with scented swords, strewn with pink and rose and cream and white confetti of blossom. but he only saw and smelt one thing, and that, those who have known hedgehogs intimately will agree, is not like unto the scent of any blossom. prickles was ruminating anciently upon these things, possibly, and others, as he came down the trench--ditch, i mean--when the cry smote him. it smote everything--the filtered silence of the wonderful, tranquil night, the pale moon half-light, the furtive rustling shadows that stopped rustling, the wonderful breathing pulse of growing vegetation. and prickles stopped as abruptly as if it had smitten him on his nose, too. he heard _that_, at any rate, whatever might have been hinted about the value of his ears elsewhere. there was no doubt about that cry, no possible shadow of doubt whatever--it was a cry of extreme distress, a final, despairing s.o.s., flung out to the night in the frantic hope that one of the same species would hear and help. several night-foraging wild-folk have s.o.s. signals of their own, but none like this. it was not a rabbit's cry, for bunny's signal is thin and child-like; nor a hare's, for puss's last scream is like bunny's, only more so; nor a stoat's, for that is instinct with anger as well as pain; nor a cat's, for that thrills with hate; nor an owl's, for that is ghostly; nor a fox's, for reynard is dumb then; nor a rat's, for that is gibbering and devilish; nor a mouse's, for that is weak and helpless. then what? and why had it touched up prickles as if with a live wire? it was perhaps the rarest s.o.s. signal of all heard in the wild, or one of the rarest, the peculiar, high, chattering, pig-like, savage tremolo of a hedgehog booked for some extra deathly form of death. and prickles--naturally he knew it. it came from straightaway down the ditch; from ahead, where prickles had been heading for; from the farm, and heaven know what it portended! perhaps, too, prickles could tell a lady hedgehog's s.o.s. from that of a gentleman of the same breed; or, perhaps--but how do i know? he certainly acted that way. prickles waited the one-fifth part of an instant, to listen and locate. then he got going, and provided one astonishment. till then he had seemed slow as the times he had descended from--like a rhinoceros. but, like a rhino, he proved that he could shift some when hustled. he did. it looked like suddenly releasing a clockwork toy wound up to breaking-point. his short legs gave this impression, and his next-to-no-neck, giving him a look of rigidity, assisted it. he did not run so much as rush, and his spines and bristles, coming low on either side in an overhang, so to speak, like an armored car, made him rustle and scuffle tremendously. three rabbits doing the same act, or five cats, could scarce have made more row than he did. it was not, however, so much the fact that prickles had gone that was so noticeable as the fact that he had _arrived_. his arrival seemed to follow his going as one slide follows another on a screen. one would never have believed such quickness of him; nor, as a matter of fact, do i think he would have believed it of himself; but--well, love is a mighty power, and makes folks do some strange things. what he found was two ditch-banks, pock-marked with the untidy dug-outs of the rat-people, smelling ratty, and looking worse, one original ray of moonlight lighting the beaten ditch between. in the moonlight one young female hedgehog, who may have been pretty by hedgehog standards, but was now pretty by none, and five rats, frankly beastly, very busy indeed with that same hedgehog. they must have caught that young lady of the spikes "napping"--a rare thing. yet, allowing for the fact that she was in love--with love and nothing else, so far--and careless, or allowing that she may have mistaken the unclean ones momentarily, she may have given them one brief half-instant. and it doesn't do to give a rat even the half of a half-instant. if you do, he has got you, or you haven't got him. apparently they had pretty well got her before she could quite roll up, and in a half-rolled-up condition she was doing her best to meet the jabs of five pairs of gnawing, cold-chisel, incisor, yellow-rats' teeth at once. to time, apparently, she had not been successful in the attempt--you could see the dark stains of blood glisten in the moonlight, and the end was certain, on the face of it. prickles, however, was a new factor that had got to short-circuit that end, and prickles didn't wait to meditate prehistorically _that_ time. he came. he came full tilt into the midst of the mêlée like--well, like a clockwork toy still, that couldn't stop. only he did stop, against the biggest rat of all, ducking his head, and jerking forward his shoulder-muscles, and spines, with a sort of a thrust over his head, and a noise like a pair of expiring bellows; and the prickles hit home. that rat removed about one foot in one bound in one-fortieth of a second, and he let rip one squeal in the process that sent away every other rat into the nearest available hole as if it had been fired there from a spring. then the lady hedgehog took the heaven-sent opportunity to complete her rolling-up completely, and prickles took his own created opportunity to roll up almost more completely, and--well, they were rolled up into two balls, you see, and there is nothing more to be said about them. the rats did that, but it was all they did, except hurt their noses presently, and delicate, pink, hand-like fore-paws, and make 'em bleed on prickles. they were very angry indeed, those unspeakable ones--very angry; but it didn't make any difference to the hedgehogs. they were there; they were rolled up; they were together. what _could_ make any difference after _that_? and at last, when the rats gave them up as a very bad job, they went away _together_, and that's all there is to say. _together_ clinches it, you understand. v pharaoh i upon a day hawkley came to the district, and took up his abode in a cottage of four rooms. he "did" for himself. every housekeeper will know what "did" for himself means. but he did for himself in another way also. he came to read up for an exam. he told everybody this, which was one reason why he would be seen at ungodly hours, when no one was about, going to and from lonely spots, with a pair of blue glasses on his nose, a book under one arm, and a walking-stick with a silver band and a tassel--he was always careful to display the silver band and the tassel--under the other. then nemesis descended upon him. he was caught by colonel lymington's head-keeper on colonel lymington's most strictly preserved wild-bird sanctuary, shooting certain rare birds--many rare birds. now, the colonel prided himself on his sanctuary, and upon the number of rare birds he had living therein, and the colonel was wroth. hawkley had, in fact, ruined the sanctuary, and taken or slain pretty well every other bird worth having in the place, so that five years would not make good the harm he had done. moreover, it was shown in the evidence that hawkley had been able to accomplish his work by aid of a folding pocket-rifle with a silencer on, and his cat--especially the cat, whose name was pharaoh. no words of the keeper's could be found sufficiently to revile that cat. indeed, the head-keeper went speechless, and nearly had epilepsy, in trying to describe it to the court, and if it had done only one-half the things that the keeper asserted, it must have been a very remarkable beast indeed; the magistrate said so. in consequence hawkley got rather heavily fined, and went. he went more quickly than was expected, because the police got a telephone message from the police of another district--several other districts, i think--to say that he was "wanted" for precisely the same game there: and hawkley must have expected this, for he walked out of the court with a grin on his face, and was no more seen. so quickly did he go that he had no time to take the cat. he left it at home in the cottage--which shows that he must have been badly scared, for such a cat must have been worth a lot to a collector's agent, such as hawkley was. but perhaps he left it by way of revenge. i do not know. anyway, there it was in his cottage, asleep on the sofa before the fire--just as hawkley, at the invitation of the authorities, had left it that morning. it was about five o'clock in the afternoon when the cat, pharaoh, woke up, and transformed himself instantly from deep sleep to strained alertness, in that way which is peculiar to the children of the wild, but has been lost by their domestic degenerates. the sun was shining full in at the little diamond-paned window. the window was open, and a late fly of metallic hue was shooting about with a pinging noise, like the twang of some instrumental string. but neither fly, nor sun, nor the tick of the little clock on the mantelpiece had awakened the cat. it was the click of the little front-gate latch. the cat--the pupils of his eyes like vertical slits in green-yellow stone--gave one quick look at, and through, the open window. he had the impression, framed in the window, of a bobbing, black, "square" bowler hat--not often seen these days--and a red face with small eyes, and a sticking-out beard of aggressiveness. this was no hawkley. the cat knew it, as he knew, probably, the alien tread. hawkley had a white, clean-shaven face, and big eyes--the eyes that an animal may love and trust. possibly the cat knew even the profession of him who came that way so softly and alone in the still afternoon. anyway, he acted as if he did. like a snake, and with rather less noise, pharaoh slid off the sofa and to the door leading into the scullery. for a moment he stopped, looking back over his shoulder, one paw uplifted, body drooping on bent legs, inscrutable, fierce eyes staring. then he was gone. i don't know how he went. he just seemed to fade out in the frame of the doorway and into the shadowed coolth of the scullery like a dissolving picture. a pause followed, while the little clock on the mantel-piece ticked hurriedly, as if anxious to get on and pass over an awkward moment. came then the click of the front-door latch, the flinging open of the door wide, the bar-like gleam of hastily raised gun-barrels in the new flood of light, and--silence. only the one or two late flies "pinged," while the little clock fairly raced. the tall, uncompromising figure of the head-keeper was standing in the doorway, with a double-barreled -bore gun half-raised. he stood there a moment with his dog, bent a little, peering in. he had come to find "that there pesky cat." and in this, perhaps, he showed more sense than most people gave him credit for. apparently, he had seen enough to know that the cat was quite unlike any ordinary cat--and cats of any kind are bad enough--and certainly he guessed that the cat under control of its master was one, and away from that questionable influence likely to be another, and very much worse, calamity. the keeper searched that cottage from chimney to doorstep. no cat there. his dog did not, as might have been expected, help him in this search. indeed, his dog, he now discovered, had vanished--had, in fact, gone out at the back-door and cleared off. meanwhile the cat was, for his sins, being horribly pricked by the holly-hedge through which he was sliding. he growled under the punishment. ordinary domestic cats do not, as a rule, growl in such cases, though they may "swear." once through the hedge, the cat dropped into the ditch on the other side, turned to his right, and galloped up it. it ran upwards, skirting a sloping wet field, to a dark, damp, black wood, as woods always are that stand on cold clay and have much evergreen growth. they remind one of a wet, chill rhododendron forest of tibet. the cat's gallop was in itself peculiar, loose, long, his head low, his forepaws straight, his hindlegs trailing out behind. so does the tiger gallop across the jungle glade when the beaters rouse him. there were other things peculiar about pharaoh also, now that one had him on the move and could see. he was, perhaps, a fraction big for his kind; his coat was yellowish, fading beneath, with "faint pale stripes" well marked on the sides; his tail was long, and oddly slender and "whippy," ringed faintly to the black tip; his fur was short and harsh, quite unlike that of a domestic cat, and the expression of his eyes was one of permanent, unsleeping fierceness. once he stopped and stared back, and in the pause which followed one could distinctly hear a faint but rapidly increasing drumming sound following his trail up the ditch. and least of all beasts had that cat delusions. he turned and galloped on. the keeper's dog was of an independent turn of mind. he had quietly run that cat's trail, forgetting that, in the long-run, dogs are not fitted to maneuver independently, and may suffer if they do so. you see him flying up the trail, square nose to ground, tracking really very cleverly indeed, and with a fine amount of what huntsmen call "drive." ho had overtaken pharaoh before the hunted one could reach the wood. he realized it as he took the last bend in the ditch, when he saw a yellow streak rise under his nose, and bound, with all four legs stuck out quite straight, and claws spread abroad, like a rubber ball out of his path, avoiding his clumsy, murderous snap by an inch, and then felt it rebound right on to his back. the next few seconds were quite crowded, and that dog had the time of his life. even an ordinary domestic "puss" can make wonderful havoc of a dog's back when once it gets there; and stays, as it does, like a burr, and this one could go a bit better than most; and when that dog at last got the cat's "leave to go," he went rather sooner than at once, proclaiming his misery aloud to all the world, so that his master, coming at that moment out of the back-door of the cottage, heard him afar off, and swore. as for the cat, he turned about, all bristling, and went too. he went straight up to, and through, the wood, disturbing in clouds the starlings, who had just come in to roost in the rhododendrons, so that they rose with a rushing of wings like the voice of a thunder-shower on forest leaves, and incidentally drenched the cat with a deluge of raindrops collected in the leaves as he raced through underneath. a lesser beast, it may be noted, would have climbed a tree, but hawkley, i think, had convinced his cat of that folly when a man might be following up behind. straight through the wood galloped pharaoh, and into a stretch of age-old furze, or gorse, if you like, beyond. that showed strategy. the furze was a maze of a million spikes, and branches, and twisted, gnarled stems tough as wire-rope; a wonderful place, all honeycombed with rabbit-runs; a world unto itself. the cat moved on quickly into the heart of the furze, pausing every few strides to listen and glare round. several times he sniffed the sickly grass and the carpet of dead spikes. once or twice something moved ahead; a branch was shaking as he came up, a blade of grass slowly righting itself, as if something that had been sitting upon it had but just stolen away. all round were hints of life, but no life was visible. it was as if the cat were moving through an army of ghosts. then, in a flash, without any kind of hint or warning to prepare one for the unnerving contrast of the change, was war--raw, red war. there had come up a rabbit-run--a regular rabbit-turnpike--a creature. it was strikingly colored, that creature, and big--nearly three feet long, to be exact; but it looked much bigger in the ghostly twilight--and yet till it was actually upon him he, even he, had failed to see it. long, low, bear-like, and burly, with claws caked with earth, gashed and bleeding on flank and shoulder it was, red-fanged and wild-eyed. it charged home upon pharaoh without a second's pause, and with an obscene chatter that was unnerving to any one, let alone so highly strung a bag of tricks as a cat. men and dogs had been besieging this badger in its den for twelve hours. it had in the end made a desperate _sortie_, upset one man who had failed to grab its tail, run into and bitten another, and got clean away. pharaoh was unfortunate in that he stood between the half-mad beast and another den for which it was making. there was no time to go back, no room to execute one of those beautiful lightning side-leaps which are the pride of all the cats, and less to spring into the air, a neat trick of the tribe which it has also perfected. the cat was cornered, and, being cornered, fought like--a cornered cat! that is to say, an electrified devil. he reared up. he struck, pat! pat! right and left, with the terrible, rending, full stroke of his kind. he met open jaws with open jaws--you could hear fang clash against fang. he grabbed, scrunched, drew back, grabbed, scrunched again, as a lion will--for the cats neither hold fast like a weasel nor snap like a wolf. then, as the full force of the charge and the weight of the enemy's body--some twenty-seven and a half pounds--took him, he hugged, round-arm fashion, with his talons, and, still grabbing and scrunching, rolled over backwards. cat and badger turned into a ball--a parti-colored ball, very lively as to its center, and it whirled. unfortunately there was not much room to whirl in. that made things all the more grisly. you could almost see the grim skeleton shape of death, hovering over that growling, snarling, spitting, worrying, tearing, kicking, gnashing, scrunching, foaming, blood-flecked catherine-wheel--almost see death, i say, bending down with upraised arm ready to strike. but death never struck. in an instant there came, sounding strangely hollow in that still, damp air of dusk, as though it were in a cave, the unmistakable noise of a deep, dry, hacking cough. truly, it was nothing much--just a good old churchy and human cough. but it might have been a blast from the trumpet of the archangel gabriel himself by the effect it had upon the two combatants. they shot apart like released electrified dust-atoms, and--pff!--they were gone--wiped out. like pricked bubbles, they had ceased to be. and neither gave any explanation. being wild things, of course they wouldn't. the cough had only come from a laborer, who, passing along a pathway through the furze, had heard the commotion, and stopped. he never saw anything, though he crashed into the furze and hunted--he never saw anything, which was no wonder, seeing that he could hardly have selected a way to see less. the cat was four hundred yards away by that time, and goodness knows where the badger was---deep down in his den, one presumes. later the cat slept, in a fortress of nature safe enough, surrounded by a hundred unseen sentries with brown jackets and white tails--rabbits, who would give him all the warning he required. ii the lean night wind next evening came down, and day went out almost imperceptibly. blackness grew under the furze caverns, and the last glimpse of the estuary faded away in a steely glimmer; a brown ghost of an owl slid low over the spiked ramparts, and wings--the wings of fighting wild-duck coming up from the sea to feed--"spoke" like swords through the star-spangled blue-black canopy of heaven. the night-folk began to move abroad. you could hear them pass--now a faint rustle here, now a surreptitious "pad-pad" there. once some bird-thing of the night cried out suddenly, very far away in the sky, "keck! keck!" and was gone. it was not pharaoh, however, that you would have heard move. none of the wild-folk could tell how at midnight he managed to land himself far out over the marsh, unperceived. he was there--you must take my word for it--just two faintly luminous yellow-green lamps floating on the mist. not many men knew their way across the marsh by day; certainly not five even of the oldest wildfowlers could have got over safely by night. it was not man, therefore, that was causing the cat to melt into the short, salt grass, so closely that there was nothing of him left. something else was coming his way. along the edge of the dike it came--tall, thin, pale, ghostly, and--yes, i could have sworn it, though night does play odd tricks with the human eyesight--faintly phosphorescent. at least, it seemed to glow ever so dimly, like one that moves in a nearly burnt-out halo. every yard or two it paused, that thing. once there was a splash, as if some one were spearing fish and had missed. the cat moved rather less than an average stone. he knew that in the wild to be motionless is, in nine cases out of ten, to be invisible. the tenth case doesn't matter, because the creature that discovers it usually dies. moreover, there was no cover to move to, and cover is the cat's trump card. now, everything would have gone off all right if--well, if the cat hadn't been a cat, i suppose; that is, if he had been able to stop the ceaseless twitching of the black tip of his tail. tiger-hunters know that twitching, and those who have stalked the lion will tell you of it, as also the sparrow on the garden wall, whose life may have been saved from somebody's pet "tabby" by that same twitching. it is a characteristic habit of the tribe, i take it. the luminous ghost-thing was close now. heaven knows whether it saw that twitching then! i think so. it stopped, anyway, and became a pillar of stone. the cat, almost under it, fairly pressed himself into the grass. then--whrrp! something shot through the air like a lance, and pinned that twitching tail-point to the ground. there had been no warning--nothing! just that javelin from the ghost, and---the cat on his hindlegs, screaming like a stricken devil, clawing at the ghost, now revealed as a very big, long-legged bird which flapped. it flapped huge wings and danced a grotesque dance, and it smelt abominably, with the stench of ten fish-markets on a hot day. then at last, the cat clawing and yelling the whole time, the bird's slow brain seemed to realize the mistake. the javelin, which was its beak, was withdrawn from the protesting tail-tip hurriedly--to be driven through the cat's skull as a sheer act of necessary self-defense, i fancy. but the cat did not wait to see. imagine the infamy, the absolute sacrilege, from a cat's point of view, of spitting a feline tail in that disgusting fashion. why, if you only tread on one, you hear about it in five-tenths of the average second, and offend the supercilious owner for a month afterwards! there was a vision, just a half-guessed vision, of our cat shooting straight upwards through the air, and outwards over the still waters of the dike; there was a number one splash that set the reflected stars dancing, and the water-voles ("rats," if you like) bolting to their holes; and there was the sighing "frou-frou-frou!" of great wings as the big bird rose and fled majestically. there was the sucking gurgle and drip-drip of a furred body leaving the water on the far side, eyes that glared more hate than pen can set down, and a deep, low, malignant feline curse. that cat had swum the rest of the way over the dike which he could not jump. the bird was only a heron, and that does not sound much unless you are acquainted with the ways of the heron and all his beak implies. a heron is one of those birds that can fight at need, and--knows it. moreover, in his long beak, set on his steel-spring neck, he has a weapon of awful "piercefulness," and--knows that too. the bird is an example of armed defense. this one had merely been fishing for eels in that pessimistic way peculiar to all fishermen, and seeing the tail-tip waving in the grass, and nothing else, had mistaken the same for his quarry. and this will be the easier to believe because we know, and probably the heron did also, that eels are given at times to overland journeys on secret errands of their own. the cat crawled away down the dike in offended silence. he was wet, and the only cat i ever knew who did not seem to be scandalized past speech at the fact. indeed, he went farther. he came upon a ripple and a dot, some fifty yards farther on, which to the initiated such as he, represented a water-vole ("rat," if you will) swimming. then, before you could take your pipe from your mouth to exclaim, the water-vole was not swimming. he was squealing in a most loud and public-spirited fashion from between pharaoh's jaws, and it was the cat who was swimming. he had just taken a flying leap from the bank and landed full upon the dumbfounded water-vole--splash! then he swam calmly ashore and dined, all wet and cold. now, what is one to say of such a cat? [illustration: "landed full upon the dumbfounded water-vole--splash!"] iii long did the keepers, in colonel lymington's woods and along the hedges, search with dog and gun for pharaoh, and many traps did they set. the dogs truly found a cat--two cats, and the guns stopped them, but one had a nice blue ribbon round his neck, and the other had kittens; the traps were found by one cat--and that was the pet of the colonel's lady--one stoat, one black "pom"--and that was the idol of the parson's daughter--and one vixen--and she was buried secretly and at night--but pharaoh remained where he had chosen to remain, and he remained also an enigma. then the colonel's rare birds began to evaporate in real earnest. hawkley's little efforts at depleting them were child's-play to those of pharaoh that followed, although, of course, pharaoh himself did not know, or care the twitch of a whisker, whether the birds he slew were rare or not. now, if there was one thing more than another about which the colonel prided himself in his bird sanctuary, it was the presence of the bittern. i don't know where the bittern came from, nor does the colonel. perhaps the head-keeper knew. bitterns migrate sometimes, but--well, that keeper was no fool, and knew his master's soft spot. it was a night or two later that pharaoh surmounted the limit, so to speak, and "sprung all mines in quick succession." he had been curled up all day in his furze fortress, that vast stretch of prickly impenetrability which, even if a dog had been found with pluck enough to push through to its heart, would still, in its massed and tangled boughs, have given a cat with pharaoh's fighting prowess full chance to defy any dog. he was beautifully oblivious of the stir his previous doings had kicked up, and of the winged words the colonel had used to the head-keeper; of the traps set all about, of the gins doubled and trebled in the wood and round the park, and of the under-keepers who, with guns and tempting baits, took up their positions to wait for him as night fell. no one seemed to have suspected the furze a mile away, and still less the marsh and the coverless bleak shore of the estuary, as his home. indeed, no one looks for a cat on a wind-whipped marsh when woods are near at all. yet this open, wet country seemed to be a peculiarly favorite hunting-ground of pharaoh's. it was a night of rain-squalls and moonlit streaks when pharaoh, wandering devious among the reeds, first became aware of the bittern, in the shape of reptilian green eyes steadily regarding him from the piebald shadows. possibly the cat's whiskers first hinted at some new presence by reason of the "ancient and fish-like smell" which pervaded this precise reed jungle. pharaoh stopped dead. pharaoh, with cruel, thin ears pressed back, sank like a wraith into the soft ground. pharaoh ceased to be even a grayish-yellow, smoky something, and became nothing but eyes--eyes floating and wicked. a domestic cat, after one frozen interval, would have crept away from the foe it could not fathom, but pharaoh had other blood in his veins. to begin with, he was wondering what manner of beast the owner of those saurian-like orbs might be. to go on with, he was hungry, and--smelt fish. but though he was looking full at the big bird, he could not see it, which is the bittern's own private little bit of magic. nature has given him a coat just like a bunch of dried reeds and the shadows between, and he does the rest by standing with his bead stuck straight up and as still as a brass idol. result--invisibility. none know how long those two sought to "outfreeze" the "freezer," while the rain-showers came up and passed hissing, and the moon played at hide-and-seek. none knew when pharaoh, flat as a snake, first began that deadly, silent circling, which was but acting in miniature the ways of the lion. none knew, either, at what point of bittern first begun to sink and sink, till he crouched, and puffed, his neck curved on his back like a spring ready set, his beak, like a sharpened assegai, upright. only the short-eared owl, with his wonderful eyes, beheld pharaoh make his final rush; watched that living spring _sprung_ quick as light, shooting out straight at the cat's glaring eyes, and saw--greatest miracle of all the lot--pharaoh dodge his head aside in the twentieth of a second, and blink, letting the blow that spelt death whiz by. and only those same owl's ears--sharpest of all the ears of the wild--heard the diabolical yell of pharaoh as the long, sharp beak pierced through the loose skin of his shoulders, and, thanks to that same looseness, came out again an inch or two farther on, transfixing him; or listened to the devilish noise of the "worry," as the cat turned in agony on himself and buried his fangs where he could behind those expressionless green reptilian eyes; or caught the stupendous flurry and whirl of wings and fur and gripping claws and scaly legs, as a cloud put out the moon and darkness fell with silence, like the falling curtain that ends a play. * * * * * * the very last pale rays of a watery setting sun slid bar-like through the cottage window, and fell, twirling, aslant the floor. a late spider had spun a web across the fireplace, and the one last fly that always lingers sat in the sunbeam. it was hawkley's cottage, dismantled and derelict. something like a furry round hassock, lying motionless in a far corner, moved at the sound of rain, and lifted a round head with round eyes that glared with so terrible an expression that one caught one's breath. there was blood--dried blood--by the furry shape, and drops of dried blood across the floor from the window in the next room, that it had been nobody's business to shut. the day went out in gloom and howling rain-rushes. darkness took possession of the room. and--_the gate clicked_. truly, it might only have been the wind, but--pharaoh was on his feet in a flash, growling, and there was a glint of green-yellow light as his eyes whipped round. followed a pause. then, in a lull, once, twice, the unmistakable crunch of a shod foot on gravel. another pause. pharaoh was crouching close now, trembling from head to foot. "pharaoh! pharaoh! pharaoh, old cat, are--are you in there?" the voice, strained and husky, came in at the open window. in the last lingering afterglow of dying day, a face, haggard and set, showed there, framed in the lead casement. "phar---- ah!" pharaoh was up. pharaoh had given a strange, coaxing little cry, such as a she-cat gives to her kittens. pharaoh, lame and stiff, but with tail straight as a poker, was running to the window in the next room, was up on the sill, was rubbing against and caressing the haggard face like a mad thing. there was a long, tense pause, broken only by a continuous purring. then the creaking sound as of the lid of a wicker basket being opened. the purring ceased. the creaking came again, as if the lid were being shut. there came the crunch once more of stealthy shod feet on gravel, the click of the gate, and--silence! hawkley had come for, and found, his cat. vi the cripple it was gradually getting colder and colder as he flew, till at last, in a wonderful, luminous, clear, moonlit sunset, when day passed, lingering almost imperceptibly, into night, the wind fixed in the north, and a hard white frost shone on the glistening roofs--far, far below. up there, at the three-thousand or four-thousand feet level, where he was flying, the air was as clear and sparkling as champagne, and as still as the tomb. if he had been passing over the moon instead of over the earth, the effect would have been something like it, perhaps. he was only a thrush, _turdus philomelus_ the songster, but big and dull and dark for his kind, and he had come from--well, behind him, all shimmering and restless in the moonlight, like a fountain-basin full of quicksilver, lay the north sea; ahead and beneath lay england; and across that sea, three hundred miles, as i count it, at the very least, to the lands of melting snow, he was going when late cold weather had caught him and warned him to come back. and alone? no, sirs, not quite. ahead, just visible, blurredly--a little phantom form rose and fell on the magic air; behind, another; on his right, a third--all thrushes, flying steadily westward in silence; and there may have been a few more that could not be seen, or there may not. his crop, as were the crops of the others, was perfectly empty. indeed, he appeared to prefer traveling in ballast that way. but his eyes shone, and his wing-strokes, with little pauses of rigidity between, such as many birds take--only one doesn't notice it much--were strong and sure. once a large-winged, smudged shape, making no sound as it slipped across the heavens, came flapping almost up to him, peering this way and that at him and his companions, with amber flaming eyes set in a cat-like, oval face. the thrush's heart gave a great jump, and seemed threatening to choke him, for that shape--and it howled at him suddenly, in a voice calculated to make strong men jump--was death of the night, otherwise a short-eared owl. but a gun went "boomp!" with that thick, damp sort of sound that smacks of black powder, somewhere down on earth, and a huge "herd" of green plover, _alias_ peewits, which are lapwings, rose, as if blown up by an explosion, to meet them, their thousand wings flickering in the frost-haze like a shower of confetti, and the owl was so disconcerted by the disturbance that he dropped back into the night whence he came, as one who falls into a sea. then suddenly the thrush--all the thrushes, indeed--tipped tails, and flew downward--offering no explanation to help one to understand why--till they dropped, each one entirely on his own hook, apparently, in or about some gardens, as if they had tumbled out of the sky; and our thrush, in twenty seconds, had slipped into some apple-trees, and thence to some laurels round a shed, and--was asleep! i say "was asleep." out of the starry sky, down, in under, and asleep--all without emotion, and like a machine. now, what is one to make of such a bird? he did not see, or, more correctly, did not appear to see--for i do not know what he saw and what he pretended not to see, really--the lean, lithe, long, low weasel that passed, climbing and sniffing, beneath him--within six inches--possibly scenting out a rat. he did not hear, or show that he heard, the blackbird--she was rusty, dark brown, as a matter of actual fact--scream, a piercing and public-spirited scream, when the very big claws of a little, round, spotted-feathered ball with wings, like a parody of a cherub--but men call it a little owl, really--closed upon her and squeezed, or pierced, out her life. he did not feel, or let on that he felt, the branches gently sway as two eyes, glinting back the light of the moon--eyes which were the property of a "silver tabby" female cat--floated among the twigs, looking for him, him most certainly, whom she seemed faintly to smell, but never saw. [illustration: "a 'silver tabby' floated among the twigs, looking for him"] these things represented tense moments dotted through hours of cold, dark silence, and the blue-black dome of night arched, and the moon drifted, all in rigid, cold, and appalling stillness. then the wind changed, and our thrush awoke to a "muggy" day, under a soaked, cotton-wool, gray sky, all sodden with streaming showers of rain. and, by that token alone, he must have known that he was in england. no other climate is capable of such crazy, unwarned, health-trying changes. he had come in an icy, practically petrified silence. he left in a steaming, swishing, streaming gale. but that was not before he had been down to scratch like a fowl among the dead leaves under the privet-hedge for grubs, who "kidded" themselves that they were going to be fine, flashing insects next summer. he also prospected a snail or two, and broke through their fortifications by hammering the same upon a stone. and, by some magic process that looked akin to the way in which some men divine water, he divined a worm out of seemingly bare earth. it was there, too, and it came up, not joyfully, but tugged, to be hammered and shaken into something not too disgustingly alive to be swallowed. then, while a robin mounted to a spruce-spire and acted as job's comforter to all the birds of the garden by singing--ah, so plaintively and sweetly!--of the dismal days of frost and snow, he "preened"--i.e. went over and combed every feather, and tested and retested, cleaned and recleaned, each vital quill. then, in one single, watery, weak stab of apology for sunshine, on the top of a fowl-shed, he surrendered himself to what, in wild-bird land, is known as the "sunning reaction," which really consists of giving body and mind utterly to the sun and complete rest. and then he left. now, it was no chance that he left. birds don't do business that way. to you or me, that location and its climate would have seemed as good for him to "peg out a claim" in as any other. he knew better. something--heaven alone knows what--within him told him what was coming. he had the power to take a draft on the future, and by that means to save himself--if he could. wherefore he flew on southward--always south. and six hours after he had gone, the wind swung like a weather-cock, swung and stopped at northeast, and frost began to grip that garden in an iron fist that threatened to squeeze the life out of every living thing in it, and the sky hung like the lid of a lead box. the thrush flew, with a few halts, practically all day and well into the night, and the northeast wind and the frost king chased him south. he roosted in a great fastness of age-old holly-bushes within a wood, whose branches were packed with his relations--redwings, thrushes, and blackbirds, and also starlings--all tired out, all booked for the south. some woods seem to hold a curse of gloom. one cannot say why. and this was one of them. and the tawny owl that nobody saw but everybody heard, and the white stoat that everybody saw and nobody heard, and the amorous dog-fox with the cruel bark that everybody saw and heard, did not, taken together or singly, add to the gayety of the scene. the thrush was just ahead of the cold when he went to roost in pouring rain. in the night, however, the cold had overtaken him, and the thousand-jeweled beauty of frost-flakes flashed to his waking eye. he was numbed and puffed out and peevish, and disinclined to move, but anything was better than sticking about in this roosting-place, this casual ward and clearing-house of the wild. the keen starlings were already off, swinging away, regiment by regiment, with a fine, bold rush of wings; the blackbirds were dotting the glades; the redwings were slipping "weeping" away, to find soft fields to mope in; and the pigeon host--what was left alive of it after diphtheria had taken its toll--had streamed onwards, heading southwest. _turdus philomelus_ spelt l-u-c-k for our friend that morn, for he had not prospected two hundred yards when he came on a place where a vagrant "sounder" of half-grown, domestic, unringed pigs had been canvassing the wood for beech-mast, acorns, and roots during the night. the soil was all torn up for a space of about an acre, probably the only soil for miles--except along streams and by springs--penetrable by beaks until the sun came out; and the thrush feasted royally upon hibernating caterpillars and chrysalids that would have become moths, beetle larvae all curled up and asleep, and other pests; and he must have done a considerable amount of good in that place during the next hour or so. but feasts do not go begging long in a frost-bound wild, even if they are hidden; and by the time our thrush had driven several other thrushes away--for he was a jealous feeder--and had been driven away by blackbirds himself more than once, starlings descended upon the place with their furious greed, and our thrush concluded that it was about time to "step off." the crowded place might become a quick-lunch resort for some others, not insect-feeders--hawks, for instance--and was unhealthful for that reason. indeed, he had not more than moved away into the shelter of the rhododendrons when a shadow with a hooked bill shot round the corner, going like the wind. he had time to see it dive like a dipping kite--but it was a sparrow-hawk--and to hear the death-scream of a feeding blackbird, before he went completely from that place, and it knew him no more. soon after that he sighted the sea, wide-stretched and restless, ahead, and turned westward parallel with the coast-line, till, in the afternoon, he came unto "a land where it was always afternoon"--a flat, damp, dwarf-treed, relaxing, gray land, mild, as a rule, and melancholy--a land full of water. but for once it was a cold land, and the thrush realized that the bitter frost had leapt ahead of him, and that he might now never outstrip it again, perhaps. i do not know if he realized, too, that the lead sky, that looked as if it were going to come down and crush one, meant snow. in a bare orchard he was attracted by the sight of several blue titmice and two robins, feeding upon one or two odd apples that had been left unpicked at the very top of a tree. it seemed strange and out of place to behold apples in midwinter like that; but, for some reason, he took only a few pecks, and his devil prompted him down to peck at some soaked bread among the violets, and to drink at a spring so exquisitely encrusted with moss that it looked as if everything, every floating dead leaf, stone, and root, had been upholstered in plush. then fate struck--hard. a snap, a thump, and he was bouncing over and over, with an air-rifle bullet in his thigh. it was a blow that knocked him half-silly, and he was down before he knew, but only for a second, because of what he saw. he beheld a boy, with an air-rifle in hand, running towards him; but ahead of the boy was the boy's young cat, who evidently had learnt to look for a meal when the air-rifle went off. the cat, being young, however, managed to bungle his pounce for the fraction of a second, and that is long enough for most of the wild-folk. came a mad fluttering, a beating of wings, a quick mix-up, and, before he knew, that cat found himself frantically chasing that thrush across the orchard, striking wildly always at a thrush that just wasn't there, as the latter part flew, part hopped, with every ounce of strength and agility that clean, hard living had given him, till he was clear of the trees. then--up and away, with his heart in his beak, so to speak, and his brain whirling, till the orchard lay "hull down" on the horizon, and was only another bitter experience, and a warning, seared into the bird's memory. so far, so good. he had made his escape, had euchred fate, but--the payment for laziness, the terrible cess for a momentary lapse from vigilance, which great nature, in her grim, wise cruelty, always demands, had to be met, and the end of it was not yet. it began, however, now. the thrush discovered that he was not alone in the air, and that he had all at once got himself, as it were, fixed in the public eye, and was "wanted." a swish in the sky made him look up, to see a rook, with a leering eye, coming down upon him. he cleverly "side-slipped" in mid-air, and let the rook, braking wildly, go diving by. perhaps he wondered what had turned the rook hawk. as a matter of fact, the weather had, partly, and the rifle had, the rest; for the rook could see what the thrush did not yet realize. the rook went away astern, shouting bad language, and another foe came to take his, or her, place. again our thrush discovered that he was not alone. little, white, silent, cruel, dancing flakes of white were traveling more or less with him and downwards, upon the following wind. the snow! the snow at last! and he was trapped, for it was to keep ahead of the snow that he had journeyed all that way back again. indeed, you can hardly realize, unless you have almost lived their life, what the snow and the frost mean to all the thrush people, but more especially to the common song-thrush and the redwing. at the worst it means death; at the best, little more than a living death. however, to race the snow were useless. yet he flew on, and on, and on, like a stampeded horse, blindly, one-sidedly, while the ordnance survey map beneath turned from brown, and chocolate, and silver-gray, and dull green, first to pepper and salt, then to freckled white, then all over to the spotless white eider-down quilt of the winter returned, as far as the eye--even his binocular orbs--could reach, muffling tree and house, and garden and copse, and farm and field, and fallow and plow and meadow in the one mystical, silent, white disguise of winter. and the thrush at length came down. his eye had spotted a little corner of a garden that might have been a spread table in the wilderness. it was only a small triangle of lawn, with a summer-house at its apex, and a spruce-fir and a house at its base, and privet-hedges marking off the rest. but it had a "bird-table," and a swept-clean circle on the grass, and there was sopped bread upon both. and that place was given over entirely to chaffinches, _all hens_, tripping, mincing, pecking, feasting, fighting--because they were chaffinches, i suppose, and must fight--all over the place. the thrush came to anchor upon the roof of the summer-house, and--straightway fell upon his beak! and that was fate's punishment for laziness, one second's relaxation from vigilance. righting himself, he almost overbalanced the other way, and only finally managed to come to an intricate halt on one leg. the other leg--the right one--was twisted back under him, in line with his closed wings and tail; that is to say, it was pointing the wrong way for a bird's leg, or, rather, so far as could be seen among the feathers, that was how it seemed. but the leg was not broken; he could still move his toes and expand his foot. otherwise he could do nothing with it. the leg might not have been there, for all the use it was to him; it would have been better if it had not been there, for it hampered his flight, or unbalanced him, or something, so that he was incapable of traveling now beyond the snow, even if he would. undoubtedly the air-rifle had done its work. now, in the wild it is a fairly sound maxim that an injured wildling is a dead wildling--that is, unless the injury is quite slight. there are exceptions, of course. flesh-wounds and quick-healing wounds are exceptions. however, our thrush seemed to be no coward, and he at once buckled to, to fight fate and all the world--one bird _v_. the rest. it was appalling odds, and i guess no darn fool could have been found to back that bird's chance of winning through. then he showed that he had at least one trump up his sleeve. a shape like unto the shape of a silken kite came floating in ample circles across the low-hung sky. and the color of that shape was brown--pale brown; and the shape was alive, and had the appearance of eternally looking for something, which it always could not find. so hunts the kestrel falcon, and by the same token the thrush knew that this was a big hen-kestrel. i say "big" advisedly, because in kestrel society it is the ladies who have the weight and the vote. and the thrush, who had by that time flown to the ground, promptly "froze "--froze to stillness, i mean--and vanished. it was a startling little trick of his, almost an eccentricity; but the fact was that so long as he kept still on the dark ground where the snow had been swept away--and earth and grass mingled almost to a black whole against the white--he was practically invisible. this was because of his peculiar somber color. had he been light of dress, like an ordinary song-thrush, any eye could have picked him up in that spot. now, that kestrel was in a bad temper and vicious. she was cursing the snow which covered the doings of the field-mice, which ordinarily were her "staff of life"; and she had not killed since dawn. hence she was a public danger, even to wild-folk she usually left alone, and just now she was looking for our thrush, who she had seen fly down and--vanish. there he was, however, bang in the open, unshielded by any cover, motionless on one leg, looking upwards, and, to all intents and purposes, not there. the kestrel came shooting up superbly, going at a great pace on the wind, cutting the cold air like a knife, twisting and turning her long tail tins way and that, but moving her quarter-shut wings not one stroke. right over him she dived, her wonderful eyes stabbing down, so close that you could see her small, rounded head turning and craning. but no thrush did she see. she "banked," hung, swept round, and came back. then she hovered, like a bird hung from the sky by an invisible hair; and for our thrush she was indeed the sword of damocles, for the spot in the air where she hung was directly over him. if anybody had shot her dead at that instant, she would have fallen upon his back. at that instant, or the next, she might fall upon his back, anyway, without anybody shooting her. indeed, the betting seemed a good few hundred to one that she would. very few human beings know the full meaning of the word "still"--not even bluejackets!--but most of the wild-folk do. they have to. so did the thrush, but never before had he kept so utterly, stonily, frozenly, strickenly motionless. if he had moved an eyelid even, winked, or gulped too hard, it would have been all up with him. but he didn't and it was not all up; though the kestrel seemed as if she were going to hover there, in that spot, through all eternity. and when at last she condescended to surrender to the wind and vanish like a falling star into the horizon, our friend was as near nervous prostration and hysteria as a bird can be. a very little longer and i believe he would actually have died from sheer overstrain, instead of from kestrel. then the thrush fed. he did it against time, before dark, for if night came and caught him with an empty crop, he froze. perhaps he would freeze, anyway; but no matter. the hen-chaffinches, presumably at the end of a journey, or part way along it, too, were in a like hurry, and for the same reason. he could see them now only as faint splashes of white, as they opened tail and wing to fight; but they could not fight _him_, and he savagely kept the little clearing in the snow free of all save himself. it was as if he knew that he was "up against it," and the fact had developed a grim fierceness in his character. an owl must have gone over about this time, because an owl did go over that garden about the same time every night; but perhaps she was not expecting thrushes in that gloom, or was in a hurry to keep an appointment with a rat. anyway, the owl did not develop. thereafter and at last the thrush went to sleep in a spruce-fir. dead silence reigned over the garden, and cold, with a capital c, gripped the land. heaven help any bird who roosted on an empty stomach on such a night! it would freeze to its perch before morning, most like. indeed, our thrush had a neighbor, a hedge-sparrow just newly arrived from "somewhere up north." it had come in after dark, and therefore had no time to feed. the thrush just took his head out from under his wing and opened one eye, as the poor little beggar perched close to him for company. he could see it plainly in the petrified moonlight. when next he opened one eye and looked, dawn was at hand, and the poor little bird was still there. when at last, with shoulders humped and feathers puffed, our thrush flew down to feed in the first pale-gold glimmer of very-much-diluted sunlight, the hedge-sparrow did not move. now, in opening his wings, possibly from a vague idea of frightening the hedge-sparrow away from the magic swept circle on the lawn close by, and its bread, the thrush brushed heavily against that hedge-sparrow, so that--oh, horror!--it fell, or swung over backwards, rather, and hung head downwards, swaying slightly, like a toy acrobat on a wire, before it fell, so rigidly and so stiffly immovable that one expected it to shatter to pieces like glass as it hit the ground. it did not, however. but it did not matter. the hedge-sparrow was quite, quite dead before it fell, frozen stiff and stark in the night. and none of the other birds seemed to care. why should they? such a fate might overtake themselves. the thrush, much tucked up, but still with some fight in him, was late. big flocks of peewits or green plover--he could see them between the spruce-boughs--had gone drifting by, winking like floating silver, high overhead, bound westward; and skylarks were passing over the garden, one by one, heading southwest towards the warm, and chortling to each other as they went. starlings--some of them with extraordinarily bright-yellow dagger-beaks, and some with dull beaks--were before him, squabbling and sparring over the bread on the lawn. a robin dropped a little chain of melancholy silvery notes, and a great titmouse bugled clearly, "ting-ling! ting-ling! ting-ling!" some one opened a window of the house giving on to the lawn, and the last house-fly blundered out into the cold air; and a company of gnats--surely the most hardy of insects--was dancing in the pale sunlight by the summer-house, _above the snow_. the opening of the window had erupted the starlings into the surrounding trees, there to whistle and indulge in a "shiveree," such as is dear to the heart of the excitable, social starling. and our thrush was standing motionless in the middle of the swept circle on the lawn almost at once. no one saw him go there. indeed, unless the observer looked closely, no one saw him at all, for even then he was, unless he moved, difficult to see, and, whatever had been his custom before, in those days he moved but little. he had come at even to a garden given over to hen-chaffinches--no cocks, as we said--but at dawn, or, rather, his later hour for rising, he found the garden given over to song-thrushes, all pale beside him, all slim, all snaky of build--continental song-thrushes, most like, and the same only come to those parts in very hard weather, for they come a long way. our song-thrush, standing on his one leg, looked at them with one shrewd eye. there were two of them in the snowless circle on the lawn, which had been swept clear of the snow, that was now deep, before he was up, and had also been replenished with bread. two thrushes sat in the spruce-fir, and one on the top of the summer-house, and every jack of them was ravenous. he could expect no mercy from _them_. they must live, if they could, and there was not enough food for all. and he asked no mercy himself, either. still, it was long odds. then he showed that he, even a bird, knew the laws of strategy, the essence of which is surprise. he surprised everybody by suddenly charging at the thrush on the lawn near him with a murderous ferocity that took one's breath away. it certainly would have taken away that of the other song-thrush, if our friend had not knocked it out of him by the impact. by all the laws of precedence, of course, any one of those others ought to have sent him, with his one leg, into headlong retreat by merely threatening. but our friend was not concerned with the laws of precedence, it seemed. he became a law unto himself, and a most amazing "character" to boot. also, he fought like several demons, and, by sheer reckless fury, removed that dumbfounded rival of his from the lawn in twenty-one hectic seconds. then he fed--it was enough only to glance, just glance, at the other thrushes and the chaffinches, after that astounding exhibition of his character. he fed, and, after he had stuffed full, he stood still a little way off. this was the signal for two of the thrushes in the spruce-fir to flap down to the bread. one got there. the other saw what was coming, and turned hastily back. the one that got there snatched up a piece of bread. but he never ate it. something hit him on the side. it felt like the point of a skewer, but it was our thrush's beak, really, and by the time he had recovered from that blow he found himself so busy saving his eyesight that he was glad enough to drop his bread and go. that, however, was not enough for our thrush. he appeared to "see red," and with a terrible cruel, relentless "redness." he followed the retreating foe to the spruce-fir, flying heavily and awkwardly by reason of his smashed leg. he perched beside him on the branch he settled upon, nearly overbalancing, and perilously swaying and wobbling, with wings wildly flapping, and he drove that thrush to another branch, with such a rain of pecks that the feathers flew. nor was even that enough. he followed up the attack, and hustled the thrush from that other branch, so that he flew down the snowed-up road. then our cripple, spinning in a whirl of snow, hurled himself upon the other thrush in the tree, and drove him out of it into the road. but even that did not suffice him, for devils seemed to have possessed him, and the thought of opposition sent him crazy. he blundered into the privet-hedge, and unearthed a half-frozen _confrère_, who fled, squawking peevishly, leaving one tail-feather in our friend's beak; and finally he flew down to the road. in the road, he first of all buried his face in snow, then fell on his side, deep snow not being, he discovered, an ideal medium in which to get about on one leg. during that performance his rivals could have abolished him five times over if they had had the heart to unite. but they seemed to think otherwise, and had not the heart for anything. they sat still, with that helpless abandon that afflicts fowls and other birds in disaster, and they seemed about to starve practically on the spot, if left alone. our thrush, however, did not leave them alone. they were a direct threat to his only line of communication with life, so to speak--namely, food. wherefore, either they or he must go. soon he found that cart-ruts make convenient roads for the birds in the snow, or perhaps it was the chaffinches, who were following one another in lines along the cart-ruts, who showed him. then and there, in the road, our thrush seemed to go berserk. he landed upon the thrush nearest to him, spread-eagled and hammering like a feathered devil. there was a whirl of brown feathers and finely powdered snow for about ten seconds, at the end of which time that other thrush detached himself and fled, oven as his conqueror hurled himself upon the next bird. there were two here, side by side, but neither was quick enough to parry our friend's lightning lunges, after he had beaten down their guard with his wings; and they, too, got up and winged into the leaden, frowning sky. the others did not wait. they had seen all they wanted to, apparently, and would take no part in the play. they faded out among the drifting snowflakes, over the still, white fields, and our thrush was left to the lawn, and the bread, and the swarming chaffinches, whom he easily kept aloof, and--yes, there was no getting away from it--the one thrush on the summer-house who, you will note, had never moved. but when he looked he found that thrush was not on the summer-house, but on the lawn, eating bread; and when he flew down to the lawn to investigate--he flew and landed very clumsily--he made a discovery that seemed to surprise him; or did he already know it? anyway, the thrush on the lawn was a lady, and--well, what would you? the cripple balanced as well as he could, and looked foolish. it was all he could do. the day passed swiftly, and faded out in blinding snow. most of the time the cripple stood motionless, watching his companion and guarding his swept circle, and, as often as he could, he fed. and neither then nor at any other time, except once when the gardener nearly trod upon him before he would move, did he utter a sound. the last glimmer of day showed him still at his post, motionless, all but invisible. but he roosted, as a matter of fact, in the privet-hedge, on the south side of the summer-house, and this time he was not alone. the day had been trying enough, with its fights and its three cats, which passed within reach of him, and could have slain him--for his injuries made him slow to get under way--if they had not failed to see him, because so still. the night, however, was a clouded terror. certainly he went to bed--if one may so call it--full, if not warm exactly; but that was the only advantage. it snowed with ghastly, relentless steadiness, and it blew like the hacking of sharp knives. but through it all, because full fed, the cripple, with all his handicap, and his lady companion lived; lived to see the hard dawn pale tardily; lived to watch the kind gardener--under strict orders assuredly, or he would never have done it--sweep a space clear on the lawn and spread food for the birds; lived to ruffle his feathers and fly down; and lived to see the thaw which came that afternoon, when the warm sou'-wester came romping over the land, and winter's last stand was overcome by the forces of spring, and all the wild breathed a sigh of relief and went abroad gayly to feed. but the cripple lived to see other things. for there came a day, about a week later, when our cripple, who had been "keeping company" all the time with his lady friend, heard the whole dawn awaken to a sudden mighty chorus of thrush song. i don't know why they all chose to burst into song thus as at a given signal, but they did, and the effect upon the cripple and his companion was curious. he had just landed upon the top of the summer-house on his one leg, in a particularly awkward and unbalanced manner, and he perched, listening, as if rooted to the spot, and with something nearly approaching horror in his eyes, it seemed to me. the female bird listened, too, for about a minute, and then, ignoring the poor cripple as if he had never existed, hopped towards the spruce-fir--atop of which a particularly fine and strong-voiced songster was warbling--as if she were drawn by ropes. and--oh, horror!--the songster came down to _her_. the cripple never uttered a sound, not a song, or a call, or a sign. he hurled himself straight at this new rival like a bolt shot from a crossbow, and he fought. my word, how he fought! but this new antagonist was no half-frozen, half-starved continental song thrush. he was a britisher, thick-set, bullet-headed, thick-necked, who had wintered, perhaps, in the south of ireland or farther, and he fought like a trojan. all up and down the lawn the fight raged, and in and out of the hedges, into the mountain ash and out again, down to the ground and up again; but in the end--ah, but it could have only one end!--the britisher was on the top of the summer-house, literally shouting his song of triumph. and the cripple was on the ground at the foot of the hedge, beneath the spruce-fir, lying on his side, blood-stained and panting. nobody saw him creep away. nobody cared--certainly not his lady acquaintance, who was too busy receiving glad eyes from the conqueror. also, nobody saw him die. yet next morning he was dead, stiff and still on the ground beside the summer-house. some think that it was the injuries he received in his last great fight that killed him. i do not. i could find no wounds upon him sufficiently severe to sustain that theory. i think he died of a broken heart. don't you? vii "set a thief"---- cob arrived in a snowstorm of unparalleled ferocity. he came upon extended vans sixty-nine inches from tip to tip, which he seemed as if he were never going to flap. all black above, all white below, he was. the fact was worth noting, because, as seen from below, he looked neither black nor any other hue, but just indiscriminate dark, unless he swerved against the little light, and then his white "hull" shone like silver. in his calm tacking, in his effortless play, in his superb mastery of the furious gale, one realized that here was one of nature's masterpieces. he arrested the gaze with his serenity, and in his majesty of flight marked himself as a bird apart. here was a bird accustomed to power, to respect, and to wield fear, as a king might do; but he was no king, even among birds. he was a great black-backed gull, immense, austere, and cruel, with eyes as cold as the waves whose glitter they reflected, and a heart as implacable as the storm that cherished it; sea-rover, pillager, pirate, swashbuckler, son of the storm in whose fierce buffetings he rejoiced, master of the gale upon whose fury he flourished--the very spirit of the ocean's frontiers, arrayed in the spotless uniform of the sea, sailing under her bold colors. and then, as he suddenly came, the watcher, had there been one, would have looked at him expectantly, for an eagle, bristling with weapons, so to speak, fierce-eyed, mighty, and scowling, came flapping heavily across the white-fretted bay. there is expression in birds, and most have their feelings and their character stamped upon their whole body. but there was no expression in cob. his cold eyes continued to stare with steady stoniness, his vast vans to waft an occasional shallow, lazy quarter-flap, his spotless head to peer down at times. once only, as the real king of the birds, on his course, drew very near, so that you could hear the deep, dry "hough! hough!" of the powerful wings, did cob open his red-stained--as it were blood--yellow beak, and give utterance--one could call it no more--and so instantly close his beak again and revert to his absolute expressionlessness that one had a job to realize what, or who, in all that vast scene, had spoken. "i'm-great-black-back!" he said very quietly, quickly, gratingly, and tersely; and then, as if expecting an answer, added, "eh?" in a hollow undertone. the eagle's imperial head jerked round as he flew, and he shot a stabbing, sheathed glance at the great sea-bird, as a king might at a man in a crowd who begins to fumble at his hip-pocket. but, save for that, he took no further notice, and beat on with his terrific, piston-like, regular wing-beats; and the gull, that speckless, dazzling, hardened, hard giant, laughed--laughed, i say, softly and to himself, hoarsely and insolently: "how-how-how-how!" it was as if he laughed in derision. and then a strange thing happened. from the opposite stupendous cliffs, draped in snow, bejeweled with icicles, frowning and desolate, an ominous black shape flung itself furiously, and made straight for the eagle, barking hoarsely with rage as it came. another hollow bark followed, and a second evil ebony form hurled down from the tottering cliff-top, and flapped towards the eagle in the path of the first. bark echoed bark above the deep mutter of the breakers, and the echoes along the cliffs answered both uncannily and mockingly. they were a raven, disturbed from her wool-quilted nest, and her mate; but if they had been hobgoblins straight from an evil dream, they could not, in that immense, grim setting, have been much more impressive. the great black-backed gull said no more, but wheeled on as if nothing had happened. the eagle said nothing, and tried to beat on as if nothing had happened, too. he did not succeed, for the ravens who had been addressing him most particularly soon addressed themselves personally to him; and before he knew just how it all came about, they had summoned a quite amazing and unexpected aerial acrobatic power, and were shooting and diving, striking and flapping, about his regal head in a manner that even _he_ could not pretend any longer to ignore. no one, not even a king of all the birds, feels comfortable under the imminent possibility of losing an eye--and such a haughty, wonderful eye, too. nor did the eagle. and he showed it. one presumes he might have abolished the pair--one or both--but the eagle never let on what he presumed. what he _knew_ was that he had nothing to gain in a fight with such super-hooligans, and everything to lose, for one wound only might mean a dead eagle _viâ_ starvation and a dead raven--what was a dead raven worth, anyway, to him, or anybody else? therefore the eagle changed his mind about continuing his course, which would have taken him above the ravens' nest. he did it grandly, and without giving the impression that the ravens had anything to do with it--he could have squeezed the life out of them with one awful handshake, if his heart had been as big as his claws. but they had something to do with it. and they knew it. so did cob, who laughed again, hoarsely and as one appreciating a joke, while he wheeled and wheeled over the following waves, seeing all things and never appearing to see anything. then at last, when the king of all the birds had sunk, like a speck of floating burnt paper, away over the far, white-mantled hills, the ravens suddenly evaporated into nowhere. probably no one had seen them go except cob, and cob was by now a lonely, dwindling speck away over the restless ocean. then he was not. he was coming back, swinging along with great, easy, shallow half-flaps, so sublimely lazy that he seemed merely to swim through the gale. but he covered distance; there was speed as well as majesty in his flight, for all that. in a very short time he was above the cliffs, silent, sinister, almost stealthy. one of the ravens came back suddenly, diving over the crest, half-demented with anxiety to cover her eggs from that stony stare of the sea-rover; and cob, seeing where she had come from, surrendered himself to the gale, hurtled down-wind, veered, tacked, circled, rocking, and came down in a series of his oblique plunges--smack-bang into the middle of a gory dinner-party, consisting of the male raven, five gray or hooded crows, and one silver herring-gull, feasting upon the carcass of a dead sheep. every head went up, every eye blinked, every wing half-opened, every beak shut tight as cob, whom everybody had thought to be miles away by that time, threw forward his wings, umbrella-fashion, flung them up, hat-fashion, fanning wide his tail, dropped his giant webbed feet, and came to anchor with a rush. then he folded those wonderful pinions of his, foot by rustling foot, stared stonily at the amazed, mute company around him, and, throwing back his immaculate, smooth, low-browed, spotless head, laughed to the winds, hoarsely, loudly, wildly--a rude, baleful, transport of mirth: "how-how-how-how-how!" the raven did not laugh. he had to feed his sitting wife--not counting his big self--in that bitter weather, and he was pluming himself upon having turned the eagle from sight of this gift banquet from providence as well as his nest. the gray crows saw no cause for merriment, remembering how big the great gull was, and how small are these little, long-wooled, black-faced hill sheep. moreover, sheep do not often oblige by getting turned turtle in a cleft of rock, and being unable to right themselves before poor, starving, wild hunters--i won't swear who, but it was not the raven _this_ time--can come and peck their eyes out. cob looked at them again--all five of the gray crows sitting staring straight down their own black gouge-beaks, hunched, cold, out-at-heels, and dejected. then he laughed again--burst into another wild, jeering fit of merriment, and fell to work. first of all, he pointed out to the raven--his beak was the pointer--that he was sitting upon the choicest portion of that sheep, and must make way therefrom _instantly_. next, he turned his head and looked--only looked--at a gray crow that had presumed, upon the turning of his broad, black back, to recommence feeding, and that hooded crow moved one yard in one second--out of reach. and next, cob, who apparently loved discipline and cherished good manners, started his banquet, and allowed the others to start theirs. but it was an unholy feast. cob tugged and tore like a butcher without any knives. at times he nearly fell backwards, when the meat gave way; at times he bolted, and gulped, and choked horribly; at times he was nearly standing upon his head, and at other times upon his tail; and, in case the others should find the woolly outside, where they alone could feed, too easy, he was continually breaking off, to rush--a red-headed demon from hell now--at the raven, or glare at the crows and remove them yards, as if his eyes could kill. as for the herring-gull, he raced and danced in a crazy circle round his giant clansman, apparently smitten with delirium at the luscious titbits he was obliged to watch vanishing down cob's bright throat. the raven, however, was growing desperate. he was under contract to fate to feed his wife. she would freeze there on her nest in the snow among the icicle-studded ledges else. and every time he had got hold of a big enough dainty to tug free and fly off with, cob had cut in and collared the said morsel. as a matter of fact, friend raven was a better carver than the sea-pirate, had a beak better suited for the grisly purpose. finally, the black one got hold of a piece of meat, and did not let go. he hung on, and, before anybody realized that he had moved, cob's yellow-and-red-painted bill--nearly all red now--had closed upon that raven's neck. there was one wild, asthmatical croak from the raven, a whirl of sturdy black and overshadowing black-and-white wings, and the raven was jerked clean head-over-heels, where, among the heather, he lay for a brief second, kicking ignominiously, on his sable back. here the crows fled to strategic positions upon bowlders, waist-deep in heather, hard by, expecting a like fate, and leaving the herring-gull to gobble up what he could in the confusion, and risk his life in the process, when suddenly, above the beating of wings and the hiss of wind, all distinctly heard, and jumped at, the sound of a single, horrible, instantaneous, metallic clash. cob's agonized yell, the clash itself, and the whir and rush of wings, as every bird there present literally flung itself into the air, seemed really, though of course they were not, coincident--such is the quickness with which these wild creatures act. but cob alone remained. he stopped in mid-spring horribly, and suddenly, as if a hand had reached up and plucked him back. for a second his wonderful wings beat and beat tremendously, frenziedly, with a noise you could hear all up the hill; then he fell back in one demented, frenzied mix up of bashing, smashing pinions, legs, tail, and whirling feathers. that clash, which had jarred cob's frame from head to hind-toe, was a trap, _alias_ a gin, _alias_ a clam, and the rack of man's inquisition of the wild. he had stepped upon it; it had gone off, and caught him by the right leg, and, being anchored by a chain, had refused to let him go when he sought to remove himself, trap and all. what followed during the next minute or two it would scarcely be fair to so fine a bird to print. moreover, it was unnice to behold. wild-folk have a habit often of going temporarily insane when they first find themselves trapped, because the trap represents to them the most supreme, the most unbearable, of all terrors--loss of freedom; and freedom is to them more than life, especially to birds, and more especially still to those whose lives are dedicated to the wild, free sea. at the end of that time cob lay exhausted upon his side, one mighty pinion pathetically trailing in the snow, his beak open, his whole jet and spotless white body shaken and convulsed with pantings that were almost sobs. he seemed in danger of dying there and then upon the spot, with sheer, sickening horror or a broken heart. the herring-gull was a silver line--about as big as a thrip--to seaward. the gray crows climbed the heavens to landward, like flies that climb a window-pane. only the raven had not gone, quite. the raven was a bird, of course, and every bird has got to do its duty. there can be no shirking. _his_ duty was to supply food to keep the fires of life burning in his mate as she sat upon her icy nest. his duty was to see that his eggs, _their_ eggs, hatched out; and with him the motto was: "the end justifies the means." this bird, this sea-rover, this big pirate, alone stood between him and the discharge of duty. there was no other way, no other food; he had searched. wherefore, the raven stayed; he knew all about traps, few better, and he stayed, waiting, if it please you, for cob to--die! but cob would not oblige. he had not got a broken and crushed leg, as the raven possibly expected. he was not injured, as he should have been, according to program; only puffed. the mercy of allah had seen to it that some teeth of that instrument of vile torture that had hold of him were broken off, and that his leg should have been caught in the gap thus formed. moreover, the trap had not been looked after; it was rusty, and did not shut quite properly. the spring was weak, or some grit had got in, or something, and a smart rat would have got out of it easily, but a rat is not a gull, and knows too much. thereafter, nothing happened for a long while. cob's first delirium seemed to have spent him, and perhaps taught him how much a leg can hurt when tugged by the full lift of sixty-nine-inch wings, especially when one tries to whirl round upon it when it cannot turn. the raven sat on his lichen-decorated, snow-draped bowlder, hands in pockets, so to speak, abominably untidy, with a pessimistic hunch of the shoulders, but a light in his eyes, a strangely malignant, devilishly roguish leer, that belied his appearance. perhaps he was waiting to see if cob during his struggles obligingly touched off any further deadly surprises that might lie hidden in the vicinity. one never knows. he had seen a gray crow double-catch himself in two traps lying close to one another--once. nothing happening, however, that raven presently sailed in on his fine work. he broke his neutrality with a sudden dry rustle of wings, and clumsily half-hopped, half-heavily napped, down to cob, lying there still and silent, but very much awake, upon the snow. he almost seemed to be rubbing his hands, or, rather, his claws, that ebon rascal. this was, indeed, a game after his own heart. cob never moved when the raven arrived. i suppose he knew all about ravens, and what one may expect from them. he only stared at him with one cold eye, a tense, lop-sided stare; and he mouthed a little--if one may be permitted the expression--with his beak, like a man moistening his lips. the raven looked him over critically, leeringly, insolently, with a hateful air of ownership. then the raven sharpened the gouge thing which he called his beak--wheep-wheep--upon a stone, as birds do, and tightened his feathers, as if almost visibly tucking up his sleeves for--well, for the job. then he tweaked cob's tail, apparently just to see how much alive he was. but cob did not move, beyond drawing one webbed leg--the free one--up under him. then the raven dug him under the wing--punched him in the ribs, so to speak. but cob did nothing more than cringe--cringe from head to hind-toe, like a worm. then suddenly, startlingly suddenly, with the full stroke, the dreaded pickax blow, of all the ravens, he let drive straight at cob's clear, shining eye--the left one, with which cob, with his head twisted, had all along been regarding him. he had disclosed his hand, that raven. it was devil's work. till that moment cob had never moved, as we have said. save for his one eye and his quivering, one would scarcely have known that he lived. that was his game, perhaps. who can tell? for a stolid, slow-thinking gull may have, in his way, just as deep, or low, a cunning as a brilliant-brained raven. anyhow, in that fiftieth of a second allowed, just when it seemed as if nothing could save his eye, cob's head snicked round and up, and he slid the enemy's beak down off his own with as neat a parry as ever you saw. and he did more. he caught hold of the said raven's beak, got a grip on beak in beak, and once having got hold, he kept hold. this was nothing new to him. it was his way--one of his ways--of fighting rival great black-backed gulls. but it was new to the raven, and he had not previously thought out any proper counter to it. (there is a counter, i think.) result--caught raven as well as caught gull. then it was that raven's turn to go mad, and dance a paralytic kan-kan; but he could not get any change out of that gull. cob hung on almost as well as the trap hung on to him, and far more twistfully. he was quite at home, of course. he had been brought up to this sort of thing. it was the official regulation gull way of fighting under set rules, but he could rarely get any other bird than a gull to fight with him like it. it was not the raven's way of fighting, though, and i think he felt himself in a trap. he certainly acted like a bird out of its senses, while the gull, flapping hugely, and forgetting, in the excitement, his own bondage, gradually forced the raven's head back and back over his back, till that raven was in the unenviable position of staring over his own back at his own tail, upon which he was ignominiously sitting. also, his neck was half-dislocated, and he was nearly choking. and about this time it began to dawn upon him that it did not pay in the wild to monkey with great black-backed gulls, even trapped ones. he swore, as well as he could, in a gurgling croak. then---- clash! horrors upon diabolical horrors! another trap? the same ghastly thought flashed to both birds' brains at the same moment, and both literally sprang bodily up into the gale in one maddened leap, both forgetting all else in the panic to be gone. both stopped at the same instant, with a jerk that nearly unhinged every bone in their bodies. both yelled with terror at the identical moment. both were released--as by the cutting of a string--at the same fraction of time, and both hurtled aloft at the same fear-blinded, rocket-like speed. but both had not been caught by the same kind of trap. it was the jerk that had freed cob from the really quite light hold, as we have already explained, of the jaws of the steel trap. and it was the jerk that had torn out some of the raven's tail-feathers, and left them in the jaws of the--gray, old, hill fox. and it was the fox who was standing all alone, watching, with oblique eyes, the two great birds fast dissolving with every desperate, stampeding wing-beat into the hurrying cloud-wrack and the wild seascape--in opposite directions. he had made a good stalk, but had sprung a little short, had brer fox. upon a day, weeks later, we find the raven, whose young had left the nest, stolidly soaring over a small, flat island, golden with furze, purple with heather, pale-rose chiffon where it was covered with sea-pinks. in addition to these, only one other hue, beside green, was there upon that island gem floating on the jade-green sea, and that was a patch of black and white! it flashed to the eye of the raiding rogue-raven, and he altered course towards it, when it turned into a female great black-backed gull, running, literally racing, to her nest, which the raven could now see, with its two big, buff, dark-splashed eggs. down flopped the giant gull upon her treasure, and began yelling, "how-how-how-how!" at the top of her voice. but the island seemed empty of life, and her yelling useless. down dropped the raven in front of her. down winnowed the hen-raven at the back of her. and, both together, they approached. and all the time the great black-backed gull continued to yell, "how-how-how-how!" at last, when he had got close enough, the cock-raven lunged at her, or, rather, underneath her. she parried his stroke, and--the hen-raven lunged. nothing now, she knew, could save her eggs, unless she rose to fight the cock-raven. the hen-raven then ran in. she only required a second in which to ruin each egg, but she never got it. nobody saw the avalanche coming, but everybody heard it arrive. it was of snow-white, and it was of jet-black, and it knocked the cock-raven one way, and sent the hen-raven, picking up her skirts, as it were, and fleeing, the other. and the name of the avalanche was cob. i fancy he considered that he bore a grudge against that cock bandit-raven. perhaps in dreams he could still feel that trap on his leg. who knows? he certainly used to wake up with outcries, and he equally certainly made that cock-raven shy of that island for evermore. viii the where is it? no one would have thought of looking for any living beast in the raffle of dried twigs and tamarisk "leaves" between the crawling, snake-like roots of the feathery tamarisks if it had not been for the noise. the noise was unmistakable, as the noise of a fight always is; and the only other living thing near the spot, a tiny, tip-tailed, brown wren--a little ball of feathers, dainty as you please, and all alone there, and out of place down by the terrible, snow-covered, wind-tortured estuary shore--made shift to remove herself, making remarks--wrens can't help saying what they feel--as she flitted. then the combatants fell out--literally. up from the solid earth between the twisted roots they seemed to come, but that proved the art of one of them in concealing his front-door from the curious, and down the bank of the sea-wall, over and over and over, squeaking the most murderous language, and grappling like pocket-devils--tumbled a little jet-black and a little dark-brown beast. they continued the duel upon the dry gravel below--the finest and the whitest gravel ever you did see--and they would apparently have gone on for goodness knows how long if a gray-white, thin, worn post a couple of yards away had not turned into a heron and stalked an ungainly stalk towards them. then they fell apart, and one of them, at any rate--the brown one--ran away in the shape of a water-vole--water-"rat," if you will--the heron making spear-lunges at him with his bill as he ungainlily skipped at the other's tail all the way up the bank. the other fighter, the black one, could not rightly be said to have turned into anything very much--at least, not anything that any one could swear to. it just seemed as if a dark blur whizzed about--more bird-like than beast-like--around the astonished and prancing heron, and then into nowhere. it was like watching a blue-bottle in a tumbler, and very extraordinary. the heron never even professed to follow it or lunge at it. he preferred the water-vole, whose agility was not too fast to see. at the place where it had come from, the mouth of the hole, it stopped--this beast that could move quicker than eye could follow--stopped so suddenly and completely that its change from almost lightning motion to stony motionlessness in the fraction of a second was nearly as amazing as its first marvelous exhibition. it stopped, i say, and became a--a rat. to nine hundred and ninety-nine people out of a thousand, the word "rat" conveys only one impression. this rat did not fulfill that impression. in fact, there is more than one kind of rat, and though fate and their fathers' kismet has cursed them all with a name of shame, they are not all the kind of people that made it so. there is the foreigner, the invader, the common brown rat, who is accursed; there is the old english black rat, whom the accursed one has nearly wiped out into little more than a ghost; and there is the water-rat, who is not a rat, but a vole, and would thank you to remember the fact. and this rat was a black rat, as black as jet, shark-jawed, star-eyed, elfin-eared, snake-tailed, lean, long-legged, and graceful--a very greyhound among the rats. he was there, in that dancing-floor of the winds by the estuary, because no common or sewer rats were there. they were anathema to him, and they were worse--death in many horrible forms. he had been there all the summer, all the autumn, and all the---- no, by whiskers! he was not going to remain there all the winter. he had his limit, and he hated cold; and here, down by the flat, sodden, mud-choked shore of the estuary, it was so cold that if you didn't jolly well mind what you were up to and keep your tummy always full, you went to sleep, and--never woke up any more. a little pile of mussel, winkle, and shore-crab shells, and the backbone of what had been a stranded fish, close to the mouth of the hole, showed the rat's account-book to date; but there was a line to be drawn even in this trade. that dawn--if you could call the gray dark of a snowstorm dawn--he, wondrously adventurous, had gone shell-fish collecting, away out upon the freezing wet mud-ooze. he had got three mussels; a muddy face; muddier feet; nearly an eye pecked out by a mighty, great black-backed gull; three chivyings from herring-gulls; one nip from a crab who ought to have been dead; two winkles under big stones that took half-an-hour to shift; one dead pigmy shrew--length two inches--with a hole in its skull, no brains, and a horrible smell; nearly his life removed by the swoop of a kestrel falcon and the javelin-stab of a heron's beak; and twenty minutes' hard cleaning to remove the mud-stains that were not properly off--to his nice liking--yet. and, to add to that, he had no sooner finished than he found that some clumsy fool of a water-rat--vole, i mean--with a mania for mining, had run a shaft into his hole, and brought the whole roof crumbling down upon his scrupulously neat and tidy nest of fine hay and carefully shredded rush--the only approximately warm corner he possessed in all that biting cold--so that days of labor would not repair the silly damage; and he had had to enter into a free fight with and turn the fool out, nearly losing his life, for the fourth time that short, dark, bitter day, in the process. and now he had to clean himself all over again! no wonder he was fed-up, and decided to quit. he loved the dank marsh, the brackish channels, the long, lone wind blowing through the tamarisks, and the smell--salt, seaweed, mud, and fish--of it all; but in this--weather, when the cold here, even in shelter, was greater than the cold in any other spot--and the unchecked wind cut like swords of ice--he realized that one must be an eider-duck or an iceland gull, a northern diver or an arctic owl, to stand it, and he was none of these. wherefore, though the dusk had made the dull day only a little more dark as yet, and the pink, luminous frost-haze still hung in the west, he called down his hole to his wife--his one and only wife, but that was not his fault--and quitted. ten minutes later you behold our black rat--if you had eyes quick enough, but it was a matter of momentary glimpses, anyway--trekking up a ditch. you have pretty well got to take my word for it, because, though sometimes you saw him for the half of a second, mostly you didn't, and couldn't tell whether there was his wife only, or he only, or both. really there were both, but our black friend with the embarrassingly, the abnormally, long tail and the genteel head--mr. _mus rattus_ on sundays, if you please, and in nowise to be confused with that _canaille_, citizen _mus decumanus_, the common brown rat--had not the slightest intention that any one should see him, if he could help it. his wife might be trusted to look out for herself. and for this reason, perhaps, his march was a progress to wonder at. did a flock of wild-duck come over from the sea with whistling wings, he did not so much get under the over-hanging grass as _be_ there. did a "gaggle" of wild-geese go by high over, clamoring like hounds, he went out like a blown candle. did a party of teal--for it was the magic hour of "flight," when all wildfowl shift their quarters to feed, or not to feed--fairly hissing with speed, like masterless bullets, dash over, he--well, he was not before you could realize that he had moved. then up and flew round them a shape, and the name of that shape was death. it might have been a gull with hawk-like form. it might have been a hawk in gull-like light-gray uniform. and it might have been an owl with gull-like dress and hawk-like lines. whatever it was, it was clipper-built, swift, and in fighting trim. as a matter of fact, it was neither gull nor hawk nor owl, but a harrier, a hen-harrier--that's its name, not its sex, for it was a cock--and the same is a half-way house, so to speak, between hawk and owl. possibly because they are crepuscular, harriers may be thought more rare than they are. this one was "crepusculing," and--the black rat did not like it. they had met before, and mr. ratus had gained a lively dislike for this hawk-owl combination, greater than his respect--which itself was not small--for owl or hawk. seeing nowhere to go, and nothing to hide in when he got there, our mr. ratus shifted from one spot to the other when the harrier made his cat-like pounce--yes, he was something cat-like, too--and had the pleasure of seeing the harrier's uninviting talons grab a clawful of grass, which, by all powers of judgment, ought to have been black rat's fur. a mere hawk, or even an owl, might have considered this rebuff enough, but not the harrier. _he_ wafted himself ten feet aloft on his long narrow vans, and, flapping owl-like, or almost butterfly-like, began to beat, and the beating of the harrying harrier, up and down, is one of the most trying ordeals, for the game beaten for, in the wild. mrs. ratus sat where she was, he presumed, playing the same bluff. but both were without cover, and the black rat, i fear, devoutly hoped that she would be fool enough to move and give herself away first; whilst she, on her part, was cursing him for many kinds of a fool for starting their "flitting" before it was dark. while she sat and froze--in both senses--however, the black rat, rigid as a beast cut out of coal, with one bright, shining eye upon the harrier beating up and down, was probing the dusk with the other eye. and presently he thought he saw his chance. he would have had to move, anyway, i fancy, for the strain of sitting there bang in the open was unendurable. his nerves would have snapped. so he went to his chance--a hole in the bank of the ditch. i say he went, but i only take it to be so because he got there. one could not actually see him go. one had only an idea, quite an uncertain idea, that something, most like a swift bird, had passed up the ditch, and one could not swear even to that. it seemed impossible that the flying something had been a four-legged animal. it was the black rat. nor did he go straight. he went, if i may so put it, every way at once, ending up with a merry-go-round dance with death--the harrier was pouncing savagely--round a tuft of grass, at such a speed that he looked exactly like the rim of a quickly spun bicycle-wheel--a halo, that is to say, and nothing else. and then--he was crouched, panting, inside the hole, wondering whether his heart or his lungs would be the first to burst. and then? oh, and then he--cleaned himself, naturally and of course. what else did you expect? he was the original black rat of old england, and one of the cleanest animals on earth. mrs. ratus, having vanished past finding while the hunt to the hole was on, presently scented her lord out, when the night had come and the harrier was gone, and together, starting like antelope at every hint of a sound, they traveled up the ditch, and up the bank of a stream that the ditch folded into. once an owl--the nomad, short-eared owl of the marshes--let forth a hoot that would have sent a nervous lady into "astericks," and sent _them_ into no-where, as if it had detonated a charge of that lively mystery called t.n.t. under their dainty feet. once, just as they were lapping like dogs at the edge of the ice that was conspiring to span the brook, an otter shot up his head--jaws wide and dripping--almost under their long and pointed noses, and they, with one accord, and driven by their long tails acting as a spring, leapt simply into space. at any rate, they could not be followed by mortal eye, wherever they did leap to. and once they met a wandering cat. and that cat seemed to go mad, for she shifted about the steep bank of that stream, and up, and about--here she swore because the spikes pricked her--and down a holly-bush, as if she had got a rocket tied to her tail. she had not, of course. she was hunting black rats. i suppose she saw them. if so, she was the only person who did, and i feel sure that, instant as she was, when she was up the bank or the holly-bush they were down it, and when she was down they were up. finally, when her lost temper had completely run her out of breath, she slouched away, spitting like a worn sparking-plug, and very much disgusted. and--the black rats cleaned themselves! that night was not a profitable one. the shell-fish of the estuary were gone, and there was little instead on the stream--only snow, and the snow fell quietly at intervals throughout the night, hiding everything. rats, too, are creatures of warmth. they hate cold as much as the writer, and these two black rats became very miserable. they had no home, and did not know where to go; and, save for a few berries, they had nothing to eat. mercifully, they had plenty to drink, and that is an item with rats, who die in a very few hours if they cannot get a drink. a bitter, dull paling of the sky, which by courtesy we will call dawn, found them cleaning again, with their hand-like forepaws, exactly like cats, inside a water-vole burrow. the owner had been out, bark-chipping, all night--it was the only thing he could find to keep body and life from parting company--and was not over-pleased, on his return, to find that he had company at home. a short two-round contest ensued, during which the water-vole must have felt as if he had taken on a bit of black lightning. then the water-vole went away, somewhat bewildered, to turn some smaller water-vole out of his winter bed; and the rats curled themselves up, heads between hindlegs, tail encircling all, with only their ever-ready, elfin ears poking out to give the alarm, and they slept. and, by the way, it was a saying in the wild that no one had ever seen them asleep, or knew if, or how, they did sleep. nothing came to disturb them during the day--which was a wonder, for all the wild was hungry and looking for food--and at the hour when night, busy with her dawn, begins it with a star, they came out, after a prolonged, starry-eyed stare, from their fastness, and continued their journey. things were serious now. they had not fed, and could find nothing to feed upon but two hawthorn-berries, dropped by the wasteful fieldfares; but they drank, _and_ cleaned, and proceeded up-stream, with that caution one only learns in a world full of enemies and empty of friends. another six hours of this cold on an empty stomach would send them into that sleep--the dread, drugged slumber of the cold--from which there is no awakening in this world, and they seemed to know it. they were desperate, and their eyes burnt in their sharp heads like gimlet-holes of light. desperate they were, as the poor, little, brilliantly resplendent, and tropic-looking kingfisher had, no doubt, been, whom they found, frozen into a dried, huddled heap, under the stream-bank, and so emaciated that, after they had picked his bones, they scarcely knew that they had touched him. but anon the face of the snow changed--meaningly for them. whereas before they had been alone, almost, in a frozen world, scarcely crossing a trail but the quadruple track of water-voles or the chain-pattern impression of a moorhen--nor had seen a living thing but the square-ended, squat, little, black form of a water-vole out upon an alder-branch, gnawing bark--they now began to be aware of gradually increasing company. not that the company advertised itself, mark you. being wild company, it would not; but they knew it was there. the chain-trail of the moorhen reduplicated itself. it was joined by that of a water-rail--they saw his ruby eyes and rat-like form in passing. the fourfold track of a rabbit led the way ahead of them, as if pointing the path, to be joined by the broken footprints of another rabbit, and then by the track made by the longer leap of a hare, fourfold also. the delicate lined marks left by a wood-mouse now kept company with the others, and anon the little fairy imprints of two field-voles--short-tailed field-mice, if you prefer. they crossed the track of another rabbit going, at right-angles, down to the water to drink, and then the little, busy tattoo of bank-voles. another hare's trail, and more rabbits' tracks, began to meander about, but all heading more or less one way--the way they were going. and then they stopped dead at the smudged groove and ancient and fish-like scent of an otter. moreover, they had scarcely got over that than they came upon the dog-like tracks, and the smell, like nothing else, of reynard, the fox; and, with nerves fairly tingling now, and eyes everywhere at once, they arrived at last--as the converging trails seemed to say they would--at the towering, smudged blur against the sky, which was the farm-buildings. the black rat peered under the lower rung of a gate into a straw-yard, and heard the rustlings of little folk--field-vole, bank-vole, and wood-mouse--who had gone before him. there was no sign of the others; but that was not strange, for the hares and the rabbits had probably gone round to the kitchen-garden, for which they were making in their extremity of hunger; and the otter and the fox were, most likely, keeping each other off the fowlhouse. wherefore, plucking up courage, the black rat skipped into the yard, and made straight for the manger, where, in the inky blackness under the open-sided roofs, he could hear the long-drawn blowing and sigh of fat cattle lying down. a pale moon came out behind him, and showed him tripping lightly over a bullock's broad back. then he was up on the manger-edge, had paused to make sure, and was down in the manger, picking up crumbs and dust of linseed-cake and chaff. three mice were doing the same thing, but fled at his approach; but he did not trouble about that, for the cattle had not left even him and his wife a full meal, having blown what was left of the chaff away, and licked up practically all of the cake-crumbs and dust. however, it was better than nothing. the rat's natural curiosity was awakened, and his comparative warmth in this place, out of the razor-edged wind--oh, what a relief to be out of that infernal sawing blast!--made him explore. and he ran along the edge of the manger to a hole in the wall, which led--the peculiar and indescribable smell said so--through to the pig-sties. but here he stopped, and his wife behind him stopped. some one was coming through from the opposite side--some one who smelt very much worse than any pig. next instant both black rats had gone off together like sparks--if ever sparks were black--and the brown rat, coming through the hole, wondered what on earth had happened. then he sniffed at their trail, tried, but found it impossible, to follow, and passed on. he would have felt great pleasure in slaying them if he could, and they knew that. the black rat now essayed to cross the yard to the stable. he could not very well stop there--up among the rafters, that is--all night, so he came down, and, with his wife following him, gingerly rustled out upon the partially snow-covered straw. then he got a shock that turned him into a winking series of black streaks. then he got another shock which turned him, literally, into--well, into black lightning. you never saw anything like it in all your life. you never would have believed that any living beast could have so frantically and so furiously got itself about from place to place so instantaneously. it was--dazzling. it made you blink. it was it in the agility line, and no mistake. firstly, the brown rat, having hidden up in some black corner, with brown-rat cunning, came hopping out instantly--nay, charging--on the black rat's trail. and there was murder in his wicked, little, glinting eyes at he came. secondly, a white eider-down quilt--at least, that was what it seemed like--descended lightly as--as an eider quilt, and as soundlessly, out of the blue-black sky, and covered the brown rat up. you could hear his horrid, muffled screaming of rage and fear under the quilt; you could see the quilt--but they saw that it looked pale brown on top--lifting about, and feeling for that murder-child of a rat underneath. then the quilt got him--you could hear the unspeakably beastly death-squeal reverberate mufflingly--and then the quilt rose, still utterly without sound, and one saw it was a big barn-owl, with a rat--a brown rat--twitching in its white-mittened claws. but do you think that made any difference? if so, you don't know the cruel devil of perseverance that is the brown rat. as the black rat, at the end of his amazing lightning display, reached the barn, with his mate behind him, he leapt--he could not stop--clean over the back of one great twenty-inch, glitter-eyed brown ghoul, called by the death-scream of his colleague--other rats usually answer it--coming out of a hole. the black rats dashed into the hole like flickering streaks, but the brown rat had instantly spun upon himself, and was after them. the barn was an unfortunate choice. it seemed full of brown rats, and four of them, in the darkness, instantly took up the pursuit of the now fairly hunted black couple. nothing but their miraculous agility saved those two from being eaten alive, but they came out of the barn on to the spotless snow on the far side, with only a foot to spare between their long tails and the mangy, scarred head of the leading brown fiend behind them. straight across the open, like a drawn black bar, they shot, to a towering building of wood, and along this--here they lost six inches of the precious twelve by which they led--looking for a hole. they found it, whizzed in, five brown rats close behind them, nine brown rats hard behind the five. they discovered themselves in a great room half-filled with sacks and the sweet smell of corn, and in and out among these sacks they led their hunters such a dizzy chase as no man ever witnessed, or could witness, for the matter of that, since human eyes could not follow it. but the end seemed positive, anyway. it was only a question of tiring the black sparks out, for the four brown rats in the place, engaged upon lowering the weight of the flour in the sacks--one of those rats a dreaded cannibal of twenty-one and a half inches--joined in the mobbing, and soon the black rats found themselves in such a position that there was no escape--no escape for any but a black rat. for them there was one way. and those two living electric sparks on four feet took it. they went up the wall! i don't know, but i guess that, as the black rats' upper jaws were longer and sharper and more shark-like than the brown rats', and their tails very much longer, they got a spring off the tail--and legs, too--and had an agility in hanging on to knots and crannies above that possessed by the brown ghouls. be that as it may, they did it, and got a respite under the floor of the room above, before their enemies, traveling more normally, and by holes, could swarm up after them. then the two, cornered at last, with one last desperate rush, shot up through a hole in the boards, out into the middle of the room on the first floor, and stopped dead. ah! they stopped. good reason, too. good reason had the five brown rats, excited with blood-lust, hard on their tails, to stop also. they found themselves suddenly revealed in the middle of a big room, furnished mainly with a few sacks, and flooded with a dazzling, blinding glare of electric light, that seemed brighter than the very sun. there they were, all seven, black and brown, struck rigid, plain and clear for any to see. and four men and two dogs stood there seeing them. they, those men and dogs, had just come quietly for their evening rat-hunt, turning on the light suddenly, for the place was a mill as well as a farm, making--from the mill-wheel--its own electricity. there was a strained, aching pause for about as long as a man takes to gasp. then the dogs sprang in, and one of the men jumped to the only hole in the room they had not previously stopped up. but the black rats! the brown rats died, at intervals, fighting horribly, as cornered brown rats do. in five minutes they were, all five, dead--that is, all that had come into the room and been cut off. the black rats, however, in five minutes, were not dead. nobody seems to have seen them, after the hunt had once begun, till the others were killed. even then all four men aver that they could never rightly swear that they saw them. they saw lines, and streaks, and flashes, and whirls, and halos of black, which might have been rats--and the dogs said they were--but no one could swear to it. at times these giddy phenomena were among the rafters, at other times they were on the floor, and yet again they were going up or coming down the walls; but all the while both men and dogs seemed to be everlastingly too late, and hunting them where, half-a-second before, they had been. in fact, they perpetually had been, and were always where snapping jaws and beating sticks were not. at the end of half-an-hour the men, mopping their foreheads, even in that cold, gasped, "lor' love yer! did yer ever see th' like?" at the end of three-quarters of an hour the men flung themselves, gasping, on to the sacks of flour, and the dogs, panting, on to the floor--done. and the black rat and his mate, lively as ever, perkily watched them from the rafters. then the men and dogs went away, the light went out, and presently great sounds of war below suggested that the brown rats on the ground-floor were having the time of their lives. so were the two black rats, but a different sort of time. they were feasting upon meal and grain. and there, so far as i know, as they were like birds, flying among the rafters like black lightning if molested, they live to this day. ix lawless little love she rolled over and regained her feet in a flash, to find herself facing a dark beast, with a huge, bushy, white tail, held up straight like a pleased cat's--but this was a sign of warning, not pleasure--that shone ghostily in the gloom of the mysterious, dread thorn-scrub. and the face of the beast was the face of a black and grinning devil, and its eyes shone red. she stood there, shivering a little, with the tiny young thing crawling weakly away from almost under her feet, and the long, vivid, raw gash that the white-tailed beast, coming from nowhere special out of the night, had set upon her shoulder--a murderess caught in the act. on three legs--her left hindleg had been bitten off by a trap set for a hyena--emaciated, with all her natural buoyant courage gone out of her, her wonderful agility gone too, she felt instantly in her heart that she could neither face this diabolical-faced foe, nor yet get away from it. this same crippled condition had spoilt her hunting forays, and, driven by hunger, had made her nose into other people's nurseries, and be caught just on the point of slaying somebody else's baby, when the owner had come home, like a streak out of the night. but that was not the worst of it, for she was longer than the enemy, a bit, and might have put up a good fight--she had fought for her life, as a matter of course, ever since she left her mother's side--if the enemy had not brought with her an ally. it was not visible to the eye, that ally, but it was to the nose--a most distinct and appalling stink, and it could be felt, for it made her nostrils smart. apparently, then, that white tail was intentional, was as a red flag, insolently displayed, warning all to beware of the stink. well, there is more than one way of holding your own in the wild, and a most unholy smell is not such a bad way, either, when you come to think about it. the owner of that nameless odor was a polecat--not our polecat; worse than that--and--well, you know the breed. fear they know not; neither is pity with them a weakness, especially where the lives of their young are concerned. this one did not wait. she attacked quicker than you could cry "knife," taking off with all four feet together, in a peculiar and patent way of her own. the would-be murderess, who was long, and absurdly short in the leg, too, just like her opponent, only with a more graceful and not such a thick-set body, turned on herself in a snaky fashion, and her neck, that the fangs had aimed at, was not there when the polecat arrived, but her teeth were, and they closed on the polecat's cheek. the latter gibbered horribly at the spark of pain, and set herself really down to fight. the intending murderess said nothing at all, but, unbalanced with her game hindleg, having no force to push or spring with, and being very weak, she knew she was done for directly they closed to the clinch. in a few seconds the polecat had her down, and only an awful, mad, desperate clashing of fang against fang kept the attacker off her throat. it could not last. then it was, at that moment, that a sharp little, gray little, dark-spotted, clean-cut, close-cropped, intelligent head, on a snaky, long neck, peeped out of the shadows, and peered about, as if to see what in whiskers all the pother was about. the head might have been there by chance, but it wasn't. its owner had been running her trail for hours, and looking for it for days, and didn't mean to let her go, now that he had finally come up with her, polecats or no polecats, smells or not. but he was not a fool. he knew the game, the bitter, cruel game of death, as it is played throughout the wild. with man the inexorable law is, "get on or get out." in the wild they phrase it another way: "kill or be killed." man puts it more politely, perhaps, but it's all the same old natural law, i guess. the head and snaky neck developed a long, creamy, tawny-spotted body, and the body a long, banded, tapering tail--all set on legs so short, they scarcely kept the owner off the ground; and the name of that beast was genet. the same are a sort of distant relation of the cats, a fourth cousin once removed; but it is necessary to tell you, because you might think they were beautiful weasels, otherwise. _and she was a genet_, too--the murderess that might have been. then the new-comer moved. then he began to move, and--here! it was just like the buzzing of a fly in a tumbler. certainly you could say that he was still there, but you could not swear that you actually saw him. the first that the polecat knew of him was that red-hot fork-like feeling that means fangs in the back of your neck. the polecat spun on herself, and bit, quick as an electric needle, at the spotted thing, that promptly ceased to be there, and, to use the professional term, she "made the stink" for all she was worth. she forgot all about the long female would-be slayer of her children, and the genet was mightily thankful to drag herself clear, but she would not have been she if she had failed to get her fangs home, as a parting shot, before she went. then, i fancy, she was ill; and, upon my soul, i don't wonder. it was enough to asphyxiate a whale-factory hand. but the male genet was not ill, or, if he was, he was moving from place to place too quickly to give the fact away; and by the time he shot up a tree, like a long, rippling, cream and tawny-dappled, banded line, he left that polecat considerably redder than when he found her, and weak, as if she had been bitten by leeches. the polecat had certainly saved her young, or thought she had, although i cannot swear that the female genet had really meant them harm; but she did not look as if she had saved much else. however, she held the field of battle, and the foe had fled, and that is supposed to be the sign of victory; but that had been done by her "gassing" methods, so to speak, not by fighting alone. rippling about among the branches, an incarnation of grace personified, and hunting for her by nose alone, for in the moonlight her exquisite creamy, dappled coat was invisible--a real piece of magic, this--the male genet quickly found her for whom he sought. she remained low, lying along a bough, line for line, shadow-patch for shadow-patch, flat as the very bark, and as undulating, until she felt sure that he would run over her; then she rose, spitting and snarling in his face, cat-like and vicious. it was a poor kind of thanks for having saved her life, perhaps, but it was her way--_then_. and, anyway, who can blame her? she had never met any living creature that was not a foe or an armed "unbenevolent" neutral in all her life, and she did not know that any other category or creature existed, the recent fight notwithstanding. but the male genet neither ran nor fought. he dodged her snap, by a tenth of an inch, almost without seeming to move, and there he stood looking at her meekly. she leapt to him, and he shot off, as she arrived upon, the place where he had been. perhaps she knew that only a genet, or a mongoose, could do that trick in a manner at once so machine-like and precise; and after that she merely sat, bent in a curve, with her lips up. but her spring had given her away, and he saw that she was lame. perhaps he saw, too, the gleam of hunger, the wild, cruel gleam that forgets all else, in her eyes; but who am i to say whether he understood it? be that as it may, the male vanished suddenly and without explanation, doubling on his trail and going out like a snuffed candle. he was in view, as a matter of fact, several times during the next few minutes, climbing quietly; but the dark blotches of the leaf-shadows magicked him into invisibility, and no one could tell where he was, till suddenly the silence was smitten by one piercing squawk somewhere among the greenery above. then a crash, wild flutterings, a hectic commotion, and he and a terrified guinea-fowl came down together, more nearly falling than he liked. indeed, he must have let it fall, or gone himself with it, as he slid past, grabbing for holds, if she had not dropped quickly to the next bough and taken a hold, too. then, side by side, they hauled the warm, feathery, fluttering thing up, and he slew swiftly, in order to silence the noisy prey, who foolishly kicked up such a noise, as if maliciously; for he knew--and perhaps the gleany (guinea-fowl) did, too--how quickly a crowd may gather to interfere in an advertised "killing" in that wild. the female genet, however, was past caring about risks. she had reached a stage of hunger when no risks can overshadow the risk of starvation, and she had the guinea-fowl by the throat, and was sucking its blood before the other had time to realize what she was at. then, with fine discrimination, she ate the breast and thigh, and later might, or might not, have let him have a look in, if some blotched shape had not slid up, without sound, across the blue black night sky, and, halting in the tree, begun, apparently, to crack nuts very sharply and very quickly. whereupon, without saying anything, the genets faded out. it was nothing much, really--only the noise she makes when the giant eagle-owl is angry; but when you are a genet, with a body under two feet long, you may find it rather a bore, if nothing else, to remain cheek by jowl with an angry eagle-owl three feet or so across the wings, with the feline temper of an owl, and armed, owl-like, to the teeth, if i may so put it. [illustration: "an angry eagle-owl"] now the question came as the two genets arrived at the ground--would she follow him, or would he have to follow her? he was determined, anyway, that nothing short of calamity should part them. yet i don't see, since he never uttered a sound, how she understood him to say that if she would follow him he would find her food, even though she was still hungry, for she had not yet got to trusting him much more than she trusted any other beast, and seemed to think that he was half as likely to eat her as to get her something to eat. such a thing as another creature finding her food for only just friendliness--love was out of the question yet, or out of her question--was an idea her suspicious nature could not yet grasp. however, she followed. twining and twisting, turning and tripping, in and out among the bush and the tree-trunks, soundless, and quite invisible, except when they crossed a moonbeam--and then nearly so, because the moon has a trick of, as it were, dissolving the colors of even fairly conspicuous creatures--they crept on their low way. there was not a sound that they did not crouch for, often flat as a whip-lash--and that wild is full of sounds by night, too--not a puff of air that they did not throw up their sharp little muzzles to test, not a movement or the hint of a movement which their eyes did not fix with a suspicious stare. they passed a hippopotamus feeding--a sheaf at a mouthful--upon long grass; they came upon three wild dogs eating an antelope and gibbering like gnomes; they beheld two striped zebras stampeding from a lion; they got into the middle of a herd of elephants--but what must those giants have seemed to them, almost at ground-level?--and did not know it, so silent can the mighty ones be, till they heard the unmistakable digestive rumblings; they happened on the tail of a leopard, observing a young waterbuck antelope, and retired therefrom without his suspecting them; they watched some bush-pigs rooting in a clearing, hoping they might turn up some insects worth eating; they heard a mother-lion grunting among some reeds, and were nearly run over by the stampede of zebras that followed; they chased a rat that ran into a hole in which was a snake, and it never came out again; they went up a tree after a weaver-bird's nest, but, from the way the bottle-shaped structure was hung, could not get at it; they investigated a hare's hole, and found a six-foot mamba snake, with four-minute death-fangs, in possession; they risked the thousand spikes of a thorn-bush to get at a red-necked pheasant roosting, only to find the branch he was on too slender to hold their weight; they were stalked by a wild cat, and hid in a hollow tree; and were pounced upon by a civet cat--who was their big cousin--and dodged him most wonderfully; and were chased by a jackal, whose nose they bit when it followed them into a hollow log. finally, they came to the wall, and stopped. their noses told them it was not the wall of a native village, for no one, not even a man, could possibly make any mistake about _that_. also, their noses may have told them other things. anyway, the moon saw them, in the form of two gray lines, slide over the wall and drop silently into the shadow on the far side. a wild cat was courting a domestic cat of the bungalow close by, at the corner of the compound, but, flat as strips of tawny-spotted cloth, they got past him all right. a black-backed jackal was gnawing a bit of old hide at the angle of the wall, and they were forced to make a detour up to the veranda of the bungalow to avoid that sharp-eared, sharp-eyed one. here, on the veranda, they discovered a chair, and the male genet, standing on hindlegs to see what was in the chair, found himself looking straight into the electric-blue, purplish balls of light that betokened another cat, which had been asleep, but was now very wide awake. he went round that chair in the form of a hazy, wavy, streak, as the cat shot out of it. the female genet faded from publicity behind a palm in a pot. but the genet's tail was so long that, with the cat and himself going round and round that chair like a living catherine-wheel--both he and the cat spitting no end--the cat was touching his tail, while he was snapping at the cat's. wherefore he moved across the veranda as an arrow flies, and round the corner, and as he turned the corner he--leapt. it was a beautiful leap, and it cleared the danger that he seemed bound to run into, as it lifted in his path, by about an inch. as he sprang he heard the cat's claws scraping loudly, as she madly endeavored to stop--too late. then the head of the eight-foot python that had been creeping up round that corner in the process of stalking that cat whizzed by beneath him like a hurled poleax. as he landed the genet heard the cat make one sound--only one--and it was indescribable, and he dropped off the veranda into the shadow of a bush, where the female genet presently joined him. there was a small mongoose (my! what a lot of hunters do collect about the bungalows at night, to be sure!) under the bush, engaged in eating that precise reptilian form of poisoned death known as a night adder, which it had just killed. but the genets had other and private business, and they parted from the mongoose with no more than a snarl, the two genets to appear next--or, rather, to be no more than guessed at--crossing the last stretch of moonlight between them and the fowlhouse. as they did so, a blurred, vast-winged, silent, dark shadow passed overhead, and a peculiarly piercing whistle stabbed dagger-like through the waiting, listening silence. both genets jumped, as if the whistle had really been a dagger and had stabbed them, and vanished into hiding before the sound had ceased, almost. they knew that shadow--the owner of the whistle; they had met her earlier that night--the giant eagle-owl. but what the fangs and claws was she doing here? after rats, perhaps. they hoped so, and tried to think she was not after them. the people who are condemned to live in those parts know that deaths, many and mysterious, go about there in the night, seeking victims, and that fowls must, in consequence, be well penned. yet they die; and it has been said that where a snake can squeeze into a fowl-house, there a genet can follow--perhaps dealing with the snake first, and the fowls afterwards. certainly, there seems to be no longer, and narrower, and lower, and more sinuous little beast on this earth than the genet. the male genet took the problem upon himself as his own special province to find entrance into places; and the female, her suspicions of him oozing away more and more every minute, "kept cave." and he found an entrance, that little, long, low beggar; he found an entrance, a hole up under the roof, that appeared small enough, in all conscience, to be overlooked by anybody. the moon knows how they climbed to it--i don't. and as the male genet dropped down inside, the female took his place. but even as he landed he wished he had not. fear was there before him. in the smelly, stifling, heated pitch-darkness a fowl squawked with pain, and others burst into noise above his head. then he made a blunder. surprised certainly, and angry perhaps, he growled. instantly the confusion ceased and hushed to silence; and instantly, too, round, large, amber-gold balls of light like lamps, to the number of two, were switched on--fixed upon him, staring, so that he "froze" in his tracks where he stood, and her crest stood up on the female genet, as it does on a cat, as she peered through the hole. they had disturbed something at its killing. very few graven images move less than those two pretty but small hunters did in the nest half-minute, while the fowls settled down again, and the genets tried--mainly with their noses--to find out what, in the wilderness or out of it, they had run up against this time. at the end of that period there fell upon their stupefied ears the sound as if some one unseen were cracking nuts--nut after nut, very quickly--in the blackness, and both genets very nearly had a fit--a motionless one--on the spot. then they knew, most entirely did they know, and the knowledge gave them no end of a fright. it was the giant eagle-owl. she--it was a she--had beaten the robbers in hole-creeping, had outburgled the burglars, and outcrept the creepers, though goodness alone knows how. the only difficulty was, who was going out first, and who alive, and who dead? the male genet apparently knew about owls, and nothing of what he knew had shown that they were cowards. nor was he a coward; but the wild hunters we not out to win the v.c., as a rule, i guess; and, if they were, he was not one of them. he was out to feed, not fight. possibly, while he was considering this, standing there with arched back--by reason of his long body and apologies for legs--in the darkness, the owl was considering the same thing. anyway, both seemed to make up their minds in the same instant, and to act on it. wherefore they arrived at the hole under the roof in the same instant, too; and you can take it from me that there are very few creatures indeed who can go into a hole, or come out of it, with such an amazing rush as the genet. the result naturally was war, and red-hot at that. grappling, spitting, hissing, growling, snorting, coughing, the two fell in a heap to the ground--and an owl on the ground is one degree more of a spiked handful than an owl in the air--where they continued the discussion in a young whirlwind of their own, much to the perturbation of the roosting fowls, who woke up and added to the riot. the female genet had gone out of the other end of the hole, like a cork out of a bottle, taking a scratch on the nose from the owl with her; but, finding nothing further happen, she now crept back and peered in. what she discovered did not give her any comfort, for, although upon her back, it looked as if that she-owl had been specially designed to fight that way. she had one fiend's claw gripped well home on the male genet's shoulder, and another doing its best to skin him alive; while her beak was hammering the gray top of his weasely-looking head. true, the male genet's fangs were buried up to the socket in the owl's throat, but that was no proof that he had found either her windpipe or the equally useful jugular vein, and, if he did not pretty quick, it looked as if it would never matter, so far as he was concerned. i like to think of what that little, long, crippled female genet did then, in that well-like blackness and that smelly heat, with the chance of retreat open to her, and no one to say her nay. without hesitation, she dropped to the ground beside the scuffle, and flung herself into it--into the winnowing, slapping radius of big pinions, that beat and beat and beat, smothering all with feathers and dust. one wing caught her squarely, and she fetched up against the wall, winded and dazed; but she was back again in a flash, dancing on her toes, and, suddenly flattening, shot in, level with the ground, like a snake. she arrived. she felt feathers against her nose--she could not see. the wings pounded her flatter. she laid hold, biting in as deep and as far as she could get. as a matter of fact, she had got the owl by the neck, but one would have thought she had turned on a young volcano by the confusion that followed. both genets shut their precious eyes, and hung on, while that owl beat herself round and round in one last wild flurry, coughing horribly and humanly the while, and cracking nuts. finally she collapsed as suddenly as a pricked bladder, and lay still--a great, mixed-up feathery heap, limp and pathetic, with her vast flung-out wings. the two genets backed away, glad enough to be done with such a fiery, feathered fury. the male genet stumbled a little, and sat down. he was nearly as red as the sun on a stormy dawn, but all the blood was not his. they did not seem to trouble further about the great foe lying beside them. certainly she pervaded the air with a musty smell that was not attractive, or, at least, not attractive when fowls were by; and it was to the fowls they turned, the female first, the male later, after he had done some very necessary licking. i fancy that, though dizzy, the male genet was rather proud of himself. he had brought his lady-love to such a feast as she may have dreamed of, and she had saved his life. that gave them a fellow-feeling that looked well for his prospects in love. but i do not think he had quite realized how hungry that beautiful velvet-skinned damsel of his choice was till that minute, and then he was given no time to think about it. the dark over his head burst like a mine, and feathers and noise enveloped him whirling. that represented the female genet coming down, fixed to the throat of a hapless fowl. she sucked the blood, and flew at another. ordinarily she would have removed that one and found it enough; but men who have been "broke," when they got suddenly rich, seem to go temporarily mad with the lust of spending, and so it was with her; only, her madness was the lust of killing. she killed, leaping and wrenching at the poor, screaming birds' throats, blinded to the world with excitement, drunk with blood. that is an awful intoxication, and makes even men, let alone wild, carnivorous beasts, do unmentionable things. also, the smell of blood was too much for the male genet, and he presently rushed, with flying tail, into the crimson orgy too. they were some time at this craziness; and when they had finished, they and the fowls that were still alive could only lie and pant together among the contorted slain, the blood--you would never believe how a cockerel will bleed--and the carmine-tinted feathers. you might not believe me if i told you how many fowls they had killed, but it was a most disgraceful number, and quite inexcusable. and then, even as they lay there, dead-beat, they started suddenly and together, for, almost like a blow, the fact dawned upon them that it was day. night had stolen away, and dawn discovered them at the killing; and goodness alone knows how long they had been at it--ten minutes or hours. anyway, here it was, and they leapt to their feet together. as they hurried out they had to pass the place where the carcass of the owl _had been_! it was gone--mysteriously sauntered as a corpse into nowhere. owls are uncanny creatures at any time, but moving about when dead is not usually a recognized habit of theirs. the genets sniffed anxiously, and ran the trail to the hole under the roof, since it happened to be on their way. through the hole it went, and into the air--literally into the air. in other words, that owl had simply "bluffed" death when she realized that she was near death. the bluff had come off; and at a later, and what she judged a proper, time, she had just, and of course silently, flown off by the way she had come; and--as i live!--a fowl had gone with her. one minute later an unsuspected martial hawk-eagle precipitated himself out of a big, hoary, old fig-tree, a hundred yards away from the fowlhouse, on to one of the genets' disappearing tails. this is the world's most general view of a genet, by the way--its disappearing tail; and it is given to very few to see the beautiful, dark-blotched, creamy, little, lithe, long beast that the ringed tail belongs to. of course, the eagle was too late. two minutes later, a late leopard, returning to his lair after a blank night's hunt, saw the tail of the female genet, who was leading, disappear into a hollow tree. the male had not time to get in as the leopard sprang, so he shot up another tree close by, disturbing a mamba cobra, whose color was green, and whose bite was death, as it lay asleep among the twined vines. the legless terror fell to the ground and streaked for its hole, and the following leopard only just managed to bound out of its way as it did so. then, leaping light as thistle-down, coughing harshly, the leopard went up the tree after the male genet, and appeared to have cut him off from life and liberty for ever. the genet climbed beautifully, and dodged round the tree-bole, and in and out among the trails and the leaf-bunches of matted creepers, with amazing speed; but the whole time the leopard's paw, all hooked claws bared, was whip-whip-whipping the air, only just behind that lovely, long, ringed tail of the genet, and more than once touched it. finally, hard driven, panting, at the end of his tether, it seemed, the genet was forced out upon a branch, farther and farther, slowly and more-slowly, the leopard creep, creep, creeping, almost flat, well spread and craftily, his paw, well out in front, hooking at the luckless little genet, till the twigs began to bend under the poor hunted creature, and all hope seemed gone from him, for the ground was sixteen feet below, and there was nothing between. and then--ah! but it was a fine effort!--just when it seemed that he could go no farther, and that the next terrible hooking round-arm stroke of the leopard must fish him into the annihilating scrunch of the terrible jaws, whose foul, hot breath already played upon him, the genet sprang. it was a wonderful spring; the little beast had gathered every last ounce of his strength for it, and he literally seemed to sail out upon the air. sixteen feet to the ground he bounded, and twenty-two feet out from the bole of the tree he landed, and--well, what d'you think of that? quick was the leopard--to our eyes he seemed to come down almost on the heels of the genet--but not quick enough, for he had first to gather himself on an uncertain, swaying footing. wherefore, by the time he got to the ground, bounding like some great rubber ball, he had the pleasure of seeing the male genet's tail vanishing also into the small hole in the hollow tree. and there he left them, because perforce he could do nothing else. and there, too, we leave them, curled up side by side in the darkness and safety, reconciled, and a happy couple at last. x the king's son they found the king's son lying in a bed of reeds with his sister, the king's daughter, and although the prince and princess fought royally, as befitted their rank, they were smothered up roughly in sacks and carried speedily--the queen might return at any moment and want the captors--to the governor of all the provinces, and the governor spake thus: "oho! a royal pair, eh? they shall be sent to the capital, but first we must put them in an inclosure while we knock up some kind of a cage." and into "an inclosure" were they, therefore, cast, and it was small and bare, but for one box with dried grass in it; and the walls of the place were of corrugated iron nine feet high, so that escape looked impossible. ransom was out of the question, and rescue a wild, but still faintly possible, dream--they could even then hear their father speaking in a mighty voice very far away, but their mother, they knew, would be following their trail in terrible silence. meantime they were king's children, and it behooved them to carry themselves as such in the presence of the enemy. wherefore did they neither cry nor grieve (outwardly), nor sulk, nor cast themselves down or about with despair or rage. they just sat down side by side, and put their heads together, and stared with haughty insolence at the common crowd, "the lesser breeds without the law," who gathered to inspect them. it is not every day men get a chance to spit at and make mock of a king's son, whose father, as like as not, killed one's mother or little brother with no more thought than you or i would kill a rabbit, and the crowd made the most of that chance. but luckily night, who was their godfather, came stalking swiftly westward, as he does in those wild parts, and flung his protecting cloak over them, and the crowd melted to its fleshpots, and the magic of the dark settled down over all. one by one the little lights twinkled out in the huts and tents of their captors, and the deep bass drone of men's voices within mingled with the shrill cackle of women, and the high song of the mosquitoes without; and the smell of cooking and tobacco together came to them, so that they sniffed aloofly and stirred from their places. a pariah dog, lean and yellow, came to eye them furtively through the chinks of the corrugated iron, and the horses snorted and stamped in their pickets, as the night breeze carried to them their scent. time passed, and the shrill voices of the women-folk ceased, the deep mutter of the men died gradually down, the lights faded, the scene was lit up only here and there by the sudden glow of a fire kicked into blaze by a sentry, but the song of the mosquitoes never ceased. then arose and uprose the strange, uncanny voices of the night, which, taken together, made up a background to the great silence which they seemed to accentuate. and the king's son bounded again. they were to him as a mighty call, those voices, from his own land--the land of the wilderness. the rumbling thunder of his father's rage, breathing of death and destruction, had ceased now; but there were plenty more sounds, and the king's son, listening, knew them all. the distant "qua-ha-ha!" of a troop of zebras going to drink; the peculiar snort of an impala antelope, scenting danger; the far-away drumming of hoofs of a startled herd of hartebeests; the bleat of an eland calf, pulled down by who knows what; the "hoot-toot!" of a hippopotamus, going out to grass; the sudden shrill "ya-ya-ya-ya!" of a black-backed jackal close at hand; the yarly, snarly whines of a hunting leopard; the snap of a crocodile's jaws, somewhere down in the nearby river; and, last, but by no means least in ghostliness, the awful rising "who-oo!" followed by a sudden mad chorus of maniacal laughter, which told that somewhere a gathering of hyenas were--at their work! the king's son was moving about the prison now, examining what he could see--especially of the walls--with his wonderful, proud eyes, and what he could not with whiskers and nose. he made no sound, of course--not so much as a whisper; and when his sister joined him, they were simply intangible, half-guessed shapes, drifting--there is no other word for it--through the gloom. a man, even a colored one, might look long into that inclosure and, unless he caught the sudden smolder at the back of their eyes, never tell where they were. indeed, the inclosure was in pitch-darkness itself, by reason of its high "tin" walls; and even when a weird yellow moon came and hung itself up to add to the general uncanniness of the scene, the prison of the king's son showed only like a well of ink. suddenly the silence and the voices of the crickets were broken into by the sound of scramblings by night. a nightjar fled from the tree overhead to the accompaniment of strange noises; and an unseen jackal, who had crept up to the very huts pessimistically, in search of anything awful, or offal, fled with a startled scurry. apparently something with claws was trying to scrape away the corrugated iron. came then a scrawling scrape, and a thump. then silence. but after a bit the noises began again--a fresh lot, and more violent. the pariah dog, who had come to investigate with his tail in the air, went away again, and quickly, with his tail between his legs; and in the same moment the king's son's head appeared over the top of the corrugated iron wall in silhouette against the staring, surprised moon. of course, and quite naturally, every sentry was asleep, or else even they could not have failed to realize that the sounds of desperate scratchings that followed were no ordinary phenomena, and might bear looking into. presently the king's son's body followed his head, and he sat for a moment, balancing clumsily on that narrow top, before vanishing suddenly, to the accompaniment of a heavy thump that was the last sound he made in the place. further and even more frantic scratchings followed, and anon the king's daughter, who certainly meant to die rather than be left alone in the hands of the foe, eclipsed the moon. a pause, and she, too, vanished downwards with a thump that was the last sound she made there in that place also. a minute later, and she had joined her brother under the thorny guard of a mimosa. for a moment or two the pair stood rigid as rock carvings, looking back, crouched a little, and deadly silent. then the king's son turned and led the way to the river at a loping trot, and his sister followed in his tracks. they shook the dust--literally and daintily as a cat shakes dew from her feet--of the hated captors' fastness from their feet in little momentary halts as they went, and the place knew them no more. but there is one point i should like to insert here. go and try to climb over a corrugated iron wall nine feet high, and with nothing but the bare earth to take off from, and see how you succeed. further, when doing it, remember that these royal children were so young as to be little more than babies. then you may tell how they accomplished the feat. i do not know exactly to this day. it is to be hoped that by this time everybody will be aware that the king's son and the king's daughter were lion cubs, the survivors, therefore the strongest and the fittest, of three lion cubs in a litter. it required, you will admit, some resource, courage, and intelligence to do what they had already done, considering their age; but the worst was to come. having got out of the frying-pan, they must now face the fire, and be quick about it, too, if they didn't want to be traced and recaptured at dawn. arrived at the river's edge, they stopped and stared out across the dark swirls and unknown, cold depths. lion cubs, as also the young of every other african animal, must assuredly be born with an instinctive and a very lively dread of all rivers and their occupants. any horrible invention of death, they must have known, might be expected to lurk there, ready waiting for them in that underworld of dark waters; but if they felt fear, they never showed it, and the pride of their birth held true. their hesitation was only momentary. the terror had to be faced, bravely or fearfully, as they would, but still faced, and bravely it was done. slowly and coolly the king's son waded out into the black, chill waters. he felt the current, which was strong, plucking like invisible great fingers at his legs; he felt the cold strike through tawny, spotted fur and skin to his belly, but he never looked back. his feet were whirled from under him; he trod upon nothing, cold, cold emptiness, and that was enough to terrify any grown beast, let alone a baby; but he struck out right manfully, and his fine eyes and face took on that regal expression of haughty determination that you see in the face only of king leo himself and his mate, and in no other beast in the world. and the king's daughter unhesitatingly followed--a real princess, by gad, sirs! steadily the pair swam, heading instinctively, one presumes, up-stream, to counteract the drift of the ever-shouldering current. there was, perhaps, from two to five feet of water under their sturdy paws; but had it been twenty or thirty, i, personally, believe it would have made no difference. there were probably also other things under and around their sturdy paws--things very much worse and less innocent than any water--things they must have, dimly, at any rate, if not acutely, been aware of in an inbred sort of way; but they made no difference either. "make way for the king's son and the king's daughter. it is their will to cross the river. hear, all of you loathly horrors, you lurking terrors--make way. who dares check the will of the king's son?" once there came a mighty swirl on their right hand--or right paw, if you like--and the waters parted, with waves and the spouts of a geyser, to give up the monstrous nightmare head of a hippopotamus. once something cold and leathery and ghastly touched the bottom of their padded feet; and once--but this was too awful for any expression by pen--something else, equally cold, but smooth, coiled, writhing, round the king's son's left hind-leg, but providentially slid clear again, as he kicked like a budding international. then came the ordeal. it arrived in the shape of two knobs, that just were suddenly, and remained, motionless in the mocking moonlight, on the surface of the water. it might have been merely some projection from a half-sunken log. it might, but--well, there had grown in the air an unspeakable stench of musk, and that wasn't there before the knobs showed up. both lion cubs saw, both little royal ones smelt, and in some dim way, warned probably by a terrible knowledge handed down to them from their ancestors, both baby swimmers knew. terror--real terror, of the white-livered, surrender-or-stampede-blindly-at-any-price kind--could never, it seems to me, come into those fine, regal eyes; but the nearest approach that was possible occurred in that instant, and they swam. ah, how those infant lions swam! what had gone before was mere paddling; and whether or not they had ever swum before in their short lives--and i doubt it more than a little--there could be no question about them now; they swam like practiced hands, and almost as fast. followed a pause, terrifying enough in all conscience, and then, slowly, silently as a submarine's conning-tower goes under, so dived those knobs, and vanished almost, not quite, without a ripple. the cool night-air showed the breath coming from the broad, brave, water-frilled cubs' heads in gasps. the silence gave away their frantic panting. you could literally see them straining every baby nerve and muscle, could note the jerks with which they fairly kicked themselves along. and the opposite bank, a black wall of bush and reeds, was very near now, yet far--oh, how far, to them! ssee-shhrr-r-rr-r-shrhh! as a torpedo hurtles hissing along barely below the surface of the water, so hurtled the head--the head with its wicked eyes on knobs; the head with its vast, scaly, long snout, its raised nostrils at the tip, its shuddering array of jagged teeth, its awful, armed, diabolical aspect of conscious power--straight at the king's son. without warning had it come, and with still less had it attacked. swim, oh, swim, little king's son, for your very life! but the king's son did not swim--at least, not in that sense. he turned. yes, that is right--turned; and the monstrosity of the armed snout, that same being a crocodile, of course, was upon him even as he did so. there would have been no time to turn after--no life! still, the king's son may not have known that. maybe he turned, as a man attacked by a dog does, because he felt, in a cold, nervy sort of spasm all up his spine, the terrible defenselessness of his hind-limbs. and as he turned, he struck--bat-bat!--struck with all his talons unsheathed; struck with every ounce and grain of power, and force of brain to back that power, in his system; struck as only a cornered cat can strike; struck like a--lion. the result was astounding. the crocodile had aimed, true to a hair--you bet, he being a croc.--to grab the king's son's hindlegs, and pull him under. he had not reckoned on the turn, and the turn did it. his snout struck hindlegs, which were not where they ought, by his calculations, to have been, but were four or five inches away to one side. quick as only a reptile can be, he canted, to remedy the error, but the impetus of his ten-foot bulk was still upon him; it carried him by. you cannot stop ten feet of bulk and five-feet-seven of girth of flesh and bone and muscle and armor-plates, going at old nick may know how many knots, in half-a-yard, you know; and it was the half-a-yard that did the trick. the king's son was aware, as he half-rose and delivered that desperate blow, of a mighty bulk shooting by, of an overpowering, sickening stench of musk, and of eyes, through the foam and the water--two little, wicked, unspeakably cruel eyes on knobs. _his chance_! and, quick as light, he took it. ough! the rest was chaos. and that is about all, i think--unless you would like to know that their mother, the king's consort, who had been working grimly along on their trail since dusk, slid swiftly down the bank in that crisis, a fiery-eyed, long, gliding shape, and plunging into the watery inferno utterly recklessly, brought out, one by one, dripping, shivering, and by the scruff of the neck, first the king's son, then the king's daughter, and stopped not till she had placed them high up the bank, safe among the thorn-scrub, where they crouched together, side by side, listening to the cataclysmal threshings of the blind devil down in the black waters below there; and their father, the king, came up--pad-pad-pad-pad--behind them, to thunder out defiance at all the world above their sturdy, broad, intelligent heads, and purr his joy at their return. moreover, he looked proud as he stood there in the moonlight, that royal beast; and i like to think it was not all looks either. xi the highwayman of the marsh there was some sort of violent trouble going on down in the reeds beside the dike. the reed-buntings--some people might easily have mistaken them for sparrows, with their black heads and white mustaches--said so, swaying and balancing upon the bending reeds, and calling the makers of that trouble names in a harsh voice. and all the rest of the reed-people were saying so, too. it was an amazing thing how full of wild-folk that apparently deserted reed-patch was. each bit of the landscape, each typical portion, is a world of its own, with its special kind of population. this one produced unexpectedly a pair of sedge-warblers and a reed-warbler, atoms who gyrated and grated their annoyance; a willow-tit, who made needle-point rebukes; a water-rail, with a long beak and long legs, running away like a long-legged pullet; a moorhen very much concerned as to her nest; a big rat very much concerned as to the moorhen's nest, too, but in a different way; a grass snake, who glistened as if newly painted in the sun; and a spotted crake, who is even more of a running winged ventriloquial mystery than the corn-crake of our childhood's hay-times. all of them were on thorns--though on reeds, really--and evidently highly rattled and in a state of nerves over the trouble in the reeds. and not much wonder either, for, judging by the sounds, murder was being done in there among the secret recesses of the swishing green stems--murder cruel and violent, in spite of the sunshine and the light of day. and then, all of a sudden, in the midst of almost a gasp of silent horror, a moment of speechlessness on the part of the wild lookers-on, out came the trouble, rolling over and over and over upon the soft, short-cropped grass of the dike-bank, and--they all saw. also, they all, except the little warblers, who were safe, more or less, and stayed to blaspheme the public nuisance, instantly and at the same moment remembered appointments elsewhere, and went to keep them with a haste that was noticeable and wonderful. there before them was a hare. but a hare is a gentle and altogether negligible wild-person. this hare, however, was fighting, and fighting like several furies, and grunting, and making all sorts of unharelike motions and commotions against another beast; and that other beast was most emphatically not a hare. it--or, rather, he--was big, as we count bigness among four-footed wild-folk in britain to-day. probably he could stretch the tape to twenty-three inches, of which about sixteen consisted of very long, low body, with sturdy, bear-like, dumpy legs, the rest being rather thick, furry tail; and, though nobody--without steel armor--might have cared to take on the job of weighing him alive, he would have turned the scale at about two pounds eight ounces, or perhaps a bit more. not a big beast, you will say; but in the wild he ruled big, being snaky and of a fighting turn, so to say. he was, in fact, the very devil, and he looked it--hard as nickel-steel. a dull, tawny devil, with a peculiar purplish sheen in some lights--due to the longer hair--on his short, hard coat, turning black on his throat, legs, and tail--as if he had walked in black somewhere--and finished off with patches of creamy white on head and ears. there was an extraordinary air of hard, tough, cool, cruel, fighting-power and slow ferocity about the beast--a very natural born gladiator of the wild places. men called him polecat, apropos of nothing about him, apparently, for he had no connection with poles or cats; or foumart, apropos--and you wouldn't have needed to be told if you had got to leeward of him just then--of his _very_ unroselike smell--that is, fou--foul, mart--marten, his nearest relation; or, again, fitchett, as our forefathers termed him. but never mind. what's in a name, anyway? a big sloe-hare, with a leveret or two _not_ for sale--and that doe's leverets must have been in the rushes somewhere--may, upon occasion, show unexpected fighting-powers. and this one did. the polecat was kicked in the stomach, and kicked and scratched in the ribs, and thumped on the nose, and kicked and scratched and thumped on the head, before he could get in the death-stroke, the terrible lightning-thrust at the brain's base, which, like the sword-stroke that ends the bull-fight, dropped the victim as if struck by electricity. and then he had whirled, and darted headlong for the reeds. he galloped in an odd, jumpy, sidelong gallop, as if he were a sort of glorified wild dachshund. it did not take him long to inspect the reed-patch, to search it from end to end with his nose. his mind was soon made up to the fact that the wretched leverets had vanished, and that no scenting of his keen nose could find them. they had gone, evidently, quitted, like the pair of obedient children that they were, while their mother was cleverly holding the foe, and making demonstrations in his front. and now the pair of them were probably far away, lost past all finding among the mazes of the fields. and there was nothing for him to do but go and dine upon the old hare, which he did, taking, according to his custom, little more than a bite and a sip before passing on. then he turned and meandered off on the war-path. and this was a serious business, and a busy one. it was downright hard labor, for he worked his ground properly and for all it was worth, having a lot to kill, and not much time to kill it in. at times he sat bolt-upright, and stared knowingly around--because his short legs gave him such a limited view otherwise. at times he climbed a mole-heap. at other times he hunted head down--and again one noticed the hound-like manner--in every possible direction, questing, casting here, casting there, working back, throwing forward, describing circles, and poking into and out of every reed-patch, bramble-heap, furze-clump, or other bit of cover that that coverless land offered. and then suddenly he stopped. and then suddenly he ran forward. and then suddenly, the scent carrying him right smack-bang out into the open, he dropped flat and began to crawl. he crept and he crept and he crept across that absolutely bare, flat ground, with never a tuft of fur or a feather of a single live thing upon it to be seen, till one might have thought that he had gone mad, and was stalking an illusion--as many, not beasts, have done before him; only they were men, and blew their brains out--or went bankrupt instead--afterwards. finally he stopped. and this was the oddest thing of all, because, if any creature could show intense excitement without showing it--that is to say, without muscle, eyelid, hair, or limb moving--that polecat did then. and yet, stare as one would upon the absolutely bare grass, dotted only here and there with a stone, or a rat's skull, or a daisy--all looking alike in their whiteness from a distance--not a living, breathing thing was to be seen. and yet there was a living, breathing thing there. indeed, there were several. it was only the eye that was deceived, not the nose--at least, not the polecat's nose--by motionlessness. right in front of the polecat, within spring, still as the very ground, the huffish, whitish check of a peewit, lap-wing, or green plover would have been mistaken for one of the many stones; the thin, curving top-knot for a stem of the thin, harsh grass: the low curve of the dark back, with its light reflections in green, for no more than the natural curve of the close-cropped turf. and she was on her nest, which was no nest, but a scrape, backing her natural assimilation with her surroundings to see her through. and the polecat knew she was there, and he knew she was on her nest--she would not have been fool enough to keep there otherwise. his nose told him--not his eyes, i think, for that was nearly impossible. the thing was, he wanted her to move. that was what he was waiting for. no more than the twitch of an eyelid would do to show which end was head and which tail; for he could only smell her, and, in a manner, would have to pounce blind if she did not move. she did not move, however, and in the end he had to pounce blind, anyhow, so suddenly, so unexpectedly, when it did come, shifting like a streak, that there seemed to have been no time to shout even, or gasp. yet that peewit found time in that fraction of a second to rise, open her wings, and get two feet into the air. and then the polecat took her, leaping with unexpected agility, and pulling her down out of limitless freedom and safety. there was just a rush, a snap, a wild-bird squawk, and down the pair went, to the accompaniment of furiously fluttering wings and in a cloud of feathers. she had made a slight mistake in her calculations, that peewit, a matter of perhaps a quarter of a second, but enough. nature has not got much room for those who commit slight mistakes in the wild, i guess; they mostly quit the stage before passing that habit on, or soon after. for a moment there was a horrible, strenuous jumble of fur and feathers on the ground, and then the polecat's flat head rose up on his long neck out of the jumble, his eyes alight with a new look, and his lifted upper lip stained with a single little bright carmine spot. the peewit was dead. he pivoted upon his shanks and examined the nest. it was empty. he got to his feet with rapidity, and, in great excitement, dropped his head and began hunting. in a minute a mottled pebble seemed to get up under his nose and run. he snapped at it, and it fell upon the grass, stretching out slowly in death--a baby peewit. he circled rapidly, stopped, swerved, and, at the canter, took up another scent. suddenly, in a tussock of marram, his nose and he stopped dead. nothing moved. then he bit, and a second buff-and-black-mottled soft body stretched slowly out into the open as death took it--a second baby peewit. he circled again, fairly racing now, and so nearly fell over a third pebble come to life that it scuttled back between his legs; but he spun upon himself like a snake, and caught it ere it had gone a yard. he snapped again, held it, dropped it, and another downy, soft, warm chick thing straightened, horribly and pathetically, in the unpitying sun, and was still--a third baby peewit. but there were no more. he hunted around and around for the next ten minutes, but never struck a trail. evidently there had been only three. and all the time father-peewit, who had just come back from dinner, swooped, and stooped, and dived, and rocketed, and shot down and around, his wings humming through the still air above as he went clean mad, and seemed like to break his neck and the polecat's back in any and every one of his demented abysmal plunges, but somehow never did quite. and all the time, also, the polecat, without seeming to take the slightest notice of him, was watching him out of the corner of his eye, waiting, hoping for a chance while he hunted. but this was not intended as an exhibition of "frightfulness," though the beast had slain far more innocents than he could eat. it was part of his duty; and though men have accused his kind of being possessed of a joy of killing, the accusation is by no means proven. and, in any case, the accused might reply to civilization, "same to you, sir, and many hundreds of times more so." anyway, he now picked up a young peewit and made for the nearest dike; then along this, and presently into the water and across to the other side, swimming strongly and well; then along a smaller dike, hugging the reeds as much as possible, and pursued by a running fire of abuse from the sedge and marsh and grasshopper warblers, from wagtails, meadow-pipits, reed-buntings, larks, and all the small-bird population of those parts, till he came to the sea-bank, called by the natives "sea-wall." this was a high, grass-bearded bank designed to constrain the waters of the estuary, and there, in a hole, curtained by a dandelion and guarded by the stiff spears of the coarse marram grass, he stuffed his victim. the burrow was not empty when he came to it, for it already contained two moorhens' eggs; but there was still room for more, and one by one he fetched the remainder of his victims, mother and all, that way, and stuffed them into the burrow, with a plodding, steady, exact doggedness of purpose that was rather surprising in a mere wild beast who, if seen casually, would have appeared to the ordinary man to be merely aimlessly wandering about the landscape. and, mind you, this was not quite such a simple and "soft" job as it looked. grit was needed to accomplish it, even. there was, for instance, the sudden, far too suggestive, swirl in the water as he crossed the dike for the third time, loaded, that gave more than a hint of some unknown--and therefore the more sinister--haunter of those muddied depths of pollution, who took a more than passing interest in the smell of blood, and must, to judge by the swirl, have been too big to be safe. and that was probably a giant female eel, as dangerous a foe as any swimmer of his size--though he ate eels--might care to face. then there was the marsh-harrier--and the same might have been a kind of owl if it wasn't a sort of hawk--who flapped up like some gigantic moth, and dogged his steps, only waiting--he felt sure of it--for the polecat to slip, or meet a foe, or have an accident, or something, before breaking its own avine neutrality. then, too, there was the stoat, or, rather, not the stoat only, but the stoat and his wife, who would have murdered him if they had dared, and took to shadowing and watching him from cover in the most meaning sort of way. and, finally, there was the lean, nosing, sneaking dog, the egg-thief, who had no business there with his yolk-spattered, slobbering jaws, plundering the homes of the wild feathered ones--he who was only a tame slave, and a bad one at that. but the dog followed the polecat into a jungle-like reed fastness, and--almost never came out again! when he did, it was to the accompaniment of varied and assorted howls, and at about the biggest thing in the speed line he had ever evolved. he was no end glad to get out, and the distant haze swallowed him wonderfully quickly, still howling every yard of the way--for, mark you, that polecat's teeth, once felt, wore nothing to laugh at or forget. these things he accomplished as the night was beginning to fall, and the solemn eye of the setting sun--such an eye of such a setting sun as the estuary alone knows; bloodshot, and in a sky asmoke as of cities burning--regarded him as he finished and stood back outside as one who considers. he was a grim figure of outlawry and rapine, alone there in that lonely place, amidst the gathering, dank gray of the marsh mists, the red rays touching his coat and turning it to deep purple, and his eyes to dull ruby flame; a beast, once seen, you would not forget, and could never mistake. but his work was not yet done. he was hungry again, but for him there could be no more food yet, and he turned with the same immutable and dumbly dogged air that characterized so many of his actions, and made off down the "sea-bank." once he hid--vanished utterly would better express it--to avoid the passage of an eel-spearer, an inhabitant of the estuary almost as amphibious and mysterious as himself. once he very nearly caught a low-flying snipe as he leapt up at it while cutting low over the top of the "bank"; and once--here he sprang aside with a half-stifled snarl and every bristle erect--he was very nearly caught by a horrible steel-toothed trap, set there to entertain that same dog we have already met, by reason of the small matter of a late lamb or two that had suddenly developed bites, obviously not self-inflicted, in the night. then he crossed the dike at the foot of the sea-wall, shook himself, sat down to scratch, and straightway hurled himself backwards and to one side, as something that resembled a javelin whizzed out of six straggling, upright, faded, tawny reeds at the water's edge, by which he had sat down. the javelin struck deep into the little circle of lightly-pressed-down grass where his haunches had rested, and he caught a glimpse, or only a half-glimpse, of weird onyx eyes, and heard strange and shuddery reptilian hissings. eyes and noises might have belonged to a crocodile, or some huge lizard thing, or snapping turtle, but the javelin was clearly the property of no such horror, and was very obviously a beak--now, by the way, withdrawn. followed the harsh rattle and the swish of big feathers and vast wings--he felt the draught of them--the dim outline, as it were, of a ghost, of some great shape rising into the gloom, and as instantly vanishing over the sea-"wall," and he was alone, _and_--there were now three upright and faded reeds in the clump near which he had sat him down by the water's edge to scratch, _not_ six. the thing, the portent, the apparition, or whatever you like to call it, had been the _other_ three; yet you could have sworn to the six reeds before it moved. and the worst of it was that he did not know from frogs and fresh water what the thing was. he had never glimpsed such a sudden death before, and had no burning desire to do so again, for he was shrewd enough to know that, but for that fling-back of his, the javelin would have struck him, and struck him like a stuck pig, perhaps through the skull! oh, polecat! the bird was a bittern, relation of the herons, only brown, and if not quite so long, made up for it in strength and fiery, highly developed courage. caution is not the polecat's trump card, as it is the cat's, but if ever he trod carefully, it was thence onwards, as he threaded the dike-cut and pool-dotted gloom. he came upon a lone bull bellowing, and gave him room. he came upon something unknown, but certainly not a lone bull, bellowing too; it was the bittern, and he gave that plenty of room. he came upon two moorhens, fighting as if to the death, but _he_ was the death; and slew one of them from behind neatly, and had to go back with it, past both bellowings, to a second burrow in the sea-bank, where he put it; and later he came upon only seven great, mangy, old, stump-tailed, scarred, horrible ghouls of shore rats, all mobbing a wounded seagull--a herring-gull--with a broken wing. the gull lived, but that was no fault of the polecat's, for she managed to run off into the surrounding darkness what time he was dealing warily but effectively with one of those yellow-toothed devils of murderous rats--whose bite is poison--in what dear, kind-hearted people might have said was a most praiseworthy rescue of the poor, dear, beautiful bird. (the poor, dear, beautiful bird, be it whispered, had herself swallowed a fat-cheeked and innocent-eyed baby rabbit whole that very day, before she was wounded; but never mind.) the polecat, after one wary sniff, did not seem to think the rat worthy of a journey to the sea-bank and decent burial, and passed on, the richer for a drink of rat's blood, perhaps, but very hungry. he came upon a redshank's nest in a tuft of grass. the redshank, who has much the cut of a snipe, plus red-orange legs, must have heard or seen him coming in the new, thin moonlight, and told all the marsh about it with a shrieking whistled, "tyop! tyop!" but the nest contained four eggs, which the polecat took in lieu of anything bigger, carrying two--one journey for each--all the way to the sea-bank, to yet another hole he had previously scraped, or found, therein. one of the other two eggs he consumed himself, and was just making off with number four, when something came galloping over the marsh in the moonlight, splashing through the pools, and making, in that silence, no end of a row for a wild creature. the polecat stood quite still, with his long back arched, his sturdy, short forepaws anchored tense, and his short, rounded ears alert, and watched it come, not because he wanted to, but because there did not happen to be any cover thereabouts, and to move might give him away. when he saw that the beast was long and low, and short-legged and flat-beaded, his long outer fur began to bristle. those outlines were the trade-marks of his own tribe--not his own species only--and were, he knew, more likely to mean tough trouble than anything else. then he realized that the path of the new arrival would take it right towards him, and that was bad, because to move now and get out of the way was hopeless. also, he could see the size of the beast now, and that was worse than bad--some ten inches to a foot worse. the beast held a wild-duckling in its jaws, and the little body, with its stuck-out webbed feet, flapped and flopped dismally from side to side, as the animal cantered along with a somewhat shuffling, undulating gait. and then the polecat became transfixed. he had recognized the new-comer. he knew the breed, and would have given a lot not to have molested that redshank's abode and be found there. the strange beast--palpably a large, sinuous, and wicked proposition--came right up to the polecat, standing there rigid, erect, motionless, and alone in the moonlight, with the fourth egg between his paws, and then stopped dead, almost touching him. apparently, it saw him for the first time. certainly it was not pleased; it said so under its breath, in a low growl. the polecat said nothing, perhaps because he had nothing to say. the beast was an otter, and an old one. also, it appeared to be suffering from a "grouch." the polecat felt uncomfortable. he was eyeing the other's throat, and marking just the place where he meant to take hold, if things came to the worst; but he knew all the time that the otter, although its eyes had never been removed for a fraction of a second off his face, was really watching the egg. the otter was a female; probably she had young to feed; the presence of the duckling darkly hinted at it. if so, so much the worse for the polecat. then the otter put down her duckling, and growled again; but the polecat might have been carved in unbarked oak for all the sign of life that he gave. then--she sailed in. it was really very neatly and prettily done, for, as an exponent of lithesome agility, the otter is--when the pine-marten is not by--certainly quite it. the polecat seemed to side-twist double, making some sort of lightning-play with his long neck and body as she came, and--he got his hold. yes, he got his hold all right. the only thing was to stay there; for, as he was a polecat and a member of the great, the famous, weasel tribe, part of his fighting creed was to _stay there_. when, however, hounds fail to puncture an otter's hide, any beast might be pardoned for losing its grip; but he did not. between the tame hounds' fangs and his smaller wild ones was some difference--about the difference between our teeth and a savage's, multiplied once or twice; and the old she-otter, who had felt hounds' teeth in her life, realized the difference. also, it hurt, and the polecat did not lose his hold. then, maddened, wild with rage, the rage of one who expects a walk-over and receives a bad jolt instead, that old she-otter really got to work. she recoiled like a coiled snake, and the polecat felt fire in one loin. it looked like the contortions of one big, furry beast twisted with cramp, by the moonlight. you could not possibly separate the combatants, or tell that there were two. but the polecat only fought because he dared not expose his flank with the foe facing him. now, however, as they both rolled he-- hi! it was done in an instant. at a moment when the roll brought him on top, and when the otter was shifting her own hold for another, and more deadly, which might have "put him to sleep" forever, he miraculously twisted and writhed, eel-fashion, and with one mighty wrench--a good strip of his skin and fur had to go in that pull, but it couldn't be helped--he had broken the other's hold, leapt clear of the clinch, and was gone. the otter was up before you could guess what had happened, and was drumming away on his heels; but she soon pulled up, realizing that a polecat may be slow in the books, but not so slow in real life, with her to assist speed. anyway, she seemed slower; and, in any case, she could not hope to follow him in the intricacy of holes and cover he was sure to take to, like a fish to water. moreover, she was spitting up blood, result of friend polecat's neat and natty strangle-hold on her throat, and felt more in need of the egg--which she had won, at any rate--than a wild-goose chase. like a thin, wavy line through the night, friend polecat betook himself to the sea-bank, to a hole in the sea-bank, to the very depths of that hole; and there, in the shape of two angrily smoldering, luminous orbs shining steadily through the pit-like dark, he stayed. most of the time, i fancy, he used up in licking his wounds. they needed it, for, though clean, the punctures from the otter's canines had gone deep, and a red trail of drops marked the polecat's route to his lair--one of his lairs. not, be it noted, that he was entirely ignored. blood-trails are always items of interest in the wild, especially in the dark hours while man sleeps. thus there once came to the mouth of the hole scufflings, and the noise as of an eager, inquisitive crowd--rats, who hoped for a chance to get their own back on a detested foe. but one evil snarl from the wounded beast removed them, convinced that the time was not yet. once, also, something sniffed out of the stilly night, and that was a fox; but one snap from within, a perfectly abominable smell, and the narrowness of the accommodation proved too much for brer fox, and he, with an insolent cock of the brush, retired. then, too, there was a rabbit, not looking where he was going, who got half-way down the burrow before he realized the awful truth, and went out backwards, like a cat with a salmon-tin on its head. but along towards dawn there came an altogether different sort of sound, somehow--a sort of a little chuckling sound; and the polecat, answering it, came out. he looked rather less awful now than when he had gone in. a form was standing outside--a dark, low, long form, like himself; and, like himself, you could easily become aware of it without seeing it, even with your handkerchief to your nose. it was his wife, smaller, but no less dangerous, than he. she was carrying an old hen-redshank in her jaws, its long beak and one of its wings clearly silhouetted against the moon. and apparently she would be very pleased if her husband would come out of the hole and make room for her to stuff the redshank into it. then, together, they moved at their indescribable, undulating gait--they looked like a snake between them in the moonlight--along the sea-bank, till they came, with caution and many clever tricks of vanishing, in case anybody might be watching, to yet another burrow, screened completely and very neatly guarded by the splayed leaves of a bunch of frosted sea-holly. both beasts went into the burrow, at the end of which was a nest containing live things, which squirmed and made little, tiny, infant noises in the darkness. they were the polecats' children, four of them, all quite young, and all very hungry and very lively indeed; and they explained a good deal of the reason for the stores of food set by in other burrows in the "sea-wall." but they did not explain quite all, for, unless mrs. polecat liked her dinner high--and there was nothing i could find in her methods to show that she did--or unless mr. polecat had got a craze for collecting specimens and eggs, or forgot where half of his trophies were hidden as a natural habit of absent-mindedness, one cannot quite see the reason for hiding so much so soon, before the young could feed upon the "specimens." however, i suppose the two beasts knew their own business best. the old male polecat seemed to, anyway, for just as the first flicker of dawn was paling the eastern sky he went off down to the mist-hidden dike, and, in no more than ten short minutes, returned with an eel, protesting violently in that horrible way eels have, which he promptly proceeded to decapitate and eat. the afternoon had still some little time to run, when the waving grass down the side of the sea-bank and the half of a glimpse of dull tawny gave away the male polecat leaving his "earth" for the war-path once more. was he ever anything else than on the war-path if he moved abroad at all? that, even from above, was, i swear, all the indication he gave of his exit. now, although it is a rule in the wild that self-advertisement is most unhealthful, there may be times when a beast like the polecat may not advertise itself enough. and this was one of those times. far overhead, circling grandly on effortless, still, great pinions, swimming, one might say, in the dome of the sky, a big bird, known as a buzzard, was staring downwards with the flashing, sheathed glance of all birds of prey--and aviators--at the world below. she, too, had young, and simply had to find a meal. the hour was late, and her success _nil_. perhaps that accounted for much. perhaps, however, all she saw was that half-glimpse of dull, tawny fur, which accounted for still more; that is to say, she probably made a mistake. anyway, the polecat was suddenly aware of a sound like the swish of a lady's skirt in the air above him, and of a dimming of the light. he sprang forward first, and glanced up second--knowing the rules of the wild. but he was too late, for instantly the long, hooked talons of the bird came down through the grass, and gripped. it was an awful handshake, for the bird was a buzzard, we said, who is a sort of smaller and less kingly edition of the eagle, without the imperial power. for a few seconds there followed an awful struggle--great wings beating mightily downwards, beak hammering, and fangs meeting the hammerings with audible clashings. it seemed that the bird could not quite lift the beast, and that the beast could not quite retain connection with solid earth. and then the bird rose, slowly, strainingly, with her vast pinions winnowing the air with deep "how-hows!" like mighty fans rose she, still gripping the struggling polecat hard by the back in a locked clutch of steel--up and up, and out over the estuary, growing slowly from a great bird to a medium-sized one, to a smaller, and a smaller, all the time fighting, it seemed, like a mad creature, to gain the upper air, to climb to the clouds, as a drowning man fights his way upwards in the water. and there was reason--the old polecat's jaws were fast shut in a vise-grip, as of a yale lock, upon her throat. never a sound broke the silence that brooded forever--in spite of the wind--over the lake-like, flattened expanse of the estuary save the deep "how-how!" of the buzzard's superb pinions as she climbed slowly into the sublime vault of the heavens; never a sound from bird or from beast. the beast hung on, dumbly dogged, with fangs that met in the flesh beneath the stained feathers; and the blood of the bird mingled with the blood of the beast as it trickled slowly down over his mangled head, upon which one fearful claw of the buzzard was clutched in an awful grip. the bird struggled dumbly also, upwards, ever upwards, gasping, with open beak and staring eyes, fighting vainly for the breath she could not draw, till at last the two were no more than a speck--one little, dark, indefinite speck, floating athwart the great, piled, fleecy mountains of the clouds. and then, quite suddenly, so suddenly that it was almost like pricking a bladder, the end came. the magnificent, overshadowing pinions collapsed; the bird reeled, toppled for an instant in the void, and then slid back and down, faster and faster and faster, turning over and over, in one long, sickening dive back to earth. [illustration: "turning over and over, in one long, sickening dive back to earth"] a watcher, had there been one, might have seen, just as the last rays of the setting sun touched the steely reaches of the estuary, turning them to lakes of crimson, something, somebody--or bodies, truly, for they were locked together--suddenly appear, streaking down headlong from out the heavens. there followed a single terrific splash far out over the tide, an upheaval of waters, a succession of ripples hurrying outwards, ever outwards, to tell the tale, and then--nothing. next morning, as the sun rose, a party of mournfully shrieking black-backed, herring, common, and black-headed gulls were gathered around the soaked and bedraggled carcasses of a polecat and a buzzard, stranded by the falling tide upon a mud spur, and still locked savagely and implacably in death. half a mile away, in the darkness of her burrow, the she-polecat stirred uneasily in her sleep, and, waking for a moment, stared out at the still, silent, secret marshes, wondering, perhaps, why her mate had not returned. and ten miles away, far up in their great nest among the boughs of a mighty scotch fir, three downy, but already fierce-eyed, buzzard nestlings craned their necks upwards, calling hungrily, and wondering why their mother had not returned; while their father shot and swerved backwards and forwards over the tree-tops, mewing and calling, uneasily and lonelily, to the clouds for his wife, who had so mysteriously disappeared. and so--fate and the end. this only remains to be said--the female polecat and the male buzzard did, in spite of fate, manage to rear their young. and if the gamekeeper and the collector, the sportsman and the farmer, have not been too cruel, those young are alive-to-day. xii the furtive feud there was a sun. you could not see it much because of burning, dancing haze, but you could not get anywhere without feeling it. almost everything you touched--sand, rock, and such like--blistered you; and the vegetation, where it wasn't four-inch thorns and six-inch spikes and bloated cacti, was shriveled yellow-brown, like the color of a lion. perhaps it was a lion, some of it. how could one tell? lizards, which were bad; and scorpions, which were worse; and snakes, which were worse than worse, lay about in the sun, as if they were pieces of leather drying. you could not see them--which was awkward, for some of them held a five-minute death up their sleeve--partly because they matched their surroundings, partly because they were still. they were colored burnt to hide in a burnt land. yet it was possible to be bright and gay and unobtrusive in this place, too--if you were cold-blooded enough not to boil dry and explode before getting a drink--for under some trees lay, in the old-gold, yellow, black-shade-streaked, tawny-red grass, a sleek and glistening, banded, blotched, and spotted, newly painted python. yes, sirs, a python snake; and you couldn't see it in its new levee uniform--the old one lay not fifty yards away--any more than you could see the other, and plainly attired, bad dreams--so long as it did not move. its length was not apparent, because it was coiled up; but it would have uncoiled out into something most alarming if stretched, i fancy. the jackal made no sound as he came, tripping daintily, graceful and light as a rubber ball, into the scene, blissfully oblivious, apparently, of the fact that any other next step might awake a volcano under his feet. he was a black-backed jackal; red-tawny sides, fading to nearly white under-parts; black back, grizzled with white hairs, neatly ruled off from the rest of him, like a big saddle; large, wide-awake ears; long, thin legs; bushy tail; very knowing eyes, and all complete--part wolf, part fox, and yet neither and something of both. no one living could, perhaps, have been agile enough to measure him, but he looked over two and a half feet from nose-tip to tail-root; and you can add, possibly, a third of that for the tail. but he was all there, whatever his length, every short hair of him, and none of the swarms of buzzing flies around seemed anxious to settle upon him. he picked his way across to the shade of the trees, slouching quite casually, apparently; though how he avoided treading upon any of the sudden deaths variously thrown about seems a mystery. and just short of the shade of the trees he stopped. he had spotted, or scented--the latter is most likely, for the smell beat a chemical-works, a slaughter-house, and a whaleship rolled into one--the big snake. the big snake remained motionless, and made no sign. goodness knows whether it was asleep, if snakes ever do sleep. it certainly had its horrible eyes open, fixed in an evil stare at anything, or nothing, after the fashion of snakes, who are cursed in that they cannot shut their eyes to things. (imagine the position of some people in this world if they were afflicted like the snakes!) for about a minute that jackal stood like a carved beast in wood, with the original bark left on his back. then he began to sink, slowly, gradually, till he lay as flat as a punctured bladder. and the picture of that little black-backed fellow--that _canis mesomelas_, if you like official terms--all alone there, and surrounded by a dozen deaths at least, and all nasty, doing the stalking act upon that python was great. he stalked. my! how he stalked! and with reason, for he was taking on, perhaps, the biggest thing in the hunting line that he had ever tackled, and it was a million to one that, if he did not win, he died, and horribly, too; and he knew it. ordinarily he would have been the python's prey. [illustration: "that little black-backed fellow doing the stalking act upon that python was great"] there was a little snicker, as it were, in the air as his fangs closed, and the python, waking one-twentieth of a second too late, lifted its head. then, short and crisp--snap! talk about tweaking a lightning-flash by its tail! it would have been a wake to what followed then. the jackal knew what to expect--by instinct, i suppose. anyway, he did not wait longer than it takes to scrunch as hard as possible with canine teeth as sharp as knives, and leap clear. ho did it, however, and stood well back, with his ears cocked and his head on one side. it was as if he were panting, "now, let her rip"--and she did. a hurricane in a cage, a volcano in an eligible house-lot, a geyser in a water-jug--what you will; but they were all tame alongside that python, after the little black-back had got his fangs home. you know the size of pythons? 'bout the biggest things in snakes there are going, bar two; and this one was not a baby. but nobody can properly measure their strength. this one unwrapped itself in one awful swiftness, and wrapped itself up again more awfully swiftly and in worse knots. then things became hazy, and one could only tell by the dust, and the sand, and the grass, and the leaves, and the other things flying around that something was happening. but the jackal did not seem to care. he only sat well back, with jaws open and very red tongue lolling, obviously doing a dog-laugh to himself. perhaps it touched his sense of humor to think that so small a beast as he, with just one scientific bite, should create such a deal of disturbance. but the--er--aroma could not have amused even him, and he was, as you might say, salted to stenches; for, though he was on the up-wind side, even there it was enough to knock flat anything that the python's tail could not reach. it was a most stupendous stench--a sort of weapon of defense, or danger-signal, that these big snakes have. now, perhaps it was the reek that drew the purr. purring is generally looked upon as a nice and comfy sort of a sound, but _this was not_. the jackal just heard it intruding upon the confusion of the python's last contortions, as if suddenly, and it seemed to come from the ground, and the sky, and the surrounding scenery all at the same time. there was nothing nice and comfy about it at all. the jackal removed himself, at sound of it, about four yards in as many bounds, and every grizzled scrap of fur along his black back stood on end. if we had heard it, we should have reached for our rifle, and felt tingly all down our spine, for that was the sort of purr it was--a horrible, hungry, suggestive, cruel, and blood-curdling sound of ghoulish pleasure. the jackal ceased to dog-laugh, and his tail was between his legs, for he knew that purr, and its name was death. death angry is bad enough, but death pleased-- louder and louder the purr became, till it seemed, as the python began to lash out the very last of its life, apparently, to fill the whole place. finally, it became real, and--a shape walked slowly out of a thorn-bush. it would be blatant exaggeration to call that shape a lion. it--he--had been one. he was now a walking hat-rack. never have you seen such a lion. never had the jackal seen such a lion, even; and he had done business--of the snatch-and-run order--with lions all his life. however many years that lion had lived, to kill mercilessly, heaven alone knows; but how on earth he had contrived to avoid for some time being equally mercilessly killed by hyenas, or wild hogs, heaven and himself alone knew, too. he was a very, very old lion, a derelict of a lion, a shadow of a ghost of one, mangy, tottering, toothless--come down to eat snakes killed by others, even by jackals. then the jackal went away, dejected and disgusted. he was honestly proud of his slaying of that python. it was the biggest screw-up of courage he had ever accomplished in his life, and to be done out of his rewarding big feast by that purring skeleton of a king of beasts! it was too much even for his pessimistic philosophy. "yaaa-ya-ya-ya-ya!" he howled, with his nose pointed to the brazen sun, and melted away among the accursed thorn-scrub with a look about him that said, as plainly as words, "and that's what comes of hunting in daylight." the jackal, after a long skirmish and a drink, retired homewards towards sunset, when suddenly, from a tuft of grass ahead of him, a shadow shot and vanished. he picked up the trail at once, diagnosed it as that of a hare, and gave chase. it was a fine chase, characterized by every aspect of first-class trailing, and carried along at such a speed that the quarry never got a chance to stop and get its second wind. indeed, the quarry never had a chance to stop at all, until it was stopped, and the manner of that happening was strange. whether designedly driven, or whether by chance, one cannot tell, but the fact remains that the hare took a "line of country" which, if persisted in, would lead her close past the jackal's lair, or, rather, his wife's lair. this was important--for the jackal. once, indeed, our hunter all but overran a small--but quite big enough--boa-constrictor, which must have aimed to drop from a tree upon the hare passing below, and missed. it was in an even more evil temper, in consequence, than snakes usually are, and struck at the jackal with its head and shut mouth. the jackal quietly side-stepped, snapped, missed, and made off after his quarry, and about five hundred yards farther on he came up with "puss"--dead. the jackal sat on his bushy tail, stuck out his fore-feet straight, and stopped as quickly as ever he could. then he snarled, and full right had he to snarl. the hare was lying on her back, weakly kicking out the last of her life with her hindlegs, and a stocky, short-nosed, evil, leering, side-striped jackal was standing over her. _he_ had done the deed. and our black-back knew that side-stripe, had met him before. the two families lived only a few hundred yards apart, and it was mrs. side-stripe who was responsible for our friend's wife's crippled condition at that moment. this was a typical side-striper, one of the creeping, hunting-by-surprise-and-pounce sort, and it may be that he had never run down any prey worth speaking about in his life. in a way, he was the very opposite from our black-back, who was mostly legs, and a bit of a sportsman, and, i believe, really delighted in a good ringing hunt. wherefore there was not much cause for surprise at the bitter blood-feud that had gradually grown up between them, till now things had come pretty well to a head. the other beast folded back his lean upper-lip till his teeth glistened, and grinned at him--a menacing grin. i don't know if he guessed that it was, by all the laws of the chase, the black-back's hare, but he knew that he had pounced upon her as she passed--pounced like a cat, as was his way, what time he was profiting by his enemy's absence to keep that enemy's lame wife indoors, and from hunting even for insects or fruit, by prowling round her lair, and threatening her with growls. perhaps he had designs upon her puppies. perhaps his wife had. and perhaps mrs. mesomelas knew that. it is difficult to tell. there was a sort of a blackish-tawny line drawn to the side-stripe--whose other and learned name was adustus--and back. it scarcely seemed possible that the black-backed little chap had moved, but he had--leaped in and out again, chopping wickedly with a sword-like gleam of fangs as he did so. the other pivoted, quick as thought, and counter-slashed, and, before you could wink, mesomelas was in and away, in and out, once, twice, and again. one bite sent a little flick of the other's brown fur a-flying; one missed, one got home, and the side-stripe's ugly snarling changed to a yap to say so. twice the two beasts whirled round and round, like roulette-balls, the black-back always on the outside, always doing the attacking, dancing as if on air, light as a gnat. once he got right in, and the foe sprang at his throat. he was not there when the enemy's teeth closed, but his fangs were, and fang closed on fang, and the resulting tussle was not pretty to behold. mesomelas cleared himself from that scrunch with very red lips, but never stopped his whirling, light-cavalry form of attack. he was trying to tease the other into dashing after him, and giving up the advantage which his foe had in size and strength, but it was no good; and finally adustus suddenly scurried into cover, redder than he had been, and our black-back, too, had to bolt for his hole, as an aardwolf, clumsy, hyena-like, and cowardly, but strong enough for them, scenting blood, came up to investigate. mercifully, the side-stripe seemed to attract the more attention, or shed the more blood, and while the aardwolf was sniffing at his hole--not intending to do anything if the jackal had a snap left in him, which he had, for the aardwolf possessed the heart of a sheep, really--the black-back managed to dash out and abscond to his hole with the hare. when the aardwolf came back, and sniffed out what he had done, he said things. our jackal's head appeared at his hole next dawn as a francolin began to call, and a gray lowrie--a mere shadow up among the branches--started to call out, "go away! go away!" as if he were speaking to the retreating night. a gay, orange-colored bat came and hung up above the jackal's den--well out of reach, of course--and a ground-hornbill suddenly started his reverberating "hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo!" and, behold--'twas dawn! the jackal scuttled down to the river to have a drink, which he got rather riskily among the horns of drinking, congregated hartebeests, impala, and other antelope, and returned with the leg-bone of a bush-buck, which had been slain the night before by a leopard, and he went to ground very quickly, for the great spotted cat could be heard, grunting wrath, at his heels. then the day strode up, and the light, creeping in, showed our jackal, curled up and fast asleep, in his lair, as far away as he could possibly get in the space--two ant-bears', or aardvarks', holes run into one--from his also curled-up wife. later--for it was quite chilly--he came out to sleep in the sun, under a bush, till the sun, in turn, half-baked him, and he retired again to the den. the days were, as a rule, for the jackal, a succession of sleeping blanks, but at the end of this day it was the fate of a small python--small for a python--to hunt a pangolin--who was as like a thin pineapple with a long tail, if you understand me, as it was like anything, or like a fir-cone many times enlarged, only it was an animal, and a weird one--into that den of thieves. mrs. mesomelas, she appeared to shoot straight from dreamless slumber on to the pangolin's back in some wonderful way, and mr. mesomelas, he bounced from the arms of morpheus into--the jaws of the snake? no, sirs; on to the nape of that snake's neck, if snakes may be said to have napes to their necks. but to get hold of the neck of a python is one thing, to keep there quite a different, and very risky, affair; and our jackal, who was no pup, knew that. if that legless creation of the devil could only have got his tail round something, our jackal might have been turned into food for his food, so to speak. wherefore, possibly, he was frightened. it was like taking hold of a live wire by the loose end. moreover, the space was confined, and there were the whelps and all, and i rather fancy black-back was more frightened to leave go and stay than he was to hold on and run. anyway, he held on and ran. an old, fat zebra stallion, round-barreled and half-asleep, snorted suddenly, and stared with surprise at the sight of a black-backed jackal galloping as fast as circumstances would permit him, with the wide-mouthed head of a python in his jaws, and the remaining long, painted body trailing out behind. the snake was not going with any pleasure, and his wriggling tail was feeling for a hold every inch of the way, and if he could have got one--oh, jackal! but he could not, for the jackal kept on going, and the snake's after-length kept on trailing out straight, like a loose rope behind a boat, through the perishing glare and the heat-flurry that seemed to be making the whole world jump up and down, as it does when you look at it over the top of a locomotive-funnel. snakes take a long time to die, or to _seem_ dead, even with a double set of glistening sharp teeth scrunching as hard as their owner knows how into their neck. at last, however, after a final series of efforts to get, and keep, in the shape of a letter s, the python's tail gradually ceased to feel for a hold, and the writhing strain in the jackal's jaws relaxed. still, our mesomelas was taking no chances, and he galloped home with his capture before he stopped, as proud and happy an old dog, rascally jackal as ever cracked a bone on a fine day. he was a little puffed, and more than a little puffed up, and it may have been that he did not keep his eyes all round his head, as a jackal should always do. anyway, there, in the gathering shadows of night, came a waiting, watching shadow, that was presently joined by another, and the two--their eyes glinted once in a nasty metallic fashion--stood head to head, watching him. by the time mrs. mesomelas had hobbled out to view the "kill" for herself, and snarl her appreciation--truly, it was a strange way of showing it--with thin, wicked ears laid back, and more than wicked fangs bared, the waiting, watching shadows had crept forward a little, on their bellies, head up, and--mrs. mesomelas, with the quick suspicion of motherhood awake in her, saw them. the snarl that she whipped out fetched the jackal round upon himself as if stung. then he saw, and understood, and rage flamed into his intelligent, dog's eyes. it was the side-striped jackals, mr. and mrs., plotting to loot his "kill." it was the black-back who attacked. perhaps he knew that one secret of defense is swift and unexpected offense. anyway, he attacked, sailing in with his dancy, chopping, in-and-out skirmishing methods; and mrs. mesomelas, on three legs and with the bill for the other to be settled, helped him. it was very difficult, in the tropic dust, to follow what exactly happened next. for the next few minutes black-back was here, there, and everywhere, leaping and dodging in and out like a lambent flame. the human eye could scarcely follow him, but the human ear could hear plainly the nasty, dog-like snarling and the snap of teeth. the side-stripe, as i have said, was the weightier beast, but the black-back never gave him the advantage, which he sought, of the close-fought fight. more than once he was chased, but only to lead his foe into the open, where he could play his own game to his own liking; and at last, when the moon rose, and his mate had the female black-back driven back to her last ditch, so to speak, at the entrance to her lair, the side-stripped jackal, spouting blood at every joint, it seemed, collapsed suddenly, and apparently gave up the ghost. now, our black-backed jackal was not a young beast, and he was up to most wild-folks' games--which was as well. he approached the corpse with caution, and as he poised for the last spring the corpse was at his throat. black-back, however, was not there, but his tail was, and the side-striped one got a mouthful of the bushy black tip of that. whereupon mesomelas recoiled on himself, and for a moment a horrible "worry" followed, at the end of which the other dropped limply again, this time, apparently, really done for. very, very gingerly the black-back--himself a red and weird sight in the eye of the moon--approached, and seized and shook the foe, dropped him, and--again that foe was a leaping streak at his throat. mesomelas side-stepped, and neatly chopped--a terrible, wrenching bite--at his hindleg in passing. it fetched him over, and he lay still, the moon shining on his side, doubly and redly striped now. this time it was mesomelas who sprang at his throat--to be met by fangs. but in the quarter of an instant, changing his mind after he sprang, he shot clean up in the air, and came down to one side, and, rebounding like a ball, had the other by the neck. for one instant he kept there, hung, wrenching ghastlily, then sprung clear, and, backing slowly, limping, growling horribly, flat-eared and beaten, the side-striped jackal began his slow, backward retreat into the heart of the nearly impenetrable thorns, where the winner was not such a fool as to follow him. and the black-backed jackal never saw him again. living or dead, he faded out of our jackal's life forever. and when he turned, his wife was standing at the entrance to the "earth" alone. the other, the female side-striped jackal's form, could be dimly seen dissolving into the night--on three legs. "yaaa-ya-ya-ya!" howled mesomelas. xiii the storm pirate the sea-birds were very happy along that terrible breaker-hewn coast. puffin, guillemot, black guillemot, razorbill, cormorant, shag, fulmar petrel, storm petrel perhaps, kittiwake-gull, common gull, eider-duck, oyster-catcher, after their kind, had the great, cliff-piled, inlet-studded, rock-dotted stretch of coast practically to themselves--to themselves in their thousands. their only shadow was the herring-gulls, and the herring-gulls, being amateur, not professional, pirates, were too clumsy to worry too much. then came the rain-shower. not that there was anything in that. rain-showers came to that land as easily as blushes _used_ to do to maidens' cheeks--rain-showers, and sudden squalls, and all manner of swift storm phenomena. but behind the rain-shower, or in it, maybe--it blotted out cliff and inlet and sandbar and heather-covered hills, and, with the wind, whipped the sea into spume like an egg-whisk--came he, the storm pirate. a guillemot--you know the guillemot, the fish-hunter, who flies under the waters more easily than she flies the air above the waters--had risen, and was making inshore with a full catch, when the squall caught her without warning. for a little she faced it, her wings whirring madly, her body suspended in mid-air, but she not making headway one inch against the sudden fury of a forty-mile-an-hour wind. then, since she could no longer see the shore, which was blotted out with hissing rain, she turned and ran down-wind, like a drawn streak, to the lee of a big stack of rock. the next that was seen of her, she was heading out to sea at top speed, in wake of the rain-shower and the squall, which had passed as suddenly as it had come; and behind her, pursuing her with a relentless fury that made one gasp, shot another and a strange bird-shape. its lines were the lines of the true pirate; its wings long and sharp-cut; its beak wickedly hooked at the tip; its claws curved, for no gentle purpose, at the end of its webbed feet; its eye fierce and haughty; its uniform the color of the very stormcloud that had just passed--dun and smoked cream below, and sooty above. true, he was not big, being only twenty-one inches--two inches less than the herring-gull. but what is size, anyway? it was the fire that counted, the ferocity, the "devil," the armament, and the appalling speed. just as a professional boxer of any size can lay out any mere hulking hooligan, so this bird carried about him the stamp of the professional fighter that could lay out anything there in that scene that he chose--almost. the guillemot flew as never in all her life had she flown before, and every known artifice of dodging she had heard of she tried, and--it all failed. the terrible new bird gained all the time steadily, following her as if towed by an invisible string, till at last he was above her, his wonderful wild scream was ringing in her ears, his cruel eyes glaring into hers, his beak snapping in her very face, his claws a-clutch. no, thank you. in sheer terror she opened her beak and dropped her fish. it fell like a column of silver, and in a flash her pursuer was gone--nay, was not gone; had turned, rather, into a second column, a sooty one, falling like a thunderbolt, till he overtook even the falling fish, and wonderfully snatched it up in his hooked bill ere ever it could touch the waves, without a word or explanation of any kind whatever. that, apparently, was his manner of getting his living; a strange manner, a peculiar way--the way of the pirate on the ocean. despoiled, but safe, the guillemot rattled away "for another cast"; but the foe settled, riding lightly on the lift and fall of the bottle-green waves. here he was no longer a wonderful phantom spirit of the storm, but just a bird that might have been passed over at first glance as simply a seagull. but not at a second glance. men called this strange bird richardson's skua, or arctic skua, or lesser skua, or, officially, _stercorarius crepidatus_, or, most unofficially, in the vernacular, "boatswain," or "man-o'-war," or "gull-tormentor." apparently you could take your choice what you called him. but he did not belong to mr. richardson really. he belonged to nobody, only to himself, to the wind and the rain, that seemed to have begot him, and to the grim north, from which he took his other name. he might have claimed the gulls as his near relations--they loathed him enough. for a long time he sat on the lifting, breathing swell, floating idly. there was nothing else on the face of the lonely waters except himself and a flock, or fleet, i should say, of razorbills and guillemots, very far away, who alternately showed all white breasts, and vanished--as they dived and rose all together--like white-faced, disappearing targets, and one gull, who wheeled and wheeled in the middle distance, with one eye on the divers and one on the skua, as if, gull-like, waiting on a chance from either. then at last the skua rose again, and swept hurriedly out to sea to meet a small black-and-white speck that was coming in. it was a little, rotund, parrot-beaked puffin, loaded with fish--sprats--four of them set crossways in his wonderful bill. he seemed to know nothing about the skua till that worthy was upon him, and then, as he fled, after a furious chase of about three minutes, he suddenly surrendered by letting fall all his spoil. the skua caught up one sprat before it hit the surface, but, being too late to overtake the rest, seemed to take no further notice of them, but swept on, to settle upon the water a mile away and preen himself. and this was where the waiting, watching gull came in--the herring-gull. he sprang to strenuous life, and, arriving swiftly at full speed over the spot, snatched up off the surface, and by clumsily attempting to plunge, two more of the sprats, before the skua could intervene. then it was that a terrible and a totally unexpected thing happened, and yet, if one comes to think about it and study the matter more, the most natural in the world; probably, also, on those wild seas, even common-place. only, you see, there was no interval at all between the skua sitting placidly on the lap of the waves, eyeing the gull vengefully, and that same skua shooting straight upwards, all doubled up, on the top of what appeared to have been a submarine mine in a mild form in active demonstration. [illustration: "shooting straight upwards on the top of what appeared to have been a submarine mine in a mild form"] this submarine mine, however, in addition to the burst and heave of torn and upflung falling waters and foam, had a visible heart, a great, shining, wet, torpedo-shaped body, which rose on end beneath the stricken bird, and fell again with a splintering crash that shot up the heads of the diving birds half a mile away. it might have been a thresher-shark, or some other northern shark, or it might have been a dolphin, which is bad, or a killer whale, which is a good deal worse, if it had not been a great gray seal seeking dinner; and its effect on the luckless skua was the effect of a battering ram, and the skua that fell back again with the fall of snarling water was to all intents and purposes a corpse. but it was a good thing that he was so. had it been otherwise, had he tried to get away or fluttered, there would have been no more of him. that is to say, the head of the seal came up--or its wet and suggestive big nose did--and poked about, trying to find the bird. it had evidently meant to grab him, to engulf him utterly and forever in the first rush; but something--some unlooked-for lift of a wave or turn of the bird--had made the shot miss, or nearly miss, so that the bird had been hit by the bloated six-footer's nose, instead of being crushed in its teeth--its terrible long and glistening array of murderous teeth. all the same, the nose blow was bad enough. it was like being hit by the beak of a torpedo at full speed, fit almost to bash a boat in. the seal was quite evidently looking for the bird, and, equally quite evidently, seemed bound to find him. to know why it did not at once see him is to know that the seal's view, from below the surface, of the world above is about a twelve-foot circle of white-gold light, that is all; and the skua, floating limp and floppy, had been, by chance, till then always carried hither and yon by the waves just outside that circle. but that chance could not last. then came the other seal. came she easily and gracefully, as a seal should in her element, effortlessly gliding along, her head from time to time up like a dog's--some gentle dog's, say a mild-eyed spaniel's--looking about. she was just a female seal. she knew nothing of the bird or her companion, who were at sea-level, and more often than not hidden in the trough, till she came sliding down the slope of a round-barreled swell, practically on top of them. then it was too late to avoid mutual recognition. quick as sound she had seen, had realized, had spun on her apology for a tail, and had gone, leaving a little trail of foam behind her to prove her speed and her coyness. but, quick as light, the magnificent male seal had sunk from sight, leaving a little chain of bursting bubbles behind to mark his speed. and the last that was seen of that lady seal was a speck far on the horizon, going like a masterless torpedo, alternately leaping forward through the air and shooting along on, or just under, the surface--switchbacking, they call it; and that, i dare to fancy, if it proves anything, proves that the coyness was only make-believe, and that she had allowed the daring admirer to catch her up and force her to act as if she were already vanquished and using the last arts of swift swimming she knew. it left the skua, however; left him still floating, floating, floating up one long breaker's side, and sliding down its other side to its fellow behind, towards the shore--always towards the shore. it is true that the tide was falling offshore, but that made no difference to the currents of those parts, which were independent currents and of a great force. they were shouldering the skua steadily to land, and if you had dropped a line overboard there, with an ordinary lead on, you would have felt them pulling at it, and taking the lead along like a live thing. and the currents were fate, so far as that bird was concerned. there was a little inlet, and a little bay in the inlet no larger than a good-sized dining-table, and seaweed, green and red, upon the rock-bowlders that encircled it, and old-gold patches of sand between the rock-bowlders, and green grass behind the rock-bowlders, and brown-plush furze behind the green grass, and a patch of blue sky over all. and in the middle of the little bay in the inlet, bob-bobbing on the lap-lapping of the littlest waves, that--sifted out by then, as it were--had found their way so far, floated the skua, the richardson's or arctic skua, dead, to all appearances, as the proverbial door-nail. but that was not the rub. the rub was in the--ah! "he-oh!" pealed down the clear, ringing bugle-cry from above, and a shadow floated upon the reflections a-dance on the surface in the little bay in the little inlet--floated and hung, so that it exactly covered the skua like a funeral pall; floated, and hung, and came down. as its claws scraped a bowlder, and it furled its long, narrow vans, it was revealed as the big herring-gull--him we left out upon the face of the waters, watching and waiting on chance. his spotless expanse of head and neck alone marked him, gave him away, a speck you could see for a mile. his size--just on two feet--proved what his snowy hood proclaimed, in case there were any doubts. a smaller gull, an uncommon common gull--of eighteen inches--came and looked, to make quite sure--and went away again. the herring-gull, in spite of his silly name, has a reputation, and a "plug ugly" one. and the herring-gull, he--did nothing. that is the strength of the herring-gull--doing nothing. he can do it for an hour, half a morning, or most of a day. his battle-cry might well have been, "wait and see," but he must be one of the few living, breathing things on this earth who have made the game pay, and--lived. he might have been a lump of chalk, or a marble carving, or a stuffed specimen, or asleep, or dead, for all the signs of living that he gave. one began to wonder if he ever would move again. he had been a bird, but was now the life-size model of one cut in alabaster, with clear pebbles for eyes--they were quite as hard and cold as that, his eyes. and all the time the body of the skua floated, and danced, and drifted, and lifted in, making an inch on one wavelet, to lose three-quarters of it on the next, but still, unnoticeably perhaps, but undoubtedly, gradually, surely, for all that, drifting in. somebody has written somewhere that gulls never touch a carcass on land. sometimes they touch things on land which were not carcasses before they touched them. this gull, however, did not wait for any landing. perhaps he knew that, once stranded, the gray crows might come to assist him in their own peculiar way, or a raven, who would not assist him at all, except into the next world, if he did not relinquish all claim to the feast. anyway, whatever we poor mortals may kid ourselves into thinking he did or did not know, or what we may think he ought to have known, he began operations as soon as the skua came alongside, so to speak--that is, drifted against the particular bowlder upon which the sphinx-like herring-gull happened by chance--always by chance, of course--to be standing. now, there is no particular joy in having your eyes hammered at by a blunted sharp instrument, like a herring-gull's beak, for instance, even if those eyes happen to be shut, as i think the skua's were, and the instrument wielded with the extreme clumsiness of the half-trained, as i know the herring-gull's beak was. but, all the same, it was the kindest thing that could have happened, for, had it not been for that, the skua was like to have drifted in that fashion from that little inlet out upon another sea; not the one connected with the inlet, but one where you can drift forever, and whose name is death. the physical pain, however, brought him round. he was only stunned, and the agony of the eyes, or eye, rather, was acute. he opened the other eye--a wonderful, piercing, fierce orb. he contracted his feathers. the world grew from a mist in that eye to a little bay in a little inlet, with the seaweed-covered bowlder-rocks, the old-gold sand, the green grass, the brown-plush furze, and the patch of wonderful blue sky over-top. then it took in the spotless, gaunt form of the herring-gull, and--he remembered that he was a skua, only some twenty-one inches long, 'tis true, but still a skua, to be treated and respected as such. wherefore, who so surprised as that big father of herring-gulls when the bedraggled, smoky-hued thing under his bill, which he may, or may not, have taken for a corpse, woke up, returned to life suddenly, and erupted into his very face, with the yells of a fiend, the weapons of a fury, and the rage of several devils? he yelled, too, that herring-gull, not entirely with rage, and did his best to get under way as quickly as might be, but became, before he knew where he was, altogether too busy even for that. not being in the habit of performing optical operations upon arctic skuas as a rule, he had nothing in his memory to warn him of what followed, nothing to put him up to the absolutely diabolical fury of the onslaught he had to meet in the next few seconds. he certainly did his level best with such weapons as nature had given him, but his blunt, hooked beak and the claws he had not got seemed suddenly meager against the hammering, tearing, stabbing, rending dagger weapons of his--"meal." the skua saw red, and the herring-gull saw mainly red skua, as he was hurled back and down under the first rush, and instantly, without a second to recover, was hurled, equally helplessly, the other way, shrieking for his very life, and decorating the air and the old-gold sand with a pretty little cloud of his spotless feathers. he fought with the desperation of almost all the wild-people, when there is no help for it; hammering, too, but wildly and clumsily. the skua fought with the cunning and precision of the professional, plus such a rage as can only be described as berserk. it was not a long fight. perhaps the skua felt that, after his collision at sea, his bolt would be soon shot, and he had better do what he was going to do as quickly and thoroughly as possible. certainly he did appear to do so; and when at length he drew back, rocking and gasping like a drunken creature, the famed purity of that herring-gull's uniform was a thing of beauty no longer. that part of him, indeed, which was not red was mud, or sand, or green slime, and in his eyes was the most worried and tired look you ever saw. he rocked, too, in his gait, as he ran and blundered, and he gasped with his beak open. when he rose, which he did without any sort of procrastination, he rocked worse than ever, and twice nearly fell, and once hit the water, before finally slowly dragging himself away upward, flapping low and heavily across the little waves. with the one available eye--the eye left him in working condition by the herring-gull's clumsy efforts--flaming like a live-coal, that implacable skua watched him go. he may or may not have known it, of course, but i feel pretty certain that he would a few thousand times rather have been standing there upon the old-gold sand, with only one eye doing duty and an unspeakable agony in the other eye, than be that herring-gull in the condition he was then, going back to the bosom of his tribe. it is not a thing to dwell upon in polite society, but i tell you that the gull-folk do not always treat their wounded well, and there would be no chance, no earthly chance at all, of his finding a place in all that vast horizon of sea and sky and island where they, the ceaseless, never-resting "white patrol," would not eventually find him. then the skua lay down, and thereafter surrendered himself to that utter reaction which birds, who live more intensely in action than almost any other creatures, have brought to an apparently exaggerated pitch. he did not sleep, but he did not move, and every muscle in him, every fiber, every nerve, faculty, organ, was surrendered utterly to rest. night came fluttering her sable wings across the scene, breathing and sighing audibly in the first silence that wild landscape of storms and squalls had known throughout the day, and the skua moved. his neck went up straight, and his head turned, looking sharply this way and that, fierce apprehension written upon him. there was nothing one could see to give cause for this. a flock of curlew were passing, wailing one to the other, across the sunset; a string of late gulls trailed athwart the sky; and a wedge of those beautiful little wild-duck known as wigeon was letting itself down to the shores of the inlet. far out to sea a black line, which might have been a sea-serpent if it hadn't been scoter ducks, trailed undulating over the waves, and a single great white gannet plunged from aloft into the deep at intervals with a report like a sunset gun. but they were all innocent, except in the opinion of the fish and shell-fish, and no manner of folk to trouble the pirate skua. set a thief to catch a thief, however. and, besides, there was blood on the bird and around him, or the taint of it, and blood is the devil and all in the wild. there was nothing to be _seen_. no. that was the worst part of it. it was what was unseen that the skua was thinking about. wherefore, then, our friend of the pirate rig rose and walked stiffly to the summit of one of the bowlder-rocks right at the water's edge. he was by no means recovered yet, or in any condition for a fight in that desolate scene, and had to select the most strategic position he could crawl to. he did, and awaited fate's reply. the day died, and the moon came out to wink and dodge and play a foolish game of hide-and-seek in and out among the clouds. she showed the skua, a black knob atop of the black blob of his bowlder, apparently fast asleep, invisible if we did not know he was there. she showed black dots bobbing upon silver lanes, which were sea-duck of various kinds--scaup, long tail, scoter, and the rest. she showed a line of old, rotten posts, broken off short by the waves, along a sand-ridge, which were wild-geese; and she showed three big, white swans--wild-swans, wilder even than the geese--floating like ghosts in the enchanted light. but she also showed other things, indistinctly, 'tis true; but enough--quite enough. she revealed for an instant, as she shone on the spot on the sand where the skua had sat, the fact that the sand seemed to be alive, horribly alive, as if the pebbles had taken legs and ran about. it was a sudden, ghastly flashlight, hidden as soon as seen, and it gave one the shudders. those pebbles were crabs mad with hunger, as crabs always seem to he. they had arrived there as if by magic--been creeping in ever since dusk, probably (one of the things that were unseen); but whether blood, or feathers, or taint of blood, or what horrible, ghoulish system of espionage drew them, is not for me to say. they were there, anyway, and--and--well, and then they were not there. the next flashlight of the moon showed that some others had taken their place. this was ghastly, for the others were bigger than any shore crabs, and they hopped, and they sat up hunched, like hobgoblins, and--they scratched! this last identified them, for the soulless, shelled crab-people are not given to scratch much--at least, not in _that_ way. they were rats--shore rats. the last designation is necessary, for there are rats _and_ rats, all bad, but the shore rat is the worst. how many sleeping birds, wounded, tired, or unalert, die at his hands, or, rather, his teeth, in the course of a year would amaze anybody if known, and the shell-fish he relieves of life are legion. the hard, horny carapace of a retreating crab scraped, in the dead silence, against the rock-bowlder on which the skua sat. he made no move at the sound, the suggestive sound; but his feathers were shut down quite tight, and he looked far smaller than usual. when birds shut down their feathers in that fashion they put on an armor coat, as it were, through which very little can pierce. it showed that he was ready. and you think that the mere shore crabs could be nothing to him. but a few hundred ravening shore crabs, with their lives for sale--all digging pieces out of you in the dark--are not so easy a proposition to dispose of as people may think. try it. one of the rats turned suddenly and faced towards him. the skua could see its little, cruel eyes gleaming like gimlet-holes in the wall of a lighted room. then another, and another, and another did the same. the skua was scarcely bleeding at all now, but he had left enough of a trail for _them_--they who make a specialty of the job. and they followed it. hopping grotesquely across the mottled, hurrying patches of moonlight they came, one behind the other, and without noise. the skua remained as still as the bowlder he sat upon. in that position, even peering closely, you would never have seen him, unless, like ourselves, you knew he was there. but he was drawn together, drawn in all his muscles like a tense spring, and--though this his persecutors could not know--he was recovering from his hurts rapidly, with the wonderful power of recuperation of all the wild-folk, who pay their price for it in clean, hard living. then suddenly there was a scuffle below him in the dark. one of the rats squeaked a little, acknowledging receipt of a crab's pincers closed upon him, or her. followed the sounds of some scuttering, confusion, and the horrible slide and scrape of horny shells upon stone. then silence, and the skua knew that, in that wonderful way they have, the crabs, at any rate, were gone--for the moment. remained, however, the rats, and one peered up over the bowlder the next instant, its eyes glinting in a momentary splash of moonlight fiendishly. also, his quick ears could hear the soft creepings of the others on every side of the bowlder, back and front. they had surrounded him, and, like wolves, would now rush, and then--and then---- they had gone. yes, there could be no shadow of doubt about it. there had come an instant's furtive, hurried movement, a glimpse--no, half a glimpse--of hunched forms hopping through the dark, and they were no more. the skua stared, and as he stared a great terror seized him. what more deadly form of death than themselves had they suddenly become aware of, to cause them to invite themselves into nowhere in that magic fashion? in the dead silence that fell, he could hear nothing, see nothing. yet he felt--indeed he knew--something seemed to tell him, that a deadly foe was at hand. hours passed. they were minutes really, but they seemed hours to him. nothing happened; nothing showed. but the rats did not come back. therefore, whatever incarnation of death it was that removed them must be there still. he knew that. that lonely, wounded bird knew that. and he was right. behind him, practically invisible, flat to the ground, a long, low, narrow, dark shape was lying crouched, creeping, creeping, creeping towards his tail. slowly, almost painfully slowly, it drew upon him gradually, so gradually that the distance between them could scarce be seen to lessen. and soundlessly, so soundlessly that even his quick ears, trained far beyond the quickest human aural perception, could not hear it. then, so quickly that the eye could not follow it, the crouching form made its rush. the skua was sitting motionless, with his head looking straight in front of him. the dark form came from behind, and there would have been no time for the skua to move before the thing, whatever it was, had him by the back of the neck, and dead, save for one little tiny fact. as it propelled itself forward, in the first bound, the claws of the beast's hindpaw's scraped upon a stone. it was only a little sound, and it gave the skua barely a fraction of a second's warning; but, he being a wild thing, it was enough. quick as light the bird had half turned upon one side, and flung up one claw and wing to cover his neck, whilst his head jerked round hindpart before in the same atom of time. thus it happened that the beast, unable to stop, found himself with his head and eyes being dug at by a hooked beak, and his jaws closed upon a skinny leg instead of upon the skua's spinal column, as he had intended, which would have put the skua out of life like turning out a gas-jet. and it was then, in that instant, that the moon chose to dodge from behind a cloud and reveal the beast as a big, long, lean, and hungry dog-stoat. probably he had thought that the skua was a gull, and a wounded one. there is a difference, however, between the skuas and the gulls, though they bear a family likeness. he discovered the difference now, and for the next few minutes was not overjoyed at the knowledge. one cannot do much blood-sucking to weaken one's prey out of a scrawny leg that resembles a twig wrapped round with leather. and the stoat found this out, too, and he would have shifted his hold to the bird's body like a flash, if he had been given a chance, but he never was. before he knew what was happening, he was blinded by the beating of vast wings, his claws began to slip and slide, and--oh, horror!--still slipping and sliding, he found the bowlder going from him. it went from him, receding downwards with terrifying rapidity, and the dancing, silvery, sparkling water was sliding below, too. being a stoat, he hung on with v.c. doggedness and courage; but it was the worst thing he could have done. moreover, as it was, he forced the bird to attempt reprisals in mid-air--a terrible proceeding. now, this was difficult, might almost seem impossible; but the skua is one of the most wonderful flyers that haunt the seas even--and most of the best are there--and what he could not execute in the air was scarcely worth mentioning. it included in this case a perfectly diabolical scraping of the foe's head with his available claw, and after that, since the dogged stoat did not leave go, and the pain was excruciating, a wonderful bend forward, and, at a pronounced and dangerous angle, a fiendish stabbing at the stoat's head with his murderous beak. this last involved a drop of nearly a hundred feet, but it did the trick. blinded, dazed, shaken, and maddened by the agony of blows upon his sensitive nose, the stoat opened his jaws to grip higher up the leg; and in an instant he was gone, turning over and over, down, down, down to the hungry waves below. ten minutes later the skua was calmly and safely asleep upon the top of a frowning black stack of rock, untroubled, i think, even by dreams of the terrible things he had gone through. * * * * * * next morning, an apparition of wonder and fierce beauty, the skua, quite recovered except that he had a lameness in one leg and a weakness in one wonderful eye that would last him a lifetime, came racing down-shore out of a stormcloud into the full gold of the sun at some seventy miles an hour. he was in pursuit of a common gull who, with more luck than judgment, had caught a fish. the gull held on for a few minutes, on and in and around the horizon, going like the wind up and down and around, as for his life, with friend skua ever close to his tail, before a wild yell, which he could not mistake, sounded in his ear, and he dropped the prize. the skua executed his wonderful dive, and caught the gleaming silver thing before it reached the waves, and shooting up again, was just about to continue his course, when a constant and peculiar flickering above the beach caught his telescopic eye. he checked, flung up, came round beautifully effortless, and headed towards the sight. probably he knew what it was, had fathomed it even from that distance. it was a gang of gulls flying round and mobbing a hapless wounded gull on the beach. it was a foul thing to do, a horrible, blundering, clumsy murder, done slowly; but even so, it was all over before, with a scream that rang like the battle-cry of a highland chief, and set the murderous heads up in wild alarm, the skua came shooting, twisting, turning, diving, and darting right into the heart of the crowd. and they went circling, and wheeling, and hurling down-wind like sheets of paper, those murderous sea-birds, dispersed and scattered over the face of the waters, and were gone almost without a word. then the skua came lightly down, rocking on the wind, and settled beside the poor, draggled, white body, no longer white, upon the shingle, which had been so foully done to death by gulls of various clans. he may, or may not, have known it, but i can tell _you_ that the gull was the self-same herring-gull who had tried to kill him the day before. now he--but we will draw a curtain here. next day the skua went away, and the fishing wild-folk breathed a sigh of relief as they watched him go, and for three days peace brooded over the winged fishers of those parts, so that birds could feed upon what they caught, nor be in fear of getting hunted for it. but upon the fourth day the skua came back. and he was not alone. a dusky, nearly brown--for they vary much in color--female skua came with him. and in due course they built them a home on the ground among the heather, and they guarded their treasured eggs and reared with amazing fierce devotion their beloved young. before his advent that strip of wild sea-coast had been, mercifully, without its skuas. our bold buccaneer, however, having won his footing, took care to see that, so far as one bird could accomplish the great task, it never should be again. xiv when nights were cold and the northern lights come down to dance on the houseless snow; and god, who clears the grounding berg, and steers the grinding flow, he hears the cry of the little kit-fox and the lemming on the snow.--rudyard kipling. a snipe rose suddenly, and began to call out; a capercailzie lofted all at once, with a great rush of winged bulk, above the snow-bound forest; and a white hare slid, like a wraith of the winter, down a silent forest aisle. then came the white wolf of the frozen wastes, the terror of the blizzard, ghost-like, enormous, and swift. in dead, grim silence came he, loping his loose, tireless wolf's lope, and stopped at a windfall, where two forest giants, their decaying strength discovered by the extra weight of snow, lay prone, one across the other. for a moment he paused, nose up, testing the still, cold air; then he leapt upon the upper fallen tree. he had, seen up there and clearly, an enormously thick and woolly coat, that magnified his already record size. you see him trotting along the tree-trunk. then he stopped and stared down into the dark hollow under the upper tree. then he sniffed--audibly. then he licked his nose--and very red was his tongue. then--but this he couldn't help, i verily believe, as he balanced there with his pricked ears and bright eyes--he whined. and instantly his little, impatient, dog-like whine was answered by a deep, deep growl, that seemed to come out of the bowels of the earth. he was just in time, as he leapt lightly off the windfall, to avoid the rush of a vast brown bulk, reeking of carrion, furry, terrible, with live-coals for eyes, and threshing the air with claws heaven knows how long, which hurled itself like an avalanche out of the hollow at him. and that thing was a bear. now, bears do not, as a rule, without extraordinary reason, in that land, rouse themselves out of their winter sleep for the mere whine of a wolf. they are impregnable where they are, and know it. the extraordinary reason, however, was present. the white wolf was sniffing at it now--the bear's blood-trail to the windfall. bruin had been roused once before that day--by beaters. he had then been driven forward, shot at by hunters, wounded, escaped, and returned to his den. but--but, i give you my word, if those beaters, those peasants, had known the white wolf of the frozen waste was out, nothing in the wide world would have induced them to beat for bears or anything else in that vicinity. the white wolf stretched himself to a canter, and slid away through the forest, dropping the trees past him like telegraph-poles past a railway-carriage window. he looked like the very spirit of winter, the demon of the snows, and stood for that in the ignorant minds of the sparsely scattered people--perhaps because at a short distance he was nearly invisible. his white coat, which was simply a conspicuous curse to him when there was no snow--which was one reason, maybe, why he retired from the limelight to some lonely fastness during summer--was an incalculable asset to him in winter, and he knew it. he ran, with his smooth, loose, effortless lope, perhaps a quarter of a mile, then stopped, and putting up his head, howled a howl so full of hopeless, cruel yearning, so vibrant with desolation, that it sounded like the cry of a soul doomed forever to seek something it could never find. it was a lugubrious yowl there, in that setting, and it made one's scalp creep all over one's cranium. and instantly almost, even as the last, long, horrible echoes died, sobbing adown the blue-haze perspective of the forest glades, the answer came--a far-away, fluttering, wandering howl, like the moan of the wind in its sleep. the white wolf waited a moment, then howled again, and the ghastly sound came back to him, louder and nearer this time. a third time he howled, and the forest cringed under the reply. then at last the shadows between the ranked tree-trunks took unto themselves life, and eyes, eyes in pairs, horribly hungry, cruel port-holes of brains, with a glary, stary, green light behind them, suddenly appeared everywhere, like swiftly-turned-on electric lamps. there was a whispering rush, as if giants were swiftly dealing cards in the silence, and--the white wolf of the frozen waste was away, racing like a cloud-shadow, rapid and impetuous as a greyhound, at the head of a pack of one hundred and twenty-nine empty-stomached wolves. they made no sound as they tore, compact as a zulu impi, over the spotless white, because they had no trail to follow, only this huge devil of a leader; and they had their work cut out to follow him, for he was the longest-legged male wolf any of them had ever set eyes upon. straight as a twelve-inch shell the white wolf headed back to the fallen trees and the bear's den. when he reached them, he stopped so abruptly that the wolves behind him almost sat on their haunches in the effort to pull up. those that failed fell sideways under a rain of wicked snaps from him, that followed one another quick as the stutter of a machine-gun. the pack did not stop--at least, not the flanks of it. they swept on without a pause, out and round, like flood-water round a knoll, joined at the far side, and--were still. as a maneuver, a military maneuver, swift, unexpected, faultless, and silent, it was perfect. for as long as a man takes to light a pipe there was dead silence, broken only by the quick motor-like panting of the pack. and one hundred and twenty-nine pairs of eyes regarded the fallen trees. then the white wolf, all alone, with hackles up, stepped forward and leaped upon the trunk of the tree that was poised upon its fellow. he ran lightly up it till he was exactly above the hollow formed by the junction of the two trees, then stopped, looking down. half-a-dozen of the older and more cunning wolves followed him; the pack surged forward until both trees became lined with a row of wolves, without breaking the circle of the main pack outside, and then stopped. all this in silence. then--but you could almost hear the trees breathe while he did it--the white wolf yawned very deliberately, and whined, insolently and very audibly. the answer was instant. something rumbled within the den, deep down, like a geyser. the white wolf whined again, and sprang aside just as the bear, maddened with the pain of a . -caliber rifle bullet in his stomach, and seeking a sacrifice, hurled out of the dark and up over the tree-trunk, striking, with appalling nail-strokes, right and left; and the quickness of those strokes was only a less astonishment than the agility of the wolves getting out of the way of them. but--but he had come out to abolish one wolf, that bear; not one hundred and twenty-nine. the white wolf dropped without a sound upon the bear's great, broad back. the half-dozen old wolves followed him like figures moved by a single lever. the pack sucked in with the rush of a waterspout. the bear vanished under a wave of fangs and tails, as a sinking boat vanishes beneath the billows. and the rest was the most diabolical devils' riot that ears ever heard. the bear unwounded, even if he had been induced to come out at all, might have fought his way home again; but the bear wounded and cut off was a different matter. he battled as only a cornered bear can battle; but the exertion of it gave the . bullet its chance, and he died--horribly--as they die who are pulled down by the starving wolf-pack, and that is not printable at all. he took three wolves--smashed-in-heads and chests--with him to the other world, that bear, and left three others well on the road there. _all six_ followed him by the path he had gone when the pack had done with him; but the losses might not improve the temper of the pack, though they partially stayed the hunger of a few. and the white wolf seemed to know that. full devilish indeed was the cunning of that brute. scarcely was the last bone cracked, scarcely the last wisp of skin snapped up, than the white wolf, wet, and red and wringing over the head, was away again, at full speed--and his full speed was a thing to gasp over--with a wild and rousing howl that gave the pack no time to ponder on its casualties. this time also there was no trail, so the pack had full leisure to concentrate all its energies upon the job in hand, or paw, i should say--namely, galloping. no, racing would be the only word; for the white wolf, knowing his kind, perhaps, gave the pack no leisure to grow dangerous over its losses or its hunger. only idleness gives time for questions to be asked about leadership, and he kept them busy; and if they wanted to keep up with him at all, they must needs extend themselves to the full. soon he led them to a clearing running, straight as a railway cutting, through the forest. out in the clearing, he dropped his head, howled, flung half round, and began to follow tracks; but the scent was enough for him without the tracks. they were the footprints, the sleigh-trail, and the hoofprints of the beaters, the hunters, and the pack-horses, loaded with game from the hunt of the day that had just gone. for a moment the pack, even _that_ pack, his pack, the pack of the white wolf of the frozen wastes, checked a little, shied, and were dumb. they were used to his leading them upon some hectic murder-raids, but never one quite so blatant as this. quickly, however, the real pain in their empty stomachs got the better of them, and they swept round and began to follow--half-a-dozen here and there--with whimpers. and then, the excitement spreading, they all rushed in, and breaking out, with a blood-curdling rush, into the full-throated chorus, "yi-yi-i-ki-yi!" of the wolf-pack in full cry--an m.f.h. who had never heard wolves might have mistaken it for the music of a pack of hounds if he had listened to it from a distance--they swept on after the vanishing white brush of their leader, like some great, hurrying, dark cloud-shadow, up the trail. anon, going always at their tireless wolf-lope that no beast in the world can outdistance in the end, they came to a village. some of the beaters lived at this village, and had remained there. the wolves swept on and round the miserable place--some actually raced through the snowed-up street--and took up the continued trail on the other side. anon they came to an open plain, where the trail split, many of the beaters that were left striking away to another village where they lived; but the white wolf tore straight on along the main trail, the trail of the hunters, the attendants, and the pack-horses. and the shadows of the wolves in the moonlight kept pace with them all that terrible way. the plain looked flat, but was gently undulating, like some gigantic ocean petrified; so that, in due time, the pack, still giving tongue wildly and terribly, saw before them, far, far ahead, a procession of dots straggling along over the endless, unbroken white. and instantly their music shut off as if at the wave of an invisible hand. then, as the quarry ran from scent to view, they raced. all their long, loose, nickel-steel-limbed, tireless gallop before had been nothing to their flying speed now. the taint of the blood of the slaughtered game from the chase was in their sensitive nostrils. it was like the sight of rare wines to a drunkard. shift! say, but the way those long-legged demons ate up the distance between them and their prey was awe-inspiring. it was uncanny. it was almost magic. it was awful. then things happened, as you might say, with some rapidity. three shots rang out in the silence--three shots in quick succession. they were fired at the wolves by the only man in the group who had an efficient rifle, but were really meant to recall the sleighs with the sportsmen _and_ the rifles, which had gone on. the wolves spread out into a long line; the ends of the line crept forward swiftly on either hand, and the whole pack raced to the attack in the formation of a zulu impi--in the shape of a pair of horns, that is. when the points of the horns got on the far side of their "prey," they rushed together, and turned inwards, still at full gallop. at this juncture the sleighs came back--at the gallop, too. four . -caliber express rifle bullets, one . -caliber magazine and one . -caliber magazine bullet, arriving among the wolves in quick succession produced no confusion. not a wolf stopped. each beast continued its tireless gallop, swerving and dispersing as it raced, and without uttering a sound, till, almost before you could realize what had happened at all, there was a dwindling crescent of gray specks in the background, and four or five other gray shapes--two kicking--lying about in the foreground. but--and this is where we come in--neither there in the distant snow-haze nor close in by the crowding hunting-party was the white wolf. he had been last on view far in advance of, and heading, the point of the right-hand horn of the swiftly encircling pack--his usual place, by the way--but from the moment the returning sleighs hove in sight, and the bar-like gleam of the moonlight could be seen upon the ready rifle-barrels--he had seen that, too, and knew its meaning--he had been--nowhere. now, before the encircling horns of the pack closed round, one of the pack-horses, maddened with fear, had stampeded and got clear away. that horse was galloping now madly across the plain, hidden from view by a gentle swell of ground, and--the white wolf was racing alongside of it; and away behind--for few could keep up with the tremendous speed of the white wolf--another, and an ordinary gray wolf was gliding in their tracks. that was a female wolf, who more than once before had found it a profitable investment to keep her eye upon the doings of the great white leader. she saw the white wolf leap, beheld his wrenching side-stroke at the terrified horse's throat, heard the horse scream, and watched it bound forward. followed another leap of the relentless giant white shape; the horse seemed to stumble in full gallop, and next instant came down headlong. the rest was a whirl of snow, flying hoofs, and a horrible worrying sound. then all settled down, and as she tore up she found the white wolf feeding ravenously against time, bolting his meal as only the wild members of the dog tribe, hyenas, and vultures can. she was starving, that she-wolf, but she halted upon her hams, such was the reputation of the white leader; but when he failed to snarl at her, she, too, fell to, and bolted her meal like a crazy thing. directly he had fed enough the white wolf flung round upon his heels, and, with a single quick whimper, was gone, streaking over the plain away from the hunters, away from the scattered, discomfited pack; away, away, as he had never galloped before. but, then, before he had always been the hunter. this time, if he knew anything of "pack law" and the temper of the pack over this bad defeat and heavy loss, coming on top of the bad bear "break"--this time, i say, it was he who was, or, at any rate, might be, the hunted. and he had reasons--very sound and private reasons--why he must not meet even one wolf of the pack in combat. wherefore he streaked, stretched flat, and doubled into a bow, his shadow chasing him, and the she-wolf--afraid to be left alone--chasing his shadow. very often before the white wolf had caused the pack to run into dangerous and decimating trouble, but always with a feed at the end. he had never before sold them a pup, as the saying is, like this one. moreover, he felt that his slaying of the horse secretly--and they were bound to scent out and read that--would not improve matters. wherefore he guessed that, after years of restless rule, it was about time to quit, and he quitted. but unfortunately there is only one thing harder than becoming leader of a big wolf-pack, and that is, ceasing to be leader and--live. five miles over the desolate waste of white--and what is five miles, or ten, or fifteen, to a desperate wolf?--the two beasts ran into a river--literally into a river. ice stretched far out from the bank, yet the river was so wide that they could scarce see the opposite bank. they could see the grinding, growling ice-blocks floating all round them which they plunged in, however, and they could feel the icy bite of the water--water that would stop the action of a man's heart. but the white wolf did not attempt to swim to the opposite bank, or mean to. he made a detour, and landed upon the same side he had started from. he did that three times, the she-wolf always following faithfully, because she had now become too frightened to stay alone and do anything else; and then he started upon another mad gallop of miles, but this time along the bank of the great river. finally he stopped and stared out over the ice, the thick water, and the gnashing pack-ice. far away, it seemed, through the snow-haze, he could see a wooded height, an immense island, round which the river looped in two great arms. he knew the spot--trust him. no beast in its senses would try to swim the long distance across to that island, but from time to time a hunted deer had made the attempt, and a few of those that tried it had survived the ordeal and populated the island. more than once, in heavy snow, the white wolf himself, at the head of his pack, had hunted a deer down to that very spot, and had watched its head fade across the water into the distance. once he had started to follow; but the pack had turned back, and he at length after them, snarling at their heels. now he knew how long the swim looked from the deer's point of view. it was an ugly proposition. but--he turned his head in the stillness, broken only by the multitudinous voices of the ice, and heard a far, far distant multitudinous murmur, and that was no ice, and it settled him. it was the united voice of the pack _on his trail_! he paused, ran up and down, gave an odd, little, deeply expressive whine, like a puppy afraid to take its first bath, plunged in with a rush, and struck out. soon he was out upon a piece of drift ice, shaking himself, and began leaping from one lump of floating ice to another. it was tricky, slippery, slidy work, and a fall might mean a broken leg or a crushed skull; but anything was better than dissolving like mincemeat in the jaws of the slavering pack. once, when a long way out, he looked back, and beheld the she-wolf, whining piteously as if she were being thrashed--and wolves are dumb beasts when "up against it"--following him. she, too, had heard that wild, terrifying, implacable music of the wolf-pack following them; and although i, personally, doubt if they would have touched her--unless it was the other she-wolves that did it--she seemed to have been smitten by panic, and to prefer the deep sea, or the river, rather, to that pack of maddened devils. and so, slipping, sliding, splashing, swimming, scrambling, the white wolf, after the most appalling struggle of his life, managed somehow, blindly in the end, with sobbing breath and pounding sides, to make that terrible passage, and collapse as he landed in a stiff white heap, the water frozen in icicles upon his body as he landed. for a long time he did not move, and it began to seem as if he had burst his heart. but at last he dragged himself to his feet and turned drunkenly--to find the she-wolf lying at his side. thoughts came back slowly; but at length he shook himself, and stood erect at his full, immense height. he had given the wolf-pack something tricky in the way of trails to unravel, but he knew what he had taught them too well to build too much on that. and he was right, for presently, from far, far across the water, came the unutterably terrible baying clamor of the pack, moving swiftly along--then it stopped. for a long while he waited after that, straining ears and eyes out over the moving ice, and the water, and the night that was there; but nothing could he see, and nothing more he heard except at last, far away, one last, long, lonely, ghastlily lonesome howl--the howl of defeat. then it seemed--but truly it may only have been a trick of the moonlight as he snarled, revealing his white fangs under his wickedly-curled-back lip--it seemed, i say, that the white wolf of the frozen waste grinned. and good reason had he to grin, for the life of the white wolf had been nothing more nor less than one long, bad, bold, blustering, bullying _bluff_! what's that? yes, sirs--bluff! and in this wise. firstly, his extraordinarily long legs gave him a height out of all proportion to his real hulk; secondly, his abnormally long and woolly coat gave him an apparent bulk which was out of all proportion to fact; thirdly, his actual bulk was really scarcely larger than that of any very large wolf; and, fourthly--but this concerned him only now--he was really quite an old wolf; one long past his prime, one quite unable to face any really full-grown fine young wolf, one retaining only his matchless speed by reason of his abnormally long legs, and his leadership by terrific and cleverly acted ferocity on the strength of his apparent giant dimensions. that was all, but it was enough; wasn't it, boys? would you care to have changed places with the old rascal, and played that bluff out against _those_ odds, in _that_ company, for years as he had done? i _don't_ think. no, nor i, either. it was some gamble, that. what? at last the white wolf of the frozen waste turned, with an insolent flourish of his brush, and trotted up the bank on the heels of the she-wolf, who had come to life again and preceded him into the dense tangle of the woods, which swallowed him up, him and his darned bluff, utterly. xv fate and the fearful we are the little folks--we! too little to love or to hate.--rudyabd kipling. no one ever accused him of not being all there. the job was to see what was there. a tiny alderman of the red bank-vole people, whose tunnels marched with the road through the wood, taking the afternoon sun--a slanting copper net, it was--at his own front-door under the root of the scots fir, was aware of a flicker at a hole's mouth. he looked again, and saw the mouth of that hole was empty. he blinked his star-bright eyes in his fat, furry, little square head, after the manner of one who thought he had been dreaming. but catch a bank-vole dreaming! besides, how about the squirrel overhead? he was hanging over a branch where the flicker had been, swearing fit to slit his lungs, and old squirrel wasn't much given to make mistakes, as a rule. the bank vole turned back into his hole, knowing the law against taking chances in the wild, and the first stride fetched him up short in violent collision with another bank-vole--otherwise red-backed field-mouse, if you like--coming the other way. the blow, full on the forehead, did not break his neck; but it ought to have done. it cast him clean over backwards out of his own front-door, where he fell down the bank, and was received, all his little short paws scrambling for a hold, by a thistle, and would have told all the world, with a thin, high squeak, what he had sat on, if the squeak had not frozen between his chisel teeth. there had shot out of the hole, and back, a thing. it might have been the thick end of a whip-lash or a spring, and, like a spring, as it recoiled it coiled, and was still. the bank-vole saw. most entirely did he see, and felt no joy in the seeing, either. indeed, there was no room for mistake in the zigzag black chain down the back, in the unspeakably cruel, fixed stare of the glassy, lidless eyes, in the short head and flat cranium of the true viper--viper, adder, or whatever you like to call the calamity without legs, whose other name is death. now, bank-voles know all about vipers. they have to; they die, else. they die anyway; but no matter, for they are small and very many. also, vipers know all about voles, field and bank; they specialize in 'em! but our bank-vole knew all about the "freezing" game, too, and he "froze." my word, how that little beggar was still, so utterly bereft of movement that a fly settled upon him--about the first and the last that would, i should judge! and if a learned native had come along the road at that moment--on tiptoe, of course--he would have said the viper had hypnotized friend vole with fear. hypnotize your grandmother! but you may take it from me that serpent thing was playing his game, too. he was "freezing" to induce the quarry to move and give himself away, because, since the vole was motionless, he had no idea where the little fellow was, although he seemed to be looking straight at him--in that execrable way snakes have of seeming to look straight at everything. you think it was a battle of patience? w-e-ll, maybe. maybe, too, it was a battle of nerves. i like to think so, anyway, for that snake-servant of the devil had none, and the bank-vole had; and the bank-voices broke under the awful tension--or seemed to--and the bank-vole broke the terrifying spell. also, he broke the silence. away down the ditch he went, bouncing like a tiny ball of dark thistle-down, all in and out among the vegetation, which, worse luck for him, the ditch being under the accursed shadow of the firs, was scanty. and as he galloped he squeaked three times--like a little needle stabbing the late afternoon silence, it was. his removal was one kind of quick dodge in the art of quitting; that of the viper another, and a very beastly one. the crawling thing was not much more than one-tenth of a second after the poor bank-vole in getting under way, and the rest was a--was a--oh, anything you please! i call it a sliding flicker that you rather "felt" than saw. also, the thing rustled horribly, and fact can say what she likes. i swear it shot along quite flat, crawling, not undulating; but, ough! what a lightning, footless, legless crawl! no wonder the poor little devil of a bank-vole squeaked! the wonder was he didn't faint on the spot, for he knew what was coming. up the bank he pattered, and into that, to him, great subterranean highway which seems to be conjointly kept up and used by all the mysterious little four-footed tribes of the field, and which runs the length of practically every bank and hedgerow. the place was dark and cool and echoing, and bare as the palm of your hand, and far cleaner than many palms. it might have been cleaned out that very day by a fairy vacuum-cleaner; but it hadn't. it was always like that, clean as the proverbial new pin. heaven alone knows who did the "charing" there, but those little furry tribes might have given lessons on health in trench warfare, i reckon, at a guinea a time--and cheap at that. they had found out that dirt meant disease, you bet. down that tunnel drummed the bank-vole, seeking to foul his trail with just any other creature; and, the highway being, as i have said, a sort of public affair, he met first a mouse gone astray, then a mole asleep, then a long-tailed wood-mouse, then a short-tailed field-vole, then a shrew about as big as your little finger. but they must have heard the scrape of the snake's scales down that echoing tunnel following hard behind, for they avoided our bank-vole like the plague, and dived up one or other of the thousand and one side-tunnels, which opened on to the main one, too quickly for the viper to catch them. then the poor, little, panting bank-vole found himself once more in the open. his beady eyes shone like microscopic stars as lie paused in a copper bar of setting sunlight and looked about for a refuge. it seemed, by the piston-like throb of the whole body, that his heart would burst and slay him out of hand before the hated snake could, if he did not jolly soon find one. then a hedge caught his eye, and he climbed it, being a good acrobat in his spare time. beyond, however, bringing down upon himself the pecks of several birds, he did no good, for it seemed that, whithersoever he could go, the snake could follow, and--help!--the flat, terrible head was not a yard from him now. worse was to follow, though. he dropped to earth again, already a beaten beast; and, to complete the catastrophe, by a miracle he had landed where there was not a mouse or mole or vole hole, or any other cover, within reach. only one big clod of earth there was, and round that he flung himself, with that stub, scaly snout weaving at his very tail, and rolled over and over and over--done, too utterly spent even to squeak. then fate lifted her finger, and things happened. all that had gone before didn't count, it seemed. the little bank-vole was dimly aware of rolling under a big, warm, live shape. he was also aware of a funny little fussy grunt in his ear, and that a set of very white and business-like teeth flashed for an instant in the sun, as they chopped surprisedly at him going under them, and missed. thereafter the shape sat down, nearly stifling him; and in the same instant the whole air seemed to fill with the sudden, long-drawn, venomous, terrifying hiss of the viper close at hand. evidently the limbless death had come round the corner too quickly, and had all but rammed the shape that grunted. i can give you my word, though, that the vole was not happy one bit. he appeared to be between the devil and the deep sea. he had no confidence in the deep sea, or any other thing that he could think of in his world. moreover, the deep sea, besides keeping all the air off, was most horribly bristly, even on the belly. wherefore that vole made haste to quit station, so to speak. but in a second, it seemed, before he could clear himself, that unspeakable serpent's hiss appeared to sound in his very ear, and the deep sea, folding upon itself, made the poor vole yell as if he had touched off a live-wire. he had not, of course; but it was like being struck with a dozen pins at once. he would have got out if he could, but to move was to discover more pins, and he just had to keep where he was, squealing fit to burst. and that saved the vole, probably. not that there was any magic or rubbish of that kind, of course. it was simply that the viper, shooting his every inch round the corner in the effort to grab the vole's hindlegs then or never, had hit, full pelt and nose first, the nice little array of pointed arguments carried on the back of the neck of a hedgehog, snuffing under the clod, pig-fashion, for spiders. the hedgehog, whose phlegmatic disposition and special armament allowed him the luxury of never being surprised at anything, promptly and literally shut up, so that long before the viper thing had unhooked his nose and was waving his forward part about over the hedgehog, with murder in his eye and death behind his flickering tongue, looking for a place to strike home, old hedgehog was rolled up, and snuffling and snoring away inside there, like an old man chuckling when he has just cried "mate!" at chess. this trying position continued for perhaps five minutes. it seemed like five days to the wretched bank-vole. then the slow temper of the funny old hedgepig smoldered gradually alight. his eyes grew red in the foxy head of him, his snout "worked," and he snuffled and grunted faster and faster. he made up his mind to fight. and the extraordinary combat began. lit by the blood rays of a setting sun, from a sky all raw and red, backed by the blue-gray haze of the watching woods, the silence broken only by the ghostly whisper of the snake's scales and the tiny pig-like grunting of the hundred-spiked hedgehog, that duel started. peering out of a peep-hole in himself, the hedgehog waited for an opening. it was no blunderer's game, this. death was the price of a slip. he knew, however, and accepted the risks deliberately--a plucky enough act, when you come to think of it, for a beast no more than a foot long and one and a half pounds heavy. the opening came. quicker than you could realize, the hedgehog half unrolled, and side-chopped with his glistening teeth. quick, too, and quicker, the venomous, flat serpent head writhed aloft and back-lashed, swift as a released spring; but the hedgehog had ducked, or tucked if you like, more than instantly back into himself. followed an infernal, ghastly writhing and squirming of the long, unprotected mottled serpent body as it struck--too late to stop itself--simply spines, spines only, that tore and lacerated maddeningly. whip, whip, whip! flashed the deadly reptilian head, pecking, quicker than light flickers, at the impassive round _cheval-de-frise_ that was the hedgehog, in a blind access of fury terrible to see; and each time the soft throat of the horror only tore and tore worse, in a ghastly manner, on those spines that showed no life and said no word, and defied all. it was a siege of the wild, and a terrible one. probably this was the first time in his life that anything had dared to stand up to that viper. he acted as if it was, anyway. usually his malignant hiss, so full of hateful cruelty, was enough of a warning. and those who ignored that did not generally live to repeat the omission. he seemed utterly unable to understand that anything could face his fangs of concentrated death and not go out in contortions. and there were no contortions about this prickly foe, only an impassable front, or, if you love exactness, back. wild things, unlike man, are rarely given to lose their tempers. it isn't healthy--in the wild. but if ever a creature appeared to human eyes to do so, it was that snake. he struck and he struck and he struck, impaling himself ghastlily each time, and using up his small immediate magazineful of venom uselessly on--uncompromising spikes! at last he drew back, a horrible affront to the fairy scene, and, in the snap of a finger, the hedgehog had unpacked himself, run forward--a funny little patter it was, much faster than you would expect--slashed with his dagger fangs, and repacked himself again in an instant. the snake, writhing afresh under the punishment, threw himself once more upon the impassive "monkey-puzzle" on four legs, but beyond tearing himself into an even more ghastly apparition than before, he accomplished nothing. finally he broke away, and slid off, a rustling, half-guessed, fleeting vision, and there was fear at last in those awful eyes, that could never close, as he went. then it was that the quiet, unobstrusive, retiring, self-effacing hedgehog threw off the mask, and hoisted his true colors. and yet, if one came to think of it, there was no cause for surprise, for was he not a member of the strange, the mysterious, the great order of insectivora, which includes among its members probably the most pugnacious, the most implacable, the most furiously passionate fighters in all the wild? he fairly flung himself, unrolled, and running with an absurdly clock work-toy-like gait, whose speed checked the laugh that it caused, was after that viper in considerably less than half-a-second, his eyes red as the sun they glinted in, his fangs bared for action, his swinish snout uplifted at the tip in a wicked grin. no beast to bandy words with, this. it was a fight to a finish, with no surrender save to death. the bank-vole had already fled; but it was in the direction that the fight finally veered that he had gone, and so, peeping from between the weed-stems at the mouth of a hole, he saw all. he saw the viper, his head swaying to and fro, come sliding along, making for that very hole; he heard the sudden quick rustle in the grass behind that followed, beheld the dusky, squat form that it heralded pounce. he watched the snake's head whip round, and drive with all its power in one last desperate stroke; watched it straighten out suddenly, and recoil in an awful quivering spasm, like a severed telegraph-wire, as the hedgehog's razor-sharp teeth cut through skin and flesh and backbone; and, trembling from head to foot, he witnessed, half-fascinated, i think, the awful last threshing flurry of the viper that followed. later, when the moon peeped out of a hole in the clouds, and the bank-vole peeped out of one in the bank, together--and his beady eyes were not much behind the moon for brightness--when the tiny, long-eared bats were imitating black lightning overhead, and a single owl was hooting like a lost soul seeking a home, away in the black heart of the woods, the bank-vole witnessed the burial of that hated viper. it was not a big affair. only one person--the hedgehog--took part in it, and he was singularly unhurried, for he ate that poisonous fiend all up, beginning at the tail, and thoughtfully chewing on from side to side to the head--twenty inches of snake--as if he, the hedgehog, had been inoculated in infancy, and was poison-proof. then, still grunting, he went away, slowly, nosing here and there, rustling loudly in that stillness, an odd, squat figure in the moonlight; and the bank-vole thought he had seen the last of him, and came out to pass about his "lawful occasions," as per custom. now, if you or i had taken our meals after the fashion of that "wee, timorous beastie," we should probably have departed this life from indigestion or nervous prostration inside a month. he came very cautiously from his hole, and the first thing his fine long whiskers telegraphed him the presence of was an oak-gall--one of those round knobs that grow upon twigs like nuts, you know, but have a fat grub inside instead of a kernel. at the same instant a leaf rustled, and--flp!--there was no bank-vole. allowing one minute for the passing of whoever rustled that leaf, and a cloud-shadow, and there he was again, back at the gall, his shining eyes, that mirrored the moon, being the only visible part of him. he rolled the gall over and sniffed, and--that was quite enough, thank you. no nut there, and he knew it--by scent, i fancy. in that moment something trod softly, ever so softly, somewhere, and a spray of laced bracken swayed one quarter of an inch, and--the bank-vole was not. again about a minute's pause, and three bank-voles came out together. our friend was the last, and another was the first, to discover a little hoard of seeds that some other tiny beastie--not a bank-vole--must have collected and forgotten all about, or been killed in the interval. in the wild, it is the law that "they should take who have the power, and they should keep who can." it isn't a bad law, because it has much to do with that other law called the "survival of the fittest," but it is apt to come expensive if persisted in. our vole hopped promptly towards the other vole, and made out that the seeds were his; but before any kind of ultimatum could be delivered, a twig fell, as twigs will sometimes, for no special reason that one can see. the noise it made in that stilly wood was astonishing, and ere the twig had reached the earth there wasn't a bank-vole above ground. and yet so astonishingly quick and evasive are these little creatures that in less than thirty seconds there were the two disputants, each erect upon his haunches, with little hand-like forepaws held up and joined under the chin--as if they were actresses having their photographs taken--fighting, like little blunt-headed furies, for possession of those seeds--so it seemed. i say "so it seemed" advisedly, since close by, and almost invisible because sitting quite still, was another bank-vole, who looked as if she were waiting for something; which she probably was--a lover. it was, however, death that came, and he is a too attentive lover. the battle had been going on some seconds without apparent result, possibly because the voles had to bite upwards, shark-fashion, owing to the fact that their fighting-teeth are wedge-shaped incisors, instead of stabbing fangs, when there was a hrrr! that is all, just like that--hrrr! then there were no voles; but there seemed to have been no going of the voles, either. they just were, fighting and watching the fight--then they just were not. instead of them, on the very spot where they had been, a sheeted ghost, with wings that flapped and flapped, and never made any noise, with the face of a cat, and big round eyes that gleamed, and a snore most horrible, had simply been evolved from nowhere, and under its claws was the little red-backed lady who waited for a lover. now, the coming of that apparition, whose wings did not say "hough-hough!" or "whew-whew!" like other birds' wings do when they fly, thus proving itself, or rather herself, to be an owl, and the fight of mr. hedgehog and the poisoned death, had a direct connection with, and a bearing upon, the little bank-vole's life, although they may not have seemed to have at first. if the snake had not run amok against the hedgehog, the latter slow personage would have been well out in the meadow by that time, reducing the worm population, instead of hanging about and coming up the ditch at that moment, with the hot and worried air of one who is late. what he saw was the owl on the ground, flapping her great, soft wings about, within a foot of the nicely, neatly, nattily roofed-in nest where he and his lifelong wedded wife thought they had hidden cunningly their four soft-bristled, helpless babies. what he thought he saw was the owl engaged in turning one of those same babies into nourishing infant owls' food, or "words to that effect." and the hedgehog, like most of the order insectivora, is cursed with the temper of eblis, too. naturally, therefore, things happened, and happened the more hectically, perhaps, because mrs. hedgehog chanced at that moment to be away--attending to the last rites--shall we say?--over the form of an expiring young rat. the little pig's eyes of him went red in his funny, bristle-crowned head, and just as a clockwork toy charges, so he charged, with a quick, grunting rustle and far greater speed than any one who knew only his usual deliberate movements would have given him credit for. the owl had only time to turn her cat-like face and--hiss. but though that hiss would have been good enough as a bluff to frighten creatures who wouldn't upset a snake for anything, she was out of her reckoning upon this occasion. the hedgehog, who dealt in snakes as a game-warden deals in tigers, had no nerves that way. he just sailed in under the baffling, great, flapping wing, and, ere ever the bird of the night could spring aloft, had struck. it was a ghastly form of warfare, this low running in and wrenching snap. it landed right under the armpit, so to speak, and left a nasty round hole. and it is worth noting, by the way, that precisely the same sort of hole, and in the same spot almost, but lower and farther back, was to be seen upon the body of the deceased young rat that mrs. hedgehog was even then attending to--the trademark of the hedgehogs, that hole. all the immediate world of the night wild, watching from grass-tuft and root and burrow, heard the rasping tap of the owl's beak hammering helplessly at the spines on the back of the hedgehog, now beside himself with rage. not one of them, too, that did not jump with terror--engrained by the bitter experience of hundreds of generations--at her fiendish scream. then, in a flash, that owl was upon her back, wielding hooked beak and stiletto talons, as only she knew how to use them; and the hedgehog, who had, in the blindness of his rage, run in to finish the job, shot up clean on his hind-legs, taking the clinging, flapping owl with him, while, for the first time that night, he uttered a cry other than a grunt--an odd, piercing little cry, vibrant with rage, or fear, or both. this was rather odd, because ordinarily the hedgehog is a dumb beast, who suffers "frightfulness" in grim silence. the tables were turned now. the shoe was on the other foot, or, to be precise, the foot was on the underside. that is, the owl had got the foe where he lived, below water-line, if i may so put it, where, like a battleship, his armor did not run, and he was soft and vulnerable as any other beast. moreover, he had not trained himself in the art of throwing himself upon his back, as the owl, who was like a cat in this particular also, had apparently done, and since he could not prance on his hindlegs, unicorn-fashion, forever, he had to come down again, belly and throat first, on that infernal battery of talons and beak. and he got it all right enough. i give you my word that spiny one got it; but, save for that one first little cry, he took his punishment in grim and terrible silence, fighting with a blind fury that was awful to behold. what happened to him underneath there in those few brief, terrible seconds no one will ever know--and that, we may guess, is as well perhaps, for there is no sense in dwelling upon horrors. what he _did_, in the short time he was given by fate, is a little more clear. butting madly down, oblivious of all things, even that unspeakable fish-hook beak, grappling like a thing demented--and i think he was nearly that--he bit deep, deep down, through feathers and skin and flesh, _home_--once, twice, and again. then, blindly, brokenly, smothered in blood, red-visaged and horrible, he half-rolled, half blundered free of that frightful clinch, and instantly rolled up! 'twas his habit, the one refuge of his life, so long as he breathed; his last, and usually, but not always, his first, hope. the owl struggled somehow, in a cloud of her own feathers, to her feet. the beautiful, fan-like, exquisitely soft wings flapped and beat frantically. there came a peculiar musky sort of smell into the air. she rose, all lopsidedly, perhaps two yards, flapping, flapping, flapping with frenzied desperation, before toppling suddenly, helplessly, pathetically, as the big pinions stopped, and she collapsed sideways back to earth again, where, blood-smeared and glaring, lit by the merciless, cynical moon, she crouched and coughed--as i live, coughed and coughed and coughed, a ghastly cough like a baby's, till it seemed as if she would cough her heart up. then silence--that wonderful, mysterious, waiting, echoing, listening silence of the woods at night--shut down, and darkness swept over all. when dawn came stealing westward silently over the still canopy of leaves, both combatants were still there; and they were still here, too, when the sun, silting in through a rift in the foliage, found and bathed them. the owl was crouched as she had been when the moon left her--crouched, and with her wings just a little open, like a bird about to take flight; but she had already taken wing on the longest flight of all. the hedgehog was, too, just as the moon had left him, rolled up in a spiky ball, apparently asleep; but his sleep, also, was the longest sleep of all. and over them both, in the heavy silence, could be distinctly heard that horrible "brr-brr-brr" of flies that told its own story. now, that was in the morning, soon after sunrise; but long before that, indeed the moment the hedgehog had first attacked the owl and forced her to turn her attention to him, the little female bank-vole, who by some mischance or miscalculation, had evaded the first terrible handshake of the owl which spells death, had rolled clear of the fight, and dashed for her life to the nearest tussock of grass that offered shelter; and the first thing she fell over there was our bank-vole, "frozen" motionless. he was there because the scene of the fight was between him and the holes in the bank, and for the life of him he could not muster up courage to run the gauntlet past those dread, struggling forms. in the end, there being scarcely sufficient room in the tussock for both to hide effectually, and there seeming to be some danger of the combatants trampling them flat where they lay, he led the way up a tree, whose gnarled bole took the ground barely six inches away. it was one of those great-great-great-grandfather oaks, which, if it had been in a more public spot, would certainly have been raised to the dignity of one of the few hundred trees that hid prince charlie. it was not, however; but it had another peculiarity, as the voles found out later on. scared out of their little wits by the fury of their enemies below, and afraid to go down and bolt across the open, even after the cessation of hostilities, past those appallingly still, crouched bodies, who, for all they had guarantee to the contrary, might be in fiendish, alliance crouched there, waiting for them to descend, the two voles explored gradually, in their own dainty, little, deprecating, creeping way, branch after branch of the great spreading patriarch, till suddenly, at the very tip of the longest and biggest limb of all, they vanished--into ivy. what had happened was quite simple, however. there was no trick in it. it was all above-board. it was simply that the mighty tree at this spot grew close to one of those outcrops of cliff that formed, as it were, broken-off pieces from the main cliffs which bordered the river and the valley on one side farther up, and one of the oak boughs had gradually been annexed by the ivy--itself of great age--that clothed the face of the cliff. climbing steadily upwards through the network of ivy-stems--he had no wish to go down now, for he could hear the river talking to itself directly underneath him, and a false step meant a clean drop into the swirling black depths thirty feet or so below--the bank-vole, with his companion in close and trusting attendance, presently came out on top of the cliff. he found himself upon a space all clothed with vegetation, bushes, and stunted trees, some hundred yards long. beneath him, as he peered over, he could see the roof of the wood, all laid out like a green tablecloth, and here and there, through gaps, the river, now shrunk to no more than a stream, by reason of the fact that men, for their own purposes, had dammed its waters about a mile farther up the valley, and constructed a reservoir there. the voles knew nothing about any dam--then. they were satisfied to explore the cliff-top and the crevices, to discover the tiny eggs of a coal-tit, and remark on their flavor; to nose into every crook and corner that came in their way; to learn the excellent facilities the place offered for setting up housekeeping; and to discover that no other bank-voles appeared to have found their way up there. this took time, for they naturally had to flirt in between, and so it happened that the sun had been up some while before they finally set to improvising a home, in a partially earth-filled rocky cleft, with their own sturdy forepaws. they had got so far as to dig in out of sight, turning every few seconds to push out the loose earth, when the dam up above broke, and a few hundred, or thousand, for all i know, tons of water dropped into the valley--crash! and thus it happened that, when the sun set, those two little, big-headed, blunt-nosed bank-voles, looking out upon an endless sea of water, above which the top halves of the trees in the wood rose like mangroves, were, save for a few that had climbed into trees and would starve, the only bank-voles left alive, to repopulate that valley with bank-voles, out of all the teeming thousands whose burrows had honeycombed every bank in the vicinity. verily, how strange is fate, "who makes, who mars, who ends!" xvi the eagles of loch royal he makes a solitude, and calls it--peace.--byron. he comes, the false disturber of my quiet. now, vengeance, do thy worst.--sheridan. the rising sun came striding over the edge of the world, and presented the mountain with a golden crown; later it turned the rolling, heaving mystery of the mists below into a sea of pure amber. a tiny falcon--a merlin--shot up out of the mist, hung for a moment, whilst the sun transformed his wings to purple bronze, and fell again, vanishing instantly. next, a cock-grouse, somewhere below the amber sea, crowed aloud to proclaim the day, and a raven mocked at him hoarsely. then, and not till then, the chieftain awoke. the chieftain showed as a chocolate, golden-brown, wedge-shaped mass of feathers, perched on a lonely pinnacle of rock, and, his appalling, razor-edged claws being hidden under the overhanging feathers of his legs, he was scarcely striking. next moment he opened his eyes, and was no longer mean, for he was a golden eagle, and the eyes of a golden eagle are terrible. in them are written hauteur, pride, and arrogant fierceness beyond anything on this earth; there is also contempt that has no expression in speech. he shot out his neck, clapped his talon-like beak, and gazed out, over the mist that hid loch royal, to the south shore of the loch, where lived his son. the loch was, as it were, their frontier, the boundary-line that divided the hunting-grounds of father and son, and it was seldom crossed by either bird. a little wind rose somewhere in a mountain gorge, and went shrieking down, rending the mist asunder, as a man rends carded wool. and behind the wind slid chieftain, who know the value of a hidden descent. he shot through the rent, racing down with the sun's rays to earth, and surprised a cock-grouse at his breakfast, nipping off the tender heather-shoots daintily one by one. so swiftly did chieftain fall that the grouse never knew what had killed him; he was dead--in a flash. the great eagle swept on with the grouse in his claws, and, without stopping, beat upwards again. suddenly, without any warning, a bullet came singing over the rolling heather, and passed, with a whine, close to chieftain's head. later came the blasting report of a rifle. as for chieftain, he gave one amazed scream of outraged and startled dignity, dropped his grouse, and went; and when an eagle goes in that way, it is like the passing of a rocket. a few minutes later chieftain was whirling round high up among the crags, calling imperiously for his wife, as a king might call. and she came, she came, that huge, fierce bird, with a trickle of blood dripping down her neck, and a fire in her eye that was unpleasant to behold. she, too, had been fired upon and grazed by a bullet, and she said so in no measured tones. now, the laird of loch royal deer forests had never allowed his eagles to be fired at or killed. they were part of the family possessions, as it were--always had been for generation upon generation; and, moreover, they kept down the grouse on the deer forests--which was useful, since the grouse is the red deer's unpaid sentinel, and give him warning of the crawling, creeping stalker. wonderfully the two eagles circled round one another in mighty, still-winged glidings, effortless, majestic, masterly, sometimes together, sometimes apart, drawing ever away northward with scarcely a wing-flap, without, it seemed, any visible force to drive them, till they swam, like specks on the eye-ball, miles away and upwards round the white-mantled peaks. here, so easily can birds pass from scene to scene, they were in another world, an arctic land, silent as the arctic, bare as the arctic, cold as the arctic, and, at first sight, desolate and uninhabited as the arctic appears to be. but this was only an example of nature's wonderful magic. desolate it was. uninhabited--no. so far as the eagles could see, there was only a raven, cursed with a far-advertising blackness, who sat upon a splintered fang of rock and mocked them hollowly. but he was not the only creature there. sweeping down with a hissing rush over a giddy slope of shale that looked perpetually upon the brink of a general slide down _en masse_, with their immense shadows underrunning them, the eagles startled suddenly by their unexpectedness a great red beast into motion. there was a clatter of antlers, a click of hoofs, a little shower of stones, and away went a superb stag, a "royal," a "twelve-pointer," lordly and supercilious, picking his way without a slip on that awful incline. but until he moved, even he had been quite invisible, bang in the open though he was. the eagles, following him and swooping at him with imperious savagery, because they were still angry and upset, though never really coming near him, bustled him into taking that awful path at a loose hand canter, not so much, i think, because he, the king of the forest--and this, this lost, lone scene, was part of the local conception of the word "forest"--cared the sweep of a "brow-tine" for the eagles, as because he was startled and uncertain as to what was supposed to be happening. and the stones spurned by his neat hoofs--he seemed to kick most of them down behind him as he finished with them, each making for itself its own miniature avalanche--helped to add to the sudden confusion. then it was as if a shell burst in front of him--right under his haughty nose--and he moved exactly eight feet one inch without touching the ground; also, in doing it, he cleared a five-foot-seven-inch bowlder, so absolutely without the slightest sign of an effort that he seemed to have been blown upwards. it is worth noting, because twenty seconds before he had been too lazy to clear a four-foot heather-bush, and had gone _through_ it. the "shell" had been a party of ptarmigan very much flustered and upset by being all but galloped over; not the white and frozen ptarmigan of the cheap poultry warehouse, but the "live" proposition of that name in their gray, or usual, disguise, posing as stones among many thousand that lay around the summits. wild horses would not have put the ptarmigan on wing in face of those terrible, sliding, underrunning shadows of death--indeed, one had been lying within two yards of the chieftain, as he slid back low to ground after stooping at the lordly stag--but this crashing avalanche of shale with the king of the forest atop was too much for them, and they went down the "hill" into the nothing and the far distance that lay, so to speak, almost at one's feet, like a spatter of shrapnel. at the same instant two gray shadows evolved themselves out of the very ground, and slid away, swift as scudding clouds, up the slope; and a third gray form, also apparently sprung from nowhere, rose from before them, and dropped like a spent projectile into the low-lands. they were two mountain hares and an old sinner of a gray crow; but the thing that caught the chieftain's stabbing eye most was none of these. both eagles had, with half-shut wings, dropped like mighty barbs towards the dim, blue distance of the vale, after the hurtling ptarmigan; but in an instant their great vans respread, their big, wedged tails swiftly fanned, and with every available brake on, as it were, they fetched up almost short. then they both described a single, gliding, calm, lazy-looking half-circle, and settled upon a turret rock that shot fifteen feet up from the mountain's shoulder. above them, the snow shimmered and glistened blindingly. below, the warm mists of the dales steamed off under the beating sun. loch royal lay like a mighty, burnished shield to the southward; and northward, peak rose behind peak in everlasting grand perspective. near them was only the lonely slope, bare now, it seemed, of all life. but they thought otherwise. their unspeakably fierce gaze was focused upon what looked like a grained slab, like any other grained slab, if it had not all at once begun to twitch, and so--even then one could only make out the faint outline of a body--turn gradually into a wild cat asleep on his side. the twitching was not the result of a fit, but of dreams. probably he had not meant to go to sleep at all--in a land of golden eagles! he had merely meant to bask in the sun, within instant spring of a handy hole between the stones if anything in the enemy line turned up. that very sun, however, had conspired with drowsiness to betray him, and--something in the enemy line _had_ turned up. even so, i doubt if the golden eagles, with all their wonderful prismatic binocular vision, made out the cat, as man could. birds have not that power, as man has. the twitching they were instant to see. the cause of it they must have, equally instantly, suspected. certainly, however, was a long time coming to them. precisely when it did, no man knoweth. they remained like carvings or very fine figures cast in bronze, and as immovable as the same, for the best part of an hour, if you please; and during that time all the sign of life that either of them gave was to wink a yellow eyelid, as quickly as an instantaneous shutter winks, several times. at the end of that period a rain-squall came racing and howling round the summit. it passed in a few seconds, and left mist--cloud, if you like--damp, dank, and chilly, and a dead calm, in its wake, and--the chieftain had vanished (i told you he knew the value of a hidden descent). but goodness and his own arrogant self alone knew when or where; in the squall, most likely. but he had certainly vanished. the chieftain's mate sat on, as stolid, and as solid, and as statuesque as ever. she had not moved when he evaporated, or given any sign whatever. with the coming of the mist, the cat woke up. the cold probably awoke him. he was not pleased. he had come to get warm, not cold. he arose and stretched himself, baring all his claws and fangs with lazy insolence, for any whom it might concern to see. then--he collapsed, falling as if the slab on which he stood had slidden from under him, and remained--flattened tense, wide-eyed, and dangerous. the chieftain's wife had jerked her head and sneezed. at least, she had yanked her cranium quick as quick, and made a noise. it seemed like a sneeze. for the rest, she remained as motionless and expressionless as bronze buddha, her wonderful orbs scowling at the wild cat. then that cat got off that slab of rock. i say got off, but it would be more correct to say that he slid off sideways on his tummy--flat. one had difficulty in seeing that he moved. his inscrutable, wide, sinister, yellow-green eyes were fixed upon the chieftain's wife. the whole of his attention was fastened, focused, concentrated upon the chieftain's wife. and there he made his mistake. he forgot about the chieftain himself, but the chieftain had not forgotten about him. in fact, the chieftain was there, on the spot, or over it, rather, exactly above the wild cat's head, five hundred feet above, and very slowly revolving upon wide, outstretched pinions, as if hung by invisible, slowly swung wire from heaven. if the cat had looked up! but, then, the cat would not have been a wild four-footed animal if he had. in all the aeons four-footed wild-folk never seem to have learnt to look up, and, for the omission, die some painful deaths that might otherwise be avoided. i do not say that none of them _ever_ look up--they do, but it is seldom. indeed, finally this wild cat did look up; he could not well help it. there was a sound like the swift descent of a smiting sword above him. but he was seconds too late. seconds before, the chieftain had vanished again. nay, he had changed. his wings had shut, and--he had turned into a line, a dark streak drawn, almost as lightning draws itself, from heaven to earth, thus--wh-r-r-r-ssss-sh! it was then that the cat looked up--just in time to receive the chieftain's black tiger-talons, upon brilliant yellow claws, clashing against his own ivory fangs, and--well, in his eyes. the chieftain's wife flung from her strange self her immobility, flung out a scream, flung open her pinions, and--shifted. she could not have arrived upon the scene more than three seconds after her lord--but not by any means master. she was certainly not half that time getting to work. i am not going to describe the struggle that followed, in deference to certain good, kind, and well-meaning people who are unable to face the stern realities of life, or--to save their country. such things, however, must be; and they would not happen if it were not for a hard, though very sound, purpose, among beasts as among men. nature is far-seeing and very wise. moreover, she hates hypocrisy, and--well, we may not all be butchers, but most of us eat meat. it was certainly a very great confloption, for, of course, that wild cat fought like a--like a wild cat, which is like a welshman, and i cannot say more than that. and in the end the whole inferno, being upon a very sharp slope, began to slide, and slid, dragging a welter of dust and raw earth and feathers and fur after it, in an avalanche of its own, till it fetched up in a tangle of mountain-ash roots and furze two hundred feet below, where it furiously and fearfully, in one wild, awful, whirling flurry, ended. after that the chieftain dragged what was left of that wild cat out of the bushes, where he had tried to jamb and crawl and burrow himself, out into the open--well into the open--so that the eagles could look all round, which they like to do, being birds of high degree--also vermin, or counted as such by gamekeepers of low degree. the pair--heaven and the laird alone know how long they had been good and faithful partners in life--thereupon set to hooking at one another with their horny, dragon-like beaks, gripping with black-taloned yellow claws that even a hercules would shake hands with just once, beating with monster wings that would knock you or me silly, snapping horny, resounding snaps, and generally "not 'arf a-carryin' on" in the approved and correct modern matrimonial manner. so it appeared, at least; but among eagles--within the royal circle, that is to say--such things might be their way of paying compliments, for you cannot expect feathered couples of the royal blood to behave like a pair of mere love-birds. then came the bullet. it was a neat, long, nickel-jacketed, lead-nosed bullet of some . -caliber, and its own report was chasing it. it sang a high-pitched, plaintive little song all alone to itself as it traveled along through the fine, champagne-like mountain air, at about thirteen hundred feet per second, and it was aimed to hit the chieftain exactly in the full of the chest. that was why, i suppose, it hit the wild cat smack in the backbone, and killed that poor beast all over again. but you can never tell with bullets. it might be mentioned here that just as turtle-soup is to their worships, so is wild cat to golden eagles--a _bonne bouche par excellence_, so to say. they do not get it every day, or every month, for the matter of that--at least, not in these islands of enlightenment, for the wild cat shares with them the honor of being a martyr of fate, and it is on the _index expurgatorius_ of the gamekeeper also. but, i give you my word, those two mighty birds left that wild cat uneaten. i say "left" him advisedly, for it was rather a matter that they had left him than that they did leave him. anyway, they were not near him, not anywhere near him, and i suppose they went. there had arisen a noise as if all regent street had at that moment rustled its combined "silk foundations," and--there were our eagles far, far away, and in opposite directions, melting quicker than real sugar-knobs in hot grog into the haze of the distant sky. and after that the chieftain and his wife glided up into the setting sun till it swallowed them in a red glory, and when the sun had burnt itself out, swam--swam stupendously and wonderfully--through ether down to bed. bed with them that night consisted in sitting, regally enthroned among clouds, upon a black, rock bastion exactly above a clean drop of not much more than six hundred feet, and rocked by "the wracked wind-eddies" of the mountain-tops. the good god who made all things--even the animal that had fired at them--alone knows what they dreamt about, that superb, intolerant, fierce, haughty, implacable couple. * * * * * * now, the man, the--er--lord of creation, who had fired that shot--in fact, all those shots that day--was pig head, the back-to-the-lander from the south. pig head argued that deer forests are farms lying idle. and the laird had offered to rent him a farm at one-and-nothing-three the acre to disprove it. pig head had taken the offer. he disapproved of lairds as unrevolutionaries. he hated red deer because they were too smart for him to kill wholesale, and he loathed golden eagles because they were the pride of the "hills." but he kept his opinions to himself, because he valued his neck. the people of the hills would have stretched it very much longer than his own long tongue if he hadn't. in his heart he also hated the "oppressed" people of the hills for that they loved their laird, regarded deer-stalking as a religious rite, and--wore kilts! as a matter of fact, pig head's farm never grew anything more than some clinging heather, a little cross-leaved heath, patches of furze, a clump of storm-bent scotch firs or so, and rock--mostly rock. pig head had only been able to get what he thought was his own back upon that day by firing at the eagles, because the laird and the stalkers, the gillies, the keepers, and the people of the hills, were away, all away, at a sheep-dog trial, or a clan meeting, or something. after that he had to work in silence, and he did. there are always people who will buy a golden eagle "british caught," and those who don't want live ones will take 'em dead, and have them stuffed. they like to be able to set 'em up in the hall among other stuffed birds, and boast that they shot 'em. other people of it like decayed mind come and look at them, and offer money for them at sales out of jealousy. that's collecting. now, somewhere, somehow, sometime during his checkered career, pig head had heard, or read, of a way of catching golden eagles. he proceeded. upon an unholy and cold shaly slope well up among the clouds, the mist, and the ptarmigan, pig head had hollowed him out a hollow, roomy enough for himself to crouch in. he was the sort of man that crouched--and "grouched." over the top he put a nice big slab; the walls were of piled stones, and at one end was an aperture eight inches or so long by about one foot. being made of its surroundings, the hiding-place did not look at all suspicious--from a bird's point of view. finally, upon the morning after the unsuccessful shooting, and before it was light--this was necessary, for there is no knowing how far the eyes of eagles can see--pig head ensconced himself in this hiding-place. it was perishing cold, and pig head, who did not smoke, and never drank whisky--only gin--was blue of nose and numb of hand. a good plaid would have helped him, but he abhorred plaids. * * * * * * the dawn came up over the mountains, the mists sank down to the vales, and the dawn wind, lean and searching, went whispering over the hills. then a speck grew out of the heights, out of the west and the dark, and growing and growing momentarily, became a rustling, sinister, untidy, heavy shape, which anon settled upon a rock, and croaked, "glock! glock!" twice, almost like a bark, in a deep and sepulchral voice. to it was added another sable form, coming down from the lonely stony heights, and the two sat together, remarking, as they looked--but their wonderful eyes must have seen it very far away--at the bait. it was the wild cat turned inside-out, and other things, on a slab outside the aperture before mentioned, that was at one end of pig head's hiding-place. and the black specters were ravens. "ou!" they said; then "aw!" then again "ou!" one remarked "augh!" and the other agreed--or, it may have been, disagreed--with an "au!" evidently the wild cat, in a disguise in which he would not have known even his own self, looked very enticing, and he and the situation generally were being discussed from all points of view. i say from all points of view advisedly, because, although the ravens discoursed much over their council of war, they would not come within a hundred yards, and it was a voice from the semi-dark, or western, side which finally stayed them in the very act of unfolding their big, rounded wings to fly away. "krar-krar-krar!" rasped the voice; and the ravens folded their wings again to wait and see! it was a gray crow, and the ravens knew that never was gray crow an innocent lost in the wilderness. if the gray, or hoodie, crow--always remembering that crows, gray or black, are servants of the devil, just as ravens are, and very cunning--if the crow, i say, thought that here was food without some horrible form of hidden death lurking behind it, then the chances were the gray crow was right. they knew "hoodie," you see. anyway, if they let him go first, and he was wrong, then it would be _his_ funeral, not theirs. wherefore the gray crow went first to the bait, and pig head, half-dead with cold and peering out of a tiny peep-hole, called down blessings of a weak and watery nature upon his black head. and well he might, for if the gray crow had shied at the bait, then everybody else would have taken his tip. they took his tip now, for in a few minutes there was a "hurrr-hrrr-hrrr" of wings, and, one after the other, down came the ravens. anon the ravens were joined by a third, volplaning from some cloud-covered peak, where he must have been watching all the time; and the crow was joined by four accomplices, who just drifted up from nowhere special, as gray crows have a habit of doing when there is carrion afoot. but pig head had not come there to entertain ravens, nor was he at that moment laying up a store of lumbago for the purpose of gratuitously feeding disreputable gray crows. he had other quarry in view. the gray crows, however, were his best asset. they quarreled, and were loquacious, and, in fact, they made a most infernal noise; and he had stated that the noise was necessary to his success. this would seem as if eagles hunt by sound as well as by sight. pig head was the first person i ever heard that suggested so. but, be that as it may, the racket increased as the sun, robed in purple, gold, and crimson splendor, rose over the mountain-tops; and with the sun came the only bird, so the ancients tell us, who can look the sun full in the face without blinking--_aquila_, the eagle. but--make no mistake about this point--he who came then, grandly, proudly sweeping over the blue, dim ridges, was not the chieftain himself, for this was not the chieftain's territory, but the chieftain's son; he who lived, as you will remember, upon the other, or south, side of loch royal. haughtily, statelily, as a king might go to his throne, so did the chieftain's son let himself down, in stupendous hundred-foot spirals, to a pinnacle of rock, jagged, saw-edged, and perpendicular, about two hundred yards away; and the ravens and the gray crows, who saw him coming, made great and sudden hostile outcry at first, and then, as he folded, foot by foot, his immense pinions about him, and sat there erect, with his piercing, scowling gaze bent upon _them_, they were dumb. and pig head, aching with cramp and cold in his hiding-place, knew that _the_ quarry was at hand. but if you think, because the eagle was at hand, that the time was at hand too, you don't know eagles. they may be, upon occasion, as quick as the spring of death, but they can also be as slow as the wrath of heaven. and that bird there, the great, grand, haughty, unbending _aquila chrysoetus_, that golden eagle, sat. i say, he sat. and there, so far as he was concerned, appeared to be an end of it. he might have been a carven copestone of the very granite fang he sat upon, for all the appearance of life he gave, except that occasionally--say at fifteen-minute intervals--he winked a yellow-lidded wink. and the wink was almost as unlifelike and uncanny as the bird. and the gray crows and the ravens gulped and quarreled, with one eye upon the eagle and one upon their job; and pig head--pig head sat and cursed that eagle, from his horny beak to his barred tail, through chattering--and aching--teeth. but the eagle never moved a feather. * * * * * * we are told that alexander sighed for other worlds to conquer. so it was with the chieftain, who was not alexander. after his wife had gone a-hunting eastward--a wonderful and gigantic silhouette floating and dwindling into the furnace of the rising sun--the chieftain sat upon his ledge of rock, staring across the gleaming, painted, glassy expanse of loch royal, southward, to the dominions of his son. he had seen his son, a speck in the dawnlight, invisible to our eyes, sailing from peak to upflung peak. he had seen him suddenly check and circle downwards. and then--he had not seen him. he had waited two hours, with that patience which birds and reptiles have, and still he had not seen him. yet, if during that time he had risen, the chieftain must have seen him. and the chieftain knew that. he knew also that a golden eagle very rarely makes a "kill" so big that he has to remain with it two hours. the alternative, therefore, would seem to be death or carrion; and the way in which he had circled down would seem to suggest carrion. and it is written among the laws of the king of birds that when carrion is about, the strict rules and regulations as to the inviolability of the frontiers may be, in some degree, broken. therefore the king unfurled his overshadowing vans, and launched himself down the lake with mighty, slow, powerful strokes, like the steady thrust of marine engines. he would go and see. five minutes later the chieftain was as motionless as his son, perched, like him, too, upon a rock, watching the highwaymen and footpads of the moors squabbling over the bait--they had no eyes to see what they were doing, for they had to keep one eye upon each eagle--and about two hundred yards away on the other side. this may have hurried matters somewhat, for within only about another half-hour the chieftain's son rose, and, with heavy wing-flaps, flew down to the bait, sending the ravens and the crows up in a cloud, like blown bits of burnt paper, as he came to anchor. and it was curious that, in stooping to meanness, the royal bird's aspect was no longer grand. he flew heavily and clumsily to the spot. he settled without grace, and almost overbalanced on to his grecian nose. he clutched, and tore, and gulped, and gorged like a vulture. thus nature always dresses her actors for their parts. you may have noticed it. [illustration: "he clutched, and tore, and gulped, and gorged"] but pig head--pig head was chuckling. he had silently and softly removed the clod of peat that blocked the aperture before mentioned. running through this aperture he had a cord whose other end was fastened to the bait, and every time the great eagle wrenched and tore at the flesh, he very, very gently pulled the bait towards him. he did not move when the mighty bird had his head up, gulping, you will note; for even pig head knew that an eagle nearly standing on his head and tugging, and not feeling the difference between his own tugs and the tugs on a cord, is not the same as an eagle with his head up and eyes stabbing everywhere at once. at last the victim had been drawn, upon the bait, within reach, and pig head, slipping his hand through the opening, grabbed the thick, powerful legs of the bird, and pulled. there was one mighty upheaval of vast vans, and--no eagle! what happened down inside the hiding-place was more or less private. there were sounds as if a young earthquake were getting ready to be born in that place; but in the end the chieftain's son had his legs tied, and suffered the indignity of being ignominiously thrust into a filthy sack. he said nothing during that argument, but his looks were enough to kill anything with a thinner hide than pig head. immediately pig head got ready for the chieftain. what's that? yes, the chieftain is right. that great, haughty bird had not moved. you see, eagles are not educated up to seeing their full-grown sons disappear into the bowels of the earth without explanation or warning given. there is nothing in their experience to meet the phenomenon. consequently they don't tumble, as a rule, and--well, listen for yourself. in a short time--a short time for an eagle; not less than half-an-hour, really--the chieftain flapped heavily to the bait, and fed--beastily, if the truth must be told. he was bigger than his son, and heavier, and knew more about the world, and pig head was longer in seeing a fair chance to make a grab at the royal legs. at last, however, the chance came, and pig head grabbed. the chieftain naturally lost his balance, and before he knew what had happened he was inside pig head's "booby-hutch." the chieftain, however, was not an ordinary bird, not even an ordinary eagle. moreover, he must have been a great age, older even than pig head. be that as it may, the chieftain believed mightily in the wild maxim which says, "they should take who have the power, and they should keep who can." and upon that he acted. it all happened in a flash. like lightning his right wing came round with a terrific flail-stroke, and hit pig head in the face at the precise instant that the surgical instrument he carried as his beak sank deep into one of pig head's calves. the chieftain was upside-down at the moment, and his legs were tied together, but that made no difference to the savagery of the blow. pig head uttered one howl of agony, and tumbled backwards, and his devil saw to it that he should tumble backwards upon the very sack wherein lay the chieftain's son, squirming with rage. the chieftain's son was a son of his father, and hearing the young hurricane of his father's wings, and feeling the intolerable weight of pig head sitting involuntarily down upon him, struck for the cause like a good un--struck, with his cruel, hooked bill, through sack, through trousers, through pants, and home through flesh, and pig head rebounded into the air considerably quicker than he had gone down, hitting his head against the roof, a resounding whack, and yelling fit to awake all the devils in cinders. and he did not go alone. upon one calf, and upon--another portion of him, the chieftain and the chieftain's son went with him. very few men have ever left a powder-magazine on fire in quicker time than did pig head leave his hiding-place, and none could have made more noise in the process. the chieftain stuck to him lovingly, and the chieftain's son, sack and all, seemed determined never to leave him; and pig head was nearly demented with pain as he leapt out, caracoling wildly, into the light of day, and into the arms of--only the laird, the head stalker, four gillies, and two collies. they had come to find him, these stern-faced, long, lean men, on account of "information received." and they had found him. but they did not speak. they were scotch. nor did they screw out a smile among them. they were jocks! they acted--being highlanders. four hands like iron claws seized pig head, and tipped him on end, even as he had tipped the eagles. two knives went "snick" as they opened, then "wheep-wheep" as they cut. several pieces of cord and bits of sacking flew into the air. there was one colossal upheaval of wings, a feathered whirlwind hurling everybody every way--and the chieftain and his son, released and scandalized, offended and enraged beyond the rage of kings, rose swiftly into the air with mighty, threshing strokes that simply hurled them aloft like powerful projectiles--into the heavens, as it were terrible avenging spirits of the tempest. a chaos, a rush, a mighty blast of air, and--they were gone! then the laird turned to pig head, and, "mon, ye dinna ken th' laird. if ye did--w-e-e-l, ah'm thinkin' ye'd understand." xvii ratel, v.c. between the clumps of the stunted acacias the sun beat down with the pitilessness of a battleship's furnace, and it was not much better in the acacias themselves. save for a lizard here and there, motionless as a bronze fibula, or a snake asleep with eyes wide open, or the flash of a "pinging" fly, all nature seemed to have fled from that intolerable white-hot glare and gone to sleep. but the hour of emancipation was at hand, and the dim caverns of shade--what there was of it--stirred strangely. a hundred yards away a blotch of shadow beneath a group of stunted trees swayed and broke up into several zebra moving off to water. fifty yards distant the inky shade that carpeted the earth under a bare outcrop of rock gave up a single gnu antelope bull and a grant's gazelle whose lyrate horns were as wonderful as his consummate grace. thereafter came sound. till then there had been only heat, the first hints at movement, and the terrifying silence of the wilderness. even the birds had been dumb. now came "a feathered denizen of the grove" with a peculiarly arresting, grating chatter, a noise no one could overlook, and few could help investigating. and finally, brazenly, impudently, excitedly flitting from branch to branch, the chatterer evolved slowly out of the ragged bush-choked landscape, a dusky little bird, seemingly a bird of no importance, scarce larger than a lark. putting personal appearance aside, however, this feathered one, who dared to shatter the slumber of the everlasting wilderness, seemed to be under the impression that he was of vast importance. moreover, his business appeared to be pressing and urgent, so that he could neither brook delay nor take "no" for an answer. it was as though he was under a desperate need to take you somewhere or show you something, and you must follow him--_must_; there was nothing else for it. but nobody cared. the zebra trooped off without turning their striped heads; the gazelle, weighted under his horns, and the gnu bull stalked away unattending; the lizards remained fixed in a permanent attitude of attention; and the snakes continued to stare at nothing. no one took the slightest notice. then came the reply. it was as if a person or a thing, deep down in the bowels of the earth, hearing the bird, stirred in its sleep, and shouted up, "i come." and it came. heralded by a peculiar, quaint, little, chatty, sibilant, hissing, whistling chuckle, there emerged from a regular cave that he, or an ant-bear, or some other burrower had constructed under an ancient bush, a beast--a most remarkable beast. it was long--about three feet. it was low; it was stumpy, clumpy, sturdy, bear-like, and altogether odd. it had no ears that any one could find, and it rattled the most murderous armament of claws that you ever guessed at. but that was not all; not by any means. it, or, rather, he, had really been colored grayish white in the first place; but nature had thoughtlessly dropped him into a vat of black paint on his "tummy," flat, and left him there to swim about, so that by the time he got out he was one half, including chin, black, and the other and upper half, including top of head and back and top of tail, grayish white. and then, for a joke, it seemed, nature had painted a white band round where black and grayish white met, a sort of water-line, so to speak, and let the poor little beggar go--go, mark you, into a wild where self-advertisement is something more than unhealthful for the smaller folks. afterwards, however, nature--who is all a woman--had repented, seemingly, and being unable to undo her own jest, had given to the little, slow, conspicuous beast, as compensation, a courage surpassing the courage of any other beast on earth. the result was rather curious--it was also the ratel, or honey-badger, who had nothing at all to do with rats, but everything to do with honey, and was self-evidently more than three-parts badger. "kru-tshee! kru-tshee-chlk! krue-tshee-chlk-chlk, whee-tshee-tse-tse, tse-i-who-o-o!" he whistled, and chuckled, and muttered, and fairly sang to himself as he came trotting along towards the cheeky little bird, like a dog that answers a whistle. his gait was all his own, as he, too, was all his own original self, being unlike anything else, although he bore the stamp of the badger people upon him. with a calm, rolling trot, head down, tail up, back a fraction arched, with something like the slouch of his distant relation, the wolverine, he proceeded, preceded always by that dusky phantom bird that flitted and perched ahead of him, like a yellow-hammer down a country lane--calling, calling, calling. and he, lifting his odd, flat, "earless," sleek head to it, would whistle and chuckle in reply. they had, it seemed, arrived at a perfect understanding, these two, during the centuries. "lead on, macduff!" he seemed to say. they passed antelopes anchored in the shade; hartebeest, impala, and roan after their kind. they heard the click of horn and the stamp of hoof, but troubled not. they passed the place where a leopard lay asleep up a tree, and saw a devil's whip of a ten-foot mamba snake--and the bite of that same is a sixty-second short cut to the grave--flee before them as if they, and not it, were death incarnate. once a serval cat, all legs and ears and agility, stood in their path to listen to the funny chuckling, whistling noises, but fled when it saw the little, low ratel as if it had seen a ghost. but always undeterred by anything in the way, engrossed utterly on the task in view, the dusky bird flew ahead, calling the ratel on with its harsh cry; and always the ratel, unhurried and cool, jogged along in its wake, answering, and whistling, and chuckling away to it, as if convulsed with inward merriment. perhaps he was. it was a strange procession, anyway, and one you don't look for every day in the week, even in africa, the land of mysteries and surprises. finally, the bird stopped; and the ratel looked, and saw that it was flitting round the base of a big mimosa. enough! he hurried a little at last. next moment he was nearly hidden under a continuous stream of earth and dust flying back from his amazing foreclaws, and a whirling, whirring vortex of perfectly demented bees, whose nest, that had been weeks in the building, was dissolving in seconds under the trowel-like scoopings of those fearful claws. honey! honey! honey! that was it. that was the magic word the bird, who was a honey-guide by name, had shouted to the ratel, who was a honey-badger, you remember; and honey-bees they were that made the air delirious. the bird, with the quick eye of a detective, had located the hole of the nest, but having no trowel, forthwith fetched the ratel, who had, and together they fed, the beast on honey, and the bird on the grubs in the combs. and the bees? oh, they don't count! at least, they might have been house-flies for all the notice the ratel took of them, save now and then to bunch a dozen or so off his cowled head carelessly. yet they would probably have nearly killed _us_. it was about this time that the bull-gnu appeared, tramping steadily towards them; a rugged, rough renegade of the wilderness; a ruffian kicked--or, rather, horned--out of some herd forever, and, for his sins, doomed always to face the risks of life alone, or in the companionship of other male outlaws of soured temper like himself--almost always male; the female wild seems guiltless of law-breaking, or is under a banner of protection if it is not. such "rogues," as men call them, are not gentlemanly, as a rule. and, by the way, you know the gnu, of course, _alias_ wildebeest? the head of a very shaggy buffalo, the horsy mane, the delicate, strong, sloping antelope body, the long, mustang-like tail, and the strange, twisted, unconventional character, half-fierce, half-inquisitive. he--that lonely one--was going to drink, and he may have been doing it early because he had only his two eyes and ears, and his one nose, to warn him of the dozen or two forms of death that awaited him at the drinking-place, instead of the eyes and ears and noses of all the herd. the gnu saw neither honey-bird nor badger till he was within a yard of them. then he stopped as instantly still as if he had been electrocuted. the ratel, who had himself to feed, and a wounded wife and two young whom he would lead to that honey-feast anon, looked calmly over his shoulder at the form of the antelope towering above him. there was no sign of fear in his straight stare at the shaggy, ferocious-looking horned head. he had no business with it, and would thank it to mind its own affairs. and the honey-bird didn't care much, either, she having no young to feed, because, cuckoo-like, she left other birds--woodpeckers, for choice--to see to that. wherefore, for as long as a man would take to select a cigarette with care and light it, there was dead silence and stillness, broken only by the distant, deep "hoo-hoo, hoo! hoo-hoo, hoo!" of a party of ground hornbills. then that devil of meddlesome curiosity which is the curse of the wildebeests fell upon that gnu, and sanity left him. "kwank!" neighed he. and again, "kwank!" next instant he had spun, top-fashion, on all four feet at once, and jumped in the same manner, and was gone, whirling round them, with great shaggy head down, and in a halo of his own swishing tail, at the rate of knots. it was nothing to be wondered at in that strange antelope that he should then sink from wild motion to absolute, fixed rigidity, broken only by the restless, horse-like swishing of the long tail, staring hard at the ratel. perhaps it was the bees that did it, or perhaps the ratel stood in the gnu's very own path, or in the way of his private dusting-hole. i know not; neither did the ratel--nor care much, for the matter of that. but when the gnu went off again, circling with hoarse snorts, and shying and swerving furiously and wonderfully at top speed, he sat up on his hindlegs, the better to get a view of the strange sight. perhaps he thought a lion was lying somewhere near that he could not see from his lowly, natural position. again the gnu stopped as utterly instantly as if he had run into a brick wall, pawed, stamped, snorted, and went off once more into furiously insane caperings--a new set--all the time circling, with the little, black-and-gray, erect figure of the surprised ratel as a pivot. and then, in a flash, before any one had a second's warning to grasp the truth or prepare, with head down, eyes burning in the down-dropped, shaggy head, and upcurved horn-points gleaming in the afternoon sun, he charged, hurling himself, a living, reckless, furious battering-ram, straight at the little ratel. did that ratel quit quick? do ratels ever quit an unbeaten foe? i don't know. they may, once in the proverbial blue moon; but i haven't seen 'em. this one didn't. he seemed to know that it is held to be a sound military maxim to meet an attack by counter-attack, and he did, though he had only the fifth of a second to do it in. ah, but it was good to see that odd little beast trotting out coolly, head low, tail high, singing his war-song as he rolled along to meet the charging foe so many, many times his own size. next moment there was a thud--somewhat as if some one had punched a pillow--and the ratel was flying through the air, high and fine, in a graceful and generous curve. a thorn-bush--what matter the precise name? there are so many in those parts, all execrable--acknowledged receipt of his carcass with a crash, and for a few seconds he hung, like a sack on a nail, spitted cleanly by at least one thorn, far thornier than anything we know here, before the thing gave way, and he fell, still limply, this way and that, hesitatingly, as it were, as each point lovingly sought to retain him, to a fork near the bottom, where he stayed. at last he picked himself out of the fork, and--oh my!--with a whistling grunt of rage, coolly, calmly, clumsily if you like, but grandly all the same, trotted forth into the open to look for that bull-gnu again. and that, sirs, was the sort, of animal _he_ was. the bull-gnu, however, who was not previously acquainted with small beasts that would face his charge--and an aerial journey, _and_ the thorns--and come back for more, had fetched a curve at full gallop, and loped off into the landscape. for the first time since the herds outlawed him, i fancy, he seemed to be quite pleased with himself, and soon, antelope-like, put the ratel from him placidly, and forgot. but he was reckoning without his host. if he had done with the ratel, the ratel had not done with him. no, by thunder--not by a good bit! finding no bull-gnu, the slow little black and grayish-white fighter from fightersville returned at a walk, still whistling with rage, to the unearthed bees'-nest, which looked like a town after a bad air-raid. and the first thing he did was to patter almost on top of a cobra, a five-footer, who, having narrowly escaped death by the gnu's flying hoofs, was what one might call considerably "het" up, or "off the handle," so to say. the servant of the devil sat up, blew out its beastly hood, and shot forth a hiss that seemed to run all up and down one's spine, like lightning on an elm-tree. the robber of honey sat up, said "tchik!" and turned a somersault. what's that? yes, somersault is right. followed instantly two thin jets of liquid, as much as anything i can think of like those lines called "trajectory curves" which ballisticians do so love to draw in books on rifle-shooting; only, these curved lines began at the hollow point of mr. cobra's poison-fangs, and were meant to end in mr. ratel's eyes. they didn't. old man ratel, he was standing on his hind-legs, with his sturdy paws in front of his eyes--like a man who looks across a sunny land--and seemed just about to turn a somersault again. he changed his mind, though, when the poison, that would have blinded him for life--and that life wouldn't have been long in that wild _then_, i want to tell you--stopped, and he went in at that black-necked, legless, soulless servant of satan, utterly and amazingly unafraid. it was fine. oh, by the way, i forgot to tell you that when nature repented, and gave the ratel a courage surpassing the courage of any other beast on earth, she also gave him a skin tough as a pachyderm's, and loose, as if it were two sizes too large; and that is why that black-necked cobra died quite quickly, and the ratel didn't, even slowly. even if the snake's fangs had got through, which was not in the least likely, that did not mean to say they would touch mr. ratel's person inside. this, by the way, may explain why being spitted on thorns, like a beetle on a pin, when the bull-gnu charged, did not seem to worry him much, either. the moon was up when the wounded mother ratel, on guard at the mouth of her burrow, looked up sharply. a side-striped jackal, who kidded himself she had not seen him lying in wait to find out, when she went hunting, what she hid in that den, suddenly bolted with a yap; and a hyena, represented by two burning eyes, who appeared, by some magic of his own, to guess she was wounded, jumped up and made way for something that approached. it was her husband and the cobra, the latter trailing along limply behind, who came that way; and even the hyena had retired, with an audible sigh--at least, it wasn't a moan quite--when he claimed the path. after all, there is no sense, if you are the most cowardly beast for your power on earth, in getting up against the pluckiest thing in creation in full possession of life and liberty. later our ratel sallied forth to "face the world" again. his wife had recovered from her wounds--the result, these, of refusing to believe she was not so good as a twelve-foot python, and a bit better--sufficiently to walk slowly; but that was not enough to face that wild where die-quicks, from lions, down through leopards, hyenas, wild-dogs, jackals, and the rest, are forever hiding, on the lookout for unfortunate ones flying an s.o.s. signal. no, he must go and do the provisioning alone, and alone he went. for a peaceful beast, one only too pleased to mind his own business and thank other folks to mind theirs, his subsequent doings were rather astonishing. this was because he cared for neither man nor beast nor devil, in the first place, and because the night produced all three, in the second. he got man in the form of the smell of meat--well-seasoned meat, even for africa!--what time he was testing a native village, by scent and on the downwind side of him--and that showed his pluck, my word!--for honey or fowl. he detected neither out of the few dozen unspeakable stenches, but struck meat, and following it up-wind, arrived at a piece--a good big piece--on the ground among grass. a civet cat--who is more civet than cat, by the way--a small spotted genet--who looked like an exaggerated ferret in the uncertain gloom--and the inevitable black-backed jackal--who must not be confused with him of the side-stripes--faded out at his approach like steam in a dry atmosphere. he might have felt proud of this silent respect, if it were not a fact that these gentry, these village frontier haunters, scenting danger, thought it a fine "kink" to let the brave one test it first. and he did. to be exact, that ratel touched off the tooth-jawed trap that was the reason for that free meal of high and valuable meat in that place, and when he jumped he didn't get anywhere. also, it hurt his leg abominably. then the others reincarnated themselves out of the shadows--especially the jackal, who shouted "yaaaa-ya-ya-ya!" and called a friend--and waited for things to happen. they were confident things would happen, for africa is not a good place wherein to get caught in a trap--_there is too much likelihood of being mistaken for the bait_! but they might as well have seen a thunder "portent" captured by the tail as this ratel by the leg; for, instead of instantly and foolishly abandoning himself to the frenzy of unthinkable fear--the fear of being trapped is the greatest of all to a free, wild thing--as practically all others would have done, he said nothing at all; he failed to lose his head; and, to crown all, he instantly, coolly, slowly, viciously, and doggedly set himself to struggle, with a grim persistence that was amazing. and, moreover, from that instant he never left off. a striped hyena, seemingly in lifelong terror of his own shadow, turned up by magic--or perhaps he heard the snap of the trap. seven times he bolted, for no earthly reason that one could see, before finally gaining courage to snap at the ratel at the very end of his reach. it was the kind of snap that would take half a man's face away, and not nice to meet when you are trapped. the ratel, however, came calmly at the hyena, trap and all, and so nearly got his own trap-jaws locked home on the unclean one that the hyena was glad to go away. in the end, thanks to the amazing toughness of his skin, and its looseness, the ratel managed to, as it were, slide the bone of his leg between the jaws of the trap, leaving the skin and fur in, and the rest was mainly determined tugging and strong fang-work. then he coolly ate the real bait, and--the onlookers remembered appointments elsewhere. none of them, it seemed, was tickled to meet the ratel when he had finished. he was sure to be crusty; and, anyway, he had bitterly disappointed them all--he had achieved the apparently impossible, and, worst part of the lot, was not dead. now, a ratel will do almost as much for honey as a bear for pork, a leopard for little "bow-wows," or a man for diamonds. this will explain why he was foolish enough to follow, some hours later, the trail of some natives who had been out collecting honey from a camp the day before; or perhaps he knew nothing about the honey till, not too scientifically, he got into the camp. anyway, the honey was very good. there are, however, from a wilding's point of view, camps and camps. most of the inhabitants of the wild, including the lion, who are not born with a pluck considerably above proof, can discriminate the difference. the ratel either could not or would not. then the knowledge was driven home. driven home in the shape of a big, loose-limbed, deep-jowled brute of a dog, as unlike the ordinary native curs as it well could be. it did not come silently, or suddenly, for it growled full warning in a terrible bass; but the ratel showed contempt, and teeth that glistened beautifully in the red light of the dying fire the sleeping sentry ought to have seen to, but had not. moreover, it did not come alone, for the camp was a white hunter's camp. the dog gave a thunderous baying rally-call, and almost before that sentry had leapt to his feet, the ratel vanished tumultuously and suddenly from the public gaze, under a perfect cloud of dogs. he was, ere any one knew what the riot might be, literally smothered under dogs--dogs, too, most of 'em who held up the deadly leopard, and hounded the tyrannical lion, habitually and for a pastime, mark you. then his devil prompted one of the black sentries to rush up and fire his rifle. probably he did not know what was under those dogs; certainly he thought it would keep there. in any case, he nearly killed a dog, and the cause of the trouble did not keep there. he came out, miraculously alive, still more miraculously cool and unhurried. he broke away from the dogs as if they were little puppies, and, still quite coolly and slowly, he charged that man. the yell that followed could have been heard quite a long distance through the cloaked night. and, in truth, one cannot wonder, for you may take it from me that the jaws of a ratel fast home on the calf of your leg, as our ratel's jaws were on that native's leg, form something to remember in dreams. but it was that very native who saved our ratel's life, all the same; for his gymnastic display during the few seconds that followed was so energetic that the pink pyjamas and a revolver, that represented the white hunter fresh from sleep, had no chance at all of doing any damage except to the dancing native--which they nearly did; and the dogs, once more piling themselves on to the ratel, broke his hold, and the whole fight rolled and raged away into the darkness and the thorn-scrub, out of sight. later, one by one, those dogs came back, dead-beat most of them, with tongues lolling and sides pumping. some limped, and some turned away every few yards feverishly to lick a wound. all were blood-stained, but not a drop of it--not one drop--belonged to friend ratel. he, that superb warrior, was at that moment trotting along, quite unconcernedly, through the bush about a quarter of a mile away. there was blood upon him, too--not his, the dogs'--and no other mark; and though he was pretty sore and sick from internal bruising, his skin, his wonderful loose skin, was whole, and unpierced by a single fang. he had, however, the decency to go home and fling himself into a stupor-like sleep, just to prove that he was a real, live beast of this earth, and not merely a phantom from other worlds. the next afternoon was closing in dull and cloudy, and there were signs of a dark and bad night to come--just the sort of day wild hunters come out early in. this was why the grunt sounded then that heralded the appearance of our ratel above-ground, and he himself appeared, emerging at his very own slow trot from his hole. for a moment he paused, looking round, with his funny, "earless," flat head in the air, as if he expected, or listened for, the honey-guide; but the honeyguide was half a mile away, leading some natives--who, by the way, were endeavoring to copy the crooning, whistling replies of a ratel--to honey. no honey-guide? then he must go and search for himself. and he did, returning, in fifty minutes, for his wife, who, now much recovered--as only a ratel can recover from the very jaws of death--followed him with her young to the hole he had torn in a rotten tree-trunk where the bees were nesting. they had proceeded perhaps three hundred yards, when, turning a bush carelessly, as no other creature would dare to do, the ratel fell almost on to the back of the bull-gnu. there is no need to be surprised that they should meet. the wild is not an aimless mix-up in that way. each creature has its beat, temporarily or permanently, nor seeks to deviate. you may look for the same herd of antelope, feeding near the same place, about the same hour each day; the same lion stumping the same beat, as regular as a policeman, most nights; the same hyena uttering horrible nothings within hearing of the same hills, any time after the setting of each sun, just as surely as the same cock-robin asks you for crumbs, the same blackbird awakens you with inimitable fluting, and the same black cat seeks for both in the same vicinity each dusk. the surprise was in what followed. perhaps the bull-gnu kicked our ratel badly as he lurched to his feet, jerked from half-sleep into violent collision with he knew not what. perhaps the ratel had a memory. perhaps the presence of his family weighed with him. whatever the cause, the result was decided enough. he reared and hit deep, and fixed home a very living vise, where he bit. then things happened, but that which immediately followed was not a fight; it was not even a spar. the ratel never moved, although he was moved--astoundingly. the gnu bull did the moving, and produced the most amazing bit of violent activity one could dream of. it was quite indescribable. a buck-jumping mustang of the most hustling kind would have been as a gentle lamb to it. the ground all about looked as if herds had jumped upon it--bushes, grass, flowers, and all were trampled down flat. but it did not do what it was designed to do--it did not break the ratel's hold. bruised, assuredly, shaken so that he ought to have fallen to hits, dizzy and blind, he did not let go, and in the position he held he could not be hammered off. he just glued where he was, saying nothing at all, till the end--till that grand old bull sank and was still, exhausted, by loss of blood, and with one great hopeless sigh his life departed from him, and he died. the ratel did not leave go for some little time. he seemed to suspect that the gnu bull was bluffing, or perhaps he was himself half-stunned. it was the sudden and peculiar growling hiss from his wife--sounding all a-magnified in that wilderness silence after the battle--that made him look up, at her first, and then almost instantly at _something else_. his wife was backing slowly towards the "bush," every hair on her body sticking straight out at right angles, her eyes fixed strangely upon that something else. his young had taken to cover, not, it seemed, too readily, but by their parent's order. a lion was standing, still as a carved beast, at the far end of that little clearing--_he_ was the something else. goodness and his kingly self alone knew how long he had been there, that great, heavy-jowled, deep-bellied, haughty-eyed brute. he may have been present from the first, or the middle, or only at that moment. being a lion, he was just there, suddenly, without any visible effect of having got there, a presence of dread, created apparently out of thin air at the moment, in that spot, and with less sound than a blown leaf. this power of being, without seeming to come, of evolving from nowhere, is one of the lion's most highly perfected tricks; for king leo believes in all the ritual of his craft, and is great on effects, even down to the minor details. power, grim and terrible, he has, without shadow of doubt; but he never forgets to impress that fact--and more--upon the world, and every action is carefully studied to advertise, not himself, but his "frightfulness." a very fine play-actor is the king of all the beasts. but the ratel did not move. he had met his napoleon, and was not--so far as the watcher could see--afraid. motionless, scowling, with head down, and shrewd, proud eyes smoldering, the lion stood there like an apparition of doom. he was, i fully suspect, letting the effect sink in deliberately. he knew his game. also, he had a reason. surely a great poker-player was lost in the lion. but the little ratel met that regal stare squarely and unmoved. he whose proud boast it was that he feared nothing that walked or crawled, or swam or flew, could not be frightened now. and he who came to terrify was perhaps all but ten feet long, and he whom he sought to terrify was barely three feet. it was a comparison to make you gasp. now, that lion did not want the ratel at all, or his wife, or his family, or anything that was his. he wanted the gnu, and would be very pleased if the ratel would go away and leave it to him. the ratel, moreover, did not want the gnu, being an eater of honey, locusts, and generally badger-like fare for the most part; and if the lion had only had the sense to wait a few minutes longer behind the scenes, the ratel would have gone away and left the gnu. but he would not be driven; _that_ was the rub. attacking nobody unprovoked, he was a grim beast to attack, and gave way before none. hence the trouble. finding that the bluff of the impressive tableau did not work, the lion tried a fresh one. still staring at the ratel, he sank his head to the ground, so that his great mane hung to the earth all about him. his forelegs and his shoulders crouched, but his hindlegs and his back were held at their highest, and his tail began to lash behind. then he began to growl tremendously and nerve-shatteringly, and as he did so he curled his upper lips up and back, till the whole ghastly array of his teeth was laid bare to view. in this position he looked like a gigantic grinning mask, with blind eye-sockets where the wrinkles were on the sloping forehead, his eyes nearly invisible below, and a tail lashing far up atop. it was a horrible sight, and one calculated to stampede the pluckiest animal. it was, of course, also a deliberate piece of mesmeric bluff, the reason for which was not made clear till one noticed, what the ratel probably could not, that the great leonine tusks, the terrible fangs, were yellow and worn, as were the rest of the teeth. this was an old lion, a king on a throne already tottering, a monarch of yesterday. that lion, however, might have turned into satan himself, for all the ratel cared. he was threatened, attacked, bullied, forced. his blood was up, and had not all who ever fought him allowed that he was the pluckiest beast on earth? enough! come lion! come devil! he would give ground to none. [illustration: "all allowed that he was the pluckiest beast on earth"] lions are not too patient. also, they have fine spirit of their own. they are among the very few beasts who will hunt and attack animals as strong as, or stronger than, themselves. and this lion's patience snapped suddenly. all at once he seemed to remember that he was still a king, though a king already within the shadow of abdication. the terrible bass rumble of his growl grew, and changed tone; his tail lashed faster and faster; and then, all suddenly heralded by a couple of wicked, rasping, coughing grunts, he--charged. the ratel moved to meet him--to meet him--and at a cool jog-trot! what happened then was hard to follow. it looked as if the worn fangs of the lion failed to make his hold on the wonderful, leathern, loose armor of the little honey-badger, and that he bungled the stroke of his terrible paw. be that as it may, the honey-badger certainly went straight in, right under the lion's guard, right under the lion, and rearing, he bit home, and hung like a living spanner. and here, perhaps, it is best to draw a curtain. for one reason, i cannot describe it, and frankly confess the fact. for several other reasons, it is best not to try. the ratel died in about ten minutes, crushed, battered, smashed to death; but the chaos lasted longer than that, because, even after death, he was not done with--the passing of life had locked his amazing jaws shut forever, and _they were shut on the lion_. the end found the little ratel lying crumpled up and crimson on the trampled grass, and the lion running about like some great injured dog, squatting down every few seconds to lick furiously at his wound. fear was in the eyes of the king of beasts, for the first, probably, and certainly for the last, time in his life, and his blood reddened the grass wherever he made his way; but the internal hemorrhage was the worst. then the vultures came, and that, my friends, is a signal for us humans to go. the vultures get the last word always, even in a story, and the name of that word is--finis. xviii the day now, if you wore a helmet and neck armor of purple, green, and blue in metallic reflections, with scarlet cheek and eye pieces, if your uniform were of purple, brown, yellow, orange-red, green, and black, "either positive or reflected," with a long, rakish, dashing rapier-scabbard cocked jauntily out behind, wouldn't _you_ feel proud? so did he; pride and the "grand air" were written all over him. true, though, the rapier-scabbard was not a rapier-scabbard exactly--only a tail; but it looked like one, in a way. his full title was _phasianus colchicus_, but ordinary people called him just plain pheasant for short. you would have thought, after all this, that even in the first pale light of a cold dawn he would have been easy to see. as a matter of fact, gaiters, the head gamekeeper, one of his underlings, three dogs, and a gun passed right under his bed without seeing him. rather, they may have unconsciously seen him, and put him down as a bundle of dead twigs and leaves caught up in a branch. this is not very complimentary, perhaps, to a gentleman attired in a gorgeous uniform as heretofore set out, but true; and lucky for him, too, to have at once a uniform of unquestioned splendor and one which would melt into its surroundings. they, the men, did not see him; but he, the old cock-pheasant, saw them right enough. he opened one eye, and stared at them through that. then he opened the other eye, and stared at them through that. neither stare seemed to please him. it was not gaiters's way to march through the wood at that hour in the morning. what meant this unseemly disturbance of _phasianus's_ domain? his suspicions, never long at rest, woke up. moreover, somewhere at the back of his brain rose a memory, a little, tiny speck of a memory, which grew. then he stood right up. everywhere, here and there, in the gray cloak of the dawn-mist, he could hear the sharp "chawk-chawk!" and the quick, flustered whir as pheasant after pheasant came down from its roosting-perch to clean and breakfast. but his suspicions held him for a few minutes longer, stretching his neck and peering about at the still-shrouded mystery of the ground below; and it was as well, perhaps. suddenly his head was still; a spray of a brier-bush was swaying gently. there was nothing in that, of course, if there had been any breath of wind to move it; but there wasn't. wherefore our gallant friend did not come down to preen and breakfast like the rest, but sat motionless as a statue, while the sun rose and touched him to a winking golden and bronze wonder, and the mists began to be torn asunder. he wanted to know what moved that brier-branch, and he wasn't taking chances till he did. day came on apace, and all the night hunters who had remained so late had already hurried off to bed save one. _he_ appeared, evidently empty, certainly very angry indeed at having waited for a cock-pheasant who refused to do what he was supposed to do and come down to breakfast. out of the brier-bush he came, a lean dog-fox, snarling horribly up at the pheasant, who calmly returned the gaze, conscious of his safety, of course, and said "chuck it!" in a loud, harsh voice, and quite distinctly, twice. the fox, knowing it was no good to wait any longer in the daylight, went, like a floating red shadow. the pheasant watched him go, but did not move for some time. foxes had been known to come back again more suddenly than they went. at last he flew to the earth, but even then he did so as silently as his noisy wings would let him; and he did not announce the fact with a half-crow, as the others had done. very circumspectly he slipped off through the undergrowth, by a series of little crouching runs, stopping every now and then to freeze and listen. soon he came to one of those open, beautiful, grass-covered "rides" with which keepers intersect pheasant-coverts. he stopped dead on the edge of it, himself invisible among the drooping, leaning, old-gold bracken. the "ride" was full of wood-people, for here had been scattered that corn which gaiters intended the pheasants to feed upon. indeed, there were about ten pheasants, hens and young cocks of the year, doing exactly what they were intended to do. also, there were some half-dozen softly-tinged, blue-gray wood-pigeons, and one cheeky jay--whose wing-patches rivaled the perfection of the blue sky above--doing their best in a quiet sort of way to help the pheasants, which they were not intended to do, by any manner of means. the old cock-pheasant slid across the "ride" after a bit, low as a crouching rat. he had no business there this day. his mind was still alert with suspicion. moreover, his father had been a cunning old cock who had managed, by ways that were dark, to keep out of the game-bag for years, too. the taint, as gaiters would have called it, had been passed on to him. he made for the open edge of the covert, and he was mighty careful about doing that even. he felt that air and plenty of horizon were necessary to his well-being, after the disturbing vision of gaiters and co., so unnaturally busy, hurrying through the dawn. now, it is quite remarkable how much you can see from the edge of a pheasant-covert without being seen yourself. keepers know that, but do not give the fact away. the ground sloped away in two open grass fields, a hedge dividing them, and it was within about the longitude and the latitude of where that hedge met the covert that our old friend maneuvered. the climate about there seemed to suit him admirably. true, good food was not strewn in plenty just where he could most easily see it. he had to look for his acorns or his beechmast by the good old domestic-fowl plan of scratching among the leaves; roots also he was forced to scratch for; and the noisy mistle-thrushes with the tempers of eblis had to be driven off the berries he would look after in the ditch. also, there was a stoat. that stoat, however, tackled him just once. in the process it discovered (_a_) that he wore spurs not meant to be ornaments, and (_b_) that no one could teach him much about using those same spurs. the stoat, plus a new carmine decoration for gallantry, remembered an urgent appointment down a rat-hole, and kept it. perhaps it was a young stoat, and had not learnt that there are at least four degrees of cock-pheasant, namely, young and brainless, adult and brave, old and brave and cunning, and old and decrepit; but the last stage is a rare bird. there is nothing of any use to the stoat in the second and third degrees of cock-pheasant--no health to the stoat, you understand. the dawning of the morning had passed by now in gold and crimson and purple splendor; the mist-curtain had been drawn back by the fingers of the wind, the utter darkness upon everything at ground-level had begun to give way before the sun, and to leeward of most trees and bushes there was a balmy luxuriance of golden light that held one lingering. gnats were dancing under the low-hung boughs in still corners, as they will dance on the coldest day; song-thrushes were beginning to take life for one more day, and tack hither and yon, as if they were busy pegging the field down with an invisible "cats' cradle"; and the black rooks, shining like burnished steel shields, flashed and flashed again as they began to gather beneath the trees, where the ground thawed most and first. though they alone seemed to have discovered it, the pigeons very quickly found that the rooks had hit something good, and you can bet one jay, at any rate, must be there, to make profit out of somebody. it was the jester of a jay, whom, in spite of his painted plumage, no one seemed to have noticed, that first gave the alarm that carried the cock-pheasant's suspicious temperament a step farther upon the path of independent action. up till then you will note that, though he had left the vicinity of his own people, he had not yet left the realm that was peculiarly their own--the woods. "w-a--r-k, w-a-a-r-k!" gasped out the jay suddenly, and fled, a half-seen vision of pinkish, of black and white, upon uncertain, almost fluttering, wings. it was like striking a gong. instantly all motion was suspended, and dotted thrushes, clustered rooks, and deprecating pigeons remained at rigid attention. the old cock-pheasant, too, erect as an armored warrior, unseen just within the covert, stood promptly at gaze. then, in no more time than one would take to inhale one puff from a cigarette, the fields were empty--stark, cold, and deserted in the eye of the morning sun. the birds had not so much gone, exactly, as simply faded out--dissolved, as a picture may at a cinema-show. the cock-pheasant did not go. he was in cover, and had a good view, a strategic position of some moment. followed a pause. then a man in tweeds entered one of the fields by the gate. followed him two more, then a fourth, then two not in tweeds, then dogs, black and big, to the number of three, not to mention the bar-like gleam given off by the barrels of the guns that the first four carried. the whole procession passed silently, as they thought--but to the waiting, watching, wild-folk unpardonably noisily--diagonally across the field, and out of sight round a bend of the wood. they had an air about them. i don't know what it was exactly, but you could feel they were going to do something serious that had not been done there for a long time. perhaps the old cock-pheasant felt it too, but--well, there now! where had the old "varmint" gone? half-way down the hedge, very low and long, the cock-pheasant was sneaking. he seemed suddenly anxious to mind his own business, and that everybody else should mind theirs. he was going away from the wood, which the books tell us is the realm, the sanctuary, the all, to a pheasant, and he had no desire to answer questions by the way. for this reason, then, and a few others, he felt no special delight in sighting, about two hundred yards farther on--at a place where two stacks surrounded by rails stood and sheltered a fowlhouse--a baker's dozen of fowls sunning themselves on the hedge-bank. he held for fowls all the wild creatures' contempt for the tame or domestic. all the same, he saw no health in risking the open just then, and would not turn back, so there was nothing for it but the fowls. low as low he crouched, and ran very quickly, and hoped for the best; and there is no bird that can wish itself out of sight in this fashion better than friend pheasant. but he forgot the odd cockerel out. he shot right on to the wretched thing--a gawky red youth--messing about all alone in a nettle-clump, and it dashed into the field, racing on long yellow legs, and squawking fit to wake the dead. down clapped the pheasant as if the noise had pierced his heart, and remained stiller than the crawling roots around him, and not half so easy to see. but it was no good. up shot the dozen heads above the herbage, and two dozen vacuous eyes regarded his vicinity with empty-headed inquisitiveness. he almost melted into the ground, but it was useless. an old, old hen--who perhaps was ignored by the lord of the harem, and hoped for an adventure--waddled up, stood within a yard of his crouched, rounded shape without seeing him, saw him, shot straight up in the air at least one foot, screaming for help, and promptly charged blindly into the hedge, where she as promptly got held up among roots and twigs. the old pheasant got to his feet just as the rooster who owned the outfit came racing up, panting and red. he had heard a wife scream for help. perhaps it was the odd bird out; or, anyway, some one who had to be abolished. and he never waited to think. he saw what might have been a small cockerel (if it had been large he might have thought twice) crouching, and--he just sailed right in. then something happened. the two met, going up breast to breast. for a moment or two the cock-pheasant showed on or about that big rooster. some feathers hung in the air. the rooster sat on his heels, met by a blow in the chest that seemed to take all the wind from his sails, so to speak, and would have drawn off to reconsider things if he had not promptly become more busy than ever before in his life. it was over ere any one knew quite what was happening. the old cock-pheasant had passed through the crowd and vanished at the double down the hedge, and the big rooster was slowly subsiding into a pool of his own blood, from which he was destined never to rise again. but those who make, instead of following, their own destiny do not get let off thus lightly in the wild. the pheasant had not gone a hundred yards, when a most intolerable blast, an almost unbearable blast, of shrill, nerve-racking noise throbbed through his head. the bird fell in his tracks where he ran, as if some one had jerked his legs from under him, and he peered out. what he beheld was an under-keeper standing close by and blowing upon a two-note pea-whistle till there seemed some danger that he would burst his cheeks, or a blood-vessel, on the spot, and far up the field three wandering pheasants racing back to the covert, as they thought, for very life; but, as a matter of fact--and you shall see--it was to very death. the blower of whistles was stationed there to drive back into the covert any pheasants who were so misguided as to wish to roam thence into the fields and away. now, that old reprobate of a pheasant of ours was a pretty confirmed runner, anyway. he had trained himself to it. yet never in all his checkered life was he conscious of a more awful desire to flee by means of the wings that god had given him. the weakness was over in a few seconds, and he crept on; but it was a near thing while it lasted. he passed, however, away from the danger zone, resisting temptation, and it was as well. as he went there burst forth, at the opposite end of the big covert to that at which he had come out, a sudden, quick shot. it echoed away and away back among the woods, clattering and banging like great doors shutting. the old cock-pheasant stopped to listen; he cocked his green head on one side; he stood with one foot daintily uplifted: and in the same instant there burst upon the air a rending, crashing succession of shots, worse than ragged volley-firing, which almost made him jump. it had begun--the big shoot over _his_ covert, the largest, the best, the richest in pheasants, which had been saved for this--"the day" had begun. when it ended very few pheasants would be left alive, for word had gone forth that it was to be thinned down, almost shot out, and that not a cock must escape. he, our own cock-pheasant, might have chuckled--as a cock-pheasant can, and will, very low and softly to himself, if you are close enough to hear him--if something had not very suddenly and very mysteriously said "phtt!" just like that, close beside him. the old bird's head snicked round, right round, almost hindpart before; but he made no other movement. the sound was new to him, and of a strangely sinister import. also, there was a little splayed hole in the ground, as if a walking-stick had been poked in there, close beside him, which had not been there before. he was still staring when something, singing a little, high-pitched song in a minor key to itself, came romping through the silent air, and, with an oddly emphasized and emphatic "phtt!" landed between his feet. it bored a hole just like the first thing, and it spat dirt up into his face. the third mystery thing clipped three feathers from his back as he ran, bolted for dear life, crouching low--even then he would not rise--for the hedge. he got there alive, if not quite whole; while a fourth nameless object cut twigs off above him. then he kept on running, always hugging the hedges, till he was two fields away. he was upset and overstrained, for fate had given him plenty of deaths to circumvent as it was, in the ordinary course of business, and this addition was a bit too much. there are other forms of shooting pheasants than the orthodox one, which begins with smoking a cigarette on a comfortable shooting-seat, and ends with a wild and furious fusillade, using three guns as fast as you can. so thought the farmer's son, who took the chance to test his new american . -bore repeating-rifle, now that all the keepers were well out of the way. and he had come mighty close to bagging the old cock-bird, too. "as near as made no odds," he said, which was true, but only the old bird himself knew quite the closeness of the call. in the far field the bronze king of the woods found peace for a bit. the stunning reports in the covert not far away, and the thought that his companions of yesterday, his lady-loves of last spring, were even then being butchered by the hundred, made no difference to his digestion. he fed on with that imperturbability that must have come to him straight through his ancestors from the east--kismet! it was sufficient. he ought, of course, to have been in the covert. he was, however, here--knowingly here, cunningly here, safely--no, by jove! not that, by any means. a head, clean and neat and sharp, had poked out of the long, pale grass at the edge of the hedge-ditch, and stared at him. he couldn't very well miss seeing it because of the unforgettable brightness of its beady eyes, and the absolutely spotless purity of its white shirt-front. besides, he knew the owner--and its reputation. he was helping the farmer to clear an oat-stubble of charlock-seeds at the moment, and bending down. that is to say, he was doing inestimable good, for which he got no credit. the next moment, and the next, and for many more, he was still bending down. in fact, from the instant he got sight of that head, it was as if a hand had come down and turned him by magic into a big model of a bird cast in bronze. all life in him appeared to have dried up and fled. he looked as if you could have picked him up and put him upon a bracket in your drawing-room without his ever moving again. but that was only because of the head he had seen--and its reputation. moreover, the head was not alone. at least, it had multiplied itself half-a-dozen times in less than half-a-dozen seconds, and even a stoat, which the head belonged to, cannot be in two places at once--though for sheer quickness of movement it, and far more its cousin the weasel, comes very near to it. just at this moment it seemed that about the roost unhealthful thing he could do would be to be seen in the air. wherefore did this innocent and guileless old bird affect not to see the stoats, but made out that he was feeding his way along, quite and absolutely intent upon that yellow devil of a weed whose other name is charlock. he did not even hurry, and each deliberate step was taken with almost a proud daintiness. the only thing was, he never lifted his head; he was almost too obviously unwary--for him. and he gave the impression that every step would be his last out into the field; that he was always going to turn back next instant or the next, as he had done before when the stoats were not there. on and on he kept till he had crossed the field, going faster and faster, till he ended at the far hedge with a run. and there, so far as he was concerned, was an end of the stoats. he put them aside. he forgot all about them. they, however, had not forgotten about him. it was half-an-hour later, and he was patiently gleaning such food as the rooks and the sparrows and the larks had left behind them, when something, he could not tell what, caused him to straighten up, with that beautiful, proud bearing that seems part of the pheasant's heritage from the gorgeous east. and he was only just in time. the stoat that had come up behind him, unseen, turned on its heels as it charged, changing its mind at the last moment, as if it saw he saw, and was gone again before you could click a finger, diving superbly back into long grass. they were following him, then, those little hounds of death; tracking him; running him down. and why? he did not know, perhaps, yet--maybe he did. blood is a dangerous thing to have on you in the wild--a flaming signal of distress for eye and nose to detect--and they are not often rescuers who hurry to the scene. he had blood on his back, that cock-pheasant, and just every now and then a single bright drop fell by the way. the . -bore bullet had only grazed him. 'twas nothing--but it bled more than you would expect. and that explained it. the tracking stoats thought he was wounded. but even then the old cock-pheasant would not rise. the firing in the covert had risen suddenly to a fierce crescendo, breaking out afresh from another quarter. here, however, was silence--the absolute, deadly silence in which all the weasel tribe hunt. but they were there, though he could not see them. he knew that, invisible even in the sunlight--they were closing in, tracking him fast, those stoats. then he ran. he ran not so much for his life, but for the right to keep on the ground. if the worst came to the worst, he could always fly; but he would do anything rather than that. he turned and ran away from the woods--raced like a fowl, but quicker, lower, much harder to see. a sudden gleam of bright-chestnut fur dead ahead, however, stopped him, and he turned back, keeping always to the hedge--towards the covert. he could hear no sound around him, only the burst and the bang of the guns in the woods, and he might have been alone; but directly he came to another hedge, and swung down to it at right angles, a furry tail with a paint-brush tip, vanishing round a holly-stem, fetching him up all standing. they were there, too, those stoats. he seemed to be surrounded on all sides save one, and that the one towards the woods. so he swung back into his original path. then, very soon, as he ran up the hedge-ditch, it seemed to him as if the dead leaves collected there were beginning to whisper behind him. but there was no wind to move them. moreover, it grew closer, till it seemed at his very tail, that whisper of dead leaves. then, in a flash, he had stopped, spun about like a top, and struck with his spurs twice--whack, whack--more than instantly, and a long, low, brown body--close behind him, that had risen as he turned, so that its spotlessly clean shirt-front offered him a fine mark, went over sideways--with a grunt and all the wind knocked out of it, as well as an inch-and-a-half gash to remember friend pheasant by. that was one stoat; but it was not alone. he had a vision of chestnut forms sliding and rippling in and out of the shadows and the long copper gleams of the westering sun. as he turned again, and the whispering began once more behind, the firing in front broke out afresh, and much nearer. still he would not rise, however. it was this fact, probably, which kept the stoat-pack at his heels. they seemed convinced that he was badly wounded and unable to fly. then came the road. he was on it before he knew. there was the wedge-shaped, low-browed head of a stoat racing up along one side of him, with murder plainly written in the gleam of its beady eyes; there was the hot breath of another beating on his opposite flank; there was one with feet out and all brakes on, trying its best to pull out one of the feathers of his long and beautiful tail; and--there was the road dead ahead. it was one of three--the road, the air, or death where he was. he chose the road, and crossed, like a hunted cat crossing a back-yard. his feet seemed scarcely to touch the dust as he negotiated the open, yet he had time to take in a fact or two. one was that the stoats had stopped--a little bunch of peering heads on a group of craning necks on the edge of the ditch behind him. another was that several people and a motor-car were standing still in the road quite close, watching the shooting. i don't think any of them saw him, but he felt as if all of them did. arrived in the hedge on the far side of the road, he clapped down, panting. the hedge ran along the road. on the other side of it was the grass of the park-land, stretching away two hundred yards or so to the edge of the covert, which came down to a point here. he could hear the tapping of sticks in the covert--beaters' sticks. he could hear an occasional shout. men in tweeds stood motionless on the edge of the covert, and suddenly moved. then came the infernal crash of the guns again, and he saw a hen-pheasant pitch sickeningly on her head from a height, and a cock-pheasant, flaming like a rocket in the sinking sun, run the gauntlet of four shots, only to turn over and slide down at a fifth. then--and then, he jumped. something had pushed past him. in the din he had not heard it. he turned as he crouched, and saw that it was a hen-pheasant, with blood on her breast and one wing trailing alongside. and in the same instant he was aware of a man--an under-keeper--crackling about in the hedge only ten yards away, looking for that hen-pheasant. and the unwounded old cock, crouching almost till he looked like a tortoise, followed the blundering, staggering, wounded hen. it was the only thing he dared do. it was a strange creep, and an erratic one, with many stops, those two hunted ones took together, meeting, so strangely, too--not for the first time, since she had been one of his wives in the dim peaceful past--with the guns thundering away so close, and their sons and their daughters being slain almost all around them. they had, however, little time to think about it, for they came, after about twenty yards, to a gap spanned by barbed wire, and they stopped, the cock about a foot behind the hen's tail, in cover scarcely enough to hide them. but that was not all. two men in fawn overcoats stood in the road by the gap, looking through it at the shooting; and a boy with a bicycle stood close to them, interested in the same thing. it was the boy with the bicycle that did it; or, rather, it was the unhappy hen-pheasant that made him. she, being _in extremis_, had made some noise among the stiff dead leaves. it was not much of a noise, but it caught the boy's young ear, and he bent forward to peer at the hedge. one of the men saw him, said something, to which the boy nodded, jumped down into the ditch, and thrusting in a long arm, began to feel with a purposeful hand. the hen-pheasant, whose nerves were already shattered to little pieces, struggled to get out of reach, and in a second had given the whole show away. but i like to think of what our cunning old cock-pheasant did then. he did nothing--absolutely nothing at all. crouching as flat as an overturned saucer, just, behind the hen-pheasant's tail, he remained stiller than a bunch of dead leaves, and far more silent. and this, mark you, when the hen-pheasant was pulled out, frantically fluttering and helpless, and there and then had her neck wrung in front of his very eyes. that, my masters, needed a nerve, after all that he had gone through. what? the two men, seeming to think that they had got enough for one quiet walk, departed, not quickly, but without unnecessary delay. the man who had been looking for the hen-pheasant, and had seen nothing of what took place at the gap, gave it up, and went away over the grass to the shooters. the shooting ended with one last double shot, at one last old cock-pheasant driven reluctantly from the last hush of the covert; the dogs were out, galloping all over the ground for the wounded and the slain; the watchers in the road departed; the shooters gradually merged into groups, and drew farther and farther away up the park; and the boy, who was shy, mounted his bicycle and rode off into the sad blue-gray of the gathering dusk. the big day was over, and the old cock-pheasant was alone with the melancholy song of a single robin, and a chaffinch calling "chink!" and the cold breath of the sunset wind, shuddering and sighing all to itself across the face of the empty scene, touched the feathers that were left by the hen-pheasant attached to thorns and twigs in her last struggle, so that they danced and wavered and flickered before the old cock's eyes, as a reminder of all that had been for them in the past--the past, which for him, but never for her, might be again. that night he roosted in the covert, as usual. the end transcriber's note: a number of typographical errors found in the original text have been maintained in this version. a list of these errors is found at the end of this book. the illustration originally used as the frontispiece has been moved to the page to which it refers. stories about the instinct of animals, their characters, and habits. by thomas bingley. embellished with engravings, from drawings by t. landseer. [illustration] new york: c.s. francis & co., broadway. boston: j.h. francis, washington street. . contents. chapter i. uncle thomas resumes his stories about the instinct of animals.--tells about the horse, and of the immense herds which are to be found on the plains of south america; of their capture by means of the lasso; the arab and his mare; the gadshill robber; the benevolent planter; the lawyer-highwayman; as well as several other curious stories about the intelligence, affection, and docility of the horse page chapter ii. uncle thomas tells about the beaver, and the singular manner in which it constructs a dam to confine the waters of the river; and about the hut which it builds for its habitation. he tells also about the curious nests of the sociable grosbeak; and gives a long and entertaining account of the white ant of africa; its extraordinary nest; and the important part which it acts in the economy of nature chapter iii. uncle thomas describes the manner in which wild elephants are caught, and relates some curious stories of the cunning, affection, and intelligence of the elephant chapter iv. uncle thomas introduces to the notice of the young folks the ettrick shepherd's stories about sheep; and tells them some interesting stories about the goat, and its peculiarities chapter v. uncle thomas relates some very remarkable stories about the cat; points out to the boys the connexion subsisting between the domestic cat and the lion, tiger, &c., and tells them some stories about the gentleness, as well as the ferocity of these animals chapter vi. uncle thomas tells about the tiger; its ferocity and power; and of the curious modes which are adopted for its capture and destruction.--also about the puma or american lion, and introduces some hunting scenes in north and south america, with other interesting and entertaining adventures chapter vii. uncle thomas tells about the migrating instinct of animals.--of the house swallow of england; and the esculent swallow, whose nest is eaten by the chinese.--he tells also about the passenger pigeon of america; of the myriads which are found in various parts of the united states; of the land-crab and its migrations, and of those of the salmon and the common herring chapter viii. uncle thomas tells about the baboons, and their plundering excursions to the gardens at the of good hope, calsoaep about le vaillant's baboon, kees, and his peculiarities; the american monkeys; and relates an amusing story about a young monkey deprived of its mother, putting itself under the fostering care of a wig-block chapter ix. uncle thomas concludes stories about instinct with several interesting illustrations of the affections of animals, particularly of the instinct of maternal affection, in the course of which he narrates the story of the cat and the black-bird; the squirrel's nest; the equestrian friends; and points out the beneficent care of providence in implanting in the breasts of each of his creatures the instinct which is necessary for its security and protection stories illustrative of the instinct of animals. chapter i. uncle thomas resumes his stories about the instinct of animals.--tells about the horse, and of the immense herds which are to be found on the plains of south america; of their capture by means of the lasso; the arab and his mare; the gadshill robber; the benevolent planter; the lawyer-highwayman; as well as several other curious stories about the intelligence, affection, and docility of the horse. "come away, boys, i am glad to see you again! since i last saw you i have made an extensive tour, and visited some of the most romantic and picturesque scenery in england. one day i may give you an account of what i saw, and describe to you the scenes which i visited; but i must deny myself this pleasure at present. i promised, at our next meeting, to tell you some tales about the instinct of animals; and i propose to begin with the horse. i like to interest you with those animals with which you are familiar, and to draw out your sympathies towards them. after the stories about dogs which i told you, some of them exhibiting that fine animal in such an amiable and affectionate character, i am sure it must assume a new interest in your mind. such instances of fidelity and attachment could not fail to impress you with a higher opinion of the animal than you before possessed, and show that kindness and good treatment even to a brute are not without their reward. "i wish to excite the same interest towards the other animals which, i hope, i have effected towards the dog. each, you will find, has been endowed by its creator with particular instincts, to fit it for the station which it was intended to occupy in the great system of nature. some of them are wild and ferocious, while others are quiet and inoffensive; the former naturally repel us, while those of the latter class as naturally attract our regard, although, properly speaking, each ought equally to interest us, in as far as it fulfils the object of its being. "but i know you like stories better than lectures, so i will not tire you by lecturing, but will at once proceed to tell some stories about horses, which i have gathered for you." "oh no, uncle thomas, we never feel tired of listening to you; we know you have always something curious to tell us." "well, then, frank, to begin at once with the horse. "in several parts of the world there are to be found large herds of wild horses. in south america, in particular, the immense plains are inhabited by them, and, it is said, that so many as ten thousand are sometimes found in a single herd. these flocks are always preceded by a leader, who directs their motions; and such is the regularity with which they perform their movements, that it seems almost as if they could not be surpassed by the best trained cavalry. "it is extremely dangerous for travellers to encounter a herd of this description. when they are unaccustomed to the sight of such a mass of creatures, they cannot help feeling greatly alarmed at their rapid and apparently irresistible approach. the trampling of the animals sounds like the loudest thunder; and such is the rapidity and impetuosity of their advance, that it seems to threaten instant destruction. suddenly, however, they sometimes stop short, utter a loud and piercing neighing, and, with a rapid wheel in an opposite course, altogether disappear. on such occasions, however, it requires all the care of the traveller to prevent his horses from breaking loose, and escaping with the wild herd. "in those countries where horses are so plentiful, the inhabitants do not take the trouble to rear them, but, whenever they want one, mount upon an animal which has been accustomed to the sport, and gallop over the plain towards the herd, which is readily found at no great distance. gradually he approaches some stragglers from the main body, and, having selected the horse which he wishes to possess, he dexterously throws the _lasso_ (which is a long rope with a running noose, and which is firmly fixed to his saddle,) in such a manner as to entangle the animal's hind legs; and, with a sudden turn of his horse, he pulls it over on its side. in an instant he jumps off his horse, wraps his _poncho_, or cloak, round the captive's head, forces a bit into its mouth, and straps a saddle upon its back. he then removes the poncho, and the animal starts on its feet. with equal quickness the hunter leaps into the saddle; and, in spite of the contortions and kickings of his captive, keeps his seat, till, having wearied itself out with its vain efforts, it submits to the discipline of its captor, who seldom fails to reduce it to complete obedience." "that is very dexterous indeed, uncle thomas; but surely all horses are not originally found in this wild state. i have heard that the arabians are famous for rearing horses." "arabia has, for a long time, been the country noted for the symmetry and speed of its horses: so much attention has been paid to the breeding of horses in our own country, however, for the race-course as well as the hunting-field, that the english horses are now almost unequalled, both for speed and endurance. "it is little wonder, however, that the arabian horse should be the most excellent, considering the care and attention which it receives, and the kindness and consideration with which it is treated. one of the best stories which i ever heard of the love of an arabian for his steed, is that related of an arab from whom one of our envoys wished to purchase his horse. "the animal was a bright bay mare, of extraordinary shape and beauty; and the owner, proud of its appearance and qualities, paraded it before the envoy's tent until it attracted his attention. on being asked if he would sell her, 'what will you give me?' was the reply. 'that depends upon her age; i suppose she is past five?' 'guess again,' said he. 'four?' 'look at her mouth,' said the arab, with a smile. on examination she was found to be rising three. this, from her size and symmetry, greatly enhanced her value. the envoy said, 'i will give you fifty tomans' (a coin nearly of the value of a pound sterling). 'a little more, if you please,' said the fellow, somewhat entertained. 'eighty--a hundred.' he shook his head and smiled. the officer at last came to two hundred tomans. 'well,' said the arab, 'you need not tempt me farther. you are a rich elchee (nobleman); you have fine horses, camels, and mules, and i am told you have loads of silver and gold. now,' added he, 'you want my mare, but you shall not have her for all you have got.' he put spurs to his horse, and was soon out of the reach of temptation. "swift as the arabian horses are, however, they are frequently matched by those of our own country. i say nothing about _race horses_, because, though some of them are recorded to have run at an amazing speed, the effort is generally continued for but a short time. here is an instance of speed in a horse which saved its unworthy master from the punishment due to his crime. [illustration: catching wild horses--page .] "one morning about four o'clock a gentleman was stopped, and robbed by a highwayman named nicks, at gadshill, on the west side of chatham. he was mounted on a bay mare of great speed and endurance, and as soon as he had accomplished his purpose, he instantly started for gravesend, where he was detained nearly an hour by the difficulty of getting a boat. he employed the interval to advantage however in baiting his horse. from thence he got to essex and chelmsford, where he again stopped about half an hour to refresh his horse. he then went to braintree, bocking, weathersfield, and over the downs to cambridge, and still pursuing the cross roads, he went by fenney and stratford to huntingdon, where he again rested about half an hour. proceeding now on the north road, and at a full gallop most of the way, he arrived at york the same afternoon, put off his boots and riding clothes, and went dressed to the bowling-green, where, among other promenaders, happened to be the lord mayor of the city. he there studied to do something particular, that his lordship might remember him, and asking what o'clock it was, the mayor informed him that it was a quarter past eight. notwithstanding all these precautions, however, he was discovered, and tried for the robbery; he rested his defence on the fact of his being at york at such a time. the gentleman swore positively to the time and place at which the robbery was committed, but on the other hand, the proof was equally clear that the prisoner was at york at the time specified. the jury acquitted him on the supposed impossibility of his having got so great a distance from kent by the time he was seen in the bowling-green. yet he was the highwayman." "so that he owed his safety to the speed of his horse, uncle thomas." "he did so, harry. the horse can on occasion swim about as well as most animals, yet it never takes to the water unless urged to do so. there is a story about a horse saving the lives of many persons who had suffered shipwreck by being driven upon the rocks at the cape of good hope, which, i am sure, will interest you as much for the perseverance and docility of the animal, as for the benevolence and intrepidity of its owner. "a violent gale of wind setting in from north and north-west, a vessel in the roads dragged her anchors, was forced on the rocks, and bilged; and while the greater part of the crew fell an immediate sacrifice to the waves, the remainder were seen from the shore struggling for their lives, by clinging to the different pieces of the wreck. the sea ran dreadfully high, and broke over the sailors with such amazing fury, that no boat whatever could venture off to their assistance. meanwhile a planter, considerably advanced in life, had come from his farm to be a spectator of the shipwreck; his heart was melted at the sight of the unhappy seamen, and knowing the bold and enterprizing spirit of his horse, and his particular excellence as a swimmer, he instantly determined to make a desperate effort for their deliverance. he alighted, and blew a little brandy into his horse's nostrils, and again seating himself in the saddle, he instantly pushed into the midst of the breakers. at first both disappeared, but it was not long before they floated on the surface, and swam up to the wreck; when taking with him two men, each of whom held by one of his boots, he brought them safe to shore. this perilous expedition he repeated no seldomer than seven times, and saved fourteen lives; but on his return the eighth time, his horse being much fatigued, and meeting a most formidable wave, he lost his balance, and was overwhelmed in a moment. the horse swam safely to land, but his gallant rider sank to rise no more." "that was very unfortunate, uncle thomas. i suppose the planter had been so fatigued with his previous exertions, that he had not strength to struggle with the strong waves." "very likely, indeed, harry. i dare say the poor animal felt the loss of his kind owner very much, for the horse soon becomes attached to his master, and exhibits traits of intelligence and fidelity, certainly not surpassed by those of any other animal: for instance,--a gentleman, who was one dark night riding home through a wood, had the misfortune to strike his head against the branch of a tree, and fell from his horse stunned by the blow. the noble animal immediately returned to the house they had left, which stood about a mile distant. he found the door closed,--the family had retired to bed. he pawed at it, however, till one of them, hearing the noise, arose and opened it, and, to his surprise, saw the horse of his friend. no sooner was the door opened than the horse turned round as if it wished to be followed; and the man, suspecting there was something wrong, followed the animal, which led him directly to the spot where its wounded master lay on the ground. "there is another story of a somewhat similar description in which a horse saved his master from perishing among the snow. it happened in the north of scotland. "a gentleman connected with the excise was returning home from one of his professional journies. his way lay across a range of hills, the road over which was so blocked up with snow as to leave all trace of it indiscernible. uncertain how to proceed, he resolved to trust to his horse, and throwing loose the reins, allowed him to choose his course. the animal proceeded cautiously, and safely for some time, till coming to a ravine, horse and rider sunk in a snow-wreath several fathoms deep. "stunned by the suddenness and depth of the descent, the gentleman lay for some time insensible. on recovering, he found himself nearly three yards from the dangerous spot, with his faithful horse standing over him and licking the snow from his face. he accounts for his extrication, by supposing that the bridle must have been attached to his person, but so completely had he lost all sense of consciousness, that beyond the bare fact as stated, he had no knowledge of the means by which he made so remarkable an escape." "it was at any rate very kind in the horse to clear away the snow, uncle thomas." "no doubt of it, john, and perhaps he owed his life quite as much to this act of kindness as to being pulled out of the ravine. he might have been as certainly choked by the snow out of it as in it. sometimes the horse becomes much attached to the animals with which it associates, and its feelings of friendship are as powererful as those of the dog. a gentleman of bristol had a greyhound which slept in the same stable, and contracted a very great intimacy with a fine hunter. when the dog was taken out, the horse neighed wistfully after him, and seemed to long for its return; he welcomed him home with a neigh; the greyhound ran up to the horse and licked him; the horse, in return, scratched the greyhound's back with his teeth. on one occasion, when the groom had the pair out for exercise, a large dog attacked the greyhound, bore him to the ground, and seemed likely to worry him, when the horse threw back his ears, rushed forward, seized the strange dog by the back, and flung him to a distance, which so terrified the aggressor, that he at once desisted and made off." "that was very kind, uncle thomas. i like to hear of such instances of friendship between animals." "such a docile animal as the horse can readily be trained to particular habits, and does not readily forget them, however disreputable. there is an odd story to illustrate this. "about the middle of last century, a scottish lawyer had occasion to visit the metropolis. at that period such journies were usually performed on horseback, and the traveller might either ride post, or, if willing to travel economically, he bought a horse, and sold him at the end of his journey. the lawyer had chosen the latter mode of travelling, and sold the animal on which he rode from scotland as soon as he arrived in london. with a view to his return, he went to smithfield to purchase a horse. about dusk a handsome one was offered, at so cheap a rate that he suspected the soundness of the animal, but being able to discover no blemish, he became the purchaser. "next morning, he set out on his journey, the horse had excellent paces, and our traveller, while riding over the few first miles, where the road was well frequented, did not fail to congratulate himself on his good fortune, which had led him to make so advantageous a bargain. "they arrived at last at finchley common, and at a place where the road ran down a slight eminence, and up another, the lawyer met a clergyman driving a one-horse chaise. there was nobody within sight, and the horse by his conduct instantly discovered the profession of his former owner. instead of pursuing his journey, he ran close up to the chaise and stopt it, having no doubt but his rider would embrace so fair an opportunity of exercising his calling. the clergyman seemed of the same opinion, produced his purse unasked, and assured the astonished lawyer that it was quite unnecessary to draw his pistol, as he did not intend to offer any resistance. the traveller rallied his horse, and with many apologies to the gentleman he had so innocently and unwillingly affrighted, pursued his journey. "they had not proceeded far when the horse again made the same suspicious approach to a coach, from the window of which a blunderbuss was levelled, with denunciations of death and destruction to the hapless and perplexed rider. in short, after his life had been once or twice endangered by the suspicions to which the conduct of his horse gave rise, and his liberty as often threatened by the peace-officers, who were disposed to apprehend him as a notorious highwayman, the former owner of the horse, he was obliged to part with the inauspicious animal for a trifle, and to purchase one less beautiful, but not accustomed to such dangerous habits." "capital, uncle thomas! i should have liked to have seen the perplexed look of the poor lawyer, when he saw the blunderbuss make its appearance at the carriage window!" "there is one other story about the horse, showing his love for his master, and the gentleness of his character. a horse which was remarkable for its antipathy to strangers, one evening, while bearing his master home from a jovial meeting, became disburthened of his rider, who, having indulged rather freely, soon went to sleep on the ground. the horse, however, did not scamper off, but kept faithful watch by his prostrate master till the morning, when the two were perceived about sunrise by some labourers. they approached the gentleman, with the intention of replacing him on his saddle, but every attempt on their part was resolutely opposed by the grinning teeth and ready heels of the horse, which would neither allow them to touch his master, nor suffer himself to be seized till the gentleman himself awoke from his sleep. the same horse, among other bad propensities, constantly resented the attempts of the groom to trim its fetlocks. this circumstance happened to be mentioned by its owner in conversation, in the presence of his youngest child, a very few years old, when he defied any man to perform the operation singly. the father next day, in passing through the stable-yard, beheld with the utmost distress, the infant employed with a pair of scissors in clipping the fetlocks of the hind-legs of this vicious hunter--an operation which had been always hitherto performed with great danger even by a number of men. instead, however, of exhibiting his usual vicious disposition, the horse, in the present case, was looking with the greatest complacency on the little groom, who soon after, to the very great relief of his father, walked off unhurt." chapter ii. uncle thomas tells about the beaver, and the singular manner in which it constructs a dam to confine the waters of the river; and about the hut which it builds for its habitation. he tells also about the curious nests of the sociable grosbeak; and gives a long and entertaining account of the white ant of africa; its extraordinary nest; and the important part which it acts in the economy of nature. "good evening, boys! i am going to tell you about a very singular animal to-night--singular both in its conformation and its habits. i allude to the beaver." "oh, we shall be so glad to hear about the beaver, uncle thomas. i have sometimes wondered what sort of an animal it is. it is of its skin that hats are made--is it not?" "it is so, harry--at least it is of the fur with which its skin is covered. i must tell you about the manufacture of hats at some other time. our business at present is with the beaver itself. i think we shall get on better by confining our attention to the animal now, and examine into its habits and instincts." "very well, uncle thomas, we are all attention." "the beaver, which is now only to be found in the more inaccessible parts of america, and the more northern countries of europe, affords a curious instance of what may be called a compound structure. it has the fore-feet of a land animal, and the hind ones of an aquatic one--the latter only being webbed. its tail is covered with scales like a fish, and serves to direct its course in the water, in which it spends much of its time. "on the rivers where they abound, they form societies sometimes consisting of upwards of two hundred. they begin to assemble about the months of june and july, and generally choose for the place of their future habitation the side of some lake or river. if a lake, in which the water is always pretty nearly of a uniform level, they dispense with building a dam, but if the place they fix upon be the banks of a river, they immediately set about constructing a pier or dam, to confine the water, so that they may always have a good supply." "that is an instance of very singular sagacity uncle thomas. i suppose it is their instinct which teaches them to act in this manner." "you are right, frank. well, the mode in which they set about constructing the dam is this: having fixed upon the spot, they go into the neighbouring forest, and cut quantities of the smaller branches of trees, which they forthwith convey to the place selected, and having fixed them in the earth, interweave them strongly and closely, filling up all the crevices with mud and stones, so as soon to make a most compact construction." "that must be a work of very great labour, uncle thomas." "the labour is very considerable, boys; but the power which, for want of a better name, we call instinct, comes wonderfully to their aid. for instance, it has been observed that they seek all the branches which they want on the banks of the river, higher up than their construction, so that having once got them conveyed to the water, they are easily floated to it." "very good, uncle thomas." "when the beavers have finished the dam, they then proceed to construct a house for themselves. first they dig a foundation of greater or less capacity, in proportion to the number of their society. they then form the walls of earth and stones, mixed with billets of wood crossing each other, and thus tying the fabric together just in the same way as you sometimes see masons do in building human dwellings. their huts are generally of a circular form, something like the figure of a haycock, and they have usually several entrances--one or more opening into the river or lake, below the surface of the water, and one communicating with any bushes and brushwood which may be at hand, so as to afford the means of escape in case of attack either on the land or water side." "they must be pretty safe then, uncle thomas, since they can so readily escape." "they are pretty secure so long as they have only unreasoning animals to contend with, frank; but when man, armed with the power, before which mere instinct must at all times bow, attacks them, they are very easily overcome. shall i tell you how the hunters capture them?" "if you please, uncle thomas." "very well. i must first tell you that the skin of the beaver is most valuable during winter, as the fur is then thicker and finer than during the summer. they are therefore very little if at all molested during summer by the hunters. when winter sets in, however, and the lakes and rivers are frozen over, a party of hunters set out to seek for the beaver colonies, and, having found them, they make a number of holes in the ice. having done this and concerted measures, they break down the huts, and the animals instantly get into the water as a place of safety. as they cannot remain long under water, however, they have soon occasion to come to the surface to breathe, and of course make for the holes which the hunters have formed in the ice, when the latter, who are waiting in readiness, knock them on the head." "but, uncle thomas, don't you think it is very cruel to kill the beaver so? i believe it feeds entirely on vegetables, and does no harm to any one." "you might say the same, john, of the sheep on the downs; the one is not more cruel than the other: both are useful to man, and furnish him with food as well as raiment, and both were, of course, included in the 'dominion' which god originally gave to man 'over the beasts of the field.'" "is the beaver used for food, then, uncle thomas?" "it is, and except during a small part of the year, when it feeds on the root of the water-lily, which communicates a peculiar flavour to the flesh of the animal, it is said to be very palatable. it is, however, principally for its fur that it is hunted; the skin, even, is of little value, being coarser and looser in texture, and of course less applicable to general uses, than that of many other animals. i dare say you have often seen it made into gloves. "i will now read to you an account of a tame beaver, which its owner, mr. broderip, communicated to 'the gardens and menagerie of the zoological society.' "the animal arrived in this country in the winter of , very young, being small and woolly, and without the covering of long hair, which marks the adult beaver. it was the sole survivor of five or six which were shipped at the same time, and was in a very pitiable condition. good treatment soon made it familiar. when called by its name, 'binny,' it generally answered with a little cry, and came to its owner. the hearth rug was its favourite haunt, and thereon it would lie, stretched out, sometimes on its back, and sometimes flat on its belly, but always near its master. the building instinct showed itself immediately after it was let out of its cage, and materials were placed in its way,--and this, before it had been a week in its new quarters. its strength, even before it was half grown, was great. it would drag along a large sweeping-brush, or a warming-pan, grasping the handle with its teeth, so that the load came over its shoulder, and advancing in an oblique direction, till it arrived at the point where it wished to place it. the long and large materials were always taken first, and two of the longest were generally laid crosswise, with one of the ends of each touching the wall, and the other ends projecting out into the room. the area formed by the crossed brushes and the wall he would fill up with hand-brushes, rush baskets, books, boots, sticks, cloths, dried turf, or any thing portable. as the work grew high, he supported himself on his tail, which propped him up admirably: and he would often, after laying on one of his building materials, sit up over against it, apparently to consider his work, or, as the country people say, 'judge it.' this pause was sometimes followed by changing the position of the material 'judged,' and sometimes it was left in its place. after he had piled up his materials in one part of the room (for he generally chose the same place), he proceeded to wall up the space between the feet of a chest of drawers, which stood at a little distance from it, high enough on its legs to make the bottom a roof for him; using for this purpose dried turf and sticks, which he laid very even, and filling up the interstices with bits of coal, hay, cloth, or any thing he could pick up. this last place he seemed to appropriate for his dwelling; the former work seemed to be intended for a dam. when he had walled up the space between the feet of the chest of drawers, he proceeded to carry in sticks, cloths, hay, cotton, and to make a nest; and, when he had done, he would sit up under the drawers, and comb himself with the nails of his hind feet. in this operation, that which appeared at first to be a malformation, was shown to be a beautiful adaptation to the necessities of the animal. the huge webbed hind feet often turn in, so as to give the appearance of deformities; but if the toes were straight, instead of being incurved, the animal could not use them for the purpose of keeping its fur in order, and cleansing it from dirt and moisture. "binny generally carried small and light articles between his right fore leg and his chin, walking on the other three legs; and large masses, which he could not grasp readily with his teeth, he pushed forwards, leaning against them with his right fore paw and his chin. he never carried anything on his tail, which he liked to dip in water, but he was not fond of plunging in his whole body. if his tail was kept moist, he never cared to drink, but, if it was kept dry, it became hot, and the animal appeared distressed, and would drink a great deal. it is not impossible that the tail may have the power of absorbing water, like the skin of frogs, though it must be owned that the scaly integument which invests that member has not much of the character which generally belongs to absorbing surfaces. "bread, and bread and milk, and sugar, formed the principal part of binny's food; but he was very fond of succulent fruits and roots. he was a most entertaining creature; and some highly comic scenes occurred between the worthy, but slow beaver, and a light and airy macauco, that was kept in the same apartment." "i think i have read, uncle, that beavers use their tails as trowels to plaster their houses, and as sledges to carry the materials to build huts." "i dare say, you have, frank; but i believe such stories are mere fables, told by the ignorant to excite wonder in the minds of the credulous. no such operations have been observed by the most accurate observers of the animal's habits. the wonderful instinct which they display in building their houses is quite sufficient to excite our admiration, without having recourse to false and exaggerated statements." "the building instinct of the beaver is very curious, uncle thomas. is it displayed by any other animal?" "all animals exhibit it more or less, harry, and birds in particular, in the construction of their nests, some of which are very curious indeed; perhaps one of the most striking instances is that of the sociable grosbeak, a bird which is found in the interior of the cape of good hope. they construct their nests under one roof, which they form of the branches of some tall and wide-spreading tree, thatching it all over, as it were, with a species of grass. "when they have got their habitation fairly covered in they lay out the inside, according to some travellers, into regular streets, with nests on both sides, about a couple of inches distant from each other. in one respect, however, they differ from the beaver, they do not appear to lay up a common store of food, the nature of the climate not rendering such a precaution necessary. "here is the account of one of these erections furnished by a gentleman who minutely examined the structure. "i observed on the way a tree with an enormous nest of those birds, to which i have given the appellation of republicans; and, as soon as i arrived at my camp, i despatched a few men, with a waggon, to bring it to me, that i might open the hive, and examine the structure in its minutest parts. when it arrived, i cut it in pieces with a hatchet, and found that the chief portion of the structure consisted of a mass of boshman's grass, without any mixture, but so compact and firmly basketed together as to be impenetrable to the rain. this is the commencement of the structure; and each bird builds its particular nest under this canopy. but the nests are formed only beneath the eaves of the canopy, the upper surface remaining void, without, however, being useless; for, as it has a projecting rim, and is a little inclined, it serves to let the rain-water run off, and preserves each little dwelling from the rain. figure to yourself a huge irregular sloping roof, and all the eaves of which are completely covered with nests, crowded one against another, and you will have a tolerably accurate idea of these singular edifices. "each individual nest is three or four inches in diameter, which is sufficient for the bird. but as they are all in contact with one another, around the eaves, they appear to the eye to form but one building, and are distinguishable from each other only by a little external aperture, which serves as an entrance to the nest; and even this is sometimes common to three different nests, one of which is situated at the bottom, and the other two at the sides. according to paterson, the number of cells increasing in proportion to the increase of inhabitants, the old ones become 'streets of communication, formed by line and level.' no doubt, as the republic increases, the cells must be multiplied also; but it is easy to imagine that, as the augmentation can take place only at the surface, the new buildings will necessarily cover the old ones, which must therefore be abandoned. "should these even, contrary to all probability, be able to subsist, it may be presumed that the depth of their situation, by preventing any circulation and renewal of the air, would render them so extremely hot as to be uninhabitable. but while they thus become useless, they would remain what they were before, real nests, and change neither into streets nor sleeping-rooms. "the large nest which i examined was one of the most considerable which i had seen any where on my journey, and contained three hundred and twenty inhabited cells." "well, uncle thomas, that is very curious; i don't know which most to admire. i rather incline to the beaver however, because of the winter store of food which he lays up." "there is another animal which displays the building instinct so remarkably, that i must tell you something about it before we part." "which is it, uncle thomas?" "it is the white ant of africa; it is a little animal, scarcely, if at all, exceeding in size those of our own country, yet they construct large nests of a conical or sugar loaf shape, sometimes from ten to twelve feet in height; and one species builds them so strong and compact, that even when they are raised to little more than half their height, the wild-bulls of the country use them as sentinel posts to watch over the safety of the herd which grazes below. "mr. smeathman, a naturalist fully capable to do justice to the nature of these erections, states, that on one occasion he and four men stood on the top of one of them. so you may guess how strong they are." "of what are they made, uncle thomas? they must be very curious structures. how very different from the ant hills of england!" "very different, indeed, john. they are made of clay and sand, and as in such a luxuriant climate they soon become coated over with grass, they quickly assume the appearance of hay-cocks. they are indeed very remarkable structures, whether we consider them externally or internally, and are said to excel those of the beaver and the bee in the same proportion as the inhabitants of the most polished european nation excel the huts of the rude inhabitants of the country where the _termites_ or white ants abound; while in regard to mere size, mr. smeathman calculates that, supposing a man's ordinary height to be six feet, the nests of these creatures may be considered, relative to their size and that of man's, as being raised to four times the height of the largest egyptian pyramids." "that is enormous, uncle thomas?" "it is indeed, frank; but strange though it is, the interior of the nest is even more remarkable, many parts of its construction falling little short of human ingenuity. i need not attempt to describe all its arrangements, which, without a plan, would be nearly unintelligible; but there is one device so admirable that i must point it out to you. the nest is formed of two floors, as it were, and all round the walls are galleries perforated in various winding directions, and leading to the store-houses of the colony, or to the nurseries where the eggs are deposited. as it is sometimes convenient to reach the galleries which open from the upper roof without threading all the intricacies of these winding passages, they construct bridges of a single arch, and thus at once reach the upper roof, from which these diverge. they are thus also saved much labour, in transporting provisions, and in bearing the eggs to the places where they remain till they are hatched." "that is indeed admirable, uncle thomas; they must be very curious animals." "they are divided into various classes, in the same way as bees; choosing a queen, and some of them acting as workers, &c. but the white ants have a class to which there is nothing similar among any other race of insects. these are what smeathman calls soldiers, from the duties which they perform. they are much less numerous than the workers, being somewhat in the proportion of one in one hundred. the duty of the soldier-insects is to protect the nest when it is attacked. they are furnished with long and slender jaws, and when enraged bite very fiercely, and sometimes even drive off the negroes who may have attacked them, and even white people suffer severely,--the bite bleeding profusely even through the stocking. some one who observed the colony alarmed, by having part of the nest broken down, gives the following account of the subsequent operations. one of the soldiers first makes his appearance, as if to see if the enemy be gone, and to learn whence the attack proceeds. by and by two or three others make their appearance, and soon afterwards a numerous body rushes out, which increases in number so long as the attack is continued. they are at this time in a state of the most violent agitation; some employed in beating upon the building with their mandibles, so as to make a noise which may be distinctly heard at the distance of three or four feet. whenever the attack is discontinued, the soldiers retire first, and are quickly followed by the labourers, which hasten in various directions towards the breach, each with a burden of mortar ready tempered, and thus they soon repair the chasm. besides the duty of protecting the colony, the soldiers seem to act as overseers of the work, one being generally in attendance on every six or eight hundred; and another, who may be looked upon as commander in chief, takes up his station close to the wall which they are repairing, and frequently repeats the beating which i just mentioned, which is instantly answered by a loud hiss from all the labourers within the dome,--those at work labouring with redoubled energy." "but, uncle thomas, what can be the use of such animals as white ants? i really cannot see what use they are for." "well, john, i confess i do not much wonder at your question, though, in putting it, you have forgotten that god makes nothing in vain. mr. smeathman, who tells us so much about these curious animals, has answered you by anticipation; and his answer is in such a spirit that i cannot do better than read it to you. "it may appear surprising how a being perfectly good should have created animals which seem to serve no other end but to spread destruction and desolation wherever they go. but let us be cautious in suspecting any imperfection in the father of the universe. what at first sight may seem only productive of mischief, will, upon mature deliberation, be found worthy of that wisdom which planned the most beautiful parts of the world. many poisons are valuable medicines, storms are beneficial; and diseases often promote life. these _termites_ are indeed frequently pernicious to mankind, but they are also very useful and even necessary. one valuable purpose which they serve is, to destroy decayed trees and other substances which, if left on the surface of the ground in hot climates, would in a short time pollute the air. in this respect they resemble very much the common flies, which are regarded by mankind in general as noxious and, albeit, as useless beings in creation. but this is certainly for want of consideration. there are not probably in all nature animals of more importance, and it would not be difficult to prove that we should feel the want of one or two large quadrupeds much less than of one or two species of these despicable-looking insects. mankind in general are sensible that nothing is more disagreeable or more pestiferous than putrid substances; and it is apparent to all who have made observation, that those little insects contribute more to the quick dissolution and dispersion of putrescent matter than any other. they are so necessary in all hot climates, that ever in the open fields a dead animal or small putrid substance cannot be laid upon the ground two minutes before it will be covered with flies and their maggots, which, instantly entering, quickly devour one part, and perforating the rest in various directions, expose the whole to be much sooner decomposed by the elements. thus it is with the _termites_. the rapid vegetation in hot climates, of which no idea can be formed by any thing to be seen in this, is equalled by as great a degree of destruction from natural as well as accidental causes. it seems apparent that when anything whatever has arrived at its last degree of perfection, the creator has decreed that it shall be wholly destroyed as soon as possible, that the face of nature may be speedily adorned with fresh productions in the bloom of spring, or the pride of summer; so when trees and even woods are in part destroyed by tornadoes or fire, it is wonderful to observe how many agents are employed in hastening the total dissolution of the rest. but in hot climates there are none so expert, or who do their business so expeditiously and effectually, as these insects, which in a few weeks destroy and carry away the bodies of large trees, without leaving a particle behind; thus clearing the place for other vegetables which soon fill up every vacancy: and in places where two or three years before there has been a populous town, if the inhabitants, as is frequently the case, have chosen to abandon it, there shall be a very thick wood, and not a vestige of a post to be seen, unless the wood has been of a species which from its hardness is called iron wood." "thank you, uncle thomas. i see, i was quite wrong in supposing that the ants are of no use. i really did not imagine that they could have been so serviceable." chapter iii. uncle thomas describes the manner in which wild elephants are caught, and relates some curious stories of the cunning, affection, and intelligence of the elephant. "well, boys, you are once more welcome!--i am going to tell you some stories about the elephant to-night, which i hope will interest you quite as much as those which i told you about the dog. next to the dog the elephant is one of the most intelligent animals; some of his actions, indeed, seem to be rather the result of reason than mere instinct. but i must first tell you about the animal in its native forests. "in the luxuriant forests with which a large portion of asia is covered, this huge animal reigns supreme. its size and strength easily enable it to overcome the most formidable opponents. the intelligence with which it has been endowed by its creator would make it a most formidable enemy to man, but that the same all-wise being has graciously endowed it with peaceful and gentle feelings. in its native forests it roams about without seeking to molest any one, and even when caught and tamed it very soon becomes gentle and obedient. "in the east indies the elephant is in very general use as a beast of burden. for this purpose it is hunted and caught in great numbers by the natives, who employ some very ingenious devices to deceive them, and to drive them into the ambuscades which they form for them. the manner in which whole herds are captured is as follows:-- "when the herd is discovered by parties who are sent out for the purpose of reconnoitering, they take notice of the direction in which it is ranging, and as, if their food is plentiful, they generally continue to advance in one direction for miles together, the hunters construct, at a considerable distance in front, a series of enclosures, into which it is their object to drive them. "when every thing is prepared, the hunters, sometimes to the number of several hundreds, divide themselves into small parties, and form a large circle, so as to surround the herd. each party generally consists of three men, whose duty it is to light a fire and to clear a footpath between their station and that of their neighbours, so that in this way a communication is kept up by the whole circle, and assistance can at once be afforded at any given point. "new circles are constantly formed at short distances in advance, so as gradually to drive the animals in the required direction. the hunters are all the while concealed by the luxuriant jungle, and do not show themselves to the elephants at all, but urge them forward by the use of drums, rattles, &c. &c., from the noise of which the animals seek to escape, and thus wander on, feeding as they proceed toward the toils which are prepared for them. "the _keddah_, or trap, as it may be called, consists of three enclosures, each formed of strong stockades on the outside of deep ditches; the innermost one being the strongest, because by the time they arrive in it, the elephants are generally in a state of great excitement, and would soon break down a fragile enclosure, and make their escape. "as soon as the herd has entered the first enclosure, strong barricades are erected across the entrance; and as there is no ditch at this point, the hunters take advantage of the remarkable dread which the animal has of fire, to scare them from this most vulnerable part of the fortification. fires are gradually lit all round the first enclosure, so that the only way of escape which is left is by the entrance to the second. "at first, as if profiting by their former experience, they generally shun the entrance to the second of the series, but at last, seeing no other chance of escape, the leader of the herd ventures forward, and the rest follow. the gate is instantly shut, and they are in the same manner driven into the third enclosure. finding no outlet from this they become desperate, scream with tremendous power, and seek to escape by violently attacking the sides of the stockade. at all points, however, they are repulsed by lighted fires, and the tumultuous and exulting shouts of the triumphant hunters. "in this place of confinement they remain for several days. when their excitement has somewhat subsided, they are enticed one by one to enter a narrow passage leading to the second enclosure. as soon as one enters in, the entrance is closed, and as the passage is so narrow that it cannot turn round, it soon fatigues itself by unavailing exertions to beat down the barrier. strong ropes with running nooses are now laid down, and no sooner does the animal put his foot within one of them, than the rope is drawn tight by some of the hunters who are stationed on a small scaffold which has been raised over the gateway. in the same manner his other feet are secured. when this has been effected, some of the hunters venture to approach, and tie his hind legs together. having thus secured him, they can with comparative safety complete their capture. when he is completely secured he is placed between two tame elephants, and led away to the forest and fastened to a tree; and the same operation is repeated, till the whole herd has been secured. at first the rage of the captive is extreme; so long as the animals between which he is led away prisoner remain with him he is comparatively quiet, but when he sees them depart, he is agitated with all the horrors of despair, and makes the most extravagant attempts to regain his liberty. for some time he refuses to eat, but gradually becomes resigned, and feeds freely. "a keeper is appointed to each animal, as they are secured. his first object is to gain its confidence; supplying it regularly with food, pouring water over its body to keep it cool, and gradually accustoming it to caresses. in the course of five or six weeks he generally obtains a complete ascendency over it; its fetters are removed by degrees, it knows his voice and obeys him, and is then gradually initiated into the objects of its future labours." "thank you, uncle thomas. i now understand all about elephant-hunting. i could not think how the hunters managed to secure such a huge animal. it seems to be no such difficult task after all." "it seems easy enough from description, frank; but it sometimes happens that they break loose, and, irritated by their efforts to escape, they range about in the most furious manner, and as they are very cunning animals, it requires all the circumspection of the hunter to counteract their schemes. i recollect a story which displays this quality in a very strong light. "during the seige of bhurtpore, in the year , when the british army, with its countless host of followers and attendants, and thousands of cattle, had been for a long time before the city, the approach of the warm season and of the dry hot winds caused the quantity of water in the neighbourhood of the camps to begin to fail; the ponds or tanks had dried up, and no more water was left than the immense wells of the country could furnish. the multitude of men and cattle that were unceasingly at the wells, occasioned no little struggle for priority in procuring the supply, and the consequent confusion on the spot was frequently very considerable. on one occasion, two elephant-drivers, each with his elephant, the one remarkably large and strong, and the other comparatively small and weak, were at the well together; the small elephant had been provided by his master with a bucket for the occasion, which he carried at the end of his proboscis; but the larger animal being destitute of this necessary vessel, either spontaneously, or by desire of his keeper, seized the bucket, and easily wrested it away from his less powerful fellow-servant. the latter was too sensible of his inferiority openly to resist the insult, though it is obvious that he felt it; and great squabbling and abuse ensued between the keepers. "at length, the weaker animal, watching the opportunity when the other was standing with his side to the well, retired backwards a few paces, in a very quiet unsuspicious manner, and then rushing forward with all his might, drove his head against the side of the other, and fairly pushed him into the well. it may easily be imagined that great inconvenience was immediately experienced, and serious apprehensions quickly followed, that the water in the well, on which the existence of so many seemed in a great measure to depend, would be spoiled by the unwieldy brute which was precipitated into it; and as the surface of the water was nearly twenty feet below the common level, there did not appear to be any means that could be adopted to get the animal out by main force, without the risk of injuring him. there were many feet of water below the elephant, who floated with ease on its surface, and, experiencing considerable pleasure from his cool retreat, he evinced but little inclination even to exert what means of escape he might himself possess. "a vast number of fascines (bundles of wood) had been employed by the army in conducting the siege; and at length it occurred to the elephant-keeper, that a sufficient number of these might be lowered into the well, on which the animal might be raised to the top, if it could be instructed as to the necessary means of laying them in regular succession under its feet. permission having accordingly been obtained from the engineers to use the fascines, the keeper had to teach the elephant the lesson, which, by means of that extraordinary ascendency these men attain over their charge, joined with the intellectual resources of the animal itself, he was soon enabled to do; and the elephant began quickly to place each fascine, as it was lowered, successively under him, until, in a little time, he was enabled to stand upon them. by this time, however, the cunning brute, enjoying the pleasure of his situation, after the heat and partial privation of water to which he had been lately exposed, was unwilling to work any longer; and all the threats of his keeper could not induce him to place another fascine. the man then opposed cunning to cunning, and began to caress and praise the elephant; and what he could not effect by threats he was enabled to do by the repeated promise of plenty of arrack, a spirituous beverage composed of rum, of which the elephant is very fond. incited by this, the animal again set to work, raised himself considerably higher, until, by a partial removal of the masonry round the top of the well, he was enabled to step out, after having been in the water about fourteen hours." "that was very cunning, uncle thomas. the keepers seem to attain great ascendency over the animals." "the attachment of the elephant to its keeper, and the command which some of these men acquire over the objects of their care by appealing to their affections is very extraordinary. the mere sound of the keeper's voice has been known to reclaim an animal which escaped from domestication and resumed its original freedom:-- "a female elephant, belonging to a gentleman in calcutta, who was ordered from the upper country to chittagong, in the route thither, broke loose from her keeper, and, making her way to the woods, was lost. the keeper made every excuse to vindicate himself, which the master of the animal would not listen to, but branded the man with dishonesty; for it was instantly supposed that he had sold the elephant. he was tried for it, and condemned to work on the roads for life, and his wife and children sold for slaves. "about twelve years afterwards, this man, who was known to be well acquainted with breaking elephants, was sent into the country with a party to assist in catching wild ones. they came upon a herd, amongst which the man fancied he saw the long-lost elephant for which he had been condemned. he resolved to approach it, nor could the strongest remonstrances of the party dissuade him from the attempt. as he approached the animal, he called her by name, when she immediately recognised his voice; she waved her trunk in the air as a token of salutation, and kneeling down, allowed him to mount her neck. she afterwards assisted in taking other elephants, and decoyed three young ones, to which she had given birth since her escape. the keeper returned to his master, and the singular circumstances attending the recovery of the elephant being told, he regained his character; and, as a recompense for his unmerited sufferings, had a pension settled on him for life." "that was an instance of rare good fortune, uncle thomas. how very curious that he should fall in with the herd in which his own elephant was!" "it was very fortunate indeed, frank. it was not a little curious too that the elephant should recognise him after so long a period. but the attachment which they show to their keepers is sometimes very great. one which in a moment of rage killed its keeper a few years ago, adopted his son as its _carnac_ or driver, and would allow no one else to assume his place. the wife of the unfortunate man was witness to the dreadful scene, and, in the frenzy of her mental agony, took her two children, and threw them at the feet of the elephant, saying, 'as you have slain my husband, take my life also, as well as that of my children!' the elephant became calm, seemed to relent, and as if stung with remorse, took up the eldest boy with its trunk, placed him on its neck, adopted him for its carnac, and never afterwards allowed another to occupy that seat." "that was at least making all the reparation in its power, uncle thomas." "there is one or two other stories about the elephant, showing that he knows how to revenge an insult, which i must tell you before you go. "a merchant at bencoolen kept a tame elephant, which was so exceedingly gentle in his habits, that he was permitted to go at large. this huge animal used to walk about the streets in the most quiet and orderly manner, and paid many visits through the city to people who were kind to him. two cobblers took an ill will to this inoffensive creature, and several times pricked him on the proboscis with their awls. the noble animal did not chastise them in the manner he might have done, and seemed to think they were too contemptible to be angry with them. but he took other means to punish them for their cruelty. he filled his trunk with water of a dirty quality, and advancing towards them in his ordinary manner, spouted the whole of the puddle over them. the punishment was highly applauded by those who witnessed it, and the poor cobblers were laughed at for their pains." [illustration: the elephant and the cobblers--page .] "ha! ha! ha! he must have been a very knowing animal, uncle thomas. i dare say, the cobblers behaved better in future." "i dare say they would, boys. here is another story of the same description, but the trickster did not escape so easily." "a person in the island of ceylon, who lived near a place where elephants were daily led to water, and often sat at the door of his house, used occasionally to give one of these animals some fig leaves, a food to which elephants are very partial. once he took it into his head to play one of the elephants a trick. he wrapped a stone round with fig leaves, and said to the carnac, 'this time i will give him a stone to eat, and see how it will agree with him.' the carnac answered, 'that the elephant would not be such a fool as to swallow a stone.' the man, however, reached the stone to the elephant, who, taking it with his trunk, immediately let it fall to the ground. 'you see,' said the keeper, 'that i was right;' and without further words, drove away his elephants. after they were watered, he was conducting them again to their stable. the man who had played the elephant the trick was still sitting at his door, when, before he was aware, the animal ran at him, threw his trunk around his body, and, dashing him to the ground, trampled him immediately to death." chapter iv. uncle thomas introduces to the notice of the young folks the ettrick shepherd's stories about sheep; and tells them some interesting stories about the goat, and its peculiarities. "i dare say, boys, you have not forgotten the ettrick shepherd's wonderful stories about his dogs. some of those which he relates about sheep are equally remarkable, and as he tells them in the same pleasing style, i think i cannot do better than read to you the chapter in 'the shepherd's calendar' which he devotes to this animal." "thank you, uncle thomas. we remember very well his stories about sirrah and hector and chieftain, and the old shepherd's grief at parting with his dog." "that's right, boys; i am pleased to think that you do not forget what i tell you. but listen to the ettrick shepherd." "the sheep has scarcely any marked character save that of natural affection, of which it possesses a very great share. it is otherwise a stupid indifferent animal, having few wants, and fewer expedients. the old black-faced, or forest breed, have far more powerful capabilities than any of the finer breeds that have been introduced into scotland, and, therefore, the few anecdotes that i have to relate shall be confined to them. "so strong is the attachment of the sheep to the place where they have been bred, that i have heard of their returning from yorkshire to the highlands. i was always somewhat inclined to suspect that they might have been lost by the way, but it is certain, however, that when once one or a few sheep get away from the rest of their acquaintances, they return homeward with great eagerness and perseverance. i have lived beside a drove-road the better part of my life, and many stragglers have i seen bending their steps northward in the spring of the year. a shepherd rarely sees these journeyers twice; if he sees them, and stops them in the morning, they are gone long before night; and if he sees them at night they will be gone many miles before morning. this strong attachment to the place of their nativity is much more predominant in our old aboriginal breed than in any of the other kinds with which i am acquainted. "the most singular instance that i know of, to be quite well authenticated, is that of a black ewe, that returned with her lamb from a farm in the head of glen-lyon, to the farm of harehope, in tweeddale, and accomplished the journey in nine days. she was soon missed by her owner, and a shepherd was despatched in pursuit of her, who followed her all the way to crieff, where he turned, and gave her up. he got intelligence of her all the way, and every one told him that she absolutely persisted in travelling on,--she would not be turned, regarding neither sheep nor shepherd by the way. her lamb was often far behind, and she had constantly to urge it on by impatient bleating. she unluckily came to stirling on the morning of a great annual fair, about the end of may, and judging it imprudent to venture through the crowd with her lamb, she halted on the north side of the town the whole day, where she was seen by hundreds, lying close by the road-side. but next morning, when all became quiet, a little after the break of day, she was observed stealing quietly through the town, in apparent terror of the dogs that were prowling about the street. the last time she was seen on the road was at a toll-bar near st. ninian's; the man stopped her, thinking she was a strayed animal, and that some one would claim her. she tried several times to break through by force when he opened the gate, but he always prevented her, and at length she turned patiently back. she had found some means of eluding him, however, for home she came on a sabbath morning, early in june; and she left the farm of lochs, in glen-lyon, either on the thursday afternoon, or friday morning, a week and two days before. the farmer of harehope paid the highland farmer the price of her, and she remained on her native farm till she died of old age, in her seventeenth year. "with regard to the natural affection of this animal, the instances that might be mentioned are without number. when one loses its sight in a flock of sheep, it is rarely abandoned to itself in that hapless and helpless state. some one always attaches itself to it, and by bleating calls it back from the precipice, the lake, the pool, and all dangers whatever. there is a disease among sheep, called by shepherds the breakshugh, a deadly sort of dysentery, which is as infectious as fire, in a flock. whenever a sheep feels itself seized by this, it instantly withdraws from all the rest, shunning their society with the greatest care; it even hides itself, and is often very hard to be found. though this propensity can hardly be attributed to natural instinct, it is, at all events, a provision of nature of the greatest kindness and beneficence. "another manifest provision of nature with regard to these animals is, that the more inhospitable the land is on which they feed, the greater their kindness and attention to their young. i once herded two years on a wild and bare farm called willenslee, on the border of mid-lothian, and of all the sheep i ever saw, these were the kindest and most affectionate to their lambs. i was often deeply affected at scenes which i witnessed. we had one very hard winter, so that our sheep grew lean in the spring, and the thwarter-ill (a sort of paralytic affection) came among them, and carried off a number. often have i seen these poor victims, when fallen down to rise no more, even when unable to lift their heads from the ground, holding up the leg, to invite the starving lamb to the miserable pittance that the udder still could supply. i had never seen aught more painfully affecting. "it is well known that it is a custom with shepherds, when a lamb dies, if the mother have a sufficiency of milk, to bring her from the hill, and put another lamb to her. this is done by putting the skin of the dead lamb upon the living one; the ewe immediately acknowledges the relationship, and after the skin has warmed on it, so as to give it something of the smell of her own progeny, and it has sucked her two or three times, she accepts and nourishes it as her own ever after. whether it is from joy at this apparent reanimation of her young one, or because a little doubt remains on her mind which she would fain dispel, i cannot decide; but, for a number of days, she shows far more fondness, by bleating and caressing over this one, than she did formerly over the one that was really her own. but this is not what i wanted to explain; it was, that such sheep as thus lose their lambs must be driven to a house with dogs, so that the lamb may be put to them; for they will only take it in a dark confined place. but at willenslee, i never needed to drive home a sheep by force, with dogs, or in any other way than the following: i found every ewe, of course, standing hanging her head over her dead lamb; and having a piece of twine with me for the purpose, i tied that to the lamb's neck or foot, and trailing it along, the ewe followed me into any house or fold that i choose to lead her. any of them would have followed me in that way for miles, with her nose close on the lamb, which she never quitted for a moment, except to chase my dog, which she would not suffer to walk near me. i often, out of curiosity, led them in to the side of the kitchen fire by this means, into the midst of servants and dogs; but the more that dangers multiplied around the ewe, she clung the closer to her dead offspring, and thought of nothing whatever but protecting it. one of the two years, while i remained on this farm, a severe blast of snow came on by night, about the latter end of april, which destroyed several scores of our lambs; and as we had not enow of twins and odd lambs for the mothers that had lost theirs, of course we selected the best ewes, and put lambs to them. as we were making the distribution, i requested of my master to spare me a lamb for a hawked ewe which he knew, and which was standing over a dead lamb in the head of the hope, about four miles from the house. he would not do it, but bid me let her stand over her lamb for a day or two, and perhaps a twin would be forthcoming. i did so, and faithfully she did stand to her charge; so faithfully, that i think the like never was equalled by any of the woolly race. i visited her every morning and evening, and for the first eight days never found her above two or three yards from the lamb; and always, as i went my rounds, she eyed me long ere i came near her, and kept tramping with her feet, and whistling through her nose, to frighten away the dog; he got a regular chase twice a day as i passed by: but, however excited and fierce a ewe may be, she never offers any resistance to mankind, being perfectly and meekly passive to them. the weather grew fine and warm, and the dead lamb soon decayed, which the body of a dead lamb does particularly soon: but still this affectionate and desolate creature kept hanging over the poor remains with an attachment that seemed to be nourished by hopelessness. it often drew the tears from my eyes to see her hanging with such fondness over a few bones, mixed with a small portion of wool. for the first fortnight she never quitted the spot, and for another week she visited it every morning and evening, uttering a few kindly and heart-piercing bleats each time; till at length every remnant of her offspring vanished, mixing with the soil, or wafted away by the winds." "poor creature! uncle thomas, that was very affecting." "so much for the ettrick shepherd. i will now tell you a story about a remarkable instance of sagacity in a sheep, of which i myself was an eye-witness. "one evening, as i was enjoying a walk through some verdant pastures, which were plentifully dotted with sheep, my attention was attracted by the motions of one which repeatedly came close up to me, bleating in a piteous manner, and after looking expressively in my face, ran off towards a brook which meandered through the midst of the pastures. at first i took little notice of the creature, but as her entreaties became importunate, i followed her. delighted at having at length attracted my notice, she ran with all her speed, frequently looking back. when i reached the spot, i discovered the cause of all her anxiety; her lamb had unfortunately fallen into the brook, whose steep banks prevented it from making its escape. fortunately the water, though up to the little creature's back, was not sufficient to drown it. i rescued it with much pleasure, and to the great gratification of its affectionate mother, who licked it with her tongue to dry it, now and then skipping about, and giving vent to her joy and gratitude in most expressive gambols. "though differing in many respects from the sheep, the goat bears so strong a resemblance to that animal, that, now that i am speaking of it, i may as well tell you a story or two about the goat. it will save my returning to it afterwards." "very well, uncle thomas." "the goat is in every respect more fitted for a life of savage liberty than the sheep. it is of a more lively disposition, and is possessed of a greater degree of instinct. it readily attaches itself to man, and seems sensible of his caresses. it delights in climbing precipices, and going to the very edge of danger, and it is often seen suspended upon an eminence overhanging the sea, upon a very little base, and sometimes even sleeps there in security. nature has in some measure fitted it for traversing these declivities with ease; the hoof is hollow underneath, with sharp edges, so that it walks as securely on the ridge of a house as on the level ground. "when once reduced to a state of domestication, the goat seldom resumes its original wildness. a good many years ago, an english vessel happening to touch at the island of bonavista, two negroes came and offered the sailors as many goats as they chose to take away. upon the captain expressing his surprise at this offer, the negroes assured him that there were but twelve persons on the island, and that the goats had multiplied in such a manner as even to become a nuisance: they added, that far from giving any trouble to capture them, they followed the few inhabitants that were left with a sort of obstinacy, and became even troublesome by their tameness. the celebrated traveller dr. clarke gives a very curious account of a goat, which was trained to exhibit various amusing feats of dexterity. "we met, (says he,) an arab with a goat which he led about the country to exhibit, in order to gain a livelihood for itself and its owner. he had taught this animal, while he accompanied its movements with a song, to mount upon little cylindrical blocks of wood, placed successively one above another, and in shape resembling the dice-box belonging to a backgammon table. in this manner the goat stood, first, on the top of two; afterwards, of three, four, five, and six, until it remained balanced upon the summit of them all, elevated several feet above the ground, and with its four feet collected upon a single point, without throwing down the disjointed fabric on which it stood. the diameter of the upper cylinder, on which its four feet alternately remained until the arab had ended his ditty, was only two inches, and the length of each six inches. the most curious part of the performance occurred afterwards; for the arab, to convince us of the animal's attention to the turn of the air, interrupted the _da capo_; and, as often as he did this, the goat tottered, appeared uneasy, and, upon his becoming suddenly silent, in the middle of his song, it fell to the ground. [illustration: the arab and his goat--page .] "like the sheep, the goat possesses great natural affection for its young. in its defence it boldly repels the attacks of the most formidable opponents. i remember a little story which finely illustrates this instinctive courage. "a person having missed one of his goats when his flock was taken home at night, being afraid the wanderer would get among the young trees in his nursery, two boys, wrapped in their plaids, were ordered to watch all night. the morning had but faintly dawned, when they set out in search of her. they at length discovered her on a pointed rock at a considerable distance, and hastening to the spot perceived her standing watching her kid with the greatest anxiety, and defending it from a fox. the enemy turned round and round to lay hold of his prey, but the goat presented her horns in every direction. the youngest boy was despatched for assistance to attack the fox, and the eldest, hallooing and throwing up stones, sought to intimidate it as he climbed to rescue his charge. the fox seemed well aware that the child could not execute his threats; he looked at him one instant, and then renewed the assault, till, quite impatient, he made a sudden effort to seize the kid. the whole three suddenly disappeared, and were found at the bottom of the precipice. the goat's horns were darted into the back of the fox; the kid lay stretched beside her. it is supposed that the fox had fixed his teeth in the kid, for its neck was lacerated; but that when the faithful mother inflicted a death wound upon her mortal enemy he probably staggered, and brought his victims with him over the rock. "there is another story of the goat, which places its gratitude and affection in such an interesting light, that i am sure it will delight you:-- "after the final suppression of the scottish rebellion of , by the decisive battle of preston, a gentleman who had taken a very active share in it escaped to the west highlands to the residence of a female relative, who afforded him an asylum. as in consequence of the strict search which was made after the ringleaders, it was soon judged unsafe for him to remain in the house of his friend, he was conducted to a cavern in a sequestered situation, and furnished with a supply of food. the approach to this lonely abode consisted of a small aperture, through which he crept, dragging his provisions along with him. a little way from the mouth of the cave the roof became elevated, but on advancing, an obstacle obstructed his progress. he soon perceived that, whatever it might be, the object was a living one, but unwilling to strike at a venture with his dirk, he stooped down, and discovered a goat and her kid lying on the ground. the animal was evidently in great pain, and feeling her body and limbs, he ascertained that one of her legs had been fractured. he bound it up with his garter, and offered her some of his bread; but she refused to eat, and stretched out her tongue, as if intimating that her mouth was parched with thirst. he gave her water, which she drank greedily, and then she ate the bread. at midnight he ventured from the cave, pulled a quantity of grass and the tender branches of trees, and carried them to the poor sufferer, which received them with demonstrations of gratitude. "the only thing which this fugitive had to arrest his attention in his dreary abode, was administering comfort to the goat; and he was indeed thankful to have any living creature beside him. it quickly recovered, and became tenderly attached to him. it happened that the servant who was intrusted with the secret of his retreat fell sick, when it became necessary to send another with provisions. the goat, on this occasion, happening to be lying near the mouth of the cavern, opposed his entrance with all her might, butting him furiously; the fugitive, hearing a disturbance, went forward, and receiving the watchword from his new attendant, interposed, and the faithful goat permitted him to pass. so resolute was the animal on this occasion, that the gentleman was convinced she would have died in his defence." chapter v. uncle thomas relates some very remarkable stories about the cat; points out to the boys the connexion subsisting between the domestic cat and the lion, tiger, &c., and tells them some stories about the gentleness, as well as the ferocity of these animals. "though far from being so general a favourite as the dog, the domestic cat has many qualities to recommend it to attention and regard, and some of the stories which i am going to tell you exhibit instances of instinctive attachment and gentleness which cannot be surpassed. "here is one of attachment, which will match with the best of those of the dog. "a cat which had been brought up in a family became extremely attached to the eldest child, a little boy, who was very fond of playing with her. she bore with the most exemplary patience any maltreatment which she received from him--which even good-natured children seldom fail, occasionally, to give to animals in their sports with them--without ever making any attempt at resistance. as the cat grew up, however, she daily quitted her playfellow for a time, from whom she had formerly been inseparable, in order to follow her natural propensity to catch mice; but even when engaged in this employment, she did not forget her friend; for, as soon as she had caught a mouse, she brought it alive to him. if he showed an inclination to take her prey from her, she anticipated him, by letting it run, and waited to see whether he was able to catch it. if he did not, the cat darted at, seized it, and laid it again before him; and in this manner the sport continued as long as the child showed any inclination for the amusement. "at length the boy was attacked by smallpox, and, during the early stages of his disorder, the cat never quitted his bed-side; but, as his danger increased, it was found necessary to remove the cat and lock it up. the child died. on the following day, the cat having escaped from her confinement, immediately ran to the apartment where she hoped to find her playmate. disappointed in her expectation, she sought for him with symptoms of great uneasiness and loud lamentation, all over the house, till she came to the door of the room in which the corpse lay. here she lay down in silent melancholy, till she was again locked up. as soon as the child was interred, and the cat set at liberty, she disappeared; and it was not till a fortnight after that event, that she returned to the well-known apartment, quite emaciated. she would not, however, take any nourishment, and soon ran away again with dismal cries. at length, compelled by hunger, she made her appearance every day at dinner-time, but always left the house as soon as she had eaten the food that was given her. no one knew where she spent the rest of her time, till she was found one day under the wall of the burying-ground, close to the grave of her favourite; and so indelible was the attachment of the cat to her deceased friend, that till his parents removed to another place, five years afterwards, she never, except in the greatest severity of winter, passed the night any where else than at the above-mentioned spot, close to the grave. ever afterwards she was treated with the utmost kindness by every person in the family. she suffered herself to be played with by the younger children, although without exhibiting a particular partiality for any of them. "there is another story of the cat's attachment, of a somewhat less melancholy cast, which i lately saw recorded in a provincial newspaper. [illustration: the affectionate cat--page .] "a country gentleman of our acquaintance, who is neither a friend to thieves nor poachers, has at this moment in his household a favourite cat, whose honesty, he is sorry to say, there is but too much reason to call in question. the animal, however, is far from being selfish in her principles; for her acceptable gleanings she regularly shares among the children of the family in which her lot is cast. it is the habit of grimalkin to leave the kitchen or parlour, as often as hunger and an opportunity may occur, and wend her way to a certain pastrycook's shop, where, the better to conceal her purpose, she endeavours slily to ingratiate herself into favour with the mistress of the house. as soon as the shopkeeper's attention becomes engrossed in business, or otherwise, puss contrives to pilfer a small pie or tart from the shelves on which they are placed, speedily afterwards making the best of her way home with her booty. she then carefully delivers her prize to some of the little ones in the nursery. a division of the stolen property quickly takes place; and here it is singularly amusing to observe the cunning animal, not the least conspicuous among the numerous group, thankfully mumping her share of the illegal traffic. we may add that the pastrycook is by no means disposed to institute a legal process against the delinquent, as the children of the gentleman to whom we allude are honest enough to acknowledge their four-footed playmate's failings to papa, who willingly compensates any damage the pastrycook may sustain from the petty depredations of the would-be philanthropic cat. "i remember how highly pleased you were with the story which i told you about the dog discovering the murderers of his master. there is one of a very similar description of a french cat, which i am sure will equally interest you. "in the beginning of the present century a woman was murdered in paris. the magistrate who went to investigate the affair was accompanied by a physician; they found the body lying upon the floor, and a greyhound watching over it, and howling mournfully. when the gentleman entered the apartment, it ran to them without barking, and then returned with a melancholy mien to the body of his murdered mistress. upon a chest in a corner of the room sat a cat, motionless, with eyes expressive of furious indignation, stedfastly fixed upon the body. many persons now entered the apartment, but neither the appearance of such a crowd of strangers, nor the confusion that prevailed in the place, could make her change her position. in the mean time, some persons were apprehended on suspicion of being the murderers, and it was resolved to lead them into the apartment. before the cat got sight of them, when she only heard their footsteps approaching, her eyes flashed with increased fury, her hair stood erect, and so soon as she saw them enter the apartment, she sprang towards them with expressions of the most violent rage, but did not venture to attack them, being probably alarmed by the numbers that followed. having turned several times towards them with a peculiar ferocity of aspect, she crept into a corner, with an air indicative of the deepest melancholy. this behaviour of the cat astonished every one present. the effect which it produced upon the murderers was such as almost to amount to an acknowledgment of guilt. nor did this remain long doubtful, for a train of accessory circumstances was soon discovered which proved it to complete conviction. "i have often warned you against stories of ghosts and hobgoblins, and shown you on how frail a foundation they generally rest. there is a story in which a cat was one of the principal actors, which contains the elements of as marvellous a tale of this description as could be desired. it happened in the west of scotland. "some years ago, a poor man whose habits of life had always been of the most retired description, giving way to the natural despondency of his disposition, put an end to his existence. the only other inmate of his cottage was a favourite cat, when the deed was discovered, the cat was found assiduously watching over her late master's body, and it was with some difficulty she could be driven away. "the appalling deed naturally excited a great deal of attention in the surrounding neighbourhood; and on the day after the body was deposited in the grave, which was made at the outside of the church-yard, a number of school-boys ventured thither, to view the resting-place of one who had at times been the subject of village wonder, and whose recent act of self-destruction was invested with additional interest. at first, no one was brave enough to venture near; but at last, the appearance of a hole in the side of the grave irresistibly attracted their attention. having been minutely examined, it was at length determined that it must have been the work of some body-snatcher, and the story having spread, the grave was minutely examined, but as the body had not been removed, the community considered themselves fortunate in having made so narrow an escape. the turf was replaced, and the grave again carefully covered up. "on the following morning the turf was again displaced, and a hole, deeper than before, yawned in the side of the sad receptacle. speculation was soon busy at work, and all sorts of explanations were suggested. in the midst of their speculations, alarmed perhaps by the noise of the disputants, poor puss darted from the hole, much to the confusion of some of the most noisy and dogmatic expounders of the mystery. again the turf was replaced, and again and again was it removed by the unceasing efforts of the faithful cat to share the resting-place of her deceased master. it was at last found necessary to shoot her, it being found impossible otherwise to put a stop to her unceasing importunities." "poor puss! what a pity it should have been necessary to destroy such a faithful animal. i wonder no one tried to gain its affections, and thus charm it from its dreary abode. uncle thomas, did you ever hear dr. good's account of a very extraordinary instance of sagacity exemplified by his cat? i was very much struck with it when i saw it a day or two ago in his 'book of nature.' if you please, i will read it to you." "very well, harry, i shall be glad to hear it; i dare say it is an old acquaintance of mine. i have been such a diligent searcher after stories of this description, that i think very few have escaped me." "a favourite cat, that was accustomed from day to day to take her station quietly at my elbow, on the writing table, sometimes for hour after hour, whilst i was engaged in study, became at length less constant in her attendance, as she had a kitten to take care of. one morning she placed herself in the same spot, but seemed unquiet, and, instead of seating herself as usual, continued to rub her furry sides against my hand and pen, as though resolved to draw my attention, and make me leave off. as soon as she had accomplished this point, she leaped down on the carpet, and made towards the door, with a look of great uneasiness. i opened the door for her, as she seemed to desire, but, instead of going forward, she turned round, and looked earnestly at me, as though she wished me to follow her, or had something to communicate. i did not fully understand her meaning, and, being much engaged at the time, shut the door upon her, that she might go where she liked. "in less than an hour afterwards, however, she had again found an entrance into the room, and drawn close to me, but, instead of mounting the table, and rubbing herself against my hand, as before, she was now under the table, and continued to rub herself against my feet, on moving which i struck them against a something which seemed to be in their way, and, on looking down, beheld with equal grief and astonishment the dead body of her little kitten which i supposed had been alive and in good health, covered over with cinder dust. i now entered into the entire train of this afflicted cat's feelings. she had suddenly lost the nursling she doated on, and was resolved to make me acquainted with it,--assuredly that i might know her grief, and probably also that i might inquire into the cause, and, finding me too dull to understand her expressive motioning that i would follow her to the cinder heap, on which the dead kitten had been thrown, she took the great labour of bringing it to me herself, from the area on the basement floor, and up a whole flight of stairs, and laid it at my feet. i took up the kitten in my hand, the cat still following me, made inquiry into the cause of its death, which i found, upon summoning the servants, to have been an accident, in which no one was much to blame; and the yearning mother having thus obtained her object, and gotten her master to enter into her cause, and divide her sorrows with her, gradually took comfort, and resumed her former station by my side." "thank you, harry, i do not think i ever heard that story before. here is one that will match it however, displaying considerable ingenuity in a cat in the protection of her young. "a cat belonging to mr. stevens, of the red lion hotel, truro, having been removed from that town to a barn at some distance, soon afterwards produced four kittens. not wishing the stock increased, mr. stevens desired three of them to be drowned, next morning, before opening their eyes on the world. puss was deeply affected by this bereavement, and resolved on moving her remaining offspring to a place of security. when the person appointed to feed grimalkin went with her breakfast next day, no traces of her or her kitten were to be found. he called; but all was silent as the tomb; every corner was searched in vain; no cat was forthcoming. here the matter rested for several days, when, at length, early one morning, puss made her appearance in the court of her master's house, a melancholy picture of starvation. having satisfied her hunger, and loitered about the house during the day, late in the evening she took her departure, carrying away some meat. for several days she continued her visits in the same manner, taking care never to leave home empty-mouthed at night. her proceedings having excited attention, she was followed by two men, in one of her nocturnal retreats, and traced to the top of a wheat stack, at some distance. on obtaining a ladder, her surviving kitten was found, in a curiously constructed hole, sleek and plump, but as wild as a young tiger, and would allow no one to touch it. a few days afterwards, the mother finding, perhaps, that her own daily journeys were rather fatiguing, or thinking it was time that the object of her solicitude should be introduced into the world, or, probably, that the kitten had attained an age when it could protect itself, she took advantage of a dark and silent night, when cat-worrying dogs and boys were reposing, to convey it safely to truro, where tabby and her kitten found a welcome reception. "though from bad education the cat and dog are generally the most determined enemies, some instances have occurred of the greatest friendship subsisting between these animals. here is an instance recorded by a french author on the language of brutes. "i had a cat and dog, which became so attached to each other, that they would never willingly be asunder. whenever the dog got any choice morsel of food, he was sure to divide it with his whiskered friend. they always ate sociably out of one plate, slept in the same bed, and daily walked out together. wishing to put this apparently sincere friendship to the proof, i, one day, took the cat by herself into my room, while i had the dog guarded in another apartment. i entertained the cat in a most sumptuous manner, being desirous to see what sort of a meal she would make without her friend, who had hitherto been her constant table companion. the cat enjoyed the treat with great glee, and seemed to have entirely forgotten the dog. i had had a partridge for dinner, half of which i intended to keep for supper. my wife covered it with a plate, and put it into a cupboard, the door of which she did not lock. the cat left the room, and i walked out upon business. my wife, meanwhile, sat at work in an adjoining apartment. when i returned home, she related to me the following circumstances:--the cat, having hastily left the dining room, went to the dog, and mewed uncommonly loud, and in different tones of voice; which the dog, from time to time, answered with a short bark. they both then went to the door of the room where the cat had dined, and waited till it was opened. one of my children opened the door, and immediately the two friends entered the apartment. the mewing of the cat excited my wife's attention. she rose from her seat, and stepped softly up to the door, which stood ajar, to observe what was going on. the cat led the dog to the cupboard which contained the partridge, pushed off the plate which covered it, and, taking out my intended supper, laid it before her canine friend, who devoured it greedily. probably the cat, by her mewing, had given the dog to understand what an excellent meal she had made, and how sorry she was that he had not participated in it; but, at the same time, had explained to him that something was left for him in the cupboard, and persuaded him to follow her thither. since that time i have paid particular attention to these animals, and am perfectly convinced that they communicate to each other whatever seems interesting." "oh! indeed, uncle thomas, do you think that animals understand each other?" "i have no doubt that they do to a limited extent, harry, but i cannot go the whole length of monsieur wenzel, who records the story i have just told you. "i will now tell you some stories about some of the other animals of the cat kind, such as the lion, tiger, &c.; and though these animals differ so much from the domestic cat, they all belong to the same family; the huge lion, which carries off with ease a buffalo from the herd, or makes the forest tremble with his hoarse roar is no more than an enormous cat. "i dare say you have all heard the story of 'androcles and the lion,' which is recorded in that most delightful book, 'sandford and merton.' it is so captivating a tale, that i must repeat it to you as much for my own gratification as for yours. i will just observe, however, that it is a fiction, and not a real story, though i can tell you one or two very similar ones, which occurred in real life." "there was a certain slave named androcles, who was so ill treated by his master that his life became insupportable. finding no remedy from what he suffered, he at length said to himself:--'it is better to die than to continue to live in such hardships and misery as i am obliged to suffer. i am determined, therefore, to run away from my master; if i am taken again, i know that i shall be punished with a cruel death, but it is better to die at once, than to live in misery. if i escape, i must betake myself to deserts and woods, inhabited only by wild beasts, but they cannot use me more cruelly than i have been by my fellow-creatures, therefore i will rather trust myself to them, than continue to be a miserable slave. "having formed this resolution, he took an opportunity of leaving his master's house, and hid himself in a thick forest, which was some miles distant from the city. but here the unhappy man found that he had only escaped from one kind of misery to experience another. he wandered about all day through a vast and trackless wood, where his flesh was continually torn by thorns and brambles. he grew hungry, but he could find no food in this dreary solitude. at length he was ready to die with fatigue, and lay down in despair in a large cavern. "the unfortunate man had not been long quiet in the cavern, before he heard a dreadful noise, which seemed to be the roar of some wild beast, and terrified him very much. he started up with a design to escape, and had already reached the mouth of the cave, when he saw coming towards him a lion of prodigious size, which prevented any possibility of retreat. he now believed his destruction to be inevitable, but to his great astonishment the beast advanced towards him with a gentle pace, without any mark of enmity or rage, and uttered a kind of mournful voice, as if he demanded the assistance of the man. "androcles, who was naturally of a resolute disposition, acquired courage from this circumstance to examine his monstrous guest, who gave him sufficient leisure for this purpose. he saw, as the lion approached him, that he seemed to limp upon one of his legs, and that the foot was extremely swelled, as if it had been wounded. acquiring still more fortitude from the gentle demeanour of the beast, he advanced towards him, and took hold of the wounded part as a surgeon would examine his patient. he then perceived that a thorn of uncommon size had penetrated the ball of the foot, and was the occasion of the swelling and the lameness which he had observed. androcles found that the beast, far from resenting his familiarity, received it with the greatest gentleness, and seemed to invite him by his blandishments to proceed. he therefore extracted the thorn, and, pressing the swelling, discharged a considerable quantity of matter, which had been the cause of so much pain. as soon as the beast felt himself thus relieved, he began to testify his joy and gratitude by every expression in his power. he jumped about like a wanton spaniel, wagged his enormous tail, and licked the feet and hands of his physician. nor was he contented with these demonstrations of kindness. from this moment androcles became his guest; nor did the lion ever sally forth in quest of his prey, without bringing home the produce of his chase, and sharing it with his friend. [illustration: androcles and the lion--page .] "in this savage state of hospitality did the man continue to live during several months. at length, wandering unguardedly through the woods, he met with a company of soldiers sent out to apprehend him, and was by them taken prisoner, and conducted back to his master. the laws of that country being very severe against slaves, he was tried and found guilty of having fled from his master, and as a punishment for his pretended crime, he was sentenced to be torn in pieces by a furious lion, kept many days without food, to inspire him with additional rage. "when the destined moment arrived, the unhappy man was exposed, unarmed, in the middle of a spacious arena, inclosed on every side, round which many thousand people were assembled to view the mournful spectacle. presently a dreadful yell was heard, which struck the spectators with horror, and a monstrous lion rushed out of a den, which was purposely set open, with erected mane and flaming eyes, and jaws that gaped like an open sepulchre. a mournful silence instantly prevailed. all eyes were turned upon the destined victim, whose destruction seemed inevitable. but the pity of the multitude was soon converted into astonishment, when they beheld the lion, instead of destroying its defenceless enemy, crouch submissively at his feet, fawn upon him as a faithful dog would do upon his master, and rejoice over him as a mother that unexpectedly recovers her offspring. the governor of the town, who was present, then called out with a loud voice, and ordered androcles to explain to them this unintelligible mystery, and how a savage of the fiercest and most unpitying nature should thus in a moment have forgotten his innate disposition, and be converted into a harmless and inoffensive animal. androcles then related to the assembly every circumstance of his adventures, and concluded by saying, that the very lion which now stood before them, had been his friend and entertainer in the woods. all present were astonished and delighted with the story, to find that even the fiercest beasts are capable of being softened by gratitude; and, being moved by humanity, they unanimously joined to entreat for the pardon of the unhappy man, from the governor of the place. this was immediately granted to him, and he was also presented with the lion, which had twice saved the life of androcles." "oh, what a delightful story, uncle thomas! what a pity it is that it is not true." "i can tell you one which is true, john which is hardly, if at all, inferior in interest:-- "sir george davis, who was english consul at naples about the middle of the seventeenth century, happening on one ocassion to be in florence, visited the menagerie of the grand duke. at the farther end of one of the dens he saw a lion which lay in sullen majesty, and which the keepers informed him they had been unable to tame, although every effort had been used for upwards of three years. sir george had no sooner reached the gate of the den, than the lion ran to it, and evinced every demonstration of joy and transport. the animal reared himself up, purred like a cat when pleased, and licked the hand of sir george, which he had put through the bars. the keeper was astonished and frightened for the safety of his visitor, entreated him not to trust an apparent fit of frenzy, with which the animal seemed to be seized; for he was, without exception, the most fierce and sullen of his tribe which he had ever seen. this, however, had no effect on sir george, who, notwithstanding every entreaty on the part of the keeper, insisted on entering the lion's den. the moment he got in, the delighted lion threw his paws upon his shoulders, licked his face, and ran about him, rubbing his head on sir george, purring and fawning like a cat when expressing its affection for its master. this occurrence became the talk of florence, and reached the ears of the grand duke, who sent for sir george, and requested an interview at the menagerie, that he might witness so extraordinary a circumstance, when sir george gave the following explanation; 'a captain of a ship from barbary gave me this lion, when quite a whelp. i brought him up tame; but when i thought him too large to be suffered to run about the house, i built a den for him in my court-yard. from that time he was never permitted to be loose, except when brought to the house to be exhibited to my friends. when he was five years old, he did some mischief by pawing and playing with people in his frolicsome moods. having griped a man one day a little too hard, i ordered him to be shot, for fear of myself incurring the guilt of what might happen. on this a friend, who happened to be then at dinner with me, begged him as a present. how he came here, i know not.' the grand duke of tuscany, on hearing his story, said it was the very same person who had presented him with the lion." "oh! uncle thomas: i should have been terribly afraid to have ventured into the lion's den!" "i dare say you would, john, and so should i. but some stories are recorded of the gentleness of the lion, as almost to justify such acts of what would otherwise appear fool-hardiness. "part of a ship's crew being sent ashore on the coast of india for the purpose of cutting wood, the curiosity of one of the men having led him to stray to a considerable distance from his companions, he was much alarmed by the appearance of a large lioness, who made towards him; but, on her coming up, his fear was allayed, by her lying down at his feet, and looking very earnestly, first in his face, and then at a tree some little distance off. after repeating these looks several times, she arose, and proceeded towards the tree, looking back, as if she wished the sailor to follow her. at length he ventured, and, coming to the tree, perceived a huge baboon, with two young cubs in her arms, which he immediately supposed to be those of the lioness', as she crouched down like a cat, and seemed to eye them very stedfastly. the man being afraid to ascend the tree, decided on cutting it down, and having his axe with him, he set actively to work, when the lioness seemed most attentive to what he was doing. when the tree fell, she pounced upon the baboon, and, after tearing her in pieces, she turned round, and licked the cubs for some time. she then returned to the sailor, and fawned round him, rubbing her head against him in great fondness, and in token of her gratitude for the service done her. after this, she carried the cubs away one by one, and the sailor rejoined his companions, much pleased with the adventure. [illustration: the lioness and the baboon--page .] "another author tells such a graphic story of a lion's entertaining a hunter, that i must let you hear it also, though i must say that i think he has rather overstrained it. "a hunter on one occasion having gone in search of a lion, and having penetrated a considerable distance into a forest, happened to meet with two whelps of a lion that came to caress him. the hunter stopped with the little animals, and waiting for the coming of the sire or the dam, took out his breakfast, and gave them a part. the lioness arrived, unperceived by the huntsman, so that he had not time, or perhaps wanted the courage, to take his gun. after having for some time looked at the man who was thus feasting her young, the lioness burst away, and soon after returned, bearing with her a sheep, which she came and laid at the huntsman's feet. the hunter, thus become one of the family, took occasion to make a good meal,--skinned the sheep, made a fire, and roasted a part, giving the entrails to the young. the lion, in his turn, came also; and, as if respecting the rights of hospitality, showed no tokens whatever of ferocity. their guest, the next day, having finished his provisions, returned home, and came to a resolution never more to kill any of these animals, the noble generosity of which he had so fully experienced. he stroked and caressed the whelps at taking leave of them, and the dam and sire accompanied him till he was safely out of the forest." "well, uncle thomas, i cannot believe that. i think the man would have been too glad to escape, to have staid so long with such unsafe companions." "you are quite right, harry, i cannot expect that you should give credit to a story which i myself disbelieve. here is a story about the ferocity of the lion, which is, however, beyond all, doubt. "in the year the horses which were dragging the exeter mail coach were attacked in the most furious manner by a lioness, which had escaped from a travelling menagerie. "at the moment when the coachman pulled up, to deliver his bags at one of the stages a few miles from the town of salisbury, one of the leading horses was suddenly seized by a ferocious animal. this produced a great confusion and alarm. two passengers, who were inside the mail, got out and ran into the house. the horse kicked and plunged violently; and it was with difficulty the driver could prevent the coach from being overturned. it was soon observed by the coachman and guard, by the light of the lamps, that the animal which had seized the horse was a huge lioness. a large mastiff dog came up and attacked her fiercely, on which she quitted the horse and turned upon him. the dog fled, but was pursued and killed by the lioness, within about forty yards of the place. it appears that the beast had escaped from a caravan, which was standing on the road side, and belonged to a menagerie, on its way to salisbury fair. an alarm being given, the keepers pursued and hunted the lioness, carrying the dog in her teeth, into a hovel under a granary, which served for keeping agricultural implements. about half past eight, they had secured her effectually, by barricading the place, so as to prevent her escape. the horse, when first attacked, fought with great spirit; and if he had been at liberty, would probably have beaten down his antagonist with his fore feet but in plunging he entangled himself in the harness. the lioness, it appears, attacked him in front, and springing at his throat, had fastened the talons of her fore feet on each side of his gullet, close to the head, while the talons of her hind feet were forced into the chest. in this situation she hung, while the blood was seen streaming, as if a vein had been opened by a lancet. the furious animal missed the throat and jugular vein; but the horse was so dreadfully torn, that he was not at first expected to survive. the expressions of agony, in his tears and moans, were most piteous and affecting. whether the lioness was afraid of her prey being taken from her, or from some other cause, she continued a considerable time after she had entered the hovel, roaring in a dreadful manner, so loud, indeed, that she was distinctly heard at the distance of half a mile. she was eventually secured and led back in triumph to her cell." "it was fortunate that it did not attack the passengers, uncle thomas." "very much so, indeed; it might have turned out a very serious affair, frank." chapter vi. uncle thomas tells about the tiger; its ferocity and power; and of the curious modes which are adopted for its capture and destruction.--also about the puma or american lion, and introduces some hunting scenes in north and south america, with other interesting and entertaining adventures. "long as the stories were, boys, which i told you last night about the lion, i have not yet quite done with the animals of the cat kind; there are still one or two stories about the tiger and the puma or american lion, which i wish to tell you of, if you do not think we have already had enough of them." "oh, no, uncle thomas, pray do continue." "very well, i will first tell you about the tiger. "the tiger, which inhabits the rich jungles of india, nearly equals the lion in strength, and perhaps excels him in activity and ferocity. a very affecting instance of his ferocity, by which a fine young man, the only son of sir hector munro, lost his life, is thus related by one of the party: "yesterday morning, captain george downey, lieutenant pyefinch, poor mr. munro (of the honourable east india company's service), and myself (captain consar), went on shore, on saugur island, to shoot deer. we saw innumerable tracks of tigers and deer; but still we were induced to pursue our sport; and did so the whole day. about half past three, we sat down on the edge of the jungle, to eat some cold meat, sent to us from the ship, and had just commenced our meal, when mr. pyefinch and a black servant told us there was a fine deer within six yards of us. captain downey and i immediately jumped up, to take our guns; mine was nearest, and i had but just laid hold of it, when i heard a roar like thunder, and saw an immense royal tiger spring on the unfortunate munro, who was sitting down; in a moment his head was in the beast's mouth, and he rushed into the jungle with him, with as much ease as i could lift a kitten, tearing him through the thickest bushes and trees, every thing yielding to his monstrous strength. the agonies of horror, regret, and, i must say, fear (for there were two tigers), rushed on me at once; the only effort i could make was to fire at him, though the poor youth was still in his mouth. i relied partly on providence, partly on my own aim, and fired a musket. the tiger staggered, and seemed agitated, which i took notice of to my companions. captain downey then fired two shots, and i one more. we retired from the jungle, and, a few minutes after, mr. munro came up to us all over blood and fell. we took him on our backs to the boat, and got every medical assistance for him from the valentine indiaman, which lay at anchor near the island; but in vain. he lived twenty-four hours in the utmost torture; his head and skull were all torn and broken to pieces, and he was also wounded, by the animal's claws, all over his neck and shoulders; but it was better to take him away, though irrecoverable, than leave him to be mangled and devoured. we have just read the funeral service over his body, and committed it to the deep. mr. munro was an amiable and promising youth. i must observe, there was a large fire blazing close to us, composed of ten or a dozen whole trees. i made it myself on purpose to keep the tigers off, as i had always heard it would. there were eight or ten of the natives about us; many shots had been fired at the place; there was much noise and laughing at the time; but this ferocious animal disregarded all. the human mind cannot form an idea of the scene; it turned my very soul within me. the beast was about four feet and a half high, and nine long. his head appeared as large as that of an ox; his eyes darting fire, and his roar, when he first seized his prey, will never be out of my recollection. we had scarcely pushed our boat from that cursed shore, when the tigress made her appearance, raging, almost mad, and remained on the sand, as long as the distance would allow me to see her." "oh, dreadful, uncle thomas! i declare it makes my hair stand on end!" "it is a fearful tale, john, and shows you what a scourge such an animal must be to the inhabitants of the country in which it is found. it frequents the deserts of asia, but in some places where civilization has commenced, it prowls about the villages and commits great havoc among the herds of the inhabitants, who therefore find it necessary to adopt various schemes for its destruction; some of these devices are very curious. "a large cage of strong bamboos is constructed, and fastened firmly to the ground, in a place which the tigers frequent. in this a man takes up his station for the night. he is generally accompanied by a dog or a goat, which by its extreme agitation is sure to give notice of the tiger's approach. his weapons consist of two or three strong spears, and thus provided he wraps himself in his quilt, and very composedly goes to steep in the full confidence of safety. by and by the tiger makes his appearance, and after duly reconnoitring all round, begins to rear against the cage, seeking for some means of entering. the hunter, who watches his opportunity, thrusts one of his spears into the animal's body, and seldom fails to destroy it." "that is a very good plan, uncle thomas, and does not seem to be attended with much danger, if the cage be strong enough." "no, boys, it is not very dangerous, but i don't think any of you would like to trust yourselves so exposed. here, however, is another mode of destroying the tiger, which is practised in some parts of india. "the track of a tiger being ascertained, which though not invariably the same, may yet be known sufficiently for the purpose, the peasants collect a quantity of the leaves of the prous, which are like those of the sycamore, and are common in most underwoods, as they form the largest portion of most jungles in india. these leaves are smeared with a species of bird-lime, made by bruising the berries of a tree by no means scarce. they are then strewed, with the gluten uppermost, near to the spot to which it is understood the tiger usually retires during noon-tide heat. if by chance the animal should tread on one of these smeared leaves his fate is certain. he commences by shaking his paw, with the view to remove the adhesive incumbrance, but finding no relief from that expedient, he rubs the nuisance against his jaw with the same intention, by which means his eyes, ears, &c. become covered with the same substance. this occasions such uneasiness as causes him to roll perhaps among many more smeared leaves, till at length he becomes completely enveloped, and he is deprived of sight, and in this situation may be compared to a man who has been tarred and feathered. the anxiety produced by this strange and novel predicament, soon discovers itself in dreadful howlings, which serve to call the watchful peasants, who in this disabled state find no difficulty in shooting the object of detestation." "that is better still, uncle thomas; i think that is the most ingenious way of catching an animal that i ever heard of." "i must now tell you something about the puma or american lion, which is also taken in a very ingenious manner by the natives of south america. it is generally hunted by means of dogs. when they unkennel a lion or a tiger, they pursue him till he stops to defend himself. the hunter, who is mounted on a good steed, follows close behind, and if the dogs seize upon the animal, the hunter jumps off his horse, and, while the lion is engaged in contending with the dogs, strikes him on the head, and thus dispatches him. if, however, the dogs are afraid to attack him, the hunter uses his lasso, dexterously fixes it round some part of the animal, and gallops away, dragging it after him. the dogs now rush in and tear him, when he is soon dispatched. "when wounded the puma grows furious and irresistible. here is a story which shows the fierceness of the animal:--two hunters having gone in quest of game to the catskill mountains, province of new york, each armed with a gun, and accompanied by a dog, they agreed to go in contrary directions round the base of the hill, which formed one of the points of that chain of mountains; and it was settled that, if either discharged his piece, the other should hasten to the spot whence the report proceeded as speedily as possible, to join in the pursuit of whatever game might fall to their lot. they had not been long asunder, when the one heard the other fire, and, agreeably to promise, hastened to join his companion. he looked for him in every direction; but to no purpose. at length, however, he came upon the dog of his friend, dead, and dreadfully lacerated. convinced by this, that the animal his comrade had shot at was ferocious and formidable, he felt much alarm for his fate, and sought after him with great anxiety. he had not proceeded many yards from me spot where the dog lay prostrate, when his attention was arrested by the ferocious growl of some wild animal. on raising his eyes to the spot whence the sound proceeded, he discovered a large puma couching on the branch of a tree, and under him the body of his friend. the animal's eyes glared at him, and he appeared hesitating whether he should descend, and make an attack on the survivor also, or relinquish his prey, and decamp. the hunter, aware of the celerity of the puma's movements, knew that there was no time for reflection, levelled his piece, and mortally wounded the animal, when it and the body of the man fell together from the tree. his dog then attacked the wounded puma, but a single blow from its paw laid it prostrate. in this state of things, finding his comrade was dead, and knowing it was dangerous to approach the wounded animal, he went in search of assistance, and on returning to the spot he found his companion, the puma, and the two dogs, all lying dead. "the celebrated naturalist audubon gives an interesting account of a hunt which he had after the puma, in one of the back settlements of north america. in the course of his rambles he arrived at the cabin of a squatter on the banks of cold-water river, and after a hospitable reception, and an evening spent in relating their adventures in the chase, it was agreed in the morning to hunt the puma which had of late been making sad ravages among the squatter's pigs. "the hunters accordingly made their appearance just as the sun was emerging from the horizon. they were five in number, and fully equipped for the chase, being mounted on horses which in some parts of europe might appear sorry nags, but which, in strength, speed, and bottom, are better fitted for pursuing a puma or bear through woods and morasses than any in that country. a pack of large ugly curs were already engaged in making acquaintance with those of the squatter. he and myself mounted his two best horses, whilst his sons were bestriding others of inferior quality. "few words were uttered by the party until we had reached the edge of the swamp where it was agreed that all should disperse and seek for the fresh track of the puma, it being previously settled that the discoverer should blow his horn, and remain on the spot until the rest should join him. in less than an hour, the sound of the horn was clearly heard, and, sticking close the squatter, off we went through the thick woods, guided only by the moon and the repeated call of the distant huntsman. we soon reached the spot, and in a short time the rest of the party came up. the best dog was sent forward to attack the animal, and in a few minutes the whole pack were observed diligently tracking and bearing in their course for the interior of the swamp. the rifles were immediately put in trim, and the party followed the dogs at separate distances, within sight of each other, determined to shoot at no other game than the puma. "the dogs soon began to mouth, and suddenly quickened their pace. my companions concluded that the beast was on the ground, and putting our horses to a gentle gallop, we followed the curs, guided by their voices. the noise of the dogs increased, when all of a sudden their mode of barking became altered, and the squatter, urging me to push on, told me the beast was _treed_, by which he meant that it had got upon some low branch of a large tree, to rest for a few moments, and that should we not succeed in shooting him while thus situated we might expect a long chase of it. as we approached the spot, we all by degrees united into a body, but on seeing the dogs at the foot of a large tree, separated again, and galloped off to surround it. "each hunter now moved with caution, holding his gun ready, and allowing the bridle to dangle on the neck of his horse, as it advanced slowly towards the dogs. a shot from one of the party was heard, on which the puma was seen to leap to the ground and bound off with such velocity as to show that he was very unwilling to stand our fire longer. the dogs set off in pursuit with the utmost eagerness and a deafening cry; the hunter who had fired came up, and said that his ball had hit the monster, and had probably broken one of his fore legs near the shoulder, the only place at which he could aim; a slight trail of blood was discovered on the ground, but the curs proceeded at such a rate, that we merely noticed this and put spurs to our horses, which galloped on towards the centre of the swamp. one bayou (a part of the swamp in which the water accumulates) was crossed, then another still larger and more muddy, but the dogs were brushing forward, and as the horses began to pant at a furious rate, we judged it expedient to leave them and advance on foot. these determined hunters knew that the animal, being wounded, would shortly ascend another tree, where in all probability he would remain for a considerable time, and that it was easy to follow the track of the dogs. we dismounted, took off the saddles and bridles, set the bells attached to the horses, necks at liberty to jingle, hoppled the animals (fastening the bridle to one of their legs so that they could not stray far), and left them to shift for themselves. "after marching for a couple of hours, we again heard the dogs. each of us pressed forward, elated at the thought of terminating the career of the puma; some of the dogs were heard whining, although the greater part barked vehemently. we felt assured that the animal was treed, and that he would rest for some time to recover from his fatigue. as we came up to the dogs we discovered the furious animal lying across a large branch close to the trunk of a cotton-wood tree. his broad breast lay towards us, his eyes were at one time bent on us, and again on the dogs, beneath, and around him; one of his fore-legs hung down loosely by his side, and he lay crouched with his ears lowered close to his head, as if he thought he might remain undiscovered. three balls were fired at him at a given signal, on which he sprung a few feet from the branch, and tumbled headlong to the ground. attacked on all sides by the enraged curs, the infuriated animal fought with desperate valour; but the squatter advancing in front of the party, and almost in the midst of the dogs, shot him immediately behind and beneath the left shoulder. he writhed for a moment in agony, and in another lay dead." "it must be very exciting employment, hunting the puma, uncle thomas." "and not a little dangerous too, boys, for you hear how fiercely he maintains his ground. with all their fierceness, however, the fear of man is over even this relentless race of animals. captain head, who has written an amusing book called 'rough notes of rapid rides across the pampas,' thus speaks on this subject: "the fear which all wild animals in america have of man is very singularly exhibited in the pampas. i often rode towards the ostriches and zamas, crouching under the opposite side of my horse's neck; but i always found that, although they would allow my loose horse to approach them, they, even when young, ran from me, though little of my figure was visible; and when i saw them all enjoying themselves in such full liberty, it was at first not pleasing to observe that one's appearance was every where a signal to them that they should fly from their enemy. yet it is by this fear 'that man hath dominion over the beasts of the field,' and there is no animal in south america that does not acknowledge this instinctive feeling. as a singular proof of the above, and of the difference between the wild beasts of america and of the old world, i will venture to relate a circumstance which a man sincerely assured me had happened to him in south america. "he was trying to shoot some wild ducks, and, in order to approach them unperceived, he put the corner of his poncho (which is a sort of long narrow blanket) over his head, and crawling along the ground upon his hand and knees, the poncho not only covered his body, but trailed along the ground behind him. as he was thus creeping by a large bush of reeds, he heard a loud, sudden noise, between a bark and a roar; he felt something heavy strike his feet, and, instantly jumping up, he saw to his astonishment, a large puma actually standing on his poncho; and, perhaps, the animal was equally astonished to find himself in the immediate presence of so athletic a man. the man told me he was unwilling to fire, as his gun was loaded with very small shot; and he therefore remained motionless, the puma standing on his poncho for many seconds; at last the creature turned his head, and walking very slowly away about ten yards, stopped, and turned again: the man still maintained his ground, upon which the puma tacitly acknowledged his supremacy, and walked off." "i dare say the man was very glad to be so easily quit of such a formidable visitor, uncle thomas." [illustration: the surprise--page .] "no doubt of it, frank. i have one other story to tell you about the puma, which fortunately exhibits it in a more favourable light than some of those which i have told you. "during the government of don diego de mendoza, in paraguay, a dreadful famine raged at buenos ayres; yet diego, afraid to give the indians a habit of spilling spanish blood, forbade the inhabitants, on pain of death, to go into the fields, in search of relief, placing soldiers at all the outlets to the country, with orders to fire upon those who should attempt to transgress his orders. a woman, however, called maldonata, was artful enough to elude the vigilance of the guards, and to effect her escape. after wandering about the country for a long time, she sought shelter in a cavern; but she had scarcely entered it, when she became dreadfully alarmed, on observing a puma occupying the same den. she was, however, soon quieted by the animal approaching and caressing her. the poor brute was very ill, and scarcely able to crawl towards her. maldonata soon discovered what was the cause of the animal's illness, and kindly ministered to it. it soon recovered, and was all gratitude and attention to its kind benefactress, never returning from searching after its daily subsistence without laying a portion of it at the feet of maldonata. "some time after, maldonata fell into the hands of the spaniards; and, being brought back to buenos ayres, was conducted before don francis ruez de galen, who then commanded there. she was charged with having left the city contrary to orders. galen was a man of a cruel and tyrannical disposition, and condemned the unfortunate woman to a death which none but the most cruel tyrant could have devised. he ordered some soldiers to take her into the country, and leave her tied to a tree, either to perish with hunger, or to be torn to pieces by wild beasts. two days after, he sent the same soldiers to see what had been her fate, when, to their great surprise, they found her alive and unhurt, though surrounded by pumas and jaguars, while a female puma at her feet kept them at bay. as soon as the puma saw the soldiers, she retired to some distance and they unbound maldonata, who related to them the history of this puma, whom she knew to be the same she had formerly relieved in the cavern. on the soldiers taking maldonata away, the animal approached, and fawned upon her, as if unwilling to part. the soldiers reported what they had seen to their commander, who could not but pardon a woman who had been so singularly protected, without the danger of appearing more inhuman than pumas themselves. chapter vii. uncle thomas tells about the migrating instinct of animals.--of the house swallow of england; and the esculent swallow, whose nest is eaten by the chinese.--he tells also about the passenger pigeon of america; of the myriads which are found in various parts of the united states; of the land-crab and its migrations, and of those of the salmon and the common herring. "uncle thomas, i heard to-day of a swallow which for many years returned to the same window, and built its nest in the same corner. now as i believe swallows are birds of passage, and leave this country to spend the winter in warmer climates, i wish you to explain to me how it is that they can return from such distances to the same spot." "that is a question, frank, which i cannot very well answer, but so many instances of the kind have been observed as to leave no doubt as to the fact. it has sometimes been known even to penetrate into the house, and attach its nest to articles of furniture. "at camerton hall, near bath, a pair of swallows built their nest on the upper part of the frame of an old picture over the chimney; and, coming into the room through a broken pane in one of the windows, they continued to use the same place for their nest for three successive years, and would probably have continued to do so, but the room having been put into repair, they could no longer obtain access to it." "is it want of food which makes birds migrate, uncle thomas?" "principally, i should say that it is so, frank, but in shifting from one place to another they only fulfil an instinct impressed on them by their creator for the preservation of their species. thus, for instance, an old swallow might know by experience, that when its food fails here, it begins to become plentiful elsewhere, but the young bird which had never been more than a few miles from the place where it was hatched, can have no such experimental knowledge; yet, when the season arrives, we find the whole flock ready to set out. i dare say you have all seen them, boys, gathering in flocks and resting on the house tops, as if taking breath before setting out on their long journey." "oh, yes, uncle thomas, i have often seen them doing so, but i have heard that they dive to the bottom of lakes and ponds, and remain there till winter is over." "many foolish stories are told of swallows being found in such situations, harry, but they are now well known to be fables. there is no doubt that they migrate in the same way as many other birds. last autumn i watched with great pleasure the movements of a flock, which was evidently preparing for their arduous flight. "for several evenings they assembled in large numbers on a tree at a short distance from my house, and, after remaining seated for some time, one of them, who appeared to be commander-in-chief, kept flying about in all directions, and at length, with a sharp and loudly repeated call, he darted up into the air. in an instant the whole congregation were on the wing, following their leader in a sort of spiral track. in a little time they had risen so high that i lost sight of them, but after a short absence they again returned and took up their position on the tree which they had just left. "this manoeuvre they continued for some time, till one day they set off in reality, and i saw no more of them for the winter." "i read, somewhere, uncle thomas, that the chinese eat swallows' nests. i cannot understand this, sir; surely the mud and clay, of which swallows' nests are composed, would make but an indifferent repast." "i dare say they would, frank, if they were made of clay and mud, as the nests of our swallows are; but such is not the case. various opinions are entertained as to the substance of which the nest of the esculent swallow is made. sir george staunton, who accompanied lord macartney in his embassy to china, gives a very interesting account both of the swallow and of its nest. "in the cass," says sir george, "a small island near sumatra, we found two caverns running horizontally into the side of the rock, and in these were a number of those birds' nests so much prized by the chinese epicures. they seemed to be composed of fine filaments, cemented together by a transparent viscous matter, not unlike what is left by the foam of the sea upon stones alternately covered by the tide, or those gelatinous animal substances found floating on every coast. the nests adhere to each other and to the sides of the cavern, mostly in horizontal rows, without any break or interruption, and at different depths from fifty to five hundred feet. the birds that build these nests are small grey swallows, with bellies of a dirty white. they were flying about in considerable numbers, but were so small, and their flight was so quick, that they escaped the shot fired at them. the same sort of nests are said to be also found in deep caverns at the foot of the highest mountains in the middle of java, at a distance from the sea; from which source it is thought that the birds derive no materials, either for their food, or the construction of their nests, as it does not appear probable they should fly in search of either over the intermediate mountains, which are very high, or against the boisterous winds prevailing thereabouts. they feed on insects, which they find hovering over stagnated pools between the mountains, and for the catching of which their wide opening beaks are particularly adapted. they prepare their nests from the best remnants of their food. their greatest enemy is the kite, who often intercepts them in their passage to and from the caverns, which are generally surrounded with rocks of grey limestone or white marble. the colour and value of the nests depend on the quantity and quality of the insects caught, and perhaps also on the situation where they are built. their value is chiefly ascertained by the uniform fineness and delicacy of their texture; those that are white and transparent being most esteemed, and fetching often in china their weight in silver. "these nests are a considerable object of traffic among the javanese, many of whom are employed in it from their infancy. the birds, after having spent nearly two months in preparing their nests, lay each two eggs, which are hatched in about fifteen days. when the young birds become fledged, it is thought the proper time to seize upon their nests, which is done regularly three times a year, and is effected by means of ladders of bamboo and reeds, by which the people descend into the caverns; but when these are very deep, rope-ladders are preferred. this operation is attended with much danger, and several perish in the attempt. the inhabitants of the mountains generally employed in this business begin always by sacrificing a buffalo, which custom is observed by the javanese on the eve of every extraordinary enterprise. they also pronounce some prayers, anoint themselves with sweet-scented oil, and smoke the entrance of the cavern with gumbenjamin. near some of the caverns a tutelar goddess is worshipped, whose priest burns incense, and lays his projecting hands on every person preparing to descend. a flambeau is carefully prepared at the same time, with a gum which exudes from a tree growing in the vicinity, and which is not easily extinguished by fixed air or subterraneous vapours." "but how are the nests eaten, uncle thomas? are they prepared in any way, or are they fit for use as they are taken down?" "they are always prepared before they are eaten. the finest sort, which are of a clear colour, and not unlike isinglass, are dissolved in broth, to which they are said to give an exquisite flavour. after being soaked, they are sometimes introduced into the body of a fowl and stewed; but i am not quite versed in all the mysteries of a chinese kitchen, so you must be satisfied with these two modes of preparation." "thank you, uncle thomas." "i have only one more story to tell you about the swallow, boys, and then i must turn to two or three other animals, whose peregrinations exhibit as strong instances of instinct as it does." "a swallow's nest, built in the west corner of a window facing the north, was so much softened by the rain beating against it, that it was rendered unfit to support the superincumbent load of five pretty full grown swallows. during a storm the nest fell into the tower corner of the window, leaving the young brood exposed to all the fury of the blast. to save the little creatures from an untimely death, the owner of the house benevolently caused a covering to be thrown over them, till the severity of the storm was past. no sooner had it subsided, than the sages of the colony assembled, fluttering round the window, and hovering over the temporary covering of the fallen nest. as soon as this careful anxiety was observed, the covering was removed, and the utmost joy evinced by the group, on finding the young ones alive and unhurt. after feeding them, the members of this assembled community arranged themselves into working order. each division taking its appropriate station, commenced instantly to work, and before night-fall they had jointly completed an arched canopy over the young brood in the corner where they lay, and securely covered them against a succeeding blast. calculating the time occupied by them in performing this piece of architecture, it appeared evident that the young must have perished from cold and hunger, before any single pair could have executed half the job." "how very kind, uncle thomas! had they been reasoning creatures, they could not have behaved more properly." "i dare say not, frank. such traits overstep the limits of _instinct_, and almost trespass on that of reason." "you asked, frank, if it was want of food which prompted the flight of migratory animals from one place to another. in some cases it is so, undoubtedly; as for instance, in that which i am now going to tell you about, the american passenger pigeon; it is from the work of the great naturalist, wilson. "the migrations of these pigeons appear to be undertaken rather in quest of food than merely to avoid the cold of the climate; since we find them lingering in the northern regions around hudson's bay so late as december, and since their appearance is so casual and irregular, sometimes not visiting certain districts for several years in any considerable numbers, while at other times they are innumerable. i have often witnessed these migrations in the genesee country, often in pennsylvania, and also in various parts of virginia, with amazement; but all that i have seen of them are mere straggling parties, when compared with the congregated millions which i have since beheld in the western forests in the states of ohio, kentucky, and the indiana territory. these fertile and extensive regions abound with the nutritious beech nut, which constitutes the chief food of the wild pigeon. in seasons when these nuts are abundant, corresponding multitudes of pigeons may be confidently expected. it sometimes happens, that having consumed the whole produce of the beech trees in an extensive district, they discover another at the distance of perhaps sixty or eighty miles, to which they regularly repair every morning, and return as regularly in the course of the day, or in the evening, to their place of general rendezvous, or, as it is generally called, the roosting place. these roosting places are always in the wood, and sometimes occupy a large extent of forest. when they have frequented one of these places for some time, the appearance it exhibits is surprising. the ground is covered to the depth of several inches with their droppings; all the tender grass and underwood destroyed; the surface strewed with large limbs of trees, broken down by the weight of the birds clustering one above another, and the trees themselves, for thousand of acres, killed as completely as if girdled with an axe. the marks of this desolation remain for many years on the spot, and numerous places could be pointed out, where for several years after scarcely a single vegetable made its appearance. "when these roosts are first discovered, the inhabitants from considerable distances visit them in the night with guns, clubs, long poles, pots of sulphur, and various other engines of destruction. in a few hours they fill many sacks, and load their horses with them. by the indians, a pigeon roost or breeding place is considered an important source of national profit and dependence for the season, and all their active ingenuity is exercised on the occasion. the breeding place differs from the former in its greater extent. in the western countries before mentioned, these are generally in beech woods, and often extend in nearly a straight line across the country for a great way. not far from shelbyville, in the state of kentucky, about five years ago, there was one of these breeding places, which stretched through the woods in nearly a north and south direction, which was several miles in breadth, and was said to be upwards of forty miles in extent. in this tract almost every tree was furnished with nests wherever the branches could accommodate them. the pigeons made their first appearance there about the th of april, and left it altogether with their young before the th of may. "as soon as the young were fully grown, and before they left the nests, numerous parties of the inhabitants, from all parts of the adjacent country, came with waggons, axes, beds, cooking utensils, many of them accompanied by the greater part of their families, and encamped for several days in this immense nursery. several of them informed me that the noise in the woods was so great as to terrify their horses, and that it was difficult for one person to hear another speak without bawling in his ear. the ground was strewed with broken limbs of trees, eggs, and young squab pigeons which had been precipitated from above, and on which herds of hogs were fattening; hawks, buzzards, and eagles were sailing about in great numbers, and seizing the squabs from their nests at pleasure; while from twenty feet upwards to the tops of the trees, the view through the woods presented a perpetual tumult of crowding and fluttering multitudes of pigeons, their wings roaring like thunder, mingled with the frequent crash of falling timber; for now the axemen were at work, cutting down those trees which seemed to be most crowded with nests, and contrived to fell them in such a manner, that in their descent they might bring down several others, by which means the falling of one large tree sometimes produced two hundred squabs, little inferior in size to the old pigeons, and almost one mass of fat. on some single trees, upwards of one hundred nests were found, each containing one young only, a circumstance in the history of this bird not generally known to naturalists. it was dangerous to walk under these fluttering and flying millions, from the frequent fall of large branches, broken down by the weight of the multitudes above, and which in their descent often destroyed numbers of the birds themselves. "i had left the public road to visit the remains of the breeding place near shelbyville, and was traversing the woods with my gun on my way to frankfort, when about one o'clock, the pigeons which i had observed flying the greater part of the morning northerly, began to return in such immense numbers as i never before had witnessed; coming to an opening by the side of a creek called the benson, where i had a more uninterrupted view, i was astonished at their appearance. they were flying with great steadiness and rapidity, at a height beyond gun-shot, and several strata deep, and so close together, that could shot have reached them, one discharge could not have failed in bringing down several individuals. from right to left as far as the eye could reach, the breadth of this vast procession extended, seeming every where equally crowded. curious to determine how long this appearance would continue, i took out my watch to note time, and sat down to observe them. it was then half-past one; i sat for more than an hour, but instead of a diminution of this prodigious procession, it seemed rather to increase both in numbers and rapidity, and anxious to reach frankfort before night, i arose and went on. about four o'clock in the afternoon, i crossed the kentucky river at the town of frankfort, at which time the living torrent above my head seemed as numerous and as extensive as ever; and long after this, i observed them in large bodies that continued to pass for six or eight minutes, and these again were followed by other detached bodies, all moving in the same south-east direction, till after six in the evening. the great breadth of front which this mighty multitude preserved would seem to intimate a corresponding breadth of their breeding place, which, by several gentlemen who had lately passed through part of it, was stated to me at several miles. it was said to be in green county, and that the young began to fly about the middle of march. on the th of april, forty-nine miles beyond danville, and not far from green river, i crossed this same breeding place, where the nests for more than three miles spotted every tree; the leaves not being yet out, i had a fair prospect of them, and was really astonished at their numbers. a few bodies of pigeons lingered yet in different parts of the woods, the roaring of whose wings was heard in various quarters around me. "the vast quantity of food which these multitudes consume is a serious loss to the other animals, such as bears, pigs, squirrels, which are dependent on the fruits of the forest. i have taken from the crop of a single wild pigeon a good handful of the kernels of beech nuts intermixed with acorns and chesnuts. to form a rough estimate of the daily consumption of one of these immense flocks, let us first attempt to calculate the numbers above mentioned, as seen in passing between frankfort and the indian territory. if we suppose this column to have been one mile in breadth (and i believe it to have been much more), and that it moved at the rate of one mile in a minute, four hours, the time it continued passing, would make its whole length two hundred and forty miles. again, supposing that each square yard of this moving body comprehended three pigeons, the square yards in the whole space, multiplied by three, would give two thousand two hundred and thirty millions two hundred and seventy-two thousand pigeons!--an almost incredible multitude, and yet far below the actual amount. computing each of these to consume half a pint of mast (nuts, and other seeds of trees) daily, the whole quantity, at this rate, would equal seventeen millions four hundred and twenty-four thousand bushels per day! heaven has wisely and graciously given to these birds rapidity of flight, and a disposition to range over vast uncultivated tracts of the earth; otherwise they must have perished in the districts where they resided, or devoured the whole productions of agriculture, as well as those of the forests. "the appearance of large detached flocks of these birds in the air, and the various evolutions they display, are strikingly picturesque and interesting. in descending the ohio by myself, i often rested on my oars to contemplate their aerial manoeuvres. a column of eight or ten miles in length would appear from kentucky high in air, steering across to indiana. the leaders of this great body would sometimes gradually vary their course, till it formed a large bend of more than a mile in diameter, those behind tracing the exact route of their predecessors. this would continue sometimes long after both extremities were beyond the reach of sight; so that the whole with its glittering undulations marked a space on the face of the heavens resembling the windings of a vast majestic river. when this bend became very great, the birds, as if sensible of the unnecessarily circuitous route they were taking, suddenly changed their direction, so that what was in column before became an immense front, straightening all its indentures until it swept the heavens in one vast and infinitely extended line. other lesser bodies also united with each other as they happened to approach, and with such ease and elegance of evolution, forming new figures and varying these as they united or separated, that i was never tired of contemplating them. sometimes a hawk would sweep on a particular part of the column from a great height, when almost as quick as lightning that part shot downwards out of the common track, but soon rising again, continued advancing at the same height as before. this inflection was continued by those behind, who, on arriving at this point, dived down almost perpendicularly to a great depth, and, rising, followed the exact path of those that went before. "happening to go ashore one charming afternoon to purchase some milk at a house that stood near the river, and while talking with the people within doors, i was suddenly struck with astonishment at a loud rushing roar, succeeded by instant darkness, which for the first moment i took for a tornado about to overwhelm the house, and every thing around, in destruction. the people observing my surprise, coolly said, 'it is only the pigeons,' and on running out, i beheld a flock thirty or forty yards in width, sweeping along very low between the house and the mountain or height that formed the second bank of the river. these continued crossing for more than a quarter of an hour, and at length varied their bearing, so as to pass over the mountain, behind which they disappeared before the rear came up." "that is amazing, uncle thomas; two thousand millions of live birds! i can scarcely form an adequate idea of such a mass of living creatures." "there is something almost overwhelming in the idea, frank; and yet in some parts of the world are to be found flocks of animals hardly less surprisingly numerous, when we consider how much less they are fitted for moving about, travelling at stated intervals from the mountains to the sea coast, and returning again to their old habitations, after having fulfilled the purposes for which this instinctive feeling was implanted in them." "which animals do you mean, uncle thomas?" "i allude to the land-crab, which is a native of the bahamas, and also of most of the other islands between the tropics. they live in clefts of the rocks, or holes which they dig for themselves among the mountains, and subsist on vegetables. about the months of april and may, they descend to the sea coast in a body of millions at a time, for the purpose of depositing their spawn. they march in a direct line towards their destination, and seldom turn out of their way, even should they encounter a wall or a house, but boldly attempt to scale it. if, however, they arrive at a river, they wind along the course of the stream, and thus reach the sea. "in their procession they are as regular as an army under the command of an experienced general, and are usually divided into three battalions. the first body consists of the strongest males, which march forward to clear the route and face the greatest dangers. the main body is composed of females, which are formed into columns, sometimes extending fifty or sixty yards in breadth and three miles in depth. three or four days after these follows the third division or rear guard, a straggling undisciplined tribe, consisting both of males and females, but neither so robust nor so vigorous as the former. "though easily drowned, a certain proportion of moisture seems necessary to the existence of these animals, and the advanced guard is often obliged to halt from the want of rain. the females, indeed, never leave the mountains till the rainy season has fairly set in. they march chiefly during the night, but if it happens to rain during the day, they always profit by it. when the sun is hot they halt till evening. they march very slowly, and are sometimes three months in gaining the shore. when alarmed they run in a confused and disorderly manner, holding up and clattering their nippers with a threatening attitude, and if suffered to take hold of the hand they bite severely. if in their journey any of them should be so maimed as to be unable to proceed, the others fall upon it and devour it. "arrived at the coast, they prepare to cast their spawn. they go to the edge of the water, and suffer the waves to wash twice or thrice over their bodies, and then withdraw to seek a lodging upon the land. after a short time the spawn becomes ready for being deposited, when they again seek the sea-side, and leave the spawn to be brought to maturity by the heat of the sun. much of the spawn, which exactly resembles the roe of a herring, is devoured by the fishes; that which escapes soon arrives at maturity, and millions of little crabs are then to be seen slowly travelling towards the mountains. "the old ones in the mean time seek to return to their old haunts, but so feeble are they that they seem scarcely able to crawl along. some of them, indeed, are obliged to remain in the level parts of the country till they recover, making holes in the earth, which they block up with leaves and dirt. in these they cast their old shells, after which they soon recover, and become so fat as to be delicious food. "at the season of their descent from the mountains, the natives of the islands which they inhabit, eagerly wait for them and destroy them in thousands. on their descent they are only taken for the roe or spawn, the flesh being then poor and lean: on their return from the sea-side they are in greatest repute, being then fat and high flavoured. "the crab-catchers adopt various modes of securing them, but they are obliged to be very cautious, for when the animals perceive themselves attacked, they throw themselves on their back, and snap their claws about, pinching whatever they lay hold of very severely. the crab-catchers, however, soon learn to seize them by the hind legs, in such a manner as that the nippers cannot reach them." "you said, uncle thomas, that the fishes watched the descent of the crabs, that they might feed on the spawn. do you think that they are endowed with reasoning powers, as well as the higher classes of animals, uncle thomas?" "no doubt of it, frank. old isaac walton, the most amusing author on angling who ever wrote, tells many curious stories about fishes, of their coming to be fed at the sound of a bell, and so forth. "many fishes exhibit the migratory instinct quite as distinctly as those animals which i have just told you about. the salmon leaves the sea, and seeks its way up the rivers, stemming their most rapid currents, and scaling highest waterfalls with a pertinacity which can only be the result of an instinct implanted in them by their creator." "and the herring, uncle thomas; does not it come every year from the polar seas to spawn on our shores? i read a very interesting account of their progress southwards somewhere lately." "i can tell you where, frank; i will show it you, and when you have read it aloud, i will point out one or two mistakes, which it is as well to clear your mind of. it is in old pennant's work; here it is; will you read it to us, john?" "with pleasure, uncle thomas. "this mighty army begins to put itself in motion in the spring. they begin to appear off the shetland islands in april and may. this is the first check this army meets in its march southward. there it is divided into two parts; one wing of those destined to visit the scottish coast takes to the east, the other to the western shores of great britain, and fill every bay and creek with their numbers; others proceed towards yarmouth, the great and ancient mart of herrings; they then pass through the british channel, and after that in a manner disappear. those which take to the west, after offering themselves to the hebrides, where the great stationary fishery is, proceed towards the north of ireland, where they meet with a second interruption and are obliged to make a second division; the one takes to the western side and is scarcely perceived, being soon lost in the immensity of the atlantic, but the other, which passes into the irish sea, rejoins, and feeds the inhabitants of most of the coasts that border on it. the brigades, as we call them, which are separated from the greater columns, are often capricious in their motions, and do not show an invariable attachment to their haunts." "thank you, john. now all this sounds very fine, and seems very systematic. it has but one objection--it is quite untrue. it is in the first place more than doubtful if the herring frequents the polar seas at all; and in the second place, the most distinguished naturalists are of opinion that it never leaves the neighbourhood of our own shores, but merely retires to the deep water after it has spawned, and there remains till the return of another season calls it again to the shores to undergo a similar operation. so you see, frank, it does not follow that an interesting account of an animal's habits is necessarily a true one." chapter viii. uncle thomas tells about the baboons, and their plundering excursions to the gardens at the cape of good hope, also about le vaillant's baboon, kees, and his peculiarities; the american monkeys; and relates an amusing story about a young monkey deprived of its mother, putting itself under the fostering care of a wig-block. "oh, uncle thomas, i saw such a strange looking creature to-day. it was so ugly. it seemed to be a very large monkey, it was as big as a boy." "i heard of it, boys, though i did not see it. it was a baboon, and one of the largest of the species.--it was what is called the dog-faced baboon." "where do such animals come from, uncle thomas." "from africa, john, and i believe they are not to be found elsewhere. they are very fierce and mischievous creatures, and are said sometimes even to attack man, but this i believe to be an exaggeration. immense troops of them inhabit the mountains in the neighbourhood of the cape of good hope, whence they descend in bands to plunder the gardens and orchards. in these excursions they move on a concerted plan, placing sentinels on commanding spots to give notice of the approach of an enemy. on the appearance of danger, the sentinel utters a loud yell, upon which the whole troop retreats with the utmost precipitation." "do they carry the spoil with them when they are thus disturbed, uncle thomas?" "when disturbed they are said to break in pieces the fruit which they have gathered, and cram it into their cheek pouches--receptacles with which nature has furnished them for keeping articles of food till they are wanted. "le vaillant, a traveller in africa, had a dog-faced baboon which accompanied him on his journey, and he found its instinct of great service to him in various ways. as a sentinel he was better than any of the dogs. so quick was his sense of danger, that he often gave notice of the approach of beasts of prey, when every thing else seemed sunk in security. he was also very useful in guarding the people of the expedition from danger, from using unwholesome or poisonous fruits. the animal's name was kees. here is the very interesting account which his master gives of him. "whenever we found fruits or roots, with which my hottentots were unacquainted, we did not touch them till kees had tasted them. if he threw them away, we concluded that they were either of a disagreeable flavour, or of a pernicious quality, and left them untasted. the ape possesses a peculiar property, wherein he differs greatly from other animals, and resembles man,--namely, that he is by nature equally gluttonous and inquisitive. without necessity, and without appetite, he tastes every thing that falls in his way, or that is given to him. but kees had a still more valuable quality,--he was an excellent sentinel; for, whether by day or night, he immediately sprang up on the slightest appearance of danger. by his cry, and the symptoms of fear which he exhibited, we were always apprized of the approach of an enemy, even though the dogs perceived nothing of it. the latter at length learned to rely upon him with such confidence, that they slept on in perfect tranquillity. i often took kees with me when i went a hunting; and when he saw me preparing for sport, he exhibited the most lively demonstrations of joy. on the way he would climb into the trees, to look for gum, of which he was very fond. sometimes he discovered to me honey, deposited in the clefts of rocks, or hollow trees. but if he happened to have met with neither honey nor gum, and his appetite had become sharp by his running about, i always witnessed a very ludicrous scene. in those cases, he looked for roots, which he ate with great greediness, especially a particular kind, which, to his cost, i also found to be very well tasted and refreshing, and therefore insisted upon sharing with him. but kees was no fool. as soon as he found such a root, and i was not near enough to seize upon my share of it, he devoured it in the greatest haste, keeping his eyes all the while riveted on me. he accurately measured the distance i had to pass before i could get to him; and i was sure of coming too late. sometimes, however, when he had made a mistake in his calculation, and i came upon him sooner than he expected, he endeavoured to hide the root, in which case i compelled him, by a box on the ear, to give me up my share. but this treatment caused no malice between us; we remained as good friends as ever. in order to draw these roots out of the ground, he employed a very ingenious method, which afforded me much amusement. he laid hold of the herbage with his teeth, stemmed his fore feet against the ground, and drew back his head, which gradually pulled out the root. but if this expedient, for which he employed his whole strength, did not succeed, he laid hold of the leaves as before, as close to the ground as possible, and then threw himself heels over head, which gave such a concussion to the root, that it never failed to come out. "when kees happened to tire on the road, he mounted upon the back of one of my dogs, who was so obliging as to carry him whole hours. one of them, which was larger and stronger than the rest, hit upon a very ingenious artifice, to avoid being pressed into this piece of service. as soon as kees leaped upon his back he stood still, and let the train pass, without moving from the spot. kees still persisted in his intention, till we were almost out of his sight, when he found himself at length compelled to dismount, upon which both the baboon and dog exerted all their speed to overtake us. the latter, however, gave him the start, and kept a good look-out after him, that he might not serve him in the same manner again. in fact, kees enjoyed a certain authority with all my dogs, for which he perhaps was indebted to the superiority of his instinct. he could not endure a competitor; if any of the dogs came too near him when he was eating, he gave them a box on the ear, which compelled him immediately to retire to a respectful distance. "serpents excepted, there were no animals of whom kees stood in such great dread as of his own species,--perhaps owing to a consciousness, that he had lost a portion of his natural capacities. sometimes he heard the cry of the other apes among the mountains, and, terrified as he was, he yet answered them. but if they approached nearer, and he saw any of them, he fled, with a hideous cry, crept between our legs, and trembled over his whole body. it was very difficult to compose him, and it required some time before he recovered from his fright. "like all other domestic animals, kees was addicted to stealing. he understood admirably well how to loose the strings of a basket, in order to take victuals out of it, especially milk, of which he was very fond. my people chastised him for these thefts; but that did not make him amend his conduct. i myself sometimes whipped him; but then he ran away, and did not return again to the tent, until it grew dark. once as i was about to dine, and had put the beans which i had boiled for myself upon a plate, i heard the voice of a bird, with which i was not acquainted. i left my dinner standing, seized my gun, and run out of my tent. after the space of about a quarter of an hour, i returned, with the bird in my hand; but to my astonishment, found not a single bean upon the plate. kees had stolen them all, and taken himself out of the way. when he had committed any trespass of this kind, he used always, about the time when i drank tea, to return quietly, and seat himself in his usual place, with every appearance of innocence, as if nothing had happened; but this evening he did not let himself be seen; and on the following day, also, he was not seen by any of us; and in consequence, i began to grow seriously uneasy about him, and apprehensive that he might be lost for ever, but on the third day, one of my people, who had been to fetch water, informed me that he had seen kees in the neighbourhood; but that as soon as the animal espied him, he had concealed himself again. i immediately went out and beat the whole neighbourhood with my dogs. all at once, i heard a cry, like that which kees used to make when i returned from my shooting, and had not taken him with me. i looked about and at length espied him, endeavouring to hide himself behind the large branches of a tree. i now called to him in a friendly tone of voice, and made motions to him to come down to me. but he would not trust me, and i was obliged to climb up the tree to fetch him. he did not attempt to fly, and we returned together to my quarters; here he expected to receive his punishment; but i did nothing, as it would have been of no use. "when exhausted with the heat of the sun, and the fatigues of the day, with my throat and mouth covered with dust and perspiration, i was ready to sink gasping to the ground, in tracts destitute of shade, and longed even for the dirtiest ditch-water; but after seeking long in vain, lost all hopes of finding any in the parched soil. in such distressing moments, my faithful kees never moved from my side. we sometimes got out of our carriage, and then his sure instinct led him to a plant. frequently the stalk was fallen off, and then all his endeavours to pull it out were in vain. in such cases, he began to scratch in the earth with his paws; but as that would also have proved ineffectual, i came to his assistance with my dagger, or my knife, and we honestly divided the refreshing root with each other. "an officer, wishing one day to put the fidelity of my baboon, kees, to the test, pretended to strike me. at this kees flew in a violent rage, and, from that time, he could never endure the sight of the officer. if he only saw him at a distance, he began to cry and make all kinds of grimaces, which evidently showed that he wished to revenge the insult that had been done to me; he ground his teeth, and endeavoured, with all his might, to fly at his face, but that was out of his power, as he was chained down. the offender several times endeavoured, in vain, to conciliate him, by offering him dainties, but he remained long implacable. [illustration: dog and baboon--page .] "when any eatables had been pilfered at my quarters, the fault was always laid first upon kees; and rarely was the accusation unfounded. for a time the eggs which a hen laid me were constantly stolen away, and i wished to ascertain whether i had to attribute this loss also to him. for this purpose, i went one morning to watch him, and waited till the hen announced by her cackling that she had laid an egg. kees was sitting upon my vehicle; but the moment he heard the hen's voice he leapt down, and was running to fetch the egg. when he saw me he suddenly stopped, and affected a careless posture, swaying himself backwards upon his hind legs, and assuming a very innocent look; in short, he employed all his art to deceive me with respect to his design. his hypocritical manoeuvres only confirmed my suspicions, and, in order in my turn to deceive him, i pretended not to attend to him, and turned my back to the bush where the hen was cackling, upon which he immediately sprang to the place. i ran after him, and came up to him at the moment when he had broken the egg, and was swallowing it. having caught the thief in the fact, i gave him a good beating upon the spot; but this severe chastisement did not prevent his soon stealing fresh-laid eggs again. as i was convinced that i should never be able to break kees of his natural vices, and that, unless i chained him up every morning, i should never get an egg, i endeavoured to accomplish my purpose in another manner: i trained one of my dogs, as soon as the hen cackled, to run to the nest, and bring me the egg without breaking it. in a few days the dog had learned his lesson; but kees, as soon as he heard the hen cackle, ran with him to the nest. a contest now took place between them, who should have the egg; often the dog was foiled, although he was the stronger of the two. if he gained the victory, he ran joyfully to me with the egg, and put it into my hand. kees, nevertheless, followed him, and did not cease to grumble and make threatening grimaces at him, till he saw me take the egg,--as if he was comforted for the loss of his booty by his adversary's not retaining it for himself. if kees had got hold of the egg, he endeavoured to run with it to a tree, where, having devoured it, he threw down the shells upon his adversary, as if to make game of him. in that case, the dog returned, looking ashamed, from which i could conjecture the unlucky adventure he had met with. "kees was always the first awake in the morning, and when it was the proper time he awoke the dogs, who were accustomed to his voice, and, in general, obeyed without hesitation the slightest motions by which he communicated his orders to them, immediately taking their posts about the tent and carriage, as he directed them." "what a delightful companion kees must have been, uncle thomas!" "he must at least have been an amusing one, frank, and not an unuseful one either. there are, however, great variations in this respect among the monkeys; some of them are most lively creatures, seldom sitting still for a couple of minutes, while others are retired and gloomy in their dispositions, and some are most fickle and uncertain. the fair monkey, though one of the most beautiful of the tribe, is of the latter description, as the following story will testify:-- "an animal of this class, which from its extreme beauty and gentleness was allowed to ramble at liberty about a ship, soon became a great favourite among the crew, and in order to make him perfectly happy, as they imagined, they procured him a wife. for some weeks he was a devoted husband, and showed her every attention and respect. he then grew cool, and became jealous of any kind of civility shown her by the master of the vessel, and began to use her with much cruelty. his treatment made her wretched and dull; and she bore the spleen of her husband with that fortitude which is characteristic of the female sex of the human species. and pug, like the lords of the creation, was up to deceit, and practised pretended kindness to his spouse, to effect a diabolical scheme, which he seemed to premeditate. one morning, when the sea ran very high, he seduced her aloft, and drew her attention to an object at some distance from the yard-arm; her attention being fixed, he all of a sudden applied his paw to her rear, and canted her into the sea, where she fell a victim to his cruelty. this seemed to afford him high gratification, for he descended in great spirits." "oh, what a wretched creature, uncle thomas. i wonder the sailors did not throw him into the sea also." "stay, frank, you are somewhat too hasty. he deserved certainly to be punished; but i doubt whether it would have been proper to have put him to death for his misdeed. all monkeys are not, however, equally cruel; some of them, indeed, are remarkable for the instinctive kindness which they evince towards their young. when threatened by danger, they mount them on their back, or clasp them firmly to their breast, to which the young creatures secure themselves, by means of their long and powerful arms, so as to permit of their parent moving about, and springing from branch to branch, with nearly as much facility as if she were perfectly free from all incumbrance." "oh, i can readily believe that, uncle thomas. one day lately, at the zoological gardens, i saw two monkeys clasping a young one between them, to keep it warm. they seemed so fond of it." "yes, frank, i have also seen them occupied in the same way. i was quite delighted at such an unexpected exhibition of tenderness. "some of the monkeys which are natives of the american continent have the singular characteristic of prehensile tales; that is, of tails which they can more about, and lay hold of branches of trees with nearly as much ease as they can with their hands. the facilities which this affords them for moving about with celerity among the branches of trees is astonishing. the firmness of the grasp which it takes of the tree is no less surprising, for if it makes a single coil round a branch, it is quite sufficient, not only to support the weight of the animal, but to enable it to swing in such a manner as to gain a fresh hold with its feet." "that is very curious, uncle thomas. is there any other animal which has this power in the tail." "oh, yes, frank, several of the lizards have the power, as well as some other animals; the little harvest mouse, for instance; but none of them are possessed of it in so high a degree as the american monkeys. "i have now pretty well exhausted my stories about the monkey tribe. i recollect only one more at present, and it occurred to the same traveller to whom kees belonged. "in one of his excursions he happened to kill a female monkey, which carried a young one on her back. the little creature, as if insensible of its mother's death, continued to cling to the dead body till they reached their evening quarters; and even then it required considerable force to disengage it. no sooner, however, did the little creature feel itself alone, than it darted towards a wooden block, on which was placed the wig of le vaillant's father, mistaking it for its dead mother. to this it clung most pertinaciously by its fore paws; and such was the force of this deceptive instinct, that it remained in the same position for about three weeks, all this time evidently mistaking the wig for its mother. it was fed, from time to time, with goat's milk; and, at length, emancipated itself voluntarily, by quitting the fostering care of the peruke. the confidence which it ere long assumed, and the amusing familiarity of its manners, soon rendered it a favourite. the unsuspecting naturalist had, however, introduced a wolf in sheep's clothing into his dwelling: for, one morning, on entering his chamber, the door of which had been imprudently left open, he beheld his young favourite making a hearty breakfast on a very noble collection of insects. in the first transports of his anger, he resolved to strangle the monkey in his arms: but his rage immediately gave way to pity, when he perceived that the crime of its voracity had carried the punishment along with it. in eating the beetles, it had swallowed several of the pins on which they were transfixed. its agony, consequently, became great; and all his efforts were unable to preserve its life." "poor creature! how unfortunate, uncle thomas. it must, however, have been a very stupid animal to mistake a wig for its mother." chapter ix. uncle thomas concludes stories about instinct with several interesting illustrations of the affections of animals, particularly of the instinct of maternal affection, in the course of which he narrates the story of the cat and the black-bird; the squirrel's nest; the equestrian friends; and points out the beneficent care of providence in implanting in the breasts of each of his creatures the instinct which is necessary for its security and protection. "good evening, uncle thomas? we were so delighted with the adventures of kees, that we wish to know if you have any more such amusing stories to tell us." "oh yes, boys, plenty such, but it is now time to bring these stories about instinct to a close. i am therefore going to conclude by narrating one or two stories about the affections of animals. i wish to impress your minds with feelings of kindness towards them, and i think that the best way to do so is to exhibit them to you in their gentleness and love; to show you that they too partake of the kindlier emotions by which the heart of man is moved, and that the feelings of maternal affection, and of friendship, and of fidelity, are as much the prerogatives of the lower animals as they are of man himself. perhaps one of the most amiable lights in which the affections of animals are exhibited is their love and attachment to their offspring. you have all seen how regardless of danger a domestic hen, one of the most timid and defenceless of animals, becomes when she has charge of a brood of chickens. at other times she is alarmed by the slightest noise--the sudden rustle of a leaf makes her shrink with fear and apprehension. yet, no sooner do her little helpless offspring escape from the shell, than she becomes armed with a determination of which even birds of prey stand in awe." "oh yes, uncle thomas, i have often seen a hen attack a large dog and drive it away from her chickens." "it marks the wisdom of the omnipotent and all-wise creator, boys, that he has implanted in the hearts of each of his creatures the particular instincts which were necessary for their safety and protection. thus, in the case i have just spoken of, the instinctive courage with which the mother is endowed, you will find to be the best security which could have been devised. in some other birds this instinct exhibits itself in a different way. if you happen to approach the nest of the lapwing, for instance, the old birds try every means to attract your attention, and lure you away from the sacred spot. they will fly close by you, and in an irregular manner, as if wounded; but no sooner do they find that their stratagem has been successful, and that you have passed the nest unobserved, than they at once take a longer flight, and soon leave you behind." "how very singular, uncle thomas! does the lapwing defend its young with as much courage as the hen?" "i am not aware that it does, frank, though i think it is not at all unlikely. as its instinct teaches it to finesse in the way which i have told you, however, i should not expect to find that it does so with equal spirit. even the pigeon, the very emblem of gentleness and love, boldly pecks at the rude hand which is extended towards its young, during the earlier stages of their existence. if you come by chance on the brood of a partridge, the mother flutters along, as if she were so much wounded that it was impossible to escape, and the young ones squat themselves close by the earth. when by her cunning wiles she has led you to a little distance, and you discover that her illness was feigned, you return to the spot to seek for the young, and you find that they too are gone: no sooner is your back turned than they run and hide themselves in some more secret place, where they remain till the well-known call of the mother again collects them under her wing. "i lately heard a most interesting story of the boldness of a pair of blackbirds in defence of their young. a cat was one day observed mounted on the top of a railing, endeavouring to get at a nest which was near it, containing a brood of young birds. on the cat's approach the mother left the nest, and flew to meet it in a state of great alarm, placing herself almost within its reach, and uttering the most piteous screams of wildness and despair. alarmed by his partner's screams, the male bird soon discovered the cause of her distress, and in a state of equal trepidation flew to the place, uttering loud screams and outcries, sometimes settling on the fence just before the cat, which was unable to make a spring in consequence of the narrowness of its footing. after a little time, seeing that their distress made no impression on their assailant, the male bird flew at the cat, settled on its back, and pecked at its head with so much violence that it fell to the ground, followed by the blackbird, which at length succeeded in driving it away. foiled in this attempt, the cat a short time after again returned to the charge, and was a second time vanquished, which so intimidated her that she relinquished all attempts to get at the young birds. for several days, whenever she made her appearance in the garden, she was set upon by the blackbirds, and at length became so much afraid of them, that she scampered to a place of security whenever she saw them approach." "that was very bold indeed, uncle thomas. birds seem to be all very much attached to their young." "very much so, harry; but perhaps not more so than many quadrupeds. here is a story of the squirrel's affection, which, though it does not exhibit an instance of active defence against its enemies, affords one of endurance equally admirable. "in cutting down some trees on the estate recently purchased by the crown at petersham, for the purpose of being annexed to richmond park, the axe was applied to the root of a tall tree, on the top of which was a squirrel's nest. a rope was fastened to the tree for the purpose of pulling it down more expeditiously; the workmen cut at the roots; the rope was pulled; the tree swayed backwards and forwards, and at length fell. during all these operations a female squirrel never attempted to desert her new-born young, but remained with them in the nest. when the tree fell down, she was thrown out and secured unhurt, and was put into a cage with her young ones. she suckled them for a short time, but refused to eat. her maternal affection, however, remained till the last moment of her life, and she died in the act of affording all the nourishment in her power to her offspring. "we are too apt, boys, to overlook the admirable lessons which such stories as these inculcate. they should teach us kindness to each other--kindness, indeed, not only to those of our own species, but kindness to all created creatures. if the lower animals love each other so warmly and affectionately, how much more ought man, to whom the creator has been so beneficent, to love his fellow creatures. but though the attachment of animals to their offspring is an admirable mode of its developement, it is far from being the only one. after all the stories about dogs--their love of their master--their fidelity--their sagacity--which i will relate to you at a future time, it is hardly necessary for me to bring forward evidence in favour of this position. here is an instance of friendship, as it is called, between horses, which was so strong as to terminate fatally. "during the peninsular war, two horses, which had long been associated together, assisting to drag the same piece of artillery, and standing together the shock of many battles, became so much attached to each other as to be inseparable companions. at length one of them was killed. after the battle in which this took place, the other was picquetted as usual, and his food brought to him. he refused, however, to eat, and was constantly turning round his head to look for his companion, sometimes neighing as if to call her. all the attention which was bestowed upon him was of no avail; though surrounded by horses he took no notice of them, but incessantly bewailed his absent friend. he died shortly after, having refused to taste food from the time his former companion was killed! "such is but one solitary instance. but there are many such scattered up and down in the ample records of nature, bearing silent but emphatic testimony to the kindness and beneficence of the creator. let them but be searched for in a proper and gentle spirit, and they are sure to be found. "not a tree, a plant, a leaf, a blossom, but contains a folio volume: we may read, and read, and read again, but still find something new-- something to please, and something to instruct, e'en in the noisome weed." the end. mary howitt's story-book. with illustrations. contents. a christmas carol. story of little cristal. mabel on midsummer-day. the christmas-tree. a dream. picture of the virgin. boy of the southern isle. birds and the guinea-pigs. corn-fields. the pigeon-house. the spirit's questionings. this world and the next. little children. the young turtle dove of carmel. the joy of engele. marien's pilgrimage. painter's little model. man in a wilderness. blind boy and his sister. the christmas dinner. old christmas. two friend's counsel. the children. beginning and end of mrs. muggeridge's wedding-dinner. coming spring. the tax-gatherer's visit. [illustration] "mary howitt's stories for children are with many preferred above all the other works of that charming writer, to true and genial is the sympathy she shows for the young, and to healthy the tone of her gently insinuated moral."--mrs. kirkland. c.s. francis & co., broadway. hans andersen's story book. _one thick volume, with illustrations, and a memoir of the author by mary howitt._ price cents; extra gilt, $ . contents. memoir of hans christian andersen. a picture-book without pictures. my boots. scenes on the danube. pegasus and post-horses. emperor's new clothes. the swineherd. the real princess. the shoes of fortune. the fir-tree. the snow-queen. the leap-frog. the elder-bush. the bell. the old house. the drop of water. the happy family. the story of a mother. the false collar. the shadow. the old street lamp. the dream of little tuk. the naughty boy. two neighboring families. the darning needle. the little match-girl. the red shoes. to the young readers. "we have placed andersen's name at the head of our list, in gratitude for the delight and amusement his stories for children have afforded us. when fairy-land seemed lost to us, or peopled by a new race of utilitarians, who spoke its language and tried its spells in mere slavish imitation, without comprehending their use and meaning; a poet from the north has made fresh flowers bloom there, and brought it back again to our hearts and eyes in brighter colors and stronger outlines than before."--_christian remembrancer._ "there is a child-like tenderness and simplicity in his writings--an elevation and purity of tone--which is the secret of the extreme charm his celebrated stories have for children. they are as simple and as touching as the old bible narratives of joseph and his brethren, and the little lad who died in the corn field. we wonder not at their being the most popular books of their kind in europe."--_mary howitt._ published by c.s. francis & co., new york. transcriber's note: the following typographical errors have been maintained in this text: original page vii "at the of good hope, calsoaep" should read: "at the cape of good hope, also" powererful for powerful , for . in "valuable medicines, storms" seige for siege "there is one or two" should read "there are..." , for . in "favourite cat, when the" ocassion for occasion missing close quotes at end of chapter "where do such animals come from, uncle thomas." should end with ? "prehensile tales" for "prehensile tails" "more about" should read "move about" "good evening, uncle thomas?" should end with ! developement for development the following word is spelled inconsistently: colour / color [illustration: thackeray and the boy] a boy i knew and four dogs by laurence hutton profusely illustrated new york and london harper & brothers publishers +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | | | by laurence hutton. | | | | | | literary landmarks of rome. illustrated. post vo, cloth, | | ornamental, $ . | | | | literary landmarks of florence. illustrated. post vo, | | cloth, ornamental, $ . | | | | literary landmarks of venice. illustrated. post vo, cloth, | | ornamental, $ . | | | | literary landmarks of jerusalem. illustrated. post vo, | | cloth, ornamental, cents. | | | | literary landmarks of london. illustrated. post vo, cloth, | | ornamental, $ . | | | | literary landmarks of edinburgh. illustrated. post vo, | | cloth, ornamental, $ . | | | | portraits in plaster. illustrated. printed on large paper | | with wide margins. vo, cloth, ornamental, uncut edges | | and gilt top, $ . | | | | curiosities of the american stage. illustrated. crown vo, | | cloth, ornamental, uncut edges and gilt top, $ . | | | | from the books of laurence hutton. with portrait. mo, | | cloth, ornamental, $ . (in "harper's american | | essayists.") | | | | other times and other seasons. with portrait. mo, cloth, | | ornamental, $ . (in "harper's american essayists.") | | | | edwin booth. illustrated. mo, cloth, cents. | | | | | | new york and london: | | harper & brothers, publishers. | | | +--------------------------------------------------------------+ copyright, , by harper & brothers. _all rights reserved._ to mark twain the creator of tom sawyer one of the best boys i ever knew _may the light of some morning skies in days when the sun knew how to rise, stay with my spirit until i go to be the boy that i used to know._ h. c. bunner, in "rowen." illustrations thackeray and the boy _frontispiece_ the boy's mother facing p. st. john's chapel and park " the boy's uncle john " the boy in kilts " the boy promoted to trousers " "cried, because he had been kissed" " "good-morning, boys" " playing "school" " the boy's scotch grandfather " the house of the boy's grandfather--corner of hudson and north moore streets " "always in the way" " ready for a new-year's call " a new-year's call " tom riley's liberty-pole " the boy always climbed over " the chief engineer " "mrs. robertson descended in force upon the devoted band" " the boy as virginius " johnny robertson " jane purdy " joe stuart " bob hendricks " music lessons " the boy's father " whiskie " punch " mop and his master " roy and his master " roy " "he tries very hard to look pleasant" " roy " the waiting three " mop introductory note the papers upon which this volume is founded--published here by the courtesy of the century company--appeared originally in the columns of _st. nicholas_. they have been reconstructed and rearranged, and not a little new matter has been added. the portraits are all from life. that of the boy's scottish grandfather, facing page , is from a photograph by sir david brewster, taken in st. andrews in or . the subject sat in his own garden, blinking at the sun for many minutes, in front of the camera, when tradition says that his patience became exhausted and the artist permitted him to move. the boy distinctly remembers the great interest the picture excited when it first reached this country. behind the tree in the extreme left of the view of the boy's scottish-american grandfather's house in new york, facing page , may be seen a portion of the home of mr. thomas bailey aldrich, in or , some years earlier than the period of "the story of a bad boy." warm and constant friends--as men--for upwards of a quarter of a century, it is rather a curious coincidence that the boys--as boys--should have been near neighbors, although they did not know each other then, nor do they remember the fact. the histories of "a boy i knew" and the "four dogs" are absolutely true, from beginning to end; nothing has been invented; no incident has been palliated or elaborated. the author hopes that the volume may interest the boys and girls he does not know as much as it has interested him. he has read it more than once; he has laughed over it, and he has cried over it; it has appealed to him in a peculiar way. but then, he knew the dogs, and he knew the boy! l. h. a boy i knew a boy i knew he was not a very good boy, or a very bad boy, or a very bright boy, or an unusual boy in any way. he was just a boy; and very often he forgets that he is not a boy now. whatever there may be about the boy that is commendable he owes to his father and to his mother; and he feels that he should not be held responsible for that. his mother was the most generous and the most unselfish of human beings. she was always thinking of somebody else--always doing for others. to her it was blessèd to give, and it was not very pleasant to receive. when she bought anything, the boy's stereotyped query was, "who is to have it?" when anything was bought for her, her own invariable remark was, "what on earth shall i do with it?" when the boy came to her, one summer morning, she looked upon him as a gift from heaven; and when she was told that it _was_ a boy, and not a bad-looking or a bad-conditioned boy, her first words were, "what on earth shall i do with it?" she found plenty "to do with it" before she got through with it, more than forty years afterwards; and the boy has every reason to believe that she never regretted the gift. indeed, she once told him, late in her life, that he had never made her cry! what better benediction can a boy have than that? the boy's father was a scholar, and a ripe and good one. self-made and self-taught, he began the serious struggle of life when he was merely a boy himself; and reading, and writing, and spelling, and languages, and mathematics came to him by nature. he acquired by slow degrees a fine library, and out of it a vast amount of information. he never bought a book that he did not read, and he never read a book unless he considered it worth buying and worth keeping. languages and mathematics were his particular delight. when he was tired he rested himself by the solving of a geometrical problem. he studied his bible in latin, in greek, in hebrew, and he had no small smattering of sanskrit. his chief recreation, on a sunday afternoon or on a long summer evening, was a walk with the boy among the hudson river docks, when the business of the day, or the week, was over and the ship was left in charge of some old quartermaster or third mate. to these sailors the father would talk in each sailor's own tongue, whether it were dutch or danish, spanish or swedish, russian or prussian, or a _patois_ of something else, always to the great wonderment of the boy, who to this day, after many years of foreign travel, knows little more of french than "_combien?_" and little more of italian than "_troppo caro_." why none of these qualities of mind came to the boy by direct descent he does not know. he only knows that he did inherit from his parent, in an intellectual way, a sense of humor, a love for books--as books--and a certain respect for the men by whom books are written. [illustration: the boy's mother] it seemed to the boy that his father knew everything. any question upon any subject was sure to bring a prompt, intelligent, and intelligible answer; and, usually, an answer followed by a question, on the father's part, which made the boy think the matter out for himself. the boy was always a little bit afraid of his father, while he loved and respected him. he believed everything his father told him, because his father never fooled him but once, and that was about santa claus! when his father said, "do this," it was done. when his father told him to go or to come, he went or he came. and yet he never felt the weight of his father's hand, except in the way of kindness; and, as he looks back upon his boyhood and his manhood, he cannot recall an angry or a hasty word or a rebuke that was not merited and kindly bestowed. his father, like the true scotchman he was, never praised him; but he never blamed him--except for cause. the boy has no recollection of his first tooth, but he remembers his first toothache as distinctly as he remembers his latest; and he could not quite understand _then_ why, when the boy cried over that raging molar, the father walked the floor and seemed to suffer from it even more than did the boy; or why, when the boy had a sore throat, the father always had symptoms of bronchitis or quinsy. the father, alas! did not live long enough to find out whether the boy was to amount to much or not; and while the boy is proud of the fact that he is his father's son, he would be prouder still if he could think that he had done something to make his father proud of _him_. from his father the boy received many things besides birth and education; many things better than pocket-money or a fixed sum per annum; but, best of all, the father taught the boy never to cut a string. the boy has pulled various cords during his uneventful life, but he has untied them all. some of the knots have been difficult and perplexing, and the contents of the bundles, generally, have been of little import when they have been revealed; but he saved the strings unbroken, and invariably he has found those strings of great help to him in the proper fastening of the next package he has had occasion to send away. [illustration: st. john's chapel and park] the father had that strong sense of humor which dr. johnson--who had no sense of humor whatever--denied to all scotchmen. no surgical operation was necessary to put one of sydney smith's jokes into the father's head, or to keep it there. his own jokes were as original as they were harmless, and they were as delightful as was his quick appreciation of the jokes of other persons. a long siege with a certain bicuspid had left the boy, one early spring day, with a broken spirit and a swollen face. the father was going, that morning, to attend the funeral of his old friend, dr. mcpherson, and, before he left the house, he asked the boy what should be brought back to him as a solace. without hesitation, a brick of maple sugar was demanded--a very strange request, certainly, from a person in that peculiar condition of invalidism, and one which appealed strongly to the father's own sense of the ridiculous. when the father returned, at dinner-time, he carried the brick, enveloped in many series of papers, beginning with the coarsest kind and ending with the finest kind; and each of the wrappers was fastened with its own particular bit of cord or ribbon, all of them tied in the hardest of hard knots. the process of disentanglement was long and laborious, but it was persistently performed; and when the brick was revealed, lo! it was just a brick--not of maple sugar, but a plain, ordinary, red-clay, building brick which he had taken from some pile of similar bricks on his way up town. the disappointment was not very bitter, for the boy knew that something else was coming; and he realized that it was the first of april and that he had been april-fooled! the something else, he remembers, was that most amusing of all amusing books, _phoenixiana_, then just published, and over it he forgot his toothache, but not his maple sugar. all this happened when he was about twelve years of age, and he has ever since associated "squibob" with the sweet sap of the maple, never with raging teeth. it was necessary, however, to get even with the father, not an easy matter, as the boy well knew; and he consulted his uncle john, who advised patient waiting. the father, he said, was absolutely devoted to _the commercial advertiser_, which he read every day from frontispiece to end, market reports, book notices, obituary notices, advertisements, and all; and if the boy could hold himself in for a whole year his uncle john thought it would be worth it. _the commercial advertiser_ of that date was put safely away for a twelvemonth, and on the first of april next it was produced, carefully folded and properly dampened, and was placed by the side of the father's plate; the mother and the son making no remark, but eagerly awaiting the result. the journal was vigorously scanned; no item of news or of business import was missed until the reader came to the funeral announcements on the third page. then he looked at the top of the paper, through his spectacles, and then he looked, over his spectacles, at the boy; and he made but one observation. the subject was never referred to afterwards between them. but he looked at the date of the paper, and he looked at the boy; and he said: "my son, i see that old dr. mcpherson is dead again!" [illustration: the boy's uncle john] the boy was red-headed and long-nosed, even from the beginning--a shy, introspective, self-conscious little boy, made peculiarly familiar with his personal defects by constant remarks that his hair _was_ red and that his nose _was_ long. at school, for years, he was known familiarly as "rufus," "red-head," "carrot-top," or "nosey," and at home it was almost as bad. his mother, married at nineteen, was the eldest of a family of nine children, and many of the boy's aunts and uncles were but a few years his senior, and were his daily, familiar companions. he was the only member of his own generation for a long time. there was a constant fear, upon the part of the elders, that he was likely to be spoiled, and consequently the rod of verbal castigation was rarely spared. he was never praised, nor petted, nor coddled; and he was taught to look upon himself as a youth hairily and nasally deformed and mentally of but little wit. he was always falling down, or dropping things. he was always getting into the way, and he could not learn to spell correctly or to cipher at all. he was never in his mother's way, however, and he was never made to feel so. but nobody except the boy knows of the agony which the rest of the family, unconsciously, and with no thought of hurting his feelings, caused him by the fun they poked at his nose, at his fiery locks, and at his unhandiness. he fancied that passers-by pitied him as he walked or played in the streets, and he sincerely pitied himself as a youth destined to grow up into an awkward, tactless, stupid man, at whom the world would laugh so long as his life lasted. an unusual and unfortunate accident to his nose when he was eight or ten years old served to accentuate his unhappiness. the young people were making molasses candy one night in the kitchen of his maternal grandfather's house--the aunts and the uncles, some of the neighbors' children, and the boy--and the half of a lemon, used for flavoring purposes, was dropped as it was squeezed by careless hands--very likely the boy's own--into the boiling syrup. it was fished out and put, still full of the syrup, upon a convenient saucer, where it remained, an exceedingly fragrant object. after the odor had been inhaled by one or two of the party, the boy was tempted to "take a smell of it"; when an uncle, boylike, ducked the luckless nose into the still simmering lemonful. the result was terrible. red-hot sealing-wax could not have done more damage to the tender, sensitive feature. [illustration: the boy in kilts] the boy carried his nose in a sling for many weeks, and the bandage, naturally, twisted the nose to one side. it did not recover its natural tint for a long time, and the poor little heart was nearly broken at the thought of the fresh disfigurement. the boy felt that he had not only an unusually long nose, but a nose that was crooked and would always be as red as his hair. he does not remember what was done to his uncle. but the uncle was for half a century the boy's best and most faithful of friends. and the boy forgave him long, long ago. the boy's first act of self-reliance and of conscious self-dependence was a very happy moment in his young life; and it consisted in his being able to step over the nursery fender, all alone, and to toast his own shins thereby, without falling into the fire. his first realization of "getting big" came to him about the same time, and with a mingled shock of pain and pleasure, when he discovered that he could not walk under the high kitchen-table without bumping his head. he tried it very often before he learned to go around that article of furniture, on his way from the clothes-rack, which was his tent when he camped out on rainy days, to the sink, which was his oasis in the desert of the basement floor. this kitchen was a favorite playground of the boy, and about that kitchen-table centre many of the happiest of his early reminiscences. ann hughes, the cook, was very good to the boy. she told him stories, and taught him riddles, all about a certain "miss netticoat," who wore a white petticoat, and who had a red nose, and about whom there still lingers a queer, contradictory legend to the effect that "the longer she stands the shorter she grows." the boy always felt that, on account of her nose, there was a peculiar bond of sympathy between little miss netticoat and himself. as he was all boy in his games, he would never cherish anything but a boy-doll, generally a highlander, in kilts and with a glengarry, that came off! and although he became foreman of a juvenile hook-and-ladder company before he was five, and would not play with girls at all, he had one peculiar feminine weakness. his grand passion was washing and ironing. and ann hughes used to let him do all the laundry-work connected with the wash-rags and his own pocket-handkerchiefs, into which, regularly, every wednesday, he burned little brown holes with the toy flat-iron, which _would_ get too hot. but johnny robertson and joe stuart and the other boys, and even the uncles and the aunts, never knew anything about that--unless ann hughes gave it away! [illustration: the boy promoted to trousers] the boy seems to have developed, very early in life, a fondness for new clothes--a fondness which his wife sometimes thinks he has quite outgrown. it is recorded that almost his first plainly spoken words were "coat and hat," uttered upon his promotion into a more boyish apparel than the caps and frocks of his infancy. and he remembers very distinctly his first pair of long trousers, and the impression they made upon him, in more ways than one. they were a black-and-white check, and to them was attached that especially manly article, the suspender. they were originally worn in celebration of the birth of the new year, in or , and the boy went to his father's store in hudson street, new york, to exhibit them on the next business-day thereafter. naturally they excited much comment, and were the subject of sincere congratulation. and two young clerks of his father, the boy's uncles, amused themselves, and the boy, by playing with him a then popular game called "squails." they put the boy, seated, on a long counter, and they slid him, backward and forward between them, with great skill and no little force. but, before the championship was decided, the boy's mother broke up the game, boxed the ears of the players, and carried the human disk home in disgrace; pressing as she went, and not very gently, the seat of the boy's trousers with the palm of her hand! he remembers nothing more about the trousers, except the fact that for a time he was allowed to appear in them on sundays and holidays only, and that he was deeply chagrined at having to go back to knickerbockers at school and at play. the boy's first boots were of about this same era. they were what were then known as "wellingtons," and they had legs. the legs had red leather tops, as was the fashion in those days, and the boots were pulled on with straps. they were always taken off with the aid of the boot-jack of the boy's father, although they could have been removed much more easily without the use of that instrument. great was the day when the boy first wore his first boots to school; and great his delight at the sensation he thought they created when they were exhibited in the primary department. the boy's first school was a dame's school, kept by a miss or mrs. harrison, in harrison street, near the hudson street house in which he was born. he was the smallest child in the establishment, and probably a pet of the larger girls, for he remembers going home to his mother in tears, because one of them had kissed him behind the class-room door. he saw her often, in later years, but she never tried to do it again! [illustration: "cried, because he had been kissed"] at that school he met his first love, one phoebe hawkins, a very sweet, pretty girl, as he recalls her, and, of course, considerably his senior. how far he had advanced in the spelling of proper names at that period is shown by the well-authenticated fact that he put himself on record, once as "loving his love with an f, because she was feeby!" poor phoebe hawkins died before she was out of her teens. the family moved to poughkeepsie when the boy was ten or twelve, and his mother and he went there one day from red hook, which was their summer home, to call upon his love. when they asked, at the railroad-station, where the hawkinses lived and how they could find the house, they were told that the carriages for the funeral would meet the next train. and, utterly unprepared for such a greeting, for at latest accounts she had been in perfect health, they stood, with her friends, by the side of phoebe's open grave. in his mind's eye the boy, at the end of forty years, can see it all; and his childish grief is still fresh in his memory. he had lost a bird and a cat who were very dear to his heart, but death had never before seemed so real to him; never before had it come so near home. he never played "funeral" again. in or the boy went to another dame's school. it was kept by miss kilpatrick, on franklin or north moore street. from this, as he grew in years, he was sent to the primary department of the north moore street public school, at the corner of west broadway, where he remained three weeks, and where he contracted a whooping-cough which lasted him three months. the other boys used to throw his hat upon an awning in the neighborhood, and then throw their own hats up under the awning in order to bounce the boy's hat off--an amusement for which he never much cared. they were not very nice boys, anyway, especially when they made fun of his maternal grandfather, who was a trustee of the school, and who sometimes noticed the boy after the morning prayers were said. the grandfather was very popular in the school. he came in every day, stepped upon the raised platform at the principal's desk, and said in his broad scotch, "good morning, boys!" to which the entire body of pupils, at the top of their lungs, and with one voice, replied, "_g-o-o-d morning, mr. scott!_" this was considered a great feature in the school; and strangers used to come from all over the city to witness it. somehow it made the boy a little bit ashamed; he does not know why. he would have liked it well enough, and been touched by it, too, if it had been some other boy's grandfather. the boy's father was present once--the boy's first day; but when he discovered that the president of the board of trustees was going to call on him for a speech he ran away; and the boy would have given all his little possessions to have run after him. the boy knew then, as well as he knows now, how his father felt; and he thinks of that occasion every time he runs away from some after-dinner or occasional speech which he, himself, is called upon to make. [illustration: "good morning, boys"] after his north moore street experiences the boy was sent to study under men teachers in boys' schools; and he considered then that he was grown up. the boy, as has been said, was born without the sense of spell. the rule of three, it puzzled him, and fractions were as bad; and the proper placing of e and i, or i and e, the doubling of letters in the middle of words, and how to treat the addition of a suffix in "y" or "tion" "almost drove him mad," from his childhood up. he hated to go to school, but he loved to _play_ school; and when johnny robertson and he were not conducting a pompous, public funeral--a certain oblong hat-brush, with a rosewood back, studded with brass tacks, serving as a coffin, in which lay the body of henry clay, daniel webster, or the duke of wellington, all of whom died when johnny and the boy were about eight years old--they were teaching each other the three immortal and exceedingly trying "r's"--reading, 'riting, and 'rithmetic--in a play-school. their favorite spelling-book was a certain old cook-book, discarded by the head of the kitchen, and considered all that was necessary for their educational purpose. from this, one afternoon, johnnie gave out "dough-nut," with the following surprising result. conscious of the puzzling presence of certain silent consonants and vowels, the boy thus set it down: "d-o, dough, n-o-u-g-h-t, nut--doughnut!" and he went up head in a class of one, neither teacher nor pupil perceiving the marvellous transposition. all the boy's religious training was received at home, and almost his first text-book was "the shorter catechism," which, he confesses, he hated with all his little might. he had to learn and recite the answers to those awful questions as soon as he could recite at all, and, for years, without the slightest comprehension as to what it was all about. even to this day he cannot tell just what "effectual calling," or "justification," is; and i am sure that he shed more tears over "effectual calling" than would blot out the record of any number of infantile sins. he made up his youthful mind that if he could not be saved without "effectual calling"--whatever that was--he did not want to be saved at all. but he has thought better of it since. [illustration: playing "school"] it is proper to affirm here that the boy did not acquire his occasional swear-words from "the shorter catechism." they were born in him, as a fragment of original sin; and they came out of him innocently and unwittingly, and only for purposes of proper emphasis, long before the days of "justification," and even before he knew his a, b, c's. his earliest visit to scotland was made when he was but four or five years of age, and long before he had assumed the dignity of trousers, or had been sent to school. his father had gone to the old home at st. andrews hurriedly, upon the receipt of the news of the serious illness of the boy's grandmother, who died before they reached her. naturally, the boy has little recollection of that sad month of december, spent in his grandfather's house, except that it _was_ sad. the weather was cold and wet; the house, even under ordinary circumstances, could not have been a very cheerful one for a youngster who had no companions of his own age. it looked out upon the german ocean--which at that time of the year was always in a rage, or in the sulks--and it was called "peep o' day," because it received the very first rays of the sun as he rose upon the british isles. the boy's chief amusement was the feeding of "flour-scones" and oat-cakes to an old goat, who lived in the neighborhood, and in daily walks with his grandfather, who seemed to find some little comfort and entertainment in the lad's childish prattle. he was then almost the only grandchild; and the old man was very proud of his manner and appearance, and particularly amused at certain gigantic efforts on the boy's part to adapt his own short legs to the strides of his senior's long ones. after they had interviewed the goat, and had watched the wrecks with which the wild shore was strewn, and had inspected the castle in ruins, and the ruins of the cathedral, the boy would be shown his grandmother's new-made grave, and his own name in full--a common name in the family--upon the family tomb in the old kirk-yard; all of which must have been very cheering to the boy; although he could not read it for himself. and then, which was better, they would stand, hand in hand, for a long time in front of a certain candy-shop window, in which was displayed a little regiment of lead soldiers, marching in double file towards an imposing and impregnable tin fortress on the heights of barley-sugar. of this spectacle they never tired; and they used to discuss how the boy would arrange them if they belonged to him; with a sneaking hope on the boy's part that, some day, they were to be his very own. [illustration: the boy's scotch grandfather] at the urgent request of the grandfather, the american contingent remained in st. andrews until the end of the year; and the boy still remembers vividly, and he will never forget, the dismal failure of "auld lang syne" as it was sung by the family, with clasped hands, as the clock struck and the new year began. he sat up for the occasion--or, rather, was waked up for the occasion; and of all that family group he has been, for a decade or more, the only survivor. the mother of the house was but lately dead; the eldest son, and his son, were going, the next day, to the other side of the world; and every voice broke before the familiar verse came to an end. as the boy went off to his bed he was told that his grandfather had something for him, and he stood at his knee to receive--a bible! that it was to be the lead soldiers and the tin citadel he never for a moment doubted; and the surprise and disappointment were very great. he seems to have had presence of mind enough to conceal his feelings, and to kiss and thank the dear old man for his gift. but as he climbed slowly up the stairs, in front of his mother, and with his bible under his arm, she overheard him sob to himself, and murmur, in his great disgust: "well, he has given me a book! and i wonder how in thunder he thinks i am going to read his damned scotch!" this display of precocious profanity and of innate patriotism, upon the part of a child who could not read at all, gave unqualified pleasure to the old gentleman, and he never tired of telling the story as long as he lived. the boy never saw the grandfather again. he had gone to the kirk-yard, to stay, before the next visit to st. andrews was made; and now that kirk-yard holds everyone of the boy's name and blood who is left in the town. the boy was taught, from the earliest awakening of his reasoning powers, that truth was to be told and to be respected, and that nothing was more wicked or more ungentlemanly than a broken promise. he learned very early to do as he was told, and not to do, under any consideration, what he had said he would not do. upon this last point he was almost morbidly conscientious, although once, literally, he "beat about the bush." his aunt margaret, always devoted to plants and to flowers, had, on the back stoop of his grandfather's house, a little grove of orange and lemon trees, in pots. some of these were usually in fruit or in flower, and the fruit to the boy was a great temptation. he was very fond of oranges, and it seemed to him that a "home-made" orange, which he had never tasted, must be much better than a grocer's orange; as home-made cake was certainly preferable, even to the wonderful cakes made by the professional mrs. milderberger. he watched those little green oranges from day to day, as they gradually grew big and yellow in the sun. he promised faithfully that he would not pick any of them, but he had a notion that some of them might drop off. he never shook the trees, because he said he would not. but he shook the stoop! and he hung about the bush, which he was too honest to beat. one unusually tempting orange, which he had known from its bud-hood, finally overcame him. he did not pick it off, he did not shake it off; he compromised with his conscience by lying flat on his back and biting off a piece of it. it was not a very good action, nor was it a very good orange, and for that reason, perhaps, he went home immediately and told on himself. he told his mother. he did not tell his aunt margaret. his mother did not seem to be as much shocked at his conduct as he was. but, in her own quiet way, she gave him to understand that promises were not made to be cracked any more than they were made to be broken--that he had been false to himself in heart, if not in deed, and that he must go back and make it "all right" with his aunt margaret. she did not seem to be very much shocked, either; he could not tell why. but they punished the boy. they made him eat the rest of the orange! [illustration: the house of the boy's grandfather--corner of hudson and north moore streets] he lost all subsequent interest in that tropical glade, and he has never cared much for domestic oranges since. among the many bumps which are still conspicuously absent in the boy's phrenological development are the bumps of music and locality. he whistled as soon as he acquired front teeth; and he has been singing "god save the queen" at the st. andrew's society dinners, on november the th, ever since he came of age. but that is as far as his sense of harmony goes. he took music-lessons for three quarters, and then his mother gave it up in despair. the instrument was a piano. the boy could not stretch an octave with his right hand, the little finger of which had been broken by a shinny-stick; and he could not do anything whatever with his left hand. he was constantly dropping his bass-notes, which, he said, were "understood." and even miss ferguson--most patient of teachers--declared that it was of no use. the piano to the boy has been the most offensive of instruments ever since. and when his mother's old piano, graceful in form, and with curved legs which are still greatly admired, lost its tone, and was transformed into a sideboard, he felt, for the first time, that music had charms. he had to practise half an hour a day, by a thirty-minute sand-glass that could _not_ be set ahead; and he shed tears enough over "the carnival of venice" to have raised the tide in the grand canal. they blurred the sharps and the flats on the music-books--those tears; they ran the crotchets and the quavers together, and, rolling down his cheeks, they even splashed upon his not very clean little hands; and, literally, they covered the keys with mud. [illustration: "always in the way"] another serious trial to the boy was dancing-school. in the first place, he could not turn round without becoming dizzy; in the second place, he could not learn the steps to turn round with; and in the third place, when he did dance he had to dance with a girl! there was not a boy in all charraud's, or in all dodworth's, who could escort a girl back to her seat, after the dance was over, in better time, or make his "thank-you bow" with less delay. his only voluntary terpsichorean effort at a party was the march to supper; and the only steps he ever took with anything like success were during the promenade in the lancers. in "hands-all-round" he invariably started with the wrong hand; and if in the set there were girls big enough to wear long dresses, he never failed to tear such out at the gathers. if anybody fell down in the polka it was always the boy; and if anybody bumped into anybody else, the boy was always the bumper, unless his partner could hold him up and steer him straight. games, at parties, he enjoyed more than dancing, although he did not care very much for "pillows and keys," until he became courageous enough to kneel before somebody except his maiden aunts. "porter" was less embarrassing, because, when the door was shut, nobody but the little girl who called him but could tell whether he kissed her or not. all this happened a long time ago! the only social function in which the boy took any interest whatever was the making of new-year's calls. not that he cared to make new-year's calls in themselves, but because he wanted to make more new-year's calls than were made by any other boy. his "list," based upon last year's list, was commenced about february ; and it contained the names of every person whom the boy knew, or thought he knew, whether that person knew the boy or not, from mrs. penrice, who boarded opposite the bowling green, to the leggats and the faures, who lived near washington parade ground, the extreme social limits of his city in those days. he usually began by making a formal call upon his own mother, who allowed him to taste the pickled oysters as early as ten in the morning; and he invariably wound up by calling upon ann hughes in the kitchen, where he met the soap-fat man, who was above his profession, and likewise the sexton of ann hughes's church, who generally came with billy, the barber on the corner of franklin street. there were certain calls the boy always made with his father, during which he did not partake of pickled oysters; but he had pickled oysters everywhere else; and they never seemed to do him any serious harm. [illustration: ready for a new-year's call] the boy, if possible, kept his new overcoat until new year's day--and he never left it in the hall when he called! he always wore new green kid gloves--why green?--fastened at the wrists with a single hook and eye; and he never took off his kid gloves when he called, except on that particular new year's day when his aunt charlotte gave him the bloodstone seal-ring, which, at first, was too big for his little finger,--the only finger on which a seal-ring _could_ be worn--and had to be made temporarily smaller with a piece of string. when he received, the next new year, new studs and a scarf-pin--all bloodstones, to match the ring--he exhibited no little ingenuity of toilet in displaying them both, because studs are hardly visible when one wears a scarf, unless the scarf is kept out of the perpendicular by stuffing one end of it into the sleeve of a jacket; which requires constant attention and a good deal of bodily contortion. when the boy met johnny robertson or joe stuart making calls, they never recognized each other, except when they were calling together, which did not often occur. it was an important rule in their social code to appear as strangers in-doors, although they would wait for each other outside, and compare lists. when they _did_ present themselves collectively in any drawing-room, one boy--usually the boy's cousin lew--was detailed to whisper "t. t." when he considered that the proper limit of the call was reached. "t. t." stood for "time to travel"; and at the signal all conversation was abruptly interrupted, and the party trooped out in single file. the idea was not original with the boys. it was borrowed from the hook-and-ladder company, which made all _its_ calls in a body, and in two of kipp and brown's stages, hired for the entire day. the boys always walked. the great drawbacks to the custom of making new-year's calls were the calls which _had_ to be made after the day's hard work was supposed to be over, and when the boy and his father, returning home very tired, were told that they _must_ call upon mrs. somebody, and upon mrs. somebody-else, whom they had neglected to visit, because the husbands and the sons of these ladies had called upon the mother of the boy. new year's day was not the shortest day of the year, by any means, but it was absolutely necessary to return the somebody's call, no matter how late the hour, or how tired the victims of the social law. and it bored the ladies of the somebody household as much as it bored the father and the boy. [illustration: a new-year's call] the boy was always getting lost. the very first time he went out alone he got lost! told not to go off the block, he walked as far as the corner of leonard street, put his arm around the lamp-post, swung himself in a circle, had his head turned the wrong way, and marched off, at a right angle, along the side street, with no home visible anywhere, and not a familiar sign in sight. a ship at sea without a rudder, a solitary wanderer in the great american desert without a compass, could not have been more utterly astray. the boy was so demoralized that he forgot his name and address; and when a kindly policeman picked him up, and carried him over the way, to the leonard street station-house for identification, he felt as if the end of everything had come. it was bad enough to be arrested, but how was he to satisfy his own conscience, and explain matters to his mother, when it was discovered that he had broken his solemn promise, and crossed the street? he had no pocket-handkerchief; and he remembers that he spoiled the long silk streamers of his glengarry bonnet by wiping his eyes upon them. he was recognized by his forty-second-plaid gingham frock, a familiar object in the neighborhood, and he was carried back to his parents, who had not had time to miss him, and who, consequently, were not distracted. he lost nothing by the adventure but himself, his self-respect, a pint of tears--and one shoe. he was afterwards lost in greenwich street, having gone there on the back step of an ice-cart; and once he was conveyed as far as the hudson river railroad depot, at chambers street, on his sled, which he had hitched to the milkman's wagon, and could not untie. this was very serious, indeed; for the boy realized that he had not only lost himself but his sleigh, too. aunt henrietta found the boy sitting disconsolately in front of wall's bake-shop; but the sleigh did not turn up for several days. it was finally discovered, badly scratched, in the possession of "the head of the rovers." "the hounds" and "the rovers" were rival bands of boys, not in the boy's set, who for many years made out-door life miserable to the boy and to his friends. they threw stones and mud at each other, and at everybody else; and the boy was not infrequently blamed for the windows they broke. they punched all the little boys who were better dressed than they were, and they were even depraved enough, and mean enough, to tell the driver every time the boy or johnny robertson attempted to "cut behind." [illustration: tom riley's liberty pole] there was also a band of unattached guerillas who aspired to be, and often pretended to be, either "hounds" or "rovers"--they did not care which. they always hunted in couples, and if they met the boy alone they asked him to which of the organizations he himself belonged. if he said he was a "rover," they claimed to be "hounds," and pounded him. if he declared himself in sympathy with the "hounds," they hoisted the "rovers'" colors, and punched him again. if he disclaimed both associations, they punched him anyway, on general principles. "the head of the rovers" was subsequently killed, in front of tom riley's liberty-pole in franklin street, in a fireman's riot, and "the chief of the hounds," who had a club-foot, became a respectable egg-merchant, with a stand in washington market, near the root-beer woman's place of business, on the south side. the boy met two of the gang near the desbrosses street ferry only the other day; but they did not recognize the boy. the only spot where the boy felt really safe from the interference of "the hounds" and "the rovers" was in st. john's square, that delightful oasis in the desert of brick and mortar and cobble-stones which was known as the fifth ward. it was a private enclosure, bounded on the north by laight street, on the south by beach street, on the east by varick street, and on the west by hudson street; and its site is now occupied by the great freight-warehouses of the new york central and hudson river railroad company. in the "fifties," and long before, it was a private park, to which only the property owners in its immediate neighborhood had access. it possessed fine old trees, winding gravel-walks, and meadows of grass. in the centre was a fountain, whereupon, in the proper season, the children were allowed to skate on both feet, which was a great improvement over the one-foot gutter-slides outside. the park was surrounded by a high iron railing, broken here and there by massive gates, to which the boy had a key. but he always climbed over. it was a point of etiquette, in the boy's set, to climb over on all occasions, whether the gates were unlocked or not. and the boy, many a time, has been known to climb over a gate, although it stood wide open! he not infrequently tore his clothes on the sharp spikes by which the gates were surmounted; but that made no difference to the boy--until he went home! the boy once had a fight in the park, with bill rice, about a certain lignum-vitæ peg-top, of which the boy was very fond, and which bill rice kicked into the fountain. the boy got mad, which was wrong and foolish of the boy; and the boy, also, got licked. and the boy never could make his mother understand why he was silly and careless enough to cut his under-lip by knocking it against bill rice's knuckles. bill subsequently apologized by saying that he did not mean to kick the top into the fountain. he merely meant to kick the top. and it was all made up. [illustration: the boy always climbed over] the boy did not fight much. his nose was too long. it seemed that he could not reach the end of it with his fists when he fought; and that the other fellows could always reach it with theirs, no matter how far out, or how scientifically, his left arm was extended. it was "one, two, three--and recover"--on the boy's nose! the boy was a good runner. his legs were the only part of his anatomy which seemed to him as long as his nose. and his legs saved his nose in many a fierce encounter. the boy first had daily admission to st. john's park after the family moved to hubert street, when the boy was about ten years old; and for half a decade or more it was his happy hunting-ground--when he was not kept in school! it was a particularly pleasant place in the autumn and winter months; for he could then gather "smoking-beans" and horse-chestnuts; and he could roam at will all over the grounds without any hateful warning to "keep off the grass." the old gardener, generally a savage defender of the place, who had no sense of humor as it was exhibited in boy nature, sometimes let the boys rake the dead leaves into great heaps and make bonfires of them, if the wind happened to be in the right direction. and then what larks! the bonfire was a house on fire, and the great garden-roller, a very heavy affair, was "engine no. ," with which the boys ran to put the fire out. they all shouted as loudly and as unnecessarily as real firemen did, in those days; the foreman gave his orders through a real trumpet, and one boy had a real fireman's hat with "engine no. " on it. he was chief engineer, but he did not run with the machine: not because he was chief engineer, but because while in active motion he could not keep his hat on. it was his father's hat, and its extraordinary weight was considerably increased by the wads of newspaper packed in the lining to make it fit. the chief engineer held the position for life on the strength of the hat, which he would not lend to anybody else. the rest of the officers of the company were elected, _viva voce_, every time there was a fire. this entertainment came to an end, like everything else, when the gardener chained the roller to the tool-house, after bob stuart fell under the machine and was rolled so flat that he had to be carried home on a stretcher, made of overcoats tied together by the sleeves. that is the only recorded instance in which the boys, particularly bob, left the park without climbing over. and the bells sounded a "general alarm." the dent made in the path by bob's body was on exhibition until the next snow-storm. [illustration: the chief engineer] the favorite amusements in the park were shinny, baseball, one-old-cat, and fires. the columbia baseball club was organized in or . it had nine members, and the boy was secretary and treasurer. the uniform consisted chiefly of a black leather belt with the initials [reversed c]b[reversed b]c in white letters, hand-painted, and generally turned the wrong way. the first base was an ailantus-tree; the second base was another ailantus-tree; the third base was a button-ball-tree; the home base was a marble head-stone, brought for that purpose from an old burying-ground not far away; and "over the fence" was a home-run. a player was caught out on the second bounce, and he was "out" if hit by a ball thrown at him as he ran. the boy was put out once by a crack on the ear, which put the boy out very much. "the hounds" and "the rovers" challenged "the columbias" repeatedly. but that was looked upon simply as an excuse to get into the park, and the challenges were never accepted. the challengers were forced to content themselves with running off with the balls which went over the fence; an action on their part which made home-runs through that medium very unpopular and very expensive. in the whole history of "the hounds" and "the rovers," nothing that they pirated was ever returned but the boy's sled. contemporary with the columbia baseball club was a so-called "mind-cultivating society," organized by the undergraduates of mcelligott's school, in greene street. the boy, as usual, was secretary when he was not treasurer. the object was "debates," but all the debating was done at the business meetings, and no mind ever became sufficiently cultivated to master the intricacies of parliamentary law. the members called it a secret society, and on their jackets they wore, as conspicuously as possible, a badge-pin consisting of a blue enamelled circlet containing greek letters in gold. in a very short time the badge-pin was all that was left of the society; but to this day the secret of the society has never been disclosed. no one ever knew, or will ever know, what the greek letters stood for--not even the members themselves. the boy was never a regular member of any fire-company, but almost as long as the old volunteer fire department existed, he was what was known as a "runner." he was attached, in a sort of brevet way, to "pearl hose no. ," and, later, to " hook and ladder." he knew all the fire districts into which the city was then divided; his ear was always alert, even in the st. john's park days, for the sound of the alarm-bell, and he ran to every fire at any hour of the day or night, up to ten o'clock p.m. he did not do much when he got to the fire but stand around and "holler." but once--a proud moment--he helped steer the hook-and-ladder truck to a false alarm in macdougal street--and once--a very proud moment, indeed--he went into a tenement-house, near dr. thompson's church, in grand street, and carried two negro babies down-stairs in his arms. there was no earthly reason why the babies should not have been left in their beds; and the colored family did not like it, because the babies caught cold! but the boy, for once in his life, tasted the delights of self-conscious heroism. [illustration: "mrs. robertson descended in force upon the devoted band"] when the boy, as a bigger boy, was not running to fires he was going to theatres, the greater part of his allowance being spent in the box-offices of burton's chambers street house, of brougham's lyceum, corner of broome street and broadway, of niblo's, and of castle garden. there were no afternoon performances in those days, except now and then when the ravels were at castle garden; and the admission to pit and galleries was usually two shillings--otherwise, twenty-five cents. his first play, so far as he remembers, was "the stranger," a play dismal enough to destroy any taste for the drama, one would suppose, in any juvenile mind. he never cared very much to see "the stranger" again, but nothing that was a play was too deep or too heavy for him. he never saw the end of any of the more elaborate productions, unless his father took him to the theatre (as once in a while he did), for it was a strict rule of the house, until the boy was well up in his teens, that he must be in by ten o'clock. his father did not ask him where he was going, or where he had been; but the curfew in hubert street tolled at ten. the boy calculated carefully and exactly how many minutes it took him to run to hubert street from brougham's or from burton's; and by the middle of the second act his watch--a small silver affair with a hunting-case, in which he could not keep an uncracked crystal--was always in his hand. he never disobeyed his father, and for years he never knew what became of claude melnotte after he went to the wars; or if damon got back in time to save pythias before the curtain fell. the boy, naturally, had a most meagre notion as to what all these plays were about, but he enjoyed his fragments of them as he rarely enjoys plays now. sometimes, in these days, when the air is bad, and plays are worse, and big hats are worse than either, he wishes that he were forced to leave the modern play-house at nine-forty-five, on pain of no supper that night, or twenty lines of "virgil" the next day. [illustration: the boy as virginius] on very stormy afternoons the boys played theatre in the large garret of the boy's hubert street house; a convenient closet, with a door and a window, serving for the castle of elsinore in "hamlet," for the gunroom of the ship in "black-eyed susan," or for the studio of phidias in "the marble heart," as the case might be. "the brazilian ape," as requiring more action than words, was a favorite entertainment, only they all wanted to play jocko the ape; and they would have made no little success out of the "lady of lyons" if any of them had been willing to play pauline. their costumes and properties were slight and not always accurate, but they could "launch the curse of rome," and describe "two hearts beating as one," in a manner rarely equalled on the regular stage. the only thing they really lacked was an audience, neither lizzie gustin nor ann hughes ever being able to sit through more than one act at a time. when the boy, as virginius, with his uncle aleck's sword-cane, stabbed all the feathers out of the pillow which represented the martyred virginia; and when joe stuart, as falstaff, broke the bottom out of ann hughes's clothes-basket, the license was revoked, and the season came to an untimely end. until the beginning of the weekly, or the fortnightly, sailings of the collins line of steamers from the foot of canal street (a spectacle which they never missed in any weather), joe stuart, johnny robertson, and the boy played "the deerslayer" every saturday in the back-yard of the boy's house. the area-way was glimmer-glass, in which they fished, and on which they canoed; the back-stoop was muskrat castle; the rabbits were all the wild beasts of the forest; johnny was hawk-eye, the boy was hurry harry, and joe stuart was chingachgook. their only food was half-baked potatoes--sweet potatoes if possible--which they cooked themselves and ate ravenously, with butter and salt, if ann hughes was amiable, and entirely unseasoned if ann was disposed to be disobliging. they talked what they fondly believed was the dialect of the delaware tribe, and they were constantly on the lookout for the approaches of rivenoak, or the panther, who were represented by any member of the family who chanced to stray into the enclosure. they carefully turned their toes in when they walked, making so much effort in this matter that it took a great deal of dancing-school to get their feet back to the "first position" again; and they even painted their faces when they were on the war-path. the rabbits had the worst of it! the campaign came to a sudden and disastrous conclusion when the hostile tribes, headed by mrs. robertson, descended in force upon the devoted band, because chingachgook broke one of hawk-eye's front teeth with an arrow, aimed at the biggest of the rabbits, which was crouching by the side of the roots of the grape-vine, and playing that he was a panther of enormous size. [illustration: johnny robertson] johnny robertson and the boy had one great superstition--to wit, cracks! for some now inexplicable reason they thought it unlucky to step on cracks; and they made daily and hourly spectacles of themselves in the streets by the eccentric irregularity of their gait. now they would take long strides, like a pair of ostriches, and now short, quick steps, like a couple of robins; now they would hop on both feet, like a brace of sparrows; now they would walk on their heels, now on their toes; now with their toes turned in, now with their toes turned out--at right angles, in a splay-footed way; now they would walk with their feet crossed, after the manner of the hands of very fancy, old-fashioned piano-players, skipping from base to treble--over cracks. the whole performance would have driven a sensitive drill-sergeant or ballet-master to distraction. and when they came to a brick sidewalk they would go all around the block to avoid it. they could cross hudson street on the cobblestones with great effort, and in great danger of being run over; but they could not possibly travel upon a brick pavement, and avoid the cracks. what would have happened to them if they _did_ step on a crack they did not exactly know. but, for all that, they never stepped on cracks--of their own free will! the boy's earliest attempts at versification were found, the other day, in an old desk, and at the end of almost half a century. the copy is in his own boyish, ill-spelled print; and it bears no date. the present owner, his aunt henrietta, well remembers the circumstances and the occasion, however, having been an active participant in the acts the poem describes, although she avers that she had no hand in its composition. the original, it seems, was transcribed by the boy upon the cover of a soap-box, which served as a head-stone to one of the graves in his family burying-ground, situated in the back-yard of the hudson street house, from which he was taken before he was nine years of age. the monument stood against the fence, and this is the legend it bore--rhyme, rhythm, metre, and orthography being carefully preserved: "three little kitens of our old cat were berrid this day in this grassplat. they came to there deth in an old slop pale, and after loosing their breth they were pulled out by the tale. these three little kitens have returned to their maker, and were put in the grave by the boy, undertaker." at about this period the boy officiated at the funeral of another cat, but in a somewhat more exalted capacity. it was the cranes' cat, at red hook--a maltese lady, who always had yellow kittens. the boy does not remember the cause of the cat's death, but he thinks that uncle andrew knox ran over her, with the "dyspepsia-wagon"--so called because it had no springs. anyway, the cat died, and had to be buried. the grave was dug in the garden of the tavern, near the swinging-gate to the stable, and the whole family attended the services. jane purdy, in a deep crape veil, was the chief mourner; the boy's aunts were pall-bearers, in white scarves; the boy was the clergyman; while the kittens--who did not look at all like their mother--were on hand in a funeral basket, with black shoestrings tied around their necks. [illustration: jane purdy] jane was supposed to be the disconsolate widow. she certainly looked the part to perfection; and it never occurred to any of them that a cat, with kittens, could not possibly have left a widow behind her. the ceremony was most impressive; the bereaved kittens were loud in their grief; when, suddenly, the village-bell tolled for the death of an old gentleman whom everybody loved, and the comedy became a tragedy. the older children were conscience-stricken at the mummery, and they ran, demoralized and shocked, into the house, leaving the boy and the kittens behind them. jane purdy tripped over her veil, and one of the kittens was stepped on in the crush. but the boy proceeded with the funeral. when the boy got as far as a room of his own, papered with scenes from circus-posters, and peopled by tin soldiers, he used to play that his bed was the barge _mayflower_, running from barrytown to the foot of jay street, north river, and that he was her captain and crew. she made nightly trips between the two ports; and by day, when she was not tied up to the door-knob--which was barrytown--she was moored to the handle of the wash-stand drawer--which was the dock at new york. she never was wrecked, and she never ran aground; but great was the excitement of the boy when, as not infrequently was the case, on occasions of sweeping, hannah, the up-stairs girl, set her adrift. the _mayflower_ was seriously damaged by fire once, owing to the careless use, by a deck-hand, of a piece of punk on the night before the fourth of july; this same deck-hand being nearly blown up early the very next morning by a bunch of fire-crackers which went off--by themselves--in his lap. he did not know, for a second or two, whether the barge had burst her boiler or had been struck by lightning! [illustration: joe stuart] barrytown is the river port of red hook--a charming dutchess county hamlet in which the boy spent the first summer of his life, and in which he spent the better part of every succeeding summer for a quarter of a century; and he sometimes goes there yet, although many of the names he knows were carved, in the long-agoes, on the tomb. he always went up and down, in those days, on the _mayflower_, the real boat of that name, which was hardly more real to him than was the trundle-bed of his vivid, nightly imagination. they sailed from new york at five o'clock p.m., an hour looked for, and longed for, by the boy, as the very beginning of summer, with all its delightful young charms; and they arrived at their destination about five of the clock the next morning, by which time the boy was wide awake, and on the lookout for lasher's stage, in which he was to travel the intervening three miles. and eagerly he recognized, and loved, every landmark on the road. barringer's corner; the half-way tree; the road to the creek and to madame knox's; and, at last, the village itself, and the tavern, and the tobacco-factory, and massoneau's store, over the way; and then, when jane purdy had shown him the new kittens and the little chickens, and he had talked to "fido" and "fanny," or to fido alone after fanny was stolen by gypsies--fanny was fido's wife, and a poodle--he rushed off to see bob hendricks, who was just his own age, barring a week, and who has been his warm friend for more than half a century; and then what good times the boy had! bob was possessed of a grandfather who could make kites, and swings, and parallel-bars, and things which the boy liked; and bob had a mother--and he has her yet, happy bob!--who made the most wonderful of cookies, perfectly round, with sparkling globules of sugar on them, and little round holes in the middle; and bob and the boy for days, and weeks, and months together hen's-egged, and rode in the hay-carts, and went for the mail every noon, and boosted each other up into the best pound-sweet-tree in the neighborhood; and pelted each other with little green apples, which weighed about a pound to the peck; and gathered currants and chestnuts in season; and with long straws they sucked new cider out of bung-holes; and learned to swim; and caught their first fish; and did all the pleasant things that all boys do. at red hook they smoked their first cigar--half a cigar, left by uncle phil--and they wished they hadn't! and at red hook they disobeyed their mothers once, and were found out. they were told not to go wading in the creek upon pain of not going to the creek at all; and for weeks they were deprived of the delights of the society of the faure boys, through whose domain the creek ran, because, when they went to bed on that disastrous night, it was discovered that bob had on the boy's stockings, and that the boy was wearing bob's socks; a piece of circumstantial evidence which convicted them both. when the embargo was raised and they next went to the creek, it is remembered that bob tore his trousers in climbing over a log, and that the boy fell in altogether. [illustration: bob hendricks] the boy usually kept his promises, however, and he was known even to keep a candy-cane--twenty-eight inches long, red and white striped like a barber's pole--for a fortnight, because his mother limited him to the consumption of two inches a day. but he could not keep any knees to his trousers; and when the boy's mother threatened to sew buttons--brass buttons, with sharp and penetrating eyes--on to that particular portion of the garment in question, he wanted to know, in all innocence, how they expected him to say his prayers! one of bob's earliest recollections of the boy is connected with a toy express-wagon on four wheels, which could almost turn around on its own axis. the boy imported this vehicle into red hook one summer, and they used it for the transportation of their chestnuts and their currants and their apples, green and ripe, and the mail, and most of the dust of the road; and bob thinks, to this day, that nothing in all these after years has given him so much profound satisfaction and enjoyment as did that little cart. bob remembers, too--what the boy tries to forget--the boy's daily practice of half an hour on the piano borrowed by the boy's mother from mrs. bates for that dire purpose. mrs. bates's piano is almost the only unpleasant thing associated with red hook in all the boy's experience of that happy village. it was pretty hard on the boy, because, in the boy's mind, red hook should have been a place of unbroken delights. but the boy's mother wanted to make an all-round man of him, and when his mother said so, of course it had to be done or tried. bob used to go with the boy as far as dr. bates's house, and then hang about on the gate until the boy was released; and he asserts that the music which came out of the window in response to the boy's inharmonic touch had no power whatever to soothe his own savage young breast. he attributes all his later disinclination to music to those dreary thirty minutes of impatient waiting. the piano and its effect upon the boy's uncertain temper _may_ have been the innocent cause of the first, and only, approach to a quarrel which the boy and bob ever had. the prime cause, however, was, of course, a girl! they were playing, that afternoon, at cholwell knox's, when cholwell said something about julia booth which bob resented, and there was a fight, the boy taking cholwell's part; why, he cannot say, unless it was because of his jealousy of bob's affection and admiration for that charming young teacher, who won all hearts in the village, the boy's among the number. anyway, bob was driven from the field by the hard little green apples of the knox orchard; more hurt, he declares, by the desertion of his ally than by all the blows he received. [illustration: music lessons] it never happened again, dear bob, and, please god, it never will! another trouble the boy had in red hook was dr. mcnamee, a resident dentist, who operated upon the boy, now and then. he was a little more gentle than was the boy's city dentist, dr. castle; but he hurt, for all that. dr. castle lived in fourth street, opposite washington parade ground, and on the same block with clarke and fanning's school. and to this day the boy would go miles out of his way rather than pass dr. castle's house. personally dr. castle was a delightful man, who told the boy amusing stories, which the boy could not laugh at while his mouth was wide open. but professionally dr. castle was to the boy an awful horror, of whom he always dreamed when his dreams were particularly bad. as he looks back upon his boyhood, with its frequent toothache and its long hours in the dentists' chairs, the boy sometimes thinks that if he had his life to live over again, and could not go through it without teeth, he would prefer not to be born at all! it has rather amused the boy, in his middle age, to learn of the impressions he made upon red hook in his extreme youth. bob, as has been shown, associates him with a little cart, and with a good deal of the concord of sweet sounds. one old friend remembers nothing but his phenomenal capacity for the consumption of chicken pot-pie. another old friend can recall the scrupulously clean white duck suits which he wore of afternoons, and also the blue-checked long apron which he was forced to wear in the mornings; both of them exceedingly distasteful to the boy, because the apron was a girl's garment, and because the duck suit meant "dress-up," and only the mildest of genteel play; while bob's sister dwells chiefly now upon the wonderful valentine the boy sent once to zillah crane. it was so large that it had to have an especial envelope made to fit it; and it was so magnificent, and so delicate, that, notwithstanding the envelope, it came in a box of its own. it had actual lace, and pinkish cupids reclining on light-blue clouds; and in the centre of all was a compressible bird-cage, which, when it was pulled out, like an accordion, displayed not a dove merely, but a plain gold ring--a real ring, made of real gold. nothing like it had ever been seen before in all dutchess county; and it was seen and envied by every girl of zillah's age between rhinebeck and tivoli, between barrytown and pine plains. the boy did an extensive business in the valentine line, in the days when february fourteenth meant much more to boys than it does now. he sent sentimental valentines to phoebe hawkins and comic valentines to ann hughes, both of them written anonymously, and both directed in a disguised hand. but both recipients always knew from whom they came; and, in all probability, neither of them was much affected by the receipt. the boy, as he has put on record elsewhere, never really, in his inmost heart, thought that comic valentines were so very comic, because those that came to him usually reflected upon his nose, or were illuminated with portraits of gentlemen of all ages adorned with supernaturally red hair. in later years, when bob and the boy could swim--a little--and had learned to take care of themselves in water over their heads, the mill-pond at red hook played an important part in their daily life there. they sailed it, and fished it, and camped out on its banks, with ed curtis--before ed went to west point--and with dick hawley, josie briggs, and frank rodgers, all first-rate fellows. but that is another story. the boy was asked, a year or two ago, to write a paper upon "the books of his boyhood." and when he came to think the matter over he discovered, to his surprise, that the books of his boyhood consisted of but one book! it was bound in two twelvemo green cloth volumes; it bore the date of , and it was filled with pictorial illustrations of "the personal history and experiences of david copperfield, the younger." it was the first book the boy ever read, and he thought then, and sometimes he thinks now, that it was the greatest book ever written. the traditional books of the childhood of other children came later to the boy: "robinson crusoe," and the celebrated "swiss family" of the same name; "the desert home," of mayne reid; marryat's "peter simple"; "the leather stocking tales"; "rob roy"; and "the three guardsmen" were well thumbed and well liked; but they were not the boy's first love in fiction, and they never usurped, in his affections, the place of the true account of david copperfield. it was a queer book to have absorbed the time and attention of a boy of eight or nine, who had to skip the big words, who did not understand it all, but who cried, as he has cried but once since, whenever he came to that dreadful chapter which tells the story of the taking away of david's mother, and of david's utter, hopeless desolation over his loss. how the book came into the boy's possession he cannot now remember, nor is he sure that his parents realized how much, or how often, he was engrossed in its contents. it cheered him in the measles, it comforted him in the mumps. he took it to school with him, and he took it to bed with him; and he read it, over and over again, especially the early chapters; for he did not care so much for david after david became trotwood, and fell in love. when, in , after his grandfather's death, the boy first saw london, it was not the london of the romans, the saxons, or the normans, or the london of the plantagenets or the tudors, but the london of the micawbers and the traddleses, the london of murdstone and grinby, the london of dora's aunt and of jip. on his arrival at euston station the first object upon which his eyes fell was a donkey-cart, a large wooden tray on wheels, driven, at a rapid pace, by a long-legged young man, and followed, at a pace hardly so rapid, by a boy of about his own age, who seemed in great mental distress. this was the opening scene. and london, from that moment, became to him, and still remains, a great moving panorama of david copperfield. he saw the orfling, that first evening, snorting along tottenham court road; he saw mealy potatoes, in a ragged apron and a paper cap, lounging along broad street; he saw martha disappear swiftly and silently into one of the dirty streets leading from seven dials; he saw innumerable public-houses--the lion, or the lion and something else--in anyone of which david might have consumed that memorable glass of genuine stunning ale with a good head on it. as they drove through st. martin's lane, and past a court at the back of the church, he even got a glimpse of the exterior of the shop where was sold a special pudding, made of currants, but dear; a two-pennyworth being no larger than a pennyworth of more ordinary pudding at any other establishment in the neighborhood. and, to crown all, when he looked out of his back bedroom window, at morley's hotel, he discovered that he was looking at the actual bedroom windows of the golden cross on the strand, in which steerforth and little copperfield had that disastrous meeting which indirectly brought so much sorrow to so many innocent men and women. this was but the beginning of countless similar experiences, and the beginning of a love for landmarks of a more important but hardly of a more delightful character. hungerford market and hungerford stairs, with the blacking-warehouse abutting on the water when the tide was in, and on the mud when the tide was out, still stood near morley's in ; and very close to them stood then, and still stands to-day, the old house in buckingham street, adelphi, where, with mrs. crupp, trotwood copperfield found his lodgings when he began his new life with spenlow and jorkins. these chambers, once the home of clarkson stanfield, and since of mr. william black and of dr. b. e. martin, became, in later days, very familiar to the boy, and still are haunted by the great crowd of the ghosts of the past. the boy has seen there, within a few years, and with his eyes wide open, the spirits of traddles, of micawber, of steerforth, of mr. dick, of clara peggotty and daniel, of uriah heep--the last slept one evening on the sofa pillows before the fire, you may remember--and of aunt betsy herself. but in he could only look at the outside of the house, and, now and then, when the door was open, get a glimpse of the stairs down which some one fell and rolled, one evening, when somebody else said it was copperfield! the boy never walked along the streets of london by his father's side during that memorable summer without meeting, in fancy, some friend of david's, without passing some spot that david knew, and loved, or hated. and he recognized st. paul's cathedral at the first glance, because it had figured as an illustration on the cover of peggotty's work-box! perhaps the event which gave him the greatest pleasure was a casual meeting with little miss moucher in a green omnibus coming from the top of baker street to trafalgar square. it could not possibly have been anybody else. there were the same large head and face, the same short arms. "throat she had none; waist she had none; legs she had none, worth mentioning." the boy can still hear the pattering of the rain on the rattly windows of that lumbering green omnibus; he can remember every detail of the impressive drive; and miss moucher, and the fact of her existence in the flesh, and there present, wiped from his mind every trace of mme. tussaud's famous gallery, and the waxworks it contained. this was the book of the boy's boyhood. he does not recommend it as the exclusive literature of their boyhood to other boys; but out of it the boy knows that he got nothing but what was healthful and helping. it taught him to abominate selfish brutality and sneaking falsehood, as they were exhibited in the murdstones and the heeps; it taught him to keep charles i., and other fads, out of his "memorials"; it taught him to avoid rash expenditure as it was practised by the micawbers; it showed him that a man like steerforth might be the best of good fellows and at the same time the worst and most dangerous of companions; it showed, on the other hand, that true friends like traddles are worth having and worth keeping; it introduced him to the devoted, sisterly affection of a woman like agnes; and it proved to him that the rough pea-jacket of a man like ham peggotty might cover the simple heart of as honest a gentleman as ever lived. [illustration: the boy's father] the boy, in his time, has been brought in contact with many famous men and women; but upon nothing in his whole experience does he look back now with greater satisfaction than upon his slight intercourse with the first great man he ever knew. quite a little lad, he was staying at the pulaski house in savannah, in --perhaps it was in --when his father told him to observe particularly the old gentleman with the spectacles, who occupied a seat at their table in the public dining-room; for, he said, the time would come when the boy would be very proud to say that he had breakfasted, and dined, and supped with mr. thackeray. he had no idea who, or what, mr. thackeray was; but his father considered him a great man, and that was enough for the boy. he did pay particular attention to mr. thackeray, with his eyes and his ears; and one morning mr. thackeray paid a little attention to him, of which he is proud, indeed. mr. thackeray took the boy between his knees, and asked his name, and what he intended to be when he grew up. he replied, "a farmer, sir." why, he cannot imagine, for he never had the slightest inclination towards a farmer's life. and then mr. thackeray put his gentle hand upon the boy's little red head, and said: "whatever you are, try to be a good one." to have been blessed by thackeray is a distinction the boy would not exchange for any niche in the temple of literary fame; no laurel crown he could ever receive would be able to obliterate, or to equal, the sense of thackeray's touch; and if there be any virtue in the laying on of hands the boy can only hope that a little of it has descended upon him. and whatever the boy is, he has tried, for thackeray's sake, "to be a good one!" four dogs whiskie an eau de vie in doggerel lines, whiskie my dog i sing. these lines are after virgil, pope, or some one. his very voice has got a whiskie ring. i call him whiskie, 'cause he's such a rum one. his is a high-whine, and his nip has power, hot-scotch his temper, but no punch is merrier; not rye, not schnappish, he's no whiskie-sour. i call him whiskie--he's a whis-skye terrier. four dogs it was dr. john brown, of edinboro', who once spoke in sincere sympathy of the man who "led a dog-less life." it was mr. "josh billings" who said that in the whole history of the world there is but one thing that money cannot buy, to wit: the wag of a dog's tail. and it was professor john c. van dyke who declared the other day, in reviewing the artistic career of landseer, that he made his dogs too human. it was the great creator himself who made dogs too human--so human that sometimes they put humanity to shame. the boy has been the friend and confidant of four dogs who have helped to humanize him for a quarter of a century and more, and who have souls to be saved, he is sure. and when he crosses the stygian river he expects to find, on the other shore, a trio of dogs wagging their tails almost off, in their joy at his coming, and with honest tongues hanging out to lick his hands and his feet. and then he is going, with these faithful, devoted dogs at his heels, to talk about dogs with dr. john brown, sir edwin landseer, and mr. "josh billings." the first dog, whiskie, was an alleged skye terrier, coming, alas! from a clouded, not a clear, sky. he had the most beautiful and the most perfect head ever seen on a dog, but his legs were altogether too long; and the rest of him, was--just dog. he came into the family in or . he was, at the beginning, not popular with the seniors; but he was so honest, so ingenuous, so "square," that he made himself irresistible, and he soon became even dearer to the father and to the mother than he was to the boy. whiskie was not an amiable character, except to his own people. he hated everybody else, he barked at everybody else, and sometimes he bit everybody else--friends of the household as well as the butcher-boys, the baker-boys, and the borrowers of money who came to the door. he had no discrimination in his likes and dislikes, and, naturally, he was not popular, except among his own people. he hated all cats but his own cat, by whom he was bullied in a most outrageous way. whiskie had the sense of shame and the sense of humor. [illustration: whiskie] one warm summer evening, the family was sitting on the front steps, after a refreshing shower of rain, when whiskie saw a cat in the street, picking its dainty way among the little puddles of water. with a muttered curse he dashed after the cat without discovering, until within a few feet of it, that it was the cat who belonged to him. he tried to stop himself in his impetuous career, he put on all his brakes, literally skimming along the street railway-track as if he were out simply for a slide, passing the cat, who gave him a half-contemptuous, half-pitying look; and then, after inspecting the sky to see if the rain was really over and how the wind was, he came back to his place between the father and the boy as if it were all a matter of course and of every-day occurrence. but he knew they were laughing at him; and if ever a dog felt sheepish, and looked sheepish--if ever a dog said, "what an idiot i've made of myself!" whiskie was that dog. the cat was a martinet in her way, and she demanded all the privileges of her sex. whiskie always gave her precedence, and once when he, for a moment, forgot himself and started to go out of the dining-room door before her, she deliberately slapped him in the face; whereupon he drew back instantly, like the gentleman he was, and waited for her to pass. whiskie was fourteen or fifteen years of age in , when the mother went to join the father, and the boy was taken to spain by a good aunt and cousins. whiskie was left at home to keep house with the two old servants who had known him all his life, and were in perfect sympathy with him. he had often been left alone before during the family's frequent journeyings about the world, the entire establishment being kept running purely on his account. usually he did not mind the solitude; he was well taken care of in their absence, and he felt that they were coming back some day. this time he knew it was different. he would not be consoled. he wandered listlessly and uselessly about the house; into the mother's room, into his master's room; and one morning he was found in a dark closet, where he had never gone before, dead--of a broken heart. he had only a stump of a tail, but he will wag it--when next his master sees him! [illustration: punch] the second dog was punch--a perfect, thorough-bred dandie dinmont, and the most intelligent, if not the most affectionate, of the lot. punch and the boy kept house together for a year or two, and alone. the first thing in the morning, the last thing at night, punch was in evidence. he went to the door to see his master safely off; he was sniffing at the inside of the door the moment the key was heard in the latch, no matter how late at night; and so long as there was light enough he watched for his master out of the window. punch, too, had a cat--a son, or a grandson, of whiskie's cat. punch's favorite seat was in a chair in the front basement. here, for hours, he would look out at the passers-by--indulging in the study of man, the proper study of his kind. the chair was what is known as "cane-bottomed," and through its perforations the cat was fond of tickling punch, as he sat. when punch felt that the joke had been carried far enough, he would rise in his wrath, chase the cat out into the kitchen, around the back-yard, into the kitchen again, and then, perhaps, have it out with the cat under the sink--without the loss of a hair, the use of a claw, or an angry spit or snarl. punch and the cat slept together, and dined together, in utter harmony; and the master has often gone up to his own bed, after a solitary cigar, and left them purring and snoring in each other's arms. they assisted at each other's toilets, washed each other's faces, and once, when mary cook was asked what was the matter with punch's eye, she said: "i _think_, sur, that the cat must have put her finger in it, when she combed his bang!" punch loved everybody. he seldom barked, he never bit. he cared nothing for clothes, or style, or social position. he was as cordial to a beggar as he would have been to a king; and if thieves had come to break through and steal, punch, in his unfailing, hospitable amiability, would have escorted them through the house, and shown them where the treasures were kept. all the children were fond of punch, who accepted mauling as never did dog before. his master could carry him up-stairs by the tail, without a murmur of anything but satisfaction on punch's part; and one favorite performance of theirs was an amateur representation of "daniel in the lion's den," punch being all the animals, his master, of course, being the prophet himself. the struggle for victory was something awful. daniel seemed to be torn limb from limb, punch, all the time, roaring like a thousand beasts of the forest, and treating his victim as tenderly as if he were wooing a sucking dove. the entertainment--when there were young persons at the house--was of nightly occurrence, and always repeatedly encored. punch, however, never cared to play lion to the daniel of anybody else. one of punch's expressions of poetic affection is still preserved by a little girl who is now grown up, and has little girls of her own. it was attached to a christmas-gift--a locket containing a scrap of blue-gray wool. and here it is: "punch hutton is ready to vow and declare that his friend milly barrett's a brick. he begs she'll accept of this lock of his hair; and he sends her his love--and a lick." punch's most memorable performance, perhaps, was his appearance at a dinner-party of little ladies and gentlemen. they were told that the chief dish of the entertainment was one which they all particularly liked, and their curiosity, naturally, was greatly excited. the table was cleared, the carving-knife was sharpened in a most demonstrative manner, and half a dozen pairs of very wide-open little eyes were fixed upon the door through which the waitress entered, bearing aloft an enormous platter, upon which nothing was visible but a cover of equally enormous size--both of them borrowed, by-the-way, for the important occasion. when the cover was raised, with all ceremony, punch was discovered, in a highly nervous state, and apparently as much delighted and amused at the situation as was anybody else. the guests, with one voice, declared that he was "sweet enough to eat." punch died very suddenly; poisoned, it is supposed, by somebody whom he never injured. he never injured a living soul! and when mary cook dug a hole, by the side of whiskie's grave, one raw afternoon, and put punch into it, his master is not ashamed to confess that he shut himself up in his room, threw himself onto the bed, and cried as he has not cried since they took his mother away from him. mop was the third of the quartet of dogs, and he came into the household like the quality of mercy. a night or two after the death of punch, his master chanced to be dining with the coverleys, in brooklyn. mr. coverley, noticing the trappings and the suits of woe which his friend wore in his face, naturally asked the cause. he had in his stable a dandie as fine as punch, whom he had not seen, or thought of, for a month. would the bereaved one like to see him? the mourner would like to look at any dog who looked like the companion who had been taken from him; and a call, through a speaking-tube, brought into the room, head over heels, with all the wild impetuosity of his race, punch personified, his ghost embodied, his twin brother. the same long, lithe body, the same short legs (the fore legs shaped like a capital s), the same short tail, the same hair dragging the ground, the same beautiful head, the same wistful, expressive eye, the same cool, insinuating nose. the new-comer raced around the table, passing his owner unnoticed, and not a word was spoken. then this dandie cut a sort of double pigeon-wing, gave a short bark, put his crooked, dirty little feet on the stranger's knees, insinuated his cool and expressive nose into an unresisting hand, and wagged his stump of a tail with all his loving might. it was the longed-for touch of a vanished paw, the lick of a tongue that was still. he was unkempt, uncombed, uncared for, but he was another punch, and he knew a friend when he saw one. "if that were my dog he would not live forgotten in a stable: he would take the place in the society to which his birth and his evident breeding entitle him," was the friend's remark, and mop regretfully went back to his stall. [illustration: mop and his master] the next morning, early, he came into the thirty-fourth street study, combed, kempt, shining, cared for to a superlative degree; with a note in his mouth signifying that his name was mop and that he was the boy's. he was the boy's, and the boy was his, so long as he lived, ten happy years for both of them. without punch's phenomenal intelligence, mop had many of punch's ways, and all of punch's trust and affection; and, like punch, he was never so superlatively happy as when he was roughly mauled and pulled about by his tail. when by chance he was shut out in the back-yard, he knocked, with his tail, on the door; he squirmed his way into the heart of mary cook in the first ten minutes, and in half an hour he was on terms of the most affectionate friendship with punch's cat. mop had absolutely no sense of fear or of animal proportions. as a catter he was never equalled; a yale-man, by virtue of an honorary degree, he tackled everything he ever met in the feline way--with the exception of the princeton tiger--and he has been known to attack dogs seven times as big as himself. he learned nothing by experience: he never knew when he was thrashed. the butcher's dog at onteora whipped, and bit, and chewed him into semi-helpless unconsciousness three times a week for four months, one summer; and yet mop, half paralyzed, bandaged, soaked in pond's extract, unable to hold up his head to respond to the greetings of his own family, speechless for hours, was up and about and ready for another fray and another chewing, the moment the butcher's dog, unseen, unscented by the rest of the household, appeared over the brow of the hill. the only creature by whom mop was ever really overcome was a black-and-white, common, every-day, garden skunk. he treed this unexpected visitor on the wood-pile one famous moonlight night in onteora. and he acknowledged his defeat at once, and like a man. he realized fully his own unsavory condition. he retired to a far corner of the small estate, and for a week, prompted only by his own instinct, he kept to the leeward of onteora society. he went out of onteora, that summer, in a blaze of pugnacious glory. it was the last day of the season; many households were being broken up, and four or five families were leaving the colony together. all was confusion and hurry at the little railway station at tannersville. scores of trunks were being checked, scores of packages were being labelled for expressage, every hand held a bag, or a bundle, or both; and mop, a semi-invalid, his fore paw and his ear in slings, the result of recent encounters with the butcher's dog, was carried, for safety's sake, and for the sake of his own comfort, in a basket, which served as an ambulance, and was carefully placed in the lap of the cook. as the train finally started, already ten minutes late, the cook, to give her hero a last look at the hill-of-the-sky, opened the basket, and the window, that he might wag a farewell tail. when lo! the butcher's dog appeared upon the scene, and, in an instant, mop was out of the window and under the car-wheels, in the grip of the butcher's dog. intense was the excitement. the engine was stopped, and brakemen, and firemen, and conductors, and passengers, and on-lookers, and other dogs, were shouting and barking and trying to separate the combatants. at the end of a second ten minutes mop--minus a piece of the other ear--was back in his ambulance: conquered, but happy. he never saw the butcher's dog or onteora again. to go back a little. mop was the first person who was told of his master's engagement, and he was the first to greet the wife when she came home, a bride, to his own house. he had been made to understand, from the beginning, that she did not care for dogs--in general. and he set himself out to please, and to overcome the unspoken antagonism. he had a delicate part to play, and he played it with a delicacy and a tact which rarely have been equalled. he did not assert himself; he kept himself in the background; he said little; his approaches at first were slight and almost imperceptible, but he was always ready to do, or to help, in an unaggressive way. he followed her about the house, up-stairs and down-stairs, and he looked and waited. then he began to sit on the train of her gown; to stand as close to her as was fit and proper; once in a while to jump upon the sofa beside her, or into the easy-chair behind her, winking at his master, from time to time, in his quiet way. and at last he was successful. one dreary winter, when he suffered terribly from inflammatory rheumatism, he found his mistress making a bed for him by the kitchen fire, getting up in the middle of the night to go down to look after him, when he uttered, in pain, the cries he could not help. and when a bottle of very rare old brandy, kept for some extraordinary occasion of festivity, was missing, the master was informed that it had been used in rubbing mop! mop's early personal history was never known. told once that he was the purest dandie in america, and asked his pedigree, his master was moved to look into the matter of his family tree. it seems that a certain sea-captain was commissioned to bring back to this country the best dandie to be had in all scotland. he sent his quartermaster to find him, and the quartermaster found mop under a private carriage, in argyle street, glasgow, and brought him on board. that is mop's pedigree. mop died of old age and of a complication of diseases, in the spring of . he lost his hair, he lost his teeth, he lost everything but his indomitable spirit; and when almost on the brink of the grave, he stood in the back-yard--literally, on the brink of his own grave--for eight hours in a march snow-storm, motionless, and watching a great black cat on the fence, whom he hypnotized, and who finally came down to be killed. the cat weighed more than mop did, and was very gamy. and the encounter nearly cost a lawsuit. this was mop's last public appearance. he retired to his bed before the kitchen range, and gradually and slowly he faded away: amiable, unrepining, devoted to the end. a consultation of doctors showed that his case was hopeless, and mop was condemned to be carried off to be killed humanely by the society founded by mr. bergh, where without cruelty they end the sufferings of animals. mop had not left his couch for weeks. his master spoke to him about it, with tears in his eyes, one night. he said: "to-morrow must end it, old friend. 'tis for your sake and your relief. it almost breaks my heart, old friend. but there is another and a better world--even for dogs, old friend. and for old acquaintance' sake, and for old friendship's sake, i must have you sent on ahead of me, old friend." the next morning, when he came down to breakfast, there by the empty chair sat mop. how he got himself up the stairs nobody knows. but there he was, and the society which a good man founded saw not mop that day. the end came soon afterwards. and mop has gone on to join whiskie and punch in their waiting for the boy. the family went abroad for a year's stay, when mop died, and they rented the house to good people and good tenants, who have never been forgiven for one particular act. they buried a dog of their own in the family plot in the back-yard, and under the ailantus-tree which shades the graves of the cats and the dogs; and the boy feels that they have profaned the spot! it seemed to his master, after the passing of mop, that the master's earthly account with dogs was closed. the pain of parting was too great to be endured. but another dandie came to him, one christmas morning, to fill the aching void; and for a time again his life is not a dogless one. [illustration: roy and his master] the present ruler of the household has a pedigree much longer and much straighter than his own front legs. although he comes from a distinguished line of prize-winning thoroughbreds, he never will be permitted to compete for a medal on his own behalf. the dog show should be suppressed by the society for the prevention of cruelty to dogs. it has ruined the dispositions and broken the hearts of very many of the best friends humanity ever had. and the man who would send his dog to the dog show, would send his wife to a wife show, and permit his baby to be exhibited, in public, for a blue ribbon or a certificate--at an admission-fee of fifty cents a head! mop's successor answers to the name of roy--when he answers to anything at all. he is young, very wilful, and a little hard of hearing, of which latter affliction he makes the most. he always understands when he is invited to go out. he is stone-deaf, invariably, when he is told to come back. but he is full of affection, and he has a keen sense of humor. in the face he looks like thomas carlyle, and professor john weir declares that his body is all out of drawing! at times his devotion to his mistress is beautiful and touching. it is another case of "mary and the lamb, you know." if his mistress is not visible, he waits patiently about; and he is sure to go wherever she goes. it makes the children of the neighborhood laugh and play. but it is severe upon the master, who does most of the training, while the mistress gets most of the devotion. that is the way with lambs, and with dogs, and with some folks! roy is quite as much of a fighter as was any one of the other dogs; but he is a little more discriminating in his likes and his dislikes. he fights all the dogs in tannersville; he fights the drislers' gyp almost every time he meets him; he fights the beckwiths' blennie only when either one of them trespasses on the domestic porch of the other (blennie, who is very pretty, looks like old portraits of mrs. browning, with the curls hanging on each side of the face); and roy never fights laddie pruyn nor jack ropes at all. jack ropes is the hero whom he worships, the beau ideal to him of everything a dog should be. he follows jack in all respects; and he pays jack the sincere flattery of imitation. jack, an irish setter, is a thorough gentleman in form, in action, and in thought. some years roy's senior, he submits patiently to the playful capers of the younger dog; and he even accepts little nips at his legs or his ears. it is pleasant to watch the two friends during an afternoon walk. whatever jack does, that does roy; and jack knows it, and he gives roy hard things to do. he leads roy to the summit of high rocks, and then he jumps down, realizing that roy is too small to take the leap. but he always waits until roy, yelping with mortification, comes back by the way they both went. he wades through puddles up to his own knees, but over roy's head; and then he trots cheerfully away, far in advance, while roy has to stop long enough to shake himself dry. but it was roy's turn once! he traversed a long and not very clean drain, which was just large enough to give free passage to his own small body; and jack went rushing after. jack got through; but he was a spectacle to behold. and there are creditable eye-witnesses who are ready to testify that roy took jack home, and sat on the steps, and laughed, while jack was being washed. [illustration: roy] each laughed on the wrong side of his mouth, however--jack from agony, and roy from sympathy--when jack, a little later, had his unfortunate adventure with the loose-quilled, fretful, onteora porcupine. it nearly cost jack his life and his reason; and for some time he was a helpless, suffering invalid. doctors were called in, chloroform was administered, and many delicate surgical operations were performed before jack was on his feet again; and for the while each tail drooped. happily for roy, he did not go to the top of the hill-of-the-sky that unlucky day, and so he escaped the porcupine. but roy does not care much for porcupines, anyway, and he never did. other dogs are porcupiney enough for him! roy's association with jack ropes is a liberal education to him in more ways than one. jack is so big and so strong and so brave, and so gentle withal, and so refined in manners and intellectual in mind, that roy, even if he would, could not resist the healthful influence. jack never quarrels except when roy quarrels; and whether roy is in the right or in the wrong, the aggressor or the attacked (and generally he begins it), jack invariably interferes on roy's behalf, in a good-natured, big-brother, what-a-bother sort of way that will not permit roy to be the under dog in any fight. part of roy's dislike of blennie--blennie is short for blenheim--consists in the fact that while blennie is nice enough in his way, it is not roy's way. blennie likes to sit on laps, to bark out of windows--at a safe distance. he wears a little sleigh-bell on his collar. under no circumstances does he play follow-my-leader, as jack does. he does not try to do stunts; and, above all, he does not care to go in swimming. the greatest event, perhaps, in roy's young life was his first swim. he did not know he could swim. he did not know what it was to swim. he had never seen a sheet of water larger than a road-side puddle or than the stationary wash-tubs of his own laundry at home. he would have nothing to do with the pond, at first, except for drinking purposes; and he would not enter the water until jack went in, and then nothing would induce him to come out of the water--until jack was tired. his surprise and his pride at being able to take care of himself in an entirely unknown and unexplored element were very great. but--there is always a _but_ in roy's case--but when he swam ashore the trouble began. jack, in a truly chesterfieldian manner, dried himself in the long grass on the banks. roy dried _him_self in the deep yellow dust of the road--a medium which was quicker and more effective, no doubt, but not so pleasant for those about him; for he was so enthusiastic over his performance that he jumped upon everybody's knickerbockers, or upon the skirts of everybody's gown, for the sake of a lick at somebody's hand and a pat of appreciation and applause. another startling and never-to-be-forgotten experience of roy's was his introduction to the partridge. he met the partridge casually one afternoon in the woods, and he paid no particular attention to it. he looked upon it as a plain barn-yard chicken a little out of place; but when the partridge whirled and whizzed and boomed itself into the air, roy put all his feet together, and jumped, like a bucking horse, at the lowest estimate four times as high as his own head. he thought it was a porcupine! he had heard a great deal about porcupines, although he had never seen one; and he fancied that that was the way porcupines always went off! roy likes and picks blackberries--the green as well as the ripe; and he does not mind having his portrait painted. mr. beckwith considers roy one of the best models he ever had. roy does not have to be posed; he poses himself, willingly and patiently, so long as he can pose himself very close to his master; and he always places his front legs, which he knows to be his strong point, in the immediate foreground. he tries very hard to look pleasant, as if he saw a chipmunk at the foot of a tree, or as if he thought mr. beckwith was squeezing little worms of white paint out of little tubes just for his amusement. and if he really does see a chipmunk on a stump, he rushes off to bark at the chipmunk; and then he comes back and resumes his original position, and waits for mr. beckwith to go on painting again. once in awhile, when he feels that mr. beckwith has made a peculiarly happy remark, or an unusually happy stroke of the brush, roy applauds tumultuously and loudly with his tail, against the seat of the bench or the side of the house. roy has two distinct wags--the perpendicular and the horizontal; and in his many moments of enthusiasm he never neglects to use that particular wag which is likely to make the most noise. [illustration: "he tries very hard to look pleasant"] roy has many tastes and feelings which are in entire sympathy with those of his master. he cannot get out of a hammock unless he falls out; and he is never so miserable as when mrs. butts comes over from the eastkill valley to clean house. mrs. butts piles all the sitting-room furniture on the front piazza, and then she scrubs the sitting-room floor, and neither roy nor his master, so long as mrs. butts has control, can enter the sitting-room for a bone or a book. and they do not like it, although they like mrs. butts. roy has his faults; but his evil, as a rule, is wrought by want of thought rather than by want of heart. he shows his affection for his friends by walking under their feet and getting his own feet stepped on, or by sitting so close to their chairs that they rock on his tail. he has been known to hold two persons literally spellbound for minutes, with his tail under the rocker of one chair and both ears under the rocker of another one. roy's greatest faults are barking at horses' heels and running away. this last is very serious, and often it is annoying; but there is always some excuse for it. he generally runs away to the williamsons', which is the summer home of his john and his sarah; and where lodges miss flossie burns, of tannersville, his summer-girl. he knows that the williamsons themselves do not want too much of him, no matter how john and sarah and miss burns may feel on the subject; and he knows, too, that his own family wishes him to stay more at home; but, for all that, he runs away. he slips off at every opportunity. he pretends that he is only going down to the road to see what time it is, or that he is simply setting out for a blackberry or the afternoon's mail; and when he is brought reluctantly home, he makes believe that he has forgotten all about it; and he naps on the top step, or in the door-way, in the most guileless and natural manner; and then, when nobody is looking, he dashes off, barking at any imaginary ox-cart, in wild, unrestrainable impetuosity, generally in the direction of the williamsons' cottage, and bringing up, almost invariably, under the williamsons' kitchen stove. he would rather be shut up, in the williamsons' kitchen, with john and sarah, and with a chance of seeing flossie through the wire-screened door, than roam in perfect freedom over all his own domain. he will bark at horses' heels until he is brought home, some day, with broken ribs. nothing but hard experience teaches roy. there is no use of boxing his ears. that only hurts his feelings, and gives him an extra craving for sympathy. he licks the hand that licks him, until everyone of the five fingers is heartily ashamed of itself. [illustration: "he is stone-deaf when he is asked to come back"] [illustration: "he pretends he has forgotten all about it"] [illustration: "he poses willingly and steadily"] [illustration: "he waits patiently about"] [illustration: roy] several autograph letters of roy's, in verse, in blank-verse, and in plain, hard prose, signed by his own mark--a fore paw dipped in an ink-bottle and stamped upon the paper--were sold by mrs. custer at varying prices during a fair for the benefit of the onteora chapel fund, in . to one friend he wrote: "my dear blennie beckwith,--you are a sneak; and a snip; and a snide; and a snob; and a snoozer; and a snarler; and a snapper; and a skunk. and i hate you; and i loathe you; and i despise you; and i abominate you; and i scorn you; and i repudiate you; and i abhor you; and i dislike you; and i eschew you; and i dash you; and i dare you. "your affectionate friend, "p. s.--i've licked this spot. "r. h. his roy [paw print] hutton. mark. "witness: kate lynch." inspired by miss flossie williamson burns's bright eyes, he dropped into poetry in addressing her: "say i'm barkey; say i'm bad; say the thurber pony kicked me; say i run away--but add-- 'flossie licked me.' his "roy × hutton. mark. "witness: sarah johnson." in honor of "john ropes, esquire," he went to shakspere: "but that i am forbid to tell the secrets of thy mountain climb, i could a tail unfold, whose lightest wag would harrow up the roof of thy mouth, draw thy young blood, make thy two eyes, like a couple of safety-matches, start from their spheres; thy knotted and combined locks to part right straight down the middle of thy back, and each particular brick-red hair to stand on end full of quills, shot out by a fretful onteora porcupine. but this eternal blazon must not be to ears that are quite as handsome as is the rest of thy beautiful body. ("'hamlet,' altered to suit, by) his "roy × hutton. mark. "witness: john johnson." his latest poetical effort was the result of his affection for a scottish collie, in his neighborhood, and was indited to laddie pruyn, esq. should auld acquaintance be forgot, and the dogs of auld lang syne? i'll wag a tail o' kindness yet, for the sake of auld ladd pruyn. witnesses: marion lyman, effie waddington, katherine lyman. [illustration: punch. whiskie. mop. the waiting three] while roy was visiting the fitches and the telford children, and little agnes ogden, at wilton, conn., some time afterwards, he dictated a long letter to his master, some portions of which, perhaps, are worth preserving. after the usual remarks upon the weather and the general health of the family, he touched upon serious, personal matters which had evidently caused him some mental and physical uneasiness. and he explained that while he was willing to confess that he _did_ chase the white cat into a tree, and keep her away from her kittens for a couple of hours, he _did not_ kill the little chicken. the little chicken, stepped upon by its own mother, was dead, quite dead, when he picked it up, and brought it to the house. and he made dick fitch, who was an eye-witness to the whole transaction, add a post-script testifying that the statement was true. john says the letter sounds exactly like roy! roy's is a complex character. there is little medium about roy. he is very good when he is good, and he is very horrid indeed when he is bad. he is a strange admixture of absolute devotion and of utter inconstancy. nothing will entice him away from john on one day, neither threats nor persuasion. the next day he will cut john dead in the road, with no sign of recognition. he sees john, and he goes slowly and deliberately out of his way to pass john by, without a look or a sniff. he comes up-stairs every morning when his master's shaving-water is produced. he watches intently the entire course of his master's toilet; he follows his master, step by step, from bed to bureau, from closet to chair; he lies across his master's feet; he minds no sprinkling from his master's sponge, so anxious is he that his master shall not slip away, and go to his breakfast without him. and then, before his master is ready to start, roy goes off to breakfast, alone--at the williamsons'! he will torment his master sometimes for hours to be taken out to walk; he will interrupt his master's work, disturb his master's afternoon nap, and refuse all invitations to run away for a walk on his own account. and the moment he and his master have started, he will join the first absolute stranger he meets, and walk off with that stranger in the opposite direction, and in the most confidential manner possible! there are days when he will do everything he should do, everything he is told to do, everything he is wanted to do. there are days and days together when he does nothing that is right, when he is disobedient, disrespectful, disobliging, disagreeable, even disreputable. and all this on purpose! it is hard to know what to do with roy: how to treat him; how to bring him up. he may improve as he grows older. perhaps to his unfortunate infirmity may be ascribed his uncertainty and his variability of temper and disposition. it is possible that he cannot hear even when he wants to hear. it is not impossible that he is making-believe all the time. one great, good thing can be said for roy: he is never really cross; he never snaps; he never snarls; he never bites his human friends, no matter how great the provocation may be. roy is a canine enigma, the most eccentric of characters. his family cannot determine whether he is a gump or a genius. but they know he is nice; and they like him! long may roy be spared to wag his earthly tail, and to bay deep-mouthed welcome to his own particular people as they draw near home. how the three dogs who have gone on ahead agree now with each other, and how they will agree with roy, no man can say. they did not agree with very many dogs in this world. but that they are waiting together, all three of them, for roy and for the boy, and in perfect harmony, the boy is absolutely sure. [illustration: mop] +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | | | transcriber's note | | | | inconsistent hyphenation (cobblestones/cobble-stones, | | dogless/dog-less) has been retained, along with the author's | | deliberate mis-spellings. | | | +--------------------------------------------------------------+ http://www.archive.org/details/vandwellersstren painiala the van dwellers by albert bigelow paine [illustration: "well, and when did yez order it turned on?"--_frontispiece_.] the van dwellers a strenuous quest for a home by albert bigelow paine author of "the bread line" [illustration] _"we were strangers and they took us in"_ new york j. f. taylor & company copyright, by j. f. taylor & company _to those_ who have lived in flats _to those_ who are living in flats _and to those_ who are thinking of living in flats contents. page i. the first home in the metropolis. ii. metropolitan beginnings. iii. learning by experience. iv. our first move. v. a boarding house for a change. vi. pursuing the ideal. vii. owed to the moving man. viii. household retainers. ix. ann x. a "flat" failure. xi. inheritance and mania. xii. gilded affluence. xiii. a home at last. xiv. closing remarks. i. _the first home in the metropolis._ we had never lived in new york. this fact will develop anyway, as i proceed, but somehow it seems fairer to everybody to state it in the first sentence and have it over with. still, we had heard of flats in a vague way, and as we drew near the metropolis the little woman bought papers of the train boy and began to read advertisements under the head of "flats and apartments to let." i remember that we wondered then what was the difference. now, having tried both, we are wiser. the difference ranges from three hundred dollars a year up. there are also minor details, such as palms in the vestibule, exposed plumbing, and uniformed hall service--perhaps an elevator, but these things are immaterial. the price is the difference. we bought papers, as i have said. it was the beginning of our downfall, and the first step was easy--even alluring. we compared prices and descriptions and put down addresses. the descriptions were all that could be desired and the prices absurdly modest. we had heard that living in the city was expensive; now we put down the street and number of "four large light rooms and improvements, $ . ," and were properly indignant at those who had libeled the landlords of gotham. next morning we stumbled up four dim flights of stairs, groped through a black passage-way and sidled out into a succession of gloomy closets, wondering what they were for. our conductor stopped and turned. "this is it," he announced. "all nice light rooms, and improvements." it was our first meeting with a flat. also, with a janitor. the little woman was first to speak. "ah, yes, would you mind telling us--we're from the west, you know--just which are the--the improvements, and which the rooms?" this was lost on the janitor. he merely thought us stupid and regarded us with pitying disgust as he indicated a rusty little range, and disheartening water arrangements in one corner. there may have been stationary tubs, too, bells, and a dumb waiter, but without the knowledge of these things which we acquired later they escaped notice. what we _could_ see was that there was no provision for heat that we could discover, and no sunshine. we referred to these things, also to the fact that the only entrance to our parlor would be through the kitchen, while the only entrance to our kitchen would be almost certainly over either a coal-box, an ironing board, or the rusty little stove, any method of which would require a certain skill, as well as care in the matter of one's clothes. but these objections seemed unreasonable, no doubt, for the janitor, who was of yorkshire extraction, became taciturn and remarked briefly that the halls were warmed and that nobody before had ever required more heat than they got from these and the range, while as for the sun, he couldn't change that if he wanted to, leaving us to infer that if he only wanted to he could remodel almost everything else about the premises in short order. we went away in the belief that he was a base pretender, "clad in a little brief authority." we had not awakened as yet to the fulness of janitorial tyranny and power. we went farther uptown. we reasoned that rentals would be more reasonable and apartments less contracted up there. ah, me! as i close my eyes now and recall, as in a kaleidoscope, the perfect wilderness of flats we have passed through since then, it seems strange that some dim foreboding of it all did not steal in to rob our hearts of the careless joys of anticipation. but i digress. we took the elevated and looked out the windows as we sped along. the whirling streets, with their endless procession of front steps, bewildered us. by and by we were in a vast district, where all the houses were five-storied, flat-roofed, and seemed built mainly to hold windows. this was flatland--the very heart of it--that boundless territory to the northward of central park, where nightly the millions sleep. here and there were large signs on side walls and on boards along the roof, with which we were now on a level as the train whirled us along. these quoted the number of rooms, and prices, and some of them were almost irresistible. " all light rooms, $ . ," caught us at length, and we got off to investigate. they were better than those downtown. there was a possibility of heat and you did not get to the parlor by climbing over the kitchen furniture. still, the apartment as a whole lacked much that we had set our hearts on, while it contained some things that we were willing to do without. it contained, also, certain novelties. among these were the stationary washtubs in the kitchen; the dumb-waiter, and a speaking-tube connection with the basement. the janitor at this place was a somber teutonic female, soiled as to dress, and of the common dutch-slipper variety. we were really attracted by the next apartment, where we discovered for the first time the small button in the wall that, when pressed, opens the street door below. this was quite jolly, and we played with it some minutes, while the colored janitor grinned at our artlessness, and said good things about the place. our hearts went out to this person, and we would gladly have cast our lot with him. then he told us the price, and we passed on. i have a confused recollection of the other flats and apartments we examined on that first day of our career, or "progress," as the recent mr. hogarth would put it. our minds had not then become trained to that perfection of mentality which enables the skilled flat-hunter to carry for days visual ground-plans, elevations, and improvements, of any number of "desirable apartments," and be ready to transcribe the same in black and white at a moment's notice. i recall one tunnel and one roof garden. also one first floor with bake-shop attachment. the latter suggested a business enterprise for the little woman, while the precious ones, who were with us at this stage, seemed delighted at my proposition of "keeping store." many places we did not examine. of these the janitors merely popped out their heads--frowsy heads, most of them--and gave the number of rooms and the price in a breath of defiance and mixed ale. at length i was the only one able to continue the search. i left the others at a friendly drug store, and wandered off alone. being quite untrammeled now i went as if by instinct two blocks west and turned. a park was there--a park set up on edge, as it were, with steps leading to a battlement at the top. this was attractive, and i followed along opposite, looking at the houses. presently i came to a new one. they were just finishing it, and sweeping the shavings from the ground-floor flat--a gaudy little place--the only one in the house untaken. it was not very light, and it was not very large, while the price was more than we had expected to pay. but it was clean and new, and the landlord, who was himself on the premises, offered a month's rent free to the first tenant. i ran all the way back to the little woman, and urged her to limp as hastily as possible, fearing it might be gone before she could get there. when i realized that the landlord had held it for me in the face of several applicants (this was his own statement), i was ready to fall on his neck, and paid a deposit hastily to secure the premises. then we wandered about looking at things, trying the dumb waiter, the speaking tube, and the push-button, leading to what the precious ones promptly named the "locker-locker" door, owing to a clicking sound in the lock when the door sprang open. we were in a generous frame of mind, and walked from room to room praising the excellence of everything, including a little gingerbread mantel in the dining-room, in which the fireplace had been set crooked,--from being done in the dark, perhaps,--the concrete backyard, with its clothesline pole, the decorated ceilings, the precipitous park opposite that was presently to shut off each day at two p.m. our western, and only, sunlight; even the air-shaft that came down to us like a well from above, and the tiny kitchen, which in the gathering evening was too dark to reveal all its attractions. as for the precious ones, they fairly raced through our new possession, shrieking their delight. we had a home in the great city at last. ii. _metropolitan beginnings._ we set out gaily and early, next morning, to buy our things. we had brought nothing with us that could not be packed into our trunks, except my fishing rod, some inherited bedding and pictures which the little woman declined to part with, and two jaded and overworked dolls belonging to the precious ones. manifestly this was not enough to begin housekeeping on, even in a flat of contracted floor-space and limitless improvements. in fact the dolls only had arrived. they had come as passengers. the other things were still trundling along somewhere between oshkosh and hoboken, by slow freight. we had some idea of where we wanted to go when we set forth, but a storehouse with varied and almost irresistible windows enticed us and we went no farther. it was a mighty department store and we were informed that we need not pass its doors again until we had selected everything we needed from a can-opener to a grand piano. we didn't, and the can-opener became ours. also other articles. we enjoyed buying things, and even to this day i recall with pleasure our first great revel in a department store. for the most part we united our judgments and acted jointly. but at times we were enticed apart by fascinating novelties and selected recklessly, without consultation. as for the precious ones, they galloped about, demanding that we should buy everything in sight, with a total disregard of our requirements or resources. it was wonderful though how cheap everything seemed, and how much we seemed to need, even for a beginning. it was also wonderful how those insidious figures told in the final settlement. let it be understood, i cherish no resentment toward the salesmen. reflecting now on the matter, i am, on the whole, grateful. they found out where we were from, and where we were going to live, and they sold us accordingly. i think we interested them, and that they rather liked us. if not, i am sure they would have sold us worse things and more of them. they could have done so, easily. hence my gratitude to the salesmen; but the man at the transfer desk remains unforgiven. i am satisfied, now, that he was an unscrupulous person, a perjured, case-hardened creature whom it is every man's duty to destroy. but at the time he seemed the very embodiment of good intentions. he assured us heartily, as he gave us our change, that we should have immediate delivery. we had explained at some length that this was important, and why. he waved us off with the assurance that we need give ourselves no uneasiness in the matter--that, in all probability, the matting we had purchased as a floor basis would be there before we were. he knew that this would start us post-haste for our apartment, which it did. we even ran, waving and shouting, after a particular car when another just like it was less than a half block behind. we breathed more easily when we arrived at our new address and found that we were in good season. when five minutes more had passed, however, and still no signs of our matting, a vague uneasiness began to manifest itself. it was early and there was plenty of time, of course; but there was something about the countless delivery wagons that passed and re-passed without stopping which impressed us with the littleness of our importance in this great whirl of traffic, and the ease with which a transfer clerk's promise, easily and cheerfully made, might be as easily and as cheerfully forgotten. i said presently that i would go around the corner and order coal for the range, ice for the refrigerator, and groceries for us all. i added that the things from down town would surely be there on my return, and that any way i wanted to learn where the nearest markets were. had i known it, i need not have taken this trouble. our names in the mail-box just outside the door would have summoned the numerous emissaries of trade, as if by magic. it did so, in fact, for the little woman put the name in while i was gone, and on my return i found her besieged by no less than three butchers and grocerymen, while two rival milkmen were explaining with diagrams the comparative richness of their respective cans and bottles. the articles i had but just purchased were even then being sent up on the dumb waiter, but our furnishings from below were still unheard from. a horrible fear that i had given the wrong address began to grow upon us. the little woman was calm, but regarded me accusingly. she said she didn't see how it could have happened, when in every accent of her voice i could detect memories of other things i had done in this line--things which, at the time, had seemed equally impossible. she said she hadn't been paying attention when i gave the number or she would have known. of course, she said, the transfer clerk couldn't make a mistake putting it down--he was too accustomed to such things, and of course i must have given it to him correctly--only, it did seem strange---- we began debating feverishly as to the advisability of my setting out at once on a trip down town to see about it. we concluded to telephone. i hastened around to the drug store not far away and "helloed" and repeated and fumed and swore in agony for half an hour, but i came back in high spirits. the address was correct and the delivery wagons were out. i expected to find them at the door when i got back, but found only the little woman, sitting on the doorstep, still waiting. we told each other that after all it must necessarily take some little time to get up this far, but that the matting would certainly be along presently, now, and that it would take but a short time to lay it. then we would have a good start, and even if everything didn't come to-night it would be jolly to put the new mattresses down on the nice clean matting, and to get dinner the best way we could--like camping out. then we walked back and forth in the semi-light of our empty little place and said how nice it was, and where we should set the furniture and hang the pictures: and stepped off the size of the rooms that all put together were not so big as had been our one big sitting-room in the west. as for the precious ones, they were wildly happy. they had never had a real playhouse before, big enough to live in, and this was quite in accordance with their ideals. they were "visiting" and "keeping store" and "cooking," and quarreling, and having a perfectly beautiful time with their two disreputable dolls, utterly regardless of the shadow of foreboding and desolation that grew ever thicker as the hours passed, while the sun slipped down behind the steep stone-battlemented park opposite, and brought no matting, no furniture, no anything that would make our little nest habitable for the swiftly coming night. but when it became too dark for them to see to play, they came clamorously out to where we stood on the doorstep, still waiting, and demanded in one breath that we tell them immediately when the things were coming, where they were to get supper, how we were to sleep, and if they couldn't have a light. i was glad that i could give them something. i said that it was pretty early for a light, but that they should have it. i went in and opened a gas burner, and held a match to it. there was no result. i said there was air in the pipes. i lit another match, and held it till it burned my fingers. there was air in the pipes, i suppose, but there was no gas. i hurried down to inform the janitor. she was a stern-featured hibernian, with a superior bearing. i learned later that she had seen better days. in fact, i have yet to find the janitor that _hasn't_ seen better days, or the tenant, either, for that matter, but this is another digression. she regarded me with indifference when i told her there was no gas. when i told her that we _wanted_ gas, she inspected me as if this was something unusual and interesting in a tenant's requirements. finally she said:-- "well, and when did yez order it turned on?" "why," i said, "i haven't ordered it at all. i thought----" "yez thought you could get it of me, did yez?" i admitted that this seemed reasonable, but in view of the fact of the water being turned on, i had really given the matter of gas no deliberate consideration. i think she rather pitied my stupendous ignorance. at least she became more gentle than she had seemed at the start, or than she ever was afterwards. she explained at some length that i must go first to the gas office, leave a deposit to secure them, in case of my sudden and absent-minded departure from the neighborhood, and ask that a man be sent around to put in a meter, and turn on the gas in our apartment. with good luck some result might be obtained by the following evening. i stumbled miserably up the dark stairs, and dismally explained, while the precious ones became more clamorous for food and light, as the shades of night gathered. i said i would go and get some candles, so in case the things came--not necessarily the matting--we didn't really need the matting first, anyway--it would get scuffed and injured if it were put down first--it was the other things we needed--things to eat and go to bed with!-- when i came back there was a wild excitement around our entrance. a delivery wagon had driven up in great haste, and by the light of the street lamp i recognized on it the sign of our department store. a hunted-looking driver had leaped out and was hastily running over his book. yes, it was our name--our things had come at last--better late than never! the driver was diving back into his wagon and presently hauled out something long and round and wrapped up. "here you are," he said triumphantly. "sign for it, please." "but," we gasped, "where's the rest of the things? there's ever so much more." "don't know, lady. this is all i've got. sign please, it's getting late." "but----" he was gone. we carried in our solitary package and opened it by the feeble flickering of a paraffine dip. it was a japanese umbrella-holder! the precious ones and their wretched dolls held a war dance around it and admired the funny men on the sides. to us it was an oriental mockery. sadly we gathered up our bags, and each taking by the hand a hungry little creature who clasped a forlorn doll to a weary little bosom, we set forth to seek food and shelter in the thronging but pitiless city. iii. _learning by experience._ day by day, and piece by piece, our purchases appeared. now and then a delivery wagon would drive up in hot haste and deliver a stew-pan, or perhaps a mouse trap. at last, and on the third day, a mattress. of course, i had been down and protested, ere this. the cheerful liar at the transfer desk had been grieved, astonished, thunderstruck at my tale. he would investigate, and somebody would be discharged, at once. this thought soothed me. it was blood that i wanted. just plain blood, and plenty of it. i know now that it was the transfer-man's blood, that i needed, but for the moment i was appeased and believed in him. our matting, promised within two hours from the moment of purchase, was the last thing to arrive. this on the fourth day--or was it the fifth? i was too mad by this time to remember dates. what i do recall is that we laid it ourselves. we had not, as yet, paid for the laying, and we said that rather than give that shameless firm another dollar we would lay that matting if it killed us. morally it did. i have never been quite the same man since that terrible experience. the little woman helped stretch, and held the lamp, while i pounded my thumb and swore. she said she had never realized until that night how well and satisfactorily i could swear. it seemed to comfort her and she abetted it. i know now that the stripes on matting never match. we didn't know it then, and we tried to make them. we pulled and hauled, and i got down on my stomach, with one ear against the wall, and burned the other one on the lamp chimney which the little woman, in her anxiety to help, held too close. when i criticised her inclination to overdo matters, she observed that i would probably be able to pull the matting along more easily if i wouldn't lie down on the piece i was trying to pull. then we both said some things that i suppose we shall regret to our dying day. it was a terrible night. when morning came, grim and ghastly, life seemed a failure, and i could feel that i had grown old. but with breakfast and coffee and sunshine came renewed hope. we were settled at last, and our little place looked clean and more like a playhouse than ever. our acquaintance with the janitor was not, as yet, definite. i had met her once or twice informally, it is true, but as yet we could not be said to have reached any basis of understanding. as to her appearance, she was brawny and irish, with a forbidding countenance. she had a husband whom we never saw--he being employed outside--but whose personality, nevertheless, became a factor in our subsequent relations. somehow, we instinctively avoided the people below stairs, as cats do canines, though we had no traditions concerning janitors, and we are naturally the most friendly and democratic people in the world. matters went on very well for a time. we congratulated ourselves every morning on how nice and handy everything was, now that we were once settled, and laughed over our recent difficulties. the precious ones were in their glory. they had appropriated the little four-by-six closet back of the kitchen--it had been shown to us as a servant's room--and presently we heard them playing "dumb waiter," "janitor," "locker-locker door," "laying matting," and other new and entertaining games incidental to a new life and conditions. the weather remained warm for a time, and it was all novel and interesting. we added almost daily to our household effects, and agreed that we had been lucky in securing so pleasant and so snug a nest. but one morning when we awoke it was cold. it was early october, but there was a keen frosty feeling in the air that sent us shivering to the kitchen range, wondering if steam would be coming along presently. it did not come, and after breakfast i went down to interview our janitor on the subject. i could see that she was not surprised at my errand. the incident of the gas supply had prepared her for any further eccentricity on my part. she merely waited with mild interest to hear what i really could do when i tried. then she remarked tersely:-- "yez get steam on the fifteenth." "quite so," i assented, "but it's cold to-day. we may not want it on the fifteenth. we do want it now." these facts did not seem to impress her. "yez get steam on the fifteenth," she repeated, with even more decision, and i could tell from her manner that the interview was closed. i went back to where the little woman was getting breakfast (she had laughed at the idea of a servant in our dainty little nest) and during the morning she and the precious ones hugged the kitchen range. in the afternoon the sun looked in at our parlor windows and made the room cheerful for an hour. then it went out behind the precipitous hillside park opposite, and with the chill shadow that crept up over our windows came a foreboding that was bad for the romance and humor of the situation. it had been like a spiritless arctic day. in the evening we crept to the kitchen range; and we hibernated there, more or less, while the cold spell lasted. it was warm by the fifteenth, but on that day, in the hours of early dawn, we were awakened by a wagnerian overture in the steam radiators. it became an anvil chorus ere long and there was no more sleep. by breakfast time we had all the things open that we could get open to let in fresh air and we were shouting to each other above the din and smell of the new pipes. we made allowance, of course, for the fact that things _were_ new, and we said we were glad there would be enough heat in cold weather, anyway, by which you will see how really innocent we were in those days. it grew cold in earnest by november first. and then, all at once, the gold-painted radiators, as if they had shown what they could do and were satisfied, seemed to lose enthusiasm. now and then in the night, when we didn't want it, they would remember and start a little movement fromm the gotterdammerung, but by morning they seemed discouraged again and during the day they were of fitful and unresponsive temperature. at last i went once more to the janitor, though with some hesitation, i confess. i don't know why. i am not naturally timid, and usually demand and obtain the rights of ordinary citizenship. besides, i was ignorant then of janitorial tyranny as the accepted code. it must have been instinct. i said:-- "what's the matter with our heat up-stairs?" she answered:-- "an' it's what's the matter with yer heat, is it? well, thin, an' what _is_ the matter with yer heat up-stairs?" she said this, and also looked at me, as if she thought our heat might be afflicted with the mumps or measles or have a hare lip, and as if i was to blame for it. "the matter is that we haven't got any," i said, getting somewhat awakened. she looked at me fully a minute this time. "yez haven't got any! yez haven't got any heat! an' here comes the madam from the top floor yesterday, a bilin' over, an' sayin that they're sick with _too much_ heat. what air yez, then, sallymandhers?" "but yesterday isn't to-day," i urged, "and i'm not the woman on the top floor. we're just the people on the first floor and we're cold. we want heat, not comparisons." i wonder now how i was ever bold enough to say these things. it was my ignorance, of course. i would not dream of speaking thus disrespectfully to a janitor to-day. i had a dim idea at the time that the landlord had something to do with his own premises, and that if heat were not forthcoming i could consult him and get action in the matter. i know better than that, now, and my enlightenment on this point was not long delayed. it was about twelve o'clock that night, i think, that we were aroused by a heart-breaking, furniture-smashing disturbance. at first i thought murder was being done on our doorstep. then i realized that it was below us. i sat up in bed, my hair prickling. the little woman, in the next room with the precious ones, called to me in a voice that was full of emotion. i answered, "sh!" then we both sat still in the dark while our veins grew icy. somebody below was begging and pleading for mercy, while somebody else was commanding quiet in a voice that meant bloodshed as an alternative. at intervals there was a fierce struggle, mingled with destruction and hair-lifting language. was the janitor murdering her husband? or could it be that it was the other way, and that tardy justice had overtaken the janitor--that, at the hands of her husband or some outraged tenant, she was meeting a well-merited doom? remembering her presence and muscular proportions i could not hope that this was possible. the little woman whispered tremblingly that we ought to do something. i whispered back that i was quite willing she should, if she wanted to, but that for my own part i had quit interfering in hibernian domestic difficulties some years since. in the morning i would complain to the landlord of our service. i would stand it no longer. meantime, it was not yet morning, and the racket below went on. the very quantity of it was reassuring. there was too much of it for real murder. the precious ones presently woke up and cried. none of us got to sleep again until well-nigh morning, even after the commotion below had degenerated into occasional moans, and final silence. before breakfast i summoned up all my remaining courage and went down there. the janitor herself came to the door. she was uninjured, so far as i could discover. i was pretty mad, and the fact that i was afraid of her made me madder. "what do you mean?" i demanded, "by making such a horrible racket down here in the middle of the night?" she regarded me with an amazed look, as if i had been dreaming. "i want to know," i repeated, "what was all that noise down here last night?" she smiled grimly. "oh, an' is _that_ it? yez want to know what was the _ni'se_, do yez? well, thin, it was none o' yer business, _that's_ what it was. now go on wid yez, an' tend to yer _own_ business, if yez have any. d'y' mind?" with the information that i was going at once to the landlord, i turned and hurried up the stairs to avoid violence. she promptly followed me. "so yez'll be after telling the landlord, will yez? well, thin, yez can just tell the landlord, an' yez can just sind him to me. you'll sind tim reilly to me. maybe yez don't know that tim reilly once carried bricks fer my old daddy, an' many's the time i've given him a bite an' a sup at our back door. oh, yes, sind him to me. sind tim reilly to me, an' i'll see, when me ol' man comes home late wid a bit of liquor in his head, if it's not for me to conthrol 'im after our own fashions, widout the inquisitin' of people who better be mindin' of their own n'ise. kep' yez awake, eh? well, thin, see that yez never keep anybody else awake, an' sind tim reilly to me!" she was gone. we realized then that she had seen better days. so had we. later, when i passed her on the front steps, she nodded in her usual expressionless, uncompromising manner. i did not go to the landlord. it would be useless, we said. the helplessness of our position was becoming daily more evident. and with the realization of this we began to discover other defects. we found that the house faced really almost north instead of west, and that the sun now went behind the precipice opposite nearly as soon as it touched the tops of our windows, while the dining-room and kitchen were wretchedly dark all day long. then, too, the crooked fireplace in the former was a disfigurement, the rooms were closets, or cells, the paper abominable, the wardrobe damp, the drawers swollen or exasperating muftis, the whole apartment the flimsiest sort of a cheap, showy, contract structure, such as no self-respecting people should occupy. we said we would move. we recited our wrongs to each other in detail and began consulting sunday papers immediately. iv. _our first move._ it was the little woman who selected our next habitation. education accumulates rapidly in the metropolis, and i could see that she already possessed more definite views on "flats and apartments" than she had acquired on many another subject familiar to her from childhood. politics, for instance, do not exist for the little woman. presidents come and go, torchlight processions bloom and fade and leave not so much as a wind-riffle on the sands of memory. the stock market, too, was at this time but a name to her. both of us have acquired knowledge since in this direction, but that is another story. shares might rise and fall in those early days, and men clutch at each other's throats as ruin dragged them down. the little woman saw but a page of figures in the evening paper and perhaps regarded them as a sort of necessary form--somewhat in the nature of the congressional reports which nobody ever reads. yet all her life she had been amid these vital issues, and now, behold, after two short months she had acquired more information on new york apartment life than she would ever have on both the others put together. she knew now what we needed and she would find it. i was willing that this should be so. there were other demands on my time, and besides, i had not then contracted the flat-disease in its subsequent virulent form. she said, and i agreed with her, that it was a mistake to be so far from the business center. that the time, car fare, and nerve tissue wasted between park place and harlem were of more moment than a few dollars' difference in the monthly rent. we regarded this conclusion somewhat in the light of a discovery, and wondered why people of experience had not made it before. ah, me! we have made many discoveries since that time. discoveries as old as they are always new. the first friendly ray of march sunlight; the first green leaf in the park; the first summer glow of june; the first dead leaf and keen blast of autumn; these, too, have wakened within us each year a new understanding of our needs and of the ideal habitation; these, too, have set us to discovering as often as they come around, as men shall still discover so long as seasons of snow and blossom pass, and the heart of youth seeks change. but here i am digressing again, when i should be getting on with my story. as i have said, the little woman selected our next home. the little woman and the precious ones. they were gone each day for several hours and returned each evening wearied to the bone but charged heavily with information. the little woman was no longer a novice. "single and double flats," "open plumbing," "tiled vestibule," "uniformed hall service," and other stock terms, came trippingly from her tongue. of some of the places she had diagrams. of others she volunteered to draw them from memory. i did not then realize that this was the first symptom of flat-collecting in its acute form, or that in examining her crude pencilings i was courting the infection. i could not foresee that the slight yet definite and curious variation in the myriad city apartments might become a fascination at last, and the desire for possession a mania more enslaving than even the acquirement of rare rugs or old china and bottles. i examined the little woman's assortment with growing interest while the precious ones chorused their experiences, which consisted mainly in the things they had been allowed to eat and drink, and from the nature of these i suspected occasional surrender and bribery on the part of the little woman. it was a place well down town that we chose. it was a second floor, open in the rear, and there was sunlight most of the day. the rooms were really better than the ones we had. they could not be worse, we decided--a fallacy, for i have never seen a flat so bad that there could not be a worse one--and the price was not much higher. also, there was a straight fireplace in the dining-room, which the precious ones described as being "lovelly," and the janitress was a humble creature who had won the little woman's heart by unburdening herself of numerous sad experiences and bitter wrongs, besides a number of perfectly just opinions concerning janitors, individually and at large. altogether the place seemed quite in accordance with our present views. i paid a month's rent in advance the next morning, and during the day the little woman engaged a moving man. [illustration: the precious ones were racing about among boxes and barrels in unalloyed happiness.] she was packing when i came home and the precious ones were racing about among boxes and barrels in unalloyed happiness. it did not seem possible that we had bought so much or that i could have put so many tacks in the matting. the moving men would be there with their van by daylight next morning, she said. (it seems that the man at the office had told her that we would have to get up early to get ahead of him, and she had construed this statement literally.) so we toiled far into the night and then crept wearily to bed in our dismantled nest, to toss wakefully through the few remaining hours of darkness, fearful that the summons of the forehanded and expeditious moving man would find us in slumber and unprepared. we were deeply grateful to him that he had not arrived before we had finished our early and scrappy breakfast. then presently, when we were ready for him and he did not appear, we were still appreciative, for we said to each other that he was giving us a little extra time so that we would not feel upset and hurried. still, it would be just as well if he would come, now, so that we might get moved and settled before night. it had been a bright, pleasant morning, but as the forenoon advanced the sky darkened and it grew bitterly cold. gloom settled down without and the meager steam supply was scarcely noticeable in our bare apartment. the precious ones ran every minute to the door to watch for the moving van and came back to us with blue noses and icy hands. we began to wonder if something had gone wrong. perhaps a misunderstanding of the address--illness or sudden death on the part of the man who had made the engagement--perhaps-- i went around at last to make inquiries. a heavy, dusty person looked into the soiled book and ran his finger down the page. "that's right!" he announced. "address all correct. van on the way around there now." i hurried back comforted. i do not believe in strong language, but that heavy individual with the soiled book was a dusty liar. there is no other word to express it--if there was, and a stronger one, i would use it. he was a liar by instinct and a prevaricator by trade. the van was not at our door when i returned. neither had it started in our direction. we had expected to get down to our new quarters by noon and enjoy a little lunch at a near-by restaurant before putting things in order. at lunch time the van had still not appeared, and there was no near-by restaurant. the precious ones began to demand food and the little woman laboriously dug down into several receptacles before she finally brought forth part of a loaf of dry bread and a small, stony lump of butter. but to the precious ones it meant life and renewed joy. the moving man came at one o'clock and in a great hurry. he seemed surprised that we were ready for him. there were so many reasons why he had not come sooner that we presently wondered how he had been able to get there at all. he was a merry, self-assured villain, and whistled as he and his rusty assistant hustled our things out on the pavement, leaving all the doors open. we were not contented with his manner of loading. the pieces we were proud of--our polished louis-xivth-street furniture--he hurried into the darkness of his mighty van, while those pieces which in every household are regarded more as matters of use than ornament he left ranged along the pavement for all the world to gape at. now and then he paused to recount incidents of his former varied experience and to try on such of my old clothes as came within his reach. i realized now why most of the things he wore did not fit him. his wardrobe was the accumulation of many movings. this contempt for our furniture was poorly concealed. he suggested, kindly enough, however, that for living around in flats it was too light, and after briefly watching his handling of it i quite agreed with him. it was four o'clock when we were finally off, and the shades of evening had fallen before we reached our new home. the generous and sympathetic welcome of our new janitress was like balm. one was low-voiced and her own sorrows had filled her with a broad understanding of human trials. she looked weary herself, and suggested _en passant_ that the doctor had prescribed a little stimulant as being what she most needed, but that, of course, such things were not for the poor. i had a bottle of material, distilled over the peat fires of scotland. i knew where it was and i found it for her. then the moving man came up with a number of our belongings and we forgot her in the general turmoil and misery that ensued. bump--bump--up the narrow stairs came our household goods and gods, and were planted at random about the floor, in shapeless heaps and pyramids. all were up, at last, except a few large pieces. at this point in the proceedings the moving man and his assistant paused in their labors and the former fished out of his misfit clothing a greasy piece of paper which he handed me. i glanced at it under the jet and saw that it was my bill. "oh, all right," i said, "i can't stop just now. wait till you get everything up, and then i can get at my purse and pay you." he grinned at me. "it's the boss's rule," he said, "to collect before the last things is taken out of the van." i understood now why the pieces of value had gone in first. i also understood what the "boss" had meant in saying that we would have to get up early to get ahead of him. while i was digging up the money they made side remarks to each other on the lateness of the hour, the length of the stairs, and the heaviness of the pieces still to come. i gave them each a liberal tip in sheer desperation. they were gone at last and we stood helplessly among our belongings that lay like flotsam and jetsam tossed up on a forbidding shore. the precious ones were whimpering with cold and hunger and want of sleep; the hopelessness of life pressed heavily upon us. wearily we dragged something together for beds, and then crept out to find food. when we returned there was a dark object in the dim hall against our door. i struck a match to see what it was. it was a woman, and the sorrows of living and the troubles of dying were as naught to her. above and about her hung the aroma of the peat fires of scotland. it was our janitress, and she had returned us the empty bottle. v. _a boarding house for a change._ our new janitor was not altogether unworthy, but she drowned her sorrows too deeply and too often, and her praiseworthy attributes were incidentally submerged in the process. she was naturally kind-hearted, and meant to be industrious, but the demon of the still had laid its blight heavily upon her. we often found her grim and harsh, even to the point of malevolence, and she did not sweep the stairs. we attempted diplomacy at first, and affected a deep sympathy with her wrongs. then we tried bribery, and in this moral decline i descended to things that i wish now neither to confess nor remember. in desperation, at last, we complained to the agent, whereupon she promptly inundated her griefs even more deeply than usual, and sat upon the stairs outside our door to denounce us. she declared that a widow's curse was upon us, and that we would never prosper. it sounded gruesome at the time, but we have wondered since whether a grass widow's is as effective, for we learned presently that her spouse, though absent, was still in the flesh. it was at the end of the second month that we agreed upon boarding. we said that after all housekeeping on a small scale was less agreeable and more expensive than one might suppose, viewing it at long range. we looked over the papers again and found the inducements attractive. we figured out that we could get two handsome rooms and board for no more, and perhaps even a trifle less, than we had been expending on the doubtful luxury of apartment life. then, too, there would be a freedom from the responsibility of marketing, and the preparation of food. we looked forward to being able to come down to the dining-room without knowing beforehand just what we were going to have. it was well that we enjoyed this pleasure in anticipation. viewed in the retrospective it is wanting. we did know exactly what we were going to have after the first week. we learned the combination perfectly in that time, and solved the system of deductive boarding-house economy within the month so correctly that given the sunday bill of fare we could have supplied in minute detail the daily program for the remainder of any week in the year. of course there is a satisfaction in working out a problem like that, and we did take a grim pleasure on sunday afternoons in figuring just what we were to have for each meal on the rest of the days, but after the novelty of this wore off there began to be something really deadly about the exactness of this household machinery and the certainty of our calculations. the prospect of tuesday's stew, for instance, was not a thing to be disregarded or lightly disposed of. it assumed a definite place in the week's program as early as two o'clock on sunday afternoon, and even when tuesday was lived down and had linked itself to the past, the memory of its cuisine lingered and lay upon us until we even fancied that the very walls of our two plush upholstered rooms were tinged and tainted and permeated with the haunting sorrow of a million tuesday stews. it is true that we were no longer subject to janitorial dictation, or to the dumb-waiter complications which are often distressing to those who live at the top of the house and get the last choice of the meat and ice deliveries, but our landlady and the boarders we had always with us. the former was a very stout person and otherwise afflicted with christian science and a weak chest. it did not seem altogether consistent that she should have both, though we did not encourage a discussion of the matter. we were willing that she should have as many things as she could stand up under if she only wouldn't try to divide them with us. i am sure now that some of the other boarders must have been discourteous and even harsh with this unfortunate female, and that by contrast we appeared sympathetic and kind. at least, it seemed that she drifted to us by some natural process, and evenings when i wanted to read, or be read to by the little woman, she blew in to review the story of her ailments and to expound the philosophy which holds that all the ills of life are but vanity and imagination. perhaps her ailments _may_ have been all imagination and vanity, but they did not seem so to us. they seemed quite real. indeed they became so deadly real in time that more than once we locked our doors after the precious ones were asleep, turned out the gas, and sat silent and trembling in darkness until the destroying angel should pass by. i have spoken of the boarders. they too laid their burdens upon us. for what reason i can only conjecture. they brought us their whole stock of complaints--complaints of the landlady, of the table and of each other. being from the great wide west we may have seemed a bit more broadly human than most of those whose natures had been dwarfed and blighted in the city's narrow soulless round of daily toil. or it may be all of them had fallen out among themselves before we came. i don't know. i know that a good many of them had, for they told us about it--casually at first, and then in detail. as an example, we learned from the woman across the hall that another woman, who occupied the top floor back and painted undesirable water-colors, had been once an artist's model, and that she smoked. from the top floor back, in turn, we discovered that the woman across the way, now a writer of more or less impossible plays, had been formerly a ballet girl and still did a turn now and then to aid in the support of a dissolute and absent husband. these things made it trying for us. we could not tell which was the more deserving of sympathy. both seemed to have drawn a pretty poor hand in what was a hard enough game at best. and there were others. within the month we were conversant with all the existing feuds as well as those of the past, and with the plots that were being hatched to result in a new brood of scandals and counterplots, which were retailed to the little woman and subsequently to me. we were a regular clearing-house at last for the wrongs and shortcomings of the whole establishment, and the responsibility of our position weighed us down. we had never been concerned in intrigue before, and it did not agree with our simple lives. i could feel myself deteriorating, morally and intellectually. i had a desire to beat the precious ones (who were certainly well behaved for children shut up in two stuffy rooms) or better still to set the house afire, and run amuck killing and slaying down four flights of stairs--to do something very terrible in fact--something deadly and horrible and final that would put an end forever to this melancholy haunt of tuesday stews and ghoulish boarders with the torturing tattle of their everlasting tongues. i shocked the little woman daily with words and phrases, used heretofore only under very trying conditions, that had insensibly become the decorations of my ordinary speech. clearly something had to be done, and that very soon, if we were to save even the remnants of respectability. we recalled with fondness some of the very discomforts of apartment life and said we would go back to it at any cost. our furniture was in storage. we would get it out, and we would begin anew, profiting by our experience. we would go at once, and among other things we would go farther up town. so far down was too noisy, besides the air was not good for the precious ones. it was coming on spring, too, and it would be pleasanter farther up. not so far as we had been before, but far enough to be out of the whirl and clatter and jangle. it was possible, we believed, to strike the happy medium, and this we regarded somewhat in the light of another discovery. life now began to assume a new interest. in the few remaining days of our stay in the boarding-house we grew tolerant and even fond of our fellow-boarders, and admitted that an endless succession of tuesday stews and wednesday hashes would make us even as they. we went so far as to sympathize heartily with the landlady, who wept and embraced the little woman when we went, and gave the precious ones some indigestible candy. we set forth then, happy in the belief that we had mastered, at last, the problem of metropolitan living. we had tried boarding for a change, and as such it had been a success, but we were altogether ready to take up our stored furniture and find lodgment for it, some place, any place, where the bill of fare was not wholly deductive, where our rooms would not be made a confessional and a scandal bureau, and where we could, in some measure, at least, feel that we had a "home, sweet home." vi. _pursuing the ideal._ i suppose it was our eagerness for a home that made us so easy to please. looking back now after a period of years on the apartment we selected for our ideal nest i am at a loss to recall our reasons for doing so. innocent though we were, it does not seem to me that we could have found in the brief time devoted to the search so poor a street, so wretched a place, and so disreputable a janitor (this time a man). i only wish to recall that the place was damp and small, with the kitchen in front; that some people across the air shaft were wont to raise cain all night long; that the two men below us frequently attempted to murder each other at unseemly hours, and that some extra matting and furniture stored in the basement were stolen, i suspect, by the janitor himself. once more we folded our tents, such of them as we had left, and went far up town--very far, this time. we said that if we had to live up town at all we would go far enough to get a whiff of air from fresh fields. there was spring in the air when we moved, and far above the harlem river, where birds sang under blue skies and the south breeze swept into our top-floor windows, we set up our household goods and gods once more. they were getting a bit shaky now, and bruised. the mirrors on sideboard and dresser had never been put on twice the same, and the middle leg of the dining-room table wobbled from having been removed so often. but we oiled out the mark and memory of the moving-man, bought new matting, and went into the month of june fresh, clean, and hopeful, with no regret for past errors. and now at last we found really some degree of comfort. it is true our neighbors were hardly congenial, but they were inoffensive and kindly disposed. the piano on the floor beneath did not furnish pleasing entertainment, but neither was it constant in its efforts to do so. the stairs were long and difficult of ascent, but our distance from the street was gratifying. the business center was far away, but i had learned to improve the time consumed in transit, and our cool eyrie was refreshing after the city heat. as for the janitor, or janitress, for i do not know in which side of the family the office was existent, he, she, or both were merely lazy, indifferent, and usually invisible. between them they managed to keep the place fairly clean, and willingly promised anything we asked. it is true they never fulfilled these obligations, but they were always eager to renew them with interest, and on the whole the place was not at all bad. but the precious ones had, by this time, grown fond of change. we were scarcely settled before they began to ask when we were going to move again, and often requested as a favor that we take them out to look at some flats. we overheard them playing "flat-hunting" almost every day, in which game one of them would assume the part of janitor to "show through" while the other would be a prospective tenant who surveyed things critically and made characteristic remarks, such as, "how many flights up?" "how much?" "too small," "oh, my, kitchen's too dark," "what awful paper," "you don't call that closet a room, i hope," and the like. it seemed a harmless game, and we did not suspect that in a more serious form its fascinations were insidiously rooting themselves in our own lives. it is true we often found ourselves pausing in front of new apartments and wondering what they were like inside, and urged by the precious ones entered, now and then, to see and inquire. in fact the precious ones really embarrassed us sometimes when, on warm sunday afternoons, where people were sitting out on the shady steps, they would pause eagerly in front of the sign "to let" with: "oh, papa, look! seven rooms and bath! oh, mamma, let's go in and see them! oh, please, mamma! please, papa!" at such times we hurried by, oblivious to their importunities, but when the situation was less trying we only too frequently yielded, and each time with less and less reluctance. it was in the early fall that we moved again,--into a sunny corner flat on a second floor that we strayed into during one of these rambles, and became ensnared by its clean, new attractions. we said that it would be better for winter, and that we were tired of four long flight of stairs. but, alas, by spring every thing was out of order from the electric bell at the entrance to the clothes-lines on the roof, while janitors came and went like punch and judy figures. most of the time we had none, and some that we had were better dead. so we moved when the birds came back, but it was a mistake, and on the fourth of july we celebrated by moving again. we now called ourselves "van-dwellers," the term applied by landlord and agent to those who move systematically and inhabit the moving-man's great trundling house no less than four to six times a year. i am not sure, however, that we ever really earned the title. the true "van-dweller" makes money by moving and getting free rent, while i fear the wear and tear on our chattels more than offset any advantage we ever acquired in this particular direction. i can think of no reason now for having taken our next flat except that it was different from any of those preceding. still, it was better than the summer board we selected from sixty answers to our advertisement, and after eighteen minutes' experience with a sweltering room and an aged and apoplectic dog whose quarters we seemed to have usurped, we came back to it like returning exiles. it was a long time before we moved again--almost four months. then the little woman strayed into another new house, and was captivated by a series of rooms that ran merrily around a little extension in a manner that allowed the sun to shine into every window. we had become connoisseurs by this time. we could tell almost the exact shape and price of an apartment from its outside appearance. after one glance inside we could carry the plan mentally for months and reproduce it minutely on paper at will. we had learned, too, that it is only by living in many houses in rotation that you can know the varied charms of apartment life. no one flat can provide them all. the new place had its attractions and we passed a merry christmas there. altogether our stay in it was not unpleasant, in spite of the soiled and soulless teutonic lady below stairs. i think we might have remained longer in this place but for the fact that when spring came once more we were seized with the idea of becoming suburbanites. we said that a city apartment after all was no place for children, and that a yard of our own, and green fields, must be found. with the numerous quick train services about new york it was altogether possible to get out and in as readily as from almost any point of the upper metropolis, and that, after all, in the country was the only place to live. we got nearly one hundred answers to our carefully-worded advertisement for a house, or part of a house, within certain limits, and the one selected was seemingly ideal. green fields behind it, a railroad station within easy walking distance, grasshoppers singing in the weeds across the road. we strolled, hand in hand with the precious ones, over sweet meadows, gathering dandelions and listening to the birds. we had a lawn, too, and sunny windows, and we felt free to do as we chose in any part of our domain, even in the basement, for here there was no janitor. we rejoiced in our newly-acquired freedom, and praised everything from the warm sunlight that lay in a square on the matting of every room to the rain that splashed against the windows and trailed across the waving fields. it is true we had a servant now--rosa, of whom i shall speak later--but even the responsibility (and it _was_ that) of this acquirement did not altogether destroy our happiness. summer and autumn slipped away. the precious ones grew tall and brown, and the old cares and annoyances of apartment life troubled us no more. but with the rigors and gloom and wretchedness of winter the charms of our suburban home were less apparent. the matter of heat became a serious question, and the memory of steam radiators was a haunting one. more than once the little woman was moved to refer to our "cosy little apartment" of the winter before. also, the railway station seemed farther away through a dark night and a pouring rain, the fields were gray and sodden, and the grasshoppers across the road were all dead. we did not admit that we were dissatisfied. in fact, we said so often that we would not go back to the city to live that no one could possibly suspect our even considering such a thing. however, we went in that direction one morning when we set out for a car ride, and as we passed the new apartment houses of washington heights we found ourselves regarding them with something of the old-time interest. of course there was nothing personal in this interest. it was purely professional, so to speak, and we assured each other repeatedly that even the best apartment (we had prospered somewhat in the world's goods by this time and we no longer spoke of "flats")--that even the best "apartment", then, was only an apartment after all, which is true, when you come to think of it. still, there certainly were attractive new houses, and among them appeared to be some of a different pattern from any in our "collection." one in particular attracted us, and a blockade of cars ahead just then gave us time to observe it more closely. there were ornamental iron gates at the front entrance, and there was a spot of shells and pebbles next the pavement--almost a touch of seashore, and altogether different from the cheerless welcome of most apartment houses. then, of course, the street car passing right by the door would be convenient---- the blockade ahead showed no sign of opening that we could see. by silent but common consent we rose and left the car. past the little plot of sea beach, through the fancy iron gates, up to the scarcely finished, daintily decorated, latest improved apartment we went, conducted by a dignified, newly-uniformed colored janitor, who quoted prices and inducements. i looked at the little woman--she looked at me. each saw that the other was thinking of the long, hard walk from the station on dark, wet nights, the dead grasshoppers, and the gray, gloomy fields. we were both silent all the way home, remembering the iron gates, the clean janitor, the spot of shells, and a beautiful palm that stood in the vestibule. we were both silent and we were thinking, but we did not move until nearly a week later. vii. _owed to the moving man._ written to get even. he pledged his solemn word for ten, and lo, he cometh not till noon-- so ready his excuses then, we wonder why he came so soon. he whistles while our goods and gods he storeth in his mighty van-- no lurking sting of conscience prods the happy-hearted moving man. upon the pavement in a row, beneath the cruel noonday glare, the things we do not wish to show he places, and he leaves them there. there hour by hour will they remain for all the gaping world to scan, the while we coax and chide in vain the careless-hearted moving man. when darkness finds our poor array like drift upon a barren shore, perchance we gaze on it and say with vigor, "we will roam no more." but when the year its course hath run, and may completes the rhythmic span, again, i wot, we'll call upon the happy-hearted moving man. viii. _household retainers._ it is of rosa that i would speak now, rosa, the young and consuming; and of wilhelmine, the reformer. rosa came first in our affections. it was during our first period of suburban residence that she became a part of our domestic economy, though on second thought economy seems hardly the word. she was tall, and, while you could never have guessed it to look into her winsome, gentle face, i am sure that she was hollow all the way down. when i first gazed upon her i wondered why one so young (she was barely sixteen), and with such delicacy of feature, should have been given feet so disproportionate in size. i know now that they were mere recesses, and that it was my fate for the time being to fill, or to try to fill, them. she came in the afternoon, and when, after a portion of the roast had been devoted to the precious ones and their forbears, and an allotment of the pudding had been issued and dallied over, rosa came on and literally demolished on a dead run every hope of to-morrow's stew, or hash, or a "between-meal" for the precious ones--licked not only the platter, but the vegetable dishes, the gravy tureen, the bread board, and the pudding pan, clean, so to speak. at first we merely smiled indulgently and said: "poor thing, she is half starved, and it is a pleasure to have her enjoy a good meal. she can't keep it up, of course." [illustration: rosa.] but this was simply bad judgment. at daybreak i hastened out for a new invoice of bread stuff and market supplies in order to provide for immediate wants. rosa had rested well and was equal to the occasion. when i returned in the evening i found that our larder had been replenished and wrecked twice during my absence. the little woman had a driven, hunted look in her face, while rosa was as winsome and gentle-featured, as sweet and placid in her consciousness of well being and doing, as a cathedral saint. in fact, it always seemed to me that she never looked so like a madonna as she did immediately after destroying the better part of a two-dollar roast and such other trifles as chanced to be within reach in the hour of her strong requirements. and these things she could do seven days in the week and as many times during each twenty-four hours as opportunity yielded to her purpose. we were hopeful for days that it was only a temporary disaster, and that we would eventually get her filled up, shoes and all. but days became weeks and weeks gathered themselves into months. each morning rosa came up winsome and glad to be alive--fresh as the dew on the currant bushes and ravenous as a mohammedan at the end of ramadan. it was no use. we gave it up at last, and merely concerned ourselves with getting sufficient unto the day and moment. but there was another side to rosa. she was willing to take counsel, in the matter of her labors, and profit by it. also she had no particular aversion to work, and she was beloved of the precious ones. it is true she had no special regard for the fragility of queensware, but care in these matters is not expected even of old retainers; while rosa, as i have said, was in the flower of youth. it was not without regret, therefore, that we found she could not accompany us to the city. her people did not wish her to become a part of the great metropolis in early youth, and were willing to do the best they could with her appetite at home until another near-by source of supplies could be found. so it was that rosa passed out of our fortunes when we gave up suburban life and became dwellers in the monte cristo apartments. it was then that wilhelmine came. the little woman's brother tom was to abide with us for a season, and it seemed necessary to have somebody. i suggested that any employment bureau could doubtless supply us with just what we needed, and the little woman went down to see. i have never known exactly what her experiences were there, though she has done her best to tell me. her account lacked lucidity and connection, but from what i can gather piecemeal, she did not enjoy herself. however, the experiment resulted in something--a very old german individual in a short dress, stout of person, and no english worth mentioning. she came on us like a cyclone, and her speech was as a spring torrent in volume. i happened to know one or two german words, and when incautiously i chanced to let her have a look at them she seized my hand and did a skirt dance. then presently she ran out into the kitchen, took everything from every shelf, and rearranged the articles in a manner adapted to the uses of nothing human. this was the beginning, and relentlessly she pursued her course, backed up by a lifetime of experience, and the strong german traditions of centuries. the entire household was reorganized under her regime. the little woman and the precious ones were firmly directed, and i was daily called to account in a mixture of high-geared german and splintered english that was fairly amazing in its quantity. nothing was so trivial as to escape wilhelmine. like all great generals, she regarded even the minutest details as important, and i was handled with no less severity for cutting an extra slice of bread than for investing in a new rug for the front room. for, let it be said now, wilhelmine was economical and abhorred waste. neither did she break the crockery, and, unlike rosa, she did not eat. she was no longer young and growing, and the necessity of coaling-up every hour or two seemed to have gone by. but, alas! we would have preferred beautiful, young, careless, larder-wrecking rosa to wilhelmine, the reformer. we would have welcomed her with joy, and surreptitiously in whispers we hatched plots to rid ourselves of the tyrant. once i even went so far as to rebel and battle with her in the very sanctity of the kitchen itself. not that wilhelmine could not cook. in her own german cabbage-and-onion way she was resourceful, and the house reeked with her combinations until strong men shed tears, and even the janitor hurried by our door with bowed head. i never questioned her ability to cook, but in the matter of coffee she was hopeless. in the best german i could muster i told her so. i told her so several times, so that it could sink in. i said it over forward and backward and sideways, in order to get the verbs right, and when she was through denouncing me i said that i would give her an object lesson in making coffee in a french pot. i am sure now that this was a mistake--that german blood could stand almost anything in the world better than a french coffee-pot, but at the time i did not recall the affairs and animosities of nations. i had other things to think of. i was employed in the delicate operation of extracting amber nectar by a tedious dripping process, and simultaneously engaging with a rapid-fire german at short range. i understood very little of what she said, and what i did gather was not complimentary. i fired a volley or two at last myself, and then retreated in good order bearing the coffee-pot. the coffee was a success, but it was obtained at too great a risk. that night we wrote to rosa and to her mother. we got no reply, and, after days of anxious waiting, the little woman went out to discuss the situation in person. but the family had moved, and there had been a very heavy snow. the little woman waded about nearly all day in pursuit of the new address. she learned it at last, but it was too late then to go any farther, so she came home and wrote again, only to get no reply. then i tried my hand in the matter as follows:-- lines to rosa in absence. lady rosa vere de smith, leave your kin and leave your kith; life without you is a mockery; come once more and rend our crockery. lady rosa vere de smith, life for us has lost its pith; you taught us how to prize you thus, and now you will not bide with us. lady rosa vere de smith, have we no voice to reach you with? come once more and wreck our larder; we will welcome you with ardor. i could have written more of this, perhaps, and i still believe it would have proved effective, but when i read aloud as far as written, the little woman announced that she would rather do without rosa forever than to let a thing like that go through the mails. so it was suppressed, and rosa was lost to us, i fear, for all time. but providence had not entirely forgotten us, though its ways as usual were inscrutable. wilhelmine, it seems, locked herself nightly in her room, and the locks being noiseless in the monte cristo apartments she could not realize when the key turned that she was really safely barred in. hence it seems she continued to twist at the key which, being of a slender pattern, was one night wrenched apart and wilhelmine, alas! was only too surely fortified in her stronghold. when she realized this she, of course, became wildly vociferous. i heard the outburst and hastening back found her declaring that she was lost without a doubt. that the house would certainly catch fire before she was released and that she would be burned like a rat in a trap. i called to her reassuringly, but it did no good. then i climbed up on a chair set on top of a table, and observed her over the transom. she had her wardrobe tied in a bundle all ready for the fire which she assured me was certain to come, though how she hoped to get her wardrobe out when she could not get herself out, or of what use it would be to her afterwards was not clear. it was useless to persuade her to go to bed and let me get a locksmith in the morning. i was convinced that she would carry-on all night like a forgotten _dachshund_, unless she was released. it was too late to find a locksmith and i did not wish to take the janitor into the situation. i got a screw-driver and handed it over to her telling her to unscrew the lock. but by this time she had reached a state where she did not know one end of the implement from another. she merely looked at it helplessly and continued to leap about and bewail her fate loudly and in mixed tongues. i saw at last that i must climb over the transom. it was small, and i am a large man. i looked at the size of it and then considered my height and shoulder measure. then i made the effort. i could not go through feet first, and to go through a transom head first is neither dignified or exhilarating. when i was something more than half through i pawed about in the air head down in a vain effort to reach a little chiffonier in wilhelmine's room. she watched me with interest to see how near i could come to it, and by some mental process it dawned upon her at last that she could help matters by pushing it toward me. having reached this conclusion the rest was easy, for she was as strong as an ox and swung the furniture toward me like a toy. five minutes later i had unscrewed the lock and wilhelmine was free. so were we, for when i threw the lock into a drawer with a few choice german remarks which i had been practising for just such an emergency, wilhelmine seized upon her bundles, already packed, and, vowing that she would abide in no place where she could not lie down in the security of strong and hard twisting keys, she disappeared, strewing the stairway with german verbs and expletives in her departure. we saw her no more, and in two weeks, by constant airing, we had our culinary memories of her reduced to such a degree that the flat on the floor above found a tenant, and carbolic acid was no longer needed in the halls. ix. _ann._ and now came ann, ann, the hibernian and the minstrel. during the first week of her abode with us she entertained us at dinner by singing a weird irish love ballad and so won our hearts that the little woman decided to take the precious ones for a brief visit to homes and firesides in the far west, leaving her brother tom and myself in ann's charge. when she went away she beamed upon tom and me and said, reassuringly, "ann will take good care of you all right. we were fortunate to secure a girl like ann on such short notice. get your lunches outside sometimes; that will please her." then she and the precious ones kissed us both, the bell rang and they were gone. my brother-in-law and i were doing what we referred to as "our book" at this time, and were interested to the point of absorption. ann the hibernian therefore had the household--at least, the back of the household--pretty much to herself. i do not know just when the falling off did begin. we were both very much taken up with our work. but when, one morning, i happened to notice that it was a quarter of twelve when we sat down to a breakfast of stale bread and warmed-over coffee, it occurred to me that there was a hitch somewhere in our system. that evening, when it got too dark to work, i arose and drifted out to the kitchen, perhaps with some idea of being hungry, and a mild curiosity to know when dinner might be expected. there was an air of desolation about the place that seemed strange, and an odor that seemed familiar. like a hound on the trail i followed the latter straight on through the kitchen, to the servants' room at the back. the door was ajar, and the mystery was solved. our noble ann had fallen prey to the cup that yearly sweeps thousands into unhonored graves. we went out for dinner, and the next morning we got our own eggs and coffee. when our minion regained consciousness we reviled her and cast her out. we said we would get our own meals. we had camped out together and taken turns at the cooking. we would camp out now in the flat. we were quite elated with the idea, and out of the fulness of our freedom gave ann a dollar and a little bracer out of some "private stock." ann declared we were "pairfect gintlemen," and for the first time seemed sorry to go. both being eager to get back to our work after breakfast, neither of us referred to the dirty dishes, and i did not remember them again until dinner time. tom got into a tangle with our heroine about one o'clock, and said he would get the lunch by way of relaxation. i presume he relaxed sufficiently without attending to the plates. at least, i found them untouched when i went out to look after the dinner. i discovered, also, that the lavish tom had exhausted the commissary to achieve the lunch. i was obliged, therefore, to go at once to the grocery, and on the way made up a mental list of the things easiest to prepare. i would get canned things, i said, as many of these were ready for the table, and some of them could be eaten out of the can. this would save dishes. i do not recall now just what i had planned as my bill of fare, but i suppose i must have forgotten some of it when i learned that our grocer was closing out his stock of wet goods very cheap, for tom looked at the stuff when it came and asked if i thought of running a bar. i said i had bought with a view to saving dishes. then he hunted up the cork-screw and we dined. in spite of my superior management, however, the dish pile in the kitchen sink grew steadily. on the morning of the third day the china closet was exhausted, and we took down the little woman's crown derby and blue india plates from their hangers in the parlor. on the evening of the fourth day tom got our work into an inextricable tangle, and took a reflective stroll out into the kitchen. he came back looking hopelessly discouraged. on the fifth morning we followed ann's example. the atmosphere suddenly cleared now. we reached conclusions by amazingly short cuts, and our troubles vanished like the dew of morning. the next day would be sunday. we would go into the country for recreation. to-night we would put a line in the paper and on monday morning we would have another servant. it seemed hardly worth our while to attempt to camp out permanently. i will pass over sunday without further comment. the recollection is weird and extravagant. i remember being surprised at finding certain stretches of pavement perpendicular, and of trying to climb them. still we must have got a line in the paper on saturday night, for on monday the bell began ringing violently before we were up. tom either did not hear it, or was wilfully unconscious. finally i got up wretchedly and dragged on some garments. there was no ice, so i pressed my head for a few minutes to a marble-topped center table. i suppose it was because i did not feel very bright that the voices of my guests were not restful to me. i was almost irritated by one shrill-voiced creature who insisted on going through every room, even to our study. her tone was dictatorial and severe. still i might have retained her had she not commented disagreeably on the dishes in the kitchen sink. one after another they followed her example. every woman of them began to make excuses and back away when she looked at that unwashed china. most of them perjured themselves with the statement that they had come to see about a place for another girl. after the initial lot they scattered along through the forenoon. tom had got up, meantime, and was leaning on the front window-sill watching hungrily for the ice-man. in the midst of this anguish the bell rang once more, timidly and with evident hesitation, and a moment later i feebly opened the door to admit--ann! she was neatly dressed, as when she had first come to us, and there were other gratifying indications of reform. "sure an' i saw your advertisement," she began, humbly, "an' i thought two such gintlemen as yerselves moight not be too hard on a daycent woman who only takes a drop or two now an' then----" i led her back to the kitchen and pointed to the sink. as we passed through the dining-room she noticed the empty bottles on the table and crossed herself. when she looked at the kitchen sink she exclaimed, "holy mary!" but she did not desert us. her charity was greater than ours. i went in to tell tom of the renovation and general reform that was about to begin. he had just succeeded in hailing the ice-man and was feeling better. when i went back into the kitchen there was a wash-boiler of water heating on the range. just then the postman whistled and brought a letter from the little woman. "i have decided to stay a week longer than i intended," she wrote. "it is so pleasant here, and ann, i am sure, is taking good care of you." we had a confidential understanding with ann that night. she remained with us a year afterward, and during that time the sacred trust formed by the three of us was not betrayed. x. _a "flat" failure._ in the monte cristo apartments it would seem that we had found harbor at last. days ran into weeks, weeks to months, and these became a year, at length--the first we had passed under any one roof. then there came a change. the house was not so well built as it had appeared, and with the beginning of decay there came also a change of landlord and janitor. our spruce and not unworthy colored man was replaced by one thomas, who was no less spruce, indeed, but as much more severe in his discipline as his good-natured employer was lax in the matter of needed repairs. every evening, at length, when we gathered about the dinner table, the little woman recited to me the story of her day's wrongs. they were many and various, but they may be summed up in the two words--janitor and landlord. the arrogance of one and the negligence of the other were rapidly making life in the monte cristo apartments insupportable. of course there were minor annoyances--the children across the hall, for instance, and the maid in the kitchen--but these faded into insignificance when contrasted with the leaky plumbing, sagging doors, rattling windows and the like on the part of mr. griffin, the landlord, and new arbitrary rulings concerning the supply of steam for the parlor, coal for the kitchen range, the taking away of refuse, and the austere stairway restrictions imposed upon our precious ones on the part of thomas, the janitor. it is true the landlord was not over-exacting in the matter of rent, and when he came about, which was not often, would promise anything and everything with the greatest good-will in the world, while thomas kept the front steps and halls in a condition which was really better than we had been used to, or than the rent schedule would ordinarily justify. but the good-will of the landlord usually went no farther than his ready promises, while the industry of thomas was overshadowed by his gloomy discipline and haughty severity, which presently made him, if not the terror, certainly the awe, of monte cristo dwellers. we had not minded this so much, however, until when one day the precious ones paused on the stair a moment to rest, as was their wont, and were perhaps even laughing in their childish and musical way, thomas, who had now been with us some three months or more, appeared suddenly from some concealed lurking-place and ordered them to their own quarters, with a warning against a repetition of the offense that seemed unduly somber. it frightened the precious ones so thoroughly that they were almost afraid to pass through the halls alone next day, and came and went quite on a run, looking neither to the right nor to the left. it was then that we said we would go. of course, moving was not pleasant; we had enough memories in that line already, though time had robbed them of their bitterness, i suppose, for we grew quite cheerful over the idea of seeking a new abiding-place, and it being sunday, began looking over the advertisement columns immediately after breakfast. i would make a list, i said, and stop in here and there to investigate on the way to and from business. we would get nearer to business, for one thing, also nearer the car-line. we would have a lighter flat, too, and we would pay less for it. we agreed upon these things almost instantly. then we began putting down addresses. it was surprising how many good, cheap places there seemed to be now. so many new houses had been built since our last move. we regretted openly to each other that we had not gone before. then we rested a little to find fault with our quarters. we dug over all the old things, and unearthed a lot of new and hitherto concealed wretchedness that was altogether disheartening. we would move at once, we said. now! this week! perhaps i seemed a trifle less cheerful when i returned next evening. the little woman must have noticed it, i suppose, for she asked if i wasn't well. i said that i was tired, which was true. i added that a good many landlords were unscrupulous in the matter of advertising, which i can take an oath is also true. i had left the office early and investigated a number of the apartments on my list, at the expense of some nerve-tissue and considerable car-fare. the advertisements had been more or less misleading. the little woman said that in the morning she would go. the little woman herself looked tired the next evening--more tired and several years older than i had ever seen her look. she had walked a good many miles--steep stair miles which are trying. in the end she had arrived only at the conclusion that the best apartments were not advertised. she said it would be better to select the locality we preferred and walk leisurely about the good streets until we spied something attractive. she wished we might do so together. i took a holiday and we pursued this programme. like birds seeking a new nesting-place we flitted hither and thither, alighting wheresoever the perch seemed inviting. we alighted in many places, but in most of them we tarried but briefly. it was not that the apartments were inattractive--they were almost irresistible, some of them, but even hasty reflection convinced me that it would be inadvisable to invest ninety-five per cent of my salary each month in rent unless i could be altogether certain that the little woman and the precious ones could modify their appetites and remain quite well. being enthusiastic at first, we examined some of these apartments and the little woman acquired credit in my eyes as we proceeded. i did not realize until now the progress she had made since the day of our arrival in gotham nearly four years previous. her education was complete--she was a graduate in the great school of flat-life, and was contemplating a post-graduate course. figures that made me gasp and sustain myself by the silver-mounted plumbing left her quite undisturbed. from her manner you would suppose that it was only the desirability of the apartment itself that was worth consideration. she criticised the arrangement of the rooms and the various appointments with an air of real consequence, while the janitor and i followed her about, humble and unimportant, wondering how we could ever have imagined the place suitable to her requirements. in one place where the rent was twenty-four hundred it seemed almost impossible to find fault. i began to be frightened for the little woman, in the thought that now, after all, she really would be obliged to confess that the little trifle of eighteen hundred dollars a year more than we could possibly pay rendered the place undesirable. but a moment later i realized how little i knew her. when we got to the kitchen she remarked, passively, there was no morning sun in the windows. as the apartment faced east, and there was morning sun in the parlor, this condition seemed more or less normal, as the janitor meekly pointed out. but the little woman declared she would never live in another place where the kitchen was dark mornings, and turned away, leaving the janitor scratching his head over the problem of making the sun shine from two directions at once and remaining in that position all day long. still it was a narrow escape, and we were consuming time. so we contented ourselves after that with merely inquiring the size and price of the apartment of the hall-boy, and passing on. even this grew monotonous at length, and we gradually drifted into the outer edges of the chosen district, and from the outer edges into that section wherein we had made our first beginning nearly four years before, the great wilderness lying north of one hundred and sixteenth street. then we began work in earnest. we looked at light apartments and dark apartments--apartments on every floor, even to the basement. though many changes had taken place it carried us back to the day of our first experience, and set us to wondering if we really had learned anything after all. we saw apartments that we would not have, and apartments which, because of our precious ones, would not have us. apartments that ran straight through the house, apartments that, running down one side of the house and back on the other, solved in a manner the little woman's problem of having sunlight in both ends of the house at one time. it was one of these last that we took. the building, which was comparatively new, was located in the middle of the block, on a little square bit of ground, and had on each floor a cozy octagonal hall with one apartment running entirely around it. the entrance steps and halls were not as unsullied as those of our present habitat, but the janitor was a good-natured soul who won us at first glance, and who seemed on terms of the greatest amity with a small boy who lived on the first landing and accompanied us through. we saw also that the plumbing was in praiseworthy condition, and the doors swung easily on their hinges. to be sure, the price was a trifle more than we were paying in our present apartment, and the location was somewhat farther from business; but we said that a few blocks more or less were really nothing when one was once on the car, which was almost as near as at the old place, and we figured that the slight difference in rent we could save in the gas-bill, though i had a lingering suspicion that to strike a general average of light in the two places would be to cast but slight reflection on either. the janitor was the main thing--the good-natured janitor and the landlord. we could even put up with slight drawbacks for the sake of an apartment in good condition and the companionable soul down-stairs. then, too, we were foot-sore in flesh and spirit, and after the day's experiences welcomed this haven as a genuine discovery. we went home really gratified, though i confess our old nest had never seemed more inviting. i will touch but lightly upon the next few days. i would rather forget the atmosphere of squalor and destitution that pervaded our household when the carpets had been stripped up and we were stumbling about among half-packed barrels upon bare, resounding floors. i do not seek to retrace in detail the process of packing, which began with some buoyancy and system, to degenerate at last in its endlessness into dropping things mechanically and hopelessly into whatever receptacle came first to hand. i do not wish to renew the moments of vehemence and exasperation when our precious ones, who really seemed to enjoy it all, clattered about among the débris, or the vague appreciation of suicide that was born within me when, in the midst of my despair, the little woman suggested that after all she was afraid we were making a mistake in leaving our little home where we had been happy so long; also that we moved too often, an unusual statement considering the fact that we had been there for more than a year. i told her that she reminded me of my mother, who daily rated my father for keeping them poor, moving, they having moved twice in thirty-eight years. i added that i had seen my mother publicly denounce my father for having left out a broken stew-pot when they moved the last time, some twenty years before. i will not review these things fully, nor will i recall, except in the briefest manner, the usual perfidiousness of the moving-man, who, as heretofore, came two hours late, and then arranged upon the pavement all the unbeauteous articles of our household, leaving them bare and wretched in the broad light of day while he thrust into the van the pieces of which we were justly proud. i will also skim but lightly over the days devoted to getting settled. i sent word to the office that i was ill--a fact which i could have sworn to if necessary, though for a sick man my activity was quite remarkable. the little woman was active, too, while the precious ones displayed a degree of enterprise and talent for getting directly in my chosen path, which was unusual even for them. we were installed at last, however, and the jolly janitor had given us a lift now and then which completely won our hearts and more than made up for some minor shortcomings which we discovered here and there as the days passed. we named our new home the "sunshine" apartment and assured each other that we were very well pleased, and when one morning as i set out for the office i noticed that the lower halls and stairway had suddenly taken on an air of spruce tidiness--had been magically transformed over night, as it were--i was so elated that i returned to point these things out to the little woman. she came down to the door with me and agreed that it was quite wonderful, and added the final touch to our satisfaction. she added that it looked almost as if thomas had been at work there. i went away altogether happy. owing to the accumulation of work at the office it was rather later than usual when i returned that evening. as i entered i observed on the face of the little woman a peculiar look which did not seem altogether due to the delayed dinner. the precious ones also regarded me strangely, and i grew vaguely uneasy without knowing why. it was our elder hope who first addressed me. "on, pop! you can't guess who's here!" "no," chimed in the echo, "you never could! guess, papa; just guess!" as for the little woman, she leaned back in her chair and began laughing hysterically. this was alarming. i knew it could not be her brother who had just sailed for japan, and i glanced about nervously, having in mind a composite vision of my aunt jane, who had once invaded our home with disastrous results, and an old college chum, who only visited me when in financial distress. "wh--where are--they?" i half whispered, regarding anxiously the portières. "here--up-stairs, down-stairs, everywhere!" gasped the little woman, while the precious ones continued to insist that i guess and keep on guessing without rest or sustenance till the crack of doom. then suddenly i grew quite stern. "tell me," i commanded, "what is the matter with you people, and stop this nonsense! who is it that's here?" the little woman became calm for a brief instant, and emitted a single word. "thomas!" i sank weakly into a chair. "thomas?" "yes, thomas! thomas!" shrieked the precious ones, and then they, too, went off into a fit of ridiculous mirth, while recalling now the sudden transfiguration of the halls i knew they had spoken truly. the little woman was wiping her eyes. "and mr. griffin, too," she said, calmly, as if that was quite a matter of course. "and mr. griffin, too!" chorused the precious ones. "mr. griffin?" "why, yes," said the little woman. "he bought this house yesterday, and put thomas over here in charge. he will occupy the top floor himself." "oh!" "and you never saw anybody so glad of anything as thomas was to see us here. it was the first time i ever saw him laugh!" "oh, he laughed, did he?" "yes; and he gave us each some candy!" chanted the precious ones. "he said it was like meeting home folks." "oh, he did?" "mine was chocolate," declared our elder joy. "mine was marshmallows!" piped the echo. "little woman," i said, "our dinner is getting cold; suppose we eat it." xi. _inheritance and mania._ and now came one of these episodes which sometimes disturb the sequestered quiet of even the best regulated and most conventional of households. we were notified one day that my aunt jane, whom i believe i have once before mentioned having properly arranged her affairs had passed serenely out of life at an age and in a manner that left nothing to be desired. i was sorry, of course,--as sorry as it was possible to be, considering the fact that she had left me a sum which though not large was absurdly welcome. i did not sleep very well until it came, fearing there might be some hitch in administrating the will, but there was no hitch (my aunt jane, heaven rest her spirit, had been too thoroughly business for that) and the sum came along in due season. we would keep this sum, we decided, as a sinking fund; something to have in the savings bank, to be added to, from time to time, as a provision for the future and our precious ones. this seemed a good idea at the time, and it seems so yet, for that matter. i have never been able to discover that there is anything wrong with having money in a good savings bank. i _put_ the sum in a good savings bank, and we were briefly satisfied with our prudence. it gave us a sort of safe feeling to know that it was there, to be had almost instantly, in case of need. it was this latter knowledge that destroyed us. when the novelty of feeling safe had worn off we began to need the sum. casually at first, coming as a mere suggestion, in fact, from one or the other of us, of what we could buy with it. it is wonderful how many things we were constantly seeing that the sum would pay for. our furniture, for instance, had grown old without becoming antique, and was costly only when you reckon what we had paid for moving it. we had gradually acquired a taste (or it may have been only the need of a taste) for the real thing. whatever it was it seemed expensive--too expensive to be gratified heretofore, but now that we had the sum---- the shops along fourth avenue were literally bulging with things that we coveted and that the sum would pay for. i looked at them wistfully in passing, still passing strong in my resolution to let the sum lie untouched. then i began to linger and go in, and to imagine that i knew a good piece and a bargain when i saw it. this last may be set down as a fatal symptom. it led me into vile second-hand stores in the hope of finding some hitherto undiscovered treasure. in these i hauled over the wretched jetsam of a thousand cheap apartments and came out dusty and contaminated but not discouraged. i suggested to the little woman one day that it would be in the nature of an investment to buy now, in something old and good, the desk i had needed so long. i assured her that antiques were becoming scarcer each year, and that pieces bought to-day were quite as good as money in the savings bank, besides having the use of them. the little woman agreed readily. for a long time she had wanted me to have a desk, and my argument in favor of an antique piece seemed sound. i did not immediately find a desk that suited me. there were a great many of them, and most of them seemed sufficiently antique, but being still somewhat modern in my ideas i did not altogether agree with their internal arrangements, while such as did appeal would have made too large an incursion into the sum. what i did find at length was a table--a mahogany veneered table which the dealer said was of a period before the war. i could readily believe it. if he had said that it had been _through_ the war i could have believed that, too. it looked it. but i saw in it possibilities, and reflected that it would give me an opportunity to develop a certain mechanical turn which had lain dormant hitherto. the little woman had been generous in the matter of the desk. i would buy the table for the little woman. she was pleased, of course, but seemed to me she regarded it a trifle doubtfully when it came in. still, the price had not been great, and it was astonishing to see how much better it looked when i was through with it, and it was in a dim corner, with its more unfortunate portions next the wall. indeed, it had about it quite an air of genuine respectability, and made the rest of our things seem poor and trifling. it was the beginning of the end. some colonial chairs came next. the little woman and i discovered their battered skeletons one day as we were hurrying to catch a car. they were piled in front of a place that under ordinary conditions we would have shunned as a pest-house. still the chairs were really beautiful and it was a genuine "find"! i did not restore these myself--they needed too much. i had them delivered to a cabinet-maker who in turn delivered them to us in a condition that made the rest of our belongings look even shabbier, and at a cost that made another incursion into the sum. i renovated and upholstered the next lot of chairs myself, and was proud of the result, though the work was attended by certain unpleasant features, and required time. on the whole, i concluded to let the cabinet-maker undertake the heavy lounge that came next, and was in pieces, as if a cyclone had struck it somewhere back in the forties and it had been lying in a heap, ever since. it was wonderful what he did with it. it came to us a thing of beauty and an everlasting joy, and his bill made a definite perforation in the sum. we did not mind so much now. it was merely altering the form of our investment, we said, and we had determined to become respectable at any cost. the fact that we had been offered more for the restored lounge than it cost us reassured us in our position. most of our old traps we huddled together one day, and disposed of them to a second-hand man for almost enough to pay for one decent piece--a chiffonier this time--and voted a good riddance to bad rubbish. reflecting upon this now, it seems to me we were a bit hasty and unkind. poor though they were, the old things had served us well and gone with us through the ups and downs of many apartments. in some of them we had rocked the precious ones, and on most of them the precious ones had tried the strength and resistance of their toys. they were racked and battered, it is true and not always to be trusted as to stability, but we knew them and their shortcomings, and they knew us and ours. we knew just how to get them up winding stairs and through narrow doors. they knew about the length of time between each migration, and just about what to expect with each stage of our progress. they must have long foreseen the end. let us hope they will one day become "antiques" and fall into fonder and more faithful hands. but again i am digressing--it is my usual fault. we invested presently in a chippendale sideboard, and a tall clock which gave me no peace night or day until i heard its mellow tick and strike in our own dim little hall. the aperture in the sum was now plainly visible, and by the time we had added the desk, which i had felt unable to afford at the start, and a chair to match, it had become an orifice that widened to a gap, with the still further addition of a small but not inexpensive chippendale cabinet and something to put within it. the little woman called a halt now. she said she thought we had enough invested in this particular direction, that it was not wise to put all one's eggs into one basket. besides, we had all the things our place would hold comfortably: rather more, in fact, except in the matter of rugs. the floors of the sunshine apartment were hard finished and shellacked. such rugs as we had were rare only as to numbers, and we were no longer proud of them. i quite agreed with the little woman on the question of furniture, but i said that now we had such good things in that line, i would invest in one really good rug. i did. i drifted one day into an armenian place on broadway into which the looms of the orient had poured a lavish store. small black-haired men issued from among the heaped-up wares like mice in a granary. i was surrounded--i was beseeched and entreated--i was made to sit down while piece after piece of antiquity and art were unrolled at my feet. at each unrolling the tallest of the black men would spread his hands and look at me. "a painting, a painting, a masterpiece. i never have such fine piece since i begin business;" and each of the other small black men would spread their hands and look at me and murmur low, reverent exclamations. i did not buy the first time. you must know that even when one has become inured to the tariff on antique furniture, and has still the remains of a sum to draw upon, there is something about the prices of oriental rugs that is discouraging when one has ever given the matter much previous thought. but the memory of those unrolled masterpieces haunted me. there was something fascinating and eastern and fine about sitting in state as it were, and having the treasures of the orient spread before you by those little dark men. so i went again, and this time i made the first downward step. it was a cashmere--a thick, mellow antique piece with a purple bloom pervading it, and a narrow faded strip at one end that betokened exposure and age. the little woman gasped when she saw it, and the precious ones approved it in chorus. it took me more than a week to confess the full price. it had to be done by stages; for of course the little woman had not sat as i had sat and had the "paintings of the east" unrolled at her feet and thus grown accustomed to magnificence. to tell her all at once that our one new possession had cost about five times as much as all the rest of our rugs put together would have been an unnecessary rashness on my part. as it was, she came to it by degrees, and by degrees also she realized that our other floor coverings were poor, base, and spurious. still i was prudent in my next selections. i bought two smaller pieces, a kazak strip, and a beloochistan mat. this was really all we needed, but a few days later a small piece of antique bokhara overpowered me, and i fell. i said it would be nice on the wall, and the little woman confessed that it was, but again insisted that we would better stop now. she little realized my condition. the small dark men in their dim-lit broadway cave had woven a spell about me that made the seductions of antique furniture as a forgotten tale. i bought a book on rug collecting, and i could not pass their treasure-house without turning in. they had learned to know me from afar, and the sound of my step was the signal for a horde of them to come tumbling out from among the rugs. it was the old story of eastern magic. the spell of the orient was upon me, and in the language of my friends i went plunging down the _rug_ged path to ruin. i added an anatolian to my collections--a small one that i could slip into the house without the little woman seeing it until it was placed and in position to help me in my defense. it was the same with a bergama and a coula, but by this time the precious ones would come tearing out into the hall when i came home and then rush back, calling as they ran: "oh, mamma, he's got one and he's holding it behind him! he's got another rug, mamma!" so when i got the big khiva i felt that some new tactics must be adopted. in the first place, it would take two strong men to carry it, and in the next place it would cover the parlor floor completely, and meant the transferring to the walls of several former purchases. further than this, its addition would make the hole in the sum big enough to drive a wagon through--a band-wagon at that with a whole circus procession behind it. indeed, the remains of the sum would be merely fragmentary, so to speak, and only the glad christmas season could make it possible for me to confess and justify to the little woman the fulness of the situation. luckily, christmas was not far distant. the dark men agreed to hold the big khiva until the day before, and then deliver it to the janitor. with the janitor's help i could get it up and into the apartment after the little woman had gone to bed. i could spread it down at my leisure and decorate the walls with some of those now on the floor. when on the glad christmas morning this would burst upon the little woman in sudden splendor, i felt that she would not be too severe in her judgment. it was a good plan, and it worked as well as most plans do. there were some hitches, of course. the little woman, for instance, was not yet in bed when the janitor was ready to help me, and i was in mortal terror lest she should hear us getting the big roll into the hallway, or coming out later should stumble over it in the dark. but she did not seem to hear, and she did not venture out into the hall. neither did she seem to notice anything unusual when by and by i stumbled over it myself and plunged through a large pasteboard box in which there was something else for the little woman--something likely to make her still more lenient in the matter of the rug. i made enough noise to arouse the people in the next flat, but the little woman can be very discreet on christmas eve. she slept well the next morning, too,--a morning i shall long remember. if you have never attempted to lay a ten-by-twelve khiva rug in a small flat-parlor, under couches and tables and things, and with an extra supply of steam going, you do not understand what one can undergo for the sake of art. it's a fairly interesting job for three people--two to lift the furniture and one to spread the rug, and even then it isn't easy to find a place to stand on. it was about four o clock i think when i began, and the memory of the next three hours is weird, and lacking in christmas spirit. i know now just how every piece of furniture we possess looks from the under side. i suppose this isn't a bad sort of knowledge to have, but i would rather not acquire it while i am pulling the wrinkles out of a two-hundred-pound rug. but when the little woman looked at the result and at me she was even more kind than i had expected. she did not denounce me. she couldn't. looking me over carefully she realized dimly what the effort had cost, and pitied me. it was a happy christmas, altogether, and in the afternoon, looking at our possessions, the little woman remarked that we needed a house now to display them properly. it was a chance remark but it bore fruit. xii. _gilded affluence._ yet not immediately. we had still to make the final step of our progress in apartment life, and to acquire other valuable experience. it happened in this wise. of the sum there still remained a fragment--unimportant and fragile, it would seem--but quite sufficient, as it proved, to make our lives reasonably exciting for several months. a friend on the stock exchange whispered to me one morning that there was to be a big jump in calfskin common--something phenomenal, he said, and that a hundred shares would pay a profit directly that would resemble money picked up in the highway. i had never dealt in stocks, or discovered any currency in the public thoroughfares, but my recent inheritance of the sum and its benefits had developed a taste in the right direction. calfskin common was low then, almost as low as it has been since, and an option on a hundred shares could be secured with a ridiculously small amount--even the fragment of the sum would be sufficient. i mentioned the matter that night to the little woman. we agreed almost instantly that there was no reason why we should not make something on calfskin common, though i could see that the little woman did not know what calfskin common was. i have hinted before that she was not then conversant with the life and lingo of the stock exchange, and on the whole my advantage in this direction was less than it seemed at the time. i think we both imagined that calfskin common had something to do with a low grade of hides, and the little woman said she supposed there must be a prospective demand from some foreign country that would advance the price of cheap shoes. of course it would be nice to have our investments profitable, but on the whole perhaps i'd better lay in an extra pair or so of everyday footwear for the precious ones. i acquired some information along with my option on the stock next day, so that both the little woman and myself could converse quite technically by bed-time. we knew that we had "put up a ten per cent. margin" and had an "option" at twelve dollars a share on a hundred shares of the common stock in leather corporation--said stock being certain to go to fifty and perhaps a hundred dollars a share within the next sixty days. the fragment of the sum and a trifle more had been exchanged for the stock, and we were "in on a deal." then too we had a "stop-loss" on the stock so that we were safe, whatever happened. the little woman didn't understand the "stop-loss" at first, and when i explained to her that it worked automatically, as it were, she became even more mystified. i gathered from her remarks that she thought it meant something like an automatic water shut-off such as we had in the bath-room to prevent waste. of course, that was altogether wrong, and i knew it at the time, but it did not seem worth while to explain in detail. i merely said that it was something we could keep setting higher as the stock advanced, so that in event of a downward turn we would save our original sum, with the accrued profits. then we talked about what we would do with the money. we said that now we had such a lot of good things and were going to make money out of the stock we ought to try one really high-class apartment--something with an elevator, and an air of refinement and gentility. it would cost a good deal, of course, but the surroundings would be so much more congenial, so much better for the precious ones, and now that i was really doing fairly well, and that we had the stock--still we would be prudent and not move hastily. we allowed the stock to advance five points before we really began to look for a place. five points advance meant five hundred dollars' profit on our investment, and my friend on the exchange laughed and congratulated me and said it was only the beginning. so we put up the stop-loss, almost as far as it would go, and began to look about for a place that was quite suitable for people with refined taste, some very good things in the way of rugs and furniture, and a stock. we were not proud as yet. we merely felt prosperous and were willing to let fortune smile on us amid the proper surroundings. we said it was easy enough to make money, now that we knew how, and that it was no wonder there were so many rich people in the metropolis. we had fought the hard fight, and were willing now to take it somewhat easier. we selected an apartment with these things in view. it was some difficulty to find a place that suited both us and the precious ones. not that they were hard to please--they welcomed anything in the nature of change--but at most of the fine places children were rigorously barred, a rule, it seemed to us, that might result in rather trying complications between landlord and tenant in the course of time and nature, though we did not pursue investigations in this line. we found lodgment and welcome at length in the apollo, a newly constructed apartment of the latest pattern and in what seemed a most desirable neighborhood. the apollo was really a very imposing and towering affair, with onyx and gilded halls. the elevator that fairly shot us skyward when we ascended to our eerie nest ten stories above the street, and was a boundless joy to the precious ones, who would gladly have made their playhouse in the gaudy little car with the brown boy in blue and brass. our fine belongings looked grand in the new suite, and our rugs on the inlaid and polished floor were luxurious and elegant. compared with this, much of our past seemed squalid and a period to be forgotten. ann, who was still with us, put on a white cap and apron at meal-times, and to answer the bell, though the cap had a habit of getting over one ear, while the apron remained white with difficulty. the janitor of the apollo was quite as imposing as the house itself,--a fallen nobleman, in fact, though by no means fallen so far as most of those whose possibilities of decline had been immeasurably less. he was stately and uplifting in his demeanor. so much so that i found myself unconsciously imitating his high-born manner and mode of speech. i had a feeling that he was altogether more at home in the place than we were, but i hoped this would pass. whatever the cost, we were determined to live up to the apollo and its titled _chargé d'affaires_. and now came exciting days. the stock continued to advance, as our friend had prophesied. some days it went up one point, some days two. every point meant a hundred dollars' clear profit. one day it advanced five full points. we only counted full points. fractional advances we threw into the next day's good measure, and set the stop-loss higher, and yet ever higher. we acquired credit with ourselves. we began to think that perhaps after all we hadn't taken quite so good an apartment as we deserved. what was a matter of a thousand dollars more or less on a year's rent when the stock was yielding a profit of a hundred or two dollars a day. we repeated that it was easy enough now to understand how new yorkers got rich, and could afford the luxuries heretofore regarded by us with a wonderment that was akin to awe. i began to have a vague notion of abandoning other pursuits and going into stocks, altogether. we even talked of owning our own home on fifth avenue. still we were quite prudent, as was our custom. i did not go definitely into stocks, and we remained with the fallen nobleman in the apollo. neither did we actually negotiate for fifth avenue property. the little woman bought many papers during the day. in some of them early stock quotations were printed in red, so it might be truly said that these were red-letter days for the little woman. when she heard "_extra!_" being shouted in the street far below she could not dispossess herself of the idea that it had been issued to announce a sensational advance of the stock. even as late as ten o'clock one night she insisted on my going down for one, though i explained that the stock exchange had closed some seven hours before. the precious ones fairly kept the elevator busy during the afternoon, going for extras, and when the final wall street edition was secured they would come shouting in, "here it is. look at the stock, quick, mamma, and see how much we've made to-day!" truly this was a gilded age; though i confess that it did not seem quite real, and looking back now the memory of it seems less pleasant than that of some of the very hard epochs that had gone before. still, it occupies a place all its own and is not without value in life's completed scheme. the stock did not go to fifty. it limped before it got to forty, and we began to be harassed by paltry fractional advances, with even an occasional fractional decline. we did not approve of this. it was annoying to look in the wall street edition and find that we had made only twelve dollars and a half, instead of a hundred or two, as had been the case in the beginning. we even thought of selling calfskin common and buying a stock that would not act that way; but my friend of the exchange advised against it. he said this was merely a temporary thing, and that fifty and a hundred would come along in good time. he adjusted the stop-loss for us so that there was no danger of the stock being sold on a temporary decline, and we sat down to wait and watch the papers while the stock gathered strength for a new upward rush that was sure to come, and would place us in a position to gratify a good many of the ambitions lately formed. a feverish and nerve-destroying ten days followed. the stock had become to us as a personal presence that we watched as it stumbled and struggled and panted, and dug its common calfskin toes into things in a frantic effort to scale the market. i know now that the men who had organized the deal were boasting and shouting, and beating the air in their wild encouragement, while those who opposed it were hammering, and throttling and flinging mud, in as wild an effort to check and demoralize and destroy. at the time, however, we caught only the echo of these things, and believed as did our friend on the exchange, that a great capitalist was in control of calfskin common and would send it to par. only we wished he would send it faster. we did not like to fool along this way, an eighth up and an eighth, or a quarter down, and all uncertainty and tension. besides, we needed our accruing profits to meet our heavily increased expenses which were by no means easy to dispose of with our normal income, improved though it was with time and tireless effort. indeed, most of the eighths and quarters presently seemed to be in the wrong direction. it was no fun to lose even twelve dollars and a half a day and keep it up. the presence in the household was in delicate health. it needed to be coddled and pampered, and the strain of it told on us. the little woman developed an anxious look, and grew nervous and feverish at the clamor of an "extra." sometimes i heard her talking "plus" and "minus" and "points" in her sleep and knew that she had taken the stock to bed with her. the memory of our old quiet life in the sunshine and monte cristo began to grow in sweetness beside this sordid and gilded existence in the apollo. the massive portals and towering masonry which at first had been as a solid foundation for genuine respectability began to seem gloomy and overpowering, and lacking in the true home spirit we had found elsewhere. the smartly dressed and mannered people who rode up and down with us on the elevator did not seem quite genuine, and their complexions were not always real. it may have been the condition of the stock that disheartened us and made their lives as well as ours seem artificial. i don't know. i only know that i began to have a dim feeling that we would have been happier if we had been satisfied with our oriental rugs and antique furniture, and the remnant of the sum, without the acquaintance of the stock and the fallen nobleman below stairs. but, as i have said, all things have their place and value, i suppose, and our regrets, if they were that, have long since been dissipated, with the things that made them possible. quickly, as they had come, they passed, and were not. i was working busily one morning in my south front study when the little woman entered hurriedly. it was late april and our windows were open, but being much engaged i had not noticed the cries of "extra!" that floated up from the street below. it was these that had brought the little woman, however, and she leaned out to look and listen. "they are calling out something about stocks and wall street," she said, "i am sure of it. go down and see, quick! calfskin common must have gone to a hundred!" "oh, pshaw!" i laughed, "it's only the assassination of a king, or something. you're excited and don't hear right." still, i did go down, and i fumed at the elevator-boy for being so slow to answer, though i suppose he was prompt enough. the "extra" callers had passed by the time i got to the street, but i chased and caught them. then i ran all the way back to the apollo, and plunged into the elevator that was just starting heavenward. i suppose i looked pretty white when i rushed in where the little woman was waiting. but the type that told the dreadful tale was red enough, in all conscience. there it was, in daubed vermilion, for the whole world and the little woman to see. "panic on wall street. "break in leather stocks causes general decline. calfskin common falls twenty points in ten minutes. three failures and more to come!" following this was a brief list of the most sensational drops and the names of the failing firms. for a moment we stared at each other, speechless. then the little woman recovered voice. "oh," she gasped, "we've caused a panic!" "no," i panted, "but we're in one!" "and we'll lose everything! people always do in panics, don't they?" i nodded gloomily. "a good many do. that is, unless----" "but the stop-loss!" she remembered joyfully, "we've got a stop-loss!" "that's so!" i assented, "the stop-loss! our stock is already sold--that is if the stop-loss worked." "but you know you said it worked automatically." "so it does--automatically, if--if it holds! it must have worked! i'll telephone at once, and see." there was a telephone in the apollo and i hurried to it. five women and three men were waiting ahead of me, and every one tried to telephone about stocks. some got replies and became hysterical. one elderly woman with a juvenile make-up and a great many rings fainted and was borne away unconscious. a good many got nothing whatever. i was one of the latter. the line to my brokers was busy. it was busy all that day, during which we bought extras and suffered. by night-fall we would have rejoiced to know that even the original fragment of the sum had been saved out of the general wreck of things on the street. it was. even a little more, for the stop-loss that had failed to hold against the first sudden and overwhelming pressure, had caught somewhere about twenty, and our brokers next morning advised us of the sale. it was a quiet breakfast that we had. we were rather mixed as to our feelings, but i know now that a sense of relief was what we felt most. it was all over--the tension of anxious days, and the restless nights. many had been ruined utterly. we had saved something out of the wreck--enough to pay the difference in our rent. then, too, we were alive and well, and we had our precious ones. also our furniture, which was both satisfactory and paid for. through the open windows the sweet spring air was blowing in, bringing a breath and memory of country lanes. even before breakfast was over i reminded the little woman of what she had once said about needing a home of our own, now that we had things to put in it. i said that the memory of our one brief suburban experience was like a dream of sunlit and perfumed fields. that we had run the whole gamut of apartment life and the apollo had been the post-graduate course. in some ways it was better than the others, and if we chose to pinch and economize in other ways, as many did, we still might manage to pay for its luxury, but after all it was not, and never had been a home to me, while the ground and the precious ones were too far apart for health. and the little woman, god bless her, agreed instantly and heartily, and declared that we would go. onyx and gilded elegance she said were obtained at too great a price for people with simple tastes and moderate incomes. as for stocks, we agreed that they were altogether in keeping with our present surroundings--with the onyx and the gilt--with the fallen nobleman below stairs and those who were fallen and not noble, the artificial aristocrats, who rode up and down with us on the elevator. we had had quite enough of it all. we had taken our apartment for a year, but as the place was already full, with tenants waiting, there would be no trouble to sublet to some one of the many who are ever willing to spend most of their income in rent and live the best way they can. peace be with them. they are welcome to do so, but for people like ourselves the apollo was not built, and _vanitas vanitatum_ is written upon its walls. xiii. _a home at last._ we began reading advertisements at once and took jaunts to "see property." the various investment companies supplied free transportation on these occasions. it was a pleasant variation from the old days of flat hunting. the precious ones, who remembered with joy our former brief suburban experiment, appreciated it, and raced shouting through rows of new "instalment houses" with nice lawns, all within the commutation limits. we settled on one, at last, through an agency which the trolley-man referred to as the "reality trust." the cash-payment was small and the instalments, if long continued, were at least not discouraging as to size. we had a nice wide lawn with green grass, a big, dry cellar with a furnace, a high, light garret, and eight beautiful light rooms, all our own. at the back there were clothes-poles and room for a garden. in front there was a long porch with a place for a hammock. there was room in the yard for the precious ones to romp, as well as space to spread out our rugs. we closed the bargain at once, and engaged a moving man. our flat days were over. and now fortune seemed all at once to smile. the day of our last move was perfect. the moving man came exactly on time and delivered our possessions at the new home on the moment of our arrival there. the little woman superintended matters inside, while i spread out my rugs on the grass in the sun and shook them and swept them and scolded the precious ones, who were inclined to sit on the one i was handling, to my heart's content. within an hour the butcher, the baker, and the merry milk-maker had called and established relations. by night-fall we were fairly settled--our furniture, so crowded in a little city apartment, airily scattered through our eight big, beautiful rooms, and our rugs, all fresh and clean, reaching as far as they would go, suggesting new additions to our collection whenever the spell of the dark-faced armenians in their dim oriental broadway recess should assert itself during the years to come. [illustration: our garden flourished.] sweet spring days followed. we fairly reveled in seed catalogues, and our garden flourished. our neighbors, instead of borrowing our loose property, as we had been led to expect by the comic papers, literally overwhelmed us with garden tools and good advice. we needed both, certainly, and were duly thankful. as for the precious ones, they grew fat and brown, refused to wear hats and shoes when summer came, and it required some argument to convince them that even a fragmentary amount of clothes was necessary. all day now they run, and shout, and fall down and cry, and get up again and laugh, sit in the hammock and swing their disreputable dolls, and eat and quarrel and make up and have a beautiful time. at night they sleep in a big airy room where screens let the breeze in and keep out the few friendly mosquitoes that are a part of all suburban life. we are commuters, and we are glad of it, let the comic papers say what they will. the fellows who write those things are bitten with something worse than mosquitoes, _i. e._, envy--i know, because i have written some of them myself, in the old days. perhaps it _is_ hard to get to and from the train sometimes--perhaps the snow _may_ blow into the garret and the lawn be hard to mow on a hot day. but the joy of the healthy precious ones and of coming out of the smelly, clattering city at the end of a hot summer day to a cool, sweet quiet, more than makes up for all the rest; while as one falls asleep, in a restful room that lets the breeze in from three different directions, the memories of flat-life, flat-hunting, and janitors--of sweltering, disordered nights, of crashing cobble and clanging trolleys, of evil-smelling halls and stairways, of these and of every other phase of the yardless, constricted apartment existence, blend into a sigh of relief that is lost in dreamless, refreshing suburban sleep. xiv. _closing remarks._ to those who of necessity are still living in city apartments, and especially to those who are contemplating flat life i would in all seriousness say a few closing words. it requires education to get the best out of flat life. not such education as is acquired at harvard, or vassar, or even at the industrial or cooking schools, but education in the greater school of humanity. in fact, flat living may be said to amount almost to a profession. the choice of an apartment is an art in itself, and, as no apartment is without drawbacks, the most vital should be considered as all-important, and an agreeable willingness to put up with the minor shortcomings of equal value. sunlight, rental, locality, accessibility, janitor-service, size, and convenience are all important, and about in the order named. a dark apartment means doctor's bills, and by dark i mean any apartment into which the broad sun does not shine at least a portion of the day. sunlight is the great microbe-killer, and as moss grows on the north side of a tree, so do minute poison fungi grow in the dim apartment. as to locality, a clean street, as far as possible from the business center is to be preferred, and away from the crash of the elevated railway. people are killed, morally and physically, by noise. for this reason an apartment several flights up is desirable, though the top floor is said by physicians to be somewhat less healthy than the one just below. it is hard to instruct the novice in these matters. he must learn by experience. but there is one word that contains so much of the secret of successful apartment life that i must not omit it here. that word is charity. i do not mean by this the giving of money or old clothes to those who slip in whenever the hall door is left unlocked. i mean that _larger_ charity which comes of a wider understanding of the natures and conditions of men. you cannot expect, for instance, that a man or a woman, who serves for rent only, and wretched basement rent at that, or for a few dollars monthly additional at most, can be a very intelligent, capable person, of serene temper and with qualities that one would most desire in the ideal janitor. in the ordinary new york flat house janitors are engaged on terms that attract only people who can find no other means of obtaining shelter and support. those who would fulfill your idea of what a janitor should do have been engaged for the more expensive apartments, or they have gone into other professions. the flat-house janitor's work is laborious, unclean, and never ending. it is not conducive to a neat appearance or a joyous disposition. if your janitor is only fairly prompt in the matter of garbage and ashes, and even approximately liberal as to heat and hot water, be glad to say a kind word to him now and then without expecting that he will be humble or even obliging. if you hear him knocking things about and condemning childhood in a general way, remember that _your_ children are _only_ children, like all the rest, and that a great many children under one roof can stretch even a strong, wise person's endurance to the snapping point. then there are the neighbors. because the woman across the hall is boiling onions and cabbage to-day, do not forget that your cabbage and onion day will come on wednesday, and she will probably enjoy it just as little as you are appreciating her efforts now. and because the children overhead run up and down and sound like a herd of buffaloes, don't imagine that your own precious ones are any more fairy-footed to the people who live just below. it's all in the day's endurance, and the wider your understanding and the greater your charity, the more patiently you will live and let live. it was an old saying that no two families could live under one roof; but in flat life ten and sometimes twenty families must live under one roof, and while you do not need to know them all, or perhaps any of them, you will find that they do, in some measure, become a part of your lives, and that your own part of the whole is just about what you make it. also, there are the servant girls. we cannot hope that a highly efficient, intelligent young girl will perform menial labor some sixteen hours a day for a few dollars a week and board, with the privilege of eating off the tubs and sleeping in a five-by-seven closet off the kitchen, when she can obtain a clerkship in one of the department stores where she has light, clean employment, shorter hours, and sees something of the passing show; or when, by attending night school for a short time, she can learn stenography and command even better salary for still shorter hours. it requires quite as much intelligence to be a capable house servant as to be a good clerk; and as for education, there is no lack of that in these days, whatever the rank of life. even when a girl prefers household service, if she be bright and capable it is but a question of time when she will find employment with those to whom the question of wages is considered as secondary to that of the quality of service obtained in return. so you see we must not expect too much of our "girl for general housework," unless we are prepared to pay her for her longer hours and harder work something approximating the sum we pay to the other girl who comes down in a sailor hat and pretty shirt waist at nine or ten to take a few letters and typewrite them, and read a nice new novel between times until say five o'clock, and who gets four weeks' vacation in hot weather, and five if she asks for it prettily, with no discontinuance of salary. all this may be different, some day, but while we are waiting, let us not forget that there are many things in the world that it would be well to remember, and that "_the greatest of these_" and the one that embraces all the rest, "_is charity!_" * * * * * lords of the north by a. c. laut a strong historical novel * * * * * _lords of the north_ is a thrilling romance dealing with the rivalries and intrigues of _the ancient and honorable hudson's bay_ and the _north-west companies_ for the supremacy of the fur trade in the great north. it is a story of life in the open; of pioneers and trappers. the life of the fur traders in canada is graphically depicted. the struggles of the selkirk settlers and the intrigues which made the life of the two great fur trading companies so full of romantic interest, are here laid bare. _francis parkman_ and other historians have written of the discovery and colonization of this part of our great north american continent, but no novel has appeared so full of life and vivid interest as _lords of the north_. much valuable information has been obtained from old documents and the records of the rival companies which wielded unlimited power over a vast extent of our country. the style is admirable, and the descriptions of an untamed continent, of vast forest wastes, rivers, lakes and prairies, will place this book among the foremost historical novels of the present day. the struggles of the english for supremacy, the capturing of frontier posts and forts, and the life of trader and trapper are pictured with a master's hand. besides being vastly interesting, _lords of the north_ is a book of historical value. _cloth, vo, $ . _ * * * * * _a drone_ and _a dreamer_ _a love story_ _illustrated, cloth, vo, $ . _ by nelson lloyd _author of "the chronic loafer"_ * * * * * a critic in reviewing the chronic loafer said: "pennsylvania fiction has never been listed as a standard stock but mr. lloyd has only to continue to write and pennsylvania will be lifted, i venture to add, into the list of preferred securities." "a drone and a dreamer" is a rich fulfillment of this prophecy. brimming over with genial humor and wholesome fun, the book is an exquisite love story and charming idyl of life among the mountains and valleys of the keystone state. droch in _life_: "one of the most fertile yet unploughed regions in the united states for local fiction is pennsylvania. it is old, and vast and picturesque. bayard taylor and weir mitchell have given the philadelphia end of the state some importance in fiction. john luther long has written several effective tales in the dutch dialect, and the moravians of bethlehem have inspired a novel or two. these writers, however, have hardly scratched around the corners of the great state. mr. lloyd does not try to palm off a weak imitation of a miss wilkins yankee as a rustic pennsylvanian. his humor comes spontaneously from the soil." _book buyer_: "mr. lloyd is an excellent workman. he makes us see the quiet of the hills and the allurements of the trout-stream, yet he refrains as scrupulously as mr. howells himself from obtruding his own personality. his characters themselves apparently produce the effects due to his skill. his subject-matter is remarkably fresh. pervading it all is a delightful humor." * * * * * _parlous times_ david dwight wells a novel of modern diplomacy by the author of _"her ladyship's elephant."_ * * * * * parlous times is a society novel of to-day. the scene is laid in london in diplomatic circles. the romance was suggested by experiences of the author while second secretary of the united states embassy at the court of st. james. it is a charming love story, with a theme both fresh and attractive. the plot is strong, and the action of the book goes with a rush. political conspiracy and the secrets of an old tower of a castle in sussex play an important part in the novel. the story is a bright comedy, full of humor, flashes of keen wit and clever epigram. it will hold the reader's attention from beginning to end. altogether it is a good story exceedingly well told, and promises to be mr. wells' most successful novel. _cloth, vo, $ . _ * * * * * north west _but one verdict_ east south _the chronic loafer_ _by nelson lloyd_ vo, cloth, $ . * * * * * outlook, new york "a new american humorist. the stones have the point and dry force found in those told by the late lamented _david harum_." san francisco argonaut "will bring a smile when it is read a second or third time." new orleans picayune "racy with wisdom and humor." chicago inter-ocean "a book full of good laughs, and will be found a sure specific for the blues." omaha world herald "the reader will love him." north american, philadelphia "great natural humor and charm. in this story alone mr. lloyd is deserving of rank up-front among the american humorists." portland transcript "a cheerful companion. the reviewer has enjoyed it in a month when books to be read have been many and the time precious." denver republican "nelson lloyd is to be hailed as a columbus. there isn't a story in the book that isn't first-class fun, and there's no reason why _the chronic loafer_ should not be placed in the gallery of american celebrities beside the popular and philosophical _mr. dooley_." * * * * * charles kingsley novels, poems and life * * * * * chester edition * * * * * illustrated with photogravure plates printed on japanese paper, from paintings by _zeigler_, and from portraits by _reich_ and others, photographs, etc. introductions by _maurice kingsley_. printed from new, large type, on choice laid paper. * * * * * _ volumes, vo, cloth, gilt top, $ . ._ _one half crushed morocco, gilt top, $ . ._ * * * * * supplied separately in cloth, as follows: hereward the wake vols. $ . alton locke " . westward ho! " . yeast " . two years ago " . hypatia " . poems " . letters and memories " . _this is the only illustrated edition of this author's works ever issued._ the introductions by charles kingsley's son are particularly interesting and timely. * * * * * _little leather_ _breeches_ _and other southern rhymes_ collected and arranged by francis p. wightman _forty-eight full-page colored illustrations and cover by the author_ quarto, $ . * * * * * peter newell "_little leather breeches_ is a permanent contribution to the literature of the day. not only is it highly amusing, but also of genuine value as a collection and presentation of folk-lore of a peculiar and interesting people. _i do not hesitate to set the stamp of approval on your book._" a. b. frost "the book is very well done, very bright and clever in its treatment of the subject. the material you have gathered together is excellent, very interesting, and should be preserved." "the most unique gift-book of the season."--_st. louis glove-democrat._ "a bit of rollicking fun."--_the book-buyer._ "refreshingly original. lavishly illustrated."--_brooklyn daily eagle._ "since the days of lear's nonsense book nothing has appeared so full of genuine humor."--_savannah press._ * * * * * j. f. taylor & company _ & east sixteenth st._, new york note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h.zip) forest neighbors _"and the northern lights come down, to dance with the houseless snow; and god, who clears the grounding berg, and steers the grinding floe, he hears the cry of the little kit-fox, and the lemming, on the snow."_ rudyard kipling. [illustration: _the beaver lumbering._] forest neighbors life stories of wild animals by william davenport hulbert illustrated doubleday, page & co. garden city new york copyright, , , and , by the s. s. mcclure co. copyright, , by doubleday, page & co. _to my sister_ katharine grace hulbert contents page introduction xi the biography of a beaver the king of the trout stream the strenuous life of a canada lynx pointers from a porcupine quill the adventures of a loon the making of a glimmerglass buck list of illustrations the beaver lumbering _frontispiece_ page "on the grass in the warm, quiet sunshine of an autumn afternoon" building the dam nesting grounds "he tried jumping out of the water" "the hole was suddenly darkened, and a round, hairy face looked in" "he was a very presentable young lynx" "they both stood still and looked at each other" "high up in the top of a tall hemlock" "he quickly made his way to the beach" "he went under as simply as you would step out of bed" "she herself was a rarely beautiful sight" "the old earth sliding southward fifty miles an hour" "he was a baby to be proud of" "the buck was nearing the prime of life" "wherever they went they were always struggling and fighting" _introduction_ _some thirty years ago, while out on one of his landlooking trips in the woods of northern michigan, my father came upon a little lake which seemed to him the loveliest that he had ever seen, though he had visited many in the course of his explorations. the wild ponds are very apt to be shallow and muddy, with low, marshy shores; but this one was deep and clear, and its high banks were clothed with a splendid growth of beech, maple and birch. tall elms stood guard along the water's edge, and here and there the hardwood forest was broken by dark hemlock groves, and groups of lordly pine-trees, lifting their great green heads high above their deciduous neighbors. only in one place, around the extreme eastern end, the ground was flat and wet; and there the tamarack swamp showed golden yellow in october, and light, delicate green in late spring. wild morning-glories grew on the grassy point that put out from the northern shore, and in the bays the white water-lilies were blossoming. nearly two miles long and three-quarters of a mile wide, it lay basking and shimmering in the sunshine, a big, broad, beautiful sheet of water set down in the very heart of the woods._ _there were no settlers anywhere near, nor even any indians, yet there was no lack of inhabitants. bears and wolves and a host of smaller animals were to be found, and along the shores were runways that had been worn deep in the soil by the tread of generation after generation of dainty little cloven hoofs. i suppose that some of those paths have been used by the deer for hundreds, and perhaps thousands, of years._ _the lands around the entire lake were offered for sale by the united states government at the ridiculously low price which uncle sam has asked for most of his possessions; and with the help of some friends my father bought the whole shore. during the years which followed he was occupied in various ways, and some of the best recollections of my boyhood are of the days and the nights which i spent with him on his fishing-tug, steaming about the straits of mackinac and the northern part of lake huron. but he could not forget the glimmerglass, that little wild lake up in the woods. he had fallen in love with it at first sight, and at last he took his family and went there to live._ _human neighbors were scarce around the lake, and perhaps that was one reason why we took such a lively interest in the other residents--those who were there ahead of us. "him and me's chums," my small sister said of the red-squirrel that hung around the log-barn. and some of the animals seemed to take a very lively interest in us. the chipmunks came into the house occasionally, on foraging expeditions; and so, i regret to say, did the skunks. there was a woodchuck who used to come to the back door, looking for scraps, and who learned to sit bolt upright and hold a pancake in his fore paws while he nibbled at it, without being in the least disturbed by the presence and the comments of half a dozen spectators. the porcupines became a never-ending nuisance, for they made almost nightly visits to the woodshed. to kill them was of little use, for the next night--or perhaps before morning--there were others to take their places. once in a while one of them would climb up onto the roof of the house; and between his teeth and his feet and the rattling of his quills on the shingles, the racket that he made was out of all proportion to his size._ it is sweet to lie at evening in your little trundle-bed, and to listen to a porky gnawing shingles overhead; porky, porky, porky, porky; gnawing shingles overhead. _the wolves had been pretty nearly exterminated since my father's first visit to the lake, and we saw little or nothing of them. the bears seemed to be more numerous, but they were very shy and retiring. we found their tracks more often than we came upon the animals themselves. some of the cat tribe remained, and occasionally placed themselves in evidence. my brother came in one day from a long tramp on snow-shoes, and told how he had met one of them standing guard over the remains of a deer, and how the lynx had held him up and made him go around. beavers were getting scarce, though a few were still left on the more secluded streams. deer, on the contrary, were very plentiful. many a time they invaded our garden-patch and helped themselves to our fresh vegetables._ _one august afternoon a flock of eight young partridges, of that spring's hatching, coolly marched out of the woods and into the clearing, as if they were bent on investigating their new neighbors. partridges appear to be subject to occasional fits of stupidity, and to temporary (or possibly permanent) loss of common-sense; but it may be that in this case the birds were too young and inexperienced to realize what they were doing. or perhaps they knew that it was sunday, and that the rules of the household forbade shooting on that day. if so, their confidence was sadly misplaced. we didn't shoot them, but we did surround them, and by working carefully and cautiously we "shooed" them into an empty log-house. and the next day we had them for dinner._ _around the shores of the glimmerglass a few loons and wild-ducks usually nested, and in the autumn the large flocks from the far north often stopped there for short visits, on their way south for the winter. they were more sociable than you would suppose--or at least the loons were--and the same small girl who had made friends with the red-squirrel learned to talk to the big birds._ _down in the water the herring and a large species of salmon trout made their homes, and probably enjoyed themselves till they met with the gill-net and the trolling-hook. but herring and salmon trout did not satisfy us; we wanted brook trout, too. and so one day a shipment of babies arrived from the hatchery at sault ste. marie, and thus we first became acquainted with the habits of infant fishes, and learned something of their needs and the methods of their foster-parents._ _one after another our neighbors introduced themselves, each in his own way. and they were good neighbors, all of them. even the porcupines and the skunks were interesting--in their peculiar fashion--and i wish there were none worse than they in the city's slums._ _i have said good-by to the glimmerglass, and it may be that i shall never again make my home by its shores. but the life of the woods goes on, and will still go on as long as man will let it. i suppose that, even as i write, the bears are "holeing up" for the winter, and the deer are growing anxious because the snow is covering the best of their food, and they of the cat tribe are getting down to business, and hunting in deadly earnest. the loons and the ducks have pulled out for the gulf of mexico, and the squirrels are glad that they have such a goodly store of nuts laid up for the next four months. the beavers have retired to their lodges--that is, if charley roop and his fellows have left any of them alive. the partridges--well, the partridges will just have to get along the best way they can. i guess they'll pull through somehow. the porcupines are all right, as you will presently see if you read this book. they don't have to worry. down in the bed of the trout stream the trout eggs are getting ready--getting ready. and out on the lake itself the frost is at work, and the ice-sheet is forming, and under that cold, white lid the glimmerglass will wait till another year brings round another spring-time--the spring-time that will surely come to all of us if only we hold on long enough._ _chicago, december, ._ the biography of a beaver a broad, flat tail came down on the water with a whack that sent the echoes flying back and forth across the pond, and its owner ducked his head, arched his back, and dived to the bottom. it was a very curious tail, for besides being so oddly paddle-shaped it was covered with what looked like scales, but were really sections and indentations of hard, horny, blackish-gray skin. except its owner's relations, there was no one else in all the animal kingdom who had one like it. but the strangest thing about it was the many different ways in which he used it. just now it was his rudder--and a very good rudder, too. in a moment his little brown head reappeared, and he and his brothers and sisters went chasing each other round and round the pond, ducking and diving and splashing, raising such a commotion that they sent the ripples washing all along the grassy shores, and having the jolliest kind of a time. it isn't the usual thing for young beavers to be out in broad daylight, but all this happened in the good old days before the railways came, when northern michigan was less infested with men than it is now. when the youngsters wanted a change they climbed up onto a log, and nudged and hunched each other, poking their noses into one another's fat little sides, and each trying to shove his brother or sister back into the water. by and by they scrambled out on the bank, and then, when their fur had dripped a little, they set to work to comb it. up they sat on their hind legs and tails--the tail was a stool now, you see--and scratched their heads and shoulders with the long brown claws of their small, black, hairy hands. then the hind feet came up one at a time, and combed and stroked their sides till the moisture was gone and the fur was soft and smooth and glossy as velvet. after that they had to have another romp. they were not half as graceful on land as they had been in the water. in fact they were not graceful at all, and the way they stood around on their hind legs, and shuffled, and pranced, and wheeled like baby hippopotami, and slapped the ground with their tails, was one of the funniest sights in the heart of the woods. and the funniest and liveliest of them all was the one who owned that tail--the tail which, when i last saw it, was lying on the ground in front of charlie roop's shack. he was the one whom i shall call the beaver--with a big b. but even young beavers will sometimes grow tired of play, and at last they all lay down on the grass in the warm, quiet sunshine of the autumn afternoon. the wind had gone to sleep, the pond glittered like steel in its bed of grassy beaver-meadow, the friendly woods stood guard all around, the enemy was far away, and it was a very good time for five furry little babies to take a nap. the city in which the tail first made its appearance was a very ancient one, and may have been the oldest town on the north american continent. nobody knows when the first stick was laid in the dam that changed a small natural pond into a large artificial one, and thus opened the way for further municipal improvements; but it was probably centuries ago, and for all we can tell it may have been thousands of years back in the past. generation after generation of beavers had worked on that dam, building it a little higher and a little higher, a little longer and a little longer, year after year; and raising their lodges as the pond rose around them. theirs was a maritime city, for most of its streets were of water, like those of venice; rich cargoes of food-stuffs came floating to its very doors, and they themselves were navigators from their earliest youth, and took to the water as naturally as ducks or englishmen. they were lumbermen, too, and when the timber was all cut from along the shores of the pond they dug canals across the low, level, marshy ground, back to the higher land where the birch and the poplar still grew, and floated the branches and the smaller logs down the artificial water-ways. and there were land roads, as well as canals, for here and there narrow trails crossed the swamp, showing where generations of busy workers had passed back and forth between the felled tree and the water's edge. streets, canals, public works, dwellings, commerce, lumbering, rich stores laid up for the winter--what more do you want to constitute a city, even if the houses are few in number, and the population somewhat smaller than that of london or new york? [illustration: "_on the grass in the warm, quiet sunshine of an autumn afternoon._"] there was a time, not very long before the beaver was born, when for a few years the city was deserted. the trappers had swept through the country, and the citizens' skulls had been hung up on the bushes, while their skins went to the great london fur market. few were left alive, and those few were driven from their homes and scattered through the woods. the trappers decided that the ground was worked out, and most of them pushed on to the north and west in search of regions not yet depopulated. then, one by one, the beavers came back to their old haunts. the broken dam was repaired; new lodges were built, and new beavers born in them; and again the ancient town was alive with the play of the babies and the labors of the civil engineers. not as populous, perhaps, as it had once been, but alive, and busy, and happy. and so it was when our beaver came into the world. the first year of his life was an easy one, especially the winter, when there was little for anyone to do except to eat, to sleep, and now and then to fish for the roots of the yellow water-lily in the soft mud at the bottom of the pond. during that season he probably accomplished more than his parents did, for if he could not toil he could at least grow. of course they may have been growing, too, but it was less noticeable in them than in him. not only was he increasing in size and weight, but he was storing up strength and strenuousness for the work that lay before him. it would take much muscle to force those long yellow teeth of his through the hard, tough flesh of the maple or the birch or the poplar. it would take vigor and push and enterprise to roll the heavy billets of wood over the grass-tufts to the edge of the water. and, most of all, it would take strength and nerve and determination to tear himself away from a steel trap and leave a foot behind. so it was well for the youngster that for a time he had nothing to do but grow. spring came at last, and many of the male beavers prepared to leave home for a while. the ladies seemed to prefer not to be bothered by the presence of men-folk during the earliest infancy of the children; so the men, probably nothing loath, took advantage of the opportunity to see something of the world, wandering by night up and down the streams, and hiding by day in burrows under the banks. for a time they enjoyed it, but as the summer dragged by they came straggling home one after another. the new babies who had arrived in their absence had passed the most troublesome age, and it was time to begin work again. the dam and the lodges needed repairs, and there was much food to be gathered and laid up for the coming winter. now, on a dark autumn night, behold the young beaver toiling with might and main. his parents have felled a tree, and it is his business to help them cut up the best portions and carry them home. he gnaws off a small branch, seizes the butt end between his teeth, swings it over his shoulder, and makes for the water, keeping his head twisted around to the right or left so that the end of the branch may trail on the ground behind him. sometimes he even rises on his hind legs, and walks almost upright, with his broad, strong tail for a prop to keep him from tipping over backward if his load happens to catch on something. arrived at the canal or at the edge of the pond, he jumps in and swims for town, still carrying the branch over his shoulder, and finally leaves it on the growing pile in front of his father's lodge. or perhaps the stick is too large and too heavy to be carried in such a way. in that case it must be cut into short billets and rolled, as a cant-hook man rolls a log down a skidway. only the beaver has no cant-hook to help him, and no skidway, either. all he can do is to push with all his might, and there are so many, many grass-tufts and little hillocks in the way! and sometimes the billet rolls down into a hollow, and then it is very hard to get it out again. he works like a beaver, and pushes and shoves and toils with tremendous energy, but i am afraid that more than one choice stick never reaches the water. these were his first tasks. later on he learned to fell trees himself. standing up on his hind legs and tail, with his hands braced against the trunk, he would hold his head sidewise, open his mouth wide, set his teeth against the bark, and bring his jaws together with a savage nip that left a deep gash in the side of the tree. a second nip deepened the gash, and gave it more of a downward slant, and two or three more carried it still farther into the tough wood. then he would choose a new spot a little farther down, and start a second gash, which was made to slant up toward the first. and when he thought that they were both deep enough he would set his teeth firmly in the wood between them, and pull and jerk and twist at it until he had wrenched out a chip--a chip perhaps two inches long, and from an eighth to a quarter of an inch thick. he would make bigger ones when he grew to be bigger himself, but you mustn't expect too much at first. chip after chip was torn out in this way, and gradually he would work around the tree until he had completely encircled it. then the groove was made deeper, and after a while it would have to be broadened so that he could get his head farther into it. he seemed to think it was of immense importance to get the job done as quickly as possible, for he worked away with tremendous energy and eagerness, as if felling that tree was the only thing in the world that was worth doing. once in a while he would pause for a moment to feel of it with his hands, and to glance up at the top to see whether it was getting ready to fall, and several times he stopped long enough to take a refreshing dip in the pond; but he always hurried back, and pitched in again harder than ever. in fact, he sometimes went at it so impetuously that he slipped and rolled over on his back. little by little he dug away the tree's flesh until there was nothing left but its heart, and at last it began to crack and rend. the beaver jumped aside to get out of the way, and hundreds and hundreds of small, tender branches, and delicious little twigs and buds came crashing down where he could cut them off and eat them or carry them away at his leisure. and so the citizens labored, and their labor brought its rich reward, and everybody was busy and contented, and life was decidedly worth living. but one black november night our hero's father, the wisest old beaver in all the town, went out to his work and never came home again. a trapper had found the rebuilt city--a scientific trapper who had studied his profession for years, and who knew just how to go to work. he kept away from the lodges as long as he could, so as not to frighten anyone; and before he set a single trap he looked the ground over very carefully, located the different trails that ran back from the water's edge toward the timber, visited the stumps of the felled trees, and paid particular attention to the tooth-marks on the chips. no two beavers leave marks that are exactly alike. the teeth of one are flatter or rounder than those of another, while a third has large or small nicks in the edges of his yellow chisels; and each tooth leaves its own peculiar signature behind it. by noting all these things the trapper concluded that a particular runway in the wet, grassy margin of the pond was the one by which a certain old beaver always left the water in going to his night's labor. that beaver, he decided, would best be the first one taken, for he was probably the head of a family, and an elderly person of much wisdom and experience; and if one of his children should be caught first he might become alarmed, and take the lead in a general exodus. so the trapper set a heavy double-spring trap in the edge of the water at the foot of the runway, and covered it with a thin sheet of moss. and that night, as the old beaver came swimming up to the shore, he put his foot down where he shouldn't, and two steel jaws flew up and clasped him around the thigh. he had felt that grip before. was not half of his right hand gone, and three toes from his left hind foot? but this was a far more serious matter than either of those adventures. it was not a hand that was caught this time, nor yet a toe, or toes. it was his right hind leg, well up toward his body, and the strongest beaver that ever lived could not have pulled himself free. now when a beaver is frightened, he of course makes for deep water. there, he thinks, no enemy can follow him; and, what is more, it is the highway to his lodge, and to the burrow that he has hollowed in the bank for a refuge in case his house should be attacked. so this beaver turned and jumped back into the water the way he had come; but, alas! he took his enemy with him. the heavy trap dragged him to the bottom like a stone, and the short chain fastened to a stake kept him from going very far toward home. for a few minutes he struggled with all his might, and the soft black mud rose about him in inky clouds. then he quieted down and lay very, very still; and the next day the trapper came along and pulled him out by the chain. something else happened the same night. another wise old beaver, the head man of another lodge, was killed by a falling tree. he ought to have known better than to let such a thing happen. i really don't see how he could have been so careless. but the best of us will make mistakes at times, and any pitcher may go once too often to the well. i suppose that he had felled hundreds of trees and bushes, big and little, in the course of his life, and he had never yet met with an accident; but this time he thought he would take one more bite after the tree had really begun to fall. so he thrust his head again into the narrowing notch, and the wooden jaws closed upon him with a nip that was worse than his own. he tried to draw back, but it was too late, his skull crashed in, and his life went out like a candle. and so, in a few hours, the city lost two of its best citizens--the very two whom it could least afford to lose. if they had been spared they might, perhaps, have known enough to scent the coming danger, and to lead their families and neighbors away from the doomed town, deeper into the heart of the wilderness. as it was, the trapper had things all his own way, and by working carefully and cautiously he added skin after skin to his store of beaver-pelts. i haven't time to tell you of all the different ways in which he set his traps, nor can we stop to talk of the various baits that he used, from castoreum to fresh sticks of birch or willow, or of those other traps, still more artfully arranged, which had no bait at all, but were cunningly hidden where the poor beavers would be almost certain to step into them before they saw them. after all, it was his awful success that mattered, rather than the way in which he achieved it. our friend's mother was one of the next to go, and the way his brothers and sisters disappeared one after another was a thing to break one's heart. one night the beaver himself came swimming down the pond, homeward bound, and as he dived and approached the submarine entrance of the lodge he noticed some stakes driven into the mud--stakes that had never been there before. they seemed to form two rows, one on each side of his course, but as there was room enough for him to pass between them he swam straight ahead without stopping. his hands had no webs between the fingers, and were of little use in swimming, so he had folded them back against his body; but his big feet were working like the wheels of a twin-screw steamer, and he was forging along at a great rate. suddenly, half-way down the lines of stakes, his breast touched the pan of a steel trap, and the jaws flew up quick as a wink and strong as a vise. fortunately there was nothing that they could take hold of. they struck him so hard that they lifted him bodily upward, but they caught only a few hairs. even a scientific trapper may sometimes make mistakes, and when this one came around to visit his trap, and found it sprung but empty, he thought that the beavers must have learned its secret and sprung it on purpose. there was no use, he decided, in trying to catch such intelligent animals in their own doorway, and he took the trap up and set it in a more out-of-the-way place. and so one source of danger was removed, just because the beaver was lucky enough to touch the pan with his breast instead of with a foot. a week later he was really caught by his right hand, and met with one of the most thrilling adventures of his life. oh, but that was a glorious night! dark as a pocket, no wind, thick black clouds overhead, and the rain coming down in a steady, steady drizzles--just the kind of a night that the beavers love, when the friendly darkness shuts their little city in from all the rest of the world, and when they feel safe and secure. then, how the long yellow teeth gouge and tear at the tough wood, how the trees come tumbling down, and how the branches and the little logs come hurrying in to augment the winter food-piles! often of late the beaver had noticed an unpleasant odor along the shores, an odor that frightened him and made him very uneasy, but to-night the rain had washed it all away, and the woods smelled as sweet and clean as if god had just made them over new. and on this night, of all others, the beaver put his hand squarely into a steel trap. he was in a shallow portion of the pond, and the chain was too short for him to reach water deep enough to drown him; but now a new danger appeared, for there on the low, mossy bank was an otter, glaring at him through the darkness. beaver-meat makes a very acceptable meal for an otter, and the beaver knew it. and he knew, also, how utterly helpless he was, either to fly or to resist, with that heavy trap on his arm, and its chain binding him to the stake. his heart sank like lead, and he trembled from his nose to the end of his tail, and whimpered and cried like a baby. but, strange to say, it was the trapper who saved him, though, of course, it was done quite unintentionally. as the otter advanced to the attack there came a sudden sharp click, and in another second he too was struggling for dear life. two traps had been set in the shallow water. the beaver had found one, and the otter the other. the full story of that night, with all its details of fear and suffering and pain, will never be written; and probably it is as well that it should not be. but i can give you a few of the facts, if you care to hear them. the beaver soon found that he was out of the otter's reach, and with his fears relieved on that point he set to work to free himself from the trap. round and round he twisted, till there came a little snap, and the bone of his arm broke short off in the steel jaws. then for a long, long time he pulled and pulled with all his might, and at last the tough skin was rent apart, and the muscles and sinews were torn out by the roots. his right hand was gone, and he was so weak and faint that it seemed as if all the strength and life of his whole body had gone with it. no matter. he was free, and he swam away to the nearest burrow and lay down to rest. the otter tried to do the same, but he was caught by the thick of his thigh, and his case was a hopeless one. next day the trapper found him alive, but very meek and quiet, worn out with fear and useless struggles. in the other trap were a beaver's hand and some long shreds of flesh and sinew that must once have reached well up into the shoulder. we shall have to hurry over the events of the next winter--the last winter in the city's history. by the time the beaver's wound was healed--nature was good to him, and the skin soon grew over the torn stump--the pond was covered with ice. the beavers, only half as numerous as they had been a few weeks before, kept close in their lodges and burrows, and for a time they lived in peace and quiet, and their numbers suffered no further diminution. then the trapper took to setting his traps through the ice, and before long matters were worse than ever. by spring the few beavers that remained were so thoroughly frightened that the ancient town was again abandoned--this time forever. the lodges fell to ruins, the burrows caved in, the dam gave way, the pond and canals were drained, and that was the end of the city. yet not quite the end, after all. the beavers have vanished from their old habitation, but their work remains in the broad meadows cleared of timber by their teeth, and covered with rich black soil by the inundations from their dam. there is an indian legend which says that after the creator separated the land from the water he employed gigantic beavers to smooth it down and prepare it for the abode of men. however that may be, the farmers of generations to come will have reason to rise up and bless those busy little citizens--but i don't suppose they will ever do it. one city was gone, but there were two that could claim the honor of being our beaver's home at different periods of his life. the first, as we have already seen, was ancient and historic. the second was brand-new. let us see how it had its beginning. the beaver got married about the time he left his old home; and this, by the way, is a very good thing to do when you want to start a new town. except for his missing hand, his wife was so like him that it would have puzzled you to tell which was which. i think it is very likely that she was his twin sister, but of course that's none of our business. do you want to know what they looked like? they measured about three feet six inches from tip of nose to tip of tail, and they weighed perhaps thirty pounds apiece. their bodies were heavy and clumsy, and were covered with thick, soft, grayish under-fur, which in turn was overlaid with longer hairs of a glistening chestnut-brown, making a coat that was thoroughly water-proof as well as very beautiful. their heads were somewhat like those of gigantic rats, with small, light-brown eyes, little round ears covered with hair, and long orange-colored incisors looking out from between parted lips. one portrait will answer for both of them. they wandered about for some time, looking for a suitable location, and examining several spots along the beds of various little rivers, none of which seemed to be just right. but at last they found, in the very heart of the wilderness, a place where a shallow stream ran over a hard stony bottom, and here they set to work. it was a very desirable situation in every respect. at one side stood a large tree, so close that it could probably be used as a buttress for the dam when the latter was sufficiently lengthened to reach it; while above the shallow the ground was low and flat on both sides for some distance back from the banks, so that the pond would have plenty of room to spread out. if they could have spoken they would probably have said that the place was a dam site better than any other they had seen. [illustration: _building the dam._] alder bushes laid lengthwise of the current were the first materials used, and for a time the water filtered through them with hardly a pause. then the beavers began laying mud and stones and moss on this brush foundation, scooping them up with their hands, and holding them under their chins as they waddled or swam to the dam. the beaver himself was not very good at this sort of work, for his right hand was gone, as we know, and it was not easy for him to carry things; but he did the best he could, and together they accomplished a great deal. the mud and the grass and such-like materials were deposited mainly on the upper face of the dam, where the pressure of the water only sufficed to drive them tighter in among the brush; and thus, little by little, a smooth bank of earth was presented to the current, backed up on the lower side by a tangle of sticks and poles. its top was very level and straight, and along its whole length the water trickled over in a succession of tiny rills. this was important, for if all the overflow had been in one place the stream might have been so strong and rapid as to eat into the dam, and perhaps carry away the whole structure. the first year the beavers did not try to raise the stream more than a foot above its original level. there was much other work to be done--a house to be built, and food to be laid in for the winter--and if they spent too much time on the dam they might freeze or starve before spring. a few rods up-stream was a grassy point which the rising waters had transformed into an island, and here they built their lodge, a hollow mound of sticks and mud, with a small, cave-like chamber in the centre, from which two tunnels led out under the pond--"angles," the trappers call them. the walls were masses of earth and wood and stones, so thick and solid that even a man with an axe would have found it difficult to penetrate them. only at the very apex of the mound there was no mud, nothing but tangled sticks through which a breath of fresh air found its way now and then. in spite of this feeble attempt at ventilation i am obliged to admit that the atmosphere of the lodge was often a good deal like that of the black hole of calcutta, but beavers are so constituted that they do not need much oxygen, and they did not seem to mind it. in all other respects the house was neat and clean. the floor was only two or three inches above the level of the water in the angles, and would naturally have been a bed of mud; but they mixed little twigs with it, and stamped and pounded it down till it was hard and smooth. i think likely the beaver's tail had something to do with this part of the work, as well as with finishing off the dam, for he was fond of slapping things with it, and it was just the right shape for such use. in fact, i fear that if it had not been for the tail, and for other tails like it, neither of the cities would ever have been as complete as they were. with the ends of projecting sticks cut off to leave the walls even and regular, and with long grass carried in to make the beds, the lodge was finished and ready. and now you might have seen the beavers coming home to rest after a night's labor at felling timber--swimming across the pond toward the island, with only the tops of their two little heads showing above the water. in front of the lodge each tail-rudder gives a slap and a twist, and they dive for the submarine door of one of the angles. in another second they are swimming along the dark, narrow tunnel, making the water surge around them. suddenly the roof of the passage rises, and their heads pop up into the air. a yard or two farther, and they enter the chamber of the lodge, with its level floor and its low, arched roof. and there in the darkness they lie down on their grass beds and go to sleep. it is good to have a home of your own where you may take your ease when the night's work is done. near the upper end of the pond, where the bank was higher, they dug a long burrow, running back ten or fifteen feet into the ground. this was to be the last resort if, by any possibility, the lodge should ever be invaded. it was a weary task, digging that burrow, for its mouth was deep under the water, and every few minutes they had to stop work and come to the surface for breath. night after night they scooped and shovelled, rushing the job as fast as they knew how, but making pretty slow progress in spite of all their efforts. it was done at last, however, and they felt easier in their minds when they knew that it was ready for use in case of necessity. from its mouth in the depths of the pond it sloped gradually upward to a dry chamber under the roots of a large birch; and here, where a few tiny holes were not likely to be noticed from the outside, two or three small openings, almost hidden by the moss and dead leaves, let in the air and an occasional ray of light. the big tree made a solid roof overhead, and the chamber was large enough, with a little crowding, to accommodate a whole family of beavers. there was only one other heavy task, and that was the gathering of the wood, which, with its bark, was to serve as food through the winter. this too was finally finished, and the very last things that the beavers did that fall were to put another coat of mud on the outside of the lodge, and to see that the dam was in the best possible condition. no repairing could be done after the ice made; and if the dam should give way at any time during the winter, the pond would be drained, and the entrances of the lodge and the burrow would be thrown open to any prowling marauders that might happen to pass that way. so it was imperative to have things in good order before cold weather came on. there came a quiet, windless day, when the sky was gray, and when the big snow-flakes came floating lazily down, some to lose themselves in the black water, and some to robe the woods and the shores in white. at nightfall the clouds broke up, the stars shone forth, and the air grew odder and keener till long crystal spears shot out across the pond, and before morning a sheet of glass had spread from shore to shore. i do not think it was unwelcome. the beavers were shut in for the winter, or could only go abroad with considerable difficulty, but they had each other, and there was a little world of their own down under the ice and snow. the chamber of the lodge was home, and just outside was their food storehouse--the big pile of wood which it had cost so much labor to gather. one of the entrances was shorter and straighter than the other, and through this they used to bring in sticks from the heap, and lay them on the floor between the beds, where they could devour the bark at their leisure. if they grew restless, and wanted to go farther afield, there was the bottom of the pond to be explored, and the big luscious lily-roots to be dug up for a change of diet. it was a peaceful time, a time of rest from the labors of the past year, and of growing fat and strong for those of the year to come. we have much goods laid up for many months; let us eat, drink, and be merry, and hope that the trappers will not come to-morrow. the babies came in may, and i suppose that the young father and mother were almost as proud and happy as some of you who are in similar circumstances. the beaver did not wander very far from home that spring and summer, nor was he away very long at a time. there were five of the children, and they were very pretty--about as large as rats, and covered with thick, soft, silky, reddish-brown fur, but without any of the longer, coarser, chestnut-colored hairs that formed their parents' outer coats. they were very playful, too, as the father and mother had been in their own youthful days. for a while they had to be nursed, like other babies; but by and by the old beavers began to bring in little twigs for them, about the size of lead-pencils; and if you had been there, and your eyes had been sharp enough to pierce the gloom, you might have seen the youngsters exercising their brand new teeth, and learning to sit up and hold sticks in their baby hands while they ate the bark. and wouldn't you have liked to be present on the night when they first went swimming down the long, dark tunnel; and, rising to the surface, looked around on their world of woods and water--on the quiet pond, with its glassy smoothness broken only by their own ripples; on the tall trees, lifting their fingers toward the sky; and on the stars, marching silently across the heavens, and looking down with still, unwinking eyes on another family of babies that had come to live and love and be happy for a little while on god's earth? one of the children was killed by an otter before the summer was over, but i am glad to say that the other four grew up and were a credit to their parents. the babies were not the only addition to the new city during that year, for about mid-summer another pair of beavers came and built a lodge near the upper end of the pond. it was a busy season for everybody--for our old friends as well as for the new-comers. the food-sticks which had been peeled off their bark during the winter furnished a good supply of construction material, and the dam was built up several inches higher, and was lengthened to the buttress-tree on one side, and for a distance of two or three rods on the other, so as to keep the water from flowing around the ends. as the water-level rose it became necessary to build up the floor of the lodge in order to keep it from being flooded; and that, in turn, necessitated raising the roof by the simple process of hollowing it out from within and adding more material on the outside. in the same way the lodge was made both longer and broader, to accommodate the growing family and the still further increase that was to be expected the following spring. more burrows were dug in the shore of the pond--you can't have too many of them--and a much larger stock of food wood was gathered, for there were six mouths, instead of two, to be fed through the coming winter. the father and mother worked very hard, and even the babies helped with the lighter tasks, such as carrying home small branches, and mending little leaks in the dam. the second pair of beavers was also busy with lodge and burrow and storehouse, and so the days slipped by very rapidly. only once that year did a man come to town, and then he did not do anything very dreadful. he was not a trapper, he was only an amateur naturalist who wanted to see the beavers at their work, and who thought he was smart enough to catch them at it. his plan was simple enough; he made a breach in the dam one night, and then climbed a tree and waited for them to come and mend it. it was bright moonlight, and he thought he would see the whole thing and learn some wonderful secrets. the beaver was at work in the woods not very far away, and presently he came down to the edge of the pond, rolling a heavy birch cutting before him. he noticed at once that the water was falling, and he started straight for the dam to see what was the matter. the amateur naturalist saw him coming, a dark speck moving swiftly down the pond, with a long v-shaped ripple spreading out behind him like the flanks of a flock of wild geese. but the beaver was doing some thinking while he swam. he had never before known the water to fall so suddenly and rapidly; there must be a very bad break in the dam. how could it have happened? it looked suspicious. it looked very suspicious indeed; and just before he reached the dam he stopped to reconnoitre, and at once caught sight of the naturalist up in the tree. his tail rose in the air and came down with the loudest whack that had ever echoed across the pond, a stroke that sent the spray flying in every direction, and that might have been heard three-quarters of a mile away. his wife heard it, and paused in her work of felling a tree; the children heard it, and the neighbors heard it; and they all knew it meant business. the beaver dived like a loon and swam for dear life, and he did not come to the surface again till he had reached the farther end of the pond and was out of sight behind a grassy point. there he stayed, now and then striking the water with his tail as a signal that the danger was not yet over. it isn't every animal that can use his caudal appendage as a stool, as a rudder, as a third hind leg, as a trowel for smoothing the floor of his house, and as a tocsin for alarming his fellow-citizens. the naturalist roosted in the tree till his teeth were chattering and he was fairly blue with cold, and then he scrambled down and went back to his camp, where he had a violent chill. the next night it rained, and as he did not want to get wet there was nothing to do but stay in his tent. when he visited the pond again the dam had been repaired and the water was up to its usual level. he decided that watching beavers wasn't very interesting, hardly worth the trouble it cost; and he guessed he knew enough about them, anyhow. so the next day he packed up his camping outfit and went home. in the following year the population was increased to eighteen, for six more babies arrived in our beaver's lodge, and four in his neighbors'. in another twelvemonth the first four were old enough to build lodges and found homes of their own; and so the city grew, and our beaver and his wife were the original inhabitants, the first settlers, the most looked-up-to of all the citizens. you are not to suppose, however, that the beaver was mayor of the town. there was no city government. the family was the unit, and each household was a law unto itself. but that did not keep him from being the oldest, the wisest, the most knowing of all the beavers in the community, just as his father had been before him in another town. i don't believe you care to hear all about the years that followed. they were years of peace and growth, of marriages and homebuilding, of many births and a few deaths, of winter rest and summer labor, and of quiet domestic happiness. there was little excitement, and, best of all, there were no trappers. the time came when the beaver might well say, as he looked around on the community which he and his wife had founded, that he was a citizen of no mean city. but this could not last. a great calamity was coming--a calamity beside which the slow destruction of the former town would seem tame and uninteresting. one bright february day the beaver and his wife left their lodge to look for lily-roots. they had found a big fat one and were just about to begin their feast, when they heard foot-steps on the ice over their heads, and the voices of several men talking eagerly. they made for the nearest burrow as fast as they could go, and stayed there the rest of the day, and when they returned to their lodge they found--but i'm going too fast. the men were indians and half-breeds, and they were in high feather over their discovery. around this pond there must be enough beaver-skins to keep them in groceries and tobacco and whiskey for a long time to come. but to find a city is one thing, and to get hold of its inhabitants is another and a very different one. one of the indians was an elderly man who in the old days had trapped beaver in canada for the hudson bay company, and he assumed the direction of the work. first of all they chopped holes in the ice and drove a line of stakes across the stream just above the pond, so that no one might escape in that direction. then, by pounding on the ice, and cutting more holes in it here and there, they found the entrances to all the lodges and most of the burrows, and closed them also with stakes driven into the bottom. fortunately they did not find the burrow where our beaver and his wife had taken refuge. they were about to break open the roofs of the lodges when the old man proposed that they should play a trick on one of the beaver families--a trick which his father had taught him when he was a boy, and when the beavers were many in the woods around lake superior. he described it with enthusiasm, and his companions agreed that it would be great fun. for a time there was much chopping of ice and driving of stakes, and then all was quiet again. by and by one of our beaver's children began to feel hungry, and as his father and mother had not come home he decided to go out to the wood-pile and get something to eat. so he took a header from his bed into the water, and swam down the angle. the door had been unbarred again, and he passed out without difficulty, but when he reached the pile he found it surrounded by a fence made of stakes set so close together that he could not pass between them. he swam clear around it, and at last found one gap just wide enough to admit his body. he passed in, and as he did so his back grazed a small twig which had been thrust down through a hole in the ice, and the watching indians saw it move, and knew that a beaver had entered the trap. he picked out a nice stick of convenient size, and started to return to the lodge. but where was that gap in the fence? this was the place, he was sure. here were two stakes between which he had certainly passed as he came in, but now another stood squarely between them, and the gate was barred. he swam all round the wood-pile, looking for a way out, and poking his little brown nose between the stakes, but there was no escape, and when he came back to the entrance and found it still closed his last hope died, and he gave up in despair. his heart and lungs and all his circulatory apparatus had been so designed by the great architect that he might live for many minutes under water, but they could not keep him alive indefinitely. overhead was the ice, and all around was that cruel fence. only a rod away was home, where his brothers and sisters were waiting for him, and where there was air to breathe and life to live--but he could not reach it. you have all read or heard how a drowning man feels, and i suppose it is much the same with a drowning beaver. they say it is an easy death. by and by a hooked stick came down through a hole in the ice and drew him out, the gate was unbarred, the twig was replaced, and the indians waited for another hungry little beaver to come for his dinner. that's enough. you know now what the parents found when they came home--or rather what they didn't find. it would have taken too long to dispose of the whole city in this way, so the indians finally broke the dam and let the water out of the pond, and then they tore open the lodges and all the burrows they could find, and the inhabitants were put to the--not the sword, but the axe and the club. of all those who had been so happy and prosperous, the old beaver and his wife were the only ones who escaped; and their lives were spared only because the indians failed to find their hiding-place. that was the end of the second city, but it was not quite the end of the beavers. a few miles up-stream they dug a short burrow in the bank and tried to make a new home. in may another baby came, but only one, and it was dead before it was born. next day the mother died too, and the beaver left the burrow and went out into the world alone. i really think his heart was broken, though it continued to beat for several months longer. just northeast of the glimmerglass there lies a long, narrow pond, whose shores are very low and swampy, and whose waters drain into the larger lake through a short stream only a few rods in length. hundreds, perhaps thousands, of years ago the narrow strip of land that separates them may possibly have been a beaver-dam, but to-day it is hard to tell it from one of nature's own formations. in the course of his lonely wanderings the beaver reached this pond, and here he established himself to spend his last few weeks. he was aging rapidly. such a little while ago he had seemed in the very prime of life, and had been one of the handsomest beavers in the woods, with fur of the thickest and softest and silkiest, and a weight of probably sixty pounds. now he was thin and lean, his hair was falling out, his teeth were losing their sharp edges and becoming blunt and almost useless, and even his flat tail was growing thicker and more rounded, and its whack was not as startling as of old when he brought it down with all his might on the surface of the water. yet even now the old instinct flamed up and burned feebly for a little while. or shall we say the old love of work, and of using the powers and faculties that god had given him? why should the thing that is called genius in a man be set down as instinct when we see it on a somewhat smaller scale in an animal? whatever it was, the ruling passion was still strong. all his life he had been a civil engineer; and now, one dark, rainy autumn night, he left his shallow burrow, swam down the pond to its outlet, and began to build a dam. the next day, pushing up the shallow stream in my dug-out canoe, i saw the alder-cuttings lying in its bed, with the marks of his dull teeth on their butts. god knows why he did it, or what he was thinking about as he cut those bushes and dragged them into the water. i don't; but sometimes i wonder if a wild dream of a new lodge, a new mate, a new home, and a new city was flitting through his poor, befogged old brain. it was only a few nights later that he put his foot into charlie roop's beaver-trap, jumped for deep water, and was drowned like his father before him. charlie afterward showed me the pelt, which he had stretched on a hoop made of a little birch sapling. it was not a very good pelt, for, as i said, the beaver had been losing his hair, but charlie thought he might get a dollar or two for it. whether he needed the dollar more than the beaver needed his skin was a question which it seemed quite useless to discuss. as we left the shack i noticed the tail lying on the ground just outside the door. "why don't you eat it?" i asked. "don't you know that a beaver's tail is supposed to be one of the finest delicacies in the woods?" "huh!" said charlie. "i'd rather have salt pork." the king of the trout stream it was winter, and the trout stream ran low in its banks, hidden from the sky by a thick shell of ice and snow, and not seeing the sun for a season. but the trout stream was used to that, and it slipped along in the darkness, undismayed and not one whit disheartened; talking to itself in low, murmuring tones, and dreaming of the time when spring would come back and all the rivers would be full. mingled with its waters, and borne onward and downward by the ceaseless flow of its current, went multitudes of the tiniest air-bubbles, most of them too small ever to be seen by a human eye, yet large enough to be the very breath of life to thousands and thousands of creatures. some of them found their way to the gills of the brook trout, and some to the minnows, and the herrings, and the suckers, and the star-gazers; some fed the little crustacea, and the insect larvæ, and the other tiny water animals that make up the lower classes of society; and some passed undetained down the river and out into lake superior. but there were others that worked down into the gravel of the riverbed; and there, in the nooks and crannies between the pebbles, they found a vast number of little balls of yellow-brown jelly, about as large as small peas, which seemed to be in need of their kindly ministrations. and the air-bubbles touched the trout eggs gently and lovingly, and in some mysterious and wonderful way their oxygen passed in through the pores of the shells, and the embryos within were quickened and stirred to a new vigor and a more rapid growth. not all of the eggs were alive. some had been crushed between the stones; some were buried in sediment, which had choked the pores and kept away the friendly oxygen until they smothered; and some had never really lived at all. but one danger they had been spared, for there were no saw-mills on the stream to send a flood of fungus-breeding sawdust down with the current. and in spite of all the misfortunes and disasters to which trout eggs are liable, a goodly number of them were doing quite as well as could be expected. i suppose one could hardly say that they were being incubated, for, according to the dictionaries, to incubate is to sit upon, and certainly there was no one sitting on them. their mothers had not come near them since the day they were laid. but the gravel hid them from the eyes of egg-eating fishes and musk-rats; the water kept them cold, but not too cold; the fresh oxygen came and encouraged them if ever they grew tired and dull, and so the good work went on. through each thin, leathery, semi-transparent shell you could have seen, if you had examined it closely, a pair of bright, beady eyes, and a dark little thread of a backbone that was always curled up like a horseshoe because there wasn't room for it to lie straight. but along the outside of the curve of each spinal column a set of the tiniest and daintiest muscles was getting ready for a long pull, and a strong pull, and a pull all together. and one day, late in the winter, when the woods were just beginning to think about spring, the muscles in one particular egg tugged with all their little might, the backbone straightened with a great effort, the shell was ripped open, and the tail of a brand-new brook trout thrust itself out into the water and wiggled pathetically. but his head and shoulders were still inside, and for a while it looked as if he would never get them free. his tail was shaped somewhat like a paddle set on edge, for a long, narrow fin ran from the middle of his back clear around the end of it and forward again on the under side of his body, and with this for an oar he struggled and writhed and squirmed, and went bumping blindly about among the pebbles like a kitten with its head in the cream pitcher. and at last, with the most vigorous squirm and wriggle of all, he backed clear of the shell in which he had lain for so many weeks and months, and, weak and weary from his exertions, lay down on a stone to rest. he had to lie on his side, for attached to his breast was a large, round, transparent sac which looked very much like the egg out of which he had just come. in fact it really was the egg, or at least a portion of it, for it held a large part of what had been the yolk. if you could have examined him with a microscope you would have seen a most strange and beautiful thing. his little body was so delicate and transparent that one could see the arteries pulsing and throbbing in time with the beating of his heart, and some of those arteries found their way into the food-sac, where they kept branching and dividing, and growing smaller and more numerous. and in the very smallest of the tiny tubes a wonderful process was going on--as wonderful as the way in which the oxygen fed the embryos through the shell. somehow, by life's marvellous alchemy, the blood was laying hold of the material of the yolk, turning it into more blood, and carrying it away to be used in building up bone and muscle everywhere from the tip of his nose to the end of his tail. you might not have detected the actual transformation, but you could have seen the beating of the engine, and the throbbing rush of the little red rivers, all toiling with might and main to make a big, strong trout out of this weak and diminutive baby. and you could have seen the corpuscles hurrying along so thick and fast that at times they blocked up the passages, and the current was checked till the heart could bring enough pressure to bear to burst the dam and send them rushing on again. for the corpuscles of a trout's blood are considerably larger than those of most fishes, and they sometimes get "hung up," like a drive of logs sent down a stream hardly large enough to float it. with a full haversack to be drawn upon in such a convenient manner the troutlet was not obliged to take food through his mouth or to think about hustling around in search of a living. this was very fortunate, for the stream was full of hungry beasts of prey who would be very likely to gobble him up quick the first time he went abroad; and, besides, his frail little body was still so weak and delicate that he could not bear the light of day. so, instead of swimming away to seek his fortune, he simply dived down deeper into the gravel, and stayed there. for some weeks he led a very quiet life among the pebbles, and the only mishap that befell him during that time was the direct result of his retiring disposition. in his anxiety to get as far away from the world as possible he one day wedged himself into a cranny so narrow that he couldn't get out again. he couldn't even breathe, for his gill-covers were squeezed down against the sides of his head as if he were in a vise. a trout's method of respiration is to open his mouth and fill it with water, and then to close it again and force the water out through his gills, between his cheeks and his shoulders, about where his neck would be if he had one. it's very simple when you once know how, but you can't do it with your gill-covers clamped down. his tail wiggled more pathetically than ever, and did its level best to pull him out, but without success. he was wedged in so tightly that he couldn't move, and he was fast smothering, like a baby that has rolled over on its face upon the pillow. but at the last moment, when his struggles had grown feebler and feebler until they had almost ceased, something stirred up the gravel around him and set him free. he never knew what did it. perhaps a deer or a bear waded through the stream; or a saw-log may have grounded for a moment in the shallow; or possibly it was only the current, for by this time most of the snow had melted, and the little river was working night and day to carry the water out of the woods. but whatever it was, he was saved. he stayed in the gravel nearly a month, but his yolk-sac was gradually shrinking, and after a time it drew itself up into a little cleft in his breast and almost disappeared. there was nothing left of it but a little amber-colored bead, and it could no longer supply food enough for his growing body. there were times when he felt decidedly hungry. and other changes had come while he lay and waited in the gravel. the embryonic fin which had made his tail so like a paddle was gone, the true dorsal and caudal and anal fins had taken their proper shape, and he looked a little less like a tadpole and a little more like a fish. he was stronger than he had been at first, and he was losing his dread of the sunlight; and so at last he left the gravel-bed, to seek his rightful place in the world of moving, murmuring waters. he was rather weak and listless at first, and quite given to resting in the shallows and back water, and taking things as easily as possible. but that was to be expected for a time, and he was much better off than some of the other trout babies. he saw one that had two heads and only one body, and another with two heads and two bodies joined together at the tail. still others there were who had never been strong enough to straighten their backbones, and who had lain in the egg till the shell wore thin and let them out head first, which is not at all the proper way for a trout to hatch. even now they still retained the horseshoe curve, and could never swim straight ahead, but only spin round and round like whirligigs. these cripples and weaklings seemed to have got on pretty well as long as their food-sacs lasted, but now that they had to make their own living they were at a serious disadvantage. they all disappeared after a day or two, and our friend never saw them again. they couldn't stand the real struggle of life. many a strong, healthy baby disappeared at the same time, and if there had not been so many of them it is not likely that any would have survived the first few days and weeks. even as it was, i doubt if more than one fish out of each thousand eggs ever lived to grow up. it is not difficult to guess where they went. our trout had hardly emerged from his hiding-place in the gravel when a queer, ugly, big-headed little fish darted at him from under a stone, with his jaws open and an awful cavity yawning behind them. the troutlet dodged between a couple of pebbles and escaped, but another youngster just beyond him was caught and swallowed alive. that was his first meeting with the star-gazer, who kills more babies than ever herod did. then there were minnows, and herrings, and lizards, and frogs, and weasels, and water-snakes, and other butchers of all sorts and sizes, too numerous to mention. and perhaps the worst of all were the older trout, who never seemed to have the least compunction about eating their small relations, and who were so nimble and lively that it was almost impossible to keep out of their way. our friend spent most of his time in the shallow water near the banks, where larger fishes were not so likely to follow him, but even there he had many narrow escapes and was obliged to keep himself hidden as much as possible under chips and dead leaves, and behind stones. often he found himself in great peril when he least suspected it. once he lay for some time in the edge of a dark forest of water-weeds, only an inch from a lumpish, stupid-looking creature, half covered with mud, that was clinging to one of the stems. the animal appeared so dull and unintelligent that the young trout paid little attention to him until another baby came up and approached a trifle closer. then, quick as a flash, the creature shot out an arm nearly three-quarters of an inch long, bearing on its end two horrible things which were not exactly claws, nor fingers, nor teeth, but which partook of the nature of all three, and which came together on the infant's soft, helpless little body like a pair of tongs or the jaws of a steel trap, and drew him in to where the real jaws were waiting to make mince-meat of him. our friend fled so precipitately that he did not see the end of the tragedy, but neither did he ever see that baby again. before the summer had passed, the dull, lumpish-looking creature had become a magnificent insect, with long, gauzy wings, clad in glittering mail, and known to everybody as a dragon-fly, but i doubt if any of his performances in the upper air were ever half as dragon-like as the deeds of darkness that he did when he was an ugly, shapeless larva down under the water. fortunately, not all the larvæ in the stream were thus to be feared. many were so small that the troutlet could eat them, instead of letting them eat him; and nowhere were they more plentiful than in this same forest of water-weeds. his first taste of food was a great experience, and gave him some entirely new ideas of life. one day he was lying with his head up-stream, as was his usual habit, when a particularly fat, plump little larva, torn from his home by the remorseless river, came drifting down with the current. he looked very tempting, and our friend sallied out from under a stick and caught him on the fly, just as he had seen the star-gazer catch his own brother. the funny little creature wriggled deliciously on his tongue, and he held him between his jaws for a moment in a kind of ecstasy; but he couldn't quite make up his mind to swallow him, and presently he spat him out again and went back to the shadow of his stick to rest and think about it. it was the first time in his life that he had ever done such a thing, and he felt rather overwhelmed, but an hour or two later he tried it again, and this time the living morsel did not stop in his mouth, but went straight on down. it was really something more than a new experience--this first mouthful of food--for it marked a turning-point in his career. up to this time he had lived entirely on the provisions which his parents had left him, but henceforth he was independent and could take care of himself. he was no longer an embryo; he was a real fish, a genuine _salvelinus fontinalis_, as carnivorous as the biggest and fiercest of all his relations. the cleft in his breast might close up now, and the last remnant of his yolk-sac vanish forever. he was done with it. he had graduated from the nursery, and had found his place on the battle-field of life. it must be admitted, however, that he did not look much like a mature trout, even now. he was less than three-quarters of an inch long, and his big head, bulging eyes, and capacious mouth were out of all proportion to his small and feeble body. but time and food were all that was needed to set these matters right; and now that he had learned how, he set to work and did his level best. i should be afraid to guess how many tiny water-creatures, insects and larvæ and crustaceæ, found their way down his throat, but it is pretty safe to say that he often ate more than his own weight in a single day. and so he grew in size and strength and symmetry, and from being a quiet, languid baby, always hiding in dark corners, and attending strictly to his own affairs, he became one of the liveliest and most inquisitive little fishes in all the stream. to a certain extent he developed a fondness for travelling, and in company with other troutlets of his own age and size he often journeyed from place to place in search of new surroundings and new things to eat. in fly-time he found a bountiful food-supply in the mosquitoes and black-flies that swarmed over the stream, and it was fun to see him leap from the water, catch one of them in his mouth, and drop back with a triumphant little splash. it wasn't really very considerate in him to prey on those biting, stinging flies, for in after years they would be his best defenders against anglers and fishermen, but consideration doesn't seem to be one of the strong points in a brook trout's character. it would take too long to tell of all his youthful doings during the next year, and of all his narrow escapes, and the many tight places that he got into and out of. it was a wonder that he ever pulled through at all, but i suppose it is necessary that a few trout should grow up, for, if they didn't, who would there be to eat the little ones? once a kingfisher dived for him, missed him by a hair's-breadth, and flew back, scolding and chattering, to his perch on an old stub that leaned far out over the water. and once he had a horrible vision of an immense loon close behind him, with long neck stretched out, and huge bill just ready to make the fatal grab. he dodged and got away, but it frightened him about as badly as anything can frighten a creature with no more nerves than a fish. and many other such adventures he had--too many to enumerate. however, i don't think they ever troubled him very much except for the moment. he grew more wary, no doubt, but he didn't do much worrying. somehow or other he always escaped by the skin of his teeth, and the next spring he was swallowing the new crop of young fry with as little concern as his older relations had shown in trying to swallow him. so far he seemed to be one of the few who are foreordained to eat and not be eaten, though it was more than likely that in the end he, too, would die a violent death. when he was about a year and a half old he noticed that all the larger trout in the stream were gathering in places where the water was shallow, the bottom pebbly, and the current rapid; and that they acted as if they thought they had very important business on hand. he wanted to do as the others did, and so it happened that he went back again to the gravelly shallow where the air-bubbles had first found him. by this time he was about as large as your finger, or possibly a trifle larger, and he had all the bumptiousness of youth and was somewhat given to pushing himself in where he wasn't wanted. the male trout were the first to arrive, and they promptly set to work to prepare nests for their mates, who were expected a little later. it was a simple process. all they did was to shove the gravel aside with their noses and fins and tails, and then fan the sediment away until they had made nice, clean little hollows in the bed of the stream; but there was a good deal of excitement and jealousy over it, and every little while they had to stop and have a scrap. the biggest and strongest always wanted the best places, and if they happened to take a fancy for a location occupied by a smaller and weaker fish, they drove him out without ceremony and took possession by right of the conqueror. for the most part their fighting seemed rather tame, for they did little more than butt each other in the ribs with their noses, but once in a while they really got their dander up and bit quite savagely. and when the lady trout came to inspect the nests that had been prepared for them, then times were livelier than ever, and the jealousy and rivalry ran very high, indeed. of course our trout was too young to bear a very prominent part in these proceedings, but he and some companions of about his own age skirmished around the edges of the nesting grounds, and seemed to take a wicked delight in teasing the old males and running away just in time to escape punishment. and when the nests began to be put to practical use, the yearlings were very much in evidence. strictly fresh eggs are as good eating down under the water as they are on land, and, partly on this account, and partly because direct sunshine is considered very injurious to them, the mothers always covered them with gravel as quickly as possible. but in spite of the best of care the current was constantly catching some of them and sweeping them away, and our young friend would creep up as near as he dared, and whenever one of the yellow-brown balls came his way he would gobble it down with as little remorse as he had felt for his first larva. now and then an irate father would turn upon him fiercely and chase him off, but in a few minutes he would be back again, watching for eggs as eagerly as ever. once, indeed, he had a rather close call, for the biggest old male in all the stream came after him with mouth open as if he would swallow him whole, as he could very easily have done. our friend was almost caught when the big fellow happened to glance back and saw another trout coming to visit his wife, and promptly abandoned the chase and went home to see about it. a year later our trout went again to the gravelly shallow, and this time, being six inches long and about thirty months old, he decided to make a nest of his own. he did so, and had just induced a most beautiful young fish of the other sex to come and examine it, with a view to matrimony, when that same big bully appeared on the scene, promptly turned him out of house and home, and began courting the beautiful young creature himself. it was very exasperating, not to say humiliating, but it was the sort of thing that one must expect when one is only a two-year-old. the next year he had better luck. as another summer passed away, and the cooler weather came on, he arrayed himself in his wedding finery, and it almost seemed as if he had stolen some of the colors of the swamp maples, in their gay fall dress, and was using them to deck himself out and make a brave display. in later years he was larger and heavier, but i don't think he was ever much handsomer than he was in that fourth autumn of his life. his back was a dark, dusky, olive-green, with mottlings that were still darker and duskier. his sides were lighter--in some places almost golden yellow; and scattered irregularly over them were the small, bright carmine spots that gave him one of his _aliases_, the "speckled trout." beneath he was usually of a pale cream color, but now that he had put on his best clothes his vest was bright orange, and some of his fins were variegated with red and white, while others were a fiery yellow. he was covered all over with a suit of armor made of thousands and thousands of tiny scales, so small and fine that the eye could hardly separate them, and from the bony shoulder-girdle just behind his gills a raised line, dark and slightly waving, ran back to his tail, like the sheer-line of a ship. there were other fishes that were more slender and more finely modelled than he, and possibly more graceful, but in him there was something besides beauty--something that told of power and speed and doggedness. he was like a man-o'-war dressed out in all her bunting for some great gala occasion, but still showing her grim, heavy outlines beneath her decorations. his broad mouth opened clear back under his eyes, and was armed with rows of backward-pointing teeth, so sharp and strong that when they once fastened themselves upon a smaller fish they never let him go again. the only way out from between those jaws was down his throat. his eyes were large and bright, and were set well apart; and the bulge of his forehead between them hinted at more brains than are allotted to some of the people of the stream. altogether, he was a most gallant and knightly little fish, and it would certainly have been a pity if he hadn't found a mate. [illustration: _nesting grounds._] and now he started the third time for the gravelly shallow, and travelled as he had never travelled before in all his life. streams are made to swim against--every brook trout knows that--and the faster they run, the greater is the joy of breasting them. the higher the water-fall, the prouder do you feel when you find you can leap it. and our friend was in a mood for swimming, and for swimming with all his might. never had he felt so strong and vigorous and so full of life and energy, and he made his fins and his tail go like the oars of a racing-shell. now he was working up the swift current of a long rapid like a bird in the teeth of the wind. now he was gathering all his strength for the great leap to the top of the water-fall. and now, perhaps, he rested for a little while in a quiet pool, and presently went hurrying on again, diving under logs and fallen trees, swinging round the curves, darting up the still places where the water lay a-dreaming, and wriggling over shallow bars where it was not half deep enough to cover him; until at last he reached the old familiar place where so many generations of brook trout had first seen the light of day and felt the cold touch of the snow-water. as before, he and the other males arrived at the nesting grounds some days in advance of their mates, and spent the intervening time in scooping hollows in the gravel and quarrelling among themselves. two or three times he was driven from a choice location by someone who was bigger than he, but he always managed in some way to regain it, or else stole another from a smaller fish; and when the ladies finally appeared he had a fine large nest in a pleasant situation a little apart from those of his rivals. but for some reason the first candidates who came to look at it declined to stay. perhaps they were not quite ready to settle down, or perhaps they were merely disposed to insist on the feminine privilege of changing their minds. but finally there came one who seemed to be quite satisfied, and with whom the trout himself had every reason to be pleased. she was not a native of the stream, but of one of the hatcheries of the michigan fish commission; and while he was lying in the gravel she was one of a vast company inhabiting a number of black wooden troughs that stood in a large, pleasant room filled with the sound of running water. here there were no yearlings nor musk-rats nor saw-bill ducks looking for fresh eggs, nor any dragons nor star-gazers lying in wait for the young fry. instead there were nice, kind men, who kept the hatching troughs clean and the water at the right temperature, and who gently stirred up the troutlets with a long goose-feather whenever too many of them crowded together in one corner, trying to get away from the hateful light. under this sort of treatment most of the thirty million babies in the hatchery lived and thrived. only a few thousands of them were brook trout, but among those thousands one of the smartest and most precocious was the one in whom we are just now most interested. she was always first into the dark corners, as long as dark corners seemed desirable; and later, when they began to come up into the light and partake of the pulverized beef-liver which their attendants offered them, there was no better swimmer or more voracious feeder than she. all this was especially fortunate because there was a very hard and trying experience before her--one in which she would have need of all her strength and vitality, and in which her chances of life would be very small, indeed. it came with planting time, when she and a host of her companions were whisked through a rubber tube and deposited in a big can made of galvanized iron, in which they were borne away to the trout stream. the journey was a long one, they were pretty badly cramped for room, and before they reached their destination the supply of oxygen in the water became exhausted. the baby trout began to think they had blown out the gas, and they all crowded to the surface, where, if anywhere, the minute bubbles that keep one alive are to be found. they gulped down great mouthfuls of water and forced it out through their gills as fast as ever they could, but, somehow, all the life seemed to be gone out of it, and it did them no good whatever. pretty soon a few turned over on their backs and died, and every last one of them would have suffocated if the man who had charge of the party hadn't noticed what was going on and come to the rescue. picking up a dipperful of water and troutlets, and holding it high in the air, he poured it back into the can with much dashing and splashing. hundreds and hundreds of tiny bubbles were caught in the rush and carried down to the bottom, and so the oxygen came back again to the tired gills, and the danger was over. the emigrants reached the trout stream at last, and one would have supposed that their troubles were ended. in reality the chapter of trials and tribulations had only just begun, for the same fishes and frogs and lizards that had so persecuted our friend and his brothers and sisters were on hand to welcome the new arrivals, and very few escaped. and so, in spite of its quiet beginnings in the peaceful surroundings of the hatchery, this young lady trout's life proved quite as exciting and adventurous as our friend's, and it is possible that the good care which she received during her early infancy really served to make things all the harder for her when she came to be thrown entirely on her own resources. the mere change in the temperature of the water when she was turned out of the can was quite a shock to her nervous system; and, whereas most trout are somewhat acquainted with the dangers and hardships of the stream, almost from the time they rip their shells open, she did not even know that there was such a place until she was set down in it and told to shift for herself. however, by dint of strength, speed, agility, and good judgment in selecting hiding-places--and also, in all probability, by a run of remarkably good luck--she made her way unharmed through all the perils of babyhood and early youth, and now she was one of the most beautiful little three-year-old pirates that ever swooped down upon a helpless victim. as she and our friend swam side by side, her nose and the end of her tail were exactly even with his. her colors were the same that he had worn before he put on his wedding garments, and if you had seen them together in the early summer i don't believe you could ever have told them apart. they were a well-matched pair, more evenly mated, probably, than is usual in fish marriages. but they were not to be allowed to set up housekeeping together without fighting for the privilege. hardly had she finished inspecting the nest, and made up her mind that it would answer, and that he was, on the whole, quite eligible as a husband, when a third trout appeared and attempted to do as the big bully had done the year before. this time, however, our young friend's blood was up, and, though the enemy was considerably larger than he, he was ready to strike for his altars and his fires. he made a quick rush, like a torpedo-boat attacking a man-of-war, and hit the intruder amidships, ramming him with all his might. then the enemy made as sudden a turn, and gave our trout a poke in the ribs, and for a few minutes they dodged back and forth, and round and round, and over and under each other, each getting in a punch whenever he had a chance. so far it seemed only a trial of strength and speed and dexterity, and if our trout was not quite as large and powerful as the other, yet he proved himself the quicker and the more agile and lively. but before it was over he did more than that, for, suddenly ranging up on the enemy's starboard quarter, he opened his mouth, and the sharp teeth of his lower jaw tore a row of bright scales from his adversary's side, and left a long, deep gash behind. that settled it. the big fellow lit out as fast as he could go, and our trout was left in undisputed possession. the nesting season cannot last forever, and by and by, when the days were very short and the nights were very long, when the stars were bright, and when each sunrise found the hoar-frost lying thick and heavy on the dead and fallen leaves, the last trout went in search of better feeding grounds, and again the gravelly shallow seemed deserted. but it was only seeming. there were no eggs in sight--the frogs, the rats, the ducks, and the yearlings had taken care of that, and i am very much afraid that our friend may have eaten a few himself, on the sly, when his wife wasn't looking--but hidden away among the pebbles there were thousands, and the old, old miracle was being re-enacted, and multitudes of little live creatures were getting ready for the time when something should tell them to tear their shells open and come out into the world. one of the trout's most remarkable adventures, and the one which probably taught him more than any other, came during the hot weather of the following summer. the stream had grown rather too warm for comfort, and lately he had got into the habit of frequenting certain deep, quiet pools where icy springs bubbled out of the banks and imparted a very grateful coolness to the slow current. it was delightful to spend a long july afternoon in the wash below one of these fountains, having a lazy, pleasant time, and enjoying the touch of the cold water as it went sliding along his body from nose to tail. one sunshiny day, as he lay in his favorite spring-hole, thinking about nothing in particular, and just working his fins enough to keep from drifting down stream, a fly lit on the surface just over his head--a bright, gayly colored fly of a species which was entirely new to him, but which looked as if it must be very finely flavored. as it happened, there had been several days of very warm, sultry weather, and even the fish had grown sullen and lazy, but this afternoon the wind had whipped around to the north, straight off lake superior, and all the animals in the great tahquamenon swamp felt as if they had been made over new. how the brook trout could have known of it so quickly, down under the water, is a mystery; but our friend seemed to wake up all of a sudden, and to realize that he hadn't been eating as much as usual, and that he was hungry. he made a dash at the fly and seized it, but he had no sooner got it between his lips than he spat it out again. there was something wrong with it. instead of being soft and juicy and luscious, as all flies ought to be, it was stiff, and dry, and hard, and it had a long, crooked stinger that was different from anything belonging to any other fly that he had ever tasted. it disappeared as suddenly as it had come, and the trout sank back to the bottom of the pool. but presently three more flies came down together, and lit in a row, one behind another. they were different from the first, and he decided to try again. he chose the foremost of the three, and found it quite as ill-tasting as the other had been; but this time he didn't spit it out, for the stinger was a little too quick for him, and before he could let go it was fast in his lip. for the next few minutes he tore around the pool as if he was crazy, frightening some of the smaller fishes almost out of their wits, and sending them rushing up-stream in a panic. he himself had more than once been badly scared by seeing other trout do just what he was doing, but he had never realized what it all meant. now he understood. the first thing he did was to go shooting along the surface for several feet, throwing his head from side to side as he went, and doing his best to shake that horrible fly out of his mouth. but it wouldn't shake, so he tried jumping out of the water and striking at the line with his tail. that wasn't any better, and next he rushed off up the stream as hard as he could go. but the line kept pulling him round to the left with gentle but irresistible force, and before he knew it he was back in the pool again. wherever he went, and whatever he did, it was always pulling, pulling, pulling--not hard enough to tear the hook away, but just enough to keep him from getting an inch of slack. if there had been any chance to jerk he would probably have got loose in short order. he rushed around the pool so hard that he soon grew weary, and presently he sank to the bottom, hoping to lie still for a few minutes, and rest, and perhaps think of some new way of escape. but even there that steady tugging never ceased. it seemed as if it would pull his jaw out of his head if he didn't yield, and before long he let himself be drawn up again to the surface. once he was so close to the shore that the angler made a thrust at him with the landing-net, and just grazed his side. it frightened him worse than ever, and he raced away again so fast that the reel sang, and the line swished through the water like a knife. [illustration: "_he tried jumping out of the water._"] the other two flies were trailing behind, and the short line that held them was constantly catching on his fins and twisting itself around his tail in a way that annoyed him greatly. he almost thought he could get away if they were not there to hinder him. and yet, as it finally turned out, it was one of those flies that saved his life. he was coming slowly back from that last unsuccessful rush for liberty, fighting for every inch, and only yielding to a strength a thousand times greater than his own, when the trailer caught on a sunken log and held fast. instantly the strain on his mouth relaxed. the angler was no longer pulling on him, but on the log. he could jerk now, and he immediately began to twitch his head this way and that, backward and forward, right and left, tearing the hole in his lip a little larger at every yank, until the hook came away and he was free. it was a painful experience, and he carried the scar as long as he lived, but the lesson he learned was worth all it cost. i won't say that he never touched bait again, but he was much more cautious, and no other artificial fly ever stung him as badly as that one. the years went by, and the trout increased in size and strength and wisdom, as a trout should. one after another his rivals went away to the happy hunting-grounds, most of them losing their lives because they could not resist the temptation to taste a made-up fly, or to swallow a luscious angle-worm festooned on a dainty little steel hook; and the number of fish who dared dispute his right to do whatever he pleased grew beautifully less. and at last there was only one trout left in all the stream who was larger and stronger than he. that was the same big fellow who had come so near swallowing him on the occasion of his first visit to the nesting-grounds; and the way the fierce, solemn old brute finally departed this life deserves a paragraph all to itself. it happened one morning in early spring, just after the ice had gone out. our friend was still a trifle sleepy and lazy after the long, dull winter, though he had an eye open, as always, for anything particularly good to eat. i doubt if he would have jumped at any kind of a fly, for it was not the right time of year for flies, and he did not believe in eating them out of season; but almost anything else was welcome. he was faring very well that morning, as it chanced, for the stream was running high, and many a delicious grub and earthworm had been swept into it by the melting snow. and presently, what should come drifting down with the current but a poor little field-mouse, struggling desperately in a vain effort to swim back to the shore. once before our friend had swallowed a mouse whole, just as you would take an oyster from the half-shell, and he knew that they were very nice, indeed. he made a rush for the unlucky little animal, and in another second he would have had him; but just then the big bully came swaggering up with an air which seemed to say: "that's my meat. you get out of this!" our friend obeyed, the big fellow gave a leap and seized the mouse, and then--his time had come. he fought bravely, but he was fairly hooked, and in a few minutes he lay out on the bank, gasping for breath, flopping wildly about, and fouling his beautiful sides with sand and dirt. if he had understood english he might have overheard an argument which immediately took place between the angler and a girl, and which began something like this: "there!" in a triumphant tone; "who says mice aren't good bait? this is the biggest trout that's been caught in this stream for years." "oh, george, don't kill him! he's so pretty! put him back in the water." "put him back in the water? well, i should say not! what do you take me for?" evidently the girl took him for one who could be easily influenced by the right person, for she kept up the argument, and in the end she won her case. the trout was tossed back into the stream, where he gave himself a shake or two, to get rid of the sand, and then swam away, apparently as well as ever. but girls don't always know what is good for trout. it would really have been kinder if the angler had hit him over the head with the butt of his fishing-rod, and then carried him home and put him in the frying-pan. in his struggles a part of the mucus had been rubbed from his body, and that always means trouble for a fish. a few days later our friend met him again, and noticed that a curious growth had appeared on his back and sides--a growth which bore a faint resemblance to the bloom on a peach, and which had taken the exact shape of the prints of the angler's fingers. the fungus had got him. he was dying, slowly but surely, and within a week he turned over on his back and drifted away down the stream. a black bear found him whirling round and round in a little eddy under the bank, and that was the end of him. and so our friend became the king of the trout stream. you are not to suppose, however, that he paid very much attention to his subjects, or that he was particularly fond of having them about him and giving them orders. on the contrary, he had become very hermit-like in his habits. in his youth he had been fond of society, and he and his companions had often roamed the stream in little schools and bands, but of late years his tastes seemed to have undergone a change, and he kept to himself and lurked in the shady, sunless places till his skin grew darker and darker, and he more and more resembled the shadows in which he lived. his great delight was to watch from the depths of some cave-like hollow under an overhanging bank until a star-gazer, or a herring, or a minnow, or some other baby-eater came in sight, and then to rush out and swallow him head first. he took ample revenge on all those pesky little fishes for all that they had done and tried to do to him and his brethren in the early days. the truth is that every brook trout is an ishmaelite. the hand of every creature is against him, from that of the dragon-fly larva to that of the man with the latest invention in the way of patent fishing-tackle. it is no wonder if he turns the tables on his enemies whenever he has a chance, or even if he sometimes goes so far, in his general ruthlessness, as to eat his own offspring. yet, in spite of our friend's moroseness and solitary habits, there were certain times and seasons when he did come more or less in contact with his inferiors. in late spring and early summer he liked to sport for a while in the swift rapids--perhaps to stretch his muscles after the dull, quiet life of the winter-time, or possibly to free himself from certain little insects which sometimes fastened themselves to his body, and which, for lack of hands, it was rather difficult to get rid of. here he often met some of his subjects, and later, when the hot weather came on, they all went to the spring-holes which formed their summer resorts. and at such times he never hesitated to take advantage of his superior size and strength. he always picked out the coolest and most comfortable places in the pools, and helped himself to the choicest morsels of food; and the others took what was left, without question. and when the summer was gone, and the water grew cold and invigorating, and once more he put on his wedding-garment and hurried away to the gravelly shallows, how different was his conduct from what it had been when he was a yearling! then he was only a hanger-on; now he selected his nest and his mate to suit himself; and nobody ever dared to interfere. whether he ever again chose that beautiful little fish from the hatchery, whom he had been so fond of when he was a three-year-old, is a question which i would rather not try to answer. among all the vicissitudes, dangers, and rivalries of life in a trout stream, a permanent marriage seems to be almost an impossibility; and i fear that the affections of a fish are not remarkable for depth or constancy. the trout had altered in many ways besides his relations to his fellows. the curving lines of his body were not quite as graceful as they had once been, and sometimes he wore a rather lean and dilapidated look, especially in the six months from november to may. his tail was not as handsomely forked as when he was young, but was nearly square across the end, and was beginning to be a little frayed at the corners. his lower jaw had grown out beyond the upper, and its extremity was turned up in a wicked-looking hook which was almost a disfigurement, but which he often found very useful in hustling a younger trout out of the way. even his complexion had grown darker, as we have already seen. altogether he was less prepossessing than of old, but of a much more formidable appearance, and the very look of him was enough to scare a minnow out of a year's growth. but, notwithstanding all changes, the two great interests of his every-day life continued to be just what they had always been--namely, to get enough to eat, and to keep out of the way of his enemies; for enemies he still had, and would have as long as he lived. the fly-fishermen, with their feather-weight rods and their scientific tackle, came every spring and summer; and only the wisdom born of experience kept him from falling into their hands. several times he met with an otter, and had to run for his life. once, a black bear, fishing for suckers, came near catching a brook trout. and perhaps the very closest of all his close calls came one day when some river-drivers exploded a stick of dynamite in the water to break up a log-jam. the trout was some distance up the stream at the time, but the concussion stunned him so that he floated at the surface, wrong side up, for several minutes before his senses gradually came back. that is a fish's way of fainting. his luck stayed by him, however, and none of these things ever did him any serious harm. his reign proved a long one, and as the years went by he came to exercise a more and more autocratic sway over the smaller fry. for in spite of his age he was still growing. a trout has an advantage over a land animal in this, that he is not obliged to use any of his food as fuel for keeping himself warm. he can't keep warm anyhow--not as long as he lives in the water--and so he doesn't try, but devotes everything he eats to enlarging his body and repairing wear and tear. if nothing happens to put a stop to the process, he seems to be able to keep it up almost indefinitely. but the size of the stream in which he lives appears to limit him to a certain extent. probably the largest trout stream in the world is the nepigon, and they say that seventeen-pounders were caught there in the early days. our friend's native river was a rather small one. in the course of time, however, he attained a weight of very nearly three pounds, and i doubt if he would ever have been much larger. perhaps it was fitting that his reign should end there. but it seems a great pity that it could not have ended in a more imposing manner. the last act of the drama was so inglorious that i am almost ashamed to tell it. he was the king of the trout stream; over and over he had run fate's gauntlet, and escaped with his body unharmed and his wits sharper than ever; he knew the wiles of the fly-fishermen better than any other trout in the river; and yet, alas! he fell a victim to a little indian boy with a piece of edging for a rod, coarse string for a line, and salt pork for bait. i'm sure it wouldn't have happened if he had stayed at home; but one spring he took it into his head to go on an exploring expedition out into lake superior. i understand that his cousins in the streams of eastern canada sometimes visit salt water in somewhat the same manner, and that they thereupon lose the bright trimmings of their coats and become a plain silver-gray. superior did not affect our friend in that way, but something worse happened to him--he lost his common-sense. perhaps his interest in his new surroundings was so great that he forgot the lessons of wisdom and experience which it had cost him so much to learn. in the course of his wanderings he came to where a school of perch were loafing in the shadow of a wharf; and just as he pushed his way in among them, that little white piece of fat pork sank slowly down through the green water. it was something new to the trout; he didn't quite know what to make of it. but the perch seemed to think it was good, and they would be sure to eat it if he didn't; and so, although the string was in plain sight and ought to have been a sufficient warning, he exercised his royal prerogative, shouldered those yellow-barred plebeians out of the way, and took the tid-bit for himself. it is too humiliating; let us draw a veil over that closing scene. the king of the trout stream had gone the way of his fathers, and another reigned in his stead. the strenuous life of a canada lynx the canada lynx came down the runway that follows the high bank along the northern shore of the glimmerglass, his keen, silvery eyes watching the woods for foe or prey, and his big feet padding softly on the dead leaves. he was old, was the canada lynx, and he had grown very tall and gaunt, but this afternoon his years sat lightly on him. and in a moment more they had vanished entirely, and he was as young as ever he was in his life, for, as he stepped cautiously around a little spruce, he came upon another lynx, nearly as tall as he, and quite as handsome in her early winter coat. they both stopped short and stared. and no wonder. each of them was decidedly worth looking at, especially if the one who did the looking happened to be another lynx of the opposite sex. he was some twenty-odd inches in height and about three and a half feet in length, and had a most villanous cast of countenance, a very wicked-looking set of teeth, and claws that were two inches long and so heavy and strong and sharp that you could sometimes hear them crunch into the bark when he climbed a tree. his long hind legs, heavy buttocks, thick fore-limbs, and big, clumsy-looking paws told of a magnificent set of muscles pulling and sliding and hauling under his cloak. she was nearly as large as he, and very much like him in general appearance. both of them wore long, thick fur, of a lustrous steel-gray color, with paler shades underneath, and darker trimmings along their back-bones and up and down their legs. their paws were big and broad and furry, their tails were stubby and short, and they wore heavy, grizzled whiskers on the sides of their jaws and mustachios under their noses, while from the tips of their ears rose tassels of stiff, dark hairs that had an uncommonly jaunty effect. altogether they looked very fierce and imposing and war-like--perhaps rather more so than was justified by their actual prowess. so it was not surprising that they took to each other. perhaps he wasn't really quite as heroic as he appeared, but that's not uncommon among other lovers besides those belonging to the lynx tribe, and what difference did it make, anyhow, as long as she didn't know it? that winter was a hard one. the cold was intense, the snow was very deep, and the storms came often. spruce hens and partridges were scarce, even rabbits were hard to find, and sometimes it seemed to the two lynxes as if they were the only animals left in the woods. except the deer. there were always plenty of deer down in the cedar swamp, and their tracks were as plain as a lumberman's logging road. but although the lynxes sometimes killed and ate young fawns in the summertime, they seldom tasted venison in the winter. it was well for them that they had each other, for when one failed in the hunt the other sometimes succeeded, yet i cannot help thinking that the old male, especially, might perhaps have been of more use to his mate if he had not confined his hunting so entirely to the smaller animals. more than once he sat on a branch of a tree and watched a buck or doe go by, and his claws twitched and his eyes blazed, and he fairly trembled with eagerness and excitement as he saw the big gray creature pass, all unconscious, beneath his perch. splendidly armed as he was, it would seem as though he must have succeeded if only he had jumped and risked a tussle. but he never tried it. i suppose he was afraid. and yet--such were the contradictions of his nature--one dark night he trotted half a mile after a shanty-boy who was going home with a haunch of venison over his shoulder, and was just gathering himself for a spring, intending to leap on him from behind, when another man appeared. two against one was not fair, he thought, and he gave it up and beat a retreat without either of them seeing him. they found his footprints the next morning in their snow-shoe tracks, and wondered how far behind them he had been. i don't know whether it was a vein of real courage that nerved him up to doing such a foolhardy thing as to follow a man with the intention of attacking him, or whether it was simply a case of recklessness. the probability is, however, that he was hungrier than usual, and that the smell of the warm blood made him forget everything else. anyhow, he had a pretty close call, for the shanty-boy had a revolver in his pocket. aside from any question of heroism, i am afraid that he was not really as wise and discriminating as he looked. i have an idea that when nature manufactured him she thought he did not need as much wisdom or as many wits as some of the other people of the woods, inasmuch as he was larger and stronger and better armed than most of them. except possibly the bear, who was altogether too easy-going to molest him, there was not one of the animals that could thrash him, and they all knew it and let him alone. you can often manage very well without brains if only you have the necessary teeth and muscle and claws; and the old lynx had them, without a doubt. but i fear that nature, in adapting a wild animal to his environment, now and then forgets to allow for the human element in the problem. brains are a good thing to have, after all. even to a lynx the time is pretty sure to come, sooner or later, when he needs them in his business. your fellow-citizens of the woods may treat you with all due respect, but the trapper won't, and he'll get you if you don't watch out. one day he found some more snow-shoe tracks, just like those that the shanty-boy had left, and instead of running away, as he ought to have done, and as most of the animals would have had sense enough to do, he followed them up to see where they led. he wasn't particularly hungry that day, and there was absolutely no excuse for what he did. it certainly wasn't bravery that inspired him, for he had not the least idea of attacking anyone. it was simply a case of foolish curiosity. he followed the trail a long way, not walking directly in it, but keeping just a little to one side, wallowing heavily as he went, for a foot and a half of light, fluffy snow had fallen the day before, and the walking was very bad. presently he caught sight of a little piece of scarlet cloth fastened to a stick that stood upright in a drift. it ought to have been another warning to him, but it only roused his curiosity to a still higher pitch, as the trapper knew it would. he sat down in the snow and considered. the thing didn't really look as if it were good to eat, and yet it might be. the only way to find out would be to go up to it and taste it. but, eatable or not, such a bright bit of color was certainly very attractive to the eye. you would think so yourself if you hadn't seen anything scarlet since last summer's wild-flowers faded. finally, he got up and walked slowly toward it, and the first thing he knew a steel trap had him by the right foreleg. the way of the foolish is sometimes as hard as that of the transgressor. for a few minutes he was the very maddest cat in all the great tahquamenon swamp, and he yelled and howled and caterwauled at the top of his voice, and jumped and tore around as if he was crazy. but, of course, that sort of thing did him no good, and after a while he quieted down and took things a little more calmly. instead of being made fast to a tree, the trap was bound by a short chain to a heavy wooden clog, and he found that by pulling with all his might he could drag it at a snail's pace through the snow. so off he went on three legs, hauling the trap and clog by the fourth, with the blood oozing out around the steel jaws and leaving a line of bright crimson stains behind him. the strain on his foot hurt him cruelly, but a great fear was in his heart, and he knew that he must go away or die. so he pushed on, hour after hour, stopping now and then to rest for a few minutes in a thicket of cedar or hemlock, but soon gathering his strength for another effort. how he growled and snarled with rage and pain, and how his great eyes flamed as he looked ahead to see what was before him, or back along his trail to know if the trapper was coming! it was a terrible journey that he made that night, and the hours dragged by slow as his pace and heavy as his clog. he was heading toward the hollow tree by the glimmerglass that he and his mate called home, but he had not made more than half the distance, and his strength was nearly gone. half-way between midnight and dawn he reached the edge of a steep and narrow gully that lay straight across his path. the moon had risen some time before, and the white slopes gleamed and shone in the frosty light, all the whiter by contrast with the few bushes and trees that were scattered up and down the little valley. the lynx stood on the brink and studied the proposition before him. it would be hard, hard work to climb the farther side, dragging that heavy clog, but at least it ought to be easy going down. he scrambled over the edge, hauling the clog after him till it began to roll of its own accord. the chain slackened, and he leaped forward. it was good to be able to jump again. but he jumped too far, or tried to, and the chain tightened with a jerk that brought him down head-first in the snow. before he could recover himself the clog shot past him, and the chain jerked again and sent him heels over head. and then cat, trap, and clog all went rolling over and over down the slope, and landed in a heap at the bottom. all the breath and the spirit were knocked out of him, and for a long time he could do nothing but lie still in the snow, trembling with weakness and pain, and moaning miserably. it must have been half an hour before he could pull himself together again, and then, just as he was about to begin the climb up the far side of the gully, he suddenly discovered that he was no longer alone. off to the left, among some thick bushes, he saw the lurking form of a timber-wolf. he looked to the right, and there was another. behind him was a third, and he thought he saw several others still farther away, slinking from bush to bush, and gradually drawing nearer. ordinarily they would hardly have dreamed of tackling him, and, if they had mustered up sufficient courage to attempt to overpower him by mere force of numbers, he would simply have climbed a tree and laughed at them. but now it was different. the lynx cowered down in the snow and seemed to shrink to half his normal size; and then, as all the horror and the hopelessness of it came over him, he lifted up his voice in such a cry of abject fear, such a wail of utter agony and despair, as even the great tahquamenon swamp had very seldom heard. i suppose that he had killed and eaten hundreds of smaller animals in his time, but i doubt if any of his victims ever suffered as he did. most of them were taken unawares, and were killed and eaten almost before they knew what was coming; but he had to lie still and see his enemies slowly closing in upon him, knowing all the time that he could not fight to any advantage, and that to fly was utterly impossible. but when the last moment arrived he must have braced up and given a good account of himself. at least that was what the trapper decided when he came a few hours later to look for his trap. the lynx was gone--not even a broken bone of him was left--but there in the trodden and blood-stained snow was the record of an awful struggle. there must have been something heroic about him, after all. for the rest of the winter his widow had to hunt alone. this was not such a great hardship in itself, for they had frequently gone out separately on their marauding expeditions--more often, perhaps, than they had gone together. but now there was never anyone to curl up beside her in the hollow tree and help her keep warm, or to share his kill with her when her own was unsuccessful. and when the spring should come and bring her a family of kittens, she would have to take on her own shoulders the whole burden of parental responsibility. or, rather, the burden was already there, for if she did not find enough meat to keep herself in good health the babies would be weak and wizened and unpromising, with small chance of growing up to be a credit to her or a satisfaction to themselves. so she hunted night and day, and, on the whole, with very good results. to tell the truth, i think she was rather more skilful in the chase than her mate had been, and this seems to be a not uncommon state of things in cat families. perhaps feminine fineness of instinct and lightness of tread are better adapted to the still-hunt than the greater clumsiness and awkwardness of masculinity. or, is there something deeper than that? has something whispered to these savage mothers that on their success depends more than their own lives, and that it is their sacred duty to kill, kill, kill? however that may be, she proved herself a mighty huntress before the lord. her eye was keen, and her foot was sure, and she made terrible havoc among the rabbits and partridges. and yet there were times when even she was hungry and tired and disheartened. once, on a clear, keen, cold winter night when all the great white world seemed frozen to death, she serenaded a land-looker who had made his bed in a deserted lumber-camp and was trying to sleep. she had eaten almost nothing for several days, and she knew that her strength was ebbing. that very evening she had fallen short in a flying leap at a rabbit, and had seen him dive head-first into his burrow, safe by the merest fraction of an inch. she had fairly screeched with rage and disappointment, and as the hours went by and she found no other game, she grew so blue and discouraged that she really couldn't contain herself any longer. perhaps it did her good to have a cry. for two hours the land-looker lay in his bunk and listened to a wailing that made his heart fairly sink within him. now it was a piercing scream, now it was a sob, and now it died away in a low moan, only to rise again, wilder and more agonized than ever. he knew without a doubt that it was only some kind of a cat--knew it just as well as he knew that his compass needle pointed north. yet there had been times in his land-looking experience when he had been ready to swear that the needle was pointing south-southeast; and to-night, in spite of his certain knowledge that the voice he heard was that of a lynx or a wild-cat or cougar, he couldn't help being almost dead sure that it came from a woman in distress, there was in it such a note of human anguish and despair. twice he got half-way out of bed to go to her assistance, and then lay down again and called himself a fool. at last he could stand it no longer, and taking a burning brand from the broken stove that stood in the centre of the room, he went to the door and looked out. the great arc-light of the moon had checkered the snow-crust with inky shadows, and patches of dazzling white. the cold air struck him like needles, and he said to himself that it was no wonder that either a cat or a woman should cry if she had to stay out in the snow on such a night. the moaning and wailing ceased as he opened the door, but now two round spots of flame shone out of a black shadow and stared at him unwinkingly. the lynx's pupils were wide open, and the golden-yellow tapeta in the backs of her eyeballs were glowing like incandescent lamps. it was no woman. no human eyes could ever shine like that. the land-looker threw the brand with all his might; an ugly snarl came from the shadow, and he saw a big gray animal go tearing away across the hard, smooth crust in a curious kind of gallop, taking three or four yards at a bound, coming down on all four feet at once, and spring forward again as if she was made of rubber. he shut the door and went back to bed. that was the end of the concert, and, as it turned out, it was also the end of the lynx's troubles, at least for the time being. half an hour later, as she was loping along in the moonlight, she thought she heard a faint sound from beneath her feet. she stood still to listen, and the next minute she was sure. during the last heavy snow-storm three partridges had dived into a drift for shelter from the wind and the cold, and such a thick, hard crust had formed over their heads that they had not been able to get out again. she resurrected them in short order and reinterred them after a fashion of her own, and then she went home to her hollow tree and slept the sleep of those who have done what nature tells them to, and whose consciences are clear and whose stomachs full. that was her nearest approach to starvation. she never was quite so hungry again, and in the early spring she had a great piece of luck. not very far from her hollow tree she met a buck that had been mortally wounded by a hunter. he had had strength enough to run away, and to throw his pursuer off his track, but there was very little fight left in him. in such a case as this she was quite ready to attack, and it did not take her long to finish him. probably it was a merciful release, for he had suffered greatly in the last few days. fortunately no wolves or other large animals found him, and he gave her meat till after the kittens had come and she had begun to grow well and strong again. the kittens were a great success--two of the finest she had ever had, and she had had many. but at first, of course, they were rather insignificant-looking--just two little balls of reddish-brown fur that turned over once in a while and mewed for their dinner. some of the scientific men say that a new-born baby has no mind, but only a blank something that appears to be capable of receiving and retaining impressions, and that may in certain cases have tendencies. there is reason for thinking that the baby lynxes had tendencies. but imagine, if you can, what their first impressions were like. and remember that they were blind, and that if their ears heard sounds they certainly did not comprehend them. sometimes they were cold and hungry and lonesome, and that was an impression of the wrong sort. they did not know what the trouble was, but something was the matter, that was certain, and they cried about it, like other babies. then would come a great, warm, comforting presence, and all would be right again; and that was a very pleasant impression, indeed. i don't suppose they knew exactly what had been done to them. probably they were not definitely aware that their empty stomachs had been filled, or that their shrinking, shivering little bodies were snuggled down in somebody's thick fur coat, or that somebody's warm red tongue was licking and stroking and caressing them. much less could they have known how that big, strong, comforting somebody came to be there, or how many harmless and guiltless little lives had been snuffed out to give her life and to enable her to give it to them. but they knew that all was well with them, and that everything was just as it should be--and they took another nap. [illustration: "_the hole was suddenly darkened, and a round, hairy face looked in._"] by and by they began to look about for impressions, and were no longer content with lying still and taking only what came to them. they seemed to acquire a mental appetite for impressions that was almost as ravenous as their stomachs' appetite for milk, and their weak little legs were forced to lift their squat little bodies and carry them on exploring expeditions around the inside of the hollow tree, where they bumped their heads against the walls, and stumbled and fell down over the inequalities of the floor. they got a good many impressions during these excursions, and some of them were mental and some were physical. and sometimes they explored their mother, and went scrambling and sprawling all over her, probably getting about as well acquainted with her as it is possible to be with a person whom one has never seen. for their eyes were still closed, and they must have known her only as a big, kind, loving, furry thing, that fed them, and warmed them, and licked them, and made them feel good, and yet was almost as vague and indefinite as something in a dream. but the hour came at last when for the first time they saw the light of day shining in through the hole in the side of their tree. and while they were looking at it--and probably blinking at it--a footstep sounded outside, the hole was suddenly darkened, and a round, hairy face looked in--a face with big, unwinking eyes, pointed, tufted ears, and a thick whisker brushed back from under its chin. do you suppose they recognized their mother? i don't believe they did. but when she jumped in beside them, then they knew her, and the impression they gained that day was one of the most wonderful of all. in looks, these kittens of the woods were not so very different from those of the backyard, except that they were bigger and perhaps a little clumsier, and that their paws were very large, and their tails very short and stubby. they grew stronger as the days went on, and their legs did not wobble quite so much when they went travelling around the inside of the tree. and they learned to use their ears as well as their eyes. they knew what their mother's step meant at the entrance, and they liked to hear her purr. other sounds there were which they did not understand so well, and to most of which they gave little heed--the scream of the rabbit when the big gray cat leaps on him from behind a bush; the scolding of the red squirrel, disturbed and angry at the sight, and fearful that he may be the next victim; the bark of the fox; the rasping of the porcupine's teeth; and oftenest of all the pleasant rustling and whispering of the trees, for by this time the sun and the south wind had come back and done their work, and the voice of the leaves was heard in the land. all these noises of the woods, and many others besides, came to them from outside the walls of the tree, from a vast, mysterious region of which as yet they knew nothing except that their mother often went there. she was beginning to think that they were big enough and old enough to learn something more about it, and so one day she led them out of the hole, and they saw the sunshine, and the blue of the sky, and the green of the trees, and the whiteness of the sailing clouds, and the beauty of the glimmerglass. but i don't think they appreciated the wonder and the glory of it all, or paid as much attention to it as they ought. they were too much interested in making their legs work properly, for their knees were still rather weak, and were apt to give out all of a sudden, and to let a fellow sit down when he didn't want to. and the dry leaves and little sticks kept sliding around under one's feet so that one never knew what was going to happen next. it was very different from the hollow tree, and they were glad when their mother picked them up one at a time by the back of the neck, carried them home, gave them their supper, and told them to lie still and take a nap while she went after another rabbit. but they had really done very well, considering that it was their first day out. one of them in particular was very smart and precocious, and she had taken much pleasure in watching the independent way in which he went staggering about, looking for impressions. and the other was not far behind him. her long hours of still-hunting had brought their rich reward, and her babies were all that she could ask. she was in the habit of occasionally bringing something home for them to play with--a wood-mouse, perhaps, or a squirrel, or a partridge, or even a larger animal; and they played with it with a vengeance, shaking and worrying it, and spitting and growling and snarling over it in the most approved fashion. and you should have seen them the first time they saw their mother catch a rabbit. they did not try to help her, for she had told them not to, but they watched her as if it was a matter of life and death--as, indeed, it was, but not to them. the rabbit was nibbling some tender young sprouts. the old lynx crept up behind him very quietly and stealthily, and the kittens' eyes stuck out farther and farther as they saw her gradually work up within leaping distance. they nearly jumped out of their skins with excitement when at last she gave a bound and landed with both forepaws on the middle of his back. and when the rabbit screamed out in his fright and pain, they could not contain themselves any longer, but rushed in and helped finish him. they seemed to understand the game as perfectly as if they had been practising it for years. i suppose that was where their tendencies came in. a few days later they had another experience--or at least one of them did. their mother happened to see two little wood-mice run under a small, half-decayed log, and she put her forefeet against it and rolled it half-way over; and then, while she held it there, the larger kitten--the one who had made the better record the day they first left the den--thrust his paw under and grabbed one of them. the other mouse got away, but i don't think the kitten cared very much. he had made his first kill, and that was glory enough for one day. from wood-mice the kittens progressed to chipmunks, and from them to larger game. with use and exercise their soft baby muscles grew hard and strong, and it was not long before they were able to follow the old lynx almost anywhere, to the tops of the tallest trees, over the roughest ground, and through the densest thickets. and they learned other things besides how to walk and climb and hunt. their mother was a good teacher and a rather rigid disciplinarian, and very early in life they were taught that they must obey promptly and without question, and that on certain occasions it was absolutely necessary to keep perfectly still and not make the slightest sound. for instance, there was the time when the whole family lay sprawled out on a limb of a tree, fifteen or twenty feet up from the ground, and watched the land-looker go by with his half-axe over his shoulder, his compass in his hand, and a note-book sticking out of his pocket. they were so motionless, and the grayish color of their fur matched so well with the bark of the tree, that he never saw them, although for a moment they were right over his head, and could have leaped to his shoulders as easily as not. in short, the kittens were learning to take care of themselves, and it was well that they were, for one day their mother was taken from them in a strange, sad way, and there was nothing they could do but cry, and try to follow her, and at last see her pass out of sight, still looking back and calling to them pitifully. it was the river that carried her off, and it was a floating saw-log that she rode upon, an unwilling passenger. the trouble began with a steel trap, just as it did in their father's case. traps are not nearly as much to be feared in summer or early fall as in winter, for the simple reason that one's fur is not as valuable in warm weather as in cold. the lynx's, for instance, was considerably shorter and thinner than it had been in the preceding december, when she and her mate first met, and it had taken on a reddish tinge, as if the steel had begun to rust a trifle. but the killing machines are to be found occasionally at all seasons of the year, and somebody had set this one down by the edge of the water--not the glimmerglass, but a branch of the tahquamenon river--and had chained it to a log that had been hung up in last spring's drive. when she first felt its grip on her leg she yelled and tore around just as her mate had done, while the kittens looked on in wonder and amazement. they had seen their mother in many moods, but never in one like this. but by and by she grew weary, and a little later it began to rain. she was soon soaking wet, and as the hours dragged on every ounce of courage and gumption seemed to ooze out of her. if the trapper had come then he would have found her very meek and limp. possibly she would have been ready to fight him for her children's sakes, but nothing else could have nerved her to it. but she was not put to any such test; the trapper did not come. it rained very hard, and it rained very long. in fact it had been raining most of the time for two or three days before the lynx found the trap, and in a few more hours the great tahquamenon swamp was as full of water as a soaked sponge, and the river was rising rapidly. the lynx was soon lying in a puddle, and to get out of it she climbed upon the log and stretched herself out on the wet, brown bark. still the river rose, and by and by the log began to stir in its bed, as if it were thinking of renewing its voyage. at last, when she had been there nearly twenty-four hours, and was faint with hunger, as well as cold and wet, it quietly swung out into the current and drifted away down the stream. she was an excellent swimmer, and she promptly jumped overboard and tried to reach the shore, but of course the chain put a stop to that. weakened by fasting, and borne down by the weight of the trap, she came very near drowning before she could scramble up again over the end of the log and seat herself amidships. the kittens were foraging among the bushes, but she called to them in a tone which told them plainly enough that some new trouble had befallen her, and they hurried down to the water's edge, and stood there, mewing piteously. she implored them to follow her, and after much persuasion the bigger and bolder of the two plunged bravely in. but he didn't get very far. it was very cold and very wet, and he wasn't used to swimming. besides, the water got into his nose and made him sneeze, which distracted his attention so that for a moment he forgot all about his mother, and just turned around and hustled back to the shore as fast as he could go. after that he, contented himself with following along the bank and keeping as near her as he could. once the log drifted in so close that she thought she could jump ashore, and the kitten watched eagerly as she gathered herself for the spring. but the chain was too short, and she fell into the water. her forepaw just grazed the grass-tuft where the kitten was standing, and for an instant she felt the blades slipping between her toes; but the next moment she was swimming for the log again, and the kitten was mewing his sympathy at the top of his voice. they journeyed on for nearly an hour longer, she on her prison-ship, and he on land; and then, before either of them knew just what had happened, the little tributary had emptied itself into the main stream of the tahquamenon, and they suddenly realized that they were much farther apart than they had been at any time before. this new river was several times as broad as the one on which the voyage had begun, and the wind was steadily carrying her away from the shore, while the current bore her resistlessly on in its long, slow voyage to lake superior. she was still calling to him, but her voice was growing fainter and fainter in the distance, and so, at last, she passed out of his sight and hearing forever. [illustration: "_he was a very presentable young lynx._"] and then, for the first time, he missed his brother. the other kitten had always been a trifle the slower of the two, and in some way he had dropped behind. our friend was alone in the world. but the same river that had carried his mother away brought him a little comfort in his desolation, for down by the water's edge, cast up on the sand by a circling eddy, he found a dead sucker. he ate it with relish, and felt better in spite of himself. it made a very large meal for a lynx of his size, and by the time he had finished it he began to be drowsy, so he picked out the driest spot he could find, under the thick branches of a large hemlock, and curled himself up on the brown needles and went to sleep. the next day he had to hustle for a living, and the next it was the same, and the next, and the next. as the weeks and the months went by there was every indication that life would be little else than one long hustle--or perhaps a short one--and in spite of all he could do there were times when he was very near the end of the chapter. but his mother's lessons stood him in good stead, and he was exceedingly well armed for the chase. it would have been hard to find in all the woods any teeth better adapted than his to the work of pulling a fellow-creature to pieces. in front, on both the upper and lower jaws, were the chisel-shaped incisors. flanking them were the canines, very long and slender, and very sharply pointed, thrusting themselves into the meat like the tines of a carving-fork, and tearing it away in great shreds. and back of the canines were other teeth that were still larger, but shorter and broader, and shaped more like notched knife-blades. those of the lower jaw worked inside those of the upper, like shears, and they were very handy for cutting the large chunks into pieces small enough to go down his throat. by the time he got through with a partridge there was not much left of it but a puddle of brown feathers. his claws, too, were very long and white, and very wickedly curved; and before starting out on a hunt he would often get up on his hind legs and sharpen those of his forefeet on a tree-trunk, just as your house-cat sharpens hers on the leg of the kitchen-table. when he wasn't using them he kept them hidden between his toes, so that they would not be constantly catching and breaking on roots and things; but all he had to do when he wanted them was to pull certain muscles, and out they came, ready to scratch and tear to his heart's content. they were not by any means full grown as yet, but they bade fair to equal his father's some day. he was warmly and comfortably clothed, of course, and along his sides and flanks the hair hung especially thick and long, to protect his body when he was obliged to wade through light, fluffy snow. when there was a crust he didn't need it, for his paws were so big and broad and hairy that at such times they bore him up almost as well as if they had been two pairs of snow-shoes. but, well armed, well clad, and well shod though he was, it was fortunate for the kitten that his first winter was a mild one--mild, that is, for the glimmerglass country. otherwise things might have gone very hard with him, and they were none too easy as it was. there were days when he was even hungrier than his mother had been the night she serenaded the land-looker, and it was on one of these occasions that he found a porcupine in a tree and tried to make a meal of him. that was a memorable experience. the porky was sitting in a crotch, doing nothing in particular, and when the kitten approached he simply put his nose down and his quills up. the kitten spat at him contemptuously, but without any apparent effect. then he put out a big forepaw and tapped him lightly on the forehead. the porcupine flipped his tail, and the kitten jumped back, and spat and hissed harder than ever. he didn't quite know what to make of this singular-looking creature, but he was young and rash, besides being awfully, awfully hungry, and in another minute he pitched in. the next thing they knew, the porcupine had dropped to the ground, where he lit in a snow-bank, and presently picked himself up and waddled off to another tree, while the kitten--well, the kitten just sat in the crotch and cried as hard as ever he could cry. there were quills in his nose, and quills in his side, and quills in both his forepaws; and every motion was agony. he himself never knew exactly how he got rid of them all, so of course i can't tell you. a few of those that were caught only by their very tips may possibly have dropped out, but it is probable that most of them broke off and left their points to work deeper and deeper into the flesh until the skin finally closed over them and they disappeared. i have no doubt that pieces of those quills are still wandering about in various parts of his anatomy, like the quart of lead that "little bobs" carries around with him, according to mr. kipling. it was weeks before he ceased to feel the pain of them. for several days after this mishap it was impossible for him to hunt, and he would certainly have starved to death if it had not been for a cougar who providentially came to the glimmerglass on a short visit. the kitten found his tracks in the snow the very next day, and cautiously followed them up, limping as he went, to see what the big fellow had been doing. for a mile or more the large, round, shapeless footprints--very much like his own, but on a bigger scale--were spaced so regularly that it was evident the cougar had been simply walking along at a very leisurely gait, with nothing to disturb his frame of mind. but after a while the record showed a remarkable change. the footprints were only a few inches apart, and his cougarship had carried himself so low that his body had dragged in the snow and left a deep furrow behind. the kitten knew what that meant. he had been there himself, though not after the same kind of prey. and then the trail stopped entirely, and for a space the snow lay fresh and virgin and untrodden. but twenty feet away was the spot where the cougar had come down on all-fours, only to leap forward again like a ricochetting cannon-ball; and twenty-five feet farther lay the greater part of the carcass of a deer. the kitten stuffed himself as full as he could hold, and then climbed a tree and watched. about midnight the cougar appeared, and after he had eaten his fill and gone away again the kitten slipped down and ate some more. he was making up for lost time. for four successive nights the cougar came and feasted on venison, but after that the kitten never saw him or heard of him again. there was still a goodly quantity of meat left, and it seems somewhat curious that he did not return for it, but he was a stranger in those parts, and it is probable that he went back to his old haunts, up toward whitefish point, perhaps, or the grand sable. anyhow, it was very nice for the kitten, for that deer kept him in provisions until he was able to take up hunting once more. he had one rather exciting experience during this period. one day, just as he was finishing a very enjoyable meal of venison tenderloin, he heard the tramp of snow-shoes on the crust, and in a moment more that same land-looker came pacing down a section line and halted squarely in front of him. now there are trappers who say that a canada lynx is a fool and a coward, that he will run from a small dog, and that he makes his living entirely by preying on animals that are weaker and more poorly armed than he. i admit, of course, that the majority of lynxes do not go ramming around the woods with chips on their shoulders, looking for hunters armed with bowie-knives and repeating rifles. you wouldn't, either--not as long as there were rabbits to be had for the stalking. but on this occasion the kitten's conduct certainly savored of recklessness, if not of real bravery. being entirely unacquainted with the land-looking profession, he naturally supposed that the man had come for his deer. and he didn't propose to let him have it. he considered that that venison belonged to him, and he took his stand on the carcass, laid his ears back, showed his white teeth, made his eyes blaze, and spit and growled and snarled defiantly. the land-looker didn't quite know what to do. his section line lay straight across the deer's body, and he did not want to leave it for fear of confusing his reckoning, but the kitten, though only half grown, looked uncommonly business-like. he had no gun, nor even a revolver, for he was hunting for pine, not fresh meat. he had left his half-axe in camp, and when he felt in his pocket for his jack-knife it was not there. then he looked about for a club. he had been told that lynxes always had very thin skulls, and that a light blow on the back of the head was enough to kill the biggest and fiercest of them, let alone a kitten. but he couldn't even find a stick that would answer his purpose. "well," he said, when they had stared at each other a minute or two longer without coming to any understanding, "i suppose if you won't turn out for me, i'll have to turn out for you"; and he made a careful circuit at a respectful distance, picked up his line again, and went on his way. the winter dragged on very slowly, with many ups and downs, but it was gone at last. summer was easier, if only because he was not obliged to use up any of his vitality in keeping warm. sometimes, indeed, he was really too warm for comfort, so he presently changed his coat and put on a thinner one. people like to talk about the coolness of the deep woods, but the truth is that there isn't any place much hotter and stuffier than a dense growth of timber, where the wind never comes, and where the air is heavy and still. and then there are the windfalls and the old burnings, where the sun beats fiercely down among the fallen trees till the blackened soil is hot as a city pavement, and where dead trunks and half-burned logs lie thrown together in the wildest confusion--places which are almost impassable for men, and which even the land-lookers avoid whenever they can, but which a cat will thread as readily as the locomotive follows the rails. these were the localities which the kitten was most fond of frequenting, and here his youth slipped rapidly away. he was fast becoming an adult lynx. the summer passed, and half the autumn; the first snow came and went, and again the kitten put on his winter coat of gray, with the white underneath, and the dark trimmings up and down his legs and along his back. what with his mustachios, and his whiskers, and the tassels on his ears, he was a very presentable young lynx. it would be many years before he could hope to be as large and powerful as his father, but, nevertheless, he was making remarkably good progress. and the time was at hand when he would need both his good looks and his muscle. since his mother had left him he had seen only two or three lynxes, and those were all much older and larger than he, and not well suited to be his companions. but history repeats itself. one indian-summer afternoon he was tramping along the northern bank of the glimmerglass, just as his father had done two years before, and as he rounded a bend in the path he came face to face with someone who was enough like him to have been his twin sister. and they did as his parents had done, stood still for a minute or two and looked at each other as if they had just found out what they were made for. after all, life is something more than hustling for a living, even in the woods. but just then something else happened, and another ruling passion came into play--the old instinct of the chase, which neither of them could very long forget. a faint "quack, quack, quack," came up from the lake, and they crept to the edge of the bank, side by side, and looked down. above them the trees stood dreamily motionless in the mellow sunshine. below was a steep slope of ten or fifteen feet; beyond it a tiny strip of sandy beach, and then the quiet water. a squadron of ducks, on their way from the arctic circle to the gulf, had taken stop-over checks for the glimmerglass; and now they came loitering along through the dead bulrushes, murmuring gently, in soft, mild voices, of delicious minnows and snails, and pausing a moment now and then to put their heads under and dabble in the mud for some particularly choice morsel. the lynxes crouched and waited, while their stubby tails twitched nervously, their long, narrow pupils grew still narrower, and their paws fumbled about among the dry pine-needles, feeling for the very best footing for the flying leap. the ducks came on, still prattling pleasantly over their own private affairs. closer and closer they swam, without a thought of death waiting for them at the top of the bank, and suddenly four splendid sets of muscles jerked like bowstrings, four long hind-legs straightened with a mighty thrust and shove, and two big gray creatures shot out from the brink and came sailing down through the air with their heads up, their tails on end, their eyes blazing, and their forepaws stretched out to grab the nearest unhappy duck. the flock broke up with frightened cries and a wonderful whirring of wings, and in a moment more they were far away and going like the very wind. [illustration: "_they both stood still and looked at each other._"] but two of its members stayed behind, and presently the lynxes waded out on the beach and sat down to eat their supper together. they talked as much over that meal as the ducks had over theirs, but the lynx language is very different from that of the water-fowl. instead of soft, gentle murmurings there were low growls and snarls as the long, white claws and teeth tore the warm red flesh from the bones. it could hardly have been a pleasant conversation to anyone but themselves, but i suppose they enjoyed it as much as the choicest repartee. in truth they had good reason to be satisfied and contented with themselves and each other, and with what they had just done, for not every flying leap is so successful, and not every duck is as plump and juicy as the two that they were discussing. so they talked on in angry, threatening tones, that sounded like quarrelling, but that really meant only a fierce, savage kind of pleasure; and when the meal was ended, and the very last shred of duck-flesh had disappeared, they washed their faces, and purred, and lay still a while to visit and get acquainted. there were many other meetings during the weeks that followed--some under as pleasant circumstances as the first, and some not. perhaps the best were those of the clear, sharp days of early winter, when the sky was blue, and the sunshine was bright, and a thin carpet of fine, dry snow covered the floor of the forest. it was cold, of course; but they were young and strong and healthy, and their fur was thick and warm, like the garments of a canadian girl. the keen air set the live blood leaping and dancing, and they frisked and frolicked, and romped and played, and rolled each other over and over in the snow, and were as wildly and deliciously happy as it is ever given to two animals to be. it was too good to last long without some kind of an interruption, and one glorious winter evening, when the full moon was flooding the woods with the white light that brings a touch of madness, a third young lynx came upon the scene. and then there was trouble. the kitten's new friend sat back in the bushes and looked on, while he and his rival squatted face to face in the snow and sassed each other to the utmost limits of the lynx vocabulary, their voices rising and falling in a hideous duet, and their eyes gleaming and glowing with a pale, yellow-green fire. presently there was a rush, and the fur began to fly. the snow flew, too; and the woods rang and rang again with yelling and caterwauling, and spitting and swearing, and all manner of abuse. the rabbits heard it, and trembled; and the partridges, down in the cedar swamp, glanced furtively over their shoulders and were glad it was no nearer. they bit and scratched and clawed like two little devils, and the onlooker in the bushes must have felt a thrill of pride over the strenuous way in which they strove for her favors. first one was on top, and then the other. now our kitten had his rival by the ears, and now by the tail. one minute heads, legs, and bodies were all mixed up in such a snarl that it seemed as if they could never be untangled, and the next they backed off just long enough to catch their breath, and then flew at each other's throats more savagely than ever. it was really more difficult than you would suppose for either of them to get a good hold of the other, partly because their fur was so thick, and partly because nature had purposely made their skins very loose, with an eye to just such performances as this. but they managed to do a good deal of damage, nevertheless; and in the end the pretender was thoroughly whipped, and fled away in disgrace down the long, snowy aisles of the forest, howling as he went, while the kitten turned slowly and painfully to the one who was at the bottom of all this unpleasantness. his ears were slit; one eye was shut, and the lid of the other hung very low; he limped badly with his right hind-leg, and many were the wounds and scratches along his breast and sides. but he didn't care. he had won his spurs. the story of the kitten is told, for he was a kitten no longer. pointers from a porcupine quill he wasn't handsome--the original owner of this quill--and i can't say that he was very smart. he was only a slow-witted, homely old porky who once lived by the glimmerglass. but in spite of his slow wits and his homeliness a great many things happened to him in the course of his life. he was born in a hollow hemlock log, on a wild april morning, when the north wind was whipping the lake with snow, and when winter seemed to have come back for a season. the glimmerglass was neither glimmering nor glassy that morning, but he and his mother were snug and warm in their wooden nest, and they cared little for the storm that was raging outside. it has been said by some that porcupines lay eggs, the hard, smooth shells of which are furnished by a kind and thoughtful providence for the protection of the mothers from their prickly offspring until the latter have fairly begun their independent existence. other people say that two babies invariably arrive at once, and that one of them is always dead before it is born. but when my porcupine discovered america he had neither a shell on his back nor a dead twin brother by his side. neither was he prickly. he was covered all over with soft, furry, dark-brown hair. if you had searched carefully along the middle of his back you might possibly have found the points of the first quills, just peeping through the skin; but as yet the thick fur hid them from sight and touch unless you knew just where and how to look for them. he was a very large baby, larger even than a new-born bear cub, and no doubt his mother felt a justifiable pride in his size and his general peartness. she was certainly very careful of him and very anxious for his safety, for she kept him out of sight, and no one ever saw him during those first days and weeks of his babyhood. she did not propose to have any lynxes or wild-cats or other ill-disposed neighbors fondling him until his quills were grown. after that they might give him as many love-pats as they pleased. he grew rapidly, as all porcupine babies do. long hairs, tipped with yellowish-white, came out through the dense fur, and by and by the quills began to show. his teeth were lengthening, too, as his mother very well knew, and between the sharp things in his mouth and those on his back and sides he was fast becoming a very formidable nursling. before he was two months old she was forced to wean him, but by that time he was quite able to travel down to the beach and feast on the tender lily-pads and arrow-head leaves that grew in the shallow water, within easy reach from fallen and half-submerged tree-trunks. one june day, as he and his mother were fishing for lily-pads, each of them out on the end of a big log, a boy came down the steep bank that rose almost from the water's edge. he wasn't a very attractive boy. his clothes were dirty and torn--and so was his face. his hat was gone, and his hair had not seen a comb for weeks. the mosquitoes and black-flies and no-see-'ems had bitten him until his skin was covered with blotches and his eyelids were so swollen that he could hardly see. and worst of all, he looked as if he were dying of starvation. there was almost nothing left of him but skin and bones, and his clothing hung upon him as it would on a framework of sticks. if the porcupine could have philosophized about it he would probably have said that this was the wrong time of year for starving; and from his point of view he would have been right. june, in the woods, is the season of plenty for everybody but man. man thinks he must have wheat-flour, and that doesn't grow on pines or maple-trees, nor yet in the tamarack swamp. but was there any wild, fierce glare in the boy's eyes, such a light of hunger as the story-books tell us is to be seen in the eyes of the wolf and the lynx when they have not eaten for days and days, and when the snow lies deep in the forest, and famine comes stalking through the trees? i don't think so. he was too weak and miserable to do any glaring, and his stomach was aching so hard from eating green gooseberries that he could scarcely think of anything else. but his face brightened a very little when he saw the old she-porcupine, and he picked up a heavy stick and waded out beside her log. she clacked her teeth together angrily as he approached; but he paid no attention, so she drew herself into a ball, with her head down and her nose covered by her forepaws. reaching across her back and down on each side was a belt or girdle of quills, the largest and heaviest on her whole body, which could be erected at will, and now they stood as straight as young spruce-trees. their tips were dark-brown, but the rest of their length was nearly white, and when you looked at her from behind she seemed to have a pointed white ruffle, edged with black, tied around the middle of her body. but the boy wasn't thinking about ruffles, and he didn't care what she did with her quills. he gave her such a thrust with his stick that she had to grab at the log with both hands to keep from being shoved into the water. that left her nose unprotected, and he brought the stick down across it once, twice, three times. then he picked her up by one foot, very gingerly, and carried her off; and our porky never saw his mother again. perhaps we had best follow her up and see what finally became of her. half a mile from the scene of the murder the boy came upon a woman and a little girl. i sha'n't try to describe them, except to say that they were even worse off than he. perhaps you read in the papers, some years ago, about the woman and the two children who were lost for several weeks in the woods of northern michigan. "i've got a porky," said the boy. [illustration: "_high up in the top of a tall hemlock._"] he dropped his burden on the ground, and they all stood around and looked at it. they were hungry--oh, so hungry!--but for some reason they did not seem very eager to begin. an old porcupine with her clothes on is not the most attractive of feasts, and they had no knife with which to skin her, no salt to season the meat, no fire to cook it, and no matches with which to start one. rubbing two sticks together is a very good way of starting a fire when you are in a book, but it doesn't work very well in the great tahquamenon swamp. and yet, somehow or other--i don't know how, and i don't want to--they ate that porcupine. and it did them good. when the searchers found them, a week or two later, the woman and the boy were dead, but the little girl was still alive, and for all i know she is living to this day. let us return to the glimmerglass. the young porcupine ought to have mourned deeply for his mother, but i grieve to say that he did nothing of the kind. i doubt if he was even very lonesome. his brain was smaller, smoother, and less corrugated than yours is supposed to be; its wrinkles were few and not very deep; and it may be that the bump of filial affection was quite polished, or even that there wasn't any such bump at all. anyhow, he got along very well without her, dispensing with her much more easily than the woman and the boy and girl could have. he watched stolidly while the boy killed her and carried her off, and a little later he was eating lily-pads again. as far as his future prospects were concerned, he had little reason for worrying. he knew pretty well how to take care of himself, for that is a kind of knowledge which comes early to young porcupines. really, there wasn't much to learn. his quills would protect him from most of his enemies, if not from all of them; and, what was still better, he need never suffer from a scarcity of food. of all the animals in the woods the porcupine is probably the safest from starvation, for he can eat anything from the soft green leaves of the water-plants to the bark and the small twigs of the tallest hemlock. summer and winter, his storehouse is always full. the young lions may lack, and suffer hunger, and seek their meat from god; but the young porky has only to climb a tree and set his teeth at work. all the woods are his huckleberry. and, by the way, our porcupine's teeth were a great institution, especially the front ones, and were well worthy of a somewhat detailed description. they were long and sharp and yellow, and there were two in the upper jaw and two in the lower, with a wide gap on each side between them and the molars. they kept right on growing as long as he lived, and there is no telling how far they would have gone if there had been nothing to stop them. fortunately, he did a great deal of eating and chewing, and the constant friction kept them worn down, and at the same time served to sharpen them. like a beaver's, they were formed of thin shells of hard enamel in front, backed up by softer pulp behind; and of course the soft parts wore away first, and left the enamel projecting in sharp, chisel-like edges that could gnaw crumbs from a hickory axe-handle. the next few months were pleasant ones, with plenty to eat, and nothing to do but keep his jaws going. by and by the leaves began to fall, and whenever the porky walked abroad they rustled around him like silk skirts going down the aisle of a church. a little later the beechnuts came down from the sky, and he feasted more luxuriously than ever. his four yellow chisels tore the brown shells open, his molars ground the sweet kernels into meal, and he ate and ate till his short legs could hardly keep his fat little belly off the ground. then came the first light snow, and his feet left tracks which bore a faint resemblance to a baby's--that is, if your imagination was sufficiently vigorous. the snow grew deeper and deeper, and after a while he had to fairly plough his way from the hollow log to the tree where he took his meals. it was hard work, for his clumsy legs were not made for wading, and at every step he had to lift and drag himself forward, and then let his body drop while he shifted his feet. a porcupine's feet will not go of themselves, the way other animals' do. they have to be picked up one at a time and lifted forward as far as they can reach--not very far at the best, for they are fastened to the ends of very short legs. it almost seems as if he could run faster if he could drop them off and leave them behind. one evening, when the snow was beginning to freeze again after a thawing day, he lay down to rest for a few minutes; and when he started on, some of his quills were fast in the hardening crust and had to be left behind. but no matter how difficult the walk might be, there was always a good square meal at the end of it, and he pushed valiantly on till he reached his dinner-table. sometimes he stayed in the same tree for several days at a time, quenching his thirst with snow, and sleeping in a crotch. he was not by any means the only porcupine in the woods around the glimmerglass, although weeks sometimes passed without his seeing any of his relations. at other times there were from one to half a dozen porkies in the trees close by, and when they happened to feel like it they would call back and forth to each other in queer, harsh, and often querulous voices. one afternoon, when he and another porcupine were occupying trees next each other, two land-lookers came along and camped for the night between them. earlier in the day the men had crossed the trail of a pack of wolves, and they talked of it as they cut their firewood, and, with all the skill of the _voyageurs_ of old, cooked their scanty supper, and made their bed of balsam boughs. the half-breed was much afraid that they would have visitors before morning, but the white man only laughed at the idea. the meal was hardly finished when they lay down between their blankets--the white man to sleep, and the half-breed to listen, listen, listen for the coming of the wolves. beyond the camp-fire's little circle of ruddy light, vague shadows moved mysteriously, as if living things were prowling about among the trees and only waiting for him to fall asleep. yet there was no wolf-howl to be heard, nor anything else to break the silence of the winter night, save possibly the dropping of a dead branch, or the splitting open of a tree-trunk, torn apart by the frost. and by and by, in spite of himself, the half-breed's eyelids began to droop. but somebody else was awake--awake, and tempted with a great temptation. the porcupine--not ours, but the other one--had caught the fragrance of coffee and bacon. here were new odors--different from anything that had ever before tickled his nostrils--strange, but indescribably delicious. he waited till the land-lookers were snoring, and then he started down the tree. half-way to the ground he encountered the cloud of smoke that rose from the camp-fire. here was another new odor, but with nothing pleasant about it. it stung his nostrils and made his eyes smart, and he scrambled up again as fast as he could go, his claws and quills rattling on the bark. the half-breed woke with a start. he had heard something--he was sure he had--the wolves were coming, and he gave the white man a punch in the ribs. "wake up, wake up, m'shoor!" he whispered, excitedly. "the wolves are coming. i can hear them on the snow." the white man was up in a twinkling, but by that time the porcupine hod settled himself in a crotch, out of reach of the smoke, and the woods were silent again. the two listened with all their ears, but there was not a sound to be heard. "you must have been dreaming, louis." the half-breed insisted that he had really heard the patter of the wolves' feet on the snow-crust, but the timber cruiser laughed at him, and lay down to sleep again. an hour later the performance was repeated, and this time the white man was angry. "don't you wake me up again, louis. you're so rattled you don't know what you're doing." louis was silenced, but not convinced, and he did not let himself go to sleep again. the fire was dying down, and little by little the smoke-cloud grew thinner and thinner until it disappeared entirely. then the half-breed heard the same sound once more, but from the tree overhead, and not from across the snow. he waited and watched, and presently a dark-brown animal, two or three feet in length and about the shape of an egg, came scrambling cautiously down the trunk. the porky reached the ground in safety, and searched among the tin plates and the knives and forks until he found a piece of bacon rind; but he got just one taste of it, and then louis hit him over the head with a club. next morning the land-lookers had porcupine soup for breakfast, and they told me afterward that it was very good indeed. our porky had seen it all. he waited till the men had tramped away through the woods, with their packs on their backs and their snow-shoes on their feet, and then he, too, came down from his tree on a tour of investigation. his friend's skin lay on the snow not very far away--if you had pulled the quills and the longer hairs out of it, it would have made the pelt which the old fur-traders sometimes sold under the name of "spring beaver"--but he paid no attention to it. the bacon rind was what interested him most, and he chewed and gnawed at it with a relish that an epicure might have envied. it was the first time in all his gluttonous little life that he had ever tasted the flavor of salt or wood-smoke; and neither lily-pads, nor beechnuts, nor berries, nor anything else in all the woods could compare with it. life was worth living, if only for this one experience; and it may be that he stowed a dim memory of it away in some dark corner of his brain, and hoped that fortune would some day be good to him and send him another rind. the long, long winter dragged slowly on, the snow piled up higher and deeper, and the cold grew sharper and keener. night after night the pitiless stars seemed sucking every last bit of warmth out of the old earth and leaving it dead and frozen forever. those were the nights when the rabbits came out of their burrows and stamped up and down their runways for hours at a time, trying by exercise to keep from freezing to death, and when the deer dared not lie down to sleep. and hunger came with the cold and the deep snow. the buck and the doe had to live on hemlock twigs till they grew thin and poor. the partridges were buried in the drifting snow, and starved to death. the lynxes and the wild-cats hunted and hunted and hunted, and found no prey; and it was well for the bears and the woodchucks that they could sleep all winter and did not need food. only the porcupine had plenty and to spare. starvation had no terrors for him. but the hunger of another may mean danger for us, as the porcupine discovered. in ordinary times most of the animals let him severely alone. they knew better than to tackle such a living pin-cushion as he; and if any of them ever did try it, one touch was generally enough. but when you are ready to perish with hunger, you will take risks which at other times you would not even think about; and so it happened that one february afternoon, as the porky was trundling himself deliberately over the snow-crust, a fierce-looking animal with dark fur, bushy tail, and pointed nose sprang at him from behind a tree and tried to catch him by the throat, where the quills did not grow, and there was nothing but soft, warm fur. the porcupine knew just what to do in such a case, and he promptly made himself into a prickly ball, very much as his mother had done seven or eight months before, with his face down, and his quills sticking out defiantly. but this time his scheme of defence did not work as well as usual, for the sharp little nose dug into the snow and wriggled its way closer and closer to where the jugular vein was waiting to be tapped. that fisher must have understood his business, for he had chosen the one and only way by which a porcupine may be successfully attacked. for once in his life our friend was really scared. another inch, and the fisher would have won the game, but he was in such a hurry that he grew careless and reckless, and did not notice that he had wheeled half-way round, and that his hind-quarters were alongside the porcupine's. now, sluggish and slow though a porky may be, there is one of his members that is as quick as a steel trap, and that is his tail. something hit the fisher a whack on his flank, and he gave a cry of pain and fury, and jumped back with half a dozen spears sticking in his flesh. he must have quite lost his head during the next few seconds, for before he knew it his face also had come within reach of that terrible tail and its quick, vicious jerks. that ended the battle, and he fled away across the snow, almost mad with the agony in his nose, his eyes, his forehead, and his left flank. as for the porky, he made for the nearest tree as fast as he could go, hardly trusting in his great deliverance. and i don't believe there is any sight in all the great tahquamenon swamp much funnier than a porky in a hurry--a porky who has really made up his mind that he is in danger and must hustle for dear life. he is the very personification of haste and a desire to go somewhere quick, and he picks his feet up and puts them down again as fast as ever he can; and yet, no matter how hard he works, his legs are so short and his body so fat that he can't begin to travel as fast as he wants to. another day the lynx tried it, and fared even worse than the fisher--not the canada lynx, with whom we are already somewhat acquainted, but the bay lynx. the fisher had had some sense, and would probably have succeeded if he had been a little more careful, but the lynx was a fool. he didn't know the very first thing about the proper way to hunt porcupines, and he ought never to have tried it at all, but he was literally starving, and the temptation was too much for him. here was something alive, something that had warm red blood in its veins and a good thick layer of flesh over its bones, and that was too slow to get away from him; and he sailed right in, tooth and claw, regardless of the consequences. immediately he forgot all about the porcupine, and his own hunger, and everything else but the terrible pain in his face and his forepaws. he made the woods fairly ring with his howls, and he jumped up and down on the snow-crust, rubbing his head with his paws, and driving the little barbed spears deeper and deeper into the flesh. and then, all of a sudden, he ceased his leaping and bounding and howling, and dropped on the snow in a limp, lifeless heap, dead as last summer's lily-pads. one of the quills had driven straight through his left eye and into his brain. was it any wonder if in time the porcupine came to think himself invulnerable? even a northern michigan winter has its ending, and at last there came an evening when all the porcupines in the woods around the glimmerglass were calling to each other from one tree to another. they couldn't help it. there was something in the air that stirred them to a vague restlessness and uneasiness, and our own particular porky sat up in the top of a tall hemlock and sang. not like jenny lind, nor like a thrush or a nightingale, but his harsh voice went squealing up and down the scale in a way that was all his own, without time or rhythm or melody, in the wildest, strangest music that ever woke the silent woods. i don't believe that he himself quite knew what he meant or why he did it. certainly no one else could have told, unless some wandering indian or trapper may have heard the queer voices and prophesied that a thaw was coming. the thaw arrived next day, and it proved to be the beginning of spring. the summer followed as fast as it could, and again the lily-pads were green and succulent in the shallow water along the edge of the glimmerglass, and again the porcupine wandered down to the beach to feed upon them, discarding for a time his winter diet of bark and twigs. why should one live on rye-bread when one can have cake and ice-cream? and there among the bulrushes, one bright june morning, he had a fight with one of his own kind. just as he was approaching his favorite log, two other porcupines appeared, coming from different directions, one a male, and the other a female. they all scrambled out upon the log, one after another, but it soon became evident that three was a crowd. our porky and the other bachelor could not agree at all. they both wanted the same place and the same lily-pads, and in a little while they were pushing and shoving and growling and snarling with all their might, each doing his best to drive the other off the log and into the water. they did not bite--perhaps they had agreed that teeth like theirs were too cruel to be used in civilized warfare--but they struggled and chattered and swore at each other, and made all sorts of queer noises while they fought their funny little battle--all the funnier because each of them had to look out for the other's quills. if either had happened to push the wrong way, they might both have been in serious trouble. it did not last long. our porky was the stronger, and his rival was driven backward little by little till he lost his hold completely and slipped into the lake. he came to the surface at once, and quickly swam to the shore, where he chattered angrily for a few minutes, and then, like the sensible bachelor that he was, wandered off up the beach in search of other worlds more easily conquered. there was peace on our porky's log, and the lily-pads that grew beside it had never been as fresh and juicy as they were that morning. two months later, on a hot august afternoon, i was paddling along the edge of the glimmerglass in company with a friend of mine, each of us in a small dug-out canoe, when we found the porky asleep in the sunshine. he was lying on the nearly horizontal trunk of a tree whose roots had been undermined by the waves till it leaned far out over the lake, hardly a foot from the water. my friend, by the way, is the foreman of a lumber-camp. he has served in the british army, has hunted whales off the coast of greenland, married a wife in grand rapids, and run a street-car in chicago; and now he is snaking logs out of the michigan woods. he is quite a chunk of a man, tall and decidedly well set up, and it would take a pretty good prize-fighter to whip him, but he learned that day that a porcupine at close quarters is worse than a trained pugilist. "look at that porky," he called to me. "i'm going to ram the canoe into the tree and knock him off into the water. just you watch, and you'll see some fun." i was somewhat uncertain whether the joke would ultimately be on the porcupine or the man, but it was pretty sure to be worth seeing, one way or the other, so i laid my paddle down and awaited developments. bang! went the nose of the dug-out against the tree, and the porcupine dropped, but not into the water. he landed in the bow of the canoe, and the horrified look on my friend's face was a delight to see. the porky was wide awake by this time, for i could hear his teeth clacking as he advanced to the attack. "great scott! he's coming straight at me!" the porcupine was certainly game. i saw the paddle rise in the air and come down with a tremendous whack, but it seemed to have little effect. the porky's coat of quills and hair was so thick that a blow on the back did not trouble him much. if my friend could have hit him across the nose it would have ended the matter then and there, but the canoe was too narrow and its sides too high for a crosswise stroke. he tried thrusting, but that was no better. when a good-sized porcupine has really made up his mind to go somewhere he may be slow, but it takes more than a punch with the end of a stick to stop him; and this porky had fully determined to go aft and get acquainted with the foreman. [illustration: "_he quickly made his way to the beach._"] my friend couldn't even kick, for he was kneeling on the bottom of the dug-out, with his feet behind him, and if he tried to stand up he would probably capsize. "say, hulbert, what am i going to do?" i didn't give him any advice, for my sympathies were largely with the porcupine. besides, i hadn't any advice to give. just then the canoe drifted around so that i could look into it, and i beheld the porcupine bearing down on my helpless friend like birnam wood on its way to dunsinane, his ruffle of quills erect, fire in his little black eyes, and a thirst for vengeance in his whole aspect. my friend made one or two final and ineffectual jabs at him, and then gave it up. "it's no use!" he called; "i'll have to tip over!" and the next second the canoe was upside down and both belligerents were in the water. the porcupine floated high--i suppose his hollow quills helped to keep him up--and he proved a much better swimmer than i had expected, for he quickly made his way to the beach and disappeared in the woods, still chattering disrespectfully. my friend waded ashore, righted his canoe, and we resumed our journey. i don't think i'll tell you what he said. he got over it after a while, and in the end he probably enjoyed his joke more than if it had turned out as he had intended. the summer followed the winter into the past, and the moon of falling leaves came round again. the porcupine was not alone. another porky was with him, and the two seemed very good friends. in fact, his companion was the very same lady porcupine who had stood by while he fought the battle of the log and the lily-pads, though i do not suppose that they had been keeping company all those months, and i am by no means certain that they remembered that eventful morning at all. let us hope they did, for the sake of the story. who knows how much or how little of love was stirring the slow currents of their sluggish natures--of such love as binds the dove or the eagle to his mate, or of such steadfast affection as the beaver and his wife seem to have felt for each other? not much, perhaps; yet they climbed the same tree, ate from the same branch, and drank at the same spring; and the next april there was another arrival in the old hollow log--twins, this time, and both of them alive. but the porcupine never saw his children, for a wandering fit seized him, and he left the glimmerglass before they were born. two or three miles away was a little clearing where a mossback lived. a railway crossed one edge of it, between the hill and the swamp, and five miles away was a junction, where locomotives were constantly moving about, backing, hauling, and making up their trains. as the mossback lay awake in the long, quiet, windless winter nights, he often heard them puffing and snorting, now with slow, heavy coughs, and now quick and sharp and rapid. one night when he was half asleep he heard something that said, "chew-chew-chew-chew-chew-chew," like an engine that has its train moving and is just beginning to get up speed. at first he paid no attention to it. but the noise suddenly stopped short, and after a pause of a few seconds it began again at exactly the same speed; stopped again, and began a third time. and so it went on, chewing and pausing, chewing and pausing, with always just so many chews to the second, and just so many seconds to each rest. no locomotive ever puffed like that. the mossback was wide awake now, and he muttered something about "another of those pesky porkies." he had killed the last one that came around the house, and had wanted his wife to cook it for dinner and see how it tasted, but she wouldn't. she said that the very sight of it was enough for her, and more than enough; and that it was all she could do to eat pork and potatoes after looking at it. he turned over and tried to go to sleep again, but without success. that steady "chew-chew-chew" was enough to keep a woodchuck awake, and at last he got up and went to the door. the moonlight on the snow was almost as bright as day, and there was the porcupine, leaning against the side of the barn, and busily rasping the wood from around the head of a rusty nail. the mossback threw a stick of stove-wood at him, and he lumbered clumsily away across the snow. but twenty minutes later he was back again, and this time he marched straight into the open shed at the back of the house, and began operations on a wash-tub, whose mingled flavor of soap and humanity struck him as being very delicious. again the mossback appeared in the doorway, shivering a little in his night-shirt. the porcupine was at the foot of the steps. he had stopped chewing when the door opened, and now he lifted his forepaws and sat half-erect, his yellow teeth showing between his parted lips, and his little eyes staring at the lamp which the mossback carried. the quills slanted back from all around his diminutive face, and even from between his eyes--short at first, but growing longer toward his shoulders and back. long whitish bristles were mingled with them, and the mossback could not help thinking of a little old, old man, with hair that was grizzly-gray, and a face that was half-stupid and half-sad and wistful. he was not yet two years of age, but i believe that a porcupine is born old. some of the indians say that he is ashamed of his homely looks, and that that is the reason why, by day, he walks so slowly, with hanging head and downcast eyes; but at night, they say, when the friendly darkness hides his ugliness, he lifts his head and runs like a dog. in spite of the hour and the cheering influence of the wash-tub, our porky seemed even more low-spirited than usual. perhaps the lamplight had suddenly reminded him of his personal appearance. at any rate he looked so lonesome and forlorn that the mossback felt a little thrill of pity for him, and decided not to kill him after all, but to drive him away again. he started down the steps with his lamp in one hand and a stick of wood in the other, and then--he never knew how it happened, but in some way he stumbled and fell. never in all his life, not even when his wildest nightmare came and sat on him in the wee, sma' hours, had he come so near screaming out in terror as he did at that moment. he thought he was going to sit down on the porcupine. fortunately for both of them, but especially for the man, he missed him by barely half an inch, and the porky scuttled away as fast as his legs could carry him. in spite of this unfriendly reception, the porcupine hung around the edges of the clearing for several months, and enjoyed many a meal such as seldom falls to the lot of the woods-people. one night he found an empty pork-barrel out behind the barn, its staves fairly saturated with salt, and hour after hour he scraped away upon it, perfectly content. another time, to his great satisfaction, he discovered a large piece of bacon rind among some scraps that the mossback's wife had thrown away. later he invaded the sugar-bush by night, gnawing deep notches in the edges of the sap buckets and barrels, and helping himself to the sirup in the big boiling-pan. life was not all feasting, however. there was a dog who attacked him two or three times, but who finally learned to keep away and mind his own business. once, when he had ventured a little too close to the house, and was making an unusual racket with his teeth, the mossback came to the door and fired a shotgun at him, cutting off several of his quills. and still another night, late in the spring, when he was prowling around the barn, a bull calf came and smelled him. next morning the mossback and his boys threw that calf down on the ground and tied his feet to a stump, and three of them sat on him while a fourth pulled the quills from his nose with a pair of pincers. you should have heard him grunt. then came the greatest adventure of all. down beside the railway was a small platform on which supplies for the lumber-camps were sometimes unloaded from the trains. brine and molasses and various other delectable things had leaked out of the barrels and kegs and boxes, and the porcupine discovered that the planks were very nicely seasoned and flavored. he visited them once too often, for one summer evening, as he was gnawing away at the site of an ancient puddle of molasses, the accommodation train rolled in and came to a halt. he tried to hide behind a stump, but the trainmen caught sight of him, and before he knew it they had shoved him into an empty box and hoisted him into the baggage-car. they turned him loose among the passengers on the station platform at sault ste. marie, and his arrival created a sensation. when the first excitement had subsided, all the girls in the crowd declared that they must have some quills for souvenirs, and all the young men set to work to procure them, hoping to distinguish themselves by proving their superiority in strength and courage over this poor little twenty-pound beast just out of the woods. most of them succeeded in getting some quills, and also in acquiring some painful experience--especially the one who attempted to lift the porcupine by the tail, and who learned that that interesting member is the very hottest and liveliest portion of the animal's anatomy. they finally discovered that the best way to get quills from a live porcupine is to hit him with a piece of board. the sharp points penetrate the wood and stick there, the other ends come loose from his skin, and there you have them. our friend lost most of his armor that day, and it was a good thing for him that departed quills, like clipped hair, will renew themselves in the course of time. one of the brakemen carried him home, and he spent the next few months in the enjoyment of city life. whether he found much pleasure in it is, perhaps, a question, but i am rather inclined to think that he did. he had plenty to eat, and he learned that apples are very good indeed, and that the best way to partake of them is to sit up on your haunches and hold them between your forepaws. he also learned that men are not always to be regarded as enemies, for his owner and his owner's children were good to him and soon won his confidence. but, after all, the city was not home, and the woods were; so he employed some of his spare time in gnawing a hole through the wall in a dark corner of the shed where he was confined, and one night he scrambled out and hid himself in an empty barn. a day or two later he was in the forest again. the remaining years of his life were spent on the banks of st. mary's river, and for the most part they were years of quietness and contentment. he was far from his early home, but the bark of a birch or a maple or a hemlock is much the same on st. mary's as by the glimmerglass. he grew bigger and fatter as time went on, and some weeks before he died he must have weighed thirty or forty pounds. once in a while there was a little dash of excitement to keep life from becoming too monotonous--if too much monotony is possible in a porcupine's existence. one night he scrambled up the steps of a little summer cottage close to the edge of the river, and, finding the door unlatched, he pushed it open and walked in. it proved to be a cottage full of girls, and they stood around on chairs and the tops of wash-stands, bombarded him with curling-irons, poked feebly with bed-slats, and shrieked with laughter till the farmers over on the canadian shore turned in their beds and wondered what could be happening on uncle sam's side of the river. the worst of it was that in his travels around the room he had come up behind the door and pushed it shut, and it was some time before even the red-haired girl could muster up sufficient courage to climb down from her perch and open it again. at another time an indian robbed him of the longest and best of his quills--nearly five inches in length some of them--and carried them off to be used in ornamenting birch-bark baskets. and on still another occasion he narrowly escaped death at the hands of an irate canoe-man, in the side of whose rob roy he had gnawed a great hole. the end came at last, and it was the saddest, hardest, strangest fate that can ever come to a wild creature of the woods. he--who had never known hunger in all his life, who was almost the only animal in the forest who had never looked famine in the eye, whose table was spread with good things from january to december, and whose storehouse was full from lake huron to the pictured rocks--he of all others, was condemned to die of starvation in the midst of plenty. the ancient mariner, with water all around him and not a drop to drink, was no worse off than our porcupine; and the mariner finally escaped, but the porky didn't. one of the summer tourists who wandered up into the north woods that year had carried with him a little rifle, more of a toy than a weapon, a thing that a sportsman would hardly have condescended to laugh at. and one afternoon, by ill luck, he caught sight of the porcupine high up in the top of a tall tree. it was his first chance at a genuine wild beast, and he fired away all his cartridges as fast as he could load them into his gun. he thought that every shot missed, and he was very much ashamed of his marksmanship. but he was mistaken. the very last bullet broke one of the porcupine's lower front teeth, and hurt him terribly. it jarred him to the very end of his tail, and his head felt as if it was being smashed to bits. for a minute or two the strength all went out of him, and if he had not been lying in a safe, comfortable crotch he would have fallen to the ground. the pain and the shock passed away after a while, but when supper-time came--and it was almost always supper-time with the porcupine--his left lower incisor was missing. the right one was uninjured, however, and for a while he got on pretty well, merely having to spend a little more time than usual over his meals. but that was only the beginning of trouble. the stump of the broken tooth was still there and still growing, and it was soon as long as ever, but in the meantime its fellow in the upper jaw had grown out beyond its normal length, and the two did not meet properly. instead of coming together edge to edge, as they should have done, each wearing the other down and keeping it from reaching out too far, each one now pushed the other aside, and still they kept on growing, growing, growing. worst of all, in a short time they had begun to crowd his jaws apart so that he could hardly use his right-hand teeth, and they too were soon out of shape. the evil days had come, and the sound of the grinding was low. little by little his mouth was forced open wider and wider, and the food that passed his lips grew less and less. his teeth, that had all his life been his best tools and his most faithful servants, had turned against him in his old age, and were killing him by inches. let us not linger over those days. he was spared the very last and worst pangs--for that, at least, we may be thankful. on the last day of his life he sat under a beech-tree, weak and weary and faint. he could not remember when he had eaten. his coat of hair and quills was as thick and bushy as ever, and outwardly he had hardly changed at all, but under his skin there was little left but bones. and as he sat there and wished that he was dead--if such a wish can ever come to a wild animal--the angel of mercy came, in the shape of a man with a revolver in his pistol pocket--a man who liked to kill things. "a porky!" he said. "guess i'll shoot him, just for fun." the porcupine saw him coming and knew the danger; and for a moment the old love of life came back as strong as ever, and he gathered his feeble strength for one last effort, and started up the tree. he was perhaps six feet from the ground when the first report came. "bang! bang! bang! bang!" four shots, as fast as the self-cocking revolver could pour the lead into his body. the porky stopped climbing. for an instant he hung motionless on the side of the tree, and then his forepaws let go, and he swayed backward and fell to the ground. and that was the end of the porcupine. the adventures of a loon his name was mahng, and the story which i am about to relate is the story of his matrimonial career--or at least of a portion of it. one snowy autumn night, three years ago, he was swimming on the glimmerglass in company with his first wife--one of the first, that is. there may possibly have been others before her, but if so i wasn't acquainted with them. it was a fine evening--especially for loons. there was no wind, and the big, soft flakes came floating lazily down to lose themselves in the quiet lake. the sky, the woods, and the shores were all blotted out; and the loons reigned alone, king and queen of a dim little world of leaden water and falling snow. and right royally they swam their kingdom, with an air as if they thought god had made the glimmerglass for their especial benefit. perhaps he had. [illustration: "_he went under as simply as you would step out of bed._"] it was very, very lonely, but they liked it all the better for that. at times they even lost sight of each other for a little while, as one dived in search of a herring or a young salmon trout. i wish we could have followed mahng down under the water and watched him at his hunting. he didn't dive as you do, with a jump and a plunge and a splash. he merely drew his head back a little and then thrust it forward and downward, and went under as simply and easily as you would step out of bed, and with a good deal more dignity. it was his feet that did it, of course. they were not good for much for walking, but they were the real thing when it came to swimming or diving. they were large and broad and strongly webbed, and the short stout legs which carried them were flattened and compressed that they might slip edgewise through the water, like a feathered oar-blade. the muscles which worked them were very powerful, and they kicked backward with so much vigor that two little jets of spray were often tossed up in his wake as he went under, like the splash from a steamer's paddles. and he had a rudder, too, for in the after part of his body there were two muscles just like tiller-ropes, fastened to his tail in such a way that they could twist it to either side, and steer him to port or starboard as occasion demanded. with his long neck stretched far out in front, his wings pressed tightly against his sides, and his legs and feet working as if they went by steam, he shot through the water like a submarine torpedo-boat. "the herdsman of the deep," the scottish highlanders used to say, when in winter a loon came to visit their lochs and fiords. swift and strong and terrible, he ranged the depths of the glimmerglass, seeking what he might devour; and perhaps you can imagine how hastily the poor little fishes took their departure whenever they saw him coming their way. sometimes they were not quite quick enough, and then his long bill closed upon them, and he swallowed them whole without even waiting to rise to the surface. the chase thus brought to a successful conclusion, or perhaps the supply of air in his lungs giving out, he returned to the upper world, and again his voice rang out through the darkness and the falling snow. then his wife would answer him from somewhere away off across the lake, and they would call back and forth to each other with many a laugh and shout, or, drawing closer and closer together, they would cruise the glimmerglass side by side, with the big flakes dropping gently on their backs and folded wings, and the ripples spreading out on either hand like the swell from the bow of a ship. once mahng stayed down a little longer than usual, and when he came up he heard his wife calling him in an excited tone, as if something had happened to her. he hurried toward her, and presently he saw a light shining dimly through the throng of moving snow-flakes, and growing brighter and brighter as he approached until it was fairly dazzling. as he drew nearer still he caught sight of his wife sitting on the water squarely in front of that light, and watching it with all her eyes. she was not calling now. she had forgotten mahng, she had forgotten to paddle, she had forgotten everything, in her wonder at this strange, beautiful thing, the like of which had never before been seen upon the glimmerglass. she herself was a rarely beautiful sight--if she had only known it--with the dark water rippling gently against her bosom, her big black head thrust forward, and the feathers of her throat and breast glistening in the glare of the headlight, white as the snow that was falling around her. all this mahng saw. what he did not see, because his eyes were dazzled, was a boat in the shadow behind the light, and a rifle-barrel pointing straight at his wife's breast. there was a blinding flash, a sharp, crashing report, and a cloud of smoke; and mahng dived as quick as a wink. but his wife would never dive again. the bullet had gone tearing through her body, and she lay stretched out on the water, perfectly motionless, and apparently dead. and then, just as mahng came to the surface a hundred yards away, and just as my partner put out his hand to pick her up, she lifted her head and gave a last wild cry. mahng heard it and answered, but he was too far away to see what happened. he dared not return till the light had disappeared, and by that time she was gone. she had straggled violently for a moment, and had struck savagely at the hunter's hand, and then she had as suddenly collapsed, the water turned red, and her eyes closed forever. did you know that among all god's creatures the birds are the only ones whose eyes close naturally in death? even among men it is not so, for when our friends die we lay our hands reverently upon their faces, and weight their stiff lids with gold. but for the bird, nature herself performs the last kindly office, and as the light fades out from the empty windows of the soul, the curtain falls of its own accord. [illustration: "_she herself was a rarely beautiful sight._"] during the next two or three days mahng's voice was frequently to be heard, apparently calling his wife. sometimes it was a mournful, long-drawn cry--"hoo-woooo-ooo"--that might have been heard a mile away--a cry that seemed the very essence of loneliness, and that went right down where you lived and made you feel like a murderer. and sometimes he broke into a wild peal of laughter, as if he hoped that that might better serve to call her back to him. his children had gone south some time before. they had seemed anxious to see the world. perhaps, too, they had dreaded the approach of colder weather more than the older birds, who had become somewhat seasoned by previous autumns. anyhow, they had taken the long trail toward the gulf of mexico, and now that his wife was gone mahng was entirely alone. at last he seemed to make up his mind that he might as well follow them, and one afternoon, as he was swimming aimlessly about, i saw him suddenly dash forward, working his wings with all their might, beating the water at every stroke, and throwing spray like a side-wheeler. slowly--for his body was heavy, and his wings were rather small for his size--slowly he lifted himself from the water, all the time rushing forward faster and faster. he couldn't have made it if he hadn't had plenty of sea-room, but by swinging round and round in long, wide circles he managed to rise little by little till at last he was clear of the tree-tops. he passed right over my head as he stood away to the south--his long neck stretched far out in front, his feet pointing straight back beyond the end of his short tail, and his wings beating the air with tremendous energy. how they did whizz! he made almost as much noise as a train of cars. he laughed as he went by, and you would have said that he was in high spirits; but before he disappeared that lonely, long-drawn cry came back once more--"hoo-woooo-ooo." in the course of his winter wanderings through the south he happened to alight one day on a certain wild pond down in mississippi, and there he found another loon--a widow whose former husband had lost his life the previous summer under rather peculiar circumstances. beside a small lake in minnesota there lives an old dutchman who catches fish with empty bottles. on any calm, still day you may see a lot of them floating upright in the water, all tightly corked, and each with the end of a fishing-line tied around its neck. they seem very decorous and well-behaved, but let a fish take one of the hooks and begin to pull, and immediately that particular bottle turns wrong end up, and acts as if it had taken a drop too much of its own original contents. then the dutchman paddles out in his little scow, and perhaps by the time he has hauled in his fish and re-baited the hook another bottle is excitedly standing on its head. but never before nor since have any of them behaved as wildly as the one that a loon got hold of. the loon--not mahng, you understand, but the first husband of his new acquaintance--had dived in search of his dinner, and the first thing he saw that looked as if it might be good to eat was the bait on one of the dutchman's hooks. he swallowed it, of course, and for the next five minutes he went charging up and down that pond at a great rate, followed by a green glass monster with the name of a millionnaire brewer blown in its side. sometimes he was on the surface, and sometimes he was under it; but wherever he went that horrible thing was close behind him, pulling so hard that the sharp cord cut the corners of his mouth till it bled. once or twice he tried to fly, but the line caught his wing and brought him down again. when he dived, it tangled itself around his legs and clogged the machinery; and when he tried to shout, the hook in his throat would not let him do anything more than cough. the dutchman got him at last, and eventually mahng got his widow, as you shall see. she had her children to take care of, and for a time she was very busy, but after a few weeks they flew away to the south, as mahng's had done, and she was free to go where she liked and do what she pleased. for a while she stayed where she was, like a sensible person. minnesota suited her very well, and she was in no hurry to leave. but, of course, she could not stay on indefinitely, for some frosty night the lake would freeze over, and then she could neither dive for fish nor rise upon the wing. a loon on ice is about as helpless as an oyster. and so at last she, too, went south. she travelled by easy stages, and had a pleasant journey, with many a stop, and many a feast in the lakes and rivers along the route. i should like to know, just out of curiosity, how many fish found their way down her capacious gullet during that pilgrimage through illinois and kentucky and tennessee. well, no matter about that. the mississippi pond was in sight, and she was just slanting down toward the water, when a hunter fired at her from behind a clump of trees. his aim was all too true, and she fell headlong to the ground, with a broken wing dangling helplessly at her side. now, as you probably know, a loon isn't built for running. there is an old story, one which certainly has the appearance of truth, to the effect that when nature manufactured the first of these birds she forgot to give him any legs at all, and that he had started off on the wing before she noticed her mistake. then she picked up the first pair that came to hand and threw them after him. unfortunately they were a misfit, and, what was, perhaps, still worse, they struck his body in the wrong place. they were so very short and so very far aft that, although he could stand nearly as straight as a man, it was almost impossible for him to move about on them. when he had to travel on land, which he always avoided as far as he could, he generally shoved himself along on his breast, and often used his wings and his bill to help himself forward. all his descendants are just like him, so you can see that the widow's chances were pretty small, with the hunter bursting out of the bushes, and a broad strip of beach between her and the friendly pond. but she was a person of resource and energy, and in this great emergency she literally rose to the occasion, and did something that she had never done before in all her life, and probably will never do again. the astonished hunter saw her lift herself until she stood nearly upright, and then actually _run_ across the beach toward the water. she was leaning forward a trifle, her long neck was stretched out, her two short legs were trotting as fast as they could go, and her one good wing was wildly waving in a frantic endeavor to get on. it was a sight that very few people have ever seen, and it would have been comical if it hadn't been a matter of life and death. the hunter was hard after her, and his legs were a yard long, while hers were only a few inches, so it was not surprising that he caught her just as she reached the margin. she wriggled out of his grasp and dashed on through the shallow water, and he followed close behind. in a moment he stooped and made another grab at her, and this time he got his arms around her body and pinned her wings down against her sides. but he had waded out a little too far, and had reached the place where the bottom suddenly shelves off from fifteen inches to seventy-two. his foot slipped, and in another moment he was splashing wildly about in the water, and the loon was free. a broken wing is not necessarily as serious a matter as you might suppose. the cold water kept the inflammation down, and it seemed as if all the vital forces of her strong, healthy body set to work at once to repair the damage. if any comparative anatomist ever gets hold of the widow and dissects her, he will find a curious swelling in the principal bone of her left wing, like a plumber's join in a lead pipe, and he will know what it means. it is the place where nature soldered the broken pieces together. and it was while nature was engaged in this soldering operation that mahng arrived and began to cultivate the widow's acquaintance. "_in the spring a fuller crimson comes upon the robin's breast,_" and in the spring the loon puts on his wedding-garment, and his fancy, like the young man's, "lightly turns to thoughts of love." but speaking of mahng's wedding-garment reminds me that i haven't told you about his winter dress. his back and wings were very dark-brown, and his breast and under-parts were white. his head and the upper portion of his neck were black; his bill was black, or blackish, and so were his feet. his coat was very thick and warm, and his legs were feathered right down to the heel-joint. more than five feet his wings stretched from tip to tip, and he weighed at least twelve pounds, and would be still larger before he died. as to his nuptial finery, its groundwork was much the same, but its trimmings were different and were very elegant. white spots appeared all over his back and the upper surfaces of his wings, some of them round, and some square. they were not thrown on carelessly, but were arranged in gracefully curving lines, and they quite changed his appearance, especially if one were as near him as one is supposed to be during a courting. his spring neckwear, too, was in exceedingly good taste, for he put on a sort of collar of very narrow vertical stripes, contrasting beautifully with the black around and between them. higher up on his neck and head the deep black feathers gleamed and shone in the sunlight with brilliant irridescent tints of green and violet. he was a very handsome bird. and now everything was going north. the sun was going north, the wind was going north, the birds were going, and summer herself was sweeping up from the tropics as fast as ever she could travel. mahng was getting very restless. a dozen times a day he would spread his wings and beat the air furiously, dashing the spray in every direction, and almost lifting his heavy body out of the water. but the time was not yet come, and presently he would fold his pinions and go back to his courting. do you think he was very inconstant? do you blame him for not being more faithful to the memory of the bird who was shot at his side only a few months before? don't be too hard on him. what can a loon do when the springtime calls and the wind blows fresh and strong, when the new strong wine of life is coursing madly through his veins, and when his dreams are all of the vernal flight to the lonely northland, where the water is cold and the fish are good, and where there are such delightful nesting-places around the marshy ponds? but how did his new friend feel about it? would she go with him? ah! wouldn't she? had not she, too, put on a wedding-garment just like his? and what was she there for, anyhow, if not to be wooed, and to find a mate, and to fly away with him a thousand miles to the north, and there, beside some lonely little lake, brood over her eggs and her young? her wing was gaining strength all the time, and at last she was ready. you should have heard them laugh when the great day came and they pulled out for michigan--mahng a little in the lead, as became the larger and stronger, and his new wife close behind. there had been nearly a week of cooler weather just before the start, which had delayed them a little, but now the south wind was blowing again, and over and over it seemed to say, "_and we go, go, go away from here! on the other side the world we're overdue! 'send the road lies clear before you when the old spring-fret comes o'er you, and the red gods call for you._" and the road was clear, and they went. up, and up, and up; higher and higher, till straight ahead, stretching away to the very edge of the world, lay league after league of sunshine and air, only waiting the stroke of their wings. now steady, steady! beat, beat, beat! and the old earth sliding southward fifty miles an hour! no soaring--their wings were too short for that sort of work--and no quick wheeling to right or left, but hurtling on with whizzing pinions and eager eyes, straight toward the goal. was it any wonder that they were happy, and that joyful shouts and wild peals of laughter came ringing down from the sky to tell us poor earthbound men and women that somewhere up in the blue, beyond the reach of our short-sighted eyes, the loons were hurrying home? [illustration: "_the old earth sliding southward fifty miles an hour._"] over the fresh fields, green with the young wheat; over the winding rivers and the smiling lakes; over the--shut your eyes, and dream a little while, and see if you can imagine what it was like. does it make you wish you were a loon yourself? never mind; some day, perhaps, we too shall take our wedding-journeys in the air; not on feathered pinions, but with throbbing engines and whizzing wheels, and with all the power of steam or electricity to lift us and bear us onward. we shall skim the prairies and leap the mountains, and roam over the ocean like the wandering albatross. to-day we shall breathe the warm, spicy breath of the tropic islands, and to-morrow we shall sight the white gleam of the polar ice-pack. when the storm gathers we shall mount above it, and looking down we shall see the lightning leap from cloud to cloud, and the rattling thunder will come upward, not downward, to our ears. when the world below is steeped in the shadows of coming night, we shall still watch the sunset trailing its glories over the western woods and mountains; and when morning breaks we shall be the first to welcome the sunrise as it comes rushing up from the east a thousand miles an hour. the wind of the upper heavens will be pure and keen and strong, and not even a sleigh-ride on a winter's night can set the live blood dancing as it will dance and tingle up there above the clouds. and riding on the air, alone with the roaring engines that have become for the time a part of ourselves, we shall know at last what our earth is really like, for we shall see it as the loons see it--yes, as god and his angels see it--this old earth, on which we have lived for so many thousand years, and yet have never seen. but, after all, the upper heavens will not be home; and some day, as we shoot northward, or southward, or eastward, or westward, we shall see beneath us the spot that is to be for us the best and dearest place in all the world, and dropping down out of the blue we shall find something that is even better than riding on the wings of the wind. that was what happened to mahng and his wife, for one spring evening, as they came rushing over the pine-tops and the maples and birches, they saw the glimmerglass just ahead. the water lay like polished steel in the fading light, and the brown ranks of the still leafless trees stood dark and silent around the shores. it was very quiet, and very, very lonely; and the lake and the woods seemed waiting and watching for something. and into that stillness and silence the loons came with shouting and laughter, sweeping down on a long slant, and hitting the water with a splash. the echoes awoke and the glimmerglass was alive, and summer had come to the northland. they chose a place where the shore was low and marshy, and there, only two or three yards from the water's edge, they built a rude nest of grass and weeds and lily-pads. two large greenish eggs, blotched with dark-brown, lay in its hollow; and the wife sat upon them week after week, and covered them with the warm feathers of her broad, white breast. once in a while she left them long enough to stretch her wings in a short flight, or to dive in search of a fish, but she was never gone very long. it was a weary vigil that she kept, but she sat there in daylight and darkness, through sunshine and storm, till at last the day came when there were four loons instead of two at the glimmerglass. the chicks were very smart and active, and they took to the water almost as soon as they were out of the shell, swimming and diving as if they had been accustomed to it for weeks instead of hours. in some ways, however, they required a good deal of care. for one thing, their little stomachs were not quite equal to the task of assimilating raw fish, and the parents had to swallow all their food for them, keep it down till it was partly digested, and then pass it up again to the hungry children. it made a good deal of delay, and it must have been very unpleasant, but it seemed to be the only practicable way of dealing with the situation. i am glad to say that it did not last very long, for by the time they were two weeks old the young loons were able to take their fish and reptiles and insects at first hand. when they first arrived the chicks were covered all over with stiff down, of a dark, sooty gray on their backs, and white underneath. but this did not last long, either. the first feathers soon appeared, and multiplied rapidly. i can't say that the young birds were particularly handsome, for even when their plumage was complete it was much quieter and duller of hue than their parents'. but they were fat and plump, and i think they thoroughly enjoyed life, especially before they discovered that there were enemies as well as friends in the world. that was a kind of knowledge that could not be avoided very long, however. they soon learned that men, and certain other animals such as hawks and skunks, were to be carefully shunned; and you should have seen them run on the water whenever a suspicious-looking character hove in sight. their wings were not yet large enough for flying, but they flapped them with all their might, and scampered across the glimmerglass so fast that their little legs fairly twinkled, and they actually left a furrow in the water behind them. but the bottom of the lake was really the safest refuge, and if a boat or a canoe pressed them too closely they would usually dive below the surface, while the older birds tried to lure the enemy off in some other direction by calling and shouting and making all sorts of demonstrations. generally these tactics were successful, but not always. once some boys cornered the whole family in a small, shallow bay, where the water was not deep enough for diving; and before they could escape one of the youngsters was driven up onto the beach. he tried to hide behind a log, but he was captured and earned off, and i wish i had time to tell you of all the things that happened to him before he was finally killed and eaten by a dog. it was pretty tough on the old birds, as well as on him, but they still had one chick left, and you can't expect to raise _all_ your children as long as bigger people are so fond of kidnapping and killing them. not all the people who came to see them were bent on mischief, however. there was a party of girls and boys, for instance, who camped beside the glimmerglass for a few weeks, and who liked to follow them around the lake in a row-boat and imitate their voices, just for the fun of making them talk back. one girl in particular became so accomplished in the loon language that mahng would often get very much excited as he conversed with her, and would sometimes let the boat creep nearer and nearer until they were only a few rods apart. and then, all of a sudden, he would duck his head and go under, perhaps in the very middle of a laugh. the siren was getting a little too close. her intentions might possibly be all right, but it was just as well to be on the safe side. the summer was nearly gone, and now mahng did something which i fear you will strongly disapprove. i didn't want to tell you about it, but i suppose i must. two or three male loons passed over the glimmerglass one afternoon, calling and shouting as they went, and he flew up and joined them, and came back no more that summer. it looked like a clear case of desertion, but we must remember that he had stood by his wife all through the trying period of the spring and early summer, and that the time was at hand when the one chick that was left would go out into the world to paddle his own canoe, and when she would no longer need his help in caring for a family of young children. but you think he might have stayed with her, anyhow? well, so do i; i'm sorry he didn't. they say that his cousins, the red-throated loons, marry for life, and live together from the wedding-day till death, and i don't see why he couldn't have done as well as they. but it doesn't seem to be the custom among the great northern divers. mahng was only following the usual practice of his kind, and if his first wife had not been shot it is likely that they would have separated before they had gone very far south. and yet it does not follow that the marriage was not a love-match. if you had seen them at their housekeeping i think you would have pronounced him a very good husband and father. perhaps the conjugal happiness of the spring and early summer was all the better for a taste of solitude during the rest of the year. as i said, the time was near when the chick would strike out for himself. he soon left his mother, and a little later she too started for the gulf of mexico. summer was over, and the glimmerglass was lonelier than ever. mahng came back next spring, and of course he brought a wife with him. but was she the same wife who had helped him make the glimmerglass ring with his shouting twelve months before? well, i--i don't quite know. she looked very much like her, and i certainly hope she was the same bird. i should like to believe that they had been reunited somewhere down in texas or mississippi or louisiana, and that they had come back together for another season of parental cares and joys. but when i consider the difficulties in the way i cannot help feeling doubtful about it. the two birds had gone south at different times and perhaps by different routes. before they reached the lower mississippi valley they may have been hundreds of miles apart. was it to be reasonably expected that mahng, when he was ready to return, would search every pond and stream from the cumberland to the gulf? and is it likely that, even if he had tried for weeks and weeks, he could ever have found his wife of the previous summer? his flight was swift and his sight keen, and his clarion voice rang far and wide over the marshes; but it is no joke to find one particular bird in a region covering half a dozen states. if they had arranged to come north separately, and meet at the glimmerglass, there would not have been so many difficulties in the way, but they didn't do that. anyhow, mahng brought a wife home. that much, at least, is established. they set to work at once to build a nest and make ready for some new babies; but, alas! there was little parental happiness or responsibility in store for them that year. if you had been there you might have seen them swimming out from shore one bright, beautiful spring morning, when the sun had just risen, and the woods and waters lay calm and peaceful in the golden light, fairer than words can tell. they were after their breakfast, and presently they dived to see what was to be had. the light is dim down there in the depths of the glimmerglass, the weeds are long and slimy, and the mud of the bottom is black and loathsome. but what does that matter? one can go back whenever one pleases. a few quick, powerful strokes will take you up into the open air, and you can see the woods and the sky. aha! there is a herring, his scales shining like silver in the faint green light that comes down through the water. and there is a small salmon trout, with his gray-brown back and his golden sides. a fish for each of us. the loons darted forward at full speed; but the two fish made no effort to escape, and did not even wriggle when the long, sharp bills closed upon them. they were dead, choked to death by the fine threads of a gill-net. and now those same threads laid hold of the loons themselves, and a fearful struggle began. mahng and his wife did not always keep their wings folded when they were under water. sometimes they used them almost as they did in flying, and just now they had need of every muscle in their bodies. how their pinions lashed the water, and how their legs kicked and their long necks writhed, and how the soft mud rose in clouds and shut out the dim light! but the harder they fought the more tightly did the net grapple them, winding itself round and round their bodies, and soon lashing their wings down against their sides. expert divers though they were, the loons were drowning. there was a ringing in their ears and a roaring in their heads, and the very last atoms of oxygen in their lungs were almost gone. death was drawing very near, and the bright, sunshiny world where they had been so happy a moment before, the world to which they had thought they could return so quickly and easily, seemed a thousand miles away. one last effort, one final struggle, and if that failed there would be nothing more to do but go to sleep forever. fortunately for mahng, his part of the net had been mildewed, and much of the strength had gone out of the linen threads. he was writhing and twisting with all his might, and suddenly he felt something give. one of the rotten meshes had torn apart. he worked with redoubled energy, and in a moment another thread gave way, and then another, and another. a second more and he was free. quick, now, before the last spark goes out! with beating wings and churning paddles he fairly flew up through the green water toward the light, and on a sudden he shot out into the air, panting and gasping, and staring wildly around at the blue sky, and the quiet woods, and the smiling glimmerglass. and how royally beautiful was the sunshine, and how sweet was the breath of life! but his mate was not with him, and a few hours later the fisherman found in his net the lifeless body of a drowned loon. mahng went north. he had thought that his spring flight was over and that he would go no farther, but now the glimmerglass was no longer home, and he spread his wings once more and took his way toward the arctic circle. over the hills, crowded with maple and beech and birch; over the great tahquamenon swamp, with its cranberry marshes, its tangles of spruce and cedar, and its thin, scattered ranks of tamarack; over the sandy ridges where the pine-trees stand tall and stately, and out on lake superior. the water was blue, and the sunshine was bright; the wind was fresh and cool, and the billows rolled and tumbled as if they were alive and were having a good time together. together--that's the word. they were together, but mahng was alone; and he wasn't having a good time at all. he wanted a home, and a nest, and some young ones, but he didn't find them that year, though he went clear to hudson bay, and looked everywhere for a mate. there were loons, plenty of them, but they had already paired and set up housekeeping, and he found no one who was in a position to halve his sorrows and double his joys. something attracted his attention one afternoon when he was swimming on a little lake far up in the canadian wilderness--a small red object that kept appearing and disappearing in a very mysterious fashion among the bushes that lined the beach. mahng's bump of curiosity was large and well developed, and he gave one of his best laughs and paddled slowly in toward the shore. i think he had a faint and utterly unreasonable hope that it might prove to be what he was looking and longing for, though he knew very well that no female loon of his species ever had red feathers--nor a male, either, for that matter. it was a most absurd idea, and his dreams, if he really had them, were cut short by the report of a shotgun. a little cloud of smoke floated up through the bushes, and a charge of heavy shot peppered the water all around him. but if mahng was curious he was also quick to take a hint. he had heard the click of the gun-lock, and before the leaden hail could reach him he was under water. his tail feathers suffered a little, but otherwise he was uninjured, and he did not come to the surface again till he was far away from that deceitful red handkerchief. the summer was an entire failure, and after a while mahng gave it up in despair, and started south much earlier than usual. at the straits of mackinac he had another narrow escape, for he came very near killing himself by dashing head first against the lantern of a lighthouse, whose brilliant beams, a thousand times brighter than the light which had lured his first wife to her death, had first attracted and then dazzled and dazed him. fortunately he swerved a trifle at the last moment, and though he brushed against an iron railing, lost his balance, and fell into the water, there were no bones broken and no serious damage done. the southland, as everybody knows, is the only proper place for a loon courtship. there, i am pleased to say, mahng found a new wife, and in due time he brought her up to the glimmerglass. that was only last spring, and there is but one more incident for me to relate. this summer has been a happy and prosperous one, but there was a time when it seemed likely to end in disaster before it had fairly begun. just northeast of the glimmerglass there lies a long, narrow, shallow pond. i believe i mentioned it when i was telling you about the beaver. one afternoon mahng had flown across to this pond, and as he was swimming along close to the shore he put his foot into a beaver-trap, and sprung it. of course he did his best to get away, but the only result of his struggling was to work the trap out into deeper and deeper water until he was almost submerged. he made things almost boil with the fierce beating of his wings, but it was no use; he might better have saved his strength. he quieted down at last and lay very still, with only his head and neck out of water, and there he waited two mortal hours for something to happen. meanwhile his wife sat quietly on her eggs--there were three of them this year--and drowsed away the warm spring afternoon. by and by she heard a tramping as of heavy feet approaching, and glancing between the tall grasses she saw, not a bear nor a deer, but something far worse--a man. she waited till he was within a few yards, and then she jumped up, scuttled down to the water as fast as she could go, and dived as if she was made of lead. the trapper glanced after her with a chuckle. "seems pretty badly scared," he said to himself, but his voice was not unkindly. his smile faded as he stood a moment beside the nest, looking at the eggs, and thinking of what would some day come forth from them. he was a solitary old fellow, with never a wife nor a child, nor a relation of any kind. his life in the woods was just what he had chosen for himself, and he would not have exchanged it for anything else in the world; but sometimes the loneliness of it came over him, and he wished that he had somebody to talk to. and now, looking at those eggs, and thinking of the fledglings that were coming to the loons, he wondered how it would seem if he had some children of his own. pretty soon he glanced out on the lake again, and saw mahng's wife sitting quietly on the water, just out of range. "hope she won't stay away till they get cold," he thought, and went on his way across the swamp. the loon watched him till he passed out of sight, and then she swam in to the beach and pushed herself up her narrow runway to her old place. the eggs were still warm. half an hour later the trapper stepped out of the bushes beside the pond, and caught sight of mahng's head sticking out of the water. he was considerably astonished, but he promptly laid hold of the chain and drew bird, trap, and all up onto the bank, and then he sat down on a log and laughed till the echoes went flying back and forth across the pond. plastered with mud, dripping wet, and with his left leg fast in the big steel killing-machine, mahng was certainly a comical sight. all the fight was soaked out of him, and he lay prone upon the ground and waited for the trapper to do what he pleased. but the trapper did nothing--only sat on his log, and presently forgot to laugh. he was thinking of the sitting loon whom he had disturbed a little while before. this was probably her mate, and again there came over him a vague feeling that life had been very good to these birds, and had given them something which he, the man, had missed. he was growing old. a few more seasons and there would be one trapper less in the great tahquamenon swamp; and he would die without--well, what was the use of talking or thinking about it? but the loons would hatch their young, and care for them and protect them until they were ready to go out into the world, and then they would send them away to the south. a few weeks later they would follow, and next spring they would come back and do it all over again. that is--they would if he didn't kill them. he rose from his log, smiling again at the abject look with which mahng watched him, and putting one foot on each of the two heavy steel springs, he threw his weight upon them and crushed them down. mahng felt the jaws relax, and suddenly he knew that he was free. the strength came back with a rush to his weary limbs, and he sprang up, scrambled down the bank and into the water, and was gone. a few minutes later he reappeared far down the pond, and rising on the wing he flew away with a laugh toward the glimmerglass. the making of a glimmerglass buck i don't know that he was a record-breaker, but he was certainly much larger and more powerful than the average buck, and he was decidedly good-looking, even for a deer. there were one or two slight blemishes--to be described later--in his physical make-up; but they were not very serious, and except for them he was very handsome and well-formed. i can't give you the whole story of his life, for that would take several books, but i shall try to tell you how he became the biggest buck and the best fighter of his day and generation in the woods around the glimmerglass. he was unusually favored by providence, for besides being so large and strong he was given a weapon such as very few full-grown michigan bucks have ever possessed. he had a good start in life, and it is really no wonder that he distanced all his relations. in the first place, he arrived in the woods a little earlier in the year than deer babies usually do. this was important, for it lengthened his first summer, and gave more opportunity for growth before the return of cold weather. if the winter had lingered, or if there had been late frosts or snow-storms, his early advent might have been anything but a blessing; but the spring proved a mild one, and there was plenty of good growing weather for fawns. then, too, his mother as in the very prime of life, and for the time being he was her only child. if there had been twins, as there were the year before, he would, of course, have had to share her milk with a brother or sister; but as it was he enjoyed all the benefits of a natural monopoly, and he grew and prospered accordingly, and was a baby to be proud of. [illustration: "_he was a baby to be proud of._"] and his mother took good care of him, and never tried to show him off before the other people of the woods. she knew that it was far safer and wiser to keep him concealed as long as possible, and not let anyone know that she had him. so instead of letting him wander with her through the woods when she went in search of food, she generally left him hidden in a thicket or behind a bush or a fallen tree. there he spent many a long, lonely hour, idly watching the waving branches and the moving shadows, and perhaps thinking dim, formless, wordless baby thoughts, or looking at nothing and thinking of nothing, but just sleeping the quiet sleep of infancy, and living, and growing, and getting ready for hard times. at first the fawn knew no difference between friends and enemies, but the instinct of the hunted soon awoke and told him when to be afraid. if a hostile animal came by while the doe was gone, he would crouch low, with his nose to the ground and his big ears laid back on his neck; or if pressed too closely he would jump up and hurry away to some better cover, with leaps and bounds so light and airy that they seemed the very music of motion. but that did not happen very often. his hiding-places were well chosen, and he usually lay still till his mother came back. when she thought he was large enough, and strong and swift enough, she let him travel with her; and then he became acquainted with several new kinds of forest--with the dark hemlock groves, and the dense cedar swamps; with the open tamarack, where the trees stand wide apart, and between them the great purple-and-white lady's-slippers bloom; with the cranberry marshes, where pitcher-plants live, and white-plumed grasses nod in the breeze; with sandy ridges where the pine-trees purr with pleasure when the wind strokes them; with the broad, beautiful glimmerglass, laughing and shimmering in the sunshine, and with all the sights and the sounds of that wonderful world where he was to spend the years of his deerhood. they were a very silent pair. when his breakfast was ready she would sometimes call him with a low murmuring, and he would answer her with a little bleat; but those were almost the only sounds that were ever heard from them, except the rustling of the dry leaves around their feet. yet they understood each other perfectly, and they were very happy together. there was little need of speech, for all they had to do the livelong day was to wander about while the doe picked up her food, and then, when she had eaten her fill, to lie down in some sheltered place, and there rest and chew the cud till it was time to move again. life wasn't all sunshine, of course. there were plenty of hard things for the baby buck to put up with, and perhaps the worst were the mosquitoes and the black-flies and "no-see-'ems" that swarmed in the woods and swamps through the month of june. they got into his mouth and into his nose; they gathered in circles around his eyes; and they snuggled cosily down between the short hairs of his pretty, spotted coat, and sucked the blood out of him till it seemed as if he would soon go dry. for a while they were almost unbearable, but i suppose the woods-people get somewhat hardened to them. otherwise i should think our friends would have been driven mad, for there was never any respite from their attacks, except possibly a very stormy day, or a bath in the lake, or a saunter on the shore. at the eastern end of the glimmerglass there is a broad strip of sand beach, where, if there happens to be a breeze from the water, one can walk and be quite free from the flies; though in calm weather, or with an offshore wind, it is not much better than the woods. there, during fly-time, the doe and her baby were often to be found; and to see him promenading up and down the hard sand, with his mother looking on, was one of the prettiest sights in all the wilderness. the ground-color of his coat was a bright bay red, somewhat like that of his mother's summer clothing; but deeper and richer and handsomer, and with pure white spots arranged in irregular rows all along his neck and back and sides. he was so sleek and polished that he fairly glistened in the sunshine, like a well-groomed horse; his great dark eyes were brighter than a girl's at her first ball; and his ears were almost as big as a mule's, and a million times as pretty. but best and most beautiful of all was the marvellous life and grace and spirit of his every pose and motion. when he walked, his head and neck were thrust forward and drawn back again at every step with the daintiest gesture imaginable; and his tiny pointed hoofs touched the ground so lightly, and were away again so quickly, that you hardly knew what they had done. if anything startled him, he stamped with his forefoot on the hard sand, and tossed his head in the air with an expression that was not fear, but alertness, and even defiance. and when he leaped and ran--but there's no use in trying to describe that. by the middle of july most of the flies were gone, and the deer could travel where they pleased without being eaten alive. and then, almost before they knew what had happened, the summer was gone, too, and the autumn had come. the fawn's white spots disappeared, and both he and his mother put off their thin red summer clothing and donned the blue coat of fall, which would by and by fade into the gray of winter--a garment made of longer, coarser hairs, which were so thick that they had to stand on end because there wasn't room for them to lie down, and which made such a warm covering that one who wore it could sleep all night in the snow, and rise in the morning dry and comfortable. the fawn had thriven wonderfully. already the budding antlers were pushing through the skin on the top of his head, which alone is pretty good proof that he was a remarkable baby. but, of course, the infancy of a wild animal is always much shorter than that of a human child. it is well that this is so, for if the period of weakness and helplessness was not shortened for them, there would probably be very few who would ever survive its dangers and reach maturity. the fawn was weaned early in the autumn; though he still ran with his mother, and she showed him what herbs and leaves were pleasantest to the taste and best for building up bone and muscle, and where the beechnuts were most plentiful. the mast was good that fall, which isn't always the case, and that was another lucky star in young buck's horoscope. so much depends on having plenty to eat the first year. and now the doe was thriving as well as her son. through the summer she had been thin and poor, for the fawn had fed on her life and strength, and the best of all that came to her she had given to him; but the strain was over at last, and there were granted her a few weeks in which to prepare for the season of cold and storm and scanty food. she made the best of them, and in an amazingly short time she was rolling fat. everything was lovely and the goose hung high, when all of a sudden the peace and quiet of their every-day lives were rudely broken. the hunting season had come, and half-a-dozen farmers from lower michigan had camped beside the glimmerglass. they were not really very formidable. if one wants to kill deer, one should learn to shoot straight and to get around in the woods without making quite as much noise as a locomotive. but their racket was intolerable, and after a day or two the doe and the fawn left home and spent the next three or four weeks near a secluded little pond several miles away to the southeast. by the first of december these troublous times were over, and they had returned to their old haunts in the beech and maple woods, where they picked up a rather scanty living by scraping the light snow away with their forefeet in search of the savory nuts. but before christmas there came a storm which covered the ground so deeply that they could no longer dig out enough food to keep them from going hungry; and they were forced to leave the high lands and make their way to the evergreen swamps around the head-waters of the tahquamenon. there they lived on twigs of balsam and hemlock and spruce, with now and then a mouthful of moss or a nutritious lichen. little by little the fat on their ribs disappeared, they grew lank and lean again, and the bones showed more and more plainly through their heavy winter coats. if one of those november hunters had succeeded in setting his teeth in their flesh he would have found that it had a very pleasant, nutty flavor, but in february it would have tasted decidedly of hemlock. yet they were strong and healthy, in spite of their boniness, and of course you can't expect to be very fat in winter. there were worse things than hunger. one afternoon they were following a big buck down a runway--all three of them minding their own business and behaving in a very orderly and peaceable manner--when a shanty-boy stepped out from behind a big birch just ahead of them, and said, "aah!" very derisively and insultingly. the wind was blowing from them to him, and they hadn't had the least idea that he was there until they were within three rods of his tree. the buck was so startled that for an instant he simply stood still and stared, which was exactly what the shanty-boy had expected him to do. he had stopped so suddenly that his forefeet were thrust forward into the snow, and he was leaning backward a trifle. his head was up, his eyes were almost popping out of their sockets, and there was such a look of astonishment on his face that the man laughed as he raised his gun and took aim. in a second the deer had wheeled and was in the air, but a bullet broke his back just as he left the ground, and he came tumbling down again in a shapeless heap. his spinal cord was cut, and half his body was dead; but he would not give up even then, and he half rose on his forefeet and tried to drag himself away. the shanty-boy stepped to his side with a knife in his hand, the deer gave one loud bleat of fear and pain, and then it was all over. but by that time the doe and the fawn were far down the runway--out of sight, and out of danger. next day they passed that way again, and saw a canada lynx standing where the buck had fallen, licking his chops as if he had just finished a good meal. it is hard work carrying a deer through the woods, and the shanty-boy had lightened his load as much as possible. lynxes are not nice. the mother and son pulled their freight as fast as they could travel. when the world turned green again they went back to the glimmerglass, but they had not been there long before the young buck had his nose put out of joint by the arrival of two new babies. thenceforth his mother had all she could do to take care of them, without paying any further attention to him. the days of his fawnhood were over, and it was time for him to strike out into the world and make his own living. however, i don't think he was very lonesome. there were plenty of other deer in the woods, and though he did not associate with any of them as he had with his mother, yet he may have enjoyed meeting them occasionally in his travels. and there was ever so much to do and to think about. eating took up a good deal of time, for he was very active and was still growing, and his strong young body was constantly calling for more food. and it wasn't enough merely to find the food and swallow it, for no sooner was his stomach full than he had to lie down and chew the cud for an hour or so. and, of course, the black-flies and mosquitoes and "no-see-'ems" helped to make things interesting, just as they had the year before. strictly speaking, it is impossible to be lonely in the woods during fly-time. he changed his clothes, too, and put on a much handsomer dress, though i doubt if he took as much interest in that operation as most of us would. the change contributed greatly to his comfort, for his light summer garment was much better adapted to warm weather than his winter coat, but it did not require any conscious effort on his part. on hot days he sometimes waded out into the lake in search of lily-pads, and the touch of the cool water was very grateful. occasionally he would take a long swim, and once or twice he paddled clear across the glimmerglass, from one shore to the other. and it was during this summer that he raised his first real antlers. those of the previous autumn had been nothing but two little buds of bone, but these were pointed spikes, several inches in length, standing straight up from the top of his head without a fork or a branch or a curve. they did not add very much to his good looks, and, of course, they dropped off early in the following winter, but they were the forerunners of the beautiful branching antlers of his later years, and if he thought about them at all they were probably as welcome as a boy's first mustache. late in the following autumn an event occurred which left its mark on him for the rest of his life. one night he wandered into a part of the woods where some lumbermen had been working during the day. on the ground where they had eaten their lunch he found some baked beans and a piece of dried apple-pie, and he ate them greedily and was glad that he had come. but he found something else, too. one of the road-monkeys had carelessly left his axe in the snow with the edge turned up. the buck stepped on it, and it slipped in between the two halves of his cloven hoof, and cut deep into his foot. the wound healed in the course of time, but from that night the toes--they were those of his left hind foot--were spread far apart, instead of lying close together as they should have done. sticks and roots sometimes caught between them in a way that was very annoying, and his track was different from that of any other deer in the woods, which was not a thing to be desired. he was not crippled, however, for he could still leap almost, if not quite, as far as ever, and run almost as fast. he continued to grow and prosper, and the next summer he raised a pair of forked antlers with two tines each. and now he is well started down the runway of life, and we must leave him to travel by himself for two or three years. he ranged the woods far and near, and came to know them as a man knows his own house; but no matter what places he visited, the old haunts that his mother had shown him were the best of all, as the deer have learned by the experience of generation after generation. he always came back again to the glimmerglass, and as the seasons went by i often saw his broad, spreading hoof-print on the sandy beach where they two had so often walked in that first summer. he evidently had plenty of company, and was probably enjoying life, for all around were other foot-prints that were narrow and delicately pointed, as a deer's should be. some of them, of course, were his own, left by his three perfect feet; but others were those of his friends and acquaintances, and it is quite possible that some of the tiniest and daintiest were made by his children. that beach is a delightful place for a promenade on a summer night, and besides the deer-tracks one can sometimes find there the trails of the waddling porcupines, the broad, heavy print left by a black bear as he goes shambling by, and the handwriting of many another of the woods-people. strange and interesting scenes must often be enacted on the smooth, hard sand that lies between the woods and the water, and it is a pity that the show always comes to a sudden close if any would-be spectators appear, and that we never see anything but the foot-prints of the performers. with each recurring hunting season the buck and the other deer that made their homes around the glimmerglass were driven away for a time. a few stayed, or at least remained as near as they dared; but compared with summer the neighborhood was almost depopulated. and in his fourth year, in spite of all his efforts to keep out of harm's way, the buck came very near losing his life at the hands of a man who had really learned how to hunt--not one of the farmers who went ramming about the woods, shooting at everything in sight, and making noise enough to startle even the porcupines. one afternoon, late in the autumn, the judge left his court-room in detroit and started for his house. he bought an evening paper as he boarded the street-car; and, as fate would have it, the first thing that met his eye as he unfolded it was the forecast for upper michigan: "colder; slight snow-fall; light northerly winds." the judge folded the paper again and put it in his pocket, and all the rest of the way home he was dreaming of things that he had seen before--of the white and silent woods, of deer-tracks in the inch-deep snow, of the long still-hunt under dripping branches and gray november skies, of a huge buck feeding unconcernedly beneath the beech-trees, of nutty venison steaks broiling on the coals, and, finally, of another pair of antlers for his dining-room. court had adjourned for three days, and that night he took the train for the north. and while he travelled, the snow came down softly and silently, melting at first as fast as it fell, and then, as the cold grew sharper, clothing the woods in a thin, white robe, the first gift of the coming winter. next day the buck was lying behind a fallen tree, chewing his cud, when the breeze brought him a whiff of an unpleasant human odor. he jumped up and hurried away, and the judge heard him crash through the bushes, and searched until he had found his trail. an hour later, as the buck was nosing for beechnuts in the snow, a rifle cracked and a bullet went zipping by and carried off the very tip of his left antler. he dropped his white flag and was off like a shot. chase a wounded deer, and he will run for miles; leave him alone, and if he is badly hurt he will soon lie down. the chances are that he will never get up again. the judge knew that the buck was hit, for he had seen his tail come down. but was he hit hard? there was no blood on the trail, and the judge decided to follow. the buck hurried on, but before long his leaps began to grow shorter. after a mile or so he stopped, looked back, and listened. the woods were very, very still, and for all that he could see or hear there was not the least sign of danger. yet he was afraid, and in a few minutes he pushed on again, though not as rapidly as before. as the short afternoon wore away he travelled still more slowly, and his stops were longer and more frequent. and at last, just before sunset, as he stood and watched for the enemy who might or might not be on his trail, he heard a twig snap, and saw a dark form slip behind a tree. this time he ran as he had never run before in all his life. the judge spent the night at the nearest lumber-camp, and the next morning he was out again as soon as he could see, following his own trail back to where he had left that of the buck. on the way he crossed the tracks of two other deer, but they had no temptations for him. he wanted to solve the mystery of that spreading hoof-print, and to make sure that his shot had not been a clean miss. and now began a day which was without precedent in the buck's whole history. those woods are not the best in the world for a deer who has to play hide-and-seek with a man, for there are few bare ridges or half-wooded slopes from which he can look back to see if anyone is following him. even the glades and the open cranberry swamps are small and infrequent. an almost unbroken forest sweeps away in every direction, and everywhere there is cover for the still-hunter. and when the ground is carpeted with snow an inch and a half deep, as it was then, and at every step a deer must leave behind him a trail as plain as a turnpike road, then it is not strange if he feels that he has run up against a decidedly tough proposition. eyes, ears, and nose are all on the alert, and all doing their level best, but what eye can penetrate the cedar swamp beyond a few yards; or what ear can always catch the tread of a moccasin on the moss and the snow before it comes within rifle range; or what nose, no matter how delicate, can detect anything but what happens to lie in its owner's path, or what the wind chooses to bring it? many a foe had crossed the buck's trail in the course of his life; but none had ever followed him like this--silently and relentlessly--slowly, but without a moment's pause. a few leaps were always enough to put the judge out of sight, and half an hour's run left him far behind; but in a little while he was there again, creeping cautiously through the undergrowth, and peering this way and that for a glimpse of a plump, round, blue-gray body. once he fired before the deer knew that he was at hand, and if a hanging twig had not turned the bullet a trifle from its course, the still-hunt would have ended then and there. but late in the afternoon the buck thought that he had really shaken his pursuer off, and the judge was beginning to think so, too. they had not seen each other for two or three hours, the day was nearly over, and there were signs of a change in the weather. if the buck could hold out till nightfall, and then the snow should melt before morning, he would be comparatively safe. in his fear of the enemy lurking in the rear, he had forgotten all other dangers; and without quite realizing what he was doing he had come back to the glimmerglass, and was tramping once more up and down the old familiar runways. presently he came upon a huge maple, lying prostrate on the ground. he walked around its great bushy head and down toward its foot; and there he found a broad, saucer-shaped hollow, left when the tree was torn up by the roots in some wild gale. on one side rose a mass of earth, straight as a stone wall and four or five feet in height; and against its foot lay one of the most tempting beds of dead leaves that he had ever seen, free from snow, dry as a whistle, soft and downy. the sight of it was too much for him. he was very weary, his limbs fairly ached with fatigue, and for the last hour his spread hoof had given him a good deal of pain. his enemy was nowhere in sight, and in spite of his misgivings he sank down on the couch with a sigh of comfort, and began to chew his cud. the judge was about ready to give up for the night when he, too, came upon that fallen maple. he saw the wall of earth and twisted roots, with the deer-tracks leading toward it; and slowly, softly, silently, he crept down toward the buck's shelter. there was no wind that evening, and the woods seemed perfectly still; but now, unnoticed by the judge, a faint, faint puff came wandering among the trees, as if on purpose to warn the deer of his danger. suddenly he started, sniffed the air, and was up and away like a race-horse--not leaping nor bounding now, but running low, with his head down, and his antlers laid back on his neck. if he had been in the cedar swamp he would have escaped unhurt, but up in the hardwood the trees do not stand so close, and one can see a little farther. the judge fired before he could get out of sight, and he dropped with three ribs broken and a bullet lodged behind his right shoulder. he was up again in an instant, but there were blood-stains on the snow where he had lain, and this time the judge did not follow. instead of giving chase he went straight back to the lumber-camp, feeling almost as sure of that new pair of antlers as if he had carried them with him. the buck ran a little way, with his flag lowered and the blood spurting, and then he lay down to rest, just as the judge knew he would. the bleeding soon stopped, but it left him very weak and tired, and that night was the most miserable he had ever known. the darkness settled down thick and black over the woods, the wind began to blow, and by and by the rain commenced to fall--first a drizzle, and then a steady pour. cold and wet, wounded and tired and hungry, the buck was about as wretched as it is possible for a mortal to be. and yet that rain was the one and only thing that could save him. under its melting touch the snow began to disappear, and before morning the ground was bare again. even the blood-stains were washed away. it would take a better nose than the judge's to track him now. yet the danger was not over, by any means. the judge knew very nearly where to look for him, and could probably find him if he did not get up and move on. and to move on, or even to rise to his feet, seemed utterly impossible. the least motion sent the most exquisite pain shooting through his whole body, and i believe he would have died where he lay, either at the hands of the judge or from exhaustion, if another man hadn't come along. the judge would have advanced slowly and quietly, and the deer might never have known he was coming till a rifle bullet hit him; but this man's errand must have been a different one, for he came striding noisily through the trees and bushes and over the dead leaves, whistling "i want yer, ma honey," at the top of his whistle. if you are obliged to be out in the woods during the hunting season, and don't care to kill anything, it is always best to make as much noise as you can. there is less danger that some other fool will take you for a deer and shoot you dead. the buck heard him, of course, and tried to rise, only to sink back with a groan. he couldn't do it, or at least he thought he couldn't. but when the man came around a little balsam only two rods away, then his panic got the better of his pain, and he jumped up and made off at a clumsy, limping run. every joint seemed on fire, and he ached from the top of his head to the toes of that poor left hind-foot. but after the first plunge it was not quite so bad. the motion took some of the stiffness out of his limbs, and by the time the judge arrived he was a mile away and was thinking about breakfast. we must do the sportsman the justice of saying that his remorse was very keen when he stepped aboard the train that night, bound for detroit. he had wounded a deer and had let it get away from him, to suffer, and probably to die a painful, lingering death. the whole day--the last of the hunting season and of his court recess--had been spent in an unavailing search; not merely because he wanted some venison and a pair of antlers to carry home with him, but because he wanted to put the buck out of his misery. he had failed everywhere, and he felt sorry and ashamed, and wished he had stayed at home. but, as it happened, the buck did not want to be put out of his misery. just as the judge took the train he was lying down for the night. he would be stiff when he rose again, but not as stiff as he had been that morning. he would be weak and tired, but he would still be able to travel and find food. he would lose his plumpness and roundness, no doubt, and lose them very rapidly. the winter would probably be a hard one, with such a misfortune as this at its very beginning. but no matter, it would pass. he wasn't the first buck who had had his ribs smashed by an injection of lead and had lived to tell the tale. the next year it was his antlers that got him into trouble--his antlers and his quarrelsomeness. two round, black, velvet-covered knobs had appeared in spring on the top of his head, and had pushed up higher and higher till they formed cylindrical columns, each one leaning outward and a little backward. they were hot as fever with the blood that was rushing through them, building up the living masonry; and at the upper ends, where the work was newest, they were soft and spongy, and very sensitive, so that the least touch was enough to give pain. longer and longer they grew, and harder and harder; by and by curving forward and inward; and one after another the tines appeared. and at last, in the early autumn, the tall towers of bone were complete, the blood ceased to course through them, and the buck rubbed them against the tree-trunks until the velvety skin was all worn off, and they were left smooth and brown and polished. they were a handsome pair, spreading and branching very gracefully over his forehead, and bearing four tines to each beam. it is a mistake to suppose, as so many people do, that the number of tines on each antler invariably corresponds to the number of years that its owner has lived; but it very often does, especially before he has passed the prime of life. no sooner were the antlers finished than the buck began to grow fat. he had been eating heartily for months, but he hadn't been able to put much flesh on his ribs as long as he had that big, bony growth to feed. bucks and does are alike in this, that for both of them the summer is a season of plenty, but not of growing plump and round and strong. the difference between them is that the does give their strength and vitality to the children they are nursing, while the bucks pile theirs up on their own foreheads. [illustration: "_the buck was nearing the prime of life._"] and there was another change which came with the autumn. through the summer he had been quiet and gentle, and had attended very strictly to his own affairs; but now the life and vigor and vitality which for weeks and months had been pouring into that tall, beautiful structure on his forehead were all surging like a tide through his whole body; and he became very passionate and excitable, and spent much time in rushing about the woods in search of other deer, fighting those of his own sex, and making love to the does. the year was at its high-water mark, and the buck was nearing his prime. food was plenty; everywhere the beechnuts were dropping on the dry leaves; the autumn sunshine was warm and mellow; the woods were gay with scarlet and gold and brown, and the very taste of the air was enough to make one happy. was it any wonder if he sometimes felt as if he would like to fight every other buck in michigan, and all of them at once? one afternoon in october he fought a battle with another buck who was very nearly his match in size and strength--a battle that came near being the end of both of them. there was a doe just vanishing among the bushes when the fuss began, and the question at issue was which should follow her and which shouldn't. it would be easy enough to find her, for, metaphorically speaking, "her feet had touched the meadows, and left the daisies rosy." wherever she went, a faint, faint fragrance clung to the dead leaves, far too delicate for a human nose to detect, yet quite strong enough for a buck to follow. but the trail wasn't broad enough for two, and the first thing to be done was to have a scrap and see which was the better and more deserving deer. and, as it turned out, the scent grew cold again, and the doe never heard that eager patter of hoofs hurrying down the runway behind her. the bucks came together like two battering-rams, with a great clatter and clash of antlers, but after the first shock the fight seemed little more than a pushing-match. each one was constantly trying to catch the other off his guard and thrust a point into his flesh, but they never succeeded. a pair of widely branching antlers is as useful in warding off blows as in delivering them. such a perfect shield does it make, when properly handled, that at the end of half an hour neither of the bucks was suffering from anything but fatigue, and the issue was as far as ever from being settled. there was foam on their lips, and sweat on their sides; their mouths were open, and their breath came in gasps; every muscle was working its hardest, pushing and shoving and guarding; and they drove each other backward and forward through the bushes, and ploughed up the ground, and scattered the dry leaves in their struggles; and yet there was not a scratch on either shapely body. finally, they backed off and rushed together again with such violence that our buck's antlers were forced apart just a trifle, and his enemy's slipped in between them. there was a little snap as they sprang back into position, and the mischief was done. the two foes were locked together in an embrace which death itself could not loosen. the next few weeks were worse than a nightmare. if one went forward, the other had to go backward; and neither could go anywhere or do anything without getting the consent of the other or else carrying him along by main force. many things could not be done at all--not even when both were willing and anxious to do them. they could not run or leap. they could not see, except out of the corners of their eyes. they would never again toss those beautiful antlers in the air, for they had come together with their heads held low, and in that position they must remain. they could not even lie down without twisting their necks till they ached as if they were breaking. with their noses to the ground, and with anger and misery in their hearts, they pushed and hauled each other this way and that through the woods. and wherever they went, they were always struggling and fighting and striving for every mouthful of food that came within reach. it was little enough that they found at the best, and it would have been better for both of them if they could have agreed to divide it evenly, but of course that would have been asking too much of deer nature. each took all he could get, and at first they were so evenly matched that each secured somewhere near his fair share. they spied a beechnut on the ground, or a bit of lichen, or a tender twig; and together they made a dive for it. two noses were thrust forward--no, not forward, sidewise--and two mouths were open to grasp the precious morsel which would enable its possessor to keep up the fight a little longer. sometimes one got it, and sometimes the other; but from the very beginning our buck was a shade the stronger, and his superiority grew with every mouthful that he managed to wrest from his fellow-prisoner. both of them were losing flesh rapidly, but he kept his longer than the other. and at last they reached the point where, by reason of his greater strength, he got everything and the other nothing, and then the end was near. it would have come long before if both had not been in prime condition on the day of the battle. [illustration: "_wherever they went they were always struggling and fighting._"] one dark, stormy night the two deer were stumbling and floundering over roots and bushes, trying to find their way down to the beach for a drink. both of them were pretty well used up; and one was so weak that he could hardly stand, and could only walk by leaning heavily on the head and antlers of the other, who supported him because he was obliged to, and not out of friendliness. they were within a few rods of the beach when he whose strength was least stepped into a hole and fell, and his leg-bone snapped like a dry twig. he struggled and tried to rise; but his story was told, and before morning he was dead. for once our buck's instinct of self-preservation had carried him too far. he had taken all the food for himself, and had starved his enemy; and now he was bound face to face to a corpse. well, we won't talk about that. he stayed there twenty-four hours, and there would soon have been two dead bucks instead of one if something had not happened which he did not in the least expect--something which seemed like a blessed miracle, yet which was really the simplest and most natural thing in the world. a buck has no fixed time for the casting of his antlers. it usually occurs during the first half of the winter, but it has been known to take place as early as november and as late as april. the second night passed, and as it began to grow light again our friend lifted himself on his knees and his hind-legs, and wrestled mightily with his horrible bed-fellow; and suddenly his left antler came loose from his head. the right one was still fast, but it was easily disengaged from the tangle of branching horns, and in a moment he stood erect. the blood was running down his face from the pedicel where the antler had stood, and he was so weak and dizzy that his legs could hardly carry him, and so thin and wasted that he seemed the mere shadow of his former self. but he was free, and that long, horrible dream was over at last. he tried to walk toward the lake, but fell before he had taken half-a-dozen steps; and for an hour he lay still and rested. it was like a taste of heaven, just to be able to hold his neck straight. the sun had risen by the time he was ready to try it again, and through the trees he saw the shimmer and sparkle of the glimmerglass. he heard the wind talking to itself in the branches overhead, and the splashing of the ripples on the beach; and he staggered down to the margin and drank long and deep. that december was a mild one. the first light snow had already come and gone, and the next two weeks were bright and sunshiny. the buck ate as he had never eaten before, and it was astonishing to see how rapidly he picked up, and how much he gained before christmas. his good luck seemed to follow him month after month, for the winter was comparatively open, the snow was not as deep as usual, and the spring came early. by that time the ill effects of his terrible experience had almost entirely disappeared, and he was in nearly as good condition as is usual with the deer at that season of the year--which, of course, isn't really saying very much. again, nature's table was spread with good things, and again he set to work to build a pair of antlers--a pair that should be larger and handsomer than any that had gone before. but as the summer lengthened it became evident that there was something wrong with those antlers, or at least with one of them. one seemed to be quite perfect. it was considerably longer than those of last year, its curve was just right, and it had five tines, which was the correct number and all that he could have asked. but the other, the left, was nothing but a straight, pointed spike, perhaps eight inches in length, shaped almost exactly like those of his first pair. the buck never knew the reason for this deformity, and i'm not at all certain about it myself, though i have a theory. one stormy day in the early summer, a falling branch, torn from a tree-top by the wind, had struck squarely on that growing antler, then only a few inches long. it hurt him so that for a moment he was fairly blind and dizzy, and it is quite possible that the soft, half-formed bone was so injured that it could never reach its full development. anyhow, it made him a rather queer-looking buck, with one perfect antler and one spike. but in everything else--except his spread hoof--he was without spot or blemish. he had well fulfilled the promise of his youth, and he was big and strong and beautiful. something he had lost, no doubt, of the grace and daintiness of his baby days; but he had also gained much--gained in stateliness and dignity, as well as in size and weight and strength. and even that spike antler was not without its advantages, as he learned a little later. as the autumn came round he was just as excitable and passionate, just as ready for fighting or love-making, as ever, and not one whit subdued by the disaster of the year before. and so one day he had another battle with another buck, while another doe--or perhaps the same one--made off through the trees and left a fragrant trail behind her. he and his adversary went at each other in the usual way, and for some time it seemed unlikely that either of them could ever do anything more than tire the other out by hard pushing. there was little danger that their antlers would get locked this time, with one pair so badly mismated; and it bade fair to be a very ordinary, every-day sort of a fight. but by and by our buck saw his opportunity. the enemy exposed his left side, in an unguarded moment, and before he could recover himself that deformed antler had dealt him a terrible thrust. if the force of the blow had been divided among five tines it would probably have had but little effect, but the single straight spike was as good as a sword or a bayonet, and it won the day. the deer with the perfect antlers was not only vanquished, but killed; and the victor was off on the trail of the doe. and so our friend became the champion of the glimmerglass, and in all the woods there was not a buck that could stand against him. but his brother deer were not his only enemies. with the opening of the hunting season those farmers from lower michigan came again, and day after day they beat the woods in search of game. this time, however, the buck did not leave, or at least he did not go very far. for the last month he had been fighting everyone who would fight back, and perhaps his many easy victories had made him reckless. at any rate he was bolder than usual, and all through the season he stayed within a few miles of the glimmerglass. the farmers had decidedly poor luck, and after hunting for two or three weeks without a single taste of venison they began to feel desperate. finally, they secured the help of a trapper who owned a big english foxhound. hunting with dogs was against the law, and at home they claimed to be very law-abiding citizens, but they had to have a deer, no matter what happened. the morning after the hound's arrival he got onto the trail of a doe and followed it for hours, until, as a last resort, she made for the glimmerglass, jumped into the water, and started to swim across to the farther shore. the dog's work was done, and he stood on the bank and watched her go. for a few minutes she thought that she was out of danger, and that the friendly glimmerglass had saved her; but presently she heard a sound of oars, and turning half-way round she lifted her head and shoulders out of the water, and saw a row-boat and three men bearing down upon her. a look of horror came into her face as she sank back, and her heart almost broke with despair; but she was game, and she struck out with all her might. her legs tore the water frantically, the straining muscles stood out like ropes on her sides and flanks and shoulders, and she almost threw herself from the water. but it was no use, the row-boat was gaining. the farmers fired at her again and again, but they were too wildly excited to hit anything until finally the trapper pulled up alongside her and threw a noose over her head. and then, while she lay on her side in the water, with the rope around her neck, kicking and struggling in a blind agony of despair, one of the farmers shot her dead at a range of something less than ten feet. when he went home he bragged that he was the only one of the party who had killed a deer, but he never told just how the thing was done. that is the kind of fate that you are very likely to meet if you are a deer. but vengeance came on the morrow, for that day it was the buck's turn to be chased by that horrible fog-horn on four legs. hour after hour he heard the hound's dreadful baying behind him as he raced through the woods, and at last he, too, started for the water, just as the doe had done. but he never reached it, or at least not on that trip. he was within a few rods of the beach when his spread hoof caught on a root and threw him, and the hound was so close behind that they both went down in a heap. they sprang to their feet at the same instant, and stood for a second glaring at each other. the dog had not meant to fight, only to drive the other into the water, where the hunters would take care of him; but he was game, and he made a spring at the deer's throat. the buck drew back his forefoot, with its sharp, pointed hoof, and met the enemy with a thrust like that of a roman soldier's short-sword; and the hound went down with his shoulder broken and a great gash in his side. and then, with a sudden twist and turn of his head, the buck caught him on the point of that terrible spike antler, ripped his body open, and tossed him in the air. the worst enemy was disposed of. but that wasn't all. the man who killed the doe was waiting on the beach and had heard the scuffle, and now he came creeping quietly through the bushes to see what was going on. the buck was still trampling the body of the dog, and noticed nothing till a rifle bullet grazed his right flank, inflicting just enough of a wound to make him still more furious. he faced around and stood for a moment staring at this new enemy; and then he did something which very few wild deer have ever done. probably he would not have done it himself if he had not been half crazy with rage and excitement, and much emboldened by his easy victory over the hound. he put his head down and his antlers forward, and charged on a man! the farmer was jerking frantically at the lever of his repeating rifle, but a cartridge had stuck in the magazine, and he couldn't make it work. the hound's fate had shown him what that spike antler could do; and when he saw it bearing down on him at full tilt he dropped his gun and ran for his life to his dug-out canoe. he reached it just in time. i almost wish he hadn't. one more adventure the buck had that fall. providence, or fate, or someone took a hand in affairs, and rid the glimmerglass of all hunters, not for that season alone, but for many years to come. one night, down beside a spring in the cedar swamp, the buck found a half-decayed log on which a bag of salt had been emptied. he stayed there for an hour or two, alternately licking the salt and drinking the cold water, and it was as good as an ice-cream soda. the next night he returned for another debauch; but in the meantime two other visitors had been there, and both had seen his tracks and knew that he would come again. as he neared the spring, treading noiselessly on the soft moss, he heard two little clicks, and stopped short to see what they meant. both were quick and sharp, and both had come at exactly the same instant; yet they were not quite alike, for one had come from the shutter of a camera, and one from the lock of a rifle. across the salt-lick a photographer and a hunter were facing each other in the darkness, and each saw the gleam of the other's eyes and took him for a deer. so close together were the two clicks that neither man heard the sound of the other's weapon, and both were ready to fire--each in his own way. the buck stood and watched, and suddenly there came two bursts of flame--one of them so big and bright that it lit the woods like sheet-lightning. two triggers had been touched at the same instant, and each did its work well. the flash-light printed on the sensitive plate a picture of a hunter in the act of firing, and the rifle sent a bullet straight through the photographer's forehead. the buck saw it all as in a dream--the white flame of the magnesium powder; the rifle, belching out its fire and smoke; the camera, silent and harmless, but working just as surely; the two men, each straining his eyes for a sight of his game; the water gleaming in the fierce light, and the dark ranks of the cedars all around. and then, in the tenth of a second, it was all over, and the buck was bumping against trees, and stumbling and floundering over roots, in his dazed haste to get away from this terrifying mystery. he heard one horrified shout from the hunter, but nothing from the photographer--and the woods were silent again. that was the end of the hunting season at the glimmerglass. with the hunter's trial for manslaughter, we and the buck are not concerned; and there is nothing more to tell except that the next year the owners of the lands around the lake gave warning that all trespassers would be prosecuted. they wanted no more such tragedies on their property. and so the buck and his sweethearts and his rivals lived in peace, except that the rivals still quarrelled among themselves, as nature meant them to. the buck had reached his prime, but you are not to suppose that he began to age immediately afterward. it was long before his eye was dimmed or his natural force abated; and as the years went by, with their summers of lily-pads and tender young browse, and their autumns of beechnuts and fighting and love-making, the broad cloven track of his split foot was often to be found in the hard, smooth sand of the beach. perhaps it is there now. i wish i could go and see. the end [illustration] the country life press garden city, n.y. * * * * * transcriber's notes: duplicate titles were removed. page , "weasles" changed to "weasels" (frogs, and weasels) page , "fore-paws" changed to "forepaws" to match rest of usage (forepaws. he also) page , "blottod" changed to "blotted" (were all blotted out) page , "where-ever" changed to "wherever" it was orginally split over two lines. (woods. and wherever) skookum chuck fables bits of history, through the microscope (some of which appeared in the ashcroft journal) by skookum chuck author of "songs of a sick tum tum," and some others copyright, canada, , by r.d. cumming preface it is more difficult to sell a good book by a new author than it is to sell a poor one by a popular author, because the good book by the new author must make its way against great odds. it must assert itself personally, and succeed by its own efforts. the book by the popular author flies without wings, as it were. the one by the well-known author has a valuable asset in its creator; the one by the new author has no asset but its own merits. i am not contending by the above that this is a good book; far from it. some books, however, having very little literary recommendation, may be interesting in other ways. there are several things instrumental in making for the success of a book: first, the fame of the author; second, the originality of the theme or style; third, the extent of the advertising scheme, and fourth, the proximity of the subject matter to the heart and home of the reader; and this last is the reason for the "skookum chuck fables." if the following stories are not literature, they are spiced with familiar local sounds and sights, and they come very close to every family fireside in british columbia. for this reason i hope to see a copy in every home in the province. the author. contents skookum chuck fables: page of the rolling stone of cultus johnny of the booby man of hard times hance of the too sure man of the unloved man of the chief who was bigger than he looked of simple simon up to date of the high class eskimo of the sweet young things of the two ladies in contrast of the ruse that failed of the real santa claus of the retreat from moscow of sicamous of the ubiquitous cat bits of history: of the foolhardy expedition of the laws of lycurgus of joan of arc of voices long dead of the white woman who became an indian squaw through the microscope of the rolling stone once upon a time in a small village in bruce county, province of ontario, dominion of canada, there lived a man who was destined to establish a precedent. he was to prove to the world that a rolling stone is capable at times of gathering as much moss as a stationary one, and how it is possible for the rock with st. vitus dance to become more coated than the one that is confined to perpetual isolation. like most iconoclasts he was of humble birth, and had no foundation upon which to rest the cornerstone of his castle, which was becoming too heavy for his brain to support much longer. his strong suit was his itinerate susceptibility; but his main anchorage was his better five-fifths. one of his most monotonous arguments was to the effect that the strenuousness of life could only be equalled by the monotony of it, and that it was a pity we had to do so much in this world to get so little out of it. "why should a man be anchored to one spot of the geographical distribution like a barnacle to a ship during the whole of his mortal belligerency?" he one day asked his wife. "we hear nothing, see nothing, become nothing, and our system becomes fossilized, antediluvian. why not see everything, know everything? life is hardly worth while, but since we are here we may as well feed from the choicest fruits, and try for the first prizes." now, his wife was one of those happy, contented, sweet, make-the-best-of-it-cheerily persons who never complained even under the most trying circumstances. it is much to the detriment of society that the variety is not more numerous, but we are not here to criticise the laws that govern the human nature of the ladies. this lady was as far remote from her husband in temperament as venus is from neptune. he was darkness, she was daylight; and the patience with which she tolerated him in his dark moods was beautiful though tragic. it was plain that she loved him, for what else in a woman could overlook such darkness in a man? "you see," he would say, "it is like this. here i am slaving away for about seventy-five dollars per month, year in and year out. all i get is my food and clothing--and yours, of course, which is as much necessary, but is more or less of a white man's burden. no sooner do i get a dollar in my hand than it has to be passed along to the butcher, baker, grocer, dressmaker, milliner. are our efforts worth while when we have no immediate prospects of improvement? and then the monotony of the game: eat, sleep, work; eat, sleep, work. and the environs are as monotonous as the occupations. i think man was made for something more, although a very small percentage are ever so fortunate as to get it. now, i can make a mere living by roaming about from place to place as well as i can by sitting down glued to this spot that i hate, and then i will have the chance of falling into something that is a great deal better, and have an opportunity to see something, hear something, learn something. here i am dying by inches, unwept, unhonoured and unsung." to be "blue" was his normal condition. his sky was always cloudy, and with this was mingled a disposition of weariness which turned him with disgust from all familiar objects. with him "familiarity bred contempt." one day when his psychological temperament was somewhat below normal the pent up thunder in him exploded and the lightning was terrible: "here i am rooted to one spot," he said, "fossilized, stagnant, wasting away, dead to the whole world except this one little acre. and what is there here? streets, buildings, trees, fences, hills, water. nothing out of the ordinary; and so familiar, they have become hateful. why, everything in the environment breeds weariness, monotony, a painfully disgusting sameness. the same things morning, noon and night, year after year. why, the very names of the people here give me nervous prostration. just think--cummings, huston, sanson, austin, ward, mcabee, hobson, bailey, smith, black, brown, white--bah! the sound of them is like rumors of a plague. i want to flee from them. i want to hear new names ringing in my ears. and i hate the faces no less than i do the names. i would rather live on a prairie where you expect nothing; and get it--anything so long as it is new." now, that which is hereditary with the flesh cannot be a crime. the victim is more to be pitied in his ancestral misfortune, and the monkey from which our hero sprang must have been somewhat cosmopolitan. of course his wife had heard such outbreaks of insanity from him before, so she only laughed, thinking to humor him back to earth again with her love and smiles. "conditions are not so bad in bruce county as you paint them," she said, "and if you do not go about sniffing the air you will not find so many obnoxious perfumes. why, i _love_ the locality; and i like the people. and i like you, and my home; and i am perfectly satisfied with everything. things might be a great deal worse. you should have no complaint to make. you have a steady situation, a good master, a beautiful home, plenty to eat--and then you have me," she exclaimed, as though her presence should atone for all else in the world that he did not have. and perhaps a treasure of this kind should have been a valuable asset, and an antidote against all mere mundane cares. "look out through the parlor door," she continued. "could anything be more beautiful? the sun is just setting. the lake is asleep. see the reflection of the trees beneath its surface. how peaceful, how restful! my mind is just like the lake--perfectly at ease. why do you not control your storm and calm down like the lake? look at the tall shadows of the contented firs reaching away out across its bosom. how like a dream." "bah! don't mention lake to me. i hate the sight of it. i have seen it too long. it is too familiar. it is an eyesore to me. i am weary of it all. i want a rest. here comes brown now. let me hide in the cellar. it would be hypocrisy to remain here and smile welcome to him when i hate the sight of his physiognomy and detest the sound of his name. no, he has gone by. he does not intend to call. thank heaven. five minutes of his society would be equal to ten years in purgatory. new sights, new scenes, new voices, new faces; all these are recreation to a mentally weary constitution." "i would consider it a crime to leave this beauty spot," said his wife, "and it is a sin against heaven to decry it." "then i am a sinner and a criminal," said the hereditary crank, "because i hate it and am going to leave. i will take fifty dollars and go, and if i do not return with fifty thousand i will eat myself. i have said all there is to say. those dull, uninteresting faces give me the nighthorse. i am going to-morrow. of course you remain, because it is more expensive to travel double than single," he snorted, "and i have not the plunks." he embarked into the big world a few days later with his wife's warm kiss burning his lips--faithful even in his unfaithfulness. she was cheerful for some time, thinking that he would return, but the magnetism which attracted him to the woman whom he had picked from among the swarming millions was of very inferior voltage. he wandered about canada and the united states for about two years. he had many ups and downs. on the average he made enough to induce his soul to remain in his body in anticipation of something better. to do him justice he remitted all odd coin to his wife in bruce county, and he wrote saying he was perfectly happy in his new life. he awoke one morning and found himself in the "best" hotel, ashcroft, british columbia, dominion of canada, and the first thing he saw was the sand-hill. he thought ashcroft was the most desolate looking spot he had ever seen. it looked like a town that had been located in a hurry and had been planted by mistake on the wrong site. he fell in with a bruce county fellow there who was running a general store, and they became very friendly. he secured employment from this friend, who proved to be a philanthropist. "i have a proposition to make to you," the friend said one day. "what is it?" asked the iconoclast. "buy me out," said the philanthropist. "i have all the money i can carry. when the rainy day comes i will be well in out of the drip, and my tombstone will be 'next best' in the cemetery." "but i have no bank balance," said the aspirant eagerly. "i have no debentures of any kind; i have not even pin money." "bonds are unnecessary," said the friend. "besides, when i sell you this stock and building you will have an asset in the property. i will sell outright, take a mortgage for the balance, which you will disburse at the rate of five hundred dollars per year. you can do it and make money at the same time. you will kill two birds with half a stone. why, in twenty years' time rockefeller will be asking you to endorse his notes." the sale was made and the hero jumped into a store on railway avenue without a seed or cell, and in a short time the moss began to grow so thick upon him that he had all the sharks in b.c. asking him for a coating. and then he wrote for his wife, whom he missed for the first time. the letter ran thus: "ultima thule, b.c., march st. . "my dear wife: "you will see by the heading of this letter that fortune has cast me off at ashcroft, and i must congratulate myself for initiating that rolling stone 'stunt.' i have stumbled upon the richest mine in b.c. the gold is sticking out of it in chunks. the auto that you will play when you arrive will be a 'hum dinger' and no mistake. i am enclosing my cheque for $ . buy out tim eaton and bring your dear self here, for i am lonely without you. "your hitherto demented husband." she read it fifty times, placed it next her heart and pranced about like a five-year-old. "now, just where is ashcroft?" she soliloquized. none of the bruce county aborigines seemed to know, so she consulted a world map, and she found it growing like a parasite to the canadian pacific railway away in among the mountains of british columbia. but this was nothing. she would have risked a journey over the atlantic in an aeroplane if it were a means of uniting her with the man who was the only masculine human in existence so far as she was concerned--the man whom she had singled out and adopted from among the millions of his kind. when they met the union was pathetic, but it was lovely. to make a woman happy, who loves you like this, should be the consummation of a man's domestic ambitions. it was pointed out to him afterwards that, after all, the moss did not begin to grow until he had settled down in ashcroft. so he lost his knighthood as an iconoclast. of cultus johnny once upon a time at spence's bridge, county of yale, province of british columbia, on the indian reserve, there lived two indians named cultus (bad) johnny and hias (big) peter. they were friends until peter got married, and then the trouble began, because they both wanted the same klootchman. they had been fishing for some time for the same fish, in the same pool in the thompson river, and had each been favored with very encouraging nibbles. one day, however, peter felt the tugging at his bait somewhat stronger than usual and with one jerk he pulled out his fish. peter had stolen a march on his rival. the priest married them when johnny was at the coast, fishing at new westminster for the canneries. when the intelligence reached him he sat down in the bottom of the boat and for a few moments imagined himself at spence's bridge giving hias peter a jack johnson trouncing. to cultus johnny the strange preference of this woman for his rival seemed like unmitigated discrimination. why, there was no comparison between the two when it came to worldly icties. peter had nothing: he had no illiha, no icties of any kind; he was broke morning, noon and night. johnny had a sixty dollar saddle, a five dollar bridle, a two and a half quirt and the best cayuse in spence's bridge, and worth seventy-five dollars. peter had nothing but the wage he earned working on the c.p.r. section, which had been just enough to supply him with his daily muck-a-muck (food) before marriage. how he calculated to feed two with the one basket of o-lil-ies (berries) which had been only large enough for one, did not seem to worry the community, as such things were taking place every day and were a common occurrence, and the klootchman always seemed to survive the ordeal. and it must not be forgotten that johnny had a seven and a half stetson hat while all peter could afford was a two bit cap. it will always remain a mystery why one indian should be more voluptuous, or gather more icties about him than another, when none of them have any visible assets from which to derive an income. unless it be that the more voluptuous indian works every day of his weary, aimless life, spends nothing, and hoards the residual balance like a miser, lives on the old man before marriage, and on his klootchman after, we are unable to arrive at a solution. no one knew by what means johnny had acquired all his wealth. perhaps he had bought all his luxuries on jaw-bone from one store while he paid cash for his muck-a-muck in another. there is one thing certain, the honest indian is always the poorest, and in these days of the high cost of beans and bacon and rice, he has to be poorer to be more honest. now it came to pass that one day johnny balanced his saddle, horse, quirt and stetson hat with peter's nothing and argued that all the weight was in his own favor. the keeka (girl) had made a mistake. and to a man who measured everything by worldly icties this was sound argument, for the only big thing about peter was his avoirdupois--barring his heart, of course. in the heat of his argument johnny determined to deprive peter of his sacred property. and among the indians this is not nearly so hazardous or hopeless or criminal an undertaking as it may seem through an anglo-saxon microscope. although a wife is considerable of an asset to a white man, she is not so to an indian; and it may be to his advantage that he is more or less philosophical about it. the cultus indian was at lillooet when this skookum tumtum (good thought) occurred to him. he was cutting fire-wood with some of the statlemulth (lillooet indians) in an effort to heal the wound in his left chest which had been left gaping since his recent defeat in battle. he went back to spence's bridge as fast as his seventy-five dollar cayuse, his sixty dollar saddle, his five dollar bridle and his two and a half quirt could carry him, and presented himself to his kith and kin. the old man gave him a warm hand-shake. they killed some fatted chickens and had the biggest time that the rancherie had ever known. peter and his schmamch (wife) were there and old acquaintances were renewed. johnny's strong suit with his ancient flame was his personal icties; and when peter was otherwise engaged he asked the girl to elope with him to kamloops or lillooet. the next day was sunday and peter was going out with others on a cayuse hunt which had been planned some time before. he invited johnny because it would not be safe to leave him in possession of the fort, and in charge of such a valuable, though fickle, asset; for a great number of the indian women are fickle. but cultus johnny declined the invitation. he was tired, and wanted to rest. besides, he had a bridle to finish which he was plaiting from the leather cut from the legs of an old pair of cow-boy boots which he had found; it would be worth ten dollars when finished. in spite of his good intentions johnny spent the whole day in idleness at the home of mrs. peter; and, as it is no insult among the indians for a buck to propose an elopement with his neighbor's wife, because it is a very common business transaction among them, johnny again suggested the escapade. the woman only laughed and seemed to enjoy the flirtation. but she would neither consent nor refuse. hias peter did not return that evening, and the next day johnny was at the works with greater cannonading, and with more skookum tumtum than ever, and this time he was braver. he was just on the point of putting his arm around the keeka's waist when the door opened and peter darkened the opening. they looked at one another for a few moments like two panthers about to spring at each other's throats. hias peter had a hias gun, and he raised it to his shoulder and glanced in a very savage and threatening way along the barrel toward cultus johnny's heart. johnny dropped to the floor and begged for mercy. now it requires some courage to shoot a fellow-being down in cold blood, although the punishment may be well deserved, so peter lowered his rifle. "klatawa!" (go!) he commanded. "hiak!" (quick!) he shouted. johnny crawled on his hands and knees towards the door, and as he was creeping over the threshold peter gave him one awful kick that sent him rolling on the ground outside. and turning to the woman: "fooled!" he roared. "i will shoot you down like a coyote next time," he said. as the indian is a man of few words, he drew himself up to his hias (large) size in front of her. but the woman pleaded that she was not to blame. johnny had persisted in his attentions to her, and she could not drive him off. "if you want to get rid of him, shoot him," said peter. now, among the indians, when you covet your neighbor's wife, or have been too familiar with her, and you are caught with the goods, you do not fly into a far country for fear of your life. you still hang around, and the worst you can get is perhaps a pounding from the jealous neighbor; and the sweet environment is worth the risk. johnny's skookum tumtum was somewhat out of commission for a while. when he met mrs. peter on the street after that they grinned at each other a few times without speaking; and by and by, when they thought peter was out of sight, they would stop and talk for a while. he asked her again to fly to kamloops with him, and she seemed to be swinging on the balance. johnny dwelt upon his worldly assets--his saddle, his bridle, and all his skookum icties. peter soon realized that his wife was eating at his table and living in another man's tumtum, but he kept on chewing his beans and bacon and dried soquas (salmon) in silence, and, but for the intervention of providence, peter might have followed in the footsteps of paul spintlum. one day cultus johnny and his sister went across the river to fish. they cast their nets directly across from the rancherie, beneath an angry-looking, hungry, threatening, overhanging gravel bed. he and his father and his father's fathers had fished there time out of memory. the old men of the village were squatted here and there weaving nets for the fishing season. squaws were bringing in bundles of tree branches on their backs for firewood; others were scraping the flesh from raw deer-skins, stretched on frames which leaned against buildings. some young fellows, among whom was hias peter, were rolling up driftwood from the river. children were capering about, laughing and shouting. dogs were barking, cats mewing, roosters crowing. there was nothing but joy, and peace, and harmony. it was just such a scene as may be witnessed on a bright sunny day at any indian village in the dry-belt at any time. suddenly there was a rush and a roar and a plunge of waters. the whole mountain across from the rancherie had fallen into the river with one mad roar like thunder, and the water was thrown up upon the village and its helpless inmates. in a moment the peaceful scene was one of death and torture. men, women and children were struggling helplessly in the water and trying in vain to reach the higher benches. at the next moment the water receded and carried many back struggling into the channel of the river. hias peter found himself, with others, struggling among logs, timbers and debris of every description. just before the water receded he saw his wife and heard her yell for help. he seized her skirt and dragged her to safety, clinging to a friendly sage brush. for a moment peter thought that, so far as he was personally concerned, she was scarcely worth saving; but it is very unnatural to allow a fellow being to drown before your eyes and make no attempt to save him. and perhaps our worst enemy could rely on us for protection under similar circumstances. but where was cultus johnny and his sister all this time? the whole world lay on top of them, and that is all we know. they were never seen again. mrs. peter looked across the river and sighed. mr. peter looked across the river and gave a grunt in his own language. a million tons of earth were holding down cultus johnny. of the booby man once upon a time in ashcroft there lived a "gink" who was very much wrapped up in himself. at a local social function he took the prize one day for being the most unpopular man in the community; and this caused him to sit up nights, and study himself as others saw him flitting across his unattractive and uneventful stage. the winning of this prize spoke to him with greater accent than could the exploding of a sixteen-inch german gun, and it sent a quiver through his entire avoirdupois. it was not only an appalling revelation to him to know that he was unpopular, but it was a disgrace to his pedigree right back to the days of samuel de champlain, so he began to paw the bunch grass and seek revenge. first he dug among the archives of history for a solution. there must be some reason for this disgraceful blur on his life pages. why was he the most unpopular man on these sand downs? why was he an outcast? why was he the job of ashcroft society? now, just why was he unpopular? had he boils, like job? was he an undesirable citizen? was he a german, or an austrian, or a turk? was he inflicted with some loathsome disease? was he a plague? had some false reputation preceded him into the community? had he a cantankerous disposition? was he repulsive in appearance? was he mean, stingy? was he stupid, ignorant, uneducated, brainless? no, personally he could not plead guilty of acquaintance with any of the above disqualifications. among the archives of his past ashcroft history he found some tell-tale manuscripts, the contents of which had never appealed to him until after the booby prize episode. in plain english, he found written facts which were as bold as the violation of belgian neutrality. incidents which had seemed very commonplace and unworthy of notice before, now loomed up on those pages and presented themselves to him as giants of the utmost importance. for instance, in looking up the records connected with the forming of the ashcroft rinks he found that he had not been consulted in the matter. his name was missing from that interesting page of ashcroft history. however, when the time arrived for the forming of a company to finance the erection of the building, great interest was taken in his bank account, and the promoters knocked very early one morning at his door seeking endorsement to purchase shares in the joint stock company which was about to be born. at the meeting for the election of directors to take charge of the affairs of the company he was again surrounded by the same zero atmosphere. he was not even nominated as a prospective member. his name had never been suggested. he was never consulted when anything serious was the point of debate. it had not occurred to him to become incensed at this frigid zone attitude on the part of his associates. he had not been expecting any handout, so he was not disappointed. he had been too much absorbed in his own personal affairs, too much wrapped up in himself, and could detect no grounds for offence. at the annual election of officers for the curlers, although a member for ten years, it had never occurred to any in the association to suggest his name as a probable pillar for the upholding of the business portion of the club. again his presence was not suspected, and he may as well have been in iceland. although present incarnate, he was to all intent and purpose only in the invisible spirit. when the hospital idea was being introduced the social thermometer in the vicinity was again standing at the zero point; and he remembered that he had never had the honor of being invited by the society to any of the annual pioneer banquets. he had received the alien "hand-out" upon all occasions, and had the same status in the community as a chinaman. of course, being hitherto so much wrapped up in personality, he took no notice of his social mercury, which always stood at its minimum. and then, as the management of the various institutions had been placed in hands which were, undoubtedly, more able and willing to cope with the difficulties than he, and as everybody seemed satisfied, there was no occasion for him raising his voice in protest throughout the dumb wilderness. being personally very much occupied with his own stamp mill, and the percentage of the pay-rock, he was just as pleased that no local burden should be placed across the apex of his spinal pillar. but now he had arrived at a point where the road divided. new scenes must be introduced into his play--new machinery installed. through the microscope he saw that present conditions could not be allowed to prevail. he was losing much valuable mineral over the dump. he was angry. the sensitiveness of his nature had received a shock; he had been shown up as the most unpopular man in ashcroft. it was time for him to have the mercury brought near to the fire. the next time prizes were being handed around his arm would be the longest, and his voice the loudest; and they would not be booby prizes neither. he had known men of a few weeks standing only, rise to the very apex of popularity, while he, with his ten years initiation, had not yet developed brains enough, in the estimation of the ashcroft people, that would justify them in placing in his charge the management of the most trivial social affair. what had he done that this measure should be constantly graduated out to him? well, things would be different. he would "can" personality and take up the "big mitt" of public things. but how was this revolution in the private disposition of a man to be accomplished? he had discovered the result, but not the cause; so he began rooting among the sage brush of the sand downs for the foundation stone of his social submergence. "i have it!" he shouted one day. "if one wishes to make a puncture in the affairs of this world one must assert himself; one must smite the table top with one's fist every morning before breakfast. one must assume such an atmosphere that the whole community will be cognizant of one's presence, to-day, to-morrow, and all the time. one must assert one's personality. i have been asleep, stagnant, dormant, an egyptian mummy. i have allowed others to take the cream while i have been passively contented with the whey. i have allowed others to elbow me to one side like a log languishing in the eddy of a river. henceforth i will be in the centre of the stream. i will rush down with the torrent and be "it" in the ashcroft "smart set" illumination. "there will be no public works in future that does not bear my signature. in a word, i will assert myself, lock, stock and barrel." so he hit out upon a new highway with the determination to be popular. he neglected his own stamp-mill that the work might be carried out to a successful issue. he engaged others to take charge of the tail race and dump, with which he would not trust his brother on previous occasions. in fact, he left the steam of the mill at high pressure to look after itself that he might have an unhampered course in the asserting of himself. he invaded immediately all the dances, carnivals, dinners and parties. he was both liberal and conservative in politics. he was the "guy" with the "big mitt" and the vociferous vocabulary at all the local functions. he even joined the church. he tumbled into popularity as quickly as the kaiser tumbled into the european war; and he elbowed his way into the run-way for all offices. previously bright stars were dimmed by the brilliancy of his superior luminosity. he became a parasite at the local stores and clubs, and was a wart on the grocer's counter. he became a whirlwind of popularity. he was as much in the advance as he had before been in the rear, and, if there was any german trench to take, he was always first to jump into it. he had the big voice in every local eruption. every time he batted he made a home run. he even made initiative suggestions for schemes which were more or less amalgamated with reason and insanity. it is said that he was first at the dances, and first in the hearts of the ladies. it is certain he was the first to invent the sewerage system idea; and the patents were applied for before the final endorsements had been secured. "i will make the man swallow his words who awarded me that booby prize," he thundered; and he was going the right way about it. he imposed his individuality with emphasis. he was taken by the hand and dragged along cheerfully. he found himself coveted and envied now, where, before, he had almost been denied citizenship. he was now a qualified voter, where, before, he had been disfranchised. he found himself in the front ranks of all social movements, for he had asserted himself with an accent. it was a case of applied personality with him, and it was developing just as he had anticipated. of course it was a superficial personality; it had no intrinsic value, but it answered the purpose. he received many important appointments. he was created secretary to the school board, secretary to the ashcroft rinks, secretary to the hospital, secretary to the ashcroft hockey boys, secretary to the ladies' knitting guild, secretary to the ladies' auxiliary. in fact, he was unanimously chosen an official in all the local public works which had no salary attached to them. but then, he was gaining in popularity, and what did it matter if his office was filled to overflowing with exotic paraphernalia, he was reaching that apex to which he had aspired, and the emolument was a mere bagatelle. the booby prize, after all, had been the foundation of his success. so things went on and he became the most talked of man in the town. when any difficulty arose he was the first to be consulted. the town found it necessary to come to him for information on every local scheme that had its birth in the local cerebrum, for no one else was capable of handling any emergency and carrying it through to a successful conclusion. just about this time the sewerage epidemic took possession of the town, and became an insane contagion. meetings were held at various places to discuss the matter, and at last the government agent allowed the court house to be used gratis for that purpose. of course our hero and two other victims were appointed commissioners to investigate. his salary was the same as he received from his various secretaryships. it was proposed to mortgage the town for forty years to the provincial government for its endorsement to local bonds, and the commissioners were empowered to have the alleys and necessary places surveyed with a view to ascertaining the magnitude of the undertaking, and the amount of the collateral which it would be necessary to raise in england, upon the endorsed bonds, to push the work through to a successful conclusion. the victims set to work with full knowledge of the stupendous responsibility which had been slung, yoke-like, across their shoulders. surveyors were engaged, and an expert calculator was summoned to give an estimate of the cost of such an undertaking. the estimate was placed at $ , . . this enlightenment gave the community a volcanic eruption; an epidemic of "cold feet" took possession of them, and they retired to warm these extremities at their respective air-tight heaters. in the meantime the commissioners had guaranteed payment to the experts whom they had engaged, and their personal notes were urgently requested. the expenses which they had incurred amounted to about five hundred dollars. when the vouchers were hawked about town for endorsements they received the "high ball," and the victims found it necessary to "make good" from their personal rainy day deposits. the unpopular man took a sly glance back at the ancient happy hunting-grounds antedating his booby prize days. it was just about this time that an agent of the independent trust company drifted into town "incidentally," and became acquainted with the boys. he made it known in a sort of casual way that he was disposing of shares in the said company, which were valued at more than they were worth--that is, were worth more than their valuation. to keep up the "bluff" the unpopular man bought a thousand "plunks" worth of shares. "now," said the shark, "since you have shown so much confidence in my company by purchasing shares, you can prove your patriotism more fully by placing a substantial deposit with the independent trust. this will help maintain the company on solid footing, and ensure you higher dividends on your stock. i will give you my personal guarantee that your money will be safer, and more productive than it would be in the bank." the "boob" seized the bait like a trout in the bonaparte, and made a deposit of five thousand dollars. shortly afterwards the company went into liquidation, and his six thousand dollars sailed away with the worthless liquid into the sea of oblivion. about this same time, when his popularity was at its zenith, and was rivalling that of dr. cook, the fake discoverer of the north pole, another shark came down with the rain selling the most marvellous money-making scheme ever offered to the public of british columbia. this was x.y.z. fire insurance shares, which he was disposing of at a great sacrifice. "let me sell you some shares in the only 'real thing' that has been offered to the public since the flood," he tempted. the victim was so much under the shark's influence that he was hypnotized. "certainly," he said. "write me down for five hundred 'doughbaby's' worth." "you mean a thousand," said the shark. "no," said the "gink," timidly, "i have only five hundred in my sock; that will be as much as my pack will carry." "exactly; that is just right. you see, you are buying a thousand dollars worth of goods with only five hundred dollars worth of cash. the shares are fifty dollars each, with a cash payment of twenty-five dollars, and the balance subject to call. this balance will never be called for, because on no occasion has an insurance company been known to call in its balance of subscribed stock; and the x.y.z. is not going to establish a precedent in this respect. you will have twenty shares for five hundred dollars. in other words, you will draw interest on one thousand dollars, and only have five hundred invested. was ever a business so philanthropic in its foundation?" our hero grabbed the bait like a pure-bred sucker, and handed out his last asset. a few weeks later the company was in the hands of receivers with all its assets vaporized. the popular man found himself on the "rocks." being popular for a short time had proved a very expensive expedition for him. the retreat rivalled that of the kaiser's retreat from paris. it was so sudden that the town heard the thud and felt the jar. the unpopular man realized that it is wiser to remain in one's natural element even if it is necessary to sacrifice many of the first prizes. perhaps it is better to go after the prizes for which we are qualified, than to aspire to elevations which we are unable to hold intelligently. the unpopular man backed himself up into his burrow, and for a time the silence around town was embarrassing. of hard times hance once upon a time on the foothills in the environs of clinton, lillooet district, province of british columbia, there lived a "mossback" who was as happy as the nd day of june is long in each year. at initiative conclusions he would be classified with the freak species of humanity, but beneath his raw exterior there lurked rich mines which the moss kept a secret from the inquisitive, avaricious world. he owned and operated an extensive ranch from which he encouraged enough vegetation to feed himself, his pigs, his horses, his cattle, his chickens, and his dog; and this, apparently, was all they derived from the great, green earth. but the asset side of our "mossback's" yearly balance sheet always made the liability side ashamed of itself. the asset increased annually, and the hidden treasure grew to alarming proportions. this growth was carefully salted away at the appropriate salting-down season, when the pork barrels were brought out of the dark cellars, dusted, scrubbed, and refilled with the carcasses of those animals which had been his companions for the greater part of a year. he was a standing joke with the "hands" on the ranch, for he was the most dilapidated of the whole gang, although the owner, and was reputed to be wealthy. but he was a man with a purpose in life, and that was more than a great many could say. he was chronically eccentric. when he first located on the homestead which had since become so valuable an asset, he had determined to live with one purpose in view, and that was to expand financially with the toil of his hands and the sweat of his brow, and then, when he had acquired sufficient sinking fund, to emerge suddenly into the limelight of society and shine like a newly polished gem. so he wandered up and down the trail which his own feet and the feet of his cayuse had worn through the woods, up the creek, along the face of the mountains, and away down to the limy waters of the fraser on the other side of the perpetual snows. there was a fascination for him on this old trail; it had become as part of his life, of his very soul. sometimes he would be rounding up cattle. sometimes he would be hunting mowich (deer), or driving off the coyotes. all his plans and schemes were built on trail foundation. he could not think unless he was tramping the trail through the woods, and down the valleys. here is where all his castles were constructed; and, from the trail observatory, he saw his new life spring into being, when the time would be ripe. in time the coin grew so bulky that it became a burden to him. it had grown very cumbersome. he might at any time resurrect himself into that new world of his, but there was no occasion for haste; he was very happy and contented; besides, it would mean leaving the old trail and things. he had his balance banked in a strong box which he buried in a hole under his bed, and the fear grew upon him that some mercenary might discover its lurking-place and relieve him of the burden of responsibility. this was the only skeleton which lurked in the man's closet. it was the only cloud in his sky; the rest of the zenith was sunshine and gladness. to the neighbors and itineraries he had been preaching hard times for twenty years, although the whole earth suspected the contrary. he became known throughout the width and breadth of yale, lillooet and cariboo as "hard times hance." although diplomatically reserved and unsociable, he was more popular and famed than he suspected. peculiarity is a valuable advertisement. his outward appearance and mode of life certainly justified the above appendix to his personality, and it was so blazoned that it could be seen and heard all over british columbia. he had but one competitor, and that was "dirty harry," who at one time frequented the streets of ashcroft. no other name could have distinguished him so completely from the other members of the human family. his overalls, which were once blue, had become pale with age, and had adopted a dishrag-white color; and one of the original legs had been patched out of existence. his stetson hat, which had left the factory a deep brown, now approached the color of his terrestrial real estate. his "jumper" had lost its blue and white "jail bird" stripe effect, and was now a cross between a faded brussels carpet and a grain sack. to save buying boots he wore his last winter's overshoes away into the summer, while his feet would blister in discomfort. braces were a luxury which he could not endure, so he supported his superfluously laundried overalls with a strand of baling-rope which had already served its time as a halter guy. his feet had never known the luxury of a factory or home-knitted stocking since he had graduated from the home crib, but were put off with gunny sacking which had already seen active service as nose bags for the cayuses. "if one wishes to acquire wealth in this world," he would say, "one must make a great many personal sacrifices." so he lived on and waxed wealthy at the expense even of the simplest of domestic comforts. the improvements with which he had enhanced the value of his ranch were much in keeping with his personal appearance, and they could be recognized as brothers with the least difficulty. the fences, which had refused to retain their youth against the passing years, had their aged and feeble limbs supported with thongs and makeshifts of every description; and where their pride had rebelled against such ingratitude, they were smothered beneath the limbs of fallen trees, which had been felled on the spot to serve as substitutes. his flumes were knock-kneed and bow-legged, and in places they had no legs at all. their sides were warped and bulged with the alternate damp and drouth, heat and cold. the lumber was bleached white, and porous with decay. it was with difficulty they could be persuaded to remain at their water-carrying capacity. the ditches were choked with willows and maples to such an extent that they were abandoned only in spots where they asserted themselves, and refused to convey the necessary irrigation stream. here they would burst their sides with indignation, and had to be repaired. the barns, stables and chicken-houses had for years been threatening to collapse unless supplied with some stimulant; so numerous false-works had been erected, outside and in, to retain them within their confines. the harness, which had originally been made of leather, betrayed very little trace of this bovine enveloper, but was composed chiefly of baling-rope and wire which had been picked up at random on the ranch as the occasion demanded. the various sections of the wheels of his wagons remained in intimate association with each other because they were submerged in the creek every night; the moisture keeping the wood swelled to its greatest diameter. one day's exposure to the drouth, without the convenient assistance of the creek water, would have been sufficient to cause the wheels to fall asunder. in this respect the unsuspecting creek was an asset of incalculable value. the boxes of his wagons could boast of nothing up to date, that was not possessed by the wheels; and in many cases the tongues and whiffletrees and neck-yokes had been substituted by raw maples or birch secured on the ranch. his unwritten law was to buy nothing that would cost money, and to import nothing that could be produced on the farm even if it was only a poor makeshift substitute. no part was ever replaced until it had gone hopelessly on strike, and necessity was his only motive power when it came to repairs. the general conditions were suggestive of the obsolete. in the midst of all this ruin and decay, however, there was sunshine, and the heart of hard times hance was warm and buoyant, cheerful and hopeful, and even if he did live upon the husks which the swine did eat, he derived from his life a great deal more pleasure than the world gave him credit for. he had his future to live for. he had his life all mapped out, and that was more than a great many could boast of. for breakfast he had mush, for dinner he had beans and bacon, and for supper he had bacon and beans and y.s. tea. and he was just as happy eating this fare with his knife as the lieutenant-governor of the province of british columbia could be with his cereal, consomme, lobster salad, charlotte russe, blanc mange, café noir, or any other dainty and delicate importation. bananas, oranges and artichokes had no place on his bill-of-fare. besides, after he had eaten a meal he had no space for such delicacies. and he could always wash his meal down with the famous y.s. tea stand-by; and, on top of this, a few long draws at his kin-i-kin-nick (sort of indian tobacco) pipe. and then there were no restrictions upon his mode of feeding his face. he could eat with his knife with impunity. there was no etiquette-mad society digging him in the ribs, and jerking on the reins in protestation at every one of his natural inclinations; and he could use his own knife to butter his sourdough bread. for a man who expected to emerge into the sunshine of society, he was giving himself very inadequate training. he was as near the aboriginal as it was possible for a white man to approach. he was a siwash (male indian) with one exception--his love of the coin. but then, he had an object in this ambition; and a fault, if it is a means to a worthy end, must be commended. he had this propensity developed to the most pronounced degree. it was a disease with him, for which there was no cure. in outward appearance he was a typical b.c. specimen of the obsolete "coureur de bois" of eastern canada during the seventeenth century. the interior of his "dug-out" was more like an indian kik-willy (ancient indian house) than the dwelling of a modern anglo-saxon. the walls were composed of the rough timbers, and the chinks were stuffed with rags and old newspapers. a few smoke-begrimed pictures were hanging on the walls, and a calendar of the year still glared forth in all its ancient uselessness, leading one back into a past decade. if he broke the rules of etiquette by eating with his knife, he also smashed those of modesty by utilizing his air-tight heater as a cuspidor, for it was streaked white with evaporated saliva. how this crude bud ever anticipated blooming out into a society blossom was a conundrum. perhaps he had some secret method buried in the same box with his hoarded coin. his long evenings were passed reading the _family herald and weekly star_ and the _ashcroft journal_ by candle-light; for those were the only papers he would subscribe for. his bed consisted of, first, boards, then straw, then sacking; and it had remained so long without being frayed out that it had become packed as hard as terra firma. his blankets had not seen the light of day, nor enjoyed the fresh cool breezes for many long years. his one window was opaque with the smoke of many years' accumulation. although his chickens had a coop of their own where they roosted at night, they ran about the floor of his "dug-out" in the daytime looking for crumbs that fell from the poor man's table; and his cat, through years of criminal impunity, would sit on the table at mealtime and help himself to the victuals just as the spirit moved him. a stump had been left standing when the cabin was built; it had been hewn at the appropriate elevation of a chair. this was near his air-tight heater, and his favorite position was to sit there with his feet propped against the stove and smoke by candle-light; and sometimes he would sit in the dark to save candles. his other furniture consisted of "reindeer" brand condensed milk and blue-mottled soap boxes, which he had acquired at times from f.w. foster's general store at clinton. hard times hance was living on first principles; but then, if a man wishes to save any coin in this world he must make great personal sacrifices; and so he was perfectly happy in his temporary aboriginal condition. there were no restrictions upon him. he was even outside the circumference of any ministerial jurisdiction, and had never been cautioned about the hereafter. like an indian, he moved just as the impulse seized him. how this man expected to submit to the personal restrictions and embargoes imposed by modern fashions and society was known only to himself. the song of the forest had been his only concert; the whisper of the creek his sole heart companion. when occasion permitted he would wander the entire day on the high mountains, at the end of his trail, hunting for game, and little caring whether he found it or not, so long as he had the wild and congenial environs to admire and embrace. what was city life in comparison with this? at last the day arrived when he realized that he must develop wings, so he wrapped himself up in a cocoon; and while the metamorphosis was in process of development he had ample time to study hamlet's soliloquy. it would mean a divorce from everything he held dear; a parting with his very soul. it would mean the most sorrowful widowhood that could be imposed on man. it would be equivalent to leaving this earth and taking up his abode in mars. he must sacrifice his love for the creek and the trail. he must renounce his freedom and go into social slavery. it was the emerging from the woods into the prairie; the coming from darkness into the light; a resurrection from the dead. in future he must tread the smooth cement walk between cultivated lawns and plants, instead of climbing the rude, uneven trail obstructed by fallen trees and surrounded with vegetation in its wildest and most primeval forms. he would walk the polished mahogany floor with patent boots, instead of the terrestrial one of his dug-out with obsolete overshoes. but it must be. for years he had been preparing and planning. the object of his past had been a preparation for a better future; and why not? others enjoyed the good things of this life, and why not he? had he not paid the price. others reaped where they had not sown; he had sown, yes, sown in persecution, now he would reap in envious joy. he had lived the first half of his life in squalor and darkness, that the latter half might be clean and cheerful. when he had set out in his young days to live his pre-arranged history it was with an ambition to be wealthy, no matter by what means it should be acquired, so long as it was honest. now he was wealthy. he had been poor; now he was rich, and money would put the world at his feet, which henceforth had been over his head. he had been an animal; from now on he would be human. but in his enthusiasm of development he forgot that he had grown attached to the wild, aboriginal life; that the parting might snap thongs and inflict wounds which even time would not mend or cure. at times the creek would sing, and the trail would speak, but he banished the tempters from his mind to make room for his illuminating prospects, and his wings continued to grow towards maturity. he struggled and freed himself from the cocoon. he went to vancouver a caterpillar and returned a butterfly, and the earthquake which accompanied his debut was equal to that which destroyed san francisco. he had sold his farm, which included the creek, and the trail, and the dug-out, and his salt pork barrel, for a song, and with his coin and icties about him, and in his lately acquired form, he invaded clinton with an accentuated front. the street was lined with people as though a procession had been going by--all the sweet and familiar sounds and sights had been sacrificed criminally, and he was on his way to sip honey from flower to flower. he sounded about clinton for some time for a suitable anchorage on which to materialize the plans and specifications of his mansion, but he did not drive a stake, because clinton was very much inferior to his "class" ideal; it had no electric light, and no water system. so he migrated south to ashcroft, and there he pre-empted a large lot and made arrangements for the foundation of his castle. out of the ground in a short period arose one of the most up-to-date bungalows. while the building was in course of construction hard times hance, who had repudiated this headline, moved about in his dress suit, stiff hat, silk gloves, and a cane, and gave such orders to the contractor as he saw fit. he was looked upon as the most remarkable freak that had ever invaded the dry belt. and he sprang into society spontaneously. the people clamored for him. progressive socials were arranged in his honor at all the leading social centres in their eagerness to cultivate his society. some had faint recollections of having seen him at times, others claimed to have heard of him at his hermitage, but they all pretended to have known him personally and thoroughly, and many even suspected that he possessed more, intrinsically, than he had revealed superficially. he was the lion of the hour, and he did not forget to hand around the coin in his efforts to retain the position which he had secured. when his mansion was turned over by the contractor, and had been accepted by the architect, he issued invitations to one of the most magnificent social functions which had ever erupted at ashcroft. those who were invited were flattered, and those who were not called were grossly insulted and wondered what disqualified them. they danced the "tango," and the "bango," and the "flango," and all the "light fantastics" until their feet went on strike, and their ear drums had become phonographic and reproduced the music with a perpetual motion which could not be stopped. every lady was eager to reveal the dancing secrets to mine host, and before the evening was over he could waltz, tango, and do many of the up-to-date ridiculous "stunts." and then they dined on a french dinner. it was cooked in french style, and they ate it in french; and then they drank french toasts to the king of england, the governor-general of canada, sir wilfrid laurier, and the gentlemen drank to the ladies in general all over the world. then the ladies proposed a french toast to "mine host." not one of them could speak french, although a few of them could repeat, parrot-like, the words "parlez-vous francais?" but they only knew it as a "foreign phrase" which sounded extremely cultured. and the menu was as follows: "canape of anchovies," "celery en branch," "potage a la reine," "consomme au celeri," "calves' sweetbreads a la rothschilds," "french lamb chops a la nelson," "café noir," etc., etc. in the midst of all this foreign celestialism mine host forgot the creek, the trail, the dug-out, the beans and bacon, and the kin-i-kin-nick pipe; and he prided himself on his rapid and agreeable transition into swift channels of life. he was taking to society as a duck takes to water. in mode of living, as well as in personal appearance, it was the greatest metamorphosis that had ever taken place in a human being in the memory of man. it was a miniature "log cabin to white house" episode. he furnished his castle with the most elaborate fittings and ornaments that the world could produce. he had steam heated rooms and electric lighting from cellar to attic. every floor was carpeted with the most expensive of imported brussels. the walls were most elaborately painted and decorated. to secure a final footing in society he had acquired a collection of obsolete paintings, which were very unattractive and vulgar, and could only have been of value as heirlooms to some private family. these were conspicuously displayed on the panelled walls, in partnership with other more or less modest busts and imaginary landscapes. his ceilings were frescoed and figured in most extravagant, but unappealing designs. it was plainly seen that the building had been erected more to satisfy the taste and please the eye of the architect, who had received an unrestricted contract, than for acceptance by the purchaser. the furnishings were very much in keeping with the fixtures and fittings, and his musical instruments were all electrically-automatic machines; and his "canned" music filled the halls and stairways from morning till night. there was no modern convenience or indulgence that he did not lasso and drag home to his castle. before, he had wallowed in the one extreme of society, but now he lolled at the other. while before he had been neglected and despised by his fellow rivals, he was now courted, and admired, and feasted almost to death: so much does the possession of the coin-asset change people's opinions with regard to others. his auto was the envy of all the chauffeurs and private car owners in the interior, and there was great rivalry among the licensed drivers as to who should secure the position as his private chauffeur. one engineer offered his services gratis to have the privilege of sitting behind such wind-shields. hard times hance persuaded himself that he had reached his "utopia," and that his past forty years of loneliness and savagery was the price he had paid for the present heaven-rivalling blessings. a man of his standing in society could not long remain in single dormancy; he was therefore besieged by many of the fair sex. this was very pleasing and flattering to him, although he concealed his appreciation. of course a palace such as his, without a wife, was like a garden of eden without an eve. he had no one to use the electric vacuum cleaner on his linoleums and tapestries. he had no one to meet him when he reached home to take his hat, and gloves, and cane, and place them on the hall rack. he had no one to kiss and afford companionship throughout the long evenings, no one to arrange for social entertainments and meet and welcome the guests; no one to direct and manage the culinary department, and place the furniture in appetizing arrangement. of course he had the chinese cook, but he was stale and without spice. there were millions of qualified candidates in the world, looking for partners, who would be more than pleased to have the opportunity to manipulate his vacuum cleaner. no sooner had he made up his mind to organize a family partnership concern than he set out to have the necessary forms of contract drafted and prepared. a great many fair ones nominated themselves as candidates for election, but as he was living under christian methods he could only accept one--which was annoying--no matter how eager he may have been to mormonize himself. they fluttered around him like moths about an electric arc, and they even deserted their former pre-emptions for the new float prospects. in due course the successful candidate was introduced to the legislature as a new member. the nuptials over, they migrated in the fall with the swallows to california, on their honeymoon, and, after escaping the earthquake, returned to their happy and beautiful home. there was a great eruption among the marriageable prospects of ashcroft, because many of them had dropped a real bone into the water in snapping at the illusory shadow. an indignation meeting was arranged at which it was resolved that the least prepossessing and most unlikely of the nominees had secured the winning majority. but love is a very contrary commodity, and a defect may be a virtue in the eyes of a hero-worshipper; and "my lady" was serenely happy in spite of her unpopularity with her rivals. hard times hance had sprouted from pauperdom and had bloomed into princedom, and his newly acquired partner placed the final mouldings and decorations to his life. they gave frequent balls and banquets, and the most select society in the environs clamored for admittance. to his wife the prince was a modern aladdin. she had but to wish and the wish was granted. "eaton's" catalogue was her bible, and it was her only food between meals; packages arrived daily with the regularity of the _vancouver province_. she had a standing order there for hats, dresses and kimonas, to be rushed out the moment the fashions changed. while before hance had taken a pleasure in saving, he now had a mania for spending money; and their merry marriage bells continued to ring for a few sweet years without ceasing. but gradually the spell wore off the self-made prince. the little creek, the long trail, the deep woods, the dug-out, and the salt pork barrel loomed up occasionally before his mind's eye. in absent-minded dreams he would find himself wandering among the stock on the range at his old ranch; or he would be drinking water from the creek in the old-fashioned, natural way; or chasing a deer at the other end of the long trail. his wife's sweet voice would recall him to the immediate, and in her presence he would regret his meditations. but it would be but temporary. what profits a man to gain the world, if he lose his peace of mind? "what! i unhappy among all this kingly paraphernalia, and with a queen wife?" he would ask himself, going down into the basement to replenish the furnace. with every shovelful of coal he would curse himself for his feebleness of mind. the charm was beginning to wear off. the sound of the singing creek and the wild wood noises were beginning to knock at his door. he was beginning to long for the old, wild life--the life of the wild man of the woods. he was like a coyote in confinement, walking backward and forward at the bars seeking release. he was a fish out of water gasping for its natural element, and his soul was languishing within him. he made desperate but vain efforts to enjoy his beautiful environs, and for a long time he sustained the "bluff." the piano became a bore to him; its music was not half so sweet as the creek song. the tapestry was not half so pleasing to the eye as the green foliage of the trees had been; his cement walk not so agreeable to his feet as had been the long, wild trail. the "icties" which had cost him thousands of dollars became to him like so much junk, and his beautiful home became a prison--so much does man become attached to mother earth. among all this junk one jewel still continued persistently to shine, however, and that gem was his wife; she was all he had left, next his heart, to balance against the thousands of dollars which he had squandered. a man's best comfort is his wife, and hance had fallen into the trap in the usual man-like way. his attraction for the modern in society had dwindled down to a single item--his love for his wife; and between this fire, and the fire of the old life, he remained poised. of course it would be madness to suggest that she return with him to the woods and adopt the adam and eve mode of society, so he kept his skeleton securely locked up. he had sold his farm for a song, but now he found it could not be re-bought for real money. the situation was hopeless. there was no retracing of steps. but still the old sounds could not be divorced from his ears; and the old salt-pork barrel was an unpardonable culprit. if he could only sit once again on the old stump which had not been hewn away in the centre of his dug-out, it would be a source of joy to him. if he could only smoke the old kin-i-kin-nick pipe, his appetite would be satisfied. one day he climbed into his auto and made a bee-line for the old ranch. he would have a rock on that old stump if it should cause a scandal in society. but the spot where the dug-out once stood was now bare. the cabin had been burned to the ground by the new proprietors. he went home like a whipped cur. a link in his beautiful past had vanished. an impassable chasm, of his own making, yawned between him and his desire, and he cursed the day which lured him away from his natural, green pastures. one day he disappeared entirely, and when he did not return for several days, and his wife was insane with grief, a search party was sent out in quest of him. they found him camping on the old trail, dressed in his aboriginal attire, eating beans and bacon with his knife, and chewing venison indian fashion. "this is the only square meal i have had since i left the woods," he said, when they captured him; and he filled his pipe with kin-i-kin-nick and puffed the sweet, mild fumes. he had returned to his natural element. "i have been rounding up stock," he said, "and i shot this buck just over the hill there. here, dig in, it is jake." he had to live among the steers, and the coyotes, and the wild trails in accordance with his early training; original things were his food. society, and his wife, demanded that he remain on the surface, but his aboriginal inclinations lured him to the woods; so, during six months of every year he was an indian to all intents and purposes. early in may he would load a cayuse with beans, bacon, canned milk, frying pan and blankets, and with this treasure he would take to the hills and bask the livelong summer among the junipers, the firs, and the spruces; and he would eat huckleberries, choke-cherries and soap-o-lalies, and smoke kin-i-kin-nick until his complexion assumed the tan of the chilcoten indian. the lure of the limelight had been great, but it had worn off just as soon as he had a surfeit of its false glories. he found that beans and bacon eaten with a knife were sweeter and more wholesome than "blanc mange," "consomme," or "café noir" cooked in french style, and served by a french chef. of the too sure man once upon a time, in the town of lillooet, county of lillooet, province of british columbia, there lived a man who was so sure of his footing that he closed his eyes and floundered along in the dark. when people told him there were chasms in front of him, or that there was ice on the trail ahead, he would not believe them, but put his fingers in his ears so that he could not hear, and thus became deaf and blind to his own interests. the people pestered him so much about his folly, and he learned to hate them so much for their interference in his personal matters, that he crossed the names of all his friends from his list of social possibilities, would recognize none of them, and refused to speak even when addressed; he thus became a blind, deaf and dumb mute. the result was that he ultimately slipped upon the ice on the trail, and fell into a chasm and has not been seen since. it was in the first days of the lillooet quartz discoveries. gold had been mined from cayuse creek, bridge river, and the fraser river, in uncountable ounces, in the free state, by the placer or hydraulic process of mining, for a great number of years, but the source of supply from which the free gold had originated had not yet been located. it was even doubted if there was any source of supply, although it was generally conceded that all gold was originally pilfered by the streams and rivers from the hard quartz-rocks of which the great mountains of cayuse creek and bridge river were formed. while some of the miners contented themselves with making wing-dams, turning streams from their natural courses, and scraping about the mud and gravel of the exposed beds for the pure, free gold, picking up nuggets at sight and capturing the "dust" with quicksilver, others, looking for bigger game, climbed the high mountains, tore the moss from their sides to expose the rock, and pounced upon every piece of "float" which would indicate the possible existence of a "mother lode" somewhere near at hand or higher up. the too sure man of this story was one of the latter. he had found a piece of "float rock" with a shining speck in it near where the nigger's cabin now stands on cayuse creek in the vicinity of lillooet, and he traced it to the very spot where it had dropped from the mountain above. there he discovered a ledge several feet wide full of shining specks, and he traced it with his eyes right to the bed of the creek. "all mine! all mine!" he shouted. now, he was a poor man, and he had a family--which made him poorer; but the sight of this precious piece of "float" with the gold sticking out of it, and the possession of this enormous ledge of gold-bearing quartz made him a millionaire in an instant. here was a whole mountain "lousy" with gold, all his! why, solomon or vanderbilt would be so small in the puddle that he would splash mud on them with his superior tread in the sweet "very soon." now, the b.c. law prevented him from staking off the entire lillooet district for himself, so he took in a friend (who luckily died before the crash came), and they appropriated as large a portion each of the district as the government at that time would allow. both of those men had good, steady, paying jobs at the time of the discovery, but the next day they threw down their tools--work was too cheap for them. the only thing that prevented them from buying an automobile right away on the instalment plan was the fact that the auto had not yet been invented. however, they had to do something to elevate themselves from the common, so they became extravagant in their domestic curriculum. having no money, the stores had to "carry them." and then they had their assessment work to do on the mine to enable them to hold the claim. they hired men to do this and gave them promissory notes payable by the claim at an indefinite period. when a man ceases work and begins to live on his "rainy day" money, or on the storekeeper, it does not take very long before he accumulates a burden greater than he can carry. when he begins to totter he tries to pass some of the load over to others, and it is usually the storekeepers who are willing to assist him to the limit if his assets are in good retrospect. and what could be a greater security than a whole mountain full of gold? so the storekeepers assumed a large portion of the too sure man's burden. and their loads became heavier and heavier. one day a company came along, attracted by the noise that had been made, and bonded the claims for a few hundred "plunks" down and the balance of one hundred thousand dollars in three months if they decided to take the claims over. the offer was gladly accepted, although they wondered why the company hesitated. this few hundred dollars enabled the too sure man to tide his family through the winter with warm and expensive clothing from the t. eaton co., of toronto, ontario, while the local grocery man's burden got heavier and heavier. it was during, all this time that the people had been cautioning him for his personal benefit. and it was during this time that the too sure man closed his ears, and his eyes, and his mouth, and became a blind, deaf and dumb mute. when the three months were up the company decamped, forfeiting their few hundred dollars, and then there was "something doing." the too sure man opened his eyes and his ears and his mouth all at the same time as far as ever he could. the claim had proved a failure, there was no gold, and only a slight trace on the surface. the local storekeepers, groaning under their load, asked him to relieve them, but he might just as well have tried to lift the mountain that held his worthless quartz ledge. it was just at this point of our story that he slipped on the ice and fell into the chasm. he disappeared, bag, baggage, and family; and in truth it was the only course open to him. to remain and work off his debt and sustain his family at the same time with the increasing pressure of the high cost of living holding him under, would have been an utter impossibility. the impending shock killed his partner, for he died before the crash came. the too sure man has a burden in lillooet supported by others which he can come and lift at any time, and welcome. of the unloved man once upon a time in ashcroft a bachelor fellow realized abruptly that he had never been loved by one of the opposite sex, although he had reached the age of two score and two, and had a great longing to have one included in his assessable personal property. now, as truth is stranger than fiction, the discovery staggered him. what was wrong? what machinery required adjusting? he had the sensation of a boycotted egg, and was in danger of spoiling before reaching the consuming market. so one day he perched himself on the sandhill and began to survey the environs for a solution to the problem. why should he be denied this one sweet dream? just think of it--no one had ever sympathized with him in his utter loneliness of bachelorhood. no girl had ever called him her "snooky ookums," and he had never had the opportunity of calling any fair vision his "tootsy wootsy." the horror of the situation was sufficient to stagger an empire. no girl had ever waited at the post-office corner for him. no girl had ever tapped on his office window on railway avenue and smiled back at him on her way home from the meat market. no girl had ever lingered outside for him that she might have the pleasure of his society home to lunch. he had to walk the bridge evenings and sundays alone, while others went in limited liability companies. once, when he was ill, no angel had volunteered to smooth his pillow, and a chinaman brought up delicacies left over from some other person's previous meal. he had no silent partner. none of the girls knew he had been ailing, and when he told them weeks after they feigned surprise. there seemed to be an unsurmountable stone wall between him and the sweet things of this world. so, day after day, in his leisure moments, he would pace the brow of the sandhill seeking in his mind for a solution to an issue that seemed unfathomable. was he ugly? no. was he repulsive? no. was he a woman hater? no. was he a criminal? no. had he offended the fair sex in any way? no. was he poor? no. did he belong to the human family? yes. with what disease then was he afflicted? was it heredity? could he cast the blame upon his ancestors? up and down the thompson valley he searched and searched but he could find no answer--even the echo would not speak. other fellows seemed to have no difficulty in getting themselves tangled up in the meshes of real beautiful love nets. even the young bucks who had no visible means of support for their own apparently useless avoirdupois, picked up the local gems before his eyes and had them hired out at interest to supply the new family with bread and butter. and all this in the face of the fact that _he_ was one of the most prodigious admirers of womankind that ever left his footprints on the sands of ashcroft. "the most flattering appointment a man can have is to be chosen the custodian of one woman," he said to himself. "life, to a man, is nothing if barred from an association of this kind." at last in despair he wrote to a correspondence paper, and put the whole case before them. "i am a young man, aged forty-two, unmarried. i want a solution to the problem why i am unmarried. i have tried and failed. i have had cupid working overtime for me, but he has failed to pierce any of the bosoms i have coveted. no woman has ever loved me, and although i am aware that it is better to have tried and failed than never to have tried at all, i may say that this affords very poor manna for my hunger." he received this answer:-- "young man"--(emphasis was placed upon the young)--"you are too slow. you are asleep, stagnant, dormant, hibernating. the whole world is 'beating you to it.' get over your baby superstition about love, and 'get busy.'" the letter dropped from his fingers as though it had been his monthly grocery bill. "heavens!" he exclaimed, "here is the solution to the whole mystery.--forget love and 'get busy.'" instead of expecting to be loved, he would love. if he could not get one who would want _him_, he would get one he wanted himself. now, he had had such an admiration for the fair sex as a whole, that he could not concentrate his attention on the individual one. he had been trying to extract a cinder from the eye of the opposition when he could not see properly owing to having a large obstacle in his own eye. however, he proceeded to "get busy." but what vision would he "get busy" on? every woman had an attraction peculiar to herself, one of which could not be said to extinguish the other. and then, most of them were "staked off." one fellow or another had "strings" on every one he approached. but he kept on fishing with all his might. in the meantime it came to pass that the girls continued to cast their spells upon almost anyone but him; even the itinerant stranger who just chanced along "hitting the high spots," and "travelling on his face" came in for large portions of the "sweet stuff" that was being cast lavishly abroad. it seemed cruel that he who had such an admiration for those on the other side of the house, and who had such an ambition to own one as an asset, should be so unmercifully neglected. his efforts to catch a wife by the legitimate method, according to his idea, had ended like a fishing expedition in the off season in the thompson river. about this time he found that the nomads were catching all the fish. he made up his mind to become a nomad and be a wanderer on the face of the cariboo district. he could not love. he resigned his position in ashcroft and migrated up the cariboo road. he invaded lillooet, clinton, mile house, soda creek, quesnel, barkerville and fort george. to secure a wife he became an itinerant. within the space of a year he was back at his position at ashcroft more lonely than ever. it was of no avail--he was hoodooed. he could not love. at this juncture he made another and final discovery, and it was the most important one he had made at this period of his renaissance. he found out that "get busy" had two meanings. it meant "forget love of all kinds and go to it in a business-like way." this had been a chronic case of a man, in his ignorance, who was prospecting around the hills of this british columbia of ours for a metal that had no existence. he did not know that ninety out of every hundred marriages resulted merely from convenience, or a mere desire to be married on the part of the man, and the love of a private home on the part of the woman; that nine out of the remaining ten were marriages in which one of the parties only was the love-giver, and that the remaining one was the ideal, in which love was mutual and beautiful. this ashcroft bachelor fellow was a sentimental monstrosity. he was imbued with the superstition that one must love, and be loved, before one could marry. no aphorism could be further removed from the truth. the glaring realism dawned upon him that it was quite possible for a person to flounder through this world and be entirely immune from the love epidemic; that few people ever marry the one they do really love, that some are never sought after by one of the opposite sex during their whole life, only in a business-like way; that modern society was too busy to entertain such a silly superstition as love--that cupid was a dead issue. he had been waiting until he fell in love or till someone fell in love with him, and thus opportunity had been knocking at his door all those years in vain. when he had joined the iconoclast society, and had shattered this pet idol of his, he began to look around for a wife in the same manner as he would for a car of ashcroft potatoes--and he soon "landed" one branded with the "big a." and the amusing part of it is they lived happily--all of which goes to prove our contention that those who love before marriage are not always the happier after their nuptials; and sometimes it is a mere matter of making the best of a bad bargain, and you will be perfectly happy though married, even if your stock in trade of the love commodity is very much impoverished. of the chief who was bigger than he looked once upon a time in the thompson valley there lived a mighty warrior kookpi (chief) called netaskit. he was chief of all the shuswaps. his name had become a household word the entire length and breadth of the pacific coast, and the tribes along the fraser river and the pemberton meadows had knowledge, through many sad experiences, of his bravery and daring. among his own people his word was law, and to show the white feather in the face of an enemy meant certain court martial and death at his hands. although his subjects feared him, they respected him beyond belief; and to serve him was considered a great honor. it is not our purpose to convey the impression that this kookpi was cruel, treacherous, cold-blooded and selfish only, and a man who had no other ambition than war and the spoils of war. no, if he was a fiend on the battlefield, he was a lamb at home. he had a soft side that battled with the concrete in him at times. his weakness was his insane love for woman, and in his own kikwilly house (home) he was as timid as the smumtum (rabbit). his respect for cupid had as much avoirdupois as his respect for mars. his love for his wife was an insane love--it far outdid his love for his chiefdom. and he had a wife who was worthy of him and as faithful to him as he was to her--she adored the very skins he wore across his shoulders. being happily united himself, and having such a respect for cupid and the fair sex, he passed a law that no man or woman should take unto themselves a partner for life until thoroughly satisfied and convinced that the love flames between them would be of everlasting duration, and were genuine. "woman," he said, "was made to be loved, and not enslaved. my consideration for the welfare of our women exceeds that for our men, because man is so constituted as to be more able to take care of himself." so much was this old prehistoric chief away ahead of his dark, heathen times. but this masculine weakness of his was nearly his undoing with his warriors, as we shall see. one day a rumor went abroad that the statlemulth (lillooet indians) were making their way through the marble canyon, and down hat creek, to attack the shuswaps on the bonaparte, in revenge for some misdemeanor at some former time, on the part of the latter. it was just about the time of the year when the shuswaps were in the habit of invading the fraser river at pavilion for their winter supply of salmon; and, to be cut off from this source of revenue would mean a great deal to the bonaparte indians. the invading army must be met and the entire band put to death, or made prisoners. telephone messages in indian fashion were flashed from kikwilly house to kikwilly house, and in a couple of days the entire strength of the shuswaps was gathered in a great army with netaskit at its head. the march began at an early hour the following morning, and the enemy was met near the mouth of the canyon where they had called a halt for the purpose of hunting and putting up o-lil-ies (berries). in a moment the air was filled with war whoops, and the arrows flew thick and fast. the women took to their heels and ran the moment the fray began, and they did not stop until they reached squilachwah (pavilion) near the fraser river. the smumtum and the groundhog betook themselves to the high mountains, so great was the battle, and their fright--and it is only within recent years that they have ventured back to that spot. the battle raged loud and long. netaskit was in the thick of the fight and claimed that he had killed twenty of the enemy with his own bow. many were wounded and slain on both sides; but the shuswaps won the day, and they led home in triumph fifty prisoners. and now comes the most interesting part of our story. a counsel of war was held, and it was decided that the prisoners should be put to death the following day. when the time arrived, the unfortunate men were brought out, bound with thongs hand and foot and placed in line near the big chief's wigwam. fifty victors were lined up in front of them with their bows and arrows ready to shoot at the word of command from their chief, who was pacing up and down in his dignity and anger. suddenly the love demon took possession of him. he thought of his love for his wife--her love for him. he pictured to himself his possible death and the agony of his widow. he pictured her death and his own agony of mind at his loss. he shuddered as the messages flashed through his mind. he looked at the unfortunate victims--he thought of their women--sweethearts, wives. "halt!" he shouted to his men. and turning to the wretches before him he said: "statlemulth! listen. you have committed a great wrong in making this expedition against the shuswaps. the ko-cha kookpi (god) is very angry. you should be shot dead but you can save yourselves. listen. i will pardon every man of you who can produce a wife or a sweetheart who can prove to my satisfaction that her love for you is greater than the voice of the thompson, and fiercer than the roar of the fraser." "never!" shouted the tribesmen, and every bow and arrow was turned simultaneously upon the chief. "slaves! cowards!" thundered the enraged and fearless kookpi, like a mountain lion in pain. in a moment every bow and arrow fell by its warrior's side. as the consequence of this act on the part of his subjects is of no importance to this story, we will leave it to the reader's imagination just what sort of punishment was doled out to them. it is safe to say, however, that netaskit was too wise a kookpi to order the death of so many brave followers, as this means of gratifying his wounded pride would simply mean the weakening of the tribe, and would put his own life in jeopardy. a message was sent to the lillooet illihae (country) with the glad tidings, and at the close of two days a swarm of smootlatches (women), and keekas (girls), rushed into camp breathless, and began hysterically searching for their respective sweethearts or husbands among the prisoners. the scene was more than poetic; and it was pathetic in the extreme. it was a scene that had not occurred before on the broad surface of the earth--those fifty distracted squaws rushing into the jaws of death in their eagerness to rescue the ones without whom life would be empty, useless, aimless. it is said that it melted the heart of the very rocks about the place, so that to this day the surface of the earth at that spot betrays evidence of having at one time been running lava. the captives were lined up before the kookpi's kikwilly house, and the little army of love-mad squaws, awful in their primitiveness, rushed at the line, selected their respective skiuchs (men), and clung to them, hugged them, kissed them wildly in the awful heat of their passion, each in her eagerness to save one at all hazards for her own selfish, but natural self. and no power on earth could tear them asunder. it melted the hearts of the victors so that they called out with one voice: "go, you have won!" and as they moved away shouting, and laughing, and dancing, netaskit was seen to weep, so great was his respect for cupid. "o woman! woman!" he was heard to exclaim. and this is the reason there is so much harmony between the statlemulth and the shuswap to-day. of simple simon up to date once upon a time in ashcroft there lived a "simon" who had no knowledge of the purchasing value of his salary asset. he did not know that its buying powers were narrowed down to bread and butter and overalls; and as a consequence he was victimized down into a very precarious financial predicament, to say nothing about the valuable and most vigorous and productive years of his life, that were thrown into the scrap heap of time, and had to be cancelled from his list of revenue-producers. when you contemplate a steady wage asset of one hundred dollars per month coming in with the regularity of clockwork and as sure as the first day comes around (and the months go by very quickly), you think you are in a fair way to make some of the local financiers look very cheap in a few years to come. why, this means twelve hundred dollars every time the earth circumnavigates the sun, and is sixty thousand dollars in fifty years, which is not very long to a man if he can start just as soon as he passes the entrance and can build on no intervening lay-off by getting on the wrong side of the boss. but when we offset with our liabilities, such as tobacco money, moving picture money, car fare, gasoline, rent, taxes, repairs to the auto, and other trifling incidentals such as food and clothing, we find at the end of the lunar excursion that there is no balance to salt down on the right side of our ledger, and our little castle becomes submerged because it was built with its foundation on the shifting sands. but for all that, if a man and his money could be left alone--if money were not such an envy-producer--if a man with money had not so many friends and admirers and strangers who love him at first sight--all might yet be well; and though he might not outclass some of the most corpulent magnates, he might in time acquire considerable moss in his own private, insignificant, simple-simon sort of way. but the laws of nature have willed otherwise, and the strongest of us know that it is needless to go into litigation with the laws of gravitation, or spontaneous combustion. among the workings of nature (which some people say are all for the best), there is a class of men who have, rather truthfully, been called "sharks" on account of their fishlike habit of pouncing upon suckers unawares and without the legal three days' grace being given, and of loading them into their stomachs--finances and all--before the person has time to draw and throw his harpoon. it all happens while you are taking a mouthful of tea, or while you are reading the locals in the _ashcroft journal_, and when the spell leaves, you find that you have endorsed a proposition with a financial payment down, and the balance subject to call when you are very much financially embarrassed indeed. simple simon was one of those men who move about this world unprotected and without having their wits about them. he was not a sawfish, or a swordfish. so one day when he was walking up railway avenue--it was just the day after he had told someone that he had five hundred dollars of scrapings salted down, which was earning three per cent, at the local bank--a very pretentious gentleman, spotlessly attired, accosted him: "pardon me. are you mr. simon?" "i have that asset," said simple, wondering how the aristocratic stranger had known him. "i thought so. i knew at a glance. the fact is, i have just been speaking with mr. c. quick." (this was a lie. mr. c. quick was one of the money magnates of ashcroft, but had not hired out his name as an endorsement)--"and he recommended you to me as one of the leading men of the town." (this was a ruse, but it hit the bull's eye, and at the final count was one of the most telling shots.) "i am pleased to meet you," said simple. "and so am i," said the shark. "as a matter of fact, i only approach the better part of any community," he continued, pulling in on the line. "to tell you the truth, mr. c. quick said you were the only man in the town who had both foundation and substantial structure from your roots up," and he laughed a broad sort of "horse-laugh," and slapped simon on the shoulder. "you see, with a proposition such as i have there is little use going to any but men of the greatest intelligence--those are the ones who understand the magnitude and the security and the ultimate paying certainties of the proposition which i have to offer you. you may consider yourself fortunate. it is not everyone who has the opportunity to get in on the ground floor, as it were, on a sure thing money-accumulating business. by the way, where is your office?" simon led the shark to his private dug-out on brink street, and showed him into one of his cane-bottomed thrones, while he himself sat on the yet unlaundered bed. "of course you understand all about joint stock companies, trust fund companies, municipal bonds and debentures," said the magnate, unrolling a bundle of unintelligible papyrus showing assets which did not exist, and spreading them out on the bed in front of his victim. the whole system had been premeditated and had been systematically worked out. "now," said the shark, pointing at long and encouraging figures, "those are assets and these are our liabilities; and besides we have a million dollar government endorsement. now, the fact of the matter is this. you have a few dollars. i have a few dollars; tom, dick and harry have a few dollars, and so have jessie and josie. now, those little private funds which we all cherish and fondle, and hug to our bosoms, and jingle in our pockets, are of no use to us. they are dead. of course they are earning three per cent, at the b.n.a. or the northern crown--what bank do you deposit with?--of course, it does not matter; there is no competition among them; they pay you three per cent. and charge you ten per cent. now, we are very much different. we give you all your money will make--if it is ten, twenty, thirty, fifty, or one hundred per cent. see? "now, the fact of the matter is this: as i said before, those small individual fortunes are of no use to us individually; they have no earning power; they will not buy anything. but, put them all together--ah! the result is magical. you see, it is the aggregate that counts. now with this theory in view, our company gets to work and canvasses the country and it gathers together thousands of little, useless, insignificant, unproductive funds like yours and mine and joins them together into one vast, giant aggregate which we call a trust fund. i see it is appealing to you. it could not be otherwise. now, with this aggregate, you, and i, and everyone can own vast estates, buy forty-year debentures, lend money on approved security, buy real estate, the unearned increment of which will net in some cases two or three hundred per cent. interest, besides an increased valuation on the original sum invested." perhaps every living man in the dominion of canada and the united states who betrays the least pretensions to having any money in his possession has heard a harangue of this kind many times in his life, and it is just as certain that the first time he heard it he was stung. now, simon was no exception to the rule, which proves that we are not all swordfish. he felt himself being hypnotized, magnetized, charmed. he pictured himself as personal owner of lots, houses, acres--a joint owner of vast tracts of land along the g.t.p. or c.n.r.; and the shark showed him a facsimile of the certificates that would be issued to him when his shares were paid up in full. they were very neat and legal-like, and a man should be proud to own one of them. "you see," said the magnate, as he realized that he had the victim falling into his trap, "we do not require to sell any more shares; we are doing well enough now, and some say we should leave well enough alone. but, a corporation of the nature of ours cannot rest on its oars; we must reach out for greater and better things, and to accomplish this we must have more capital. the fact is, a proposition has just been put to us, the nature of which i am not just now at liberty to divulge, but it is a sure winner. but it takes capital, as i said before, and we are compelled to sell some more stock. and, after all, it will be you and i who will benefit, and a hundred or more favored ones who have small savings which are netting them nothing at present, and the principal of which is rusting in the bank at three per cent. "now, to come down to business. will you join us? now, i am not going to press you. there are hundreds too willing; but remember, you will regret it if you lose this chance of a lifetime. opportunity is knocking at your door; seize it by the fore-lock. "the proposition i have to put before you is this: we are selling shares at one hundred dollars each, but if you have not the cash now, we will allow you six, twelve and eighteen months on the balance with a payment of five hundred dollars down if you buy twenty shares. the reason we are able to make such liberal offers is that we receive the same terms in buying up debentures." simon was completely victimized. his tormentor might just as well have addressed him in latin, for he knew so little about debentures, joint stock funds and the intricacies of high finance that he could not follow the promoter and was completely dazzled with the obscurity and eloquence of the language. and then the magnate spoke so rapidly that only lightning could keep up with him. the result was that simon fell into the trap and was pinched. he not only gave away all his rainy day money, but he burdened himself with a debt, which, to a working man, was a mountain, and more than he could carry. he sold his house to meet the next two payments, and just as the third payment came due the company went into liquidation, and it consumed all their available assets to discover that there was nothing left for the shareholders. and simple simon began life over again. of the high class eskimo away up in the great northland, even further north than the northern boundary of british columbia, there lives a race of people who form, and have formed, no part of the great human civilization of the world which has been, and is going on in the more moderately climatic regions of the earth. for centuries they have lived apart, and have taken no notice of the big world which has been, and is living itself to death far from them down in the indolent south, where the sun could shine every day in the year--where it did shine every day that it was not cloudy, and where there was no long, dreary, dark midnight of at least four months' duration; where the sun did not dip beneath the horizon at about the beginning of october, and disappear, not to be seen again until the end of march; where, in some parts, there was no snow, while in others only for a few weeks during the year. no snow! no ice! can you imagine such a condition? and up there it is almost the eskimo's only commodity. he eats it, drinks it, lives in it, sleeps on it, and his castle is built of it. and he endures it year after year, from his babyhood to his gray days, and there appears no hope for him. bare ground is a curiosity to the eskimo; and there are no spring freshets. their bridges across their streams are formed of ice; the very salt sea is covered with it; and they venture out on those great floors of ice in search of the polar bear and the right whale which form almost their only food, and supply them with their only source of clothing, heat and light. in the midst of his narrow and cramped circumstances the eskimo can laugh at times as heartily as any other human, and he has grown extremely low in stature to accommodate himself to the small opening which gives access to his igloo (house). the average man or woman does not exceed much over four feet. no other explanation seems to have been offered by science for the extreme dwarfishness in stature of this curious race of people. like the polar bear--almost their only associate in those northern and frozen wilds--the idea never occurred to this people to migrate south where the earth is bare and warm, and is clothed in a green mantle; where the sun shines every day; where the land is flowing with milk and honey; where peaches and water melons grow, and where it is not necessary to go through a hole in the ice to take a bath. no, this strange people, whose food is ice, whose bed is ice, whose home is ice, and whose grave is ice, are part and parcel of the snowy north; and they live on, apparently happy and contented with their hard life and uncongenial environment. where the white man begins to be uncomfortable, the eskimo begins to be at home. where the white man leaves off the eskimo begins, and his haunts penetrate away into the far north--into the land of perpetual ice and snow. where we go only to explore he builds his permanent abode. but this is not a history of the geographical distribution of men; it is to be the story of an eskimo who went astray according to the moral ideals of his immediate tribesmen. once upon a time there lived in this northland of which we have been speaking a young native who had mysteriously arrived at the conclusion that the life of an eskimo was a very narrow and fruitless existence indeed, and that the conditions under which they lived were totally inadequate to supply the demands of a twentieth century human being. in the midst of the other members of the family he assumed an attitude of weariness and contempt for his associates and environs. "one may as well associate with a polar bear," he soliloquized. "man was made to accomplish things; the eskimo is no further advanced in the scale of living, organic beings, to all intent and purpose, than the polar bear, or the walrus. he is born, lives, eats, sleeps, hunts, kills, dies, and is buried in the cold frozen earth, if he does not fall through a hole in the ice into the bottomless sea. to the south of us is a great healthy world where men live; where they have discovered all that the world has to give, and where they enjoy those things to the utmost; where they read and write and take records of their doings. me for the south!" he shouted, and he made up his mind to migrate at the first opportunity and be in the swim with men. "i must learn to read and write and think, even if i have to forget my own language," he declared. now, it came to pass that as he was soliloquizing as above one morning, a girl appeared before him. she was so muffled up in furs that only an eskimo could distinguish whether the bundle was male or female. she sat down beside him and placed her short, stubby, muffled arm as far around his neck as it would go, and in this attitude she coaxed, and begged, and prayed, and argued with him, thinking that she might resurrect him to himself again. but when she found that his mania was for the south, she wept as only woman can weep the whole world over, even in the far north where the tears are in danger of freezing to her cheeks. but he, in his brutish, advanced-thought sort of way, pushed her from him. "if you love me you will help me to go," he said. "if you love me you will stay," she responded. he rose and moved towards his igloo; she followed. he crawled like a bear through the thirty feet or more of narrow tunnel which led into the hut proper. she did likewise. in the igloo he threw himself down on the ice floor among the squalor and quantities of bear meat in various stages of decomposition. the smell from the whale-oil lamp almost choked him. the girl sat down and continued to cling to him. "let me go to the south and i will make a lady of you," he said. "i will give you gold and silver and feather beds. these environs are not fit for a bear to hibernate in. just think of our branch of the human family existing and suffering up here among the ice and snow for thousands of years and not having advanced one step from the hovel in which we were first produced? is the eskimo destined to everlasting failure--perpetual degeneration? must you and i be satisfied and consent to endure this animal existence to the end of our days because it is our only heritage from our ancestors? no! i say, a thousand times no. i am ashamed of myself, my ancestors and my entire race," he shouted, and the girl almost trembled in fear of him. he must surely be demented. but she still clung to him, thinking that her enchanting presence might cure him. thus love can be a very warm thing even up among the cold ice and snow. their cold, half frozen cheeks came together and she kissed him. "stay," she murmured, coaxingly, as only a woman can. "i will take passage south," he continued unheedingly, "and will plunge myself into the midst of the big, busy, warm world, and will gain with one bound that social condition which it has taken the white man thousands of years to attain." now, after all, was this man not right, and is the eskimo not to be pitied? the girl, seeing that her whole world was about to vanish from her, left the igloo weeping, and again crawled like a bear through the narrow tunnel to the colder world outside. one day when the sun was just about to make its appearance above the horizon, and the long night was nearly at an end, two half starved and partially frozen white men burrowed their way into our hero's igloo and asked for food and shelter. the night had been long, dreary, dark and cold, and the approaching return of the sun was welcomed like a prodigal. is it a wonder then that the eskimo worships the sun? it seems his only hope, his only comfort; and it would seem to him, more than to any other, the source of all life, his only friend in his dire need. the eskimo offered the two strangers some meat, which they devoured greedily; and then they told a long, pitiful story. they were explorers. their ship had been crushed hopelessly between masses of ice. fifty had started on the long journey south. provisions gave out. men had dropped off daily. the trail was one long line of frozen corpses stretched out in the dark and silent night. they two alone had survived, so far as the strangers were able to tell. it was the usual tale of woe which befalls the arctic or antarctic explorers. beginning happily, hopefully, buoyantly; ending in misery, sorrow and death. the strangers wanted a guide to lead them to the south--to civilization and warmth. they had not known what it was to be comfortable for two years; and they had not seen one square inch of bare ground during that period. "oh, for a sight of mother earth!" they shouted. "we would gladly eat the soil, and chew the bark from the trees." thus one does not appreciate the most trivial and simple but indispensable things until one is deprived of them for a period of more or less duration. our hero agreed to guide them so far as his knowledge extended--even to the very gateway between the north and south lands--if they would guarantee to guide him from that point into their own big, beautiful world further on; they taking the helm when his usefulness as a guide would be exhausted; and he explained his ambition to them. so, one morning when summer was approaching, and the sun, for the first time in the year was sending her streamers above the horizon, and when his sweetheart lola stood with arms outstretched over the cold snow and ice towards him, pleading and sending forth her last appeal to his stony heart, he walked out across the white table-land towards the south, and was soon a small black speck in the far horizon. when the strange expedition reached dawson they discarded their hibernating costumes and substituted more modern ones, not so much because they were out of fashion, but because they rendered them somewhat uncomfortable. at this point the white men grasped the helm and the eskimo followed. at fort fraser our hero discarded more of his clothing, and at quesnel he became determined to strip himself. "i cannot stand this heat," he said; "why, it will kill me." "heat? kill you?" exclaimed his two companions. "why, the thermometer is scarcely above the freezing point. if this moderate climate makes you uncomfortable, what will be your condition in california? why, you will melt away like a candle beside a red-hot stove." and thus they joked with him, not taking him seriously. so they sailed along and in due time reached ashcroft. the eskimo perspired to such an extent that his condition threatened to become dangerous. the slightest covering of clothing became a burden to him, and it was only with the greatest difficulty that his companions could prevent him from stripping himself naked. they persuaded him that he should return before it was too late, but he would not hear of it. "i have made my nest; i will sit in it to the bitter end," he said. they boarded the midnight train, and in a few moments he was fleeing to the sunny south a great deal faster than ever dog team or sledge had taken him across the frozen plateau. and the farther south he went the more he suffered from the heat, until he was in great danger of melting away. and then the truth dawned upon him; it had never occurred to him before. he was a fish trying to live out of water. he discovered that what his mind had pictured, and his heart had longed for, his constitution could not endure. he was doomed to live and die in the frozen north. oh, those savage, unprogressive, half-animal ancestors! and for the first time he thought of his igloo, his dog teams, the polar bear, and the little woman who had pleaded with him to remain; and he saw her standing as he had left her with outstretched arms, while her very heart tissue was being torn asunder. "oh, for the ice and snow and the long, dark night," he exclaimed; "anything but this awful heat." when they reached san francisco he was almost insane, and his condition became critical; and, as if to punish him for his folly, the heat became intense for a few days. they rushed him to the sea shore and he plunged into the water, and refused to come out again. those were the most congenial surroundings he had found since he left the frozen north. he was in such misery that he did not have time to enjoy the wonders of civilization which he had risked so much to see. thus does distance lend enchantment to the view. this was an instance of how a man had grown up with his environment--had inherited qualities or weaknesses applicable to his surroundings, had breathed the air of one planet so long that the atmosphere of another was poison to him. he had envied others a lot which it was constitutionally impossible for him to emulate. and he wept for his hereditary infirmities and failings. could a man be blamed for regretting his ancestors and cursing the fate, or the necessity which drove them into those northern fastnesses at the early stages of their existence? here again the white man was to blame, for he, in his eagerness and greed, had seized upon the cream of the earth for himself and had driven all inferior or weaker peoples to all the four corners of the globe. and of all the unfortunate, subordinate races, the eskimo was the most unfortunate, and their condition savored of discrimination on the part of the powers that governed or ordained things. as our hero had only one ambition while in the north--an insane notion to go south--he had only one ambition while in california--an overpowering ambition to go north. "oh, for a mantle of snow, and a canopy of ice!" he shouted. "and, oh, for one touch on mine of my lola's cold, sweet cheek. oh, for the frozen, hopeless northland, even if its condition means the perpetual doom and obliteration of the whole eskimo race!" they shipped him north as fast as steam could carry him, and from dawson he went on foot, becoming day by day more and more his natural self. when he neared his igloo he found his lola standing with outstretched arms to welcome him even as she had mourned his departure, and he realized for the first time that the love and companionship of one woman is worth more than all the riches and wonders of the world put together. they embraced each other with the grip of a vice, in the awful power of their natures, and their affection was as genuine as the most civilized variety. and there he threw himself on the earth and hugged the snow of his dear northland. of the sweet young things once upon a time in ashcroft a very foolish young man married a very foolish young lady. they were foolish in so far as they had entered a matrimonial partnership without the preliminary requisite of love. he married because he wanted a wife, as all good men do; she married because she wanted a home, as all good women do. but, as we have said, they married too hastily in their eagerness for those mere mundane pleasures. each had been known to lie awake many nights before their marriage summing up the situation, and putting two and two together; but, as they were both liberal in their political views, and had no conservative opposition, the two and two always made four without a decimal remainder, and the house voted for marriage with an overwhelming majority. so they became legally united before they were morally mature for love, and before they had formal introduction to the great things of the world. after the solemnization of their marriage they adjourned to a beautiful little home which had been made to order; and it was guarded by a beautiful garden of eden. for a short time everything went merry as the ashcroft curlers' ball. her happiness was all he lived for, and his comfort was the only excuse she could find for living. nothing was too good for his maud; no man was like her manfred. they each congratulated themselves that they had hooked the best fish from the thompson. there was nothing in the world outside of their own sweet lives. how others could live outside of _their_ sphere was a mystery to them; and the hugs and kisses which they did not treat themselves to daily would be of no commercial value as a love asset. for the first few weeks they spent their evenings with their tentacles wound around each other so tightly that they would have passed for one animal; but they had not been welded by that permanent binding quality which is essential to perpetual happiness. their natures seemed to blend, but it was only a case of superfluous friendship between them. they had no reason to fall out, no excuse to quarrel. they had one mind, one ambition, and they had agreed, mutually, to salt down a few "plunks" each payday for their anticipated gray days. in fact, they seemed better "cut out" for each other than many who marry loving desperately and savagely. in a few sweet years they had a few sweet children, and life was one sweet dream. but they did not love each other, and without oxygen the lights ultimately became extinguished. but this was only because the ironies of fate had discovered that they were too happy, and that something must be done to damage their heavenliness. the honeymoon might, otherwise, have lasted all their long lives without interruption. but fate decreed that the clouds should gather from the north, south, east and west to obliterate their sun. it happened in the shape of two monsters in the form of flossy and freddy. flossy and freddy were float rocks. they had been picked up by maud and manfred on their face value and welcomed to the family circle. they had been assayed at the provincial assay office and found to contain a valuable percentage of real collateral; so our hero and heroine could not be reproached for taking them into their arms and allowing them the freedom of their home pastures. but, ah! this is where the evil one sneaked on to the happy hearth-rug--they took the strangers into their arms. they were all young; and, moreover, human. what could they do when the failings of their ancestors of a million years took them in an iron grip and led them in a hypnotic spell toward the brink of ruin? they were as helpless as the liberals in b.c. politics in the year . we have often quoted that every one must love one of the opposite sex at least once in a lifetime, and our hero and heroine were not immune from this stern gravitation law, because they were only human after all. what was the consequence? maud fell hopelessly in love with fred, and manfred lost his conscience, his manhood, his heart, his soul, his brains, his job and his salary over the flossy vision. they had fallen foul of a strong conservative party, and civil war broke out. the former happy couple looked upon each other as intruders, as disturbers of the peace. while before they could not get close enough, now they could not get far enough apart. manfred would enjoy his evenings at the ball or opera with flossy, while fred would entertain maud, much to her pleasure, at home. the wife hated to see her husband come home at all, but she went into hysterics when fred arrived. when fred and flossy were away, or absent, goodness knows where, the once happy home was like a lunatic asylum, in which the mania with the inmates was a total disregard of each other, and where language was unknown. the husband and wife drifted further and further apart. they ceased to smile, ceased to know each other, ceased to see each other. they were like a lion and a tiger in the same cage. as time went on the once happy home became a horrid prison. the children became detestable brats who were stumbling-blocks to their ambitions. manfred cooked his own meals, or ate at the "french" café. maud had to purchase food and clothing from the local emporium with money she had saved up before marriage while waiting table at the "best" hotel. finance became frenzied, for manfred spent both principal, interest and sinking fund on his affinity. starvation and the cold world were staring them in the face, for the wolf and the collection man were howling at the door. the city cut off their light and water supply for non-payment of dues, and were about to seize the property for arrears; so they were on the water wagon and in darkness, but still they would not regain consciousness. the usual course of events did not apply in this strange case. there was no jealousy floating on the surface on the part of the husband and wife. maud ignored manfred's insane attitude towards flossy because she had the same love-blind sickness and could see no one but fred. far from being jealous, manfred viewed his wife in the light of a white man's burden which he could not shake off. christian's burden was fiction beside it. flossy was the only star in his firmament--the only toad in his puddle. the children were neglected, and ran wild in the bush. it was as though some great belgian calamity had overtaken the household and had riven it asunder. the garden lost its lustre, irrigation was discontinued, the fruit trees lost their leaves prematurely; the very willows wept. the pickets fell from the fence unheeded; the stovepipe smoked, and the chickens laid away in the neighbor's yard. the house assumed the appearance of a deserted sty. divorce was suggested inwardly--that modern refuge to which the weak-minded flee in seeking a drastic cure for a temporary ailment; and all this disruption in two hearts which had tripped along together so smoothly and pleasantly. surely love, misapplied, is a curse. it is surely sometimes a severe form of insanity. if so, those two were insane, just waiting for the pressure to be removed from the brain. and, theirs was a pitiful and unfruitful case indeed. they were-- thirst crazed; fastened to a tree, by a sweet river running free. in the meantime fred and flossy were having "barrels" of amusement at the expense of the demented ones. fred and flossy were perhaps in the wrong in causing such an upheaval in a very model household. but they were young, and the mischief had taken root before they suspected that any such danger was in existence. when the awfulness of the situation dawned upon them they looked at each other one day in the interrogative and agreed that the poisonous weed should be uprooted. but since it had grown to such proportions it was difficult to arrive at a means by which the evil could be strangled. now fred and flossy loved each other, and the lady was just waiting for the gentleman to put the motion, so that she would have an opportunity to second it. the thirst-crazed husband and wife, however, were too blind to observe that anything unusual existed between their two friends, and they continued to float down that smooth but awful river to destruction. "why does she not die?" whispered the demon within the man. "why does he not fall into the thompson and get drowned for accommodation?" questioned the evil one in the heart of the woman. at last the eruption became "vesuvian," and the ashes from the crater threatened to re-bury pompeii--we mean ashcroft. thoughts of suicide as the only means of relief bubbled up at intervals. "give me love or give me death," they shouted when the fever was at its highest. it is impossible to say just how this war would have ended if an unforeseen neutral incident had not brought an influence to bear which made a continuation of the conflict an impossible and aimless task. one day the deaf, and dumb, and blind husband and wife were sitting by the neutral hearth as far apart as it was possible to be removed and yet be able to enjoy the friendly heat of the neutral air-tight heater. the neutral cat jumped up on the husband's knee, but in his belligerent mood he dashed it to the floor. the wife picked it up and stroked its sleek fur. the neutral children were out in the garden abusing the flowers and breaking pickets from the fence; and one had an old saw and was sawing at the trimmings of the cottage like a woodsman sawing down a cedar at the coast. there was rustling of a lady's skirt, and the tramp of hurried feet on the garden path outside. the next moment the door was pushed open and fred and flossy dashed in, laughing like to split their sides. "you tell them," said fred. "no, you," said flossy, blushing deeply. "no, you," said fred, and he seized flossy's hand. "well, you know, fred has--" she began. "to make a long story short," said fred, "we are to be married, and the date has been fixed for june." when vesuvius buried up pompeii the people could not have been more horrified than the belligerent husband and wife. they looked at each other for the first time in six months. the man pitied the woman, and cursed himself for crossing swords with her. the woman at once recognized her husband as a hero, and was ashamed of herself. they each waited for the other to make the first confession, but it was left to both. they sprang into each other's arms and became welded for life in one beautiful but awful squeeze. the fright had cured them. it had opened their eyes to the realization of the ridiculousness of the situation, and revealed the criminality of their past behavior. the volcano ceased to pour forth lava. the earth-tremblings became still. the sun peeped out from behind the clouds. manfred got back his job on the railway. the water and light arrears were paid up. the fence was repaired, and the garden irrigated. the children were called in from the woods and curried down. kisses and smiles took the place of scowls and curses. the sideboard was replenished, and the hens were persuaded to work for their own family. even the willows ceased to weep; and, oh, my! but it was a beautiful resurrection. and thus paradise was gained again. of the two ladies in contrast once upon a time in ashcroft two ladies were thrown into the same society; because in ashcroft there is only one class. when any function took place the glad hand was extended to one and all. for every dollar possessed by one of the ladies' husbands the other husband had five. mrs. fivedollars was very extravagant in her dress and domestic department, and mrs. onedollar was very envious and ambitious. the husband of the one dollar variety was more or less of a henpeck because he could not multiply his income by five and produce a concrete result. it was a very predominating mania with mrs. onedollar to shine in society with as great a number of amperes as her rival; and this ambition gave rise to one of the greatest domestic civil wars that ashcroft has even seen. mrs. fivedollars had no envy. there was no corner in the remote recesses of her heart rented by this mischievous goddess. she made no effort to "outfashion" fashion or to outshine her neighbors. what she displayed in dress did not extend beyond the natural female instincts for attire. of course she had no cause to be envious, being by far the best dressed lady in town without undue effort. mrs. onedollar viewed the situation from a social apex, and the more she studied the situation the more she realized that the world was discriminating against her. from being the best of friends, they developed into the most deadly of enemies. now, it came to pass that the husbands of those two ladies were the best of friends. they met frequently in the "best" and "next best" hotels and drank healths in the most harmless and jolly manner. they often met at their places of business and exchanged ideas. they had business relations with each other which terminated to the advantage of both. to quarrel with each other, to them, was much the same as to quarrel with their bread and butter. they had absolutely no ambitions with regard to their personal appearance. they had a suit of clothes each; when that was old or shabby they got another one. but, in this respect, man is very different from woman. all man wants is covering; a woman must have ornament, and she must equal, if not outshine, her neighbor. the tension between the two ladies became greater until it was almost at the breaking point. several attempts had been made by the distracted husbands to unscrew the strings which they knew were about to snap, but the result was nil. "the vixen," said the one. "the hussy," said the other; and when two ladies develop the habit of calling each other such queer pet names, a reconciliation seems very remote indeed. the climax came at the annual clinton ball. this was one of those historic functions to which everyone is extended a hearty invitation, and it is one of the great events of the season. the entire lillooet, yale and cariboo districts participate--it is a regular meeting of the clans. and that year was no exception. all our friends were there, including our heroes and heroines. the music was throwing its waves of delightful chords through the hall and over the heads of the throng of dancers. something happened! no one knew just what it was, but in the middle of the floor two ladies were seen tearing each other's hair and draperies. heavens! it was our two heroines. the tension had reached the limit--the strings were broken. in a moment our two heroes were on the scene, and each one seized his bundle of property and rushed with it to safety. the two ladies were bundled into their autos and hurried home to ashcroft in the middle of the night. the next day a council of war was held by the two husbands and it was unanimously agreed that something must be done. "i have it!" exclaimed mr. fivedollars. "now, listen. i will take you in as a partner in business. i will give you twenty years to pay your share, and we will dress our wives exactly alike." the plan was adopted, and the result was phenomenal. mr. onedollar had at last multiplied his insignificant unit by five and had a concrete accumulation. the two ladies dressed themselves alike extravagantly, and all rivalry ceased. they became great friends again and lived happily ever after. and all this disturbance and discord of human hearts was over a miserable bundle of inanimate drapery. of the ruse that failed once upon a time in ashcroft there lived a lady who had the wool pulled over her husband's eyes to such an extent that he had optical illusions favorable to the "darling" who deceived him. his most alluring illusion was a booby idea that his "pet" was an invalid, and she kept pouring oil on the joke to keep it burning, and pulled the wool down further and further so that hubby could not see the combustible fluid she was pouring into the flames. her illness was one of those "to be continued" story kinds--better to-day, worse to-morrow--and she "took" to the blankets at the most annoying and inopportune moments; and every time she "took" an indisposition she expected hubby to pull down the window curtains and go into mourning. but he, the hardhearted man, would continue to eat and smoke and sleep as though no volcanic lava were threatening to submerge the old homestead. his sympathy was not enough; he should stop eating, stop sleeping, and stop smoking--he should be in direct communication with the undertaker and negotiating about the price of caskets. his wife had the misleading conviction that when she was ill her case was more serious than that of anyone else. in fact, no one else had ever suffered as she suffered; their ailments were summer excursions to the antipodes compared with hers, and when hubby argued that all flesh was subject to ills and disorders, that almost every unit of the human species had toothaches and rheumatics, the argument was voted down unanimously by the suffragette majority as illegitimate argument. gradually hubby became convinced that his wife was an invalid, and he went into mourning as much as a man could mourn the loss of a joy that he had grasped for, and just missed in the grasping. he enjoyed the situation as much as a man could who had discovered that he had amalgamated himself with an hospital which was mortgaged for all it was worth to the family physician. out of his salary of seventy-five dollars per month sixty-five was devoted towards the financing of the doctor's time payments on his automobile; the balance paid for food, clothing, water, light, and fuel, and supplied the wolf with sufficient allowance to keep him from entering the parlor in the concrete. but the philosopher, as all men must ultimately become, concluded to make the best of his bad real estate investment. he resigned himself to a life of perpetual, unaffected martyrdom. after all, it was his personal diplomacy that was at fault--he should not have bought a pig in an ashcroft potato sack. during the first year of their matrimonial failure they had rooms at the "best" hotel, and the girls carried breakfast to the bride's room seven mornings of every week at about . , where the "invalid" devoured it with such greed and relish that they became suspicious and talked "up their sleeves" about her. three days each week she had all meals carried up to her, and the girls wondered how she could distribute so much proteid about her system with so little exercise. the extreme healthfulness of her constitution was the only thing that saved this woman from dying of surfeit. the only occasions on which she would rise from her lethargy was to attend a dance or social of some kind given at walhachin or savona--she did not avoid one of them, and on those occasions she would be the liveliest cricket on the hearth, the biggest toad in the puddle, while the husband was pre-negotiating with the physician for some more evaporated stock in the auto. how she ever got home was a mystery, for she would be more disabled than ever for weeks to come. of course she had just overdone her constitutional possibility--she said so herself, and she should know. whispers went abroad that she was lazy, and they became so loud that hubby heard them over the wireless telephone. he became exasperated. "my wife a hypocrite? never! the people have hearts of stone--brains of feathers--they do not understand." one day--it had never occurred to him before--he suggested that they consult a specialist in somnolence. but she would not hear of it; there was nothing wrong with her; all she wanted was to be left alone. in a short time hubby began to consider her in the light of a "white man's burden," and had distorted visions of himself laboring through life with an over-loaded back action. one day the hotel proprietor advised him of a contemplated raise in his assessment to re-imburse the business for extras in connection with elevating so much food upstairs, which was not part and parcel of the rules and regulations of the house in committee. besides, the accommodation was needless. "needless!" exclaimed hubby. "would you degenerate a lady and gentleman wilfully. i will leave your fire-trap at once and cast anchor at the 'next best.'" the proprietor argued that his competitor was welcome to such pickings, so he made no comment on the debate. the "next best" was "full up," as it always is, so they carried the living corpse out on a stretcher, and hubby went batching with his burden in a three-roomed house on bancroft street. when it became hubby's duty to cook the meals and carry half of them to bed for his better half every morning before breakfast he began to taste silly and smell sort of henpeck like. he persisted humbly, lovingly, self-sacrificingly, henpeckedly, however, until one morning his sun rose brighter than it had ever done before and he saw a faint glimmer of light through the wool that was hanging in front of him. "perhaps there is such a commodity as superfluous personal sacrifice to one's matrimonial obligations," he soliloquized. "perhaps this spouse of mine with the pre-historic constitution can be cured by an abstract treatment. is she ill, or is she playing a wild, deceitful part? is she sitting on me with all her weight?" he was willing to allow her the usual proportion of female indisposition, but a continued story of such nightmare proportions was beginning to unstring his physical telephone system. so, to we who have no wool over our eyes, this was one of the most pitiful and criminal cases of selfish indolence, perhaps coupled with a belief that a husband, through his sympathy, will love a woman the more because of her suffering. no supposition, of course, could be farther from the concrete--a husband wants, requires, admires, loves, a healthy, active working-partner. failing this the husband as a husband is down and out. when hubby began to realize this an individual reformation was at the dawning. the very next morning no breakfast arrived by private parcel post. "harry," she exclaimed, "bring me my porridge and hot cakes; i am starving." "if you are starving get up and eat in your stall at the table," said harry, sarcastically, although it pained him. "harry!" she shouted, "you selfish beast!" for diplomatic reasons harry was silent. harry made an abrupt exit without waiting for adjournment, and went up town. a new life seemed to be dawning upon him. it was the emancipation from slavery. he went into the drug store, into the hardware store, into the hotels and all the other stores--he talked and laughed as he had never done before. it was a.m. the following morning when he found himself searching for the door-knob in the vicinity of the front window. having gained an entrance, he was accosted by his wife, who exclaimed: "harry, you drunk?" "well, y'see, it was the pioneer shupper," said harry, and he tumbled into bed. this was harry's first ruse. his next move was an affinity. he would cease to pose as a piece of household furniture--a dumb waiter sort of thing. at that time there was a vision waiting table at the "best" who had most of the fellows on a string. harry threw his grappling irons around her and took her in tow. this went on for some time without suspicion being aroused on the part of the "invalid," but the wireless telegraphy of gossip whispered the truth to her one day when she was wondering what demon had taken possession of her protector. she dropped her artificial gown in an instant and rushed up railway avenue like a militant suffragette. just about the local emporium harry was sailing along under a fair and favorable wind, hand in hand with his new dream, when he saw his legal prerogative approaching near the "next best" hotel. he dislodged his grappling-hooks in an instant, stepped slightly in advance, and feigned that he had been running along on his own steam. but she saw him and defined his movements. they met like two express engines in collision, and what followed had better be left buried underneath the sidewalk of the local emporium. there were dead and dying left on the field, and they reached home later by two rival routes of railway. the stringency endured some days, which time she huffed and he read charles darwin. at the end of that period the ice broke, as it always does; the clouds rolled away, and the sun began to shine, and they began to negotiate for peace. they had a long sitting of parliament, and it was moved and seconded, and unanimously carried, that each give the other a reprieve. it meant the amalgamation of two hearts that became so intertwined with roots that nothing earthly could pull them asunder. it was the founding of one of the happiest homes in ashcroft. he left his affinity--she left her bed. they became active working partners. long years after he told her of his ruse. she laughed. "you saved me," she said. he endorsed the note, and they had one long, sweet embrace which still lingers in their memory. of the real santa claus i. christmas eve once upon a time it was christmas eve in vancouver, b.c., and the snow was falling in large, soft flakes. the electric light plants were beating their lives out in laborious heart-throbs, giving forth such power that the streets and shop windows had the appearance of the phantom scene of a fairy stage-play rather than a grim reality; they were lighter than day. there was magic illumination from the sidewalk to the very apex of the tallest sky-scraper. being christmas eve, the streets were thronged with pleasure seekers, and eager, procrastinating, christmas gift maniacs. they were all happy, but they were temporarily insane in the eagerness of their pursuit. they all had money, plenty of it; and this was the time of year when it was quite in order to squander it lavishly, carelessly, insanely--for, is it not more blessed to give than to receive? the habiliments of the hurrying throng were exuberant, extravagant and ostentatious in the extreme. everyone seemed to vie with every other, with an envy akin to insanity, for the laurels in the fashion world, and they were talking and laughing gaily, and some of them were singing christmas carols. they did not even seem to regret the soft wet snow that was falling on their costly apparel and soaking them--they seemed rather to enjoy it. besides, they could go home at any time and change and dry themselves--and, was it not christmas, the one time of the year when the whole world was happy and lavish? the persons of the ladies were bathed in perfume, and the clothing of the gentlemen was spotless, save where the large, white snowflakes clung for a moment before vanishing into fairyland. vancouver was certainly a city of luxury, a city of ease, a city of wealth, and it was all on exhibition at this time of approaching festival. everyone was rich, and money was no obstacle in the way of enjoyment. but we have seen one side of the picture only. we have been looking in the sunlight; let us peer into the shadows. there was a reverse side. a girl of about thirteen years of age was standing at the corner of hastings and granville offering matches for sale to the stony world. she was bareheaded, thinly clad, shivering. her clothing was tattered and torn. her shoes were several sizes too large, and were some person's cast-off ones. it was christmas, and no one was seeking for matches. they were all in search of gold and silverware, furs and fancies, to give away to people who did not require them. "matches, sir?" the solicitous question was addressed to a medium-sized, moderately dressed man who was gliding around the corner and whistling some impromptu christmas carol; and she touched the hem of his garment. this unit of the big world paused, took the matches, and began to explore his hemisphere for five cents. in the meantime he surveyed the little girl from head to foot, and then he glanced at the big world rushing by in two great streams. "give me them all!" he said with an impulse that surprised him, and he handed her one dollar. "now, go home and dry yourself and go to bed," he continued. he did not stop to consider that she might not have a home and a bed, but continued on his way with his superfluity of matches. his home was bright, and warm, and cheery when he arrived there, and his wife welcomed him. "i have brought you a christmas present," he said, and he handed her the matches. when she opened the package he found it necessary to explain. ii. christmas it was christmas, and the snow was still falling in large, soft flakes. it was about ten inches deep out on the hills, among the trees out along capilano and lynn creeks, but it had been churned into slush on the streets and pavements of vancouver. the church bells were ringing, and our gaily clad and happy acquaintances of the evening before were again thronging the streets; but to-day they were on their way to church to praise the one whose birthday they were observing. our friend of the large heart was also there, and so was his wife--two tiny drops in that great bucketful of humanity. the match vendor was also there--another very tiny drop in that great bucketful. "what! selling matches on christmas day?" remarked a passer-by. "you should be taken in charge by the inquisition." "matches, sir?" said the tiny voice, and she again touched the hem of our hero's garment. the big-hearted man looked at his tender-hearted wife, and the tender-hearted wife looked at her big-hearted man. "yes, give me them all," he said again, and he handed her another dollar. he was evidently trying to buy up all the available matches so that he could have a corner on the commodity. "here," he continued, "take this dollar also. buy yourself something good for christmas, and go home and enjoy yourself." "i have no home, and the shops are all closed," she said, brushing the wet snow from her hair. "no home!" exclaimed the lady, incredulously, "and the world is overflowing with wealth and has homes innumerable. is it possible that the world's goods are so unevenly divided?" the girl began to cry. "come and have your christmas dinner with us," said the lady. the girl, still weeping, followed in her utter innocence and helplessness. ding-dong, went the merry bells. tramp, tramp, went the feet of the big, voluptuous world. honk, honk, went the horns of the automobiles; for it was christmas, and all went merry as a marriage bell. the fire was burning brightly. the room was warm and cozy. the house was clean, tidy, and cheery. it was a dazzling scene to one who had been accustomed to the cold, bare, concrete pavements only. "my!" exclaimed the girl as they entered. it was a perfect fairyland to her. it was a story. it was a dream. "now, we are going to have the realest, cutest, christmas dinner you ever saw," said the lady, producing a steaming turkey from the warming oven. the girl danced in her glee and anticipation. "but first you must dress for dinner. we will go and see santa claus," smiled the foster-mother. she retired with a waif, and returned with a fairy, and they sat down to a fairy dinner. "what a spotless tablecloth! what clean cups and saucers, and plates and dishes! what shining knives and forks! what kind friends!" thought the orphan. "i had no idea such things existed outside of heaven," she exclaimed aloud in her rapture. "it is all very commonplace, i assure you," said the man, "but it takes money to buy them." "and yet," philosophized the lady, "if we are dissatisfied in our prosperity, what must a life be that contains nothing?" ding-dong, went the bells. tramp, tramp, went the feet of the big world outside. honk, honk, went the horn of the automobile; but the happiest heart of them all was the little waif who had been, until now, so lonely, so cold, so hungry, so neglected. they were the happiest moments in her whole life. her time began from that day. but that is many years ago. the orphan is a lady now in vancouver; and every christmas she gives a dinner to some poor people in honor of those who adopted her and saved her from the slums. of the retreat from moscow once upon a time four ashcroft napoleons, known locally as "father," "deacon," "cyclone," and "skookum," invaded vancouver to demonstrate at an inter-provincial curling bonspiel that was arranged to take place at that city. their object was to bring home as many prizes and trophies as they could conveniently carry without having to pay "excess baggage," and donate the balance to charity. it was decided later not to take any of the prizes, as it was more blessed to give than to receive, and they did not only give away all the trophies, but they gave away all the games as well--games they had a legitimate mortgage on--and they were glad to see the other fellows happy. as a man often gets into trouble trying to keep out of it, so the ashcroft chaps lost by trying to win; and here it is consoling to know that all a man does or says in this world sinks and lies motionless in the silent past, for in this case it will only be a matter of time when people will cease to remember. but to leave all joking aside, we beg to advise that the adventurers were dumped unceremoniously into moscow by the c.p.r. officials at about three good morning and had not where to lay their heads. you could not see the city for buildings; but even at that embryo hour of the morning the streets were not entirely deserted. some people seem to toil day and night, for there were dozens of forms moving hither and thither like phantoms in the powerful glare of the electric illuminations. being ashcroft people our heroes were accustomed to city life, and the embarrassment of the situation soon evaporated. they bundled themselves into a nocturnal automobile which was no sooner loaded than it "hit" the streets of vancouver like halley's comet. it went up and down, out and in, hither and thither. it tried to leap from under the invaders, but they kept up with it. it went north forty chains, east forty chains, south forty chains, and thence west forty chains to point of commencement. it went here, then there, and ultimately arranged to stop on richards street (named after our john), at the foot of the elevator of the hotel canadian. this was the end of steel for the auto, the rest of the journey had to be made on foot via the elevator. it is a very pleasant sensation to have the floor rise and carry you with it to the third landing, and it only takes three seconds to make a sixty second journey. at the third floor, after having been shown their stalls for the night, the bandits went out on an exploring expedition while the stable man let down some hay. they located the fire escape, as it is always better to come in by the front door like a millionaire and leave by the fire escape in the dead of the night when the stableman is asleep at his post. early next morning, at about ten o'clock, they invaded the dining-room as hungry as hyenas, and had a lovely breakfast of porridge and cream, ham and eggs, toast and butter, tea or coffee. to encourage the coffee somewhat the deacon "dug" his front foot into the lump-sugar bowl and extracted a couple of aces; and the other mimics followed suit with two, three, and four spots. the breaking of this fast cost forty-five cents for the meal, and fifty-five for the waiter just to make the "eat" come to even money, and they were too large socially to take away small change economically. every meal they put into their waste baskets necessarily extracted one day from the other end of their excursion via the fire escape, and that is one reason why they returned so soonly. cyclone, having drawn on his personal account at a vancouver branch of the ashcroft bank for enough to pay his next meal and car fare, and skookum having jotted down the usual morning poetic inspiration on the sublimity of the situation, the army, led by father, marched full breast upon the curling rink building. there were no knights at the gate to defend the castle, nor did the band meet them at the portal--neither did the vancouver curling club. their arrival, strange to say, created no commotion; they did not seem to have been anticipated. things went along as though nothing extraordinary had taken place. the appearances at the rink, however, were intoxicating, which largely made up for the invisibility of the receiving committee. the rink was somewhat larger than the town hall at ashcroft, and the great, high, arched, glass ceiling was studded with electric lights like stars in the heavens. extensive rows of seats for spectators encircled the entire room, and in the centre, the arena was one clear, smooth sheet of hard, white ice. several games were in progress, and they saw their old friend "tam" playing with his usual scotch luck and winning for all he was worth. ashcroft selected the ice upon which the first blood was to be sprinkled. the battle began on schedule time, and as they had anticipated, they won without a single casualty. as a result of this "clean up," a private conference was held that night by the vancouver and other clubs behind closed doors, at which it was moved, and seconded, and adopted, that ashcroft was a dangerous element in their midst, and that drastic measures must be set in motion at once to arrest such phenomenal accomplishments or the bonspiel would be lost. all unconscious of the conspiracy against them, ashcroft spent the afternoon riding up and down the moving stairs at spencer's, led by the "deak," who had had previous practice at this amusement. curling to them was as easy as this stairway, and as simple as eating a meal if you cut out the tipping of the waiter. that night they took in a show which was a "hum dinger," and should have endured a life-time. what a sweet life it was; nothing to do but live, and laugh, and curl, and win; if it would only continue indefinitely without having to worry about the financing of it! napoleon "had nothing" on father, and he felt that he could even "put it over" on the local star. but something happened the next day. whether it was the private conference, or the moving stairs, or the pantages, or whether it was that ashcroft became more careless with success, and vancouver more careful with defeat, will never be known. they pierced no more bull's eyes--and sometimes they missed the entire target. they had every qualification essential to the successful curler but talent. they had the rocks, the brooms, the ribbons, the sweaters--they even had the will. it is strange with all those requisites that they could not win. the retreat from moscow took place three days later, and they went straggling over the alps in one long string. as though the mortification of defeat was not enough, a huge joke was prepared for them by the reception committee of the local curling club, and lemons have been at a premium in ashcroft ever since. of sicamous the okanagan valley, in the province of british columbia, is bounded on the north by the mosquitoes at sicamous, and on the south by the forty-ninth parallel of north latitude, which is the united states; and to one who is accustomed to the sand and the sage, the general aspect throughout gives a most pleasing rest to the eye. a trip to the okanagan is like one sweet dream to the inhabitants of the dry belt--a dream that is broken only once by a dreadful nightmare--the mosquito conquest at sicamous; but you forgive and forget this the moment after you awake. the mosquitoes at sicamous are as great a menace to that town as the germans are to europe. the train for the valley, when on time, leaves sicamous, on the main line of the c.p.r., at about ten, good morning, but sometimes she waits for the delayed eastern train. this happens very frequently on sundays--for who or what was ever on time on a sunday? sunday is the lazy man's day--the lazy day of the world--the day on which we creep along out of tune with things. now, when you get side-tracked at a c.p.r. station in the rocky mountains waiting for a delayed eastern train, you may as well throw all your plans into the lake, because they will be out of fashion when you have an opportunity to use them again, and you will require new ones--the train may come to-day and she may not come till to-morrow. but, if that station chances to be sicamous, and it is sunday--and it must be raining heavily, for when it is raining there are no mosquitoes--you will not regret the delay, and you will be very much interested if you have an eye for the unique, or if you have the slightest inclination to be eccentric you will be reminded that-- there are friends we never meet; there is love we never know. here people--strangers and friends--meet and nod, smile, talk and depart ten or twelve times every day. you will wonder how people can talk so much, and what they get to talk about--people who meet accidentally here, only for a moment, and will never meet again, perhaps. almost hourly, night and day, cosmopolitan little throngs jump from trains, chat a few moments among themselves, or with others who have been waiting, and then allow themselves to be picked up by the next train and rushed off into eternity--that is, so far as you are concerned, for you will never see them again--and some of them were becoming so familiar. they are voices and faces flitting across your past; they are always new, always strange, always interesting; they are laughing, chatting, smiling, scowling, worrying. there are fair faces and dark faces, pleasant faces and angry faces, careless faces and anxious faces, and faces that are thin, fat, long and short. the voices are as varied as the faces. there is the sharp, clear voice and the dull voice, the angry one and the pleasant one. there are young and old, beautiful and ugly, scowls and smiles, the timid and the fearless--the black, the white, and the yellow; and there are faces that look so much like ones you know at home that you are just on the point of asking them how the boys and girls have been since you left. if they had known that they were the actors on a stage, and you were the audience, conditions might have been improved--artificially; they might have acted better, with more "class," but the interest would have been injured; you would have been robbed of a genuine entertainment. those people went north, south, east and west; they went to the four corners of the earth. the sound of their voices and laughs go up into the tree-tops, up into the hills and down into the lake, and they are echoed back to us; and that is the only record that is ever taken, of this interesting drama; and then the voices fade away east--fade away west. but you hear the elaborate puffing and snorting of a locomotive as though laboring under its great load of humanity; there is a loud whistle from somewhere, and then another; two engines are speaking to each other; then the bell rings, the engine sweeps by, and the whole earth trembles--it is the delayed eastern train. there is a great scramble for entrance. chance acquaintances are forgotten in the individual excitement. the steps to one car are blocked by one man who has enough baggage for ten, and one worried-looking young lady with a baby is afraid she will lose her train. the train pulls out with a "swish, swish" of escaping steam under great pressure from the engine, and the station is robbed of half its population. the familiar faces have disappeared, but a new throng has been cast into your midst--new faces, new smiles, new voices, new scowls; and the chatter is renewed with vigor when we have found ourselves, and are located in several little isolated bunches. but the okanagan local is here waiting for our scalps. there is another scramble of men, women, children, bag and baggage, for seats, and we are off. the little station platform is deserted and silent but for the clatter of the wheels of the baggage truck. the tree tops sigh, the lake murmurs, but they cannot hold us, we must hurry to the great beyond--the whole world depends upon our individual movements. of the ubiquitous cat once upon a time i had a very curious experience which had a very curious ending. i walked into a strange person's house, uninvited, for some mysterious reason perfectly unknown to myself. sitting promiscuously around an old-fashioned fire-place, in which blazed a cheery fire, were a man and woman and four small children; and on a lounge, partly hid under the eiderdown quilt, lay a pure white cat, half asleep and half awake, and at intervals casting sly glances at some of the children. the cat seemed to all intent and purpose one of that human family. now, although the cat can be abused like a toy doll by the children without losing his temper, yet he has the most curiously composed disposition of all the domestic animals. although extravagantly domesticated, and although he shares our beds and tables with impunity, yet he is, to the mouse, as cruel and treacherous as a man-eating tiger. however, we did not take up our pen to discuss cat psychology. upon entering the strange person's house so unceremoniously, i sat me down upon a vacant chair, also uninvited, and began to make myself at home. the strange persons did not seem to take any exception to my strange behavior, but, kept on talking as though nothing extraordinary had taken place in the human social regulations. i was more interested in the cat than i was in the people, and i could not keep my eye from him, he was so much like our "teddy" at home. at last i convinced myself that it _was_ teddy. "where did you get that cat?" i asked. "why, we have always had him. we raised him. he sleeps with the children every night, and gets up with them in the morning--when he is here," said the mother. our teddy had the same weakness, and i was so positive that this was he that i called him by name. in a moment he came to me and was on my knee--it was indeed teddy. now, here was one of the most unique situations on record. "this is my cat," i said demandingly. "it is ours," said the chorus of children's voices. it suddenly occurred to me that teddy was in the habit of leaving home and would be absent for several days at a time. could it be possible he had two homes? did this cat actually accept the affections and hospitality of two distinct families, at the same time, without once breathing the truth or giving himself away? i went home puzzled to my wife and said: "do you know, teddy is not all ours?" "what do you mean?" i was just about to tell my strange story when i awoke, and, behold, it was a dream. bits of history of the foolhardy expedition the people who inhabited this globe during the year undoubtedly obtained a different view of things terrestrial than we do who claim the world's real estate in , because they had no telegraph, no telephone, no electric light, no automobile, and no aeroplane. how they managed to live at all is a mystery to the twentieth century biped. fancy having to cross the street to your neighbor's house when you wanted to ask him if he was going to the pioneer supper, and just think of having no "hello girl" to flirt with. the condition seems appalling. but what they lacked in knowledge and in indolent conveniences we beg to announce that they made up in foolhardiness which they called bravery. well, if it can be called brave to make a needless target of oneself to a bunch of savage indians, why then they had the proper derivation of the term. from one of francis parkman's admirable works we have seized upon the scene of our story, which was acted out at the beginning of the eighteenth century, namely, . the indians seem to have been very hostile in those early days in the immediate vicinity of the early new england provinces; and we are convinced some of the white men were very hostile as well. of course we, in our day, cannot blame them--they had no telephones, autos, electricity, "hello girls"--they had to be something, so they were hostile towards the indians. dunstable was a town on the firing line of massachusetts, and was attacked by indians in the autumn of , and two men were carried off. ten others went in pursuit, but fell into an ambush, and nearly all were killed. but now we will follow the words of francis parkman, who has a delightful way of relating his stories. "a company of thirty was soon raised." they were to receive two shillings and sixpence per day each, "out of which he was to maintain himself";--very little to risk one's life for; but in those days it was no concern with a man whether he was killed or not. besides, it was worth something to get killed and have francis parkman write about you more than a century later. perhaps they anticipated this perpetuation of their names and deeds. however, "lovewell was chosen captain; farwell lieutenant, and robbins, ensign. they set out towards the end of november, and reappeared at dunstable early in january, bringing one prisoner and one scalp." it does not seem to us to have paid the interest on the investment of two shillings and sixpence per day, "out of which he was to maintain himself," and, for anything we know to the contrary, perhaps the captain was getting more than this--it has not been recorded. "towards the end of the month lovewell set out again, this time with eighty-seven men. they ascended the frozen merrimac, passed lake winnepesaukee, pushed nearly to the white mountains, and encamped on a branch of the upper saco. here they killed a moose--a timely piece of luck, for they were in danger of starvation, and lovewell had been compelled by want of food to send back a good number of his men. the rest held their way, filing on snowshoes through the deathlike solitude that gave no sign of life except the light track of some squirrel on the snow, and the brisk note of the hardy little chickadee, or black-capped titmouse, so familiar in the winter woods." now here is where the foolhardiness of the expedition begins to appeal to us. supposing just here they had met five hundred crazy indians with five hundred crazy bows and arrows? and they must have expected it. they were searching for indians. perhaps they were seeking martyrdom? but the new englander of the frontier was nothing if not foolhardy. they mistook it for bravery, and there must have been some bravery amalgamated with it, because a man must have a certain quantity of that rarity before he can lend himself out as a target at two shillings and sixpence a day, "out of which he was to maintain himself." now, if you have patience to follow you will learn that they ultimately met the very thing which you expect--which they must have expected. "thus far the scouts had seen no human footprints; but on the twentieth of february they found a lately abandoned wigwam, and following the snowshoe tracks that led from it--" right into the lion's jaw, as it were. perhaps they were anxious to be shot to get out of their misery--"at length saw smoke rising at a distance out of the gray forest." they saw their finish, and their hearts were filled with joy. "the party lay close till two o'clock in the morning; then, cautiously approaching, found one or more wigwams, surrounded them, and killed all the inmates, ten in number." they were to pay dear for this, as anyone could have told them. "they brought home the scalps in triumph, ... and lovewell began at once to gather men for another hunt.... at the middle of april he had raised a band of forty-six." one of the number was seth wyman, ... a youth of twenty-one, graduated at harvard college, in , and now a student of theology. chaplain though he was, he carried a gun, knife and hatchet like the others, and not one of the party was more prompt to use them.... they began their march on april th." after leaving several of their number by the way for various causes, we find thirty-seven of them on the night of may th near fryeburg lying in the woods near the northeast end of lovewell's pond. "at daybreak the next morning, as they stood bareheaded, listening to a prayer from the young chaplain, they heard the report of a gun, and soon after an indian.... lovewell ordered his men to lay down their packs and advance with extreme caution." why this caution? "they met an indian coming towards them through the dense trees and bushes. he no sooner saw them than he fired at the leading men." naturally. we should have said "leading targets." "his gun was charged with beaver shot and he severely wounded lovewell and young whiting; on which seth wyman shot him dead, and the chaplain and another man scalped him." as yet they had only entered the lion's den. "and now follows one of the most obstinate and deadly bush-fights in the annals of new england.... the indians howled like wolves, yelled like enraged cougars, and made the forest ring with their whoops.... the slaughter became terrible. men fell like wheat before the scythe. at one time the indians ceased firing; ... they seemed to be holding a 'pow-wow'; but the keen and fearless wyman crept up among the bushes, shot the chief conjurer, and broke up the meeting. about the middle of the afternoon young fry received a mortal wound. unable to fight longer, he lay in his blood, praying from time to time for his comrades in a faint but audible voice." one, keys, received two wounds, "but fought on till a third shot struck him." he declared the indians would not get his scalp. creeping along the sandy edge of the pond, he chanced to find a stranded canoe, pushed it afloat, rolled himself into it, and drifted away before the wind. soon after sunset the indians drew off.... the surviving white men explored the scene of the fight.... of the thirty-four men, nine had escaped without serious injury, eleven were badly wounded, and the rest were dead or dying.... robbins, as he lay helpless, asked one of them to load his gun, saying, 'the indians will come in the morning to scalp me, and i'll kill another of them if i can.' they loaded the gun and left him." the expected had occurred. most of them had been killed. anyone could have told them this before they set out--they could have made the same prophecy for themselves. and after all they had accomplished nothing but their own deaths. the story of their return rivals that of napoleon's retreat from moscow. of the whole number eleven ultimately reached home. we leave it to the reader to determine whether this was an exhibition of bravery or foolhardiness, or a mixture of both. we congratulate ourselves that we did not live on the frontier of new england in the year . of the laws of lycurgus lycurgus reigned over a place called lacedæmon, which is a part of greece, about the year b.c. now, this is a great many years ago, and is further back into the archives of history than most of us can remember. there is no doubt, however, that this great ruler, lycurgus, was crazy, or he was one of those persons whose brains cease to develop after they have left their teens. he certainly secures the first prize as a "whim" strategist. in spite of his insane eccentricities, he was allowed the full exercise of his freedom. had he flourished in a.d. instead of "b.c." (which does not mean british columbia), the asylum for the insane at new westminster would not have been strong enough to retain him. lycurgus did one redeeming thing--he founded a senate; "which, sharing,"--we are following plutarch--"as plato says, in the power of the kings, too imperious and unrestrained before, and having equal authority with them, was the means of keeping them within bounds of moderation, and highly contributed to the preservation of the state. the establishment of a senate, an intermediate body, like ballast, kept it in just equilibrium, and put it in a safe posture: the twenty-eight senators adhering to the kings whenever they saw the people too encroaching, and on the other hand, supporting the people, when the kings attempted to make themselves absolute." now, what in the world possessed this despotic imbecile to form a senate? his action in this can only be accounted for in the light that it was one of those unpremeditated whims of a narrow-minded faddist. one naturally wonders what the newly created senators were doing while the king was imposing his insane laws. this body was formed for the "preservation of the state." the wonder is that there was any state left, for the king paralyzed commerce, smothered ambition, choked art to death, and placed a ban on modesty. further than having been "formed," the "senate" never again appears on the pages of the "lycurgus" book. plutarch, who lived in greece about the year a.d., nine hundred years after the subject of his biography, relates the forming and imposing of those laws with the utmost faith, and the most implicit innocence; which goes to prove that the grecian idea of government, with all its knowledge, had not advanced much, at least up to the time of plutarch. and now for the laws. "a second and bolder political enterprise of lycurgus was a new division of the lands. for he found a prodigious inequality; the city overcharged with many indigent persons, who had no land; and the wealth centred in the hands of the few. determined, therefore, to root out the evils of insolence, envy, avarice, and luxury, and those distempers of a state still more inveterate than fatal--i mean poverty and riches--he persuaded them to cancel all former divisions of land and to make new ones, in such a manner as they might be perfectly equal in their possessions and way of living. his proposal was put in practice. "after this he attempted to divide also the movables, in order to take away all appearance of inequality; but he soon perceived that they could not bear to have their goods taken directly from them, and therefore took another method, counterworking their avarice by a stratagem." now, this seems to be the only law to which they made objection; and this proves that the love of personal "icties" has very deep roots. perhaps the influence of the "senate" sustained them in this, for qualifications for a senator, even in those days, must have called for men of some means, and they, when the shoe began to pinch their own feet, would not care to divide up their sugar and flour with the rank and file. it does not appear, however, that they had any say in the matter, and, beyond the statement that they were formed for a purpose, they seem to have taken no part in the affairs of state; if they had, lycurgus and his laws would never have been made part of history. "first he stopped the currency of the gold and silver coin"--thus he paralyzed industry--"and ordered that they should make use of iron money only; then to a great quantity and weight of this he assigned but a small value.... in the next place he excluded unprofitable and superfluous arts.... their iron coin would not pass in the rest of greece, but was ridiculed and despised, so that the spartans had no means of purchasing any foreign or curious wares, nor did any merchant ship unlade in their harbor." even plutarch sees nothing suicidal in all this voluntary isolating of themselves from the main arteries of commerce. "desirous to complete the conquest of luxury and exterminate the love of riches, he introduced a third institution, which was wisely enough and ingeniously contrived. this was the use of public tables, where all were to eat in common of the same meat, and such kinds of it as were appointed by law. at the same time they were forbidden to eat at home, or on expensive couches and tables.... another ordinance levelled against magnificence and expense, directed that the ceilings of houses should be wrought with no tool but the axe, and the doors with nothing but the saw. indeed, no man could be so absurd as to bring into a dwelling so homely and simple, bedsteads with silver feet, purple coverlets, or golden cups." thus he smothered art and personal ambition, two of the most requisite essentials to a people on their onward and upward trend to civilization and success. "a third ordinance of lycurgus was, that they should not often make war against the same enemy, lest, by being frequently put upon defending themselves, they too should become able warriors in their turn." and thus he made them defenceless against their enemies. "for the same reason he would not permit all that desired to go abroad and see other countries, lest they should contract foreign manners, gain traces of a life of little discipline, and of a different form of government. he forbade strangers, too, to resort to sparta who could not assign a good reason for their coming!" improvement with lycurgus means retrogression with us. he wished, perhaps ignorantly, to arrest the progress of civilization and substitute a slovenly ideal of his own. his purpose was to cancel the civilization which the race had gained during thousands of years of effort, and bring it back to a semi-savagery. but the world was too big for him. it had things in view which were too great for his small, hampered mind to have any suspicion of. no doubt he was sincere in his little, infinitesimal way; but it is a blessing for the world that his influence was confined to a very small corner of the then civilized world, and that others of broader views succeeded him to manage the affairs of states and nations. with all deference to old plutarch, the biographer of lycurgus, we wish to say that however grand the laws of this man may have been as ideals, they were utter failures when brought into practice. of joan of arc some people say the world is getting no better, but if we take a dip into history and consider the conditions which prevailed there from the earliest times up to only a few hundred years ago, we will find a race of human beings which in no wise resemble the present output except in form and stature. and our own forefathers--the people of the british isles, the anglo-saxons who are to-day leading in the social world--were not one iota better throughout those pages than many of the smallest and most unpretentious of obscure tribes living here and there in ignorant, local isolation. one of the strongest points in our argument is the fact that history, as we have it, is composed of the clang of battles and the private lives of kings and despots. the ordinary, everyday life of the peasant people--the working classes--the backbone of the nation, so to speak--was beneath the consideration of the historian throughout all times. the only virtue, in his estimation, was a strong arm--a large army to murder and destroy property. and the life of the historian must needs reflect that of the people. there is no doubt that in a great majority they were of a cruel, murderous nature. we get rare glimpses, however (at intervals of sometimes hundreds of years), of the doings, manners, and customs, likes and dislikes of the common people, that we can rely upon as authentic; the rest is poetry and legend, and, although typical, are relations of incidents that did not really occur. there is no doubt that, although it has been withheld, there was a great deal of virtue, which blushed and bloomed unseen, amid all this blood and war. as though by accident the historian who immortalized joan of arc has let slip a few words in connection with this heroine's early life that are more valuable to us than page upon page of some of our so-called history. "jeanne d'arc was the child of a laborer of domremy, a little village on the borders of lorraine and champagne. just without the cottage where she was born began the great woods of the vosges, where the children of domremy drank in poetry and legend from fairy ring and haunted well, hung their flower garlands on the sacred trees and sang songs to the good people who might not drink of the fountain because of their sins. jeanne loved the forest; its birds and beasts came lovingly to her at her childish call. but at home men saw nothing in her but 'a good girl,' simple and pleasant in her way, spinning and sewing by her mother's side while the other girls went to the fields--tender to the poor and sick." this is a little domestic scene of the year a.d. , and how homelike and real and familiar it all is. what a sweet peace spot, among all the bloodshed and horror that was going on throughout france at that time. joan of arc is undoubtedly one of the most remarkable characters in all history. she was born at domremy, france, in , and was executed in . before she had reached twenty this girl had practically freed france from the english, or at least put the country upon such a footing that a few years accomplished its freedom. the superstitions of the times are no doubt responsible to a great extent for the success which was attained by this maid of orleans. "the english believed in her supernatural mission as firmly as the french did, but they thought her a sorceress who had come to overthrow them by her enchantments," and so on. the fact remains that this innocent peasant girl of eighteen years of age freed france from the english and accomplished things which no man of france at that time was able to do. either the french generalship of the times was very incompetent or the army was very much demoralized--at all events they had been awaiting the advent of a leader who was both determined and fearless, for skill does not seem to have been a requisite--and this appeared in the person of joan of arc. it is difficult to believe that an entirely inexperienced person of this kind could take charge of an army of ten thousand men and lead them to victory when the best trained generals of the time could do nothing and suffered defeat at every turn. with the coronation of the king the maid felt that her errand was over. "oh, gentle king, the pleasure of god is done," she cried, as she flung herself at the feet of charles, and asked leave to go home. "would it were his good will," she pleaded with the archbishop, as he forced her to remain, "that i might go and keep sheep once more with my sisters and my brothers; they would be glad to see me again." but the policy of the french court detained her. france was depending on one of its peasant girls for its very national existence. the humiliation of the thing should make all good frenchmen blush with shame. so she fought on with the conviction that she was superfluous in the army, and a slave to the french court. it does not appear that she was even placed upon the payroll, or that she received reward of any kind for her services--and there were no "victoria crosses" in those days. she fought on without pay; rendered all her services for nothing--perhaps for the love of the thing. during the defence of compiegne in may, , she fell into the hands of one vendome, who sold her to the duke of burgundy. burgundy sold her to the english--her remuneration for her self-sacrificing, voluntarily-given services. and now comes the tragic part of a most pathetic story enacted out at a time when the name civilization, applied to the french and english, is a mockery. "in december she was carried to rouen, the headquarters of the english, heavily fettered, and flung into a gloomy prison, and at length, arraigned before the spiritual tribunal of the bishop of beauvais, a wretched creature of the english, as a sorceress and a heretic, while the dastard she had crowned king left her to die." she was not even granted a legal, judicial trial. some say that her sentence was at one time commuted to perpetual imprisonment, which proves that there was a glimmer of humanity hid away in some corner of the world, knocking hysterically in its imprisonment for admission. "but the english found a pretext to treat her as a criminal and condemned her to be burned." and at this juncture it may be well to say that we have good reason to be proud of ourselves to-day, and ashamed of our ancestors. "she was brought to the stake on may th, . the woman's tears dried upon her cheeks, and she faced her doom with the triumphant courage of the martyr." during her last awful moments, as she left this world with the torture of the flames slowly consuming her body, what were the last impressions of this girl of nineteen who left home and happiness to free a people who allowed her to be thus tormented to death? "a court was constituted by pope calixtus iii., in , which declared her innocent and pronounced her trial unjust. and through the whole civilized world her memory is fittingly commemorated in statuary and literature." but this is poor consolation and does not undo the mischief. so far as joan of arc is concerned, she is still burning, scorching, suffering at that stake, and the world and the english are her torturers, still tormenting her, while the man she made king stands looking on indifferently, heartlessly. all the honor and statuary that ever had creation on this green earth cannot atone for this crime of "civilization" on the innocent. but it is only one blot of many with which the world moves on, branded indelibly to its unknown end; and beneath a pleasant exterior we know, but try to hide, those blots, with apologies for our ancestors. and yet some say the world is getting no better. out of this chaos of blood, crime and heathendom we sprang with all our pride and greatness, and with such a record it behooves us to be rather humble than high-minded, for crime and disgrace are lying at our very door-step. "the story of joan has been a rich motive in the world of art, and painter and sculptor have spent their genius on the theme without as yet adequately realizing its simple grandeur." of voices long dead the following is not history, although we have placed it under this heading. it is the literal translation of a poem by theocritus, a light in the ancient literature of the greeks. although the actual incident never occurred, it is typical of what was going on among that long dead people, and it is of as much importance to us as the most valuable record of history, and is of vital interest when viewed in retrospect from the year , because it gives us a rare glimpse into the domestic manners of a people who lived when all the present civilized world was in the hands of savages--and how modern it all seems. the scene might have been enacted yesterday even to the smallest detail. imagine yourself in the city of alexandria about the year b.c. "some syracusan women staying at alexandria, agreed, on the occasion of a great religious solemnity--the feast of adonis--to go together to the palace of king ptolemy philadelphus, to see the image of adonis, which the queen arsinoe, ptolemy's wife, had had decorated with peculiar magnificence. a hymn, by a celebrated performer, was to be recited over the image. the names of the two women are gorgo and praxinoe; their maids, who are mentioned in the poem, are called eunoe and eutychis. gorgo comes by appointment to praxinoe's house to fetch her, and there the dialogue begins." we are following the translation of william cleaver wilkinson. gorgo. is praxinoe at home? praxinoe. my dear gorgo, at last! yes, here i am. eunoe, find a chair--get a cushion for it. g. it will do beautifully as it is. p. do sit down. g. oh, this gadabout spirit! i could hardly get to you, praxinoe, through all the crowd and all the carriages. nothing but heavy boots, nothing but men in uniform. and what a journey it is! my dear child, you really live too far off. p. it is all that insane husband of mine. he has chosen to come out here to the end of the world, and take a hole of a place--for a house it is not--on purpose that you and i might not be neighbors. he is always just the same--anything to quarrel with one! anything for spite! g. my dear, don't talk so of your husband before the little fellow. just see how astonished he looks at you. never mind, zopyrio, my pet, she is not talking about papa. p. good heavens! the child does really understand. g. pretty papa! p. that pretty papa of his the other day (though i told him beforehand to mind what he was about), when i sent him to shop to buy soap and rouge, he brought me home salt instead--stupid, great, big, interminable animal. g. mine is just the fellow to him.... but never mind; get on your things and let us be off to the palace to see the adonis. i hear the queen's decorations are something splendid. p. in grand people's houses everything is grand. what things you have seen in alexandria! what a deal you will have to tell anybody who has never been here! g. come, we ought to be going. p. every day is holiday to people who have nothing to do. eunoe, pick up your work; and take care, lazy girl, how you leave it lying about again; the cats find it just the bed they like. come, stir yourself; fetch me some water, quick! i wanted the water first, and the girl brings me the soap. never mind, give it me. not all that, extravagant! now pour out the water--stupid! why don't you take care of my dress? that will do. i have got my hands washed as it pleases god. where is the key of the large wardrobe? bring it here--quick! g. praxinoe, you can't think how well that dress, made full, as you've got it, suits you. tell me, how much did it cost?--the dress by itself, i mean. p. don't talk of it, gorgo; more than eight guineas of good hard money. and about the work on it i have almost worn my life out. g. well, you couldn't have done better. p. thank you. bring me my shawl, and put my hat properly on my head--properly. no, child (to her little boy), i am not going to take you; there is a bogey on horseback, who bites. cry as much as you like, i'm not going to have you lamed for life. now we'll start. nurse, take the little one and amuse him; call the dog in, and shut the street door. (they go out.) good heavens! what a crowd of people! how on earth are we ever to get through all this? they are like ants--you can't count them. my dearest gorgo, what will become of us? here are the royal horse guards. my good man, don't ride over me! look at that bay horse rearing bolt upright; what a vicious one! eunoe, you mad girl, do take care!--that horse will certainly be the death of the man on his back. how glad i am now that i left the child at home! g. all right, praxinoe, we are safe behind them, and they have gone on to where they are stationed. p. well, yes, i begin to revive again. from the time i was a little girl i have had more horror of horses and snakes than of anything in the world. let us get on; here's a great crowd coming this way upon us. g. (to an old woman). mother, are you from the palace? old woman. yes, my dears. g. has one a tolerable chance of getting there? o.w. my pretty young lady, the greeks got to troy by dint of trying hard; trying will do anything in this world. g. the old creature has delivered herself of an oracle and departed. p. women can tell you everything about everything. jupiter's marriage with juno not excepted. g. look, praxinoe, what a squeeze at the palace gates! p. tremendous! take hold of me, gorgo, and you, eunoe, take hold of eutychis!--tight hold, or you'll be lost. here we go in all together. hold tight to us, eunoe. oh, dear! oh, dear! oh, dear! gorgo, there's my scarf torn right in two. for heaven's sake, my good man, as you hope to be saved, take care of my dress! stranger. i'll do what i can, but it doesn't depend upon me. p. what heaps of people! they push like a drove of pigs. str. don't be frightened, ma'am; we are all right. p. may you be all right, my dear sir, to the last day you live, for the care you have taken of us! what a kind, considerate man! there is eunoe jammed in a squeeze. push, you goose, push! capital! we are all of us the right side of the door, as the bridegroom said when he had locked himself in with the bride. g. praxinoe, come this way. do but look at that work, how delicate it is! how exquisite! why, they might wear it in heaven! p. heavenly patroness of needle-women, what hands we hired to do that work? who designed those beautiful patterns? they seem to stand up and move about, as if they were real--as if they were living things and not needlework. well, man is a wonderful creature! and look, look, how charming he lies there on his silver couch, with just a soft down on his cheeks, that beloved adonis--adonis, whom one loves, even though he is dead! another stranger. you wretched woman, do stop your incessant chatter. like turtles, you go on forever. they are enough to kill one with their broad lingo--nothing but a, a, a. g. lord, where does the man come from? what is it to you if we are chatterboxes? order about your own servants. do you give orders to syracusan women? if you want to know, we came originally from corinth, as bellerophon did; we speak peloponnesian. i suppose dorian women may be allowed to have a dorian accent. p. oh, honey-sweet proserpine, let us have no more masters than the one we've got! we don't the least care for you; pray don't trouble yourself for nothing. g. be quiet, praxinoe! that first-rate singer, the argive woman's daughter, is going to sing the adonis hymn. she is the same who was chosen to sing the dirge last year. we are sure to have something first rate from her. she is going through her airs and graces ready to begin. * * * * * and here the voices die away in the remote past. how difficult it is to believe that this dialogue took place more than two thousand years ago! as a last glimpse of such a beautiful, modernly remote gem of conversation, we will give a few more words to show what those ancient gossipy ladies thought of their husbands. the following are the last surviving words which gorgo gave to the world: gorgo. praxinoe, certainly women are wonderful things. that lucky woman, to know all that; and luckier still to have such a voice! and now we must see about getting home. my husband has not had his dinner. that man is all vinegar, and nothing else; and if you keep him waiting for his dinner he's dangerous to go near. adieu! precious adonis, and may you find us all well when you come next year! he might have been a husband of yesterday! for how many years have the husbands been coming home from work daily to partake of a meal which an attentive and tender wife has prepared for him? this was twenty-two hundred years ago. of the white woman who became an indian squaw the early history of the northwest frontier of massachusetts is fraught with blood-curdling tales of savage invasions against the home-builders and empire-makers of that once troubled boundary between the french of canada and the english of the new england states, but there is not a more pitiful story than that which has been recorded touching the williams family of deerfield, who were captured by the indians during one of their inroads in the year . john williams was a minister who had come to deerfield when it was still suffering from the ruinous effects of king philip's war. his parishioners built him a house, he married, and had eight children. the story of the indians' invasion, the destruction of the village, and the capture of over one hundred prisoners is admirably told by francis parkman in one of those excellent works of his dealing with the old régime of canada and new england. "a war party of about fifty canadians and two hundred indians left quebec about mid-winter, and arrived at deerfield on the th of february, . savage and hungry, they lay shivering under the pines till about two hours before dawn the following morning; then, leaving their packs and their snowshoes behind, they moved cautiously towards their prey. the hideous din startled the minister, williams, from his sleep. half naked, he sprang out of bed, and saw, dimly, a crowd of savages bursting through the shattered door. with more valor than discretion he snatched a pistol that hung at the head of the bed, cocked it and snapped it at the breast of the foremost indian. it missed fire. amid the screams of his terrified children, three of the party seized him and bound him fast, for they came well provided with cords, as prisoners had a great market value. nevertheless, in the first fury of their attack, they dragged to the door and murdered two of the children. they kept williams shivering in his shirt for an hour, while a frightful uproar of yells, shrieks, and gunshots sounded from within. at length they permitted him, his wife, and five remaining children to dress themselves. after the entire village had been destroyed and the inhabitants either murdered or made captive, williams and his wife and family were led from their burning house across the connecticut river to the foot of the mountain, and the following day the march north began with the hundred or more prisoners." the hardships of the prisoners, and the crimes of the victors during that long and arduous march north through snow and ice, forms a chapter of pathos in the early history of those eastern states. "at the mouth of the white river the party divided, and the williams family were separated and carried off in various directions. eunice, the youngest daughter, about eight years old, was handed over by the indians to the mission at st. louis on their arrival there, and although many efforts were made on the part of the governor, who had purchased and befriended williams, to ransom her, the jesuits flatly refused to give her up. on one occasion he went himself with the minister to st. louis. this time the jesuits, whose authority within their mission seemed almost to override that of the governor himself, yielded so far as to allow the father to see his daughter, on condition that he spoke to no other english prisoner. he spoke to her for an hour, exhorting her never to forget her catechism, which she had learned by rote. the governor and his wife afterwards did all in their power to procure her ransom, but of no avail. "'she is there still,' writes williams two years later, 'and has forgotten to speak english.' what grieved him still more, eunice had forgotten her catechism." but now we come to this strange transformation, unprecedented, we think, which made an indian squaw out of a white woman. "eunice, reared among indian children, learned their language and forgot her own; she lived in a wigwam of the caughnawagas, forgot her catechism, was baptized in the roman catholic faith, and in due time married an indian of the tribe, who henceforth called himself williams. thus her hybrid children bore her family name. "many years after, in , she came, with her husband, to visit her relatives at deerfield, dressed as a squaw and wrapped in an indian blanket. nothing would induce her to stay, though she was persuaded on one occasion to put on a civilized dress and go to church, after which she impatiently discarded her gown and resumed her blanket." could a sadder instance of degeneration be written in the annals of the human family? "she was kindly treated by her relatives, and no effort was made to detain her. she came again the following year, bringing two of her children, and twice afterwards she repeated the visit. she and her husband were offered land if they would remain, but she positively refused, saying it would endanger her soul. she lived to a great age, a squaw to the last. one of her grandsons became a missionary to the indians of green bay, wisconsin." this is one of the most drastic instances of a woman's devotion to husband, and mother love for children driving her back to the forest of her ancestors, and making her sacrifice all that her race had gained for her during thousands of years. thus the most natural and primitive instincts of the human race will prevail against all our arts, science and accomplishments. through the microscope through the microscope life is full of impossibilities. after all it is not money we want so much as something to do. every man should have an accomplishment of some kind. some music is like a jumble of misplaced notes. if you have reached forty and have done nothing, get busy. we sometimes lose dollars by being too careful with our cents. we should try to arrange ourselves so that we will appear as plausible as possible to posterity. we must have something to worry about or we will become stagnant. music should be rendered slowly and softly so that each note may have time to tell its story before the next one comes on the stage. when we are young our time is all present. when we are old there is no present, but our time becomes the aggregate days and years. we sometimes get into trouble trying to keep out of it. it is not what we would _like_ to do, but what we _can_ do. let us take our medicine philosophically. a dollar looks larger going out than it does coming in. what is that we see falling like grain before the reaper? it is the days, and the weeks, and the months, and the years. every dog wonders why the other dog was born. we are so constituted in temperament that one may love what the other hates. a face is like a song, it has to be learned to be thoroughly appreciated. you have to acquire a taste for it, and when it is once memorized it is never forgotten. most of our best words are derived from dead, heathen languages. if you have married the wrong man, or the wrong woman, cheer up and be a philosopher over it. philosophy is a good substitute for love if properly applied. if you do not go about sniffing the air you will not find so many obnoxious odors. if you have a mental wound of any kind, do not mind; time, the great healer, will cure it. we despise the ancient heathen, yet in some cases we have risen from his ashes. a woman dresses for appearance, not for comfort. an ounce of domestic harmony is worth a ton of gold. we should adjust ourselves as much as possible to circumstances. it is better to be a dummy than to be a gossip. every man thinks _his_ dog is an angel. it is not always the one who can afford it who keeps the hired servant. since we can grow a new finger nail, why cannot we grow a new finger? the mouse is destructive only from man's point of view. when a man reaches forty he usually settles down to make the best of things. sometimes we are called cranks because we will not be sat upon. the passing of time so quickly would not be so regrettable were life not so short. a good book has no ending. it is nothing to win a girl if you do not win her love also. the passing of time so quickly takes the pleasure out of everything. if you are popular, anything you say will rise into the air like a zeppelin. if you are unpopular anything you say or do will sink into the ocean of oblivion like a titanic. it is a pity we have to do so much to get so little. it sometimes pays to accept a few cents on the dollar and let it go at that. sometimes men become so parasitical to their occupation that, were they to lose it, they would drown. "help ye one another." it pays. our mistakes keep us perpetually on the convalescence. woman is equal to man--sometimes more than equal. while the years are with you freeze on to them as tightly as ever you can. the "give-in-to-nothing-or-nobody-for-anything" spirit nurses a great deal of evil. it takes forty years for a man to become a philosopher. some never graduate. our generation is to be pitied. it is living in the most extravagant age the world has ever known. when the church does not ameliorate the objectionable dispositions of its adherents, it has failed in its mission. it is diplomacy to be on friendly terms with all men. politics are sometimes dangerous things. be cheerful under all circumstances. the human race has mounted a treadmill which it must tread or perish. the strenuous industries of this world are man's unconscious efforts to preserve his increasing numbers from annihilation. courtesy in business is the best policy. it takes three men's wages to sustain one family in an up-to-date fashion. under the circumstances, it is almost necessary to be greedy and grasping. to be perfectly healthy we should adopt the exercises followed by our ancestors in climbing among the trees. it is not how much you can do or how quick you get through it, but the care that you take and how well you can do it. it is not the gift but the giving. it is quality, not quantity, that counts. do not measure a person's length by your personal prejudices. the man who never had an enemy is too good for this world. "you can lead a horse to water, but you cannot make him drink." you can send a boy to college, but you cannot make him think. the dog hates the cat, and the cat hates the dog, but when they are friends there are no truer ones. just take the world as it is; take things as to be had. your friends may not be quite so good, your foes not quite so bad. it is the aggregate that counts. the almighty dollar is getting smaller every day. it is fashionable to be lazy. money is man's passport through the world. the one who is most jealous is the one who is least in love. poetry is something that was written by someone who is dead. life is one thing after another--getting in between man and his money. some men are so small that they could easily go through the eye of a needle. often the man who is the most mean in buying is the most extortionate in selling. some husbands have to prove their love by sending their wives off for a month's holiday every six weeks. the cat is one of the most cleanly of animals, yet she has never been known to take a bath. "it is an ill wind," etc. the harder the times become to others, the better they become to the sheriff. germany wants to reap where she has not sown. misery likes company. it is consolation to know that everybody else is hard up during these hard times. in our life struggle we are obliged to sacrifice many of our pet ambitions. if a person is not naturally inclined he cannot be influenced by argument. when the war is over it will be an easy matter to estimate the german casualties. she had about sixty-five millions. the present seems to be a thing of the past. an honorable defeat is more commendable than an empty triumph. one half of the war in europe does not know what the other half is doing. sometimes finance gets men into positions for which they are not qualified. we must abandon that ancient superstition that a dollar has any financial value. where a cat and a canary are brought up together, the cat ultimately gets the canary. if a man does not support his country during the war, what can he expect after the war is over? there is not a misunderstanding but that can be adjusted amicably if it is gone about in the right spirit. _your_ business is not the only important one. it is a pity the cat would not always remain a kitten. with the bank man it is more a matter of figures than it is of dollars. to man, money is like a train going into a tunnel. it goes in at one end and out at the other, and leaves nothing. never judge a person's way by what the other people say. there are only two sides to business: what i.o.u. and what u.o.i. where there is abundance there is likely to be waste and lack of economy. a one dollar contra is often used to stave off a hundred dollar account. "every crow thinks that _its_ bird is a white one," and every man thinks that _his_ wife is the right one. the hieroglyphic signature is often taken as a sign of perfect commercial attainment. some people give and take; others are all take. blessed is the man who has no family, for he shall inherit wealth. unlucky is the man who has children, for verily i say unto you, they keep him broke. the good samaritan who lends his friend a dollar, sometimes loses both the friend and the dollar. the poorer a man the greater his misfortunes. a great many children go to school to learn to read novels. it takes as long to become a man as it does to become a philosopher. life is far too short judging by the time it takes to collect some of our accounts. first, steel made millionaires, then railways, then oil, then pork; and now it is the automobile. when two or three women are gathered together no man can tell when the end will be. the well-fed philosopher is likely to have a well-fed philosophy; the under-fed one an emaciated variety. habitual melancholy is not always a mental derangement; it is very often a constitutional weakness. live and--let your indorser--learn. the further you get into the world the less time you have for poetry, philosophy and sentiment. the doctor is a man whom we don't want to do any business with. you seldom meet an enthusiast who is not a crank also. individually, dimensions are determined by the proportions of the observer. the modern attitude is a contempt for economy. conservation is a bugbear. your neighbor is not a freak because he does not fall in line with your way of thinking. when you have gained your equilibrium, you usually find that it was not worth while getting mad after all. [transcriber's note: in "of the foolhardy expedition," there is extensive quoting of a text, and the quotes are not always matched. the punctuation was left as printed.] [illustration] my lady nicotine =a study in smoke= by j. m. barrie author of "sentimental tommy," etc. _illustrated by_ m. b. prendergast boston knight and millet publishers contents [illustration] chap. page i. matrimony and smoking compared ii. my first cigar iii. the arcadia mixture iv. my pipes v. my tobacco-pouch vi. my smoking-table vii. gilray viii. marriot ix. jimmy x. scrymgeour xi. his wife's cigars xii. gilray's flower-pot xiii. the grandest scene in history xiv. my brother henry xv. house-boat "arcadia" xvi. the arcadia mixture again xvii. the romance of a pipe-cleaner xxviii. what could he do? xix. primus xx. primus to his uncle xxi. english-grown tobacco xxii. how heroes smoke xxiii. the ghost of christmas eve xxiv. not the arcadia xxv. a face that haunted marriot xxvi. arcadians at bay xxvii. jimmy's dream xxviii. gilray's dream xxix. pettigrew's dream xxx. the murder in the inn xxxi. the perils of not smoking xxxii. my last pipe xxxiii. when my wife is asleep and all the house is still [illustration] [illustration] illustrations page half-title i frontispiece iv title-page v headpiece to table of contents vii tailpiece to table of contents viii headpiece to list of illustrations ix tailpiece to list of illustrations xiii headpiece to chap. i. "as well as a spring bonnet and a nice dress" "there are the japanese fans on the wall" tailpiece chap. i. "my wife puts her hand on my shoulder" headpiece chap. ii. "at last he jumped up" box of cigars tailpiece chap. ii. "i firmly lighted my first cigar" headpiece chap. iii. "jimmy pins a notice on his door" "we are only to be distinguished by our pipes" the arcadia mixture tailpiece chap. iii. headpiece chap. iv. "oh, see what i have done" "i fell in love with two little meerschaums" pipes and pouch tailpiece chap. iv. headpiece chap. v. "they ... made tongs of their knitting-needles to lift it" "i ... cast my old pouch out at the window" , "it never quite recovered from its night in the rain" tailpiece chap. v. headpiece chap vi. "my smoking-table" "sometimes i had knocked it over accidentally" tailpiece chap. vi. headpiece chap. vii. "we met first in the merediths' house-boat" "he 'strode away blowing great clouds into the air,'" tailpiece chap. vii. "the arcadia had him for its own" headpiece chap. viii. "i let him talk on" pipes and jar of spills , tray of pipes and cigars "i would ... light him to his sleeping-chamber with a spill" tailpiece chap. viii. headpiece chap. ix. "the stem was a long cherry-wood" "in time ... the arcadia mixture made him more and more like the rest of us" "a score of smaller letters were tumbling about my feet" tailpiece chap. ix. "mothers' pets" headpiece chap. x. "scrymgeour was an artist" "with shadowy reptiles crawling across the panels" "scrymgeour sprang like an acrobat into a japanese dressing-gown" tailpiece chap. x. headpiece chap. xi. "his wife's cigars" "a packet of celebros alighted on my head" "i told her the cigars were excellent" tailpiece chap. xi. headpiece chap. xii. "gilray's flower-pot" "then arcadians would drop in" "i wrote to him" tailpiece chap. xii. "the can nearly fell from my hand" headpiece chap. xiii. "raleigh ... introduced tobacco into this country" the arcadia mixture "ned alleyn goes from tavern to tavern picking out his men" tailpiece chap. xiii. headpiece chap. xiv. "i was testing some new cabanas" "a few weeks later some one tapped me on the shoulder" "naturally in the circumstances you did not want to talk about henry" tailpiece chap. xiv. headpiece chap. xv. "house-boat arcadia" "i caught my straw hat disappearing on the wings of the wind" "it was the boy come back with the vegetables" tailpiece chap. xv. "there was a row all round, which resulted in our division into five parties" headpiece chap. xvi. "the arcadia mixture again" "on the open window ... stood a round tin of tobacco" "a pipe of the mixture" "the lady was making pretty faces with a cigarette in her mouth" tailpiece chap. xvi. headpiece chap. xvii. "he was in love again" "i heard him walking up and down the deck" tailpiece chap. xvii. "he took the wire off me and used it to clean his pipe" headpiece chap. xviii. "i had walked from spondinig to franzenshohe" "on the middle of the plank she had turned to kiss her hand" "then she burst into tears" tailpiece chap. xviii. "a wall has risen up between us" headpiece chap. xix. "primus" "many tall hats struck, to topple in the dust" "running after sheep, from which ladies were flying" "i should like to write you a line" tailpiece chap. xix. "i am, respected sir, your diligent pupil" headpiece chap. xx. "reading primus's letters" tailpiece chap. xx. headpiece chap. xxi. "english-grown tobacco" "i smoked my third cigar very slowly" tailpiece chap. xxi. headpiece chap. xxii. "how heroes smoke" "once, indeed, we do see strathmore smoking a good cigar" "a half-smoked cigar" "the tall, scornful gentleman who leans lazily against the door" tailpiece chap. xxii. headpiece chap. xxiii. "the ghost of christmas eve" "my pipe" "my brier, which i found beneath my pillow" tailpiece chap. xxiii. headpiece chap. xxiv. "but the pipes were old friends" "it had the paper in its mouth" tailpiece chap. xxiv. "i was pleased that i had lost" headpiece chap. xxv. "a face that haunted marriot" "there was the french girl at algiers" tailpiece chap. xxv. headpiece chap. xxvi. "arcadians at bay" pipes and tobacco-jar tailpiece chap. xxvi. "jimmy began as follows" headpiece chap. xxvii. "jimmy's dream" pipes "council for defence calls attention to the prisoner's high and unblemished character" tailpiece chap. xxvii. headpiece chap. xxviii. "these indefatigable amateurs began to dance a minuet" a friendly favor tailpiece chap. xxviii. headpiece chap. xxix. "pettigrew's dream" "he went round the morning-room" "his wife ... filled his pipe for him" "mrs. pettigrew sent one of the children to the study" tailpiece chap. xxix. "i awarded the tin of arcadia to pettigrew" headpiece chap. xxx. "sometimes i think it is all a dream" tailpiece chap. xxx. headpiece chap. xxxi. "they thought i had weakly yielded" "they went one night in a body to pettigrew's" tailpiece chap. xxxi. headpiece chap. xxxii. "then we began to smoke" "i conjured up the face of a lady" "not even scrymgeour knew what my pouch had been to me" tailpiece chap. xxxii. headpiece chap. xxxiii. "when my wife is asleep and all the house is still" "the man through the wall" pipes tailpiece chap. xxxiii. [illustration] [illustration] my lady nicotine. chapter i. matrimony and smoking compared. the circumstances in which i gave up smoking were these: i was a mere bachelor, drifting toward what i now see to be a tragic middle age. i had become so accustomed to smoke issuing from my mouth that i felt incomplete without it; indeed, the time came when i could refrain from smoking if doing nothing else, but hardly during the hours of toil. to lay aside my pipe was to find myself soon afterward wandering restlessly round my table. no blind beggar was ever more abjectly led by his dog, or more loath to cut the string. i am much better without tobacco, and already have a difficulty in sympathizing with the man i used to be. even to call him up, as it were, and regard him without prejudice is a difficult task, for we forget the old selves on whom we have turned our backs, as we forget a street that has been reconstructed. does the freed slave always shiver at the crack of a whip? i fancy not, for i recall but dimly, and without acute suffering, the horrors of my smoking days. there were nights when i awoke with a pain at my heart that made me hold my breath. i did not dare move. after perhaps ten minutes of dread, i would shift my position an inch at a time. less frequently i felt this sting in the daytime, and believed i was dying while my friends were talking to me. i never mentioned these experiences to a human being; indeed, though a medical man was among my companions, i cunningly deceived him on the rare occasions when he questioned me about the amount of tobacco i was consuming weekly. often in the dark i not only vowed to give up smoking, but wondered why i cared for it. next morning i went straight from breakfast to my pipe, without the smallest struggle with myself. latterly i knew, while resolving to break myself of the habit, that i would be better employed trying to sleep. i had elaborate ways of cheating myself, but it became disagreeable to me to know how many ounces of tobacco i was smoking weekly. often i smoked cigarettes to reduce the number of my cigars. on the other hand, if these sharp pains be excepted, i felt quite well. my appetite was as good as it is now, and i worked as cheerfully and certainly harder. to some slight extent, i believe, i experienced the same pains in my boyhood, before i smoked, and i am not an absolute stranger to them yet. they were most frequent in my smoking days, but i have no other reason for charging them to tobacco. possibly a doctor who was himself a smoker would have pooh-poohed them. nevertheless, i have lighted my pipe, and then, as i may say, hearkened for them. at the first intimation that they were coming i laid the pipe down and ceased to smoke--until they had passed. i will not admit that, once sure it was doing me harm, i could not, unaided, have given up tobacco. but i was reluctant to make sure. i should like to say that i left off smoking because i considered it a mean form of slavery, to be condemned for moral as well as physical reasons; but though now i clearly see the folly of smoking, i was blind to it for some months after i had smoked my last pipe. i gave up my most delightful solace, as i regarded it, for no other reason than that the lady who was willing to fling herself away on me said that i must choose between it and her. this deferred our marriage for six months. i have now come, as those who read will see, to look upon smoking with my wife's eyes. my old bachelor friends complain because i do not allow smoking in the house, but i am always ready to explain my position, and i have not an atom of pity for them. if i cannot smoke here neither shall they. when i visit them in the old inn they take a poor revenge by blowing rings of smoke almost in my face. this ambition to blow rings is the most ignoble known to man. once i was a member of a club for smokers, where we practised blowing rings. the most successful got a box of cigars as a prize at the end of the year. those were days! often i think wistfully of them. we met in a cozy room off the strand. how well i can picture it still. time-tables lying everywhere, with which we could light our pipes. some smoked clays, but for the arcadia mixture give me a brier. my brier was the sweetest ever known. it is strange now to recall a time when a pipe seemed to be my best friend. my present state is so happy that i can only look back with wonder at my hesitation to enter upon it. our house was taken while i was still arguing that it would be dangerous to break myself of smoking all at once. at that time my ideal of married life was not what it is now, and i remember jimmy's persuading me to fix on this house, because the large room upstairs with the three windows was a smoker's dream. he pictured himself and me there in the summer-time blowing rings, with our coats off and our feet out at the windows; and he said that the closet at the back looking on to a blank wall would make a charming drawing-room for my wife. for the moment his enthusiasm carried me away, but i see now how selfish it was, and i have before me the face of jimmy when he paid us his first visit and found that the closet was not the drawing-room. jimmy is a fair specimen of a man, not without parts, destroyed by devotion to his pipe. to this day he thinks that mantelpiece vases are meant for holding pipe-lights in. we are almost certain that when he stays with us he smokes in his bedroom--a detestable practice that i cannot permit. [illustration] two cigars a day at ninepence apiece come to _£ s. d._ yearly, and four ounces of tobacco a week at nine shillings a pound come to _£ s._ yearly. that makes _£ s. d._ when we calculate the yearly expense of tobacco in this way, we are naturally taken aback, and our extravagance shocks us more after we have considered how much more satisfactorily the money might have been spent. with _£ s. d._ you can buy new oriental rugs for the drawing-room, as well as a spring bonnet and a nice dress. these are things that give permanent pleasure, whereas you have no interest in a cigar after flinging away the stump. judging by myself, i should say that it was want of thought rather than selfishness that makes heavy smokers of so many bachelors. once a man marries, his eyes are opened to many things that he was quite unaware of previously, among them being the delight of adding an article of furniture to the drawing-room every month, and having a bedroom in pink and gold, the door of which is always kept locked. if men would only consider that every cigar they smoke would buy part of a new piano-stool in terra-cotta plush, and that for every pound tin of tobacco purchased away goes a vase for growing dead geraniums in, they would surely hesitate. they do not consider, however, until they marry, and then they are forced to it. for my own part, i fail to see why bachelors should be allowed to smoke as much as they like, when we are debarred from it. [illustration] the very smell of tobacco is abominable, for one cannot get it out of the curtains, and there is little pleasure in existence unless the curtains are all right. as for a cigar after dinner, it only makes you dull and sleepy and disinclined for ladies' society. a far more delightful way of spending the evening is to go straight from dinner to the drawing-room and have a little music. it calms the mind to listen to your wife's niece singing, "oh, that we two were maying!" even if you are not musical, as is the case with me, there is a great deal in the drawing-room to refresh you. there are the japanese fans on the wall, which are things of beauty, though your artistic taste may not be sufficiently educated to let you know it except by hearsay; and it is pleasant to feel that they were bought with money which, in the foolish old days, would have been squandered on a box of cigars. in like manner every pretty trifle in the room reminds you how much wiser you are now than you used to be. it is even gratifying to stand in summer at the drawing-room window and watch the very cabbies passing with cigars in their mouths. at the same time, if i had the making of the laws i would prohibit people's smoking in the street. if they are married men, they are smoking drawing-room fire-screens and mantelpiece borders for the pink-and-gold room. if they are bachelors, it is a scandal that bachelors should get the best of everything. nothing is more pitiable than the way some men of my acquaintance enslave themselves to tobacco. nay, worse, they make an idol of some one particular tobacco. i know a man who considers a certain mixture so superior to all others that he will walk three miles for it. surely every one will admit that this is lamentable. it is not even a good mixture, for i used to try it occasionally; and if there is one man in london who knows tobaccoes it is myself. there is only one mixture in london deserving the adjective superb. i will not say where it is to be got, for the result would certainly be that many foolish men would smoke more than ever; but i never knew anything to compare to it. it is deliciously mild yet full of fragrance, and it never burns the tongue. if you try it once you smoke it ever afterward. it clears the brain and soothes the temper. when i went away for a holiday anywhere i took as much of that exquisite health-giving mixture as i thought would last me the whole time, but i always ran out of it. then i telegraphed to london for more, and was miserable until it arrived. how i tore the lid off the canister! that is a tobacco to live for. but i am better without it. occasionally i feel a little depressed after dinner still, without being able to say why, and if my wife has left me, i wander about the room restlessly, like one who misses something. usually, however, she takes me with her to the drawing-room, and reads aloud her delightfully long home-letters or plays soft music to me. if the music be sweet and sad it takes me away to a stair in an inn, which i climb gayly, and shake open a heavy door on the top floor, and turn up the gas. it is a little room i am in once again, and very dusty. a pile of papers and magazines stands as high as a table in the corner furthest from the door. the cane chair shows the exact shape of marriot's back. what is left (after lighting the fire) of a frame picture lies on the hearth-rug. gilray walks in uninvited. he has left word that his visitors are to be sent on to me. the room fills. my hand feels along the mantelpiece for a brown jar. the jar is between my knees; i fill my pipe.... after a time the music ceases, and my wife puts her hand on my shoulder. perhaps i start a little, and then she says i have been asleep. this is the book of my dreams. [illustration] chapter ii. my first cigar. [illustration] it was not in my chambers, but three hundred miles further north, that i learned to smoke. i think i may say with confidence that a first cigar was never smoked in such circumstances before. at that time i was a school-boy, living with my brother, who was a man. people mistook our relations, and thought i was his son. they would ask me how my father was, and when he heard of this he scowled at me. even to this day i look so young that people who remember me as a boy now think i must be that boy's younger brother. i shall tell presently of a strange mistake of this kind, but at present i am thinking of the evening when my brother's eldest daughter was born--perhaps the most trying evening he and i ever passed together. so far as i knew, the affair was very sudden, and i felt sorry for my brother as well as for myself. we sat together in the study, he on an arm-chair drawn near the fire and i on the couch. i cannot say now at what time i began to have an inkling that there was something wrong. it came upon me gradually and made me very uncomfortable, though of course i did not show this. i heard people going up and down stairs, but i was not at that time naturally suspicious. comparatively early in the evening i felt that my brother had something on his mind. as a rule, when we were left together, he yawned or drummed with his fingers on the arm of his chair to show that he did not feel uncomfortable, or i made a pretence of being at ease by playing with the dog or saying that the room was close. then one of us would rise, remark that he had left his book in the dining-room, and go away to look for it, taking care not to come back till the other had gone. in this crafty way we helped each other. on that occasion, however, he did not adopt any of the usual methods, and though i went up to my bedroom several times and listened through the wall, i heard nothing. at last some one told me not to go upstairs, and i returned to the study, feeling that i now knew the worst. he was still in the arm-chair, and i again took to the couch. i could see by the way he looked at me over his pipe that he was wondering whether i knew anything. i don't think i ever liked my brother better than on that night; and i wanted him to understand that, whatever happened, it would make no difference between us. but the affair upstairs was too delicate to talk of, and all i could do was to try to keep his mind from brooding on it, by making him tell me things about politics. this is the kind of man my brother is. he is an astonishing master of facts, and i suppose he never read a book yet, from a blue book to a volume of verse, without catching the author in error about something. he reads books for that purpose. as a rule i avoided argument with him, because he was disappointed if i was right and stormed if i was wrong. it was therefore a dangerous thing to begin on politics, but i thought the circumstances warranted it. to my surprise he answered me in a rambling manner, occasionally breaking off in the middle of a sentence and seeming to listen for something. i tried him on history, and mentioned as the date of the battle of waterloo, merely to give him his opportunity. but he let it pass. after that there was silence. by and by he rose from his chair, apparently to leave the room, and then sat down again, as if he had thought better of it. he did this several times, always eying me narrowly. wondering how i could make it easier for him, i took up a book and pretended to read with deep attention, meaning to show him that he could go away if he liked without my noticing it. at last he jumped up, and, looking at me boldly, as if to show that the house was his and he could do what he liked in it, went heavily from the room. as soon as he was gone i laid down my book. i was now in a state of nervous excitement, though outwardly i was quite calm. i took a look at him as he went up the stairs, and noticed that he had slipped off his shoes on the bottom step. all haughtiness had left him now. [illustration] in a little while he came back. he found me reading. he lighted his pipe and pretended to read too. i shall never forget that my book was "anne judge, spinster," while his was a volume of "blackwood." every five minutes his pipe went out, and sometimes the book lay neglected on his knee as he stared at the fire. then he would go out for five minutes and come back again. it was late now, and i felt that i should like to go to my bedroom and lock myself in. that, however, would have been selfish; so we sat on defiantly. at last he started from his chair as some one knocked at the door. i heard several people talking, and then loud above their voices a younger one. [illustration] when i came to myself, the first thing i thought was that they would ask me to hold it. then i remembered, with another sinking at the heart, that they might want to call it after me. these, of course, were selfish reflections; but my position was a trying one. the question was, what was the proper thing for me to do? i told myself that my brother might come back at any moment, and all i thought of after that was what i should say to him. i had an idea that i ought to congratulate him, but it seemed a brutal thing to do. i had not made up my mind when i heard him coming down. he was laughing and joking in what seemed to me a flippant kind of way, considering the circumstances. when his hand touched the door i snatched at my book and read as hard as i could. he was swaggering a little as he entered, but the swagger went out of him as soon as his eye fell on me. i fancy he had come down to tell me, and now he did not know how to begin. he walked up and down the room restlessly, looking at me as he walked the one way, while i looked at him as he walked the other way. at length he sat down again and took up his book. he did not try to smoke. the silence was something terrible; nothing was to be heard but an occasional cinder falling from the grate. this lasted, i should say, for twenty minutes, and then he closed his book and flung it on the table. i saw that the game was up, and closed "anne judge, spinster." then he said, with affected jocularity: "well, young man, do you know that you are an uncle?" there was silence again, for i was still trying to think out some appropriate remark. after a time i said, in a weak voice. "boy or girl?" "girl," he answered. then i thought hard again, and all at once remembered something. "both doing well?" i whispered. "yes," he said sternly. i felt that something great was expected of me, but i could not jump up and wring his hand. i was an uncle. i stretched out my arm toward the cigar-box, and firmly lighted my first cigar. [illustration] chapter iii. the arcadia mixture. [illustration] darkness comes, and with it the porter to light our stair gas. he vanishes into his box. already the inn is so quiet that the tap of a pipe on a window-sill startles all the sparrows in the quadrangle. the men on my stair emerged from their holes. scrymgeour, in a dressing-gown, pushes open the door of the boudoir on the first floor, and climbs lazily. the sentimental face and the clay with a crack in it are marriot's. gilray, who has been rehearsing his part in the new original comedy from the icelandic, ceases muttering and feels his way along his dark lobby. jimmy pins a notice on his door, "called away on business," and crosses to me. soon we are all in the old room again, jimmy on the hearth-rug, marriot in the cane chair; the curtains are pinned together with a pen-nib, and the five of us are smoking the arcadia mixture. pettigrew will be welcomed if he comes, but he is a married man, and we seldom see him nowadays. others will be regarded as intruders. if they are smoking common tobaccoes, they must either be allowed to try ours or requested to withdraw. one need only put his head in at my door to realize that tobaccoes are of two kinds, the arcadia and others. no one who smokes the arcadia would ever attempt to describe its delights, for his pipe would be certain to go out. when he was at school, jimmy moggridge smoked a cane chair, and he has since said that from cane to ordinary mixtures was not so noticeable as the change from ordinary mixtures to the arcadia. i ask no one to believe this, for the confirmed smoker in arcadia detests arguing with anybody about anything. were i anxious to prove jimmy's statement, i would merely give you the only address at which the arcadia is to be had. but that i will not do. it would be as rash as proposing a man with whom i am unacquainted for my club. you may not be worthy to smoke the arcadia mixture. [illustration] even though i became attached to you, i might not like to take the responsibility of introducing you to the arcadia. this mixture has an extraordinary effect upon character, and probably you want to remain as you are. before i discovered the arcadia, and communicated it to the other five--including pettigrew--we had all distinct individualities, but now, except in appearance--and the arcadia even tells on that--we are as like as holly leaves. we have the same habits, the same ways of looking at things, the same satisfaction in each other. no doubt we are not yet absolutely alike, indeed i intend to prove this, but in given circumstances we would probably do the same thing, and, furthermore, it would be what other people would not do. thus when we are together we are only to be distinguished by our pipes; but any one of us in the company of persons who smoke other tobaccoes would be considered highly original. he would be a pigtail in europe. [illustration] if you meet in company a man who has ideas and is not shy, yet refuses absolutely to be drawn into talk, you may set him down as one of us. among the first effects of the arcadia is to put an end to jabber. gilray had at one time the reputation of being such a brilliant talker that arcadians locked their doors on him, but now he is a man that can be invited anywhere. the arcadia is entirely responsible for the change. perhaps i myself am the most silent of our company, and hostesses usually think me shy. they ask ladies to draw me out, and when the ladies find me as hopeless as a sulky drawer, they call me stupid. the charge may be true, but i do not resent it, for i smoke the arcadia mixture, and am consequently indifferent to abuse. i willingly gibbet myself to show how reticent the arcadia makes us. it happens that i have a connection with nottingham, and whenever a man mentions nottingham to me, with a certain gleam in his eye, i know that he wants to discuss the lace trade. but it is a curious fact that the aggressive talker constantly mixes up nottingham and northampton. "oh, you know nottingham," he says, interestedly; "and how do you like labouchere for a member?" do you think i put him right? do you imagine me thirsting to tell that mr. labouchere is the christian member for northampton? do you suppose me swift to explain that mr. broadhurst is one of the nottingham members, and that the "nottingham lambs" are notorious in the history of political elections? do you fancy me explaining that he is quite right in saying that nottingham has a large market-place? do you see me drawn into half an hour's talk about robin hood? that is not my way. i merely reply that we like mr. labouchere pretty well. it may be said that i gain nothing by this; that the talker will be as curious about northampton as he would have been about nottingham, and that bradlaugh and labouchere and boots will serve his turn quite as well as broadhurst and lace and robin hood. but that is not so. beginning on northampton in the most confident manner, it suddenly flashes across him that he has mistaken northampton for nottingham. "how foolish of me!" he says. i maintain a severe silence. he is annoyed. my experience of talkers tells me that nothing annoys them so much as a blunder of this kind. from the coldly polite way in which i have taken the talker's remarks, he discovers the value i put upon them, and after that, if he has a neighbor on the other side, he leaves me alone. enough has been said to show that the arcadian's golden rule is to be careful about what he says. this does not mean that he is to say nothing. as society is at present constituted you are bound to make an occasional remark. but you need not make it rashly. it has been said somewhere that it would be well for talkative persons to count twenty, or to go over the alphabet, before they let fall the observation that trembles on their lips. the non-talker has no taste for such an unintellectual exercise. at the same time he must not hesitate too long, for, of course, it is to his advantage to introduce the subject. he ought to think out a topic of which his neighbor will not be able to make very much. to begin on the fall of snow, or the number of tons of turkeys consumed on christmas day, as stated in the _daily telegraph_, is to deserve your fate. if you are at a dinner-party of men only, take your host aside, and in a few well-considered sentences find out from him what kind of men you are to sit between during dinner. perhaps one of them is an african traveller. a knowledge of this prevents your playing into his hands, by remarking that the papers are full of the relief of emin pasha. these private inquiries will also save you from talking about mr. chamberlain to a neighbor who turns out to be the son of a birmingham elector. allow that man his chance, and he will not only give you the birmingham gossip, but what individual electors said about mr. chamberlain to the banker or the tailor, and what the grocer did the moment the poll was declared, with particulars about the antiquity of birmingham and the fishing to be had in the neighborhood. what you ought to do is to talk about emin pasha to this man, and to the traveller about mr. chamberlain, taking care, of course, to speak in a low voice. in that way you may have comparative peace. everything, however, depends on the calibre of your neighbors. if they agree to look upon you as an honorable antagonist, and so to fight fair, the victory will be to him who deserves it; that is to say, to the craftier man of the two. but talkers, as a rule, do not fight fair. they consider silent men their prey. it will thus be seen that i distinguish between talkers, admitting that some of them are worse than others. the lowest in the social scale is he who stabs you in the back, as it were, instead of crossing swords. if one of the gentlemen introduced to you is of that type, he will not be ashamed to say, "speaking of emin pasha, i wonder if mr. chamberlain is interested in the relief expedition. i don't know if i told you that my father----" and there he is, fairly on horseback. it is seldom of any use to tempt him into other channels. better turn to your traveller and let him describe the different routes to egyptian equatorial provinces, with his own views thereon. allow him even to draw a map of africa with a fork on the table-cloth. a talker of this kind is too full of his subject to insist upon answering questions, so that he does not trouble you much. it is his own dinner that is spoiled rather than yours. treat in the same way as the chamberlain talker the man who sits down beside you and begins, "remarkable man, mr. gladstone." there was a ventilator in my room, which sometimes said "crik-crik!" reminding us that no one had spoken for an hour. occasionally, however, we had lapses of speech, when gilray might tell over again--though not quite as i mean to tell it--the story of his first pipeful of the arcadia, or scrymgeour, the travelled man, would give us the list of famous places in europe where he had smoked. but, as a rule, none of us paid much attention to what the others said, and after the last pipe the room emptied--unless marriot insisted on staying behind to bore me with his scruples--by first one and then another putting his pipe into his pocket and walking silently out of the room. [illustration] chapter iv. my pipes. in a select company of scoffers my brier was known as the mermaid. the mouth-piece was a cigarette-holder, and months of unwearied practice were required before you found the angle at which the bowl did not drop off. [illustration] this brings me to one of the many advantages that my brier had over all other pipes. it has given me a reputation for gallantry, to which without it i fear i could lay no claim. i used to have a passion for repartee, especially in the society of ladies. but it is with me as with many other men of parts whose wit has ever to be fired by a long fuse: my best things strike me as i wend my way home. this embittered my early days; and not till the pride of youth had been tamed could i stop to lay in a stock of repartee on likely subjects the night before. then my pipe helped me. it was the apparatus that carried me to my prettiest compliment. having exposed my pipe in some prominent place where it could hardly escape notice, i took measures for insuring a visit from a lady, young, graceful, accomplished. or i might have it ready for a chance visitor. on her arrival, i conducted her to a seat near my pipe. it is not good to hurry on to the repartee at once; so i talked for a time of the weather, the theatres, the new novel. i kept my eye on her; and by and by she began to look about her. she observed the strange-looking pipe. now is the critical moment. it is possible that she may pass it by without remark, in which case all is lost; but experience has shown me that four times out of six she touches it in assumed horror, to pass some humorous remark. off tumbles the bowl. "oh," she exclaims, "see what i have done! i am so sorry!" i pull myself together. "madame," i reply calmly, and bowing low, "what else was to be expected? you came near my pipe--and it lost its head." she blushes, but cannot help being pleased; and i set my pipe for the next visitor. by the help of a note-book, of course, i guarded myself against paying this very neat compliment to any person more than once. however, after i smoked the arcadia the desire to pay ladies compliments went from me. journeying back into the past, i come to a time when my pipe had a mouth-piece of fine amber. the bowl and the rest of the stem were of brier, but it was a gentlemanly pipe, without silver mountings. such tobacco i revelled in as may have filled the pouch of pan as he lay smoking on the mountain-sides. once i saw a beautiful woman with brown hair, in and out of which the rays of a morning sun played hide-and-seek, that might not unworthily have been compared to it. beguiled by the exquisite arcadia, the days and the years passed from me in delicate rings of smoke, and i contentedly watched them sailing to the skies. how continuous was the line of those lovely circles, and how straight! one could have passed an iron rod through them from end to end. but one day i had a harsh awakening. i bit the amber mouth-piece of my pipe through, and life was never the same again. it is strange how attached we become to old friends, though they be but inanimate objects. the old pipe put aside, i turned to a meerschaum, which had been presented to me years before, with the caution that i must not smoke it unless i wore kid gloves. there was no savor in that pipe for me. i tried another brier, and it made me unhappy. clays would not keep in with me. it seemed as if they knew i was hankering after the old pipe, and went out in disgust. then i got a new amber mouth-piece for my first love. in a week i had bitten that through too, and in an over-anxious attempt to file off the ragged edges i broke the screw. moralists have said that the smoker who has no thought but for his pipe never breaks it; that it is he only who while smoking concentrates his mind on some less worthy object that sends his teeth through the amber. this may be so; for i am a philosopher, and when working out new theories i may have been careless even of that which inspired them most. after this second accident nothing went well with me or with my pipe. i took the mouthpieces out of other pipes and fixed them on to the mermaid. in a little while one of them became too wide; another broke as i was screwing it more firmly in. then the bowl cracked at the rim and split at the bottom. this was an annoyance until i found out what was wrong and plugged up the fissures with sealing-wax. the wax melted and dropped upon my clothes after a time; but it was easily renewed. it was now that i had the happy thought of bringing a cigarette-holder to my assistance. but of course one cannot make a pipe-stem out of a cigarette-holder all at once. the thread you wind round the screw has a disappointing way of coming undone, when down falls the bowl, with an escape of sparks. twisting a piece of paper round the screw is an improvement; but, until you have acquired the knack, the operation has to be renewed every time you relight your pipe. this involves a sad loss of time, and in my case it afforded a butt for the dull wit of visitors. otherwise i found it satisfactory, and i was soon astonishingly adept at making paper screws. eventually my brier became as serviceable as formerly, though not, perhaps, so handsome. i fastened on the holder with sealing-wax, and often a week passed without my having to renew the joint. it was no easy matter lighting a pipe like mine, especially when i had no matches. i always meant to buy a number of boxes, but somehow i put off doing it. occasionally i found a box of vestas on my mantelpiece, which some caller had left there by mistake, or sympathizing, perhaps, with my case; but they were such a novelty that i never felt quite at home with them. generally i remembered they were there just after my pipe was lighted. when i kept them in mind and looked forward to using them, they were at the other side of the room, and it would have been a pity to get up for them. besides, the most convenient medium for lighting one's pipe is paper, after all; and if you have not an old envelope in your pocket, there is probably a photograph standing on the mantelpiece. it is convenient to have the magazines lying handy; or a page from a book--hand-made paper burns beautifully--will do. to be sure, there is the lighting of your paper. for this your lamp is practically useless, standing in the middle of the table, while you are in an easy-chair by the fireside; and as for the tape-and-spark contrivance, it is the introduction of machinery into the softest joys of life. the fire is best. it is near you, and you drop your burning spill into it with a minimum waste of energy. the proper fire for pipes is one in a cheerful blaze. if your spill is carelessly constructed the flame runs up into your fingers before you know what you are doing, so that it is as well to marry and get your wife to make spills for you. before you begin to smoke, scatter these about the fireplace. then you will be able to reach them without rising. the irritating fire is the one that has burned low--when the coals are more than half cinders, and cling to each other in fear of death. with such a fire it is no use attempting to light a pipe all at once. your better course now is to drop little bits of paper into the likely places in the fire, and have a spill ready to apply to the one that lights first. it is an anxious moment, for they may merely shrivel up sullenly without catching fire, and in that case some men lose their tempers. bad to lose your temper over your pipe---- [illustration] no pipe really ever rivalled the brier in my affections, though i can recall a mad month when i fell in love with two little meerschaums, which i christened romulus and remus. they lay together in one case in regent street, and it was with difficulty that i could pass the shop without going in. often i took side streets to escape their glances, but at last i asked the price. it startled me, and i hurried home to the brier. i forget when it was that a sort of compromise struck me. this was that i should present the pipes to my brother as a birthday gift. did i really mean to do this, or was i only trying to cheat my conscience? who can tell? i hurried again into regent street. there they were, more beautiful than ever. i hovered about the shop for quite half an hour that day. my indecision and vacillation were pitiful. buttoning up my coat, i would rush from the window, only to find myself back again in five minutes. sometimes i had my hand on the shop door. then i tore it away and hurried into oxford street. then i slunk back again. self whispered, "buy them--for your brother." conscience said, "go home." at last i braced myself up for a magnificent effort, and jumped into a 'bus bound for london bridge. this saved me for the time. [illustration] i now began to calculate how i could become owner of the meerschaums--prior to dispatching them by parcel-post to my brother--without paying for them. that was my way of putting it. i calculated that by giving up my daily paper i should save thirteen shillings in six months. after all, why should i take in a daily paper? to read through columns of public speeches and police cases and murders in paris is only to squander valuable time. now, when i left home i promised my father not to waste my time. my father had been very good to me; why, then, should i do that which i had promised him not to do? then, again, there were the theatres. during the past six months i had spent several pounds on theatres. was this right? my mother, who has never, i think, been in a theatre, strongly advised me against frequenting such places. i did not take this much to heart at the time. theatres did not seem to me to be immoral. but, after all, my mother is older than i am; and who am i, to set my views up against hers? by avoiding the theatres for the next six months, i am (already), say, three pounds to the good. i had been frittering away my money, too, on luxuries; and luxuries are effeminate. thinking the matter over temperately and calmly in that way, i saw that i should be thoughtfully saving money, instead of spending it, by buying romulus and remus, as i already called them. at the same time, i should be gratifying my father and my mother, and leading a higher and a nobler life. even then i do not know that i should have bought the pipes until the six months were up, had i not been driven to it by jealousy. on my life, love for a pipe is ever like love for a woman, though they say it is not so acute. many a man thinks there is no haste to propose until he sees a hated rival approaching. even if he is not in a hurry for the lady himself, he loathes the idea of her giving herself, in a moment of madness, to that other fellow. rather than allow that, he proposes himself, and so insures her happiness. it was so with me. romulus and remus were taken from the window to show to a black-bearded, swarthy man, whom i suspected of designs upon them the moment he entered the shop. ah, the agony of waiting until he came out! he was not worthy of them. i never knew how much i loved them until i had nearly lost them. as soon as he was gone i asked if he had priced them, and was told that he had. he was to call again to-morrow. i left a deposit of a guinea, hurried home for more money, and that night romulus and remus were mine. but i never really loved them as i loved my brier. [illustration] chapter v. my tobacco-pouch. [illustration] i once knew a lady who said of her husband that he looked nice when sitting with a rug over him. my female relatives seemed to have the same opinion of my tobacco-pouch; for they never saw it, even in my own room, without putting a book or pamphlet over it. they called it "that thing," and made tongs of their knitting-needles to lift it; and when i indignantly returned it to my pocket, they raised their hands to signify that i would not listen to reason. it seemed to come natural to other persons to present me with new tobacco-pouches, until i had nearly a score lying neglected in drawers. but i am not the man to desert an old friend that has been with me everywhere and thoroughly knows my ways. once, indeed, i came near to being unfaithful to my tobacco-pouch, and i mean to tell how--partly as a punishment to myself. [illustration] the incident took place several years ago. gilray and i had set out on a walking tour of the shakespeare country; but we separated at stratford, which was to be our starting-point, because he would not wait for me. i am more of a shakespearian student than gilray, and stratford affected me so much that i passed day after day smoking reverently at the hotel door; while he, being of the pure tourist type (not that i would say a word against gilray), wanted to rush from one place of interest to another. he did not understand what thoughts came to me as i strolled down the stratford streets; and in the hotel, when i lay down on the sofa, he said i was sleeping, though i was really picturing to myself shakespeare's boyhood. gilray even went the length of arguing that it would not be a walking tour at all if we never made a start; so, upon the whole, i was glad when he departed alone. the next day was a memorable one to me. in the morning i wrote to my london tobacconist for more arcadia. i had quarrelled with both of the stratford tobacconists. the one of them, as soon as he saw my tobacco-pouch, almost compelled me to buy a new one. the second was even more annoying. i paid with a half-sovereign for the tobacco i had got from him; but after gazing at the pouch he became suspicious of the coin, and asked if i could not pay him in silver. an insult to my pouch i considered an insult to myself; so i returned to those shops no more. the evening of the day on which i wrote to london for tobacco brought me a letter from home saying that my sister was seriously ill. i had left her in good health, so that the news was the more distressing. of course i returned home by the first train. sitting alone in a dull railway compartment, my heart was filled with tenderness, and i recalled the occasions on which i had carelessly given her pain. suddenly i remembered that more than once she had besought me with tears in her eyes to fling away my old tobacco-pouch. she had always said that it was not respectable. in the bitterness of self-reproach i pulled the pouch from my pocket, asking myself whether, after all, the love of a good woman was not a far more precious possession. without giving myself time to hesitate, i stood up and firmly cast my old pouch out at the window. i saw it fall at the foot of a fence. the train shot on. [illustration] [illustration] by the time i reached home my sister had been pronounced out of danger. of course i was much relieved to hear it, but at the same time this was a lesson to me not to act rashly. the retention of my tobacco-pouch would not have retarded her recovery, and i could not help picturing my pouch, my oldest friend in the world, lying at the foot of that fence. i saw that i had done wrong in casting it from me. i had not even the consolation of feeling that if any one found it he would cherish it, for it was so much damaged that i knew it could never appeal to a new owner as it appealed to me. i had intended telling my sister of the sacrifice made for her sake; but after seeing her so much better, i left the room without doing so. there was arcadia mixture in the house, but i had not the heart to smoke. i went early to bed, and fell into a troubled sleep, from which i awoke with a shiver. the rain was driving against my window, tapping noisily on it as if calling on me to awake and go back for my tobacco-pouch. it rained far on into the morning, and i lay miserably, seeing nothing before me but a wet fence, and a tobacco-pouch among the grass at the foot of it. on the following afternoon i was again at stratford. so far as i could remember, i had flung away the pouch within a few miles of the station; but i did not look for it until dusk. i felt that the porters had their eyes on me. by crouching along hedges i at last reached the railway a mile or two from the station, and began my search. it may be thought that the chances were against my finding the pouch; but i recovered it without much difficulty. the scene as i flung my old friend out at the window had burned itself into my brain, and i could go to the spot to-day as readily as i went on that occasion. there it was, lying among the grass, but not quite in the place where it had fallen. apparently some navvy had found it, looked at it, and then dropped it. it was half-full of water, and here and there it was sticking together; but i took it up tenderly, and several times on the way back to the station i felt in my pocket to make sure that it was really there. [illustration] i have not described the appearance of my pouch, feeling that to be unnecessary. it never, i fear, quite recovered from its night in the rain, and as my female relatives refused to touch it, i had to sew it together now and then myself. gilray used to boast of a way of mending a hole in a tobacco-pouch that was better than sewing. you put the two pieces of gutta-percha close together and then cut them sharply with scissors. this makes them run together, he says, and i believed him until he experimented upon my pouch. however, i did not object to a hole here and there. wherever i laid that pouch it left a small deposit of tobacco, and thus i could generally get together a pipeful at times when other persons would be destitute. i never told my sister that my pouch was once all but lost, but ever after that, when she complained that i had never even tried to do without it, i smiled tenderly. [illustration] chapter vi. my smoking-table. [illustration] had it not been for a bootblack at charing cross i should probably never have bought the smoking-table. i had to pass that boy every morning. in vain did i scowl at him, or pass with my head to the side. he always pointed derisively (as i thought) at my boots. probably my boots were speckless, but that made no difference; he jeered and sneered. i have never hated any one as i loathed that boy, and to escape him i took to going round by the lowther arcade. it was here that my eye fell on the smoking-table. in the lowther arcade, if the attendants catch you looking at any article for a fraction of a second, it is done up in brown paper, you have paid your money, and they have taken down your address before you realize that you don't want anything. in this way i became the owner of my smoking-table, and when i saw it in a brown-paper parcel on my return to my chambers i could not think what it was until i cut the strings. such a little gem of a table no smokers should be without; and i am not ashamed to say that i was in love with mine as soon as i had fixed the pieces together. it was of walnut, and consisted mainly of a stalk and two round slabs not much bigger than dinner-plates. there were holes in the centre of these slabs for the stalk to go through, and the one slab stood two feet from the floor, the other a foot higher. the lower slab was fitted with a walnut tobacco-jar and a pipe-rack, while on the upper slab were exquisite little recesses for cigars, cigarettes, matches, and ashes. these held respectively three cigars, two cigarettes, and four wax vestas. the smoking-table was an ornament to any room; and the first night i had it i raised my eyes from my book to look at it every few minutes. i got all my pipes together and put them in the rack; i filled the jar with tobacco, the recesses with three cigars, two cigarettes, and four matches; and then i thought i would have a smoke. i swept my hand confidently along the mantelpiece, but it did not stop at a pipe. i rose and looked for a pipe. i had half a dozen, but not one was to be seen--none on the mantelpiece, none on the window-sill, none on the hearth-rug, none being used as book-markers. i tugged at the bell till william john came in quaking, and then i asked him fiercely what he had done with my pipes. i was so obviously not to be trifled with that william john, as we called him, because some thought his name was william, while others thought it was john, very soon handed me my favorite pipe, which he found in the rack on the smoking-table. this incident illustrates one of the very few drawbacks of smoking-tables. not being used to them, you forget about them. william john, however, took the greatest pride in the table, and whenever he saw a pipe lying on the rug he pounced upon it and placed it, like a prisoner, in the rack. he was also most particular about the three cigars, the two cigarettes, and the four wax vestas, keeping them carefully in the proper compartments, where, unfortunately, i seldom thought of looking for them. [illustration] the fatal defect of the smoking-table, however, was that it was generally rolling about the floor--the stalk in one corner, the slabs here and there, the cigars on the rug to be trampled on, the lid of the tobacco-jar beneath a chair. every morning william john had to put the table together. sometimes i had knocked it over accidentally. i would fling a crumpled piece of paper into the waste-paper basket. it missed the basket but hit the smoking-table, which went down like a wooden soldier. when my fire went out, just because i had taken my eyes off it for a moment, i called it names and flung the tongs at it. there was a crash--the smoking-table again. in time i might have remedied this; but there is one weakness which i could not stand in any smoking-table. a smoking-table ought to be so constructed that from where you are sitting you can stretch out your feet, twist them round the stalk, and so lift the table to the spot where it will be handiest. this my smoking-table would never do. the moment i had it in the air it wanted to stand on its head. though i still admired smoking-tables as much as ever, i began to want very much to give this one away. the difficulty was not so much to know whom to give it to as how to tie it up. my brother was the very person, for i owed him a letter, and this, i thought, would do instead. for a month i meant to pack the table up and send it to him; but i always put off doing it, and at last i thought the best plan would be to give it to scrymgeour, who liked elegant furniture. as a smoker, scrymgeour seemed the very man to appreciate a pretty, useful little table. besides, all i had to do was to send william john down with it. scrymgeour was out at the time; but we left it at the side of his fireplace as a pleasant surprise. next morning, to my indignation, it was back at the side of my fireplace, and in the evening scrymgeour came and upbraided me for trying, as he most unworthily expressed it, "to palm the thing off on him." he was no sooner gone than i took the table to pieces to send it to my brother. i tied the stalk up in brown paper, meaning to get a box for the other parts. william john sent off the stalk, and for some days the other pieces littered the floor. my brother wrote me saying he had received something from me, for which his best thanks; but would i tell him what it was, as it puzzled everybody? this was his impatient way; but i made an effort, and sent off the other pieces to him in a hat-box. that was a year ago, and since then i have only heard the history of the smoking-table in fragments. my brother liked it immensely; but he thought it was too luxurious for a married man, so he sent it to reynolds, in edinburgh. not knowing reynolds, i cannot say what his opinion was; but soon afterward i heard of its being in the possession of grayson, who was charmed with it, but gave it to pelle, because it was hardly in its place in a bachelor's establishment. later a town man sent it to a country gentleman as just the thing for the country; and it was afterward in liverpool as the very thing for a town. there i thought it was lost, so far as i was concerned. one day, however, boyd, a friend of mine who lives in glasgow, came to me for a week, and about six hours afterward he said that he had a present for me. he brought it into my sitting-room--a bulky parcel--and while he was undoing the cords he told me it was something quite novel; he had bought it in glasgow the day before. when i saw a walnut leg i started; in another two minutes i was trying to thank boyd for my own smoking-table. i recognized it by the dents. i was too much the gentleman to insist on an explanation from boyd; but, though it seems a harsh thing to say, my opinion is that these different persons gave the table away because they wanted to get rid of it. william john has it now. [illustration] chapter vii. gilray. [illustration] gilray is an actor, whose life i may be said to have strangely influenced, for it was i who brought him and the arcadia mixture together. after that his coming to live on our stair was only a matter of rooms being vacant. we met first in the merediths' house-boat, the _tawny owl_, which was then lying at molesey. gilray, as i soon saw, was a man trying to be miserable, and finding it the hardest task in life. it is strange that the philosophers have never hit upon this profound truth. no man ever tried harder to be unhappy than gilray; but the luck was against him, and he was always forgetting himself. mark tapley succeeded in being jolly in adverse circumstances; gilray failed, on the whole, in being miserable in a delightful house-boat. it is, however, so much more difficult to keep up misery than jollity that i like to think of his attempt as what the dramatic critics call a _succès d'estime_. the _tawny owl_ lay on the far side of the island. there were ladies in it; and gilray's misery was meant to date from the moment when he asked one of them a question, and she said "no." gilray was strangely unlucky during the whole of his time on board. his evil genius was there, though there was very little room for him, and played sad pranks. up to the time of his asking the question referred to, gilray meant to create a pleasant impression by being jolly, and he only succeeded in being as depressing as jaques. afterward he was to be unutterably miserable; and it was all he could do to keep himself at times from whirling about in waltz tune. but then the nearest boat had a piano on board, and some one was constantly playing dance music. gilray had an idea that it would have been the proper thing to leave molesey when she said "no;" and he would have done so had not the barbel-fishing been so good. the barbel-fishing was altogether unfortunate--at least gilray's passion for it was. i have thought--and so sometimes has gilray--that if it had not been for a barbel she might not have said "no." he was fishing from the house-boat when he asked the question. you know how you fish from a house-boat. the line is flung into the water and the rod laid down on deck. you keep an eye on it. barbel-fishing, in fact, reminds one of the independent sort of man who is quite willing to play host to you, but wishes you clearly to understand at the same time that he can do without you. "glad to see you with us if you have nothing better to do; but please yourself," is what he says to his friends. this is also the form of invitation to barbel. now it happened that she and gilray were left alone in the house-boat. it was evening; some chinese lanterns had been lighted, and gilray, though you would not think it to look at him, is romantic. he cast his line, and, turning to his companion, asked her the question. from what he has told me he asked it very properly, and all seemed to be going well. she turned away her head (which is said not to be a bad sign) and had begun to reply, when a woful thing happened. the line stiffened, and there was a whirl of the reel. who can withstand that music? you can ask a question at any time, but, even at molesey, barbel are only to be got now and then. gilray rushed to his rod and began playing the fish. he called to his companion to get the landing-net. she did so; and after playing his barbel for ten minutes gilray landed it. then he turned to her again, and she said, "no." gilray sees now that he made a mistake in not departing that night by the last train. he overestimated his strength. however, we had something to do with his staying on, and he persuaded himself that he remained just to show her that she had ruined his life. once, i believe, he repeated his question; but in reply she only asked him if he had caught any more barbel. considering the surprisingly fine weather, the barbel-fishing, and the piano on the other boat, gilray was perhaps as miserable as could reasonably have been expected. where he ought to have scored best, however, he was most unlucky. she had a hammock swung between two trees, close to the boat, and there she lay, holding a novel in her hand. from the hammock she had a fine view of the deck, and this was gilray's chance. as soon as he saw her comfortably settled, he pulled a long face and climbed on deck. there he walked up and down, trying to look the image of despair. when she made some remark to him, his plan was to show that, though he answered cordially, his cheerfulness was the result of a terrible inward struggle. he did contrive to accomplish this if he was waiting for her observation; but she sometimes took him unawares, starting a subject in which he was interested. then, forgetting his character, he would talk eagerly or jest with her across the strip of water, until with a start he remembered what he had become. he would seek to recover himself after that; but of course it was too late to create a really lasting impression. even when she left him alone, watching him, i fear, over the top of her novel, he disappointed himself. for five minutes or so everything would go well; he looked as dejected as possible; but as he fell he was succeeding he became so self-satisfied that he began to strut. a pleased expression crossed his face, and instead of allowing his head to hang dismally, he put it well back. sometimes, when we wanted to please him, we said he looked as glum as a mute at a funeral. even that, however, defeated his object, for it flattered him so much that he smiled with gratification. [illustration] gilray made one great sacrifice by giving up smoking, though not indeed such a sacrifice as mine, for up to this time he did not know the arcadia mixture. perhaps the only time he really did look as miserable as he wished was late at night when we men sat up for a second last pipe before turning in. he looked wistfully at us from a corner. yet as she had gone to rest, cruel fate made this of little account. his gloomy face saddened us too, and we tried to entice him to shame by promising not to mention it to the ladies. he almost yielded, and showed us that while we smoked he had been holding his empty brier in his right hand. for a moment he hesitated, then said fiercely that he did not care for smoking. next night he was shown a novel, the hero of which had been "refused." though the lady's hard-heartedness had a terrible effect on this fine fellow, he "strode away blowing great clouds into the air." "standing there smoking in the moonlight," the authoress says in her next chapter, "de courcy was a strangely romantic figure. he looked like a man who had done everything, who had been through the furnace and had not come out of it unscathed." this was precisely what gilray wanted to look like. again he hesitated, and then put his pipe in his pocket. it was now that i approached him with the arcadia mixture. i seldom recommend the arcadia to men whom i do not know intimately, lest in the after-years i should find them unworthy of it. but just as aladdin doubtless rubbed his lamp at times for show, there were occasions when i was ostentatiously liberal. if, after trying the arcadia, the lucky smoker to whom i presented it did not start or seize my hand, or otherwise show that something exquisite had come into his life, i at once forgot his name and his existence. i approached gilray, then, and without a word handed him my pouch, while the others drew nearer. nothing was to be heard but the water oozing out and in beneath the house-boat. gilray pushed the tobacco from him, as he might have pushed a bag of diamonds that he mistook for pebbles. i placed it against his arm, and motioned to the others not to look. then i sat down beside gilray, and almost smoked into his eyes. soon the aroma reached him, and rapture struggled into his face. slowly his fingers fastened on the pouch. he filled his pipe without knowing what he was doing, and i handed him a lighted spill. he took perhaps three puffs, and then gave me a look of reverence that i know well. it only comes to a man once in all its glory--the first time he tries the arcadia mixture--but it never altogether leaves him. "where do you get it?" gilray whispered, in hoarse delight. the arcadia had him for its own. [illustration] chapter viii. marriot. [illustration] i have hinted that marriot was our sentimental member. he was seldom sentimental until after midnight, and then only when he and i were alone. why he should have chosen me as the pail into which to pour his troubles i cannot say. i let him talk on, and when he had ended i showed him plainly that i had been thinking most of the time about something else. whether marriot was entirely a humbug or the most conscientious person on our stair, readers may decide. he was fond of argument if you did not answer him, and often wanted me to tell him if i thought he was in love; if so, why did i think so; if not, why not. what makes me on reflection fancy that he was sincere is that in his statements he would let his pipe go out. of course i cannot give his words, but he would wait till all my other guests had gone, then softly lock the door, and returning to the cane chair empty himself in some such way as this: "i have something i want to talk to you about. pass me a spill. well, it is this. before i came to your rooms to-night i was cleaning my pipe, when all at once it struck me that i might be in love. this is the kind of shock that pulls a man up and together. my first thought was, if it be love, well and good; i shall go on. as a gentleman i know my duty both to her and to myself. at present, however, i am not certain which she is. in love there are no degrees; of that at least i feel positive. it is a tempestuous, surging passion, or it is nothing. the question for me, therefore, is, is this the beginning of a tempestuous, surging passion? but stop; does such a passion have a beginning? should it not be in flood before we know what we are about? i don't want you to answer. [illustration] "one of my difficulties is that i cannot reason from experience. i cannot say to myself, during the spring of , and again in october, , your breast has known the insurgence of a tempestuous passion. do you now note the same symptoms? have you experienced a sudden sinking at the heart, followed by thrills of exultation? now i cannot even say that my appetite has fallen off, but i am smoking more than ever, and it is notorious that i experience sudden chills and thrills. is this passion? no, i am not done; i have only begun. [illustration] "in 'as you like it,' you remember, the love symptoms are described at length. but is _rosalind_ to be taken seriously? besides, though she wore boy's clothes, she had only the woman's point of view. i have consulted stevenson's chapters on love in his delightful 'virginibus puerisque,' and one of them says, 'certainly, if i could help it, i would never marry a wife who wrote.' then i noticed a book published after that one, and entitled 'the new arabian nights, by mr. and mrs. robert louis stevenson.' i shut 'virginibus puerisque' with a sigh, and put it away. [illustration] "but this inquiry need not, i feel confident, lead to nothing. negatively i know love; for i do not require to be told what it is not, and i have my ideal. putting my knowledge together and surveying it dispassionately in the mass, i am inclined to think that this is really love. [illustration] "i may lay down as proposition i. that surging, tempestuous passion comes involuntarily. you are heart-whole, when, as it were, the gates of your bosom open, in she sweeps, and the gates close. so far this is a faithful description of my case. whatever it is, it came without any desire or volition on my part, and it looks as if it meant to stay. what i ask myself is--first, what is it? secondly, where is it? thirdly, who is it? and fourthly, what shall i do with it? i have thus my work cut out for me. [illustration] "what is it? i reply that i am stumped at once, unless i am allowed to fix upon an object definitely and precisely. this, no doubt, is arguing in a circle; but descartes himself assumed what he was to try to prove. this, then, being permitted, i have chosen my object, and we can now go on again. what is it? some might evade the difficulty by taking a middle course. you are not, they might say, in love as yet, but you are on the brink of it. the lady is no idol to you at present, but neither is she indifferent. you would not walk four miles in wet weather to get a rose from her; but if she did present you with a rose, you would not wittingly drop it down an area. in short, you have all but lost your heart. to this i reply simply, love is not a process, it is an event. you may unconsciously be on the brink of it, when all at once the ground gives way beneath you, and in you go. the difference between love and not-love, if i may be allowed the word, being so wide, my inquiry should produce decisive results. on the whole, therefore, and in the absence of direct proof to the contrary, i believe that the passion of love does possess me. [illustration] [illustration] "where is it? this is the simplest question of the four. it is in the heart. it fills the heart to overflowing, so that if there were one drop more the heart would run over. love is thus plainly a liquid: which accounts to some extent for its well-recognized habit of surging. among its effects this may be noted: that it makes you miserable if you be not by the loved one's side. to hold her hand is ecstasy, to press it, rapture. the fond lover--as it might be myself--sees his beloved depart on a railway journey with apprehension. he never ceases to remember that engines burst and trains run off the line. in an agony he awaits the telegram that tells him she has reached shepherd's bush in safety. when he sees her talking, as if she liked it, to another man, he is torn, he is rent asunder, he is dismembered by jealousy. he walks beneath her window till the policeman sees him home; and when he wakes in the morning, it is to murmur her name to himself until he falls asleep again and is late for the office. well, do i experience such sensations, or do i not? is this love, after all? where are the spills? "i have been taking for granted that i know who it is. but is this wise? nothing puzzles me so much as the way some men seem to know, by intuition, as it were, which is the woman for whom they have a passion. they take a girl from among their acquaintance, and never seem to understand that they may be taking the wrong one. however, with certain reservations, i do not think i go too far in saying that i know who she is. there is one other, indeed, that i have sometimes thought--but it fortunately happens that they are related, so that in any case i cannot go far wrong. after i have seen them again, or at least before i propose, i shall decide definitely on this point. "we have now advanced as far as query iv. now, what is to be done? let us consider this calmly. in the first place, have i any option in the matter, or is love a hurricane that carries one hither and thither as a bottle is tossed in a chopping sea? i reply that it all depends on myself. rosalind would say no; that we are without control over love. but rosalind was a woman. it is probably true that a woman cannot conquer love. man, being her ideal in the abstract, is irresistible to her in the concrete. but man, being an intellectual creature, can make a magnificent effort and cast love out. should i think it advisable, i do not question my ability to open the gates of my heart and bid her go. that would be a serious thing for her; and, as man is powerful, so, i think, should he be merciful. she has, no doubt, gained admittance, as it were, furtively; but can i, as a gentleman, send away a weak, confiding woman who loves me simply because she cannot help it? nay, more, in a pathetic case of this kind, have i not a certain responsibility? does not her attachment to me give her a claim upon me? she saw me, and love came to her. she looks upon me as the noblest and best of my sex. i do not say i am; it may be that i am not. but i have the child's happiness in my hands; can i trample it beneath my feet? it seems to be my plain duty to take her to me. "but there are others to consider. for me, would it not be the better part to show her that the greatest happiness of the greatest number should be my first consideration? certainly there is nothing in a man i despise more than conceit in affairs of this sort. when i hear one of my sex boasting of his 'conquests,' i turn from him in disgust. 'conquest' implies effort; and to lay one's self out for victories over the other sex always reminds me of pigeon-shooting. on the other hand, we must make allowances for our position of advantage. these little ones come into contact with us; they see us, athletic, beautiful, in the hunting-field or at the wicket; they sit beside us at dinner and listen to our brilliant conversation. they have met us, and the mischief is done. every man--except, perhaps, yourself and jimmy--knows the names of a few dear girls who have lost their hearts to him--some more, some less. i do not pretend to be in a different position from my neighbors, or in a better one. to some slight extent i may be to blame. but, after all, when a man sees cheeks redden and eyes brighten at his approach, he loses prudence. at the time he does not think what may be the consequences. but the day comes when he sees that he must take heed what he is about. he communes with himself about the future, and if he be a man of honor he maps out in his mind the several courses it is allowed him to follow, and chooses that one which he may tread with least pain to others. may that day for introspection come to few as it has come to me. love is, indeed, a madness in the brain. good-night." [illustration] when he finished i would wake up, open the door for marriot, and light him to his sleeping-chamber with a spill. [illustration] [illustration] chapter ix. jimmy. with the exception of myself, jimmy moggridge was no doubt the most silent of the company that met so frequently in my rooms. just as marriot's eyebrows rose if the cane chair was not empty when he strode in, jimmy held that he had a right to the hearth-rug, on which he loved to lie prone, his back turned to the company and his eyes on his pipe. the stem was a long cherry-wood, but the bowl was meerschaum, and jimmy, as he smoked, lay on the alert, as it were, to see the meerschaum coloring. so one may strain his eyes with intent eagerness until he can catch the hour-hand of a watch in action. with tobacco in his pocket jimmy could refill his pipe without moving, but sometimes he crawled along the hearth-rug to let the fire-light play more exquisitely on his meerschaum bowl. in time, of course, the arcadia mixture made him more and more like the rest of us, but he retained his individuality until he let his bowl fall off. otherwise he only differed from us in one way. when he saw a match-box he always extracted a few matches and put them dreamily into his pocket. there were times when, with a sharp blow on jimmy's person, we could doubtless have had him blazing like a chandelier. [illustration] jimmy was a barrister--though this is scarcely worth mentioning--and it had been known to us for years that he made a living by contributing to the _saturday review_. how the secret leaked out i cannot say with certainty. jimmy never forced it upon us, and i cannot remember any paragraphs in the london correspondence of the provincial papers coupling his name with _saturday_ articles. on the other hand, i distinctly recall having to wait one day in his chambers while jimmy was shaving, and noticing accidentally a long, bulky envelope on his table, with the _saturday review's_ mystic crest on it. it was addressed to jimmy, and contained, i concluded, a bundle of proofs. that was so long ago as . if further evidence is required, there is the undoubted fact, to which several of us could take oath, that, at oxford, jimmy was notorious for his sarcastic pen--nearly being sent down, indeed, for the same. again, there was the certainty that for years jimmy had been engaged upon literary work of some kind. we had been with him buying the largest-sized scribbling paper in the market; we had heard him muttering to himself as if in pain: and we had seen him correcting proof-sheets. when we caught him at them he always thrust the proofs into a drawer which he locked by putting his leg on it--for the ordinary lock was broken--and remaining in that position till we had retired. though he rather shunned the subject as a rule, he admitted to us that the work was journalism and not a sarcastic history of the nineteenth century, on which we felt he would come out strong. lastly, jimmy had lost the brightness of his youth, and was become silent and moody, which is well known to be the result of writing satire. [illustration] were it not so notorious that the thousands who write regularly for the _saturday_ have reasons of their own for keeping it dark and merely admitting the impeachment with a nod or smile, we might have marvelled at jimmy's reticence. there were, however, moments when he thawed so far as practically to allow, and every one knows what that means, that the _saturday_ was his chief source of income. "only," he would add, "should you be acquainted with the editor, don't mention my contributions to him." from this we saw that jimmy and the editor had an understanding on the subject, though we were never agreed which of them it was who had sworn the other to secrecy. we were proud of jimmy's connection with the press, and every week we discussed his latest article. jimmy never told us, except in a roundabout way, which were his articles; but we knew his style, and it was quite exhilarating to pick out his contributions week by week. we were never baffled, for "jimmy's touches" were unmistakable; and "have you seen jimmy this week in the _saturday_ on lewis morris?" or, "i say, do you think buchanan knows it was jimmy who wrote that?" was what we said when we had lighted our pipes. now i come to the incident that drew from jimmy his extraordinary statement. i was smoking with him in his rooms one evening, when a clatter at his door was followed by a thud on the floor. i knew as well as jimmy what had happened. in his pre-_saturday_ days he had no letter-box, only a slit in the door; and through this we used to denounce him on certain occasions when we called and he would not let us in. lately, however, he had fitted up a letter-box himself, which kept together if you opened the door gently, but came clattering to the floor under the weight of heavy letters. the letter to which it had succumbed this evening was quite a package, and could even have been used as a missile. jimmy snatched it up quickly, evidently knowing the contents by their bulk; and i was just saying to myself, "more proofs from the _saturday_," when the letter burst at the bottom, and in a moment a score of smaller letters were tumbling about my feet. in vain did jimmy entreat me to let him gather them up. i helped, and saw, to my bewilderment, that all the letters were addressed in childish hands to "uncle jim, care of editor of _mothers pets_." it was impossible that jimmy could have so many nephews and nieces. seeing that i had him, jimmy advanced to the hearth-rug as if about to make his statement; then changed his mind and, thrusting a dozen of the letters into my hands, invited me to read. the first letter ran: "dearest uncle jim,--i must tell you about my canary. i love my canary very much. it is a yellow canary, and it sings so sweetly. i keep it in a cage, and it is so tame. mamma and me wishes you would come and see us and our canary. dear uncle jim, i love you.--your little friend, milly (aged four years)." here is the second: "dear uncle jim,--you will want to know about my blackbird. it sits in a tree and picks up the crumbs on the window, and thomas wants to shoot it for eating the cherries; but i won't let thomas shoot it, for it is a nice blackbird, and i have wrote all this myself.--your loving little bobby (aged five years)." in another, jacky (aged four and a half) described his parrot, and i have also vague recollections of harry (aged six) on his chaffinch, and archie (five) on his linnet. "what does it mean?" i demanded of jimmy, who, while i read, had been smoking savagely. "don't you see that they are in for the prize?" he growled. then he made his statement. "i have never," jimmy said, "contributed to the _saturday_, nor, indeed, to any well-known paper. that, however, was only because the editors would not meet me half-way. after many disappointments, fortune--whether good or bad i cannot say--introduced me to the editor of _mothers pets_, a weekly journal whose title sufficiently suggests its character. though you may never have heard of it, _mothers pets_ has a wide circulation and is a great property. i was asked to join the staff under the name of 'uncle jim,' and did not see my way to refuse. i inaugurated a new feature. mothers' pets were cordially invited to correspond with me on topics to be suggested week by week, and prizes were to be given for the best letters. this feature has been an enormous success, and i get the most affectionate letters from mothers, consulting me about teething and the like, every week. they say that i am dearer to their children than most real uncles, and they often urge me to go and stay with them. there are lots of kisses awaiting me. i also get similar invitations from the little beasts themselves. pass the arcadia." [illustration] [illustration] chapter x. scrymgeour. scrymgeour was an artist and a man of means, so proud of his profession that he gave all his pictures fancy prices, and so wealthy that he could have bought them. to him i went when i wanted money--though it must not be thought that i borrowed. in the days of the arcadia mixture i had no bank account. as my checks dribbled in i stuffed them into a torn leather case that was kept together by a piece of twine, and when want tapped at my chamber door, i drew out the check that seemed most willing to come, and exchanged with scrymgeour. in his detestation of argument scrymgeour resembled myself, but otherwise we differed as much as men may differ who smoke the arcadia. he read little, yet surprised us by a smattering of knowledge about all important books that had been out for a few months, until we discovered that he got his information from a friend in india. he had also, i remember, a romantic notion that africa might be civilized by the arcadia mixture. as i shall explain presently, his devotion to the arcadia very nearly married him against his will; but first i must describe his boudoir. we always called it scrymgeour's boudoir after it had ceased to deserve the censure, just as we called moggridge jimmy because he was jimmy to some of us as a boy. scrymgeour deserted his fine rooms in bayswater for the inn some months after the arcadia mixture had reconstructed him, but his chambers were the best on our stair, and with the help of a workman from the japanese village he converted them into an oriental dream. our housekeeper thought little of the rest of us while the boudoir was there to be gazed at, and even william john would not spill the coffee in it. when the boudoir was ready for inspection, scrymgeour led me to it, and as the door opened i suddenly remembered that my boots were muddy. the ceiling was a great japanese christmas card representing the heavens; heavy clouds floated round a pale moon, and with the dusk the stars came out. the walls, instead of being papered, were hung with a soft japanese cloth, and fantastic figures frolicked round a fireplace that held a bamboo fan. there was no mantelpiece. the room was very small; but when you wanted a blue velvet desk to write on, you had only to press a spring against the wall; and if you leaned upon the desk the japanese workmen were ready to make you a new one. there were springs everywhere, shaped like birds and mice and butterflies; and when you touched one of them something was sure to come out. blood-colored curtains separated the room from the alcove where scrymgeour was to rest by night, and his bed became a bath by simply turning it upside down. on one side of the bed was a wine-bin, with a ladder running up to it. the door of the sitting-room was a symphony in gray, with shadowy reptiles crawling across the panels; and the floor--dark, mysterious--presented a fanciful picture of the infernal regions. scrymgeour said hopefully that the place would look cozier after he had his pictures in it; but he stopped me when i began to fill my pipe. he believed, he said, that smoking was not a japanese custom; and there was no use taking japanese chambers unless you lived up to them. here was a revelation. scrymgeour proposed to live his life in harmony with these rooms. i felt too sad at heart to say much to him then, but, promising to look in again soon, i shook hands with my unhappy friend and went away. [illustration] it happened, however, that scrymgeour had been several times in my rooms before i was able to visit him again. my hand was on his door-bell when i noticed a figure i thought i knew lounging at the foot of the stair. it was scrymgeour himself, and he was smoking the arcadia. we greeted each other languidly on the doorstep, scrymgeour assuring me that "japan in london" was a grand idea. it gave a zest to life, banishing the poor, weary conventionalities of one's surroundings. this was said while we still stood at the door, and i began to wonder why scrymgeour did not enter his rooms. "a beautiful night," he said, rapturously. a cruel east wind was blowing. he insisted that evening was the time for thinking, and that east winds brace you up. would i have a cigar? i would if he asked me inside to smoke it. my friend sighed. "i thought i told you," he said, "that i don't smoke in my chambers. it isn't the thing." then he explained, hesitatingly, that he hadn't given up smoking. "i come down here," he said, "with my pipe, and walk up and down. i assure you it is quite a new sensation, and i much prefer it to lolling in an easy-chair." the poor fellow shivered as he spoke, and i noticed that his great-coat was tightly buttoned up to the throat. he had a hacking cough and his teeth were chattering. "let us go in," i said; "i don't want to smoke." he knocked the ashes out of his pipe, and opened his door with an affectation of gayety. the room looked somewhat more home-like now, but it was very cold. scrymgeour had no fire yet. he had been told that the smoke would blacken his moon. besides, i question if he would have dared to remove the fan from the fireplace without consulting a japanese authority. he did not even know whether the japanese burned coal. i missed a number of the articles of furniture that had graced his former rooms. the easels were gone; there were none of the old canvases standing against the wall, and he had exchanged his comfortable, plain old screen for one with lizards crawling over it. "it would never have done," he explained, "to spoil the room with english things, so i got in some more japanese furniture." i asked him if he had sold his canvases; whereupon he signed me to follow him to the wine-bin. it was full of them. there were no newspapers lying about; but scrymgeour hoped to manage to take one in by and by. he was only feeling his way at present, he said. in the dim light shed by a japanese lamp, i tripped over a rainbow-colored slipper that tapered to the heel and turned up at the toe. "i wonder you can get into these things," i whispered, for the place depressed me; and he answered, with similar caution, that he couldn't. "i keep them lying about," he said, confidentially; "but after i think nobody is likely to call i put on an old pair of english ones." at this point the housekeeper knocked at the door, and scrymgeour sprang like an acrobat into a japanese dressing-gown before he cried "come in!" as i left i asked him how he felt now, and he said that he had never been so happy in his life. but his hand was hot, and he did not look me in the face. [illustration] nearly a month elapsed before i looked in again. the unfortunate man had now a japanese rug over his legs to keep out the cold, and he was gazing dejectedly at an outlandish mess which he called his lunch. he insisted that it was not at all bad; but it had evidently been on the table some time when i called, and he had not even tasted it. he ordered coffee for my benefit, but i do not care for coffee that has salt in it instead of sugar. i said that i had merely looked in to ask him to an early dinner at the club, and it was touching to see how he grasped at the idea. so complete, however, was his subjection to that terrible housekeeper, who believed in his fad, that he dared not send back her dishes untasted. as a compromise i suggested that he could wrap up some of the stuff in paper and drop it quietly into the gutter. we sallied forth, and i found him so weak that he had to be assisted into a hansom. he still maintained, however, that japanese chambers were worth making some sacrifice for; and when the other arcadians saw his condition they had the delicacy not to contradict him. they thought it was consumption. if we had not taken scrymgeour in hand i dare not think what his craze might have reduced him to. a friend asked him into the country for ten days, and of course he was glad to go. as it happened, my chambers were being repapered at the time, and scrymgeour gave me permission to occupy his rooms until his return. the other arcadians agreed to meet me there nightly, and they were indefatigable in their efforts to put the boudoir to rights. jimmy wrote letters to editors, of a most cutting nature, on the moon, breaking the table as he stepped on and off it, and we gave the butterflies to william john. the reptiles had to crawl off the door, and we made pipe-lights of the japanese fans. marriot shot the candles at the mice and birds; and gilray, by improvising an entertainment behind the blood-red curtains, contrived to give them the dilapidated appearance without which there is no real comfort. in short, the boudoir soon assumed such a homely aspect that scrymgeour on his return did not recognize it. when he realized where he was he lighted up at once. [illustration] chapter xi. his wife's cigars. [illustration] though pettigrew, who is a much more successful journalist than jimmy, says pointedly of his wife that she encourages his smoking instead of putting an end to it, i happen to know that he has cupboard skeletons. pettigrew has been married for years, and frequently boasted of his wife's interest in smoking, until one night an accident revealed the true state of matters to me. late in the night, when traffic is hushed and the river has at last a chance of making itself heard, pettigrew's window opens cautiously, and he casts something wrapped in newspaper into the night. the window is then softly closed, and all is again quiet. at other times pettigrew steals along the curb-stone, dropping his skeletons one by one. nevertheless, his cupboard beneath the bookcase is so crammed that he dreams the lock has given way. the key is always in his pocket, yet when his children approach the cupboard he orders them away, so fearful is he of something happening. when his wife has retired he sometimes unlocks the cupboard with nervous hand, when the door bursts gladly open, and the things roll on to the carpet. they are the cigars his wife gives him as birthday presents, on the anniversary of his marriage, and at other times, and such a model wife is she that he would do anything for her except smoke them. they are celebros, regalia rothschilds, twelve and six the hundred. i discovered pettigrew's secret one night, when, as i was passing his house, a packet of celebros alighted on my head. i demanded an explanation, and i got it on the promise that i would not mention the matter to the other arcadians. [illustration] "several years having elapsed," said pettigrew, "since i pretended to smoke and enjoy my first celebro, i could not now undeceive my wife--it would be such a blow to her. at the time it could have been done easily. she began by making trial of a few. there were seven of them in an envelope; and i knew at once that she had got them for a shilling. she had heard me saying that eightpence is a sad price to pay for a cigar--i prefer them at tenpence--and a few days afterward she produced her first celebros. each of them had, and has, a gold ribbon round it, bearing the legend, 'non plus ultra.' she was shy and timid at that time, and i thought it very brave of her to go into the shop herself and ask for the celebros, as advertised; so i thanked her warmly. when she saw me slipping them into my pocket she looked disappointed, and said that she would like to see me smoking one. my reply would have been that i never cared to smoke in the open air, if she had not often seen me do so. besides, i wanted to please her very much; and if what i did was weak i have been severely punished for it. the pocket into which i had thrust the celebros also contained my cigar-case; and with my hand in the pocket i covertly felt for a villar y villar and squeezed it into the envelope. this i then drew forth, took out the cigar, as distinguished from the celebros, and smoked it with unfeigned content. my wife watched me eagerly, asking six or eight times how i liked it. from the way she talked of fine rich bouquet and nutty flavor i gathered that she had been in conversation with the tobacconist, and i told her the cigars were excellent. yes, they were as choice a brand as i had ever smoked. she clapped her hands joyously at that, and said that if she had not made up her mind never to do so she would tell me what they cost. next she asked me to guess the price; i answered eighty shillings a hundred; and then she confessed that she got the seven for a shilling. on our way home she made arch remarks about men who judged cigars simply by their price. i laughed gayly in reply, begging her not to be too hard on me; and i did not even feel uneasy when she remarked that of course i would never buy those horridly expensive villar y villars again. when i left her i gave the celebros to an acquaintance against whom i had long had a grudge--we have not spoken since--but i preserved the envelope as a pretty keepsake. this, you see, happened shortly before our marriage. [illustration] "i have had a consignment of celebros every month or two since then, and, dispose of them quietly as i may, they are accumulating in the cupboard. i despise myself; but my guile was kindly meant at first, and every thoughtful man will see the difficulties in the way of a confession now. who can say what might happen if i were to fling that cupboard door open in presence of my wife? i smoke less than i used to do; for if i were to buy my cigars by the box i could not get them smuggled into the house. besides, she would know--i don't say how, i merely make the statement--that i had been buying cigars. so i get half a dozen at a time. perhaps you will sympathize with me when i say that i have had to abandon my favorite brand. i cannot get villar y villars that look like celebros, and my wife is quicker in those matters than she used to be. one day, for instance, she noticed that the cigars in my case had not the gold ribbon round them, and i almost fancied she became suspicious. i explained that the ribbon was perhaps a little ostentatious; but she said it was an intimation of nutty flavor: and now i take ribbons off the celebros and put them on the other cigars. the boxes in which the celebros arrive have a picturesque design on the lid and a good deal of lace frilling round the edge, and she likes to have a box lying about. the top layer of that box is cigars in gold ribbons, placed there by myself, and underneath are the celebros. i never get down to the celebros. "for a long time my secret was locked in my breast as carefully as i shall lock my next week's gift away in the cupboard, if i can find room for it; but a few of my most intimate friends have an inkling of it now. when my friends drop in i am compelled to push the celebro box toward them, and if they would simply take a cigar and ask no questions all would be well; for, as i have said, there are cigars on the top. but they spoil everything by remarking that they have not seen the brand before. should my wife not be present this is immaterial, for i have long had a reputation of keeping good cigars. then i merely remark that it is a new brand; and they smoke, probably observing that it reminds them of a cabana, which is natural, seeing that it is a cabana in disguise. if my wife is present, however, she comes forward smiling, and remarks, with a fond look in my direction, that they are her birthday present to her jack. then they start back and say they always smoke a pipe. these celebros were making me a bad name among my friends, so i have given a few of them to understand--i don't care to put it more plainly--that if they will take a cigar from the top layer they will find it all right. one of them, however, has a personal ill-will to me because my wife told his wife that i preferred celebro cigars at twelve and six a hundred to any other. now he is expected to smoke the same; and he takes his revenge by ostentatiously offering me a celebro when i call on him." [illustration] [illustration] chapter xii. gilray's flower-pot. i charge gilray's unreasonableness to his ignoble passion for cigarettes; and the story of his flower-pot has therefore an obvious moral. the want of dignity he displayed about that flower-pot, on his return to london, would have made any one sorry for him. i had my own work to look after, and really could not be tending his chrysanthemum all day. after he came back, however, there was no reasoning with him, and i admit that i never did water his plant, though always intending to do so. the great mistake was in not leaving the flower-pot in charge of william john. no doubt i readily promised to attend to it, but gilray deceived me by speaking as if the watering of a plant was the merest pastime. he had to leave london for a short provincial tour, and, as i see now, took advantage of my good nature. as gilray had owned his flower-pot for several months, during which time (i take him at his word) he had watered it daily, he must have known he was misleading me. he said that you got into the way of watering a flower-pot regularly just as you wind up your watch. that certainly is not the case. i always wind up my watch, and i never watered the flower-pot. of course, if i had been living in gilray's rooms with the thing always before my eyes i might have done so. i proposed to take it into my chambers at the time, but he would not hear of that. why? how gilray came by this chrysanthemum i do not inquire; but whether, in the circumstances, he should not have made a clean breast of it to me is another matter. undoubtedly it was an unusual thing to put a man to the trouble of watering a chrysanthemum daily without giving him its history. my own belief has always been that he got it in exchange for a pair of boots and his old dressing-gown. he hints that it was a present; but, as one who knows him well, i may say that he is the last person a lady would be likely to give a chrysanthemum to. besides, if he was so proud of the plant he should have stayed at home and watered it himself. [illustration] he says that i never meant to water it, which is not only a mistake, but unkind. my plan was to run downstairs immediately after dinner every evening and give it a thorough watering. one thing or another, however, came in the way. i often remembered about the chrysanthemum while i was in the office; but even gilray could hardly have expected me to ask leave of absence merely to run home and water his plant. you must draw the line somewhere, even in a government office. when i reached home i was tired, inclined to take things easily, and not at all in a proper condition for watering flower-pots. then arcadians would drop in. i put it to any sensible man or woman, could i have been expected to give up my friends for the sake of a chrysanthemum? again, it was my custom of an evening, if not disturbed, to retire with my pipe into my cane chair, and there pass the hours communing with great minds, or, when the mood was on me, trifling with a novel. often when i was in the middle of a chapter gilray's flower-pot stood up before my eyes crying for water. he does not believe this, but it is the solemn truth. at those moments it was touch and go, whether i watered his chrysanthemum or not. where i lost myself was in not hurrying to his rooms at once with a tumbler. i said to myself that i would go when i had finished my pipe, but by that time the flower-pot had escaped my memory. this may have been weakness; all i know is that i should have saved myself much annoyance if i had risen and watered the chrysanthemum there and then. but would it not have been rather hard on me to have had to forsake my books for the sake of gilray's flowers and flower-pots and plants and things? what right has a man to go and make a garden of his chambers? [illustration] all the three weeks he was away, gilray kept pestering me with letters about his chrysanthemum. he seemed to have no faith in me--a detestable thing in a man who calls himself your friend. i had promised to water his flower-pot; and between friends a promise is surely sufficient. it is not so, however, when gilray is one of them. i soon hated the sight of my name in his handwriting. it was not as if he had said outright that he wrote entirely to know whether i was watering his plant. his references to it were introduced with all the appearance of afterthoughts. often they took the form of postscripts: "by the way, are you watering my chrysanthemum?" or, "the chrysanthemum ought to be a beauty by this time;" or, "you must be quite an adept now at watering plants." gilray declares now that, in answer to one of these ingenious epistles, i wrote to him saying that "i had just been watering his chrysanthemum." my belief is that i did no such thing; or, if i did, i meant to water it as soon as i had finished my letter. he has never been able to bring this home to me, he says, because he burned my correspondence. as if a business man would destroy such a letter. it was yet more annoying when gilray took to post-cards. to hear the postman's knock and then discover, when you are expecting an important communication, that it is only a post-card about a flower-pot--that is really too bad. and then i consider that some of the post-cards bordered upon insult. one of them said, "what about chrysanthemum?--reply at once." this was just like gilray's overbearing way; but i answered politely, and so far as i knew, truthfully, "chrysanthemum all right." knowing that there was no explaining things to gilray, i redoubled my exertions to water his flower-pot as the day for his return drew near. once, indeed, when i rang for water, i could not for the life of me remember what i wanted it for when it was brought. had i had any forethought i should have left the tumbler stand just as it was to show it to gilray on his return. but, unfortunately, william john had misunderstood what i wanted the water for, and put a decanter down beside it. another time i was actually on the stair rushing to gilray's door, when i met the housekeeper, and, stopping to talk to her, lost my opportunity again. to show how honestly anxious i was to fulfil my promise, i need only add that i was several times awakened in the watches of the night by a haunting consciousness that i had forgotten to water gilray's flower-pot. on these occasions i spared no trouble to remember again in the morning. i reached out of bed to a chair and turned it upside down, so that the sight of it when i rose might remind me that i had something to do. with the same object i crossed the tongs and poker on the floor. gilray maintains that instead of playing "fool's tricks" like these ("fool's tricks!") i should have got up and gone at once to his rooms with my water-bottle. what? and disturbed my neighbors? besides, could i reasonably be expected to risk catching my death of cold for the sake of a wretched chrysanthemum? one reads of men doing such things for young ladies who seek lilies in dangerous ponds or edelweiss on overhanging cliffs. but gilray was not my sweetheart, nor, i feel certain, any other person's. i come now to the day prior to gilray's return. i had just reached the office when i remembered about the chrysanthemum. it was my last chance. if i watered it once i should be in a position to state that, whatever condition it might be in, i had certainly been watering it. i jumped into a hansom, told the cabby to drive to the inn, and twenty minutes afterward had one hand on gilray's door, while the other held the largest water-can in the house. opening the door i rushed in. the can nearly fell from my hand. there was no flower-pot! i rang the bell. "mr. gilray's chrysanthemum!" i cried. what do you think william john said? he coolly told me that the plant was dead, and had been flung out days ago. i went to the theatre that night to keep myself from thinking. all next day i contrived to remain out of gilray's sight. when we met he was stiff and polite. he did not say a word about the chrysanthemum for a week, and then it all came out with a rush. i let him talk. with the servants flinging out the flower-pots faster than i could water them, what more could i have done? a coolness between us was inevitable. this i regretted, but my mind was made up on one point: i would never do gilray a favor again. [illustration] chapter xiii. the grandest scene in history. [illustration] though scrymgeour only painted in watercolors, i think--i never looked at his pictures--he had one superb idea, which we often advised him to carry out. when he first mentioned it the room became comparatively animated, so much struck were we all, and we entreated him to retire to stratford for a few months, before beginning the picture. his idea was to paint shakespeare smoking his first pipe of the arcadia mixture. many hundreds of volumes have been written about the glories of the elizabethan age, the sublime period in our history. then were englishmen on fire to do immortal deeds. high aims and noble ambitions became their birthright. there was nothing they could not or would not do for england. sailors put a girdle round the world. every captain had a general's capacity; every fighting-man could have been a captain. all the women, from the queen downward, were heroines. lofty statesmanship guided the conduct of affairs, a sublime philosophy was in the air. the period of great deeds was also the period of our richest literature. london was swarming with poetic geniuses. immortal dramatists wandered in couples between stage doors and taverns. [illustration] all this has been said many times; and we read these glowing outbursts about the elizabethan age as if to the beating of a drum. but why was this period riper for magnificent deeds and noble literature than any other in english history? we all know how the thinkers, historians, and critics of yesterday and to-day answer that question; but our hearts and brains tell us that they are astray. by an amazing oversight they have said nothing of the influence of tobacco. the elizabethan age might be better named the beginning of the smoking era. no unprejudiced person who has given thought to the subject can question the propriety of dividing our history into two periods--the pre-smoking and the smoking. when raleigh, in honor of whom england should have changed its name, introduced tobacco into this country, the glorious elizabethan age began. i am aware that those hateful persons called original researchers now maintain that raleigh was not the man; but to them i turn a deaf ear. i know, i feel, that with the introduction of tobacco england woke up from a long sleep. suddenly a new zest had been given to life. the glory of existence became a thing to speak of. men who had hitherto only concerned themselves with the narrow things of home put a pipe into their mouths and became philosophers. poets and dramatists smoked until all ignoble ideas were driven from them, and into their place rushed such high thoughts as the world had not known before. petty jealousies no longer had hold of statesmen, who smoked, and agreed to work together for the public weal. soldiers and sailors felt, when engaged with a foreign foe, that they were fighting for their pipes. the whole country was stirred by the ambition to live up to tobacco. every one, in short, had now a lofty ideal constantly before him. two stories of the period, never properly told hitherto, illustrate this. we all know that gabriel harvey and spenser lay in bed discussing english poetry and the forms it ought to take. this was when tobacco was only known to a select few, of whom spenser, the friend of raleigh, was doubtless one. that the two friends smoked in bed i cannot doubt. many poets have done the same thing since. then there is the beautiful armada story. in a famous armada picture the english sailors are represented smoking; which makes it all the more surprising that the story to which i refer has come down to us in an incorrect form. according to the historians, when the armada hove in sight the english captains were playing at bowls. instead of rushing off to their ships on receipt of the news, they observed, "let us first finish our game." i cannot believe that this is what they said. my conviction is that what was really said was, "let us first finish our pipes"--surely a far more impressive and memorable remark. [illustration] this afternoon marlowe's "jew of malta" was produced for the first time; and of the two men who have just emerged from the blackfriars theatre one is the creator of _barabas_. a marvel to all the "piperly make-plaies and make-bates," save one, is "famous ned alleyn;" for when money comes to him he does not drink till it be done, and already he is laying by to confound the ecclesiastics, who say hard things of him, by founding dulwich college. "not roscius nor Ã�sope," said tom nash, who was probably in need of a crown at the time, "ever performed more in action." a good fellow he is withal; for it is ned who gives the supper to-night at the "globe," in honor of the new piece, if he can get his friends together. the actor-manager shakes his head, for marlowe, who was to meet him here, must have been seduced into a tavern by the way; but his companion, robin greene, is only wondering if that is a bailiff at the corner. robin of the "ruffianly haire," _utriusque academiæ artibus magister_, is nearing the end of his tether, and might call to-night at shoemaker islam's house near dowgate, to tell a certain "bigge, fat, lusty wench" to prepare his last bed and buy a garland of bays. ned must to the sign of the "saba" in gracious street, where burbage and "honest gamesom armin" are sure to be found; but greene durst not show himself in the street without cutting ball and other choice ruffians as a body-guard. ned is content to leave them behind; for robin has refused to be of the company to-night if that "upstart will" is invited too, and the actor is fond of will. there is no more useful man in the theatre, he has said to "signior kempino" this very day, for touching up old plays; and will is a plodding young fellow, too, if not over-brilliant. ned alleyn goes from tavern to tavern, picking out his men. there is an ale-house in sea-coal lane--the same where lady-like george peele was found by the barber, who had subscribed an hour before for his decent burial, "all alone with a peck of oysters"--and here ned is detained an unconscionable time. just as he is leaving with kempe and cowley, armin and will shakespeare burst in with a cry for wine. it is armin who gives the orders, but his companion pays. they spy alleyn, and armin must tell his news. he is the bearer of a challenge from some merry souls at the "saba" to the actor-manager; and ned alleyn turns white and red when he hears it. then he laughs a confident laugh, and accepts the bet. some theatre-goers, flushed with wine, have dared him to attempt certain parts in which bentley and knell vastly please them. ned is incredulous that men should be so willing to fling away their money; yet here is will a witness, and burbage is staying on at the "saba" not to let the challengers escape. the young man of twenty-four, at the white horse in friday street, is tom nash; and it is peele who is swearing that he is a monstrous clever fellow, and helping him to finish his wine. but peele is glad to see ned and cowley in the doorway, for tom has a weakness for reading aloud the good things from his own manuscripts. there is only one of the company who is not now sick to death of nash's satires on martin marprelate; and perhaps even he has had enough of them, only he is as yet too obscure a person to say so. that is will; and nash detains him for a moment just to listen to his last words on the marprelate controversy. marprelate now appears "with a wit worn into the socket, twingling and pinking like the snuff of a candle; _quantum mutatus ab illo!_ how unlike the knave he was before, not for malice but for sharpness. the hogshead was even come to the hauncing, and nothing could be drawne from him but the dregs." will says it is very good; and nash smiles to himself as he puts the papers in his pockets and thinks vaguely that he might do something for will. shakespeare is not a university man, and they say he held horses at the doors of the globe not long ago; but he knows a good thing when he hears it. all this time marlowe is at the globe, wondering why the others are so long in coming; but not wondering very much--for it is good wine they give you at the globe. even before the feast is well begun kit's eyes are bloodshot and his hands unsteady. death is already seeking for him at a tavern in deptford, and the last scene in a wild, brief life starts up before us. a miserable ale-house, drunken words, the flash of a knife, and a man of genius has received his death-blow. what an epitaph for the greatest might-have-been in english literature: "christopher marlowe, slain by a serving-man in a drunken brawl, aged twenty-nine!" but by the time shakespeare had reached his fortieth birthday every one of his fellow-playwrights round that table had rushed to his death. the short stout gentleman who is fond of making jokes, and not particular whom he confides them to, has heard another good story about tarleton. this is the low comedian kempe, who stepped into the shoes of flat-nosed, squinting tarleton the other day, but never quite manages to fill them. he whispers the tale across will's back to cowley, before it is made common property; and little fancies, as he does so, that any immortality he and his friend may gain will be owing to their having played, before the end of the sixteenth century, the parts of _dogberry_ and _verges_ in a comedy by shakespeare, whom they are at present rather in the habit of patronizing. the story is received with boisterous laughter, for it suits the time and place. [illustration] peele is in the middle of a love-song when kit stumbles across the room to say a kind word to shakespeare. that is a sign that george is not yet so very tipsy; for he is a gallant and a squire of dames so long as he is sober. there is not a maid in any tavern in fleet street who does not think george peele the properest man in london. and yet, greene being absent, scouring the street with cutting ball--whose sister is mother of poor fortunatus greene--peele is the most dissolute man in the globe to-night. there is a sad little daughter sitting up for him at home, and she will have to sit wearily till morning. marlowe's praises would sink deeper into will's heart if the author of the "jew of malta" were less unsteady on his legs. and yet he takes kit's words kindly, and is glad to hear that "titus andronicus," produced the other day, pleases the man whose praise is most worth having. will shakespeare looks up to kit marlowe, and "titus andronicus" is the work of a young playwright who has tried to write like kit. marlowe knows it, and he takes it as something of a compliment, though he does not believe in imitation himself. he would return now to his seat beside ned alleyn; but the floor of the room is becoming unsteady, and ned seems a long way off. besides, shakespeare's cup would never require refilling if there were not some one there to help him drink. [illustration] the fun becomes fast and furious; and the landlord of the globe puts in an appearance, ostensibly to do his guests honor by serving them himself. but he is fearful of how the rioting may end, and, if he dared, he would turn nash into the street. tom is the only man there whom the landlord--if that man had only been a boswell--personally dislikes; indeed, nash is no great favorite even with his comrades. he has a bitter tongue, and his heart is not to be mellowed by wine. the table roars over his sallies, of which the landlord himself is dimly conscious that he is the butt, and kempe and cowley wince under his satire. those excellent comedians fall out over a trifling difference of opinion; and handsome nash--he tells us himself that he was handsome, so there can be no doubt about it--maintains that they should decide the dispute by fist-cuffs without further loss of time. while kempe and cowley threaten to break each other's heads--which, indeed, would be no great matter if they did it quietly--burbage is reciting vehemently, with no one heeding him; and marlowe insists on quarrelling with armin about the existence of a deity. for when kit is drunk he is an infidel. armin will not quarrel with anybody, and marlowe is exasperated. [illustration] but where is shakespeare all this time? he has retired to a side table with alleyn, who has another historical play that requires altering. their conversation is of comparatively little importance; what we are to note with bated breath is that will is filling a pipe. his face is placid, for he does not know that the tobacco ned is handing him is the arcadia mixture. i love ned alleyn, and like to think that shakespeare got the arcadia from him. for a moment let us turn from shakespeare at this crisis in his life. alleyn has left him and is paying the score. marlowe remains where he fell. nash has forgotten where he lodges, and so sets off with peele to an ale-house in pye corner, where george is only too well known. kempe and cowley are sent home in baskets. again we turn to the figure in the corner, and there is such a light on his face that we shade our eyes. he is smoking the arcadia, and as he smokes the tragedy of hamlet takes form in his brain. this is the picture that scrymgeour will never dare to paint. i know that there is no mention of tobacco in shakespeare's plays, but those who smoke the arcadia tell their secret to none, and of other mixtures they scorn to speak. chapter xiv. my brother henry. [illustration] strictly speaking i never had a brother henry, and yet i cannot say that henry was an impostor. he came into existence in a curious way, and i can think of him now without malice as a child of smoke. the first i heard of henry was at pettigrew's house, which is in a london suburb, so conveniently situated that i can go there and back in one day. i was testing some new cabanas, i remember, when pettigrew remarked that he had been lunching with a man who knew my brother henry. not having any brother but alexander, i felt that pettigrew had mistaken the name. "oh, no," pettigrew said; "he spoke of alexander too." even this did not convince me, and i asked my host for his friend's name. scudamour was the name of the man, and he had met my brothers alexander and henry years before in paris. then i remembered scudamour, and i probably frowned, for i myself was my own brother henry. i distinctly recalled scudamour meeting alexander and me in paris, and calling me henry, though my name begins with a j. i explained the mistake to pettigrew, and here, for the time being, the matter rested. however, i had by no means heard the last of henry. [illustration] several times afterward i heard from various persons that scudamour wanted to meet me because he knew my brother henry. at last we did meet, in jimmy's chambers; and, almost as soon as he saw me, scudamour asked where henry was now. this was precisely what i feared. i am a man who always looks like a boy. there are few persons of my age in london who retain their boyish appearance as long as i have done; indeed, this is the curse of my life. though i am approaching the age of thirty, i pass for twenty; and i have observed old gentlemen frown at my precocity when i said a good thing or helped myself to a second glass of wine. there was, therefore, nothing surprising in scudamour's remark, that, when he had the pleasure of meeting henry, henry must have been about the age that i had now reached. all would have been well had i explained the real state of affairs to this annoying man; but, unfortunately for myself, i loathe entering upon explanations to anybody about anything. this it is to smoke the arcadia. when i ring for a time-table and william john brings coals instead, i accept the coals as a substitute. much, then, did i dread a discussion with scudamour, his surprise when he heard that i was henry, and his comments on my youthful appearance. besides, i was smoking the best of all mixtures. there was no likelihood of my meeting scudamour again, so the easiest way to get rid of him seemed to be to humor him. i therefore told him that henry was in india, married, and doing well. "remember me to henry when you write to him," was scudamour's last remark to me that evening. [illustration] a few weeks later some one tapped me on the shoulder in oxford street. it was scudamour. "heard from henry?" he asked. i said i had heard by the last mail. "anything particular in the letter?" i felt it would not do to say that there was nothing particular in a letter which had come all the way from india, so i hinted that henry was having trouble with his wife. by this i meant that her health was bad; but he took it up in another way, and i did not set him right. "ah, ah!" he said, shaking his head sagaciously; "i'm sorry to hear that. poor henry!" "poor old boy!" was all i could think of replying. "how about the children?" scudamour asked. "oh, the children," i said, with what i thought presence of mind, "are coming to england." "to stay with alexander?" he asked. my answer was that alexander was expecting them by the middle of next month; and eventually scudamour went away muttering, "poor henry!" in a month or so we met again. "no word of henry's getting leave of absence?" asked scudamour. i replied shortly that henry had gone to live in bombay, and would not be home for years. he saw that i was brusque, so what does he do but draw me aside for a quiet explanation. "i suppose," he said, "you are annoyed because i told pettigrew that henry's wife had run away from him. the fact is, i did it for your good. you see, i happened to make a remark to pettigrew about your brother henry, and he said that there was no such person. of course i laughed at that, and pointed out not only that i had the pleasure of henry's acquaintance, but that you and i had talked about the old fellow every time we met. 'well,' pettigrew said, 'this is a most remarkable thing; for he,' meaning you, 'said to me in this very room, sitting in that very chair, that alexander was his only brother.' i saw that pettigrew resented your concealing the existence of your brother henry from him, so i thought the most friendly thing i could do was to tell him that your reticence was doubtless due to the unhappy state of poor henry's private affairs. naturally in the circumstances you did not want to talk about henry." i shook scudamour by the hand, telling him that he had acted judiciously; but if i could have stabbed him in the back at that moment i dare say i would have done it. i did not see scudamour again for a long time, for i took care to keep out of his way; but i heard first from him and then of him. one day he wrote to me saying that his nephew was going to bombay, and would i be so good as to give the youth an introduction to my brother henry? he also asked me to dine with him and his nephew. i declined the dinner, but i sent the nephew the required note of introduction to henry. the next i heard of scudamour was from pettigrew. "by the way," said pettigrew, "scudamour is in edinburgh at present." i trembled, for edinburgh is where alexander lives. "what has taken him there?" i asked, with assumed carelessness. pettigrew believed it was business; "but," he added, "scudamour asked me to tell you that he meant to call on alexander, as he was anxious to see henry's children." a few days afterward i had a telegram from alexander, who generally uses this means of communication when he corresponds with me. "do you know a man, scudamour? reply," was what alexander said. i thought of answering that we had met a man of that name when we were in paris; but after consideration, i replied boldly: "know no one of name of scudamour." about two months ago i passed scudamour in regent street, and he scowled at me. this i could have borne if there had been no more of henry; but i knew that scudamour was now telling everybody about henry's wife. by and by i got a letter from an old friend of alexander's asking me if there was any truth in a report that alexander was going to bombay. soon afterward alexander wrote to me saying he had been told by several persons that i was going to bombay. in short, i saw that the time had come for killing henry. so i told pettigrew that henry had died of fever, deeply regretted; and asked him to be sure to tell scudamour, who had always been interested in the deceased's welfare. pettigrew afterward told me that he had communicated the sad intelligence to scudamour. "how did he take it?" i asked. "well," pettigrew said, reluctantly, "he told me that when he was up in edinburgh he did not get on well with alexander. but he expressed great curiosity as to henry's children." "ah," i said, "the children were both drowned in the forth; a sad affair--we can't bear to talk of it." i am not likely to see much of scudamour again, nor is alexander. scudamour now goes about saying that henry was the only one of us he really liked. [illustration] [illustration] chapter xv. house-boat "arcadia." scrymgeour had a house-boat called, of course, the _arcadia_, to which he was so ill-advised as to invite us all at once. he was at that time lying near cookham, attempting to catch the advent of summer on a canvas, and we were all, unhappily, able to accept his invitation. looking back to this nightmare of a holiday, i am puzzled at our not getting on well together, for who should be happy in a house-boat if not five bachelors, well known to each other, and all smokers of the same tobacco? marriot says now that perhaps we were happy without knowing it; but that is nonsense. we were miserable. i have concluded that we knew each other too well. though accustomed to gather together in my rooms of an evening in london, we had each his private chambers to retire to, but in the _arcadia_ solitude was impossible. there was no escaping from each other. [illustration] scrymgeour, i think, said that we were unhappy because each of us acted as if the house-boat was his own. we retorted that the boy--by no means a william john--was at the bottom of our troubles, and then scrymgeour said that he had always been against having a boy. we had been opposed to a boy at first, too, fancying that we should enjoy doing our own cooking. seeing that there were so many of us, this should not have been difficult, but the kitchen was small, and we were always striking against each other and knocking things over. we had to break a window-pane to let the smoke out; then gilray, in kicking the stove because he had burned his fingers on it, upset the thing, and, before we had time to intervene, a leg of mutton jumped out and darted into the coal-bunk. jimmy foolishly placed our six tumblers on the window-sill to dry, and a gust of wind toppled them into the river. the draughts were a nuisance. this was owing to windows facing each other being left open, and as a result articles of clothing disappeared so mysteriously that we thought there must be a thief or a somnambulist on board. the third or fourth day, however, going into the saloon unexpectedly, i caught my straw hat disappearing on the wings of the wind. when last seen it was on its way to maidenhead, bowling along at the rate of several miles an hour. so we thought it would be as well to have a boy. as far as i remember, this was the only point unanimously agreed upon during the whole time we were aboard. they told us at the ferry hotel that boys were rather difficult to get in cookham; but we instituted a vigorous house-to-house search, and at last we ran a boy to earth and carried him off. it was most unfortunate for all concerned that the boy did not sleep on board. there was, however, no room for him; so he came at seven in the morning, and retired when his labors were over for the day. i say he came; but in point of fact that was the difficulty with the boy. he couldn't come. he came as far as he could: that is to say, he walked up the tow-path until he was opposite the house-boat, and then he hallooed to be taken on board, whereupon some one had to go in the dingy for him. all the time we were in the house-boat that boy was never five minutes late. wet or fine, calm or rough, a.m. found the boy on the tow-path hallooing. no sooner were we asleep than the dewy morn was made hideous by the boy. lying in bed with the blankets over our heads to deaden his cries, his fresh, lusty young voice pierced wood-work, blankets, sheets, everything. "ya-ho, ahoy, ya-ho, aho, ahoy!" so he kept it up. what followed may easily be guessed. we all lay as silent as the grave, each waiting for some one else to rise and bring the impatient lad across. at last the stillness would be broken by some one's yelling out that he would do for that boy. a second would mutter horribly in his sleep; a third would make himself a favorite for the moment by shouting through the wooden partition that it was the fifth's turn this morning. the fifth would tell us where he would see the boy before he went across for him. then there would be silence again. eventually some one would put an ulster over his night-shirt, and sternly announce his intention of going over and taking the boy's life. hearing this, the others at once dropped off to sleep. for a few days we managed to trick the boy by pulling up our blinds and so conveying to his mind the impression that we were getting up. then he had not our breakfast ready when we did get up, which naturally enraged us. as soon as he got on board that boy made his presence felt. he was very strong and energetic in the morning, and spent the first half-hour or so in flinging coals at each other. this was his way of breaking them; and he was by nature so patient and humble that he rather flattered himself when a coal broke at the twentieth attempt. we used to dream that he was breaking coals on our heads. often one of us dashed into the kitchen, threatening to drop him into the river if he did not sit quite still on a chair for the next two hours. under these threats he looked sufficiently scared to satisfy anybody; but as soon as all was quiet again he crept back to the coal-bunk and was at his old games. [illustration] it didn't matter what we did, the boy put a stop to it. we tried whist, and in ten minutes there was a "hoy, hie, ya-ho!" from the opposite shore. it was the boy come back with the vegetables. if we were reading, "ya-ho, hie!" and some one had to cross for that boy and the water-can. the boy was on the tow-path just when we had fallen into a snooze; he had to be taken across for the milk immediately we had lighted our pipes. on the whole, it is an open question whether it was not even more annoying to take him over than to go for him. two or three times we tried to be sociable and went into the village together; but no sooner had we begun to enjoy ourselves than we remembered that we must go back and let the boy ashore. tennyson speaks of a company making believe to be merry while all the time the spirit of a departed one haunted them in their play. that was exactly the effect of the boy on us. even without the boy i hardly think we should have been a sociable party. the sight of so much humanity gathered in one room became a nuisance. we resorted to all kinds of subterfuge to escape from each other; and the one who finished breakfast first generally managed to make off with the dingy. the others were then at liberty to view him in the distance, in midstream, lying on his back in the bottom of the boat; and it was almost more than we could stand. the only way to bring him back was to bribe the boy into saying that he wanted to go across to the village for bacon or black lead or sardines. thus even the boy had his uses. things gradually got worse and worse. i remember only one day when as many as four of us were on speaking terms. even this temporary sociability was only brought about in order that we might combine and fall upon jimmy with the more crushing force. jimmy had put us in an article, representing himself as a kind of superior person who was making a study of us. the thing was such a gross caricature, and so dull, that it was jimmy we were sorry for rather than ourselves. still, we gathered round him in a body and told him what we thought of the matter. affairs might have gone more smoothly after this if we four had been able to hold together. unfortunately, jimmy won marriot over, and next day there was a row all round, which resulted in our division into five parties. one day pettigrew visited us. he brought his gladstone bag with him, but did not stay over night. he was glad to go; for at first none of us, i am afraid, was very civil to him, though we afterward thawed a little. he returned to london and told every one how he found us. i admit we were not prepared to receive company. the house-boat consisted of five apartments--a saloon, three bedrooms, and a kitchen. when he boarded us we were distributed as follows: i sat smoking in the saloon, marriot sat smoking in the first bedroom, gilray in the second, jimmy in the third, and scrymgeour in the kitchen. the boy did not keep scrymgeour company. he had been ordered on deck, where he sat with his legs crossed, the picture of misery because he had no coals to break. a few days after pettigrew's visit we followed him to london, leaving scrymgeour behind, where we soon became friendly again. [illustration] chapter xvi. the arcadia mixture again. [illustration] one day, some weeks after we left scrymgeour's house-boat, i was alone in my rooms, very busy smoking, when william john entered with a telegram. it was from scrymgeour, and said, "you have got me into a dreadful mess. come down here first train." wondering what mess i could have got scrymgeour into, i good-naturedly obeyed his summons, and soon i was smoking placidly on the deck of the house-boat, while scrymgeour, sullen and nervous, tramped back and forward. i saw quickly that the only tobacco had something to do with his troubles, for he began by announcing that one evening soon after we left him he found that we had smoked all his arcadia. he would have dispatched the boy to london for it, but the boy had been all day in the village buying a loaf, and would not be back for hours. cookham cigars scrymgeour could not smoke; cigarettes he only endured if made from the arcadia. at cookham he could only get tobacco that made him uncomfortable. having recently begun to use a new pouch, he searched his pockets in vain for odd shreds of the mixture to which he had so contemptibly become a slave. in a very bad temper he took to his dingy, vowing for a little while that he would violently break the chains that bound him to one tobacco, and afterward, when he was restored to his senses that he would jilt the arcadia gradually. he had pulled some distance down the river, without regarding the cliveden woods, when he all but ran into a blaze of chinese lanterns. it was a house-boat called--let us change its name to the _heathen chinee_. staying his dingy with a jerk, scrymgeour looked up, when a wonderful sight met his eyes. on the open window of an apparently empty saloon stood a round tin of tobacco, marked "arcadia mixture." [illustration] scrymgeour sat gaping. the only sound to be heard, except a soft splash of water under the house-boat, came from the kitchen, where a servant was breaking crockery for supper. the romantic figure in the dingy stretched out his hand and then drew it back, remembering that there was a law against this sort of thing. he thought to himself, "if i were to wait until the owner returns, no doubt a man who smokes the arcadia would feel for me." then his fatal horror of explanations whispered to him, "the owner may be a stupid, garrulous fellow who will detain you here half the night explaining your situation." scrymgeour, i want to impress upon the reader, was, like myself, the sort of a man who, if asked whether he did not think "in memoriam" mr. browning's greatest poem, would say yes, as the easiest way of ending the conversation. obviously he would save himself trouble by simply annexing the tin. he seized it and rowed off. smokers, who know how tobacco develops the finer feelings, hardly require to be told what happened next. suddenly scrymgeour remembered that he was probably leaving the owner of the _heathen chinee_ without any arcadia mixture. he at once filled his pouch, and, pulling softly back to the house-boat, replaced the tin on the window, his bosom swelling with the pride of those who give presents. at the same moment a hand gripped him by the neck, and a girl, somewhere on deck, screamed. scrymgeour's captor, who was no other than the owner of the _heathen chinee_, dragged him fiercely into the house-boat and stormed at him for five minutes. my friend shuddered as he thought of the explanations to come when he was allowed to speak, and gradually he realized that he had been mistaken for someone else--apparently for some young blade who had been carrying on a clandestine flirtation with the old gentleman's daughter. it will take an hour, thought scrymgeour, to convince him that i am not that person, and another hour to explain why i am really here. then the weak creature had an idea: "might not the simplest plan be to say that his surmises are correct, promise to give his daughter up, and row away as quickly as possible?" he began to wonder if the girl was pretty; but saw it would hardly do to say that he reserved his defence until he could see her. "i admit," he said, at last, "that i admire your daughter; but she spurned my advances, and we parted yesterday forever." "yesterday!" "or was it the day before?" "why, sir, i have caught you red-handed!" "this is an accident," scrymgeour explained, "and i promise never to speak to her again." then he added, as an after-thought, "however painful that may be to me." before scrymgeour returned to his dingy he had been told that he would be drowned if he came near that house-boat again. as he sculled away he had a glimpse of the flirting daughter, whom he described to me briefly as being of such engaging appearance that six yards was a trying distance to be away from her. "here," thought scrymgeour that night over a pipe of the mixture, "the affair ends; though i dare say the young lady will call me terrible names when she hears that i have personated her lover. i must take care to avoid the father now, for he will feel that i have been following him. perhaps i should have made a clean breast of it; but i do loathe explanations." [illustration] two days afterward scrymgeour passed the father and daughter on the river. the lady said "thank you" to him with her eyes, and, still more remarkable, the old gentleman bowed. scrymgeour thought it over. "she is grateful to me," he concluded, "for drawing away suspicion from the other man, but what can have made the father so amiable? suppose she has not told him that i am an impostor, he should still look upon me as a villain; and if she has told him, he should be still more furious. it is curious, but no affair of mine." three times within the next few days he encountered the lady on the tow-path or elsewhere with a young gentleman of empty countenance, who, he saw must be the real lothario. once they passed him when he was in the shadow of a tree, and the lady was making pretty faces with a cigarette in her mouth. the house-boat _heathen chinee_ lay but a short distance off, and scrymgeour could see the owner gazing after his daughter placidly, a pipe between his lips. [illustration] "he must be approving of her conduct now," was my friend's natural conclusion. then one forenoon scrymgeour travelled to town in the same compartment as the old gentleman, who was exceedingly frank, and made sly remarks about romantic young people who met by stealth when there was no reason why they should not meet openly. "what does he mean?" scrymgeour asked himself, uneasily. he saw terribly elaborate explanations gathering and shrank from them. then scrymgeour was one day out in a punt, when he encountered the old gentleman in a canoe. the old man said, purple with passion, that he was on his way to pay mr. scrymgeour a business visit. "oh, yes," he continued, "i know who you are; if i had not discovered you were a man of means i would not have let the thing go on, and now i insist on an explanation." explanations! they made for scrymgeour's house-boat, with almost no words on the young man's part; but the father blurted out several things--as that his daughter knew where he was going when he left the _heathen chinee_, and that he had an hour before seen scrymgeour making love to another girl. "don't deny it!" cried the indignant father; "i recognized you by your velvet coat and broad hat." then scrymgeour began to see more clearly. the girl had encouraged the deception, and had been allowed to meet her lover because he was supposed to be no adventurer but the wealthy mr. scrymgeour. she must have told the fellow to get a coat and hat like his to help the plot. at the time the artist only saw all this in a jumble. scrymgeour had bravely resolved to explain everything now; but his bewilderment may be conceived when, on entering his saloon with the lady's father, the first thing they saw was the lady herself. the old gentleman gasped, and his daughter looked at scrymgeour imploringly. "now," said the father fiercely, "explain." the lady's tears became her vastly. hardly knowing what he did, scrymgeour put his arm around her. "well, go on," i said, when at this point scrymgeour stopped. "there is no more to tell," he replied; "you see the girl allowed me to--well, protect her--and--and the old gentleman thinks we are engaged." "i don't wonder. what does the lady say?" "she says that she ran along the bank and got into my house-boat by the plank, meaning to see me before her father arrived and to entreat me to run away." "with her?" "no, without her." "but what does she say about explaining matters to her father?" "she says she dare not, and as for me, i could not. that was why i telegraphed to you." "you want me to be intercessor? no, scrymgeour; your only honorable course is marriage." "but you must help me. it is all your fault, teaching me to like the arcadia mixture." i thought this so impudent of scrymgeour that i bade him good-night at once. all the men on the stair are still confident that he would have married her, had the lady not cut the knot by eloping with scrymgeour's double. [illustration] chapter xvii. the romance of a pipe-cleaner. [illustration] we continued to visit the _arcadia_, though only one at a time now, and gilray, who went most frequently, also remained longest. in other words, he was in love again, and this time she lived at cookham. marriot's love affairs i pushed from me with a wave of my pipe, but gilray's second case was serious. in time, however, he returned to the arcadia mixture, though not until the house-boat was in its winter quarters. i witnessed his complete recovery, the scene being his chambers. really it is rather a pathetic story, and so i give the telling of it to a rose, which the lady once presented to gilray. conceive the rose lying, as i saw it, on gilray's hearth-rug, and then imagine it whispering as follows: "a wire was round me that white night on the river when she let him take me from her. then i hated the wire. alas! hear the end. "my moments are numbered; and if i would expose him with my dying sigh, i must not sentimentalize over my own decay. they were in a punt, her hand trailing in the water, when i became his. when they parted that night at cookham lock, he held her head in his hands, and they gazed in each other's eyes. then he turned away quickly; when he reached the punt again he was whistling. several times before we came to the house-boat in which he and another man lived, he felt in his pocket to make sure that i was still there. at the house-boat he put me in a tumbler of water out of sight of his friend, and frequently he stole to the spot like a thief to look at me. early next morning he put me in his buttonhole, calling me sweet names. when his friend saw me, he too whistled, but not in the same way. then my owner glared at him. this happened many months ago. [illustration] "next evening i was in a garden that slopes to the river. i was on his breast, and so for a moment was she. his voice was so soft and low as he said to her the words he had said to me the night before, that i slumbered in a dream. when i awoke suddenly he was raging at her, and she cried. i know not why they quarrelled so quickly, but it was about some one whom he called 'that fellow,' while she called him a 'friend of papa's.' he looked at her for a long time again, and then said coldly that he wished her a very good-evening. she bowed and went toward a house, humming a merry air, while he pretended to light a cigarette made from a tobacco of which he was very fond. till very late that night i heard him walking up and down the deck of the house-boat, his friend shouting to him not to be an ass. me he had flung fiercely on the floor of the house-boat. about midnight he came downstairs, his face white, and, snatching me up, put me in his pocket. again we went into the punt, and he pushed it within sight of the garden. there he pulled in his pole and lay groaning in the punt, letting it drift, while he called her his beloved and a little devil. suddenly he took me from his pocket, kissed me, and cast me down from him into the night. i fell among reeds, head downward; and there i lay all through the cold, horrid night. the gray morning came at last, then the sun, and a boat now and again. i thought i had found my grave, when i saw his punt coming toward the reeds. he searched everywhere for me, and at last he found me. so delighted and affectionate was he that i forgave him my sufferings, only i was jealous of a letter in his other pocket, which he read over many times, murmuring that it explained everything. "her i never saw again, but i heard her voice. he kept me now in a leather case in an inner pocket, where i was squeezed very flat. what they said to each other i could not catch; but i understood afterward, for he always repeated to me what he had been saying to her, and many times he was loving, many times angry, like a bad man. at last came a day when he had a letter from her containing many things he had given her, among them a ring on which she had seemed to set great store. what it all meant i never rightly knew, but he flung the ring into the thames, calling her all the old wicked names and some new ones. i remember how we rushed to her house, along the bank this time, and that she asked him to be her brother; but he screamed denunciations at her, again speaking of 'that fellow,' and saying that he was going to-morrow to manitoba. "so far as i know, they saw each other no more. he walked on the deck so much now that his friend went back to london, saying he could get no sleep. sometimes we took long walks alone; often we sat for hours looking at the river, for on those occasions he would take me out of the leather case and put me on his knee. one day his friend came back and told him that he would soon get over it, he himself having once had a similar experience; but my master said no one had ever loved as he loved, and muttered 'vixi, vixi' to himself till the other told him not to be a fool, but to come to the hotel and have something to eat. over this they quarrelled, my master hinting that he would eat no more; but he ate heartily after his friend was gone. "after a time we left the house-boat, and were in chambers in a great inn. i was still in his pocket, and heard many conversations between him and people who came to see him, and he would tell them that he loathed the society of women. when they told him, as one or two did, that they were in love, he always said that he had gone through that stage ages ago. still, at nights he would take me out of my case, when he was alone, and look at me; after which he walked up and down the room in an agitated manner and cried 'vixi.' "by and by he left me in a coat that he was no longer wearing. before this he had always put me into whatever coat he had on. i lay neglected, i think, for a month, until one day he felt the pockets of the coat for something else, and pulled me out. i don't think he remembered what was in the leather case at first; but as he looked at me his face filled with sentiment, and next day he took me with him to cookham. the winter was come, and it was a cold day. there were no boats on the river. he walked up the bank to the garden where was the house in which she had lived; but the place was now deserted. on the garden gate he sat down, taking me from his pocket; and here, i think, he meant to recall the days that were dead. but a cold, piercing wind was blowing, and many times he looked at his watch, putting it to his ear as if he thought it had stopped. after a little he took to flinging stones into the water, for something to do; and then he went to the hotel and stayed there till he got a train back to london. we were home many hours before he meant to be back, and that night he went to a theatre. "that was my last day in the leather case. he keeps something else in it now. he flung me among old papers, smoking-caps, slippers, and other odds and ends into a box, where i have remained until to-night. a month or more ago he rummaged in the box for some old letters, and coming upon me unexpectedly, he jagged his finger on the wire. 'where on earth did you come from?' he asked me. then he remembered, and flung me back among the papers with a laugh. now we come to to-night. an hour ago i heard him blowing down something, then stamping his feet. from his words i knew that his pipe was stopped. i heard him ring a bell and ask angrily who had gone off with his pipe-cleaners. he bustled through the room looking for them or for a substitute, and after a time he cried aloud, 'i have it; that would do; but where was it i saw the thing last?' he pulled out several drawers, looked through his desk, and then opened the box in which i lay. he tumbled its contents over until he found me, and then he pulled me out, exclaiming, 'eureka!' my heart sank, for i understood all as i fell leaf by leaf on the hearth-rug where i now lie. he took the wire off me and used it to clean his pipe." [illustration] [illustration] chapter xviii. what could he do? this was another of marriot's perplexities of the heart. he had been on the continent, and i knew from his face, the moment he returned, that i would have a night of him. [illustration] "on the th of september," he began, playing agitatedly with my tobacco-pouch, which was not for hands like his, "i had walked from spondinig to franzenshohe, which is a tyrolese inn near the top of stelvio pass. from the inn to a very fine glacier is only a stroll of a few minutes; but the path is broken by a roaring stream. the only bridge across this stream is a plank, which seemed to give way as i put my foot on it. i drew back, for the stream would be called one long waterfall in england. though a passionate admirer of courage, i easily lose my head myself, and i did not dare to venture across the plank. i walked up the stream, looking in vain for another crossing, and finally sat down on a wilderness of stones, from which i happened to have a good view of the plank. in parties of two and three a number of tourists strolled down the path; but they were all afraid to cross the bridge. i saw them test it with their alpenstocks; but none would put more than one foot on it. they gathered there at their wit's end. suddenly i saw that there was some one on the plank. it was a young lady. i stood up and gazed. she was perhaps a hundred yards away from me; but i could distinctly make out her swaying, girlish figure, her deer-stalker cap, and the ends of her boa (as, i think, those long, furry things are called) floating in the wind. in a moment she was safe on the other side; but on the middle of the plank she had turned to kiss her hand to some of her more timid friends, and it was then that i fell in love with her. no doubt it was the very place for romance, if one was sufficiently clad; but i am not 'susceptible,' as it is called, and i had never loved before. on the other hand, i was always a firm believer in love at first sight, which, as you will see immediately, is at the very root of my present sufferings. "the other tourists, their fears allayed, now crossed the plank, but i hurried away anywhere; and found myself an hour afterward on a hillside, surrounded by tinkling cows. all that time i had been thinking of a plank with a girl on it. i returned hastily to the inn, to hear that the heroine of the bridge and her friends had already driven off up the pass. my intention had been to stay at franzenshohe over night, but of course i at once followed the line of carriages which could be seen crawling up the winding road. it was no difficult matter to overtake them, and in half an hour i was within a few yards of the hindmost carriage. it contained her of whom i was in pursuit. her back was toward me, but i recognized the cap and the boa. i confess that i was nervous about her face, which i had not yet seen. so often had i been disappointed in ladies when they showed their faces, that i muttered jimmy's aphorism to myself: 'the saddest thing in life is that most women look best from the back.' but when she looked round all anxiety was dispelled. so far as your advice is concerned, it cannot matter to you what she was like. briefly, she was charming. "i am naturally shy, and so had more difficulty in making her acquaintance than many travellers would have had. it was at the baths of bormio that we came together. i had bribed a waiter to seat me next her father at dinner; but, when the time came, i could say nothing to him, so anxious was i to create a favorable impression. in the evening, however, i found the family gathered round a pole, with skittles at the foot of it. they were wondering how italian skittles was played, and, though i had no idea, i volunteered to teach them. fortunately none of them understood italian, and consequently the expostulations of the boy in charge were disregarded. it is not my intention to dwell upon the never-to-be-forgotten days--ah, and still more the evenings--we spent at the baths of bormio. i had loved her as she crossed the plank; but daily now had i more cause to love her, and it was at bormio that she learned--i say it with all humility--to love me. the seat in the garden on which i proposed is doubtless still to be seen, with the chair near it on which her papa was at that very moment sitting, with one of his feet on a small table. during the three sunny days that followed, my life was one delicious dream, with no sign that the awakening was at hand. "so far i had not mentioned the incident at franzenshohe to her. perhaps you will call my reticence contemptible; but the fact is, i feared to fall in her esteem. i could not have spoken of the plank without admitting that i was afraid to cross it; and then what would she, who was a heroine, think of a man who was so little of a hero? thus, though i had told her many times that i fell in love with her at first sight, she thought i referred to the time when she first saw me. she liked to hear me say that i believed in no love but love at first sight; and, looking back, i can recall saying it at least once on every seat in the garden at the baths of bormio. "do you know tirano, a hamlet in a nest of vines, where italian soldiers strut and women sleep in the sun beside baskets of fruit? how happily we entered it; were we the same persons who left it within an hour? i was now travelling with her party; and at tirano, while the others rested, she and i walked down a road between vines and indian corn. why i should then have told her that i loved her for a whole day before she saw me i cannot tell. it may have been something she said, perhaps only an irresistible movement of her head; for her grace was ever taking me by surprise, and she was a revelation a thousand times a day. but whatever it was that made me speak out, i suddenly told her that i fell in love with her as she stood upon the plank at franzenshohe. i remember her stopping short at a point where there had probably once been a gate to the vineyard, and i thought she was angry with me for not having told her of the franzenshohe incident before. soon the pallor of her face alarmed me. she entreated me to say it was not at franzenshohe that i first loved her, and i fancied she was afraid lest her behavior on the bridge had seemed a little bold. i told her it was divine, and pictured the scene as only an anxious lover could do. then she burst into tears, and we went back silently to her relatives. she would not say a word to me. [illustration] "we drove to sondrio, and before we reached it i dare say i was as pale as she. a horrible thought had flashed upon me. at sondrio i took her papa aside, and, without telling him what had happened, questioned him about his impressions of franzenshohe. 'you remember the little bridge,' he said, 'that we were all afraid to cross; by jove! i have often wondered who that girl was that ventured over it first.' "i hastened away from him to think. my fears had been confirmed. it was not she who had first crossed the plank. therefore it was not she with whom i had fallen in love. nothing could be plainer than that i was in love with the wrong person. all the time i had loved another. but who was she? besides, did i love her? certainly not. yes, but why did i love this one? the whole foundation of my love had been swept away. yet the love remained. which is absurd. "at colico i put the difficulty to her father; but he is stout, and did not understand its magnitude. he said he could not see how it mattered. as for her, i have never mentioned it to her again; but she is always thinking of it, and so am i. a wall has risen up between us, and how to get over it or whether i have any right to get over it, i know not. will you help me--and her?" "certainly not," i said. [illustration] [illustration] chapter xix. primus. primus is my brother's eldest son, and he once spent his easter holidays with me. i did not want him, nor was he anxious to come, but circumstances were too strong for us, and, to be just to primus, he did his best to show me that i was not in his way. he was then at the age when boys begin to address each other by their surnames. i have said that i always took care not to know how much tobacco i smoked in a week, and therefore i may be hinting a libel on primus when i say that while he was with me the arcadia disappeared mysteriously. though he spoke respectfully of the mixture--as became my nephew--he tumbled it on to the table, so that he might make a telephone out of the tins, and he had a passion for what he called "snipping cigars." scrymgeour gave him a cigar-cutter which was pistol-shaped. you put the cigar end in a hole, pull the trigger, and the cigar was snipped. the simplicity of the thing fascinated primus, and after his return to school i found that he had broken into my cabana boxes and snipped nearly three hundred cigars. [illustration] as soon as he arrived primus laid siege to the heart of william john, captured it in six hours, and demoralized it in twenty-four. we, who had known william john for years, considered him very practical, but primus fired him with tales of dark deeds at "old poppy's"--which was primus's handy name for his preceptor--and in a short time william john was so full of romance that we could not trust him to black our boots. he and primus had a scheme for seizing a lugger and becoming pirates, when primus was to be captain, william john first lieutenant, and old poppy a prisoner. to the crew was added a boy with a catapult, one johnny fox, who was another victim of the tyrant poppy, and they practised walking the plank at scrymgeour's window. the plank was pushed nearly half-way out at the window, and you walked up it until it toppled and you were flung into the quadrangle. such was the romance of william john that he walked the plank with his arms tied, shouting scornfully, by request, "captain kidd, i defy you! ha, ha! the buccaneer does not live who will blanch the cheeks of dick, the doughty tar!" then william john disappeared, and had to be put in poultices. while william john was in bed slowly recovering from his heroism, the pirate captain and johnny fox got me into trouble by stretching a string across the square, six feet from the ground, against which many tall hats struck, to topple in the dust. an improved sling from the lowther arcade kept the glazier constantly in the inn. primus and johnny fox strolled into holborn, knocked a bootblack's cap off, and returned with lumps on their foreheads. they were observed one day in hyde park--whither it may be feared they had gone with cigarettes--running after sheep, from which ladies were flying, while street-arabs chased the pirates, and a policeman chased the street-arabs. the only book they read was the "comic history of rome," the property of gilray. this they liked so much that primus papered the inside of his box with pictures from it. the only authors they consulted me about were "two big swells" called descartes and james payn, of whom primus discovered that the one could always work best in bed, while the other thought latin and greek a mistake. it was the intention of the pirates to call old poppy's attention to these gentlemen's views. [illustration] soon after primus came to me i learned that his schoolmaster had given him a holiday task. all the "fellows" in his form had to write an essay entitled "my holidays, and how i turned them to account," and to send it to their preceptor. primus troubled his head little about the task while the composition of it was yet afar off; but as his time drew near he referred to it with indignation, and to his master's action in prescribing it as a "low trick." he frightened the housekeeper into tears by saying that he would not write a line of the task, and, what was more, he would "cheek" his master for imposing it; and i also heard that he and johnny had some thought of writing the essay in a form suggested by their perusal of the "comic history of rome." one day i found a paper in my chambers which told me that the task was nevertheless receiving serious consideration. it was the instructions given by primus's master with regard to the essay, which was to be "in the form of a letter," and "not less than five hundred words in length." the writer, it was suggested, should give a general sketch of how he was passing his time, what books he was reading, and "how he was making the home brighter." i did not know that primus had risen equal to the occasion until one day after his departure, when i received his epistle from the schoolmaster, who wanted me to say whether it was a true statement. here is primus's essay on his holidays and how he made the home brighter: [illustration] "respected sir:--i venture to address you on a subject of jeneral interest to all engaged in education, and the subject i venture to address you on is, 'my hollidays and how i turned them to account.' three weeks and two days has now elapsed since i quitted your scholastic establishment, and i quitted your scholastic establishment with tears in my eyes, it being the one of all the scholastic establishments i have been at that i loved to reside in, and everybody was of an amiable disposition. hollidays is good for making us renew our studdies with redoubled vigor, the mussels needing to be invigorated, and i have not overworked mind and body in my hollidays. i found my uncle well, and drove in a handsome to the door, and he thought i was much improved both in appearance and manners; and i said it was jew to the loving care of my teacher making improvement in appearance and manners a pleasure to the youth of england. my uncle was partiklarly pleased with the improvement i had made, not only in my appearance and manners, but also in my studies; and i told him casear was the latin writer i liked best, and quoted '_veni, vidi, vici_,' and some others which i regret i cannot mind at present. with your kind permission i should like to write you a line about how i spend my days during the hollidays; and my first way of spending my days during the hollidays is whatsoever my hands find to do doing it with all my might; also setting my face nobly against hurting the fealings of others, and minding to say, before i go to sleep, 'something attempted, something done, to earn a night's repose,' as advised by you, my esteemed communicant. i spend my days during the hollidays getting up early, so as to be down in time for breakfast, and not to give no trouble. at breakfast i behave like a model, so as to set a good example; and then i go out for a walk with my esteemed young friend, john fox, whom i chose carefully for a friend, fearing to corrupt my morals by holding communications with rude boys. the j. fox whom i mentioned is esteemed by all who knows him as of a unusually gentle disposition; and you know him, respected sir, yourself, he being in my form, and best known in regretble slang as 'foxy.' we walks in hyde park admiring the works of nature, and keeps up our classics when we see a tree by calling it 'arbor' and then going through the declensions; but we never climbs trees for fear of messing the clothes bestowed upon us by our beloved parents in the sweat of their brow; and we scorns to fling stones at the beautiful warblers which fill the atmosfere with music. in the afternoons i spend my days during the hollidays talking with the housekeeper about the things she understands, like not taking off my flannels till june , and also praising the matron at the school for seeing about the socks. in the evening i devote myself to whatever good cause i can think of; and i always take off my boots and put on my slippers, so as not to soil the carpet. i should like, respected sir, to inform you of the books i read when my duties does not call me elsewhere; and the books i read are the works of william shakespeare, john milton, albert tennyson, and francis bacon. me and john fox also reads the 'history of rome,' so as to prime ourselves with the greatness of the past; and we hopes the glorious examples of romulus and remus, but especially hannibal, will sink into our minds to spur us along. i am desirous to acquaint you with the way i make my uncle's home brighter; but the words is up. so looking forward eagerly to resume my studdies, i am, respected sir, your dilligent pupil." [illustration] chapter xx. primus to his uncle. [illustration] though we all pretended to be glad when primus went, we spoke of him briefly at times, and i read his letters aloud at our evening meetings. here is a series of them from my desk. primus was now a year and a half older and his spelling had improved. i. _november th._ dear uncle:--though i have not written to you for a long time i often think about you and mr. gilray and the rest and the arcadia mixture, and i beg to state that my mother will have informed you i am well and happy but a little overworked, as i am desirous of pleasing my preceptor by obtaining a credible position in the exams, and we breakfast at : sharp. i suppose you are to give me a six-shilling thing again as a christmas present, so i drop you a line not to buy something i don't want, as it is only thirty-nine days to christmas. i think i'll have a book again, but not a fairy tale or any of that sort, nor the "swiss family robinson," nor any of the old books. there is a rattling story called "kidnapped," by h. rider haggard, but it is only five shillings, so if you thought of it you could make up the six shillings by giving me a football belt. last year you gave me "the formation of character," and i read it with great mental improvement and all that, but this time i want a change, namely, ( ) not a fairy tale, ( ) not an old book, ( ) not mental improvement book. don't fix on anything without telling me first what it is. tell william john i walked into darky and settled him in three rounds. best regards to mr. gilray and the others. ii. _november th_. dear uncle:--our preceptor is against us writing letters he doesn't see, so i have to carry the paper to the dormitory up my waistcoat and write there, and i wish old poppy smoked the arcadia mixture to make him more like you. never mind about the football belt, as i got johnny fox's for two white mice; so i don't want "kidnapped," which i wrote about to you, as i want you to stick to six-shilling book. there is one called "dead man's rock" that dickson secundus has heard about, and it sounds well; but it is never safe to go by the name, so don't buy it till i hear more about it. if you see biographies of it in the newspapers you might send them to me, as it should be about pirates by the title, but the author does not give his name, which is rather suspicious. so, remember, don't buy it yet, and also find out price, whether illustrated, and how many pages. ballantyne's story this year is about the fire-brigade; but i don't think i'll have it, as he is getting rather informative, and i have one of his about the fire-brigade already. of course i don't fix not to have it, only don't buy it at present. don't buy "dead man's rock" either. i am working diligently, and tell the housekeeper my socks is all right. we may fix on "dead man's rock," but it is best not to be in a hurry. iii. _november th_. dear uncle:--i don't think i'll have "dead man's rock," as hope has two stories out this year, and he is a safe man to go to. the worst of it is that they are three-and-six each, and dickson secundus says they are continuations of each other, so it is best to have them both or neither. the two at three-and-six would make seven shillings, and i wonder if you would care to go that length this year. i am getting on first rate with my greek, and will do capital if my health does not break down with overpressure. perhaps if you bought the two you would get them for s. d. or what do you say to the housekeeper's giving me a shilling of it, and not sending the neckties? [illustration] iv. _november th._ dear uncle:--i was disappointed at not hearing from you this morning, but conclude you are very busy. i don't want hope's books, but i think i'll rather have a football. we played gloucester on tuesday and beat them all to sticks (five goals two tries to one try!!!). it would cost s. d., and i'll make up the one-and-six myself out of my pocket-money; but you can pay it all just now, and then i'll pay you later when i am more flush than i am at present. i'd better buy it myself, or you might not get the right kind, so you might send the money in a postal order by return. you get the postal orders at the nearest postoffice, and inclose them in a letter. i want the football at once. ( ) not a book of any kind whatever; ( ) a football, but i'll buy it myself; ( ) price s. d.; ( ) send postal order. v. _november th._ dear uncle:--kindly inform william john that i am in receipt of his favor of yesterday prox., and also your message, saying am i sure it is a football i want. i have to inform you that i have changed my mind and think i'll stick to a book (or two books according to price), after all. dickson secundus has seen a newspaper biography of "dead man's rock" and it is ripping, but, unfortunately, there is a lot in it about a girl. so don't buy "dead man's rock" for me. i told fox about hope's two books and he advises me to get one of them ( s. d.), and to take the rest of the money ( s. d.) in cash, making in all six shillings. i don't know if i should like that plan, though fair to both parties, as dickson secundus once took money from his father instead of a book and it went like winking with nothing left to show for it; but i'll think it over between my scholastic tasks and write to you again, so do nothing till you hear from me, and mind i don't want football. vi. _december d_. dear uncle:--don't buy hope's books. there is a grand story out by jules verne about a man who made a machine that enabled him to walk on his head through space with seventy-five illustrations; but the worst of it is it costs half a guinea. of course i don't ask you to give so much as that; but it is a pity it cost so much, as it is evidently a ripping book, and nothing like it. ten-and-six is a lot of money. what do you think? i inclose for your consideration a newspaper account of it, which says it will fire the imagination and teach boys to be manly and self-reliant. of course you could not give it to me; but i think it would do me good, and am working so hard that i have no time for physical exercise. it is to be got at all booksellers. p.s.--fox has read "dead man's rock," and likes it a . vii. _december th._ dear uncle:--i was thinking about jules verne's book last night after i went to bed, and i see a way of getting it which both dickson secundus and fox consider fair. i want you to give it to me as my christmas present for both this year and next year. thus i won't want a present from you next christmas; but i don't mind that so long as i get this book. one six-shilling book this year and another next year would come to s., and jules verne's book is only s. d., so this plan will save you s. d. in the long run. i think you should buy it at once, in case they are all sold out before christmas. viii. _december th._ my dear uncle:--i hope you haven't bought the book yet, as dickson secundus has found out that there is a shop in the strand where all the books are sold cheap. you get threepence off every shilling, so you would get a ten-and-six book for s. - / d. that will let you get me a cheapish one next year, after all. i inclose the address. ix. _december th_. dear uncle:--dickson secundus was looking to-day at "the formation of character," which you gave me last year, and he has found out that it was bought in the shop in the strand that i wrote you about, so you got it for s. d. we have been looking up the books i got from you at other christmases, and they all have the stamp on them which shows they were bought at that shop. some of them i got when i was a kid, and that was the time you gave me s. and s. d. books; but dickson secundus and fox have been helping me to count up how much you owe me as follows: _nominal_ _price_ _price_ _paid_ _£_ _s._ _d._ _s._ _d._ "sunshine and shadow" "honesty jack" "the boy makes the man" - / "great explorers" - / "shooting the rapids" - / "the boy voyagers" "the formation of character" ____________ ___________ - / - / _____________ - / thus s. - / d. is the exact sum. the best plan will be for you not to buy anything for me till i get my holidays, when my father is to bring me to london. tell william john i am coming. p.s.--i told my father about the arcadia mixture, and that is why he is coming to london. [illustration] [illustration] chapter xxi. english-grown tobacco. pettigrew asked me to come to his house one evening and test some tobacco that had been grown in his brother's devonshire garden. i had so far had no opportunity of judging for myself whether this attempt to grow tobacco on english soil was to succeed. very complimentary was pettigrew's assertion that he had restrained himself from trying the tobacco until we could test it in company. at the dinner-table while mrs. pettigrew was present we managed to talk for a time of other matters; but the tobacco was on our minds, and i was glad to see that, despite her raillery, my hostess had a genuine interest in the coming experiment. she drew an amusing picture, no doubt a little exaggerated, of her husband's difficulty in refraining from testing the tobacco until my arrival, declaring that every time she entered the smoking-room she found him staring at it. pettigrew took this in good part, and informed me that she had carried the tobacco several times into the drawing-room to show it proudly to her friends. he was very delighted, he said, that i was to remain over night, as that would give us a long evening to test the tobacco thoroughly. a neighbor of his had also been experimenting; and pettigrew, who has a considerable sense of humor, told me a diverting story about this gentleman and his friends having passed judgment on home-grown tobacco after smoking one pipe of it! we were laughing over the ridiculously unsatisfactory character of this test (so called) when we adjourned to the smoking-room. before we did so mrs. pettigrew bade me good-night. she had also left strict orders with the servants that we were on no account to be disturbed. as soon as we were comfortably seated in our smoking-chairs, which takes longer than some people think, pettigrew offered me a cabana. i would have preferred to begin at once with the tobacco; but of course he was my host, and i put myself entirely in his hands. i noticed that, from the moment his wife left us, he was a little excited, talking more than is his wont. he seemed to think that he was not doing his duty as a host if the conversation flagged for a moment, and what was still more curious, he spoke of everything except his garden tobacco. i emphasize this here at starting, lest any one should think that i was in any way responsible for the manner in which our experiment was conducted. if fault there was, it lies at pettigrew's door. i remember distinctly asking him--not in a half-hearted way, but boldly--to produce his tobacco. i did this at an early hour of the proceedings, immediately after i had lighted a second cigar. the reason i took that cigar will be obvious to every gentleman who smokes. had i declined it, pettigrew might have thought that i disliked the brand, which would have been painful to him. however, he did not at once bring out the tobacco; indeed, his precise words, i remember, were that we had lots of time. as his guest i could not press him further. pettigrew smokes more quickly than i do, and he had reached the end of his second cigar when there was still five minutes of mine left. it distresses me to have to say what followed. he hastily lighted a third cigar, and then, unlocking a cupboard, produced about two ounces of his garden tobacco. his object was only too plain. having just begun a third cigar he could not be expected to try the tobacco at present, but there was nothing to prevent my trying it. i regarded pettigrew rather contemptuously, and then i looked with much interest at the tobacco. it was of an inky color. when i looked up i caught pettigrew's eye on me. he withdrew it hurriedly, but soon afterward i saw him looking in the same sly way again. there was a rather painful silence for a time, and then he asked me if i had anything to say. i replied firmly that i was looking forward to trying the tobacco with very great interest. by this time my cigar was reduced to a stump, but, for reasons that pettigrew misunderstood, i continued to smoke it. somehow our chairs had got out of position now, and we were sitting with our backs to each other. i felt that pettigrew was looking at me covertly over his shoulder, and took a side glance to make sure of this. our eyes met, and i bit my lip. if there is one thing i loathe, it is to be looked at in this shame-faced manner. i continued to smoke the stump of my cigar until it scorched my under-lip, and at intervals pettigrew said, without looking round, that my cigar seemed everlasting. i treated his innuendo with contempt; but at last i had to let the cigar-end go. not to make a fuss, i dropped it very quietly; but pettigrew must have been listening for the sound. he wheeled round at once, and pushed the garden tobacco toward me. never, perhaps, have i thought so little of him as at that moment. my indignation probably showed in my face, for he drew back, saying that he thought i "wanted to try it." now i had never said that i did not want to try it. the reader has seen that i went to pettigrew's house solely with the object of trying the tobacco. had pettigrew, then, any ground for insinuating that i did not mean to try it? restraining my passion, i lighted a third cigar, and then put the question to him bluntly. did he, or did he not, mean to try that tobacco? i dare say i was a little brusque; but it must be remembered that i had come all the way from the inn, at considerable inconvenience, to give the tobacco a thorough trial. [illustration] as is the way with men of pettigrew's type, when you corner them, he attempted to put the blame on me. "why had i not tried the tobacco," he asked, "instead of taking a third cigar?" for reply, i asked bitingly if that was not his third cigar. he admitted it was, but said that he smoked more quickly than i did, as if that put his behavior in a more favorable light. i smoked my third cigar very slowly, not because i wanted to put off the experiment; for, as every one must have noted, i was most anxious to try it, but just to see what would happen. when pettigrew had finished his cigar--and i thought he would never be done with it--he gazed at the garden tobacco for a time, and then took a pipe from the mantelpiece. he held it first in one hand, then in the other, and then he brightened up and said he would clean his pipes. this he did very slowly. when he had cleaned all his pipes he again looked at the garden tobacco, which i pushed toward him. he glared at me as if i had not been doing a friendly thing, and then said, in an apologetic manner, that he would smoke a pipe until my cigar was finished. i said "all right" cordially, thinking that he now meant to begin the experiment; but conceive my feelings when he produced a jar of the arcadia mixture. he filled his pipe with this and proceeded to light it, looking at me defiantly. his excuse about waiting till i had finished was too pitiful to take notice of. i finished my cigar in a few minutes, and now was the time when i would have liked to begin the experiment. as pettigrew's guest, however, i could not take that liberty, though he impudently pushed the garden tobacco toward me. i produced my pipe, my intention being only to half fill it with arcadia, so that pettigrew and i might finish our pipes at the same time. custom, however, got the better of me, and inadvertently i filled my pipe, only noticing this when it was too late to remedy the mistake. pettigrew thus finished before me; and though i advised him to begin on the garden tobacco without waiting for me, he insisted on smoking half a pipeful of arcadia, just to keep me company. it was an extraordinary thing that, try as we might, we could not finish our pipes at the same time. about a.m. pettigrew said something about going to bed; and i rose and put down my pipe. we stood looking at the fireplace for a time, and he expressed regret that i had to leave so early in the morning. then he put out two of the lights, and after that we both looked at the garden tobacco. he seemed to have a sudden idea; for rather briskly he tied the tobacco up into a neat paper parcel and handed it to me, saying that i would perhaps give it a trial at the inn. i took it without a word, but opening my hand suddenly i let it fall. my first impulse was to pick it up; but then it struck me that pettigrew had not noticed what had happened, and that, were he to see me pick it up, he might think that i had not taken sufficient care of it. so i let it lie, and, bidding him good-night, went off to bed. i was at the foot of the stair when i thought that, after all, i should like the tobacco, so i returned. i could not see the package anywhere, but something was fizzing up the chimney, and pettigrew had the tongs in his hand. he muttered something about his wife taking up wrong notions. next morning that lady was very satirical about our having smoked the whole two ounces. [illustration] [illustration] chapter xxii. how heroes smoke. on a tiger-skin from the ice-clad regions of the sunless north recline the heroes of ouida, rose-scented cigars in their mouths; themselves gloriously indolent and disdainful, but perhaps huddled a little too closely together on account of the limited accommodation. strathmore is here. but i never felt sure of strathmore. was there not less in him than met the eye? his place, whiteladies, was a home for kings and queens; but he was not the luxurious, magnanimous creature he feigned to be. a host may be known by the cigars he keeps; and, though it is perhaps a startling thing to say, we have good reason for believing that strathmore did not buy good cigars. i question very much whether he had many havanas, even of the second quality, at whiteladies; if he had, he certainly kept them locked up. only once does he so much as refer to them when at his own place, and then in the most general and suspicious way. "bah!" he exclaims to a friend; "there is phil smoking these wretched musk-scented cigarettes again! they are only fit for lady georgie or eulalie papellori. what taste, when there are my havanas and cheroots!" the remark, in whatever way considered, is suggestive. in the first place, it is made late in the evening, after strathmore and his friend have left the smoking-room. thus it is a safe observation. i would not go so far as to say that he had no havanas in the house; the likelihood is that he had a few in his cigar-case, kept there for show rather than use. these, if i understand the man, would be a good brand, but of small size--perhaps reinas--and they would hardly be of a well-known crop. in color they would be dark--say maduro--and he would explain that he bought them because he liked full-flavored weeds. possibly he had a villar y villar box with six or eight in the bottom of it; but boxes are not cigars. what he did provide his friends with was manillas. he smoked them himself, and how careful he was of them is seen on every other page. he is constantly stopping in the middle of his conversation to "curl a loose leaf round his manilla;" when one would have expected a hero like strathmore to fling away a cigar when its leaves began to untwist, and light another. so thrifty is strathmore that he even laboriously "curls the leaves round his cigarettes"--he does not so much as pretend that they are egyptian; nay, even when quarrelling with errol, his beloved friend (whom he shoots through the heart), he takes a cigarette from his mouth and "winds a loosened leaf" round it. [illustration] if strathmore's manillas were capitan generals they would cost him about s. a hundred. the probability, however, is that they were of inferior quality; say, s. d. it need hardly be said that a good manilla does not constantly require to have its leaves "curled." when errol goes into the garden to smoke, he has every other minute to "strike a fusee;" from which it may be inferred that his cigar frequently goes out. this is in itself suspicious. errol, too, is more than once seen by his host wandering in the grounds at night, with a cigar between his teeth. strathmore thinks his susceptible friend has a love affair on hand; but is it not at least as probable an explanation that errol had a private supply of cigars at whiteladies, and from motives of delicacy did not like to smoke them in his host's presence? once, indeed, we do see strathmore smoking a good cigar, though we are not told how he came by it. when talking of the vavasour, he "sticks his penknife through his cabana," with the object, obviously, of smoking it to the bitter end. another lady novelist, who is also an authority on tobacco, miss rhoda broughton, contemptuously dismisses a claimant for the heroship of one of her stories, as the kind of man who turns up his trousers at the foot. it would have been just as withering to say that he stuck a penknife through his cigars. [illustration] there is another true hero with me, whose creator has unintentionally misrepresented him. it is he of "comin' thro' the rye," a gentleman whom the maidens of the nineteenth century will not willingly let die. he is grand, no doubt; and yet, the more one thinks about him, the plainer it becomes that had the heroine married him she would have been bitterly disenchanted. in her company he was magnanimous; god-like, prodigal; but in his smoking-room he showed himself in his true colors. every lady will remember the scene where he rushes to the heroine's home and implores her to return with him to the bedside of his dying wife. the sudden announcement that his wife--whom he had thought in a good state of health--is dying, is surely enough to startle even a miser out of his niggardliness, much less a hero; and yet what do we find vasher doing? the heroine, in frantic excitement, has to pass through his smoking room, and on the table she sees--what? "a half-smoked cigar." he was in the middle of it when a servant came to tell him of his wife's dying request; and, before hastening to execute her wishes, he carefully laid what was left of his cigar upon the table--meaning, of course, to relight it when he came back. though she did not think so, our heroine's father was a much more remarkable man than vasher. he "blew out long, comfortable clouds" that made the whole of his large family "cough and wink again." no ordinary father could do that. among my smoking-room favorites is the hero of miss adeline sergeant's story, "touch and go." he is a war correspondent; and when he sees a body of the enemy bearing down upon him and the wounded officer whom he has sought to save, he imperturbably offers his companion a cigar. they calmly smoke on while the foe gallop up. there is something grand in this, even though the kind of cigar is not mentioned. [illustration] i see a bearded hero, with slouch hat and shepherd's crook, a clay pipe in his mouth. he is a bohemian--ever a popular type of hero; and the bohemian is to be known all the world over by the pipe, which he prefers to a cigar. the tall, scornful gentleman who leans lazily against the door, "blowing great clouds of smoke into the air," is the hero of a hundred novels. that is how he is always standing when the heroine, having need of something she has left in the drawing-room, glides down the stairs at night in her dressing-gown (her beautiful hair, released from its ribbons, streaming down her neck and shoulders), and comes most unexpectedly upon him. he is young. the senior, over whose face "a smile flickers for a moment" when the heroine says something naïve, and whom she (entirely misunderstanding her feelings) thinks she hates, smokes unostentatiously; but though a little inclined to quiet "chaff," he is a man of deep feeling. by and by he will open out and gather her up in his arms. the scorner's chair is filled. i see him, shadow-like, a sad-eyed, _blasé_ gentleman, who has been adored by all the beauties of fifteen seasons, and yet speaks of woman with a contemptuous sneer. great, however, is love; and the vulgar little girl who talks slang will prove to him in our next volume that there is still one peerless beyond all others of her sex. ah, a wondrous thing is love! on every side of me there are dark, handsome men, with something sinister in their smile, "casting away their cigars with a muffled curse." no novel would be complete without them. when they are foiled by the brave girl of the narrative, it is the recognized course with them to fling away their cigars with a muffled curse. any kind of curse would do, but muffled ones are preferred. [illustration] chapter xxiii. the ghost of christmas eve. [illustration] a few years ago, as some may remember, a startling ghost-paper appeared in the monthly organ of the society for haunting houses. the writer guaranteed the truth of his statement, and even gave the name of the yorkshire manor-house in which the affair took place. the article and the discussion to which it gave rise agitated me a good deal, and i consulted pettigrew about the advisability of clearing up the mystery. the writer wrote that he "distinctly saw his arm pass through the apparition and come out at the other side," and indeed i still remember his saying so next morning. he had a scared face, but i had presence of mind to continue eating my rolls and marmalade as if my brier had nothing to do with the miraculous affair. [illustration] seeing that he made a "paper" of it, i suppose he is justified in touching up the incidental details. he says, for instance, that we were told the story of the ghost which is said to haunt the house, just before going to bed. as far as i remember, it was only mentioned at luncheon, and then sceptically. instead of there being snow falling outside and an eerie wind wailing through the skeleton trees, the night was still and muggy. lastly, i did not know, until the journal reached my hands, that he was put into the room known as the haunted chamber, nor that in that room the fire is noted for casting weird shadows upon the walls. this, however, may be so. the legend of the manor-house ghost he tells precisely as it is known to me. the tragedy dates back to the time of charles i., and is led up to by a pathetic love-story, which i need not give. suffice it that for seven days and nights the old steward had been anxiously awaiting the return of his young master and mistress from their honeymoon. on christmas eve, after he had gone to bed, there was a great clanging of the door-bell. flinging on a dressing-gown, he hastened downstairs. according to the story, a number of servants watched him, and saw by the light of his candle that his face was an ashy white. he took off the chains of the door, unbolted it, and pulled it open. what he saw no human being knows; but it must have been something awful, for, without a cry, the old steward fell dead in the hall. perhaps the strangest part of the story is this: that the shadow of a burly man, holding a pistol in his hand, entered by the open door, stepped over the steward's body, and, gliding up the stairs, disappeared, no one could say where. such is the legend. i shall not tell the many ingenious explanations of it that have been offered. every christmas eve, however, the silent scene is said to be gone through again; and tradition declares that no person lives for twelve months at whom the ghostly intruder points his pistol. on christmas day the gentleman who tells the tale in a scientific journal created some sensation at the breakfast-table by solemnly asserting that he had seen the ghost. most of the men present scouted his story, which may be condensed into a few words. he had retired to his bedroom at a fairly early hour, and as he opened the door his candle-light was blown out. he tried to get a light from the fire, but it was too low, and eventually he went to bed in the semi-darkness. he was wakened--he did not know at what hour--by the clanging of a bell. he sat up in bed, and the ghost-story came in a rush to his mind. his fire was dead, and the room was consequently dark; yet by and by he knew, though he heard no sound, that his door had opened. he cried out, "who is that?" but got no answer. by an effort he jumped up and went to the door, which was ajar. his bedroom was on the first floor, and looking up the stairs he could see nothing. he felt a cold sensation at his heart, however, when he looked the other way. going slowly and without a sound down the stairs, was an old man in a dressing-gown. he carried a candle. from the top of the stairs only part of the hall is visible, but as the apparition disappeared the watcher had the courage to go down a few steps after him. at first nothing was to be seen, for the candle-light had vanished. a dim light, however, entered by the long, narrow windows which flank the hall door, and after a moment the on-looker could see that the hall was empty. he was marvelling at this sudden disappearance of the steward, when, to his horror, he saw a body fall upon the hall floor within a few feet of the door. the watcher cannot say whether he cried out, nor how long he stood there trembling. he came to himself with a start as he realized that something was coming up the stairs. fear prevented his taking flight, and in a moment the thing was at his side. then he saw indistinctly that it was not the figure he had seen descend. he saw a younger man, in a heavy overcoat, but with no hat on his head. he wore on his face a look of extravagant triumph. the guest boldly put out his hand toward the figure. to his amazement his arm went through it. the ghost paused for a moment and looked behind it. it was then the watcher realized that it carried a pistol in its right hand. he was by this time in a highly strung condition, and he stood trembling lest the pistol should be pointed at him. the apparition, however, rapidly glided up the stairs and was soon lost to sight. such are the main facts of the story, none of which i contradicted at the time. [illustration] [illustration] i cannot say absolutely that i can clear up this mystery, but my suspicions are confirmed by a good deal of circumstantial evidence. this will not be understood unless i explain my strange infirmity. wherever i went i used to be troubled with a presentiment that i had left my pipe behind. often, even at the dinner-table, i paused in the middle of a sentence as if stricken with sudden pain. then my hand went down to my pocket. sometimes even after i felt my pipe, i had a conviction that it was stopped, and only by a desperate effort did i keep myself from producing it and blowing down it. i distinctly remember once dreaming three nights in succession that i was on the scotch express without it. more than once, i know, i have wandered in my sleep, looking for it in all sorts of places, and after i went to bed i generally jumped out, just to make sure of it. my strong belief, then, is that i was the ghost seen by the writer of the paper. i fancy that i rose in my sleep, lighted a candle, and wandered down to the hall to feel if my pipe was safe in my coat, which was hanging there. the light had gone out when i was in the hall. probably the body seen to fall on the hall floor was some other coat which i had flung there to get more easily at my own. i cannot account for the bell; but perhaps the gentleman in the haunted chamber dreamed that part of the affair. i had put on the overcoat before reascending; indeed i may say that next morning i was surprised to find it on a chair in my bedroom, also to notice that there were several long streaks of candle-grease on my dressing-gown. i conclude that the pistol, which gave my face such a look of triumph, was my brier, which i found in the morning beneath my pillow. the strangest thing of all, perhaps, is that when i awoke there was a smell of tobacco-smoke in the bedroom. [illustration] chapter xxiv. not the arcadia. [illustration] those who do not know the arcadia may have a mixture that their uneducated palate loves, but they are always ready to try other mixtures. the arcadian, however, will never help himself from an outsider's pouch. nevertheless, there was one black week when we all smoked the ordinary tobaccoes. owing to a terrible oversight on the part of our purveyor, there was no arcadia to smoke. we ought to have put our pipes aside and existed on cigars; but the pipes were old friends, and desert them we could not. each of us bought a different mixture, but they tasted alike and were equally abominable. i fell ill. doctor southwick, knowing no better, called my malady by a learned name, but i knew to what i owed it. never shall i forget my delight when jimmy broke into my room one day with a pound-tin of the arcadia. weak though i was, i opened my window and, seizing the half-empty packet of tobacco that had made me ill, hurled it into the street. the tobacco scattered before it fell, but i sat at the window gloating over the packet, which lay a dirty scrap of paper, where every cab might pass over it. what i call the street is more strictly a square, for my windows were at the back of the inn, and their view was somewhat plebeian. the square is the meeting-place of five streets, and at the corner of each the paper was caught up in a draught that bore it along to the next. here, it may be thought, i gladly forgot the cause of my troubles, but i really watched the paper for days. my doctor came in while i was still staring at it, and instead of prescribing more medicine, he made a bet with me. it was that the scrap of paper would disappear before the dissolution of the government. i said it would be fluttering around after the government was dissolved, and if i lost, the doctor was to get a new stethoscope. if i won, my bill was to be accounted discharged. thus, strange as it seemed, i had now cause to take a friendly interest in paper that i had previously loathed. formerly the sight of it made me miserable; now i dreaded losing it. but i looked for it when i rose in the morning, and i could tell at once by its appearance what kind of night it had passed. nay, more: i believed i was able to decide how the wind had been since sundown, whether there had been much traffic, and if the fire-engine had been out. there is a fire-station within view of the windows, and the paper had a specially crushed appearance, as if the heavy engine ran over it. however, though i felt certain that i could pick my scrap of paper out of a thousand scraps, the doctor insisted on making sure. the bet was consigned to writing on the very piece of paper that suggested it. the doctor went out and captured it himself. on the back of it the conditions of the wager were formally drawn up and signed by both of us. then we opened the window and the paper was cast forth again. the doctor solemnly promised not to interfere with it, and i gave him a convalescent's word of honor to report progress honestly. several days elapsed, and i no longer found time heavy on my hands. my attention was divided between two papers, the scrap in the square and my daily copy of the _times_. any morning the one might tell me that i had lost my bet, or the other that i had won it; and i hurried to the window fearing that the paper had migrated to another square, and hoping my _times_ might contain the information that the government was out. i felt that neither could last very much longer. it was remarkable how much my interest in politics had increased since i made this wager. [illustration] the doctor, i believe, relied chiefly on the scavengers. he thought they were sure to pounce upon the scrap soon. i did not, however, see why i should fear them. they came into the square so seldom, and stayed so short a time when they did come, that i disregarded them. if the doctor knew how much they kept away he might say i bribed them. but perhaps he knew their ways. i got a fright one day from a dog. it was one of those low-looking animals that infest the square occasionally in half-dozens, but seldom alone. it ran up one of the side streets, and before i realized what had happened it had the paper in its mouth. then it stood still and looked around. for me that was indeed a trying moment. i stood at the window. the impulse seized me to fling open the sash and shake my fist at the brute; but luckily i remembered in time my promise to the doctor. i question if man was ever so interested in mongrel before. at one of the street corners there was a house to let, being meantime, as i had reason to believe, in the care of the wife of a police constable. a cat was often to be seen coming up from the area to lounge in the doorway. to that cat i firmly believe i owe it that i did not then lose my wager. faithful animal! it came up to the door, it stretched itself; in the act of doing so it caught sight of the dog, and put up its back. the dog, resenting this demonstration of feeling, dropped the scrap of paper and made for the cat. i sank back into my chair. there was a greater disaster to be recorded next day. a workingman in the square, looking about him for a pipe-light, espied the paper frisking near the curb-stone. he picked it up with the obvious intention of lighting it at the stove of a wandering vender of hot chestnuts who had just crossed the square. the workingman followed, twisting the paper as he went, when--good luck again--a young butcher almost ran into him, and the loafer, with true presence of mind, at once asked him for a match. at any rate a match passed between them; and, to my infinite relief, the paper was flung away. i concealed the cause of my excitement from william john. he nevertheless wondered to see me run to the window every time the wind seemed to be rising, and getting anxious when it rained. seeing that my health prevented my leaving the house, he could not make out why i should be so interested in the weather. once i thought he was fairly on the scent. a sudden blast of wind had caught up the paper and whirled it high in the air. i may have uttered an ejaculation, for he came hurrying to the window. he found me pointing unwittingly to what was already a white speck sailing to the roof of the fire-station. "is it a pigeon?" he asked. i caught at the idea. "yes, a carrier-pigeon," i murmured in reply; "they sometimes, i believe, send messages to the fire-stations in that way." coolly as i said this, i was conscious of grasping the window-sill in pure nervousness till the scrap began to flutter back into the square. next it was squeezed between two of the bars of a drain. that was the last i saw of it, and the following morning the doctor had won his stethoscope--only by a few hours, however, for the government's end was announced in the evening papers. my defeat discomfited me for a little, but soon i was pleased that i had lost. i would not care to win a bet over any mixture but the arcadia. [illustration] [illustration] chapter xxv. a face that haunted marriot. "this is not a love affair," marriot shouted, apologetically. he had sat the others out again, but when i saw his intention i escaped into my bedroom, and now refused to come out. "look here," he cried, changing his tone, "if you don't come out i'll tell you all about it through the keyhole. it is the most extraordinary story, and i can't keep it to myself. on my word of honor it isn't a love affair--at least not exactly." i let him talk after i had gone to bed. "you must know," he said, dropping cigarette ashes onto my pillow every minute, "that some time ago i fell in with jack goring's father, colonel goring. jack and i had been david and jonathan at cambridge, and though we had not met for years, i looked forward with pleasure to meeting him again. he was a widower, and his father and he kept joint house. but the house was dreary now, for the colonel was alone in it. jack was off on a scientific expedition to the pacific; all the girls had been married for years. after dinner my host and i had rather a dull hour in the smoking-room. i could not believe that jack had grown very stout. 'i'll show you his photograph,' said the colonel. an album was brought down from a dusty shelf, and then i had to admit that my old friend had become positively corpulent. but it is not jack i want to speak about. i turned listlessly over the pages of the album, stopping suddenly at the face of a beautiful girl. you are not asleep, are you? "i am not naturally sentimental, as you know, and even now i am not prepared to admit that i fell in love with this face. it was not, i think, that kind of attraction. possibly i should have passed the photograph by had it not suggested old times to me--old times with a veil over them, for i could not identify the face. that i had at some period of my life known the original i felt certain, but i tapped my memory in vain. the lady was a lovely blonde, with a profusion of fair hair, and delicate features that were roman when they were not greek. to describe a beautiful woman is altogether beyond me. no doubt this face had faults. i fancy, for instance, that there was little character in the chin, and that the eyes were 'melting' rather than expressive. it was a vignette, the hands being clasped rather fancifully at the back of the head. my fingers drummed on the album as i sat there pondering; but when or where i had met the original i could not decide. the colonel could give me no information. the album was jack's, he said, and probably had not been opened for years. the photograph, too, was an old one; he was sure it had been in the house long before his son's marriage, so that (and here the hard-hearted old gentleman chuckled) it could no longer be like the original. as he seemed inclined to become witty at my expense, i closed the album, and soon afterward i went away. i say, wake up! [illustration] "from that evening the face haunted me. i do not mean that it possessed me to the exclusion of everything else, but at odd moments it would rise before me, and then i fell into a revery. you must have noticed my thoughtfulness of late. often i have laid down my paper at the club and tried to think back to the original. she was probably better known to jack goring than to myself. all i was sure of was that she had been known to both of us. jack and i had first met at cambridge. i thought over the ladies i had known there, especially those who had been friends of goring's. jack had never been a 'lady's man' precisely; but, as he used to say, comparing himself with me, 'he had a heart.' the annals of our cambridge days were searched in vain. i tried the country house in which he and i had spent a good many of our vacations. suddenly i remembered the reading-party in devonshire--but no, she was dark. once jack and i had a romantic adventure in glencoe in which a lady and her daughter were concerned. we tried to make the most of it; but in our hearts we knew, after we had seen her by the morning light, that the daughter was not beautiful. then there was the french girl at algiers. jack had kept me hanging on in algiers a week longer than we meant to stay. the pose of the head, the hands clasped behind it, a trick so irritatingly familiar to me--was that the french girl? no, the lady i was struggling to identify was certainly english. i'm sure you're asleep. "a month elapsed before i had an opportunity of seeing the photograph again. an idea had struck me which i meant to carry out. this was to trace the photograph by means of the photographer. i did not like, however, to mention the subject to colonel goring again, so i contrived to find the album while he was out of the smoking-room. the number of the photograph and the address of the photographer were all i wanted; but just as i had got the photograph out of the album my host returned. i slipped the thing quickly into my pocket, and he gave me no chance of replacing it. thus it was owing to an accident that i carried the photograph away. my theft rendered me no assistance. true, the photographer's name and address were there; but when i went to the place mentioned it had disappeared to make way for 'residential chambers.' i have a few other cambridge friends here, and i showed some of these the photograph. one, i am now aware, is under the impression that i am to be married soon, but the others were rational. grierson, of the war office, recognized the portrait at once. 'she is playing small parts at the criterion,' he said. finchley, who is a promising man at the bar, also recognized her. 'her portraits were in all the illustrated papers five years ago,' he told me, 'at the time when she got twelve months.' they contradicted each other about her, however, and i satisfied myself that she was neither an actress at the criterion nor the adventuress of . it was, of course, conceivable that she was an actress, but if so her face was not known in the fancy stationers' windows. are you listening? "i saw that the mystery would remain unsolved until jack's return home; and when i had a letter from him a week ago, asking me to dine with him to-night, i accepted eagerly. he was just home, he said, and i would meet an old cambridge man. we were to dine at jack's club, and i took the photograph with me. i recognized jack as soon as i entered the waiting-room of the club. a very short, very fat, smooth-faced man was sitting beside him, with his hands clasped behind his head. i believe i gasped. 'don't you remember tom rufus,' jack asked, 'who used to play the female part at the cambridge a.d.c.? why, you helped me to choose his wig at fox's. i have a photograph of him in costume somewhere at home. you might recall him by his trick of sitting with his hands clasped behind his head.' i shook rufus's hand. i went in to dinner, and probably behaved myself. now that it is over i cannot help being thankful that i did not ask jack for the name of the lady before i saw rufus. good-night. i think i've burned a hole in the pillow." [illustration] [illustration] chapter xxvi. arcadians at bay. i have said that jimmy spent much of his time in contributing to various leading waste-paper baskets, and that of an evening he was usually to be found prone on my hearth-rug. when he entered my room he was ever willing to tell us what he thought of editors, but his meerschaum with the cherry-wood stem gradually drove all passion from his breast, and instead of upbraiding more successful men than himself, he then lazily scribbled letters to them on my wall-paper. the wall to the right of the fireplace was thick with these epistles, which seemed to give jimmy relief, though william john had to scrape and scrub at them next morning with india-rubber. jimmy's sarcasm--to which that wall-paper can probably still speak--generally took this form: _to g. buckle, esq., columbia road, shoreditch_. sir:--i am requested by mr. james moggridge, editor of the _times_, to return you the inclosed seven manuscripts, and to express his regret that there is at present no vacancy in the sub-editorial department of the _times_ such as mr. buckle kindly offers to fill. yours faithfully, p. r. (for j. moggridge, ed. _times_). _to mr. james knowles, brick lane, spitalfields_. dear sir:--i regret to have to return the inclosed paper, which is not quite suitable for the _nineteenth century_. i find that articles by unknown men, however good in themselves, attract little attention. i inclose list of contributors for next month, including, as you will observe, seven members of upper circles, and remain your obedient servant, j. moggridge, ed. _nineteenth century_. _to mr. w pollock, mile-end road, stepney_. sir:--i have on two previous occasions begged you to cease sending daily articles to the _saturday_. should this continue we shall be reluctantly compelled to take proceedings against you. why don't you try the _sporting times?_ yours faithfully, j. moggridge, ed. _saturday review._ _to messrs. sampson, low & co., peabody buildings, islington._ dear sirs:--the manuscript which you forwarded for our consideration has received careful attention; but we do not think it would prove a success, and it is therefore returned to you herewith. we do not care to publish third-rate books. we remain yours obediently, j. moggridge & co. (late sampson, low & co.). _to h. quilter, esq., p.o. bethnal green._ sir:--i have to return your paper on universal art. it is not without merit; but i consider art such an important subject that i mean to deal with it exclusively myself. with thanks for kindly appreciation of my new venture, i am yours faithfully, j. moggridge, ed. _universal review._ _to john morley, esq., smith street, blackwall._ sir:--yes, i distinctly remember meeting you on the occasion to which you refer, and it is naturally gratifying to me to hear that you enjoy my writing so much. unfortunately, however, i am unable to accept your generous offer to do lord beaconsfield for the "english men of letters" series, as the volume has been already arranged for. yours sincerely, j. moggridge, ed. "english men of letters" series. _to f. c. burnand, esq., peebles, n.b._ sir:--the jokes which you forwarded to _punch_ on monday last are so good that we used them three years ago. yours faithfully, j. moggridge, ed. _punch_. _to mr. d'oyley carte, cross stone buildings, westminster bridge road._ dear sir:--the comic opera by your friends messrs. gilbert and sullivan, which you have submitted to me, as sole lessee and manager of the savoy theatre, is now returned to you unread. the little piece, judged from its title-page, is bright and pleasing, but i have arranged with two other gentlemen to write my operas for the next twenty-one years. faithfully yours, j. moggridge, sole lessee and manager savoy theatre. [illustration] _to james ruskin, esq., railway station hotel, willisden._ sir:--i warn you that i will not accept any more copies of your books. i do not know the individual named tennyson to whom you refer; but if he is the scribbler who is perpetually sending me copies of his verses, please tell him that i read no poetry except my own. why can't you leave me alone? j. moggridge, poet laureate. these letters of jimmy's remind me of our famous competition, which took place on the night of the jubilee celebrations. when all the rest of london (including william john) was in the streets, the arcadians met as usual, and scrymgeour, at my request, put on the shutters to keep out the din. it so happened that jimmy and gilray were that night in wicked moods, for jimmy, who was so anxious to be a journalist, had just had his seventeenth article returned from the _st. john's gazette_, and gilray had been "slated" for his acting of a new part, in all the leading papers. they were now disgracing the tobacco they smoked by quarrelling about whether critics or editors were the more disreputable class, when in walked pettigrew, who had not visited us for months. pettigrew is as successful a journalist as jimmy is unfortunate, and the pallor of his face showed how many jubilee articles he had written during the past two months. pettigrew offered each of us a splendidad (his wife's new brand), which we dropped into the fireplace. then he filled my little remus with arcadia, and sinking weariedly into a chair, said: "my dear jimmy, the curse of journalism is not that editors won't accept our articles, but that they want too many from us." this seemed such monstrous nonsense to jimmy that he turned his back on pettigrew, and gilray broke in with a diatribe against critics. "critics," said pettigrew, "are to be pitied rather than reviled." then gilray and jimmy had a common foe. whether it was pettigrew's appearance among us or the fireworks outside that made us unusually talkative that night i cannot say, but we became quite brilliant, and when jimmy began to give us his dream about killing an editor, gilray said that he had a dream about criticising critics; and pettigrew, not to be outdone, said that he had a dream of what would become of him if he had to write any more jubilee articles. then it was that marriot suggested a competition. "let each of the grumblers," he said, "describe his dream, and the man whose dream seems the most exhilarating will get from the judges a jubilee pound-tin of the arcadia." the grumblers agreed, but each wanted the others to dream first. at last jimmy began as follows: [illustration] [illustration] chapter xxvii. jimmy's dream. i see before me (said jimmy, savagely) a court, where i, james moggridge, am arraigned on a charge of assaulting the editor of the _st. john's gazette_ so as to cause death. little interest is manifested in the case. on being arrested i had pleaded guilty, and up to to-day it had been anticipated that the matter would be settled out of court. no apology, however, being forthcoming, the law has to take its course. the defence is that the assault was fair comment on a matter of public interest, and was warranted in substance and in fact. on making his appearance in the dock the prisoner is received with slight cheering. mr. john jones is the first witness called for the prosecution. he says: i am assistant editor of the _st. john's gazette_. it is an evening newspaper of pronounced radical views. i never saw the prisoner until to-day, but i have frequently communicated with him. it was part of my work to send him back his articles. this often kept me late. in cross-examination the witness denies that he has ever sent the prisoner other people's articles by mistake. pressed, he says, he may have done so once. the defendant generally inclosed letters with his articles, in which he called attention to their special features. sometimes these letters were of a threatening nature, but there was nothing unusual in that. cross-examined: the letters were not what he would call alarming. he had not thought of taking any special precautions himself. of course, in his position, he had to take his chance. so far as he could remember, it was not for his own sake that the prisoner wanted his articles published, but in the interests of the public. he, the prisoner, was vexed, he said, to see the paper full of such inferior matter. witness had frequently seen letters to the editor from other disinterested contributors couched in similar language. if he was not mistaken, he saw a number of these gentlemen in court. (applause from the persons referred to.) mr. snodgrass says: i am a poet. i do not compose during the day. the strain would be too great. every evening i go out into the streets and buy the latest editions of the evening journals. if there is anything in them worthy commemoration in verse, i compose. there is generally something. i cannot say to which paper i send most of my poems, as i send to all. one of the weaknesses of the _st. john's gazette_ is its poetry. it is not worthy of the name. it is doggerel. i have sought to improve it, but the editor rejected my contributions. i continued to send them, hoping that they would educate his taste. one night i had sent him a very long poem which did not appear in the paper next day. i was very indignant, and went straight to the office. that was on jubilee day. i was told that the editor had left word that he had just gone into the country for two days. (hisses.) i forced my way up the stairs, however, and when i reached the top i did not know which way to go. there were a number of doors with "no admittance" printed on them. (more hissing.) i heard voices in altercation in a room near me. i thought that was likely to be the editor's. i opened the door and went in. the prisoner was in the room. he had the editor on the floor and was jumping on him. i said, "is that the editor?" he said, "yes." i said, "have you killed him?" he said, "yes," again. i said, "oh!" and went away. that is all i remember of the affair. [illustration] cross-examined: it did not occur to me to interfere. i thought very little of the affair at the time. i think i mentioned it to my wife in the evening; but i will not swear to that. i am not the herr bablerr who compelled his daughter to marry a man she did not love, so that i might write an ode in celebration of the nuptials. i have no daughter. i am a poet. the foreman printer deposed to having had his attention called to the murder of the editor about three o'clock. he was very busy at the time. about an hour afterward he saw the body and put a placard over it. he spoke of the matter to the assistant editor, who suggested that they had better call in the police. that was done. a clerk in the counting-house says: i distinctly remember the afternoon of the murder. i can recall it without difficulty, as it was on the following evening that i went to the theatre--a rare occurrence with me. i was running up the stairs when i met a man coming down. i recognized the prisoner as that man. he said, "i have killed your editor." i replied, "then you ought to be ashamed of yourself." we had no further conversation. j. o'leary is next called. he says: i am an irishman by birth. i had to fly my country when an iniquitous coercion act was put in force. at present i am a journalist, and i write fenian letters for the _st. johns gazette_. i remember the afternoon of the murder. it was the sub-editor who told me of it. he asked me if i would write a "par" on the subject for the fourth edition. i did so; but as i was in a hurry to catch a train it was only a few lines. we did him fuller justice next day. cross-examined: witness denies that he felt any elation on hearing that a new topic had been supplied for writing on. he was sorry rather. a policeman gives evidence that about half-past four on jubilee day he saw a small crowd gather round the entrance to the offices of the _st. john's gazette_. he thought it his duty to inquire into the matter. he went inside and asked an office-boy what was up. the boy said he thought the editor had been murdered, but advised him to inquire upstairs. he did so, and the boy's assertion was confirmed. he came down again and told the crowd that it was the editor who had been killed. the crowd then dispersed. a detective from scotland yard explains the method of the prisoner's capture. moggridge wrote to the superintendent saying that he would be passing scotland yard on the following wednesday on business. three detectives, including witness, were told off to arrest him, and they succeeded in doing so. (loud and prolonged applause.) the judge interposes here. he fails, he says, to see that this evidence is relevant. so far as he can see, the question is not whether a murder has been committed, but whether, under the circumstances, it is a criminal offence. the prisoner should never have been tried here at all. it was a case for the petty sessions. if the counsel cannot give some weighty reason for proceeding with further evidence, he will now put it to the jury. [illustration] after a few remarks from the counsel for the prosecution and the counsel for the defence, who calls attention to the prisoner's high and unblemished character, the judge sums up. it is for the jury, he says, to decide whether the prisoner has committed a criminal offence. that was the point; and in deciding it the jury should bear in mind the desirability of suppressing merely vexatious cases. people should not go to law over trifles. still, the jury must remember that, without exception, all human life was sacred. after some further remarks from the judge, the jury (who deliberate for rather more than three-quarters of an hour) return a verdict of guilty. the prisoner is sentenced to a fine of five florins, or three days' imprisonment. [illustration] [illustration] chapter xxviii. gilray's dream. conceive me (said gilray, with glowing face) invited to write a criticism of the critics' dramatic society for the _standard_. i select the _standard_, because that paper has treated me most cruelly. however, i loathe them all. my dream is the following criticism: what is the critics' dramatic society? we found out on wednesday afternoon, and, as we went to drury lane in the interests of the public, it is only fair that the public should know too. besides, in that case we can all bear it together. be it known, then, that this dramatic society is composed of "critics" who gave "the school for scandal" at a matinée on wednesday just to show how the piece should be played. mr. augustus harris had "kindly put the theatre at their disposal," for which he will have to answer when he joins sheridan in the elysian fields. as the performance was by far the worst ever perpetrated, it would be a shame to deprive the twentieth century of the programme. some of the players, as will be seen, are too well known to escape obloquy. the others may yet be able to sink into oblivion. sir peter teazle mr. john ruskin. joseph surface mr. w. e. henley. charles surface mr. harry labouchere. crabtree mr. w. archer. sir benjamin backbite mr. clement scott. moses mr. walter sichel. old rowley mr. joseph knight. sir oliver mr. w.h. pollock. trip mr. g. a. sala. snake mr. moy thomas. sir harry bumper (with song) mr. george moore. servants, guests, etc. messrs. saville clarke, joseph hatton, percy fitzgerald, etc. assisted by lady teazle miss rosie le dene. mrs. candour miss jenny montalban. lady sneerwell miss rosalind labelle (the hon. mrs. major turnley). maria miss jones. it was a sin of omission on the part of the critics' dramatic society not to state that the piece played was "a new and original comedy" in many acts. had they had the courage to do this, and to change the title, no one would even have known. on the other hand, it was a sin of commission to allow that professor henry morley was responsible for the stage management; mr. morley being a man of letters whom some worthy people respect. but perhaps sins of omission and commission counterbalance. the audience was put in a bad humor before the performance began, owing to the curtain's rising fifteen minutes late. however, once the curtain did rise, it was an unconscionable time in falling. what is known as the "business" of the first act, including the caterwauling of sir benjamin backbite and crabtree in their revolutions round joseph, was gone through with a deliberation that was cruelty to the audience, and just when the act seemed over at last these indefatigable amateurs began to dance a minuet. a sigh ran round the theatre at this--a sigh as full of suffering as when a minister, having finished his thirdly and lastly, starts off again, with, "i cannot allow this opportunity to pass." possibly the critics' dramatic society are congratulating themselves on the undeniable fact that the sighs and hisses grew beautifully less as the performance proceeded. but that was because the audience diminished too. one man cannot be expected to sigh like twenty; though, indeed, some of the audience of wednesday sighed like at least half a dozen. [illustration] if it be true that all men--even critics--have their redeeming points and failings, then was there no charles and no joseph surface at this unique matinée. for the ungainly gentleman who essayed the part of charles made, or rather meant to make, him spotless; and mr. henley's joseph was twin-brother to mr. irving's mephistopheles. perhaps the idea of mr. labouchere and his friend, mr. henley, was that they would make one young man between them. they found it hard work. mr. labouchere has yet to learn that buffoonery is not exactly wit, and that charles surfaces who dig their uncle olivers in the ribs, and then turn to the audience for applause, are among the things that the nineteenth century can do without. according to the programme, mr. george moore--the sir harry bumper--was to sing the song, "here's to the maiden of bashful fifteen." mr. moore did not sing it, but mr. labouchere did. the explanation of this, we understand, was not that sir harry's heart failed him at the eleventh hour, but that mr. labouchere threatened to fling up his part unless the song was given to him. however, mr. moore heard mr. labouchere singing the song, and that was revenge enough for any man. to mr. henley the part of joseph evidently presented no serious difficulties. in his opinion, joseph is a whining hypocrite who rolls his eyes when he wishes to look natural. obviously he is a slavish admirer of mr. irving. if joseph had taken his snuff as this one does, lady sneerwell would have sent him to the kitchen. if he had made love to lady teazle as this one does, she would have suspected him of weak intellect. sheridan's joseph was a man of culture: mr. henley's is a buffoon. it is not, perhaps, so much this gentleman's fault as his misfortune that his acting is without either art or craft; but then he was not compelled to play joseph surface. indeed, we may go further, and say that if he is a man with friends he must have been dissuaded from it. the sir peter teazle of mr. ruskin reminded us of other sir peter teazles--probably because sir peter is played nowadays with his courtliness omitted. [illustration] mr. william archer was the crabtree, or rather mr. archer and the prompter between them. until we caught sight of the prompter we had credited mr. archer with being a ventriloquist given to casting his voice to the wings. mr. clement scott--their benjamin backbite--was a ventriloquist too, but not in such a large way as mr. archer. his voice, so far as we could make out from an occasional rumble, was in his boots, where his courage kept it company. there was no more ambitious actor in the cast than mr. pollock. mr. pollock was sir oliver, and he gave a highly original reading of that old gentleman. what mr. pollock's private opinion of the character of sir oliver may be we cannot say; it would be worth an interviewer's while to find out. but if he thinks sir oliver was a windmill, we can inform him at once that he is mistaken. of mr. sichel's moses all that occurs to us to say is that when he let his left arm hang down and raised the other aloft, he looked very like a tea-pot. mr. joseph knight was old rowley. in that character all we saw of him was his back; and we are bound to admit that it was unexceptional. sheridan calls one of his servants snake, and the other trip. mr. moy thomas tried to look as like a snake as he could, and with some success. the trip of mr. sala, however, was a little heavy, and when he came between the audience and the other actors there was a temporary eclipse. as for the minor parts, the gentlemen who personated them gave a capital rendering of supers suffering from stage-fever. wednesday is memorable in the history of the stage, but we would forget it if we could. [illustration] [illustration] chapter xxix. pettigrew's dream. my dream (said pettigrew) contrasts sadly with those of my young friends. they dream of revenge, but my dream is tragic. i see my editor writing my obituary notice. this is how it reads: mr. pettigrew, m.a., whose sad death is recorded in another column, was in his forty-second year (not his forty-fourth, as stated in the evening papers), and had done a good deal of jubilee work before he accepted the commission that led to his death. it is an open secret that he wrote seventy of the jubilee sketches which have appeared in this paper. the pamphlet now selling in the streets for a penny, entitled "jubilees of the past," was his. he wrote the introductory chapter to "fifty years of progress," and his "jubilee statesmen" is now in a second edition. the idea of a collection of jubilee odes was not his, but the publisher's. at the same time, his friends and relatives attach no blame to them. mr. pettigrew shivered when the order was given to him, but he accepted it, and the general impression among those who knew him was that a man who had survived "jubilee statesmen" could do anything. as it turns out, we had overestimated mr. pettigrew's powers of endurance. [illustration] as "the jubilee odes" will doubtless yet be collected by another hand, little need be said here of the work. mr. pettigrew was to make his collection as complete as the limited space at his disposal (two volumes) would allow; the only original writing in the book being a sketch of the various schemes suggested for the celebration of the jubilee. it was this sketch that killed him. on the morning of the th, when he intended beginning it, he rose at an unusually early hour, and was seen from the windows of the house pacing the garden in an apparently agitated state of mind. he ate no breakfast. one of his daughters states that she noticed a wild look in his eyes during the morning meal; but, as she did not remark on it at the time, much stress need not be laid on this. the others say that he was unusually quiet and silent. all, however, noticed one thing. generally, when he had literary work to do, he was anxious to begin upon his labors, and spent little time at the breakfast-table. on this occasion he sat on. even after the breakfast things were removed he seemed reluctant to adjourn to the study. his wife asked him several times if he meant to begin "the jubilee odes" that day, and he always replied in the affirmative. but he talked nervously of other things; and, to her surprise--though she thought comparatively little of it at the time--drew her on to a discussion on summer bonnets. as a rule, this was a subject which he shunned. at last he rose, and, going slowly to the window, looked out for a quarter of an hour. his wife asked him again about "the jubilee odes," and he replied that he meant to begin directly. then he went round the morning-room, looking at the pictures on the walls as if for the first time. after that he leaned for a little while against the mantelpiece, and then, as if an idea had struck him, began to wind up the clock. he went through the house winding up the clocks, though this duty was usually left to a servant; and when that was over he came back to the breakfast-room and talked about waterbury watches. his wife had to go to the kitchen, and he followed her. on their way back they passed the nursery, and he said he thought he would go in and talk to the nurse. this was very unlike him. at last his wife said that it would soon be luncheon-time, and then he went to the study. some ten minutes afterward he wandered into the dining-room, where she was arranging some flowers. he seemed taken aback at seeing her, but said, after a moment's thought, that the study door was locked and he could not find the key. this astonished her, as she had dusted the room herself that morning. she went to see, and found the study door standing open. when she returned to the dining-room he had disappeared. they searched for him everywhere, and eventually discovered him in the drawing-room, turning over a photograph album. he then went back to the study. his wife accompanied him, and, as was her custom, filled his pipe for him. he smoked a mixture to which he was passionately attached. he lighted his pipe several times, but it always went out. his wife put a new nib into his pen, placed some writing material on the table, and then retired, shutting the door behind her. [illustration] about half an hour afterward mrs. pettigrew sent one of the children to the study on a trifling errand. as he did not return she followed him. she found him sitting on his father's knee, where she did not remember ever having seen him before. mr. pettigrew was holding his watch to the boy's ears. the study table was littered with several hundreds of jubilee odes. other odes had slipped to the floor. mrs. pettigrew asked how he was getting on, and her unhappy husband replied that he was just going to begin. his hands were trembling, and he had given up trying to smoke. he sought to detain her by talking about the boy's curls; but she went away, taking the child with her. as she closed the door he groaned heavily, and she reopened it to ask if he felt unwell. he answered in the negative, and she left him. the last person to see mr. pettigrew alive was eliza day, the housemaid. she took a letter to him between twelve and one o'clock. usually he disliked being disturbed at his writing; but this time, in answer to her knock, he cried eagerly, "come in!" when she entered he insisted on her taking a chair, and asked her how all her people were, and if there was anything he could do for them. several times she rose to leave, but he would not allow her to do so. eliza mentioned this in the kitchen when she returned to it. her master was naturally a reserved man who seldom spoke to his servants, which rendered his behavior on this occasion the more remarkable. [illustration] as announced in the evening papers yesterday, the servant sent to the study at half-past one to see why mr. pettigrew was not coming to lunch, found him lifeless on the floor. the knife clutched in his hand showed that he had done the fatal deed himself; and dr. southwick, of hyde park, who was on the spot within ten minutes of the painful discovery, is of opinion that life had been extinct for about half an hour. the body was lying among jubilee odes. on the table were a dozen or more sheets of "copy," which, though only spoiled pages, showed that the deceased had not succumbed without a struggle. on one he had begun, "fifty years have come and gone since a fair english maiden ascended the throne of england." another stopped short at, "to every loyal englishman the jubil----" a third sheet commenced with, "though there have been a number of royal jubilees in the history of the world, probably none has awakened the same interest as----" and a fourth began, " will be known to all future ages as the year of jub----" one sheet bore the sentence, "heaven help me!" and it is believed that these were the last words the deceased ever penned. mr. pettigrew was a most estimable man in private life, and will be greatly missed in the circles to which he had endeared himself. he leaves a widow and a small family. it may be worth adding that when discovered dead, there was a smile upon his face, as if he had at last found peace. he must have suffered great agony that forenoon, and his death is best looked upon as a happy release. * * * * * marriot, scrymgeour and i awarded the tin of arcadia to pettigrew, because he alone of the competitors seemed to believe that his dream might be realized. [illustration] [illustration] chapter xxx. the murder in the inn. sometimes i think it is all a dream, and that i did not really murder the waits. perhaps they are living still. yet the scene is very vivid before me, though the affair took place--if it ever did take place--so long ago that i cannot be expected to remember the details. the time when i must give up smoking was drawing near, so that i may have been unusually irritable, and determined, whatever the cost, to smoke my last pound-tin of the arcadia in peace. i think my brier was in my mouth when i did it, but after the lapse of months i cannot say whether there were three of them or only two. so far as i can remember, i took the man with the beard first. the incident would have made more impression on me had there been any talk about it. so far as i could discover, it never got into the papers. the porters did not seem to think it any affair of theirs, though one of them must have guessed why i invited the waits upstairs. he saw me open the door to them; he was aware that this was their third visit in a week; and only the night before he had heard me shout a warning to them from my inn window. but of course the porters must allow themselves a certain discretion in the performance of their duties. then there was the pleasant gentleman of the next door but two, who ran against me just as i was toppling the second body over the railing. we were not acquainted, but i knew him as the man who had flung a water-jug at the waits the night before. he stopped short when he saw the body (it had rolled out of the sofa-rug), and looked at me suspiciously. "he is one of the waits," i said. "i beg your pardon," he replied, "i did not understand." when he had passed a few yards he turned round. "better cover him up," he said; "our people will talk." then he strolled away, an air from "the grand duchess" lightly trolling from his lips. we still meet occasionally, and nod if no one is looking. i am going too fast, however. what i meant to say was that the murder was premeditated. in the case of a reprehensible murder i know this would be considered an aggravation of the offence. of course, it is an open question whether all the murders are not reprehensible; but let that pass. to my own mind i should have been indeed deserving of punishment had i rushed out and slain the waits in a moment of fury. if one were to give way to his passion every time he is interrupted in his work or his sleep by bawlers our thoroughfares would soon be choked with the dead. no one values human life or understands its sacredness more than i do. i merely say that there may be times when a man, having stood a great deal and thought it over calmly, is justified in taking the law into his own hands--always supposing he can do it decently, quietly, and without scandal. the epidemic of waits broke out early in december, and every other night or so these torments came in the still hours and burst into song beneath my windows. they made me nervous. i was more wretched on the nights they did not come than on the nights they came; for i had begun to listen for them, and was never sure they had gone into another locality before four o'clock in the morning. as for their songs, they were more like music-hall ditties than christmas carols. so one morning--it was, i think, the d of december--i warned them fairly, fully, and with particulars, of what would happen if they disturbed me again. having given them this warning, can it be said that i was to blame--at least, to any considerable extent? christmas eve had worn into christmas morning before the waits arrived on that fateful occasion. i opened the window--if my memory does not deceive me--at once, and looked down at them. i could not swear to their being the persons whom i had warned the night before. perhaps i should have made sure of this. but in any case these were practised waits. their whine rushed in at my open window with a vigor that proved them no tyros. besides, the night was a cold one, and i could not linger at an open casement. i nodded pleasantly to the waits and pointed to my door. then i ran downstairs and let them in. they came up to my chambers with me. as i have said, the lapse of time prevents my remembering how many of them there were; three, i fancy. at all events, i took them into my bedroom and strangled them one by one. they went off quite peaceably; the only difficulty was in the disposal of the bodies. i thought of laying them on the curb-stone in different passages; but i was afraid the police might not see that they were waits, in which case i might be put to inconvenience. so i took a spade and dug two (or three) large holes in the quadrangle of the inn. then i carried the bodies to the place in my rug, one at a time, shoved them in, and covered them up. a close observer might have noticed in that part of the quadrangle, for some time after, a small mound, such as might be made by an elbow under the bed-clothes. nobody, however, seems to have descried it, and yet i see it often even now in my dreams. [illustration] chapter xxxi. the perils of not smoking. [illustration] when the arcadians heard that i had signed an agreement to give up smoking they were first incredulous, then sarcastic, then angry. instead of coming, as usual, to my room, they went one night in a body to pettigrew's, and there, as i afterward discovered, a scheme for "saving me" was drawn up. so little did they understand the firmness of my character, that they thought i had weakly yielded to the threats of the lady referred to in my first chapter, when, of course, i had only yielded to her arguments, and they agreed to make an appeal on my behalf to her. pettigrew, as a married man himself, was appointed intercessor, and i understand that the others not only accompanied him to her door, but waited in an alley until he came out. i never knew whether the reasoning brought to bear on the lady was of pettigrew's devising, or suggested by jimmy and the others, but it was certainly unselfish of pettigrew to lie so freely on my account. at the time, however, the plot enraged me, for the lady conceived the absurd idea that i had sent pettigrew to her. undoubtedly it was a bold stroke. pettigrew's scheme was to play upon his hostess's attachment for me by hinting to her that if i gave up smoking i would probably die. finding her attentive rather than talkative, he soon dared to assure her that he himself loathed tobacco and only took it for his health. "by the doctor's orders, mark you," he said, impressively; "dr. southwick, of hyde park." she expressed polite surprise at this, and then pettigrew, believing he had made an impression, told his story as concocted. "my own case," he said, "is one much in point. i suffered lately from sore throat, accompanied by depression of spirits and loss of appetite. the ailment was so unusual with me that i thought it prudent to put myself in dr. southwick's hands. as far as possible i shall give you his exact words: "'when did you give up smoking?' he asked, abruptly, after examining my throat. [illustration] "'three months ago,' i replied, taken by surprise; 'but how did you know i had given it up?' "'never mind how i know,' he said, severely; 'i told you that, however much you might desire to do so, you were not to take to not smoking. this is how you carry out my directions.' "'well,' i answered sulkily, 'i have been feeling so healthy for the last two years that i thought i could indulge myself a little. you are aware how i abominate tobacco.' "'quite so,' he said, 'and now you see the result of this miserable self-indulgence. two years ago i prescribed tobacco for you, to be taken three times a day, and you yourself admit that it made a new man of you. instead of feeling thankful you complain of the brief unpleasantness that accompanies its consumption, and now, in the teeth of my instructions, you give it up. i must say the ways of patients are a constant marvel to me.' "'but how,' i asked, 'do you know that my reverting to the pleasant habit of not smoking is the cause of my present ailment?' "'oh!' he said, 'you are not sure of that yourself, are you?' "'i thought,' i replied, 'there might be a doubt about it; though of course i have forgotten what you told me two years ago.' "'it matters very little,' he said, 'whether you remember what i tell you if you do not follow my orders. but as for knowing that indulgence in not smoking is what has brought you to this state, how long is it since you noticed these symptoms?' "'i can hardly say,' i answered. 'still, i should be able to think back. i had my first sore throat this year the night i saw mr. irving at the lyceum, and that was on my wife's birthday, the d of october. how long ago is that?' "'why, that is more than three months ago. are you sure of the date?'" "'quite certain,' i told him; 'so, you see, i had my first sore throat before i risked not smoking again.'" "'i don't understand this,' he said. 'do you mean to say that in the beginning of may you were taking my prescription daily? you were not missing a day now and then--forgetting to order a new stock of cigars when the others were done, or flinging them away before they were half smoked? patients do such things.' "'no, i assure you i compelled myself to smoke. at least----' "'at least what? come, now, if i am to be of any service to you, there must be no reserve.' "'well, now that i think of it, i was only smoking one cigar a day at that time.' "'ah! we have it now,' he cried. 'one cigar a day, when i ordered you three? i might have guessed as much. when i tell non-smokers that they must smoke or i will not be answerable for the consequences, they entreat me to let them break themselves of the habit of not smoking gradually. one cigarette a day to begin with, they beg of me, promising to increase the dose by degrees. why, man, one cigarette a day is poison; it is worse than not smoking.' "'but that is not what i did.' "'the idea is the same,' he said. 'like the others, you make all this moan about giving up completely a habit you should never have acquired. for my own part, i cannot even understand where the subtle delights of not smoking come in. compared with health, they are surely immaterial.' "'of course, i admit that.' "'then, if you admit it, why pamper yourself?' "'i suppose because one is weak in matters of habit. you have many cases like mine?' "'i have such cases every week,' he told me; 'indeed, it was having so many cases of the kind that made me a specialist in the subject. when i began practice i had not the least notion how common the non-tobacco throat, as i call it, is.' "'but the disease has been known, has it not, for a long time?' "'yes,' he said;' but the cause has only been discovered recently. i could explain the malady to you scientifically, as many medical men would prefer to do, but you are better to have it in plain english.' "'certainly; but i should like to know whether the symptoms in other cases have been in every way similar to mine.' "'they have doubtless differed in degree, but not otherwise,' he answered. 'for instance, you say your sore throat is accompanied by depression of spirits.' "'yes; indeed, the depression sometimes precedes the sore throat.' "'exactly. i presume, too, that you feel most depressed in the evening--say, immediately after dinner?' "'that is certainly the time i experience the depression most.' "'the result,' he said, 'if i may venture on somewhat delicate matters, is that your depression of spirits infects your wife and family, even your servants?' "'that is quite true,' i answered. 'our home has by no means been so happy as formerly. when a man is out of spirits, i suppose, he tends to be brusque and undemonstrative to his wife, and to be easily irritated by his children. certainly that has been the case with me of late.' "'yes,' he exclaimed, 'and all because you have not carried out my directions. men ought to see that they have no right to indulge in not smoking, if only for the sake of their wives and families. a bachelor has more excuse, perhaps; but think of the example you set your children in not making an effort to shake this self-indulgence off. in short, smoke for the sake of your wife and family, if you won't smoke for the sake of your health.'" i think this is pretty nearly the whole of pettigrew's story, but i may add that he left the house in depression of spirits, and then infected jimmy and the others with the same ailment, so that they should all have hurried in a cab to the house of dr. southwick. "honestly," pettigrew said, "i don't think she believed a word i told her." "if she had only been a man," marriot sighed, "we could have got round her." "how?" asked pettigrew. "why, of course," said marriot, "we could have sent her a tin of the arcadia." [illustration] chapter xxxii. my last pipe. [illustration] the night of my last smoke drew near without any demonstration on my part or on that of my friends. i noticed that none of them was now comfortable if left alone with me, and i knew, i cannot tell how, that though they had too much delicacy to refer in my presence to my coming happiness, they often talked of it among themselves. they smoked hard and looked covertly at me, and had an idea that they were helping me. they also addressed me in a low voice, and took their seats noiselessly, as if some one were ill in the next room. "we have a notion," scrymgeour said, with an effort, on my second night, "that you would rather we did not feast you to-morrow evening?" "oh, i want nothing of that kind," i said. "so i fancied," jimmy broke in. "those things are rather a mockery, but of course if you thought it would help you in any way----" "or if there is anything else we could do for you," interposed gilray, "you have only to mention it." though they irritated rather than soothed me, i was touched by their kindly intentions, for at one time i feared my friends would be sarcastic. the next night was my last, and i found that they had been looking forward to it with genuine pain. as will have been seen, their custom was to wander into my room one by one, but this time they came together. they had met in the boudoir, and came up the stair so quietly that i did not hear them. they all looked very subdued, and marriot took the cane chair so softly that it did not creak. i noticed that after a furtive glance at me each of them looked at the centre-table, on which lay my brier, romulus and remus, three other pipes that all had their merits, though they never touched my heart until now, my clay tobacco-jar, and my old pouch. i had said good-by to these before my friends came in, and i could now speak with a comparatively firm voice. marriot and gilray and scrymgeour signed to jimmy, as if some plan of action had been arranged, and jimmy said huskily, sitting upon the hearth-rug: "pettigrew isn't coming. he was afraid he would break down." [illustration] then we began to smoke. it was as yet too early in the night for my last pipe, but soon i regretted that i had not arranged to spend this night alone. jimmy was the only one of the arcadians who had been at school with me, and he was full of reminiscences which he addressed to the others just as if i were not present. "he was the life of the old school," jimmy said, referring to me, "and when i shut my eyes i can hear his merry laugh as if we were both in knickerbockers still." "what sort of character did he have among the fellows?" gilray whispered. "the very best. he was the soul of honor, and we all anticipated a great future for him. even the masters loved him; indeed, i question if he had an enemy." "i remember my first meeting with him at the university," said marriot, "and that i took to him at once. he was speaking at the debating society that night, and his enthusiasm quite carried me away." "and how we shall miss him here," said scrymgeour, "and in my house-boat! i think i had better sell the house-boat. do you remember his favorite seat at the door of the saloon?" "do you know," said marriot, looking a little scared, "i thought i would be the first of our lot to go. often i have kept him up late in this very room talking of my own troubles, and little guessing why he sometimes treated them a little testily." so they talked, meaning very well, and by and by it struck one o'clock. a cold shiver passed through me, and marriot jumped from his chair. it had been agreed that i should begin my last pipe at one precisely. whatever my feelings were up to this point i had kept them out of my face, but i suppose a change came over me now. i tried to lift my brier from the table, but my hand shook and the pipe tapped, tapped on the deal like an auctioneer's hammer. "let me fill it," jimmy said, and he took my old brier from me. he scraped it energetically so that it might hold as much as possible, and then he filled it. not one of them, i am glad to remember, proposed a cigar for my last smoke, or thought it possible that i would say farewell to tobacco through the medium of any other pipe than my brier. i liked my brier best. i have said this already, but i must say it again. jimmy handed the brier to gilray, who did not surrender it until it reached my mouth. then scrymgeour made a spill, and marriot lighted it. in another moment i was smoking my last pipe. the others glanced at one another, hesitated, and put their pipes into their pockets. there was little talking, for they all gazed at me as if something astounding might happen at any moment. the clock had stopped, but the ventilator was clicking. although jimmy and the others saw only me, i tried not to see only them. i conjured up the face of a lady, and she smiled encouragingly, and then i felt safer. but at times her face was lost in smoke, or suddenly it was marriot's face, eager, doleful, wistful. at first i puffed vigorously and wastefully, then i became scientific and sent out rings of smoke so strong and numerous that half a dozen of them were in the air at a time. in past days i had often followed a ring over the table, across chairs, and nearly out at the window, but that was when i blew one by accident and was loath to let it go. now i distributed them among my friends, who let them slip away into the looking-glass. i think i had almost forgotten what i was doing and where i was when an awful thing happened. my pipe went out! [illustration] "there are remnants in it yet," jimmy cried, with forced cheerfulness, while gilray blew the ashes off my sleeve, marriot slipped a cushion behind my back, and scrymgeour made another spill. again i smoked, but no longer recklessly. it is revealing no secret to say that a drowning man sees his whole past unfurl before him like a panorama. so little, however, was i, now on the eve of a great happiness, like a drowning man, that nothing whatever passed before me. i lost sight even of my friends, and though jimmy was on his knees at my feet, his hand clasping mine, he disappeared as if his open mouth had swallowed the rest of his face. i had only one thought--that i was smoking my last pipe. unconsciously i crossed my legs, and one of my slippers fell off; jimmy, i think, slipped it on to my foot. marriot stood over me, gazing into the bowl of my pipe, but i did not see him. now i was puffing tremendously, but no smoke came. the room returned to me, i saw jimmy clearly, i felt marriot overhead, and i heard them all whispering. still i puffed; i knew that my pipe was empty, but still i puffed. gilray's fingers tried to draw my brier from my mouth, but i bit into it with my teeth, and still i puffed. when i came to i was alone. i had a dim consciousness of having been shaken by several hands, of a voice that i think was scrymgeour's saying that he would often write to me--though my new home was to be within the four-mile radius--and of another voice that i think was jimmy's, telling marriot not to let me see him breaking down. but though i had ceased to puff, my brier was still in my mouth; and, indeed, i found it there when william john shook me into life next morning. [illustration] my parting with william john was almost sadder than the scene of the previous night. i rang for him when i had tied up all my treasures in brown paper, and i told him to give the tobacco-jar to jimmy, romulus to marriot, remus to gilray, and the pouch to scrymgeour. william john bore up till i came to the pouch, when he fairly blubbered. i had to hurry into my bedroom, but i mean to do something yet for william john. not even scrymgeour knew so well as he what my pouch had been to me, and till i die i shall always regret that i did not give it to william john. i kept my brier. [illustration] chapter xxxiii. when my wife is asleep and all the house is still. [illustration] perhaps the heading of this paper will deceive some readers into thinking that i smoke nowadays in camera. it is, i know, a common jest among smokers that such a promise as mine is seldom kept, and i allow that the arcadians tempt me still. but never shall it be said of me with truth that i have broken my word. i smoke no more, and, indeed, though the scenes of my bachelorhood frequently rise before me in dreams, painted as scrymgeour could not paint them, i am glad, when i wake up, that they are only dreams. those selfish days are done, and i see that though they were happy days, the happiness was a mistake. as for the struggle that is supposed to take place between a man and tobacco, after he sees smoking in its true colors, i never experienced it. i have not even any craving for the arcadia now, though it is a tobacco that should only be smoked by our greatest men. were we to present a tin of it to our national heroes, instead of the freedom of the city, they would probably thank us more. jimmy and the others are quite unworthy to smoke it; indeed, if i had my way they would give up smoking altogether. nothing, perhaps, shows more completely how i have severed my bonds than this: that my wife is willing to let our friends smoke in the study, but i will not hear of it. there shall be no smoking in my house; and i have determined to speak to jimmy about smoking out at our spare bedroom window. it is a mere contemptible pretence to say that none of the smoke comes back into the room. the curtains positively reek of it, and we must have them washed at once. i shall speak plainly to jimmy because i want him to tell the others. they must understand clearly on what terms they are received in this house, and if they prefer making chimneys of themselves to listening to music, by all means let them stay at home. but when my wife is asleep and all the house is still, i listen to the man through the wall. at such times i have my brier in my mouth, but there is no harm in that, for it is empty. i did not like to give away my brier, knowing no one who understood it, and i always carry it about with me now to remind me of my dark past. when the man through the wall lights up i put my cold pipe in my mouth and we have a quiet hour together. [illustration] i have never, to my knowledge, seen the man through the wall, for his door is round the corner, and, besides, i have no interest in him until half-past eleven p.m. we begin then. i know him chiefly by his pipes, and them i know by his taps on the wall as he knocks the ashes out of them. he does not smoke the arcadia, for his temper is hasty, and he breaks the coals with his foot. though i am compelled to say that i do not consider his character very lovable, he has his good points, and i like his attachment to his brier. he scrapes it, on the whole, a little roughly, but that is because he is so anxious to light up again, and i discovered long ago that he has signed an agreement with his wife to go to bed at half-past twelve. for some time i could not understand why he had a silver rim put on the bowl. i noticed the change in the tap at once, and the natural conclusion would have been that the bowl had cracked. but it never had the tap of a cracked bowl. i was reluctant to believe that the man through the wall was merely some vulgar fellow, and i felt that he could not be so, or else he would have smoked his meerschaum more. at last i understood. the bowl had worn away on one side, and the silver rim had been needed to keep the tobacco in. undoubtedly this was the explanation, for even before the rim came i was a little puzzled by the taps of the brier. he never seemed to hit the wall with the whole mouth of the bowl, but of course the reason was that he could not. at the same time i do not exonerate him from blame. he is a clumsy smoker to burn his bowl at one side, and i am afraid he lets the stem slip round in his teeth. of course, i see that the mouth-piece is loose, but a piece of blotting-paper would remedy that. his meerschaum is not such a good one as jimmy's. though jimmy's boastfulness about his meerschaum was hard to bear, none of us ever denied the pipe's worth. the man through the wall has not a cherry-wood stem to his meerschaum, and consequently it is too light. a ring has been worn into the palm of his left hand, owing to his tapping the meerschaum there, and it is as marked as jimmy's ring, for, though jimmy tapped more strongly, the man through the wall has to tap oftener. what i chiefly dislike about the man through the wall is his treatment of his clay. a clay, i need scarcely say, has an entirely different tap from a meerschaum, but the man through the wall does not treat these two pipes as if they were on an equality. he ought to tap his clay on the palm of his hand, but he seldom does so, and i am strongly of opinion that when he does, it is only because he has forgotten that this is not the meerschaum. were he to tap the clay on the walls or on the ribs of the fireplace he would smash it, so he taps it on a coal. about this there is something contemptible. i am not complaining because he has little affection for his clay. in face of all that has been said in honor of clays, and knowing that this statement will occasion an outcry against me, i admit that i never cared for clays myself. a rank tobacco is less rank through a church-warden, but to smoke the arcadia through a clay is to incur my contempt, and even my resentment. but to disbelieve in clays is one thing and to treat them badly is another. if the man through the wall has decided, after reflection and experiment, that his clay is a mistake, i say let him smoke it no more; but so long as he does smoke it i would have it receive consideration from him. i very much question whether, if he reads his heart, he could learn from it that he loves his meerschaum more than his clay, yet because the meerschaum cost more he taps it on his palm. this is a serious charge to bring against any man, but i do not make it lightly. the man through the wall smokes each of these three pipes nightly, beginning with the brier. thus he does not like a hot pipe. some will hold that he ought to finish with the brier, as it is his favorite, but i am not of that opinion. undoubtedly, i think, the first pipe is the sweetest; indeed, i feel bound to make a statement here. i have an uneasy feeling that i never did justice to meerschaums, and for this reason: i only smoked them after my brier was hot, so that i never gave them a fair chance. if i had begun the day with a meerschaum, might it not have shown itself in a new light? that is a point i shall never be able to decide now, but i often think of it, and i leave the verdict to others. [illustration] even though i did not know that the man through the wall must retire at half-past twelve, his taps at that hour would announce it. he then gives each of his pipes a final tap, not briskly as before, but slowly, as if he was thinking between each tap. i have sometimes decided to send him a tin of the only tobacco to smoke, but on the whole i could not undertake the responsibility of giving a man whom i have only studied for a few months such a testimonial. therefore when his last tap says good-night to me, i take my cold brier out of my mouth, tap it on the mantelpiece, smile sadly, and go to bed. [illustration] best short stories collected by thomas l. masson published by doubleday, page & company for review of reviews co. a foreword to everybody there is a wide difference of opinion, even among the most discriminating critics, as to what constitutes the point of a good joke. aside from varying temperaments, this is largely due to one's experience with life in general. or intimate acquaintance with certain phases of life gives us a subtler appreciation of certain niceties, which would be lost upon those who have not traveled over that particular path. the doctor, the lawyer, the family man, and the soldier, each have their minds sensitized to their own fields of thought. human nature, however, works according to universal laws, and a really first-class joke strikes home to the majority. the compiler of this collection has had it in mind to get as much variety as possible, while at the same time to use only such material as serves to illustrate some easily recognizable human trait. it is almost needless to say that this book should not be read continuously. it should be taken in small doses, as it is highly concentrated. many old friends will be noticed in the crowd. but old friends, even among jokes, should not be passed by too lightly. best short stories the point of honor a young lieutenant was passed by a private, who failed to salute. the lieutenant called him back, and said sternly: "you did not salute me. for this you will immediately salute two hundred times." at this moment the general came up. "what's all this?" he exclaimed, seeing the poor private about to begin. the lieutenant explained. "this ignoramus failed to salute me, and as a punishment, i am making him salute two hundred times." "quite right," replied the general, smiling. "but do not forget, sir, that upon each occasion you are to salute in return." always get the facts it is never wise to jump to conclusions. always wait until the evidence is all in. a jersey man of a benevolent turn of mind encountered a small boy in his neighborhood who gave evidence of having emerged but lately from a severe battle. "i am sorry," said the man, "to see that you have a black eye, sammy." whereupon sammy retorted: "you go home and be sorry for your own little boy--he's got two!" can this be true? a certain irishman was taken prisoner by the huns. while he was standing alone, waiting to be assigned to his prison, or whatever fate awaited him, the kaiser came up. "hello," said the kaiser. "who have we here?" "i'm an irishman, your honor." then he winked solemnly. "oi say," he continued. "we didn't do a thing to you germans, did we? eh, old chap?" the kaiser was horrified. calling an orderly he said to him: "take this blasphemer away and put a german uniform on him, and then bring him back." shortly the irishman was returned, in a full german uniform. "well," said the kaiser, "maybe you feel better now. how is it?" pat grabbed him by the arm, and leaning over, whispered: "oi say, we gave them irish hell, didn't we?" new servant-girl story the wife of a successful young literary man had hired a buxom dutch girl to do the housework. several weeks passed and from seeing her master constantly about the house, the girl received an erroneous impression. "ogscuse me, mrs. blank," she said to her mistress one day, "but i like to say somedings." "well, rena?" the girl blushed, fumbled with her apron, and then replied, "vell, you pay me four tollars a veek--' "yes, and i really can't pay you any more." "it's not dot," responded the girl; "but i be villing to take tree tollars till--till your husband gets vork." he was broad minded even married life does not affect some people unpleasantly, or take away the fine spirit of their charity. a certain factory-owner tells of an old employee who came into the office and asked for a day off. "i guess we can manage it, pete," says the boss, "tho we are mighty short-handed these days. what do you want to get off for?" "ay vant to get married," blushed pete, who is by way of being a scandinavian. "married? why, look here--it was only a couple of months ago that you wanted to get off because your wife was dead!" "yas, ay gess so." "and you want to get married again, with your wife only two months dead?" "yas. ay ain't ban hold no grudge long." missed his chance before introducing lieutenant de tessan, aide to general joffre, and colonel fabry, the "blue devil of france," chairman spencer, of the st. louis entertainment committee, at the m.a.a. breakfast told this anecdote: "in washington lieutenant de tessan was approached by a pretty american girl, who said: "'and did you kill a german soldier?' "'yes,' he replied. "'with what hand did you do it?' she inquired. "'with this right hand,' he said. "and then the pretty american girl seized his right hand and kissed it. colonel fabry stood near by. he strolled over and said to lieutenant de tessan: "'heavens, man, why didn't you tell her that you bit him to death?'" great relief in heaven the following story is from the _libre belgique_, the anonymous periodical secretly published in brussels, and which the utmost vigilance of the german authorities has been unable to suppress. once upon a time doctor bethman-holweg went up to heaven. the pearly gates were shut, but he began to push his way through in the usual german fashion. st. peter rushed out of his lodge, much annoyed at the commotion. "hi, there, who are you?" he demanded. "i am doctor von bethman-holweg, the imperial chancellor," was the haughty reply. "well, you don't seem to be dead; what are you doing around here?" "i want to see god." "sorry," replied st. peter, "but i don't think you can see him to-day; in fact, he's not very well." "ah, i'm distressed to hear that," said the chancellor somewhat more politely. "what seems to be the trouble?" "we don't quite know, but we are afraid it is a case of exaggerated ego," answered st. peter. "he keeps walking up and down, occasionally striking his chest with his clenched fist, and muttering to himself: 'i am the kaiser! i am the kaiser!'" "dear me! that is really very sad," said the chancellor in a still kindlier tone. "now i happen to be the bearer of a communication from my imperial master; perhaps it might cheer him up to hear it." "what is it?" "why, the emperor has just issued a decree, providing that in future he shall have the use of the nobiliary particle; from henceforth he will have the right to call himself 'von gott'." "step right in, your excellency," interrupted st. peter. "i am very sure the new graf will be much gratified to learn of the honor done him. third door to the right. mind the step. thank you." unchangeable a story about lord kitchener, who was often spoken of as "the most distinguished bachelor in the world," is being told. a young member of his staff when he was in india asked for a furlough in order to go home and be married. kitchener listened to him patiently then he said: "kenilworth, you're not yet twenty-five. wait a year. if then you still desire to do this thing you shall have leave." the year passed. the officer once more proffered his request. "after thinking it over for twelve months," said kitchener, "you still wish to marry?" "yes, sir." "very well, you shall have your furlough. and frankly, my boy, i scarcely thought there was so much constancy in the masculine world." kenilworth, the story concludes, marched to the door, but turned to say as he was leaving: "thank you, sir. only it's not the same woman." he knew the law an old colored man charged with stealing chickens was arraigned in court and was incriminating himself when the judge said: "you ought to have a lawyer. where's your lawyer?" "ah ain't got no lawyer, jedge," said the old man. "very well, then," said his honor, "i'll assign a lawyer to defend you." "oh, no, suh; no, suh! please don't do dat!" the darky begged. "why not?" asked the judge. "it won't cost you anything. why don't you want a lawyer?" "well, jedge, ah'll tell you, suh," said the old man, waving his tattered old hat confidentially. "hit's dis way. ah wan' tah enjoy dem chickens mahse'f." a sermon on the war by parson brown the historic colored preacher who held forth so strenuously after the civil war has almost become obsolete, but in certain sections he still holds his own, as the following sermon, taken from _life_, will show: brederen an' sisterin: i done read de bible from kiver to kiver, from lid to lid an' from end to end, an' nowhar do i find a mo' 'propriate tex' at dis time, when de whole worl' is scrimmigin' wid itse'f, dan de place whar paul pinted de pistol at de philippines an' said, "dou art de man." kaiser bill ob germany is de man, an' uncle sam done got de pistol pinted his way, an' goin' to pull de trigger, lessen bill gits off his perch, like dat woman jezebel dat sassed ahab from de roof top. ahab say to his soldiers, "go up an' th'ow dat woman down," an' dey th'ew her down. den he say, "go up an' th'ow her down again," an' dey th'ew her down again; an' he say, "take her back up an th'ow her down seben times," an' dey th'owed her down seben times, an' ast if dat ain't enough. but ahab done got his dander up, an' say, "no! dat ain't enough. th'ow her down sebenty times seben." and afterwards dey done pick up twelve baskets ob de fragments dereob. dat's what gwine ter happen ter dat bill heah him hollerin. de good book done fo'told dis here war, an' jist how it gwine ter end. don't it say about de four beasts in de book of relations, what spit fire an' brimstone, meanin' de kaiser, de turks, de ostriches, and de bullgeraniums, case two ob dem beasteses is birds, an' ostriches an' turkys is birds. de bigges' beast is de kaiser, case he uses germans to pizen his enemies. de newspapers say as how diseases is all caused by germans gittin' in de food an' bein' breathed in de lungs, givin' folks hydrophobia an' lumbago an' consumption. dis brings us to de time when abraham led de chillun ob israel into egypt, an' moses led 'em out again case de folks ob egypt so bad dey shoot craps all day, and eben make faro de king. dey take all de money 'way from de jews an' raise de price ob cawn an' hay till de po' jews can't live. rockefeller-morgan faro, de king, say dey can't go, but moses done got de lawd on his side, an' he crossed de red sea in submarines, so faro got drowned wid all his host. de mummy ob dat same faro is still alive in de big museums ob de world, but whar de host is no man can tell. dat de way de wall street gang dat been raisin' de price ob food gwine ter pass in dey checks--in de red sea ob blood ob dis war. moses an' de jews went trabelin' ober de desert till one day dey gits so hungry dey makes a fatted calf ob gold while moses up on mount sinai gittin' de law laid down. moses come er-cussin' back an' busted de law ober aaron's head, an' den dey killed de fatted calf an' put a ring on his finger. for de prodigal done return, an' dey is mo' rejoicin' ober one sinner sabed dan ninety an' nine what doan know 'nuff to put deir money in de contribution box instead ob shootin' it 'way on craps. oh, i knows you backsliders, an' ef any ob you doan come across while dekin jones passes de box, i'se gwine ter preach nex' sunday on what happened ter de money-chasers in de temple. we will now sing two verses ob "th'ow out de lifeline, anoder ship sinkin' to-day." "over here" the hobo knocked at the back door and the lady of the house appeared. "lady," he said, "i was at the front--" "you poor man!" she exclaimed. "one of war's victims. wait till i get you some food, and you shall tell me your story. you were in the trenches, you say?" "not in the trenches. i was at the front--" "don't try to talk with your mouth full. take your time. what deed of heroism did you do at the front?" "why, i knocked, but i couldn't make nobody hear, so i came around to the back." life's eternal query did it ever occur to you that a man's life is full of cussedness? he comes into the world without his consent, and goes out against his will, and the trip between is exceedingly rocky. when he is little, the big girls kiss him; when he is big, the little girls kiss him. if he is poor, he is a bad manager; if he is rich, he's a crook. if he is prosperous, everybody wants to do him a favor; if he needs credit, they hand him a lemon. if he is in politics, it is for graft; if out of politics, he is no good to his country. if he doesn't give to charity, he's a tightwad; if he does, it's for show. if he is actively religious, he is a hypocrite; and if he takes no interest in religion, he is a heathen. if he is affectionate, he is a soft mark; if he cares for no one, he is cold-blooded. if he dies young, there was a great future for him; if he lives to an old age, he missed his calling. if you don't fight, you're yellow; if you do, you're a brute. if you save your money, you're a grouch; if you spend it, you're a loafer; if you get it, you're a grafter, and if you don't get it, you're a bum. _so what's the use?_ high finance even certain professors, who are supposed to be immune from commercial inducements are sometimes financially overcautious. a party of tourists were watching professor x as he exhumed the wrapt body of an ancient egyptian. "judging from the utensils about him," remarked the professor, "this mummy must have been an egyptian plumber." "wouldn't it be interesting," said a romantic young lady, "if we could bring him to life?" "interesting, but a bit risky," returned professor x. "somebody might have to pay him for his time." matrimonial profundity a young planter in mississippi had an old servant called uncle mose, who had cared for him as a child and whose devotion had never waned. the young man became engaged to a girl of the neighborhood who had a reputation for unusual beauty and also for a very violent temper. noticing that uncle mose never mentioned his approaching marriage, the planter said: "mose, you know i am going to marry miss currier?" "yassuh, i knows it." "i haven't heard you say anything about it," persisted the planter. "no, suh," said mose. "tain't fo' me to say nothin' 'bout it. i's got nothin' to say." "but you must have some opinion about so important a step on my part." "well, suh," said the old negro with some hesitation, "yo' knows one thing--the most p'izonest snakes has got the most prettiest skins." the new regime the new change in social conditions to be brought about by the war is illustrated in the following advertisements taken from _life_: situations wanted husband and wife would like position as gardener and cook, or will do anything. years in last place as czar and czarina. salary not so important as permanent place in quiet, peaceful atmosphere. address romanoff, this paper. employers, giving up royalty, would like to secure position for their king. steady, experienced, thoroughly broken to crown and sceptre. distance no objection. will go anywhere. small salary to start. constantine, greece, in rear. (ring sophy's bell.) young monarch, years old, years as king in last place, would accept like position in small, tranquil country, latin preferred. no objection to south america. light, rangy and stylish, very fast, and thoroughly broken to bombs and revolutions. manuel j. portugal, london. king and queen, swedish, expecting to make change shortly, would like position as gardener and coachman, cook and laundress. good home more important than salary. a references. address gus and vicky, care this paper. emperor, years as kaiser in present position, expecting to be at liberty shortly, owing to change in employers' circumstances, would like place as assassin, or pig-sticker in abattoir. no aversion to blood. cool, resourceful, determined. address efficient, care this paper. where ignorance is bliss; thus, seeking to be kind and fraternal, but at the same time perfectly honest, if we make mistakes, we may still comfort ourselves with the assurance which his irish catholic servant once expressed to the devout and learned bishop whately. "do you really believe," he asked her, "that there is no salvation outside of the roman catholic church?" "shure, an' i do," she replied, "for that's what the praist ses." "well, then, what is going to become of me?" "oh, that's all right," she answered, with an irish twinkle in her eyes. "yer riverence will be saved by yer ignorince." when the "s" fell out "we are thorry to thay," explained the editor of the skedunk _weekly news_, "that our compothing-room wath entered lath night by thome unknown thcoundrel, who thtole every 'eth' in the ethtablithment, and thucceeded in making hith ethcape undetected. "the motive of the mithcreant doubtleth wath revenge for thome thuppothed inthult. "it thall never be thaid that the petty thpite of any thmall-thouled villain hath dithabled the _newth_, and if thith meet the eye of the detethtable rathcal, we beg to athure him that he underethtimated the rethourceth of a firtht-clath newthpaper when he thinkth he can cripple it hopelethly by breaking into the alphabet. we take occathion to thay to him furthermore that before next thurthday we thall have three timeth ath many etheth ath he thtole. "we have reathon to thuthpect that we know the cowardly thkunk who committed thith act of vandalithm, and if he ith ever theen prowling about thith ethtablithment again, by day or by night, nothing will give uth more thatithfaction than to thoot hith hide full of holeth." full particulars free they were seated in a tramcar--the mother and her little boy. the conductor eyed the little boy suspiciously. he had to keep a lookout for people who pretended that their children were younger than they really were, in order to obtain free rides for them. "and how old is your little boy, madam, please?" "three and a half," said the mother truthfully. "right, ma'am," said the conductor, satisfied. little willie pondered a minute. it seemed to him that fuller information was required. "and mother's thirty-one," he said politely. they were so glad to see him "i am taking some notes about civic pride," said the urbane stranger, as he wandered into the up-to-date community. "i suppose you have such a thing?" "well, i should say we had," said the corner real estate agent. "i am loaded with it myself." "good!" replied the agent, taking out his memo-book. "i'll make a note of it. this, you will understand, is a more or less scientific inquiry, and i shall make my estimates as carefully as possible, with all due regard to the human equation. who, should you say, has the most civic pride in town?" "that is some problem," replied the agent, "but you might go across the way to the woman's club. out of courtesy to the ladies i am ready to yield the palm." "yes," said the president of the woman's club when she had heard the visitor's errand. "we have the most civic pride, of course. the town council thinks it has, and the board of education thinks it has, but pay no attention to them; we are on the job day and night; as a factory for turning out civic pride, nobody in this vicinity can beat us. you want to hear my lecture on the subject at the next meeting." "thanks," said the visitor, "but you will appreciate that in these piping times of war, i am a busy man, and must hurry on. has anybody else any civic pride here that you could name?" he was presented with a list and went about town getting them all down. at the end of several days, all the organizations in town that dealt in civic pride got together and arranged for a banquet for the distinguished stranger. they were immensely proud that he had come among them. it was a great affair. the mayor, who was swelling with civic pride, vied with the president of the woman's club. it was, indeed, a neck-and-neck race between them as to who had the greater quantity of civic pride. at the end of the banquet, when they were all bidding the guest good-bye with tears streaming down their faces, the only pessimist in town got up and said: "excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, for obtruding my repellent personality on this joyful assemblage, but our dear guest will not, i am sure, object to answering a simple question. i have no civic pride myself, but do you mind, sir, telling me the object of your visit to this lovely little burg?" "certainly not," said the guest, as he prepared to take a quick slant through the door, "no objection at all. you see, my friends, civic pride is the only thing that the government hasn't taxed. you'll get your bills a little later, based on your own estimates. much obliged for all your first-hand information." had to be settled "johnny, it was very wrong for you and the boy next door to fight." "we couldn't help it, father." "could you not have settled your differences by a peaceful discussion of the matter, calling in the assistance of unprejudiced opinion, if need be?" "no, father. he was sure he could whip me and i was sure i could whip him, and there was only one way to find out." still unbeaten the sergeant-major had the reputation of never being at a loss for an answer. a young officer made a bet with a brother officer that he would in less than twenty-four hours ask the sergeant-major a question that would baffle him. the sergeant-major accompanied the young officer on his rounds, in the course of which the cook-house was inspected. pointing to a large copper of water just commencing to boil, the officer said: "why does that water only boil round the edges of the copper and not in the centre?" "the water round the edge, sir," replied the veteran, "is for the men on guard; they have their breakfast half an hour before the remainder of the company." accounting for it levi cohen was looking very dejected. that morning he left the house with five pounds in his pocket to try his luck at the races, but, alas! he had returned at nightfall footsore and weary, and nothing in his possession but a bad half-penny. no wonder his better half was in a bad temper. "how is it," she snapped, "that you're so unlucky at the races, and yet you always win at cards?" "well, my dear," responded levi, meekly, "you see, it's this way: i don't shuffle the horses." his lack a keen-eyed mountaineer led his overgrown son into a country schoolhouse. "this here boy's arter larnin'," he announced. "what's yer bill o' fare?" "our curriculum, sir," corrected the school-master, "embraces geography, arithmetic, trigonometry--" "that'll do," interrupted the father. "that'll do. load him up well with triggernometry. he's the only poor shot in the family." a revised classic "now, my dear girl," said bluebeard, "remember you can go anywhere in the house but the pantry. that is locked up, and the key will be placed under the mat. remove it at your peril." consumed with curiosity, mrs. bluebeard could scarcely wait until her husband had cranked his machine before she was trying the key. it fitted perfectly. she turned it, and entered. within was the finest collection of provisions that she had ever seen: at least a hundred dozen eggs preserved in water, sacks of potatoes, barrels of wheat--in fact, a complete commissary department. and then, as she looked out of the window, she gave a faint scream. her husband was returning. he had a puncture. she retained her presence of mind, however, long enough to step to the telephone. just as she had finished delivering the message bluebeard entered. "ha!" he exclaimed. "so you have forced the pantry. i see flour on your lips. prepare to die." mrs. bluebeard only smiled. "not so fast," she muttered. at this moment herbert hoover entered the house. "so you are the wretch who has been storing up private food supplies, contrary to my orders!" he exclaimed. "ninety days in jail!" whereupon mrs. bluebeard, waving her late lord and master farewell, prepared to beat up a luscious eggnog. scotch thrills sandy macpherson came home after many years and met his old sweetheart. honey-laden memories thrilled through the twilight and flushed their glowing cheeks. "ah, mary," exclaimed sandy, "ye're just as beautiful as ye ever were, and i ha'e never forgotten ye, my bonnie lass." "and ye, sandy," she cried, while her blue eyes moistened, "are just as big a leear as ever, an' i believe ye jist the same." his application an alien, wishing to be naturalized, applied to the clerk of the office, who requested him to fill out a blank, which he handed him. the first three lines of the blank ran as follows: name? born? business? the answers follow: name, jacob levinsky. born, yes. business, rotten. a clincher pat o'flaherty, very palpably not a prohibitionist, was arrested in arizona recently, charged with selling liquor in violation of the prohibition law. but pat had an impregnable defense. his counsel, in addressing the jury, said: "your honor, gentlemen of the jury, look at the defendant." a dramatic pause, then: "now, gentlemen of the jury, do you honestly think that if the defendant had a quart of whiskey he would sell it?" the verdict, reached in one minute, was "not guilty." smarty a full-blown second lieutenant was endeavoring to display his great knowledge of musketry. sauntering up to the latest recruit, he said: "see here, my man, this thing is a rifle, this is the barrel, this is the butt, and this is where you put the cartridge in." the recruit seemed to be taking it all in, so the officer, continuing, said: "you put the weapon to your shoulder; these little things on the barrel are called sights; then to fire you pull this little thing, which is called the trigger. now, smarten yourself up, and remember what i have told you; and, by the way, what trade did you follow before you enlisted? a collier, i suppose!" "no, sir," came the reply; "i only worked as a gunsmith for the government small arms factory." the eclipse to order on the evening before a solar eclipse the colonel of a german regiment of infantry sent for all the sergeants and said to them: "there will be an eclipse of the sun to-morrow. the regiment will meet on the parade ground in undress. i will come and explain the eclipse before drill. if the sky is cloudy the men will meet in the drill shed, as usual." whereupon the ranking sergeant drew up the following order of the day: "to-morrow morning, by order of the colonel, there will be an eclipse of the sun. the regiment will assemble on the parade ground, where the colonel will come and superintend the eclipse in person. if the sky is cloudy the eclipse will take place in the drill shed." a connoisseur two brothers were being entertained by a rich friend. as ill luck would have it, the talk drifted away from ordinary topics. "do you like omar khayyam?" thoughtlessly asked the host, trying to make conversation. the elder brother plunged heroically into the breach. "pretty well," he said, "but i prefer chianti." nothing more was said on this subject until the brothers were on their way home. "bill," said the younger brother, breaking a painful silence, "why can't you leave things that you don't understand to me? omar khayyam ain't a wine, you chump; it's a cheese." nourishment an old south carolina darky was sent to the hospital of st. xavier in charleston. one of the gentle, black-robed sisters put a thermometer in his mouth to take his temperature. presently, when the doctor made his rounds, he said: "well, nathan, how do you feel?" "i feel right tol'ble, boss." "have you had any nourishment?" "yassir." "what did you have?" "a lady done gimme a piece of glass ter suck, boss." had had treatment he was a mine-sweeper, and, home on leave, was feeling a bit groggy. he called to see a doctor, who examined him thoroughly. "you're troubled with your throat, you say?" said the doctor. "aye, aye, sir," said the sailor. "have you ever tried gargling it with salt and water?" asked the doctor. the mine-sweeper groaned. "i should say so!" he said. "i've been torpedoed seven times!" how he got them a british soldier was walking down the strand one day. he had one leg off and an arm off and both ears missing and his head was covered with bandages, and he was making his way on low gear as best he could, when he was accosted by an intensely sympathetic lady who said: "oh, dear, dear! i cannot tell you how sorry i am for you. this is really terrible. can't i do something? do tell me, did you receive all these wounds in real action?" a weary expression came over that part of the soldier's face that was visible as he replied: "no, madam; i was cleaning out the canary bird cage, and the d----d bird bit me!" cÃ�sar visits cicero how modern are the old fellows. here is a story related by cicero in one of his letters which will recall the embarrassments we have ourselves felt in the presence of the unexpected. cicero gives an account to his friend of a visit he had just received from the emperor julius cæsar. he had invited julius to pass a few days with him, but he came quite unexpectedly with a thousand men! cicero, seeing them from afar, debated with another friend what he should do with them but at length managed to encamp them. to feed them was a less easy matter. the emperor took everything quite easily, however, and was very pleasant, "but," adds cicero, "he is not the man to whom i should say a second time, 'if you are passing this way, give me a call.'" why be polite anyway? every seat was occupied, when a group of women got in. the conductor noticed a man who he thought was asleep. "wake up!" shouted the conductor. "i wasn't asleep," said the passenger. "not asleep! then what did you have your eyes closed for?" "it was because of the crowded condition of the car," explained the passenger. "i hate to see the women standing." the arrival of wilhelm what may be the kaiser's ultimate fate is thus amusingly told by _life_ of the scene in hell on a certain day: "what's all the racket about?" said satan, stepping out of the brimstone bath, where he was giving two or three u-boat commanders an extra flaying. "poor old hohenzollern has got it in the neck at last," said machiavelli, who was hosing off the premises with vitriol in preparation for a new squad of shirtwaist-factory owners. satan listened attentively. indeed, it was true. the hohenzollerns had been booted off the throne of germany. "well, that's tough," said satan. "i never could see why they chivied those poor hohenzollerns so. they were perfect devils. i have often said so. poor old bill! why, he was one of the best pupils i ever had. i heard someone say that he had made belgium a hell upon earth. wasn't that a compliment?" "not only that," said machiavelli; "he had the novel idea of making the sea a hell, too. he and tirpitz did magnificent work. not even a party of schoolgirls could go on the water without getting torpedoed. they drowned i don't know how many innocent women and children in a manner worthy of the highest education." "that deportation of non-combatants from lille was excellent, too," mused satan. "don't forget the shooting of miss cavell," said machiavelli. "and there was the bombing of unfortified towns, and the poison gas. why, in my palmiest days i never thought of anything so choice as that poison gas. i told borgia about it, and she went green with envy." "you're right, mac," said satan, treading in his excitement on a captain of uhlans who was hanging out to cool; "that kaiser is a regular prince of darkness. when he gets down here (and i guess he will pretty soon) we'll omit the setting-up exercises and put him right into advanced tactics. come to think of it, there were those prison camps, too, where he allowed captured soldiers to rot with filth and disease without any physicians. excellent!" "there's only one drawback," said machiavelli regretfully. "the man has raised so much hell on earth that i doubt if there's much we can teach him down here. really, he's not an amateur at all, but a professional. i don't know whether it wouldn't be more punishment to send him to heaven instead. as a matter of fact, down here he'll feel perfectly at home." "i guess we can still think up one or two little novelties for him," said satan, as he opened a trap-door and let a dozen of billy sunday's converts drop into the blazing sulphur. immortal! when julia ward howe died, memorial services in her honor were held at san francisco, and the local literary colony attended practically en masse to pay by their presence a tribute to the writer. a municipal officer was asked to preside. dressed in his long frock coat and his broad white tie, he advanced to the edge of the platform to launch the exercises and introduce the principal eulogist. he bowed low and spoke as follows: "your attendance here, ladies and gents, in such great numbers shows san francisco's appreciation of good literature. this meeting is a great testimonial to the immortal author of 'uncle tom's cabin'--the late julia ward howard!" oriental politeness william m. chase used to tell this story: "i was standing on a railway platform in japan, waiting for a train, and whiling away my time by watching a particularly beautiful sunset. "suddenly a freight train pulled in and, stopping in front of me, cut off my view. being a good american, and trained in a very proper respect for 'business,' i merely turned philosophically away and proceeded to look at something else. in a moment, however, the station master appeared at my side and inquired with the politest of bows if i had been enjoying the sunset. "i admitted that i had, and smilingly accepted his apology for the intrusion of the train. 'of course i recognized that trains were the first consideration in stations,' i said. "imagine my surprise, then, when the little japanese shook his head firmly. 'but no,' he said, bowing even more deeply than before, 'the train must not be allowed to obstruct the honorable artistic traveler's honorable æsthetic enjoyment'--or words to that effect. 'i will cause it to withdraw,' "and he actually did precisely that!" alas! too late! the englishman's undying love for certain civilized things is thus portrayed by r. richard schayer in _life_. in a gorse bush a hundred yards beyond his trench lay lieutenant fitzhugh throckmorton of the king's own rifles, asleep at his post. for hours he had lain there, searching the position of the enemy through his binoculars. overcome by fatigue, he had nodded, drowsed, and finally slumbered. the sun hung low in the western mists when throckmorton awoke. he glanced at his wristwatch and sprang to his feet with an oath. regardless of peril, he turned and sprinted toward his trench. his was not a nature to count the risk when duty, however delayed, called. every german sniper within range sent shot upon shot after the flying figure. the enemy's trenches took up the hunt and fairly blazed with rifle and machine gun fire. the bullets hummed in throckmorton's ears like a swarm of savage hornets. they snarled and bit at the turf about his feet like a pack of wolves. with a last desperate burst of speed, his clothing tattered with bullet holes, the lieutenant gained his trench and leaped down to its cover. his face, wearing an expression of mingled hope and despair, he rushed to the bomb-proof dug-out where sat his colonel and brother officers. they looked up at him with cold eyes. one glance and throckmorton's heart failed him. he was too late. they had finished tea. who could tell? a scottish doctor who was attending a laird had instructed the butler of the house in the art of taking and recording his master's temperature with a thermometer. on paying his usual morning call he was met by the butler, to whom he said: "well, john, i hope the laird's temperature is not any higher to-day?" the man looked puzzled for a minute, and then replied: "weel, i was just wonderin' that mysel'. ye see, he deed at twal' o'clock." he couldn't have missed it the average foreigner can rarely comprehend the geographical area of the united states, as was quite fully illustrated by the englishman and his valet who had been traveling due west from boston for five days. at the end of the fifth day master and servant were seated in the smoking-car, and it was observed that the man was gazing steadily and thoughtfully out of the window. finally his companion became curious. "william," said he, "of what are you thinking?" "i was just thinking, sir, about the discovery of hamerica," replied the valet. "columbus didn't do such a wonderful thing, after all, when he found this country, did he, now, sir? hafter hall's said an' done, 'ow could 'e 'elp it?" guilty the sniper is ever prevalent on the western front. a certain colonel, who was by the way quite unpopular with his regiment, was one afternoon sitting in a shack, when a report was heard and a bullet whizzed over his head. calling a private, he said testily: "go out and get that sniper." the man was gone for some time, but he eventually returned with fritz. he had not got him in, however, before he began to belabor him fiercely. "what are you beating up that hun for?" asked a comrade. "he missed the colonel," whispered the other. envy miss amy lowell, sister of president lowell of harvard, is not only a distinguished poetess, being by many considered the head of the vers libre school in this country, but she is also the guardian of a most handsome and stately presence. oliver herford, himself a poet and wit, doubtless inspired by envy, recently remarked of her that "one half of amy lowell doesn't know how the other half lives." a gentle dissolution a couple of philadelphia youths, who had not met in a long while, met and fell to discussing their affairs in general. "i understand," said one, "that you broke your engagement with clarice collines." "no, i didn't break it." "oh, she broke it?" "no, she didn't break it." "but it is broken?" "yes. she told me what her raiment cost, and i told her what my income was. then our engagement sagged in the middle and gently dissolved." a futile experiment william williams hated nicknames. he used to say that most fine given names were ruined by abbreviations, which was a sin and a shame. "i myself," he said, "am one of six brothers. we were all given good, old-fashioned christian names, but all those names were shortened into meaningless or feeble monosyllables by our friends. i shall name my children so that it will be impracticable to curtail their names." the williams family, in the course of time, was blessed with five children, all boys. the eldest was named after the father--william. of course, that would be shortened to "will" or enfeebled to "willie"--but wait! a second son came and was christened willard. "aha!" chuckled mr. williams, "now everybody will have to speak the full names of each of these boys in order to distinguish them." in pursuance of this scheme the next three sons were named wilbert, wilfred, and wilmont. they are all big boys now. and they are respectively known to their intimates as bill, skinny, butch, chuck, and kid. they meant to be paid no man is ever willing to admit that he has any prejudices. but sometimes the facts confront him sternly, as in the case of the two gentlemen in the following dialogue: briggs: i wonder why it is that when men like bryan and billy sunday accept good money we have a tendency secretly to despise them. griggs: well, i presume because they are posing to be disinterested. when they take away such big returns we set them down as hypocrites. briggs: but they have a right to make a living. griggs: you might say that of any one else--any get-rich-quick chap, for example, provided he can get away with it. briggs: but the get-rich-quick man is cheating his customers. griggs: well, a good many people feel that both bryan and sunday are cheating their customers. i don't say they are, mind you. i am only giving that side of the argument, and, according to it, they are deluding their customers with false hopes. bryan says that a combination of free silver, grape juice, and peace will cure all ills, and he gets five hundred dollars a lecture for saying it. billy sunday gets thousands of dollars for dragging hell out into the limelight. they are both popular forms of amusement. they divert the mind. why shouldn't they be paid? there are far worse moving-picture shows than bryan or sunday. briggs: you believe that, now, don't you? be honest and say it's your genuine opinion, and not put it off on someone else. griggs _(lowering his voice_): well, i'll tell you, old chap. i believe it about bryan, but not about sunday. sunday's all right. he hates money! how do you feel about it? briggs: you're wrong. i believe it about sunday, but not about bryan. bill bryan is all right. he's a patriot. i wouldn't trust sunday, but w.j. bryan's whole thought is for others. (_looking at his watch_.) heavens! i didn't realize it was so late. i must rush off. griggs: is it that late? i must hurry away also. where are you going? briggs: i'm going to hear sunday. where are you going? griggs: i'm going to hear bryan. a poser when james b. reynolds was assistant secretary of the treasury, senator root sent for mr. reynolds one day to discuss with him some matters concerning a trade conference in paris which mr. reynolds had been selected to attend. "i suppose," said mr. root, "you speak french?" "well, yes," responded mr. reynolds. "i know a little french. i have no trouble to make the waiters and the cab drivers understand me." "i see," said mr. root. "but, mr. reynolds, suppose there should be no waiters and cab drivers at the conference?" no danger much sobered by the importance of the news he had to communicate, youthful thomas strode into the house and said breathlessly: "mother, they have a new baby next door, and the lady over there is awful sick. mother, you ought to go right in and see her." "yes, dear," said his mother. "i will go over in a day or two just as soon as she gets better." "but, mother," persisted thomas. "i think you ought to go in right away; she is real sick, and maybe you can do something to help." "yes, dear," said the mother patiently, "but wait a day or so until she is just a little better." thomas seemed much dissatisfied at his mother's apparent lack of neighborly interest, and then something seemed to dawn upon him, for he blurted out: "mother, you needn't be afraid--it ain't catching." might draw business burton holmes, the lecturer, had an interesting experience while in london. he told some washington friends a day or two ago that when he visited the theatre where he was to deliver his travelogue he decided that the entrance to the theatre was rather dingy and that there should be more display of his attraction. accordingly, he suggested to the manager of the house that the front be brightened up at night by electrical signs, one row of lights spelling his name "burton" and another row of lights spelling the name "holmes." the manager told him it was too much of an innovation for him to authorize and referred him to the owner of the theatre. mr. holmes traveled several hours into the country to consult with the owner, who referred him to his agent in the city. the agent in turn sent mr. holmes to the janitor of the theatre. "i talked with the janitor and explained my plan to him for about an hour," mr. holmes said. "finally, after we had gone into every detail of the cost and everything else, the janitor told me that the theatre was a very exclusive and high-class theatre, and that he would not put up the sign. i asked him why?" "because it would attract too much attention to the theatre," the janitor replied. safe the fine art of concealment is thus formulated by carolyn wells, writing in _life_: once upon a time there lived an elderly millionaire who had four nephews. desiring to make one of these his heir, he tested their cleverness. he gave to each a one-hundred-dollar bill, with the request that they hide the bills for a year in the city of new york. any of them who should succeed in finding the hidden bill at the end of the year should share in the inheritance. the year being over, the four nephews brought their reports. the first, deeply chagrined, told how he had put his bill in the strongest and surest safety deposit vaults, but, alas, clever thieves had broken in and stolen it. the second had put his bill in charge of a tried and true friend. but the friend had proved untrustworthy and had spent the money. the third had hidden his bill in a crevice in the floor of his room, but a mouse had nibbled it to bits to build her nest. the fourth nephew calmly produced his hundred-dollar bill, as crisp and fresh as when it had been given him. "and where did you hide it?" asked his uncle. "too easy! i stuck it in a hotel bible." compliments of the day soldiers have to do their own mending when it is done at all, and it appears--although few persons would have guessed it--that the thoughtful war office supplies them with outfits for that purpose. otherwise, this joke would be impossible. everything was ready for kit inspection; the recruits stood lined up ready for the officer, and the officer had his bad temper all complete. he marched up and down the line, grimly eyeing each man's bundle of needles and soft soap, and then he singled out private mactootle as the man who was to receive his attentions. "toothbrush?" he roared. "yes, sir." "razor?" "yes, sir." "hold-all?" "yes, sir." "hm! you're all right, apparently," growled the officer. then he barked: "housewife?" "oh, very well, thank you," said the recruit amiably. "how's yours?" manna there is a story of bransby williams, famous impersonator of dickens's characters, which will come home to many of us in these days of food shortage. he had a hard time before he "arrived," and hunger was a familiar companion. one night he had to play in a sketch in which he was supposed to consume a steak pudding. "imagine my surprise," he says, "when a real, good, smoking hot steak and kidney pudding arrived on the scene. 'my eye!' i exclaimed to myself. i had to cut it and serve it, and in the ordinary course of events we should have got through this stage meal in about five or six minutes. "but not to-night! i made up my mind that that pudding should not be wasted, but eaten, and i commenced in earnest. i made the best meal i had had for days, and improvised conversation till it was all polished off!" she knew him mr. budger and his wife were continually at variance regarding their individual capabilities of making and keeping a good fire. he contended that she did not know how to make a fire, nor how to keep one after it was made. she, on the other hand, maintained that he never meddled with the fire that he didn't put it out--in short, that he was a perfect fire damper; and, as he was always anxious to stir up things in the varous fireplaces, she made a practice of hiding the poker just before it was time for him to come into the house. one night there was an alarm of fire in the village and budger flew for his hat and coat. "where are you going, my dear?" asked his wife. "why, there's a fire, and i'm going to help put it out." "well, my love," responded mrs. budger, "i think the best thing you can do is to take the poker along with you." a get-rich-quick scheme two young irishmen in a canadian regiment were going into the trenches for the first time, and their captain promised them five shillings each for every german they killed. pat lay down to rest, while mick performed the duty of watching. pat had not lain long when he was awakened by mick shouting: "they're comin'! they're comin'!" "who's comin'?" shouts pat. "the germans," replies mick. "how many are there?" "about fifty thousand." "begorra," shouts pat, jumping up and grabbing his rifle, "our fortune's made!" a flattering explanation a sturdy scot, feet inches in height, is a gamekeeper near strafford. one hot day last summer he was accompanying a bumptious sportsman, of very small stature, when he was greatly troubled by gnats. the other said to him: "my good man, why is it that the gnats do not trouble me?" "i daresay," replied the gamekeeper, with a comprehensive glance at the other's small proportions, "it will be because they havna' seen ye yet!" didn't suit him tim casey, a juror, rose suddenly from his seat and hastened to the door of the courtroom. he was prevented, however, from leaving the room, and was sternly questioned by the judge. "yes, your honor, i'll explain meself," said the juror. "when mr. finn finished his talking me mind was clear all through, but whin mr. evans begins his talkin' i becomes all confused an' says i to meself, taith, i'd better lave at once, an' shtay away until he is done,' because, your honor, to tell the truth, i didn't like the way the argument was going." on her nerves the local pawnbroker's shop was on fire, and among the crowd of spectators was an old woman who attracted much attention by her sobs and cries of despair. "what is the matter with you?" a fireman said. "you don't own the shop, do you?" "no," she wailed, "but my old man's suit is pawned there, and he don't know it." cash we cannot deny that one of the great questions of the day among tradespeople is how to get their bills paid. neither can we deny that we have all been over-extravagant. this little story (which is really a satire) contains its moral. one bright morning mr. dobson, an american gentleman in excellent circumstances, and yet (quite singular to relate of any american gentleman!) constantly harried by his bills, conceived of a brilliant idea. thereupon he said to mrs. dobson: "my dear, let us pay cash for one day." "how absurd!" "it may seem so, but you must admit that it is a brand-new idea, and therefore worth while for you, as a modern woman, to try." this was the only possible way in which the astute mr. dobson could have persuaded his wife to try his ideas. they both agreed, and he gave her a hundred dollars in bright, new bills. taking the same amount himself, he began his day. it would be easily possible for us to make a story out of this by recording the incidents of that day. but they would be too painful for modern readers, who insist upon being amused. sufficient is it to observe that at night the dobsons met each other face to face. "i have been grossly insulted by four people," said mrs. dobson, who looked very much the worse for wear. "by a saleswoman in a department store, my milliner, my shoemaker, and my glovemaker. i offered them all cash, and it will take years to reinstate myself with them again." "i got in wrong with my haberdasher and my hatter," said dobson, "and then quit for the day. i didn't have the courage to attempt to buy anything more. your people, by the way, sent collectors to collect last month's bills. also, i calculated this afternoon that if we should pay cash for everything, it would cost me twice my income." "how much does it cost now?" "i don't know--that's the strange part of it. but, my dear, isn't it worthwhile to learn something, even by making such a mistake?" at this point mrs. dobson, who had been softly shedding tears, braced up and impulsively put her arms about her erring husband's neck. "never mind, dear," she said, "we must face this together. we are probably ruined, but we are both comparatively young, and we will live it down side by side." too much in these days of the conservation of fuel no wonder a certain gentleman was disturbed. "you've made a mistake in your paper," said this indignant man, entering the editorial sanctum of a daily paper. "i was one of the competitors at that athletic match yesterday, and you have called me 'the well-known light-weight champion.'" "well, aren't you?" inquired the editor. "no, i'm nothing of the kind, and it's confoundedly awkward, because i'm in the coal business." mistaken identity? a kindergarten teacher entering a street-car saw a gentleman whose face seemed familiar, and she said, "good evening!" he seemed somewhat surprised, and she soon realized that she had spoken to a stranger. much confused, she explained: "when i first saw you i thought you were the father of two of my children." this happened in chicago some time after the civil war james russell lowell was asked to go to chicago to deliver a political speech upholding the republican party. it was a great occasion, for russell was easily the foremost literary and political figure of the day, and his coming was widely advertised. but at the last moment, just before the address was to be delivered, for certain political reasons it was deemed inexpedient by the managers of the affair to have russell talk politics, and so a hurried announcement was made that mr. russell, instead of speaking on the issues of the day, would deliver his celebrated lecture on shakespeare. this he did, it having been correctly described by critics as the best lecture on the great poet ever delivered. after the lecture was over, however, one of the chicago politicians, who doubtless had never heard of shakespeare, was in his disappointment led to exclaim: "hum! i suppose he thought anything was good enough for us!" had heard him before the critical instinct grows by what it is fed upon. no matter how well you may do, some people are never satisfied and this is especially true in families. a philadelphia divine was entertaining a couple of clergymen from new york at dinner. the guests spoke in praise of a sermon their host had delivered the sunday before. the host's son was at the table, and one of the new york clergymen said to him: "my lad, what did you think of your father's sermon?" "i guess it was very good," said the boy, "but there were three mighty fine places where he could have stopped." her domestic instincts we must not always look down upon those innocent people who may not have had the same cultural influences we have had, although it is some difficult not to smile at their point of view: sir frederick kenyon, the director of the british museum and a man of great knowledge, has had all sorts of funny experiences with visitors there. once he was showing a distinguished lady visitor some of the priceless treasures of which he is the custodian, but for a long time nothing seemed to interest her very much. then suddenly he noticed a change. her face lighted up and she leaned forward. "what is it, madam?" asked sir frederick, gratified at this tardy sign of awakening appreciation. "pray do not hesitate to ask if there is anything you would like to know." "so good of you!" chirruped the lady. "i wish you would tell me what brand of blacklead you use on those iron ventilators that are let into the floor. we have the same sort of things at my house, but my maids never get them to shine half so brilliantly." last resort anybody who, a stranger, has tried to find his way about boston will understand the experience of mr. hubb, a native who was addressed by his friend mr. penn, from philadelphia. "they say," remarked mr. penn, "the streets in boston are frightfully crooked." "they are," replied mr. hubb. "why, do you know, when i first went there i could hardly find my way around." "that must be embarrassing." "it is. the first week i was there i wanted to get rid of an old cat we had, and my wife got me to take it to the river a mile away." "and you lost the cat all right?" "lost nothing! i never would have found my way home if i hadn't followed the cat!" looked that way doris was radiant over a recent addition to the family, and rushed out of the house to tell the news to a passing neighbor. "oh, you don't know what we've got upstairs." "what is it?" the neighbor asked. "a new baby brother," said doris, and she watched very closely the effect of her announcement. "you don't say so," the neighbor exclaimed. "is he going to stay?" "i think so," said doris. "he's got his things off." comrades in a trench over in flanders, during a slight lull in the engagement, a soldier was making an impromptu toilet. he lowered his head for an instant and thereby caught a cootie. as he did so, a shell fragment flew by, just where his head had been. he held the cootie in hand meditatively for a moment, and then said: "old fellow, oi cawnt give you the victoria cross, but i can put you back!" comparison one of the ladies who first introduced interpretative dancing--whatever that is--into this country has fleshened up considerably since the days of her initial terpsichorean triumphs among the society folk along the eastern sea-board. nevertheless, she continues to give performances to select audiences of artistic souls. not long ago finley peter dunne, the humorist, was lured to one of these entertainments. the lady, wearing very few clothes, and, as a result of their lack, looking even plumper than usual, danced in an effect of moonlight calcium beams. as dunne was leaving, one of the patronesses hailed him. "oh, mr. dunne," she twittered, "how did you enjoy the madame's dancing?" "immensely," said dunne. "made me think of grant's tomb in love." "next!" the wonders of modern science never cease to be of absorbing interest and even the following story, which is supposed to take place in the near future, may be more realistic than we now think possible, although it is rather hard on our good friends the doctors. "be seated, sir," said the distinguished practitioner. the man who had entered the doctor's office a few moments before in obedience to the invitation sank into a luxurious chair. the doctor looked at him casually, and, touching an indicator at the side of his desk, said: "what a pleasant day." "yes, it is." a nurse appeared at the door. "turn on number nine hundred and eleven," said the doctor. "very well, sir." the doctor turned to the patient. "i heard a most amusing story the other day," he said. "but--" "just a moment. i am quite sure you will be interested in hearing it," he told the story. the patient stirred impatiently in the chair, although the story was amusing and he laughed at it. "by the way," he began, looking at his watch. the doctor got up. he turned off the switch at his desk. "it is all right, sir. you may go now." "but i came in to see you about--" "yes, the operation has been performed. i should be a little bit careful for a few days if i were you. don't play golf or walk excessively." "you mean to say that--" "your appendix has been removed in accordance with your symptoms." the patient smiled incredulously. "when did you do it?" he asked. "while you were sitting there. perfectly simple. it was absorbed." "how did you know what was the matter with me?" "that chair sends a record of your symptoms--in fact, diagnoses your case completely--to the laboratory. all you needed was to have your appendix removed, and by turning on number nine hundred and eleven it was absorbed in three minutes. nothing strange, sir. quite usual, i assure you." the man got up. his face grew rather pale. he advanced to the desk. "how much do i owe you?" he asked. the doctor smiled again. "that has all been arranged, sir." "what do you mean?" "according to the new state law which has just gone into effect, while you were being operated on your property was transferred to me. good morning, sir. call again." mr. sunshine and mr. gloom changing others over to suit yourself is not always the easiest thing in the world, although it is often tried. the head of a large firm thought he would try it, and his experience is related by one of the "boys" in the office: the old man--for we always referred to the head of the firm in this way--called the young fellow in to him one day and said: "look here, young man; you've got to be more agreeable. i want everybody in this place to have a smiling face. if i didn't think you had ability i would have fired you long ago. your manners are bad. make 'em better. don't be a grouch." the young chap didn't seem to take kindly to this advice. the frown on his face was still there. but he bowed and said: "all right, sir." then the old man--for it was his busy morning--called another young fellow in and said: "look here, young man; i don't want you to be so genial. you're always telling funny stories around the place and waiting on the girls. your sunny smile is all right, but you carry it too far. why, when you come around everybody stops work. get down to business." "that reminds me, sir," said the young chap--but his employer waved him off. "do as i tell you," he said sternly, "or--" at the end of another week the old man called them both into his office. "neither of you seems to be improving in the way i want. but i have an idea. i'm going to put your desks next to each other. that ought to do it. you're both good men, but you lean too far in the opposite directions. run away now and act on each other." at the end of still another week, however, when once more they both stood in front of him, he betrayed his disappointment. "it doesn't seem to work," he exclaimed. "what's the matter with you boys, anyway? i thought my experiment would cure both of you, but it doesn't seem to work." turning to mr. sunshine, he said: "look here; why hasn't he done you any good?" mr. sunshine beamed and chuckled. "well, sir," he said, "i can't help it. why, that fellow over there hasn't got a thing in the world to worry him. he isn't married, his salary is really more than he needs. he has no responsibilities, and if he should die to-morrow nobody would suffer. but he hasn't got sense enough to have a good time. he strikes me as being such a joke that it makes me laugh harder than ever." turning to mr. gloom, the old man said: "well, how about you? why hasn't this chap done you any good?" mr. gloom looked more sour than ever. "he hasn't the slightest idea of the problems that confront me," he said, "or what i suffer. but what really makes me mad is this: he has a wife and four young children on his hands, on the same salary i get. how they manage i don't know. it isn't living at all. and when i see a fellow like that, who ought to be worried to death all the time--and who would be if he looked the facts squarely in the face--grinning and telling stories like a minstrel, it makes me so d----d mad that i can't see straight." her own there are certain family privileges which we all guard jealously: an attorney was consulted by a woman desirous of bringing action against her husband for a divorce. she related a harrowing tale of the ill-treatment she had received at his hands. so impressive was her recital that the lawyer, for a moment, was startled out of his usual professional composure. "from what you say this man must be a brute of the worst type!" he exclaimed. the applicant for divorce arose and, with severe dignity, announced: "sir, i shall consult another lawyer. i came here to get advice as to a divorce, not to hear my husband abused!" mark twain on millionaires at one time in his varied career mark twain was not only poor, but he did not make a practice of associating with millionaires. the paragraph which follows is taken from an open letter to commodore vanderbilt. one paragraph of the "open letter" is worth embalming here: poor vanderbilt! how i pity you: and this is honest. you are an old man, and ought to have some rest, and yet you have to struggle, and deny yourself, and rob yourself of restful sleep and peace of mind, because you need money so badly. i always feel for a man who is so poverty ridden as you. don't misunderstand me, vanderbilt. i know you own seventy millions: but then you know and i know that it isn't what man has that constitutes wealth. no--it is to be satisfied with what one has; that is wealth. as long as one sorely needs a certain additional amount, that man isn't rich. seventy times seventy millions can't make him rich, as long as his poor heart is breaking for more. i am just about rich enough to buy the least valuable horse in your stable, perhaps, but i cannot sincerely and honestly take an oath that i need any more now. and so i am rich. but you, you have got seventy millions and you need five hundred millions, and are really suffering for it. your poverty is something appalling. i tell you truly that i do not believe i could live twenty-four hours with the awful weight of four hundred and thirty millions of abject want crushing down upon me. i should die under it. my soul is so wrought upon by your helpless pauperism that if you came to me now, i would freely put ten cents in your tin cup, if you carry one, and say, "god pity you, poor unfortunate." a moving tale many a young man has succumbed to his environment. the hero of the following moving tale is no exception: she was waiting for him at the station. it was two o'clock in the afternoon, and he had to go back that evening on the midnight train. he acted like a man in a dream, but, none the less, he appeared to know precisely what he was about. as the train drew up the station was crowded. there she was in the midst of the crowd, smiling and beckoning to him. without a moment's hesitation, and before she even realized what was happening, he sprang forward, put his arms around her, and planted a clinging kiss on her lips. she blushed intensely and whispered as well as she could: "oh, you mustn't!" he made no reply. his eyes were fixed. half frightened, she led the way to the motor car. they got in. he promptly took her hand. she attempted to motion to him that the chauffeur was in front and could see their reflection in the glass windshield. he merely threw both arms around her and almost crushed her, as he kissed her over and over again. her face showed surprise and indignation. "you mustn't! we're not engaged." "as if that mattered," he muttered, taking another kiss. the motor car arrived at her home. they got out. they entered the house. her mother came forward to receive them. suddenly, without warning, he sprang forward and kissed her, throwing his arms about her like a cyclone. her mother, attempting to free herself, gasped. this young man--whom she scarcely knew! the girl herself stared at him in open-eyed astonishment. at this moment the maid entered the room. as she stepped forward the young man caught sight of her. wasting no time, and before the surprised mother and daughter could stop him, he had folded the maid in his arms and kissed her also. she screamed, and finally ran away. there was an aunt visiting them. this gentle, middle-aged spinster was dozing in the next room. aroused by the maid's screams, she hurried into the room. but no sooner did this remarkable young man visitor see her than he promptly grabbed her, and covered her face with kisses. the girl's father all this time had been quietly smoking on the piazza. hearing the commotion he hurried also into the room, just in time to see the spinster lady, almost fainting with terror, tear herself loose. "he's been kissing every one of us," murmured the girl's mother. "there must be something the matter with him." the girl's father caught the young man squarely by the shoulders and faced him about. "he kissed me at the station--before everybody!" sobbed the girl. "then he kissed mama and the maid and aunt jane." "what is the meaning of this?" said the girl's father, sternly. "how dare you, sir, abuse our hospitality?" the young man shuddered. his eyes closed. still in the clutch of his host, there was a tragic silence. then he opened them once more and gazed feebly about him. he passed his hand wearily over his forehead. "forgive me!" he whispered. "it is not my fault. i live in bachelor quarters in town. my friends had all gone away and there was nothing for me to do but go to the moving picture shows night after night. i have been doing this for weeks. in the moving pictures the young man hero kisses everybody he meets. it's the regular thing--nothing but kissing, kissing, all the time. my mind has been unhinged by it. forgive me and take me to some asylum." then he burst into tears, threw his arms about the old gentleman--and kissed him, and they led the poor wretch away. historical at a military church service during the south african war some recruits were listening to the chaplain in church saying, "let them slay the boers as joshua smote the egyptians," when a recruit whispered to a companion: "say, bill, the old bloke is a bit off; doesn't he know it was kitchener who swiped the egyptians?" memories an american lady at stratford-on-avon showed even more than the usual american fervor. she had not recovered when she reached the railway station, for she remarked to a friend as they walked on the platform: "to think that it was from this very platform the immortal bard would depart whenever he journeyed to town!" ecclesiastical dues enforced "i canna get ower it," a scotch farmer remarked to his wife. "i put a twa shillin' piece in the plate at the kirk this morning instead o' ma usual penny." the beadle had noticed the mistake, and in silence he allowed the farmer to miss the plate for twenty-three consecutive sundays. on the twenty-fourth sunday the farmer again ignored the plate, but the old beadle stretched the ladle in froat of him and, in a loud, tragic whisper, hoarsely said: "your time's up noo, sandy." still companionable jennie, the colored maid, arrived one morning with her head swathed in bandages--the result of an argument with her hot-tempered spouse. "jennie," said her mistress, "your husband treats you outrageously. why don't you leave him?" "well, i don' 'zactly wants to leave him." "hasn't he dragged you the length of the room by your hair?" demanded her mistress. "yas'm, he has done dat." "hasn't he choked you into insensibility?" "yas'm, he sho has choked me." "and now doesn't he threaten to split your head with an ax?" "yas'm, he has done all dat," agreed jennie, "but he ain' done nothin' yet so bad i couldn't live wid him." an easy adjustment andy donaldson, a well-known character of glasgow, lay on his deathbed. "i canna' leave ye thus, nancy," the old scotsman wailed. "ye're ower auld to work, an' ye couldna' live in the workhoose. gin i dee, ye maun marry anither man, wha'll keep ye in comfort in yer auld age." "nay, nay, andy," answered the good spouse; "i couldna' marry anither man, fer whit wull i daw wi' twa husbands in heaven?" andy pondered over this, but suddenly his face brightened. "i ha'e it, nancy!" he cried. "ye ken auld john clemmens? he's a kind man, but he's no' a member o' the kirk. he likes ye, nancy, an' gin ye'll marry him, 'twill be a' the same in heaven. john's no' a christian, and he's no' likely to get there." appraised one morning, mollie, the colored maid, appeared before her mistress, carrying, folded in a handkerchief, a five-dollar gold piece and all her earthly possessions in the way of jewelry. this package she proffered her mistress, with the request that miss sallie take it for safe keeping. "why, mollie!" exclaimed the mistress in surprise. "are you going away?" "naw'm, i ain' goin' nowheres," mollie declared. "but me an' jim harris we wuz married this mawnin'. yas'm, jim, he's a new nigger in town. you don' know nothin' 'bout him, miss sallie. i don' know nothin' 'bout him myself. he's er stranger to me." miss sallie glanced severely at the little package of jewelry. "but, mollie," she demanded, "don't you trust him?" "yas'm," replied mollie, unruffled. "cose i trus' him, personally--but not wid ma valuables." an easy matter how to own your own home is a problem which confronts the great majority. that it is oftentimes easily solved, however, is revealed by the following simple experience as related by h.m. perley in _life_: how did we do it? simply by going without everything we needed. when i was first married my salary was thirty dollars a month. my mother-in-law, who lived with us, decided to save enough out of my salary to build us a home. when the cellar was finished, i became ill and lost my position, and had to mortgage the cellar to make my first payment. although we went without food for thirty days the first year, we never missed a monthly payment. the taxes, interest on mortgage, and monthly payment on house were now three times the amount of my earnings. however, by dispensing with the service of a doctor, we lost our father and mother-in-law, which so reduced our expenses that we were able to pay for the parlor floor and windows. in ten years seven of our nine children died, possibly owing to our diet of excelsior and prunes. i only mention these little things to show how we were helped in saving for a home. i wore the same overcoat for fifteen years, and was then able to build the front porch, which you see at the right of the front door. now, at the age of eighty-seven, my wife and i feel sure we can own our comfortable little home in about ten years and live a few weeks to enjoy it. jeems henry was conjured. "mars john," excitedly exclaimed aunt tildy, as she pantingly rushed into a fire-engine house, "please, suh, phonograph to de car-cleaners' semporium an' notify dan'l to emergrate home diurgently, kaze jeems henry sho' done bin conjured! doctor cutter done already distracted two blood-vultures from his 'pendercitis, an' i lef him now prezaminatin' de chile's ante-bellum fur de germans ob de neuroplumonia, which ef he's disinfected wid, dey gotter 'noculate him wid the ice-coldlated quarantimes--but i b'lieves it's conjuration!" keeping it in the family a lady had the misfortune to lose her season ticket for the railway. on the same evening she had a call from two boys, the elder of whom at once handed her the lost ticket. the lady, delighted at the prompt return of her property, offered the boy a shilling for his trouble. the lad refused to accept it, telling the lady he was a boy scout, and that no member of the boy scouts is allowed to accept any return for a service rendered. just as the coin was about to be placed back in the purse of the lady, the boy, looking up into her face, suddenly blurted out: "but my wee brither's no' a scout." not so difficult sometimes a situation which to the kind of a mind which requires certainty seems hopeless can be adjusted in the most common-place manner: congressman charles r. davis of minnesota relates that one afternoon a train on a western railroad stopped at a small station, when one of the passengers, in looking over the place, found his gaze fixed upon an interesting sign. hurrying to the side of the conductor, he eagerly inquired: "do you think that i will have time to get a soda before the train starts?" "oh, yes," answered the conductor. "but suppose," suggested the thirsty passenger, "that the train should go on without me?" "we can easily fix that," promptly replied the conductor. "i will go along and have one with you." deserved the legacy a turkish story runs that, dying, a pious man bequeathed a fortune to his son, charging him to give £ to the meanest man he could find. a certain cadi filled the bill. accordingly the dutiful son offered him £ . "but i can't take your £ ," said the cadi. "i never knew your father. there was no reason why he should leave me the money." "it's yours, all right," persisted the mourning youth. "i might take it in a fictitious transaction," said the cadi, relenting. "suppose--i'll tell you what i'll do. i'll sell you all that snow in the courtyard for £ ." the young man agreed, willing to be quit of his trust on any terms. next day he was arrested, taken before the cadi, and ordered to remove his snow at once. as this was a command the young man was utterly unable to execute, he was fined £ by the cadi for contumacy. "at least," the young man said ruefully as he left the court, "father's £ went to the right man." improvement if you are going to be too fussy about your own particular brand of beauty then you must expect to reap the consequences. an actor visited a beauty doctor to see if he could have something done for his nose. the beauty doctor studied the organ, and suggested a complicated straightening and remoulding process--cost, twenty guineas. "i may go you," said the actor thoughtfully. he stroked his nose before the mirror, regarding it from all sides. "yes, i think i'll go you. but, look here, do you promise to give my nose--er--ideal beauty?" the surgeon grew meditative. "as to ideal beauty, i can't say," he replied at last. "why, my friend i couldn't help improving it a lot if i hit it with a hammer." why should he know? we cannot all of us be truly literary. most of us lead busy lives and, after all, is it of any real importance to be familiar with the world's greatest writers? no doubt this may all depend upon our occupation, as the following conversation reveals. the slight man with the bulging brow leaned forward and addressed the complacent looking individual with a look of almost human intelligence. it was a monotonous railway journey. "wonderful transportation facilities to-day, sir," he ventured. "as we have been bowling along, my mind has unconsciously been dwelling on jane austen. think of it, sir, only one hundred years ago and no railroads. have we really lost or gained? marvelous girl, that, sir. masterpiece of literature when she was twenty-one, and no background but an untidy english village. you've heard of jane austen, i presume?" "can't say i have." the slight man smiled sympathetically. "i get a great deal of pleasure from books," he went on. "bachelor. marvelous solace. may know wordsworth's famous lines, eh? 'books we know are a substantial world,' etc. perhaps you have read something of thomas love peacock?" "never heard of him." "ah! missed a great deal. wonderful satirist, that. but still, i must admit that neither he nor miss austen are common. now there's mark twain--for general reading, rain or shine, can't be beaten. american to the core, sir. smacks of the soil. perhaps he missed any warm love interest--but a delightful humorist, sir. you read him regularly, i presume?" "can't say i do." "of course, sir, books are not all. i agree with our old friend, montaigne, about that. by the way, which do you prefer, dickens or thackeray?" "can't say, sir. they're strangers to me." "perhaps you've heard of a man named walter scott. as his name implies, he was born in scotland. he wrote books, you know--novels, stories. rather good, eh? human interest--wholesome reading--and all that sort of thing." "don't recall him." the slight man rose up in his seat. he bore down hard upon the stranger. "possibly," he suggested, "in the course of your deep and intimate intercourse with men and affairs, you may recall the name of an individual named shakespeare." "yes, i think i remember." "how about macaulay, the greatest essayist in england, and homer, the prince of ancient poets, with seven birthplaces? then there's emerson and longfellow and goethe and--" he paused and grabbed the other man by the collar. "my friend," he said, "you don't seem interested in the world's greatest authors. may i inquire what your occupation in life is?" the other man nodded gravely, even austerely. "certainly, sir," he replied. "i'm a holiday salesman in buncum's department store book shop." one on him the code of manners enjoyed by the germans needs scarcely any further illumination, but the following incident may serve as further light upon this threadbare subject. a physician boarded a crowded crosstown car. a woman was standing, and a big german seated, sprawling over twice the space necessary. indignantly the doctor said to him: "see here! why don't you move a little so that this tired woman may have a seat?" for a moment the german looked dazed. then a broad smile spread over his countenance as he answered: "say, dot's a joke on you, all right! dot's my vife!" revealed in view of the spirit of comradeship shown between officers and men, this story is at least open to question, but it may have happened in some former war. the lieutenant was instructing the squad in visional training. "tell me, number one," he said, "how many men are there in that trench-digging party over there?" "thirty men and one officer," was the prompt reply. "quite right," observed the lieutenant, after a pause. "but how do you know one is an officer at this distance?" "'cos he's the only one not working, sir." diagnosing himself the officer of the day, during his tour of duty, paused to question a sentry who was a new recruit. "if you should see an armed party approaching, what would you do?" asked the officer. "turn out the guard, sir." "very well. suppose you saw a battleship coming across the parade-ground, what would you do?" "report to the hospital for examination, sir," was the prompt reply. in our melting pot during a political campaign in new york a tammany leader on the east side, a self-made man and one not entirely completed yet in some respects, was addressing a mass meeting of italian-born voters on behalf of the democratic ticket. "gintlemen and fellow citizens," he began, "i deem it an honor to be permitted to address you upon the issues of the day. i have always had a deep admiration for your native land. i vinerate the mimory of that great, that noble eyetalian who was the original and first discoverer of this here land of ours. "why, gintlemen, at me mother's knee i was taught to sing that inspirin' song: 'columbus, the jim of the ocean'!" whereupon there was loud applause. give him time mr. johnsing had an enthusiastic admirer in little eph jones. "yes, suh," he concluded one of his eulogies, "mistuh johnsing is the biggest man what evuh was." "bigger than general grant?" queried the white man to whom he was talking. "suttinly mistuh johnsing is a bigguh man than general grant," affirmed eph. "bigger than president wilson?" "of co'se he's bigguh than president wilson." "bigger than god?" "well--well--" stammered eph. "you see, mistuh johnsing's young yet." a bay state solomon unfortunately we've mislaid the judge's name, but his court room is in new bedford, mass. before him appeared a defendant who, hoping for leniency, pleaded, "judge, i'm down and out." whereupon said the wise judge: "you're down but you're not out. six months." in memoriam availing herself of her ecclesiastical privileges, the clergyman's wife asked questions which, coming from anybody else, would have been thought impertinent. "i presume you carry a memento of some kind in that locket you wear?" she said. "yes, ma'am," said the parishioner. "it is a lock of my husband's hair." "but your husband is still alive!" the lady exclaimed. "yes, ma'am, but his hair is gone." a disadvantage the germans will be immensely hated after this war. they will be the pariahs of the future. already we see signs of german hatred everywhere. at a reception the other night in a neutral city, the guest of honor said to a man who had just been presented to her: "you are a foreigner, are you not? where do you come from?" "from berlin, ma'am," he answered. the lady stared at him through her lorgnette. "dear me!" she said. "couldn't you go back and come from somewhere else?" the life they were two sweet young american girls, able, beautiful, versatile, patriotic to the core, rushed to death. and one of them said breathlessly: "what have you been doing?" and the other one as breathlessly replied: "doing! my dear, i hate to tell you. i got up at six. i drove a car forty miles to camp. i knitted a sweater and a pair of socks in between. i went to a red cross meeting. i acted as bridesmaid. i read a book on the war. i took a last lesson in first aid. i canned eighty cans of vegetables and, oh--!" "do tell me!" "why, will you believe me, i have been so busy all day that i almost forgot to get married!" welcoming the actor a well-known society performer volunteered to entertain a roomful of patients of the colney hatch lunatic asylum, and made up a very successful little monologue show, entirely humorous. the audience in the main gave symptoms of being slightly bored, but one highly intelligent maniac saw the whole thing in the proper light, and, clapping the talented actor on the shoulder, said: "glad you've come, old fellow. you and i will get along fine. the other dippies here are so dashed dignified. what i say is if a man is mad, he needn't put on airs about it." couldn't be bothered mose approached the registration booth hesitatingly, and being accosted by the official in charge, assured that dignitary that he had just walked ten miles to register. "well, mose, what branch of the service would you like to be placed in?" inquired the official. "how about the cavalry?" "what will ah have ter do in de calvary?" "oh, you won't have to do anything but ride a horse all the time." mose scratched his woolly noggin in perplexity for a few moments, and finally said: "nawssur, ah don't believe ah wants ter jine the calvary." "what's the matter with the cavalry, mose?" "well, yer see, boss, hit's jest like dis: when y'awl blow dem bugles ter retreet, ah don't want ter be troubled wid no hoss." their "bit" jimmie, very proud of his first job and weekly salary of $ . , purchased a liberty bond on the installment plan. that evening he saw in the newspaper that john d. rockefeller had invested in liberty bonds to the extent of $ , , . turning to his mother, jimmie said proudly, "well, ma, two of us americans have done our duty, anyhow." mistakes will happen a woman doctor of philadelphia was calling on a young sister, recently married, who was in distress. in response to the doctor's inquiry the newly-wed said: "i cooked a meal for the first time yesterday, and i made an awful mess of it." "never mind, dearie," said the doctor, cheerfully; "it's nothing to worry about. i lost my first patient." danger signals an ingenious american has invented a device to prevent such motoring accidents as arise from over-speeding. he describes his contrivance as follows: "while the car is running fifteen miles an hour a white bulb shows on the radiator, at twenty-five miles a green bulb appears, at forty a red bulb, and, when the driver begins to bat 'em out around sixty per, a music-box under the seat begins to play 'nearer, my god, to thee.'" vulnerable a visiting minister, preaching in a town famous for its horse races, vigorously denounced the sport. the principal patron of the church always attended the races, and of this the clergyman was later informed. "i am afraid i touched one of your weaknesses," said the pastor, not wishing to offend the wealthy one, "but it was quite unintentional, i assure you." "oh, don't mind that," said the sportsman genially. "it's a mighty poor sermon that don't hit me somewhere." misleading johnson, a bachelor, had been to call on his sister, and was shown the new baby. the next day some friends asked him to describe the new arrival. the bachelor replied: "um--very small features, clean shaven, red faced, and a very hard drinker!" a soft answer the ocean liner was rolling like a chip, but as usual in such instances one passenger was aggressively, disgustingly healthy. "sick, eh?" he remarked to a pale-green person who was leaning on the rail. the pale-green person regarded the healthy one with all the scorn he could muster. "sick nothing!" he snorted weakly. "i'm just hanging over the front of the boat to see how the captain cranks it!" balls a young married couple who lived near a famous golf-course were entertaining an elderly aunt from the depths of the country. "well, aunt mary, how did you spend this afternoon?" asked the hostess on the first day. "oh, i enjoyed myself very much," replied auntie with a beaming smile, "i went for a walk across the fields. there seemed to be a great many people about, and some of them shouted to me in a most eccentric manner, but i just took no notice. and, by the way," she went on, "i found such a number of curious little round white things. i brought them home to ask you what they are." joe's diagnosis a colored man entered the general store of a small ohio town and complained to the storekeeper that a ham that he had purchased there a few days before had proved not to be good. "the ham is all right, joe," insisted the storekeeper. "no, it ain't, boss," insisted the other. "dat ham's sure bad." "how can that be," continued the storekeeper, "when it was cured only last week?" joe reflected solemnly a moment, and then suggested: "maybe it's done had a relapse." purely literary a celebrated author thus sketched out his daily programme to an interviewer: rise at ; breakfast at ; attention to mail; a few afternoon calls; a ride in the park; dinner; the theatre, and then to bed. "but when do you do your literary work?" he was asked. "why, the next day, of course," was the reply. too forward at a parade of a company of newly-called-up men the drill instructor's face turned scarlet with rage as he slated a new recruit for his awkwardness. "now, rafferty," he roared, "you'll spoil the line with those feet. draw them back at once, man, and get them in line." rafferty's dignity was hurt. "plaze, sargint," he said, "they're not mine; they're micky doolan's in the rear rank!" obeying orders the manager of a big australian sheep-ranch engaged a discharged sailor to do farm work. he was put in charge of a large flock of sheep. "now, all you've got to do," explained the manager, "is to keep them on the run." a run is a large stretch of bushland enclosed by a fence, and sheep have many ingenious methods of escaping from their own to neighboring runs and so getting mixed up with other flocks. at the end of a couple of hours the manager rode up again--the air was thick with dust as though a thousand head of cattle had passed by. at last he distinguished the form of his new shepherd--a collapsed heap prone upon the ground. surrounding him were the sheep, a pitiful, huddled mass, bleating plaintively, with considerably more than a week's condition lost. "what the dickens have you been doing to those sheep?" shrieked the almost frantic manager. the ex-sailor managed to gasp out: "well, sir, i've done my best. you told me to keep them on the run, and so i hunted them up and down and round--and now--i'm just dead beat myself." table of comparison to instill into the mind of his son sound wisdom and business precepts was cohen senior's earnest endeavor. he taught his offspring much, including the advantages of bankruptcy, failures, and fires. "two bankruptcies equal one failure, two failures equal one fire," etc. then cohen junior looked up brightly. "fadder," he asked, "is marriage a failure?" "vell, my poy," was the parent's reply, "if you marry a really wealthy woman, marriage is almost as good as a failure." knew his job it was easter eve on leap year, and the dear young thing, who had been receiving long but somewhat unsatisfactory visits from the very shy young man, decided she might take a chance. robert had brought her a splendid easter lily. "i'll give you a kiss for that lily," she promised blushingly. the exchange was duly, not to say happily, made. robert started hurriedly toward the door. "why, where are you going?" asked his girl in surprise. "to the florist's for more easter lilies!" he replied. an anglomaniac "what are you studying now?" asked mrs. johnson. "we have taken up the subject of molecules," answered her son. "i hope you will be very attentive and practise constantly," said the mother. "i tried to get your father to wear one, but he could not keep it in his eye." yankee fodder senator hoar used to tell with glee of a southerner just home from new england who said to his friend, "you know those little white round beans?" "yes," replied the friend; "the kind we feed to our horses?" "the very same. well, do you know, sir, that in boston the enlightened citizens take those little white round beans, boil them for three or four hours, mix them with molasses and i know not what other ingredients, bake them, and then--what do you suppose they do with the beans?" "they--" "they eat 'em, sir," interrupted the first southerner impressively; "bless me, sir, they eat 'em!" one explanation at the meeting of the afro-american debating club the question of capital punishment for murder occupied the attention of the orators for the evening. one speaker had a great deal to say about the sanity of persons who thus took the law into their own hands. the last speaker, however, after a stirring harangue, concluded with great feeling: "ah disagrees wif capital punishment an' all dis heah talk 'bout sanity. any pusson 'at c'mits murdeh ain't in a sanitary condition." remorse "i got son in army," said a wrinkled old chief to united states senator clapp during his recent visit to an indian reservation in minnesota. "fine," exclaimed the senator. "you should be proud that he is fighting for all of us." "who we fight?" the redskin continued. "why," the senator replied, surprised. "we are fighting the kaiser--you know, the germans." "hah," mourned the chief. "too dam bad." "why bad?" protested senator clapp, getting primed for a lecture on teutonic kultur and its horrors. "too dam bad," repeated the old indian. "couple come through reservation last week. i could killed um, easy as not. too dam bad." he wrapped his face in his blanket and refused to be comforted. the real culprit the crown prince had been so busy that he hadn't had time to get together with his father and have a confidential chat. but one evening when there was a lull in the -centimeter guns, they managed to get a few moments off. the crown prince turned to his father and said: "dad, there is something i have been wanting to ask you for a long time. is uncle george really responsible for this scrap?" "no, my son." "well, did cousin nick have anything to do with it?" "not at all" "possibly you did?" "no, sir." "then would you mind telling me who it was?" the anointed one was silent for a moment. then he turned to his son and said: "i'll tell you how it happened. about two or three years ago there was a wild man came over here from the united states, one of those rip-roaring rough riders that you read about in dime novels, but he certainly did have about him a plausible air. i took him out and showed him our fleet. then i showed him the army, and after he had looked them over he said to me, 'bill, you could lick the world,' and i was damn fool enough to believe him." a matter of nomenclature a negro was recently brought into police court in a little town in georgia, charged with assault and battery. the negro, who was well known to the judge, was charged with having struck another "unbleached american" with a brick. after the usual preliminaries the judge inquired: "why did you hit this man?" "jedge, he called me a damn black rascal." "well, you are one, aren't you?" "yessah, i _is_ one. but, jedge, s'pose somebody'd call you a damn black rascal, wouldn't you hit 'em?" "but i'm not one, am i?" "naw, sah, naw, sah, you ain't one; but s'pose somebody'd call you de kind o' rascal you _is_, what'd you do?" "it is forbidden" early in the war j.b. adopted a french soldier and furnishes him with a monthly allowance of tobacco. incidentally, he is also lubricating his rusty french by carrying on a correspondence with his "_filleul de guerre_" who writes him from the trenches, "somewhere in france." in a recent letter, the soldier informed his american benefactor that "_hier j'ai tué deux boches. ils sont allés à l'enfer._" (yesterday i killed two boches. they went straight to hell.) the censor wrote between the lines, "_il est defendu de dire où est l'ennemi._" (it is forbidden to tell where the enemy is!) her prayer a visitor to a glasgow working woman whose son was at the front was treated to a fluent harangue on the misdeeds of that "auld blackguard," the kaiser. she ventured to suggest that we should love our enemies and pray for them. "oh, but i pray for him, too." "what do you say?" "i say, 'oh, lord, deal wi' yon old blackguard, saften his heart, and damp his powther.'" cautious mourner walking through the village street one day, the widowed lady bountiful met old farmer stubbs on his way to market. her greeting went unnoticed. "stubbs," said she, indignantly, "you might at least raise your hat to me!" "i beg your pardon, m'lady," was the reply, "but my poor wife ain't dead moren' two weeks, and i ain't started lookin' at the wimmen yet!" unprepared base threatened tommy tonkins was keen on baseball and particularly ambitious to make his mark as a catcher. any hint, however small, was welcomed if it helped on his advance in his department of the game. when he began to have trouble with his hands, and somebody suggested soaking them in salt water to harden the skin, he quickly followed the advice. alas! a few days later tommy had a misfortune. a long hit at the bottom of the garden sent the ball crashing through a neighbor's sitting-room window. it was the third tommy had broken since the season began. mrs. tonkins nearly wept in anger when tommy broke the news. "yer father'll skin yer when 'e comes 'ome to-night," she said. poor tommy, trembling, went outside to reflect. his thoughts traveled to the strap hanging in the kitchen, and he eyed his hands ruefully. "ah!" he muttered, with a sigh. "i made a big mistake. i ought to 'ave sat in that salt and water!" inconsiderate a more kind-hearted and ingenuous soul never lived than aunt betsey, but she was a poor housekeeper. on one occasion a neighbor who had run in for a "back-door" call was horrified to see a mouse run across aunt betsey's kitchen floor. "why on earth don't you set a trap, betsey?" she asked. "well," replied aunt betsey. "i did have a trap set. but land, it was such a fuss! those mice kept getting into it!" another engagement an italian, having applied for citizenship, was being examined in the naturalization court. "who is the president of the united states?" "mr. wils'." "who is the vice-president?" "mr. marsh'." "could you be president?" "no." "why?" "mister, you 'scuse, please. i vera busy worka da mine." a hard knock during the cross-examination of a young physician in a lawsuit, the plaintiff's lawyer made disagreeable remarks about the witness's youth and inexperience. "you claim to be acquainted with the various symptoms attending concussion of the brain?" asked the lawyer. "i do." "we will take a concrete case," continued the lawyer. "if my learned friend, counsel for the defence, and myself were to bang our heads together, would he get concussion of the brain?" the young physician smiled. "the probabilities are," he replied, "that the counsel for the defence would." durable the admiration which bob felt for his aunt margaret included all her attributes. "i don't care much for plain teeth like mine, aunt margaret," said bob, one day, after a long silence, during which he had watched her in laughing conversation with his mother. "i wish i had some copper-toed ones like yours." accuracy an american editor had a notice stuck up above his desk that read: "accuracy! accuracy! accuracy!" and this notice he always pointed out to the new reporters. one day the youngest member of the staff came in with his report of a public meeting. the editor read it through, and came to the sentence: "three thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine eyes were fixed upon the speaker." "what do you mean by making a silly blunder like that?" he demanded, wrathfully. "but it's not a blunder," protested the youngster. "there was a one-eyed man in the audience!" had his rights "why did you strike this man?" asked the judge sternly. "he called me a liar, your honor," replied the accused. "is that true?" asked the judge, turning to the man with the mussed-up face. "sure, it's true," said the accused, "i called him a liar because he is one, and i can prove it." "what have you got to say to that?" asked the judge of the defendant. "it's got nothing to do with the case, your honor," was the unexpected reply. "even if i am a liar i guess i've got a right to be sensitive about it, ain't i?" a ready-witted parson the evening lesson was from the book of job, and the minister had just read, "yea, the light of the wicked shall be put out," when immediately the church was in total darkness. "brethren," said the minister, with scarcely a moment's pause, "in view of the sudden and startling fulfilment of this prophecy, we will spend a few minutes in silent prayer for the electric lighting company." a stock suffrage argument a member of congress and his wife had been to baltimore one afternoon. when they left the train at washington, on their return, the wife discovered that her umbrella, which had been entrusted to the care of her husband, was missing. "where's my umbrella?" she demanded. "i fear i have forgotten it, my dear," meekly answered the statesman. "it must still be in the train." "in the train!" snorted the lady. "and to think that the affairs of the nation are entrusted to a man who doesn't know enough to take care of a woman's umbrella!" a deep one johnny stood beside his mother as she made her selection from the huckster's wagon, and the farmer told the boy to take a handful of cherries, but the child shook his head. "what's the matter? don't you like them?" asked the huckster. "yes," replied johnny. "then go ahead an' take some." johnny hesitated, whereupon the farmer put a generous handful in the boy's cap. after the farmer had driven on, the mother asked: "why didn't you take the cherries when he told you to?" "'cause his hand was bigger'n mine." proving it a woman owning a house in philadelphia before which a gang of workmen were engaged in making street repairs was much interested in the work. "and which is the foreman?" she asked of a big, burly celt. a proud smile came to the countenance of that individual as he replied: "oi am, mum." "really?" continued the lady. "oi kin prove it, mum," rejoined the irishman. then, turning to a laborer at hand, he added, "kelly, ye're fired!" prayer of the unrighteous we had a new experience the other day (relates a writer in the _atlantic monthly_) when we picked up two boatloads of survivors from the----, torpedoed without warning. i will say they were pretty glad to see us when we bore down on them. as we neared they began to paddle frantically, as though fearful we should be snatched away from them at the last moment. the crew were mostly arabs and lascars, and the first mate, a typical comic magazine irishman, delivered himself of the following: "sure, toward the last some o' thim haythen gits down on their knees and starts calling on allah: but i sez, sez i, 'git up afore i swat ye wid the ax handle, ye benighted haythen; sure if this boat gits saved 't will be the holy virgin does it or none at all, at all! git up,'sez i." much simpler for an hour the teacher had dealt with painful iteration on the part played by carbohydrates, proteids, and fats, respectively, in the upkeep of the human body. at the end of the lesson the usual test questions were put, among them: "can any girl tell me the three foods required to keep the body in health?" there was silence till one maiden held up her hand and replied: "yer breakfast, yer dinner, and yer supper." silent contempt a certain man whose previous record was of the best was charged with a minor offense. law and evidence were unquestionably on the side of the defense, but when the arguments had been concluded a verdict of "guilty" was given and a fine imposed. the lawyer for the defense was sitting with his back toward the magistrate. without changing his position or rising to address the court, he remarked: "judge, please fine me for contempt of court." the magistrate inquired: "what d'ye mean, sir? you haven't committed contempt." "i have," came from the old lawyer. "it's silent." what did solomon say? london children certainly get some quaint views of life. an instance of this recently occurred in an east end sunday-school, where the teacher was talking to her class about solomon and his wisdom. "when the queen of sheba came and laid jewels and fine raiment before solomon, what did he say?" she asked presently. one small girl, who had evidently had experience in such matters, promptly replied: "'ow much d'yer want for the lot?" his ultimatum quite recently a warship of the atlantic fleet found it necessary to call for a few hours at a military port on the coast of ireland. tommy atkins, meeting a full-bearded irish tar in the street a couple of hours later, said: "pat, when are you going to place your whiskers on the reserve list?" "when you place your tongue on the civil list," was the irish sailor's reply. a gifted youth although alfred had arrived at the age of years he showed no inclinaton either to pursue his studies or in any way adapt himself to his father's business. "i don't know what i will ever make of that son of mine," bitterly complained his father, a hustling business man. "maybe he hasn't found himself yet," consoled the confidential friend. "isn't he gifted in any way?" "gifted?" queried the father. "well, i should say he is! he ain't got a thing that wasn't given to him." it happened in illinois the time was registration day; the place was a a small town in southern illinois. there was no girl. he was a gentleman of color, and the registrar was having considerable trouble explaining the whys and wherefors of the registration. at last rastus showed a faint glimmer of intelligence. "dis heyah registrashum fo' de draf' am a whole lot like 'lection votin', ain't it?" he asked uncertainly. "yes," answered the kindly registrar. rastus scratched his head in troubled doubt. he was thinking deeply. presently his brow cleared and a smile spread over his face. he had come to a decision. "den i votes for julius jackson ter be drafted," he said. "i nebah did hab no use fo' dat niggah." getting even james, years old, had been naughty to the point of evoking a whipping from his long-suffering mother, and all day long a desire for revenge rankled in his little bosom. at length bedtime came, and, kneeling beside her, he implored a blessing on each member of the family individually, his mother alone being conspicuous by her absence. then, rising from his devout posture, the little suppliant fixed a keenly triumphant look upon her face, saying, as he turned to climb into bed: "i s'pose you noticed you wasn't in it." archie's neck little willie--in small boy stories the central figure is nearly always named little willie--came running into the house, stuttering in his excitement. "mommer," he panted, "do you know archie sloan's neck?" "do i know what?" asked his mother. "do you know archie sloan's neck?" repeated her offspring. "i know archie sloan," answered the puzzled parent; "so i suppose i must know his neck. why?" "well," said willie, "he just now fell into the back-water up to it." their one topic "the kaiser and hindenburg," said edsell ford, son of henry ford, "and the crown prince and the other german big-wigs can never mention the war without saying that it was forced upon them, that they are fighting in defense of the fatherland, that their enemies are to blame for all the bloodshed, and so forth. "the way the germans insist on this defense talk of theirs, in season and out of season," he went on, "reminds me of the colored preacher who always preached on infant baptism. "a deputation waited on him one evening and asked him if he wouldn't please drop infant baptism for a time. he said he'd try to meet the deputation's wishes and the following sunday he announced as his text, 'adam, where art thou?' "this text, brethern and sistern,' said the preacher, 'can be divided into fo' heads. fust, every man is somewhar. second, most men is whar they hain't got no business to be. third, you'd better watch out or that's whar you'll be yourself. fo'th, infant baptism. and now, brethern and sistern, i guess we might as well pass up the first three heads and come immediately to the fo'th--infant baptism.'" probably right here is a story of the late lord haversham's schooldays. glancing through his pocket-book, his mother saw a number of entries of small sums, ranging from s. d. to s., against which were the letters "p.g." thinking this must mean the propagation of the gospel, she asked her son why he did not give a lump sum and a larger amount to so deserving a cause. "that is not for the propagation of the gospel," he replied. "when i cannot remember exactly on what i spend the money i put 'p.g.,' which means 'probably grub.'" unreturned favors a connecticut farmer was asked to assist at the funeral of his neighbor's third wife and, as he had attended the funerals of the two others, his wife was surprised when he declined the invitation. on being pressed to give his reason he said, with some hesitation: "you see, mary, it makes a chap feel a bit awkward to be always accepting other folks's civilities when he never has anything of the same sort of his own to ask them back to." the proper spirit here is a story our wounded boys have brought back from the front about sir douglas haig. sir douglas was, some few weeks ago, in a great hurry to get to a certain place. he found his car, but the chauffeur was missing. so sir douglas got in the car and drove off by himself. then the driver appeared and saw the car disappearing in the distance. "great scot!" cried the driver, "there's 'aig a-driving my car!" "well, get even with him," said a tommy, standing by, "and go and fight one of 'is battles for him." experienced a judge presiding over a court in washington, d.c., was administering the oath to a boy of tender years, and to him put the following question: "have you ever taken the oath? do you know how to swear, my boy?" whereupon the lad responded: "yes, sir. i am your caddie at the chevy chase club." perpetual motion alderman curran, of new york city, worked his way through yale college. during his course he was kept very busy by the various jobs he did to help with his expenses. on graduation he went to new york, and was even busier than he had been in new haven. after some months of life in new york, a friend met him and said, "henry, what are you doing?" "i have three jobs," replied mr. curran, "i am studying law, i am a newspaper reporter, and i am selling life insurance." "how do you manage to get it all in?" said the friend. "oh," replied mr curran, "that's easy enough. they're only eight-hour jobs." pride in the daily task a quaint story is told to exemplify the pride that every man should take in the work by which he makes a living. two street sweepers, seated on a curbstone, were discussing a comrade who had died the day before. "bill certainly was a good sweeper," said one. "y-e-s," conceded the other thoughtfully. "but don't you think he was a little weak around the lamp-posts?" didn't want to rob him his face was pinched and drawn. with faltering footsteps he wended his way among the bustling christmas crowd. "kind sir," he suddenly exclaimed, "will you not give me a loaf of bread for my wife and little ones?" the stranger regarded him not unkindly. "far be it from me," he rejoined, "to take advantage of your destitution. keep your wife and little ones; i do not want them." his generosity a "tommy," lying in a hospital, had beside him a watch of curious and foreign design. the attending doctor was interested. "where did your watch come from?" he asked. "a german give it me," he answered. a little piqued, the doctor inquired how the foe had come to convey this token of esteem and affection. "e 'ad to," was the laconic reply. joy of eating a well-known banker in a downtown restaurant was eating mush and milk. "what's the matter?" inquired a friend. "got dyspepsia." "don't you enjoy your meals?" "enjoy my meals?" snorted the indignant dyspeptic. "my meals are merely guide-posts to take medicine before or after." try this the quick wit of a traveling salesman, who has since become a well-known proprietor, was severely tested one day. he sent in his card by the office-boy to the manager of a large concern, whose inner office was separated from the waiting-room by a ground-glass partition. when the boy handed his card to the manager the salesman saw him impatiently tear it in half and throw it in the wastebasket; the boy came out and told the caller that he could not see the chief. the salesman told the boy to go back and get him his card; the boy brought out five cents, with the message that his card was torn up. then the salesman took out another card and sent the boy back, saying: "tell your boss i sell two cards for five cents." he got his interview and sold a large bill of goods. bargain-counter golf "fore!" yelled the golfer, ready to play. but the woman on the course paid no attention. "fore!" he shouted again with no effect. "ah," suggested his opponent in disgust, "try her once with 'three ninety-eight'!" uneasy it was in a churchyard. the morning sun shone brightly and the dew was still on the grass. "ah, this is the weather that makes things spring up," remarked a passer-by casually to an old gentleman seated on a bench. "hush!" replied the old gentleman. "i've got three wives buried here." perfectly natural they gave the old lady the only unoccupied room in the hotel--one with a private bath adjoining. the next morning, when the guest was ready to check out, the clerk asked: "did you have a good night's rest?" "well, no, i didn't," she replied. "the room was all right, and the bed was pretty good; but i couldn't sleep very much, for i was afraid someone would want to take a bath, and the only way to it was through my room." a diplomat an ohio man was having a lot of trouble piloting a one-tent show through the middle west. he lost a number of valuable animals by accident and otherwise. therefore, it was with a sympathetic mien that one of the keepers undertook the task of breaking the news of another disaster. he began thus: "mr. smith, you remember that laughin' hyena in cage nine?" "remember the laughing hyena?" demanded the owner, angrily. "what the deuce are you driving at?" "only this, mr. smith: he ain't got nothing to laugh at this morning." the difference two pals, both recently wedded, were comparing the merits of their wives. "ah, yes," said george, who was still very much in love, "my little woman is an angel! she couldn't tell a lie to save her life!" "lucky bounder!" said samuel, sighing. "my wife can tell a lie the minute i get it out of my mouth!" worse! the worried countenance of the bridegroom disturbed the best man. tiptoeing up the aisle, he whispered: "what's the matter, jock? hae ye lost the ring?" "no," blurted out the unhappy jock, "the ring's safe eno'. but, mon, i've lost ma enthusiasm." the teuton way a story illustrative of the changes in methods of warfare comes from a soldier in france who took a german officer prisoner. the soldier said to the officer: "give up your sword!" but the officer shook his head and answered: "i have no sword to give up. but won't my vitriol spray, my oil projector, or my gas cylinder do as well?" appreciation it was just after a rainstorm and two men were walking down the street behind a young woman who was holding her skirt rather high. after an argument as to the merits of the case, one of the men stepped forward and said: "pardon, me, miss, but aren't you holding your skirt rather high?" "haven't i a perfect right?" she snapped. "you certainly have, miss, and a peach of a left," he replied. allegro "that'sallfergusoni'llringifiwantyouagain." "yessirthankyousirshallisayyouareoutifanyonecallssir?" "tellthemiamoutofthecityandferguson." "yessir?" "havetheautoreadyforanearlyruninthemorning. havealargebunchoforchidsinthevaseferguson." "yessiranythingelsesir?" "nothingelseferguson." readeritisonlytheconversationinatalkingmovieshowtryingtokeepupwiththepictures. just answered a soldier in the english army wrote home: "they put me in barracks; they took away my clothes and put me in khaki; they took away my name and made me 'no. '; they took me to church, where i'd never been before, and they made me listen to a sermon for forty minutes. then the parson said: 'no. . art thou weary, art thou languid?' and i got seven days in the guardhouse because i answered that i certainly was." too long a shot a famous jockey was taken suddenly ill, and the trainer advised him to visit a doctor in the town. "he'll put you right in a jiffy," he said. the same evening he found benjamin lying curled up in the stables, kicking his legs about in agony. "hello, benny! haven't you been to the doctor?" "yes." "well, didn't he do you any good?" "i didn't go in. when i got to his house there was a brass plate on his door--'dr. kurem. ten to one'--i wasn't going to monkey with a long shot like that!" sensitive here is a story of a london "nut" who had mounted guard for the first time: the colonel had just given him a wigging because of the state of his equipment. a little later the colonel passed his post. the nut did not salute. the indignant colonel turned and passed again. the nut ignored him. "why in the qualified blazes don't you salute?" the colonel roared. "ah," said the nut, softly, "i fawncied you were vexed with me." no use for it pat walked into the post-office. after getting into the telephone-box he called a wrong number. as there was no such number, the switch-attendant did not answer him. pat shouted again, but received no answer. the lady of the post-office opened the door and told him to shout a little louder, which he did, but still no answer. again she said he would have to speak louder. pat got angry at this, and, turning to the lady, said: "begorra, if i could shout any louder i wouldn't use your bloomin' ould telephone at all!" effective some people are always optimists: "beanborough," said a friend of that gentleman, "always looks on the bright side of things." "why?" "well, the other day i went with him to buy a pair of shoes. he didn't try them on at the store, and when he got home he found that a nail was sticking right up through the heel of one." "did he take them back?" "not much. he said that he supposed the nail was put there intentionally to keep the foot from sliding forward in the shoe." german arithmetic german equals unkultured foreigners. soldiers equal civilians. officers equal privates. treaties equal scraps of paper. poisoned wells equal strategic retreat. iron crosses equal ruined cathedral. zeppelin raids equal demonstrations of frightfulness. eggs equal hearty meals (common people). eggs equal appetizer (aristocracy). deported belgians equal unmarked graves. torpedoed neutrals equal disavowals. gotts equal kaiser. a difficult passage "i thought you were preaching, uncle bob," said the colonel, to whom the elderly negro had applied for a job. "yessah, ah wuz," replied uncle; "but ah guess ah ain't smaht enough to expound de scriptures. ah almost stahved to deff tryin' to explain de true meanin' uv de line what says 'de gospel am free,' dem fool niggahs thought dat it meant dat ah wuzn't to git no salary." where vermont scored a gentleman from vermont was traveling west in a pullman when a group of men from topeka, kansas, boarded the train and began to praise their city to the vermonter, telling him of the wide streets and beautiful avenues. finally the vermonter became tired and said the only thing that would improve their city would be to make it a seaport. the enthusiastic westerners laughed at him and asked how they could make it a seaport being so far from the ocean. the vermonter replied that it would be a very easy task. "the only thing that you will have to do," said he, "is to lay a two-inch pipe from your city to the gulf of mexico. then if you fellows can suck as hard as you can blow you will have it a seaport inside half an hour." doing unto his neighbor "hey, kid!" yelled the game warden, appearing suddenly above the young fisherman. "you are fishing for trout. don't you know they ain't in season?" "sure," replied the youth, "but when it's the season for trout they ain't around, and when it ain't the season there's lots of 'em. if the fish ain't a-goin' to obey the rules, i ain't neither." the limit he was a very small boy. paddy was his dog, and paddy was nearer to his heart than anything on earth. when paddy met swift and hideous death on the turnpike road his mother trembled to break the news. but it had to be, and when he came home from school she told him simply: "paddy has been run over and killed." he took it very quietly; finished his dinner with appetite and spirits unimpaired. all day it was the same. but five minutes after he had gone up to bed there echoed through the house a shrill and sudden lamentation. his mother rushed upstairs with solicitude and sympathy. "nurse says," he sobbed, "that paddy has been run over and killed." "but, dear, i told you that at dinner, and you didn't seem to trouble at all." "no; but--but i didn't know you said paddy. i--i thought you said daddy!" no telling a rather patronizing individual from town was observing with considerable interest the operations of a farmer with whom he had put up for a while. as he watched the old man sow the seed in his field the man from the city called out facetiously: "well done, old chap. you sow; i reap the fruits." whereupon the farmer grinned and replied: "maybe you will. i am sowing hemp." a record breaker along the fox river, a few miles above wedron, ill., an old-timer named andy haskins has a shack, and he has made most of the record fish catches in that vicinity during forty years. he has a big record book containing dates and weights to impress visitors. last summer a young married couple from chicago camped in a luxurious lodge three miles above old haskins's place. a baby was born at the lodge, and the only scales the father could obtain on which to weigh the child was that with which andy haskins had weighed all the big fish he had caught in ten years. the baby tipped the scales at thirty-five pounds! evidence circumstantial evidence is not always conclusive. but certain kinds of it cannot be disputed. in the following colloquy the policeman appears to have the best of it. "not guilty, sir," replied the prisoner. "where did you find the prisoner?" asked the magistrate. "in trafalgar square, sir," was the bobby's reply. "and what made you think he was intoxicated?" "well, sir, he was throwing his walking-stick into the basin of one of the fountains and trying to entice one of the stone lions to go and fetch it out again." a future statesman all the talk of hyphenated citizenship has evidently had its effect upon a san francisco youngster, american born, who recently rebelled fiercely when his italian father whipped him for some misdemeanor. "but, tomaso," said one of the family, "your father has a right to whip you when you are bad." tomaso's eyes flashed. "i am a citizen of the united states," he declared. "do you think that i am going to let any foreigner lick me?" smarty! william dean howells, at a dinner in boston, said of modern american letters: "the average popular novel shows, on the novelist's part, an ignorance of his trade, which reminds me of a new england clerk. in a new england village i entered the main-street department store one afternoon and said to the clerk at the book counter: 'let me have, please, the "letters of charles lamb".' 'post-office right across the street, mr. lamb,' said the clerk, with a polite, brisk smile" how to tell a well-bred dog if he defies all the laws of natural beauty and symmetry, if he has a disease calling for specialists, if he cannot eat anything but russian caviar and broiled sweetbreads, if he costs more than a six-cylinder roadster, if he must be bathed in rose water and fed out of a cutglass bowl, if he cannot be touched by the naked hand, or patted more than twice a day, if he refuses to wear anything but imported leather collars, if he has to sleep on a silk cushion. if he dies before you can get him home. then he is a well-bred dog. try it and see a few years ago, while watching a parade in boston in which the stars and stripes were conspicuous, a fair foreigner with strong anti-american proclivities turned to a companion, and commenting on the display, pettishly remarked: "that american flag makes me sick. it looks just like a piece of checkerberry candy." senator lodge, who was standing near by, overheard the remark, and turning to the young lady, said: "yes, miss, it does. and it makes everyone sick who tries to lick it." what he might have been being well equipped physically, michael murphy had no difficulty in holding his job as village sexton, until the first interment, when he was asked to sign the certificate. "oi can't write," said mike, and was discharged. out of a job, mike turned to contracting and in time became wealthy and a figure in his community. when he applied to the leading bank for a loan of fifty thousand dollars, he was assured that he could get it--and was asked to sign the necessary notes. again he was obliged to reply: "oi can't write." the banker was astounded. "and you have accumulated all this wealth and position without knowing how to write!" he exclaimed. "what would you have been to-day if you could write?" mike paused a moment, and answered: "oi would have been a sexton." conclusive two irishmen were working on the roof of a building one day when one made a mis-step and fell to the ground; the other leaned over and called: "are ye dead or alive, mike?" "i'm alive," said mike, feebly. "sure, yer such a liar i don't know whether to believe ye or not." "well, then, i must be dead," said mike, "for ye would never dare to call me a liar if i were alive." why not? they were a very saving old couple, and as a result they had a beautifully furnished house. one day the old woman missed her husband. "joseph, where are you?" she called out. "i'm resting in the parlor," came the reply. "what, on the sofy?" cried the old woman, horrified. "no, on the floor." "not on that grand carpet!" came in tones of anguish. "no; i've rolled it up!" how could he know? the youth seated himself in the dentist's chair. he wore a wonderful striped shirt and a more wonderful checked suit and had the vacant stare of "nobody home" that goes with both. the dentist looked at his assistant. "i am afraid to give him gas," he said. "why?" asked the assistant. "well," said the dentist, "how can i tell when he's unconscious?" in advance in a rural court the old squire had made a ruling so unfair that three young lawyers at once protested against such a miscarriage of justice. the squire immediately fined each of the lawyers five dollars for contempt of court. there was silence, and then an older lawyer walked slowly to the front of the room and deposited a ten-dollar bill with the clerk. he then addressed the judge as follows: "your honor, i wish to state that i have twice as much contempt for this court as any man in the room." no free advertising a violinist was bitterly disappointed with the account of his recital printed in the paper of a small town. "i told your man three or four times," complained the musician to the owner of the paper, "that the instrument i used was a genuine stradivarius, and in his story there was not a word about it, not a word." whereupon the owner said with a laugh: "that is as it should be. when mr. stradivarius gets his fiddles advertised in my paper under ten cents a line, you come around and let me know." why not? jimmie giggled when the teacher read the story of the man who swam across the tiber three times before breakfast. "you do not doubt that a trained swimmer could do that, do you?" "no, sir," answered jimmie, "but i wonder why he did not make it four and get back to the side where his clothes were." the same old hours she was a widow who was trying to get in touch with her deceased husband. the medium, after a good deal of futile work, said to her: "the conditions this evening seem unfavorable. i can't seem to establish communication with mr. smith, ma'am." "well, i'm not surprised," said the widow, with a glance at the clock. "it's only half-past eight now, and john never did show up till about three a.m." why not? private jones was summoned to appear before his captain. "jones," said the officer, frowning darkly, "this gentleman complains that you have killed his dog." "a dastardly trick," interrupted the owner of the dog, "to kill a defenseless animal that would harm no one!" "not much defenseless about him," chimed in the private, heatedly. "he bit pretty freely into my leg, so i ran my bayonet into him." "nonsense!" answered the owner angrily. "he was a docile creature. why did you not defend yourself with the butt of your rifle?" "why didn't he bite me with his tail?" asked private jones, with spirit. figuratively speaking dr. harvey wiley tells the following story: sleepily, after a night off, a certain interne hastened to his hospital ward. the first patient was a stout old irishman. "how goes it?" he inquired. "faith, it'sh me breathin', doctor. i can't get me breath at all, at all." "why, your pulse is normal. let me examine the lung-action," replied the doctor, kneeling beside the cot and laying his head on the ample chest. "now, let's hear you talk," he continued, closing his eyes and listening. "what'll oi be sayin', doctor?" "oh, say anything. count one, two, three, and up," murmured the interne, drowsily. "wan, two, three, four, five, six," began the patient. when the young doctor, with a start, opened his eyes, he was counting huskily: "tin hundred an' sixty-nine, tin hundred an' sivinty, tin hundred an' sivinty-wan." the man he left behind an english storekeeper went to the war and left his clerk behind to look after things. when he was wounded and taken to the hospital, what was his surprise to find his clerk in the cot next to him. "well, i thought i left you to take care of the store," said the storekeeper. "you did," answered the clerk, "but you didn't tell me i had to look after your women folks as well as the store. i stood it as long as i could and then i said to myself: 'look here, if you've got to fight, you might as well go and fight someone that you can hit.'" some speed it was a dull day in the trenches, and a bunch of tommies had gathered and were discussing events. after a while the talk turned on a big boche who had been captured the night before. "he was scared stiff," said one tommy. "did he run?" asked another. "run?" replied the first. "why, if that boche had had jest one feather in his hand he'd 'a' flew." a deep-laid plan "would you mind letting me off fifteen minutes early after this, sir?" asked the bookkeeper. "you see, i've moved into the suburbs and i can't catch my train unless i leave at a quarter before five o'clock." "i suppose i'll have to," grumbled the boss; "but you should have thought of that before you moved." "i did," confided the bookkeeper to the stenographer a little later, "and that's the reason i moved." only one thing for him a three-hundred-pound man stood gazing longingly at the nice things displayed in a haberdasher's window for a marked-down sale. a friend stopped to inquire if he was thinking of buying shirts or pyjamas. "gosh, no!" replied the fat man wistfully. "the only thing that fits me ready-made is a handkerchief." a test of friendship andy foster, a well-known character in his native city, had recently shuffled off this mortal soil in destitute circumstances, although in his earlier days he enjoyed financial prosperity. a prominent merchant, an old friend of the family, attended the funeral and was visibly affected as he gazed for the last time on his old friend and associate. the mourners were conspicuously few in number and some attention was attracted by the sorrowing merchant. "the old gentleman was very dear to you?" ventured one of the bearers after the funeral was over. "indeed, he was," answered the mourner. "andy was one true friend. he never asked me to lend him a cent, though i knew that he was practically starving to death." blissful ignorance it was during the nerve-racking period of waiting for the signal to go over the top that a seasoned old sergeant noticed a young soldier fresh from home visibly affected by the nearness of the coming fight. his face was pale, his teeth chattering, and his knees tried to touch each other. it was sheer nervousness, but the sergeant thought it was sheer funk. "tompkins," he whispered, "is it trembling you are for your dirty skin?" "no, no, sergeant," said he, making a brave attempt to still his limbs. "i'm trembling for the germans; they don't know i'm here." grateful to the doctor a chinaman was asked if there were good doctors in china. "good doctors!" he exclaimed. "china have best doctors in world. hang chang one good doctor; he great; save life, to me." "you don't say so! how was that?" "me velly bad," he said. "me callee doctor han kon. give some medicine. get velly, velly ill. me callee doctor san sing. give more medicine. me glow worse--go die. blimebly callee doctor hang chang. he got no time; no come. save life." he might be, but she wasn't dinah had been troubled with a toothache for some time before she got up enough courage to go to a dentist. the moment he touched her tooth she screamed. "what are you making such a noise for?" he demanded. "don't you know i'm a 'painless dentist'?" "well, sah," retorted dinah, "mebbe yo' is painless, but ah isn't." a sporting proposition an arkansas man who intended to take up a homestead claim in a neighboring state sought information in the matter from a friend. "i don't remember the exact wording of the law," said the latter, "but i can give ye the meanin' of it all right. it's like this: the government of the united states is willin' to bet one hundred and sixty acres of land against fourteen dollars that ye can't live on it five years without starvin' to death." the proposal he was a morbid youth and a nervous lover. often had he wished to tell the maiden how he longed to make her all his own. again and again had his nerve failed him. but to-night there was a "do-or-die" look in his eye. they started for their usual walk, and rested awhile upon his favorite seat--a gravestone in the village churchyard. a happy inspiration seized him. "maria," he said in trembling accents--"maria! when you die--how should you like to be buried here with my name on the stone over you?" knew more about hens than history after reading the famous poem, "the landing of the pilgrim fathers," to the class, the teacher said: "as a drawing exercise suppose you each draw, according to your imagination, a picture of plymouth rock." all but one little fellow set to work. he paused and finally raised his hand. "what is it, edgar?" the teacher asked. "please, ma'am," edgar piped out, "do you want us to draw a hen or a rooster?" charity bishop penhurst was talking, in boston, about charity. "some charities," he said, "remind me of the cold, proud, beautiful lady who, glittering with diamonds, swept forth from a charity ball at dawn, crossed the frosty sidewalk, and entered her huge limousine. "a beggar woman whined at the window: "'could ye give me a trifle for a cup of coffee, lady?' "the lady looked at the beggar reproachfully. "'good gracious!' she said. 'here you have the nerve to ask me for money when i've been tangoing for you the whole night through! home, james.' "and she snapped the window shut in the beggar's face indignantly." advice to mabel a london man just back from the states says that a little girl on the train to pittsburgh was chewing gum. not only that, but she insisted on pulling it out in long strings and letting it fall back into her mouth again. "mabel!" said her mother in a horrified whisper. "mabel, don't do that. chew your gum like a little lady." not a native a new york man took a run not long ago into connecticut, to a town where he had lived as a boy. on his native heath he accosted a venerable old chap of some eighty years, who proved to be the very person the gothamite sought to answer certain inquiries concerning the place. as the conversation proceeded the new yorker said: "i suppose you have always lived around here?" "no," said the old man, "i was born two good miles from here." he got it twice they were twins. it was bathing time and from the twins' bedroom came sounds of hearty laughter and loud crying. their father went up to find the cause. "what's the matter up here?" he inquired. the laughing twin pointed to his weeping brother. "nothing," he giggled, "only nurse has given alexander two baths and hasn't given me any at all." too much one of the scottish golf clubs gives a dinner each year to the youngsters it employs as caddies. at the feast last year one of the boys disdained to use any of the forks he found at his place, and loaded his food into himself with his knife. when the ice-cream course was reached and he still used his knife, a boy who sat opposite to him, and who could stand it no longer, shouted: "great scot! look at skinny, usin' his iron all the way round!" the dignities of office this story--which is perhaps true and perhaps not--is being told in many italian messrooms. on one of his royal tours, king victor emmanuel spent the night in a small country town, where the people showed themselves unusually eager in caring for his comfort. so when he had gone to bed, he was surprised to be wakened by a servant who wanted to put clean sheets on his bed. however, he waited good-naturedly while it was done, and wished the servant good-night. he had dozed off to sleep, when he was roused for the second time by a rap on the door; and the servant reappeared, asking to change the sheets again. naturally, the king asked why the change was made so often. the servant answered reverently, "for oneself, one changes the sheets every week; for an honored friend, every day; but for a king, every hour." fame a long island teacher was recounting the story of red riding hood. after describing the woods and the wild animals that flourished therein, she added: "suddenly red riding hood heard a great noise. she turned about, and what do you suppose she saw standing there, gazing at her and showing all its sharp, white teeth?" "teddy roosevelt!" volunteered one of the boys. no peace for him willie was out walking with his mother, when she thought she saw a boy on the other side of the street making faces at her darling. "willie," asked mother, "is that horrid boy making faces at you?" "he is," replied willie, giving his coat a tug. "now, mother, don't start any peace talk--you just hold my coat for about five minutes." boiled not long ago the editor of an english paper ordered a story of a certain length, but when the story arrived he discovered that the author had written several hundred words too many. the paper was already late in going to press so there was no alternative--the story must be condensed to fit the allotted space. therefore the last few paragraphs were cut down to a single sentence. it read thus: "the earl took a scotch high-ball, his hat, his departure, no notice of his pursuers, a revolver out of his hip pocket, and finally, his life." forced into it even the excessive politeness of some men may be explained on purely practical grounds. of a certain suburbanite, a friend said: "i heard him speaking most beautifully of his wife to another lady on the train just now. rather unusual in a man these days." "not under the circumstances," said the other man. "that was a new cook he was escorting out." hoodooed appealing to a lady for aid, an old darky told her that through the dayton flood he had lost everything he had in the world, including his wife and six children. "why," said the lady, "i have seen you before and i have helped you. were you not the colored man who told me you had lost your wife and six children by the sinking of the _titanic_?" "yeth, ma'am, dat wuz me. mos' unfort'nit man dat eber wuz. kain't keep a fam'ly nohow." safe deposit an old lady, who was sitting on the porch of a hotel at asheville, north carolina, where also there were a number of youngsters, was approached by one of them with this query: "can you crack nuts?" the old lady smiled and said: "no, my dear, i can't. i lost all my teeth years ago." "then," said the boy, extending two hands full of walnuts, "please hold these while i go and get some more." the matter with kansas governor capper, of kansas, recently pointed out what he deemed to be the "matter with kansas." the average kansan, he said, gets up in the morning in a house made in michigan, at the sound of an alarm clock made in illinois; puts on his missouri overalls; washes his hands with cincinnati soap in a pennsylvania basin; sits down to a grand rapids table; eats battle creek breakfast food and chicago bacon cooked on a michigan range; puts new york harness on a span of missouri mules and hitches them to a south bend wagon, or starts up his illinois tractor with a moline plow attached. after the day's work he rides down town in a detroit automobile, buys a box of st. louis candy for his wife, and spins back home, where he listens to music "canned" in new jersey. the better way charles m. schwab, congratulated in pittsburgh on a large war order contract which he had just received from one of the warring nations, said: "some people call it luck, but they are mistaken. whatever success i have is due to hard work and not to luck. "i remember a new york business man who crossed the ocean with me one winter when the whole country was suffering from hard times. "'and you. mr. schwab,' the new yorker said, 'are, like the rest of us, i suppose, hoping for better things?' "'no, my friend,' i replied. 'no, i am not hoping for better things. i've got my sleeves rolled up and i'm working for them.'" a horse psychologist twice as the horse-bus slowly wended its way up the steep hill the door at the rear opened and slammed. at first those inside paid little heed, but the third time they demanded to know why they should be disturbed in this fashion. "whist!" cautioned the driver. "don't spake so loud. he'll overhear us." "who?" "the hoss. spake low. shure oo'm desavin' the crayture. every toime he 'ears th' door close he thinks wan o' yez is gettin' down ter walk up th' hill, an' that sort o' raises 'is sperrits." still not satisfied mrs. higgins was an incurable grumbler. she grumbled at everything and everyone. but at last the vicar thought he had found something about which she could make no complaint; the old lady's crop of potatoes was certainly the finest for miles round. "ah, for once you must be well pleased," he said, with a beaming smile, as he met her in the village street. "everyone's saying how splendid your potatoes are this year." the old lady glowered at him as she answered: "they're not so poor. but where's the bad ones for the pigs?" a coaxer the latest american church device for "raising the wind" is what a religious paper describes as "some collection-box." the inventor hails from oklahoma. if a member of the congregation drops in a twenty-five cent piece or a coin of larger value, there is silence. if it is a ten-cent piece a bell rings, a five-cent piece sounds a whistle, and a cent fires a blank cartridge. if any one pretends to be asleep when the box passes, it awakens him with a watchman's rattle, and a kodak takes his portrait. automatic "efficiency" a young lady telephone operator recently attended a watch-night service and fell asleep during the sermon. at the close the preacher said, "we will now sing hymn number three forty-one--three forty-one." the young lady, just waking in time to hear the number, yawned and said, "the line is busy." the winner while chopin probably did not time his "minute waltz" to exactly sixty seconds, some auditors insist that it lives up to its name. mme. theodora surkow-ryder on one of her tours played the "minute waltz" as an encore, first telling her audience what it was. thereupon a huge man in a large riding suit took out an immense silver watch, held it open almost under her nose, and gravely proceeded to time her. the pianist's fingers flew along the keys, and her anxiety was rewarded when the man closed the watch with a loud slap and said in a booming voice: "gosh! she's done it." taxed to capacity a friendly american who has just arrived in london brings a story of edison. the great inventor was present at a dinner in new york to which count bernstorff had also found his way. the count spoke of the number of new ships which germany had built since the war began. he was listened to respectfully enough, although a little coldly, because the sympathies of the party were not with him or germany. when he had stopped, edison looked up and said in a still, small voice, and with a serious face: "must not the kiel canal be very crowded, your excellency?" gastronomical a man and a woman entered a café. "do you want oysters, louise?" asked the man, as he glanced over the bill of fare. "yes, george," answered the woman, "and i want a hassock, too." george nodded, and as he handed the waiter his written order, he said: "bring a hassock for the lady." "yes, sir," answered the waiter, "one hassock." a moment later the waiter, apparently puzzled, approached the man, and leaning over him, said: "excuse me, sir, but i have only been here two days and do not want to make any mistakes. will the lady have the hassock broiled or fried?" a literal censor joe t. marshall, formerly of kansas, recently became the father of an eight-pound boy, and wished to cable the news to his family in america. the censor refused to allow the message to go through. "what's the matter?" marshall asked indignantly. "we aren't permitted to announce the arrival of americans in france!" up to him david belasco was smiling at the extravagant attentions that are lavished by the rich upon pet dogs. he spoke of the canine operations for appendicitis, the canine tooth crownings, the canine wardrobes, and then he said: "how servants hate these pampered curs! at a house where i was calling one cold day the fat and pompous butler entered the drawing-room and said: "'did you ring, madam?' "'yes, harrison, i wish you to take fido out walking for two hours.' "harrison frowned slightly. 'but fido won't follow me, madam,' he said. "'then, harrison, you must follow fido.'" not in the tactics a company of very new soldiers were out on a wide heath, practising the art of taking cover. the officer in charge of them turned to one of the rawest of his men. "get down behind that hillock there," he ordered, sternly, "and mind, not a move or a sound!" a few minutes later he looked around to see if they were all concealed, and, to his despair, observed something wriggling behind the small mound. even as he watched the movements became more frantic. "i say, you there!" he shouted, angrily, "do you know you are giving our position away to the enemy?" "yes, sir," said the recruit, in a voice of cool desperation, "and do you know that this is an anthill?" a guilty conscience a young fellow who was the crack sprinter of his town--somewhere in the south--was unfortunate enough to have a very dilatory laundress. one evening, when he was out for a practice run in his rather airy and abbreviated track costume, he chanced to dash past the house of that dusky lady, who at the time was a couple of weeks in arrears with his washing. he had scarcely reached home again when the bell rang furiously and an excited voice was wafted in from the porch: "foh de lawd's sake! won't you-all tell marse bob please not to go out no moh till i kin git his clo'es round to him?'" making it fit "did you hear about the defacement of mr. skinner's tombstone?" asked mr. brown a few days after the funeral of that eminent captain of industry. "no, what was it?" inquired his neighbor curiously. "someone added the word 'friends' to the epitaph." "what was the epitaph?" "'he did his best.'" a lesson in manners this is the way the agent got a lesson in manners. he called at a business office, and saw nobody but a prepossessing though capable-appearing young woman. "where's the boss?" he asked abruptly. "what is your business?" she asked politely. "none of yours!" he snapped. "i got a proposition to lay before this firm, and i want to talk to somebody about it." "and you would rather talk to a gentleman?" "yes." "well," answered the lady, smiling sweetly, "so would i. but it seems that it's impossible for either one of us to have our wish, so we'll have to make the best of it. state your business, please!" an unfortunate affair "look here," yelled the infuriated bridegroom of a day, dashing wildly into the editor's room of the country weekly; "what do you mean by such an infernal libel on me in your account of our wedding?" "what's the matter?" asked the editor calmly. "didn't we say that after your wedding tour you would make your home at the old manse?" "yes," howled the newly made benedict, "and just see how you've spelled it." and the editor looked and read: after their wedding tour the newly married couple will make their home at the old man's. curiosity "children," said the sunday-school superintendent, "this picture illustrates to-day's lesson: lot was warned to take his wife and daughters and flee out of sodom. here are lot and his daughters, with his wife just behind them; and there is sodom in the background. now, has any girl or boy a question before we take up the study of the lesson? well, susie?" "pleathe, thir," lisped the latest graduate from the infant class, "where ith the flea?" the simple political life the american characteristic which demands ornaments and "fixin's" to all ceremonies, as contrasted with genuine simplicity, is thus scored by judge pettingill of chanute: "my ambition in life," said the judge, "is to be the organizer of a lodge without flub-dub, gold tassel uniforms, red tape ritual, a regiment of officers with high-sounding titles, a calisthenic drill of idiotic signs and grips, a goat, and members who call each other 'brother.' i would name the presiding officer 'it,' and its first by-law would provide for the expulsion of the member who advocated the wearing of a lodge pin." pigtails and moustaches when wu ting fang was minister to the united states from china, he visited chicago. a native of the windy city said to him at a reception: "mr. wu, i see there is a movement in china to abolish the pigtails you wear. why do you wear the foolish thing, anyhow?" "well," countered mr. wu, "why do you wear your foolish moustache?" "oh, that's different," said the chicago man; "you see i've got an impossible mouth." "so i should suppose," retorted mr. wu, "judging from some of your remarks." his search for the practical "now," it was explained to aladdin, "this is a wonderful lamp. rub it and a genie appears." "i see little to that," he replied. "what i want is a lamp that won't go out on my automobile and get me pinched by a traffic cop." hard up for wind everything in the dear old village seemed the same to jones after his absence of four years. the old church, the village pump, the ducks on the green, the old men smoking while their wives gossip--it was so restful after the rush and bustle of the city. suddenly he missed something. "where's hodge's windmill?" he asked in surprise. "i can only see one mill, and there used to be two." the native gazed thoughtfully round, as if to verify the statement. then he said slowly: "they pulled one down. there weren't enough wind for two on'em!" he knew bryan at a recent political convention two of the delegates were discussing the religious affiliations of prominent statesmen, when one of them, a baptist, observed to the other, who was a methodist: "i understand that william jennings bryan has turned baptist." "what?" exclaimed the methodist. "why, that can't be!" "yes, it is," persisted the baptist. "no, sir," continued the methodist; "it can't be true. to become a baptist one must be entirely immersed." "yes, that is very true; but what has that to do with it?" "simply this," returned the methodist: "mr. bryan would never consent to disappear from public view as long as that." his need john hendricks, a singular western character, awoke one morning to find himself wealthy through a rich mining strike. soon he concluded to broaden his mind by travel, and decided to go to europe boarding the ship, he singled out the captain and said: "captain, if i understand the way this here ship is constructed it's got several water-tight compartments?" "yes, sir." "water's all on the outside--can't none get in nohow?" "no, sir." "captain," said hendricks, decidedly, "i want one o' them compartments--i don't care what it costs extry." all or nothing senator jim nye of nebraska tells this story to illustrate some of the evils of prohibition. the senator said, apropos of his visit to a "dry" town. "after a long speech and then talking to all the magnates of the neighborhood, i went to bed dry as a powder horn. i could not sleep and as soon as it was daylight i went down into the dining room: as i sat there the mistress of the house came in and said 'senator, you are up early.' i said: 'yes, living in the west so long, i am afflicted with malaria, and i could not sleep.' she went over to a tea caddy, took out a bottle and said: 'senator, this is a prohibition town, you know, but we have malaria and we find this a good antidote. i know it will do you good.'" the senator seized the bottle with avidity and thankfulness. he settled again in his seat by the window, more in harmony with the world. then the head of the house came in and said: "senator, you are up early." he replied: "yes, malaria, you know." "well," said the old gentleman, "we have a cure for that. this is a prohibition town; it is good thing for our work people; but i have a little safety in my locker," and he produced a bottle. after the old gentleman left the two sons came in and said: "senator, are you fond of livestock?" the senator by that time was fond of everything and everybody. he said: "yes, i love livestock, i have plenty of it on my ranch." they said: "come out to the barn and we will show you some." they took him out to the barn, closed the doors, and said: "senator, we know you must have had a hard time last night. we have no livestock but we have a bottle in the haymow." senator nye then said: "the trouble with a prohibition town is that when you most need it you can't get it, and when it does come it is like a western flood, too much of it." business is business eugene was a very mischievous little boy and his mother's patience was worn to the limit. she had spoken very nicely to him several times without effect. finally she said: "you are a perfect little heathen!" "do you mean it?" demanded eugene. "indeed, i do," said the mother. "then, mother," said the boy, "why can't i keep that ten cents a week you gimme for the sunday-school collection? i guess i'm as hard up as any of the rest of 'em." the bootblack's generosity when paderewski was on his last visit to america he was in a boston suburb, when he was approached by a bootblack who called: "shine?" the great pianist looked down at the youth whose face was streaked with grime and said: "no, my lad, but if you will wash your face i will give you a quarter." "all right!" exclaimed the youth, who forthwith ran to a neighboring trough and made his ablutions. when he returned paderewski held out the quarter, which the boy took but immediately handed back, saying: "here, mister, you take it yourself and get your hair cut." on duty elsewhere an irish soldier had lost an eye in battle, but was allowed to continue in the service on consenting to have a glass eye in its place. one day, however, he appeared on parade without his artificial eye. "nolan," said the officer, "you are not properly dressed. why is your artificial eye not in its place?" "sure, sir," replied nolan, "i left it in me box to keep an eye on me kit while i'm on parade." the kaiser's last word arthur train, the novelist, put down a german newspaper at the century club, in new york, with an impatient grunt. "it says here," he explained, "that it is germany who will speak the last word in this war." then the novelist laughed angrily and added: "yes, germany will speak the last word in the war, and that last word will be '_kamerad!_'" a revised classic--the sleeping beauty when the prince entered the enchanted castle he noticed about it an air of unusual quiet, as if there were a meeting of the american peace society. "everybody is asleep," he muttered. "there isn't a single defense gun mounted on a parapet. i don't believe there is a rifle on the premises. no ammunition, either." walking rapidly upstairs, he saw a couple of servants lying prone. "this reminds me of the time i lived in the suburbs," he continued. entering one of the sleeping-rooms, he discovered the celebrated beauty, sound asleep, in the four-poster. "this must be a frame-up," he observed. "i see it all. if i wake her up, i shall have to marry her." he was about to pass down the stairs, when a voice stopped him. "well, why not?" said the voice. "the young woman has not received a modern education. she cannot drive a motor, play bridge, insist upon your going to the most fashionable restaurant and ordering eight dollars' worth of worthless imitation food, dance like a fiend, and spend money generally like the manager of an international war. she's been asleep so long that she might be just the one you want." "by jove!" exclaimed the prince. "and to think i might have gone off without her!" so saying, he did the proper thing. specially endowed "some un sick at yo' house, mis' carter?" inquired lila. "ah seed de doctah's kyar eroun' dar yestidy." "it was for my brother, lila." "sho! what's he done got de matter of 'im?" "nobody seems to know what the disease is. he can eat and sleep as well as ever, he stays out all day long on the veranda in the sun, and seems as well as anyone, but he can't do any work at all." "he cain't--yo' says he cain't work?" "not a stroke." "law, mis' carter, dat ain't no disease what yo' broth' got. dat's a gif!" no joque the difficulties of western journalism are illustrated by the following notice from _the rocky mountain cyclone_: ad astra per aspera we begin the publication ov the _rocy mountain cyclone_ with some phew diphiculties in the way. the type phounder phrom whom we bought our outphit phor this printing ophice phailed to supply us with any ephs or cays, and it will be phour or phive weex bephore we can get any. we have ordered the missing letters and will have to get along without them until they come. we don't lique the loox ov this variety ov spelling any better than our readers, but mistaix will happen in the best ov regulated phamilies, and iph the ephs and c's and x's and q's hold out we shall ceep (sound the c hard) the _cyclone_ whirling aphter a phashion till the sorts arrive. it is no joque to us, it's a serious aphair. elimination to meet every situation which arises, and to do it in diplomatic language, is only the gift of the elect: "waiter, bring me two fried eggs, some ham, a cup of coffee, and a roll," said a traveler in a city of the middle west. "bring me the same," said his friend, "but eliminate the eggs." "yessir," said the waiter. in a moment he came back, leaned confidentially and penitently over the table, and whispered: "we 'ad a bad accident just before we opened this mornin', sir, and the 'andle of the liminator got busted off. will you take yer eggs fried, same as this 'ere gentleman?" his great ambition no true american likes to acknowledge that he has a superior, even in his own family. little sydney had reached the mature age of three and was about to discard petticoats for the more manly raiment of knickerbockers. the mother had determined to make the occasion a memorable one. the breakfast table was laden with good things when the newly breeched infant was led into the room. "ah!" exclaimed the proud mother, "now you are a little man!" sydney, thoughtfully displaying his garments to their full advantage, edged close to his mother and whispered, "can i call pa bill now?" guide our boys in france need little guidance to become on good terms with the french girls. the following hints at conversation have therefore been made as simple as possible: bong swah, mad-mwa-zell! vou zay tray beautiful. kesker say votr name? zhe swee edward jones. vooley voo take a walk? eecy ate oon fine place to sit down. bokoo moon to-night, nace paw? avay voo ever studied palmistry? donney mwa votr hand. votr hand ay tray soft! dahn lay zaytah unee are bokoo girls, may voo zay more beautiful than any of them. chay mwa zhe nay pah seen a girl that could touch voo! voo zay oon peach! le coleur de votr yer ay tray beautiful. votr dress ay bokoo dress. donney mwa oon kiss? zhe voo zame! apprehending the kaiser early in the war the kaiser was haled before a virginia court. at least that was the intention of charles l. zoll, justice of the peace of broad run district, loudoun county, who delivered into the hands of the sheriff this warrant: commonwealth of virginia, county of loudoun, to wit: to the sheriff of the said county: wheras, woodrow wilson has this day made oath before me, a justice of said court, that william hohan zollern, alias wilhelm, has at various times and places between july, , and november, , committed murder, assault, and arson upon the bodies of various people and sundry properties, against the peace and dignity of the government of the united states, the state of virginia and broad run district in particular. these are therefore in the name of the commonwealth of virginia and the government of the united states to command you to forthwith apprehend the said william hohan zollern, alias kaiser wilhelm, and bring his body before me at my office in aushburn, va., to answer said charges, and there and then be dealt with according to law. and by the power vested in me i hereby extend your jurisdiction to the continent of europe and i do by these presents declare the said william hohan zollern, alias kaiser wilhelm, to be an outlaw, and offer as a reward for his apprehension three barrels of corn, five bushels of potatoes and meat of ham, said ham to weigh not less than twenty-one pounds nor more than thirty-five pounds. and you are moreover required to summon marshal joffre, albert, king of the belgians; victor emanuel of italy and george v to appear at same time and place as witnesses in behalf of the commonwealth touching the matter said complaint. given under my hand and seal this th day of november, . charles l. zoll, justice of the peace. justice to t. r. in the english royal library at windsor, in the centre of the magazine table, there is a large album of pictures of many eminent and popular men and women of the day. this book is divided into sections--a section for each calling or profession. some years ago prince edward, in looking through the book, came across the pages devoted to the pictures of the rulers of the various nations. prominently placed among these was a large photograph of colonel roosevelt. "father," asked prince edward, placing his finger on the colonel's picture, "mr. roosevelt is a very clever man, isn't he?" "yes, child," answered king george with a smile. "he is a great and good man. in some respects i look upon him as a genius." a few days later, king george, casually glancing through the album, noticed that president roosevelt's photograph had been removed and placed in the section devoted to "men and women of the time." on asking the prince whether he had removed the picture, the latter solemnly replied: "yes, sir. you told me the other day that you thought mr. roosevelt a genius, so i took him away from the kings and emperors and put him among the famous people." he was not a prohibitionist when the question of america's being prepared for war was uppermost representative thomas heflin, of alabama, told the following story to illustrate his belief that we ought always to be ready: "there was an old fellow down in north alabama and out in the mountains; he kept his jug in the hole of a log. he would go down at sundown to take a swig of mountain dew--mountain dew that had never been humiliated by a revenue officer nor insulted by a green stamp. he drank that liquid concoction that came fresh from the heart of the corn, and he glowed. one evening while he was letting the good liquor trickle down his throat he felt something touch his foot. he looked down and saw a big rattle-snake coiled ready to strike. "the old fellow took another swig of the corn, and in defiance he swept that snake with his eyes. "'strike, dern you, strike, you will never find me better prepared.'" he scorned the thought the father of a certain charming girl is well known in this town as "a very tight old gentleman." when dad recently received a young man, who for some time had been "paying attention" to the daughter, it was the old gentleman who made the first observation: "huh! so you want to marry my daughter, eh?" "yes, sir; very much, indeed." "um--let me see. can you support her in the style to which she has been accustomed?" "i can, sir," said the young man, "but i am not mean enough to do it." rivalry a young american artist who has just returned from a six months' job of driving a british ambulance on the war front in belgium brings this back straight from the trenches: "one cold morning a sign was pushed up above the german trench facing ours, only about fifty yards away, which bore in large letters the words: 'got mit uns!' one of our cockney lads, more of a patriot than a linguist, looked at this for a moment and then lampblacked a big sign of his own, which he raised on a stick. it read: 'we got mittuns, too!'" impersonal a pretty girl at an evening party was bantering a genial bachelor on his reasons for remaining single. "no-oo. i never was exactly disappointed in love," he said. "i was what you might call discouraged. you see, when i was very young i became very much enamored of a young lady of my acquaintance. i was mortally afraid to tell her of my feeling, but at length i screwed up my courage to the proposing point. i said, 'let's get married,' and she said, 'why, who'd have us?'" and he succeeded the military strategist is born not made. for example: two youngsters, one the possessor of a permit, were fishing on a certain estate when a gamekeeper suddenly darted from a thicket. the lad with the permit uttered a cry of fright, dropped his rod, and ran off at top speed. the gamekeeper was led a swift chase. then, worn out, the boy halted. the man seized him by the arm and said between pants: "have you a permit to fish on this estate?" "yes, to be sure," said the boy quietly. "you have? then show it to me." the boy drew the permit from his pocket. the man examined it and frowned in perplexity and anger. "why did you run when you had this permit?" he asked. "to let the other boy get away," was the reply. "he didn't have any." no change in shylock an old woman who lived in the country recently visited some friends in the city. during her stay she was taken to see "the merchant of venice," a play she had witnessed more than thirty years before, and which she had always had a strong desire to see again. calling next day, a friend asked her how the previous night's performance compared with that of thirty years ago. "well," she replied, "venice seems to have smartened up a bit, but that shylock is the same mean, grasping creature that he used to be." enough after all, only a feminine mind can be truly broadminded and make a correct deduction of a whole from a knowledge of a part. said a certain lady in a shop: "i want a pair of pants for my sick husband." "what size?" asked the clerk. "i don't know, but he wears a - / collar." he obeyed a certain woman demands instant and unquestioning obedience from her children. one afternoon a storm came up and she sent her little son john to close the trap leading to the flat roof of the house. "but, mother," began john. "john, i told you to shut the trap." "yes, but, mother--" "john, shut that trap!" "all right, mother, if you say so--but--" "john!" whereupon john slowly climbed the stairs and shut the trap. two hours later the family gathered for dinner, but aunt mary, who was staying with the mother, did not appear. the mother, quite anxious, exclaimed, "where can aunt mary be?" "i know," john answered triumphantly, "she is on the roof." fair warning andrew carnegie said: "i was traveling londonward on an english railway last year, and had chosen a seat in a non-smoking carriage. at a wayside station a man boarded the train, sat down in my compartment, and lighted a vile clay pipe. "this is not a smoking carriage," said i. "'all right, governor,' said the man. 'i'll just finish this pipe here.' "he finished it, then refilled it. "'see here,' i said, 'i told you this was not a smoking carriage. if you persist with that pipe i shall report you at the next station to the guard.' i handed him my card. he looked at it, pocketed it, but lighted his pipe nevertheless. at the next station, however, he changed to another compartment. "calling the guard, i told him what had occurred, and demanded that the smoker's name and address be taken. "'yes, sair,' said the guard, and hurried away. in a little while he returned. he seemed rather awed and, bending over me, said apologetically: "'do you know, sir, if i were you i would not prosecute that gent. he has just given me his card. here it is. he is mr. andrew carnegie.'" preparedness scotchmen are proverbial for their caution. mr. mactavish attended a christening where the hospitality of the host knew no bounds except the several capacities of the guests. in the midst of the celebration mr. mactavish rose up and made rounds of the company, bidding each a profound farewell. "but, sandy, man," objected the host, "ye're not goin' yet, with the evenin' just started?" "nay," said the prudent mactavish. "i'm no' goin' yet. but i'm tellin' ye good-night while i know ye all." full speed ahead he was the slowest boy on earth, and had been sacked at three places in two weeks, so his parents had apprenticed him to a naturalist. but even he found him slow. it took him two hours to give the canaries their seed, three to stick a pin through a dead butterfly, and four to pick a convolvulus. the only point about him was that he was willing. "and what," he asked, having spent a whole afternoon changing the goldfishes' water, "shall i do now, sir?" the naturalist ran his fingers through his locks. "well, robert," he replied at length, "i think you might now take the tortoise out for a run." playing safe a lady recently selecting a hat at a milliner's asked, cautiously: "is there anything about these feathers that might bring me into trouble with the bird protection society?" "oh, no, madam," said the milliner. "but did they not belong to some bird?" persisted the lady. "well, madam," returned the milliner, pleasantly, "these feathers are the feathers of a howl; and the howl, you know, madam, seein' as 'ow fond he is of mice, is more of a cat than a bird." words failed her the budding authoress had purchased a typewriter, and one morning the agent called and asked: "how do you like your new typewriter, madam?" "it's wonderful!" was the enthusiastic reply. "i wonder how i ever done my writing without it." "would you mind," asked the agent, "giving me a little testimonial to that effect?" "certainly not," she responded. "i'll do it gladly." seating herself at the machine, she pounded out the following: aafteb using thee automatid backactiom atype write, er for thre emonth %an d over. i unhesittattingly pronoun ce it tobe al ad more than th e manufacturss claim! for it. durinb the tim e been in myy possessio n $i thre month it had more th an paid paid for itse*f in thee saving off tim e and laborr? one way out one of the congregation of a church not far from boston approached her pastor with the complaint that she was greatly disturbed by the unmelodious singing of one of her neighbors. "it's positively unbearable!" she said. "that man in the pew in front of us spoils the service for me. his voice is harsh and he has no idea of a tune. can't you ask him to change his pew?" the good pastor was sorely perplexed. after a few moments' reflection, he said, "well, i naturally would feel a little delicacy on that score, especially as i should have to tell him why i asked it. but i'll tell you what i might do." here his face became illuminated by a happy thought. "i might ask him to join the choir." how war began there have been a great many explanations for war, but the following appears to have its special merits: the world was supplied with an original producer; namely, woman. woman produced babies. the babies grew up and produced tradespeople. the tradespeople produced goods with which to supply the woman. the goods, coming into competition with each other, owing to the different parts of the world wherein they were manufactured, produced trouble. the trouble produced international jealousies. the international jealousies produced war. then the war proceeded to destroy the women and babies, because it was through woman in the beginning that war became possible. matrimonial endurance a happily married woman, who had enjoyed thirty-three years of wedlock, and who was the grandmother of four beautiful little children, had an amusing old colored woman for a cook. one day when a box of especially beautiful flowers was left for the mistress the cook happened to be present, and she said: "yo' husband send you all the pretty flowers you gits, missy?" "certainly, my husband, mammy," proudly answered the lady. "glory!" exclaimed the cook, "he suttenly am holdin' out well." missing it the folks in the southern part of arkansas are not noted for their speed. a man and his wife were sitting on their porch when a funeral procession passed the house. the man was comfortably seated in a chair that was tilted back against the house, and was whittling a piece of wood. as the procession passed, he said: "i reckon ol' man williams has got about the biggest funeral that's ever been held around hyer, caroline." "a purty good-sized one, is it, bud?" queried the wife, making no effort to move. "certainly is!" bud answered. "i surely would like to see it," said the woman. "what a pity i ain't facin' that way!" the obvious place what is known in a certain town as "a shop carnival" was being held, and little girls represented the various shops. one, dressed in a white muslin frock gaily strung with garlands of bonbons, advertised the local sweet shop. when the festival began she fairly glistened with attractive confectionery, but as time wore on her decorations grew less. finally, at the end of the last act, not a bonbon was to be seen. "why, dora," cried the stage manager, "where in the world are all your decorations? have you lost them?" "oh, no," replied dora; "they're perfectly safe. i'm wearing them inside." their opportunity in war times cupid is not only active but overworked, and people who have never loved before do not wait upon ceremony. in the spring of , a certain rector, just before the service, was called to the vestibule to meet a couple who wanted to be married. he explained that there wasn't time for the ceremony then. "but," said he, "if you will be seated i will give you an opportunity at the end of the service for you to come forward, and i will then perform the ceremony." the couple agreed, and after a stirring war sermon at the proper moment the clergyman said: "will those who wish to be united in the holy bond of matrimony please come forward?" thereupon thirteen women and one man proceeded to the altar. doing his duty, but-- that time-honored subject the wife who talks and the husband who endures never ceases to be a source of inspiration to the humorist, and it is truly astonishing how many new ways it can be treated: one day the telephone bell rang with anxious persistence. the doctor answered the call of a tired husband. "yes?" he said. "oh, doctor," said a worried voice, "something seems to have happened to my wife. her mouth seems set and she can't say a word." "why, she may have lockjaw," said the medical man. "do you think so? well, if you are up this way some time next week you might step in and see what you can do for her." anticipating the pleasure will hogg of texas says that down in houston one monday morning a negro boy in his employ came to him with a request. "boss," said the darky, "i'd lak to git off nex' friday fur the day." "what for?" inquired hogg. "got to go to a fun'el." "whose funeral is it?" "my uncle's." "when did your uncle die?" "lawd, boss, he ain't daid yit!" "then how do you know his funeral is going to take place on friday?" "'case dey's gwine hang him thursday!" his complaint to be truthful and at the same time diplomatic is one of the rarest of combinations, and only a small boy would be equal to it: johnny's manners had been improving at home, but at what a cost to his appetite when he had an invitation to dine at a boy friend's house! his hostess said, concernedly, when dessert was reached, "you refuse a second helping of pie? are you suffering from indigestion, johnny?" "no, ma'am; politeness." putting it up to the horse pat had just joined a horse regiment, and was undergoing the necessary practice in the riding school. after a particularly desperate attempt to unseat its rider, the horse managed to entangle a hoof in one of the stirrups. "begorra," said pat, "if you're comin' on, then i'm gettin' off!" the worm turned a party of engineers were tracing a township line across some farm lands in illinois. as chance would have it, the line passed directly through a large barn having double doors on each side of it, and they found they could continue their measurements through the barn by opening the doors and thus avoiding the dreaded détour. the owner watched their progress with considerable interest, but made no comment until they had reached the farther side of the barn, when he asked: "thet a railroad ye-all surveyin' fer?" "certainly," replied the chief. the farmer meditated a bit as he closed the barn doors behind them, when he remarked, somewhat aggressively, "i hain't got no objections ter havin' er railroad on my farm, but i'll be darned ef i'm goin' ter git up at all hours of the night ter open and shet them doors fer yer train ter go through!" makes a difference the german may understand his own point of view, but he hates exceedingly to have that point of view taken, even in part, by any one else. an official who has scrutinized the reports made by german diplomatic representatives to their government before the declaration of war furnishes this extract from one of them: "the americans are very rough. if you call one of them a liar he does not argue the matter after the manner of a german gentleman, but brutally knocks you down. the americans have absolutely no _kultur_." solving a great problem the whole irish question, and its perfect solution--at least from one side--is summed up by the reply given by an irishman to a professor, who, when they chanced to meet, said: "pat, tell me, now, what is your solution to the world problem?" "well, sor," replied pat, "i think we should have a world democracy--with an irishman for king!" diagnosed starting with a wonderful burst of oratory, the great evangelist had, after two hours' steady preaching, become rather hoarse. a little boy's mother in the congregation whispered to her son, "isn't it wonderful? what do you think of him?" "he needs a new needle," returned the boy sleepily. getting even the captain and the mate on board the _pretty polly_ were at loggerheads. they scowled whenever they met, and seized opportunities of scoring off each other with fearful glee. each took a turn at making the day's entries in the log-book, and the mate, when making his entries, was very surprised to find, in the captain's handwriting, the words: "june nd, .--mate drunk." he stared at it wrathfully a moment, then a slow grin broke over his face. he took his pen and wrote: "june rd, .--captain sober." knew his business a bellhop passed through the hall of the st. francis hotel whistling loudly. "young man," said manager woods sternly, "you should know that it is against the rules of this hotel for an employee to whistle while on duty." "i am not whistling, sir," replied the boy, "i'm paging mrs. jones's dog." then things happened though she was old she wasn't by any means incapable of supporting herself; and at the fresh, youthful age of seventy-nine she went into the business of providing teas for perspiring cyclists, and storing the cycles of those travellers who decided that they had better return by train. her first customers were four young men who left their cycles in her charge while they explored the neighborhood. for each cycle she gave them a ticket with a number upon it. late at night the tourists returned. the old woman led them to their cycles with a smile of self-satisfaction on her face. "you'll know which is which," she told them, "because i've fastened duplicate tickets on them." they gratefully thanked her; and when they found their cycles they discovered that the tickets were neatly pinned into each back tire! wasn't calling her dear desirous of buying a camera, a certain fair young woman inspected the stock of a local shopkeeper. "is this a good one?" she asked, as she picked up a dainty little machine. "what is it called?" "that's the belvedere," said the handsome young shopman politely. there was a chilly silence. then the young woman drew herself coldly erect, fixed him with an icy stare, and asked again: "er--and can you recommend the belva?" something! a young irishman recently applied for a job as life-saver at the municipal baths. as he was about six feet six inches tall and well built, the chief life-saver gave him an application blank to fill out. "by the way," said the chief life-saver, "can you swim?" "no," replied the applicant, "but i wade like blazes!" not enough scenery the negro stevedores of the southern states of the american union have been conscripted and shipped in great numbers to ports in france for unloading the incoming american steamers. their cheerfulness has quite captivated the gayety loving french, who never tire of listening to their laughter and their ragtime songs. when the "bosses" want to get a dockyard job done in double-quick time they usually order a brass band to play lively negro tunes alongside the ship. every stevedore thereupon "steps lively," and apparently his heavy labor becomes to him a light and joyous task. one stevedore, to whom the atlantic voyage had been a test, exclaimed: "mah goodness! ah never knew dere was so much water between dem tew countries! dere ain't enuf scenery for me, no sah, an' if de united states don't build a bridge across dat dere atlantic, ah's agwine to be a frenchman for life." ian hay's fate captain "ian hay," on one of his war lecture tours, entered a barber's shop in a small town to have his hair cut. "stranger in the town, sir?" the barber asked. "yes, i am," ian hay replied. "anything going on here to-night?" "there's a war lecture by an english fighter named hay," said the barber; "but if you go you'll have to stand, for every seat in the hall is sold out." "well, now," said ian hay, "isn't that provoking? it's always my luck to have to stand when that chap hay lectures." camouflage after a "push" some of the lads of the northumberland fusiliers who entered one of the captured villages set about making things comfortable for themselves. seeing a large wooden box some distance away, they made tracks to commandeer it on the way back an officer met them and queried: "here, lads, where are you going with that?" "this old egg-box, sir--we're taking it along to our dug-out, sir," one of them explained. "egg-box be hanged!" retorted the officer. "why, that's the general's roll-top desk!" happy ending wanted a charming, auburn-haired nurse tells the story. she bent over the bed of one badly wounded man and asked him if he would like anything to read. the soldier fixed a humorous eye on her and said, "miss, can you get me a nice novel? i'd like one about a golden-haired girl and a wounded soldier with a happy ending." after this the pretty nurse looks down contemptuously on civilian compliments. a skeptic a colored baptist was exhorting. "now, breddern and sistern, come up to de altar and have yo' sins washed away." all came up but one man. "why, brudder jones, don't yo' want yo' sins washed away?" "i done had my sins washed away." "yo' has? where yo' had yo' sins washed away?" "ober at de methodist church." "ah, brudder jones, yo' ain't been washed, yo' jes' been dry cleaned." a person of discernment a quaker had got himself into trouble with the authorities, and a constable called to escort him to the lock-up. "is your husband in?" he inquired of the good wife who came to the door. "my husband will see thee," she replied. "come in." the officer entered, was bidden to make himself at home, and was hospitably entertained for half an hour, but no husband appeared. at last he grew impatient. "look here," said he, "i thought you said your husband would see me." "he has seen thee," was the calm reply, "but he did not like thy look, and so he's gone another way." an old hand after two months at rockford private nelson got his leave at last, and made what he conceived to be the best use of his holiday by getting married. on the journey back at the station he gave the gateman his marriage certificate in mistake for his return railway ticket. the official studied it carefully, and then said: "yes, my boy, _you've_ got a ticket for a long, wearisome journey, but not on this road." a true optimist it was christmas eve in camp, and very cold at that. there was a certain amount of confusion owing to the christmas festivities and leave, and so forth, and one man was unable to find any of his outer garments. he wandered about, asking all his mates if they knew where they were. "has any one seen my b-b-blanket?" he demanded, and was told that no one had. "has any one seen my t-t-trousers?" no answer. the unfortunate tommy scratched his head for a moment. "well, i'm jolly g-g-glad i have got a nice w-w-warm pair of sus-sus-suspenders." tit for tat the young couple were dawdling over a late breakfast after a night at an ultra smart party. "was it you i kissed in the conservatory last night?" hubby inquired. she looked at him reminiscently: "about what time was it?" too good to be wasted a lady of great beauty and attractiveness, who was an ardent admirer of ireland, once crowned her praise of it at a party by saying: "i think i was meant for an irishwoman." "madam," rejoined a witty son of erin, who happened to be present, "thousands would back me in saying you were meant for an irishman." he understood the pale-faced passenger looked out of the car window with exceeding interest. finally he turned to his seat mate. "you likely think i never rode in the cars before," he said, "but the fact is, pardner, i just got out of prison this mornin' and it does me good to look around. it is goin' to be mighty tough, though, facin' my old-time friends. i s'pose, though, you ain't got much idea how a man feels in a case like that." "perhaps i have a better idea of your feelings than you think," said the other gentleman, with a sad smile. "i am just getting home from congress." touchy lysander, a farm hand, was recounting his troubles to a neighbor. among other things he said that the wife of the farmer who employed him was "too close for any use." "this very mornin'," said he, "she asked me: 'lysander, do you know how many pancakes you have et this mornin'?' i said, 'no, ma'am; i ain't had no occasion to count 'em,' 'well,' says she, 'that last one was the twenty-sixth.' and it made me so mad i jest got up from the table and went to work without my breakfast!" the intelligent cat two suburban gardeners were swearing vengeance on cats. "it appears to me," one said, "that they seem to pick out your choicest plants to scratch out of the ground." "there's a big tomcat," the other said, "that fetches my plants out and then sits and actually defies me." "why don't you hurl a brick at him?" asked the first speaker. "that's what makes me mad," was the reply. "i can't. he gets on top of my greenhouse to defy me." pride a little boy was on his knees recently one night, and auntie, staying at the house, was present. "it is a pleasure," she said to him, afterward, "to hear you saying your prayers so well. you speak so earnestly and seriously, and mean what you say, and care about it." "ah!" he answered, "ah, but, auntie, you should hear me gargle!" robbing himself "germany's claim that she imports nothing, buys only of herself, and so is growing rich from the war, is a dreadful fallacy." the speaker was herbert c. hoover, chairman of the american food board. "germany," he went on, "is like the young man who wisely thought he'd grow his own garden stuff. this young man had been digging for about an hour when his spade turned up a quarter. ten minutes later he found another quarter. then he found a dime. then he found a quarter again. "'by gosh!' he said, 'i've struck a silver mine,' and, straightening up, he felt something cold slide down his leg. another quarter lay at his feet. he grasped the truth: there was a hole in his pocket." pessimists out at the front two regiments, returning to the trenches, chanced to meet. there was the usual exchange of wit. "when's the bloomin' war goin' to end?" asked one north-country lad. "dunno," replied one of the south-shires. "we've planted some daffydils in front of our trench." "bloomin' optimists!" snorted the man from the north. "we've planted acorns." delayed the way they take air raids in england is illustrated by the following conversation from _punch_: "just ask dr. jones to run round to my place right away. our cook's fallen downstairs--broke her leg; the housemaid's got chicken-pox, and my two boys have been knocked down by a taxi." "i'm sorry, sir, but the doctor was blown up in yesterday's air raid, and he won't be down for a week." how mary lost a tip soon after a certain judge of the supreme court of rhode island had been appointed he went down into one of the southern counties to sit for a week. he was well satisfied with himself. "mary," he said to the irish waitress at the hotel where he was stopping, "you've been in this country how long?" "two years, sir," she said. "do you like it?" "sure, it's well enough," answered mary. "but, mary," the judge continued, "you have many privileges in this country which you'd not have in ireland. now at home you would never be in a room with a justice of the supreme court, and chatting familiarly with him." "but, sure, sir," said mary, quite in earnest, "you'd never be a judge at home." a little too thrifty secretary of war baker tells a story of a country youth who was driving to the county fair with his sweetheart when they passed a booth where fresh popcorn was for sale. "my! abner, ain't that nice?" said the girl. "ain't what nice?" asked abner. "why, the popcorn, it smells so awfully good," replied the girl. "it does smell kind o' fine," drawled the youth. "i'll jest drive a little closer so you can get a better smell." beyond him a young couple, speeding along the country highway, were stopped by the justice of the peace. "ten and costs for reckless driving," announced the justice. "listen," said the young man, "judge, we were on our way to have you marry us." "twenty and costs, then!" cried the justice. "you're more reckless than i thought you were." its name in a kindergarten class flags were shown, and in answer to a question a little girl gave the response that was expected of her: "this is the flag of my country." "and what is the name of your country?" was the next question. "'tis of thee," was the prompt reply. the original method katherine and margaret found themselves seated next each other at a dinner-party and immediately became confidential. "molly told me that you told her that secret i told you not to tell her," whispered margaret. "oh, isn't she a mean thing!" gasped katherine. "why, i told her not to tell you!" "well," returned margaret, "i told her i wouldn't tell you she told me--so don't tell her i did." give us the chance when booth tarkington was visiting naples he was present at an eruption of vesuvius. "you haven't anything like that in america, have you?" said an italian friend with pride. "no, we haven't," replied tarkington; "but we've got niagara falls that would put the d----d thing out in five minutes." a delightful experience! we often take delight in fancying what we would do if things were really reversed in this oftentimes trying world: and particularly what we would do to the president of our bank. here is a little story which gives the pleasant variety: "i have come in to borrow some money from you," said the bank president timidly, as he stood before one of his depositors, nervously twirling his hat in his hand. "ah, yes," said the depositor, gazing at him severely. "but you don't expect to get it, do you?" "i had hoped to." "what collateral have you to offer?" "my bank with all the money in it." "all the people in the bank?" "yes." "please say 'yes, sir.' it is more respectful." "thank you, sir." "um! ah! will you put in your own family?" "yes, sir, i'll throw in my family also." "your prospects in life? don't hesitate, man. remember you are up against it." "well, yes, sir." "how much money do you want?" "one thousand dollars." "dear me! for such a small amount as that i shall have to charge you at least six per cent. if you were a regular millionaire and wanted, say, half a million, i could let you have it for three or four per cent." "yes, sir. i appreciate your generosity." the depositor handed the president of the bank, who was now almost completely bathed in a cold perspiration, a blank form. "here," he said, "sign this." "do you wish me to read it first, sir?" "what! read something you wouldn't understand anyway? no. i'll tell you what's in it. it mortgages yourself, your bank, all the people in it, your family, all your property, and your soul sign here." the bank president signed with trembling fingers, got a piece of paper which entitled him to the privilege of entertaining a thousand dollars for six months at his own expense, and withdrew. then the depositor, smiling to himself and rubbing his hands, said: "aha! i'll teach these fellows to know their places!" dad was wise when the conversation turned to the subject of romantic marriage this little anecdote was volunteered by h.m. asker, a north dakota politician: "so you were married ten years ago. took place in the church, i suppose, with bridesmaids, flowers, cake, and the brass band?" "no; it was an elopement." "an elopement, eh? did the girl's father follow you?" "yes, and he has been with us ever since." kindness private simpkins had returned from the front, to find that his girl had been walking out with another young man, and naturally asked her to explain her frequent promenades in the town with the gentleman. "well, dear," she replied, "it was only kindness on his part. he just took me down every day to the library to see if you were killed." more scotch thrift harry lauder tells the following story about a funeral in glasgow and a well-dressed stranger who took a seat in one of the mourning coaches. the other three occupants of the carriage were rather curious to know who he was, and at last one of them began to question him. the dialogue went like this: "ye'll be a brither o' the corp?" "no, i'm no' a brither o' the corp." "weel, ye'll be his cousin?" "no, i'm no' a cousin." "at ony rate ye'll be a frien' o' the corp?" "no, i'm no' that either. ye see, i've no' been very weel masel," the stranger explained complacently, "an' my doctor has ordered me carriage exercise, so i thocht this would be the cheapest way to tak' it." worth a chance the small boy stood at the garden gate and howled and howled and howled. a passing lady paused beside him. "what's the matter, little man?" she asked in a kindly voice. "o-o-oh!" wailed the youngster. "pa and ma won't take me to the pictures to-night." "but don't make such a noise," said the dame, admonishingly. "do they ever take you when you cry like that?" "s-sometimes they do, an'--an' sometimes they d-d-don't," bellowed the boy. "but it ain't no trouble to yell!" change for the better "we were bounding along," said a recent traveller on a local south african single-line railway, "at the rate of about seven miles an hour, and the whole train was shaking terribly. i expected every moment to see my bones protruding through my skin. passengers were rolling from one end of the car to the other. i held on firmly to the arms of the seat. presently we settled down a bit quieter; at least i could keep my hat on and my teeth didn't chatter. "there was a quiet-looking man opposite me. i looked up with a ghastly smile, wishing to appear cheerful, and said: "'we are going a bit smoother, i see.' "'yes,' he said, 'we're off the track now,'" big chances both ways the famous physician and the eminent clergyman were deep in a discussion which threatened to become acrimonious. "you see," said the minister sarcastically, "you medical men know so much about the uncertainties of this world that i should think you would not want to live." "oh, i don't know," responded the physician caustically. "you clergymen tell us so much about the uncertainties of the next world that we don't want to die." warning to authors one of mr. kipling's trees was injured by a bus, the driver of which was also landlord of an inn. kipling wrote this man a letter of complaint, which the recipient sold to one of his guests for ten shillings. again the angry author wrote, this time a more violent letter, which immediately fetched one pound. a few days later kipling called on the landlord and demanded to know why he had received no answer to his letters. "why, i was hoping you would send me a fresh one every day," was the cool reply. "they pay a great deal better than bus driving." considering father does the american woman always consider her lesser half? the following tale shows that she does, although the lady's husband undoubtedly moved in a lower sphere. she was at that period in her existence where she gave literary afternoons and called her college-graduated daughter to her side and said: "this afternoon, as i understand, we attend the current events club, where miss spindleshank corkerly of new york and washington will give us her brief and cheery synopsis of the principal world events during the last month." "yes, mother." "this evening the birth control association meets at mrs. mudhaven's, where i shall read my paper on the moral protoplasm." "yes, mother." "to-morrow morning the efficiency circle will assemble here for its weekly discussion and will be addressed by professor von skintime closhaven on the scientific curtailment of catnaps." "yes, mother." "to-morrow afternoon the superwoman's civic conference committee will take up the subject of the higher feminism, and in the evening the hygienic sex sisters will confer with the superintendent of our school system on several ideas for our schools which we have in mind." "yes, mother. that brings us up to thursday. what shall we do on that evening?" "i thought, my dear, that we would take a night off and go to the movies with your dear father." stories about james gordon bennett many are the stories told of the late james gordon bennett. one, more than any other, reveals one of his weaknesses--a disinclination to acknowledge an error. before taking up his residence abroad he frequently breakfasted at delmonico's, then downtown. one christmas morning he gave the waiter who always served him a small roll of bills. as soon as opportunity offered the waiter looked at the roll, and when he recovered his equilibrium took it to mr. delmonico. there were six $ , bills in the roll. the proprietor, sensing that a mistake had been made, put them in the safe. when the publisher next visited the café mr. delmonico told him the waiter had turned the money in. he added he would return it as mr. bennett departed. "why return it? didn't i give it to him?" "yes. but, of course, it was a mistake. you gave him $ , ." "mr. delmonico," replied bennett, rising to his full height, "you should know by this time that james gordon bennett never makes a mistake." a pressman had just returned to work after a protracted spree. his face was battered, an eye was blackened, and an ear showed a tendency to mushroom. the night of his return was one on which mr. bennett visited the pressroom. he saw mr. bennett before mr. bennett saw him, and, daubing a handful of ink on his face, he became so busy that bennett noticed him. "who is that man?" he asked the foreman. "what do you pay him?" the foreman gave him the information. "double his salary," replied mr. bennett. "he's the only man in the place who seems to be doing any work." a dramatic critic, still a well-known writer, lost his place because he would not get his hair cut. bennett in paris asked him why he wore his hair so long and was told because he liked it that way. an order sending him to copenhagen followed. when his return was announced by a secretary, bennett asked if he had had his hair cut, and being informed that he had not, ordered him to st. petersburg. on his return from russia, still unshorn, he was sent to the far east. "has he had his hair cut?" asked bennett when his return was once more announced. "no, sir," replied the secretary, "it's as long as ever." "then fire him," replied bennett. "he's too slow to take a hint to suit me." staying on the job in introducing the honorable w.g. mcadoo to an audience of north carolinians in the raleigh auditorium, governor t.w. bickett had occasion to refer to the north carolina trait of stick-to-it-ness. he used as an example the case of private jim webb, a green soldier and a long, lanky individual from the farm who had never been drilled in his whole life and knew even less about the usages and customs of war, so when he was conscripted into the north carolina divisions in the late war between the states, he was given only a week's drill and then assigned to duty. his regiment was in the peninsular campaign, and jim was soon put on guard duty, being given, as his first post, a place along the river bank, and cautioned to stick to his post under any conditions, to watch closely for the enemy, and to allow no one to pass who could not give the countersign. "obey your instructions," said the officer of the guard, "and i will return at two o'clock with relief. do not leave your post under any conditions." promptly at two o'clock the officer returned, to find jim gone. he searched long and diligently, but no trace of jim. finally he called, lowly at first, then louder, seeking to know if jim were in the vicinity or had been captured. finally came jim's answering voice from out in the middle of the river, "here i be." "what in the world are you doing out there?" asked the indignant officer. "did i not tell you not to leave your post?" "i hain't moved, nuther," replied the indignant jim; "the durn river's riz." business is business "may i see you privately?" the well-dressed stranger approached the mayor of the suburban town with the air of one who knew his business. when they were alone he said: "i want to apply for the position of village burglar." "village burglar!" "yes, sir. i guarantee results, i only rob one house a week. this includes a clean get-away. when a man, no matter how conscientious, attempts any more than this, he is bound to deteriorate. by employing me regularly you get the best results." "what inducements do you offer?" "your village will be advertised regularly and in the most efficient manner. i will guarantee to keep away all other burglars, thus insuring the comfort and safety of your police. i return all goods stolen. if it is necessary at any time to wound any of your citizens, i will pay half of the hospital expenses. salary five thousand a year. can furnish references." "nothing else?" "my dear sir, what more do you want?" the mayor shook his head, as rising, he indicated that the interview was over. "sorry, my friend," he said, "that i can't accept your offer, but i am just closing a contract with a man who not only will burglarize our village regularly on your terms, but also will turn over to us as a rebate one-half of the salary he gets from the burglary insurance company that employs him." his favorite beast harris dickson, on a hunting trip in sunflower county, mississippi, met an old darky who had never seen a circus in his life. when the big show came in the following season to dickson's town of vicksburg he sent for the old man and treated him to the whole thing--arrival of the trains, putting up the tents, grand free street parade, menagerie, main performance, concert, side show, peanuts, red lemonade, and all. the old darky followed his white patron through with popping eyes, but saying never a word. late in the afternoon they got back to the dickson home. "john," said dickson, "you enjoyed it?" "boss," said john fervently. "ah shore did!" "what did you like the most?" "mistah dickson," answered john, "ah shore laked hit all." "well, what impressed you most?" "well, suh, boss," he said, "ah reckin hit waz dat dere animul you calls de camuel." "the camel, eh? well, what was so remarkable about the camel?" "he suttinly is got such a noble smell!" a long story "may i ask the cause of all this excitement?" asked the stranger in the little village. "certainly," replied the countryman. "we're celebrating the birthday of the oldest inhabitant sir. she's a hundred and one to-day." "indeed! and may i ask who is that little man, with the dreadfully sad countenance, walking by the old lady's side?" "oh, that's the old lady's son-in-law, sir. he's been keeping up the payments on her life-insurance for the last thirty years!" a dual reputation as grantland rice tells the story, a certain distinguished english actor, whom we may safely call jones-brown, plays a persistent but horrible game of golf. during a recent visit to this country the actor in question occasionally visited the links of a well-known country club in westchester county, near new york. after an especially miserable showing of inaptness one morning, he flung down his driver in disgust. "caddy," he said, addressing the silent youth who stood alongside, "that was awful, wasn't it?" "purty bad, sir," stated the boy. "i freely confess that i am the worst golfer in the world," continued the actor. "oh, i wouldn't say that, sir," said the caddy soothingly. "did you ever see a worse player than i am?" "no, sir, i never did," confessed the boy truthfully; "but some of the other boys was tellin' me yistiddy about a gentleman that must be a worse player than you are. they said his name was jones-brown." always safety first "you say that you want some name engraved on this ring," said the jeweller to the bashful young man. "yes; i want the words, 'george, to his dearest alice' engraved on the inside of the ring." "is the young lady your sister?" "no; she is the young lady to whom i am engaged." "well, if i were you i would not have 'george, to his dearest alice' engraved on the ring. if alice changes her mind you can't use the ring again." "what would you suggest?" "i would suggest the words, 'george, to his first and only love,' you see, with that inscription you can use the ring half a dozen times. i have had experience in such matters myself." surprising pat came to the dentist's with his jaw very much swollen from a tooth he desired to have pulled. but when the suffering son of erin got into the dentist's chair and saw the gleaming pair of forceps approaching his face, he positively refused to open his mouth. the dentist quietly told his page boy to prick his patient with a pin, and when pat opened his mouth to yell the dentist seized the tooth, and out it came. "it didn't hurt as much as you expected it would, did it?" the dentist asked, smilingly. "well, no," replied pat, hesitatingly, as if doubting the truthfulness of his admission. "but," he added, placing his hand on the spot where the little boy pricked him with the pin, "begorra, little did i think the roots would reach down like that." true optimist among the passengers on a train on a one-track road in the middle west was a talkative jewelry drummer. presently the train stopped to take on water, and the conductor neglected to send back a flagman. an express came along and, before it could be stopped, bumped the rear end of the first train. the drummer was lifted from his seat and pitched head first into the seat ahead. his silk hat was jammed clear down over his ears. he picked himself up and settled back in his seat. no bones had been broken. he drew a long breath, straightened up, and said: "well, they didn't get by us, anyway." indissoluble partners memory and imagination had a discussion as to which was the greater. "without me," said memory, "your buildings, your fine castles, would all go down. i alone give you power to retain them." "without me," said imagination, "there would be no use of retaining them, for, indeed, they wouldn't be there. i am the great builder." "and i the great recorder." "it appears, then, that no one of us is greater than the other. yet i would not change places with you." "why not?" said memory. "because," replied imagination, "without you i can still keep on creating over and over." at the end of a year memory came back. "what have you done?" asked memory. "nothing," said imagination. "and you were wrong when you said that without me you could still go on creating." "yes. i did not realize how dependent i was upon you. what have you been doing during the year?" "reviewing some old friends. that was all i could do." "then we are practically equal." "yes. let us live together hereafter in harmony, carrying on our door this legend: there is no memory without imagination, and no imagination without memory." depended on the mule speaking at a political gathering, congressman frederick w. dallinger, of massachusetts, referred to the many amusing incidents of the schoolrooms, and related a little incident along that line. a teacher in a public school was instructing a youthful class in english when she paused and turned to a small boy named jimmy brown. "james," said she, "write on the board, 'richard can ride the mule if he wants to,'" this jimmie proceeded to do to the satisfaction of all concerned. "now, then," continued the teacher when jimmy had returned to his place, "can you find a better form for that sentence?" "yes, ma'am," was the prompt response of jimmy. "'richard can ride the mule if the mule wants him to.'" crown prince called down some years before the war the german crown prince got a very neat call-down from miss bernice willard, a philadelphia girl. it was during the emperor's regatta, and the two mentioned were sitting with others on the deck of a yacht. a whiff of smoke from the prince's cigarette blowing into the young lady's face, a lieutenant near by remarked: "smoke withers flowers." "it is no flower," said the prince, jocularly, "it is a thistle." miss willard raised her eyes a trifle. "in that case," she said, "i had better retire or i shall be devoured" humbled mrs. mellon did not wish to offend her new cook. "john," she said to the manservant, "can you find out without asking the cook whether the tinned salmon was all eaten last night? you see, i don't wish to ask her, because she may have eaten it, and then she would feel uncomfortable," added the good soul. "if you please, ma'am," replied the man, "the new cook has eaten the tinned salmon, and if you was to say anything to her you couldn't make her feel any more uncomfortable than she is." is this tact? an officer on board a warship was drilling his men. "i want every man to lie on his back, put his legs in the air, and move them as if he were riding a bicycle," he explained. "now commence." after a short effort one of the men stopped. "why have you stopped, murphy?" asked the officer. "if ye plaze, sir," was the answer, "oi'm coasting." warned in twenty years several scotchmen were discussing the domestic unhappiness of a mutual friend. "aye," said one, "jock mcdonald has a sair time wi' that wife o' his. they do say they're aye quarrelin'." "it serve' him richt," said another feelingly. "the puir feckless creature marrit after coortin' only eight year. man, indeed, he had nae chance to ken the wumman in sic a short time. when i was coortin' i was coortin' twenty year." "and how did it turn out?" inquired a stranger in the party. "i tell ye, i was coortin' twenty year, an' in that time i kenned what wumman was, an' so i didna marry." beginning early jack disliked being kissed, and, being a handsome little chap, sometimes had a good deal to put up with. one day he had been kissed a lot. then, to make matters worse, on going to the picture palace in the evening, instead of his favorite cowboy and indian pictures, there was nothing but a lot more hugging and kissing. he returned home completely out of patience with the whole tribe of women. after he had tucked into bed mother came in to kiss him good-night. he refused to be kissed. mother begged and begged, till in disgust he turned to his father, who was standing at the doorway looking on, and said: "daddy, for the love of heaven, give this woman a kiss!" discerning "daisy," remarked the teacher, "don't love your cat too much. what would you do if it died--you wouldn't see it again?" "oh, yes; i should see it in heaven." "no, dear, you're mistaken; animals cannot go to heaven like people." daisy's eyes filled with tears, but suddenly she exclaimed triumphantly: "animals do go to heaven, for the bible says the promised land is flowing with milk and honey, and, if there are no animals, where do they get the milk?" rotund an elderly woman who was extremely stout was endeavoring to enter a street car when the conductor, noticing her difficulty, said to her: "try sideways, madam; try sideways." the woman looked up breathlessly and said: "why, bless ye, i ain't got no sideways!" beyond the sense of humor a scottish soldier, badly wounded, requested an army chaplain to write a letter for him to his wife. the chaplain, anxious to oblige, started off with "my dear wife--" "na, na," said the scotsman, "dinna pit that doon. ma wife canna see a joke." a new complaint a german, whose wife was ill at the seney hospital, brooklyn, called the first evening she was there and inquired how she was getting along. he was told that she was improving. next day he called again, and was told she was still improving. this went on for some time, each day the report being that his wife was improving. finally, one day he called and said: "how iss my wife?" "she's dead." he went out and met a friend, and the friend said: "well, how is your wife?" "she's dead." "ooh! how terrible! what did she die of?" "improvements!" some fight an american negro stevedore assigned to the great docks in southwestern france had written several letters to his black susanna in jacksonville, fla., when she wrote back saying: "you-all don't nevah tell me nothin' 'bout de battle a-tall. tilda sublet's dave done wrote her all about how he kotched two germans all by hisself and kilt three mo'." the stevedore was reluctant to tell his girl that he was doing manual labor and that his only accoutrement was the tinware from which he ate his war bread, "slum" and coffee. his reply ran: "dear sue: de battle am goin' on. you would faint if i tole yuh de full details. ah'm standin' in blood up to mah knees, and every time ah move ah step on a daid german. we're too close to use our rifles, and we're bitin' and gougin' 'em. at one time me and two othah niggahs was hangin' onto de crown prince wid our teeth, an' old papa kaiser done beat us off wid a fence rail untwell ree-umfo's-ments come!" too strong a term one evening just before dinner the wife, who had been playing bridge all the afternoon, came in to find her husband and a strange man (afterward ascertained to be a lawyer) engaged in some mysterious business over the library table upon which were spread several sheets of paper. "what are you doing with all that paper, henry?" demanded the wife. "i am making a wish," meekly responded the husband. "a wish?" "yes, my dear. in your presence i shall not presume to call it a will." not for her to say the value of travel oftentimes depends upon who travels. mrs. williams, who had recently returned from abroad, was attending an afternoon tea which was given in her honor. "and did you actually go to rome?" asked the hostess. "i really don't know, my dear," replied mrs. williams. "you see, my husband always bought the tickets." an expert "so," said the old general, "you think you would make a good valet for an old wreck like me, do you? i have a glass eye, a wooden leg, and a wax arm that need looking after, not to mention false teeth, and so forth." "oh, that's all right, general," replied the applicant, enthusiastically; "i've had lots of experience. i worked six years in the assembling department of a big motor-car factory." she admitted it our ideals are often a personal matter and, after all, it is just as well to be humble about our achievements a certain woman was brought before a magistrate. "it appears to be your record, mary moselle," said the magistrate, "that you have been thirty-five times convicted of stealing." "i guess, your honor," replied mary, "that is right. no woman is perfect." a benefactor of mankind this story teaches us a very old moral. the man of whom it is told was travelling in a railroad train when he leaned forward confidentially to the man in the next seat: "excuse me, sir," he said. "you're not going to get off at the next station, are you?" "no, sir." "then that will give me time to tell you. are you aware, sir, what is the matter with this great country?" "no, sir." "as i thought. it's due entirely to misunderstanding. we are always jumping to conclusions about others. that makes us suspicious. result, constant friction. take you and me, for example. at present we are comparative strangers. but when we get to know each other better we shall slowly but surely come to realize that each of us is trying to do our best, and--" "but i don't want to know you any better." "precisely. exactly. that's what causes all the trouble. i judge you and you judge me too hastily. as you become better acquainted with my motives you will gradually come to realize that deep down in my heart is a passionate desire to benefit my fellowmen. same here. my tendency is to treat you as a stranger, not to give you credit for noble generosity and genuine civic virtue. but i am determined to overcome this attitude and recognize you as a brother. i know i'm a hundred years ahead of my age, but someone must make the sacrifice." the train stopped and the other man got up and, leaning over, grabbed him by the arm. "i'm changing my mind," he said; "guess i will get off at this station. by-by. sorry i can't know you better." the pioneer in human progress sat for some time after the train had started, pondering on the deep problem of destiny. suddenly, however, he clapped his hands to his pockets and ran forward to the conductor. "say, conductor," he whispered, hoarsely, "did that man i was talking to get off at the last station?" "yes, sir; did you lose anything?" the human benefactor smiled sadly. "not in comparison with what the world has lost," he replied. "the human race has lost one of those priceless ideas which, in the course of centuries, sometimes come to real genius only to be abandoned. i lost only my watch." the silver lining he was a scot, with the usual thrifty characteristics of his race. wishing to know his fate, he telegraphed a proposal of marriage to the lady of his choice. after waiting all day at the telegraph office he received an affirmative answer late at night. "well, if i were you," said the operator who delivered the message, "i'd think twice before i'd marry a girl who kept me waiting so long for an answer." "na, na," replied the scot. "the lass for me is the lass wha waits for the night rates." french politeness as a truly polite nation the french undoubtedly lead the world, thinks a contributor to a british weekly. the other day a paris dentist's servant opened the door to a woebegone patient. "and who, monsieur," he queried in a tender tone, "shall i have the misery of announcing?" simple faith the methodist minister in a small country town was noted for his begging propensities and for his ability to extract generous offerings from the close-fisted congregation, which was made up mostly of farmers. one day the young son of one of the members accidentally swallowed a ten-cent piece, much to the excitement of the rest of the family. every means of dislodging the coin had failed and the frightened parents were about to give up in despair when a bright thought struck the little daughter, who exclaimed: "oh, mamma, i know how you can get it! send for our minister; he'll get it out of him!" limited dissipation a small, hen-pecked, worried-looking man was about to take an examination for life insurance. "you don't dissipate, do you?" asked the physician, as he made ready for tests. "not a fast liver, or anything of that sort?" the little man hesitated a moment, looked a bit frightened, then replied, in a small, piping voice: "i sometimes chew a little gum." the limit the manager of a factory recently engaged a new man and gave instructions to the foreman to instruct him in his duties. a few days afterward the manager inquired whether the new man was progressing with his work. the foreman, who had not agreed very well with the man in question, exclaimed angrily: "progressing! there's been a lot of progress. i have taught him everything i know and he is still an ignorant fool." a perfect program this story has the merit of being true, anyhow: the official pessimist of a small western city, a gentleman who had wrestled with chronic dyspepsia for years, stood in front of the post office as the noon whistles sounded. "twelve o'clock, eh?" he said, half to himself and half to an acquaintance. "well, i'm going home to dinner. if dinner ain't ready i'm going to raise hell; and if it is ready i ain't going to eat a bite." "tipperary" in chinese the chinese have put "tipperary" into their own language, and native newspapers print the chorus as follows: shih ko yuan lu tao ti-po-lieh-li, pi yao ti jih hsing tsou. shih ko yuan lu tao ti-po-lieh-li, yao chien we ngai tzu nu, tsai hui pi-ko-ti-li, tsai chien lei-ssu kwei-rh, shih ko yuan lu tao ti-po-lieh-li, tan wo hsin tsai na-rh. this is the literal translation: this road is far from ti-po-lieh-li, we must walk for many days, this road is far from ti-po-lieh-li, i want to see my lovely girl, to meet again pi-ko-ti-li, to see again lei-ssu kwei-rh, this road is far from ti-po-lieh-li, but my heart is already in that place. non fit she was a very stout, jolly-looking woman, and she was standing at the corset counter, holding in her hand an article she was returning. evidently her attention had been suddenly drawn to the legend printed on the label, for she was overheard to murmur, "'made expressly for john wanamaker.' well, there! no wonder they didn't fit me!" his by right an irish chauffeur in san francisco, who had been having trouble with numerous small boys in the neighborhood of his stand, discovered one day on examining his car that there was a dead cat on one of the seats. in his anger he was about to throw the carcass into the street, when he espied a policeman. holding up the carcass, he exclaimed: "this is how i am insulted. what am i to do with it?" "well, don't you know? take it straight to headquarters, and if it is not claimed within a month it becomes your property." best of reasons a teacher was giving a lesson on the circulation of the blood. trying to make the matter clearer, he said: "now, boys, if i stood on my head the blood, as you know, would run into it, and i should turn red in the face." "yes, sir," said the boys. "now," continued the teacher, "what i want to know is this: how is it that while i am standing upright in the ordinary position the blood doesn't rush into my feet?" and a little fellow shouted: "why, sir, because yer feet ain't empty." a story from the front one day an ammunition dump blew up. cordite was blazing, shells and bombs bursting, and splinters and whole shells flying everywhere in the vicinity. the atmosphere was full of smoke and resounding with metallic whines. out of a shack hard by came a darky, loaded to the waterline with kit, blankets, rifle, etc., and up the road he dangled. "here! where are _you_ going?" shouted an officer. "i ain't goin', suh," panted the darky. "i's gone." equatorial michigan representative billy wilson, who dwells in chicago, found himself in the upper peninsula of michigan doing some fishing and hunting. while there he conversed with the guide that he had hired in order to have somebody around to talk to. "must get mighty all-fired cold up here in winter," remarked wilson one morning. "yes, it often gets away down to forty-five below zero," replied the native. "don't see how you stand it," said the congressman. "oh, i always spend my winters in the south," explained the guide. "go south, eh? well, well! that's enterprising. and where do you go?" "grand rapids," said the guide. scriptural the college boys played a mean trick on "prexy" by pasting some of the leaves of his bible together. he rose to read the morning lesson, which might have been as follows: "now johial took unto himself a wife of the daughters of belial." (_he turned a leaf._) "she was eighteen cubits in height and ten cubits in breadth." (_a pause, and careful scrutiny of the former page_.) he resumed: "now johial took unto himself a wife," etc. (_leaf turned._) "she was eighteen cubits in height and ten cubits in breadth, and was pitched within and without--" (_painful pause and sounds of subdued mirth._) "prexy" turns back again in perplexity. "young gentlemen, i can only add that 'man is fearfully and wonderfully made'--and woman also." the fact was saying is one thing and doing is another. in montana a railway bridge had been destroyed by fire, and it was necessary to replace it. the bridge engineer and his staff were ordered in haste to the place. two days later came the superintendent of the division. alighting from his private car, he encountered the old master bridge-builder. "bill," said the superintendent--and the words quivered with energy--"i want this job rushed. every hour's delay costs the company money. have you got the engineer's plans for the new bridge?" "i don't know," said the bridge-builder, "whether the engineer has the picture drawed yet or not, but the bridge is up and the trains is passin' over it." the last word, as usual the ways of a woman are supposed to be past finding out, but after all there are times when her logic is irresistible as in the case of a certain wife who had spent her husband's money, had compromised him more than once, had neglected her children and her household duties, and had done everything that woman can do to make his life a failure. and then, as they were both confronted by the miserable end of it all, and realized that there was no way out of it, he said: "perhaps i ought not to appear to be too trivially curious, but i confess to a desire to know why you have done all this. you must have known, if you kept on, just what the end would be. of course, nobody expects a woman to use her reason. but didn't you have, even in a dim way, some idea of what you were doing?" she gazed at him with her usual defiance, a habit not to be broken even by the inevitable. "certainly i did. it was your fault." "my fault! how do you make that out?" "because i have never had the slightest respect for you." "why not?" she actually laughed. "how could you expect me to have any respect for a man who could not succeed in preventing me from doing the things i did?" frugal to the end not long ago a certain publication had an idea. its editor made up a list of thirty men and women distinguished in art, religion, literature, commerce, politics, and other lines, and to each he sent a letter or a telegram containing this question: "if you had but forty-eight hours more to live, how would you spend them?" his purpose being to embody the replies in a symposium in a subsequent issue of his periodical. among those who received copies of the inquiry was a new york writer. he thought the proposition over for a spell, and then sent back the truthful answer by wire, collect: "one at a time." not much to talk about there was an explosion of one of the big guns on a battleship not long ago. shortly afterward one of the sailors who was injured was asked by a reporter to give an account of it. "well, sir," rejoined the jacky, "it was like this: you see, i was standin' with me back to the gun, a-facin' the port side. all of a sudden i hears a hell of a noise; then, sir, the ship physician, he says, 'set up an' take this,'" following instructions youth (_with tie of the stars and stripes_): i sent you some suggestions telling you how to make your paper more interesting. have you carried out any of my ideas? editor: did you meet the office boy with the waste-paper basket as you came upstairs? youth: yes, yes, i did. editor: well, he was carrying out your ideas. no place for him on the western plains the sheepman goes out with several thousand head and one human companion. the natural result is that the pair, forced on one another when they least want it, form the habit of hating each other. an ex-sheepman while in a narrative mood one evening was telling a party of friends of a fellow he once rode with. "not a word had passed between us for more than a week, and that night when we rolled up in our blankets he suddenly asked: "'hear that cow beller?' "'sounds to me like a bull,' i replied. "no answer, but the following morning i noticed him packing up. "'going to leave?' i questioned. "'yes,' he replied. "'what for?' "too much argument,'" in the old days lord northcliffe at a washington luncheon was talking about the british premier. "mr. lloyd george is the idol of the nation," he said. "it is hard to believe how unpopular he was, at least among the unionists, once. among the many stories circulated about mr. lloyd george's unpopularity at that time there was one which concerned a rescue from drowning. the heroic rescuer, when a gold medal was presented to him for his brave deed, modestly declared: "'i don't deserve this medal. i did nothing but my duty. i saw our friend here struggling in the water. i knew he must drown unless someone saved him. so i plunged in, swam out to him, turned him over to make sure it wasn't lloyd george, and then lugged him to safety on my back.'" taking no chances a big darky was being registered. "ah can't go to wah," he answered in _re_ exemption, "foh they ain't nobody to look afteh ma wife." a dapper little undersized colored brother stepped briskly up and inquired, "what kind of a lookin' lady _is_ yoh wife?" too personal upon the recent death of an american politician, who at one time served his country in a very high legislative place, a number of newspaper men were collaborating on an obituary notice. "what shall we say of the former senator?" asked one of the men. "oh, just put down that he was always faithful to his trust." "and," queried a cynical member of the group, "shall we mention the name of the trust?" an acrobat in the squad sergeant (_drilling awkward squad_): "company! attention, company! lift up your left leg and hold it straight out in front of you!" one of the squad held up his right leg by mistake. this brought his right-hand companion's left leg and his own right leg close together. the officer, seeing this, exclaimed angrily: "and who is that blooming galoot over there holding up both legs?" his system was a complete one we know that the achievements of american business experts are often beyond belief. whether the following story is true, or is merely a satire, must be left to the judgment of the acute reader: "may i have a few moments' private conversation?" the faultlessly dressed gentleman addressed the portly business man, standing upon the threshold of his office. "this is a business proposition, sir," he said, rapidly closing the door and sinking into a seat beside the desk. "i am not a book agent, nor have i any article to sell. i have come to see you about your wife." "my wife!" "yes, sir. glancing over the society column of your local paper, i am informed that she is about to take her annual autumn trip to virginia. you will, or course, have to remain behind to take care of your vast business interests. your wife, sir, is a charming and attractive woman, still in the bloom of youth. have you, sir, considered the possibilities?" the other man started to get up, his face red with rage. "you--" he began. "one moment, sir, and i think i can satisfy your mind that my motives are pure as alabaster. this is an age of machinery, of science and invention, and, above all, of efficiency. i am simply carrying this idea of efficiency into the domestic life, which, as you are doubtless aware, is so much more important than the physical. one moment, sir. i can furnish you with the highest credentials. this is purely professional, i can assure you. will give bond if you so desire. my proposition is this: i will accompany your wife on her trip, always, when travelling, at a respectful distance, you understand, and it will be my pleasure as well as business to amuse and interest her during her stay. i do everything--play tennis, bridge, dance all the latest steps, know the latest jokes, can sing, converse on any subject or remain silent, am a life-saver, can run an auto, flirt discreetly, and, in fact, am the most delightful companion for a wife that you can imagine. remember, sir, that unless you engage my services your wife is at the mercy of all the strangers she may meet and being in that peculiar condition of mind where she is bound to be attracted by things that would otherwise seem commonplace, there is no telling what the end might be. but with me she is perfectly safe. i guarantee results. i insure your heart's happiness against the future. terms reasonable. i can refer you to--" in reply the enforced host rose up, and, taking him not too gently by the arm, led him to the door. "my friend," he said, coldly, "your proposition of safety first doesn't interest me. no, sir! i'm sending my wife to virginia in hopes that she will actually fall in love with somebody else, so i won't have to endure what little i see of her any more, and here you come in to spoil my future. no, sir!" his visitor turned and faced him with a bright smile. "my dear sir," he said, "wait. business man that you are, you do not understand the extent of our resources, which cover every emergency. in accordance with our usual custom, i have already met your wife at a bridge party, and i might say that she is crazy about me. now, sir, for double the price of my regular fee and a small annual stipend, which is about half the alimony you might have to pay, i will agree to marry and take her off your hands in six months, making you happy for the rest of your life. sign here, please. thank you." facing the truth sanderson was on a visit to simpkins, and in due course, naturally, he was shown the family album. "yes," said simpkins, as he turned the leaves, "that's my wife's second cousin's aunt susan. and that's cousin james, and that's a friend of ours, and that--oh, now, who do you think that is?" "don't know," said sanderson. "well, that's my wife's first husband, my boy." "great scot! what a perfect brainless-looking idiot. but excuse me, old fellow, i didn't know your wife was a widow when you married her." "she wasn't," said simpkins stiffly. "that, sir, is a portrait of myself at the age of twenty." he got results, anyway american troops who during the early days of the european war were landed in france received a more careful and prolonged training than could possibly be given the most of the regiments hurriedly raised during the civil war. the story goes that a raw battalion of rough backwoodsmen, who had "volunteered," once joined general grant. he admired their fine physique, but distrusted the capacity of their uncouth commander to handle troops promptly and efficiently in the field, so he said: "colonel, i want to see your men at work; call them to attention, and order them to march with shouldered arms in close column to the left flank." without a moment's hesitation the colonel yelled to his fellow-ruffians: "boys, look wild thar! make ready to thicken and go left endways! tote yer guns! git!" the manoeuvre proved a brilliant success and the self-elected colonel was forthwith officially commissioned. the two treatments president wilson an ardent advocate of every kind of social reform, is fond of telling a story about an old teamster. this old fellow said to the treasurer of the concern one day: "me and that off horse has been workin' for the company seventeen years, sir." "just so, winterbottom, just so," said the treasurer, and he cleared his throat and added: "both treated well, i hope?" the old teamster looked dubious. "wall," he said, "we wus both tooken down sick last month, and they got a doctor for the hoss, while they docked my pay." comprehensive there is nothing like taking precautions. in the following colloquy mr, casey, so far as we can judge, neglected nothing. mrs. casey said to him: "me sister writes me that every bottle in that box we sent her was broken. are ye sure yez printed 'this side up with care' on it?" "oi am," said casey emphatically. "an' for fear they shouldn't see it on the top oi printed it on the bottom as well." biting reproof during a dust-storm at one of the army camps, a recruit sought shelter in the cook's tent. "if you put the lid on that camp kettle you would not get so much dust in your soup." "see here, my lad, your business is to serve your country." "yes," replied the recruit, "but not to eat it." discriminative on a road in belgium a german officer met a boy leading a jackass and addressed him in heavy jovial fashion as follows: "that's a fine jackass you have, my son. what do you call it? albert, i bet!" "oh, no, officer," the boy replied quickly. "i think too highly of my king." the german scowled and returned: "i hope you don't dare to call it william." "oh, no, officer. i think too highly of my jackass." nothing to lose an author has favored us with the following anecdote, which is taken from the opening of a chapter in a forthcoming book dealing with the war. it is another example of the pioneer character of ministerial service with us. the varieties of opportunity are constantly changing, but out in the front, according to the needs of our day and generation, there stands the unitarian with the equipped mind and the ready hand. "a year ago, in london, a man originally from new york state came up and spoke to me as a fellow-american. he wore the garb of a canadian officer. after i had answered his query as to what i was doing in england, he said: 'my work is rather different. i am looking after the social evil and venereal diseases in the canadian army.' 'then you are a medical man?' 'no, said he, 'i tried to get my english medical friends to take hold of the work, but they said that they had their reputations to look after. i have no reputation to lose. _i am simply a unitarian clergyman._'" bait when mike flaherty abandoned south boston for lynn and hired a cottage with a bit of a back yard the first thing he did was to hurry back to the hub of the universe and purchase a monkey. "divil a wurrd" of his scheme would he disclose to his old cronies in boston. but afterward he let out: "'twas like this: i chained the monk to a shtick in me yard, and the coal thrains do be passin' all day foreninst, and on iv'ry cairr do be a brakeman. in one waik, begorra, i had two tons of coal in me cellar, and the monk never wanst hit." baseball "over there" in a camp "over there" the turkish prisoners are allowed some freedom and among other things our american boys introduced them to the game of baseball. the turks did remarkably well at it. one of them stepped up to the bat one day, and taking it firmly in his hand turned to the east and salaaming said in a reverent voice "allah, assist thy servant." he then made a three bagger. the next player to the bat was an american boy who was not going to let that turk beat him. he also stepped up to the bat, clasped it firmly in his hand, salaaming to the east said, "you know me, al,' keeping up with the turk." index of titles accounting for it accuracy acrobat in the squad, an advice to mabel alas! too late! allegro all or nothing always get the facts always safety first anglomaniac, an and he succeeded another engagement anticipating the pleasure appraised appreciation apprehending the kaiser archie's neck arrival of wilhelm, the automatic "efficiency" bait balls bargain-counter golf baseball "over there" bay state solomon, a beginning early benefactor of mankind, a best of reasons better way, the beyond him beyond the sense of humor big chances both ways biting reproof blissful ignorance boiled bootblack's generosity, the business is business , cæsar visits cicero camouflage can this be true? cash! cautious mourner change for the better charity clincher, a coaxer, a comparison compliments of the day comprehensive comrades! conclusive connoisseur, a considering father couldn't be bothered crown prince called down curiosity dad was wise danger signals deep-laid plan, a deep one, a delayed delightful experience, a depended on the mule deserved the legacy diagnosed diagnosing himself didn't suit him didn't want to rob him difference, the difficult passage, a dignities of office, the diplomat, a disadvantage, a discerning discriminative doing his duty, but doing unto his neighbor dual reputation, a durable easy adjustment, an easy matter, an ecclesiastical dues enforced eclipse, the, to order effective! elimination endurance enough! envy? equatorial michigan evidence experienced expert, an facing the truth fact was, the fair warning fame figuratively speaking flattering explanation, a following instructions forced into it french politeness frugal to the end full particulars free full spead ahead futile experiment, a future statesman, a gastronomical gentle dissolution, a german arithmetic get-rich-quick scheme, a getting even , gifted youth, a give him time give us the chance grateful to the doctor great relief in heaven guide! guilty guilty conscience, a had had treatment had his rights had heard him before had to be settled happy ending wanted hard knock, a hard up for wind heaven sent he couldn't have missed it he got it twice he got results anyway he knew bryan he knew the law he might be, but she wasn't he obeyed her domestic instincts her own her prayer he scorned the thought he understood he was broad minded he was not a prohibitionist high finance his application his by right his complaint his favorite beast his generosity his great ambition his lack his need his search for the practical his system was a complete one historical his ultimatum hoodooed horse psychologist, a how could he know? how he got them how mary lost a tip how to tell a well-bred dog how war began humbled ian hay's fate immortal! impersonal improvement! in advance inconsiderate indissoluble partners in memoriam in our melting pot intelligent cat, the in the old days is this tact? it happened in illinois "it is forbidden" its name jeems henry was conjured! joe's diagnosis joy of eating just answered justice to t.r. kaiser's last word, the keeping it in the family kindness knew his business knew his job knew more about hens than history, last resort last word, the, as usual lesson in manners, a life, the life's eternal query limit, the , limited dissipation literal censor, a little too thrifty, a long story, a looked that way makes a difference making it fit man he left behind, the manna mark twain on millionaires matrimonial endurance matrimonial profundity matter of nomenclature, a matter with kansas, the memories might draw business misleading missed his chance missing it mistaken identity? mistakes will happen more scotch thrift moving tale, a much simpler new complaint, a new régime, the new servant-girl story "next!" no change in shylock no danger non fit no free advertising no joque no peace for him no place for him no telling no use for it not a native not enough scenery not for her to say nothing to lose not in the tactics not much to talk about not so difficult nourishment obeying orders obvious place, the old hand, an on duty elsewhere one explanation one on him one way out on her nerves only one thing for him oriental politeness original method, the "over here" perfectly natural perfect program, a perpetual motion person of discernment, a pessimists pigtails and moustaches playing safe point of honor, the poser, a "prayer of the unrighteous" preparedness pride pride in the daily task probably right proper spirit, the proposal, the proving it purely literary putting it up to the horse ready-witted parson, a real culprit, the record breaker, a remorse revealed revised classics , rivalry robbing himself rotund safe safe deposit same old hours, the scotch thrills scriptural sensitive sermon on the war, a, by parson brown, she admitted it she knew him silent contempt silver lining, the simple faith simple political life, the skeptic, a smarty! smarty! soft answer, a solving a great problem some fight some speed something! specially endowed sporting proposition, a staying on the job still companionable still not satisfied still unbeaten stock suffrage argument, a story from the front, a stories about james gordon bennett, sunshine, mr., and mr, gloom surprising table of comparison taking no chances taxed to capacity test of friendship, a teuton way, the their "bit" their one topic their opportunity then things happened they meant to be fair they were so glad to see him this happened in chicago "tipperary" in chinese tit for tat too forward too good to be wasted too long a shot too much! , too personal too strong a term touchy try it and see try this true optimist, a , two treatments, the unchangeable uneasy unfortunate affair, an unprepared base threatened unreturned favors up to him vulnerable warned in twenty years warning to authors wasn't calling her dear welcoming the actor what did solomon say? what he might have been when the "s" fell out where ignorance is bliss where vermont scored who could tell? why be polite anyway? why not? , , why should he know? winner, the words failed her worm turned, the worse! worth a chance yankee fodder transcriber's note: in the anecdote "disadvantageous correction", the point of the tale depends on the difference between an i with a macron (long vowel) and an i with a breve (short vowel) these have been represented as [=i] and [)i] respectively. two changes have been made to the text: in the anecdote "dr. johnson's criticisms", one instance of the word "by" was deleted from the passage: "just by by chance". in "the mermaid club", johnson was changed to jonson in the passage: "beaumont fondly lets his thoughts wander in his letter to jonson..." [illustration: finding the manuscript diary of john evelyn. _page ._] [illustration: edinburgh: w. p. nimmo.] books and authors: curious facts and characteristic sketches edinburgh: william p. nimmo. edinburgh: murray and gibb, printers to her majesty's stationery office. contents. page ale, bishop still's praise of a learned young lady alfieri's hair authors, hard fate of authorship, pains and toils of bad's the best--canning's criticism "beggar's opera," origin of the bell, death of sir charles blue-stocking club, the boar's head tavern, east cheap, relics of boileau's, a carouse at bolingbroke at battersea bolingbroke, his creed booksellers in little britain boswell as the "bear-leader" boswell's "life of johnson" "boz" (dickens), origin of the word bottled ale, accidental origin of bulwer's pompeian drawing-room bunyan's copy of the "book of martyrs" bunyan's escapes bunyan's preaching burney, miss, her "evelina" butler and buckingham byron, lord, his graceful apology byron's "corsair" byron and "my grandmother's review" byron's personal vanity canning, a ludicrous estimate of chalmers'(dr.) industry chalmers' preaching in london chances for the drama chatterton's profit and loss reckoning classical pun, a "clean hands," lord brougham's clever statesmen, swift on cobbett's boyhood coleridge in the dragoons coleridge as a unitarian preacher coleridge's "watchman" collins' insanity collins' poor opinion of his poems colton the author of "lacon" conscience, a composition with copyrights, value of some cowley at chertsey cowper's "john gilpin" cowper's poems, first publication of criticism, sensitiveness to curran's imagination dangerous fools day and his model wife death-bed revelations dennis, conceited alarms of devotion to science disadvantageous correction, lord north's drollery must be spontaneous dryden drubbed "edinburgh review," origin of the evelyn's diary discovered at wotton "felon literature" fielding's "tom jones" fine flourishes, brougham's rebuke of flattery, moderate fontenelle's insensibility foote's wooden leg fox and gibbon french-english jeu-de-mot fuller's memory gibbon's house at lausanne goldsmith's "she stoops to conquer" haydn and the ship captain haydn's diploma piece at oxford hearne's love of ale hervey, lord, his wit hone's "every-day book" hoole, the translator of tasso hope's "anastasius" ireland's shakspearian forgeries jerrold's jokes, a string of jerrold's rebuke to a rude intruder joe miller at court johnson and hannah more johnson's criticisms johnson's latest contemporaries johnson's pretty compliment to mrs. siddons johnson's pride johnson's residences and resorts in london johnson's wigs johnson and lord elibank johnson, relics of, at lichfield "junius," rogers and "junius' letters," who wrote? killing no murder lamb, cary's epitaph on learning french, brummell leigh hunt and thomas carlyle lewis's "monk" literary coffee-houses in last century literary dinners literary localities in london literary men, the families of locke's rebuke to the card-playing lords lope de vega's popularity lope de vega's voluminous writings lovelace, the last days of mackintosh, sir james, and dr. parr mackintosh's humour magazine, the first magazines, the sale of magna charta recovered mathematical sailors mermaid club, the milton, relics of mitford, miss, her farewell to three-mile cross moore's anacreontic invitation moore's epigram on abbott morris, captain, his songs negroes at home o'connell's opinion of the authorship of "junius" patronage of authors patronage of literature in france payment in kind physiognomy of the french revolutionists poets in a puzzle poetry of the sea, campbell on the pope, a hard hit at popularity of the pickwick papers porson's memory quid pro quo, turner's reconciling the fathers regality of genius repartee, a smart rival remembrance--gilford and hazlitt romilly and brougham sale, the translator of the koran shenstone, an odd present to sheridans, the two sheridan's careful study of his wit silence no sure sign of wisdom smith, james, one of the authors of the "rejected addresses" , smollett's hard fortunes smollett's history of england smollett's "hugh strap" snail dinner, the southey's wife stammering witticism, lamb's sterne's sermons swift's disappointed life swift's three loves thomson's indolence thomson's recitation of his poetry "times" newspaper, writing up the "tom cringle's log," authorship of tom hill trimmer, mrs. tycho brahe's nose voltairean relics at ferney, sale of waller, the courtier-poet walton, izaak, relics of washington irving and wilkie at the alhambra "waverley," the authorship of way to win them, walpole's wycherley's wooing note. this collection of anecdotes, illustrative sketches, and _memorabilia_ generally, relating to the ever fresh and interesting subject of books and authors, is not presented as complete, nor even as containing all the choice material of its kind. the field from which one may gather is so wide and fertile, that any collection warranting such a claim would far exceed the compass of many volumes, much less of this little book. it has been sought to offer, in an acceptable and convenient form, some of the more remarkable or interesting literary facts or incidents with which one individual, in a somewhat extended reading, has been struck; some of the passages which he has admired; some of the anecdotes and jests that have amused him and may amuse others; some of the reminiscences that it has most pleased him to dwell upon. for no very great portion of the contents of this volume, is the claim to originality of subject-matter advanced. the collection, however, is submitted with some confidence that it may be found as interesting, as accurate, and as much guided by good taste, as it has been endeavoured to make it. books and authors. _curious facts and characteristic sketches._ the finding of john evelyn's ms. diary at wotton.[ ] the ms. diary, or "kalendarium," of the celebrated john evelyn lay among the family papers at wotton, in surrey, from the period of his death, in , until their rare interest and value were discovered in the following singular manner. the library at wotton is rich in curious books, with notes in john evelyn's handwriting, as well as papers on various subjects, and transcripts of letters by the philosopher, who appears never to have employed an amanuensis. the arrangement of these treasures was, many years since, entrusted to the late mr. upcott, of the london institution, who made a complete catalogue of the collection. one afternoon, as lady evelyn and a female companion were seated in one of the fine old apartments of wotton, making feather tippets, her ladyship pleasantly observed to mr. upcott, "you may think this feather-work a strange way of passing time: it is, however, my hobby; and i dare say you, too, mr. upcott, have _your hobby_." the librarian replied that his favourite pursuit was the collection of the autographs of eminent persons. lady evelyn remarked, that in all probability the mss. of "_sylva_" evelyn would afford mr. upcott some amusement. his reply may be well imagined. the bell was rung, and a servant desired to bring the papers from a lumber-room of the old mansion; and from one of the baskets so produced was brought to light the manuscript diary of john evelyn--one of the most finished specimens of autobiography in the whole compass of english literature. the publication of the diary, with a selection of familiar letters, and private correspondence, was entrusted to mr. william bray, f.s.a.; and the last sheets of the ms., with a dedication to lady evelyn, were actually in the hands of the printer at the hour of her death. the work appeared in ; and a volume of miscellaneous papers, by evelyn, was subsequently published, under mr. upcott's editorial superintendence. wotton house, though situate in the angle of two valleys, is actually on part of leith hill, the rise from thence being very gradual. evelyn's "diary" contains a pen-and-ink sketch of the mansion as it appeared in . [ ] see the frontispiece. * * * * * families of literary men. a _quarterly_ reviewer, in discussing an objection to the copyright bill of mr. sergeant talfourd, which was taken by sir edward sugden, gives some curious particulars of the progeny of literary men. "we are not," says the writer, "going to speculate about the causes of the fact; but a fact it is, that men distinguished for extraordinary intellectual power of any sort rarely leave more than a very brief line of progeny behind them. men of genius have scarcely ever done so; men of imaginative genius, we might say, almost never. with the one exception of the noble surrey, we cannot, at this moment, point out a representative in the male line, even so far down as the third generation, of any english poet; and we believe the case is the same in france. the blood of beings of that order can seldom be traced far down, even in the female line. with the exception of surrey and spenser, we are not aware of any great english author of at all remote date, from whose body any living person claims to be descended. there is no real english poet prior to the middle of the eighteenth century; and we believe no great author of any sort, except clarendon and shaftesbury, of whose blood we have any inheritance amongst us. chaucer's only son died childless; shakspeare's line expired in his daughter's only daughter. none of the other dramatists of that age left any progeny; nor raleigh, nor bacon, nor cowley, nor butler. the grand-daughter of milton was the last of his blood. newton, locke, pope, swift, arbuthnot, hume, gibbon, cowper, gray, walpole, cavendish (and we might greatly extend the list), never married. neither bolingbroke, nor addison, nor warburton, nor johnson, nor burke, transmitted their blood. one of the arguments against a _perpetuity_ in literary property is, that it would be founding another _noblesse_. neither jealous aristocracy nor envious jacobinism need be under such alarm. when a human race has produced its 'bright, consummate flower' in this kind, it seems commonly to be near its end." * * * * * the blue-stocking club. towards the close of the last century, there met at mrs. montague's a literary assembly, called "the blue-stocking club," in consequence of one of the most admired of the members, mr. benjamin stillingfleet, always wearing _blue stockings_. the appellation soon became general as a name for pedantic or ridiculous literary ladies. hannah more wrote a volume in verse, entitled _the bas bleu: or conversation_. it proceeds on the mistake of a foreigner, who, hearing of the blue-stocking club, translated it literally _bas bleu_. johnson styled this poem "a great performance." the following couplets have been quoted, and remembered, as terse and pointed:-- "in men this blunder still you find, all think their little set mankind." "small habits well pursued betimes, may reach the dignity of crimes." * * * * * dr. johnson and hannah more when hannah more came to london in , or , she was domesticated with garrick, and was received with favour by johnson, reynolds, and burke. her sister has thus described her first interview with johnson:-- "we have paid another visit to miss reynolds; she had sent to engage dr. percy, ('percy's collection,' now you know him), quite a sprightly modern, instead of a rusty antique, as i expected: he was no sooner gone than the most amiable and obliging of women, miss reynolds, ordered the coach to take us to dr. johnson's very own house: yes, abyssinian johnson! dictionary johnson! ramblers, idlers, and irene johnson! can you picture to yourselves the palpitation of our hearts as we approached his mansion? the conversation turned upon a new work of his just going to the press (the 'tour to the hebrides'), and his old friend richardson. mrs. williams, the blind poet, who lives with him, was introduced to us. she is engaging in her manners, her conversation lively and entertaining. miss reynolds told the doctor of all our rapturous exclamations on the road. he shook his scientific head at hannah, and said she was 'a silly thing.' when our visit was ended, he called for his hat, as it rained, to attend us down a very long entry to our coach, and not rasselas could have acquitted himself more _en cavalier_. i forgot to mention, that not finding johnson in his little parlour when we came in, hannah seated herself in his great chair hoping to catch a little ray of his genius: when he heard it, he laughed heartily, and told her it was a chair on which he never sat. he said it reminded him of boswell and himself when they stopped a night, as they imagined, where the weird sisters appeared to macbeth. the idea so worked on their enthusiasm, that it quite deprived them of rest. however, they learned the next morning, to their mortification, that they had been deceived, and were quite in another part of the country." * * * * * miss mitford's farewell to three mile cross. when miss mitford left her rustic cottage at three mile cross, and removed to reading, (the belford regis of her novel), she penned the following beautiful picture of its homely joys-- "farewell, then, my beloved village! the long, straggling street, gay and bright on this sunny, windy april morning, full of all implements of dirt and mire, men, women, children, cows, horses, wagons, carts, pigs, dogs, geese, and chickens--busy, merry, stirring little world, farewell! farewell to the winding, up-hill road, with its clouds of dust, as horsemen and carriages ascend the gentle eminence, its borders of turf, and its primrosy hedges! farewell to the breezy common, with its islands of cottages and cottage-gardens; its oaken avenues, populous with rooks; its clear waters fringed with gorse, where lambs are straying; its cricket-ground where children already linger, anticipating their summer revelry; its pretty boundary of field and woodland, and distant farms; and latest and best of its ornaments, the dear and pleasant mansion where dwelt the neighbours, the friends of friends; farewell to ye all! ye will easily dispense with me, but what i shall do without you, i cannot imagine. mine own dear village, farewell!" * * * * * smollett's "hugh strap." in the year was interred, in the churchyard of st. martin's in the fields, the body of one hew hewson, who died at the age of . he was the original of hugh strap, in smollett's _roderick random_. upwards of forty years he kept a hair-dresser's shop in st. martin's parish; the walls were hung round with latin quotations, and he would frequently point out to his customers and acquaintances the several scenes in _roderick random_ pertaining to himself, which had their origin, not in smollett's inventive fancy, but in truth and reality. the meeting in a barber's shop at newcastle-upon-tyne, the subsequent mistake at the inn, their arrival together in london, and the assistance they experienced from strap's friend, are all facts. the barber left behind an annotated copy of _roderick random_, showing how far we are indebted to the genius of the author, and to what extent the incidents are founded in reality. * * * * * collins's poems. mr. john ragsdale, of richmond, in surrey, who was the intimate friend of collins, states that some of his odes were written while on a visit at his, mr. ragsdale's house. the poet, however, had such a poor opinion of his own productions, that after showing them to mr. ragsdale, he would snatch them from him, and throw them into the fire; and in this way, it is believed, many of collins's finest pieces were destroyed. such of his odes as were published, on his own account in , were not popular; and, disappointed at the slowness of the sale, the poet burnt the remaining copies with his own hands. * * * * * captain morris's songs. alas! poor morris--writes one--we knew him well. who that has once read or heard his songs, can forget their rich and graceful imagery; the fertile fancy, the touching sentiment, and the "soul reviving" melody, which characterize every line of these delightful lyrics? well do we remember, too, his "old buff waistcoat," his courteous manner, and his gentlemanly pleasantry, long after this nestor of song had retired to enjoy the delights of rural life, despite the prayer of his racy verse: "in town let me live, then, in town let me die; for in truth i can't relish the country, not i. if one must have a villa in summer to dwell; oh! give me the sweet, shady side of pall mall." captain morris was born about the middle of the last century, and outlived the majority of the _bon vivant_ society which he gladdened with his genius, and lit up with his brilliant humour. yet, many readers of the present generation may ask, "who was captain morris?" he was born of good family, in the celebrated year , and appears to have inherited a taste for literary composition; for his father composed the popular song of _kitty crowder_. for more than half a century, captain morris moved in the first circles. he was the "sun of the table" at carlton house, as well as at norfolk house; and attaching himself politically, as well as convivially, to his dinner companions, he composed the celebrated ballads of "billy's too young to drive us," and "billy pitt and the farmer," which continued long in fashion, as brilliant satires upon the ascendant politics of their day. his humorous ridicule of the tories was, however, but ill repaid by the whigs upon their accession to office; at least, if we may trust the beautiful ode of "the old whig poet to his old buff waistcoat." we are not aware of this piece being included in any edition of the "songs." it bears date "g. r., august , ;" six years subsequent to which we saw it among the papers of the late alexander stephens. captain morris's "songs" were very popular. in , we possessed a copy of the th edition; we remember one of the ditties to have been "sung by the prince of wales to a certain lady," to the air of "there's a difference between a beggar and a queen." morris's finest anacreontic, is the song _ad poculum_, for which he received the gold cup of the harmonic society: "come thou soul-reviving cup! try thy healing art; stir the fancy's visions up, and warm my wasted heart. touch with freshening tints of bliss memory's fading dream; give me, while thy lip i kiss, the heaven that's in thy stream." of the famous beefsteak club, (at first limited to twenty-four members, but increased to twenty-five, to admit the prince of wales,) captain morris was the laureat; of this "jovial system" he was the intellectual centre. in the year , he bade adieu to the club, in some spirited stanzas, though penned at "an age far beyond mortal lot." in , he was permitted to revisit the club, when they presented him with a large silver bowl, appropriately inscribed. it would not be difficult to string together gems from the captain's lyrics. in "the toper's apology," one of his most sparkling songs, occurs this brilliant version of addison's comparison of wits with flying fish:-- "my muse, too, when her wings are dry, no frolic flight will take; but round a bowl she'll dip and fly, like swallows round a lake. then, if the nymph will have her share before she'll bless her swain, why that i think's a reason fair to fill my glass again." many years since, captain morris retired to a villa at brockham, near the foot of box hill, in surrey. this property, it is said, was presented to him by his old friend, the duke of norfolk. here the captain "drank the pure pleasures of the rural life" long after many a bright light of his own time had flickered out, and become almost forgotten; even "the sweet, shady side of pall mall" had almost disappeared, and with it the princely house whereat he was wont to shine. he died july , , in his ninety-third year, of internal inflammation of only four days. morris presented a rare combination of mirth and prudence, such as human conduct seldom offers for our imitation. he retained his _gaieté de coeur_ to the last; so that, with equal truth and spirit, he remonstrated: "when life charms my heart, must i kindly be told, i'm too gay and too happy for one that's so old." captain morris left his autobiography to his family; but it has not been published. * * * * * literary dinners. incredible as it may appear, it is sometimes stated very confidently, that english authors and actors who give dinners, are treated with greater indulgence by certain critics than those who do not. but, it has never been said that any critical journal in england, with the slightest pretensions to respectability, was in the habit of levying black mail in this rob roy fashion, upon writers or articles of any kind. yet it is alleged, on high authority, that many of the french critical journals are or were principally supported from such a source. for example, there is a current anecdote to the effect that when the celebrated singer nourrit died, the editor of one of the musical reviews waited on his successor, duprez, and, with a profusion of compliments and apologies, intimated to him that nourrit had invariably allowed francs a year to the review. duprez, taken rather aback, expressed his readiness to allow half that sum. "_bien, monsieur_," said the editor, with a shrug, "_mais, parole d'honneur, j'y perds mille francs._" * * * * * popularity of the pickwick papers. mr. davy, who accompanied colonel cheney up the euphrates, was for a time in the service of mehemet ali pacha. "pickwick" happening to reach davy while he was at damascus, he read a part of it to the pacha, who was so delighted with it, that davy was, on one occasion, called up in the middle of the night to finish the reading of the chapter in which he and the pacha had been interrupted. mr. davy read, in egypt, upon another occasion, some passages from these unrivalled "papers" to a blind englishman, who was in such ecstasy with what he heard, that he exclaimed he was almost thankful he could not see he was in a foreign country; for that while he listened, he felt completely as though he were again in england.--_lady chatterton._ * * * * * swift's disappointment. "i remember when i was a little boy, (writes swift in a letter to bolingbroke,) i felt a great fish at the end of my line, which i drew up almost on the ground, but it dropt in, and the disappointment vexes me to this day; and i believe it was the type of all my future disappointments." "this little incident," writes percival, "perhaps gave the first wrong bias to a mind predisposed to such impressions; and by operating with so much strength and permanency, it might possibly lay the foundation of the dean's subsequent peevishness, passion, misanthropy, and final insanity." * * * * * leigh hunt and thomas carlyle. the following characteristic story of these two "intellectual gladiators" is related in "a new spirit of the age." leigh hunt and carlyle were once present among a small party of equally well known men. it chanced that the conversation rested with these two, both first-rate talkers, and the others sat well pleased to listen. leigh hunt had said something about the islands of the blest, or el dorado, or the millennium, and was flowing on in his bright and hopeful way, when carlyle dropt some heavy tree-trunk across hunt's pleasant stream, and banked it up with philosophical doubts and objections at every interval of the speaker's joyous progress. but the unmitigated hunt never ceased his overflowing anticipations, nor the saturnine carlyle his infinite demurs to those finite flourishings. the listeners laughed and applauded by turns; and had now fairly pitted them against each other, as the philosopher of hopefulness and of the unhopeful. the contest continued with all that ready wit and philosophy, that mixture of pleasantry and profundity, that extensive knowledge of books and character, with their ready application in argument or illustration, and that perfect ease and good-nature, which distinguish each of these men. the opponents were so well matched, that it was quite clear the contest would never come to an end. but the night was far advanced, and the party broke up. they all sallied forth; and leaving the close room, the candles and the arguments behind them, suddenly found themselves in presence of a most brilliant star-light night. they all looked up. "now," thought hunt, "carlyle's done for!--he can have no answer to that!" "there!" shouted hunt, "look up there! look at that glorious harmony, that sings with infinite voices an eternal song of hope in the soul of man." carlyle looked up. they all remained silent to hear what he would say. they began to think he was silenced at last--he was a mortal man. but out of that silence came a few low-toned words, in a broad scotch accent. and who, on earth, could have anticipated what the voice said? "eh! it's a _sad_ sight!"----hunt sat down on a stone step. they all laughed--then looked very thoughtful. had the finite measured itself with infinity, instead of surrendering itself up to the influence? again they laughed--then bade each other good night, and betook themselves homeward with slow and serious pace. there might be some reason for sadness, too. that brilliant firmament probably contained infinite worlds, each full of struggling and suffering beings--of beings who had to die--for life in the stars implies that those bright worlds should also be full of graves; but all that life, like ours, knowing not whence it came, nor whither it goeth, and the brilliant universe in its great movement having, perhaps, no more certain knowledge of itself, nor of its ultimate destination, than hath one of the suffering specks that compose this small spot we inherit. * * * * * cowper's poems. johnson, the publisher in st. paul's churchyard, obtained the copyright of cowper's poems, which proved a great source of profit to him, in the following manner:--one evening, a relation of cowper's called upon johnson with a portion of the ms. poems, which he offered for publication, provided johnson would publish them at his own risk, and allow the author to have a few copies to give to his friends. johnson read the poems, approved of them, and accordingly published them. soon after they had appeared, there was scarcely a reviewer who did not load them with the most scurrilous abuse, and condemn them to the butter shops; and the public taste being thus terrified or misled, these charming effusions stood in the corner of the publisher's shop as an unsaleable pile for a long time. at length, cowper's relation called upon johnson with another bundle of the poet's ms, which was offered and accepted upon the same terms as before. in this fresh collection was the poem of the "task." not alarmed at the fate of the former publication, but thoroughly assured of the great merit of the poems, they were published. the tone of the reviewers became changed, and cowper was hailed as the first poet of the age. the success of this second publication set the first in motion. johnson immediately reaped the fruits of his undaunted judgment; and cowper's poems enriched the publisher, when the poet was in languishing circumstances. in october, , the copyright of cowper's poems was put up to sale among the london booksellers, in thirty-two shares. twenty of the shares were sold at _l._ each. the work, consisting of two octavo volumes, was satisfactorily proved at the sale to net _l._ per annum. it had only two years of copyright; yet this same copyright produced the sum of _l._ * * * * * hearne's love of ale. thomas warton, in his account of oxford, relates that at the sign of whittington and his cat, the laborious antiquary, thomas hearne, "one evening suffered himself to be overtaken in liquor. but, it should be remembered, that this accident was more owing to his love of antiquity than of ale. it happened that the kitchen where he and his companion were sitting was neatly paved with sheep's trotters disposed in various compartments. after one pipe, mr. hearne, consistently with his usual gravity and sobriety, rose to depart; but his friend, who was inclined to enjoy more of his company, artfully observed, that the floor on which they were then sitting was no less than an original tesselated roman pavement. out of respect to classic ground, and on recollection that the stunsfield roman pavement, on which he had just published a dissertation, was dedicated to bacchus, our antiquary cheerfully complied; an enthusiastic transport seized his imagination; he fell on his knees and kissed the sacred earth, on which, in a few hours, and after a few tankards, by a sort of sympathetic attraction, he was obliged to repose for some part of the evening. his friend was, probably, in the same condition; but two printers accidentally coming in, conducted mr. hearne, between them, to edmund's hall, with much state and solemnity." * * * * * sheridan's wit. sheridan's wit was eminently brilliant, and almost always successful; it was, like all his speaking, exceedingly prepared, but it was skilfully introduced and happily applied; and it was well mingled, also, with humour, occasionally descending to farce. how little it was the inspiration of the moment all men were aware who knew his habits; but a singular proof of this was presented to mr. moore, when he came to write his life; for we there find given to the world, with a frankness which must have almost made their author shake in his grave, the secret note-books of this famous wit; and are thus enabled to trace the jokes, in embryo, with which he had so often made the walls of st. stephen's shake, in a merriment excited by the happy appearance of sudden unpremeditated effusion.--_lord brougham._ take an instance from this author, giving extracts from the common-place book of the wit:--"he employs his fancy in his narrative, and keeps his recollections for his wit." again, the same idea is expanded into "when he makes his jokes, you applaud the accuracy of his memory, and 'tis only when he states his facts that you admire the flights of his imagination." but the thought was too good to be thus wasted on the desert air of a common-place book. so, forth it came, at the expense of kelly, who, having been a composer of music, became a wine-merchant. "you will," said the _ready_ wit, "import your music and compose your wine." nor was this service exacted from the old idea thought sufficient; so, in the house of commons, an easy and, apparently, off-hand parenthesis was thus filled with it, at mr. dundas's cost and charge, "who generally resorts to his memory for his jokes, and to his imagination for his facts." * * * * * smollett's history of england. this man of genius among trading authors, before he began his history of england, wrote to the earl of shelburne, then in the whig administration, offering, if the earl would procure for his work the patronage of the government, he would accommodate his politics to the ministry; but if not, that he had high promises of support from the other party. lord shelburne, of course, treated the proffered support of a writer of such accommodating principles with contempt; and the work of smollett, accordingly, became distinguished for its high toryism. the history was published in sixpenny weekly numbers, of which , copies were sold immediately. this extraordinary popularity was created by the artifice of the publisher. he is stated to have addressed a packet of the specimens of the publication to every parish-clerk in england, carriage-free, with half-a-crown enclosed as a compliment, to have them distributed through the pews of the church: this being generally done, many people read the specimens instead of listening to the sermon, and the result was an universal demand for the work. * * * * * magna charta recovered. the transcript of magna charta, now in the british museum, was discovered by sir robert cotton in the possession of his tailor, who was just about to cut the precious document out into "measures" for his customers. sir robert redeemed the valuable curiosity at the price of old parchment, and thus recovered what had long been supposed to be irretrievably lost. * * * * * fox and gibbon. when mr. fox's furniture was sold by auction, after his decease in , amongst his books there was the first volume of his friend gibbon's _decline and fall of the roman empire_: by the title-page, it appeared to have been presented by the author to fox, who, on the blank leaf, had written this anecdote of the historian:--"the author, at brookes's, said there was no salvation for this country until six heads of the principal persons in administration were laid upon the table. eleven days after, this same gentleman accepted a place of lord of trade under those very ministers, and has acted with them ever since!" such was the avidity of bidders for the most trifling production of fox's genius, that, by the addition of this little record, the book sold for three guineas. * * * * * dr. johnson's pride. sir joshua reynolds used to relate the following characteristic anecdote of johnson:--about the time of their early acquaintance, they met one evening at the misses cotterell's, when the duchess of argyll and another lady of rank came in. johnson, thinking that the misses cotterell were too much engrossed by them, and that he and his friend were neglected as low company, of whom they were somewhat ashamed, grew angry, and, resolving to shock their suspected pride, by making the great visitors imagine they were low indeed, johnson addressed himself in a loud tone to reynolds, saying, "how much do you think you and i could get in a week if we were to work as hard as we could?" just as though they were ordinary mechanics. * * * * * lord byron's "corsair." the earl of dudley, in his _letters_, ( ) says:--"to me byron's _corsair_ appears the best of all his works. rapidity of execution is no sort of apology for doing a thing ill, but when it is done well, the wonder is so much the greater. i am told he wrote this poem at ten sittings--certainly it did not take him more than three weeks. he is a most extraordinary person, and yet there is g. ellis, who don't feel his merit. his creed in modern poetry (i should have said _contemporary_) is walter scott, all walter scott, and nothing but walter scott. i cannot say how i hate this petty, factious spirit in literature--it is so unworthy of a man so clever and so accomplished as ellis undoubtedly is." * * * * * booksellers in little britain. little britain, anciently breton-street, from the mansion of the duke of bretagne on that spot, in more modern times became the "paternoster-row" of the booksellers; and a newspaper of states them to have published here within four years, pamphlets. one chiswell, resident here in , was the metropolitan bookseller, "the longman" of his time: and here lived rawlinson ("tom folio" of _the tatler_, no. ), who stuffed four chambers in gray's inn so full, that his bed was removed into the passage. john day, the famous early printer, lived "over aldersgate." * * * * * reconciling the fathers. a dean of gloucester having some merry divines at dinner with him one day, amongst other discourses they were talking of reconciling the fathers on some points; he told them he could show them the best way in the world to reconcile them on all points of difference; so, after dinner, he carried them into his study, and showed them all the fathers, classically ordered, with a quart of sack betwixt each of them. * * * * * dr. parr and sir james mackintosh. sir james once asked dr. parr to join him in a drive in his gig. the horse growing restive--"gently, jemmy," the doctor said; "don't irritate him; always soothe your horse, jemmy. you'll do better without me. let me down, jemmy!" but once safe on the ground--"now, jemmy," said the doctor, "touch him up. never let a horse get the better of you. touch him up, conquer him, do not spare him. and now i'll leave you to manage him; i'll walk back." * * * * * sir james mackintosh's humour. sir james mackintosh had a great deal of humour; and, among many other examples of it, he kept a dinner-party at his own house for two or three hours in a roar of laughter, playing upon the simplicity of a scotch cousin, who had mistaken the rev. sydney smith for his gallant synonym, the hero of acre. * * * * * writings of lope de vega. the number of lope de vega's works has been strangely exaggerated by some, but by others reduced to about one-sixth of the usual statement. upon this computation it will be found that some of his contemporaries were as prolific as himself. vincent mariner, a friend of lope, left behind him quires of paper full of his own compositions, in a writing so exceedingly small, and so exceedingly bad, that no person but himself could read it. lord holland has given a facsimile of lope's handwriting, and though it cannot be compared to that of a dramatist of late times, one of whose plays, in the original manuscript, is said to be a sufficient load for a porter, it is evident that one of mariner's pages would contain as much as a sheet of his friend's, which would, as nearly as possible, balance the sum total. but, upon this subject, an epigram by quarles may be applied, written upon a more serious theme: "in all our prayers the almighty does regard the judgment of the _balance_, not the _yard_; he loves not words, but matter; 'tis his pleasure to buy his wares by _weight_, not by measure." with regard to the quantity of lope's writings, a complete edition of them would not much, if at all, exceed those of voltaire, who, in labour of composition, for he sent nothing into the world carelessly, must have greatly exceeded lope. and the labours of these men shrink into insignificance when compared to those of some of the schoolmen and of the fathers. * * * * * popularity of lope de vega. other writers, of the same age with lope de vega, obtained a wider celebrity. don quixote, during the life of its ill-requited author, was naturalized in countries where the name of lope de vega was not known, and du bartas was translated into the language of every reading people. but no writer ever has enjoyed such a share of popularity. "cardinal barberini," says lord holland, "followed lope with veneration in the streets; the king would stop to gaze at such a prodigy; the people crowded round him wherever he appeared; the learned and studious thronged to madrid from every part of spain to see this phoenix of their country, this monster of literature; and even italians, no extravagant admirers, in general, of poetry that is not their own, made pilgrimages from their country for the sole purpose of conversing with lope. so associated was the idea of excellence with his name, that it grew, in common conversation, to signify anything perfect in its kind; and a lope diamond, a lope day, or a lope woman, became fashionable and familiar modes of expressing their good qualities." lope's death produced an universal commotion in the court and in the whole kingdom. many ministers, knights, and prelates were present when he expired; among others, the duke of sesa, who had been the most munificent of his patrons, whom he appointed his executor, and who was at the expense of his funeral, a mode by which the great men in that country were fond of displaying their regard for men of letters. it was a public funeral, and it was not performed till the third day after his death, that there might be time for rendering it more splendid, and securing a more honourable attendance. the grandees and nobles who were about the court were all invited as mourners; a novenary or service of nine days was performed for him, at which the musicians of the royal chapel assisted; after which there were exequies on three successive days, at which three bishops officiated in full pontificals; and on each day a funeral sermon was preached by one of the most famous preachers of the age. such honours were paid to the memory of lope de vega, one of the most prolific, and, during his life, the most popular, of all poets, ancient or modern. * * * * * swift's loves. the first of these ladies, whom swift romantically christened varina, was a miss jane waryng, to whom he wrote passionate letters, and whom, when he had succeeded in gaining her affections, he deserted, after a sort of seven years' courtship. the next flame of the dean's was the well-known miss esther johnson, whom he fancifully called stella. somehow, he had the address to gain her decided attachment to him, though considerably younger, beautiful in person, accomplished, and estimable. he dangled upon her, fed her hopes of an union, and at length persuaded her to leave london and reside near him in ireland. his conduct then was of a piece with the rest of his life: he never saw her alone, never slept under the same roof with her, but allowed her character and reputation to be suspected, in consequence of their intimacy; nor did he attempt to remove such by marriage until a late period of his life, when, to save her from dissolution, he consented to the ceremony, upon condition that it should never be divulged; that she should live as before; retain her own name, &c.; and this wedding, upon the above being assented to, was performed in a garden! but swift never acknowledged her till the day of his death. during all this treatment of his stella, swift had ingratiated himself with a young lady of fortune and fashion in london, whose name was vanhomrig, and whom he called vanessa. it is much to be regretted that the heartless tormentor should have been so ardently and passionately beloved, as was the case with the latter lady. selfish, hardhearted as was swift, he seemed but to live in disappointing others. such was his coldness and brutality to vanessa, that he may be said to have caused her death. * * * * * coleridge's "watchman." coleridge, among his many speculations, started a periodical, in prose and verse, entitled _the watchman_, with the motto, "that all might know the truth, and that the truth might make us free." he watched in vain! coleridge's incurable want of order and punctuality, and his philosophical theories, tired out and disgusted his readers, and the work was discontinued after the ninth number. of the unsaleable nature of this publication, he relates an amusing illustration. happening one morning to rise at an earlier hour than usual, he observed his servant-girl putting an extravagant quantity of paper into the grate, in order to light the fire, and he mildly checked her for her wastefulness: "la! sir," replied nanny; "why, it's only _watchmen_." * * * * * ireland's shakspeare forgeries. mr. samuel ireland, originally a silk merchant in spitalfields, was led by his taste for literary antiquities to abandon trade for those pursuits, and published several tours. one of them consisted of an excursion upon the river avon, during which he explored, with ardent curiosity, every locality associated with shakspeare. he was accompanied by his son, a youth of sixteen, who imbibed a portion of his father's shakspearean mania. the youth, perceiving the great importance which his parent attached to every relic of the poet, and the eagerness with which he sought for any of his ms. remains, conceived that it would not be difficult to gratify his father by some productions of his own, in the language and manner of shakspeare's time. the idea possessed his mind for a certain period; and, in , being then in his eighteenth year, he produced some mss. said to be in the handwriting of shakspeare, which he said had been given him by a gentleman possessed of many other old papers. the young man, being articled to a solicitor in chancery, easily fabricated, in the first instance, the deed of mortgage from shakspeare to michael fraser. the ecstasy expressed by his father urged him to the fabrication of other documents, described to come from the same quarter. emboldened by success, he ventured upon higher compositions in prose and verse; and at length announced the discovery of an original drama, under the title of _vortigern_, which he exhibited, act by act, written in the period of two months. having provided himself with the paper of the period, (being the fly-leaves of old books,) and with ink prepared by a bookbinder, no suspicion was entertained of the deception. the father, who was a maniac upon such subjects, gave such _éclat_ to the supposed discovery, that the attention of the literary world, and all england, was drawn to it; insomuch that the son, who had announced other papers, found it impossible to retreat, and was goaded into the production of the series which he had promised. the house of mr. ireland, in norfolk-street, strand, was daily crowded to excess by persons of the highest rank, as well as by the most celebrated men of letters. the mss. being mostly decreed genuine, were considered to be of inestimable worth; and at one time it was expected that parliament would give any required sum for them. some conceited amateurs in literature at length sounded an alarm, which was echoed by certain of the newspapers and public journals; notwithstanding which, mr. sheridan agreed to give _l_. for permission to play _vortigern_ at drury-lane theatre. so crowded a house was scarcely ever seen as on the night of the performance, and a vast number of persons could not obtain admission. the predetermined malcontents began an opposition from the outset: some ill-cast characters converted grave scenes into ridicule, and there ensued between the believers and sceptics a contest which endangered the property. the piece was, accordingly, withdrawn. the juvenile author was now so beset for information, that he found it necessary to abscond from his father's house; and then, to put an end to the wonderful ferment which his ingenuity had created, he published a pamphlet, wherein he confessed the entire fabrication. besides _vortigern_, young ireland also produced a play of henry ii.; and, although there were in both such incongruities as were not consistent with shakspeare's age, both dramas contain passages of considerable beauty and originality. the admissions of the son did not, however, screen the father from obloquy, and the reaction of public opinion affected his fortunes and his health. mr. ireland was the dupe of his zeal upon such subjects; and the son never contemplated at the outset the unfortunate effect. such was the enthusiasm of certain admirers of shakspeare, (among them drs. parr and warton,) that they fell upon their knees before the mss.; and, by their idolatry, inspired hundreds of others with similar enthusiasm. the young author was filled with astonishment and alarm, which at that stage it was not in his power to check. sir richard phillips, who knew the parties, has thus related the affair in the _anecdote library_. in the catalogue of dr. parr's library at hatton, (_bibliotheca parriana_,) we find the following attempted explanation by the doctor:-- "ireland's (samuel) 'great and impudent forgery, called,' miscellaneous papers and legal instruments, under the hand and seal of william shakspeare, folio . "i am almost ashamed to insert this worthless and infamously trickish book. it is said to include the tragedy of _king lear_, and a fragment of _hamlet_. ireland told a lie when he imputed to _me_ the words which _joseph warton_ used, the very morning i called on ireland, and was inclined to admit the possibility of genuineness in his papers. in my subsequent conversation, i told him my change of opinion. but i thought it not worth while to dispute in print with a detected impostor.--s. p." mr. ireland died about . his son, william henry, long survived him; but the forgeries blighted his literary reputation for ever, and he died in straitened circumstances, about the year . the reputed shakspearean mss. are stated to have been seen for sale in a pawnbroker's window in wardour-street, soho. * * * * * hoole, the translator of tasso. the ghost puzzled. hoole was born in a hackney-coach, which was conveying his mother to drury-lane theatre, to witness the performance of the tragedy of _timanthes_, which had been written by her husband. hoole died in , at a very advanced age. in early life, he ranked amongst the literary characters that adorned the last century; and, for some years before his death, had outlived most of the persons who frequented the _conversazioni_ of dr. johnson. by the will of the doctor, mr. hoole was enabled to take from his library and effects such books and furniture as he might think proper to select, by way of memorial of that great personage. he accordingly chose a chair in which dr. johnson usually sat, and the desk upon which he had written the greater number of the papers of the _rambler_; both these articles mr. hoole used constantly until nearly the day of his death. hoole was near-sighted. he was partial to the drama; and, when young, often strutted his hour at an amateur theatre in lincoln's inn fields. upon one occasion, whilst performing the ghost in _hamlet_, mr. hoole wandered incautiously from off the trap-door through which he had emerged from the nether world, and by which it was his duty to descend. in this dilemma he groped about, hoping to distinguish the aperture, keeping the audience in wonder why he remained so long on the stage after the crowing of the cock. it was apparent from the lips of the ghost that he was holding converse with some one at the wings. he at length became irritated, and "alas! poor ghost!" ejaculated, in tones sufficiently audible, "i tell you i can't find it." the laughter that ensued may be imagined. the ghost, had he been a sensible one, would have walked off; but no--he became more and more irritated, until the perturbed spirit was placed, by some of the bystanders, on the trap-door, after which it descended, with due solemnity, amid roars of laughter. * * * * * lord byron's vanity during the residence of lord byron at venice, a clerk was sent from the office of messrs. vizard and co., of lincoln's inn, to procure his lordship's signature to a legal instrument. on his arrival, the clerk sent a message to the noble poet, who appointed to receive him on the following morning. each party was punctual to the minute. his lordship had dressed himself with the most studious care; and, on the opening of the door of his apartment, it was evident that he had placed himself in what he thought a becoming _pose_. his right arm was displayed over the back of a splendid couch, and his head was gently supported by the fingers of his left hand. he bowed slightly as his visitor approached him, and appeared anxious that his recumbent attitude should remain for a time undisturbed. after the signing of the deed, the noble bard made a few inquiries upon the politics of england, in the tone of a finished exquisite. some refreshment which was brought in afforded the messenger an opportunity for more minute observation. his lordship's hair had been curled and parted on the forehead; the collar of his shirt was thrown back, so that not only the throat but a considerable portion of his bosom was exposed to view, though partially concealed by some fanciful ornament suspended round the neck. his waistcoat was of costly velvet, and his legs were enveloped in a superb wrapper. it is to be regretted that so great a mind as that of byron could derive satisfaction from things so trivial and unimportant, but much more that it was liable to be disturbed by a recollection of personal imperfections. in the above interview, the clerk directed an accidental glance at his lordship's lame foot, when the smile that had played upon the visage of the poet became suddenly converted into a frown. his whole frame appeared discomposed; his tone of affected suavity became hard and imperious; and he called to an attendant to open the door, with a peevishness seldom exhibited even by the most irritable. * * * * * lord byron's apology. no one knew how to apologize for an affront with better grace, or with more delicacy, than lord byron. in the first edition of the first canto of _childe harold_, the poet adverted in a note to two political tracts--one by major pasley, and the other by gould francis leckie, esq.; and concluded his remarks by attributing "ignorance on the one hand, and prejudice on the other." mr. leckie, who felt offended at the severity and, as he thought, injustice of the observations, wrote to lord byron, complaining of the affront. his lordship did not reply immediately to the letter; but, in about three weeks, he called upon mr. leckie, and begged him to accept an elegantly-bound copy of a new edition of the poem, in which the offensive passage was omitted. * * * * * fine flourishes. lord brougham, in an essay published long ago in the _edinburgh review_, read a smart lesson to parliamentary wits. "a wit," says his lordship, "though he amuses for the moment, unavoidably gives frequent offence to grave and serious men, who don't think public affairs should be lightly handled, and are constantly falling into the error that when a person is arguing the most conclusively, by showing the gross and ludicrous absurdity of his adversary's reasoning, he is jesting, and not arguing; while the argument is, in reality, more close and stringent, the more he shows the opposite picture to be grossly ludicrous--that is, the more effective the wit becomes. but, though all this is perfectly true, it is equally certain that danger attends such courses with the common run of plain men. "nor is it only by wit that genius offends: flowers of imagination, flights of oratory, great passages, are more admired by the critic than relished by the worthy baronets who darken the porch of boodle's--chiefly answering to the names of sir robert and sir john--and the solid traders, the very good men who stream along the strand from 'change towards st. stephen's chapel, at five o'clock, to see the business of the country done by the sovereign's servants. a pretty long course of observation on these component parts of a parliamentary audience begets some doubt if noble passages, (termed 'fine flourishes,') be not taken by them as personally offensive." take, for example, "such fine passages as mr. canning often indulged himself and a few of his hearers with; and which certainly seemed to be received as an insult by whole benches of men accustomed to distribute justice at sessions. these worthies, the dignitaries of the empire, resent such flights as liberties taken with them; and always say, when others force them to praise--'well, well, but it was out of place; we have nothing to do with king priam here, or with a heathen god, such as Ã�olus; those kind of folk are all very well in pope's _homer_ and dryden's _virgil_; but, as i said to sir robert, who sat next me, what have you or i to do with them matters? i like a good plain man of business, like young mr. jenkinson--a man of the pen and desk, like his father was before him--and who never speaks when he is not wanted: let me tell you, mr. canning speaks too much by half. time is short--there are only twenty four hours in the day, you know.'" * * * * * mathematical sailors. nathaniel bowditch, the translator of laplace's _mécanique céleste_, displayed in very early life a taste for mathematical studies. in the year , when he was only fifteen years old, he actually made an almanack for the year , containing all the usual tables, calculations of the eclipses, and other phenomena, and even the customary predictions of the weather. bowditch was bred to the sea, and in his early voyages taught navigation to the common sailors about him. captain prince, with whom he often sailed, relates, that one day the supercargo of the vessel said to him, "come, captain, let us go forward and hear what the sailors are talking about under the lee of the long-boat." they went forward accordingly, and the captain was surprised to find the sailors, instead of spinning their long yarns, earnestly engaged with book, slate, and pencil, discussing the high matters of tangents and secants, altitudes, dip, and refraction. two of them, in particular, were very zealously disputing,--one of them calling out to the other, "well, jack, what have you got?" "i've got the _sine_," was the answer. "but that ain't right," said the other; "_i_ say it is the _cosine_." * * * * * lewis's "monk." this romance, on its first appearance, roused the attention of all the literary world of england, and even spread its writer's name to the continent. the author--"wonder-working lewis," was a stripling under twenty when he wrote _the monk_ in the short space of ten weeks! sir walter scott, probably the most rapid composer of fiction upon record, hardly exceeded this, even in his latter days, when his facility of writing was the greatest. * * * * * thomson's recitations. thomson, the author of the "seasons," was a very awkward reader of his own productions. his patron, doddington, once snatched a ms. from his hand, provoked by his odd utterance, telling him that he did not understand his own verses! a gentleman of brentford, however, told the late dr. evans, in , that there was a tradition in that town of thomson frequenting one of the inns there, and reciting his poems to the company. * * * * * goldsmith's "she stoops to conquer." goldsmith, during the first performance of this comedy, walked all the time in st. james' park in great uneasiness. finally, when he thought that it must be over, hastening to the theatre, hisses assailed his ears as he entered the green-room. asking in eager alarm of colman the cause--"pshaw, pshaw!" said colman, "don't be afraid of squibs, when we have been sitting on a barrel of gunpowder for two hours." the comedy had completely triumphed--the audience were only hissing the after farce. goldsmith had some difficulty in getting the piece on the stage, as appears from the following letter to colman:--"i entreat you'll relieve me from that state of suspense in which i have been kept for a long time. whatever objections you have made, or shall make, to my play, i will endeavour to remove, and not argue about them. to bring in any new judges either of its merits or faults, i can never submit to. upon a former occasion, when my other play was before mr. garrick, he offered to bring me before mr. whitehead's tribunal, but i refused the proposal with indignation. i hope i shall not experience as hard treatment from you, as from him. i have, as you know, a large sum of money to make up shortly; by accepting my play, i can readily satisfy my creditor that way; at any rate, i must look about to some certainty to be prepared. for god's sake take the play, and let us make the best of it; and let me have the same measure at least which you have given as bad plays as mine." * * * * * silence not always wisdom. coleridge once dined in company with a person who listened to him, and said nothing for a long time; but he nodded his head, and coleridge thought him intelligent. at length, towards the end of the dinner, some apple dumplings were placed on the table, and the listener had no sooner seen them than he burst forth, "them's the jockeys for me!" coleridge adds: "i wish spurzheim could have examined the fellow's head." coleridge was very luminous in conversation, and invariably commanded listeners; yet the old lady rated his talent very lowly, when she declared she had no patience with a man who would have all the talk to himself. * * * * * dr. chalmers in london. when dr. chalmers first visited london, the hold that he took on the minds of men was unprecedented. it was a time of strong political feeling; but even that was unheeded, and all parties thronged to hear the scottish preacher. the very best judges were not prepared for the display that they heard. canning and wilberforce went together, and got into a pew near the door. the elder in attendance stood alone by the pew. chalmers began in his usual unpromising way, by stating a few nearly self-evident propositions, neither in the choicest language, nor in the most impressive voice. "if this be all," said canning to his companion, "it will never do." chalmers went on--the shuffling of the conversation gradually subsided. he got into the mass of his subject; his weakness became strength, his hesitation was turned into energy; and, bringing the whole volume of his mind to bear upon it, he poured forth a torrent of the most close and conclusive argument, brilliant with all the exuberance of an imagination which ranged over all nature for illustrations, and yet managed and applied each of them with the same unerring dexterity, as if that single one had been the study of a whole life. "the tartan beats us," said mr. canning; "we have no preaching like that in england." * * * * * romilly and brougham. hallam's _history of the middle ages_ was the last book of any importance read by sir samuel romilly. of this excellent work he formed the highest opinion, and recommended its immediate perusal to lord brougham, as a contrast to his dry _letter on the abuses of charities_, in respect of the universal interest of the subject. yet, sir samuel undervalued the letter, for it ran through eight editions in one month. * * * * * physiognomy of the french revolutionists. it is remarkable, (says bulwer, in his _zanoni_,) that most of the principal actors of the french revolution were singularly hideous in appearance--from the colossal ugliness of mirabeau and danton, or the villanous ferocity in the countenances of david and simon, to the filthy squalor of marat, and the sinister and bilious meanness of the dictator's features. but robespierre, who was said to resemble a cat, and had also a cat's cleanliness, was prim and dainty in dress, shaven smoothness, and the womanly whiteness of his hands. réné dumas, born of reputable parents, and well educated, despite his ferocity, was not without a certain refinement, which perhaps rendered him the more acceptable to the precise robespierre. dumas was a beau in his way: his gala-dress was a _blood-red_ coat, with the finest ruffles. but henriot had been a lacquey, a thief, a spy of the police; he had drank the blood of madame de lamballe, and had risen for no quality but his ruffianism; and fouquier tinville, the son of a provincial agriculturist, and afterwards a clerk at the bureau of the police, was little less base in his manners, and yet more, from a certain loathsome buffoonery, revolting in his speech; bull-headed, with black, sleek hair, with a narrow and livid forehead, and small eyes that twinkled with sinister malice; strongly and coarsely built, he looked what he was, the audacious bully of a lawless and relentless bar. * * * * * death of sir charles bell. this distinguished surgeon died suddenly on april , , at hallow park, near worcester, while on his way to malvern. he was out sketching on the th, being particularly pleased with the village church, and some fine trees which are beside it; observing that he should like to repose there when he was gone. just four days after this sentiment had been expressed, his mortal remains were accordingly deposited beside the rustic graves which had attracted his notice, and so recently occupied his pencil. there is a painful admonition in this fulfilment. * * * * * classic pun. it was suggested to a distinguished _gourmet_, what a capital thing a dish all fins (turbot's fins) might be made. "capital," said he; "dine with me on it to-morrow." "accepted." would you believe it? when the cover was removed, the sacrilegious dog of an amphytrion had put into the dish "cicero _de finibus_" "there is a work all fins," said he. * * * * * poetry of the sea. campbell was a great lover of submarine prospects. "often in my boyhood," says the poet, "when the day has been bright and the sea transparent, i have sat by the hour on a highland rock admiring the golden sands, the emerald weeds, and the silver shells at the bottom of the bay beneath, till, dreaming about the grottoes of the nereids, i would not have exchanged my pleasure for that of a connoisseur poring over a landscape by claude or poussin. enchanting nature! thy beauty is not only in heaven and earth, but in the waters under our feet. how magnificent a medium of vision is the pellucid sea! is it not like poetry, that embellishes every object that we contemplate?" * * * * * "felon literature." one of the most stinging reproofs of perverted literary taste, evidently aimed at newgate calendar literature, appeared in the form of a valentine, in no. of _punch_, in . the valentine itself reminds one of churchill's muse; and it needs no finger to tell where its withering satire is pointed:-- "the literary gentleman. "illustrious scribe! whose vivid genius strays 'mid drury's stews to incubate her lays, and in st. giles's slang conveys her tropes, wreathing the poet's lines with hangmen's ropes; you who conceive 'tis poetry to teach the sad bravado of a dying speech; or, when possessed with a sublimer mood, show "jack o'dandies" dancing upon blood! crush bones--bruise flesh, recount each festering sore-- rake up the plague-pit, write--and write in gore! or, when inspired to humanize mankind, where doth your soaring soul its subjects find? not 'mid the scenes that simple goldsmith sought, and found a theme to elevate his thought; but you, great scribe, more greedy of renown, from hounslow's gibbet drag a hero down. imbue his mind with virtue; make him quote some moral truth before he cuts a throat. then wash his hands, and soaring o'er your craft--refresh the hero with a bloody draught: and, fearing lest the world should miss the act, with noble zeal _italicize_ the fact. or would you picture woman meek and pure, by love and virtue tutor'd to endure, with cunning skill you take a felon's trull, stuff her with sentiment, and scrunch her skull! oh! would your crashing, smashing, mashing pen were mine, that i could "scorch your eyeballs" with my words, "my valentine." * * * * * death bed revelations. men before they die see and comprehend enigmas hidden from them before. the greatest poet, and one of the noblest thinkers of the last age, said on his death-bed:--"many things obscure to me before, now clear up and become visible." * * * * * stammering wit. stammering, (says coleridge,) is sometimes the cause of a pun. some one was mentioning in lamb's presence the cold-heartedness of the duke of cumberland, in restraining the duchess from rushing up to the embrace of her son, whom she had not seen for a considerable time, and insisting on her receiving him in state. "how horribly _cold_ it was," said the narrator. "yes," said lamb, in his stuttering way; "but you know he is the duke of _cu-cum-ber-land_." * * * * * origin of bottled ale. alexander newell, dean of st. paul's, and master of westminster school, in the reign of queen mary, was an excellent angler. but fuller says, while newell was catching of fishes, bishop bonner was catching of newell, and would certainly have sent him to the shambles, had not a good london merchant conveyed him away upon the seas. newell was fishing upon the banks of the thames when he received the first intimation of his danger, which was so pressing, that he dared not go back to his own house to make any preparation for his flight. like an honest angler, he had taken with him provisions for the day; and when, in the first year of england's deliverance, he returned to his country, and to his own haunts, he remembered that on the day of his flight he had left a bottle of beer in a safe place on the bank: there he looked for it, and "found it no bottle, but a gun--such the sound at the opening thereof; and this (says fuller) is believed (casualty is mother of more invention than industry) to be the original of bottled ale in england." * * * * * bad's the best. canning was once asked by an english clergyman, at whose parsonage he was visiting, how he liked the sermon he had preached that morning. "why, it was a short sermon," quoth canning. "o yes," said the preacher, "you know i avoid being tedious." "ah, but," replied canning, "you _were_ tedious." * * * * * ludicrous estimate of mr. canning. the rev. sydney smith compares mr. canning in office to a fly in amber: "nobody cares about the fly: the only question is, how the devil did it get there?" "nor do i," continues smith, "attack him for the love of glory, but from the love of utility, as a burgomaster hunts a rat in a dutch dyke, for fear it should flood a province. when he is jocular, he is strong; when he is serious, he is like samson in a wig. call him a legislator, a reasoner, and the conductor of the affairs of a great nation, and it seems to me as absurd as if a butterfly were to teach bees to make honey. that he was an extraordinary writer of small poetry, and a diner-out of the highest lustre, i do most readily admit. after george selwyn, and perhaps tickell, there has been no such man for the last half-century." * * * * * the authorship of "waverley." mrs. murray keith, a venerable scotch lady, from whom sir walter scott derived many of the traditionary stories and anecdotes wrought up in his novels, taxed him one day with the authorship, which he, as usual, stoutly denied. "what!" exclaimed the old lady, "d'ye think i dinna ken my ain groats among other folk's kail?" * * * * * quid pro quo. campbell relates:--"turner, the painter, is a ready wit. once at a dinner where several artists, amateurs, and literary men were convened, a poet, by way of being facetious, proposed as a toast the health of the _painters_ and _glaziers_ of great britain. the toast was drunk; and turner, after returning thanks for it, proposed the health of the british _paper-stainers_." * * * * * hope's "anastasius." lord byron, in a conversation with the countess of blessington, said that he wept bitterly over many pages of _anastasius_, and for two reasons: first, that _he_ had not written it; and secondly, that _hope_ had; for it was necessary to like a man excessively to pardon his writing such a book; as, he said, excelling all recent productions, as much in wit and talent as in true pathos. lord byron added, that he would have given his two most approved poems to have been the author of _anastasius_. * * * * * smart repartee. walpole relates, after an execution of _eighteen_ malefactors, a woman was hawking an account of them, but called them _nineteen_. a gentleman said to her, "why do you say _nineteen_? there were but _eighteen_ hanged." she replied, "sir, i did not know _you_ had been reprieved." * * * * * colton's "lacon." this remarkable book was written upon covers of letters and scraps of paper of such description as was nearest at hand; the greater part at a house in princes-street, soho. colton's lodging was a penuriously-furnished second-floor, and upon a rough deal table, with a stumpy pen, our author wrote. though a beneficed clergyman, holding the vicarage of kew, with petersham, in surrey, colton was a well-known frequenter of the gaming-table; and, suddenly disappearing from his usual haunts in london about the time of the murder of weare, in , it was strongly suspected he had been assassinated. it was, however, afterwards ascertained that he had absconded to avoid his creditors; and in a successor was appointed to his living. he then went to reside in america, but subsequently lived in paris, a professed gamester; and it is said that he thus gained, in two years only, the sum of , _l_. he blew out his brains while on a visit to a friend at fontainebleau, in ; bankrupt in health, spirits, and fortune. * * * * * bunyan's copy of "the book of martyrs." there is no book, except the bible, which bunyan is known to have perused so intently as the _acts and monuments_ of john fox, the martyrologist, one of the best of men; a work more hastily than judiciously compiled, but invaluable for that greater and far more important portion which has obtained for it its popular name of _the book of martyrs_. bunyan's own copy of this work is in existence, and valued of course as such a relic of such a man ought to be. it was purchased in the year , by mr. wantner, of the minories; from him it descended to his daughter, mrs. parnell, of botolph-lane; and it was afterwards purchased, by subscription, for the bedfordshire general library. this edition of _the acts and monuments_ is of the date , vols, folio, the last of those in the black-letter, and probably the latest when it came into bunyan's hands. in each volume he has written his name beneath the title-page, in a large and stout print-hand. under some of the woodcuts he has inserted a few rhymes, which are undoubtedly his own composition; and which, though much in the manner of the verses that were printed under the illustrations of his own _pilgrim's progress_, when that work was first adorned with cuts, (verses worthy of such embellishments,) are very much worse than even the worst of those. indeed, it would not be possible to find specimens of more miserable doggerel. here is one of the tinker's tetrasticks, penned in the margin, beside the account of gardiner's death:-- "the blood, the blood that he did shed is falling one his one head; and dredfull it is for to see the beginers of his misere." one of the signatures bears the date of ; but the verses must undoubtedly have been some years earlier, before the publication of his first tract. these curious inscriptions must have been bunyan's first attempts in verse: he had, no doubt, found difficulty enough in tinkering them to make him proud of his work when it was done; otherwise, he would not have written them in a book which was the most valuable of all his goods and chattels. in later days, he seems to have taken this book for his art of poetry. his verses are something below the pitch of sternhold and hopkins. but if he learnt there to make bad verses, he entered fully into the spirit of its better parts, and received that spirit into as resolute a heart as ever beat in a martyr's bosom.[ ] [ ] southey's life of john bunyan. * * * * * literary localities. leigh hunt pleasantly says:--"i can no more pass through westminster, without thinking of milton; or the borough, without thinking of chaucer and shakspeare; or gray's inn, without calling bacon to mind; or bloomsbury-square, without steele and akenside; than i can prefer brick and mortar to wit and poetry, or not see a beauty upon it beyond architecture in the splendour of the recollection. i once had duties to perform which kept me out late at night, and severely taxed my health and spirits. my path lay through a neighbourhood in which dryden lived, and though nothing could be more common-place, and i used to be tired to the heart and soul of me, i never hesitated to go a little out of the way, purely that i might pass through gerard-street, and so give myself the shadow of a pleasant thought." * * * * * creed of lord bolingbroke. lord brougham says:--"the dreadful malady under which bolingbroke long lingered, and at length sunk--a cancer in the face--he bore with exemplary fortitude, a fortitude drawn from the natural resources of his vigorous mind, and unhappily not aided by the consolations of any religion; for, having early cast off the belief in revelation, he had substituted in its stead a dark and gloomy naturalism, which even rejected those glimmerings of hope as to futurity not untasted by the wiser of the heathens." lord chesterfield, in one of his letters, which has been published by earl stanhope, says that bolingbroke only doubted, and by no means rejected, a future state. * * * * * bunyan's preaching. it is said that owen, the divine, greatly admired bunyan's preaching; and that, being asked by charles ii. "how a learned man such as he could sit and listen to an itinerant tinker?" he replied: "may it please your majesty, could i possess that tinker's abilities for preaching, i would most gladly relinquish all my learning." * * * * * hone's "every-day book." this popular work was commenced by its author after he had renounced political satire for the more peaceful study of the antiquities of our country. the publication was issued in weekly sheets, and extended through two years, and . it was very successful, the weekly sale being from , to , copies. in , mr. southey gave the following tribute to the merits of the work, which it is pleasurable to record; as these two writers, from their antipodean politics, had not been accustomed to regard each other's productions with any favour. in closing his _life of john bunyan_, mr. southey says:-- "in one of the volumes, collected from various quarters, which were sent to me for this purpose, i observe the name of william hone, and notice it that i may take the opportunity of recommending his _every-day book and table book_ to those who are interested in the preservation of our national and local customs. by these curious publications, their compiler has rendered good service in an important department of literature; and he may render yet more, if he obtain the encouragement which he well deserves." * * * * * bunyan's escapes. bunyan had some providential escapes during his early life. once, he fell into a creek of the sea, once out of a boat into the river ouse, near bedford, and each time he was narrowly saved from drowning. one day, an adder crossed his path. he stunned it with a stick, then forced open its mouth with a stick and plucked out the tongue, which he supposed to be the sting, with his fingers; "by which act," he says, "had not god been merciful unto me, i might, by my desperateness, have brought myself to an end." if this, indeed, were an adder, and not a harmless snake, his escape from the fangs was more remarkable than he himself was aware of. a circumstance, which was likely to impress him more deeply, occurred in the eighteenth year of his age, when, being a soldier in the parliament's army, he was drawn out to go to the siege of leicester, in . one of the same company wished to go in his stead; bunyan consented to exchange with him, and this volunteer substitute, standing sentinel one day at the siege, was shot through the head with a musket-ball. "this risk," sir walter scott observes, "was one somewhat resembling the escape of sir roger de coverley, in an action at worcester, who was saved from the slaughter of that action, by having been absent from the field."--_southey._ * * * * * drollery spontaneous. more drolleries are uttered unintentionally than by premeditation. there is no such thing as being "droll to order." one evening a lady said to a small wit, "come, mr. ----, tell us a lively anecdote;" and the poor fellow was mute the rest of the evening. "favour me with your company on wednesday evening--you are such a lion," said a weak party-giver to a young _littérateur_. "i thank you," replied the wit, "but, on that evening i am engaged to eat fire at the countess of ----, and stand upon my head at mrs. ----." * * * * * origin of cowper's "john gilpin." it happened one afternoon, in those years when cowper's accomplished friend, lady austen, made a part of his little evening circle, that she observed him sinking into increased dejection; it was her custom, on these occasions, to try all the resources of her sprightly powers for his immediate relief. she told him the story of john gilpin, (which had been treasured in her memory from her childhood), to dissipate the gloom of the passing hour. its effects on the fancy of cowper had the air of enchantment. he informed her the next morning that convulsions of laughter, brought on by his recollection of her story, had kept him waking during the greatest part of the night! and that he had turned it into a ballad. so arose the pleasant poem of john gilpin. to lady austen's suggestion, also, we are indebted for the poem of "the task." * * * * * hard fate of authors. sir e. b. (now lord) lytton, in the memoir which he prefixed to the collected works of laman blanchard, draws the following affecting picture of that author's position, after he had parted from an engagement upon a popular newspaper:-- "for the author there is nothing but his pen, till that and life are worn to the stump: and then, with good fortune, perhaps on his death-bed he receives a pension--and equals, it may be, for a few months, the income of a retired butler! and, so on the sudden loss of the situation in which he had frittered away his higher and more delicate genius, in all the drudgery that a party exacts from its defender of the press, laman blanchard was thrown again upon the world, to shift as he might and subsist as he could. his practice in periodical writing was now considerable; his versatility was extreme. he was marked by publishers and editors as a useful contributor, and so his livelihood was secure. from a variety of sources thus he contrived, by constant waste of intellect and strength, to eke out his income, and insinuate rather than force his place among his contemporary penmen. and uncomplainingly, and with patient industry, he toiled on, seeming farther and farther off from the happy leisure, in which 'the something to verify promise was to be completed.' no time had he for profound reading, for lengthened works, for the mature development of the conceptions of a charming fancy. he had given hostages to fortune. he had a wife and four children, and no income but that which he made from week to week. the grist must be ground, and the wheel revolve. all the struggle, all the toils, all the weariness of brain, nerve, and head, which a man undergoes in his career, are imperceptible even to his friends--almost to himself; he has no time to be ill, to be fatigued; his spirit has no holiday; it is all school-work. and thus, generally, we find in such men that the break up of the constitution seems sudden and unlooked-for. the causes of disease and decay have been long laid; but they are smothered beneath the lively appearances of constrained industry and forced excitement." * * * * * james smith, one of the authors of "rejected addresses." a writer in the _law quarterly magazine_ says:--to the best of our information, james's _coup d'essai_ in literature was a hoax in the shape of a series of letters to the editor of the _gentleman's magazine_, detailing some extraordinary antiquarian discoveries and facts in natural history, which the worthy sylvanus urban inserted without the least suspicion. in , he became a constant contributor to the _pic-nic_ and _cabinet_ weekly journals, in conjunction with mr. cumberland, sir james bland burgess, mr. horatio smith, and others. the principal caterer for these publications was colonel greville, on whom lord byron has conferred a not very enviable immortality-- "or hail at once the patron and the pile of vice and folly, greville and argyle." one of james smith's favourite anecdotes related to him. the colonel requested his young ally to call at his lodgings, and in the course of their first interview related the particulars of the most curious circumstance in his life. he was taken prisoner during the american war, along with three other officers of the same rank; one evening they were summoned into the presence of washington, who announced to them that the conduct of their government, in condemning one of his officers to death as a rebel, compelled him to make reprisals; and that, much to his regret, he was under the necessity of requiring them to cast lots, without delay, to decide which of them should be hanged. they were then bowed out, and returned to their quarters. four slips of paper were put into a hat, and the shortest was drawn by captain asgill, who exclaimed, "i knew how it would be; i never won so much as a hit of backgammon in my life." as greville told the story, he was selected to sit up with captain asgill, under the pretext of companionship, but, in reality, to prevent him from escaping, and leaving the honour amongst the remaining three. "and what," inquired smith, "did you say to comfort him?" "why, i remember saying to him, when they left us, _d---- it, old fellow, never mind_;" but it may be doubted (added smith) whether he drew much comfort from the exhortation. lady asgill persuaded the french minister to interpose, and the captain was permitted to escape. both james and horatio smith were also contributors to the _monthly mirror_, then the property of mr. thomas hill, a gentleman who had the good fortune to live familiarly with three or four generations of authors; the same, in short, with whom the subject of this memoir thus playfully remonstrated: "hill, you take an unfair advantage of an accident; the register of your birth was burnt in the great fire of london, and you now give yourself out for younger than you are." the fame of the smiths, however, was confined to a limited circle until the publication of the _rejected addresses_, which rose at once into almost unprecedented celebrity. james smith used to dwell with much pleasure on the criticism of a leicestershire clergyman: "i do not see why they (the _addresses_) should have been rejected: i think some of them very good." this, he would add, is almost as good as the avowal of the irish bishop, that there were some things in _gulliver's travels_ which he could not believe. though never guilty of intemperance, james was a martyr to the gout; and, independently of the difficulty he experienced in locomotion, he partook largely of the feeling avowed by his old friend jekyll, who used to say that, if compelled to live in the country, he would have the drive before his house paved like the streets of london, and hire a hackney-coach to drive up and down all day long. he used to tell, with great glee, a story showing the general conviction of his dislike to ruralities. he was sitting in the library at a country-house, when a gentleman proposed a quiet stroll into the pleasure-grounds:-- "'stroll! why, don't you see my gouty shoe?' "'yes, i see that plain enough, and i wish i'd brought one too, but they're all out now.' "'well, and what then?' "'what then? why, my dear fellow, you don't mean to say that you have really got the gout? i thought you had only put on that shoe to get off being shown over the improvements.'" his bachelorship is thus attested in his niece's album: "should i seek hymen's tie, as a poet i die, ye benedicts mourn my distresses: for what little fame is annexed to my name, is derived from _rejected addresses_." the two following are amongst the best of his good things. a gentleman with the same christian and surname took lodgings in the same house. the consequence was, eternal confusion of calls and letters. indeed, the postman had no alternative but to share the letters equally between the two. "this is intolerable, sir," said our friend, "and you must quit." "why am i to quit more than you?" "because you are james the second--and must _abdicate_." mr. bentley proposed to establish a periodical publication, to be called _the wit's miscellany_. smith objected that the title promised too much. shortly afterwards, the publisher came to tell him that he had profited by the hint, and resolved on calling it _bentley's miscellany_. "isn't that going a little too far the other way?" was the remark. a capital pun has been very generally attributed to him. an actor, named priest, was playing at one of the principal theatres. some one remarked at the garrick club, that there were a great many men in the pit. "probably, clerks who have taken priest's orders." the pun is perfect, but the real proprietor is mr. poole, one of the best punsters as well as one of the cleverest comic writers and finest satirists of the day. it has also been attributed to charles lamb. formerly, it was customary, on emergencies, for the judges to swear affidavits at their dwelling-houses. smith was desired by his father to attend a judge's chambers for that purpose, but being engaged to dine in russell-square, at the next house to mr. justice holroyd's, he thought he might as well save himself the disagreeable necessity of leaving the party at eight by dispatching his business at once: so, a few minutes before six, he boldly knocked at the judge's, and requested to speak to him on particular business. the judge was at dinner, but came down without delay, swore the affidavit, and then gravely asked what was the pressing necessity that induced our friend to disturb him at that hour. as smith told the story, he raked his invention for a lie, but finding none fit for the purpose, he blurted out the truth:-- "'the fact is, my lord, i am engaged to dine at the next house--and--and----' "'and, sir, you thought you might as well save your own dinner by spoiling mine?' "'exactly so, my lord, but----' "'sir, i wish you a good evening.'" smith was rather fond of a joke on his own branch of the profession; he always gave a peculiar emphasis to the line in his song on the contradiction of names: "mr. makepeace was bred an attorney;" and would frequently quote goldsmith's lines on hickey, the associate of burke and other distinguished cotemporaries: "he cherished his friend, and he relished a bumper; yet one fault he had, and that was a thumper, then, what was his failing? come, tell it, and burn ye: he was, could he help it? a special attorney." the following playful colloquy in verse took place at a dinner-table between sir george rose and himself, in allusion to craven-street, strand, where he resided:-- "_j. s._--'at the top of my street the attorneys abound. and down at the bottom the barges are found: fly, honesty, fly to some safer retreat, for there's craft in the river, and craft in the street.'" "_sir g. r._--'why should honesty fly to some safer retreat, from attorneys and barges, od rot 'em? for the lawyers are _just_ at the top of the street, and the barges are _just_ at the bottom.'" * * * * * contemporary copyrights. the late mr. tegg, the publisher in cheapside, gave the following list of remunerative payments to distinguished authors in his time; and he is believed to have taken considerable pains to verify the items: fragments of history, by charles fox, sold by lord holland, for guineas. fragments of history, by sir james mackintosh, _l._ lingard's history of england, _l._ sir walter scott's bonaparte was sold, with the printed books, for , _l._; the net receipts of copyright on the first two editions only must have been , _l._ life of wilberforce, by his sons, guineas. life of byron, by moore, _l._ life of sheridan, by moore, _l._ life of hannah more, _l._ life of cowper, by southey, _l._ life and times of george iv., by lady c. bury, _l._ byron's works, , _l._ lord of the isles, half share, _l._ lalla rookh, by moore, _l._ rejected addresses, by smith, _l._ crabbe's works, republication of, by mr. murray, _l._ wordsworth's works, republication of, by mr. moxon, _l._ bulwer's rienzi, _l._ marryat's novels, _l._ to _l._ each. trollope's factory boy, _l._ hannah more derived , _l._ per annum for her copyrights, during the latter years of her life. rundell's domestic cookery, _l._ nicholas nickleby, _l._ eustace's classical tour, _l._ sir robert inglis obtained for the beautiful and interesting widow of bishop heber, by the sale of his journal, _l._ * * * * * miss burney's "evelina." the story of _evelina_ being printed when the authoress was but seventeen years old is proved to have been sheer invention, to trumpet the work into notoriety; since it has no more truth in it than a paid-for newspaper puff. the year of miss burney's birth was long involved in studied obscurity, and thus the deception lasted, until one fine day it was ascertained, by reference to the register of the authoress' birth, that she was a woman of six or seven-and-twenty, instead of a "miss in her teens," when she wrote _evelina_. the story of her father's utter ignorance of the work being written by her, and recommending her to read it, as an exception to the novel class, has also been essentially modified. miss burney, (then madame d'arblay,) is said to have taken the characters in her novel of _camilla_ from the family of mr. lock, of norbury park, who built for gen. d'arblay the villa in which the work was written, and which to this day is called "camilla lacy." by this novel, madame d'arblay is said to have realized guineas. * * * * * epitaph on charles lamb. lamb lies buried in edmonton churchyard, and the stone bears the following lines to his memory, written by his friend, the rev. h. f. cary, the erudite translator of _dante_ and _pindar_:-- "farewell, dear friend!--that smile, that harmless mirth, no more shall gladden our domestic hearth; that rising tear, with pain forbid to flow-- better than words--no more assuage our woe. that hand outstretch'd from small but well-earned store yield succour to the destitute no more. yet art thou not all lost: through many an age, with sterling sense and humour, shall thy page win many an english bosom, pleased to see that old and happier vein revived in thee. this for our earth; and if with friends we share our joys in heaven, we hope to meet thee there." lamb survived his earliest friend and school-fellow, coleridge, only a few months. one morning he showed to a friend the mourning ring which the author of _christabelle_ had left him. "poor fellow!" exclaimed lamb, "i have never ceased to think of him from the day i first heard of his death." lamb died in _five days after_--december , , in his fifty-ninth year. * * * * * "tom cringle's log." the author of this very successful work, (originally published in _blackwood's magazine_,) was a mr. mick scott, born in edinburgh in , and educated at the high school. several years of his life were spent in the west indies. he ultimately married, returned to his native country, and there embarked in commercial speculations, in the leisure between which he wrote the _log_. notwithstanding its popularity in europe and america, the author preserved his incognito to the last. he survived his publisher for some years, and it was not till mr. scott's death that the sons of mr. blackwood were aware of his name. * * * * * chances for the drama. the royal patent, by which the performance of the regular drama was restricted to certain theatres, does not appear to have fostered this class of writing. dr. johnson forced goldsmith's _she stoops to conquer_ into the theatre. tobin died regretting that he could not succeed in hearing the _honeymoon_ performed. lillo produced _george barnwell_ (an admirably written play) at an irregular theatre, after it had been rejected by the holders of the patents. _douglas_ was cast on home's hands. fielding was introduced as a dramatist at an unlicensed house; and one of mrs. inchbald's popular comedies had lain two years neglected, when, by a trifling accident, she was able to obtain the manager's _approval_. * * * * * fuller's memory. marvellous anecdotes are related of dr. thomas fuller's memory. thus, it is stated that he undertook once, in passing to and from temple bar to the farthest conduit in cheapside, to tell at his return every sign as they stood in order on both sides of the way, repeating them either backward or forward. this must have been a great feat, seeing that every house then bore a sign. yet, fuller himself decried this kind of thing as a trick, no art. he relates that one (who since wrote a book thereof) told him, before credible people, that he, in sidney college, had taught him (fuller) the art of memory. fuller replied that it was not so, for _he could not remember that he had ever seen him before;_ "which, i conceive," adds fuller, "was a real refutation;" and we think so, too. * * * * * lord hervey's wit. horace walpole records lord hervey's memorable saying about lord burlington's pretty villa at chiswick, now the duke of devonshire's, that it was "too small to inhabit, and too large to hang to your watch;" and lady louisa stuart has preserved a piece of dandyism in eating, which even beau brummell might have envied--"when asked at dinner whether he would have some beef, he answered, 'beef? oh, no! faugh! don't you know i never eat beef, nor horse, nor any of those things?'"--the man that said these things was the successful lover of the prettiest maid of honour to the princess of wales--the person held up to everlasting ridicule by pope--the vice-chamberlain whose attractions engaged the affections of the daughter of the sovereign he served; and the peer whose wit was such that it "charmed the charming mary montague." * * * * * anacreontic invitation, by moore. the following, one of the latest productions of the poet moore, addressed to the marquis of lansdowne, shows that though by that time inclining to threescore and ten, he retained all the fire and vivacity of early youth. it is full of those exquisitely apt allusions and felicitous turns of expression in which the english anacreon excels. it breathes the very spirit of classic festivity. such an invitation to dinner is enough to create an appetite in any lover of poetry:-- "some think we bards have nothing real-- that poets live among the stars, so their very dinners are ideal,-- (and heaven knows, too oft they are so:) for instance, that we have, instead of vulgar chops and stews, and hashes, first course,--a phoenix at the head, done in its own celestial ashes: at foot, a cygnet, which kept singing all the time its neck was wringing. side dishes, thus,--minerva's owl, or any such like learned fowl; doves, such as heaven's poulterer gets when cupid shoots his mother's pets. larks stew'd in morning's roseate breath, or roasted by a sunbeam's splendour; and nightingales, be-rhymed to death-- like young pigs whipp'd to make them tender such fare may suit those bards who're able to banquet at duke humphrey's table; but as for me, who've long been taught to eat and drink like other people, and can put up with mutton, bought where bromham rears its ancient steeple; if lansdowne will consent to share my humble feast, though rude the fare yet, seasoned by that salt he brings from attica's salinest springs, 'twill turn to dainties; while the cup, beneath his influence brightening up, like that of baucis, touched by jove, will sparkle fit for gods above!" * * * * * the poets in a puzzle. cottle, in his life of coleridge, relates the following amusing incident:-- "i led the horse to the stable, when a fresh perplexity arose. i removed the harness without difficulty; but, after many strenuous attempts, i could not remove the collar. in despair, i called for assistance, when aid soon drew near. mr. wordsworth brought his ingenuity into exercise; but, after several unsuccessful efforts, he relinquished the achievement, as a thing altogether impracticable. mr. coleridge now tried his hand, but showed no more grooming skill than his predecessors; for, after twisting the poor horse's neck almost to strangulation and the great danger of his eyes, he gave up the useless task, pronouncing that the horse's head must have grown (gout or dropsy?) since the collar was put on; for he said 'it was a downright impossibility for such a huge _os frontis_ to pass through so narrow a collar!' just at this instant, a servant-girl came near, and, understanding the cause of our consternation, 'la! master,' said she, 'you don't go about the work in the right way. you should do like this,' when, turning the collar completely upside down, she slipped it off in a moment, to our great humiliation and wonderment, each satisfied afresh that there were heights of knowledge in the world to which we had not yet attained." * * * * * sale of magazines. sir john hawkins, in his "memoirs of johnson," ascribes the decline of literature to the ascendancy of frivolous magazines, between the years and . he says that they render smatterers conceited, and confer the superficial glitter of knowledge instead of its substance. sir richard phillips, upwards of forty years a publisher, gives the following evidence as to the sale of the magazines in his time:-- "for my own part, i know that in , and for many years previously, there were sold of the trifle called the _town and country magazine_, full , copies per month; and, of another, the _ladies' magazine_, from , to , . such circumstances were, therefore, calculated to draw forth the observations of hawkins. _the gentleman's magazine_, in its days of popular extracts, never rose above , ; after it became more decidedly antiquarian, it fell in sale, and continued for many years at . "the veriest trifles, and only such, move the mass of minds which compose the public. the sale of the _town and country magazine_ was created by a fictitious article, called _bon-ton_, in which were given the pretended amours of two personages, imagined to be real, with two sham portraits. the idea was conceived, and, for above twenty years, was executed by count carraccioli; but, on his death, about , the article lost its spirit, and within seven years the magazine was discontinued. the _ladies' magazine_ was, in like manner, sustained by love-tales and its low price of sixpence, which, till after , was the general price of magazines." things have now taken a turn unlooked for in those days. the price of most magazines, it is true, is still more than sixpence--usually a shilling, and at that price the _cornhill_ in some months reached an impression of , ; but the circulation of _good words_, at sixpence, has touched , , and continues, we believe, to be over , . * * * * * mrs. southey. and who was mrs. southey?--who but she who was so long known, and so great a favourite, as caroline bowles; transformed by the gallantry of the laureate, and the grace of the parson, into her matrimonial appellation. southey, so long ago as the st of february, , prefaced his most amatory poem of _all for love_, with a tender address, that is now, perhaps, worth reprinting:-- "to caroline bowles. "could i look forward to a distant day, with hope of building some elaborate lay, then would i wait till worthier strains of mine, might have inscribed thy name, o caroline! for i would, while my voice is heard on earth, bear witness to thy genius and thy worth. but we have been both taught to feel with fear, how frail the tenure of existence here; what unforeseen calamities prevent, alas! how oft, the best resolved intent; and, therefore, this poor volume i address to thee, dear friend, and sister poetess! "_keswick, feb. , ._ "robert southey." the laureate had his wish; for in duty, he was bound to say, that worthier strains than his bore inscribed the name of caroline connected with his own--and, moreover, she was something more than a dear friend and sister poetess. "the laureate," observes a writer in _fraser's magazine_, "is a fortunate man; his queen supplies him with _butts_ (alluding to the laureateship), and his lady with bowls: then may his cup of good fortune be overflowing." * * * * * devotion to science. m. agassiz, the celebrated palæontologist, is known to have relinquished pursuits from which he might have been in the receipt of a considerable income, and all for the sake of science. dr. buckland knew him, when engaged in this arduous career, with the revenue of only _l._: and of this he paid fifty pounds to artists for drawings, thirty pounds for books, and lived himself on the remaining twenty pounds a year! thus did he raise himself to an elevated european rank; and, in his abode, _au troisième_, was the companion and friend of princes, ambassadors, and men of the highest rank and talent of every country. * * * * * disadvantageous correction. lord north had little reason to congratulate himself when he ventured on an interruption with burke. in a debate on some economical question, burke was guilty of a false quantity--"_magnum vect[)i]gal est parsimonia._" "_vect[=i]gal_," said the minister, in an audible under-tone. "i thank the noble lord for his correction," resumed the orator, "since it gives me the opportunity of repeating the inestimable adage--"_magnum vect[=i]gal est parsimonia._" (parsimony is a great revenue.) * * * * * patronage of literature. when victor hugo was an aspirant for the honours of the french academy, and called on m. royer collard to ask his vote, the sturdy veteran professed entire ignorance of his name. "i am the author of _notre dame de paris_, _les derniers jours d'un condamné_, _bug-jargal_, _marian delorme_, &c." "i never heard of any of them," said collard. "will you do me the honour of accepting a copy of my works?" said victor hugo. "i never read new books," was the cutting reply. * * * * * dr. johnson's wigs. dr. johnson's wigs were in general very shabby, and their fore-parts were burned away by the near approach of the candle, which his short-sightedness rendered necessary in reading. at streatham, mr. thrale's butler always had a wig ready; and as johnson passed from the drawing-room, when dinner was announced, the servant would remove the ordinary wig, and replace it with the newer one; and this ludicrous ceremony was performed every day.--_croker._ * * * * * sheridan's "pizarro." mr. pitt was accustomed to relate very pleasantly an amusing anecdote of a total breach of memory in some mrs. lloyd, a lady, or nominal housekeeper, of kensington palace. "being in company," he said, "with mr. sheridan, without recollecting him, while _pizarro_ was the topic of discussion, she said to him, 'and so this fine _pizarro_ is printed?' 'yes, so i hear,' said sherry. 'and did you ever in your life read such stuff?' cried she. 'why i believe it's bad enough,' quoth sherry; 'but at least, madam, you must allow it's very loyal.' 'ah!' cried she, shaking her head--'loyal? you don't know its author as well as i do.'" * * * * * dr. johnson in london. the following were dr. johnson's several places of residence in and near london:-- . exeter-street, off catherine-street, strand. ( .) . greenwich. ( .) . woodstock-street, near hanover-square. ( .) . castle-court, cavendish-square, no. . ( .) . boswell-court. . strand. . strand, again. . bow-street. . holborn. . fetter-lane. . holborn again; at the golden anchor, holborn bars. ( .) . gough-square. ( .) . staple inn. ( .) . gray's inn. . inner temple-lane, no. . ( .) . johnson's court, fleet-street, no. . ( .) . bolt-court, fleet-street, no. . ( .) * * * * * regality of genius. gibbon, when speaking of his own genealogy, refers to the fact of fielding being of the same family as the earl of denbigh, who, in common with the imperial family of austria, is descended from the celebrated rodolph, of hapsburgh. "while the one branch," he says, "have contented themselves with being sheriffs of leicestershire, and justices of the peace, the others have been emperors of germany and kings of spain; but the magnificent romance of _tom jones_ will be read with pleasure, when the palace of the escurial is in ruins, and the imperial eagle of austria is rolling in the dust." * * * * * fielding's "tom jones." fielding having finished the manuscript of _tom jones_, and being at the time hard pressed for money took it to a second-rate publisher, with the view of selling it for what it would fetch at the moment. he left it with the trader, and called upon him next day for his decision. the bookseller hesitated, and requested another day for consideration; and at parting, fielding offered him the ms. for _l._ on his way home, fielding met thomson, the poet, whom he told of the negotiation for the sale of the ms.; when thomson, knowing the high merit of the work, conjured him to be off the bargain, and offered to find a better purchaser. next morning, fielding hastened to his appointment, with as much apprehension lest the bookseller should stick to his bargain as he had felt the day before lest he should altogether decline it. to the author's great joy, the ignorant trafficker in literature declined, and returned the ms. to fielding. he next set off, with a light heart, to his friend thomson; and the novelist and the poet then went to andrew millar, the great publisher of the day. millar, as was his practice with works of light reading, handed the ms. to his wife, who, having read it, advised him by no means to let it slip through his fingers. millar now invited the two friends to meet him at a coffee-house in the strand, where, after dinner, the bookseller, with great caution, offered fielding _l._ for the ms. the novelist was amazed at the largeness of the offer. "then, my good sir," said fielding, recovering himself from his unexpected stroke of good fortune, "give me your hand--the book is yours. and, waiter," continued he, "bring a couple of bottles of your best port." before millar died, he had cleared eighteen thousand pounds by _tom jones_, out of which he generously made fielding various presents, to the amount of _l._; and he closed his life by bequeathing a handsome legacy to each of fielding's sons. * * * * * voltaire and ferney. the showman's work is very profitable at the country-house of voltaire, at ferney, near geneva. a genevese, an excellent calculator, as are all his countrymen, many years ago valued as follows the yearly profit derived by the above functionary from his situation:-- francs. busts of voltaire, made with earth of ferney, at a franc a-piece , autograph letters, at francs , walking canes of voltaire, at francs each , veritable wigs of voltaire, at francs , ------ in all , * * * * * clean hands. lord brougham, during his indefatigable canvass of yorkshire, in the course of which he often addressed ten or a dozen meetings in a day, thought fit to harangue the electors of leeds immediately on his arrival, after travelling all night, and without waiting to perform his customary ablutions. "these hands are clean!" cried he, at the conclusion of a diatribe against corruption; but they happened to be very dirty, and this practical contradiction raised a hearty laugh. * * * * * moderate flattery. jasper mayne says of master cartwright, the author of tolerable comedies and poems, printed in :-- "yes, thou to nature hadst joined art and skill; in thee, ben jonson still held shakspeare's quill." * * * * * every-day life of james smith. "one of the authors of the _rejected addresses_" thus writes to a friend:[ ]-- "let me enlighten you as to the general disposal of my time. i breakfast at nine, with a mind undisturbed by matters of business; i then write to you, or to some editor, and then read till three o'clock. i then walk to the union club, read the journals, hear lord john russell deified or _diablerized_, (that word is not a bad coinage,) do the same with sir robert peel or the duke of wellington; and then join a knot of conversationists by the fire till six o'clock, consisting of lawyers, merchants, members of parliament, and gentlemen at large. we then and there discuss the three per cent. consols, (some of us preferring dutch two-and-a-half per cent.), and speculate upon the probable rise, shape, and cost of the new exchange. if lady harrington happen to drive past our window in her landau, we compare her equipage to the algerine ambassador's; and when politics happen to be discussed, rally whigs, radicals, and conservatives alternately, but never seriously,--such subjects having a tendency to create acrimony. at six, the room begins to be deserted; wherefore i adjourn to the dining-room, and gravely looking over the bill of fare, exclaim to the waiter, 'haunch of mutton and apple tart.' these viands despatched, with the accompanying liquids and water, i mount upward to the library, take a book and my seat in the arm-chair, and read till nine. then call for a cup of coffee and a biscuit, resuming my book till eleven; afterwards return home to bed. if i have any book here which particularly excites my attention, i place my lamp on a table by my bed-side, and read in bed until twelve. no danger of ignition, my lamp being quite safe, and my curtains moreen. thus 'ends this strange eventful history,'" &c. [ ] in his comic miscellanies. * * * * * french-english jeu-de-mot. the celebrated mrs. thicknesse undertook to construct a letter, every word of which should be french, yet no frenchman should be able to read it; while an illiterate englishman or englishwoman should decipher it with ease. here is the specimen of the lady's ingenuity:-- "pre, dire sistre, comme and se us, and pass the de here if yeux canne, and chat tu my dame, and dine here; and yeux mai go to the faire if yeux plaise; yeux mai have fiche, muttin, porc, buter, foule, hair, fruit, pigeon, olives, sallette, forure diner, and excellent te, cafe, port vin, an liqueurs; and tell ure bette and poll to comme; and ile go tu the faire and visite the baron. but if yeux dont comme tu us, ile go to ure house and se oncle, and se houe he does; for mi dame se he bean ill; but deux comme; mi dire yeux canne ly here yeux nos; if yeux love musique, yeux mai have the harp, lutte, or viol heere. adieu, mi dire sistre." * * * * * relics of izaak walton. flatman's beautiful lines to walton, (says mr. jesse) commencing-- "happy old man, whose worth all mankind knows except himself," have always struck us as conveying a true picture of walton's character, and of the estimation in which he was held after the appearance of his "angler." the last male descendant of our "honest father," the rev. dr. herbert hawes, died in . he very liberally bequeathed the beautiful painting of walton, by houseman, to the national gallery; and it is a curious fact, as showing the estimation in which anything connected with walton is held in the present day, that the lord of the manor in which dr. hawes resided, laid claim to this portrait as a heriot, though not successfully. dr. hawes also bequeathed the greater portion of his library to the dean and chapter of salisbury; and his executor and friend presented the celebrated prayer-book, which was walton's, to mr. pickering, the publisher. the watch which belonged to walton's connexion, the excellent bishop ken, has been presented to his amiable biographer, the rev. w. lisle bowles. walton died at the house of his son-in-law, dr. hawkins, at winchester. he was buried in winchester cathedral, in the south aisle, called prior silkstead's chapel. a large black marble slab is placed over his remains; and, to use the poetical language of mr. bowles, "the morning sunshine falls directly on it, reminding the contemplative man of the mornings when he was, for so many years, up and abroad with his angle, on the banks of the neighbouring stream." * * * * * praise of ale. dr. still, though bishop of bath and wells, seems not to have been over fond of water; for thus he sings:-- "a stoup of ale, then, cannot fail, to cheer both heart and soul; it hath a charm, and without harm can make a lame man whole. for he who thinks, and water drinks, is never worth a dump: then fill your cup, and drink it up, may he be made a pump." * * * * * dangerous fools. sydney smith writes:--if men are to be fools, it were better that they were fools in little matters than in great; dulness, turned up with temerity, is a livery all the worse for the facings; and the most tremendous of all things is a magnanimous dunce. * * * * * bulwer's pompeian drawing-room. in , the author of _pelham_ lived in charles-street, berkeley-square, in a small house, which he fitted up after his own taste; and an odd _melée_ of the classic and the baronial certain of the rooms presented. one of the drawing-rooms, we remember, was in the elizabethan style, with an imitative oak ceiling, bristled with pendents; and this room opened into another apartment, a fac-simile of a chamber which bulwer had visited at pompeii, with vases, candelabra, and other furniture to correspond. james smith has left a few notes of his visit here: "our host," he says, "lighted a perfumed pastile, modelled from vesuvius. as soon as the cone of the mountain began to blaze, i found myself an inhabitant of the devoted city; and, as pliny the elder, thus addressed bulwer, my supposed nephew:--'our fate is accomplished, nephew! hand me yonder volume! i shall die as a student in my vocation. do thou hasten to take refuge on board the fleet at misenum. yonder cloud of hot ashes chides thy longer delay. feel no alarm for me; i shall live in story. the author of _pelham_ will rescue my name from oblivion.' pliny the younger made me a low bow, &c." we strongly suspect james of quizzing "our host." he noted, by the way, in the chamber were the busts of hebe, laura, petrarch, dante, and other worthies; laura like our queen. * * * * * sterne's sermons. sterne's sermons are, in general, very short, which circumstance gave rise to the following joke at bull's library, at bath:--a footman had been sent by his lady to purchase one of smallridge's sermons, when, by mistake, he asked for a _small religious_ sermon. the bookseller being puzzled how to reply to his request, a gentleman present suggested, "give him one of sterne's." it has been observed, that if sterne had never written one line more than his picture of the mournful cottage, towards the conclusion of his fifth sermon, we might cheerfully indulge the devout hope that the recording angel, whom he once invoked, will have blotted out many of his imperfections. * * * * * "tom hill." a few days before the close of , london lost one of its choicest spirits, and humanity one of her kindest-hearted sons, in the death of thomas hill, esq.--"tom hill," as he was called by all who loved and knew him. his life exemplified one venerable proverb, and disproved another; he was born in may, , and was, consequently, in his st year, and "as old as the hills;" having led a long life and a merry one. he was originally a drysalter; but about the year , having sustained a severe loss by a speculation in indigo, he retired upon the remains of his property to chambers in the adelphi, where he died; his physician remarking to him, "i can do no more for you--i have done all i can. i cannot cure age." hill, when in business at the unlettered queenhithe, found leisure to accumulate a fine collection of books, chiefly old poetry, which afterwards, when misfortune overtook him, was valued at _l._ hill was likewise a mæcenas: he patronized two friendless poets, bloomfield and kirke white. the _farmer's boy_ of the former was read and admired by him in manuscript, and was recommended to a publisher. hill also established _the monthly mirror_, to which kirke white was a contributor. hill was the hull of hook's _gilbert gurney_. he happened to know everything that was going on in all circles; and was at all "private views" of exhibitions. so especially was he favoured, that a wag recorded, when asked whether he had seen the new comet, he replied--"pooh! pooh! i was present at the private view." hill left behind him an assemblage of literary rarities, which it occupied a clear week to sell by auction. among them was garrick's cup, formed from the mulberry tree planted by shakespeare in his garden at new place, stratford-upon-avon; this produced forty guineas. a small vase and pedestal, carved from the same mulberry-tree, and presented to garrick, was sold with a coloured drawing of it, for ten guineas. and a block of wood, cut from the celebrated willow planted by pope, at his villa at twickenham, brought one guinea. * * * * * tycho brahe's nose. sir david brewster relates that in the year , an accident occurred to tycho brahe, at wittenberg, which had nearly deprived him of his life. on the th of december, tycho had a quarrel with a noble countryman, manderupius rasbergius, and they parted ill friends. on the th of the same month, they met again; and having renewed their quarrel, they agreed to settle their differences by the sword. they accordingly met at seven o'clock in the evening of the th, and fought in total darkness. in this blind combat, manderupius cut off the whole of the front of tycho's nose, and it was fortunate for astronomy that his more valuable organs were defended by so faithful an outpost. the quarrel, which is said to have originated in a difference of opinion respecting their mathematical attainments, terminated here; and tycho repaired his loss by cementing upon his face a nose of gold and silver, which is said to have formed a good imitation of the original. thus, tycho was, indeed, a "martyr of science." * * * * * foote's wooden leg. george colman, the younger, notes:--"there is no shakspeare or roscius upon record who, like foote, supported a theatre for a series of years by his own acting, in his own writings; and for ten years of the time, upon a wooden leg! this prop to his person i once saw standing by his bedside, ready dressed in a handsome silk stocking, with a polished shoe and gold buckle, awaiting the owner's getting up: it had a kind of tragic, comical appearance, and i leave to inveterate wags the ingenuity of punning upon a foote in bed, and a leg out of it. the proxy for a limb thus decorated, though ludicrous, is too strong a reminder of amputation to be very laughable. his undressed supporter was the common wooden stick, which was not a little injurious to a well-kept pleasure-ground. i remember following him after a shower of rain, upon a nicely rolled terrace, in which he stumped a deep round hole at every other step he took, till it appeared as if the gardener had been there with his dibble, preparing, against all horticultural practice, to plant a long row of cabbages in a gravel walk." * * * * * rival remembrance. _mr. gifford to mr. hazlitt._ "what we read from your pen, we remember no more." _mr. hazlitt to mr. gifford._ "what we read from your pen, we remember before." * * * * * who wrote "junius's letters"? this question has not yet been satisfactorily answered. in , dr. mason good, in an essay he wrote on the question, passed in review all the persons who had then been suspected of writing these celebrated letters. they are, charles lloyd and john roberts, originally treasury clerks; samuel dyer, a learned man, and a friend of burke and johnson; william gerard hamilton, familiarly known as "single-speech hamilton;" mr. burke; dr. butler, late bishop of hereford; the rev. philip rosenhagen; major-general lee, who went over to the americans, and took an active part in their contest with the mother-country; john wilkes; hugh macaulay boyd; john dunning, lord ashburton; henry flood; and lord george sackville. since this date, in , john roche published an inquiry, in which he persuaded himself that burke was the author. in the same year there appeared three other publications on junius: these were, the attempt of the rev. j. b. blakeway, to trace them to john horne tooke; next were the "facts" of thomas girdlestone, m.d., to prove that general lee was the author; and, thirdly, a work put forth by mrs. olivia wilmot serres, in the following confident terms:--"life of the author of _junius's letters_,--the rev. j. wilmot, d.d., fellow of trinity college, oxford;" and, like most bold attempts, this work attracted some notice and discussion. in , the letters were attributed to richard glover, the poet of _leonidas_; and this improbable idea was followed by another, assigning the authorship of the letters to the duke of portland, in . in the same year appeared "arguments and facts," to show that john louis de lolme, author of the famous essay on the constitution of england, was the writer of these anonymous epistles. in , too, appeared mr. john taylor's "junius identified," advocating the claims of sir philip francis so successfully that the question was generally considered to be settled. mr. taylor's opinion was supported by edward dubois, esq., formerly the confidential friend and private secretary of sir philip, who, in common with lady francis, constantly entertained the conviction that his deceased patron was identical with junius. in , george chalmers, f.s.a., advocated the pretensions of hugh macaulay boyd to the authorship of junius. in , mr. george coventry maintained with great ability that lord george sackville was junius; and two writers in america adopted this theory. thus was the whole question re-opened; and, in , mr. e. h. barker, of thetford, refuted the claims of lord george sackville and sir philip francis, and advocated those of charles lloyd, private secretary to the hon. george grenville.[ ] in , mr. n. w. simons, of the british museum, refuted the supposition that sir philip francis was directly or indirectly concerned in the writing; and, in the same year, appeared m. jaques's review of the controversy, in which he arrived at the conclusion that lord george sackville composed the letters, and that sir philip francis was his amanuensis, thus combining the theory of mr. taylor with that of mr. coventry. the question was reviewed and revived in a volume published by mr. britton, f.s.a., in june , entitled "the authorship of the letters of junius elucidated;" in which is advocated with great care the opinion that the letters were, to a certain extent, the joint productions of lieut.-colonel isaac barré, m.p., lord shelburne, (afterwards marquess of lansdowne,) and dunning, lord ashburton. of these three persons the late sir francis baring commissioned sir joshua reynolds, in - , to paint portraits in one picture, which is regarded as evidence of joint authorship. only a week before his death, , the marquess of lansdowne was personally appealed to on the subject of _junius_, by sir richard phillips. in conversation, the marquess said, "no, no, i am not equal to _junius_; i could not be the author; but the grounds of secrecy are now so far removed by death (dunning and barré were at that time dead), and change of circumstances, that it is unnecessary the author of _junius_ should much longer be unknown. the world is curious about him, and i could make a very interesting publication on the subject. i knew junius, and _i know all about_ the writing and production of these letters." the marquess added, "if i live over the summer, which, however, i don't expect, i promise you a very interesting pamphlet about junius. i will put my name to it; i will set the question at rest for ever." the death of the marquess, however, occurred in a week. in a letter to the _monthly magazine_, july , the son of the marquess of lansdowne says:--"it is not impossible my father may have been acquainted with the fact; but perhaps he was under some obligation to secrecy, as he never made any communication to me on the subject." lord mahon (now earl stanhope) at length and with minuteness enters, in his history, into a vindication of the claims of sir philip francis, grounding his partisanship on the close similarity of handwriting established by careful comparison of facsimiles; the likeness of the style of sir philip's speeches in parliament to that of _junius_--biting, pithy, full of antithesis and invective; the tenderness and bitterness displayed by _junius_ towards persons to whom sir philip stood well or ill affected; the correspondence of the dates of the letters with those of certain movements of sir philip; and the evidence of _junius_' close acquaintance with the war office, where sir philip held a post. it seems generally agreed that the weight of proof is on the side of sir philip francis; but there will always be found adherents of other names--as o'connell, in the following passage, of burke:-- "it is my decided opinion," said o'connell, "that edmund burke was the author of the 'letters of junius.' there are many considerations which compel me to form that opinion. burke was the only man who made that figure in the world which the author of 'junius' _must_ have made, if engaged in public life; and the entire of 'junius's letters' evinces that close acquaintance with the springs of political machinery which no man could possess unless actively engaged in politics. again, burke was fond of chemical similes; now chemical similes are frequent in junius. again; burke was an irishman; now junius, speaking of the government of ireland, twice calls it 'the castle,' a familiar phrase amongst irish politicians, but one which an englishman, in those days, would never have used. again; burke had this peculiarity in writing, that he often wrote many words without taking the pen from the paper. the very same peculiarity existed in the manuscripts of junius, although they were written in a feigned hand. again; it may be said that the style is not burke's. in reply, i would say that burke was master of many styles. his work on natural society, in imitation of lord bolingbroke, is as different in point of style from his work on the french revolution, as _both_ are from the 'letters of junius.' again; junius speaks of the king's insanity as a divine visitation; burke said the very same thing in the house of commons. again; had any one of the other men to whom the 'letters' are, with any show of probability, ascribed, been really the author, such author would have had no reason for disowning the book, or remaining incognito. any one of them but burke would have claimed the authorship and fame--and proud fame. but burke had a very cogent reason for remaining incognito. in claiming junius he would have claimed his own condemnation and dishonour, for burke died a pensioner. burke was, moreover, the only pensioner who had the commanding talent displayed in the writings of junius. now, when i lay all these considerations together, and especially when i reflect that a cogent reason exists for burke's silence as to his own authorship, i confess i think i have got a presumptive proof of the very strongest nature, that burke was the writer."[ ] [ ] supported by the following note, written by dr. parr, in his copy of "the letters of junius:"--"the writer of 'junius' was mr. lloyd, secretary to george grenville, and brother to philip lloyd, dean of norwich. this will one day or other be generally acknowledged.--s. p." [ ] personal recollections of the late daniel o'connell, m.p. by william j. o'n. daunt. * * * * * literary coffee-houses in the last century. three of the most celebrated resorts of the _literati_ of the last century were _will's coffee-house_, no. , on the north side of great russell-street, covent garden, at the end of bow-street. this was the favourite resort of dryden, who had here his own chair, in winter by the fireside, in summer in the balcony: the company met in the first floor, and there smoked; and the young beaux and wits were sometimes honoured with a pinch out of dryden's snuff-box. will's was the resort of men of genius till : it was subsequently occupied by a perfumer. _tom's_, no. , great russell-street, had nearly subscribers, at a guinea a-head, from to , and had its card, conversation, and coffee-rooms, where assembled dr. johnson, carrick, murphy, goldsmith, sir joshua reynolds, foote, and other men of talent: the tables and books of the club were not many years since preserved in the house, the first floor of which was then occupied by mr. webster, the medallist. _button's_, "over against" tom's, was the receiving-house for contributions to _the guardian_, in a lion-head box, the aperture for which remains in the wall to mark the place. button had been servant to lady warwick, whom addison married; and the house was frequented by pope, steele, swift, arbuthnot, and addison. the lion's head for a letter-box, "the best head in england," was set up in imitation of the celebrated lion at venice: it was removed from button's to the shakspeare's head, under the arcade in covent garden; and in , was placed in the bedford, next door. this lion's head is now treasured as a relic by the bedford family. * * * * * lord byron and "my grandmother's review." at the close of the first canto of _don juan_, its noble author, by way of propitiating the reader for the morality of his poem, says:-- "the public approbation i expect, and beg they'll take my word about the moral, which i with their amusement will connect, as children cutting teeth receive a coral; meantime, they'll doubtless please to recollect my epical pretensions to the laurel; for fear some prudish reader should grow skittish, i've bribed my grandmother's review--the british. i sent it in a letter to the editor, who thank'd me duly by return of post-- i'm for a handsome article his creditor; yet if my gentle muse he please to roast, and break a promise after having made it her, denying the receipt of what it cost, and smear his page with gall instead of honey, all i can say is--that he had the money." _canto i. st._ ccix. ccx. now, "the british" was a certain staid and grave high-church review, the editor of which received the poet's imputation of bribery as a serious accusation; and, accordingly, in his next number after the publication of _don juan_, there appeared a postscript, in which the receipt of any bribe was stoutly denied, and the idea of such connivance altogether repudiated; the editor adding that he should continue to exercise his own judgment as to the merits of lord byron, as he had hitherto done in every instance! however, the affair was too ludicrous to be at once altogether dropped; and, so long as the prudish publication was in existence, it enjoyed the _sobriquet_ of "my grandmother's review." by the way, there is another hoax connected with this poem. one day an old gentleman gravely inquired of a printseller for a portrait of "admiral noah"--to illustrate _don juan_! * * * * * walpole's way to win them. sir robert walpole, in one of his letters, thus describes the relations of a skilful minister with an accommodating parliament--the description, it may be said, having, by lapse of time, acquired the merit of general inapplicability to the present state of things:--"my dear friend, there is scarcely a member whose purse i do not know to a sixpence, and whose very soul almost i could not purchase at the offer. the reason former ministers have been deceived in this matter is evident--they never considered the temper of the people they had to deal with. i have known a minister so weak as to offer an avaricious old rascal a star and garter, and attempt to bribe a young rogue, who set no value upon money, with a lucrative employment. i pursue methods as opposite as the poles, and therefore my administration has been attended with a different effect." "patriots," elsewhere says walpole, "spring up like mushrooms. i could raise fifty of them within four-and-twenty hours. i have raised many of them in one night. it is but refusing to gratify an unreasonable or insolent demand, and _up starts a patriot_." * * * * * dr. johnson's criticisms. johnson decided literary questions like a lawyer, not like a legislator. he never examined foundations where a point was already ruled. his whole code of criticism rested on pure assumption, for which he sometimes gave a precedent or authority, but rarely troubled himself to give a reason drawn from the nature of things. he judged of all works of the imagination by the standard established among his own contemporaries. though he allowed homer to have been a greater man than virgil, he seems to have thought the Ã�neid to have been a greater poem than the iliad. indeed, he well might have thought so; for he preferred pope's _iliad_ to homer's. he pronounced that after hoole's translation of _tasso_, fairfax's would hardly be reprinted. he could see no merit in our fine old english ballads, and always spoke with the most provoking contempt of dr. percy's fondness for them. of all the great original works which appeared during his time, richardson's novels alone excited his admiration. he could see little or no merit in _tom jones_, in _gulliver's travels_, or in _tristram shandy_. to thomson's _castle of indolence_ he vouchsafed only a line of cold commendation--of commendation much colder than what he has bestowed on _the creation_ of that portentous bore, sir richard blackmore. gray was, in his dialect, a barren rascal. churchill was a blockhead. the contempt which he felt for macpherson was, indeed, just; but it was, we suspect, just by by chance. he criticized pope's epitaphs excellently. but his observations on shakspeare's plays, and milton's poems, seem to us as wretched as if they had been written by rymer himself, whom we take to have been the worst critic that ever lived. * * * * * gibbon's house, at lausanne the house of gibbon, in which he completed his "decline and fall," is in the lower part of the town of lausanne, behind the church of st. francis, and on the right of the road leading down to ouchy. both the house and the garden have been much changed. the wall of the hotel gibbon occupies the site of his summer-house, and the _berceau_ walk has been destroyed to make room for the garden of the hotel; but the terrace looking over the lake, and a few acacias, remain. gibbon's record of the completion of his great labour is very impressive. "it was on the day, or rather the night, of the th of june, , between the hours of eleven and twelve, that i wrote the last line of the last page, in a summer-house in my garden. after laying down my pen, i took several turns in a _berceau_, or covered walk of acacias, which commands a prospect of the country, the lake, and the mountains. the air was temperate, the sky was serene, the silver orb of the moon was reflected from the waves, and all nature was silent." at a little inn at morges, about two miles distant from lausanne, lord byron wrote the _prisoner of chillon_, in the short space of _two days_, during which he was detained here by bad weather, june : "thus adding one more deathless association to the already immortalized localities of the lake." * * * * * origin of "boz." (dickens.) a fellow passenger with mr. dickens in the _britannia_ steam-ship, across the atlantic, inquired of the author the origin of his signature, "boz." mr. dickens replied that he had a little brother who resembled so much the moses in the _vicar of wakefield_, that he used to call him moses also; but a younger girl, who could not then articulate plainly, was in the habit of calling him bozie or boz. this simple circumstance made him assume that name in the first article he risked to the public, and therefore he continued the name, as the first effort was approved of. * * * * * boswell's "life of johnson." sir john malcolm once asked warren hastings, who was a contemporary and companion of dr. johnson and boswell, what was his real estimation of boswell's _life of johnson_? "sir," replied hastings, "it is the _dirtiest_ book in my library;" then proceeding, he added: "i knew boswell intimately; and i well remember, when his book first made its appearance, boswell was so full of it, that he could neither think nor talk of anything else; so much so, that meeting lord thurlow hurrying through parliament-street to get to the house of lords, where an important debate was expected, for which he was already too late, boswell had the temerity to stop and accost him with "have you read my book?" "yes," replied lord thurlow, with one of his strongest curses, "every word of it; i could not help it." * * * * * patronage of authors. in the reigns of william iii., of anne, and of george i., even such men as congreve and addison could scarcely have been able to live like gentlemen by the mere sale of their writings. but the deficiency of the natural demand for literature was, at the close of the seventeenth, and at the beginning of the eighteenth century, more than made up by the artificial encouragement--by a vast system of bounties and premiums. there was, perhaps, never a time at which the rewards of literary merit were so splendid--at which men who could write well found such easy admittance into the most distinguished society, and to the highest honours of the state. the chiefs of both the great parties into which the kingdom was divided, patronized literature with emulous munificence. congreve, when he had scarcely attained his majority, was rewarded for his first comedy with places which made him independent for life. rowe was not only poet laureate, but land-surveyor of the customs in the port of london, clerk of the council to the prince of wales, and secretary of the presentations to the lord chancellor. hughes was secretary to the commissioners of the peace. ambrose phillips was judge of the prerogative court in ireland. locke was commissioner of appeals and of the board of trade. newton was master of the mint. stepney and prior were employed in embassies of high dignity and importance. gay, who commenced life as apprentice to a silk-mercer, became a secretary of legation at five-and-twenty. it was to a poem on the death of charles ii., and to "the city and country mouse," that montague owed his introduction into public life, his earldom, his garter, and his auditorship of the exchequer. swift, but for the unconquerable prejudice of the queen, would have been a bishop. oxford, with his white staff in his hand, passed through the crowd of his suitors to welcome parnell, when that ingenious writer deserted the whigs. steele was a commissioner of stamps, and a member of parliament. arthur mainwaring was a commissioner of the customs, and auditor of the imprest. tickell was secretary to the lords justices of ireland. addison was secretary of state. but soon after the succession of the throne of hanover, a change took place. the supreme power passed to a man who cared little for poetry or eloquence. walpole paid little attention to books, and felt little respect for authors. one of the coarse jokes of his friend, sir charles hanbury williams, was far more pleasing to him than thomson's _seasons_ or richardson's _pamela_. * * * * * learning french. when brummell was obliged by want of money, and debt, and all that, to retire to france, he knew no french; and having obtained a grammar for the purpose of study, his friend scrope davies was asked what progress brummell had made in french. he responded, that brummell had been stopped, like buonaparte in russia, by the _elements_. "i have put this pun into _beppo_, (says lord byron), which is a fair exchange and no robbery, for scrope made his fortune at several dinners, (as he owned himself,) by repeating occasionally, as his own, some of the buffooneries with which i had encountered him in the morning." * * * * * johnson's club-room. in a paper in the _edinburgh review_, we find this cabinet picture:--the club-room is before us, and the table, on which stands the omelet for nugent, and the lemons for johnson. there are assembled those heads which live for ever on the canvas of reynolds. there are the spectacles of burke, and the tall thin form of langton; the courtly sneer of beauclerc, and the beaming smile of garrick; gibbon tapping his snuff-box, and sir joshua with his trumpet in his ear. in the foreground is that strange figure which is as familiar to us as the figures of those among whom we have been brought up--the gigantic body, the huge massy face, seamed with the scars of disease; the brown coat, the black worsted stockings, the grey wig, with the scorched foretop; the dirty hands, the nails bitten and pared to the quick. we see the eyes and nose moving with convulsive twitches; we see the heavy form rolling; we hear it puffing; and then comes the "why, sir!" and the "what then, sir?" and the "no, sir!" and the "you don't see your way through the question, sir!" * * * * * dr. chalmers's industry. in october, , dr. chalmers commenced two series of biblical compositions, which he continued with unbroken regularity till the day of his decease, may , . go where he might, however he might be engaged, each week-day had its few verses read, thought over, written upon--forming what he denominated "horæ biblicæ quotidianæ:" each sabbath-day had its two chapters, one in the old and the other in the new testament, with the two trains of meditative devotion recorded to which the reading of them respectively gave birth--forming what he denominated "horæ biblicæ sabbaticæ." when absent from home, or when the manuscript books in which they were ordinarily inserted were not beside him, he wrote in short-hand, carefully entering what was thus written in the larger volumes afterwards. not a trace of haste nor of the extreme pressure from without, to which he was so often subjected, is exhibited in the handwriting of these volumes. there are but few words omitted--scarcely any erased. this singular correctness was a general characteristic of his compositions. his lectures on the epistle to the romans were written _currente calamo_, in glasgow, during the most hurried and overburthened period of his life. and when, many years afterwards, they were given out to be copied for the press, scarcely a blot, or an erasure, or a correction, was to be found in them, and they were printed off exactly as they had originally been written. in preparing the "horæ biblicæ quotidianæ," chalmers had by his side, for use and reference, the "concordance," the "pictorial bible," "poole's synopsis," "henry's commentary," and "robinson's researches in palestine." these constituted what he called his "biblical library." "there," said he to a friend, pointing, as he spoke, to the above-named volumes, as they lay together on his library-table, with a volume of the "quotidianæ," in which he had just been writing, lying open beside them,--"there are the books i use--all that is biblical is there. i have to do with nothing besides in my biblical study." to the consultation of these few volumes he throughout restricted himself. the whole of the mss. were purchased, after dr. chalmers's death, for a large sum of money, by mr. thomas constable, of edinburgh, her majesty's printer; and were in due time given to, and most favourably received by, the public. * * * * * latest of dr. johnson's contemporaries.[ ] in the autumn of , died the rev. dr. shaw, at chesley, somersetshire, at the age of eighty-three: he is said to have been the last surviving friend of dr. johnson. on the th of january, in the above year, died mr. richard clark, chamberlain of the city of london, in the ninety-second year of his age. at the age of fifteen, he was introduced by sir john hawkins to johnson, whose friendship he enjoyed to the last year of the doctor's life. he attended johnson's evening parties at the mitre tavern, in fleet-street;[ ] where, among other literary characters he met dr. percy, dr. goldsmith, and dr. hawksworth. a substantial supper was served at eight o'clock; the party seldom separated till a late hour; and mr. clark recollected that early one morning he, with another of the party, accompanied the doctor to his house, where mrs. williams, then blind, made tea for them. when mr. clark was sheriff, he took johnson to a "judges' dinner," at the old bailey; the judges being blackstone and eyre. mr. clark often visited the doctor, and met him at dinner-parties; and the last time he enjoyed his company was at the essex head club, of which, by the doctor's invitation, clark became a member. [ ] see, also, an ensuing page, . [ ] johnson, by the way, had a strange nervous feeling, which made him uneasy if he had not touched every post between the mitre tavern and his own lodgings. * * * * * a snail dinner. the chemical philosophers, dr. black and dr. hutton, were particular friends, though there was something extremely opposite in their external appearance and manner. dr. black spoke with the english pronunciation, and with punctilious accuracy of expression, both in point of matter and manner. the geologist, dr. hutton, was the very reverse of this: his conversation was conducted in broad phrases, expressed with a broad scotch accent, which often heightened the humour of what he said. it chanced that the two doctors had held some discourse together upon the folly of abstaining from feeding on the testaceous creatures of the land, while those of the sea were considered as delicacies. wherefore not eat snails? they are known to be nutritious and wholesome, and even sanative in some cases. the epicures of old praised them among the richest delicacies, and the italians still esteem them. in short, it was determined that a gastronomic experiment should be made at the expense of the snails. the snails were procured, dieted for a time, and then stewed for the benefit of the two philosophers, who had either invited no guests to their banquet, or found none who relished in prospect the _pièce de resistance_. a huge dish of snails was placed before them: still, philosophers are but men, after all; and the stomachs of both doctors began to revolt against the experiment. nevertheless, if they looked with disgust on the snails, they retained their awe for each other, so that each, conceiving the symptoms of internal revolt peculiar to himself, began, with infinite exertion, to swallow, in very small quantities, the mess which he internally loathed. dr. black, at length, showed the white feather, but in a very delicate manner, as if to sound the opinion of his messmate. "doctor," he said, in his precise and quiet manner--"doctor--do you not think that they taste a little--a very little, green?" "d----d green! d----d green! indeed--tak' them awa',--tak' them awa'!" vociferated dr. hutton, starting up from table, and giving full vent to his feelings of abhorrence. so ended all hopes of introducing snails into the modern _cuisine_; and thus philosophy can no more cure a nausea than honour can set a broken limb.--_sir walter scott._ * * * * * curran's imagination. "curran!" (says lord byron) "curran's the man who struck me most. such imagination!--there never was anything like it that i ever heard of. his _published_ life--his published speeches, give you no idea of the man--none at all. he was a _machine_ of imagination, as some one said that prior was an epigrammatic machine." upon another occasion, byron said, "the riches of curran's irish imagination were exhaustless. i have heard that man speak more poetry than i have ever seen written--though i saw him seldom, and but occasionally. i saw him presented to madame de stael, at mackintosh's--it was the grand confluence between the rhone and the saone; they were both so d----d ugly, that i could not help wondering how the best intellects of france and ireland could have taken up respectively such residences." * * * * * cowley at chertsey. the poet cowley died at the porch house, chertsey, on the st of july, . there is a curious letter preserved of his condition when he removed here from barn elms. it is addressed to dr. sprat, dated chertsey, may, , and is as follows:-- "the first night that i came hither i caught so great a cold, with a defluxion of rheum, as made me keep my chamber ten days. and, too, after had such a bruise on my ribs with a fall, that i am yet unable to move or turn myself in bed. this is my personal fortune here to begin with. and besides, i can get no money from my tenants, and have my meadows eaten up every night by cattle put in by my neighbours. what this signifies, or may come to in time, god knows! if it be ominous, it can end in nothing but hanging."----"i do hope to recover my hurt so farre within five or six days (though it be uncertain yet whether i shall ever recover it) as to walk about again. and then, methinks, you and i and _the dean_ might be very merry upon st. ann's hill. you might very conveniently come hither by way of hampton town, lying there one night. i write this in pain, and can say no more.--_verbum sapienti._" it is stated, by sprat, that the last illness of cowley was owing to his having taken cold through staying too long among his labourers in the meadows; but, in spence's _anecdotes_ we are informed, (on the authority of pope,) that "his death was occasioned by a mere accident whilst his great friend, dean sprat, was with him on a visit at chertsey. they had been together to see a neighbour of cowley's, who, (according to the fashion of those times,) made them too welcome. they did not set out for their walk home till it was too late; and had drank so deep that they lay out in the fields all night. this gave cowley the fever that carried him off. the parish still talk of the drunken dean." * * * * * a pretty compliment. although dr. johnson had (or professed to have) a profound and unjustified contempt for actors, he succeeded in comporting himself towards mrs. siddons with great politeness; and once, when she called to see him at bolt court, and his servant frank could not immediately furnish her with a chair, the doctor said, "you see, madam, that wherever you go there are _no seats to be got_." * * * * * thomas day, and his model wife. day, the author of _sandford and merton_, was an eccentric but amiable man; he retired into the country "to exclude himself," as he said, "from the vanity, vice, and deceptive character of man," but he appears to have been strangely jilted by women. when about the age of twenty-one, and after his suit had been rejected by a young lady to whom he had paid his addresses, mr. day formed the singular project of educating a wife for himself. this was based upon the notion of rousseau, that "all the genuine worth of the human species is perverted by society; and that children should be educated apart from the world, in order that their minds should be kept untainted with, and ignorant of, its vices, prejudices, and artificial manners." day set about his project by selecting two girls from an establishment at shrewsbury, connected with the foundling hospital; previously to which he entered into a written engagement, guaranteed by a friend, mr. bicknell, that within twelve months he would resign one of them to a respectable mistress, as an apprentice, with a fee of one hundred pounds; and, on her marriage, or commencing business for herself, he would give her the additional sum of four hundred pounds; and he further engaged that he would act honourably to the one he should retain, in order to marry her at a proper age; or, if he should change his mind, he would allow her a competent support until she married, and then give her five hundred pounds as a dowry. the objects of day's speculation were both twelve years of age. one of them, whom he called lucretia, had a fair complexion, with light hair and eyes; the other was a brunette, with chesnut tresses, who was styled sabrina. he took these girls to france without any english servants, in order that they should not obtain any knowledge but what he should impart. as might have been anticipated, they caused him abundance of inconvenience and vexation, increased, in no small degree, by their becoming infected with the small-pox; from this, however, they recovered without any injury to their features. the scheme ended in the utter disappointment of the projector. lucretia, whom he first dismissed, was apprenticed to a milliner; and she afterwards became the wife of a linendraper in london. sabrina, after day had relinquished his attempts to make her such a model of perfection as he required, and which included indomitable courage, as well as the difficult art of retaining secrets, was placed at a boarding-school at sutton coldfield, in warwickshire, where she was much esteemed; and, strange to say, was at length married to mr. bicknell. after day had renounced this scheme as impracticable, he became suitor to two sisters in succession; yet, in both instances, he was refused. at length, he was married at bath, to a lady who made "a large fortune the means of exercising the most extensive generosity." * * * * * washington irving and wilkie, in the alhambra. geoffrey crayon (irving), and wilkie, the painter, were fellow-travellers on the continent, about the year . in their rambles about some of the old cities of spain, they were more than once struck with scenes and incidents which reminded them of passages in the _arabian nights_. the painter urged mr. irving to write something that should illustrate those peculiarities, "something in the 'haroun-al-raschid style,'" which should have a deal of that arabian spice which pervades everything in spain. the author set to work, _con amore_, and produced two goodly volumes of arabesque sketches and tales, founded on popular traditions. his study was the alhambra, and the governor of the palace gave irving and wilkie permission to occupy his vacant apartments there. wilkie was soon called away by the duties of his station; but washington irving remained for several months, spell-bound in the old enchanted pile. "how many legends," saith he, "and traditions, true and fabulous--how many songs and romances, spanish and arabian, of love, and war, and chivalry, are associated with this romantic pile." * * * * * bolingbroke at battersea. when the late sir richard phillips took his "morning's walk from london to kew," in , he found that a portion of the family mansion in which lord bolingbroke was born had been converted into a mill and distillery, though a small oak parlour had been carefully preserved. in this room, pope is said to have written his _essay on man_; and, in bolingbroke's time, the mansion was the resort, the hope, and the seat of enjoyment, of swift, arbuthnot, thomson, mallet, and all the contemporary genius of england. the oak room was always called "pope's parlour," it being, in all probability, the apartment generally occupied by that great poet, in his visits to his friend bolingbroke. on inquiring for an ancient inhabitant of battersea, sir richard phillips was introduced to a mrs. gilliard, a pleasant and intelligent woman, who told him she well remembered lord bolingbroke; that he used to ride out every day in his chariot, and had a black patch on his cheek, with a large wart over his eyebrows. she was then but a girl, but she was taught to look upon him with veneration as a great man. as, however, he spent little in the place, and gave little away, he was not much regarded by the people of battersea. sir richard mentioned to her the names of several of bolingbroke's contemporaries; but she recollected none except that of mallet, who, she said, she had often seen walking about in the village, while he was visiting at bolingbroke house. * * * * * relics of milton. milton was born at the _spread eagle_,[ ] bread-street, cheapside, december , ; and was buried, november, , in st. giles's church, cripplegate, without even a stone, in the first instance, to mark his resting-place; but, in , a bust and tablet were set up to his memory by public subscription. milton, before he resided in jewin-gardens, aldersgate, is believed to have removed to, and "kept school" in a large house on the west side of aldersgate-street, wherein met the city of london literary and scientific institution, previously to the rebuilding of their premises in . milton's london residences have all, with one exception, disappeared, and cannot be recognised; this is in petty france, at westminster, where the poet lived from to . the lower part of the house is a chandler's-shop; the parlour, up stairs, looks into st. james's-park. here part of _paradise lost_ was written. the house belonged to jeremy bentham, who caused to be placed on its front a tablet, inscribed, "sacred to milton, prince of poets." in the same glass-case with shakspeare's autograph, in the british museum, is a printed copy of the elegies on mr. edward king, the subject of _lycidas_, with some corrections of the text in milton's handwriting. framed and glazed, in the library of mr. rogers, the poet, hangs the written agreement between milton and his publisher, simmons, for the copyright of his _paradise lost_.--_note-book of ._ [ ] the house has been destroyed many years. * * * * * writing up the "times" newspaper. dr. dibdin, in his _reminiscences_, relates:--"sir john stoddart married the sister of lord moncrieff, by whom he has a goodly race of representatives; but, before his marriage, _he was the man who wrote up the times newspaper_ to its admitted pitch of distinction and superiority over every other contemporary journal. mark, gentle reader, i speak of the _times_ newspaper during the eventful and appalling crisis of bonaparte's invasion of spain and destruction of moscow. my friend fought with his _pen_ as wellington fought with his _sword_: but nothing like a tithe of the remuneration which was justly meted out to the hero of waterloo befel the editor of the _times_. of course, i speak of remuneration in degree, and not in kind. the peace followed. public curiosity lulled, and all great and stirring events having subsided, it was thought that a writer of less commanding talent, (certainly not the _present editor_,) and therefore procurable at a less premium, would answer the current purposes of the day; and the retirement of dr. stoddart, (for he was at this time a civilian, and particularly noticed and patronised by lord stowell,) from the old _times_, and his establishment of the _new times_ newspaper, followed in consequence. but the latter, from various causes, had only a short-lived existence. sir john stoddart had been his majesty's advocate, or attorney-general, at malta, before he retired thither a _second_ time, to assume the office of judge." * * * * * relics of the boar's head tavern, eastcheap. the portal of the boar's head was originally decorated with carved oak figures of falstaff and prince henry; and in , the former figure was in the possession of a brazier, of great eastcheap, whose ancestors had lived in the shop he then occupied since the great fire. the last grand shakspearean dinner-party took place at the boar's head about . a boar's head, with silver tusks, which had been suspended in some room in the house, perhaps the half moon or pomegranate, (see _henry iv._, act. ii., scene ,) at the great fire, fell down with the ruins of the houses, little injured, and was conveyed to whitechapel mount, where it was identified and recovered about thirty years ago. * * * * * origin of "the edinburgh review." the _edinburgh review_ was first published in . the plan was suggested by sydney smith, at a meeting of _literati_, in the fourth or fifth flat or story, in buccleugh-place, edinburgh, then the elevated lodging of jeffrey. the motto humorously proposed for the new review by its projector was, "_tenui musam meditamur avena,_"--_i.e._, "we cultivate literature upon a little oatmeal;" but this being too nearly the truth to be publicly acknowledged, the more grave dictum of "_judex damnatur cum nocens absolvitur_" was adopted from _publius syrus_, of whom, sydney smith affirms, "none of us, i am sure, ever read a single line!" lord byron, in his fifth edition of _english bards and scotch reviewers_, refers to the reviewers as an "oat-fed phalanx." * * * * * clever statesmen. however great talents may command the admiration of the world, they do not generally best fit a man for the discharge of social duties. swift remarks that "men of great parts are often unfortunate in the management of public business, because they are apt to go out of the common road by the quickness of their imagination. this i once said to my lord bolingbroke, and desired he would observe, that the clerk in his office used a sort of ivory knife, with a blunt edge, to divide a sheet of paper, which never failed to cut it even, only by requiring a steady hand; whereas, if he should make one of a sharp penknife, the sharpness would make it go often out of the crease, and disfigure the paper." * * * * * the first magazine. the _gentleman's magazine_ unaccountably passes for the earliest periodical of that description; while, in fact, it was preceded nearly forty years by the _gentleman's journal_ of motteux, a work much more closely resembling our modern magazines, and from which sylvanus urban borrowed part of his title, and part of his motto; while on the first page of the first number of the _gentleman's magazine_ itself, it is stated to contain "more than any book of the _kind_ and price." * * * * * mrs. trimmer. this ingenious woman was the daughter of joshua and sarah kirby, and was born at ipswich, january , . kirby taught george the third, when prince of wales, perspective and architecture. he was also president of the society of artists of great britain, out of which grew the royal academy. it was the last desire of gainsborough to be buried beside his old friend kirby, and their tombs adjoin each other in the churchyard at kew. mrs. trimmer, when a girl, was constantly reading milton's _paradise lost_; and this circumstance so pleased dr. johnson, that he invited her to see him, and presented her with a copy of his _rambler_. she also repeatedly met sir joshua reynolds, dr. gregory, sharp, hogarth, and gainsborough, with all of whom her father was on terms of intimacy. mrs. trimmer advocated religious education against the latitudinarian views of joseph lancaster. it was at her persuasion that dr. bell entered the field, and paved the way for the establishment of the national society. mrs. trimmer died, in her seventieth year, in . she was seated at her table reading a letter, when her head sunk upon her bosom, and she "fell asleep;" and so gentle was the wafting, that she seemed for some time in a refreshing slumber, which her family were unwilling to interrupt. * * * * * boswell's bear-leading. it was on a visit to the parliament house that mr. henry erskine, (brother of lord buchan and lord erskine,) after being presented to dr. johnson by mr. boswell, and having made his bow, slipped a shilling into boswell's hand, whispering that it was for the sight of his _bear_.--_sir walter scott._ * * * * * lord elibank and dr. johnson lord elibank made a happy retort on dr. johnson's definition of oats, as the food of horses in england, and men in scotland. "yes," said he, "and where else will you see _such horses, and such men_?"--_sir walter scott._ * * * * * relics of dr. johnson at lichfield. the house in which dr. johnson was born, at lichfield--where his father, it is well known, kept a small bookseller's shop, and where he was partly educated--stood on the west side of the market-place. in the centre of the market-place is a colossal statue of johnson, seated upon a square pedestal: it is by lucas, and was executed at the expense of the rev. chancellor law, in . by the side of a footpath leading from dam-street to stow, formerly stood a large willow, said to have been planted by johnson. it was blown down, in ; but one of its shoots was preserved and planted upon the same spot: it was in the year a large tree, known in the town as "johnson's willow." mr. lomax, who for many years kept a bookseller's shop--"the johnson's head," in bird-street, lichfield, possessed several articles that formerly belonged to johnson, which have been handed down by a clear and indisputable ownership. amongst them is his own _book of common prayer_, in which are written, in pencil, the four latin lines printed in strahan's edition of the doctor's prayers. there are, also, a sacrament-book, with johnson's wife's name in it, in his own handwriting; an autograph letter of the doctor's to miss porter; two tea-spoons, an ivory tablet, and a breakfast table; a visscher's atlas, paged by the doctor, and a manuscript index; davies's _life of garrick_, presented to johnson by the publisher; a walking cane; and a dictionary of heathen mythology, with the doctor's ms. corrections. his wife's wedding-ring, afterwards made into a mourning-ring; and a massive chair, in which he customarily sat, were also in mr lomax's possession. among the few persons living in the year who ever saw dr. johnson, was mr. dyott, of lichfield: this was seventy-four years before, or in , when the doctor and boswell, on their tour into wales, stopped at ashbourne, and there visited mr. dyott's father, who was then residing at ashbourne hall.[ ] [ ] "the dyotts," notes croker, "are a respectable and wealthy family, still residing near lichfield. the royalist who shot lord brooke when assaulting st. chad's cathedral, in lichfield, on st. chad's day, was a mr. dyott." * * * * * coleridge a soldier. after coleridge left cambridge, he came to london, where soon feeling himself forlorn and destitute, he enlisted as a soldier in the th elliot's light dragoons. "on his arrival at the quarters of the regiment," says his friend and biographer, mr. gilman, "the general of the district inspected the recruits, and looking hard at coleridge, with a military air, inquired 'what's your name, sir?' 'comberbach!' (the name he had assumed.) 'what do you come here for, sir?' as if doubting whether he had any business there. 'sir,' said coleridge, 'for what most other persons come--to be made a soldier.' 'do you think,' said the general, 'you can run a frenchman through the body?' 'i do not know,' replied coleridge, 'as i never tried; but i'll let a frenchman run me through the body before i'll run away.' 'that will do,' said the general, and coleridge was turned in the ranks." the poet made a poor dragoon, and never advanced beyond the awkward squad. he wrote letters, however, for all his comrades, and they attended to his horse and accoutrements. after four months service, (december to april ), the history and circumstances of coleridge became known. he had written under his saddle, on the stable wall, a latin sentence (eheu! quam infortunii miserrimum est fuisse felicem!) which led to an inquiry on the part of the captain of his troop, who had more regard for the classics than ensign northerton, in _tom jones_. coleridge was, accordingly, discharged, and restored to his family and friends. * * * * * cobbett's boyhood. perhaps, in cobbett's voluminous writings, there is nothing so complete as the following picture of his boyish scenes and recollections: it has been well compared to the most simple and touching passages in richardson's _pamela_:-- "after living within a hundred yards of westminster hall and the abbey church, and the bridge, and looking from my own window into st. james's park, all other buildings and spots appear mean and insignificant. i went to-day to see the house i formerly occupied. how small! it is always thus: the words large and small are carried about with us in our minds, and we forget real dimensions. the idea, such as it was received, remains during our absence from the object. when i returned to england in , after an absence from the country parts of it of sixteen years, the trees, the hedges, even the parks and woods, seemed so small! it made me laugh to hear little gutters, that i could jump over, called rivers! the thames was but 'a creek!' but when, in about a month after my arrival in london, i went to farnham, the place of my birth, what was my surprise! every thing was become so pitifully small! i had to cross in my postchaise the long and dreary heath of bagshot. then, at the end of it, to mount a hill called hungry hill; and from that hill i knew that i should look down into the beautiful and fertile vale of farnham. my heart fluttered with impatience, mixed with a sort of fear, to see all the scenes of my childhood; for i had learned before the death of my father and mother. there is a hill not far from the town, called crooksbury hill, which rises up out of a flat in the form of a cone, and is planted with scotch fir-trees. here i used to take the eggs and young ones of crows and magpies. this hill was a famous object in the neighbourhood. it served as the superlative degree of height. 'as high as crooksbury hill,' meant with us, the utmost degree of height. therefore, the first object my eyes sought was this hill. i could not believe my eyes! literally speaking, i for a moment thought the famous hill removed, and a little heap put in its stead; for i had seen in new brunswick a single rock, or hill of solid rock, ten times as big, and four or five times as high! the post-boy, going down hill, and not a bad road, whisked me in a few minutes to the bush inn, from the garden of which i could see the prodigious sand hill where i had begun my gardening works. what a nothing! but now came rushing into my mind all at once my pretty little garden, my little blue smock-frock, my little nailed shoes, my pretty pigeons that i used to feed out of my hands, the last kind words and tears of my gentle and tender-hearted and affectionate mother. i hastened back into the room. if i had looked a moment longer, i should have dropped. when i came to reflect, what a change! what scenes i had gone through! how altered my state! i had dined the day before at a secretary of state's, in company with mr. pitt, and had been waited upon by men in gaudy liveries! i had had nobody to assist me in the world. no teachers of any sort. nobody to shelter me from the consequence of bad, and nobody to counsel me to good behaviour. i felt proud. the distinctions of rank, birth, and wealth, all became nothing in my eyes; and from that moment (less than a month after my arrival in england), i resolved never to bend before them." cobbett was, for a short time, a labourer in the kitchen grounds of the royal gardens at kew. king george the third often visited the gardens to inquire after the fruits and esculents; and one day, he saw here cobbett, then a lad, who with a few halfpence in his pocket, and swift's _tale of a tub_ in his hand, had been so captivated by the wonders of the royal gardens, that he applied there for employment. the king, on perceiving the clownish boy, with his stockings tied about his legs by scarlet garters, inquired about him, and specially desired that he might be continued in his service. * * * * * coleridge an unitarian preacher. during his residence at nether stoney, coleridge officiated as unitarian preacher at taunton, and afterwards at shrewsbury. mr. hazlitt has described his walking ten miles on a winter day to hear coleridge preach. "when i got there," he says, "the organ was playing the th psalm, and, when it was done, mr. coleridge rose and gave out his text:--'he departed again into a mountain himself alone.' as he gave out his text, his voice rose like a stream of rich distilled perfume; when he came to the two last words, which he pronounced loud, deep, and distinct, it seemed to me, who was then young, as if the sounds had echoed from the bottom of the human heart, and as if that prayer might have floated in solemn silence through the universe. the idea of st. john came into my mind, of one crying in the wilderness, who had his loins girt about, and whose food was locusts and wild honey. the preacher then launched into his subject, like an eagle dallying with the wind. the sermon was upon peace and war--upon church and state; not their alliance, but their separation; on the spirit of the world and the spirit of christianity; not as the same, but as opposed to one another. he talked of those who had inscribed the cross of christ on banners dripping with human gore! he made a poetical and pastoral excursion; and, to show the fatal effects of war, drew a striking contrast between the simple shepherd-boy driving his team a-field, or sitting under the hawthorn, piping to his flock, as though he should never be old, and the same poor country-lad crimped, kidnapped, brought into town, made drunk at an alehouse, turned into a wretched drummer-boy, with his hair sticking on end with powder and pomatum, a long cue at his back, and tricked out in the finery of the profession of blood. "'such were the notes our once-loved poet sung;' and, for myself, i could not have been more delighted if i had heard the music of the spheres." * * * * * fontenelle's insensibility. fontenelle, who lived till within one month of a century, was very rarely known to laugh or cry, and even boasted of his insensibility. one day, a certain _bon-vivant_ abbé came unexpectedly to dine with him. the abbé was fond of asparagus dressed with butter; fontenelle, also, had a great _gout_ for the vegetable, but preferred it dressed with oil. fontenelle said, that, for such a friend, there was no sacrifice he would not make; and that he should have half the dish of asparagus which he had ordered for himself, and that half, moreover, should be dressed with butter. while they were conversing together, the poor abbé fell down in a fit of apoplexy; upon which fontenelle instantly scampered down stairs, and eagerly bawled out to his cook, "the whole with oil! the whole with oil, as at first!" * * * * * pains and toils of authorship. the craft of authorship is by no means so easy of practice as is generally imagined by the thousands who aspire to its practice. almost all our works, whether of knowledge or of fancy, have been the product of much intellectual exertion and study; or, as it is better expressed by the poet-- "the well-ripened fruits of wise decay." pope published nothing until it had been a year or two before him, and even then his printer's proofs were very full of alterations; and, on one occasion, dodsley, his publisher, thought it better to have the whole recomposed than make the necessary corrections. goldsmith considered four lines a day good work, and was seven years in beating out the pure gold of the _deserted village_. hume wrote his _history of england_ on a sofa, but he went quietly on correcting every edition till his death. robertson used to write out his sentences on small slips of paper; and, after rounding them and polishing them to his satisfaction, he entered them in a book, which, in its turn, underwent considerable revision. burke had all his principal works printed two or three times at a private press before submitting them to his publisher. akenside and gray were indefatigable correctors, labouring every line; and so was our prolix and more imaginative poet, thomson. on comparing the first and latest editions of the _seasons_, there will be found scarcely a page which does not bear evidence of his taste and industry. johnson thinks the poems lost much of their raciness under this severe regimen, but they were much improved in fancy and delicacy; the episode of musidora, "the solemnly ridiculous bathing scene," as campbell terms it, was almost entirely rewritten. johnson and gibbon were the least laborious in arranging their _copy_ for the press. gibbon sent the first and only ms. of his stupendous work (the _decline and fall_) to his printer; and johnson's high-sounding sentences were written almost without an effort. both, however, lived and moved, as it were, in the world of letters, thinking or caring of little else--one in the heart of busy london, which he dearly loved, and the other in his silent retreat at lausanne. dryden wrote hurriedly, to provide for the day; but his _absalom and achitophel_, and the beautiful imagery of the _hind and panther_, must have been fostered with parental care. st. pierre copied his _paul and virginia_ nine times, that he might render it the more perfect. rousseau was a very coxcomb in these matters: the amatory epistles, in his new _heloise_, he wrote on fine gilt-edged card-paper, and having folded, addressed, and sealed them, he opened and read them in the solitary woods of clairens, with the mingled enthusiasm of an author and lover. sheridan watched long and anxiously for bright thoughts, as the ms. of his _school for scandal_, in its various stages, proves. burns composed in the open air, the sunnier the better; but he laboured hard, and with almost unerring taste and judgment, in correcting.[ ] lord byron was a rapid composer, but made abundant use of the pruning-knife. on returning one of his proof sheets from italy, he expressed himself undecided about a single word, for which he wished to substitute another, and requested mr. murray to refer it to mr. gifford, then editor of the _quarterly review_. sir walter scott evinced his love of literary labour by undertaking the revision of the whole of the _waverley_ novels--a goodly freightage of some fifty or sixty volumes. the works of wordsworth, southey, coleridge, and moore, and the occasional variations in their different editions, mark their love of the touching. southey was, indeed, unwearied after his kind--a true author of the old school. the bright thoughts of campbell, which sparkle like polished lances, were manufactured with almost equal care; he was the pope of our contemporary authors.[ ] allan cunningham corrected but little, yet his imitations of the elder lyrics are perfect centos of scottish feeling and poesy. the loving, laborious lingering of tennyson over his poems, and the frequent alterations--not in every case improvements--that appear in successive editions of his works, are familiar to all his admirers. [ ] "i have seen," says a correspondent of the _inverness courier_, "a copy of the second edition of burns's 'poems,' with the blanks filled up, and numerous alterations made in the poet's handwriting: one instance, not the most delicate, but perhaps the most amusing and characteristic will suffice. after describing the gambols of his 'twa dogs,' their historian refers to their sitting down in coarse and rustic terms. this, of course, did not suit the poet's edinburgh patrons, and he altered it to the following:-- 'till tired at last, and doucer grown, upon a knowe they sat them down.' still this did not please his fancy; he tried again, and hit it off in the simple, perfect form in which it now stands:-- 'until wi' daffin weary grown, upon a knowe they sat them down.'" [ ] campbell's alterations were, generally, decided improvements; but in one instance he failed lamentably. the noble peroration of lochiel is familiar to most readers:-- "shall victor exult, or in death be laid low, with his back to the field and his feet to the foe; and leaving in battle no blot on his name, look proudly to heaven from the death-bed of fame." in the quarto edition of _gertrude of wyoming_, when the poet collected and reprinted his minor pieces, this lofty sentiment was thus stultified:-- "shall victor exult in the battle's acclaim, or look to yon heaven from the death-bed of fame." the original passage, however, was wisely restored in the subsequent editions. * * * * * joe miller at court. joe miller, (mottley,) was such a favourite at court, that caroline, queen of george ii., commanded a play to be performed for his benefit; the queen disposed of a great many tickets at one of her drawing-rooms, and most of them were paid for in gold. * * * * * collins' insanity. much has been said of the state of insanity to which the author of the _ode to the passions_ was ultimately reduced; or rather, as dr. johnson happily describes it, "a depression of mind which enchains the faculties without destroying them, and leaves reason the knowledge of right, without the power of pursuing it." what johnson has further said on this melancholy subject, shows perhaps more nature and feeling than anything he ever wrote; and yet it is remarkable that among the causes to which the poet's malady was ascribed, he never hints at the most exciting of the whole. he tells us how collins "loved fairies, genii, giants, and monsters;" how he "delighted to roam through the meanders of enchantment, to gaze on the magnificence of golden palaces, to repose by the waterfalls of elysian gardens." but never does he seem to have imagined how natural it was for a mind of such a temperament to give an eve to the paradise of his creation. johnson, in truth, though, as he tells us, he gained the confidence of collins, was not just the man into whose ear a lover would choose to pour his secrets. the fact was, collins was greatly attached to a young lady who did not return his passion; and there seems to be little doubt, that to the consequent disappointment, preying on his mind, was due much of that abandonment of soul which marked the close of his career. the object of his passion was born the day before him; and to this circumstance, in one of his brighter moments, he made a most happy allusion. a friend remarking to the luckless lover, that his was a hard case, collins replied, "it is so, indeed; for i came into the world _a day after the fair_." * * * * * moore's epigram on abbott. mr. speaker abbott having spoken in slighting terms of some of moore's poems, the poet wrote, in return, the following biting epigram: "they say he has no heart; but i deny it; he _has_ a heart--and gets his speeches by it." * * * * * negroes at home. when lord byron was in parliament, a petition setting forth, and calling for redress for, the wretched state of the irish peasantry, was one evening presented to the house of lords, and very coldly received. "ah!" said lord byron, "what a misfortune it was for the irish that they were not born black! they would then have had plenty of friends in both houses"--referring to the great interest at the time being taken by some philanthropic members in the condition and future of the negroes in our west indian colonies. * * * * * a string of jerrold's jokes. at a club of which jerrold was a member, a fierce jacobite, and a friend, as fierce, of the orange cause, were arguing noisily, and disturbing less excitable conversationalists. at length the jacobite, a brawny scot, brought his fist down heavily upon the table, and roared at his adversary, "i tell you what it is, sir, i spit upon your king william!" the friend of the prince of orange rose, and roared back to the jacobite, "and i, sir, spit upon your james the second!" jerrold, who had been listening to the uproar in silence, hereupon rang the bell, and shouted "waiter, spittoons for two!" at an evening party, jerrold was looking at the dancers, when, seeing a very tall gentleman waltzing with a remarkably short lady, he said to a friend at hand, "humph! there's the mile dancing with the milestone!" an old lady was in the habit of talking to jerrold in a gloomy, depressing manner, presenting to him only the sad side of life. "hang it," said jerrold, one day, after a long and sombre interview, "she would not allow that there was a bright side to the moon." jerrold said to an ardent young gentleman, who burned with desire to see himself in print: "be advised by me, young man: don't take down the shutters before there is something in the windows." while jerrold was discussing one day, with mr. selby, the vexed question of adapting dramatic pieces from the french, that gentleman insisted upon claiming some of his characters as strictly original creations. "do you remember my baroness in _ask no questions_?" said mr. selby. "yes, indeed; i don't think i ever saw a piece of yours without being struck by your _barrenness_," was the retort.--_mark lemon's jest-book._ * * * * * conceited alarms of dennis. john dennis, the dramatist, had a most extravagant and enthusiastic opinion of his tragedy of _liberty asserted_. he imagined that there were in it some strokes on the french nation so severe, that they would never be forgiven; and that, in consequence, louis xiv. would never make peace with england unless the author was given up as a sacrifice to the national resentment. accordingly, when the congress for the negotiation of the peace of utrecht was in contemplation, the terrified dennis waited on the duke of marlborough, who had formerly been his patron, to entreat the intercession of his grace with the plenipotentiaries, that they should not consent to his surrender to france being made one of the conditions of the treaty. the duke gravely told the dramatist that he was sorry to be unable to do this service, as he had no influence with the ministry of the day; but, he added, that he thought dennis' case not quite desperate, for, said his grace, "i have taken no care to get myself excepted in the articles of peace, and yet i cannot help thinking that i have done the french almost as much damage as mr. dennis himself." at another time, when dennis was visiting at a gentleman's house on the sussex coast, and was walking on the beach, he saw a vessel, as he imagined, sailing towards him. the self-important timidity of dennis saw in this incident a reason for the greatest alarm for himself, and distrust of his friend. supposing he was betrayed, he made the best of his way to london, without even taking leave of his host, whom he believed to have lent himself to a plot for delivering him up as a captive to a french vessel sent on purpose to carry him off. * * * * * a composition with conscience. lully, the composer, being once thought mortally ill, his friends called a confessor, who, finding the patient's state critical, and his mind very ill at ease, told him that he could obtain absolution only one way--by burning all that he had by him of a yet unpublished opera. the remonstrance of his friends was in vain; lully burnt the music, and the confessor departed well pleased. the composer, however, recovered, and told one of his visitors, a nobleman who was his patron, of the sacrifice he had made to the demands of the confessor. "and so," cried the nobleman, "you have burnt your opera, and are really such a blockhead as to believe in the absurdities of a monk!" "stop, my friend, stop," returned lully; "let me whisper in your ear: i knew very well what i was about--_i have another copy._" * * * * * sale, the translator of the koran. the learned sale, who first gave to the world a genuine version of the koran, pursued his studies through a life of wants. this great orientalist, when he quitted his books to go abroad, too often wanted a change of linen; and he frequently wandered the streets, in search of some compassionate friend, who might supply him with the meal of the day. * * * * * the latter days of lovelace. sir richard lovelace, who in published the elegant collection of amorous and other poems entitled _lucasta_, was an amiable and accomplished gentleman: by the men of his time (the time of the civil wars) respected for his moral worth and literary ability; by the fair sex, almost idolized for the elegance of his person and the sweetness of his manners. an ardent loyalist, the people of kent appointed him to present to the house of commons their petition for the restoration of charles and the settlement of the government. the petition gave offence, and the bearer was committed to the gate house, at westminster, where he wrote his graceful little song, "loyalty confined," opening thus: "when love, with unconfined wings, hovers within my gates, and my divine althea brings to whisper at my grates; when i lie tangled in her hair, and fettered in her eye; the birds that wanton in the air know no such liberty." but "dinnerless the polished lovelace died." he obtained his liberation, after a few months' confinement. by that time, however, he had consumed all his estates, partly by furnishing the king with men and money, and partly by giving assistance to men of talent of whatever kind, whom he found in difficulties. very soon, he became himself involved in the greatest distress, and fell into a deep melancholy, which brought on a consumption, and made him as poor in person as in purse, till he even became the object of common charity. the man who in his days of gallantry wore cloth of gold, was now naked, or only half covered with filthy rags; he who had thrown splendour on palaces, now shrank into obscure and dirty alleys; he who had associated with princes, banqueted on dainties, been the patron of the indigent, the admiration of the wise and brave, the darling of the chaste and fair--was now fain to herd with beggars, gladly to partake of their coarse offals, and thankfully to receive their twice-given alms-- "to hovel him with swine and rogues forlorn, in short and musty straw." worn out with misery, he at length expired, in , in a mean and wretched lodging in gunpowder alley, near shoe lane, and was buried at the west end of st. bride's church, fleet street. such is the account of lovelace's closing days given by wood in his _athenæ_, and confirmed by aubrey in his _lives of eminent men_; but a recent editor and biographer (the son of hazlitt) pronounces, though he does not prove, the account much exaggerated. * * * * * payment in kind. the empress catherine of russia having sent, as a present to voltaire, a small ivory box made by her own hands, the poet induced his niece to instruct him in the art of knitting stockings; and he had actually half finished a pair, of white silk, when he became completely tired. unfinished as the stockings were, however, he sent them to her majesty, accompanied by a charmingly gallant poetical epistle, in which he told her that, "as she had presented him with a piece of man's workmanship made by a woman, he had thought it his duty to crave her acceptance, in return, of a piece of woman's work from the hands of a man."--when constantia phillips was in a state of distress, she took a small shop near westminster hall, and sold books, some of which were of her own writing. during this time, an apothecary who had attended her once when she was ill, came to her and requested payment of his bill. she pleaded her poverty; but he still continued to press her, and urged as a reason for his urgency, that he had saved her life. "you have," said constantia, "you have indeed done so: i acknowledge it; and, in return, here is my life"--handing him at the same time the two volumes of her "memoirs," and begging that he would now take _her life_ in discharge of his demand. * * * * * chatterton's profit and loss reckoning. chatterton, the marvellous boy, wrote a political essay for the _north briton_, wilkes's journal; but, though accepted, the essay was not printed, in consequence of the death of the lord mayor, chatterton's patron. the youthful patriot thus calculated the results of the suppression of his essay, which had begun by a splendid flourish about "a spirited people freeing themselves from insupportable slavery:" "lost, by the lord mayor's death, in this essay, £ gained in elegies, £ do. in essays, -------- ---------- am glad he is dead by £ " * * * * * locke's rebuke of the card-playing lords. locke, the brilliant author of the _essay on the human understanding_, was once introduced by lord shaftesbury to the duke of buckingham and lord halifax. but the three noblemen, instead of entering into conversation on literary subjects with the philosopher, very soon sat down to cards. locke looked on for a short time, and then drew out his pocket-book and began to write in it with much attention. one of the players, after a time, observed this, and asked what he was writing. "my lord," answered locke, "i am endeavouring, as far as possible, to profit by my present situation; for, having waited with impatience for the honour of being in company with the greatest geniuses of the age, i thought i could do nothing better than to write down your conversation; and, indeed, i have set down the substance of what you have said for the last hour or two." the three noblemen, fully sensible of the force of the rebuke, immediately left the cards and entered into a conversation more rational and more befitting their reputation as men of genius. * * * * * haydn and the ship captain. when the immortal composer haydn was on his visit to england, in , his chamber-door was opened one morning by the captain of an east indiaman, who said, "you are mr. haydn?" "yes." "can you make me a 'march,' to enliven my crew? you shall have thirty guineas; but i must have it to-day, as to-morrow i sail for calcutta." haydn agreed, the sailor quitted him, the composer opened his piano, and in a few minutes the march was written. he appears, however, to have had a delicacy rare among the musical birds of passage and of prey who come to feed on the unwieldy wealth of england. conceiving that the receipt of a sum so large as thirty guineas for a labour so slight, would be a species of plunder, he came home early in the evening, and composed other two marches, in order to allow the liberal sea captain his choice, or make him take all the three. early next morning, the purchaser came back. "where is my march?" "here it is." "try it on the piano." haydn played it over. the captain counted down the thirty guineas on the piano, took up the march, and went down stairs. haydn ran after him, calling, "i have made other two marches, both better; come up and hear them, and take your choice." "i am content with the one i have," returned the captain, without stopping. "i will make you a present of them," cried the composer. the captain only ran down the more rapidly, and left haydn on the stairs. haydn, opposing obstinacy to obstinacy, determined to overcome this odd self-denial. he went at once to the exchange, found out the name of the ship, made his marches into a roll, and sent them, with a polite note, to the captain on board. he was surprised at receiving, not long after, his envelope unopened, from the captain, who had guessed it to be haydn's; and the composer tore the whole packet into pieces upon the spot. the narrator of this incident adds the remark, that "though the anecdote is of no great elevation, it expresses peculiarity of character; and certainly neither the composer nor the captain could have been easily classed among the common or the vulgar of men." * * * * * haydn's diploma piece at oxford. during his stay in england, haydn was honoured by the diploma of doctor of music from the university of oxford--a distinction not obtained even by handel, and it is said, only conferred on four persons during the four centuries preceding. it is customary to send some specimen of composition in return for a degree; and haydn, with the facility of perfect skill, sent back a page of music so curiously contrived, that in whatever way it was read--from the top to the bottom or the sides--it exhibited a perfect melody and accompaniment. * * * * * origin of the beggar's opera. it was swift that first suggested to gay the idea of the _beggar's opera_, by remarking, what an odd, pretty sort of a thing a newgate pastoral might make! "gay," says pope, "was inclined to try at such a thing for some time; but afterwards thought it would be better to write a comedy on the same plan. this was what gave rise to the _beggar's opera_. he began on it; and when he first mentioned it to swift, the doctor did not much like the project. as he carried it on, he showed what he wrote to both of us; and we now and then gave a correction, or a word or two of advice, but it was wholly of his own writing. when it was done, neither of us thought it would succeed. we showed it to congreve, who, after reading it over, said, 'it would either take greatly, or be damned confoundedly.' we were all, at the first sight of it, in great uncertainty of the event, till we were very much encouraged by hearing the duke of argyle, who sat in the next box to us, say, 'it will do--i see it in the eyes of them.' this was a good while before the first act was over, and so gave us ease soon; for the duke (besides his own good taste) has as particular a knack as any one now living, in discovering the taste of the public. he was quite right in this, as usual; the good nature of the audience appeared stronger and stronger every act, and ended in a clamour of applause." * * * * * the two sheridans. sheridan made his appearance one day in a pair of new boots; these attracting the notice of some of his friends: "now guess," said he, "how i came by these boots?" many probable guesses were then ventured, but in vain. "no," said sheridan, "no, you have not hit it, nor ever will. i bought them, and paid for them!" sheridan was very desirous that his son tom should marry a young lady of large fortune, but knew that miss callander had won his son's heart. sheridan, expatiating once on the folly of his son, at length broke out: "tom, if you marry caroline callander, i'll cut you off with a shilling!" tom, looking maliciously at his father, said, "then, sir, you must borrow it." in a large party one evening, the conversation turned upon young men's allowances at college. tom deplored the ill-judging parsimony of many parents in that respect. "i am sure, tom," said his father, "you have no reason to complain; i always allowed you £ a-year." "yes, father, i confess you allowed it; but then--it was never paid!" * * * * * killing no murder. in a journey which mademoiselle scudéry, the sappho of the french, made along with her no less celebrated brother, a curious incident befell them at an inn at a great distance from paris. their conversation happened one evening to turn upon a romance which they were then jointly composing, to the hero of which they had given the name of prince mazare. "what shall we do with prince mazare?" said mademoiselle scudéry to her brother. "is it not better that he should fall by poison, than by the poignard?" "it is not time yet," replied the brother, "for that business; when it is necessary we can despatch him as we please; but at present we have not quite done with him." two merchants in the next chamber, overhearing this conversation, concluded that they had formed a conspiracy for the murder of some prince whose real name they disguised under that of mazare. full of this important discovery, they imparted their suspicions to the host and hostess; and it was resolved to inform the police of what had happened. the police officers, eager to show their diligence and activity, put the travellers immediately under arrest, and conducted them under a strong escort to paris. it was not without difficulty and expense that they there procured their liberation, and leave for the future to hold an unlimited right and power over all the princes and personages in the realms of romance. * * * * * sensitiveness to criticism. hawkesworth and stillingfleet died of criticism; tasso was driven mad by it; newton, the calm newton, kept hold of life only by the sufferance of a friend who withheld a criticism on his chronology, for no other reason than his conviction that if it were published while he lived, it would put an end to him; and every one knows the effect on the sensitive nature of keats, of the attacks on his _endymion_. tasso had a vast and prolific imagination, accompanied with an excessively hypochondriacal temperament. the composition of his great epic, the _jerusalem delivered_, by giving scope to the boldest flights, and calling into play the energies of his exalted and enthusiastic genius--whilst with equal ardour it led him to entertain hopes of immediate and extensive fame--laid most probably the foundation of his subsequent derangement. his susceptibility and tenderness of feeling were great; and, when his sublime work met with unexpected opposition, and was even treated with contempt and derision, the fortitude of the poet was not proof against the keen sense of disappointment. he twice attempted to please his ignorant and malignant critics by recomposing his poem; and during the hurry, the anguish, and the irritation attending these efforts, the vigour of a great mind was entirely exhausted, and in two years after the publication of the _jerusalem_, the unhappy author became an object of pity and terror. newton, with all his philosophy, was so sensible to critical remarks, that whiston tells us he lost his favour, which he had enjoyed for twenty years, by contradicting him in his old age; for "no man was of a more fearful temper." * * * * * butler and buckingham. of butler, the author of _hudibras_--which dr. johnson terms "one of those productions of which a nation may justly boast"--little further is known than that his genius was not sufficient to rescue him from its too frequent attendant, poverty; he lived in obscurity, and died in want. wycherley often represented to the duke of buckingham how well butler had deserved of the royal family by writing his inimitable _hudibras_, and that it was a disgrace to the court that a person of his loyalty and genius should remain in obscurity and suffer the wants which he did. the duke, thus pressed, promised to recommend butler to his majesty; and wycherley, in hopes to keep his grace steady to his word, prevailed on him to fix a day when he might introduce the modest and unfortunate poet to his new patron. the place of meeting fixed upon was the "roebuck." butler and his friend attended punctually; the duke joined them, when, unluckily, the door of the room being open, his grace observed one of his acquaintances pass by with two ladies; on which he immediately quitted his engagement, and from that time to the day of his death poor butler never derived the least benefit from his promise. * * * * * the mermaid club. the celebrated club at the "mermaid," as has been well observed by gifford, "combined more talent and genius, perhaps, than ever met together before or since." the institution originated with sir walter raleigh; and here, for many years, ben jonson regularly repaired with shakspeare, beaumont, fletcher, selden, cotton, carew, martin, donne, and many others whose names, even at this distant period, call up a mingled feeling of reverence and respect. here, in the full flow and confidence of friendship, the lively and interesting "wit-combats" took place between shakspeare and jonson; and hither, in probable allusion to some of them, beaumont fondly lets his thoughts wander in his letter to jonson from the country:-- "what things have we seen done at the mermaid? heard words that have been so nimble, and so full of subtle flame, as if that every one from whom they came, had meant to put his whole wit in a jest." for the expression, "wit-combats," we must refer to fuller, who in his "worthies," describing the character of the bard of avon, says: "many were the wit-combats between shakspeare and ben jonson. i behold them like a spanish great galleon, and an english man-of-war. master jonson, like the former, was built far higher in learning, solid, but slow in his performances; shakspeare, like the latter, less in bulk but lighter in sailing, could turn with all tides, tack about and take advantage of all winds, by the quickness of his wit and invention." with what delight would after generations have hung over any well-authenticated instances of these "wit-combats!" but, unfortunately, nothing on which we can depend has descended to us. * * * * * porson's memory. professor porson, the great græcist, when a boy at eton, displayed the most astonishing powers of memory. in going up to a lesson one day, he was accosted by a boy in the same form: "porson, what have you got there?" "horace." "let me look at it." porson handed the book to his comrade; who, pretending to return it, dexterously substituted another in its place, with which porson proceeded. being called on by the master, he read and construed the tenth ode of the first book very regularly. observing that the class laughed, the master said, "porson, you seem to me to be reading on one side of the page, while i am looking at the other; pray whose edition have you?" porson hesitated. "let me see it," rejoined the master; who, to his great surprise, found it to be an english ovid. porson was ordered to go on; which he did, easily, correctly, and promptly, to the end of the ode. much more remarkable feats of memory than this, however, have been recorded of porson's manhood. * * * * * wycherley's wooing. wycherley being at tunbridge for the benefit of his health, after his return from the continental trip the cost of which the king had defrayed, was walking one day with his friend, mr. fairbeard, of gray's inn. just as they came up to a bookseller's shop, the countess of drogheda, a young, rich, noble, and lovely widow, came to the bookseller and inquired for the _plain dealer_--a well-known comedy of wycherley's. "madam," said mr. fairbeard, "since you are for the _plain dealer_, there he is for you"--pushing wycherley towards her. "yes," said wycherley, "this lady can bear plain dealing; for she appears to me to be so accomplished, that what would be compliment said to others, would be plain dealing spoken to her." "no, truly, sir," said the countess; "i am not without my faults, any more than the rest of my sex; and yet i love plain dealing, and am never more fond of it than when it tells me of them." "then, madam," said fairbeard, "you and the plain dealer seem designed by heaven for each other." in short, wycherley walked with the countess, waited upon her home, visited her daily while she was at tunbridge, and afterwards when she went to london; where, in a little time, a marriage was concluded between them. the marriage was not a happy one. * * * * * a carouse at boileau's. boileau, the celebrated french comedian, usually passed the summer at his villa of auteuil, which is pleasantly situated at the entrance of the bois de boulogne. here he took delight in assembling under his roof the most eminent geniuses of the age; especially chapelle, racine, molière, and la fontaine. racine the younger gives the following account of a droll circumstance that occurred at supper at auteuil with these guests. "at this supper," he says, "at which my father was not present, the wise boileau was no more master of himself than any of his guests. after the wine had led them into the gravest strain of moralising, they agreed that life was but a state of misery; that the greatest happiness consisted in having been born, and the next greatest in an early death; and they one and all formed the heroic resolution of throwing themselves without loss of time into the river. it was not far off, and they actually went thither. molière, however, remarked that such a noble action ought not to be buried in the obscurity of night, but was worthy of being performed in the face of day. this observation produced a pause; one looked at the other, and said, 'he is right.' 'gentlemen,' said chapelle, 'we had better wait till morning to throw ourselves into the river, and meantime return and finish our wine;'" but the river was not revisited. * * * * * thomson's indolence. the author of the _seasons_ and the _castle of indolence_, paid homage in the latter admirable poem to the master-passion or habit of his own easy nature. thomson was so excessively lazy, that he is recorded to have been seen standing at a peach-tree, with both his hands in his pockets, eating the fruit as it grew. at another time, being found in bed at a very late hour of the day, when he was asked why he did not get up, his answer was, "troth, man, i see nae motive for rising!" * * * * * a learned young lady. fraulein dorothea schlozer, a hanoverian lady, was thought worthy of the highest academical honours of göttingen university, and, at the jubilee of , she had the degree of doctor of philosophy conferred upon her, when only seventeen years of age. the daughter of the professor of philosophy in that university, she from her earliest years discovered an uncommon genius for learning. before she was three years of age, she was taught low german, a language almost foreign to her own. before she was six, she had learned french and german, and then she began geometry; and after receiving ten lessons, she was able to answer very difficult questions. the english, italian, swedish, and dutch languages were next acquired, with singular rapidity; and before she was fourteen, she knew latin and greek, and had become a good classical scholar. besides her knowledge of languages, she made herself acquainted with almost every branch of polite literature, as well as many of the sciences, particularly mathematics. she also attained great proficiency in mineralogy; and, during a sojourn of six weeks in the hartz forest, she visited the deepest mines, in the common habit of a labourer, and examined the whole process of the work. her surprising talents becoming the general topic of conversation, she was proposed, by the great orientalist michaelis, as a proper subject for academical honours. the philosophical faculty, of which the professor was dean, was deemed the fittest; and a day was fixed for her examination, in presence of all the professors. she was introduced by michaelis himself, and distinguished, as a lady, with the highest seat. several questions were first proposed to her in mathematics; all of which she answered to satisfaction. after this, she gave a free translation of the thirty-seventh ode of the first book of horace, and explained it. she was then examined in various branches of art and science, when she displayed a thorough knowledge of the subjects. the examination lasted two hours and a half; and at the end, the degree of doctor of philosophy was unanimously conferred upon her, and she was crowned with a wreath of laurel by fraulein michaelis, at the request of the professors. * * * * * a hard hit at pope. pope was one evening at button's coffee-house, where he and a set of literati had got poring over a latin manuscript, in which they had found a passage that none of them could comprehend. a young officer, who heard their conference, begged that he might be permitted to look at the passage. "oh," said pope, sarcastically, "by all means; pray let the young gentleman look at it." upon which the officer took up the manuscript, and, considering it awhile, said there only wanted a note of interrogation to make the whole intelligible: which was really the case. "and pray, master," says pope with a sneer, "what is a _note of interrogation_?"--"a note of interrogation," replied the young fellow, with a look of great contempt, "is a little _crooked thing_ that asks questions." * * * * * dryden drubbed. "dryden," says leigh hunt, "is identified with the neighbourhood of covent garden. he presided in the chair at russell street (will's coffee-house); his plays came out in the theatre at the other end of it; he lived in gerrard street, which is not far off; and, alas for the anti-climax! he was beaten by hired bravos in rose street, now called rose alley. the outrage perpetrated upon the sacred shoulders of the poet was the work of lord rochester, and originated in a mistake not creditable to that would-be great man and dastardly debauchee." dryden, it seems, obtained the reputation of being the author of the _essay on satire_, in which lord rochester was severely dealt with, and which was, in reality, written by lord mulgrave, afterwards the duke of buckinghamshire. rochester meditated on the innocent dryden a base and cowardly revenge, and thus coolly expressed his intent in one of his letters: "you write me word that i am out of favour with a certain poet, whom i have admired for the disproportion of him and his attributes. he is a rarity which i cannot but be fond of, as one would be of a hog that could fiddle, or a singing owl. if he falls on me at the blunt, which is his very good weapon in wit, i will forgive him if you please, _and leave the repartee to black will with a cudgel_." "in pursuance of this infamous resolution," says sir walter scott, "upon the night of the th december , dryden was waylaid by hired ruffians, and severely beaten, as he passed through rose street, covent garden, returning from will's coffee-house to his own house in gerrard street. a reward of fifty pounds was in vain offered in the _london gazette_ and other newspapers, for the discovery of the perpetrators of this outrage. the town was, however, at no loss to pitch upon rochester as the employer of the bravos; with whom the public suspicion joined the duchess of portsmouth, equally concerned in the supposed affront thus revenged.... it will certainly be admitted that a man, surprised in the dark, and beaten by ruffians, loses no honour by such a misfortune. but if dryden had received the same discipline from rochester's own hand, without resenting it, his drubbing could not have been more frequently made a matter of reproach to him; a sign, surely, of the penury of subjects for satire in his life and character, since an accident, which might have happened to the greatest hero that ever lived, was resorted to as an imputation on his character." * * * * * rogers and "junius." samuel rogers was requested by lady holland to ask sir philip francis whether he was the author of _junius' letters_. the poet, meeting sir philip, approached the ticklish subject thus: "will you, sir philip--will your kindness excuse my addressing to you a single question?" "at your peril, sir!" was the harsh and curt reply of the knight. the intimidated bard retreated upon his friends, who eagerly inquired of him the success of his application. "i do not know," rogers said, "whether he is junius; but, if he be, he is certainly junius _brutus_." * * * * * alfieri's hair. alfieri, the greatest poet modern italy produced, delighted in eccentricities, not always of the most amiable kind. one evening, at the house of the princess carignan, he was leaning, in one of his silent moods, against a sideboard decorated with a rich tea service of china, when, by a sudden movement of his long loose tresses, he threw down one of the cups. the lady of the mansion ventured to tell him, that he had spoiled the set, and had better have broken them all. the words were no sooner said, than alfieri, without reply or change of countenance, swept off the whole service upon the floor. his hair was fated to bring another of his eccentricities into play. he went one night, alone, to the theatre at turin; and there, hanging carelessly with his head backwards over the corner of the box, a lady in the next seat on the other side of the partition, who had on other occasions made attempts to attract his attention, broke out into violent and repeated encomiums on his auburn locks, which were flowing down close to her hand. alfieri, however, spoke not a word, and continued his position till he left the theatre. next morning, the lady received a parcel, the contents of which she found to be the tresses which she had so much admired, and which the erratic poet had cut off close to his head. no billet accompanied the gift; but it could not have been more clearly said, "if you like the hair, here it is; but, for heaven's sake, leave _me_ alone!" * * * * * smollett's hard fortunes. smollett, perhaps one of the most popular authors by profession that ever wrote, furnishes a sad instance of the insufficiency of even the greatest literary favour, in the times in which he wrote, to procure those temporal comforts on which the happiness of life so much depends. "had some of those," he says, "who were pleased to call themselves my friends, been at any pains to deserve the character, and told me ingenuously what i had to expect in the capacity of an author, when first i professed myself of that venerable fraternity, i should in all probability have spared myself the incredible labour and chagrin i have since undergone." "of praise and censure both," he writes at another time, "i am sick indeed, and wish to god that my circumstances would allow me to consign my pen to oblivion." when he had worn himself down in the service of the public or the booksellers, there scarce was left of all his slender remunerations, at the last stage of life, enough to convey him to a cheap country and a restoring air on the continent. gradually perishing in a foreign land, neglected by the public that admired him, deriving no resources from the booksellers who were drawing the large profits of his works, smollett threw out his injured feelings in the character of bramble, in _humphrey clinker_, the warm generosity of his temper, but not his genius, seeming to fleet away with his breath. and when he died, and his widow, in a foreign land, was raising a plain memorial over his ashes, her love and piety but made the little less; and she perished in unbefriended solitude. "there are indeed," says d'israeli, "grateful feelings in the public at large for a favourite author; but the awful testimony of these feelings, by its gradual process, must appear beyond the grave! they visit the column consecrated by his name--and his features are most loved, most venerated, in the bust!" * * * * * jerrold's rebuke to a rude intruder. douglas jerrold and some friends were dining once at a tavern, and had a private room; but after dinner the landlord, on the plea that the house was partly under repair, requested permission that a stranger might take a chop in the apartment, at a separate table. the company gave the required permission; and the stranger, a man of commonplace aspect, was brought in, ate his chop in silence, and then fell asleep--snoring so loudly and discordantly that the conversation could with difficulty be prosecuted. some gentleman of the party made a noise; and the stranger, starting out of his nap, called out to jerrold, "i know you, mr. jerrold, i know you; but you shall not make a butt of me!" "then don't bring your hog's head in here!" was the instant answer of the wit. * * * * * an odd present to shenstone. an edinburgh acquaintance is related to have sent to shenstone, in , as a small stimulus to their friendship, "a little provision of the best preston pans snuff, both toasted and untoasted, in four bottles; with one bottle of highland snishon, and four bottles bonnels. please to let me know which sort is most agreeable to you, that i may send you a fresh supply in good time." * * * * * waller, the courtier-poet. waller wrote a fine panegyric on cromwell, when he assumed the protectorship. upon the restoration of charles, waller wrote another in praise of him, and presented it to the king in person. after his majesty had read the poem, he told waller that he wrote a better on cromwell. "please your majesty," said waller, like a true courtier, "we poets are always more happy in fiction than in truth." the end. murray and gibb, edinburgh, printers to her majesty's stationery office. catalogue of popular and standard books published by william p. nimmo, edinburgh _and sold by all booksellers._ a superb gift-book. the 'edina' burns _just ready_, beautifully printed on the finest toned paper, and elegantly bound in cloth extra, gilt edges, price one guinea; or turkey morocco extra, price two guineas; or in clan tartan enamelled, with photograph of the poet, price two guineas, _a handsome drawing-room edition of_ the poems and songs of robert burns. _with original illustrations by the most distinguished scottish artists._ 'of all the handsome reprints of the works of "nature's own" bard, this "edina" edition of the poems and songs of burns is perhaps the handsomest yet produced. beautifully printed, and profusely illustrated by some of the most distinguished of the scotch academicians, it forms a shrine worthy of the genius of the "poet of the land of the mountain and the flood." it is, as might be expected, scottish in every respect,--printer, publisher, and illustrators; and as also we think it should; for with whom could it be so much a labour of love to produce a first-rate edition as with one of burns's own countrymen? and who should be better able to illustrate the "brown heath and shaggy wood" of scotia's scenery, than her own sons?'--_the examiner._ nimmo's _large print unabridged_ library edition of the british poets. _from chaucer to cowper._ in forty-eight vols. demy vo, pica type, superfine paper, elegant binding, price s. each volume. the text edited by charles cowden clarke. with authentic portraits engraved on steel. the following works are comprised in the series:-- vols. wyatt, spenser, shakespeare & surrey, herbert, waller & denham, milton, butler, dryden, prior, thomson, johnson, parnell, gray & smollett, pope, shenstone, akenside, goldsmith, collins & t. warton, armstrong, dyer, & green, churchill, beattie, blair & falconer, burns, cowper, bowles, scott, chaucer's canterbury tales, crawshaw & quarles' emblems, addison, gay's fables & somerville's chase, young's night thoughts, percy's reliques of ancient english poetry, specimens, with lives of the less known british poets, h. k. white and j. grahame's poetical works, _any of the works may be had separately, price s. each volume._ hugh miller's works. cheap popular editions, _in crown vo, cloth extra, price s. each._ i. thirteenth edition. my schools and schoolmasters; or, the story of my education. 'a story which we have read with pleasure, and shall treasure up in memory for the sake of the manly career narrated, and the glances at old-world manners and distant scenes afforded us by the way.'--_athenæum._ a cheaper edition of 'my schools and schoolmasters' is also published, bound in limp cloth, price s. d. ii. thirty-fourth thousand. the testimony of the rocks; or, geology in its bearings on the two theologies, natural and revealed. _profusely illustrated._ 'the most remarkable work of perhaps the most remarkable man of the age.... a magnificent epic, and the principia of geology.'--_british and foreign evangelical review._ iii. ninth edition. the cruise of the betsey; or, a summer ramble among the fossiliferous deposits of the hebrides. with rambles of a geologist; or ten thousand miles over the fossiliferous deposits of scotland. iv. sketch-book of popular geology: being a series of lectures delivered before the philosophical institution of edinburgh. with an introductory preface, giving a resumé of the progress of geological science within the last two years. by mrs. miller. v. ninth edition. first impressions of england and its people. 'this is precisely the kind of book we should have looked for from the author of the "old red sandstone." straightforward and earnest in style, rich and varied in matter, these "first impressions" will add another laurel to the wreath which mr. miller has already won for himself.'--_westminster review._ a cheaper edition of 'first impressions of england' is also published, bound in limp cloth, price s. d. vi. ninth edition. scenes and legends of the north of scotland; or, the traditional history of cromarty. 'a very pleasing and interesting book. the style has a purity and elegance which remind one of irving, or of irving's master, goldsmith.' --_spectator._ vii. eleventh edition. the old red sandstone; or, new walks in an old field. _profusely illustrated._ 'in mr. miller's charming little work will be found a very graphic description of the old red fishes. i know not a more fascinating volume on any branch of british geology.'--_mantell's medals of creation._ viii. fourth edition. the headship of christ and the rights of the christian people. with preface by peter bayne, a.m. ix. tenth edition. footprints of the creator; or, the asterolepis of stromness. with preface and notes by mrs. miller, and a biographical sketch by professor agassiz. _profusely illustrated._ 'mr. miller has brought his subject to the point at which science in its onward progress now lands.'--agassiz. _from preface to american edition of the 'footprints.'_ x. third edition. tales and sketches. edited, with a preface, by mrs. miller. xi. third edition. essays: historical and biographical, political and social, literary and scientific. xii. second edition. edinburgh and its neighbourhood, geological and historical. with the geology of the bass rock. a new work by ascott r. hope. in crown vo, elegantly bound, cloth extra, price s.; or gilt edges and sides, s. d., stories of school life. by ascott e. hope, author of 'a book about boys,' 'a book about dominies,' etc. etc. crown vo, cloth extra, price s. d., second edition, a book about boys. by ascott r. hope, author of 'a book about dominies.' third edition, crown vo, cloth extra, price s. d., a book about dominies: being the reflections and recollections of a member of the profession. by ascott r. hope, author of 'a book about boys,' etc. 'a more sensible book than this about boys has rarely been written, for it enters practically into all the particulars which have to be encountered amongst "the young ideas" who have to be trained for life, and are too often marred by the educational means adopted for their early mental development. the writer is evidently one of the arnold school--that "prince of schoolmasters"--who did more for the formation of the character of his pupils than any man that ever lived.'--_bell's weekly messenger._ four volumes, crown vo, cloth, price s., the people's edition of tytler's history of scotland. 'the most brilliant age of scotland is fortunate in having found a historian whose sound judgment is accompanied by a graceful liveliness of imagination. we venture to predict that this book will soon become, and long remain, the standard history of scotland.'--_quarterly review._ 'the want of a complete history of scotland has been long felt; and from the specimen which the volume before us gives of the author's talents and capacity for the task he has undertaken, it may be reasonably inferred that the deficiency will be very ably supplied. the descriptions of the battles are concise, but full of spirit. the events are themselves of the most romantic kind, and are detailed in a very picturesque and forcible style.'--_times._ nimmo's library edition of standard works, in large demy vo, with steel portrait and vignette, handsomely bound in cloth extra, in a new style, price s. each. i. the complete works of william shakespeare. ii. the complete poetical and prose works of robert burns. iii. the miscellaneous works of oliver goldsmith. iv. the poetical works of lord byron. v. josephus: the whole works of flavius josephus, the jewish historian. vi. the arabian nights' entertainments. vii. the works of jonathan swift, d.d. carefully selected, with life of the author, and original and authentic notes. viii. the works of daniel defoe. carefully selected from the most authentic sources; with life of the author. crown vo, cloth extra, price s., wayside thoughts of a professor: being a series of desultory essays on education. by d'arcy wentworth thompson, professor of greek, queen's college, galway; author of 'day dreams of a schoolmaster;' 'sales attici,' etc. etc. crown vo, cloth extra, price s., last leaves: sketches and criticisms. by alexander smith, author of 'life drama,' 'dreamthorpe,' etc. etc. edited, with a memoir, by patrick proctor alexander, m.a., author of 'mill and carlyle,' etc. etc. second edition, crown vo, cloth extra, price s. d., family prayers for five weeks, with prayers for special occasions, and a table for reading the holy scriptures throughout the year. by william wilson, minister of kippen. crown vo, handsomely bound, price s., the young shetlander; or, shadow over the sunshine: being life and letters of thomas edmonston, naturalist on board h.m.s. 'herald.' edited by his mother. demy vo, bound, price s. d., the mechanic's and student's guide in the designing and construction of general machine gearing, as eccentrics, screws, toothed wheels, etc., and the drawing of rectilineal and curved surfaces; with practical rules and details. illustrated with numerous original engravings. edited by francis herbert joynson, author of 'the metals used in construction.' 'as a whole, the work may be commended for its general correctness, brevity, neatness, and the way in which it necessitates the drawing forth from the mental stores the technical knowledge stowed away as a "foundation."... we may remark that many london schools have for some time adopted the examples to be found in mr. joynson's work as exercises for youth, and that the said youth eventually find them of great use. surely this is commendation indeed, and with this we close a brief notice of a very nicely got-up and creditable volume.'--_english mechanic._ price s., cloth; or s. d. extra gilt and gilt edges, the braemar highlands: their tales, traditions, and history. by elizabeth taylor. 'this is a capital volume of popular antiquities. suggested, it would seem, by the special interest with which the district containing balmoral is regarded by every subject of queen victoria, it is the result of many years' inquiry into local anecdotes and legends, and needs no other recommendation than its intrinsic worth.'--_the examiner._ crown vo, price s., random sketches of buenos ayres. with numerous illustrations. 'these "sketches" are thoroughly interesting and amusing.'--_morning star._ 'the writer gives us some amusing and truthful ideas about this interesting country; and, in addition, a number of graphic illustrations of what he saw during his voyage out to the river plate, and his residence there.'--_liverpool albion._ crown vo, cloth extra, price s., triumph: the christian more than conqueror. by the rev. george philip, m.a., free st. john's church, edinburgh. 'we have, in this little volume, a very gem of scriptural, christian thoughtfulness, of sagacious christian joyfulness, of cultured intellect, of purest literary taste, and of finest genuine feeling.'--_british and foreign evangelical review._ nimmo's 'carmine' gift-books. _new and cheaper editions._ i. small to, beautifully printed within red lines on superior paper, handsomely bound in cloth extra, bevelled boards, gilt edges, price s. d., roses and holly: a gift-book for all the year. with original illustrations by eminent artists. 'this is really a collection of art and literary gems--the prettiest book, take it all in all, that we have seen this season.'--_illustrated times._ ii. uniform with the above, price s. d., pen and pencil pictures from the poets. choicely illustrated. iii. uniform with the above, price s. d., gems of literature: elegant, rare, and suggestive. with superb illustrations. 'for really luxurious books, nimmo's "pen and pencil pictures from the poets" and "gems of literature" may be well recommended. they are luxurious in the binding, in the print, in the engravings, and in the paper.'--_morning post._ iv. uniform with the above, price s. d., the book of elegant extracts. profusely illustrated by the most eminent artists. v. uniform with the above, price s. d., the golden gift. _a book for the young._ profusely illustrated with original engravings on wood by eminent artists. nimmo's popular edition of the works of the poets. in fcap. vo, printed on toned paper, elegantly bound in cloth extra, gilt edges, price s. d. each; or in morocco antique, price s. d. each. each volume contains a memoir, and is illustrated with a portrait of the author, engraved on steel, and numerous full-page illustrations on wood, from designs by eminent artists. i. longfellow's poetical works. ii. scott's poetical works. iii. byron's poetical works. iv. moore's poetical works. v. wordsworth's poetical works. vi. cowper's poetical works. vii. milton's poetical works. viii. thomson's poetical works. ix. beattie and goldsmith's poetical works. x. pope's poetical works. xi. burns's poetical works. xii. the casquet of gems. a volume of choice selections from the works of the poets. xiii. the book of humorous poetry. xiv. ballads: scottish and english. this series of books, from the very superior manner in which it is produced, is at once the cheapest and handsomest edition of the poets in the market. the volumes form elegant and appropriate presents as school prizes and gift-books, either in cloth or morocco. 'they are a marvel of cheapness, some of the volumes extending to as many as , and even , pages, printed on toned paper in a beautifully clear type. add to this, that they are profusely illustrated with wood engravings, are elegantly and tastefully bound, and that they are published at s. d. each, and our recommendation of them is complete.'--_scotsman._ uniform with nimmo's popular edition of the works of the poets. i. the complete works of shakespeare. volumes, price s. d. each. ii. the arabian nights' entertainments. two volumes, price s. d. each. iii. bunyan's pilgrim's progress and holy war. complete in one volume. iv. lives of the british poets. v. the prose works of robert burns. nimmo's favourite gift-books. in small vo, illustrated, printed on toned paper, richly bound in cloth and gold and gilt edges, with new and original frontispiece, printed in colours by kronheim, price s. d. each. i. the vicar of wakefield. poems and essays by oliver goldsmith. ii. bunyan's pilgrim's progress. iii. the life and adventures of robinson crusoe. iv. Ã�sop's fables, with instructive applications. by dr. croxall. v. the history of sandford and merton. vi. evenings at home; or, the juvenile budget opened. the above are very elegant and remarkably cheap editions of these old favourite works. _completion of the copyright edition of_ wilson's tales of the borders. edited by alexander leighton, one of the original editors and contributors. in announcing the completion of the copyright edition of the border tales, the publisher does not consider it necessary to say anything in recommendation of a work which has stood the test of a general competition, and which has increased in public favour with its years. equally suited to all classes of readers, it has been received with delight in the school-room, the drawing-room, the parlour, and the village reading-room. many of the tales have been publicly read. the high tone of its morality renders it an admirable small library for young members of the family. the new copyright edition will contain four additional volumes, now first published, which will complete the work. it will be issued in twenty-four monthly volumes, price s. each, sewed in elegant wrapper, commencing march st, . but at the same time the entire work will be kept on sale, so that all who desire to possess it--either complete, or any separate volume thereof--can be supplied at once. each volume is complete in itself, forming an independent collection of stories. the work may also be had in twelve double volumes, handsomely bound in cloth, price s. each, or in half-calf extra, for libraries, etc. those who already possess the first twenty volumes are recommended to complete their sets by purchasing the four new volumes, the last of which will contain a steel portrait of the editor and principal contributor, alexander leighton, with a copious glossary. demy vo, cloth, price s. d., jamieson's scottish dictionary. abridged from the dictionary and supplement (in vols. to), by john johnstone. an entirely new edition, revised and enlarged, by john longmuir, a.m., ll.d., formerly lecturer in king's college and university, aberdeen. nimmo's handy books of useful knowledge. foolscap vo, uniformly bound in cloth extra. price one shilling each. i. the earth's crust. a handy outline of geology. with numerous illustrations. third edition. by david page, ll.d., f.r.s.e., f.g.s., author of 'text-books of geology and physical geography,' etc. 'such a work as this was much wanted,--a work giving in clear and intelligible outline the leading facts of the science, without amplification or irksome details. it is admirable in arrangement, and clear, easy, and at the same time forcible, in style. it will lead, we hope, to the introduction of geology into many schools that have neither time nor room for the study of large treatises.'--_the museum._ ii. poultry as a meat supply: being hints to henwives how to rear and manage poultry economically and profitably. fourth edition. by the author of 'the poultry kalendar.' 'the author's excellent aim is to teach henwives how to make the poultry-yard a profitable as well as pleasant pursuit, and to popularize poultry-rearing among the rural population generally.'--_the globe._ iii. how to become a successful engineer: being hints to youths intending to adopt the profession. third edition. by bernard stuart, engineer. 'parents and guardians, with youths under their charge destined for the profession, as well as youths themselves, who intend to adopt it, will do well to study and obey the plain curriculum in this little book. its doctrine will, we hesitate not to say, if practised, tend to fill the ranks of the profession with men conscious of the heavy responsibilities placed in their charge.'--_practical mechanic's journal._ iv. rational cookery: cookery made practical and economical, in connection with the chemistry of food. fifth edition. by hartelaw reid. 'a thousand times more useful as a marriage-gift than the usual gewgaw presents, would be this very simple manual for the daily guidance of the youthful bride in one of her most important domestic duties.'--_glasgow citizen._ v. european history: in a series of biographies, from the beginning of the christian era till the present time. second edition. by david pryde, m.a. 'it is published with a view to the teaching of the history of europe since the christian era by the biographic method, recommended by mr. carlyle as the only proper method of teaching history. the style of the book is clear, elegant, and terse. the biographies are well, and, for the most part, graphically told.'--_the scotsman._ vi. domestic medicine: plain and brief directions for the treatment requisite before advice can be obtained. second edition. by offley bohun shore, doctor of medicine of the university of edinburgh, etc. etc. etc. 'this is one of the medicine books that ought to be published. it is from the pen of dr. shore, an eminent physician, and it is dedicated, by permission, to sir james y. simpson, bart., one of the first physicians of the age.'--_the standard._ vii. domestic management: hints on the training and treatment of children and servants. by mrs. charles doig. 'this is an excellent book of its kind, a handbook to family life which will do much towards promoting comfort and happiness.'--_the spectator._ viii. free-hand drawing: a guide to ornamental, figure, and landscape drawing. by an art student, author of 'ornamental and figure drawing.' profusely illustrated. 'this is an excellent and thoroughly practical guide to ornamental, figure, and landscape drawing. beginners could not make a better start than with this capital little book.'--_morning star._ ix. the metals used in construction: iron, steel, bessemer metal, etc. etc. by francis herbert joynson. illustrated. 'in the interests of practical science, we are bound to notice this work; and to those who wish further information, we should say, buy it; and the outlay, we honestly believe, will be considered a shilling well spent.'--_scientific review._ _other volumes in preparation._ popular works by the author of 'heaven our home.' i. one hundredth thousand. crown vo, cloth antique, price s. d., heaven our home. 'the author of the volume before us endeavours to describe what heaven is, as shown by the light of reason and scripture; and we promise the reader many charming pictures of heavenly bliss, founded upon undeniable authority, and described with the pen of a dramatist, which cannot fail to elevate the soul as well as to delight the imagination.... part second proves, in a manner as beautiful as it is convincing, the doctrine of the recognition of friends in heaven,--a subject of which the author makes much, introducing many touching scenes of scripture celebrities meeting in heaven and discoursing of their experience on earth. part third demonstrates the interest which those in heaven feel in earth, and proves, with remarkable clearness, that such an interest exists not only with the almighty and among the angels, but also among the spirits of departed friends. we unhesitatingly give our opinion that this volume is one of the most delightful productions of a religious character which has appeared for some time; and we would desire to see it pass into extensive circulation.'--_glasgow herald._ a cheap edition of heaven our home, in crown vo, cloth limp, price s. d., is also published. ii. twenty-ninth thousand. crown vo, cloth antique, price s. d., meet for heaven. 'the author, in his or her former work, "heaven our home," portrayed a social heaven, where scattered families meet at last in loving intercourse and in possession of perfect recognition, to spend a never-ending eternity of peace and love. in the present work the individual state of the children of god is attempted to be unfolded, and more especially the state of probation which is set apart for them on earth to fit and prepare erring mortals for the society of the saints.... the work, as a whole, displays an originality of conception, a flow of language, and a closeness of reasoning rarely found in religious publications.... the author combats the pleasing and generally accepted belief, that death will effect an entire change on the spiritual condition of our souls, and that all who enter into bliss will be placed on a common level.'--_glasgow herald._ a cheap edition of meet for heaven, in crown vo, cloth limp, price s. d., is also published. iii. twenty-first thousand. crown vo, cloth antique, price s. d., life in heaven. there, faith is changed into sight, and hope is passed into blissful fruition. 'this is certainly one of the most remarkable works which have been issued from the press during the present generation; and we have no doubt it will prove as acceptable to the public as the two attractive volumes to which it forms an appropriate and beautiful sequel.' --_cheltenham journal._ 'we think this work well calculated to remove many erroneous ideas respecting our future state, and to put before its readers such an idea of the reality of our existence there, as may tend to make a future world more desirable and more sought for than it is at present.' --_cambridge university chronicle._ 'this, like its companion works, "heaven our home," and "meet for heaven," needs no adventitious circumstances, no prestige of literary renown, to recommend it to the consideration of the reading public, and, like its predecessors, will no doubt circulate by tens of thousands throughout the land.'--_glasgow examiner._ a cheap edition of life in heaven, in crown vo, cloth limp, price s. d., is also published. iv. seventh thousand. crown vo, cloth antique, price s. d., christ's transfiguration; or, tabor's teachings. 'the work opens up to view a heaven to be prized, and a home to be sought for, and presents it in a cheerful and attractive aspect. the beauty and elegance of the language adds grace and dignity to the subject, and will tend to secure to it the passport to public favour so deservedly merited and obtained by the author's former productions.' --_montrose standard._ 'a careful reading of this volume will add immensely to the interest of the new testament narrative of the transfiguration, and so far will greatly promote our personal interest in the will of god as revealed in his word.'--_wesleyan times._ a cheap edition of christ's transfiguration, in crown vo, cloth limp, price s. d., is also published. aggregate sale of the above popular works, , copies. in addition to this, they have been reprinted and extensively circulated in america. nimmo's presentation series of standard works. in small crown vo, printed on toned paper, bound in cloth extra, gilt edges, bevelled boards, with portrait engraved on steel, price s. d. each. i. wisdom, wit, and allegory. selected from 'the spectator.' ii. benjamin franklin: a biography. iii. the world's way: lays of life and labour. iv. _travels in africa._ the life and travels of mungo park. v. wallace, the hero of scotland: a biography. vi. epoch men, and the results of their lives. vii. the mirror of character. selected from the writings of overbury, earle, and butler. viii. men of history. by eminent writers. ix. old world worthies; or, classical biography. selected from plutarch's lives. x. the man of business considered in six aspects. a book for young men. xi. women of history. by eminent writers. xii. the improvement of the mind. by isaac watts. xiii. tales of old english life; or, pictures of the periods. by w. f. collier, ll.d. this elegant and useful series of books has been specially prepared for school and college prizes: they are, however, equally suitable for general presentation. in selecting the works for this series, the aim of the publisher has been to produce books of a permanent value, interesting in manner and instructive in matter--books that youth will read eagerly and with profit, and which will be found equally attractive in after life. nimmo's half-crown reward books. extra foolscap vo, cloth elegant, gilt edges, illustrated, price s. d. each. i. memorable wars of scotland. by patrick fraser tytler, f.r.s.e., author of 'history of scotland,' etc. ii. seeing the world: a young sailors own story. by charles norhoff, author of 'the young man-of-war's man.' iii. the martyr missionary: five years in china. by rev. charles p. bush, m.a. iv. my new home: a woman's diary. by the author of 'win and wear,' etc. v. home heroines: tales for girls. by t. s. arthur, author of 'life's crosses,' 'orange blossoms,' etc. vi. lessons from women's lives. by sarah j. hale. nimmo's two shilling reward books. foolscap vo, illustrated, elegantly bound in cloth extra, bevelled boards, gilt back and side, gilt edges, price s. each. i. the far north: explorations in the arctic regions. by elisha kent kane, m.d., commander second 'grinnell' expedition in search of sir john franklin. ii. the young men of the bible: a series of papers, biographical and suggestive. by rev. joseph a. collier. iii. the blade and the ear: a book for young men. iv. monarchs of ocean: narratives of maritime discovery and progress. v. life's crosses, and how to meet them. by t. s. arthur. author of 'anna lee,' 'orange blossoms,' etc. vi. a father's legacy to his daughters; etc. a book for young women. by dr. gregory. vii. great men of european history. by david pryde, m.a. nimmo's eighteenpenny reward books. demy mo, illustrated, cloth extra, gilt edges, price s. d. each. i. the vicar of wakefield. poems and essays. ii. Ã�sop's fables, with instructive applications. iii. bunyan's pilgrim's progress. iv. the young man-of-war's man. v. the treasury of anecdote: moral and religious. vi. the boy's own workshop. by jacob abbott. vii. the life and adventures of robinson crusoe. viii. the history of sandford and merton. ix. evenings at home. x. unexpected pleasures. by mrs. george cupples, author of 'the little captain,' etc. the above series of elegant and useful books are specially prepared for the entertainment and instruction of young persons. nimmo's sunday school reward books. fcap. vo, cloth extra, gilt edges, illustrated, price s. d. each. i. bible blessings. by rev. richard newton, author of 'the best things,' 'the safe compass,' 'the king's highway,' etc. ii. one hour a week: fifty-two bible lessons for the young. by the author of 'jesus on earth.' iii. the best things. by rev. richard newton. iv. grace harvey and her cousins. by the author of 'douglas farm.' v. lessons from rose hill; and little nannette. vi. great and good women: biographies for girls. by lydia h. sigourney. vii. at home and abroad; or, uncle william's adventures. viii. the kind governess; or, how to make home happy. nimmo's one shilling juvenile books. foolscap vo, coloured frontispieces, handsomely bound in cloth, illuminated, price s. each. i. four little people and their friends. ii. elizabeth; or, the exiles of siberia. iii. paul and virginia. iv. little threads. v. benjamin franklin. vi. barton todd. vii. the perils of greatness. viii. little crowns, and how to win them. ix. great riches. x. the right way, and the contrast. xi. the daisy's first winter. xii. the man of the mountain. nimmo's sixpenny juvenile books. demy mo, illustrated, handsomely bound in cloth, gilt side, gilt edges, price d. each. i. pearls for little people. ii. great lessons for little people. iii. reason in rhyme. iv. Ã�sop's little fable book. v. grapes from the great vine. vi. the pot of gold. vii. story pictures from the bible. viii. the tables of stone. ix. ways of doing good. x. stories about our dogs. xi. the red-winged goose. xii. the hermit of the hills. nimmo's fourpenny juvenile books. the above series of books are also done up in elegant enamelled paper covers, beautifully printed in colours, price d. each. the distinctive features of the new series of sixpenny and one shilling juvenile books are: the subjects of each volume have been selected with a due regard to instruction and entertainment; they are well printed on fine paper, in a superior manner; the shilling series is illustrated with frontispieces printed in colours; the sixpenny series has beautiful engravings; and they are elegantly bound. nimmo's popular religious gift-books. mo, finely printed on toned paper, handsomely bound in cloth extra, bevelled boards, gilt edges, price s. d. each. i. across the river: twelve views of heaven. by norman macleod, d.d.; r. w. hamilton, d.d.; robert s. candlish, d.d.; james hamilton, d.d.; etc. etc. etc. 'a more charming little work has rarely fallen under our notice, or one that will more faithfully direct the steps to that better land it should be the aim of all to seek.'--_bell's messenger._ ii. emblems of jesus; or, illustrations of emmanuel's character and work. iii. life thoughts of eminent christians. iv. comfort for the desponding; or, words to soothe and cheer troubled hearts. v. the chastening of love; or, words of consolation to the christian mourner. by joseph parker, d.d., manchester. vi. the cedar christian. by the rev. theodore l. cuyler. vii. consolation for christian mothers bereaved of little children by a friend of mourners. viii. the orphan; or, words of comfort for the fatherless and motherless. ix. gladdening streams; or, the waters of the sanctuary. a book for fragments of time on each lord's day of the year. x. spirit of the old divines. xi. choice gleanings from sacred writers. xii. direction in prayer. by peter grant, d.d., author of 'emblems of jesus,' etc. xiii. scripture imagery. by peter grant, d.d., author of 'emblems of jesus,' etc. popular religious works. suitable for presentation. i. foolscap vo, handsomely bound in cloth extra, antique, price s. d., christian comfort. by the author of 'emblems of jesus.' ii. by the same author, uniform in style and price, light on the grave. iii. uniform in style and price, glimpses of the celestial city, and guide to the inheritance. with introduction by the rev. john macfarlane, ll.d., clapham, london. crown to, cloth extra, gilt edges, price s., the national melodist. two hundred standard songs, with symphonies and accompaniments for the pianforte. edited by j. c. kieser. demy to, cloth extra, gilt edges, price s. d., the scottish melodist. forty-eight scottish songs and ballads, with symphonies and accompaniments for the pianoforte. edited by j. c. kieser. the above two volumes are very excellent collections of first-class music. the arrangements and accompaniments, as the name of the editor will sufficiently testify, are admirable. they form handsome and suitable presentation volumes. nimmo's series of commonplace books. small to, elegantly printed on superfine toned paper, and richly bound in cloth and gold and gilt edges, price s. d. each. i. books and authors. curious facts and characteristic sketches. ii. law and lawyers. curious facts and characteristic sketches. iii. art and artists. curious facts and characteristic sketches. iv. invention and discovery. curious facts and characteristic sketches. v. omens and superstitions. curious facts and illustrative sketches. vi. clergymen and doctors. curious facts and characteristic sketches. 'this series seems well adapted to answer the end proposed by the publisher--that of providing, in a handy form, a compendium of wise and witty sayings, choice anecdotes, and memorable facts.'--_the bookseller._ nimmo's pocket treasuries. miniature to, beautifully bound in cloth extra, gilt edges, price s. d. each. i. a treasury of table talk. ii. epigrams and literary follies. iii. a treasury of poetic gems. iv. the table talk of samuel johnson, ll.d. v. gleanings from the comedies of shakespeare. vi. beauties of the british dramatists. 'a charming little series, well edited and printed. more thoroughly readable little books it would be hard to find; there is no padding in them, all is epigram, point, poetry, or sound common sense.' --_publisher's circular._ in demy vo, richly bound in cloth and gold, price s. d., the poetical works of james thomson. edited by charles cowden clarke. illustrated with choice full-page engravings on steel, printed in colours by kronheim & co. in square vo, richly bound in cloth and gold, price s., the loves of rose pink and sky blue, and other stories told to children. by william francis collier, ll.d., author of 'tales of old english life,' etc. etc. profusely illustrated with original humorous illustrations on wood. 'it is a clever book by a clever man. there is a mind in every page, and the illustrations show that the artist appreciates the humour of the author.'--_daily news._ 'a fanciful and eccentric title for some very good fairy tales told to the little ones.'--_the times._ 'the prose and verse stories in this very handsome volume are of a healthy kind, and well calculated to compass the object for which they have been written, namely, the amusement of our young folk.'--_the examiner._ '"the loves of rose pink and sky blue, and other stories told to children," by dr. w. f. collier, is one of the most pleasant contributions to this season's literature which comes from the far north. it is genial in its purpose, pleasant in its details, and natural in its composition.'--_bell's messenger._ '"rose pink and sky blue" is a child's book, very funny in its illustrations--this we see--and funny, we suspect, in its contents; for we lighted on a ballad in which a most scientific piscator, standing on the norway coast, casts his fly for whale and hooks and lands several which he rose on the faroe isles, and is at last beaten by a kraken or the kraken.'--_saturday review._ second edition, enlarged, price s., richly bound, story of the kings of judah and israel. written for children. by a. o. b. illustrated with full-page engravings and map. 'we have been much pleased with the "story of the kings of judah," which will prove a real boon to children, who so often are compelled to puzzle their little brains over the history of the kings of judah and israel, with the vaguest possible idea of what it all means. this little work gives the best and clearest account we have ever seen, as adapted to the comprehension of children; and the author is evidently one who has been accustomed to the training of young minds, and knows how to meet their difficulties.'--_churchman's companion._ heads and tales. printed by ballantyne and company edinburgh and london [illustration: the tasmanian wolf. (_thylacinus cynocephalus._)] heads and tales; or, anecdotes and stories of quadrupeds and other beasts, chiefly connected with incidents in the histories of more or less distinguished men. compiled and selected by adam white, late assistant in the zoological department, british museum. second edition. london: james nisbet & co., berners street. mdccclxx. preface. in this work, a part of which is, so far as it extends, a careful compilation from an extensive series of books, the great order mammalia, or, rather, a few of its subjects, is treated anecdotically. the connexion of certain animals with man, and the readiness with which man can subdue even the largest of the mammalia, are very curious subjects of thought. the dog and horse are our special friends and associates; they seem to understand us, and we get very much attached to them. the cat or the cow, again, possess a different degree of attachment, and have "heads and hearts" less susceptible of this education than the first mentioned. the anecdotes in this book will clearly show facts of this nature. in the letter of the gorilla, under an appearance of exaggeration, will be found many facts of its history. we have a strong belief that natural history, written as white of selborne did his letter of timothy the tortoise, would be very enticing and interesting to young people. to make birds and other animals relate their stories has been done sometimes, and generally with success. there are anecdotes hinging, however, on animals which have more to do with man than the other mammals referred to in the little story. these stories we have felt to be very interesting when they occur in biographies of great men. cowper and his hares, huygens and his sparrow, are tales--at least the former--full of interesting matter on the history of the lower animal, but are of most value as showing the influence on the man who amused himself by taming them. we like to know that the great duke, after getting down from his horse copenhagen, which carried him through the whole battle of waterloo, clapped him on the neck, when the war-charger kicked out, as if untired. we could have added greatly to this book, especially in the part of jests, puns, or cases of _double entendre_. the few selected may suffice. the so-called conversations of "the ettrick shepherd" are full of matter of this kind, treated by "christopher north" with a happy combination of rare power of description and apt exaggeration of detail, often highly amusing. one or two instances are given here, such as the fox-hunt and the whale. the intention of this book is primarily to be amusing; but it will be strange if it do not instruct as well. there is much in it that is _true_ of the habits of mammalia. these, with birds, are likely to interest young people generally, more than anecdotes of members of orders like fish, insects, or molluscs, lower in the scale, though often possessing marvellous instincts, the accounts of which form intensely interesting reading to those who are fond of seeing or hearing of "the works of the lord," and who "take pleasure" in them. contents. mammalia.[ ] page man gainsborough's joke--skull of julius cæsar when a boy sir david wilkie's simplicity about babies james montgomery translates into verse a description of man, after the manner of linnæus addison and sir richard steele's description of gimcrack the collector monkeys the gorilla and its story the orang-utan the chimpanzee letter of mr waterton mr mitchell and the young chimpanzee lady anne barnard pleads for the baboons s. bisset and his trained monkeys lord byron's pets the ettrick shepherd's monkey the findhorn fisherman and the monkey "we ha'e seen the _enemy_!" the french marquis and his monkey george iv. and happy jerry.--mr cross's rib-nosed baboon at exeter change the young lady's pet monkey and the poor parrot monkeys "poor relations" sydney smith on monkeys mrs colin mackenzie on the apes at simla the aye-aye, or cheiromys of madagascar bats one of captain cook's sailors sees a fox-bat, and describes it as a devil fox bats (_with a plate_) dr mayerne and his balsam of bats hedgehog robert southey to his critics mole mole, cause of death of william iii. brown bear the austrian general and the bear--"back, rascal, i am a general!" lord byron's bear at cambridge charles dickens on bear's grease and bear-keepers a bearable pun a shaved bear polar bear general history and anecdotes of polar bear, as observed on recent arctic expeditions (_with a plate_) nelson and the polar bear a clever polar bear captain ommaney and the polar bear raccoon "a gone coon" badger hugh miller sees the "drawing of the badger" the laird of balnamoon and the brock ferret collins and the rat-catcher, with the ferret pole-cat fox and the poll-cat dog phrases about dogs cowper's dog cowper and his dog beau burns's "twa dogs" dog of assyrian monument bishop blomfield bitten by a dog sydney smith's remark on it bishop of bristol--"puppies never see till they are nine days old" mrs browning, the poetess, and her dog flush sir thomas fowell buxton, bart., and his dog speaker lord byron and his dog boatswain lady's reason for calling her dog perchance collins the artist and his dog prinny--the faithful model soldier and dog bark and bite!--curran on lord clare and his dog mrs drew and the two dogs gainsborough and his wife and their dogs sir william gell's dog, which was said to speak the duke of gordon's wolf-hounds frederick the great and his italian greyhounds the dog and the french murderers hannah more on garrick's dog rev. robert hall and the dog a queen (henrietta maria) and her lap-dog the clever dog that belonged to the hunters of polmood the irish clergyman and the dogs washington irving and the dog douglas jerrold and his dog sheridan and the dog charles lamb and his dog "dash" french dogs of louis xii. martin luther observes a dog at lintz poor dog at the grotta del cane dog a postman and carrier south and sherlock--dog-matic general moreau and his greyhound duke of norfolk and his spaniels lord north and the dog perthes derives hints from his dog peter the great and his dog lisette the light company's poodle and sir f. ponsonby admiral rodney and his dog loup ruddiman and his dog rascal mrs schimmelpenninck and the dogs sir walter scott and his dogs sheridan on the dog-tax sydney smith dislikes dogs.--an ingenious way of getting rid of them sydney smith on dogs sydney smith.--"newfoundland dog that breakfasted on parish boys" robert southey on his dogs a dog that was a good judge of elocution.--mr true and his pupil dog that tried to please a crying child horace walpole's pet dog rosette horace walpole.--arrival of his dog tonton horace walpole.--death of his dog tonton archbishop whateley and his dogs archbishop whately on dogs sir david wilkie.--a dog rose ulysses and his dog wolf polson and the last wolf in sutherlandshire "if the tail break, you'll find that" fox an enthusiastic fox-hunting surgeon hogg, the ettrick shepherd, on the pleasures of fox-hunting, and the gratification of the fox arctic foxes converted into postmen, with anecdotes (_with a plate_) jackal burke on the jackal and tiger cat jeremy bentham and his pet cat "sir john langborn s. bisset and his musical cats constant, chateaubriand, and their cats liston, the surgeon, and his cat the banker mitchell's antipathy to kittens james montgomery and his cats david ritchie's cat sir walter scott's visit to the black dwarf southey, the poet, and his cats archbishop whateley and the cat that used to ring the bell tiger and lion bussapa, the tiger-slayer, and the tiger john hunter and the dead tiger mrs mackenzie on the indian's regard and awe for the tiger jolly jack-tar on lion and tiger androcles and the lion sir george davis and the lion canova's lions and the child admiral napier and the lion in the tower old lady and the beasts on the mound seals dr adam clarke on shetland seals dr edmonstone and the shetland seals the walrus or morse (_with a plate_) kangaroo charles lamb on its peculiarities captain cooke's sailor and the first kangaroo seen charles lamb on kangaroos having purses in front kangaroo cooke tiger wolf squirrel, &c. jekyll on a squirrel pets of some of the parisian revolutionary butchers sir george back and the poor lemming mcdougall and arctic lemming rats and mice duke of wellington and musk-rat lady eglinton and the rats general douglas and the rats hanover rats irishman shooting rats james watt and the rat's whiskers gray the poet compares poet-laureate to rat-catcher jeremy bentham and the mice robert burns and the field mouse fuller on destructive field mice baron von trenck and the mouse in prison alexander wilson, the american ornithologist, and the mouse hares, rabbits, guinea-pig william cowper on his hares lord norbury on the exaggeration of a hare-shooter duke of l. prefers friends to hares s. bisset and his trained hare and turtle lady anne barnard on a family of rabbits all blind of one eye thomas fuller on norfolk rabbits dr chalmers and the guinea-pig sloth sydney smith on the sloth--a comparison the great ant-eater (_with a plate_) elephant lord clive--elephant or equivalent? canning on the elephant and his trunk sir r. phillips and jelly made of ivory dust j. t. smith and the elephant sydney smith on the elephant and tailor elephant's skin--a teacher put down fossil pachydermata cuvier's enthusiasm over fossils sow "there's a hantle o' miscellaneous eatin' aboot a pig" "pig-sticking at chicago" monument to a pig at luneberg wild boar (_with a plate_) the river pig (_with a plate_) s. bisset and his learned pig quixote bowles fond of pigs on jekyll's treading on a small pig good enough for a pig gainsborough's pigs theodore hook and the litter of pigs lady hardwicke's pig--her bailiff pigs and silver spoon sydney smith on beautiful pigs joseph sturge, when a boy, and the pigs rhinoceros the lord keeper guildford and the rhinoceros in the city of london horse horse shot under albert bell-rock lighthouse horse edmund burke and the horse david garrick and his horse, "a horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse!" bernard gilpin's horses stolen and recovered the herald and george iii.'s horse rev. rowland hill and his horse holcroft on the horse lord mansfield, his joke about a horse sir john moore and his horse at corunna neither horses nor children can explain their complaints horses with names rennie the engineer and the horse old jack sydney smith and his horses sydney smith.--he drugs his domestic animals horseback, an absent clergyman judge story and the names he gave his horses short-tailed and long-tailed horses at livery, difference of charge ass and zebra coleridge on the ass collins and the old donkey at odell gainsborough kept one to study from irishman on the ramsgate donkeys douglas jerrold and the ass's foal the judge and the barrister ass that loved poetry warren hastings and the refractory donkey northcote, an angel at an ass sydney smith's donkey with jeffrey on his back sydney smith on the sagacity of the ass sydney smith's deers, how he introduced them into his grounds to gratify visitors asses' duty free thackeray on egyptian donkey zebra, a frenchman's _double-entendre_ camels captain william peel, r.n., on camel captain in royal navy measures the progress of the ship of the desert lord metcalfe on a camel when a boy red deer earl of dalhousie and the ferocious stag the french count and the stag fallow deer venison fat, reynolds and the gourmand goethe on stag-trench at frankfort-on-maine giraffe "fancy two yards of sore throat!" sheep and goat how many legs has a sheep? goethe on roos's etchings of sheep lord cockburn and the sheep erskine's sheep--an eye to the woolsack sandy wood and his pet sheep and raven general carnac and she-goat john hunter and the shawl-goat commodore keppel _beards_ the dey of algiers ox irish bulls a great calf! "the more he sucked the greater calf he grew!" veal _ad nauseam!_ too much of a good thing james boswell should confine himself to the cow rev. adam clarke and his bullock pat samuel foote and the cows pulling the bell of worcester college the general's cow at plymouth gilpin's love of the picturesque carried out--a reason for keeping three cows king james on a cow getting over the border duke of montague and his hospital for old cows and horses philip iv. of spain in the bull-ring sydney smith and his "universal scratcher" rev. augustus toplady on the future state of animals--the rev. william bull windham on the feelings of a baited bull whale a porpoise not at home whalebone "what's to become o' the puir whales?" very like a whale! christopher north on the whale footnotes: [ ] there are many anecdotes in this book not included in this list, which gives however, the principal. heads and tales. man. in this collection, like linnæus, we begin with man as undoubtedly an animal, as opposed to a vegetable or mineral. like professor owen, we are inclined to fancy he is well entitled to separate rank from even the linnæan order, _primates_, and to have more systematic honour conferred on him than what cuvier allowed him. that great french naturalist placed man in a section separate from his four-handed order, _quadrumana_, and, from his two hands and some other qualities, enrolled our race in an order, _bimana_. surely the ancients surpassed many modern naturalists of the lamarckian school, who would derive him from an ourang, a chimpanzee, or a gorilla. one of them has nobly said-- "os homini sublime dedit, coelumque tueri." our own sir william hamilton, in a few powerful words has condensed what will ever be, we are thankful to suppose, the general idea of most men, be they naturalists or not, that mind and soul have much to distinguish us from every other animal:-- "what man holds of matter does not make up his personality. man is not an organism. he is an intelligence served by organs. _they are_ his, _not_ he." as a mere specimen, we subjoin two or three anecdotes, although the species, _homo sapiens_, has supplied, and might supply, many volumes of anecdotes touching on his whims and peculiarities. as a good example of the scottish variety, who is there that does not know dean ramsay's "reminiscences?" surely each nation requires a similar judicious selection. mr punch, especially when aided by his late admirable artist, john leech, shows seemingly that john bull and his family are as distinct from the french, as the french are from the yankees. thomas gainsborough the artist, and the tailor. gainsborough, the painter, was very ready-witted. his biographer[ ] records the following anecdote of him as very likely to be authentic. the great artist occasionally made sketches from an honest old tailor, of the name of fowler, who had a picturesque countenance and silver-gray locks. on the chimney-piece of his painting-room, among other curiosities, was a beautiful preparation of an infant _cranium_, presented to the painter by his old friend, surgeon cruickshanks. fowler, without moving his position, continually peered at it askance with inquisitive eye. "ah! master fowler," said the painter, "that is a mighty curiosity." "what might it be, sir, if i may be so bold?" "a _whale's eye_," replied gainsborough. "oh! not so; never say so, muster gainsborough. laws! sir, it is a little child's skull!" "you have hit upon it," said the wag. "why, fowler, you are a witch! but what will you think when i tell you that it is the skull of _julius cæsar_ when he was a little boy?" "do you say so!" exclaimed fowler, "what a phenomenon!" this reminds us of a similar story told of a countryman, who was shown the so-called skull of oliver cromwell at the museum in oxford, and expressed his delight by saying how gratifying it was to see skulls of great men at different ages, for he had just seen at bath the skull of the protector when a youth! sir david wilkie and the baby. a very popular novelist and author of the present day tells the following anecdote of the simplicity of sir david wilkie, with regard to his knowledge of _infant_ human nature:-- on the birth of his first son, at the beginning of , william collins,[ ] the great artist, requested sir david wilkie to become one of the sponsors for his child.[ ] the painter's first criticism on his future godson is worth recording from its simplicity. sir david, whose studies of human nature extended to everything but _infant_ human nature, had evidently been refreshing his faculties for the occasion, by taxing his boyish recollections of puppies and kittens; for, after looking intently into the child's eyes as it was held up for his inspection, he exclaimed to the father, with serious astonishment and satisfaction, "he _sees_!" man defined somewhat in the linnÆan manner. one who is partial to the linnæan mode of characterising objects of natural history has amused himself with drawing up the following definition of man:--"_simia sine cauda; pedibus posticis ambulans; gregarius, omnivorus, inquietus, mendax, furax, rapax, salax, pugnax, artium variarum capax, animalium reliquorum hostis, sui ipsius inimicus acerrimus._" montgomery translated the description thus:-- "man is an animal unfledged, a monkey with his tail abridged; a thing that walks on spindle legs, with bones as brittle, sir, as eggs; his body, flexible and limber, and headed with a knob of timber; a being frantic and unquiet, and very fond of beef and riot; rapacious, lustful, rough, and martial, to lies and lying scoundrels partial! by nature form'd with splendid parts to rise in science--shine in arts; yet so confounded cross and vicious, a mortal foe to all his species! his own best _friend_, and you must know, his own worst _enemy_ by being so!"[ ] addison and steele on some of the peculiarities of the natural history collectors of the day. in one of the early volumes of _chambers's edinburgh journal_, there was a very curious paper entitled "nat phin." although considerably exaggerated, no one who had the happiness of knowing the learned, amiable, and excellent dr patrick neill, could fail to recognise, in the transposed title, an amusing description of his love of natural history pets, zoological and botanical. the fun of the paper is that "nat" gets married, and, coming home one day from his office, finds that his young wife has caused the gardener to clear out his ponds of tadpoles and zoophytes. addison or sir richard steele, or both of them, in the following paper of the _tatler_ (no. , sept. , ), has given one of those quietly satiric pictures of many a well-known man of the day, some petiver or hans sloane. the widow gimcrack's letter is peculiarly racy. although old books, the _tatler_ and _spectator_ still furnish rare material to many a popular magazine writer of the day, who sometimes does little more than dilute a paper in these and other rare repertories of the style and wit of a golden age. we meditated offering various extracts from swift and daniel defoe; but our space limits us to one, and the following may for the present suffice. "_from my own apartment, september ._ "as i was this morning going out of my house, a little boy in a black coat delivered me the following letter. upon asking who he was, he told me that he belonged to my lady gimcrack. i did not at first recollect the name, but, upon inquiry, i found it to be the widow of sir nicholas, whose legacy i lately gave some account of to the world. the letter ran thus:-- "'mr bickerstaff,--i hope you will not be surprised to receive a letter from the widow gimcrack. you know, sir, that i have lately lost a very whimsical husband, who, i find, by one of your last week's papers, was not altogether a stranger to you. when i married this gentleman, he had a very handsome estate; but, upon buying a set of microscopes, he was chosen a _fellow of the royal society; from which time i do not remember ever to have heard him speak as other people did_, or talk in a manner that any of his family could understand him. he used, however, to pass away his time very innocently in conversation with several members of that learned body: for which reason i never advised him against their company for several years, until at last i found his brain quite turned with their discourses. the first symptoms which he discovered of his being a _virtuoso_, as you call him, poor man! was about fifteen years ago; when he gave me positive orders to turn off an old weeding woman, that had been employed in the family for some years. he told me, at the same time, that there was no such thing in nature as a weed, and that it was his design to let his garden produce what it pleased; so that, you may be sure, it makes a very pleasant show as it now lies. about the same time he took a humour to ramble up and down the country, and would often bring home with him his pockets full of moss and pebbles. this, you may be sure, gave me a heavy heart; though, at the same time, i must needs say, he had the character of a very honest man, notwithstanding he was reckoned a little weak, until he began to sell his estate, and buy those strange baubles that you have taken notice of. upon midsummerday last, as he was walking with me in the fields, he saw a very odd-coloured butterfly just before us. i observed that he immediately changed colour, like a man that is surprised with a piece of good luck; and telling me that it was what he had looked for above these twelve years, he threw off his coat, and followed it. i lost sight of them both in less than a quarter of an hour; but my husband continued the chase over hedge and ditch until about sunset; at which time, as i was afterwards told, he caught the butterfly as she rested herself upon a cabbage, near five miles from the place where he first put her up. he was here lifted from the ground by some passengers in a very fainting condition, and brought home to me about midnight. his violent exercise threw him into a fever, which grew upon him by degrees, and at last carried him off. in one of the intervals of his distemper he called to me, and, after having excused himself for running out his estate, he told me that he had always been more industrious to improve his mind than his fortune, and that his family must rather value themselves upon his memory as he was a wise man than a rich one. he then told me that it was a custom among the romans for a man to give his slaves their liberty when he lay upon his death-bed. i could not imagine what this meant, until, after having a little composed himself, he ordered me to bring him a flea which he had kept for several months in a chain, with a design, as he said, to give it its manumission. this was done accordingly. he then made the will, which i have since seen printed in your works word for word. only i must take notice that you have omitted the codicil, in which he left a large _concha veneris_, as it is there called, to a _member of the royal society_, who was often with him in his sickness, and _assisted him in his will_. and now, sir, i come to the chief business of my letter, which is to desire your friendship and assistance in the disposal of those many rarities and curiosities which lie upon my hands. if you know any one that has an occasion for a parcel of dried spiders, i will sell them a pennyworth. i could likewise let any one have a bargain of cockle-shells. i would also desire your advice whether i had best sell my beetles in a lump or by retail. the gentleman above mentioned, who was my husband's friend, would have me make an auction of all his goods, and is now drawing up a catalogue of every particular for that purpose, with the two following words in great letters over the head of them, auctio gimcrackiana. but, upon talking with him, i begin to suspect he is as mad as poor sir nicholas was. your advice in all these particulars will be a great piece of charity to, sir, your most humble servant, "'elizabeth gimcrack.' "i shall answer the foregoing letter, and give the widow my best advice, as soon as i can find out chapmen for the wares which she has to put off." footnotes: [ ] life of thomas gainsborough, r.a. by the late george williams fulcher. edited by his son. p. . [ ] memoir of the life of william collins, r.a. by w. wilkie collins. i., p. . [ ] the future author of "the woman in white" and "the dead secret," and many other works of celebrity. [ ] memoirs of james montgomery. by holland and everett. i., p. . monkeys. the gorilla and its story. in the british museum, in handsome glass cases, and on the floors of the three first rooms at the top of the stairs, may be seen the largest collection of the skins and skeletons of quadrupeds ever brought together. in the third, or principal room, will be found a nearly complete series of the quadrumana or four-handed mammalia. monkeys are _quadrumanous mammalia_. the resemblance of these animals to men is most conspicuous, in the largest of them, such as the gorilla, orang-utan, chimpanzee, and the long-armed or gibbous apes. such resemblance is most distant in the ferocious dog-faced baboons of africa, the _cynocephali_ of the ancients. it is softened off, but not effaced, in the pretty little countenances of those dwarf pets from south america, the ouistities or marmosets, and other species of new-world monkeys, some of which are not larger than a squirrel. they are well called monkeys, monnikies, mannikies--little men, "_simiæ quasi bestiæ hominibus similes_," "monkeys, as if beasts resembling man," or "mon," as the word man is pronounced in pure _doric_ saxon, whether in york or peebles. "monkey! you very degraded little brute, how much you resemble us!" said old ennius, without ever fancying that the day would come when some men would regard their own race as little better than highly-advanced monkeys. let us never for a moment rest in such fallacious theories, or accept the belief of darwin and huxley, with a few active agitating disciples, that animals, and even plants, may pass into each other. "i think we are not wholly brain, magnetic mockeries; ... not only cunning casts in clay; let science prove we are, and then what matters science unto men, at least to me! i would not stay: let him, the wiser man who springs hereafter, up from childhood shape his action, like the greater ape, but i was born to other things." --_in memoriam_, cxix. darwin and huxley cannot change nature. they may change their minds and opinions, as their fathers did before them. it is, we suspect, only the old heathen materialism cropping out,-- "our little systems have their day-- they have their day and cease to be. they are but broken lights of thee, and thou, o lord! art more than they." --_in memoriam._ no artists or authors have ever pictured or described monkeys like sir edwin landseer and his brother thomas. surely a new edition of the _monkeyana_ is wanted for the rising generation. oliver goldsmith, that great writer, who was most feeble in knowledge of natural history from almost total ignorance of the subject, over which he threw the graces of his charming style, noticed, as remarkable, that in countries "where the men are barbarous and stupid, the brutes are the most active and sagacious." he continues, that it is in the torrid tracts, inhabited by barbarians, that animals are found with instinct so nearly approaching reason. both in africa and america, accordingly, he tells us, "the savages suppose monkeys to be men; idle, slothful, rational beings, capable of speech and conversation, but obstinately dumb, for fear of being compelled to labour." for the present, i shall suppose that the gorilla, largest of all the apes, can not only speak, but write; and is speaking and writing to an orang-utan of borneo. even a lamarckian will allow this to be within the range of possibility. were it possible to get gay or cowper to write a new set of fables, animals, in the days of postoffices and letters, would become, like the age, epistolary. but a word on the imaginary correspondent. the orang, as the reader knows, is the great red-haired "man of the woods," as the name may be rendered in english. my old friend, mr alfred wallace, lately in new guinea, and the adjoining parts, collecting natural history subjects, and making all kinds of valuable observations and surveys, sent to europe most of the magnificent specimens of this "ugly beast" now in the museum. he has detailed its habits and history in an able account, published some years ago in "the annals and magazine of natural history." its home seems to be the fine forests which cover many parts of the coast of borneo. the home of the gorilla and chimpanzee are in the tropical forests of the coasts of western africa. there would seem to be but three or four well established _species_ of these apes, though there are, as in man and most created beings, some marked or decided varieties. these apes are altogether _quadrupeds_, adapted for a life among trees. the late charles waterton, of walton hall, whom i deem it an honour to have known for many years, personally and in his writings, has well shown this in his "essays on natural history." professor owen, with his osteologies, and old tyson, with his anatomies, have each demonstrated that--draw what inferences the followers of mr darwin may choose--monkeys are not men, but quadrupeds. the structure of chimpanzee, orang, and gorilla considerably resembles that of man, but so more distantly does a frog's, so does scheuchzer's fossil amphibian in the museum, so does a squirrel's, so does a parrot's. yet, because parrots, squirrels, frogs, and asses have skulls, a pelvis, and fore-arms, they are _not_ men any more than fish are. linnæus has given the _real_ specific, the _real_ class, order, and generic character of man, unique as a species, as a genus, as an order, or as a class, as even the greatest comparative anatomist of england regards him; "nosce teipsum:" "[greek: gnôthi seauton]"--know thyself. man alone expects a hereafter. he is immortal, and anticipates, hopes for, or dreads a resurrection. melancholy it is that he alone, as an american writer curiously remarks, collects bodies of men of _one_ blood to fight with each other. he alone can become a _drunkard_. the reader must leave rhapsody, and may now be reminded, in explanation of allusions in the following letter, that the arm of dr livingstone, the african traveller, was crushed and crunched by the bite and "chaw" of a lion. he will also please to notice, that the skeleton of the gorilla in the museum has the left arm broken by some dreadful accident. this injury may _possibly_ have been caused by a fall when young, or more probably by the empoisoned bite of a larger gorilla, or of a tree-climbing leopard. so much may be premised before giving a letter, supposed to be intercepted on its way between the gaboon and london, and london and borneo, opened at st martin's-le-grand, and detained as unpaid. "i was born in a large baobab tree, on the west coast of africa, not very far from calabar. we gorillas are good time-keepers, rise early and go to bed early, guided infallibly by the sun. but though our family has been in existence at least six thousand years, we have no chronology, and care not a straw about our grandfathers. i suppose i had a grandmother, but i never took _any_ interest in any but very close relationships. "we never toiled for our daily food, and are not idle like these lazy black fellows who hold their palavers near us, and whom i, for my part, heartily despise. they cannot climb a tree, as we do, although they can talk to each other, and make one another slaves. at least they so treat their countrymen far off where the fine sweet plantains grow, and some other juicy tit-bits, the memory of which makes my mouth water. these fellows have ugly wives, not nearly so big-mouthed as ours, without our noble bony ridge, small ears, and exalted presence. they are actually forced to walk erect, and their fore-legs seldom touch the ground, except in the case of piccanninies. these little creatures crawl on the ground, are much paler when born, and are then perfectly helpless; and have no hair except on their heads, whereas our beautiful young are fine and hairy, and can swing among the branches, shortly after birth, nearly as well as their parents. when i was very young, i could soon help myself to fruits which abound on our trees. "have you dates, plantains, and soursops--so sweet--at sarawak, master redhair? we have, and all kinds of them. i should like, for a variety, to taste yours. mind you send me some of the _durian_.[ ] make haste and send it, for wallace's description makes my mouth water. "i have told you our little ones soon learn to help themselves, whereas i have seen the piccaninnies of the blacks nursed by their mothers till many rainy seasons had come and gone. i really think nothing of the talking blacks who live near us. they put on bits of coloured rags, not nearly so bright, so regular, nor so _contrasting_ as the feathers of our birds. "beautifully coloured are the green touraco and the purple plantain-eater, a rascally bird! who eats some of our finest plantains, and has bitten holes in many a one i thought to get entirely to myself. why, our parrots beat these west-african negroes to sticks! even our common gray parrot, so prettily scaled with gray, and with the red feathers under his tail, is more natural than these blacks, with their dirty-white, yellow, blue, green, and red rags. "besides, that gray parrot beats them hollow both in its voice and in the way it imitates. do you know that when i have been giving my quick short bark, to tell that i am not well pleased, i have heard one of these fellows near me actually make me startle--its bark was so like to that of one of our kind! i cannot bear the blacks! i have had a grudge against them since some little urchins shot at me when i was young, and made my hand bleed. how it bled! my mother, with whom i had been, kept out of the way of these blackguards, but i was playing with another little gorilla, and forgot to keep a look-out. i have kept a good look-out ever since i got _that_ wound, i assure you. i licked it often, and so did my mother with her delicious mouth. it soon left off bleeding and healed. we gorillas have no brandy, no whisky, no wine, not even small beer, to inflame our blood. we sleep, too, among the trees, clear off the ground, where there are dangerous vapours, so that we are free from all miasmata. west africa is my lovely home, and i am big and beautifully pot-bellied. it is the home of the large-eared chimpanzee, a near relative of ours, though we never marry. he is an active fellow, with rather large vulgar-looking ears; while mine, though i ought not to say so, are beautifully small, and denote my more exalted birth. master chimpanzee needs all his ears, for he is not so strong as i, and as you will hear, we anthropoids have enemies in our trees, just as you perhaps have, master redhair. we are both cautious of getting on the ground, and when there, i assure you i keep a sharp look-out. "i have told you of one adventure i had in my youth, and now listen to another which i have not forgotten to this day. my left arm aches now as i think of it. "as i was one day gambolling with another playfellow in a large tree, with great branches standing out from the trunk, and at a good height from the ground, my companion, another young gorilla, but with smaller mouth, larger nose, and other features uglier than mine, suddenly shrieked, and looked frightened and angry. no sooner had i noticed him than my whole frame was shaken. i was seized by two paws in the small of my back--a very painful part to be dug into--by ten hooked claws, nearly as long as tenpenny nails, but horribly sharp and hooked.--oh my arm! "i tried to turn round, and there was a most ferocious leopard growling at me. i tried to bite, and to scratch his eyes out, but the pain in the small of my back made me quite giddy. the spotted scoundrel seized my left arm--how it aches!--and gave me a _crunch_ or two. i hear, i feel the teeth against my bones as i write. my whole body is full of pain. "my mother came and released me. she was large, handsome, and well-to-do, with _such_ long and strong arms, and with a magnificent bulging and pouting mouth. in those days of my infancy i used to fancy i should like to try to take as large a bite of a plantain as she could. i tried twice or thrice, but could only squash a tenth of the juice of the fruit into my mouth. she had glorious white teeth. her grin clearly frightened the leopard, as well as a pinch she gave him in the 'scruff' of the neck with one of her hands, while with the other she caught hold of his tail and made him yell. how he roared! he fell off the branch on to another; but soon, like all the cats, recovered his hold and jumped down to the ground, when he skulked away with his tail behind him. "i must really leave off, warned both by my paper and your impatience. well, i grew stronger and bigger every day, and swung by one arm almost as well as the rest did with their two. i got, in fact, so strong on my hind feet, that my toes were actually in time thicker than those of any of my race. it is well, my dear orang, to use what you have left you, and to try as soon as possible to forget what has been taken from you. "... look at my portrait, i am as strong, and as bony, and as bonnie, as any gorilla. but i begin to boast, so i will leave off." * * * * * no doubt that gorilla's injured arm affected its habits and its activity every day of its life. the broken arm, never set by some gorilla surgeon of celebrity, formed a highly important feature in its biography. reader! when next thou visitest the noble museum in bloomsbury, look at the skeleton of that gorilla, whose probable story arachnophilus hath tried to give thee, and remember that both skin and skeleton were exhibited there before du chaillu became "a lion." the gorilla is a native of west africa. it is closely allied to the chimpanzee, but grows to a larger size, and has many striking anatomical characters and external marks to distinguish it. it is certainly much dreaded by the natives on the banks of the gaboon, and, doubtless, dreads them equally. dr gray procured a large specimen in a tub from that district. it was skinned and set up by mr bartlett. i have seen photographs in the hands of my excellent old friend--that admirable natural history and anatomical draughtsman--mr george ford of hatton garden. these photographs were taken from its truly ugly face as it was pulled out of the stinking brine. life in death, or death in life, it was most repulsive. professor owen read a most elaborate paper on the gorilla before the zoological society. the great comparative anatomist and zoologist shows that it _may_ have been the very species whose skins were brought by hanno to carthage, in times before the christian era, as the skins of _hairy wild men_. the historian refers to them as "gorullai" ([greek: gôryllai].) the natives of west africa name it "n'geena." * * * * * the stuffed specimen at the museum is a young male. its preparation does great credit to mr bartlett's care and knowledge, for the hair over nearly all the body was in patches among the spirit--thoroughly corrupted in its alcoholic strength by animal matter. the peculiarly anthropoid and morbidly-disagreeable look that even the face of the young gorilla had was, of course, perfect in the photograph. in the _leisure hour_, a tolerably good cut of it was given, but the artist did not copy the label accurately, for on the photograph from which that cut was derived, _another name_ was rendered by _that_ sun, who pays no compliments and tells no lies. professor owen, the greatest of comparative anatomists, has made the subject of anthropoid apes his own, by the perfection of his researches, continued and continuous. he would have liked, at least i may venture, i believe, to say so (if the matter gave him more than a moment's thought), that the name of dr gray had been on that label. _letter from c. waterton, esq., mentioning a young gorilla._ walton hall, _feb_. , . "dear sir,--as your favour of the th did not seem to require an immediate answer i put it aside for a while, having a multiplicity of business then on hand, and being obliged to be from home for a couple of days. "i beg to enclose you the letter to which you allude. "pray do not suppose that for one single moment i should be illiberal enough to undervalue a 'closet naturalist.' 'non cuivis homini contingit adire corinthum.' it does not fall to every one's lot to range through the forests of guiana, still, a gentleman given to natural history may do wonders for it in his own apartments on his native soil; and had audubon, swainson, jameson, &c., not attacked me in all the pride of pompous self-conceit, i should have been the last man in the world to expose their gross ignorance. "you ask me 'if we are to have another volume of essays?' i beg to answer, no. last year, mrs loudon (to whom i made a present of the essays) wrote to me, and asked for a few papers to be inserted in a forthcoming edition. i answered, that as i had had some strange and awful adventures since the 'autobiography' made its appearance, i would tack them on to it. but from that time to this, i have never had a line, either from mrs loudon or from her publishers. but some months ago, having made a present of a superb case of preserved specimens in natural history to the jesuits' college in lancashire, i gave directions to my stationer at wakefield to procure me from london the fourth or last edition of the essays; and i made references to it accordingly. but, lo and behold, when i had opened this supposed fourth edition, i saw printed on the title page 'a new edition.' better had they printed a _fifth edition_. this threw all my references wrong. should you be passing by messrs longman, perhaps you will have the goodness to ask when this 'new edition' was printed. "i am sorry you did not show me your drawing of the chimpanzee before it was engraved. the artist has not done justice to it. he has made the ears far too large.[ ] the little brown chimpanzee has very small ears; fully as small in proportion as those of a genuine negro. i am half inclined to give to the world a little treatise on the monkey tribe. i am prepared to show that linnæus, buffon, and all our hosts of naturalists who have copied the remarks of these celebrated naturalists, are perfectly in the dark with regard to the true character of _all_ the monkey tribe. yesterday, i sent up to the _gardener's chronicle_ a few notes on the woodpecker.--believe me, dear sir, very truly yours, charles waterton. "p.s.--many thanks for your nice little treatise on the chimpanzee." mr waterton enclosed me a copy of the following letter, which he published in a yorkshire newspaper:-- _to mrs wombwell._ "madam,--i am truly sorry that the inclemency of the weather has prevented the inhabitants of this renowned watering-place from visiting your wonderful gorilla, or brown orang-outang. "i have passed two hours in its company, and i have been gratified beyond expression. "would that all lovers of natural history could get a sight of it, as, possibly, they may never see another of the same species in this country. "it differs widely in one respect from all other orang-outangs which have been exhibited in england--namely, that, when on the ground, it never walks on the soles of its fore-feet, but on the knuckles of the toes of those feet; and those toes are doubled up like the closed fist of a man. this must be a painful position; and, to relieve itself, the animal catches hold of visitors, and clings caressingly to miss bright, who exhibits it. here then, it is at rest, with the toes of the fore-feet performing their natural functions, which they never do when the animal is on the ground. "hence i draw the conclusion that this singular quadruped, like the sloth, is not a walker on the ground of its own free-will, but by accident only. "no doubt whatever it is born, and lives, and dies aloft, amongst the trees in the forests of africa. "put it on a tree, and then it will immediately have the full use of the toes of its fore-feet. place it on the ground, and then you will see that the toes of the fore-feet become useless, as i have already described. "that it may retain its health, and thus remunerate you for the large sum which you have expended in the purchase of it, is, madam, the sincere hope of your obedient servant and well-wisher, charles waterton." scarborough cliff, no. , _nov. , _. "_p.s._--you are quite at liberty to make what use you choose of this letter. i have written it for your own benefit, and for the good of natural history."[ ] mr mitchell on a young chimpanzee. the writer of a most readable article on the acclimatisation of animals in the _edinburgh review_,[ ] gives an amusing recital of the arrival of a chimpanzee at the zoological gardens. it was related to him by the late mr mitchell, who was long the active secretary of the society, and who did much to improve the gardens. "one damp november evening, just before dusk, there arrived a french traveller from senegal, with a companion closely muffled up in a burnoose at his side. on going, at his earnest request, to speak to him at the gate, he communicated to me the interesting fact that the stranger in the burnoose was a young chim, who had resided in his family in senegal for some twelve months, and who had accompanied him to england. the animal was in perfect health; but from the state of the atmosphere required good lodging, and more tender care than could be found in a hotel. he proposed to sell his friend. i was hard; did not like pulmonic property[ ] at that period of the year, having already two of the race in moderate health, but could not refrain from an offer of hospitality during chim's residence in london. chim was to go to paris if i did not buy him. so we carried him, burnoose and all, into the house where the lady chims were, and liberated him in the doorway. they had taken tea, and were beginning to think of their early couch. when the senegal adonis caught sight of them, he assumed a jaunty air and advanced with politeness, as if to offer them the last news from africa. a yell of surprise burst from each chimpanzella as they successively recognised the unexpected arrival. one would have supposed that all the billingsgate of chimpanzeedom rolled from the voluble tongues of these unsophisticated and hitherto unimpressible young ladies; but probably their gesticulations, their shrill exclamations, their shrinkings, their threats, were but well-mannered expressions of welcome to a countryman thus abruptly revealed in the foreign land of their captivity. sir chim advanced undaunted, and with the composure of a high-caste pongo; if he had had a hat he would have doffed it incontinently, as it was, he only slid out of his burnoose and ascended into the apartment which adjoined his countrywomen with agile grace, and then, through the transparent separation, he took a closer view. juliana yelled afresh. paquita crossed her hands, and sat silently with face about three quarters averted. sir chim uttered what may have been a tranquillising phrase, expressive of the great happiness he felt on thus being suddenly restored to the presence of kinswomen in the moment of his deepest bereavement. juliana calmed. paquita diminished her angle of aversion, and then sir chim, advancing quite close to the division, began what appeared to be a recollection of a minuet. he executed marvellous gestures with a precision and aplomb which were quite enchanting, and when at last he broke out into a quick movement with loud smacking stamps, the ladies were completely carried away, and gave him all attention. friendship was established, refreshments were served, notwithstanding the previous tea, and everybody was apparently satisfied, especially the stranger. upon asking the senegal proprietor what the dance meant, he told me that the animal had voluntarily taken to that imitation of his slaves, who used to dance every evening in the courtyard." so far mr mitchell's narrative; the reviewer relates how a chimpanzee, placed for a short time in the society of the children of his owner in this country, not only throve in an extraordinary manner, was perfectly docile and good-tempered, but learnt to imitate them. when the eldest little boy wished to tease his playfellow, he used, childlike, to make faces at him. chim soon outdid him, and one of the funniest things imaginable was to see him blown at and blowing in return; his protrusible lips converted themselves into a trumpet-shaped instrument, which reminded one immediately of some of the devils of albert dürer, or those incredible forms which the old painters used to delight in piling together in their temptations of saint anthony. lady anne barnard pleads for the baboons. lady anne barnard, whose name as the writer of "auld robin gray" is familiar to every one who knows that most pathetic ballad, spent five years with her husband at the cape ( - ). her journal letters to her sisters are most amusing, and full of interesting observations.[ ] after describing "musquito-hunting" with her husband, she writes:--"in return, i endeavoured to effect a treaty of peace for the baboons, who are apt to come down from the mountain in little troops to pillage our garden of the fruit with which the trees are loaded. i told him he would be worse than don carlos if he refused the children of the sun and the soil the use of what had descended from ouran-outang to ouran-outang; but, alas! i could not succeed. he had pledged himself to the gardener,[ ] to the slaves, and all the dogs, not to baulk them of their sport; so he shot a superb man-of-the-mountain one morning, who was marauding, and electrified himself the same moment, so shocked was he at the groan given by the poor creature as he limped off the ground. i do not think i shall hear of another falling a sacrifice to barnard's gun; they come too near the human race" (p. ). in another letter she says (p. ), "the best way to get rid of them is to catch one, whip him, and turn him loose; he skips off chattering to his comrades, and is extremely angry, but none of them return the season this is done. i have given orders, however, that there may be no whipping." s. bisset and his trained monkeys. we have elsewhere referred to s. bisset as a trainer of animals. among the earliest of his trials, this scotchman took two monkeys as pupils. one of these he taught to dance and tumble on the rope, whilst the other held a candle with one paw for his companion, and with the other played a barrel organ. these animals he also instructed to play several fanciful tricks, such as drinking to the company, riding and tumbling upon a horse's back, and going through several regular dances with a dog. the horse and dog referred to, were the first animals on which this ingenious person tried his skill. although bisset lived in the last century, few persons seem to have surpassed him in his power of teaching the lower animals. we have seen a man in charlotte square, in , make a new-world monkey go through a series of tricks, ringing a bell, firing a pea-gun, and such like. poor jacko was to be pitied. his want of heart in his labours was very evident. poor fellow, no time for reflection was allowed him. like some of the masters in the old high school,--such cruelty dates back more than thirty years,--a ferule, or a pair of tawse kept jacko to his work. it was play to the onlookers, but no sport to master cebus. had he possessed memory and reflection, how his thoughts must have wandered from edinburgh to the forests of the amazon! lord byron's pets. beside horses and dogs, the poet byron, like his own don juan, had a kind of inclination, or weakness, for what most people deem mere vermin, _live animals_. captain medwin records, in one of his conversations, that the poet remarked that it was troublesome to travel about with so much live and dead stock as he did, and adds--"i don't like to leave behind me any of my pets, that have been accumulating since i came on the continent. one cannot trust to strangers to take care of them. you will see at the farmer's some of my pea-fowls _en pension_. fletcher tells me that they are almost as bad fellow-travellers as the monkey, which i will show you." here he led the way to a room where he played with and caressed the creature for some time. he afterwards bought another monkey in pisa, because he saw it ill-used.[ ] lord byron's travelling equipage to pisa in the autumn of , consisted, _inter cætera_, of nine horses, a monkey, a bull-dog, and a mastiff, two cats, three pea-fowls, and some hens.[ ] the ettrick shepherd's monkey. (_from the "noctes ambrosianæ," dec. ._[ ]) _shepherd._ i wish that you but saw my monkey, mr north. he would make you hop the twig in a guffaw. i ha'e got a pole erected for him, o' about some feet high, on a knowe ahint mount benger; and the way the cretur rins up to the knob, looking ower the shouther o' him, and twisting his tail roun' the pole for fear o' playin' thud on the grun', is comical past a' endurance. _north._ think you, james, that he is a link? _shepherd._ a link in creation? not he, indeed. he is merely a monkey. only to see him on his observatory, beholding the sunrise! or weeping, like a laker, at the beauty o' the moon and stars! _north._ is he a bit of a poet? _shepherd._ gin he could but speak and write, there can be nae manner o' doubt that he would be a gran' poet. safe us! what een in the head o' him! wee, clear, red, fiery, watery, malignant-lookin een, fu' o' inspiration. _tickler._ you should have him stuffed. _shepherd._ stuffed, man! say, rather, embalmed. but he's no likely to dee for years to come--indeed, the cretur's engaged to be married; although he's no in the secret himsel yet. the bawns are published. _tickler._ why really, james, marriage i think ought to be simply a civil contract. _shepherd._ a civil contract! i wuss it was. but, oh! mr tickler, to see the cretur sittin wi' a pen in 's hand, and pipe in 's mouth, jotting down a sonnet, or odd, or lyrical ballad! sometimes i put that black velvet cap ye gied me on his head, and ane o' the bairns's auld big-coats on his back; and then, sure aneugh, when he takes his stroll in the avenue, he is a heathenish christian. _north._ why, james, by this time he must be quite like one of the family? _shepherd._ he's a capital flee-fisher. i never saw a monkey throw a lighter line in my life.... then, for rowing a boat! _tickler._ why don't you bring him to ambrose's? _shepherd._ he's sae bashfu'. he never shines in company; and the least thing in the world will make him blush. the findhorn fisherman and the monkey. sir thomas dick lauder[ ] records the adventures of a monkey in morayshire, whose wanderings sadly alarmed the inhabitants who saw him, all unused as they were to the sight of such an exotic stranger. "we knew a large monkey, which escaped from his chain, and was abroad in morayshire for some eight or ten days. wherever he appeared he spread terror among the peasantry. a poor fisherman on the banks of the findhorn was sitting with his wife and family at their frugal meal, when a hairy little man, as they in their ignorance conceived him to be, appeared on the window sill and grinned, and chattered through the casement what seemed to them to be the most horrible incantations. horror-struck, the poor people crowded together on their knees on the floor, and began to exorcise him with prayers most vehemently, until some external cause of alarm made their persecutor vanish. the neighbours found the family half dead with fear, and could with difficulty extract from them the cause. 'oh! worthy neebours!' at last exclaimed the goodman with a groan, 'we ha'e seen the _enemy_ glowrin' at us through that vera wundow there. lord keep us a'!!' he next alarmed a little hamlet near the hills; appearing and disappearing to various individuals in a most mysterious manner; till at last a clown, with a few grains of more courage than the rest, loaded his gun and put a sixpence into it, with the intention of stealing upon him as he sat most mysteriously chattering on the top of a cairn of stones, and then shooting him with silver, which is known never to fail in finishing the imps of the evil one. and lucky indeed was it for pug that he chanced, through whim, to abscond from that quarter; for if he had not so disappeared, he might have died by the lead, if not by the silver. as it was, the bold peasant laid claim to the full glory of compelling this dreaded goblin to flee." sir thomas lauder kept several pets in his beautiful seat at the grange, long occupied by the messrs dalgleish of dreghorn castle as a genteel boarding-school, and now by the misses mouatt as one for young ladies. we have often seen the tombstones to his dogs, which were buried to the south of that mansion, in which principal robertson the historian died, and where lord brougham, his relation, used to go when a boy at the high school. the french marquis and his monkey. dr john moore, the father of general moore, who fell at corunna, in one of the graphic sketches of a frenchman which he gives in his work on italy, records a visit he paid to the marquis de f---- at besançon. after many questions, he says, "before i could make any answer, i chanced to turn my eyes upon a person whom i had not before observed, who sat very gravely upon a chair in a corner of the room, with a large periwig in full dress upon his head. the marquis, seeing my surprise at the sight of this unknown person, after a very hearty fit of laughter, begged pardon for not having introduced me sooner to that gentleman (who was no other than a large monkey), and then told me, he had the honour of being attended by a physician, who had the reputation of possessing the greatest skill, and who _certainly_ wore the largest periwigs of any doctor in the province. that one morning, while he was writing a prescription at his bedside, this same monkey had catched hold of his periwig by one of the knots, and instantly made the best of his way out at the window to the roof of a neighbouring house, from which post he could not be dislodged, till the doctor, having lost patience, had sent home for another wig, and never after could be prevailed on to accept of this, which had been so much disgraced. that, _enfin_, his valet, to whom the monkey belonged, had, ever since that adventure, obliged the culprit by way of punishment to sit quietly, for an hour every morning, with the periwig on his head.--et pendant ces moments de tranquillité je suis honoré de la société du venerable personage. then, addressing himself to the monkey, "adieu, mon ami, pour aujourdhui--au plaisir de vous revoir;" and the servant immediately carried monsieur le médicin out of the room.[ ] this is a most characteristic bit, which could scarcely have occurred out of france, where monkeys and dogs are petted as we never saw them petted elsewhere. these things were so when we knew paris under louis-philippe. frenchmen, surely, have not much changed under louis napoleon. the mandrill and george the fourth. one of the attractive sights of mr cross's menagerie, some forty years or so ago, was a full-grown baboon, to which had been given the name of "happy jerry." he was conspicuous from the finely-coloured rib-like ridges on each side of his cheeks, the clear blue and scarlet hue of which, on such a hideous long face and muzzle, with its small, deeply-sunk malicious eyes, and projecting brow and cheeks, seemed almost as if beauty and bestiality were here combined. but jerry had a habit which would have made father matthew loathe him and those who encouraged him. he had been taught to sit in an armchair and to drink porter out of a pot, like a thirsty brickmaker; and, as an addition to his accomplishments, he could also smoke a pipe, like a trained pupil of sir walter raleigh. this rib-nosed baboon, or mandrill, as he is often called, obtained great renown; and among other distinguished personages who wished to see him was his late majesty king george the fourth. as that king seldom during his reign frequented places of public resort, mr cross was invited to bring jerry to windsor or brighton, to display the talents of his redoubtable baboon. i have heard mr cross say, that the king placed his hands on the arm of one of the ladies of the court, at which jerry began to show such unmistakable signs of ferocity, that the mild, kind menagerist was glad to get jerry removed, or at least the king and his courtiers to withdraw. he showed his great teeth and grinned and growled, as a baboon in a rage is apt to do. jerry was a powerful beast, especially in his fore-legs or arms. when he died, mr cross presented his skin to the british museum, where it has been long preserved. the mandrill is a native of west africa, where he is much dreaded by the negroes. in cross's menagerie at walworth, nearly twenty years ago, there was generally a fine mandrill. we remember the sulky ferocity of that restless eye. how angry the mild menagerist used to be at the ladies in the monkey-room with their parasols! these appendages were the feelers with which some of the softer sex used to touch cross's monkeys, and, as the old gentleman used to insist, helped to kill them. parasols were freely used to touch the boas and other snakes feeding in the same warm room. no doubt a boa-constrictor could not live comfortably if his soft, muscular sides got fifty pokes a day from as many sticks or parasols. edward cross, mild, gentle, gentlemanly, prince of show-keepers, used to be very indignant at the inquisitorial desire possessed, especially by some of the fairer sex, to try the relative hardness and softness of serpents and monkeys, and other mammals and creatures. this story of the mandrill may excuse this pendant of an episode. the young lady's pet monkey and her parrot. horace walpole tells an anecdote of a fine young french lady, a madame de choiseul. she longed for a parrot that should be a miracle of eloquence. a parrot was soon found for her in paris. she also became enamoured of general jacko, a celebrated monkey, at astley's. but the possessor was so exorbitant in his demand for jacko, that the general did not change proprietors. another monkey was soon heard of, who had been brought up by a cook in a kitchen, where he had learned to pluck fowls with inimitable dexterity. this accomplished pet was bought and presented to madame, who accepted him. the first time she went out, the two animals were locked up in her bed-chamber. when the lady returned, the monkey was alone to be seen. search, was made for pretty poll, and to her horror she was found at last under bed, shivering and cowering, and without a feather. it seems that the two pets had been presented by rival lovers of madame. poll's presenter concluded that his rival had given the monkey with that very view, challenged him; they fought, and both were wounded: and a heroic adventure it was![ ] monkeys poor relations. one of luttrell's sayings, recorded by sydney smith, was,-- "i hate the sight of monkeys, they remind me so of poor relations." here follows a fine passage of sydney smith, which he might have written after hearing the lectures of professor huxley.[ ] "i confess i feel myself so much at my ease about the superiority of mankind,--i have such a marked and decided contempt for the understanding of every baboon i have yet seen,--i feel so sure that the blue ape without a tail will never rival us in poetry, painting, and music,--that i see no reason whatever why justice may not be done to the few fragments of soul, and tatters of understanding, which they may really possess. i have sometimes, perhaps, felt a little uneasy at exeter 'change, from contrasting the monkeys with the 'prentice boys who are teasing them; but a few pages of locke, or a few lines of milton, have always restored my tranquillity, and convinced me that the superiority of man had nothing to fear."[ ] mrs colin mackenzie observes apes at simla.[ ] the monkey she alludes to seems to be the _semnopithecus entellus_, a black-faced, light-haired monkey, with long legs and tail, much venerated by the hindoos. "mrs l. and i were very much amused, early this morning (july ), by watching numbers of huge apes, the size of human beings, with white hair all round their faces, and down their backs and chests, who were disporting themselves and feeding on the green leaves, on the sides of the precipice close to the house. many of them had one or two little ones--the most amusing, indefatigable little creatures imaginable--who were incessantly running up small trees, jumping down again, and performing all sorts of antics, till one felt quite wearied with their perpetual activity. when the mother wished to fly, she clutched the little one under her arm, where, clinging round her body with all its arms, it remained in safety, while she made leaps of from thirty to forty feet, and ran at a most astonishing rate down the khad, catching at any tree or twig that offered itself to any one of her four arms. there were two old grave apes of enormous size sitting together on the branch of a tree, and deliberately catching the fleas in each other's shaggy coats. the patient sat perfectly still, while his brother ape divided and thoroughly searched his beard and hair, lifted up one arm and then the other, and turned him round as he thought fit; and then the patient undertook to perform the same office for his friend." the aye-aye (_chiromys madagascariensis_). zoologists used to know a very curious animal from madagascar, by name, or by an indifferent specimen preserved in the paris museum. sonnerat, the naturalist, obtained it from that great island so well known to geographical boys in former days by its being, so they were told, the largest island in the world. this strange quadruped was named by a word which meant "handed-mouse," for such is the signification of _chiromys_, or _cheiromys_, as it used to be spelled. this creature, when its history was better known, was believed to be not far removed in the system from the lemurs and loris. its soft fur, long tail, large eyes, and other features and habits connected it with these quadrumana, while its rodent dentition seemed to refer it to the group containing our squirrels, hares, and mice. it has been the subject of a profound memoir by professor owen, our greatest comparative anatomist; and i remember, with pleasure, the last time i saw him at the museum he was engaged in its dissection. i may here refer to one of the professor's lighter productions--a lecture at exeter hall on some instances of the "power of god as manifested in his animal creation"--for a very nice notice of this curious quadruped. in one of the french journals, there was an excellent account given of the peculiar habits of the little nocturnal creature. in those tropical countries the trees are tenanted by countless varieties of created things. their wood affords rich feeding to the large, fat, pulpy grubs of beetles of the families _buprestidæ_, _dynastidæ_, _passalidæ_, and, above all, that glorious group the _longicornia_. these beetles worm their way into the wood, making often long tunnels, feeding as they work, and leaving their _ejecta_ in the shape of agglomerated sawdust. it is into the long holes drilled by these beetles that the aye-aye searches with his long fingers, one of which, on the fore-hand, is specially thin, slender, and skeleton-like. it looks like the tool of some lock-picker. our large-eyed little friend, like the burglar, comes out at night and finds these holes on the trees where he slept during the day. his sensitive thin ears, made to hear every scratch, can detect the rasping of the retired grub, feasting in apparent security below. naturalists sometimes hear at night, so samouelle once told me, the grubs of moths munching the dewy leaves. our aye-aye is no collector, but he has eyes, ears, and fingers too, that see, hear, and get larvæ that, when grown and changed into beetles, are the valued prizes of entomologists. into that tunnelled hole he inserts his long finger, and squash it goes into a large, pulpy, fat, sweet grub. it takes but a moment to draw it out; and if it be a pupa near the bark, so much the better for the aye-aye, so much the worse for the beetle or cossus. i might dilate on this subject, but prefer referring the reader to professor owen's memoir, and to his lecture.[ ] the aye-aye, in every point of its structure, like every created thing, is full of design. its curious fingers, especially the skeleton-like chopstick of a digit referred to, attract especial notice, from their evident adaptation to the condition of its situation and existence, as one of the works of an omnipotent and beneficent creator. footnotes: [ ] the durian, a peculiarly favourite fruit in several of the eastern islands. [ ] mr wolf's drawing was taken from a chimpanzee. mr waterton's young chimpanzee was in reality a small-eared gorilla. the ears of the chimpanzee are large. [ ] written in . skins and skeletons of the gorilla are to be found now in many museums. [ ] for jan. , vol. iii., p. . [ ] monkeys are very liable to lung diseases in this climate, and all menagerie keepers are aware of the bad effects of the winter on these denizens of a warm climate. [ ] see "lives of the lindsays," by lord lindsay, vol. iii., pp. - . [ ] at paradise. she describes some plants, one, evidently a stapelia, is a fine large star-plant, yellow and spotted like the skin of a leopard, over which there grows a crop of glossy brown hair, at once handsome and horrible; it crawls flat on the ground, and its leaves are thick and fat (p. ). [ ] "conversations of lord byron" (p. ). [ ] _loc. cit._ (p. ). [ ] "works of professor wilson," vol. i., p. . [ ] gilpin's "forest scenery," edited by sir t. d. lauder, vol. i., p. . [ ] "view of society and manners in italy," vol. ii., p. . [ ] extracted from the late mr cunningham's complete edition; we neglected to quote the page, and have altered and shortened the words. [ ] "memoirs of rev. sydney smith," i., p. . [ ] "wit and wisdom of rev. sydney smith" (it is from a lecture at the royal institution), p. . [ ] "life in the mission, the camp, and the zenánà; or, six years in india," by mrs colin mackenzie, vol. ii., p. . [ ] published by james nisbet & co., in , . bats. a highly curious, if not the strangest, order of the class are these flying creatures called bats. it is evident from noel paton's fairy pictures that he has closely studied their often fantastic faces. the writer could commend to his attention an african bat, lately figured by his friend mr murray.[ ] its enormous head, or rather muzzle, compared with its other parts, gives it an outrageously hideous look. in the late excellent dr horsfield's work on the animals of java, there are some engravings of bats by mr taylor, who acquired among engravers the title of "bat taylor," so wonderfully has he rendered the exquisite pileage or fur of these creatures. it is wonderful how numerous the researches of naturalists, such as mr tomes, of welford, near stratford, have shown the order _cheiroptera_ to be in genera and species. their profiles and full faces, even in outline, are often most bizarre and strange. their interfemoral membranes, we may add, are actual "unreticulated" nets, with which they catch and detain flies as they skim through the air. they pick these out of this bag with their mouths, and "make no bones" of any prey, so sharp and pointed are their pretty insectivorous teeth. their flying membranes, stretched on the elongated finger-bones of their fore-legs, are wonderful adaptations of divine wisdom, a capital subject for the natural theologian to select. our poet-laureate must be a close observer of natural history. in his "in memoriam," xciv., he distinctly alludes to some very curious west african bats first described by the late amiable edward t. bennett, long the much-valued secretary of the zoological society. these bats are closely related to the fox bats, and form a genus which is named, from their shoulder and breast appendages, _epomophorus_:-- "bats went round in fragrant skies, and wheel'd or lit the filmy shapes that haunt the dusk, with ermine capes, and woolly breasts and beaded eyes." the species mr bennett named _e. whitei_, after the good rev. gilbert white, that well-known worthy who wrote "the natural history of selborne," wherein are many notices of bats. captain cook's sailor and his description of a fox-bat. it is curious, now that australia is almost as civilised, and in parts nearly as populous, as much of europe, to read "lieutenant cook's voyage round the world," in vol. iii. of hawkesworth's quartos, detailing the discoveries of june, july, and august --that is close upon a century ago. what progress has the world made since that period! we do not require long periods of ages to alter, to adapt, to develop the customs and knowledge of man. at p. we get an account of a large bat. on the d june cook says:--"this day almost everybody had seen the animal which the pigeon-shooters had brought an account of the day before; and one of the seamen, who had been rambling in the woods, told us, at his return, that he verily believed he had seen the devil. we naturally inquired in what form he had appeared, and his answer was in so singular a style that i shall set down his own words. 'he was,' says john, 'as large as a one-gallon keg, and very like it; he had horns and wings, yet he crept so slowly through the grass, that if i had not been _afeared_ i might have touched him.' this formidable apparition we afterwards discovered to have been a bat, and the bats here must be acknowledged to have a frightful appearance, for they are nearly black, and full as large as a partridge; they have indeed no horns, but the fancy of a man who thought he saw the devil might easily supply that defect." * * * * * having seen some of the very curious fox-bats alive, and given some condensed information about them in dr hamilton's series of volumes called "excelsior," the writer may extract the account, with some slight additions, especially as the article is illustrated with a truly admirable figure of a fox-bat, from a living specimen by mr wolf. in sir emerson tennent's "sketches of the natural history of ceylon," p. , mr wolf has represented a whole colony of the "flying-foxes," as they are called. [illustration: flying fox. (pteropus ruficollis.)] fox-bats (_pteropus_). in this country that bat is deemed a large one whose wings, when measured from tip to tip, exceed twelve inches, or whose body is above that of a small mouse in bulk. in some parts of the world, however, there are members of this well-marked family, the wings of which, when stretched and measured from one extremity to the other, are five feet and upwards in extent, and their bodies large in proportion. these are the fox-bats, a pair of which were lately procured for the zoological gardens. it is from one of this pair that the very characteristic figure of mr wolf has been derived.[ ] there is something very odd in the appearance of such an animal, suspended as it is during the day head downwards, in a position the very sight of which suggests to the looker-on ideas of nightmare and apoplexy. as the head peers out from the membrane, contracted about the body and investing it as in a bag, and the strange creature chews a piece of apple presented by its keeper, the least curious observer must be struck with the peculiarity of the position, and cannot fail to admire the velvety softness and great elasticity of the membrane which forms its wings. it must have been from an exaggerated account of the fox-bats of the eastern islands that the ancients derived their ideas of the dreaded harpies, those fabulous winged monsters sent out by the relentless juno, and whose names are synonymous with rapine and cruelty. some of these bats, before they were thoroughly known, frightened british sailors not a little when they met with them. we have given an anecdote, illustrative of this, in a preceding page. dr forster, who accompanied captain cook on the voyage round the world from to , observed fox-bats at the friendly islands, where they were seen in large groups of hundreds. our traveller even notices that some of them flew about the whole day, doubtless from being disturbed by the wandering crews of the british discovery ships. he saw a casuarina tree of large size, the branches of which were festooned with at least five hundred of these pendent cheiroptera in various attitudes of ease, according to the habits and notions of the bat tribes, who can hang either by the hind or by the fore-feet. he noticed that they skimmed over the water with wonderful facility, and he saw one in the act of swimming, though he cannot say that it did so with either ease or expertness; they are known, however, to frequent the water in order to wash themselves from any impurities on their fur and wings, as well as to get rid of the vermin which may be infesting them. captain lort stokes found the red-necked species to be very abundant, during his survey of the north coast of australia in h.m.s. _beagle_. as the boats were engaged in the survey, flights of these bats kept hovering over them, uttering a disagreeable screeching noise and filling the air with a faint mildewy odour, far from agreeable to the smell. the sailors gave these bats the name of "monkey-birds," without being aware that naturalists in their system consider them as following closely the order which contains these four-handed lovers of trees. captain stokes observes that the leathern wings have a singular heavy flap, and that a flight of bats would suddenly alight on a bamboo and bend it to the ground with their weight. each individual struggles on alighting to settle on the same spot, and like rooks or men in similar circumstances, they do not succeed in fixing themselves without making a great deal of noise. when first they clung to the bamboo, they did so by means of the claw on the outer edge of the flying membrane, and then they gradually settled. among the wild and varied scenery of those groups of islands called the friendly islands, the feejees, and the navigators, species of fox-bat form one of the characteristics of the place to the observant eye; while, if the traveller should happen to be blind, their presence among the otherwise fragrant forests would be readily perceived from the strong odour which taints the atmosphere, and which, says the naturalist of the united states exploring expedition, "will always be remembered by persons who have visited the regions inhabited by these animals." mr titian peale mentions that a specimen of the fox-bat was kept in philadelphia for several years; and like most creatures, winged as well as wingless, was amiable to those persons who were constantly near it, while it showed clearly and unmistakably its dislike to strangers. on its voyage, this strange passenger was fed on boiled rice, sweetened with sugar; while at the museum, it was solaced and fed during its captivity chiefly on fruit, and now and then appeared to enjoy the picking from the bones of a boiled fowl. the fox-bat is but seldom brought alive to this country. the late mr cross of the surrey zoological gardens kept one for a short time, and deemed it one of his greatest rarities; and, till the arrival lately of the pair alluded to at the gardens in the regent's park, we have not heard of other specimens having been exhibited in this country. they are difficult to keep, and seem to feel very sensibly the changes of our climate, while it is a hard thing to get for them the food on which they live when in a state of liberty. mr macgillivray discovered a new species of fox-bat on fitzroy island, off the coast of australia, when he was naturalist of h.m.s. _rattlesnake_.[ ] he fell in with this large fruit-eating bat (_pteropus conspicillatus_) on the wooded slope of a hill. they were in prodigious numbers, and presented the appearance, as they flew along in the bright sunshine, of a large flock of rooks. as they were approached, a strong musky odour became apparent, and a loud incessant chattering was heard. he describes the branches of some of the trees as bending beneath the loads of bats which clung to them. some of these were in a state of inactivity, sleeping or composing themselves to sleep, while many specimens scrambled along among the boughs and took to flight on being disturbed. he shot several specimens, three or four at a time, as they hung in clusters. unless they were killed outright, they continued suspended for some time; when wounded they are difficult to handle, as they bite severely, and at such times their cry resembles somewhat the squalling of a child. the flesh of these bats is described to be excellent, and no wonder, when they feed on the sweetest fruits; the natives regard it as nutritious food, and travellers in australia, like the adventurous leichhardt on his journey to port essington, sometimes are furnished with a welcome meal from the fruit-eating fox-bats which fall in their way. even the polished french, in the isle of bourbon, as they used to call the mauritius, sometimes stewed a pteropus, in their _bouillon_ or broth to give it a relish. travellers observe that in a state of nature the fox-bats only eat the ripest and the best fruit, and in their search for it they climb with great facility along the under side of the branches. in java, as dr horsfield observes, these creatures, from their numbers and fruit-eating propensities, occasion incalculable mischief, as they attack every kind that grows there, from the cocoa-nut to the rarer and more delicate productions, which are cultivated with care in the gardens of princes and persons of rank. the doctor observes, that "delicate fruits, as they approach to maturity, are ingeniously secured by means of a loose net or basket, skilfully constructed of split bamboo. without this precaution little valuable fruit would escape the ravages of the kalong." we have mentioned that the fox-bats are occasionally eaten in australia. colonel sykes alludes to the native portuguese in western india eating the flesh of another species of pteropus; and it would seem that but for prejudice, their flesh, like that of the young of the south american monkeys, is extremely delicate; the colonel says, writing of the _pteropus medius_, a species found in india, "i can personally testify that their flesh is delicate and without disagreeable flavour." the javanese fox-bat occasionally affords amusement to the colonists as well as natives, who chase it, according to dr horsfield, "during the moonlight nights, which, in the latitude of java, are uncommonly serene. he is watched in his descent to the fruit-trees, and a discharge of small shot readily brings him to the ground. by this means i frequently obtained four or five individuals in the course of an hour." the natives of new caledonia, according to dr forster, use the hair of these great bats in ropes, and in the tassels to their clubs, while they interweave the hair among the threads of the _cyperus squarrosus_, a grassy-looking plant which they employ for that purpose. william dampier,[ ] in , observed the habits of a fox-bat on one of the philippine islands, though he has exaggerated its size when he judged "that the wings stretched out in length, could not be less asunder than seven or eight foot from tip to tip." he records that "in the evening, as soon as the sun was set, these creatures would begin to take their flight from this island in swarms like bees, directing their flight over to the main island. thus we should see them rising up from the island till night hindered our sight; and in the morning, as soon as it was light, we should see them returning again like a cloud to the small island till sunrising. this course they kept constantly while we lay here, affording us every morning and evening an hour's diversion in gazing at them and talking about them." dr horsfield describes the species, which is abundant in the lower parts of java, as having the same habit. during the day it retreats to the branches of a tree of the genus _ficus_, where it passes the greater portion of the day in sleep, "hanging motionless, ranged in succession, and often in close contact, they have little resemblance to living beings, and by a person not accustomed to their economy, are readily mistaken for a part of the tree, or for a fruit of uncommon size suspended from its branches." the doctor describes their society as being generally silent during the day, except when a contention arises among them to get out of the influence of the sun, when they utter a sharp piercing shriek. their claws are so sharp, and their attachment is consequently so strong, that they cannot readily leave their hold without the assistance of their wings, and if shot when in this position, they remain suspended. dr mayerne and his balsam of bats. dr mayerne, a learned english physician, who died, aged eighty-two, in , showed by his prescriptions that his enlightenment was not more than that of the prevailing ignorance of the period. the chief ingredient in his gout-powder was "raspings of a human skull unburied;" "but," writes mr jeaffreson,[ ] "his sweetest compound was his 'balsam of bats,' strongly recommended as an unguent for hypochondriacal persons, into which entered adders, bats, sucking whelps, earth-worms, hogs' grease, the marrow of a stag, and the thigh-bone of an ox." no doubt the doctor imagined that a combination of the virulence, flightiness, swiftness, strength, and other qualities of all these animals would in some mysterious way be communicated to his melancholy patient; and, indeed, by acting on the imagination of such persons a favourable direction is given to their thoughts, and in this way their severe malady may at times have been removed. footnotes: [ ] illustrated proceedings of zoological society. [ ] this was written some years ago; but i was glad to see when last in the zoological gardens, june , another live specimen of a species of fox bat. [ ] "narrative of the voyage," i., p. ( ). [ ] "new voyage round the world" ( ), p. . [ ] "a book about doctors," by j. cordy jeaffreson, i., p. . hedgehog. this well-armed genus of insect-eating quadruped has sometimes given to describing zoologists, at least so it is said, an opportunity of paying a sly compliment, concealing an allusion to the _touchy_ or supposed irritable disposition of the party after whom the species has been named. when southey wrote the following paragraph, he happily expressed what is too commonly the meaning and wish of critics and criticised. if my readers look into any system of mammalia of recent date, under the article _erinaceus_, he will see one or more instances of concealed allusions to touchiness of disposition in the persons of the naturalists, _honoured_ by the seeming compliment. the hedgehog is itself a very useful and very harmless quadruped. it is of great use in a garden, and also in a kitchen frequented by crickets or black-beetles. its food is chiefly grubs, insects, worms, and such like. the creature is easily tamed, and becomes a lovable and not a touchy pet. it is eminently nocturnal. southey and his critics. robert southey ("common-place book," th series, p. ) writes:-- "i intend to be a hedgehog, and roll myself up in my own prickles: all i regret is that i am not a porcupine, and endowed with the property of shooting them to annoy the beasts who come near enough to annoy me." mole. this is perhaps the most remarkable of all our quadrupeds. its subterranean haunts and curious aptitudes for a life below the surface of the ground are peculiarly worthy of study. the little hillocks it turns up in its excavations are noticed by every one. its pursuit of worms and grubs, its nest, its soft plush-like fur, the pointed nose, the strong digging fore-feet, the small all but hidden eyes, and hundreds of other properties, render it a noticeable creature. the following passage from lord macaulay's latest writings, although rather long, may interest some in the story of this curious creature:-- the mole and king william. "a fly, if it had god's message, could choke a king."[ ] i never knew till the th january , when reading vol. v. of macaulay's england, that a horse, stumbling on a mole-hill, was the immediate cause of the death of the great william iii. lady trevelyan, the sister of macaulay, published vol. v. of her brother's work, and added an account of the death of the illustrious dutchman, who did so much for our religious and civil liberties. the historian was very partial to william, and the account of that monarch's last days is macaulay's last finished piece: it is here quoted in full from the history:[ ]-- "meanwhile reports about the state of the king's health were constantly becoming more and more alarming. his medical advisers, both english and dutch, were at the end of their resources. he had consulted by letter all the most eminent physicians of europe; and, as he was apprehensive that they might return flattering answers if they knew who he was, he had written under feigned names. to fagon he had described himself as a parish priest. fagon replied, somewhat bluntly, that such symptoms could have only one meaning, and that the only advice which he had to give to the sick man was to prepare himself for death. having obtained this plain answer, william consulted fagon again without disguise, and obtained some prescriptions which were thought to have a little retarded the approach of the inevitable hour. but the great king's days were numbered. headaches and shivering fits returned on him almost daily. he still rode, and even hunted; but he had no longer that firm seat, or that perfect command of the bridle, for which he had once been renowned. still all his care was for the future. the filial respect and tenderness of albemarle had been almost a necessary of life to him. but it was of importance that heinsius should be fully informed both as to the whole plan of the next campaign, and as to the state of the preparations. albemarle was in full possession of the king's views on these subjects. he was therefore sent to the hague. heinsius was at that time suffering from indisposition, which was indeed a trifle when compared with the maladies under which william was sinking. but in the nature of william there was none of that selfishness which is the too common vice of invalids. on the th of february he sent to heinsius a letter, in which he did not even allude to his own sufferings and infirmities. 'i am,' he said, 'infinitely concerned to learn that your health is not yet quite re-established. may god be pleased to grant you a speedy recovery. i am unalterably your good friend, william.' these were the last lines of that long correspondence. "on the th of february, william was ambling on a favourite horse named sorrel through the park of hampton court. he urged his horse to strike into a gallop just at the spot where a mole had been at work. sorrel stumbled on the mole-hill, and went down on his knees. the king fell off, and broke his collar-bone. the bone was set, and he returned to kensington in his coach. the jolting of the rough roads of that time made it necessary to reduce the fracture again. to a young and vigorous man such an accident would have been a trifle; but the frame of william was not in a condition to bear even the slightest shock. he felt that his time was short, and grieved, with a grief such as only noble spirits feel, to think that he must leave his work but half finished. it was possible that he might still live until one of his plans should be carried into execution. he had long known that the relation in which england and scotland stood to each other was at best precarious, and often unfriendly, and that it might be doubted whether, in an estimate of the british power, the resources of the smaller country ought not to be deducted from those of the larger. recent events had proved that without doubt the two kingdoms could not possibly continue for another year to be on the terms on which they had been during the preceding century, and that there must be between them either absolute union or deadly enmity. their enmity would bring frightful calamities, not on themselves alone, but on all the civilised world. their union would be the best security for the prosperity of both, for the internal tranquillity of the island, for the just balance of power among european states, and for the immunities of all protestant countries. on the th of february, the commons listened, with uncovered heads, to the last message that bore william's sign-manual. an unhappy accident, he told them, had forced him to make to them in writing a communication which he would gladly have made from the throne. he had, in the first year of his reign, expressed his desire to see a union accomplished between england and scotland. he was convinced that nothing could more conduce to the safety and happiness of both. he should think it his peculiar felicity if, before the close of his reign, some happy expedient could be devised for making the two kingdoms one; and he, in the most earnest manner, recommended the question to the consideration of the houses. it was resolved that the message should be taken into consideration on saturday the th of march. "but, on the st of march, humours of menacing appearance showed themselves in the king's knee. on the th of march he was attacked by fever; on the th, his strength failed greatly; and on the th he was scarcely kept alive by cordials. the abjuration bill and a money bill were awaiting his assent. that assent he felt that he should not be able to give in person. he therefore ordered a commission to be prepared for his signature. his hand was now too weak to form the letters of his name, and it was suggested that a stamp should be prepared. on the th of march the stamp was ready. the lord keeper and the clerks of the parliament came, according to usage, to witness the signing of the commission. but they were detained some hours in the ante-chamber while he was in one of the paroxysms of his malady. meanwhile the houses were sitting. it was saturday the th, the day on which the commons had resolved to take into consideration the question of the union with scotland. but that subject was not mentioned. it was known that the king had but a few hours to live; and the members asked each other anxiously whether it was likely that the abjuration and money bills would be passed before he died. after sitting long in the expectation of a message, the commons adjourned till six in the afternoon. by that time william had recovered himself sufficiently to put the stamp on the parchment which authorised his commissioners to act for him. in the evening, when the houses had assembled, black rod knocked. the commons were summoned to the bar of the lords; the commission was read, the abjuration bill and the malt bill became law, and both houses adjourned till nine o'clock in the morning of the following day. the following day was sunday. but there was little chance that william would live through the night. it was of the highest importance that, within the shortest possible time after his decease, the successor designated by the bill of rights and the act of succession should receive the homage of the estates of the realm, and be publicly proclaimed in the council: and the most rigid pharisee in the society for the reformation of manners could hardly deny that it was lawful to save the state, even on the sabbath. "the king meanwhile was sinking fast. albemarle had arrived at kensington from the hague, exhausted by rapid travelling. his master kindly bade him go to rest for some hours, and then summoned him to make his report. that report was in all respects satisfactory. the states general were in the best temper; the troops, the provisions, and the magazines were in the best order. everything was in readiness for an early campaign. william received the intelligence with the calmness of a man whose work was done. he was under no illusion as to his danger. 'i am fast drawing,' he said, 'to my end.' his end was worthy of his life. his intellect was not for a moment clouded. his fortitude was the more admirable because he was not willing to die. he had very lately said to one of those whom he most loved, 'you know that i never feared death; there have been times when i should have wished it, but, now that this great new prospect is opening before me, i do wish to stay here a little longer.' yet no weakness, no querulousness disgraced the noble close of that noble career. to the physicians the king returned his thanks graciously and gently. 'i know that you have done all that skill and learning could do for me, but the case is beyond your art; and i submit.' from the words which escaped him he seemed to be frequently engaged in mental prayer. burnet and tenison remained many hours in the sick-room. he professed to them his firm belief in the truth of the christian religion, and received the sacrament from their hands with great seriousness. the antechambers were crowded all night with lords and privy-councillors. he ordered several of them to be called in, and exerted himself to take leave of them with a few kind and cheerful words. among the english who were admitted to his bedside were devonshire and ormond. but there were in the crowd those who felt as no englishman could feel, friends of his youth, who had been true to him, and to whom he had been true, through all vicissitudes of fortune; who had served him with unalterable fidelity when his secretaries of state, his treasury, and his admiralty had betrayed him; who had never on any field of battle, or in an atmosphere tainted with loathsome and deadly disease, shrunk from placing their own lives in jeopardy to save his, and whose truth he had at the cost of his own popularity rewarded with bounteous munificence. he strained his feeble voice to thank auverquerque for the affectionate and loyal services of thirty years. to albemarle he gave the keys of his closet and of his private drawers. 'you know,' he said, 'what to do with them.' by this time he could scarcely respire. 'can this,' he said to the physicians, 'last long?' he was told that the end was approaching. he swallowed a cordial, and asked for bentinck. those were his last articulate words. bentinck instantly came to the bedside, bent down, and placed his ear close to the king's mouth. the lips of the dying man moved, but nothing could be heard. the king took the hand of his earliest friend, and pressed it tenderly to his heart. in that moment, no doubt, all that had cast a slight passing cloud over their long and pure friendship was forgotten. it was now between seven and eight in the morning. he closed his eyes, and gasped for breath. the bishops knelt down and read the commendatory prayer. when it ended william was no more!" it was assuredly the stumbling of his horse against a mole-hill that led more immediately to the death of this great monarch. it is but one link in the chain of many providences affecting his life. we all remember the schoolboy ditty-- "for want of a nail the shoe was lost; for want of a shoe the rider was lost; for want of the rider the battle was lost; for want of the battle the kingdom was lost." how much the death of king william retarded progress in great britain can never be judged or determined. his appointed hour had come. it was no bullet with its billet on the banks of the boyne that laid the dutchman low, but the cast-up earth of a specimen of a little insectivorous quadruped called the mole, which laid him on that bed from which he never arose. footnotes: [ ] jeremy taylor, if i remember aright. [ ] vol. v., pp. - . bears. a most comfortably clad set of plantigrade creatures, as fond, most of them, of fruits as they are of flesh. no creatures are more amusing in zoological gardens to children, who wonder at their climbing powers. who is so heartless as not to have pitied the roving polar bear, caged, on a sultry july day, in a small paddock with a puddle, and wandering about restlessly in his few feet of ground, as the well-dressed mob lounged to hear the military band performing in the regent's park zoological gardens? even young bears have an _adult_ kind of look about them. the writer remembers the manner of one, disappointed at its bread sap, most of the milk of which had been absorbed. a little girl standing by, not two years old, perfectly understood what the little creature was searching for, and, looking up, said "milka," or something closely resembling it. we recently saw a little brown bear, on board a russian ship at leith. he acted as a capital guard. the little creature had a grown-up face, more easily observed than described. bear hams, we speak from rare experience, are truly excellent. bears, in our early london days, were kept by many hairdressers and perfumers. the anecdote or passage from dickens's "humphrey's clock" is very characteristic. in one of wilkie's pictures the brown bear is figured on its way with its owners to the parish beadle's "house of detention." we remember the very bear and its owners. a fine chapter might be written on the animals that used to be led about the country by wandering foreigners. our first sight of guinea-pigs, our first view of the black-bellied hamster, our first sight of the camel and dromedary, with a monkey on his neck, and our first bear, were seen in this way. boys and girls in those days seldom saw menageries. a muzzled bear on its hind legs in nicolson street, or at the sciennes, was an exotic sight seldom witnessed, and not easily forgotten. the last we saw was in bernard street, leith, in . that very day, the police were hunting for bruin and its leaders all over edinburgh. bears are now debarred from parading our streets. an austrian general and a bear.[ ] mr paget was told an excellent story of a bear hunt, which took place in the mountains of transylvania, and in the presence of the gentleman who told him the story. "general v----, the austrian commander of the forces in this district, had come to cronstadt to inspect the troops, and had been invited by our friend, in compliment to his rank, to join him in a bear hunt. now, the general, though more accustomed to drilling than hunting, accepted the invitation, and appeared in due time in a cocked hat and long gray greatcoat, the uniform of an austrian general. when they had taken up their places, the general, with half a dozen rifles arrayed before him, paid such devoted attention to a bottle of spirits he had brought with him, that he quite forgot the object of his coming. at last, however, a huge bear burst suddenly from the cover of the pine forest, directly in front of him. at that moment the bottle was raised so high that it quite obscured the general's vision, and he did not perceive the intruder till he was close upon him. down went the bottle, up jumped the astonished soldier, and, forgetful of his guns, off he started, with the bear clutching at the tails of his greatcoat as he ran away. what strange confusion of ideas was muddling the general's intellect at the moment it is difficult to say, but i suspect he had some notion that the attack was an act of insubordination on the part of bruin, for he called out most lustily, as he ran along, 'back, rascal! back! i am a general!' luckily, a poor wallack peasant had more respect for the epaulettes than the bear, and, throwing himself in the way, with nothing but a spear for his defence, he kept the enemy at bay till our friend and the jägers came up, and finished the contest with their rifles." byron's bear at cambridge. when at trinity college, cambridge, lord byron had a strange pet. he "brought up a bear for a degree." he said to captain medwyn,[ ] "i had a great hatred of college rules, and contempt for academical honours. how many of their wranglers have ever distinguished themselves in the world? there was, by the by, rather a witty satire founded on my bear. a friend of shelley's made an ourang-outang (oran hanton, esq.) the hero of a novel ('melincourt'), had him created a baronet, and returned for the borough of one vote." charles dickens on bears' grease and its producers. any one who has been long resident in london, or who has passed through fenchurch street, or everett street, russell square, must have been struck with the way in which "bears' grease" is or used to be advertised in these localities. dickens makes mr samuel weller tell of an enthusiastic tradesman of this description.[ ] "his whole delight was in his trade. he spent all his money in bears, and run in debt for 'em besides, and there they wos a growling away in the front cellar all day long and ineffectually gnashing their teeth, vile the grease o' their relations and friends wos being retailed in gallipots in the shop above, and the first floor winder wos ornamented with their heads; not to speak o' the dreadful aggrawation it must have been to 'em to see a man always a walkin' up and down the pavement outside, with the portrait of a bear in his last agonies, and underneath, in large letters, 'another fine animal was slaughtered yesterday at jenkinson's!' hous'ever, there they wos, and there jenkinson wos, till he was took very ill with some inward disorder, lost the use of his legs, and wos confined to his bed, vere he laid a wery long time; but sich wos his pride in his profession even then, that wenever he wos worse than usual the doctor used to go down-stairs, and say, 'jenkinson's wery low this mornin', we must give the bears a stir;' and as sure as ever they stirred 'em up a bit, and made 'em roar, jenkinson opens his eyes, if he wos ever so bad, calls out, 'there's the bears!' and rewives agin." the author of a most amusing article in the seventy-seventh volume of the _edinburgh review_, on the modern system of advertising, records that, in his puff, the first vendor of bears' grease cautioned his customers to wash their hands in warm water after using it, to prevent them from assuming the hairy appearance of a paw. a bearable pun. an illiterate vendor of beer wrote over his door at harrowgate, "_bear_ sold here." "he spells the word quite correctly," said theodore hook, "if he means to apprise us that the article is his own _bruin_."[ ] [illustration: polar bear. (thalassarctos maritimus.)] shaved bear. robert southey ("common-place book," th ser., p. ) says:--"at bristol i saw a shaved monkey shown for a fairy; and a shaved bear, in a check waistcoat and trousers, sitting in a great chair as an ethiopian savage. this was the most cruel fraud i ever saw. the unnatural position of the beast, and the damnable brutality of the woman-keeper, who sat upon his knee, put her arm round his neck, called him husband and sweetheart, and kissed him, made it the most disgusting spectacle i ever witnessed. cottle was with me." he also tells of a fellow exhibiting a dragon-fly under a magnifier at a country fair, and calling it the great high german "heiter-keiter." the polar bear. (_thalassarctos maritimus._[ ]) notwithstanding ice and snow, and the darkness of a nine months' winter, the arctic regions are tenanted by several mammalia. some of these are constant residents, the rest are migratory visitors. of the former division, one of the most conspicuous, as it is certainly the most formidable, is the polar bear,--a creature between eight and nine feet in length, which, shuffling along the snow at a very quick pace, and being an excellent swimmer besides, cannot fail to inspire dread. the large wide head and fearfully armed jaws are united by a strong neck to powerful shoulders, from which spring the thick and muscular fore-legs. the paws, both of the fore and of the hind feet, are broad and admirably adapted, with their long hairy covering, to keep the polar bear from sinking in the snow. although the creature has an appearance of clumsiness, it is the reverse of inactive. every one who knows the boundless spaces it has to traverse, when in a state of liberty and the "monarch of all it surveys," cannot but pity it as a prisoner in the regent's park, where a tolerably capacious den, supplied with a bath of water of very limited dimension, affords the restless creature less liberty than a squirrel has in its round-about, or a poor lark in its cage. voyagers to the arctic regions describe it as wandering over the fields of ice, mounting the hummocks,[ ] and looking around for prey. with outstretched head, its little but keen eye directed to the various points of a wide horizon, the polar bear looks out for seals; or scents with its quick nostrils the luscious smell of some stinking whale-blubber or half-putrid whale-flesh. dr scoresby relates[ ] that a piece of the _kreng_ of a whale thrown into the fire drew a bear to a ship from the distance of miles. captain beechey mentions, that his party in , as they were off the coast of spitzbergen, by setting on fire some fat of the walrus, soon attracted a bear to their close vicinity. this polar bruin was evidently unaccustomed to the sight of masts, and, when approaching, occasionally hesitated, and seemed half inclined to turn round and be off. so agreeable a smell as burning walrus fat dispelled all distrust, and brought him within musket-shot. on receiving the first ball, he sprang round, growled terrifically, and half raised himself on his hind-legs, as if expecting to seize the object which had caused so much pain; woe to any one who had at that moment been within reach of his merciless paws! although a second and third ball laid him writhing on the ice, he was not mastered; and on the butt end of a musket directed at his head breaking short off, the bear quickly seized the thigh of his assailant, and, but for the immediate assistance of two or three of his shipmates, the man would have been seriously injured. in these very seas--nearly fifty years before--the hero of trafalgar encountered this arctic tyrant, and, when missed from his ship, was discovered with a comrade attacking a large specimen, separated from them by a chasm in the ice. on being reprimanded by his captain for his foolhardiness, "sir," said the young middy, pouting his lips, as he used to do when excited, "i wished to kill the bear that i might carry the skin to my father."[ ] barentz, in his celebrated voyage in , had two of his men killed by "a great leane white beare." in these early days, so unused were polar bears to man, that though thirty of their comrades attempted a rescue, the prey was not abandoned. the purser, "stepping somewhat farther forward, and seeing the beare to be within the length of a shot, presently levelled his peece, and discharging it at the beare, shot her into the head, betweene both the eyes, and yet shee held the man still fast by the necke, and lifted up her head with the man in her mouth, but shee beganne somewhat to stagger; wherewith the purser and a scottishman drew out their courtlaxes (cutlasses), and stroke at her so hard, that their courtlaxes burst, and yet shee would not leave the man. at last wm. geysen went to them, and with all his might stroke the beare upon the snowt with his peece, at which time the beare fell to the ground, making a great noyse, and wm. geysen leaping upon her cut her throat. the th of september wee buried the dead bodies of our men in the states island, and having fleaed the beare, carryed her skinne to amsterdam." this is about the earliest record of an encounter with this formidable creature; sailors now find that they can be attacked with most advantage in the water. when in this element, they try to escape by swimming to the ice, and when the ice is in the form of loose and detached small floes, dr sutherland has seen them dive underneath, and appear on the opposite side. scoresby records, that when shot at a distance, and able to escape, the bear has been observed to retire to the shelter of a hummock, and, as if aware of the styptical effect of cold, apply snow to the wound. in common with nearly every animal, this huge despot of the north is strongly attached to its young. captain inglefield, on his return home from baffin's bay in , pursued three bears, as he was anxious to get a supply of fresh meat for his esquimaux dogs. the trio were evidently a mother and twins. the captain was anxious to secure the cubs alive as trophies, and was cautious in shooting at the mother. all three fell, and were brought on board the _isabel_. he records that it was quite heartrending to see the affection that existed between them. when the cubs saw their mother was wounded, they commenced licking her wounds, regardless of their own sufferings. at length the mother began to eat the snow, a sure sign that she was mortally wounded. "even then her care for the cubs did not cease, as she kept continually turning her head from one to the other, and, though roaring with pain, she seemed to warn them to escape if possible. their attachment was as great as hers, and i was thus obliged to destroy them all. it went much against my feelings, but the memory of my starving dogs reconciled me to the necessity." the female bear when pursued carries or pushes her cubs forwards, and the little creatures are described as placing themselves across her path to be shoved forwards. scoresby mentions an instance where, when projected some yards in advance, the cubs ran on until she overtook them, when they alternately adjusted themselves for a second throw. it is chiefly on the seal that this bear feeds, and it displays great cunning in catching them as they sleep on the ice, or come to the holes in the ice to breathe, when it destroys them with one blow of its formidable and heavy paw. for its mode of getting the walrus we refer the reader to "excelsior," vol. i. p. . notwithstanding his strength and ferocity, the esquimaux frequently kill the polar bear, as they esteem its flesh and fat, and highly prize its skin. the flesh is not so prized by saxons, whether they be european or american. dr kane's opinion would differ but little from that of arctic voyagers on our side of the atlantic. the surgeon to the "grinnell expedition" in search of sir john franklin thus characterises its flesh: "bear is strong, very strong, and withal most capricious meat; you cannot tell where to find him. one day he is quite beefy and bearable; another, hircine, hippuric, and detestable." it is but fair to say that captain parry[ ] regards the flesh of the polar bear to be as wholesome as any other, though not quite so palatable. his men suffered from indigestion after eating it; but this he attributes to the quantity, and not to the quality, of the meat they had eaten. there seems to be little doubt that the liver is highly deleterious. some of the sailors of barentz, who made a meal of it, were very sick, "and we verily thought we should have lost them, for all their skins came off from the foot to the head." the skin of the bear is covered with long yellowish white hair, which, is very close, and forms a wonderful defence against the cold, and against the tusk of the animals on which it feeds. we heard of another use of this hair from an officer on one of the late arctic searching expeditions. a bear was seen to come down a tolerably high and steep declivity by sliding down on its hinder quarters, in an attitude known, in more than one part of the british islands, by the expressive name of "katy-hunkers;" the shaggy hair with which it was covered serving like a thick mat to protect the creature from injury. the esquimaux prepare the skin sometimes without ripping it up, and turning the hairy side inward a warm sack-like bed is formed, into which they creep, and lie very comfortably. otho fabricius, in his "fauna grænlandica" (p. ), informs us that the tendons are converted into sewing threads. the female bear has one or two, and sometimes three, cubs at a time. they are born in the winter, and the mother generally digs for them and for herself a snug nestling-place in the snow. the males in the winter time leave the coast, and go out on the ice-fields, to the edge of the open water after seals.--_adam white, in "excelsior" (with additions)._ nelson and the polar bear. in , captain phipps, afterwards lord mulgrave, sailed on a voyage of discovery towards the north pole. in this expedition sailed two norfolk young men, one in his twenty-third year, the other a mere lad in his fifteenth year. the former sailed from a spirit of curiosity, and being sorely distressed by sea-sickness was landed in norway. he afterwards became famous in the british parliament, and the speeches of the right hon. william windham, secretary at war, are often referred to even now. the younger man was horatio nelson, cockswain under captain lutwidge, who was killed at the battle of trafalgar, thirty-two years after his polar expedition, and left a name which is synonymous with the glory of the british navy. southey, in his admirable life,[ ] records an instance of his hardihood on this expedition:--"one night, during the mid-watch, he stole from the ship with one of his comrades, taking advantage of a rising fog, and set off over the ice in pursuit of a bear. it was not long before they were missed. the fog thickened, and captain lutwidge and his officers became exceedingly alarmed for their safety. between three and four in the morning the weather cleared, and the two adventurers were seen at a considerable distance from the ship attacking a huge bear. the signal for them to return was immediately made; nelsons' comrade called upon him to obey it, but in vain; his musket had flashed in the pan; their ammunition was expended; and a chasm in the ice, which divided him from the bear, probably preserved his life. 'never mind,' he cried; 'do but let me get a blow at this devil with the butt-end of my musket, and we shall have him.' captain lutwidge, however, seeing his danger, fired a gun, which had the desired effect of frightening the beast; and the boy then returned, somewhat afraid of the consequences of his trespass. the captain reprimanded him sternly for conduct so unworthy of the office which he filled, and desired to know what motive he could have for hunting a bear. 'sir,' said he, pouting his lip, as he was wont to do when agitated, 'i wished to kill the bear, that i might carry the skin to my father.'" a clever polar bear. mr markham,[ ] when the ship _assistance_ was in the wellington channel, observed several bears prowling about in search of seals. "on one occasion," he writes, "i saw a bear swimming across a lane of water, and pushing a large piece of ice before him. landing on the floe, he advanced stealthily towards a couple of seals, which were basking in the sun at some little distance, still holding the ice in front to hide his black muzzle; but this most sagacious of bears was for once outwitted, for the seals dived into a pool of water before he could get within reach. on another occasion, a female bruin having been shot from the deck of the _intrepid_, her affectionate cub, an animal about the size of a large newfoundland dog, remained resolutely by the side of its mother, and on the approach of the commander of the _intrepid_ with part of his crew, a sort of tournament ensued, in which the youthful bear, although belaboured most savagely, showed a gallant resistance, and at length rushing between the legs of the corporal of marines, laid him prostrate on the ice, floored another man, who had seized hold of his tail, and effected his escape." captain ommaney and the polar bear. captain ommaney,[ ] who led one of the travelling parties in sent out from the ships under austin in search of franklin on the th of june, the day before he arrived at the ships, met with a laughable accident, although it might have had a serious termination. they had all of them but just got into their blanket bags, when a peculiar noise, as if something was rubbing up the snow, was heard outside. the gallant captain instantly divined its cause, seized, loaded, and cocked his gun, and ordered the tent door to be opened, upon which a huge bear was seen outside. captain ommaney fired at the animal, but, whether from the benumbed state of his limbs, or the dim glimmering light, he unfortunately missed him, and shot away the rope that supported the tent instead. the enraged monster then poked his head against the poles, and the tent fell upon its terrified inmates, and embraced them in its folds. their confusion and dismay can more easily be imagined than described, but at length one man, with more self-possession than the rest, slipped out of his bag, scrambled from under the prostrate tent, and ran to the sledge for another gun; and it was well that he did so, for no sooner had he vacated his sleeping sack than bruin seized it between his teeth, and shook it violently, with the evident intention of wreaking his vengeance on its inmate. he was, however, speedily despatched by a well-aimed shot from the man, the tent was repitched, and tranquillity restored. footnotes: [ ] "hungary and transylvania," &c., by john paget, esq., vol. ii. p. . [ ] "conversations of lord byron," p. . [ ] "master humphrey's clock." [ ] mark lemon, "jest book," p. [ ] [greek: thalassa], sea; [greek: arktos], bear. [ ] those "arctic hedge-rows," as mr david walker calls them, when, on the th november , he was on board the arctic yacht _fox_, wintering in the floe-ice of baffin's bay. "the scene apparent on going on deck after breakfast was splendid, and unlike anything i ever saw before. the subdued light of the moon thrown over such a vast expanse of ice, in the distance the loom of a berg, or the shadow of the hummocks (the arctic hedge-rows), the only thing to break the even surface, a few stars peeping out, as if gazing in wonder at the spectacle,--all united to render the prospect striking, and lead one to contemplate the goodness and power of the creator." on the d november, they had killed a bear, which had been bayed and surrounded by their esquimaux dogs. captain m'clintock shot him. he was feet inches long. only one of the dogs was injured by his paws. much did the hungry beasts enjoy their feast, for they "were regaled with the entrails, which they polished off in a very short time."--_mr walker, in_ _"belfast news letter," quoted in "dublin natural history review," _, p. . [ ] "account of arctic regions," i. . [ ] the anecdote is given with more detail at p. . [ ] "attempt to reach the north pole," p. . [ ] "life of nelson," by robert southey, esq., ll.d., poet laureate, p. . [ ] "franklin's footsteps," by clement r. markham, p. . [ ] "franklin's footsteps," by clement robert markham, late of h.m.s. _assistance_, p. . raccoon. a strikingly pretty, well-clad, and pleasingly coloured north american quadruped, of which many zoological anecdotes might be given. linnæus named it _ursu lotor_, or the washer, from its curious habit of putting any food offered to it, at least when in confinement, into water, before attempting to eat it. "a gone coon." an american phrase for "the last extremity," or, "it's all up." they say that a major, or colonel, or general scott "down south" was notorious as a dead shot. once on a time, when out with his gun, he espied a raccoon on a lofty tree. the poor raccoon, noticing the gun pointed at him, cried to the dead shot, "air _you_ general scott?"--"i air."--"then wait, i air a comin' down, for i air _a gone coon_." badger. the badger, or brock, as it is called in scotland, is yearly becoming more and more rare. in a few years, this curious and powerful member of the _feræ_, will figure, like the bear and beaver, as among the extinct quadrupeds of these islands. naturalists will be recording that in the days of robert burns it must have been not at all uncommon, and not rare in those of hugh miller, since low dram-shops kept them for the entertainment of their guests. the ayrshire bard makes the newfoundland dog, cæsar, say to his comrade luath, the collie, when, speaking of most of the gentry of his day-- "they gang as saucy by poor folk as i wad by a stinking brock."[ ] the author of "old red sandstone" and "my schools and schoolmasters," has recorded in the latter work the history of his employment as a hewer of great stones under the branching foliage of the elm and chestnut trees of niddry park, near edinburgh, and how, in the course of a strike among the masons, he marched into town with several of them to a meeting on the links, where, conspicuous from the deep red hue of their clothes and aprons, they were cheered as a reinforcement from a distance. on adjourning, hugh miller, in his racy style, gives the following account of a badger-baiting more than forty years ago:-- hugh miller and the badger-baiting in the canongate. "my comrades proposed that we should pass the time until the hour of meeting in a public-house, and, desirous of securing a glimpse of the sort of enjoyment for which they sacrificed so much, i accompanied them. passing not a few more inviting-looking places, we entered a low tavern in the upper part of the canongate, kept in an old half-ruinous building, which has since disappeared. we passed on through a narrow passage to a low-roofed room in the centre of the erection, into which the light of day never penetrated, and in which the gas was burning dimly in a close, sluggish atmosphere, rendered still more stifling by tobacco-smoke, and a strong smell of ardent spirits. in the middle of the crazy floor there was a trap-door, which lay open at the time; and a wild combination of sounds, in which the yelping of a dog, and a few gruff voices that seemed cheering him on, were most noticeable, rose from the apartment below. it was customary at this time for dram-shops to keep badgers housed in long narrow boxes, and for working men to keep dogs; and it was part of the ordinary sport of such places to set the dogs to unhouse the badgers. the wild sport which scott describes in his 'guy mannering,' as pursued by dandy dinmont and his associates among the cheviots, was extensively practised twenty-nine years ago amid the dingier haunts of the high street and canongate. our party, like most others, had its dog,--a repulsive-looking brute, with an earth-directed eye; as if he carried about with him an evil conscience; and my companions were desirous of getting his earthing ability tested upon the badger of the establishment; but on summoning the tavern-keeper, we were told that the party below had got the start of us. their dog was, as we might hear, 'just drawing the badger; and before our dog could be permitted to draw him, the poor brute would require to get an hour's rest.' i need scarce say, that the hour was spent in hard drinking in that stagnant atmosphere; and we then all descended through the trap-door, by means of a ladder, into a bare-walled dungeon, dark and damp, and where the pestiferous air smelt like that of a burial vault. the scene which followed was exceedingly repulsive and brutal,--nearly as much so as some of the scenes furnished by those otter-hunts in which the aristocracy of the country delight occasionally to indulge. amid shouts and yells the badger, with the blood of his recent conflict still fresh upon him, was again drawn to the box-mouth; and the party returning satisfied to the apartment above, again betook themselves to hard drinking. in a short time the liquor began to tell, not first, as might be supposed, on our younger men, who were mostly tall, vigorous fellows, in the first flush of their full strength, but on a few of the middle-aged workmen, whose constitutions seemed undermined by a previous course of dissipation and debauchery. the conversation became very loud, very involved, and though highly seasoned with emphatic oaths, very insipid; and leaving with cha--who seemed somewhat uneasy that my eye should be upon their meeting in its hour of weakness--money enough to clear off my share of the reckoning, i stole out to the king's park, and passed an hour to better purpose among the trap rocks than i could possibly have spent it beside the trap-door of that tavern party. i am not aware that a single individual, save the writer, is now living; its very dog did not live out half his days. his owner was alarmed one morning, shortly after this time, by the intelligence that a dozen of sheep had been worried during the night on a neighbouring farm, and that a dog very like his had been seen prowling about the fold; but in order to determine the point, he would be visited, it was added, in the course of the day, by the shepherd and a law-officer. the dog meanwhile, however, conscious of guilt,--for dogs do seem to have consciences in such matters,--was nowhere to be found, though, after the lapse of nearly a week, he again appeared at the work; and his master, slipping a rope round his neck, brought him to a deserted coal-pit half-filled with water, that opened in an adjacent field, and flinging him in, left the authorities no clue by which to establish his identity with the robber and assassin of the fold."[ ] the laird of balnamoon and the brock. the laird, so dean ramsay had the story sent him, once riding past a high steep bank, stopped opposite a hole in it, and said, "john, i saw a brock gang in there."--"did ye?" said john; "wull ye haud my horse, sir?"--"certainly," said the laird, and away rushed john for a spade. after digging for half an hour, he came back, nigh speechless to the laird, who had regarded him musingly. "i canna find him, sir," said john.--"'deed," said the laird, very coolly, "i wad ha' wondered if ye had, for it's ten years sin' i saw him gang in there."[ ] footnotes: [ ] poems, chiefly in the scottish dialect, , p. , "the twa dogs." ferret. a truly blood-thirsty member of that slim-bodied but active race, the weasel tribe. he is certainly an inhabitant of a warmer climate than this, being very sensitive to cold. he is used in killing rats and _ferreting out_ rabbits, a verb indeed derived from his name. he has been known to attack sleeping infants. collins and the rat-catchers _grip_ of his ferrets. that delightful painter of cottage life, says his son,[ ] often found cottagers who gloried in being painted, and who sat like professional models, under an erroneous impression that it was for their personal beauties and perfections that their likenesses were portrayed. the remarks of these and other good people, who sat to the painter in perfect ignorance of the use or object of his labours, were often exquisitely original. he used to quote the criticism of a celebrated country rat-catcher, on the study he had made from him, with hearty triumph and delight. when asked whether he thought his portrait like, the rat-catcher, who--perhaps in virtue of his calling--was a gruff and unhesitating man, immediately declared that the face was "not a morsel like," but vowed with a great oath, that nothing could ever be equal to the correctness of the _dirt shine on his old leather breeches_, and the _grip_ that he had of _the necks of his ferrets_! footnotes: [ ] "my schools and schoolmasters; or, the story of my education," by hugh miller, fifth edition, , pp. - . [ ] "reminiscences of scottish life and character," tenth edition, , p. . pole-cat. an equally blood-thirsty member of the weasel family, with the subject of the preceding paragraph. fox and the pole-cat.--(poll-cat.[ ]) francis grose relates the following as having happened during one of the famous westminster elections:--"during the poll, a dead cat being thrown on the hustings, one of sir cecil wray's party observed it stunk worse than a fox, to which mr fox replied, there was nothing extraordinary in that, considering it was a poll-cat." footnotes: [ ] "memoirs of the life of william collins, r.a," by his son, w. wilkie collins, i. p. . dogs. one who seems to love the race of dogs, and who has written a most readable book on them,[ ] remarks, that the dog "even now is rarely the companion of a jew, or the inmate of his house." he quotes various terms of reproach still common among us, and which seem to have originated from a similar feeling to that of the jew. for instance, we say of a very cheap article, that it is "dog cheap." to call a person "a dog," or "a cur," or "a hound," means something the very opposite of complimentary. a surly person is said to have "a dogged disposition." any one very much fatigued is said to be "dog weary." a wretched room or house is often called "a dog hole," or said to be only fit for "a dog." very poor verse is "doggerel." it is told of lady mary wortley montague, that when a young nobleman refused to translate some inscription over an alcove, because it was in "dog-latin," she observed, "how strange a puppy shouldn't understand his mother tongue." what, too, can be more expressive of a man being on the verge of ruin, than the common phrase, that "such a one is going to the dogs." of modern describers of the very life and feelings of dogs, who can surpass dr john brown of edinburgh? his "rab," and his "our dogs," are worthy of the brush of sir edwin landseer. who has not heard the answer _said_ to have been given by sydney smith to the great painter, when he wanted to make a portrait of the witty canon, "_is thy servant a dog, that he should do this thing?_" there is great diversity of standard in matters of taste. in china, a well-roasted pup, of any variety of the very variable _canis familiaris_, is a dainty dish. in london the greatest exquisite delights in the taste of a half-cooked woodcock, but would scruple to eat a lady's lap-dog, even though descended, by indubitable pedigree, from a genuine "liver-and-tan" spaniel, that followed king charles ii. in his strolls through st james's park; and which was given to her ladyship's ancestress on a day recorded, perhaps, in the diary of mr samuel pepys. again, in the country of the esquimaux, who has not read in the intensely interesting narratives of the moravian missionaries, how the dogs of the "innuit"--of "the men," as they call themselves--are, in winter, indispensable to their very existence? parry, lyon, franklin, richardson, ross, rae, penny, sutherland, inglefield, and kane, have told us what excellent "carriage"-pullers these hardy children of the snow become from early infancy; and how the more they work, like the wives of savages in australia, the more they are kicked. passing over the dogs of the indian tribes of north america and the gaunt race in patagonia, the reader may remember that the roman youth, like the young briton, had, in the days of horace, his outer marks--one was, that he loved to have a dog, or a whole pack beside him--"_gaudet canibus_." this attachment to the dog is given us "from above," and is one of the many "good gifts" which proceed from him, who made man and dog "familiar," as the apt specific name of linnæus denominates the latter. one of our greatly-gifted poets, in a cynical mood, could write an epitaph on a favourite newfoundlander, and end it with the dismal lines on his views of "earthly friends"-- "he never knew but one,--and here he lies." our genial and home-loving cowper has made his dog beau classical. we must beg our readers to refresh their memories, by looking into the olney bard's exquisite story, "my spaniel, prettiest of his race, and high in pedigree," and they will find that _that_ story of "the dog and the water-lily" was "no fable," and that beau really understood his master's wish when he fetched him a water-lily out of "ouse's silent tide." how graceful are the last two stanzas of that sweet little poem-- "charm'd with the sight, 'the world,' i cried, 'shall hear of this thy deed; my dog shall mortify the pride of man's superior breed. 'but chief myself i will enjoin, awake at duty's call, to show a love as prompt as thine to him who gives me all.'"[ ] [illustration: beau.] that the world might know the very "mark and figure" of this spaniel, the late able illustrator of so many topographical works (mr james storer) published in his "rural walks of cowper"[ ] a figure of beau, from the stuffed skin in the possession of cowper's kinsman, the rev. dr johnson. mr montague, in a letter to the son and biographer of sir james mackintosh,[ ] gives many reminiscences of that eminent man, who was much attached to the memory of cowper. he says, "we reached dereham about mid-day (it was in ), and wrote to mr johnson, the clergyman, who had protected cowper in the last years of his life, and in whose house he died. he instantly called upon us, and we accompanied him to his house. in the hall, we were introduced to a little red and white spaniel, in a glass case--the little dog beau, who, seeing the water-lily which cowper could not reach, 'plunging, left the shore.'" "i saw him with that lily cropp'd, impatient swim to meet my quick approach, and soon he dropp'd the treasure at my feet." we saw the room where cowper died, and the bell which he last touched. we went to his grave, and to mrs unwin's, who is buried at some distance. i lamented this, "do not live in the visible, but the invisible," said your father,--"his attainments, his tenderness, his affections, his sufferings, and his hardships, will live long after both their graves are no more." we could linger over a prized octavo volume, published in edinburgh in ; the first poem of this, "the twa dogs, a tale," occupies some thirteen pages, written with that "rare felicity" so common to _the_ bard of scotland. we mention it, because of the peculiar happiness with which the collie, or scottish shepherd-dog, is described in lines that sir edwin landseer alone has equalled on canvas, or his brother thomas with the graver-- "he was a gash an' faithfu' tyke as ever lap a sheugh or dyke. his honest, sonsie, bawsn't[ ] face, aye gat him friends in ilka place. his breast was white, his touzie back weel clad wi' coat of glossy black; his gaucie tail, wi' upward curl, hung owre his hurdies wi' a swirl." _that's_ the shepherd-dog, as we have heard him described from a specimen, which was the friend and follower of a valued one, who, when a boy ('tis many years ago), frisked with the dog, over _one_ of the many ferny haughs that margin the lovely tweed above and below peebles. it is _the_ collie we have seen, on one of the sheep-farms of lanarkshire, obey its young master by a word or two, as unintelligible to us as japanese. but to the culter "luath," to hear was to obey; and in a quarter of an hour a flock of sheep, which had been feeding on a hillside half a mile off, were brought back, driven by this faithful "bit doggie." we wonder not that shepherds love their dogs. why, even the new smithfield cattle-drovers, who drive sheep along the streets of london on a monday or friday, never even require to urge their faithful partners. well may the gifted authoress of "the dream" address "the faithful guardian"-- "oh, tried and trusted! thou whose love ne'er changes nor forsakes, thou proof, how perfect god hath stamp'd the meanest thing he makes; thou, whom no snare entraps to serve, no art is used to tame (train'd, like ourselves, thy path to know, by words of love and blame); friend! who beside the cottage door, or in the rich man's hall, with steadfast faith still answerest the one familiar call; well by poor hearth and lordly home thy couchant form may rest, and prince and peasant trust thee still, to guard what they love best." _hon. mrs norton, "the dream," &c._, p. . no ordinary-sized volume, much less a short article, could give a tithe of the true anecdotes of members of the dog race. mere references to their biography would take up a volume of bibliography itself, just as their forms, and character, and "pose," give endless subject to the painter. of modern authors, no one loved dogs more truly than sir walter scott, as the reader of his writings and of his biography is well aware;[ ] but it may not be generally known that, on the only occasion when the great novelist met the ayrshire peasant,-- "virgilium tantum vidi,"-- the poem, which had made burns a wonder to the boy then "unknown," was that of "the twa dogs;" so that, even then, scott had commenced to show his attachment to these faithful followers. it was in the house of sir adam ferguson, when scott was a mere lad; and the scene was described most vividly to the writer by the late scottish knight, after whose battle in south italy the author of "marmion" named his pet staghound maida, or, as scott pronounced it, "myda." it was as the author of "the twa dogs" that young ferguson and scott regarded burns on his entrance into the room with such wistful attention. the story is told in lockhart, and we will not quote it further; but, leaving dogs of our own days and lands to mr jesse, who has given an interesting volume on them, we will close with a few paragraphs on the dog of the east--a very differently treated animal to that generally prized and esteemed "friend" of man in these lands of the west. the holy scriptures show us that dogs were generally despised. we select three, out of many instances. "is thy servant a _dog_ that he should do this thing?" was the question with which hazael, ignorant of the deceitfulness of his own heart, indignantly replied to elisha, when the prophet told him of the evil that he would yet do unto the children of israel ( kings viii. ). he, "who spake as never man spake," knowing the faith of the syrophoenician woman, and giving her an opportunity of manifesting it "for our example," said, in the syriac fashion of thought, "it is not meet to take the children's bread, and to cast it to _the dogs_" (mark vii. ). and the apostle john, in that wondrous close of the prophetical writings, says, "for without," _i.e._, outside of the new jerusalem, "are _dogs_" (rev. xxii. ). in the east up to the present day, with but few exceptions, dogs are treated with great dislike. we might quote passages in proof from almost every eastern traveller, and may venture to extract one from the graphic page of the rev. w. graham, who lived five years in syria, and who has given some noble word-pictures of men, and streets, and scenes in damascus and other turkish towns. writing of damascus,[ ] he remarks, "the dogs are considered unclean, and are never domesticated in the east. they are thin, lean, fox-like animals, and always at the starving point. they live, breed, and die in the streets. they are useful as scavengers. they are neither fondled nor persecuted, but simply tolerated; and no dog has an owner, or ever follows and accompanies a man as the sheep do. i once went out in the evening at beyrout, with my teacher to enjoy the fresh air and talk arabic. my little english dog, the gift of a friend, followed us. we passed through a garden, where a venerable moslem was sitting on a stone, silently and solemnly engaged in smoking his pipe. he observed the dog _following_ us, and was astonished at it, as something new and extraordinary; and rising, and making out of the way, he cried out, 'may his father be accursed! is that a dog or a fox?'" again, in damascus, should a worn-out horse, donkey, or camel die in the streets, in a few hours the dogs have devoured it; and the powerful rays of the sun dry up all corrupt matter. mr graham tells us that the dogs of damascus are brown, blackish, or of an ash colour, and that he saw no white or spotted specimens. he never saw a case of hydrophobia, nor did he hear a _bark_. the dogs "howl, and make noise enough," he continues, "but the fine, well-defined _bow-wow_ is entirely wanting." with a quiet humour, he hints at the bark being a mark of the civilised, domesticated dog, and as denoting, apparently, "the refinement of canine education." we have been struck with the attempts of penny's esquimaux dogs, deposited by the gallant arctic mariner in the zoological gardens, to _get up_ a bark somewhat like the "well-bred" dogs in the cages near them. mr graham tells us of the damascus dogs having established a kind of police among themselves, and, like the rooks, driving all intruders far from their district. dogs were not always disregarded in the east. herodotus informs us,[ ] during the persian occupation the number of indian dogs kept in the province of babylon for the use of the governor was so great, that four cities were exempted from taxes for maintaining them. in the mountain parts of india, travellers describe the great dogs of thibet and cashmere as being much prized. "the domestic dog of ladak," says major cunningham,[ ] "is the well-known shepherd's dog, or thibetan mastiff. they have shaggy coats, generally quite black, or black and tan; but i have seen some of a light brown colour. they are usually ill-tempered to strangers; but i have never found one that would face a stick, although they can fight well when attacked. the only peculiarity that i have noticed about them is, that the tail is nearly always curled upward on to the back, where the hair is displaced by the constant rubbing of the tail." and that the same massive variety was also prized in ancient times we know, by a singularly fine, small bas-relief in baked clay, found in in the birs-i-nimrud, babylon, by sir henry rawlinson, which is preserved in the british museum, to which it was presented by the late prince albert, and an outline of which, reduced one-half, will convey a good idea to the reader of its form. we may add that this bas-relief was first noticed and figured, in , in the third edition of a truly learned and excellent work on "nineveh and persepolis," by mr vaux of the british museum (p. ). these dogs, then, were nothing else than big, "low jowled" thibetan mastiffs, such as we occasionally see brought over by some indian officer; and the use for which they were employed by the ancient kings and their attendants is strikingly exhibited on some slabs from a chamber in the north palace of koujunjik, a part of the great nineveh. on some of these slabs, dogs are seen engaged in pulling down wild asses, deer, and other animals; and they were evidently kept also to assist in securing nobler game--"the king of beasts;"--the sport of which animals shows how truly the assyrian king was named "nimrod, the mighty hunter before the lord."--_adam white, in "excelsior" (with additions)._ [illustration] bishop blomfield bitten by a dog. his natural temperament was quick, and he was fond of authority. "a saying of sydney smith's has been preserved, humorously illustrative of the view which he took of bishop blomfield's character. the bishop had been bitten by a dog in the calf of the leg, and fearing possible hydrophobia in consequence, he went, with characteristic promptitude, to have the injured piece of flesh cut out by a surgeon before he returned home. two or three on whom he called were not at home; but, at last, the operation was effected by the eminent surgeon, mr keate. the same evening the bishop was to have dined with a party where sydney smith was a guest. just before dinner, a note arrived, saying that he was unable to keep his engagement, a dog having rushed out from the crowd and bitten him in the leg. when this note was read aloud to the company, sydney smith's comment was, '_i should like to hear the dog's account of the story_.' "when this accident occurred to him, bishop blomfield happened to be walking with dr d'oyly, the rector of lambeth. a lady of strong protestant principles, mistaking dr d'oyly for dr doyle, said that she considered it was a judgment upon the bishop for keeping such company."[ ] "puppies never see till they are nine days old." it is related, that when a former bishop of bristol held the office of vice-chancellor of the university of cambridge, he one day met a couple of under-graduates, who neglected to pay the accustomed compliment of _capping_. the bishop inquired the reason of the neglect. the two men begged his lordship's pardon, observing they were _freshmen_, and did not know him. "how long have you been in cambridge?" asked his lordship. "only _eight_ days," was the reply. "very good," said the bishop; "_puppies_ never see till they are _nine_ days old."[ ] mrs elizabeth barrett browning's dog flush. few have written so lovingly on the dog as this gifted poetess. her dog flush is described so well that landseer could paint the creature almost to a hair. she has entered into the very feeling created in us by this favoured pet of our race. the beautiful stanzas[ ] i have copied give also many little touches of her autobiography. this gifted lady was long an invalid. she could enter with rare sympathy into cowper's attachments to animals. her experience of the friendship of flush is well told in the following lines, so different from lord byron's misanthropic verses on his dog:-- to flush, my dog. loving friend, the gift of one who her own true faith has run through her lower nature, be my benediction said with my hand upon thy head, gentle fellow-creature! like a lady's ringlets brown flow thy silken ears adown either side demurely of thy silver-suited breast, shining out from all the rest of thy body purely. darkly brown thy body is, till the sunshine, striking this, alchemise its dulness, when the sleek curls manifold flash all over into gold with a burnish'd fulness. underneath my stroking hand, startled eyes of hazel bland kindling, growing larger, up thou leapest with a spring, full of prank and curveting leaping like a charger. leap! thy broad tail waves a light; leap! thy slender feet are bright, canopied in fringes; leap! those tassell'd ears of thine flicker strangely, fair and fine, down their golden inches. yet, my pretty, sporting friend, little is 't to such an end that i praise thy rareness; other dogs may be thy peers haply in these drooping ears and this glossy fairness. but of _thee_ it shall be said, this dog watch'd beside a bed day and night unweary-- watch'd within a curtain'd room, where no sunbeam brake the gloom, round the sick and dreary. roses gather'd for a vase in that chamber died apace, beam and breeze resigning; this dog only waited on, knowing that, when light is gone, love remains for shining. other dogs in thymy dew track'd the hares, and follow'd through sunny moor or meadow; this dog only crept and crept next a languid cheek that slept, sharing in the shadow. other dogs of loyal cheer bounded at the whistle clear, up the woodside hieing; this dog only watch'd in reach of a faintly-utter'd speech, or a louder sighing. and if one or two quick tears dropp'd upon his glossy ears, or a sigh came double, up he sprang in eager haste, fawning, fondling, breathing fast in a tender trouble and this dog was satisfied if a pale, thin hand would glide down his dewlaps sloping, which he push'd his nose within, after--platforming his chin on the palm left open. this dog, if a friendly voice call him now to blither choice than such chamber-keeping, "come out!" praying from the door, presseth backward as before, up against me leaping. therefore to this dog will i, tenderly, not scornfully, render praise and favour: with my hand upon his head is my benediction said, therefore, and for ever. and because he loved me so, better than his kind will do, often man or woman, give i back more love again than dogs often take of men, leaning from my human. blessings on thee, dog of mine, pretty collars make thee fine, sugar'd milk make fat thee! pleasures wag on in thy tail, hands of gentle motion fail nevermore to pat thee! downy pillow take thy head, silken coverlet bestead, sunshine help thy sleeping! no fly's buzzing wake thee up, no man break thy purple cup set for drinking deep in. whisker'd cats arointed flee, sturdy stoppers keep from thee cologne distillations; nuts lie in thy path for stones, and thy feast-day macaroons turn to daily rations! mock i thee in wishing weal? tears are in my eyes to feel thou art made so straightly; blessing needs must straighten too; little canst thou joy or do, thou who lovest _greatly_. yet be blessèd to the height of all good and all delight pervious to thy nature; only _loved_ beyond that line, with a love that answers thine, loving fellow-creature! sir thomas fowell buxton, bart., and his dog "speaker." sir thomas fowell buxton was very fond of dogs; his son[ ] tells an anecdote of the singular manner in which one of his pets came into his possession. "he was standing at the door of the house of commons talking to a friend, when a beautiful black and tan terrier rushed between them, and immediately began barking furiously at mr joseph pease, who was speaking. all the members jumped up, shouting and laughing, while the officers of the house chased the dog round and round, till at last he took refuge with mr buxton, who, as he could find no traces of an owner, carried him home. he proved to be quite an original. one of his whims was, that he would never go into the kitchen nor yet into a poor man's cottage; but he formed a habit of visiting by himself at the country houses in the neighbourhood of cromer, and his refined manners and intelligence made 'speaker' a welcome guest wherever he pleased to go." lord byron and his dog boatswain. in november lord byron lost his favourite dog boatswain; the poor animal having been seized with a fit of madness, at the commencement of which so little aware was byron of the nature of the malady, that he more than once, with his bare hand, wiped away the slaver from the dog's lips during the paroxysms. in a letter to his friend mr hodson, he thus announces this event:--"boatswain is dead! he expired in a state of madness on the th, after suffering much, yet retaining all the gentleness of his nature to the last, never attempting to do the least injury to any one near him. i have now lost everything except old murray." the monument raised by him to this dog--the most memorable tribute of the kind since the dog's grave, of old, at salamis--is still a conspicuous ornament of the gardens of newstead. the misanthropic verses engraved upon it may be found among his poems, and the following is the inscription by which they are introduced:-- "near this spot are deposited the remains of one who possessed beauty without vanity, strength without insolence, courage without ferocity, and all the virtues of man without his vices. this praise, which would be unmeaning flattery if inscribed over human ashes, is but a just tribute to the memory of boatswain, a dog, who was born at newfoundland, may , and died at newstead abbey, november , ." the poet pope, when about the same age as the writer of this inscription, passed a similar eulogy on his dog, at the expense of human nature; adding that "histories are more full of examples of the fidelity of dogs than of friends." in a still sadder and bitterer spirit, lord byron writes of his favourite:-- "to mark a friend's remains these stones arise; i never knew but _one_, and _here_ he lies."[ ] moore relates a story of this dog, indicative, not only of intelligence, but of a generosity of spirit, which might well win for him the affections of such a master as byron. a fox-terrier of his mother's, called gilpin, was an object of dislike to boatswain, who worried him nearly to the death. gilpin was sent off and boatswain was missed for a day. to the surprise of the servants, towards evening gilpin and boatswain were in company, the former led by the latter, who led him to the kitchen fire, licked him and lavished on him every possible demonstration of joy. he had been away to fetch him, and ever after caressed him, and defended him from the attacks of other dogs. (p. .) "perchance"--a lady's _reason_ for so naming her dog. a lady had a favourite lap-dog, which she called perchance. "a singular name," said somebody, "for a beautiful pet, madam; where did you find it?"--"oh," drawled she, "it was named from byron's dog. you remember where he says, '_perchance_ my dog will howl.'"[ ] collins the artist and his dog "prinny"--a model of "_a model_." william wilkie collins, after a most graphic account of the companions of his artist-father's home,[ ] notices "one who was ever as ready to offer his small aid and humble obedience as were any of his superiors, to confer the benefit of their penetrating advice." i refer to mr collins's dog "prinny" (prince). this docile and affectionate animal had been trained by his master to sit in any attitude, which the introduction of a dog in his picture (a frequent occurrence) might happen to demand. so strict was "prinny's" sense of duty, that he never ventured to move from his set position until his master's signal gave him permission to approach his chair, when he was generally rewarded with a lump of sugar, placed, not between his teeth, but on his nose, where he continued to balance it, until he was desired to throw it into the air and catch it in his mouth, a feat which he very seldom failed to perform. on one occasion his extraordinary integrity in the performance of his duties was thus pleasantly exemplified:--"my father had placed him on the backs of two chairs, his fore-legs on the rails of one, and his hind-legs on the rails of the other; and in this rather arduous position had painted from him for a considerable time, when a friend was announced as waiting for him in another apartment. particularly desirous of seeing this visitor immediately, the painter hurried from the room, entirely forgetting to tell 'prinny' to get down, and remained in conversation with his friend for full half an hour. on returning to his study the first object that greeted him was poor 'prinny,' standing on his 'bad eminence' exactly in the position in which he had been left, trembling with fatigue, and occasionally vending his anguish and distress in a low piteous moan, but not moving a limb, or venturing even to turn his head. not having received the usual signal he had never once attempted to get down, but had remained disconsolate in his position 'sitting' hard, with nobody to paint him, during the long half hour that had delayed his master's return." the soldier and the mastiff. a soldier passing through a meadow, a large mastiff ran at him, and he stabbed the dog with a bayonet. the master of the dog asked him why he had not rather struck the dog with the butt-end of his weapon? "so i should," said the soldier, "if he had run at me with his tail!"[ ] bark and bite. lord clare, who was much opposed to curran, one day brought a newfoundland dog upon the bench, and during curran's speech turned himself aside and caressed the animal. curran stopped. "go on, go on, mr curran," said lord clare.--"oh, i beg a thousand pardons," was the rejoinder. "i really thought your lordship was employed in _consultation_."[ ] mrs drew and the two dogs. (a curiously near approach to moral perception.) in the biography of samuel drew, a.m., a great name among the metaphysical writers of this country, we read a very interesting anecdote of two dogs. his father, a farmer and mail-carrier in cornwall, had procured a newfoundland dog for protection on his journeys, having been attacked by highwaymen. there was a smaller dog which had been bred in the house. the son was living at poplea, in cornwall, when the following circumstance occurred, and he witnessed it:[ ]-- "our dairy was under a room which was used occasionally as a barn and apple-chamber, into which the fowls sometimes found their way; and, in scratching among the chaff, scattered the dust on the pans of milk below, to the great annoyance of my mother-in-law. in this a favourite cock of hers was the chief transgressor. one day in harvest she went into the dairy, followed by the little dog, and finding dust again on her milk-pans, she exclaimed, 'i wish that cock were dead!' not long after, she being with us in the harvest field, we observed the little dog dragging along the cock, just killed, which, with an air of triumph, he laid at my mother-in-law's feet. highly exasperated at the literal fulfilment of her hastily-uttered wish, she snatched a stick from the hedge, and attempted to give the dog a beating. the luckless animal, seeing the reception he was likely to meet with, where he expected marks of approbation, left the bird and ran off, she brandishing her stick, and saying, in a loud angry tone, 'i'll pay thee for this by and by.' in the evening, when about to put her threat into execution, she found the little dog established in a corner of the room, and the large one standing before it. endeavouring to fulfil her intention by first driving off the large dog, he gave her plainly to understand that he was not at all disposed to relinquish his post. she then sought to get at the small dog behind the other, but the threatening gesture, and fiercer growl of the large one, sufficiently indicated that the attempt would be not a little perilous. the result was that she was obliged to abandon her design. in killing the cock i can scarcely think that the dog understood the precise import of my stepmother's wish, as his immediate execution of it would seem to imply. the cock was a more recent favourite, and had received some attentions which had previously been bestowed upon himself. this, i think, had led him to entertain a feeling of hostility to the bird, which he did not presume to indulge, until my mother's tone and manner indicated that the cock was no longer under her protection. in the power of communicating with each other, which these dogs evidently possess, and which, in some instances, has been displayed by other species of animals, a faculty seems to be developed of which we know very little. on the whole, i never remember to have met with a case in which to human appearance there was a nearer approach to moral perception than in that of my father's two dogs." the difference of exchange.--"dog-cheap." dining at a nobleman's table, where the company were praising the claret, his lordship told them that he had received that hogshead of wine in return for a couple of hounds, which he sometime before presented to count lauragais. "why, then, my lord," cried foote, "i not only think your wine excellent, but _dog-cheap_."[ ] gainsborough and his wife and their dogs. thomas gainsborough, the rival of sir joshua in portraiture, wanted that evenness of temper which the president of the royal academy so abundantly possessed. he was easily angered, but as soon appeased, and says his biographer,[ ] "if he was the first to offend, he was the first to atone. whenever he spoke crossly to his wife, a remarkably sweet-tempered woman, he would write a note of repentance, sign it with the name of his favourite dog 'fox,' and address it to his margaret's pet spaniel, 'tristram.' fox would take the note in his mouth, and duly deliver it to tristram. margaret would then answer--'my own dear fox, you are always loving and good, and i am a naughty little female ever to worry you, as i too often do, so we will kiss and say no more about it; your own affectionate tris.'" the writers of such a correspondence could not have led what is called "a cat and dog life." husbands and wives might derive a hint from this anecdote; for we know, from the old ballad, that they will be sulky and quarrel at times even about getting "up to bar the door, o!" sir william gell's dog. the reviewer[ ] of sir thomas browne's works says--"we ourselves have witnessed an example of the curious and credulous exaggeration which has construed certain articulations in animals into rational speech. some time since, in travelling through italy, we heard, in grave earnest, from several italians, of the prodigy of a pomeranian dog that had been taught to speak most intelligibly by sir william gell. afterwards, in visiting that accomplished and lamented gentleman at naples, we requested to hear an animal possessed of so unusual a gift. and, as the friends of the urban scholar can bear witness, the dog undoubtedly could utter a howl, which, assisted by the hand of the master in closing the jaw at certain inflections, might be intelligibly construed into two words not to be repeated. such a dog, with such an anathema in his vocabulary, would have hanged any witch in england three centuries ago." elizabeth, the last duchess of gordon, and the wolf-dog kaiser. the rev. a. moody stuart, in his "life of the last duchess of gordon,"[ ] that truly christian lady, refers to some old pets of the duke's and her own, which, on her becoming a widow, she took with her from gordon castle to huntly lodge, a bullfinch, an immense talbot mastiff named sall, and others. he adds--"to a stranger, the most remarkable of the duke's old favourites was kaiser, an hungarian wolf-dog, with a snow-white fleece, and most sheep-like aspect in the distance, but at whose appearance out of doors, man, woman, and child fled as from a wolf. the duchess called him 'the wolf in sheep's clothing.' her husband's tastes having brought her much into contact with all sorts of dogs, she had learned to pat them confidently at their first introduction, when a large space between their eyes betokened a kindly temper. this open breadth of forehead was strongly marked in sall, a fine old mastiff that used at this time to walk round the dining-room after breakfast, with her noble head reaching the level of the table. but the duke had chosen kaiser for other qualities. two of those wolf-dogs had been brought to him for sale when travelling on the continent; the other was the larger and handsomer animal; but kaiser's eyes, sunk deep in the head, and all but meeting under his shaggy hair, at once fixed his choice on him as 'likest his work.' that work was to defend the sheep from the wolves, and one mode of defence was by laying a strange trap for the enemy. the dog was remarkably like a sheep, his hair white without a dark speck, and he carried a great load of it, long and fleecy like wool. in the hungarian steppes four or five of those dogs would lay themselves down on the grass in the evening, sleeping there like so many harmless lambs, with their faces inward for the heat of each other's breath. the keen eye of the wolf was soon attracted by the white fleeces, with no shepherd near to guard them. eager for blood, he careered swiftly over the plain, and sprang unsuspecting into the midst of the flock, only to find himself clenched in the relentless jaws of kaiser and his comrades, wolves more terrible than himself under the clothing of timid sheep. a conversation once took place at the lodge on the character ascribed to dogs in scripture. it slightly vexed the good duchess that they were so often mentioned in the bible, but only as emblems of what is foul and fierce, except in a single instance, and that not of commendation, but neutrality. this exception, she said, occurred in the book of proverbs, where the greyhound is named, along with the lion and the goat, as 'comely in going,' yet merely in praise of his external beauty. but her difficulty was relieved by the reply, that in isaiah lvi. , the "dog" is really used in a good sense as applied to the spiritual watchmen of the lord's flock. for the unfaithful shepherds, being there likened to dumb dogs that cannot bark, were not censured under the simple image of watch-dogs, but because, as such, they were faithless and useless; implying that the good watch-dog is an honourable emblem of the true pastor, watching for the souls committed to his care, and solemnly warning them of approaching danger." frederick the great and his italian greyhounds. dr john moore, when travelling with the duke of hamilton, saw and heard a good deal of frederick the great, and has given in his second volume of "a view of society and manners in france," &c., many interesting particulars of his private and public life. among these, he alludes to his using "a very large gold snuff-box, the lid ornamented with diamonds," and his taking "an immoderate quantity of spanish snuff, the marks of which very often appear on his waistcoat and breeches. these are also liable to be soiled by the paws of two or three italian greyhounds, which he often caresses" (vol. ii. p. ). the dog and the french murderers. (an occurrence in the spring of .) thomas raikes,[ ] in his journal th march , records:--"eight years ago, a labouring man in the department of the loire was found murdered in a wood near his house, and his dog sitting near the body. no clue could be gained to the perpetrators of the crime, and his widow continued to live in the same cottage, accompanied always by the faithful animal. last week two men, apparently travellers, stopped at the house, requesting shelter from the storm, which was granted; but no sooner had the dog perceived them, than he flew at them with fury, and could not be pacified. as they were quitting the house, one of them said to the other, 'that rascally dog has not forgotten us.' this raised the suspicion of the widow, who overheard it, and applying to the gendarmes in the neighbourhood, they followed and arrested them. the result has been that, after a long examination, one of them has confessed the crime, and impeached his associate." * * * * * hannah more wrote an ode addressed to garrick's famous house-dog dragon. a copy of this she gave to sir joshua reynolds in , while still unprinted, under an oath neither to take nor give a copy of it, which oath sir joshua had observed (she says) like a true knight, only reading it to his visitors till some of them learned it by heart. the "charming bagatelle" was afterwards printed, that posterity might be enabled to wonder what a small expenditure of wit in metre sufficed to purchase a large modicum of fame among the blues of that day.[ ] robert hall and the dog. the eloquent robert hall and dr leifchild were often in each other's company when at bristol, travelling and preaching together at anniversaries and ordinations. the son and biographer of the latter says:[ ]--"i rode with them from bristol to wells, and can now, in imagination, see mr hall smoking and reclining on one seat of the carriage, while my father sat on the other. i can see mr hall descending at a blacksmith's shop to re-light his pipe, making his way directly to the forge, and jumping aside with unwonted agility, when a huge dog growled at him. i can recall his look, when rallied on his agility, after his return to the carriage. 'you seemed afraid of the dog, sir,' said my father. 'apostolic advice, sir--beware of dogs,' rejoined mr hall." dr leifchild, in another part of the memoir (p. ), relates that some housekeeper would exclaim to him, as he was about to enter the house of friend or stranger, "don't be afraid of the dog, sir, he never bites."--"are you quite sure he never bites?" was his prompt question.--"quite sure, sir," rejoined the servant.--"then," rejoined the good-humoured doctor, "if he never _bites_, how does he live?" a queen and her lap-dog. henrietta maria, queen of charles i., on her return to burlington bay with assistance for her husband, was attacked in the house where she slept by the cannonade of five ships of war belonging to the parliament. she left the house amid the whistling of balls, one of which killed one of her servants. when on her way to the shelter of a ditch, she remembered that an aged lap-dog, called "mitte," was left behind. she was much attached to this old favourite, and returned to the house she had left. rushing up-stairs into her chamber, she caught up her old pet, which was reposing on her bed, and carried her off in safety. having done this, the queen and her ladies gained the ditch, and crouched down in it, while the cannon played furiously over their heads.[ ] the clever dog that belonged to the hunters of polmood. the estate of polmood, in peeblesshire, was the subject of extraordinary litigation, and a volume of considerable bulk is devoted to its history. this work contains much curious evidence from aged country folks in the western parts of the country. mr chambers[ ] tells us that in the history "reminiscences concerning a wonderfully clever dog are put forward as links in the line of propinquity." the deponent has heard his father say that robert hunter had a remarkable dog called "algiers;" and that, when robert lived at woodend, he used to tie a napkin round the dog's neck with money in it, and send him for snuff to lammington, which is about three miles from woodend, and that the dog executed his message faithfully, and prevented everybody from laying hold of or stopping him. another venerable deponent, aged eighty-nine, had heard his mother tell many stories about a dog belonging to uncle robert, which went by the name of "algiers;" that they used to cut a fleece off him every year sufficient to make a pair of stockings; and that uncle robert used to tie a purse round his neck, with money in it, and the dog then swam the tweed, and brought back tobacco from the crook! and a third declares that "algiers" could be sent to edinburgh with a letter, and bring back a letter to his master. the irish clergyman and the dogs. mr fitzpatrick, in his anecdotal memoirs of archbishop whately, tells a story of an eccentric irish parson. this person, when preaching, was interrupted in his homily by two dogs, which began to fight in church. he descended the pulpit, and endeavoured to separate them. on returning to his place, the clergyman, who was rather an absent man, asked the clerk, "where was i a while ago?"--"wasn't yer riverence appaising the dogs?" responded the other.[ ] washington irving and the dog. patrick fraser tytler, author of "the history of scotland," in a letter to his wife in , says--"at lady morton's, one evening, i met with washington irving. i had heard him described as a very silent man, who was always observing others, but seldom opened his lips. instead of which, his tongue never lay still; and he gets out more wee wordies in a minute than any ordinary converser does in five. but i found him a very intelligent and agreeable man. i put him in mind of his travelling with our dear tommy. he had at first no recollection; but i brought it back to his memory by the incident of the little black dog, who always went before the horses in pulling up hill, and pretended to assist them. i put him in mind of his own wit, 'that he wondered if the doggie mistook himself for a horse;' at which he laughed, and added, 'yes, and thought it very hard that he was not rubbed down at the end of the journey.'"[ ] douglas jerrold and his dog. jerrold had a favourite dog that followed him everywhere. one day in the country, a lady, who was passing, turned round and said audibly, "what an ugly little brute!" whereupon jerrold, addressing the lady, replied, "oh, madam! i wonder what he thinks _about us_ at this moment."[ ] sheridan and the dog. after witnessing the first representation of a dog-piece by reynolds, called the "caravan," sheridan suddenly came into the green-room, on purpose, it was imagined, to wish the author joy. "where is he?" was the first question; "where is my guardian angel?"--"here i am," answered reynolds.--"pooh!" replied sheridan, "i don't mean _you_, i mean _the dog_."[ ] charles lamb and his dog. thomas hood had a dog called "dash." this dog he gave to charles lamb. the ready-witted elia often took the creature out with him when walking at enfield. on one occasion, the dog dashed off to chase some young sheep. the owner of the muttons came out quite indignant at the owner, to expostulate with him on the assault of lamb's dog on his sheep. elia, with his quiet ready wit, replied, "hunt _lambs_, sir?--why, he never hunted _me_."[ ] french dogs, time of louis xi.--history of his dog "relais" by louis xii. horace walpole, in one of his gossiping letters to the countess of ossory in , writes, "you must not be surprised if i should send you a collection of tonton's _bons-mots_. i have found a precedent for such a work. a grave author wrote a book on the 'hunt of the grand senechal of normandy,' and of _les dits du bon chien souillard, qui fut au roi loy de france onzieme du nom_. louis xii., the reverse of the predecessor of the same name, did not leave to his historian to celebrate his dog "relais," but did him the honour of being his biographer himself; and for a reason that was becoming so excellent a king. it was _pour animer les descendans d'un si brave chien à se rendre aussi bons que lui, et encore meilleurs_. it was great pity the cardinal d'amboise had no bastard puppies, or, to be sure, his majesty would have written his prime minister's life too, for a model to his successors."[ ] martin luther observes a dog at lintz. in the "table talk" of martin luther, it is recorded:--"i saw a dog at lintz, in austria, that was taught to go with a hand-basket to the butchers' shambles for meat. when other dogs came about him, and sought to take the meat out of the basket, he set it down and fought lustily with them; but when he saw they were too strong for him, he himself would snatch out the first piece of meat, lest he should lose all. even so does now our emperor charles; who, after having long protected spiritual benefices, seeing that every prince takes possession of monasteries, himself takes possession of bishoprics, as just now he has seized upon those of utrecht and liège."[ ] the poor dog at the grotta del cane. henry matthews,[ ] like other visitors of naples, went to the celebrated _grotta del cane_, or dog grotto, on the borders of lake agnano, so called from the vapour in the cave, destructive to animal life, being shown by means of a dog. in his diary, of march , , he records:--"travellers have made a great display of sensibility in their strictures upon the spectacle exhibited here; but to all appearance the dog did not care much about it. it may be said, with truth of him, that he is _used_ to it; for he dies many times a day, and he went to the place of execution wagging his tail. he became insensible in two minutes; but upon being laid on the grass, he revived from his trance in a few seconds, without the process of immersion in the lake, which is generally mentioned as necessary to his recovery. from the voracity with which he bolted down a loaf of bread which i bought for him, the vapour does not seem to injure the animal functions. addison seems to have been very particular in his experiments upon the vapour of this cavern. he found that a pistol would not take fire in it; but upon laying a train of gunpowder, and igniting it beyond the sphere of the vapour, he found that it could not intercept the train of fire when it had once begun flashing, nor hinder it from running to the very end. he subjected a dog to a second trial in order to ascertain whether he was longer in expiring the first than the second time; and he found there was no sensible difference. a viper bore it _nine minutes_ the first time he put it in, and _ten minutes_ the second; and he attributes the prolonged duration of the second trial to the large provision of air that the viper laid in after his first death, upon which stock he supposes it to have existed a minute longer the second time." dog, a postman and carrier. robert southey says, that "near moffat a dog used for many years to meet the mail and receive the letters for a little post-town near."[ ] how often may you see a dog carrying a basket or a parcel. no enticement, even of a dog-friend or of a great bone, will induce this faithful servant to abandon his charge. every one must have observed this. dog-matic. in the great dispute between south and sherlock, the latter, who was a great courtier, said--"his adversary reasoned well, but he barked like a cur." to which the other replied, "that _fawning_ was the property of a cur as well as barking."[ ] general moreau and his greyhound. "the day after the battle of dresden ( th aug. ), a greyhound was brought to the king of saxony, the ally of napoleon. the dog was moaning piteously. on the collar were engraved the words, 'i belong to the general moreau.' where was the dog's master? by the side of the emperor alexander. moreau had been mortally wounded. the dog had remained with his master until his death. while moreau was conversing with the emperor alexander a cannon-shot nearly carried off both his legs. it is said that throughout the five days during which he lingered he uttered not a murmur of pain."[ ] * * * * * at the battle of solferino, where rifled cannon were first brought to bear in warfare, a dog excited great attention by its attachment to the body of its slain master. it became the chief object in a painting of the circumstance, from which an engraving was executed. a duke of norfolk and his spaniels. in southey's "common-place book," th ser. p. , he writes--"our marlborough and king james's spaniels are unrivalled in beauty. the latter breed (black and tan, with hair almost approaching to silk in fineness, such as vandyke loved to introduce into his portraits) were solely in the possession of the late duke of norfolk. he never travelled without two of his favourites in the carriage. when at worksop he used to feed his eagles with the pups; and a stranger to his exclusive pride in the race, seeing him one day employed in thus destroying a whole litter, told his grace how much he should be delighted to possess one of them. the duke's reply was a characteristic one. 'pray, sir, which of my estates should you like to have?'" there are shepherds who possess collies, such _proud_, useful servants and friends, that no bribe would induce them to part with them. but what old favourite dog or even bird is there that any one would part with? man, be he scavenger or duke, is very similar in this species of attachment. lord north and the dog. in several of the caricatures published about the year , when fox and burke had joined lord north, and helped to form what is called the coalition ministry, a dog is represented. this, says mr wright,[ ] is said to be an allusion to an occurrence in the house of commons. during the last defensive declamation of lord north, on the eve of his resignation, a dog, which had concealed itself under the benches, came out and set up a hideous howling in the midst of his harangue. the house was thrown into a roar of laughter, which continued until the intruder was turned out; and then lord north coolly observed, "as the new member has ended his argument, i beg to be allowed to continue mine." perthes derives hints from his dog. in a letter, written when he first came to gotha, perthes, the publisher, says--"do not laugh if i tell you that my dog has given me many a hint upon human nature. i never before had a dog constantly with me, and i now ask myself whether the poodle be not a man, and men poodles. i am not led to this thought by the animal propensities which we have in common, such as eating, drinking, &c., but by those of a more refined character. he too is cheerful and dejected, excited and supine, playful and morose, gentle and bold, caressing and snappish, patient and refractory; just like us men in all things, even in his dreams! this likeness is not to me at all discouraging; on the contrary, it suggests a pleasing hope that this flesh and blood which plagues and fetters us, is not the real man, but merely the earthly clothing which will be cast off when he no longer belongs to earth, provided he has not sinfully chosen to identify himself with the merely material. the devil's chief seat is not in matter but in the mind, where he fosters pride, selfishness, and hatred, and by their means destroys not what is transitory but what is eternal in man."[ ] peter the great and his favourite dog lisette. mr stoehlin[ ] relates the following anecdote of the czar peter, on the authority of miss anne cramer, the chambermaid to the empress. in the cabinet of natural history of the academy at st petersburg, is preserved, among a number of uncommon animals, lisette, the favourite dog of the russian monarch. she was a small, dun-coloured italian greyhound, and very fond of her master, whom she never quitted but when he went out, and then she laid herself down on his couch. at his return she showed her fondness by a thousand caresses, followed him wherever he went, and during his afternoon nap lay always at his feet. a person belonging to the court, having excited the anger of the czar--i do not know by what means--was confined in the fort, and there was reason to suppose that he would receive the punishment of the knout on the first market-day. the whole court, and the empress herself, thought him innocent, and considered the anger of the czar as excessive and unjust. every means was tried to save him, and the first opportunity taken to intercede in his favour. but, so far from succeeding, it served only to irritate the emperor the more, who forbade all persons, even the empress, to speak for the prisoner, and, above all, to present any petition on the subject, under the pain of incurring his highest displeasure. it was supposed that no resource remained to save the culprit. however, those who in concert with the czarina interested themselves in his favour, devised the means of urging their suit without incurring the penalty of the prohibition. they composed a short but pathetic petition, in the name of lisette. after having set forth her uncommon fidelity to her master, she adduced the strongest proofs of innocence of the prisoner, entreated the czar to take the matter into consideration, and to be propitious to her prayer, by granting him his liberty. this petition was tied to her collar, in such a manner as to be easily visible. on the czar's return from the admiralty and senate, lisette, as usual, came leaping about him; and he perceived the paper, folded in the form of a petition. he took, and read it--"what!" said he; "lisette, do you also present me petitions? well, as it is the first time, i grant your prayer." he immediately sent a denthtchick[ ] to the fort, with orders to set the prisoner at liberty. the light company's poodle and sir f. ponsonby. captain gronow, in his gossiping book,[ ] says--"every regiment has a pet of some sort or another. one distinguished highland regiment possesses a deer; the welsh fusiliers a goat, which is the object of their peculiar affection, and which generally marches with the band. the light company of my battalion of the st guards in rejoiced in a very handsome poodle, which, if i mistake not, had been made prisoner at vittoria. at the commencement of the battle of the th of december , near the mayor's house, not far from bidart, we observed the gallant frederick ponsonby well in front with the skirmishers, and by the side of his horse the soldiers' poodle. the colonel was encouraging our men to advance, and the poodle, in great glee, was jumping and barking at the bullets, as they flew round him like hail. on a sudden we observed ponsonby struggling with a french mounted officer, whom he had already disarmed, and was endeavouring to lead off to our lines; when the french skirmishers, whose numbers had increased, fired several shots, and wounded ponsonby, forcing him to relinquish his prisoner, and to retire. at the same time, a bullet broke one of the poor dog's legs. for his gallant conduct in this affair, the poodle became, if possible, a still greater favourite than he was before; and his friends, the men of the light company, took him to england, where i saw my three-legged friend for several years afterwards, the most prosperous of poodles, and the happiest of the canine race." admiral rodney and his dog loup. earl stanhope, in his history,[ ] remarks--"to those who love to trace the lesser lights and shades of human character, i shall owe no apology if i venture to record of the conqueror of de grasse, that even in his busiest hours he could turn some kindly thoughts not only to his family and friends, but to his dog in england. that dog, named loup, was of the french fox-breed, and so attached to his master, that when the admiral left home to take the command of his fleet, the faithful animal remained for three days in his chamber, watching his coat, and refusing food. the affection was warmly returned. on many more than one occasion we find rodney wrote much as follows to his wife--'remember me to my dear girls and my faithful friend loup; i know you will kiss him for me.'"[ ] ruddiman and his dog rascal. george chalmers, in his life of the learned thomas ruddiman,[ ] tells us that "young ruddiman was initiated in grammar at the parish-school of boyndie, in banffshire, which was distant a mile from his father's dwelling; and which was then taught by george morison, whom his pupil always praised for his attention and his skill. to this school the boy walked every morning, carrying his daily provisions with him. he is said to have been daily accompanied by a dog, which, when he had proceeded to the top of tooting-hillock, the halfway resting-place, always returned home after partaking of his victuals. this story is still ( ) remembered, as if there were in it something supernatural. we may suppose, however, that the excursion was equally agreeable to both parties; and when it was once known that the dog was to eat at a particular place at a stated hour, an appropriate allowance was constantly made for him. whether ruddiman had a natural fondness for dogs, or whether a particular attachment began, when impressions are easily made, which are long remembered, cannot now be ascertained. he certainly, throughout a long life, had a succession of dogs, which were invariably called _rascal_; and which, being springing spaniels, ever accompanied him in all his walks. he used, with affectionate recollection, to entertain his friends with stories of dogs, which all tended to show the fidelity of that useful animal to man." * * * * * mrs schimmelpenninck, authoress of "select memoirs of port royal," died in . her interesting autobiography and life were published in by her relation, christiana c. hankin. in p. it is remarked that "her love of animals formed quite a feature in her daily habits. like st francis, she delighted to attract the little birds, by tempting them with dainty food upon her verandah; and it was a positive pleasure to her to watch their feast. she had a bag made, which was always filled with oats, to regale any stray horse or ass; and she has been seen surrounded by four goats, each standing on its hind legs, with its uplifted front feet resting on her, and all eagerly claiming the salt she had prepared for them. but her great delight was in dogs. she never forgot those sad hours in childhood, when, unable to mix in the sports of children from illness (perhaps, too, from her want of sympathy in the usual pleasures of that age), the beautiful dogs at barr were her companions and friends. "it is no figure of speech to say that she had a large acquaintance amongst the dogs at clifton. she always carried a pocketful of biscuit to feed them; and she had a canine friend who for years was in the daily habit of waiting at her door to accompany her morning walk, after which he received his little portion of biscuit, and returned to his home. timid as mrs schimmelpenninck was by nature and by habit, she had no idea of personal fear of animals, and especially of dogs. i have seen her go up without hesitation to some splendid specimen of the race, of which everybody else was afraid, to stroke him, or offer food; when the noble creature, with that fine perception often so remarkably manifested by dogs and children, would look up in her face, and then return her caress, and crouch down at her feet in love and confidence. her own two beautiful little spaniels were her constant companions in her walks; their happy gambols were always a source of pleasure."[ ] * * * * * sir walter scott loved dogs dearly. in his novels and poetical works his knowledge of them and his regard often appear. he loved them, from the stately deerhound to the wiry terrier. he was quite up to the ways of their education. dandie dinmont, in "guy mannering," speaking of his terriers, says, "i had them a' regularly entered, first wi' rottens, then wi' stots and weasels, and then wi' the tods and brocks, and now they fear naething that ever comes wi' a hairy skin on't." then, again, read washington irving's description of his visit to abbotsford, and how, on scott taking him out for a walk, a host of his dogs attended, evidently as a matter of course. he often spoke to them during the walk. the american author was struck with the stately gravity of the noble staghound maida, while the younger dogs gambolled about him, and tried to get him to gambol. maida would occasionally turn round suddenly, and give one of the playful creatures a tumble, and look at scott and irving, as much as to say, "you see, gentlemen, i cannot help giving way to this nonsense;" when on he would go as grave as ever. "i make no doubt," said scott to his companion, "when maida is alone with these young dogs, he throws gravity aside, and plays the boy as much as any of them; but he is ashamed to do so in our company, and seems to say, "ha' done with your nonsense, youngsters; what will the laird and that other gentleman think of me if i give way to such foolery?" a little volume might almost be made on sir walter scott and his dogs. wilkie, allan, and especially sir edwin landseer, have handed down to us the portraits of many of them. his works, and biography by lockhart, and the writings of his many visitors, would afford many an interesting extract. sheridan on the dog-tax. in , a tax, which caused great discontent and ridicule, was laid for the first time upon dogs. mr wright, in his "england under the house of hanover," says--"the debates on this tax in the house of commons appear to have been extremely amusing. in opposing the motion to go into committee, sheridan objected that the bill was most curiously worded, as it was, in the first instance, entitled, 'a bill for the protection of his majesty's subjects against dogs.' 'from these words,' he said, 'one would imagine that dogs had been guilty of burglary, though he believed they were a better protection to their masters' property than watchmen.' after having entertained the house with some stories about mad dogs, and giving a discourse upon dogs in general, he asked, 'since there was an exception in favour of puppies, at what age they were to be taxed, and how the exact age was to be ascertained?' the secretary at war, who spoke against the bill, said, 'it would be wrong to destroy in the poor that _virtuous feeling_ which they had for their dog.' in committee, mr lechmere called the attention of the house to ladies' 'lap-dogs.' he knew a lady who had _sixteen_ lap-dogs, and who allowed them a roast shoulder of veal every day for dinner, while many poor persons were starving; was it not, therefore, right to tax lap-dogs very high? he knew another lady who kept one favourite dog, when well, on savoy biscuits soaked in burgundy, and when ailing (by the advice of a doctor) on minced chicken and sweetbread! among the caricatures on this subject, one by gillray (of which there were imitations) represented fox and his friends, hanged upon a gallows, as 'dogs not worth a tax;' while the supporters of government, among whom is burke, with 'g. r.' on his collar, are ranged as well-fed dogs 'paid for.'"[ ] sydney smith dislikes dogs. an ingenious way of getting rid of them. lady holland tells us[ ] that her father, the witty canon of st paul's, disliked dogs. "during one of his visits to london, at a dinner at spencer house, the conversation turned upon dogs. 'oh,' said my father, 'one of the greatest difficulties i have had with my parishioners has been on the subject of dogs.'--'how so?' said lord spencer.--'why, when i first went down into yorkshire, there had not been a resident clergyman in my parish for a hundred and fifty years. each farmer kept a huge mastiff dog ranging at large, and ready to make his morning meal on clergy or laity, as best suited his particular taste. i never could approach a cottage in pursuit of my calling but i rushed into the jaws of one of these shaggy monsters. i scolded, preached, and prayed without avail; so i determined to try what fear for their pockets might do. forthwith appeared in the county papers a minute account of the trial of a farmer, at the northampton sessions, for keeping dogs unconfined; where said farmer was not only fined five pounds and reprimanded by the magistrates, but sentenced to three months' imprisonment. the effect was wonderful, and the reign of cerberus ceased in the land.'--'that accounts,' said lord spencer, 'for what has puzzled me and althorp for many years. we never failed to attend the sessions at northampton, and we never could find out how we had missed this remarkable dog case.'" sydney smith on dogs.[ ] "no, i don't like dogs; i always expect them to go mad. a lady asked me once for a motto for her dog spot. i proposed, 'out, damned spot!' but she did not think it sentimental enough. you remember the story of the french marquise, who, when her pet lap-dog bit a piece out of her footman's leg, exclaimed, 'ah, poor little beast! i hope it won't make him sick.' i called one day on mrs ----, and her lap-dog flew at my leg and bit it. after pitying her dog, like the french marquise, she did all she could to comfort me by assuring me the dog was a dissenter, and hated the church, and was brought up in a tory family. but whether the bite came from madness or dissent, i knew myself too well to neglect it, and went on the instant to a surgeon, and had it cut out, making a mem. on the way to enter that house no more." sydney smith's "newfoundland dog that breakfasted on parish boys." the rev. sydney smith used to be much amused when he observed the utter want of perception of a joke in some minds. one instance we may cite from his "memoirs:"[ ] "miss ----, the other day, walking round the grounds at combe florey, exclaimed, 'oh, why do you chain up that fine newfoundland dog, mr smith?'--'because it has a passion for breakfasting on parish boys.'--'parish boys!' she exclaimed; 'does he really eat boys, mr smith?'--'yes, he devours them, buttons and all.' her face of horror made me die of laughing." southey on dogs. southey was likewise not a little attached to the memory at least of dogs, as may be inferred by the following passage in a letter to mr bedford, jan. , . snivel was a dog belonging to mr b. in early days. "we had an adventure this morning, which, if poor snivel had been living, would have set up her bristles in great style. a foumart was caught in the back kitchen; you may perhaps know it better by the name of polecat. it is the first i ever saw or smelt; and certainly it was in high odour. poor snivel! i still have the hairs which we cut from her tail thirty years ago; and if it were the fashion for men to wear lockets, in a locket they should be worn, for i never had a greater respect for any creature upon four legs than for poor sni. see how naturally men fall into relic worship; when i have preserved the memorials of that momentary whim so many years, and through so many removals."[ ] dog, a good judge of elocution. when dr leifchild, of craven chapel, london, was a student at hoxton academy, there was a good lecturer on elocution there of the name of true. in the memoir, published in , are some pleasing reminiscences by dr leifchild of this excellent teacher, who seems to have taken great pains with the students, and to have awakened in their breasts a desire to become proficients in the art of speaking. the doctor himself was an admirable example of the proficiency thus attained under good mr true. he records[ ] a ludicrous circumstance which occurred one day. "in reciting satan's address to the evil spirits from 'paradise lost,' a stout student was enjoined to pronounce the three words, 'princes, potentates, warriors,' in successively louder tones, and to speak out boldly. he hardly needed this advice, for the first word came out like distant thunder, the second like approaching thunder, and the third like a terribly near and loud clap. at this last the large housedog, pompey, who had been asleep under the teacher's chair, started up and jumped out of the window into the garden. 'the dog is a good judge, sir,' mildly remarked mr true." cowper's dog beau and the water-lily. illustrated by the story of as intelligent a dog. in _blackwood's magazine_ for there is an address, in blank verse, by mr patrick fraser tytler, "to my dog." mr tytler's brother-in-law, mr hog,[ ] recorded the fact on which this address was founded in his diary at the time. "peter tells a delightful anecdote of cossack, an isle of skye terrier, which belonged originally to his brother at aldourie. it was amazingly fond of his children, one of which, having fallen on the gravel and hurt itself, began to cry out. cossack tried in vain to comfort it by leaping upon it and licking its face. finding all his efforts to pacify the child fruitless, he ran off to a mountain-ash tree, and leaping up, pulled a branch of red _rowan_ berries and carried it in his mouth to the child." horace walpole's pet dog rosette. horace walpole, writing to lord nuneham in november ,[ ] says:--"the rest of my time has been employed in nursing rosette--alas! to no purpose. after suffering dreadfully for a fortnight from the time she was seized at nuneham, she has only languished till about ten days ago. as i have nothing to fill my letter, i will send you her epitaph; it has no merit, for it is an imitation, but in coming from the heart if ever epitaph did, and therefore your dogmanity will not dislike it-- 'sweetest roses of the year, strew around my rose's bier, calmly may the dust repose of my pretty, faithful rose! and if yon cloud-topp'd hill[ ] behind this frame dissolved, this breath resign'd, some happier isle, some humbler heaven, be to my trembling wishes given; admitted to that equal sky, may sweet rose bear me company!'" arrival of tonton, a pet dog, to walpole.--tonton does not understand english. horace walpole, in may ,[ ] had announced tonton's arrival to his correspondent, the hon. h. s. conway. he says:--"i brought him this morning to take possession of his new villa, but his inauguration has not been at all pacific. as he has already found out that he may be as despotic as at st joseph's, he began with exiling my beautiful little cat, upon which, however, we shall not quite agree. he then flew at one of my dogs, who returned it by biting his foot till it bled, but was severely beaten for it. i immediately rung for margaret (his housekeeper) to dress his foot; but in the midst of my tribulation could not keep my countenance, for she cried, 'poor little thing; he does not understand my language!' i hope she will not recollect, too, that he is a papist!" in a postscript he tells the general that tonton "is a cavalier, and a little of the _mousquetaire_ still; but if i do not correct his vivacities, at least i shall not encourage them, like my dear old friend." in a letter of about the same date to mason the poet, he again alludes to his fondness of tonton, but adds--"i have no occasion to brag of my dogmanity."[ ] horace walpole, in , thus refers to margaret, in a letter to lady ossory:--"who is to have the care of the dear mouse in your absence? i wish i could spare margaret, who loves all creatures so well that she would have been happy in the ark, and sorry when the deluge ceased; unless people had come to see noah's old house, which she would have liked still better than cramming his menagerie."[ ] a sly allusion to the numerous fees margaret got from visitors. horace, in another of his letters, alludes to this, and, in a joke, proposes to marry margaret to enrich himself. horace walpole.--death of his dog tonton. horace walpole, writing to the countess of ossory, feb. , ,[ ] says:--"i delayed telling you that tonton is dead, and that i comfort myself. he was grown stone deaf, and very nearly equally blind, and so weak that the two last days he could not walk up-stairs. happily he had not suffered, and died close by my side without a pang or a groan. i have had the satisfaction, for my dear old friend's sake and his own, of having nursed him up, by constant attention, to the age of sixteen, yet always afraid of his surviving me, as it was scarcely possible he could meet a third person who would study his happiness equally. i sent him to strawberry, and went thither on sunday to see him buried behind the chapel near rosette. i shall miss him greatly, and must not have another dog; i am too old, and should only breed it up to be unhappy when i am gone. my resource is in two marble kittens that mrs damer has given me, of her own work, and which are so much alive that i talk to them, as i did to poor tonton! if this is being superannuated, no matter; when dotage can amuse itself it ceases to be an evil. i fear my marble playfellows are better adapted to me, than i am to being your ladyship's correspondent." poor tonton was left to walpole by "poor dear madame de deffand." in a letter to the rev. mr cole, in , he announces its arrival, and how "she made me promise to take care of it the last time i saw her. that i will most religiously, and make it as happy as is possible."[ ] archbishop whately and his dogs. "in these rambles he was generally attended by three uncompromising-looking dogs, the heads of which, if it were possible to draw them together in shamrock form, would forcibly suggest cerberus. richard whately found, or thought he found, in the society of these dogs far brighter intelligence, and infinitely more fidelity, than in many of the oxford men, who had been fulsomely praised for both. "in devotion to his dogs, dr whately continued true to the end of his life, and during the winter season might be daily seen in st stephen's green, dublin, playing at 'tig' or 'hide and seek' with his canine attendants. sometimes the old archbishop might be seen clambering up a tree, secreting his handkerchief or pocket-knife in some cunning nook, then resuming his walk, and, after a while, suddenly affecting to have lost these articles, which the dogs never failed immediately to regain. "that he was a close observer of the habits of dogs and other quadrupeds we have evidence in his able lecture on 'animal instinct.' dr whately, when referring to another subject, once said not irrelevantly, 'the power of duly appreciating _little_ things belongs to a great mind: a narrow-minded man has it not, for to him they are _great_ things.' dr whately was of opinion that some brutes were as capable of exercising reason as instinct. in his 'lectures and reviews' (p. ) he tells of a dog which, being left on the bank of a river by his master, who had gone up the river in a boat, attempted to join him. he plunged into the water, but not making allowance for the strength of the stream, which carried him considerably below the boat, he could not beat up against it. he landed, and made allowance for the current of the river by leaping in at a place higher up. the combined action of the stream and his swimming carried him in an oblique direction, and he thus reached the boat. dr whately adopts the following conclusion--'it appears, then, that we can neither deny reason universally and altogether to brutes, nor instinct to man; but that each possesses a share of both, though in very different proportions.'"[ ] sir david wilkie could not see a pun.--"a dog-rose." the son and biographer of william collins, the royal academician,[ ] quotes from a manuscript collection of anecdotes, written by that charming painter of country life and landscape, the following on sir david wilkie:--"wilkie was not quick in perceiving a joke, although he was always anxious to do so, and to recollect humorous stories, of which he was exceedingly fond. as instances, i recollect once when we were staying at mr wells's, at redleaf, one morning at breakfast a very small puppy was running about under the table. 'dear me,' said a lady, 'how this creature teases me!' i took it up and put it into my breast-pocket. mr wells said, 'that is a pretty nosegay.'--'yes,' said i, 'it is a dog-rose.' wilkie's attention, sitting opposite, was called to his friend's pun, but all in vain. he could not be persuaded to see anything in it. i recollect trying once to explain to him, with the same want of success, hogarth's joke in putting the sign of the woman without a head ('the good woman') under the window from which the quarrelsome wife is throwing the dinner into the street." ulysses and his dog. richard payne knight, in his "inquiry into the principles of taste,"[ ] when treating of the "sublime and pathetic," quotes the story of ulysses and his dog, as follows:--"no dutch painter ever exhibited an image less imposing, or less calculated to inspire awe and terror, or any other of burke's symptoms or sources of the sublime (unless, indeed, it be a stink), than the celebrated dog of ulysses lying upon a dunghill, covered with vermin and in the agonies of death; yet, when in such circumstances, on hearing the voice of his old master, who had been absent twenty years, he pricks his ears, wags his tail, and expires, what heart is not at once melted, elevated, and expanded with all those glowing feelings which longinus has so well described as the genuine effects of the true sublime? that master, too--the patient, crafty, and obdurate ulysses, who encounters every danger and bears every calamity with a constancy unshaken, a spirit undepressed, and a temper unruffled--when he sees this faithful old servant perishing in want, misery, and neglect, yet still remembering his long-lost benefactor, and collecting the last effort of expiring nature to give a sign of joy and gratulation at his return, hides his face and wipes away the tear! this is true sublimity of character, which is always mixed with tenderness--mere sanguinary ferocity being terrible and odious, but never sublime. [greek: agathoi polydakrytoi andres]--_men prone to tears are brave_, says the proverbial greek hemistich; for courage, which does not arise from mere coarseness of organisation, but from that sense of dignity and honour which constitutes the generous pride of a high mind, is founded in sensibility." footnotes: [ ] "the olio," by the late francis grose, esq., f.a.s., p. . [ ] "dogs and their ways;" illustrated by numerous anecdotes, compiled from authentic sources, by the rev. charles williams. . [ ] it may interest the reader, who does not dive deep into literary curiosities, to refer to the original edition of hayley's "cowper" ( to, , vol. i. p. ), where the poet, in a letter to samuel rose, esq., written at weston, august , , alludes to his having "composed a _spick_ and _span_ new piece called 'the dog and the water-lily;'" and in his next letter, september , he sent this piece to his excellent friend, the london barrister. visitors to olney and weston, who have gone over the poet's walks, cannot but have their love for the gentle and afflicted cowper most deeply _intensified_.--_see_ miller's "first impressions." [ ] this book, like storer's other illustrations of the scenes of the poems of burns and bloomfield, drawn immediately after the death of these poets, will become year by year more valuable. [ ] "memoirs of the life of the right honourable sir james mackintosh," edited by his son, robert james mackintosh, esq., vol. i. p. . [ ] "bawsn't," having a white stripe down the face.--_glossary to burns's poems._ [ ] see an extract farther on, in proof of this. [ ] "the jordan and the rhine" ( ), p. , and pp. - . [ ] _see_ layard's "nineveh and its remains," vol. ii. ( ), p. . [ ] "ladak, physical, statistical, and historical," p. . [ ] "memoir of bishop blomfield," by his son, i. . [ ] mark lemon, "jest book," p. . [ ] a selection from the poetry of elizabeth barrett browning. london, , pp. - . [ ] "memoirs of sir thomas fowell buxton, bart.," edited by his son, charles buxton, esq., b.a., third edition, p. . [ ] moore's "life of byron," chap. vii. p. . [ ] mark lemon, "jest book," p. . [ ] "memoirs of the life of wm. collins, r.a.," by his son, i. . [ ] mark lemon, "jest book," p. . [ ] _loc. cit._ p. . [ ] "the life, character, and literary labours of samuel drew, a.m.," by his eldest son, p. . [ ] "memoirs of samuel foote, esq.," &c., by w. cooke, esq., vol. ii. p. . [ ] "life of thomas gainsborough, r.a.," by the late george william fulcher, p. . [ ] _edinburgh review_, , vol. lxiv. p. . [ ] "life and letters of elizabeth, last duchess of gordon," by the rev. a. moody stuart, , pp. - . [ ] portion of the journal kept by thomas raikes, esq., from to , vol. iii. p. . [ ] "life and times of sir joshua reynolds," by c. r. leslie, r.a. and tom taylor, m.a., vol. ii. p. . [ ] "john leifchild, d.d. his public ministry, &c.," by j. r. leifchild, a.m., p. . [ ] agnes strickland, "lives of the queens of england," vol. v. p. (ed. ). [ ] "a history of peeblesshire," by william chambers of glenormiston, p. . [ ] vol. i. p. . [ ] memoir by his friend, the rev. john w. burgon, p. . [ ] mark lemon, "jest book," p. . [ ] mark lemon, "jest book," p. . [ ] "charles lamb: his friends, his haunts, and his books," by percy fitzgerald, m.a., , p. . [ ] cunningham's edition of correspondence, viii. p. . [ ] "the table talk; or, familiar discourse of martin luther," p. . [ ] "the diary of an invalid; being the journal of a tour in pursuit of health in portugal, italy, switzerland, and france in - ," p. . [ ] "common-place book," th ser. p. . [ ] mark lemon, "jest book," p. . [ ] "memoir of baron larrey, surgeon-in-chief of the grande armée." london. . p. . [ ] "england under the house of hanover," by thomas wright, esq., m.a., vol. ii. p. . [ ] "memoir of perthes," vol. ii. pp. - . [ ] "original anecdotes of peter the great, collected from the conversation of several persons of distinction at st petersburg and moscow," by mr stoehlin, member of the imp. acad., st peters., p. . [ ] a denthtchick is a soldier appointed to wait on an officer. [ ] "recollections and anecdotes," d ser., by capt. r. h. gronow, p. ( ). [ ] "history of england, from the peace of utrecht to the peace of versailles," by lord mahon, vii. p. . [ ] see mundy's "life of lord rodney," vol. i. . "remember me to my dear girls and poor loup. kiss them for me. i hope they were pleased with my letter." vol. ii. p. . [ ] "life of thomas ruddiman, a.m., the keeper for almost fifty years of the library belonging to the faculty of advocates, edinburgh," p. . [ ] see her "autobiography," p. , for an anecdote of her saving a little dog, tied in a basket of stones, from the water. she called it "moses." [ ] vol. ii. pp. , . [ ] "memoir of the rev. sydney smith," by his daughter, lady holland, &c., vol. i. p. . [ ] "life of the rev. sydney smith," by his daughter, lady holland, &c., vol. i. p. . [ ] vol. i. p. . [ ] "life and correspondence," vol. v. p. . [ ] "john leifchild, d.d., his public ministry, private usefulness, and personal characteristics," founded upon an autobiography, by j. r. leifchild, a.m., p. . [ ] see burgon's "memoir of patrick f. tytler," p. . [ ] letter first published in cunningham's chronological edition, vol. vi. p. . [ ] richmond hill. the dog died at strawberry hill. [ ] correspondence, chronologically arranged by peter cunningham, viii. p. . [ ] _loc. cit._, p. . [ ] vol. vi. p. . [ ] "the letters of horace walpole, earl of orford," edited by peter cunningham, now first chronologically arranged, ix. p. . [ ] _loc. cit._, viii. p. . [ ] fitzpatrick, "memoirs of richard whately, archbishop of dublin," vol. i. pp. , ( ). [ ] "memoirs of the life of william collins, r.a.," by his son, w. wilkie collins, i. . [ ] third edition, , p. . wolf. surely the man should get a monument who is proved to have killed the last she-wolf in these islands. how closely allied the wolf is to the dog may be clearly read in the accounts of polar winterings. some of the larger butchers' dogs are singularly wolf-like, and it seems to be _that_ variety which occasionally, as it were, resumes its wolfish habits of prowling at night and killing numbers of sheep in certain districts, as we sometimes read in the country papers of the day. in strathearn, we lately heard of a very recent instance of this wolf-like ferocity breaking out. the dog was traced with great difficulty, and at last shot. he proved to be of the kind alluded to. polson and the last scottish wolf. mr scrope[ ] describes, from traditions still existing on the east coast of sutherland, the destruction of what is supposed to have been the last scottish wolf and her cubs. this was between and . this wolf had committed many depredations on their flocks, and the inhabitants had been unsuccessful in their attempts to hunt it down. a man named polson, attended by two herd boys, went in search of it. polson was an old hunter, and had much experience in tracing and destroying wolves and other predatory animals. forming his own conjectures, he proceeded at once to the wild and rugged ground that surrounds the rocky mountain-gulley which forms the channel of the burn of sledale. here, after a minute investigation, he discovered a narrow fissure in the midst of a confused mass of large fragments of rock, which, upon examination, he had reason to think might lead to a larger opening or cavern below, which the wolf might use as his den. stones were now thrown down, and other means resorted to, to rouse any animal that might be lurking within. nothing formidable appearing, the two lads contrived to squeeze themselves through the fissure, that they might examine the interior, while polson kept guard on the outside. the boys descended through the narrow passage into a small cavern, which was evidently a wolf's den, for the ground was covered with bones and horns of animals, feathers, and egg-shells; and the dark space was somewhat enlivened by five or six active wolf cubs. not a little dubious of the event, the voices of the poor boys came up hollow and anxious from below, communicating this intelligence. polson at once desired them to do their best, and to destroy the cubs. soon after, he heard the feeble howling of the whelps as they were attacked below, and saw almost at the same time, to his great horror, a full-grown wolf, evidently the dam, raging furiously at the cries of her young, and now close upon the mouth of the cavern, which she had approached unobserved, among the rocky irregularities of the place. she attempted to leap down at one bound from the spot where she was first seen. in this emergency, polson instinctively threw himself forward on the wolf, and succeeded in catching a firm hold of the animal's long and bushy tail, just as the forepart of the body was within the narrow entrance of the cavern. he had unluckily placed his gun against a rock, when aiding the boys in their descent, and could not now reach it. without apprising the lads below of their imminent peril, the stout hunter kept firm grip of the wolf's tail, which he wound round his left arm; and although the maddened brute scrambled, and twisted, and strove with all her might to force herself down to the rescue of her cubs, polson was just able, with the exertion of all his strength, to keep her from going forward. in the midst of this singular struggle, which passed in silence--for the wolf was mute, and the hunter, either from the engrossing nature of his exertions, or from his unwillingness to alarm the boys, spoke not a word at the commencement of the conflict--his son within the cave, finding the light excluded from above, asked in gaelic, and in an abrupt tone, "father, what is keeping the light from us?"--"if the root of the tail break," replied he, "you will soon know that." before long, however, the man contrived to get hold of his hunting-knife, and stabbed the wolf in the most vital parts he could reach. the enraged animal now attempted to turn and face her foe, but the hole was too narrow to allow of this; and when polson saw his danger, he squeezed her forward, keeping her jammed in, whilst he repeated his stabs as rapidly as he could, until the animal, being mortally wounded, was easily dragged back and finished. * * * * * a similar story has been given, with the wilds of canada for the scene. the young highlander was said to be dirking pigs, while the father was keeping guard. "phat's keeping out the licht, fayther?" shouts the son.--"if ta tail preaks, tou 'lt fine tat," were the question and answer. footnotes: [ ] "the art of deer-stalking," &c., by william scrope, esq., f.l.s., p. . fox. the sharp-faced fox is a very epitome of cunning, and his name is a by-word for slyness. farmers know well that no fox, nestling close to their houses, ever meddles with their poultry. reynard rambles a good way from home before he begins to plunder. how admirable is professor wilson's description of fox-hunting, quoted here from the "noctes." sir walter scott, in one of his topographical essays, has given a curious account of the way in which a fox, acquainted with the "ins and outs" of a certain old castle, outwitted a whole pack of dogs, who had to jump up singly to get through a small window to which reynard led them. his large tail, so bushy and so free, is of great use to reynard. he often brushes the eyes of his pursuers with it when sprinkled with water anything but sweet, and which, by its pungency, for a time blinds them. the pursuit of the fox is most exciting, and turns out the lord "of high degree," and the country squire and farmer. it is the most characteristic sport of the "better classes" in this country. an enthusiastic fox-hunting surgeon.[ ] a medical gentleman, named hansted, residing near newbury, who was very fond of fox-hunting, ordered his gardener to set a trap for some vermin that infested his garden. as ill luck would have it, a fox was found in the morning with his leg broken, instead of a plant-eating rabbit. the gardener took reynard to the doctor, when he exclaimed, "why did you not call me up in the night, that i might have set the leg?" better late than never: the surgeon set the leg; the fox recovered, and was killed in due form, after a capital run. fox-hunting. (_from the "noctes ambrosianæ," april ._[ ]) _north._ it seems fox-hunting, too, is cruel. _shepherd._ to wham? is't cruel to dowgs, to feed fifty or sixty o' them on crackers and ither sorts o' food, in a kennel like a christian house, wi' a clear burn flowin' through 't, and to gie them, twice a-week or aftener, during the season, a brattlin rin o' thretty miles after a fox? is that cruelty to dowgs? _north._ but the fox, james? _shepherd._ we'll come to the fox by and by. is't cruel to horses, to buy a hundred o' them for ae hunt, rarely for less than a hundred pounds each, and aften for five hundred--to feed them on five or sax feeds o' corn _per diem_--and to gie them skins as sleek as satin--and to gar them nicher (_neigh_) wi' fu'ness o' bluid, sae that every vein in their bodies starts like sinnies (_sinews_)--and to gallop them like deevils in a hurricane, up hill and doun brae, and loup or soom canals and rivers, and flee ower hedges, and dikes, and palings, like birds, and drive crashin' through woods, like elephants or rhinoceroses--a' the while every coorser flingin' fire-flaughts (_flakes_) frae his een, and whitening the sweat o' speed wi' the foam o' fury--i say, ca' you that cruelty to horses, when the hunt charge with all their chivalry, and plain, mountain, or forest are shook by the quadrupedal thunder? _north._ but the fox, james? _shepherd._ we'll come to the fox by and by. is 't cruel to men to inspirit wi' a rampagin happiness fivescore o' the flower o' england or scotland's youth, a' wi' caps and red coats, and whups in their hauns--a troop o' lauchin, tearin', tallyhoin' "wild and wayward humorists," as the doctor ca'd them the tither sunday? _north._ i like the expression, james. _shepherd._ so do i, or i would not have quoted it. but it's just as applicable to a set o' outrageous ministers, eatin' and drinkin', and guffawin' at a presbytery denner. _north._ but the fox, james? _shepherd._ we'll come to the fox by and by. is't cruel to the lambs, and leverets, and geese, and turkeys, and dyucks, and patricks, and wee birds, and ither animal eatables, to kill the fox that devoors them, and keeps them in perpetual het water? _north._ but the fox, james? _shepherd._ deevil take baith you and the fox; i said that we would come to the fox by and by. weel, then, wha kens that the fox isna away snorin' happy afore the houn's? i hae nae doubt he is, for a fox is no sae complete a coward as to think huntin' cruel; and his haill nature is then on the alert, which in itsel' is happiness. huntin' him fa'in into languor and ennui, and growin' ower fat on how-towdies (_barn-door fowls_). he's no killed every time he's hunted. _north._ why, james, you might write for the "annals of sporting." _shepherd._ so i do sometimes--and mair o' ye than me, i jalouse; but i was gaun to ask ye if ye could imagine the delicht o' a fox gettin' into an undiggable earth, just when the leadin' houn' was at his hainches?--ae sic moment is aneuch to repay half an hour's draggle through the dirt; and he can lick himsel' clean at his leisure, far ben in the cranny o' the rock, and come out a' tosh and tidy by the first dawn o' licht, to snuff the mornin' air, and visit the distant farm-house before partlet has left her perch, or count crow lifted his head from beneath his oxter on his shed-seraglio. _north._ was ye ever in at a death? is not that cruel? _shepherd._ do you mean in at the death o' ae fox, or the death o' a hundred thousand men and sixty thousand horses?--the takin' o' a brush, or a borodino? _north._ my dear james, thank ye for your argument. as one chalmers is worth a thousand martins, so is one hogg worth a thousand chalmerses. _shepherd._ ane may weel lose patience, to think o' fules being sorry for the death o' a fox. when the jowlers tear him to pieces, he shows fecht, and gangs aff in a snarl. hoo could he dee mair easier?--and for a' the gude he has ever dune, or was likely to do, he surely had leeved lang eneuch. arctic fox (_vulpes lagopus_). this inoffensive and pretty little creature is found in all parts of the arctic lands. its fur is peculiarly fine and thick; and as in winter this is closer and more mixed with wool than it is in summer, the intense cold of these regions is easily resisted. when sleeping rolled up into a ball, with the black muzzle buried in the long hairs of the tail, there is not a portion of the body but what is protected from the cold, the shaggy hairs of the brush acting as a respirator or boa for the mouth and a muff for the paws. our arctic travellers have remarked, that it is a peculiarly cleanly animal, and its vigilance is extreme. it is almost impossible to come on it unawares, for even when appearing to be soundly asleep, it opens its eyes on the slightest noise being made. during the day it appears to be listless, but no sooner has the night set in than it is in motion, and it continues very active until morning. the young migrate to the southward in the autumn, and sometimes collect in great numbers on the shores of hudson's bay. mr graham noticed that they came there in november and left in april. [illustration: arctic fox. (canis lagopus.)] sir james ross found a fox's burrow on the sandy margin of a lake in the month of july. it had several passages, each opening into a common cell, beyond which was an inner nest, in which the young, six in number, were found. these had the dusky, lead-coloured livery worn by the parents in summer; and though four of them were kept alive till the following winter, they never acquired the pure white coats of the old fox, but retained the dusky colour on the face and sides of the body. the parents had kept a good larder for their progeny, as the outer cell and the several passages leading to it contained many lemmings and ermines, and the bones of fish, ducks, and hares, in great quantities. sir john richardson[ ] observed them to live in villages, twenty or thirty burrows being constructed close to each other. a pair were kept by sir james ross for the express purpose of watching the changes which take place in the colour of their fur. he noticed that they threw off their winter dress during the first week in june, and that this change took place a few days earlier in the female than in the male. about the end of september the brown fur of the summer gradually became of an ash colour, and by the middle of october it was perfectly white. it continued to increase in thickness until the end of november.[ ] a variety of a blackish-brown colour is occasionally met with, but this is rare: such specimens, ross remarks, must have extreme difficulty in surprising their prey in a country whose surface is of an unvaried white, and must also be much more exposed to the persecutions of their enemies. the food of this fox is various, but seems to consist principally of lemmings and of birds and their eggs. he eats, too, the berries of the _empetrum nigrum_, a plant common on our own hills, and goes to the shore for mussels and other shell-fish. otho fabricius[ ] says he catches the arctic salmon as that fish approaches the shore to spawn, and that he seizes too the haddock, having enticed it near by beating the water. crantz, in his "history of greenland," evidently alludes to this cunning habit when he observes, "they plash with their feet in the water, to excite the curiosity of some kinds of fishes to come and see what is going forward, and then they snap them up; and _the greenland women have learnt this piece of art from them_." captain lyon noticed a fox prowling on a hill-side, and heard him for some hours afterwards in the neighbourhood imitating the cry of the brent-goose. in another part of his journal he mentions that the bark is so modulated as to give an idea that it proceeds from a distance, though at the time the fox lies at your feet. it struck him that the creature was gifted "with this kind of ventriloquism in order to deceive its prey as to the distance it is from them." it sometimes catches the ptarmigan; and though it cannot swim, it manages occasionally to get hold of oceanic birds; in fact, nothing alive which it can master seems to come amiss, and failing to make a meal from something it has caught and killed, the arctic fox is glad, like foxes in more favoured lands, to feed on carrion. captain m'clintock, who commanded the yacht _fox_ on the franklin arctic search in and , wintered in the ice pack of baffin's bay. one of the party shot an arctic fox when they were miles from the land. he records in a letter to his brother,[ ] that this wanderer from the shore "was very fat, living upon such few dovekies as were silly enough to spend their winter in the pack." martens, in his "spitzbergen," says, that some of the ship's crew informed him, that the fox when he is hungry "lies down as if he was dead, until the birds fly to him to eat him, which by that trick he catches and eats." our author believed it a fable, but it may nevertheless be one of the many expedients used by a species of a group whose name is proverbial for craftiness and cunning. the flesh of the fox is occasionally eaten by the esquimaux: captain lyon, in his "private journal," says that at first all of his party were horrified at the idea of eating foxes--"but very many soon got the better of their fastidiousness and found them good eating; not being myself very nice, i soon made the experiment, and found the flesh much resembling that of kid, and afterwards frequently had a supper of it." sir james clarke ross, during his five years' imprisonment in boothia felix and the adjoining seas, had ample means of judging of its flavour; he tells us that some of his party, who were the first to taste them, named them "lambs," from their resemblance in flavour to very young lamb. he adds, that the flesh of the old fox is by no means so palatable. during that disastrous expedition the flesh of this fox formed one of the principal luxuries of their table, and it was always "reserved for holidays and great occasions. we ate them boiled, or, more frequently after being parboiled, _roasted_, in a pitch kettle." when the arctic expedition in search of franklin wintered in leopold harbour in - , the commander, sir j. c. ross, made use of the arctic fox as a messenger. having caught some of these animals in traps, a collar with information for the missing parties was put round the neck of each before liberation, as the fox is known to travel great distances in search of food. on captain austin's subsequent expedition in - the same plan was carried out, but it was found to be equally without result. commander osborn thus facetiously describes the circumstance.[ ] "several animals thus intrusted with despatches or records were liberated by different ships; but, as the truth must be told, i fear in many cases the next night saw the poor 'postman,' as jack termed him, in another trap, out of which he would be taken, killed, the skin taken off, and packed away to ornament at some future day the neck of some fair dulcinea. as a 'sub,' i was admitted into this secret mystery, or, otherwise, i with others might have accounted for the disappearance of the collared foxes by believing them busy on their honourable mission. in order that the crime of killing 'the postmen' may be recognised in its true light, it is but fair that i should say, that the brutes, having partaken once of the good cheer on board or around the ships, seldom seemed satisfied with the mere empty honours of a copper collar, and returned to be caught over and over again. strict laws were laid down for their safety, such as that no fox taken alive in a trap was to be killed: of course no fox was after this taken alive; they were all unaccountably dead, unless it was some fortunate wight whose brush and coat were worthless; in such case he lived either to drag about a quantity of information in a copper collar for the rest of his days, or else to die a slow death, as being intended for lord derby's menagerie. the departure of 'a postman' was a scene of no small merriment; all hands, from the captain to the cook, were out to chase the fox, who, half frightened out of its wits, seemed to doubt which way to run, whilst loud shouts and roars of laughter, breaking the cold, frosty air, were heard from ship to ship, as the foxhunters, swelled in numbers from all sides, and those that could not run mounted some neighbouring hummock of ice and gave a loud halloo, which said far more for robust health than for tuneful melody." the arctic fox as a captive has often amused our arctic voyagers, and accounts of it are to be met with in most of their narratives. captain lyon made a pet of one he captured, and confined it on deck in a small kennel with a piece of chain. the little creature astonished the party very much by his extraordinary sagacity, for, on the very first day, having been repeatedly drawn out by his chain, he at length drew his chain in after him whenever he retreated to his hut, and took it in with his mouth so completely, that no one who valued his fingers would venture afterwards to take hold of the end attached to the staple. sir j. c. ross observed in boothia felix a good deal of difference in the disposition of specimens, some being easily tamed, whilst others would remain savage and untractable even with the kindest treatment. he found the females much more vicious than the males. a dog-fox which his party captured lived several months with them, and became so tame in a short time that he regularly attended the dinner-table like a dog, and was always allowed to go at large about the cabin. when newly caught their rage is quite ungovernable, and yet when two are put together they very seldom quarrel. they soon get reconciled to confinement. captain lyon[ ] notices that their first impulse on getting food is to hide it as soon as possible, and this, he observed, they did, even when hungry and by themselves; when there was snow on the ground they piled it over their stores, and pressed it down forcibly with their nose. when no snow was to be obtained, he noticed his pet fox gather the chain into his mouth, and then carefully coil it so as to cover the meat. having gone through this process, and drawn away his chain after him on moving away, he has sometimes repeated his useless labours five or six times, until disgusted, apparently, at the inability of making the morsel a greater luxury by previous concealment, he has been forced to eat it. these creatures use snow as a substitute for water, and it is pleasing to see them break a large lump with their feet, and roll on the pieces with evident delight. when the snow lay lightly scattered on the decks, they did not lick it up as dogs do, but by pressing it repeatedly with their nose, collected a small lump which they drew into their mouth. it may be added that the specific name _lagopus_, or "hare-foot," was given to this fox from the soles of its feet being densely covered with woolly hair, which gives them some resemblance to the feet of a hare. cuvier remarks that other foxes acquire this hair on the soles when taken to northern lands. the specimens, figured so admirably by mr wolf, were drawn from some brought alive to the zoological gardens by one of the late arctic expeditions.--_a. white, in "excelsior" (with additions)._ footnotes: [ ] _edinburgh review_, , vol. lxxiv. p. . [ ] "noctes ambrosianæ." works of professor wilson, vol. i. pp. - . [ ] "fauna boreali-americana." mammalia, p. . [ ] appendix to "second voyage," p. xii. [ ] "fauna groenlandica," p. . [ ] _dublin nat. hist. review, _, p. . [ ] "stray leaves from an arctic journal," p. . [ ] "private journal," p. . jackal. the boy who used to read, long ago, "the three hundred animals," was ever familiar with "_the lion's provider_," as the menagerie showmen, even now, somewhat pompously style this hungry howler of the desert. the jackal is a social kind of dog, and a pack of hungry or excited jackals can howl in notes fit to pierce the ears of the deafest. he is a mean, starved-looking creature in ordinary circumstances, seeming as if his social life prevented his getting what is called _a lion's_ share on any occasion. jackal and tiger. as burke was declaiming with great animation against hastings, he was interrupted by little major scott. "am i," said he, indignantly, "to be teased by the barking of this _jackal_, while i am attacking the royal _tiger_ of bengal?"[ ] cats. another fertile subject for anecdote. who has not some faithful black topsy, tortoise-shell, or tabby, or rather succession of them, whose biographies would afford many a curious story? professor bell[ ] has well defended the general character of poor pussy from the oft-repeated calumnies spread about it. cats certainly get much attached to individuals, as well as to houses and articles in them. they want the lovableness and demonstrativeness of dogs; but their habits are very different, and they are strictly organised to adapt them to watch and to pounce on their prey. as we have elsewhere remarked, and the remark was founded on observation of our eldest daughter when a very young child, "your little baby loves the pussy, and pussy sheathes her claws most carefully, but should baby draw back her arm suddenly, and pussy accidentally scratch that tender skin, how the little girl cries! it is, perhaps, her first lesson that sweets and bitters, pleasures and pains, meekness and ferocity, are mingled in this world."[ ] jeremy bentham and his pet cat "sir john langborn." dr, afterwards sir john, bowring, in the life of that diligent eccentric "codificator," jeremy bentham,[ ] thus alludes to some of his pets:--"bentham was very fond of animals, particularly '_pussies_,' as he called them, 'when they had domestic virtues;' but he had no particular affection for the common race of _cats_. he had one, however, of which he used to boast that he had 'made a man of him,' and whom he was wont to invite to eat maccaroni at his own table. this puss got knighted, and rejoiced in the name of sir john langborn. in his early days, he was a frisky, inconsiderate, and, to say the truth, somewhat profligate gentleman; and had, according to the report of his patron, the habit of seducing light and giddy young ladies of his own race into the garden of queen's square place; but tired at last, like solomon, of pleasures and vanities, he became sedate and thoughtful--took to the church, laid down his knightly title, and was installed as the reverend john langborn. he gradually obtained a great reputation for sanctity and learning, and a doctor's degree was conferred upon him. when i knew him, in his declining days, he bore no other name than the reverend doctor john langborn; and he was alike conspicuous for his gravity and philosophy. great respect was invariably shown his reverence; and it was supposed he was not far off from a mitre, when old age interfered with his hopes and honours. he departed amidst the regrets of his many friends, and was gathered to his fathers, and to eternal rest, in a cemetery in milton's garden.[ ] "'i had a cat,' he said, 'at hendon, which used to follow me about even in the street. george wilson was very fond of animals too. i remember a cat following him as far as staines. there was a beautiful pig at hendon, which i used to rub with my stick. he loved to come and lie down to be rubbed, and took to following me like a dog. i had a remarkably intellectual cat, who never failed to attend one of us when we went round the garden. he grew quite a tyrant, insisting on being fed and on being noticed. he interrupted my labours. once he came with a most hideous yell, insisting on the door being opened. he tormented jack (colls) so much, that jack threw him out of the window. he was so clamorous that it could not be borne, and means were found to send him to another world. his moral qualities were most despotic--his intellectual extraordinary; but he was a universal nuisance." "'from my youth i was fond of cats, as i am still. i was once playing with one in my grandmother's room. i had heard the story of cats having nine lives, and being sure of falling on their legs; and i threw the cat out of the window on the grass-plot. when it fell it turned towards me, looked in my face and mewed. "poor thing!" i said, "thou art reproaching me with my unkindness." i have a distinct recollection of all these things. cowper's story of his hares had the highest interest for me when young; for i always enjoyed the society of tame animals. wilson had the same taste--so had romilly, who kept a noble puss, before he came into great business. i never failed to pay it my respects. i remember accusing romilly of violating the commandment in the matter of cats. my fondness for animals exposed me to many jokes.'" bisset and his musical cats. s. bisset, to whom we referred before, was a scotchman, born at perth. he went to london as a shoemaker; but afterwards turned a broker. about he turned his attention to the teaching of animals. he was very successful, and among the subjects of his experiments were three young cats. wilson, in his "eccentric mirror,"[ ] has recorded that "he taught these domestic tigers to strike their paws in such directions on the dulcimer, as to produce several tunes, having music-books before them, and squalling at the same time in different keys or tones, first, second, and third, by way of concert. in such a city as london these feats could not fail of making some noise. his house was every day crowded, and great interruption given to his business. among the rest, he was visited by an exhibitor of wonders. pinchbeck advised him to a public exhibition of his animals at the haymarket, and even promised, on receiving a moiety, to be concerned in the exhibition. bisset agreed, but the day before the performance, pinchbeck declined, and the other was left to act for himself. the well-known _cats' opera_ was advertised in the haymarket; the horse, the dog, the monkeys, and the cats went through their several parts with uncommon applause, to crowded houses, and in a few days bisset found himself possessed of nearly a thousand pounds to reward his ingenuity." constant, chateaubriand, and the cat. "benjamin constant was accustomed to write in a closet on the third story. beside him sat his estimable wife, and on his knee his favourite cat; this feline affection he entertained in common with count de chateaubriand."[ ] liston the surgeon and his cat. robert liston, the great surgeon, was, it seems, very fond of a cat. dr forbes winslow asks, "who has not seen liston's favourite cat tom? this animal is considered to be a unique specimen of the feline tribe; and so one would think, to see the passionate fondness which he manifests for it. this cat is always perched on liston's shoulder, at breakfast, dinner, and tea, in his carriage, and out of his carriage. it is quite ludicrous to witness the devotion which the great operator exhibits towards his favourite."[ ] liston was a curious man. he often called on his friends as early as six o'clock in the morning. in most cases, such calls must have been visits of formality or quiet jokes at the lazy manners of most men of the present age. we know one person whom he called on usually at this early hour. it would be more healthy for the young, if they would imitate this talented surgeon. we may here say that he used to allow one particular nail to grow long. it was a nail he used to guide his knife when operating. when at college in or , we heard a student, who knew this clever operator well, happily apply the _double-entendre_, "_homo ad unguem factus_," a phrase, dr carson, our noble rector at the high school, taught us to translate "_an accomplished man_." the banker mitchell's antipathy to kittens. mr j. t. smith, once keeper of the prints in the british museum, author of the "life and times of nollekens, the royal academician,"[ ] tells a story of mr matthew mitchell, a banker, who collected prints. "mr mitchell had a most serious antipathy to a kitten. he could sit in a room without experiencing the least emotion from a cat; but directly he perceived a kitten, his flesh shook on his bones, like a snail in vinegar. i once relieved him from one of these paroxysms by taking a kitten out of the room; on my return he thanked me, and declared his feelings to be insupportable upon such an occasion. long subsequently, i asked him whether he could in any way account for this agitation. he said he could not, adding that he experienced no such sensations upon seeing a full-grown cat; but that a kitten, after he had looked at it for a minute or two, in his imagination grew to the size of an overpowering elephant." james montgomery and his cats.[ ] the poet montgomery was very fond of cats. his biographers say--"we never recollect the time when some familiar 'tabby' or audacious 'tom' did not claim to share the poet's attention during our familiar interviews with him in his own parlour. we well recollect one fine brindled fellow, called 'nero,' who, during his kittenhood, 'purred' the following epistle to a little girl who had been his playmate:-- "hartshead, near the hole-in-the-wall, "_july , _. "_harrrrrrr_, "_mew, wew, auw, mauw, hee, wee, miaw, waw, wurr, whirr, ghurr, wew, mew, whew, isssss, tz, tz, tz, purrurrurrur._" done into english. "harriet, "this comes to tell you that i am very well, and i hope you are so too. i am growing a great cat; pray how do you come on? i wish you were here to carry me about as you used to do, and i would scratch you to some purpose, for i can do this much better than i could while you were here. i have not run away yet, but i believe i shall soon, for i find my feet are too many for my head, and often carry me into mischief. love to sheffelina, though i was always fit to pull her cap when i saw you petting her. my cross old mother sends her love to you--she shows me very little now-a-days, i assure you, so i do not care what she does with the rest. she has brought me a mouse or two, and i caught one myself last night; but it was in my dream, and i awoke as hungry as a hunter, and fell to biting at my tail, which i believe i should have eaten up; but it would not let me catch it. so no more at present from tiny. "_p.s._--they call me tiny yet, you see; but i intend to take the name of nero, after the lion fight at warwick next week, if the lion conquers, not else. "_ d p.s._--i forgot to tell you that i can beg, but i like better to steal,--it's more natural, you know. "harriet, at ockbrook." sir walter scott's visit to the black dwarf.--david ritchie's cat. david ritchie, the prototype of the "black dwarf," inhabited a small cottage on the farm of woodhouse, parish of manor, peeblesshire. in the year , walter scott, then a young advocate, was taken by the fergusons to see "bowed davie," as the poor misanthropic man was generally called. mr william chambers,[ ] the historian of his native county, describes the visit at greater length than scott has done in the introduction to his novel. he says--"at the first sight of scott, the misanthrope seemed oppressed with a sentiment of extraordinary interest, which was either owing to the lameness of the stranger--a circumstance throwing a narrower gulf between this person and himself than what existed between him and most other men--or to some perception of an extraordinary mental character in this limping youth, which was then hid from other eyes. after grinning upon him for a moment with a smile less bitter than his wont, the dwarf passed to the door, double-locked it, and then coming up to the stranger, seized him by the wrist with one of his iron hands, and said, 'man, hae ye ony poo'er?' by this he meant magical power, to which he had himself some vague pretensions, or which, at least, he had studied and reflected upon till it had become with him a kind of monomania. scott disavowed the possession of any gifts of that kind, evidently to the great disappointment of the inquirer, who then turned round and gave a signal to a huge black cat, hitherto unobserved, which immediately jumped up to a shelf, where it perched itself, and seemed to the excited senses of the visitors as if it had really been the familiar spirit of the mansion. 'he has poo'er,' said the dwarf in a voice which made the flesh of the hearers thrill, and scott, in particular, looked as if he conceived himself to have actually got into the den of one of those magicians with whom his studies had rendered him familiar. 'ay, _he_ has poo'er,' repeated the recluse; and then, going to his usual seat, he sat for some minutes grinning horribly, as if enjoying the impression he had made, while not a word escaped from any of the party. mr ferguson at length plucked up his spirits, and called to david to open the door, as they must now be going. the dwarf slowly obeyed, and when they had got out, mr ferguson observed that his friend was as pale as ashes, while his person was agitated in every limb. under such striking circumstances was this extraordinary being first presented to the _real_ magician, who was afterwards to give him such a deathless celebrity." mr chambers doubtless received the particulars of this visit from sir adam ferguson, scott's friend and companion. * * * * * robert southey, like jeremy bentham, with whom the quarterly reviewer would have grudged to have been classified, loved cats. his son, in his "life and correspondence," vol. vi. p. , says--"my father's fondness for cats has been occasionally shown by allusion in his letters,[ ] and in 'the doctor' is inserted an amusing memorial of the various cats which at different times were inmates of greta hall. he rejoiced in bestowing upon them the strangest appellations, and it was not a little amusing to see a kitten answer to the name of some italian singer or indian chief, or hero of a german fairy tale, and often names and titles were heaped one upon another, till the possessor, unconscious of the honour conveyed, used to 'set up his eyes and look' in wonderment. mr bedford had an equal liking for the feline race, and occasional notices of their favourites therefore passed between them, of which the following records the death of one of the greatest:-- "'_to grosvenor c. bedford, esq._ "'keswick, _may , _. "'my dear g---- ... --alas! grosvenor, this day poor old rumpel was found dead, after as long and happy a life as cat could wish for, if cats form wishes on that subject. his full titles were:--"the most noble the archduke rumpelstiltzchen, marquis m'bum, earl tomlemagne, baron raticide, waowhler, and skaratch." there should be a court mourning in catland, and if the dragon[ ] wear a black ribbon round his neck, or a band of crape _à la militaire_ round one of the fore paws, it will be but a becoming mark of respect. "'as we have no catacombs here, he is to be decently interred in the orchard, and cat-mint planted on his grave. poor creature, it is well that he has thus come to his end after he had become an object of pity, i believe we are, each and all, servants included, more sorry for his loss, or rather more affected by it, than any one of us would like to confess. "'i should not have written to you at present, had it not been to notify this event. r. s.'" in a letter from leyden to his son cuthbert, then in his seventh year, he says--"i hope rumpelstiltzchen has recovered his health, and that miss cat is well; and i should like to know whether miss fitzrumpel has been given away, and if there is another kitten. the dutch cats do not speak exactly the same language as the english ones. i will tell you how they talk when i come home."[ ] archbishop whately's anecdote of the cat that used to ring the bell. archbishop whately[ ] records a case of an act done by a cat, which, if done by a man, would be called reason. he says--"this cat lived many years in my mother's family, and its feats of sagacity were witnessed by her, my sisters, and myself. it was known, not merely once or twice, but habitually, to ring the parlour bell whenever it wished the door to be opened. some alarm was excited on the first occasion that it turned bell-ringer. the family had retired to rest, and in the middle of the night the parlour-bell was rung violently; the sleepers were startled from their repose, and proceeded down-stairs, with pokers and tongs, to interrupt, as they thought, the predatory movement of some burglar; but they were agreeably surprised to discover that the bell had been rung by pussy; who frequently repeated the act whenever she wanted to get out of the parlour." * * * * * a friend (d. d., esq., edinburgh) tells me of a cat his family had in the country, that used regularly to "_tirl at the pin_" of the back door when it wished to get in to the house. footnotes: [ ] mark lemon, "jest-book," p. . [ ] "british quadrupeds." the professor has long retired to his favourite selborne. he occupies the house of gilbert white; and a new illustrated edition of the "natural history and antiquities of selborne" has been long looked for from him. [ ] "the instructive picture book; or, a few attractive lessons from the natural history of animals," by adam white, p. (fifth edition, ). [ ] "the works of jeremy bentham," now first collected under the superintendence of his executor, john bowring, vol. xi. pp. , . [ ] jeremy bentham's house in queen's square was that which had been occupied by the great poet. [ ] vol. i. no. . p. . [ ] _times_, dec. , quoted by southey, "common-place book," iv. p. . [ ] "physic and physicians," a medical sketch-book, vol. ii. p. ( ). [ ] "a book for a rainy day," p. . old smith was a regular hunter after legacies, and like all such was often disappointed. his "nollekens" is a fine example. [ ] "memoirs of james montgomery," by holland and everett, iv. pp. , . [ ] "a history of peeblesshire," by william chambers of glenormiston, p. ( ). [ ] see vol. v. p. . [ ] a cat of mr bedford's. [ ] "life and correspondence," v. p. . [ ] on instinct, a lecture delivered before the dublin natural history society, th november . dublin, . p. . tiger and lion. these most ferocious of the carnivora have afforded interesting subjects to many a traveller. an extensive volume of truly sensational adventure might be compiled about them, adding a chapter for the jaguar and the leopard, two extremely dangerous spotted cats, that can do what neither tigers nor lions are able to do--namely, climb trees. having once asked a friend, who was at the death of many a wild beast, which was the most savage animal he had ever seen, he replied, "a wounded leopard." it was to such an animal that jacob referred when he saw joseph's clothes, and said--"some evil beast hath devoured him." colonel campbell's work, from which the first paragraph is derived, contains much about the pursuit of the tiger. dr livingstone's travels and gordon cumming's books on south africa, neither of which we have quoted, have thrilling pages about the lordly presence of "the king of beasts." mr joseph wolf and mr lewis are perhaps the best draughtsmen of the lion among recent artists. the public admire much sir edwin landseer's striking bronze lions on the pedestal of the nelson monument. that artist excels in his pictures of the lion. on the assyrian monuments in the british museum are many wonderfully executed lion hunts, as perfectly preserved as if they had been chiselled in our day. parts of these bas-reliefs were certainly designed from actual sketches made from the lions and dogs, which took the chief part in the amusements of some "nimrod, a mighty hunter before the lord." even our scottish kings kept a lion or lions as ornaments of their court. at stirling castle and palace, a room which we saw in , still bears the name of the "lion's den." the british lion is an old emblem of both scotland and england, and it is not twenty-five years ago since we, in common with every visitor to the tower, were glad to see "the royal lion." dr livingstone's experience, we have not the slightest wish to prove its accuracy, shows that the lion has a soothing, or rather paralysing power over his prey, when he has knocked it down or bitten it. bussapa, the tiger-slayer, and the tiger. the following striking anecdote recounts the extraordinary presence of mind and determined courage of a celebrated mahratta hunter named bussapa. this man acquired the name of the "tiger-slayer," and wore on his breast several silver medals granted by the indian government for feats of courage in destroying tigers. colonel campbell met him, and in "my indian journal" (pp. , ), published in , has recorded from his brother's diary the following anecdote:--"bussapa, a hunter of 'lingyat' caste, with whom i am well acquainted, was sent for by the headman of a village, to destroy a tiger which had carried off a number of cattle. he came, and having ascertained the brute's usual haunts, fastened a bullock near the edge of a ravine which he frequented, and quietly seated himself beside it, protected only by a small bush. soon after sunset the tiger appeared, killed the bullock, and was glutting himself with blood, when bussapa, thrusting his long matchlock through the bush, fired, and wounded him severely. the tiger half rose, but being unable to see his assailant on account of the intervening bush, dropped again on his prey with a sudden growl. bussapa was kneeling within three paces of him, completely defenceless; he did not even dare to reload, for he well knew that the slightest movement on his part would be the signal for his immediate destruction; his bare knees were pressed upon gravel, but he dared not venture to shift his uneasy position. ever and anon, the tiger, as he lay with his glaring eyes fixed upon the bush, uttered his hoarse growl of anger; his hot breath absolutely blew upon the cheek of the wretched man, yet still he moved not. the pain of his cramped position increased every moment--suspense became almost intolerable; but the motion of a limb, the rustling of a leaf, would have been death. thus they remained, the man and the tiger, watching each other's motions; but even in this fearful situation, his presence of mind never for a moment forsook the noble fellow. he heard the gong of the village strike each hour of that fearful night, that seemed to him 'eternity,' and yet he lived; the tormenting mosquitoes swarmed round his face, but he dared not brush them off. that fiend-like eye met his whenever he ventured a glance towards the horrid spell that bound him; and a hoarse growl grated on the stillness of the night, as a passing breeze stirred the leaves that sheltered him. hours rolled on, and his powers of endurance were well-nigh exhausted, when, at length, the welcome streaks of light shot up from the eastern horizon. on the approach of day, the tiger rose, and stalked away with a sulky pace, to a thicket at some distance, and then the stiff and wearied bussapa felt that he was safe. "one would have thought that, after such a night of suffering, he would have been too thankful for his escape, to venture on any further risk. but the valiant bussapa was not so easily diverted from his purpose; as soon as he had stretched his cramped limbs, and restored the checked circulation, he reloaded his matchlock, and coolly proceeded to finish his work. with his match lighted, he advanced close to the tiger, lying ready to receive him, and shot him dead by a ball in the forehead, while in the act of charging." colonel campbell relates, that most of bussapa's family have fallen victims to tigers. but the firm belief of the "tiger-slayer" in predestination, makes him blind to all danger. john hunter and the dead tiger. the greatest comparative anatomist our country has produced, john hunter, obtained the refusal of all animals which happened to die in the tower or in the travelling menageries. in this way he often obtained rare subjects for his researches. dr forbes winslow[ ] alludes to a well-known fact, that all the money hunter could spare, was devoted to procuring curiosities of this sort, and sir everard home used to state, that as soon as he had accumulated fees to the amount of ten guineas, he always purchased some addition to his collection. indeed, he was not unfrequently obliged to borrow of his friends, when his own funds were at a low ebb, and the temptation was strong. "pray, george," said he one day to mr g. nicol, the bookseller to the king, with whom he was very intimate, "have you got any money in your pocket?" mr n. replied in the affirmative. "have you got five guineas? because, if you have, and will lend it me, you shall go halves."--"halves in what?" inquired his friend.--"why, halves in a magnificent tiger, which is now dying in castle street." mr nicol lent the money, and hunter purchased the tiger. tigers. mrs colin mackenzie[ ] records the death of a man from the wounds of a tiger. "the tiger," she says, "was brought in on the second day. he died from the wound he had received. i gave the body to the dhers in our service, who ate it. the claws and whiskers are greatly prized by the natives as charms. the latter are supposed to give the possessor a certain malignant power over his enemies, for which reason i always take possession of them to prevent our people getting them. the tiger is very commonly worshipped all over india. the women often prostrate themselves before a dead tiger, when sportsmen are bringing it home in triumph; and in a village, near nagpur, mr hislop found a number of rude images, almost like four-legged stools, which, on inquiry, proved to be meant for tigers, who were worshipped as the tutelary deities of the place. i believe a fresh image is added for every tiger that is slain." lion and tiger. a jolly jack-tar, having strayed into atkin's show at bartholomew fair, to have a look at the wild beasts, was much struck with the sight of a lion and a tiger in the same den. "why, jack," said he to a messmate, who was chewing a quid in silent amazement, "i shouldn't wonder if next year they were to carry about _a sailor and a marine living peaceably together_!"--"ay," said his married companion, "_or a man and wife_."[ ] we may add that we have long regarded it as a vile calumny to two animals to say of a man and wife who quarrel, that they live "a cat and dog life." no two animals are better agreed when kept together. each knows his own place and keeps it. hence they live at peace--speaking "generally," as "mr artemus ward" would say of "such an observation." androcles and the lion. addison,[ ] in the th _guardian_, has given us the story of androcles and the lion. he prefaces it by saying that he has no regard "to what Æsop has said upon the subject, whom," says he, "i look upon to have been a republican, by the unworthy treatment which he often gives to the king of beasts, and whom, if i had time, i could convict of falsehood and forgery in almost every matter of fact which he has related of this generous animal." better observation of it, however, from the time of burchell to that of livingstone, shows that Æsop's account is on the whole to be relied on, and that the lion is a thorough cat, treacherous, cruel, and, for the most part, with a good deal of the coward in him. the story of androcles was related by aulus gellius, who extracted it from dion cassius. although likely to be embellished, there is every likelihood of the foundation of the story being true. addison relates this, "for the sake of my learned reader, who needs go no further in it, if he has read it already:--androcles was the slave of a noble roman who was proconsul of afric. he had been guilty of a fault, for which his master would have put him to death, had not he found an opportunity to escape out of his hands, and fled into the deserts of numidia. as he was wandering among the barren sands, and almost dead with heat and hunger, he saw a cave in the side of a rock. he went into it, and finding at the farther end of it a place to sit down upon, rested there for some time. at length, to his great surprise, a huge overgrown lion entered at the mouth of the cave, and seeing a man at the upper end of it, immediately made towards him. androcles gave himself up for gone;[ ] but the lion, instead of treating him as he expected, laid his paw upon his lap, and with a complaining kind of voice, fell a licking his hand. androcles, after having recovered himself a little from the fright he was in, observed the lion's paw to be exceedingly swelled by a large thorn that stuck in it. he immediately pulled it out, and by squeezing the paw very gently made a great deal of corrupt matter run out of it, which, probably freed the lion from the great anguish he had felt some time before. the lion left him upon receiving this good office from him, and soon after returned with a fawn which he had just killed. this he laid down at the feet of his benefactor, and went off again in pursuit of his prey. androcles, after having sodden the flesh of it by the sun, subsisted upon it until the lion had supplied him with another. he lived many days in this frightful solitude, the lion catering for him with great assiduity. being tired at length with this savage society, he was resolved to deliver himself up into his master's hands, and suffer the worst effects of his displeasure, rather than be thus driven out from mankind. his master, as was customary for the proconsuls of africa, was at that time getting together a present of all the largest lions that could be found in the country, in order to send them to rome, that they might furnish out a show to the roman people. upon his poor slave surrendering himself into his hands, he ordered him to be carried away to rome as soon as the lions were in readiness to be sent, and that for his crime he should be exposed to fight with one of the lions in the amphitheatre, as usual, for the diversion of the people. this was all performed accordingly. androcles, after such a strange run of fortune, was now in the area of the theatre, amidst thousands of spectators, expecting every moment when his antagonist would come out upon him. at length a huge monstrous lion leaped out from the place where he had been kept hungry for the show. he advanced with great rage towards the man, but on a sudden, after having regarded him a little wistfully, fell to the ground, and crept towards his feet with all the signs of blandishment and caress. androcles, after a short pause, discovered that it was his old numidian friend, and immediately renewed his acquaintance with him. their mutual congratulations were very surprising to the beholders, who, upon hearing an account of the whole matter from androcles, ordered him to be pardoned, and the lion to be given up into his possession. androcles returned at rome the civilities which he had received from him in the deserts of afric. dion cassius says, that he himself saw the man leading the lion about the streets of rome, the people everywhere gathering about them, and repeating to one another, '_hic est leo hospes hominis; hic est homo medicus leonis_.' 'this is the lion who was the man's host; this is the man who was the lion's physician.'" we are glad to repeat this anecdote, although some may call it "stale and old." the last time we were at the zoological gardens, in the regents park, london, we saw a lion very kindly come and rub itself against the rails of its den, on seeing a turbaned visitor come up, who addressed it. the man had been kind to it on its passage home. it was by no means a tame lion, nor one that its keeper would have ventured to touch. sir george davis and the lion steele, in the th _guardian_,[ ] has followed up a paper by addison, on the subject of lions, and gives an anecdote sent him, he says, by "a worthy merchant and a friend of mine," who had it in the year from the gentleman to whom it happened. "about sixty years ago, when the plague raged at naples, sir george davis, consul there for the english nation, retired to florence. it happened one day he went out of curiosity to see the great duke's lions. at the farther end, in one of the dens, lay a lion, which the keepers in three years' time could not tame, with all the art and gentle usage imaginable. sir george no sooner appeared at the grates of the den, but the lion ran to him with all the marks of joy and transport he was capable of expressing. he reared himself up, and licked his hand, which this gentleman put in through the grates. the keeper affrighted, took him by the arm and pulled him away, begging him not to hazard his life by going so near the fiercest creature of that kind that ever entered those dens. however, nothing would satisfy sir george, notwithstanding all that could be said to dissuade him, but he must go into the den to him. the very instant he entered, the lion threw his paws upon his shoulders, and licked his face, and ran to and fro in the den, fawning and full of joy, like a dog at the sight of his master. after several embraces and salutations exchanged on both sides, they parted very good friends. the rumour of this interview between the lion and the stranger rung immediately through the whole city, and sir george was very near passing for a saint among the people. the great duke, when he heard of it, sent for sir george, who waited upon his highness, to the den, and to satisfy his curiosity, gave him the following account of what seemed so strange to the duke and his followers:-- "'a captain of a ship from barbary gave me this lion when he was a young whelp. i brought him up tame, but when i thought him too large to be suffered to run about the house, i built a den for him in my courtyard; from that time he was never permitted to go loose, except when i brought him within doors to show him to my friends. when he was five years old, in his gamesome tricks, he did some mischief by pawing and playing with people. having griped a man one day a little too hard, i ordered him to be shot, for fear of incurring the guilt of what might happen; upon this a friend who was then at dinner with me begged him: how he came here i know not.' here sir george davis ended, and thereupon the duke of tuscany assured him that he had the lion from that very friend of his." canova's lions and the child. the mausoleum of pope clement xii., whose name was rezzonico, is one of the greatest works of antonio canova, the celebrated italian sculptor. it is in st peter's, at rome, and was erected in . it is only mentioned here on account of two lions, which were faithfully studied from nature. his biographer, mr memes,[ ] tells us that these lions were formed "after long and repeated observation on the habits and forms of the living animals. wherever they were to be seen canova constantly visited them, at all hours, and under every variety of circumstances, that he might mark their natural expression in different states of action and of repose, of ferocity or gentleness. one of the keepers was even paid to bring information, lest any favourable opportunity should pass unimproved." one of these lions is sleeping, while the other, which is under the figure of the personification of religion, couches--but is awake, in attitude of guarding inviolate the approach to the sepulchre, and ready with a tremendous roar to spring upon the intruder. canova himself was much pleased with these lions. mr memes illustrates their wonderful force and truth by a little anecdote. "one day, while the author (a frequent employment) stood at some distance admiring from different points of view the tomb of rezzonico, a woman with a child in her arms advanced to the lion, which appears to be watching. the terrified infant began to scream violently, clinging to the nurse's bosom, and exclaiming, '_mordera, mamma, mordera!_' (it will bite, mamma; it will bite.) the mother turned to the opposite one, which seems asleep; her charge was instantly pacified; and smiling through tears, extended its little arm to stroke the shaggy head, whispering in subdued accents, as if afraid to awake the monster, '_o come placido! non mordero quello, mamma._' (how gentle! this one will not bite, mother.") admiral napier and the lion in the tower. admiral sir charles napier, k.c.b., when a boy in his fourteenth year, visited london on his way to join his first ship at spithead, the _renown_. his biographer tells us he was staying at the house of a relative, who, "after showing the youngster all the london sights, took him to see the lions at the tower. amongst them was one which the keeper represented as being so very tame that, said he, 'you might put your hand into his mouth.' taking him at his word, the young middy, to the horror of the spectators, thrust his hand into the jaws of the animal, who, no doubt, was taken as much by surprise as the lookers-on. it was a daring feat; but providentially he did not suffer for his temerity."[ ] this reminds the biographer of nelson's feat with the polar bear, and of charles napier's (the soldier) bold adventure with an eagle in his boyhood, as related by sir william napier in the history of his gallant brother's life. old lady and the beasts on the mound. when the houses were cleared from the head of the mound in edinburgh, a travelling menagerie had set up its caravans on that great earthen bridge, just at the time when george ferguson, the celebrated scotch advocate, better known by his justiciary title of lord hermand, came up, full of pittite triumph that the ministry of "all the talents" had fallen. "they are out! they are all out! every mother's son of them!" he shouted. a lady, who heard the words, and perceived his excited condition, imagined that he referred to the wild beasts; and seizing the judge by his arm, exclaimed, "gude heaven! we shall a' be devoored!"[ ] footnotes: [ ] "physics and physicians: a medical sketch-book," vol. i. p. . it was published anonymously in . [ ] "life in the mission, the camp, and the zenánà; or, six years in india," vol. ii. p. . [ ] mark lemon, "jest book," p. . [ ] august , . chalmers's edition of "british essayists," vol. xviii. p. . [ ] up for lost. [ ] august , . chalmers's edition of "british essayists," vol. xviii p. . [ ] "memoirs of antonio canova," by j. s. memes, a.m. . pp. , , . [ ] "the life of admiral sir charles napier, k.c.b," by major-general elers napier, vol. i. p. . seals. a most intelligent group of creatures, some of which the compiler has watched in yell sound, close to mossbank. he has even seen them once or twice in the forth, close to the end of the pier. in the zoological gardens a specimen of the common seal proved for months a great source of attraction by its mild nature, and its singular form and activity. it soon died, and, had a coroner's jury returned a verdict, it would have been "death from the hooks swallowed with the fish" daily provided. we have heard seal-fishers describe the great rapidity of the growth of seals in the arctic seas. they seem in about a fortnight after their birth to attain nearly the size of their mothers. the same has been recorded of the whale order. both seals and whales have powers of assimilating food and making fat that are unparalleled even by pigs. the intelligence of seals is marvellous. many who visited the zoological gardens in the regent's park in may and june witnessed instances of this in a seal from the south seas, recently exhibited in london. persons on the sea-side might readily domesticate these interesting and truly affectionate creatures. hooker's sea-bear, the species exhibited in london, was at first, so the kind frenchman told us, very fierce, but soon got reconciled to him, and, when i saw it, great was the mutual attachment. it was a strangely interesting sight to see the great creature walk on its fin-like legs, and clamber up and kiss the genial-bearded french sailor. dr adam clarke on shetland seals. in shetland, dr adam clarke tells us the popular belief is that the seals, or, as they call them, _selkies_, are fallen spirits, and that it is dangerous to kill any of them, as evil will assuredly happen to him who does. they think that when the blood of a seal touches the water, the sea begins to rise and swell. those who shoot them notice that gulls appear to watch carefully over them; and mr edmonston assured him that he has known a gull scratch, a seal to warn it of his approach. dr clarke, in the second of his voyages to shetland, had a seal on board, which was caught on the island of papa. he says:--"it refuses all nourishment; it is very young, and about three feet long; it roars nearly like a calf, but not so loud, and continually crawls about the deck, seeking to get again to sea. as i cannot bear its cries, i intend to return it to the giver. several of them have been tamed by the shetlanders, and these will attend their owners to the place where the cows are milked, in order to get a drink. this was the case with one mr henry of burrastow brought up. when it thought proper it would go to sea and forage there, but was sure to return to land, and to its owner. they tell me that it is a creature of considerable sagacity. the young seal mentioned above made his escape over the gangway, and got to sea. i am glad of it; for its plaintive lowing was painful to me. we saw it afterwards making its way to the ocean."[ ] dr edmonston on shetland seals. every one familiar with seals is struck with their plaintive, intelligent faces, and any one who has seen the seals from time to time living in the zoological gardens must have been pleased with the marks of attention paid by them to their keepers. dr edmonston of balta sound has published in the "memoirs of the wernerian society"[ ] a graphic and valuable paper on the distinctions, history, and hunting of seals in the shetland isles. as that gentleman is a native of unst, and had, when he wrote the memoir, been for more than twenty years actively engaged in their pursuit, both as an amusement and as a study, we may extract two or three interesting passages. he remarks (p. ) on the singular circumstance that so few additions have been made to the list of domestic animals bequeathed to us from remote antiquity, and mentions the practicability of an attempt being made to tame seals; and also says that it is yet to be learned whether they would breed in captivity and remain reclaimed from the wild state. the few instances recorded in books of natural history of tame seals refer to the species called _phoca vitulina_, but of the processes of rearing and education we have no details. "the trials," continues dr edmonston, "i have made on these points have been equally numerous on the great as on the common seal. by far the most interesting one i ever had was a young male of the _barbata_ species: he was taken by myself from a cave when only a few hours old, and in a day or two became as attached as a dog to me. the varied movements and sounds by which he expressed delight at my presence and regret at my absence were most affecting; these sounds were as like as possible to the inarticulate tones of the human voice. i know no animal capable of displaying more affection than he did, and his temper was the gentlest imaginable. i kept him for four or five weeks, feeding him entirely on warm milk from the cow; in my temporary absence butter-milk was given to him, and he died soon after. "another was a female, also of the great seal species, which we captured in a cave when about six weeks old, in october . this individual would never allow herself to be handled but by the person who chiefly had the charge of her, yet even she soon became comparatively familiar. "it was amusing to see how readily she ascended the stairs, which she often did, intent, as it seemed, on examining every room in the house; on showing towards her signs of displeasure and correction, she descended more rapidly and safely than her awkwardness seemed to promise. "she was fed from the first on fresh fish alone, and grew and fattened considerably. we had her carried down daily in a hand-barrow to the sea-side, where an old excavation admitting the salt water was abundantly roomy and deep for her recreation and our observation. after sporting and diving for some time she would come ashore, and seemed perfectly to understand the use of the barrow. often she tried to waddle from the house to the water, or from the latter to her apartment, but finding this fatiguing, and seeing preparations by her chairman, she would of her own accord mount her palanquin, and thus be carried as composedly as any hindoo princess. by degrees we ventured to let her go fairly into the sea, and she regularly returned after a short interval; but one day during a thick fall of snow she was imprudently let off as usual, and, being decoyed some distance out of sight of the shore by some wild ones which happened to be in the bay at the time, she either could not find her way back or voluntarily decamped. "she was, we understood, killed very shortly after in a neighbouring inlet. we had kept her about six months, and every moment she was becoming more familiar; we had dubbed her finna, and she seemed to know her name. every one that saw her was struck with her appearance. "the smooth face without external ears--the nose slightly aquiline--the large, dark, and beautiful eye which stood the sternest human gaze, gave to the expression of her countenance such dignity and variety that we all agreed that it really was _super_-animal. the scandinavian scald, with such a mermaid before him, would find in her eye a metaphor so emphatic that he would have no reason to borrow the favourite oriental image of the gazelles from his caucasian ancestors. "this remarkable expressiveness and dignity of aspect of the _haff-fish_, so superior to all other animals with which the fishermen of shetland were acquainted, and the human character of his voice, may have procured for him that peculiar respect with which he was regarded by those who lived nearest his domains, and were admitted to most frequent intercourse with him. he was the favourite animal of superstition, and a few tales of him are still current. these, however, are not of much interest or variety, the leading ideas in them being these: that the great seal is a human soul, or a fallen angel in metempsychosis, and that to him who is remarkable for hostility to the phocal race some fatal retribution will ensue. i can easily conceive the feeling of awe with which a fisherman would be impressed when, in the sombre magnificence of some rocky solitude, a great seal suddenly presented himself, for an interview of this kind once occurred to myself. "i was lying one calm summer day on a rock a little elevated above the water, watching the approach of seals, in a small creek formed by frowning precipices several hundred feet high, near the north point of the shetland islands. "i had patiently waited for two hours, and the scene and the sunshine had thrown me into a kind of reverie, when my companion, who was more awake, arrested my attention. a full-sized female haff-fish was swimming slowly past, within eight yards of my feet, her head askance, and her eyes fixed upon me; the gun, charged with two balls, was immediately pointed. i followed her with the aim for some distance, when she dived without my firing. "i resolved that this omission should not recur, if she afforded me another opportunity of a shot, which i hardly hoped for, but which actually in a few moments took place. still i did not fire, until, when at a considerable distance, she was on the eve of diving, and she eluded the shot by springing to a side. here was really a species of fascination. the wild scene, the near presence and commanding aspect of the splendid animal before me, produced a spellbound impression which, in my sporting experience, i never felt before. "on reflection, i was delighted that she escaped. "the younger seals are the more easy to tame, but the more difficult to rear; under a month old they must be fed, and, especially the _barbata_, almost entirely on milk, and that of the cow seems hardly to agree with them. "perhaps their being suckled by a cow fed chiefly on fish, the giving them occasionally a little salt water, and then by degrees inducing them to eat fish, might be the best mode until they attained the age of being sustained on fish alone. in the _barbata_, to insure rapid taming, it appears to be necessary to capture them before the period of casting the foetal hair, analogous to what i have observed in the case of the young of water-birds before getting up their first feathers, and when they are entirely covered with the egg down. "these changes seem connected with a great development of the wild habits, and attachment to, and knowledge of, the localities where they have first seen the light. as the _barbata_ is until this period in reality a land animal, the chief difficulty we have to surmount with it is in the quality of the milk to be given it. the _vitulina_ is essentially an inhabitant of the water from its birth, yet the care of the mother is perhaps for weeks necessary to judge how long and how often it should be on land, and this we can hardly expect to imitate. in the young of this species a few days old, which we have tried to rear, a want of knowledge of this kind of management may have led to failure. i have not attempted to rear them at a greater age. "the greenland seal is, i have been informed, occasionally kept for a month or two on board the whalers, and thrives sufficiently well on the flesh of sea-birds. this species appears to bring forth in january, and therefore it is subjected to captivity. "i know but comparatively little of its capability of being easily tamed; but this quality, of itself, is no evidence of superior intelligence. "might it not be easy to induce greenland shipmasters to bring some of these animals to england, where they would be accessible to the observation of zoologists. "one mode of attempting to tame them might be to take half-grown animals in a net, or surprise them on land, and then keep them in salt-water ponds in a semi-domestic state: if any of them were pregnant when caught, or could be got to breed, the main difficulty would be overcome." long as these extracts are, they possess great interest as being derived from observations on living animals made by one who was a friend of the duke of wellington, and was always welcomed by him. his northern island of unst is a fine field for studying marine animals. the sweeping currents of the arctic oceans bring creatures to the quiet voes and sounds. shetland in spring, summer, and autumn is a favoured locality for the naturalist and painter. the walrus. there was some likelihood, a few years ago, that a most attractive animal would be added to the collection of the zoological society. but, unfortunately for the public gratification, as well as the remuneration of the spirited captain who brought the creature, it reached the gardens in a dying state, and only survived a few days. but it is not the first of its family which has travelled so far to the southward. nearly years ago a specimen was brought alive by some of the arctic adventurers, and excited no little surprise, as old purchas tells us. it was in the year , when "the king and many honourable personages beheld it with admiration, for the strangeness of the same, the like whereof had never before beene seene alive in england. not long after it fell sicke and died. as the beast in shape is very strange, so is it of strange docilitie, and apt to be taught, as by good experience we often proved." the figure which accompanies this paper was drawn from our late lamented visitor by mr wolf, who sketched it before its removal to the zoological gardens. captain henry caught it during a whaling expedition, and sent it to london. though quite young, it was nearly four feet in length; and when the person who used to feed it came into the room, it would give him an affectionate greeting, in a voice somewhat resembling the cry of a calf, but considerably louder. it walked about, but, owing to its weakness, soon grew tired, and lay down. unlike the seals, to which it is closely allied, the walrus has considerable power with its limbs when out of the water, and can support its bulky body quite clear of the ground. its mode of progression, however, is awkward when compared with ordinary quadrupeds; its hind-limbs shuffling along, as if inclosed in a sack. in some future season, when a lively specimen reaches the gardens, and is accommodated with an extensive tank of water, there is no reason why the walrus should not thrive as well as the seal, or his close, though not kind, neighbour of the north, the polar bear. [illustration: the walrus.] the walrus, _morse_, or _sea-horse_ (_trichechus rosmarus_, linn.[ ]), is one of the most characteristic inhabitants of the arctic regions. there it is widely distributed, and thence it seldom wanders. one or two specimens were killed on the shores of the northern scottish islands in and ; but these instances seem hardly to admit of its introduction into our _fauna_, any more than west indian beans, brought by the currents, are admissible into our _flora_. it is mentioned by some old scottish writers[ ] among our native animals, and at one time may have been carried to our coasts on some of the bergs, which are occasionally seen in the german ocean after the periodical disruptions of the arctic ice. like the polar bear, however, the walrus has evidently been formed by its creator for a life among icy seas, and there it is now found often in large herds. captain beechey and other voyagers to the seas around spitzbergen, describe them as being particularly abundant on the western coast of that inclement island. the captain says that in fine weather they resort to large pieces of ice at the edge of the main body, where herds of them may be seen of sometimes more than a hundred individuals each. "in these situations they appear greatly to enjoy themselves, rolling and sporting about, and frequently making the air resound with their bellowing, which bears some resemblance to that of a bull. these diversions generally end in sleep, during which these wary animals appear always to take the precaution of having a sentinel to warn them of any danger." the only warning, however, which the sentinel gives, is by seeking his own safety; in effecting which, as the herd lie huddled on one another like swine, the motion of one is speedily communicated to the whole, and they instantly tumble, one over the other, into the sea, head-foremost, if possible; but failing that, anyhow. scoresby remarks that the front part of the head of the young walrus, without tusks, when seen at a distance, is not unlike the human face. it has the habit of raising its head above the water to look at ships and other passing objects; and when seen in such a position, it may have given rise to some of the stories of mermaids. there is still a considerable uncertainty as to the food of the walrus. cook found no traces of aliment in the stomachs of those shot by his party. crantz says that in greenland shell-fish and sea-weeds seem to be its only subsistence. scoresby found shrimps, a kind of craw-fish, and the remains of young seals, in the stomachs of those which he examined. becchey mentions, that in the inside of several specimens he found numerous granite pebbles larger than walnuts. these may be taken for the same purpose that some birds, especially of the gallinaceous order, swallow bits of gravel. dr von baer concludes, from an analysis of all the published accounts, that the walrus is omnivorous.[ ] a specimen that died at st petersburg was fed on oatmeal mixed with turnips or other vegetables; and the little fellow, who lately died in the regent's park, seems to have been fed by the sailors on oatmeal porridge. one of the chief characteristics of the walrus is the presence of two elongated tusks (the canine teeth) in the upper jaw. according to crantz, it uses these to scrape mussels and other shell-fish from the rocks and out of the sand, and also to grapple and get along with, for they enable it to raise itself on the ice. they are also powerful weapons of defence against the polar bear and its other enemies. the walrus attains a great size. twelve feet is the length of a fine specimen in the british museum. beechey's party found some of them fourteen feet in length and nine feet in girth, and of such prodigious weight that they could scarcely turn them over. gratifying accounts are given of the attachment of the female to its young, and the male occasionally assists in their defence when exposed to danger, or at least in revenging the attack. lord nelson, when a lad, was coxwain to one of the ships of phipps's expedition to the arctic seas, and commanded a boat, which was the means of saving a party belonging to the other ship from imminent danger. "some of the officers had fired at and wounded a walrus. as no other animal," says southey, "has so human-like an expression in its countenance, so also is there none that seems to possess more of the passions of humanity. the wounded animal dived immediately, and brought up a number of its companions; and they all joined in an attack upon the boat. they wrested an oar from one of the men; and it was with the utmost difficulty that the crew could prevent them from staving or upsetting her, till the _carcass's_ boat (commanded by young horatio nelson) came up: and the walruses, finding their enemies thus reinforced, dispersed." and captain beechey gives the following pleasing picture of maternal affection which he witnessed in the seas around spitzbergen: "we were greatly amused by the singular and affectionate conduct of a walrus towards its young. in the vast sheet of ice which surrounded the ships, there were occasionally many pools; and when the weather was clear and warm, animals of various kinds would frequently rise and sport about in them, or crawl from thence upon the ice to bask in the warmth of the sun. a walrus rose in one of these pools close to the ship, and, finding everything quiet, dived down and brought up its young, which it held to its breast by pressing it with its flipper. in this manner it moved about the pool, keeping in an erect posture, and always directing the face of the young towards the vessel. on the slightest movement on board, the mother released her flipper, and pushed the young one under water; but, when everything was again quiet, brought it up as before, and for a length of time continued to play about in the pool, to the great amusement of the seamen, who gave her credit for abilities in tuition, which, though possessed of considerable sagacity, she hardly merited." the walrus has two great enemies in its icy home--the polar bear and the esquimaux. captain beechey thus graphically describes the manoeuvres of that king of the bruin race, which must often be attended with success. the bears, when hungry, are always on the watch for animals sleeping upon the ice, and try to come on them unawares, as their prey darts through holes in the ice. "one sunshiny day a walrus, of nine or ten feet length, rose in a pool of water not very far from us; and after looking around, drew his greasy carcase upon the ice, where he rolled about for a time, and at length laid himself down to sleep. a bear, which had probably been observing his movements, crawled carefully upon the ice on the opposite side of the pool, and began to roll about also, but apparently more with design than amusement, as he progressively lessened the distance that intervened between him and his prey. the walrus, suspicious of his advances, drew himself up preparatory to a precipitate retreat into the water in case of a nearer acquaintance with his playful but treacherous visitor; on which the bear was instantly motionless, as if in the act of sleep; but after a time began to lick his paws, and clean himself, occasionally encroaching a little more upon his intended prey. but even this artifice did not succeed; the wary walrus was far too cunning to allow himself to be entrapped, and suddenly plunged into the pool; which the bear no sooner observed than he threw off all disguise, rushed towards the spot, and followed him in an instant into the water, where, i fear, he was as much disappointed in his meal, as we were of the pleasure of witnessing a very interesting encounter." the meat of the walrus is not despised by europeans, and its heart is reckoned a delicacy. to the esquimaux there is no greater treat than a kettle well filled with walrus-blubber; and to the natives along behring's straits this quadruped is as valuable as is the palm to the sons of the desert. their canoes are covered with its skin; their weapons and sledge-runners, and many useful articles, are formed from its tusks; their lamps are filled with its oil; and they themselves are fed with its fat and its fibre. so thick is the skin, that a bayonet is almost the only weapon which can pierce it. cut into shreds, it makes excellent cordage, being especially adapted for wheel-ropes. the tusks bear a high commercial value, and are extensively employed by dentists in the manufacture of artificial teeth. the fat of a good-sized specimen yields thirty gallons of oil.--_a. white, from "excelsior."_ footnotes: [ ] "a tour in tartan-land," by cuthbert bede. [ ] "life," vol. iii. p. . [ ] vol. viii. pp. - . [ ] _trichechus_, from the greek [greek: trichas echôn], "having hairs:" _walrus_, the german _wallross_, "whale-horse." [ ] see fleming's "british animals," p. . [ ] mém. acad. imp. sc. st. pétersb., , p. . professor owen has communicated to the zoological society the anatomy of the young walrus; and much valuable information will be found in dr gray's "catalogue of mammalia in the british museum." kangaroos. what dissertation on the strange outward form, or stranger mode of reproduction to which this famed member of the _marsupialia_ belongs, could contain as much in little space as charles lamb's happy description in his letter to baron field, his "distant correspondent" in new south wales? when that was written, and for long after, it may be necessary to tell some, australia was chiefly known as the land of the convict. "tell me," writes elia, "what your sidneyites do? are they th-v-ng all day long? merciful heaven! what property can stand against such a depredation? the kangaroos--your aborigines--do they keep their primitive simplicity un-europe-tainted, with those little short forepuds, looking like a lesson framed by nature to the pickpocket! marry, for diving into fobs they are rather lamely provided _a priori_; but if the hue and cry were once up, they would show as fair a pair of hind-shifters as the expertest locomotor in the colony."[ ] in one of his letters to another of his favoured correspondents he alludes to his friend field having gone to a country where there are so many thieves that even the kangaroos have to wear their pockets in front, lest they be picked! kangaroo cooke. major-general henry frederick cooke, c.b. and k.c.h., commonly called kang-cooke, was a captain in the coldstream guards, and aide-de-camp to the duke of york. he was called the kangaroo by his intimate associates. it is said that this arose from his once having let loose a cageful of these animals at pidcock's menagerie, or from his answer to the duke of york, who, inquiring how he fared in the peninsula, replied that he "could get nothing to eat but kangaroo."[ ] moore, in his diary,[ ] december , , records that he dined with him and others at lord granard's. cooke told of admiral cotton once (at lisbon, i think) saying during dinner, "make signals for the _kangaroo_ to get under way;" and cooke, who had just been expressing his anxiety to leave lisbon, thought the speech alluded to his nickname, and considered it an extraordinary liberty for one who knew so little of him as admiral cotton to take. he found out afterwards, however, that his namesake was a sloop-of-war. footnotes: [ ] "distant correspondents," in the essays of elia, first series ed. , p. . [ ] jesse's "life of beau brummell," vol. i. p. . [ ] "memoirs, correspondence," &c., edited by lord john russell, vol. iii. p. . the tiger-wolf. (_thylacinus cynocephalus._) the great order, or rather division, of mammalia, the _marsupialia_,[ ] is furnished with a pouch, into which the young are received and nourished at a very early period of their existence. the first species of the group, known to voyagers and naturalists, was the celebrated opossum of north america, whose instinctive care to defend itself from danger causes it to feign the appearance of death. as the great continent of australia became known, it was found that the great mass of its mammalia, from the gigantic kangaroo to the pigmy, mouse-like potoroo, belonged to this singular order. the order contains a most anomalous set of animals, some being exclusively carnivorous, some chiefly subsisting on insects, while others browse on grass; and many live on fruits and leaves, which they climb trees to procure; a smaller portion subsisting on roots, for which they burrow in the ground. the gentle and deer-faced kangaroo belongs to this order; the curious bandicoots, the tree-frequenting phalangers and petauri, the savage "native devil,"[ ] and the voracious subject of this notice. the "tiger-wolf" is a native of van diemen's land, and is strictly confined to that island. it was first described in the ninth volume of the "linnean transactions," under the name of _didelphis cynocephalus_, or "dog-headed opossum," the english name being an exact translation of its latin one. its non-prehensile tail, peculiar feet, and different arrangement of teeth, pointed out to naturalists that it entered into a genus distinct from the american opossums; and to this genus the name of _thylacinus_[ ] has been applied; its specific name _cynocephalus_ being still retained in conformity with zoological nomenclature, although m. temminck, the founder of the genus, honoured the species with the name of its first describer, and called it _thylacinus harrisii_. mr gould has given a short account of this quadruped in his great work, "the mammals of australia," accompanied with two plates, one showing the head of the male, of the natural size, in such a point of view as to exhibit the applicability of one of the names applied to it by the colonists, that of "zebra-wolf." he justly remarks that it must be regarded as by far the most formidable of all the marsupial animals, as it certainly is the most savage indigenous quadruped belonging to the australian continent. although it is too feeble to make a successful attack on man, it commits great havoc among the smaller quadrupeds of the country; and to the settler it is a great object of dread, as his poultry and other domestic animals are never safe from its attacks. his sheep are, especially, an object of the colonist's anxious care, as he can house his poultry, and thus secure them from the prowler; but his flocks, wandering about over the country, are liable to be attacked at night by the tiger-wolf, whose habits are strictly nocturnal. mr gunn has seen some so large and powerful that a number of dogs would not face one of them. it has become an object with the settler to destroy every specimen he can fall in with, so that it is much rarer than it was at the time mr harris, its first describer, wrote its history, at least in the cultivated districts. much, however, of van diemen's land is still in a state of nature, and as large tracts of forest-land remain yet uncleared, there is abundance of covert for it still in the more remote parts of the colony, and it is even now often seen at woolnoth and among the hampshire hills. in such places it feeds on the smaller species of kangaroos and other marsupials,--bandicoots, and kangaroo-rats, while even the prickle-covered echidna--a much more formidable mouthful than any hedgehog--supplies the tiger-wolf with a portion of its sustenance. the specimen described by mr harris was caught in a trap baited with the flesh of the kangaroo. when opened, the remains of a half-digested echidna[ ] were found in its stomach. the tiger-wolf has a certain amount of daintiness in its appetite when in a state of nature. from the observations of mr gunn it would seem that nothing will induce it to prey on the wombat,[ ] a fat, sluggish, marsupial quadruped, abundant in the districts which it frequents, and whose flesh would seem to be very edible, seeing that it lives on fruits and roots. no sooner, however, was the sheep introduced than the tiger-wolf began to attack the flocks, and has ever since shown a most unmistakable appetite for mutton, preferring the flesh of that most useful and easily-mastered quadruped to that of any kangaroo however venison-like, or bandicoot however savoury. the colonists of van diemen's land have applied various names to this animal, according as its resemblance to other ferocious quadrupeds of different climates struck their fancy. the names of "tiger," "hyena," and "zebra-wolf," are partly acquired from its ferocity, somewhat corresponding with that of these well-known carnivorous denizens of other lands, and partly from the black bands which commence behind the shoulders, and which extend in length on the haunches, and resemble in some faint measure those on the barred tyrant of the indian jungles, and the other somewhat similarly ornamented mammalia implied in the names. these bars are well relieved by the general grayish-brown colour of the fur, which is somewhat woolly in its texture, from each of the hairs of which it is composed being waved. the specimens in the zoological gardens are very shy and restless; when alarmed they dash and leap about their dens and utter a short guttural cry somewhat resembling a bark. this shyness is partly to be attributed to their imperfect vision by day, and partly to their resemblance in character to the wolf, whose treachery and suspicious manners in confinement must have struck every one who has gazed on this "gaunt savage" in his den in the regent's park. the specimens exhibited are the first living members of the species first brought to europe. the male was taken in november , and the female at an earlier period in the same year, on the upper part of st patrick's river, about thirty miles north-east of launceston. after being gradually accustomed to confinement by mr gunn, they were shipped for this country, and reached the gardens in the spring of . it is very seldom, indeed, that they are caught alive; and when so caught they are generally at once killed, so that it was with some difficulty and by offering a considerable pecuniary inducement to the shepherds, that they were at last secured for the zoological society.[ ] in their den they show great activity, and can bound upwards nearly to the roof of the place where they are confined.--_a. white, from "excelsior."_ footnotes: [ ] so called from the latin word _marsupium_, a pouch. [ ] _diabolus ursinus_, the ursine opossum of van diemen's land, a great destroyer of young lambs. [ ] from the greek words for a pouch and a dog, [greek: thylakos] and [greek: kuôn]. dr gray had previously named it _peracyon_, from [greek: pêra], a bag, and [greek: kuôn], a dog. [ ] _echidna aculeata_, or _e. hystrix_, the porcupine ant-eater, a curious edentate, spine-covered quadruped, closely allied to the still stranger _ornithorhynchus_, the duck-bill. [ ] _phascolomys vombatus,_ a curious, broad-backed, and large-headed marsupial, two specimens of which are in the zoological gardens. it is a burrower, and in the teeth it resembles the rodent animals; hence its name, from [greek: phaskôlon], a pouch, and [greek: mus], a mouse. squirrel: arctic lemming. the one with its long plume-like tail, organised for a life among trees, the other with its home in the arctic regions, belong to an order not generally distinguished for intelligence, although, the beaver, once reputed a miracle of mind, belongs to it. the glirine or rodent animals are generally of small or moderate size, though some, like the water-loving capybara, are of considerable dimensions. the squirrel is a fine subject for a painter. there is a picture by sir edwin landseer, of a squirrel and bullfinch. on an engraving of it, published in , is inscribed "a pair of nut-crackers,"--a happy title, and very apposite. jekyll saw in colman's chambers a squirrel in the usual round cage. "ah! poor devil," said jekyll, "he's going the _home circuit_."[ ] if you come upon a squirrel on the ground, he is not long in getting to the topmost branch of the highest tree, so perfectly is he adapted for "rising" at a "bar"! pets of some of the revolutionary butchers. a squirrel. sir edward bulwer lytton, bart., in his novel, "zanoni,"[ ] pictures citizen couthon fondling a little spaniel "that he invariably carried in his bosom, even to the convention, as a vent for the exuberant sensibilities which overflowed his affectionate heart." in a note the novelist remarks-- "this tenderness for some pet animal was by no means peculiar to couthon; it seems rather a common fashion with the gentle butchers of the revolution. m. george duval informs us ('souvenirs de la terreur,' iii. p. ), that chaumette had an aviary, to which he devoted his harmless leisure; the murderous fournier carried, on his shoulders, a pretty little squirrel attached by a silver chain; panis bestowed the superfluity of his affections upon two gold pheasants; and marat, who would not abate one of the three hundred thousand heads he demanded, _reared doves_! apropos of the spaniel of couthon, duval gives us a characteristic anecdote of sergent, not one of the least relentless agents of the massacre of september. a lady came to implore his protection for one of her relations confined in the abbaye. he scarcely deigned to speak to her. as she retired in despair, she trod by accident on the paw of his favourite spaniel. sergent, turning round, enraged and furious, exclaimed, '_madam, have you no humanity?_'" arctic voyager and the lemming. captain back, on his arctic land expedition, when returning in september , encountered a severe gale, which forced them to land their boat, and as the water rose they had three times to haul it higher on the bank. he introduces an affecting little incident: "so completely cold and drenched was everything outside, that a poor little lemming, unable to contend with the floods, which had driven it successively from all its retreats, crept silently under the tent, and snuggled away in precarious security within a few paces of a sleeping terrier. unconscious of its danger, it licked its fur coat, and darted its bright eyes from object to object, as if pleased and surprised with its new quarters; but soon the pricked ears of the awakened dog announced its fate, and in another instant the poor little stranger was quivering in his jaws!"[ ] * * * * * mr mcdougall?][ ] records several amusing anecdotes of the little arctic lemming, named _arctomys spermophilus parryi_, after the great arctic voyager. he says,--"my own experience of those industrious little warriors tended to prove that they possessed a strange combination of sociality and combativeness. industrious they most certainly are, as is shown by the complicated excavation of their subterranean cities; besides which, every feather and hair of bird and animal found in the vicinity of their dwellings, is made to contribute its iota of warmth and comfort to the interior of their winter quarters. "i had," continues the master of the _resolute_, "many opportunities of watching their movements during my detention at winter harbour. my tent happened to be pitched immediately over one of their large towns, causing its inhabitants to issue forth from its thousand gates to catch a view of the strangers. frequently on waking we have found the little animals, rolled up in a ball, snugly ensconced within the folds of our blanket-bags; nor would they be expelled from such a warm and desirable position without showing fight. on several occasions i observed naps, the dog, fast asleep with one or two lemmings huddled away between its legs, like so many pups." he says that lieutenant mecham noticed an esquimaux dog, named buffer, trudging along, nose to the ground, quite unconscious of danger, when a lemming, suddenly starting from its cavern, seized poor buffer by the nose, inflicting a severe wound. the dog, astounded at such an unsuspected assault, gave a dismal howl, and at length shook the enemy off, after which he became the attacking party, and in less than a minute the presumptuous assailant disappeared between the jaws of the tartar he had attempted to catch. footnotes: [ ] mitchell's "popular guide to the zoological gardens," p. . ( .) [ ] mark lemon's "jest book," p. . [ ] ed. , p. . [ ] p. . sir john richardson told me that the species was _spermophilus parryi_. [ ] the eventful voyage of h.m. discovery ship _resolute_ to the arctic regions, in search of sir john franklin, in - - , pp. , . rats and mice. why should we not, like grainger, begin this section as the writer of "the sugar-cane" does one of his paragraphs-- "come muse! let's sing of rats." the "restless rottens" and mice need little introduction. they are a most fertile race, and some species of them seem only to be in human habitations. they are terrible nuisances, and yet rat-skins are said to be manufactured in paris into gloves. sydney smith's comparison of some one dying like a poisoned rat in a ditch is a powerful one. the same writer, in hunting down an unworthy man, with his cutting criticism, says, that he did it not on account of his power, but to put down what might prove noisome if not settled, much as a dutch burgomaster might hunt a rat, not for its value, but because by its boring it might cause the water to break through his dikes, and thus flood his native land. robert browning, in one of his poems, "the pied piper of hamelin," has powerfully described an incursion of rats. a few lines may be quoted:-- "almost five hundred years ago, to see the townsfolk suffer so from vermin, was a pity. "rats! they fought the dogs and killed the cats, and bit the babies in their cradles, and ate the cheeses out of the vats, and licked the soup from the cook's own ladles, split open the kegs of salted sprats, made nests inside men's sunday hats, and even spoiled the women's chats, by drowning their speaking with shrieking and squeaking in fifty different sharps and flats. * * * * * "and ere three shrill notes the pipes had uttered, you heard as if an army muttered; and the muttering grew to a grumbling; and the grumbling grew to a mighty rumbling; and out of the houses the rats came tumbling-- great rats, small rats, lean rats, brawny rats, brown rats, black rats, grey rats, tawny rats; grave old plodders, gay young friskers, fathers, mothers, uncles, cousins, cocking tails, and pricking whiskers, families by tens and dozens, brothers, sisters, husbands, wives-- followed the piper for their lives. from street to street he piped, advancing, and step for step they followed dancing, until they came to the river weser wherein all plunged and perished, save one." the duke of wellington and the musk-rat. mr taylor, in his notes to the artist haydon's autobiography, tells us that a favourite expression of the duke of wellington, when people tried to coax him to do what he had resolved not to do, was, "the rat has got into the bottle." this not very intelligible expression may refer to an anecdote i have heard of the duke's once telling, in his later days, how the musk-rats in india got into bottles, which ever after retained the odour of musk. "either the rats must be very small," said a lady who heard him, "or the bottles very large." "on the contrary, madam," was the duke's reply, "very small bottles and very large rats." "that is the style of logic we have to deal with at the horse guards," whispered lord ----. lady eglintoun and the rats. mr robert chambers, in his "traditions of edinburgh" (p. ), gives an interesting account of the elegant susanna, countess of eglintoun, who was in her eighty-fifth year when johnson and boswell visited her. she died in , at the age of ninety-one, having preserved to the last her stately mien and fine complexion. she is said to have washed her face periodically with sow's milk. "this venerable woman amused herself latterly in taming and patronising rats. she kept a vast number of these animals in her pay at auchans, and they succeeded in her affections the poets and artists she had loved in early life. it does not reflect much credit upon the latter, that her ladyship used to complain of never having met with true gratitude except from four-footed animals. she had a panel in the oak wainscot of her dining-room, which she tapped upon and opened at meal times, when ten or twelve jolly rats came tripping forth, and joined her at table. at the word of command or a signal from her ladyship, they retired again to their native obscurity--a trait of good sense in the character and habits of the animals which, it is hardly necessary to remark, patrons do not always find in two-legged _protégés_." general douglas and the rats. the biographer of this highly-distinguished military engineer-officer relates an anecdote of him when a lieutenant at tynemouth. the future author of well-known works on gunnery and military bridges, early began to show ability in mechanics. "lieutenant douglas occupied a room barely habitable, and had to contest the tenancy with rats, which asserted their claim with such tenacity, that he went to sleep at the risk of being devoured. their incursions compelled him to furnish himself with loaded pistols and a tinder-box, and he kept watch one night, remaining quiet till there was an irruption, when he started up and struck a light. but his vigilance proved of no avail, for the clink of the flint and steel caused a stampede, and not a rat remained by the time he had kindled the tinder. their flight suggested to him another device. he looked out all the holes, and covered them with slides, connected with each other by wires, and these he fastened to a string, which enabled him to draw them all with one pull, and thus close the outlets. the contrivance claims to be mentioned as his first success in mechanics, foreshadowing his future expertness. it came into use the same night: he pulled the string without rising from bed, then struck a light, while the rats flew off to the holes to find them blocked, and he shot them at leisure. two or three such massacres cleared off the intruders, and left him undisturbed in his quarters."[ ] hanover rats. how amusingly does mr waterton show his attachment to the extinct stuarts in his essays. go where he may, "a hanover rat" pops up before him. in his charming autobiography appended to the three series of his graphic essays, whether he be in rome or cologne, in york or london, at a farm-house, or on board a steamer on the rhine, "a hanover rat" is sure to be encountered. we could cite many amusing illustrations. earl stanhope[ ] speaks of the jacobites after the death of anne reviling all adherents of the court as "a parcel of roundheads and hanover rats." this is the phrase used by squire western in fielding's novel of "tom jones." he tells us that the former of these titles was the by-word first applied to the calvinistic preachers in the civil wars, from the close cropped hair which they affected as distinguished from the flowing curls of the cavaliers. the second phrase was of far more recent origin. it so chanced that not long after the accession of the house of hanover, some of the brown, that is, the german or norway rats, were first brought over to this country in some timber, as is said; and being much stronger than the black, or till then, the common rats, they in many places quite extirpated the latter. the word, both the noun and the verb "to rat," was first levelled at the converts to the government of george the first, but has by degrees obtained a wider meaning, and come to be applied to any sudden and mercenary change in politics. the ravages of rats might form the subject of a curious volume. they are not at all literary in their tastes, though they are known to eat through bales of books, should they be placed in the way of their runs. the booksellers in the row always leave room between the wall and the books in their cellars, to allow room for this predacious vermin. mr cole, when examined before the committee of the house on the condition of the depositories of the records some time ago, stated that "six or seven perfect skeletons of rats were found imbedded (in the rolls); bones of these vermin were generally distributed throughout the mass, and a dog was employed in hunting the live ones." irishman employed shooting rats. luttrell visited sydney smith at his parsonage in somersetshire. the london wit told some amusing irish stories, and his manner of telling them was so good. "one: 'is your master at home, paddy?' '_no_, your honour.' 'why, i saw him go in five minutes ago.' 'faith, your honour, he's not exactly at home; he's only there in the back yard a-shooting rats with cannon, your honour, for his _devarsion_.'"[ ] james watt and the rat's whiskers. mrs schimmelpenninck in her youth lived at birmingham, where she often met james watt. in her autobiography (p. ), she says, "everybody practically knew the infinite variety of his talents and stores of knowledge. when mr watt entered a room, men of letters, men of science, nay, military men, artists, ladies, even little children thronged round him. i remember a celebrated swedish artist having been instructed by him that rats' whiskers made the most pliant and elastic painting-brush; ladies would appeal to him on the best means of devising grates, curing smoky chimneys, warming their houses, and obtaining fast colours. i can speak from experience of his teaching me how to make a dulcimer, and improve a jew's harp." the poet gray compares the poet-laureate to a rat-catcher. the poet gray very much despised such offices as that of the poet-laureate, or that held by elkanah settle, the last of the city poets whose name is held up to ridicule by pope in the "dunciad." in a letter to the rev. wm. mason,[ ] he puts this very strikingly:-- "though i very well know the bland emolient saponaceous qualities both of sack and silver, yet if any great man would say to me, 'i make you rat-catcher to his majesty, with a salary of £ a year, and two butts of the best malaga; and though it has been usual to catch a mouse or two, for form's sake, in public once a year, yet to you, sir, we shall not stand upon these things,' i cannot say i should jump at it; nay, if they would drop the very name of the office, and call me sinecure to the king's majesty, i should still feel a little awkward, and think everybody i saw smelt a rat about me: but i do not pretend to blame any one else that has not the same sensations. for my part, i would rather be serjeant-trumpeter or pinmaker to the palace." jeremy bentham and the mice. the biographer of jeremy bentham[ ] tells us that among the animals he was fond of were mice. they were encouraged "to play" about in his workshop. i remember, when one got among his papers, that he exclaimed, "ho! ho! here's a mouse at work; why won't he come into my lap?--but then i ought to be writing legislation, and that would not do." one day, while we were at dinner, mice had got, as they frequently did, into the drawers of the dinner-table, and were making no small noise. "o you rascals," exclaimed bentham, "there's an uproar among you. i'll tell puss of you;" and then added, "i became once very intimate with a colony of mice. they used to run up my legs, and eat crumbs from my lap. i love everything that has four legs; so did george wilson. we were fond of mice, and fond of cats; but it was difficult to reconcile the two affections." jeremy bentham records: "george wilson had a disorder which kept him two months to his couch. the _mouses_ used to run up his back and eat the powder and pomatum from his hair. they used also to run up my knees when i went to see him. i remember they did so to lord glenbervie, who thought it odd."[ ] burns and the field mouse. the history of the origin of this well-known piece of the scottish poet is thus given by mr chambers in that edition of the life and works of robert burns,[ ] which will ever be regarded, by scotchmen at least, as the most complete and carefully-edited of the numerous editions of that most popular poet. "we have the testimony of gilbert burns that this beautiful poem was composed while the author was following the plough. burns ploughed with four horses, being twice the amount of power now required on most of the soils of scotland. he required an assistant, called a _gaudsman_, to drive the horses, his own duty being to hold and guide the plough. john blane, who had acted as gaudsman to burns, and who lived sixty years afterwards, had a distinct recollection of the turning-up of the mouse. like a thoughtless youth as he was, he ran after the creature to kill it, but was checked and recalled by his master, who, he observed, became thereafter thoughtful and abstracted. burns, who treated his servants with the familiarity of fellow-labourers, soon after read the poem to blane. to a mouse, on turning up her nest with the plough, november . "wee, sleekit, cow'rin, tim'rous beastie, oh, what a panic's in thy breastie! thou needna start awa sae hasty wi' bickering brattle! i wad be laith to rin and chase thee wi' murd'ring pattle.[ ] "i'm truly sorry man's dominion has broken nature's social union, and justifies that ill opinion, which makes thee startle at me, thy poor earth-born companion, and fellow-mortal! "i doubt na whyles, but thou may thieve; what then? poor beastie, thou maun live! a daimen icker in a thrave[ ] 's a sma' request: i'll get a blessin' wi' the laive, and never miss't. "thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin! its silly wa's the win's are strewin"! and naething now to big a new ane o, foggage green, and bleak december's winds ensuin' baith snell and keen! "thou saw the fields laid bare and waste, and weary winter coming fast, and cozie here, beneath the blast, thou thought to dwell, till crash! the cruel coulter passed out through thy cell. "that wee bit heap o' leaves and stibble, has cost thee mony a weary nibble! now thou's turned out for a' thy trouble, but house or hald, to thole the winter's sleety dribble, and cranreuch cauld! "but, mousie, thou art no thy lane; improving foresight may be vain; the best-laid schemes o' mice and men gang aft a-gley, and lea'e us nought but grief and pain for promised joy. "still thou art blest, compared wi' me! the present only toucheth thee; but, och! i backward cast my e'e, on prospects drear! and forward, though i canna see, i guess and fear." it was on the farm of mossgiel, in the parish of mauchline, where he resided nearly nine years, that the occurrence took place so pathetically recorded and gloriously commented on in this piece. destructive field mice. thomas fuller, in "the farewell" to his description of the "worthies of essex," says, "i wish the sad casualties may never return which lately have happened in this county; the one, , in the hundred of dengy, the other, , in the hundred of rochford and isle of foulness (rented in part by two of my credible parishioners, who attested it, having paid dear for the truth thereof); when an army of mice, nesting in ant-hills, as conies in burrows, shaved off the grass at the bare roots, which, withering to dung, was infectious to cattle. the march following, numberless flocks of owls from all parts flew thither, and destroyed them, which otherwise had ruined the country, if continuing another year. thus, though great the distance betwixt a man and a mouse, the meanest may become formidable to the mightiest creature by their multitudes; and this may render the punishment of the philistines more clearly to our apprehensions, at the same time pestered with mice in their barns and pained with emerods in their bodies."[ ] the baron von trenck and the tame mouse in prison. the unfortunate baron von trenck was a prussian officer, whose adventures, imprisonments, and escape form the subject of memoirs which he wrote in hungary. he at last settled in france, and there, in , perished by the guillotine. before he obtained his liberty, he lost a companion which had for two years helped to beguile the solitude of his captivity. this was a mouse, which he had tamed so perfectly, that the little creature was continually playing with him, and would eat out of his mouth. "one night it skipped about so much that the sentinels heard a noise and reported it to the officer of the guard. as the garrison had been changed at the peace (between austria and prussia), and as trenck had not been able to form at once so close a connexion with the officers of the regular troops as he had done with those of the militia, one of the former, after ascertaining the truth of the report with his own ears, sent to inform the commandant that something extraordinary was going on in the prison. the town-major arrived in consequence early in the morning, accompanied by locksmiths and masons. the floor, the walls, the baron's chains, his body, everything in short, were strictly examined. finding all in order, they asked the cause of the last evening's bustle. trenck had heard the mouse, and told them frankly by what it had been occasioned. they desired him to call his little favourite; he whistled, and the mouse immediately leaped upon his shoulder. he solicited that its life might be spared; but the officer of the guard took it into his possession, promising, however, on his word of honour, to give it to a lady who would take great care of it. turning it afterwards loose in his chamber, the mouse, who knew nobody but trenck, soon disappeared, and hid himself in a hole. at the usual hour of visiting his prison, when the officers were just going away, the poor little animal darted in, climbed up his legs, seated itself on his shoulder, and played a thousand tricks to express the joy it felt on seeing him again. every one was astonished, and wished to have it. the major, to terminate the dispute, carried it away, gave it to his wife, who had a light cage made for it; but the mouse refused to eat, and a few days after was found dead."[ ] alexander wilson and the mouse. about the time when alexander wilson formed the design of drawing the american birds, and writing those descriptions which, when published, gave him that name which has clung to him, "_the american ornithologist_" he had a school within a few miles of philadelphia. he was then a keen student of the animal life around him. in he wrote to his friend bertram, and tells him of his having had "live crows, hawks, and owls; opossums, squirrels, snakes, lizards," &c. he tells him that his room sometimes reminded him of noah's ark, and comically adds, "but noah had a wife in one corner of it, and in this particular our parallel does not altogether tally. i receive every subject of natural history that is brought to me; and, though they do not march into my ark from all quarters, as they did into that of our great ancestor, yet i find means, by the distribution of a few fivepenny _bits_, to make them find the way fast enough. a boy, not long ago, brought me a large basketful of crows. i expect his next load will be bull-frogs, if i don't soon issue orders to the contrary. one of my boys caught a mouse in school a few days ago, and directly marched up to me with his prisoner. i set about drawing it the same evening, and all the while the pantings of its little heart showed it to be in the most extreme agonies of fear. i had intended to kill it, in order to fix it in the claws of a stuffed owl; but, happening to spill a few drops of water near where it was tied, it lapped it up with such eagerness, and looked in my face with such an eye of supplicating terror, as perfectly overcame me. i immediately restored it to life and liberty. the agonies of a prisoner at the stake, while the fire and instruments of torture are preparing, could not be more severe than the sufferings of that poor mouse; and, insignificant as the object was, i felt at that moment the sweet sensation that mercy leaves in the mind when she triumphs over cruelty."[ ] footnotes: [ ] "the life of general sir howard douglas, bart., g.c.b., f.r.s., d.c.l., from his notes, conversations, and correspondence," by s. w. fullom. . p. . [ ] "history of england, from the peace of utrecht," by lord mahon, vol. vii. p. . [ ] life of sydney smith, by his daughter, lady holland, vol. i. . [ ] "correspondence of thomas gray and mason, edited from the originals," by the rev. john mitford, p. . [ ] dr bowring's "life of jeremy bentham," works, vol. xi. p. , . [ ] "bowring's life," vol. x., works, p. . [ ] by robert chambers, edinburgh, , vols., vol. i., p. . [ ] the stick used for clearing away the clods from the plough. [ ] an occasional ear of corn in a thrave,--that is, twenty-four sheaves. [ ] "worthies of england," vol. i. p. . [ ] "wilson's life," p. . hares, rabbits, guinea-pig. all gnawing creatures, belonging to the glirine or rodentia order. charles lamb has written on the hare, in one view of that finely-flavoured beast, as only elia could write. but the poet cowper has made the hare's history peculiarly pleasing and familiar. how often in his letters he alludes to his hares! mrs e. b. browning, in her exquisitely delicate and pathetic poem, "cowper's grave," thus alludes to cowper's pets-- "wild, timid hares were drawn from woods to share his home caresses, uplooking to his human eyes with sylvan tendernesses; the very world, by god's constraint, from falsehood's ways removing, its women and its men became, beside him, true and loving." not many years ago the compiler saw traces of the holes the poet had cut in the skirting-boards of the room for their ingress and egress, that they might have ampler room for wandering. his epitaphs on two of them are often quoted. rabbits are peculiarly the pets of boys, and though, when wild, often great vermin, from their destructive habits and their mining operations, are yet said to contribute much to the revenue of one european monarch. how mr malthus ought to have hated guinea-pigs, those fertile little lumps of blotched fur! few creatures can be more productive. william cowper on his hares. what a model description of the habits of an animal we have in the gentle cowper's account of his hares! would that he had made pets of other animals, and written descriptions of them, like that which follows, and which is here copied from the original place to which he contributed it.[ ] "_may_ . "mr urban,--convinced that you despise no communications that may gratify curiosity, amuse rationally, or add, though but a little, to the stock of public knowledge, i send you a circumstantial account of an animal, which, though its general properties are pretty well known, is for the most part such a stranger to man, that we are but little aware of its peculiarities. we know indeed that the hare is good to hunt and good to eat; but in all other respects poor puss is a neglected subject. in the year , being much indisposed, both in mind and body, incapable of diverting myself either with company or books, and yet in a condition that made some diversion necessary, i was glad of anything that would engage my attention without fatiguing it. the children of a neighbour of mine had a leveret given them for a plaything; it was at that time about three months old. understanding better how to tease the poor creature than to feed it, and soon becoming weary of their charge, they readily consented that their father, who saw it pining and growing leaner every day, should offer it to my acceptance. i was willing enough to take the prisoner under my protection, perceiving that in the management of such an animal, and in the attempt to tame it, i should find just that sort of employment which my case required. it was soon known among the neighbours that i was pleased with the present; and the consequence was, that in a short time, i had as many leverets offered to me as would have stocked a paddock. i undertook the care of three, which it is necessary that i should here distinguish by the names i gave them--puss, tiney, and bess. notwithstanding the two feminine appellatives, i must inform you that they were all males. immediately commencing carpenter, i built them houses to sleep in. each had a separate apartment, so contrived that their ordure would pass through the bottom of it; an earthen pan placed under each received whatsoever fell, which being duly emptied and washed, they were thus kept perfectly sweet and clean. in the daytime they had the range of a hall, and at night retired each to his own bed, never intruding into that of another. "puss grew presently familiar, would leap into my lap, raise himself upon his hinder feet, and bite the hair from my temples. he would suffer me to take him up, and to carry him about in my arms, and has more than once fallen fast asleep upon my knee. he was ill three days, during which time i nursed him, kept him apart from his fellows that they might not molest him (for, like many other wild animals, they persecute one of their own species that is sick), and by constant care, and trying him with a variety of herbs, restored him to perfect health. no creature could be more grateful than my patient after his recovery,--a sentiment which he most significantly expressed by licking my hand, first the back of it, then the palm, then every finger separately; then between all the fingers, as if anxious to leave no part of it unsaluted,--a ceremony which he never performed but once again upon a similar occasion. finding him extremely tractable, i made it my custom to carry him always after breakfast into the garden, where he hid himself generally under the leaves of a cucumber vine, sleeping or chewing the cud till evening; in the leaves also of that vine he found a favourite repast. i had not long habituated him to this taste of liberty, before he began to be impatient for the return of the time when he might enjoy it. he would invite me to the garden by drumming upon my knee, and by a look of such expression as it was not possible to misinterpret. if this rhetoric did not immediately succeed, he would take the skirt of my coat between his teeth, and pull at it with all his force. thus puss might be said to be perfectly tamed; the shyness of his nature was done away, and on the whole it was visible, by many symptoms which i have not room to enumerate, that he was happier in human society than when shut up with his natural companions. "not so tiney. upon him the kindest treatment had not the least effect. he, too, was sick, and in his sickness, had an equal share of my attention; but if, after his recovery, i took the liberty to stroke him, he would grunt, strike with his fore-feet, spring forward, and bite. he was, however, very entertaining in his way, even his surliness was matter of mirth, and in his play he preserved such an air of gravity, and performed his feats with such a solemnity of manner, that in him, too, i had an agreeable companion. "bess, who died soon after he was full grown, and whose death was occasioned by his being turned into his box, which had been washed, while it was yet damp, was a hare of great humour and drollery. puss was tamed by gentle usage; tiney was not to be tamed at all; and bess had a courage and confidence that made him tame from the beginning. i always admitted them into the parlour after supper, where the carpet affording their feet a firm hold, they would frisk, and bound, and play a thousand gambols, in which bess, being remarkably strong and fearless, was always superior to the rest, and proved himself the vestris of the party. one evening, the cat, being in the room, had the hardiness to pat bess upon the cheek, an indignity which he resented by drumming upon her back with such violence, that the cat was happy to escape from under his paws and hide herself. "you observe, sir, that i describe these animals as having each a character of his own. such they were in fact, and their countenances were so expressive of that character, that, when i looked only on the face of either, i immediately knew which it was. it is said that a shepherd, however numerous his flock, soon becomes so familiar with their features, that he can by that indication only distinguish each from all the rest, and yet to a common observer the difference is hardly perceptible. i doubt not that the same discrimination in the cast of countenances would be discoverable in hares, and am persuaded that among a thousand of them no two could be found exactly similar; a circumstance little suspected by those who have not had opportunity to observe it. these creatures have a singular sagacity in discovering the minutest alteration that is made in the place to which they are accustomed, and instantly apply their nose to the examination of a new object. a small hole being burnt in the carpet, it was mended with a patch, and that patch in a moment underwent the strictest scrutiny. they seem, too, to be very much directed by the smell in the choice of their favourites; to some persons, though they saw them daily, they could never be reconciled, and would even scream when they attempted to touch them; but a miller coming in, engaged their affections at once--his powdered coat had charms that were irresistible. you will not wonder, sir, that my intimate acquaintance with these specimens of the kind has taught me to hold the sportsman's amusement in abhorrence. he little knows what amiable creatures he persecutes, of what gratitude they are capable, how cheerful they are in their spirits, what enjoyment they have of life, and that, impressed as they seem with a peculiar dread of man, it is only because man gives them peculiar cause for it. "that i may not be tedious, i will just give you a short summary of those articles of diet that suit them best, and then retire to make room for some more important correspondent. "i take it to be a general opinion that they graze, but it is an erroneous one, at least grass is not their staple; they seem rather to use it medicinally, soon quitting it for leaves of almost any kind. sowthistle, dent-de-lion, and lettuce are their favourite vegetables, especially the last. i discovered, by accident, that fine white sand is in great estimation with them, i suppose as a digestive. it happened that i was cleaning a bird cage while the hares were with me; i placed a pot filled with such sand upon the floor, to which being at once directed by a strong instinct, they devoured it voraciously; since that time i have generally taken care to see them well supplied with it. they account green corn a delicacy, both blade and stalk, but the ear they seldom eat; straw of any kind, especially wheat-straw, is another of their dainties; they will feed greedily upon oats, but if furnished with clean straw, never want them; it serves them also for a bed, and, if shaken up daily, will be kept sweet and dry for a considerable time. they do not indeed require aromatic herbs, but will eat a small quantity of them with great relish, and are particularly fond of the plant called musk; they seem to resemble sheep in this, that if their pastures be too succulent, they are very subject to the rot; to prevent which, i always made bread their principal nourishment; and, filling a pan with it cut into small squares, placed it every evening in their chambers, for they feed only at evening and in the night; during the winter, when vegetables are not to be got, i mingled this mess of bread with shreds of carrot, adding to it the rind of apples cut extremely thin; for, though they are fond of the paring, the apple itself disgusts them. these, however, not being a sufficient substitute for the juice of summer herbs, they must at this time be supplied with water; but so placed that they cannot overset it into their beds. i must not omit, that occasionally they are much pleased with twigs of hawthorn and of the common briar, eating even the very wood when it is of considerable thickness. "bess, i have said, died young; tiney lived to be nine years old, and died at last, i have reason to think, of some hurt in his loins by a fall. puss is still living, and has just completed his tenth year, discovering no signs of decay nor even of age, except that he is grown more discreet and less frolicsome than he was. i cannot conclude, sir, without informing you that i have lately introduced a dog to his acquaintance, a spaniel that had never seen a hare, to a hare that had never seen a spaniel. i did it with great caution, but there was no real need of it. puss discovered no token of fear, nor marquis the least symptom of hostility. there is, therefore, it should seem, no natural antipathy between dog and hare, but the pursuit of the one occasions the flight of the other, and the dog pursues because he is trained to it; they eat bread at the same time out of the same hand, and are in all respects sociable and friendly.--yours &c., w. c. "_p.s._--i should not do complete justice to my subject, did i not add, that they have no ill scent belonging to them, that they are indefatigably nice in keeping themselves clean, for which purpose nature has furnished them with a brush under each foot; and that they are never infested by any vermin." our readers know his fine verses or epitaphs on his hares. we may quote from the biographer to whom sir robert peel and the duke of wellington left all their papers and memoirs, a sentence or two on cowper's hares, and on the other pets of that lovable man. earl stanhope[ ] says of this poet and "best letter-writer in the english language--"such, indeed, were his powers of description and felicity of language, that even the most trivial objects drew life and colour from his touch. in his pages, the training of three tame hares, or the building of a frame for cucumbers, excite a warmer interest than many accounts compiled by other writers, of great battles deciding the fate of empires. in his pages, the sluggish waters of the ouse,--the floating lilies which he stooped to gather from them,--the poplars, in whose shade he sat, and over whose fall he mourned, rise before us as though we had known and loved them too. as cowper himself declares, 'my descriptions are all from nature, not one of them second-handed; my delineations of the heart are from my own experience, not one of them borrowed from books.'" hairs or hares! a gentleman on circuit, narrating to lord norbury some extravagant feat in sporting, mentioned that he had lately shot thirty-three hares before breakfast. "thirty-three _hairs_!" exclaimed lord norbury; "zounds, sir! then you must have been firing at a _wig_."[ ] sportsmen are very apt to exaggerate. they did so at least in horace's days. we have heard of a man of rank, who actually made a gamekeeper, who was a first-rate marksman, fire whenever he discharged his piece. the story goes, that _that_ man was regarded as having shot everything that fell. the duke of l.'s reply, when it was observed to him that the gentlemen bordering on his estates were continually hunting upon them, and that he ought not to suffer it, is worthy of imitation. "i had much rather," said he, "have _friends_ than hares."[ ] the time must be coming, when every farmer or peasant will be allowed to shoot hares. it is surely cruel to imprison or fine a man for shooting and shouldering a hare. having lately traversed a goodly part of the perthshire highlands, we were struck with the numbers of arctic hares that scudded away out of our path. what a fine help one of them would be to a poor family. s. bisset and his trained hare and turtle. s. bisset, whose training of other animals is elsewhere recorded, like the poet cowper, procured a leveret, and reared it to beat several marches on the drum with its hind legs, until it became a good stout hare. this creature, which is always set down as the most timid, he declared to be as mischievous and bold an animal, to the extent of its power, as any with which he was acquainted. he taught canary-birds, linnets, and sparrows, to spell the name of any person in company, to distinguish the hour and minute of time, and play many other surprising tricks. he trained six turkey-cocks to go through a regular country dance; but in doing this he confessed he adopted the eastern method, by which camels are made to dance, by heating the floor. in the course of six months' teaching, he made a turtle fetch and carry like a dog; and having chalked the floor, and blackened its claws, could direct it to trace out any given name of the company.[ ] a family of rabbits all blind of one eye. lady anne barnard, in her cape journal,[ ] referring to dessin or rabbit island at the cape of good hope, says that it is "dreadfully exposed to the south-east winds. a gentleman told me of a natural phenomenon he had met with when shooting there; his dog pointed at a rabbit's hole, where the company within were placed so near the opening that he could see mynheer, madame, and the whole rabbit family. pompey, encouraged, brought out the old coney, his wife, and seven young ones,--all, like the callenders in the 'arabian nights' entertainments,' blind of one eye, and that the same eye. the question was, on which side of the island was the rabbit's hole? with a very little reasoning and comparing, it was found that from its position, the keen blast must have produced this effect. the oddest part of this story is, that it is true, but i do not expect you to believe it." thomas fuller on norfolk rabbits. "these are an army of natural pioneers whence men have learned _cuniculos agere_, the art of undermining. they thrive best on barren ground, and grow fattest in the hardest frosts. their flesh is fine and wholesome. if scottish men tax our language as improper, and smile at our wing of a rabbit, let us laugh at their shoulder of a capon. their skins were formerly much used, when furs were in fashion; till of late our citizens, of romans are turned grecians, have laid down their grave gowns and taken up their light cloaks; men generally disliking all habits, though emblems of honour, if also badges of age. their rich or silver-hair skins, formerly so dear, are now levelled in prices with other colours; yea, are lower than black in estimation, because their wool is most used in making of hats, commonly (for the more credit) called half-beavers, though many of them hardly amount to the proportion of semi-demi castors."[ ] dr chalmers and the guinea-pig. mr aitken alludes in a pleasing manner to an instance of dr chalmers's fondness for animals. he had just been appointed the head-master of one of the glasgow parish schools (st john's). "early in the week following my appointment, i received my first private call. one circumstance occurred during the visit which i still remember most vividly. one of my children had been presented with a pair of guinea-pigs. these had found their way into the apartment where we were sitting, and ran about in all directions. i could have wished to turn them out, but had not the power to rise from my chair. he soon observed them, followed them with his eye as they now retreated under his chair and again ventured out into his presence--he even changed the position of his feet to give them scope. that same kindly eye, one glance of which we all loved so much to catch in after-life, beamed only the more warmly as the creatures frisked in greater confidence around him. it was to me an omen for good. he who could enjoy thus the innocent gamble of these guinea-pigs could not fail to be accessible for good when occasion required. it was the first flush of that largeness of heart which afterwards appeared in all i ever heard him say or saw him do."[ ] footnotes: [ ] "memoir of wilson," p. , prefixed to his poetical works. belfast, . [ ] _gentleman's magazine_, for june , being the sixth number of vol. liv., pp. - , "unnoticed properties of that little animal the hare." [ ] "history of england," vol. vi. p. . [ ] mark lemon, "jest book," p. . [ ] mark lemon, "jest book," p. . [ ] biography of s. bisset in g. h. wilson's "eccentric mirror," vol. i., no. , p. . [ ] published by lord lindsay in vol. iii. of his "lives of the lindsays," p. . [ ] "worthies of england," vol. ii. p. (ed. ). sloth. reverend sydney smith on the sloth. few anecdotes can be published of this curious creature, though waterton and burchell, or dr buckland, for him and his friend bates, have recorded much that is interesting of its habits. the following bit is peculiarly happy: "the sloth, in its wild state, spends its life in trees, and never leaves them but from force or accident. the eagle to the sky, the mole to the ground, the sloth to the tree; but what is most extraordinary, he lives not _upon_ the branches, but _under_ them. he moves suspended, rests suspended, sleeps suspended, and passes his life in suspense--like a young clergyman distantly related to a bishop."[ ] [illustration: the great ant-eater. (myrmecophaga jabata).] footnotes: [ ] dr hannah's "memoirs of the life and writings of thomas chalmers, d.d., l.l.d.," vol. ii. p. . the great ant-eater. (_myrmecophaga jubata_, l.[ ]) a few months ago a handbill was distributed in the neighbourhood of seven dials, inviting the public to visit a "wonderful animal fed with ants, and possessing strength to kill the lion, tiger, or any other animal under its claws." we entered the miserable apartment where it was exhibited, and any spectator must at once have been struck with the creature's want of resemblance to any other he had ever seen. its head so small, so long and slender; the straight, wiry, dry hair with which it was covered, and its singularly large and bushy tail, first attracted notice. a second glance showed its enormously thick fore-legs, and the claws of its feet turned in, so that it walked on the sides of its soles. oken and st hilaire would have said that it was "all extremity." a cup, with the contents of one or two eggs, was brought, and it sucked them with great avidity, every now and then darting from its small mouth a very long tongue, which looked like a great, black worm, whisking about in the custard. one of its showmen told us that it had attacked the woman of the house the preceding day, and had scratched her arm. whether this was true or grossly exaggerated, we know not; but if so, we suspect that the woman herself must have been in fault, and not the inoffensive stranger. on the payment of a handsome consideration to her owners, the poor captive was transferred from her unwholesome lodging in st giles's, to the gardens of the zoological society in the regent's park. and within the last few weeks her solitude has been cheered by the arrival of a companion from her native forests. the new-comer is in beautiful condition, though not nearly so large. he has a head decidedly shorter and stronger, and is probably not yet fully grown. the great ant-eater seems to be scattered over a wide extent of south america--guiana, brazil, and paraguay, being its places of abode. it is a stout animal, measuring from the end of the snout to the tip of the long tail six or seven feet, of which the tail takes nearly the half; so that the actual size of its body is much reduced. in paraguay it is named _nurumi_ or _yogui_. the former name is altered from the native word for _small mouth_, and indicates a striking peculiarity in its structure. the portuguese call it _tamandua_; the spaniards, _osa hormiguero_ (_i.e._, ant-hill bear). in paraguay it prefers sides of lakes where ants, at least termites or white ants, are abundant; but it also frequents woods. in guiana, mr waterton found it chiefly "in the inmost recesses of the forest," where it "seems partial to the low and swampy parts near creeks, where the troely tree grows."[ ] it sleeps a great deal, reclining on its side, as the visitor to the gardens may frequently see it do, with its head between its fore-legs, joining its fore and hindfeet, and spreading the tail so as to cover the whole body. huddled up under this thatch, it might almost be taken for a bundle of coarse and badly dried hay. the tail is thickly covered with long hairs, placed vertically, the hairs draggling on the ground. when the creature is irritated, the tail is shaken straight and elevated. the natives of paraguay, like other persecutors of harmlessness, kill every specimen they meet, so that the ant-eater gets rare, and so rare is it on the amazon that mr wallace, who travelled there from to , honestly tells us he never saw one. he heard, however, that during rain it turns its bushy tail over its head and stands still. the indians, knowing this habit, when they meet an ant-eater, make a rustling noise among the leaves. the creature instantly turns up its tail, and is easily killed by the stroke of a stick on its little head.[ ] the ant-eater is slow in its movements--never attempting to escape. when hard pressed it stops, and, seated on its hind-legs, waits for the aggressor. its object is to receive him between its fore-legs; and one has only to look at its arms and claws in order to fancy what a frightful squeeze it would give. nothing but death, they say, will make the creature relax its grasp. it is asserted that the jaguar--the tiger of south america, and the most formidable beast of the new world--dares not attack it. this azara, with good reason, doubts. a single bite from a jaguar, or the stroke of his paw, would fracture an ant-eater's skull before it had time to turn round; for the movements of this edentate quadruped are as sluggish as those of the toothed carnivorous tyrant are rapid. as seen in its handsome and roomy cage, the ant-eater gives us an impression of dulness and stupidity; and always smelling and listening and looking at the door where its keeper introduces its food, its mind, when awake, appears to be constantly occupied about "creature comforts." in the course of the day it laps up with its darting tongue, and sucks in through its long taper snout a dozen eggs, and almost the whole of a rabbit, chopped into a fine mince-meat. with such dainty fare, and with the anxious attention which it receives from its sagacious curators, it is scarcely surprising that it thrives; and when the warm weather comes, it will be a fine sight to see these animals enjoying the range of a paddock, which will doubtless be provided for their use, and exercising their brawny forelimbs and powerful claws in pulling down conical mounds, which may remind them of departed joys and balmier climes. nor will it be the least charm of the spectacle that it will enable us to compare this living species with other _edentata_ of south america--such as the megatherium, now only found in the fossil state, but so admirably restored by mr hawkins for the crystal palace. we need not dwell on the admirable adaptation of the ant-eater to its position and to its few and simple wants. to those who have not studied "the works of the lord," it may appear uncouth and unattractive. compared with a dog, it is stupid; and alongside of a lion, it is slow. it has not the symmetry of the horse, nor the beautiful markings of the zebra and leopard. but its creator has given it the instincts, the form, the muscular powers, and the colours which best answer its purpose. and no one can say that it is plain and ugly, who looks at its legs so prettily variegated with white and black, and its noble black collar. those of our readers who wish further information will find it in the _literary gazette_ for october , . in that article it is easy to recognise the roman hand of the _facile princeps_ among living comparative anatomists. long may it be before either of our new acquaintances in the garden afford him a subject for dissection; but when that day arrives, we hope that he will not delay to publish the memoir.[ ]--_a. white, in "excelsior" (with additions)._ footnotes: [ ] sydney smith, "review of waterton's wanderings." _edinburgh review_, . works, vol. ii. p. . [ ] from [greek: myrmêx], ant; [greek: phagô], i eat; _jubata_, maned. [ ] "wanderings in south america" (third journey), p. , (ed. ). [ ] "a narrative of travels on the amazon and rio negro," by alfred r. wallace, , p. . rhinoceros and elephant. two genera of the bulkiest among terrestrial beasts. just imagine the great rhinoceros at the zoological gardens taking it into its head, with that little eye, target hide, and bulky bones, and other items about it, to fondle its keeper!--he was nearly crushed to death. how the great thick-skinned creature enjoys a bath! as for the elephant, he is a mountain of matter as well as of animal intelligence. sir emerson tennant in his "ceylon," but especially in his "natural history," volumes, has given some truly readable chapters on the asiatic elephant. we could have extracted many an anecdote, even from recent works, of the intelligent sagacity of the indian as well as the african elephants. the account of the shooting of mr cross's well-known elephant _chunie_, at exeter change, has been very curiously and fully detailed by hone in his "every-day book." a skull of an elephant in the british museum, shows how wonderfully an elephant is at times able to defend itself from attack. many a shot that "rogue elephant" had received, years before the three or four indian sportsmen, who presented its skull as a trophy, succeeded in planting a shot in its brain, or in its heart. think of the feelings of lord clive's relations, at the prospect of his sending home an elephant for a pet. the good folks, not without some motive, as the great indian ruler conceived, other than mere love for him, had been sending him presents. samuel rogers, who wrote the neatest of hands, records that clive wrote the worst and certainly the most illegible of scrawls. instead of "elephant," as they read it, their liberal relative had written "equivalent!" the lord keeper guilford and his visit to the rhinoceros in the city of london.[ ] it is strange to read in the life of the lord keeper guilford, that his lordship's court enemies, "hard put to it to find, or invent, something tending to the diminution of his character," took advantage of his going to see a rhinoceros, to circulate a foolish story of him, which much annoyed him. it was in the reign of james ii. his biographer thus records it. the rhinoceros, referred to, was the first ever brought to england. evelyn, in his "memoirs," says, that it was sold for £ , a most enormous sum in those days ( ). roger north relates the story:--"it fell out thus--a merchant of sir dudley north's acquaintance had brought over an enormous rhinoceros, to be sold to showmen for profit. it is a noble beast, wonderfully armed by nature for offence, but more for defence, being covered with impenetrable shields, which no weapon would make any impression upon, and a rarity so great that few men, in our country, have in their whole lives the opportunity of seeing so singular an animal. this merchant told sir dudley north that if he, with a friend or two, had a mind to see it, they might take the opportunity at his house before it was sold. hereupon sir dudley north proposed to his brother, the lord keeper, to go with him upon this exhibition, which he did, and came away exceedingly satisfied with the curiosity he had seen. but whether he was dogged to find out where he and his brother housed in the city, or flying fame carried an account of the voyage to court, i know not; but it is certain that the very next morning a bruit went from thence all over the town, and (as factious reports used to run) in a very short time, viz., that his lordship rode upon the rhinoceros, than which a more infantine exploit could not have been fastened upon him. and most people were struck with amazement at it, and divers ran here and there to find out whether it was true or no. and soon after dinner some lords and others came to his lordship to know the truth from himself, for the setters of the lie affirmed it positively as of their own knowledge. that did not give his lordship much disturbance, for he expected no better from his adversaries. but that his friends, intelligent persons, who must know him to be far from guilty of any childish levity, should believe it, was what roiled him extremely, and much more when they had the face to come to him to know if it were true. i never saw him in such a rage, and to lay about him with affronts (which he keenly bestowed upon the minor courtiers that came on that errand) as then; for he sent them away with fleas in their ear. and he was seriously angry with his own brother, sir dudley north, because he did not contradict the lie in sudden and direct terms, but laughed as taking the question put to him for a banter, till, by iteration, he was brought to it. for some lords came, and because they seemed to attribute somewhat to the avowed positiveness of the reporters, he rather chose to send for his brother to attest than to impose his bare denial, and so it passed; and the noble earl (of sunderland), with jeffries, and others of that crew, made merry, and never blushed at the lie of their own making, but valued themselves upon it as a very good jest." and so it passed. what a sensation would have been caused by the sudden apparition in that age of a few numbers of _punch_. what a subject for a cartoon, some john leech of would have made of the stately lord keeper on the back of a rhinoceros, and the infamous judge jeffries leering at him from a window. the elephant and his trunk. canning and another gentleman were looking at a picture of the deluge; the ark was seen in the middle distance, while in the fore-sea an elephant was struggling with his fate. "i wonder," said the gentleman, "that the elephant did not secure _an inside_ place!"--"he was too late, my friend," replied canning; "he was detained _packing up his trunk_."[ ] sir richard phillips and jelly made of ivory dust.--a vegetarian taken in. the biographers of james montgomery[ ] relate an amusing anecdote of sir richard phillips, the eccentric london bookseller and author. he visited sheffield in october . "he had lived too long amidst the bustle and business of the great world, and was too little conscious of any feeling at all like diffidence, to allow him to hesitate about calling upon any person, whether of rank, genius, or eccentricity, when the success of his project was likely to be thereby promoted. the time selected by the free and easy knight for his unannounced visitation of montgomery was _sunday at dinner time_. he was at once asked to sit down and partake of the chickens and bacon which had just been placed on the table, but here was a dilemma; sir richard, although neither a brahmin nor a jew, avowed himself a staunch pythagorean--he could eat no flesh! luckily there was a plentiful supply of carrots and turnips, and--jelly. but was the latter made from calves' feet? montgomery assured his guest that it was _not_; but, added he, with a conscientious regard for his visitor's scruples, from _ivory dust_. we believe the poet fancied the hypothesis of an animal origin of this viand could not be very obscure; it was, however, swallowed; the clever bibliopole perhaps believing, with some of the sheffield ivory-cutters, that elephants, instead of being hunted and killed for their tusks, _shed them_ when fully grown, as bucks do their antlers!" j. t. smith and the elephant. that gossiping man, j. t. smith, once keeper of the prints in the british museum, and author of "nollekens and his times," relates, that when he and a friend were returning late from a club, and were approaching temple bar, "about one o'clock, a most unaccountable appearance claimed our attention,--it was no less than an elephant, whose keepers were coaxing it to pass through the gateway. he had been accompanied with several persons from the tower wharf with tall poles, but was principally guided by two men with ropes, each walking on either side of the street, to keep him as much as possible in the middle, on his way to the menagerie, exeter change, to which destination, after passing st clement's church, he steadily trudged on, with strict obedience to the command of his keepers.[ ] "i had the honour afterwards of partaking of a pot of barclay's entire with this same elephant, which high mark of his condescension was bestowed when i accompanied my friend, the late sir james wintel lake, bart., to view the rare animals in exeter change,--that gentleman being assured by the elephant's keeper that, if he would offer the beast a shilling, he would see the noble animal nod his head and drink a pot of porter. the elephant had no sooner taken the shilling, which he did in the mildest manner from the palm of sir james's hand, than he gave it to the keeper, and eagerly watched his return with the beer. the elephant then, after placing his proboscis to the top of the tankard, drew up nearly the whole of the beverage. the keeper observed, 'you will hardly believe, gentlemen, but the little he has left is quite warm;' upon this we were tempted to taste it, and it really was so. this animal was afterwards disposed of for the sum of one thousand guineas." the elephant and the tailor. this old story has been often told, but never so well as by sydney smith in one of his lectures at the royal institution. "every one knows the old story of the tailor and the elephant, which, if it be not true, at least shows the opinion the orientals, who know the animal well, entertain of his sagacity. an eastern tailor to the court was making a magnificent doublet for a bashaw of nine tails, and covering it, after the manner of eastern doublets, with gold, silver, and every species of metallic magnificence. as he was busying himself on this momentous occasion, there passed by, to the pools of water, one of the royal elephants, about the size of a broad-wheeled waggon, rich in ivory teeth, and shaking, with its ponderous tread, the tailor's shop to its remotest thimble. as he passed near the window, the elephant happened to look in; the tailor lifted up his eyes, perceived the proboscis of the elephant near him, and, being seized with a fit of facetiousness, pricked the animal with his needle; the mass of matter immediately retired, stalked away to the pool, filled his trunk full of muddy water, and, returning to the shop, overwhelmed the artisan and his doublet with the dirty effects of his vengeance." dr johnson alluded to as "an elephant." "if an elephant could write a book, perhaps one that had read a great deal would say, that an arabian horse is a very clumsy, ungraceful animal." this was written by horace walpole to miss berry, in , in allusion to dr johnson's depreciation of thomas gray the poet.[ ] it is an acute observation, well worth being wrought out. there is a grandeur and even a grace about this bulky beast and its motions well deserving the study of any one who has the opportunity. elephants in our streets are not now so rare as they used to be. we saw three in one procession in the streets of edinburgh in . elephant's skin. "did any of you ever see an elephant's skin?" asked the master of an infant school in a fast neighbourhood. "i have!" shouted a six-year-old at the foot of the class. "where?" inquired the master, amused by his earnestness. "_on the elephant!_" was the reply. footnotes: [ ] this memoir has been published, and the subject of it was this very ant-eater. professor owen has introduced many striking facts from the history of its structure, in his lecture delivered at exeter hall, , and published by the messrs nisbet. [ ] "the life of the right hon. francis north, baron guilford, lord keeper of the great seal, under king charles ii. and king james ii., &c." by the hon. roger north. a new edition, in three vols., , vol. ii. p. . [ ] mark lemon, "jest book," p. . [ ] "john holland and james everett," vol. iv. p. . [ ] "a book for a rainy day," p. . fossil pachydermata. cuvier and the fossil. george cuvier was perhaps the first man who, by his admirable works and researches, gave zoology its true place among the sciences. his discoveries of the structure of molluscous and other animals of the obscurer orders are perhaps eclipsed by his researches in osteology. he has enabled the comparative anatomist to tell from a small portion of bone not only the class, but the order, genus, and even the species to which animal that bone belonged. mrs lee,[ ] in her life of the baron, gives an example of his enthusiasm in his researches. m. laurillard was afterwards his secretary and the draftsman who executed nearly all the drawings in his "ossemens fossiles." at the time of this story he had not particularly attracted cuvier's notice. "one day cuvier came to his brother frederic to ask him to disengage a fossil from its surrounding mass, an office he had frequently performed. m. laurillard was applied to in the absence of f. cuvier. little aware of the value of the specimen confided to his care, he cheerfully set to work, and succeeded in getting the bone entire from its position. m. cuvier, after a short time, returned for his treasure, and when he saw how perfect it was, his ecstasies became incontrollable; he danced, he shook his hands, he uttered expressions of delight, till m. laurillard, in his ignorance both of the importance of what he had done, and of the ardent character of m. cuvier, thought he was mad. taking, however, his fossil foot in one hand, and dragging laurillard's arm with the other, he led him up-stairs to present him to his wife and sister-in-law, saying, 'i have got my foot, and m. laurillard found it for me.' it seems that this skilful operation confirmed all m. cuvier's previous conjecture concerning a foot, the existence and form of which he had already guessed, but for which he had long and vainly sought. so occupied had he been by it, that, when he appeared to be particularly absent, his family were wont to accuse him of seeking his fore-foot. the next morning the able operator and draftsman was engaged as secretary." footnotes: [ ] "letters of horace walpole," edited by peter cunningham, ix., . [ ] "memoirs of baron cuvier," by mrs r. lee (formerly mrs t ed. bowdich), , p. . sow. a very gross but useful animal, which can, by feeding, be stuffed into such a state of fatness as only one who has seen a christmas cattle show in england could believe it possible for beast to acquire. dean ramsay, in a happy anecdote, refers to a good quality of the sow as food. he tells, that a scottish minister had been persuaded to keep a pig, and that the good wife had been duly instructed in the mysteries of black-puddings, pork-chops, pig's-head, and other modes of turning poor piggy to account. the minister remarked to a friend, "nae doubt there's a hantle o' miscellaneous eating aboot a pig." the author of "a ramble," published by edmonstone and douglas in , has devoted some most amusing pages of his work to an account of "pig-sticking in chicago," as witnessed by him during the late american war. the wholesale and scientific off-hand way in which living pigs enter into one part of a machine, and come out prepared pork, could only have been devised by a yankee. [illustration: the wild boar of syria and egypt. (sus scrofa.)] the essay of charles lamb on roast pig, and his history of how the chinaman discovered it, is a most characteristic bit of the productions of elia. we have cut from a recent paper, what seems an authentic story, of one of this race having obtained a kind of mausoleum. we hope it is not a hoax, but that it is as genuine as all that is in one of "murray's handbooks:"-- monument to a pig.--"up to the present time," says the _europe_ of frankfort, "no monument that we are aware of had ever been erected to the memory of a _pig_. the town of luneburg, in hanover, has wished to fill up that blank; and at the hotel de ville, in that town, there is to be seen a kind of mausoleum to the memory of a member of the swinish race. in the interior of that commemorative structure is to be seen a glass case, inclosing a ham still in good preservation. a slab of black marble attracts the eye of visitors, who find thereon the following inscription in latin, engraved in letters of gold--'passer-by, contemplate here the mortal remains of the pig which acquired for itself imperishable glory by the discovery of the salt springs of luneburg.'" the wild boar (_sus scrofa_). we have a specimen of the family of swine in that well-known and useful animal, with whose portrait sir charles bell furnishes the reader, as an example of a head as remote as possible from the head of him who designed and executed the elgin marbles. although the learned anatomist brought forward the profile of this animal as the type of a "non-intellectual" being, yet there are instances enough on record to show that pigs are not devoid of intelligence, and are even, when trained, capable of considerable docility. "learned pigs," however, such as are exhibited at country fairs, are a rare occurrence, and the family to which they belong is essentially one "gross" in character, and far from gainly in appearance. the most handsome of the race is one from west africa, recently added to the zoological gardens, and described by dr gray under the name of _potamochærus penicillatus_. the wild swine of africa are, with this bright exception, anything but handsome, either in shape or colour; and the large excrescences on their cheeks and face give the "warthogs" a ferocious look, which corresponds with their habits. in the east there are several species of wild swine. one of the most celebrated is the _babyrusa_ of the malay peninsula, distinguished by its long recurved teeth, with which it was once fancied that they suspended themselves from trees, or rather supported themselves when asleep. mrs m'dougall[ ] refers to the wild hogs of borneo, which seem to be dainty in their diet, as they think nothing of a swim of four miles from their jungle home to places on the river where they know there are trees laden with ripe fruit. these borneo swine are active creatures too, as they can leap fences nearly six feet high. in south america the sow family is represented by the peccaries (_dicotyles_), of which there are two species, one of which is very abundant in the woods, and forms a most important article in the diet of the poor indians. they, too, can swim across rivers, and although their legs are short, they can run very fast. it is chiefly in the warmer parts of the world that the species of this family are found. they are all distinguished by the middle toes of each foot being larger than the others, and armed with hoofs,[ ] the side toe or toes being shorter, and scarcely reaching the ground. the nose terminates in a truncated, tough, grissly disk, which is singularly well adapted for the purpose of the animals, which all grub in the ground for their food. in some parts of france it is said that they are trained to search for truffles. having briefly alluded to different species "_de grege porci_," we now limit ourselves to our immediate subject. the wild boar, at no very remote period, was found in the extensive woods which covered great portions of this island. the family of baird derives its heraldic crest of a wild boar's head from a grant of david i., king of scotland. this monarch was hunting in aberdeenshire, and when separated from his attendants, the infuriated pig turned upon him; one of his people came up and killed it, and in memory of his feat received from the grateful king the device still borne by the family. the name of a scottish parish, and of one of the oldest baronial families in scotland--swinton of swinton, in berwickshire--is derived also from this animal, the first of the swintons having cleared that part of the country from the wild swine which then infested it. it is curious to know that some large fields in the neighbourhood of swinton still carry in their names traces of these early occupants. dr baird informed the writer that there are four of these fields so distinguished:--"sow-causeway," and "pikerigg," where the wild swine used to feed ("pick their food"); "stab's cross," where sir alan swinton with his spear pierced some monarch of the race; and "alan's cairn," where a heap of stones was raised as a monument of his hardihood. in the southern part of our island only the nobility and gentry were allowed to hunt this animal; and in the reign of william the conqueror any one convicted of killing a wild boar in any of the royal demesnes was punished with the loss of his eyes. in many parts of the continent the wild boar is still far from rare, and affords, to those who are fond of excitement, that peculiar kind of "pleasure" which involves a certain amount of danger. scenes somewhat similar to those depicted by snyders may still be witnessed in some parts of germany; and in the sketches of mr wolf, the able artist whose designs illustrate these papers, we have seen animated studies of this truly hazardous sport. the nose of the wild boar is very acute in the sense of smell. a zealous sportsman tells us, "i have often been surprised, when stealing upon one in the woods, to observe how soon he has become aware of my neighbourhood. lifting his head, he would sniff the air inquiringly, then, uttering a short grunt, make off as fast as he could."[ ] the same writer has also sometimes noticed in a family of wild boars one, generally a weakling, who was buffeted and ill-treated by the rest. "do what he would, nothing was right; sometimes the mother, uttering a disapproving grunt, would give him a nudge to make him move more quickly, and that would be a sign for all the rest of his relations to begin showing their contempt for him too. one would push him, and then another; for, go where he might, he was sure to be in the way." in the extensive woods frequented by this animal in europe, abundant supplies of food are met with in the roots of various plants which it grubs up, in the beech-mast, acorns, and other tree productions, which, during two or three months of the year, it finds on the ground. although well able to defend itself, it is a harmless animal, and being shy, retires to those parts of the forests most remote from the presence of man. a site in the neighbourhood of water is preferred to any other. travellers in the east frequently refer to this animal and to its ravages when it gets into a rice-field or a vineyard; for although its natural food be wild roots and wild fruits, if cultivated grounds be in the neighbourhood, its ravages are very annoying to the husbandmen, who can fully and feelingly understand the words of the psalmist, "the boar out of the wood doth waste it" (ps. lxxx. ). messrs irby and mangles,[ ] as they approached the jordan, saw a herd of nine wild pigs, and they found the trees on the banks of a stream near that river all marked with mud, left by the wild swine in rubbing themselves. a valley which they passed was grubbed up in all directions with furrows made by these animals, so that the soil had all the appearance of having been ploughed up. burckhardt mentions the occurrence of the wild boar and panther together, or the _ounce_, as he calls it, on the mountain of rieha, and also in the wooded part of tabor. he mentions "a common saying and belief among the turks, that all the animal kingdom was converted by their prophet to the true faith, except the wild boar and buffalo, which remained unbelievers; it is on this account that both these animals are often called christians. we are not surprised that the boar should be so denominated; but as the flesh of the buffalo, as well as its leben or sour milk, is much esteemed by the turks, it is difficult to account for the disgrace into which that animal has fallen among them; the only reason i could learn for it is, that the buffalo, like the hog, has a habit of rolling in the mud, and of plunging into the muddy ponds in the summer time up to the very nose, which alone remains visible above the surface."[ ] wild boars were frequently fallen in with by this traveller during his syrian travels in the neighbourhood of rush-covered springs, where they could easily return to their "wallowing in the mire;" he also met with them on all the mountains he visited in his tour. in the ghor they are very abundant, and so injurious to the arabs of that valley that they are unable to cultivate the common barley on account of the eagerness with which the wild swine feed on it, and are obliged to grow a less esteemed kind, with six rows of grains which the swine will not touch. messrs hemprich and ehrenberg tell us that the wild boar is far from scarce in the marshy districts around rosetta and damietta, and that it does not seem to differ from the european species. the head of a wild boar which these travellers saw at bischerre, a village of lebanon, closely resembled the european variety, except in being a little longer. the maronites there, who ate its flesh in their company, called it _chansir_,[ ] a name evidently identical with the hebrew word _chasir_, which occurs in the bible. the turks, according to ehrenberg, keep swine in their stables, from a persuasion that all devils who may enter will be more likely to go into the pigs than the horses, from their alliance to the former unclean animals.--_a. white, in "excelsior."_ [illustration: the river pig.] the river pig, or painted pig of the camaroon.[ ] the other day we revisited the zoological gardens, and found that two old friends had got--the one, a companion, the other, a neighbour. the latter was the bulky hippopotamus, now most bearish, and more and more unmistakably showing the minute accuracy of those master lines in the book of job, in which behemoth's portrait, pose, and character are depicted. the former was the subject of this article--evidently, as far as colour goes, "the chieftain of the _porcine_ race." the poet tells us, however, "nimium ne crede colori;" and observation, as well as the scripture, shows us daily that "fair havens" in summer are but foul places to "winter in;" that fair speeches, and a flattering tongue, and the kisses of an enemy, "are deceitful;" and that beneath a fine spotted or barred coat, the jaguar and the tiger, the cobra and the hornet, conceal both the power and the propensity for mischief. so with our old friend potamochoerus. the pretty creature,--beauty is relative--the cameroon pig is the prettiest, the gaudiest of the race,--the pretty creature, we repeat, is of a fine bay red, made to look more bright from the circumstance of the face, ears, and front of the legs being black, while the red is relieved, and the black is defined, by the pencilled lines of white which edge the ears, streak over and under the eye, and ornament the long whiskers, another long white line traversing the middle of the back; a very attractive combination of colour--the painting of "him who made the world"--and one which must make the _potamochoerus penicellatus_ most conspicuous among the bright green shrubs and dark marshes of the rivers of equinoctial africa, on whose banks the race has been planted. the present largest specimen was taken, when a "piggie," by a trading captain, as it was swimming across the cameroon river. he brought it to liverpool; dr gray, of the british museum, gave an account of it in the "illustrated proceedings of the zoological society of london for "--an excellent work--where its figure, drawn and coloured by the hand of wolf, shows the condition of the african sow four years ago. it was then a round, comfortable, kind-looking creature, which one might almost have fondled as a pet. the pig now looks rather a dangerous beast, and its beauty is not increased by its face having grown longer, and by the bump and hollow on each cheek being larger and deeper; nor is its mouth so attractive or innocent, now that its tusks--those ivory daggers and knives of the family of swine--have grown longer. the creature, partly it may be from familiarity, jumps up against the iron palisade which separates the visitor from its walk, but a poor pannage as a substitute for its african home. we would advise him to read the notice: "visitors are requested not to tease the animals;" "not to touch" would be a good reprint--for few, we fancy, would try to tease. one, however, especially a lady, likes to know and to feel _texture_; and sadly used the fine, mild edward cross, of exeter change and the surrey zoological gardens, once the nestor as well as the king among keepers of wild beasts--a gentle, gentlemanly, white-haired, venerable man,--sadly, we say, used mr cross to lament that there _were_ parasols, and that he could not keep them _out_ of his garden. mr c. told the writer that he lost many a beast and bird from the pokes of that insinuating weapon. we dissuade any lady from touching or going near a zebra's mouth, or the horns of an ibex or an algazel, or the pointed bill of a heron or stork, or from putting her hand near this fine painted pig. up jumps potamochoerus--eye rather vindictive, however--and mark, as that big specimen is foreshortened before you, the profile of the little companion pig of the same species, standing within a few feet, but safe from the poke of any umbrella or parasol; look how innocent and inviting--how quiet, and sleek, and polished, and painted, and mild it looks, all but that little suspicious eye, with its wink oblique, and its malicious twinkle. of the habits of this pig we can find no written record, though in the journals of the scottish or wesleyan missionaries there may be some notices of it. we do not know whence the society procured the second specimen, but it shows that africa's wild animals, like its chain of internal caspian seas, and its mountain-ranges and rivers, are becoming gradually known. old bosman, who was chief factor for the dutch on the gold coast years ago, refers to the swine near fort st george d'elmina being not nearly so wild as those of europe, and adds, "i have several times eaten of them here, and found them very delicious and very tender meat, the fat being extraordinarily fine."[ ] he evidently refers to some other species. travellers in south africa have made us familiar with the habits, and specimens in the zoological gardens, in a pannage close to that of the "painted pig," show us the form and ugliness, of the bush pig and flat pig (_choiropotamus africanus_) of that southern land, with their long heads, long legs, upturned tails, and horrid tusks. they have a strange habit of kneeling on their fore-legs. in south africa they abound; and the natives--our excellent friend, the rev. henry methuen, tells us--often bring their jaws for barter. they are of a dingy, dirty gray; the boar is two feet and a half high, and his tusks sometimes measure "eleven inches and a half each from the jawbone," are five inches and a half in circumference at the base, and are thirteen inches apart at their extremities. no animal is more formidably armed; and his rapidity and lightness of movement make him a very marked object to the african nimrod, who, midst "clumps of bush"--be they proteacæ, heaths, or diosmeæ--not unfrequently comes on a herd of wild pigs "headed by a noble boar," with tail erect. we could enter largely on the history of this active species, and quote many a stirring anecdote of travellers' rencontres with this fearless animal. the lion skulks away from him, but the rhinoceros--at least one species--the buffalo, with his formidable front of horn and bone, and the bush pig, with his dreaded tusks, show but little fear; and it is well for the huntsman that he has a sure eye, a steady hand, and a double-barrelled gun, and not a few caffir followers to help him, should his eye be dim, his hand waver, or his gun "flash in the pan." dogs avail but little; a deadly gash lays open their ribs, and a side-thrust of a wild boar will cut into the most muscular leg, and for ever destroy its tendons. we have done with pigs, and would only recommend a visit--a frequent visit--to that paradise of animals, the zoological gardens, where, a fortnight ago, we saw wild boars from hesse darmstadt; wild boars from egypt; bush pigs from africa; peccaries from south america; and two painted pigs from west africa; all "_de grege porci_," and in excellent health: to say nothing of two hippopotamuses; four "seraphic" giraffes; antelopes (we did not number them); brush turkeys from australia; an apteryx from new zealand; the curious white sheathbills from the south seas; the refulgent metallic green and purple-tinted monaul, or impeyan pheasant, strutting with outspread, light-coloured tail, just as he courts his plain hen-mate on the indian mountains; a family of the funny pelicans--cleanliness, ugliness, and contentment in one happy combination; a band of flamingoes; eagles and vultures; the harpy--that picton of the birds--looking defiance as he stands, with upraised crest, flashing eye, and clenched talons, over his food; the wily otter; the amiable seal, which carries us to the seas and rocks of much-loved shetland, with their long, winding voes, their bird-frequented cliffs, and outlying skerries; the indian thrush, which reminds one of a "mavis" at home; the parrot-house, with its fine contrasts of colour and its discordant noises; penny's esquimaux dog--poor fellow, a prisoner, unlike to what he was when, with our dear friends dr sutherland and captain stewart, this very dog breasted the blast before a sledge in the wellington channel.[ ] look at that wondrous sloth, organised for a life in a brazilian forest--those two restless polar bears; and though last, not least, those wonders of the great deep, "the sea-anemones," the exquisite red and white "feathery" tentacles of the long cylindrical-twisted serpulæ, and marvellously-transparent streaked shrimps, all leg, and feeler, and eye, and "nose"--in the salt-water tanks in the vivarium.--_a. white, in "excelsior."_ s. bisset and his learned pig. s. bisset, formerly referred to, when at belfast bought a black sucking pig, and after several experiments succeeded in training a creature, so obstinate and perverse by nature, to become most tractable and docile. in august , he took his learned pig to dublin for exhibition. "it was not only under full command, but appeared as pliant and good-natured as a spaniel. he had taught it to spell the names of any one in the company, to tell the hour, minute, and second, to make his obeisance to the company, and he occasioned many a laugh by his pointing out the married and the unmarried. some one in authority forced him to leave dublin, and he died broken-hearted shortly after at chester, on his way to london, where forty and more years before he had first been induced to train animals."[ ] quixote bowles fond of pigs. southey records of quixote bowles that he "had a great love for pigs; he thought them the happiest of all god's creatures, and would walk twenty miles to see one that was remarkably fat. this love extended to bacon; he was an epicure in it; and whenever he went out to dinner, took a piece of his own curing in his pocket, and requested the cook to dress it."[ ] on jekyll nearly thrown down by a very small pig. "as jekyll walk'd out in his gown and his wig, he happen'd to tread on a very small pig; 'pig of science,' he said, 'or else i'm mistaken, for surely thou art an _abridgment of bacon_.'"[ ] good enough for a pig. an irish peasant being asked why he permitted his pig to take up its quarters with his family, made an answer abounding with satirical _naïveté_. "why not? doesn't the place afford every convenience that _a pig can require_?"[ ] mrs fry, in , visited ireland on one of her christian and philanthropic tours. in a letter to her children from armagh she says--"pigs abound; i think they have rather a more elegant appearance than ours, their hair often rather curled. perhaps naturalists may attribute this to their intimate association with their betters!"[ ] the countryman's criticism on the pigs in gainsborough's picture of the girl and pigs. thomas gainsborough, the great english painter, exhibited, in , among pictures of noblemen, gentlemen, and ladies, his well-known "girl and pigs."[ ] wolcot, better known as "peter pindar," in his first "ode to the royal academicians," refers to this picture. "and now, o muse, with song so big, turn round to gainsborough's girl and pig, or pig and girl, i rather should have said; the pig in white, i must allow, is really a well painted sow, i wish to say the same thing of the maid." "the expression and truth of nature in the girl and pigs," remarks northcote, "were never surpassed. sir joshua reynolds was struck with it, though he thought gainsborough ought to have made her a beauty." reynolds, indeed, became the purchaser of the painting at one hundred guineas, gainsborough asking but sixty. during its exhibition, it is said to have attracted the attention of a countryman, who remarked--"they be deadly like pigs, but nobody ever saw pigs feeding together but what one on 'em had a foot in the trough." hook and the litter of pigs. once a gentleman, who had the marvellous gift of shaping a great many things out of orange-peel, was displaying his abilities at a dinner-party before theodore hook and mr thomas hill, and succeeded in counterfeiting a pig. mr hill tried the same feat; and after destroying and strewing the table with the peel of a dozen oranges, gave it up, with the exclamation, "hang the pig! i _can't_ make him." "nay, hill," exclaimed hook, glancing at the mess on the table, "you have done more; instead of one pig, you have made a _litter_."[ ] hook, we may add, was an original wit. he did not, like most professed wits, study his sayings before, and arrange with his seeming opponent for an imaginary war of words. he was an _impromptu_ wit. jests about swine. lord chancellor hardwicke's bailiff, having been ordered by his lady to procure a sow of a particular description, came one day into the dining-room when full of company, proclaiming with a burst of joy he could not suppress--"i have been at royston fair, my lady, and i have got a sow exactly of _your ladyship's_ size."[ ] * * * * * john was thought to be very stupid. he was sent to a mill one day, and the miller said--"john, some people say you are a fool! now, tell me, what you do know, and what you don't know."--"well," replied john, "i know millers' hogs are fat!"--"yes, that's well, john; now, what don't you know?"--"i don't know _whose corn_ fats 'em."[ ] pigs and silver spoon. the earl of p---- kept a number of swine at his seat in wiltshire, and crossing the yard one day, he was surprised to see the pigs gathered round one trough, and making a great noise. curiosity prompted him to see what was the cause, and on looking into the trough he perceived a large silver spoon. a servant-maid came out, and began to abuse the pigs for crying so. "well they may," said his lordship, "when they have got but one _silver spoon_ among them all." * * * * * we have heard of one nobleman in strathearn, who, when a young man, used to be thus addressed by his mother--"william! how are the children _and your pigs_?"[ ] sydney smith on beautiful pigs. definition of beauty by a utilitarian. "go to the duke of bedford's piggery at woburn, and you will see a breed of pigs with legs so short, that their stomachs trail upon the ground; a breed of animals entombed in their own fat, overwhelmed with prosperity, success, and farina. no animal could possibly be so disgusting, if it were not useful; but a breeder who has accurately attended to the small quantity of food it requires to swell this pig out to such extraordinary dimensions,--the extraordinary genius it displays for obesity,--and the laudable propensity of the flesh to desert the cheap regions of the body, and to agglomerate on those parts which are worth ninepence a pound,--such an observer of its utility does not scruple to call these otherwise hideous quadrupeds a beautiful race of pigs!"[ ] joseph sturge, when a boy, and the pigs. when joseph sturge, that good quaker, was in his sixth year, his biographer, henry richard,[ ] records that he was on a visit to a friend of his mother's at frenchay, near bristol. sauntering about one day, he came near the house of an eccentric man, a quaker, who was much annoyed by the depredations of his neighbour's pigs. half in jest, and half in earnest, he told the lad to drive the pigs into a pond close by. joseph, nothing loath, set to work with a will, delighted with the fun. the woman, to whom the pigs belonged, came out presently, broom in hand, flourishing it over the young sinner's head. the tempter was standing by, and sought to cover his share of the transaction by shaking his head and saying--"ah, 'satan finds some mischief still for idle hands to do.' the child looked up at him indignantly, and said, 'thee bee'st satan then, for thee told'st me to do it.'" footnotes: [ ] "letters from sarawak," p. . . [ ] "divides the hoof, and is cloven-footed, yet cheweth not the cud" (lev. ii. ). [ ] boner's "chamois hunting in the mountains of bavaria," p. . [ ] "travels" (home and colonial library), p. . [ ] "travels in syria and the holy land," p. . [ ] symbolæ physicæ. [ ] _potamochoerus penicellatus._ [greek: potamos], a river; [greek: choiros], a pig; _penicellatus_, pencilled. it is said to be the _sus porcus_ of linnæus. [ ] "a new and accurate description of the coast of guinea, written originally in dutch." london, , p. . [ ] see dr sutherland's interesting account in his "journal of a voyage in baffin bay and barrow's straits in the years , ;" a truly excellent work on the arctic regions, by one who is now surveyor of natal. [ ] see biography in g. h. wilson's _eccentric mirror_, i., no. , p. . [ ] "common-place book," iv. p. . [ ] mark lemon, "jest book," p. . [ ] _ibid._, p. . [ ] "memoir of the life of elizabeth fry," vol. ii. p. . . [ ] "life of thomas gainsborough, r.a.," by the late george william fulcher, edited by his son, p. . . [ ] mark lemon, "jest book," p. . [ ] _ibid._, p. . [ ] mark lemon, "jest book," p. . the latter of these jests is attributed by dean ramsay to a half-witted ayrshire man, who said he "kenned a miller had aye a gey fat sow."--_reminiscences_, p. . [ ] mark lemon, "jest book," p. . this worthy nobleman was and is much attached to his home-farm. he is well known in perthshire. [ ] "wit and wisdom of rev. sydney smith," third edition, p. . from a lecture at royal institution. [ ] "memoirs of joseph sturge," by henry richard. horse. the noblest animal employed by man, and consequently the subject of many volumes of anecdote,--a study for the painter and sculptor, from the days of the greek and assyrian artists to the present day. charles darwin and sir francis head have given graphic descriptions of the catching of the wild horse, which swarms on the pampas of south america. how pathetic to see the led horse following the bier of a soldier! it was, perhaps, the most affecting incident in the long array of the funeral of the great duke. in the museum at brussels, dr patrick neill observed, in , "the stuffed skin of the horse belonging to one of the alberts, who governed the low countries in the time of the spaniards. it was shot under him in the field, and the holes made in the thorax by the musket bullets are still very evident."[ ] poor copenhagen, the duke's charger at waterloo, was buried. many would have liked his skin or skeleton. the duke resisted all attempts to give his old friend up for such a purpose. we hope no resurrectionist succeeded in getting up his bones, years after his burial at strathfieldsaye. bell-rock horse. the bell-rock lighthouse, built on a dangerous range of rocks twelve miles south by east from arbroath, was begun by robert stevenson on the th august , and finished in october . mr jervise[ ] records that "one horse, the property of james craw, a labourer in arbroath, is believed to have drawn the entire materials of the building. the animal latterly became a _pensioner_ of the lighthouse commissioners, and was sent by them to graze on the island of inchkeith, where it died of old age in . dr john barclay, the celebrated anatomist, had its bones collected and arranged in his museum, which he bequeathed at his death to the royal college of surgeons, and in their museum at edinburgh the skeleton of the _bell-rock horse_ may yet be seen." burke and the horse. an anecdote of the humanity of the great edmund burke in the year has been preserved.[ ] "an irishman, of the name of johnson, was astonishing the town by his horsemanship. all london crowded to see his feats of agility and his highly-trained steeds. dr johnson and boswell talked of this man's wonderful ability, and the doctor thought that he fully deserved encouragement on philosophical grounds. he proved what human perseverance could do. one who saw him riding on three horses at once, or dancing upon a wire, might hope, that with the same application in the profession of his choice, he should attain the same success. burke, always ready to encourage his countrymen, and curious in all the ramifications of ingenuity, went frequently to the circus. the favourite performance of the evening was that of a handsome black horse, which, at the sound of johnson's whip, would leave the stable, stand with much docility at his side, then gallop about the ring, and on hearing the crack of the lash again return obediently to its master. on one unfortunate occasion, the signal was disregarded. the horse-rider flew into a rage, and by a blow between the ears, struck the noble animal to the earth. the spectators thought the horse was dying, but they had little time to reflect on the sight before they were surprised at seeing a gentleman jump into the ring, rush up to johnson, and with his eyes flashing, and every muscle in the face quivering with emotion, shout out, 'you scoundrel! i have a mind to knock you down.' and johnson would certainly have been laid sprawling in the sawdust beside his panting steed, had not the friends of the gentleman interposed, and prevented him inflicting such summary chastisement. this incident was long remembered. when the relater of it, many years afterwards, heard burke declaiming, on the floor of the house of commons, against injustice and oppression, his mind naturally reverted to the time when he saw the same hatred of all cruelty displayed by the same individual as he stood over the prostrate body of the poor black horse, prepared to punish the miscreant who had felled it to the ground." david garrick and his horse. in sir joshua reynolds visited dr warton at winchester college. here he was particularly noticed by george iii. and his queen, who were then making a tour through the summer encampments. the father of lord palmerston, and david garrick, the great actor, with others, visited warton at the same time. mr northcote[ ] relates that a whimsical accident occurred to garrick at one of the reviews, which sir joshua afterwards recounted with great humour. "at one of those field-days in the vicinity, garrick found it necessary to dismount, when his horse escaped from his hold and ran off; throwing himself immediately into his professional attitude, he cried out, as if on bosworth field, 'a horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse!'" this exclamation, and the accompanying attitude, excited great amazement amongst the surrounding spectators, who knew him not; but it could not escape his majesty's quick apprehension, for, it being within his hearing, he immediately said, "those must be the tones of garrick! see if he is not on the ground." the theatrical and dismounted monarch was immediately brought to his majesty, who not only condoled with him most good humouredly on his misfortune, but flatteringly added, that his delivery of shakspeare could never pass undiscovered. this anecdote of garrick at winchester is told in the rev. john wool's "life of warton." mr taylor says--"one can't help suspecting roscius took care to make his speech when he knew the king was within earshot--a little bit of that 'artifice' of his which has left such an impression in the theatre, that the phrase, 'as deep as garrick,' is still current stage slang."[ ] bernard gilpin's horses stolen and recovered.[ ] the biographer of the saintly bernard gilpin, the apostle of the northern counties of england in the days of edward vi., and queens mary and elizabeth, relates that, by the carelessness of his servant, his horses were one day stolen. the news was quickly propagated, and every one expressed the highest indignation. the thief was rejoicing over his prize, when, by the report of the country, he found whose horses he had taken. terrified at what he had done, he instantly came trembling back, confessed the fact, returned the horses, and declared he believed the devil would have seized him directly had he carried them off, knowing them to have been mr gilpin's. the biographer gives an instance of his benevolent temper. "one day returning home, he saw in a field several people crowding together; and judging that something more than ordinary had happened, he rode up to them, and found that one of the horses in a team had suddenly dropped down, which they were endeavouring to raise; but in vain, for the horse was dead. the owner of it seeming much dejected with his misfortune, and declaring how grievous a loss it was to him, mr gilpin bade him not be disheartened; "i'll let you have, honest man, that horse of mine," and pointed to his servant's. "ah! master," replied the countryman, "my pocket will not reach such a beast as that." "come, come," says mr gilpin, "take him, take him; and when i demand my money, then thou shalt pay me."[ ] no wonder that the horses of the apostolic rector of houghton-le-spring were safe, even in those horse-stealing times, and in that border county. the herald and george iii.'s horse. one day, when sir isaac heard was in company with george iii., it was announced that his majesty's horse was ready for hunting. "sir isaac," said the king, "are you a judge of horses?"--"in my younger days, please your majesty, i was a great deal among them," was the reply.--"what do you think of this, then?" said the king, who was by this time preparing to mount his favourite; and, without waiting for an answer, added, "we call him _perfection_."--"a most appropriate name," replied the courtly herald, bowing as his majesty reached the saddle, "for he _bears_ the best of characters."[ ] rowland hill and his horse at dunbar. many stories of the excellent but eccentric rowland hill are told, but often with considerable exaggeration. the following may be depended on for its accuracy, as it was told by robert haldane.[ ] it occurred at dunbar, in september , during an evangelistic tour hill and haldane were making in scotland. they were sleeping at mr cunningham's, when, in the morning, intending to proceed southward, on mr hill's carriage being brought to the door, his horse was found to be dead lame. a farrier was sent for, who, after careful examination, reported that the seat of the mischief was in the shoulder, that the disease was incurable, and that they might shoot the poor animal as soon as they pleased. to this proposal mr hill was by no means prepared to accede. indeed, it seemed to mr haldane as precipitate as the conduct of an irish sailor on board the _monarch_, who, on seeing another knocked down senseless by a splinter, and supposing his companion to be dead, went up to captain duncan, on the quarter-deck, in the midst of the action with languara, off st vincent, and exclaimed, "shall we jerk him overboard, sir?" on that occasion the sailor revived in a short time, and was even able to work at his gun. in the present instance the horse, too, recovered, and was able to carry his master on many a future errand of mercy. meanwhile, however, the travellers availed themselves of mr cunningham's hospitality, and remained for two days more at his place, near dunbar. in the evening mr hill conducted family worship, and after the supplications for the family, domestics, and friends, added a fervent prayer for the restoration of the valuable animal which had carried him so many thousands of miles, preaching the everlasting gospel to his fellow-sinners. mr cunningham, who was remarkable for the staid and orderly, if not stiff, demeanour, which characterised the anti-burghers, was not only surprised but grieved, and even scandalised, at what he deemed so great an impropriety. he remonstrated with his guest. but mr hill stoutly defended his conduct by an appeal to scripture, and the superintending watchfulness of him without whom a sparrow falls not to the ground. he persisted in his prayer during the two days he continued at dunbar, and, although he left the horse, in a hopeless state, to follow in charge of his servant by easy stages, he continued his prayer, night and morning, till one day, at an inn in yorkshire, while the two travellers were sitting at breakfast, they heard a horse and chaise trot briskly into the yard, and, looking out, saw that mr hill's servant had arrived, bringing up the horse perfectly restored. mr hill did not fail to return thanks, and begged his fellow-traveller to consider whether the minuteness of his prayers had deserved the censure which had been directed against them. a saying of rowland hill's. rowland hill rode a great deal, and exercise preserved him in vigorous health. on one occasion, when asked by a medical friend, who was commenting on his invariably good health, what physician and apothecary he employed, he replied, "my physician has always been a _horse_, and my apothecary an _ass_!"[ ] holcroft on the horse. thomas holcroft, the novelist and play-writer, when a lad, was a stable boy to a trainer of running horses. in his memoirs he has written a good deal about the habits of the race-horse. he says of them:--"i soon learned that the safehold for sitting steady was to keep the knee and the calf of the leg strongly pressed against the sides of the animal that endeavours to unhorse you; and as little accidents afford frequent occasions to remind the boys of this rule, it becomes so rooted in the memory of the intelligent, that their danger is comparatively trifling. of the temperaments and habits of blood-horses there are great varieties, and those very strongly contrasted. the majority of them are playful, but their gambols are dangerous to the timid or unskilful. they are all easily and suddenly alarmed, when anything they do not understand forcibly catches their attention, and they are then to be feared by the bad horseman, and carefully guarded against by the good. very serious accidents have happened to the best. but, besides their general disposition to playfulness, there is a great propensity in them to become what the jockeys call vicious. high bred, hot in blood, exercised, fed and dressed so as to bring that heat to perfection, their tender skins at all times subject to a sharp curry-comb, hard brushing, and when they take sweats, to scraping with wooden instruments, it cannot be but that they are frequently and exceedingly irritated. intending to make themselves felt and feared, they will watch their opportunity to bite, stamp, or kick; i mean those among them that are vicious. tom, the brother of jack clarke, after sweating a gray horse that belonged to lord march, with whom he lived, while he was either scraping or dressing him, was seized by the animal by the shoulder, lifted from the ground, and carried two or three hundred yards before the horse loosened his hold. old forrester, a horse that belonged to captain vernon, all the while that i remained at newmarket, was obliged to be kept apart, and being foundered, to live at grass, where he was confined to a close paddock. except tom watson, he would suffer no lad to come near him; if in his paddock, he would run furiously at the first person that approached, and if in the stable, would kick and assault every one within his reach. horses of this kind seem always to select their favourite boy. tom watson, indeed, had attained to man's estate, and in his brother's absence, which was rare, acted as superintendent. horses, commonly speaking, are of a friendly and generous nature; but there are anecdotes of the malignant and savage ferocity of some, that are scarcely to be credited; at least many such are traditional at newmarket. of their friendly disposition towards their keepers, there is a trait known to every boy that has the care of any one of them, which ought not to be omitted. the custom is to rise very early, even between two and three in the morning, when the days lengthen. in the course of the day, horses and boys have much to do. about half after eight, perhaps, in the evening, the horse has his last feed of oats, which he generally stands to enjoy in the centre of his smooth, carefully made bed of clean long straw, and by the side of him the weary boy will often lie down; it being held as a maxim, a rule without exception, that were he to lie even till morning, the horse would never lie down himself, but stand still, careful to do his keeper no harm.[ ] in one of thomas holcroft's novels, "alwyn; or, the gentleman comedian," founded on his own adventures when a travelling actor, he gives the character of an enthusiast who had conceived the idea of establishing a humane asylum for animals, the consequences of which he describes. "i am pestered, plagued, teased, tormented to death. i believe all the cats in christendom are assembled in oxfordshire. i am obliged to hire a clerk to pay the people; and the village where i live is become a constant fair. a fellow has set up the sign of the three blind kittens, and has the impudence to tell the neighbours, that if my whims and my money only hold out for one twelvemonth, he shall not care a fig for the king. i thought to prevent this inundation, by buying up all the old cats and secluding them in convents and monasteries of my own, but the value of the breeders is increased to such a degree, that i do not believe my whole fortune is capable of the purchase. besides i am made an ass of. a rascal, who is a known sharper in these parts, hearing of the aversion i had to cruelty, bought an old one-eyed horse, that was going to the dogs, for five shillings; then taking a hammer in his hand, watched an opportunity of finding me alone, and addressed me in the following manner: 'look you, master, i know that you don't love to see any dumb creature abused, and so, if you don't give me ten pounds, why, i shall scoop out this old rip's odd eye with the sharp end of this here hammer, now, before your face.' ay, and the villain would have done it too, if i had not instantly complied; but what was worse, the abominable scoundrel had the audacity to tell me, when i wanted him to deliver the horse first, for fear he should extort a further sum from me, that he had more honour than to break his word. a whelp of a boy had yesterday caught a young hedgehog, and perceiving me, threw it into the water to make it extend its legs; then with the rough side of a knotty stick sawed upon them till the creature cried like a child; and when i ordered him to desist, told me he would not, till i had given him sixpence. there is something worse than all this. the avaricious rascals, when they can find nothing that they think will excite my pity, disable the first animal which is not dignified with the title of christian, and then bring it to me as an object worthy of commiseration; so that, in fact, instead of protecting, i destroy. the women have entertained a notion that i hate two-legged animals; and one of them called after me the other day, to tell me i was an old rogue, and that i had better give my money to the poor, than keep a parcel of dogs and cats that eat up the village. i perceive it is in vain to attempt carrying on the scheme much longer, and then my poor invalids will be worse off than they were before."[ ] a joke of lord mansfield's about a horse. lord campbell[ ] tells an anecdote of george wood, a celebrated special pleader at the time when lord mansfield was chief-justice. though a subtle pleader, george was very ignorant of _horse-flesh_, and had been cruelly cheated in the purchase of a horse on which he had intended to ride the circuit. he brought an action on the warranty that the horse was "a good roadster, and free from vice." at the trial before lord mansfield, it appeared that when the plaintiff mounted at the stables in london, with the intention of proceeding to barnet, nothing could induce the animal to move forward a single step. on hearing this evidence, the chief-justice with much gravity exclaimed, "who would have supposed that mr wood's horse would have _demurred_ when he ought to have _gone to the country_." any attempt, adds lord campbell, to explain this excellent joke to _lay gents_ would be vain, and to _lawyers_ would be superfluous. general sir john moore and his horse at the battle of corunna. charles napier served in lord william bentinck's brigade during the retreat of the truly great and ill-used moore at the battle of corunna; he was covered with wounds, and was carried off a prisoner. in his "biography" general sir william napier[ ] has published a most interesting description of the part his brother took in that battle, and written in his own words. i extract a few vivid lines in which moore and his horse are brought before you. a heavy french column was descending rapidly on the british line at the part where napier was. "suddenly i heard the gallop of horses, and turning saw moore. he came at speed, and pulled up so sharp and close he seemed to have alighted from the air; man and horse looking at the approaching foe with an intenseness that seemed to concentrate all feeling in their eyes. the sudden stop of the animal, a cream-coloured one, with black tail and mane, had cast the latter streaming forward, its ears were pushed out like horns, while its eyes flashed fire, and it snorted loudly with expanded nostrils, expressing terror, astonishment, and muscular exertion. my first thought was, it will be away like the wind; but then i looked at the rider, and the horse was forgotten. thrown on its haunches the animal came, sliding and dashing the dirt up with its fore-feet, thus bending the general forward almost to its neck; but his head was thrown back, and his look more keenly piercing than i ever before saw it. he glanced to the right and left, and then fixed his eyes intently on the enemy's advancing column, at the same time grasping the reins with both his hands, and pressing the horse firmly with his knees; his body thus seemed to deal with the animal, while his mind was intent on the enemy, and his aspect was one of searching intenseness, beyond the power of words to describe; for a while he looked, and then galloped to the left, without uttering a word." neither horses nor children can explain their complaints. dr mounsey, the chelsea doctor, an eccentric physician, who was a great friend of david garrick, related to taylor that he was once in company with another physician and an eminent farrier. the physician stated that among the difficulties of his profession, was that of discovering the maladies of children, because they could not explain the symptoms of their disorder. "well," said the farrier, "your difficulties are not greater than mine, for my patients, the horses, are equally unable to explain their complaints."--"ah!" rejoined the physician, "my brother doctor must conquer me, as he has brought his cavalry against my infantry!"[ ] horses with names. in this country most horses have a name, but in germany this custom must be unusual. perthes, when on his way from hamburg to frankfort, remarked at böhmte--"it is a pleasing custom they have here of giving proper names to horses. the horse is a noble and intelligent animal, and quite as deserving of such a distinction as the dog; and when it has a name, it has made some advance towards personality."[ ] "old jack" of waterloo bridge. in building waterloo bridge, the finest of rennie's bridges, the whole of the stone required was hewn in some fields on the surrey side. nearly the whole of this material was drawn by one horse called "old jack," a most sensible animal. mr smiles, in his "life of john rennie,"[ ] thus speaks of this favourite old horse--"his driver was, generally speaking, a steady and trustworthy man; though rather too fond of his dram before breakfast. as the railway along which the stone was drawn passed in front of the public-house door, the horse and truck were usually pulled up, while tom entered for his 'morning.' on one occasion the driver stayed so long that 'old jack,' becoming impatient, poked his head into the open door, and taking his master's coat collar between his teeth, though in a gentle sort of manner, pulled him out from the midst of his companions, and thus forced him to resume the day's work." sydney smith and his horses. sydney smith, when rector of foston-le-clay, in yorkshire, a living which he got from lord chancellor erskine in , was in the habit of riding a good deal. his daughter says that, "either from the badness of his horses, or the badness of his riding, or perhaps from both (in spite of his various ingenious contrivances to keep himself in the saddle), he had several falls, and kept us in continual anxiety."[ ] he writes in a letter--"i used to think a fall from a horse dangerous, but much experience has convinced me to the contrary. i have had six falls in two years, and just behaved like the three per cents. when they fall. i got up again, and am not a bit the worse for it any more than the stock in question." in speaking of this he says, "i left off riding for the good of my parish and the peace of my family; for, somehow or other, my horse and i had a habit of parting company. on one occasion i found myself suddenly prostrate in the streets of york, much to the delight of the dissenters. another time my horse calamity flung me over his head into a neighbouring parish, as if i had been a shuttlecock, and i felt grateful it was not into a neighbouring planet; but as no harm came of it, i might have persevered perhaps, if, on a certain day, a quaker tailor from a neighbouring village to which i had said i was going to ride, had not taken it into his head to call, soon after my departure, and request to see mrs sydney. she instantly, conceiving i was thrown, if not killed, rushed down to the man, exclaiming, 'where is he?--where is your master?--is he hurt?' the astonished and quaking snip stood silent from surprise. still more agitated by his silence, she exclaimed, 'is he hurt? i insist upon knowing the worst!'--'why, please, ma'am, it is only thy little bill, a very small account, i wanted thee to settle,' replied he, in much surprise. "after this, you may suppose, i sold my horse; however, it is some comfort to know that my friend, sir george, is one fall ahead of me, and is certainly a worse rider. it is a great proof, too, of the liberality of this county, where everybody can ride as soon as they are born, that they tolerate me at all. "the horse 'calamity,' whose name has been thus introduced, was the first-born of several young horses bred on the farm, who turned out very fine creatures, and gained him great glory, even amongst the knowing farmers of yorkshire; but this first production was certainly not encouraging. to his dismay a huge, lank, large-boned foal appeared, of chestnut colour, and with four white legs. it grew apace, but its bones became more and more conspicuous; its appetite was unbounded--grass, hay, corn, beans, food moist and dry, were all supplied in vain, and vanished down his throat with incredible rapidity. he stood, a large living skeleton, with famine written in his face, and my father christened him 'calamity.' as calamity grew to maturity, he was found to be as sluggish in disposition as his master was impetuous; so my father was driven to invent his patent tantalus, which consisted of a small sieve of corn, suspended on a semicircular bar of iron, from the ends of the shafts, just beyond the horse's nose. the corn, rattling as the vehicle proceeded, stimulated calamity to unwonted exertions; and under the hope of overtaking this imaginary feed, he did more work than all the previous provender which had been poured down his throat had been able to obtain from him." he was very fond of his young horses, and they all came running to meet him when he entered the field. he began their education from their birth; he taught them to wear a girth, a bridle, a saddle; to meet flags, music; to bear the firing of a pistol at their heads from their earliest years; and he maintained that no horses were so well broken as his! at p. she records, "at ten we always went down-stairs to prayers in the library. immediately after, if we were alone, appeared the 'farmer' at the door, lantern in hand. 'david, bring me my coat and stick,' and off he set with him, summer and winter, to visit his horses, and see that they were all well fed, and comfortable in their regions for the night. he kept up this custom all his life!" * * * * * sydney smith, when at foston, used to exercise his skill in medicine on the poor, and often did much good; his daughter gives some instances of his practice as a farrier. "on one occasion, wishing to administer a ball to peter the cruel,[ ] the groom, by mistake, gave him two boxes of opium pills in his bran mash, which peter composedly munched, boxes and all. my father, in dismay, when he heard what had happened, went to look, as he thought, for the last time on his beloved peter; but soon found, to his great relief, that neither boxes nor pills had produced any visible effects on him. another time he found all his pigs intoxicated; and, as he declared, 'grunting "god save the king" about the stye,' from having eaten some fermented grains which he had ordered for them. once he administered castor-oil to the red cow, in quantities sufficient to have killed a regiment of christians; but the red cow laughed alike at his skill and his oil, and went on her way rejoicing."[ ] * * * * * sydney smith tells a story, or made one, of a clergyman who was rather absent. "i heard of a clergyman who went jogging along the road till he came to a turnpike. 'what is to pay?'--'pay, sir, for what?' asked the turnpike man.--'why, for my horse, to be sure.'--'your horse, sir? what horse? here is no horse, sir.'--'no horse? god bless me!' said he, suddenly, looking down between his legs, 'i thought i was on horseback.'"[ ] judge story and the names he gave his horses. the son and biographer of the eminent american judge, joseph story, relates of him[ ]--"to dumb creatures he was kind and considerate, and indignant at any ill usage of them. his sportive nature showed itself in the nicknames which, in parody of the american fondness of titles, he gave to his horses and dogs, as, 'the right honourable mr mouse,' or 'colonel roy.'" wordsworth on cruelty to horses in ireland. the rev. cæsar otway,[ ] in a lecture full of interesting anecdotes, records:--"i remember an observation made to me by one of the most gifted of the human race--one of the stars of this generation--the poet of nature and of feeling--the good and the great mr wordsworth. having the honour of a conversation with him, after he had made a tour through ireland, i, in the course of it, asked what was the thing that most struck his observation here, as making us differ from the english; and he, without hesitation, said it was the ill treatment of our horses; that his soul was often, too often, sick within him at the way in which he saw these creatures of god abused." use of tail.--short-tailed and long-tailed horses. in an irish paper was an advertisement for horses to stand at livery on the following terms:--"long-tailed horses at s. d. per week; short-tailed horses at s. per week." on inquiry into the cause of the difference, it was answered, that the horses with long tails could brush the flies off their backs while eating, whereas the short-tailed horses were obliged to take their heads _from the manger_, and so ate less.[ ] footnotes: [ ] "journal of horticultural tour," p. . [ ] "memorials of angus and the mearns," by andrew jervise ( ), p. . [ ] "history of the life and times of edmund burke," by thomas macknight, vol. i. p. . [ ] "life of sir joshua reynolds," &c., by james northcote, esq., r.a. ( d edition), vol. ii. p. . [ ] "life and times of sir joshua reynolds," by c. r. leslie and tom taylor, m.a., vol. ii. p. . [ ] "lives of hugh latimer, bishop of worcester, and of bernard gilpin," by william gilpin, m.a. ( d edition), , p. . [ ] _loc. cit._, p. . [ ] mark lemon, "jest book," p. . [ ] "the lives of robert haldane of airthrey, and of his brother, james alexander haldane," by alex. haldane, esq., of the inner temple ( ), p. . [ ] mark lemon, "jest book," p. . [ ] "memoirs of thomas holcroft" (ed. ), pp. , . [ ] "memoirs of the late thomas holcroft," written by himself (ed. london, ), p. . [ ] "lives of the chief-justices of england" (lord ellenborough), vol. iii. p. . [ ] vol i. pp. - . [ ] "physic and physicians: a medical sketch-book," vol. i. p. . [ ] "memoirs of frederick perthes," vol. i. p. . [ ] "lives of the engineers," vol. ii. p. . [ ] "memoir of the rev. sydney smith," by his daughter, lady holland, vol. i. pp. - . [ ] a horse which he called so. [ ] "memoir of the rev. sydney smith," by his daughter, lady holland, vol. i. p. . [ ] mrs marcet, in lady holland's memoirs of her father, the rev. sydney smith, vol. i. p. . [ ] "life and letters of joseph story, associate justice of the supreme court of the united states, and dane professor of law at harvard university," edited by his son, wm. w. story, vol. ii. p. . [ ] "the intellectuality of domestic animals: a lecture delivered before the royal zoological society of ireland," p. . dublin, . [ ] mark lemon, "jest book," p. . ass and zebra. it is strange that one of the most sagacious of animals should have supplied us with a by-word for "a fool." coleridge was conscious of this when, in writing his address to a young ass's foal,[ ] he exclaimed-- "i hail thee, brother, spite of the fool's scorn." how well has he expressed his love for "the languid patience" of its face. in warmer climes the ass attains a size and condition not seen here, though when cared for in this rougher climate, the donkey assumes somewhat of the size and elegance he has in the east. but who can bear his voice? surely coleridge was very fanciful when, in any condition of asshood, he could write-- "yea, and more musically sweet to me thy dissonant, harsh bray of joy would be, than warbled melodies that soothe to rest the aching of pale fashion's vacant breast." the wild ass, as it roams over the plains of asia, or is seen in the zoological gardens along with the gracefully-shaped and prettily-striped zebra, must be admired by every one. collins and the old donkey of odell, cowper's messenger at olney. in july , william collins, r.a., visited turvey, in bedfordshire. his son remarks--"besides the attractions presented to the pencil by the natural beauties of this neighbourhood, its vicinity to olney, the favourite residence of the poet cowper, gave it, to all lovers of poetry, a local and peculiar charm. conspicuous among its inhabitants at the time when my father visited it was 'old odell,' frequently mentioned by cowper as the favourite messenger who carried his letters and parcels. the extreme picturesqueness and genuine rustic dignity of the old man's appearance made him an admirable subject for pictorial study. portraits of him, in water-colours and oils, were accordingly made by my father, who introduced him into three of his pictures. the donkey on which he had for years ridden to and fro with letters, was as carefully depicted by the painter as his rider. on visiting 'old odell' a year or two afterwards, mr collins observed a strange-looking object hanging against his kitchen wall, and inquired what it was. 'oh, sir,' replied the old man, sorrowfully, 'that is the skin of my poor donkey. he died of old age, and i did not like to part with him altogether, so i had his skin dried, and hung up there.' tears came into his eyes as he spoke of the old companion of all his village pilgrimages. the incident might have formed a continuation of sterne's exquisite episode in the 'sentimental journey.'"[ ] in his picture of "the cherry-seller," painted for mr higgins of turvey house, old odell and his donkey are chief figures. gainsborough kept an ass. the rev. william gilpin, in his "forest scenery," refers to the picturesque beauty of the ass in a landscape berghem often introduced it; "and a late excellent landscape-painter (mr gainsborough), i have heard, generally kept this animal by him, that he might have it always at hand to introduce in various attitudes into his pictures. i have heard also that a plaster cast of an ass, modelled by him, is sold in the shops in london."[ ] irishman on the ramsgate donkeys. in former times, when excise officers were not so sharp, there was a good deal of smuggling carried on at ramsgate. sir thomas dick lauder[ ] tells an anecdote of an irishman there, who being asked to name the hardest wrought creature in existence, replied, "och! a ramsgate donkey, to be sure; for, faith, afthur carrying angels all day, be the powers he is forced to carry speerits all night." ass's foal. douglas jerrold and a company of literary friends were out in the country. in the course of their walk they stopped to notice the gambols of an ass's foal. a very sentimental poet present vowed that he should like to send the little thing as a present to his mother. "do," replied jerrold, "and tie a piece of paper round its neck, bearing this motto, 'when this you see, remember me.'"[ ] ass. a judge, joking a young barrister, said--"if you and i were turned into a horse and an ass, which would you prefer to be?"--"the ass, to be sure," replied the barrister. "i've heard of an ass being made a judge, but a horse never."[ ] ammonianus, the grammarian, had an ass which, as it is said, when he attended the lectures upon poetry, often neglected his food when laid before him, though at the same time he was hungry, so much was the ass taken with the love of poetry.[ ] warren hastings and the refractory donkey. the fondness of the first governor-general of india for horse exercise, and indeed for the horse itself, was quite oriental, as his biographer relates.[ ] he was a fine rider, and piqued himself on his abilities in this way. "nothing pleased him," continues mr gleig, "more than to undertake some animal which nobody else could control, and to reduce it, as he invariably did, to a state of perfect docility. the following anecdote, which i have from my friend mr impey, himself an actor in the little drama, may suffice to show the extent to which this passion was carried. it happened once upon a time, when mr impey was, with some other boys, on a visit at daylesford, that mr hastings, returning from a ride, saw his young friends striving in vain to manage an ass which they had found grazing in the paddock, and which one after another they chose to mount. the ass, it appears, had no objection to receive the candidates for equestrian renown successively on his back, but budge a foot he would not; and there being neither saddle nor bridle, wherewith to restrain his natural movements, he never failed, so soon as a difference of opinion arose, to get the better of his rider. each in his turn, the boys were repeatedly thrown, till at last mr hastings, who watched the proceedings with great interest, approached. "why, boys," said he, "how is it that none of you can ride?" "not ride!" cried the little aspirants; "we could ride well enough, if we had a saddle and a bridle; but he's such an obstinate brute, that we don't think even you, sir, could sit him bare-backed." "let's try," exclaimed the governor-general. whereupon he dismounted, and gave his horse to one of the children to hold, and mounted the donkey. the beast began to kick up his heels, and lower his head as heretofore; but this time the trick would not answer. the governor-general sat firm, and finally prevailed, whether by fair means or foul, i am not instructed, in getting the quadruped to move wheresoever he chose. he himself laughed heartily as he resigned the conquered thistle-eater to his first friends; and the story when told, as told it was, with consummate humour, at the dinner-table, afforded great amusement to a large circle of guests. northcote, the royal academician, an angel at an ass. fuseli, the artist, was a most outspoken man. his biographer[ ] says that he never concealed his sentiments with regard to men, even to their faces. "every one knows," writes mr knowles, "who is acquainted with art, the powers which northcote displays when he paints animals of the brute creation. when his picture of 'balaam and the ass' was exhibited at the macklin gallery, northcote asked fuseli's opinion of its merits, who instantly said, 'my friend, you are an angel at an ass, but an ass at an angel.'" sydney smith's accomplished donkey, with francis jeffrey on his back. lady holland[ ] gives the following picture of her father's pet donkey:-- "amongst our rural delights at heslington was the possession of a young donkey which had been given up to our tender mercies from the time of its birth, and in whose education we employed a large portion of our spare time; and a most accomplished donkey it became under our tuition. it would walk up-stairs, pick pockets, follow us in our walks like a huge newfoundland dog, and at the most distant sight of us in the field, with ears down and tail erect, it set off in full bray to meet us. these demonstrations on bitty's part were met with not less affection on ours, and bitty was almost considered a member of the family. "one day, when my elder brother and myself were training our beloved bitty with a pocket-handkerchief for a bridle, and his head crowned with flowers, to run round our garden, who should arrive in the midst of our sport but mr jeffrey. finding my father out, he, with his usual kindness towards young people, immediately joined in our sport, and to our infinite delight, mounted our donkey. he was proceeding in triumph, amidst our shouts of laughter, when my father and mother, in company, i believe, with mr horner and mr murray, returned from their walk, and beheld this scene from the garden-door. though years and years have passed away since, i still remember the joy-inspiring laughter that burst from my father at this unexpected sight, as, advancing towards his old friend, with a face beaming with delight, and with extended hands, he broke forth in the following impromptu: 'witty as horatius flaccus, as great a jacobin as gracchus; short, though not as fat as bacchus, riding on a little jackass.' "these lines were afterwards repeated by some one to mr ---- at holland house, just before he was introduced for the first time to mr jeffrey, and they caught his fancy to such a degree that he could not get them out of his head, but kept repeating them in a low voice all the time mr jeffrey was conversing with him. "i must end bitty's history, as he has been introduced, by saying that he followed us to foston; and after serving us faithfully for thirteen years, on our leaving yorkshire, was permitted by our kind friend, lord carlisle, to spend the rest of his days in idleness and plenty, in his beautiful park, with an unbounded command of thistles." sydney smith on the sagacity of the ass; a lady scarcely so wise as one. the rev. sydney smith[ ] writes to colonel fox in october :-- "my dear charles,--if you have ever paid any attention to the habits of animals, you will know that donkeys are remarkably cunning in opening gates. the way to stop them is to have two latches instead of one. a human being has two hands, and lifts up both latches at once; a donkey has only one nose, and latch _a_ drops, as he quits it to lift up latch _b_. bobus and i had the grand luck to see little aunty engaged intensely with this problem. she was taking a walk, and was arrested by a gate with this formidable difficulty: the donkeys were looking on to await the issue. aunty lifted up the first latch with the most perfect success, but found herself opposed by a second; flushed with victory, she quitted the first latch, and rushed at the second; her success was equal, till in the meantime the first dropped. she tried this two or three times, and, to her utter astonishment, with the same results; the donkeys brayed, and aunty was walking away in great dejection, till bobus and i recalled her with loud laughter, showed her that she had two hands, and roused her to vindicate her superiority over the donkeys. i mention this to you to request that you will make no allusion to this animal, as she is remarkably touchy on this subject, and also that you will not mention it to lady mary!" * * * * * lady holland relates a practical joke of her father's, which the witty canon carried out at his rectory of combe florey. "opposite was a beautiful bank, with a hanging wood of fine old beech and oak, on the summit of which presented themselves, to our astonished eyes, two donkeys with deers' antlers fastened on their heads, which ever and anon they shook, much wondering at their horned honours; whilst the attendant donkey boy, in sunday garb, stood grinning and blushing at their side. 'there, lady ----! you said the only thing this place wanted to make it perfect was deer; what do you say now? i have, you see, ordered my game gamekeeper to drive my deer into the most picturesque point of view. excuse their long ears, a little peculiarity belonging to parsonic deer. their voices, too, are singular; but we do our best for you, and you are too true a friend of the church to mention our defects.' all this, of course, amidst shouts of laughter, whilst his own merry laugh might be heard above us all, ringing through the valley, and making the very echoes laugh in chorus." asses' duty free! during the debate on sir robert peel's tariff, the admission of asses' duty free caused much merriment. lord t., who had just read "vestiges of the natural history of creation," remarked that the house had, he supposed, passed the donkey clause out of respect to its ancestors.--"it is a wise measure," said a popular novelist, "especially as it affects the importation of food; for, should a scarcity come, we should otherwise have to fall back on the food of our forefathers."--"and, pray, what is that?" asked an archæologist.--"thistles," replied lord t.[ ] thackeray and the egyptian donkey. when the english author landed at alexandria, there were many scenes and sounds to dispel all romantic notions; among these "a yelling chorus of donkey boys shrieking, 'ride, sir!--donkey, sir!--i say, sir!' in excellent english. the placid sphinxes, brooding o'er the nile, disappeared with that wild shriek of the donkey boys. you might be as well impressed with wapping as with your first step on egyptian soil. "the riding of a donkey is, after all, not a dignified occupation. a man resists the offer first, somehow as an indignity. how is that poor little, red-saddled, long-eared creature to carry you? is there to be one for you and another for your legs? natives and europeans, of all sizes, passed by, it is true, mounted upon the same contrivance. i waited until i got into a very private spot, where nobody could see me, and then ascended--why not say descended at once?--on the poor little animal. instead of being crushed at once, as perhaps the writer expected, it darted forward, quite briskly and cheerfully, at six or seven miles an hour; requiring no spur or admonitive to haste, except the shrieking of the little egyptian _gamin_, who ran along by asinus's side."[ ] best to let mules have their own way. dr john moore, in crossing the alps, found they had nothing but the sagacity of their mules to trust to. "for my own part," he says, "i was very soon convinced that it was much safer on all dubious occasions to depend on theirs than on my own. for as often as i was presented with a choice of difficulties, and the mule and i were of different opinions, if, becoming more obstinate than he, i insisted on his taking my track, i never failed to repent it, and often was obliged to return to the place where the controversy had begun, and follow the path to which he had pointed at first. "it is entertaining to observe the prudence of these animals in making their way down such dangerous rocks. they sometimes put their heads over the edge of the precipice, and examine with anxious circumspection every possible way by which they can descend, and at length are sure to fix on that which, upon the whole, is the best. having observed this in several instances, i laid the bridle on the neck of my mule, and allowed him to take his own way, without presuming to control him in the smallest degree. this is doubtless the best method, and what i recommend to all my friends in their journey through life, when they have mules for their companions."[ ] zebra.--"_un âne rayée._" a frenchman's "double-entendre." when, in , patrick lattin, an officer of the irish brigade, was residing in paris, a m. de montmorency, whose christian name was anne, made his appearance, announcing that he was enabled to return to france, in consequence of the first consul having scratched his name on the list of _émigrés_. "_a present donc_," observed lattin, "_mon cher anne, tu es un zèbre--un âne rayée._"[ ] footnotes: [ ] "the poems of s. t. coleridge," pp. , ( ). [ ] "memoirs of the life of william collins, r.a.," by his son, w. wilkie collins, vol. i. p. . [ ] edition of sir t. d. lauder, bart., vol. ii. p. . [ ] "gilpin's forest scenery," vol. ii. p. . edited by sir t. d. lauder. [ ] mark lemon, "jest book," p. . [ ] lemon, "jest book," p. . [ ] photius, quoted by southey in his "common-place book," first series, p. . [ ] "memoirs of the life of the right hon. warren hastings, compiled from original papers," by the rev. g. r. gleig, m.a., vol. iii. p. . [ ] "the life and writings of henry fuseli, esq., m.a., r.a.," the former written and the latter edited by john knowles, esq., f.r.s., vol. i. p. . [ ] "a memoir of the rev. sydney smith," by his daughter, lady holland, &c., vol. i. p. . [ ] "memoirs and letters of rev. sydney smith," vol. ii. p. . [ ] "a century of anecdote from to ," by john timbs, f.s.a., vol. i. p. ( ). [ ] "notes of a journey from cornhill to grand cairo," by mr m. a. titmarsh, p. ( ). [ ] "view of society and manners in france, switzerland, and germany," vol. i. pp. , ( th edition). camel. truly the ship of the desert, and one that by lewis and henry warren has afforded the subject of many a pleasing picture. the camel has a most patriarchal look about him. captain william peel, r.n. remarks on camels. captain william peel, in his "ride through the nubian desert" (p. ), writes--"we met once at a hollow, where some water still remained from the rains, camels, all together admirably organised into troops, and attended by only a few arabs. on another occasion, we passed some camels grazing at such a distance from the nile, that i asked the arab attending where they went to drink? he said, he marches them all down together to the nile, and they drink every eleventh day. it is now the cool season, and the heat is tempered by fresh northerly breezes. the arab, of course, brings water skins for his own supply. all these camels were breeding stock. they live on thorns and the top shoots of the gum-arabic tree, although it is armed with the most frightful spikes. but very little comes amiss to the camel; he will eat dry wood to keep up digestion, if in want of a substitute. instinct or experience has taught him to avoid the only two tempting-looking plants that grow in the desert,--the green eusha bush, which is full of milk-coloured juice, and a creeper, that grows in the sand where nothing else will grow, and which has a bitter fruit like a melon. i was surprised to learn that the leopard does not dare to attack the camel, whose tall and narrow flanks would seem to be fatally exposed to such a supple enemy. nature, however, has given him a means of defence in his iron jaw and long powerful neck, which are a full equivalent for his want of agility. he can also strike heavily with his feet, and his roar would intimidate many foes. i never felt tired of admiring this noble creature, and through the monotony of the desert would watch for hours his ceaseless tread and unerring path. carrying his head low, forward, and surveying everything with his black brilliant eye, he marches resolutely forward, and quickens his pace at the slightest cheer of the rider. he is too intelligent and docile for a bridle; besides, he lives on the march, and with a sudden sweep of the neck will seize, without stopping, the smallest straw. when the day's march is over, he passes the night in looking for food, with scarcely an hour to repose his limbs, and less than that for sleep. he closes the eye fitfully, the smallest noise will awake him. when lying down for rest, every part of the body is supported; his neck and head lie lightly along the sand, a broad plate of bone under the breast takes the weight off his deep chest, and his long legs lay folded under him, supporting his sides like a ship in a cradle." a captain in the royal navy measures the progress of "the ship of the desert." the dromedary has long and deservedly been called "the ship of the desert." a very gallant captain in the royal navy, the late captain william peel, son of the prime minister, calculated its rate of motion much after the manner in which he might have measured the path of his ship. he writes[ ]--"in crossing the nubian desert i paid constant attention to the march of the camels, hoping it may be of some service hereafter in determining our position. the number of strides in a minute with the same foot varied very little, only from to , and was the average; but the length of the stride was more uncertain, varying from feet to feet . as we were always urging the camels, who seemed, like ourselves, to know the necessity of pushing on across that fearful tract, i took feet as the average. these figures give a speed of . geographical miles per hour, or exactly three english miles, which may be considered as the highest speed that camels lightly loaded can keep up on a journey. in general, it will not be more than two and a half english miles. my dromedary was one of the tallest, and the seat of the saddle was feet above the ground." lord metcalfe on a camel when a boy. charles metcalfe, "first and last lord metcalfe," to whose care were successively intrusted the three greatest dependencies of the british crown, india, jamaica, and canada, and who died in , was sent to eton when eleven years old. his biographer relates,[ ] that "it is on record, and on very sufficient authority, that he was once seen riding on a camel. 'i heard the boys shouting,' said dr goodall, many years afterwards, 'and went out and saw young metcalfe riding on a camel; so you see he was always orientally inclined.'" this anecdote will serve as a comrade to that told by mr foss, in his "lives of the justices of england," of chief-baron pollock. when a lad, one of his schoolmasters, fretted by the boyish energy and exuberant spirits of his scholar, said petulantly, "you will live to be _hanged_." the old gentleman lived to see his pupil lord chief-baron, and, not a little proud of his great scholar, said, "i always said he would occupy an _elevated_ position." footnotes: [ ] quoted in timbs' "century of anecdote," vol. i. p. ( ). [ ] "a ride through the nubian desert," by captain w. peel, r.n., p. . stags and giraffe. the deer family is rather numerous, and found in many different parts of the world. reindeers abound in some parts even of spitzbergen, and with musk oxen can find their food even under the winter snows of the parry islands. the wapiti and heavy large-headed elk or moose, retreat before the advancing civilisation of north america. the indian mountains and plains have noble races of deer. no species, however, is more celebrated than our red deer. the giraffe is closely allied to the stag family. the arabs name it the seraph, and indeed, that is the origin of its now best-known english name. visitors should beware of going too near the male, for we have seen the dent made by one of the giraffe's bony knobs on a pannel close to its stall. we have heard of a young lady, who entered the garden one of those summer days when straw bonnets had great bunches of ripe barley mingled with artificial poppies as an ornament, and, going too near the lofty pallisade, found to her confusion and terror that the long lithe tongue of the giraffe had whisked off her leghorn, flowers and all, and had begun leisurely to munch it with somewhat of the same gusto with which it would have eaten the branch of a graceful mimosa. earl of dalhousie and the ferocious stag. mr scrope relates an instance of unprovoked ferocity in a red deer at taymouth, in which the present earl of dalhousie might have been seriously injured. "in october , the hon. mr and mrs fox maule had left taymouth with the intention of proceeding towards dalguise; and in driving through that part of the grounds where the red deer were kept, they suddenly at a turn of the road came upon the lord of the demesne standing in the centre of the passage, as if prepared to dispute it against all comers. mr maule being aware that it might be dangerous to trifle with him, or to endeavour to drive him away (for it was the rutting season), cautioned the postilion to go slowly, and give the animal an opportunity of moving off. this was done, and the stag retired to a small hollow by the side of the road. on the carriage passing, however, he took offence at its too near approach, and emerged at a slow and stately pace, till he arrived nearly parallel with it. mr maule then desired the lad to increase his pace, being apprehensive of a charge in the broadside. "the deer, however, had other intentions; for as soon as the carriage moved quicker, he increased his pace also, and came on the road about twelve yards ahead of it, for the purpose of crossing, as it was thought, to a lower range of the parks; but to the astonishment and no little alarm of the occupants of the carriage, he charged the offside horse, plunging his long brow antler into his chest, and otherwise cutting him. "the horse that was wounded made two violent kicks, and is supposed to have struck the stag, and then the pair instantly ran off the road; and it was owing solely to the admirable presence of mind and sense of the postilion, that the carriage was not precipitated over the neighbouring bank. the horses were not allowed to stop till they reached the gate, although the blood was pouring from the wounded animal in a stream as thick as a man's finger. he was then taken out of the carriage, and only survived two or three hours. the stag was shortly afterwards killed."[ ] the french count and the stag. mr scrope, in his "deer-stalking," describes a grand deer-drive to glen-tilt, headed by the duke of athole. many an incident of this and subsequent drives was watched by "lightfoot," who was present, and whose pictures, under his name of sir edwin landseer, have rendered the life of the red deer familiar to us, in mist, amid snow, swimming in the rapid of a highland current, pursued and at rest, fighting and feeding, alive and dead, in every attitude, and at every age. in this encounter, the duke killed three first-rate harts, lightfoot two, and other rifles were all more or less successful. a french count, whose tongue it was difficult to restrain,--and silence is essential to success in the pursuit,--at last fired into a dense herd of deer. mr scrope adds,[ ] "everything was propitious--circumstance, situation, and effect; for he was descending the mountain in full view of our whole assemblage of sportsmen. a fine stag in the midst of the herd fell to the crack of his rifle. 'hallo, hallo!' forward ran the count, and sat upon the prostrate deer triumphing. '_hé bien, mon ami, vous êtes mort, donc! moi, je fais toujours des coups sûrs. ah! pauvre enfant!_' he then patted the sides of the animal in pure wantonness, and looked east, west, north, and south, for applause, the happiest of the happy; finally he extracted a mosaic snuff-box from his pocket, and with an air which nature has denied to all save the french nation, he held a pinch to the deer's nose--'_prends, mon ami, prends donc!_' this operation had scarcely been performed when the hart, who had only been stunned, or perhaps shot through the loins, sprang up suddenly, overturned the count, ran fairly away, and was never seen again. '_arrêtes, toi traître! arrêtes, mon enfant! ah! c'est un enfant, perdu! allez donc à tous les diables!_'" venison fat.--reynolds and the gourmand. northcote[ ] says--"i have heard sir joshua reynolds relate an anecdote of a venison feast, at which were assembled many who much enjoyed the repast. "on this occasion, reynolds addressed his conversation to one of the company who sat next to him, but to his great surprise could not get a single word in answer, until at length his silent neighbour, turning to him, said, 'mr reynolds, whenever you are at a venison feast, i advise you not to speak during dinner-time, as in endeavouring to answer your questions, i have just swallowed a fine piece of the fat, entire, without tasting its flavour.'" stag-trench at frankfort-on-the-maine. goethe was born at frankfort-on-the-maine, august th, . in his autobiography[ ] he says--"the street in which our house was situated passed by the name of the stag-trench; but as neither stags nor trenches were to be seen, we naturally wished to have the expression explained. they told us that our house stood on a spot that was once outside the town, and that where the street now ran had formerly been a trench in which a number of stags were kept. the stags were preserved and fatted here, because the senate every year, according to an ancient custom, feasted publicly on a stag which was always at hand in the trench for such a festival, in case princes or knights interfered with the city's right of chase outside, or the walls were encompassed and besieged by an enemy. this pleased us, and we wished that such a lair for tame wild animals could have been seen in our times. where is there a boy or girl who could not join in the wish of this man, who has been called the first european poet and literary man of the nineteenth century?" giraffe. "fancy," said sydney smith to some ladies, when he was told that one of the giraffes at the zoological gardens had caught a cold,--"fancy a giraffe with two yards of sore throat." in one of the numbers of _punch_, published in , the quiz of an artist has made the giraffes twist their necks into a loose knot by way of a comforter to keep them from catching a cold, or having a sore throat. he has very audaciously caused to be printed under his cut, "a fact." footnotes: [ ] "life and correspondence of charles lord metcalfe," by john william kaye, vol. i., p. . [ ] "the art of deer-stalking," p. . [ ] "deer-stalking," p. . [ ] "life of sir joshua reynolds," vol. i., p. . [ ] "truth and poetry from my own life; the autobiography of goethe," edited by parke godwin, part i., p. . sheep and goats. these are animals, at least the former, which seem to have been created in a domestic state. they are represented on the most ancient monuments. a head of a lybian ram of very large size, in the british museum, has great resemblance to nature, and there is one slab at least among the assyrian monuments where sheep and goats, as part of the spoil of a city, are rendered with great skill. in the writings of the ettrick shepherd, many curious anecdotes of scottish sheep are given. how many legs has a sheep? when the earl of bradford was brought before the lord chancellor to be examined upon application for a statute of lunacy against him, the chancellor asked him, "how many legs has a sheep?"--"does your lordship mean," answered lord bradford, "a live sheep or a dead sheep?"--"is it not the same thing?" said the chancellor.--"no, my lord," said lord bradford, "there is much difference: a live sheep may have four legs, a dead sheep has only two; the two fore-legs are shoulders; there are only _two legs of mutton_."[ ] goethe on roos's etchings of sheep. in the "conversations of goethe with eckerman and soret"[ ] in , he handed me some etchings by roos, the famous painter of animals; they were all of sheep, in every posture and position. the simplicity of their countenances, the ugliness and shagginess of the fleece--all was represented with the utmost fidelity, as if it were nature itself. "i always feel uneasy," said goethe, "when i look at these beasts. their state--so limited, dull, gaping, and dreaming--excites in me such sympathy, that i fear i shall become a sheep, and almost think the artist must have been one. at all events, it is most wonderful how roos has been able to think and feel himself into the very soul of these creatures, so as to make the internal character peer with such force through the outward covering. here you see what a great talent can do when it keeps steady to subjects which are congenial with its nature." "has not, then," said i, "this artist also painted dogs, cats, and beasts of prey with similar truth; nay, with this great gift of assuming a mental state foreign to himself, has he not been able to delineate human character with equal fidelity?" "no," said goethe; "all that lay out of his sphere, but the gentle, grass-eating animals--sheep, goats, cows, and the like--he was never weary of repeating; this was the peculiar province of his talent, which he did not quit during the whole course of his life. and in this he did well. a sympathy with these animals was born with him, a knowledge of their psychological condition was given him, and thus he had so fine an eye for their bodily structure. other creatures were perhaps not so transparent to him, and therefore he felt neither calling nor impulse to paint them."[ ] lord cockburn and the sheep. lord cockburn, the proprietor of bonaly, that pretty place on the slopes of the pentlands, was sitting on the hill-side with the shepherd, and, observing the sheep reposing in the coldest situation, he observed to him, "john, if i were a sheep, i would lie on the other side of the hill." the shepherd answered, "ay, my lord, but if ye had been a _sheep_, ye would hae had mair sense."[ ] woolsack. colman and banister, dining one day with lord erskine, the ex-chancellor, amongst other things, observed that he had then about three thousand head of sheep. "i perceive," interrupted colman, "your lordship has still an eye to the woolsack."[ ] sandy wood and his pets, a sheep and a raven. alexander wood, a kind-hearted surgeon, who died in his native town of edinburgh in may , aged eighty-two, is alluded to by sir walter scott in a prophecy put into the mouth of meg merrilees in "guy mannering"--"they shall beset his goat; they shall profane his raven," &c. the editor of "kaye's edinburgh portraits"[ ] says that, besides his kindness of disposition to his fellow-creatures, "he was almost equally remarkable for his love of animals. his pets were numerous, and of all kinds. not to mention dogs and cats, there were two others that _individually_ were better known to the citizens of edinburgh--a sheep and a raven, the latter of which is alluded to by scott in 'guy mannering.' willy, the sheep, pastured in the ground adjoining to the excise office, now the royal bank, and might be daily seen standing at the railings, watching mr wood's passing to or from his house in york place, when willy used to poke his head into his coat-pocket, which was always filled with supplies for his favourite, and would then trot along after him through the town, and sometimes might be found in the houses of the doctor's patients. the raven was domesticated at an ale and porter shop in north castle street, which is still, or very lately was, marked by a tree growing from the area against the wall. it also kept upon the watch for mr wood, and would recognise him even as he passed at some distance along george street, and, taking a low flight towards him, was frequently his companion during some part of his forenoon walks; for mr wood never entered his carriage when he could possibly avoid it, declaring that unless a vehicle could be found that would carry him down the closes and up the turnpike stairs, they produced nothing but trouble and inconvenience." general carnac and his she-goat. it is pleasant to see, and not rare to find in men of warlike habits, a love for animals. the goat or deer that used often to march before a regiment with the band as they proceeded to a review in bruntsfield links, when the writer and his friends were boys, about to , he well remembers. nor is edinburgh garrison singular. general carnac, in , communicated to dr william hunter some observations on the keenness of smell and its exquisite sensibility. he says--"i have frequently observed of tame deer, to whom bread is often given, and which they are in general fond of, that if you present them a piece that has been bitten, they will not touch it. i have made the same observation of a remarkably fine she-goat, which accompanied me in most of my campaigns in india, and supplied me with milk, and which, in gratitude for her services, i brought from abroad with me."[ ] john hunter and the shawl-goat. hunter's method of introducing strange animals peacefully to others in his menagerie. it is pleasant to meet with a notice of the pursuits of the great anatomist, john hunter, in a rather out-of-the-way book.[ ] the ingenious way in which he introduced strange animals into his menagerie is worthy of notice. "the variety of birds and beasts to be met with at earl's court (the villa of the celebrated and much-lamented mr john hunter) is matter of great entertainment. in the same ground you are surprised to find so many living animals in one herd, from the most opposite parts of the habitable globe. buffaloes, rams, and sheep from turkey, and a shawl-goat from the east indies, are among the most remarkable of those that meet the eye; and as they feed together in the greatest harmony, it is natural to inquire, what means are taken to make them so familiar, and well acquainted with each other. mr hunter told me, that when he has a stranger to introduce, he does it by ordering the whole herd to be taken to a strange place, either a field, an empty stable, or any other large out-house, with which they are all alike unaccustomed. the strangeness of the place so totally engages their attention, as to prevent them from running at, and fighting with, the new-comer, as they most probably would do in their own fields (in regard to which they entertain very high notions of their exclusive right of property), and here they are confined for some hours, till they appear reconciled to the stranger, who is then turned out with his new friends, and is generally afterwards well-treated. the shawl-goat was not, however, so easily reconciled to his future companions; he attacked them, instead of waiting to be attacked; fought several battles, and at present appears master of the field. "it is from the _down_ that grows under the coarse hair of this species of goat, that the fine india shawls are manufactured.[ ] this beautiful as well as useful animal was brought over only last june from bombay, in the _duke of montrose_ indiaman, captain dorin. the female, unfortunately, died. it was very obligingly presented by the directors to sir john sinclair, the president of the british wool society. it is proposed, under mr hunter's care, to try some experiment with it in england, by crossing it with other breeds of the goat species, before it is sent to the north." as anything that met with mr hunter's approval must have been a judicious arrangement, i may quote from the same source the passage about the buildings for his cattle at earl's court. "mr hunter has built his stables half under ground; also vaults, in which he keeps his cows, buffaloes, and hogs. such buildings, more especially the arched byres, or cow-houses, retain a more equal temperature at all times, in regard both to heat and cold, and consequently are cooler in summer and warmer in winter; and in situations where ground is so valuable as in the neighbourhood of london, are an excellent contrivance. mr hunter has his hay-yard over his buffaloes' stables. the expense of vaulting does not exceed that of building and roofing common cow-houses; and the vaults have this essential advantage or preference, that they require no repairs." he then gives an account of some buffaloes which mr hunter had trained to work in a cart, and which became so steady and tractable, that they were often driven through london streets in the loaded cart, much, no doubt, to the astonishment of passers-by. with a glimpse of a very beautiful little cow at earl's court, from a buffalo and an alderney, which was always plump and fat, and gave very good milk, we must take leave of john hunter's menagerie. commodore keppel "beards" the dey of algiers.--a goat. sir joshua reynolds, when twenty-five, sailed to the mediterranean in with the hon. augustus keppel, then a captain in the navy, and afterwards viscount keppel. in , commodore keppel returned to algiers to remonstrate with the dey on the renewed depredations of the corsairs. the dey, surprised at his boldness, for he anchored close to the palace, and attended by his captain and a barge's crew, went boldly into the presence of the algerine monarch to demand satisfaction, exclaimed, that he wondered at the insolence of the king of great britain sending him a beardless boy. keppel was only twenty-four, but he is said to have answered, "that had his majesty, the king of great britain, estimated the degree of wisdom by the length of the beard, he would have sent him _a goat_ as an ambassador." northcote is in doubt of the truth of this speech having been made, but says, that it is certain keppel answered with great boldness.[ ] the tyrant is said to have actually ordered his mutes to advance with the bow-string, telling the commodore that his life should answer for his audacity. keppel quietly pointed out to the dey the squadron at anchor, and told him, that if it was his pleasure to put him to death, there were englishmen enough on board to make a funeral pile of his capital. the dey cooled a little, allowed the commodore to depart, and made satisfaction for the damage done, and promised to abstain from violence in future. footnotes: [ ] mark lemon, "jest book," p. . [ ] translated from the german by john oxenford, vol. i., p. . [ ] roos must have been limited in his powers, unlike our landseer, who paints dogs, sheep, horses, cows, stags, and fowls with equal power. [ ] dean ramsay's "reminiscences of scottish life and character," th edition, p. . [ ] mark lemon, "jest book," p. . [ ] there are two copperplates devoted to the figure and portrait of "lang sandy wood," as he was called. [ ] "philosophical transactions," lxi. p. ( ). paper on nyl-ghau, with plate, by george stubbs, engraved by basire. [ ] baird, "report on the county of middlesex," quoted in view of the agriculture of middlesex, &c., pp. , , by john middleton, esq. london: . [ ] the wool which grows on different parts of their bodies, under very long hair, is obtained by gently combing them. [ ] "life of sir joshua reynolds," vol. i., p. . calves and kine. the little anecdote of gilpin and the three cows illustrates one elegant use of the subjects of the following paragraphs. what home landscape like that painted by alfred tennyson would be perfect without its cows? many anecdotes of them could be collected. the irish are celebrated for their "bulls," one of them is not the worse for having "bulls" for its subject. patrick was telling, so the story goes, that there were four "bull inns" in a certain english town. "there are but three," said a native of the place, who knew them well; "the black bull, the white bull, and the red bull,--where is the fourth?"--"sure and do you not know, the dun cow--the best of them all?" replied the unconscious milesian. a great calf. sir william b----, being at a parish meeting, made some proposals, which were objected to by a farmer. highly enraged, "sir," says he to the farmer, "do you know, sir, that i have been at the two universities, and at two colleges in each university?"--"well, sir," said the farmer, "what of that? i had a calf that sucked two cows, and the observation i made was, the more he sucked, the greater _calf_ he grew."[ ] rather too much of a good thing.--veal _ad nauseam_. at the table of lord polkemmet, when the covers were removed, the dinner was seen to consist of veal broth, a roast fillet of veal, veal cutlets, a florentine (an excellent scotch dish, composed of veal), a calf's head, calf's foot jelly. the worthy judge observing an expression of surprise among his guests, who, even in shetland in early spring would have had the veal varied with fish, broke out in explanation, "ou, ay, it's a cauf! when we kill a beast, we just eat up one side, and down the tither." * * * * * boswell, the friend and biographer of johnson, when a young man, went to the pit of covent garden theatre, in company with dr blair, and in a frolic imitated the lowing of a cow; and the universal cry in the gallery was, "encore the cow! encore the cow!" this was complied with, and in the pride of success, boswell attempted to imitate some other animals, but with less success. dr blair, anxious for the fame of his friend, addressed him thus, "my dear sir, i would confine myself to _the cow_."[ ] adam clarke and his bullock pat. the rev. adam clarke, ll.d., after one of his evangelical visits to ireland, returned to his home at millbrook. in writing to his sons he says--"not only your mother, sisters, and brother, were glad to see me, but also my poor animals in the field, for i lost no time in going to visit them. i found the donkey lame, and her son looking much like a philosopher; it was strange that even the _bullock_, whom we call _pat_, came to me in the field, and held out his most honest face for me to stroke it. the next time i went to him he came running up, and actually placed his two fore-feet upon my shoulders, with all the affection of a spaniel; but it was a load of kindness i could ill bear, for the animal is nearly three years old; i soon got his feet displaced; strange and uncouth as this manifestation of affectionate gratitude was, yet with it the master and his _steer pat_ were equally well pleased; so here is a literal comment on 'the ox knoweth his owner;' and you see i am in league with even the beasts of the field."[ ] samuel foote and the cows pulling the bell of worcester college chapel. samuel foote was a student at worcester college, oxford, and when there he practised many tricks, and soon found out what was ridiculous in any man's character. his biographer[ ] records one of these tricks which he played off on dr gower, the provost of the college. "the church belonging to the college fronted the side of a lane where cattle were sometimes turned out to graze during the night, and from the steeple hung the bell rope, very low in the middle of the outside porch. foote saw in this an object likely to produce some fun, and immediately set about to accomplish his purpose. he accordingly one night slyly tied a wisp of hay to the rope, as a bait for the cows in their peregrination to the grazing ground. the scheme succeeded to his wish. one of the cows soon after smelling the hay as she passed by the church door, instantly seized on it, and, by tugging at the rope, made the bell ring, to the astonishment of the sexton and the whole parish. "this happened several nights successively, and the incident gave rise to various reports, such as not only that the church was haunted by evil spirits, but that several spectres were seen walking about the churchyard in all those hideous and frightful shapes which fear, ignorance, and fancy usually suggest on such occasions. "an event of this kind, however, was to be explored, for the honour of philosophy, as well as for the quiet of the parish. accordingly the doctor and the sexton agreed to sit up one night, and on the first alarm to run out and drag the culprit to condign punishment. their plan being arranged, they waited with the utmost impatience for the appointed signal; at last the bell began to sound its usual alarm, and they both sallied out in the dark, determined on making a discovery. the sexton was the first in the attack. he seized the cow by the tail, and cried out, 'it was a gentleman commoner, as he had him by the tail of his gown;' while the doctor, who had caught the cow by the horns at the same time, immediately replied, 'no, no, you blockhead, 'tis the postman, and here i have hold of the rascal by his blowing-horn.' lights, however, were immediately brought, when the character of the real offender was discovered, and the laugh of the whole town was turned upon the doctor." the general's cow. at plymouth there is, or was, a small green opposite the government house, over which no one was permitted to pass. not a creature was allowed to approach save the general's cow. one day old lady d---- having called at the general's, in order to make a short cut, bent her steps across the lawn, when she was arrested by the sentry calling out and desiring her to return. "but," said lady d----, with a stately air, "do you know who i am?"--"i don't know who you be, ma'am," replied the immovable sentry, "but i knows you b'aint--you b'aint the _general's cow_." so lady d---- wisely gave up the argument and went the other way.[ ] gilpin's love of the picturesque carried out.--a reason for keeping three cows. lord sidmouth told the rev. c. smith bird that he was partly educated at cheam, by mr gilpin, the author of many volumes on "picturesque scenery." he was but a poor scholar, but seems to have been loved by his pupils. he _carried out_ his regard for the picturesque, as would appear by the following anecdote[ ]-- "in visiting the rev. mr gilpin at his house in the new forest on one occasion, his lordship observed three cows feeding in a small paddock, which he knew to be all that mr gilpin had to feed them in. he asked mr gilpin how he came to have so many cows when he had so little land? 'the truth is,' said he, 'i found one cow would not do--she went dry.'--'well,' said lord sidmouth, 'but why not be content with another? two, by good management, might be made to supply you constantly with milk.'--'oh, yes,' said the old gentleman, '_but two would not group_.'" king james on a cow getting over the border. in the "life of bernard gilpin," his biographer refers to the inhabitants of the borders being such great adepts in the art of thieving, that they could twist a cow's horn, or mark a horse, so as its owners could not know it, and so subtle that no vigilance could watch against them. a person telling king james a surprising story of a cow that had been driven from the north of scotland into the south of england, and escaping from the herd had found her way home; "the most surprising part of the story," the king replied, "you lay least stress on--that she passed unstolen through the debateable land."[ ] duke of montague and his hospital for old cows and horses. the rev. joseph spence[ ] records that "the duke of montague has an hospital for old cows and horses; none of his tenants near boughton dare kill a broken-winded horse; they must bring them all to the _reservoir_. the duke keeps a lap-dog, the ugliest creature he could meet with; he is always fond of the most hideous, and says he was at first kind to them, because nobody else would be." philip iv. of spain in the bull-ring. this king, whose form and features are so well known from the pictures of velasquez, was entertained magnificently by his great favourite olivares, in . at this festival, which was in honour of the birthday of the heir apparent, the sports of ancient rome were renewed in the bull-ring of spain. in his life by mr stirling,[ ] it is recorded that "a lion, a tiger, a bear, a camel--in fact, a specimen of every procurable wild animal, or, as quevedo expressed it in a poetical account of the spectacle, 'the whole ark of noah, and all the fables of Æsop,' were turned loose into the spacious plaza del parque, to fight for the mastery of the arena. to the great delight of his castilian countrymen, a bull of xarama vanquished all his antagonists. the 'bull of marathon, which ravaged the country of tetrapolis,' says the historian of the day, 'was not more valiant; nor did theseus, who slew and sacrificed him, gain greater glory than did our most potent sovereign. unwilling that a beast which had behaved so bravely should go unrewarded, his majesty determined to do him the greatest favour that the animal himself could have possibly desired, had he been gifted with reason--to wit, to slay him with his own royal hand! calling for his fowling-piece, he brought it instantly to his shoulder, and the flash and report were scarcely seen and heard ere the mighty monster lay a bleeding corpse before the transported lieges. yet not a moment,' continues the chronicler, 'did his majesty lose his wonted serenity, his composure of countenance, and becoming gravity of aspect; and but for the presence of so great a concourse of witnesses, it was difficult to believe that he had really fired the noble and successful shot.'" sydney smith and his cattle.--his "universal scratcher." the rev. sydney smith, when at foston, used to call for his hat and stick immediately after dinner, and sallied forth for his evening stroll. his daughter,[ ] who often accompanied him, remarks--"each cow and calf, and horse and pig, were in turn visited, and fed, and patted, and all seemed to welcome him; he cared for their comforts as he cared for the comforts of every living being around him. he used to say, 'i am all for cheap luxuries, even for animals; now all animals have a passion for scratching their back bones. they break down your gates and palings to effect this. look! there is my universal scratcher, a sharp-edged pole, resting on a high and a low post, adapted to every height, from a horse to a lamb. even the edinburgh reviewer can take his turn. you have no idea how popular it is. i have not had a gate broken since i put it up. i have it in all my fields.'" rev. augustus toplady on the future state of animals. the rev. josiah bull, in the "memorials of the rev. william bull of newport, pagnel,"[ ] the friend of cowper, the poet, and the rev. john newton, tells the following anecdote, in which a favourite theory of the author of that exquisite hymn, "rock of ages cleft for me," is alluded to, and somewhat comically illustrated by the author of the "olney hymns:"-- "mr newton had been dining with mr bull, and they were quietly sitting together, following after 'the things whereby they might edify one another,' and that search aided by 'interposing puffs' of the fragrant weed. it was in that old study i so well remember, ere it was renovated to meet the demands of modern taste. a room some eighteen feet square, with an arched roof, entirely surrounded with many a precious volume, with large, old casement windows, and immense square chairs of fine spanish mahogany. there these good men were quietly enjoying their _tête-à-tête_, when they were startled by a thundering knock at the door; and in came mr ryland of northampton, abruptly exclaiming, 'if you wish to see mr toplady, you must go immediately with me to the "swan." he is on his way to london, and will not live long.' they all proceeded to the inn, and there found the good man, emaciated with disease, and evidently fast hastening to the grave. as they were talking together, they were attracted by a great noise in the street, occasioned, as they found on looking out, by a bull-baiting which was going on before the house. mr toplady was touched by the cruelty of the scene, and exclaimed, 'who could bear to see that sight, if there were not to be some compensation for these poor suffering animals in a future state?'--'i certainly hope,' said my grandfather, 'that all the bulls will go to heaven; but do you think this will be the case with all the animal creation?'--'yes, certainly,' replied mr toplady, with great emphasis, 'all, all!'--'what!' rejoined mr newton, with some sarcasm in his tone, 'do you suppose, sir, there will be fleas in heaven? for i have a special aversion to them.' mr toplady said nothing, but was evidently hurt; and as they separated, mr newton said, 'how happy he should be to see him at olney, if god spared his life, and he were to come that way again.' the reply mr toplady made was not very courteous; but the good man was perhaps suffering from the irritation of disease, and possibly annoyed by the ridicule cast upon a favourite theory." right honourable william windham, m.p., on the feelings of a baited bull. that great parliamentary orator, the right honourable william windham, lived before the days when humanity to animals was deemed a fit subject for legislation. in his speech against "the bill for preventing the practice of bull-baiting" (april , ),[ ] he refers to the introduction of such a measure as follows--"in turning from the great interests of this country, and of europe, to discuss with equal solemnity such measures as that which is now before us, the house appears to me to resemble mr smirk, the auctioneer, in the play, who could hold forth just as eloquently upon a ribbon as upon a raphael." he speaks of bull-baiting as being, "it must be confessed, at the expense of an animal which is not by any means a party to the amusement; but then," he adds, "it serves to cultivate the qualities of a certain species of dogs, which affords as much pleasure to their owners as greyhounds do to others. it is no small recommendation to bull-dogs that they are so much in repute with the populace." in a second speech, may , , he said that he believed "the bull felt a satisfaction in the contest, not less so than the hound did when he heard the sound of the horn that summoned him to the chase. true it was that young bulls, or those which were never baited before, showed reluctance to be tied to the stake; but those bulls which, according to the language of the sport, were called _game bulls_, who were used to baiting, approached the stake, and stood there while preparing for the contest, with the utmost composure. if the bull felt no pleasure, and was cruelly dealt with, surely the dogs had also some claim to compassion; but the fact was that both seemed equally arduous in the conflict; and the bull, like every other animal, while it had the better side, did not dislike his situation--it would be ridiculous to say he felt no pain--yet, when on such occasions he exhibited no signs of terror, it was a demonstrable proof that he felt some pleasure." the "sober loyal men" of stamford, it would seem, had petitioned for the continuance of their annual sport, which had been continued for a period of five or six hundred years, and who were displeased with their landlord, the marquis of exeter, for his endeavours to put down their cruel sport. windham refers to "the antiquity of the thing being deserving of respect, for respect for antiquity was the best preservation of the church and state!!" footnotes: [ ] mark lemon, "jest book," p. . [ ] mark lemon, "jest book," p. . [ ] "an account of the religious and literary life of adam clarke, ll.d., f.a.s.," by a member of his family, vol ii., p. . [ ] "memoirs of samuel foote, esq.," by wm. cooke, esq., vol. i., p. . [ ] mark lemon, "jest book", p. . [ ] lord sidmouth lived near burghfield, where mr bird kept pupils, and was curate. see "sketches from the life of the rev. charles smith bird." [ ] "lives of hugh latimer and bernard gilpin," by the rev. william gilpin, p. . [ ] anecdotes. supplement, p. (singer's edition). spence died in , aged . [ ] "velasquez and his works," by william stirling, p. . [ ] lady holland's "memoirs of her father, the rev. sydney smith," vol. i., p. . [ ] "memorials of the rev. william bull of newport, pagnel," &c., by his grandson, the rev. josiah bull, m.a. . [ ] "speeches in parliament of the right honourable william windham, to which is prefixed some account of his life," by thomas amyot, esq., vol. i. pp. , ( ). whales. last and greatest of the mammalia are the whales. the adventures of hardy seamen, like scoresby, in the pursuit of the greenland whale, or beale in the more dangerous chase of the spermaceti, in southern waters, form the subjects of more than one readable volume. but here we give no such extracts, but content ourselves with four short skits, having the cetacea for their subject. in these days of zoological gardens, they have succeeded in bringing one of the smallest of the order, a porpoise, to the zoological gardens. his speedy dissolution showed that even the bath of a hippopotamus or an elephant was too limited for the dwelling of this pre-eminently marine creature. but he had begun to show an intelligence, they say, which, independently of all zoological and anatomical considerations, showed that he had nothing in common with a fish, but a somewhat similar form, and an equal necessity for abundance of the pure liquid element. whalebone. a thin old man, with a rag-bag in his hand, was picking up a number of small pieces of whalebone, which lay on the street. the deposit was of such a singular nature, that we asked the quaint-looking gatherer how he supposed they came there? "don't know," he replied, in a squeaking voice; "but i s'pect some unfortunate female was _wrecked_ hereabout somewhere."[ ] * * * * * a scotch lady, who was discomposed by the introduction of gas, asked with much earnestness, "what's to become o' the _puir whales_?' deeming their interests materially affected by this superseding of their oil."[ ] very like a whale. the first of all the royal infant males should take the title of the prince of _wales_: because, 'tis clear to seamen and to lubber, babies and _whales_ are both inclined to _blubber_.[ ] christopher north on the whale. _tickler._ what fish, james, would you incline to be, if put into scales? _shepherd._ a dolphin: for they hae the speed o' lichtnin. they'll dart past and roun' about a ship in full sail before the wind, just as if she was at anchor. then the dolphin is a fish o' peace,--he saved the life o' a poet of auld, arion, wi' his harp,--and oh! they say the cretur's beautifu' in death. byron, ye ken, comparin' his hues to those o' the sun settin' ahint the grecian isles. i sud like to be a dolphin. * * * * * _shepherd._ let me see--i sud hae nae great objections to be a whale in the polar seas. gran' fun to fling a boatfu' o' harpooners into the air--or, wi' ae thud o' your tail, to drive in the stern posts o' a greenlandman. _tickler._ grander fun still, james, to feel the inextricable harpoon in your blubber, and to go snoving away beneath an ice-floe with four miles of line connecting you with your distant enemies. _shepherd._ but, then, whales marry but ae wife, and are passionately attached to their offspring. there they and i are congenial speerits. nae fish that swims enjoys so large a share of domestic happiness. _tickler._ a whale, james, is not a fish. _shepherd._ isna he? let him alane for that. he's ca'd a fish in the bible, and that's better authority than buffon. oh that i were a whale![ ] * * * * * with these sentences, we conclude this book, as well as our selections on the whale. in the museum at edinburgh may be seen one of the finest, if not the most perfect, skeleton of a whale exhibited in this kingdom. our young readers there can soon see, by examining it from the gallery, that the whale is no "fish." footnotes: [ ] mark lemon, "jest book," p. . [ ] _ibid._, p. . [ ] _ibid._, p. . [ ] "noctes ambrosianæ," works of professor wilson, vol. ii., p. . index. addison and steele on the peculiarities of the natural history collectors, - albert's horse at brussels, . ammonianus and his ass, . androcles and the lion, - . ant-eater, the great, - . arctic fox, - . ass, sydney smith on sagacity of, . ass and zebra, . ass's foal, . asses with deers' antlers fastened on heads, ; duty free, . asylum for animals, , . austrian general and a bear, , . aye-aye, its singular structure and habits, - . baboons, lady anne barnard on, , . babylon, bas-relief of dog found at, , . babyrusa, . back, sir george, anecdote of arctic lemming, . badger, ; anecdotes of, - . baird, origin of name, . barrentz on white or polar bear, . barnard, lady anne, pleads for the baboons, , ; on some rabbits, . bats, fantastic faces of, , . bearable pun, . bears, , ; anecdotes of, - . beechey, captain, on polar bear, ; on the walrus, - , . bell, professor, on cats, . bell, sir charles, on the head of a pig, . bell-rock horse, . bentham, jeremy, and his pet cat, - ; and the mice, , . berwickshire, names of places in, derived from swine, . bess, a pet hare of the poet cowper's, . bisset and his trained monkeys, , ; musical cats, , ; trained hares and turtle, , ; learned pig, . black dwarf's cat, . blomfield, bishop, bitten by a dog, . boar, wild, - . border, cow getting across, . borneo, the home of the orang, . boswell imitates the lowing of a cow, . bradford, earl of, on the number of legs of a sheep, . bristol, bishop of, comparing cambridge freshmen to puppies, . brock, or badger, . brown, dr john, "rab" and "our dogs," . browning, mrs elizabeth barrett, lines on her dog flush, - . browning's, robert, description of rats, . bull, an irish, . bull, rev. wm., newton, and toplady, anecdote of, . bull-baiting at olney, ; windham on, . bull-ring, philip iv. in, . bullock and dr adam clarke, , . burke, edmund, question when interrupted, ; anecdote of his humanity, , . burns' "twa dogs," , ; the field-mouse, - . bush-pig, . bussapa, the tiger-slayer, - . buxton, sir thomas fowell, bart., and his dog speaker, , . byron on his dog, ; on boatswain, a newfoundland dog, , ; pets, , ; bear at cambridge, . "calamity," a horse of sydney smith's, . calf, a great, . calves and kine, . camel, captain wm. peel on, - . campbell, colonel, account of bussapa and the tiger, - . canova's sculptured lions and the child, - . carnac and the she-goat, . cats, - . cat's letter, by montgomery, . cattle of sydney smith, and their universal scratcher, . chalmers, dr, and the guinea-pig, , . _cheiroptera_, the order which contains the bats, , . children and horses cannot explain their complaints, . chimpanzee, mr mitchell on the habits of a young one, - . china, roasted pups eaten in, . _chiromys madagascariensis_, its habits, - . _choiropotamus africanus_, . choiseul, madame de, and her pet monkey and parrot, , . chunie, the elephant, . clare's dog and curran, . clarke, dr adam, on shetland seals, , ; his bullock pat, . clive's, lord, handwriting misunderstood, . cockburn, lord, and the sheep at bonaly, . collie at cultershaw, . collins, wm., r.a., and sir david wilkie, ; the rat-catcher with the ferret, ; his dog prinny, , ; paints odell's old donkey, . collins, w. wilkie, sir david wilkie's first remark on him, , . constant and his cat, . cook's sailor, who took a fox-bat for the devil, . cooke, major-general, . coon, a gone, . couthon and the spaniel, . cowper's narrative of his pet hares, - ; dog beau and the water-lily, - . cows, anecdotes of, - . cross, edward, of exeter change and walworth, . cruelty to horses in ireland, . cunningham, major, on ladak dog, . curran on lord clare's dog, . cuvier and the fossil, . _cynocephali_, or african baboons, , , . dalhousie, earl of, and the ferocious red-deer, . dandie dinmont educates his terriers, . davis, sir george, and the lion, , . deer family, , ; their sensibility of smell, . dessin island, rabbits on, blind of one eye, . dickens on sellers of bears' grease, , . dog and the french murderers, , . dog-cheap, . dog-matic, . dog-rose, . dogs, - . douglas, general, and the rats, . dragon-fly exhibited at a show, . dresden, battle of, general moreau killed at, . drew on the instinct of dogs, - . dromedary, capt. peel on its rate of motion, . dunbar, rev. rowland hill at, . durian, an eastern fruit, . earl's court, hunter's menagerie at, - . eastern dogs, , . _echidna aculeata_, . _edentata_, . edmonstone, dr, on shetland seals, - . eglintoun, countess of, her fondness for rats, , . elephant and his trunk, ; anecdotes of, - . _epomophorus_, a genus of tropical bats alluded to by the poet-laureate, . erskine's sheep and the woolsack, . esquimaux dogs, , . ettrick shepherd's monkey, , ; on fox-hunting, - ; on whales, . fabricius on arctic fox, . ferret, , . field mouse turned up by robert burns, - . findhorn fisherman and monkey, , . flush, lines to her dog, by mrs browning, - . foote, samuel, makes cows pull bell at oxford, . forster, dr, on the fox-bats of the friendly islands, , . fournier on the squirrel, . fowler the tailor and gainsborough the artist, , . fox, charles james, on the poll-cat, . fox, . fox-hunting, from the "noctes," - . fox-bats, particulars of their history, - . frederick the great and his italian greyhounds, . french count at deer-stalking, , ; dogs, time of louis xi., ; marquis and his monkey, , . fry, mrs, on irish pigs, . fuller, thomas, on destructive fieldmice, , . fuller on norfolk rabbits, . fuseli on northcote's picture of balaam and the ass, . future state of animals, toplady on, . gainsborough and fowler the tailor, , ; his wife and their dogs, , ; pigs, countryman on, ; kept an ass, . garrick and the horse, . gell, sir william, his dog, . general's cow at plymouth, . george iii. at winchester, meets garrick, . george iv. visited at windsor by "happy jerry," . gilpin's, bernard, horses stolen and recovered, . gilpin's, rev. mr, love of the picturesque, . gilray's caricature of fox and burke as dogs, . gimcrack, the widow, her letter to mr bickerstaff on her husband's peculiarities, - . giraffe, anecdotes of, - . _glirine_ animals, , . goats, anecdotes of, , . goethe on stag-trench at frankfort, ; on roos's etchings of sheep, . good enough for a pig, . gordon, duchess of, and the wolf-dog, , . gorilla and its story, - . graham, rev. w., on dogs in the east, . grange, the, near edinburgh, . gray compares poet-laureate to a rat-catcher, , . gray. dr, gets large specimen of gorilla, . greenland seal, . grotta del cane, the poor dog at, , . guilford, lord keeper, and the rhinoceros, . guinea pig, dr chalmers, , . gunn, mr, on tiger-wolf, , . haff-fish, the shetland name for seal, . hairs or hares, . hall, robert, and the dog, . hamilton, sir wm., his definition of man, , . hanover rats, , . happy jerry, the rib-nosed mandrill, , . hardwicke's lady, sow, . hares, mrs browning on cowper's, ; petted by cowper the poet, - . hastings and the refractory donkey, . heard, the herald, on the horse of george iii., hedgehogs, . hill, rev. rowland, prayed for his horse, , . holcroft on race-horses, - . hood's dog dash, . hook and the litter of pigs, . hooker's sea-bear in regent's park, . hospital for old cows and horses, . horse, ; that carried stones to build bell-rock lighthouse, . horse exercises, a saying of rowland hill's, . horsemanship of johnson the irishman, , . horsfield, dr, on the javanese fox-bat, , . hunter, john, and the dead tiger, ; his menagerie at earl's court, , . hunters of polmood, dog that belonged to, . impey, warren hastings, and the ass, , . india shawls, . inglefield, capt., on the affection of a polar bear and her two cubs, . irish clergyman and the dogs, . irishman on rat-shooting, . irving, washington, and the dog, , . ivory dust, . jackal, , . jeffrey on a donkey; sydney smith's lines on , . jekyll treading on a small pig, ; on a squirrel, . jerrold, douglas, and his dog, . kangaroo cooke, . kangaroos, charles lamb on, , . keppel, commodore, and the dey of algiers, . king james, on a cow getting over the border, . laird of balnamoon and the brock, . lamb, charles, and the dog, ; on kangaroos, , ; on the hare, . landseer's "monkeyana," ; stags, . lap-dogs before the house of commons, . lauder, sir thomas dick, adventures of a monkey in morayshire, , . laurillard, cuvier's assistant, . lawyer's horse, . lemming, and arctic voyager, ; habits of the arctic, , . leifchild, dr, at hoxton, . leopard, its ferocity when wounded, . letter from the gorilla, now in british museum, - . lightfoot, name for sir edwin landseer, . lion and tiger, . lion, hunts on assyrian monuments, . lions on monument of clement xii., - . liston the surgeon and his cat, , . livingston, dr, on paralysing effect of lion's bite, . luther observes a dog at lintz, . lyon, capt., on arctic fox, , . lytton, sir edward bulwer, on the pets of some of the revolutionary butchers, , . macaulay, lord, on the last days of king william iii., - . m'clintock on arctic fox, . m'dougall on habits of arctic lemming, . macgillivray, john, on a fox-bat from fitzroy island, . mackenzie, mrs colin, on the habits of the apes at simla, , ; on the tiger being worshipped, . man, professor owen on his position, ; definition of, by linnæus, ; defined in the linnæan manner, . mandrill and george iv., , . mansfield's, lord, joke about a horse, . marat, the citizen, and his doves, . markham, mr clement, on the polar bear, . _marsupialia_, - . mastiff and the soldier, . matthews, henry, on the grotta del cane, . mayerne, dr, and his balsam of bats, . metcalfe, when a boy, on camel, . miller, hugh, on badger-baiting in the canongate, - . miscellaneous eating about a pig, . mitchell, d. w., on the habits of a young chimpanzee, - . mitchell's antipathy to cats, . model dog of the artist collins, , . mole, its habits, . monkey revered by hindoos, . monkeys, ; liable to lung disease in british islands, ; rev. sydney smith on, , ; poor relations, . montagu, duke of, and his hospital for old cows, &c., . montgomery, james, his translation of a definition of man, ; and his cats, , . moore, general, and his horse at corunna, . moore on gilpin and boatswain, two dogs, , . moore, dr john, sketch of a french marquis and his monkey, , . more, hannah, on dog of garrick's, . moreau and his greyhound, . moses, a dog of mrs schimmelpenninck's, . moth larvæ eating at night, . mounsey, anecdote of, . mouse that amused baron von trenck, , . mules should have their own way, . museum of john hunter, , . musical cats, , . musk rat, . _myrmecophaga jubata_, - . names given to horses, - . napier, charles, and the lion in the tower, . natural history collectors of the days of addison and steele, , . neill, dr patrick, . nelson and the polar bear, - ; in arctic seas, . newfoundland dog, . n'geena, or gorilla, . nicol, george, the bookseller and hunter, . norfolk, duke of, and his spaniels, . north, sir dudley, visits the rhinoceros, . north, lord, and the dog, . northcote's balaam and the ass, . norton, hon. mrs, address to a dog, . odell and his old donkey, . old jack, a horse that drew stones for building waterloo bridge, . old lady and the beasts on the mound, . ommaney, capt., and the polar bear, . opossum, . _ornithorhynchus_, the duck-bill, . owen, professor, on the gorilla, ; on the aye-aye, . parasols, how ladies used them at cross's menagerie, . parrot and monkey, anecdote of two pets, , . parry, capt., on flesh of polar bear, . paton, sir j. noel, has studied physiognomies of bats, &c., . peale, titian, on a tame fox-bat, . peccaries of south america, . peel, capt. wm., on camel, - . _peracyon_, . perchance, a lap-dog, . perthes derives hints from his dog, . peter the great and his dog lisette, , . _phascolomys vombatus_, . philip iv. in bull-ring, . phillips, sir richard, eats jelly of ivory dust, . _phoca barbata_, ; _vitulena_, . pied piper of hamelin, extract from, . pig, monument to, . pigs and silver spoons, . plants liked by hares, . polar bear, its history, - . poll-cat, fox and the, . polkemmet, lord, a dinner on veal, . polson and the last scottish wolf, - . ponsonby and the poodle, . porpoise in zoological gardens, . pope on dogs, . porcupine ant-eater, . postman and carrier dog at moffat, . postmen, capt. osborn, on arctic foxes as, . _potamochoerus_, , . prinny, a pet dog of collins the artist, , . prison mouse, , . _pteropus conspicillatus_, ; _medius_, . puss, a pet hare of the poet cowper's , . _quadrumana_, - . queen of charles i. and the lap-dog . quixote bowles fond of pigs, . rabbits, a family all blind of one eye, . raccoon, . race-horses, holcroft's anecdotes of, - . ramsgate donkeys, irishman on, . rats and mice, . rats' whiskers good for artists' brushes, . ravages of rats, . raven, pet of wood the surgeon, . red-deer at taymouth, , . "relais," a dog belonging to louis xii., . revolutionary butchers and their pets, , . rhinoceros and elephant, . richardson, sir j., on arctic fox, . river pig, . rodent animals, , . rodney, lord, and his dog loup, . rogue elephant, skull of one, . roos's etchings of sheep, goethe on, , . ross, sir james, on arctic fox, , . rowan berries, dog that fetched, . ruddiman and his dog rascal, . sand liked by hares, . schimmelpenninck, mrs, her fondness for dogs, . scott, sir walter, when a boy, saw burns, ; his fondness for his dogs, ; on a fox, ; visit to the black dwarf, . "scratcher" of sydney smith, . scriptures, dogs mentioned in the, , , . seals, their intelligence, - . _semnopithecus entellus_, an indian monkey, . sergent and his spaniel, . shaved bear at bristol, . shawl-goat at john hunter's menagerie, . sheep, anecdotes of, - ; and goats, ; pet, of alex. wood the surgeon, . shepherd dogs, . sheridan and the dog, ; on the dog-tax, . shetland seals, - . sidmouth, lord, educated by the rev. mr gilpin, . skins of rabbits, . sloth, sydney smith on, . smith, rev. sydney, on the differences between man and monkeys, , ; his answer to landseer, ; remark on a dog, ; his dislike of dogs, , ; on pigs, ; and his horses, - . smith and the elephant, . sorrel, the horse of william iii., . southey and his critics, ; on dogs, ; loved cats, - . sow and swine, - . spencer, lord, and rev. sydney smith, , . _spermophilus parryi_, . sportsmen, exaggeration of some, . squirrel, . stags, anecdotes of, - . stag-trench at frankfort, . stanhope, earl, on jacobites calling adherents of court "hanover rats," , ; on the poet cowper's tastes, . stapelia, a plant at the cape, . stirling castle, "lion's den" at, . stokes, capt. lort, on the red-necked fox-bat, . story, judge, names he gave his horses, . sturge and the pigs, . surgeon, an enthusiastic fox-hunting, . swinton, origin of name, . sykes, colonel, on the flesh of a fox-bat, . syria, wild boar in, . tail, short-tailed and long-tailed horses, . tailor and the elephant, . _tamandua_, or ant-eater, . tennyson, lines on man, and modern systems, ; lines describing tropical bats, . thackeray on the egyptian donkey, . _thalassarctos maritimus_--the polar bear, - . _thylacinus harrisii_, . tibetan mastiff, , . tiger and lion, . tigers' claws and whiskers regarded as charms, . tiger-wolf of tasmania, - . tiney, a pet hare of cowper's, . toplady on future state of animals, . tonton, walpole's pet dog, , . trained monkeys, . trenck and the tame mouse in prison, . _trichechus rosmarus_, . true, on dog being a good judge of eloquence, . ulysses and his dog, . _ursus lotor_, why raccoon was so called, . veal _ad nauseam_, venison fat, . _vulpes lagopus_, . walker, dr david, on polar bear, . wallace, alfred, on orang-utan, ; on great ant-eater, . walpole, horace, the young lady's pet monkey and her parrot, , ; pet dog rosette, lines on, . walrus, history of, - . waterton, charles, letter from, on young gorilla, - ; letter to mrs wombwell on her young gorilla, ; "hanover rats," . watt, james, on rats' whiskers, . wellington's story of musk rat, . whalebone, . whales, , . whateley, archbishop, and his dogs, , ; on a cat that rung the bell, . wild boar, - . wilkie, sir david, and the baby, , ; and the puppy, . william iii., his death, as related by lord macaulay, - . wilson, the american ornithologist, and the mouse, . windham, right hon. william, on capt. phipps's arctic expedition, , ; on the feelings of a baited bull, . wolf, . wolf-dog, hungarian, anecdote of, , . wombat, . wood, sandy, and his pets, , . wordsworth on cruelty to horses in ireland, . zebra, lattin's joke, . zoological gardens, . the end. printed by ballantyne and company edinburgh and london +------------------------------------------------------------------+ |transcriber's note: | | | |"the aye-aye, or cheiromys of madagascar (_with a plate_)" | | | |unfortunately no plate could be found for this particular section.| |reference to it was removed from the table of contents. | +------------------------------------------------------------------+ anecdotes of painters, engravers sculptors and architects, and curiosities of art. by s. spooner, m. d., author of "a biographical history of the fine arts." in three volumes. vol. iii. new york: r. worthington, publisher, broadway. copyright, s. spooner, . reëntered, g. b., . contents. egyptian art, ancient thebes, the temple of carnac, temple of luxor, the statues of memnon, heliopolis, memphis, lake moeris, the colossal sphinx, the labyrinth of egypt, the catacombs of egypt, the pyramids of egypt, perilous ascent of the pyramid of cephren, egyptian obelisks, removal of an obelisk by fontana, removal of an obelisk from thebes to paris, carburi's base for the equestrian statue of peter the great, comparative skill of the ancients and moderns in mechanics, the britannia tubular railway bridge, the tubes, construction of the tubes, floating the tubes, raising the tubes, glory of ancient rome, the capitol, modern rome, the foundation of venice, theodoric the great, and his love of the fine arts, archimedes, the trials of genius--filippo brunelleschi, brunelleschi's enthusiasm, brunelleschi and donatello, donatello, donatello and the merchant, donatello and his kinsmen, death of donatello, donatello and michael angelo compared, sofonisba anguisciola's early distinction, sofonisba's visit to rome, sofonisba's marriages, sofonisba's residence at genoa, and her intercourse with vandyck, carriera rosalba, rosalba's modesty, rosalba's knowledge of tempers, elizabeth sirani, death of elizabeth sirani, rachel ruysch, sir anthony vandyck, vandyck's visit to italy, vandyck's return to antwerp, vandyck's visit to england, william van de velde the elder, van de velde and charles ii., william van de velde the younger, the younger van de velde's works, nicholas poussin, poussin's first celebrity, poussin's first visit to rome, poussin's distress at rome, poussin's success at rome, poussin's invitation to paris, poussin's return to rome, sir joshua reynolds' critique on poussin, poussin's views of his art, poussin's works, marino and poussin, poussin romanized, poussin's habits of study, poussin's old age, poussin's last work and death, poussin's ideas of painting, poussin and the nobleman, poussin and mengs, poussin and domenichino, poussin and salvator rosa, poussin, angelo, and raffaelle compared, rembrandt, rembrandt's works, rembrandt as an engraver, anecdote of schwarts, jacques callot, callot's patriotism, ingenuity of artists, a hint to jewelers, curious paintings, the oldest oil painting extant, curious representations of the harpies, adrian brower, brower, the duke d'aremberg, and rubens, death of brower, brower's works, rosa da tivoli, rosa da tivoli's works, rosa da tivoli's facility of execution, rosa da tivoli's habits, luca cambiaso's facility in painting, cambiaso's works in spain, cambiaso's artistic merits, rarity of female portraits in spain, murillo's pictures in spanish america, murillo's "virgin of the napkin," anecdote of an altar-piece by murillo, murillo and his slave gomez, an artist's love of romance, estéban march's strange method of study, march's adventure of the fish, fried in linseed oil, a painter's rebuke, a painter's retort courteous, ardemans and bocanegra--a trial of skill, a painter's artifice to "keep up appearances," a good natured criticism, alonso cano and the intendant of the bishop of malaga, cano's love of sculpture, castillo's sarcasm on alfaro, torres' imitations of caravaggio, pantoja and the eagle, the painter methodius and the king of bulgaria, john c. vermeyen and charles v., blas de prado and the emperor of morocco, don juan carreño, carreño's copy of titian's st. margaret, carreño's abstraction of mind, anecdote of cespedes' last supper, zuccaro's compliment to cespedes, dona barbara maria de hueva, the miraculous picture of the virgin, the chair of st. peter, the sagro catino, or emerald dish, the "painter of florence," legend of the painter-friar, the devil, and the virgin, gerard douw, douw's style, douw's method of painting, douw's works, albert durer, durer's works as a painter, durer's works as an engraver, durer's fame and death, durer's habits and literary works, ludolph backhuysen, john baptist weenix the elder, weenix's facility of hand, john baptist weenix the younger, jan steen, jan steen's works, kugler's critique on the works of jan steen, frolics of mieris and jan steen, sir anthony more, sir anthony more and philip ii., more's success and works, perilous adventure of a painter, anecdote of john de mabuse, capugnano and lionello spada, michael angelo caravaggio--his quarrelsome disposition, jacopo amiconi, painting the dead, taddeo zuccaro, zuccaro's resentment, royal criticism, pietro da cortona, "know thyself," benvenuto cellini, fracanzani and salvator rosa, pope urban viii. and bernini, emulation and rivalry in the fine arts, the nótte of correggio, the dresden gallery, painting among the egyptians, painting among the greeks, numismatics, restoring ancient edifices, napoleon's love of art, napoleon's works at paris, the napoleon medals, the elephant fountain, interesting drawing, sévre china, dismantling of the louvre, removal of the venetian horses from paris, removal of the statue of napoleon from the place vendôme, the musée français and the musée royal, boydell's shakspeare gallery, brief sketch of a plan for an american national gallery of art, anecdotes of painters, engravers, sculptors, and architects. egyptian art. champollion, the famous explorer of egyptian antiquities, holds the following language at the end of his fifteenth letter, dated at thebes. "it is evident to me, as it must be to all who have thoroughly examined egypt or have an accurate knowledge of the egyptian monuments existing in europe, that the arts commenced in greece by a servile imitation of the arts in egypt, much more advanced than is vulgarly believed, at the period when the egyptian colonies came in contact with the savage inhabitants of attica or the peloponnesus. without egypt, greece would probably never have become the classical land of the fine arts. such is my entire belief on this great problem. i write these lines almost in the presence of bas-reliefs which the egyptians executed, with the most elegant delicacy of workmanship, seventeen hundred years before the christian era. what were the greeks then doing?" the sculptures of the monument of el asaffif are ascertained to be more than three thousand five hundred years old. ancient thebes. thebes, an ancient city and capital of egypt, and the oldest city in the world, was situated in upper egypt, on both sides of the nile, about two hundred and sixty miles south of cairo. thebes is "the city of a hundred gates," the theme and admiration of ancient poets and historians, and the wonder of travelers--"that venerable city," in the language of dr. pocoke, "the date of whose destruction is older than the foundation of other cities, and the extent of whose ruins, and the immensity of whose colossal fragments still offer so many astonishing objects, that one is riveted to the spot, unable to decide whither to direct the step, or fix the attention." these ruins extend about eight miles along the nile, from each bank to the sides of the enclosing mountains, and describe a circuit of twenty-seven miles. the most remarkable objects on the eastern side are the temples of carnac and luxor; and on the western side are the memnonium or palace of memnon, two colossal statues, the sepulchres of the kings, and the temple of medinet abu. the glory of thebes belongs to a period prior to the commencement of authentic history. it is recorded only in the dim lights of poetry and tradition, which might be suspected of fable, did not such mighty witnesses remain to attest their truth. strabo and diodorus siculus described thebes under the name of _diospolis_ (the city of god), and gave such magnificent descriptions of its monuments as caused the fidelity of those writers to be called in question, till the observations of modern travelers proved their accounts to have fallen short of the reality. at the time of the persian invasion under cambyses, memphis had supplanted thebes; and the ptolemys afterwards removed the seat of empire to alexandria. at present, its site presents only a few scattered villages, consisting of miserable cottages built in the courts of the temples. the ancient structures, however, remain in a state of wonderful preservation. almost the whole extent of eight miles along the river is covered with magnificent portals, obelisks decorated with most beautiful sculptures, forests of columns, and long avenues of sphynxes and colossal statues. the most remarkable monuments, the ruins of which remain, are the temples of carnac, luxor, the memnonium or temple of memnon, and the temple of medinet abu. the tomb of osymandyas, the temple of iris, the labyrinth, and the catacombs lie on the western side of the nile. in the interior of the mountains which rise behind these monuments, are found objects less imposing and magnificent indeed, but not less interesting--the tombs of the kings of thebes. several of these were opened by belzoni, and were found in great preservation, with mummies in the sarcophagi, as well as dispersed through the chambers. such was ancient thebes--a city so populous that, according to ancient writers, in times of war , soldiers issued from each of her hundred gates, forming an army of , , men. that these magnificent ruins are the remains of "the city of an hundred gates,"--"the earliest capital in the world," cannot be doubted. according to the measurements made by the french, their distance from the sea on the north, is , metres ( miles), and from elephantine on the south, , metres ( miles)--corresponding exactly with the , and , stadia of herodotus. the circumference of the ruins is about , metres ( ½ miles), agreeing with the stadia given by diodorus as the circumference of thebes. the origin of the name of this celebrated city, as well as the date of its foundation, is unknown. according to champollion, who deciphered many of the inscriptions on these ruins, the egyptian name was _thbaki-antepi-amoun_ (city of the most high), of which the _no-ammon_ of the hebrews and _diospolis_ of the greeks are mere translations; _thebæ_, of the greeks is also perhaps derived from the egyptian _thbaki_ (the city). the temple of carnac. the largest of the temples of thebes, and of any in egypt, is that of carnac, on the site of the ancient diospolis. diodorus describes it as thirteen stadia, or about a mile and a half in circumference, which nearly agrees with the admeasurements of denon. it has twelve principal entrances; and the body of the temple, which is preceded by a large court, consists of a prodigious hall or portico, the roof of which is supported by one hundred and thirty-four columns, some twenty-six, and others thirty feet in circumference; four beautiful obelisks then mark the entrance to the shrine, which consists of three apartments, built entirely of granite. temple of luxor. the temple of luxor is about one and a fourth mile above that of carnac, and though it is of smaller dimensions it is in a superior style of architecture, and in more complete preservation. the entrance is thought to surpass everything else that egypt presents. in front are the two finest obelisks in the world, formed of rose-colored granite, and rising, as denon supposes, after allowing for the portion buried in the ground, to the height of one hundred feet. but the objects which most attract attention, are the sculptures which cover the east wing of the northern front. they represent on a grand scale, a victory gained by one of the ancient kings of egypt over their asiatic enemies, consisting of multitudes of figures, horses, and chariots, executed in the best style of egyptian art; the number of human figures introduced exceeds fifteen hundred, five hundred of which are on foot, and the rest in chariots. the statues of memnon. there were many colossal statues of memnon in egypt, but the most remarkable were the two in the memnonium or palace of memnon, at thebes. the largest is of rose-colored granite, and stood in the centre of the principal court; its height was sixty-four feet, and its remains are scattered forty feet around it. rigaud, one of the french savans, says, "the excavations are still visible where the wedges were placed which divided the monument when it was thrown down by cambyses." the trunk is broke off at the waist, and the upper part lies prostrate on the back; it measures six feet ten inches over the front of the head, and sixty-two feet round the shoulders. at the entrance of the gate which leads from the second court to the palace, is the famous colossal sounding statue, which, according to herodotus, strabo, and pausanias, uttered a joyful sound when the sun rose, and a mournful one when it set. it is also related that it shed tears, and gave out oracular responses in seven verses, and that these sounds were heard till the fourth century after christ. these phenomena, attested by many ancient and modern writers, are variously accounted for by the learned, as priestcraft, peculiar construction, escape of rarified air, &c. this statue is in excellent preservation. the head is of rose-colored granite, and the rest of a kind of black stone. two other colossal statues, about fifty feet high, are seated on the plain. heliopolis. the name of heliopolis, or city of the sun, was given by the greeks to the egyptian _city of on_. it was situated a little to the north of memphis, was one of the largest cities of egypt during the reign of the pharaohs, and so adorned with statues as to be esteemed one of the first sacred cities in the kingdom. the temple dedicated to re, was a magnificent building, having in front an avenue of sphynxes, celebrated in history, and adorned with several obelisks, raised by sethosis rameses, b.c. . by means of lakes and canals, the town, though built on an artificial eminence, communicated with the nile, and during the flourishing ages of the egyptian monarchy, the priests and scholars acquired and taught the elements of learning within the precincts of its temples. at the time of strabo who visited this town about a. d. , the apartments were still shown in which, four centuries before, eudoxus and plato had labored to learn the philosophy of egypt. here joseph and mary are said to have rested with our saviour. a miserable village, called _metarea_, now stands on the site of this once magnificent city. near the village is the _pillar of on_, a famous obelisk, supposed to be the oldest monument of the kind existing. its height is ½ feet, and its breadth at the base feet. it is one single shaft of reddish granite (sienite), and hieroglyphical characters are rudely sculptured upon it. memphis. the very situation of this famous ancient city of egypt had long been a subject of learned dispute, till it was accurately ascertained by the french expedition to egypt. numerous heaps of rubbish, of blocks of granite covered with hieroglyphics and sculptures, of colossal fragments, scattered over a space three or four leagues in circumference, marks its site, a few miles south of metarea or heliopolis, at a village called moniet-rahinet. according to herodotus, the foundation of memphis was ascribed to menes, the first king of egypt. it was a large, rich, and splendid city, and the second capital of egypt. among its buildings were several magnificent temples, as those of phtha, osiris, serapis, etc.; its palaces were also remarkable. in strabo's time, it was next to alexandria in size and population. edrisi, who visited memphis in the th century, thus describes its remains then existing: "notwithstanding the vast extent of this city, the remote period at which it was built, the attempts made by various nations to destroy it and to obliterate every trace of it, by removing the materials of which it was constructed, combined with the decay of , years, there are yet in it works so wonderful as to confound the reflecting, and such as the most eloquent could not adequately describe." among the works specified by him, are a monolithic temple of granite, thirteen and a half feet high, twelve long, and seven broad, entirely covered, within and without, with inscriptions; and colossal statues of great beauty, one of which was forty-five feet high, carved out of a single block of red granite. these ruins then extended about nine miles in every direction. lake moeris. this famous lake, according to herodotus, with whose account diodorus siculus and mela agree, was entirely an artificial excavation, made by king moeris, to carry off the overflowing waters of the nile, and reserve them for the purposes of irrigation. it was, in the time of herodotus, , stadia or miles in circumference, and feet deep, with innumerable canals and reservoirs. denon, belzoni, and other modern travelers, describe it at the present time as a natural basin, thirty or forty miles long, and six broad. the works, therefore, which herodotus attributes to king moeris, must have been the mounds, dams, canals, and sluices which rendered it subservient to the purposes of irrigation. these, also, would give it the appearance of being entirely the product of human industry. the colossal sphinx. the egyptian sphinx is represented by a human head on the body of a lion; it is always in a recumbent position with the fore paws stretched forward, and a head dress resembling an old-fashioned wig. the features are like those of the ancient egyptians, as represented on their monuments. the colossal sphinx, near the group of pyramids at jizeh, which lay half buried in the sand, was uncovered and measured by caviglia. it is about feet long, and feet high. the body is made out of a single stone; but the paws, which are thrown out about fifty feet in front, are constructed of masonry. the sphinx of sais, formed of a block of red granite, twenty-two feet long, is now in the egyptian museum in the louvre. there has been much speculation among the learned, concerning the signification of these figures. winckelmann observes that they have the head of a female, and the body of a male, which has led to the conjecture that they are intended as emblems of the generative powers of nature, which the old mythologies are accustomed to indicate by the mystical union of the two sexes in one individual; they were doubtless of a sacred character, as they guarded the entrance of temples, and often formed long avenues leading up to them. the labyrinth of egypt a labyrinth, with the ancients, was a building containing a great number of chambers and galleries, running into one another in such a manner as to make it very difficult to find the way through the edifice. the most famous was the egyptian labyrinth, situated in central egypt, above lake moeris, not far from crocodilopolis, in the country now called _fejoom_. herodotus, who visited and examined this edifice with great attention, affirms that it far surpassed everything he had conceived of it. it is very uncertain when, by whom, and for what purpose it was built, though in all probability it was for a royal sepulchre. the building, half above and half below the ground, was one of the finest in the world, and is said to have contained , apartments. the arrangements of the work and the distribution of the parts were remarkable. it was divided into sixteen principal regions, each containing a number of spacious buildings, which taken together, might be defined an assemblage of palaces. there were also as many temples as there were gods in egypt, the number of which was prodigious, besides various other sacred edifices, and four lofty pyramids at the angles of the walls. the entrance was by vast halls, followed by saloons, which conducted to grand porticos, the ascent to which was by a flight of ninety steps. the interior was decorated with columns of porphyry and colossal statues of egyptian gods. the whole was surrounded by a wall, but the passages were so intricate that no stranger could find the way without a guide. the substructions of this famous labyrinth still exist, and milizia says, "as they were not arched, it is wonderful that they should have been so long preserved, with so many stupendous edifices above them." the cretan labyrinth was built by dædalus on the model of the egyptian, but it was only a hundredth part the size; yet, according to diodorus siculus, it was a spacious and magnificent edifice, divided into a great number of apartments, and surrounded entirely by a wall. what would the ancients say, could they see our modern imitations of their labyrinths? the catacombs of egypt. there are numerous catacombs in egypt, the principal of which are at alexandria; at sakkara, near cairo; at siut, near the ancient lycopolis or city of the wolf; at gebel silsilis, on the banks of the nile between etfu and ombos, the site of one of the principal quarries of ancient egypt; and at thebes. many of these are of vast extent, and were doubtless formed by quarrying the rocks and mountains for building materials. they consist of grottos, galleries, and chambers, penetrating often to a considerable distance, the superincumbent mass being supported by huge pillars of rock; or the galleries running parallel, with masses of solid rock intervening for supports. many of these chambers and grottos contained multitudes of mummies, probably the bodies of the less wealthy; many were evidently private family tombs of wealthy individuals, some of which are of great magnificence, adorned with sculptures, paintings, and hieroglyphics. the arabs for centuries have been plundering these abodes of the dead, and great numbers of the mummies have been destroyed for fuel, and for the linen, rosin, and asphaltum they contain, which is sold to advantage at cairo. an immense number of them have been found in the plain of sakkara, near memphis, consisting not only of human bodies, but of various sacred animals, as bulls, crocodiles, apes, ibises, fish, &c.; hence it is called _the plain of the mummies_. numerous caves or grottos, with contents of the same kind, are found in the two mountainous ridges which run nearly parallel with the nile, from cairo to syene. many of these tombs and mummies are two or three thousand years old, and some of them perhaps older. among all the wonderful subterranean monuments of egypt, the catacombs of thebes are the most extraordinary and magnificent. these consist of the necropolis, or city of the dead, on the west bank of the nile (which was the common burial-place of the people), and the tombs of the kings. the latter lie to the northwest of the city, at some distance in the desert. having passed the necropolis, the traveler enters a narrow and rugged valley, flanked with perpendicular rocks, and ascending a narrow, steep passage about ten feet high, which seems to have been broken down through the rock, the ancient passage being from the memnonium under the hills, he comes to a kind of amphitheatre about yards wide, which is called bab-il-meluke--that is, the gate or court of the kings--being the sepulchres of the kings of thebes. in this court there are signs of about eighteen excavations; but only nine can be entered. the hills on each side are high, steep rocks, and the whole plain is covered with rough stones that seem to have rolled down from them. the grottos present externally no other ornaments than a door in a simple square frame, with an oval in the centre of the upper part, on which are inscribed the hieroglyphical figures of a beetle, a man with a hawk's head, and beyond the circle two figures on their knees, in the act of adoration. having passed the first gate, long arched galleries are discovered, about twelve feet wide and twenty feet high, cased with stucco, sculptured and painted; the vaults, of an elegant elliptical figure, are covered with innumerable hieroglyphics, disposed with so much taste, that notwithstanding the singular grotesqueness of the forms, and the total absence of demi-tint or aërial perspective, the ceilings make an agreeable whole, a rich and harmonious association of colors. four of five of these galleries, one within the other, generally lead to a spacious room, containing the sarcophagus of the king, composed of a single block of granite, about twelve feet long by eight in breadth, ornamented with hieroglyphics, both within and without; they are square at one end, and rounded at the other, like the splendid sarcophagus deposited in the british museum, and supposed by dr. clarke to have contained the body of alexander. they are covered with a lid of the same material, and of enormous thickness, shutting with a groove; but neither this precaution, nor these vast blocks of stone, brought from such a distance with immense labor, have been able to preserve the relics of the sovereigns from the attempts of avarice; all these tombs have been violated. the figure of the king appears to have been sculptured and painted at full length on the lid of each sarcophagus. the paintings found in these sepulchres are among the most curious and interesting remains of egyptian art; and they are in wonderful preservation, the colors being as fresh as when first executed. some of these figures were copied by bruce; and denon, a member of the french commission sent by napoleon to examine the antiquities of egypt, has published a most valuable collection which have all the appearance of spirited and characteristic resemblances. "i discovered," says he, "some little chambers, on the walls of which were represented all kinds of arms, such as panoplies, coats of mail, tigers' skins, bows, arrows, quivers, pikes, javelins, sabres, helmets, and whips: in another was a collection of household utensils, such as caskets, chests of drawers, chairs, sofas, and beds, all of exquisite forms, and such as might well grace the apartments of modern luxury. as these were probably accurate representations of the objects themselves, it is almost a proof that the ancient egyptians employed for their furniture indian wood, carved and gilt, which they covered with embroidery. besides these, were represented various smaller articles, as vases, coffee-pots, ewers with their basins, a tea-pot and basket. another chamber was consecrated to agriculture, in which were represented all its various instruments--a sledge similar to those in use at present, a man sowing grain by the side of a canal, from the borders of which the inundation is beginning to retire, a field of corn reaped with a sickle, and fields of rice with men watching them. in a fourth chamber was a figure clothed in white, playing on a richly ornamented harp, with eleven strings." denon observed everything with the eye of an artist. speaking of the necropolis, which consists of numerous double galleries of grottos, excavated in the solid rock for nearly a mile and a half square, he observes, "i was convinced by the magnificence both of the paintings and sculptures, that i was among the tombs of great men and heros. the sculpture in all is incomparably more labored and higher finished than any i had seen in the temples; and i stood in astonishment at the high perfection of the art, and its singular destiny to be devoted to places of such silence and obscurity. in working these galleries, beds of a very fine calcareous clay have occasionally been crossed, and here the lines of the hieroglyphics have been cut with a firmness of touch and a precision, of which marble offers but few examples. the figures have elegance and correctness of contour, of which i never thought egyptian sculpture susceptible. here, too, i could judge of the style of this people in subjects which had neither hieroglyphic, nor historical, nor scientific; for there were representations of small scenes taken from nature, in which the stiff profile outlines, so common with egyptian artists, were exchanged for supple and natural attitudes; groups of persons were given in perspective, and cut in deeper relief than i should have supposed anything but metal could have been worked." the sepulchres of the kings of thebes are mentioned by diodorus siculus as wonderful works, and such as could never be exceeded by anything afterwards executed in this kind. he says that forty-seven of them were mentioned in their history; that only seventeen of them remained to the time of ptolemy lagus; adding that most of them were destroyed in his time. strabo says, that above the memnonium, the precise locality of denon's description, were the sepulchres of the kings of thebes, in grottos cut out of the rock, being about forty in number, wonderfully executed and worthy to be seen. in these, he says, were obelisks with inscriptions on them, setting forth the riches, power, and empire of these kings, as far as scythia, bactria, india, and ionia, their great revenues, and their immense armies, consisting of one million of men. in egypt, the honors paid to the dead partook of the nature of a religious homage. by the process of embalming, they endeavored to preserve the body from the common laws of nature; and they provided those magnificent and durable habitations for the dead--sublime monuments of human folly--which have not preserved but buried the memory of their founders. by a singular fatality, the well-adapted punishment of pride, the extraordinary precautions by which it seemed in a manner to triumph over death, have only led to a more humiliating disappointment. the splendor of the tomb has but attracted the violence of rapine; the sarcophagus has been violated; and while other bodies have quietly returned to their native dust in the bosom of their mother earth, the egyptian, converted into a mummy, has been preserved only to the insults of curiosity, or avarice, or barbarism. the pyramids of egypt. the pyramids of egypt, especially the two largest of the group of jizeh or gize, are the most stupendous masses of buildings in stone that human labor has ever been known to accomplish, and have been the wonder of ancient and modern times.--the number of the egyptian pyramids, large and small, is very considerable; they are situated on the west bank of the nile, and extend in an irregular line, and in groups at some distance from each other, from the neighborhood of jizeh, in ° n. latitude, as far as sixty or seventy miles south of that place. the pyramids of jizeh are nearly opposite cairo. they stand on a plateau or terrace of limestone, which is a projection of the lybian mountain-chain. the surface of the terrace is barren and irregular, and is covered with sand and small fragments of rock; its height, at the base of the great pyramid, is one hundred and sixty four feet above the ordinary level of the nile, from which it is distant about five miles. there are in this group three large pyramids, and several small ones. herodotus, who was born b.c. , visited these pyramids. he was informed by the priests of memphis, that the great pyramid was built by cheops, king of egypt, about b.c. , and that one hundred thousand workmen were employed twenty years in building it, and that the body of cheops was placed in a room beneath the bottom, surrounded by a vault, to which the waters of the nile were conveyed through a subterranean tunnel. a chamber has been discovered under the centre of the pyramid, but it is about fifty-six feet above the low-water mark of the nile. the second pyramid, herodotus says, was built by cephren or cephrenes, the brother and successor of cheops, and the third by mycerinus, the son of cheops. herodotus also says that the two largest pyramids are wholly covered with white marble; diodorus and pliny, that they are built of this costly material. the account of herodotus is confirmed by present appearances. denon, who accompanied the french expedition to egypt, was commissioned by buonaparte to examine the great pyramid of jizeh; three hundred persons were appointed to this duty. they approached the borders of the desert in boats, to within half a league of the pyramid, by means of the canals from the nile. denon says, "the first impression made on me by the sight of the pyramids, did not equal my expectations, for i had no object with which to compare them; but on approaching them, and seeing men at their base, their gigantic size became evident." when savary first visited these pyramids, he left jizeh at one o'clock in the morning, and soon reached them. the full moon illuminated their summits, and they appeared to him "like rough, craggy peaks piercing the clouds." herodotus gives feet as the height of the great pyramid, and says this is likewise the length of its base, on each side; strabo makes it , and diodorus . modern measurements agree most nearly with the latter. the pyramid of cheops consists of a series of platforms, each of which is smaller than the one on which it rests, and consequently presents the appearance of steps which diminish in length from the bottom to the top. there are of these steps, and the height of them decreases, but not regularly, the greatest height being about four feet eight inches, and the least about one foot eight inches. the horizontal lines of the platforms are perfectly straight, the stones are cut and fitted to each other with the greatest accuracy, and joined with a cement of lime, with little or no sand in it. it has been ascertained that a bed has been cut in the solid rock, eight inches deep, to receive the lowest external course of stones. the vertical height, measured from this base in the rock to the top of the highest platform now remaining, is feet. this last platform is thirty two feet eight inches square, and if to this were added what is necessary to complete the pyramid, the total height would be feet. each side of the base, measured round the stones let into the rock, is feet inches, and the perimeter of the base is about , feet. the measurements of travelers differ somewhat, but the above are very nearly correct. the area of the base is , square yards, or about - / acres. the surface of each face, not including the base, is , square yards; and that of the four faces is consequently , square yards, or more than acres. the solid contents of the pyramid, without making deductions for the small interior chambers, is , , cubic yards. reckoning the total height at feet, the pyramid would be feet higher than st. peter's at rome, and higher than st. paul's, london. the entrance to the great pyramid is on the north face, ½ feet above the base, and on the level of the fifteenth step from the foundation. the entrance is easily reached by the mass of rubbish which has fallen or been thrown down from the top. the passage to which this opening leads is feet ½ inches square, with a downward inclination of about °. it is lined with slabs of limestone, accurately joined together. this passage leads to another, which has an ascending inclination of °. the descending passage is feet long, to the place where it meets the ascending one, which is feet long; at the top of this is a platform, where is the opening of a well or shaft, which goes down into the body of the pyramid, and the commencement of a horizontal gallery feet long which leads to the queen's chamber, an apartment feet long, wide, and high. another gallery, feet long, ½ high, and wide, commences also at this platform, and is continued in the same line as the former ascending passage, till it reaches a landing place, from which a short passage leads to a small chamber or vestibule, whence another short passage leads to the king's chamber, which as well as the vestibule and intermediate passage, is lined with large blocks of granite, well worked. the king's chamber is ½ feet long, wide, and ¾ high. the roof is formed of nine slabs of granite, reaching from side to side; the slabs are therefore more than feet long by feet ½ inches wide. this chamber contains a sarcophagus of red granite; the cover is gone, having probably been broken and carried away. the sarcophagus is feet ½ inches long, feet inches wide, feet ½ inches high on the outside, the bottom being ½ inches thick. there are no hieroglyphics upon it. several other chambers have been discovered above the king's chamber, but as they are not more than three or four feet high, they were probably intended to lessen and break the weight of the mass above, which would otherwise fall on the king's chamber. in , captain caviglia discovered that the entrance passage did not terminate at the bottom of the ascending passage, but was continued downwards in the same inclined plane of °, feet further, and by a short horizontal passage, opened on what appeared to be the bottom of the well. the passage, however, continued in the same direction feet farther; then became narrower, and was continued horizontally feet more, where it opened into a large chamber cut out of the rock below and under the centre of the pyramid. this chamber is about by feet. another passage leads from this chamber feet, where it appears to terminate abruptly. the well, which appeared to mr. davidson and capt. caviglia to descend no lower than where it was intersected by the descending passage, its depth there being feet, was afterwards cleared out by the french to the depth of near feet, of which feet are in the solid rock; so that the base of the pyramid being feet above the low water level of the nile, the present bottom of the well is feet above the nile; but the actual bottom does not appear to have been reached. the temperature within the body of the pyramid was found to be ° ', farenheit, and in the well it was still higher. herodotus was informed that the chambers cut in the solid rock, were made before the building of the pyramid was commenced. it is evident it was intended that the pyramid should not be entered after the body or bodies were deposited in it, as blocks of granite were fixed in the entrances to the principal passages, in such a manner as not only to close them, but to conceal them.--there are evidences, however, that this pyramid was entered both by the roman and arab conquerors of egypt. the materials of all the pyramids are limestone, and, according to herodotus, were brought from the mountains near cairo, where there are ancient quarries of vast extent; but belzoni is of opinion that a part of them, for the second pyramid at least, was procured immediately on the spot; others think that the greatest part of the materials came from the west side of the nile. the granite which forms the roofing of the chambers, etc., was brought down the nile from syene. the stones of which it is built, rarely exceed feet in length, and ½ in breadth; the thickness has already been stated. the ascent to the great pyramid, though not without difficulty and danger, is frequently accomplished, even by females. the pyramid of cephren, the second in size, according to belzoni, has the following dimensions: side of the base, feet. vertical height, " perpendicular, bisecting the face of the pyramid, " coating from the top, to where it ends, " belzoni, after great exertion, succeeded in opening the second pyramid, and after traversing passages similar to those already described in the great pyramid, reached the main chamber, which is cut in the solid rock, and is feet inches long, feet inches wide, and feet inches high. the covering is made of blocks of limestone, which meet in an angular point, forming a roof, of the same slope as the pyramid. the chamber contained a sarcophagus, formed of granite, feet long, feet inches wide, and feet inches deep, on the inside. there were no hieroglyphics on it. some bones were found in it, which were sent to london, and proved to be those of a bull or an ox. from an arabic inscription on the wall of the chamber, it appears that some of the arab rulers of egypt had entered the pyramid, and closed it again. belzoni also discovered another chamber in this pyramid. the pyramid of mycernius, the third in size of the jizeh group, is about feet square at the base, and feet high. this pyramid has never been opened. there are some large pyramids at sakkârah, one of which is next in dimensions to the pyramid of cheops, each side of the base being feet, and the height feet. at dashour there are also some large pyramids, one of which has a base of feet on each side, and a perpendicular height of feet; and it has steps or platforms. another pyramid, almost as large at the base as the preceding, is remarkable. it rises to the height of feet at an angle of °, when the plane of the side is changed, to one of less inclination, which completes the pyramid. at thebes, there are some small pyramids of sun dried bricks. herodotus says, "about the middle of lake moeris, there are two pyramids, each rising about feet above the water. the part that is under the water is just the same height." it is probable that these pyramids were built on an island in the lake, and that herodotus was misinformed as to the depth of the water. there are numerous pyramids in nubia--eighty or more--but they are generally small. the object of the egyptians in building these pyramids, is not known. some writers maintain that they were as memorials, pillars, or altars consecrated to the sun; others, that they served as a kind of gnomon for astronomical observations; that they were built to gratify the vanity and tyranny of kings, or for the celebration of religious mysteries; according to diderot, for the transmission and preservation of historical information; and to others, for sepulchres for the kings,--which last was the common opinion of the ancients. some suppose that they were intended as places for secret meetings, magazines for corn, or lighthouses; but their structure, and great distance from the sea, are sufficient refutations of these absurd hypotheses. perilous ascent of the pyramid of cephren. the upper part of this pyramid is still covered with the original polished coating of marble, to the distance of feet from the top towards the base, which makes the ascent extremely difficult and dangerous. mr. wilde, in his "narrative of a voyage to madeira, teneriffe, and along the shore of the mediterranean," published in , made the ascent to the top, and thus describes the adventure: "i engaged two arabs to conduct me to the summit of the pyramid--one an old man, and the other about forty, both of a mould, which for combination of strength and agility, i never saw surpassed. we soon turned to the north, and finally reached the outer casing on the west side. all this was very laborious to be sure, though not very dangerous; but here was an obstacle that i knew not how the arabs themselves could surmount, much less how i could possibly master--for above our heads jutted out, like an eave or coping, the lower stones of the coating, which still remain and retain a smooth, polished surface. as considerable precaution was necessary, the men made me take off my hat, coat, and shoes at this place; the younger then placed his raised and extended hands against the projecting edge of the lower stone, which reached above his chin; and the elder, taking me up in his arms as i would a child, placed my feet on the other's shoulders, and my body flat on the smooth surface of the stone. in this position, we formed an angle with each other; and here i remained for upwards of two minutes, till the older man went round, and by some other means, contrived to get over the projection, when, creeping along the line of junction of the casing, he took my hands, drew me up to where he was above me, and then letting down his girdle, assisted to mount up the younger, but less daring and less active of the two. we then proceeded much as follows. one of them got on the shoulders of the other, and so gained the joining of the stone above. the upper man then helped me in a similar action, while the lower pushed me up by the feet. having gained this row, we had after to creep to some distance along the joining, to where another opportunity of ascending was offered. in this way we proceeded to the summit; and some idea may be formed of my feelings, when it is recollected that all of these stones of such a span are highly polished, are set on an angle of little less than °, and that the places we had to grip with our hands and feet were often not more than two inches wide, and their height above the ground more than feet. a single slip of the foot, and we all three must have been dashed to atoms long before we reached the bottom. (this actually happened to an english traveler in .) on gaining the top, my guides gave vent to sundry demonstrations of satisfaction, clapping me on the back, patting me on the head, and kissing my hands. from this i began to suspect that something wonderful had been achieved; and some idea of my perilous situation broke upon me, when i saw some of my friends beneath, waving their handkerchiefs and looking up with astonishment, as we sat perched upon the top, which is not more than six feet square. the apex stone is off, and it now consists of four outer slabs, and one in the centre, which is raised up on the end and leans to the eastward. i do not think human hands could have raised it from its bed, on account of its size, and the confined space they would have to work in. i am inclined to think the top was struck by lightning, and the position of the stone thus altered by it. the three of us had just room to sit upon the place. the descent, as might be expected, was much more dangerous, though not so difficult. the guides tied a long sash under my arms, and so let me slide down from course to course of these coverings of stones, which are of a yellowish limestone, somewhat different from the material of which the steps are composed, and totally distinct from the rock at the base, or the coating of the passages." egyptian obelisks. obelisks belong to the oldest and most simple monuments of egyptian architecture, and are high four-sided pillars, diminishing as they ascend, and terminating in a small pyramid. herodotus speaks of them, and pliny gives a particular account of them. the latter mentions king mesphres, or mestres, of thebes, as the first builder of obelisks, but does not give the time; nor is this king noticed either by herodotus or diodorus. it is probable that these monuments were first built before the time of moses, at least two centuries before the trojan war. there are still several obelisks in egypt; there is one erect, and another fallen at alexandria, between the new city and the light-house; one at matarea, among the ruins of old heliopolis; one in the territory of fayoum, near ancient arsinoë; eight or ten among the ruins of thebes; the two finest at luxor, at the entrance of the temple, &c. these obelisks, exclusively of the pedestals, are mostly from to feet high, and of a red polished granite (sienite); a few of the later ones are of white marble and other kinds of stone. at their base, they commonly occupy a space of from ½ to feet square, and often more. some are adorned on all sides, and some on fewer, with hieroglyphics cut in them, sometimes to the depth of two inches, divided into little squares and sections, and filled with paint: sometimes they are striped with various colors. some are entirely plain and without hieroglyphics. the foot of the obelisk stands upon a quadrangular base, commonly two or three feet broader than the obelisk, with a socket, in which it rests. they were commonly hewn out of a single stone, in the quarries of upper egypt, and brought on canals, fed by the nile, to the place of their erection. the romans carried many of them from egypt to rome, arles, and constantinople, most of which were afterwards overturned, but have been put together and replaced in modern times. augustus, for instance, had two large obelisks brought from heliopolis to rome, one of which he placed in the campus martius. the other stood upon the spina, in the circus maximus, and is said to have been the same which king semneserteus (according to pliny) erected. at the sack of rome by the barbarians, it was thrown down, and remained, broken in three pieces, amidst the rubbish, until, in , sixtus v. had it restored by the architect domenico fontana, and placed near the church madonna del popolo. under caligula, another large obelisk was brought from heliopolis to rome, and placed in the circus vaticanus. it has stood, since , before st. peter's church: it is without hieroglyphics; and, with the cross and pedestal, measures feet in height. it is the only one in rome which has remained entire. its weight is estimated at , cwt. claudius had two obelisks brought from egypt, which stood before the entrance of the mausoleum of augustus, and one of which was restored in , and placed near the church of santa maria maggiore. caracalla also procured an egyptian obelisk for his circus, and for the appian way. the largest obelisk (probably erected by rameses) was placed by constantius ii., in the circus maximus at rome. in the fifth century, it was thrown down by the barbarians, and lay in pieces upon the ground, until sixtus v., in , had it raised upon the square, before st. john's church of the lateran, thence called the _lateran obelisk_. it is beautifully adorned with sculpture; its weight is , cwt.; its height, exclusive of the pedestal, feet; with the pedestal, feet. several others have been erected by succeeding popes. removal of an obelisk by fontana. the following curious account of the removal of the obelisk in the circus vaticanus to the centre of st. peter's square, by domenico fontana, is extracted from milizia's life of that famous architect. it shows plainly that the egyptians must have attained great skill and perfection in mechanics and engineering, to have been able to quarry out obelisks at least a third larger, and convey them often several hundred miles, to the places where they erected them. "sixtus v. was now desirous of raising in the centre of the square of st. peter's the only obelisk which remained standing, but partly interred, near the wall of the sacristy, where was formerly the circus of nero. other pontiffs had had the same wish, but the difficulty of the enterprise had prevented the execution. "this obelisk, or pyramid, is of red granite, called by the ancient romans, marmor thebanum (theban marble), on account of having been worked near thebes, in egypt, whence it was transported to rome in the time of cæsar. of the immense number in rome, this is the only one remaining entire; it is without hieroglyphics, feet high, feet inches wide at the base, and feet inches at the top. one cubic foot of this granite weighs about pounds; so that the whole weight of the obelisk must be somewhat less than , lbs. of the manner in which the egyptians and romans moved these enormous masses we have no idea, and so many centuries having elapsed since such a thing had been done, this proposition of sixtus v. was considered so novel, that a general assembly was called of all the mathematicians, engineers, and learned men from various parts of europe; and, in a congress held by the pope, more than persons presented themselves, bringing with them their inventions; some with drawings, some with models, others with writings or arguments. "the greater number were for removing it by means of an iron carriage and thirty-two levers. others invented a half wheel, on which the obelisk was to be raised by degrees. some proposed screws, and others thought of carrying it upon slings. "bartolomeo ammanati, a florentine architect and sculptor, sent expressly by the grand duke, presented himself before the pope, without either models or designs, and requested a year to consider it; for this he was most severely reprimanded by the pontiff. fontana exhibited his wooden model, with a leaden pyramid, which, by means of a windlass and crane, was raised and lowered with the greatest facility; he explained the nature of these machines and movements, and gave a practical proof of their capability by raising a small pyramid in the mausoleum of augustus, which was in a ruinous condition. after many disputes, fontana's invention was approved; but, as he had not yet acquired a name of sufficient importance, the execution of it was committed to two architects of renown, giacomo della porta and bartolomeo ammanati.--these immediately commenced a scaffold in the centre of the square where the obelisk was to stand. "fontana being justly displeased that his own discovery should not be entrusted to his execution, went to the pope, and respectfully represented to him, that no one could so properly execute a design as the inventor. sixtus was persuaded, and committed the entire direction of it to him. the architect then commenced his work with the utmost celerity. he dug a square hole of feet, in the piazza, feet deep, and finding the soil watery and chalky, he made it firm by strong and massive piles. at the same time he had ropes made, three inches in diameter, feet long, an immense quantity of cords, large iron rods to strengthen the obelisk, and other pieces of iron for the cases of the cranes, pins, circles, pivots, and instruments of every kind. the iron to secure the obelisk alone amounted to , lbs., and was made in the manufactories of rome, ronciglione, and subbiaco. the beams, taken from the woods of nettuno, were of such a prodigious size, that each was drawn by seven pair of buffalos. from terracina, elm was brought, for the caseing, and holm oak for the shafts of windlass; and to prevent the ground from giving way, it being soft and marshy, in consequence of the great weight, he made a bed with two layers of timber, crossing each other in a contrary direction. on this foundation he placed the castle or carriage, which had eight columns: each of these columns was composed of so many thick planks, that they measured feet in circumference. these were united together by thick cords, without screws, in order to be done and undone with greater quickness. the height of the beams was required to be feet; and not any being of that length, they were placed one on the other, and united by iron bands. these columns were strengthened by forty-eight braces, and tied together on all sides. the obelisk was entirely covered with double mats, to prevent its being injured; it was then surrounded by planks, over which were placed large rods of iron, and these embracing the thick part underneath, came directly over the four faces of the mass, which thus became totally encircled with these coverings. the whole pyramid thus weighed one million and a half pounds. fontana calculated that every windlass, with good ropes and cranes, would be able to move , lbs. weight; and consequently forty would move , , and he gained the rest by five levers of thick beams feet long. "so novel an apparatus excited the curiosity of all rome, and of foreigners also, who came from distant countries to see what effect would be produced by this mass of beams, mingled with ropes, windlasses, levers, and pulleys. in order to prevent confusion, sixtus v. issued one of his mandates, that on the day of its being worked, no one, except the workmen, should enter the enclosure, on pain of death, and that no one should make the least noise, nor even speak loud. accordingly, on the th of april, , the first to enter the barrier was the chief justice and his officers, and the executioner to plant the gibbet, not merely as a matter of ceremony. fontana went to receive the benediction of the pope, who, after having bestowed it, told him to be cautious of what he did, for a failure would certainly cost him his head. on this occasion, sixtus felt the difference between his regard for his own glory, and his affection for the architect. fontana, in terror, secretly placed horses at every gate, ready to convey him from the papal anger, in case of an accident. at the dawn of day, two masses of the holy ghost were celebrated; all the artificers made their communion, and received the papal benediction, and before the rising of the sun all entered the barrier. the concourse of spectators was such, that the tops of the houses were covered, and the streets crowded. the nobility and prelates were at the barriers, between the swiss guards and the cavalry: all were fixed and attentive to the proceedings; and, terrified at the sight of the inexorable gibbet, every one was silent. "the architect gave an order that, at the sound of the trumpet, each should begin working, and at that of the bell, placed in the castle of wood, each should desist; there were more than workmen, and horses. the trumpet sounded, and in an instant, men, horses, windlasses, cranes, and levers were all in motion. the ground trembled, the castle cracked, all the planks bent from the enormous weight, and the pyramid, which inclined a foot towards the choir of st. peter, was raised perpendicularly. the commencement having prospered so well, the bell sounded a rest. in twelve more movements the pyramid was raised almost two feet from the ground, in such a situation that it could be placed on the rollers, and it remained firmly fixed by means of wedges of iron and wood. at this happy event the castle of st. angelo discharged all its artillery, and a universal joy pervaded the whole city. "fontana was now convinced that the ropes were better than iron bands, these being most broken or distorted, or expanded by the weight. on the th of may the pyramid was placed on the sledge--a more difficult and tedious operation than that of raising it, it being necessary to convey it over the piazza to the situation intended for it, which was rods from where it then stood. the level of the piazza being about feet lower, it was necessary to throw up an earthen embankment from one place to the other, well secured by piles, &c. this being done, on the th of june, by means of four windlasses, the pyramid was removed with the greatest facility on the rollers, to the place of its destination. the pope deferred its erection to the next autumn, lest the summer heats should injure the workmen and spectators. "in the meantime the pedestal, which was interred feet, was removed: it was composed of two parts, the ogee and basement being of the same mass, and the plinth of white marble. all the preparations were made for this last operation on the th of september, with the same solemnities; horses and men were employed. the pope selected this day for the solemn entrance of the duke of luxembourg, ambassador of ceremony from henry iii. of france, and caused the procession to enter by the porta angelica, instead of the porta del popolo. when this nobleman crossed the piazza of st. peter's, he stopped to observe the concourse of workmen in the midst of a forest of machines, and saw, admiring, rome rising again by the hand of sixtus v. in fifty-two movements the pyramid was raised, and at the setting of the sun it was placed firm upon its pedestal. the castle disappeared, and the artificers, intoxicated with joy, carried fontana on their shoulders in triumph to his own house, amidst the sound of drums and trumpets, and the plaudits of an immense crowd. "in placing it upright on the pedestal, fontana considered the method adopted by the ancients as the least difficult; which was to rest one end on two globes, then draw the point round, raising it at the same time, afterwards letting it fall perpendicularly on the pedestal. it is conjectured that this was the practice adopted by the ancients, because two dies alone were always covered with lead for a foot or more, and were moreover crushed at the extremities. sixtus v. placed a cross feet high at the top of the obelisk, which was carried in procession, and which made the whole height feet. "for this undertaking, fontana was created a knight of the golden spur, and a roman nobleman; he had a pension of crowns, transferable to his heirs, ten knighthoods, crowns of gold in ready money, and every description of material used in the work, which was valued at more than , crowns. two bronze medals of him were struck; and the following inscription was placed on the base of the pyramid by order of the pope:--" dominicvs fontana, ex. pago. agri. novocomensis. transtvlit. et. erexit. removal of an obelisk from thebes to paris. in , the french removed the smallest of the two obelisks which stood before the propylon of the temple of luxor to paris, and elevated it in the place de la concorde. the shaft is feet high, and eight feet wide on the broadest side of the base; the pedestal is feet square by feet high. permission for the removal of both the obelisks having been granted to the french government by the viceroy of egypt, a vessel constructed for the purpose was sent out in march, , under m. lebas, an eminent engineer, to whom the undertaking was confided, it being previously determined to bring away only one, and m. lebas found it sufficiently difficult to bring away the smallest of the two. after three months' labor with men, the obelisk was removed on an inclined plane into the vessel, through a hole made in the end for the purpose. it arrived safely up the seine to paris, dec. d, . an inclined plane of solid masonry was then constructed, leading from the river up to a platform, also of rough masonry, level with the top of the pedestal. the obelisk, having been placed on a kind of timber car or sledge, was drawn up by means of ropes and capstans. one edge of the base having been brought to its place on the pedestal, it was raised to a perpendicular position by ropes and pulleys attached to the heads of ten masts, five on each side. when all was ready, the obelisk was elevated to its place under the direction of m. lebas, in three hours, without the least accident, oct. th, . it is said that lebas had provided himself with loaded pistols, in the firm determination to blow out his brains in case of an accident! in , the viceroy of egypt presented to the english government the monolith lying on the ground at alexandria, one of the two obelisks called cleopatra's needles; the other is still standing. the project of removing it to london and erecting it in waterloo square, was entertained for some time by the english government, but seems to have been long abandoned; recently, however, an expedition is being fitted out for the purpose. carburi's base for the equestrian statue of peter the great. milizia gives the following interesting account of the removal of the immense mass of granite, which forms the pedestal or base of the equestrian statue of peter the great, from the bogs of the neva to st. petersburg, a distance of about fourteen miles. he also cites it as an instance of extraordinary ingenuity and skill in mechanics. it is, however, a much easier task to move a ponderous mass of rough, unhewn rock, than a brittle obelisk, an hundred feet or so in length, requiring the greatest care to preserve it from injury. it is also worthy of mention, that in widening streets in new york, it is no uncommon thing to see a three-story brick house set back ten or fifteen feet, and even moved across the street, and raised an extra story into the bargain--the story being added to the _bottom_ instead of the _top_ of the building. thus the large free stone and brick school-house in the first ward, an edifice of four lofty stories, by feet, and basement walls ½ feet thick, has been raised six feet, to make it correspond with the new grade in the lower part of greenwich-street. it is also no uncommon thing to see a ship of a thousand tons, with her cargo on board, raised out of the water at the hydraulic dock, to stop a leak, or make some unexpected but necessary repairs. "in , the count marino carburi, of cephalonia, moved a mass of granite, weighing three million pounds, to st. petersburg, to serve as a base for the equestrian statue of peter the great, to be erected in the square of that city, after the design of m. falconet, who discarded the common mode of placing an equestrian statue on a pedestal, where, properly speaking, it never could be; and suggested a rock, on which the hero was to have the appearance of galloping, but suddenly be arrested at the sight of an enormous serpent, which, with other obstacles, he overcomes for the happiness of the muscovites. none but a catherine ii., who so gloriously accomplished all the great ideas of that hero, could have brought to perfection this extraordinary one of the artist. an immense mass was accidentally found buried feet in a bog, four miles and a half from the river neva and fourteen from st. petersburg. it was also casually that carburi was at the city to undertake the removal of it. nature alone sometimes forms a mechanic, as she does a sovereign, a general, a painter, a philosopher. the expense of this removal was only , rubles and the materials left after the operation were worth two-thirds of that sum. the obstacles surmounted do honor to the human understanding. the rock was feet long, high, and broad, in the form of a parallelopipedon. it was cleft by a blast, the middle part taken away, and in the cavity was constructed a forge for the wants of the journey. carburi did not use cylindrical rollers for his undertaking, these causing an attrition sufficient to break the strongest cables. instead of rollers he used balls composed of brass, tin, and calamina, which rolled with their burden under a species of boat feet long, and wide. this extraordinary spectacle was witnessed by the whole court, and by prince henry of prussia, a branch from the great frederick. two drums at the top sounded the march; forty stone-cutters were continually at work on the mass during the journey, to give it the proposed form--a singularly ingenious idea. the forge was always at work: a number of other men were also in attendance to keep the balls at proper distances, of which there were thirty, of the diameter of five inches. the mountain was moved by four windlasses, and sometimes by two; each required thirty-two men: it was raised and lowered by screws, to remove the balls and put them on the other side. when the road was even, the machine moved feet in the hour. the mechanic, although continually ill from the dampness of the air, was still indefatigable in regulating the arrangements; and in six weeks the whole arrived at the river. it was embarked, and safely landed. carburi then placed the mass in the square of st. peter's, to the honor of peter, falconet, carburi, and of catherine, who may always, from her actions, be classed among illustrious men. it is to be observed, that in this operation the moss and straw that was placed underneath the rock, became by compression so compact, that it almost equalled in hardness the ball of a musket. similar mechanical operations of the ancients have been wonderfully exaggerated by their poets." comparative skill of the ancients and moderns in mechanics. many persons suppose, and maintain, that the grandeur of the monuments of the ancients, and the great size of the stones they employed for building purposes, prove that they understood mechanics better than the moderns. the least knowledge in mechanics, however, will show this opinion to be erroneous. the moderns possess powers which were unknown to the ancients, as the screw, and the hydraulic press, the power of which last is only limited by the strength of the machinery. the works of the ancients show that they expended a vast deal of power and labor to gratify the pride and ambition of kings; but the moderns can do all these things much easier, and in far less time, whenever they deem it proper. there was nothing in ancient times to be compared with that daring, ingenious, and stupendous monument of engineering skill--the britannia tubular bridge, across the menai straits--projected, designed, and built by robert stephenson, the famous english engineer. he had previously built a similar but smaller structure--the conway tubular bridge. the britannia tubular railway bridge. had this stupendous fabric existed in ancient times, it would have been regarded as the _first_ of the seven wonders of the world. greater and more expensive structures have been raised, but none displaying more science, skill, and ingenuity, and none requiring such tremendous mechanical power to execute. the britannia tubular bridge was built to conduct the chester and holyhead railway across the menai straits, to the island of anglesea, in the irish sea. the difficulties which the engineer had to overcome, were greatly augmented by the peculiar form and situation of the straits. sir francis head says, "the point of the straits which it was desired to cross, although broader than that about a mile distant; preoccupied by mr. telford's suspension bridge--was of course one of the narrowest that could be selected, in consequence of which the ebbing and flowing torrent rushes through it with such violence, that, except where there is back water, it is often impossible for a small boat to pull against it; besides which, the gusts of wind which come over the tops, down the ravines, and round the sides of the neighboring mountains, are so sudden, and occasionally so violent, that it is as dangerous to sail as it is difficult to row; in short, the wind and the water, sometimes playfully and sometimes angrily, seem to vie with each other--like some of shakspeare's fairies--in exhibiting before the stranger the utmost variety of fantastic changes which it is in the power of each to assume." the menai straits are about twelve miles long, through which, imprisoned between the precipitous shores, the waters of the irish sea and st. george's channel are not only everlastingly vibrating, backwards and forwards, but at the same time and from the same causes, are progressively rising and falling to feet, with each successive tide, which, varying its period of high water, every day forms altogether an endless succession of aqueous changes. the tubes. the tubes forming the viaducts, rest upon two abutments and three piers, called respectively the anglesea abutment and pier, the carnarvon abutment and pier, and the britannia or central pier, built upon the britannia rock in the middle of the straits, which gives name to the bridge. the anglesea abutment is feet inches high, feet wide, and feet long to the end of the wings, which terminate in pedestals, supporting colossal lions on either side, feet inches in length, feet inches high, and feet broad, carved out of a single block of anglesea marble. the space between the anglesea abutment and pier is feet. this pier is feet high, feet wide, and feet long. the carnarvon abutment and pier are of the same dimensions as those above described, on the opposite shore. the britannia pier is feet high, feet wide, and feet long. this pier is feet clear of each of the two side piers. the bottom of the tubes are feet above low water mark, so that large ships can pass under them, under full sail. there are two tubes, to accommodate a double track (one would have done in this country, but in england they do nothing by halves), and each is feet long. the total length of the bridge is feet. these tubes are not round or oval, but nearly square at the termini; the bridge being constructed on the principle of the arch. a section of one of the tubes at the britannia pier is in the form of a parallelogram, where it is feet high, gradually diminishing towards each end to feet. the tubes are riveted together into continuous hollow beams; they are of the uniform width of feet inches throughout; they are constructed entirely of iron, and weigh about , tons, each tube containing tons of wrought iron, and about tons of cast iron. the tubes were constructed each in four sections; the sections extending from the abutments to their corresponding piers, each feet long, were built _in situ_, on immense scaffolding, made of heavy timbers for the purpose, even with the railway; but the middle sections, each feet long, were built on piers on the carnarvonshire shore, then floated into the stream, and elevated to their position; each of these sections weighed tons. construction of the tubes. the sides, bottom, and top of these gigantic tubes are formed of oblong wrought iron plates, varying in length, width, and thickness, according to circumstances, but of amazing size and weight. they are so arranged as to obtain the greatest possible strength, the whole being riveted together in the strongest manner. in addition to the tons of wrought iron in each of the four large pieces, an additional tons was used to form lifting frames, and cast iron beams for the purpose of attaching the tube to those huge chains by which they were elevated. the construction of the tubes is thus described in the london illustrated news, from which this account is derived: "in order to carry out this vast work (the construction of the tubes), eighty houses have been erected for the accommodation of the workmen, which, being whitewashed, have a peculiarly neat and picturesque appearance; among them are seen butcher's, grocer's, and tobacconist's shops, supplying the wants of a numerous population. a day school, sunday school, and meeting-house also conspicuously figure. workshops, steam-engines, store-houses, offices, and other buildings meet the eye at every turn; one is led to conclude that a considerable time has elapsed since the works were commenced, yet it is little more than two years ago. a stranger, on coming to the ground, is struck with wonder when for the first time he obtains a near view of the vast piles of masonry towering majestically above all the surrounding objects--strong as the pillars of hercules, and apparently as endurable--his eyes wander instinctively to the ponderous tubes, those masterpieces of engineering constructiveness and mathematical adjustment; he shrinks into himself as he gazes, and is astonished when he thinks that the whole is the developed idea of one man, and carried out, too, in the face of difficulties which few would have dared to encounter." floating of the tubes. the tubes were floated to the places whence they were elevated to their positions on eight huge pontoons, fitted with valves and pumps to exhaust the water from them, when all was ready to float the prodigious iron beams. these pontoons or boxes were each feet long, feet wide, and feet deep. the pontoons having been placed under one of the tubes (sections), the floating was easily effected, and the operation is thus described by the "assistant engineer." "the operation of floating the tubes (the four sections, and one only at a time), will be commenced by closing the valves in the pontoons at low water; as the tide rises, the pontoons will begin to float, and shortly afterwards to bear the weight of the tube, which will at last be raised by them entirely off its temporary supporting piers; about an hour and a half before high water, the current running about four miles an hour, it will be dragged out into the middle of the stream, by powerful capstans and hawsers, reaching from the pontoons at each end, to the opposite shore. in order to guide it into its place with the greatest possible certainty, three large hawsers will be laid down the stream, one end of two of them being made fast to the towers (piers) between which the tube is intended to rest, and the other to strong fixed points on the two shores, near to and opposite the further end of the tube platforms; in their course, they will pass over and rest upon the pontoons, being taken through 'cable-stoppers' which are contrivances for embracing and gripping the hawser extended across the stream, and thereby retarding, or if necessary entirely destroying, the speed induced by the current." raising the tubes the tubes of the britannia bridge were raised by means of three hydraulic presses of the most prodigious size, strength, weight, and power; two of which were placed in the britannia pier, above the points where the tubes rest, and the other alternately on the anglesea and carnarvon piers. in order that all who read these pages may understand this curious operation, it is necessary to describe the principle of the hydraulic press. if a tube be screwed into a cask or vessel filled with water, and then water poured into the tube, the pressure on the bottom and sides of the vessel will not be the contents of the vessel and tube, but that of a column of water equal to the length of the tube and the depth of the vessel. this law of pressure in fluids is rendered very striking in the experiment of bursting a strong cask by the action of a few ounces of water. this law, so extraordinary and startling of belief to those who do not understand the reasoning upon which it is founded, has been called the _hydrostatic paradox_, though there is nothing in reality more paradoxical in it, than that one pound at the long end of a lever, should balance ten pounds at the short end. this principle has been applied to the construction of the hydrostatic or hydraulic press, whose power is only limited by the strength of the materials of which it is made. thus, with a hydraulic press no larger than a common tea-pot, a bar of iron may be cut as easily as a slip of pasteboard. the exertion of a single man, with a short lever, will produce a pressure of atmospheres, or , pounds on every square inch of surface inside the cylinder. by means of hydraulic presses, ships of a thousand tons burthen, with cargo on board, are lifted out of the water for repairs, and the heaviest bodies raised and moved, without any other expense of human labor beyond the management of the engine. the tubes on the anglesea side were raised first. the presses in the britannia tower were each capable of raising a weight of tons; that in the anglesea tower, larger than the others, tons, or the whole weight of the tube. these presses were worked by two steam engines of horse power each, which forced the water into the cylinders, through a tube half an inch in diameter. these steam engines were placed in the britannia and anglesea piers. the press in the anglesea pier is thus described, the others being constructed in the same manner. the hydraulic press stands on massive beams of wrought iron plates constructed on the principle of the arch, placed in the tower above the points where the tubes rest. the press consists of a huge cylinder, feet inches in length, feet inches outside diameter, and the ram foot inches in diameter, making the sides and bottom of the cylinder inches thick; it was calculated that it would resist a pressure of or pounds to the square inch. the ram or piston was attached to an exceedingly thick and heavy beam of cast iron, called the cross-head, strengthened with bars of wrought iron. to the cross-head were attached the huge chains that descended to the tubes far below, to which they were secured, so that, as the ram was forced up feet at each stroke, the tube was raised the same distance. "the power of the press is exerted on the tube by aid of chains, the links of which are feet in length, bolted together in sets of eight or nine links alternately.--the ram raises the cross-head feet at each stroke, and with it the tube, when that height is attained, a lower set of chains on the beams grip the next set of links, and thus prevent them from slipping down, whilst the clamps on the cross-heads are unscrewed, the upper links taken off, and the ram and cross-head lowered to take another stroke." to guard against all chances of injury to the tubes in case of accident to the machinery, a contrivance was adopted by which the tubes were followed up with wedges. the importance of this precaution was fully proved on the very first attempt to raise the tube on the anglesea side, when the huge cylinder broke, almost at the commencement of the operations. the following is the engineer's interesting report of the accident: "on friday last (august , ), at a quarter to twelve o'clock, we commenced lifting the tube at the anglesea end, intending to raise it six feet, and afterwards to have raised the opposite end the same height. "the tube rose steadily to the height of two feet six inches, being closely followed up by inch wooden boards packed beneath it, when suddenly, and without any warning, the bottom of the hydraulic press gave way, separating completely from the body of the press. "the ram, cross-head, and chains descended violently on the press, with a tremendous noise, the tube sinking down upon the wooden packing beneath it. the bottom of the press, weighing nearly two tons and a half, fell on the top of the tube, a depth of eighty feet. "a sailor, named owen parry, was ascending a rope ladder at the time, from the top of the tube into the tower; the broken piece of press in its descent struck the ladder and shook him off; he fell on to the tube, a height of fifty feet, receiving a contusion of the skull, and other injuries, of so serious a nature that he died the same evening. he was not engaged in the raising, and had only chosen to cross the tube, as being the nearest road from one tower to the other. an inquest was held on the following day, and a verdict of accidental death returned. no one actually engaged in the operation was injured, although mr. edwin clark, who was superintending the operation, on the top of the cross-head, and his brother, mr. l. clark, who was standing beneath it, had both a very narrow escape. "the tube is not at all injured, but some portions of the cast iron lifting frames are broken, and require repairing; some weeks must elapse before a new cylinder is made, and the operation continued." sir francis head, when he saw one of the tubes raised, and in its place, observed, "it seemed surprising to us that by any arrangement of materials, it could possibly be made strong enough to support even itself,--much less heavily laden trains of passengers and goods, flying through it, and actually passing each other in the air at railway speed. and the more we called reason and reflection to our assistance, the more incomprehensible did the mystery practically appear; for the plate iron of which the aërial gallery is composed is literally _not so thick_ as the lid, sides, and bottom which, by heartless contract, are _required_ for an elm coffin ½ feet long, ¼ wide, and deep, of strength merely sufficient to carry the corpse of an emaciated pauper from the workhouse to his grave! the covering of this iron passage, feet in length, is literally not thicker than the hide of an elephant; lastly, it is scarcely thicker than the bark of the good old english oak,--and if this noble sovereign, notwithstanding 'the heart' and interior substance of which it boasts, is, even in the well-protected park in which it has been born and bred, often prostrated by the storm, how difficult is it to conceive that an attenuated aërial hollow beam, no thicker than its mere rind, should, by human science, be constructed strong enough to withstand, besides the weights rushing through it, the natural gales and artificial squalls of wind to which, throughout its entire length, and at its fearful height, it is permanently to be exposed." notwithstanding these "incomprehensible" speculations, the tubes are abundantly strong to sustain the pressure of the heaviest trains, even were they to stand still in the middle of the bridge. it is calculated that each tube, in its weakest part, would sustain a pressure of four or five thousand tons, "support a line of battle ship, with all her munitions and stores on board," and "bear a line of locomotives covering the entire bridge." the bridge was completed, and the first train passed through it march th, . the total cost of this gigantic structure was only £ , . glory of ancient rome. ancient rome was built upon seven hills, which are now scarcely discoverable on account of the vast quantities of rubbish with which the valleys are filled. pliny estimates the circumference of the city in his time at , paces (which nearly agrees with modern measurements), and the population at , , . rome was filled with magnificent public edifices, temples, theatres, amphitheatres, circuses, naumachiæ, porticos, basilicæ, baths, gardens, triumphal arches, columns, sewers, aqueducts, sepulchres, public and private palaces, etc. in the time of the cæsars, fourteen magnificent aqueducts, supported by immense arches, conducted whole rivers into rome, from a distance of many miles, and supplied one hundred and fifty public fountains, one hundred and eighteen large public baths, the artificial seas in which naval combats were represented in the colosseum, and the golden palace of nero, besides the water necessary to supply the daily use of the inhabitants. one hundred thousand marble and bronze statues ornamented the public squares, the temples, the streets, and the houses of the nobility: ninety colossal statues raised on pedestals; and forty-eight egyptian obelisks of red granite, some of the largest size, also adorned the city. such was ancient rome, "the eternal city." although visited for more than a thousand years by various calamities, she is still the most majestic of cities; the charm of beauty, dignity, and grandeur still lingers around the ruins of ancient, as well as the splendid structures of modern rome, and brilliant recollections of every age are connected with the monuments which the passing traveler meets at every step. the capitol. the capitol or citadel of ancient rome stood on the capitoline hill, the smallest of the seven hills of rome, called the _saturnine_ and _tarpeian rock_. it was begun b.c. , by tarquinius priscus, but was not completed till after the expulsion of the kings. after being thrice destroyed by fire and civil commotion, it was rebuilt by domitian, who instituted there the capitoline games. dionysius says the temple, with the exterior palaces, was feet long, and broad. the whole building consisted of three temples, which were dedicated to jupiter, juno, and minerva, and separated from one another by walls. in the wide portico, triumphal banquets were given to the people. the statue of jupiter, in the capitol, represented the god sitting on a throne of ivory and gold, and consisted in the earliest times of clay painted red; under trajan, it was formed of gold. the roof of the temple was made of bronze; it was gilded by q. catulus. the doors were of the same metal. splendor and expense were profusely lavished upon the whole edifice. the gilding alone cost , talents (about $ , , ), for which reason the romans called it the _golden capitol_. on the pediment stood a chariot drawn by four horses, at first of clay, and afterwards of brass gilded. the temple itself contained an immense quantity of the most magnificent presents. the most important state papers, and particularly the sibylline books were preserved in it. a few pillars and some ruins are all that now remain of the magnificent temple of jupiter capitolinus. its site is mostly occupied by the church of the franciscans, and partly by the modern capitol called the _campidoglio_, which was erected after the design of michael angelo, consisting of three buildings. from the summit of the middle one, the spectator has a splendid view of one of the most remarkable regions in the world--the campagna, up to the mountains. for a description of the colosseum, see vol ii, page , of this work. modern rome. modern rome is about thirteen miles in circuit, and is divided by the tiber into two parts. in , rome contained , inhabitants, , houses, churches, monasteries, and upwards of palaces. the view of the majestic ruins; the solemn grandeur of the churches and palaces; the recollections of the past; the religious customs; the magic and almost melancholy tranquillity which pervades the city; the enjoyment of the endless treasures of art--all conspire to raise the mind of the traveler to a high state of excitement. the churches, palaces, villas, squares, streets, fountains, aqueducts, antiquities, ruins--in short, everything proclaims the ancient majesty and the present greatness of rome. almost every church, palace, and villa is a treasury of art. among the churches, st. peter's is the most conspicuous, and is, perhaps, the most beautiful building in the world. bramante began it; sangallo and peruzzi succeeded him; but michael angelo, who erected its immense dome, which is four hundred and fifty feet high to the top of the cross, designed the greatest part. many other architects were often employed upon it; maderno finished the front and the two towers. the erection of this edifice, from to , cost , , roman crowns. before we arrive at this grand temple, the eye is attracted by the beautiful square in front of it, surrounded by a magnificent colonnade by bernini, and ornamented by an egyptian obelisk, together with two splendid fountains. upon entering the vestibule, giotto's mosaic, la navicella, is seen. under the portico, opposite the great door, is bernini's great bas relief representing christ commanding peter to feed his sheep; and at the ends of the portico are the equestrian statues of constantine by bernini, and of charlemagne by cornachini. the union of these masterpieces has an indescribable effect. the harmony and proportion which prevail in the interior of this august temple are such, that, immense as it is, the eye distinguishes all the parts without confusion or difficulty. when each object is minutely examined, we are astonished at its magnitude, so much more considerable than appears at first sight. the immense canopy of the high altar, supported by four bronze pillars of feet in height, particularly attracts the attention. the dome is the boldest work of modern architecture. the cross thereon is feet above the pavement. the lantern affords the most beautiful prospect of the city and the surrounding country. the splendid mosaics, tombs, paintings, frescos, works in marble, gilded bronze and stucco, the new sacristy--a beautiful piece of architecture, but not in unison with the rest--deserve separate consideration. the two most beautiful churches in rome next to st. peter's are the st. john's of the lateran, and the santa maria maggiore. the former, built by constantine the great, is the parochial church of the pope; it therefore takes precedence of all others, and is called _omnium urbis el orbis ecclesiarum mater et caput_ (the head and mother of all churches of the city and the world). in it is celebrated the coronation of the popes. it contains several pillars of granite, _verde antico_, and gilt bronze; the twelve apostles by rusconi and legros; and the beautiful chapel of corsini, which is unequalled in its proportions, built by alexander galilei. the altar-piece is a mosaic from a painting by guido, and the beautiful porphyry sarcophagus, which is under the statue of clement xii., was found in the pantheon, and is supposed to have contained the ashes of m. agrippa. the nave of the church of santa maria maggiore is supported by forty ionic pillars of grecian marble, which were taken from a temple of juno lucina: the ceiling was gilded with the first gold brought from peru. we are here struck with admiration at the mosaics; the high altar, consisting of an antique porphyry sarcophagus; the chapel of sixtus v., built from the designs of fontana, and richly ornamented; the chapel of paul v., adorned with marble and precious stones; the chapel of sforza, by michael angelo; and the sepulchres of guglielmo della porta and algardi. in the square before the front is a corinthian column, which is considered a masterpiece of its kind. the largest church in rome next to st. peter's was the basilica di san paolo fuori delle mura, on the road to ostia, burnt a few years since. the church of s. lorenzo, without the city, possesses some rare monuments of antiquity. the church of san pietro in vincola contains the celebrated statue of moses, by michael angelo. the church of st. agnes, in the place navona, begun by rainaldi and completed by borromini, is one of the most highly ornamented, particularly with modern sculpture. here is the admirable relief of algardi, representing st. agnes deprived of her clothes, and covered only with her hair. the basilica of st. sebastian, before the porta capena, contains the statue of the dying saint, by giorgetti, a pupil of algardi, and the master of bernini. under these churches are the catacombs, which formerly served as places of burial. in the church of st. agnes, before the porta pia, among many other beautiful columns are four of porphyry, belonging to the high altar, and considered the most beautiful in rome. in a small chapel is a bust of the savior by michael angelo--a masterpiece. in the church of st. augustine, there is a picture by raphael representing the prophet isaiah, and an ascension by lanfranco. the monastery has a rich library, called the angelica, and increased by the library of cardinal passionei. the following churches also deserve to be mentioned, on account of their architecture and works of art; the churches of st. ignatius, st. cecilia, s. andrea della valle, s. andrea del noviziato, the pantheon (also called la rotonda), in which raffaelle, annibale caracci, mengs, etc., are interred. all the churches of rome contain monuments of art or antiquity. among the palaces, the principal is the vatican, an immense pile, in which the most valuable monuments of antiquity, and the works of the greatest modern masters are preserved. here are the museum pio-clementinum, established by clement xiv., and enlarged by pius vi., and the celebrated library of the vatican. the treasures carried away by the french have been restored. among the paintings of this palace, the most beautiful are raffaelle's frescos in the _stanze_ and _loggie_. the principal oil paintings are in the _appartamento_ borgia, which also contains the transfiguration, by raphael. in the sistine chapel is the last judgment by michael angelo. the popes have chosen the palace of monte cavallo, or the quirinal palace, with its extensive and beautiful gardens, for their usual residence, on account of its healthy air and fine prospect. the lateran palace, which sixtus v. had rebuilt by fontana, was changed, in , into an alms-house. besides these, the following are celebrated: the palace della cancellario, the palace de' conservatori, the palace of st. mark, the buildings of the academy, etc. among the private palaces, the barberini is the largest; it was built by bernini, in a beautiful style. here are the magdalen of guido, one of the finest works of caravaggio, the paintings of the great hall, a masterpiece of pietro da cortona, and other valuable paintings. of works of sculpture, the sleeping fawn, now in munich, was formerly here; the masterly group representing atalanta and meleager, a juno, a sick satyr by bernini, the bust of cardinal barberini by the same artist, and the busts of marius, sylla, and scipio africanus, are in this palace. the library is calculated to contain , printed books, and manuscripts; a cabinet of medals, bronzes, and precious stones, is also connected with the library. the borghese palace, erected by bramante, is extensive, and in a beautiful style; the colonnade of the court is splendid. this palace contains a large collection of paintings, rare works of sculpture, valuable tables, and utensils of rich workmanship, of red porphyry, alabaster, and other materials. the upper hall is unrivalled; the great landscapes of vernet, with which it is adorned, are so true to nature, that, upon entering, one imagines himself transported into real scenes. the palace albani, the situation of which is remarkably fine, possesses a valuable library, a great number of paintings, and a collection of designs by caracci, polidoro, lanfranco, spagnoletto, cignani, and others. the palace altieri, one of the largest in rome, is in a simple style of architecture, and contains rare manuscripts, medals, paintings, etc., and valuable furniture. in the palace colonna there is a rich collection of paintings by the first masters; all the rooms are decorated with them, and particularly the gallery, which is one of the finest in europe. in the gardens are the ruins of the baths of constantine and those of the temple of sol. the aldobrandini palace contains the proudest monument of ancient painting--the aldobrandine wedding, a fresco purchased by pius vii., in , in which the design is admirable. the great farnese palace, begun from the designs of sangallo, and completed under the direction of michael angelo, is celebrated both for its beauty and its treasures of art. the caracci and domenichino have immortalized themselves by their frescos in its gallery. the farnese hercules, the masterly flora, and the urn of cæcilia metella, formerly adorned the court; and in the palace itself was the beautiful group of the farnese bull. but when the king of naples inherited the farnese estate, these statues, with other works of art, were carried to naples, where they now adorn the palace degli studi. not far off is the palace corsini, where queen christina lived and died in . it contains a valuable library and gallery. the palace giustiniani also had a gallery adorned with numerous valuable statues and works of sculpture; its principal ornaments were the celebrated statue of minerva, the finest of that goddess now known, and the bas-relief of amalthæa suckling jupiter. these treasures were nominally bought by napoleon, and are now in paris. the paintings are chiefly in the possession of the king of prussia. in the palace spada is the statue of pompey, at the foot of which cæsar fell under the daggers of his murderers. we have yet to mention the palace costaguti, on account of its fine frescos; chigi, for its beautiful architecture, its paintings and library; mattei, for its numerous statues, reliefs, and ancient inscriptions; the palace of pamfili, built by borromini, for its splendid paintings and internal magnificence; that of pamfili in the square of navona, with a library and gallery; rospigliosi, upon the quirinal hill, etc. among the palaces of rome, which bear the name of _villas_, is the villa medici, on the pincian mount, on which were formerly situated the splendid gardens of lucullus: it once contained a vast number of masterpieces of every kind; but the grand dukes leopold and ferdinand have removed the finest works (among them, the group of niobe, by scopas) to florence. this palace, however, is yet worthy of being visited. under the portico of the villa negroni are the two fine statues of sylla and marius, seated on the _sella curulis_. in the extensive garden, which is three miles in circuit, some beautiful fresco paintings have been found in the ruins of some of the houses. the villa mattei, on the coelian mount, contains a splendid collection of statues. the villa ludovisi, on the pincian mount, not far from the ruins of the circus and the gardens of sallust, is one and a half miles in circuit, and contains valuable monuments of art, particularly the aurora of guercino, an ancient group of the senator papirius and his mother (or rather of phædra and hippolytus), another of arria and pætus, and bernini's rape of proserpine. the villa borghese, near rome, has a fine but an unhealthy situation. the greatest part of the city, and the environs as far as frascati and tivoli, are visible from it. it has a garden, with a park three miles in circuit. this palace was ornamented in its interior, and furnished with so much richness and elegance, that it might have been considered the first edifice in rome, next to the capitol, particularly for its fine collection of statues. the most remarkable among them were the fighting gladiator; silenus and a faun; seneca, in black marble, or rather a slave at the baths; camillus; the hermaphrodite; the centaur and cupid; two fauns, playing on the flute; ceres; an egyptian; a statue of the younger nero; the busts of lucius verus, alexander, faustina and verus; various relievos, among which was one representing curtius; an urn, on which was represented the festival of bacchus; another supported by the graces; two horns of plenty, etc. the greatest part of these has not been restored from paris. the exterior is ornamented with ancient reliefs. the villa pamfili, before the porta di san pancrazio, also called belrespiro, has an agreeable situation, and is seven miles in circumference. the architecture is by algardi, but has been censured by connoisseurs. in the interior there are some fine specimens of sculpture. full descriptions of this and of the villa borghese have been published. the villa albani, upon an eminence which commands tivoli and the sabina, is an edifice of taste and splendor. the cardinal alexander albani expended immense sums upon it, and, during the space of fifty years, collected a splendid cabinet. the ceiling of the gallery was painted by mengs, and is a model of elegance. the villa lante and the villa corsini deserve to be mentioned on account of their fine prospects. the villa doria (formerly algiati), in which raffaelle lived, contains three fresco paintings of this great master. the villa farnese contains the remains of the palace of the roman emperors. the capitol contains so many and such magnificent objects of every description, that it is impossible to enumerate them here. we must be satisfied with mentioning the equestrian statue of marcus aurelius, before the palace; the captive kings, in the court; the _columna rostrata_; and within, the colossal statue of pyrrhus; the tomb of severus; the centaurs, of basalt; the beautiful alabaster pillars; the masterpiece in mosaic, which once belonged to cardinal furietti, representing three doves on the edge of a vessel filled with water, which is described by pliny. the fountains are among the principal ornaments of the squares in rome. the fountain in the piazza navona, the most splendid of them all, has been particularly admired; it is surmounted by an obelisk, and ornamented by four colossal statues, which represent the four principal rivers in the world. the fountain of paul v., near the church di san pietro in montorio, is in bad taste, but furnishes such a body of water, that several mills are carried by it. the fountain di termini is adorned with three reliefs, representing moses striking water from the rock, and with a colossal statue of that prophet, and two egyptian lions in basalt. the splendid fountain of trevi supplies the best water, which it receives through an ancient aqueduct. among the streets, the strada felice and the strada pia, which cross each other, are the most remarkable; among the bridges, that of st. angelo (formerly pons Ælius), feet in length; and among the gates the porta del popolo (formerly porta flaminia). of ancient monuments, the following yet remain: the pantheon, the coliseum, the column of trajan, that of antonine, the amphitheatre of vespasian; the mausoleum of augustus, the mausoleum of adrian (now the fortress of st. angelo); the triumphal arches of severus, titus, constantine, janus, nero, and drusus; the ruins of the temple of jupiter stator, of jupiter tonans, of concordia, of pax, of antoninus and faustina, of the sun and moon, of romulus, of romulus and remus, of pallas, of fortuna virilis, of fortuna muliebris, of virtue, of bacchus, of vesta, of minerva medica, and of venus and cupid; the remains of the baths of dioclesian, of caracalla and titus, etc.; the ruins of the theatre of pompey, near the curia pompeii, where cæsar was murdered, and those of the theatre of marcellus; the ruins of the old forum (now called campo vaccino); the remains of the old bridges; the circus maximus; the circus of caracalla; the house of cicero; the curia hostilia; the trophies of marius; the portico of philip and octavius; the country house and tower of mæcenas; the claudian aqueduct; the monuments of the family of aruns, of the scipios, of metella (called capo di bove); the prison of jugurtha (carcero mamertino), in which st. peter was imprisoned; the monument of caius cestius, which is entirely uninjured, in form of a pyramid, near which the protestants are buried; the cloaca maxima, built by tarquin, etc. besides the obelisk near the porta del popolo, that raised in the pontificate of pius vi., on mount cavallo, is deserving of notice. the principal collections of literature and the arts have already been noticed; but the museo kircheliano deserves to be particularly mentioned; there are, besides, many private collections and monastic libraries, which contain many valuable works. such treasures, especially in the arts, make rome the great school of painters, statuaries, and architects, and a place of pilgrimage to all lovers of the arts; and there are here innumerable _studios_ of painters and sculptors. roman art seems to have received a new impulse. the academy of san luca was established solely for the art of painting. there are also many literary institutions in the city. the foundation of venice. it is recorded in the archives of padua, says milizia, that when rhadagasius entered italy, and the cruelties exercised by the visigoths obliged the people to seek refuge in various places, an architect of candia, named eutinopus, was the first to retire to the fens of the adriatic, where he built a house, which remained the only one there for several years. at length, when alaric continued to desolate the country, others sought an asylum in the same marshes, and built twenty-four houses, which formed the germ of venice. the security of the place now induced people to settle there rapidly, and venice soon sprung up a city and gradually rose to be mistress of the seas. the venetian historians inform us that the house of eutinopus, during a dreadful conflagration, was miraculously saved by a shower of rain, at the prayer of the architect, who made a vow to convert it into a church; he did this, and dedicated it to st. james, the magistrates and inhabitants contributing to build and ornament the edifice. the church is still standing, in the quarter of the rialto, which is universally considered the oldest part of venice. theodoric the great, and his love of the fine arts. theodoric, king of the ostrogoths, and afterwards also king of italy, was born at amali, near vienna, in , and died in . though a goth, he was so far from delighting in the destruction of public monuments, and works of art, that he issued edicts for their preservation at rome and throughout italy, and assigned revenues for the repair of the public edifices, for which purpose he employed the most skillful and learned architects, particularly aloïsius, boëtius, and symmachus. according to cassiodorus (lib. ii. varior. epist. xxxix.), theodoric said: "it is glorious to preserve the works of antiquity; and it is our duty to restore the most useful and the most beautiful." symmachus had the direction of the buildings constructed or rebuilt at rome. the king thus wrote to him: "you have constructed fine edifices; you have, moreover, disposed of them with so much wisdom that they equal those of antiquity, and serve as examples to the moderns; and all you show us is a perfect image of the excellence of your mind, because it is not possible to build correctly without good sense and a well cultivated understanding." in his directions to the prefect of rome, on the architecture of the public edifices, theodoric thus wrote: "the beauty of the roman buildings requires a skillful overseer, in order that such a wonderful forest of edifices should be preserved with constant care, and the new ones properly constructed, both internally and externally. therefore we direct our generosity not only to the preservation of ancient things, but to the investing the new ones with the glories of antiquity. be it known, therefore, to your illustrious person, that for this end an architect of the roman walls is appointed. and because the study of the arts requires assistance, we desire that he may have every reasonable accommodation that his predecessors have enjoyed. he will certainly see things superior to what he has read of, and more beautiful than he could ever have imagined. the statues still feel their renowned authors, and appear to live: he will observe expressed in the bronze, the veins, the muscles swollen by exertion, the nerves gradually stretched, and the figure expressing those feelings which act on a living subject. "it is said that the first artists in italy were the etruscans, and thus posterity has given to them, as well as to rome, almost the power of creating man. how wonderful are the horses, so full of spirit, with their fiery nostrils, their sparkling eyes, their easy and graceful limbs;--they would move, if not of metal. and what shall we say of those lofty, slender, and finely fluted columns, which appear a part of the sublime structure they support? that appears wax, which is hard and elegant metal; the joints in the marble being like natural veins. the beauty of art is to deceive the eye. ancient historians acquaint us with only seven wonders in the world: the temple of diana, at ephesus; the magnificent sepulchre of the king mausolus, from whence is derived the word mausoleum; the bronze colossus of the sun, in rhodes; the statue of jupiter olympius, of gold and ivory, formed by the masterly hand of phidias, the first of architects; the palace of cyrus, king of media, built by memnon of stones united by gold; the walls of babylon, constructed by semiramis of brick, pitch, and iron; the pyramids of egypt, the shadows of which do not extend beyond the space of their construction. but who can any longer consider these as wonders, after having seen so many in rome? those were famous because they preceded us; it is natural that the new productions of the then barbarous ages should be renowned. it may truly be said that all rome is wonderful. we have therefore selected a man clever in the arts, who, in seeing so many ingenious things of antiquity, instead of remaining merely enchanted with them, has set himself to work to investigate the reason, study their books, and instruct himself, that he may become as learned as those in the place of whom he is to consider himself appointed." milizia says of theodoric, "is this the language of a gothic barbarian, the destroyer of good taste? pericles, alexander, adrian, or one of the medici could not have reasoned better." and again, "can these goths be the inventors of that architecture vulgarly called gothic? and are these the barbarians said to have been the destroyers of the beautiful monuments of antiquity? ecclesiastical history gives to the good christians and the jealous ecclesiastics the honor of having dismantled temples, and disfigured statues in italy, greece, asia, and egypt. * * * it is clear that the goths were not the authors of that architecture called gothic. the goths and barbarians who overran italy had not any characteristic architecture, good or bad. they brought with them neither architects, painters, nor poets. they were all soldiers, and when fixed in italy employed italian artists; but as in that country, good taste was much on the decline, it now became more debased, notwithstanding the efforts made by the goths to revive it." archimedes. this wonderful genius was of royal descent, and born at syracuse about b.c. . he was a relative of king hiero, who held him in the highest esteem and favor, though he does not appear to have held any public office, preferring to devote himself entirely to science. such was his enthusiasm, that he appears at times to have been so completely absorbed in contemplation and calculations, as to be totally unconscious of what was passing around him. we cannot fully estimate his services to mathematics, for want of an acquaintance with the previous state of science; still we know that he enriched it with discoveries of the highest importance, upon which the moderns have founded their admeasurements of curvilinear surfaces and solids. euclid, in his elements, considers only the relations of some of these magnitudes to each other, but does not compare them with surfaces and solids bounded by straight lines. archimedes developed the proportions necessary for effecting this comparison, in his treatises on the sphere and cylinder, the spheroid and conoid, and in his work on the measure of the circle. he rose to still more abstruse considerations in his treatise on the spiral. archimedes is also the only one of the ancients who has left us anything satisfactory on the theory of mechanics and hydrostatics. he first taught the principle "that a body immersed in a fluid, loses as much in weight, as the weight of an equal volume of the fluid." he discovered this while bathing, which is said to have caused him so much joy that he ran home from the bath undressed, exclaiming, "i have found it; i have found it!" by means of this principle, he determined how much alloy a goldsmith had added to a crown which king hiero had ordered of pure gold. archimedes had a profound knowledge of mechanics, and in a moment of enthusiasm, with which the extraordinary performances of his machines had inspired him, he exclaimed that he "could move the earth with ease, by means of his machines placed on a fixed point near it." he was the inventor of the compound pulley, and probably of the endless screw which bears his name. he invented many surprising engines and machines. some suppose that he visited egypt, and raised the sites of the towns and villages of egypt, and begun those mounds of earth by means of which communication was kept up from town to town, during the inundations of the nile. when marcellus, the roman consul, besieged syracuse, he devoted all his talents to the defense of his native country. he constructed machines which suddenly raised up in the air the ships of the enemy in the bay before the city, and then let them fall with such violence into the water that they sunk; he also set them on fire with his burning glasses. polybius, livy, and plutarch speak in detail, with wonder and admiration, of the machines with which he repelled the attacks of the romans. when the town was taken and given up to pillage, the roman general gave strict orders to his soldiers not to hurt archimedes, and even offered a reward to him who should bring him alive and safe to his presence. all these precautions proved useless, for the philosopher was so deeply engaged at the time in solving a problem, that he was even ignorant that the enemy were in possession of the city, and when a soldier entered his apartment, and commanded him to follow him, he exclaimed, according to some, "disturb not my circle!" and to others, he begged the soldier not to "kill him till he had solved his problem"; but the rough warrior, ignorant of the august person before him, little heeded his request, and struck him down. this happened b.c. , so that archimedes, at his death, must have been about years old. marcellus raised a monument over him, and placed upon it a cylinder and a sphere, thereby to immortalize his discovery of their mutual relations, on which he set a particular value; but it remained long neglected and unknown, till cicero, during his questorship of sicily, found it near one of the gates of syracuse, and had it repaired. the story of his burning glasses had always appeared fabulous to some of the moderns, till the experiments of buffon demonstrated its truth and practicability. these celebrated glasses are supposed to have been reflectors made of metal, and capable of producing their effect at the distance of a bow-shot. the trials of genius. filippo brunelleschi. this eminent architect was one of those illustrious men, who, having conceived and matured a grand design, proceed, cool, calm, and indefatigable, to put it in execution, undismayed by obstacles that seem insuperable, by poverty, want, and what is worse, the jeers of men whose capacities are too limited to comprehend their sublime conceptions. the world is apt to term such men enthusiasts, madmen, or fools, till their glorious achievements stamp them almost divinely inspired. brunelleschi was nobly descended on his mother's side, she being a member of the spini family, which, according to bottari, became extinct towards the middle of the last century. his ancestors on his father's side were also learned and distinguished men--his father was a notary, his grandfather "a very learned man," and his great-grandfather "a famous physician in those times." filippo's father, though poor, educated him for the legal or medical profession; but such was his passion for art and mechanics, that his father, greatly against his will, was compelled to allow him to follow the bent of his genius: he accordingly placed him, at a proper age, in the guild of the goldsmiths, that he might acquire the art of design. filippo soon became a proficient in the setting of precious stones, which he did much better than any old artists in the vocation. he also wrought in niello, and executed several figures which were highly commended, particularly two figures of prophets, for an altar in the cathedral of pistoja. filippo next turned his attention to sculpture, and executed works in basso-relievo, which showed an extraordinary genius. subsequently, having made the acquaintance of several learned men, he began to turn his attention to the computation of the divisions of time, the adjustment of weights, the movement of wheels, etc. he next bent his thoughts to the study of perspective, to which, before his time, so little attention was paid by artists, that the figures often appeared to be slipping off the canvas, and the buildings had not a true point of view. he was one of the first who revived the greek practice of rendering the precepts of geometry subservient to the painter; for this purpose, he studied with the famous geometrician toscanelli, who was also the instructor, friend, and counsellor of columbus. filippo pursued his investigations until he brought perspective to great perfection; he was the first who discovered a perfectly correct method of taking the ground plan and sections of buildings, by means of intersecting lines--"a truly ingenious thing," says vasari, "and of great utility to the arts of design." filippo freely communicated his discoveries to his brother artists. he was imitated in mosaic by benedetto da macano, and in painting by masaccio, who were his pupils. vasari says brunelleschi was a man of such exalted genius, that "we may truly declare him to have been given to us by heaven, for the purpose of imparting a new spirit to architecture, which for hundreds of years had been lost; for the men of those times had badly expended great treasures in the erection of buildings without order, constructed in a most wretched manner, after deplorable designs, with fantastic inventions, labored graces, and worse decorations. but it then pleased heaven, the earth having been for so many years destitute of any distinguished mind and divine genius, that filippo brunelleschi should leave to the world, the most noble, vast, and beautiful edifice that had ever been constructed in modern times, or even in those of the ancients; giving proof that the talent of the tuscan artists, although lost for a time, was not extinguished. he was, moreover, adorned by the most excellent qualities, among which was that of kindliness, insomuch that there never was a man of more benign and amicable disposition; in judgment he was calm and dispassionate, and laid aside all thought of his own interest and even that of his friends, whenever he perceived the merits and talents of others to demand that he should do so. he knew himself, instructed many from the stores of his genius, and was ever ready to succor his neighbor in all his necessities; he declared himself the confirmed enemy of all vice, and the friend of those who labored in the cause of virtue. never did he spend his moments vainly, but, although constantly occupied in his own works, in assisting those of others, or administering to their necessities, he had yet always time to bestow on his friends, for whom his aid was ever ready." in the meantime, brunelleschi had studied architecture, and made such progress that he had already conceived two grand projects--the one was the revival of the good manner of ancient architecture, which was then extinct, and the other was to discover a method for constructing the cupola of the church of santa maria del fiore, in florence, the difficulties of which were so great that, after the death of arnolfo di lapi, no architect had been found of sufficient courage and capacity to attempt the vaulting of that cupola.[ ] if he could accomplish one or both of these designs, he believed that he would not only immortalize his own name, but confer a lasting benefit on mankind. filippo, having resolved to devote himself entirely to architecture in future, set out for rome in company with his friend donatello, without imparting his purpose to any one. here his mind became so absorbed that he labored incessantly, scarcely allowing himself the rest which nature required. he examined, measured, and made careful drawings of all the edifices, ruins, arches, and vaults of antiquity; to these he devoted perpetual study, and if by chance he found fragments of capitals, columns, cornices, or basements of buildings, partly buried in the earth, he set laborers at work to lay them open to view. one day, filippo and donatello found an earthen vase full of ancient coins, which caused a report to be spread about rome that the artists were _treasure-seekers_, and this name they often heard, as they passed along the streets, negligently clothed, the people believing them to be men who studied geomancy, for the discovery of treasures. donatello soon returned to florence, but filippo pursued his studies with unremitting diligence. having exhausted his means, although he lived in the most frugal manner, he contrived to supply his wants, says milizia, by pawning his jewels, but vasari with greater probability, by setting precious stones for the goldsmiths, who were his friends. "nor did he rest," says vasari, "until he had drawn every description of fabric--temples, round, square, or octagon; basilicas, aqueducts, baths, arches, the colosseum, amphitheatres, and every church built of bricks, of which he examined all the modes of binding and clamping, as well as the turning of the vaults and arches; he took note, likewise, of all the methods used for uniting the stones, as well as of the means used for securing the equilibrium and close conjunction of all the parts; and having found that in all the larger stones there was a hole, formed exactly in the centre of each on the under side, he discovered that this was for the insertion of the iron instrument with which the stones are drawn up, and which is called by us the mason's clamps (_la ulivella_), an invention, the use of which he restored, and ever afterwards put in practice. the different orders were next divided by his cares, each order, the doric, ionic, or corinthian being placed apart; and such was the effect of his zeal in that study, that he became capable of entirely reconstructing the city in his imagination, and of beholding rome as she had been before she was ruined. but in the year the air of the place caused filippo some slight indisposition, when he was advised by his friends to try change of air. he consequently returned to florence, where many buildings had suffered by his absence, and for these he made many drawings and gave numerous counsels on his return. "in the same year an assemblage of architects and engineers was gathered in florence, by the superintendents of the works of santa maria del fiore, and by the syndics of the guild of wool-workers, to consult on the means by which the cupola might be raised. among these appeared filippo, who gave it as his opinion that the edifice above the roof must be constructed, not after the design of arnolfo, but that a frieze, fifteen braccia high, must be erected, with a large window in each of its sides: since not only would this take the weight off the piers of the tribune, but would also permit the cupola itself to be more easily raised." the obstacles appeared so insuperable to the superintendents and the syndics, that they delayed the execution of the cupola for several years. in the meantime, filippo secretly made models and designs for his cupola, which perpetually occupied his thoughts. he boldly asserted that the project was not only practicable, but that it could be done with much less difficulty and at less expense than was believed. at length, his boldness, genius, and powerful arguments, brought many of the citizens to his opinion, though he refused to show his models, because he knew the powerful opposition and influences he would have to encounter, and the almost certain loss of the honor of building the cupola, which he coveted above everything else. vasari thus continues his admirable history: "but one morning the fancy took him, hearing that there was some talk of providing engineers for the construction of the cupola, of returning to rome, thinking that he would have more reputation and be more sought for from abroad, than if he remained in florence. when filippo had returned to rome accordingly, the acuteness of his genius and his readiness of resource were taken into consideration, when it was remembered that in his discourses he had showed a confidence and courage that had not been found in any of the other architects, who stood confounded, together with the builders, having lost all power of proceeding; for they were convinced that no method of constructing the cupola would ever be found, nor any beams that would make a scaffold strong enough to support the framework and weight of so vast an edifice. the superintendents were therefore resolved to have an end of the matter, and wrote to filippo in rome, entreating him to repair to florence, when he, who desired nothing better, returned very readily. the wardens of santa maria del fiore and the syndics of the guild of woolworkers, having assembled on his arrival, set before him all the difficulties, from the greatest to the smallest, which had been made by the masters, who were present, together with himself, at the audience: whereupon filippo replied in these words--'gentlemen superintendents, there is no doubt that great undertakings always present difficulties in their execution; and if none ever did so before, this of yours does it to an extent of which you are not perhaps even yet fully aware, for i do not know that even the ancients ever raised so enormous a vault as this will be. i, who have many times reflected on the scaffoldings required, both within and without, and on the method to be pursued for working securely at this erection, have never been able to come to a decision; and i am confounded, no less by the breadth than the height of the edifice. now, if the cupola could be arched in a circular form, we might pursue the method adopted by the romans in erecting the pantheon of rome; that is, the rotunda. but here we must follow the eight sides of the building, dove-tailing, and, so to speak, enchaining the stones, which will be a very difficult thing. yet, remembering that this is a temple consecrated to god and the virgin, i confidently trust, that for a work executed to their honor, they will not fail to infuse knowledge where it is now wanting, and will bestow strength, wisdom, and genius on him who shall be the author of such a project. but how can i help you in the matter, seeing that the work is not mine? i tell you plainly, that if it belonged to me, my courage and power would beyond all doubt suffice to discover means whereby the work might be effected without so many difficulties; but as yet i have not reflected on the matter to any extent, and you would have me tell you by what method it is to be accomplished. but even if your worships should determine that the cupola shall be raised, you will be compelled not only to make trial of me, who do not consider myself capable of being the sole adviser in so important a matter, but also to expend money, and to command that within a year, and on a fixed day, many architects shall assemble in florence; not tuscans and italians only, but germans, french, and of every other nation: to them it is that such an undertaking should be proposed, to the end that having discussed the matter and decided among so many masters, the work may be commenced and entrusted to him who shall give the best evidence of capacity, or shall display the best method and judgment for the execution of so great a charge. i am not able to offer you other counsel, or to propose a better arrangement than this.' "the proposal and plan of filippo pleased the syndics and wardens of the works, but they would have liked that he should meanwhile prepare a model, on which they might have decided. but he showed himself to have no such intention, and taking leave of them, declared that he was solicited by letters to return to rome. the syndics then perceiving that their request and those of the wardens did not suffice to detain him, caused several of his friends to entreat his stay; but filippo not yielding to these prayers, the wardens, one morning, ordered him a present of money; this was on the th of may, , and the sum is to be seen among the expenses of filippo, in the books of the works. all this was done to render him favorable to their wishes; but, firm to his resolution, he departed nevertheless from florence and returned to rome, where he continued the unremitting study of the same subject, making various arrangements and preparing himself for the completion of that work, being convinced, as was the truth, that no other than himself could conduct such an undertaking to its conclusion. nor had filippo advised the syndics to call new architects for any other reason, than was furnished by his desire that those masters should be the witnesses of his own superior genius: he by no means expected that they could or would receive the commission for vaulting that tribune, or would undertake the charge, which he believed to be altogether too difficult for them. much time was meanwhile consumed, before the architects, whom the syndics had caused to be summoned from afar, could arrive from their different countries. orders had been given to the florentine merchants resident in france, germany, england, and spain, who were authorized to spend large sums of money for the purpose of sending them, and were commanded to obtain from the sovereigns of each realm the most experienced and distinguished masters of the respective countries. "in the year , all these foreign masters were at length assembled in florence, with those of tuscany, and all the best florentine artists in design. filippo likewise then returned from rome. they all assembled, therefore, in the hall of the wardens of santa maria del fiore, the syndics and superintendents, together with a select number of the most capable and ingenious citizens being present, to the end that having heard the opinion of each on the subject, they might at length decide on the method to be adopted for vaulting the tribune. being called into the audience, the opinions of all were heard one after another, and each architect declared the method which he had thought of adopting. and a fine thing it was to hear the strange and various notions then propounded on that matter: for one said that columns must be raised from the ground up, and that on these they must turn the arches, whereon the woodwork for supporting the weight must rest. others affirmed that the vault should be turned in cysteolite or sponge-stone (spugna), thereby to diminish the weight; and several of the masters agreed in the opinion that a column must be erected in the centre, and the cupola raised in the form of a pavilion, like that of san giovanni in florence. nay, there were not wanting those who maintained that it would be a good plan to fill the space with earth, among which small coins (quatrini) should be mingled, that when the cupola should be raised, they might then give permission that whoever should desire the soil might go and fetch it, when the people would immediately carry it away without expense. filippo alone declared that the cupola might be erected without so great a mass of woodwork, without a column in the centre, and without the mound of earth; at a much lighter expense than would be caused by so many arches, and very easily, without any framework whatever. "hearing this, the syndics, who were listening in the expectation of hearing some fine method, felt convinced that filippo had talked like a mere simpleton, as did the superintendents, and all the other citizens; they derided him therefore, laughing at him, and turning away; they bade him discourse of something else, for that this was the talk of a fool or madman, as he was. therefore filippo, thinking he had cause of offence, replied, 'but consider, gentlemen, that it is not possible to raise the cupola in any other manner than this of mine, and although you laugh at me, yet you will be obliged to admit (if you do not mean to be obstinate), that it neither must nor can be done in any other manner; and if it be erected after the method that i propose, it must be turned in the manner of the pointed arch, and must be double--the one vaulting within, the other without, in such sort that a passage should be formed between the two. at the angles of the eight walls, the building must be strengthened by the dove-tailing of the stones, and in like manner the walls themselves must be girt around by strong beams of oak. we must also provide for the lights, the staircases, and the conduits by which the rain-water may be carried off. and none of you have remembered that we must prepare supports within, for the execution of the mosaics, with many other difficult arrangements; but i, who see the cupola raised, i have reflected on all these things, and i know that there is no other mode of accomplishing them, than that of which i have spoken.' becoming heated as he proceeded, the more filippo sought to make his views clear to his hearers, that they might comprehend and agree with him, the more he awakened their doubts, and the less they confided in him, so that, instead of giving him their faith, they held him to be a fool and a babbler. whereupon, being more than once dismissed, and finally refusing to go, they caused him to be carried forcibly from the audience by the servants of the place, considering him to be altogether mad. this contemptuous treatment caused filippo at a later period to say, that he dared not at that time pass through any part of the city, lest some one should say, 'see, where goes that fool!' the syndics and others forming the assembly remained confounded, first, by the difficult methods proposed by the other masters, and next by that of filippo, which appeared to them stark nonsense. he appeared to them to render the enterprise impossible by his two propositions--first, by that of making the cupola double, whereby the great weight to be sustained would be rendered altogether unmanageable, and next by the proposal of building without a framework. filippo, on the other hand, who had spent so many years in close study to prepare himself for this work, knew not to what course to betake himself, and was many times on the point of leaving florence. still, if he desired to conquer, it was necessary to arm himself with patience, and he had seen enough to know that the heads of the city seldom remained long fixed to one resolution. he might easily have shown them a small model which he had secretly made, but he would not do so, knowing the imperfect intelligence of the syndics, the envy of the artists, and the instability of the citizens, who favored now one and now another, as each chanced to please them. and i do not wonder at this, because every one in florence professes to know as much of these matters, as do the most experienced masters, although there are very few who really understand them; a truth which we may be permitted to affirm without offence to those who are well informed on the subject. what filippo therefore could not effect before the tribunal, he began to attempt with individuals, and talking apart now with a syndic, now with a warden, and again with different citizens, showing moreover certain parts of his design; he thus brought them at length to resolve on confiding the conduct of this work, either to him or to one of the foreign architects. hereupon, the syndics, the wardens, and the citizens, selected to be judges in the matter, having regained courage, gathered together once again, and the architects disputed respecting the matter before them; but all were put down and vanquished on sufficient grounds by filippo, and here it is said that the dispute of the egg arose, in the manner following. the other architects desired that filippo should explain his purpose minutely, and show his model, as they had shown theirs. this he would not do, but proposed to all the masters, foreigners and compatriots, that he who could make an egg stand upright on a piece of smooth marble, should be appointed to build the cupola, since in doing that, his genius would be made manifest. they took an egg accordingly, and all those masters did their best to make it stand upright, but none discovered the method of doing so. wherefore, filippo, being told that he might make it stand himself, took it daintily into his hand, gave the end of it a blow on the plane of the marble, and made it stand upright.[ ] beholding this, the artists loudly protested, exclaiming that they could all have done the same; but filippo replied, laughing, that they might also know how to construct the cupola, if they had seen the model and design. it was thus at length resolved that filippo should receive the charge of conducting the work, but was told that he must furnish the syndics and wardens with more exact information. "he returned, therefore, to his house, and stated his whole purpose on a sheet of paper, as clearly as he could possibly express it, when it was given to the tribunal in the following terms:--'the difficulties of this erection being well considered, magnificent signors and wardens, i find that it cannot by any means be constructed in a perfect circle, since the extent of the upper part, where the lantern has to be placed, would be so vast, that when a weight was laid thereon, it would soon give way. now it appears to me that those architects who do not aim at giving perpetual duration to their fabrics, cannot have any regard for the durability of the memorial, nor do they even know what they are doing. i have therefore determined to turn the inner part of this vault in angles, according to the form of the walls, adopting the proportions and manner of the pointed arch, this being a form which displays a rapid tendency to ascend, and when loaded with the lantern, each part will help to give stability to the other. the thickness of the vault at the base must be three braccia and three-quarters; it must then rise in the form of a pyramid, decreasing from without up to the point where it closes, and where the lantern has to be placed, and at this junction the thickness must be one braccia and a quarter. a second vault shall then be constructed outside the first, to preserve the latter from the rain, and this must be two braccia and a half thick at the base, also diminishing proportionally in the form of a pyramid, in such a manner that the parts shall have their junction at the commencement of the lantern, as did the other, and at the highest point it must have two-thirds of the thickness of the base. there must be a buttress at each angle, which will be eight in all, and between the angles, in the face of each wall, there shall be two, sixteen in all; and these sixteen buttresses on the inner and outer side of each wall must each have the breadth of four braccia at the base. these two vaults, built in the form of a pyramid, shall rise together in equal proportion to the height of the round window closed by the lantern. there will thus be constructed twenty-four buttresses with the said vaults built around, and six strong high arches of a hard stone (macigno), well clamped and bound with iron fastenings, which must be covered with tin, and over these stones shall be cramping irons, by which the vaults shall be bound to the buttresses. the masonry must be solid, and must leave no vacant space up to the height of five braccia and a quarter; the buttresses being then continued, the arches will be separated. the first and second courses from the base must be strengthened everywhere by long plates of _macigno_ laid crosswise, in such sort that both vaults of the cupola shall rest on these stones. throughout the whole height, at every ninth braccia there shall be small arches constructed in the vaults between the buttresses, with strong cramps of oak, whereby the buttresses by which the inner vault is supported will be bound and strengthened; these fastenings of oak shall then be covered with plates of iron, on account of the staircases. the buttresses are all to be built of _macigno_, or other hard stone, and the walls of the cupola are, in like manner, to be all of solid stone bound to the buttresses to the height of twenty-four braccia, and thence upward they shall be constructed of brick or of spongite (spugne), as shall be determined on by the masters who build it, they using that which they consider lightest. on the outside, a passage or gallery shall be made above the windows, which below shall form a terrace, with an open parapet or balustrade two braccia high, after the manner of those of the lower tribunes, and forming two galleries, one over the other, placed on a richly decorated cornice, the upper gallery being covered. the rain-water shall be carried off the cupola by means of a marble channel, one third of an ell broad, the water being discharged at an outlet to be constructed of hard stone (pietra forte), beneath the channel. eight ribs of marble shall be formed on the angles of the external surface of the cupola, of such thickness as may be requisite; these shall rise to the height of one braccia above the cupola, with cornices projecting in the manner of a roof, two braccia broad, that the summit may be complete, and sufficiently furnished with eaves and channels on every side; and these must have the form of the pyramid, from their base, or point of junction, to their extremity. thus the cupola shall be constructed after the method described above, and without framework, to the height of thirty braccia, and from that height upwards, it may be continued after such manner as shall be determined on by the masters who may have to build it, since practice teaches us by what methods to proceed.' "when filippo had written the above, he repaired in the morning to the tribunal, and gave his paper to the syndics and wardens, who took the whole of it into their consideration; and, although they were not able to understand it all, yet seeing the confidence of filippo, and finding that the other architects gave no evidence of having better ground to proceed on,--he moreover showing a manifest security, by constantly repeating the same things in such a manner that he had all the appearance of having vaulted ten cupolas:--the syndics, seeing all this, retired apart, and finally resolved to give him the work; they would have liked to see some example of the manner in which he meant to turn this vault without framework, but to all the rest they gave their approbation. and fortune was favorable to this desire: bartolomeo barbadori having determined to build a chapel in santa felicita, and having spoken concerning it with filippo, the latter had commenced the work, and caused the chapel, which is on the right of the entrance, where is also the holy water vase (likewise by the hand of filippo), to be vaulted without any framework. at the same time he constructed another, in like manner, for stiatta ridolfi, in the church of santo jacopo sopr' arno; that, namely, beside the chapel of the high altar; and these works obtained him more credit than was given to his words. the consuls and wardens feeling at length assured, by the writing he had given them, and by the works which they had seen, entrusted the cupola to his care, and he was made principal master of the works by a majority of votes. they would nevertheless not commission him to proceed beyond the height of twelve braccia, telling him that they desired to see how the work would succeed, but that if it proceeded as successfully as he expected, they would not fail to give him the appointment for the remainder. the sight of so much obstinacy and distrust in the syndics and wardens was so surprising to filippo, that if he had not known himself to be the only person capable of conducting the work, he would not have laid a hand upon it; but desiring, as he did, to secure the glory of its completion, he accepted the terms, and pledged himself to conduct the undertaking perfectly to the end. the writing filippo had given was copied into a book wherein the purveyor kept the accounts of the works in wood and marble, together with the obligation into which filippo had entered as above said. an allowance was then made to him, conformably with what had at other times been given to other masters of the works. "when the commission given to filippo became known to the artists and citizens, some thought well of it, and others ill, as always is the case with a matter which calls forth the opinions of the populace, the thoughtless, and the envious. whilst the preparation of materials for beginning to build was making, a party was formed among the artists and citizens; and these men proceeding to the syndics and wardens, declared that the matter had been concluded too hastily, and that such a work ought not to be executed according to the opinion of one man only; they added, that if the syndics and wardens had been destitute of distinguished men, instead of being furnished with such in abundance, they would have been excusable, but that what was now done was not likely to redound to the honor of the citizens, seeing, that if any accident should happen, they would incur blame, as persons who had conferred too great a charge on one man, without considering the losses and disgrace that might result to the public. all this considered, it would be well to give filippo a colleague, who might restrain his impetuosity (furore). "lorenzo ghiberti had at that time attained to high credit by the evidence of his genius, which he had given in the doors of san giovanni; and that he was much beloved by certain persons who were very powerful in the government was now proved with sufficient clearness, since, perceiving the glory of filippo to increase so greatly, they labored in such a manner with the syndics and wardens, under the pretext of care and anxiety for the building, that ghiberti was united with filippo in the work. the bitter vexation of filippo, the despair into which he fell, when he heard what the wardens had done, may be understood by the fact that he was on the point of flying from florence; and had it not been that donato and luca della robbia comforted and encouraged him, he would have gone out of his senses. a truly wicked and cruel rage is that of those men, who, blinded by envy, endanger the honors and noble works of others in the base strife of ambition: it was not the fault of these men that filippo did not break in pieces the models, set fire to the designs, and in one half hour destroy all the labors so long endured, and ruin the hopes of so many years. the wardens excused themselves at first to filippo, encouraging him to proceed, reminding him that the inventor and author of so noble a fabric was still himself, and no other; but they, nevertheless, gave lorenzo a stipend equal to that of filippo. the work was then continued with but little pleasure on the part of filippo, who knew that he must endure all the labors connected therewith, and would then have to divide the honor and fame equally with lorenzo. taking courage, nevertheless, from the thought that he should find a method of preventing the latter from remaining very long attached to that undertaking, he continued to proceed after the manner laid down in the writing given to the wardens. meanwhile the thought occurred to the mind of filippo of constructing a complete model, which, as yet, had never been done. this he commenced forthwith, causing the parts to be made by a certain bartolomeo, a joiner, who dwelt near his studio. in this model (the measurements of which were in strict accordance with those of the building itself, the difference being of size only), all the difficult parts of the structure were shown as they were to be when completed; as, for example, staircases lighted and dark, with every other kind of light, with the buttresses and other inventions for giving strength to the building, the doors, and even a portion of the gallery. lorenzo, having heard of this model, desired to see it, but filippo refusing, he became angry, and made preparations for constructing a model of his own, that he might not appear to be receiving his salary for nothing, but that he also might seem to count for something in the matter. for these models filippo received fifty lire and fifteen soldi, as we find by an order in the book of migliore di tommaso, under date of the d october, , while lorenzo was paid three hundred lire for the labor and cost of his model, a difference occasioned by the partiality and favor shown to him, rather than merited by any utility or benefit secured to the building by the model which he had constructed. "this vexatious state of things continued beneath the eyes of filippo until the year ,[ ] the friends of lorenzo calling him the inventor of the work, equally with filippo, and this caused so violent a commotion in the mind of the latter, that he lived in the utmost disquietude. various improvements and new inventions were, besides, presenting themselves to his thoughts, and he resolved to rid himself of his colleague at all hazards, knowing of how little use he was to the work. filippo had already raised the walls of the cupola to the height of twelve braccia in both vaults, but the works, whether in wood or stone, that were to give strength to the fabric, had still to be executed, and as this was a matter of difficulty, he determined to speak with lorenzo respecting it, that he might ascertain whether the latter had taken it into consideration. but lorenzo was so far from having thought of this exigency, and so entirely unprepared for it, that he replied by declaring that he would refer that to filippo as the inventor. the answer of lorenzo pleased filippo, who thought he here saw the means of removing his colleague from the works, and of making it manifest that he did not possess that degree of knowledge in the matter that was attributed to him by his friends, and implied in the favor which had placed him in the situation he held. all the builders were now engaged in the work, and waited only for directions, to commence the part above the twelve braccia, to raise the vaults, and render all secure. the closing in of the cupola towards the top having commenced, it was necessary to provide the scaffolding, that the masons and laborers might work without danger, seeing that the height was such as to make the most steady head turn giddy, and the firmest spirit shrink, merely to look down from it. the masons and other masters were therefore waiting in expectation of directions as to the manner in which the chains were to be applied, and the scaffoldings erected; but, finding there was nothing determined on either by lorenzo or filippo, there arose a murmur among the masons and other builders, at not seeing the work pursued with the solicitude previously shown; and as the workmen were poor persons who lived by the labor of their hands, and who now believed that neither one nor the other of the architects had courage enough to proceed further with the undertaking, they went about the building employing themselves as best they could in looking over and furbishing up all that had been already executed. "but one morning, filippo did not appear at the works: he tied up his head, went to bed complaining bitterly, and causing plates and towels to be heated with great haste and anxiety, pretending that he had an attack of pleurisy. the builders who stood waiting directions to proceed with their work, on hearing this, demanded orders of lorenzo for what they were to do; but he replied that the arrangement of the work belonged to filippo, and that they must wait for him. 'how?' said one of them, 'do you not know what his intentions are?' 'yes,' replied lorenzo, 'but i would not do anything without him.'" this he said by way of excusing himself; for as he had not seen the model of filippo, and had never asked him what method he meant to pursue, that he might not appear ignorant, so he now felt completely out of his depth, being thus referred to his own judgment, and the more so as he knew that he was employed in that undertaking against the will of filippo. the illness of the latter having already lasted more than two days, the purveyor of the works, with many of the master-builders, went to see him, and repeatedly asked him to tell them what they should do; but he constantly replied, 'you have lorenzo, let him begin to do something for once.' nor could they obtain from him any other reply. when this became known, it caused much discussion: great blame was thrown upon the undertaking, and many adverse judgments were uttered. some said that filippo had taken to his bed from grief, at finding that he had not power to accomplish the erection of the cupola, and that he was now repenting of having meddled with the matter; but his friends defended him, declaring that his vexation might arise from the wrong he had suffered in having lorenzo given to him as a colleague, but that his disorder was pleurisy, brought on by his excessive labors for the work. in the midst of all this tumult of tongues, the building was suspended, and almost all the operations of the masons and stone-cutters came to a stand. these men murmured against lorenzo, and said, 'he is good enough at drawing the salary, but when it comes to directing the manner in which we are to proceed, he does nothing; if filippo were not here, or if he should remain long disabled, what can lorenzo do? and if filippo be ill, is that his fault?' the wardens, perceiving the discredit that accrued to them from this state of things, resolved to make filippo a visit, and having reached his house, they first condoled with him on his illness, told him into what disorder the building had fallen, and described the troubles which this malady had brought on them. whereupon filippo, speaking with much heat, partly to keep up the feint of illness, but also in part from his interest in the work, exclaimed, 'what! is not lorenzo there? why does not he do something? i cannot but wonder at your complaints.' to this the wardens replied, 'he will not do anything without you.' whereunto filippo made answer, 'but i could do it well enough without him.' this acute and doubly significant reply sufficed to the wardens, and they departed, having convinced themselves that filippo was sick of the desire to work alone; they therefore sent certain of his friends to draw him from his bed, with the intention of removing lorenzo from the work. filippo then returned to the building, but seeing the power that lorenzo possessed by means of the favor he enjoyed, and that he desired to receive the salary without taking any share whatever in the labor, he bethought himself of another method for disgracing him, and making it publicly and fully evident that he had very little knowledge of the matter in hand. he consequently made the following discourse to the wardens (operai) lorenzo being present:--'signori operai, if the time we have to live were as well secured to us as is the certainty that we may very quickly die, there is no doubt whatever that many works would be completed, which are now commenced and left imperfect. the malady with which i have had the misfortune to be attacked, might have deprived me of life, and put a stop to this work; wherefore, lest i should again fall sick, or lorenzo either, which god forbid, i have considered that it would be better for each to execute his own portion of the work: as your worships have divided the salary, let us also divide the labor, to the end that each, being incited to show what he knows and is capable of performing, may proceed with confidence, to his own honor and benefit, as well as to that of the republic. now there are two difficult operations which must at this time be put into course of execution--the one is the erection of scaffoldings for enabling the builders to work in safety, and which must be prepared both for the inside and outside of the fabric, where they will be required to sustain the weight of the men, the stones and the mortar, with space also for the crane to draw up the different materials, and for other machines and tools of various kinds. the other difficulty is the chain-work, which has to be constructed upon the twelve braccia already erected, this being requisite to bind and secure the eight sides of the cupola, and which must surround the fabric, enchaining the whole, in such a manner that the weight which has hereafter to be laid on it shall press equally on all sides, the parts mutually supporting each other, so that no part of the edifice shall be too heavily pressed on or overweighed, but that all shall rest firmly on its own basis. let lorenzo then take one of these works, whichever he may think he can most easily execute; i will take the other, and answer for bringing it to a successful issue, that we may lose no more time.' lorenzo having heard this, was compelled, for the sake of his honor, to accept one or other of these undertakings; and although he did it very unwillingly, he resolved to take the chain work, thinking that he might rely on the counsels of the builders, and remembering also that there was a chain-work of stone in the vaulting of san giovanni di fiorenza, from which he might take a part, if not the whole, of the arrangement. one took the scaffolds in hand accordingly, and the other the chain-work, so that both were put in progress. the scaffolds of filippo were constructed with so much ingenuity and judgment, that in this matter the very contrary of what many had before expected was seen to have happened, since the builders worked thereon with as much security as they would have done on the ground beneath, drawing up all the requisite weights and standing themselves in perfect safety. the models of these scaffolds were deposited in the hall of the wardens. lorenzo executed the chain-work on one of the eight walls with the utmost difficulty, and when it was finished the wardens caused filippo to look at it. he said nothing to them, but with some of his friends he held discourse on the subject, declaring that the building required a very different work of ligature and security to that one, laid in a manner altogether unlike the method there adopted; for that this would not suffice to support the weight which was to be laid on it, the pressure not being of sufficient strength and firmness. he added that the sums paid to lorenzo, with the chain-work which he had caused to be constructed, were so much labor, time, and money thrown away. the remarks of filippo became known, and he was called upon to show the manner that ought to be adopted for the construction of such a chain-work; wherefore, having already prepared his designs and models, he exhibited them immediately, and they were no sooner examined by the wardens and other masters, than they perceived the error into which they had fallen by favoring lorenzo. for this they now resolved to make amends; and desiring to prove that they were capable of distinguishing merit, they made filippo chief and superintendent of the whole fabric for life, commanding that nothing should be done in the work but as he should direct. as a further mark of approbation, they presented him moreover with a hundred florins, ordered by the syndics and wardens, under date of august , , through lorenzo paoli, notary of the administration of the works, and signed by gherardo di messer filippo corsini: they also voted him an allowance of one hundred florins for life. whereupon, having taken measures for the future progress of the fabric, filippo conducted the works with so much solicitude and such minute attention, that there was not a stone placed in the building which he had not examined. lorenzo on the other hand, finding himself vanquished and in a manner disgraced, was nevertheless so powerfully assisted and favored by his friends, that he continued to receive his salary, under the pretext that he could not be dismissed until the expiration of three years from that time.[ ] "drawings and models were meanwhile continually prepared by filippo for the most minute portions of the building, for the stages or scaffolds for the workmen, and for the machines used in raising the materials. there were nevertheless several malicious persons, friends of lorenzo, who did not cease to torment him by daily bringing forward models in rivalry of those constructed by him, insomuch that one was made by maestro antonio da verzelli, and other masters who were favored and brought into notice--now by one citizen and now by another, their fickleness and mutability betraying the insufficiency of their knowledge and the weakness of their judgment, since having perfection within their reach, they perpetually brought forward the imperfect and useless. "the chain-work was now completed around all the eight sides, and the builders, animated by success, worked vigorously; but being pressed more than usual by filippo, and having received certain reprimands concerning the masonry and in relation to other matters of daily occurrence, discontents began to prevail. moved by this circumstance and by their envy, the chiefs among them drew together and got up a faction, declaring that the work was a laborious and perilous undertaking, and that they would not proceed with the vaulting of the cupola, but on condition of receiving large payments, although their wages had already been increased and were much higher than was usual: by these means they hoped to injure filippo and increase their own gains. this circumstance displeased the wardens greatly, as it did filippo also; but the latter, having reflected on the matter, took his resolution, and one saturday evening he dismissed them all. the men seeing themselves thus sent about their business, and not knowing how the affair would turn, were very sullen; but on the following monday filippo set ten lombards to work at the building, and by remaining constantly present with them, and saying, 'do this here' and 'do that there,' he taught them so much in one day that they were able to continue the work during many weeks. the masons, seeing themselves thus disgraced as well as deprived of their employment, and knowing that they would find no work equally profitable, sent messengers to filippo, declaring that they would willingly return, and recommending themselves to his consideration. filippo kept them for several days in suspense, and seemed not inclined to admit them again; they were afterwards reinstated, but with lower wages than they had received at first: thus where they had thought to make gain they suffered loss, and by seeking to revenge themselves on filippo, they brought injury and shame on their own heads. "the tongues of the envious were now silenced, and when the building was seen to proceed so happily, the genius of filippo obtained its due consideration; and, by all who judged dispassionately, he was already held to have shown a boldness which has, perhaps, never before been displayed in their works, by any architect, ancient or modern. this opinion was confirmed by the fact that filippo now brought out his model, in which all might see the extraordinary amount of thought bestowed on every detail of the building. the varied invention displayed in the staircases, in the provision of lights, both within and without, so that none might strike or injure themselves in the darkness, were all made manifest, with the careful consideration evinced by the different supports of iron which were placed to assist the footsteps wherever the ascent was steep. in addition to all this, filippo had even thought of the irons for fixing scaffolds within the cupola, if ever they should be required for the execution of mosaics or pictures; he had selected the least dangerous positions for the places of the conduits, to be afterwards constructed for carrying off the rain water, had shown where these were to be covered and where uncovered; and had moreover contrived different outlets and apertures, whereby the force of the winds should be diminished, to the end that neither vapors nor the vibrations of the earth, should have power to do injury to the building: all which proved the extent to which he had profited by his studies, during the many years of his residence in rome. when in addition to these things, the superintendents considered how much he had accomplished in the shaping, fixing, uniting, and securing the stones of this immense pile, they were almost awe-struck on perceiving that the mind of one man had been capable of all that filippo had now proved himself able to perform. his powers and facilities continually increased, and that to such an extent, that there was no operation, however difficult and complex, which he did not render easy and simple; of this he gave proof in one instance among others, by the employment of wheels and counterpoises to raise heavy weights, so that one ox could draw more than six pairs could have moved by the ordinary methods. the building had now reached such a height, that when a man had once arrived at the summit, it was a very great labor to descend to the ground, and the workmen lost much time in going to their meals, and to drink; arrangements were therefore made by filippo, for opening wine-shops and eating-houses in the cupola; where the required food being sold, none were compelled to leave their labor until the evening, which was a relief and convenience to the men, as well as a very important advantage to the work. perceiving the building to proceed rapidly, and finding all his undertakings happily successful, the zeal and confidence of filippo increased, and he labored perpetually; he went himself to the ovens where the bricks were made, examined the clay, proved the quality of the working, and when they were baked he would select and set them apart, with his own hands. in like manner, while the stones were under the hands of the stone-cutters, he would look narrowly to see that they were hard and free from clefts; he supplied the stone-cutters with models in wood or wax, or hastily cut on the spot from turnips, to direct them in the shaping and junction of the different masses; he did the same for the men who prepared the iron work; filippo likewise invented hook hinges, with the mode of fixing them to the door-posts, and greatly facilitated the practice of architecture, which was certainly brought by his labors to a perfection that it would else perhaps never have attained among the tuscans. "in the year , when the utmost rejoicing and festivity was prevailing in florence, filippo was chosen one of the _signori_ for the district of san giovanni, for the months of may and june; lapo niccolini being chosen gonfalonier for the district of santa croce: and if filippo be found registered in the priorista as 'di ser brunellesce lippi,' this need not occasion surprise, since they called him so after his grandfather, lippo, instead of 'di lapi,' as they ought to have done. and this practice is seen to prevail in the priorista, with respect to many others, as is well known to all who have examined it, or who are acquainted with the custom of those times. filippo performed his functions carefully in that office; and in others connected with the magistracy of the city, to which he was subsequently appointed, he constantly acquitted himself with the most judicious consideration. "the two vaults of the cupola were now approaching their close, at the circular window where the lantern was to begin, and there now remained to filippo, who had made various models in wood and clay, both of the one and the other, in rome and florence, to decide finally as to which of these he would put in execution, wherefore he resolved to complete the gallery, and accordingly made different plans for it, which remained in the hall of wardens after his death, but which by the neglect of those officials have since been lost. but it was not until our own days that even a fragment was executed on a part of one of the eight sides (to the end that the building might be completed); but as it was not in accordance with the plan of filippo, it was removed by the advice of michael angelo buonarotti, and was not again attempted. "filippo also constructed a model for the lantern, with his own hand; it had eight sides, the proportions were in harmony with those of the cupola, and for the invention as well as variety and decoration, it was certainly very beautiful. he did not omit the staircase for ascending to the ball, which was an admirable thing; but as he had closed the entrance with a morsel of wood fixed at the lower part, no one but himself knew its position. filippo was now highly renowned, but notwithstanding this, and although he had already overcome the envy and abated the arrogance of so many opponents, he could not yet escape the vexation of finding that all the masters of florence, when his model had been seen, were setting themselves to make others in various manners; nay, there was even a lady of the gaddi family, who ventured to place her knowledge in competition with that of filippo. the latter, meanwhile, could not refrain from laughing at the presumption of these people, and when he was told by certain of his friends that he ought not to show his model to any artist lest they should learn from it, he replied that there was but one true model, and that the others were good for nothing. some of the other masters had used parts of filippo's model for their own, which, when the latter perceived, he remarked, 'the next model made by this personage will be mine altogether.' the work of filippo was very highly praised, with the exception, that, not perceiving the staircase by which the ball was to be attained, the model was considered defective on that point. the superintendents determined, nevertheless, to give him the commission for the work, but on condition that he should show the staircase;[ ] whereupon filippo, removing the morsel of wood which he had placed at the foot of the stair, showed it constructed as it is now seen, within one of the piers, and presenting the form of a hollow reed or blow-pipe, having a recess or groove on one side, with bars of bronze, by means of which the summit was gradually attained. filippo was now at an age which rendered it impossible that he should live to see the lantern completed; he therefore left directions, by his will, that it should be built after the model here described, and according to the rules which he had laid down in writing, affirming that the fabric would otherwise be in danger of falling, since, being constructed with the pointed arch, it required to be rendered secure by means of the pressure of the weight to be thus added. but, though filippo could not complete the edifice before his death, he raised the lantern to the height of several braccia, causing almost all the marbles required for the completion of the building to be carefully prepared and brought to the place. at the sight of these huge masses as they arrived, the people stood amazed, marvelling that it should be possible for filippo to propose the laying of such a weight on the cupola. it was, indeed, the opinion of many intelligent men that it could not possibly support that weight. it appeared to them to be a piece of good fortune that he had conducted it so far, and they considered the loading it so heavy to be a tempting of providence. filippo constantly laughed at these fears, and having prepared all the machines and instruments required for the construction of the edifice, he ceased not to employ all his time in taking thought for its future requirements, providing and preparing all the minutiæ, even to guarding against the danger of the marbles being chipped as they were drawn up: to which intent the arches of the tabernacles were built within defences of woodwork; and for all beside the master gave models and written directions, as we have said. "how beautiful this building is, it will itself bear testimony. with respect to the height, from the level ground to the commencement of the lantern, there are one hundred and fifty-four braccia;[ ] the body of the lanthorn is thirty-six braccia high; the copper ball four braccia; the cross eight braccia; in all two hundred and two braccia. and it may be confidently affirmed that the ancients never carried their buildings to so vast a height, nor committed themselves to so great a risk as to dare a competition with the heavens, which this structure verily appears to do, seeing that it rears itself to such an elevation that the hills around florence do not appear to equal it. and of a truth it might seem that the heavens were envious of its height, since their lightnings perpetually strike it. while this work was in progress, filippo constructed many other fabrics." brunelleschi's enthusiasm. one morning, as brunelleschi was amusing himself on the piazza di santa maria del fiore, in company with donatello and other artists, the conversation happened to turn on ancient sculpture. donatello related that when he was returning from rome, he had taken the road of orvieto, to see the remarkable façade of the cathedral of that city--a highly celebrated work, executed by various masters, and considered in those days a very remarkable production. he added that as he was passing through cortona, he had seen in the capitular church of that city a most beautiful antique marble vase, adorned with sculpture--a rare thing at that time, as most of the beautiful works of antiquity have since been brought to light. as donatello proceeded to describe the manner in which the artist had treated this work, the delicacy, beauty, and perfection of the workmanship, filippo became inflamed with such an ardent desire to see it, that he set off immediately, on foot, to cortona, dressed as he was in his mantle, hood, and wooden shoes, without communicating his purpose to any one. finding that donatello had not been too lavish of his praise, he drew the vase, returned to florence, and surprised his friends with the accurate drawing he had made, before they knew of his departure, they believing that he must be occupied with his inventions. this urn, or funeral vase, according to the florentine editors of vasari, is still in the cathedral of cortona. the sculptures represent the battle of the centaurs and lapithæ, or as some say, a warlike expedition of bacchus. the design and workmanship are exquisite. it was found in a field without the city, and almost close to the cathedral. brunelleschi and donatello. "among other works," says vasari, "donato received an order for a crucifix in wood, for the church of santa croce at florence, on which he bestowed extraordinary labor. when the work was completed, believing himself to have produced an admirable thing, he showed it to filippo di ser brunellesco, his most intimate friend, desiring to have his opinion of it. filippo, who had expected from the words of donato, to see a much finer production, smiled somewhat as he regarded it, and donato seeing this, entreated him by the friendship existing between them, to say what he thought of it. whereupon filippo, who was exceedingly frank, replied that donatello appeared to him to have placed a clown on the cross, and not a figure resembling that of jesus christ, whose person was delicately beautiful, and in all parts the most perfect form of man that had ever been born. donato hearing himself censured where he had expected praise, and more hurt than he was perhaps willing to admit, replied, 'if it were as easy to execute a work as to judge it, my figure would appear to thee to be christ and not a boor; but take wood, and try to make one thyself.' filippo, without saying anything more, returned home, and set to work on a crucifix, wherein he labored to surpass donato, that he might not be condemned by his own judgment; but he suffered no one to know what he was doing. at the end of some months, the work was completed to the height of perfection, and this done, filippo one morning invited donato to dine with him, and the latter accepted the invitation. thereupon, as they were proceeding together towards the house of filippo, they passed by the mercato vecchio, where the latter purchased various articles, and giving them to donato, said, 'do thou go forward with these things to the house, and wait for me there; i'll be after thee in a moment.' donato, therefore, having entered the house, had no sooner done so than he saw the crucifix, which filippo had placed in a suitable light. stopping short to examine the work, he found it so perfectly executed, that feeling himself conquered, full of astonishment, and, as it were startled out of himself, he dropped the hands which were holding up his apron, wherein he had placed the purchases, when the whole fell to the ground, eggs, cheese, and other things, all broken to pieces and mingled together. but donato, not recovering from his astonishment, remained still gazing in amazement and like one out of his wits when filippo arrived, and inquired, laughing, 'what hast thou been about, donato? and what dost thou mean us to have for dinner, since thou hast overturned everything?' 'i, for my part,' replied donato, 'have had my share of dinner for to-day; if thou must needs have thine, take it. but enough said: to thee it has been given to represent christ; to me, boors only.'" this crucifix now adorns the altar of the chapel of the gondi. donatello. this old florentine sculptor was born in . he was the first of the moderns who forsook the stiff and gothic manner, and endeavored to restore to sculpture the grace and beauty of the antique. he executed a multitude of works in wood, marble and bronze, consisting of images, statues, busts, basso-relievos, monuments, equestrian statues, etc. which gained him great reputation, and some of which are much esteemed at the present day. he was much patronized by cosmo de' medici, and his son pietro. among donatello's principal works, are three statues, each three braccia and a half high, (vasari erroneously says four, and each five braccia high), for the façade of the church of santa maria del fiore, which faces the campanile. they represent st. john; david, called lo zuccone (so called, because bald-headed); and solomon, or as some say, the prophet jeremiah. the zuccone is considered the most extraordinary and the most beautiful work ever produced by donatello, who, while working on it, was so delighted with his success, that he frequently exclaimed, "speak then! why wilt thou not speak?" whenever he wished to affirm a thing in a manner that should preclude all doubt, he would say, "by the faith i place in my zuccone." donatello and the merchant. a rich genoese merchant commissioned donatello to execute his bust in bronze, of life size. when the work was completed, it was pronounced a capital performance, and cosmo de' medici, who was the friend of both parties, caused it to be placed in the upper court of the palace, between the battlements which overlook the street, that it might be seen by the citizens. when the merchant, unacquainted with the value of such works, came to pay for it, the price demanded appeared to him so exorbitant that he refused to take it, whereupon the mutter was referred to cosmo. when the latter sought to settle the difference, he found the offer of the merchant to be very far from the just demand of donatello, and turning towards him, observed that he offered too small compensation. the merchant replied that donatello could have made it in a month, and would thus be gaining half a florin a day (about one dollar). donatello, disgusted and stung with rage, told the merchant that he had found means in the hundredth part of an hour to destroy the whole labor and cures of a year, and knocked the bust out of the window, which was dashed to pieces on the pavement below, observing, at the same time, that "it was evident he was better versed in bargaining for horse-beans than in purchasing statues." the merchant now ashamed of his conduct, and regretting what had happened, offered him double his price if he would reconstruct the bust,--but donatello, though poor, flatly refused to do it on any terms, even at the request of cosmo himself. donatello and his kinsman. when donatello was very sick, certain of his kinsfolk, who were well to do in the world, but had not visited him in many years, went to condole with him in his last illness. before they left, they told him it was his duty to leave to them a small farm which he had in the territories of prato, and this they begged very earnestly, though it was small and produced a very small income. donatello, perceiving the motive of their visit, thus rebuked them: "i cannot content you in this matter, kinsmen, because i resolve--and it appears to me just and proper--to leave the farm to the poor husbandman who has always tilled it, and who has bestowed great labor on it; not to you, who without ever having done anything for it, or for me, but only thought of obtaining it, now come with this visit of yours, desiring that i should leave it to you. go! and the lord be with you." death of donatello. donatello died on the th of december, . he was buried with great pomp and solemnity in the church of san lorenzo, near the tomb of cosmo, as he himself had commanded (for he had purchased the right), "to the end," as he said, "that his body might be near him when dead, as his spirit had ever been near him when in life." bottari observes that another reason for his choice of san lorenzo, may have been that many of his works were in that church. donatello and michael angelo compared. "i will not omit to mention," says vasari, "that the most learned and very reverend don vincenzio borghini, of whom we have before spoken in relation to other matters, has collected into a large book, innumerable drawings of distinguished painters and sculptors, ancient as well as modern, and among these are two drawings on two leaves opposite to each other, one of which is by donato, and the other by michael angelo buonarroti. on these he has with much judgment inscribed the two greek mottos which follow; on the drawing of donato, "[greek: Ê donatos bonarrotixei]," and on that of michael angelo, "[greek: Ê bonarrotos donatixei]," which in latin ran thus: _aut donatus bonarrotom exprimit et refert, aut bonarrotus donatum_; and in our language they mean, 'either the spirit of donato worked in buonarroti, or that of buonarroti first acted in donato.'" sofonisba anguisciola's early distinction. this noble lady of cremona (born about ), was one of six sisters, all amiable, and much distinguished in arts and letters. she displayed a taste for drawing at a very early age, and soon became the best pupil in the school of antonio campi. one of her early sketches, of a boy caught with his hand in the claw of a lobster, with a little girl laughing at his plight, was in possession of vasari, and by him esteemed worthy of a place in a volume which he had filled with drawings by the most famous masters of that great age. portraiture was her chief study; and vasari commends a picture which he saw at her father's house, of three of the sisters, and an ancient housekeeper of the family playing at chess, as a work "painted with so much skill and care, that the figures wanted only voice to appear alive." he also praises a portrait which she painted of herself, and presented to pope julius iii., who died in , which shows that she must have attracted the notice of princes while yet in her girlhood. at milan, whither she accompanied her father, she painted the portrait of the duke of sessa, the viceroy, who rewarded her with four pieces of brocade and various rich gifts. sofonisba's visit to spain. her name having become famous in italy, in , the king of spain ordered the duke of alba, who was then at rome, to invite her to the court of madrid. she arrived there in the same year, and was received with great distinction, and lodged in the palace. her first work was the portrait of the king, who was so much pleased with the performance that he rewarded her with a diamond worth ducats, and settled upon her a pension of ducats. her next sitters were the young queen elizabeth of valois, known in spain as isabel of the peace, then in the bloom of bridal beauty, and the unhappy boy, don carlos. by the desire of pope pius iv., she made a second portrait of the queen, sent to his holiness with a dutiful letter, which vasari has preserved, as well as the gracious reply of the pontiff, who assures her that her painting shall be placed among his most precious treasures. sofonisba held the post of lady-in-waiting to the queen, and was for some time governess to her daughter, the infanta isabella clara eugenia,--an appointment which proves that she must have resided in spain for some time after , the year of that princess' birth. sofonisba's marriages. her royal patrons at last married their fair artist, now arrived to a mature age, to don fabrizio de moncada, a noble sicilian, giving her a dowry of , ducats and a pension of , , besides many rich presents in tapestries and jewels. the newly wedded pair retired to palermo, where the husband died some years after. sofonisba was then invited back to the court of madrid, but excused herself on account of her desire to see cremona and her kindred once more. embarking for this purpose on board of a genoese galley, she was entertained with such gallant courtesy by the captain, orazio lomellini, one of the merchant princes of the "city of palaces," that she fell in love with him, and, according to soprani, offered him her hand in marriage, which he accepted. on hearing of her second nuptials, their catholic majesties added crowns to her pension. sofonisba's residence at genoa, and her intercourse with vandyck. after her second marriage, sofonisba continued to pursue the art at genoa, where her house became the resort of all the polished and intellectual society of the republic. the empress of germany paid her a visit on her way to spain, and accepted a little picture,--one of the most finished and beautiful of her works. she was also visited by her former charge, the infanta, then the wife of the archduke albert, and with him co-sovereign of flanders. that princess spent many hours in conversing with her of by-gone days and family affairs; she also sat for her portrait, and presented sofonisba with a gold chain enriched with jewels, as a memorial of their friendship. thus courted in the society of genoa, and caressed by royalty, this eminent paintress lived to the extreme age of ninety-three years. a medal was struck in her honor at bologna; artists listened reverentially to her opinions; and poets sang her praises. though deprived of sight in her latter years, she retained to the last her other faculties, her love of art, and her relish for the society of its professors. vandyck was frequently her guest during his residence at genoa, in ; and he used to say of her that he had learned more of the practical principles of the art from a blind woman, than by studying all the works of the best italian masters. carriera rosalba. this celebrated italian paintress was born at chiozza, near venice, in . she acquired an immense reputation, and was invited to several of the courts of europe. few artists have equalled rosalba in crayon painting. rosalba's modesty. notwithstanding she received so many flattering marks of distinction from crowned heads, rosalba's native modesty never deserted her, and she seemed to esteem her works less than did many of her admirers, because she was sensible how far she fell short of her idea of perfection. "everything i do," said she, "seems good enough to me just after i have done it, and perhaps for a few hours afterwards, but then i begin to discover my imperfections!" thus it is with true merit; those who are superficial or pretending can never find out, or never will acknowledge their own faults. rosalba's knowledge of tempers. rosalba used to say, "i have so long been accustomed to study features, and the expression of the mind by them, that i know people's tempers by their faces." she frequently surprised her friends by the accuracy of character which she read in the faces of persons who were entire strangers to her. elizabeth sirani. elizabeth sirani was born at bologna in . she early exhibited the most extraordinary talent for painting, which was perfectly cultivated by her father, gio. andrea sirani, an excellent disciple and imitator of guido. she attached herself to an imitation of the best style of guido, which unites great relief with the most captivating amenity. her first public work appeared in , when she was seventeen years of age. it is almost incredible that in a short life of not more than twenty-six or twenty-seven years, she could have executed the long list of works enumerated by malvasia, copied from a register kept by herself, amounting to upwards of one hundred and fifty pictures and portraits; and our astonishment is increased, when we are told by the same author, that many of them are pictures and altar-pieces of large size, and finished with a care that excludes all appearance of negligence and haste. there are quite a number of her works in the churches of bologna. lanzi also speaks of her in terms of high commendation, and says, that "in her smaller works, painted by commission, she still improved herself, as may be seen by her numerous pictures of madonnas, magdalens, saints, and the infant saviour, found in the zampieri, zambeccari, and caprara palaces at bologna, and in the corsini and bolognetti collections at rome." she received many commissions from many of the sovereigns and most distinguished persons of europe. she had two sisters, anna and barbara, whom, according to crespi, she instructed in the art, and who possessed considerable talent. her fame was so great, that after her death not only the works of her sisters, but many of those of her father, were attributed to her. lanzi says, "she is nearly the sole individual of the family whose name occurs in collections out of bologna." she also executed some spirited etchings mostly from her own designs. death of elizabeth sirani. this accomplished, amiable, and talented lady was cut off in the flower of her life, august th, , by poison, administered by one of her own maids, instigated, as is supposed, by some jealous young artists. her melancholy death was bewailed with demonstrations of public sorrow, and her remains were interred with great pomp and solemnity in the church of s. domenico, in the same vault where reposed the ashes of guido. rachel ruysch. this celebrated paintress of fruit and flowers was born at amsterdam in . she was the daughter of frederick ruisch or ruysch, the celebrated professor of anatomy. she early showed an extraordinary taste for depicting fruit and flowers, and attained to such perfection in her art, that some have not hesitated to equal and even prefer her works to those of john van huysum. she grouped her flowers in the most tasteful and picturesque manner, and depicted them with a grace and brilliancy that rivalled nature. descamps says that "in her pictures of fruit and flowers, she surpassed nature herself." the extraordinary talents of this lady recommended her to the patronage of the elector palatine--a great admirer of her pictures--for whom she executed some of her choicest works, and received for them a munificent reward. though she exercised her talents to an advanced age, her works are exceedingly rare, so great was the labor bestowed upon them. she spent seven years in painting two pictures, a fruit and a flower piece, which she presented to one of her daughters as a marriage portion. she married jurian pool, an eminent portrait painter, by whom she had ten children; she is frequently called by his name, though she always signed her pictures with her maiden name. smith, in his catalogue raisonné, vols. vi. and ix., gives a description of only about thirty pieces by her--a proof of their extreme rarity. they now command very high prices when offered for sale, which rarely happens. she died in , aged years. sir anthony vandyck. this eminent flemish painter was born at antwerp in . his father early gave him instruction in drawing; he was also instructed by his mother, who painted landscapes, and was very skillful in embroidery. he studied afterwards under henry van balen, and made rapid progress in the art; but attracted by the fame of rubens, he entered the school of that master, and showed so much ability as to be soon entrusted with the execution of some of his instructor's designs. some writers, among whom d'argenville was the first, assert that rubens became jealous of vandyck's growing excellence, and therefore advised him to devote himself to portrait painting; assigning the following anecdote as the cause of his jealousy. during the short absences of rubens from his house, for the purpose of recreation, his disciples frequently obtained access to his studio, by means of bribing an old servant who kept the keys; and on one of these occasions, while they were all eagerly pressing forward to view the great picture of the descent from the cross (although later investigations concerning dates seem to indicate that it was some other picture), diepenbeck accidentally fell against the canvas, effacing the face of the virgin, and the magdalen's arm, which had just been finished, and were not yet dry. fearful of expulsion from the school, the terrified pupils chose vandyck to restore the work, and he completed it the same day with such success that rubens did not at first perceive the change, and afterwards concluded not to alter it. walpole entertains a different and more rational view respecting rubens' supposed jealousy: he thinks that vandyck felt the hopelessness of surpassing his master in historical painting, and therefore resolved to devote himself to portrait. one authority states that the above mentioned incident only increased rubens' esteem for his pupil, in perfect accordance with the distinguished character for generosity and liberality, which that great master so often evinced, and which forms very strong presumptive evidence against so base an accusation. besides, his advice to vandyck to visit italy--where his own powers had been, as his pupil's would be, greatly strengthened--may be considered as sufficient to refute it entirely. they appear to have parted on the best terms; vandyck presented rubens with an ecce homo, christ in the garden, and a portrait of helen forman, rubens' second wife; he was presented in return, by rubens, with one of his finest horses. vandyck's visit to italy. at the age of twenty, vandyck set out for italy, but delayed some time at brussels, fascinated by the charms of a peasant girl of saveltheim, named anna van ophem, who persuaded him to paint two pictures for the church of her native place--a st. martin on horseback, painted from himself and the horse given him by rubens; and a holy family, for which the girl and her parents were the models. on arriving in italy, he spent some time at venice, studying with great attention the works of titian; after which he visited genoa, and painted many excellent portraits for the nobility, as well as several pictures for the churches and private collections, which gained him great applause. from genoa he went to rome, where he was also much employed, and lived in great style. his portrait of cardinal bentivoglio, painted about this time, is one of his masterpieces, and in every respect an admirable picture; it is now in the palazzo pitti, at florence, hanging near raffaelle's celebrated portrait of leo x. vandyck was known at rome as the _pittore cavalieresco_; his countrymen there being men of low and intemperate habits, he avoided their society, and was thenceforward so greatly annoyed by their criticisms and revilings, that he was obliged to leave rome about , and return to genoa, where he met with a flattering reception, and plentiful encouragement. invited to palermo, he visited that city, and painted the portraits of prince philibert of savoy, the viceroy of sicily, and several distinguished persons, among whom was the celebrated paintress sofonisba anguisciola, then in her d year; but the plague breaking out, he returned to genoa, and thence to his own country. vandyck's return to antwerp. on his return to antwerp, whither his reputation had preceded him, vandyck was speedily employed by various religious societies, and his picture of st. augustine for the church of the augustines in that city, established his reputation among the first painters of his time. he painted other historical pictures, for the principal public edifices at antwerp, brussels, mechlin, and ghent; but acquired greater fame by his portraits, particularly his well known series of the eminent artists of his time, which were engraved by vorstermans, pontius, bolswert, and others. his brilliant reputation at length roused the jealousy of his cotemporaries, many of whom were indefatigable in their intrigues to calumniate his works. in addition to these annoyances, the conduct of the canons of the collegiate church of courtray, for whom he painted an admirable picture of the elevation of the cross, proved too much for his endurance. after he had exerted all his powers to produce a masterpiece of art, the canons, upon viewing the picture, pronounced it a contemptible performance, and the artist a miserable dauber; and vandyck could hardly obtain payment for his work. when the picture had received high commendation from good judges, they became sensible of their error, and requested him to execute two more works; but the indignant artist refused the commission. disgusted with such treatment, vandyck readily accepted an invitation to visit the hague, from frederick, prince of orange, whose portrait he painted, and those of his family, the principal personages of his court, and the foreign ambassadors. vandyck's visit to england. hearing of the great encouragement extended to the arts by charles i., he determined to visit england in . while there, he lodged with his friend and countryman, george geldorp the painter, and expected to be presented to the king; but his hopes not being realized, he visited paris; and meeting no better success there, be returned to his own country, with the intention of remaining there during the rest of his life. charles, however, having seen a portrait by vandyck, of the musician, fic. laniere, director of the music of the king's chapel, requested sir kenelm digby to invite him to return to england. accordingly, in , he arrived a second time at london, and was received by the king in a flattering manner. he was lodged at blackfriars, among the king's artists, where his majesty frequently went to sit for his portrait, as well as to enjoy the society of the painter. the honor of knighthood was conferred upon him in , and the following year he was appointed painter to the king, with an annuity of £ . prosperity now flowed in upon the fleming in abundance, and although he operated with the greatest industry and facility, painting single portraits in one day, he could hardly fulfill all his commissions. naturally fond of display, he kept a splendid establishment, and his sumptuous table was frequented by persons of the highest distinction. he often detained his sitters to dinner, where he had an opportunity to observe more of their peculiar characteristics, and retouched their pictures in the afternoon. notwithstanding his distinguished success, he does not appear to have been satisfied with eminence in portrait painting; and not long after his marriage with maria ruthven, granddaughter of lord gowrie, he went to antwerp with his lady, on a visit to his family and friends, and thence proceeded to paris. the fame which rubens had acquired by his celebrated performances at the luxembourg, rendered vandyck desirous to execute the decorations at the louvre; but on arriving at the french capital, he found the commission disposed of to nicholas poussin. he soon returned to england, and being still desirous of executing some great work, proposed to the king through sir kenelm digby, to decorate the walls of the banqueting house (of which the ceiling was already adorned by rubens), with the history and progress of the order of the garter. the sum demanded was £ , and while the king was treating with him for a less amount, the project was terminated by the death of vandyck, december th, , aged years. he was buried with extraordinary honors in st. paul's cathedral. his high living had brought on the gout during his latter years, and luxury had considerably reduced his fortune, which he endeavored to repair by the study of alchemy. he left property amounting to about £ , . in his private character, vandyck was universally esteemed for the urbanity of his manners, and his generous patronage to all who excelled in any science or art, many of whose portraits he painted gratuitously. william van de velde, the elder. this eminent dutch marine painter was born at leyden, in . he drew everything after nature, and was one of the most correct, spirited, and admirable designers of marine subjects. he made an incredible number of drawings on paper, heightened with india ink, all of them sketched from nature with uncommon elegance and fidelity. his talents recommended him to the notice of the states of holland, and descamps says they furnished him with a small vessel to accompany their fleets, that he might design the different manoeuvres and engagements; that he was present in various sea-fights, in which he fearlessly exposed himself to the most imminent danger, while making his sketches; he was present at the severe battle between the english and dutch fleets, under the command of the duke of york and admiral opdam, in which the ship of the latter, with five hundred men, was blown up, and in the still more memorable engagement in the following year, between the english under the duke of albemarle, and the dutch admiral de ruyter, which lasted three days. it is said that during these engagements he sailed alternately between the fleets, so as to represent minutely every movement of the ships, and the most, material circumstances of the actions with incredible exactness and truth. so intent was he upon his drawing, that he constantly exposed himself to the greatest danger, without the least apparent anxiety. he wrote over the ships their names and those of their commanders; and under his own frail craft _v. velde's gallijodt_, or _myn gallijodt_. van de velde and charles ii. after having executed many capital pictures for the states of holland, van de velde was invited to england by charles ii., who had become acquainted with his talents during his residence in holland. he arrived in london about , well advanced in years, and the king settled upon him a pension of £ per annum until his death, in , as appears from this inscription on his tomb-stone in st. james' church: "mr. william van de velde, senior, late painter of sea-fights to their majesties, king charles ii. and king james, died in ." he was accompanied by his son, who was also taken into the service of the king, as appears from an order of the privy seal, as follows: "charles the second, by the grace of god, &c., to our dear cousin, prince rupert, and the rest of our commissioners for executing the place of lord high admiral of england, greeting. whereas, we have thought fit to allow the salary of £ per annum unto william van de velde the elder, for taking and making draughts of sea-fights; and the like salary of £ per annum unto william van de velde the younger, for putting the said draughts in color for our particular use; our will and pleasure is, and we do hereby authorize and require you to issue your orders for the present and the future establishment of said salaries to the aforesaid william van de velde the elder and william van de velde the younger, to be paid unto them, or either of them, during our pleasure, and for so doing, these our letters shall be your sufficient warrant and discharge. given under our privy-seal, at our palace of westminster, the th day of february, in the th year of our reign." many of the large pictures of sea-fights in england, and doubtless in holland, bearing the signature _w. van de velde_, and generally attributed to the son, were executed by him from the designs of his father. such are the series of twelve naval engagements and sea-ports in the palace at hampton court, though signed like the best works of the younger van de velde; they are dated and . william van de velde the younger. this eminent artist was the son of the preceding, and born at amsterdam in . he had already acquired a distinguished reputation in his native country for his admirable cabinet pictures of marine subjects, when he accompanied his father to england, where his talents not only recommended him to the patronage of the king, but to the principal nobility and personages of his court, for whom he executed many of his most beautiful works. "the palm," says lord orford, "is not less disputed with raffaelle for history, than with van de velde for sea-pieces." he died in . the younger van de velde's works. like his father, the younger van de velde designed everything from nature, and his compositions are distinguished by a more elegant and tasteful arrangement of his objects, than is to be found in the productions of any other painter of marines. his vessels are designed with the greatest accuracy, and from the improvements which had been made in ship-building, they are of a more graceful and pleasing form than those of his predecessors; the cordage and rigging are finished with a delicacy, and at the same time with a freedom almost without example; his small figures are drawn with remarkable correctness, and touched with the greatest spirit. in his calms the sky is sunny, and brilliant, and every object is reflected in the glassy smoothness of the water, with a luminous transparency peculiar to himself. in his fresh breezes and squalls, the swell and curl of the waves is delineated with a truth and fidelity which could only be derived from the most attentive and accurate study of nature; in his storms, tempests, and hurricanes, the tremendous conflict of the elements and the horrors of shipwreck are represented with a truthfulness that strikes the beholder with terror. the works of the younger van de velde are very numerous, and the greater part of them are in england, where houbraken says they were so highly esteemed that they were eagerly sought after in holland, and purchased at high prices to transport to london; so that they are rarely to be met with in his native country. smith, in his catalogue raisonné, vol. vi. and supplement, describes about three hundred and thirty pictures by him, the value of which has increased amazingly, as may be seen by a few examples. the two marines now in the earl of ellesmere's collection, one a view of the entrance to the texel, sold in for £ , now valued at £ , ; the other sold in for £ , now valued at £ . a sea-view, formerly in the collection of sir robert peel, sold in for only £ ; brought in , £ . the departure of charles ii. from holland in , sold in for £ ; it brought recently, at public sale, £ . a view off the coast of holland sold in for £ ; it brought, in sir simon clarke's sale in , £ , . a view on the sea-shore, inches by , sold in for £ , and in for £ . the picture known as _le coup de canon_, sold in for £ , in for only £ , but in it brought , guineas. the drawings, and especially the sketches and studies of the younger van de velde are very numerous, and prove the indefatigable pains he took in designing his vessels, their appurtenances, and the ordonnance of his compositions. his sketches are executed in black lead only; his more finished drawings with the pencil or pen, and shaded with india ink. he executed these with wonderful facility; it is recorded that he was so rapid in his sketching, that he frequently filled a quire of paper in an evening. stanley says that during the years and , about , of his drawings were sold in london at public auction. some of his choicest drawings in india ink brought, at the sale of m. goll de frankenstein at amsterdam, in , and at that of the late baron verstolk de soelen, in the same city in , prices varying from £ up to £ each. he inherited his father's drawings, and all these seem now to be attributed to him. nicholas poussin. this distinguished french painter was born at andely, in normandy, in . he was descended from a noble family, originally of soissons, whose fortunes had been ruined in the disastrous civil wars in the time of charles ix. and henry iii. his father, jean poussin, after serving in the army of henry iv., settled on a small paternal inheritance at andely, where he cultivated a taste for literature and the sciences, and instructed his son in the same. young poussin had already distinguished himself for the solidity of his judgment, and his progress in letters, when a natural fondness for drawing, developed by an acquaintance he had formed with quintin varin, an artist of some eminence, induced him to solict the permission of his father to adopt painting as a profession. poussin's first celebrity. in , at the age of eighteen, poussin went to paris in search of improvement, where he devoted himself to studying the best works to which he could gain access (for the fine arts were then at a low ebb in france) with the greatest assiduity. in , according to felibien, the jesuits celebrated the canonization of the founder of their order, ignatius loyola and st. francis xavier, on which occasion they determined to display a series of pictures by the first artists in paris, representing the miracles performed by their patron saints. of these, poussin painted six in distemper, in an incredibly short space of time, and when the exhibition came off, although he had been obliged to neglect detail, his pictures excited the greatest admiration on account of the grandeur of conception, and the elegance of design displayed in them. they obtained the preference over all the others, and brought poussin immediately into notice. poussin's first visit to rome. while poussin resided at paris, his talents, and the endowments of his mind procured him the esteem of several men of letters and distinction, among whom was the cav. marino, the celebrated italian poet, who happened then to be in paris. marino strongly urged him to accompany him to rome, an invitation which poussin would gladly have accepted, had he not then been engaged in some commissions of importance, which having completed, he set out for rome in , where he was warmly received by his friend marino, who introduced him to the cardinal barberini. he however derived little advantage from this favorable notice at the time, as the cardinal soon after left rome on his legation to france and spain, and the cav. marino died about the same time. poussin now found himself a stranger, friendless and unknown in the eternal city, in very embarrassed circumstances; but he consoled himself with the thought that his wants were few, that he was in the very place where he had long sighed to be, surrounded by the glorious works of ancient and modern art, and that he should have abundant leisure to study. therefore, though he could scarcely supply his necessities by the disposal of his works, and was often compelled to sell them for the most paltry prices, his courage did not fail him, but rather stimulated him to the greatest assiduity to perfect himself in the art. he lodged in the same house with francis du quesnoy, called il fiammingo, the state of whose finances at that time were not more flourishing than his own, and he lived in habits of intimacy and strict friendship with that eminent sculptor, with whom he explored, studied, and modeled the most celebrated antique statues and bas-reliefs, particularly the meleager in the vatican, from which he derived his rules of proportion. at first he copied several of the works of titian, and improved his style of coloring, but he afterwards contemplated the works of raffaelle with an enthusiasm bordering on adoration. the admirable expression and purity of the works of domenichino, rendered them particularly interesting to him, and he used to regard his communion of st. jerome as the second picture at rome, the transfiguration by raffaelle being the first. poussin's distress at rome. while poussin was thus pursuing his studies at rome, he was left by the death of his friend marino, in a state of extreme distress, and was obliged to dispose of his paintings at the most paltry prices, to procure the necessaries of life. filibien says that he sold the two fine battle-pieces which were afterwards in the collection of the duke de noailles for seven crowns each, and a picture of a prophet for eight livres. his celebrated picture of "the ark of god among the philistines" brought him but sixty crowns; the original purchaser sold it not long afterwards to the duc de richelieu for one thousand crowns! poussin's success at rome. a brighter day now dawned upon poussin. what had happened to him, which would have been regarded by most young artists as the greatest misfortune and sunk them in despondency and ruin, proved of the greatest advantage to him. the cardinal barberini having returned to rome, gave him some commissions, which he executed in such an admirable manner as at once established his reputation among those of the greatest artists of the age. the first work he executed for his patron was his celebrated picture of the death of germanicus, which lanzi pronounces one of his finest productions. he next painted the taking of jerusalem by titus. these works gave the cardinal so much satisfaction that he procured for him the commission to paint a large picture of the martyrdom of st. erasmus, for st. peter's, now in the pontifical palace at monte cavallo. these works procured him the friendship and patronage of the cav. del pozzo, for whom he painted his first set of pictures, representing the seven sacraments, now in the collection of the duke of rutland. he afterwards painted another set of the same, with some variations, for m. de chantelou, formerly in the orleans collection, now in that of the marquis of stafford. poussin's invitation to paris. in , poussin was invited to paris by louis xiii., who honored him on this occasion with the following autograph letter, which was an extraordinary and unusual homage to art: "dear and well beloved, "some of our especial servants having made a report to us of the reputation which you have acquired, and the rank which you hold among the best and most famous painters of italy; and we being desirous, in imitation of our predecessors, to contribute, as much as lies in us, to the ornament and decoration of our royal houses, by fixing around us those who excel in the arts, and whose attainments in them have attracted notice in the places where those arts are most cherished, do therefore write you this letter, to acquaint you that we have chosen and appointed you to be one of our painters in ordinary, and that, henceforward, we will employ you in that capacity. to this effect our intention is, that on the receipt of this present, you shall dispose yourself to come hither, where the services you perform shall meet with as much consideration as do your merits and your works, in the place where you now reside. by our order, given to m. de noyers, you will learn more particularly the favor we have determined to shew you. we will add nothing to this present, but to pray god to have you in his holy keeping. "given at fontainebleau, jan. , ." poussin accepted the invitation with great reluctance, at the earnest solicitation of his friends. on his arrival at paris he was received with marked distinction, appointed principal painter to the king, with a pension, and accommodated with apartments in the tuileries. he was commissioned to paint an altar-piece for the chapel of st. germain en laie, where he produced his admirable work of the last supper, and was engaged to decorate the gallery of the louvre with the labors of hercules. he had already prepared the designs and some of the cartoons for these works, when he was assailed by the machinations of simon vouet and his adherents; and even the landscape painter fouquieres, jealous of his fame, presumed to criticise his works and detract from their merit. poussin's return to rome. poussin, naturally of a peaceful turn of mind, fond of retirement and the society of a few select literary friends, was disgusted with the ostentation of the court and the cabals by which he was surrounded; he secretly sighed for the quiet felicity he had left at rome, and resolved to return thither without delay. for this purpose, he solicited and obtained leave of the king to visit italy and settle his affairs, and fetch his wife; but when he had once crossed the alps, no inducement could prevail on him to revisit his native country, or even to leave rome. during a period of twenty-three years after his return to rome from paris, he lived a quiet, unostentatious life, and executed a great number of pictures, which decorate the principal cabinets of europe, and will ever be regarded as among their most valuable ornaments. he confined himself mostly to works of the large easel size, which were eagerly sought after, and usually disposed of as soon as they were executed. he never made any words about the price of his pictures, but asked a modest and moderate price, which he always marked upon the back of his canvas, and which was invariably paid. many of his works were sent to paris, where they were valued next to the productions of raffaelle. he was plain and unassuming in his manners, very frugal in his living, yet so liberal and generous that at his death he left an estate of only , livres--about $ , . felibien relates an anecdote which pleasingly illustrates his simple and unostentatious mode of life. the cardinal mancini was accustomed to visit his studio frequently, and on one occasion, having staid later than usual, poussin lighted him to the door, at which the prelate observed, "i pity you, monsieur poussin, that you have not one servant." "and i," replied the painter, "pity your excellency much more, that you are obliged to keep so many." sir joshua reynolds' critique on poussin. "the favorite subjects of poussin were ancient fables; and no painter was ever better qualified to paint such subjects, not only from his being eminently skilled in the knowledge of the ceremonies, customs, and habits of the ancients, but from his being so well acquainted with the different characters which those who invented them gave to their allegorical figures. though rubens has shown great fancy in his satyrs, silenuses, and fauns, yet they are not that distinct, separate class of beings which is carefully exhibited by the ancients, and by poussin. certainly, when such subjects of antiquity are represented, nothing should remind us of modern times. the mind is thrown back into antiquity, and nothing ought to be introduced that may tend to awaken it from the illusion. "poussin seemed to think that the style and the language in which such stories are told is not the worse for preserving some relish of the old way of painting, which seemed to give a general uniformity to the whole, so that the mind was thrown back into antiquity, not only by the subject, but also by the execution. "if poussin, in imitation of the ancients, represents apollo driving his chariot out of the sea, by way of representing the sun rising, if he personifies lakes and rivers, it is noways offensive in him, but seems perfectly of a piece with the general air of the picture. on the contrary, if the figures which people his pictures had a modern air and countenance, if they appeared like our countrymen, if the draperies were like cloth or silk of our manufacture, if the landscape had the appearance of a modern one, how ridiculous would apollo appear instead of the sun, and an old man or a nymph with an urn to represent a river or lake?" he also says, in another place, that "it may be doubted whether any alteration of what is considered defective in his works, would not destroy the effect of the whole." poussin's views of his art. poussin, in his directions to artists who came to study at rome, used to say that "the remains of antiquity afforded him instruction that he could not expect from masters;" and in one of his letters to m. de chantelou, he observes that "he had applied to painting the theory which the greeks had introduced into their music--the dorian for the grave and the serious; the phrygian for the vehement and the passionate; the lydian for the soft and the tender; and the ionian for the riotous festivity of his bacchanalians." he was accustomed to say "that a particular attention to coloring was an obstacle to the student in his progress to the great end and design of the art; and that he who attaches himself to this principal end, will acquire by practice a reasonably good method of coloring." he well knew that splendor of coloring and brilliancy of tints would ill accord with the solidity and simplicity of effect so essential to heroic subjects, and that the sublime and majestic would be degraded by a union with the florid and the gay. the elevation of his mind is conspicuous in all his works. he was attentive to vary his style and the tone of his color, distinguishing them by a finer and more delicate touch, a tint more cheerful or austere, a site more cultivated or wild, according to the character of his subject and the impression he designed to make; so that we are not less impressed with the beauty and grandeur of his scenery, than with the varied, appropriate, and dignified characteristics which distinguish his works. poussin's works. in smith's catalogue raisonné may be found a descriptive account of upwards of three hundred and fifty of the works of this great artist, in many instances tracing the history from the time they were painted, the names of the present possessors, and the principal artists by whom they have been engraved, together with many interesting particulars of the life of the painter. there are eight of his pictures in the english national gallery, fourteen in the dulwich gallery, and many in the possession of the nobility of england. the prices paid for those in the national gallery vary from to guineas. marino and poussin. marino was born at naples. some political disturbances, in which he and his family had taken part, obliged him to quit that kingdom, and he took refuge successively in several of the petty courts of italy. his talent for satire involved him in various literary disputes, as well as some political quarrels, and he never resided long in one place, until mary of medicis invited him to the court of france, where he passed much of his life, and where he wrote most of his poems, which, though licentious both in matter and style, contain numerous beauties, and are full of classical imagery. marino gave poussin an apartment in his house at rome, and as his own health was at that time extremely deranged, he loved to have poussin by the side of his couch, where he drew or painted, while marino read aloud to him from some latin or italian author, or from his own poems, which poussin illustrated by beautiful drawings, most of which it is to be feared are lost; although it is believed that there is still existing in the massimi library, a copy of the adonis in marino's hand-writing, with poussin's drawings interleaved. to this kind of study which he pursued with marino, may perhaps be attributed poussin's predilection for compositions wherein nymphs, and fairies, and bacchanals are the subjects--compositions in which he greatly excelled. poussin romanized. while the court of france was at variance with the holy see, considerable acrimony existed among his holiness's troops against all frenchmen; consequently, wherever they met them in rome, they instantly attacked them with sticks and stones, and sometimes with even more formidable weapons. it happened one day that poussin and three or four of his countrymen, returning from a drawing excursion, met at the quattro fontane near monte cavallo, a company of soldiers, who seeing them dressed in the french costume, instantly attacked them. they all fled but poussin, who was surrounded, and received a cut from a sabre between the first and second finger. passeri, who relates the anecdote, says that the sword turned, otherwise "a great misfortune must have happened both to him and to painting." not daunted, however, he fought under the shelter of his portfolio, throwing stones as he retreated, till being recognized by some romans who took his part, he effected his escape to his lodgings. from that day he put on the roman dress, adopted the roman way of living, and became so much a roman, that he considered the city as his true home. poussin's habits of study. poussin not only studied every vestige of antiquity at rome and in its environs, with the greatest assiduity while young, but he followed this practice through life. it was his delight to spend every hour he could spare at the different villas in the neighborhood of rome, where, besides the most beautiful remains of antiquity, he enjoyed the unrivalled landscape which surrounds that city, so much dignified by the noble works of ancient days, that every hill is classical, the very trees have a poetic air, and everything combines to excite in the soul a kind of dreaming rapture from which it would not be awakened, and which those who have not felt it can scarcely understand. he restored the antique temples, and made plans and accurate drawings of the fragments of ancient rome; and there are few of his pictures, where the subject admits of it, in which we may not trace the buildings, both of the ancient and the modern city. in the beautiful landscape of the death of eurydice, the bridge and castle of st. angelo, and the tower, commonly called that of nero, form the middle ground of the picture. the castle of st. angelo appears again in one of his pictures of the exposing of moses; and the pyramid of caius cestius, the pantheon, the ruins of the forum, and the walls of rome, may be recognised in the finding of moses, and several others of his remarkable pictures. "i have often admired," said vigneul de marville, who knew him at a late period of his life, "the love he had for his art. old as he was, i frequently saw him among the ruins of ancient rome, out in the campagna, or along the banks of the tyber, sketching a scene which had pleased him; and i often met him with his handkerchief full of stones, moss, or flowers, which he carried home, that he might copy them exactly from nature. one day i asked him, how he had attained to such a degree of perfection as to have gained so high a rank among the great painters of italy? he answered, '_i have neglected nothing!_'" poussin's old age. the genius of poussin seems to have gained vigor with age. nearly his last works, which were begun in , and sent to paris , were the four pictures, allegorical of the seasons, which he painted for the duc de richelieu. he chose the terrestrial paradise, in all the freshness of creation, to designate spring. the beautiful story of boaz and ruth formed the subject of summer. autumn was aptly pictured, in the two israelites bearing the bunch of grapes from the promised land. but the masterpiece was winter, represented in the deluge. this picture has been, perhaps, the most praised of all poussin's works. a narrow space, and a very few persons have sufficed him for this powerful representation of that great catastrophe. the sun's disc is darkened with clouds; the lightning shoots in forked flashes through the air: nothing but the roofs of the highest houses are visible above the distant water upon which the ark floats, on a level with the highest mountains. nearer, where the waters, pent in by rocks, form a cataract, a boat is forced down the fall, and the wretches who had sought safety in it are perishing: but the most pathetic incident is brought close to the spectator. a mother in a boat is holding up her infant to its father, who, though upon a high rock, is evidently not out of reach of the water, and is only protracting life a very little. poussin's last work and death. the long and honorable race of poussin was now nearly run. early in the following year, , he was slightly affected by palsy, and the only picture of figures that he painted afterwards was the samaritan woman at the well, which he sent to m. de chantelou, with a note, in which he says, "this is my last work; i have already one foot in the grave." shortly afterwards he wrote the following letter to m. felibien: "i could not answer the letter which your brother, m. le prieur de st. clementin, forwarded to me, a few days after his arrival in this city, sooner, my usual infirmities being increased by a very troublesome cold, which continues and annoys me very much. i must now thank you not only for your remembrance, but for the kindness you have done me, by not reminding the prince of the wish he once expressed to possess some of my works. it is too late for him to be well served; i am become too infirm, and the palsy hinders me in working, so that i have given up the pencil for some time, and think only of preparing for death, which i feel bodily upon me. it is all over with me." he expired shortly afterwards, aged years. poussin's ideas of painting. "painting is an imitation by means of lines and colors, on some superfices, of everything that can be seen under the sun; its end is to please. _principles that every man capable of reasoning may learn:_--there can be nothing represented, without light, without form, without color, without distance, without an instrument, or medium. _things which are not to be learned, and which make an essential part of painting._ first, the subject must be noble. it should have received no quality from the mere workmen; and to allow scope to the painter to display his powers, he should choose it capable of receiving the most excellent form. he must begin by composition, then ornament, propriety, beauty, grace, vivacity, probability, and judgment, in each and all. these last belong solely to the painter, and cannot be taught. the nine are the golden bough of virgil, which no man can find or gather, if his fate do not lead him to it." poussin and the nobleman. a person of rank who dabbled in painting for his amusement, having one day shown poussin one of his performances, and asked his opinion of its merits, the latter replied, "you only want a little poverty, sir, to make a good painter." poussin and mengs. the admirers of mengs, jealous of poussin's title of "the painter of philosophers," conferred on him the antithetical one of "the philosopher of painters." though it cannot be denied that mengs' writings and his pictures are learned, yet few artists have encountered such a storm of criticism. poussin and domenichino. next to correctness of drawing and dignity of conception, poussin valued expression in painting. he ranked domenichino next to raffaelle for this quality, and not long after his arrival at rome, he set about copying the flagellation of st. andrew, painted by that master in the church of s. gregorio, in competition with guido, whose martyrdom of that saint is on the opposite side of the same church. poussin found all the students in rome busily copying the guido, which, though a most beautiful work, lacks the energy and expression which distinguish the flagellation; but he was too sure of his object to be led away by the crowd. according to felibien, domenichino, who then resided at rome, in a very delicate state of health, having heard that a young frenchman was making a careful study of his picture, caused himself to be conveyed in his chair to the church, where he conversed some time with poussin, without making himself known; charmed with his talents and highly cultivated mind, he invited him to his house, and from that time poussin enjoyed his friendship and profited by his advice, till that illustrious painter went to naples, to paint the chapel of st. januarius. poussin and salvator rosa. among the strolling parties of monks and friars, cardinals and prelates, roman princesses and english peers, spanish grandees and french cavaliers which crowded the _pincio_, towards the latter end of the seventeenth century, there appeared two groups, which may have recalled those of the portico or the academy, and which never failed to interest and fix the attention of the beholders. the leader of one of these singular parties was the venerable niccolo poussin! the air of antiquity which breathed over all his works seemed to have infected even his person and his features; and his cold, sedate, and passionless countenance, his measured pace and sober deportment, spoke that phlegmatic temperament and regulated feeling, which had led him to study monuments rather than men, and to declare that the result of all his experience was "to teach him to live well with all persons." soberly clad, and sagely accompanied by some learned antiquary or pious churchman, and by a few of his deferential disciples, he gave out his trite axioms in measured phrase and emphatic accent, lectured rather than conversed, and appeared like one of the peripatetic teachers of the last days of athenian pedantry and pretension. in striking contrast to these academic figures, which looked like their own "grandsires cut in alabaster," appeared, unremittingly, on the pincio, after sun-set, a group of a different stamp and character, led on by one who, in his flashing eye, mobile brow, and rapid movement, all fire, feeling, and perception--was the very personification of genius itself. this group consisted of salvator rosa, gallantly if not splendidly habited, and a motley gathering of the learned and witty, the gay and the grave, who surrounded him. he was constantly accompanied in these walks on the pincio by the most eminent virtuosi, poets, musicians, and cavaliers in rome; all anxious to draw him out on a variety of subjects, when air, exercise, the desire of pleasing, and the consciousness of success, had wound him up to his highest pitch of excitement; while many who could not appreciate, and some who did not approve, were still anxious to be seen in his train, merely that they might have to boast "_nos quoque_." from the pincio, salvator rosa was generally accompanied home by the most distinguished persons, both for talent and rank; and while the frugal poussin was lighting out some reverend prelate or antiquarian with one sorry taper, salvator, the prodigal salvator, was passing the evening in his elegant gallery, in the midst of princes, nobles, and men of wit and science, where he made new claims on their admiration, both as an artist and as an _improvisatore_; for till within a few years of his death he continued to recite his own poetry, and sing his own compositions to the harpsichord or lute. poussin, angelo, and raffaelle compared. poussin is, in the strict sense of the word, an historical painter. michael angelo is too intent on the sublime, too much occupied with the effect of the whole, to tell a common history. his conceptions are epic, and his persons, and his colors, have as little to do with ordinary life, as the violent action of his actors have resemblance to the usually indolent state of ordinary men. raffaelle's figures interest so much in themselves, that they make us forget that they are only part of a history. we follow them eagerly, as we do the personages of a drama; we grieve, we hope, we despair, we rejoice with them. poussin's figures, on the contrary, tell their story; we feel not the intimate acquaintance with themselves, that we do with the creations of raffaelle. his cicero would thunder in the forum and dissipate a conspiracy, and we should take leave of him with respect at the end of the scene; but with raffaelle's we should feel in haste to quit the tumult, and retire with him to his tusculum, and learn to love the virtues, and almost to cherish the weaknesses of such a man. poussin has shown that grace and expression may be independent of what is commonly called beauty. his women have none of that soft, easy, and attractive air, which many other painters have found the secret of imparting, not only to their venuses and graces, but to their madonnas and saints. his beauties are austere and dignified. minerva and the muses appear to have been his models, rather than the inhabitants of mount cithæron. hence subjects of action are more suited to him than those of repose.--_graham's life of poussin_. rembrandt. paul rembrandt van rhyn, one of the most eminent painters and engravers of the dutch school, was the son of a miller, and was born in , at a small village on the banks of the rhine, between leyderdorp and leyden, whence he was called rembrandt van rhyn, though his family name was gerretz. it is said that his father, being in easy circumstances, intended him for one of the learned professions, but was induced by rembrandt's passion for the art to allow him to follow his inclination. he entered the school of j. van zwaanenberg at amsterdam, where he continued three years, and made such surprising progress as astonished his instructor. having learned from zwaanenberg all he was capable of imparting, he next studied about six months with peter lastmann, and afterwards for a short time with jacob pinas, from whom it is said he acquired that taste for strong contrasts of light and shadow, for which his works are so remarkable. he was, however, more indebted for his best improvement to the vivacity of his own genius, and an attentive study of nature, than to any information he derived from his instructors. on returning home, he fitted up an attic room, with a skylight, in his father's mill, for a studio, where he probably pursued his labors for several years, as he did not remove to amsterdam till . here he studied the grotesque figure of the dutch boor, or the rotund contour of the bar-maid of an ale house, with as much precision as the great artists of italy have imitated the apollo belvidere, or the medicean venus. he was exceedingly ignorant, and it is said that he could scarcely read. he was of a wayward and eccentric disposition, and sought for recreation among the lowest orders of the people, in the amusements of the ale-house, contracting habits which continued through life; even when in prosperous circumstances, he manifested no disposition to associate with more refined and intellectual society. it will readily be perceived that his habits, disposition, and studies could not conduct him to the noble conceptions of raffaelle, but rather to an exact imitation of the lowest order of nature, with which he delighted to be surrounded. the life of rembrandt is much involved in fable, and in order to form a just estimate of his powers, it is necessary to take these things into consideration. it is said by some writers, that, had he studied the antique, he would have reached the very perfection of the art, but nieuwenhuys, in his review of the lives and works of the most eminent painters of the dutch and flemish schools, in smith's catalogue raisonné, vol xii. and supplement, says that he was by no means deficient on that point. "for it is known that he purchased, at a high price, casts from the antique marbles, paintings, drawings, and engravings by the most excellent italian masters, to assist him in his studies, and which are mentioned in the inventory of his goods when seized for debt." he then goes on to give a list of the works so seized. be this as it may he certainly never derived any advantage from them. he had collected a great variety of old armor, sabres, flags, and fantastical vestments, ironically terming them his antiques, and frequently introducing them into his pictures. rembrandt had already brought both the arts of painting and engraving to very great perfection (in his own way), when a slight incident led him to fame and fortune. he was induced by a friend to take one of his choicest pictures to a picture-dealer at the hague, who, being charmed with the performance, instantly gave him a hundred florins for it, and treated him with great respect. this occurrence served to convince the public of his merit, and contributed to make the artist sensible of his own abilities. in he went to amsterdam, where he married a handsome peasant girl (frequently copied in his works), and settled there for life. his paintings were soon in extraordinary demand, and his fame spread far and wide; pupils flocked to his studio, and he received for the instruction of each a hundred florins a year. he was so excessively avaricious that he soon abandoned his former careful and finished style, for a rapid execution; also frequently retouched the pictures of his best pupils, and sold them as his own. his deceits in dating several of his etchings at venice, to make them more saleable, led some of his biographers to believe that he visited italy, and resided at venice in and ; but it has been satisfactorily proved that he never left holland, though he constantly threatened to do so, in order to increase the sale of his works. as early as , he applied himself zealously to etching, and soon acquired great perfection in the art. his etchings were esteemed as highly as his paintings, and he had recourse to several artifices to raise their price and increase their sales. for example, he sold impressions from the unfinished plates, then finished them, and after having used them, made some slight alterations, and thus sold the same works three or four times; producing what connoisseurs term _variations_ in prints. by these practices, and his parsimonious manner of living, rembrandt amassed a large fortune. rembrandt's works. his works are numerous, and are dispersed in various public and private collections of europe; and when they are offered for sale they command enormous prices. there are eight of his pictures in the english national gallery; one of these, the woman taken in adultery, formerly in the orleans collection, sold for £ . in smith's catalogue raisonné is a description of six hundred and forty pictures by him, the public and private galleries and collections in which they were located at the time of the publication of the work, together with a copious list of his drawings and etchings, and much other interesting information. he left many studies, sketches, and drawings, executed in a charming style, which are now scarce and valuable. rembrandt as an engraver. rembrandt holds a distinguished rank among the engravers of his country; he established a more important epoch in this art than any other master. he was indebted entirely to his own genius for the invention of a process which has thrown an indescribable charm over his plates. they are partly etched, frequently much assisted by the dry point, and occasionally, though rarely, finished with the graver; evincing the most extraordinary facility of hand, and displaying the most consummate knowledge of light and shadow. his free and playful point sports in picturesque disorder, producing the most surprising and enchanting effects, as if by accident; yet an examination will show that his motions are always regulated by a profound knowledge of the principles of light and shadow. his most admirable productions in both arts are his portraits, which are executed with unexampled expression and skill. for a full description of his prints, the reader is referred to bartsch's peintre graveur. his prints are very numerous, yet they command very high prices. the largest collection of his prints known, was made by m. de burgy at the hague, who died in . this collection contained prints with their variations, namely, portraits, histories, figures, and landscapes. there are no less than portraits of rembrandt by himself. anecdote of schwarts. sandrart relates the following anecdote of christopher schwarts, a famous german painter, which, if true, redounds more to his ingenuity than to his credit. having been engaged to paint the ceiling of the town hall at munich by the day, his love of dissipation induced him to neglect his work, so that the magistrates and overseers of the work were frequently obliged to hunt him out at the cabaret. as he could no longer drink in quiet, he stuffed an image of himself, left the legs hanging down between the staging where he was accustomed to work, and sent one of his boon companions to move the image a little two or three times a day, and to take it away at noon and night. by means of this deception, he drank without the least disturbance a whole fortnight together, the inn-keeper being privy to the plot. the officers came in twice a day to look after him, and seeing the well known stockings and shoes which he was accustomed to wear, suspected nothing wrong, and went their way, greatly extolling their own convert, as the most industrious and conscientious painter in the world. jacques callot. this eminent french engraver was born at nancy, in lorraine, in . he was the son of jean callot, a gentleman of noble family, who intended him for a very different profession, and endeavored to restrain his natural passion for art; but when he was twelve years old, he left his home without money or resources, joined a company of wandering bohemians, and found his way to florence, where some officer of the court, discovering his inclination for drawing, placed him under cantagallina. after passing some time at florence, he went to rome, where he was recognized by some friends of his family, who persuaded him to return to his parents. meeting with continual opposition, he again absconded, but was followed by his brother to turin, and taken back to nancy. his parents, at length finding his love of art too firmly implanted to be eradicated, concluded to allow him to follow the bent of his genius, and they sent him to rome in the suite of the envoy from the duke of lorraine to the pope. here he studied with the greatest assiduity, and soon distinguished himself as a very skillful engraver. from rome he went to florence, where his talents recommended him to the patronage of the grand duke cosmo ii., on whose death he returned to nancy, where he was liberally patronized by henry, duke of lorraine. when misfortune overtook that prince, he went to paris, whither his reputation had preceded him, where he was employed by louis xiii. to engrave the successes of the french arms, particularly the siege of the isle de ré, in sixteen sheets; the siege of rochelle, do.; and the siege of breda, in eight sheets. his prints are very numerous, and are highly esteemed; heineken gives a full list of his prints, amounting to over fifteen hundred! the fertility of his invention and the facility of his hand were wonderful; yet his prints are accurately designed. he frequently made several drawings for the same plate before he was satisfied. watelet says that he saw four different drawings by him for the celebrated temptation of st. anthony. his drawings are also greatly admired and highly prized. callot's patriotism. when cardinal richelieu desired callot to design and engrave a set of plates descriptive of the siege and fall of his native town, he promptly refused; and when the cardinal peremptorily insisted that he should do it, he replied, "my lord, if you continue to urge me, i will cut off the thumb of my right hand before your face, for i never will consent to perpetuate the calamity and disgrace of my sovereign and protector." ingenuity of artists. pliny asserts that an ingenious artist wrote the whole of the iliad on so small a piece of parchment that it might be enclosed within the compass of a nut-shell. cicero also records the same thing. this doubtless might be done on a strip of thin parchment, and rolling it compactly. heylin, in his life of charles i., says that in queen elizabeth's time, a person wrote the ten commandments, the creed, the pater noster, the queen's name, and the date, within the compass of a penny, which he presented to her majesty, together with a pair of spectacles of such an artificial make, that by their help she plainly discerned every letter. one francis almonus wrote the creed, and the first fourteen verses of the gospel of st. john, on a piece of parchment no larger than a penny. in the library of st. john's college, oxford, is a picture of charles i. done with a pen, the lines of which contain all the psalms, written in a legible hand. "at halston, in shropshire, the seat of the myttons, is preserved a carving much resembling that mentioned by walpole in his anecdotes of painting, vol. ii., p. . it is the portrait of charles i., full-faced, cut on a peach-stone; above, is a crown; his face, and clothes which are of a vandyck dress are painted; on the reverse is an eagle transfixed with an arrow, and round it is this motto: _i feathered this arrow._ the whole is most admirably executed, and is set in gold, with a crystal on each side. it probably was the work of nicholas bryot, a great graver of the mint in the time of charles i."--_pennant's wales._ in the royal museum at copenhagen is a common cherry-stone, on the surface of which are cut two hundred and twenty heads! a hint to jewelers. "when the haughty and able pope innocent iii. caused cardinal langton to be elected archbishop of canterbury in despite of king john, and compelled him to submit, to appease the latter and to admonish him, his holiness presented him with four golden rings, set with precious stones, at the same time taking care to inform him of the many mysteries implied in them. his holiness begged of him (king john)," says hume, "to consider seriously the _form_ of the rings, their _number_, their _matter_, and their _color_. their _form_, he said, shadowed out eternity, which had neither beginning nor end; and he ought thence to learn his duty of aspiring from earthly objects to heavenly, from things temporal to things eternal. the _number_, from being a square, denoted steadiness of mind, not to be subverted either by adversity or prosperity, fixed forever on the firm base of the four cardinal virtues. _gold_, which is the matter, being the most precious of the metals, signified wisdom, which is the most precious of all the accomplishments, and justly preferred by solomon to riches, power, and all exterior attainments. the _blue color_ of the sapphire represented faith; the _verdure_ of the emerald, hope; the _redness_ of the ruby, charity; and the _splendor_ of the topaz, good works." jewelers, who usually deal so little in sentiment in their works, may learn from this ingenious allegory the advantage of calling up the wonder-working aid of fancy, in forming their combinations of precious things. curious paintings. in the cathedral at worms, over the altar, is a very old painting, in which the virgin is represented throwing the infant jesus into the hopper of a mill; while from the other side he issues, changed into wafers or little morsels of bread, which the priests are administering to the people. mathison, in his letters, thus describes a picture in a church at constance, called the conception of the holy virgin. "an old man lies on a cloud, whence he darts a vast beam, which passes through a dove hovering just below; at the end of the beam appears a large transparent egg, in which egg is seen a child in swaddling clothes, with a glory round it; mary sits leaning in an arm-chair and opens her mouth to receive the egg!" which are the most profane--these pictures, or the venus anadyomene of apelles, the venus of titian, and the leda of correggio? the oldest oil painting extant. "the oldest oil painting now in existence, is believed to be one of the madonna and infant jesus in her arms, with an eastern style of countenance. it is marked dccclxxxvi. ( ). this singular and valuable painting formed part of the treasures of art in the old palace of the florentine republic, and was purchased by the director bencivenni from a broker in the street, for a few livres." the above is found quoted in many books, in proof that oil painting was known long before the time of the van eycks; but all these old _supposed_ oil paintings have been proved by chemical analysis to have been painted in distemper. see vol. ii., p. , of this work. curious representations of the harpies. homer represents the harpies as the rapacious goddesses of the storms, residing near the erinnyes, or the ocean, before the jaws of hell. if any person was so long absent from home that it was not known what had become of him, and he was supposed to be dead, it was commonly said, "the harpies have carried him off." hesiod represents them as young virgins of great beauty. the later poets and artists vied with each other in depicting them under the most hideous forms; they commonly represented them as winged monsters, having the face of a woman and the body of a vulture, with their feet and fingers armed with sharp claws. spanheim, in his work, gives three representations of the harpies, taken from ancient coins and works of art; they have female heads, with the bodies and claws of birds of prey; the first has a coarse female face, the second a beautiful feminine head, and two breasts, and the third a visage ornamented with wreaths and a head-dress. there are various other representations of them, one of the most remarkable of which is a monster with a human head and the body of a vampire bat. adrian brower. this extraordinary painter was born at haerlem, in . his parents were extremely poor, and his mother sold to the peasants bonnets and handkerchiefs, which the young adrian painted with flowers and birds. these attempts were noticed by francis hals, a distinguished painter of haerlem, who offered to take the young artist into his school--which proposal was gladly accepted. hals, on discovering his superior genius, separated him from all his companions, and locked him up in a garret, that he might profit by his talents. the pictures of brower sold readily at high prices, but the avaricious hals treated him with increased severity, lest he should become acquainted with the value of his talents, and leave him. this cruelty excited the pity of adrian van ostade, then a pupil of hals; and he found an opportunity of advising brower to make his escape, which the latter effected, and fled to amsterdam. soon after arriving in that city, he painted a picture of boors fighting, which he gave to the landlord of the inn where he lodged, and requested him to sell it. the host soon returned with one hundred ducats, which he had received for the work. the artist was amazed at such a result of his labors, but instead of exerting his wonderful talents, he plunged into a course of dissipation. this natural propensity to alternate work and indulgence marked his whole life, and involved him in many extraordinary adventures. brower, the duke d'aremberg, and rubens. when the states-general were at war with spain, brower started on a visit to antwerp, whither his reputation had already proceeded him. omitting to provide himself with a passport, he was arrested as a spy, and confined in the citadel, where the duke d'aremberg was imprisoned. that nobleman lived in friendship with rubens, who often visited him in his confinement; and the duke, having observed the genius of brower, desired rubens to bring a palette and pencils, which he gave to brower, and the latter soon produced a representation of soldiers playing at cards, which he designed from a group he had seen from his prison window. the duke showed the picture to rubens, who immediately exclaimed that it was by the celebrated brower, whose pictures he often admired; and he offered the duke six hundred guilders for the work, but the latter refused to part with it, and presented the artist with a much larger sum. rubens lost no time in procuring his liberty, which he did by becoming his surety, took him into his own house, and treated him with the greatest kindness. death of brower. brower did not continue long in the hospitable mansion of rubens, whose refined and elegant manners, love of literature, and domestic happiness were less congenial to this erratic genius than the revels of his pot-companions. brower soon became weary of his situation, and returned to his vicious habits, to which he soon fell a victim in , at the early age of years. he died in the public hospital at antwerp, and was buried in an obscure manner; but when rubens knew it, he had the body reinterred, with funeral pomp, in the church of the carmelites; and he intended also to have erected a superb monument to his memory, had he lived to see it executed; though sandrart says there was a magnificent one over his tomb, with an epitaph to perpetuate his honor. brower's works. the subjects of brower were of the lowest order, representing the frolics of his pot companions; but his expression is so lively and characteristic, his coloring so transparent and brilliant, and the passions and movements of his figures are so admirably expressed, that his works have justly elicited the applause of the world. they are highly valued, and in consequence of his irregular life, are exceedingly scarce. brower also etched a few plates in a very spirited style. rosa da tivoli. the name of this artist was philip roos, and he was born at frankfort in . he early showed a passion for painting, and exhibited such extraordinary talents that the landgrave of hesse took him under his protection, and sent him to italy with a pension sufficient for his support. to facilitate his studies, he established himself at tivoli (whence his name), where he kept a kind of menagerie, and on account of the number and variety of the animals, his house was called _noah's ark_. rosa da tivoli's works. rosa da tivoli's pictures usually represent pastoral subjects, with herdsmen and cattle, or shepherds with sheep and goats, which he frequently painted as large as life. he designed everything from nature, not only his animals, but the sites of his landscapes, ruins, buildings, rocks, precipices, rivers, etc. his groups are composed with great judgment and taste, and his landscapes, backgrounds, skies, and distances are treated in a masterly style. his cattle and animals, in particular, are designed with wonderful truth and spirit; his coloring is full of force, his lights and shadows are distributed with judgment and his touch is remarkably firm and spirited. rosa da tivoli's facility of execution. rosa da tivoli acquired a wonderful facility in design and execution, for which reason he was named _mercurius_ by the bentvogel society. a remarkable instance of his powers is recorded by c. le blond, then a student at rome. "it happened one day," says he, "that several young artists and myself were occupied in designing from the bassi-relievi of the arch of titus, when roos passing by, was particularly struck with some picturesque object which caught his attention, and he requested one of the students to accommodate him with a crayon and paper. what was our surprise, when in half an hour he produced an admirable drawing, finished with accuracy and spirit." it is also related that the imperial ambassador, count martinez, laid a wager with a swedish general that roos would paint a picture of three-quarters' size, while they were playing a game at cards; and in less than half an hour the picture was well finished, though it consisted of a landscape, a shepherd, and several sheep and goats. rosa da tivoli's habits. rosa da tivoli unfortunately fell into extravagant and dissipated habits, which frequently caused him great inconvenience. from his facility, he multiplied his pictures to such an extent as greatly to depreciate their value. it is related that he would sit down, when pressed for money, dispatch a large picture in a few hours, and send it directly to be sold at any price. his servant, possessing more discretion than his master, usually paid him the highest price offered by the dealers, and kept the pictures himself, till he could dispose of them to more advantage. luca cambiaso's facility in painting. the most remarkable quality of this distinguished genoese painter was his rapidity of operation. he began to paint when ten years old, under the eye of his father, giovanni cambiaso, who evinced good taste in setting him to copy some works by the correct and noble mantegna. his progress was so rapid that at the age of seventeen he was entrusted to decorate some façades and chambers of the doria palace at genoa, where he displayed his rash facility of hand by painting the story of niobe on a space of wall fifty palms long and of proportionate height, without cartoons or any drawing larger than his first hasty sketch on a single sheet of paper! while he was engaged on this work, there came one morning some florentine artists to look at it. seeing a lad enter soon after, and commence painting with prodigious fury, they called out to him to desist; but his mode of handling the brushes and colors, which they had imagined it was his business merely to clean or pound, soon convinced them that this daring youngster was no other than luca himself; whereupon they crossed themselves, and declared he would one day eclipse michael angelo. cambiaso's works in spain. after attaining a high reputation in italy, cambiaso was invited to madrid by philip ii. of spain. he executed there a great number of works, among which the most important was the vault of the choir of the escurial church, where he painted in fresco the "glory of the blessed in heaven." instead of allowing the artist to paint from his own conceptions, the king listened to the counsels of the monks, who "recommended that the heavenly host should be drawn up in due theological order." a design "more pious than picturesque" being at last agreed upon, the painter fell to work with his wonted fury, and so speedily covered vast spaces with a multitude of figures, that the king, according to the expressive italian phrase, "remained stupid," not being able to believe that the master, with only one assistant, could have accomplished so much. philip often visited cambiaso while at work, and one day remarking that the head of st. anne among the blessed was too youthful, the painter replied by seizing his pencil, and with four strokes so seamed the face with wrinkles, and so entirely altered its air, that the royal critic once more "remained stupid," hardly knowing whether he had judged amiss, or the change had been effected by magic. by means of thus painting at full speed, frequently without sketches, and sometimes with both hands at once, cambiaso clothed the vault with its immense fresco in about fifteen months. the coloring is still fresh, and many of the forms are fine and the figures noble; but the composition cannot be called pleasing. the failure must be mainly attributed to the unlucky meddling of the friars, who have marshalled "the helmed cherubim, and sworded seraphim," with exact military precision, ranged the celestial choir in rows like the fiddlers of a sublunary orchestra, and accommodated the congregation of the righteous with long benches, like those of a methodist meeting-house! however, the king was so well pleased with the work, that he rewarded cambiaso with , ducats. cambiaso's artistic merits. in the earlier part of his career, the impetuosity of his genius led him astray; he usually painted his pictures in oil or fresco without preparing either drawing or cartoon; and his first style was gigantic and unnatural. subsequently, however, he checked this impetuosity, and it was in the middle of his life that he produced his best works. his fertility of invention was wonderful; his genius grappled with and conquered the most arduous difficulties of the art, and he shows his powers in foreshortening in the most daring variety. he was rapid and bold in design, yet was selected by boschini as a model of correctness; hence his drawings, though numerous, are highly esteemed. his rape of the sabines, in the palazzo imperiali at terralba, near genoa, has been highly extolled. it is a large work full of life and motion, passionate ravishers and reluctant damsels, fine horses and glimpses of noble architecture, with several episodes heightening the effect of the main story. mengs declared he had seen nothing out of rome that so vividly reminded him of the chambers of the vatican. rarity of female portraits in spain. very few female portraits are found in the spanish collections. their painters were seldom brought in professional contact with the beauty of high-born women--the finest touchstone of professional skill--and their great portrait painters lived in an age of jealous husbands, who cared not to set off to public admiration the charms of their spouses. velasquez came to reside at court about the same time that madrid was visited by sir kenelm digby, who had like to have been slain the first night of his arrival, for merely looking at a lady. returning with two friends from supper at lord bristol's, the adventurous knight relates in his private memoirs, how they came beneath a balcony where a love-lorn fair one stood touching her lute, and how they loitered awhile to admire her beauty, and listen to her "soul-ravishing harmony." their delightful contemplations, however, were soon arrested by a sudden attack from several armed men, who precipitated themselves upon the three britons. their swords were instantly drawn, and a fierce combat ensued; but the valiant digby slew the leader of the band, and finally succeeded in escaping with his companions. of the sixty-two works by velasquez in the royal gallery at madrid, there are only four female portraits; and of these, two represent children, another an ancient matron, and a fourth his own wife! the duke of abuquerque, who at the door of his own palace waylaid and horsewhipped philip iv., and his minister olivarez, feigning ignorance of their persons, as the monarch came to pay a nocturnal visit to the duchess, was not very likely to call in the court painter to take her grace's portrait. ladies lived for the most part in a sort of oriental seclusion, amongst duennas, waiting-women, and dwarfs; and going abroad only to mass, or to take the air in curtained carriages on the prado. in such a state of things, the rarity of female portraits in the spanish collections was a natural consequence. murillo's pictures in spanish america. it is related that this great spanish painter visited america in early life, and painted there many works; but the later spanish historians have shown that he never quitted his native country; and the circumstance of his pictures being found in america, is best accounted for by the following narrative. after acquiring considerable knowledge of the art under juan del castillo at seville, he determined to travel for improvement; but how to raise the necessary funds was a matter of difficulty, for his parents had died leaving little behind them, and his genius had not yet recommended him to the good offices of any wealthy or powerful patron. but murillo was not to be balked of his cherished desires. buying a large quantity of canvas, he divided it into squares of various sizes, which he primed and prepared with his own hands for the pencil, and then converted into pictures of the more popular saints, landscapes, and flower-pieces. these he sold to the american traders for exportation, and thus obtained a sum of money sufficient for his purpose. murillo's "virgin of the napkin." the small picture which once adorned the tabernacle of the capuchin high altar at seville, is interesting on account of its legend, as well as its extraordinary artistic merits. murillo, whilst employed at the convent, had formed a friendship with a lay brother, the cook of the fraternity, who attended to his wants and waited on him with peculiar assiduity. at the conclusion of his labors, this capuchin of the kitchen begged for some trifling memorial of his pencil. the painter was quite willing to comply, but said that he had exhausted his stock of canvas. "never mind," said the ready cook, "take this napkin," offering him that which he had used at dinner. the good-natured artist accordingly went to work, and before evening he had converted the piece of coarse linen into a picture compared to which cloth of gold or the finest tissue of the east would be accounted worthless. the virgin has a face in which thought is happily blended with maidenly innocence; and the divine infant, with his deep earnest eyes, leans forward in her arms, struggling as it were almost out of the frame, as if to welcome the carpenter joseph home from his daily toil. the picture is colored with a brilliancy which murillo never excelled, glowing with a golden light, as if the sun were always shining on the canvas. this admirable work is now in the museum of seville. anecdote of an altar-piece by murillo. one of murillo's pictures, in the possession of a society of friars in flanders, was bought by an englishman for a considerable sum, and the purchaser affixed his signature and seal to the back of the canvas, at the desire of the venders. in due time it followed him to england, and became the pride of his collection. several years afterwards, however, while passing through belgium, the purchaser turned aside to visit his friends the monks, when he was greatly surprised to find the beautiful work which he had supposed was in his own possession, smiling in all its original brightness on the very same wall where he had been first smitten by its charms! the truth was, that the monks always kept under the canvas an excellent copy, which they sold in the manner above related, as often as they could find a purchaser. murillo and his slave gomez. sebastian gomez, the mulatto slave of murillo, is said to have become enamored of art while performing the menial offices of his master's studio. like erigonus, the color grinder of nealces, or like pareja, the mulatto of velasquez, he devoted his leisure to the secret study of the principles of drawing, and in time acquired a skill with the brush rivalled by few of the regular scholars of murillo. there is a tradition at seville, that he took the opportunity one day, when the painting room was empty, of giving the first proof of his abilities, by finishing the head of a virgin, that stood ready sketched on his master's easel. pleased with the beauty of this unexpected interpolation, murillo, when he discovered the author of it, immediately promoted gomez to the use of those colors which it had hitherto been his task to grind. "i am indeed fortunate, sebastian," said the good-natured artist, "for i have not only created pictures, but a painter." an artist's love romance. francisco vieira, an eminent portuguese painter, was still a child when he became enamored of doña ignez elena de lima, the daughter of noble parents, who lived on friendly terms with his own and permitted the intercourse of their children. the thread of their loves was broken for a while by the departure of the young wooer to rome, in the suite of the marquis of abrantes. there he applied himself diligently to the study of painting, under trevisani, and carried off the first prize in the academy of st. luke. on returning to portugal, although only in his th year, he was immediately appointed by king john v. to paint a large picture of the mystery of the eucharist, to be used at the approaching feast of corpus christi; and he also painted the king's portrait. an absence of seven years had not affected vieira's constancy, and he took the first opportunity of flying once more to ignez. he was kindly received by the lima family, at their villa on the beautiful shores of the tagus, and was permitted to reside there for a while, painting the scenery, and wooing his not unwilling mistress. when the maiden's heart was fairly won, the parents at length interfered, and the lovers found the old adage verified, that "the course of true love never did run smooth." vieira was ignominiously turned out of doors, and the fair ignez was shut up in the convent of st. anna, and compelled to take the veil. the afflicted lover immediately laid his cause before the king, but received an unfavorable answer. nothing daunted, he then went to rome, and succeeded in obtaining from the pope a commission to the patriarch of lisbon, empowering him to inquire into the facts of the case; and that prelate's report being favorable, the lover was made happy with a bull annulling the religious vows of the nun, and authorizing their marriage. it is uncertain how long this affair remained undecided; but a portuguese jesuit having warned vieira that at home he ran the risk of being punished by confiscation of his property, for obtaining a bull without the consent of the civil power, he prolonged his residence at rome to six years, that the affair might have time to be forgotten at lisbon. during this period he continued to exercise his pencil with so much success that he was elected a member of the academy of st. luke. after such a probation, the energy and perseverance of the lover is almost unparalleled. he finally ventured to return to his native tagus, and accomplished the object of his life. disguising himself as a bricklayer, he skulked about the convent where ignez lay immured, mingling with the workmen employed there, till he found means to open a communication with her and concert a plan of escape. he then furnished her with male attire, and at last successfully carried her off on horseback (though not without a severe wound from the brother of his bride), to another bishopric, where they were married in virtue of the pope's bull. after residing for some time in spain and italy, however, vieira was commanded to return to portugal, and appointed painter to the king. being the best artist in that kingdom, his talents soon obliterated the remembrance of his somewhat irregular marriage, and during forty years he painted with great reputation and success for the royal palaces at nafra and elsewhere, for the convents, and the collections of the nobility. it will doubtless be pleasing to the fair readers of these anecdotes, that all this long course of outward prosperity was sweetened by the affection of his constant wife. esteban march's strange method of study. estéban march, a distinguished spanish painter of the th century, was eccentric in character and violent in temperament. battles being his favorite subjects, his studio was hung round with pikes, cutlasses, javelins, and other implements of war, which he used in a very peculiar and boisterous manner. as the mild and saintly joanes was wont to prepare himself for his daily task by prayer and fasting, so his riotous countryman used to excite his imagination to the proper creative pitch by beating a drum, or blowing a trumpet, and then valiantly assaulting the walls of his chamber with sword and buckler, laying about him, like another don quixote, with a blind energy that told severely on the plaster and furniture, and drove his terrified scholars or assistants to seek safety in flight. having thus lashed himself into sufficient frenzy, he performed miracles, according to palomino, in the field of battle-pieces, throwing off many bold and spirited pictures of pharaoh and his host struggling in the angry waters, or mailed christians quelling the turbaned armies of the crescent. few will withhold from him the praise of bermudez, for brilliancy of coloring, and for the skill with which the dust, smoke, and dense atmosphere of the combat are depicted. march's adventure of the fish fried in linseed oil. palomino says that march had gone out one day, leaving neither meat nor money in the house, and was absent till past midnight, when he returned with a few fish, which he insisted on having instantly dressed for supper. his wife said there was no oil; and juan conchillos, one of his pupils, being ordered to get some, objected that all the shops were shut up. "then take linseed oil," cried the impetuous march, "for, _por dios_, i will have these fish presently fried." the mess was therefore served with this unwonted sauce, but was no sooner tasted than it began to act as a vigorous emetic upon the whole party, "for indeed," gravely writes palomino, "linseed oil, at all times of a villainous flavor, when hot is the very devil." without more ado, the master of the feast threw fish and frying-pan out of the window; and conchillos, knowing his humor, flung the earthen chafing-dish and charcoal after them. march was delighted with this sally, and embracing the youth, he lifted him from the floor, putting him in bodily fear, as he after wards told palomino, that he was about to follow the coal and viands into the street. as for the poor weary wife, she thought of her crockery, and remarking in a matter of-fact way, "what shall we have for supper now?" went to bed; whither her husband, pleased with the frolic of spoiling his meal and breaking the dishes, seems to have followed her in a more complacent mood than common. a painter's rebuke. josé antonilez, a spanish painter, studied under francisco rizi at madrid. when the latter was occupied in preparing some new scenery for the theatre at buon retiro, antonilez spoke of him as a painter of foot-cloths--an expression which was soon communicated to his master. rizi immediately administered a wholesome practical rebuke, by commanding the attendance of antinolez on his majesty's service, and ordering him to execute a piece of painting in distemper. the unlucky wag, being quite ignorant of the mode of performing the work, and too proud to confess it, worked for a whole day, at the end of which he had merely spoiled a large piece of canvas. "so, sir," said rizi, quietly, "you see painting foot-cloths is not so easy after all;" and turning to his servant, added, "here, boy, take this canvas and carry it to the cistern to be washed." a painter's retort courteous. jean ranc, an eminent french portrait painter, was sometimes annoyed by impertinent and vexatious criticism. having exhausted all his talent upon a particular portrait, the friends of the sitter refused to be pleased, although the sitter himself appears to have been well satisfied. in concert with the latter, ranc concerted a plan for a practical retort. after privately painting a copy of the picture, he cut the head out of the canvas, and placed it in such a position that the original could supply the opening with his own veritable face, undetected. after all was ready, the cavilers were invited to view the performance, but they were no better pleased. falling completely into the snare, the would-be critics were going on to condemn the likeness, when the relaxing features and hearty laughter of the supposed portrait, speedily and sufficiently avenged the painter of their fastidiousness. ardemans and bocanegra--a trial of skill. these spanish painters contended in for the office of master of the works in the cathedral of granada. bocanegra was excessively vain and overbearing, and boasted his superiority to all the artists of his time; but ardemans, though a stranger in granada, was not to be daunted, and a trial of skill, "a duel with pencils," was accordingly arranged between them, which was, that each should paint the other's portrait. ardemans, who was then hardly twenty-five years of age, first entered the lists, and without drawing any outline on the canvas, produced an excellent likeness of his adversary in less than an hour. bocanegra, quite daunted by this feat, and discouraged by the applause accorded to his rival by the numerous spectators, put off his own exhibition till another day, and in the end utterly failed in his attempt to transfer the features of his rival to canvas. his defeat, and the jeers of his former admirers, so overwhelmed him with mortification, that he died shortly after. a painter's artifice to "keep up appearances." the spanish painter antonio pereda married doña maria de bustamente, a woman of some rank, and greater pretension, who would associate only with people of high fashion, and insisted on having a duenna in constant waiting in her antechamber, like a lady of quality. pereda was not rich enough to maintain such an attendant; he therefore compromised matters by painting on a screen an old lady sitting at her needle, with spectacles on her nose, and so truthfully executed that visitors were wont to salute her as they passed, taking her for a real duenna, too deaf or too discreet to notice their entrance! a good-natured criticism. bartolomeo carducci, who was employed in the service of the spanish court for many years, was expressing one day his admiration of a newly finished picture by a brother artist, when one of his own scholars drew his attention to a badly executed foot. "i did not observe it," replied he, "it is so concealed by the difficult excellence of this bosom and these hands"--a piece of kindly criticism that deserves to be recorded. alonso cano and the intendant of the bishop of malaga. the bishop of malaga, being engaged in improving his cathedral church, invited cano to that city, for the purpose of designing a new tabernacle for the high altar, and new stalls for the choir. he had finished his plans, very much to the prelate's satisfaction, when he was privately informed that the intendant of the works proposed to allow him but a very trifling remuneration. "these drawings," said cano, "are either to be given away, or to fetch , ducats;" and packing them up, he mounted his mule, and took the road to granada. the niggardly intendant, learning the cause of his departure, became alarmed, and sent a messenger after him post-haste, offering him his own price for the plans! cano's love of sculpture. skillful as cano was with the pencil, he loved the chisel above all his other artistic implements. he was so fond of sculpture that, when wearied with painting, he would take his tools, and block out a piece of carving. a disciple one day remarking that to lay down a pencil and take up a mallet, was a strange method of repose, he replied, "blockhead! don't you see that to create form and relief on a flat surface, is a greater labor than to fashion one shape into another?" castillo's sarcasm on alfaro. juan de alfaro first studied under antonio del castillo at seville, and subsequently in the school of velasquez at madrid. after his return to seville, he was wont to plume himself upon the knowledge of art which he had acquired in the school of that great painter; and he also signed all his pictures in a conspicuous manner, "_alfaro, pinxit_." this was too much for castillo, and he accordingly inscribed his baptism of st. francis, executed for the capuchin convent, where his juvenile rival was likewise employed, "_non pinxit alfaro_." years after, palomino became sufficiently intimate with alfaro, to ask him what he thought of castillo's sarcastic inscription. "i think," replied the unabashed object of the jest, "that it was a great honor for me, who was then a beardless boy, to be treated as a rival by so able an artist." torres' imitations of caravaggio. matias de torres, a spanish painter, affected the style of caravaggio. his compositions were half veiled in thick impenetrable shadows, which concealed the design, and sometimes left the subject a mystery. francisco de solis was standing before one of them, in the church of victory at madrid, representing a scene from the life of st. diego, and was asked to explain the subject depicted. "it represents," said the witty painter, "_san brazo_," st. arm, nothing being distinguished but the arm of a mendicant in the background. pantoja and the eagle. palomino relates that a superb eagle, of the bearded kind, having been captured in the royal chase, near the prado, the king (philip iii.) gave orders to pantoja to paint its likeness, which he did with such truthfulness that the royal bird, on seeing it, mistook it for a real eagle, and attacked the picture with such impetuosity that he tore it in pieces with his beak and talons before they could secure him. the indignant bird was then tied more carefully, and the portrait painted over again. the painter methodius and the king of bulgaria. pacheco relates a remarkable effect produced by a picture from the pencil of methodius, who resided at constantinople about . he was invited to nicopolis by bogoris, king of the bulgarians, to decorate a banqueting-hall in his palace. that prince left the choice of his subject to the artist, limiting him to those of a tragic or terrible character. the sister of bogoris, during a long captivity at constantinople, had become a convert to the greek church, and greatly desired that her brother should renounce paganism; therefore it was probably at her instance, in this case, that methodius painted the last judgment. he succeeded in depicting the glories of the blessed and the pains of the damned in such a fearful manner, that the heathen king was induced in his terror to send for a bishop, and signify his willingness to unite with the greek church; and the whole bulgarian nation soon followed his example. john c. vermeyen and charles v. this dutch painter was invited to spain by charles v., and accompanied that monarch on his expedition to tunis, of which he preserved some scenes that were afterwards transferred to brussels tapestries. he followed the court for many years, and exercised his art with honor and profit, in portrait, landscape, and sacred subjects. the palace of the prado was adorned with a number of his works, particularly eight pictures representing the imperial progresses in germany, and views of madrid, valladolid, naples, and london; all of which perished in the fire of . vermeyen was an especial favorite of charles v., who ordered his bust to be executed in marble, "for the sake of the gravity and nobleness of his countenance." he was very remarkable for his long beard, which gained him the surname of _el barbudo_ or _barbalonga_. in fact, so very lengthy was this beard, that descamps says the emperor in his playful moods used to amuse himself by treading on it, as it trailed on the ground! blas de prado and the emperor of morocco. in the emperor of morocco applied to philip ii. for the loan of a painter, to which the latter made answer that they had in spain two sorts of painters--the ordinary and the excellent--and desired to know which his infidel brother preferred. "kings should always have the best," replied the moor; and so philip sent him blas de prado to fez. there he painted various works for the palace, and a portrait of the monarch's daughter, to the great satisfaction of her father. after keeping the artist several years in his service, the emperor finally sent him away, with many rich gifts; and he returned to castile with considerable wealth. the academy of san ferdinando possesses a fine work by him, representing the virgin and infant seated in the clouds. don juan carreno this spanish painter was a favorite with king charles ii. he was painting his majesty's portrait one day in the presence of the queen mother, when the royal sitter asked him to which of the knightly orders he belonged. "to none," replied the artist, "but the order of your majesty's servants." "why is this?" said charles. the admiral of castile, who was standing by, replied that he should have a cross immediately; and on leaving the royal presence, he sent carreño a rich badge of santiago, assuring him that what the king had said entitled him to wear it. palomino says, however, that the artist's modesty prevented him from accepting the proffered honor. his royal master continued to treat him with unabated regard, and would allow no artist to paint him without carreño's permission. carreno's copy of titian's st. margaret. palomino was one day in company with carreño at the house of don pedro de arce, when a discussion arose about the merits of a certain copy of titian's st. margaret, which hung in the room after all present had voted it execrable, carreño quietly remarked, "it at least has the merit of showing that no man need despair of improving in art, for i painted it myself when i was a beginner." carreno's abstraction of mind. being at his easel one morning with two friends, one of them, for a jest, drank the cup of chocolate which stood untasted by his side. the maid-servant removing the cup, carreño remonstrated, saying that he had not breakfasted, and on being shown that the contents were gone, appealed to the visitors. being gravely assured by them that he had actually emptied the cup with his own lips, he replied, like newton, "well really, i was so busy that i had entirely forgotten it." anecdote of cespedes' last supper. the cathedral of cordova still possesses his famous supper, but in so faded and ruinous a condition that it is impossible to judge fairly of its merits. palomino extols the dignity and beauty of the saviour's head, and the masterly discrimination of character displayed in those of the apostles. of the jars and vases standing in the foreground, it is related that while the picture was on the easel, these accessories attracted, by their exquisite finish, the attention of some visitors, to the exclusion of the higher parts of the composition, to the great disgust of the artist. "andres!" cried he, somewhat testily, to his servant, "rub out these things, since after all my care and study, and amongst so many heads, figures, hands, and expressions, people choose to see nothing but these impertinences;" and much persuasion and entreaty were needed to save the devoted pipkins from destruction. zuccaro's compliment to cespedes. the reputation which the spanish painter cespedes enjoyed among his cotemporaries, is proved by an anecdote of federigo zuccaro. on being requested to paint a picture of st. margaret for the cathedral of cordova, he for some time refused to comply, asking, "where is cespedes, that you send to italy for pictures?" dona barbara maria de hueva. doña barbara maria de hueva was born at madrid in . before she had reached her twentieth year, according to bermudez, she had acquired so much skill in painting, that at the first meeting of the academy of st. ferdinand in , on the exhibition of some of her sketches, she was immediately elected an honorary academician, and received the first diploma issued under the royal charter. "this proud distinction," said the president, "is conferred in the hope that the fair artist may be encouraged to rival the fame of those ladies already illustrious in art." how far this hope was realized, bermudez has omitted to inform us. the miraculous picture of the virgin. the eminent american sculptor greenough, who has recently ( ) departed this life, wrote several years ago a very interesting account of a wonderful picture at florence, from which the following is extracted: "when you enter the church of santissima annunziata, at florence, your attention is drawn at once to a sort of miniature temple on the left hand. it is of white marble; but the glare and flash of crimson hangings and silver lamps scarcely allow your eye the quiet necessary to appreciate either form or material. a picture hangs there. it is the _miraculous annunciation_. the artist who was employed to paint it, had finished all except the head of the virgin mary, and fell asleep before the easel while the work was in that condition. on awakening, he beheld the picture finished; and the short time which had elapsed, and his own position relative to the canvas, made it clear (so says the tradition) that a divine hand had completed a task which, to say the least, a mortal could only attempt with despair. "less than this has made many pictures in italy the objects of attentions which our puritan fathers condemned as idolatrous. the miraculous 'annunziata' became, accordingly, the divinity of a splendid shrine. the fame of her interposition spread far and wide, and her tabernacle was filled with the costly offerings of the devout, the showy tributes of the zealous. the prince gave of his abundance, nor was the widow's mite refused; and to this day the reputation of this shrine stands untouched among all papal devotees. "the santissima annunziata is always veiled, unless her interposition is urgently demanded by the apprehension of famine, plague, cholera, or some other public calamity. during my own residence at florence, i have never known the miraculous picture to be uncovered during a drought, without the desired result immediately following. in cases of long continued rains, its intervention has been equally happy. i have heard several persons, rather inclined to skepticism as to the miraculous qualities of the picture, hint that the _barometer_ was consulted on these occasions; else, say they, why was not the picture uncovered before the mischief had gone so far? what an idea is suggested by the bare hint! "i stood on the pavement of the church, with an old man who had himself been educated as a priest. he had a talent for drawing, and became a painter. as a practical painter, he was mediocre; but he was learned in everything relating to art. he gradually sank from history to portrait, from portrait to miniature, from miniature to restoration; and had the grim satisfaction, in his old age, of mending what in his best days he never could make--good pictures. when i knew him, he was one of the conservators of the royal gallery. he led me before the shrine, and whispered, with much veneration, the story i have related of its origin. when i had gazed long at the picture, i turned to speak to him, but he had left the church. as i walked through the vestibule, however, i saw him standing near one of the pillars that adorn the façade. he was evidently waiting for me. me-thinks i see him now, with his face of seventy and his dress of twenty-five, his bright black wig, his velvet waistcoat, and glittering gold chain--his snuff-box in his hand, and a latent twinkle in his black eyes. 'what is really remarkable in that miraculous picture,' said he, taking me by the button, and forcing me to bend till his mouth and my ear were exactly on a line--'what is really remarkable about it is, that the angel who painted that virgin, so completely adopted the style of that epoch! same angular, incorrect outline! same opaque shadows! eh? eh?' he took a pinch, and wishing me a good appetite, turned up the via s. sebastiano." the chair of st. peter. "la festra di cattreda, or commemoration of the placing of the chair of st. peter, on the th of january, is one of the most striking ceremonies, at rome, which follow christmas and precede the holy week. at the extremity of the great nave of st. peter's, behind the high altar, and mounted upon a tribune designed or ornamented by michael angelo, stands a sort of throne, composed of precious materials, and supported by four gigantic figures. a glory of seraphim, with groups of angels, shed a brilliant light upon its splendors. this throne enshrines the real, plain, worm-eaten wooden chair, on which st. peter, the prince of the apostles, is said to have pontificated; more precious than all the bronze, gold, and gems with which it is hidden, not only from impious, but holy eyes, and which once only, in the flight of ages, was profaned by mortal inspection. "the sacrilegious curiosity of the french, however, broke through all obstacles to their seeing the chair of st. peter. they actually removed its superb casket, and discovered the relic. upon its mouldering and dusty surface were traced carvings, which bore the appearance of letters. the chair was quickly brought into a better light, the dust and cobwebs removed, and the inscription (for an inscription it was), faithfully copied. the writing is in arabic characters, and is the well known confession of mahometan faith--'there is but one god, and mahomet is his prophet.' it is supposed that this chair had been, among the spoils of the crusaders, offered to the church at a time when a taste for antiquarian lore, and the deciphering of inscriptions, were not yet in fashion. the story has been since hushed up, the chair replaced, and none but the unhallowed remember the fact, and none but the audacious repeat it. yet such there are, even at rome!"--_ireland's anecdotes of napoleon._ the sagro catino, or emerald dish. "the church of st. lorenzo, at genoa, is celebrated for containing a most sacred relic, the 'sagro catino,' a dish of one entire and perfect _emerald_, said to be that on which our saviour ate his last supper. such a dish in the house of a jewish publican was a miracle in itself. mr. eustace says, he looked for this dish, but found that the french, 'whose delight is brutal violence, as it is that of the lion or the tiger,' had carried it away. and so indeed they did. but that was nothing. the carrying off relics--the robbing of peter to pay paul, and spoliating one church to enrich another--was an old trick of legitimate conquerors in all ages; for this very '_dish_' had been carried away by the royal crusaders, when they took _cesarea_ in palestine, under _guillaume embriaco_, in the twelfth century. in the division of spoils, this emerald fell to the share of the _genoese crusaders_, into whose holy vocation some of their old trading propensities evidently entered; and they deemed the vulgar value, the profane price, of this treasure, so high, that on an emergency, they pledged it for nine thousand five hundred livres. redeemed and replaced, it was guarded by the _knights of honor_ called _clavigeri_; and only escaped once a year! millions knelt before it, and the penalty on the bold but zealous hand that touched it with a diamond, was a thousand golden ducats." the french seized this relic, as the crusaders had done in the twelfth century; but instead of conveying it from the church of san lorenzo to the abbey of st. denis (_selon les règles_), they most sacrilegiously sent it to a _laboratory_. instead of submitting it, with a traditional story, to a _council of trent_, they handed it over to the _institute of paris_; and chemists, geologists, and philosophers, were called on to decide the fate of that relic which bishops, priests and deacons had pronounced to be too sacred for human investigation, or even for human touch. _the result of the scientific investigation was, that the emerald dish was a piece of green glass!_ when england made the king of sardinia a present of the dukedom of one of the oldest republics in europe, and restitutions were making "_de part et d'autre_;" _victor emmanuel_ insisted upon having his emerald dish; not for the purpose of putting it in a cabinet of curiosities, as they had done at paris, to serve as a curious monument of the remote epoch in which the art of making colored glass was known--(of its great antiquity there is no doubt)--but of restoring it to its shrine at san lorenzo--to its guard of knights servitors--to the homage, offerings, and bigotry of the people! with a republished assurance that this is the invaluable _emerald dish_, the '_sagro catino_,' which _queen sheba_ offered, with other gems, to king solomon (who deposited it, where all gems should be, in his church), and which afterwards was reserved for a higher destiny than even that assigned to it in the gorgeous temple of jerusalem. the story of the analysis by the institute of paris is hushed up, and those who would revive it would be branded with the odium of blasphemy and sedition; none now remember such things, but those who are the determined enemies of social order, or as the genoese royal journal would call them, '_the radicals of the age_.'--_italy, by lady morning_. "the painter of florence." there is an old painting in the church of the holy virgin at florence, representing the virgin with the infant jesus in her arms, trampling the dragon under her feet, about which is the following curious legend, thus humorously described by southey, in the annals of the fine arts: there once was a painter in catholic days, like job who eschewed all evil, still on his madonnas the curious may gaze with applause and amazement; but chiefly his praise and delight was in painting the devil. they were angels compared to the devils he drew, who besieged poor st. anthony's cell, such burning hot eyes, such a _d----mnable_ hue, you could even smell brimstone, their breath was so blue he painted his devils so well. and now had the artist a picture begun, 'twas over the virgin's church door; she stood on the dragon embracing her son, many devils already the artist had done, but this must outdo all before. the old dragon's imps as they fled through the air, at seeing it paused on the wing, for he had a likeness so just to a hair, that they came as apollyon himself had been there, to pay their respects to their king. every child on beholding it, shivered with dread, and screamed, as he turned away quick; not an old woman saw it, but raising her head, dropp'd a bead, made a cross on her wrinkles, and said, "god help me from ugly old nick!" what the painter so earnestly thought on by day, he sometimes would dream of by night; but once he was started as sleeping he lay, 'twas no fancy, no dream--he could plainly survey that the devil himself was in sight. "you rascally dauber," old beelzebub cries, "take heed how you wrong me, again! though your caricatures for myself i despise, make me handsomer now in the multitude's eyes, or see if i threaten in vain." now the painter was bold and religious beside, and on faith he had certain reliance, so earnestly he all his countenance eyed, and thanked him for sitting with catholic pride, and sturdily bid him defiance. betimes in the morning, the painter arose, he is ready as soon as 'tis light; every look, every line, every feature he knows, 'twas fresh to his eye, to his labor he goes, and he has the wicked old one quite. happy man, he is sure the resemblance can't fail, the tip of his nose is red hot, there's his grin and his fangs, his skin cover'd with scales and that--the identical curl of the tail, not a mark--not a claw is forgot. he looks and retouches again with delight; 'tis a portrait complete to his mind! he touches again, and again feeds his sight, he looks around for applause, and he sees with affright, the original standing behind. "fool! idiot!" old beelzebub grinned as he spoke, and stamp'd on the scaffold in ire; the painter grew pale, for he knew it no joke, 'twas a terrible height, and the scaffolding broke; and the devil could wish it no higher. "help! help me, o mary," he cried in alarm, as the scaffold sank under his feet, from the canvas the virgin extended her arm, she caught the good painter, she saved him from harm, there were thousands who saw in the street. the old dragon fled when the wonder he spied, and curs'd his own fruitless endeavor: while the painter called after, his rage to deride, shook his palette and brushes in triumph, and cried, "now i'll paint thee more ugly than ever!" legend of the painter-friar, the devil and the virgin. don josé de valdivielso, one of the chaplains of the gay cardinal infant ferdinand of austria, relates the following legend in his paper on the tax on pictures, appended to carducho's dialogos de la pintura. a certain young friar was famous amongst his order, for his skill in painting; and he took peculiar delight in drawing the virgin and the devil. to heighten the divine beauty of the one, and to devise new and extravagant forms of ugliness for the other, were the chief recreations for his leisure hours. vexed at last by the variety and vigor of his sketches, beelzebub, to be revenged, assumed the form of a lovely maiden, and crossed under this guise the path of the friar, who being of an amorous disposition, fell at once into the trap. the seeming damsel smiled on her shaven wooer, but though nothing loth to be won, would not surrender her charms at a less price than certain reliquaries and jewels in the convent treasury--a price which the friar in an evil hour consented to pay. he admitted her at midnight within the convent walls, and leading her to the sacristy, took from its antique cabinet the things for which she had asked. then came the moment of vengeance. passing in their return through the moonlit cloister as the friar stole along, embracing the booty with one arm, and his false duessa with the other, the demon-lady suddenly cried out "thieves!" with diabolical energy, and instantly vanished. the snoring monks rushed disordered from their cells and detected their unlucky brother making off with their plate. excuse being impossible, they tied the culprit to a column, and leaving him till matins, when his punishment was to be determined, went back to their slumbers. when all was quiet, the devil reappeared, but this time in his most hideous shape. half dead with cold and terror, the discomfited caricaturist stood shivering at his column, while his tormentor made unmercifully merry with him; twitting him with his amorous overtures, mocking his stammered prayers, and irreverently suggesting an appeal for aid to the beauty he so loved to delineate. the penitent wretch at last took the advice thus jeeringly given--when lo! the virgin descended, radiant in heavenly loveliness, loosened his cords, and bade him bind the evil one to the column in his place--an order which he obeyed through her strength, with no less alacrity than astonishment. she further ordered him to appear among the other monks at table, and charged herself with the task of restoring the stolen plate to its place. thus the tables were suddenly turned. the friar presented himself among his brethren in the morning, to their no small astonishment, and voted with much contrition for his own condemnation--a sentence which was reversed when they came to examine the contents of the sacristy, and found everything correct. as to the devil, who remained fast bound to the pillar, he was soundly flogged, and so fell into the pit which he had digged for another. his dupe, on the other hand, gathered new strength from his fall, and became not only a wiser and a better man, but also an abler artist; for the experience of that terrible night had supplied all that was wanting to complete the ideal of his favorite subjects. thenceforth, he followed no more after enticing damsels, but remained in his cloister, painting the madonna more serenely beautiful, and the arch enemy more curiously appalling than ever. gerard douw. this extraordinary artist was born at leyden, in . he was the son of a glazier, and early exhibited a passion for the fine arts, which his father encouraged. he received his first instruction in drawing from dolendo, the engraver. he was afterwards placed with peter kowenhoorn, to learn the trade of a glass-stainer or painter; but disliking this business, he became the pupil of rembrandt when only fifteen years of age, in whose school be continued three years. from rembrandt he learned the true principles of coloring, to which he added a delicacy of pencilling, and a patience in working up his pictures to the highest degree of neatness and finish, superior to any other master. he was more pleased with the earlier and more finished works of rembrandt, than with his later productions, executed with more boldness and freedom of pencilling; he therefore conceived the project of combining the rich and glowing colors of that master with the polish and suavity of extreme finishing, and he adopted the method of uniting the powerful tunes and the magical light and shadow of his instructor with a minuteness and precision of pencilling that so nearly approached nature as to become perfect illusion. but though his manner appears so totally different from that of rembrandt, yet it was to him he owed that excellence of coloring which enabled him to triumph over all the artists of his time. his pictures are usually of small size, with figures so exquisitely touched, and with a coloring so harmonious, transparent, and delicate, as to excite the astonishment and admiration of the beholder. although his pictures are wrought up beyond the works of any other artist, there is still discoverable a spirited and characteristic touch that evinces the hand of a consummate master, and a breadth of light and shadow which is only to be found in the works of the greatest masters of the art of chiaro-scuro. the fame acquired by douw is a crowning proof that excellence is not confined to any particular style or manner, and had he attempted to arrive at distinction by a bolder and less finished pencil, it is highly probable that his fame would not have been so great. it has been truly said that there are no positive rules by which genius must be bounded to arrive at excellence. every intermediate style, from the grand and daring handling of michael angelo to the laborious and patient finishing of douw, may conduct the painter to distinction, provided he adapts his manner to the character of the subjects he treats. douw's style. douw designed everything from nature, and with such exactness that each object appears as perfect as nature herself. he was incontestibly the most wonderful in his finishing of all the flemish masters, although the number of artists of that school who have excelled in this particular style are quite large. the pictures he first painted were portraits, and he wrought by the aid of a concave mirror, and sometimes by looking at the object through a frame of many squares of small silk thread. he spent so much time in these works that, notwithstanding they were extremely admired, his sitters became disgusted, and he was obliged to abandon portrait painting entirely, and devote his attention to fancy subjects, in the execution of which he could devote as much time as he pleased. this will not appear surprising, when sandrart informs us that, on one occasion, in company with peter de laer, he visited douw, and found him at work on a picture, which they could not forbear admiring for its extraordinary neatness, and on taking particular notice of a broom, and expressing their surprise that he could devote so much time in finishing so minute an object, douw informed them that he should work on it three days more before he should think it complete. the same author also says that in a family picture of mrs. spiering, that lady sat five days for the finishing of one of her hands, supporting it on the arm of a chair. douw's method of painting. his mind was naturally turned to precision and exactness, and it is evident that he would have shown this quality in any other profession, had he practiced another. methodical and regular in all his habits, he prepared and ground his own colors, and made his own brushes of a peculiar shape, and he kept them locked up in a case made for the purpose, that they might be free from soil. he permitted no one to enter his studio, save a very few friends, and when he entered himself, he went as softly as he could tread, so as not to raise the dust, and after taking his seat, waited some time till the air was settled before he opened his box and went to work; scarcely a breath of air was allowed to ventilate his painting-room. douw's works. everything that came from his pencil was precious, even in his life-time. houbraken says that his great patron, mr. spiering the banker, allowed him one thousand guilders a year, and paid besides whatever sum he pleased to ask for his pictures, some of which he purchased for their weight in silver; but sandrart informs us, with more probability, that the thousand guilders were paid to douw by spiering on condition that the artist should give him the choice of all the pictures he painted. the following description of one of gerhard's most capital pictures, for a long time in the possession of the family of van hoek, at amsterdam, will serve to give a good idea of his method of treating his subjects. the picture is much larger than his usual size, being three feet long by two feet six inches wide, inside the frame. the room is divided into two apartments by a curtain of curiously wrought tapestry. in one apartment sits a woman giving suck to her child; at her side is a cradle, and a table covered with tapestry, on which is placed a gilt lamp which lights the room. in the second apartment is a surgeon performing an operation upon a countryman, and by his side stands a woman holding some utensils. the folding doors on one side shows a study, and a man making a pen by candle light; and on the other, a school, with boys writing, and sitting at different tables. the whole is lighted in an agreeable and surprising manner; every object is expressed with beauty and astonishing force. nor does the subject appear too crowded, for it was one of his peculiar talents to show, in a small compass, more than other painters could do in a much larger space. his pictures are generally confined to a few figures, and sometimes to a single one, and when he attempted larger compositions, he was generally less successful. the works of this artist are not numerous, from the immense labor and time he bestowed upon a single one; and from this circumstance, and the estimation in which they are held by the curious collectors, they have ever commanded enormous prices. they were always particularly admired in france, in the days of napoleon, there were no less than seventeen of his pictures gathered into the louvre, most of which were, after his downfall, restored to their original proprietors, among which was the famous dropsical woman, from the collection of the king of sardinia. at turin, are several pictures by douw, the most famous of which is the one just named--the dropsical woman, attended by her physician, who is examining an urinal. this picture is wonderfully true to nature, and each particular hair and pore of the skin is represented. in the gallery at florence is one of his pictures, representing an interior by candle-light, with a mountebank, surrounded by a number of clowns, which is exquisitely finished. the great fame of gerhard douw, and the eager desire for his works, have given rise to numerous counterfeits. we may safely say that there is not an original picture by this artist in the united states. douw died, very rich, in . albert durer. this extraordinary artist was born at nuremberg in . his father was a skillful goldsmith, from hungary, and taught his son the first rudiments of design, intending him for his own profession; but his early and decided inclination for the arts and sciences induced him to permit young durer to follow the bent of his genius. he received his first instruction in painting and engraving from martin hapse. when he had reached the age of fourteen, it was his father's intention to have placed him under the instruction of martin schoen, of colmar, the most distinguished artist of his time in germany, but the death of the latter happening about that time, he became a pupil of michael wolgemut, in , the first artist then in nuremberg, with whom he studied diligently four years. he also cultivated the study of perspective, the mathematics, and architecture, in all of which he acquired a profound knowledge. having finished his studies, he commenced his travels in , and spent four years in traveling through germany, the netherlands, and the adjacent counties and provinces. on his return to nuremberg, in , he ventured to exhibit his works to the public, which immediately attracted great attention. his first work was a piece of the three graces, represented by as many female figures, with a globe over their heads. he soon after executed one of his masterpieces, a drawing of orpheus. about this time, to please his father, as it is said, he married the daughter of hans fritz, a celebrated mechanic, who proved a fierce xantippe, and embittered, and some say shortened his life. in , he went to venice to improve himself, where his abilities excited envy and admiration. here he painted the martyrdom of st. bartholomew for the church of s. marco, which was afterwards purchased by the emperor rodolphus, and removed to prague. he also went to bologna, and returned home in . this journey to italy had no effect whatever upon his style, though doubtless he obtained much information that was valuable to him, for at this period commenced the proper era of his greatness. durer's works as a painter. though durer was most famous as an engraver, yet he executed many large paintings, which occupy a distinguished place in the royal collections of germany, and other european countries. in the imperial collection at munich are some of the most celebrated, as adam and eve, the adoration of the magi, the crucifixion--a grand composition--the crowning of the virgin, the battle between alexander and darius, and many other great works. durer painted the wise men's offering, two pictures of the passion of christ, and an assumption of the virgin, for a monastery of frankfort, which proved a source of income to the monks, from the presents they received for exhibiting them. the people of nuremberg still preserve, in the town hall, his portraits of charlemagne and some emperors of the house of austria, with the twelve apostles, whose drapery is remarkable for being modern german, instead of oriental. he sent his own portrait to raffaelle, painted on canvas, without any coloring or touch of the pencil, only heightened with shades and white, yet exhibiting such strength and elegance that the great artist to whom it was presented expressed the greatest surprise at the sight of it. this piece, after the death of raffaelle, fell into the possession of giulio romano, who placed it among the curiosities of the palace of mantua. besides the pictures already mentioned, there is by him an ecce homo at venice, his own portrait, and two pictures representing st. james and st. philip, and an adam and eve in the florentine gallery. there are also some of his works in the louvre, and in the royal collections in england. as a painter, it has been observed of durer that he studied nature only in her unadorned state, without attending to those graces which study and art might have afforded him; but his imagination was lively, his composition grand, and his pencil delicate. he finished his works with exact neatness, and he was particularly excellent in his madonnas, though he encumbered them with heavy draperies. he surpassed all the painters of his own country, yet he did not avoid their defects--such as dryness and formality of outline, the want of a just degradation of the tints, an expression without agreeableness, and draperies broad in the folds, but stiff in the forms. he was no observer of the propriety of costume, and paid so little attention to it that he appears to have preferred to drape his saints and heroes of antiquity in the costume of his own time and country. fuseli observes that "the coloring of durer went beyond his age, and in his easel pictures it as far excelled the oil color of raffaelle in juice, and breadth, and handling, as raffaelle excelled him in every other quality." durer's works as an engraver. durer derived most of his fame from his engravings, and he is allowed to have surpassed every artist of his time in this branch of art. born in the infancy of the art, he carried engraving to a perfection that has hardly been surpassed. when we consider that, without any models worthy of imitation, he brought engraving to such great perfection, we are astonished at his genius, and his own resources. although engraving has had the advantage and experience of more than three centuries, it would perhaps be difficult to select a specimen of executive excellence surpassing his print of st. jerome, engraved in . he had a perfect command of the graver, and his works are executed with remarkable neatness and clearness of stroke; if we do not find in his plates that boldness and freedom desirable in large historical works, we find in them everything that can be wished in works more minute and finished, as were his. to him is attributed the invention of etching; and if he was not the inventor, he was the first who excelled in the art. he also invented the method of printing wood-cuts in chiaro-scuro, or with two blocks. his great mathematical knowledge enabled him to form a regular system of rules for drawing and painting with geometrical precision. he had the power of catching the exact expression of the features, and of delineating all the passions. although he was well acquainted with the anatomy of the human figure, and occasionally designed it correctly, his contours are neither graceful nor pleasing, and his prints are never entirely divested of the stiff and formal taste that prevailed at the time, both in his figures and drapery. such was his reputation, both at home and abroad, that marc' antonio raimondi counterfeited his passion of christ, and the life of the virgin at venice, and sold them for the genuine works of durer. the latter, hearing of the fraud, was so exasperated that he set out for venice, where he complained to the government of the wrong that had been done him by the plagiarist, but he could obtain no other satisfaction than a decree prohibiting raimondi from affixing durer's monogram or signatures to these copies in future. vasari says that when the prints of durer were first brought into italy, they incited the painters there to elevate themselves in that branch of art, and to make his works their models. durer's fame and death. the fame of durer spread far and wide in his life-time. the emperor maximillian i. had a great esteem for him, and appointed him his court painter, with a liberal pension, and conferred on him letters of nobility; charles v., his successor, confirmed him in his office, bestowing upon him at the same time the painter's coat of arms, viz., three escutcheons, argent, in a deep azure field. ferdinand, king of hungary, also bestowed upon him marked favors and liberality. durer was in favor with high and low. all the artists and learned men of his time honored and loved him, and his early death in was universally lamented. durer's habits and literary works. durer always lived in a frugal manner, without the least ostentation for the distinguished favors heaped upon him. he applied himself to his profession with the most constant and untiring industry, which, together with his great knowledge, great facility of mechanical execution, and a remarkable talent for imitation, enabled him to rise to such distinction, and to exert so powerful an influence on german art for a great length of time. he was the first artist in germany who practiced and taught the rules of perspective, and of the proportions of the human figure, according to mathematical principles. his treatise on proportions is said to have resulted from his studies of his picture of adam and eve. his principal works are _de symmetria partium in rectis formis humanorum corporum_, printed at nuremberg in ; and _de verieitate figurarum, et flexuris partium, et gestibus imaginum_; . these works were written in german, and after durer's death translated into latin. the figures illustrating the subjects were executed by durer, on wood, in an admirable manner. durer had also much merit as a miscellaneous writer, and labored to purify and elevate the german language, in which he was assisted by his friend, w. pirkheimer. his works were published in a collected form at arnheim, in , folio, in latin and in french. j. j. roth wrote a life of durer, published at leipsic in . ludolph backhuysen. this eminent painter was born in . his father intended him for the mercantile profession, but nature for a marine painter. his passion for art induced him to neglect his employer's business, with whom his father had placed him, and to spend his time in drawing, and in frequenting the studios of the painters at amsterdam. his fondness for shipping led him frequently to the port of the city, where he made admirable drawings of the vessels with a pen, which were much sought after by the collectors, and were purchased at liberal prices. several of his drawings were sold at florins each. this success induced him to paint marine subjects. his first essays were successful, and his pictures universally admired. while painting, he would not admit his most intimate friends to his studio, lest his fancy might be disturbed. he hired fishermen to take him out to sea in the most tremendous gales, and on landing, he would run impatiently to his palette to secure the grand impressions of the views he had just witnessed. he has represented that element in its most terrible agitation, with a fidelity that intimidates the beholder. his pictures on these subjects have raised his reputation even higher than that of w. van de velde; although the works of the later, which represent the sea at rest, or in light breezes, are much superior, and indeed inimitable. his pictures are distinguished for their admirable perspective, correct drawing, neatness and freedom of touch, and remarkable facility of execution. for the burgomasters of amsterdam, he painted a large picture with a multitude of vessels, and a view of the city in the distance; for which they gave him , guilders, and a handsome present. this picture was presented to the king of france, who placed it in the louvre. the king of prussia visited backhuysen, and the czar peter took delight in seeing him paint, and often endeavored to make drawings after vessels which the artist had designed. john baptist weenix, the elder. this eminent dutch painter was born at amsterdam in . he possessed extraordinary and varied talents. he painted history, portraits, landscapes, sea-ports, animals, and dead game, in all which branches he showed uncommon ability; but his greatest excellence lay in painting italian sea-ports, of a large size, enriched with noble edifices, and decorated with figures representing embarkations and all the activity of commercial industry. in these subjects he has scarcely been surpassed except by his pupil, nicholas berghem. weenix's facility of hand. houbraken relates several instances of his remarkable facility of hand. he frequently painted a large landscape and inserted all the figures in a single day--feats so much admired in salvator rosa, and gaspar ponssin. on one occasion he commenced and finished three portraits, on canvass, of three-quarters size, with heads as large as life, from sun-rise to sun-set, on a summer's day. lanzi warns all artists, especially the youthful aspirant, not to imitate such expedition, as they value their reputation. john baptist weenix, the younger. was the son of the preceding, and born at amsterdam in . possessing less varied talent than his father; he was unrivaled in painting all sorts of animals, huntings, dead games, birds, flowers, and fruit. he was appointed court painter to the elector palatine, with a liberal pension, and decorated his palace at bernsberg with many of his choicest works. he painted in one gallery a series of pictures representing the hunting of the stag; and in another the chase of the wild boar, which gained him the greatest applause. there are many of his best works in the dusseldorf gallery. he painted all kinds of birds and fowls in an inimitable manner; the soft down of the duck, the glossy plumage of the pigeon, the splendor of the peacock, the magnificent spread of an inanimate swan producing a flood of light, and serving as a contrast to all the objects around it, are so attractive that it is impossible to contemplate one of his pictures of these subjects without feeling admiration and delight at the painter's skill in rivaling nature. jan steen. the life of this extraordinary artist, if we are to believe his biographers, is soon told. he was born at leyden in . he early exhibited a passion for art, which his father, a wealthy brewer of that city, endeavored to restrain, and afterwards apprehending that he could not procure a comfortable subsistence by the exercise of his pencil, established him in his own business at delft, where, instead of attending to his affairs, he gave himself up to dissipation, and soon squandered his means and ruined his establishment; his indulgent parent, after repeated attempts to reclaim him, was compelled to abandon him to his fate. he opened a tavern, which proved more calamitous than the former undertaking. he gave himself up entirely to reveling and intoxication, wrought only when his necessities compelled him, and sold his pictures to satisfy his immediate wants, and often for the most paltry prices to escape arrest. jan steen's works. the pictures of jan steen usually represent merry-makings, and the frolics and festivities of the ale-house, which he treated with a characteristic expression of humorous drollery, that compensated for the vulgarity of his subjects. he sometimes painted interiors, domestic assemblies, conversations, mountebanks, etc., which he generally accompanied with some facetious trait of wit or humor, admirably rendered. some of his works of this description are little inferior to the charming productions of gabriel metzu. his compositions are ingenious and interesting, his design is correct and spirited, his coloring chaste and clear, and his pencil free and decided. he also had a good knowledge of the chiaro-scuro, which enabled him to give his figures a fine relief. his works are invariably finished with care and diligence, and do not betray any haste or infirmity of hand or head. it is evident that, from some untoward circumstance, his works were not appreciated in his day, but after his death they rose amazingly in value, and have continued to increase ever since,--a true test of a master's merit--till now they are scarcely to be found except in royal and noble collections and the public galleries of europe. his pictures were, for a long time, scarcely known out of holland, but now they are deservedly placed in the choicest collections. his works are very numerous, sufficient to have continually occupied the life time of not only a sober and industrious artist, but one possessing great facility of hand. smith, in his catalogue raisonné, vol. iv. and supplement, gives a descriptive account of upwards of genuine pictures by steen, many of them compositions of numerous figures, and almost all of them executed with the greatest care. it cannot be believed that a man living in a state of continued dissipation and inebriety, could find time to produce so many admirable works, displaying, as they do, a deep study of human nature, and a great discrimination of character, or that the hand of a habitual drunkard could operate with such beauty and precision. nor is it probable that a mind besotted by drink, and debased by low intercourse, could moralize so admirably as he has done on the evil consequences of intemperance and the indulgence of evil passions. kugler's critique on the works of jan steen. dr kügler, a judicious critic, thus sums up his character as an artist: "the works of jan steen imply a free and cheerful view of common life, and he treats it with a careless humor, such as seems to deal with all its daily occurrences, high and low, as a laughable masquerade and a mere scene of perverse absurdity. his treatment of the subjects differed essentially from that adopted by other artists. frequently, indeed, they are the same jolly drinking parties, or the meetings of boors; but in other masters the object is, for the most part, to depict a certain situation, either quiet or animated, whilst in jan steen is generally to be found action more or less developed, together with all the reciprocal relations and interests between the characters which spring from it. this is accompanied by great variety and force of individual expression, such as evinces the sharpest observation. he is almost the only artist in the netherlands who has thus, with true genius, brought into full play all these elements of comedy. his technical execution suits his design; it is carefully finished, and notwithstanding the closest attention to minute details, it is as firm and correct as it is light and free." frolics of mieris and jan steen. sandrart says that mieris had a real friendship for jan steen, and delighted in his company, though he was by no means fond of drinking as freely as jan was accustomed to do every evening at the tavern. notwithstanding this, he often passed whole nights with his friend in a joyous manner, and frequently returned very late to his lodging. one evening, when it was very dark and almost midnight, as mieris strolled home from the tavern, he unluckily fell into the common sewer, which had been opened for the purpose of cleansing, and the workmen had left unguarded. there he must have perished, had not a cobbler and his wife, who worked in a neighboring stall, heard his cries and instantly ran to his relief. having extricated mieris, they took all possible care of him, and procured the best refreshment in their power. the next morning mieris, having thanked his preservers, took his leave, but particularly remarked the house, that he might know it another time. the poor people were totally ignorant of the person whom they had relieved, but mieris had too grateful a heart to forget his benefactors, and having painted a picture in his best manner, he brought it to the cobbler and his wife, telling them it was a present from the person whose life they had contributed to save, and desired them to carry it to his friend cornelius plaats, who would give them the full value for it. the woman, unacquainted with the real worth of the present, concluded she might receive a moderate gratuity for the picture, but her astonishment was inexpressible, when she received the sum of eight hundred florins. sir anthony more. this eminent painter was born at utrecht, in . in , he accompanied the cardinal granville to spain, who recommended him to the patronage of the emperor charles v., whose portrait he painted, and that of prince philip, which gave so much satisfaction to the monarch, that he sent him to portugal, to paint the portraits of king john iii., catherine of austria his queen, and sister to charles, and that of their daughter, the princess donna maria, then contracted to philip; he also painted the portrait of donna catalina, charles' younger sister; all of which gave entire satisfaction, and the artist was munificently rewarded, and the honor of knighthood conferred on him. the emperor next despatched more to england to take the portrait of the princess mary previous to her marriage with philip of spain. on this occasion, he is said to have employed all the flattering aids of his art, and so captivated the courtiers of spain, with the charms of mary's person, that he was employed by cardinal granville and several of the grandees to make copies of it for them. he accompanied philip to england, where he remained till the death of queen mary, who highly honored him, presented him a gold chain, and allowed him a pension of £ a year. the emperor charles v. having abdicated in favor of his son philip ii., the latter returned to spain, and made more his court-painter, where his talents procured him great respect and abundant employment. sir anthony more and philip ii. philip ii. was accustomed to honor more by frequent visits to his studio, on which occasions he treated him with extraordinary familiarity. one day, in a moment of condescension and admiration, the monarch jocosely slapped more on the shoulder which compliment the painter, in an unguarded moment, playfully returned by smearing his hand with a little carmine from his brush. the king withdrew his hand and surveyed it for a moment, seriously; the courtiers were petrified with horror and amazement; the hand to which ladies knelt before they had the honor to kiss it, had never before been so dishonored since the foundation of the monarchy; at that moment the fate of more was balanced on a hair; he saw his rashness, fell on his knees, kissed the king's feet, and humbly begged pardon for the offence. philip smiled, and pardoned him, and all seemed to be well again; but the person of the king was too sacred in those days, and the act too daring to escape the notice of the inquisition, from whose bigotry and vengeance the king himself could not have shielded him. happily for more, one of philip's ministers advised him of his danger, and without loss of time he set out for brussels, upon the feigned pretence of pressing engagements, nor could philip ever induce him to return to his court. more's success and works. more was employed by most of the princes of europe, who liberally rewarded him, and at every court his paintings were beheld with admiration and applause, but at none more than at those of spain and england. he acquired an ample fortune. when he was in portugal, the nobility of that country, in token of their esteem, presented him, in the name of their order, a gold chain valued at a thousand ducats. he closely imitated nature. he designed and painted in a bold, masculine style, with a rich tone of coloring; he showed a good knowledge of the chiaro-scuro, and he finished his pictures with neatness and care; his style is said to resemble that of hans holbein, though not possessing his delicacy and clearness; and there is something dry and hard in his manner. his talents were not confined to portraits; he painted several historical subjects in spain for the royal collection, which were highly applauded, but which were unfortunately destroyed in the conflagration of the palace of the prado. while he resided in spain, he copied some portraits of illustrious women, in a style said to approach titian. his own portrait, painted by himself, charmingly colored, and full of life and nature, is in the florentine gallery. his best work was a picture of the circumcision, intended for the cathedral at antwerp, but he did not live to finish it, and died there in . perilous adventure of a painter. john griffier, a dutch painter of celebrity, went to london in , where he met with great encouragement. while there he painted many views on the thames, and in order to observe nature more attentively, he bought a yacht, embarked his family, and spent his whole time on the river. after several years he sailed for holland in his frail craft but was wrecked in the texel, where, after eight days of suffering, he and his family barely escaped with their lives, having lost all his paintings, and the fruits of his industry. this mishap cured him of his passion for the sea. anecdote of john de mabuse. an amusing anecdote is related of this eminent painter. he was inordinately given to dissipation, and spent all his money, as fast as he earned it, in carousing with his boon companions. he was for a long time in the service of the marquess de veren, for whom he executed some of his most capital works. it happened on one occasion that the emperor charles v. made a visit to the marquess, who made magnificent preparations for his reception, and among other things ordered all his household to be dressed in white damask. when the tailor came to measure mabuse, he desired to have the damask, under the pretence of inventing a singular habit. he sold it immediately, spent the money, and then painted a paper suit, so like damask that it was not distinguished as he walked in procession between a philosopher and a poet, other pensioners of the marquess; but the joke was too good to be kept, so his friends betrayed him to the marquess, who, instead of being displeased was highly diverted, and asked the emperor which of the three suits he liked best. the emperor pointed to that of mabuse, as excelling in whiteness and beauty of the flowers; and when he was told of the painter's stratagem, he would not believe it, till he had examined it with his own hands. capugnano and lionello spada. lanzi relates the following amusing anecdote of giovanni da capugnano, an artist of little merit, but whose assurance enabled him to attract considerable attention in his day. "misled by a pleasing self-delusion, he believed himself born to become a painter; like that ancient personage, mentioned by horace, who imagined himself the owner of all the vessels that arrived in the athenian port. his chief talent lay in making crucifixes, to fill up the angles, and in giving a varnish to the balustrades. next, he attempted landscape in water-colors, in which were exhibited the most strange proportions; of houses less than the men; these last smaller than his sheep; and the sheep again than his birds. extolled, however, in his own district, he determined to leave his native mountains, and figure on a wider theatre at bologna; there he opened his house, and requested the caracci, the only artists he believed to be more learned than himself, to furnish him with a pupil, whom he intended to polish in his studio. lionello spada, an admirable wit, accepted this invitation; he went and copied designs, affecting the utmost obsequiousness towards his master. at length, conceiving it time to put an end to the jest, he left behind him a most exquisite painting of lucretia, and over the entrance of the chamber some fine satirical octaves, in apparent praise, but real ridicule of capugnano. his worthy master only accused lionello of ingratitude, for having acquired from him in so short a space the art of painting so beautifully from his designs; but the caracci at last acquainted him with the joke, which acted as a complete antidote to his folly." michael angelo da caravaggio--his quarrelsome disposition. caravaggio possessed a very irascible and roving disposition. at the height of his popularity at rome, he got into a quarrel with one of his own young friends, in a tennis-court, and struck him dead with a racket, having been severely wounded himself in the affray. he fled to naples, where he executed some of his finest pictures, but he soon got weary of his residence there, and went to malta. here his superb picture of the grand master obtained for him the cross of malta, a rich gold chain, placed on his neck by the grand master's own hands, and two slaves to attend him. all these honors did not prevent the new knight from falling back into old habits. "_il suo torbido ingegno_," says bellori, plunged him into new difficulties; he fought and wounded a noble cavalier, was thrown into prison, from which he escaped almost by a miracle, and fled to syracuse, where he obtained the favor of the syracusans by painting a splendid picture of the santa morte, for the church of s. lucia. in apprehension of being taken by the knights of malta, he soon fled to messina, thence to palermo, and returned to naples, where hopes were held out to him of the pope's pardon. here he got into a quarrel with some military men in a public house, was wounded, and took refuge on board a felucca, about to sail for rome. stopping at a small port on the way, he was arrested by a spanish guard, by mistake, for another person; when released, he found the felucca gone, and in it all his property. traversing the burning shore, under an almost vertical sun, he was seized with a brain fever, and continued to wander through the pontine marshes till he arrived at porto ercoli, when he expired, aged forty years. jacopo amiconi. giacomo amiconi, a venetian painter, went to england, in , where he was first employed by lord tankerville to paint the staircase of his palace in st. james' square. he there represented the stories of achilles, telemachus and tiresias, which gained him great applause. when he was to be paid, he produced his bills of the workmen for scaffolding, materials, &c., amounting to £ , and asked no more, saying that he was content with the opportunity of showing what he could do. the peer, however, gave him £ more. this brought him into notice, and he was much employed by the nobility to decorate their houses. painting the dead. giovanni baptista gaulli, called baciccio, one of the most eminent genoese painters, was no less celebrated for portraits than for history. pascoli says he painted no less than seven different pontiffs, besides many illustrious personages. possessing great colloquial powers, he engaged his sitters in the most animated conversation, and thus transferred their features to his canvas, so full of life and expression, that they looked as though they were about to speak to the beholder. he also had a remarkable talent of painting the dead, so as to obtain an exact resemblance of deceased persons whom he had never seen. for this purpose, he drew a face at random, afterwards altering it in every feature, by the advice and under the inspection of those who had known the original, till he had improved it to a striking likeness. taddeo zuccaro. this eminent painter was born at san angiolo, in the duchy of urbino, in . at a very early age he evinced a passion for art and a precocious genius. after having received instruction from his father, a painter of little note, his extraordinary enthusiasm induced him, at fourteen years of age, to go to rome, without a penny in his pocket, where he passed the day in designing, from the works of raffaelle. such was his poverty, that he was compelled to sleep under the loggie of the chigi palace; he contrived to get money enough barely to supply the wants of nature, by grinding colors for the shops. undaunted by difficulties that would have driven a less devoted lover of the art from the field, he pursued his studies with undiminished ardor, till his talents and industry attracted the notice of daniello da por, an artist then in repute, who generously relieved his wants and gave him instruction. from that time he made rapid progress, and soon acquired a distinguished reputation, but he died at rome in , in the prime of life. zuccaro's resentment. federigo zuccaro, the brother of taddeo, was employed by pope gregory xiii. in the pauline chapel. while proceeding with his work, however, he fell out with some of the pope's officers; and conceiving himself treated with indignity, he painted an allegorical picture of calumny, introducing the portraits of all those individuals who had offended him, decorated with asses' ears. this he caused to be exhibited publicly over the gate of st. luke's church, on the festival day of that saint. his enemies, upon this, made such complaints that he was forced to fly from rome, and passing into france, he visited flanders and england. as soon as the pontiff was appeased, he returned to rome, and completed his work in the pauline chapel, fortunate in not losing his head as the price of such a daring exploit. royal criticism. federigo zuccaro was invited to madrid by philip ii. to execute some frescos in the lower cloister of the escurial, which, failing to give satisfaction to his royal patron, were subsequently effaced, and their place supplied by pellegrino tibaldi; the king nevertheless munificently rewarded him. one day, as he was displaying a picture of the nativity, which he had painted for the great altar of the escurial, for the inspection of the monarch, he said, "sire, you now behold all that art can execute; beyond this which i have done, the powers of painting cannot go." the king was silent for some time; his countenance betrayed neither approbation nor contempt; at last, preserving the same indifference, he quietly asked the painter what _those things_ were in the basket of one of the shepherds in the act of running? he replied they were eggs. "it is well then, that he did not break them," said the king, as he turned on his way--a just rebuke for such fulsome self-adulation. pietro da cortona. the name of this illustrious painter and architect was berrettini, and he was born at cortona, near florence, in . at the age of fourteen he went to rome, where he studied the works of raffaelle and caravaggio with the greatest assiduity. it is said that at first he betrayed but little talent for painting, but his genius burst forth suddenly, to the astonishment of those companions who had laughed at his incapacity; this doubtless was owing to his previous thorough course of study. while yet young, he painted two pictures for the cardinal sacchetti, representing the rape of the sabines, and a battle of alexander, which gained him so much celebrity that pope urban viii. commissioned him to paint a chapel in the church of s. bibiena, where ciampelli was employed. the latter at first regarded with contempt the audacity of so young a man's daring to attempt so important a public work, but cortona had no sooner commenced than ciampelli's disgust changed to admiration of his abilities. his success in this performance gained him the celebrated work of the ceiling of the grand saloon in the barberini palace, which is considered one of the greatest productions of the kind ever executed. cortona was invited to florence by the grand duke ferdinand ii., to paint the saloon and four apartments in the pitti palace, where he represented the clemency of alexander to the family of darius, the firmness of porsena, the continence of cyrus, the history of massanissa, and other subjects. while thus employed, the duke, one day, having expressed his admiration of a weeping child which he had just painted, cortona with a single stroke of his pencil made it appear laughing, and with another restored it to its former state; "prince," said he, "you see how easily children laugh and cry." disgusted with the intrigues of some artists jealous of his reputation, he left florence abruptly, without completing his works, and the grand duke could never persuade him to return. on his return to rome, he abounded with commissions, and pope alexander vii. honored him with the order of the golden spur. cortona was also distinguished as an architect. he made a design for the palace of the louvre, which was so highly approved by louis xiv. that he sent him his picture richly set in jewels. cortona was a laborious artist, and though tormented with the gout, and in affluent circumstances, he continued to paint till his death, in . "know thyself." mario ballassi, a florentine painter born in , studied successively under ligozzi, roselli, and passignano; he assisted the latter in the works he executed at rome for pope urban xiii. his chief talent lay in copying the works of the great masters, which he did to admiration. don taddeo barberini employed him to copy the transfiguration of raffaelle, for the church of the conception, in which he imitated the touch and expression of the original in so excellent a manner as to excite the surprise of the best judges at rome. at the recommendation of the cardinal piccolomini, he was introduced to the emperor ferdinand iii., who received him in an honorable manner. elated with his success, he vainly imagined that if he could imitate the old masters, he could also equal them in an original style of his own. he signally failed in the attempt, which brought him into as much contempt as his former works had gained him approbation. benvenuto cellini. this eminent sculptor and famous medalist was in high favor with clement vii., who took him into his service. during the time of the spanish invasion, cellini asked the pope for absolution for certain homicides which "he believed himself to have committed in the service of the church." the pope absolved him, and, to save time, he added an absolution in _prospectu_, "for all the homicides thereafter which the said benvenuto might commit in the same service." on another occasion, cellini got into a broil, and committed a homicide that was not in the service of the church. the friends of the deceased insisted upon condign punishment, and presumed to make some mention to the pope about "the laws;" upon which the successor of st. peter, knowing that it was easier to hang than to replace such a man, assumed a high tone, and told the complainants that "men who were masters of their art should not be subject to the laws." fracanzani and salvator rosa. the first accents of the "thrilling melody of sweet renown" which ever vibrated to the heart of salvator rosa, came to his ear from the kind-hearted fracanzani, his sister's husband, and a painter of merit. when salvator returned home from his sketching tours among the mountains, fracanzani would examine his drawings, and when he saw anything good, he would smilingly pat him on the head and exclaim, "fruscia, fruscia, salvatoriello--che va buono" (_go on, go on, salvator--this is good_). these simple plaudits were recalled to his memory with pleasure, in after years, when his fame rung among the polished circles at rome and florence. pope urban viii. and bernini. when the cardinal barberini, who had been the warm friend, patron, and protector of bernini, was elevated to the pontificate, the latter went to offer his congratulations to his benefactor. the pope received him in the most gracious manner, uttering these memorable words, "e gran fortuna la vostra, bernini, di vedere papa, il card. maffeo barberini; ma assai maggiore è la nostra, che il cav. bernini viva nel nostro pontificato;" (_it is a great piece of fortune for you, bernini, to behold the cardinal maffeo barberini pope; but how much greater is ours, that the cav. bernini lives in our pontificate;_) and he immediately charged him with the execution of those great works which have immortalized both their names. among the great works which he executed in this pontificate are the baldachin, or great altar of st. peter's, in bronze and gilt, under the centre of the great dome; the four colossal statues which fill the niches under the pedatives; the pulpit and canopy of st. peter's; the campanile; and the barberini palace. for these services, the pope gave bernini , crowns, besides his monthly salary of , which he increased, and extended his favors to his brothers--"a grand piece of fortune," truly. emulation and rivalry in the fine arts. emulation carries with it neither envy nor unfair rivalry, but inspires a man to surpass all others by superiority alone. such was the emulation and rivalry between zeuxis and parrhasius, which contributed to the improvement of both; and similar thereto was that which inspired the master-minds of michael angelo and raffaelle; of titian and pordenone; of albert durer and lucas van leyden; of agostino and annibale caracci; and we may add, in our own country, of thomas cole and durand. the emulation between the caracci, though it tended to the improvement of both, was more unfortunate in its result, as it finally engendered such a bitter rivalry as to drive agostino from the field, and it is said by some that both the caracci declined when their competition ceased. the confraternity of the chartreuse at bologna proposed to the artists of italy to paint a picture for them in competition, and to send designs for selection. the caracci were among the competitors, and the design of agostino was preferred before all others; this, according to several authors, first gave rise to the jealousy between the two brothers. the picture which agostino painted was his celebrated communion of st. jerome which napoleon placed in the louvre, but is now in the gallery at bologna. it is esteemed the masterpiece of the artist. it represents the venerable saint, carried to the church of bethlehem on his approaching dissolution, where he receives the last sacrament of the roman church, the viaticum, in the midst of his disciples, while a monk writes down his pious exhortations. soon after the completion of this sublime picture, the two brothers commenced the celebrated farnese gallery in conjunction; but the jealous feelings which existed between them caused continual dissentions, and the turbulent disposition of annibale compelled agostino to abandon him and quit rome. agostino, who according to all authorities was the best tempered of the two, from that time gave himself up almost entirely to engraving. annibale, though he has the honor of having executed the immortal works in the farnese gallery, yet owed much there, as elsewhere, to the acquirements and poetical genius of agostino. in the composition of such mythological subjects the unlettered annibale was totally inadequate. see vol. i., page of this work. the notte of correggio. this wonderful picture is one of the most singular and beautiful works of that great master. adopting an idea till then unknown to painters, he has created a new principle of light and shade; and in the limited space of nine feet by six, has expanded a breadth and depth of perspective which defies description. the subject he has chosen, is the adoration of the shepherds, who, after hearing the glad tidings of joy and salvation, proclaimed by the heavenly host, hasten to hail the new-born king and saviour. on so unpromising a subject as the birth of a child, in so mean a place as a stable, the painter has, however, thrown the air of divinity itself. the principal light emanates from the body of the infant, and illuminates the surrounding objects; but a secondary light is borrowed from a group of angels above, which, while it aids the general effect, is yet itself irradiated by the glory breaking from the child, and allegorizing the expression of scripture, that christ is the true light of the world. nor is the art, with which the figures are represented less admirable than the management of the light. the face of the child is skillfully hidden, by its oblique position, from the conviction that the features of a new-born infant are ill-adapted to please the eye; but that of the virgin is warmly irradiated, and yet so disposed, that in bending with maternal fondness over her offspring, it exhibits exquisite beauty, without the harshness of deep shadows. the light strikes boldly on the lower part of her face, and is lost in a fainter glow on the eyes, while the forehead is thrown into shade. the figures of joseph and the shepherds are traced with the same skillful pencil; and the glow which illuminates the piece is heightened to the imagination, by the attitude of a shepherdess, bringing an offering of doves, who shades her eyes with her hand, as if unable to sustain the brightness of incarnate divinity. the glimmering of the rising dawn, which shews the figures in the background, contributes to augment the splendor of the principal glory. "the beauty, grace, and finish of the piece," says mengs, "are admirable, and every part is executed in a peculiar and appropriate style." opie, in his lectures, speaking of this work, justly observes, "in the nótte, where the light diffused over the piece emanates from the child, he has embodied a thought at once beautiful, picturesque, and sublime; an idea which has been seized upon with such avidity, and produced so many imitations that no one is accused of plagiarism. the real author is forgotten, and the public accustomed to consider this incident as naturally a part of the subject, have long ceased to inquire, when, or by whom, it was invented." the history of this picture is curious, though involved in much obscurity. it is generally stated that while correggio was engaged upon the grand cupola at parma, he generally passed the colder season, when he could not work in fresco, in his native place. passing through reggio in one of his journeys, he received a commission from alberto pratonero for an altar-piece of the nativity, which produced one of his finest pictures, now called la nótte. the indefatigable tiraboschi discovered the original contract for the work, which is dated october th, , and fixes the price at two hundred and eight _livre di moneta vecchia_, or forty-seven and a half gold ducats (about $ ). it was painted for the pratoneri chapel in the church of s. prospero at reggio, but it was not fixed in its destined place till . it is said that it was removed surreptitiously by order of francesco i., the reigning duke of modena, who substituted a copy. the same story, however, is related of correggio's ancona, painted for the church of the conventuals at correggio. (see vol. ii., page , of this work.) at all events, the elector of saxony subsequently purchased this gem, with other valuable pictures, from the ducal gallery at mantua, and it now forms one of the principal ornaments of the dresden gallery. the dresden gallery. the gallery of dresden is well known to most amateurs from the engravings which have been made of many of its most capital pictures. in the works of correggio it stands preëminent above all others; and although some of these have suffered by injudicious cleaning, still they are by correggio. in the works of titian, raffaelle, lionardo da vinci, parmiggiano, andrea del sarto, the caracci, guido, &c., it holds also a high place; while it is rich in the works of the flemish and dutch masters. of the works of reubens there are, ; of vandyck, ; of rembrandt, ; of paul potter, ; of david teniers, jun., ; of philip wouvermans, ; of adrian ostade, ; of gerard douw, ; of francis mieris, ; of gabriel metzu, ; of berghem, ; of adrian van de velde, ; of ruysdael, ; and others by the dutch masters. tho entire collection contains flemish and dutch pictures, and pictures of the italian schools, the principal part of which, particularly the pictures of correggio, etc., belonged formerly to the mantua collection, and were purchased by the elector augustus iii., afterwards king of poland. painting among the egyptians. the antiquity of painting, as well as of sculpture, among the egyptians, is sunk in fable. yet it is certain that they made little or no progress in either art. plato, who flourished about b.c., says that the art of painting had been practiced by the egyptians upwards of ten thousand years, and that there were existing in that country paintings of that high antiquity, which were neither inferior to, nor very different from, those executed by the egyptian artists in his own time. before the french expedition to egypt, a great deal had been written on the subject of egyptian art, without eliciting anything satisfactory. norden, pococke, bruce, and other modern travelers, speak of extraordinary paintings found on the walls of the temples and in the tombs at thebes, denderah, and other places in upper egypt; and winckelmann justly regrets that those curious remains had not been visited by artists or persons skilled in works of art, "by whose testimony we might have been correctly informed of their character, style, and manoeuvre." the man at last came, and denon, in his _voyage dans le basse et haute egypt_, has set the matter at rest. he has given a curious and interesting account of the paintings at thebes, which he reports to be as fresh in color as when they were first executed. the design is in general stiff and incorrect; and whatever attitude is given to the figure, the head is always in profile. the colors are entire, without blending or degradation, as in playing cards, and the whole exhibits the art in a very rude state. they exhibit little or no knowledge of anatomy. the colors they used were confined to four--blue, red, yellow, and green; and of these, the blue and red predominate. the perfect preservation of the egyptian paintings for so many ages is to be attributed to the dryness of a climate where it never rains. the egyptian painters and sculptors designed their figures in a style peculiarly stiff and formal, with the legs invariably closed, except in some instances in the tombs of the kings at thebes, and their arms stuck to their sides, as if they had consulted no other models than their bandaged mummies. the reasons why the egyptians never made any progress in art till the time of the greco-egyptian kings, were their manners and customs, which prohibited any innovations, and compelled every one to follow the beaten track of his cast, without the least deviation from established rules, thus chaining down genius, and the stimulus of emulation, honor, renown and reward. when egypt passed under the dominion of the ptolemys, she made rapid progress in art, and produced some excellent painters, sculptors, and architects, though doubtless they were mostly of greek origin. it is related of ptolemy philopator, that he sent a hundred architects to rebuild rhodes, when it was destroyed by an earthquake. see vol. iii., page , of this work. painting among the greeks. the origin of painting in greece was unknown to pliny, to whom we are chiefly indebted for the few fragments of the biography of greek artists; he could only obtain his information from greek writers, of whom he complains that they have not been very attentive to their accustomed accuracy. it is certain, however, that the arts were practiced in egypt and in the east, many ages before they were known in greece, and it is the common opinion that they were introduced into that country from egypt and asia, through the channel of the phoenecian traders. it has been a matter of admiration that the greeks, in the course of three or four centuries, should have attained such perfection in every species of art that ennobles the human mind, as oratory, poetry, music, painting, sculpture, and architecture. two things explain the cause--freedom of action, and certainty of reward. this is exemplified in the whole history of the arts and sciences. the ancient eastern nations, among whom the freedom of thought and action was forbidden, and every man obliged to follow the trade of his caste, never made any progress; nor will the moderns progress in those countries till caste is done away, and every man allowed to follow the inclinations of his genius. the greeks were favored with a climate the most congenial for the perfect development of the mental and physical powers, and beauty of form. every man was at liberty freely to follow his favorite pursuits. they rewarded all who excelled in anything that was useful or beautiful, and that with a lavish hand. the prices they paid their great artists were truly astonishing; in comparison to which, the prices paid to the greatest artists of modern times are small. nor was this so great an incentive as the admiration and the caresses they received. the man of genius was sure of immortality and wealth. their academic groves and their games were the admiration and resort of all the surrounding countries. they decreed statues to their great men who deserved well of their country. to other powerful incentives, the greek artists had the advantage of the best models before them, in their gymnastic exercises and public games, where the youth contended for the prize quite naked. the greeks esteemed natural qualities so highly that they decreed the first rewards to those who distinguished themselves in feats of agility and strength. statues were often raised to wrestlers. not only the first youth of greece, but the sons of kings and princes sought renown in the public games and gymnastic exercises. chrysippus and cleanthus distinguished themselves in these games before they were known as philosophers. plato appeared as a wrestler both at the isthmian and pythian games; and pythagoras carried off the prize at elis. the passion which inspired them was glory--the ambition of having statues erected to their memory, in the most sacred place in greece, to be admired by the whole people. although it is universally admitted that the greeks carried sculpture and architecture to such a state of perfection that they have never been equalled by the moderns, except in imitating them, yet there is a great contrariety of opinion among the most eminent modern writers as to their success in painting; some, full of admiration for the works of antiquity which have descended to us, have not hesitated to declare that the greeks must have been equally successful in painting, while others, professing that we possess colors, vehicles, and science (as the knowledge of foreshortening, perspective, and of the chiaro-scuro) unknown to them, have as roundly asserted that they were far inferior to the moderns in this branch, and that their pictures, could we now see them in all their beauty, would excite our contempt. much of this boasted modern knowledge is, however, entirely gratuitous; the greeks certainly well understood foreshortening and perspective, as we have abundance of evidence in their works, to say nothing of these being expressly mentioned by pliny, and that it is impossible to execute any work of excellence without them. this erroneous opinion has sprung from the ignorance and imperfections of _the old fathers_ of italian art in these particulars, and the discoveries and perfections of those more modern. if the moderns possess any advantages over the ancients, it is that chemistry has invented some beautiful colors unknown to them, the invention of oil painting, and that illusion which results from a perfect acquaintance with the principles of the chiaro-scuro; but even here the mineral colors--the most valuable and permanent--were well known to them; and if they had not oil colors, they had a method of _encaustic painting_ not positively known to us, which might have answered as good a purpose--nor are we sure they did not practice the chiaro-scuro. besides, the most renowned modern masters were more celebrated in fresco than in oil painting, and the ancients well understood painting in fresco. in this, as in most other disputes, it may reasonably be presumed, that a just estimation of both will be found between the extremes. in comparing the paintings of the moderns with those of the ancients, it may be fairly inferred that the latter surpassed the former in expression, in purity of design, in attitude of the figures, and in ideal beauty. the moderns have doubtless surpassed the ancients in the arrangement of their groups, in perspective, foreshortening and chiaro-scuro--and in coloring. for a further disquisition on this subject, see vol. i. p. , of this work, article apelles. numismatics. numismatics is the science which has for its object the study of coins and medals, especially those struck by the ancient greeks and romans. the word is derived from the greek [greek: nomisma], or the latin _numus_, _coin or medal_. numismatics is now regarded as indispensable to archæology, and to a thorough acquaintance of the fine arts; it is also of great assistance in philology and the explanation of the ancient classics; it appears to have been entirely unknown to the ancients, but since the middle of the sixteenth century, it has occupied the attention of many learned men. the name of _coins_ is given to pieces of metal, on which the public authority has impressed different marks to indicate their weight and value, to make them a convenient medium of exchange. by the word _medals_, when used in reference to modern times, is understood pieces of metal similar to coins but not intended as a medium of exchange, but struck and distributed to commemorate some important event, or in memory of some distinguished personage. the name of medals, however, is also given to all pieces of money which have remained from ancient times. the term _medallion_ is given to medals of a very large size, many of them being several inches in diameter. the parts of a coin or medal are the two sides; first, the _obverse_ side, face or head, which contains the portrait of the person at whose command or in whose honor it was struck, or other figures relating to him: this portrait consists either of the head alone, or the bust, half length, or full figure; second, the _reverse_ contains mythological, allegorical, or historical figures. the words around the border form the _legend_, and those in the middle the _inscription_. the lower part of the coin, which is separated by a line from the figures or the inscription, is the _basis_ or _exergue_, and contains subsidiary matter, as the date, the place where the piece was struck, etc. numismatics has the same divisions as history.--ancient numismatics extends to the extinction of the empire of the west; the numismatics of the middle ages commences with charlemagne; and modern numismatics with the revival of learning. medals indicate the names of provinces and cities, determine their position, and present pictures of many celebrated places. they fix the period of events, frequently determine their character, and enable us to trace the series of kings. they also enable us to learn the different metallurgical processes, the different alloys, the modes of gilding and plating practiced by the ancients, the metals which they used, their weight and measures, their different modes of reckoning, the names and titles of the various kings and magistrates, and also their portraits, their different divinities, with their attributes and titles, the utensils and ceremonies of their worship, the costume of their priests--in fine, everything which relates to their usages, civil, military, and religious. medals also acquaint us with the history of art. they contain representations of several celebrated works of antiquity which have been lost, the value of which may be estimated from the ancient medals of those still existing, as the farnese hercules, niobe and her children, the venus of gnidos, etc. like gems and statues, they enable us to trace the epochs of different styles of art, to ascertain its progress among the most civilized nations, and its condition among the rude. the ancient medals were struck or cast; some were first cast and then struck. the first coins of rome and other cities of italy must have been cast, as the hammer could not have produced so bold a relief. the copper coins of egypt were cast. the right of coining money has always been one of the privileges which rulers have confined to themselves. the free cities have inscribed only their names on their coins. the cities subject to kings sometimes obtained permission to strike money in their own name, but were most frequently required to add the name or image of the king to whom they were subject. the medals of the parthians and the phoenecians offer many examples of this sort. rome, under the republic, allowed no individual the right to coin money; no magistrate could put his name thereon, though this honor was sometimes allowed, as a special favor, by a decree of the senate. we can count as numismatic countries only those into which the greeks and romans carried the use of money; though some of the oriental nations used gold and silver as a medium of exchange, before their time it was by weight. the people in the northern part of europe had no money. the coins preserved from antiquity are estimated to be more numerous than those we possess from the middle ages, in the proportion of a hundred to one! millin thinks that the number of extant ancient medals amounts to , ! what a fund of the most curious and authentic information do they contain, and what a multitude of errors have been corrected by their means! there are valuable cabinets of medals in all the principal cities of europe; that of paris is by far the richest; pillerin alone added to it , ancient coins and medals. the coins of the kings of macedon are the most ancient of any yet discovered having portraits; and alexander i., who commenced his reign about b.c. , is the earliest monarch whose medals have yet been found. then succeed the sovereigns who reigned in sicily, caria, cyprus, heraclea, and pontus. afterwards comes the series of kings of egypt, syria, the cimmerian bosphorus, thrace, parthia, armenia, damascus, cappadocia, paphlagonia, pergamos, galatia, cilicia, sparta pæonia, epirus, illyricum, gaul, and the alps. this series reaches from the time of alexander the great to the christian era, comprising a period of about years. a perfect and distinct series is formed by the roman emperors, from the time of julius cæsar to the destruction of the empire, and even still later. the grecian medals claim that place in a cabinet, from their antiquity, which their workmanship might ensure them, independently of that advantageous consideration. it is observed by pinkerton, that an immense number of the medals of cities, which, from their character, we might judge to be of the highest antiquity, have a surprising strength, beauty, and relief in their impressions. about the time of alexander the great, this art appears to have attained its highest perfection. the coins of alexander and his father exceed in beauty all that were ever executed, if we except those of sicily, magna grecia, and the ancient ones of asia minor. sicilian medals are famous for workmanship, even from the time of gelo. the coins of the syrian kings, successors to alexander, almost equal his own in beauty; but adequate judges confine their high praises of the greek mint to those coins struck before the subjection of greece to the roman empire. the roman coins, considered as medals in a cabinet, may be divided into two great classes--the consular and the imperial; both are numerous and valuable. in the cabinet of the grand duke of tuscany is a set of twelve medals of antonius pius, each with one of the signs of the zodiac on the reverse, and part of another set, eight in number with as many of the labors of hercules. restoring ancient edifices. as in comparative anatomy it is easy, from a single bone, to designate and describe the animal to which it belonged, so in architecture it is easy to restore, by a few fragments, any ancient building. in consequence of the known simplicity and regularity of most antique edifices, the task of restoration, by means of drawings and models, is much less difficult than might be supposed. the ground work, or some sufficient parts of it, commonly extant, shows the length and breadth of the building, with the positions of the walls, doors and columns. a single column, or part of a column, whether standing or fallen, with a fragment of the entablature, furnishes data from which the remainder of the colonnade and the height of the edifice can be made out. a single stone from the cornice of the pediment, is sufficient to give the angle of inclination, and consequently the height of the roof. in this way the structure of many beautiful edifices has been accurately determined, when in so ruinous a state as scarcely to have left one stone upon another. napoleon's love of art. napoleon was not only a true lover of art, but an excellent connoisseur. he did more to elevate the arts and sciences in france than all the monarchs together who had preceded him. it was a part of his policy to honor and reward every man of genius, no matter what his origin, and thus to develop the intellect of his country. he foresaw the advantage of making paris the great centre of art; therefore he did not hesitate to transport from the countries he conquered, the most renowned and valuable works of ancient and modern times. "paris is rome; paris is now the great centre of art," said he to canova in , when that great sculptor visited paris at his command, and whom he endeavored to persuade to permanently remain in his service. west, after his return to england from paris, where he had had several interviews with bonaparte, expressed his admiration of the man in such warm terms as offended the officials of the government, and caused such opposition, that he deemed it proper to resign the president's chair in the royal academy. the truth is, it was not the conqueror, as the english pretended, but his exalted ideas of the arts, and of their value to a country, which captivated west, whose peaceful tenets led him to abhor war and devastation. napoleon's enlightened policy is also seen in those stupendous works published by the french government, as the _description de l'egypte, ou recueil des observationes et des recherches pendant l'expedition de l'armée français_, vols. in elephant folio. this work corresponds in grandeur of its proportions to the edifices and monuments which it describes. everything that zeal in the cause of science, combined with the most extensive knowledge, had been able to collect in a land abounding in monuments of every kind, and in the rarest curiosities, is described and illustrated in this work by a committee of savans appointed for the purpose. it contains more than engravings, and illustrative sketches. the musée français, and the musée royal, containing plates, after the gems of the world, are not less grand and magnificent, and far more valuable contributions to art. these will be described in a subsequent page. such was napoleon; deprive him of every other glory, his love of art, and what he did for its promotion, and the adornment of his country, would immortalize his name. napoleon delighted to spend some of his leisure moments in contemplating the master pieces of art which he had gathered in the louvre, and that he might go there when he pleased, without parade, he had a private gallery constructed leading to that edifice from the tuilleries. (see spooner's dictionary of painters, engravers, sculptors, and architects, articles west, david, denon, canova, etc., and vol i., page , of this work.) napoleon's works at paris. "the emperor was, most indisputably, the monarch who contributed in the greatest degree to the embellishment of paris. how many establishments originated under his reign! nevertheless, on beholding them, the observer has but a faint idea of all he achieved; since every principal city of the empire witnessed alike the effects of his munificence and grandeur of mind; the streets were widened, roads constructed and canals cut; even the smallest towns experienced improvements, the result of that expanded genius which was daily manifested. i shall, therefore, content myself by placing before the reader a mere sketch of the works achieved at paris; for were it requisite to give a catalogue of all the monuments erected during his reign, throughout the french empire, a series of volumes would be required to commemorate those multifarious labors."--_ireland_. _palaces._ the louvre was completely restored, which a succession of french monarchs had not been able to accomplish. the palace of the luxembourg equally embellished throughout, as well in the interior as the exterior, and its gardens replanted. the exchange founded. the palace of the university reconstructed, as well as the gallery uniting the palace of the tuilleries to that of the louvre. _fountains._ the situation of the fountain of the innocents changed, and the whole reërected; that of saint sulpicius; of the four nations; of desaix in the place dauphine; of gros-caillon; of the quay de l'ecole; of the bridge of saint eustatius; of the rue ceusder; of the rue popincourt; of the chateau d'eau; of the square of the chatelet; of the place notre dame; of the temple; and of the elephant, in the place of the bastille. _acqueducts._ the subterranean acqueducts were constructed, which convey the water of the canal de l'ourcq throughout the different quarters of paris, from whence a vast number of small fountains distribute them in every direction, to refresh the streets during the summer season, and to cleanse them in the winter; these same channels being also formed to receive the waters which flow from the gutters in the streets. _markets._ that of the innocents, the largest in paris; the jacobins, where formerly stood the monastery of that name, and during the heat of the revolution, the club so called; the valley for the sale of poultry; the market of saint joseph; the halle for the sale of wines; the market of saint martin; that of saint germain, and of saint jacques-la-boucherie. _slaughter houses._ those of the deux moulins; of the invalids; of popincourt; of miromeuil, and of les martyrs. as the killing of animals, for the consumption of paris, within the confines of the city, was deemed not only unwholesome, but very disgusting, these buildings were erected by order of napoleon, and have proved of the greatest utility. the edifices are very spacious, containing all the requisites for the purpose intended, and being also placed in different directions and without the barriers of the city, the eyes of the inhabitants are no longer disgusted by beholding those torrents of blood which formerly inundated the streets, and which, in the summer season, produced an effluvia not only disgusting to the smell, but highly detrimental to the health of the population of the city. _watering places for animals._ that of the school of medicine, a superb marble structure, together with the abreuvoir of the rue l'egout, saint germain. _public granary, or halle du blé._ necessity gave rise to the noble plan of this stupendous fabric, the idea of which was taken from the people of antiquity. _boulevard._ that called bourdon was formed, occupying the environs of the spot where the bastille stood. _bridges._ those of the arts; of the city; of austerlitz; and of jena. _triumphal arches._ the carousel; the etoile; and the arch of louis xiv., restored. _quays._ those of napoleon; of flowers; of morland; and of caténat. _the column of austerlitz._ situated in the centre of the place vendôme, formed of the brass produced from the cannon which were taken from the austrians during the memorable campaign of . _place de victoires._ in the middle of this square was erected a colossal bronze statue of the gallant general desaix, who nobly fell at the battle of marengo, when leading to the charge a body of cavalry, which decided the fate of that desperate conflict; this tribute, however, to the memory of the brave, was removed by order of the bourbons, on their first restoration. _squares._ in the middle of the place royale a fine basin has been constructed, from whence plays a magnificent piece of water; the squares of the apport de paris; of the rotunda; and of rivoli. _the pantheon._ the pillars supporting the vast dome of this lofty pile, which had long threatened the overthrow of the structure were replaced, and the tottering foundations rendered perfect and solid. _the hotel dieu._ the whole façade of this immense hospital was reconstructed. _the canal de l'ourcq._ this grand undertaking was rendered navigable, and the basin, sluices, &c. completely finished. the napoleon medals. of the numerous means employed to commemorate the achievements of napoleon, the public buildings and monuments of france bear ample witness. indeed, bonaparte's name and fame are so engrafted with the arts and literature of france, that it would be impossible for the government to erase the estimation in which he is held by the french people. _a series of medals in bronze_, nearly one hundred and thirty in number, struck at different epochs of his career, exist, each in celebration of the prowess of the french army, or of some great act of his government: a victory, a successful expedition, the conquest of a nation, the establishment of a new state, the elevation of some of his family, or his own personal aggrandizement. the medal commemorative of the _battle of marengo_ bears, on one side, a large bunch of keys, environed by two laurel branches; and, on the reverse, bonaparte, as a winged genius, standing on a dismounted cannon to which four horses are attached upon the summit of mount st. bernard, urges their rapid speed, with a laurel branch in one hand, whilst he directs the reins with the other. that on the _peace of luneville_ is two inches and a quarter in diameter, with the head of the first consul in uncommonly bold relief; the device, as mentioned in another place, is the sun arising in splendor upon that part of the globe which represents france, and which is overshadowed by laurels, whilst a cloud descends and obscures great britain. the commencement of hostilities by england, after the _peace of amiens_, is designated by the english leopard tearing a scroll, with the inscription, _le traité d'amiens rompu par l'angleterre en mai de l'an_ ; on the reverse, a winged female figure in breathless haste forcing on a horse at full speed, and holding a laurel crown, inscribed, _l'hanovre occupé var l'armée francaise en juin de l'an_ ; and beneath, _frappée avec l'argent des mines d'hanovre, l'an de bonaparte_. his medal, on assuming the purple, has his portrait, _napoleon empereur_, by andrieu, who executed nearly all the portraits on his medals; on the reverse, he is in his imperial robes, elevated by two figures, one armed, inscribed, _le senat et le peuple_. the _battle of austerlitz_ has, on the reverse, simply a thunderbolt, with a small figure of napoleon, enrobed and enthroned on the upper end of the shaft of the thunder. in , he struck a medal with a herculean figure on the reverse, confining the head of the english leopard between his knees, whilst preparing a cord to strangle him, inscribed _en l'an xii. barques sont construites_;--this was in condemnation of the invasion and conquest of england. the reverse of the medal on the _battle of jena_ represents napoleon on an eagle in the clouds, as warring with giants on the earth, whom he blasts with thunderbolts. the medal on the _confederation of the rhine_ has, for its reverse, numerous warriors in ancient armor, swearing with their right hands on an altar, formed of an immense fasces, with the imperial eagle projecting from it. not the least characteristic of the series is a medal, with the usual head _napoleon emp. et roi_, on the exergue, with this remarkable reverse, a throne, with the imperial robes over the back and across the sceptre, which is in the chair; before the throne is a table, with several crowns, differing in shape and dignity, and some sceptres with them lying upon it; three crowns are on the ground, one broken and two upside down; an eagle with a fasces hovers in the air; the inscription is, _souverainetés donnés_ m.dcccvi. the reverses of the last four in succession, struck during the reign of napoleon, are, . the _wolga_, rising with astonishment from his bed at the sight of the french eagle; . a representation of _la bataille de la moskowa, septembre, _; . _a view of moscow_, with the french flag flying on the kremlin, and an ensign of the french eagle, bearing the letter n. loftily elevated above its towers and minarets, dated th september, ; . a figure in the air, directing a furious storm against an armed warrior resembling napoleon, who, unable to resist the attack, is sternly looking back, whilst compelled to fly before it--a dead horse, cannon dismounted, and a wagon full of troops standing still, perishing in fields of snow; the inscription is, _retraite de l'armée, novembre, _. the workmanship of the preceding medals are admirable, but most of them are surpassed in that respect by some to which we can do little more than allude. a finely executed medal, two inches and five-eights in diameter, represents napoleon enthroned in his full imperial costume, holding a laurel wreath; on the reverse is a head of _minerva_, surrounded by laurel and various trophies of the fine arts, with this inscription--_ecole francaise des beaux arts à rome, rétablie et augmentée par napoleon en _. the reverses--of the cathedral at paris--a warrior sheathing his sword (on the battle of jena)--and bonaparte holding up the king of rome, and presenting him to the people--are amongst the most highly finished and most inestimable specimens of art. unquestionably the _worst_ in the collection is the consular medal, which, on that account, deserves description; it is, in size, about a half crown piece, on the exergue, over a small head of bonaparte, is inscribed _bonaparte premier consul_; beneath it, _cambacères second consul, le brun troisième consul de la république francaise_; on the reverse, _le peuple francais à défenseurs, cette première pierre de la colonne nationale, posée par lucien bonaparte, ministre de l'interieur, messidore, an , juillet, _.--one other medal only appears with the name of lucien bonaparte; it is that struck in honor of marshal turenne, upon the _translation du corps de turenne au temple de mars par les ordres du premier consul bonaparte_; and is of a large size, bearing the head of turenne, with, beneath it, _sa gloire appartient au peuple francais_. several are in honor of general desaix, whose memory napoleon held in great esteem. those on his marriage with marie louise bear her head beside his own; and a small one on that occasion has for its reverse, a cupid carrying with difficulty a thunderbolt. those on the birth of their child bear the same heads on the exergue, with the head of an infant, on the reverse, inscribed, _napoleon françois joseph charles, rio de rome, xx. mars m.dcccxi.--ireland_. the elephant fountain. when napoleon had decided that a stupendous fountain should occupy the centre of the area where the celebrated state prison of the bastille stood, the several artists, employed by the government, were ordered to prepare designs for the undertaking, and numerous drawings were in consequence sent in for the emperor's inspection. on the day appointed, he proceeded to examine these specimens, not one of which, however, proved at all commensurate with the vast idea he had in contemplation; wherefore, after pacing the chamber a few minutes, napoleon suddenly halted, exclaiming: "plant me a colossal elephant there, and let the water spout from his extended trunk!" all the artists stood astonished at this bold idea, the propriety and grandeur of which immediately flashed conviction upon their minds, and the only wonder of each was, that no such thought should have presented itself to his own imagination: the simple fact is, _there was but one napoleon present_!--_communicated to ireland by david._ this fountain was modeled in plaster of paris on the spot. it is seventy-two feet in height; the _jet d'eau_ is through the nostrils of his trunk; the reservoir in the tower on his back; and one of his legs contains the staircase for ascending to the large room in the inside of his belly. the elephant was to have been executed in bronze, with tusks of silver, surrounded by lions of bronze, which were to spout water from one cistern to another. interesting drawings. on the sailing of the french expedition for egypt, from malta, under the orders of bonaparte, the fleet was intentionally dispersed in order to arrive without being noticed; they had no sooner, however, left malta, than they learned that nelson had penetrated their design, and was in pursuit of them. expecting every hour to be come up with, and being too weak to risk a combat, it was the resolution of bonaparte and the rest of the illustrious persons on board the _orient_ to blow her up, rather than be taken prisoners; but, that the memory of those who perished might be preserved, and their features known by posterity, bonaparte caused the portraits of eighteen to be taken on two sheets of paper, which were to be rolled up, put in bottles, and committed to the waves: the names of the persons are,-- _first drawing._ desaix, berthier, kleber, dalomieu, berthollet, bonaparte, caffarelli, brueys, monge. _second drawing._ rampon, junot, regnier, desgenettes, larrey, murat, lasnes, belliard, snulkanski. the portraits were executed in medallions, with india ink; they were carefully preserved by the famous surgeon, baron larrey; and they adorned his study at paris till his death. sevres china. on the river at sévres, near paris, a manufactory is carried on, which produces the beautiful porcelain, commonly called sévres, china. it is equal to all that has been said of it, and after declining, as every other great national establishment did, during the revolution, flourished greatly under the peculiar patronage of the emperor napoleon. he made presents hence to those sovereigns of europe with whom he was in alliance. napoleon had two vases made of this china, which, even at this day, form the principal ornament of the gallery at st. cloud. these were made at sévres, and are valued at , francs each. the clay made use of was brought at a great expense from a distant part of france, and affords an instance of how much the value of raw material may be increased by the ingenuity of a skillful artist. dismantling of the louvre. in scott's paris revisited (a. d. ), we have the following interesting particulars of the removal of the celebrated pictures and statues from this famous emporium of the fine arts. "every day new arrivals of strangers poured into paris, all anxious to gain a view of the louvre, before its collection was broken up; it was the first point to which all the british directed their steps every morning, in eager curiosity to know whether the business of removal had commenced. the towns and principalities, that had been plundered, were making sedulous exertions to influence the councils of the allies to determine on a general restoration; and several of the great powers leaned decidedly towards such a decision. "before actual force was employed, representations were repeated to the french government, but the ministers of the king of france would neither promise due satisfaction, nor uphold a strenuous opposition. they showed a sulky disregard of every application. a deputation from the netherlands formally claimed the dutch and flemish pictures taken during the revolutionary wars from those countries; and this demand was conveyed through the duke of wellington, as commander-in-chief of the dutch and belgian armies. about the same time, also, austria determined that her italian and german towns, which had been despoiled, should have their property replaced, and canova, the anxious representative of rome, after many fruitless appeals to talleyrand, received assurances that he, too, should be furnished with an armed force sufficient to protect him in taking back to that venerable city, what lost its highest value in its removal from thence. "contradicting reports continued to prevail among the crowds of strangers and natives as to the intentions of the allies, but on saturday, the d of september, all doubt was removed. on going up to the door of the louvre, i found a guard of one hundred and fifty british riflemen drawn up outside. i asked one of the soldiers what they were there for? 'why, they tell me, sir, that they mean to take away the pictures,' was his reply. i walked in amongst the statues below, and on going to the great staircase, i saw the english guard hastily trampling up its magnificent ascent: a crowd of astonished french followed in the rear, and, from above, many of the visitors in the gallery of pictures were attempting to force their way past the ascending soldiers, catching an alarm from their sudden entrance. the alarm, however, was unfounded; but the spectacle that presented itself was very impressive. a british officer dropped his men in files along this magnificent gallery, until they extended, two and two, at small distances, from its entrance to its extremity. all the spectators were breathless, in eagerness to know what was to be done, but the soldiers stopped as machines, having no care beyond obedience to their orders. "the work of removal now commenced in good earnest: porters with barrows, and ladders, and tackles of ropes made their appearance. the collection of the louvre might from that moment be considered as broken up for ever. the sublimity of its orderly aspect vanished: it took now the melancholy, confused, desolate air of a large auction room, after a day's sale. before this, the visitors had walked down its profound length with a sense of respect on their minds, influencing them to preserve silence and decorum, as they contemplated the majestic pictures; but decency and quiet were dispelled when the signal was given for the breaking up of the establishment. it seemed as if a nation had become ruined through improvidence, and was selling off. "the guarding of the louvre was committed by turns to the british and austrians, while this process lasted. the prussians said that they had done their own business for themselves, and would not now incur odium for others. the workmen being incommoded by the crowds that now rushed to the louvre, as the news spread of the destruction of its great collection, a military order came that no visitors should be admitted without permission from the foreign commandant of paris. this direction was pretty much adhered to by the sentinels as far as the exclusion of the french, but the words _je suis anglais_, were always sufficient to gain leave to pass from the austrians: our own countrymen were rather more strict, but, in general, foreigners could, with but little difficulty, procure admission. the parisians stood in crowds around the door, looking wistfully within it, as it occasionally opened to admit germans, english, russians, &c., into a palace of their capital from which they were excluded. i was frequently asked by french gentlemen, standing with ladies on their arms, and kept back from the door by the guards, to take them into their own louvre, under my protection as an unknown foreigner! it was impossible not to feel for them in these remarkable circumstances of mortification and humiliation; and the agitation of the french public was now evidently excessive. every frenchman looked a walking volcano, ready to spit forth fire. groups of the common people collected in the space before the louvre, and a spokesman was generally seen, exercising the most violent gesticulations, sufficiently indicative of rage, and listened to by the others, with lively signs of sympathy with his passion. as the packages came out, they crowded round them, giving vent to torrents of _pestes_, _diables_, _sacres_, and other worse interjections. "wherever an englishman went, in paris, at this time, whether into a shop or a company, he was assailed with the exclamation, _'ah! vos compatriotes!'_ and the ladies had always some wonderful story to tell him, of an embarrassment or mortification that had happened to _his_ duke; of the evil designs of the prince regent, or the dreadful revenge that was preparing against the injuries of france. the great gallery of the louvre presented every fresh day a more and more forlorn aspect; but to the reflecting mind, it combined a number of interesting points of view. the gallery now seemed to be the abode of all the foreigners in the french capital:--we collected there, as a matter of course, every morning--but it was easy to distinguish the last comers from the rest. they entered the louvre with steps of eager haste, and looks of anxious inquiry; they seemed to have scarcely stopped by the way--and to have made directly for the pictures on the instant of their reaching paris. the first view of the stripped walls made their countenances sink under the disappointment, as to the great object of their journey. crowds collected round the _transfiguration_--that picture which, according to the french account, _destiny_ had always intended for the french nation: it was every one's wish to see it taken down, for the fame which this great work of raffaelle had acquired, and its notoriety in the general knowledge, caused its departure to be regarded as the consummation of the destruction of the picture gallery of the louvre. it was taken away among the last. "students of all nations fixed themselves round the principal pictures, anxious to complete their copies before the workmen came to remove the originals. many young french girls were seen among these, perched upon small scaffolds, and calmly pursuing their labors in the midst of the throng and bustle. when the french gallery was thoroughly cleared of the property of other nations, i reckoned the number of pictures which then remained to it, and found that the total left to the french nation, of the fifteen hundred pictures which constituted their magnificent collection, was _two hundred and seventy-four_! the italian division comprehended about eighty-five specimens; these were now dwindled to _twelve_: in this small number, however, there are some very exquisite pictures by raffaelle, and other great masters. their titians are much reduced, but they keep the entombment, as belonging to the king of france's old collection, which is one of the finest by that artist. a melancholy air of utter ruin mantled over the walls of this superb gallery: the floor was covered with empty frames: a frenchman, in the midst of his sorrow, had his joke, in saying, 'well, we should not have left to _them_ even these!' in walking down this exhausted place, i observed a person, wearing the insignia of the legion of honor, suddenly stop short, and heard him exclaim, '_ah, my god--and the paul potter, too!_' this referred to the famous painting of a bull by that master, which is the largest of his pictures, and is very highly valued. it belonged to the netherlands, and has been returned to them. it was said that the emperor alexander offered fifteen thousand pounds for it. "the removal of the statues was later in commencing, and took up more time; they were still packing these up when i quitted paris. i saw the venus, the apollo, and the laocoön removed: these may be deemed the presiding deities of the collection. the solemn antique look of these halls fled forever, when the workmen came in with their straw and plaster of paris, to pack up. the french could not, for some time, allow themselves to believe that their enemies would dare to deprive them of these sacred works; it appeared to them impossible that they should be separated from france--from _la france_--the country of the louvre and the institute; it seemed a contingency beyond the limits of human reverses. but it happened, nevertheless: they were all removed. one afternoon, before quitting the place, i accidentally stopped longer than usual, to gaze on the venus, and i never saw so clearly her superiority over the apollo, the impositions of whose style, even more than the great beauties with which they are mingled, have gained for it an inordinate and indiscriminating admiration. on this day, very few, if any of the statues had been taken away--and many said that france would retain them, although she was losing the pictures. on the following morning i returned, and the pedestal on which the venus had stood for so many years, the pride of paris, and the delight of every observer, was vacant! it seemed as if a soul had taken its flight from a body." removal of the venetian horses from paris. "the removal of the well known horses taken from the church of st. mark in venice, was a bitter mortification to the people of paris. these had been peculiarly the objects of popular pride and admiration. being exposed to the public view, in one of the most frequented situations of paris, this was esteemed the noblest trophy belonging to the capital; and there was not a parisian vender of a pail-full of water who did not look like a hero when the venetian horses were spoken of. "'have you heard what has been determined about the horses?' was every foreigner's question. 'oh! they cannot mean to take the horses away,' was every frenchman's answer. on the morning of thursday, the th of september, , however it was whispered that they had been at work all night in loosening them from their fastening. it was soon confirmed that this was true--and the french then had nothing left for it, but to vow, that if the allies were to attempt to touch them in the _daylight_, paris would rise at once, exterminate its enemies, and rescue its honor. on friday morning i walked through the square; it was clear that some considerable change had taken place; the forms of the horses appeared finer than i had ever before witnessed. when looking to discover what had been done, a private of the british staff corps came up, 'you see, sir, we took away the harness last night,' said he. 'you have made a great improvement by so doing,' i replied; 'but are the british employed on this work?' the man said that the austrians had requested the assistance of our staff corps, for it included better workmen than any they had in their service. i heard that an angry french mob had given some trouble to the people employed on the thursday night, but that a body of parisian gendarmerie had dispersed the assemblage. the frenchmen continued their sneers against the allies for working in the dark: fear and shame were the causes assigned. 'if you take them at all, why not take them in the face of day? but you are too wise to drag upon yourselves the irresistible popular fury, which such a sight would excite against you!' "on the night of friday, the order of proceeding was entirely changed. it had been found proper to call out a strong guard of austrians, horse and foot. the mob had been charged by the cavalry, and it was said that several had their limbs broken. i expected to find the place on saturday morning quiet and open as usual; but when i reached its entrance, what an impressive scene presented itself! the delicate plan--for such in truth it was--of working by night, was now over. the austrians had wished to spare the feelings of the king the pain of seeing his capital dismantled before his palace windows, where he passed in his carriage when he went out for his daily exercise. but the acute feelings of the people rendered severer measures necessary. my companion and myself were stopped from entering the place by austrian dragoons: a large mob of frenchmen were collected here, standing on tip-toe to catch the arch in the distance, on the top of which the ominous sight of numbers of workmen, busy about the horses, was plainly to be distinguished. we advanced again to the soldiers: some of the french, by whom we were surrounded, said, 'whoever you are, you will not be allowed to pass.' i confess i was for retiring--for the whole assemblage, citizens and soldiers, seemed to wear an angry and alarming aspect. but my companion was eager for admittance. he was put back again by an austrian hussar:--'_what, not the english!_' he exclaimed in his own language. the mob laughed loudly, when they heard the foreign soldier so addressed; but the triumph was ours; way was instantly made for us--and an officer on duty, close by, touched his helmet as we passed. "the king and princes had left the tuilleries, to be out of the view of so mortifying a business the court of the palace, which used to be gay with young _gardes du corps_ and equipages, was now silent, deserted, and shut up. not a soul moved in it. the top of the arch was filled with people, and the horses, though as yet all there, might be seen to begin to move. the carriages that were to take them away were in waiting below, and a tackle of ropes was already affixed to one. the small door leading to the top was protected by a strong guard: every one was striving to obtain permission to gratify his curiosity, by visiting the horses for the last time that they could be visited in this situation. permission, however, could necessarily be granted but to few. i was of the fortunate number. in a minute i had climbed the narrow dark stair, ascended a small ladder, and was out on the top, with the most picturesque view before me that can be imagined. an english lady asked me to assist her into napoleon's car of victory: his own statue was to have been placed in it, _when he came back a conqueror from his russian expedition!_ i followed the lady and her husband into the car, and we found a prussian officer there before us. he looked at us, and, with a good humored smile, said, 'the emperor kept the english out of france, but the english have now got where he could not! '_ah, pauvre, napoleon!_' "the cry of the french now was, that it was abominable, execrable, to insult the king in his palace--to insult him in the face of his own subjects by removing the horses in the face of day! i adjourned with a friend to dine at a _restaurateur's_, near the garden of the tuilleries, after witnessing what i have described. between seven and eight in the evening we heard the rolling of wheels, the clatter of cavalry, and the tramp of infantry. a number of british were in the room; they all rose and rushed to the door without hats, and carrying in their haste their white table napkins in their hands. the horses were going past in military procession, lying on their sides, in separate cars. first came cavalry, then infantry, then a car; then more cavalry, more infantry, then another car; and so on till all four passed. the drums were beating, and the standards went waving by. this was the only appearance of parade that attended any of the removals. three frenchmen, seeing the group of english, came up to us, and began a conversation. they appealed to us if this was not shameful. a gentleman observed, that the horses were only going back to the place from whence the french had taken them: if there was a right in power for france, there must also be one for other states but the better way to consider these events was as terminating the times of robbery and discord. two of them seemed much inclined to come instantly round to our opinion: but one was much more consistent. he appeared an officer, and was advanced beyond the middle age of life. he kept silence for a moment; and then, with strong emphasis, said--'you have left me nothing for my children but hatred against england; this shall be my legacy to them.'"--_scott._ removal of the statue of napoleon from the place vendome. "what will posterity think of the madness of the french government and the exasperation of public feeling in a nation like the french, so uniformly proud of military glory, when very shortly after the first arrival of their new monarch, louis xviii., an order was issued for leveling with the dust that proud monument of their victories, the famous column and statue of napoleon in the place vendôme cast from those cannon which their frequent victories over the austrians had placed at their disposal? the ropes attached to the neck of the colossal brazen figure of the emperor, wherewith the pillar was crowned, extended to the very iron gratings of the tuillerie gardens; thousands essayed to move it, but all attempts were vain--the statue singly defied their malice; upon which a second expedient was resorted to, and the carriage horses, etc., from the royal stables were impressed into this service, and affixed to the ropes, thus uniting their powerful force to that of the _bipeds_: but even this proved abortive; the statue and column braved the united shocks of man and beast, and both remained immoveable." the statue was afterwards quietly dislodged from its station by the regular labors of the experienced artisan. it was not replaced till after the revolution in .--_ireland._ the musee francais and the musee royal. when the allies entered paris in , they found in the gallery of the louvre about two thousand works of art--the gems of the world in painting and antique sculpture--mostly the spoils of war, deposited there by the emperor napoleon. the selection of these works was entrusted to a commission, at the head of whom was the baron denon, who accompanied the emperor in all his expeditions for this purpose. the louvre, at this time, was the acknowledged emporium of the fine arts. the grand determination of napoleon to place france highest in art among the nations, did not rest here. the design of combining in one single series, five hundred and twenty-two line engravings from the finest paintings and antique statues in the world, was a conception worthy of his genius and foresight, and by its execution he conferred a lasting favor not only on the artistic, but the civilized world, for the originals were subsequently restored by the allies to their rightful owners and only about three hundred and fifty pieces remained of that splendid collection. "these works" (the musée français, and the musée royal), says a distinguished connoisseur, "are unquestionably the greatest production of modern times. they exhibit a series of exquisite engravings by the most distinguished artists, of such a magnificent collection of painting and of sculpture as can never be again united." these works were intended as a great treasury of art, from which not only artists, but the whole world might derive instruction and profit. to secure the utmost perfection in every department, no expense was spared. the drawings for the engravers to engrave from, were executed by the most distinguished artists, in order to ensure that every peculiarity, perfection, and _imperfection_ in the originals should be exactly copied, and these are pointed out in the accompanying criticisms. these drawings alone cost the french government , francs. the engravings were executed by the most distinguished engravers of europe, without regard to country, among whom it is sufficient to mention raffaelle morghen, the chevalier von müller, and his son c. f. von müller, bervic, richomme, rosaspina, bartolozzi, gandolfi, schiavonetti, the elder and younger laurent, massard, girardet, lignon, chatillon, audouin, forster, claessens, etc. stanley says that proof impressions of bervic's masterpiece, the laocoön, have been sold in london for thirty guineas each. there are many prints in these works not less celebrated, and which are regarded by connoisseurs as masterpieces of the art. nor was this all. napoleon summoned visconti, the famous antiquary, archæologist, and connoisseur, from rome to paris, to assist in getting up the admirable descriptions and criticisms, particularly of the ancient statues. this department was confided to visconti, guizot, clarac, and the elder duchesne. the supervision of the engraving and publishing department was entrusted to the messrs. robilliard, peronville, and laurent. these works were published in numbers of four plates, atlas folio, at the price of francs each for the proofs before the letter, and francs for the prints. the first number of the musée français was issued in , and the last in ; but the musée royal, which was intended to supply the deficiencies of the musée français, was not completed till ; nevertheless, it was napoleon's work, though consummated in the reign of louis xviii. the musée français was originally published in five volumes, and contains, besides the descriptions and criticisms on the plates, admirable essays-- st. on the history of painting, from its origin in ancient times down to the time of cimabue; d. on the history of painting in the german, dutch, flemish, and french schools; d. on the history of engraving; th. on the history of ancient sculpture. the musée royal was published in two volumes. a second edition of the musée français was published by the messrs. galignani, in four volumes, with an english and french letter-press, but both greatly abridged. the letter-press of the musée royal has never been rendered into english. the plates were sold by the french government in , since which time a small edition has been printed from both works. boydell's shakspeare gallery. about the year , alderman j. boydell, of london, conceived the project of establishing a 'shakspeare gallery,' upon a scale of grandeur and magnificence which should be in accordance with the fame of the poet, and, at the same time, reflect honor upon the state of the arts in great britain and throughout the world. mr. boydell was at this time a man of great wealth and influence, and a patron of the fine arts, being an engraver himself, and having accumulated his fortune mostly by dealings in works of that character. he advertised for designs from artists throughout great britain, and paid a guinea for every one submitted, whether accepted or not; and for every one accepted by the committee, a prize of one hundred guineas. the committee for selecting these designs was composed of five eminent artists, boydell himself being the president. the first painters of the age were then employed to paint these pictures, among whom were sir joshua reynolds, sir benjamin west, fusell, romney, northcote, smirke, sir william beechy, and opie. allan cunningham, in his 'lives of eminent british artists,' mentions that sir joshua reynolds was at first opposed to boydell's project, as impracticable on such an immense scale, and boydell, to gain his approbation and assistance, privately sent him a letter enclosing a £ bank of england note, and requesting him to paint two pictures at his own price. what sum was paid by boydell for these pictures was never known. a magnificent building was erected in pall mall to exhibit this immense collection, called the shakspeare gallery, which was for a long time the pride of london. the first engravers of england were employed to transfer these gems to copper, and such artists as sharp, bartolozzi, earlom, thew, simon, middiman, watson, fyttler, wilson, and many others, exerted their talents for years in this great work. in some instances, the labor of more than five years was expended on a single plate, and proof impressions were taken for subscribers at almost every stage of the work. at length in , after nearly twenty years, the work was completed. the price fixed (which was never reduced) was two guineas each for the first three hundred impressions, and the subscription list was then filled up at one guinea each, or one hundred guineas a set of one hundred plates. besides these subscriptions, large donations were made by many of the noblemen of england, to encourage the undertaking, and to enable boydell to meet his enormous outlay. the cost of the whole work, from the commencement, is said to have been about one million pounds sterling; and although the projector was a wealthy man when he commenced it, he died soon after its completion, a bankrupt to the amount, it is said, of £ , . after these plates were issued, boydell petitioned parliament to allow him to dispose of his gallery of paintings by a lottery. the petition was granted, and the whole collection was thus disposed of. one of the finest of these pictures, king lear, by sir benjamin west, is now in the boston athenæum. one fact in relation to these plates gives great value to them. "all the principal historical characters are genuine portraits of the persons represented in the play; every picture gallery and old castle in england was ransacked to furnish these portraits." brief sketch of a plan for an american national gallery of art. public galleries of art are now regarded by the most enlightened men, and the wisest legislators, as of incalculable benefit to every civilized country. (see vol. i., page , of this work.) they communicate to the mind, through the eye, "the accumulated wisdom of ages," relative to every form of beauty, in the most rapid and captivating manner. if such institutions are important in europe, abounding in works of art, how much more so in our country, separated as it is by the broad atlantic from the artistic world, which few comparatively can ever visit: many of our young artists, for the want of such an institution, are obliged to grope their way in the dark, and to spend months and years to find out a few simple principles of art. a distinguished professor, high in public estimation, has declared that the formation of such an institution in this country, however important and desirable it may be, is almost hopeless. he founds his opinion on the difficulty of obtaining the authenticated works of the great masters, and the enormous prices they now command in europe. the writer ventures to declare it as his long cherished opinion that a united states national gallery is entirely practicable, as far as all useful purposes are concerned; and at a tithe of the cost of such institutions in europe. in the present state of the fine arts in our country, we should not attempt to emulate european magnificence, but utility. the "course of empire is westward," and in the course of time, as wealth and taste increases, sale will be sought here, as now in england, for many works of the highest art. it is also to be hoped that some public benefactors will rise to our assistance. after the foundation of the institution, it may be extended according to the taste and wants of the country; professorships may be added, and the rarest works purchased. when the country can and will afford it, no price should be regarded too great for a perfect masterpiece of art, as a model in a national collection. to begin, the gallery should contain, st. a complete library of all standard works on art, historical and illustrative, in every language. d. a collection of the masterpieces of engraving; these should be mounted on linen, numbered, bound, described and criticised. d. a complete collection of casts of medals and antique gems, where the originals cannot be obtained. there are about , antique medals of high importance to art. (see numismatics, vol. iii., p. , of this work.) these casts could easily be obtained through our diplomatic agents; they should be taken in plaster of paris or sulphur, double--i.e., the reverse and obverse,--classified, catalogued, described, and arranged in cases covered with plate glass, for their preservation. th. a collection of plaster casts of all the best works of sculpture, particularly of the antique. correct casts of the elgin marbles are sold by the british museum at a very reasonable price, and in this case would doubtless be presented to the institution. th. a collection of paintings. this is the most difficult part of the project, yet practicable. masterpieces of the art only should be admitted, but historical authenticity disregarded. the works of the great masters have been so closely imitated, that there are no certain marks of authenticity, where the history of the picture cannot be traced. (see spooner's dictionary of painters, etc., introduction, and table of imitators.) half the pictures in foreign collections cannot be authenticated, and many of those which are, are not the best productions of the master, nor worthy of the places they occupy. (see mrs. jameson's hand-book to the public galleries in and near london; also the catalogues of the various public galleries of europe.) therefore, instead of paying , or , guineas for an authenticated piece by a certain master, as is sometimes done in europe, competent and _true_ men should be appointed to select capital works, executed in the style of the great masters. many such can be had in this country as well as in europe, at moderate prices. th. the institution should be located in new york, as the most convenient place, and as the great centre of commerce, where artists could most readily dispose of their works. for this favor, the city would doubtless donate the ground, and her citizens make liberal contributions. the edifice should be built fire-proof, and three stories high--the upper with a skylight, for the gallery of paintings. such an institution need not be very expensive; yet it would afford the elements for the instruction and accomplishment of the painter, the engraver, the sculptor, the architect, the connoisseur, the archæologist, and the public at large; it would be the means of awakening and developing the sleeping genius of many men, to the honor, glory, and advantage of their country, which, without it, must sleep on forever. see vol. ii., pp. and , and vol. iii., p. of this work. index. advantages of the cultivation of the fine arts to a country, i, ; sir m. a. shoe's opinion, i, ; sir george beaumont's, i, ; west's, i, ; taylor's, i, ; see also, i, ; reynolds' opinion, i, ; napoleon's, iii, . Ætion, his picture of the nuptials of alexander and roxana, ii, . agaptos, porticos of, ii, . ageladus, his works, ii, . aldobrandini wedding, fresco of, ii, . allston, washington, i, ; his prayer answered, i, ; his success in london, i, ; his death, i, ; vanderlyn's letter--his reflections on his death, i, . american patronage at home and abroad, i, ; weir, greenough, and cooper's testimony, i, ; cooper's letter, i, . amiconi, jacopo, iii, . angelo, michael, his early passion for art, i, ; his mask of a satyr, i, ; his sleeping cupid, i, ; angela and julius ii, i, ; st. peter's church, i, ; angelo and lorenzo the magnificent, i, ; his cartoon of pisa, i, ; his last judgment, i, ; his coloring, i, ; his grace, i, ; his oil paintings, i, ; his prophets and julius ii, i, ; his bon-mots, i, ; angelo and raffaelle, i, - . anguisciola, sofonisba, iii, ; her early distinction, iii, ; her invitation to spain iii, ; her marriages, iii, ; her residence at genoa, her honors, and her intercourse with vandyck, iii, . antique sculptures in rome, ii, . antiquities of herculaneum and pompeii, ii, . antiquity of the fine arts, i, . aparicio, canova, and thorwaldsen, i, . apelles, i, ; his works, i, ; his industry, i, ; his portraits of philip and alexander, i, ; his venus anadyomene, i, ; apelles and the cobbler, i, ; his foaming charger, i, ; his freedom with alexander, i, ; apelles and protogenes, i, ; the celebrated contest of lines, i, ; his generosity to protogenes, i, . apelles of ephesus, i, ; his treatment by ptolomy philopator, i, ; his revenge in his famous picture of calumny, i, ; lucian's description of it, i, ; raffaelle's drawing of it, i, ; proof that there were two painters named apelles, i, . apollo belvidere--west's criticism, i, . apollo, colossal etruscan, i, . apollo sauroctonos, i, . apollodorus the painter, i, ; his works and style, i, . apollodorus the architect, i, ; his worke, i, ; trajan's column, i, ; apollodorus and adrian, i, ; his wicked death, i, . aqueducts of ancient rome, ii . arch, origin and antiquity of the, ii. . arches, triumphal, ii, . archimedes, iii, ; his genius, discoveries, and inventions, iii, ; his wonderful machines, iii, ; his death and monument, iii, ; story of his burning glasses proved true, iii, . ardemans and bocanegra--a trial of skill, iii, . art, egyptian, iii, - , and iii, . art, grecian, derived from the egyptian--champollion's opinion, iii, ; origin of, iii, . athenians, ingratitude of, to artists, i, . backhuysen, ludolph, sketch of his life and works, iii, . banks, thomas--his ambition, i, ; his character, i, ; his genius, i, ; his kindness to young sculptors, i, ; his personal appearance and habits, i, ; flaxman's tribute, i, . barry, james--his enthusiasm, i, ; his poverty, death, and monument, i, ; johnson's opinion of his genius, i, . bassano, jacopo--singular instance of his skill, ii, . beaumont, sir george--his opinion of the importance of the fine arts, i, ; his enthusiasm and munificent gift to the english national gallery, i, . beauty, ideal, as conceived and practiced by the greatest masters, ii, . belzoni--his travels in egypt, iii, . the belzoni sarcophagus, ii, . bernazzano, the zeuxis of italy, ii, . bernini, the cav., i, ; his precocity, i, ; his bust of charles i. and his prediction, i, ; bernini and louis xiv., i, ; his triumphal visit to paris, i, ; the medal struck in his honor, i, ; his works, i, ; his restoration of the verospi hercules, i, ; lanzi's critique, i, ; his love of splendor and his riches, i, ; bernini and urban viii., iii, . blake, william--his enthusiasm, eccentricity, and poverty, i, ; his melancholy yet triumphant death, , . boydell's shakespeare gallery, iii, . bridge, trajan's, across the danube, i, . bridge, mandrocles', across the bosphorus, ii, . bridge, the britannia railway tubular, iii ; the tubes, iii, ; the piers, iii, ; construction of the tubes, iii, ; floating the tubes, iii, ; raising the tubes, iii, ; the prodigious hydraulic presses used, iii, ; bursting of one, iii, ; sir francis head's description, iii, ; cost of the structure, iii, . brower, adrian, iii, ; his escape from a cruel master, iii, ; brower, the duke d'aremberg, and rubens, iii, ; his death, iii, ; his works, iii, . brunelleschi, filippo--remarkable instance of the trials and triumphs of genius, iii, ; his inquiring mind, industry, and discoveries, iii, ; his genius, iii, ; his ambition, iii, ; his first visit to rome and assiduity, iii, ; assembly of architects to consult on the best means of raising the cupola of the cathedral of florence, iii, ; his return to rome, iii, ; his invitation back to florence, iii, ; his discourse, iii, ; his return to rome, iii, ; grand assemblage of architects from all parts of europe, iii, ; their opinions and ridiculous projects to raise the cupola, iii, ; filippo's opposition and discourse, iii, ; taken for a madman, and driven out of the assembly, iii, ; his discourse, iii, ; his arguments, and his proposal that he who could make an egg stand on one end should build the cupola, iii, ; his plan submitted, iii, ; its adoption, iii, ; opposition encountered, iii, ; lorenzo ghiberti associated with him, iii, ; his vexation and despair, iii, ; commencement of the work, iii, ; lorenzo's incapacity for such a work, iii, ; filippo's scheme to get rid of him, iii, ; lorenzo disgraced, iii, ; filippo appointed sole architect, iii, ; his industry, the wonderful resources of his mind, and his triumphant success, iii, ; filippo chosen magistrate of the city, iii, ; jealousies he still encountered, iii, ; his arrest, mortifying affront, and triumph, iii, ; grandeur and magnificence of his cupola, iii, ; his enthusiasm, iii, ; brunelleschi and donatello, iii, . buffalmacco, the successor of giotto, ii, ; his comical tricks to enjoy his sweetest sleep, ii, ; his employment by the nuns of faenza, ii, ; his use of their best wine, ii, ; his employment by bishop guido, ii, ; comical pranks of the bishop's monkey, ii, ; his trick on the bishop, ii, ; origin of libel painting, ii, ; utility of ancient paintings, ii, ; his commission from the countryman, and its curious execution, ii, ; his commission from the perugians, ii, ; their impertinence requited, ii, ; his novel mode of enforcing payment, ii, . callot, jacques, iii, ; his uncontrollable passion for art, iii, ; his patriotism, iii, . callimachus--his invention of the corinthian capital, i, . cambiaso, luca--his precocity and remarkable facility of hand, iii, ; his invitation to spain, iii, ; luca and philip ii., iii, ; his artistic merits, iii, ; boschini and mengs' opinions, iii, . campaspe and apelles, i, . campus martius, i, . cano, alonso, i, ; his liberality, i, ; his eccentricities, i, ; his hatred of the jews, i, ; his ruling passion strong in death, i, ; cano and the intendant of the bishop of malaga, iii, ; his love of sculpture, iii, . canova--his visit to his native place in his old age, i, . capitol, ancient, of rome, iii, . capugnano and lionello spada, iii, . caracci, the school of, ii, . caracci, annibale--his letter to lodovico, and his opinion of the works of correggio, i, ; instance of his skill, ii, ; his jealousy of agostino, iii, . carburi, count--his skill in engineering, iii, . caracciolo, gio. battista--his intrigues, ii, . carducci, bartolomeo--his kind criticism, iii, . carlos, the four, of the th century, ii, . caravaggio, michael angelo da--his quarrelsome disposition and his death, iii, . carreño, don juan, and charles ii, iii, ; his copy of titian's st. margaret, iii, ; his abstraction of mind, iii, . castagno, andrea del, his treachery and death, ii, . castillo's sarcasm on alfaro, iii, . catacombs of egypt, iii, . catino, the sagro, or emerald dish, iii, . cellini, benvenute, iii, ; cellini and urban viii; his absolution for sins committed in the service of the church, iii, . cespedes, pablo--his last supper, iii, ; zuccaro's compliment to cespedes, iii, . chair of st. peter, iii, . church, st peter's, iii, churches of rome, iii, . cimabue, giovanni--sketch of his life, ii, ; his style, ii, ; his passion for art, ii, ; his famous picture of the virgin, ii, ; remarkable instance of homage to art, ii, ; his works, ii, ; his death, ii, ; his care of giotto, ii, . cloaca maxima at rome, ii, . coello, claudio, his challenge to giordano, ii, . column, trajan's, i, . column of austerlitz, iii, . colosseum, description of, ii, ; montaigne's quaint account of its spectacles, ii, . colossus of the sun at rhodes, ii, . "columbus and the egg," story of, derived by him from brunelleschi, iii, . contarini, cav. giovanni--his skill in portraits, ii, . contri, antonio--his method of transferring frescos from walls to canvass, ii, ; see also palmarolis, ii, . cooper, j. fennimore--his encouragement of greenough, i, ; his letter to induce his countrymen to patronize their own artists, i, . corenzio, belisario--his intrigues, ii, . corinthian capital, invention of, i, . correggio--sketch of his life, i, ; his cupola of the church of st. john at parma, i, ; his grand cupola of the cathedral, i, ; his fate exaggerated, i, ; lanzi's opinion, i, ; his marriage and children, i, ; caracci's opinion of correggio, and his letter, i, ; his enthusiasm, i, ; his grace, i, ; correggio and the monks, i, ; his kindness--his muleteer, i, ; duke of wellington's correggio, i, ; correggio's ancona, i, ; portraits of correggio, i, ; did correggio ever visit rome? i, ; singular history of correggio's adoration of the shepherds, i, ; of his education of cupid, i, ; of a magdalen, i, ; of a charity, i, ; the celebrated nótte of correggio, iii, . cortona, pietro--sketch of his life, iii, ; anecdotes of, iii, . david, jacques louis, i, ; his politics and love of liberty, i, ; david and napoleon, i, ; his banishment to brussels, i, ; his famous picture of the coronation of napoleon, i, ; david and canova, i, ; napoleon's compliments to david, i, ; the king of wurtemberg's, i, ; list of portraits it contained, i, ; its barbarous destruction by the bourbons, i, ; david and the duke of wellington at brussels, i, ; david and the cardinal caprara, i, ; talma and david in his banishment, , . denon, the baron--his description of the necropolis of thebes, iii, , his employment by napoleon, iii, . digby, sir kenelm--his love adventure in spain, iii, . dinocrates--his proposal to cut mount athos into a statue of alexander the great, ii, ; pope's idea of its practicability, ii, ; dinocrates' temple with an iron statue suspended in the air by loadstone, ii, . domenichino, ii, ; his dullness in his youth, ii, ; caracci's prediction of his rise to eminence, ii, ; lanzi and mengs' testimony of his genius and merits, ii, ; his scourging of st. andrew, ii, ; his communion of st. jerome, ii, ; his enemies at rome, ii, ; lanzi's account of the decision of posterity on his merits, ii, ; his caricatures, ii, ; intrigues of the neapolitan triumvirate of painters, ii, ; lanzi's account of this disgraceful cabal, ii, ; his works in the chapel of st januarius, and the prices he received, ii, ; his death, ii, . donatello, iii, ; donatello and the merchant, iii, ; donatello and his unworthy kinsmen, iii, ; his death, iii, ; donatello and michael angelo compared, iii, ; donatello and brunelleschi, iii, ; donatello and uccello, ii, . douw, gerard, iii, ; his style, iii, ; his method of painting, iii, ; his works, iii, ; his dropsical woman, iii, . dramatic scenery at rome, i, . durer, albert, iii, ; his unfortunate marriage, iii, ; his works as a painter, iii, ; his works as an engraver, iii, ; his fame and death, iii, ; his habits, iii, ; his literary works, iii, . egyptian art, iii, , and iii, . electioneering pictures at rome, i, . emulation and rivalry of advantage to artists, iii, . engraving, invention of copper-plate, i, . era, brightest, of grecian art, i, , and ii, . era, brightest, of roman art, ii, . era, brightest, of italian art, ii, . eyck, john van--his invention of oil painting, ii, . fabius maximus--his estimation of art, i, . fanaticism, religious, destructive to art, i, ; its effects in england, i, . figure, the nude, i, ; barry's opinion, i, ; schlegel's, i, . fine arts, golden age of, in greece, i, . fine arts, golden age of, in rome, ii, fine arts, golden age of, in italy, ii, . finiguerra, maso--his invention of copper-plate engraving, i, . fiorentino, stefano, one of the fathers of painting, ii, . foreshortening, ii, ; its invention, ii, . fontana, domenico, iii, ; his removal of an obelisk at rome, iii, ; dangers he encountered, iii, ; honors bestowed on him for his success, iii, . force of habit, i, . fornarina, la bella, i, . fountain, the elephant, iii, . "four carlos of the th century," ii, . "four finest pictures at rome," ii, frescos, ancient, ii, ; the aldobrandini wedding, ii, . fuseli, henry--his birth, ii, ; his early passion for art, ii, ; his literary and poetical taste, ii, ; fuseli, lavater, and the unjust magistrate, ii, ; his travels and literary distinction, ii, ; his arrival in london, ii, ; his change from literature to painting, ii, ; his visit to italy, ii, ; his "nightmare," ii, ; his oedipus and his daughters, ii, ; fuseli and the shakspeare gallery, ii, ; his hamlet's ghost, ii, ; his titania, ii, ; his election as a royal academician, ii, ; fuseli and walpole, ii, ; fuseli and coutts, ii, ; fuseli and prof. porson, ii, ; his method of giving vent to his passion, ii, ; his love of terrific subjects, ii, ; his revenge on lawrence, ii, ; his estimate of reynolds as an historical painter, ii, ; his friendship for lawrence, ii, ; fuseli as keeper of the royal academy, ii, ; his jests and oddities with the students, ii, ; his sarcasms on northcote, ii, ; on various artists, ii, ; his retorts, ii, ; his retort in mr. coutts' banking-house, ii, ; his sarcasm on landscape and portrait painters, ii, ; his own attainment of happiness, ii, ; his habits, ii, ; his wife's novel method of curing his fits of despondency, ii, ; his personal appearance, sarcastic disposition, and quick temper, ii, ; his near sight, ii, ; his popularity, ii, ; his artistic merits, ii, ; his milton gallery, etc., ii, . fulton, robert, as a painter, i, ; his love of art, i, ; his exalted mind, i, ; his account of his first steamboat voyage to albany, and his predictions, i, . gallery, english national, i, . gallery, dresden, iii, . gallery of the louvre, iii, and . gallery, united states national--suggestions for one, iii, . galleries, prices of, i, . galletti, pietro, and the bolognese students, ii, . garland twiner, i, . gaulli, gio. battista--his excellence in portraiture, iii, ; his curious method of painting the dead, iii, . genius, trials of, i, , and iii, . ghiberti, lorenzo--his famous doors of san giovanni, i, , and iii, ; as an architect, iii, . giordano, luca--his wonderful precocity, ii, ; his enthusiasm, ii, ; origin of his nickname of _luca-fa presto_, ii, ; his skill in copying and imitating, ii, ; his success at naples, ii, ; giordano, the viceroy, and the duke of diano, ii, ; his invitation to florence--giordano and carlo dolci, ii, ; his invitation to the court of spain, ii, ; his flattering reception, ii, ; his works in spain, ii, ; in the escurial, ii, ; his habits, iii ; his first picture at madrid, ii, ; a great favorite at court, ii, ; coello's challenge, ii, ; anecdotes, ii, ; painting with his fingers, ii, ; rich presents he received, ii, ; his return to naples, ii, ; his reception at genoa, florence, rome and naples, ii, ; his personal appearance and character, ii, ; his popularity, love of gain, and "three sorts of pencils," ii, ; his riches, ii, ; his wonderful facility of hand, ii, ; his fame and reputation, ii, ; his genius and merits, ii, ; his tricks for notoriety, his false style and its injurious effects on art at the time, ii, ; remarkable instance of his rapidity of execution in his altar-piece of st. francis xavier, ii, . giotto--sketch of his life, ii, ; his early passion for art, ii, ; his works, ii, ; as an architect, ii, ; his st. francis stigmata, ii, ; his invitation to rome, ii, ; "round as giotto's o," ii, ; story of his living model, ii, ; giotto and the king of naples, ii, ; his bon mots, ii, ; giotto and dante, ii, ; death of giotto ii . giottino, ii, . gladiator, statue of the dying, i, . gladiator, statue of the fighting, ii, . glass, ancient, ii, ; ancient pictures of, ii, . golden age of art in greece, i, , and ii, . golden age of art in rome, ii, . golden age of art in italy, ii, . goldsmith, dr., and reynolds, i, ; his "deserted village," i, ; his retaliation, i, . gomez, the slave of murillo, iii, . grecian art derived from the egyptians, iii, . greenough, horatio--his chanting cherubs, i, ; commission for his statue of washington for the capitol, i, ; his modesty, i, ; his account of the miraculous picture of the virgin at florence, iii, . griffier, john--his perilous adventure, iii, . group of niobe and her children, ii, . group of laocoön and his sons, ii, . guercino--his power of relief, ii, . hals, frank, and vandyck, ii, . hanneman--his picture of peace, i, . harpies, curious representations of, iii, . heliopolis, iii, . herculaneum--its destruction--antiquities and works of art discovered, ii, . hogarth--value of his works, i, ; his genius, i, ; his apprenticeship, i, ; his revenge, i, ; his method of sketching an incident, i, ; his marriage, i, ; his successful expedient to get payment, i, ; his picture of the red sea, i, ; his courtesy, i, ; his absence of mind, i, ; his march to finchley, i, ; his unfortunate dedication to the king, i, ; his strange manner of selling his pictures, i, ; paltry prices he received, i, ; his last work, "the tail-piece," i, ; his death, i, . holbein, hans, ii, ; his portrait with the fly, ii, ; his visit to england, ii, ; holbein and henry viii., ii, ; his adventure with the nobleman, ii, ; the king's rebuke and protection, ii, ; his portrait of the duchess of milan, ii, ; his dangerous flattery, ii, ; his portrait of cratzer, ii, ; his portraits of sir thomas more and his family, ii, ; bon-mot of sir thomas, ii, . illusions in painting, i, ; singular pictorial, ii, . industry necessary to success in art--reynold's opinion, i, ; durer's, iii, and ; michael angelo's, i, ; apelles', i, ; da vinci's, i, , , and ; vernet's, ii, and ; rubens', i, and ; raffaelle's, i, ; poussin's, iii, and ; gierdano's, ii, and ; brunelleschi's, iii, and . infelicities of artists, i, - . ingenuity of artists, iii, . inquisition, evil influence of the, on spanish art, i, ; and torreggiano, i, ; and sir anthony moore, iii, . jarvis, john wesley, i, ; his eccentricity, and lore of jesting, mimicking, and story-telling, i, ; his ludicrous readings from shakspeare, i, ; dr. francis' account of him, i, ; the "biggest lie," i, ; jarvis and bishop moore, i, ; and commodore perry, i, ; and the philosopher, i, ; and dr. mitchell, i, ; his habits, i, ; jarvis and sully, i, ; his fondness for notoriety, i, . jervas, charles, ii, ; jervas and pope, ii, ; and dr. arbuthnot, ii, ; his vanity, ii, ; kneller's sarcasm, ii, . jewelers, a hint to, iii, . johnson, dr.--his friendship for reynolds, i, ; his apology for portrait painting, i, ; his portrait, i, ; his death, i, . julian the apostate--his attempt to rebuild jerusalem, ii, . jupiter--see temples and statues. kirk, thomas--his genius, misfortune, and untimely death, i, . kneller, sir godfrey--his arrival in england, and great success, i, ; kneller's portrait of charles ii., i, ; kneller and james ii., i, ; his compliment to louis xiv., i, ; his wit and bon-mots, i, ; his knowledge of physiognomy, i, ; kneller as a justice of the peace, i, ; his decisions regulated by equity rather than law, i, ; kneller and clostermans, i, . la bella fornarina, i, . labyrinth of egypt, iii, . lake moeris, iii, . lamps, perpetual, ii, . laocoön, group of the, ii, ; pliny's account of, ii, ; michael angelo's opinion, ii, ; sangallo's account of its discovery, ii, . lanfranco, the cav., ii, ; his hostility to domenichino, ii, . lasson, m. de--his caricature, ii, . layard--his nineveh and its remains, ii, . lebas, m.--his removal of an obelisk from thebes to paris, iii, . louvre, gallery of the, iii, ; dismantling of, iii, . love makes a painter, i, , i, , i, , and iii, . love of art among the romans, i, . luca-fa-presto, ii, . mabuse, john de, anecdote of, iii, . mandrocles' bridge across the bosphorus, ii, . march, estéban--his strange method of study, iii, ; his adventure of the fish fried in linseed oil, iii, . marbles, very curious imitations of, ii, . marbles, the elgin, ii, . matsys, quintin, i, ; his love and monument, i, . masters, the old, i, . mausolus, tomb of, ii, . mechanics, comparative skill of the ancients and moderns in, iii, . medals, , ancients, iii, . medals of napoleon, iii, . memphis, iii, . messina, antonella da, ii, . methodius and the king of bulgaria, iii, . mieris and jan steen, frolics of, iii, . mignard pierre--his skill in imitating other masters, i, ; amusing instance of, i, ; his skill in portraits, ii, . modesty, an overplus of, dangerous to success, i, . moeris, lake of, iii, . more, sir anthony, iii, ; his visit to spain and great success, iii, ; his visit to england and flattering reception, iii, ; more and philip ii., iii, ; his fortunate escape, iii, ; his success and works, iii, . morland, george--sketch of his life, ii. ; his wonderful precocity, ii, ; his early fame, ii, ; his mental and moral culture under an unnatural parent, ii, ; his escape from his thraldom, ii, ; his marriage and temporary reform, ii, ; his social position, ii, ; his unpleasant encounter, ii, ; his stay in the isle of wight, ii, ; his novel mode of fulfilling commissions, ii, ; morland and the pig, ii, ; his pictures in the isle of wight, ii, ; his freaks, ii, ; his dread of bailiffs, ii, ; his apprehension as a spy, ii, ; his sign of the "black bull," ii, ; morland and the pawnbroker, ii, ; his idea of a baronetcy, ii, ; his artistic merits, ii, . mosaics, i, ; ancient, ii, ; of the battle of platea, ii, . mudo, el, and titian's last supper, ii, . murillo, i. ; his visit to madrid and velasquez, i, ; his return to seville, i, ; murillo and iriarte, i, ; his death, i, ; his style, i, ; his works, i, ; soult's murillos, i, and ; castillo's tribute, i, ; his "virgin of the napkin," iii, ; his pictures in spanish america, iii, ; anecdote of an altar-piece in flanders, iii, ; his slave gomez, iii, . musée francais and musée royal, iii, . names of architects designated by reptiles, ii, . napoleon--his love of art, iii, ; his enlightened policy to encourage art, iii, ; his works at paris, iii, ; the napoleon medals, iii, ; the elephant fountain, iii, ; interesting drawing, iii, ; sévres china, iii, ; dismantling of the louvre, iii, ; removal of the venetian horses, iii, ; removal of the statue of napoleon from the column of austerlitz, iii, . needles, cleopatra's, iii, . niello, works in, i, . nineveh and its remains, ii, ; description of the royal palace exhumed at nimroud, ii, ; layard's description of its interior, ii, . niobe and her children, group of, ii, ; schlegel's criticism, ii, . nollekens, joseph, i, ; his visit to rome, i, ; nollekens and garrick, i, ; his talents in bust sculpture, i, ; his bust of johnson, i, ; his liberality and kindness to chantrey, i, ; nollekens and the widow, i, ; his odd compliments, i, . norgate, edward--his visit to italy, mishaps, and travelling home on foot, i, . northcote, james, and fuseli, ii, . numismatics, iii, ; value of the science to archæology, philology, the fine arts, etc., iii, ; , ancient medals, iii, . obelisks, egyptian, iii, ; number of, at rome, ii, ; removal of one by fontana, iii, ; removal of one from thebes to paris, iii, ; cleopatra's needles, iii, . odeon, the first at athens, ii, . olynthian captive, story of, i, . origin of label painting, ii, . pacheco--his opinions on art as restricted by the inquisition, i, . pareda, antonio--his artifice to keep up appearances, iii, . pareja, juan de, the slave of velasquez, i, ; his love of painting and his success, i, ; his gratitude to his master, i, . painter, perilous adventure of a, iii, painter of florence, curious legend of the, iii, painter-friar, the devil, and the virgin, iii, . painting among the egyptians, iii, and . painting among the greeks, i, , , and iii, . painting among the romans, i, , and ii, . painting, revival of, in italy, ii, . painting, italian schools of, ii, . painting, golden age of, in italy, ii, ; lanzi's philosophy of, ii, ; milizia's, ii, . painting--different schools compared, i, . painting, effects of, on the mind, i, . painting from nature, i, . painting, oil, invention of, ii, . painting, oldest oil, extant, iii, . painting, portrait, johnson's apology for, i, . painting, origin of label, ii, . paintings transferred from walls and panels to canvas, ii, . paintings, curious, iii, . paintings, evanescent, i, . palace, nero's golden, ii, . palaces of rome, iii, . palmaroli--his method of transferring paintings from walls and panels to canvas, ii, . pantoja and the eagle, iii, . parrhasius, i, ; his demos and other works, i, ; the olynthian captive, i, ; his vanity, i, . parthenon at athens, ii, ; its dilapidation, by the venetians, turks, and lord elgin, ii, . pausias, i, ; his works and the garland twiner, i, . perpetual lamps, ii, . pharos, light-house of, ii, . phidias, i, ; his statue of minerva, i, , and ii, ; phidias and alcamenes, i, ; ingratitude of the athenians, i, ; his olympian jupiter, i, , and i, ; his model for the olympian jupiter, i, . picture of ialysus and his dog, protogenes, i, , and i, . picture of calumny, apelles', i, . picture of the virgin, the miraculous, iii, . pictures, first brought to rome, i, . pictures of glass, ancient, ii, . pictures, four finest at rome, ii, . pillar of on, iii, . poecile at athens, i, . pompeii--its destruction; antiquities and works of art discovered, ii, ; vivid sketch of its present appearance, etc., by an american traveler, ii, . pope as a painter--his fame, i, ; his proficiency in the art, ii, ; his idea of the practicability of dinocrates' plan of cutting mount athos into a statue of alexander the great, ii, . portici, the site of herculaneum, ii, and . portraits, female, rarity of, in spain, iii, . poussin, nicholas--his noble descent, iii, ; his first celebrity, iii, ; his first visit to rome, iii, ; his enthusiasm and assiduity, iii, ; his distress, and the paltry prices he received for his works, iii, ; his ultimate appreciation and success, iii, ; his invitation back to paris, iii, ; the king's autograph letter on the occasion, iii, ; intrigues, his disgust, and secret return to rome, iii, ; his modesty, unostentatious mode of living, and his generosity, iii, ; poussin and cardinal mancini, iii, ; reynolds' critique, iii, ; poussin and marino, iii, ; poussin romanized, iii, ; his habits of study, iii, ; his old age, iii, ; his master-piece, iii, ; his last work and death, iii, ; his letter to m. felibien, iii, ; his ideas of painting, iii, ; poussin and the nobleman, iii, ; and mengs, iii, ; and domenichino, iii, ; and salvator rosa, iii, ; his dignity, iii, ; poussin, angelo, and raffaelle compared, iii, . prado, blas de, and the emperor of morocco, iii, . praxiteles, i, ; his works--the venus of cnidus and the apollo sauroctonos, i, ; praxiteles and phryne, i, ; the king of bithynia, and the venus of cnidus, i, . press, hydraulic, explained, iii ; its tremendous power and use, iii, . proctor, his genius and works, i, ; his misfortunes and melancholy death, i, . protogenes, i, ; his works, and his famous picture of ialysus and his dog, i, ; protogenes and demetrius poliorcetes, i, , and i, ; and apelles, i, . pyramids of egypt, iii, . pyramid of cephren, perilous ascent of, iii, . raffaelle, i, ; his ambition, i, ; raffaelle and michael angelo, i, ; his transfiguration, i, ; his death, i, ; his character, i, ; his mistress, i, ; his genius, i, ; his model for his female saints, i, ; his oil paintings, i, ; his portraits of julius ii., i, ; his different manners, i, ; his skill in portraits, ii, ; skull of raffaelle in the academy of st luke, ii, . ranc, jean--his retort, iii, . rebuke, a painter's just, iii, . retort courteous, a painter's, iii, . rembrandt--sketch of his life, iii, ; his studio and models, iii, ; his great success, iii, ; his deceits to sell and increase the price of his works, iii, ; his numerous works, iii, ; his extraordinary merits as an engraver, iii, . reynolds, sir joshua, i, ; his pleasing manners, fortune, and collection of works of art, i, ; his new style and its success, i, ; his prices, i, ; his method with his sitters, i, ; his removal to leicester square, i, ; his showy coach, i, ; his table and guests, i, ; the founding of the royal academy, and his election as president, i, ; reynolds and dr. johnson, i, ; johnson's friendship for reynolds, and his apology for portrait painting, i, and ; the literary club, i, ; johnson's portrait, i, ; johnson's death, i, ; reynolds and dr. goldsmith, i, ; the "deserted village," i, ; "retaliation," i, ; pope's fan i, ; reynolds' first attempts in art, i, ; force of habit, i, ; paying the piper, i, ; his modesty and his generosity, i, ; his love of art, i, ; his critique on rubens, i, ; reynolds and haydn, i, ; his skill in compliment, i, ; his excellent advice, i, ; reynolds as mayor of plympton and his two portraits, i, ; his kindness of heart, i, ; burke's eulogy, i, ; his experiments and use of old paintings, i, ; his method of working, i, ; rubens' last supper, i, . rhodes, statues and paintings at, ii, . ribalta francisco--his love romance and his success, i, . ribera, giuseppe, (spagnoletto,) his early enthusiasm, poverty, and industry at rome, ii, ; his return to naples and marriage, ii, ; his rise to eminence, ii, ; his discovery of the philosopher's stone, ii, ; his favorite subjects, ii. ; his disposition, ii, ; his intrigues, ii, ; lanzi's account of his death, ii, . riley, john, i, ; his diffidence and merits, i, . rizi, francisco--his rebuke to antonilez, iii, . romans, fondness of, for works of art, i, ; for etruscan sculpture, i, . rome, ancient, glory of, ii, , and iii, and ; first pictures brought to rome, i, ; electioneering pictures at rome, i, ; dramatic scenery at rome, i, ; ancient map of rome, ii, ; , statues at rome, ii, . rome, modem--its churches, palaces, villas, and treasures of art, iii, . rosa, salvator, ii, ; cav. lanfranco's generosity, ii, ; rosa at rome and florence, ii, ; his return to rome, ii, ; brightest era of landscape painting, ii, ; his subjects, ii, ; his wonderful facility of execution, ii, ; his flagellation by the monks, ii, ; rosa and the higgling prince, ii, ; his opinion of his own works, ii, ; his banditti, ii, ; rosa and massaniello, ii, ; and cardinal sforza, ii, ; his manifesto, ii, ; his banishment from rome, ii, ; his secret visit to rome, ii, ; his wit, ii, ; his reception at florence, ii, ; his histrionic powers, ii, ; his reception at the pitti palace, ii, ; his satires, ii, and ; his harpsichord, ii, ; rare portrait, ii, ; his return to rome, ii, ; his love of show and magnificence, ii, ; his last works, ii, ; his over-weening desire to be considered a historical painter, ii, ; ghigi, his physician and rosa, ii, ; lady morgan's account of his death-bed, ii, ; rosa and poussin iii, ; rosa and fracanzani, iii, . rosada tivoli, iii, ; his works, iii, ; his wonderful rapidity of hand, iii, ; a wager won, iii, ; his habits and improvidence, iii, . rosa, giovanni--a modern zeuxis, ii, . rosalba, carriera, iii, ; her modesty, and knowledge of tempers, iii, . rubens, peter paul, i, ; his visit to italy, i, ; his reception by the duke of mantua, i, ; his enthusiasm, i, ; his embassy to spain, i, ; his return to antwerp, i, ; his marriage, house, and rich collection of works of art, i, ; his habits, extraordinary memory and acquirements, i, ; his detractors, i, ; his magnanimity, i, ; the gallery of the luxembourg, i, ; rubens sent ambassador to the courts of spain and england, i, ; his reception and works at madrid, i, ; his reception and works in england, i, ; his delicacy, address, and the honors conferred on him on the occasion, i, ; his death, i, ; his numerous works, i, ; his method of working, i, . ruysch, rachel--her life and works, iii, . scagliola or mischia, works in, ii, . schwarts, amusing anecdote of, iii, . sculpture, invention of, i, ; etruscan, i, ; egyptian, iii, ; grecian, i, and . sculptures, antique, at rome, ii, . seymour, anecdotes of, and the proud duke, ii, . shakspeare gallery, iii, . sirani, elizabeth--her life and works, iii, ; her melancholy death, iii, . soane, sir john, ii, ; his success and works, ii, ; his liberality and public munificence, ii, ; his museum, ii, ; the belzoni sarcophagus, ii, ; tasso's ms. of gerusalemme liberata, ii, ; other rare mss., antiquities, works of art, etc., ii, . sostratus, his light-house on the isle of pharos, ii, . spagnoletto--see ribera. spain, melancholy state of the fine arts in, i, ; rarity of female portraits in, iii, . spanish art, evil effects of the inquisition on, i, . sphinx, the colossal, iii, . stabiæ--its destruction, ii, . statue of the apollo belvidere, i, ; of the apollo sauroctonos, i, ; of the apollo, colossal etruscan, i, . statue of the venus de medici, i, . statue of the venus of cnidus, i, statue of the venus victrix, i, . statue of minerva, phidia's, i, , and ii, . statue of the olympian jupiter, phidias', i, statue of the fighting gladiator, ii, . statue of the dying gladiator, i, . statue of pompey the great, ii, . statue of semiramis, cut out of a mountain, ii, . statue of napoleon on the column of austerlitz, iii, . statue, equestrian, of peter the great, iii, . statues, the greek, i, . statues, sounding, iii, . statues of memnon, iii, . stratagem, an architect's, i, . stratagem, hogarth's, i, . steen, jan, iii, ; his works, iii, ; kugler's critique on, iii, ; frolics of steen and mieris, iii, . stephenson, robert, and the britannia bridge, iii, . stuart, charles gilbert, i, ; his visit to scotland and return before the mast, i, ; his visit to london, i, ; his skill in music, and its use in time of need, i, ; his introduction to west, i, ; his portrait of west, i, ; his scholarship, i, ; his rule of half prepayment, i, ; his powers of perception i, ; allston's eulogium, i, ; his great conversational powers, i, ; his success in europe, i, ; in ireland, i, ; his return to america, i, ; stuart and washington, i, ; his last picture, i, ; stuart, his boy and his dog, i, ; his mark, i, . tasso's ms. of "gerusalemme liberata," ii, . temple of diana at ephesus, i, . temple of jupiter olympius at athens, ii, . temple of jupiter capitolinus, ii, , and iii, . temple of minerva at athens, ii, . temple of carnac, iii, . temple of luxor, iii, . titian--sketch of his life, ii, ; his famous picture of st. peter the martyr, ii, ; his refusal of the office of the leaden seal, ii, ; his different manners, ii, ; his works, ii, ; his imitators, ii, ; his venus, ii, ; ottley's description of it, ii, ; titian and the emperor charles v., ii. ; extraordinary friendship of charles for titian, his favors and remarkable sayings, ii, ; charles' rebukes to his jealous nobles, ii, ; titian and philip ii., ii, ; his letter of congratulation to philip, ii, ; philip and the titian venus, ii, ; titian's last supper and el mudo, ii, ; his old age, ii, ; monument to titian, ii, . thebes, ancient, iii, . theodoric the great--his love of art, iii, . torregiano--his visit to spain, and his group of the virgin and child, i, ; his horrid treatment and death, i, . torres--sarcasm on his imitations of caravaggio, iii, . transfiguration of raffaelle, i, . tristan, luis, i, ; tristan and velasquez, i, ; tristan and el greco, i, . "triumvirate of historical painters," i, . "triumvirate of landscape painters," ii, . triumvirate of neapolitan painters, intrigues of, ii, . uccello, paolo, one of the fathers of painting, ii, ; his enthusiasm, ii, ; uccello and the monks of san miniato, ii, ; his remarkable picture of the most distinguished artists of his time, ii, ; his incredulity of st. thomas, ii, ; uccello and donatello, ii, . utility of ancient works, ii, . vanbrugh, sir john, and his severe critics, ii, ; reynolds' celebrated criticism in his favor, ii, . vase, the portland, ii, . vandyck, sir anthony--his conduct in the school of rubens, iii, ; his visit to italy, iii, ; his return to antwerp, iii, ; his success and the jealousy of artists, iii, ; his celebrated picture of the elevation of the cross, and the canons of courtray, iii, ; his visit to england, iii, ; his success and honors, iii, ; his death and character, iii, ; remarkable instance of his rapidity of execution, ii, . velasquez, don diego, i, ; velasquez and rubens compared by mrs. jameson, i, ; velasquez and philip iv--the favors and extraordinary honors conferred on him, i, ; his skill in portraits, i, ; his portrait of innocent x, i, ; his generosity to his slave, i, . velde, william van de, the elder, iii, ; his intrepidity in painting naval engagements, iii, ; his invitation to england and his works, iii, ; van de velde and charles ii., iii, . velde, william van de, the younger, iii, ; his admirable works, iii, ; present value of his works, iii, ; his numerous drawings, and their estimation and value, iii, . veneziano, domenico, ii, ; his treacherous death, ii, . venice, foundation of, iii, . venetian horses, the famous, removal of from paris, iii, . venus anadyomene, i, . venus of cnidus, i, . venus de medici, i, . venus victrix, i, . venus, titian's, ii, . vermeyen, john c., and the emperor charles v., iii, ; his singular dress and long beard, iii, . vernet, claude joseph, ii, ; his passion for art, and his precocity, ii, ; his enthusiasm, ii, ; his sketching the tempest, lashed to the mast, ii, ; his arrival at rome, ii, ; his industry and poverty, ii, ; his "alphabet of tones," ii, ; vernet and the connoisseur, ii, ; his success and works, ii, ; diderot's eulogy, ii, ; his passion for music, ii, ; his opinion of his own artistic merits, ii, ; characteristic letter to the marquis de marigny, ii, ; his prices, ii, . vernet, charles, ii, ; his works, ii, ; his rebuke to a minister of state, ii, . vernet, horace--his life, style, and works, ii, - . vieira, francisco--his love romance, iii, ; his success, iii, . vinci, lionardo da, i, ; precocity of his genius, i, ; his first remarkable picture, i, ; the extraordinary versatility of his talents, i, ; his works at milan, i, ; his famous battle of the standard, i, ; vinci and leo x., i, ; vinci and francis i., i, ; his death, i, ; his learning, i, ; his writings, i, ; his sketch books, i, ; his last supper, i, ; copies of his last supper, i, ; his discrimination, i, ; his idea of perfection in art, i, ; vinci and the prior, i, ; his drawings of the heads in the last supper, i, ; francis i. and the last supper, i, ; authenticated works of da vinci, i, . weenix, john baptist the elder, iii, ; his wonderful facility of hand, iii, . weenix, the younger, iii, . weesop, anecdote of, i, . west, benjamin--his opinion of the value of the fine arts to a country, i, ; anecdotes of west, i, ; his ancestry, i, ; his birth, i, ; his first remarkable feat, i, ; his doings with the indians, i, ; his cat's-tail's pencils, i, ; his first picture, i, ; his first visit to philadelphia, i, ; his ambition, i, ; his first patrons, i, ; his education, i, ; his dedication to art, i, ; his early prices, i, ; his arrival at rome, i, ; his reception at rome, i, ; his criticism on the apollo belvidere, i, ; his early friends, i, ; his course of study, i, ; a remarkable prophecy, i, ; west in london--his fondness for skating, i, ; his death of wolfe, i, ; his defense for innovation before the king, i, ; stuart's anecdotes of west, i, - . wilson, richard--his poverty and want of appreciation, i, ; present value of his works, i, . winde william--his successful stratagem, i, . wissing, william--freedom of the times in england in the reign of charles ii., i, . wolf, the bronze, "the thunder-stricken nurse of rome", i, . wonders, the seven, of the world, iii, . wren, sir christopher, i, ; his self-command, i, ; his restraints in designing his edifices, i, ; the great fire in london, i, ; st. paul's cathedral, i, ; his death, i, ; wren and charles ii., i, . zuccaro, taddeo, iii, ; his poverty, enthusiasm, and works, iii, . zuccaro, federigo--his resentment, iii, ; royal criticism on his self-adulation, iii, . footnotes: [footnote : arnolfo had proposed to raise the cupola immediately above the first cornice, from the model of the church in the chapel of the spaniards, where the cupola is extremely small. arnolfo was followed by giotto in . to giotto succeeded taddeo gaddi, after whom, first andrea orgagna, next lorenzo di filippo, and lastly brunelleschi were architects of the cathedral.] [footnote : the story of columbus and the egg is familiar to every one. the jest undoubtedly originated with brunelleschi, as it is attested by many of the italian writers; it happened in , fourteen years before columbus was born. toscanelli was a great admirer of brunelleschi, whose knowledge of the scriptures and powers of argument were so great, that he could successfully dispute in public assemblies, or in private with the most learned theologians, so that toscanelli was accustomed to say that "to hear filippo in argument, one might fancy one's self listening to a second paul." so capital a retort could hardly have failed to reach columbus, through his instructor, nor would he have hesitated to use it against his antagonists under similar circumstances. brunelleschi was born in and died in ; columbus in , and died in .] [footnote : vasari means that lorenzo continued to receive his salary till , although filippo had been appointed sole master of the works in , as he himself relates in the sequel.] [footnote : how different was the treatment ghiberti received from brunelleschi, when the artists presented their models for one of the bronze doors of the baptistery of san giovanni at florence. the designs of ghiberti, brunelleschi, and donatello, were considered the three best; but the two latter, considering that ghiberti was fairly entitled to the prize, withdrew their claims in his favor, and persuaded the syndics to adjudge the work to him. brunelleschi was requested to undertake the work in concert with ghiberti, but he would not consent to this, desiring to be first in some other art or undertaking than equal, or perhaps secondary, in another. "now, this was in truth," says vasari, "the sincere rectitude of friendship; it was talent without envy, and uprightness of judgment in a decision respecting themselves, by which these artists were more highly honored than they could have been by conducting the work to the utmost summit of perfection. happy spirits! who, while aiding each other took pleasure in commending the labors of their competitors. how unhappy, on the contrary, are the artists of our day, laboring to injure each other, yet still unsatisfied, they burst with envy, while seeking to wound others."] [footnote : this distrust seems astonishing, after what brunelleschi had accomplished, but it shows the opposition and enmity he had to encounter. in , he received a mortifying affront from the guild of builders. finding that he carried on the building without thinking to pay the annual tax due from every artist who exercised his calling, they caused him to be apprehended and thrown into prison. as soon as this outrage was known to the wardens, they instantly assembled with indignation, and issued a solemn decree, commanding that filippo should be liberated, and that the consuls of the guild should be imprisoned, which was accordingly done. baldinucci discovered and printed the authentic document containing the decree, which is dated august , .] [footnote : masselli says that the tuscan braccio, is the ancient roman foot doubled for greater convenience, and is equal to one foot nine inches and six lines, paris measure. the editors of the florentine edition of vasari, - , remark that the measure of the whole edifice as given by vasari, differs from that given by fantozzi; the latter gives braccia as its total height. milizia says, "brunelleschi completed his undertaking, which surpassed in height any work of the ancients. the lantern alone remained imperfect; but he left a model for it, and always recommended, even in his last moments, that it should be built of heavy marble, because the cupola being raised on four arches, it would have a tendency to spring upwards if not pressed with a heavy weight. the three mathematicians who have written on the cupola of st. peter's, have clearly demonstrated a truth differing from the opinion of brunelleschi, viz., that the small cupola increases, in a great degree, the lateral pressure. the whole height of the structure from the ground to the top, is feet; that is, to the lantern feet, the latter being feet inches; the ball feet; the cross feet inches. * * * "the plan of the dome is octangular; each side in the interior is feet, and the clear width between the sides, not measuring into the angles, is feet; the walls are feet inches thick; the whole length of the church is feet. the nave has four pointed arches on each side, on piers, separating it from the side aisles. the transept and choir have no side aisles, but are portions of an octagon, attached to the base of the dome, giving the whole plan the figure of a cross. the edifice has a gothic character, and is incrusted in marble and mosaic work." * * * according to fontani, this cupola exceeds that of the vatican, both in height and circumference by four braccia; and although supported by eight ribs only, which renders it much lighter than that of the vatican, which has sixteen flanking buttresses, it is nevertheless more solid and firm. thus it has never required to be supported by circling hoops of iron, nor has it demanded the labors of the many engineers and architects who have printed volumes upon the subject. the construction of this cupola is remarkable in these particulars--that it is octangular, that it is double, and built entirely on the walls, unsupported by piers, and that there are no apparent counterforts.] wild nature won by kindness _wild nature won by kindness._ _by the same author._ more about wild nature. with portrait of the author and many other full-page illustrations. crown vo, imitation leather gilt, gilt edges, in box, s. inmates of my house and garden. with illustrations by theo carreras. uniform with above, s. also glimpses into plant life. fully illustrated. crown vo, cloth gilt, s. d. wild nature won by kindness by mrs. brightwen _vice-president of the selborne society_ author of "inmates of my house and garden," etc. _illustrated_ eighth edition london t. fisher unwin paternoster square _all rights reserved._ to sir james paget, bart., f.r.s., d.c.l., etc., etc. my dear sir james,-- the little papers which are here reprinted would scarcely have been written but for the encouragement of your sympathy and the stimulus of what you have contributed to the loving study of nature. shall you, then, think me presumptuous if i venture to dedicate to the friend what i could never dream of presenting to the professor, and if i ask you to pardon the poorness of the gift in consideration of the sincerity with which it is given. pray believe me to be yours very sincerely, eliza brightwen the grove, great stanmore. _june, _. [illustration] table of contents. introduction. . rearing birds from the nest . dick the starling . richard the second . verdant . the wild ducks . the jay . a young cuckoo . taming of our pets . birdie . zÖe the nuthatch . titmice . blanche the pigeon . gerbilles . water shrews . squirrels . a mole . harvest mice . a californian mouse . sancho the toad . roman snails . an earwig mother . the sacred beetle . spiders . tame butterflies . ant-lions . robins i have known . robert the second . feeding birds in summer and winter . rab, minor . a visit to jamrach . how to observe nature [illustration] list of illustrations. flying wild duck sacred beetle swallow rearing birds from the nest starlings flying starlings starling in search of food wild duck tiny, sir francis drake and luther jay another jay a young cuckoo butterfly and caterpillar young cuckoo attacked by birds arabesque zÖe, the nuthatch nuthatch in a cocoanut titmice in pursuit of bees titmice blanche the pigeon gerbilles water shrew squirrel mole mice roman snails earwig egyptian beetles flying beetle trap-door spiders butterfly ant-lion the robin young birds child and pet bird rab minor rab minor running nestlings nest of wasps snake in circle preface to the fifth edition. two short chapters, one describing the life of an ant-lion, and the other the habits of a tame toad, were added to the second edition, which was in other respects a reproduction of the first. the present edition has been improved by the adoption of a number of illustrations which were designed for the german translation of this book. [illustration] introduction. i have often wished i could convey to others a little of the happiness i have enjoyed all through my life in the study of natural history. during twenty years of variable health, the companionship of the animal world has been my constant solace and delight. to keep my own memory fresh, in the first instance, and afterwards with a distinct intention of repeating my single experiences to others, i have kept notes of whatever has seemed to me worthy of record in the life of my pets. some of these papers have already appeared in _the animal world_; the majority are now printed for the first time. in the following chapters i shall try to have quiet talks with my readers and tell them in a simple way about the many pleasant friendships i have had with animals, birds, and insects. i use the word friendships advisedly, because truly to know and enjoy the society of a pet creature you must make it feel that you are, or wish to be, its friend, one to whom it can always look for food, shelter, and solace; it must be at ease and at home with you before its instincts and curious ways will be shown. sometimes when friends have wished me to see their so-called "pet," some scared animal or poor fluttering bird has been brought, for whom my deepest sympathy has been excited; and yet there may have been perhaps the kindest desire to make the creature happy, food provided in abundance, and a pleasant home; but these alone will not avail. for lack of the quiet gentle treatment which is so requisite, the poor little captive will possibly be miserable, pining for liberty, hating its prison, dreading the visits of its jailor, and so harassed in its terror that in some cases the poor little heart is broken, and in a few hours death is the result. in the following simple sketches of animal, bird, and insect life, i have tried to show how confidence must be gained, and the little wild heart won by quiet and unvarying kindness, and also by the endeavour to imitate as much as possible the natural surroundings of its own life before its capture. i must confess it requires a large fund of patience to tame any wild creature, and it is rarely possible to succeed unless one's efforts begin in its very early days, before it has known the sweets of liberty. in many cases i have kept a wild animal or bird for a few days to learn something of its ways, possibly to make a drawing of its attitudes or plumage, and then let it go, else nearly all my pets, except imported creatures, have been reared from infancy, an invalid's life and wakefulness making early-morning feeding of young fledglings less difficult than it would have been in many cases, and often have painful hours been made bearable and pleasant by the interest arising from careful observation of the habits and ways of some new pet animal or bird. i have always strongly maintained that the love of animated nature should be fostered far more than it usually is, and especially in the minds of the young; and that, in fact, we lose an immense amount of enjoyment by passing through life as so many do without a spark of interest in the marvellous world of nature, that book whose pages are ever lying open before us. the beauties of the country might as well have been left uncreated for all the interest that thousands take in them. not only town dwellers, who might be excused for their ignorance, but those who live in the midst of fields and woods, often know so little about the curious creatures in fur and feathers that exist around them that they are surprised when told the simplest facts about these, their near neighbours. one reason may be, that it is now so much the fashion to spend the year in various places, and those always moving about have neither the time nor opportunity to cultivate the little undergrowths of quiet pleasures which spring out of a settled home in the country, with its well-tended garden and farmyard, greenhouses, stable, and fields--the horses and cattle, petted and kindly cared for from their birth, dogs and poultry, and all kinds of special favourites. there is a healthy, happy tone about such a life, and where it exists and is rightly maintained, good influence is, or ought to be, felt in and around the home. almost all children have a natural love of living creatures, and if they are told interesting facts about them they soon become ardent naturalists. i well remember that in my childhood i had a great dread of toads and frogs, and a relative, to whom i owe much for having directed my mind into the love of animated nature, took up a frog in her hand and made me look at the beautiful gold circle round its eyes, its curious webbed feet, its leaping power arising from the long hind legs; she told me also of its wonderful tongue, so long and flexible that it folded back in its mouth, and that the frog would sit at the edge of an ant-hill and throwing out the tongue with its sticky point, would pick off the ants one by one as they came out. when i learnt all this, i began to watch such a curious reptile; my fears vanished, and like kingsley's little daughter, who had been wisely led to care for all living things and came running to show her father a "dear delightful worm" she had found! so i, too, have been led all through my life to regard every created thing, great or small, attractive or otherwise, as an object well worth the most reverent study. perhaps i ought to explain that i have described methods of taming, feeding, and housing one's pets with extreme minuteness in order to help those of my readers who may be very fond of live creatures, and yet from lack of opportunity may have gained no knowledge of their mode of life, and what is required to keep them happily in health and vigour. i have had to learn by experience that attention to very small details is the road to success in keeping pets as well as in other things, and the desire to pass on that experience must be my excuse to more scientific readers for seeming triviality. many admirable books have been written by those well qualified to impart their knowledge in every branch of natural history, and the more such books are read the better, but the following pages simply contain the life histories of my pets and what i personally have observed about them. i shall be glad indeed if they supply any useful information, or lead others to the more careful study of the common every-day things around them with a view to more kindness being shown to all living creatures, and tender consideration for them. i trust i may feel that this little book will then have attained its purpose. may it especially tend to lead the young to see how this beautiful world is full of wonders of every kind, full of evidences of the great creator's wisdom and skill in adapting each created thing to its special purpose, and from the whole realm of nature may they be taught lessons in parables, and their hearts be led upward to god himself, who made all things to reflect his own perfection and glory. "gem, flower, and fish, the bird, the brute, of every kind occult or known (each exquisitely form'd to suit its humble lot, and that alone), through ocean, earth, and air fulfil unconsciously their maker's will." eliza brightwen. [illustration] [illustration] rearing birds from the nest. the most delightful of all pets are the birds one has taken the pains to rear from the nest; they never miss the freedom of outdoor life, they hardly know what fear is, they become devotedly attached to the one who feeds and educates them, and all their winsome ways seem developed by the love and care which is given to them. i strongly deprecate a whole nest being taken; one would not willingly give the happy little parent birds the distress of finding an empty home. after all their trouble in building, laying, sitting, and hatching, surely they deserve the reward of bringing up their little babes. too often when boys thus take a nest they simply let the young birds starve to death from ignorance as to their proper food and not rising early enough to feed them. it is a different matter if, out of a family of six, one takes two to bring up by hand--the labour of the old birds is lightened, and four fledglings will sufficiently reward their toil. the birds should be taken before they are really feathered, just when the young quills begin to show, as at that stage they will not notice the change in their diet and manner of feeding. they need to be carefully protected from cold, kept at first in a covered basket in flannel, and if the weather is cold they should be near a fire, as they miss the warmth of the mother bird, especially at night. i confess it involves a good deal of trouble to undertake the care of these helpless little creatures. they should be fed every half-hour, from four in the morning until late in the evening, and that for many weeks until they are able to feed themselves. the kind of food varies according to the bird we desire to bring up, and it requires care to make sure that it is not too dry or too moist, and that it has not become sour, or it will soon prove fatal, for young birds have not the sense of older ones--they take blindly whatever is given them. [illustration] [illustration: starlings.] dick the starling. few people would think a cat could possibly be a tender nurse to young birds! but such was really the case with a very interesting bird i possessed some years ago. a young starling was brought up from the nest by the kind care of our cook and the cat! both were equally sympathetic, and pitied the little unfledged creature, who was by some accident left motherless in his early youth. cook used to get up at some unheard-of hour in the morning to feed her clamorous pet, and then would bring him down with her at breakfast-time and consign him to pussy's care; she, receiving him with a gentle purr of delight, would let him nestle into her soft fur for warmth. as dick became feathered, he was allowed the run of the house and garden, and used to spend an hour or so on the lawn, digging his beak into the turf, seeking for worms and grubs, and when tired he would fly in at the open window and career about until he could perch on my shoulder, or go in search of his two foster-mothers in the kitchen. his education was carried on with such success that he could soon speak a few words very clearly. strangers used to be rather startled by a weird-looking bird flying in from the garden, and saying, "beauty dear, puss, puss, miaow!" but it was still more strange to see dick sitting on the cat's back and addressing his endearments to her in the above words. pussy would allow him to investigate her fur with exemplary patience, only objecting to his inquisitive beak being applied to her eyelids to prize them open when she was enjoying her afternoon nap. dick's love of water led him to bathe in most inconvenient places. one morning, when i returned to the dining-room after a few minutes' absence, i found him taking headers into a glass filter and scattering the contents on the sideboard. after dinner, too, he would dive into the finger-glasses with the same intention, and when hindered in that design would visit the dessert dishes in succession, stopping with an emphatic "beauty dear!" at the sight of some coveted dainty, to which he would forthwith help himself liberally. in summer dick had to resist considerable temptation from wild birds of his own kind, who evidently made matrimonial overtures to him, but though he "camped out" for a few nights now and then, he never seemed to find a mate to his mind, and elected to remain a bachelor and enjoy our society instead of that of his own kith and kin. dick was certainly a pattern of industrious activity, never still for two minutes. he seemed haunted by the idea that caterpillars and grubs existed all over the house, and his search for them was carried on under all possible circumstances--every plait of one's dress, every button-hole, would be inquired into by his prying little beak in case some choice morsel might chance to be lurking there. dick lived for a few happy years, and then his bathing propensities most unhappily led to his untimely death. one severely cold day in winter he was missed and searched for everywhere, and after some hours his poor little body was found stiff and cold in a water-tank in the stable-yard, where the ice had been broken. he had as usual plunged in for a bath, and we can only suppose the intense cold had caused an attack of cramp, so that he could not get out again, and thus was drowned. many tears were shed for the loss of the cheery little bird, who seemed like a bright ubiquitous sunbeam about the house, and our only consolation was the thought that, as far as we knew, he had never had a sorrow in his life, and we can only hope that if there are "happy hunting-grounds" for birds our dick may be there, bright and happy still. [illustration: flying starlings] richard the second. on a wet stormy day in may a young unfledged bird was blown out of its nest and was picked up in a paved yard where, somehow, it had fallen unhurt. there he was found by my kind-hearted butler, who appeared with the little shivering thing in his hand to see if i would adopt it. the butler pleaded for it, and it squawked its own petition piteously enough, but i was far from strong, and i knew at what very early hours these young feathered people required to be fed. i therefore felt i ought hardly to give up the time which sometimes brought me the precious boon of sleep after a wakeful night. very reluctantly i refused the gift, and felt wretchedly hard-hearted in doing so. i will confide to my readers that in my secret heart i thought the poor orphan was a blackbird or thrush, and they are birds i feel ought never to be caged; they pine and look so sadly longing for liberty; even their song has a minor key of plaintiveness when it comes through prison bars, and this feeling helped my decision. a few days after i heard that the birdie was adopted in the pantry, and was being fed "in the intervals of business." when a few days later i was definitely informed that the birdie waif was a starling, then i confess i did begin to long for another little friend such as my former "dick" had been, and it ended in my receiving richard the second, as we called him for distinction, into my own care and keeping, and month after month i was his much-enduring mother. most fledglings are much the same at first; whenever i came in sight the gaping beak was ever ready for food, and the capacity for receiving it was wonderful. richard grew very fast; little quills appeared and opened out into feathers; his walking powers increased till he could make a tottering run upon the carpet; and then he began to object to his basket and would have a perch like a grown-up bird, practised going to sleep on one leg, which for a long time was a downright failure and ended in constant tumbles. he was always out of his cage whilst i was dressing, and was full of fun and play, scheming to get his bath before i did, and running off with anything he could carry. when he was about two months old i had to go to buxton for a month's visit and decided that i could not leave richard behind, as he needed constant feeding with little pieces of raw meat and was just old enough to miss my training and care. he was therefore to make his first start as a traveller, in a small cage, papered round the sides, the top being left open for light and air. he was wonderfully brave and good, very observant of everything, and if scared a word from me would reassure him, until at last even an express train dashing past did not make him start. it was very amusing to see the attention bestowed upon him at the various stations where we had to get out. a little crowd would gather round and stare at such a self-possessed small bird. i was asked "if it was a very rare bird?" it seemed almost absurd to have to reply, "no, only a common starling;" but people are so accustomed to see a caged pet flutter in terror at its unusual surroundings, that my kingly richard rather puzzled his admirers. when we began life in our apartments, one important consideration in the day's proceedings was the starling's food. there was no home larder to fall back upon, so a daily portion of tender rump-steak had to be obtained, to the great amusement of the butcher with whom we dealt for our own joints. about this time the plain grey plumage began to be varied by two patches of brilliant little purple feathers, tipped with greyish-white, which appeared on each side of his breast. some began to peep out of his back and head. he moulted his tail, and had rich, dark feathers all over, in time, till he arrived at being what he was often called, "a perfect beauty"--glossy and brilliant, bronze gold and purple, with reflets of rich green, and little specks of greyish-white all over his breast; this richness of colour, combined with his beautiful sleek shape, made richard a very attractive bird. when we returned from buxton, i was so confident of the bird's tameness i used to carry him in my hand out to the tulip tree, and there i often sat and read, while richard would pry into the moss and the bark of the tree, searching for insects, and though he could fly well by this time, he did not try to do so, but seemed content to keep near me. one morning i heard his first articulate word, "beauty," spoken so clearly it quite startled me. i had been diligently teaching him, by constant repetition, for many weeks, and by degrees he gained the power of speaking one word after another, till at last he was able to say, "little beauty," "'ow de doo?" "pretty, pretty," "beauty, dear," "puss, puss," "miaow," and imitated kissing exactly. all this was intermingled with his native whistle and sundry inarticulate sounds, intended, i suppose, to result in words and sentences some day. whilst talking and singing, his head was held very upright, and his wings flapped incessantly against his sides, after the manner of the wild birds. nothing stirred my indignation more keenly than the question so often asked, "have you had your starling's tongue slit to make him talk so well?" i beg emphatically to entreat all my readers to do their utmost to put an end to this cruel and perfectly useless custom. my bird's talking powers were remarkable, but they were the result of his intelligence being drawn out and cultivated by constant, loving care, attention to his little wants, and being talked to and played with, and made into a little feathered friend of the family. now must be told an episode which cost me no little heartache. richard was out in my room one morning as usual, when the room door happening to be open, away he flew into the next room, and out at an open window into the garden. i saw him alight on a tree, but by the time i could reach the garden he had gone. i saw a group of starlings in a beech tree near by, and another set were chattering on the house roof, but there was no telling if my richard was one of them. i called till i was tired, and continued to do so at intervals all day, but no wanderer appeared. his cage had been put on the lawn, but to no purpose. i feared i should never see my pet again, because i supposed he might be lured by the wild birds till he got out of hearing of any familiar voice. i confess it was hard to think of my bright young birdie starving under some hedge, for i felt sure he was too much of a gentleman from his artificial bringing-up to be able to earn his own living. all i could do was to resolve to be up very early next day, and call again and again, on the chance of his being within hearing. before six o'clock next morning i was seeking the truant. plenty of wild birds were about, the bright sun glancing on their sleek coats--all looking so like my pet it was impossible to distinguish him. i little knew that he was then starving and miserable under a bush in the upper part of the garden. i continued calling and seeking him until breakfast-time, and fast losing all hope of ever seeing him again. about eleven o'clock i was returning from the kitchen garden, with my hands full of fruit and flowers, when, to my intense delight, poor little richard came slowly out from under a laurel, and stood in the path before me, as veritable a type of a birdish prodigal son as could well be imagined. his feathers were ruffled, his wings drooping, his whole aspect irresistibly reminded one of the jackdaw of rheims; and the way he sidled up to me, with half-closed eyes and drooping head, was one of the most pathetic things i ever experienced. he so plainly said, "i'm very sorry--hope you'll forgive me; won't do it again"; and certainly his mute appeal was not in vain, for down went my fruit and flowers, and with loving words i took up my lost darling, and cooed over him all sorts of affectionate rubbish until we reached home and he was restored to his cage. there his one desire was water. poor fellow! he was nearly famished. i think another hour would have seen his end. there is no water in the garden, except in the stone vase in front of the dining-room window, and he would not have known how to find that, so he must have been twenty-eight hours without drinking anything beyond a possible drop of dew now and then. i had to feed him with great care--a little food, and very often, until he recovered a measure of strength. he was very drooping all day, and i quite feared he might not live after all, he was so nearly starved to death. after some days, however, "richard was himself again," and as bright and amusing as ever. i have not related the amusing characteristics of his "daily tub." his love of water was a perfect passion, and water he would have. at first he was treated to a large glass dish on the matting in the dining-room, but he sent up such a perfect fountain of spray over curtains, couch, and chairs, that the housemaid voted "that bird" a nuisance, and a better plan was devised. in the conservatory is a pool of water, with rock-work and ferns at the back, and there is a central tube where a fountain can be turned on. i made a small island of green moss a little above the water, and, placing richard upon it, i turned the fountain on to play a delicate shower of spray over him. he was perfectly enchanted, and fluttered, turned about, and frisked, like a bird possessed. as he became accustomed to it, i began to throw handfuls of water over him, and that he did enjoy. he would cower down, and lie with his wings expanded and beak open, receiving charge after charge of water till quite out of breath; then he would run a few paces away on his island till he recovered himself, and then would go back and place himself ready for a renewed douche. i never saw such a plucky bird. if i had been trying to drown him i could not have done more, for sometimes he was knocked backwards into the pool; but no matter, he was up again, and all ready in a minute. he generally tired me out, and when i turned off the fountain, he would either fly or run after me into the drawing-room and go into his cage, which always stood there; and there followed a very careful toilette--a general oiling and pluming and fluttering, until his bonnie little feathers were all in good order; and then would follow endless chatter, and he would inform the world that he was a "little beauty," "pretty little dear," &c. starlings seem to have an abundant supply of natural oil in the gland where it is stored, for his feathers were never really much wetted by his tremendous baths, and he was a slippery fellow to hold, his plumage was so glossy and sleek. a word must be said about his temper; it was decidedly not meek by any means, and his will was strong, so the least thing would bring a shower of pecks in token of disapproval, and if scolded his attitude was most absurd; he would draw himself up to a wonderful height, set up his crest feathers, and stand ready to meet all comers, like a little fighting cock; and when a finger was pointed at him he would scold and peck, and flap with his wings with the utmost fury; and yet if a kind word was said all his wrath vanished, and he would come on your hand and prize your fingers apart, looking for grubs as usual. it seemed strange that his habit of thus searching for insects everywhere should continue, though he was never by any chance rewarded by finding one. a starling's range of ideas may be summed up in the word "grubs." it was always immensely amusing to strangers to see richard, when out in the room, searching with his inquisitive beak in the most hopeless places with a cheerful happy activity, as if he always felt sure that long-looked-for grub, for which he had searched all the years of his life, must be close by, round the corners somewhere, under the penwiper, behind that book, amongst these coloured silks; and if interfered with he would give a peck and a chirp, as much as to say, "do let me alone, i'm busy; i've got my living to get, and grubs seem scarce." richard was the only bird i have ever had who learnt the nature of windows, he never flew against them; he had one or two severe concussions, and being a very sensible bird he "concluded" he wouldn't do it again; he would fly backwards and forwards in the drawing-room in swift flight, but i never feared either the windows or the fire, as he avoided both. several times master richard was found flying about in the drawing-room, and yet no one had let him out; we could only suppose that by some mischance the door must have been left open; yet we all felt morally certain it had been fastened properly, and there was much puzzlement about the matter. however, the mystery was soon solved by my watching richard's proceedings. i heard a prolonged hammering and found he was at work upon the hasp of his cage door. he managed to raise it up higher and higher, till by a well-directed peck he sent it clear out of the loop of wire which held it in its place. still the door was shut, and it required a good many more pecks to force it open, but he succeeded in time, and out he flew--delighted to find himself entirely master of the situation. then i watched with much amusement his deliberate survey of the room. i was ill at the time, and he first flew to greet me and talk a little; he hopped upon my hand, and holding firmly on my forefinger he went through his usual morning toilette, first an application to his oil gland, then he touched up all his plumage, drew out his wing and tail feathers, fluttered himself into shape, and when quite in order he began to examine the contents of my breakfast tray; took a little sugar, looked to see if there were any grubs under the tray cloth, peered into the cream jug, decided that he didn't like the salt, gave me two or three hard pecks to express his profound affection, and then went off on a voyage of discovery, _autour de ma chambre_. he squeezed himself between every ornament on the mantlepiece, flew to the drawers, and found there some grapes which were very much to his taste; so he was busy for some time helping himself. he visited every piece of furniture, threw down all the little items that he could lift, and, as i was reading, i did not particularly notice what he was about, until he came on a small table near my bed, and then i heard a suspicious noise, and turned to find the indefatigable bird with his beak in my ink bottle, and the sheet already plentifully bespattered with black splashes and little streams of ink trickling over the table cover; such misplaced zeal was not to be borne, so richard had to be caged. when he was seven months old, his beak began to turn from black to yellow. the colour began to show first at the base of the beak, and it went on gradually, until in a month's time it was nearly all yellow, though it was black at the tip for some time longer. as time went on, richard's talking powers increased; he quite upset any grave conversation that might be going on; his voice dropped at times to a sort of stage whisper, as if he wished to convey some profound secrets. "oh, you little beauty, pretty little dear, 'ow de doo?" used to mingle most absurdly with the conversation of his elders and betters. when he could not have his bath in the conservatory, i used still to give him his glass dish, which we used together, for he would never enjoy his ablutions without me, and i became considerably sprinkled in the process. his delight was to have a water fight, pecking at my fingers, scolding, as if in a great rage, using his claws, and all the while calling me "dear little dicky; beauty; pretty little dear," &c., for he had no harder words to scold with; certainly the effect was most comical. when he supposed he had gained the victory, he would settle down to a regular bathe, fluttering and taking headers until he was dripping wet and delightfully happy, and the next thing would be to perch on one's chair, and shake a regular shower of drops over one's books or work. richard was not, as a rule, at all frightened by noises, or by being carried about in his cage in strange places, but early one morning, when he was out in my room, he flew away from the window with a piercing scream of terror, and hid himself quite in the dark, behind my pillow, shivering with fright, as if he felt his last hour had come. we found out, when this had occurred several times, that his _bête noire_ was a great heron, which used occasionally to leave the lake, and circle round the house, high up in the air. it could only have been by pure instinct that richard was inspired with such terror whenever he saw the great winged bird, and it showed that artificial training, though it develops additional powers and habits, in no way interferes with natural instinct. the starling has a remarkably active brain; its quickness of movement, swift flight, and never-tiring activity, all show the working of its inner mind; but more than that, it seems to be capable of something akin to reasoning. richard sometimes dropped a piece of meat on his sanded floor, and i have often seen him take it up and well rinse it in his water, till the sand was cleansed away, and then he would swallow it; and a dry piece of meat he would moisten in the same way. now this involved a good deal of mental intuition, and i often wondered whether he found out that water would remove the sand by accident, or by a process of thought; in either case, it showed cleverness and adaptability. so also with the processes of opening the door of his cage. he had first to prize up the latch with his beak to a certain height, and then by sudden sharp pecks send it clear of the hasp; then descend to the floor, and by straight pecks send the door open. if he could not get the door to open thus, he understood at once that the latch was not clear of the hasp, so he went back to his perch and pecked at it until he saw it fall down, and then he knew all was right. when the second summer of richard's life came round, some young starlings were obtained, as we much wished to rear a hen as a mate for richard in the following year. these birds were placed in a cage in the same room with him, as we hoped he would prove their tutor, and save us the trouble of teaching them. but no; richard evidently felt profoundly jealous of these intruders, and day after day remained perfectly dumb and out of temper. this went on for a week, and then fearing he might lose his talking powers, i was obliged to remove them and pay special attention to him, to soothe his ruffled feelings. he did not begin to talk until more than a week had passed by, evidently resolving to mark in this way his extreme displeasure at others being admitted to share our friendship--a curious instance of innate jealousy in a bird's mind. for more than five years richard was a source of constant pleasure and amusement, and was so much a part of my home-life that when anything unusual happened, in the way of a garden-party or a change in daily events from any cause, one's first thought was to provide for his comfort being undisturbed. i confess i dreaded the thought of his growing old, and could not bear to look on to the time when i must learn to do without his sweet, cheering little voice and pleasant companionship. alas! that time has come, and i must now tell how the little life was quenched. in a room to which he had access, there was a small aquarium half-full of water thickly covered with pond-weed. i had left richard to have his usual bath whilst i went down to breakfast, and when i returned i could nowhere find my pet. his usual bath was unused; i called and searched, and at last in the adjoining room i saw the little motionless body floating in the aquarium. the temptation had been too strong; richard thought to have a lovely bathe, had flown down into the water, no doubt his claws were hopelessly entangled in the weed and thus, as was the case with my former starling dick, the intense love of bathing led to a fatal end. the sorrow one feels for the loss of a pet so interwoven with one's life is very real; many may smile at it and call it weakness, but true lovers of animals and birds will know what a blank is felt and how intensely i shall ever regret the untimely fate of my much-loved little richard. [illustration] verdant. one day in early summer i found on a gravel walk a poor little unfledged birdie, sitting calmly looking up into the air, as if he hoped that some help would come to him, some pitying hand and heart have compassion upon his desolate condition. i carried him indoors, and "mothered" the little helpless thing as well as i could, by feeding him with hard-boiled yolk of egg mixed with brown bread and water. being a hard-billed bird, i supposed that would be suitable food, and certainly he throve upon it. the little blue quills began to tell of coming feathers, his vigorous chirpings betokened plenty of vocal power, and in due time he grew into a young greenfinch of the most irrepressible and enterprising character. his lovely hues of green and yellow led to the name of verdant being bestowed upon him, and his early experiences made it a somewhat suitable name. poor little man! he had no parents to instruct him, and he consequently got into all manner of scrapes. he only learnt the nature of windows and looking-glasses by bitter experience; flying against them with great force, he was often taken up for dead; but his solid little skull resisted all these concussions, and by pouring cold water upon his head and some down his throat, he always managed to recover. he once overbalanced into a bath, and was nearly drowned; he fell behind a wardrobe, and was nearly suffocated; later on he almost squeezed himself to death between the bars of his cage--in fact, he had endless escapes of various kinds. he was very amusing in his early youth. whilst i was dressing he would delight in picking up my scissors, pins, buttonhook, and anything else he could lift, and would carry them to the edge of the dressing-table and throw them down, turning his sly little head to see where they had fallen. he delighted in mischief, and was ever on the watch to carry off or misplace things; and yet he was a winning little pet, fearless in his confidence, perching on one's head or shoulder, and hindering all dressing operations by calmly placing his little body in the way, regardless of consequences. he lived in his cage during the day, and next to him, on the same table, lived a bullfinch--a very handsome bird, but heavy and lethargic to a degree; he sang exquisitely, and for that gift i suppose verdant admired him, for his delight was to be as near him as possible. perched on the top of his cage, he gazed down at his friend, and in great measure imitated his singing. bully, on the contrary, hated verdant, and would have nothing to do with him. the two characters were a great source of amusement to us. verdant was always let out at meal-times to fly about and enjoy his liberty, and i am sorry to say he was always on the look-out for any mischief that might be possible. bully's water-jar was fastened outside by a small pin; this verdant discovered was movable, and before long we were startled by the fall of the said water-jar, the greenfinch having pulled out the pin; he then began upon the seed-box, and that also fell, to his great delight; he was then talked to and scolded, and up went his pretty yellow wings with angry flappings, and his open beak scolded back again in the most hardened manner. he was greatly interested in watching the numerous birds frequenting a basket filled with fat which hung outside the window, and he would swing backwards and forwards on the tassel of the blind, chirping to the outsiders, and watching all their little squabbles. sunflower seeds were his greatest dainty; he would perch upon the hand to receive one, or if it were held between the lips he would flutter and poise upon the wing to take it. a sort of swing with a chain and movable wheel was provided, upon which verdant soon learned to perch and swing, whilst he amused himself by pecking at the chain till he disengaged the sunflower seeds i had fixed in the links. when he was more than a year old, and i thought he might be depended upon, i tried the rather anxious experiment of letting him out of doors. he soon became quietly happy, investigating the wonders of tree branches, inquiring into the taste of leaves and all kind of novelties, when two or three sparrows flew at him and scared him considerably. away he went, followed by the sparrows, and i began to repent my experiment, and feared he might go beyond my ken and lose himself. he was out nearly an hour, but at last he returned and went quietly into his cage. it seemed strange that the wild birds should so soon discover that he was not one of their clique, but i suppose verdant revealed the secret by looking frightened, and the others could not resist the fun of chasing him. for more than a year and a half my birdie was a constant pleasure. whenever he entered the dining-room my first act was to open verdant's cage, when he would always fly to the bullfinch's cage and greet him with a chirp, then look to see if his friend had any provender that he could get at--a piece of lettuce between the bars, or a spray of millet to which he could help himself; no matter that bully remonstrated with open beak, verdant calmly feasted on stolen goods _con gusto_, and then scouted around for any dainties on the carpet, where he sometimes found a stray sunflower seed, always his greatest delight. after his summer moulting he became wonderfully vigorous, and would fly round the room with such velocity that i often felt afraid he might some day fly against the plate-glass windows and injure himself. that mournful day came at last! he had been out as usual at breakfast-time, came on my finger for a seed, had his bath, and went on the little swing for more seeds, and flew about with all his joyous life and vigour. we had only left the room for a few moments, when, on returning, the dear little bird lay dead beneath the window, against which he had flown with such force as to break his neck and cause instant death. the sorrow of that moment will never be forgotten; indeed, i cannot even now think of my little pet with undimmed eyes--he was a moment before so full of life and beauty, so fearless, such a "sonsie" little fellow; and then to hold the little golden green body in my hand and watch the fast-glazing eye, and think that i should never again have my cheery little friend to greet me and be glad at my coming, was one of those sharp pangs that true lovers of nature alone can understand. from all such i know i shall have sympathy in the tragic death of my much-loved little verdant. [illustration] [illustration: wild duck.] the wild ducks. when our grass was being cut the mowers came upon a wild duck's nest containing eight eggs; they were carried whilst still warm and placed under a sitting hen; in a week's time she brought out eight fluffy little ducklings, which were placed with her under a coop in the farmyard. i paid them a visit the next day, but, alas! i saw four little corpses lying about in the grass, the remaining four were chirping piteously, and the hen was in despair at being unable to comfort her uncanny children. evidently their diet was in fault; i thought i would take them in hand, and therefore had the coop brought round to the garden, and placed under the drooping boughs of a deodar near the drawing-room window, where i could watch over them. i gave the wee birdies a pan of water, and placed in it some finely-shred lettuce, with grits and brown bread crumbs, not forgetting suitable food for the poor distracted hen. it was charming to hear the little happy twitterings of the downy babes, how they gobbled and sputtered and talked to each other over their repast, swimming to and fro as if they had been ducks of mature age and experience, instead of mere yellow fluffs of a day old; and, finally, they seemed to remember they had a warm, comfortable mother somewhere, and sought refuge under her kindly wings, where i left them exchanging confidences in little drowsy chirps. i found it needful to guard my little brood with fine wire-work, for some carrion crows kept hovering near, and a weasel was constantly on the watch to carry them off; but these enemies were successfully baffled, and three of the ducks survived all dangers and grew to beautiful maturity, the fourth having died in infancy from an accidental peck from the hen. in rearing all wild creatures the great thing is to study and imitate, as nearly as possible, their natural surroundings, and especially their diet. chopped lettuce and worms made a fair substitute for their natural food, but the jubilation that went on when a mass of water-weed, full of insects, water snails, &c., was brought them, showed that they knew by instinct what suited them best. with constant care and attention they grew very tame, and would eat out of one's hand, and when let out of the coop would follow me to a certain heap of dead leaves where worms abounded, and there, with the most amusing eagerness, they pounced upon their wriggling prey, snatching the worms out of each other's beak, and tumbling over one another in their excitement, all the while making a special chirp of exceeding happiness. they were named tiny, sir francis drake, and luther--i fear the last name had a covert allusion to the "diet of worms." when the purple feathers began to show in their wings, and they considered themselves quite too old to pay any allegiance to their hen-mother, they began to absent themselves for some hours each afternoon, and this, too, in a most secret fashion, for i could never tell how they disappeared, but they returned in due time, walking quietly in indian file, and lay down in their coop. at last i traced them to a pond a long distance off--it really seemed as if they had scented the water, for they had to traverse a lawn and wood, go across a drive, and through a hedge and field, and then the pond was in a hollow where they could not possibly have seen it; but there i found my little friends in high glee, darting over the surface of the water, splashing, diving, sending up showers of spray from their wings, and going on as if they were possessed. i called to them, and in a moment they quieted down, and behaved exactly as children would have done when caught tripping--they came out of the water and followed me, in the meekest and most penitent manner, back to their home under the deodar. these birds would stay the whole morning with me in perfect content if they were allowed to nestle into a wool mat placed at the doorstep of the french window leading out upon the lawn; there they would plume themselves and sometimes preen each other, and i could watch the way in which the feathers were drawn through the apparently awkward bill, yet i suppose so suited for its various uses; anyway the feathers came out from its manipulations as smooth and sleek as velvet, and when the toilet was over the head found its rest behind the wing, and profound sleep followed. sometimes my friends would make a spring upon the sofa by my side, i fear with a view to forthcoming worms, of which they well knew i was the purveyor; and nothing could exceed the slyness of their eyes as they looked up at me and mutely suggested an expedition to that heap of leaves! i must say i derived an immense amount of amusement from those ducks; they had such innate character of their own, quite unlike any other bird i ever came across. i had often looked forward to the time when they would take to their wings and come down upon the lawn from aerial heights with a grand fuss and fluttering of wings, but that desire they never gratified. the day came at last when i saw them circling high up in the air, so high that they were mere specks in the sky, but where they alighted i never could find out. they always re-appeared, walking solemnly (the little hypocrites!) one after the other, as if they had been doing nothing in particular, and were now coming in exemplary fashion to be fed. i believe it is very rarely the case that wild ducks, however they may appear domesticated, will remain all the year through with those who have reared them, and really take their place in the poultry-yard with the other inmates. still it has been known, and i will subjoin an account given me by a friend, which goes to prove that such a state of things is possible. my friend gave me in substance the following account of her wild ducks:-- "there are different kinds of wild ducks; these are mallards. the first we had were hatched by hens. they feed with the other ducks, but show a decided preference for indian corn. they are very troublesome about laying, often leaving their eggs exposed, where the crows find them and carry them off. we gather most of them we find, to take care of them (though the ducks lay in different places each time their nest is robbed) until there are preparations for sitting, when, if we have been fortunate enough to discover the fact, we add a number of the previously gathered eggs. "the sitting duck comes for food every two or three days, and that is all we see of her for some time, until at length she may be seen coming through the meadow, the half-grown mowing grass behind her trembling and waving in an unusual manner: by-and-by, the road or shorter grass is reached, when it is found the proud mother is bringing home her little fluffy family of perhaps eight to eleven darkie ducklings--quick, active, tiny things that refuse at first all friendly advances, but becoming accustomed to their surroundings soon behave much in the manner of their elders. there are dreadful fights on the pond when two or more little families arrive about the same time, the mother of one flock tyrannizing over the members of another, and thus causing many deaths. they often fly away, but they always come back again. all through the winter they go under cover with the other ducks, but when spring comes they are not to be found at night; nevertheless they are sure to be ready for breakfast next morning." i confess i always had a faint hope that my ducks might stay with me, or at any rate return from time to time, but their wild nature prevailed, and they finally left; only luther reappeared alone one day and took his last "diet" from my hand; but there was a look in his pretty blue eye which said plainly, "you will never see me again," and he had his final caress and departed "to fresh woods and pastures new." [illustration: _tiny, sir francis drake and luther_] [illustration] the jay. my jay was taken from the parent nest, built on the stem of an ivy-covered tree which had been blown down in the winter. a young jay is a curious-looking creature: the exquisite blue wing feathers begin to show before the others are more than quills; the eyes are large and bright blue, and when the great beak opens it shows a large throat of deepest carmine, so that it possesses the beauty of colour from its earliest days, and when full grown and in fine plumage it is one of the handsomest of our birds. in its babyhood my jay was much like other young things of his kind, always clamouring for food, and seeming to care for little else, but as he grew up he attached himself to me with a wonderful strength of affection which entirely reversed this order of things, for whenever i came into the room he was restless and unhappy until i came near enough for him to feed me, he would look carefully into his food-trough, and at last select what he thought the most tempting morsel, and then put it through the bars of his cage into my mouth. he would sometimes feed other people, but as a rule he disliked strangers, and i have known him even take water in his beak and squirt it at those who displeased him. on the whole, a jay is not a very desirable pet; he is restless in a cage, and too large to be quite convenient when loose in a room; again, his great timidity is a drawback--the least noise, the sight of a cat or dog, puts him in a nervous fright, and he flutters about with anxious notes of alarm. he is seen to best advantage hopping about on a lawn, where he may be attracted by acorns being strewn in winter and spring. it is a pity that his marauding habits in game preserves lead to his being so ruthlessly shot by gamekeepers till it is almost a rare sight to see the handsome bird and hear his note of alarm in the woods. one morning i saw a jay on the lawn near the house, and rather wondering as to what he was seeking, in a minute or two i saw him pounce upon a young half-fledged bird and carry it off in his beak, a helpless little baby wing fluttering in the air as he flew away. their sight is wonderfully keen, and their cunning is amusing to watch as they steal by careful steps nearer and nearer to their prey, and at last by a sudden dart secure it and make off in rapid flight. [illustration: the jay.] after a year or two my poor jay met with a very sad fate. a garden-party was to take place, and knowing the jay's terror of any unusual noise or upstir, i carried his cage to a quiet room where i hoped he would be quite happy and hear nothing. i, however, did not happen to notice that, later on, the band had established their quarters near this room, and i suppose the unwonted sounds drove the poor bird into a wild state of terror, and that in his flutterings he had caught his leg in the bars of the cage; anyway, i went up about the middle of the party to see how my pet was faring, when i found him in utter misery clinging to the bars, his thigh dislocated and his leg hopelessly broken. it was a mournful duty to carry him away to merciful hands that would end his torture by an instant death. for many a day i missed that bright, handsome birdie who had always a welcome for me and the offer of such hospitality as his cage afforded. [illustration] [illustration: a young cuckoo.] [illustration] a young cuckoo. looking out of my window before six o'clock one bright morning in early summer, i chanced to see a large bird sitting quietly on the gravel walk. its feathers were ruffled as if it felt cold and miserable, and its drooping head told a tale of unhappiness from some cause or other. whilst i was watching it, a little bird darted with all its force against the larger one, and made it roll over on the path; it slowly rose up again, but in another minute a bird from the other side flew against it and again rolled it over. such conduct could not be tolerated, so, dressing quickly, i went out, and picking up the strange bird i found it was a young cuckoo nearly starved to death, having, as i supposed, lost its foster-parents. the bird was in beautiful plumage, except down the front of its throat, where the repeated attacks of the small birds in showing their usual enmity towards the cuckoo, had stripped off the feathers. the poor bird was only skin and bone, nearly dying from lack of food and persecution, and made no resistance when i brought him in to see if i could act the part of foster-mother. finely-mixed raw meat and brown bread seemed to me the best substitute for his insect diet--but he _was_ an awkward baby to feed--though sinking for want of nourishment he would not open his great beak, and every half-hour he had to be fed sorely against his will with many flapping of his wings and other protests of his bird nature. he would not stay quiet in any sort of cage, but when allowed to perch on the rim of a large basket quite free, he remained happily enough by the hour together. after a few days he grew into a vigorous, active bird, flying round the room, and too wild to be retained with safety he was therefore let loose, and soon flew quite out of sight. i should hope he was quite able to support himself by his own exertions. i must say he showed no gratitude for my benevolent succour in his time of need. [illustration: young cuckoo attacked by birds] [illustration] the taming of our pets. since the love of animal and bird pets seems so universal, both amongst rich and poor, it is well that the desire to keep creatures in captivity should be wisely directed, and that young people especially should be led to think of the things that are requisite to make their pets live and prosper in some degree of happiness. i have often been consulted by some sweet, impulsive child about its "pet robin" or "dear little swallow," as to why it did not seem to eat or feel happy? and have found the poor victims quietly starving to death on a diet of oats, canary seed, or even green leaves, the infant mind not feeling quite sure what the "pretty birdies" lived upon. it is needless to say we might as well try to keep a bird on pebbles as give hard grain to a soft-billed insect-eating bird; but this kind of cruelty is constantly practised simply from ignorance. i would therefore endeavour to give a few general rules for the guidance of those who have a new pet of some kind, which they wish to domesticate and tame. to begin with animals; suitable food, a comfortable home, means of cleanliness, and exercise are essential to their health and comfort. these four requisites are seldom fully attended to. often a large dog is kept in a back yard in london chained up week after week--kept alive, it is true, by food and water, but without exercise, and with no means of ridding himself of dirt and insects by a plunge now and then into a pond or river. no wonder his piteous howls disturb the neighbours, and he is spoken of as "that horrid dog!" as if it was his fault poor fellow! that he feels miserable and uses his only language of complaint. one would suggest, it is better not to keep such a dog in a confined space in town, but if he is to be retained he should have one or two daily scampers for exercise, the opportunity of bathing, if he is a water-dog, plenty of fresh water, dog-biscuits, and a few bones twice a day, and a clean house and straw for bedding. i would call attention to the piece of solid brimstone so persistently put into dogs' water pans. it is placed there with the best intention, but is utterly useless, seeing it is a perfectly insoluble substance, but a small teaspoonful of powdered brimstone mixed now and then with the water would be lapped up when the animal drinks, and would tend to keep his skin and coat in good condition. different animals need treating according to their nature and requirements, and surely it is well to try and find out from some of the many charming books on natural history all the information which is needed to make the new pet happy in its captivity. it is both useless and cruel to try to keep and tame newly caught, full-grown english birds. after being used to their joyous life amongst tree branches, in happy fellowship with others of their own kind, living on food of their own selection, it is hardly likely they can be reconciled to the narrow limits of a cage and the dreariness of a solitary life; it is far better not to attempt keeping them, for what pleasure can there be in seeing the incessant flutterings of a miserable little creature that we know is breaking its heart in longings for liberty, and though it may linger a while is sure to die at last of starvation and sorrow. no, the only way to enjoy friendships with full-grown birds is to tame them by food and kindness, till such a tie of love is formed that they will come into our houses and give us their sweet company willingly. no cruelty of any kind whatever should be tolerated for a moment in our treatment of the tender dumb creatures our heavenly father has given us to be a solace and joy during our life on earth. the taming of pets requires a good many different qualities--much patience, a very quiet manner, and a cheery way of talking to the little creatures we desire to win into friendship with us; it is wonderful how that prevents needless terrors. there are no secrets that i am aware of in taming anything, but love and gentleness. directly a bird flutters, one must stop and speak kindly; the human voice has wonderful power over all animated nature, and then try to see what is the cause of alarm, and remove it if possible. in entering a room where your pet is, always speak to it, and by the time you have led it to give an answering chirp, the taming will go on rapidly, because there is an understanding between you, and the little lonely bird feels it has a friend, and takes you instead of its feathered companions, and begins to delight in your company. a person going silently to a cage and dragging out the bottom tray will frighten any bird into flutterings of alarm, which effectually hinders any taming going on; but approach gently, talking to the bird by name, pull the tray quietly a little way, and then stop and speak, and so draw it out by degrees and the thing is done, and no fright experienced. a better way still is to have a second cage, and let birdie hop into that while you clean the other, and then it is amusing to see the pleasure and curiosity shown on his return when he finds fresh seed, pure water, and some dainty green food supplied; the loud chirpings tell of great delight and satisfaction, and the dreaded process is at last looked forward to as a time of recreation. it is much best that one person only should attend to the needs of a pet; indeed, i doubt if taming can ever go on satisfactorily unless this rule is observed; a bird is perplexed and scared if plans are changed, and, not knowing what is required of him, he grows flurried, and the training of weeks past may be undone in a single day. only those who have tried to educate birds can have any idea of the way in which their little minds will respond to affectionate treatment shown in a sensible way. they have a language of their own which we must set ourselves to learn if we would be _en rapport_ with them. their different chirpings each mean something, and a little observation will soon show what it is; for instance, my canary fairly shrieks when she sees lettuce on the breakfast-table, and her grateful note of thanks when it is bestowed upon her is of quite a different character. so also is her tender little sound of rejoicing when i give her some broken egg-shell; she seems to value it immensely, and chirps to me with a great piece of it in her bill, quite regardless of good manners. i often think with pain how much birds must suffer when hour after hour they call and chirp and entreat for something they want, which they can see and long for, and yet the dull-minded human beings they live with pay no heed to them, food and water are given, but, in many cases, nothing more all day long, not even a little chickweed or groundsel, or the much-needed egg-shell to supply strength to their little bones. a bright word or two for birdie now and then, and a few friendly chirps as we enter the room, would do much to cheer the little prisoner's life, and would soon bring a charming response in fluttering wings and evident pleasure at our return. this state of things cannot be attained in a day or a month; it is only by persistent kindness, exercised patiently, until the little heart is won to a perfect trust in you as a true friend. birds can easily be trained to come out for their daily bath, and then go back to their cage of their own accord, but it needs patience at first. the bird must never be caught by the hand or driven about, but if the cage is put on the floor with some nice food in it, and the bird is called and gently guided to it, though it may take an hour to do it the first time, it will at last hop in, and then the door may be very quietly shut. next time he will know what you wish and will be much more amenable, until at last it will be the regular thing to go home when the bath is over. i would condemn the practice of making birds draw up their own water; they are never free to satisfy their thirst without toilsome effort, and are much more liable to accident when chained to an open board than when kept in a cage. it is also sad to know that dozens of birds are starved to death or die of thirst whilst being taught this trick--frequently but one out of many is found to have the aptitude to learn it. it is a great help if some specially favourite food can be discovered by which the pet creature can be rewarded for good conduct. i _never_ take away food or water to induce obedience by privation--a practice which i fear is often resorted to in training creatures for public exhibition--but an additional dainty i much enjoy to bestow, as a means of winning what is at first, it is true, merely cupboard love, but it soon grows into something far deeper, a lifelong friendship, quite apart from the food question. cleanliness is a _very_ important item in a bird's happiness. whilst kept in a cage with but little sand and an outside water-glass which affords no means of washing its feathers, a bird is apt to become infested with insects; it is tormented by them day and night, and having no means of ridding itself of them, it grows thin and mopy, and at last dies a miserable death. there should be a bath supplied daily, suited to the size of the bird, and so planned that the cage itself may not get wet, else it may give the bird cramp to have to sit on a damp perch or floor. when its feathers are dry, some insect powder may be carefully dusted under the bird's wings, at the back of his head, where parasites are especially apt to congregate, and all over the body, only taking care that the powder may not get into the bird's eyes. the cage itself should be well washed with carbolic soap and water, all the corners scrubbed with a small brush; and, when dry, it might be sponged with carbolic lotion over the wire-work to kill any insects which may yet remain. [illustration] [illustration] birdie. amongst all the different birds which are kept in cages, either for their beauty or song, there is one which to my mind far excels all others, not only in its vocal powers, which are remarkable, but for its very unusual intelligence. i refer to the virginian nightingale. it is a handsome, crimson plumaged bird, rather smaller than a starling, not unfrequently seen in bird-sellers' collections, but seen there to the worst possible advantage, for, being extremely shy and sensitive, and taking keen notice of everything around, the slightest voice or movement in the shop will make it flutter against the bars of its cage in an agony of fright, and it therefore looks a most unlikely bird to become an interesting pet; but i will try to show what may be done by gentle kindness to overcome this natural timidity. this will be seen in the history of birdie, my first virginian nightingale, my daily companion for fourteen years. he had belonged to a relative, and there was no way of tracing the age of the bird when first obtained; i can therefore only speak of those years in which he was in my possession. birdie had been accustomed to live in a cage on a high shelf in the kitchen, well cared for, no doubt, but, untamed and unnoticed, he led a lonely life, and was one of the wildest birds i ever met with. for many months his flutterings, when any one came near his cage, could not be calmed, but by always speaking to him when entering the room, and if possible giving him a few hemp-seeds or any little dainty, he grew to endure one's presence; then, later on, he would begin to greet one with a little clicking note, though still retreating to the furthest corner of the cage, and a year or two passed by before he would take anything out of my hand, but this was attained by offering him his one irresistible temptation, _i.e._, a lively spider; this he would seize and hold in his beak while he hopped about the cage, clicking loudly with delight. after a time i began to let him out for an hour or two, first releasing him when he was moulting and could not fly very easily. he learned to go back to his cage of his own accord, and was rewarded by always finding some favourite morsel there. thus, by slow degrees, he lost all fear, and attached himself to me with a strength of affection that expressed itself in many endearing little ways. when called by name he would always answer with a special chirp and look up expectantly, either to receive something or to be let out. his song was very similar to the english nightingale, extremely liquid and melodious, with the same "jug-jug," but more powerful and sustained. on my return to the room after a short absence he would greet me with delight, fluttering his outspread wings and singing his sweetest song, looking intently at me, swaying his head from side to side, and whilst this ecstasy of song lasted he would even refuse to notice his most favourite food, as if he must express his joy before appetite could be gratified. after a few years he seemed to adopt me as a kind of mate! for as spring came round he endeavoured to construct a nest by stealing little twigs out of the grate and flying with them to a chosen retreat behind an ornamental scroll at the top of the looking-glass. he spent a great deal of time fussing about this nest, which never came to anything, but he very obligingly attended to my supposed wants by picking up an occasional fly, or piece of sugar, and, hovering before me on the wing, would endeavour to put it into my mouth; or, if he was in his cage, would mince up a spider or caterpillar with water, and then, with his beak full of the delicious compound, would call and chirp unceasingly until i came near and "made believe" to taste it, and not till then would he be content to enjoy it himself. during an absence from home, birdie once escaped out of doors, and was seen on the roof of the house singing in high glee; the servants called him, the cage was put out, but all to no purpose, he evidently meant to have "a real good time," and kept flying from one tree to another until he was a quarter of a mile from home. a faithful servant kept him in sight for three hours, by which time hunger made him return to our garden, where he feasted on some raspberries, took a leisurely bath in a tub of water, and at length flew in at a bedroom window, where he was safely caged. i never knew a bird with so much intelligence, one might almost say reasoning power. he was once very thirsty after being out of his cage for many hours, and at luncheon he went to an empty silver spoon and time after time pretended to drink, looking fixedly at me as if he felt sure i should know what he meant, and waited quietly until i put water into the spoon. another curious trait was his sense of humour. whilst i was writing one day he went up to a rose, which was at the far end of the table, and began pecking at the leaves. i told him not to do it, when, to my surprise, he immediately ran the whole length of the table and made a scolding noise up in my face, and then, just like a naughty child, went back and did it again. he would sometimes try to tease me away from my writing by taking hold of my pen and tugging at a corner of the paper, and whenever the terrible operation of cutting his claws had to be gone through, he quietly curled up his toes and held the scissors with his beak, so that it needed two people to circumvent his clever resistance. he had wonderfully acute vision, and would let me know directly a hawk was in sight, though it might be but the merest speck in the sky. he once had a narrow escape, for a sparrow-hawk made a swoop at him in his cage just outside the drawing-room window, and had no one been at hand would probably have dragged him through the bars. whenever he saw a jay or magpie, a jackdaw or cat, his clicking note always told me of some enemy in sight. for many years birdie was my cherished pet, never was there a closer friendship. as i passed his cage each night i put my hand in to stroke his feathers, and was always greeted with a low, murmuring note of affection never heard in the daytime. it was with deep concern that i watched birdie's declining strength; there was no disease, only weakness, and at last appetite failed, but even then he would take whatever i offered him and hold it in his beak as if to show that even to the last he would try to please me as far as he could, but he wanted nothing but the quiet rest which came at length, and dear little birdie is now only a cherished memory of true friendship. [illustration: zÖe, the nuthatch.] zÖe, the nuthatch. a visit to a bird-dealer's shop always awakens a deep feeling of pity in my mind as i look at the unhappy, flutter-little captives, and think of the breezy hill-sides and pleasant lanes from which they came, to be shut up in cages a few inches square, with but little light, a stifling atmosphere, strange diet, and no means of washing their ruffled feathers or stretching their wings in flight. truly, they are in evil case, and no wonder so many die off within a few days of their capture! in some places they are better cared for than in others, but in most bird-shops dirt and misery seem to prevail amongst the tenants of the cages. one such place i have often visited for the sake of meeting with live curios. the owner was a kind-hearted woman, and did not intentionally ill-treat her live-stock; but the shop was very dark and dirty, and one could but wonder how anything contrived to live in such close, stivy air. on going in one day, i nearly walked over a large, pensive-looking duckling which stood in the middle of the shop. his brother had been considered suitable for the adornment of a table-lamp with a looking-glass stand, on which a bright yellow duckling was placed, as if swimming on water; this bird, having some darker markings, was of no use for that purpose and had been allowed to live. he had a strange, old-fashioned look, and gave one the impression that he was already tired of life and felt bored. a lark on its little piece of turf, fluttering and looking up for a glimpse of blue sky; a dejected robin, with no tail to speak of, and sundry other sad-looking specimens met my pitying gaze, and i suppose i had caught their sorrowful expression, for i was startled by a sharp voice near me, saying, "what's the matter?" i turned to reply, and found the inquiry was made by a grey parrot, who introduced himself as "pretty poll," and was ready to make friends to any extent. but my attention had been caught by seeing what looked like a nuthatch: only it was moping and ill, with eyes shut and feathers ruffled. i asked about it, and was told it had some injury to its foot, and was unsaleable, as the woman feared it would not live. i made a bid for it, and it was accepted. i confess i was not sorry to leave the stilling air of the shop and bring my new pet home. i fitted up a large cage with pieces of wood and tree-bark, a pan for bathing, sand, and fine gravel; a bone with a little meat upon it hung from the roof of the cage, and other suitable food was placed in a tin. the poor birdie was a pitiable object for some days; she ate now and then, but remained for the most part quite still, with closed eyes, from morning till night. then she began to creep up and down the small tree-stem i had placed in the cage. she took a bath and plumed herself, and in less than a fortnight she became quite well and vigorous, and very amusing in a variety of ways. never was there a more active, busy little creature. her characteristic was life, so she was named "zöe," and before long she seemed to recognize her name, and would give an answering chirp. the pieces of bark appeared to afford a never-failing interest. they were examined and investigated in every crevice. like a little woodpecker hanging head downwards, zöe would hammer at a nut fixed in the cracks of the bark, and would hide away unfortunate mealworms not required for immediate use. zöe regularly honeycombed the little tree-stem with her incessant hammering, and in the numerous holes thus made she kept her supply of food. no sooner was her tin filled with small pieces of raw meat than she began stowing them all away for future use. she seemed to exercise a good deal of thought about the matter; a morsel would be put in and out of a hole half a dozen times before it was considered settled and suitable, and then it had to be well rammed in and fixed, and off went the busy little creature to fetch another piece, and so on, till all was disposed of, and the tin left empty. zöe was greatly exercised by a half-opened brazil nut: it was too large to fix into the bark, it would not keep steady while she pecked at it, and yet there were good things inside which must be obtained. i watched her various devices with great amusement. she hung head downwards from the tree-stem and hammered at it on the ground, but it shifted about, and she made no way; then she carried it in her beak and tried fitting it into various places. i hope she did not swear at it, but she seemed to think the thing was possessed, for it was not like the ordinary nuts: she could manage them; they would go into holes in the bark; this wouldn't fit anywhere, and yet she could not give it up. at last, by a bright inspiration, she got it fixed into a space between the tree-stem and the side of the cage. now she was in high glee, and all the household might have heard the rapping that went on while she scooped out the inside and chipped off pieces to be hidden carefully away in some secret place. zöe had a cosy nook under a sloping piece of bark, to which she would retire at times, and sitting down on the bottom of her cage in the shadow, looked like a little grey mouse. when appetite brought her out again, she would go to her tree-larder and pick out the choice hidden morsels, as if they were the insects which would have been her food if her lot had been cast amongst tree-branches instead of in a cage. when winter began, zöe was placed in the conservatory, where a tame robin often came for a few hours to enjoy his daily crumbs and the pleasant warmth of the air. bobby was greatly puzzled at the nuthatch, watched her hammerings from the top of the cage, walked round it, surveying the provisions inside, and at last he made up his mind to get in somehow and partake of the longed-for dainties. i could see quite plainly the attraction, the hesitation, the pros and cons, and then, finally, the resolve, and felt very curious as to how the birdish mind would carry out its intention. there was only one place, where the bars were rather widely apart, so that the nuthatch could have got out if she had possessed half the wits of the robin. after a quiet survey and a few flights backwards and forwards, bobby saw this place, and made towards it, sat and considered for a few seconds, and finally went in. the nuthatch was sitting quietly under her piece of bark, and did not see him; so he picked up the desired morsels, and, after a few minutes, went out where it came in. these visits he repeated frequently through the day, but once i was amused to see that he forgot "the way out," and put himself in a great fuss, realized that a cage was a prison, and flew up and down in a fright, until by chance he saw the opening, and glided out. at last zöe caught him in the act of purloining her goodies, and was most indignant. a rush at the thief, with an angry chirp, sent bobby flying away in ignominious haste, a wiser, but not a repentant bird; for he continued his robberies, only with care to avoid being caught; he ventured only a little way into the cage, ready to go out at a moment's notice. zöe had a good deal of quiet humour, and was a character in her way. she considered me very attentively one day, with a roguish look in her black eyes, and then, going to her tree-stem larder, she pulled out a hidden mealworm and held it up for me to see, with an evident wish that i should know about it, and possibly with a little birdish triumph that she possessed such delights; and then it was put back again and well rammed into its crevice until the hungry moment should arrive. after a few months zöe became tame enough to be let out of her cage, and would hop quietly about the room, and, like a small, grey-coated detective, would peer about stealthily under tables and chairs in search of live dainties; and extremely pretty she looked as she crept up the curtains with jerky motions, evidently thinking they were tree-stems where, by careful search, delightful centipedes and beetles might be found. i do not know if naturalists have remarked that the nuthatch has a very limited range of vision. zöe could see nothing beyond twelve or fourteen inches; the most tempting mealworm might lie on the floor of the cage unnoticed if she happened to be on her tree-stem; and i have tried bringing the insect nearer by degrees, and found that only when within a foot of her eyes could she see it, and i fancy then only indistinctly as she would peer about excitedly, as if uncertain what it was, until near enough to be in the focus of clear vision, and then, by a sudden dart, she would seize and flit away with it. at first zöe's roosting-place was under the curved piece of bark lying on the floor of her cage, but after a time she took up her nightly quarters in a small box which hooked on to the side of her cage. it was a very cramped and uncomfortable lodging, and i wondered how she contrived to squeeze into such a small space. it occurred to me that a little cocoa-nut with a hole at one end would be the sort of sleeping-chamber she would prefer, as being most like a hole in a tree-stem, in which, probably, nuthatches roost. an empty cocoa-nut was, therefore, provided. with birdish distrust and caution zöe only eyed it for some days, then perched on it; but finally she went in, and it was amusing to see her evident delight: how she went incessantly in and out, and turned round and round inside, and finally sat down and remained in it for an hour or more, quite still and happy, peering out at any one passing by, her sleek head and neck looking remarkably like a snake, and her furtive black eye observantly watching all that went on around her. her cage, when not in the conservatory, was placed on a table in the drawing-room, close to where i was sitting, and thus she was frequently spoken to and noticed, which is one great secret in taming birds and animals. they soon learn to greet one with some token of recognition, and their often solitary lives are brightened and cheered by such companionship. an amusing thing occurred one day while i was away from home for a few hours. zöe's cage had been placed in the sun, and a friend of mine, glancing at the bird, saw her in an apparently dying state, her head hanging on one side, the beak wide open, all the feathers ruffled, and the whole aspect of the bird indicating the near approach of death. the bell was rung, the servants came in, and whispered consultations were held as to what could be done, and "what would mistress say?" seemed the uppermost thought. all at once, zöe jumped down and began a vigorous hammering at her tree-stem, as full of life as ever, and she was at once voted "a little impostor." when i returned and heard the account, it was easy to explain that my birdie had been enjoying a sun bath, which always gives rise to most lackadaisical positions while the state of dreamy absorption lasts. the mealworms which zöe mainly lived upon were kept in a tin biscuit-box, which she knew well by sight, and one day, being too busy to spare time to feed her with them, i opened her cage-door and put the box down a little way from the cage on the floor, and placed a small log of wood for her to descend by. down she came, perched on the edge of the box, looked at the layers of flannel which covered her delightful worms, and tugged at one corner after another till she obtained her prey. after swallowing two or three, she thought a little store might be useful, and began taking them in her beak, and searching for some convenient hiding-places, but as i did not desire to have the drawing-room neatly ornamented with mealworms, i had to prevent that little design being carried out. my tiny pet lived happily for about a year, but when the moulting time came she grew weak and ill, and did not seem to have strength to produce her new plumage; for, in spite of all possible care, she drooped and died. she lives in my memory as one of the most gentle, innocent birdies i have ever had, absolutely without temper, contented and cheerful, a perfect pattern of industry, chipping out holes in her log of wood, and flitting about with a happy little chirp from morning till night, a bright example of what a cheery life may be lived, even by a caged bird, when kindly treated and cared for thoughtfully. [illustration] [illustration] titmice. i must own my strong liking for these active, saucy little birds. for eighteen years i have always had a basket hung just outside the dining-room window containing their favourite food, _.e._, fat of any kind, cooked or uncooked; and most amusing it is to watch their little odd ways and tempers whilst frequenting the said basket. four species thus studied showed distinct characteristics. directly i put out a fresh supply of fat, the cole tit would spend all his time and energies in carrying it away, piece by piece, to lay by in store for the future, in crevices in the bark of trees, and this work he would carry on with misplaced energy until the basket was emptied. the greater tit and marsh tit came quietly for the supply of their own personal needs, and to feed their young in nesting time, but the blue tit was by far the most amusing. his attitudes were quite a study; he seemed rather to prefer being upside down; clinging to the basket and hammering away at the hard fat, head downwards, was a favourite pose; then, when any one else desired a share, he would make a stand with open beak and outspread wings and enact "king of the castle" in the most impertinent manner, considering his tiny dimensions. a guerilla warfare seems always going on amongst these blue tits. if one was in the basket and remaining perfectly still, i knew two or three others were meditating a sudden combined assault, but it seemed as if the steady gaze of the titmouse in possession kept them at bay for a time. at length a twittering scrimmage ensued, and the combatants disappeared. i once coaxed a blue tit to live in the dining-room for a few days, and he made himself very happy, constantly flitting about in search of insects, running up and down the curtains like a veritable mouse, alighting on any joint of cold meat which happened to be on the sideboard, and making an excellent dinner in bohemian fashion. of course his fearless curiosity led him into difficulties. he would sit on the edge of a jug and peer down to see what it might contain, and his plumage was not improved by the baths of milk or cocoa which he met with in the pursuit of knowledge of this kind. some years ago an empty cocoa-husk with a hole at one end, furnished with nesting materials, was hung up just above the basket of fat. a large tit began to build in it, but unhappily for him a blue tit had also been house-hunting, and determined to settle in it. i saw the matter decided by a pitched battle between the two; they fought desperately, rolling over and over on the lawn, pecking, chirping, beating each other with their wings, like little feathered furies as they were. [illustration: titmice.] at last it was ended, and blue tit was victor. it was pretty to see the tiny pair building their nest, with little happy twitterings and confabulations over each piece of moss or dried leaf, and so fearless were they that a large blind was often let down close to and over the husk without disturbing the inmates. when the hen bird was sitting, the cock would bring a green caterpillar for her every four or five minutes, and sometimes take her place on the nest. i often took the husk down from its nail to show the brave little bird sitting on her eggs. if touched she would hiss and set up her feathers, but did not leave her nest. when the young birds were hatched, the parents were incessantly at work from early morning till late at night bringing small caterpillars about every two minutes to supply the wants of the tiny brood. one can judge of the usefulness of these birds in ridding our gardens of insect pests by the amount consumed by this one pair. by a moderate calculation, and judging by what i saw one afternoon, i believe they must have brought , in the course of one week. at last the day came when five little blue heads peeped out of the entrance to the husk. one after another the little ones flew into branches near by; the last one i held in my hand for a while that i might draw its portrait. fearing it might be hungry if i kept it too long, i placed it in a cage on the lawn, where the old birds found it and fed it for me through the bars. i then brought it in again, and having finished its likeness, had the pleasure of restoring it to its parents. the blue and cole tit often choose the inside of a disused pump as their nesting-place. a cole tit built in an old pump in our grounds for many years, the curved spout being its mode of ingress and egress. i could open a small door and look at the pretty little hen on her nest, and then at her numerous family, and watch their growth till old enough to fly. certainly young birds show a grand lesson of obedience, for creeping out into the world through a dark, curved pipe, must have seemed a rather perilous mode of exit. another less fortunate cole tit built in a post-box placed by a garden gate, and seemed in no way disconcerted when letters came in suddenly around and upon her. she usually laid eighteen eggs in a deep, soft nest of moss and hair. as boys were apt to take this nest year after year, a lock was placed to the box to protect the little bird; but the genus boy has no pity, and through the slit for the letters, some cruel urchin, vexed at not being able to take the nest, put in a stick and killed the poor little mother and broke the eggs. for several years a blue tit chose to build her nest in the lower part of a stone vase in the garden. there was a hole for drainage in the bottom, and through this hole the little bird found a circular space just suited for her nest. that particular vase could not be filled with plants till long after all the rest were gay with flowers. we were obliged to wait till the domestic affairs of the tit family were ended, else their fate would have been sad indeed. there is no doubt that these birds do contrive to secure their share of peas and other things in the kitchen garden, and are by no means favourites with the gardeners, but i still maintain that the good they do in destroying insects counterbalances their evil doings in other respects. however, they sometimes commit other misdemeanours. my head gardener came to me one day looking very serious, and began by asking what he was to do about "those blue tits." "why, what have they been doing?" i asked. "two of them have been sitting at the entrance of one of the hives, and they have picked off and killed every bee as it came out, and now they have begun upon a second hive." "well, you had better hang up some potatoes stuck over with feathers, and that will frighten them away." "i've done that, ma'am, and they sit on the potatoes and look at me!" it was a trying case of utter contumacy, and at last i was obliged, for the sake of saving my bees, to let one little victim be shot and hung up as "an awful example" to the rest, and it proved an effectual remedy. my basket of fat used to prove very attractive all through the cold weather, when, i suppose, these tiny birds need the caloric it supplies; they always left off coming as soon as the days were warm and insects plentiful. [illustration] [illustration] blanche, the pigeon. pigeons possess a great deal more individuality of character than any one would suppose who has only seen them in flocks picking up grain in a farmyard, like domestic fowls. they show to better advantage when only a few pairs are kept and fed daily at some settled place; but to make really interesting pets two are quite sufficient, and may be made very amusing companions. some species may possess more mental capacity than others. those i have to speak of were snow-white trumpeters. a pair was sent to me, but, to my sorrow, i found on opening the basket that the male bird had escaped on the way; so i could only put the solitary hen in a cage, and do all that was possible in the way of plentiful food and kind care to make her happy; but all to no purpose. the poor bird pined and grew weaker every day, till she became unable to get up to her perch. i used, therefore, to go to her every evening and place her comfortably for the night; and she soon grew tame enough to like being caressed and talked to. when spring returned i obtained a male pigeon, and hoped blanche would accept him for a mate, but she showed a great deal of temper, and made him so unhappy that he had to be exchanged for another--a fine snow-white bird like herself, and, happily, of such a forbearing disposition as to endure being considerably "hen-pecked." now began the curious part of blanche's history. the pair built a nest in a small pigeon-house close to my window, so that i was able to watch all the family arrangements with much interest. blanche liked to be with me for some hours in the morning, sitting on the table pluming herself, quite at ease, and when that operation was ended she generally seated herself on a large bible which lay at one end of the dining-table, and there she usually went to sleep; a white dove resting on the word suggested to one's mind many a beautiful emblematic thought. these visits to me were paid most regularly when a nest was finished and the eggs were being hatched; she then shared the duties of incubation by turns with her mate. he would sit patiently for four hours on the nest, while blanche spent that time with me; then, punctually at the right moment, she would wake up, and, lazily stretching her wings, would fly out at the open window to see how affairs were getting on at home, and take her place on the nest for her appointed four hours. she was a most eccentric bird in the matter of laying eggs. i sometimes found she had made me a present of one, neatly placed amongst my working materials! in fact, wherever she happened to be upon the table would be deemed by her a suitable place for laying; and, as i always conveyed the eggs to her nest, her little freaks did not much matter. but at last she took it into her wilful little head to lay her eggs in the coal-scoop, an arrangement which by no means improved her snowy plumage. she had a pretty crest, which curved over her head, and her feet were clothed with rather long feathers reaching to the claws. at our breakfast-time she would often sit close to my plate, letting me stroke her and draw out her pretty wings. i must own she was as conceited as any peacock, throwing herself on her side and stretching out a feathered foot, little dreaming how she was being laughed at for her affected attitudes. if she had a fault, it was her temper! i have seen her go up to her mate and give him a most uncalled-for peck, and he--amiable bird!--would bear all her unkindness so meekly, only answering by a propitiatory coo. blanche reared many sons and daughters, but none were so interesting as herself. i ascribe her unusual tameness to the loving care bestowed upon her in her long illness. when once a bird's affections are won in that way they generally remain firm friends for life. [illustration] gerbilles. these curious little animals were brought to my notice by a scientific friend who had seen them at the zoological gardens, and heard that they were to be obtained there by applying to mr. bartlett. as i always regretted the untimely death of my pet jerboa, i thought these little rodents would fill his place, and prove amusing pets. and, accordingly, i paid a visit to the zoo, and found a whole colony of gerbilles of all ages living very amicably together in a large, strongly-built wooden box, with bran, oats, and nuts for provender. it was no easy matter to secure a pair of suitable size and age. i could but admire the patience of the attendant who made persevering attempts to catch the nimble creatures for me, but they leaped and sprang about, darted through his fingers, disappeared into holes, and seemed to enjoy his discomfiture. at length a lively pair, with sleek skins and perfect tails, were securely caged. then i was warned to keep them in a tin-lined cage, as they would "gnaw through anything," even the solid teak chest in which they were kept was being rapidly demolished by their powerful incisors. the gerbilles were placed in a plant case, four feet long, with glass sides and top, through which their gambols could easily be seen. the case had a glass partition, and on one side lived a pair of chipmunks, or striped american squirrels. they were highly incensed at their new neighbours, springing with all their force against the partition, with low growlings, casting up the cocoa fibre with their hind legs, as if to try and hide them from their view. they soon found a little chink, through which, i am afraid, some very strong language was launched at the new-comers. happily the gerbilles did not mind. they found delightful tree-roots to gnaw at, plenty of food, and freedom to frisk and frolic to their heart's content, so their neighbours were free to growl as much as they liked, and they in their turn raised a hill of fibre and played at hide-and-seek in their new domain. but let me now describe these gerbilles. i believe there are several species, differing somewhat in appearance. these were fawn-coloured, with sleek, soft fur, which, like the chinchilla, was blueish next to the skin. they were about the size of small rats, with little ears and long tails, with a black tuft at the end. the fur was white underneath, the eyes jet black and very large, and long black whiskers, which were always in motion. the hind legs being longer than the front ones, enabled the creature to spring and leap along the ground with great rapidity, as i found to my cost one night, when five of them got out of their case and gave us an hour's occupation before they could be recaptured. one managed to get inside an american organ, and effectually baffled all our efforts to secure him. there was no help for it, he had to be left there, and i went away with an anxious mind as to what his busy teeth would be employed upon all night; and, sure enough, next morning a velvet curtain was found nibbled and tattered, and being converted into a nest for the enterprising gerbille! they became very amusing, tame little creatures, ready to take dandelions, nuts, or any little dainty, from one's hand. as they breed very readily in england, i was soon presented with a little family of five very tiny, pinkish-coloured infants, quite blind, and destitute of hair. they were not attractive, and so were left to their mother's care till they could see and were properly clothed, and then they were extremely pretty, and rapidly developed all the habits and manners of their parents, gnawing wood, nibbling nuts, and having merry games of their own, darting with wonderful quickness in and out of the tree-roots, and getting up small battles for some coveted morsel of diet. the first pair were quiet enough, and agreed happily together, but when, later on, mother and daughter happened to have a little brood at the same time, things became complicated, and it was no uncommon sight to see the two mothers careering about, each with an infant in its mouth, and it often fell to my lot to take care of the unfortunate children and replace them in the nest whilst the mothers had a "stand-up" fight, and this is a literally true expression, for gerbilles sit bolt upright and fight each other with their front feet; but, though they appear to be in desperate conflict, i must say i never saw that any damage was done. as to their gnawing power, it is almost beyond description. i gave them a strong wooden box as a nursery for the young gerbilles, but before long they had eaten out the back and sides, and a mere skeleton of a box remained. there was a piece of zinc, which formed a partition, but they ate a hole right through the zinc in no time, and when a wire cage, with a sliding door, was placed in the plant case, they soon learnt how to lift up the door and get out. we often watched the formation of the family nest, which was constructed of wool and hay nibbled very small, and carried by mouthfuls and woven together. it generally had two outlets for ingress and egress. there the entire family would sleep during the day amicably enough, but towards evening the nursery disputes would begin, and old animosities led to frequent battles and scrimmages, because somebody wanted some one else's pieces of wool for the precious infants. still they were very tame, amusing little creatures, liking to be stroked and fed and rewarded by a run upon the breakfast-table, where they would examine every dish and plate in a delicate, inquiring way, not touching the contents--only trying to add to their small amount of knowledge of the outside world. their food consisted of bran, oats, pea-nuts, wheat, fresh dandelion and clover-leaves, and on these they lived in perfect health and beauty. as the colony increased, it was needful to make several homes for the gerbilles, and the original pair happened to be, for a time, in a cage upstairs on a landing. one of these found its way out of the cage, down the stairs, across the hall, and was discovered next morning in a room where the younger members of the family were kept. this would go to prove a keen scent, which, i suppose, guided the little animal to find its friends, and also confirms what travellers have written about gerbilles living in large colonies and always keeping together. one evening i had to read some natural history papers at a band of mercy meeting in a neighbouring village, where the clergyman's wife took great interest in promoting kindness to animals, and as i proposed speaking about the gerbilles, i thought i would take some of them with me to show the children. accordingly a mother and four little ones, were put into a cage with some food and bedding for their comfort whilst being exhibited. i was concerned to see the extreme terror they seemed to feel at the unusual motion of the carriage, and in a few minutes one became convulsed and literally died of fright. i held the cage in my lap, and talked to the others to reassure them, fearing more casualties, but after a while they settled down, and we reached the schoolroom in due time. i was scarcely prepared for the tremendous sensation the gerbilles created. remarks in broad hertfordshire greeted their appearance. "whoy, here's a lot of moise." "noa, they ain't; they's rats!" "will they boite?" and then such a cluster of children came round me they had to be called to order, and the cage was carried round that all might see the little foreigners, and through all the after-proceedings many pairs of eyes remained fixed upon the cage and its inmates. i fancy that evening will long be remembered by the children. the great difficulty that attends the keeping of these little animals is their rapid rate of increase. it is true they can all be kept together, for, as i have said, though there are squabbles they do not result in any personal injury, and thus my colony was allowed to go on till there was no counting the number of generations that existed. i very much wished to reduce the numbers, and give some away, but could never tell which were the mothers of the small pink infants i was being presented with continually. i tried putting a little family of the babies into a cage in the plant case, hoping the mother who belonged to them would then appear and take care of them; but no, the entire colony trooped in and ran riot in the new place, and if a young gerbille was by chance left uncovered in the _melée_, a twentieth cousin would take it up tenderly as if it was its own mother, and replace it in the nest--a very emblem of brotherly kindness and charity. the colony had finally to be dispersed and given away in small detachments to different friends, and, strange to say, in no other case did the numbers increase, i imagine because the requisite conditions of space and quietness were not realized as in the pleasant home i was able to provide for them. [illustration] [illustration] water shrews. hearing that the little patients in a london hospital had scarcely any toys, and that they especially desired a very large doll, i had one dressed for them, and various other interesting items, such as an album of pictures, bags of shells, a stamp snake, &c., were prepared; but a large box was needed in which to pack all these treasures; and one which had been for months in the wine-cellar was brought up for that purpose into the hall. it was filled with straw, and as i was watching this being taken out i noticed some small black animals darting about in it. "they must be young rats," i exclaimed, "and the rare kind, too--the black rat, which has been almost entirely eradicated by the stronger brown species." a curious instance, by the way, of a foreign interloper driving out the native. i immediately resolved to secure these animals, whatever they might prove to be, and, armed with leather gloves, and an empty glass globe to place my captures in, i began to search in the straw, and soon secured the supposed rats, but they proved to be a pair of water shrews--jet black, lively little creatures, with sharply-pointed snouts and teeth, as i soon discovered to my cost. i had taken off my gloves and was watching the activity of the shrews, when suddenly they flew upon each other, biting and screaming with rage, and, thinking they would kill each other at that rate, i tried to separate them, but one turned and bit me pretty severely, and it was with some difficulty they were parted. one i put into a zinc fern case, and the other into a large empty aquarium, with shingle at the bottom, moss and wool for bedding, and a large pan of water for swimming and bathing. they were rather larger than the common mouse, jet black above, and greyish-white beneath--restless, active creatures, usually found near ponds and ditches; and how ever these two had found their way into a dry cellar, and lived in a box of straw will always remain a mystery. i learnt from books that they fed on worms and insects, and that diet was provided, though much to my distress, for it is a miserable thing to see any living creature tortured and devoured alive, even though it may be in obedience to natural instincts. happily i soon found a substitute. i was showing one of the shrews to a fellow-student of natural history, and with a long feather soon attracted the little animal's attention; he always came out of his bed and sprang upon the feather like a little tiger, dragging it about and holding on with the grip of a bull-dog, so that one could lift him off the ground and keep him swinging a minute in the air to see the pretty white fur underneath. my friend suggested that it probably fed on small birds and thought the feather was part of its daily fare. i obtained a fowl's head from the larder, and then it was a sight to see how it was pounced upon and dragged about until securely hidden under the moss, when we could hear our little friend crunching the bones and tearing it to pieces as if he had not had anything so good for a long while. one shrew died in a few days, but the other lived three weeks in perfect health, and i believe it was an accidental failure of sufficient food that led to the death of the second; their appetite seems to be, like that of the mole, most voracious, and unless they obtain a constant and ample supply of food they quickly die of hunger. they are worth studying for a few days, but their dreadful odour and fierce character make them anything but pets. i suppose there is hardly any animal in england so fierce and combative, and probably that may account for the fact that one so often comes across a dead shrew lying on the path in summer. when swimming, the shrew's furry coat perfectly resisted the entrance of moisture; it always came out absolutely dry. the said coat was most carefully kept in order; a daily brushing and cleansing went on, the little tongue was often at work licking off every little speck of dust; the toes were spread out and examined; the small amount of tail kept in order. i could but think how many a lesson we may learn from the small as well as the great creations of god's hand--habits such as this little animal possessed might, in the way of cleanliness, lead to the prevention of endless diseases, if imitated by those who never dream of daily cleansings as being necessary to health and life. [illustration] [illustration: squirrel.] squirrels. if one lives in the country where these graceful little animals exist, it is well worth while to attract them near the house so that one may enjoy the sight their gambols and minister to their wants by suitable diet. as i have already said, for many years food was placed in a basket outside the dining-room window to attract the charming little titmice, and four species might be seen feasting on fat of different kinds. i placed barcelona nuts for the nuthatches, and they came and shared the contents of the basket with the tits. the nuts also drew a squirrel to the spot, and after about a year, the little fellow became so used to seeing us moving in the room that he would sit in the basket with his graceful little tail curved over his back, cracking his nuts, and nibbling away quite at ease. then the window was opened and the nuts put on a table inside the room, and there little "frolic" sits whilst we are at meals and forms one of the family, holding his nuts cleverly in his paws, whilst his sharp teeth bite a hole in them, and, regardless of tidiness, he flings the shells about as he nibbles at the kernels, looking at us with his black, beady eyes, perhaps speculating upon what our breakfast may be. how much more enjoyable is this sort of pet than a poor caged squirrel whirling round in his wheel, condemned to a dreary life, with no freedom or change, no intercourse with his kind. in town there is, perhaps, no way to keep a squirrel but in a cage; even so, by an occasional release from its captivity, a constant variety in its food, and its being talked to and noticed, its life may be made less irksome, and, if young, it may eventually be made quite tame, and become an interesting daily companion. we derived great amusement from our squirrel visitors; one after another they would leap up the side of the window and spring in and out of the basket in quick succession, carrying away a nut at each visit, playing and skirmishing with each other in lively fashion. i am sorry to confess there was great jealousy amongst them. a second squirrel took to coming into the room, and frolic and he had a pitched battle, in which our favourite, poor little fellow! lost half his ear, and a sponge and water were needed to efface the sanguinary stains left by the fight. the squirrel's great enemy is the cat. one would not think she could catch the agile little creature; but one day we saw a cat watching an unconscious little squirrel under the tulip-tree: we did not dream that she could harm it, but in a moment she made one swift rush at her prey. the squirrel ran at full speed, but alas! before we could interfere it was caught and carried away. at dropmore, the gardener told us he had a cat that kept the pinetum quite clear of squirrels. they certainly nibble the young shoots of firs and horse-chestnuts unmercifully in the spring, and one very dry summer they took very kindly to our peaches and nectarines; but i freely forgive their little sins, and should be sorry to miss them from the lawn where there are often four or five to be seen at once. they chase each other round a tree-stem with wonderful agility, and express their animosity with angry grunts and a stamp of the foot like a rabbit. in autumn i have acorns and beech-mast collected, and store some bushels of each to be doled out through the winter and spring; strewn under the tulip-tree this food, mixed with corn, attracts an amusing variety of live creatures. besides the squirrels which are constantly there, we see jays, wood-pigeons, jackdaws, rooks, and flocks of the smaller birds; if snow should prevail, a whole rookery will come to see what is to be had. by constantly watching their movements i have learnt that the squirrel's tail has quite a language of its own. it can be curved over its back and so spread out that on a wet day it forms a complete shelter from rain. it will take the form of a note of interrogation or lie flat on the ground, stand out at an angle or bristle with anger, according to the mood of the possessor. i did not find the american chipmunks, before alluded to, at all tameable. they were very handsome, of grey colour with dark brown stripes on their sides. they were extremely wild, and would spring round their cage in perfect terror when looked at, so, finding they could not be made happy in confinement, i let them loose in the garden in the hope they might burrow under a large rhododendron clump, but after a day or two they disappeared, and i suppose they made their escape to a neighbouring wood, so that i have little hope of ever seeing them again. [illustration] [illustration] a mole. a live mole above-ground is a somewhat rare sight, for, as a rule, his habits are altogether subterranean; but now and then he may be captured by a sudden grasp as he scrambles along in his odd, unwieldly fashion, and a curious fellow he is in many ways. strolling quietly along a country lane one summer's evening, i heard a great rustling in a dry ditch, the dead leaves were being scattered right and left, and i stopped to see what could be the cause. in a minute the black velvet coat of a mole appeared, and i at once resolved to endeavour to catch it, though with little hope of success, for the creature is apt to dive into the ground in an instant when alarmed. however, watching my opportunity, i managed to seize and hold him firmly; but i had nothing to put him in, and he struggled furiously to escape. all i could do was to roll him up in one end of my black lace shawl and hurry home with my capture. alas! for the unlucky shawl--the mole soon began rending and tearing it into shreds with his powerful feet and teeth. i was rapidly becoming acquainted with the habits of moles, and in a way that i should not soon forget; still, that mole must be brought home somehow, and i next transferred him to my dress pocket, which i held fast, whilst he scrambled and pushed his strong little snout in all directions to find some way of escape. he was soon placed in a zinc fern case, with glass sides, supplied with earth to burrow in, and fed with worms. i also gave him a pan of water, as i remembered seeing a plan of a mole's burrow which always includes a place for water. it was a really painful sight to watch the creature feeding; he pounced upon a worm with the fury of a tiger, and holding it in his mouth, tore it to pieces with his sharp claws and rapidly devoured all the pieces, and snuffing about to make sure he had quite finished it, he then darted off to seek another. the mole has a most voracious appetite and dies very quickly if unable to obtain food. i was interested to watch the bustling, active life of the little creature; his morning toilet when the black velvet coat was attended to, carefully brushed and licked by a tiny red tongue (though it never seemed to pick up dirt or defilement in its passage through the earth) and finally, after a few days, i had the pleasure of setting him free, when he dived into the ground out of sight in a moment. some years later a live mole was much desired by a young relative who was giving natural history lectures to some school children. it happened that a mole had found its way into the conservatory and was doing much damage there by making its runs close to the surface and uprooting the plants in its course. the gardener and i resolved to catch it; he was anxious to prevent further mischief to his plants, and i was wishing to help the lecturer by sending a lively specimen to illustrate his subject. the exciting part of the business was the necessity of making the capture before eleven o'clock, when the carrier would pass by, and, taking charge of the animal, would deliver it in time for the lecture next day. we watched for the upheaving of the mole's run which came at last. the gardener made a quick plunge with his hand into the soft earth, but alas! the mole escaped. he kept quiet for ten minutes, then another attempt was made, and failed. the carrier's bell sounded and he passed by. i still kept watch, and again saw the earth move--the third time was successful. i had gone to find a tin box, and on my return i was greeted with "here's the mole, ma'am!" poor fellow! he was being ignominiously held up by the scruff of his neck, and kicking furiously at the indignity. he was soon packed up in soft grass, with a plentiful supply of worms to feast upon by the way. a special messenger overtook the carrier, and a telegram was sent to announce the dispatch of the precious animal. he first reached a london office, where i fear he tended to hinder business, as it was needful to transfer him to a cage, and no one seemed particularly anxious for the honour of catching him, as his teeth were known to be both sharp and numerous, and his disposition not of the meekest. however, he was placed in his cage, travelled down into kent, and gave wonderful pleasure when exhibited to the children. one would naturally suppose that in a country village where boys and girls are daily going to and from school, they would all have been familiar with this little creature, but when the question was asked if they had ever seen a dead mole, only fifteen children out of ninety had seen one, and only three had ever seen a live one. next day the mole was let loose upon a very hard piece of ground, but even there he very quickly burrowed out of sight. [illustration] harvest mice. i had often wished to keep these interesting little animals, but as they are only found in some parts of england and are difficult to capture from their minute size and delicacy, i had to wait many years before they could be obtained. at length, through the kindness of a friend, six were sent to me from norfolk, and for two years they lived in captivity and afforded me much pleasure. they are the smallest english rodents, two of them only weighing a halfpenny; they are brown in colour with white underneath, very long whiskers and prehensile tails. they were made happy by finding all things needful for their comfort in a large plant case. a thick layer of cocoa fibre was spread over the bottom of the case, dry moss and hay provided, wheat-ears, oats, and canary seed, and a small cup of water. a flowerpot in which a number of small branches were fixed afforded opportunity for exercise in climbing, and a pleasant resting-place was formed by a half-cocoanut filled with cotton-wool and roofed over with dry moss, then slung by three wires in a tripod of sticks of corky-barked elm, a little hole for entrance being left at one side. into this the mice went the moment they were turned into the case, and in it they mostly lived. i fancy its swinging a little as they moved inside was congenial to their ideas of comfort. as they live in cornfields and make a pendulous nest attached to an ear of corn, i supplied them with a pot of growing wheat, in the hope that they would incline to make a nest in it; but i could never induce them to rear a family. they would sit for hours in the corn-stalks and nibble them into a heap of shreds, but no nest ever appeared. their greatest delight was a handful of fresh moss full of little insects on which they would feed. the greatest excitement was always shown when the moss appeared--little heads would peep out of the cocoa-husk, little noses sniffed in all directions, and then, with jerky runs, the tiny folk made their way to the attractive spot, and soon each would be seen sitting up like a small kangaroo feasting on a beetle or spider held in the tiny paws. sometimes in their great happiness they made a low, sweet chirping like a company of wrens conversing cheerily together. when climbing in their tree-branches it was interesting to see how the fine wiry tail was always coiled round the stem as the creature descended, so as to keep it from falling and injuring itself. canary seed and brown bread seemed a favourite diet, and if i put a trough of growing corn into the case the mice made little burrows through it so as to be able to eat the wheat from below. i had heard a sad report that my fairy-like pets had a tendency to eat each other as spring came round! this i fancied might arise from lack of animal food, so once or twice a week i always gave them a small portion of meat and this seemed to prevent any tendency to cannibalism. after keeping them two years several deaths occurred, so i thought the remainder should have their liberty, and i had the pleasure of seeing them enter one of my corn-stacks where i hope they found all that their little hearts could desire, and possibly they would stray to a neighbouring bank and found a colony. [illustration] [illustration] the californian mouse. a rather strange parcel from california reached me by post some years ago. it was marked "live animals with care," and consisted of a box, containing several divisions, each having fine wire-work to admit air. in one i found a spiny creature called a gecko, in another a beautiful lizard which had not survived the journey, and in the third a very rare species of mouse known as _perognathus pencillatus_. it has a soft silky coat of silver grey and fawn colour, and a long tail with a little tuft at the end, very large black eyes and white paws. it was alive, but weak and tired with its journey of ten days and all the jars and shocks it must have had by the way. i gave it warm milk and soaked bread, which it seemed to enjoy, and some hours later it was supplied with wheat grains, the food upon which it lives in its native country. true to his natural instinct, mousie soon began to fill both his cheek pouches with the corn, and tried to hide it away as a supply for the future. in a few days the little creature was in perfect health, and he has been a great pet now for several years; perfectly tame and gentle, he will run about on the table and amuse himself happily wherever he is placed. being entirely inodorous he is kept in the drawing-room in a mahogany cage which was made specially to meet his small requirements. he is a busy little creature at night, as he likes daily to make a fresh bed of cotton-wool, and fusses about with his mouth full of material until he has arranged his little couch. in his own country, where the cold is very severe in winter, its habit is to become perfectly unconscious, exactly as if dead, and in that state it can endure the rigour of the climate and wake up when the temperature rises. it was once left in a cold room and became in this apparently lifeless state. i was not alarmed, as i knew of its peculiarity, but it really was difficult to believe it ever could revive; there was no trace of warmth, or any apparent beating of the heart, and so it lay for some days, but on bringing it into a warm room it became as bright and active as ever. it seems a more intense form of hibernation than that of our squirrel and dormouse. the naturalist at san bernardino, from whom i obtained this mouse, told me he had kept one as a pet for many years, and his specimen lived entirely without water; as there was sufficient moisture in the wheat grains on which it fed to supply its need; but i think it is cruel to keep anything without the means of quenching thirst which might arise from an artificial mode of life, so my little pet has always a small jar of water to which i know it resorts from its requiring to be refilled from time to time. [illustration] sancho the toad. about four years ago i began to feed a toad that had found its way into the conservatory. he sat daily in one place expecting his meal-worms, and when he had snapped them up with his curious sticky tongue he would retire to some hidden nook and be invisible until the next day. each winter he has hibernated as soon as cold weather began, and reappeared with the spring sunshine. sancho is now a very portly, and most amusing pet. few people would guess how much character can be shown by even this poor, despised reptile when treated with real kindness, regularly fed, and never frightened or abused. i will describe what happens when sancho is "shown to the public." some meal-worms are thrown on the pavement near him. he sits for a time gazing at them with his gold-rimmed eyes; then slowly creeps towards them, fixes his eyes on one of the worms bends his head a little towards it, then one hears a snap and the prey is taken. the act is so rapid that one can never see the tongue that has picked up the meal-worm--simply it is gone! the toad's eyes are tightly shut whilst he swallows the morsel, and then he turns to pick up a second. now is the time to approach him from behind and begin to stroke his leathery, warty skin. in a few seconds he is in a state of perfect ecstasy, his front legs are stretched out, he leans first to one side, then to the other, to guide the hand where he wishes to be stroked, and at last uplifts his ponderous body until he is an inch or more from the ground, supported on the tips of his toes. no description can do justice to the absurdity of the attitude, and the rapture seems so intense that food is forgotten, and so long as sancho can get any one to stroke him, he is quite oblivious to all around him, although at other times he will hop away as soon as any stranger approaches. sancho will not, as yet, take anything from my hand, but i hope to bring him to that state of tameness in course of time. [illustration] [illustration: roman snails.] roman snails. "how _can_ you take an interest in snails and slugs?--horrid, slimy, crawling things!" more than once have i heard this kind of remark from youthful lips when i produced my grand old roman snails and gave them a pleasant time for exercise upon the dewy lawn. now in my secret mind i think a snail is a wonderfully curious creature, neither ugly nor "horrid"--it _is_ slimy, but about that i shall have something to say later on. when staying at box hill, near dorking, i often saw the great apple snail, _helix pomatia_, which is only found on chalk soils, and is supposed to have been introduced by the romans, from the quantities of their empty shells found with roman remains in all parts of england. they were kept and fattened in places called "cochlearia" and made into various "dainty dishes" which the romans thought quite fit to set before their kings. it is certain that they are very nutritious creatures, and that in times of famine people have supported life and kept themselves mysteriously "fat and well-liking" by resorting to snails and slugs as articles of diet. indeed i have heard more than once that the famous "pâte de guimauve" owes its healing nutritive character to this despised univalve, which is said to enter largely into its composition. i brought several apple snails home with me from box hill and kept them for many years, until i really believe the creatures, in a dim sort of way, recognized me as their friend, or at any rate their feeder. i cannot boast, as i believe an american lady is said to have done, that "her tame oysters followed her up and down stairs," but certainly my snails would, when placed upon the lawn, very frequently crawl towards me, and would do so again and again when removed to a distance. as the weather became cold they always hibernated, closing the mouth of the shell with a thin, firm covering, or operculum, of chalk, which, mixed with their slime, made a substance like plaster of paris. thus enclosed they would lie as if dead until the warmth of the following spring made them push the door open and come out, with excellent appetites, ready to eat voraciously to make up for their long fast. these roman snails were quite five inches long when fully extended, and therefore were much larger than our english species; the body was cream colour and the shell a pale tint of buff varying somewhat in different specimens. these creatures were kept in a fern case with glass top and sides, and it was singular to observe the way in which they could suspend themselves (as shown in the drawing) from the top of the box. the substance which exists in the caterpillar of the silkworm moth, and which can be drawn out into fine shreds of silk, is very similar to the slime of the snail, only in the latter it is not filiform, but exudes as a liquid and then hardens into a thin layer of silk which is strong enough to support the weight of two of these snails, for, seeing them one day thus suspended, i put them in the scales and ascertained that the weight of the two amounted to - / ounces. this mucus forms the glistening, shiny track which the snail leaves behind it, enabling it to glide easily and painlessly over rough substances which would otherwise lacerate its soft body. one hardly expected to find social feeling and affection in animals so low down in the scale of nature, but i do not know what else could have led my "romans" to caress each other with their long horns by the hour together and always keep close to one another, twisting and curling their yielding bodies round each other in the most odd contortions. our english snails hibernate in whole colonies for the winter, which also points to their affectionate and gregarious habits. in lifting up some moss i once came upon some yellow, half-transparent eggs about as large as pearl barley, and wishing to know what they would prove to be i kept them in damp moss under a tumbler for about a fortnight, when, to my dismay, i found a grand colony of yellow slugs! and not a little was i teased about these interesting young people. i am afraid i must own they were given as a _bonne bouche_ to my virginian nightingale, who seemed highly to approve of this addition to his daily fare. snails' eggs are nearly white and semi-transparent; the empty shells of young snails are very lovely when placed in a good microscope: the polariscope bringing out their exquisite prismatic tints. the gardener one day brought in a testacella, or shelled slug. it fed upon earth-worms and was quite unlike the ordinary black or grey slug, of which we have, alas! countless thousands preying upon all the green things of the earth. this shelled slug was yellow, and seemed able to elongate its body very differently to any other species. the shell was quite small, a simple dome-shaped plate upon the anterior part of the body. i kept it for some weeks on damp moss under a tumbler, but it was often able to escape by flattening itself to a mere thread and then crawling under the rim of the tumbler, and at last i gave it liberty as a reward for its persevering efforts to obtain its freedom. [illustration] [illustration] an earwig mother. i had often read of the earwig as an incubating insect, and much wished to see for myself how she carried out her motherly instincts. one bright may morning found me busily turning over stones, clinkers, and old tree-roots in a fernery, which, having been long undisturbed, seemed a likely spot for the nest i wished to find. there seemed no scarcity of worms, wood-lice, centipedes, or beetles, but no earwigs could i see; and i was just about to give up the search when, lifting a piece of stone, i saw a small cavity, about as large as would contain a pea, and in it lay about twenty-six round, white eggs, hard-shelled and shining, of the size of a small pin's head. an earwig had placed herself over the eggs, and i was delighted to think at last i had lighted upon the insect mother i had been searching for. but what was to be done with her? how could i watch the process of incubation? the difficulty was solved by lifting the nest and its mother with a trowel and placing it in a saucer under a tumbler, without any displacement of the eggs; thus the mother's care could be conveniently watched. the earwig first carefully examined her new home, touching each morsel of earth and stone with her antennæ; and, having ascertained the exact condition of things, she set to work to make a fresh nest, labouring with great industry until it was formed to her mind. she then took up the eggs, one by one, with her mandibles, and placed them in the new nest, arranging and rearranging them, until at last she seemed content, and remained either upon or near them for the rest of the day, quite motionless. every night, and sometimes two or three times in the day, she would form fresh places in the earth, and replace the eggs. to prevent the soil becoming too dry, i used to sprinkle a little water upon it--a drop here and there--and if by accident the water fell too near the eggs, the earwig became much excited, hurrying to and fro with her eggs, until they were all removed to a drier spot. on the other hand, if i omitted the water until the earth became dry, she would choose the dampest spot that remained in which to form her nest, and seemed to welcome the water-drops, drinking herself from them, and feeling the damp earth with her antennæ. she remained thus for three weeks, feeding on little pieces of beef or mutton, or an occasional fly; i did not then know that earwigs are mostly vegetable feeders, but it is clear they can eat other food when needful. the first time i dropped a newly-killed house-fly near her she looked at it intently, felt it with her antennæ, and then suddenly wheeled round and pinched it with her forceps, and being apparently satisfied that it could do no harm to her eggs, she began to devour it, and after an hour or two but little remained except the wings. as it was early in the year, but few insects could be seen, but by searching in the conservatory i found a large green aphis, which i gave to the earwig. to my surprise, instead of devouring it at once, she applied herself to one of the projecting tubes of the aphis, and evidently sucked its sweet secretion, and enjoyed it as much and in the same way as ants are said to do. she feasted thus for four or five minutes, but i am sorry to add that, unlike the humane ants, who care tenderly for their aphides and preserve their lives by kind treatment, the earwig ended by munching up the unfortunate aphis, till not a trace of it was left. at the end of three weeks i found one morning all the eggs were hatched, and tiny, snow-white earwigs, with forceps and antennæ fully developed, were creeping about and around their mother. i placed a slice of pear in the saucer, upon which the little ones swarmed, and seemed to find it congenial food. in a few days they increased to nearly double their size when first hatched, and turned a light brown colour. having ascertained all i wished to know about the maternal instincts of the earwig, i released the mother and her family, and no doubt she was happy enough to return to her old haunt in the fernery, and would greatly prefer tree-roots and stones to my tumbler-and-saucer arrangement. [illustration] [illustration: egyptian beetles.] the sacred beetle. on reading books on egypt and the voyage up the nile, one is sure to find some mention of the curious beetle which is found along the banks of the river, especially in nubia, where the shore is traceried with the footprints of the busy little creature. miss edwards, in her very interesting book, "a thousand miles up the nile," thus speaks of it: "every one knows how this scarab was adopted by the egyptians as an emblem of creative power and the immortality of the soul; it is to be seen in the wall-sculptures, on the tombs, cut out in precious stones and worn as an ornament, buried in the mummy-cases, and a figure of the beetle forms a hieroglyph, and represents a word signifying 'to be and to transform.' if actual worship was not paid to _scaraboeus sacer_,[ ] it was, at any rate, regarded with the greatest reverence and a vast amount of symbolism drawn from its various characteristics." [footnote : or _ateuchus sacer_.] i had often wished to see this insect alive, and one day my wish was very unexpectedly gratified by the arrival of a small tin box in which i found a specimen of the sacred beetle swathed in wet linen like a veritable mummy, only, instead of being an egyptian specimen, this had come from a kind friend at the riviera, who knew that the same species existed there, and had sent me this one by post. the scarab was at once named "cheops," and treated with all the respect due to his ancient family traditions. his wants were easily supplied: a deep tin box, with earth and moss slightly damped, gave him space for exercise; and then for food--alas! that his tastes should be so degraded--he had to be supplied with cow-dung! this could be done in secret, and judiciously hidden by fair, green moss; but when exhibiting my cherished pet to admiring friends the first question was sure to be, "what does he feed upon?" and one had to take refuge in vague generalities about organic substances, &c., which might mean anything, and then, by diverting attention to some point of interest apart from the food question, the difficulty was generally overcome. i kept a close watch to see if the beetle would be led by instinct to form its round pellets of mud as is its custom on the banks of the nile, and having placed its egg in the centre, it begins to roll it from the margin of the river until it is above high-water mark. there it digs a hole and buries the pellet, leaving the sun to hatch the eggs in due time. travellers who have watched the process describe the untiring way in which both the male and female beetle roll these pellets, often falling down with their burden into holes and ridges in the rough ground; but then their comrades will give them help, and, picking up the ball, they patiently labour on. walking backwards, having the pellet between their broad hind legs, they push it up and up until it is placed in safety. the persevering energy of this insect led the egyptians to adopt it as an emblem of the labours of their great deity, osiris, or the sun; they also traced a resemblance in the spiny projections on its head to the rays of the sun. great was my delight to find at length that cheops--even in captivity--was true to his native instincts, that he had formed a pellet about the size of a marble and was gravely rolling it with his hind legs backwards and forwards in his box. poor captive! he was evidently puzzled what to do with the precious thing. he had no nile bank to surmount, and the sun was hardly warm enough to encourage any hope for his future family; but he did the only thing that was possible--he set to work to scoop out a hole of sufficient size, then rolled the pellet in and covered it over with loose earth. three such pellets were made at intervals of a few days; one of them i unearthed and kept as a curio. the beetle never seemed to miss it, and having done his duty under difficult circumstances, his mind seemed to be at rest. i often placed cheops in my hand to show him to visitors, and there he would lie feigning to be dead until he was gently stroked over the elytra, when he would stretch out his antennæ, then his legs by slow degrees appeared (for he tucked them close to his body out of sight when frightened), and at last he would begin to walk in a jerky manner, as if moved by machinery, often stopping to look and listen to be sure that it was safe to move, and even if busily at work in the earth, if he saw any one coming near he would stop, draw in his antennæ and limbs and remain motionless. he had a strong and peculiar odour at times, which became more apparent if he was annoyed. he was infested with a small mite, and though these were frequently cleared away with water and a camel's-hair brush, they always reappeared in a day or two, clustering under the thorax between the first pair of legs, and at times they might be seen racing over his body with great rapidity. once cheops nearly escaped, for i had placed his box in the sun, and the warmth so excited and waked him up that he opened his wing-cases, used his gauze-like inner wings, and with a mighty hum was all but gone in search of his native land, but fortunately i was near enough to intercept his flight and place him in safe quarters. after keeping this curious creature in perfect health for sixteen months, i was much vexed to find him one morning lying in a shallow pan of water in his box, quite dead. he had overbalanced on to his back, and, being unable to turn over, had been drowned, though the water was scarcely half an inch deep. poor cheops is enshrined in a pyramid-shaped box, in which he is often shown and his life-history told to interested visitors. [illustration] [illustration: trap-door spiders.] spiders. of all the varieties of "creeping things" spiders seem to be the most universally disliked. i knew well the kind of expression i should see on the faces of my friends when i produced the box which contained my pet tegenaria, a large black spider, long-legged and very swift, a well-known kind of house-spider. happily the box had a glass lid, so the inmate could be seen in comfort; and when the spider's history was told there was always an interest created in even this poor despised creature. when first placed in its new home the tegenaria began spinning tunnels of white silky web in various directions across the box. they were almost as close in texture as fine gauze, and had openings here and there, so that they formed a kind of labyrinth. the spider always lived in one corner, curled up, watching for prey, and when a blue-bottle was put in, and began buzzing, she then rushed up one tunnel and down another until she could pounce upon her prey. the fly was quickly killed by her poison fangs, and then carried to the corner to be consumed at leisure. unlike the habit of the garden or diadem spider, no cobweb was rolled round the victim; only the wings were cut off and the body carried away. after some months i noticed the corner seemed filled up with web and fragments of insects, and when i examined it more closely there appeared a large round ball of eggs, over which the spider had spun some web, and then had collected all the legs and wings of her prey and stuck them carelessly here and there in the web so as to conceal her nest, and make it look like the remains of an old cobweb. over this nest she kept careful watch. one could not drive her from it; she only left it for a moment to spring upon a fly, and would return with her food immediately and resume her watchful life in the corner. at length the young spiders were hatched in countless numbers; they crept about the tunnels, and though so minute as to be mere specks, they were perfect in form, active in seeking for prey, and appeared perfectly able to take care of themselves and begin life on their own account. i had kept the tegenaria more than a year in confinement, and having shown such admirable motherly instincts, i thought she had earned the reward of liberty. no doubt she welcomed "the order of release"! at any rate, she scampered away under some tree-roots, and possibly resides there with her numerous family to this day. spiders hunt their prey in a variety of ways--some by spinning their beautiful web, with which we are all familiar; others, as the zebra spiders, catch flies by leaping suddenly upon them, and these may often be seen on window-sills watching some coveted insect, drawing slowly nearer to the victim, till, by a well-directed spring, it can be secured. there are nearly three hundred species of spiders in this country, and nearly all spin and weave their silken threads in some way, but each in different fashions, according to their mode of life. the female spider is the spinner, and her supply is about yards. when she has used that amount a few days' rest will enable her to secrete a similar quantity. with great pains the spider's silk has been obtained and woven into a delicate kind of material; but as each spider only yields one grain of silk, and were required to produce one yard, the process was found to be impracticable. the insect possesses silk of two colours, silver-grey and yellow; one is used for the foundation-lines of the web, and the other for the interlacing threads. the silk is drawn by the spider from its four spinnerets, and issues from them in a soft, viscid state, but it hardens by exposure to the air. if a web is examined with a magnifying-glass, it will be seen that its threads are closely studded with minute globules of gum, which is so sticky that flies caught in the web are held in this kind of birdlime until the spider is able to spring upon them. astronomers and microscopists make use of the strongest lines of the spider's web to form some of their delicate instruments. the thread is drawn in parallel lines at right angles across the field of the eye-piece at equal distances, so as to make a multitude of fine divisions, scarcely visible to the naked eye, and so thin as to be no obstacle to the view of the object. one means of classifying spiders is by the number of eyes they possess. these are usually two, six, or eight in number. the fangs with which the spider seizes its prey are hollow, and emit a venomous fluid into the body of the victim, which speedily benumbs and kills it. in palestine and other countries a kind of spider is found which is entirely nocturnal in its habits, and never either hunts or feeds in daylight, but makes itself a little home, where it abides safely till sunset. it is called the trap-door spider, from the curious way in which it protects the entrance to its nest. it bores a hole in the dry earth of a bank a foot or more in depth, lines the hole with silk, and forms a lid, or trap-door, which secures the spider from all intruders. i have one of these nests in which the door is a wonderful piece of mechanism, quite round and flat, about as large as a threepenny piece, made of layers of fine earth moistened and worked together with silk, so that it is tough and elastic and cannot crumble. the hinge is made of very tough silk, and is so springy that when opened it closes directly with a snap. the outside is disguised with bits of moss, glued on so that no one can see where the door is. the only way of opening it is with a pin, and even then the spider will hold on inside with his claws, so that it is not easy to overcome his resistance. amongst some insects sent to me from los angelos is a huge "mygale," a hairy monster of very uninviting aspect. when its legs are outspread it measures nearly six inches across, and one can well believe the stories one hears of its killing small birds if it finds them on their nests. a gentleman living in bermuda is said to have tamed a spider of the species "mygale," and made it live upon his bed-curtain and rid him of the flies and mosquitoes which disturbed his nightly rest. he thus describes this remarkable pet: "i fed him with flies for a few days, until he began to find himself in very comfortable quarters, and thought of spinning a nest and making his home. this he did by winding himself round and round, combing out the silk from the spinnerets at the end of his body till he had made a nest as large as a wine-glass, in which he sat motionless until he saw a fly get inside our gauzy tent; then i could fancy i saw his eyes twinkle as his victim buzzed about, till, when it was within a yard or so of him, he took one spring and the fly was in his forceps, and another leap took him back to his den, where he soon finished the savoury morsel. sometimes he would bound from side to side of the bed and seize a mosquito at every spring, resting only a moment on the net to swallow it. in another corner of the room was the nest of a female mygale of the same species. she spun some beautiful little silk bags, larger than a thimble, of tough yellow silk, in each of which she laid more than a dozen eggs. when these hatched the young spiders used to live on her back until they were old enough to hunt for themselves. i kept my useful friend on my bed for more than a year and a half, when, unfortunately, a new housemaid spied his pretty brown house, pulled it down, and crushed under her black feet my poor companion." this kind of spider, or an allied species, captures large butterflies in the tropical woods by hanging strong silken noozes from branches of trees, and they have been seen to kill small birds by this method. one of our british spiders lives under water in a dome-like cell of silk, which is filled with air like a diving-bell by the spider carrying down successive globules of air between its legs, which it liberates under the dome until it is filled; and the young are hatched there. the spider, on its way through the water, never gets wet. it is hairy, and is enveloped in a bubble of air, in which it moves about protected from wet and well supplied with air to breathe. as the spider's supply of food is always precarious, they are able to live a long time without eating. one is known to have lived eighteen months corked up in a phial, where it could obtain no food; but though thus able to fast, the spider is a voracious feeder, and will eat his own kith and kin when hard pressed by hunger. i believe it is now thought that the spider of the scriptures was a kind of spiny lizard called the gecko. one of this species was sent to me from california, and lived for a few weeks, but as nothing would induce it to eat, to my great regret it pined and died. it was about as large as an ordinary full-grown toad, of a speckled grey colour, with rich brown markings, its head something like a lizard, with large thorny projections which extended all along the spine. the feet were very remarkable, each toe being furnished with a sucker which enabled the gecko to walk with perfect ease in any position on a wall or pane of glass without losing its hold; and travellers say that it is a frequent inmate of eastern houses, and may be seen catching flies as it creeps along walls and ceilings. many kinds of spiders run with ease upon the surface of ponds and ditches, and one forms a kind of raft of a few dead leaves woven together, on which it sits and is blown by the wind hither and thither, and thus is enabled to prey upon various aquatic insects. the surface of grass lawns may be seen on autumnal mornings covered with tiny webs gemmed with dew. we may therefore estimate the immense number of flies captured by these traps so thickly spread over the grass, and see in them another proof of the adaptation of each created thing for its special purpose, and how wonderfully the balance of nature is maintained, so that one creature keeps another in check, and all work harmoniously together, according to the will of our great creator. [illustration] [illustration] tame butterflies. in _the century_, for june, , mr. gosse described a monument, in which the sculptor had carved a child holding out her hand for butterflies to perch on. he went on to say that this was criticised as improbable, even by so exact an observer as the late lord tennyson. it may therefore be of some interest to record the following facts from my personal experience. one summer i watched the larvæ of the swallow-tailed butterfly through their different stages, and reserved two chrysalides to develop into the perfect insect. in due time one of these fairy-like creatures came out. i placed it in a small indian cage, made of fine threads of bamboo. a carpet of soft moss and a vase of flowers in the centre made a pleasant home for my tiny "psyche." i found that she greatly enjoyed a repast of honey; when some was placed on a leaf within her reach, she would uncoil her long proboscis and draw up the sweet food with great apparent enjoyment. she was so tame that it became my habit, once or twice a day, to take her on my finger; and while i walked in the garden she would take short flights hither and thither, but was always content to mount upon my hand again. she would come on my finger of her own accord, and, if the day was bright, would remain there as long as i had patience to carry her, with her wings outspread, basking in the sunbeams, which appeared to convey exquisite delight to the delicate little creature. i never touched her beautiful wings. she never fluttered or showed any wish to escape, but lived three weeks of tranquil life in her tiny home; and then having, as i suppose, reached the limit of butterfly existence, she quietly ceased to live. on the day of her death the other butterfly emerged, and lived for the same length of time. both were equally tame, but the second showed more intelligence, for she discovered that by folding her wings together she could easily walk between the slender bars of the cage; and having done so she would fly to a window, and remain there basking in the sun, folding and unfolding her wings with evident enjoyment, until i presented my finger, when she would immediately step upon it and be carried back to her cage. the tameness of these butterflies i ascribed in great measure to the fact of their having been hatched from chrysalides, and having therefore never known the sweets of liberty. i often wondered if really wild specimens could be won by gentle kindness and made happy in confinement, and one bright summer's day i resolved to try. a "painted lady" had been seen in the garden the day before, and i soon caught sight of her making rapid flights from one bed of flowers to another, and when resting for a few minutes, folding and unfolding her wings on the gravel path, i crept slowly up to her with a drop of honey on my finger to try and make friends; but my "lady" was coy, "she would and she wouldn't," and after letting me come within a few inches with my tempting repast, she floated away, out of sight, and i feared she would not be willing to give me another chance; however, i waited quietly, and in a few minutes she alighted at a little distance. i again drew near very slowly, and again she sailed away, but the third time she gained confidence enough to reach out her proboscis and taste the honey, and finally crept upon my finger. i very gently placed the light bamboo cage over her and brought her indoors; she, all the while, entranced with the sweet food, remained quietly on my finger, and when satisfied, crept upon a flower in the middle of the cage, and after a few flutterings round her cage seemed content and folded her delicate wings to rest. whilst engaged in her capture i had observed a "red admiral" hovering over some dahlias, and thinking "cynthia"[ ] might like a companion, i tried my blandishments upon him. i had not much hope of success, for though a bold, fearless fellow, he is very wary, and his powerful wings bear him away in swift flight when alarmed. many a circle did i make around that dahlia bed! "admiral" always preferred the opposite side to where i stood, and calmly crossed over whilst i went round. at last, by long and patient waiting, he, too, allowed me to come near and present my seductive food to his notice--the wiry proboscis was uncoiled and felt about for the honey; once plunged into that, all volition seemed to cease, he allowed me to coax him upon my finger, and he, too, was safely caged; but he behaved very differently from "fair cynthia." the moment his repast was ended he flapped with desperate force against the bars, and in a minute he was out and on the window-pane, fluttering to escape. the cage had to be secured with fine net, and he was replaced and soon quieted down. twice a day these delicate little pets would come upon my hand to receive their sweet food, and appeared perfectly content in captivity. [footnote : the former latin name for the "painted lady" butterfly] [illustration] ant-lions. (myrmeleon formicarius.) many years ago a friend sent me some of these remarkable insects from the riviera, and for sixteen months i fed them as regularly as possible, but the cold of a remarkably severe winter killed them, to my great disappointment, as i had hoped to be rewarded by a sight of the perfect insect. ant-lions are not, i believe, found in any part of england, so i had to wait till i could again procure some from the south of france, where they are frequently met with in dry, sandy places. early in march this year ( ) three specimens were sent me and were at once placed in a box of dry silver sand, where they buried themselves and remained quietly resting for some hours. many of my readers may be interested to know what the ant-lion is like, and why i thought it worth while to take great pains to rear it. these young specimens were flat, grey, six-legged creatures about the size of a small lady-bird, covered with hairs, and possessing two strong forceps projecting from their heads. they are so formed that they cannot go forward, but move always backward by a series of jerks. as they live upon ants and are so strangely formed, they have to resort to stratagem in order to entrap their prey, and this they do by means of pits formed in the sand in which they live; into these pits the ants fall, and are seized by the forceps of the ant-lion, who lies in wait at the bottom. many a time have i watched the formation of these pits, and will try to describe the process. the insect begins describing a small circle on the surface of the sand by jerking himself backwards and flinging the sand away with his flat head and closed forceps, which form a kind of shovel. each circle is smaller than the last, until the pit is like an inverted cone, and the ant-lion lies buried at the bottom, only his forceps being visible. when an ant has fallen headlong down into the pit it makes frantic efforts to escape, and if the ant-lion sees that it is likely to get beyond his reach, he then with his forceps flings some sand at it with such unerring aim the poor victim is sure to roll over and over until it reaches the jaws of its captor, who feasts upon it and then flings the remains of the body out of the pit. one difficulty was how to ensure a supply of ants, but this was overcome by filling a box with part of an ants' nest, and as these insects settled down and seemed content with their quarters, they were ready when wanted, and three times a day the lions had to be fed! one learns to sacrifice one's feelings in the cause of science, but to the last it was a real distress to me to have to put the poor little ants where they would be devoured; but nature is cruel, and from the real lion to his insect namesake, preying upon one another seems the prevailing law of her realm. as the ant-lions grew, the pits increased in size. at first they were about as large as a threepenny-piece, but ended by measuring more than two inches across. i could not tell whether the insect moulted its skin, as it was always hidden, but in july, after four months' feeding, the ant-lions changed into chrysalides, which looked like perfectly round balls of sand. the box was placed in a warm greenhouse, and in seven weeks' time the perfect insects appeared. they were like small dragon-flies, with slender bodies, four black-spotted gauzy wings, two large black eyes and short antennæ. i had read about their being nocturnal insects, feeding on flies, so they had that diet provided for them in the glass globe in which they were kept, but i could never feel sure that they ate the flies, and fearing they would be starved i tried giving them a little sweet food, a drop of raspberry syrup at the end of a twig; it seemed to be the right thing, for they greedily sucked it in, but in spite of all my care they only lived four weeks; which, however, is probably the term of their existence. whilst i was writing this paper a singular incident occurred. i heard a strange, wild note, and something brilliant dashed past me to the end of the room, and there, on a white marble bust sat a lovely kingfisher--a bird i had hardly ever seen, even at a distance, and here he had come to pay me a visit in my drawing-room. would that i could have told him how welcome he was! but, alas! he darted about the room in wild alarm, flew against the looking-glasses, and though i tried to guard him from a plate-glass window, that has often proved fatal to birds, i was too late; he came with a crash against it and fell down quite dead, his neck being broken by the force of the blow. i had heard that a kingfisher had been seen at my lake, and hoped that the bird might build and become established there; it was, therefore, a keen regret to me that this bright visitant had met with such an untimely fate. [illustration: the robin.] robins i have known. if i once begin to speak about these winning, confiding little birds, i shall hardly know when to stop. there can scarcely be a more delightful pet than a wild robin which has learnt to love you, and will come indoors and be your quiet companion for hours together. one can feel happy in the thought that he has his liberty and his natural food out of doors, and that he gives you his companionship freely because he likes to be with you, and shows that he does, by singing his sweet songs perched on the looking-glass or some vase of flowers. autumn is the best time to begin taming such a little friend. when one of those brown-coated young birds in his first year's plumage (before the red feathers show) takes to haunting the window-ledge, or looks up inquiringly from the gravel path outside, then is the time to throw out a mealworm, four or five times a day, when the bird appears. he will soon associate you with his pleasant diet, and come nearer, and grow daily less fearful, until, by putting mealworms on a mat just inside the room, he will come in and take them, and at last learn to be quite content to remain. the first few times the window should be left open to let him retreat, for unless he feels he can come and go at will he will probably make a dash at a closed window, not seeing the glass, and be fatally injured, or else too frightened to return. like all other taming, it must be carried on with patience. one summer, many years ago, we occupied an old-fashioned house in the country, where, in perfect quietude, one could make acquaintance with birds and study their habits and manners without interruption. from the veranda of a large, low-ceilinged sitting-room one looked out upon a garden of the olden type, full of moss-grown apple-trees, golden daffodils, lupines and sweet herbs, that pleasant mixture of the kitchen and flower garden which always seems so enjoyable. it was an ideal home for birds, no cat was ever visible, and from the numbers of the feathered folk one could believe that countless generations had been reared in these apple-trees and lived out their little lives in perfect happiness. i soon found a friend amongst the robins; one in particular began to pay me frequent visits as i sat at work indoors. at first he ventured in rather timidly, took a furtive glance and then flew away, but finding that crumbs were scattered for him, and while he picked them up a kindly voice encouraged his advances, he soon became at ease, made his way into the room and seemed to examine by turns, with birdish curiosity, all the pieces of furniture and the various ornaments on the mantelpiece and tables. much to my pleasure he began to sing to me, and very pretty he looked, sitting amongst the flowers in a tall vase, warbling his charming little ditty, keeping his large black eyes fixed upon me as if to see if i seemed impressed by his vocal efforts. once he stopped in the middle of his song, looked keenly at a corner of the ceiling, and after a swift flight there, he returned with a spider in his beak; one can well believe what good helpers the insect-eating birds must be to the gardener, by destroying countless hosts of minute caterpillars and grubs that would otherwise prey upon the garden produce. bobbie continued his visits to me throughout the summer, remaining happy and content for hours at a time, pluming himself, singing, and at times investigating the contents of a little cupboard, where he sometimes discovered a cake which was much to his taste, on which he feasted without any leave asked, though truly it would have been readily given to such a pleasant little visitor. he soon showed such entire confidence in me that he would perch on the book i was reading, and alight on my lap for crumbs even when many people were in the room. when we had to leave this country home i wished that dear bobbie could have been packed up to go elsewhere with our other possessions, but since this could not be, let us hope he still inhabits the old garden and cheers other home-dwellers with his confiding manners and morning and evening songs of praise. [illustration] [illustration] robert the second. after slight intimacies with various robins who were visitors to the conservatory and found their way in and out at the open windows, i was led to special friendship with a brown-coated young bird i used often to see close to the open french window where i was sitting. he was coaxed into the room by mealworms being thrown to him until he made himself quite at home indoors. by the time he had attained his red breast the weather had become too cold for open windows, but bobbie would sit on the ledge and wait till i let him in, and then he would be my happy little companion for the whole morning, flitting all about the room, along the corridor, into the hall--in fact, he was to be found all over the house; but when hungry he returned to me as his best friend, because i was the provider of his delightsome mealworms. it was always amusing to visitors to see me feed my small fowl! he would be on the alert to see where his prey was to be found, and he would hunt for it perseveringly if it happened to fall out of sight. he was often to be seen perched on the californian mouse's cage, and i wondered what could be the attraction; at last i discovered that he coveted mousie's brown biscuits, and after that he was allowed one for his own use, kept in a special corner, where a cup of water was also provided for his small requirements. however tame wild birds may seem there will be times when all at once a sort of intense longing to get out seems to possess them. when this was the case bobbie would fly backwards and forwards uttering his plaintive cry (one of the six kinds of notes by which robins express their feelings), and his distress was so evident that the window was always opened at once to let him go out. i am sorry to have to confess that robins are most vindictive towards each other! bobbie maintained a very angry warfare with a hated rival out-of-doors, in fact his chief occupation in life seemed to be watching for his enemy. he might often be seen sitting under a small palm in a pot on the window-ledge, and whilst looking the picture of gentle innocence he was, i fear, cherishing envy, hatred, and malice in his naughty little heart, for, all at once, there would be a grand fluttering and pecking at the window whilst the two little furies, one inside and the other out, expended their strength in harmless warfare which only ceased when they were too exhausted to do more, and then followed on both sides a triumphant song of defiance or victory. i must now weave into this biography the life-history of a poor robin which, i suppose, must have been caught in a trap, for it had lost the lower mandible of its beak, and had only a little knob remaining of the upper mandible. it haunted the windows, and looked so hungry and miserable from its inability to pick up its food, that i thought it kindest to coax it into a cage where it could be fed with suitable food. by placing mealworms in a cage i at last induced it to hop in, and for five months it had a very happy life indoors, feeding on soaked brown bread and all the insect diet i could secure for it. when the cage was cleaned each morning bobbie was let out, and would take a bath in a glass dish, and then fly to the top of the looking-glass, where he would often remain all day unless we were quick enough to secure his cage-door when he went in to feed. by the middle of may i thought caterpillars would be plentiful enough for him to find his own living, so one day he was released, but unhappily robert the second was close by, and the moment he saw the invalid in his cage on the lawn with the door open, he rushed in and savagely fought the poor defenceless bird. before we could interfere he drove our pet out of his cage, and terrible was the battle that went on; the beakless bird was driven far away, and i was quite unhappy about his fate, for he was now beyond my loving care, and i never expected to see him again. two months passed by, and i only once caught a glimpse of the invalid, but at last he came just as before to the window, looking thin and ill, with ruffled feathers, and evidently again at starvation point. once more he entered his cage and began his old life, only now he was hung under the veranda so as to enjoy fresh air and the songs of his companions. for two months i endeavoured to keep the dear little creature happy; we were all so fond of him, and it seems very touching to think that in his times of extremity he should have come willingly into captivity and felt sure that a kind welcome would be accorded him. but no amount of care could bring him through the moulting season, the lack of a beak to plume his feathers and his great difficulty in picking up even the mealworms made him weak and sickly. he got out of his cage one day into the garden, and a few days after we found his poor little body lying dead close to the window where he had always found the help he needed, and yet we could not but be glad that his sorrowful little life was ended. when robins have been thus tamed for years the families they rear are like pet birds; they are fed by their parents close to the windows, and then come indoors, as if they knew they would be welcome everywhere. there is one feature in the robin's character that, as far as i know, is shared by no other bird; i mean his adopting a certain spot as his district and always keeping to it, just as the stickle-backs portion out a pond and jealously defend the territory they have chosen. here, there is a special robin to be found at each of the lodges; one haunts the mission hall and will often sing vigorously from the reading-stand while classes are going on. a very tame one lives in the coachman's house, running about the floor like a little brown mouse, and sitting inside the fender on cold days to warm himself. he must have met with trouble in his early youth, for when first seen he was very lame, and had lost the sight of one eye. through kind care he has become well and strong, but he is much at the mercy of his enemies, who often attack him on his blind side. the conservatory, dining-room, and drawing-rooms have each their little redbreast visitor; the latter is so tame he will take meal-worms from my hand, and sits on my inkstand singing a sweet, low song whilst i write. as long as each bird keeps to his domain there is peace, but woe to any intruder! the conflicts are desperate, and i have often to mediate, and separate two little furies rolling over and over on the ground. i suppose it is in this way that the idea has arisen about the young robins killing the old ones; i cannot ascertain that it has any foundation--in fact, every robin fights his neighbour all the year through, except when paired and busy with domestic duties. as dead redbreasts are not found specially in autumn, i do not think there can be any truth in the superstition. [illustration] feeding birds in summer and winter. on wintry mornings, when leaf and twig are decked with hoar-frost and the ground is hard and dry, affording no food for the birds, it is a piteous sight to see them cowering under the evergreens with ruffled feathers, evidently starving and miserable, quietly waiting for the death that must overtake many of them unless we come to their rescue. it is one of my delights to feed the small "feathered fowls" through all the winter months, and i only wish all my readers could enjoy with me the lovely scenes of happy bird life to be witnessed through the french window opposite my writing-table. these gatherings of birds are the result of many years of persistent kindness and thought for the welfare of my bird pets. their tameness cannot be attained all at once; it takes time to establish confidence; it needs thought about the kinds of food required by various species of birds, regularity in feeding, and quiet gentleness of manner to avoid frightening any new and timid visitors. doubtless there are very many lovers of birds who share this pleasure with me, but for those who may not happen to know how to attract the feathered tribes i will go a little into detail. this being a large garden near game preserves, and surrounded by a wide, furze-covered common, i have been able to attract and tame the ordinary wild pheasants by putting out indian corn, buckwheat, and raisins, till now they come to the doorstep and look up with their brilliant, red-ringed eyes, and feed calmly whilst i watch them. it is a really beautiful sight to see three or four cock birds, with their golden-bronze plumage glistening like polished metal as the morning sun rests upon them, and as many of their more sober-coloured mates feasting on the dainties they find prepared for them; as a rule, they are very amicable and feed together like barndoor fowls. when satisfied, the brown hens run swiftly away to cover, while the cocks, with greater confidence, walk quietly away in stately fashion, or remain under the trees. wood-pigeons are usually very shy and wary birds, yet these also come, six and eight at a time, and feed at my window, indian corn and peas being their specialities. i have large quantities of beech-nuts and acorns collected every autumn, and thus i can scatter this food also for pigeons and squirrels all through the winter. jays, jackdaws, rooks, and magpies also approve of acorns and beech-nuts, so it is doing a real kindness to tribes of birds to reserve this food for them until their other stores are exhausted, and we can thus bring them within our view and study their interesting ways, their modes of feeding, and, i fear i must add, their squabbles also, for hungry birds are very pugnacious. blackbirds and thrushes are very fond of sultana raisins; they also like split groats and brown bread crumbs, as also do starlings and, i believe, most of the smaller birds. fat in any shape or form will attract the various species of titmice to the window. i always keep a small normandy basket full of suet and ham-fat hanging on a nail at the window. it is a great rendezvous for these charming little pets, and it is also supplied with barcelona nuts for nuthatches, who fully appreciate them and carry them off to the nearest tree with rugged bark into which they fix the nuts, and then hammer at the shell till they can extract the contents. in very hard frosts i used always to put out a pan of water, as i feared the birds suffered from thirst and needed this help. one day, however, i was comforted to see some starlings, after a good meal of groats, run off to the grass plot and eagerly peck at the hoar-frost, which, while it exists, thus supplies the lack of water. bewick says linnets are so named from their fondness for linseed, and i think most of the finches like it. the greenfinch is soon attracted by hemp seed, and all the smaller birds by canary seed. i hope this paper may induce many kind hands to minister to the needs of our feathered friends during the winter months. it is sad to think of their dying for lack of the food we can so easily afford them, and they will be sure to repay us by their sweet songs and confiding tameness when summer days return. one is apt to think that winter is the only time when birds need our help and bounty, but there is almost as much real distress after a long drought in summer, especially amongst the insect-eating birds. i was led to think of this by the pathetic way in which a hen blackbird came to the french window of my room early in june last and stood patiently waiting and clicking time after time in trouble of _some_ kind i knew, and, supposing it might be food, i threw out a plentiful supply of soaked brown bread. at once the poor bird went to it, devouring ravenously for her own needs, and then, filling her beak as full as it would hold, she flew off with a supply for her young brood. then came thrushes, robins, sparrows, a whole bevy of feathered folk all doing the same thing--carrying the provisions in every direction for unseen families at starvation point, and i began to realize that the month of continued sunshine in which we had rejoiced had brought great distress upon the birds by drying up the lawns so that no worms could be found, and, as it was early in the year, but few insects were to be had, so that just when each pair of birds had a clamorous brood to provide for the food supply had fallen short. now i understood the pathos of the hen blackbird's appeal; her dark eyes and note of distress were trying to say to me, "i know you care for us; you seemed so kind last winter; when we were without food you fed us and saved our lives; but now i am in far deeper distress--my children are crying for food, the grass is dried up, and the ground so hard that i cannot find a single worm, i am thin and worn with hunger myself; do help me and my little ones, and we will sing you sweet songs in return to cheer you when wintry days come back again. does she understand? i've said all this several times before, but i thought i would make one last appeal before my children die. yes; she has left the room! i will wait. ah! here it is, just the soft food that will suit my little ones: how they _will_ rejoice and all want to be fed at once. i hope my friend can understand that i am thanking her with all my heart." love has a universal language and can interpret through varied signs, and thus i quite believe the mother bird's heart wished to express itself. ever since that day i have been careful in nesting time to supply suitable and varied food for the families of young birds in times of drought, for it seems mournful to think of their dying from want, in the season of flowers and green leaves, when nature is to us so attractive, and rendered all the more so by their sweet songs. [illustration] [illustration] rab, minor. this familiar name recalls the delightful story of "rab and his friends" in "horæ subsicivæ," with its naïve description of a very original "tyke" of a doggie--a biography which had so lived in my recollection that when a queer little fluffy dumpling of a puppy was given me i could not help giving it the old familiar name, little knowing how aptly true the name would prove to be in after years. is there anything more comical than a young scotch terrier puppy, with its preternatural gravity, its queer, ungainly attempts at play, its tumbles, and blue-eyed simplicity, and, best of all, its sage look, with head on one side, trying to consider the merits of some doggie idea which is puzzling his infant brain? rab went through all the stages of puppyhood, showing the usual amount of mischief and fun; he might be met carrying about some unfortunate slipper frayed to pieces by his busy teeth, or burying a favourite bone under a wool mat in the drawing-room, or, worse still, it is recorded in domestic chronicles that he buried a hymn-book in the garden, whereupon the cook remarked that she believed he had more religion in him than half the christians; but that reasoning was not apparent to any one but herself. rab's most notable adventures took place after he had emerged from puppyhood. he had a most indomitable spirit of disobedience; he would hunt rabbits or anything else he could find in the woods, and one day he reached home with a snare tightly drawn round his neck, and panting distressingly for breath; the wire was cut only just in time to save his life. another time he was poisoned by something he had eaten, and had a long suffering illness. his fights with other dogs were fierce and frequent, and whilst engaged in a scrimmage with a hated rival, rab was run over by a passing cart, and limped home in a very dejected state; no bones were broken, but he was an invalid for some months in consequence. at last it was thought needful to tie him up, and he had his appointed house and a long chain, and with frequent exercise he became quite content. one morning our brave little friend was found nearly dead, with two terrible wounds in his neck, which must have been made by a sharp knife, driven twice through his throat, but, strangely enough, had each time just missed severing the wind-pipe. he had nearly died from loss of blood, and was scarcely able to breathe; still, our kind servants did not give him up; warm milk and beef tea were given him constantly through the day; and by night he had revived a little, and was evidently going to live. we could never trace the origin of this outrage, and could only suppose that burglars had purposed breaking into our house, and, enraged at rab's barking, had at last got hold of, and, as they thought, killed him, and flung the body into an adjoining field. poor little doggie! he suffered grievously for his brave defence, and for months the wounds were a great distress to him and to us; but all that loving care could do was done, and once more his wonderful constitution enabled him to regain health and strength. we kept at that time several very large mastiffs, and the next adventure occurred early one morning, when we were aroused by a terrific noise in the stable-yard, and the message brought to us was to the effect that rab was quite dead. he had been worried by one of the mastiffs which had got loose in the night. i rose quickly and went to see the poor little victim's body, and looking at it, i saw a little quiver in the eyelid that led to a gleam of hope. i had him carried indoors, and again teaspoons of milk, &c., were given, and actually he began to revive, and a feeble wag of his tail, seemed to say, "i'm very bad, but not dead yet." the sad part was that the shaking and worrying he had received had reopened the previous wounds, and though after a time he was able to get about, he was quite a wreck; one ear was gone, and the other, strange to say, was but a fragment, like his namesake in "rab and his friends." still, he lived to be nearly fifteen, and then rheumatism and loss of teeth made his life a distress to him, and he was peacefully dismissed to the rest he had bravely earned by his life of courageous devotion to what he thought the path of duty. [illustration] [illustration] a visit to jamrach. there is an old and true saying--"everything comes to him who waits." i thought of this saying while on my way to visit the well-known place near the london docks where mr. jamrach is supposed to keep almost every rare animal, bird, and reptile, ready to supply the wants of all customers at a moment's notice. for many long years i had wished to pay him a visit, but ill-health and other causes had proved a hindrance and i could hardly believe my wish was going to be realized when i found myself on the way to his menagerie. after driving through a labyrinth of narrow, dirty streets, we were at last obliged to get out and walk till we came to the shop, and then we did indeed find ourselves in the midst of "animated nature." we had landed amongst the cockatoos, macaws, and parrots, and they greeted our arrival with such a chorus of shrieks, screams, and hideous cries that my first desire was to rush away anywhere out of the reach of such ear-piercing sounds. one had to bear it, however, if the curious creatures in the various cages were to be examined, and after a time the uproar grew less, and i could hear a word or two from mr. jamrach, who called my attention to some armadillos, huge armour-plated animals, very curious, but somehow not attractive as pets; one could not fondle a thing composed of metal plates, shaped like a pig, with a tendency to roll itself up into a ball on the slightest provocation, and even mr. jamrach's argument that if i got tired of it as a pet i could have it cooked, as they were excellent eating, failed to lead me to a purchase. there was a fine, healthy toucan, with his marvellous bill, looking sadly out of place in a small cage in such a dingy place. did he ever think of his tropical forest home, i wondered, and wish himself in happier surroundings? a long wooden box with wire front contained rows and rows of grass parrakeets: many hundreds must have been on those perches, one behind the other, poor little patient birdies, sitting in solemn silence, never moving an inch, for they were wedged in as closely as they could sit and how they could eat and live seemed a mystery. as i was in quest of some small rodents i was asked to follow mr. jamrach to another place where the animals were kept. we came to a back yard with dens and cages containing all kinds of tenants, from fierce hyenas and wolves to tame deer, monkeys, cats, and dogs. a chorus of yelps and barks and growls sounded a little uninviting, and a caution from jamrach, to mind the camel did not seize my young friend's hat, made us aware of a stately form gazing down upon us from a recess we had not before noticed. every nook and corner seemed occupied, and in order to see a kangaroo rat i was invited up a rickety ladder into a loft where a japanese cat, a large monkey, and sundry other creatures lived. i did not take to the kangaroo rat, he was too large and formidable to be pleasant, and was by no means tame, but to be pulled out of the cage by his long tail was, i confess, enough to scare the mildest quadruped. at length i was shown some peruvian guinea-pigs. wonderful little creatures! with hair three or four inches long, white, yellow and black, set on anyhow, sticking out in odd tufts, one side of their heads white and the other black, their eyes just like boot buttons, they _were_ captivating; and a pair had to be chosen forthwith, and packed in a basket with a tortoise and a huge egyptian lizard, and with these spoils i was not sorry to leave this place of varied noises and smells. the lizard was about fourteen inches long, a really grand creature. he came from the ruins of ancient egypt, and looked in his calm stateliness as though he might have gazed upon the pharaohs themselves. when placed in the sun for a time he would sometimes deign to move a few inches, his massive, grey, scaly body looking very like a young crocodile. i was greatly teased about my fondness for "rameses," as i called this new and majestic pet; there was a great fascination about him, and as i really wished to know more of his ways and habits, i carried the basket in which he lived everywhere with me indoors and out, and studied all possible ways of feeding him; but alas! nothing would induce him to eat. after gazing for five minutes at the most tempting mealworm, he would at last raise up his mighty head and appear to be revolving great ideas to which mealworms and all sublunary things must give place. jamrach told me that the lizard would drink milk, so a saucerful was placed before him, and once he did drink a few drops, but generally he walked into and over the saucer as if it did not exist. i believe the poor creature had been without food so long that it had lost the power of taking nourishment, and to my great regret i found it grew weaker and thinner, and at last it died, and all i could do was to send the remains to a naturalist to be preserved somewhat after the fashion of its great namesake. the odd little guinea-pigs were named fluff and jamrach, and were a source of much amusement. as they could not agree, and as the fights grew serious, jamrach was banished to the stable and fluff occupied a cage in the dining-room. when let out it was curious to see how he would always keep close to the sides of the room--never would he venture into the middle, the protection of the skirting board seemed indispensable, and when let out under the tulip-tree he ran round the trunk in the same way, only occasionally making an excursion to the edge of the branches which rested on the ground, the space beyond was a _terra incognita_ which could not be explored by the timid little beastie. there the two little guinea-pigs enjoyed a happy life on fine days and grew to be friends at last, grunting little confidences one to the other and going to sleep side by side. they had to be watched and their liberty a good deal curtailed when we found a weasel began to appear upon the scene, and as it is proverbially difficult to catch a weasel either awake or asleep, he has not at present been captured. i much fear if he ever attacked the little peruvians they would stand a poor chance of their lives, for they have no idea of self-defence and would fall an easy prey to such a fierce, relentless persecutor. perhaps the gardener may devise some way of trapping the wary little creature, so that my little friends may dwell in peace under the shady tree. as the winter came on the cold prevented fluff going out-of-doors, and he led a most inactive life. i don't think he ever had more than two ideas in his little brain--he just lived to eat and sleep, and was about as interesting as a stuffed animal would have been. he is the only instance of any animal i have ever known who seemed to be literally without a single habit, apparently without affection, without a temper good or bad, with no wishes or desires except to be let alone to doze away his aimless life. [illustration] [illustration] how to observe nature there is all the difference between taking a walk simply for exercise, for some special errand, or to enjoy conversation with one's friends, and the sort of quiet observant stroll i am going to ask my kind readers to take with me to-day. this beautiful world is full of wonders of every kind, full of evidences of the great creator's wisdom and skill in adapting each created thing to its special purpose. the whole realm of nature is meant, i believe, to _speak to us_, to teach us lessons in parables--to lead our hearts upward to god who made us and fitted us also for our special place in creation. in the nineteenth psalm david speaks of the two great books god has given us for our instruction. in the first six verses he speaks of the teachings of the book of nature and the rest of the psalm deals with the written word of god. we acknowledge and read the scriptures as the book which reveals the will of god and his wondrous works for the welfare of mankind, but how many fail to give any time or thought to reading the book of nature! thousands may travel and admire beautiful scenery, and derive a certain amount of pleasure from nature, just glancing at each object, but really observing nothing, and thus failing to learn any of the lessons this world's beauty is intended to teach, they might almost as well have stayed at home save for the benefit of fresh air and change of scene. the habit of minute and careful observation is seldom taught in childhood, and is not very likely to be gained in later life when the mind is filled with other things. yet if natural objects are presented attractively to the young, how quickly they are interested! question after question is asked, and unconsciously a vast amount of information may be conveyed to an intelligent child's mind by a simple, happy little chat about some bird or insect. this is _admirably_ shown in a chapter on education in the life of mrs. sewell. i would strongly urge every mother to read and follow the advice there given. we will now start for our garden walk. we have not taken many steps before we are led to pause and inquire why there should be little patches of grey-looking mud in the small angles of the brickwork of the house. opening one of the patches with a penknife we find a hollow cell, and in it some green caterpillars just alive but not able to crawl. now i see that the cell is the work of one of the solitary mason wasps; she brings the material, forms the cell, and when nearly finished lays her egg at the bottom and provides these half-killed caterpillars as food for the young grub when it is hatched, and by the time they are eaten the grub becomes a pupa and then hatches into a young wasp to begin life on its own account. one day i saw a bee go into a hole in the brickwork of the house, and getting my net i waited to capture it; after about five minutes the bee came out and flew into the net. it proved to be a solitary mason bee, and was doubtless forming a place to lay its egg, only, unlike the wasp, she would give the young grub pollen from the stamens of flowers to feed upon instead of green caterpillars. i remember seeing a mass of clay which had been formed into a wasp's nest by one of the solitary species, under the flap of a pembroke table in an unused room. a maid in dusting lifted up the flap, and down fell a quantity of fine, dry mud with young grubs in it which would soon have hatched into wasps, and revealed their rather strange nesting-place. i have in my collection a very interesting hornet's nest, which was being constructed in the hollow of an old tree. i happened to notice a hornet fly into the opening, and, looking in, there was a small beginning of a nest. it hung from a kind of stalk and consisted of only eight cells, each having an egg at the bottom. i captured the two hornets, and though i watched for a long time no others ever came, so i imagine they were the founders of what would have been a colony in due time. but we have been kept a long time engaged with these mason wasps. let us start for our walk. as we take our way through the garden we cannot help noticing the happy songs of the different birds, all in full activity preparing their nests, carolling to their mates or seeking food for the little ones. there is a loud tapping noise as we pass an old fir-tree, but no bird is to be seen, so we go round to the other side and trace the noise to a small hole near which a quantity of congealed turpentine shows that the bark has been pierced by a woodpecker and the sap is oozing out. i rap outside the hole and in a minute the grey head of a nuthatch appears. he is evidently chiselling out a "highly desirable residence" for his summer quarters in this cosy nook, and the hole being so small he will not need to get clay to reduce the size of the opening and plaster in his mate, which is said to be the curious habit of this bird. do you see that hole about forty feet up the stem of the beech opposite? a nuthatch built there six years ago; i often watched him going in and out, and heard his peculiar cry as he brought food for his mate and her young ones. next year that lodging was taken by a starling, who reared a brood there. the year after the nuthatch had it, and then a jackdaw built there; and each year i always feel interested to see who the lodgers are going to be. when i was rearing the wild ducks already described, a weasel used often to be prowling near the coop, and when frightened retreated in this direction. it happened one day i was walking softly on the grass and saw the weasel playing and frisking at the root of that young tree; one seldom has such an opportunity of seeing it, for it is very shy and has wonderfully quick hearing. it was seeking about in the grass, leaping here and there, snuffing the wind, with its snake-like, wicked-looking head raised to see over the grass stems, and thus at last it caught sight of me, and in a second it darted into the hole you see there, and i thus learnt where he lived, but i have not been able to trace his history any further at present. did you see that snake? we have many of them on the common, and they often cross my path in the garden. happily there are not many of the venomous kind: they are smaller than this one, and have a v-shaped mark on the head. one day in august i was sitting by the open french window in the drawing-room when one of these harmless snakes came close to me, looked up at me, putting its quivering little tongue in and out. i suppose it decided that i could be trusted, for it glided in and coiled itself round upon my dress skirt and seemed to go to sleep. i let it stay a good while, but fearing some one might be frightened at seeing it there, i reached my parasol and with the hooked handle softly took up the snake and laid it on the grass-plat outside thinking it would go away--but no, it only turned round and came back and coiled itself up in the same place. i found it did not mind being touched, so i stroked it and made it creep all its length through my hand--not a very pleasant sensation, but a curious experience rarely to be met with. when the cold, clammy creature had passed out of my hand it threw out a most disgusting odour, of which i had often read. i imagine it was offended at my touching it and did this in self-defence. i had at last to carry it a long distance to ensure it should not return to the room again. some years ago i was witness to the mode in which a snake pursues its victim. a large frog leaped upon the gravel walk before the windows, crying piteously like a child and taking rapid leaps; a moment after a large snake appeared swiftly pursuing the frog. at last it reached it, and gave it a bite which broke its back, and then, being alarmed, it darted away amongst some rock-work, leaving the frog in a dying state. this bank we are passing is a favourite winter retreat for female humble bees. early in the autumn they begin to scoop out a little tunnel in this grassy slope, and when it is deep enough to protect them from the frost they retire into it, and pushing up the earth behind them close up the entrance of the hole, and there lie dormant until the warmth of spring tempts them to come out. then they may be found in great numbers on the early sallow, and other tree-blossoms, recruiting their strength, while they seek a place in some hedge-bank wherein to found a new colony. the carder bee forms its nest on the ground and makes a roof of interwoven moss, from which it takes its name. i once gathered the moss from such a nest by chance and saw the little mass of cells with honey in them. i went away, meaning to examine it more closely on my return, but a crow in the apple-tree overhead chanced to spy the nest and made off with it in his beak before i could rescue the honey store of the poor little bees i had so unwittingly injured. that old tree-stump is being gradually carried away by wasps. the wood is just sufficiently decayed to afford the material of which they make their nests. you see there are several wasps busily rasping pieces of the rotten wood into convenient-sized morsels, which they can carry to the nest, there to be masticated into the papery layers of which the outer walls of the nest are formed. this walk used to have a row of grand old silver firs of great height, but each winter some of them have been blown down till only a few are left. some years since i noticed at the root of one of them a pile of fine sawdust more than a foot high, and found that some wood wasps were busily engaged in excavating the interior of the tree and forming tunnels in which to lay their eggs. i watched them for half an hour and found that every half-minute a wasp went in at the aperture carrying a blue-bottle or some kind of fly in its mandibles. next day i took a friend to see the wasps, and while watching them the wind caused the immense tree-stem to sway to and fro from its base as if in the act of falling, and on examination we found it was only held in its place by a small portion of root, and though the branches were green, it must have been hollow and dead inside, which appears to be the way in which silver firs decay, and the wasps had found it out and made a delightful home in the rotten wood. with some difficulty the great tree was safely taken down, and then it was a most curious sight to see the endless chambers and galleries made in the stem, all tenanted by young wasp-grubs and half-dead flies; and all the summer they were being hatched in countless numbers. the view over our common is lovely from this point; it is golden with rich yellow gorse, giving cover to innumerable rabbits, which find their way into our garden in spite of wire fences and all that the gardener can do to keep them out. one clever little mother rabbit made her burrow deep down in a heap of sawdust close to the stable. my coachman put his arm down to the bottom of the hole and brought out a little grey furred creature, kicking and screaming with wonderful vigour in spite of its tender years. the nest was allowed to remain, and in a few days the mother removed her brood to a hole at the root of a bushy stone-pine, where the little ones frisked in and out and looked so pretty that i was won over to allow them to stay, and, by netting round the tree, we formed a miniature warren for the young family; but i fear that in course of time we may bitterly repent this step, and the numbers may increase to such an extent that pinks and lobelia may become things of the past and the rabbit warren may have to be abolished. a fox is sometimes seen and hunted in these parts. one surprised me by leaping upon the window-sill and looking into the drawing-room. at first i could not think what it was. it had been dug out of its hole; its fur was muddy and torn, its eyes piteous in their expression, and when it ran slowly on i saw it was very lame. i ran to the window to let it in, but though it leaped up to each window in succession, they all happened to be shut, and i was quite grieved to think the poor, weary creature could find no shelter. i am no admirer of field-sports. i think they give rise to the utmost cruelty to the creatures hunted and shot, to the horses and dogs employed; and to witness torture inflicted on unoffending animals cannot but have a debasing effect on the human mind. when once any one has seen the anguish of a deer, a fox, or hare, at the end of the race, there can be no question about the cruelty of the proceeding, and to one who loves every created thing as i do, it gives the keenest pain to know how much suffering of this kind goes on during the hunting season.[ ] [footnote : i cannot resist quoting and strongly endorsing the following lament by mr. h. stacy marks, r.a., as to the way in which birds are too frequently treated by the public at large: "many people regarding birds in but three aspects--as things to be either eaten, shot, or worn.... no natural history of a bird is complete without recording where the last specimen was shot; and should a rare bird visit our shores, the hospitality which we accord to the foreign refugee is denied, and it is bound to be the victim of powder and shot. the fashion of wearing birds or their plumage as part of ladies' attire, threatens to exterminate many beautiful species, such as the humming-birds of south america, the glossy starlings of africa, and the glorious impeyan pheasant of the himalayas, with many other species."] there goes a cuckoo, with quite a flight of small birds pursuing him wherever he goes. small birds seem to have an intense hatred of jays and cuckoos, and will often fly at them in the nesting season, giving them no peace till they drive them out of the garden, knowing full well that their own broods are often devoured by the jay, and that the cuckoo has designs upon the nests. although we are some distance from home, i can show you one of my own bees on this furze blossom. i have a hive of swiss, or ligurian bees, which are said to be in some respects superior to the english species. the honey is of excellent flavour, and the first year i had far more honey from the ligurian hive. i do not think any other hives of ligurians are kept within five miles, and, as you see, they have a band of bright yellow on the abdomen. i can always tell my own bees when i meet with them in my walks on the common or in the lanes. i had a rather trying adventure with these bees last may. one sunday evening we were just starting for church, about half-past six, when my little niece ran in exclaiming that there was a great bunch of bees hanging on a branch near the hives. i knew what had happened--my very irreverent bees had swarmed on this quiet sunday evening, and they must be hived if possible. my bonnet was soon off and the bee-dress put on, and in five minutes the bees were secured and settled into a hive. we went to church and were not even late, but--during the first prayer i heard ominous sounds of a furious bee under my dress; it was, fortunately, a partly transparent material, and glancing furtively about i saw my little friend under the skirt going up and down with an angry biz-z-z. only the pocket-hole could release him, so i held that safely in my hand all through the service, lest the congregation might suffer the wrath of a furious bee, which in truth is no light matter, for in blind fury it will rush at the first person it meets and leave its sting in the face or hand. happily i succeeded in bringing the bee home again, and resolved to avoid hiving swarms before church-time in future. you see under the drooping boughs of the fir-tree yonder an old stone basin, well known to all the birds in the neighbourhood, for there they always find a supply of fresh water and food of various kinds to suit all tastes. as it is opposite the dining-room window, it is very interesting to see a tame jay and sundry squirrels enjoying the acorns which were collected for them last autumn and stored up so as to keep the basin well supplied all through the winter and spring, until other food should be plentiful. finches, robins, and sparrows find wheat and crumbs to their taste, and take their daily bath not without some squabbling as to who shall have it first--a difficulty which is sometimes settled by a portly blackbird appearing on the scene and scattering the smaller folk, whilst he takes his early tubbing and sends up showers of spray in the process. very pretty are the scenes on that same stone basin when in early summer a mother bird brings her little tribe of downy, chirping babes, and feeds each little gaping mouth with some suitable morsels from the store she finds there. a sheaf of corn in winter is also a great boon to the starved-out birdies, when snow has long deprived them of their natural food, and the water supply has to be often renewed on freezing days, for many a bird dies in winter from lack of water, all its usual supplies being frozen. the tameness of birds in severe weather is a touching sign of their distress, and a mute appeal to us to help them. "the fowls of heaven tam'd by the cruel season, crowd around the winnowing store, and claim the little boon which providence assigns them." it is pleasant to think that they seldom appeal in vain. "crumbs for the birds" are scattered by kindly little hands everywhere in winter, and in many a house a pet sonsie little robin is a cherished visitor, always welcome to his small share of the good things of this life. our ramble might be indefinitely prolonged and still be full of interest and instruction, but in these simple remarks enough has been shown, i trust, to lead many to _think_ and _observe_ closely every, even the minutest, thing that catches their attention whilst out for a ramble in lanes and fields, even a microscopic moss upon an old wall has been suggestive of many lovely thoughts, with which i will conclude our ramble and this chapter. "it was not all a tale of eld, that fairies, who their revels held by moonlight, in the greenwood shade their beakers of the moss-cups made. the wondrous light which science burns reveals those lovely jewelled urns! fair lace-work spreads from roughest stems and shows each tuft a mine of gems. voices from the silent sod, speaking of the perfect god. fringeless, or fringed, and fringed again, no single leaflet formed in vain; what wealth of heavenly wisdom lies within one moss-cup's mysteries! and few may know what silvery net, down in its mimic depths is set to catch the rarest dews that fall upon the dry and barren wall. voices from the silent sod, speaking of the perfect god." l. n. r. [illustration: end] books for recreation and study [illustration] published by t. fisher unwin, , paternoster buildings, london, e.c. .... six-shilling novels _in uniform green cloth, large crown vo., gilt tops_, s. effie hetherington. by robert buchanan. second edition. an outcast of the islands. by joseph conrad. second edition. almayer's folly. by joseph conrad. second edition. the ebbing of the tide. by louis becke. second edition. a first fleet family. by louis becke and walter jeffery. paddy's woman, and other stories. by humphrey james. clara hopgood. by mark rutherford. second edition. the tales of john oliver hobbes. portrait of the author. second edition. the stickit minister by s. r. crockett. eleventh edition. the lilac sunbonnet by s. r. crockett. sixth edition. the raiders. by s. r. crockett. eighth edition. the grey man. by s. r. crockett. in a man's mind. by j. r. watson. a daughter of the fen. by j. t. bealby. second edition. the herb-moon. by john oliver hobbes. third edition. nancy noon. by benjamin swift. second edition. with new preface. mr. magnus. by f. reginald statham. second edition. trooper peter halket of mashonaland. by olive schreiner. frontispiece. pacific tales. by louis becke. with frontispiece portrait of the author. second edition. mrs. keith's crime. by mrs. w. k. clifford. sixth edition. with portrait of mrs. keith by the hon. john collier, and a new preface by the author. hugh wynne. by dr. s. weir mitchell. with frontispiece illustration. the tormentor. by benjamin swift, author of "nancy noon." prisoners of conscience. by amelia e. barr, author of "jan vedder's wife." with illustrations. the gods, some mortals and lord wickenham. new edition. by john oliver hobbes. the outlaws of the marches. by lord ernest hamilton. fully illustrated. the school for saints: part of the history of the right honourable robert orange, m.p. by john oliver hobbes, author of "sinner's comedy," "some emotions and a moral," "the herb moon," &c. the people of clopton. by george bartram. effie hetherington by robert buchanan _second edition. crown vo., cloth,_ s. "mr. robert buchanan has written several novels ... but among those which we know, there is not one so nearly redeemed by its ability and interest.... the girl is simply odious; but mr. buchanan is a poet--it would seem sometimes _malgré lui_, in this instance it is _quand même_--and he dowers the worthless effie with a rugged, half-misanthropic, steadfast lover, whose love, never rewarded, is proved by as great a sacrifice as fact or fiction has ever known, and who is almost as striking a figure as heathcliff in 'wuthering heights.'"--_world_. works by joseph conrad i. an outcast of the islands _crown vo., cloth_, s. "subject to the qualifications thus disposed of (_vide_ first part of notice), 'an outcast of the islands' is perhaps the finest piece of fiction that has been published this year, as 'almayer's folly' was one of the finest that was published in .... surely this is real romance--the romance that is real. space forbids anything but the merest recapitulation of the other living realities of mr. conrad's invention--of lingard, of the inimitable almayer, the one-eyed babalatchi, the naturalist, of the pious abdulla--all novel, all authentic. enough has been written to show mr. conrad's quality. he imagines his scenes and their sequence like a master; he knows his individualities and their hearts; he has a new and wonderful field in this east indian novel of his.... greatness is deliberately written; the present writer has read and re-read his two books, and after putting this review aside for some days to consider the discretion of it, the word still stands."--_saturday review._ ii. almayer's folly _second edition. crown vo., cloth_, s. "this startling, unique, splendid book." mr. t. p. o'connor, m.p. "this is a decidedly powerful story of an uncommon type, and breaks fresh ground in fiction.... all the leading characters in the book--almayer, his wife, his daughter, and dain, the daughter's native lover--are well drawn, and the parting between father and daughter has a pathetic naturalness about it, unspoiled by straining after effect. there are, too, some admirably graphic passages in the book. the approach of a monsoon is most effectively described.... the name of mr. joseph conrad is new to us, but it appears to us as if he might become the kipling of the malay archipelago."--_spectator._ the ebbing of the tide by louis becke author of "by reef and palm" _second edition. crown vo., cloth_, s. [illustration] "mr. louis becke wields a powerful pen, with the additional advantage that he waves it in unfrequented places, and summons up with it the elemental passions of human nature.... it will be seen that mr. becke is somewhat of the fleshly school, but with a pathos and power not given to the ordinary professors of that school.... altogether for those who like stirring stories cast in strange scenes, this is a book to be read."--_national observer._ pacific tales by louis becke with a portrait of the author _second edition. crown vo., cloth_, s. [illustration] "the appearance of a new book by mr. becke has become an event of note--and very justly. no living author, if we except mr. kipling, has so amazing a command of that unhackneyed vitality of phrase that most people call by the name of realism. whether it is scenery or character or incident that he wishes to depict, the touch is ever so dramatic and vivid that the reader is conscious of a picture and impression that has no parallel save in the records of actual sight and memory."--_westminster gazette._ "another series of sketches of island life in the south seas, not inferior to those contained in 'by reef and palm.'"--_speaker._ "the book is well worth reading. the author knows what he is talking about and has a keen eye for the picturesque."--g. b. burgin in _to-day_. "a notable contribution to the romance of the south seas." t. p. o'connor, m.p., in _the graphic_. paddy's woman by humphrey james _crown vo._, s. "traits of the celt of humble circumstances are copied with keen appreciation and unsparing accuracy." _scotsman._ "... they are full of indescribable charm and pathos."--_bradford observer._ "the outstanding merit of this series of stories is that they are absolutely true to life ... the photographic accuracy and minuteness displayed are really marvellous." _aberdeen free press._ "'paddy's woman and other stories' by humphrey james; a volume written in the familiar diction of the ulster people themselves, with perfect realism and very remarkable ability.... for genuine human nature and human relations, and humour of an indescribable kind, we are unable to cite a rival to this volume." _the world._ "for a fine subtle piece of humour we are inclined to think that 'a glass of whisky' takes a lot of beating.... in short mr. humphrey james has given us a delightful book, and one which does as much credit to his heart as to his head. we shall look forward with a keen anticipation to the next 'writings' by this shrewd, 'cliver,' and compassionate young author."--_bookselling._ clara hopgood by mark rutherford _edited_ by reuben shapcott _second edition._ _crown vo., cloth_, s. (_the third and cheaper edition is now ready, crown vo., cloth_, s. d.) "the writer who goes by the name of mark rutherford is not the most popular novelist of his time by any means. there are writers with names which that recluse genius has never heard of, probably, whose stories give palpitations to thousands of gentle souls, while his own are quietly read by no more than as many hundreds. yet his publisher never announces a new story by the author of 'mark rutherford's autobiography,' and 'the revolution in tanner's lane,'--which we believe to be one of the most remarkable bits of writing that these times can boast of--without strongly exciting the interest of many who know books as precious stones are known in hatton garden.... 'clara hopgood' is entirely out of the way of all existing schools of novel-writing.... had we to select a good illustration of 'mark's way' as distinguished from the way of modern storytellers in general, we should point to the chapter in which baruch visits his son benjamin in this narration. nothing could be more simple, nothing more perfect."--_pall mall gazette._ a first fleet family being a hitherto unpublished narrative of certain remarkable adventures compiled from the papers of sergeant william dew, of the marines by louis becke and walter jeffery _second edition._ _crown vo., cloth_, s. [illustration] "as convincingly real and vivid as a narrative can be."--_sketch._ "no maker of plots could work out a better story of its kind, nor balance it more neatly."--_daily chronicle._ "a book which describes a set of characters varied and so attractive as the more prominent figures in this romance and a book so full of life, vicissitude, and peril, should be welcomed by every discreet novel reader."--_yorkshire post._ "a very interesting tale, written in clear and vigorous english."--_globe._ "the novel is a happy blend of truth and fiction, with a purpose that will be appreciated by many readers; it has also the most exciting elements of the tale of adventure." _morning post._ the tales of john oliver hobbes with a frontispiece portrait of the author _second edition._ _crown vo., cloth_, s. [illustration] "the cleverness of them all is extraordinary."--_guardian._ "the volume proves how little and how great a thing it is to write a 'pseudonym.' four whole 'pseudonyms' ... are easily contained within its not extravagant limits, and these four little books have given john oliver hobbes a recognized position as a master of epigram and narrative comedy."--_st. james's gazette._ "as her star has been sudden in its rise so may it stay long with us! some day she may give us something better than these tingling, pulsing, mocking, epigrammatic morsels."--_times._ "there are several literary ladies, of recent origin, who have tried to come up to the society ideal; but john oliver hobbes is by far the best writer of them all, by far the most capable artist in fiction.... she is clever enough for anything."--_saturday review._ * * * * * the herb moon by john oliver hobbes _third edition, crown vo., cloth_, s. [illustration] "the jaded reader who needs sauce for his literary appetite cannot do better than buy 'the herb moon.'"--_literary world._ "a book to hail with more than common pleasure. the epigrammatic quality, the power of rapid analysis and brilliant presentation are there, and added to these a less definable quality, only to be described as charm.... 'the herb moon' is as clever as most of its predecessors, and far less artificial."--_athenæum._ the stickit minister and some common men by s. r. crockett _eleventh edition._ _crown vo., cloth_, s. [illustration] "here is one of the books which are at present coming singly and at long intervals, like early swallows, to herald, it is to be hoped, a larger flight. when the larger flight appears, the winter of our discontent will have passed, and we shall be able to boast that the short story can make a home east as well as west of the atlantic. there is plenty of human nature--of the scottish variety, which is a very good variety--in 'the stickit minister' and its companion stories; plenty of humour, too, of that dry, pawky kind which is a monopoly of 'caledonia, stern and wild'; and, most plentiful of all, a quiet perception and reticent rendering of that underlying pathos of life which is to be discovered, not in scotland alone, but everywhere that a man is found who can see with the heart and the imagination as well as the brain. mr. crockett has given us a book that is not merely good, it is what his countrymen would call 'by-ordinar' good,' which, being interpreted into a tongue understanded of the southern herd, means that it is excellent, with a somewhat exceptional kind of excellence."--_daily chronicle._ * * * * * the lilac sun-bonnet by s. r. crockett _sixth edition._ _crown vo., cloth_, s. [illustration] "mr. crockett's 'lilac sun-bonnet' 'needs no bush.' here is a pretty love tale, and the landscape and rural descriptions carry the exile back into the kingdom of galloway. here, indeed, is the scent of bog-myrtle and peat. after inquiries among the fair, i learn that of all romances, they best love, not 'sociology,' not 'theology,' still less, open manslaughter, for a motive, but, just love's young dream, chapter after chapter. from mr. crockett they get what they want, 'hot with,' as thackeray admits that he liked it." mr. andrew lang in _longman's magazine_. the raiders by s. r. crockett _eighth edition._ _crown vo., cloth_, s. [illustration] "a thoroughly enjoyable novel, full of fresh, original, and accurate pictures of life long gone by."--_daily news._ "a strikingly realistic romance."--_morning post._ "a stirring story.... mr. crockett's style is charming. my baronite never knew how musical and picturesque is scottish-english till he read this book."--_punch._ "the youngsters have their stevenson, their barrie, and now a third writer has entered the circle, s. r. crockett, with a lively and jolly book of adventures, which the paterfamilias pretends to buy for his eldest son, but reads greedily himself and won't let go till he has turned over the last page.... out of such historical elements and numberless local traditions the author has put together an exciting tale of adventures on land and sea." _frankfurter zeitung._ * * * * * _some scotch notices._ "galloway folk should be proud to rank 'the raiders' among the classics of the district."--_scotsman._ "mr. crockett's 'the raiders' is one of the great literary successes of the season."--_dundee advertiser._ "mr. crockett has achieved the distinction of having produced the book of the season."--_dumfries and galloway standard._ "the story told in it is, as a story, nearly perfect." _aberdeen daily free press._ "'the raiders' is one of the most brilliant efforts of recent fiction."--_kirkcudbrightshire advertiser._ the grey man by s. r. crockett _crown vo., cloth_, s. _also, an edition de luxe, with drawings by_ seymour lucas, r.a., _limited to copies, signed by author. crown to., cloth gilt_, s. _net_. [illustration] "it has nearly all the qualities which go to make a book of the first-class. before you have read twenty pages you know that you are reading a classic."--_literary world._ "all of that vast and increasing host of readers who prefer the novel of action to any other form of fiction should, nay, indeed, must, make a point of reading this exceedingly fine example of its class."--_daily chronicle._ "with such passages as these [referring to quotations], glowing with tender passion, or murky with horror, even the most insatiate lover of romance may feel that mr. crockett has given him good measure, well pressed down and running over."--_daily telegraph._ a daughter of the fen by s. r. crockett _second edition._ _crown vo., cloth_, s. [illustration] "it will deserve notice at the hands of such as are interested in the ways and manner of living of a curious race that has ceased to be." _daily chronicle._ "for a first book 'a daughter of the fen' is full of promise."--_academy._ "this book deserves to be read for its extremely interesting account of life in the fens and for its splendid character study of mme. dykereave." _star._ "deserves high praise."--_scotsman._ "it is an able, interesting ... an exciting book, and is well worth reading. and when once taken up it will be difficult to lay it down." _westminster gazette._ * * * * * in a man's mind by john reay watson _crown vo., cloth_, s. [illustration] "we regard the book as well worth the effort of reading."--_british review._ "the book is clever, very clever."--_dundee advertiser._ "the power and pathos of the book are undeniable."--_liverpool post._ "it is a book of some promise."--_newsagent._ "mr. watson has hardly a rival among australian writers, past or present. there is real power in the book--power of insight, power of reflection, power of analysis, power of presentation.... 'tis a very well made book--not a set of independent episodes strung on the thread of a name or two, but closely interwoven to the climax." _sydney bulletin._ "there is behind it all a power of drawing human nature that in time arrests the attention."--_athenæum._ nancy noon by benjamin swift _second edition._ _cloth_, s. [illustration] some reviews on the first edition. "'nancy noon' is perhaps the strongest book of the year, certainly by far the strongest book which has been published by any new writer.... mr. swift contrives to keep his book from end to end real, passionate, even intense. ... if mr. meredith had never written, one would have predicted, with the utmost confidence, a great future for mr. benjamin swift, and even as it is i have hopes."--_sketch._ "certainly a promising first effort."--_whitehall review._ "if 'nancy noon' be mr. swift's first book, it is a success of an uncommon kind."--_dundee advertiser._ "'nancy noon' is one of the most remarkable novels of the year, and the author, avowedly a beginner, has succeeded in gaining a high position in the ranks of contemporary writers.... all his characters are delightful. in the heat of sensational incidents or droll scenes we stumble on observations that set us reflecting, and but for an occasional roughness of style--elliptical, carlyle mannerisms--the whole is admirably written."--_westminster gazette._ "mr. swift has the creative touch and a spark of genius."--_manchester guardian._ "mr. swift has held us interested from the first to the last page of his novel."--_world._ "the writer of 'nancy noon' has succeeded in presenting a powerfully written and thoroughly interesting story."--_scotsman._ "we are bound to admit that the story interested us all through, that it absorbed us towards the end, and that not until the last page had been read did we find it possible to lay the book down."--_daily chronicle._ "it is a very strong book, very vividly coloured, very fascinating in its style, very compelling in its claim on the attention, and not at all likely to be soon forgotten."--_british weekly._ "a clever book.... the situations and ensuing complications are dramatic, and are handled with originality and daring throughout."--_daily news._ "mr. benjamin swift has written a vastly entertaining book."--_academy._ mr. magnus by f. reginald statham _second edition._ _crown vo., cloth_, s. [illustration] some press opinions on the first edition. "one of the most powerful and vividly written novels of the day."--_nottingham guardian._ "a grim, terrible, and convincing picture."--_new age._ "very impressive."--_saturday review._ "distinctly readable."--_speaker._ "a remarkable book." _standard._ "full of incident."--_liverpool mercury._ "one of the most important and timely books ever written." _newcastle daily mercury._ "a vivid and stirring narrative."--_globe._ "an exceedingly clever and remarkable production."--_world._ "a book to be read."--_newsagent._ "a terrible picture."--_sheffield independent._ "one of the best stories lately published."--_echo._ "worth reading."--_guardian._ "a sprightly book."--_punch._ "the story is very much brought up to date."--_times._ "vivid and convincing."--_daily chronicle._ "the story is good and well told."--_pall mall gazette._ "ought to be immensely popular."--_reynolds' weekly newspaper._ "a most readable story."--_glasgow herald._ "a brilliant piece of work."--_daily telegraph._ "the story should make its mark."--_bookseller._ "admirably written."--_sheffield daily telegraph._ "the more widely it is read the better."--_manchester guardian._ "will find many appreciative readers."--_aberdeen free press._ "exciting reading."--_daily mail._ "can be heartily recommended."--_lloyd's weekly newspaper._ "a well-written and capable story."--_people._ "well written."--_literary world._ trooper peter halket of mashonaland by olive schreiner author of "dreams," "real life and dream life," &c. _crown vo., cloth_, s. [illustration] "we advise our readers to purchase and read olive schreiner's new book 'trooper peter halket of mashonaland.' miss schreiner is one of the few magicians of modern english literature, and she has used the great moral, as well as the great literary, force of her style to great effect."--_daily chronicle._ "the story is one that is certain to be widely read, and it is well that it should be so, especially at this moment; it grips the heart and haunts the imagination. to have written such a book is to render a supreme service, for it is as well to know what the rough work means of subjugating inferior races."--_daily news._ "some of the imaginative passages are very fine.... the book is powerfully written."--_scotsman._ "is well and impressively written."--_pall mall gazette._ mrs. keith's crime by mrs. w. k. clifford with a portrait of mrs. keith by the hon. john collier. _sixth edition._ _crown vo., cloth_, s. [illustration] "is certainly the strongest book that mrs. w. k. clifford has given to the public. it is probably too the most popular."--_world._ "it is charmingly told."--_literary world._ "a novel of extraordinary dramatic force, and it will doubtless be widely read in its present very cheap and attractive form."--_star._ "mrs. clifford's remarkable tale."--_athenæum._ "will prove a healthy tonic to readers who have recently been taking a course of shilling shocker mental medicine.... there are many beautiful womanly touches throughout the pages of this interesting volume, and it can be safely recommended to readers old and young."--_aberdeen free press._ some / novels [illustration] uniform edition of mark rutherford's works. edited by reuben shapcott. crown vo., cloth. the autobiography of mark rutherford. fifth edition. mark rutherford's deliverance. new edition. miriam's schooling, and other papers. by mark rutherford. with frontispiece by walter crane. second edition. the revolution in tanner's lane catharine furze: a novel. by mark rutherford. fourth edition. clara hopgood. by mark rutherford. "these writings are certainly not to be lightly dismissed, bearing as they do the impress of a mind which, although limited in range and sympathies, is decidedly original."--_times._ the statement of stella maberly. by f. anstey, author of "vice versâ." crown vo, cloth. "it is certainly a strange and striking story."--_athenæum._ ginette's happiness. being a translation by ralph derechef of "le bonheur de ginette." crown vo, cloth. "pretty and gracefully told."--_pall mall gazette._ silent gods and sun-steeped lands. by r. w. frazer second edition. with full-page illustrations by a. d. mccormick and a photogravure frontispiece. small crown vo., cloth. "mr. frazer writes powerfully and well, and seems to have an intimate acquaintance with the sun-steeped land, and the strange beings who people it."--_glasgow herald._ paul heinsius. by cora lyster. crown vo., cloth. "this is an extremely clever and altogether admirable, but not altogether unkind anatomisation of teutonic character."--_daily chronicle._ my bagdad. by elliott dickson. illustrated. vo., cloth. "related with a refreshing simplicity that is certain to approve itself to readers."--_bookseller._ silk of the kine. by l. mcmanus (c. macguire), author of "amabel: a military romance." crown vo., cloth. "we have read 'the silk of the kine,' from the first page to the last, without missing a single word, and we sighed regretfully when mr. mcmanus brought the adventures of margery ny guire and piers ottley to a close."--_literary world._ a pot of honey. by susan christian. crown vo., cloth. "the book is the outcome of a clever mind."--_athenæum._ liza of lambeth. by w. somerset maugham. crown vo., cloth. "an interesting story of life and character in the surrey-side slums, presented with a great deal of sympathetic humour."--_daily chronicle._ the twilight reef, and other stories. by herbert c. mcilwain. crown vo., cloth. the half-crown series * * * * * _each demy mo., cloth._ . a gender in satan. by rita. . the making of mary. by jean m. mcilwraith. . diana's hunting. by robert buchanan. . sir quixote of the moors. by john buchan. . dreams. by olive schreiner. . the honour of the flag. by clark russell. . le selve. by ouida. nd edition. . an altruist. by ouida. nd edition. the cameo series * * * * * _demy mo., half-bound, paper boards, price_ s. d. _vols. - _, s. d. _net_. _also, an edition de luxe, limited to copies, printed on japan paper._ _prices on application._ . the lady from the sea. by henrik ibsen. translated by eleanor marx aveling. second edition. portrait. . iphigenia in delphi, with some translations from the greek. by richard garnett, ll.d. frontispiece. . mireio: a provençal poem. by frederic mistral. translated by h. w. preston. frontispiece by joseph pennell. . lyrics. selected from the works of a. mary f. robinson (mme. james darmesteter). frontispiece. . a minor poet. by amy levy. with portrait. second edition. . concerning cats: a book of verses by many authors. edited by graham r. thompson. illustrated. . a chaplet from the greek anthology. by richard garnett, ll.d. . the love songs of robert burns. selected and edited, with introduction, by sir george douglas, bart. with front. portrait. . love songs of ireland. collected and edited by katherine tynan. . retrospect, and other poems. by a. mary f. robinson (mme. darmesteter), author of "an italian garden," &c. . brand: a dramatic poem. by henrik ibsen. translated by f. edmund garrett. . the son of don juan. by don josÉ echegaray. translated into english, with biographical introduction, by james graham. with etched portrait of the author by don b. maura. . mariana. by don josÉ echegaray. translated into english by james graham. with a photogravure of a recent portrait of the author. . flamma vestalis, and other poems. by eugene mason. frontispiece after sir edward burne-jones. the mermaid series the best plays of the old dramatists. literal reproductions of the old testament. [illustration] _post vo., each volume containing about pages, and an etched frontispiece, cloth_, s. d. _each_. . the best plays of christopher marlowe. edited by havelock ellis, and containing a general introduction to the series by john addington symonds. . the best plays of thomas otway. introduction by the hon. roden noel. . the best plays of john ford.--edited by havelock ellis. and . the best plays of thomas massinger. essay and notes by arthur symons. . the best plays of thomas heywood. edited by a. w. verity. introduction by j. a. symonds. . the complete plays of william wycherley. edited by w. c. ward. . nero, and other plays. edited by h. p. horne, arthur symons, a. w. verity, and h. ellis. and . the best plays of beaumont and fletcher. introduction by j. st. loe strachey. . the complete plays of william congreve. edited by alex. c. ewald. . the best plays of webster tourneur. introduction by j. addington symonds. and . the best plays of thomas hiddleton. introduction by algernon charles swinburn. . the best plays of james stanley. introduction by edward gosse. . the best plays of thomas dekker. notes by ernest rhys. , , and . the best plays of ben jonson, vol. i. edited, with introduction and notes, by brinsley nicholson and c. h. hereford. . the complete plays of richard steele. edited, with introduction and notes, by g. a. aitkeen. . the best plays of george chapman. edited by william lyon phelps, instructor of english literature at yale college. . the select plays of sir john vanbrugh. edited, with an introduction and notes, by a. e h. swaen. * * * * * _press opinions._ "even the professed scholar with a good library at his command will find texts here not otherwise easily accessible; while the humbler student of slender resources, who knows the bitterness of not being able to possess himself of the treasure stored in expensive folios or quartos long out of print, will assuredly rise up and thank mr. unwin."--_st. james's gazette._ "resumed under good auspices."--_saturday review._ "the issue is as good as it could be."--_british weekly._ "at once scholarly and interesting."--_leeds mercury._ little novels [illustration] _demy vo., printed in bold type, paper covers,_ d.; _cloth_, s. . the world is round. by louise mack. . no place for repentance. by ellen f. pinsent. . the problem of prejudice. by mrs. vere campbell. . margaret grey. by h. barton baker. . a painter's honeymoon. by mildred shenstone. . the bond of blood. by r. e. forrest. . a slight indiscretion. by mrs. edward cartwright. . a comedy of three. by newton sanders. . passports. by i. j. armstrong. . a noble haul. by w. clark russell. . on the gogmagogs. by alice dumillo. * * * * * _press notices._ "novel sets are many, but mr. fisher unwin has begun a new one that for prettiness, type and cheapness will take front rank.... these little novels, which are very prettily bound for a shilling, and in paper at sixpence each, will--if we mistake not--equal the 'pseudonyms' in popularity."--_vanity fair._ "mr. unwin's newest series of 'little novels,' printed in strong black type on pleasant paper.... promises to be as good, if not better than any of the preceding ones.... the first book in the series is an extremely clever and original story of australian society."--_guardian._ "are readable.... they promise well for the success of the series they begin." _scotsman._ "the 'little novels' series starts well with this australian story ('the world is round').... miss mack's account of sydney life is vivacious.... the two women she describes are brought before us with ability. much of the dialogue, and certainly a letter from the bush, deserves praise."--_glasgow herald._ "if mr. fisher unwin's 'little novels' series produces many works of the quintessential power of 'no place for repentance,' it will outweigh in all but bulk whole shelves of mudie's fiction."--_illustrated london news._ "we do not apologise for telling the story of this little book, 'the bond of blood,' and giving long extracts from it. it is worth reading even when one knows all that is coming; for it is excellently told, with concentrated force, great simplicity, and a very remarkable attention to illustrative detail."--_spectator._ "a cheap and excellent series."--_st. james's budget._ "well bound, well printed, and exceptionally low in price."--_glasgow herald._ the children's library * * * * * _illustrated. post vo., pinafore cloth binding, floral edges_, s d. _each_. . the brown owl. by ford h. hueffer. illustrated by madox brown. . the china cup. by felix volkhovsky. illustrated by malischeff. . stories from fairyland. by georges drosines. illustrated by thos. riley. . the story of a puppet. by c. cullodi. translated from the italian by m. a. murray. illustrated by g. mazzanti. . the little princess. by lina eckenstein. illustrated by dudley heath. . tales from the mabinogier. by meta williams. . irish fairy tales. edited by w. b. yeats. illustrated by jack b. yeats. . an enchanted garden. by mrs. molesworth. illustrated by j. w. henessey. . la belle nivernaise. by alphonse daudet. illustrated by montegut. . the feather. by ford h. hueffer. frontispiece by madox brown. . finn and his companions. by standish o'grady, author of "red hugh's captivity," &c., illustrated by j. b. yeats. . nutcracker and mouse king and other stories. by e. t. a. hoffmann. translated from the german by ascott r. hope. . once upon a time: fairy tales. translated from the italian by luigi capuana. with illustrations by c. mazzanti. . the pentamerone; or, the story of stories. by giambattista basile. translated from the neapolitan by john edward taylor. new edition, revised and edited by helen zimmern. illustrated by george cruikshank. . finnish legends. adapted by r. eivind. illustrated from the finnish text. . the pope's mule, and other stories. by alphonse daudet. translated by a. d. beavington-atkinson and d. havers. illustrated by ethel k. martyn. . the little glass man, and other stories. translated from the german of wilhelm hauffman. illustrated by james pryde. . robinson crusoe. by daniel defoe. . the magic oak tree, and other fairy stories. by knatchbull hugessen (lord brabourne) author of "prince mangold," "queer folk," &c. . pax and carlino. by ernest beckman. * * * * * _some press notices._ "happy children who are to own books as pretty and portable as this is." _saturday review._ "the delightful 'children's library.'"--_national observer._ "the binding and printing are simply exquisite."--_vanity fair._ "what a dainty little blue book!"--_whitehall review._ "prettily got up."--_times._ "fascinating in appearance."--_athenæum._ "very daintily printed and bound."--_daily chronicle._ "one of the prettiest books ever trusted to a child's hand."--_queen._ "altogether agreeable to the eye."--_globe._ "exquisite and dainty."--_british weekly._ "very dainty and unique."--_review of reviews._ "all the books are delightfully illustrated."--_bookseller._ "with every advantage that a dainty binding excellent paper, and admirable printing can bestow."--_guardian._ the autonym library (uniform in style and price with the "pseudonym library.") [illustration] _paper_, s. d. _each_; _cloth_, s. _each_. . the upper berth. by f. marion crawford. fourth edition. . mad sir uchtred of the hills. by s. r. crockett. third edition. . by reef and palm. by louis becke. third edition. . the play-actress. by s. r. crockett. fifth edition. . a bachelor maid. by mrs. burton harrison. . miserrima. by g. w. t. omond. . the two strangers. by mrs. oliphant. . another wicked woman. by g. s. grant-forbes. . the spectre of strathannan. by w. e. norris. . kafir stories. by w. c. scully. . molly darling! and other stories. by mrs. hungerford. . a game of consequences. by albert kinross. . sleeping fires. by george gissing. . the red star. by l. mcmanus. . a marriage by capture. by robert buchanan. . leaves from the life of an eminent fossil. by w. dutton burrard. . an impossible person. by constance cotterell. . which is absurd. by cosmo hamilton. * * * * * _press notices._ "very dainty and pleasing in appearance."--_glasgow herald._ "well printed and nicely got up."--_queen._ "the volumes promise to be as handy in shape and size as those of the original series; the printing is excellent, the paper is good, and the external appearance is neat and attractive."--_athenæum._ "if 'the autonym library' keeps up to the pitch of excellence attained by the first volume its success is assured."--_speaker._ the story of the nations a series of popular histories. _each volume is furnished with maps, illustrations, and index. large crown vo., fancy cloth, gold lettered, or library edition, dark cloth, burnished red top,_ s. _each.--or may be had in half persian, cloth sides, gilt tops; price on application._ . rome. by arthur gilman, m.a. . the jews. by professor j. k. hosmer. . germany. by the rev. s. baring-gould. . carthage. by professor alfred j. church. . alexander's empire. by prof. j. p. mahaffy. . the moors in spain. by stanley lane-poole. . ancient egypt. by prof. george rawlinson. . hungary. by prof. arminius vambery. . the saracens. by arthur gilman, m.a. . ireland. by the hon. emily lawless. . chaldea. by zenaide a. ragozin. . the goths. by henry bradley. . assyria. by zenaide a. ragozin. . turkey. by stanley lane-poole. . holland. by professor j. e. thorold rogers. . mediÆval france. by gustave masson. . persia. by s. g. w. benjamin. . phoenicia. by prof. george rawlinson. . media. by zenaide a. ragozin. . the hansa towns. by helen zimmern. . early britain. by professor alfred j. church. . the barbary corsairs. by stanley lane-poole. . russia. by w. r. morfill. . the jews under the roman empire. by w. d. morrison. . scotland, by john mackintosh, ll.d. . switzerland. by r. stead and lina hug. . mexico. by susan hale. . portugal. by h. morse stephens. . the normans. by sarah orne jewett. . the byzantine empire. by c. w. c. oman, m.a. . sicily: phoenician, greek and roman. by the late e. a. freeman. . the tuscan and genoa republics. by bella duffy. . poland. by w. r. morfill. . parthia. by prof. george rawlinson. . the australian commonwealth. by greville tregarthen. . spain. by h. e. watts. . japan. by david murray, ph.d. . south africa. by george m. theal. . venice. by the hon. alethea wiel. . the crusades: the latin kingdom of jerusalem. by t. a. archer and charles l. kingsford. . vedic india. by zenaide a. ragozin. . the west indies and the spanish main. by james rodway, f.l.s. . bohemia. by c. e. maurice. . the balkans. by w. miller. . canada. by dr. bourinot. . british india. by r. w. frazer, ll.b. . modern france. by andrÉ le bon. the franks. by lewis sergeant, b.a. "such a universal history as the series will present us with in its completion will be a possession such as no country but our own can boast of.... its success on the whole has been very remarkable."--_daily chronicle._ +--------------------------------------------------------------------+ | | | transcriber's notes: obvious spelling/typographical and | | punctuation errors have been corrected after careful comparison | | with other occurrences within the text and consultation of | | external sources. | | | | the text is a compilation of previously published articles. | | | | inconsistent spelling and inline hyphenation occurs across | | chapters and is retained. | | "meal-worm[s]" occurs four times, "mealworm[s]" thirteen times | | "re-appeared" occurs once and reappeared" occurs three times | | | | page : the signature date is clear error, is likely | | correct. | | page , : "i used still to to", extra "to" removed. | | page : small ligature oe transcribed as oe in "scaraboeus". | | last pub. page: last entry "the franks" unnumbered, retained. | | | +--------------------------------------------------------------------+ (http://www.archive.org/details/toronto) note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h.zip) images of the original pages are available through internet archive: canadian libraries. see http://www.archive.org/details/whiteroadverdun burkuoft the white road to verdun by kathleen burke [illustration: frontispiece.] hodder and stoughton london new york toronto printed in great britain by hazell, watson & viney, ld., london and aylesbury mcmxvi to dr. c.o. mailloux (new york) mr. and mrs. l.b. franklin and jeannette franklin and to my mother who by their affection and practical sympathy helped me in all the work i have undertaken. th august, . we left paris determined to undertake the journey to the front in the true spirit of the french _poilu_, and, no matter what happened, "_de ne pas s'en faire_." this famous "motto" of the french army is probably derived from one of two slang sentences: "de ne pas se faire des cheveux" ("to keep one's hair on"), or "de ne pas se faire de la bile" (or, in other words, not to upset one's digestion by unnecessary worrying). the phrase is typical of the mentality of the _poilu_, who accepts anything and everything that may happen, whether it be merely slight physical discomfort or intense suffering, as part of the willing sacrifice which he made on the day that, leaving his homestead and his daily occupation, he took up arms "offering his body as a shield to defend the heart of france." everything might be worse than it is, says the _poilu_, and so he has composed a litany. every regiment has a different version, but always with the same fundamental basis: "of two things one is certain: either you're mobilised or you're not mobilised. if you're not mobilised, there is no need to worry; if you are mobilised, of two things one is certain: either you're behind the lines or you're on the front. if you're behind the lines, there is no need to worry; if you're on the front, of two things one is certain: either you're resting in a safe place or you're exposed to danger. if you're resting in a safe place, there is no need to worry; if you're exposed to danger, of two things one is certain: either you're wounded or you're not wounded. if you're not wounded, there is no need to worry; if you are wounded, of two things one is certain: either you're wounded seriously or you're wounded slightly. if you're wounded slightly, there is no need to worry; if you're wounded seriously, of two things one is certain: either you recover or you die. if you recover, there is no need to worry; if you die, you can't worry." when once past the "wall of china," as the french authorities call the difficult approaches of the war zone, meaux was the first town of importance at which we stopped. we had an opportunity to sample the army bread, as the driver of a passing bread-wagon flung a large round loaf into our motor. according to all accounts received from the french soldiers who are in the prison-camps of germany, one of the greatest hardships is the lack of white bread, and they have employed various subterfuges in the endeavour to let their relatives know that they wish to have bread sent to them. some of the bretons writing home nicknamed bread "monsieur barras," and when there was a very great shortage they would write to their families: "ce pauvre monsieur barras ne se porte pas très bien à présent." finally, the germans discovered the real significance of m. barras, and they added to one of the letters: "si m. barras ne se porte pas très bien à présent, c'est bien la faute de vos amis les anglais" ("if m. barras is not very fit, it is the fault of your friends the english"), and from then all the letters referring to m. barras were strictly suppressed. while the german press may not be above admitting a shortage of food in germany, it seriously annoys the army that the french prisoners or the french in the invaded regions should hear of it. i heard one story of the wife of a french officer in lille who was obliged to offer unwilling hospitality to a german captain, who, in a somewhat clumsy endeavour to be amiable, offered to try to get news of her husband and to convey it to her. appreciating the seeming friendliness of the captain, she confided to him that she had means of communicating with her husband who was on the french front. the captain informed against her, and the next day she was sent for by the kommandantur, who imposed a fine of frs. upon her for having received a letter from the enemy lines. taking a -fr. note from her bag, she placed it on the desk, saying, "m. le kommandantur, here is the frs. fine, and also another frs. which i am glad to subscribe for the starving women and children in berlin." "no one starves in berlin," replied the kommandantur. "oh, yes, they do," replied madame x. "i know, because the captain who so kindly informed you that i had received a letter from my husband showed me a letter the other day from his wife, in which she spoke of the sad condition of the women and children of germany, who, whilst not starving, were far from happy." thus she not only had the pleasure of seriously annoying the kommandantur, but also a chance to get even with the captain who had informed against her, and who is no longer in soft quarters in lille, but paying the penalty of his indiscretion by a sojourn on the yser. the bridge at meaux, destroyed in the course of the german retreat, has not yet been entirely repaired. beneath it rushes the marne, and the river sings in triumph, as it passes, that it is carrying away the soil that has been desecrated by the steps of the invader and that day by day it is washing clean the land of france. in the fields where the corn is standing, the tiny crosses marking the last resting-places of the men are entirely hidden; but where the grain has been gathered, the graves stand out distinctly, marked not only by a cross, but also by the tall bunches of corn which have been left growing on these small patches of holy ground. it has always been said that france has two harvests each year. certainly in the fields of the marne there is not only the harvest of bread--there is also springing up the harvest of security and peace. the peasants as they point out the graves always add: "we of the people know that those men sacrificed their lives that our children might live. those who have died in vain for an unjust cause may well envy the men of france who have poured out their blood for the benefit of humanity." looking on the crosses on the battlefield of the marne, i realised to the fullest extent the sacrifices, borne with such bravery, of the women of france. i thought of the picture i had seen in paris of a group of mothers standing at the foot of calvary, looking out over the fields of small black crosses, lifting their hands to heaven, with the words--"we also, god, have given our sons for the peace of the world." at montmirail the real activity of the war zone first became apparent. we drew the car to the side of the road and waited whilst a long procession of empty munition-wagons passed on the way back from the munition-parks near the fighting-line. there was a smile on the face of every one of the drivers. each of them had the satisfaction of knowing that there was no chance of his returning with an empty wagon, as there is no lack of provisions to feed the hungriest of the " 's" or any of her larger sisters. the fact that it is known that there is an ample supply of munitions plays an important part in the "moral" of the troops. the average _poilu_ has no sympathy with the man who grumbles at the number of hours he may have to work. we heard the tale of a munition-worker who was complaining in a café at having to work so hard. a _poilu_ who was _en permission_ and who was sitting at the next table, turned to him, saying, "you have no right to grumble: you receive to francs a day for making shells, and we poor devils get sous a day for stopping them!" we lunched in the small but hospitable village of sézanne, in company with a most charming invalided officer who informed us that he was the principal in that district of the s.d.r.d.r. (service de recherche des rattiers) (the principal recruiting officer for rat-catchers). in other words, he is spending his time endeavouring to persuade suitable "bow-wows" to enlist in the service of their country. likely dogs are trained until they do not bark, and become entirely accustomed to the sound of firing; they are then pronounced "aptes à faire campagne," or "fit for service," receive their _livret militaire_, or certificates--for not every chance dog is allowed in the trenches--and are dispatched to the trenches on a rat-hunting campaign. from sézanne we proceeded direct to the new camp for german prisoners at cannantre. the prisoners were mostly men who had been taken in the recent fighting on the somme or round verdun. the camp was already excellently installed, and the prisoners were busy in groups gardening, making bread, or sitting before great heaps of potatoes, preparing them for the evening meal. the german sense of order was everywhere in evidence. in the long barracks where the men slept the beds were tidy, and above each bed was a small shelf, each shelf arranged in exactly the same order, the principal ornaments being a mug, fork, and spoon; and just as each bed resembled each other bed, so the fork and spoon were placed in their respective mugs at exactly the same angle. there were small partitioned apartments for the noncommissioned officers. the french commander of the camp told us that the german love of holding some form of office was everywhere apparent. the french made no attempt to command the prisoners themselves, but always chose men from amongst the prisoners who were placed in authority over their comrades. the prisoners rejoiced exceedingly and promptly increased in self-importance and, alas! decreased in manners, if they were given the smallest position which raised them above the level of the rest of the men. in the barrack where they were cutting up bread for the prisoners, we asked the men if they deeply regretted their captivity. they replied unanimously that they were "rather glad to be well fed," which seemed an answer in itself. they did not, however, appreciate the white bread and stated that they preferred their own black bread. the french officers commanding the camp treat the prisoners as naughty children who must be "kept in the corner" and punished for their own good. in all my travels through france i have never seen any bitterness shown towards the prisoners. i remember once at nevers we passed a group of german prisoners, and amongst them was a wounded man who was lying in a small cart. a handbag had fallen across his leg, and none of his comrades attempted to remove it. a french woman, pushing her way between the guards, lifted it off and gave it to one of the germans to carry. when the guards tried to remonstrate, she replied simply, "j'ai un fils prisonnier là-bas, faut espérer qu'une allemande ferait autant pour lui" ("i have a son who is a prisoner in their land, let us hope that some german woman will do as much for him"). on the battlefields the kindness of the french medical men to the german wounded has always been conspicuous. one of my neutral friends passing through germany heard from one of the prominent german surgeons that they were well aware of this fact, and knew that their wounded received every attention. there is a story known throughout france of a french doctor who was attending a wounded german on the battlefield. the man, who was probably half delirious, snatched at a revolver which was lying near by and attempted to shoot the doctor. the doctor took the revolver from him, patted him on the head, and said, "voyons, voyons, ne faites pas l'enfant" ("now then, now then, don't be childish"), and went on dressing his wounds. everywhere you hear accounts of brotherly love and religious tolerance. i remember kneeling once by the side of a dying french soldier who was tenderly supported in the arms of a famous young mohammedan surgeon, an egyptian who had taken his degree in edinburgh and was now attached to the french red cross. the man's mind was wandering, and seeing a woman beside him he commenced to talk to me as to his betrothed. "this war cannot last always, little one, and when it is over we will buy a pig and a cow and we will go to the curé, won't we, beloved?" then in a lucid moment he realised that he was dying, and he commenced to pray, "ave maria, ave maria," but the poor tired brain could remember nothing more. he turned to me to continue, but i could no longer trust myself to speak, and it was the mohammedan who took up the prayer and continued it whilst the soldier followed with his lips until his soul passed away into the valley of shadows. i think this story is only equalled in its broad tolerance by that of the rabbi bloch of lyons, who was shot at the battle of the aisne whilst holding a crucifix to the lips of a dying christian soldier. the soldier-priests of france have earned the love and respect of even the most irreligious of the _poilus_. they never hesitate to risk their lives, and have displayed sublime courage and devotion to their duty as priests and as soldiers. behind the first line of trenches a soldier-priest called suddenly to attend a dying comrade took a small dog he was nursing, and handing it to one of the men, simply remarked, "take care of the little beast for me; i am going to a dangerous corner and i do not want it killed." i have seen the mass celebrated on a gun-carriage. vases made of shell-cases were filled with flowers that the men had risked their lives to gather, in order to deck the improvised altar. a red cross ambulance drove up and stopped near by. the wounded begged to be taken out on their stretchers and laid at the foot of the altar in order that "they might receive the blessing of the good god" before starting on the long journey to the hospital behind the lines. outside the prison-camp of cannantre stood a circle of french soldiers learning the bugle calls for the french army. i wondered how the germans cared to listen to the martial music of the men of france, one and all so sure of the ultimate victory of their country. half a kilometre farther on, a series of mock trenches had been made where the men were practising the throwing of hand grenades. every available inch of space behind the french lines is made to serve some useful purpose. i never see a hand grenade without thinking how difficult it is just now to be a hero in france. every man is really a hero, and the men who have medals are almost ashamed, since they know that nearly all their comrades merit them. it is especially difficult to be a hero in one's own family. one of the men in our hospital at royaumont had been in the trenches during an attack. a grenade thrown by one of the french soldiers struck the parapet and rebounded amongst the men. with that rapidity of thought which is part of the french character, jules sat on the grenade and extinguished it. for this act of bravery he was decorated by the french government and wrote home to tell his wife. i found him sitting up in bed, gloomily reading her reply, and i inquired why he looked so glum. "well, mademoiselle," he replied, "i wrote to my wife to tell her of my new honour; and see what she says: 'my dear jules, we are not surprised you got a medal for sitting on a hand grenade; we have never known you to do anything else but sit down at home!'" it was at fère champinoise that we passed through the first village which had been entirely destroyed by the retreating germans. only half the church was standing, but services are still held there every sunday. very little attempt has been made to rebuild the ruined houses. were i one of the villagers, i would prefer to raze to the ground all that remained of the desecrated homesteads and build afresh new dwellings; happy in the knowledge that with the victory of the allies would start a period of absolute security, prosperity, and peace. it was on the same day that we had the privilege of beholding some of the -cm. guns of france, all prepared and ready to travel at a minute's notice along the railway lines to the section where they might be needed. some idea of their size may be obtained from the fact that there were ten axles to the base on which they travel. they were all disguised by the system of _camouflage_ employed by the french army, and at a very short distance they blend with the landscape and become almost invisible. each gun bears a different name, "alsace," "lorraine," etc., and with that strange irony and cynical wit of the french trooper, at the request of the men of one battery, one huge gun has been christened "mosquito," "because it stings." the french often use a bitter and biting humour in speaking of the enemy. for instance, amongst the many pets of the men, the strangest i saw was a small hawk sitting on the wrist of a soldier who had trained him. the bird was the personification of evil. if anyone approached, he snapped at them and endeavoured to bite them. i asked the man why he kept him, and he replied that they had quite good sport in the trenches when they allowed the hawk to hunt small birds and field-mice. then, his expression changing from jovial good-humour to grimness, he added: "you know, i call him 'zepp,' because he kills the little ones" ("parcequ'il tue les tous petits"). in one small cantonment where _poilus_ sang, shouted, ate, drank, and danced together to the strain of a wheezy gramophone, or in one word were "resting," i started to investigate the various kinds of pets owned by the troopers. cats, dogs, and monkeys were common, whilst one _poilu_ was the proud possessor of a parrot which he had purchased from a refugee obliged to fly from his home. he hastened to assure us that the bird had learned his "vocabulary" from his former proprietor. a study in black and white was a group of three or four white mice, nestling against the neck of a senegalais. the english tommy is quite as devoted to animals as is his french brother. i remember crossing one bitter february day from boulogne to folkestone. alongside the boat, on the quay at boulogne, were lined up the men who had been granted leave. arrayed in their shaggy fur coats, they resembled little the smart british tommy of peace times. it was really wonderful how much the men managed to conceal under those fur coats, or else the eye of the officer inspecting them was intentionally not too keen. up the gangway trooped the men, and i noticed that two of them walked slowly and cautiously. the boat safely out of harbour, one of them produced from his chest a large tabby cat, whilst the other placed a fine cock on the deck. it was a cock with the true gaelic spirit: before the cat had time to consider the situation it had sprung on its back. the cat beat a hasty retreat into the arms of its protector, who replaced it under his coat. once in safety, it stuck out its head and swore at the cock, which, perched on a coil of rope, crowed victoriously. both animals had been the companions of the men whilst in the trenches, and they were bringing them home. a soldier standing near me commenced to grumble because he had not been able to bring his pet with him. i inquired why he had left it behind, since the others had brought theirs away with them, and elicited the information that "his pet was a cow, and therefore somewhat difficult to transport." he seemed rather hurt that i should laugh, and assured me it was "a noble animal, brown with white spots, and had given himself and his comrades two quarts of milk a day." he looked disdainfully at the cock and cat. "they could have left them behind and no one would have pinched them, whereas i know i'll never see 'sarah' again--she was far too useful." entering vitry-le-françois we had a splendid example of the typical "motto" of the french trooper, "il ne faut pas s'en faire." one of the motor-cars had broken down, and the officer-occupants, who were evidently not on an urgent mission, had gone to sleep on the banks by the side of the road whilst the chauffeur was making the necessary repairs. we offered him assistance, but he was progressing quite well alone. later on another officer related to me his experience when his car broke down at midnight some km. from a village. the chauffeur was making slow headway with the repairs. the officer inquired whether he really understood the job, and received the reply, "yes, mon lieutenant, i think i do; but i am rather a novice, as before the war i was a lion-tamer!" apparently the gallant son of gaul found it easier to tame lions than to repair motors. we left vitry-le-françois at o'clock next morning, and started "the hunt for generals." it is by no means easy to discover where the actual q.g. (headquarters) of the general of any particular secteur is situated. we were not yet really on the "white road" to verdun, and there was still much to be seen that delighted the eyes. in one yellow cornfield there appeared to be enormous poppies. on approaching we discovered a detachment of tirailleurs from algiers, sitting in groups, and the "poppies" were the red fezes of the men--a gorgeous blending of crimson and gold. we threw a large box of cigarettes to them, and were greeted with shouts of joy and thanks. the tirailleurs are the "enfants terribles" of the french army. one noble son of africa who was being treated in one of the hospitals once presented me with an aluminium ring made from a piece of german shell. i asked him to make one for one of my comrades who was working at home, and he informed me that nothing would have given him greater pleasure, but unfortunately he had no more aluminium. later in the day, passing through the ward, i saw him surrounded by five or six parisian ladies who were showering sweets, cigarettes, and flowers on him, whilst he was responding by presenting each of them with an aluminium ring. when they had left i went to him and told him, "mahmud, that was not kind. i asked you for a ring and you said you had not got any more aluminium." he smiled, and his nurse, who was passing, added, "no, he had not _got_ any more aluminium, but when he is better he will _get_ forty-eight hours' punishment; he had been into the kitchen, stolen one of our best aluminium saucepans, and has been making souvenirs for the ladies." he made no attempt to justify his action beyond stating: "moi, pas si mauvais; toi, pas faux souvenir" ("i am not so bad; i did not attempt to give you a fake souvenir"). another of our chocolate-coloured patients found in the grounds of the hospital an old umbrella. its ribs stuck out and it was full of holes, but it gave him the idea of royalty, and daily he sat up in bed in the ward with the umbrella unfurled whilst he laid down the law to his comrades. the nurses endeavoured to persuade him to hand it over at night. he obstinately refused, insisting that "he knew his comrades," and he feared that one of them would certainly steal the treasure, so he preferred to keep it in the bed with him. at villers-le-sec we came upon the headquarters of the cooks for that section of the front. the cook is one of the most important men in a french regiment; he serves many ends. when carrying the food through the communicating trenches to the front-line trenches, he is always supposed to bring to the men the latest news, the latest tale which is going the round of the camp, and anything that may happen to interest them. if he has not got any news he must manufacture and produce some kind of story. it is really necessary for him to be not only a cook but also an author. there is a tale going the round of the french army how one section of the cooks, although unarmed, managed to take some twenty german prisoners. as they went on their way, they saw the germans in the distance approaching them; the head cook quietly drew the field-kitchens behind a clump of trees and bushes, placed his men in a row, each with a cooking utensil in his hand, and as the germans passed shouted to them to surrender. the sun fell on the handles of the saucepans, causing them to shine like bayonets, and the germans, taken unawares, laid down their arms. the head cook then stepped out and one by one took the rifles from the enemy and handed them to his men. it was only when he had disarmed the germans and armed his comrades that he gave the signal for them to step out, and the germans saw that they had been taken by a ruse. one can imagine the joy of the french troops in the next village, when, with a soup-ladle in his hand, his assistants armed with german rifles, followed by the soup-kitchen and twenty prisoners, he marched in to report. it is curious to note how near humour is to tragedy in war, and how quick-wittedness may serve a useful purpose and even save life. a young french medical student told me that he owed his life to the quick wit of the women of a village and the sense of humour of a saxon officer. whilst passing from one hospital to another, he was captured by a small german patrol, and in spite of his papers, proving that he was attached to the red cross service, he was tried as a spy and condemned to be shot. at the opening of his trial the women had been interested spectators; towards the end all of them had vanished. he was placed against a barn door, the firing squad lined up, when from behind the hedge bordering a wood the women began to bombard the soldiers with eggs. the aim was excellent--not one man escaped; the german officer laughed at the plight of his men and, in the brief respite accorded, the young man dashed towards the hedge and vanished in the undergrowth. the germans fired a few shots, but there was no organised attempt to follow him, probably because their own position was not too secure. he was loath to leave the women to face the music, but they insisted that it was "pour la patrie," and that they were quite capable of taking care of themselves. later he again visited the village, and the women told him that beyond obliging them to clean the soldiers' clothes thoroughly, the german officer had inflicted no other punishment upon them. a certain number of inhabitants are still living in the village of revigny. you see everywhere placards announcing "caves pour ," "caves pour ," and each person knows to which cellar he is to go if a taube should start bombing the village. i saw one cellar marked " persons, specially safe, reserved for the children." children are one of the most valuable assets of france, and a good old territorial _pè-père_ (daddy), as they are nicknamed, told me that it was his special but difficult duty to muster the children directly a taube was signalled, and chase them down into the cellar. mopping his brow, he assured me that it was not easy to catch the little beggars, who hid in the ruins, behind the army wagons, anywhere to escape the "parental" eye. it is needless to add they consider it a grave infringement of their personal liberty and think that they should be allowed to remain in the open and see all that goes on, just as the little londoners beg and coax to be allowed to stay up "to see the zepps." passing the railway-station, we stopped to make some inquiries, and promptly ascertained all we wished to know from the chef de gare. in the days of peace there is in france no one more officious than the station-master of a small but prosperous village. now he is the meekest of men. braided cap in hand, he goes along the train from carriage door to carriage door, humbly requesting newspapers for the wounded in the local hospitals. "nous avons blessés ici, cela les fait tant de plaisir d'avoir des nouvelles" ("we have wounded here, and oh! how they love to have the latest news"). in addition to levying a toll on printed matter, he casts a covetous and meaning glance on any fruit or chocolate that may be visible. before the train is out of the station, you can see the once-busy and in his own opinion all-important railway official vanishing down the road to carry his spoils to his suffering comrades. railway travelling is indeed expensive in france. no matter what time of day or night, wet or fine, the trains are met at each station by devoted women who extract contributions for the red cross funds from the pockets of willing givers. it is only fair to state, however, that in most instances the station-master gets there first. from the time we left revigny until we had passed into the champagne country, upon the return journey from verdun, we no longer saw a green tree or a blade of green grass; we were now indeed upon the "white road which leads into verdun." owing to an exceptionally trying and dry summer the roads are thick with white dust. the continual passing of the _camions_, the splendid transport-wagons of the french army, carrying either food, munitions, or troops, has stirred up the dust and coated the fields, trees, and hedges with a thick layer of white. it is almost as painful to the eyes as the snow-fields of the alps. i saw one horse that looked exactly like a plaster statuette. his master had scrubbed him down, but before he dried the white dust had settled on him everywhere. naturally "humans" do not escape. by the time our party reached the headquarters of general pétain, we had joined the white brigade. i excused myself to the general, who smilingly replied, "why complain, mademoiselle? you are charming; your hair is powdered like a marquise." the contrast with what had been a black fur cap on what was now perfectly white hair justified his compliment. i have never been renowned in my life for fear of any individual, but i must admit that i passed into the presence of general pétain with a great deal of respect amounting almost to awe. the defence of verdun through the bitter months of february and march by general pétain, a defence which is now under the immediate control of his able lieutenants, general nivelle and general dubois, has earned the respect and admiration of the whole world. it is impossible not to feel the deepest admiration for these men who have earned such undying glory, not only for themselves, but for their motherland. no one could have been more gracious and kind than general pétain, and in his presence one realised the strength and power of france. throughout all the french headquarters one is impressed by the perfect calm that reigns; no excitement--not even a paper on the generals' desks--everything perfectly organised. general pétain asked me at once to tell him what i desired. i asked his permission to go to rheims. he at once took up a paper which permitted me to enter the war zone, and endorsed it with the request to general debeney in rheims to allow me to penetrate with my companions into the city. he then turned to me again and asked me with a knowing smile if that was all i required--for his headquarters were hardly on the direct road to rheims! i hesitated to express my real wish, when my good counsellor and friend, with whom i was making the journey, the commandant jean de pulligny, answered for me--"i feel sure it would be a great happiness and honour if you would allow us, general, to go to verdun." general pétain appeared slightly surprised, and turning to me, asked, "do you thoroughly realise the danger? you have crossed the atlantic and faced submarines, but you will risk more in five minutes in verdun than in crossing the atlantic a thousand times." however, seeing that i was really anxious to go, and that it might be of great service to me in my future work to have seen personally the defence of verdun, he added smilingly: "well, then, you can go if you wish, at your own risk and peril." he then telephoned to general nivelle the necessary permission for us to enter verdun. i doubt whether general pétain realises the respect in which he is held in all the civilised countries of the world. probably he does not yet understand that people would come thousands of miles to have five minutes' audience with him, for he inquired if we were in any hurry to continue our journey, and added with charming simplicity--"because if not, and you do not mind waiting an hour, i shall be glad if you will lunch with me." we lunched with general pétain and his état-major. a charming and most interesting addition to the party was m. forain, the famous french caricaturist, and now one of the chief instructors of the french army in the art of _camouflage_--the art of making a thing look like anything in the world except what it is! he has established a series of schools all along the french front where the _poilus_ learn to bedeck their guns and thoroughly disguise them under delicate shades of green and yellow, with odd pink spots in order to relieve the monotony. certainly the appearance of the guns of the present time would rejoice the heart and soul of the "futurists." it was most interesting to hear him describe the work in detail and the rapidity with which his pupils learned the new art. for one real battery there are probably three or four false ones, beautiful wooden guns, etc., etc., and he told us of the _poilus'_ new version of the song "rien n'est plus beau que notre patrie" ("nothing is more beautiful than our country "). they now sing "rien n'est plus faux que notre batterie" ("nothing is more false than our battery"). it was m. forain who coined the famous phrase "that there was no fear for the ultimate success of the allies, if only the civilians held out!" i was much amused at m. forain's statement that he had already heard that a company had been formed for erecting, after the war, wooden hotels on the battlefields of france for the accommodation of sightseers. not only was it certain that these hotels were to be built, but the rooms were already booked in advance. it was strange to find there, within the sound of the guns--sometimes the glasses on the table danced to the music, although no one took any notice of that--surrounded by men directing the operations of the war and of one of the greatest battles in history, how little war was mentioned. science, philosophy, and the work of women were discussed. the men of france are taking deep interest in the splendid manner in which the women of all the different nations are responding to the call to service. i described to general pétain the work of the scottish women's hospitals. these magnificent hospitals are organised and staffed entirely by women, and started, in the first instance, by the national union of women's suffrage (scottish branch). he was deeply interested to learn that what had been before the war a political society, had, with that splendid spirit of patriotism which had from the first day of the war animated every man, woman, and child of great britain, drawn upon its funds and founded the hospital units. i explained to him that it was no longer a question of politics, but simply a case of serving humanity and serving it to the best possible advantage. the national union had realised that this was a time for organised effort on the part of all women for the benefit of the human race and the alleviation of suffering. i spoke of the bravery of our girls in siberia; how many of them had laid down their lives during the typhus epidemic; how cheerfully they had borne hardships, our doctors writing home that their tent hospitals were like "great white birds spreading their wings under the trees," whereas really they had often been up all night hanging on to the tent-poles to prevent the tents collapsing over their patients. a member of the État-major asked how we overcame the language difficulty. i pointed out that to diagnose typhus and watch the progress of the patient it was not necessary to speak to him, and that by the magic language of sympathy we managed to establish some form of "understanding" between the patients, the doctors, and the nurses. the members of our staff were chosen as far as possible with a knowledge of french or german, and it was possible to find many serbians speaking either one of these languages. we also found interpreters amongst the austrian prisoner orderlies. these prisoner orderlies had really proved useful and had done their best to help us. naturally they had their faults. one of our lady doctors had as orderly a viennese professor, willing, but somewhat absent-minded. one morning she sent for him and asked him, "herr karl, can you tell me what was wrong with my bath water this morning?" "i really don't know, fräulein, but i will endeavour to find out." ten minutes later he returned, looking decidedly guilty, and stammered out: "i do not know how to tell you what happened to that bath water." "nonsense!--it can't be very terrible," replied doctor x; "what was wrong?" "well, fräulein, when i went into the camp kitchen this morning there were two cauldrons there--one was your bath water, and the other was the camp soup; to you, fräulein, i brought the camp soup." we who had worked with the serbians had learned to respect and admire them for their patriotism, courage, and patient endurance. we felt that their outstanding characteristic was their imagination, which, turned into the proper channels and given a chance to develop, should produce for the world not only famous painters and poets, but also great inventors. this vivid imagination is found in the highest and lowest of the land. to illustrate it, i told my neighbour at table a tale related to me by my good friend dr. popovic. "two weary, ragged serbian soldiers were sitting huddled together waiting to be ordered forward to fight. one asked the other, 'do you know how this war started, milan? you don't?--well then, i'll tell you. the sultan of turkey sent our king peter a sack of rice. king peter looked at the sack, smiled, then took a very small bag and went into his garden and filled it with red pepper. he sent the bag of red pepper to the sultan of turkey. now, milan, you can see what that meant. the sultan of turkey said to our peter, 'my army is as numerous as the grains of rice in this sack,' and by sending a small bag of red pepper to the sultan our peter replied, 'my army is not very numerous, but it is mighty hot stuff.'" many members of the units of the scottish women's hospitals who had been driven out of serbia at the time of the great invasion had asked to be allowed to return to work for the serbians, and we were now equipping fresh units entirely staffed by women to serve with the serbian army, besides having at the present time the medical care of , serbian refugees on the island of corsica. general pétain said, smiling, that before the war he had sometimes thought of women "as those who inspired the most beautiful ideas in men and prevented them from carrying them out," but the war, he added, had certainly proved conclusively the value of women's work. m. forain expressed the desire to visit the chief french hospital of the scottish women at the abbaye de royaumont. the general laughingly told him, "you do not realise how stern and devoted to duty these ladies are. i wonder if you would be permitted to visit them?" i consoled m. forain by pointing out that surely as chief camoufler (disguiser) of the french army he could disguise himself as a model of virtue (_de se camoufler en bon garçon_). certainly this son of france, who has turned his brilliant intellect and his art to the saving of men's lives, would be welcome anywhere and everywhere. i hastened to assure him that i was only teasing him, and added that i only teased the people i admired and liked. general pétain immediately turned to the commandant de pulligny--"please remark that she has not yet teased me." "probably because she fears to do it, and has too much respect for you," replied the commandant. "fears! i do not think we need talk of that just now, when she dares to go to verdun." [illustration: memoribilia] [illustration: handwritten note: to miss burke in remembrance of your very kind visit in verdun and of the noble aim you pursue in favour of our wounded and sick soldiers. we have been extrememly honoured that you were so kind to dine with us to-day th juli -signatures-] [illustration: menu] [illustration: a handwritten note] whilst at coffee after lunch the news came of the continued advance of the british troops. general pétain turned to me and said: "you must indeed be proud in england of your new army. please tell your english people of our admiration of the magnificent effort of england. the raising and equipping of your giant army in such a short time was indeed a colossal task. how well it was carried out all the world now knows, and we are reaping the harvest." the general's chief of staff added: "lord kitchener was right when he said the war would last three years--the first year preparation, the second year defence, and the third year ... _cela sera rigolo_--it will be huge sport." he quoted the phrase as lord kitchener's own. before we left the general signed for me the menu of the lunch, pointing out to me, however, that if i were at any time to show the menu to the village policeman, i must assure him that the hare which figured thereon had been run over at night by a motor-car and lost its life owing to an accident, otherwise he might, he feared, be fined for killing game out of season! i shall always remember the picture of general pétain seeing us into our car with his parting words, "you are about to do the most dangerous thing you have ever done or will ever do in your life. as for verdun, tell them in england that i am smiling, and i am sure that when you see general nivelle you will find him smiling too. that is the best answer i can give you as to how things are going with us at verdun." then with a friendly wave of his hand we passed on our way. after leaving the headquarters of general pétain we were held up for some time at a level crossing and watched the busy little train puffing along, carrying towards verdun stores, munitions, and men. this level crossing had been the scene of active fighting; on each side were numerous graves, and the sentinels off duty were passing from one to the other picking a dead leaf or drawing a branch of trailing vine over the resting-places of their comrades. above our heads circle _les guêpes_, the wasps of the french army. they had been aroused by the appearance of a taube and were preparing to sting, had the taube waited or made any further attempt to proceed over the french lines. however, deciding that discretion was the better part of valour, it turned and fled. it is unwise, however, to stir up the "wasps of france"; they followed it, and later in the day we heard that it had been brought down near verdun. we were now in the centre of activity of the army defending verdun. on every hand we saw artillery-parks, ammunition-parks, and regiments resting, whilst along the road a long line of _camions_ passed unceasingly. during the whole length of my stay on the french front i only saw one regiment marching. everywhere the men are conveyed in the _camions_, and are thus spared the fatigue which would otherwise be caused by the intense heat and the white dust. there are perhaps only two things that can in any way upset the perfect indifference to difficulties of the french trooper: he hates to walk, and he refuses to be deprived of his _pinard_. the men of the french army have named their red wine _pinard_, just as they call water _la flotte_, always, however, being careful to add that _la flotte_ is excellent "for washing one's feet." as we passed through the headquarters of general nivelle, he sent down word to us not to wait to call on him then, but to proceed at once to verdun, as later the passage would become more difficult. he kindly sent down to us one of the officers of his staff to act as escort. the officer sat by our chauffeur, warning him of the dangerous spots in the road which the germans had the habit of "watering" from time to time with _marmites_, and ordering him to put on extra speed. our speed along the road into verdun averaged well over a mile a minute. within range of the german guns, probably not more than four or five kilometres from verdun, we came on a line of men waiting their turn to go into the cinema. after all, there was no reason _de s'en faire_, and if they were alive they decided they might as well be happy and amused. just before entering the gate of verdun we passed a number of ambulances, some of them driven by the american volunteers. these young americans have displayed splendid heroism in bringing in the wounded under difficult conditions. many of them have been mentioned in dispatches, and have received from france the croix de guerre. i also saw an ambulance marked "lloyd's." it would be useless to pretend that one entered verdun without emotion. verdun, sorely stricken, yet living, kept alive by the indomitable soul of the soldiers of france, whilst her wounds are daily treated and healed by the skill of her generals. a white city of desolation, scorched and battered, yet the brightest jewel in the crown of france's glory; a shining example to the world of the triumph of human resistance and the courage of men. a city of strange and cruel sounds--the short, sharp bark of the ' 's, the boom of the death-dealing enemy guns, the shrieks of the shells and the fall of masonry parting from houses to which it had been attached for centuries, whilst from the shattered window-frames the familiar sprite of the household looked ever for the children who came no longer across the thresholds of the homes. verdun is no longer a refuge for all that is good and beautiful and tender, and so the sounds of the voices of children and of birds are heard no more. both have flown; the children were evacuated with the civilians in the bitter months of february and march, and the birds, realising that there is no secure place in which to nest, have deserted not only verdun but the whole of the surrounding district. we proceeded to a terrace overlooking the lower part of the town and witnessed a duel between the french and german artillery. the germans were bombarding the barracks of chevert, and from all around the french guns were replying. it was certainly a joy to note that for one boom of a german cannon there were certainly ten answers from the french guns. the french soldiers off duty should have been resting in the caves and dug-outs which have been prepared for them, but most of them were out on the terraces in different parts of the city, smoking and casually watching the effect of the german or of their own fire. i inquired of one _poilu_ whether he would be glad to leave verdun, and he laughingly replied: "one might be worse off than here. this is the time of year that in peace times i should have been staying in the country with my mother-in-law." there is no talk of peace in verdun. i asked one of the men when he thought the war would end. "perfectly simple to reply to that, mademoiselle: the war will end the day that hostilities cease." i believe that the germans would not be sorry to abandon the siege of verdun. in one of the trench newspapers i saw the following verse: boches, à l'univers votre zèle importun fait des 'communiqués' dont personne n'est dupe. vous dites: "nos soldats occuperont verdun. jusqu'ici c'est plutôt verdun qui les occupe." (you say that you soon will hold verdun, whilst really verdun holds you.) we left the car and climbed through the ruined streets to the top of the citadel. no attempt has been made to remove any of the furniture or effects from the demolished houses. in those houses from which only the front had been blown away the spoons and forks were in some instances still on the table, set ready for the meal that had been interrupted. from windows lace curtains and draperies hung out over the fronts of the houses. everywhere shattered doors, broken cupboards, drawers thrown open where the inhabitants had thought to try to save some of their cherished belongings but had finally fled, leaving all to the care of the soldiers, who protect the property of the inhabitants as carefully as if it were their own. it would be difficult to find finer custodians. i was told that at bobigny-près-bourget there is on one of the houses the following inscription worthy of classical times: "the proprietor of this house has gone to the war. he leaves this dwelling to the care of the french. long live france." and he left the key in the lock. the soldiers billeted in the house read the inscription, which met with their approval, and so far each regiment in passing had cleaned out the little dwelling and left it in perfect order. from the citadel we went down into the trenches which led to the lines at thiaumont. the heat in the city was excessive, but in the trenches it was delightfully cool, perhaps a little too cool. we heard the men make no complaints except that at times the life was a little "monotonous"! one man told me that he was once in a trench that was occupied at the same time by the french and the germans. there was nothing between them but sandbags and a thick wall of clay, and day and night the french watched that wall. one day a slight scratching was heard. the men prepared to face the crumbling of the barrier when through a small hole popped out the head of a brown rabbit. down into the trench hopped mrs. bunny, followed by two small bunnies, and although rabbit for lunch would have improved the menu, the men had not the heart to kill her. on the contrary, they fed her on their rations, and at night-fall she departed, followed by her progeny. from all the dug-outs heads popped out, and the first movement of surprise at seeing a woman in the trenches turned to a smile of delight, since the _poilu_ is at all times a chivalrous gentleman. one man was telling me of the magnificent work that had been accomplished by his "compagnie." i congratulated him and told him he must be happy to be in such a company. he swept off his iron casque, bowed almost to the ground, and answered: "certainly i am happy in my company, mademoiselle, but i am far happier in yours." the principal grief of the _poilus_ appeared to be that a shell two or three days before had destroyed the store of the great _dragée_ (sugared almond) manufactory of verdun. before leaving, the manufacturer had bequeathed his stock to the army, and they were all regretting that they had not been greedier and eaten up the _dragées_ quicker. in the trenches near verdun, as in the trenches in flanders, you find the men talking little of war, but much of their homes and their families. i came once upon a group of bretons. they had opened some tins of sardines and, sitting around a bucket of blazing coals, they were toasting the fish on the ends of small twigs. i asked them why they were wasting their energies, since the fish were ready to be eaten straight from the tins. "we know," they replied; "but it smells like home." i suppose with the odour of the cooking fish, in the blue haze of the smoke, they saw visions of their cottages and the white-coiffed bretonnes frying the fresh sardines that they had caught. the dusk was now falling, and, entering the car, we proceeded towards the lower part of the town at a snail's pace in order not to draw the german fire. we were told that at the present time approximately one hundred shells a day still fall on verdun, but at the time of the great attack the number was as high as eight hundred, whilst as many as two hundred thousand shells fell daily in and around verdun. just before we reached the entrance to the citadel, the enemy began to shell the city, and one of the shells exploded within two hundred feet of the car. we knew that we were near the entrance to the vaults of the citadel and could take refuge, so we left the car and proceeded on foot. without thinking, we walked in the centre of the road, and the sentinel at the door of the citadel began in somewhat emphatic french to recommend us to "longer les murs" (to hug the walls tightly). the germans are well aware of the entrance to the citadel and daily shell the spot. if one meets a shell in the centre of the road it is obviously no use to argue, whilst in hugging the side of the wall there is a possibility of only receiving the fragments of the bursting shell. the subterranean galleries of the citadel of verdun were constructed by vauban, and are now a hive of activity--barbers' shops, sweet shops, boot shops, hospitals, anything and everything which goes to make up a small city. one of the young officers placed his "cell" at our disposal. the long galleries are all equipped with central heating and electric light, and some of them have been divided off by wooden partitions or curtains like the dormitories in a large school. in the "cell" allocated to us we could see the loving touch of a woman's hand. around the pillow on the small camp-bed was a beautiful edging of irish lace, and on the dressing-table a large bottle of eau-de-cologne. there is no reason to be too uncomfortable in verdun when one has a good little wife to think of one and to send presents from time to time. emerging from the galleries we met general dubois, a great soldier and a kindly man, one who shares the daily perils of his men. the general invited us to remain and dine with him. he had that day received from general nivelle his _cravate_ as commander of the legion of honour, and his officers were giving him a dinner-party to celebrate the event. "see how kind fate is to me," he added. "only one thing was missing from the feast--the presence of the ladies--and here you are." it would need the brush of rembrandt to paint the dining-hall in the citadel of verdun. at one long table in the dimly lighted vault sat between eighty and ninety officers, who all rose, saluted, and cheered as we entered. the general sat at the head of the table surrounded by his staff, and behind him the faces of the cooks were lit up by the fires of the stoves. some short distance behind us was an air-shaft. it appears that about a week or a fortnight before our arrival a german shell, striking the top part of the citadel, dislodged some dust and gravel which fell down the air-shaft on to the general's head. he simply called the attendants to him and asked for his table to be moved forward a yard, as he did not feel inclined to sit at table with his helmet on. an excellent dinner--soup, roast mutton, fresh beans, salade russe, frangipane, dessert--and even champagne to celebrate the general's _cravate_--quite reassured us that people may die in verdun of shells but not of hunger. we drank toasts to france, the allies, and, silently, to the men of france who had died that we might live. i was asked to propose the health of the general, and did it in english, knowing that he spoke english well. i told him that the defenders of verdun would live in our hearts and memories, that on behalf of the whole british race i felt i might convey to him congratulations on the honour paid to him by france. i assured him that we had but one idea and one hope, the speedy victory of the allied arms, and that personally my present desire was that every one of those present at table might live to see the flag of france waving over the whole of alsace-lorraine. they asked me to repeat a description of the flag of france which i gave first in ottawa; so there, in the citadel of verdun with a small french flag before me, i went back in spirit to ottawa and remembered how i had spoken of the triumph of the flag of france: "the red, white, and blue--the red of the flag of france a little deeper hue than in time of peace, since it was dyed with the blood of her sons, the blood in which a new history of france is being written, volume on volume, page on page, of deeds of heroism, some pages completed and signed, others where the pen has dropped from the faltering hands and which posterity must needs finish. the white of the flag of france, not quite so white as in time of peace, since thousands of her sons had taken it in their hands and pressed it to their lips before they went forward to die for it, yet without stain, since in all the record of the war there is no blot on the escutcheon of france. and the blue of the flag of france, true blue, torn and tattered with the marks of the bullets and the shrapnel, yet unfurling proudly in the breeze whilst the very holes were patched by the blue of the sky, since surely heaven stands behind the flag of france." the men of verdun were full of admiration for the glorious commander of the fort de vaux. they told me that the fort was held, or rather the ruins of the fort, until the germans were actually on the top and firing on the french beneath. i discussed with my neighbour the fact that the germans had more hatred for us than for the french. he said the whole world would ridicule the germans for the manner in which they had exploited the phrase "gott strafe england," writing it even on the walls anywhere and everywhere. he added laughingly that it should not worry the english comrades. "when they read 'gott strafe england,' all they needed to reply was 'ypres, ypres--hurrah!'" he told me that he had been stationed for some time with his regiment near the english troops, and there had been loud lamentations among the _poilus_ because they had been obliged to say good-bye to their english comrades. he added that the affection was not entirely disinterested. the english comrades had excellent marmalade and jam and other good things which they shared with their french brothers, who, whilst excellently fed, do not indulge in these luxuries. he told me a delightful tale of a french cook who, seeing an english soldier standing by, began to question him as to his particular branch of the service, informing him that he himself had had an exceedingly busy morning peeling potatoes and cleaning up the pots and pans. after considerable conversation he inquired of the english comrade what he did for his living. "oh," replied the englishman, "i get my living fairly easily--nothing half so strenuous as peeling potatoes. i am just a colonel." the clean-shaven tommy is the beloved of all france. i remember seeing one gallant khaki knight carrying the market-basket of a french maiden and repaying himself out of her store of apples. i regret to say his pockets bulged suspiciously. whilst at a level crossing near by, the old lady in charge of the gate had an escort of "tommies" who urged her to let the train "rip." this was somewhat ironical in view of the fact that the top speed in that part of the war zone was probably never more than ten miles an hour. tommy is never alone. the children have learned that he loves their company, and he is always surrounded by an escort of youthful admirers. the children like to rummage in his pockets for souvenirs. he must spend quite a good deal of his pay purchasing sweets, so that they may not be disappointed and that there may be something for his little friends to find. i remember seeing one tommy, sitting in the dusty road with a large pot of marmalade between his legs, dealing out spoonfuls with perfect justice and impartiality to a circle of youngsters. he speaks to them of his own little "nippers" at home, and they in turn tell him of their father who is fighting, of their mother who now works in the fields, and of baby who is fearfully ignorant, does not know the difference between the french and the "engleesch," and who insisted on calling the great english general who had stayed at their farm "papa." it matters little that they cannot understand each other, and it does not in the least prevent them from holding lengthy conversations. i told my companion at table that whilst visiting one of the hospitals in france i had heard how one englishman had been sent into a far hospital in provence by mistake. he was not seriously injured, and promptly constituted himself king of the ward. on arrival, he insisted on being shaved. as no shaving-brush was available, the _piou-piou_ in the next bed lathered him with his tooth-brush. the french cooking did not appeal to him, and he grumbled continuously. the directress of the hospital sent her own cook from her château to cater for mr. atkins. an elaborate menu was prepared. tommy glanced through it, ordered everything to be removed, and commanded tea and toast. toast-making is not a french art, and the château chef was obliged to remain at the hospital and spend his time carefully preparing the toast and seeing that it was served in good condition. when mr. atkins felt so disposed, he would summon a _piou-piou_ to give him a french lesson, or else request the various inmates of the ward to sing to him. he would in turn render that plaintive ditty "down by the old bull and bush." a nurse who spoke a little english translated his song to the french soldiers. whilst not desiring to criticise the _rendez-vous_ selected by their _camarade anglais_, they did not consider that "près d'un vieux taureau" (near an old bull) was a safe or desirable meeting-place. when i explained to the nurse that "the bull and bush" was a kind of _cabaret_, she hastened from ward to ward to tell the men that after all the englishman might have selected a worse spot to entertain his girl. he was at once the joy and the despair of the whole hospital, and the nurse had much trouble in consoling the patients when "our english" was removed. when tommy indulges in the use of the french language, he abbreviates it as much as possible. one hot summer's day, driving from boulogne to fort mahon, halfway down a steep hill we came upon two tommies endeavouring to extract a motor-cycle and a side-car from a somewhat difficult position. they had side-slipped and run into a small tree. the cycle was on one side and the side-car on the other, and a steel rod between had been rammed right into the wood through the force of the collision. my three companions and myself endeavoured to help the men to pull out the rod, but the united efforts of the six of us proved unavailing. we hailed a passing cart and tied the reins around the motor-cycle, but immediately the horse commenced to pull the leather of the reins snapped. behind the cart walked a peasant. only one adjective can possibly describe him--he was decidedly "beery." he made no attempt to help, but passed from one tommy to the other, patting them on their backs, assuring them "that with a little goodwill all would be well." there was a dangerous glint in the younger tommy's eye, but in the presence of ladies he refrained from putting his thoughts into words. finally, his patience evaporating, he suddenly turned on the peasant and shouted at him, "ong, ong." it took me some time to grasp that this was tommy's abbreviated version of "allez-vous en" ("clear out"). in any event it proved quite useless, as he continued to pat the tommies affectionately and to bombard them with impracticable suggestions. we were joined later by three villagers, two gendarmes and a postman, and all pulling together we managed to extract the rod from the tree. a large lorry was passing, and on to it we heaved the wreckage. up clambered the tommies followed by their unwelcome friend, who managed to sit on the only unbroken portion of the side-car. this was too much for messrs. atkins' equanimity. limp with laughter, we watched them pass from sight amidst a chorus of "ong, ong," followed by flights of oratory in the english tongue which do not bear repeating, but which were received by the peasant as expressions of deep esteem and to which he replied by endeavouring to kiss the tommies and shouting, "vive l'angleterre! allright! hoorah!" our guiding officer began to show some signs of anxiety to have us leave before ten o'clock, but the good-byes took some time. presents were showered upon us--german _dragées_ (shell heads and pieces of shrapnel) and the real french _dragées_, the famous sweet of verdun. we crept out of the city, but unfortunately at one of the dangerous cross-roads our chauffeur mistook the route. a heavy bombardment was taking place, and the french were replying. we were lucky enough to get on to the route and into safety before any shell fell near us. it appears that the germans systematically bombard the roads at night, hoping to destroy the _camions_ bringing up the food for the city, fresh munitions, and men. we slept that night at bar-le-duc and next morning saw the various ambulances and hospitals which the service de santé had particularly requested me to visit. i was impressed by the splendid organisation of the red cross even quite close to the firing-line. passing through one tent hospital, an algerian called out to me: "ohé, la blonde, viens ici! j'ai quelque chose de beau à te montrer" ("come here, fair girl, i have something pretty to show you"). he was sitting up in bed, and, as i approached, unbuttoned his bed-jacket and insisted on my examining the tag of his vest, on which was written, "leader, london." the vest had come in a parcel of goods from the london committee of the french red cross, and i only wished that the angel of goodness and tenderness who is the presidente of the croix rouge, mme. de la panouse, and that mr. d.h. illingworth, mr. philip wilkins, and all her able lieutenants, could have seen the pleasure on the face of this swarthy defender of france. in the next bed was a senegalais who endeavoured to attract my attention by keeping up a running compliment to my compatriots, my king, and myself. he must have chanted fifty times: "vive les english, georges, et toi!" he continued even after i had rewarded him with some cigarettes. the senegalais and the algerians are really great children, especially when they are wounded. i have seen convalescent senegalais and algerians in paris spend hours in the champs elysées watching the entertainment at the open-air marionette theatre. the antics of the dolls kept them amused. they are admitted to the enclosure free, and there is no longer any room for the children who frequented the show in happier days. these latter form a disconsolate circle on the outside, whilst the younger ones, who do not suffer from colour prejudice, scramble on to the knees of the black soldiers. the sister in charge was a true daughter of the "lady of the lamp." provided they are really ill, she sympathises with all the grumblers, but scolds them if they have reached the convalescent stage. she carries a small book in which she enters imaginary good points to those who have the tables by their beds tidy, and she pinned an invisible medal on the chest of a convalescent who was helping to carry trays of food to his comrades. she is indeed a general, saving men for france. not a man escaped her attention, and as we passed through the tents she gave to each of her "chers enfants"--black or white--a cheering smile or a kindly word. she did, however, whilst talking to us omit to salute a senegalais. before she passed out of the tent he commenced to call after her, "toi pas gentille aujourd'hui--moi battre toi" ("you are not good to me to-day--me beat you"). this, it appears, is his little joke--he will never beat anyone again, since he lost both his arms when his trench was blown up by a land mine. it was at triancourt that i first saw in operation the motor-cars that had been sent out fitted with bath tubs for the troops, and also a very fine car fitted up by the london committee of the french red cross as a moving dental hospital. i regret to add that a _poilu_ near by disrespectfully referred to it as "another of the horrors of war," adding that in times of peace there was some kind of personal liberty, where as now "a man could not have toothache without being forced to have it ended, and that there was no possibility of escaping a dentist who hunted you down by motor." it was suggested that, as i had had a touch of toothache the night before, i might take my place in the chair and give an example of british pluck to the assembled _poilus_. i hastened to impress on the surgeon that i hated notoriety and would prefer to remain modestly in the background. i even pushed aside with scorn the proffered bribe of six "boche" buttons, assuring the man that "i would keep my toothache as a souvenir." at one of the hospitals, beside the bed of a dying man, sat a little old man writing letters. they told me that before the war he had owned the most flourishing wine-shop in the village. he had fled before the approach of the german troops, but later returned to his village and installed himself in the hospital as scribe. he wrote from morning until night, and watching him stretching his lean old hands, i asked him if he suffered much pain from writer's cramp. he looked at me almost reproachfully before answering, "mademoiselle, it is the least i can do for my country; besides my pain is so slight and that of the comrades is so great. i am proud, indeed proud, that at sixty-seven years of age i am not useless." at one hospital i was shown a copy of the last letter dictated by a young french officer, and i asked to be allowed to copy it--it was indeed a letter of a "chic" type. "chers parrain et marraine, "je vous écris à vous pour ne pas tuer maman qu'un pareil coup surprendrait trop. "j'ai été blessé le ... devant.... j'ai deux blessures hideuses et je n'en aurai pas pour bien longtemps. les majors ne me le cachent même pas. "je pars sans regret avec la conscience d'avoir fait mon devoir. "prévenez donc mes parents le mieux que vous pourrez; qu'ils ne cherchent pas à venir, ils n'en auraient pas le temps. "adieu vous tous que j'aimais. "vive la france!" "dear godfather and godmother. "i am writing to you, so as not to kill mother, whom such a shock would surprise too much. i was wounded on the ... at.... i have two terrible wounds and i cannot last long. the surgeons do not even attempt to conceal this from me. i go without regret, with the consciousness of having done my duty. kindly break the news to my parents the best way you can; they should not attempt to come because they would not have time to reach me before the end. "farewell to all you whom i have loved. "long live france!" whilst loving his relatives tenderly, the last thought of the dying frenchman is for his country. each one dies as a hero, yet not one realises it. it would be impossible to show greater simplicity; they salute the flag for the last time, and that is all. from triancourt we went straight to the headquarters of general nivelle. they had just brought him the maps rectified to mark the french advance. the advance had been made whilst we were standing on the terrace at verdun the night before. we had seen the rockets sent up, requesting a _tir de barrage_ (curtain of fire). the ' 's had replied at once and the french had been able to carry out the operation. good news had also come in from the somme, and general nivelle did not hesitate to express his admiration for the british soldiers. he said that there was no need to praise the first troops sent by britain to france--everyone knew their value; but it should be a great satisfaction to britain to find that the new army was living up to the traditions of the old army. he added: "we can describe the new army of britain in two words: '_Ça mord_'--it bites." the father of his own men, it is not surprising that general nivelle finds a warm corner in his heart for the british tommy, since his mother was an englishwoman. at lunch general nivelle and the members of his staff asked many questions as to the work of the scottish women's hospitals. i told them that what appealed to us most in our french patients was the perfect discipline and the gratitude of the men. we are all women in the hospitals, and the men might take advantage of this fact to show want of discipline, but we never had to complain of lack of obedience. these soldiers of france may some of them before the war have been just rough peasants, eating, drinking, and sleeping, even having thoughts not akin to knighthood; but now, through the ordeal of blood and fire, each one of them has won his spurs and come out a chivalrous knight, and they bring their chivalry right into the hospitals with them. we had also learned to love them for their kindness to one another. when new wounded are brought in and the lights are low in the hospital wards, cautiously watching if the nurse is looking (luckily nurses have a way of not seeing everything), one of the convalescents will creep from his bed to the side of the new arrival and ask the inevitable question: "d'où viens-tu?" ("where do you come from?"). "i come from toulouse," replies the man. "ah!" says the inquirer, "my wife's grandmother had a cousin who lived near toulouse." that is quite a sufficient basis for a friendship; the convalescent sits by the bedside of his new comrade, holding the man's hand whilst his wounds are being dressed, telling him he knows of the pain--that he, too, has suffered, and that soon all will be well. [illustration: menu, juillet] [illustration: note by general nivelle] lions to fight, ever ready to answer to the call of the defence of their country, yet these men of france are tender and gentle. in one hospital through which i passed there was a baby. it was a military hospital, and no civilian had any right there, but the medical officers who inspected the hospital were remarkably blind--none of them could ever see the baby. one of the soldiers passing through a bombarded village saw a little body lying in the mud, and although he believed the child to be dead, he stooped down and picked it up. at the evacuating station the baby and the soldier were sent to the hospital together; the doctors operated upon the baby and took a piece of shrapnel from its back, and once well and strong it constituted itself lord and master and king of all it surveyed. when it woke in the morning it would call "papa," and twenty fathers answered to its call. all the pent-up love of the men for their own little ones from whom they had been parted for so long they lavished on the tiny stranger, but all his affection and his whole heart belonged to the rough miner-soldier who had brought him in. as the shadows fell one saw the man walking up and down the ward with the child in his arms, crooning the marseillaise until the tired little eyes closed. he had obtained permission from the authorities to adopt the child, as the parents could not be found, and remarked humorously: "mademoiselle, it is so convenient to have a family without the trouble of being married!" what we must remember is that the rough soldier, himself blinded with blood and mud, uncertain whether he could ever reach a point of safety, yet had time to stoop and pick that little flower of france and save it from being crushed beneath the _camion_ wheels. i told general nivelle that the hospital staff intended to keep the child for the soldier until the end of the war, and we all hoped that he might grow up to the glory of france and to the eternal honour of the tender-hearted fighter who had rescued him. after lunch we stood for some time watching the unending stream of _camions_ proceeding into verdun. i believe it has been stated that on the average one passed through the village every fifteen seconds, and that there are something like twelve thousand motor vehicles used in the defence of verdun. the splendid condition of the roads and the absence of all confusion in the handling of this immense volume of traffic is a great tribute to the organising genius of the chiefs of the french army. we left general nivelle, as general pétain predicted we should find him--smiling. we slept that night at epernay, in the heart of the champagne district. the soil of france is doing its best to keep the vines in perfect condition and to provide a good vintage to be drunk later to celebrate the victory of france and her allies. the keeping of the roads in good condition is necessary for the rapid carrying out of operations on the front, and a "marmite" hole is promptly filled if by a lucky shot the german batteries happen to tear up the roadway. we were proceeding casually along one road when a young officer rode up to us and told us to put on speed because we were under fire from a german battery which daily landed one or two shells in that particular portion of the roadway. it is wonderful how obedient one becomes at times! we promptly proceeded to hasten! after visiting general debeney and obtaining from him the necessary authorisation and an officer-escort, we entered rheims. the cathedral is now the home of pigeons, and as they fly in and out of the blackened window-frames, small pieces of the stained glass tinkle down on to the floor. the custodian of the cathedral told us that during the night of terror the german wounded, lying in the cathedral, not realising the strength and beauty of the french character under adversity, feared, seeing the cathedral in flames, that the populace might wreak vengeance on them, and it was exceedingly difficult to get them to leave the cathedral. many of the prisoners fled into corners and hid, and some of them even penetrated into the palace of the archbishop, which was in flames. all the world knows and admires the bravery of the curé of the cathedral, m. landrieux, who took upon himself the defence of the prisoners, for fear insults might be hurled at them. he knowingly risked his life; but when, next day, some of his confrères endeavoured to praise him, he replied: "my friends, i never before realised how easy it is to die." one of the churches in the city was heavily draped in black, and i asked the sacristan if they had prepared for the funeral of a prominent citizen. he told me that they were that day bringing home the body of a young man of high birth of the neighbourhood, but that it was not for him that the church was decked in mourning. the draperies had hung there since august --"since every son of rheims who is brought home is as noble as the one who comes to-day, and alas! nearly every day brings us one of our children." we lunched in the hotel before the cathedral, where each shell-hole has an ordinary white label stuck beside it with the date. the landlord remarked: "if you sit here long enough, and have the good luck to be in some safe part of the building, you may be able to go and stick a label by a hole yourself." after lunch we went out to the château polignac. to a stranger it would appear to be almost entirely destroyed, but when m. de polignac visited it recently he simply remarked that it was "less spoilt than he had imagined." this was just one other example of the thousands one meets daily of the spirit of noble and peasant _de ne pas s'en faire_, but to keep only before them the one idea, victory for france, no matter what may be the cost. we went later to call on the "' ," _chez elle_. madame was in a particularly comfortable home which had been prepared for her and where she was safe from the inquisitive eyes of the taubes. the men of the battery were sitting round their guns, singing a somewhat lengthy ditty, each verse ending with a declamation and a description of the beauty of "la belle suzanne." i asked them to whom suzanne belonged and where the fair damsel resided. "oh," they replied, "we have no time to think of damsels called 'suzanne' now. this is our suzanne," and the speaker affectionately gave an extra rub with his coat-sleeve to the barrel of the "' ." by a wonderful system of trench work it is possible for the gunners, in case of necessity, to take refuge in the champagne-vaults in the surrounding district, and it is in the champagne-vaults that the children go daily to school, with their little gas-masks hanging in bags on their arms. it appears that at first the tiny ones were frightened of the masks, but they soon asked to be also given a sack, like their elders, and now one and all have learnt at the least alarm to put on their masks. there is no need to tell the children to hurry home. they realise that it is not wise to loiter in the streets for fear of the whistling shells. they are remarkably plucky, these small men and women of france. during one furious bombardment the children were safe in the vaults, but one small citizen began to cry bitterly. he was reproached by his comrades for cowardice, but he replied indignantly: "i fear nothing for myself--i am safe here; but there is no cellar to our house, and oh! what will happen to the little mother?" the teacher reassured him by telling him that his mother would certainly take refuge in somebody else's cellar. on leaving rheims we passed through various small hamlets where the houses had been entirely destroyed, and which now had the appearance of native villages, as the soldiers had managed to place thatched roofs on any building which had a semblance of walls standing. at villars côterets the garde champêtre sounded the "gare à vous!" four taubes were passing overhead, so we took refuge in the hotel for tea. the enemy did no damage in that particular village, but in the next village of crêpy-en-valois a bomb killed one child and injured five women. at his headquarters next morning i had the honour of being received by the generalissimo joffre, and telling him of the admiration and respect which we felt for him and for the magnificent fighting spirit of the troops under his able command. he replied modestly by speaking of the british army. he referred to the offensive on the somme, and said, "you may well be proud of your young soldiers--they are excellent soldiers, much superior to the germans in every way, a most admirable infantry; they attack the germans hand to hand with grenades or with the bayonet, and push them back everywhere; the germans have been absolutely _stupefied_ to find such troops before them." the general then paid a tribute to the canadian and australian troops, and told me that that day the australians had taken new territory, adding, "and not only have they taken it, but like their british and canadian brothers, what they take they will hold." i explained to general joffre that, whilst i was not collecting autographs, i had with me the menu of the dinner in the citadel at verdun, and that it would give me great pleasure to have his name added to the signatures already on that menu. all the signatures were on one side, so i turned the menu over in order to offer him a clear space, but he turned it back again, saying: "please let me sign on this side; i find myself in good company with the defenders of verdun." at departing he said to me: "we may all be happy now, since certainly we are on the right side of the hill" ("nous sommes sur la bonne pente"). in case this little story should fall into the hands of any woman who has spent her time working for the men at the front, i would like to tell her the great pleasure it is to them to receive parcels, no matter what they contain. fraternity and equality reign supreme in the trenches, and the man counts himself happy who receives a little more than the others, since he has the joy and the pleasure of sharing his store of good things with his comrades. there is seldom a request made to the french behind the lines that they do not attempt to fulfil. i remember last winter, passing through a town in the provinces, i noticed that the elderly men appeared to be scantily clad in spite of the bitterness of the weather. it appeared that the call had gone forth for fur coats for the troops, and all the worthy citizens of the town forwarded to the trenches their caracul coats. only those who are well acquainted with french provincial life can know what it means to them to part with these signs of opulence and commercial success. it is perhaps in the post-offices that you find yourself nearest to the heart of "france behind the lines." one morning i endeavoured to send a parcel to a french soldier; i took my place in a long line of waiting women bound on the same errand. a white-haired woman before me gave the post-office clerk infinite trouble. they are not renowned for their patience, and i marvelled at his gentleness, until he explained: "her son died five weeks ago, but she still continues to send him parcels." to another old lady he pointed out that she had written two numbers on the parcel. "you don't want two numbers, mother. which is your boy's number?--tell me, and i will strike out the other." "leave them both," she answered. "who knows whether my dear lad will be there to receive the parcel? if he is not, i want it to go to some other mother's son." affection means much to these men who are suffering, and they respond at once to any sympathy shown to them. one man informed us with pride that when he left his native village he was "decked like an altar of the blessed virgin on the first of may." in other words, covered with flowers. there are but few lonely soldiers now, since those who have no families to write to them receive letters and parcels from the godmothers who have adopted them. the men anxiously await the news of their adopted relatives, and spend hours writing replies. they love to receive letters, but needless to say a parcel is even more welcome. i remember seeing one man writing page after page. i suggested to him that he must have a particularly charming godmother. "mademoiselle," he replied, "i have no time for a godmother since i myself am a godfather." he then explained that far away in his village there was a young assistant in his shop, "and god knows the boy loves france, but both his lungs are touched, so they won't take him, but i write and tell him that the good god has given me strength for two, that i fight for him and for myself, and that we are both doing well for france." i went back in imagination to the village, i could see the glint in the boy's eyes, realised how the blood pulsed quicker through his veins at the sight of, not the personal pronoun "i" in the singular, but the plural "we are doing well for france": for one glorious moment he was part of the hosts of france and in spirit serving his motherland. it is that spirit of the french nation that their enemies will never understand. on one occasion a young german officer, covered with mud from head to foot, was brought before one of the french generals. he had been taken fighting cleanly, and the general was anxious to show him kindness. he asked him if he would not prefer to cleanse himself before examination. the young german drew himself up and replied: "look at me, general; i am covered from head to foot with mud, and that mud is the soil of france. you will never possess as much soil in germany." the general turned to him with that gentle courtesy which marks the higher commands in france, and answered: "monsieur, we may never possess as much soil in germany; but there is something that you will never possess, and, until you conquer it, you cannot vanquish france, and that is the spirit of the french people." the french find it difficult to understand the arrogance which appears ingrained in the german character, and which existed before the war. i read once that in the guest-book of a french hotel a teutonic visitor wrote: "l'allemagne est la première nation du monde." the next french visitor merely added: "yes, 'allemagne' is the first country of the world--if we take them in alphabetical order." * * * * * i left the war-zone with an increased respect, if this were possible, for the men of france. they have altered their uniforms, but the spirit is unchanged. they are no longer in the red and blue of the old days, but in shades of green, grey, and blue, colours blending to form one mighty ocean--wave on wave of patriotism--beating against and wearing down the rocks of military preparedness of forty years, and as no man has yet been able to say to the ocean "stop," so no man shall cry "halt" to the armies of france. i have spoken much of the men of france, but the women have also earned our respect--those splendid peasant-women who even in times of peace worked and now carry a double burden on their shoulders; the middle-class women, endeavouring to keep together the little business built up by the man with years of toil, stinting themselves to save five francs to send a parcel to the man at the front that he may not suspect that there is not still every comfort in the little homestead; the noble women of france, who in past years could not be seen before noon, since my lady was at her toilette, but who can be seen now, their hands scratched and bleeding, kneeling on the floors of the hospitals scrubbing, proud and happy to take their part in national service. the men owe much of their courage to the attitude of the women who stand behind them, turning their tears to smiles to urge their men to even greater deeds of heroism. in one of our hospitals was a young lad of seventeen, who had managed to enlist as an "engagé volontaire" by lying as to his age. his old mother came to visit him, and she told me he was the last of her three sons--the two elder ones had died the first week of the war at pont-mousson, and her little home had been burned to the ground. the boy had spent his time inventing new and terrible methods of dealing with the enemy, but with his mother he became a child again, and tenderly patted the old face. seeing the lad in his mother's arms, and forgetting for one moment the spirit of the french nation, i asked her if she would not be glad if her boy was so wounded that she might take him home. she was only an old peasant-woman, but her eyes flashed, her cheeks flushed with anger, and turning to me she said: "mademoiselle, how dare you say such a thing to me? if all the mothers, wives, and sweethearts thought as you, what would happen to the country? gustave has only one thing to do, get well quickly and fight for mother france." because these women of france have sent their men forth to die, eyes dry, with stiff lips and head erect, do not think that they do not mourn for them. when night casts her kindly mantle of darkness over all, when they are hidden from the eyes of the world, it is then that the proud heads droop and are bent upon their arms, as the women cry out in the bitterness of their souls for the men who have gone from them. yet they realise that behind them stands the greatest mother of all, mother france, who sees coming towards her, from all frontiers, line on line of ambulances with their burden of suffering humanity, yet watches along other routes her sons going forth in thousands, laughter in their eyes, songs on their lips, ready and willing to die for her. france draws around her her tattered and blood-stained robe, yet what matters the outer raiment? behind it shines forth her glorious, exultant soul, and she lifts up her head rejoicing and proclaims to the world that when she appealed, man, woman, and child--the whole of the french nation--answered to her call. * * * * * * transcriber's notes: ' was used for raised dots on all "' 's" page : closing quote added to poem. "...qui les occupe." page : period added to mme. page : "triaucourt" changed to "triancourt." page : changed debency to debeney. personal reminiscences of book making, by r.m. ballantyne ( - ). ________________________________________________________________________ he was educated at the edinburgh academy, and in he became a clerk with the hudson bay company, working at the red river settlement in northen canada until , arriving back in edinburgh in . the letters he had written home were very amusing in their description of backwoods life, and his family publishing connections suggested that he should construct a book based on these letters. three of his most enduring books were written over the next decade, "the young fur traders", "ungava", "the hudson bay company", and were based on his experiences with the h.b.c. in this period he also wrote "the coral island" and "martin rattler", both of these taking place in places never visited by ballantyne. having been chided for small mistakes he made in these books, he resolved always to visit the places he wrote about. with these books he became known as a great master of literature intended for teenagers. he researched the cornish mines, the london fire brigade, the postal service, the railways, the laying down of submarine telegraph cables, the construction of light-houses, the light-ship service, the life-boat service, south africa, norway, the north sea fishing fleet, ballooning, deep-sea diving, algiers, and many more, experiencing the lives of the men and women in these settings by living with them for weeks and months at a time, and he lived as they lived. he was a very true-to-life author, depicting the often squalid scenes he encountered with great care and attention to detail. his young readers looked forward eagerly to his next books, and through the s and s there was a flow of books from his pen, sometimes four in a year, all very good reading. the rate of production diminished in the last ten or fifteen years of his life, but the quality never failed. he published over ninety books under his own name, and a few books for very young children under the pseudonym "comus". for today's taste his books are perhaps a little too religious, and what we would nowadays call "pi". in part that was the way people wrote in those days, but more important was the fact that in his days at the red river settlement, in the wilds of canada, he had been a little dissolute, and he did not want his young readers to be unmindful of how they ought to behave, as he felt he had been. some of his books were quite short, little over pages. these books formed a series intended for the children of poorer parents, having less pocket-money. these books are particularly well-written and researched, because he wanted that readership to get the very best possible for their money. they were published as six series, three books in each series. in this book of personal reminiscences, the author, hearing in the distance the grim reaper, is at his most pi. the first few chapters describe the effort he had to make to gain the background information he needed to write the books, but suddenly he tells us that he doesn't feel at all well, that his time may well be near, and he fills out the book with half-a- dozen short stories, all very moralist, but still well up to his usual quality of output. re-created as an e-text by nick hodson, august . ________________________________________________________________________ personal reminiscences of book making, by r.m. ballantyne. chapter one. incidents in book making--introductory. book making is mixed up, more or less, with difficulties. it is sometimes disappointing; often amusing; occasionally lucrative; frequently expensive, and always interesting--at least to the maker. of course i do not refer to that sort of book making which is connected with the too prevalent and disgraceful practice of gambling, but to the making of literary books--especially story-books for the young. for over eight-and-thirty years i have had the pleasure of making such books and of gathering the material for them in many and distant lands. during that period a considerable number of the juvenile public have accepted me as one of their guides in the world of fiction, and through many scenes in the wildest and most out-of-the-way regions of our wonderful world. surely, then, it is not presumptuous in me to suppose--at least to hope--that a rambling account of some of the curious incidents which have occurred, now and then, in connection with my book making, will interest the young people of the present day. indeed i entertain a hope that some even of the old boys and girls who condescended to follow me in the days gone by may perchance derive some amusement, if not profit, from a perusal of these reminiscences. the shadows of life are lengthening, and, for me, that night, "in which no man can work," may not be far off. before it is too late, and while yet the flame of the lamp burns with sufficient clearness, i would fain have a personal chat with those for whom, by god's blessing, i have been permitted to cater so long. but fear not, dear reader, that i shall inflict on you a complete autobiography. it is only the great ones of the earth who are entitled to claim attention to the record of birth and parentage and school-days, etcetera. to trace my ancestry back through "the conquerors" to adam, would be presumptuous as well as impossible. nevertheless, for the sake of aspirants to literary fame, it may be worth while to tell here how one of the rank and file of the moderately successful brotherhood was led to authorship as a profession and how he followed it out. i say "led" advisedly, because i made no effort whatever to adopt this line of life, and never even dreamed of it as a possibility until i was over twenty-eight years of age. let me commence, then, by at once taking a header into the middle of that period when god--all unknown to, and unrecognised by, myself--was furnishing me with some of the material and weapons for the future battle of life. one day my dear father was reading in the newspapers some account of the discoveries of dease and simpson in the neighbourhood of the famous north-west passage. looking at me over his spectacles with the perplexed air of a man who has an idle son of sixteen to start in the race of life, he said-- "how would you like to go into the service of the hudson's bay company and discover the north-west passage?"--or words to that effect. "all right, father," said i--or something of that sort. i was at that age, and in that frame of mind, which regards difficulties with consummate presumption and profound inexperience. if the discovery of the north-pole had been suggested, or the south-pole, or any other terrestrial pole that happened to exist at the time, i was quite ready to "rush in" where even a franklin might "fear to tread!" this incident was but a slight one, yet it was the little hinge on which turned my future career. we had a relation--i won't say what, because distant relationships, especially if complicated, are utterly beyond my mental grasp--who was high up in the service of the hudson's bay fur company. through iain i became a clerk in the service with a salary of pounds for the first year. having been born without a silver spoon in my mouth, i regarded this as an adequate, though not a princely, provision. in due time i found myself in the heart of that vast north american wilderness which is variously known as rupert's land, the territories of the hudson's bay company, and the great nor'west, many hundreds of miles north of the outmost verge of canadian civilisation. i am not learned in the matter of statistics, but if a rough guess may be allowed, i should say that the population of some of the regions in which i and my few fellow-clerks vegetated might have been about fifty to the hundred square miles--with uninhabited regions around. of course we had no libraries, magazines, or newspapers out there. indeed we had almost no books at all, only a stray file or two of american newspapers, one of which made me acquainted with some of the works of dickens and of lever. while in those northern wilds i also met--as with dear old friends--some stray copies of _chambers's edinburgh journal_, and the _penny magazine_. we had a mail twice in the year--once by the hudson's bay ship in summer, and once through the trackless wilderness by sledge and snow-shoe in winter. it will easily be understood that surroundings of such a nature did not suggest or encourage a literary career. my comrades and i spent the greater part of our time in fur-trading with the red indians; doing a little office-work, and in much canoeing, boating, fishing, shooting, wishing, and skylarking. it was a "jolly" life, no doubt, while it lasted, but not elevating! we did not drink. happily there was nothing alcoholic to be had out there for love or money. but we smoked, more or less consumedly, morning, noon, and night. before breakfast the smoking began; after supper it went on; far into the night it continued. some of us even went to sleep with the pipes in our mouths and dropped them on our pillows. being of such an immature age, i laboured under the not uncommon delusion that to smoke looked manly, and therefore did my best to accommodate myself to my surroundings, but i failed signally, having been gifted with a blessed incapacity for tobacco-smoking. this afflicted me somewhat at the time, but ever since i have been unmistakably thankful. but this is wandering. to return. with a winter of eight months' duration and temperature sometimes at below zero of fahrenheit, little to do and nothing particular to think of, time occasionally hung heavy on our hands. with a view to lighten it a little, i began to write long and elaborate letters to a loving mother whom i had left behind me in scotland. the fact that these letters could be despatched only twice in the year was immaterial. whenever i felt a touch of home-sickness, and at frequent intervals, i got out my sheet of the largest-sized narrow-ruled imperial paper--i think it was called "imperial"--and entered into spiritual intercourse with "home." to this long-letter writing i attribute whatever small amount of facility in composition i may have acquired. yet not the faintest idea of story-writing crossed the clear sky of my unliterary imagination. i am not conscious of having had, at that time, a love for writing in any form--very much the reverse! of course i passed through a highly romantic period of life--most youths do so--and while in that condition i made a desperate attempt to tackle a poem. most youths do that also! the first two lines ran thus:-- "close by the shores of hudson's bay, where arctic winters--stern and grey--" i must have gloated long over this couplet, for it was indelibly stamped upon my memory, and is as fresh to-day as when the lines were penned. this my first literary effort was carried to somewhere about the middle of the first canto. it stuck there--i am thankful to say--and, like the smoking, never went further. rupert's land, at that time, was little known and very seldom visited by outsiders. during several years i wandered to and fro in it, meeting with a few savages, fewer white men--servants of the company--and becoming acquainted with modes of life and thought in what has been aptly styled "the great lone land." hearing so seldom from or of the outside world, things pertaining to it grew dim and shadowy, and began to lose interest. in these circumstances, if it had not been that i knew full well my mother's soul was ready to receive any amount of out-pourings of which i was capable, i should have almost forgotten how to use the pen. it was in circumstances such as i have described that i began my first book, but it was not a story-book, and i had no idea that it would ever become a printed book at all. it was merely a free-and-easy record of personal adventure and every-day life, written, like all else that i penned, solely for the uncritical eye of that long-suffering and too indulgent mother! i had reached the advanced age of twenty-two at the time, and had been sent to take charge of an outpost, on the uninhabited northern shores of the gulf of saint lawrence, named seven islands. it was a dreary, desolate, little-known spot, at that time. the gulf, just opposite the establishment, was about fifty miles broad. the ships which passed up and down it were invisible, not only on account of distance, but because of seven islands at the mouth of the bay coming between them and the outpost. my next neighbour, in command of a similar post up the gulf, was, if i remember rightly, about seventy miles distant. the nearest house down the gulf was about eighty miles off, and behind us lay the virgin forests, with swamps, lakes, prairies, and mountains, stretching away without break right across the continent to the pacific ocean. the outpost--which, in virtue of a ship's carronade and a flagstaff, was occasionally styled a "fort"--consisted of four wooden buildings. one of these--the largest, with a verandah--was the residency. there was an offshoot in rear which served as a kitchen. the other houses were a store for goods wherewith to carry on trade with the indians, a stable, and a workshop. the whole population of the establishment--indeed of the surrounding district--consisted of myself and one man--also a horse! the horse occupied the stable, i dwelt in the residency, the rest of the population lived in the kitchen. there were, indeed, other five men belonging to the establishment, but these did not affect its desolation, for they were away netting salmon at a river about twenty miles distant at the time i write of. my "friday"--who was a french-canadian--being cook, as well as man-of-all-work, found a little occupation in attending to the duties of his office, but the unfortunate governor had nothing whatever to do except await the arrival of indians, who were not due at that time. the horse was a bad one, without a saddle, and in possession of a pronounced backbone. my "friday" was not sociable. i had no books, no newspapers, no magazines or literature of any kind, no game to shoot, no boat wherewith to prosecute fishing in the bay, and no prospect of seeing any one to speak to for weeks, if not months, to come. but i had pen and ink, and, by great good fortune, was in possession of a blank paper book fully an inch thick. when, two or three years after, a printer-cousin, seeing the manuscript, offered to print it, and the well-known blackwood, of edinburgh, seeing the book, offered to publish it--and did publish it--my ambition was still so absolutely asleep that i did not again put pen to paper in _that_ way for eight years thereafter, although i might have been encouraged thereto by the fact that this first book--named _hudson's bay_--besides being a commercial success, received favourable notice from the press. it was not until the year that my literary path was opened up. at that time i was a partner in the late publishing firm of thomas constable and company of edinburgh. happening one day to meet with the late william nelson, publisher, i was asked by him how i should like the idea of taking to literature as a profession. my answer i forget. it must have been vague, for i had never thought of the subject at all. "well," said he, "what would you think of trying to write a story?" somewhat amused, i replied that i did not know what to think, but i would try if he wished me to do so. "do so," said he, "and go to work at once,"--or words to that effect. i went to work at once, and wrote my first story, or work of fiction. it was published in under the name of _snowflakes and sunbeams; or, the young fur-traders_. afterwards the first part of the title was dropped, and the book is now known as _the young fur-traders_. from that day to this i have lived by making story-books for young folk. from what i have said it will be seen that i have never aimed at the achieving of this position, and i hope that it is not presumptuous in me to think--and to derive much comfort from the thought--that god led me into the particular path along which i have walked for so many years. the scene of my first story was naturally laid in those backwoods with which i was familiar, and the story itself was founded on the adventures and experiences of my companions and myself. when a second book was required of me, i stuck to the same regions, but changed the locality. while casting about in my mind for a suitable subject, i happened to meet with an old, retired "nor'wester" who had spent an adventurous life in rupert's land. among other duties he had been sent to establish an outpost of the hudson's bay company at ungava bay, one of the most dreary parts of a desolate region. on hearing what i wanted, he sat down and wrote a long narrative of his proceedings there, which he placed at my disposal, and thus furnished me with the foundation of _ungava, a tale of eskimo-land_. but now i had reached the end of my tether, and when a third story was wanted i was compelled to seek new fields of adventure in the books of travellers. regarding the southern seas as the most romantic part of the world--after the backwoods!--i mentally and spiritually plunged into those warm waters, and the dive resulted in _the coral island_. it now began to be borne in upon me that there was something not quite satisfactory in describing, expatiating on, and energising in, regions which one has never seen. for one thing, it was needful to be always carefully on the watch to avoid falling into mistakes geographical, topographical, natural-historical, and otherwise. for instance, despite the utmost care of which i was capable, while studying up for _the coral island_, i fell into a blunder through ignorance in regard to a familiar fruit. i was under the impression that cocoa-nuts grew on their trees in the same form as that in which they are usually presented to us in grocers' windows--namely, about the size of a large fist with three spots, suggestive of a monkey's face, at one end. learning from trustworthy books that at a certain stage of development the nut contains a delicious beverage like lemonade, i sent one of my heroes up a tree for a nut, through the shell of which he bored a hole with a penknife and drank the "lemonade"! it was not till long after the story was published that my own brother--who had voyaged in southern seas--wrote to draw my attention to the fact that the cocoa-nut is nearly as large as a man's head, and its outer husk over an inch thick, so that no ordinary penknife could bore to its interior! of course i should have known this, and, perhaps, should be ashamed of my ignorance--but, somehow, i'm not! i admit that this was a slip, but such, and other slips, hardly justify the remark that some people have not hesitated to make, namely, that i have a tendency to draw the long bow. i feel almost sensitive on this point, for i have always laboured to be true to fact, and to nature, even in my wildest flights of fancy. this reminds me of the remark made to myself once by a lady in reference to this same _coral island_. "there is one thing, mr ballantyne," she said, "which i really find it hard to believe. you make one of your three boys dive into a clear pool, go to the bottom, and then, turning on his back, look up and wink and laugh at the other two." "no, no, peterkin did not `_laugh_,'" said i remonstratively. "well, then, you make him smile." "ah, that is true, but there is a vast difference between laughing and smiling under water. but is it not singular that you should doubt the only incident in the story which i personally verified? i happened to be in lodgings at the seaside while writing that story, and, after penning the passage you refer to, i went down to the shore, pulled off my clothes, dived to the bottom, turned on my back, and, looking up, i smiled and winked." the lady laughed, but i have never been quite sure, from the tone of that laugh, whether it was a laugh of conviction or of unbelief. it is not improbable that my fair friend's mental constitution may have been somewhat similar to that of the old woman who declined to believe her sailor-grandson when he told her he had seen flying-fish, but at once recognised his veracity when he said he had seen the remains of pharaoh's chariot-wheels on the shores of the red sea. recognising, then, the difficulties of my position, i formed the resolution always to visit--when possible--the scenes in which my stories were laid, converse with the people who, under modification, were to form the _dramatis personae_ of the tales, and, generally, to obtain information in each case, as far as lay in my power, from the fountain-head. thus, when about to begin _the lifeboat_, i went to ramsgate, and, for some time, was hand and glove with jarman, the heroic coxswain of the ramsgate boat, a lion-like as well as lion-hearted man, who rescued hundreds of lives from the fatal goodwin sands during his career. in like manner, when getting up information for _the lighthouse_, i obtained permission from the commissioners of northern lights to visit the bell rock lighthouse, where i hobnobbed with the three keepers of that celebrated pillar-in-the-sea for three weeks, and read stevenson's graphic account of the building of the structure in the library, or visitor's room, just under the lantern. i was absolutely a prisoner there during those three weeks, for boats seldom visited the rock, and it need scarcely be said that ships kept well out of our way. by good fortune there came on a pretty stiff gale at the time, and stevenson's thrilling narrative was read to the tune of whistling winds and roaring seas, many of which sent the spray right up to the lantern and caused the building, more than once, to quiver to its foundation. in order to do justice to _fighting the flames_ i careered through the streets of london on fire-engines, clad in a pea-jacket and a black leather helmet of the salvage corps;--this, to enable me to pass the cordon of police without question--though not without recognition, as was made apparent to me on one occasion at a fire by a fireman whispering confidentially, "i know what _you_ are, sir, you're a hamitoor!" "right you are," said i, and moved away in order to change the subject. it was a glorious experience, by the way, this galloping on fire-engines through the crowded streets. it had in it much of the excitement of the chase--possibly that of war--with the noble end in view of saving, instead of destroying, life! such tearing along at headlong speed; such wild roaring of the firemen to clear the way; such frantic dashing aside of cabs, carts, 'buses, and pedestrians; such reckless courage on the part of the men, and volcanic spoutings on the part of the fires! but i must not linger. the memory of it is too enticing. _deep down_ took me to cornwall, where, over two hundred fathoms beneath the green turf, and more than half-a-mile out under the bed of the sea, i saw the sturdy miners at work winning copper and tin from the solid rock, and acquired some knowledge of their life, sufferings, and toils. in the land of the vikings i shot ptarmigan, caught salmon, and gathered material for _erling the bold_. a winter in algiers made me familiar with the _pirate city_. i enjoyed a fortnight with the hearty inhabitants of the gull lightship off the goodwin sands, from which resulted _the floating light_; and went to the cape of good hope, and up into the interior of the colony, to spy out the land and hold intercourse with _the settler and the savage_--although i am bound to confess that, with regard to the latter, i talked to him only with mine eyes. i also went afloat for a short time with the fishermen of the north sea, in order to be able to do justice to _the young trawler_. to arrive still closer at the truth, and to avoid errors, i have always endeavoured to submit my proof-sheets, when possible, to experts and men who knew the subject well. thus, captain shaw, late chief of the london fire brigade, kindly read the proofs of _fighting the flames_, and prevented my getting off the rails in matters of detail, and sir arthur blackwood, financial secretary to the general post office, obligingly did me the same favour in regard to _post haste_. in conclusion, there are some things that i shrink from flaunting in the eyes of the public. personal religion is one of these. nevertheless, there are a few words which i feel constrained to write before closing this chapter. during all the six years that i spent in rupert's land i was "without god." he was around me and within me, guarding me, bestowing upon me the physical and mental health by which alone i could fully enjoy a life in the wilderness, and furnishing me with much of the material that was to serve as my stock-in-trade during my subsequent career; yet--i confess it with shame--i did not recognise or think of, or care for, him. it was not until after i had returned home that he opened my eyes to see myself a lost soul, and jesus christ--"god with us"--an all-sufficient redeemer, able and willing to save me from sin, as he is to save all sinners--even the chief. more than this i will not say. less i could not say, without being unfaithful to my creator. chapter two. life in the bell rock lighthouse. one of my most interesting experiences in hunting up materials for books was at the bell rock lighthouse; interesting because of the novelty of the situation, the pleasant intercourse with the keepers, and the grandeur of the subjects brought under my observation. the lighthouses of this kingdom present, in their construction, a remarkable evidence of the capacity of man to overcome almost insurmountable difficulties, and his marvellous power of adapting means to ends. they also stand forth as a grand army of sentinels, who, with unobtrusive regularity, open their brilliant eyes on the great deep, night after night--from year to year--from age to age, and gaze-- argus-like--all around our shores, to guard our shipping from the dangers of the sea, perhaps i should rather say from the dangers of the coast, for it must be well-known to most people that the sailor regards "blue water" as his safe and native home, and that it is only when he enters the green and shallow waters of the coast that a measure of anxiety overclouds his free-and-easy spirit. it is when he draws near to port that the chief dangers of his career surround him, and it is then that the lighthouse is watched for anxiously, and hailed with satisfaction. these observations scarce need confirmatory proof. of all the vessels, great and small, that annually seek and leave our ports, a large proportion meet their doom, and, despite all our lighthouses, beacons, and buoys, lay their timbers and cargoes in fragments, on our shores. this is a significant fact, for if those lost ships be--as they are--a mere fraction of our commerce, how great must be the fleet, how vast the wealth, that our lighthouses guide safely into port every year? if all our coast-lights were to be extinguished for only a single night, the loss of property and life would be terrible beyond conception. but such an event can never happen, for our coast-lights arise each evening at sunset with the regularity of the sun himself. like the stars, they burst out when darkness begins to brood upon land and sea like them, too, their action and aspect are varied. some, at great heights, in exposed places, blaze bright and steady like stars of the first magnitude. others, in the form of revolving lights, twinkle like the lesser stars--now veiling, now flashing forth their beams. one set of lights shine ruby-red like mars; another set are white, like venus; while those on our pier-heads and at our harbour mouths are green; and, in one or two instances, if not more, they shine, (by means of reflecting prisms), with borrowed light like the moon; but all-- whether revolving or fixed, large or small, red or white or green--beam forth, like good angels, offering welcome and guidance to the mariner approaching from beyond seas; with god-like impartiality shedding their radiance on friend and foe, and encircling--as with a chaplet of living diamonds, rubies, and emeralds--our highly favoured little islands of the sea. lighthouses may be divided into _two_ classes, namely, those which stand on cliffs, and elsewhere, somewhat above the influence of the waves, and those built on outlying rocks which are barely visible at high tide, or invisible altogether except at low-water. the north and south foreland lights in kent, the girdleness in aberdeenshire, and inchkeith in the forth, are examples of the former. the eddystone, bell rock, and skerryvore, are well-known examples of the latter, also the wolf rock off the land's end. in one of the latter--namely the bell rock--i obtained permission, a good many years ago, from the commissioners of northern lights, to spend a fortnight for literary purposes--to be imprisoned, in fact, for that period. this lighthouse combines within itself more or less of the elements of all lighthouses. the principles on which it was built are much the same with those of skerryvore. it is founded on a tidal rock, is exposed to the full "fetch" and fury of an open sea, and it has stood for the greater part of a century exposed to inconceivable and constantly recurring violence of wind and wave--not, indeed, unshaken, but altogether undamaged. the bell rock lies on the east of scotland, off the mouths of the forth and tay, miles from the forfarshire coast, which is the nearest land. its foundation is always under water except for an hour or two at low-tide. at high tides there are about or feet of water above the highest ledge of the bell rock, which consists of a series of sandstone ridges. these, at ordinary low-tides, are uncovered to the extent of between and yards. at neap tides the rock shows only a few black teeth with sea-weed gums above the surface. there is a boat which attends upon this lighthouse. on the occasion of my visit i left arbroath in it one morning before daybreak and reached the rock about dawn. we cast anchor on arriving--not being able to land, for as yet there _was_ no land! the lighthouse rose out of the sea like a bulrush out of a pond! no foundation rock was visible, and the water played about the tower in a fashion that would have knocked our boat to pieces had we ventured to approach the entrance-door. in a short time the crest of the rock began to show above the foam. there was little or no wind, but the ordinary swell of the calm ocean rolled in upon these rocks, and burst upon them in such a way that the tower seemed to rise out of a caldron of boiling milk. at last we saw the three keepers moving amid the surges. they walked on an iron platform, which, being light and open, and only a few feet above the waves, was nearly invisible. when the tide was near its lowest ebb, so that there was a piece of smooth water under the lee of the rock, we hoisted out our little "twin" boat. this was a curious contrivance, being simply a small boat cut across amidships, so as to form two parts which fitted into each other like saucers, and were thus rendered small enough to be easily carried in the larger boat. when about to be used, the twins are put into the water and their sterns brought together and screwed tight. thus one little boat, sharp at each end, is formed. embarking in this we rowed between tangle-covered ridges up to the wrought-iron landing-place. the keepers looked surprised as we drew near. it was evident that visitors were not "common objects of the shore" out there! there were three keepers. one, the chief, was very tall, dark, and thin; of grave temperament and sedate mien. another was a florid, hearty young fellow, full of fire and energy. the third was a stout, short, thick-set man, with placidity and good-humour enthroned on his fat countenance. he was a first-rate man. i shall call him stout; his comrade, young. the chief may appropriately be named long. there was no time for more than a hurried introduction at first, for the fresh water-casks and fortnightly allowance of fresh provisions had to be hoisted into the tower, the empty casks got out, and the boat reloaded and despatched, before the tide--already rising--should transform the little harbour into a wild whirlpool. in little more than an hour the boat was gone, and i proceeded to make myself at home with my new friends. probably every one knows that the bell rock is the inch cape rock, immortalised by southey in his poem of "sir ralph the rover," in which he tells how that, in the olden time-- "the abbot of aberbrothock had placed a bell on the inch cape rock. on a buoy in the storm it floated and swung and over the waves its warning rung." a pirate named "sir ralph the rover" came there one day and cut away the bell in a wicked frolic. long years after, returning with a rich cargo of ill-gotten wealth, retributive justice overtook sir ralph, caused his vessel to strike on the inch cape rock--for want of the warning bell which he had cut away--and sent him and his belongings to the bottom. whether this legend be true or not, there is no doubt that the rock had been so dangerous to shipping, that seamen often avoided the firths of forth and tay in bad weather for fear of it, and many captains, in their anxiety to keep clear of it, ran their vessels in the neighbouring coasts and perished. another proof that numerous wrecks took place there lay in the fact that the fishermen were wont to visit the rock after every gale, for the purpose of gathering wreckage. it was resolved, therefore, about the beginning of this century, to erect a lighthouse on the inchcape rock, and to mr robert stevenson, engineer at that time to the board of northern lights, was assigned the task of building it. he began the work in august , and finished it in february . i began my sojourn in the bell rock lighthouse with breakfast. on ascending to the kitchen i found stout preparing it. mr long, the chief, offered, with delicate hospitality, to carry my meals up to the library, so that i might feast in dignified solitude, but i declined the honour, preferring to fraternise with the men in the kitchen. breakfast over, they showed me through the tower--pointed out and explained everything--especially the lantern and the library--in which last i afterwards read mr stevenson's interesting volume on the building of the bell rock; a book which has been most appropriately styled the _robinson crusoe_ of engineering literature. on returning to the entrance-door, i found that there was now _no land_! the tide had risen. the lighthouse was a mere pillar in the sea. "water, water everywhere"--nothing else visible save the distant coast of forfarshire like a faint blue line on the horizon. but in the evening the tide again fell, and, the moment the rock was uncovered, we descended. then mr long showed me the various points of interest about the rock, and stout volunteered anecdotes connected with these, and young corroborated and expounded everything with intense enthusiasm. evidently young rejoiced in the rare opportunity my visit afforded him of breaking the monotony of life on the bell rock. he was like a caged bird, and on one occasion expressed his sentiments very forcibly by saying to me, "oh, sir, i sometimes wish i could jump up and never come doon!" as for long and stout, they had got used to lighthouses and monotony. the placid countenance of each was a sure index of the profound tranquillity within! small though it was, the rock was a very world in itself to the residents--crowded with "ports," and "wharves" and "ledges," which had reference to the building-time. there were "sir ralph the rover's ledge," and "the abbot's ledge," and "the engineer's ledge," and "cunningham's ledge," and "the smith's ledge," etcetera. then there were "port stevenson," and "port boyle," and "port hamilton," and many others--each port being a mere hole capable of holding a boat or two. besides which there were "tracks," leading to these ports--such as "wilson's track," and "macurich's track," and "gloag's track." and then there were "hope's wharf," and "rae's wharf," and "watt's reach," and "scoresby point," while, among numerous outlying groups of rocklets, there were the "royal burghs," the "crown lawyers," and the "maritime sheriffs"--each and all teeming with interesting associations to those who know the story of the rock,--_all_ comprehended within an area of a few hundred yards--the whole affair being wiped entirely and regularly off the face of nature by every rising tide. close beside rae's wharf, on which we stood, mr long showed me the holes in which had been fixed the ends of the great beams of the beacon. the beacon was a point of considerable interest to me. if you had seen the rock as i saw it, reader, in a storm, with the water boiling all over and round it for more than a mile, like seething milk--and if you had reflected that the _first_ beacon built there was carried away in a gale, you would have entertained very exalted ideas of the courage of the men who built the bell rock lighthouse. while the tower was building, mr stevenson and his men were exposed for many days and nights in this beacon--this erection of timber-beams, with a mere pigeon-house on the top of it for a dwelling. before the beacon was built, the men lived in the _pharos_ floating light; a vessel which was moored not far from the rock. every day--weather permitting--they rowed to the rock, landed, and worked for _one, two_, or _three_ hours, when they were drowned out, so to speak, and obliged to return to their floating home. sometimes the landing was easy. more frequently it was difficult. occasionally it was impossible. when a landing was accomplished, they used to set to work without delay. there was no time to lose. some bored holes in the rock for hold-fasts; others, with pick and chisel, cut out the foundation-pit. then the courses began to be laid. on each occasion of landing the smith had to set up his bellows, light his fire, and work in hot haste; because his whole shop, except the anvil, had to be taken down, and carried away every tide! frequently, in fine weather, this enterprising son of vulcan might have been seen toiling with his head enveloped in volumes of smoke and sparks, and his feet in the water, which gradually rose to his ankles and knees until, with a sudden "hiss," it extinguished his fire and ended his labours for the day. then he was forced to pack up his bellows and tools, and decamp with the rest of the men. sometimes they wrought in calm, sometimes in storm; always, more or less, in water. three hours was considered a fair day's work. when they had the good fortune to work "double tides" in a day, they made five, or five-and-a-half, hours; but this was of rare occurrence. "you see that mark there, sir, on smith's ledge?" said mr long to me one day, "that was the place where the forge stood; and the ledge beyond, with the old bit of iron on it, is the `_last hope_,' where mr stevenson and his men were so nearly lost." then he went on to tell me the following incident, as illustrating one of the many narrow escapes made by the builders. one day, soon after the men had commenced work, it began to blow hard, and the crew of the boat belonging to the attending vessel, named the "smeaton," fearing that her moorings might be insufficient, went off to examine them. this was wrong. the workmen on the rock were sufficiently numerous to completely fill three boats. for one of these to leave the rock was to run a great risk, as the event proved. almost as soon as they reached the "smeaton," her cables parted and she went adrift, carrying the boat with her away to leeward, and although sail was instantly made, they found it impossible to regain the rock against wind and tide. mr stevenson observed this with the deepest anxiety, but the men, (busy as bees about the rock), were not aware of it at first. the situation was terrible. there were thirty-two men left on a rock which would in a short time be overflowed to a depth of twelve or fifteen feet by a stormy sea, and only two boats in which to remove them. these two boats, if loaded to the gunwales, could have held only a few more than the half of them. while the sound of the numerous hammers and the ring of the anvil were heard, the situation did not appear so hopeless; but soon the men at the lowest part of the foundation were driven from work by the rising tide; then the forge-fire was extinguished, and the men generally began to make towards their respective boats for their jackets and dry socks. when it was discovered that one of the three boats was gone not a word was uttered, but the men looked at each other in evident perplexity. they seemed to realise their position at once. in a few minutes some of that band must inevitably be left to perish, for the absent boat and vessel were seen drifting farther and farther away to leeward. mr stevenson knew that in such a case, where life and death were in the balance, a desperate struggle among the men for precedence would be certain. indeed he afterwards learned that the pickmen had resolved to stick by their boat against all hazards. while they were thus gazing in silence at each other and at the distant vessel, their enterprising leader had been casting about in his mind as to the best method of at least attempting the deliverance of his men, and he finally turned round to propose, as a forlorn hope, that all hands should strip off their upper clothing, that every unnecessary article should be removed from the boats, that a specified number should get into each, and that the remainder should hang on by the gunwales, and thus be dragged through the water while they were rowed cautiously towards the "smeaton"! but when he tried to speak his mouth was so parched that his tongue refused utterance! and then he discovered, (as he says himself), "that saliva is as necessary to speech as the tongue itself!" turning to a pool, he moistened his lips with sea-water, and found immediate relief. he was again about to speak when some one shouted "a boat! a boat!" and, sure enough, a large boat was seen through the haze making towards the rock. this timely visitor was james spink, the bell rock pilot, who had come off express from arbroath with letters. his visit was altogether an unusual one, and his truly providential appearance unquestionably prevented loss of life on that critical occasion. this is one specimen--selected from innumerable instances of danger and risk--which may give one some idea of what is encountered by those who build such lighthouses as the bell rock. our rambles on the rock were necessarily of short duration. we used to stand in the doorway watching the retreating waves, and, the moment the rails were uncovered, we hurried down the ladder--all of us bent on getting as much exercise as possible on land! we marched in single file, up and down the narrow rails, until the rock was uncovered--then we rambled over the slippery ledges. sometimes we had one hour--sometimes two, or even three hours, according to the state of the tides. then the returning waves drove us gradually from the rocks to the rails, from the rails to the ladder--and so back into the lighthouse. among other things that impressed me deeply was the grandeur of the waves at the bell rock. one enjoys an opportunity there of studying the form and colour of ocean billows which cannot be obtained on any ordinary shore, because, the water being deep alongside the rock, these waves come up to it in all their unbroken magnificence. i tried to paint them, but found it difficult, owing to the fact that, like refractory children, they would not stand still to be painted! it was not only in stormy weather that these waves arose. i have seen them during a dead calm, when the sea was like undulating glass. no doubt the cause of them was a gale in some distant part of the sea--inducing a heavy ground-swell; but, be the cause what it might, these majestic rollers often came in without a breath of air to help them, and with the sun glittering on their light-green crystal sides. their advance seemed slow and solemn amid the deep silence, which made them all the more impressive. the rise of each wave was so gradual that you could not tell where it began in the distant sea. as it drew near, it took definite form and swelled upwards, and at last came on like a wall of glass--probably ten or twelve feet high--so high, at all events, that i felt as if looking up at it from my position on the low rock. when close at hand its green edge lipped over and became fringed with white--then it bent forward with a profound obeisance to the bell rock and broke the silence with a grand reverberating roar, as it fell in a ruin of foam and rushed up to my very feet! when those waves began to paint the canvas with their own spray and change the oil into a water-colour, i was constrained to retire to the lighthouse, where mr long, (a deeply interested student), watched me as i continued my studies from the doorway. mr long had an inquiring mind and closely observed all that went on around him. among other things, he introduced me to a friend of his, a species of fish which he called a "_paddle_." stout called it a sucker, in virtue of an arrangement on its breast whereby it could fasten itself to a rock and hold on. this fish dwelt in port hamilton, near sir ralph the rover's ledge, and could be visited at low-tide. he happened to be engaged at that time in watching his wife's spawn, and could not be induced to let go his hold of the rock on any account! mr long pulled at him pretty forcibly once or twice, but with no effect, and the fish did not seem in the least alarmed! while mr paddle did duty in the nursery, mrs paddle roamed the sea at large. apparently women's rights have made some progress in that quarter! it was supposed by stout that she took the night-watches. mr young inclined to the opinion that she attended to the commissariat--was out marketing in fact, and brought food to her husband. all that i can say on the matter is, that i visited the family frequently, and always saw the father "on duty," but only once found mrs paddle at home! the tameness of this kind of fish is very remarkable. one day i saw a large one in a pool which actually allowed me to put my hand under him and lift him gently out! suddenly it occurred to me that i might paint him! the palette chanced to be at hand, so i began at once. in about two minutes the paddle gave a flop of discomfort as he lay on the rock; i therefore put him into a small pool for a minute or so to let him, breathe, then took him out and had a second sitting, after which he had another rest and a little refreshment in the pool. thus in about ten minutes, i had his portrait, and put him back into his native element. i am inclined to think that this is the only fish in the sea that has had his portrait taken and returned to tell the tale to his admiring, perhaps unbelieving, friends! of course one of the most interesting points in the lighthouse was the lantern. i frequently sat in it at night with the man on duty, who expounded the lighting apparatus to me, or "spun yarns." the fifth day of my sojourn on the bell rock was marked by an event of great interest,--the arrival of a fishing-boat with letters and newspapers. i had begun by that time to feel some degree of longing to hear something about the outer world, though i had not felt lonely by any means--my companions were too pleasant to admit of that. our little world contained a large amount of talent! mr long had a magnificent bass voice and made good use of it. then, young played the violin, (not so badly), and sang tenor--not quite so well; besides which he played the accordion. his instrument, however, was not perfect. one of the bass notes would not sound, and one of the treble notes could not by any means be silenced! between the two, some damage was done to the harmony; but we were not particular. as to stout--he could neither sing nor play, but he was a _splendid_ listener! and the sight of his good-humoured face, smiling through clouds of tobacco smoke as he sat by the kitchen fire, was of itself sufficient to encourage us. but stout could do more than listen and admire. he was cook to the establishment during my visit. the men took this duty by turns--each for a fortnight--and stout excelled the others. it was he who knew how to extract sweet music from the tea-kettle and the frying-pan! but stout's forte was buttered toast! he was quite an adept at the formation of this luxury. if i remember rightly, it was an entire loaf that stout cut up and toasted each morning for breakfast. he knew nothing of delicate treatment. every slice was an inch thick at the least! it was quite a study to see him go to work. he never sawed with the knife. having a powerful hand and arm, one sweep of the blade sufficed for one slice, and he cut up the whole loaf before beginning to toast. then, he always had the fire well prepared. you never saw alternate stripes of black and white on stout's toast; and he laid on the butter as he might have laid tar on the side of a ship, thick and heavy. he never scraped it off one part to put it on another--and he never picked the lumps out of the holes. truly, stout was quite a genius in this matter. the fisherman who brought off our letters could not have landed if the weather had not been fine. poor fellow! after i left, he lost his boat in consequence of being on too familiar terms with the bell rock. he was in the habit of fishing near the rock, and occasionally ran in at low-water to smoke a pipe with the keepers. one morning he stayed too long. the large green billows which had been falling with solemn boom on the outlying rocks began to lip over into the pool where his boat lay--port stevenson. embarking in haste with his comrade he pushed off. just then there came a tremendous wave, the crest of which toppled over smith's ledge, fell into the boat, and sank it like a stone. the men were saved by the keepers, but their boat was totally destroyed. they never saw a fragment of it again. what a commentary this was on the innumerable wrecks that have taken place on the inch cape rock in days gone by! sometimes, on a dark stormy night, i used to try to realise something of this. turning my back on the lighthouse i tried to forget it, and imagine what must have been the feelings of those who had actually stood there and been driven inch by inch to the higher ledges, with the certain knowledge that their doom was fixed, and without the comfort and assurance that, behind them, stood a strong tower of refuge from the storm! i was fortunate, during my stay, in having experience of every variety of weather--from a dead calm to a regular gale. it was towards the end of my visit that the gale came on, and it lasted two days. no language can convey an adequate idea of the sublimity of the scene and the sense of power in the seething waves that waged furious war over the rock during the height of that gale. the spray rose above the kitchen windows, ( feet on the tower), in such solid masses as to darken the room in passing, and twice during the storm we were struck by waves with such force as to shake the tower to its foundation. this storm delayed the "relief boat" a day. next day, however, it succeeded in getting alongside--and at length, after a most agreeable and interesting sojourn of two weeks, i parted from the hospitable keepers with sincere regret and bade adieu to a lighthouse which is not only a monument of engineering skill, but a source of safety to the shipping, and of confidence to the mariners frequenting these waters. in former days men shunned the dreaded neighbourhood of the inch cape rock with anxious care. now, they look out for that:-- "ruddy gem of changeful light bound on the dusky brow of night,--" and _make for it_ with perfect safety. in time past human lives, and noble ships, and costly merchandise were lost on the bell rock every year. now, disaster to shipping there is not even dreamed of; and one of the most notable proofs of the value of the lighthouse, (and, indirectly, of all other lighthouses), lies in the fact, that not a single wreck has occurred on the bell rock since that auspicious evening in when the sturdy pillar opened its eyes for the first time, and threw its bright beams far and wide over the north sea. chapter three. nights with the fire brigade. there are few lives, we should think, more trying or more full of curious adventure and thrilling incident than that of a london fireman. he must always be on the alert. no hour of the day or night can he ever count on as being his own, unless on those occasions when he obtains leave of absence, which i suppose are not frequent. if he does not absolutely sleep in his clothes, he sleeps beside them--arranged in such a way that he can jump into them at a moment's notice. when the summons comes there must be no preliminary yawning; no soft transition from the land of dreams to the world of reality. he jumps into his boots which stand invitingly ready, pulls on his trousers, buttons his braces while descending to the street, and must be brass-helmeted on the engine and away like a fiery dragon-gone-mad within three minutes of "the call," or thereabouts, if he is to escape a fine. moreover, the london fireman must be prepared to face death at any moment. when the call comes he never knows whether he is turning out to something not much more serious than "a chimney," or to one of those devastating conflagrations on the river-side in which many thousand pounds worth of property are swept away, and his life may go along with them. far more frequently than the soldier or sailor is he liable to be ordered on a duty which shall turn out to be a forlorn hope, and not less pluckily does he obey. there is no respite for him. the field which the london brigade covers is so vast that the liability to be sent into action is continuous-- chiefly, of course, at night. at one moment he may be calmly polishing up the "brasses" of his engine, or skylarking with his comrades, or sedately reading a book, or snoozing in bed, and the next he may be battling fiercely with the flames. unlike the lifeboat heroes, who may sleep when the world of waters is calm, he must be ever on the watch; for his enemy is a lurking foe--like the red indian who pounces on you when you least expect him, and does not utter his warwhoop until he deems his victory secure. the little spark smoulders while the fireman on guard, booted and belted, keeps watch at his station. it creeps while he waits, and not until its energies have gained considerable force does it burst forth with a grand roar and bid him fierce defiance. even when conquered in one quarter it often leaps up in another, so that the fireman sometimes returns from the field twice or thrice in the same night to find that the enemy is in force elsewhere and that the fight must be resumed. in the spring of i went to london to gather material for my book _fighting the flames_, and was kindly permitted by captain shaw--then chief of the fire brigade--to spend a couple of weeks at one of the principal west-end stations, and accompany the men to fires. my first experience was somewhat stirring. my plan was to go to the station late in the evening and remain up all night with the men on guard waiting for fires. one day, in the afternoon, when it was growing dusk, and before i had made my first visit to the station, a broad-shouldered jovial-looking fellow in blue coat, belted, and with a sailor's cap, called on me and asked if i should like to "see a 'ouse as 'ad bin blowed up with gas." of course i was only too glad to follow him. he conducted me to an elegant mansion in bayswater, and chatted pleasantly as we went along in somewhat nautical tones, for he had been a man-of-war's man. his name was flaxmore. i may remark here that the men of the london brigade were, and still are, i believe, chosen from among seamen. "you see, sir," said flaxmore, in explanation of this fact, "sailors are found to be most suitable for the brigade because they're accustomed to strict discipline,--to turn out suddenly at all hours, in all weathers, and to climbing in dangerous circumstances." arrived at the mansion, we found that the outside looked all right except that most of the windows were broken. the interior, however, presented a sad and curious appearance. the house had been recently done up in the most expensive style, and its gilded cornices, painted pilasters and other ornaments, with the lath and plaster of walls and ceilings had been blown into the rooms in dire confusion. "bin a pretty considerable smash here, sir," said flaxmore, with a genial smile on his broad countenance. i admitted the fact, and asked how it happened. "well, sir, you see," said he, "there was an 'orrid smell of gas in the 'ouse, an' the missus she sent for a gas man to find out where it was, and, _would_ _you believe it_, sir, they went to look for it _with a candle_! sure enough they found it too, in a small cupboard. the gas had been escapin', it had, but couldn't git out o' that there cupboard, 'cause the door was a tight fit, so it had made its way all over the 'ouse between the lath and plaster and the walls. as soon as ever it caught light, sir, it blowed the whole place into smash--as you see. it blowed the gas man flat on his back; (an' sarved him right!) it blowed the missus through the doorway, an' it blowed the cook--(as was on the landin' outside)--right down the kitchen stairs, it did;--but there was none of 'em much hurt, sir, they wasn't, beyond a bruise or two!" after examining this house, flaxmore proposed that i should go and see his engine. he was proud of his engine, evidently, and spoke of it as a man might speak of his wife! on our way to the station the driver of a passing 'bus called out-- "fireman, there's a fire in new bond street." one word flaxmore exchanged with the driver, and then, turning to me, said, "come on, sir, i'll give you a ride!" off we went at a run, and burst into the station. "get her out, jim," cried flaxmore, (_her_ being the engine). jim, the man on duty, put on his helmet without saying a word, and hauled out the fire-engine, while a comrade ran for the horses, and another called up the men. in five minutes more i was seated beside seven men in blue uniforms and brass helmets, dashing through the streets of london at full gallop! now, those who have never seen a london fire-engine go to a fire have no conception of what it is--much less have they any conception of what it is to ride on the engine! to those accustomed to it, no doubt, it may be tame enough--i cannot tell; but to those who mount an engine for the first time and dash through the crowded thoroughfares at a wild tearing gallop; it is probably the most exciting drive conceivable. it beats steeplechasing! it feels like driving to destruction--so desperate and reckless is it. and yet, it is not reckless in the strict sense of that word; for there is a stern need-be in the case. every moment, (not to mention minutes or hours), is of the utmost importance in the progress of a fire, for when it gets the mastery and bursts into flames it flashes to its work, and completes it quickly. at such times one moment wasted may involve the loss of thousands of pounds, ay, and of human lives also. this is well-known to those whose profession it is to fight the flames. hence the union of apparent mad desperation, with cool, quiet self-possession in their proceedings. when firemen can work in silence they do so. no unnecessary word is uttered, no voice is needlessly raised; but, when occasion requires it, their course is a tumultuous rush, amid a storm of shouting and gesticulation! so was it on the present occasion. had the fire been distant, they would have had to commence their gallop somewhat leisurely, for fear of breaking down the horses; but it was not far off--not much more than a couple of miles--so they dashed round the corner of their own street and swept into the edgeware road at full speed. here the noise of our progress began, for the great thoroughfare was crowded with vehicles and pedestrians. to pass through such a crowd without coming into collision with anything required not only dexterous driving, but rendered it necessary that two of the men on the engine should stand up and shout incessantly as we whirled along, clearing everything out of our way. the men seemed to shout with the memory of the boatswain strong upon them, for their tones were pitched in the deepest and gruffest bass-key. sometimes there was a lull for a moment, as a comparatively clear space of yards or so lay before us; then their voices rose like the roaring of the gale as a stupid or deaf cabman got in our way, or a plethoric 'bus threatened to interrupt our furious career. the cross streets were the points where the chief difficulties met us. there cab- and van-drivers turned into or crossed the great thoroughfare, all ignorant of the thunderbolt that was rushing on like a fiery meteor, with its lanterns casting a glare of light before, and the helmets of the stern charioteers flashing back the rays from street-lamps and windows. at the corner of one of the streets the crowd of vehicles was so great that the driver of the engine began to tighten his reins, while flaxmore and his comrades raised a furious roar. cabs, 'buses, and pedestrians scattered right and left in a marvellous manner; the driver slackened his reins, cracked his whip, and the horses stretched out again. "there, it shows a light," observed flaxmore, as we tore along oxford street. at that moment a stupid cabman blocked up the way. there was a terrific shout from all the firemen, at once! but the man did not hear. our driver attempted both to pull up and to turn aside; the first was impossible, the latter he did so effectively that he not only cleared the cab but made straight at a lamp-post on the other side! a crash seemed inevitable, but flaxmore, observing the danger, seized the rein next to him and swung the horses round. we flew past, just shaving the lamp-post, and in three minutes more pulled up at a house which was blazing in the upper floors. three engines were already at work on it. flaxmore and his men at once entered the burning house, which by that time was nearly gutted. i stood outside looking on, but soon became anxious to know what was doing inside, and attempted to enter. a policeman stopped me, but at that moment flaxmore came out like a half-drowned rat, his face streaked with brick-dust and charcoal. seeing what i wanted he led me into the house, and immediately i found myself in a hot shower-bath which did not improve my coat or hat! at the same time i stepped up to the ankles in hot water! tons of water were being poured on the house by three powerful engines, and this, in passing through so much heated material had become comfortably warm. the first thing i saw on entering was a foaming cataract! this was the staircase, down which the water rushed, breaking over masses of fallen brickwork and debris, with a noise like a goodly highland burn! up this we waded, but could get no further than the room above, as the upper stair had fallen in. i was about to descend in order to try to reach the roof by some other way, when a fireman caught me by the collar, exclaiming--"hold on, sir!" he thought the staircase was about to fall. "bolt now, sir," he added, releasing me. i bolted, and was out in the street in a moment, where i found that some of the firemen who had first arrived, and were much exhausted, were being served with a glass of brandy. if there were any case in which a teetotaller might be justified in taking spirits, it would be, i think, when exhausted by toiling for hours amid the heat and smoke and danger of a fire-- nevertheless i found that several of the firemen there were teetotallers. there was a shout of laughter at this moment, occasioned by one of the firemen having accidentally turned the _branch_ or delivery pipe full on the faces of the crowd and drenched some of them. this was followed by a loud cheer when another fireman was seen to have clambered to the roof whence he could apply the water with better effect. at last their efforts were crowned with success. before midnight the fire was extinguished, and we drove back to the paddington station at a more leisurely pace. thus ended my first experience of a london fire. accidents, as may be easily believed, are of frequent occurrence. accidents. there were between forty to fifty a year. in they were as follows:-- +=========================+==+ |cuts and lacerated wounds| | +-------------------------+--+ |contusions | | +-------------------------+--+ |fractures | | +-------------------------+--+ |sprains | | +-------------------------+--+ |burns and scalds | | +-------------------------+--+ |injury to eyes | | +-------------------------+--+ | | | +=========================+==+ my friend flaxmore himself met with an accident not long afterwards. he slipped off the roof of a house and fell on his back from a height of about fifteen feet. being a heavy man, the fall told severely on him. for about two weeks i went almost every evening to the regent street station and spent the night with the men, in the hope of accompanying them to fires. the "lobby"--as the watch room of the station was named--was a small one, round the walls of which the brass helmets and hatchets of the men were hung. here, each night, two men slept on two trestle-beds. they were fully equipped, with the exception of their helmets. their comrades slept at their own homes, which were within a few yards of the station. the furniture of the "lobby" was scanty--a desk, a bookcase, two chairs, a clock, an alarm-bell, and four telegraphic instruments comprised it all. these last formed part of a network of telegraphs which extended from the central station to nearly all the other stations in london. by means of the telegraph a "call" is given--i.e. a fire is announced to the firemen all over london, if need be, in a very few minutes. those who are nearest to the scene of conflagration hasten to it at once with their engines, while each outlying or distant station sends forward a man on foot. these men, coming up one by one, relieve those who have first hastened to the fire. "calls," however, are not always sent by telegraph. sometimes a furious ring comes to the alarm-bell, and a man or a boy rushes in shouting "_fire_!" with all his might. people are generally much excited in such circumstances,--sometimes half mad. in one case a man came with a "call" in such perturbation of mind that he could not tell where the fire was at all for nearly five minutes! on another occasion two men rushed in with a call at the same moment, and both were stutterers. my own opinion is that one stuttered by nature and the other from agitation. be that as it may, they were both half mad with excitement. "f-f-f-fire!" roared one. "f-f-f-fire!" yelled the other. "where away?" asked a fireman as he quietly buckled his belt and put on his helmet. "b-b-brompton!"--"b-b-bayswater!" burst from them both at the same moment. then one cried, "i--i s-s-say brompton," and the other shouted, "i--i s-say bayswater." "what street?" asked the fireman. "w-w-walton street," cried one. "n-no--p-p-orchester terrace," roared the other, and at the word the walton street man hit the porchester terrace man between the eyes and knocked him down. a regular scuffle ensued, in the midst of which the firemen got out two engines--and, before the stutterers were separated, went off full swing, one to brompton, the other to bayswater, and found that, as they had guessed, there were in reality two fires! one night's experience in the "lobby" will give a specimen of the fireman's work. i had spent the greater part of the night there without anything turning up. about three in the morning the two men on duty lay down on their trestle-beds to sleep, and i sat at the desk reading the reports of recent fires. the place was very quiet--the sounds of the great city were hushed--the night was calm, and nothing was heard but the soft breathing of the sleepers and the ticking of the clock as i sat there waiting for a fire. i often looked at the telegraph needles and, (i am half ashamed to say it), longed for them to move and give us "a call." at last, when i had begun to despair, the sharp little telegraph bell rang. up i started in some excitement--up started one of the sleepers too, quite as quickly as i did, but without any excitement whatever--he was accustomed to alarms! reading the telegraph with sleepy eyes he said, with a yawn, "it's only a stop for a chimbley." he lay down again to sleep, and i sat down again to read and wait. soon after the foreman came down-stairs to have a smoke and a chat. among the many anecdotes which he told me was one which had a little of the horrible in it. he said he was once called to a fire in a cemetery, where workmen had been employed in filling some of the vaults with sawdust and closing them up. they had been smoking down there and had set fire to the sawdust, which set light to the coffins, and when the firemen arrived these were burning fiercely, and the stench and smoke were almost overpowering--nevertheless one of the men ran down the stair of the vaults, but slipped his foot and fell. next moment he rushed up with a face like a ghost, having fallen, he said, between two coffins! quickly recovering from his fright he again descended with his comrades, and they soon managed to extinguish the fire. the foreman went off to bed after relating this pleasant little incident and left me to meditate on it. presently a sound of distant wheels struck my ear. on they came at a rattling pace. in a few minutes a cab dashed round the corner and drew up sharply at the door, which was severely kicked, while the bell was rung furiously. up jumped the sleepers again and in rushed a cabman, backed by a policeman, with the usual shout of "fire." then followed "question brief and quick reply"--"a fire in great portland street close at hand." "get her out, bill," was the order. bill darted to the engine-shed and knocked up the driver in passing. he got out the horses while the other man ran from house to house of the neighbouring firemen giving a _double_ ring to their bells. before the engine was horsed one and another and another of the men darted into the station, donned his helmet, and buckled on his axe; then they all sprang to their places, the whip cracked, and off we went at full gallop only eight minutes after the alarm-bell rang. we spun through the streets like a rocket with a tail of sparks behind us, for the fire of the engine had been lighted before starting. on reaching the fire it was found to be only smouldering in the basement of the house, and the men of another engine were swarming through the place searching for the seat of it. i went in with our men, and the first thing i saw was a coffin lying ready for use! the foreman led me down into a vaulted cellar, and here, strange to say, i found myself in the midst of coffins! it seemed like the realisation of the story i had just heard. there were not fewer than thirty of them on the floor and ranged round the walls. happily, however, they were not tenanted. in fact the fire had occurred in an undertaker's workshop, and, in looking through the premises, i came upon several coffins laid out ready for immediate use. two of these impressed me much. they lay side by side. one was of plain black wood--a pauper's coffin evidently. the other was covered with fine cloth and gilt ornaments, and lined with padded white satin! i was making some moral reflections on the curious difference between the last resting-place of the rich man and the poor, when i was interrupted by the firemen who had discovered the fire and put it out, so we jumped on the engine once more, and galloped back to the station. most of the men went off immediately to bed; the engine was housed; the horses were stabled; the men on guard hung up their helmets and lay down again on their trestle-beds; the foreman bade me "good-night," and i was left once more in a silence that was broken only by the deep breathing of the sleepers and the ticking of the clock--scarcely able to believe that the stirring events of the previous hour were other than a vivid dream. all over london, at short distances apart, fire-escapes may be seen rearing their tall heads in recesses and corners formed by the angles in churches or other public buildings. each night these are brought out to the streets, where they stand in readiness for instant use. at the present time the escapes are in charge of the fire brigade. when i visited the firemen they were under direction of the royal society for the protection of life from fire, and in charge of conductors, who sat in sentry-boxes beside the escapes every night, summer and winter, ready for action. these conductors were clad like the firemen--except that their helmets were made of black leather instead of brass. they were not very different from other mortals to look at, but they were picked men--every one--bold as lions; true as steel; ready each night, at a moment's notice, to place their lives in jeopardy in order to rescue their fellow-creatures from the flames. of course they were paid for the work, but the pay was small when we consider that it was the price of indomitable courage, tremendous energy, great strength of limb, and untiring perseverance in the face of appalling danger. here is a specimen of the way in which the escapes were worked. on the night of the nd march , the premises of a blockmaker named george milne caught fire. the flames spread with great rapidity, arousing milne and his family, which consisted of his wife and seven children. all these sought refuge in the attics. at first milne thought he could have saved himself, but with so many little children round him he found himself utterly helpless. not far from the spot, henry douglas, a fire-escape conductor, sat in his sentry-box, reading a book, perchance, or meditating, mayhap, on the wife and little ones slumbering snugly at home, while he kept watch over the sleeping city. soon the shout of fire reached his ears. at once his cloth-cap was exchanged for the black helmet, and, in a few seconds, the escape was flying along the streets, pushed by the willing hands of policemen and passers-by. the answer to the summons was very prompt on this occasion, but the fire was burning fiercely when conductor douglas arrived, and the whole of the lower part of the house was so enveloped in flames and smoke that the windows could not be seen at all. douglas therefore pitched his escape, at a venture, on what he _thought_ would bring him to the second-floor windows, and up he went amid the cheers of the on-lookers. entering a window, he tried to search the room, (and the cheers were hushed while the excited multitude gazed and listened with breathless anxiety--for they knew that the man was in a position of imminent danger). in a few moments he re-appeared on the escape, half suffocated. he had heard screams in the room above, and at once threw up the fly-ladder, by which he ascended to the parapet below the attic rooms. here he discovered milne and his family grouped together in helpless despair. we may conceive the gush of hope that must have thrilled their breasts when conductor douglas leaped through the smoke into the midst of them; but we can neither describe nor conceive, (unless we have heard it in similar circumstances), the _tone_ of the deafening cheers that greeted the brave man when he re-appeared on the ladders, and, (with the aid of a policeman named john pead), bore the whole family, one by one, in safety to the ground! for this deed conductor douglas received the silver medal of the society, and pead, the policeman, received a written testimonial and a sovereign. subsequently, in consequence of conductor douglas's serious illness,-- resulting from his efforts on this occasion--the society voted him a gratuity of pounds beyond his sick allowance to mark their strong approbation of his conduct. now in this case it is obvious that but for the fire-escape, the blockmaker and his family must have perished. here is another case. i quote the conductor's own account of it, as given in the fire escape society's annual report. the conductor's name was shaw. he writes:-- "upon my arrival from aldersgate street station, the fire had gained strong hold upon the lower portion of the building, and the smoke issuing therefrom was so dense and suffocating as to render all escape by the staircase quite impossible. hearing cries for help from the upper part of the house, i placed my fire escape, ascended to the third floor, whence i rescued four persons--viz. mrs ferguson, her two children, and a lodger named gibson. they were all leaning against the window-sill, almost overcome. i carried each down the escape, (a height of nearly fifty feet), in perfect safety; and afterwards entered the back part of the premises, and took five young children from a yard where they were exposed to great danger from the fire." there was a man in the london brigade who deserves special notice--viz. conductor samuel wood. wood had been many years in the service, and had, in the course of his career, saved no fewer than lives. on one occasion he was called to a fire in church lane. he found a mr nathan in the first-floor unable to descend the staircase, as the ground floor was in flames. he unshipped his first-floor ladder, and, with the assistance of a policeman, brought mr nathan down. being informed that there was a servant girl in the kitchen, wood took his crowbar, wrenched up the grating, and brought the young woman out in safety. now this i give as a somewhat ordinary case. it involved danger; but not so much as to warrant the bestowal of the silver medal. nevertheless, wood and the policeman were awarded a written testimonial and a sum of money. i have had some correspondence with conductor wood, whose broad breast was covered with medals and clasps won in the service of the f.e. society. at one fire he rushed up the escape before it was properly pitched, and caught in his arms a man named middleton as he was in the act of jumping from a window. at another time, on arriving at a fire, he found that the family thought all had escaped, "but," wrote the conductor to me, "they soon missed the old grandmother.--i immediately broke the shop door open and passed through to the first-floor landing, where i discovered the old lady lying insensible. i placed her on my back, and crawled back to the door, and i am happy to say she is alive now and doing well!" so risky was a conductor's work that sometimes he had to be rescued by others--as the following extract will illustrate. it is from one of the society's reports:-- "case , . "awarded to james griffin, inspector of the k division of police, the society's silver medal, for the intrepid and valuable assistance rendered to fire escape conductor rickell at a fire at the `rose and crown' public-house, bridge street, at one o'clock on the morning of february st, when, but for his assistance there is little doubt that the conductor would have perished. on the arrival of conductor rickell with the mile end fire escape, not being satisfied that all the inmates had escaped, the conductor entered the house, the upper part of which was burning fiercely; the conductor not being seen for some time, the inspector called to him, and, not receiving an answer, entered the house and ascended the stairs, and saw the conductor lying on the floor quite insensible. with some difficulty the inspector reached him, and, dragging him down the staircase, carried him into the air, where he gradually recovered." while attending fires in london, i wore one of the black leather helmets of the salvage corps. this had the double effect of protecting my head from falling bricks, and enabling me to pass the cordon of police unquestioned. after a night of it i was wont to return home about dawn, as few fires occur after that. on these occasions i felt deeply grateful to the keepers of small coffee-stalls, who, wheeling their entire shop and stock-in-trade in a barrow, supplied early workmen with cups of hot coffee at a halfpenny a piece, and slices of bread and butter for the same modest sum. at such times i came to know that "man wants but little here below," if he only gets it hot and substantial. fire is such an important subject, and an element that any one may be called on so suddenly and unexpectedly to face, that, at the risk of being deemed presumptuous, i will, for a few minutes, turn aside from these reminiscences to put a few plain questions to my reader. has it ever occurred to you to think what you would do if your house took fire at night? do you know of any other mode of exit from your house than by the front or back doors and the staircase? have you a rope at home which would support a man's weight, and extend from an upper window to the ground? nothing easier than to get and keep such a rope. a few shillings would purchase it. do you know how you would attempt to throw water on the walls of one of your rooms, if it were on fire near the ceiling? a tea-cup would be of no use! a sauce-pan would not be much better. as for buckets or basins, the strongest man could not heave such weights of water to the ceiling with any precision or effect. but there are garden hand-pumps in every seedsman's shop with which a man could deluge his property with the greatest ease. do you know how to tie two blankets or sheets together, so that the knot shall not slip? your life may one day depend on such a simple piece of knowledge. still further, do you know that in retreating from room to room before a fire you should shut doors and windows behind you to prevent the supply of air which feeds the flames? are you aware that by creeping on your hands and knees, and keeping your head close to the ground, you can manage to breathe in a room where the smoke would suffocate you if you stood up?--also, that a wet sponge or handkerchief held over the mouth and nose will enable you to breathe with less difficulty in the midst of smoke?--do you know that many persons, especially children, lose their lives by being forgotten by the inmates of a house in cases of fire, and that, if a fire came to you, you ought to see to it that every member of your household is present to take advantage of any means of escape that may be sent to you? these subjects deserve to be considered thoughtfully by every one, especially by heads of families--not only for their own sakes, but for the sake of those whom god has committed to their care. for suppose that, (despite the improbability of such an event), your dwelling really _did_ catch fire, how inconceivable would be the bitterness added to your despair, if, in the midst of gathering smoke and flames--with death staring you in the face, and rescue all but hopeless--you were compelled to feel that you and yours might have escaped the impending danger if you had only bestowed on fire-prevention, fire-extinction, and fire-escape a very little forethought and consideration. chapter four. a war of mercy. there is a great war in which the british nation is at all times engaged. no bright seasons of peace mark the course of this war. year by year it is waged unceasingly, though not at all times with the same fury, nor always with the same results. sometimes, as in ordinary warfare, there are minor skirmishes in which many a deed of heroism is done, though not recorded, and there are pitched battles in which all our resources are called into action, and the papers teem with the news of the defeats, disasters, and victories of the great fight. this war costs us hundreds of lives, thousands of ships, and millions of money every year. our undying and unconquerable enemy is the storm, and our great engines of war with which, through the blessing of god, we are enabled to fight more or less successfully against the foe, are the lifeboat and the rocket. these engines, and the brave men who work them, are our sentinels of the coast. when the storm is brewing; when grey clouds lower, and muttering thunder comes rolling over the sea, men with hard hands and bronzed faces, clad in oilskin coats and sou'westers, saunter down to our quays and headlands, all round the kingdom. these are the lifeboat crews on the look-out. the enemy is moving, and the sentinels are being posted-- or, rather, they are posting themselves--for the night, for all the fighting men in this great war are volunteers. they need no drilling to prepare them for the field; no bugle or drum to sound the charge. their drum is the rattling thunder, their trumpet the roaring storm. they began to train for this warfare when they were not so tall as their fathers' boots, and there are no awkward squads among them now. their organisation is rough and ready, like themselves, and simple too. the heavens call them to action; the coxswain grasps the helm; the men seize the oars; the word is given, and the rest is straightforward fighting-- over everything, through everything, in the teeth of everything, until the victory is gained, and rescued men and women and children are landed in safety on our shores. in the winter of my enthusiasm in the lifeboat cause was aroused by the reading in the papers of that wonderful achievement of the famous ramsgate lifeboat, which, on a terrible night in that year, fought against the storm for sixteen hours, and rescued a hundred and twenty souls from death. a strange fatality attaches to me somehow--namely, that whenever i have an attack of enthusiasm, a book is the result! immediately after reading this episode in the great war, i called on the secretary of the royal national lifeboat institution, who kindly gave me minute information as to the working of his society, and lent me its journals. then i took train to the coast of deal, and spent a considerable part of the succeeding weeks in the company of isaac jarman--at that time the coxswain of the ramsgate lifeboat, and the chief hero in many a gallant fight with the sea. the splendid craft which he commanded was one of the self-righting, insubmergible boats of the institution. jarman's opinion of her was expressed in the words "she's parfect, sir, and if you tried to improve her you'd only spile her." from him i obtained much information, and many a yarn about his experiences on the famous and fatal goodwin sands, which, if recorded, would fill a volume. indeed a volume has already been written about them, and other deeds of daring on those sands, by one of the clergymen of ramsgate. i also saw the captain of the steam-tug that attends upon that boat. he took me on board his vessel and showed me the gold and silver medals he had received from his own nation, and from the monarchs of foreign lands, for rescuing human lives. i chatted with the men of deal whose profession it is to work in the storm, and succour ships in distress, and who have little to do but lounge on the beach and spin yarns when the weather is fine. i also listened to the thrilling yarns of jarman until i felt a strong desire to go off with him to a wreck. this, however, was not possible. no amateur is allowed to go off in the ramsgate boat on any pretext whatever, but the restriction is not so absolute in regard to the steamer which attends on her. i obtained leave to go out in this tug, which always lies with her fires banked up ready to take the lifeboat off to the sands, if her services should be required. jarman promised to rouse me if a summons should come. as in cases of rescue from fire, speed is all-important. i slept for several nights with my clothes on--boots and all--at the hotel nearest to the harbour. but it was not to be. night after night continued exasperatingly calm. no gale would arise or wreck occur. this was trying, as i lay there, wakeful and hopeful, with plenty of time to study the perplexing question whether it is legitimate, under any circumstance, to wish for a wreck or a fire! when patience was worn out i gave it up in despair. at another time, however, i had an opportunity of seeing the lifeboat in action. it was when i was spending a couple of weeks on board of the "gull" lightship, which lies between ramsgate and the goodwins. a "dirty" day had culminated in a tempestuous night. the watch on deck, clad in drenched oil-skins, was tramping overhead, rendering my repose fitful. suddenly he opened the skylight, and shouted that the southsand head lightship was firing, and sending up rockets. as this meant a wreck on the sands we all rushed on deck, and saw the flare of a tar-barrel in the far distance. already our watch was loading, and firing our signal-gun, and sending up rockets for the purpose of calling off the ramsgate lifeboat. it chanced that the broadstairs boat observed the signals first, and, not long after, she flew past us under sail, making for the wreck. a little later we saw the signal-light of the ramsgate tug, looming through the mist like the great eye of the storm-fiend. she ranged close up, in order to ask whereaway the wreck was. being answered, she sheared off, and as she did so, the lifeboat, towing astern, came full into view. it seemed as if she had no crew, save only one man-- doubtless my friend jarman--holding the steering lines; but, on closer inspection, we could see the men crouching down, like a mass of oilskin coats and sou'westers. in a few minutes they were out of sight, and we saw them no more, but afterwards heard that the wrecked crew had been rescued and landed at deal. in this manner i obtained information sufficient to enable me to write _the lifeboat: a tale of our coast heroes_, and _the floating light of the goodwin sands_. a curious coincidence occurred when i was engaged with the lifeboat story, which merits notice. being much impressed with the value of the lifeboat service to the nation, i took to lecturing as well as writing on this subject. one night, while in edinburgh in the spring of , a deputation of working men, some of whom had become deeply interested in lifeboat work, asked me to re-deliver my lecture. i willingly agreed to do so, and the result was that the working men of edinburgh resolved to raise pounds among themselves, and present a boat to the institution. they set to work energetically; appointed a committee, which met once a week; divided the city into districts; canvassed all the principal trades and workshops, and, before the year was out, had almost raised the necessary funds. in the end, the boat was ordered and paid for, and sent to edinburgh to be exhibited. it was drawn by six magnificent horses through the principal streets of the city, with a real lifeboat crew on board, in their sou'westers and cork life-belts. then it was launched in saint margaret's loch, at the foot of arthur's seat, where it was upset--with great difficulty, by means of a large erection with blocks and ropes--in order to show its self-righting and self-emptying qualities to the thousands of spectators who crowded the hill-sides. at this time the good people of glasgow had been smitten with a desire to present a lifeboat to the institution, and, in order to create an interest in the movement, asked the loan of the edinburgh boat for exhibition. the boat was sent, and placed on view in a conspicuous part of the city. among the thousands who paid it a visit was a lady who took her little boy to see it, and who dropped a contribution into the box, which stood invitingly alongside. that lady was the wife of a sea-captain, who lost his ship on the coast of wigton, where the edinburgh boat was stationed, and whose life was saved by that identical boat. and not only so, but the rescue was accomplished on the anniversary of the very day on which his wife had put her contribution into the collecting-box! sixteen lives were saved by it at that time, and, not long afterwards, fourteen more people were rescued by it from the insatiable sea; so that the working men of edinburgh have reason to be thankful for the success which has attended them in their effort to "rescue the perishing." moreover, some time afterwards, the ladies of edinburgh--smitten with zeal for the cause of suffering humanity, and for the honour of their "own romantic town"--put their pretty, if not lusty, shoulders to the wheel, raised a thousand pounds, and endowed the boat, so that, with god's blessing, it will remain in all time coming on that exposed coast, ready for action in the good cause. chapter five. descent into the cornish mines. from lighthouses, lifeboats, and fire-brigades into the tin and copper mines of cornwall is a rather violent leap, but by no means an unpleasant one. in the year i took this leap when desirous of obtaining material for _deep down: a tale of the cornish mines_. for three months my wife and i stayed in the town of saint just, close to the land's end, during which time i visited some of the principal mines in cornwall; associated with the managers, "captains," and miners, and tried my best to become acquainted with the circumstances of the people. the cornish tin trade is very old. in times so remote that historical light is dim, the phoenicians came in their galleys to trade with the men of cornwall for tin. herodotus, (writing years b.c.) mentions the tin islands of britain under the name of the _cassiterides_ and diodorus siculus, (writing about half a century b.c.), says: "the inhabitants of that extremity of britain which is called bolerion, excel in hospitality, and also, by their intercourse with foreign merchants, they are civilised in their mode of life. these prepare the tin, working very skilfully the earth which produces it." there is said to be ground for believing that cornish tin was used in the construction of the temple of jerusalem. at the present time the men of cornwall are to be found toiling, as did their forefathers in the days of old, deep down in the bowels of the earth--and even out under the bed of the sea--in quest of tin. "tin, copper, and fish" is one of the standing toasts in cornwall, and in these three words lie the head, backbone, and tail of the county, the sources of its wealth, and the objects of its energies. as my visit, however, was paid chiefly for the purpose of investigating the mines, i will not touch on fish here. having obtained introduction to the managers of botallack--the most famous of the cornish mines--i was led through miles of subterranean tunnels and to depths profound, by the obliging, amiable, and anecdotal captain jan--one of the "captains" or overseers of the mine. he was quite an original, this captain jan; a man who knew the forty miles of underground workings in botallack as well, i suppose, as a postman knows his beat; a man who dived into the bowels of the earth with the vigour and confidence of a mole and the simple-minded serenity of a seraph. the land at this part of cornwall is not picturesque, except at the sea-cliffs, which rise somewhere about three hundred feet sheer out of deep water, where there is usually no strip of beach to break the rush of the great atlantic billows that grind the rocks incessantly. the most prominent objects elsewhere are masses of debris; huge pieces of worn-out machinery; tall chimneys and old engine-houses, with big ungainly beams, or "bobs," projecting from them. these "bobs" are attached to pumps which work continually to keep the mines dry. they move up and down very slowly, with a pause between each stroke, as if they were seriously considering whether it was worth while continuing the dreary work any longer, and could not make up their minds on the point. their slow motions, however, give evidence of life and toil below the surface. other "bobs" standing idle tell of disappointed hopes and broken fortunes. there are not a few such landmarks at the land's end--stern monitors, warning wild and wicked speculators to beware. one day--it might have been night as far as our gloomy surroundings indicated--captain jan and i were stumbling along one of the levels of botallack, i know not how many fathoms down. we wore miners' hats with a candle stuck in front of each by means of a piece of clay. the hats were thicker than a fireman's helmet, though by no means as elegant. you might have plunged upon them head first without causing a dint. captain jan stopped beside some fallen rocks. we had been walking for more than an hour in these subterranean labyrinths and felt inclined to rest. "you were asking about the word _wheal_," said the captain, sticking his candle against the wall of the level and sitting down on a ledge, "it do signify a mine, as wheal frances, wheal owles, wheal edwards, and the like. when cornishmen do see a london company start a mine on a grand scale, with a deal of fuss and superficial show, and an imposing staff of directors, etcetera, while, down in the mine itself, where the real work ought to be done, perhaps only two men and a boy are known to be at work, they shake their heads and button up their pockets; perhaps they call the affair wheal _do-em_, and when that mine stops, (becomes what we call a `knacked bal') it may be styled wheal _donem_!" a traveller chanced to pass a water-wheel not long ago, near saint just. "what's that?" he said to a miner who sat smoking his pipe beside it. "that, sur? why, that's a pump, that is." "what does it pump?" asked the traveller. "pump, sur?" replied the man with a grim smile, "why, et do pump gold out o' the londoners!" there have been too many wheal _do-ems_ in cornwall. botallack mine is not, i need scarcely say, a wheal do-em. it is a grand old mine--grand because its beginning is enveloped in the mists of antiquity; because it affords now, and has afforded for ages back, sustenance to hundreds of miners and their families, besides enriching the country; because its situation on the wild cliffs is unusually picturesque, and because its dark shafts and levels not only descend to an immense depth below the surface, but extend far out under the bottom of the sea. its engine-houses and machinery are perched upon the edge of a steep cliff, and scattered over its face and down among its dark chasms in places where one would imagine that only a sea-gull would dare to venture. underground there exists a vast region of shafts and levels, or tunnels--mostly low, narrow, and crooked places--in which men have to stoop and walk with caution, and where they work by candlelight--a region which is measured to the inch, and has all its parts mapped out and named as carefully as are the fields above. some idea of the extent of this mine may be gathered from the fact that it is fathoms, ( feet), deep, and that all the levels put together form an amount of cutting through almost solid granite equal to nearly miles in extent. the deepest part of the mine is that which lies under the bottom of the sea, three-quarters of a mile from the shore; and, strange to say, that is also the _driest_ part of the mine. the great eastern would find depth of water sufficient to permit of her anchoring and floating securely in places where miners are at work, blowing up the solid rock, feet below her keel--a depth so profound that the wildest waves that ever burst upon the shore, or the loudest thunder that ever reverberated among the cliffs, could not send down the faintest echo of a sound. the ladder-way by which the men descend to their work is feet deep. it takes half an hour to descend and an hour to climb to the surface. it was a bright morning in may when i walked over from saint just with captain jan to pay my first underground visit to botallack. arrayed in the red-stained canvas coat and trousers of the mine, with a candle stuck in the front of our very strong hats and three spare ones each hung at our breasts, we proceeded to the ladder-way. this was a small platform with a hole in it just big enough to admit a man, out of which projected the head of a strong ladder. before descending captain jan glanced down the hole and listened to a distant, regular, clicking sound--like the ticking of a clock. "a man coming up," said he, "we'll wait a minute." i looked down, and, in the profound abyss, saw the twinkling of, apparently, a little star. the steady click of the miner's nailed shoes on the iron rounds of the ladder continued, and the star advanced, until, by its feeble light i saw the hat to which it was attached. presently a man emerged from the hole, and raising himself erect, gave vent to a long, deep-drawn sigh. it was, i may say, a suggestive sigh, for there was a sense of intense relief conveyed by it. the man had just completed an hour of steady, continuous climbing up the ladders, after eight hours of night-work in impure atmosphere, and the first great draught of the fresh air of heaven must have seemed like nectar to his soul! his red garments were soaking, perspiration streamed from every pore in his body, and washed the red earth in streaks down his pale countenance. although pale, however, the miner was strong and in the prime of life. chills and bad air, (the two great demons of the mines), had not yet smitten his sturdy frame with "miner's complaint." he looked tired, but not exhausted, and bestowed a grave glance on me and a quiet nod on captain jan as he walked away to change his dress in the drying-house. my contemplation of the retiring miner was interrupted by captain jan saying--"i'll go first, sir, to catch you if you should fall." this remark reminded me of many stories i had heard of men "falling away from the ladders;" of beams breaking and letting them tumble into awful gulfs; of stones giving way and coming down the shafts like grape or cannon-shot, and the like. however, i stepped on the ladder and prepared to follow my guide into the regions of unchanging night! a few fathoms' descent brought us into twilight and to a small platform on which the foot of the first ladder rested. through a hole in this the head of the second ladder appeared. here we lighted the candles, for the next ladder--a longer one, feet or so--would have landed us in midnight darkness. half way down it, i looked up and saw the hole at the top like a large white star. at the foot i looked up again, the star was gone, and i felt that we were at last in a region where, (from the time of creation), sunlight had never shone. down, down, ever _downwards_, was the uppermost idea in my mind for some time after that. other thoughts there were, of course, but that one of never-ending descent outweighed them all for a time. as we got lower the temperature increased; then perspiration broke out. never having practised on the treadmill, my muscles ere long began to feel the unwonted exercise, and i thought to myself, "if you are in this state so soon, what will you be when you get to the bottom, and how will you get up again?" at this point we reached the foot of another ladder, and captain jan said, "we'll walk a bit in the level here and then go down the pump-shaft." the change of posture and action in the level we had now entered was agreeable, but the path was not a good one. it was an old, low, and irregular level, with a rugged floor full of holes with water in them, and with projections in the roof that rendered frequent stooping necessary. the difficulty of one's progress in such places is that, while you are looking out for your head, you stumble into the holes, and when the holes claim attention you run your head against the roof; but, thanks to the miner's hat, no evil follows. we were now in a region of profound _silence_! when we paused for a minute to rest, it felt as if the silence of the tomb itself had surrounded us--for not the faintest echo reached us from the world above, and the miners at work below us were still far down out of ear-shot. in a few seconds we came to a yawning hole in the path, bridged by a single plank. captain jan crossed. "how deep is it?" i asked, preparing to follow. "about feet," said he, "it's a winze, and goes down to the next level!" i held my breath and crossed with caution. "are there many winzes, captain jan?" "yes, dozens of 'em. there are nigh miles of levels and lots of winzes everywhere!" the possibility of anything happening to captain jan, and my light getting blown out occurred to me, but i said nothing. when we had walked a quarter of a mile in this level, we came to the point where it entered the pump-shaft. the shaft itself was narrow--about or feet in diameter--but everything in it was ponderous and gigantic. the engine that drove the pump was horse power; the pump-rod was a succession of wooden beams, each like the ridge-pole of a house, jointed together--a rugged affair, with iron bolts, and nuts, and projections at the joints. in this shaft the kibbles were worked. these kibbles are iron buckets by which ore is conveyed to the surface. two are worked together by a chain--one going up full while the other comes down empty. both are free to clatter about the shaft and bang against each other in passing, but they are prevented from damaging the pump-rod by a wooden partition. between this partition and the pump was the ladder we had now to descend, with just space for a man to pass. captain jan got upon it, and as he did so the pump went up, (a sweep of or feet), with a deep watery gurgle, as if a giant were being throttled. as i got upon the ladder the pump came down with another gurgle, close to my shoulder in passing. to avoid this i kept close to the planks on the other side, but at that moment i heard a noise as if of distant thunder. "it's only the kibbles," said captain jan. up came one and down went the other, passing each other with a dire crash, not far from where we stood, and causing me to shrink into the smallest possible space. "there's no danger," said the captain encouragingly, "if you only keep cool and hold on." water was coursing freely down the shaft and spirting over us in fine spray, so that, ere long, we were as wet and dirty as any miner in botallack. at last we reached the fathom level, feet from "grass." here the captain told me men were at work not far off and he wished to visit them. "would i wait where i was until he returned?" "what!" said i, "wait in a draughty level with an extinguishable candle close to the main shaft, with or miles of levels around, and no end of winzes? no, no, captain jan, go on; i'll stick to you _now_ through thick and thin like your own shadow!" with one of his benignant smiles the captain resumed his progress. in a few minutes i heard the clink of hammers, and, soon after, came to a singular cavern. it was a place where the lode had been very wide and rich. years before it had been all cut away from level to level, leaving a void space so high and deep that the rays of our candles were lost in obscurity. we walked through it in mid-air, as it were, supported on cross beams with planks laid thereon. beyond this we came to a spot where a number of miners were at work in various places and positions. one, a big, broad-shouldered man named dan, was seated on a wooden box hammering at the rock with tremendous energy. with him captain jan conversed a few minutes on the appearance of the lode, and then whispered to me, "a good specimen of a man that, sir, and he's got an uncommon large family,"--then, turning to the man--"i say, dan, you've got a biggish family, haven't you?" "iss, a'w iss, cap'n jan, i've a braave lot o' child'n." "how many have you had altogether, dan?" "i've had seventeen, sur, but ten of 'em's gone dead--only seven left. my brother jim, though, he's had more than me." after a few more words we left this man, and, in another place, found this brother jim, working in the roof of the level with several others. they had cut so high up in a slanting direction that they appeared to be in another chamber, which was brilliantly lighted with their candles. jim, stripped naked to the waist, stood on the end of a plank, hammering violently. looking up into his curious burrow, captain jan shouted--"hallo! jim!" "hallo, captain jan." "here's a gentleman wants to know how many children you've had." "how many child'n, say 'ee? why, i've had nineteen, sur, but there's eleven of 'em gone dead. seven of 'em did come in three years and a half--_three doubles and a single_--but there's only eight of 'em alive now!" i afterwards found that, although this man and his brother were exceptions, the miners generally had very large families. while we were talking, a number of shots were heard going off in various directions. this was explained by captain jan. all the forenoon the miners employ their time in boring and charging the blast-holes. about mid-day they fire them and then hasten to a clear part of the mine to eat luncheon and smoke their pipes while the gunpowder smoke clears away. this it does very slowly, taking sometimes more than an hour to clear sufficiently so as to let the men resume work. immediately after the shots were heard, the men began to assemble. they emerged from the gloom on all sides like red hobgoblins--wet and perspiring. some walked out of darkness from either end of the level; some stalked out from diverging levels; others slid, feet first, from holes in the roof and sides, and some rose, head-foremost, from yawning gulfs in the floor. they all saluted captain jan as they came up, and each stuck his candle against the wall and sat down on a heap of wet rubbish, to lunch. some had cornish pasty, and others a species of heavy cake--so heavy that the fact of their being able to carry it at all said much for their digestive organs--but most of them ate plain bread, and all of them drank water which had been carried down from the realms of light in little canteens. frugal though the fare was, it sufficed to brace them for the rest of the day's work. after a short talk with these men captain jan and i continued our descent of the ladders--down we went, ever downwards, until at last we reached the very bottom of that part of the mine-- feet below the surface. here we found only two men at work, with whom captain jan conversed for a time while we rested, and then proceeded to ascend "to grass" by the same ladder-ways. if i felt that the descent was like never getting to the bottom, much more did the ascent seem like never getting to the top! i may remark here that the bottom which we had reached was not the bottom under the sea. at another time captain jan took me to that submarine cavern where, as i have said, no sound ever reaches the ear from the world above. there is, however, a level close under the sea where the roar of ocean is distinctly heard. it is in a part of botallack mine named wheal cock. it was very rich in copper ore, and the miners worked at the roof of it so vigorously, that they began to fear it would give way. one of them, therefore, in order to ascertain what thickness of solid rock still lay between them and the sea, bored a small hole upwards, and advanced about three feet or so before the water rushed in. of course they had a wooden plug ready and stopped up the hole. but, as it was dangerous to cut away any more of the roof, they were finally obliged unwillingly to forsake that part of the mine. this occurred some thirty years before my visit, yet when i went to see the place, i found the wooden plug still hard and fast in the hole and quite immoveable. as i stood and listened i could well understand the anxiety of the miners, for at the upward rush of each wave, i could hear the rattle of the boulders overhead, like monster cannon balls, and a repetition of the thunder when the waves retreated. on our way up the ladders we stopped several times to rest. at such times captain jan related various anecdotes illustrative of mining life. "this is a place," said he, on one occasion, "which reminds me of a man who was always ready to go in for dangerous work. his name was old maggot. he was not really old, but he had a son named after himself, and his friends had to distinguish him from the young maggot." so saying, captain jan trimmed his candle with nature's own pair of snuffers--the finger and thumb--and proceeded as follows: "some time ago the miners in botallack came to an old deserted mine that was full of water--this is what miners call a `_house of water_.' the ore there was rich, but the men were afraid to work it lest they should come suddenly on the old mine and break a hole through to it--in other words `_hole to that house of water_.' they stopped working at last, and no one seemed willing to run the risk of driving the hole and letting out the water. in this difficulty they appealed to old maggot, who at once agreed to do it. the old mine was about three-quarters of a mile back from the sea-shore, but at that time it could only be got at by entering the _adit_ level from the shore. it was through this level that the water would have to escape. at the mouth of it a number of men assembled to see old maggot go in. in he went, alone, with a bunch of candles, and, as he walked along, he stuck a lighted candle every here and there against the wall to light him out,--for he expected to have to run for it. "when he came to the place, the water was spirting out everywhere. but old maggot didn't mind. he grasped his hammer and borer and began. the work was done sooner than he had expected! suddenly the rock gave way and the water burst upon him, putting out his candle and turning him heels over head. he jumped up and tried to run, but the flood rose on him, carried him off his legs, swept him right through the level, and hurled him through the adit-mouth at last, upon the sea-shore! he was stunned a little, but soon recovered, and, beyond a few bruises and a wetting, was nothing the worse of his adventure. "_that_," said captain jan, pointing to the rock beside us, "was the place where old maggot holed to the house of water, and _this_ was the level through which he was washed and through part of which i will now conduct you." accordingly, we traversed the level, and, coming to another shaft, continued our upward progress. while we were slowly toiling up, step by step, we were suddenly arrested by the sound of voices singing in the far distance above us. the music was slow and solemn. coming as it did so unexpectedly in such a strange place, it sounded quite magical and inexpressibly sweet. "miners descending to work," said my guide, as we listened. the air was familiar to me, and, as it grew louder and louder, i recognised that beautiful tune called "french," to which we are accustomed to sing the st psalm, "i to the hills will lift mine eyes." gradually the men came down to us. we stood on one side. as they passed they ceased singing and nodded to captain jan. there were five or six stout fellows and a boy. the latter was as active as his companions, and his treble voice mingled tunefully with theirs as they continued the descent, and resumed the psalm, keeping time to the slow measured tread of their steps. we watched until their lights disappeared, and then resumed our upward way, while the sweet strains grew fainter and fainter, until they were gradually lost in the depths below. the pleasant memory of that psalm still remained with me, when i emerged from the ladder-shaft of botallack mine, and--after having been five hours underground--once more drank in, (with a new and intensified power of appreciation), the fresh air of heaven and the blessed influences of green fields and sunshine. to many a weird and curious part of the great mine did the obliging captain jan lead me, but perhaps the most interesting part was the lowest depth under the sea, to which my wife accompanied us. this part is reached by the boscawen shaft, a sloping one which the men descend in an iron car or gig. the car is let down and hauled up by an iron rope. once this rope broke, the car flew to the bottom, was dashed against the rock, and all the men--eight in number--were killed. in the prince and princess of wales descended this shaft, and captain jan was their amiable, not to say eccentric, guide. the captain was particularly enthusiastic in praise of the princess. he said that she was a "fine intelligent young lady; that she asked no end of questions, would not rest until she understood everything, and afterwards undertook to explain it all to her less-informed companions." a somewhat amusing incident occurred while they were underground. when about to begin his duty as guide it suddenly flashed across the mind of poor captain jan that, in the excitement of the occasion, he had forgotten to take gloves with him. he was about to lead the princess by the hand over the rugged floors of the levels. to offer to do so without gloves was not to be thought of. to procure gloves fathoms below the sea was impossible. to borrow from the prince or the duke of sutherland, who were of the party, was out of the question. what was he to do? suddenly he remembered that he had a newspaper in his pocket. in desperation he wrapped his right hand in a piece of this, and, thus covered, held it out to the princess. she, innocently supposing that the paper was held up to be looked at, attempted to read. this compelled captain jan to explain himself, whereupon she burst into a hearty fit of laughter, and, flinging away the paper, took the ungloved hand of the loyal but bashful miner. chapter six. the land of the vikings. to this romantic land of mountain and flood i paid four visits at various times. these were meant as holiday and fishing rambles, but were also utilised to gather material for future books. norway, as every one knows, was the land of the ancient vikings--those grand old rascally freebooters--whose indomitable pluck carried them in their open galleys, (little better than big boats), all round the coasts of europe, across the unknown sea to iceland, and even to the shores of america itself, before the other nations dreamed of such a continent, and long before columbus was born; who possessed a literature long before we did; whose blood we britons carry in our veins; and from whom we have inherited many of our best laws, much of our nautical enterprise, and not a little of our mischief and pugnacity. norway, too, is the land where liberty once found refuge in distress,-- that much abused goddess, whom, since the fall of adam and eve, license has been endeavouring to defame, and tyranny to murder, but who is still alive and kicking--ay, and will continue to kick and flourish in spite of all her enemies! liberty found a home, and a rough welcome, strange to say, among those pagans of the north, at a time when she was banished from every other spot, even from the so-called christian states in europe. no wonder that that grand old country with its towering snow-clad mountains, its mighty fords, its lonesome glens and its historical memories should be styled "_gamle norge_" (old norway--as we speak of old england), with feelings of affection by its energetic and now peaceful inhabitants. i was privileged to go to norway as one of a yachting party. there were twelve of us altogether, three ladies, three gentlemen, and a crew of six sailors. our object was to see the land and take what of amusement, discomfort, or otherwise might chance to come in our way. we had a rough passage over, and were very sick, sailors included! except the captain, an old scotch highlander who may be described as a compound of obstinacy and gutta-percha. it took us four days to cross. we studied the norse language till we became sea-sick, wished for land till we got well, then resumed the study of norse until we sighted the outlying islands and finally cast anchor in the quaint old city and port of bergen. now, it is well to admit at once that some of us were poor linguists; but it is only just to add that we could not be expected to learn much of any language in four days during intervals of internal derangement! however, it is curious to observe how very small an amount of norse will suffice for ordinary travellers--especially for scotchmen. the danish language is the vernacular tongue of norway and there is a strong affinity between danish, (or norse), and broad scotch. roughly speaking, i should say that a mixture of three words of norse to two of broad scotch, with a powerful emphasis and a strong infusion of impudence, will carry you from the naze to the north cape in perfect comfort. bergen is a most interesting city, and our party had many small adventures in it, which, however, i will not touch on here. but one scene--the fish-market--must not be passed over. there must certainly be something in the atmosphere of a fish-market which tends to call forth the mental and physical energies of mankind, (perhaps i should rather say of _womankind_), and which calls forth a tremendous flow of abusive language. billingsgate is notorious, but i think that the bergen fish-market beats it hollow. one or two phases of the national character are there displayed in perfection. it is the billingsgate of norway--the spot where norse females are roused to a pitch of frenzy that is not equalled, i believe, in any other country. there are one or two peculiarities about the bergen market, too, which are noteworthy, and which account in some degree for the frantic excitement that reigns there. the sellers of the fish, in the first place, are not women but men. the pier and fleet of boats beside it constitute the market-place. the fishermen row their cargoes of fish direct from the sea to the pier, and there transact sales. there is a stout iron railing along the edge of that pier--a most needful safeguard--over which the servant girls of the town lean and look down at the fishermen, who look up at them with a calm serio-comic "don't-you-wish-you-may-get-it" expression that is deeply impressive. bargains, of course, are not easily made, and it is in attempting to make these that all the hubbub occurs. the noise is all on the women's side. the men, secure in their floating position, and certain of ultimate success, pay very little attention to the flaxen-haired, blue-eyed damsels who shout at them like maniacs, waving their arms, shaking their fists, snapping their fingers, and flourishing their umbrellas! they all carry umbrellas--cotton ones--of every colour in the rainbow, chiefly pink and sky-blue, for bergen is celebrated as being the most rainy city in europe. the shouting of the girls is not only a safety-valve to their feelings, but is absolutely necessary in order to attract the attention of the men. as or of them usually scream at once, it is only she who screams loudest and flourishes her umbrella most vigorously that can obtain a hearing. the calm unruffled demeanour of the men is as much a feature in the scene as is the frenzy of the women. during one of my visits i saw a fisherman there who was the most interesting specimen of cool impudence i ever encountered. he wore a blue coat, knee-breeches, white worsted stockings, and on his head of long yellow hair a red night-cap with a tall hat on top of all. when i discovered him he was looking up with a grave sarcastic expression into the flushed countenance of a stout, blue-eyed lass who had just eagerly offered him _syv skillings_ (seven skillings), for a lot of fish. that was about and a half pence, the skilling being half a penny. the man had declined by look, not by tongue, and the girl began to grow angry. "haere du, fiskman," (hear you, fisherman), she cried, "vil du har otte skillings?" (will you have eight skillings?) the fisherman turned away and gazed out to sea. the girl grew crimson in the face at this. "fiskman, fiskman!" she cried, "vil du har _ni_ (nine) skillings?" the fisherman kicked out of the way a lobster that was crawling too near his naked toes, and began to bale out the boat. the girl now seemed to become furious. her blue eyes flashed like those of a tiger. she gasped for breath, while her cotton umbrella flashed over the fisherman's head like a pink meteor. had that umbrella been only a foot longer the tall black hat would have come to grief undoubtedly. suddenly she paused, and in a tone of the deepest solemnity, said-- "haere du, fiskman, vil du har ti (ten) shillings?" the rock of gibraltar is not more unyielding than was that "fiskman." he took off his hat, removed his night-cap, smoothed his yellow hair, and wiped his forehead; then, replacing the cap and hat, he thrust both hands into his coat pockets, turned his back on the entire market, and began to whistle. this was too much! it was past female endurance! the girl turned round, scattered the bystanders right and left, and fled as if she had resolved then and there to dash out her brains on the first post she met, and so have done with men and fish for ever. but she was not done with them yet! the spell was still upon her. ere she had got a dozen yards away she paused, stood one moment in uncertainty, and then rushing back forced her way to the old position, and shouted in a tone that might have moved the hearts even of the dead fish-- "fiskman, here du, vil du hav tolve?" "tolve" (or twelve) skillings was apparently not quite the sum he meant to take; but he could hold out no longer--he wavered--and the instant man wavers, woman's victory is gained! smiling benignly he handed up the fish to the girl, and held out his baling dish for the money. the storm was over! the girl walked off in triumph with her fish, not a trace of her late excitement visible, the pink cotton umbrella tucked under her arm, and her face beaming with the consciousness of having conquered a "_fiskman_" in fair and open fight! steamers ply regularly between the north and south of norway in summer, and an excursion in one of these is very enjoyable, not only on account of the scenery, but because of the opportunity afforded of making the acquaintance of the people. i once made a voyage in one of those steamers from the nordfjord to bergen, and one thing struck me very particularly on that occasion, namely, the _quietness_ that seemed to be cultivated by the people as if it were a virtue. i do not mean to say that the passengers and crew were taciturn--far from it. they bustled about actively; they were quite sociable and talkative, but no voice was ever raised to a loud pitch. even the captain gave his orders in a quiet tone. whether this quietness of demeanour is peculiar to norwegian steamers in general, or was a feature of this steamer in particular, i am not prepared to say. i can only state the fact of the prevailing quietude on that particular occasion without pretending to explain it. the state of quiescence culminated at the dinner-table, for there the silence was total! i never saw anything like it! when we had all assembled in the cabin, at the almost whispered invitation of the steward, and had stood for a few minutes looking benign and expectant, but not talking, the captain entered, bowed to the company, was bowed to by the company, motioned us to our seats, whispered "_ver so goot_," and sat down. now this phrase "_ver so goot_" merits particular notice. it is an expression that seems to me capable of extension and distension. it is a flexible, comfortable, jovial, rollicking expression. to give a perfect translation of it is not easy; but i cannot think of a better way of conveying its meaning, than by saying that it is a compound of the phrases--"be so good," "by your leave," "what's your will," "bless your heart," "all serene," and "that's your sort!" the first of these, "be so good," is the literal translation--the others are the super-induced sentiments, resulting from the tone and manner in which it is said. you may rely on it, that, when a norwegian offers you anything and says _ver so goot_, he means you well and hopes you will make yourself comfortable. well, there was no carving at that dinner. the dishes were handed round by waiters. first we had very thin rice soup with wine and raisins in it--the eating of which seemed to me like spoiling one's dinner with a bad pudding. this finished, the plates were removed. "_now_," thought i, "surely some one will converse with his neighbour during this interval." no! not a lip moved! i looked at my right and left-hand men; i thought, for a moment, of venturing out upon the unknown deep of a foreign tongue, and cleared my throat for that purpose, but every eye was on me in an instant; and the sound of my own voice, even in that familiar process, was so appalling that i said nothing! i looked at a pretty girl opposite me. i felt certain that the youth beside her was about to speak--he looked as if he meant to, but he didn't. in a few minutes the next course came on. this was a dish like bread-pudding, minus currants and raisins; it looked like a sweet dish, but it turned out to be salt,--and pure melted butter, without any admixture of flour or water, was handed round as sauce. after this came veal and beef cutlets, which were eaten with cranberry jam, pickles, and potatoes. fourth and last came a course of cold sponge-cake, with almonds and raisins stewed over it, so that, when we had eaten the cake as a sort of cold pudding, we slid, naturally and pleasantly, into dessert, without the delay of a change of plates. there was no remaining to drink at that dinner. when the last knife and fork were laid down, we all rose simultaneously, and then a general process of bowing ensued. in regard to this proceeding i have never been able to arrive at a clear understanding, as to what was actually done or intended to be done, but my impression is, that each bowed to the other, and all bowed to the captain; then the captain bowed to each individually and to all collectively, after which a comprehensive bow was made by everybody to all the rest all round--and then we went on deck to smoke. as each guest passed out, he or she said to the captain, "_tak for mad_," which is a manner and custom, and means "_thanks for meat_." with the exception of these three words, not a single syllable, to the best of my belief, was uttered by any one during the whole course of that meal! of course the gentlemen of our party performed many wonderful exploits in fishing, for sea-trout and salmon abound in norway, and the river beds are very rugged. in that land fishing cannot be styled the "gentle art." it is a tearing, wearing, rasping style of work. an account of the catching of one fish will prove this. one morning i had gone off to fish by myself, with a norwegian youth to gaff and carry the fish. coming to a sort of weir, with a deep pool above and a riotous rapid below, i put on a salmon fly and cast into the pool. at once a fish rose and was hooked. it was not a big one--only pounds or thereabouts--but quite big enough to break rod and line if not played respectfully. for some time, as is usual with salmon, he rushed about the pool, leaped out of the water, and bored up stream. then he took to going down stream steadily. now this was awkward, for when a fish of even that size resolves to go down stream, nothing can stop him. my efforts were directed to turning him before he reached the rapid, for, once into that, i should be compelled to follow him or break the line--perhaps the rod also. at last he reached the head of the rapid. i put on a heavy strain. the rod bent like a hoop and finally began to crack, so i was compelled to let him go. at the lower end of the pool there was a sort of dam, along which i ran, but soon came to the end of it, where it was impossible to reach the shore owing to the dense bushes which overhung the stream. but the fish was now in the rapid and was forced down by the foaming water. being very unwilling to break the line or lose the fish, i went slowly into the rapid until the water reached the top of my long wading boots-- another step and it was over them, but that salmon would not--indeed could not--stop. the water filled my boots at once, and felt very cold at first, but soon became warm, and each boot was converted into a warmish bath, in which the legs felt reasonably comfortable. i was reckless now, and went on, step by step, until i was up to the waist, then to the arm-pits, and then i spread out one arm and swam off while with the other i held up the rod. the rapid was strong but deep, so that nothing obstructed me till i reached the lower end, when a rock caught my legs and threw me into a horizontal position, with the rod flat on the water. i was thrown against the bank, where my norwegian boy was standing mouth open, eyes blazing, and hand extended to help me out. when i stood panting on the bank, i found that the fish was still on and still inclined to descend, but i found that i could not follow, for my legs were heavy as lead--the boots being full of water. to take the latter off in a hurry and empty them was impossible. to think of losing the fish after all was maddening. suddenly a happy thought struck me. handing the rod to the boy i lay down on my back, cocked my legs in the air, and the water ran like a deluge out at the back of my neck! much relieved, i resumed the rod, but now i found that the fish had taken to sulking. this sulking is very perplexing, for the fish bores its nose into some deep spot below a stone, and refuses to budge. pulling him this way and that way had no effect. jerking him was useless. even throwing stones at him was of no avail. i know not how long he kept me there, but at last i lost patience, and resolved to force him out, or break the line. but the line was so good and strong that it caused the rod to show symptoms of giving way. just then it struck me that as there were several posts of an old weir in the middle of the stream, he must have twisted the line round one of these, broken himself off and left me attached to it! i made up my mind therefore to wade out to the old weir, and unwind the line, and gave the rod to the boy to hold while i did so. the water was deep. it took me nearly up to the neck before i reached the shallow just above the posts, but, being thoroughly wet, that did not matter. on reaching the post, and unwinding the line, i found to my surprise that the fish was still there. at first i thought of letting go the line, and leaving the boy to play him; "but," thought i, "the boy will be sure to lose him," so i held on to the line, and played it with my hands. gradually the fish was tired out. i drew him slowly to my side, and gaffed him in four feet of water. even then i was not sure of him, for when i got him under one arm he wriggled violently, so that it was difficult to wade ashore with him. in this difficulty i took him to a place where the shoal in the middle of the stream was about three inches deep. there i lay down on him, picked up a stone and hammered his head with it, while the purling water rippled pleasantly over my face. the whole of this operation took me upwards of two hours. it will be seen, therefore, that fishing in norway, as i have said, cannot be called "the gentle art." one extremely interesting excursion that we made was to a place named the esse fjord. the natives here were very hospitable and kind. besides that, they were fat! it would almost seem as if fat and good-humour were invariably united; for nearly all the natives of the esse fjord were good-humoured and stout! the language at this place perplexed me not a little. nevertheless the old proverb, "where there's a will there's a way," held good, for the way in which i conversed with the natives of that region was astounding even to myself. one bluff, good-humoured fellow took me off to see his house and family. i may as well admit, here, that i am not a good linguist, and usually left our ladies to do the talking! but on this occasion i found myself, for the first time, alone with a norwegian! fairly left to my own resources. well, i began by stringing together all the norse i knew, (which wasn't much), and endeavoured to look as if i knew a great deal more. but i soon found that the list of sentences, which i had learned from murray's _handbook_, did not avail much in a lengthened conversation. my speech quickly degenerated into sounds that were almost unintelligible to either my new friend or myself! and i terminated at last in a mixture of bad norse and broad scotch. i have already remarked on the strong family-likeness between norse and broad scotch. here are a few specimens. they call a cow a _coo_! a house is a _hoose_, and a mouse is a _moose_! _gaae til land_, is go to land, or go ashore. _tak ain stole_ is take a stool, or sit down. vil du tak am dram? scarcely needs translation--will you take a dram! and the usual answer to that question is equally clear and emphatic--"ya, jeg vil tak am dram!" one day our pilot saw the boat of a fisherman, (or fiskman), not far off. he knew we wanted fish, so, putting his hands to his mouth, he shouted "fiskman! har du fisk to sell?" if you talk of bathing, they will advise you to "dook oonder;" and should a mother present her baby to you, she will call it her "smook barn"--her pretty bairn--smook being the norse word for "pretty," and _barn_ for child; and it is a curious fact, worthy of particular note, that all the mothers in norway think their bairns smook--very smook! and they never hesitate to tell you so--why, i cannot imagine, unless it be that if you were not told you would not be likely to find it out for yourself. despite our difficulty of communication, my fat friend and i soon became very amicable and talkative. he told me no end of stories, of which i did not comprehend a sentence, but looked as if i did--smiled, nodded my head, and said "ya, ya,"--to which he always replied "ya, ya,"--waving his arms, and slapping his breast, and rolling his eyes, as he bustled along beside me towards his dwelling. the house was perched on a rock close to the water's edge. here my host found another subject to expatiate upon and dance round, in the shape of his own baby, a soft, smooth, little imitation of himself, which lay sleeping in its crib, like a small cupid. the man was evidently extremely fond of this infant. he went quite into ecstasies about it; now gazing at it with looks of pensive admiration; anon, starting and looking at me as if to say, "_did you ever, in all your life, see such a beautiful cherub_?" the man's enthusiasm was really catching--i began to feel quite a fatherly interest in the cherub myself. "oh!" he cried, in rapture, "det er smook barn!" "ya, ya," said i, "megit smook," (very pretty)--although i must confess that _smoked_ bairn would have been nearer the mark, for it was as brown as a red-herring. i spent an agreeable, though i must confess mentally confused, afternoon with this gentleman, who, (when he succeeded in tearing himself away from that much-loved and megit smook barn), introduced me to his two sisters, who were stout and good-humoured like himself. they treated me to a cup of excellent coffee, and to a good deal more of incomprehensible conversation. altogether, the natives of the esse fjord made a deep impression on us, and we parted from their grand and gloomy but hospitable shores with much regret. i had hoped, good reader, to have jotted down some more of my personal reminiscences of travel--in algiers, the "pirate city," at the cape of good hope, and elsewhere--but bad health is not to be denied, and i find that i must hold my hand. perchance this may be no misfortune, for possibly the "garrulity of age" is descending on me! before closing this sketch, however, i would say briefly, that in all my writings i have always tried--how far successfully i know not--to advance the cause of truth and light, and to induce my readers to put their trust in the love of god our saviour, for this life as well as the life to come. chapter seven. the burglars and the parson. a country mansion in the south of england. the sun rising over a laurel-hedge, flooding the ivy-covered walls with light, and blazing in at the large bay-window of the dining-room. "take my word for it, robin, if ever this 'ouse is broke into, it will be by the dinin'-room winder." so spake the gardener of the mansion--which was also the parsonage--to his young assistant as they passed one morning in front of the window in question. "for why?" he continued; "the winder is low, an' the catches ain't overstrong, an there's no bells on the shutters, an' it lies handy to the wall o' the back lane." to this robin made no response, for robin was young and phlegmatic. he was also strong. the gardener, simon by name, was not one of the prophets--though in regard to the weather and morals he considered himself one--but if any person had chanced to overhear the conversation of two men seated in a neighbouring public-house that morning, that person would have inclined to give the gardener credit for some sort of second sight. "bill," growled one of the said men, over his beer, in a low, almost inaudible tone, "i've bin up to look at the 'ouse, an' the dinin'-room winder'll be as easy to open as a door on the latch. i had a good look at it." "you are the man for cheek an' pluck," growled the other man, over his beer, with a glance of admiration at his comrade. "how ever did you manage it, dick?" "the usual way, in course. comed it soft over the 'ousemaid; said i was a gardener in search of a job, an' would she mind tellin' me where the head-gardener was? you see, bill, i had twigged him in front o' the 'ouse five minutes before. `i don't know as he's got any odd jobs to give 'ee,' says she; `but he's in the front garden at this minute. if you goes round, you'll find him.' `hall right, my dear,' says i; an' away i goes right round past the dinin'-room winder, where i stops an' looks about, like as if i was awful anxious to find somebody. in coorse i glanced in, an' saw the fastenin's. "they couldn't keep out a babby! sideboard all right at the t'other end, with a lookin'-glass over it--to help folk, i fancy, to see what they look like w'en they're a-eatin' their wittles. anyhow, it helped me to see the gardener comin' up one o' the side walks; so i wheels about double quick, an' looked pleased to see him. "`hallo!' cries he. "`i was lookin' for you,' says i, quite easy like. "`did you expect to find me in the dinin'-room?' says he. "`not just that,' says i, `but it's nat'ral for a feller to look at a 'andsome room w'en he chances to pass it.' "`ah,' says he, in a sort o' way as i didn't quite like. `what d'ee want wi' me?' "`i wants a job,' says i. "`are you a gardener?' he axed. "`yes--leastwise,' says i, `i've worked a goodish bit in gardings in my time, an' can turn my 'and to a'most anythink.' "`oh,' says he. `look 'ere, my man, what d'ee call that there tree?' he p'inted to one close alongside. "`that?' says i. `well, it--it looks uncommon like a happle.' "`do it?' says he. `now look 'ere, you be off as fast as your legs can take you, or i'll set the 'ousedog at 'ee.' "w'en he said that, bill, i do assure you, lad, that my experience in the ring seemed to fly into my knuckles, an' it was as much as ever i could do to keep my left off his nob and my right out of his breadbasket. but i restrained myself. if there's one thing i'm proud of, bill, it's the wirtue o' self-restraint in the way o' business. i wheeled about, held up my nose, an' walked off wi' the air of a dook. you see, i didn't want for to have no more words wi' the gardener,--for why? because i'd seen all i wanted to see--d'ee see? but there was one--no, two--things i saw which it was as well i did see." "an' what was they?" asked bill. "two statters." "an' what are statters?" "man alive i don't ye know? it's them things that they make out o' stone, an' marable, an' chalk--sometimes men, sometimes women, sometimes babbies, an' mostly with no clo'es on to speak of--" "oh! i know; but _i_ call 'em statoos. fire away, dick; what see'd you about the statoos?" "why, i see'd that they wasn't made in the usual way of stone or chalk, but of iron. i have heerd say that sodgers long ago used to fight in them sort o' dresses, though i don't believe it myself. anyhow, there they was, the two of 'em, one on each side of the winder, that stiff that they could stand without nobody inside of 'em, an' one of 'em with a big thing on his shoulder, as if he wor ready to smash somebody over the head. i thought to myself if you an' me, bill, had come on 'em unbeknown like, we'd ha' got such a start as might have caused us to make a noise. but i hadn't time to think much, for it was just then i got sight o' the gardener." "now my plan is," continued dick, swigging off his beer, and lowering his voice to a still more confidential tone, as he looked cautiously round, "my plan is to hang about here till dark, then take to the nearest plantation, an' wait till the moon goes down, which will be about two o'clock i' the mornin'--when it will be about time for us to go in and win." "all right," said bill, who was not loquacious. but bill was mistaken, for it was all wrong. there was indeed no one in the public at that early hour of the day to overhear the muttered conversation of the plotters, and the box in which they sat was too remote from the bar to permit of their words being overheard, but there was a broken pane of glass in a window at their elbow, with a seat outside immediately below it. just before the burglars entered the house they had observed this seat, and noticed that no one was on it; but they failed to note that a small, sleepy-headed pot-boy lay at full length underneath it, basking in the sunshine and meditating on nothing--that is, nothing in particular. at first little pat paid no attention to the monotonous voices that growled softly over his head, but one or two words that he caught induced him to open his eyes very wide, rise softly from his lair and sit down on the seat, cock one ear intelligently upward, and remain so absolutely motionless that dick, had he seen him, might have mistaken him for a very perfect human "statter." when little pat thought that he had heard enough, he slid off the seat, crawled close along the side of the house, doubled round the corner, rose up, and ran off towards the parsonage as fast as his little legs could go. the reverend theophilus stronghand was a younger son of a family so old that those families which "came over with the conqueror" were mere moderns in comparison. its origin, indeed, is lost in those mists of antiquity which have already swallowed up so many millions of the human race, and seem destined to go on swallowing, with ever-increasing appetite, to the end of time. the stronghands were great warriors--of course. they could hardly have developed into a family otherwise. the reverend theophilus, however, was a man of peace. we do not say this to his disparagement. he was by no means a degenerate son of the family. physically he was powerful, broad and tall, and his courage was high; but spiritually he was gentle, and in manner urbane. he drew to the church as naturally as a duck draws to the water, and did not by any means grudge to his elder brothers the army, the navy, and the bar. one of his pet theories was, to overcome by love, and he carried this theory into practice with considerable success. perhaps no one put this theory to the test more severely or frequently than his only son harry. war had been that young gentleman's chief joy in life from the cradle. he began by shaking his fat fists at the universe in general. war-to-the-knife with nurse was the chronic condition of a stormy childhood. intermittent warfare with his only sister emmie chequered the sky of his early boyhood, and a decided tendency to disobey wrung the soul of his poor mother, and was the cause of no little anxiety to his father; while mischief, pure and simple for its own sake, was the cherished object of his life. nevertheless, harry stronghand was a lovable boy, and love was the only power that could sway him. the lad grew better as he grew older. love began to gain the day, and peace began--slowly at first--to descend on the parsonage; but the desire for mischief--which the boy named "fun"--had not been quite dislodged at the time we write of. as harry had reached the age of fifteen, feared nothing, and was quick-witted and ingenious, his occasional devices not only got him into frequent hot water, but were the source of some amusement to his people--and he still pretty well ruled his easy-going father and the house generally with a rod of iron. it was to harry stronghand that little pat directed his steps, after overhearing the conversation which we have related. pat knew that the son of the parsonage was a hero, and, in his opinion, the most intelligent member of the family, and the best fitted to cope with the facts which he had to reveal. he met the object of his search on the road. "plaze yer honour," said pat--who was an irishman, and therefore "honoured" everybody--"there's two tramps at the public as is plottin' to break into your house i' the mornin'." "you don't mean it, do you?" returned harry, with a smile and raised eyebrows. "that's just what i do, yer honour. i heard 'em reel off the whole plan." hereupon the boy related all that he knew to the youth, who leaned against a gate and nodded his curly head approvingly until the story was finished. "you've not mentioned this to any one, have you, pat?" "niver a sowl but yersilf, sir." "you're a sensible boy, pat. here's a shilling for you--and, look here, pat, if you keep dark upon the matter till after breakfast to-morrow and don't open your lips to a living soul about it, i'll give you half a crown." "thank yer honour." "now mind--no hints to the police; no remarks to your master. be dumb, in fact, from this moment, else i won't give you a penny." "sure i've forgot all about it already, sir," said the boy, with a wink so expressive that harry felt his word to be as good as his bond, and went back to the parsonage laughing. arrived there, he went in search of his sister, but found that she was out. "just as well," he muttered, descending to the dining-room with his hands deep in his pockets, a pleased expression on his handsome mouth, and a stern frown on his brows. "it would not be safe to make a confidant of her in so delicate a matter. no, i'll do it all alone. but how to do it? that is the question. shall i invite the aid of the police? perish the thought! shall i consult the pater? better not. the dear, self-devoted man might take it out of my hands altogether." harry paused in profound meditation. he was standing near the window at the time, with the "statters" on either hand of him. they were complete suits of armour--one representing a knight in plate armour, the other a crusader in chain-mail. both had been in the family since two of the stronghand warriors had followed richard of the lion heart to the east. as the eldest brother of the reverend theophilus was in india, the second was on the deep, and the lawyer was dead, the iron shells of the ancient warriors had naturally found a resting-place in the parsonage, along with several family portraits, which seemed to show that the males of the race were prone to look very stern, and to stand in the neighbourhood of pillars and red curtains in very dark weather, while the females were addicted to old lace, scant clothing, and benign smiles. one of the warriors stood contemplatively leaning on his sword. the other rested a heavy mace on his shoulder, as if he still retained a faint hope that something might turn up to justify his striking yet one more blow. "what would you advise, old man?" said harry, glancing up at the crusader with the mace. the question was put gravely, for, ever since he could walk or do anything, the boy had amused himself by putting free-and-easy questions to the suits of armour, or defying them to mortal combat. as he was true to ancient friendships, he had acquired the habit of giving the warriors an occasional nod or word of recognition long after he had ceased to play with them. "shades of my ancestors!" exclaimed harry with sudden animation, gazing earnestly at the crusader on his right, "the very thing! i'll do it." that evening, after tea, he went to his father's study. "may i sit up in the dining-room to-night, father, till two in the morning?" "well, it will puzzle you to do that to-night, my son; but you may if you have a good reason." "my reason is that i have a problem--a very curious problem--to work out, and as i positively shan't be able to sleep until i've done it, i may just as well sit up as not." "do as you please, harry; i shall probably be up till that hour myself-- if not later--for unexpected calls on my time have prevented the preparation of a sermon about which i have had much anxious thought of late." "indeed, father!" remarked the son, in a sympathetic tone, on observing that the reverend theophilus passed his hand somewhat wearily over his brow. "what may be your text?" "`be gentle, showing meekness to all men,'" answered the worthy man, with an abstracted faraway look, as if he were wrestling in anticipation with the seventh head. "well, good-night, father, and please don't think it necessary to come in upon me to see how i am getting on. i never can work out a difficult problem if there is a chance of interruption." "all right, my son--good-night." "h'm," thought harry, as he returned to the dining-room in a meditative mood; "i am afraid, daddy, that you'll find it hard to be gentle to _some_ men to-night! however, we shall see." ringing the bell, he stood with his back to the fire, gazing at the ceiling. the summons was answered by the gardener, who also performed the functions of footman and man-of-all-work at the parsonage. "simon, i am going out, and may not be home till late. i want either you or robin to sit up for me." "very well, sir." "and," continued the youth, with an air of offhand gravity, "i shall be obliged to sit up working well into the morning, so you may have a cup of strong coffee ready for me. wait until i ring for it--perhaps about two in the morning. i shall sit in the dining-room, but don't bring it until i ring. mind that, for i can't stand interruption--as you know." "yes, sir." simon knew his imperious young master too well to make any comment on his commands. he returned, therefore, to the kitchen, told the cook of the order he had received to sit up and take master harry's coffee to him when he should ring, and made arrangements with robin to sit up and help him to enliven his vigil with a game of draughts. having thus made his arrangements, harry stronghand went out to enjoy a walk. he was a tremendous walker--thought nothing of twenty or thirty miles, and rather preferred to walk at night than during the day, especially when moon and stars were shining. perhaps it was a dash of poetry in his nature that induced this preference. about midnight he returned, went straight to the dining-room, and, entering, shut the door, while simon retired to his own regions and resumed his game with robin. a small fire was burning in the dining-room grate, the flickering flames of which leaped up occasionally, illuminated the frowning ancestors on the walls, and gleamed on the armour of the ancient knight and the crusader. walking up to the latter, harry looked at him sternly; but as he looked, his mouth relaxed into a peculiar smile, and displayed his magnificent teeth as far back as the molars. then he went to the window, saw that the fastenings were right, and drew down the blinds. he did not think it needful to close the shutters, but he drew a thick heavy curtain across the opening of the bay-window, so as to shut it off effectually from the rest of the room. this curtain was so arranged that the iron sentinels were not covered by it, but were left in the room, as it were, to mount guard over the curtain. this done, the youth turned again to the crusader and mounted behind him on the low pedestal on which he stood. unfastening his chain-mail armour at the back, he opened him up, so to speak, and went in. the suit fitted him fairly well, for harry was a tall, strapping youth for his years, and when he looked out at the aperture of the headpiece and smiled grimly, he seemed by no means a degenerate warrior. returning to the fireplace, he sat down in an easy chair and buried himself in a favourite author. one o'clock struck. harry glanced up, nodded pleasantly, as if on familiar terms with time, and resumed his author. the timepiece chimed the quarters. this was convenient. it prevented anxious watchfulness. the half-hour chimed. harry did not move. then the three-quarters rang out in silvery tones. thereupon harry arose, shut up his author, blew out his light, drew back the heavy curtains, and, returning to the arm-chair sat down to listen in comparative darkness. the moon by that time had set and darkness profound had settled down upon that part of the universe. the embers in the grate were just sufficient to render objects in the room barely visible and ghost-like. presently there was the slightest imaginable sound near the bay-window. it might have been the crusader's ghost, but that was not likely, for at the moment something very like harry's ghost flitted across the room and entered into the warrior. again the sound was heard, more decidedly than before. it was followed by a sharp click as the inefficient catch was forced back. then the sash began to rise, softly, slowly--an eighth of an inch at a time. during this process harry remained invisible and inactive; paterfamilias in the study addressed himself to the sixth head of his discourse, and the gardener with his satellite hung in silent meditation over the draught-board in the kitchen. after the sash stopped rising, the centre blind was moved gently to one side, and the head of dick appeared with a furtive expression on the countenance. for a few seconds his eyes roved around without much apparent purpose; then, as they became accustomed to the dim light, a gleam of intelligence shot from them; the rugged head turned to one side; the coarse mouth turned still more to one side in its effort to address some one behind, and, in a whisper that would have been hoarse had it been loud enough, dick said-- "hall right, bill. we won't need matches. keep clear o' the statters in passin'." as he spoke, dick's hobnailed boot appeared, his corduroy leg followed, and next moment he stood in the room with a menacing look and attitude and a short thick bludgeon in his knuckly hand. bill quickly stood beside him. after another cautious look round, the two advanced with extreme care--each step so carefully taken that the hobnails fell like rose-leaves on the carpet. feeling that the "coast was clear," dick advanced with more confidence, until he stood between the ancient warriors, whose pedestals raised them considerably above his head. at that moment there was a sharp click, as of an iron hinge. dick's heart seemed to leap into his throat. before he could swallow it, the iron mace of the crusader descended with stunning violence on his crown. well was it for the misguided man that morning that he happened to have purchased a new and strong billycock the day before, else would that mace have sent him--as it had sent many a saracen of old--to his long home. the blow effectually spoilt the billycock, however, and stretched its owner insensible on the floor. the other burglar was too close behind his comrade to permit of a second blow being struck. the lively crusader, however, sprang upon him, threw his mailed arms round his neck, and held him fast. and now began a combat of wondrous ferocity and rare conditions. the combatants were unequally matched, for the man was huge and muscular, while the youth was undeveloped and slender, but what the latter lacked in brute force was counterbalanced by the weight of his armour, his youthful agility, and his indomitable pluck. by a deft movement of his legs he caused bill to come down on his back, and fell upon him with all his weight plus that of the crusader. annoyed at this, and desperately anxious to escape before the house should be alarmed, bill delivered a roundabout blow with his practised fist that ought to have driven in the skull of his opponent, but it only scarified the man's knuckles on the crusader's helmet. he tried another on the ribs, but the folds of chain-mail rendered that abortive. then the burglar essayed strangulation, but there again the folds of mail foiled him. during these unavailing efforts the unconscious dick came in for a few accidental raps and squeezes as he lay prone beside them. meanwhile, the crusader adopted the plan of masterly inactivity, by simply holding on tight and doing nothing. he did not shout for help, because, being bull-doggish in his nature, he preferred to fight in silent ferocity. exasperated as well as worn by this method, bill became reckless, and made several wild plunges to regain his feet. he did not succeed, but he managed to come against the pedestal of the knight in mail with great violence. the iron warrior lost his balance, toppled over, and came down on the combatants with a hideous crash, suggestive of coal-scuttles and fire-irons. sleep, sermons, and draughts could no longer enchain! mrs stronghand awoke, buried her startled head in the bed-clothes, and quaked. emmie sprang out of bed and huddled on her clothes, under the impression that fire-engines were at work. the reverend theophilus leaped up, seized the study poker and a lamp, and rushed towards the dining-room. overturning the draught-board, simon grasped a rolling-pin, robin the tongs, and both made for the same place. they all collided at the door, burst it open, and advanced to the scene of war. it was a strange scene! bill and the crusader, still struggling, were giving the remains of the other knight a lively time of it, and dick, just beginning to recover, was sitting with a dazed look in a sea of iron debris. "that's right; hit him hard, father!" cried harry, trying to look round. "no, don't, sir," cried the burglar; "i gives in." "let my son--let the crusa--let _him_ go, then," said the reverend gentleman, raising his poker. "i can't, sir, 'cause he won't let _me_ go." "all right, i'll let you go now," said harry, unclasping his arms and rising with a long-drawn sigh. "now you. come to the light and let's have a look at you." so saying, the lad thrust his mailed hand into the burglar's neckerchief, and assisted by the reverend theophilus, led his captive to the light which had been put on the table. the gardener and robin did the same with dick. for one moment it seemed as if the two men meditated a rush for freedom, for they both glanced at the still open window, but the stalwart simon with the rolling-pin and the sturdy robin with the tongs stood between them and that mode of exit, while the crusader with his mace and huge mr stronghand with the study poker stood on either side of them. they thought better of it. "bring two chairs here," said the clergyman, in a gentle yet decided tone. robin and harry obeyed--the latter wondering what "the governor was going to be up to." "sit down," said the clergyman, quietly and with much solemnity. the burglars humbly obeyed. "now, my men, i am going to preach you a sermon." "that's right, father," interrupted harry, in gleeful surprise. "give it 'em hot. don't spare them. put plenty of brimstone into it." but, to harry's intense disgust, his father put no brimstone into it at all. on the contrary, without availing himself of heads or subdivisions, he pointed out in a few plain words the evil of their course, and the only method of escaping from that evil. then he told them that penal servitude for many years was their due according to the law of the land. "now," said he, in conclusion, "you are both of you young and strong men who may yet do good service and honest work in the land. i have no desire to ruin your lives. penal servitude might do so. forgiveness may save you--therefore i forgive you! there is the open window. you are at liberty to go." the burglars had been gazing at their reprover with wide-open eyes. they now turned and gazed at each other with half-open mouths; then they again turned to the clergyman as if in doubt, but with a benignant smile he again pointed to the open window. they rose like men in a dream, went softly across the room, stepped humbly out, and melted into darkness. the parson's conduct may not have been in accordance with law, but it was eminently successful, for it is recorded that those burglars laid that sermon seriously to heart--at all events, they never again broke into that parsonage, and never again was there occasion for harry to call in the services of the ancient knight or the crusader. chapter eight. jim greely, the north sea skipper. when nellie sumner married james greely--the strapping skipper of a yarmouth fishing-smack--there was not a prettier girl in all the town, at least so said, or thought, most of the men and many of the women who dwelt near her. of course there were differences of opinion on the point, but there was no doubt whatever about it in the mind of james greely, who was overwhelmed with astonishment, as well as joy, at what he styled his "luck in catching such a splendid wife." and there was good ground for his strong feeling, for nellie was neat, tidy, and good-humoured, as well as good-looking, and she made jim's home as neat and tidy as herself. "there's always sunshine inside o' my house," said greely to his mates once, "no matter what sort o' weather there may be outside." ere long a squall struck that house--a squall that moved the feelings of our fisherman more deeply than the fiercest gale he had ever faced on the wild north sea, for it was the squall of a juvenile jim! from that date the fisherman was wont to remark, with a quiet smile of satisfaction, that he had got moonlight now, as well as sunshine, in the yarmouth home. the only matter that distressed the family at first was that the father saw so little of his lightsome home; for, his calling being that of a deep-sea smacksman, or trawler, by far the greater part of our fisherman's rugged life was spent on the restless ocean. two months at sea and eight days ashore was the unvarying routine of jim's life, summer and winter, all the year round. that is to say, about fifty days on shore out of the year, and three hundred and fifteen days on what the cockney greengrocer living next door to jim styled the "'owlin' deep." and, truly, the greengrocer was not far wrong, for the wild north sea does a good deal of howling, off and on, during the year, to say nothing of whistling and shrieking and other boisterous practices when the winter gales are high. but a cloud began to descend, very gradually at first, on james greely's dwelling, for a demon--a very familiar one on the north sea--had been twining his arms for a considerable time round the stalwart fisherman. at the time of jim's marriage those mission-ships of the dutch--and, we may add, of the devil--named _copers_, or floating grog-shops, were plying their deadly traffic in strong drink full swing among the trawlers of the north sea. through god's blessing the mission-ships of the cross have now nearly driven the _copers_ off the sea, but at the time we write of the dutchmen had it all their own way, and many a splendid man, whom toil, cold, hardship, and fierce conflict with the elements could not subdue, was laid low by the poisonous spirits of the _coper_. greely went to the _copers_ at first to buy tobacco, but, being a hearty, sociable fellow, he had no objection to take an occasional friendly dram. gradually, imperceptibly, he became enslaved. he did not give way at once. he was too much of a man for that. many a deadly battle had he with the demon--known only to himself and god-- but as he fought in his own strength, of course he failed; failed again and again, until he finally gave way to despair. poor nellie was quick to note the change, and tried, with a brave heart at first but a sinking heart at last, to save him, but without success. the eight days which used to be spent in the sunny home came at last to be spent in the green dragon public-house; and in course of time nellie was taught by bitter experience that if her husband, on his periodical return from the sea, went straight from the smack to the public-house, it was little that she would see of him during his spell on shore. even curly-headed juvenile jimmie--his father's pride--ceased to overcome the counter-attraction of strong drink. is it to be wondered at that nellie lost some of her old characteristics--that, the wages being spent on drink, she found it hard to provide the mere necessaries of life for herself and her boy, and that she finally gave up the struggle to keep either person or house as neat and orderly as of yore, while a haggard look and lines of care began to spoil the beauty of her countenance? or is it a matter for surprise that her temper began to give way under the strain? "you are ruining yourself and killing me," said the sorely-tried wife one evening--the last evening of a spell on shore--as jim staggered into the once sunny home to bid his wife good-bye. it was the first time that nellie had spoken roughly to him. he made no answer at first. he was angry. the green dragon had begun to demoralise him, and the reproof which ought to have melted only hardened him. "the last of the coals are gone," continued the wife with bitterness in her tone, "and there's scarcely enough of bread in the house for a good supper to jimmie. you should be ashamed of yourself, jim." a glare of drunken anger shot fiercely from the fisherman's eyes. no word did he utter. turning on his heel, he strode out of the house and shut the door after him with cannon-shot violence. "o jim--stop jim!" burst from timid nellie. "i'll never--" she ceased abruptly, for the terrified jimmie was clinging to her skirts, and her husband was beyond the reach of her voice. falling on her knees, she prayed to god passionately for pardon. it was their first quarrel. she ended by throwing herself on her bed and bursting into a fit of sobbing that not only horrified but astounded little jim. to see his mother sobbing wildly while he was quiet and grave was a complete inversion of all his former experiences. as if to carry out the spirit of the situation, he proceeded to act the part of comforter by stroking his mother's brown hair with his fat little hand until the burst of grief subsided. "dare, you's dood now, muzzer. tiss me!" he said. nellie flung her arms round the child and kissed him fervently. meanwhile james greely's smack, the _dolphin_, was running down the yare before a stiff breeze, and jim himself had commenced the most momentous, and, in one sense, disastrous voyage of his life. as he stood at the tiller, guiding his vessel with consummate skill out into the darkening waters, his heart felt like lead. he would have given all he possessed to recall the past hour, to have once again the opportunity of bidding nellie good-bye as he had been wont to do in the days that were gone. but it was too late. wishes and repentance, he knew, avail nothing to undo a deed that is done. jim toiled with that branch of the north sea fleets which is named the "short blue." it was trawling at a part of the north sea called "botney gut" at that time, but our fisherman had been told that it was fishing at another part named the "silverpits." it blew hard from the nor'west, with much snow, so that jim took a long time to reach his destination. but no "short blue" fleet was to be seen at the silverpits. to the eyes of ordinary men the north sea is a uniform expanse of water, calm or raging as the case may be. not so to the deep-sea trawler. jim's intimate knowledge of localities, his sounding-lead and the nature of the bottom, etcetera, enabled him at any time to make for, and surely find, any of the submarine banks. but fleets, though distinguished by a name, have no "local habitation." they may be on the "dogger bank" to-day, on the "swarte bank" or the "great silverpits" to-morrow. with hundreds of miles of open sea around, and neither milestone nor finger-post to direct, a lost fleet is not unlike a lost needle in a haystack. fortunately jim discovered a brother smacksman looking, like himself, for his own fleet. being to windward the brother ran down to him. "what cheer o! have 'ee seen anything o' the red cross fleet?" roared the skipper, with the power of a brazen trumpet. "no," shouted jim, in similar tones. "i'm lookin' for the short blue." "i passed it yesterday, bearin' away for botney gut." "'bout ship" went jim, and away with a stiff breeze on his quarter. he soon found the fleet--a crowd of smacks, all heading in the same direction, with their huge trawling nets down and bending over before what was styled a good "fishing-breeze." it requires a stiff breeze to haul a heavy net, with its forty or fifty feet beam and other gear, over the rough bottom of the north sea. with a slight breeze and the net down a smack would be simply anchored by the stern to her own gear. down went jim's net, and, like a well-drilled fisherman, he fell into line. it was a rough grey day with a little snow falling, which whitened all the ropes and covered the decks with slush. greely's crew had become demoralised, like their skipper. there were five men and a fair-haired boy. all could drink and swear except the boy. charlie was the only son of his mother, and she was a good woman, besides being a widow. charlie was the smack's cook. "grub's ready," cried the boy, putting his head up the hatchway after the gear was down. he did not name the meal. smacksmen have a way of taking food irregularly at all or any hours, when circumstances permit, and are easy about the name so long as they get it, and plenty of it. a breakfast at mid-day after a night of hardest toil might be regarded indifferently as a luncheon or an early dinner. black whistler, the mate, who stood at the helm, pronounced a curse upon the weather by way of reply to charlie's summons. "you should rather bless the ladies on shore that sent you them wursted mittens an' 'elmet, you ungrateful dog," returned the boy with a broad grin, for he and whistler were on familiar terms. the man growled something inaudible, while his mates went below to feed. each north sea trawling fleet acts unitedly under an "admiral." it was early morning when the signal was given by rocket to haul up the nets. between two and three hours at the capstan--slow, heavy toil, with every muscle strained to the utmost--was the result of the admiral's order. bitter cold; driving snow; cutting flashes of salt spray, and dark as erebus save for the light of a lantern lashed to the mast. tramp, tramp, tramp, the seemingly everlasting round went on, with the clank of heavy sea-boots and the rustle of hard oil-skins, and the sound of labouring breath as accompaniment; while the endless cable came slowly up from the "vasty deep." but everything comes to an end, even on the north sea! at last the great beam appears and is secured. with a sigh of relief the capstan bars are thrown down, and the men vary their toil by clawing up the net with scarred and benumbed fingers. it is heavy work, causes much heaving and gasping, and at times seems almost too much for all hands to manage. again black whistler pronounces a malediction on things in general, and is mockingly reminded by the boy-cook that he ought to bless the people as sends him wursted cuffs to save his wrists from sea-blisters. "seems to me we've got a hold of a bit o' noah's ark," growled one of the hands, as something black and big begins to appear. he is partially right, for a bit of an old wreck is found to have been captured with a ton or so of fish. when this is disengaged the net comes in more easily, and the fish are dropped like a silver cataract on the wet deck. one might imagine that there was rest for the fishermen now. far from it. the fish had to be "cleaned"--i.e. gutted and the superfluous portions cut off and packed in boxes for the london market. the grey light of a bleak winter morning dawned before the work was finished. during the operation the third hand, lively dick, ran a fish-bone deeply into his hand, and laid a foundation for future trouble. it was noon before the trunks, or fish-boxes, were packed. then the little boat had to be launched over the side, loaded with fish, and ferried to one of the steamers which ply daily and regularly between billingsgate and the fleets. three men jumped into it and pushed off--a mere cockle-shell on a heaving flood, now dancing on a wave-crest, now lost to view in a water-valley. "what's that?" said whistler, as they pulled towards the steamer. "looks bigger than the or'nary mission-ships." "why, that must be the noo hospital-ship, the _queen victoria_," answered lively dick, glancing over his shoulder at a large vessel, smack-rigged, which loomed up through the haze to leeward. they had no time for further remark, for the great side of the steamer was by that time frowning over them. it was dangerous work they had to do. the steamer rolled heavily in the rough sea. the boat, among a dozen other boats, was soon attached to her by a strong rope. men had to be athletes and acrobats in order to pass their fish-boxes from the leaping and plunging boats to the deck of the rolling steamer. the shouting and noise and bumping were tremendous. an awkward heave occasionally sent a box into the sea amid oaths and laughter. jim's cargo was put safely on board, and the boat was about to cast off when a heavier lurch than usual caused black whistler to stagger. to save himself from plunging overboard he laid both hands on the gunwale of the boat--a dangerous thing to do at any time when alongside of a vessel. before he could recover himself the boat went crashing against the steamer's iron side and the fisherman's hands were crushed. he fell back into the boat almost fainting with agony. no cry escaped him, however. lively dick saw the blood streaming, and while his mate shoved off the boat he wrapped a piece of canvas in a rough-and-ready fashion round the quivering hands. "i'm done for this trip," groaned whistler, "for this means go ashore-- weeks in hospital--wages stopped, and wife and chicks starving." "never a bit, mate," said dick; "didn't you know that the noo mission-ship does hospital work afloat and that they'll keep you aboard of her, and lend us one o' their hands till you're fit for work again?" whether poor whistler believed, or understood, or was comforted by this we cannot say, for he made no reply and appeared to be almost overcome with pain. on reaching the _dolphin_ a signal of distress was made to the floating hospital, which at once bore down to them. the injured man was transferred to it, and there, in the pleasant airy cabin, black whistler made acquaintance with men who were anxious to cure his soul as well as his body. up to this time he had resolutely declined to visit the mission-ships, but now, when a skilled medical man tenderly dressed his terrible wounds and a sympathetic skipper led him to a berth and supplied him with some warm coffee, telling him that he would be free to remain there without charge as long as was needed, and that meanwhile one of the mission hands would take his place in the _dolphin_ till he was able to resume work, his opinion of mission-ships and work underwent modification, and he began to think that mission crews were not such a bad lot after all. meanwhile skipper greely, leaving his man in the _queen victoria_, returned to his smack accompanied by george king, the new hand. king's position was by no means an enviable one, for he found himself thus suddenly in the midst of a set of men who had no sympathy with him in religious matters, and whose ordinary habits and conversation rendered remonstrance almost unavoidable. unwilling to render himself obnoxious at first, the man resolved to try the effect of music on his new shipmates. he happened to possess a beautiful tenor voice, and the first night--a calm bright one--while taking his turn at the helm, he sang in a soft sweet voice one after another of those hymns which mr sankey has rendered so popular. he began with "come to the saviour, make no delay," and the first effect on his mates, most of whom were below, was to arouse a feeling of contempt. but they could not resist the sweetness of the voice. in a few minutes they were perfectly silent, and listening with a species of fascination--each being wafted, both by words and music, to scenes on shore and to times when his spirit had not been so demoralised by sin. greely, in particular, was transported back to the sunny home in yarmouth, and to the days of first-love, before the _demon_ had gained the mastery and clouded the sunshine. as the night wore on, a fog settled down over the north sea, and the smacks of the short blue fleet began to blow their fog-horns, while the crews became more on the alert and kept a bright look-out. suddenly, and without warning, a dull beating sound was heard by the look-out on the _dolphin_. next moment a dark object like a phantom ship loomed out of the fog, and a wild cry arose as the men saw the bows of a huge ocean steamer coming apparently straight at them. the smack was absolutely helpless, without steering way. for an instant there was shouting on board the steamer, and she fell off slightly as she rushed into the small circle of the _dolphin's_ light. a tremendous crash followed, but the change of direction had been sufficient to prevent a fatal collision. another moment and the great steamer was gone, while the little smack rocked violently from the blow as well as from the swell left in the steamer's wake. this was but the beginning of a night of disaster. skipper greely and his men had scarcely recovered from the surprise of this incident when the fog lifted and quickly cleared away, revealing the short blue fleet floating all round with flapping sails, but it was observed also that a very dark cloud rested on the north-western horizon. soon a stiffish breeze sprang up, and the scattered fleet drew together, lay on the same tack, and followed the lead of their admiral, to whom they looked for the signal to shoot the trawls. but instead of giving this order the admiral signalled to "lay-to." being disgusted as well as surprised that their leader was not going to fish, jim greely, being also exhausted by long watching, went below and turned in to have a sleep. he had not been long asleep when fair-haired charlie came to tell him that lively dick, who acted as mate in whistler's absence, wanted him on deck. he ran up at once. "looks like dirty weather, skipper," said dick, pointing to windward. "right you are, lad," said jim, and called all hands to close-reef. this being done and everything made snug, the skipper again turned in, with orders to call him if things should get worse. soon after, dick, who was at the helm, saw a squall bearing down on them, but did not think it worth while to call the skipper. it broke on them with a clap like thunder, but the good _dolphin_ stood the shock well, and dick was congratulating himself when he saw a sea coming towards them, but sufficiently astern, he thought, to clear them. he was wrong. it broke aboard, right into the mainsail, cleared the deck, and hove the smack on her beam-ends. this effectually aroused the skipper, who made desperate but at first ineffectual efforts to get out of his berth, for the water, which poured down the hatchway, washed gear, tackles, turpentine-tins, paint-pots, and nearly everything moveable from the iron locker on the weather-side down to leeward, and blocked up the openings. making another effort he cleared all this away, and sprang out of the berth, which was half full of water. pitchy darkness enshrouded him, for the water had put out the lights as well as the fire. just then the vessel righted a little. "are you all right on deck?" shouted jim, as he scrambled up the hatchway. "all right, as far as i can see," answered dick. "hold on, i've a bottle o' matches in my bunk," cried the skipper, returning to the flooded cabin. fortunately the matches were dry; a light was struck, and a candle and lamp lighted. the scene revealed was not re-assuring. the water in the cabin was knee-deep. a flare, made of a woollen scarf soaked in paraffin, was lighted on deck, and showed that the mainsail had been split, the boat hopelessly damaged, and part of the lee bulwarks broken. the mast also was leaning aft, the forestay having been carried away. a few minutes later lively dick went tumbling down into the cabin all of a heap, to avoid the mast as it went crashing over the side in such a way as to prevent the use of the pumps, and carrying the mizzenmast along with it. "go to work with buckets, boys, or she'll sink," shouted the skipper, himself setting the example, for the ballast had shifted and the danger was great. meanwhile george king seized an axe and cut away the rigging that held on to the wrecked masts, and fair-haired charlie laboured like a hero to clear the pumps. the rays of the cabin lights did not reach the deck, so that much of the work had to be done in what may be styled darkness visible, while the little vessel kicked about like a wild thing in the raging sea, and the torn canvas flapped with a horrible noise. pitiless wind, laden with sleet, howled over them as if thirsting impatiently for the fishermen's lives. at last they succeeded in clearing the pumps, and worked them with untiring energy for hours, but could not tell how many, for the thick end of a marline-spike had been driven through the clock-face and stopped it. it was still dark when they managed to rig up a jury-mast on the stump of the old one and hoist a shred of sail. george king was ordered to the tiller. as he passed greely he said in a cheerful voice, "trust in the lord, skipper, he can bring us out o' worse than this." it might have been half an hour later when another sea swept the deck. jim took shelter under the stump of the mast and held on for dear life. charlie got inside the coil of the derrick-fall and so was saved, while the others dived into the cabin. when that sea had passed they found no one at the tiller. poor king had been washed overboard. nothing whatever could be done for him, even if he had been seen, but the greedy sea had swallowed him, and he was taken to swell with his tuneful voice the company of those who sing on high the praises of redeeming love. the sea which swept him into eternity also carried away the jury-mast, and as the smack was now a mere wreck, liable to drift on shore if the gale should continue long, jim let down an anchor, after removing its stock so that it might drag on the bottom and retard the drifting while it kept the vessel's head to the sea. a watch was then set, and the rest of the crew went below to wait and wish for daybreak! it was a dreary vigil under appalling circumstances, for although the smack had not actually sprung a leak there was always the danger of another sea overwhelming and altogether sinking her. her crew sat there for hours utterly helpless and literally facing death. fortunately their matches had escaped the water, so that they were able to kindle a fire in the stove and obtain a little warmth as well as make a pot of tea and eat some of their sea-soaked biscuit. it is wonderful how man can accommodate himself to circumstances. no sooner had the crew in this wreck felt the stimulating warmth of the hot tea than they began to spin yarns! not indeed of a fanciful kind--they were too much solemnised for that--but yarns of their experience of gales in former times. "it minds me o' this wery night last year," said lively dick, endeavouring to light his damp pipe. "i was mate o' the _beauty_ at the time. we was workin' wi' the short blues on the dogger, when a tremendous squall struck us, an' it began to snow that thick we could scarce see the end o' the jib-boom. well, the gale came on in real arnest before long, so we had to lay-to all that night. when it came day we got some sail set and i went below to have a hot pot o' tea when the skipper suddenly sang out `jump up here, dick!' an' i did jump up, double quick, to find that we was a'most runnin' slap into a dismasted craft. we shoved the tiller hard a-starboard and swung round as if we was on a swivel, goin' crash through the rackage alongside an' shavin' her by a hair. we could just see through the snow one of her hands choppin' away at the riggin', and made out that her name was the _henry and thomas_." "an' did ye see nothin' more of 'er arter that?" asked the boy charlie with an eager look. "nothin' more. she was never heard of arter that mornin'." while the men were thus talking, the watch on deck shouted that one of the mission-ships was close alongside. every one ran on deck to hail her, for they stood much in need of assistance, two of their water-casks having been stove in and everything in the hold turned topsy-turvy-- beef, potatoes, flour, all mixed up in horrible confusion. just then another sea came on board, and the crew had to dive again to the cabin for safety. that sea carried away the boat and the rest of the starboard bulwarks, besides starting a plank, and letting the water in at a rate which the pumps could not keep down. quickly the mission-ship loomed up out of the grey snow-cloud and ran past. "you'll want help!" shouted the mission skipper. "ay, we do," shouted jim greely in reply. "we're sinkin', and our boat's gone." an arm thrown up indicated that the words were understood. a few minutes later and the crew of the _dolphin_ saw the mission crew launching their little boat. with, such a sea running the venture was perilous in the extreme, but when the mission skipper said "who'll go?" he had no lack of volunteers. the boat was manned at once, and the crew of the _dolphin_ were rescued a few minutes before the _dolphin_ herself went head-foremost to the bottom. just as they got safely on deck the mission-ship herself shipped a heavy sea, which washed several of the men into the lee scuppers. they jumped up immediately--some with "thank god" on their lips, others with a laugh--but james greely did not rise. he lay stunned and rolling about in the water. it was found on raising him that his right leg was broken at the thigh. when jim recovered consciousness he did not complain. he was a man of stern mould, and neither groaned nor spoke; but he was not the less impressed with the kindness and apparent skill with which the mission skipper treated him. having received a certain amount of surgical training, the skipper-- although unlearned and a fisherman--knew well how to put the leg in splints and otherwise to treat the patient. "it's pretty bad, i fear," he said soothingly, observing that jim's lips were compressed, and that beads of perspiration were standing on his brow. jim did not reply, but smiled grimly and nodded, for the rolling of the ship caused him increasing agony as the injured parts began to inflame. "i'm not very good at this sort o' work," said the mission skipper modestly, "but thank god the new hospital-ship is cruisin' wi' the short blue just now. i saw her only yesterday, so we'll put you aboard of her and there you'll find a reg'lar shore-goin' surgeon, up to everything, and with all the gimcracks and arrangements of a reg'lar shore-goin' hospital. they've got a new contrivance too--a sort o' patent stretcher, invented by a mr dark o' the head office in london--which'll take you out o' the boat into the ship without movin' a bone or muscle, so keep your mind easy, skipper, for you'll be aboard the _queen victoria_ before many hours go by." poor greely appreciated the statement about the stretcher more than all the rest that was said, for he was keenly alive to the difficulty of passing a broken-boned man out of a little boat into a smack or steamer in a heavy sea, having often had to do it. the mission skipper was right, for early the next day jim was strapped to a wonderful frame and passed into the hospital-ship without shake or shock, and his comrades were retained in the mission smack until they could be sent on shore. greely and his men learned many lessons which they never afterwards forgot on board of the _queen victoria_--the foundation lesson being that they were lost sinners and that jesus christ came "to seek and to save the lost." slowly, and at first unwillingly, skipper greely took the great truths in. several weeks passed, and he began to move about with some of his wonted energy. much to his surprise he found himself one morning signing the temperance pledge-books, persuaded thereto by the skipper of the _queen victoria_. still more to his surprise he found himself one sunday afternoon listening, with unwonted tears in his eyes, to some of his mates as they told their spiritual experiences to an assembly of some hundred or so of weather-beaten fishermen. before quitting that vessel he discovered that he possessed a powerful and tuneful voice, admirably adapted for singing hymns, and that he was capable of publicly stating the fact that he was an unworthy sinner saved by grace. when at last he returned ashore and unexpectedly entered the yarmouth home, nellie could scarcely believe her senses, so great was the change. "jim!" she cried, with opening eyes and beating heart, "you're like your old self again." "thank god," said jim, clasping her in his strong arms. but he could say no more for some time. then he turned suddenly on curly-headed jimmie, who had been fiercely embracing one of his enormous sea-boots, and began an incoherent conversation and a riotous romp with that juvenile fisherman. a brighter sunshine than had ever been there before enlightened that yarmouth home, for god had entered it and the hearts of its occupants. example is well-known to be infectious. in course of time a number of brother fishermen began to think as jim greely thought and feel as he felt. his house also became the centre, or headquarters, of an informal association got up for the purpose of introducing warmth and sunshine into poor homes in all weathers, and there were frequently such large meetings of the members of that association that it taxed nellie's ingenuity to supply seats and stow them all away. she managed it, however; for, as jim was wont to remark, "nellie had a powerful intellec' for her size." among the frequenters of this yarmouth home were several of the men who had once been staunch supporters of the green dragon, and of these the most enthusiastic, perhaps, if not the most noisy, were black whistler, lively dick, and fair-haired charlie. chapter nine. a northern waif. if a waif is a lost wanderer, then little poosk was a decided waif for he had gone very much astray indeed in the north american backwoods. it was a serious matter for an indian child of six years of age to become a waif in the dead of winter, with four feet of snow covering the entire wilderness, and the thermometer far below zero. yes, little poosk was lost. his indian mother, when she tied up his little head in a fur cap with ear-pieces, had said to him that morning-- and it was a new year's day morning--"poosk, you go straight to the mission-house. the feast will be a very grand one--oh! _such_ a good one! better than the feast we have when the geese and ducks come back in spring. go straight; don't wander; follow in your father's tracks, and you can't go wrong." ah! what a compliment to father would have been implied in these words had the mother meant his moral tracks. but she did not: she referred to his snow-shoe tracks, which would serve as a sure guide to the mission-house, if closely followed. poosk had promised to obey orders, of course, as readily as if he had been a civilised white boy, and with equal readiness had forgotten his promise when the first temptation came. that temptation had come in the form of a wood-partridge, in chase of which, with the spirit of a true son of the forest, poosk had bolted, and soon left his father's tracks far behind him. thus it came to pass that in the pursuit of game, our little savage became a "waif and stray." had he been older, he would doubtless have returned on his own little track to the spot where he had left that of his father; but, being so young, he fancied that he could reach it by bending round towards it as he advanced. poosk was uncommonly small for his age--hence his name, which, in the cree language, means _half_. he came at the tail-end of a very large family. being remarkably small from the first, he was regarded as the extreme tip of that tail. his father styled him _half_ a child--poosk. but his lack of size was counterbalanced by great physical activity and sharp intelligence. wrapped in his warm deerskin coat, which was lined with flannel, and edged with fur, and secured with a scarlet belt, with his little legs in ornamented leggings, his little feet in new moccasins, and shod with little snowshoes not more than twenty-four inches long by eight broad--his father's being five-feet by fifteen inches,--and his little hands in leather mittens of the bag-and-thumb order, poosk went over the snow at an amazing rate for his size, but failed to rejoin his father's track. suddenly he stopped, and a pucker on his brow betrayed anxiety. compressing his little lips, he looked round him with an expression of serious determination in his large brown eyes. was he not in his native wilds? was he not the son of a noted brave? was _he_ going to submit to the disgrace of losing his way; and, what was much worse, losing his feast? certainly not! with stern resolve on every lineament of his infantile visage he changed his direction, and pushed on. we need scarcely add that he soon stopped again; resolved and re-resolved to succeed, and changed his direction again and again till he became utterly bewildered, and, finally, sitting down on the trunk of a fallen tree, shut his eyes, opened his little mouth, and howled. it was sad, but it was natural that at so early a period of life the stoicism of the savage should be overcome by the weakness of the child. finding after a while that howling resulted in nothing but noise, poosk suddenly shut his mouth, and opened his eyes. there seemed to be some intimate connection between the two operations. perhaps there was. the opening of the eyes went on to the uttermost, and then became a fixed glare, for, right in front of him sat a white rabbit on its hind legs, and, from its expression, evidently filled with astonishment equal to his own. the spirit of the hunter arose, and that of the child vanished, as little poosk sprang up and gave chase. of course the rabbit "sloped," and in a few minutes both pursued and pursuer were lost in the depths of the snow-encumbered forest. on a point of rocks which jutted out into a frozen lake, stood a small church with a small spire, small porch, and diminutive windows. the pastor of that church dwelt close to it in a wooden house or log cabin, which possessed only one window and a door. a much larger hut alongside of it served as a school-house and meeting-hall. in this little building the man of god, assisted by a red indian convert, taught the red men of the wilderness the way of life through jesus christ, besides giving them a little elementary and industrial education suited to their peculiar circumstances; and here, on the day of which we write, he had prepared the sumptuous feast to which reference has just been made. the pastor's wife and daughter had prepared it. there were venison pies and ptarmigan pasties; there were roasts of fowls, and roasts of rabbits, and stews of many things which we will not venture to describe, besides puddings of meat, and puddings of rice, and puddings of plums; also tea and coffee to wash it all down. there was no strong drink. strong health and appetite were deemed sufficient to give zest to the proceedings. the company was remarkably savage to look at, but wonderfully civilised in conduct, for the influence of christian love was there, and that influence is the same everywhere. leathern garments clothed the men; curtailed petticoats adorned the women; both wore leggings and moccasins. the boys and girls were similarly costumed, and all had brilliant teeth, brown faces, glittering eyes, lank black hair, and a look of eager expectancy. the pastor went to the head of the table, and silence ensued while he briefly asked god's blessing on the feast. then, when expectation had reached its utmost point, there was a murmur. where was the smallest mite of all the guests? nobody knew. poosk's mother said she had sent him off hours ago, and had thought that he must be there. poosk's father--a very tall man, with remarkably long legs,--hearing this, crossed the room in three strides, put on his five-feet by fifteen-inch snow-shoes and went off into the forest at express speed. anxiety is not an easily-roused condition in the north american indian. the feast began, despite the absence of our waif; and the waif's mother set to work with undiminished appetite. meanwhile the waif himself went farther and farther astray--swayed alternately by the spirit of the stoic and the spirit of the little child. but little poosk was made of sterling stuff, and the two spirits had a hard battle in him for the mastery that wintry afternoon. his chase of the rabbit was brought to an abrupt conclusion by a twig which caught one of his snow-shoes, tripped him up, and sent him headlong into the snow. when snow averages four feet in depth it affords great scope for ineffectual floundering. the snow-shoes kept his feet near the surface, and the depth prevented his little arms from reaching solid ground. when at last he recovered his perpendicular, his hair, eyes, nose, ears, sleeves, and mittens were stuffed with snow; and the child-spirit began to whimper, but the stoic sprang on him and quickly crushed him down. drawing his little body up with a look of determination, and wiping away the tears which had already begun to freeze on his eyelashes, our little hero stepped out more vigorously than ever, in the full belief that every yard carried him nearer home, though in reality he was straying farther and farther from his father's track. well was it for little poosk that day that his hope of reaching home did not depend on his own feeble efforts. already the father was traversing the wilderness in search of his lost lamb, though the lamb knew it not. but poosk's disasters were not yet over. although brave at heart and, for his years, sturdy of frame, he could not withstand the tremendous cold peculiar to those regions of ice and snow; and ere long the fatal lethargy that is often induced by extreme frost began to tell. the first symptom was that poosk ceased to feel the cold as much as he had felt it some time before. then a drowsy sensation crept over him, and he looked about for a convenient spot on which to sit down and rest. alas for the little savage if he had given way at that time! fortunately a small precipice was close in front of him, its upper edge concealed by wreaths of snow. he fell over it, turning a somersault as he went down, and alighted safely in a snow-bed at the bottom. the shock revived him, but it also quelled the stoic in his breast. rising with difficulty, he wrinkled up his brown visage, and once again took to howling. half an hour later his father, steadily following up the little track in the snow, reached the spot and heard the howls. a smile lit up his swarthy features, and there was a gleam of satisfaction in his black eyes as he descended to the spot where the child stood. sudden calm after a storm followed the shutting of poosk's mouth and the opening of his eyes. another moment, and his father had him in his strong arms, turned him upside down, felt him over quietly, shook him a little, ascertained that no bones were broken, put him on his broad shoulders, and carried him straight back to the mission hall, where the feasters were in full swing--having apparently quite forgotten the little "waif and stray." north american indians, as is well-known, are not demonstrative. there was no shout of joy when the lost one appeared. even his mother took no further notice of him than to make room for him on the form beside her. she was a practical mother. instead of fondling him she proceeded to stuff him, which she was by that time at leisure to do, having just finished stuffing herself. the father, stalking sedately to a seat at another table, proceeded to make up for lost time. he was marvellously successful in his efforts. he was one of those indian braves who are equal to any emergency. although near the end of the feast and with only _debris_ left to manipulate, he managed to refresh himself to his entire satisfaction before the tables were cleared. the feast of reason which followed was marked by one outstanding and important failure. the pastor had trained the indian boys and girls of his school to sing several hymns, and repeat several pieces in prose and verse. our waif, besides being the smallest boy, possessed the sweetest voice in the school. he was down on the programme for a hymn--a solo. having fallen sound asleep after being stuffed, it was found difficult to awake him when his turn came. by dint of shaking, however, his mother roused him up and set him on his legs on a table, where he was steadied a little by the pastor's wife, and gently bid to begin, by the pastor's daughter. poosk was very fond of the pastor's daughter. he would have done anything for her. he opened his large eyes, from which a sleepy gleam of intelligence flashed. he opened his little mouth, from which rolled the sweetest of little voices. the indians, who had been purposely kept in ignorance of this musical treat, were ablaze with surprise and expectation; but the sound died away, the mouth remained open, and the eyes shut suddenly as poosk fell over like a ninepin, sound asleep, into the arms of the pastor's daughter. nothing more was to be got out of him that day. even the boisterous laugh which greeted his breakdown failed to rouse him; and finally our northern waif was carried home, and put to bed beside a splendid fire in a warm robe of rabbit skins. chapter ten. how to make the best of life: from a young man's standpoint. this world is full of niches that have to be filled, of paths that have to be trod, of work that has to be done. pouring continually into it there are millions of human beings who are capable of being fitted to fill those niches, to traverse those paths, and to do that work. i venture a step further and assert that every human being, without exception, who arrives at the years of maturity must, in the nature of things, have a particular niche and path and work appointed for him; and just in proportion as a man finds out his exact work, and walks in or strays from his peculiar path, will be the success of his life. he may miss his aim altogether, and his life turn out a failure, because of his self-will, or, perhaps, his mistaken notions; and there are few sights more depressing than that of a round young man rushing into a square hole, except that of a square young man trying to wriggle himself into a round hole. what the world wants is "the right man in the right place." what each man wants is to find his right place. but the fact that man may, and often does, make a wrong choice, that he may try to traverse the wrong path, to accomplish the wrong work, and do many things in the wrong way, is a clear proof that his course in life is not arbitrarily fixed, that he has been left to the freedom of his own will, and may therefore fall short of the _best_, though he may be fortunate enough to attain the good or the better. hence devolves upon every one the responsibility of putting and finding an answer to the question--how shall i make the best of life? and let me say here in passing that i venture to address young men on this subject, not because i conceive myself to be gifted with superior wisdom, but because, being an old man, i stand on the heights and vantage ground of experience, and looking back, can see the rocks and shoals and quicksands in life's ocean, which have damaged and well-nigh wrecked myself. i would not only try my hand as a pilot to guide, but as, in some sense, a buoy or beacon to warn from dangers that are not only unseen but unsuspected. every young man of ordinary common sense will at least aim at what he believes to be best in life, and the question will naturally arise--what _is_ best? if a youth's chief idea of felicity is to "have a good time;" to enjoy himself to the utmost; to cram as much of sport, fun, and adventure into his early manhood as possible, with a happy-go-lucky indifference as to the future, he is not yet in a frame of mind to consider our question at all. i feel disposed to say to him--in paraphrase--"be serious, man, or, if ye can't be serious, be as serious as ye can," while we consider a subject that is no trifling matter. what, then, _is_ best? i reply--so to live and work that we shall do the highest good of which we are capable to the world, and, in the doing thereof, achieve the highest possible happiness to ourselves, and to those with whom we are connected. in the end, to leave the world better than we found it. now, there is only one foundation on which such a life can be reared, and that foundation is god. to attempt the building on any other, or to neglect a foundation altogether, is to solicit and ensure disaster. but supposing, young man, that you agree with me in this; are fully alive to the importance of the question, and are desirous of obtaining all the light you can on it, then i would, with all the earnestness of which i am capable, urge you to begin on this sure foundation by asking god to guide you and open up your way. "ask, and ye shall receive; seek, and ye shall find." "commit thy way unto the lord, and he will bring it to pass." without this beginning there is, there can be, no possibility of real success, no hope of reaching the best. with it there may still be partial mistake--owing to sin and liability to err-- but there can be no such thing as absolute failure. man's first prayer in all his plans of life should be--"lord, what wilt thou have me to do?" many people think that they have put up that petition and got no answer, when the answer is obviously before their eyes. it seems to me that god's answers are always indicative, and not very difficult to understand. an anxious father says--if he does not also pray--"what shall i train my boy to be?" god, through the medium of common sense, replies, watch your son, observe his tastes, and especially his powers, and train him accordingly. his capacities, whatever they are, were given to him by his maker for the express purpose of being developed. if you don't develop them, you neglect a clear indication, unless, indeed, it be held that men were made in some haphazard way for no definite purpose at all; but this would be equivalent to making out the creator to be less reasonable than most of his own creatures! if a lad has a strong liking for some particular sort of work or pursuit, and displays great aptitude for it, there is no need of an audible voice to tell what should be his path in life. contrariwise, strong dislike, coupled with incapacity, indicates the path to be avoided with equal precision. of course, liking and disliking are not a sufficient indication, for both may be based upon partial ignorance. the sea, as a profession, is a case in point. how many thousands of lads have an intense liking for the idea of a sailor's life! but the liking is not for the sea; it is for some romantic notion of the sea; and the romancer's aptitude for a sea life must at first be taken for granted while his experience is _nil_. he dreams, probably, of majestic storms, or heavenly calms, of coral islands, and palm groves, and foreign lands and peoples. if very imaginative, he will indulge in malay pirates and wrecks, and lifeboats, and desert islands, on which he will always land safely, and commence a second edition of robinson crusoe. but he will scarcely think, till bitter experience compels him, of very long watches in dirty unromantic weather, of holy-stoning the decks, scraping down the masts, and clearing out the coal-hole. happily for our navy and the merchant service there are plenty of lads who go through all this and stick to it, their love of the ocean is triumphant--but there are a few exceptions! on the other hand, liking and fitness may be discovered by experience. i know a man who, from childhood, took pleasure in construction and invention. at the age of nine he made a real steam engine which "could go" with steam, and which was small enough to be carried in his pocket. he was encouraged to follow the providential indication, went through all the drudgery of workshops, and is now a successful engineer. of course, there are thousands of lads whose paths are not so clearly marked out; but does it not seem reasonable to expect that, with prayer for guidance, and thoughtful consideration on the part of the boy's parents, as well as of the boy himself, the best path in life may be discovered for each? no doubt there are many difficulties in the way; as when parents are too ambitious, or when sons are obstinate and self-willed, or when both are antagonistic to each other. if, as is not infrequently the case, a youth has no particular taste for any profession, and shows no very obvious capacity for anything, is it not a pretty strong indication that he was meant to tread one of the many subordinate paths of life and be happy therein? all men cannot be generals. some must be content to rub shoulders with the rank and file. if a lad is fit only to dig in a coal pit or sweep the streets, he is as surely intended to follow these honourable callings as is the captain who has charge of an ocean steamer to follow the _sea_. and even in the selection of these lowly occupations the path is divinely indicated, while the free-will is left to the influence of common sense, so that the robust youth with powerful frame and sinews will probably select the pit, and the comparatively delicate man will prefer the crossing. i repeat, to say that any creature was called into being for no purpose at all, is to question the wisdom of the almighty. even if a babe makes its appearance on this terrestrial scene, and wails out its brief career in a single day, it was sent here for a special purpose, else it would not have been sent, and that purpose must have been fully accomplished, else it would not have died. to my mind this is an exceedingly cheering view of things, for it encourages the belief that however poor or feeble may have been our efforts to live a good life, these efforts cannot have been made in vain, even although they may fall very far short of the "best." and there is also this very hopeful consideration to comfort us, that the race is not always to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, that wisdom sometimes proceeds out of the mouths of babes, and that "we little know what great things from little things may rise." to be sure, that cuts both ways, for, what sometimes are called "little sins" may result in tremendous evil, but, equally, efforts that seem insignificant may be the cause of great and unexpected blessing. if, then, as i sincerely believe, every living being has a special work to do--or, rather, has a variety of appropriate paths in any one of which he may walk with more or less advantage to himself and his fellow-men--it behoves every young man to find out what path is the best one for him, and to walk in it vigorously. fatalism is folly. no one believes in it. at least no one in this country acts upon it. when i say that every being has a special work to do, i don't mean that it has been decreed _exactly_ what each man has to do. were this so, he would have to do it, _nolens volens_, and there would be no such thing as responsibility--for it would be gross injustice to hold a man responsible for that which he could by no means prevent or accomplish. that which has really been decreed is that man shall have free-will and be allowed to exercise that free-will in the conduct of his affairs. it is a most mysterious gift, but there it is--an unquestionable fact--and it must be taken into account in all our reasoning. there is a confusion here into which men are sometimes liable to fall. man's will is absolutely free, but his action is not so. he may will just as he pleases, but all experience tells us that he may not do just as he pleases. whether his intentions be good or bad, they are frequently and effectively interfered with, but his will--never. seeing, then, that there is a best way for every one, and that there are sundry common sense methods by which the path may be discovered, it may be well to consider for a moment whether there are not some obstacles which stand in the way of a young man's success in life, not only because they are providentially allowed to lie there, but because the young man himself either carelessly or unwittingly has planted them in his own path. selfishness is one of those obstacles. and by selfishness i do not mean that gross form of it which secures for the man who gives way to it a bad name, but those subtle phases of it which may possibly be allied with much that is good, amiable, and attractive. it is not unfrequently the consequence of that thoughtlessness which results in evil not less than does want of heart. talking too much about oneself and one's own affairs, and being too little interested in the affairs of others, is one aspect of the selfishness to which i refer. some men, the moment they meet you, begin to talk energetically about what they have been doing, or thinking, or about what they are going to do, and if you encourage them they will go on talking in the same strain, totally forgetting that _you_ may chance to be interested in other things. such men, if they begin young, and are not checked, soon degenerate into "bores," and no bore, however well-meaning or even religious, ever succeeded in making the best of life. the cure for this is to be found--as usual--in the scripture: "wherewithal shall a young man cleanse his way? by taking heed thereto according to thy word." and what says the word? "look not (only) on your own things, but upon the things of others." i have a friend who was the confidant of a large number of his kindred and of many other people besides. it was said of him that everybody went to him for sympathy and advice. i can well believe it, for he never spoke about himself at all that i can remember. he was not unusually wise or superlatively clever, but he had "a heart at leisure from itself to soothe and sympathise." the consequence was that, in spite of a good many faults, he was greatly beloved. and it is certain, reader, that to gain the affection of your fellow-men is one of the surest steps in the direction of success in life. to be too much concerned in conversation about yourself, your affairs and your opinions will prove to be a mighty obstruction in your way. perhaps one of the best methods of fighting against this tendency is to resolve, when meeting with friends, _never_ to begin with self, but _always_ with them. but it is hard to crucify self! this mode of procedure, be it observed, would not be a hypocritical exhibition of interest where none was felt, but an honest attempt to snub self by deliberately putting your friends' interests before your own. it is probable that we are not sufficiently alive to the influence of comparatively insignificant matters on success in life. illegible handwriting, for instance, may go far to retard or arrest a youth's success. it sometimes interferes with friendly intercourse. i once had a friend whose writing was so illegible, and the cause of so much worry in mere decipherment, that i was constrained to give up epistolary correspondence with him altogether. there can be little doubt that many a would-be author fails of success because of the illegibility of his penmanship, for it is impossible that an editor or publisher can form a fair estimate of the character or value of a manuscript which he has much difficulty in reading. there is one thing which men are prone to do, and which it would be well that they should not do, and that is, "nail their colours to the mast" in early youth. the world is a school. we are ever learning--or ought to be--and, in some cases, "never coming to a knowledge of the truth!" is not this partly owing to that fatal habit of nailing the colours? i do not for a moment advocate the holding of opinions loosely. on the contrary, whether a man be young or old, whenever he gets hold of what he believes to be true, he ought to grasp it tenaciously and with a firm grip, but he should never "nail" it. being fallible, man is liable to more or less of error; and, therefore, ought to hold himself open to correction--ay, even to conversion. new or stronger light may convince him that he has been wrong--and if a man will not change when he is convinced, or "fully persuaded in his own mind," he has no chance of finding out how to make the best of life, either from a young, or middle-aged, or old man's standpoint. why, new or stronger light--if he would let it illumine him--might even convince him that his opinion was not only true, but involved much greater and grander truths than he supposed. it is difficult to go more minutely into details, even if it were advisable to do so. i may fittingly conclude by saying that the sum of all that might be written is comprehended in the statement that obedience to god in all things is the sure and only road to success. of all the bright and glorious truths with which our fallen world is enlightened, there is one--a duplex truth--which lies at the foundation of everything. it is unchangeable. without it all other facts would be valueless, and i would recommend every man, woman, and child to nail it to the mast without hesitation, namely--"god is love," and "love is the fulfilling of the law." chapter eleven. forgive and forget: a lifeboat story. old captain bolter said he would never forgive jo grain--never. and what captain bolter said he meant: for he was a strong and self-willed man. there can be no doubt that the captain had some ground of complaint against grain: for he had been insulted by him grossly--at least so he thought. it happened thus:-- joseph grain was a young fisherman, and the handsomest, tallest, strongest, and most active among the youths of the little seaport town in which he dwelt. he was also one of the lifeboat's crew, and many a time had his strong hand been extended in the midst of surging sea and shrieking tempest to save the perishing. moreover, he was of a frank, generous disposition; was loved by most of his comrades; envied by a few; hated by none. but with all his fine qualities young grain had a great and serious fault--he was rather fond of strong drink. it must not, however, be supposed that he was a drunkard, in the ordinary sense at least of that term. no, he was never seen to stagger homeward, or to look idiotic: but, being gifted with a robust frame and finely-strung nerves, a very small quantity of alcohol sufficed to rouse within him the spirit of combativeness, inducing him sometimes to say and do things which afterwards could not be easily unsaid or undone, however much he might repent. one afternoon grain and some of his mates were sauntering towards the little lighthouse that stood at the end of their pier. it was an old-fashioned stone pier, with a dividing wall or parapet down the middle of it. as they walked along, some of the younger men began to question jo about a rumour that had recently been spread abroad. "come, now, jo," said one, named blunt, "don't try to deceive us; you can't deny that you're after cappen bolter's little gal." "well, i _won't_ deny it," replied jo, with sudden energy and somewhat forced gaiety, while the blood mounted to his bronzed cheeks: "moreover, i don't care who knows it, for there's not a sweeter lass in all the town than mary bolter, an' the man that would be ashamed to own his fondness for her don't deserve to have her." "that's true," said a young fisherman, named guy, with a nod of approval--"though there may be two opinions as to which is the sweetest lass in all the town!" "i tell 'ee what, jo," remarked a stern and rather cross-grained bachelor, named grime, "you may save yourself the trouble of givin' chase to that little craft, for although old bolter ain't much to boast of--bein' nothin' more than the skipper of a small coastin' craft--he thinks hisself far too big a man to give his darter to a fisherman." "does he?" exclaimed grain, with vehemence, and then suddenly checked himself. "ay, that does he," returned grime, with something of a sneer in his tone. it chanced that jo grain had been to the public-house that day, and the sneer, which at other times would have been passed over with indifference, stung him--coupled as it was with a slur on his lowly position. he looked fiercely at grime, and said, in a loud, angry tone: "it's a matter of moonshine to me what bolter thinks of himself. if the girl's willin' to have me i'll wed her in spite o' the old grampus." now, unhappily for jo grain, the "old grampus" chanced at that very time to be sunning himself, and enjoying his pipe on the other side of the pier-wall, and heard distinctly what jo said. moreover, there was some truth in what grime had said about the old skipper looking down on the young fisherman's position: so that, although he could not deny that jo was a first-rate man, and knew that mary was fond of him, he had hitherto felt a strong disinclination to allow his darling and only child to wed, as he considered it beneath her. when, therefore, the speech above quoted broke harshly on his ears, the matter became finally settled in his mind. he dropped his pipe, set his heel on it, and ground it to powder. he also ground his teeth, and, turning round with a snort, worthy of the creature to which he had been compared, sailed wildly homewards. next day jo grain chanced to meet him in the street, and held out his hand as usual; but the captain, thrusting both hands deep into his trousers pockets, looked the young man firmly in the face-- "no, grain," he said sternly. "i've done with _you_!" "why so, captain bolter?" asked jo, in great surprise. "because," hissed the captain, as his wrath rose, "an _old grampus_ don't choose to have anything more to do with a _young puppy_!" instantly his reckless speech of the day before flashed into jo's mind. "forgive me, captain bolter," he said respectfully: "forgive me, and try to forget it--i didn't mean it, believe me--i--i wasn't quite myself, sir, when--" "no!" interrupted the captain fiercely; "i'll never forgive you, nor forget it." with that he turned away and left jo grain to meditate on the folly of indulging in a stimulant which robbed him of his self-control. but youth is very hopeful. jo did not quite believe in the captain's sincerity. he comforted himself with the thought that time would soften the old man's feelings, and meanwhile he would continue to court mary when opportunity offered. the captain, however, soon proved that he was thoroughly in earnest: for, instead of leaving his daughter under the care of a maiden aunt, as had been his custom previously, during his frequent absences from home, he took her to sea with him, and left jo with an extra supply of food for meditation. poor jo struggled hard under this his first severe trial, but struggled in his own strength and failed. instead of casting away the glass which had already done him so much damage, he madly took to it as a solace to his secret grief. yet jo took good care that his comrades should see no outward trace of that grief. he was not, however, suffered to remain long under the baleful influence of drink. soon after the departure of captain bolter, a missionary visited the little seaport to preach salvation from sin through jesus christ, and, being a man of prayer and faith, his mission was very successful. among the many sins against which he warned the people, he laid particular stress on that of drunkenness. this was long before the days of the blue ribbon movement: but the spirit of that movement was there, though the particular title had not yet arisen. the missionary preached christ the saviour of sinners, and temperance as one of the fruits of salvation. many of the rough fishermen were converted--bowed their heads and wills, and ceased to resist god. among them was joseph grain. there was not, indeed, a remarkably great outward change in jo after this: for he had always been an amiable, hearty, sweet-tempered fellow: but there was, nevertheless, a radical change; for whereas in time past he had acted to please himself, he now acted to please his lord. to natural enthusiasm, which had previously made him the hero of the town, was now superadded the enthusiasm of a soldier of the cross: and when lifeboat duty called him, as in days gone by, to hold out his hand to the perishing, even while in the act of saving their bodies he prayed that the result might be salvation to their souls. you may be sure that jo did not forget mary: but his thoughts about her were wonderfully changed: for in this affair of the heart despair had given place to trust and submission. time passed by, and one night in the dreary month of november the storm-fiend was let loose on the shores of england. all round the coast the crews of our lifeboats assembled at pier-heads and other points of vantage to watch the enemy and prepare for action. among others jo grain and his comrades assembled at their post of duty. it was an awful night--such as, happily, does not often visit our shores. thick darkness seemed to brood over land and sea. only the robust and hardy dared to show face to the keen, withering blast, which was laden with sleet. sometimes a gleam of lightning would dart through the raging elements; occasionally the murky clouds rolled off the sky for a short time, allowing the moon to render darkness hideously visible. tormented foam came in from the sea in riven masses, and the hoarse roaring of the breakers played a bass accompaniment to the yelling blast, which dashed gravel and sand, as well as sleet, in the faces of those who had courage enough to brave it. "there--wasn't that a light?" cried the coxswain of the lifeboat, as he cowered under the shelter of the pier-wall and gazed seaward with difficulty. "ay," responded blunt, who was bowman of the boat; "there it goes again." "and a rocket!" shouted jo grain, starting up. "no mistake now," cried the coxswain. "look alive, lads!" he ran as he spoke to the spot where the lifeboat lay ready under the shelter of the pier, but jo was on board before him. almost simultaneously did a dozen strong and fearless men leap into the noble craft and don their cork life-belts. a few seconds sufficed. every man knew well his place and his duty. the short, powerful oars were shipped. "give way!" cried the coxswain. there was no cheer--no onlooker to encourage. silently the strong backs were bent, and the lively boat shot away towards the entrance of the harbour like a "thing of life." no description can adequately convey to landsmen the work to be done and the conditions under which it was performed. on passing the shelter of the pier-head the boat and her crew were met not only by the tumultuous surging of cross seas, but by a blast which caught the somewhat high bow and almost whirled them into the air; while in its now unbroken force the cold blast seemed to wither up the powers of the men. then, in the dark distance, an unusually huge billow was seen rushing down on them. to meet it straight as an arrow and with all possible speed was essential. failure here--and the boat, turning side on, would have been rolled over and swept back into the harbour, if not wrecked against the breakwater. the coxswain strained at the steering oar as a man strains for life. the billow was fairly met. the men also strained till the stout oars were ready to snap; for they knew that the billow must be cut through if they were to reach the open sea; but it was so high that the bow of the boat was lifted up, and for one instant it seemed as if she were to be hurled backward right over the stern. the impulse given, however, was sufficient. the crest of the wave was cut, and next moment the bow fell forward, plunging deep into the trough of the sea. at the same time a cross-wave leaped right over the boat and filled it to the gunwales. this initial danger past, it was little the men cared for their drenching. as little did the boat mind the water, which she instantly expelled through the discharging tubes in her floor. but the toil now began. in the teeth of tide and tempest they had to pull with might and main; advancing foot by foot, sometimes only inch by inch. no rest; no breathing time; nothing but continuous tearing at the oars, if progress was to be made, while the spray enveloped them perpetually, and at frequent intervals the "solid" water, plunging inboard, almost swept the heroes from their seats. but if the raging sea through which the lifeboat struggled was dreadful, much more terrible was the turmoil on the outlying sands where the wreck was being gradually dashed to pieces. there the mad billows held high revelry. rushing in from all sides, twisted and turned in their courses by the battered shoals, they met not far from, the wreck with the shock of opposing armies, and clouds of foam sprang upward in dire, indescribable confusion. the vessel in distress was a small brig. she had been lifted like a plaything by the waves, and hurled high on the sand, where, although now unable to lift her up, they rolled her to and fro with extreme violence. rocket after rocket had been sent up, until the drenching seas had rendered the firing of them impossible. the foremast had already gone by the board, carrying most of the crew with it. on the cross-trees of the mainmast only two remained--a man and a woman, who could barely maintain their hold as the battered craft swayed from side to side. "the end comes at last, darling mary," said the man, as he grasped the woman tightly with one arm and the mast with the other. "no, father--not yet," gasped the woman; "see--the lifeboat! i felt sure that god would send it." on came the gallant little craft. there was just light enough to enable those on the wreck to see dimly her white and blue sides as she laboured through the foam towards them. "they have missed us, father; they don't see us!" cried the girl. the blast blew her long hair about, adding wildness to the look of alarm which she cast on the man while speaking. "nay, darling, it's all right. they've only pulled a bit to wind'ard. keep on praying, mary." when well to windward of the wreck the anchor of the lifeboat was let go, and they began to drop down towards the vessel by the cable. then, for the first time, the men could draw a long breath and relax their efforts at the oars, for wind and waves were now in their favour, though they still dashed and tossed and buffeted them. soon they were nearly alongside, and the man on the cross-trees was heard to shout, but his words could not be made out. what could it be that caused jo grain's heart to beat against his strong ribs with the force of a sledge-hammer and his eyes to blaze with excitement, as he turned on his thwart and crouched like a tiger ready to spring? there was tremendous danger in drawing near: for, at one moment, the boat rushed up on a sea as if about to plunge through the rigging of the vessel, and the next she was down in a seething caldron, with the black hull looming over her. it was observed that the two figures aloft, which could barely be seen against the dark sky, were struggling with some difficulty. they had lashed themselves to the mast, and their benumbed fingers could not undo the fastenings. "haul off!" shouted the coxswain, as the boat was hurled with such force towards the vessel's hull that destruction seemed imminent. "no, hold on!" roared jo grain. the men obeyed their coxswain, but as the boat heaved upwards jo sprang with all his might, and fell into the rigging of the wreck. a few seconds later and he was on the cross-trees, knife in hand, and the lashings were cut. at the same moment a rending crash was heard, and again the stentorian voice of the coxswain was heard shouting to the men. the lifeboat was pulled off just in time to escape from the mainmast as it fell, burying its cross-trees and all its tangled gearing in the sea. the bowman and young guy leaned over the side, and at the risk of their lives grasped at a drowning man. they caught him, and captain bolter was dragged into the boat insensible. a moment later and a hand was seen to rise in the midst of the wreckage. guy knew it well. he grasped it and held on. a few seconds more and jo grain, with blood pouring down his face, from a deep cut in his head, was raised to the gunwale. "have a care," he gasped faintly. his right arm encircled an inanimate form. both were dragged on board, and then it was seen that the form was that of mary bolter, uninjured though insensible. to haul up to the anchor was a slow process and laborious, but it was done cheerily, for the hearts of the men were aglow with satisfaction. three lives saved! it was what blunt styled a grand haul. not many, indeed: but was not one that of a loved comrade, and was not another that of "the sweetest lass in all the town," in spite of young guy's difference of opinion? it was grey dawn when the lifeboat returned to port under sail, with a small flag flying in token of success, and it would have done your heart good, reader, to have seen the faces of the crowds that lined the pier, and heard the ringing cheers that greeted the gallant rescuers as they brought the rescued safe to land. six hours after that captain bolter sat at the bedside of jo grain. "you've been hard hit, jo, i fear," he said kindly. "yes, rather hard, but the doctor says i'll be all right in a week or two; and it's little i'll care about it, captain, if you'll only agree to forgive and forget." the captain seized jo's hand and tried to speak, but could not. after an abortive effort he turned away with a grunt and left the room. six months after that, joseph grain, transformed into a coast-guardsman, led "the sweetest lass in all the town" to the village church, and young guy, still objecting to the title, was groom's-man. "jo," said captain bolter that day, at parting, "i've forgiven you long ago, but i _can't_ forget; for you said the truth that time. i _was_ an old grampus, or a fool, if you like, and i'm not much better now. however, good-bye, dear boy, and take care of her, for there's not another like her in all england." "except one," murmured young guy, as he squeezed his friend's hand and quietly attached an old slipper to their cab as they drove away. thereafter he swaggered off to a certain familiar cottage to talk over the wedding with one whom _he_ considered the sweetest lass in all the town. chapter twelve. "rescue the perishing." proverbial philosophy asserts that the iron should be struck when it is hot. i sympathise with proverbial philosophy in this case, but that teacher says nothing whatever about striking the iron when it is cold; and experience--at least that of blacksmiths--goes to prove that cold iron may be struck till heat is evolved, and, once heated, who knows what intensity of incandescence may be attained? i will try it. my hammer may not be a large one. a sledge-hammer it certainly is not. such as it is i wield it under the impulse of great heat within me, and will direct my blows at the presumably cold iron around. i say presumably,--because if you, good reader, have not been subjected to the same influences with myself you cannot reasonably be expected to be even warm--much less white-hot. the cause of all this heat was dr barnardo's splendid meeting held recently in the royal albert hall. i came home from that meeting incandescent--throwing off sparks of enthusiasm, and eagerly clutching at every cold or lukewarm creature that came in my way with a view to expend on it some of my surplus heat! the great albert hall filled is enough of itself to arouse enthusiasm, whatever the object of the gathering may be. ten thousand human beings, more or less, swarming on the floor, clustering on the walls, rising tier above tier, until in dim distance the pigmy throng seems soaring up into the very heavens, is a tremendous, a solemn, a heart-stirring sight, suggestive--i write with reverence--of the judgment day. and when such an assembly is convened for the purpose of considering matters of urgent importance, matters affecting the well-being of multitudes, matters of life and death which call for instant and vigorous action, then the enthusiasm is naturally intensified and needs but little hammering to rouse it to the fiercest glow. it was no ordinary gathering this--no mere "annual meeting" of a grand society. it was indeed that, but a great deal more. there was a "noble chairman," of course, and an address, and several speeches by eminent men; but i should suppose that one-half of the audience could not well see the features of the speakers or hear their words. these were relatively insignificant matters. the business of the evening was to present to the people a great object lesson, and the only figure on the platform that bulked large--at least in my esteem--was that of dr barnardo himself, and a magical master of the ceremonies did the doctor prove himself to be. being unable to induce the "west end" to visit the "east end," he had simply cut several enormous slices out of the slums and set them down in the royal albert hall for inspection. the display was set forth interestingly and with emphasis, insomuch that things almost spoke for themselves, and wherein they failed to do so the doctor supplemented in a satisfactorily sonorous voice. one of the slum-slices was a large one. it consisted of thirteen hundred children--boys and girls--in bright, light, smart dresses, who clustered on the orchestra and around the great organ, like flowers in june. looking at their clean, wholesome faces, neat attire, and orderly demeanour, i thought, "is it possible that these are the sweepings of the streets?" the question was tellingly answered later on; but here it may be stated that this beautiful band of was only a slice--a sample--of the doctor's large family, which at present numbers nearly . (it now, in , numbers nearly .) it was grand to hear them sing! the great organ itself had to sing small beside them, for wood and metal can never hope to equal the living human voice, even though it be but a voice from the slums. not only hymns but humorous songs they sang, and heroic. a telling effect was produced while singing one of the latter by the sudden display of union jacks, each the size of a 'kerchief, which the singers waved in time to the chorus. it seemed as though a stiff breeze had swept over the flower-bed and kissed the national flag in passing. another surprise of this kind was given during the stirring song of _the fire brigade_, when bits of gold and silver paper, waved to and fro, seemed to fill the orchestra with flashing fire. but much of this was for show, to tickle our eyes and ears and prepare the way, as it were, for the grave and stern realities yet to come. there was a mighty platform covered with crimson cloth in the centre of the hall in front of the orchestra. on it were several mysterious objects covered with sheets. at a signal--a whistle--given by the doctor, a band of sturdy boys, clad in their work-a-day uniform, scampered down the central passage of the hall, jumped on the platform, flung off the sheets, and discovered carpenters' benches, saws, hammers, wood--in short, all the appliances with which they carry on the various trades at their "home" in the east end. in a few seconds, as if by magic, the platform was a workshop in full swing--hammering, sawing, chiselling, wood-chopping, clattering, and indescribable din, which was enhanced, but not drowned, by the applause of the astonished audience. the little fellows worked as though life depended on their activity, for the space, it seemed to me, of half a minute. then the shrill whistle sounded again, and the work ceased, as if the springs of life had been suddenly cut off. dead silence ensued; each worker remaining in the attitude in which he had been petrified--a group of artisan statuary in colour! the doctor was thus enabled quietly to explain that the display represented only a very few of the trades taught and carried on by his rescued boys at stepney causeway. at another signal the splendidly drilled young fellows scampered off, carrying not only their tools, but their benches, tables, stools, and even debris along with them, and, disappearing in less than a couple of minutes, left not a chip or shaving behind. it would take a good many pages of close writing to give anything like a detailed account of all that i saw. i must pass over much in order to emphasise one or two very telling incidents. the doctor presented a sample of all his wares. one of these was a very touching sample-- namely, a band of cripples, who made their way slowly on crutches down the passage to the platform--for it is one of the noteworthy points in this mission that no destitute boy is turned away, whether he be well or ill, crippled or sound. so, also, there was a small procession of neat, pleasant-looking nurses, each leading one or more mites of forsaken humanity from "babies' castle." but it seemed to me that the kernel of the nut had been reached, and the foundation of the god-like mission laid bare for our inspection, when the raw material was led forth. we had got accustomed by that time to turn an expectant gaze at a far distant door when the doctor's voice ceased or his whistle sounded. presently a solitary nurse with the neat familiar white cap and apron appeared at the door leading two little creatures by the hand. a hush--a distinct though indescribable sensation--as of profound pity and pathos,--passed over the vast assembly as a little boy and girl direct from the slums were led forward. the nurse had to walk slowly to accommodate her pace to theirs. half naked, ragged, dirty, unkempt, bereft of their natural guardians, or forsaken by them--helpless, yet left to help themselves almost before they could walk! forward they came to the central platform, casting timid, wondering glances around at the mighty host of well-to-do beings, not one of whom, perhaps, ever knew what it is to hunger for a whole day and lie down at night with a door-step for a pillow. oh, it was pitiful! the doctor advanced to these forlorn ones and took them by the hands with inexpressible tenderness, and then, facing the assembly, broke the silence and presented the human material which it was, under god, his mission in life to rescue. then turning abruptly to the flower-bed in the orchestra, he signalled with his finger. a flower that might well have been styled a rosebud--a neat little girl in pink with a natty straw hat--tripped lightly down and stood on the platform beside the poor waifs. looking up once more to the entranced audience and pointing to the children, the doctor said-- "such as these are, she was but a few months ago, and such as she is now they will soon become, with god's blessing." i may not quote the words correctly, but that is my recollection of the substance. the doctor was not content, however, to show us the foundation and progress of his work. he showed us the work, as it were, completed, in the form of a band of sturdy young men in their working costume, ready to start as rescued, trained, useful, earnest labourers for the fields of manitoba--young men who all had once been lost waifs and strays. still further, he, as it were, put the copestone on his glorious work by presenting a band of men and women--"old boys and girls"--who had been tested by rough contact with the world and its temptations, and had come off victorious "by keeping their situations with credit" for periods varying from one to nine years--kept by the power of christ! when i saw the little waifs and looked up at the bands of happy children before me, and thought of the thousands more in the "homes," and of the multitudes which have passed through these homes in years gone by; the gladness and the great boon to humanity which must have resulted, and of the terrible crime and degradation that might have been--my heart offered the prayer, which at that moment my voice could not have uttered--"god bless and prosper dr barnardo and his work!" i hear a voice from the "back of beyont," or some such far off locality--a timid voice, perhaps that of a juvenile who knows little, and can scarce be expected to care much, about london--asking "who is dr barnardo?" for the sake of that innocent one i reply that he is a scavenger--the chief of london scavengers! he and his subordinates sweep up the human rubbish of the slums and shoot it into a receptacle at stepney causeway, where they manipulate and wash it, and subject it to a variety of processes which result, with god's blessing, in the recovery of innumerable jewels of inestimable value. i say inestimable, because men have not yet found a method of fixing the exact value of human souls and rescued lives. the "rubbish" which is gathered consists of destitute children. the assistant scavengers are men and women who love and serve the lord jesus christ. chapter thirteen. a knotty question. "tom blunt," said richard sharp, "i deny your premises, condemn your reasoning as illogical, and reject your conclusions with scorn!" the youth who made this remark with very considerable assurance and emphasis was a student. his fellow-student received it with an air of bland good-nature. "dick," said he, "your oratory is rotund, and if it were convincing might be impressive; but it fails to some extent in consequence of a certain smack of self-assertion which is unphilosophical. suppose, now, that we have this matter out in a calm, dispassionate manner, without `tooth,' or egotism, or prejudice, which tend so powerfully to mar human disputation and render it abortive." "with all my heart, tom," said the other, drawing close to the fire, placing one foot against the mantelpiece, as being a comfortable, though not elegant posture, resting his elbows on the arms of his chair, and placing his hands in that position--with all the finger tips touching each other--which seems, from the universal practice of civilised society, to assist mental elucidation. "i am quite prepared. come on!" "stay; while my mind is working i like to have my hands employed. i will proceed with my monkey while we talk," said blunt, taking up a walking-stick, the head of which he had carved into the semblance of a monkey. "sweet creature!" he added, kissing the object of his affection, and holding it out at arm's-length. "silent companion of my solitary rambles, and patient auditor of my most secret aspirations, you are becoming quite a work of art. a few more touches of the knife, and something like perfection shall have been attained! look here, dick, when i turn it towards the light--so--isn't there a beauty about the contour of that upper lip and nose which--" "don't be a fool, tom," interrupted his friend, somewhat impatiently; "you seem to me to be growing more and more imbecile every day. we did not sit down to discuss fine art--" "true, richard, true; but there is a power in the consideration of fine art, which, when judiciously interpolated in the affairs of life, tends to soften the asperities, to round away, as it were, the ruggedness of human intercourse, and produce a tranquillity of mind which is eminently conducive to--to--don't you see?" "no, i don't see!" "then," continued blunt, applying his knife to one of the monkey's eyes, "there arises the question--how far is this intellectual blindness the result of incapacity of intellectual vision, or of averted gaze, or of the wilful shutting of the intellectual eyelids?" "well, well, tom, let that question alone for the present. let us come to the point, for i wish to have my mind cleared up on the subject. you hold that gambling is wrong--essentially wrong." "i do; but let us not have a misunderstanding at the very beginning," said blunt. "by gambling i do not mean the playing of games. that is not gambling. what i understand by gambling is betting on games--or on anything--and the playing of games for the purpose of winning money, or anything that possesses value, great or small. such gambling i hold to be wrong--essentially, morally, absolutely wrong, without one particle of right or good in it whatever." as he spoke blunt became slightly more earnest in tone, and less devoted to the monkey. "well, now, tom, do you know i don't see that." "if you did see it, my dear fellow," returned blunt, resuming his airy tone, "our discussion of the subject would be useless." "well, then, i _can't_ see it to be wrong. here are you and i. we want to have a game of billiards. it is uninteresting to play even billiards for nothing; but we each have a little money, and choose to risk a small sum. our object is not gain, therefore we play for merely sixpenny points. we both agree to risk that sum. if i lose, all right. if you lose, all right. that's fair, isn't it?" "no; it is undoubtedly equal, but not necessarily fair. fair means `free from blemish,' `pure,' in other words, right. two thieves may make a perfectly fair division of spoil; but the fairness of the division does not make their conduct fair or right. neither of them is entitled to divide their gains at all. their agreeing to do so does not make it fair." "agreed, tom, as regards thieves; but you and i are not thieves. we propose to act with that which is our own. we mutually agree to run the risk of loss, and to take our chance of gain. we have a right to do as we choose with our own. is not that fair?" "you pour out so many fallacies and half truths, dick, that it is not easy to answer you right off." "morally and politically you are wrong. politically a man is not entitled to do what he chooses with his own. there are limitations. for instance, a man owns a house. abstractly, he is entitled to burn it down if he chooses. but if his house abuts upon mine, he may not set it on fire if he chooses, because in so doing he would set fire to my house also, which is very much beyond his right. then--" "oh, man, i understand all that," said sharp quickly. "of course a man may put what he likes in his garden, but with such-like limitations as that he shall not set up a limekiln to choke his neighbours, or a piggery to breed disease; but gambling does nothing like that." "does it not?" exclaimed blunt. "does it not ruin hundreds of men, turning them into sots and paupers, whereby the ruined gamblers become unable to pay their fair share of taxation; and, in addition, lay on the shoulders of respectable people the unfair burden of supporting them, and perhaps their families?" "but what if the gambler has no family?" "there still remains his ruined self to be maintained." "but suppose he is not ruined--that he manages, by gambling, to support himself?" "in that case he still remains guilty of two mean and contemptible acts. on the one hand he produces nothing whatever to increase the wealth or happiness of the world, and, on the other hand, whatever he gains is a matter of direct loss and sorrow to others without any tangible equivalent. it is not so with the orator or the musician. though their products are not indeed tangible they are distinctly real and valuable. during the hour of action the orator charms the ear, eye, and intellect. so does the musician. when the hour is past the heart is gladdened by the memory of what has been, and the hopes are aroused in anticipation of what may yet be in the future. as regards the orator, the lessons inculcated may be a lasting gain and pleasure, and source of widespread benefit through life. to a great extent this may also be said of the musician when words are wedded to music. who has not heard of souls being delivered from spiritual darkness and brought into spiritual light by means of song?--a benefit which will last through eternity as well as time. even the man of wealth who lives on the interest of his possessions is not necessarily a drone in the human hive. he may, by wise and careful use of his wealth, greatly increase the world's riches. by the mere management of it he may fill up his days with useful and happy employment, and by devoting it and himself to god he may so influence the world for good that men shall bless him while he lives and mourn him profoundly when he dies. but what fraction of good is done by the gambler in all the wide world?" "much the same that is accomplished by the others," put in sharp at this point. "the orator gives pleasure to those who are fond of recitation or declamation; the musician pleases those who are fond of sweet sounds, and the gambler gives pleasure to men who are fond of the excitement of play. besides, by paying his way he gives benefit to all whom he employs. he rents a house, he buys furniture, he eats food, all of which brings profit to house-owners, cabinet-makers, butchers, bakers, etcetera, and is good done to the world by the gambler." "nay, friend richard, not by the gambler, but by the money which the gambler spends." "isn't that much the same thing?" "by no means. the money--or its equivalent--is created by some one else. the gambler merely passes it on. if he had never been born the same money would have been there for some one else to spend. the labour of the gambler has not added one penny to it. he brought nothing into the world, and has added nothing to the world's pile, though he has managed to consume a good deal of its produce. is there not something very mean and contemptible in this state of being? on the other hand the orator has spent laborious days and exerted much brain-power before he made himself capable of pleasing and benefiting his fellows. the musician has gone through exhausting drudgery and practice before being fit to thrill or instruct by means of his sweet sounds, and the man of wealth has had to be educated up to the point of using his possessions to profitable account--so that his fields shall grow heavier crops than they did when he began his work; his tenants shall be better housed than they were at first, and shall lead healthier and happier lives to the great moral and material advantage of the community. nearly all the other members of the hive produce, or help to produce, some sort of equivalent for the money they obtain. even those who produce what is bad have still _something_ to show for their money, and that something, bad though it be in one form, may be decidedly good in another form, or if put to another use. the gambler alone--except, perhaps, the absolute idler--enjoys the unenviable position of a thorough, out-and-out, unmitigated drone. he does absolutely _nothing_, except produce unhealthy excitement in himself and his fellows! he has nothing whatever to show for the money he has obtained except `risk,' and that can hardly be styled a commodity." "i beg pardon," interrupted sharp, "the gambler produces skill; and there can be no doubt that hundreds of men derive as much pleasure from an exhibition of skill with the billiard-cue as others derive from an exhibition of skill with the flute or violin." "you forget, dick, my boy, that skill with the billiard-cue is not gambling. what i condemn as being morally and politically wrong is betting on games and staking anything upon the issue of them. gamblers are, if i may say so, a set of living pockets which circulate money about amongst themselves, one pocket gaining neither more nor less than what another pocket loses." "but you are now talking of professional gamblers, tom. of course i don't defend these. what i do defend is my right to play, now and then, for sixpenny, or say shilling, or even half-crown points, without laying myself open to the charge of having been guilty of what you term a mean, dishonourable, unjust, contemptible act." "in other words, you wish to steal now and then without being called a thief! but come, old man, i won't call you bad names. i know you don't look at this matter as i do, and therefore i don't think that you are either mean or contemptible. nevertheless, we must bear in mind that honourable, upright men may sometimes be reasoned into false beliefs, so that for a time they may fail to see the evil of that which they uphold. i am not infallible. if my reasoning is false, i stand open to correction." laying the monkey down on the table at this point and looking earnestly at his friend, tom blunt continued-- "let me ask a question, dick. is it for the sake of getting money that you gamble?" "certainly not," returned his friend, with a slight touch of indignation. "you know that i _never_ play for high stakes, and with penny or sixpenny points you know it is impossible for me either to win or lose any sum that would be worth a moment's consideration. the game is all that i care for." "if so, why do you lose interest in the game when there are no stakes?" "oh--well, it's hard to say; but the value of the stake cannot be that which adds interest, for it is so trifling." "i'm not so sure of that, dick. you have heard gambling talked of as a disease." "yes, but i don't believe it is." "do you believe that a miser is a morally diseased man?" "well, perhaps he is," returned sharp; "but a gambler is not necessarily a miser." "yet the two have some symptoms of this moral disease in common. the miser is sometimes rich, nevertheless the covetous spirit is so strong in him that he gloats over a sixpence, has profound interest in gaining it, and mourns over it if lost. you, being well off with a rich and liberal father, yet declare that the interest of a game is much decreased if there are no stakes on it." "the cases are not parallel." "i did not say they were, but you must admit--indeed you have admitted-- that you have one symptom of this disease in common with the miser." "what disease?" "the love of money." richard sharp burst into a laugh at this, a good-humoured laugh in which there was more of amusement than annoyance. "tom, tom," he said, "how your notions about gambling seem to blind you to the true character of your friends! did you ever see me gloating over gold, or hoarding sixpences, or going stealthily in the dead of night to secret places for the purpose of counting over my wealth? have i not rather, on the contrary, got credit among my friends for being somewhat of a spendthrift? but go on, old fellow, what more have you to say against gambling--for you have not yet convinced me?" "hold on a bit. let me pare off just a morsel of my monkey's nose-- there, that's about as near perfection as is possible in a monkey. what a pity that he has not life enough to see his beautiful face in a glass! but perhaps it's as well, for he would never see himself as others see him. men never do. no doubt monkeys are the same. well now," continued blunt, again laying down the stick, and becoming serious, "try if you can see the matter in this light. two gamblers meet. not blacklegs, observe, but respectable men, who nevertheless bet much, and play high, and keep `books,' etcetera. one is rich, the other poor. each wishes ardently to gain money from his friend. this is a somewhat low, unmanly wish, to begin with; but let it pass. the poor one has a wife and family to keep, and debts to pay. many thousands of men, ay, and women, are in the same condition, and work hard to pay their debts. our poor gambler, however, does not like work. he prefers to take his chance at gambling; it is easier, he thinks, and it is certainly, in a way, more exciting than work. our rich gambler has no need to work, but he also likes excitement, and he loves money. neither of these men would condescend for one moment to ask a gift of money from the other, yet each is so keen to obtain his friend's money that they agree to stake it on a chance, or on the issue of a contest. for one to _take_ the money from the other, who does not wish to part with it, would be unfair and wrong, of course; but their agreement gets rid of the difficulty. it has not altered the _conditions_, observe. neither of them wishes to give up his money, but an arrangement has been come to, in virtue of which one consents to be a defrauder, and the other to be defrauded. does the agreement make wrong right?" "i think it does, because the gamblers have a right to make what agreement they please, as it is between themselves." "hold there, dick. suppose that the poor man loses. is it then between themselves? does not the rich gambler walk away with the money that was due to the poor one's butcher, baker, brewer, etcetera?" "but the rich one did not know that. it is not his fault." "that does not free the poor gambler from the dishonourable act of risking money which was not his own; and do you really think that if the rich one did know it he would return the money? i think not. the history of gambling does not point to many, if any, such cases of self-sacrifice. the truth is that selfishness in its meanest form is at the bottom of all gambling, though many gamblers may not quite see the fact. i want your money. i am too proud to ask it. i dare not demand it. i cannot cajole you out of it. i will not rob you. you are precisely in the same mind that i am. come, let us resort to a trick, let us make an arrangement whereby one of us at least shall gain his sneaking, nefarious, unjust end, and we will, anyhow, have the excitement of leaving to chance which of us is to be the lucky man. chance and luck! dick sharp, there is no such condition as chance or luck. it is as surely fixed in the mind of god which gambler is to gain and which to lose as it is that the morrow shall follow to-day." "my dear blunt, i had no idea you were such a fatalist," said sharp in surprise. "i am not a fatalist in the sense you mean," returned his friend. "everything has been fixed from the beginning." "is not that fatalism of the most pronounced nature, tom?" "you don't seem to see that, among other fixtures, it was fixed that free-will should be given to man, and with it the right as well as the power to fix many things for himself, also the responsibility. without free-will we could have had no responsibility. the mere fact that god of course _knew_ what each man would will, did not alter the fixed arrangement that man has been left perfectly free to will as he pleases. i do not say that man is free to _do_ as he pleases. sometimes the doing is permitted; sometimes it is interfered with--never the willing. that is always and for ever free. gamblers use their free-wills, often to their own great damage and ruin; just as good men use their free-wills to their great advantage and happiness. in both cases they make free use of the free-wills that have been bestowed on them." "then i suppose that you consider gambling, even to the smallest extent, to be sin?" "i do." "under which of the ten commandments does it fall?" "`thou shalt not covet.'" chapter fourteen. two remarkable dreams. some natures are better than others. there can be no question about that. some dispositions are born moderately sweet, others are born slightly sour. if you doubt the fact, reader, go study nature, or get you to an argumentative friend and dispute the point. we refuse flatly to enter into a discussion of the subject. look at that little boy sleeping there under the railway arch in the east end of london--not the boy with the black hair and the hook nose and the square under-jaw, but the one with the curly head, the extremely dirty face, and the dimpled chin, on the tip of whose snub nose the rising sun shines with a power that causes it to resemble a glowing carbuncle on a visage still lying in shadow. that little boy's disposition is sweet. you can see it in every line, in every curve, in every dimple of his dirty little face. he has not been sweetened by training, he has had no training--at least none from man or woman with a view to his good. he has no settled principles of any kind, good or bad. all his actions are the result of impulse based on mere animal propensity, but, like every other human being, he has a conscience. at the time of his introduction to the reader his conscience is, like himself, asleep, and it has not as yet been much enlightened. his name is stumpy, but he was never christened. critical minds will object here that a boy would not be permitted to sleep under a railway arch, and that london houses would effectually prevent the rising sun from entering such a place. to which we reply that the arch in question was a semi-suburban arch; that it was the last, (or the first), of a series of arches, an insignificant arch under which nothing ever ran except stray cats and rats, and that it spanned a morsel of waste ground which gave upon a shabby street running due east, up which, every fine morning, the rising sun gushed in a flood of glory. each fleeting moment increased the light on stumpy's upturned nose, until it tipped the dimpled chin and cheeks and at last kissed his eyelids. this appeared to suggest pleasant dreams, for the boy smiled like a dirty-faced angel. he even gave vent to an imbecile laugh, and then awoke. stumpy's eyes were huge and blue. the opening of them was like the revealing of unfathomable sky through clouds of roseate hue! they sparkled with a light all their own in addition to that of the sun, for there was in them a gleam of mischief as their owner poked his companion in the ribs and then tugged his hair. "i say, you let me alone!" growled the companion, turning uneasily on his hard couch. "i say, you get up," answered stumpy, giving the companion a pinch on the tender part of his arm. "come, look alive, howlet. i sees a railway porter and a bobby." owlet, whose nose had suggested his name, had been regardless of the poke, the tug, and the pinch, but was alive to the hint. he at once came to the sitting posture on hearing the dreaded name of "bobby," and rubbed his eyes. on seeing that there was neither policeman nor guard near, he uttered an uncomplimentary remark and was about to lie down again, but was arrested by the animated expression of his comrade's face and the heaving of his shoulders. "why, what ever is the matter with you?" he demanded. "are you goin' to bust yourself wi' larfin', by way of gettin' a happetite for the breakfast that you hain't no prospect of?" to this stumpy replied by pulling from his trousers pocket four shining pennies, which he held out with an air of triumph. "oh!" exclaimed owlet; and then being unable to find words sufficiently expressive, he rubbed the place where the front of his waistcoat would have been if he had possessed one. "yes," said stumpy, regarding the coppers with a pensive air, "i've slep' with you all night in my 'and, an' my 'and in my pocket, an' my knees doubled up to my chin to make all snug, an' now i'm going to have a tuck in--a blow out--a buster--a--" he paused abruptly, and looking with a gleeful air at his companion, said-- "but that wasn't what i was laughin' at." "well, i suppose it warn't. what was it, then?" the boy's eyes sparkled again, and for some moments a half-suppressed chuckling prevented speech. "it was a dream," he said at last. "a dream!" exclaimed owlet contemptuously. "i hate dreams. when i dreams 'em they're always about bobbies and maginstrates, an' wittles, an' when other fellows tells about 'em they're so long-winded an' prosy. but i had a dream too. what was yours?" "my dream was about a bobby," returned his friend. "see, here it is, an' i won't be long-winded or prosy, howlet, so don't growl and spoil your happetite for that 'ere breakfast that's a-comin'. i dreamed--let me see, was it in piccadilly--no, it was oxford street, close by regent street, where all the swells go to promynade, you know. well, i sees a bobby--of course i never can go the length my little toe without seein' a bobby! but this bobby was a stunner. you never see'd sitch a feller. not that he was big, or fierce, but he had a nose just two-foot-six long. i know for certain, for i'm a good judge o' size, besides, i went straight up to him, as bold as brass, and axed him how long it was, an' he told me without winkin'. the strange thing about it is that i wasn't a bit surprised at his nose. wery odd, ain't it, eh, howlet, that people never is surprised at anything they sees in dreams? i do b'lieve, now, if i was to see a man takin' a walk of a' arternoon with his head in his coat-tail pocket i'd take it quite as a matter of course. "well, w'en that bobby had told me his nose was two-foot-six inches long i feels a most unaccountable and astonishin' gush of indignation come over me. what it was at i don't know no more nor the man in the moon. p'r'aps it was the sudden thought of all the troubles that bobbies has brought on me from the day i was born till now. anyhow, i was took awful bad. my buzzum felt fit to bust. i knowed that i must do somethin' to him or die; so i seized that bobby by the nose, and hauled him flat down on his breast. he was so took with surprise that he never made any struggle, but gived vent to a most awful howl. my joy at havin' so easily floored my natural enemy was such that i replied with a cherokee yell. then i gave his nose a pull up so strong that it well-nigh broke his neck an' set him straight on his pins again! oh! howlet, you can't think what a jolly dream it was. to do it all so easy, too!" "well, what happened arter that?" asked owlet. "nothin' happened after that," returned stumpy, with a somewhat sad expression on his usually gleeful visage. "it's a wery strange thing, howlet, that dreams inwariably wanishes away just at the most interestin' p'int. did you ever notice that?" "notice it! i should think i did. why the dream that i had w'en i was layin' alongside o' you was o' that sort exactly. it was all about wittles, too, an' it's made me that 'ungry i feels like a ravagin' wolf." "come along, then, howlet, an' you an' me will ravage somethin' wi' them browns o' mine. we'll 'ave a good breakfast, though it should be our last, an' i'll stand treat." "you're a trump, stumpy; an' i'll tell you _my_ dream as we goes along." "hall right--but mind you don't come prosy over me. i can't stand it no more nor yourself." "you mind dick wilkin, don't you?" "what--the young man from the country as i've see'd standin' at the dock gates day after day for weeks without getting took on?" "that's him," continued owlet, with a nod, as he shoved his hand into his trousers pockets. "he brought a wife and five kids from the country with him--thinkin' to better hisself in london. ha! a sweet little town for a cove as is 'ard up to better hisself in--ho yes, certingly!" remarked the precocious boy in a tone of profound sarcasm. "well," he continued, "dick wilkin came to better hisself an' he set about it by rentin' a single room in cherubs court--a fine saloobrious spot, as you know, not far from the tower. he 'ad a few bobs when he came, and bought a few sticks o' furniture, but i don't need for to tell _you_, stumpy, that the most o' that soon went up the spout, and the wilkins was redooced to beggary--waried off an' on with an odd job at the docks. it was when they first comed to town that i was down wi' that fever, or 'flenzy, or somethink o' that sort. the streets bein' my usual 'abitation, i 'ad no place in partikler to go to, an' by good luck, when i gave in, i lay down at the wilkins' door. o! but i _was_ bad--that bad that it seemed as if i should be cleared out o' my mortal carcase entirely--" "mulligrumps?" inquired his sympathetic friend. "no, no. nothin' o' that sort, but a kind of hot all-overishness, wi' pains that--but you can't understand it, stumpy, if you've never 'ad it." "then i don't want to understand it. but what has all this to do wi' your dream?" "everythink to do with it, 'cause it was about them i was dreamin'. as i was sayin', i fell down at their door, an' they took me in, and mrs wilkin nussed me for weeks till i got better. oh, she's a rare nuss is mrs wilkin. an' when i began to get better the kids all took to me. i don't know when i would have left them, but when times became bad, an' dick couldn't git work, and mrs wilkin and the kids began to grow thin, i thought it was time for me to look out for myself, an' not remain a burden on 'em no longer. i know'd they wouldn't let me away without a rumpus, so i just gave 'em the slip, and that's 'ow i came to be on the streets again, an' fell in wi' you, stumpy." "'ave you never seen 'em since?" "never." "you ungrateful wagibone!" "what was the use o' my goin' to see 'em w'en i 'ad nothin' to give 'em?" returned owlet in an apologetic tone. "you might 'ave given 'em the benefit of your adwice if you 'ad nothin' else. but what did you dream about 'em?" "i dreamt that they was all starvin'--which ain't unlikely to be true-- an' i was so cut up about it, that i went straight off to a butcher's shop and stole a lot o' sasengers; then to a baker's and stole a loaf the size of a wheel-barrer; then to a grocer's and stole tea an' sugar; an' the strange thing was that neither the people o' the shops nor the bobbies seemed to think i was stealin'! another coorious thing was that i carried all the things in my pockets--stuffed 'em in quite easy, though there was 'arf a sack o' coals among 'em!" "always the way in dreams," remarked his friend philosophically. "yes--ain't it jolly convenient?" continued the other. "well, w'en i got to the 'ouse i set to work, made a rousin' fire, put on the kettle, cooked the wittles as if i'd bin born and bred in a 'otel, and in less than five minutes 'ad a smokin' dinner on the table, that would 'ave busted an alderman. in course the wilkins axed no questions. father, mother, five kids, and self all drew in our chairs, and sot down--" "what fun!" exclaimed stumpy. "ay, but you spoilt the fun, for it was just at that time you shoved your fist into my ribs, and woke me before one of us could get a bite o' that grub into our mouths. if we'd even 'ad time to smell it, that would 'ave bin somethink to remember." "howlet," said the other impressively, "d'ye think the wilkins is livin' in the same place still?" "as like as not." "could you find it again?" "could i find saint paul's, or the moniment? i should think so!" "come along, then, and let's pay 'em a wisit." they were not long in finding the place--a dirty court at the farther end of a dark passage. owlet led the way to the top of a rickety stair, and knocked at one of the doors which opened on the landing. no answer was returned, but after a second application of the knuckles, accompanied by a touch of the toe, a growling voice was heard, then a sound of some one getting violently out of bed, a heavy tread on the floor, and the door was flung open. "what d'ee want?" demanded a fierce, half-drunken man. "please, sir, does the wilkins stop here?" "no, they don't," and the door was shut with a bang. "sweet creature!" observed stumpy as they turned disappointed away. "wonder if his mother 'as any more like 'im?" said owlet. "they've 'ad to change to the cellar," said a famished-looking woman, putting her head out of a door on the same landing. "d'ye want 'em?" "in course we does, mother, else we wouldn't ax for 'em. w'ereabouts is the cellar?" "foot o' this stair." descending to the regions below, the two boys groped their way along an underground passage till they came to a door. it was opened by a woman, who timidly demanded what they wanted. "it's me, missis wilkin. 'ave you forgotten howlet?" with an exclamation of surprise and joy the woman flung the door wide, seized owlet, dragged him into the room, and embraced him with as much affection as if he had been her own child. instantly there arose a shout of juvenile joy, and stumpy could see, in the semi-darkness, that four little creatures were helping their mother to overwhelm his friend, while a fifth--a biggish girl--was prevented from joining them by the necessity that lay on her to take care of the baby. when the greetings were over, the sad condition of the family was soon explained, and a single glance round sufficed to show that they had reached the lowest state of destitution. it was a back room rather than a cellar, but the dirty pane of thick glass near the roof admitted only enough of light to make its wretchedness visible. a rickety table, two broken chairs, and a bedstead without a bottom was all the furniture left, and the grate was empty. "we've been obleeged to pawn everything," said mrs wilkin, with difficulty suppressing a sob, "and i need hardly tell you why," she added, with a glance at the children, who were living skeletons. the baby was perhaps the saddest object there, for it was so thin and weak that it had not strength to cry--though the faces which it frequently made were obviously the result of an effort to do so. much interested in the scene, young stumpy stood admiring it patronisingly for a little, but when he heard the poor woman tell of their desperate struggle to merely keep themselves alive, his feelings were touched, and when he learned that not a bite of food had passed their lips since the previous morning, a sudden impulse swelled his little breast. he clutched his four pennies tightly; glanced quickly round; observed an empty basket in a corner; caught it up, and left the place hurriedly. he had scarcely gone when the father of the family entered. the expression of his face and his whole bearing and aspect told eloquently of disappointment as he sat down with a heavy sigh. "stumped again," he said; "only a few hands took on." the words sounded as a death-knell to the famishing family, and the man himself was too much cut up to take notice of the return of his friend owlet, except by a slight nod of recognition. meanwhile stumpy ran along several streets in quest of food. he had not far to run in such a locality. at a very small grocer's shop he purchased one halfpenny worth of tea and put it in his basket. to this he added one farthing's worth of milk, which the amiable milkman let him have in a small phial, on promise of its being returned. two farthings more procured a small supply of coal, which he wrapped in two cabbage leaves. then he looked about for a baker. one penny farthing of his fund having been spent, it behoved him to consider that the staff of life must be secured in preference to luxuries. at this point the boy's nose told him of a most delicious smell which pervaded the air. he stood still for a moment and sniffed eagerly. "ah, ain't it prime? i've jist 'ad some," said another much smaller and very ragged street-boy who had noticed the sniff. "what ever is it?" demanded stumpy. "pea-soup," answered the other. "where?" "right round the corner. look alive, they're shovellin' it out like one o'clock for _fard'ns_!" our hero waited for no more. he dashed round the corner, and found a place where the salvation army was dispensing farthing and halfpenny breakfasts to a crowd of the hungriest and raggedest creatures he had ever seen, though his personal experience of london destitution was extensive. "here you are," said a smiling damsel in a poke bonnet. "i see you're in a hurry; how much do you want?" "'ow much for a fard'n?" asked stumpy, with the caution natural to a man of limited means. a small bowl full of steaming soup was placed before him and a hunk of bread. "for _one_ fard'n?" inquired the boy in surprise. "for one farthing," replied the presiding angel in the poke bonnet. "here, young 'ooman," said stumpy, setting down his basket, "let me 'ave eleven fard'n's worth right away. there's a big family awaitin' for it an' they're all starvin', so do make haste." "but, dear boy, you've brought nothing to carry the soup in." stumpy's visage fell. the basket could not serve him here, and the rate at which the soup was being ladled out convinced him that if he were to return for a jug there would not be much left for him. observing his difficulty, the attendant said that she would lend him a jug if he would promise to bring it back. "are you an honest boy?" she asked, with an amused look. "about as honest as most kids o' the same sort." "well, i'll trust you--and, mind, god sees you. there, now, don't you fall and break it." our hero was not long in returning to the dreary cellar, with the eleven basins of soup and eleven hunks of bread--all of which, with the previously purchased luxuries, he spread out on the rickety table, to the unutterable amazement and joy of the wilkin family. need we say that it was a glorious feast? as there were only two chairs, the table was lifted inside of the bottomless bed, and some of the young people sat down on the frame thereof on one side, and some on the other side, while mrs wilkin and her husband occupied the places of honour at the head and foot. there was not much conversation at first. hunger was too exacting, but in a short time tongues began to wag. then the fire was lighted, and the kettle boiled, and the half-pennyworth of tea infused, and thus the sumptuous meal was agreeably washed down. even the baby began--to recover under the genial influence of warm food, and made faces indicative of a wish to crow--but it failed, and went to sleep on sister's shoulder instead. when it was all over poor mrs wilkin made an attempt to "return thanks" for the meal, but broke down and sobbed her gratitude. reader, this is no fancy sketch. it is founded on terrible fact, and gives but a faint idea of the wretchedness and poverty that prevail in london--even the london of _to-day_! the end. produced from scanned images of public domain material from the google print project.) smooth reading good words list: haviour ancle ancles donna donna's habitués parquette poignard prima simms tenore physiology of the opera. "i both compose and perform sir: and though i say it, perhaps few even of the profession possess the _contra-punto_ and the _chromatic_ better." connoisseur. no. . "i see, sir--you have got a travell'd air, which shows you one to whom the opera is by no means new." byron. physiology of the opera. [illustration] by scrici. philadelphia. willis p. hazard, chesnut st. . copyright secured according to law. introduction. as an introduction to the dissertation upon which we are about to enter, such an antiquarian view of the subject might be taken as would tend to establish a parallel between the ancient greek tragedy and the modern sanguinary italian opera, the strong resemblance therein being displayed of signor salvi trilling on the stage, to the immortal thespis jargoning from a dung-cart. but we shall indulge in no such wearying pedantry. our intention being merely to "hold the mirror up to nature," in presenting our immaterial reflector to the public, we invite our readers to a view of the present only--a period of time in which they take most interest, since they adorn it with their own presence. we feel satisfied that few of the ladies who take a peep into this mirror, will find any cause to break it in a fit of petulancy after having looked upon the attractive reflection of their own lovely features. few young gentlemen will throw down a glass that gives them a just idea of their striking and distingué appearance behind a large moustache and a gilded _lorgnette_. old papas, who rule 'change and keep a "stall," cannot be offended with that which teaches them how dignified and creditable is their position, as they sit up proudly and exhibit their family's extravagance and ostentation as an evidence of the stability of their commercial relations. few mammas will carp at a book which assures them that society does not esteem them less highly because they use an opera box as a sort of matrimonial show window in which they place their beautiful daughters, "got up regardless of expense," as delicate wares in the market of hymen. in these our humble efforts to present to our readers an amusing yet faithful picture of the opera, we hope our manner of treating the subject has been to nothing extenuate nor aught set down in malice. this book has not for its end the unlimited censure of foreign opera singers, or native opera goers. we do not therefore, expect to gratify the malignant demands of persons of over-strained morality, who maintain that the opera is a bad school of musical science, or a worse school of morals; and exclaim with the very correct mr. coleridge, who was _shocked_ in a--_concert room_, "nor cold nor stern my soul, yet i detest these scented rooms; where to a gaudy throng, heaves the proud harlot her distended breast, in intricacies of laborious song. "these feel not music's genuine power, nor deign to melt at nature's passion-warbled plaint; but when the long-breath'd singer's up-trilled strain bursts in a squall--they gape for wonderment." neither do we coincide in sentiment with those who, conceiving that every folly and absurdity sanctioned by fashion, is converted into reason and common sense, believe that "the whole duty of man" consists in _spending the day_ with max maretzeck on the occasion of his musical jubilees, and being roasted by gas in the hours of broad day-light. consequently the reader will find no one line herein written with the intention of flattering the vanity of those who ride to the opera every night in a splendid coach, followed by spotted dogs. having thus declared the impartial manner in which it is our purpose to pursue the physiological discussion of our subject, and the various phenomena involved in its consideration, we proceed at once to unveil the operatic existence to the reader, fatigued no doubt by an introductory salaam already protracted beyond the limits of propriety. chapter i. the opera in the abstract. "l'opéra toujours fait bruit et merveilles: on y voit les sourds boucher leurs oreilles." beranger. to most of the world (and we say it advisedly,) the opera is a sealed book. we do not mean a bare representation with its accompanying screechings, violinings and bass-drummings. everybody has seen that--but the race of beings who constitute that remarkable combination; their feelings, positions, social habits; their relation to one another; what they say and eat;[a] whether the tenor ever notices as they (the world) do, the fine legs of the contralto in man's dress, and whether the basso drinks pale ale or porter; all these things have been hitherto wrapped in an inscrutable mystery. in regard to mere actors, not singers, this feeling is confined to children; but the operators of an opera are essentially esoteric. they are enclosed by a curtain more impenetrable than the chinese wall. you may walk all around them; nay, you may even know an inferior artiste, but there is a line beyond which even the fast men, with all their impetuosity, are restrained from invading. [a] we actually knew a man who, when a tenor was spoken of, as having gone through his _role_, thought that that worthy had been eating his breakfast. you walk in the street with a young female, on whom you flatter yourself you are making an impression; suddenly she cries out, "oh, there's bawlini; do look! dear creature, isn't he?" you may as well turn round and go home immediately; the rest of your walk won't be worth half the dream you had the night before. this shows an importance to be attached to these remarkable persons, which, together with the mystery which encircles them, is exceedingly aggravating to the feelings of a large body of respectable citizens. among those who are mostly afflicted, we may mention all women, but most especially boarding school misses. mothers of families are much perturbed; they wonder why the tenor is so intimate with the donna, considering they are not married; and fathers of families wonder "where under the sun that manager gets the money to pay a tenor twelve hundred dollars a month, when state sixes are so shockingly depressed." we were going to enumerate those we thought particularly afflicted by a praiseworthy desire to know something more of these obscurities, but they are too many for us. in every class of society, nay, in the breast of almost every person, there exists a desire to be rightly informed on these subjects. it was to supply this want that we have devoted ourselves more especially to the actors who do, to the exclusion of the auditors who are "_done_." shakspeare observes, that "all the world's a stage;" the converse of this proposition is no less worthy of being regarded as a great moral truth,--that all the stage is a world. every condition of life may be found typified in one or other of the officials or attachés of an opera house; from the king upon the throne, symbolized by the haughty and magisterial impresario, to the _chiffonier_ in the gutter, represented by the unfortunate chorister who is attired as a shabby nobleman on the stage, but who goes home to a supper of leeks. between these two degrees, of dignity and unimportance, come those many shades of social position corresponding to the happy situations of secretary of state, secretary of the treasury, and divers other dignitaries, set forth in the stage director, the treasurer, the chorus-master, &c. the tenor, basso, prima donna and baritone may be considered as belonging to what is called "society;"--that well-to-do and ornamental portion of the community, who having no vocation save to frequent balls, soirées, concerts and operas, and fall in love--serve as objects of admiration to those persons less favoured by fortune, who make the clothes and dress the hair of the former class. our simile need not be carried further, it being apparent to the most inconsiderate reader, that it is quite as truthful as that hatched by the swan of avon. we shall now commence our observations upon the most interesting members of a troupe; those best known to the community before whom they nightly appear; and leave unnoticed those disagreeable but influential ones who raise the price of tickets, or stand in a little box near the door and palm off all the back seats upon the uninitiated. chapter ii. of the tenore. "in short, i may, i am sure, with truth assert, that whether in the _allegro_ or in the _piano_, the _adagio_, the _largo_ or the _forte_, he never had his equal."--connoisseur. no. . "famed for the even tenor of his conduct, and his conduct as a tenor."--knickerbocker. [illustration] the tenor is a small man, seldom exceeding the medium height. his voice is, comparatively speaking, a small voice, and consequently not likely to issue from over-grown lungs. his proportions are, or at least ought to be, as symmetrical as possible. his hair, nine times out of ten, is black, and _always_ curls. his beard is reasonably bushy; but his moustache is the most artistically cultivated and carefully nurtured collection of hair that ever adorned the superior lip of man. his features are likely to be handsome, sometimes, however, effeminately so. his dress is a little extravagant; not extravagant in the mode and manner of a fast man or a dandy--for it is not punctiliously fashionable like that of the latter, without any deviation from tailor's plates; neither does it resemble that of the former in the gentlemanly roughness of its appearance; consequently he rejoices not in entire suits of grey or plaid, those _very_ sporting coats, those english country-gentleman's shoes, those amply bowed cravats, and those shirts that are so resplendent with the well executed heads of terrier dogs. no! the primo tenore has a passion, first, for satin,--secondly, for jewelry,--and lastly, for hats, boots and gloves. he dotes on satin scarfs, cravats and ties, and his gorgeous satin vests, of all the hues of the rainbow, astound the saunterer on the morning promenade. his love for pins, studs, rings and chains is almost enough to lead us to believe that his blood is mingled with that of the mohawks. boots that fit like gloves, and gloves that fit like the skin, render him the envy of dandies. his hat is smooth and glossy to an excess, and its peculiar formation makes it considered "_un peu trop fort_," even by the most daring of hat-fanciers. the tenor rises late; partly because he is naturally indolent; partly because the prime basso drank him slightly exhilarated the evening previous; and partly out of affectation and the desire to appear a very fine gentleman. having spent a long time in making a _negligée toilette_, he orders his breakfast. seated in his comprehensive arm chair, and attired in all the splendor of a well-tinselled satin or velvet _calotte_, a dazzling _robe de chambre_, and slippers of the most brilliant colors, he takes his matutinal repast. and now we begin to discover some of the thousand vexations and annoyances that harass the life of this poor object of popular support. his breakfast is but the skeleton of that useful and nourishing repast. no rich beef-steaks! no tender chops! no fragrant ham nor well-seasoned omelettes, transfer their nutritive properties through his system. any indulgence in these wholesome articles of food is considered direct destruction to the tender organ of the tenor. a hunting breakfast every day, or a glass of wine at an improper hour, if persisted in for any length of time, it is supposed would ruin the most delightful voice that ever sung an _aria_. a large cup of _café au lait_, with an egg beaten in it, is all the morning meal of which the poor _artiste_ (as he styles himself,) is permitted to partake. this feat accomplished, he takes up the newspaper in which he _spells out_ the puff which he paid the reporter to insert, and after satisfying himself that he has received his _quid pro quo_, he lounges away the morning until a sufficient space of time has elapsed to render the use of the voice no longer deleterious, as it is immediately after eating. and then come two or three hours of study that is no trifle. the tenor is a man; and it seems to be a great moral law, that whether it come in the form of labor, disease, ennui or indigestion, suffering shall be the badge of all our tribe. even prima donnas, who defy gods and men with more temerity than all living creatures, are constrained to concede the obligation of this universal moral edict. the tenor then yields homage to human nature and the public, in the labor of climbing stubborn scales, rehearsing new operas, and sometimes, though not often, in receiving the impertinence of arrogant prima donnas, during several hours every day. after these fatiguing efforts, he makes his _grande toilette_, and prepares himself to astound the town no less by his personal attractions than by his song. the chief promenade of the city, where he condescends to mete out to highly favoured audiences the treasures of his organ, is made the day-theatre of his glory. accompanied by his friend the _primo basso_, he saunters along very quietly, attracting the gaze of the curious, and calling forth the passionate remarks of enthusiastic young ladies, who feel it would be a pleasure to die, if they could only leave such a gentleman behind on earth to sing "_tu che a dio_," in the event of their being "snatched away in beauty's bloom." the basso is the chosen male companion of the tenor's walk; firstly, because he is no rival, and secondly, because the gross physical endowments of the former are such as to bring out the latter's symmetrical proportions in such strong relief. sometimes the tenor is seen riding out with the prima donna, with whom he is nearly always a favorite. he is the gentleman who makes himself useful in assisting her to destroy time; he performs for her those thousand and one little delicate attentions for which all women are so truly grateful; and then he sings with her every night those sentimental duos, that necessarily produce their effect upon the feminine bosom. whether walking with his gigantic friend, or riding with his fair one, the tenor behaves himself with the greatest propriety and gentleman-like bearing, excepting always a certain air which leads us to believe that he thinks "too curious old port" of himself. he is more grave, but apparently more vain when on foot, than when seated in the carriage with the prima donna; at which time his gesticulation becomes very animated, sometimes very extravagant; though we must always accord it the attraction of gracefulness. the time is thus agreeably walked, ridden and "chaffed" away, until the hour for the substantial dinner comes to fortify mankind against the slings and arrows of hunger and tedium. then the tenor does dare to partake of a few, of what are technically called "the delicacies of the season." but still a restraint is put upon the appetite, for in a few hours more he must go through labours for which the "fulness of satiety" would little prepare him. a very worthy and elderly clergyman of the church of england once made known to the writer his opinion concerning after-dinner sermons, in the following words; "i believe, sir, that though sermons preached through the medium of simple roast beef and plum-pudding may have been sermons invented by inspiration; they are sure to be enunciated through the agency of the devil." so melting strains of solos and duos, when sung through the medium of soups, patés and fricasées, lose their liquidity, and film, mantle and stagnate into monotony. how the tenor is occupied until the hour of supper, we shall relate in another chapter; suffice it to say that he is at home--that is to say, on the stage. but when supper comes he is no longer prevented by fear of "lost voice" or any other dire calamity, from giving way to the cravings of hunger and thirst. he eats with the relish of hunger induced by labor, and drinks with the excitement arising from the consciousness that he is, what in the language of the turf is styled "the favorite." the ladies and gentlemen of the troupe usually assemble at supper, and it is then that the tenor again bestows his _galanteries_ on the prima donna, and says many more really complimentary things than are to be found set down in his professional role. in concluding this sketch of the tenor, the writer would, with all due submission to the opinion of the public, venture to discover his sentiments upon a question which often agitates society; viz., whether the tenor is always sick when he announces himself to be seriously indisposed. the writer hopes he will not render himself liable to the charge of duplicity or an attempt at evasion, when he declares it to be his impression, that on the occasion of such announcements, the tenor is _sometimes_ seriously indisposed but not _always_. the tenor, as we have before observed, is but a man, and must needs be subject to diseases like other men; but when we consider the delicacy of his conformation, we must multiply the chances of his liability to indisposition. his organization is such, that the most trifling irregularity in his general health operates immediately upon the voice. now, for the tenor, in the slightest degree out of tone, to appear before a merciless audience, consisting of blasé opera goers, tyrannical critics, hired depreciators, and unrelenting musical amateurs, would indicate the most utter folly and imbecility. the tenor is well aware that a reputation for singing divinely a few nights in the year, is more lucrative than a reputation for ability to sing tolerably well, taking an average of all the nights in that space of time. it is consequently more advantageous for him to sing occasionally, when he feels his voice to be in full force and vigour, and his spirits in a sufficiently animated condition to warrant his appearing with every certainty of success. when, therefore, he does not favour the public with the melody of his notes, it is, generally speaking because, without really suffering from a serious attack of disease, he considers that his appearance would insure a future diminution in the offers of the _impresario_. hence the _affiches_ usually proclaim nothing but truth itself, when they declare that the tenor is _seriously indisposed_; but then we must be careful to interpret the word indisposition by that one of its significations which is equivalent to _disinclination_. that some compulsory measures might be taken to make these gentlemen "who can sing but won't sing" more complying, and willing to yield to the wishes and request of managers and audiences, the writer has never entertained a doubt. the ways and means of effecting such an object, he will not take upon himself to devise or advise, but will merely state a fact which probably may induce some one to enter upon a thorough examination of the subject, and suggest the remedy. upon one occasion, when the havannah troupe was performing in philadelphia, and a favorite tenor had been amusing himself by trifling with the public, until the patience of that forbearing portion of mankind was entirely exhausted; the treasury was beginning to fall extremely low, and the wearied out director was well nigh driven to desperation. in this critical juncture of affairs, the gentleman who was the legal adviser of the troupe was applied to, to say whether there was not some compulsory process known to the law, by which the refractory tenor could be brought to a recognition of the right of the rest of the company to the use of his voice to attract large audiences, and thereby replenish the empty coffers of the treasury. upon answer that there existed no such process, the distracted director muttered a few maledictions upon our country, with a sneer at our _free institutions_, and informed the astonished counsellor, that in havannah, when the tenor was supposed to be feigning sickness, the proper authorities were resorted to for the right of an examination of the offending party by a physician, and a certificate of the state of his health. upon the physician certifying that the signor was able to go through his role, a few _gendarmes_ were dispatched to seize the delinquent and take such means as would sooner coerce him into a compliance with the stipulations of his professional contract. [illustration] every reasonable excuse, however, should be made for the necessity the tenor is under to be careful of the delicate organ whereby he gains his subsistence. when we reflect how many of these poor fellows lose their voices and are consequently driven to throw themselves on the cold charity of the public--or out of the window, we must be struck with the inhumanity which would be exercised if this professional singer were excluded from enjoying occasionally by permission, what every clergyman in the land can always claim as a right--the disease which the hibernian servant expressively denominated "the brown gaiters in the throat." chapter iii. of the primo basso. "and for the bass, the beast can only bellow; * * * * * an ignorant, noteless, timeless, tuneless fellow." byron. [illustration] the primo basso is to the primo tenore what the draught horse is to the racer; drawing along the heavy business of an opera, whilst the other goes capering and curvetting through whole pages of chromatics, and runs bounding with unerring precision over the most fearful musical intervals. the basso, consequently, to uphold the vast superstructure of song, must be a man furnished with a strong supporting and sustaining voice. he usually plays the part of tyrants, either of the domestic circle or of the throne; and the tyrants of fiction always have been represented as over-grown individuals, from the time of the titans down to the giants who met with their well-merited fate from the invincible arm of that doughty nursery hero--_jack the giant killer_. it is a most fortunate circumstance then for the basso, that while his powerful voice must necessarily proceed from gigantic lungs, and these organs again are chiefly found planted in largely developed frames, his huge proportions only the better qualify him for his department of operatic personæ. his form is heavy, and would be muscular, if ease and indolence, unrestrained appetite, and no more exertion than is requisite to blow the bass-bellows during half a dozen evenings in the week, did not permit an undue accumulation of adipose substance. his hair is generally black, but not of that rich, glossy, _curling_ kind, which decks the fair brow of the delicate little tenor. his features are gross and sensual, exhibiting about the amount of intelligence which may be looked for in one of those bedecked and garlanded animals, whose appearance among us announces the future sale of show beef. his dress is an exhibition of slovenly grandeur. each article of clothing is in itself very handsome, perhaps very gaudy; but the manner in which it is dragged on the figure, makes the _tout ensemble_ coarse and common, slovenly and disagreeable. his animal propensities hold the intellectual faculties in bondage, and every approach to sentiment is excluded by the clogged up avenues to thought. his manner of living is _sensualité en action_. his life is an existence, tossed and troubled by the vicissitudes of sleeping and feeding, with occasional interruptions of mechanical vocalization. he possesses an organ, which it is supposed cannot be impaired by indulgence in the pleasures of the table, and he always acts as if he wished to put this supposition to the test. when he orders his breakfast, therefore, he does not look down the _carte_ in order to see what viands he must avoid, but only to ascertain how many dishes are likely to be objects agreeable to his palate. _substantials_ form all his meals. no mild _café au lait_, composes the meal which is to announce that he has commenced his daily labours of mastication. after a morning's deglutition worthy of the anaconda, he suffers digestion to prepare him for a walk, while he indulges in piles of cigars. as this smoking effort is a long one, he is about ready to join his elegant friend, the tenor, when the latter calls on him to go out and astound the town. what a majestic stride the heavy, beefy fellow puts on as he saunters down the street! how his body seems to say--for his face is void of expression; how his body seems to say; "gentlemen, you're all very well,--but it won't do; i out-weigh a dozen of you, and the ladies have to surrender to such a superior weight of metal." the basso seldom loves the prima donna. he regards her as a very troublesome lady, who _devils_ him at rehearsals, because he won't sing in time; on the stage, because she wants to show her importance; and in the _salon_, because she requires so much attention. the only wonder is, how he and the delicate, sensitive tenor, persons presenting such a decided contrast to each other, should live together on terms of such apparent friendship. the reason, however, is, that the association is not one arising from choice, but from necessity. between the tenor and the baritone, there is a something too much of similarity in voice and _physique_ to render them just the most inseparable friends in the world; but in the vast musical gulf between the tenor and the basso, all professional rivalry is buried. chapter iv. of the prima donna. "your female singer being exceedingly capricious and wayward, and very liable to accident."--sketch book. [illustration] every body knows what a prima donna is. she is the _first lady_, and this is a fact apparently better known to the individual herself, than to any body else--at least her actions would warrant this inference. she deems herself more indispensable to an opera than an executioner to an execution, or the thimbles to a thimble-rig man. she takes no pains to conceal what a high price she sets on the value of her presence. she sings just when she pleases, and just as she pleases. caprice itself is not more capricious than this fair creature. as capricious as a prima donna has almost become a proverb, and we predict that in a few years it will become fully established as such. she is a female tyrant. impresario, treasurer, chef (d'orchestre,) chorus master and chorus tremble before her, when in one of her passions she brings down her pretty little foot in a most commanding stamp. she gives the first mentioned person more trouble than all the singers, orchestra and officials together, with her coughs, colds and affected indispositions. next to the impresario, the chef (d'orchestre) suffers most from her imperious spirit. he never conducts so as to accompany her properly, and though she sings a half a note higher than she did at rehearsal, she expects every poor musician to transpose his magic at sight, or receive the indications of her displeasure in a way that leads the audience to believe that the fault lies entirely with the orchestra. she worries the basso,--poor, heavy, drowsy fellow,--because he's such a slow coach--and such an oaf. she is disposed to be more friendly to the tenor, who is the only person who receives any tokens of her good-will; but in truth, she would cease to be a woman, if she were unkind to this gentlemanly, polite little fellow. neither does she hold the public in the least regard, but conceives that she has a right to be seriously indisposed as often as she thinks that people are really desirous to hear her; and "is subject when the house is thin, to cold," as byron says. she keeps all the town who have determined to go and hear her, in the most provoking suspense. balls and evening parties are sadly interrupted by her erratic course, for she is sure to sing on the evenings assigned to those delightfully laborious modes of destroying time. all the pleasure promising engagements made by the browns and the smiths to form a party, and go in concert to the opera, are postponed from time to time, to the great vexation of young harry brown, who craftily set the affair on foot, in order to have an evening's "chaff" with miss julia smith. sometimes the prima donna's "serious indisposition" is not discovered by the fair singer herself, until the ladies of the audience have removed the cloaks, furs and hoods which guard their loveliness from the cold of a winter night; until the young gentlemen have jammed their opera hats into an inconceivably small space, and adroitly passed the hand up to the collar and cravat to discover how things are in that quarter; and until the old _habitués_ have settled themselves down into the softest chair of the pit, with the full intention of being extremely displeased, and making very unfavourable comparisons between the performance about to take place, and one at which they were present some twenty years before. however, she is a splendid creature--a small miracle in the way of humanity--and can therefore be excused from pursuing that monotonous and regular course of life which "patient merit" is obliged to take. [illustration] she is either a beautiful woman in reality, or one who can get up such an admirable imitation that it is difficult to distinguish it from the genuine. she is well skilled in music, at least in its execution; but she is always much more deeply versed in the virtues of cosmetics, and in the art of making herself beautiful. there are two varieties in the figure of the prima donna; either, firstly, such as to qualify her for opera buffa and certain tragic roles, in which case she is of medium stature, delicate proportions, and possesses the most graceful and vivacious action. prima donnas of this stamp make the dearest, sweetest, most innocent-looking aminas; the most sprightly, coquettish rosinas, and the most faithful, confiding and sincere lucias. or, secondly, she is of a large mould, more masculine dimensions, with a countenance that can gather up in a moment a show of the requisite amount of fury to poignard the husband and strangle the _babbies_. she plays all the high tragedy roles, doing the semiramide, norma and lucrezia, with a very sanguinary power and effect. those of the first kind are most admired by the gay young fellows about town who have no taste for music, and who do not resort to the opera to hear it, but make the parquette a lounging place where they can be in the mode, see beautiful women, and show _themselves_. the prima donna, in her attempts to render herself personally attractive, has an auxiliary in her maid, who is a compound of companion and servant, and a _coiffeuse_ gifted with the most delicate taste and artistic execution. how often have we looked round the house and been forced to confess that the prima donna was literally the _first lady_ in the building, in respect to costume and _coiffure_. this maid too, is almost as much of a curiosity among maids as her mistress among fine ladies. she may be regarded as a prima donna without a voice, without fine clothes, bouquets, and a tenor companion; and it is her _destiny_ to marry one of the violinists, when her mistress marries the tenor. it is upon this official that the duty of attending to the prima donna's lap-dogs beatrice and amore, particularly devolves--two animals that are almost as dear to their possessor as her professional reputation. in addition to these darling little quadrupeds, upon which so many caresses are bestowed, both by the faultless hand of the mistress, and the same well-diamonded member of the tenor, a parrot usually divides the affections of one, who woman-like, must love something, but who has been so far initiated into the ways of the world as to doubt the sincerity of all mankind, except probably that of the aforesaid tenor. we remember once being present when a well-known prima donna was about to leave a northern city, where a rival cantatrice had lately appeared, and was inducing comparisons unsatisfactory to the former. she had been informed that an overland trip to new orleans would be greatly incumbered by the presence of her lap-dogs and parrot, and was prevailed on to bestow them on some tender-hearted persons, whose extreme affection for domesticated animals would be a guaranty for their gentle treatment. a married gentleman--we are afraid without having consulted his wife--kindly offered to relieve the lady from all trouble in finding the suitable persons, by taking them himself. assuming the attitude of norma handing over babes, she delivered up the poodles. with what sadness were the little creatures confided to his care. what admonitions and instructions to carefully keep them; what prayers for their faithful protection; a womanly tear bedewed the cheek of the fascinating lady, and a smile followed, as if to ask forgiveness for what she feared those present might consider an unbecoming weakness. five years afterwards, we saw in a concert room this same sensitive creature, who was so moved and affected at the _derniers adieux_ paid to her hateful little poodles, scowl darkly, bite her lips, and turn her back on the person who had engaged her, whom, by the by, we, in common with the audience, regarded as a much aggrieved individual. [illustration] between the attention and affection bestowed on her pets, some hours devoted to study and rehearsal, occasional rides and walks, and time spent in the pleasing avocation of arranging her wardrobe, and in innocently admiring her fair self in the mirror, the days of this spoiled child of the music-loving are whiled away. she is acquainted with some of the dandies of the place where she for the time resides, but as such gentlemen in this country seldom have the temerity to appear with her in public, their usefulness as escort promenaders is greatly abridged. the fast men sometimes smuggle themselves into her visiting circle, in order to be able to boast of their intimacy with the prima donna; but as this class of society is seldom very _fluent_ in the use of italian, and as there is small affinity between the sentimentality of the opera and "mile heats to harness," this acquaintance is not of very long duration. [illustration] the necessity of personal beauty in a prima donna is such, that she must "assume that virtue if she have it not." not many winters since, a beautiful cantatrice was induced to undertake the role of romeo in "i montecchi ed i capuletti." the lady was excellently proportioned, except that there existed a great want of symmetry in the inferior members; and as romeo's skirts must necessarily be short, and the lady could not at will assume a pair of well turned knees and calves, she clothed the offending limbs in what, at this day would be called "bloomer pantaloons." the attempt to ingraft turkish trowsers on the veronese costume, proved too absurd to warrant the continuance of such a representation, and was abandoned after the night of its introduction. the effect of a prima donna on society is very various. if she be of the high tragic or strangulation school, it is to induce young ladies of some voice, _and a good deal of person_, to clothe themselves in white _tulle_ on the occasion of evening parties and amateur concerts--draw their hair very smoothly over the temples--drive a white camellia into the left side of the head, and sing long recitatives from norma or lucrezia;--in the case of evening parties to the infinite chagrin of young gentlemen possessed of great waltzing powers and passions; and in the case of amateur concerts, to the fatigue of yawning audiences. if the prima donna is of the coquettish school of song, every damsel of sylph-like proportions, vivacious expression, and a turn for man-killing, chirps and warbles away in the sprightly passages of the _barbiere_. [illustration] as for the male part of the community, it is perfectly easy to divine how they will be affected by the appearance of the different "_prime donne_" who from year to year present themselves for musical honors. they will always be pleased, but chiefly by those who are rather attractive in features than in voice. the very young and inexperienced men just entering into society, denominated "cubs" by the beaux of some years standing, affect most the prima donna of the sanguinary school, because she seems more in accordance with the ideas they have derived from the study of medea, a work to which they have not long since bid adieu. they regard the killing of babes as the most tragic of tragedy, and the actress who can do the thing best, as the most accomplished of actresses. but the knowing fellows of mature years prefer the pretty creatures who look so fond and affectionate, in their short peasant dresses, displaying the delicate little foot and well turned ancle. how they gather night after night into the parquette, to compare opinions on the merits of orsini's soft notes, and the long, beautifully-filled stockings of the page dress. we once heard an enthusiastic cuban remark, when patti was singing orsini to parodi's lucrezia; "parodi is the finest singer i ever heard,--she is the best actress i ever saw; some few people can appreciate her singing, many more her acting;--but patti's legs! ah! sir, that is something that everybody can understand." how delighted the young fellows pretend to be with the wild, bacchanal song, when in reality they only encore the songstress, in order to have another opportunity of admiring her pretty knees. alas, how foolish they are to throw away admiration on one who takes no more thought of them than if they never existed; but each one of them supposes that she must necessarily, be slightly enamoured of himself. the consequence is, that next morning divers bouquets, with small notes or cards containing a few amatory words, appended to them, are handed in to the servant, who is very much out of humour at what has become troublesome from its over repetition. the old _habitués_, of course, will not be affected in any way except by peevishness and petulance, which will drive them into their usual course of detraction. "ah!" says old twaddle; "pasta--you should have seen pasta! no melodramatic twaddle about her! genuine, artistic delineation of passion and profound emotion. and then what a voice! none of your ambiguous voices there; no difficulty in pronouncing, whether soprano or contralto. and then her beauty--none of your namby-pamby, sickly, insignificant prettiness." and thus twaddle grumbles on, making shocking comparisons between the past and present. poor old twaddle! he has, according to his own showing, outlived all that is good in the province of music. the prima donna in this country will, generally speaking, produce on any foreigner who happens to be among us, an effect very much akin to that exercised upon twaddle. she will set him sighing after the vocalization of the other side of the atlantic. he will seem to forget that parodi or "the hays" ought to sing as well in this country as in europe. but still he can't be brought to that belief; and what is worse, upon your venturing to suggest any possibility of such a state of the case, you are made to perceive that he considers that your nationality puts you off the bench of musical critics. * * * * * query. why is it that _every_ frenchman is supposed to be an infallible judge of sweet sounds? for our own part, we no more believe that every gallic gentleman is fit for a critic, than that every one can raise a handsome moustache. * * * * * another effect of a beautiful prima donna, is to make young husbands, who have been married _just_ two years, look so steadfastly on the stage, that their young wives sit with their eyes fastened on a cousin george or harry, in the parquette. [illustration] chapter v. of the barytone. "our barytone i almost had forgot; * * * * * in lover's parts, his passion more to breathe, having no heart to show, he shows his teeth."--byron. the barytone of the opera is probably the most inoffensive individual in the world. this is his peculiarity. even his fierceness on the stage is done with an effort; and when in the course of a piece he is unfortunately called on to massacre somebody, we always fancy that he does it with the most unfeigned reluctance, and for aught we know, with silent tears. he is generally of a bashful, retiring disposition, and pretty nearly always awkward. this perhaps arises from the anomalous position he occupies in operatical society. he cannot be on good terms with the basso,--they have too much similarity in their voices for that; he is on no more friendly relations with the tenor for the same reason. besides never daring to aspire to the familiarity with the prima donna which that worthy enjoys, he suffers under the affliction of conscious diffidence in their presence. [illustration] the barytone must as surely be the king as the basso must be the tyrant; indeed we have often thought of the startling effect which would be produced by an opera in which this law of nature was reversed. to hear the lover growling his tender feelings in a gutteral e flat, and moaning his hard lot in a series of double d.'s; to listen to the remorseless tyrant ordering his myrmidons to "away with him to the deepest dungeon 'neath the castle moat," in the most soothing and mellifluous of tenor head notes, would produce such a revulsion in operatic taste, as surely to create a deep sensation, if nothing more. chapter vi. of the suggeritore or prompter. "there never was a man so notoriously abused. twelfth night. "but whispering words can poison truth." coleridge. [illustration] we should be much grieved were we to let a chance of immortality at our hands go by, for our great friend the prompter--the suggeritore of the italians. the prompter is to the opera, what the fifth wheel is to a wagon; everything rubs, grates and abrades it, yet the whole concern turns on it. he is the most abused (not hated--that is reserved for the impresario,) man in the company. but he does not care for it. that is what he is hired for. he is paid to be of a good temper, and he does it. he returns docility for dollars; and suavity for salary. he is the true philosopher; just enough in the company to be part of it, and sufficiently detached to avoid all the squabbles and bickerings. he, however, is the victim of all the caprices of the company, from the prima donna, who in a miff kicks about _his partition_ in a very piano cavatina, to each of the bandy-legged choristers. true, he has his little revenge. this he accomplishes by using his voice too much and too loudly in the _sotto voce_ parts, so that all the duos become trios and the quintettes, choruses. this is little enough to sweeten the embitterments of a _suggeritore's_ life, but such it is, and he is contented. the _suggeritore_ must be a thin man. it does not require a paxton to know that a hole in the stage two feet square, will not hold barnum's obesities. he must also be short and supple-necked, to allow the green fungus which excresces from the stage to cover him; and he must be the fortunate owner of a right arm as untiring as a locomotive crank or the sails of a windmill. it is a prevalent but mistaken idea, that the prompter is an impolite man; we happen to know that it is a matter of the deepest concern with him to be obliged to sit with his back to the audience. but he is like the angels and st. cecilia, "_il n'avait pas de quoi_" to do otherwise. operas must be, singers must have, a lead horse--(n. b. how can delicate females and tenors be expected to recollect "_les paroles_;")--and there he is, with a little hole in the back of his calash for the leader of the orchestra to stir him up when the excitement becomes very strong, and the time is irrecoverably lost. as to the social habits of the suggeritore, the naturalist is at a loss, for he immediately disappears after rehearsal, and remains in close retirement till the performance, after which he is again lost till the next day. chapter vii. before the curtain. "a neat, snug study on a winter's night; a book, friend, single lady, or a glass of claret, sandwich, and an appetite, are things which make an english evening pass, though _certes_ by no means so grand a sight, as is a theatre, lit up with gas."--byron. the night is a cold one; the snow is falling in large, heavy flakes, and those who are fond of the frigid, but exhilarating amusement of sleighing, are in hopes that by the morrow they will be able to pass like lightning from one part of the city to the other; in a sleigh decked with warm, gaily trimmed furs; filled with a merry company, and drawn by two high-headed, dashing trotters. the gas lights are just discernible from corner to corner. the number of people in the streets is steadily decreasing, and the sound of their foot-fall is muffled in the snow. about the theatres and the opera house, however, crowds of the idle and curious, gaping at those who are entering these buildings, make it necessary for the police to pace to and fro, ordering back the more presumptuous loiterers, who press forward and obstruct the approach to the doors. query? why does the crowd always stare at those who are going into a theatre or opera? the latter are attired somewhat strangely to be sure, but still they don't look _exactly_ like choctaws. the cab and chaise-men muffled up in their cold-defying great-coats and woolen comforters, are opening the doors of their several vehicles, out of which ladies enveloped in cloaks and hoods are dismounting under cover of umbrellas, held probably by the "best of brothers," but more probably by gentlemen in no way related to them. in the opera house all is bustle and commotion. the officials are selling tickets, receiving tickets, and directing to their places bevies of ladies and gentlemen bewildered in a maze of passages. the audience is impatiently preparing itself for a delightful evening's entertainment. the dandies, who are so unfortunate as not to have accompanied ladies have already brought themselves up to the attack, and have levelled their opera-glasses on all the points where they know well-established objects of admiration are likely to be found. now and then they bow their recognition in a reserved inclination, or in a careless smiling way that bespeaks the freedom of familiar intimacy. the fast-men are standing at the doors in knots of three and four, talking over the last trot of suffolk, or the probable chance of victory in the next day's dog-fight, and making a few, no doubt _very fast_, but not very proper allusions to the shoulders of some rather sparingly habited _belles_. the cubans in the parquette, who, by the by, during their sojourn in this country will best preserve their liberty by remaining north of mason and dixon's line, are clearing their voices in very doubtful spanish, for those animated bravos, which we must admit they always administer in the very best taste, both as to time and quantity. here and there, some lone young man, desolate in a crowd, who has seldom before been exposed to the full blaze of the all-discovering gas light, not exactly knowing what to do with himself, is endeavouring, with a fictitious indifference, to fill up the vacancies of attention by smoothing down the stubborn folds of badly selected white _kids_. five collegians just escaped from the studious universities for a high week in town, have established themselves all together, and commenced a running commentary, carried on chiefly in the virginia dialect, on men, women, and things, much to the annoyance of a very foreign gentleman behind them--so foreign that he is almost black--who looks stilettos at his cheerful but over-loquacious neighbours. one youth in an excessively white, though unpleasantly stiff cravat, is assisting an equally stiff old chaperon into her place, at the expense of great physical efforts, till his cheeks are thereby suffused with a tint strongly resembling the color of a juvenile beet, while the distended veins of his forehead would make a fine anatomical study for the laborious medical student, if that fabulous biped were still extant. the chaperon being disposed of, four young ladies under her _surveillance_, two in opera cloaks and hoods, and two in antediluvian mantles and pre-adamitic head-gear, assuring the existence of rural cousinship, by four minor efforts of the same gentleman, are at length safely landed in their places. but now commences a new round of confusion. each of the four young ladies discovers that she has placed herself on some article of clothing belonging to her companion. whereupon she half rises, and having drawn forth the disturbing habiliment, resumes her former position: and as this movement is performed by each one of them without regard to the order in which they have placed themselves, and is repeated half a dozen times in as many minutes, the unconscious fair ones become the subjects of the allusions of the fast-men, who immediately institute comparisons between them and various animate and inanimate objects. one of these gentlemen observing that their motions remind him of a flock of aquatic fowl, known by the name of divers, a facetious friend replies that probably he means diving bells; which being considered an extremely happy pun, it meets with a hearty laugh of approbation. but an ambitious fast wit, fearing that his reputation is likely to be lost forever, if he remain silent, says that the whole group of uneasy females recalls the line of coleman, "for what is so gay as a bag full of fleas." this being regarded as the acme of brilliancy, there is no telling what might be the consequences if their attention were not drawn into another channel by the entrance of a distinguished belle, who is immediately pronounced to be a "stunner" and the question is raised as to who the man is who acts as "bottle holder," reference thereby being had to the gentleman who is so polite as to hand the lady to her place, and aid her in disposing of her divers little appliances of operatic necessity. the _belle_ scarcely takes her seat before she commences to hum snatches of italian airs, in a very careless indifferent way, just to show how much she is at home in such a place, and probably to attract a little more attention. query? why do the handsomest women at an opera _always_ talk and laugh the loudest? that portion of the audience comprised in the gentler sex is here in all the attraction of natural loveliness and adventitious ornament, putting to flight a notion once prevalent, that beauty when unadorned is then adorned the most. the noise of conversation which now lulls, now swells out in gentle crescendos, is chiefly the production of this taciturn part of the audience. all at once the gas is let on in a gush of light, the buzz of voices, which up to this time has been carried on in a subdued tone, bursts out into full force, with a suddenness that seems to render it probable that the conversation has been issuing all the while from the gas jets. the augmented light brings down another volley from the foci of a thousand _lorgnettes_. at this moment the musicians begin to enter the orchestra which has been void of occupants all the evening, with the exception of one meaningless old fellow, who has been attempting to restore order among the stands, seats, and books, but whose laudable efforts have ended in what every single gentleman at lodgings knows all endeavours to "set things to rights," are sure to effect--a state of affairs in which confusion is considerably worse confounded. but after all a music-stand must be adjusted by the performer himself; no one can put the hat of another on the head of the latter so as to be comfortable to him. the latter must pose it for himself. this law applies with peculiar force to music-stands. the violinists proceed to tighten or slacken the hair of their bows, to throw back the coat collar, or stuff a white handkerchief under it, in order to adjust the violin to the peculiar crook of each neck, with as much apparent anxiety as if they had not been doing the same thing for the last thirty years, and some of their heads had not become bald over the sound-post. in the meantime, the other members of this well-bearded corps are streaming in with their instruments under the arm, and are placing their music books and lamps at the proper elevation on the stands, all the while talking, nodding, and smiling as if rehearsing half the day, and playing half the night, were a mighty good joke. and then ascend to the highest parts of the house--to the regions of the operatic "paradise," those most singular of all instrumental sounds, those fifty or sixty antagonistic voluntaries with which all the audience would voluntarily dispense, consisting of chromatics in twenty different keys, violin octaves, harmonics, thirds and fifths, clarionet shakes, flute staccatos, horn growlings, ophicleide rumblings, triangular vibrations, and drum concussions. "see to their desks apollo's sons repair-- swift rides the rosin o'er the horse's hair! in unison their various tones to tune, murmurs the hautboy, growls the hoarse bassoon. in soft vibration sighs the whispering lute, twang goes the harpsicord, too too the flute, brays the loud trumpet, squeaks the fiddle sharp, winds the french horn, and twangs the tingling harp." about the time that the observer has made up in his mind an answer to the following mental queries--how many nights the first violinist could play without getting a crick in the neck--whether the flutist may not sometime blow his eyes so far out of his head that he may never be able to get them back again--how long it would take the operator on the _cornet à piston_ to learn to play on the magnetic telegraph--why such a small man should be suffered to perform on such a big thing as an ophicleide, and how a person with such a huge moustache can get the piccola up to lips defended by such a bulwark of hair, a fermentation is observable in the midst of this musical whirlpool, which indicates the presence of some higher power. place is given by the humble members of the orchestra, and the director is seen to stand forth in the attitude of mounting the tribunal from whence he guides his submissive subjects with despotic sway. he is a neat figured little man, with a profusion of methodically adjusted curls, a moustache that would render his physiognomy excessively ferocious, if an occasional smile playing over the distinguishable parts of his face, did not modify this expression. he is attired in the costume of the ball room, bearing in his button hole the most delicate rosebud of the conservatory, and in his perfectly gloved hand, an amber headed baton, the sceptre of command. at his appearance a wave of applause floats up from the audience, and the head and breast of the director bend down to meet it in a graceful and reverential bow, accompanied by a smile expressing the highest possible amount of inward gratification. this little acknowledgment of a becoming respect for the good opinion of the house is repeated once or twice, and then with the air of a man who has important business on hand, he mounts his elevated seat. he gives one or two magical taps on the stand, and the chaos of sounds is annihilated with the exception of the lamentations of one refractory violin, over which the owner has been for the last half hour repeatedly, first inclining his head in a horizontal position, and then tugging away at the screws. at this the director seems to be much annoyed, and the poor violinist, more annoyed, mutters to a companion that he wishes himself an _unspeakably_ long way hence--probably in italy where he could procure some good strings. the resisting violin having been brought to subjection, the director casts an eye over the whole body of musicians, and having thrown back his head and lifted up both arms, very much in the supposed attitude of ajax defying the thunder, he remains perfectly motionless for an instant, and then brings forward the whole of his body from the hips upwards, with a rapid and powerful jerk, which introduces his forehead into close proximity with the musical score which he pretends to be reading, the baton strikes the stand with a loud clap, and one old drummer proceeds to touch the drum, but in so gentle a manner, that it sounds as if, instead of using the sticks he were tossing some grains of shot on it. you now tremble for the safety of the director, and you enter into an arithmetical calculation with yourself, the basis of which is, that if the director by such a dangerous inclination of the person can only bring one poor drummer into movement, what amount of bodily labour he will be compelled to undergo, in order to operate on all that concourse of musicians. but your fears are dissipated in a few moments, for you discover that great sounds and little sounds are accompanied with about the same degree of gesticulatory emphasis. in the meantime some horns have commenced to blow on a very small scale, not hard enough, you would suppose, to drive the dust out of them, and if the piston of the cornet did not rattle so, you would pronounce its playing all a sham. the violins and flutes begin to be audible and the violinists are suddenly struck with a simultaneous desire to pick the strings, just as if that would make any music. all the other instruments are now doing duty in very feeble tones, and you take a look round the house to see who are there; and you wonder why that particular family of smiths, with whom you have the pleasure of an acquaintance has not yet appeared. you think miss julia brown's hair arranged with the usual want of elegance, and then call to mind the fact that at newport, the previous summer, you complimented her so many times on the peculiar taste which her coiffure always displayed. the aforesaid drummer is now giving the drum considerable ill usage, and then for the first time, you observe that he has two of them which he appears to beat alternately. the director is casting his head from one side to the other, flashes of disapprobation dart from his eyes upon the dilatory violinists, who from time to time, stop as it were, to catch breath, and fail to "come to the scratch" in due season. every now and then a frown, dark as erebus, spreads over his brow, as some poor laggard is astray in the mazes of sound, and can't find his place, or turns two pages instead of one, and consequently loses the thread of his harmonious discourse. the music grows so powerful that the conversation of the most enthusiastic and vociferous fast man no longer meets the ear. the orchestra is going as if they were riding an instrumental steeple chase, and the director looks more and more involved in doubt, as to which of his followers is to be left most in the rear. at length when you have concluded that every musician has exhausted his last resource in the general attempt to make a noise, you are knocked into a start of astonishment by the introduction of a _corps de reserve_, in the clash of cymbals, which sounds as if a careless servant had stumbled in coming up stairs and mashed an entire set of sevres china. in the midst of this carnage of crotchets and quavers, the director is obviously the controlling spirit who "rides in the whirlwind and directs the storm." there he sits producing no one sound except an occasional rap of his baton on the desk, and yet rousing to frenzy or lulling into tranquillity the instruments of all this tumult, every now and then, as mr. macaulay would say, "hurling foul scorn" at the heaps of little black dots that are crowded over the leaves of his score. when the intensity of the tones has been diminished and augmented some half dozen times, the overture is concluded in four grand crashes, in which the cymbals make the most conspicuous figure. during the overture, however, there seems to be occasional seasons when there is a cessation of hostilities, and a soft plaintive air is taken up by one clarionet, violincello or oboe, with which air the audience must be very much delighted, for they laugh and talk with the greatest earnestness, and never turn their eyes towards the orchestra. and now there is a new commotion among the musicians, while arranging every thing for the more serious undertaking, the opera itself. the director goes about like a general on the eve of battle, reconnoitres his forces, and marshals them for the attack. he mounts the elevated seat, gives another contortion to his frame, similar to that which was necessary to put the overture in movement, and then the curtain rises. heads are slightly projected from the boxes at this movement, and many an alabaster neck is curved forward till the lowered drapery reveals the snowy bosom. the noise of conversation ceases, and the opera commences in earnest. chapter viii. of the opera in the concrete. "lord! said my mother, what is all this story about? "a cock and a bull, said yorick--and one of the best of its kind i ever heard."--tristram shandy. _prince henry._ "'wilt thou rob this leather-jerkin, crystal-button, nott-pated, agate-ring, puke stocking, caddis-garter, smooth-tongue, spanish-pouch,--" _francis._ "o lord, sir, who do you mean?" _p. hen._ "why then, your brown bastard is your only drink: for, look you, francis, your white canvas doublet will sully; in barbary, sir, it cannot come to so much." first part of king henry iv. "if this were played upon a stage, now, i would condemn it as an improbable fiction." twelfth night. when the curtain rises the scene represents a dark forest, where some quite well dressed, but desperate, foreign-looking gentlemen are engaged at a game of cards, which, from the abandoned appearance of the players, we are warranted to believe, must be some such low pastime as "all fours," or a hand at poker. the desperate gentlemen cantatorially inform the audience that their profession is that of outlaws, and remark that having no particular business then to engage them, they are staking quite extravagant sums on some cards, which the curious observer will discover to have a very unctuous appearance. how the outlaws ever came to be reduced to such straightened circumstances as to put up with these "lodgings upon the cold ground," or how they ever fell into such an improper course of life, we are not told, but we remember once hearing a fast man suggest that they were evidently "nobs who had overdrawn the badger by driving fast cattle, and going it high"--the exact signification of which words we did not understand, but supposed them to refer to scions of nobility who had squandered their patrimonies in riotous living. that these men are lost beyond the hope of redemption, is clear from the fact that they express their determination to employ themselves in no more useful or moral way; and how long they would persist in this pernicious amusement is rendered uncertain, by the entrance of their leader or chieftain--who, it is needless to say, is the tenor. from, the first moment that the spectator casts his eye on this obviously unfortunate individual, he is at once interested in his case, observing to himself, that if the fellow is somewhat addicted to low company, still he's a very gentlemanly character, and to all appearance "the mildest manner'd man that ever sculled ship or cut a throat." his looks are sad and melancholy, and would indicate that he is either suffering from a cold in the head, or that his outlaws had been a little more successful at "all fours" than himself. the "dejected haviour of his visage" seems to touch the audience, for they immediately give him several rounds of applause, no doubt with the intention of raising his spirits. this kind manifestation of their feelings is responded to by one or two low bows, and then he turns towards his outlaws to obtain a becoming reception from them. he is greeted by his followers with the greatest enthusiasm; though, to their inquiries after his health, he makes no reply, but walks languidly down to the foot-lights, and relates to both audience and outlaws, how deplorable will be his condition unless he receive the assistance of the latter in carrying out his designs. he goes on to state that the "voice of a certain damsel of arragon has slid into his heart like dew upon a parched flower"--a simile which the reader will observe to be equally felicitous as novel. he adds, however, that a great old villain and tyrant (who of course must be the basso,) has carried off the spanish maiden, and is about to compel her to marry him. the bandits become at once highly indignant, and with one accord seize their arms and declare that they will follow their chief to the castle of the old phylogynist, and _boulversé_ all his designs by some insinuating digs of the poignard. the despondent chief seems comforted by this assurance of their "most distinguished consideration," and remarks that the young lady will no doubt be a consoling angel amidst the griefs of exile. [illustration] while he has been informing the audience and his friends of the state of his feelings, he has from time to time indulged in gestures about as strong as we can well conceive of, but now and then when an extraordinarily deep sentiment, and a very high note, choose the same moment for their expression, he is obliged to poise himself on one foot, extend the other behind him, elevating the heel and depressing the toe, fold his hands over his breast, throw back the head and shake his body like a newfoundland dog just issuing from the water--the refractory note and the hidden emotion are always brought to light by these gesticulatory expedients. immediately after this, the scene having changed to the castle of the tyrant, the "aragonese vergine" (the prima donna), is discovered reclining on an old box covered with green baize, which long-continued acquaintance with theatrical properties, enables the audience to recognize as a velvet _lounge_. this lady seems to be in great affliction, for which, however, we can discover no adequate cause, except that she is in such an unbecoming place for an unprotected female. the applause of the audience is overwhelming, and three very low, but extremely graceful and lady-like curtsies which she rises "to do," are the consequence. the beaux are now in all the excitement that dandies dare permit themselves to yield to, alternately exclaiming, "how grand she is! how beautiful! heavens, but isn't she beautiful!" and then bringing down the focus of the opera-glass on the peerless woman. the distressed female now launches off into a recitative, in which she expresses, in no measured terms, her utter aversion to the hateful old tyrant, and then, falling on one knee, strikes into a cavatina, in which she says she hopes her lover, who necessarily must be the outlaw chief, (who again must necessarily be the tenor), will come immediately and run off with her--a wish that is probably often entertained by young ladies in reference to their particular lovers, but which is seldom avowed in this public way. [illustration] during the cavatina, she has been doing some very high singing, and making a great many of the newfoundland dog shakes, the lady part of the audience sitting wrapt in admiration, with the eyes fastened on the stage as intently as if they were witnessing a marriage ceremony, gently murmuring their approbation in detached sentences, such as "sweet, lovely, charming, exquisite;" while the fast men by the door, utter the words "knocker, fast nag," and declare that her time is "two thirty." one of these very sporting young gentlemen asserts his readiness to "back her against the field." just as the prima donna makes a very steep raise in the scale with a dreadful velocity of utterance, the same individual expresses his desire to withdraw the offer, observing that she is making her "brushes" too soon, and that he fears "she'll be too distressed to come home handsome." a troupe of maidens with very plethoric ancles, now make their appearance, encumbered by large gilt paste-board caskets, containing some exceedingly brilliant paste-jewelry, intended as bridal presents for the unprotected female. they have, however, the strangest mode of offering these tokens of friendship that we have ever seen. [illustration] they arrange themselves in a line on one side of the stage, apparently measuring their proximity to or distance from the foot-lights, with reference to the relative thickness of their ankles, until the lady nearest the audience seems to be the subject of a violent attack of elephantiasis. this done, they repeatedly sing five bars, and stretch out the right hand containing the present, in a line, forming, with the body, an angle of about ninety degrees. a certain king of castile in disguise, who is another of the many admirers of the heroine, breaks in on this little ceremony, expresses a strong wish to see her, and is told by one of the maidens, that the subject of his admirations is very much depressed in spirits, being considerably smitten with the afore-mentioned outlaw chieftain. the king is shocked at his adored one's want of taste in making a preference so little flattering to himself, and endeavours to force her to escape with him; but the young lady being highly indignant, draws a dagger, and threatens "to go into him," if he don't cease taking such liberties--thereby attracting considerable applause from some gentlemen in a back box, who have a strong penchant for dog-fighting. the outlaw happens to come in at the very nick of time, and after some quite serious altercation between him and the disguised king, at the moment when the "fancy" part of the audience are expecting a "set to," and admiring the courage of the little tenor (the outlaw), which they technically denominate the "game" of the "light weight," the heroine rushes between them with a drawn sword, threatening to destroy herself if they do not desist, and calling upon them to remember the honour of her mansion--thereby, no doubt, alluding to the possibility of an indictment for keeping a disorderly house. the old tyrant, of whom we have heard a great deal, but have not as yet seen, returns home late at night to his castle, and finding two unknown gentlemen in his house without an invitation, conversing with his shut-up lady, he charges them with the impropriety of their behaviour. the strange gentlemen (the outlaw chief and the king in disguise), not particularly relishing these observations, beg him not to be so violent in his language. this seems only to incense the old fellow the more, who has just suggested "coffee and pistols," when the aforesaid king's followers entering, make the tyrant acquainted with the fact that he's been blowing up a king. the parasitical old tyrant immediately endeavours to excuse himself for the mistake he has made; says he hopes his royal highness will not be offended, that he had not the pleasure of his acquaintance, and all that sort of thing. the king rejoins that he is perfectly excuseable; that no offence has been done--that the cause of his own unlooked-for presence arises from the fact that he is out for the emperorship--that he is about doing a little electioneering, and that he just stopped in to learn the state of public feeling in his district, and solicit his (the tyrant's) vote. the tyrant being a good deal flattered by this appeal to his chief weak point--namely, his own fancied knowledge of party politics--says that the king does him great honour--"supreme honour"--and invites him to spend the night in the castle; which kind invitation his majesty graciously accepts. in the meantime, the outlaw, having observed how much more cordially the tyrant is received than himself, has made his exit. the king's followers all draw up in line and conclude the act by a song, the burden of which is that their master's nomination is the only one "fit to be made." the next act discovers the tyrant awaiting the arrival of the unfortunate heroine, to whom he is going to be married in a few minutes. all is jollity in the castle, till a gentleman clothed as a pilgrim, interrupts the general hilarity; for when the bride enters, he throws off the dreadful black cloak and reveals the outlaw chieftain. he pitches himself into a variety of passionate attitudes, to the great terror of a whole boarding school of young ladies, whom their teacher has permitted to visit the opera to improve their style of singing. the bride elect rushes up to him, and so they both step down to the foot-lights. the outlaw gentleman passes his right hand round the waist of the lady, and clasps in his left both of her's, elevating them to a line with the breast. they remain stationary for a moment, whilst the orchestra is playing the symphony, looking as fondly into each other's eyes as a pair of dear little turtle doves, and smiling as sweetly as every gentleman and lady have a right to smile under such pleasant circumstances. there they begin to assure each other simultaneously of the pleasure they would find in immediately dying, placed in the attitude which they are at present enjoying so highly; by a rare and curious accident, both repeating the same words, with the exception of the respective substitution of the pronouns "i, you, my, your, he, she," as often as such substitutions become necessary--as if one should say, for example, i'll } bet { my } money on the bob-tail mare. you'll} {your} he'll } bet {his} money on the bob-tail mare. she'll} {her} the outlaw is, however, obliged to run and hide himself, because he hears the king knocking to come in, and he fears that he'll be killed if he is discovered. the king enters, and with a very "fee, fi, fo, fum" air, asks for the body of the outlaw. the tyrant tells a most bare-faced falsehood, swears the outlaw is not in his house, and so, the king, after considerable use of the word wretch, traitor, menditore, &c., carries off the bride as a hostage, to the great chagrin of the tyrant. as soon as the king has departed with his fair companion, the tyrant runs to the outlaw's hiding place, and dragging him forth by the collar, declares that he'll kill him himself. the outlaw, under great excitement, seizes his head in both hands in a manner so terrible, that self-decapitation would seem to be inevitable, which so alarms the aforesaid boarding school misses, that two of them go off into hysterics, and they are carried into the lobby, where the cutting of their laces is attended with an explosion similar to that of "popping" a champagne cork. the outlaw prays the tyrant not to kill him just now, and says he will give him permission to do so at any future period. "here, sir," adds he, still addressing himself to the tyrant, "is a very fine _cornet à piston_, allow me to present it to you with the assurance, that whenever you wish to obtain my presence for the purpose of exterminating me, you will merely be obliged to sound the note of b flat, and i will unhesitatingly comply with your wishes." in the words of the poet tennyson, "leave me here, and when you want me, sound upon the bugle horn." the tyrant accepts the present upon the accompanying condition, but having no great confidence in the word of a man who has been associating so long a time with bad company, he requires him to make oath to that effect; which being done, both gentlemen call upon the chorus to follow them immediately in pursuit of the king and his captive lady. these cowardly rascals stand some five minutes and sing about their readiness to depart, instead of marching off instantly, as they are requested to do. in the third act, the king hides himself in a grave-yard during the election for emperor, probably out of fear that he may be defeated. while wandering among the grave-stones he overhears some of his political enemies, (among whom is the outlaw chieftain,) plotting his assassination. the conspirators cast lots for the office of assassin, and the lot _very naturally_ falls on the outlaw. the next moment the report of cannon is heard, and the king's retinue come in, bringing with them the heroine--who, we must confess, seems to have no real business there,--and state that the polls have closed, and that the king has been elected emperor. thereupon the new emperor calls the conspirators up and is about to have them killed, just as it might be expected an emperor would do. the heroine begs for the life of the miserable offenders, telling the emperor that if he wishes to be considered a sovereign of respectability, and not conduct himself like one who had "stolen a precious diadem and put it in his pocket," he must pardon the delinquents. the emperor relents, and pronounces a pardon for the conspirators. he calls up the robber chieftain and the heroine, and uniting their hands, expresses an ardent wish that they may, as the libretto says, "love forever." the pleasure of the two lovers is indescribable, and the whole company begin to sing the praises of such a trump of an emperor. the air, which is chosen as the vehicle to carry all this adulation to royal ears, is apparently one of those crashing, clashing passages in the overture; and if the emperor does not hear the voice of flattery, it is because the gentlemen who preside over the kettle-drum and cymbals, seem to have entered into a conspiracy to prevent it. the more zealous the chorus is in its efforts to make an agreeable impression on their sovereign, and the louder the voice is raised for this object, the more that irritable old drummer seems anxious to defeat their sycophantic purposes. if you are one of those excitable persons who are prone to take a side in every contest that comes under their observation, whether it be two gentlemen ranging for the presidency, or two bull-terriers "punishing" each other for the possession of a bone, you immediately determine who you hope may carry their point. in your admiration of the dogged perseverance of the old drummer, you take part in favour of the instruments, and when you hear that sudden and awful clash of the cymbals, which causes you to start till you dig your elbow into an elderly gentleman on one side, and tread on some corny toes on the other, you felicitate yourself upon the victory of parchment and brass over throats; but the next moment your pleasure is extinguished, for the tenor and soprano give their voices an extra lift, and away they go up like rockets, far aloft above the din of horns, cymbals and kettle drums. the fourth and last act represents the terrace of a highly illuminated palace, which may be seen in the back ground. some masked gentlemen, very bandy-legged and knock-kneed, dressed in tight hose, well calculated to exhibit these deformities, are observed flirting with some of the before mentioned thick-ankled ladies, who likewise rejoice in dominos. every thing indicates that this is a place, where people are in the habit of being extremely jolly, and from which such stupid things as parties to which a few friends are invited "very sociably", or family re-unions, are entirely abolished. presently all the company break out with the expression of one general wish for the unbounded prosperity of the outlaw chief and the heroine whom we saw betrothed in the last act, and who have just been married. they make their exit shortly afterward in great precipitation, having been frightened from the stage by the appearance of a great, horrible-looking figure, clothed in black, which seems to be a species of bug-bear, sent to scare such naughty people who do nothing but dance, sing and make merry. the bug-bear exits shortly after. again the highly profligate chorus enter, in no wise corrected by the visitation of the gloomy looking gentleman, and assure the audience what a pleasant thing it is for one man to flirt with another's wife from behind a mask, or for an innocent young lady "going her first winter" to whisper in a corner with a man about town; but getting weary of this occupation, they at last retire, and the newly married couple--the outlaw and his bride--again show themselves. the outlaw seems to be struck with a highly poetic vein, for he tells the lady that the noise of the polka in the palace has ceased, that the gas has been stopped off, and that the stars are amusing themselves by smiling on their happy union, "because they've nothing else to do." thereupon they indulge in a gentle embrace, and start off simultaneously in a duo, declaratory of the union of their two hearts in such an anti-anatomical manner, that henceforth until their latest breath, one cardiacal organ will suffice to perform the functions of two separate bodies. scarcely have they made this declaration of their abnormal heart-union, before the sound of a horn falls on the ears of the o'er happy couple. at this moment the outlaw forgets all good breeding, and still influenced by his former brigand habits, swears a most horrible oath in the presence of his young bride, and seems to be overcome by great depression of spirits. the poor woman, observing nothing singular about the blast of the horn--in all probability fancying that it is only the tooting of a lazy post boy somewhat behind time, prays him to cheer up, and let her see him smile. before the outlaw can comply with this small request the horn sounds again. "behold," shrieks the young husband, "the tiger seeks his prey." the bride surveys the apartment, but observing no tiger or other ferocious animal, takes it for granted that he has the mania à potu, induced by imbibing too much champagne at the wedding feast. she immediately runs out into the bridal chamber, with the intention of putting on those indefinite garments denominated "things," and going to call up the court physician. the outlaw chieftain stands a moment listening with breathless attention, and hearing no more of the horn, comes to the conclusion that he has no just ground for fear, and that it was only a dreadful ringing in the ears with which he is sometimes afflicted. he thereupon rushes in pursuit of his bride, but just as he arrives at the door of the bridal chamber, his progress is arrested by the same black hob-goblin gentlemen who frighted the dissipated chorus, as before related. this gentleman is recognized by the outlaw in spite of his black clothes and mask, as the hateful old tyrant who persecuted him to such an extent some time previously. the outlaw groans a few times, and then the tyrant asks his victim if he calls to mind his promise, and the words of the poet tennyson, "leave me here, and when you want me sound upon the bugle horn." the poor outlaw begs for his life; but the old tyrant remains inexorable, and tells him that he must die. the unhappy bride returns, and hearing her husband entreating the old tyrant so fervently for a respite, unites her supplications with those of her husband. to this the tyrant makes no direct answer, but merely presents a poignard to the trembling outlaw, with a repetition of the words of the poet tennyson. "leave me here, and when you want me sound upon the bugle horn." the outlaw perceiving no mode of escaping from this _horn_ of the dilemma, seizes the poignard, drives it in his breast, and sinks mortally wounded. the poor bride shrieks, and falls upon his body. now succeeds a scene of pulling and dragging on the floor. the wounded tenor is called upon to struggle and writhe in all the agonies of death, and the prima donna to follow him up in order to raise his head on her knee, and thus give him an opportunity of singing his dying solo. to do this in such a manner as not to render the whole thing ridiculous and farcical, instead of tragic and touching, requires all the grace and ease imaginable. when well done it is impressive; when badly it is laughable; but whether touching or laughable, it is sure to be relished by a large part of the audience, for it always discloses who has done most for the prima donna's bust, dame nature or the mantua maker. the tenor's head being elevated to the proper height, he expresses it as his dying wish that the prima donna will continue to live and cherish his memory. they then lament their unhappy fate in a short duo. the tenor dies; the prima donna appears to do the same, but the libretto consoles you by declaring that she only swoons. the old tyrant--the basso--chuckles like a wretch over the success of his successful plot, declares it a revenge worthy of a demon; you concur in his sentiments, and the curtain falls. gentle reader, are you wearied out with this insufferable nonsense? do not say that you are, or you will have established a reputation for want of taste, beyond all controversy. not to admire what we have written in this chapter, is to condemn what we know you have often declared was a "love of an opera." we have merely explained the plot of a well known operatic _chef d'oeuvre_, which, goodness knows, required an explanation. now do not be petulant, and _very satirically_ exclaim,--"i wish he would explain his explanation," thereby showing, both that you can be excessively severe, and that you have read byron. we do not intend to endeavour to render luminous that which is so very clear and evident in its meaning; it would be to "gild refined gold," and all that sort of thing, and therefore we spare you the infliction. chapter ix. après. i'm fond of fire and crickets, and all that, a lobster salad, and champagne, and chat. byron. from this genteel place the reader must not be surprised, if i should convey him to a cellar, or a common porter-house. connoisseur. no. . sweet is old wine in bottles, ale in barrels. byron. the curtain falls, much to the delight of those gentlemen whose sole motive for frequenting the opera, is to have an opportunity of what they term "chaffing" with some fair lady friend, whilst repairing thither, and returning from thence, as well as during the enchanting moments when the "drop" displays one of those accommodating landscapes, which the audience, at their option, may convert either into the lake of como, or the ruins of palmyra. if we may trust the assertion of many fair mouths, we must infer that the curtain has fallen, much to the regret of certain young ladies who declare that they could sit and hear bosio forever--a period of time which we have always been taught to regard as very long indeed. but the curtain _has_ fallen, and the gentlemen who have been foolish enough to send _bouquets_ to the prima donna in the morning, all seem suddenly to be struck with the bright idea, that by giving a few knocks of a cane, or a few taps of a gloved hand, they can "call out" that divine woman, and by some adroit manoeuvre render themselves distinguishable, and obvious to her from out that mass of heads and black coats. the persons who occupy the elevated portions of the house, who have paid a small price for their admittance, like all other persons who pay small prices, make large demands for their money, and consequently unite with the prima donna's admirers in an attempt to get a last, long, lingering look at the lady. they really "do" all the applause, thundering with their heavy canes and beating their hands together until they resemble small lumps of crude beef steaks. after the requisite amount of delay which is imposed upon the audience to give them an adequate idea of the obligation the prima donna will confer, should she see fit to exhibit herself, a human head is seen to project from behind the curtain, but is drawn back with that kind of jerk which is said to be peculiar to a turtle establishing his right to the homestead exemption. this little _aiguillon_ of the prompter has the desired effect, for the gentlemen in the parquette, who expect the prima donna to observe _them_ to the entire exclusion of the other five hundred men in white cravats and black coats, become perfectly frantic, and the sojourners in "paradise" threaten to take advantage of their position and empty themselves on the heads of the higher orders of society, who happen for the present to be below them. the excitement now begins to infuse itself into all present; the most apathetic old _habitués_ commence to stretch forth their necks, to wriggle on their seats, and manifest other signs of sympathy, with the more inflammable portion of the audience. at length the tenor comes forward from the side of the curtain, with a sickly smile of inexpressible pleasure on his countenance. he leads by the hand the prima donna, whose downcast eyes, and modest demeanor, entirely mislead the audience, giving them the fullest assurance of her "beautiful disposition," and wholly contradicting the assertion that she ever stamps her foot at the leader, or tears the hair of her maid. the brace of singers make one acknowledgment of gratitude immediately after issuing from behind the ruins of palmyra, thence proceeding in front of said ruins, make another, and the moment before their disappearance perpetrate a third. this is not sufficient for those enamoured ones who think that by some evident mistake the prima donna has not recognised _them_, so the patting of gloves and the tapping of canes is again resorted to, which, together with the efforts of the "upper circles," again extracts the tenor and his "inamorata" together, with the drowsy basso. the last-named person wears an air of great reluctance at thus being detained on the stage, instead of being permitted to go home to his _patés_ and _fricasées_. the three go through the reverential with due regard to time and position, and then withdraw, leaving the house to contemplate the gas light, and reflect upon the briefness of all human pleasures. during all this time the ladies have been standing in an apparently half decided state, as to what was ultimately to become of them, alternately looking on the stage and picking up hoods and shawls which they immediately let fall again. now that their suspense is ended, they commence to hood and shawl; and many is the gentleman who announces in whispers that he is unspeakably happy in being permitted to place a cloak upon shoulders that rival alabaster. harry brown is unfortunate, for miss smith's cousin george has anticipated him, having already astutely seized upon a shawl, during the "calling out" which he carefully keeps until the blissful moment arrives for enveloping that lady. miss smith thanks cousin george, as she always calls him, with such a sweet smile that harry brown immediately becomes occupied in a protracted search after his hat, muttering to himself "hang these cousins." the audience go out of the boxes together with the going out of the gas, and masses of people stand crowded together in the lobbies, while the house is slowly emptying itself. the fast-men have collected about in front of the different box doors from which the ladies are issuing, and are examining the relative claims to beauty, which the fair observed ones merit, or as they term it, "are getting their points." they are heard to make their comparisons upon the singers too, with all the assurance of the old _habitués_, telling about salvi's falsetto, and bettini's chest-voice, with a wondrous deal of volubility. where the crowds from the upper tiers unite with those of the lower, one loud-voiced critic, who has just made his descent, is heard to observe to a friend that "though salvi is an old cock, he is nevertheless a remarkably sound egg;" but why such a peculiarly gallinaceous reference is made to that distinguished tenor, we must unhesitatingly confess ignorance. after the confusion attendant on the coming and going of carriages, cabs and divers other vehicles, the fatigued audience are at length set in motion towards their respective dwellings. again poor harry brown is a fit subject for our commiseration. the ill-fated young man is placed by the side of miss smith's mother, a rather antique lady; cousin george somehow or other, has managed to place himself beside miss smith. the carriage passes a lamp-post, and though harry brown does observe cousin george's left hand, the disappearance of the right is something for which he cannot at all account, except upon the laws of proximity which pertain to cousinship. while the carriage proceeds homewards the party does not converse as freely as they did a short time before, under the exhilaration arising from gas-light and gossip. harry brown finds the ride a bore, mrs. smith is so deaf, and still has her ideas of public amusement, confined to the times when mr. kemble, mr. cooper and mr. cooke, performed in the _legitimate_ drama to crowded houses. cousin george's position is such a happy one, that conversation is to him a thing superfluous. those whose means authorise them, and very often those whose means do not authorise them, go home to a nice supper, some delicate partridges, cold capon, or deviled turkey, and a bottle or two of champagne. under the influences of the warm room and the viands, not to mention that "warm champagny, old particular brandy-punchy feeling" induced by the popping cork, the events of the whole evening are reviewed in a quite thorough manner, though without much attention to a "_lucidus ordo_." let us follow the smiths home, and see what is their mode of terminating the evening. scarcely have they settled themselves at table before a glass of champagne is administered all round, and a very severe criticism of bosio is commenced by cousin george, who says in a very opinionated way, that he likes her pretty well, but prefers either truffi or stefanoni. miss smith immediately espouses the cause of the injured bosio, whom she has often declared she could listen to "forever," and calls on harry brown to come to the rescue of the cantatrice's reputation. harry, who has been sadly silent ever since the miraculous disappearance of cousin george's right hand in the carriage, at once becomes a violent bosioite, and maintains the vocal abilities of that prima donna against the whole world; whereupon miss smith with one of the most approving of smiles, exclaims, "thank you, mr. brown; i always knew you were a gentleman of taste. there, there, let me shake hands with you." and as miss smith utters the last words, she extends such a ridiculously little hand across the table, that it seems almost a misnomer to apply that appellation to it. mr. brown seizes the proffered member, and gives it as hearty a pressure as the publicity of the occasion will permit. from the moment that he touches the magical little hand, cousin george is eclipsed. harry's knowledge of operas, music and singers, becomes at once astonishingly enlarged, and he speaks on operatic subjects like one having authority to do so. fortunately for cousin george, miss smith's brother charles enters, his clothes strongly redolent of havannahs, he having just returned from his club. his sister forbids him to come so near her, alleging as a ground for such a prohibition, that those "horrid" cigars are _so_ offensive to her. her brother moves good naturedly to the other side of the table, having first applied his finger to his sister's cheek in a playful way, which has a powerful effect upon poor harry, causing him to feel exceedingly as if he should like to do the same thing himself. the sister begins to assure her brother of the inestimable amount of pleasure he has lost by loitering at the "horrid" club, instead of accompanying her to the _delicious_ opera. the reply is that "the club" has voted bosio a bore, and that consequently he cannot think of wasting his valuable time by going to hear her. the sister then makes some very severe remarks upon clubs in the abstract, but is interrupted by her brother's inquiring if she does not want to take a share in the great stakes which the club is endeavouring to raise, in order to _pit_ tom hyer against harry broome the english champion. the sister pretends to be so provoked at the _raillerie_ of her brother, that she smiles in a way that makes her look doubly pretty, calls him a "horrid creature," then turns to harry brown and indulges in some rather pointed observations, relative to divers of the good people who were among the audience at the opera. mrs. smith, who has up to this moment been very laudably occupied in seeing that the young people get a due proportion of the well selected viands, now comes in for a part of the conversation. she, good lady, knows the fathers and grandfathers, mothers and grandmothers, of the present generation, and can tell just what amount of homage each of the dashing families of the city have a right to lay claim to. she declares that mrs. simms has no right to assume the importance that she does--that though her father was a very respectable man, still, when she was a girl, the family lived in a very obscure part of the town, and were wholly unknown among our first people. miss smith, however, who is very much afraid that her mother is going to indulge in too minute and wearisome an investigation of genealogies, conducts the conversation to subjects which she supposes to be more interesting to the rest of the party. she objects to the want of taste displayed by those awful looking misses rogers, who deck themselves out like young girls, when every body knows they have been in society for the last fifteen years--that their mother has made herself notorious, as well as ridiculous, by angling for every young man of desirable means in the city. miss smith likewise expresses her wonder when that stupid lieutenant jones _will_ marry miss simms. she declares that "she is tired of seeing the two together; that one cannot go to any public place, but the first persons who meet the eye are jones and miss simms; that if the weather is fair, and you walk out, there are the loving couple in the street. go to newport, there they are--go to the opera, there they are. if they can find means to run incessantly to parties and balls, watering places and operas, why cannot they get married?" miss smith concludes her observations on the over-fond lovers, by emphasising the words "so stupid, is it not?" at the same time giving them both an affirmative and interrogative character. harry brown responds that it might be excessively uninteresting to be always thus placed in proximity to miss simms, but that there are other young ladies of his acquaintance, with whom such extreme intimacy would be any thing but stupid. to this ambiguous use of the word "stupid," miss smith makes no reply, but merely looks at mr. brown as if she had not the slightest idea whatever that a very personal allusion to herself had been made by that gentleman. miss smith again indulges in reflections on society with a great deal of freedom and pointedness of expression, which much amuses cousin george, who laughs approvingly at what he terms the "sharpness" of his relative. brother charles remains wholly unattentive to a kind of conversation which his fair sister so often takes part in, and is absorbed in estimating, on the back of a visiting card, the probability of his winning his bet on the late election. harry brown, after his complimentary effort, sinks into a state of silence, induced by the loquacity of miss smith, the hilarity of cousin george, and the negligence of brother charles. alas for harry! he is considering the likelihood that such a censorious young lady can have a kind heart--or would make a good wife. at this moment, mr. smith, senior, walks into the dining-room. a worthy, respectable, and well-to-do man is mr. smith, the elder; he pays his taxes and he loves his children, and who can do more? miss smith immediately rises from the table, puts up her dear little mouth to her papa to be kissed. the tender parent goes through the osculatory process in such an affectionate manner, that harry brown is strongly impressed with the idea that the old gentleman would make a trump of a father-in-law, and he begins to suspect that miss smith's heart is not so bad after all. the elderly smith takes his seat, having first shaken harry by the hand in a friendly, familiar way, that indicates a very good opinion of that worthy young person. the conversation again reverts to operatics, but harry seems to have forgotten all his late familiarity with such subjects, and becomes suddenly very conversant with rail-roads, canals and stocks, and launches out into an earnest conversation with mr. smith on those interesting topics. but everything must have an end, and so about midnight mr. brown _walks_ home through a foot of snow, because his mind is too much occupied with thoughts of miss smith and her cousin george, to allow him to think of calling a cab. let us now see what becomes of those gentlemen who have been sitting in the parquette, giving the opera their most anxious attention at all such times as either the prima donna is on the stage, or any aria is sung, but who have been giving quite unmistakeable signs of ennui and weariness during the recitatives and choruses. if we have narrowly observed the movements of this portion of the audience, we will have remarked, that during the performance of the last act they have, from time to time, cast hurried glances towards the avenues of egress, and contorted their countenances in a way which would indicate that their olfactories were greeted by certain savory odours, imperceptible to every body but the possessors of the said olfactories. these gentlemen, immediately after leaving the opera, may be seen to walk along the street in companies of three or four, with a hurried step, until their progress is arrested by the view of divers green, blue, pink, or crimson coloured lamps, holding a very conspicuous position over the doors of some houses of very suggestive exterior, or before some suspicious hiatuses in the pavement, where those horrid monsters, who figure in christmas pantomimes, might easily be imagined to dwell. these lamps seem to be possessed of a most incredible power of human attraction, for no sooner does their light fall upon the vision of the nocturnal wayfarer, than he is drawn within the portals over which they are established. upon mounting the steps into these houses, or descending into these subterranean regions, the inquirer will discover a long, brilliantly illuminated, gaudily papered chamber, whose walls are ornamented with numerous over-grown mirrors, and french coloured prints, representing young ladies in short dresses, standing in every possible posture except that usually assumed by ladies of our acquaintance. along one side of this apartment, at the distance of about three and a half feet from the wall, extends a marble slab, placed in a horizontal position, and elevated three feet from the floor, forming a species of enclosure. within this enclosure, a number of men, habited to the waist in white garments,--apparently a nameless order of priesthood--are going through some inexplicable mystic rites, repeatedly seizing up various large glass bottles containing transparent or opaque liquids, and carrying them to different parts of this marble slab at the request of various persons, who seem to be the worshippers in this temple. at one end of the enclosure, a solitary man of a dark and sombre hue, evidently a person held more sacred than the other priests, is seen alternately to hammer portions of some hard matter, resembling stone in appearance, and then split them by the magical application of a small piece of blunt iron. he conducts this ceremony with the greatest solemnity, occasionally pronouncing these incantatory words, "plate or shell, sah?" in a seemingly interrogative manner. the worshippers at these shrines are some of the same young gentlemen whom we have seen standing back in the opera boxes by the doors, making fast remarks on all that was passing around them, or sitting in the parquette endeavouring to annihilate the prima donna by the attractiveness of their appearance. others, of this same class of persons, merely pass through this chamber, having first said in a low tone to the most potential of the priests, "four dozen broiled; ale for one, and brandy and water for three." the priest immediately repeats these words so fraught with significance, in a loud voice, which resounds through the whole chamber. an invisible priest, at some distance from the first, again repeats them, and thus the mysterious sound is passed from one unseen priest to another, until it ceases to be heard in the distance. nothing more is seen of the last described devotees, for some time after their leaving the mysterious apartment; but about midnight a confused sound of human voices is heard to issue from another mysterious chamber. some of those voices express a dogged determination on the part of their proprietors, to remain shut up within the present confines until the matutinal hours; other voices assure a universal confidence in the powers of a certain bob-tail mare, while one teaches in the italian language the secret of ever living happily.[b] at between two and three o'clock in the morning, several of our _operators_ are seen to emerge from the aforesaid houses and subterranean abodes, in a very musical, as well as affectionate frame of mind. one gentleman, totally regardless of the lateness of the hour, after manifesting a strong desire to embrace a large party of his friends, kindly invites them home to take tea with him. another walks homeward, expressing his notions on the secret of living happily in a cantatory way. a third is assisted into a cab by his associates, with directions to the driver to set him down at his lodgings. arrived there, he is put to bed, when he dreams that he is falling down five hundred precipices; that afterwards a huge man is on the point of cutting off his head, but a very prima donna like looking lady comes in and intercedes for him, and she thus saves his life; that he is just going to be married to the prima donna like looking lady, when his pleasure is interrupted by the sound of ten thousand horns, each one four times as large as that he saw the tyrant have in the opera; whereupon he awakes, and discovers that there is a cry of fire, and the firemen are making almost as much noise as the orchestra did, when it was doing the crashing passages. [b] il segreto per esser felici. * * * * * in the morning, the chambermaid wonders why mr. higgins rings for water, when she recollects filling the ewer full the night previous. next day mr. higgins examines his operatic accounts, and finds them to stand thus: to one pair kid gloves, $ . " opera ticket, (secured seat,) . " supper, . " cab-hire, . ----- total, . at that moment his land-lady sends in the bill for lodging, which, by-the-by, she always seems to do when he is in one of his repentant moods, and mr. higgins expresses a kind wish that all italians were in a climate somewhat warmer than that of the south of europe. the smiths do not feel any inconvenience, physical or pecuniary, from their visit to the opera, and _petit souper_ afterwards. "when one has money," says mrs. smith, in a very oracular tone, "what is the use of it, except to let people know that one has got it!" immediately after this expression of her sentiments in regard to filthy lucre, mrs. smith tells the servant not to give a shilling to the whimpering little boy who has been sweeping the snow off the pavement; that a sixpence is enough, and more than enough, for him, and that it is wrong to encourage such exorbitance. * * * * * now, that mr. higgins should feel thirsty in the morning, or that mrs. smith should regret to part with a sixpence, concerns not us; we have not been writing to correct public morals, but only to amuse the readers of the physiology of the opera. errata. [corrected in etext] page. line. after a, insert _fast man or a_. " chef (d' orchestre), read _chef d'orchestre_. " chef (d' orchestre), " _chef d'orchestre_. " guoi, read _quoi_. " singers, read _singers_. " led horse, read _lead horse_. " was, read _is_. " bulversé, read _boulversé_. " gentlemen, read _gentleman_. curiosities of literature. by isaac disraeli. a new edition, edited, with memoir and notes, by his son, the earl of beaconsfield. in three volumes. vol. i. london: frederick warne and co., bedford street, strand. london: bradbury, agnew, & co., printers, whitefriars. +--------------------------------------------------------------+ |transcriber's note: in this text the macron is represented as | | | |[=u] and [=o] | | | |[r 'c'] represents a reverse 'c' | +--------------------------------------------------------------+ advertisement. this is the first collected edition of a series of works which have separately attained to a great popularity: volumes that have been always delightful to the young and ardent inquirer after knowledge. they offer as a whole a diversified miscellany of literary, artistic, and political history, of critical disquisition and biographic anecdote, such as it is believed cannot be elsewhere found gathered together in a form so agreeable and so attainable. to this edition is appended a life of the author by his son, also original notes, which serve to illustrate or to correct the text, where more recent discoveries have brought to light facts unknown when these volumes were originally published. london, . * * * * * on the life and writings of mr. disraeli. by his son. the traditionary notion that the life of a man of letters is necessarily deficient in incident, appears to have originated in a misconception of the essential nature of human action. the life of every man is full of incidents, but the incidents are insignificant, because they do not affect his species; and in general the importance of every occurrence is to be measured by the degree with which it is recognised by mankind. an author may influence the fortunes of the world to as great an extent as a statesman or a warrior; and the deeds and performances by which this influence is created and exercised, may rank in their interest and importance with the decisions of great congresses, or the skilful valour of a memorable field. m. de voltaire was certainly a greater frenchman than cardinal fleury, the prime minister of france in his time. his actions were more important; and it is certainly not too much to maintain that the exploits of homer, aristotle, dante, or my lord bacon, were as considerable events as anything that occurred at actium, lepanto, or blenheim. a book may be as great a thing as a battle, and there are systems of philosophy that have produced as great revolutions as any that have disturbed even the social and political existence of our centuries. the life of the author, whose character and career we are venturing to review, extended far beyond the allotted term of man: and, perhaps, no existence of equal duration ever exhibited an uniformity more sustained. the strong bent of his infancy was pursued through youth, matured in manhood, and maintained without decay to an advanced old age. in the biographic spell, no ingredient is more magical than predisposition. how pure, and native, and indigenous it was in the character of this writer, can only be properly appreciated by an acquaintance with the circumstances amid which he was born, and by being able to estimate how far they could have directed or developed his earliest inclinations. my grandfather, who became an english denizen in , was an italian descendant from one of those hebrew families whom the inquisition forced to emigrate from the spanish peninsula at the end of the fifteenth century, and who found a refuge in the more tolerant territories of the venetian republic. his ancestors had dropped their gothic surname on their settlement in the terra firma, and grateful to the god of jacob who had sustained them through unprecedented trials and guarded them through unheard-of perils, they assumed the name of disraeli, a name never borne before or since by any other family, in order that their race might be for ever recognised. undisturbed and unmolested, they flourished as merchants for more than two centuries under the protection of the lion of st. mark, which was but just, as the patron saint of the republic was himself a child of israel. but towards the middle of the eighteenth century, the altered circumstances of england, favourable, as it was then supposed, to commerce and religious liberty, attracted the attention of my great-grandfather to this island, and he resolved that the youngest of his two sons, benjamin, the "son of his right hand," should settle in a country where the dynasty seemed at length established, through the recent failure of prince charles edward, and where public opinion appeared definitively adverse to persecution on matters of creed and conscience. the jewish families who were then settled in england were few, though, from their wealth and other circumstances, they were far from unimportant. they were all of them sephardim, that is to say, children of israel, who had never quitted the shores of the midland ocean, until torquamada had driven them from their pleasant residences and rich estates in arragon, and andalusia, and portugal, to seek greater blessings, even than a clear atmosphere and a glowing sun, amid the marshes of holland and the fogs of britain. most of these families, who held themselves aloof from the hebrews of northern europe, then only occasionally stealing into england, as from an inferior caste, and whose synagogue was reserved only for sephardim, are now extinct; while the branch of the great family, which, notwithstanding their own sufferings from prejudice, they had the hardihood to look down upon, have achieved an amount of wealth and consideration which the sephardim, even with the patronage of mr. pelham, never could have contemplated. nevertheless, at the time when my grandfather settled in england, and when mr. pelham, who was very favourable to the jews, was prime minister, there might be found, among other jewish families flourishing in this country, the villa reals, who brought wealth to these shores almost as great as their name, though that is the second in portugal, and who have twice allied themselves with the english aristocracy, the medinas--the laras, who were our kinsmen--and the mendez da costas, who, i believe, still exist. whether it were that my grandfather, on his arrival, was not encouraged by those to whom he had a right to look up,--which is often our hard case in the outset of life,--or whether he was alarmed at the unexpected consequences of mr. pelham's favourable disposition to his countrymen in the disgraceful repeal of the jew bill, which occurred a very few years after his arrival in this country, i know not; but certainly he appears never to have cordially or intimately mixed with his community. this tendency to alienation was, no doubt, subsequently encouraged by his marriage, which took place in . my grandmother, the beautiful daughter of a family who had suffered much from persecution, had imbibed that dislike for her race which the vain are too apt to adopt when they find that they are born to public contempt. the indignant feeling that should be reserved for the persecutor, in the mortification of their disturbed sensibility, is too often visited on the victim; and the cause of annoyance is recognised not in the ignorant malevolence of the powerful, but in the conscientious conviction of the innocent sufferer. seventeen years, however, elapsed before my grandfather entered into this union, and during that interval he had not been idle. he was only eighteen when he commenced his career, and when a great responsibility devolved upon him. he was not unequal to it. he was a man of ardent character; sanguine, courageous, speculative, and fortunate; with a temper which no disappointment could disturb, and a brain, amid reverses, full of resource. he made his fortune in the midway of life, and settled near enfield, where he formed an italian garden, entertained his friends, played whist with sir horace mann, who was his great acquaintance, and who had known his brother at venice as a banker, eat macaroni which was dressed by the venetian consul, sang canzonettas, and notwithstanding a wife who never pardoned him for his name, and a son who disappointed all his plans, and who to the last hour of his life was an enigma to him, lived till he was nearly ninety, and then died in , in the full enjoyment of prolonged existence. my grandfather retired from active business on the eve of that great financial epoch, to grapple with which his talents were well adapted; and when the wars and loans of the revolution were about to create those families of millionaires, in which he might probably have enrolled his own. that, however, was not our destiny. my grandfather had only one child, and nature had disqualified him, from his cradle, for the busy pursuits of men. a pale, pensive child, with large dark brown eyes, and flowing hair, such as may be beheld in one of the portraits annexed to these volumes, had grown up beneath this roof of worldly energy and enjoyment, indicating even in his infancy, by the whole carriage of his life, that he was of a different order from those among whom he lived. timid, susceptible, lost in reverie, fond of solitude, or seeking no better company than a book, the years had stolen on, till he had arrived at that mournful period of boyhood when eccentricities excite attention and command no sympathy. in the chapter on predisposition, in the most delightful of his works,[ ] my father has drawn from his own, though his unacknowledged feelings, immortal truths. then commenced the age of domestic criticism. his mother, not incapable of deep affections, but so mortified by her social position that she lived until eighty without indulging in a tender expression, did not recognise in her only offspring a being qualified to control or vanquish his impending fate. his existence only served to swell the aggregate of many humiliating particulars. it was not to her a source of joy, or sympathy, or solace. she foresaw for her child only a future of degradation. having a strong, clear mind, without any imagination, she believed that she beheld an inevitable doom. the tart remark and the contemptuous comment on her part, elicited, on the other, all the irritability of the poetic idiosyncrasy. after frantic ebullitions, for which, when the circumstances were analysed by an ordinary mind, there seemed no sufficient cause, my grandfather always interfered to soothe with good-tempered commonplaces, and promote peace. he was a man who thought that the only way to make people happy was to make them a present. he took it for granted that a boy in a passion wanted a toy or a guinea. at a later date, when my father ran away from home, and after some wanderings was brought back, found lying on a tombstone in hackney churchyard, he embraced him, and gave him a pony. in this state of affairs, being sent to school in the neighbourhood, was a rather agreeable incident. the school was kept by a scotchman, one morison, a good man, and not untinctured with scholarship, and it is possible that my father might have reaped some advantage from this change; but the school was too near home, and his mother, though she tormented his existence, was never content if he were out of her sight. his delicate health was an excuse for converting him, after a short interval, into a day scholar; then many days of attendance were omitted; finally, the solitary walk home through mr. mellish's park was dangerous to the sensibilities that too often exploded when they encountered on the arrival at the domestic hearth a scene which did not harmonise with the fairy-land of reverie. the crisis arrived, when, after months of unusual abstraction and irritability, my father produced a poem. for the first time, my grandfather was seriously alarmed. the loss of one of his argosies, uninsured, could not have filled him with more blank dismay. his idea of a poet was formed from one of the prints of hogarth hanging in his room, where an unfortunate wight in a garret was inditing an ode to riches, while dunned for his milk-score. decisive measures were required to eradicate this evil, and to prevent future disgrace--so, as seems the custom when a person is in a scrape, it was resolved that my father should be sent abroad, where a new scene and a new language might divert his mind from the ignominious pursuit which so fatally attracted him. the unhappy poet was consigned like a bale of goods to my grandfather's correspondent at amsterdam, who had instructions to place him at some collegium of repute in that city. here were passed some years not without profit, though his tutor was a great impostor, very neglectful of his pupils, and both unable and disinclined to guide them in severe studies. this preceptor was a man of letters, though a wretched writer, with a good library, and a spirit inflamed with all the philosophy of the eighteenth century, then ( - ) about to bring forth and bear its long-matured fruits. the intelligence and disposition of my father attracted his attention, and rather interested him. he taught his charge little, for he was himself generally occupied in writing bad odes, but he gave him free warren in his library, and before his pupil was fifteen, he had read the works of voltaire and had dipped into bayle. strange that the characteristics of a writer so born and brought up should have been so essentially english; not merely from his mastery over our language, but from his keen and profound sympathy with all that concerned the literary and political history of our country at its most important epoch. when he was eighteen, he returned to england a disciple of rousseau. he had exercised his imagination during the voyage in idealizing the interview with his mother, which was to be conducted on both sides with sublime pathos. his other parent had frequently visited him during his absence. he was prepared to throw himself on his mother's bosom, to bedew her hands with his tears, and to stop her own with his lips; but, when he entered, his strange appearance, his gaunt figure, his excited manners, his long hair, and his unfashionable costume, only filled her with a sentiment of tender aversion; she broke into derisive laughter, and noticing his intolerable garments, she reluctantly lent him her cheek. whereupon emile, of course, went into heroics, wept, sobbed, and finally, shut up in his chamber, composed an impassioned epistle. my grandfather, to soothe him, dwelt on the united solicitude of his parents for his welfare, and broke to him their intention, if it were agreeable to him, to place him in the establishment of a great merchant at bordeaux. my father replied that he had written a poem of considerable length, which he wished to publish, against commerce, which was the corrupter of man. in eight-and-forty hours confusion again reigned in this household, and all from a want of psychological perception in its master and mistress. my father, who had lost the timidity of his childhood, who, by nature, was very impulsive, and indeed endowed with a degree of volatility which is only witnessed in the south of france, and which never deserted him to his last hour, was no longer to be controlled. his conduct was decisive. he enclosed his poem to dr. johnson, with an impassioned statement of his case, complaining, which he ever did, that he had never found a counsellor or literary friend. he left his packet himself at bolt court, where he was received by mr. francis barber, the doctor's well-known black servant, and told to call again in a week. be sure that he was very punctual; but the packet was returned to him unopened, with a message that the illustrious doctor was too ill to read anything. the unhappy and obscure aspirant, who received this disheartening message, accepted it, in his utter despondency, as a mechanical excuse. but, alas! the cause was too true; and, a few weeks after, on that bed, beside which the voice of mr. burke faltered, and the tender spirit of benett langton was ever vigilant, the great soul of johnson quitted earth. but the spirit of self-confidence, the resolution to struggle against his fate, the paramount desire to find some sympathising sage--some guide, philosopher, and friend--was so strong and rooted in my father, that i observed, a few weeks ago, in a magazine, an original letter, written by him about this time to dr. vicesimus knox, full of high-flown sentiments, reading indeed like a romance of scudery, and entreating the learned critic to receive him in his family, and give him the advantage of his wisdom, his taste, and his erudition. with a home that ought to have been happy, surrounded with more than comfort, with the most good-natured father in the world, and an agreeable man; and with a mother whose strong intellect, under ordinary circumstances, might have been of great importance to him; my father, though himself of a very sweet disposition, was most unhappy. his parents looked upon him as moonstruck, while he himself, whatever his aspirations, was conscious that he had done nothing to justify the eccentricity of his course, or the violation of all prudential considerations in which he daily indulged. in these perplexities, the usual alternative was again had recourse to--absence; he was sent abroad, to travel in france, which the peace then permitted, visit some friends, see paris, and then proceed to bordeaux if he felt inclined. my father travelled in france, and then proceeded to paris, where he remained till the eve of great events in that capital. this was a visit recollected with satisfaction. he lived with learned men and moved in vast libraries, and returned in the earlier part of , with some little knowledge of life, and with a considerable quantity of books. at this time peter pindar flourished in all the wantonness of literary riot. he was at the height of his flagrant notoriety. the novelty and the boldness of his style carried the million with him. the most exalted station was not exempt from his audacious criticism, and learned institutions trembled at the sallies whose ribaldry often cloaked taste, intelligence, and good sense. his "odes to the academicians," which first secured him the ear of the town, were written by one who could himself guide the pencil with skill and feeling, and who, in the form of a mechanic's son, had even the felicity to discover the vigorous genius of opie. the mock-heroic which invaded with success the sacred recesses of the palace, and which was fruitlessly menaced by secretaries of state, proved a reckless intrepidity, which is apt to be popular with "the general." the powerful and the learned quailed beneath the lash with an affected contempt which scarcely veiled their tremor. in the meantime, as in the latter days of the empire, the barbarian ravaged the country, while the pale-faced patricians were inactive within the walls. no one offered resistance. there appeared about this time a satire "on the abuse of satire." the verses were polished and pointed; a happy echo of that style of mr. pope which still lingered in the spell-bound ear of the public. peculiarly they offered a contrast to the irregular effusions of the popular assailant whom they in turn assailed, for the object of their indignant invective was the bard of the "lousiad." the poem was anonymous, and was addressed to dr. warton in lines of even classic grace. its publication was appropriate. there are moments when every one is inclined to praise, especially when the praise of a new pen may at the same time revenge the insults of an old one. but if there could be any doubt of the success of this new hand, it was quickly removed by the conduct of peter pindar himself. as is not unusual with persons of his habits, wolcot was extremely sensitive, and, brandishing a tomahawk, always himself shrank from a scratch. this was shown some years afterwards by his violent assault on mr. gifford, with a bludgeon, in a bookseller's shop, because the author of the "baviad and mæviad" had presumed to castigate the great lampooner of the age. in the present instance, the furious wolcot leapt to the rash conclusion, that the author of the satire was no less a personage than mr. hayley, and he assailed the elegant author of the "triumphs of temper" in a virulent pasquinade. this ill-considered movement of his adversary of course achieved the complete success of the anonymous writer. my father, who came up to town to read the newspapers at the st. james's coffee-house, found their columns filled with extracts from the fortunate effusion of the hour, conjectures as to its writer, and much gossip respecting wolcot and hayley. he returned to enfield laden with the journals, and, presenting them to his parents, broke to them the intelligence, that at length he was not only an author, but a successful one. he was indebted to this slight effort for something almost as agreeable as the public recognition of his ability, and that was the acquaintance, and almost immediately the warm personal friendship, of mr. pye. mr. pye was the head of an ancient english family that figured in the parliaments and struggles of the stuarts; he was member for the county of berkshire, where his ancestral seat of faringdon was situate, and at a later period ( ) became poet laureat. in those days, when literary clubs did not exist, and when even political ones were extremely limited and exclusive in their character, the booksellers' shops were social rendezvous. debrett's was the chief haunt of the whigs; hatchard's, i believe, of the tories. it was at the latter house that my father made the acquaintance of mr. pye, then publishing his translation of aristotle's poetics, and so strong was party feeling at that period, that one day, walking together down piccadilly, mr. pye, stopping at the door of debrett, requested his companion to go in and purchase a particular pamphlet for him, adding that if he had the audacity to enter, more than one person would tread upon his toes. my father at last had a friend. mr. pye, though double his age, was still a young man, and the literary sympathy between them was complete. unfortunately, the member for berkshire was a man rather of an elegant turn of mind, than one of that energy and vigour which a youth required for a companion at that moment. their tastes and pursuits were perhaps a little too similar. they addressed poetical epistles to each other, and were, reciprocally, too gentle critics. but mr. pye was a most amiable and accomplished man, a fine classical scholar, and a master of correct versification. he paid a visit to enfield, and by his influence hastened a conclusion at which my grandfather was just arriving, to wit, that he would no longer persist in the fruitless effort of converting a poet into a merchant, and that content with the independence he had realised, he would abandon his dreams of founding a dynasty of financiers. from this moment all disquietude ceased beneath this always well-meaning, though often perplexed, roof, while my father, enabled amply to gratify his darling passion of book-collecting, passed his days in tranquil study, and in the society of congenial spirits. his new friend introduced him almost immediately to mr. james pettit andrews, a berkshire gentleman of literary pursuits, and whose hospitable table at brompton was the resort of the best literary society of the day. here my father was a frequent guest, and walking home one night together from this house, where they had both dined, he made the acquaintance of a young poet, which soon ripened into intimacy, and which throughout sixty years, notwithstanding many changes of life, never died away. this youthful poet had already gained laurels, though he was only three or four years older than my father, but i am not at this moment quite aware whether his brow was yet encircled with the amaranthine wreath of the "pleasures of memory." some years after this, great vicissitudes unhappily occurred in the family of mr. pye. he was obliged to retire from parliament, and to sell his family estate of faringdon. his majesty had already, on the death of thomas warton, nominated him poet laureat, and after his retirement from parliament, the government which he had supported, appointed him a commissioner of police. it was in these days that his friend, mr. penn, of stoke park, in buckinghamshire, presented him with a cottage worthy of a poet on his beautiful estate; and it was thus my father became acquainted with the amiable descendant of the most successful of colonisers, and with that classic domain which the genius of gray, as it were, now haunts, and has for ever hallowed, and from which he beheld with fond and musing eye, those distant spires and antique towers, that no one can now look upon without remembering him. it was amid these rambles in stoke park, amid the scenes of gray's genius, the elegiac churchyard, and the picturesque fragments of the long story, talking over the deeds of "great rebellion" with the descendants of cavaliers and parliament-men, that my father first imbibed that feeling for the county of buckingham, which induced him occasionally to be a dweller in its limits, and ultimately, more than a quarter of a century afterwards, to establish his household gods in its heart. and here, perhaps, i may be permitted to mention a circumstance, which is indeed trifling, and yet, as a coincidence, not, i think, without interest. mr. pye was the great-grandson of sir robert pye, of bradenham, who married anne, the eldest daughter of mr. hampden. how little could my father dream, sixty years ago, that he would pass the last quarter of his life in the mansion-house of bradenham; that his name would become intimately connected with the county of buckingham; and that his own remains would be interred in the vault of the chancel of bradenham church, among the coffins of the descendants of the hampdens and the pyes. all which should teach us that whatever may be our natural bent, there is a power in the disposal of events greater than human will. it was about two years after his first acquaintance with mr. pye, that my father, being then in his twenty-fifth year, influenced by the circle in which he then lived, gave an anonymous volume to the press, the fate of which he could little have foreseen. the taste for literary history was then of recent date in england. it was developed by dr. johnson and the wartons, who were the true founders of that elegant literature in which france had so richly preceded us. the fashion for literary anecdote prevailed at the end of the last century. mr. pettit andrews, assisted by mr. pye and captain grose, and shortly afterwards, his friend, mr. seward, in his "anecdotes of distinguished persons," had both of them produced ingenious works, which had experienced public favour. but these volumes were rather entertaining than substantial, and their interest in many instances was necessarily fleeting; all which made mr. rogers observe, that the world was far gone in its anecdotage. while mr. andrews and his friend were hunting for personal details in the recollections of their contemporaries, my father maintained one day, that the most interesting of miscellanies might be drawn up by a well-read man from the library in which he lived. it was objected, on the other hand, that such a work would be a mere compilation, and could not succeed with its dead matter in interesting the public. to test the truth of this assertion, my father occupied himself in the preparation of an octavo volume, the principal materials of which were found in the diversified collections of the french ana; but he enriched his subjects with as much of our own literature as his reading afforded, and he conveyed the result in that lively and entertaining style which he from the first commanded. this collection of "anecdotes, characters, sketches, and observations; literary, critical, and historical," as the title-page of the first edition figures, he invested with the happy baptism of "curiosities of literature." he sought by this publication neither reputation nor a coarser reward, for he published his work anonymously, and avowedly as a compilation; and he not only published the work at his own expense, but in his heedlessness made a present of the copyright to the bookseller, which three or four years afterwards he was fortunate enough to purchase at a public sale. the volume was an experiment whether a taste for literature could not be infused into the multitude. its success was so decided, that its projector was tempted to add a second volume two years afterward, with a slight attempt at more original research; i observe that there was a second edition of both volumes in . for twenty years the brother volumes remained favourites of the public; when after that long interval their writer, taking advantage of a popular title, poured forth all the riches of his matured intellect, his refined taste, and accumulated knowledge into their pages, and produced what may be fairly described as the most celebrated miscellany of modern literature. the moment that the name of the youthful author of the "abuse of satire" had transpired, peter pindar, faithful to the instinct of his nature, wrote a letter of congratulation and compliment to his assailant, and desired to make his acquaintance. the invitation was responded to, and until the death of wolcot, they were intimate. my father always described wolcot as a warm-hearted man; coarse in his manners, and rather rough, but eager to serve those whom he liked, of which, indeed, i might appropriately mention an instance. it so happened, that about the year , when he was in his th year there came over my father that mysterious illness to which the youth of men of sensibility, and especially literary men, is frequently subject--a failing of nervous energy, occasioned by study and too sedentary habits, early and habitual reverie, restless and indefinite purpose. the symptoms, physical and moral, are most distressing: lassitude and despondency. and it usually happens, as in the present instance, that the cause of suffering is not recognised; and that medical men, misled by the superficial symptoms, and not seeking to acquaint themselves with the psychology of their patients, arrive at erroneous, often fatal, conclusions. in this case, the most eminent of the faculty gave it as their opinion, that the disease was consumption. dr. turton, if i recollect right, was then the most considered physician of the day. an immediate visit to a warmer climate was his specific; and as the continent was then disturbed and foreign residence out of the question, dr. turton recommended that his patient should establish himself without delay in devonshire. when my father communicated this impending change in his life to wolcot, the modern skelton shook his head. he did not believe that his friend was in a consumption, but being a devonshire man, and loving very much his native province, he highly approved of the remedy. he gave my father several letters of introduction to persons of consideration at exeter; among others, one whom he justly described as a poet and a physician, and the best of men, the late dr. hugh downman. provincial cities very often enjoy a transient term of intellectual distinction. an eminent man often collects around him congenial spirits, and the power of association sometimes produces distant effects which even an individual, however gifted, could scarcely have anticipated. a combination of circumstances had made at this time exeter a literary metropolis. a number of distinguished men flourished there at the same moment: some of their names are even now remembered. jackson of exeter still survives as a native composer of original genius. he was also an author of high æsthetical speculation. the heroic poems of hole are forgotten, but his essay on the arabian nights is still a cherished volume of elegant and learned criticism. hayter was the classic antiquary who first discovered the art of unrolling the mss. of herculaneum. there were many others, noisier and more bustling, who are now forgotten, though they in some degree influenced the literary opinion of their time. it was said, and i believe truly, that the two principal, if not sole, organs of periodical criticism at that time, i think the "critical review" and the "monthly review," were principally supported by exeter contributions. no doubt this circumstance may account for a great deal of mutual praise and sympathetic opinion on literary subjects, which, by a convenient arrangement, appeared in the pages of publications otherwise professing contrary opinions on all others. exeter had then even a learned society which published its transactions. with such companions, by whom he was received with a kindness and hospitality which to the last he often dwelt on, it may easily be supposed that the banishment of my father from the delights of literary london was not as productive a source of gloom as the exile of ovid to the savage pontus, even if it had not been his happy fortune to have been received on terms of intimate friendship by the accomplished family of mr. baring, who was then member for exeter, and beneath whose roof he passed a great portion of the period of nearly three years during which he remained in devonshire. the illness of my father was relieved, but not removed, by this change of life. dr. downman was his physician, whose only remedies were port wine, horse-exercise, rowing on the neighbouring river, and the distraction of agreeable society. this wise physician recognised the temperament of his patient, and perceived that his physical derangement was an effect instead of a cause. my father instead of being in a consumption, was endowed with a frame of almost super-human strength, and which was destined for half a century of continuous labour and sedentary life. the vital principle in him, indeed, was so strong that when he left us at eighty-two, it was only as the victim of a violent epidemic, against whose virulence he struggled with so much power, that it was clear, but for this casualty, he might have been spared to this world even for several years. i should think that this illness of his youth, and which, though of a fitful character, was of many years' duration, arose from his inability to direct to a satisfactory end the intellectual power which he was conscious of possessing. he would mention the ten years of his life, from twenty-five to thirty-five years of age, as a period very deficient in self-contentedness. the fact is, with a poetic temperament, he had been born in an age when the poetic faith of which he was a votary had fallen into decrepitude, and had become only a form with the public, not yet gifted with sufficient fervour to discover a new creed. he was a pupil of pope and boileau, yet both from his native impulse and from the glowing influence of rousseau, he felt the necessity and desire of infusing into the verse of the day more passion than might resound from the frigid lyre of mr. hayley. my father had fancy, sensibility, and an exquisite taste, but he had not that rare creative power, which the blended and simultaneous influence of the individual organisation and the spirit of the age, reciprocally acting upon each other, can alone, perhaps, perfectly develope; the absence of which, at periods of transition, is so universally recognised and deplored, and yet which always, when it does arrive, captivates us, as it were, by surprise. how much there was of freshness, and fancy, and natural pathos in his mind, may be discerned in his persian romance of "the loves of mejnoon and leila." we who have been accustomed to the great poets of the nineteenth century seeking their best inspiration in the climate and manners of the east; who are familiar with the land of the sun from the isles of ionia to the vales of cashmere; can scarcely appreciate the literary originality of a writer who, fifty years ago, dared to devise a real eastern story, and seeking inspiration in the pages of oriental literature, compose it with reference to the eastern mind, and customs, and landscape. one must have been familiar with the almorans and hamets, the visions of mirza and the kings of ethiopia, and the other dull and monstrous masquerades of orientalism then prevalent, to estimate such an enterprise, in which, however, one should not forget the author had the advantage of the guiding friendship of that distinguished orientalist, sir william ouseley. the reception of this work by the public, and of other works of fiction which its author gave to them anonymously, was in every respect encouraging, and their success may impartially be registered as fairly proportionate to their merits; but it was not a success, or a proof of power, which, in my father's opinion, compensated for that life of literary research and study which their composition disturbed and enfeebled. it was at the ripe age of five-and-thirty that he renounced his dreams of being an author, and resolved to devote himself for the rest of his life to the acquisition of knowledge. when my father, many years afterwards, made the acquaintance of sir walter scott, the great poet saluted him by reciting a poem of half-a-dozen stanzas which my father had written in his early youth. not altogether without agitation, surprise was expressed that these lines should have been known, still more that they should have been remembered. "ah!" said sir walter, "if the writer of these lines had gone on, he would have been an english poet."[ ] it is possible; it is even probable that, if my father had devoted himself to the art, he might have become the author of some elegant and popular didactic poem, on some ordinary subject, which his fancy would have adorned with grace and his sensibility invested with sentiment; some small volume which might have reposed with a classic title upon our library shelves, and served as a prize volume at ladies' schools. this celebrity was not reserved for him: instead of this he was destined to give to his country a series of works illustrative of its literary and political history, full of new information and new views, which time and opinion has ratified as just. but the poetical temperament was not thrown away upon him; it never is on any one; it was this great gift which prevented his being a mere literary antiquary; it was this which animated his page with picture and his narrative with interesting vivacity; above all, it was this temperament, which invested him with that sympathy with his subject, which made him the most delightful biographer in our language. in a word, it was because he was a poet, that he was a popular writer, and made belles-lettres charming to the multitude. it was during the ten years that now occurred that he mainly acquired that store of facts which were the foundation of his future speculations. his pen was never idle, but it was to note and to register, not to compose. his researches were prosecuted every morning among the mss. of the british museum, while his own ample collections permitted him to pursue his investigation in his own library into the night. the materials which he accumulated during this period are only partially exhausted. at the end of ten years, during which, with the exception of one anonymous work, he never indulged in composition, the irresistible desire of communicating his conclusions to the world came over him, and after all his almost childish aspirations, his youth of reverie and hesitating and imperfect effort, he arrived at the mature age of forty-five before his career as a great author, influencing opinion, really commenced. the next ten years passed entirely in production: from to the press abounded with his works. his "calamities of authors," his "memoirs of literary controversy," in the manner of bayle; his "essay on the literary character," the most perfect of his compositions; were all chapters in that history of english literature which he then commenced to meditate, and which it was fated should never be completed. it was during this period also that he published his "inquiry into the literary and political character of james the first," in which he first opened those views respecting the times and the conduct of the stuarts, which were opposed to the long prevalent opinions of this country, but which with him were at least the result of unprejudiced research, and their promulgation, as he himself expressed it, "an affair of literary conscience."[ ] but what retarded his project of a history of our literature at this time was the almost embarrassing success of his juvenile production, "the curiosities of literature." these two volumes had already reached five editions, and their author found himself, by the public demand, again called upon to sanction their re-appearance. recognising in this circumstance some proof of their utility, he resolved to make the work more worthy of the favour which it enjoyed, and more calculated to produce the benefit which he desired. without attempting materially to alter the character of the first two volumes, he revised and enriched them, while at the same time he added a third volume of a vein far more critical, and conveying the results of much original research. the success of this publication was so great, that its author, after much hesitation, resolved, as he was wont to say, to take advantage of a popular title, and pour forth the treasures of his mind in three additional volumes, which, unlike continuations in general, were at once greeted with the highest degree of popular delight and esteem. and, indeed, whether we consider the choice variety of the subjects, the critical and philosophical speculation which pervades them, the amount of new and interesting information brought to bear, and the animated style in which all is conveyed, it is difficult to conceive miscellaneous literature in a garb more stimulating and attractive. these six volumes, after many editions, are now condensed into the form at present given to the public, and in which the development of the writer's mind for a quarter of a century may be completely traced. although my father had on the whole little cause to complain of unfair criticism, especially considering how isolated he always remained, it is not to be supposed that a success so eminent should have been exempt in so long a course from some captious comments. it has been alleged of late years by some critics, that he was in the habit of exaggerating the importance of his researches; that he was too fond of styling every accession to our knowledge, however slight, as a discovery; that there were some inaccuracies in his early volumes (not very wonderful in so multifarious a work), and that the foundation of his "secret history" was often only a single letter, or a passage in a solitary diary. the sources of secret history at the present day are so rich and various; there is such an eagerness among their possessors to publish family papers, even sometimes in shapes, and at dates so recent, as scarcely to justify their appearance; that modern critics, in their embarrassment of manuscript wealth, are apt to view with too depreciating an eye the more limited resources of men of letters at the commencement of the century. not five-and-twenty years ago, when preparing his work on king charles the first, the application of my father to make some researches in the state paper office was refused by the secretary of state of the day. now, foreign potentates and ministers of state, and public corporations and the heads of great houses, feel honoured by such appeals, and respond to them with cordiality. it is not only the state paper office of england, but the archives of france, that are open to the historical investigator. but what has produced this general and expanding taste for literary research in the world, and especially in england? the labours of our elder authors, whose taste and acuteness taught us the value of the materials which we in our ignorance neglected. when my father first frequented the reading-room of the british museum at the end of the last century, his companions never numbered half-a-dozen; among them, if i remember rightly, were mr. pinkerton and mr. douce. now these daily pilgrims of research may be counted by as many hundreds. few writers have more contributed to form and diffuse this delightful and profitable taste for research than the author of the "curiosities of literature;" few writers have been more successful in inducing us to pause before we accepted without a scruple the traditionary opinion that has distorted a fact or calumniated a character; and independently of every other claim which he possesses to public respect, his literary discoveries, viewed in relation to the age and the means, were considerable. but he had other claims: a vital spirit in his page, kindred with the souls of a bayle and a montaigne. his innumerable imitators and their inevitable failure for half a century alone prove this, and might have made them suspect that there were some ingredients in the spell besides the accumulation of facts and a happy title. many of their publications, perpetually appearing and constantly forgotten, were drawn up by persons of considerable acquirements, and were ludicrously mimetic of their prototype, even as to the size of the volume and the form of the page. what has become of these "varieties of literature," and "delights of literature," and "delicacies of literature," and "relics of literature,"--and the other protean forms of uninspired compilation? dead as they deserve to be: while the work, the idea of which occurred to its writer in his early youth, and which he lived virtually to execute in all the ripeness of his studious manhood, remains as fresh and popular as ever,--the literary miscellany of the english people. i have ventured to enter into some details as to the earlier and obscurer years of my father's life, because i thought that they threw light upon human character, and that without them, indeed, a just appreciation of his career could hardly be formed. i am mistaken, if we do not recognise in his instance two very interesting qualities of life: predisposition and self-formation. there was a third, which i think is to be honoured, and that was his sympathy with his order. no one has written so much about authors, and so well. indeed, before his time, the literary character had never been fairly placed before the world. he comprehended its idiosyncrasy: all its strength and all its weakness. he could soften, because he could explain, its infirmities; in the analysis and record of its power, he vindicated the right position of authors in the social scale. they stand between the governors and the governed, he impresses on us in the closing pages of his greatest work.[ ] though he shared none of the calamities, and scarcely any of the controversies, of literature, no one has sympathised so intimately with the sorrows, or so zealously and impartially registered the instructive disputes, of literary men. he loved to celebrate the exploits of great writers, and to show that, in these ages, the pen is a weapon as puissant as the sword. he was also the first writer who vindicated the position of the great artist in the history of genius. his pages are studded with pregnant instances and graceful details, borrowed from the life of art and its votaries, and which his intimate and curious acquaintance with italian letters readily and happily supplied. above all writers, he has maintained the greatness of intellect, and the immortality of thought. he was himself a complete literary character, a man who really passed his life in his library. even marriage produced no change in these habits; he rose to enter the chamber where he lived alone with his books, and at night his lamp was ever lit within the same walls. nothing, indeed, was more remarkable than the isolation of this prolonged existence; and it could only be accounted for by the united influence of three causes: his birth, which brought him no relations or family acquaintance; the bent of his disposition; and the circumstance of his inheriting an independent fortune, which rendered unnecessary those exertions that would have broken up his self-reliance. he disliked business, and he never required relaxation; he was absorbed in his pursuits. in london his only amusement was to ramble among booksellers; if he entered a club, it was only to go into the library. in the country, he scarcely ever left his room but to saunter in abstraction upon a terrace; muse over a chapter, or coin a sentence. he had not a single passion or prejudice: all his convictions were the result of his own studies, and were often opposed to the impressions which he had early imbibed. he not only never entered into the politics of the day, but he could never understand them. he never was connected with any particular body or set of men; comrades of school or college, or confederates in that public life which, in england, is, perhaps, the only foundation of real friendship. in the consideration of a question, his mind was quite undisturbed by traditionary preconceptions; and it was this exemption from passion and prejudice which, although his intelligence was naturally somewhat too ingenious and fanciful for the conduct of close argument, enabled him, in investigation, often to show many of the highest attributes of the judicial mind, and particularly to sum up evidence with singular happiness and ability. although in private life he was of a timid nature, his moral courage as a writer was unimpeachable. most certainly, throughout his long career, he never wrote a sentence which he did not believe was true. he will generally be found to be the advocate of the discomfited and the oppressed. so his conclusions are often opposed to popular impressions. this was from no love of paradox, to which he was quite superior; but because in the conduct of his researches, he too often found that the unfortunate are calumniated. his vindication of king james the first, he has himself described as "an affair of literary conscience:" his greater work on the life and times of the son of the first stuart arose from the same impulse. he had deeply studied our history during the first moiety of the seventeenth century; he looked upon it as a famous age; he was familiar with the works of its great writers, and there was scarcely one of its almost innumerable pamphlets with which he was not acquainted. during the thoughtful investigations of many years, he had arrived at results which were not adapted to please the passing multitude, but which, because he held them to be authentic, he was uneasy lest he should die without recording. yet strong as were his convictions, although, notwithstanding his education in the revolutionary philosophy of the eighteenth century, his nature and his studies had made him a votary of loyalty and reverence, his pen was always prompt to do justice to those who might be looked upon as the adversaries of his own cause: and this was because his cause was really truth. if he has upheld laud under unjust aspersions, the last labour of his literary life was to vindicate the character of hugh peters. if, from the recollection of the sufferings of his race, and from profound reflection on the principles of the institution, he was hostile to the papacy, no writer in our literature has done more complete justice to the conduct of the english romanists. who can read his history of chidiock titchbourne unmoved? or can refuse to sympathise with his account of the painful difficulties of the english monarchs with their loyal subjects of the old faith? if in a parliamentary country he has dared to criticise the conduct of parliaments, it was only because an impartial judgment had taught him, as he himself expresses it, that "parliaments have their passions as well as individuals." he was five years in the composition of his work on the "life and reign of charles the first," and the five volumes appeared at intervals between and . it was feared by his publisher, that the distracted epoch at which this work was issued, and the tendency of the times, apparently so adverse to his own views, might prove very injurious to its reception. but the effect of these circumstances was the reverse. the minds of men were inclined to the grave and national considerations that were involved in these investigations. the principles of political institutions, the rival claims of the two houses of parliament, the authority of the established church, the demands of religious sects, were, after a long lapse of years, anew the theme of public discussion. men were attracted to a writer who traced the origin of the anti-monarchical principle in modern europe; treated of the arts of insurgency; gave them, at the same time, a critical history of the puritans, and a treatise on the genius of the papacy; scrutinised the conduct of triumphant patriots, and vindicated a decapitated monarch. the success of this work was eminent; and its author appeared for the first and only time of his life in public, when amidst the cheers of under-graduates, and the applause of graver men, the solitary student received an honorary degree from the university of oxford, a fitting homage, in the language of the great university, "optimi regis optimo vindici." i cannot but recall a trait that happened on this occasion. after my father returned to his hotel from the theatre, a stranger requested an interview with him. a swiss gentleman, travelling in england at the time, who had witnessed the scene just closed, begged to express the reason why he presumed thus personally and cordially to congratulate the new doctor of civil law. he was the son of my grandfather's chief clerk, and remembered his parent's employer; whom he regretted did not survive to be aware of this honourable day. thus, amid all the strange vicissitudes of life, we are ever, as it were, moving in a circle. notwithstanding he was now approaching his seventieth year, his health being unbroken and his constitution very robust, my father resolved vigorously to devote himself to the composition of the history of our vernacular literature. he hesitated for a moment, whether he should at once address himself to this greater task, or whether he should first complete a life of pope, for which he had made great preparations, and which had long occupied his thoughts. his review of "spence's anecdotes" in the quarterly, so far back as , which gave rise to the celebrated pope controversy, in which mr. campbell, lord byron, mr. bowles, mr. roscoe, and others less eminent broke lances, would prove how well qualified, even at that distant date, the critic was to become the biographer of the great writer, whose literary excellency and moral conduct he, on that occasion, alike vindicated. but, unfortunately as it turned out, my father was persuaded to address himself to the weightier task. hitherto, in his publications, he had always felt an extreme reluctance to travel over ground which others had previously visited. he liked to give new matter, and devote himself to detached points, on which he entertained different opinions from those prevalent. thus his works are generally of a supplementary character, and assume in their readers a certain degree of preliminary knowledge. in the present instance he was induced to frame his undertaking on a different scale, and to prepare a history which should be complete in itself, and supply the reader with a perfect view of the gradual formation of our language and literature. he proposed to effect this in six volumes; though, i apprehend, he would not have succeeded in fulfilling his intentions within that limit. his treatment of the period of queen anne would have been very ample, and he would also have accomplished in this general work a purpose which he had also long contemplated, and for which he had made curious and extensive collections, namely, a history of the english freethinkers. but all these great plans were destined to a terrible defeat. towards the end of the year , still in the full vigour of his health and intellect, he suffered a paralysis of the optic nerve; and that eye, which for so long a term had kindled with critical interest over the volumes of so many literatures and so many languages, was doomed to pursue its animated course no more. considering the bitterness of such a calamity to one whose powers were otherwise not in the least impaired, he bore on the whole his fate with magnanimity, even with cheerfulness. unhappily, his previous habits of study and composition rendered the habit of dictation intolerable, even impossible to him. but with the assistance of his daughter, whose intelligent solicitude he has commemorated in more than one grateful passage, he selected from his manuscripts three volumes, which he wished to have published under the becoming title of "a fragment of a history of english literature," but which were eventually given to the public under that of "amenities of literature." he was also enabled during these last years of physical, though not of moral, gloom, to prepare a new edition of his work on the life and times of charles the first, which had been for some time out of print. he contrived, though slowly, and with great labour, very carefully to revise, and improve, and enrich these volumes. he was wont to say that the best monument to an author was a good edition of his works: it is my purpose that he should possess this memorial. he has been described by a great authority as a writer sui generis; and indeed had he never written, it appears to me, that there would have been a gap in our libraries, which it would have been difficult to supply. of him it might be added that, for an author, his end was an euthanasia, for on the day before he was seized by that fatal epidemic, of the danger of which, to the last moment, he was unconscious, he was apprised by his publishers, that all his works were out of print, and that their re-publication could no longer be delayed. in this notice of the career of my father, i have ventured to draw attention to three circumstances which i thought would be esteemed interesting; namely, predisposition, self-formation, and sympathy with his order. there is yet another which completes and crowns the character,--constancy of purpose; and it is only in considering his course as a whole, that we see how harmonious and consistent have been that life and its labours, which, in a partial and brief view, might be supposed to have been somewhat desultory and fragmentary. on his moral character i shall scarcely presume to dwell. the philosophic sweetness of his disposition, the serenity of his lot, and the elevating nature of his pursuits, combined to enable him to pass through life without an evil act, almost without an evil thought. as the world has always been fond of personal details respecting men who have been celebrated, i will mention that he was fair, with a bourbon nose, and brown eyes of extraordinary beauty and lustre. he wore a small black velvet cap, but his white hair latterly touched his shoulders in curls almost as flowing as in his boyhood. his extremities were delicate and well-formed, and his leg, at his last hour, as shapely as in his youth, which showed the vigour of his frame. latterly he had become corpulent. he did not excel in conversation, though in his domestic circle he was garrulous. everything interested him; and blind, and eighty-two, he was still as susceptible as a child. one of his last acts was to compose some verses of gay gratitude to his daughter-in-law, who was his london correspondent, and to whose lively pen his last years were indebted for constant amusement. he had by nature a singular volatility which never deserted him. his feelings, though always amiable, were not painfully deep, and amid joy or sorrow, the philosophic vein was ever evident. he more resembled goldsmith than any man that i can compare him to: in his conversation, his apparent confusion of ideas ending with some felicitous phrase of genius, his naïveté, his simplicity not untouched with a dash of sarcasm affecting innocence--one was often reminded of the gifted and interesting friend of burke and johnson. there was, however, one trait in which my father did not resemble goldsmith: he had no vanity. indeed, one of his few infirmities was rather a deficiency of self-esteem. on the whole, i hope--nay i believe--that taking all into consideration--the integrity and completeness of his existence, the fact that, for sixty years, he largely contributed to form the taste, charm the leisure, and direct the studious dispositions, of the great body of the public, and that his works have extensively and curiously illustrated the literary and political history of our country, it will be conceded, that in his life and labours, he repaid england for the protection and the hospitality which this country accorded to his father a century ago. d. hughenden manor, _christmas_, . footnotes: [footnote : "essay on the literary character," vol. i. chap. v.] [footnote : sir walter was sincere, for he inserted the poem in the "english minstrelsy." it may now be found in these volumes, vol. i. p. , where, in consequence of the recollection of sir walter, and as illustrative of manners now obsolete, it was subsequently inserted.] [footnote : "the present inquiry originates in an affair of literary conscience. many years ago i set off with the popular notions of the character of james the first; but in the course of study, and with a more enlarged comprehension of the age, i was frequently struck by the contrast between his real and his apparent character. * * * * it would be a cowardly silence to shrink from encountering all that popular prejudice and party feeling may oppose; this would be incompatible with that constant search after truth, which at least may be expected from the retired student."--_preface to the inquiry._] [footnote : "essay on the literary character," vol. ii. chap. xxv.] * * * * * curiosities of literature. by i. disraeli. * * * * * to francis douce, esq. these volumes of some literary researches are inscribed; as a slight memorial of friendship and a grateful acknowledgment to a lover of literature. * * * * * preface. of a work which long has been placed on that shelf which voltaire has discriminated as _la bibliothèque du monde_, it is never mistimed for the author to offer the many, who are familiar with its pages, a settled conception of its design. the "curiosities of literature," commenced fifty years since, have been composed at various periods, and necessarily partake of those successive characters which mark the eras of the intellectual habits of the writer. in my youth, the taste for modern literary history was only of recent date. the first elegant scholar who opened a richer vein in the mine of modern literature was joseph warton;--he had a fragmentary mind, and he was a rambler in discursive criticism. dr. johnson was a famished man for anecdotical literature, and sorely complained of the penury of our literary history. thomas warton must have found, in the taste of his brother and the energy of johnson, his happiest prototypes; but he had too frequently to wrestle with barren antiquarianism, and was lost to us at the gates of that paradise which had hardly opened on him. these were the true founders of that more elegant literature in which france had preceded us. these works created a more pleasing species of erudition:--the age of taste and genius had come; but the age of philosophical thinking was yet but in its dawn. among my earliest literary friends, two distinguished themselves by their anecdotical literature: james petit andrews, by his "anecdotes, ancient and modern," and william seward, by his "anecdotes of distinguished persons." these volumes were favourably received, and to such a degree, that a wit of that day, and who is still a wit as well as a poet, considered that we were far gone in our "anecdotage." i was a guest at the banquet, but it seemed to me to consist wholly of confectionery. i conceived the idea of a collection of a different complexion. i was then seeking for instruction in modern literature; and our language afforded no collection of the _res litterariæ_. in the diversified volumes of the french _ana_, i found, among the best, materials to work on. i improved my subjects with as much of our own literature as my limited studies afforded. the volume, without a name, was left to its own unprotected condition. i had not miscalculated the wants of others by my own. this first volume had reminded the learned of much which it is grateful to remember, and those who were restricted by their classical studies, or lounged only in perishable novelties, were in modern literature but dry wells, for which i had opened clear waters from a fresh spring. the work had effected its design in stimulating the literary curiosity of those, who, with a taste for its tranquil pursuits, are impeded in their acquirement. imitations were numerous. my reading became more various, and the second volume of "curiosities of literature" appeared, with a slight effort at more original investigation. the two brother volumes remained favourites during an interval of twenty years. it was as late as that i sent forth the third volume; without a word of preface. i had no longer anxieties to conceal or promises to perform. the subjects chosen were novel, and investigated with more original composition. the motto prefixed to this third volume from the marquis of halifax is lost in the republications, but expresses the peculiar delight of all literary researches for those who love them: "the struggling for knowledge hath a pleasure in it like that of wrestling with a fine woman." the notice which the third volume obtained, returned me to the dream of my youth. i considered that essay writing, from addison to the successors of johnson, which had formed one of the most original features of our national literature, would now fail in its attraction, even if some of those elegant writers themselves had appeared in a form which their own excellence had rendered familiar and deprived of all novelty. i was struck by an observation which johnson has thrown out. that sage, himself an essayist and who had lived among our essayists, fancied that "mankind may come in time to write all aphoristically;" and so athirst was that first of our great moral biographers for the details of human life and the incidental characteristics of individuals, that he was desirous of obtaining anecdotes without preparation or connexion. "if a man," said this lover of literary anecdotes, "is to wait till he weaves anecdotes, we may be long in getting them, and get but few in comparison to what we might get." another observation, of lord bolingbroke, had long dwelt in my mind, that "when examples are pointed out to us, there is a kind of appeal with which we are flattered made to our senses as well as our understandings." an induction from a variety of particulars seemed to me to combine that delight, which johnson derived from anecdotes, with that philosophy which bolingbroke founded on examples; and on this principle the last three volumes of the "curiosities of literature" were constructed, freed from the formality of dissertation, and the vagueness of the lighter essay. these "curiosities of literature" have passed through a remarkable ordeal of time; they have survived a generation of rivals; they are found wherever books are bought, and they have been repeatedly reprinted at foreign presses, as well as translated. these volumes have imbued our youth with their first tastes for modern literature, have diffused a delight in critical and philosophical speculation among circles of readers who were not accustomed to literary topics; and finally, they have been honoured by eminent contemporaries, who have long consulted them and set their stamp on the metal. a voluminous miscellany, composed at various periods, cannot be exempt from slight inadvertencies. such a circuit of multifarious knowledge could not be traced were we to measure and count each step by some critical pedometer; life would be too short to effect any reasonable progress. every work must be judged by its design, and is to be valued by its result. bradenham house, _march_, . contents of volume i. libraries the bibliomania literary journals recovery of manuscripts sketches of criticism the persecuted learned poverty of the learned imprisonment of the learned amusements of the learned portraits of authors destruction of books some notions of lost works quodlibets, or scholastic disquisitions fame contemned the six follies of science imitators cicero's puns prefaces early printing errata patrons poets, philosophers, and artists, made by accident inequalities of genius geographical style legends the port-royal society the progress of old age in new studies spanish poetry saint evremond men of genius deficient in conversation vida the scuderies de la rochefoucault prior's hans carvel the student in the metropolis the talmud rabbinical stories on the custom of saluting after sneezing bonaventure de periers grotius noblemen turned critics literary impostures cardinal richelieu aristotle and plato abelard and eloisa physiognomy characters described by musical notes milton origin of newspapers trials and proofs of guilt in superstitious ages inquisition singularities observed by various nations in their repasts monarchs of the titles of illustrious, highness, and excellence titles of sovereigns royal divinities dethroned monarchs feudal customs gaming the arabic chronicle metempsychosis spanish etiquette the goths and huns vicars of bray douglas critical history of poverty solomon and sheba hell the absent man wax-work pasquin and marforio female beauty and ornaments modern platonism anecdotes of fashion a senate of jesuits the lover's heart the history of gloves relics of saints perpetual lamps of the ancients natural productions resembling artificial compositions the poetical garland of julia tragic actors jocular preachers masterly imitators edward the fourth elizabeth the chinese language medical music minute writing numerical figures english astrologers alchymy titles of books literary follies literary controversy literary blunders a literary wife dedications philosophic descriptive poems pamphlets little books a catholic's refutation the good advice of an old literary sinner mysteries, moralities, farces, and sotties love and folly, an ancient morality religious nouvellettes "critical sagacity," and "happy conjecture;" or, bentley's milton a jansenist dictionary manuscripts and books the turkish spy spenser, jonson, and shakspeare ben jonson, feltham, and randolph ariosto and tasso bayle cervantes magliabechi abridgers professors of plagiarism and obscurity literary dutch the productions of the mind not seizable by creditors critics anecdotes of censured authors virginity a glance into the french academy poetical and grammatical deaths scarron peter corneille poets romances the astrea poets laureat angelo politian original letter of queen elizabeth anne bullen james the first general monk and his wife philip and mary curiosities of literature. libraries. the passion for forming vast collections of books has necessarily existed in all periods of human curiosity; but long it required regal munificence to found a national library. it is only since the art of multiplying the productions of the mind has been discovered, that men of letters themselves have been enabled to rival this imperial and patriotic honour. the taste for books, so rare before the fifteenth century, has gradually become general only within these four hundred years: in that small space of time the public mind of europe has been created. of libraries, the following anecdotes seem most interesting, as they mark either the affection, or the veneration, which civilised men have ever felt for these perennial repositories of their minds. the first national library founded in egypt seemed to have been placed under the protection of the divinities, for their statues magnificently adorned this temple, dedicated at once to religion and to literature. it was still further embellished by a well-known inscription, for ever grateful to the votary of literature; on the front was engraven,--"the nourishment of the soul;" or, according to diodorus, "the medicine of the mind." the egyptian ptolemies founded the vast library of alexandria, which was afterwards the emulative labour of rival monarchs; the founder infused a soul into the vast body he was creating, by his choice of the librarian, demetrius phalereus, whose skilful industry amassed from all nations their choicest productions. without such a librarian, a national library would be little more than a literary chaos; his well exercised memory and critical judgment are its best catalogue. one of the ptolemies refused supplying the famished athenians with wheat, until they presented him with the original manuscripts of Ã�schylus, sophocles, and euripides; and in returning copies of these autographs, he allowed them to retain the fifteen talents which he had pledged with them as a princely security. when tyrants, or usurpers, have possessed sense as well as courage, they have proved the most ardent patrons of literature; they know it is their interest to turn aside the public mind from political speculations, and to afford their subjects the inexhaustible occupations of curiosity, and the consoling pleasures of the imagination. thus pisistratus is said to have been among the earliest of the greeks, who projected an immense collection of the works of the learned, and is supposed to have been the collector of the scattered works, which passed under the name of homer. the romans, after six centuries of gradual dominion, must have possessed the vast and diversified collections of the writings of the nations they conquered: among the most valued spoils of their victories, we know that manuscripts were considered as more precious than vases of gold. paulus emilius, after the defeat of perseus, king of macedon, brought to rome a great number which he had amassed in greece, and which he now distributed among his sons, or presented to the roman people. sylla followed his example. alter the siege of athens, he discovered an entire library in the temple of apollo, which having carried to rome, he appears to have been the founder of the first roman public library. after the taking of carthage, the roman senate rewarded the family of regulus with the books found in that city. a library was a national gift, and the most honourable they could bestow. from the intercourse of the romans with the greeks, the passion for forming libraries rapidly increased, and individuals began to pride themselves on their private collections. of many illustrious romans, their magnificent taste in their _libraries_ has been recorded. asinius pollio, crassus, cæsar, and cicero, have, among others, been celebrated for their literary splendor. lucullus, whose incredible opulence exhausted itself on more than imperial luxuries, more honourably distinguished himself by his vast collections of books, and the happy use he made of them by the liberal access he allowed the learned. "it was a library," says plutarch, "whose walks, galleries, and cabinets, were open to all visitors; and the ingenious greeks, when at leisure, resorted to this abode of the muses to hold literary conversations, in which lucullus himself loved to join." this library enlarged by others, julius cæsar once proposed to open for the public, having chosen the erudite varro for its librarian; but the daggers of brutus and his party prevented the meditated projects of cæsar. in this museum, cicero frequently pursued his studies, during the time his friend faustus had the charge of it; which he describes to atticus in his th book, epist. . amidst his public occupations and his private studies, either of them sufficient to have immortalised one man, we are astonished at the minute attention cicero paid to the formation of his libraries and his cabinets of antiquities. the emperors were ambitious, at length, to give _their names_ to the _libraries_ they founded; they did not consider the purple as their chief ornament. augustus was himself an author; and to one of those sumptuous buildings, called _thermæ_, ornamented with porticos, galleries, and statues, with shady walks, and refreshing baths, testified his love of literature by adding a magnificent library. one of these libraries he fondly called by the name of his sister octavia; and the other, the temple of apollo, became the haunt of the poets, as horace, juvenal, and persius have commemorated. the successors of augustus imitated his example, and even tiberius had an imperial library, chiefly consisting of works concerning the empire and the acts of its sovereigns. these trajan augmented by the ulpian library, denominated from his family name. in a word, we have accounts of the rich ornaments the ancients bestowed on their libraries; of their floors paved with marble, their walls covered with glass and ivory, and their shelves and desks of ebony and cedar. the first _public library_ in italy was founded by a person of no considerable fortune: his credit, his frugality, and fortitude, were indeed equal to a treasury. nicholas niccoli, the son of a merchant, after the death of his father relinquished the beaten roads of gain, and devoted his soul to study, and his fortune to assist students. at his death, he left his library to the public, but his debts exceeding his effects, the princely generosity of cosmo de' medici realised the intention of its former possessor, and afterwards enriched it by the addition of an apartment, in which he placed the greek, hebrew, arabic, chaldaic, and indian mss. the intrepid spirit of nicholas v. laid the foundations of the vatican; the affection of cardinal bessarion for his country first gave venice the rudiments of a public library; and to sir t. bodley we owe the invaluable one of oxford. sir robert cotton, sir hans sloane, dr. birch, mr. cracherode, mr. douce, and others of this race of lovers of books, have all contributed to form these literary treasures, which our nation owe to the enthusiasm of individuals, who have consecrated their fortunes and their days to this great public object; or, which in the result produces the same public good, the collections of such men have been frequently purchased on their deaths, by government, and thus have been preserved entire in our national collections.[ ] literature, like virtue, is often its own reward, and the enthusiasm some experience in the permanent enjoyments of a vast library has far outweighed the neglect or the calumny of the world, which some of its votaries have received. from the time that cicero poured forth his feelings in his oration for the poet archias, innumerable are the testimonies of men of letters of the pleasurable delirium of their researches. richard de bury, bishop of durham, and chancellor of england so early as , perhaps raised the first private library in our country. he purchased thirty or forty volumes of the abbot of st. albans for fifty pounds' weight of silver. he was so enamoured of his large collection, that he expressly composed a treatise on his love of books, under the title of _philobiblion_; and which has been recently translated.[ ] he who passes much of his time amid such vast resources, and does not aspire to make some small addition to his library, were it only by a critical catalogue, must indeed be not more animated than a leaden mercury. he must be as indolent as that animal called the sloth, who perishes on the tree he climbs, after he has eaten all its leaves. rantzau, the founder of the great library at copenhagen, whose days were dissolved in the pleasures of reading, discovers his taste and ardour in the following elegant effusion:-- salvete aureoli mei libelli, meæ deliciæ, mei lepores! quam vos sæpe oculis juvat videre, et tritos manibus tenere nostris! tot vos eximii, tot eruditi, prisci lumina sæculi et recentis, confecere viri, suasque vobis ausi credere lucubrationes: et sperare decus perenne scriptis; neque hæc irrita spes fefellit illos. imitated. golden volumes! richest treasures! objects of delicious pleasures! you my eyes rejoicing please, you my hands in rapture seize! brilliant wits, and musing sages, lights who beamed through many ages, left to your conscious leaves their story, and dared to trust you with their glory; and now their hope of fame achieved, dear volumes! you have not deceived! this passion for the enjoyment of _books_ has occasioned their lovers embellishing their outsides with costly ornaments;[ ] a fancy which ostentation may have abused; but when these volumes belong to the real man of letters, the most fanciful bindings are often the emblems of his taste and feelings. the great thuanus procured the finest copies for his library, and his volumes are still eagerly purchased, bearing his autograph on the last page. a celebrated amateur was grollier; the muses themselves could not more ingeniously have ornamented their favourite works. i have seen several in the libraries of curious collectors. they are gilded and stamped with peculiar neatness; the compartments on the binding are drawn, and painted, with subjects analogous to the works themselves; and they are further adorned by that amiable inscription, _jo. grollierii et amicorum!_--purporting that these literary treasures were collected for himself and for his friends. the family of the fuggers had long felt an hereditary passion for the accumulation of literary treasures: and their portraits, with others in their picture gallery, form a curious quarto volume of portraits, rare even in germany, entitled "fuggerorum pinacotheca."[ ] wolfius, who daily haunted their celebrated library, pours out his gratitude in some greek verses, and describes this bibliothèque as a literary heaven, furnished with as many books as there were stars in the firmament; or as a literary garden, in which he passed entire days in gathering fruit and flowers, delighting and instructing himself by perpetual occupation. in , the royal library of france did not exceed twenty volumes. shortly after, charles v. increased it to , which, by the fate of war, as much at least as by that of money, the duke of bedford afterwards purchased and transported to london, where libraries were smaller than on the continent, about . it is a circumstance worthy observation, that the french sovereign, charles v. surnamed the wise, ordered that thirty portable lights, with a silver lamp suspended from the centre, should be illuminated at night, that students might not find their pursuits interrupted at any hour. many among us, at this moment, whose professional avocations admit not of morning studies, find that the resources of a public library are not accessible to them, from the omission of the regulation of the zealous charles v. of france. an objection to night-studies in public libraries is the danger of fire, and in our own british museum not a light is permitted to be carried about on any pretence whatever. the history of the "bibliothèque du roi" is a curious incident in literature; and the progress of the human mind and public opinion might be traced by its gradual accessions, noting the changeable qualities of its literary stores chiefly from theology, law, and medicine, to philosophy and elegant literature. it was first under louis xiv. that the productions of the art of engraving were there collected and arranged; the great minister colbert purchased the extensive collections of the abbé de marolles, who may be ranked among the fathers of our print-collectors. two hundred and sixty-four ample portfolios laid the foundations, and the very catalogues of his collections, printed by marolles himself, are rare and high-priced. our own national print gallery is growing from its infant establishment. mr. hallam has observed, that in , england had made comparatively but little progress in learning--and germany was probably still less advanced. however, in germany, trithemius, the celebrated abbot of spanheim, who died in , had amassed about two thousand manuscripts; a literary treasure which excited such general attention, that princes and eminent men travelled to visit trithemius and his library. about this time, six or eight hundred volumes formed a royal collection, and their cost could only be furnished by a prince. this was indeed a great advancement in libraries, for at the beginning of the fourteenth century the library of louis ix. contained only four classical authors; and that of oxford, in , consisted of "a few tracts kept in chests." the pleasures of study are classed by burton among those exercises or recreations of the mind which pass _within doors_. looking about this "world of books," he exclaims, "i could even live and die with such meditations, and take more delight and true content of mind in them than in all thy wealth and sport! there is a sweetness, which, as circe's cup, bewitcheth a student: he cannot leave off, as well may witness those many laborious hours, days, and nights, spent in their voluminous treatises. so sweet is the delight of study. the last day is _prioris discipulus_. heinsius was mewed up in the library of leyden all the year long, and that which, to my thinking, should have bred a loathing, caused in him a greater liking. 'i no sooner,' saith he, 'come into the library, but i bolt the door to me, excluding lust, ambition, avarice, and all such vices, whose nurse is idleness, the mother of ignorance and melancholy. in the very lap of eternity, amongst so many divine souls, i take my seat with so lofty a spirit, and sweet content, that i pity all our great ones and rich men, that know not this happiness.'" such is the incense of a votary who scatters it on the altar less for the ceremony than from the devotion.[ ] there is, however, an intemperance in study, incompatible often with our social or more active duties. the illustrious grotius exposed himself to the reproaches of some of his contemporaries for having too warmly pursued his studies, to the detriment of his public station. it was the boast of cicero that his philosophical studies had never interfered with the services he owed the republic, and that he had only dedicated to them the hours which others give to their walks, their repasts, and their pleasures. looking on his voluminous labours, we are surprised at this observation;--how honourable is it to him, that his various philosophical works bear the titles of the different villas he possessed, which indicates that they were composed in these respective retirements! cicero must have been an early riser; and practised that magic art in the employment of time, which multiplies our days. footnotes: [footnote : the cottonian collection is the richest english historic library we possess, and is now located in the british museum, having been purchased for the use of the nation by parliament in , at a cost of _l._ the collection of sir hans sloane was added thereto in , for the sum of , _l._ dr. birch and mr. cracherode bequeathed their most valuable collections to the british museum. mr. douce is the only collector in the list above who bequeathed his curious gatherings elsewhere. he was an officer of the museum for many years, but preferred to leave his treasures to the bodleian library, where they are preserved intact, according to his earnest wish, a wish he feared might not be gratified in the national building. it is to this scholar and friend, the author of these volumes has dedicated them, as a lasting memorial of an esteem which endured during the life of each.] [footnote : by mr. inglis, in . this famous bishop is said to have possessed more books than all the others in england put together. like magliabechi, he lived among them, and those who visited him had to dispense with ceremony and step over the volumes that always strewed his floor.] [footnote : the earliest decorated books were the consular diptycha, ivory bookcovers richly sculptured in relief, and destined to contain upon their tablets the fasti consulares, the list ending with the name of the new consul, whose property they happened to be. such as have descended to our own times appear to be works of the lower empire. they were generally decorated with full length figures of the consul and attendants, superintending the sports of the circus, or conjoined with portraits of the reigning prince and emblematic figures. the greek church adopted the style for the covers of the sacred volume, and ancient clerical libraries formerly possessed many such specimens of early bookbinding; the covers being richly sculptured in ivory, with bas-reliefs designed from scripture history. such ivories were sometimes placed in the centre of the covers, and framed in an ornamental metal-work studded with precious stones and engraved cameos. the barbaric magnificence of these volumes has never been surpassed; the era of charlemagne was the culmination of their glory. one such volume, presented by that sovereign to the cathedral at treves, is enriched with roman ivories and decorative gems. the value of manuscripts in the middle ages, suggested costly bindings for books that consumed the labour of lives to copy, and decorate with ornamental letters, or illustrative paintings. in the fifteenth century covers of leather embossed with storied ornament were in use; ladies also frequently employed their needles to construct, with threads of gold and silver, on grounds of coloured silk, the cover of a favourite volume. in the british museum one is preserved of a later date--the work of our queen elizabeth. in the sixteenth century small ornaments, capable of being conjoined into a variety of elaborate patterns, were first used for stamping the covers with gilding; the leather was stained of various tints, and a beauty imparted to volumes which has not been surpassed by the most skilful modern workmen.] [footnote : the fuggers were a rich family of merchants, residing at augsburg, carrying on trade with both the indies, and from thence over europe. they were ennobled by the emperor maximilian i. their wealth often maintained the armies of charles v.; and when anthony fugger received that sovereign at his house at augsburg he is said, as a part of the entertainment, to have consumed in a fire of fragrant woods the bond of the emperor who condescended to become his guest.] [footnote : a living poet thus enthusiastically describes the charms of a student's life among his books--"he has his rome, his florence, his whole glowing italy, within the four walls of his library. he has in his books the ruins of an antique world, and the glories of a modern one."--longfellow's _hyperion_.] the bibliomania. the preceding article is honourable to literature, yet even a passion for collecting books is not always a passion for literature. the bibliomania, or the collecting an enormous heap of books without intelligent curiosity, has, since libraries have existed, infected weak minds, who imagine that they themselves acquire knowledge when they keep it on their shelves. their motley libraries have been called the _madhouses of the human mind_; and again, _the tomb of books_, when the possessor will not communicate them, and coffins them up in the cases of his library. it was facetiously observed, these collections are not without a _lock on the human understanding_.[ ] the bibliomania never raged more violently than in our own times. it is fortunate that literature is in no ways injured by the follies of collectors, since though they preserve the worthless, they necessarily protect the good.[ ] some collectors place all their fame on the _view_ of a splendid library, where volumes, arrayed in all the pomp of lettering, silk linings, triple gold bands, and tinted leather, are locked up in wire cases, and secured from the vulgar hands of the _mere reader_, dazzling our eyes like eastern beauties peering through their jalousies! la bruyere has touched on this mania with humour:--"of such a collector, as soon as i enter his house, i am ready to faint on the staircase, from a strong smell of morocco leather. in vain he shows me fine editions, gold leaves, etruscan bindings, and naming them one after another, as if he were showing a gallery of pictures! a gallery, by-the-bye, which he seldom traverses when _alone_, for he rarely reads; but me he offers to conduct through it! i thank him for his politeness, and as little as himself care to visit the tan-house, which he calls his library." lucian has composed a biting invective against an ignorant possessor of a vast library, like him, who in the present day, after turning over the pages of an old book, chiefly admires the _date_. lucian compares him to a pilot, who was never taught the science of navigation; to a rider who cannot keep his seat on a spirited horse; to a man who, not having the use of his feet, would conceal the defect by wearing embroidered shoes; but, alas! he cannot stand in them! he ludicrously compares him to thersites wearing the armour of achilles, tottering at every step; leering with his little eyes under his enormous helmet, and his hunchback raising the cuirass above his shoulders. why do you buy so many books? you have no hair, and you purchase a comb; you are blind, and you will have a grand mirror; you are deaf, and you will have fine musical instruments! your costly bindings are only a source of vexation, and you are continually discharging your librarians for not preserving them from the silent invasion of the worms, and the nibbling triumphs of the rats! such _collectors_ will contemptuously smile at the _collection_ of the amiable melancthon. he possessed in his library only four authors,--plato, pliny, plutarch, and ptolemy the geographer. ancillon was a great collector of curious books, and dexterously defended himself when accused of the _bibliomania_. he gave a good reason for buying the most elegant editions; which he did not consider merely as a literary luxury.[ ] the less the eyes are fatigued in reading a work, the more liberty the mind feels to judge of it: and as we perceive more clearly the excellences and defects of a printed book than when in ms.; so we see them more plainly in good paper and clear type, than when the impression and paper are both bad. he always purchased _first editions_, and never waited for second ones; though it is the opinion of some that a first edition is only to be considered as an imperfect essay, which the author proposes to finish after he has tried the sentiments of the literary world. bayle approves of ancillon's plan. those who wait for a book till it is reprinted, show plainly that they prefer the saving of a pistole to the acquisition of knowledge. with one of these persons, who waited for a second edition, which never appeared, a literary man argued, that it was better to have two editions of a book rather than to deprive himself of the advantage which the reading of the first might procure him. it has frequently happened, besides, that in second editions, the author omits, as well as adds, or makes alterations from prudential reasons; the displeasing truths which he _corrects_, as he might call them, are so many losses incurred by truth itself. there is an advantage in comparing the first and subsequent editions; among other things, we feel great satisfaction in tracing the variations of a work after its revision. there are also other secrets, well known to the intelligent curious, who are versed in affairs relating to books. many first editions are not to be purchased for the treble value of later ones. the collector we have noticed frequently said, as is related of virgil, "i collect gold from ennius's dung." i find, in some neglected authors, particular things, not elsewhere to be found. he read many of these, but not with equal attention--"_sicut canis ad nilum, bibens et fugiens_;" like a dog at the nile, drinking and running. fortunate are those who only consider a book for the utility and pleasure they may derive from its possession. students, who know much, and still thirst to know more, may require this vast sea of books; yet in that sea they may suffer many shipwrecks. great collections of books are subject to certain accidents besides the damp, the worms, and the rats; one not less common is that of the _borrowers_, not to say a word of the _purloiners_! footnotes: [footnote : an allusion and pun which occasioned the french translator of the present work an unlucky blunder: puzzled, no doubt, by my _facetiously_, he translates "mettant, comme on l'a _trés-judicieusement_ fait observer, l'entendement humain sous la clef." the great work and the great author alluded to, having quite escaped him!] [footnote : the earliest satire on the mere book-collector is to be found in barclay's translation of brandt's "ship of fools," first printed by wynkyn de worde, in . he thus announces his true position:-- i am the first fool of the whole navie to keepe the poupe, the helme, and eke the sayle: for this is my minde, this one pleasure have i, of bookes to have greate plentie and apparayle. still i am busy bookes assembling, for to have plenty it is a pleasaunt thing in my conceyt, and to have them aye in hande: but what they meane do i not understande. but yet i have them in great reverence and honoure, saving them from filth and ordare, by often brushing and much diligence; full goodly bound in pleasaunt coverture, of damas, satten, or else of velvet pure: i keepe them sure, fearing least they should be lost, for in them is the cunning wherein i me boast.] [footnote : david ancillon was born at metz in . from his earliest years his devotion to study was so great as to call for the interposition of his father, to prevent his health being seriously affected by it; he was described as "intemperately studious." the jesuits of metz gave him the free range of their college library; but his studies led him to protestantism, and in he removed to geneva, and devoted himself to the duties of the reformed church. throughout an honourable life he retained unabated his love of books; and having a fortune by marriage, he gratified himself in constantly collecting them, so that he ultimately possessed one of the finest private libraries in france. for very many years his life passed peaceably and happily amid his books and his duties, when the revocation of the edict of nantes drove him from his country. his noble library was scattered at waste-paper prices, "thus in a single day was destroyed the labour, care, and expense of forty-four years." he died seven years afterwards at brandenburg.] literary journals. when writers were not numerous, and readers rare, the unsuccessful author fell insensibly into oblivion; he dissolved away in his own weakness. if he committed the private folly of printing what no one would purchase, he was not arraigned at the public tribunal--and the awful terrors of his day of judgment consisted only in the retributions of his publisher's final accounts. at length, a taste for literature spread through the body of the people; vanity induced the inexperienced and the ignorant to aspire to literary honours. to oppose these forcible entries into the haunts of the muses, periodical criticism brandished its formidable weapon; and the fall of many, taught some of our greatest geniuses to rise. multifarious writings produced multifarious strictures; and public criticism reached to such perfection, that taste was generally diffused, enlightening those whose occupations had otherwise never permitted them to judge of literary compositions. the invention of reviews, in the form which they have at length gradually assumed, could not have existed but in the most polished ages of literature: for without a constant supply of authors, and a refined spirit of criticism, they could not excite a perpetual interest among the lovers of literature. these publications were long the chronicles of taste and science, presenting the existing state of the public mind, while they formed a ready resource for those idle hours, which men of letters would not pass idly. their multiplicity has undoubtedly produced much evil; puerile critics and venal drudges manufacture reviews; hence that shameful discordance of opinion, which is the scorn and scandal of criticism. passions hostile to the peaceful truths of literature have likewise made tremendous inroads in the republic, and every literary virtue has been lost! in "calamities of authors" i have given the history of a literary conspiracy, conducted by a solitary critic, gilbert stuart, against the historian henry. these works may disgust by vapid panegyric, or gross invective; weary by uniform dulness, or tantalise by superficial knowledge. sometimes merely written to catch the public attention, a malignity is indulged against authors, to season the caustic leaves. a reviewer has admired those works in private, which he has condemned in his official capacity. but good sense, good temper, and good taste, will ever form an estimable journalist, who will inspire confidence, and give stability to his decisions. to the lovers of literature these volumes, when they have outlived their year, are not unimportant. they constitute a great portion of literary history, and are indeed the annals of the republic. to our own reviews, we must add the old foreign journals, which are perhaps even more valuable to the man of letters. of these the variety is considerable; and many of their writers are now known. they delight our curiosity by opening new views, and light up in observing minds many projects of works, wanted in our own literature. gibbon feasted on them; and while he turned them over with constant pleasure, derived accurate notions of works, which no student could himself have verified; of many works a notion is sufficient. the origin of literary journals was the happy project of denis de sallo, a counsellor in the parliament of paris. in appeared his _journal des sçavans_. he published his essay in the name of the sieur de hedouville, his footman! was this a mere stroke of humour, or designed to insinuate that the freedom of criticism could only be allowed to his lacquey? the work, however, met with so favourable a reception, that sallo had the satisfaction of seeing it, the following year, imitated throughout europe, and his journal, at the same time, translated into various languages. but as most authors lay themselves open to an acute critic, the animadversions of sallo were given with such asperity of criticism, and such malignity of wit, that this new journal excited loud murmurs, and the most heart-moving complaints. the learned had their plagiarisms detected, and the wit had his claims disputed. sarasin called the gazettes of this new aristarchus, hebdomadary flams! _billevesées hebdomadaires!_ and menage having published a law book, which sallo had treated with severe raillery, he entered into a long argument to prove, according to justinian, that a lawyer is not allowed to defame another lawyer, &c.: _senatori maledicere non licet, remaledicere jus fasque est_. others loudly declaimed against this new species of imperial tyranny, and this attempt to regulate the public opinion by that of an individual. sallo, after having published only his third volume, felt the irritated wasps of literature thronging so thick about him, that he very gladly abdicated the throne of criticism. the journal is said to have suffered a short interruption by a remonstrance from the nuncio of the pope, for the energy with which sallo had defended the liberties of the gallican church. intimidated by the fate of sallo, his successor, the abbé gallois, flourished in a milder reign. he contented himself with giving the titles of books, accompanied with extracts; and he was more useful than interesting. the public, who had been so much amused by the raillery and severity of the founder of this dynasty of new critics, now murmured at the want of that salt and acidity by which they had relished the fugitive collation. they were not satisfied with having the most beautiful, or the most curious parts of a new work brought together; they wished for the unreasonable entertainment of railing and raillery. at length another objection was conjured up against the review; mathematicians complained that they were neglected to make room for experiments in natural philosophy; the historian sickened over works of natural history; the antiquaries would have nothing but discoveries of mss. or fragments of antiquity. medical works were called for by one party, and reprobated by another. in a word, each reader wished only to have accounts of books, which were interesting to his profession or his taste. but a review is a work presented to the public at large, and written for more than one country. in spite of all these difficulties, this work was carried to a vast extent. an _index_ to the _journal des sçavans_ has been arranged on a critical plan, occupying ten volumes in quarto, which may be considered as a most useful instrument to obtain the science and literature of the entire century. the next celebrated reviewer is bayle, who undertook, in , his _nouvelles de la république des lettres_. he possessed the art, acquired by habit, of reading a book by his fingers, as it has been happily expressed; and of comprising, in concise extracts, a just notion of a book, without the addition of irrelevant matter. lively, neat, and full of that attic salt which gives a relish to the driest disquisitions, for the first time the ladies and all the _beau-monde_ took an interest in the labours of the critic. he wreathed the rod of criticism with roses. yet even bayle, who declared himself to be a reporter, and not a judge, bayle, the discreet sceptic, could not long satisfy his readers. his panegyric was thought somewhat prodigal; his fluency of style somewhat too familiar; and others affected not to relish his gaiety. in his latter volumes, to still the clamour, he assumed the cold sobriety of an historian: and has bequeathed no mean legacy to the literary world, in thirty-six small volumes of criticism, closed in . these were continued by bernard, with inferior skill; and by basnage more successfully, in his _histoire des ouvrages des sçavans_. the contemporary and the antagonist of bayle was le clerc. his firm industry has produced three _bibliothèques_--_universelle et historique_, _choisie_, and _ancienne et moderne_; forming in all eighty-two volumes, which, complete, bear a high price. inferior to bayle in the more pleasing talents, he is perhaps superior in erudition, and shows great skill in analysis: but his hand drops no flowers! gibbon resorted to le clerc's volumes at his leisure, "as an inexhaustible source of amusement and instruction." apostolo zeno's _giornale del litterati d'italia_, from to , is valuable. beausobre and l'enfant, two learned protestants, wrote a _bibliothèque germanique_, from to , in volumes. our own literature is interested by the "_bibliothèque britannique_," written by some literary frenchmen, noticed by la croze, in his "voyage littéraire," who designates the writers in this most tantalising manner: "les auteurs sont gens de mérite, et qui entendent tous parfaitement l'anglois; messrs. s.b., le m.d., et le savant mr. d." posterity has been partially let into the secret: de missy was one of the contributors, and warburton communicated his project of an edition of velleius patereulus. this useful account of english books begins in , and closes in , hague, vols.: to this we must add the _journal britannique_, in vols., by dr. maty, a foreign physician residing in london; this journal exhibits a view of the state of english literature from to . gibbon bestows a high character on the journalist, who sometimes "aspires to the character of a poet and a philosopher; one of the last disciples of the school of fontenelle." maty's son produced here a review known to the curious, his style and decisions often discover haste and heat, with some striking observations: alluding to his father, in his motto, maty applies virgil's description of the young ascanius, "sequitur _patrem_ non passibus æquis." he says he only holds a _monthly conversation_ with the public. his obstinate resolution of carrying on this review without an associate, has shown its folly and its danger; for a fatal illness produced a cessation, at once, of his periodical labours and his life. other reviews, are the _mémoires de trevoux_, written by the jesuits. their caustic censure and vivacity of style made them redoubtable in their day; they did not even spare their brothers. the _journal littéraire_, printed at the hague, was chiefly composed by prosper marchand, sallengre, and van effen, who were then young writers. this list may be augmented by other journals, which sometimes merit preservation in the history of modern literature. our early english journals notice only a few publications, with little acumen. of these, the "memoirs of literature," and the "present state of the republic of letters," are the best. the monthly review, the venerable (now the deceased) mother of our journals, commenced in . it is impossible to form a literary journal in a manner such as might be wished; it must be the work of many, of different tempers and talents. an individual, however versatile and extensive his genius, would soon be exhausted. such a regular labour occasioned bayle a dangerous illness, and maty fell a victim to his review. a prospect always extending as we proceed, the frequent novelty of the matter, the pride of considering one's self as the arbiter of literature, animate a journalist at the commencement of his career; but the literary hercules becomes fatigued; and to supply his craving pages he gives copious extracts, till the journal becomes tedious, or fails in variety. the abbé gallois was frequently diverted from continuing his journal, and fontenelle remarks, that this occupation was too restrictive for a mind so extensive as his; the abbé could not resist the charms of revelling in a new work, and gratifying any sudden curiosity which seized him; this interrupted perpetually the regularity which the public expects from a journalist. the character of a perfect journalist would be only an ideal portrait; there are, however, some acquirements which are indispensable. he must be tolerably acquainted with the subjects he treats on; no _common_ acquirement! he must possess the _literary history of his own times_; a science which, fontenelle observes, is almost distinct from any other. it is the result of an active curiosity, which takes a lively interest in the tastes and pursuits of the age, while it saves the journalist from some ridiculous blunders. we often see the mind of a reviewer half a century remote from the work reviewed. a fine feeling of the various manners of writers, with a style adapted to fix the attention of the indolent, and to win the untractable, should be his study; but candour is the brightest gem of criticism! he ought not to throw everything into the crucible, nor should he suffer the whole to pass as if he trembled to touch it. lampoons and satires in time will lose their effect, as well as panegyrics. he must learn to resist the seductions of his own pen: the pretension of composing a treatise on the _subject_, rather than on the _book_ he criticises--proud of insinuating that he gives, in a dozen pages, what the author himself has not been able to perform in his volumes. should he gain confidence by a popular delusion, and by unworthy conduct, he may chance to be mortified by the pardon or by the chastisement of insulted genius. the most noble criticism is that in which the critic is not the antagonist so much as the rival of the author. recovery of manuscripts. our ancient classics had a very narrow escape from total annihilation. many have perished: many are but fragments; and chance, blind arbiter of the works of genius, has left us some, not of the highest value; which, however, have proved very useful, as a test to show the pedantry of those who adore antiquity not from true feeling, but from traditional prejudice. we lost a great number of ancient authors by the conquest of egypt by the saracens, which deprived europe of the use of the _papyrus_. they could find no substitute, and knew no other expedient but writing on parchment, which became every day more scarce and costly. ignorance and barbarism unfortunately seized on roman manuscripts, and industriously defaced pages once imagined to have been immortal! the most elegant compositions of classic rome were converted into the psalms of a breviary, or the prayers of a missal. livy and tacitus "hide their diminished heads" to preserve the legend of a saint, and immortal truths were converted into clumsy fictions. it happened that the most voluminous authors were the greatest sufferers; these were preferred, because their volume being the greatest, most profitably repaid their destroying industry, and furnished ampler scope for future transcription. a livy or a diodorus was preferred to the smaller works of cicero or horace; and it is to this circumstance that juvenal, persius, and martial have come down to us entire, rather probably than to these pious personages preferring their obscenities, as some have accused them. at rome, a part of a book of livy was found, between the lines of a parchment but half effaced, on which they had substituted a book of the bible; and a recent discovery of cicero _de republicâ_, which lay concealed under some monkish writing, shows the fate of ancient manuscripts.[ ] that the monks had not in high veneration the _profane_ authors, appears by a facetious anecdote. to read the classics was considered as a very idle recreation, and some held them in great horror. to distinguish them from other books, they invented a disgraceful sign: when a monk asked for a pagan author, after making the general sign they used in their manual and silent language when they wanted a book, he added a particular one, which consisted in scratching under his ear, as a dog, which feels an itching, scratches himself in that place with his paw--because, said they, an unbeliever is compared to a dog! in this manner they expressed an _itching_ for those _dogs_ virgil or horace![ ] there have been ages when, for the possession of a manuscript, some would transfer an estate, or leave in pawn for its loan hundreds of golden crowns; and when even the sale or loan of a manuscript was considered of such importance as to have been solemnly registered by public acts. absolute as was louis xi. he could not obtain the ms. of rasis, an arabian writer, from the library of the faculty of paris, to have a copy made, without pledging a hundred golden crowns; and the president of his treasury, charged with this commission, sold part of his plate to make the deposit. for the loan of a volume of avicenna, a baron offered a pledge of ten marks of silver, which was refused: because it was not considered equal to the risk incurred of losing a volume of avicenna! these events occurred in . one cannot but smile, at an anterior period, when a countess of anjou bought a favourite book of homilies for two hundred sheep, some skins of martins, and bushels of wheat and rye. in those times, manuscripts were important articles of commerce; they were excessively scarce, and preserved with the utmost care. usurers themselves considered them as precious objects for pawn. a student of pavia, who was reduced, raised a new fortune by leaving in pawn a manuscript of a body of law; and a grammarian, who was ruined by a fire, rebuilt his house with two small volumes of cicero. at the restoration of letters, the researches of literary men were chiefly directed to this point; every part of europe and greece was ransacked; and, the glorious end considered, there was something sublime in this humble industry, which often recovered a lost author of antiquity, and gave one more classic to the world. this occupation was carried on with enthusiasm, and a kind of mania possessed many, who exhausted their fortunes in distant voyages and profuse prices. in reading the correspondence of the learned italians of these times, their adventures of manuscript-hunting are very amusing; and their raptures, their congratulations, or at times their condolence, and even their censures, are all immoderate. the acquisition of a province would not have given so much satisfaction as the discovery or an author little known, or not known at all. "oh, great gain! oh, unexpected felicity! i intreat you, my poggio, send me the manuscript as soon as possible, that i may see it before i die!" exclaims aretino, in a letter overflowing with enthusiasm, on poggio's discovery of a copy of quintilian. some of the half-witted, who joined in this great hunt, were often thrown out, and some paid high for manuscripts not authentic; the knave played on the bungling amateur of manuscripts, whose credulity exceeded his purse. but even among the learned, much ill-blood was inflamed; he who had been most successful in acquiring manuscripts was envied by the less fortunate, and the glory of possessing a manuscript of cicero seemed to approximate to that of being its author. it is curious to observe that in these vast importations into italy of manuscripts from asia, john aurispa, who brought many hundreds of greek manuscripts, laments that he had chosen more profane than sacred writers; which circumstance he tells us was owing to the greeks, who would not so easily part with theological works, but did not highly value profane writers! these manuscripts were discovered in the obscurest recesses of monasteries; they were not always imprisoned in libraries, but rotting in dark unfrequented corners with rubbish. it required not less ingenuity to find out places where to grope in, than to understand the value of the acquisition. an universal ignorance then prevailed in the knowledge of ancient writers. a scholar of those times gave the first rank among the latin writers to one valerius, whether he meant martial or maximus is uncertain; he placed plato and tully among the poets, and imagined that ennius and statius were contemporaries. a library of six hundred volumes was then considered as an extraordinary collection. among those whose lives were devoted to this purpose, poggio the florentine stands distinguished; but he complains that his zeal was not assisted by the great. he found under a heap of rubbish in a decayed coffer, in a tower belonging to the monastery of st. gallo, the work of quintilian. he is indignant at its forlorn situation; at least, he cries, it should have been preserved in the library of the monks; but i found it _in teterrimo quodam et obscuro carcere_--and to his great joy drew it out of its grave! the monks have been complimented as the preservers of literature, but by facts, like the present, their real affection may be doubted. the most valuable copy of tacitus, of whom so much is wanting, was likewise discovered in a monastery of westphalia. it is a curious circumstance in literary history, that we should owe tacitus to this single copy; for the roman emperor of that name had copies of the works of his illustrious ancestor placed in all the libraries of the empire, and every year had ten copies transcribed; but the roman libraries seem to have been all destroyed, and the imperial protection availed nothing against the teeth of time. the original manuscript of justinian's pandects was discovered by the pisans, when they took a city in calabria; that vast code of laws had been in a manner unknown from the time of that emperor. this curious book was brought to pisa; and when pisa was taken by the florentines, was transferred to florence, where it is still preserved. it sometimes happened that manuscripts were discovered in the last agonies of existence. papirius masson found, in the house of a bookbinder of lyons, the works of agobard; the mechanic was on the point of using the manuscripts to line the covers of his books.[ ] a page of the second decade of livy, it is said, was found by a man of letters in the parchment of his battledore, while he was amusing himself in the country. he hastened to the maker of the battledore--but arrived too late! the man had finished the last page of livy--about a week before. many works have undoubtedly perished in this manuscript state. by a petition of dr. dee to queen mary, in the cotton library, it appears that cicero's treatise _de republicâ_ was once extant in this country. huet observes that petronius was probably entire in the days of john of salisbury, who quotes fragments, not now to be found in the remains of the roman bard. raimond soranzo, a lawyer in the papal court, possessed two books of cicero "on glory," which he presented to petrarch, who lent them to a poor aged man of letters, formerly his preceptor. urged by extreme want, the old man pawned them, and returning home died suddenly without having revealed where he had left them. they have never been recovered. petrarch speaks of them with ecstasy, and tells us that he had studied them perpetually. two centuries afterwards, this treatise on glory by cicero was mentioned in a catalogue of books bequeathed to a monastery of nuns, but when inquired after was missing. it was supposed that petrus alcyonius, physician to that household, purloined it, and after transcribing as much of it as he could into his own writings, had destroyed the original. alcyonius, in his book _de exilio_, the critics observed, had many splendid passages which stood isolated in his work, and were quite above his genius. the beggar, or in this case the thief, was detected by mending his rags with patches of purple and gold. in this age of manuscript, there is reason to believe, that when a man of letters accidentally obtained an unknown work, he did not make the fairest use of it, but cautiously concealed it from his contemporaries. leonard aretino, a distinguished scholar at the dawn of modern literature, having found a greek manuscript of procopius _de bello gothico_, translated it into latin, and published the work; but concealing the author's name, it passed as his own, till another manuscript of the same work being dug out of its grave, the fraud of aretino was apparent. barbosa, a bishop of ugento, in , has printed among his works a treatise, obtained by one of his domestics bringing in a fish rolled in a leaf of written paper, which his curiosity led him to examine. he was sufficiently interested to run out and search the fish market, till he found the manuscript out of which it had been torn. he published it, under the title _de officio episcopi_. machiavelli acted more adroitly in a similar case; a manuscript of the apophthegms of the ancients by plutarch having fallen into his hands, he selected those which pleased him, and put them into the mouth of his hero castrucio castricani. in more recent times, we might collect many curious anecdotes concerning manuscripts. sir robert cotton one day at his tailor's discovered that the man was holding in his hand, ready to cut up for measures--an original magna charta, with all its appendages of seals and signatures. this anecdote is told by colomiés, who long resided in this country; and an original magna charta is preserved in the cottonian library exhibiting marks of dilapidation. cardinal granvelle[ ] left behind him several chests filled with a prodigious quantity of letters written in different languages, commented, noted, and underlined by his own hand. these curious manuscripts, after his death, were left in a garret to the mercy of the rain and the rats. five or six of these chests the steward sold to the grocers. it was then that a discovery was made of this treasure. several learned men occupied themselves in collecting sufficient of these literary relics to form eighty thick folios, consisting of original letters by all the crowned heads in europe, with instructions for ambassadors, and other state-papers. a valuable secret history by sir george mackenzie, the king's advocate in scotland, was rescued from a mass of waste paper sold to a grocer, who had the good sense to discriminate it, and communicated this curious memorial to dr. m'crie. the original, in the handwriting of its author, has been deposited in the advocate's library. there is an hiatus, which contained the history of six years. this work excited inquiry after the rest of the mss., which were found to be nothing more than the sweepings of an attorney's office. montaigne's journal of his travels into italy has been but recently published. a prebendary of perigord, travelling through this province to make researches relative to its history, arrived at the ancient _château_ of montaigne, in possession of a descendant of this great man. he inquired for the archives, if there had been any. he was shown an old worm-eaten coffer, which had long held papers untouched by the incurious generations of montaigne. stifled in clouds of dust, he drew out the original manuscript of the travels of montaigne. two-thirds of the work are in the handwriting of montaigne, and the rest is written by a servant, who always speaks of his master in the third person. but he must have written what montaigne dictated, as the expressions and the egotisms are all montaigne's. the bad writing and orthography made it almost unintelligible. they confirmed montaigne's own observation, that he was very negligent in the correction of his works. our ancestors were great hiders of manuscripts: dr. dee's singular mss. were found in the secret drawer of a chest, which had passed through many hands undiscovered; and that vast collection of state-papers of thurloe's, the secretary of cromwell, which formed about seventy volumes in the original manuscripts, accidentally fell out of the false ceiling of some chambers in lincoln's-inn. a considerable portion of lady mary wortley montagu's letters i discovered in the hands of an attorney: family-papers are often consigned to offices of lawyers, where many valuable manuscripts are buried. posthumous publications of this kind are too frequently made from sordid motives: discernment and taste would only be detrimental to the views of bulky publishers.[ ] footnotes: [footnote : this important political treatise was discovered in the year , by angelo maii, in the library of the vatican. a treatise on the psalms covered it. this second treatise was written in the clear, minute character of the middle ages, but beneath it maii saw distinct traces of the larger letters of the work of cicero; and to the infinite joy of the learned succeeded in restoring to the world one of the most important works of the great orator.] [footnote : "many bishops and abbots began to consider learning as pernicious to true piety, and confounded illiberal ignorance with christian simplicity," says warton. the study of pagan authors was declared to inculcate paganism; the same sort of reasoning led others to say that the reading of the scriptures would infallibly change the readers to jews; it is amusing to look back on these vain efforts to stop the effect of the printing-press.] [footnote : agobard was archbishop of lyons, and one of the most learned men of the ninth century. he was born in ; raised to the prelacy in , from which he was expelled by louis le debonnaire for espousing the cause of his son lothaire; he fled to italy, but was restored to his see in , dying in , when the church canonized him. he was a strenuous churchman, but with enlightened views; and his style as an author is remarkable alike for its clearness and perfect simplicity. his works were unknown until discovered in the manner narrated above, and were published by the discoverer at paris in , the originals being bequeathed to the royal library at his death. on examination, several errors were found in this edition, and a new one was published in , to which another treatise by agobard was added.] [footnote : the celebrated minister of philip ii.] [footnote : one of the most curious modern discoveries was that of the fairfax papers and correspondence by the late j. n. hughes, of winchester, who purchased at a sale at leeds castle, kent, a box apparently filled with old coloured paving-tiles; on removing the upper layers he found a large mass of manuscripts of the time of the civil wars, evidently thus packed for concealment; they have since been published, and add most valuable information to this interesting period of english history.] sketches of criticism. it may, perhaps, be some satisfaction to show the young writer, that the most celebrated ancients have been as rudely subjected to the tyranny of criticism as the moderns. detraction has ever poured the "waters of bitterness." it was given out, that homer had stolen from anterior poets whatever was most remarkable in the iliad and odyssey. naucrates even points out the source in the library at memphis in a temple of vulcan, which according to him the blind bard completely pillaged. undoubtedly there were good poets before homer; how absurd to conceive that an elaborate poem could be the first! we have indeed accounts of anterior poets, and apparently of epics, before homer; Ã�lian notices syagrus, who composed a poem on the siege of troy; and suidas the poem of corinnus, from which it is said homer greatly borrowed. why did plato so severely condemn the great bard, and imitate him? sophocles was brought to trial by his children as a lunatic; and some, who censured the inequalities of this poet, have also condemned the vanity of pindar; the rough verses of Ã�schylus; and euripides, for the conduct of his plots. socrates, considered as the wisest and the most moral of men, cicero treated as an usurer, and the pedant athenæus as illiterate; the latter points out as a socratic folly our philosopher disserting on the nature of justice before his judges, who were so many thieves. the malignant buffoonery of aristophanes treats him much worse; but he, as jortin says, was a great wit, but a great rascal. plato--who has been called, by clement of alexandria, the moses of athens; the philosopher of the christians, by arnobius; and the god of philosophers, by cicero--athenæus accuses of envy; theopompus of lying; suidas of avarice; aulus gellius, of robbery; porphyry, of incontinence; and aristophanes, of impiety. aristotle, whose industry composed more than four hundred volumes, has not been less spared by the critics; diogenes laertius, cicero, and plutarch, have forgotten nothing that can tend to show his ignorance, his ambition, and his vanity. it has been said, that plato was so envious of the celebrity of democritus, that he proposed burning all his works; but that amydis and clinias prevented it, by remonstrating that there were copies of them everywhere; and aristotle was agitated by the same passion against all the philosophers his predecessors. virgil is destitute of invention, if we are to give credit to pliny, carbilius, and seneca. caligula has absolutely denied him even mediocrity; herennus has marked his faults; and perilius faustinus has furnished a thick volume with his plagiarisms. even the author of his apology has confessed, that he has stolen from homer his greatest beauties; from apollonius rhodius, many of his pathetic passages; from nicander, hints for his georgies; and this does not terminate the catalogue. horace censures the coarse humour of plautus; and horace, in his turn, has been blamed for the free use he made of the greek minor poets. the majority of the critics regard pliny's natural history only as a heap of fables; and pliny cannot bear with diodorus and vopiscus; and in one comprehensive criticism, treats all the historians as narrators of fables. livy has been reproached for his aversion to the gauls; dion, for his hatred of the republic; velleius paterculus, for speaking too kindly of the vices of tiberius; and herodotus and plutarch, for their excessive partiality to their own country: while the latter has written an entire treatise on the malignity of herodotus. xenophon and quintus curtius have been considered rather as novelists than historians; and tacitus has been censured for his audacity in pretending to discover the political springs and secret causes of events. dionysius of harlicarnassus has made an elaborate attack on thucydides for the unskilful choice of his subject, and his manner of treating it. dionysius would have nothing written but what tended to the glory of his country and the pleasure of the reader--as if history were a song! adds hobbes, who also shows a personal motive in this attack. the same dionysius severely criticises the style of xenophon, who, he says, in attempting to elevate his style, shows himself incapable of supporting it. polybius has been blamed for his frequent introduction of reflections which interrupt the thread of his narrative; and sallust has been blamed by cato for indulging his own private passions, and studiously concealing many of the glorious actions of cicero. the jewish historian, josephus, is accused of not having designed his history for his own people so much as for the greeks and romans, whom he takes the utmost care never to offend. josephus assumes a roman name, flavius; and considering his nation as entirely subjugated, to make them appear dignified to their conquerors, alters what he himself calls the _holy books_. it is well known how widely he differs from the scriptural accounts. some have said of cicero, that there is no connexion, and to adopt their own figures, no _blood_ and _nerves_, in what his admirers so warmly extol. cold in his extemporaneous effusions, artificial in his exordiums, trifling in his strained raillery, and tiresome in his digressions. this is saying a good deal about cicero. quintilian does not spare seneca; and demosthenes, called by cicero the prince of orators, has, according to hermippus, more of art than of nature. to demades, his orations appear too much laboured; others have thought him too dry; and, if we may trust Ã�schines, his language is by no means pure. the attic nights of aulus gellius, and the deipnosophists of athenæus, while they have been extolled by one party, have been degraded by another. they have been considered as botchers of rags and remnants; their diligence has not been accompanied by judgment; and their taste inclined more to the frivolous than to the useful. compilers, indeed, are liable to a hard fate, for little distinction is made in their ranks; a disagreeable situation, in which honest burton seems to have been placed; for he says of his work, that some will cry out, "this is a thinge of meere industrie; a _collection_ without wit or invention; a very toy! so men are valued; their labours vilified by fellowes of no worth themselves, as things of nought: who could not have done as much? some understande too little, and some too much." should we proceed with this list to our own country, and to our own times, it might be curiously augmented, and show the world what men the critics are! but, perhaps, enough has been said to soothe irritated genius, and to shame fastidious criticism. "i would beg the critics to remember," the earl of roscommon writes, in his preface to horace's art of poetry, "that horace owed his favour and his fortune to the character given of him by virgil and varus; that fundanius and pollio are still valued by what horace says of them; and that, in their golden age, there was a good understanding among the ingenious; and those who were the most esteemed, were the best natured." the persecuted learned. those who have laboured most zealously to instruct mankind have been those who have suffered most from ignorance; and the discoverers of new arts and sciences have hardly ever lived to see them accepted by the world. with a noble perception of his own genius, lord bacon, in his prophetic will, thus expresses himself: "for my name and memory, i leave it to men's charitable speeches, and to foreign nations, and the next ages." before the times of galileo and harvey the world believed in the stagnation of the blood, and the diurnal immovability of the earth; and for denying these the one was persecuted and the other ridiculed. the intelligence and the virtue of socrates were punished with death. anaxagoras, when he attempted to propagate a just notion of the supreme being, was dragged to prison. aristotle, after a long series of persecution, swallowed poison. heraclitus, tormented by his countrymen, broke off all intercourse with men. the great geometricians and chemists, as gerbert, roger bacon, and cornelius agrippa, were abhorred as magicians. pope gerbert, as bishop otho gravely relates, obtained the pontificate by having given himself up entirely to the devil: others suspected him, too, of holding an intercourse with demons; but this was indeed a devilish age! virgilius, bishop of saltzburg, having asserted that there existed antipodes, the archbishop of mentz declared him a heretic; and the abbot trithemius, who was fond of improving steganography or the art of secret writing, having published several curious works on this subject, they were condemned, as works full of diabolical mysteries; and frederic ii., elector palatine, ordered trithemius's original work, which was in his library, to be publicly burnt. galileo was condemned at rome publicly to disavow sentiments, the truth of which must have been to him abundantly manifest. "are these then my judges?" he exclaimed, in retiring from the inquisitors, whose ignorance astonished him. he was imprisoned, and visited by milton, who tells us, he was then _poor_ and _old_. the confessor of his widow, taking advantage of her piety, perused the mss. of this great philosopher, and destroyed such as in his _judgment_ were not fit to be known to the world! gabriel naudé, in his apology for those great men who have been accused of magic, has recorded a melancholy number of the most eminent scholars, who have found, that to have been successful in their studies, was a success which harassed them with continual persecution--a prison or a grave! cornelius agrippa was compelled to fly his country, and the enjoyment of a large income, merely for having displayed a few philosophical experiments, which now every school-boy can perform; but more particularly having attacked the then prevailing opinion, that st. anne had three husbands, he was obliged to fly from place to place. the people beheld him as an object of horror; and when he walked, he found the streets empty at his approach. in those times, it was a common opinion to suspect every great man of an intercourse with some familiar spirit. the favourite black dog of agrippa was supposed to be a demon. when urban grandier, another victim to the age, was led to the stake, a large fly settled on his head: a monk, who had heard that beelzebub signifies in hebrew the god of flies, reported that he saw this spirit come to take possession of him. m. de langier, a french minister, who employed many spies, was frequently accused of diabolical communication. sixtus the fifth, marechal faber, roger bacon, cæsar borgia, his son alexander vi., and others, like socrates, had their diabolical attendant. cardan was believed to be a magician. an able naturalist, who happened to know something of the arcana of nature, was immediately suspected of magic. even the learned themselves, who had not applied to natural philosophy, seem to have acted with the same feelings as the most ignorant; for when albert, usually called the great, an epithet it has been said that he derived from his name _de groot_, constructed a curious piece of mechanism, which sent forth distinct vocal sounds, thomas aquinas was so much terrified at it, that he struck it with his staff, and, to the mortification of albert, annihilated the curious labour of thirty years! petrarch was less desirous of the laurel for the honour, than for the hope of being sheltered by it from the thunder of the priests, by whom both he and his brother poets were continually threatened. they could not imagine a poet, without supposing him to hold an intercourse with some demon. this was, as abbé resnel observes, having a most exalted idea of poetry, though a very bad one of poets. an anti-poetic dominican was notorious for persecuting all verse-makers; whose power he attributed to the effects of _heresy_ and _magic_. the lights of philosophy have dispersed all these accusations of magic, and have shown a dreadful chain of perjuries and conspiracies. descartes was horribly persecuted in holland, when he first published his opinions. voetius, a bigot of great influence at utrecht, accused him of atheism, and had even projected in his mind to have this philosopher burnt at utrecht in an extraordinary fire, which, kindled on an eminence, might be observed by the seven provinces. mr. hallam has observed, that "the ordeal of fire was the great purifier of books and men." this persecution of science and genius lasted till the close of the seventeenth century. "if the metaphysician stood a chance of being burnt as a heretic, the natural philosopher was not in less jeopardy as a magician," is an observation of the same writer, which sums up the whole. poverty of the learned. fortune has rarely condescended to be the companion of genius: others find a hundred by-roads to her palace; there is but one open, and that a very indifferent one, for men of letters. were we to erect an asylum for venerable genius, as we do for the brave and the helpless part of our citizens, it might be inscribed, "an hospital for incurables!" when even fame will not protect the man of genius from famine, charity ought. nor should such an act be considered as a debt incurred by the helpless member, but a just tribute we pay in his person to genius itself. even in these enlightened times, many have lived in obscurity, while their reputation was widely spread, and have perished in poverty, while their works were enriching the booksellers. of the heroes of modern literature the accounts are as copious as they are sorrowful. xylander sold his notes on dion cassius for a dinner. he tells us that at the age of eighteen he studied to acquire glory, but at twenty-five he studied to get bread. cervantes, the immortal genius of spain, is supposed to have wanted food; camöens, the solitary pride of portugal, deprived of the necessaries of life, perished in an hospital at lisbon. this fact has been accidentally preserved in an entry in a copy of the first edition of the lusiad, in the possession of lord holland. it is a note, written by a friar who must have been a witness of the dying scene of the poet, and probably received the volume which now preserves the sad memorial, and which recalled it to his mind, from the hands of the unhappy poet:--"what a lamentable thing to see so great a genius so ill rewarded! i saw him die in an hospital in lisbon, without having a sheet or shroud, _una sauana_, to cover him, after having triumphed in the east indies, and sailed leagues! what good advice for those who weary themselves night and day in study without profit!" camöens, when some fidalgo complained that he had not performed his promise in writing some verses for him, replied, "when i wrote verses i was young, had sufficient food, was a lover, and beloved by many friends and by the ladies; then i felt poetical ardour: now i have no spirits, no peace of mind. see there my javanese, who asks me for two pieces to purchase firing, and i have them not to give him." the portuguese, after his death, bestowed on the man of genius they had starved, the appellation of great![ ] vondel, the dutch shakspeare, after composing a number of popular tragedies, lived in great poverty, and died at ninety years of age; then he had his coffin carried by fourteen poets, who without his genius probably partook of his wretchedness. the great tasso was reduced to such a dilemma that he was obliged to borrow a crown for a week's subsistence. he alludes to his distress when, entreating his cat to assist him, during the night, with the lustre of her eyes--"_non avendo candele per iscrivere i suoi versi_!" having no candle to see to write his verses. when the liberality of alphonso enabled ariosto to build a small house, it seems that it was but ill furnished. when told that such a building was not fit for one who had raised so many fine palaces in his writings, he answered, that the structure of _words_ and that of _stones_ was not the same thing. _"che pervi le pietre, e porvi le parole, non è il medesimo!"_ at ferrari this house is still shown, "parva sed apta" he calls it, but exults that it was paid for with his own money. this was in a moment of good humour, which he did not always enjoy; for in his satires he bitterly complains of the bondage of dependence and poverty. little thought the poet that the _commune_ would order this small house to be purchased with their own funds, that it might be dedicated to his immortal memory. cardinal bentivoglio, the ornament of italy and of literature, languished, in his old age, in the most distressful poverty; and having sold his palace to satisfy his creditors, left nothing behind him but his reputation. the learned pomponius lætus lived in such a state of poverty, that his friend platina, who wrote the lives of the popes, and also a book of cookery, introduces him into the cookery book by a facetious observation, that "if pomponius lætus should be robbed of a couple of eggs, he would not have wherewithal to purchase two other eggs." the history of aldrovandus is noble and pathetic; having expended a large fortune in forming his collections of natural history, and employing the first artists in europe, he was suffered to die in the hospital of that city, to whose fame he had eminently contributed. du ryer, a celebrated french poet, was constrained to write with rapidity, and to live in the cottage of an obscure village. his bookseller bought his heroic verses for one hundred sols the hundred lines, and the smaller ones for fifty sols. what an interesting picture has a contemporary given of a visit to this poor and ingenious author! "on a fine summer day we went to him, at some distance from town. he received us with joy, talked to us of his numerous projects, and showed us several of his works. but what more interested us was, that, though dreading to expose to us his poverty, he contrived to offer some refreshments. we seated ourselves under a wide oak, the table-cloth was spread on the grass, his wife brought us some milk, with fresh water and brown bread, and he picked a basket of cherries. he welcomed us with gaiety, but we could not take leave of this amiable man, now grown old, without tears, to see him so ill treated by fortune, and to have nothing left but literary honour!" vaugelas, the most polished writer of the french language, who devoted thirty years to his translation of quintus curtius, (a circumstance which modern translators can have no conception of), died possessed of nothing valuable but his precious manuscripts. this ingenious scholar left his corpse to the surgeons, for the benefit of his creditors! louis the fourteenth honoured racine and boileau with a private monthly audience. one day the king asked what there was new in the literary world. racine answered, that he had seen a melancholy spectacle in the house of corneille, whom he found dying, deprived even of a little broth! the king preserved a profound silence; and sent the dying poet a sum of money. dryden, for less than three hundred pounds, sold tonson ten thousand verses, as may be seen by the agreement. purchas, who in the reign of our first james, had spent his life in compiling his _relation of the world_, when he gave it to the public, for the reward of his labours was thrown into prison, at the suit of his printer. yet this was the book which, he informs charles i. in his dedication, his father read every night with great profit and satisfaction. the marquis of worcester, in a petition to parliament, in the reign of charles ii., offered to publish the hundred processes and machines, enumerated in his very curious "centenary of inventions," on condition that money should be granted to extricate him from the _difficulties in which he had involved himself by the prosecution of useful discoveries_. the petition does not appear to have been attended to! many of these admirable inventions were lost. the _steam-engine_ and the _telegraph_, may be traced among them. it appears by the harleian ms. , that rushworth, the author of the "historical collections," passed the last years of his life in gaol, where indeed he died. after the restoration, when he presented to the king several of the privy council's books, which he had preserved from ruin, he received for his only reward the _thanks of his majesty_. rymer, the collector of the foedera, must have been sadly reduced, by the following letter, i found addressed by peter le neve, norroy, to the earl of oxford. "i am desired by mr. rymer, historiographer, to lay before your lordship the circumstances of his affairs. he was forced some years back to part with all his choice printed books to subsist himself: and now, he says, he must be forced, for subsistence, to sell all his ms. collections to the best bidder, without your lordship will be pleased to buy them for the queen's library. they are fifty volumes in folio, of public affairs, which he hath collected, but not printed. the price he asks is five hundred pounds." simon ockley, a learned student in oriental literature, addresses a letter to the same earl, in which he paints his distresses in glowing colours. after having devoted his life to asiatic researches, then very uncommon, he had the mortification of dating his preface to his great work from cambridge castle, where he was confined for debt; and, with an air of triumph, feels a martyr's enthusiasm in the cause for which he perishes. he published his first volume of the history of the saracens in ; and, ardently pursuing his oriental studies, published his second, ten years afterwards, without any patronage. alluding to the encouragement necessary to bestow on youth, to remove the obstacles to such studies, he observes, that "young men will hardly come in on the prospect of finding leisure, in a prison, to transcribe those papers for the press, which they have collected with indefatigable labour, and oftentimes at the expense of their rest, and all the other conveniences of life, for the service of the public. no! though i were to assure them, from my own experience, that _i have enjoyed more true liberty, more happy leisure, and more solid repose, in six months_ here, than in thrice the same number of years before. _evil is the condition of that historian who undertakes to write the lives of others, before he knows how to live himself._--not that i speak thus as if i thought i had any just cause to be angry with the world--i did always in my judgment give the possession of _wisdom_ the preference to that of _riches_!" spenser, the child of fancy, languished out his life in misery, "lord burleigh," says granger, "who it is said prevented the queen giving him a hundred pounds, seems to have thought the lowest clerk in his office a more deserving person." mr. malone attempts to show that spenser had a small pension, but the poet's querulous verses must not be forgotten-- "full little knowest thou, that hast not try'd, what hell it is, in suing long to bide." to lose good days--to waste long nights--and, as he feelingly exclaims, "to fawn, to crouch, to wait, to ride, to run, to speed, to give, to want, to be undone!" how affecting is the death of sydenham, who had devoted his life to a laborious version of plato! he died in a sponging-house, and it was his death which appears to have given rise to the literary fund "for the relief of distressed authors."[ ] who will pursue important labours when they read these anecdotes? dr. edmund castell spent a great part of his life in compiling his _lexicon heptaglotton_, on which he bestowed incredible pains, and expended on it no less than , _l._, broke his constitution, and exhausted his fortune. at length it was printed, but the copies remained _unsold_ on his hands. he exhibits a curious picture of literary labour in his preface. "as for myself, i have been unceasingly occupied for such a number of years in this mass," _molendino_ he calls them, "that that day seemed, as it were, a holiday in which i have not laboured so much as sixteen or eighteen hours in these enlarging lexicons and polyglot bibles." le sage resided in a little cottage while he supplied the world with their most agreeable novels, and appears to have derived the sources of his existence in his old age from the filial exertions of an excellent son, who was an actor of some genius. i wish, however, that every man of letters could apply to himself the epitaph of this delightful writer:-- _"sous ce tombeau git le sage, abattu par le ciseau de la parque importune; s'il ne fut pas ami de la fortune, il fut toujours ami de la vertu."_ many years after this article had been written, i published "calamities of authors," confining myself to those of our own country; the catalogue is incomplete, but far too numerous. footnotes: [footnote : for some time previous to his death he was in so abject a state of poverty as to be dependent for subsistence upon the exertions of his faithful servant antonio, a native of java, whom he had brought with him from india, and who was accustomed to beg by night for the bread which was to save his unhappy master from perishing by want the next day. camöens, when death at last put an end to a life which misfortune and neglect had rendered insupportable, was denied the solace of having his faithful antonio to close his eyes. he was aged only fifty-five when he breathed his last in the hospital. this event occurred in , but so little regard was paid to the memory of this great man that the day or month on which he expired remains unknown.--adamson's _memoirs of camöens_, .] [footnote : this melancholy event happened in , fifteen years after the original projector of the literary fund, mr. david williams, had endeavoured to establish it. it appears that mr. floyer sydenham was arrested "for a small debt; he never spoke after being arrested, and sunk under the pressure of his calamity." this is the published record of the event by the officers of the present fund; and these simple words are sufficiently indicative of the harrowing nature of the catastrophe; it was strongly felt that mr. williams' hopeful plan of preventing a second act so fatal should be encouraged. a small literary club took the initiative, and subscribed a few guineas to pay for such advertisements as were necessary to keep the intended objects of the founder before the public, and solicit its aid. two years afterwards a committee was formed; another two years saw it take position among the established institutions of the country. in it obtained a royal charter. in its career it has relieved upwards of applicants, and devoted to that purpose , _l._] imprisonment of the learned. imprisonment has not always disturbed the man of letters in the progress of his studies, but has unquestionably greatly promoted them. in prison boethius composed his work on the consolations of philosophy; and grotius wrote his commentary on saint matthew, with other works: the detail of his allotment of time to different studies, during his confinement, is very instructive. buchanan, in the dungeon of a monastery in portugal, composed his excellent paraphrases of the psalms of david. cervantes composed the most agreeable book in the spanish language during his captivity in barbary. fleta, a well-known law production, was written by a person confined in the fleet for debt; the name of the _place_, though not that of the _author_, has thus been preserved; and another work, "fleta minor, or the laws of art and nature in, knowing the bodies of metals, &c. by sir john pettus, ;" received its title from the circumstance of his having translated it from the german during his confinement in this prison. louis the twelfth, when duke of orleans, was long imprisoned in the tower of bourges: applying himself to his studies, which he had hitherto neglected, he became, in consequence, an enlightened monarch. margaret, queen of henry the fourth, king of france, confined in the louvre, pursued very warmly the studies of elegant literature, and composed a very skilful apology for the irregularities of her conduct. sir walter raleigh's unfinished history of the world, which leaves us to regret that later ages had not been celebrated by his eloquence, was the fruits of eleven years of imprisonment. it was written for the use of prince henry, as he and dallington, who also wrote "aphorisms" for the same prince, have told us; the prince looked over the manuscript. of raleigh it is observed, to employ the language of hume, "they were struck with the extensive genius of the man, who, being educated amidst naval and military enterprises, had surpassed, in the pursuits of literature, even those of the most recluse and sedentary lives; and they admired his unbroken magnanimity, which, at his age, and under his circumstances, could engage him to undertake and execute so great a work, as his history of the world." he was assisted in this great work by the learning of several eminent persons, a circumstance which has not been usually noticed. the plan of the "_henriade_" was sketched, and the greater part composed, by voltaire during his imprisonment in the bastile; and "the pilgrim's progress" of bunyan was performed in the circuit of a prison's walls. howell, the author of "familiar letters," wrote the chief part of them, and almost all his other works, during his long confinement in the fleet prison: he employed his fertile pen for subsistence; and in all his books we find much entertainment. lydiat, while confined in the king's bench for debt, wrote his annotations on the parian chronicle, which were first published by prideaux. he was the learned scholar alluded to by johnson; an allusion not known to boswell and others. the learned selden, committed to prison for his attacks on the divine right of tithes and the king's prerogative, prepared during his confinement his "history of eadmer," enriched by his notes. cardinal polignac formed the design of refuting the arguments of the sceptics which bayle had been renewing in his dictionary; but his public occupations hindered him. two exiles at length fortunately gave him the leisure; and the anti-lucretius is the fruit of the court disgraces of its author. freret, when imprisoned in the bastile, was permitted only to have bayle for his companion. his dictionary was always before him, and his principles were got by heart. to this circumstance we owe his works, animated by all the powers of scepticism. sir william davenant finished his poem of gondibert during his confinement by the rebels in carisbrook castle. george withers dedicates his "shepherds hunting," "to his friends, my visitants in the marshalsea:" these "eclogues" having been printed in his imprisonment.[ ] de foe, confined in newgate for a political pamphlet, began his "review;" a periodical paper, which was extended to nine thick volumes in quarto, and it has been supposed served as the model of the celebrated papers of steele. wicquefort's curious work "on ambassadors" is dated from his prison, where he had been confined for state affairs. he softened the rigour of those heavy hours by several historical works. one of the most interesting facts of this kind is the fate of an italian scholar, of the name of maggi. early addicted to the study of the sciences, and particularly to the mathematics, and military architecture, he successfully defended famagusta, besieged by the turks, by inventing machines which destroyed their works. when that city was taken in , they pillaged his library and carried him away in chains. now a slave, after his daily labours he amused a great part of his nights by literary compositions; _de tintinnabulis_, on bells, a treatise still read by the curious, was actually composed by him when a slave in turkey, without any other resource than the erudition of his own memory, and the genius of which adversity could not deprive him. footnotes: [footnote : withers, throughout these unique eclogues, which are supposed to narrate the discourses of "friendly shepherds" who visit him-- "--pent within the jaws of strict imprisonment; a forlorn shepherd void of all the means, whereon man's common hope in danger leads" --is still upheld by the same consciousness of rectitude which inspired sir richard lovelace in his better-known address "to althea from prison." withers' poem was published before lovelace was born. a few lines from withers will display this similarity. speaking of his enemies, he says:-- "they may do much, but when they have done all, only my body they may bring in thrall. and 'tis not that, my willy; 'tis my mind, my mind's more precious freedom i so weigh, a thousand ways they may my body bind, in thousand thralls, but ne'er my mind betray: and hence it is that i contentment find, and bear with patience this my load away: i'm still myself, and that i'd rather be. than to be lord of all these downs in fee."] amusements of the learned. among the jesuits it was a standing rule of the order, that after an application to study for two hours, the mind of the student should be unbent by some relaxation, however trifling. when petavius was employed in his _dogmata theologica_, a work of the most profound and extensive erudition, the great recreation of the learned father was, at the end of every second hour, to twirl his chair for five minutes. after protracted studies spinosa would mix with the family-party where he lodged, and join in the most trivial conversations, or unbend his mind by setting spiders to fight each other; he observed their combats with so much interest, that he was often seized with immoderate fits of laughter. a continuity of labour deadens the soul, observes seneca, in closing his treatise on "the tranquillity of the soul," and the mind must unbend itself by certain amusements. socrates did not blush to play with children; cato, over his bottle, found an alleviation from the fatigues of government; a circumstance, seneca says in his manner, which rather gives honour to this defect, than the defect dishonours cato. some men of letters portioned out their day between repose and labour. asinius pollio would not suffer any business to occupy him beyond a stated hour; after that time he would not allow any letter to be opened, that his hours of recreation might not be interrupted by unforeseen labours. in the senate, after the tenth hour, it was not allowed to make any new motion. tycho brahe diverted himself with polishing glasses for all kinds of spectacles, and making mathematical instruments; an employment too closely connected with his studies to be deemed an amusement. d'andilly, the translator of josephus, after seven or eight hours of study every day, amused himself in cultivating trees; barclay, the author of the argenis, in his leisure hours was a florist; balzac amused himself with a collection of crayon portraits; peirese found his amusement amongst his medals and antiquarian curiosities; the abbé de marolles with his prints; and politian in singing airs to his lute. descartes passed his afternoons in the conversation of a few friends, and in cultivating a little garden; in the morning, occupied by the system of the world, he relaxed his profound speculations by rearing delicate flowers. conrad ab uffenbach, a learned german, recreated his mind, after severe studies, with a collection of prints of eminent persons, methodically arranged; he retained this ardour of the _grangerite_ to his last days. rohault wandered from shop to shop to observe the mechanics labour; count caylus passed his mornings in the _studios_ of artists, and his evenings in writing his numerous works on art. this was the true life of an amateur. granville sharp, amidst the severity of his studies, found a social relaxation in the amusement of a barge on the thames, which was well known to the circle of his friends; there, was festive hospitality with musical delight. it was resorted to by men of the most eminent talents and rank. his little voyages to putney, to kew, and to richmond, and the literary intercourse they produced, were singularly happy ones. "the history of his amusements cannot be told without adding to the dignity of his character," observes prince hoare, in the life of this great philanthropist. some have found amusement in composing treatises on odd subjects. seneca wrote a burlesque narrative of claudian's death. pierius valerianus has written an eulogium on beards; and we have had a learned one recently, with due gravity and pleasantry, entitled "eloge de perruques." holstein has written an eulogium on the north wind; heinsius, on "the ass;" menage, "the transmigration of the parasitical pedant to a parrot;" and also the "petition of the dictionaries." erasmus composed, to amuse himself when travelling, his panegyric on _moria_, or folly; which, authorised by the pun, he dedicated to sir thomas more. sallengre, who would amuse himself like erasmus, wrote, in imitation of his work, a panegyric on _ebriety_. he says, that he is willing to be thought as drunken a man as erasmus was a foolish one. synesius composed a greek panegyric on _baldness_. these burlesques were brought into great vogue by erasmus's _moriæ encomium_. it seems, johnson observes in his life of sir thomas browne, to have been in all ages the pride of art to show how it could exalt the low and amplify the little. to this ambition, perhaps, we owe the frogs of homer; the gnat and the bees of virgil; the butterfly of spenser; the shadow of wowerus; and the quincunx of browne. cardinal de richelieu, amongst all his great occupations, found a recreation in violent exercises; and he was once discovered jumping with his servant, to try who could reach the highest side of a wall. de grammont, observing the cardinal to be jealous of his powers, offered to jump with him; and, in the true spirit of a courtier, having made some efforts which nearly reached the cardinal's, confessed the cardinal surpassed him. this was jumping like a politician; and by this means he is said to have ingratiated himself with the minister. the great samuel clarke was fond of robust exercise; and this profound logician has been found leaping over tables and chairs. once perceiving a pedantic fellow, he said, "now we must desist, for a fool is coming in!"[ ] an eminent french lawyer, confined by his business to a parisian life, amused himself with collecting from the classics all the passages which relate to a country life. the collection was published after his death. contemplative men seem to be fond of amusements which accord with their habits. the thoughtful game of chess, and the tranquil delight of angling, have been favourite recreations with the studious. paley had himself painted with a rod and line in his hand; a strange characteristic for the author of "natural theology." sir henry wotton called angling "idle time not idly spent:" we may suppose that his meditations and his amusements were carried on at the same moment. the amusements of the great d'aguesseau, chancellor of france, consisted in an interchange of studies; his relaxations were all the varieties of literature. "le changement de l'étude est mon seul délassement," said this great man; and "in the age of the passions, his only passion was study." seneca has observed on amusements proper for literary men, that, in regard to robust exercises, it is not decent to see a man of letters exult in the strength of his arm, or the breadth of his back! such amusements diminish the activity of the mind. too much fatigue exhausts the animal spirits, as too much food blunts the finer faculties: but elsewhere he allows his philosopher an occasional slight inebriation; an amusement which was very prevalent among our poets formerly, when they exclaimed:-- "fetch me ben jonson's scull, and fill't with sack, rich as the same he drank, when the whole pack of jolly sisters pledged, and did agree it was no sin to be as drunk as he!" seneca concludes admirably, "whatever be the amusements you choose, return not slowly from those of the body to the mind; exercise the latter night and day. the mind is nourished at a cheap rate; neither cold nor heat, nor age itself, can interrupt this exercise; give therefore all your cares to a possession which ameliorates even in its old age!" an ingenious writer has observed, that "a garden just accommodates itself to the perambulations of a scholar, who would perhaps rather wish his walks abridged than extended." there is a good characteristic account of the mode in which the literati may take exercise, in pope's letters. "i, like a poor squirrel, am continually in motion indeed, but it is but a cage of three foot! my little excursions are like those of a shopkeeper, who walks every day a mile or two before his own door, but minds his business all the while." a turn or two in a garden will often very happily close a fine period, mature an unripened thought, and raise up fresh associations, whenever the mind, like the body, becomes rigid by preserving the same posture. buffon often quitted the old tower he studied in, which was placed in the midst of his garden, for a walk in it. evelyn loved "books and a garden." footnotes: [footnote : the same anecdote is related of dr. johnson, who once being at a club where other literary men were indulging in jests, upon the entry of a new visitor exclaimed, "let us be grave--here is a fool coming."] portraits of authors. with the ancients, it was undoubtedly a custom to place the portraits of authors before their works. martial's th epigram of his fourteenth book is a mere play on words, concerning a little volume containing the works of virgil, and which had his portrait prefixed to it. the volume and the characters must have been very diminutive. _quam brevis immensum cepit membrana maronem! ipsius vultus prima tabella gerit._ martial is not the only writer who takes notice of the ancients prefixing portraits to the works of authors. seneca, in his ninth chapter on the tranquillity of the soul, complains of many of the luxurious great, who, like so many of our own collectors, possessed libraries as they did their estates and equipages. "it is melancholy to observe how the portraits of men of genius, and the works of their divine intelligence, are used only as the luxury and the ornaments of walls." pliny has nearly the same observation, _lib._ xxxv. _cap._ . he remarks, that the custom was rather modern in his time; and attributes to asinius pollio the honour of having introduced it into rome. "in consecrating a library with the portraits of our illustrious authors, he has formed, if i may so express myself, a republic of the intellectual powers of men." to the richness of book-treasures, asinius pollio had associated a new source of pleasure, by placing the statues of their authors amidst them, inspiring the minds of the spectators, even by their eyes. a taste for collecting portraits, or busts, was warmly pursued in the happier periods of rome; for the celebrated atticus, in a work he published of illustrious romans, made it more delightful, by ornamenting it with the portraits of those great men; and the learned varro, in his biography of seven hundred celebrated men, by giving the world their true features and their physiognomy _in some manner, aliquo modo imaginibus_ is pliny's expression, showed that even their persons should not entirely be annihilated; they indeed, adds pliny, form a spectacle which the gods themselves might contemplate; for if the gods sent those heroes to the earth, it is varro who secured their immortality, and has so multiplied and distributed them in all places, that we may carry them about us, place them wherever we choose, and fix our eyes on them with perpetual admiration. a spectacle that every day becomes more varied and interesting, as new heroes appear, and as works of this kind are spread abroad. but as printing was unknown, to the ancients (though _stamping an impression_ was daily practised, and, in fact, they possessed the art of printing without being aware of it[ ]), how were these portraits of varro so easily propagated? if copied with a pen, their correctness was in some danger, and their diffusion must have been very confined and slow; perhaps they were outlines. this passage of pliny excites curiosity difficult to satisfy; i have in vain inquired of several scholars, particularly of the late grecian, dr. burney. a collection of the portraits of illustrious characters affords not only a source of entertainment and curiosity, but displays the different modes or habits of the time; and in settling our floating ideas upon the true features of famous persons, they also fix the chronological particulars of their birth, age, death, sometimes with short characters of them, besides the names of painter and engraver. it is thus a single print, by the hand of a skilful artist, may become a varied banquet. to this granger adds, that in a collection of engraved portraits, the contents of many galleries are reduced into the narrow compass of a few volumes; and the portraits of eminent persons, who distinguished themselves through a long succession of ages, may be turned over in a few hours. "another advantage," granger continues, "attending such an assemblage is, that the methodical arrangement has a surprising effect upon the memory. we see the celebrated contemporaries of every age almost at one view; and the mind is insensibly led to the history of that period. i may add to these, an important circumstance, which is, the power that such a collection will have in _awakening genius_. a skilful preceptor will presently perceive the true bent of the temper of his pupil, by his being struck with a blake or a boyle, a hyde or a milton." a circumstance in the life of cicero confirms this observation. atticus had a gallery adorned with the images or portraits of the great men of rome, under each of which he had severally described their principal acts and honours, in a few concise verses of his own composition. it was by the contemplation of two of these portraits (the ancient brutus and a venerable relative in one picture) that cicero seems to have incited brutus, by the example of these his great ancestors, to dissolve the tyranny of cæsar. general fairfax made a collection of engraved portraits of warriors. a story much in favour of portrait-collectors is that of the athenian courtesan, who, in the midst of a riotous banquet with her lovers, accidentally casting her eyes on the _portrait_ of a philosopher that hung opposite to her seat, the happy character of temperance and virtue struck her with so lively an image of her own unworthiness, that she suddenly retreated for ever from the scene of debauchery. the orientalists have felt the same charm in their pictured memorials; for "the imperial akber," says mr. forbes, in his oriental memoirs, "employed artists to make portraits of all the principal omrahs and officers in his court;" they were bound together in a thick volume, wherein, as the ayeen akbery, or the institutes of akber, expresses it, "the past are kept in lively remembrance; and the present are insured immortality." leonard aretin, when young and in prison, found a portrait of petrarch, on which his eyes were perpetually fixed; and this sort of contemplation inflamed the desire of imitating this great man. buffon hung the portrait of newton before his writing-table. on this subject, tacitus sublimely expresses himself at the close of his admired biography of agricola: "i do not mean to censure the custom of preserving in brass or marble the shape and stature of eminent men; but busts and statues, like their originals, are frail and perishable. the soul is formed of finer elements, its inward form is not to be expressed by the hand of an artist with unconscious matter; our manners and our morals may in some degree trace the resemblance. all of agricola that gained our love and raised our admiration still subsists, and ever will subsist, preserved in the minds of men, the register of ages and the records of fame." what is more agreeable to the curiosity of the mind and the eye than the portraits of great characters? an old philosopher, whom marville invited to see a collection of landscapes by a celebrated artist, replied, "landscapes i prefer seeing in the country itself, but i am fond of contemplating the pictures of illustrious men." this opinion has some truth; lord orford preferred an interesting portrait to either landscape or historical painting. "a landscape, however excellent in its distributions of wood, and water, and buildings, leaves not one trace in the memory; historical painting is perpetually false in a variety of ways, in the costume, the grouping, the portraits, and is nothing more than fabulous painting; but a real portrait is truth itself, and calls up so many collateral ideas as to fill an intelligent mind more than any other species." marville justly reprehends the fastidious feelings of those ingenious men who have resisted the solicitations of the artist, to sit for their portraits. in them it is sometimes as much pride as it is vanity in those who are less difficult in this respect. of gray, fielding, and akenside, we have no heads for which they sat; a circumstance regretted by their admirers, and by physiognomists. to an arranged collection of portraits, we owe several interesting works. granger's justly esteemed volumes originated in such a collection. perrault's _eloges_ of "the illustrious men of the seventeenth century" were drawn up to accompany the engraved portraits of the most celebrated characters of the age, which a fervent love of the fine arts and literature had had engraved as an elegant tribute to the fame of those great men. they are confined to his nation, as granger's to ours. the parent of this race of books may perhaps be the eulogiums of paulus jovius, which originated in a beautiful cabinet, whose situation he has described with all its amenity. paulus jovius had a country house, in an insular situation, of a most romantic aspect. built on the ruins of the villa of pliny, in his time the foundations were still to be traced. when the surrounding lake was calm, in its lucid bosom were still viewed sculptured marbles, the trunks of columns, and the fragments of those pyramids which had once adorned the residence of the friend of trajan. jovius was an enthusiast of literary leisure: an historian, with the imagination of a poet; a christian prelate nourished on the sweet fictions of pagan mythology. his pen colours like a pencil. he paints rapturously his gardens bathed by the waters of the lake, the shade and freshness of his woods, his green hills, his sparkling fountains, the deep silence, and the calm of solitude. he describes a statue raised in his gardens to nature; in his hall an apollo presided with his lyre, and the muses with their attributes; his library was guarded by mercury, and an apartment devoted to the three graces was embellished by doric columns, and paintings of the most pleasing kind. such was the interior! without, the pure and transparent lake spread its broad mirror, or rolled its voluminous windings, by banks richly covered with olives and laurels; and in the distance, towns, promontories, hills rising in an amphitheatre blushing with vines, and the elevations of the alps covered with woods and pasturage, and sprinkled with herds and flocks. in the centre of this enchanting habitation stood the cabinet, where paulus jovius had collected, at great cost, the portraits of celebrated men of the fourteenth and two succeeding centuries. the daily view of them animated his mind to compose their eulogiums. these are still curious, both for the facts they preserve, and the happy conciseness with which jovius delineates a character. he had collected these portraits as others form a collection of natural history; and he pursued in their characters what others do in their experiments. one caution in collecting portraits must not be forgotten; it respects their authenticity. we have too many supposititious heads, and ideal personages. conrad ab uffenbach, who seems to have been the first collector who projected a methodical arrangement, condemned those spurious portraits which were fit only for the amusement of children. the painter does not always give a correct likeness, or the engraver misses it in his copy. goldsmith was a short thick man, with wan features and a vulgar appearance, but looks tall and fashionable in a bag-wig. bayle's portrait does not resemble him, as one of his friends writes. rousseau, in his montero cap, is in the same predicament. winkelmann's portrait does not preserve the striking physiognomy of the man, and in the last edition a new one is substituted. the faithful vertue refused to engrave for houbraken's set, because they did not authenticate their originals; and some of these are spurious, as that of ben jonson, sir edward coke, and others. busts are not so liable to these accidents. it is to be regretted that men of genius have not been careful to transmit their own portraits to their admirers: it forms a part of their character; a false delicacy has interfered. erasmus did not like to have his own diminutive person sent down to posterity, but holbein was always affectionately painting his friend. montesquieu once sat to dassier the medallist, after repeated denials, won over by the ingenious argument of the artist; "do you not think," said dassier, "that there is as much pride in refusing my offer as in accepting it?" footnotes: [footnote : impressions have been taken from plates engraved by the ancient egyptians; and one of these, printed by the ordinary rolling-press, was exhibited at the great manchester exhibition, ; it being for all practical purposes similar to those executed in the present day.] destruction of books. the literary treasures of antiquity have suffered from the malice of men as well as that of time. it is remarkable that conquerors, in the moment of victory, or in the unsparing devastation of their rage, have not been satisfied with destroying _men_, but have even carried their vengeance to _books_. the persians, from hatred of the religion of the phoenicians and the egyptians, destroyed their books, of which eusebius notices a great number. a grecian library at gnidus was burnt by the sect of hippocrates, because the gnidians refused to follow the doctrines of their master. if the followers of hippocrates formed the majority, was it not very unorthodox in the gnidians to prefer taking physic their own way? but faction has often annihilated books. the romans burnt the books of the jews, of the christians, and the philosophers; the jews burnt the books of the christians and the pagans; and the christians burnt the books of the pagans and the jews. the greater part of the books of origen and other heretics were continually burnt by the orthodox party. gibbon pathetically describes the empty library of alexandria, after the christians had destroyed it. "the valuable library of alexandria was pillaged or destroyed; and near twenty years afterwards the appearance of the _empty shelves_ excited the regret and indignation of every spectator, whose mind was not totally darkened by religious prejudice. the compositions of ancient genius, so many of which have irretrievably perished, might surely have been excepted from the wreck of idolatry, for the amusement and instruction of succeeding ages; and either the zeal or avarice of the archbishop might have been satiated with the richest spoils which were the rewards of his victory." the pathetic narrative of nicetas choniates, of the ravages committed by the christians of the thirteenth century in constantinople, was fraudulently suppressed in the printed editions. it has been preserved by dr. clarke; who observes, that the turks have committed fewer injuries to the works of art than the barbarous christians of that age. the reading of the jewish talmud has been forbidden by various edicts, of the emperor justinian, of many of the french and spanish kings, and numbers of popes. all the copies were ordered to be burnt: the intrepid perseverance of the jews themselves preserved that work from annihilation. in twelve thousand copies were thrown into the flames at cremona. john reuchlin interfered to stop this universal destruction of talmuds; for which he became hated by the monks, and condemned by the elector of mentz, but appealing to rome, the prosecution was stopped; and the traditions of the jews were considered as not necessary to be destroyed. conquerors at first destroy with the rashest zeal the national records of the conquered people; hence it is that the irish people deplore the irreparable losses of their most ancient national memorials, which their invaders have been too successful in annihilating. the same event occurred in the conquest of mexico; and the interesting history of the new world must ever remain imperfect, in consequence of the unfortunate success of the first missionaries. clavigero, the most authentic historian of mexico, continually laments this affecting loss. everything in that country had been painted, and painters abounded there as scribes in europe. the first missionaries, suspicious that superstition was mixed with all their paintings, attacked the chief school of these artists, and collecting, in the market-place, a little mountain of these precious records, they set fire to it, and buried in the ashes the memory of many interesting events. afterwards, sensible of their error, they tried to collect information from the mouths of the indians; but the indians were indignantly silent: when they attempted to collect the remains of these painted histories, the patriotic mexican usually buried in concealment the fragmentary records of his country. the story of the caliph omar proclaiming throughout the kingdom, at the taking of alexandria, that the koran contained everything which was useful to believe and to know, and therefore he commanded that all the books in the alexandrian library should be distributed to the masters of the baths, amounting to , to be used in heating their stoves during a period of six months, modern paradox would attempt to deny. but the tale would not be singular even were it true: it perfectly suits the character of a bigot, a barbarian, and a blockhead. a similar event happened in persia. when abdoolah, who in the third century of the mohammedan æra governed khorassan, was presented at nishapoor with a ms. which was shown as a literary curiosity, he asked the title of it--it was the tale of wamick and oozra, composed by the great poet noshirwan. on this abdoolah observed, that those of his country and faith had nothing to do with any other book than the koran; and all persian mss. found within the circle of his government, as the works of idolaters, were to be burnt. much of the most ancient poetry of the persians perished by this fanatical edict. when buda was taken by the turks, a cardinal offered a vast sum to redeem the great library founded by matthew corvini, a literary monarch of hungary: it was rich in greek and hebrew lore, and the classics of antiquity. thirty amanuenses had been employed in copying mss. and illuminating them by the finest art. the barbarians destroyed most of the books in tearing away their splendid covers and their silver bosses; an hungarian soldier picked up a book as a prize: it proved to be the ethiopics of heliodorus, from which the first edition was printed in . cardinal ximenes seems to have retaliated a little on the saracens; for at the taking of granada, he condemned to the flames five thousand korans. the following anecdote respecting a spanish missal, called st. isidore's, is not incurious; hard fighting saved it from destruction. in the moorish wars, all these missals had been destroyed, excepting those in the city of toledo. there, in six churches, the christians were allowed the free exercise of their religion. when the moors were expelled several centuries afterwards from toledo, alphonsus the sixth ordered the roman missal to be used in those churches; but the people of toledo insisted on having their own, as revised by st. isidore. it seemed to them that alphonsus was more tyrannical than the turks. the contest between the roman and the toletan missals came to that height, that at length it was determined to decide their fate by single combat; the champion of the toletan missal felled by one blow the knight of the roman missal. alphonsus still considered this battle as merely the effect of the heavy arm of the doughty toletan, and ordered a fast to be proclaimed, and a great fire to be prepared, into which, after his majesty and the people had joined in prayer for heavenly assistance in this ordeal, both the rivals (not the men, but the missals) were thrown into the flames--again st. isidore's missal triumphed, and this iron book was then allowed to be orthodox by alphonsus, and the good people of toledo were allowed to say their prayers as they had long been used to do. however, the copies of this missal at length became very scarce; for now, when no one opposed the reading of st. isidore's missal, none cared to use it. cardinal ximenes found it so difficult to obtain a copy, that he printed a large impression, and built a chapel, consecrated to st. isidore, that this service might be daily chaunted as it had been by the ancient christians. the works of the ancients were frequently destroyed at the instigation of the monks. they appear sometimes to have mutilated them, for passages have not come down to us, which once evidently existed; and occasionally their interpolations and other forgeries formed a destruction in a new shape, by additions to the originals. they were indefatigable in erasing the best works of the most eminent greek and latin authors, in order to transcribe their ridiculous lives of saints on the obliterated vellum. one of the books of livy is in the vatican most painfully defaced by some pious father for the purpose of writing on it some missal or psalter, and there have been recently others discovered in the same state. inflamed with the blindest zeal against everything pagan, pope gregory vii. ordered that the library of the palatine apollo, a treasury of literature formed by successive emperors, should be committed to the flames! he issued this order under the notion of confining the attention of the clergy to the holy scriptures! from that time all ancient learning which was not sanctioned by the authority of the church, has been emphatically distinguished as _profane_ in opposition to _sacred_. this pope is said to have burnt the works of varro, the learned roman, that saint austin should escape from the charge of plagiarism, being deeply indebted to varro for much of his great work "the city of god." the jesuits, sent by the emperor ferdinand to proscribe lutheranism from bohemia, converted that flourishing kingdom comparatively into a desert. convinced that an enlightened people could never be long subservient to a tyrant, they struck one fatal blow at the national literature: every book they condemned was destroyed, even those of antiquity; the annals of the nation were forbidden to be read, and writers were not permitted even to compose on subjects of bohemian literature. the mother-tongue was held out as a mark of vulgar obscurity, and domiciliary visits were made for the purpose of inspecting the libraries of the bohemians. with their books and their language they lost their national character and their independence. the destruction of libraries in the reign of henry viii. at the dissolution of the monasteries, is wept over by john bale. those who purchased the religious houses took the libraries as part of the booty, with which they scoured their furniture, or sold the books as waste paper, or sent them abroad in ship-loads to foreign bookbinders.[ ] the fear of destruction induced many to hide manuscripts under ground, and in old walls. at the reformation popular rage exhausted itself on illuminated books, or mss. that had red letters in the title page: any work that was decorated was sure to be thrown into the flames as a superstitious one. red letters and embellished figures were sure marks of being papistical and diabolical. we still find such volumes mutilated of their gilt letters and elegant initials. many have been found underground, having been forgotten; what escaped the flames were obliterated by the damp: such is the deplorable fate of books during a persecution! the puritans burned everything they found which bore the vestige of popish origin. we have on record many curious accounts of their pious depredations, of their maiming images and erasing pictures. the heroic expeditions of one dowsing are journalised by himself: a fanatical quixote, to whose intrepid arm many of our noseless saints, sculptured on our cathedrals, owe their misfortunes. the following are some details from the diary of this redoubtable goth, during his rage for reformation. his entries are expressed with a laconic conciseness, and it would seem with a little dry humour. "at _sunbury_, we brake down ten mighty great angels in glass. at _barham_, brake down the twelve apostles in the chancel, and six superstitious pictures more there; and eight in the church, one a lamb with a cross (+) on the back; and digged down the steps and took up four superstitious inscriptions in brass," &c. "_lady bruce's house_, the chapel, a picture of god the father, of the trinity, of christ, the holy ghost, and the cloven tongues, which we gave orders to take down, and the lady promised to do it." at another place they "brake six hundred superstitious pictures, eight holy ghosts, and three of the son." and in this manner he and his deputies scoured one hundred and fifty parishes! it has been humorously conjectured, that from this ruthless devastator originated the phrase to _give a dowsing_. bishop hall saved the windows of his chapel at norwich from destruction, by taking out the heads of the figures; and this accounts for the many faces in church windows which we see supplied by white glass. in the various civil wars in our country, numerous libraries have suffered both in mss. and printed books. "i dare maintain," says fuller, "that the wars betwixt york and lancaster, which lasted sixty years, were not so destructive as our modern wars in six years." he alludes to the parliamentary feuds in the reign of charles i. "for during the former their differences agreed in the _same religion_, impressing them with reverence to all allowed muniments! whilst our _civil wars_, founded in _faction_ and _variety_ of pretended _religions_, exposed all naked church records a prey to armed violence; a sad vacuum, which will be sensible in our _english historie_." when it was proposed to the great gustavus of sweden to destroy the palace of the dukes of bavaria, that hero nobly refused; observing, "let us not copy the example of our unlettered ancestors, who, by waging war against every production of genius, have rendered the name of goth universally proverbial of the rudest state of barbarity." even the civilisation of the eighteenth century could not preserve from the destructive fury of an infuriated mob, in the most polished city of europe, the valuable mss. of the great earl of mansfield, which were madly consigned to the flames during the riots of ; as those of dr. priestley were consumed by the mob at birmingham. in the year , the hall of the stationers underwent as great a purgation as was carried on in don quixote's library. warton gives a list of the best writers who were ordered for immediate conflagration by the prelates whitgift and bancroft, urged by the puritanical and calvinistic factions. like thieves and outlaws, they were ordered _to be taken wheresoever they may be found_.--"it was also decreed that no satires or epigrams should be printed for the future. no plays were to be printed without the inspection and permission of the archbishop of canterbury and the bishop of london; nor any _english historyes_, i suppose novels and romances, without the sanction of the privy council. any pieces of this nature, unlicensed, or now at large and wandering abroad, were to be diligently sought, recalled, and delivered over to the ecclesiastical arm at london-house." at a later period, and by an opposite party, among other extravagant motions made in parliament, one was to destroy the records in the tower, and to settle the nation on a new foundation! the very same principle was attempted to be acted on in the french revolution by the "true sans-culottes." with us sir matthew hale showed the weakness of the project, and while he drew on his side "all sober persons, stopped even the mouths of the frantic people themselves." to descend to the losses incurred by individuals, whose names ought to have served as an amulet to charm away the demons of literary destruction. one of the most interesting is the fate of aristotle's library; he who by a greek term was first saluted as a collector of books! his works have come down to us accidentally, but not without irreparable injuries, and with no slight suspicion respecting their authenticity. the story is told by strabo, in his thirteenth book. the books of aristotle came from his scholar theophrastus to neleus, whose posterity, an illiterate race, kept them locked up without using them, buried in the earth! apellion, a curious collector, purchased them, but finding the mss. injured by age and moisture, conjecturally supplied their deficiencies. it is impossible to know how far apellion has corrupted and obscured the text. but the mischief did not end here; when sylla at the taking of athens brought them to rome, he consigned them to the care of tyrannio, a grammarian, who employed scribes to copy them; he suffered them to pass through his hands without correction, and took great freedoms with them; the words of strabo are strong: "ibique tyrannionem grammaticum iis usum atque (ut fama est) _intercidisse_, aut _invertisse_." he gives it indeed as a report; but the fact seems confirmed by the state in which we find these works: averroes declared that he read aristotle forty times over before he succeeded in perfectly understanding him; he pretends he did at the one-and-fortieth time! and to prove this, has published five folios of commentary! we have lost much valuable literature by the illiberal or malignant descendants of learned and ingenious persons. many of lady mary wortley montague's letters have been destroyed, i am informed, by her daughter, who imagined that the family honours were lowered by the addition of those of literature: some of her best letters, recently published, were found buried in an old trunk. it would have mortified her ladyship's daughter to have heard, that her mother was the sévigné of britain. at the death of the learned peiresc, a chamber in his house filled with letters from the most eminent scholars of the age was discovered: the learned in europe had addressed peiresc in their difficulties, who was hence called "the attorney-general of the republic of letters." the niggardly niece, although repeatedly entreated to permit them to be published, preferred to use these learned epistles occasionally to light her fires![ ] the mss. of leonardo da vinci have equally suffered from his relatives. when a curious collector discovered some, he generously brought them to a descendant of the great painter, who coldly observed, that "he had a great deal more in the garret, which had lain there for many years, if the rats had not destroyed them!" nothing which this great artist wrote but showed an inventive genius. menage observes on a friend having had his library destroyed by fire, in which several valuable mss. had perished, that such a loss is one of the greatest misfortunes that can happen to a man of letters. this gentleman afterwards consoled himself by composing a little treatise _de bibliothecæ incendio_. it must have been sufficiently curious. even in the present day men of letters are subject to similar misfortunes; for though the fire-offices will insure books, they will not allow _authors to value their own manuscripts_. a fire in the cottonian library shrivelled and destroyed many anglo-saxon mss.--a loss now irreparable. the antiquary is doomed to spell hard and hardly at the baked fragments that crumble in his hand.[ ] meninsky's famous persian dictionary met with a sad fate. its excessive rarity is owing to the siege of vienna by the turks: a bomb fell on the author's house, and consumed the principal part of his indefatigable labours. there are few sets of this high-priced work which do not bear evident proofs of the bomb; while many parts are stained with the water sent to quench the flames. the sufferings of an author for the loss of his manuscripts strongly appear in the case of anthony urceus, a great scholar of the fifteenth century. the loss of his papers seems immediately to have been followed by madness. at forli, he had an apartment in the palace, and had prepared an important work for publication. his room was dark, and he generally wrote by lamp-light. having gone out, he left the lamp burning; the papers soon kindled, and his library was reduced to ashes. as soon as he heard the news, he ran furiously to the palace, and knocking his head violently against the gate, uttered this blasphemous language: "jesus christ, what great crime have i done! who of those who believed in you have i ever treated so cruelly? hear what i am saying, for i am in earnest, and am resolved. if by chance i should be so weak as to address myself to you at the point of death, don't hear me, for i will not be with you, but prefer hell and its eternity of torments." to which, by the by, he gave little credit. those who heard these ravings, vainly tried to console him. he quitted the town, and lived franticly, wandering about the woods! ben jonson's _execration on vulcan_ was composed on a like occasion; the fruits of twenty years' study were consumed in one short hour; our literature suffered, for among some works of imagination there were many philosophical collections, a commentary on the poetics, a complete critical grammar, a life of henry v., his journey into scotland, with all his adventures in that poetical pilgrimage, and a poem on the ladies of great britain. what a catalogue of losses! castelvetro, the italian commentator on aristotle, having heard that his house was on fire, ran through the streets exclaiming to the people, _alla poetica! alla poetica! to the poetic! to the poetic_! he was then writing his commentary on the poetics of aristotle. several men of letters have been known to have risen from their death-bed to destroy their mss. so solicitous have they been not to venture their posthumous reputation in the hands of undiscerning friends. colardeau, the elegant versifier of pope's epistle of eliosa to abelard, had not yet destroyed what he had written of a translation of tasso. at the approach of death, he recollected his unfinished labour; he knew that his friends would not have the courage to annihilate one of his works; this was reserved for him. dying, he raised himself, and as if animated by an honourable action, he dragged himself along, and with trembling hands seized his papers, and consumed them in one sacrifice.--i recollect another instance of a man of letters, of our own country, who acted the same part. he had passed his life in constant study, and it was observed that he had written several folio volumes, which his modest fears would not permit him to expose to the eye even of his critical friends. he promised to leave his labours to posterity; and he seemed sometimes, with a glow on his countenance, to exult that they would not be unworthy of their acceptance. at his death his sensibility took the alarm; he had the folios brought to his bed; no one could open them, for they were closely locked. at the sight of his favourite and mysterious labours, he paused; he seemed disturbed in his mind, while he felt at every moment his strength decaying; suddenly he raised his feeble hands by an effort of firm resolve, burnt his papers, and smiled as the greedy vulcan licked up every page. the task exhausted his remaining strength, and he soon afterwards expired. the late mrs. inchbald had written her life in several volumes; on her death-bed, from a motive perhaps of too much delicacy to admit of any argument, she requested a friend to cut them into pieces before her eyes--not having sufficient strength left herself to perform this funereal office. these are instances of what may be called the heroism of authors. the republic of letters has suffered irreparable losses by shipwrecks. guarino veronese, one of those learned italians who travelled through greece for the recovery of mss., had his perseverance repaid by the acquisition of many valuable works. on his return to italy he was shipwrecked, and lost his treasures! so poignant was his grief on this occasion that, according to the relation of one of his countrymen, his hair turned suddenly white. about the year , hudde, an opulent burgomaster of middleburgh, animated solely by literary curiosity, went to china to instruct himself in the language, and in whatever was remarkable in this singular people. he acquired the skill of a mandarine in that difficult language; nor did the form of his dutch face undeceive the physiognomists of china. he succeeded to the dignity of a mandarine; he travelled through the provinces under this character, and returned to europe with a collection of observations, the cherished labour of thirty years, and all these were sunk in the bottomless sea. the great pinellian library, after the death of its illustrious possessor, filled three vessels to be conveyed to naples. pursued by corsairs, one of the vessels was taken; but the pirates finding nothing on board but books, they threw them all into the sea: such was the fate of a great portion of this famous library.[ ] national libraries have often perished at sea, from the circumstance of conquerors transporting them into their own kingdoms. footnotes: [footnote : henry gave a commission to the famous antiquary, john leland, to examine the libraries of the suppressed religious houses, and preserve such as concerned history. though leland, after his search, told the king he had "conserved many good authors, the which otherwyse had bene lyke to have peryshed, to the no smal incommodite of good letters," he owns to the ruthless destruction of all such as were connected with the "doctryne of a rowt of romayne bysshopps." strype consequently notes with great sorrow that many "ancient manuscripts and writings of learned british and saxon authors were lost. libraries were sold by mercenary men for anything they could get, in that confusion and devastation of religious houses. bale, the antiquary, makes mention of a merchant that bought two noble libraries about these times for forty shillings; the books whereof served him for no other use but for waste paper; and that he had been ten years consuming them, and yet there remained still store enough for as many years more. vast quantities and numbers of these books vanished with the monks and friars from their monasteries, were conveyed away and carried beyond seas to booksellers there, by whole ship ladings; and a great many more were used in shops and kitchens."] [footnote : one of the most disastrous of these losses to the admirers of the old drama occurred through the neglect of a collector--john warburton, somerset herald-at-arms (who died ), and who had many of these early plays in manuscript. they were left carelessly in a corner, and during his absence his cook used them for culinary purposes as waste paper. the list published of his losses is, however, not quite accurate, as one or more escaped, or were mislaid by this careless man; for massinger's tragedy, _the tyrant_, stated to have been so destroyed, was found among his books, and sold at his sale in ; another play by the same author, _believe as you list_, was discovered among some papers from garrick's library in , and was printed by the percy society, . it appears to be the very manuscript copy seen and described by cibber and chetwood.] [footnote : one of these shrivelled volumes is preserved in a case in our british museum. the leaves have been twisted and drawn almost into a solid ball by the action of fire. some few of the charred manuscripts have been admirably restored of late years by judicious pressure, and inlaying the damaged leaves in solid margins. the fire occurred while the collection was temporarily placed in ashburnham house, little dean's yard, westminster, in october, . from the report published by a committee of the house of commons soon after, it appears that the original number of volumes was --"of which are lost, burnt, or entirely spoiled, ; and damaged so as to be defective, ."] [footnote : gianvincenzo pinelli was descended from a noble genoese family, and born at naples in . at the age of twenty-three he removed to padua, then noted for its learning, and here he devoted his time and fortune to literary and scientific pursuits. there was scarcely a branch of knowledge that he did not cultivate; and at his death, in , he left a noble library behind him. but the senate of venice, ever fearful that an undue knowledge of its proceedings should be made public, set their seal upon his collection of manuscripts, and took away more than two hundred volumes which related in some degree to its affairs. the rest of the books were packed to go to naples, where his heirs resided. the printed books are stated to have filled one hundred and sixteen chests, and the manuscripts were contained in fourteen others. three ships were freighted with them. one fell into the hands of corsairs, and the contents were destroyed, as stated in the text; some of the books, scattered on the beach at fermo, were purchased by the bishop there. the other ship-loads were ultimately obtained by cardinal borromeo, and added to his library.] some notices of lost works. although it is the opinion of some critics that our literary losses do not amount to the extent which others imagine, they are however much greater than they allow. our severest losses are felt in the historical province, and particularly in the earliest records, which might not have been the least interesting to philosophical curiosity. the history of phoenicia by sanchoniathon, supposed to be a contemporary with solomon, now consists of only a few valuable fragments preserved by eusebius. the same ill fortune attends manetho's history of egypt, and berosu's history of chaldea. the histories of these most ancient nations, however veiled in fables, would have presented to the philosopher singular objects of contemplation. of the history of polybios, which once contained forty books, we have now only five; of the historical library of diodorus siculus fifteen books only remain out of forty; and half of the roman antiquities of dionysius helicarnassensis has perished. of the eighty books of the history of dion cassius, twenty-five only remain. the present opening book of ammianus marcellinus is entitled the fourteenth. livy's history consisted of one hundred and forty books, and we only possess thirty-five of that pleasing historian. what a treasure has been lost in the thirty books of tacitus! little more than four remain. murphy elegantly observes, that "the reign of titus, the delight of human kind, is totally lost, and domitian has escaped the vengeance of the historian's pen." yet tacitus in fragments is still the colossal torso of history. velleius paterculas, of whom a fragment only has reached us, we owe to a single copy: no other having ever been discovered, and which has occasioned the text of this historian to remain incurably corrupt. taste and criticism have certainly incurred an irreparable loss in that _treatise on the causes of the corruption of eloquence_, by quintilian; which he has himself noticed with so much satisfaction in his "institutes." petrarch declares, that in his youth he had seen the works of varro, and the second decad of livy; but all his endeavours to recover them were fruitless. these are only some of the most known losses; but in reading contemporary writers we are perpetually discovering many important ones. we have lost two precious works in ancient biography: varro wrote the lives of seven hundred illustrious romans; and atticus, the friend of cicero, composed another, on the acts of the great men among the romans. when we consider that these writers lived familiarly with the finest geniuses of their times, and were opulent, hospitable, and lovers of the fine arts, their biography and their portraits, which are said to have accompanied them, are felt as an irreparable loss to literature. i suspect likewise we have had great losses of which we are not always aware; for in that curious letter in which the younger pliny describes in so interesting a manner the sublime industry, for it seems sublime by its magnitude, of his uncle,[ ] it appears that his natural history, that vast register of the wisdom and the credulity of the ancients, was not his only great labour; for among his other works was a history in twenty books, which has entirely perished. we discover also the works of writers, which, by the accounts of them, appear to have equalled in genius those which have descended to us. pliny has feelingly described a poet of whom he tells us, "his works are never out of my hands; and whether i sit down to write anything myself, or to revise what i have already wrote, or am in a disposition to amuse myself, i constantly take up this agreeable author; and as often as i do so, he is still new."[ ] he had before compared this poet to catullus; and in a critic of so fine a taste as pliny, to have cherished so constant an intercourse with the writings of this author, indicates high powers. instances of this kind frequently occur. who does not regret the loss of the anticato of cæsar? the losses which the poetical world has sustained are sufficiently known by those who are conversant with the few invaluable fragments of menander, who might have interested us perhaps more than homer: for he was evidently the domestic poet, and the lyre he touched was formed of the strings of the human heart. he was the painter of passions, and the historian of the manners. the opinion of quintilian is confirmed by the golden fragments preserved for the english reader in the elegant versions of cumberland. even of Ã�schylus, sophocles, and euripides, who each wrote about one hundred dramas, seven only have been preserved of Ã�schylus and of sophocles, and nineteen of euripides. of the one hundred and thirty comedies of plautus, we only inherit twenty imperfect ones. the remainder of ovid's fasti has never been recovered. i believe that a philosopher would consent to lose any poet to regain an historian; nor is this unjust, for some future poet may arise to supply the vacant place of a lost poet, but it is not so with the historian. fancy may be supplied; but truth once lost in the annals of mankind leaves a chasm never to be filled. footnotes: [footnote : book iii. letter v. melmoth's translation.] [footnote : book i. letter xvi.] quodlibets, or scholastic disquisitions. the scholastic questions were called _questiones quodlibeticæ_; and they were generally so ridiculous that we have retained the word _quodlibet_ in our vernacular style, to express anything ridiculously subtile; something which comes at length to be distinguished into nothingness, "with all the rash dexterity of wit." the history of the scholastic philosophy furnishes an instructive theme; it enters into the history of the human mind, and fills a niche in our literary annals. the works of the scholastics, with the debates of these _quodlibetarians_, at once show the greatness and the littleness of the human intellect; for though they often degenerate into incredible absurdities, those who have examined the works of thomas aquinas and duns scotus have confessed their admiration of the herculean texture of brain which they exhausted in demolishing their aërial fabrics. the following is a slight sketch of the school divinity. the christian doctrines in the primitive ages of the gospel were adapted to the simple comprehension of the multitude; metaphysical subtilties were not even employed by the fathers, of whom several are eloquent. the homilies explained, by an obvious interpretation, some scriptural point, or inferred, by artless illustration, some moral doctrine. when the arabians became the only learned people, and their empire extended over the greater part of the known world, they impressed their own genius on those nations with whom they were allied as friends, or reverenced as masters. the arabian genius was fond of abstruse studies; it was highly metaphysical and mathematical, for the fine arts their religion did not permit them to cultivate; and the first knowledge which modern europe obtained of euclid and aristotle was through the medium of latin translations of arabic versions. the christians in the west received their first lessons from the arabians in the east; and aristotle, with his arabic commentaries, was enthroned in the schools of christendom. then burst into birth, from the dark cave of metaphysics, a numerous and ugly spawn of monstrous sects; unnatural children of the same foul mother, who never met but for mutual destruction. religion became what is called the study of theology; and they all attempted to reduce the worship of god into a system! and the creed into a thesis! every point relating to religion was debated through an endless chain of infinite questions, incomprehensible distinctions, with differences mediate and immediate, the concrete and the abstract, a perpetual civil war carried on against common sense in all the aristotelian severity. there existed a rage for aristotle; and melancthon complains that in sacred assemblies the ethics of aristotle were read to the people instead of the gospel. aristotle was placed a-head of st. paul; and st. thomas aquinas in his works distinguishes him by the title of "the philosopher;" inferring, doubtless, that no other man could possibly be a philosopher who disagreed with aristotle. of the blind rites paid to aristotle, the anecdotes of the nominalists and realists are noticed in the article "literary controversy" in this work. had their subtile questions and perpetual wranglings only been addressed to the metaphysician in his closet, and had nothing but strokes of the pen occurred, the scholastic divinity would only have formed an episode in the calm narrative of literary history; but it has claims to be registered in political annals, from the numerous persecutions and tragical events with which they too long perplexed their followers, and disturbed the repose of europe. the thomists, and the scotists, the occamites, and many others, soared into the regions of mysticism. peter lombard had laboriously compiled, after the celebrated abelard's "introduction to divinity," his four books of "sentences," from the writings of the fathers; and for this he is called "the master of sentences." these sentences, on which we have so many commentaries, are a collection of passages from the fathers, the real or apparent contradictions of whom he endeavours to reconcile. but his successors were not satisfied to be mere commentators on these "sentences," which they now only made use of as a row of pegs to hang on their fine-spun metaphysical cobwebs. they at length collected all these quodlibetical questions into enormous volumes, under the terrifying form, for those who have seen them, of _summaries of divinity_! they contrived, by their chimerical speculations, to question the plainest truths; to wrest the simple meaning of the holy scriptures, and give some appearance of truth to the most ridiculous and monstrous opinions. one of the subtile questions which agitated the world in the tenth century, relating to dialectics, was concerning _universals_ (as for example, man, horse, dog, &c.) signifying not _this_ or _that_ in particular, but _all_ in general. they distinguished _universals_, or what we call abstract terms, by the _genera_ and _species rerum_; and they never could decide whether these were _substances_--or _names_! that is, whether the abstract idea we form of a horse was not really a _being_ as much as the horse we ride! all this, and some congenial points respecting the origin of our ideas, and what ideas were, and whether we really had an idea of a thing before we discovered the thing itself--in a word, what they called universals, and the essence of universals; of all this nonsense, on which they at length proceeded to accusations of heresy, and for which many learned men were excommunicated, stoned, and what not, the whole was derived from the reveries of plato, aristotle, and zeno, about the nature of ideas, than which subject to the present day no discussion ever degenerated into such insanity. a modern metaphysician infers that we have no ideas at all! of the scholastic divines, the most illustrious was saint thomas aquinas, styled the angelical doctor. seventeen folio volumes not only testify his industry but even his genius. he was a great man, busied all his life with making the charades of metaphysics. my learned friend sharon turner has favoured me with a notice of his greatest work--his "sum of all theology," _summa totius theologiæ_, paris, . it is a metaphysicological treatise, or the most abstruse metaphysics of theology. it occupies above folio pages, of very small close print in double columns. it may be worth noticing that to this work are appended folio pages of double columns of errata, and about of additional index! the whole is thrown into an aristotelian form; the difficulties or questions are proposed first, and the answers are then appended. there are articles on love-- on angels-- on the soul-- on demons-- on the intellect-- on law-- on the catamenia-- on sins-- on virginity, and others on a variety of topics. the scholastic tree is covered with prodigal foliage, but is barren of fruit; and when the scholastics employed themselves in solving the deepest mysteries, their philosophy became nothing more than an instrument in the hands of the roman pontiff. aquinas has composed articles on angels, of which a few of the heads have been culled for the reader. he treats of angels, their substance, orders, offices, natures, habits, &c., as if he himself had been an old experienced angel! angels were not before the world! angels might have been before the world! angels were created by god--they were created immediately by him--they were created in the empyrean sky--they were created in grace--they were created in imperfect beatitude. after a severe chain of reasoning, he shows that angels are incorporeal compared to us, but corporeal compared to god. an angel is composed of action and potentiality; the more superior he is, he has the less potentiality. they have not matter properly. every angel differs from another angel in species. an angel is of the same species as a soul. angels have not naturally a body united to them. they may assume bodies; but they do not want to assume bodies for themselves, but for us. the bodies assumed by angels are of thick air. the bodies they assume have not the natural virtues which they show, nor the operations of life, but those which are common to inanimate things. an angel may be the same with a body. in the same body there are, the soul formally giving being, and operating natural operations; and the angel operating supernatural operations. angels administer and govern every corporeal creature. god, an angel, and the soul, are not contained in space, but contain it. many angels cannot be in the same space. the motion of an angel in space is nothing else than different contacts of different successive places. the motion of an angel is a succession of his different operations. his motion may be continuous and discontinuous as he will. the continuous motion of an angel is necessary through every medium, but may be discontinuous without a medium. the velocity of the motion of an angel is not according to the quantity of his strength, but according to his will. the motion of the illumination of an angel is threefold, or circular, straight, and oblique. in this account of the motion of an angel we are reminded of the beautiful description of milton, who marks it by a continuous motion, "smooth-sliding without step." the reader desirous of being _merry_ with aquinas's angels may find them in martinus scriblerus, in ch. vii. who inquires if angels pass from one extreme to another without going through the _middle_? and if angels know things more clearly in a morning? how many angels can dance on the point of a very fine needle, without jostling one another? all the questions in aquinas are answered with a subtlety of distinction more difficult to comprehend and remember than many problems in euclid; and perhaps a few of the best might still be selected for youth as curious exercises of the understanding. however, a great part of these peculiar productions are loaded with the most trifling, irreverent, and even scandalous discussions. even aquinas could gravely debate, whether christ was not an hermaphrodite? whether there are excrements in paradise? whether the pious at the resurrection will rise with their bowels? others again debated--whether the angel gabriel appeared to the virgin mary in the shape of a serpent, of a dove, of a man, or of a woman? did he seem to be young or old? in what dress was he? was his garment white or of two colours? was his linen clean or foul? did he appear in the morning, noon, or evening? what was the colour of the virgin mary's hair? was she acquainted with the mechanic and liberal arts? had she a thorough knowledge of the book of sentences, and all it contains? that is, peter lombard's compilation from the works of the fathers, written years after her death.--but these are only trifling matters: they also agitated, whether when during her conception the virgin was seated, christ too was seated; and whether when she lay down, christ also lay down? the following question was a favourite topic for discussion, and the acutest logicians never resolved it: "when a hog is carried to market with a rope tied about his neck, which is held at the other end by a man, whether is the _hog_ carried to market by the _rope_ or the _man_?" in the tenth century[ ], after long and ineffectual controversy about the real presence of christ in the sacrament, they at length universally agreed to sign a peace. this mutual forbearance must not, however, be ascribed to the prudence and virtue of those times. it was mere ignorance and incapacity of reasoning which kept the peace, and deterred them from entering into debates to which they at length found themselves unequal! lord lyttleton, in his life of henry ii., laments the unhappy effects of the scholastic philosophy on the progress of the human mind. the minds of men were turned from classical studies to the subtilties of school divinity, which rome encouraged, as more profitable for the maintenance of her doctrines. it was a great misfortune to religion and to learning, that men of such acute understandings as abelard and lombard, who might have done much to reform the errors of the church, and to restore science in europe, should have depraved both, by applying their admirable parts to weave those cobwebs of sophistry, and to confound the clear simplicity of evangelical truths, by a false philosophy and a captious logic. footnotes: [footnote : jortin's _remarks on ecclesiastical history_, vol. v. p. .] fame contemned. all men are fond of glory, and even those philosophers who write against that noble passion prefix their _names_ to their own works. it is worthy of observation that the authors of two _religious books_, universally received, have concealed their names from the world. the "imitation of christ" is attributed, without any authority, to thomas a'kempis; and the author of the "whole duty of man" still remains undiscovered. millions of their books have been dispersed in the christian world. to have revealed their _names_ would have given them as much worldly fame as any moralist has obtained--but they contemned it! their religion was raised above all worldly passions! some profane writers, indeed, have also concealed their names to great works, but their _motives_ were of a very different cast. the six follies of science. nothing is so capable of disordering the intellects as an intense application to any one of these six things: the quadrature of the circle; the multiplication of the cube; the perpetual motion; the philosophical stone; magic; and judicial astrology. "it is proper, however," fontenelle remarks, "to apply one's self to these inquiries; because we find, as we proceed, many valuable discoveries of which we were before ignorant." the same thought cowley has applied, in an address to his mistress, thus-- "although i think thou never wilt be found, yet i'm resolved to search for thee: the search itself rewards the pains. so though the chymist his great secret miss, (for neither it in art nor nature is) yet things well worth his toil he gains; and does his charge and labour pay with good unsought experiments by the way." the same thought is in donne; perhaps cowley did not suspect that he was an imitator; fontenelle could not have read either; he struck out the thought by his own reflection, glauber searched long and deeply for the philosopher's stone, which though he did not find, yet in his researches he discovered a very useful purging salt, which bears his name. maupertuis observes on the _philosophical stone_, that we cannot prove the impossibility of obtaining it, but we can easily see the folly of those who employ their time and money in seeking for it. this price is too great to counterbalance the little probability of succeeding in it. however, it is still a bantling of modern chemistry, who has nodded very affectionately on it!--of the _perpetual motion_, he shows the impossibility, in the sense in which it is generally received. on the _quadrature of the circle_, he says he cannot decide if this problem be resolvable or not: but he observes, that it is very useless to search for it any more; since we have arrived by approximation to such a point of accuracy, that on a large circle, such as the orbit which the earth describes round the sun, the geometrician will not mistake by the thickness of a hair. the quadrature of the circle is still, however, a favourite game with some visionaries, and several are still imagining that they have discovered the perpetual motion; the italians nickname them _matto perpetuo_: and bekker tells us of the fate of one hartmann, of leipsic, who was in such despair at having passed his life so vainly, in studying the perpetual motion, that at length he hanged himself! imitators. some writers, usually pedants, imagine that they can supply, by the labours of industry, the deficiencies of nature. paulus manutius frequently spent a month in writing a single letter. he affected to imitate cicero. but although he painfully attained to something of the elegance of his style, destitute of the native graces of unaffected composition, he was one of those whom erasmus bantered in his _ciceronianus_, as so slavishly devoted to cicero's style, that they ridiculously employed the utmost precautions when they were seized by a ciceronian fit. the _nosoponus_ of erasmus tells of his devotion to cicero; of his three indexes to all his words, and his never writing but in the dead of night, employing months upon a few lines; and his religious veneration for _words_, with his total indifference about the _sense_. le brun, a jesuit, was a singular instance of such unhappy imitation. he was a latin poet, and his themes were religious. he formed the extravagant project of substituting a _religious virgil_ and _ovid_ merely by adapting his works to their titles. his _christian virgil_ consists, like the pagan virgil, of _eclogues_, _georgics_, and of an _epic_ of twelve books; with this difference, that devotional subjects are substituted for fabulous ones. his epic is the _ignaciad_, or the pilgrimage of saint ignatius. his _christian ovid_, is in the same taste; everything wears a new face. his _epistles_ are pious ones; the _fasti_ are the six days of the creation; the _elegies_ are the six lamentations of jeremiah; a poem on _the love of god_ is substituted for the _art of love_; and the history of some _conversions_ supplies the place of the _metamorphoses_! this jesuit would, no doubt, have approved of a _family shakspeare_! a poet of a far different character, the elegant sannazarius, has done much the same thing in his poem _de partu virginis_. the same servile imitation of ancient taste appears. it professes to celebrate the birth of _christ_, yet his name is not once mentioned in it! the _virgin_ herself is styled _spes deorum_! "the hope of the gods!" the _incarnation_ is predicted by _proteus_! the virgin, instead of consulting the _sacred writings_, reads the _sibylline oracles_! her attendants are _dryads_, _nereids_, &c. this monstrous mixture of polytheism with the mysteries of christianity, appears in everything he had about him. in a chapel at one of his country seats he had two statues placed at his tomb, _apollo_ and _minerva_; catholic piety found no difficulty in the present case, as well as in innumerable others of the same kind, to inscribe the statue of _apollo_ with the name of _david_, and that of _minerva_ with the female one of _judith_! seneca, in his th epistle, gives a curious literary anecdote of the sort of imitation by which an inferior mind becomes the monkey of an original writer. at rome, when sallust was the fashionable writer, short sentences, uncommon words, and an obscure brevity, were affected as so many elegances. arruntius, who wrote the history of the punic wars, painfully laboured to imitate sallust. expressions which are rare in sallust are frequent in arruntius, and, of course, without the motive that induced sallust to adopt them. what rose naturally under the pen of the great historian, the minor one must have run after with ridiculous anxiety. seneca adds several instances of the servile affectation of arruntius, which seem much like those we once had of johnson, by the undiscerning herd of his apes. one cannot but smile at these imitators; we have abounded with them. in the days of churchill, every month produced an effusion which tolerably imitated his slovenly versification, his coarse invective, and his careless mediocrity,--but the genius remained with the english juvenal. sterne had his countless multitude; and in fielding's time, tom jones produced more bastards in wit than the author could ever suspect. to such literary echoes, the reply of philip of macedon to one who prided himself on imitating the notes of the nightingale may be applied: "i prefer the nightingale herself!" even the most successful of this imitating tribe must be doomed to share the fate of silius italicus, in his cold imitation of virgil, and cawthorne in his empty harmony of pope. to all these imitators i must apply an arabian anecdote. ebn saad, one of mahomet's amanuenses, when writing what the prophet dictated, cried out by way of admiration--"blessed be god, the best creator!" mahomet approved of the expression, and desired him to write those words down as part of the inspired passage.--the consequence was, that ebn saad began to think himself as great a prophet as his master, and took upon himself to imitate the koran according to his fancy; but the imitator got himself into trouble, and only escaped with life by falling on his knees, and solemnly swearing he would never again imitate the koran, for which he was sensible god had never created him. cicero's puns. "i should," says menage, "have received great pleasure to have conversed with cicero, had i lived in his time. he must have been a man very agreeable in conversation, since even cæsar carefully collected his _bons mots_. cicero has boasted of the great actions he has done for his country, because there is no vanity in exulting in the performance of our duties; but he has not boasted that he was the most eloquent orator of his age, though he certainly was; because nothing is more disgusting than to exult in our intellectual powers." whatever were the _bons mots_ of cicero, of which few have come down to us, it is certain that cicero was an inveterate punster; and he seems to have been more ready with them than with repartees. he said to a senator, who was the son of a tailor, "_rem acu tetigisti_." you have touched it sharply; _acu_ means sharpness as well as the point of a needle. to the son of a cook, "_ego quoque tibi jure favebo_." the ancients pronounced _coce_ and _quoque_ like _co-ke_, which alludes to the latin _cocus_, cook, besides the ambiguity of _jure_, which applies to _broth_ or _law--jus_. a sicilian suspected of being a jew, attempted to get the cause of verres into his own hands; cicero, who knew that he was a creature of the great culprit, opposed him, observing "what has a jew to do with swine's flesh?" the romans called a boar pig verres. i regret to afford a respectable authority for forensic puns; however, to have degraded his adversaries by such petty personalities, only proves that cicero's taste was not exquisite. there is something very original in montaigne's censure of cicero. cotton's translation is admirable. "boldly to confess the truth, his way of writing, and that of all other long-winded authors, appears to me very tedious; for his preface, definitions, divisions, and etymologies, take up the greatest part of his work; whatever there is of life and marrow, is smothered and lost in the preparation. when i have spent an hour in reading him, which is a great deal for me, and recollect what i have thence extracted of juice and substance, for the most part i find nothing but wind: for he is not yet come to the arguments that serve to his purpose, and the reasons that should properly help to loose the knot i would untie. for me, who only desired to become more wise, not more learned or eloquent, these logical or aristotelian disquisitions of poets are of no use. i look for good and solid reasons at the first dash. i am for discourses that give the first charge into the heart of the doubt; his languish about the subject, and delay our expectation. those are proper for the schools, for the bar, and for the pulpit, where we have leisure to nod, and may awake a quarter of an hour after, time enough to find again the thread of the discourse. it is necessary to speak after this manner to judges, whom a man has a design, right or wrong, to incline to favour his cause; to children and common people, to whom a man must say all he can. i would not have an author make it his business to render me attentive; or that he should cry out fifty times _o yes_! as the clerks and heralds do. "as to cicero, i am of the common opinion that, learning excepted, he had no great natural parts. he was a good citizen, of an affable nature, as all fat heavy men--(_gras et gausseurs_ are the words in the original, meaning perhaps broad jokers, for cicero was not fat)--such as he was, usually are; but given to ease, and had a mighty share of vanity and ambition. neither do i know how to excuse him for thinking his poetry fit to be published. 'tis no great imperfection to write ill verses; but it is an imperfection not to be able to judge how unworthy bad verses were of the glory of his name. for what concerns his eloquence, that is totally out of comparison, and i believe will never be equalled." prefaces. a preface, being the entrance to a book, should invite by its beauty. an elegant porch announces the splendour of the interior. i have observed that ordinary readers skip over these little elaborate compositions. the ladies consider them as so many pages lost, which might better be employed in the addition of a picturesque scene, or a tender letter to their novels. for my part i always gather amusement from a preface, be it awkwardly or skilfully written; for dulness, or impertinence, may raise a laugh for a page or two. a preface is frequently a superior composition to the work itself: for, long before the days of johnson, it had been a custom for many authors to solicit for this department of their work the ornamental contribution of a man of genius. cicero tells his friend atticus, that he had a volume of prefaces or introductions always ready by him to be used as circumstances required. these must have been like our periodical essays. a good preface is as essential to put the reader into good humour, as a good prologue is to a play, or a fine symphony to an opera, containing something analogous to the work itself; so that we may feel its want as a desire not elsewhere to be gratified. the italians call the preface _la salsa del libra_, the sauce of the book, and if well seasoned it creates an appetite in the reader to devour the book itself. a preface badly composed prejudices the reader against the work. authors are not equally fortunate in these little introductions; some can compose volumes more skilfully than prefaces, and others can finish a preface who could never be capable of finishing a book. on a very elegant preface prefixed to an ill-written book, it was observed that they ought never to have _come together_; but a sarcastic wit remarked that he considered such _marriages_ were allowable, for they were _not of kin_. in prefaces an affected haughtiness or an affected humility are alike despicable. there is a deficient dignity in robertson's; but the haughtiness is now to our purpose. this is called by the french, "_la morgue littéraire_," the surly pomposity of literature. it is sometimes used by writers who have succeeded in their first work, while the failure of their subsequent productions appears to have given them a literary hypochondriasm. dr. armstrong, after his classical poem, never shook hands cordially with the public for not relishing his barren labours. in the _preface_ to his lively "sketches" he tells us, "he could give them much bolder strokes as well as more delicate touches, but that he _dreads the danger of writing too well_, and feels the value of his own labour too sensibly to bestow it upon the _mobility_." this is pure milk compared to the gall in the _preface_ to his poems. there he tells us, "that at last he has taken the _trouble to collect them_! what he has destroyed would, probably enough, have been better received by the _great majority of readers_. but he has always _most heartily despised their opinion_." these prefaces remind one of the _prologi galeati_, prefaces with a helmet! as st. jerome entitles the one to his version of the scriptures. these _armed prefaces_ were formerly very common in the age of literary controversy; for half the business of an author consisted then, either in replying, or anticipating a reply, to the attacks of his opponent. prefaces ought to be dated; as these become, after a series of editions, leading and useful circumstances in literary history. fuller with quaint humour observes on indexes--"an index is a necessary implement, and no impediment of a book, except in the same sense wherein the carriages of an army are termed _impedimenta_. without this, a large author is but a labyrinth without a clue to direct the reader therein. i confess there is a lazy kind of learning which is _only indical_; when scholars (like adders which only bite the horse's heels) nibble but at the tables, which are _calces librorum_, neglecting the body of the book. but though the idle deserve no crutches (let not a staff be used by them, but on them), pity it is the weary should be denied the benefit thereof, and industrious scholars prohibited the accommodation of an index, most used by those who most pretend to contemn it." early printing. there is some probability that this art originated in china, where it was practised long before it was known in europe. some european traveller might have imported the hint.[ ] that the romans did not practise the art of printing cannot but excite our astonishment, since they actually used it, unconscious of their rich possession. i have seen roman stereotypes, or immoveable printing types, with which they stamped their pottery.[ ] how in daily practising the art, though confined to this object, it did not occur to so ingenious a people to print their literary works, is not easily to be accounted for. did the wise and grave senate dread those inconveniences which attend its indiscriminate use? or perhaps they did not care to deprive so large a body of scribes of their business. not a hint of the art itself appears in their writings. when first the art of printing was discovered, they only made use of one side of a leaf; they had not yet found out the expedient of impressing the other. afterwards they thought of pasting the blank sides, which made them appear like one leaf. their blocks were made of soft woods, and their letters were carved; but frequently breaking, the expense and trouble of carving and gluing new letters suggested our moveable types which, have produced an almost miraculous celerity in this art. the modern stereotype, consisting of entire pages in solid blocks of metal, and, not being liable to break like the soft wood at first used, has been profitably employed for works which require to be frequently reprinted. printing in carved blocks of wood must have greatly retarded the progress of universal knowledge: for one set of types could only have produced one work, whereas it now serves for hundreds. when their editions were intended to be curious, they omitted to print the initial letter of a chapter: they left that blank space to be painted or illuminated, to the fancy of the purchaser. several ancient volumes of these early times have been found where these letters are wanting, as they neglected to have them painted. the initial carved letter, which is generally a fine wood-cut, among our printed books, is evidently a remains or imitation of these ornaments.[ ] among the very earliest books printed, which were religious, the poor man's bible has wooden cuts in a coarse style, without the least shadowing or crossing of strokes, and these they inelegantly daubed over with broad colours, which they termed illuminating, and sold at a cheap rate to those who could not afford to purchase costly missals elegantly written and painted on vellum. specimens of these rude efforts of illuminated prints may be seen in strutt's dictionary of engravers. the bodleian library possesses the originals.[ ] in the productions of early printing may be distinguished the various splendid editions of _primers_, or _prayer-books_. these were embellished with cuts finished in a most elegant taste: many of them were grotesque or obscene. in one of them an angel is represented crowning the virgin mary, and god the father himself assisting at the ceremony. sometimes st. michael is overcoming satan; and sometimes st. anthony is attacked by various devils of most clumsy forms--not of the grotesque and limber family of callot! printing was gradually practised throughout europe from the year to . caxton and his successor wynkyn de worde were our own earliest printers. caxton was a wealthy merchant, who, in , being sent by edward iv. to negotiate a commercial treaty with the duke of burgundy, returned to his country with this invaluable art. notwithstanding his mercantile habits, he possessed a literary taste, and his first work was a translation from a french historical miscellany.[ ] the tradition of the devil and dr. faustus was said to have been derived from the odd circumstance in which the bibles of the first printer, fust, appeared to the world; but if dr. faustus and faustus the printer are two different persons, the tradition becomes suspicious, though, in some respects, it has a foundation in truth. when fust had discovered this new art, and printed off a considerable number of copies of the bible to imitate those which were commonly sold as mss., he undertook the sale of them at paris. it was his interest to conceal this discovery, and to pass off his printed copies for mss. but, enabled to sell his bibles at sixty crowns, while the other scribes demanded five hundred, this raised universal astonishment; and still more when he produced copies as fast as they were wanted, and even lowered his price. the uniformity of the copies increased the wonder. informations were given in to the magistrates against him as a magician; and in searching his lodgings a great number of copies were found. the red ink, and fust's red ink is peculiarly brilliant, which embellished his copies, was said to be his blood; and it was solemnly adjudged that he was in league with the infernals. fust at length was obliged, to save himself from a bonfire, to reveal his art to the parliament of paris, who discharged him from all prosecution in consideration of the wonderful invention. when the art of printing was established, it became the glory of the learned to be correctors of the press to eminent printers. physicians, lawyers, and bishops themselves occupied this department. the printers then added frequently to their names those of the correctors of the press; and editions were then valued according to the abilities of the corrector. the _prices_ of books in these times were considered as an object worthy of the animadversions of the highest powers. this anxiety in favour of the studious appears from a privilege of pope leo x. to aldus manutius for printing varro, dated , signed cardinal bembo. aldus is exhorted to put a moderate price on the work, lest the pope should withdraw his privilege, and accord it to others. robert stephens, one of the early printers, surpassed in correctness those who exercised the same profession.[ ] to render his editions immaculate, he hung up the proofs in public places, and generously recompensed those who were so fortunate as to detect any errata. plantin, though a learned man, is more famous as a printer. his printing-office was one of the wonders of europe. this grand building was the chief ornament of the city of antwerp. magnificent in its structure, it presented to the spectator a countless number of presses, characters of all figures and all sizes, matrixes to cast letters, and all other printing materials; which baillet assures us amounted to immense sums.[ ] in italy, the three manutii were more solicitous of correctness and illustrations than of the beauty of their printing. they were ambitious of the character of the scholar, not of the printer. it is much to be regretted that our publishers are not literary men, able to form their own critical decisions. among the learned printers formerly, a book was valued because it came from the presses of an aldus or a stephens; and even in our own time the names of bowyer and dodsley sanctioned a work. pelisson, in his history of the french academy, mentions that camusat was selected as their bookseller, from his reputation for publishing only valuable works. "he was a man of some literature and good sense, and rarely printed an indifferent work; and when we were young i recollect that we always made it a rule to purchase his publications. his name was a test of the goodness of the work." a publisher of this character would be of the greatest utility to the literary world: at home he would induce a number of ingenious men to become authors, for it would be honourable to be inscribed in his catalogue; and it would be a direction for the continental reader. so valuable a union of learning and printing did not, unfortunately, last. the printers of the seventeenth century became less charmed with glory than with gain. their correctors and their letters evinced as little delicacy of choice. the invention of what is now called the _italic_ letter in printing was made by aldus manutius, to whom learning owes much. he observed the many inconveniences resulting from the vast number of _abbreviations_, which were then so frequent among the printers, that a book was difficult to understand; a treatise was actually written on the art of reading a printed book, and this addressed to the learned! he contrived an expedient, by which these abbreviations might be entirely got rid of, and yet books suffer little increase in bulk. this he effected by introducing what is now called the _italic_ letter, though it formerly was distinguished by the name of the inventor, and called the _aldine_. footnotes: [footnote : china is the stronghold where antiquarian controversy rests. beaten in affixing the origin of any art elsewhere, the controversialist enshrines himself within the great wall, and is allowed to repose in peace. opponents, like arabs, give up the chase when these gates close, though possibly with as little reason as the children of the desert evince when they quietly succumb to any slight defence.] [footnote : they are small square blocks of metal, with the name in raised letters within a border, precisely similar to those used by the modern printer. sometimes the stamp was round, or in the shape of a foot or hand, with the potter's name in the centre. they were in constant use for impressing the clay-works which supplied the wants of a roman household. the list of potters' marks found upon fragments discovered in london alone amounts to several hundreds.] [footnote : another reason for the omission of a great initial is given. there was difficulty in obtaining such enriched letters by engraving as were used in manuscripts; and there was at this time a large number of professional scribes, whose interests were in some degree considered by the printer. hence we find in early books a large space left to be filled in by the hand of the scribe with the proper letter indicated by a small type letter placed in the midst. the famous _psalter_ printed by faust and scheffer, at mentz, in , is the first book having large initial letters printed in red and blue inks, in imitation of the handwork of the old caligraphers.] [footnote : the british museum now possesses a remarkably fine series of these early works. they originated in the large sheet woodcuts, or "broadsides," representing saints, or scenes from saintly legends, used by the clergy as presents to the peasantry or pilgrims to certain shrines--a custom retained upon the continent to the present time; such cuts exhibiting little advance in art since the days of their origin, being almost as rude, and daubed in a similar way with coarse colour. one ancient cut of this kind in the british museum, representing the saviour brought before pilate, resembles in style the pen-drawings in manuscripts of the fourteenth century. another exhibits the seven stages of human life, with the wheel of fortune in the centre. another is an emblematic representation of the tower of sapience, each stone formed of some mental qualification. when books were formed, a large series of such cuts included pictures and type in each page, and in one piece. the so-called poor man's bible (an evidently erroneous term for it, the invention of a bibliographer of the last century) was one of these, and consists of a series of pictures from scripture history, with brief explanations. it was most probably preceded by the block books known as the _apocalypse of st. john_, the _cantico canticorum_, and the _ars memorandi_.] [footnote : this was raoul le fevre's _recueil des histoires de troye_, a fanciful compilation of adventures, in which the heroes of antiquity perform the parts of the _preux chevaliers_ of the middle ages. it was "ended in the holy city of colen," in september, . the first book printed by him in england was _the game and playe of the chesse_, in march, . it is a fanciful moralization of the game, abounding with quaint old legends and stories.] [footnote : robert stephens was the most celebrated of a family renowned through several generations in the history of printing. the first of the dynasty, henry estienne, who, in the spirit of the age, latinized his name, was born in paris, in , and commenced printing there at the beginning of the sixteenth century. his three sons--francis, robert, and charles--were all renowned printers and scholars; robert the most celebrated for the correctness and beauty of his work. his latin bible of made for him a great reputation; and he was appointed printer to francis i. a new edition of his bible, in , brought him into trouble with the formidable doctors of the sorbonne, and he ultimately left paris for geneva, where he set up a printing-office, which soon became famous. he died in . he was the author of some learned works, and a printer whose labours in the "noble art" have never been excelled. he left two sons--henry and robert--also remarkable as learned printers; and they both had sons who followed the same pursuits. there is not one of this large family without honourable recognition for labour and knowledge, and in their wives and daughters they found learned assistants. chalmers says--"they were at once the ornament and reproach of the age in which they lived. they were all men of great learning, all extensive benefactors to literature, and all persecuted or unfortunate."] [footnote : plantin's office is still existing in antwerp, and is one of the most interesting places in that interesting city. it is so carefully preserved, that its quadrangle was assigned to the soldiery in the last great revolution, to prevent any hostile incursion and damage. it is a lonely building, in which the old office, with its presses and printing material, still remains as when deserted by the last workman. the sheets of the last books printed there are still lying on the tables; and in the presses and drawers are hundreds of the woodcuts and copperplates used by plantin for the books that made his office renowned throughout europe. in the quadrangle are busts of himself and his successors, the morels, and the scholars who were connected with them. plantin's own room seems to want only his presence to perfect the scene. the furniture and fittings, the quaint decoration, leads the imagination insensibly back to the days of charles v.] errata. besides the ordinary _errata_, which happen in printing a work, others have been purposely committed, that the _errata_ may contain what is not permitted to appear in the body of the work. wherever the inquisition had any power, particularly at rome, it was not allowed to employ the word _fatum_, or _fata_, in any book. an author, desirous of using the latter word, adroitly invented this scheme; he had printed in his book _facta_, and, in the _errata_, he put, "for _facta_, read _fata_." scarron has done the same thing on another occasion. he had composed some verses, at the head of which he placed this dedication--_a guillemette, chienne de ma soeur_; but having a quarrel with his sister, he maliciously put into the _errata_, "instead of _chienne de ma soeur_, read _ma chienne de soeur_." lully, at the close of a bad prologue said, the word _fin du prologue_ was an _erratum_, it should have been _fi du prologue_! in a book, there was printed, _le docte morel_. a wag put into the _errata_, "for _le docte morel_, read _le docteur morel_." this _morel_ was not the first _docteur_ not _docte_. when a fanatic published a mystical work full of unintelligible raptures, and which he entitled _les délices de l'esprit_, it was proposed to print in his errata, "for _délices_ read _délires_." the author of an idle and imperfect book ended with the usual phrase of _cetera desiderantur_, one altered it, _non desiderantur sed desunt_; "the rest is _wanting_, but not _wanted_." at the close of a silly book, the author as usual printed the word finis.--a wit put this among the errata, with this pointed couplet:-- finis!--an error, or a lie, my friend! in writing foolish books--there is _no end_! in the year was printed a work, entitled "the anatomy of the mass." it is a thin octavo, of pages, and it is accompanied by an _errata_ of pages! the editor, a pious monk, informs us that a very serious reason induced him to undertake this task: for it is, says he, to forestal the _artifices of satan_. he supposes that the devil, to ruin the fruit of this work, employed two very malicious frauds: the first before it was printed, by drenching the ms. in a kennel, and having reduced it to a most pitiable state, rendered several parts illegible: the second, in obliging the printers to commit such numerous blunders, never yet equalled in so small a work. to combat this double machination of satan he was obliged carefully to re-peruse the work, and to form this singular list of the blunders of printers under the influence of satan. all this he relates in an advertisement prefixed to the _errata_. a furious controversy raged between two famous scholars from a very laughable but accidental _erratum_, and threatened serious consequences to one of the parties. flavigny wrote two letters, criticising rather freely a polyglot bible edited by abraham ecchellensis. as this learned editor had sometimes censured the labours of a friend of flavigny, this latter applied to him the third and fifth verses of the seventh chapter of st. matthew, which he printed in latin. ver . _quid vides festucam in_ oculo _fratris tui, et trabem in_ oculo _tuo non vides_? ver. . _ejice primùm trabem de_ oculo _tuo, et tunc videbis ejicere festucam de_ oculo _fratris tui_. ecchellensis opens his reply by accusing flavigny of an _enormous crime_ committed in this passage; attempting to correct the sacred text of the evangelist, and daring to reject a word, while he supplied its place by another as _impious_ as _obscene_! this crime, exaggerated with all the virulence of an angry declaimer, closes with a dreadful accusation. flavigny's morals are attacked, and his reputation overturned by a horrid imputation. yet all this terrible reproach is only founded on an _erratum_! the whole arose from the printer having negligently suffered the _first letter_ of the word _oculo_ to have dropped from the form, when he happened to touch a line with his finger, which did not stand straight! he published another letter to do away the imputation of ecchellensis; but thirty years afterwards his rage against the negligent printer was not extinguished; the wits were always reminding him of it. of all literary blunders none equalled that of the edition of the vulgate, by sixtus v. his holiness carefully superintended every sheet as it passed through the press; and, to the amazement of the world, the work remained without a rival--it swarmed with errata! a multitude of scraps were printed to paste over the erroneous passages, in order to give the true text. the book makes a whimsical appearance with these patches; and the heretics exulted in this demonstration of papal infallibility! the copies were called in, and violent attempts made to suppress it; a few still remain for the raptures of the biblical collectors; not long ago the bible of sixtus v. fetched above sixty guineas--not too much for a mere book of blunders! the world was highly amused at the bull of the editorial pope prefixed to the first volume, which excommunicates all printers who in reprinting the work should make any _alteration_ in the text! in the version of the epistles of st. paul into the ethiopic language, which proved to be full of errors, the editors allege a good-humoured reason--"they who printed the work could not read, and we could not print; they helped us, and we helped them, as the blind helps the blind." a printer's widow in germany, while a new edition of the bible was printing at her house, one night took an opportunity of stealing into the office, to alter that sentence of subjection to her husband, pronounced upon eve in genesis, chap. , v. . she took out the two first letters of the word herr, and substituted na in their place, thus altering the sentence from "and he shall be thy lord" (_herr_), to "and he shall be thy fool" (_narr_). it is said her life paid for this intentional erratum; and that some secreted copies of this edition have been bought up at enormous prices. we have an edition of the bible, known by the name of _the vinegar bible_; from the erratum in the title to the th chap. of st. luke, in which "parable of the _vineyard_," is printed, "parable of the _vinegar_." it was printed in , at the clarendon press. we have had another, where "thou shalt commit adultery" was printed, omitting the negation; which occasioned the archbishop to lay one of the heaviest penalties on the company of stationers that was ever recorded in the annals of literary history.[ ] herbert croft used to complain of the incorrectness of our english classics, as reprinted by the booksellers. it is evident some stupid printer often changes a whole text intentionally. the fine description by akenside of the pantheon, "severely great," not being understood by the blockhead, was printed _serenely great_. swift's own edition of "the city shower," has "old aches throb." _aches_ is two syllables, but modern printers, who had lost the right pronunciation, have _aches_ as one syllable; and then, to complete the metre, have foisted in "aches _will_ throb." thus what the poet and the linguist wish to preserve is altered, and finally lost.[ ] it appears by a calculation made by the printer of steevens's edition of shakspeare, that every octavo page of that work, text and notes, contains distinct pieces of metal; which in a sheet amount to , --the misplacing of any one of which would inevitably cause a blunder! with this curious fact before us, the accurate state of our printing, in general, is to be admired, and errata ought more freely to be pardoned than the fastidious minuteness of the insect eye of certain critics has allowed. whether such a miracle as an immaculate edition of a classical author does exist, i have never learnt; but an attempt has been made to obtain this glorious singularity--and was as nearly realised as is perhaps possible in the magnificent edition of _os lusiadas_ of camoens, by dom joze souza, in . this amateur spared no prodigality of cost and labour, and flattered himself, that by the assistance of didot, not a single typographical error should be found in that splendid volume. but an error was afterwards discovered in some of the copies, occasioned by one of the letters in the word _lusitano_ having got misplaced during the working of one of the sheets. it must be confessed that this was an _accident_ or _misfortune_--rather than an _erratum!_ one of the most remarkable complaints on errata is that of edw. leigh, appended to his curious treatise on "religion and learning." it consists of two folio pages, in a very minute character, and exhibits an incalculable number of printers' blunders. "we have not," he says, "plantin nor stephens amongst us; and it is no easy task to specify the chiefest errata; false interpunctions there are too many; here a letter wanting, there a letter too much; a syllable too much, one letter for another; words parted where they should be joined; words joined which should be severed; words misplaced; chronological mistakes," &c. this unfortunate folio was printed in . are we to infer, by such frequent complaints of the authors of that day, that either they did not receive proofs from the printers, or that the printers never attended to the corrected proofs? each single erratum seems to have been felt as a stab to the literary feelings of the poor author! footnotes: [footnote : it abounded with other errors, and was so rigidly suppressed, that a well-known collector was thirty years endeavouring ineffectually to obtain a copy. one has recently been added to the british museum collection.] [footnote : a good example occurs in _hudibras_ (part iii. canto , line ), where persons are mentioned who "can by their pangs and _aches_ find all turns and changes of the wind." the rhythm here demands the dissyllable _a-ches_, as used by the older writers, shakspeare particularly, who, in his _tempest_, makes prospero threaten caliban-- "if thou neglect'st, or dost unwillingly what i command, i'll rack thee with old cramps; fill all thy bones with _aches_; make thee roar that beasts shall tremble at thy din." john kemble was aware of the necessity of using this word in this instance as a dissyllable, but it was so unusual to his audiences that it excited ridicule; and during the o.p. row, a medal was struck, representing him as manager, enduring the din of cat-calls, trumpets, and rattles, and exclaiming, "oh! my head _aitches_!"] patrons. authors have too frequently received ill treatment even from those to whom they dedicated their works. some who felt hurt at the shameless treatment of such mock mæcenases have observed that no writer should dedicate his works but to his friends, as was practised by the ancients, who usually addressed those who had solicited their labours, or animated their progress. theodosius gaza had no other recompense for having inscribed to sixtus iv. his translation of the book of aristotle on the nature of animals, than the price of the binding, which this charitable father of the church munificently bestowed upon him. theocritus fills his idylliums with loud complaints of the neglect of his patrons; and tasso was as little successful in his dedications. ariosto, in presenting his orlando furioso to the cardinal d'este, was gratified with the bitter sarcasm of--"_dove diavolo avete pigliato tante coglionerie?_" where the devil have you found all this nonsense? when the french historian dupleix, whose pen was indeed fertile, presented his book to the duke d'epernon, this mæcenas, turning to the pope's nuncio, who was present, very coarsely exclaimed--"cadedids! ce monsieur a un flux enragé, il chie un livre toutes les lunes!" thomson, the ardent author of the seasons, having extravagantly praised a person of rank, who afterwards appeared to be undeserving of eulogiums, properly employed his pen in a solemn recantation of his error. a very different conduct from that of dupleix, who always spoke highly of queen margaret of france for a little place he held in her household: but after her death, when the place became extinct, spoke of her with all the freedom of satire. such is too often the character of some of the literati, who only dare to reveal the truth, when they have no interest to conceal it. poor mickle, to whom we are indebted for so beautiful a version of camoens' lusiad, having dedicated this work, the continued labour of five years, to the duke of buccleugh, had the mortification to find, by the discovery of a friend, that he had kept it in his possession three weeks before he could collect sufficient intellectual desire to cut open the pages! the neglect of this nobleman reduced the poet to a state of despondency. this patron was a political economist, the pupil of adam smith! it is pleasing to add, in contrast with this frigid scotch patron, that when mickle went to lisbon, where his translation had long preceded his visit, he found the prince of portugal waiting on the quay to be the first to receive the translator of his great national poem; and during a residence of six months, mickle was warmly regarded by every portuguese nobleman. "every man believes," writes dr. johnson to baretti, "that mistresses are unfaithful, and patrons are capricious. but he excepts his own mistress, and his own patron." a patron is sometimes oddly obtained. benserade attached himself to cardinal mazarin; but his friendship produced nothing but civility. the poet every day indulged his easy and charming vein of amatory and panegyrical poetry, while all the world read and admired his verses. one evening the cardinal, in conversation with the king, described his mode of life when at the papal court. he loved the sciences; but his chief occupation was the belles lettres, composing little pieces of poetry; he said that he was then in the court of rome what benserade was now in that of france. some hours afterwards, the friends of the poet related to him the conversation of the cardinal. he quitted them abruptly, and ran to the apartment of his eminence, knocking with all his force, that he might be certain of being heard. the cardinal had just gone to bed; but he incessantly clamoured, demanding entrance; they were compelled to open the door. he ran to his eminence, fell upon his knees, almost pulled off the sheets of the bed in rapture, imploring a thousand pardons for thus disturbing him; but such was his joy in what he had just heard, which he repeated, that he could not refrain from immediately giving vent to his gratitude and his pride, to have been compared with his eminence for his poetical talents! had the door not been immediately opened, he should have expired; he was not rich, it was true, but he should now die contented! the cardinal was pleased with his _ardour_, and probably never suspected his _flattery_; and the next week our new actor was pensioned. on cardinal richelieu, another of his patrons, he gratefully made this epitaph:-- cy gist, ouy gist, par la mort bleu, le cardinal de richelieu, et ce qui cause mon ennuy ma pension avec lui. here lies, egad, 'tis very true, the illustrious cardinal richelieu: my grief is genuine--void of whim! alas! my _pension_ lies with him! le brun, the great french artist, painted himself holding in his hand the portrait of his earliest patron. in this accompaniment the artist may be said to have portrayed the features of his soul. if genius has too often complained of its patrons, has it not also often over-valued their protection? poets, philosophers, and artists, made by accident. accident has frequently occasioned the most eminent geniuses to display their powers. "it was at rome," says gibbon, "on the th of october, , as i sat musing amidst the ruins of the capitol, while the bare-footed friars were singing vespers in the temple of jupiter, that the idea of writing the decline and fall of the city first started to my mind." father malebranche having completed his studies in philosophy and theology without any other intention than devoting himself to some religious order, little expected the celebrity his works acquired for him. loitering in an idle hour in the shop of a bookseller, and turning over a parcel of books, _l'homme de descartes_ fell into his hands. having dipt into parts, he read with such delight that the palpitations of his heart compelled him to lay the volume down. it was this circumstance that produced those profound contemplations which made him the plato of his age. cowley became a poet by accident. in his mother's apartment he found, when very young, spenser's fairy queen; and, by a continual study of poetry, he became so enchanted by the muse, that he grew irrecoverably a poet. sir joshua reynolds had the first fondness for his art excited by the perusal of richardson's treatise. vaucanson displayed an uncommon genius for mechanics. his taste was first determined by an accident: when young, he frequently attended his mother to the residence of her confessor; and while she wept with repentance, he wept with weariness! in this state of disagreeable vacation, says helvetius, he was struck with the uniform motion of the pendulum of the clock in the hall. his curiosity was roused; he approached the clock-case, and studied its mechanism; what he could not discover he guessed at. he then projected a similar machine; and gradually his genius produced a clock. encouraged by this first success, he proceeded in his various attempts; and the genius, which thus could form a clock, in time formed a fluting automaton. accident determined the taste of molière for the stage. his grandfather loved the theatre, and frequently carried him there. the young man lived in dissipation; the father observing it asked in anger, if his son was to be made an actor. "would to god," replied the grandfather, "he were as good an actor as monrose." the words struck young molière, he took a disgust to his tapestry trade, and it is to this circumstance france owes her greatest comic writer. corneille loved; he made verses for his mistress, became a poet, composed _mélite_ and afterwards his other celebrated works. the discreet corneille had else remained a lawyer. we owe the great discovery of newton to a very trivial accident. when a student at cambridge, he had retired during the time of the plague into the country. as he was reading under an apple-tree, one of the fruit fell, and struck him a smart blow on the head. when he observed the smallness of the apple, he was surprised at the force of the stroke. this led him to consider the accelerating motion of falling bodies; from whence he deduced the principle of gravity, and laid the foundation of his philosophy. ignatius loyola was a spanish gentleman, who was dangerously wounded at the siege of pampeluna. having heated his imagination by reading the lives of the saints during his illness, instead of a romance, he conceived a strong ambition to be the founder of a religious order; whence originated the celebrated society of the jesuits. rousseau found his eccentric powers first awakened by the advertisement of the singular annual subject which the academy of dijon proposed for that year, in which he wrote his celebrated declamation against the arts and sciences. a circumstance which decided his future literary efforts. la fontaine, at the age of twenty-two, had not taken any profession, or devoted himself to any pursuit. having accidentally heard some verses of malherbe, he felt a sudden impulse, which directed his future life. he immediately bought a malherbe, and was so exquisitely delighted with this poet that, after passing the nights in treasuring his verses in his memory, he would run in the day-time to the woods, where, concealing himself, he would recite his verses to the surrounding dryads. flamsteed was an astronomer by accident. he was taken from school on account of his illness, when sacrobosco's book de sphæra having been lent to him, he was so pleased with it that he immediately began a course of astronomic studies. pennant's first propensity to natural history was the pleasure he received from an accidental perusal of willoughby's work on birds. the same accident of finding, on the table of his professor, reaumur's history of insects, which he read more than he attended to the lecture, and, having been refused the loan, gave such an instant turn to the mind of bonnet, that he hastened to obtain a copy; after many difficulties in procuring this costly work, its possession gave an unalterable direction to his future life. this naturalist indeed lost the use of his sight by his devotion to the microscope. dr. franklin attributes the cast of his genius to a similar accident. "i found a work of de foe's, entitled an 'essay on projects,' from which perhaps i derived impressions that have since influenced some of the principal events of my life." i shall add the incident which occasioned roger ascham to write his _schoolmaster_, one of the few works among our elder writers, which we still read with pleasure. at a dinner given by sir william cecil, at his apartments at windsor, a number of ingenious men were invited. secretary cecil communicated the news of the morning, that several scholars at eton had run away on account of their master's severity, which he condemned as a great error in the education of youth. sir william petre maintained the contrary; severe in his own temper, he pleaded warmly in defence of hard flogging. dr. wootton, in softer tones, sided with the secretary. sir john mason, adopting no side, bantered both. mr. haddon seconded the hard-hearted sir william petre, and adduced, as an evidence, that the best schoolmaster then in england was the hardest flogger. then was it that roger ascham indignantly exclaimed, that if such a master had an able scholar it was owing to the boy's genius, and not the preceptor's rod. secretary cecil and others were pleased with ascham's notions. sir richard sackville was silent, but when ascham after dinner went to the queen to read one of the orations of demosthenes, he took him aside, and frankly told him that, though he had taken no part in the debate, he would not have been absent from that conversation for a great deal; that he knew to his cost the truth that ascham had supported; for it was the perpetual flogging of such a schoolmaster that had given him an unconquerable aversion to study. and as he wished to remedy this defect in his own children, he earnestly exhorted ascham to write his observations on so interesting a topic. such was the circumstance which produced the admirable treatise of roger ascham. inequalities of genius. singular inequalities are observable in the labours of genius; and particularly in those which admit great enthusiasm, as in poetry, in painting, and in music. faultless mediocrity industry can preserve in one continued degree; but excellence, the daring and the happy, can only be attained, by human faculties, by starts. our poets who possess the greatest genius, with perhaps the least industry, have at the same time the most splendid and the worst passages of poetry. shakspeare and dryden are at once the greatest and the least of our poets. with some, their great fault consists in having none. carraccio sarcastically said of tintoret--_ho veduto il tintoretto hora eguale a titiano, hora minore del tintoretto_--"i have seen tintoret now equal to titian, and now less than tintoret." trublet justly observes--the more there are _beauties_ and _great beauties_ in a work, i am the less surprised to find _faults_ and _great faults_. when you say of a work that it has many faults, that decides nothing: and i do not know by this, whether it is execrable or excellent. you tell me of another, that it is without any faults: if your account be just, it is certain the work cannot be excellent. it was observed of one pleader, that he _knew_ more than he _said_; and of another, that he _said_ more than he _knew_. lucian happily describes the works of those who abound with the most luxuriant language, void of ideas. he calls their unmeaning verbosity "anemone-words;" for anemonies are flowers, which, however brilliant, only please the eye, leaving no fragrance. pratt, who was a writer of flowing but nugatory verses, was compared to the _daisy_; a flower indeed common enough, and without odour. geographical style. there are many sciences, says menage, on which we cannot indeed compose in a florid or elegant diction, such as geography, music, algebra, geometry, &c. when atticus requested cicero to write on geography, the latter excused himself, observing that its scenes were more adapted to please the eye, than susceptible of the embellishments of style. however, in these kind of sciences, we may lend an ornament to their dryness by introducing occasionally some elegant allusion, or noticing some incident suggested by the object. thus when we notice some inconsiderable place, for instance _woodstock_, we may recall attention to the residence of _chaucer_, the parent of our poetry, or the romantic labyrinth of rosamond; or as in "an autumn on the rhine," at ingelheim, at the view of an old palace built by charlemagne, the traveller adds, with "a hundred columns brought from rome," and further it was "the scene of the romantic amours of that monarch's fair daughter, ibertha, with eginhard, his secretary:" and viewing the gothic ruins on the banks of the rhine, he noticed them as having been the haunts of those illustrious _chevaliers voleurs_ whose chivalry consisted in pillaging the merchants and towns, till, in the thirteenth century, a citizen of mayence persuaded the merchants of more than a hundred towns to form a league against these little princes and counts; the origin of the famous rhenish league, which contributed so much to the commerce of europe. this kind of erudition gives an interest to topography, by associating in our memory great events and personages with the localities. the same principle of composition may be carried with the happiest effect into some dry investigations, though the profound antiquary may not approve of these sports of wit or fancy. dr. arbuthnot, in his tables of ancient coins, weights, and measures, a topic extremely barren of amusement, takes every opportunity of enlivening the dulness of his task; even in these mathematical calculations he betrays his wit; and observes that "the polite augustus, the emperor of the world, had neither any glass in his windows, nor a shirt to his back!" those uses of glass and linen indeed were not known in his time. our physician is not less curious and facetious in the account of the _fees_ which the roman physicians received. legends. those ecclesiastical histories entitled legends are said to have originated in the following circumstance. before colleges were established in the monasteries where the schools were held, the professors in rhetoric frequently gave their pupils the life of some saint for a trial of their talent at _amplification_. the students, at a loss to furnish out their pages, invented most of these wonderful adventures. jortin observes, that the christians used to collect out of ovid, livy, and other pagan poets and historians, the miracles and portents to be found there, and accommodated them to their own monks and saints. the good fathers of that age, whose simplicity was not inferior to their devotion, were so delighted with these flowers of rhetoric, that they were induced to make a collection of these miraculous compositions; not imagining that, at some distant period, they would become matters of faith. yet, when james de voragine, peter nadal, and peter ribadeneira, wrote the lives of the saints, they sought for their materials in the libraries of the monasteries; and, awakening from the dust these manuscripts of amplification, imagined they made an invaluable present to the world, by laying before them these voluminous absurdities. the people received these pious fictions with all imaginable simplicity, and as these are adorned by a number of cuts, the miracles were perfectly intelligible to their eyes. tillemont, fleury, baillet, launoi, and bollandus, cleared away much of the rubbish; the enviable title of _golden legend_, by which james de voragine called his work, has been disputed; iron or lead might more aptly describe its character. when the world began to be more critical in their reading, the monks gave a graver turn to their narratives; and became penurious of their absurdities. the faithful catholic contends, that the line of tradition has been preserved unbroken; notwithstanding that the originals were lost in the general wreck of literature from the barbarians, or came down in a most imperfect state. baronius has given the lives of many apocryphal saints; for instance, of a saint _xinoris_, whom he calls a martyr of antioch; but it appears that baronius having read in chrysostom this _word_, which signifies a _couple_ or _pair_, he mistook it for the name of a saint, and contrived to give the most authentic biography of a saint who never existed![ ] the catholics confess this sort of blunder is not uncommon, but then it is only fools who laugh! as a specimen of the happier inventions, one is given, embellished by the diction of gibbon-- "among the insipid legends of ecclesiastical history, i am tempted to distinguish the memorable fable of the _seven sleepers_; whose imaginary date corresponds with the reign of the younger theodosius, and the conquest of africa by the vandals. when the emperor decius persecuted the christians, seven noble youths of ephesus concealed themselves in a spacious cavern on the side of an adjacent mountain; where they were doomed to perish by the tyrant, who gave orders that the entrance should be firmly secured with a pile of stones. they immediately fell into a deep slumber, which was miraculously prolonged, without injuring the powers of life, during a period of one hundred and eighty-seven years. at the end of that time the slaves of adolius, to whom the inheritance of the mountain had descended, removed the stones to supply materials for some rustic edifice. the light of the sun darted into the cavern, and the seven sleepers were permitted to awake. after a slumber as they thought of a few hours, they were pressed by the calls of hunger; and resolved that jamblichus, one of their number, should secretly return to the city to purchase bread for the use of his companions. the youth, if we may still employ that appellation, could no longer recognise the once familiar aspect of his native country; and his surprise was increased by the appearance of a large cross, triumphantly erected over the principal gate of ephesus. his singular dress and obsolete language confounded the baker, to whom he offered an ancient medal of decius as the current coin of the empire; and jamblichus, on the suspicion of a secret treasure, was dragged before the judge. their mutual inquiries produced the amazing discovery, that two centuries were almost elapsed since jamblichus and his friends had escaped from the rage of a pagan tyrant. the bishop of ephesus, the clergy, the magistrates, the people, and, it is said, the emperor theodosius himself, hastened to visit the cavern of the seven sleepers; who bestowed their benediction, related their story, and at the same instant peaceably expired. "this popular tale mahomet learned when he drove his camels to the fairs of syria; and he has introduced it, as a _divine revelation_, into the koran."--the same story has been adopted and adorned by the nations, from bengal to africa, who profess the mahometan religion. the too curious reader may perhaps require other specimens of the more unlucky inventions of this "golden legend;" as characteristic of a certain class of minds, the philosopher will contemn these grotesque fictions. these monks imagined that holiness was often proportioned to a saint's filthiness. st. ignatius, say they, delighted to appear abroad with old dirty shoes; he never used a comb, but let his hair clot; and religiously abstained from paring his nails. one saint attained to such piety as to have near three hundred patches on his breeches; which, after his death, were hung up in public as an _incentive to imitation_. st. francis discovered, by certain experience, that the devils were frightened away by such kinds of breeches, but were animated by clean clothing to tempt and seduce the wearers; and one of their heroes declares that the purest souls are in the dirtiest bodies. on this they tell a story which may not be very agreeable to fastidious delicacy. brother juniper was a gentleman perfectly pious, on this principle; indeed so great was his merit in this species of mortification, that a brother declared he could always nose brother juniper when within a mile of the monastery, provided the wind was at the due point. once, when the blessed juniper, for he was no saint, was a guest, his host, proud of the honour of entertaining so pious a personage, the intimate friend of st. francis, provided an excellent bed, and the finest sheets. brother juniper abhorred such luxury. and this too evidently appeared after his sudden departure in the morning, unknown to his kind host. the great juniper did this, says his biographer, having told us what he did, not so much from his habitual inclinations, for which he was so justly celebrated, as from his excessive piety, and as much as he could to mortify worldly pride, and to show how a true saint despised clean sheets. in the life of st. francis we find, among other grotesque miracles, that he preached a sermon in a desert, but he soon collected an immense audience. the birds shrilly warbled to every sentence, and stretched out their necks, opened their beaks, and when he finished, dispersed with a holy rapture into four companies, to report his sermon to all the birds in the universe. a grasshopper remained a week with st. francis during the absence of the virgin mary, and pittered on his head. he grew so companionable with a nightingale, that when a nest of swallows began to babble, he hushed them by desiring them not to tittle-tattle of their sister, the nightingale. attacked by a wolf, with only the sign-manual of the cross, he held a long dialogue with his rabid assailant, till the wolf, meek as a lap-dog, stretched his paws in the hands of the saint, followed him through towns, and became half a christian. this same st. francis had such a detestation of the good things of this world, that he would never suffer his followers to touch money. a friar having placed in a window some money collected at the altar, he desired him to take it in his mouth, and throw it on the dung of an ass! st. philip nerius was such a _lover of poverty_, that he frequently prayed that god would bring him to that state as to stand in need of a penny, and find nobody that would give him one! but st. macaire was so shocked at having _killed a louse_, that he endured seven years of penitence among the thorns and briars of a forest. a circumstance which seems to have reached molière, who gives this stroke to the character of his tartuffe:-- il s'impute à péché la moindre bagatelle; jusques-là qu'il se vint, l'autre jour, s'accuser d'avoir pris une puce en faisant sa prière, et de l'avoir tuée avec trop de colère! i give a miraculous incident respecting two pious maidens. the night of the nativity of christ, after the first mass, they both retired into a solitary spot of their nunnery till the second mass was rung. one asked the other, "why do you want two cushions, when i have only one?" the other replied, "i would place it between us, for the child jesus; as the evangelist says, where there are two or three persons assembled i am in the midst of them."--this being done, they sat down, feeling a most lively pleasure at their fancy; and there they remained, from the nativity of christ to that of john the baptist; but this great interval of time passed with these saintly maidens as two hours would appear to others. the abbess and nuns were alarmed at their absence, for no one could give any account of them. in the eve of st. john, a cowherd, passing by them, beheld a beautiful child seated on a cushion between this pair of runaway nuns. he hastened to the abbess with news of these stray sheep; she came and beheld this lovely child playfully seated between these nymphs; they, with blushing countenances, inquired if the second bell had already rung? both parties were equally astonished to find our young devotees had been there from the nativity of jesus to that of st. john. the abbess inquired about the child who sat between them; they solemnly declared they saw no child between them! and persisted in their story! such is one of these miracles of "the golden legend," which a wicked wit might comment on, and see nothing extraordinary in the whole story. the two nuns might be missing between the nativities, and be found at last with a child seated between them.--they might not choose to account either for their absence or their child--the only touch of miracle is that, they asseverated, they _saw no child_--that i confess is a _little (child) too much_. the lives of the saints by alban butler is the most sensible history of these legends; ribadeneira's lives of the saints exhibit more of the legendary spirit, for wanting judgment and not faith, he is more voluminous in his details. the antiquary may collect much curious philosophical information, concerning the manners of the times, from these singular narratives. footnotes: [footnote : see the article on "literary blunders," in this volume, for the history of similar inventions, particularly the legend of st. ursuala and the eleven thousand virgins, and the discovery of a certain st. viar] the port-royal society. every lover of letters has heard of this learned society, which contributed so greatly to establish in france a taste for just reasoning, simplicity of style, and philosophical method. their "logic, or the art of thinking," for its lucid, accurate, and diversified matter, is still an admirable work; notwithstanding the writers had to emancipate themselves from the barbarism of the scholastic logic. it was the conjoint labour of arnauld and nicolle. europe has benefited by the labours of these learned men: but not many have attended to the origin and dissolution of this literary society. in the year , le maitre, a celebrated advocate, resigned the bar, and the honour of being _conseiller d'etat_, which his uncommon merit had obtained him, though then only twenty-eight years of age. his brother, de sericourt, who had followed the military profession, quitted it at the same time. consecrating themselves to the service of religion, they retired into a small house near _the port-royal_ of paris, where they were joined by their brothers de sacy, de st. elme, and de valmont. arnauld, one of their most illustrious associates, was induced to enter into the jansenist controversy, and then it was that they encountered the powerful persecution of the jesuits. constrained to remove from that spot, they fixed their residence at a few leagues from paris, and called it _port-royal des champs_.[ ] these illustrious recluses were joined by many distinguished persons who gave up their parks and houses to be appropriated to their schools; and this community was called the _society of port-royal_. here were no rules, no vows, no constitution, and no cells formed. prayer and study, and manual labour, were their only occupations. they applied themselves to the education of youth, and raised up little academies in the neighbourhood, where the members of port-royal, the most illustrious names of literary france, presided. none considered his birth entitled him to any exemption from their public offices, relieving the poor and attending on the sick, and employing themselves in their farms and gardens; they were carpenters, ploughmen, gardeners, and vine-dressers, as if they had practised nothing else; they studied physic, and surgery, and law; in truth, it seems that, from religious motives, these learned men attempted to form a community of primitive christianity. the duchess of longueville, once a political chief, sacrificed her ambition on the altar of port-royal, enlarged the monastic inclosure with spacious gardens and orchards, built a noble house, and often retreated to its seclusion. the learned d'andilly, the translator of josephus, after his studious hours, resorted to the cultivation of fruit-trees; and the fruit of port-royal became celebrated for its size and flavour. presents were sent to the queen-mother of france, anne of austria, and cardinal mazarin, who used to call it "fruit béni." it appears that "families of rank, affluence, and piety, who did not wish entirely to give up their avocations in the world, built themselves country-houses in the valley of port-royal, in order to enjoy the society of its religious and literary inhabitants." in the solitudes of port-royal _racine_ received his education; and, on his death-bed, desired to be buried in its cemetery, at the feet of his master hamon. arnauld, persecuted, and dying in a foreign country, still cast his lingering looks on this beloved retreat, and left the society his heart, which was there inurned. the duchess of longueville, a princess of the blood-royal, was, during her life, the powerful patroness of these solitary and religious men: but her death, in , was the fatal stroke which dispersed them for ever. the envy and the fears of the jesuits, and their rancour against arnauld, who with such ability had exposed their designs, occasioned the destruction of the port-royal society. _exinanite, exinanite usque ad fundamentum in ea!_--"annihilate it, annihilate it, to its very foundations!" such are the terms of the jesuitic decree. the jesuits had long called the little schools of port-royal the hot-beds of heresy. the jesuits obtained by their intrigues an order from government to dissolve that virtuous society. they razed the buildings, and ploughed up the very foundation; they exhausted their hatred even on the stones, and profaned even the sanctuary of the dead; the corpses were torn out of their graves, and dogs were suffered to contend for the rags of their shrouds. the memory of that asylum of innocence and learning was still kept alive by those who collected the engravings representing the place by mademoiselle hortemels. the police, under jesuitic influence, at length seized on the plates in the cabinet of the fair artist.--caustic was the retort courteous which arnauld gave the jesuits--"i do not fear your _pen_, but its _knife_." these were men whom the love of retirement had united to cultivate literature, in the midst of solitude, of peace, and of piety. alike occupied on sacred, as on profane writers, their writings fixed the french language. the example of these solitaries shows how retirement is favourable to penetrate into the sanctuary of the muses. an interesting anecdote is related of arnauld on the occasion of the dissolution of this society. the dispersion of these great men, and their young scholars, was lamented by every one but their enemies. many persons of the highest rank participated in their sorrows. the excellent arnauld, in that moment, was as closely pursued as if he had been a felon. it was then the duchess of longueville concealed arnauld in an obscure lodging, who assumed the dress of a layman, wearing a sword and full-bottomed wig. arnauld was attacked by a fever, and in the course of conversation with his physician, he inquired after news. "they talk of a new book of the port-royal," replied the doctor, "ascribed to arnauld or to sacy; but i do not believe it comes from sacy; he does not write so well."--"how, sir!" exclaimed the philosopher, forgetting his sword and wig; "believe me, my nephew writes better than i do."--the physician eyed his patient with amazement--he hastened to the duchess, and told her, "the malady of the gentleman you sent me to is not very serious, provided you do not suffer him to see any one, and insist on his holding his tongue." the duchess, alarmed, immediately had arnauld conveyed to her palace. she concealed him in an apartment, and persisted to attend him herself.--"ask," she said, "what you want of the servant, but it shall be myself who shall bring it to you." how honourable is it to the female character, that, in many similar occurrences, their fortitude has proved to be equal to their sensibility! but the duchess of longueville contemplated in arnauld a model of human fortitude which martyrs never excelled. his remarkable reply to nicolle, when they were hunted from place to place, should never be forgotten: arnauld wished nicolle to assist him in a new work, when the latter observed, "we are now old, is it not time to rest?" "rest!" returned arnauld, "have we not all eternity to rest in?" the whole of the arnauld family were the most extraordinary instance of that hereditary character, which is continued through certain families: here it was a sublime, and, perhaps, singular union of learning with religion. the arnaulds, sacy, pascal, tillemont, with other illustrious names, to whom literary europe will owe perpetual obligations, combined the life of the monastery with that of the library. footnotes: [footnote : the early history of the house is not given quite clearly and correctly in the text. the old foundation of cistercians, named _port-royal des champs_, was situated in the valley of chevreuse, near versailles, and founded in by bishop eudes, of paris. it was in the reign of louis xiii. that madame arnauld, the mother of the then abbess, hearing that the sisterhood suffered from the damp situation of their convent and its confined space, purchased a house as an infirmary for its sick members in the fauxbourg st. jacques, and called it the _port-royal de paris_, to distinguish it from the older foundation.] the progress of old age in new studies. of the pleasures derivable from the cultivation of the arts, sciences, and literature, time will not abate the growing passion; for old men still cherish an affection and feel a youthful enthusiasm in those pursuits, when all others have ceased to interest. dr. reid, to his last day, retained a most active curiosity in his various studies, and particularly in the revolutions of modern chemistry. in advanced life we may resume our former studies with a new pleasure, and in old age we may enjoy them with the same relish with which more youthful students commence. adam smith observed to dugald stewart, that "of all the amusements of old age, the most grateful and soothing is a renewal of acquaintance with the favourite studies and favourite authors of youth--a remark, adds stewart, which, in his own case, seemed to be more particularly exemplified while he was reperusing, with the enthusiasm of a student, the tragic poets of ancient greece. i have heard him repeat the observation more than once, while sophocles and euripides lay open on his table." socrates learnt to play on musical instruments in his old age; cato, at eighty, thought proper to learn greek; and plutarch, almost as late in his life, latin. theophrastus began his admirable work on the characters of men at the extreme age of ninety. he only terminated his literary labours by his death. ronsard, one of the fathers of french poetry, applied himself late to study. his acute genius, and ardent application, rivalled those poetic models which he admired; and boccaccio was thirty-five years of age when he commenced his studies in polite literature. the great arnauld retained the vigour of his genius, and the command of his pen, to the age of eighty-two, and was still the great arnauld. sir henry spelman neglected the sciences in his youth, but cultivated them at fifty years of age. his early years were chiefly passed in farming, which greatly diverted him from his studies; but a remarkable disappointment respecting a contested estate disgusted him with these rustic occupations: resolved to attach himself to regular studies, and literary society, he sold his farms, and became the most learned antiquary and lawyer. colbert, the famous french minister, almost at sixty, returned to his latin and law studies. dr. johnson applied himself to the dutch language but a few years before his death. the marquis de saint aulaire, at the age of seventy, began to court the muses, and they crowned him with their freshest flowers. the verses of this french anacreon are full of fire, delicacy, and sweetness. chaucer's canterbury tales were the composition of his latest years: they were begun in his fifty-fourth year, and finished in his sixty-first. ludovico monaldesco, at the extraordinary age of , wrote the memoirs of his times. a singular exertion, noticed by voltaire; who himself is one of the most remarkable instances of the progress of age in new studies. the most delightful of autobiographies for artists is that of benvenuto cellini; a work of great originality, which was not begun till "the clock of his age had struck fifty-eight." koornhert began at forty to learn the latin and greek languages, of which he became a master; several students, who afterwards distinguished themselves, have commenced as late in life their literary pursuits. ogilby, the translator of homer and virgil, knew little of latin or greek till he was past fifty; and franklin's philosophical pursuits began when he had nearly reached his fiftieth year. accorso, a great lawyer, being asked why he began the study of the law so late, answered, beginning it late, he should master it the sooner. dryden's complete works form the largest body of poetry from the pen of a single writer in the english language; yet he gave no public testimony of poetic abilities till his twenty-seventh year. in his sixty-eighth year he proposed to translate the whole iliad: and his most pleasing productions were written in his old age. michael angelo preserved his creative genius even in extreme old age: there is a device said to be invented by him, of an old man represented in a _go-cart_, with an hour-glass upon it; the inscription _ancora imparo!_--yet i am learning! we have a literary curiosity in a favourite treatise with erasmus and men of letters of that period, _de ratione studii_, by joachim sterck, otherwise fortius de ringelberg. the enthusiasm of the writer often carries him to the verge of ridicule; but something must be conceded to his peculiar situation and feelings; for baillet tells us that this method of studying had been formed entirely from his own practical knowledge and hard experience: at a late period of life he had commenced his studies, and at length he imagined that he had discovered a more perpendicular mode of ascending the hill of science than by its usual circuitous windings. his work has been compared to the sounding of a trumpet. menage, in his anti-baillet, has a very curious apology for writing verses in his old age, by showing how many poets amused themselves notwithstanding their grey hairs, and wrote sonnets or epigrams at ninety. la casa, in one of his letters, humorously said, _io credo ch'io farò sonnetti venti cinque anni, o trenta, pio che io sarò morto_.--"i think i may make sonnets twenty-five, or perhaps thirty years, after i shall be dead!" petau tells us that he wrote verses to solace the evils of old age-- ---- petavius æger cantabat veteris quærens solatia morbi. malherbe declares the honours of genius were his, yet young-- je les posseday jeune, et les possède encore a la fin de mes jours! spanish poetry. pere bouhours observes, that the spanish poets display an extravagant imagination, which is by no means destitute of _esprit_--shall we say _wit_? but which evinces little taste or judgment. their verses are much in the style of our cowley--trivial points, monstrous metaphors, and quaint conceits. it is evident that the spanish poets imported this taste from the time of marino in italy; but the warmth of the spanish climate appears to have redoubled it, and to have blown the kindled sparks of chimerical fancy to the heat of a vulcanian forge. lopez de vega, in describing an afflicted shepherdess, in one of his pastorals, who is represented weeping near the sea-side, says, "that the sea joyfully advances to gather her tears; and that, having enclosed them in shells, it converts them into pearls." "y el mar como imbidioso a tierra por las lagrimas salia, y alegre de cogerlas las guarda en conchas, y convierte en perlas." villegas addresses a stream--"thou who runnest over sands of gold, with feet of silver," more elegant than our shakspeare's--"thy silver skin laced with thy golden blood," which possibly he may not have written. villegas monstrously exclaims, "touch my breast, if you doubt the power of lydia's eyes--you will find it turned to ashes." again--"thou art so great that thou canst only imitate thyself with thy own greatness;" much like our "none but himself can be his parallel." gongora, whom the spaniards once greatly admired, and distinguished by the epithet of _the wonderful_, abounds with these conceits. he imagines that a nightingale, who enchantingly varied her notes, and sang in different manners, had a hundred thousand other nightingales in her breast, which alternately sang through her throat-- "con diferancia tal, con gracia tanta, a quel ruysenor llora, que sospecho que tiene otros cien mil dentro del pecho, que alterno su dolor por su garganta." of a young and beautiful lady he says, that she has but a few _years_ of life, but many _ages_ of beauty. "muchos siglos de hermosura en pocos anos de edad." many ages of beauty is a false thought, for beauty becomes not more beautiful from its age; it would be only a superannuated beauty. a face of two or three ages old could have but few charms. in one of his odes he addresses the river of madrid by the title of the _duke of streams_, and the _viscount of rivers_-- "mançanares, mançanares, os que en todo el aguatismo, estois _duque_ de arroyos, y _visconde_ de los rios." he did not venture to call it a _spanish grandee_, for, in fact, it is but a shallow and dirty stream; and as quevedo wittily informs us, "_mançanares_ is reduced, during the summer season, to the melancholy condition of the wicked rich man, who asks for water in the depths of hell." though so small, this stream in the time of a flood spreads itself over the neighbouring fields; for this reason philip the second built a bridge eleven hundred feet long!--a spaniard passing it one day, when it was perfectly dry, observing this superb bridge, archly remarked, "that it would be proper that the bridge should be sold to purchase water."--_es menester, vender la puente, par comprar agua._ the following elegant translation of a spanish madrigal of the kind here criticised i found in a newspaper, but it is evidently by a master-hand. on the green margin of the land, where guadalhorce winds his way, my lady lay: with golden key sleep's gentle hand had closed her eyes so bright-- her eyes, two suns of light-- and bade his balmy dews her rosy cheeks suffuse. the river god in slumber saw her laid: he raised his dripping head, with weeds o'erspread, clad in his wat'ry robes approach'd the maid, and with cold kiss, like death, drank the rich perfume of the maiden's breath. the maiden felt that icy kiss: _her suns unclosed, their flame_ full and unclouded on th' intruder came. amazed th' intruder felt _his frothy body melt and heard the radiance on his bosom hiss_; and, forced in blind confusion to retire, _leapt in the water to escape the fire_. saint evremond. the portrait of st. evremond is delineated by his own hand. in his day it was a literary fashion for writers to give their own portraits; a fashion that seems to have passed over into our country, for farquhar has drawn his own character in a letter to a lady. others of our writers have given these self-miniatures. such painters are, no doubt, great flatterers, and it is rather their ingenuity, than their truth, which we admire in these cabinet-pictures. "i am a philosopher, as far removed from superstition as from impiety; a voluptuary, who has not less abhorrence of debauchery than inclination for pleasure; a man who has never known want nor abundance. i occupy that station of life which is contemned by those who possess everything; envied by those who have nothing; and only relished by those who make their felicity consist in the exercise of their reason. young, i hated dissipation; convinced that man must possess wealth to provide for the comforts of a long life. old, i disliked economy; as i believe that we need not greatly dread want, when we have but a short time to be miserable. i am satisfied with what nature has done for me, nor do i repine at fortune. i do not seek in men what they have of evil, that i may censure; i only discover what they have ridiculous, that i may be amused. i feel a pleasure in detecting their follies; i should feel a greater in communicating my discoveries, did not my prudence restrain me. life is too short, according to my ideas, to read all kinds of books, and to load our memories with an endless number of things at the cost of our judgment. i do not attach myself to the observations of scientific men to acquire science; but to the most rational, that i may strengthen my reason. sometimes i seek for more delicate minds, that my taste may imbibe their delicacy; sometimes for the gayer, that i may enrich my genius with their gaiety; and, although i constantly read, i make it less my occupation than my pleasure. in religion, and in friendship, i have only to paint myself such as i am--in friendship more tender than a philosopher; and in religion, as constant and as sincere as a youth who has more simplicity than experience. my piety is composed more of justice and charity than of penitence. i rest my confidence on god, and hope everything from his benevolence. in the bosom of providence i find my repose, and my felicity." men of genius deficient in conversation. the student or the artist who may shine a luminary of learning and of genius, in his works, is found, not rarely, to lie obscured beneath a heavy cloud in colloquial discourse. if you love the man of letters, seek him in the privacies of his study. it is in the hour of confidence and tranquillity that his genius shall elicit a ray of intelligence more fervid than the labours of polished composition. the great peter corneille, whose genius resembled that of our shakspeare, and who has so forcibly expressed the sublime sentiments of the hero, had nothing in his exterior that indicated his genius; his conversation was so insipid that it never failed of wearying. nature, who had lavished on him the gifts of genius, had forgotten to blend with them her more ordinary ones. he did not even _speak_ correctly that language of which he was such a master. when his friends represented to him how much more he might please by not disdaining to correct these trivial errors, he would smile, and say--"_i am not the less peter corneille!_" descartes, whose habits were formed in solitude and meditation, was silent in mixed company; it was said that he had received his intellectual wealth from nature in solid bars, but not in current coin; or as addison expressed the same idea, by comparing himself to a banker who possessed the wealth of his friends at home, though he carried none of it in his pocket; or as that judicious moralist nicolle, of the port-royal society, said of a scintillant wit--"he conquers me in the drawing-room, but he surrenders to me at discretion on the staircase." such may say with themistocles, when asked to play on a lute--"i cannot fiddle, but i can make a little village a great city." the deficiencies of addison in conversation are well known. he preserved a rigid silence amongst strangers; but if he was silent, it was the silence of meditation. how often, at that moment, he laboured at some future spectator! mediocrity can _talk_; but it is for genius to _observe_. the cynical mandeville compared addison, after having passed an evening in his company, to "a silent parson in a tie-wig." virgil was heavy in conversation, and resembled more an ordinary man than an enchanting poet. la fontaine, says la bruyère, appeared coarse, heavy, and stupid; he could not speak or describe what he had just seen; but when he wrote he was a model of poetry. it is very easy, said a humorous observer on la fontaine, to be a man of wit, or a fool; but to be both, and that too in the extreme degree, is indeed admirable, and only to be found in him. this observation applies to that fine natural genius goldsmith. chaucer was more facetious in his tales than in his conversation, and the countess of pembroke used to rally him by saying, that his silence was more agreeable to her than his conversation. isocrates, celebrated for his beautiful oratorical compositions, was of so timid a disposition, that he never ventured to speak in public. he compared himself to the whetstone which will not cut, but enables other things to do so; for his productions served as models to other orators. vaucanson was said to be as much a machine as any he had made. dryden says of himself--"my conversation is slow and dull, my humour saturnine and reserved. in short, i am none of those who endeavour to break jests in company, or make repartees."[ ] vida. what a consolation for an aged parent to see his child, by the efforts of his own merits, attain from the humblest obscurity to distinguished eminence! what a transport for the man of sensibility to return to the obscure dwelling of his parent, and to embrace him, adorned with public honours! poor _vida_ was deprived of this satisfaction; but he is placed higher in our esteem by the present anecdote, than even by that classic composition, which rivals the art of poetry of his great master. _jerome vida_, after having long served two popes, at length attained to the episcopacy. arrayed in the robes of his new dignity, he prepared to visit his aged parents, and felicitated himself with the raptures which the old couple would feel in embracing their son as their bishop. when he arrived at their village, he learnt that it was but a few days since they were no more. his sensibilities were exquisitely pained. the muse dictated some elegiac verse, and in the solemn pathos deplored the death and the disappointment of his parents. the scuderies. bien heureux scudery, dont la fertile plume peut tous les mois sans peine enfanter un volume. boileau has written this couplet on the scuderies, the brother and sister, both famous in their day for composing romances, which they sometimes extended to ten or twelve volumes. it was the favourite literature of that period, as novels are now. our nobility not unfrequently condescended to translate these voluminous compositions. the diminutive size of our modern novels is undoubtedly an improvement: but, in resembling the size of primers, it were to be wished that their contents had also resembled their inoffensive pages. our great-grandmothers were incommoded with overgrown folios; and, instead of finishing the eventful history of two lovers at one or two sittings, it was sometimes six months, _including sundays_, before they could get quit of their clelias, their cyrus's, and parthenissas. mademoiselle scudery had composed _ninety volumes_! she had even finished another romance, which she would not give the public, whose taste, she perceived, no more relished this kind of works. she was one of those unfortunate authors who, living to more than ninety years of age, survive their own celebrity. she had her panegyrists in her day: menage observes--"what a pleasing description has mademoiselle scudery made, in her cyrus, of the little court at rambouillet! a thousand things in the romances of this learned lady render them inestimable. she has drawn from the ancients their happiest passages, and has even improved upon them; like the prince in the fable, whatever she touches becomes gold. we may read her works with great profit, if we possess a correct taste, and love instruction. those who censure their _length_ only show the littleness of their judgment; as if homer and virgil were to be despised, because many of their books were filled with episodes and incidents that necessarily retard the conclusion. it does not require much penetration to observe that _cyrus_ and _clelia_ are a species of the _epic_ poem. the epic must embrace a number of events to suspend the course of the narrative; which, only taking in a part of the life of the hero, would terminate too soon to display the skill of the poet. without this artifice, the charm of uniting the greater part of the episodes to the principal subject of the romance would be lost. mademoiselle de scudery has so well treated them, and so aptly introduced a variety of beautiful passages, that nothing in this kind is comparable to her productions. some expressions, and certain turns, have become somewhat obsolete; all the rest will last for ever, and outlive the criticisms they have undergone." menage has here certainly uttered a false prophecy. the curious only look over her romances. they contain doubtless many beautiful inventions; the misfortune is, that _time_ and _patience_ are rare requisites for the enjoyment of these iliads in prose. "the misfortune of her having written too abundantly has occasioned an unjust contempt," says a french critic. "we confess there are many heavy and tedious passages in her voluminous romances; but if we consider that in the clelia and the artamene are to be found inimitable delicate touches, and many splendid parts, which would do honour to some of our living writers, we must acknowledge that the great defects of all her works arise from her not writing in an age when taste had reached the _acmé_ of cultivation. such is her erudition, that the french place her next to the celebrated madame dacier. her works, containing many secret intrigues of the court and city, her readers must have keenly relished on their early publication." her artamene, or the great cyrus, and principally her clelia, are representations of what then passed at the court of france. the _map_ of the _kingdom of tenderness_, in clelia, appeared, at the time, as one of the happiest inventions. this once celebrated _map_ is an allegory which distinguishes the different kinds of tenderness, which are reduced to _esteem_, _gratitude_, and _inclination_. the map represents three rivers, which have these three names, and on which are situated three towns called tenderness: tenderness on _inclination_; tenderness on _esteem_; and tenderness on _gratitude_. _pleasing attentions_, or, _petits soins_, is a _village_ very beautifully situated. mademoiselle de scudery was extremely proud of this little allegorical map; and had a terrible controversy with another writer about its originality. george scudery, her brother, and inferior in genius, had a striking singularity of character:--he was one of the most complete votaries to the universal divinity, vanity. with a heated imagination, entirely destitute of judgment, his military character was continually exhibiting itself by that peaceful instrument the pen, so that he exhibits a most amusing contrast of ardent feelings in a cool situation; not liberally endowed with genius, but abounding with its semblance in the fire of eccentric gasconade; no man has portrayed his own character with a bolder colouring than himself, in his numerous prefaces and addresses; surrounded by a thousand self-illusions of the most sublime class, everything that related to himself had an homeric grandeur of conception. in an epistle to the duke of montmorency, scudery says, "i will learn to write with my left hand, that my right hand may more nobly be devoted to your service;" and alluding to his pen (_plume_), declares "he comes from a family who never used one, but to stick in their hats." when he solicits small favours from the great, he assures them "that princes must not think him importunate, and that his writings are merely inspired by his own individual interest; no! (he exclaims) i am studious only of your glory, while i am careless of my own fortune." and indeed, to do him justice, he acted up to these romantic feelings. after he had published his epic of alaric, christina of sweden proposed to honour him with a chain of gold of the value of five hundred pounds, provided he would expunge from his epic the eulogiums he bestowed on the count of gardie, whom she had disgraced. the epical soul of scudery magnanimously scorned the bribe, and replied, that "if the chain of gold should be as weighty as that chain mentioned in the history of the incas, i will never destroy any altar on which i have sacrificed!" proud of his boasted nobility and erratic life, he thus addresses the reader: "you will lightly pass over any faults in my work, if you reflect that i have employed the greater part of my life in seeing the finest parts of europe, and that i have passed more days in the camp than in the library. i have used more matches to light my musket than to light my candles; i know better to arrange columns in the field than those on paper; and to square battalions better than to round periods." in his first publication, he began his literary career perfectly in character, by a challenge to his critics! he is the author of sixteen plays, chiefly heroic tragedies; children who all bear the features of their father. he first introduced, in his "l'amour tyrannique," a strict observance of the aristotelian unities of time and place; and the necessity and advantages of this regulation are insisted on, which only shows that aristotle's art goes but little to the composition of a pathetic tragedy. in his last drama, "arminius," he extravagantly scatters his panegyrics on its fifteen predecessors; but of the present one he has the most exalted notion: it is the quintessence of scudery! an ingenious critic calls it "the downfall of mediocrity!" it is amusing to listen to this blazing preface:--"at length, reader, nothing remains for me but to mention the great arminius which i now present to you, and by which i have resolved to close my long and laborious course. it is indeed my masterpiece! and the most finished work that ever came from my pen; for whether we examine the fable, the manners, the sentiments, or the versification, it is certain that i never performed anything so just, so great, nor more beautiful; and if my labours could ever deserve a crown, i would claim it for this work!" the actions of this singular personage were in unison with his writings: he gives a pompous description of a most unimportant government which he obtained near marseilles, but all the grandeur existed only in our author's heated imagination. bachaumont and de la chapelle describe it, in their playful "voyage:" mais il faut vous parler du fort, qui sans doute est une merveille; c'est notre dame de la garde! gouvernement commode et beau, a qui suffit pour tout garde, un suisse avec sa hallebarde peint sur la porte du château! a fort very commodiously guarded; only requiring one sentinel with his halbert--painted on the door! in a poem on his disgust with the world, he tells us how intimate he has been with princes: europe has known him through all her provinces; he ventured everything in a thousand combats: l'on me vit obeïr, l'on me vit commander, et mon poil tout poudreux a blanchi sons les armes; il est peu de beaux arts où je ne sois instruit; en prose et en vers, mon nom fit quelque bruit; et par plus d'un chemin je parvins à la gloire. imitated. princes were proud my friendship to proclaim, and europe gazed, where'er her hero came! i grasp'd the laurels of heroic strife, the thousand perils of a soldier's life; obedient in the ranks each toilful day! though heroes soon command, they first obey. 'twas not for me, too long a time to yield! born for a chieftain in the tented field! around my plumed helm, my silvery hair hung like an honour'd wreath of age and care! the finer arts have charm'd my studious hours, versed in their mysteries, skilful in their powers; in verse and prose my equal genius glow'd, pursuing glory by no single road! such was the vain george scudery! whose heart, however, was warm: poverty could never degrade him; adversity never broke down his magnanimous spirit! footnotes: [footnote : the same is reported of butler; and it is said that charles ii. declared he could not believe him to be the author of _hudibras_; that witty poem being such a contradiction to his heavy manners.] de la rochefoucault. the maxims of this noble author are in the hands of every one. to those who choose to derive every motive and every action from the solitary principle of _self-love_, they are inestimable. they form one continued satire on human nature; but they are not reconcilable to the feelings of the man of better sympathies, or to him who passes through life with the firm integrity of virtue. even at court we find a sully, a malesherbes, and a clarendon, as well as a rouchefoucault and a chesterfield. the duke de la rochefoucault, says segrais, had not studied; but he was endowed with a wonderful degree of discernment, and knew the world perfectly well. this afforded him opportunities of making reflections, and reducing into maxims those discoveries which he had made in the heart of man, of which he displayed an admirable knowledge. it is perhaps worthy of observation, that this celebrated french duke could never summon resolution, at his election, to address the academy. although chosen a member, he never entered, for such was his timidity, that he could not face an audience and deliver the usual compliment on his introduction; he whose courage, whose birth, and whose genius were alike distinguished. the fact is, as appears by mad. de sévigné, that rochefoucault lived a close domestic life; there must be at least as much _theoretical_ as _practical_ knowledge in the opinions of such a retired philosopher. chesterfield, our english rochefoucault, we are also informed, possessed an admirable knowledge of the heart of man; and he, too, has drawn a similar picture of human nature. these are two _noble authors_ whose chief studies seem to have been made in _courts_. may it not be possible, allowing these authors not to have written a sentence of apocrypha, that the fault lies not so much in _human nature_ as in the satellites of power breathing their corrupt atmosphere? prior's hans carvel. were we to investigate the genealogy of our best modern stories, we should often discover the illegitimacy of our favourites; and retrace them frequently to the east. my well-read friend douce had collected materials for such a work. the genealogies of tales would have gratified the curious in literature. the story of the ring of hans carvel is of very ancient standing, as are most of the tales of this kind. menage says that poggius, who died in , has the merit of its invention; but i suspect he only related a very popular story. rabelais, who has given it in his peculiar manner, changed its original name of philelphus to that of hans carvel. this title is likewise in the eleventh of _les cent nouvelles nouvelles_ collected in , for the amusement of louis xi. when dauphin, and living in solitude. ariosto has borrowed it, at the end of his fifth satire; but has fairly appropriated it by his pleasant manner. in a collection of novels at lyons, in , it is introduced into the eleventh novel. celio malespini has it again in page of the second part of his two hundred novels, printed at venice in . fontaine has prettily set it off, and an anonymous writer has composed it in latin anacreontic verses; and at length our prior has given it with equal gaiety and freedom. after ariosto, la fontaine, and prior, let us hear of it no more; yet this has been done, in a manner, however, which here cannot be told. voltaire has a curious essay to show that most of our best modern stories and plots originally belonged to the eastern nations, a fact which has been made more evident by recent researches. the amphitryon of molière was an imitation of plautus, who borrowed it from the greeks, and they took it from the indians! it is given by dow in his history of hindostan. in captain scott's tales and anecdotes from arabian writers, we are surprised at finding so many of our favourites very ancient orientalists.--the ephesian matron, versified by la fontaine, was borrowed from the italians; it is to be found in petronius, and petronius had it from the greeks. but where did the greeks find it? in the arabian tales! and from whence did the arabian fabulists borrow it? from the chinese! it is found in du halde, who collected it from the versions of the jesuits. the student in the metropolis. a man of letters, more intent on the acquisitions of literature than on the intrigues of politics, or the speculations of commerce, may find a deeper solitude in a populous metropolis than in the seclusion of the country. the student, who is no flatterer of the little passions of men, will not be much incommoded by their presence. gibbon paints his own situation in the heart of the fashionable world:--"i had not been endowed by art or nature with those happy gifts of confidence and address which unlock every door and every bosom. while coaches were rattling through bond-street, i have passed many a solitary evening in my lodging with my books. i withdrew without reluctance from the noisy and extensive scene of crowds without company, and dissipation without pleasure." and even after he had published the first volume of his history, he observes that in london his confinement was solitary and sad; "the many forgot my existence when they saw me no longer at brookes's, and the few who sometimes had a thought on their friend were detained by business or pleasure, and i was proud and happy if i could prevail on my bookseller, elmsly, to enliven the dulness of the evening." a situation, very elegantly described in the beautifully polished verses of mr. rogers, in his "epistle to a friend:" when from his classic dreams the student steals amid the buzz of crowds, the whirl of wheels, to muse unnoticed, while around him press the meteor-forms of equipage and dress; alone in wonder lost, he seems to stand a very stranger in his native land. he compares the student to one of the seven sleepers in the ancient legend. descartes residing in the commercial city of amsterdam, writing to balzac, illustrates these descriptions with great force and vivacity. "you wish to retire; and your intention is to seek the solitude of the chartreux, or, possibly, some of the most beautiful provinces of france and italy. i would rather advise you, if you wish to observe mankind, and at the same time to lose yourself in the deepest solitude, to join me in amsterdam. i prefer this situation to that even of your delicious villa, where i spent so great a part of the last year; for, however agreeable a country-house may be, a thousand little conveniences are wanted, which can only be found in a city. one is not alone so frequently in the country as one could wish: a number of impertinent visitors are continually besieging you. here, as all the world, except myself, is occupied in commerce, it depends merely on myself to live unknown to the world. i walk every day amongst immense ranks of people, with as much tranquillity as you do in your green alleys. the men i meet with make the same impression on my mind as would the trees of your forests, or the flocks of sheep grazing on your common. the busy hum too of these merchants does not disturb one more than the purling of your brooks. if sometimes i amuse myself in contemplating their anxious motions, i receive the same pleasure which you do in observing those men who cultivate your land; for i reflect that the end of all their labours is to embellish the city which i inhabit, and to anticipate all my wants. if you contemplate with delight the fruits of your orchards, with all the rich promises of abundance, do you think i feel less in observing so many fleets that convey to me the productions of either india? what spot on earth could you find, which, like this, can so interest your vanity and gratify your taste?" the talmud. the jews have their talmud; the catholics their legends of saints; and the turks their sonnah. the protestant has nothing but his bible. the former are three kindred works. men have imagined that the more there is to be believed, the more are the merits of the believer. hence all _traditionists_ formed the orthodox and the strongest party. the word of god is lost amidst those heaps of human inventions, sanctioned by an order of men connected with religious duties; they ought now, however, to be regarded rather as curiosities of literature. i give a sufficiently ample account of the talmud and the legends; but of the sonnah i only know that it is a collection of the traditional opinions of the turkish prophets, directing the observance of petty superstitions not mentioned in the koran. the talmud is a collection of jewish traditions which have been _orally_ preserved. it comprises the mishna, which is the text; and the gemara, its commentary. the whole forms a complete system of the learning, ceremonies, civil and canon laws of the jews; treating indeed on all subjects; even gardening, manual arts, &c. the rigid jews persuaded themselves that these traditional explications are of divine origin. the pentateuch, say they, was written out by their legislator before his death in thirteen copies, distributed among the twelve tribes, and the remaining one deposited in the ark. the oral law moses continually taught in the sanhedrim, to the elders and the rest of the people. the law was repeated four times; but the interpretation was delivered only by _word of mouth_ from generation to generation. in the fortieth year of the flight from egypt, the memory of the people became treacherous, and moses was constrained to repeat this oral law, which had been conveyed by successive traditionists. such is the account of honest david levi; it is the creed of every rabbin.--david believed in everything but in jesus. this history of the talmud some inclined to suppose apocryphal, even among a few of the jews themselves. when these traditions first appeared, the keenest controversy has never been able to determine. it cannot be denied that there existed traditions among the jews in the time of jesus christ. about the second century, they were industriously collected by rabbi juda the holy, the prince of the rabbins, who enjoyed the favour of antoninus pius. he has the merit of giving some order to this multifarious collection. it appears that the talmud was compiled by certain jewish doctors, who were solicited for this purpose by their nation, that they might have something to oppose to their christian adversaries. the learned w. wotton, in his curious "discourses" on the traditions of the scribes and pharisees, supplies an analysis of this vast collection; he has translated entire two divisions of this code of traditional laws, with the original text and the notes. there are two talmuds: the jerusalem and the babylonian. the last is the most esteemed, because it is the most bulky. r. juda, the prince of the rabbins, committed to writing all these traditions, and arranged them under six general heads, called orders or classes. the subjects are indeed curious for philosophical inquirers, and multifarious as the events of civil life. every _order_ is formed of _treatises_; every _treatise_ is divided into chapters, every _chapter_ into _mishnas_, which word means mixtures or miscellanies, in the form of _aphorisms_. in the first part is discussed what relates to _seeds_, _fruits_, and _trees_; in the second, _feasts_; in the third, _women_, their duties, their _disorders_, _marriages_, _divorces_, _contracts_, and _nuptials_; in the fourth, are treated the damages or losses sustained by beasts or men; of _things found_; _deposits_; _usuries_; _rents_; _farms_; _partnerships_ in commerce; _inheritance_; _sales_ and _purchases_; _oaths_; _witnesses_; _arrests_; _idolatry_; and here are named those by whom the oral law was received and preserved. in the fifth part are noticed _sacrifices_ and _holy things_; and the sixth treats of _purifications_; _vessels_; _furniture_; _clothes_; _houses_; _leprosy_; _baths_; and numerous other articles. all this forms the mishna. the gemara, that is, the _complement_ or _perfection_, contains the disputes and the opinions of the rabbins on the oral traditions. their last decisions. it must be confessed that absurdities are sometimes elucidated by other absurdities; but there are many admirable things in this vast repository. the jews have such veneration for this compilation, that they compare the holy writings to _water_, and the talmud to _wine_; the text of moses to _pepper_, but the talmud to _aromatics_. of the twelve hours of which the day is composed, they tell us that _god_ employs nine to study the talmud, and only three to read the written law! st. jerome appears evidently to allude to this work, and notices its "old wives' tales," and the filthiness of some of its matters. the truth is, that the rabbins resembled the jesuits and casuists; and sanchez's work on "_matrimonio_" is well known to agitate matters with such _scrupulous niceties_ as to become the most offensive thing possible. but as among the schoolmen and casuists there have been great men, the same happened to these gemaraists. maimonides was a pillar of light among their darkness. the antiquity of this work is of itself sufficient to make it very curious. a specimen of the topics may be shown from the table and contents of "mishnic titles." in the order of seeds, we find the following heads, which present no uninteresting picture of the pastoral and pious ceremonies of the ancient jews. the mishna, entitled the _corner_, i.e. of the field. the laws of gleaning are commanded according to leviticus; xix. , . of the corner to be left in a corn-field. when the corner is due and when not. of the forgotten sheaf. of the ears of corn left in gathering. of grapes left upon the vine. of olives left upon the trees. when and where the poor may lawfully glean. what sheaf, or olives, or grapes, may be looked upon to be forgotten, and what not. who are the proper witnesses concerning the poor's due, to exempt it from tithing, &c. they distinguished uncircumcised fruit:--it is unlawful to eat of the fruit of any tree till the fifth year of its growth: the first three years of its bearing, it is called uncircumcised; the fourth is offered to god; and the fifth may be eaten. the mishna, entitled _heterogeneous mixtures_, contains several curious horticultural particulars. of divisions between garden-beds and fields, that the produce of the several sorts of grains or seeds may appear distinct. of the distance between every species. distances between vines planted in corn-fields from one another and from the corn; between vines planted against hedges, walls, or espaliers, and anything sowed near them. various cases relating to vineyards planted near any forbidden seeds. in their seventh, or sabbatical year, in which the produce of all estates was given up to the poor, one of these regulations is on the different work which must not be omitted in the sixth year, lest (because the seventh being devoted to the poor) the produce should be unfairly diminished, and the public benefit arising from this law be frustrated. of whatever is not perennial, and produced that year by the earth, no money may be made; but what is perennial may be sold. on priests' tithes, we have a regulation concerning eating the fruits carried to the place where they are to be separated. the order _women_ is very copious. a husband is obliged to forbid his wife to keep a particular man's company before two witnesses. of the waters of jealousy by which a suspected woman is to be tried by drinking, we find ample particulars. the ceremonies of clothing the accused woman at her trial. pregnant women, or who suckle, are not obliged to drink for the rabbins seem to be well convinced of the effects of the imagination. of their divorces many are the laws; and care is taken to particularise bills of divorces written by men in delirium or dangerously ill. one party of the rabbins will not allow of any divorce, unless something light was found in the woman's character, while another (the pharisees) allow divorces even when a woman has only been so unfortunate as to suffer her husband's soup to be burnt! in the order of _damages_, containing rules how to tax the damages done by man or beast, or other casualties, their distinctions are as nice as their cases are numerous. what beasts are innocent and what convict. by the one they mean creatures not naturally used to do mischief in any particular way; and by the other, those that naturally, or by a vicious habit, are mischievous that way. the tooth of a beast is convict, when it is proved to eat its usual food, the property of another man, and full restitution must be made; but if a beast that is used to eat fruits and herbs gnaws clothes or damages tools, which are not its usual food, the owner of the beast shall pay but half the damage when committed on the property of the injured person; but if the injury is committed on the property of the person who does the damage, he is free, because the beast gnawed what was not its usual food. as thus; if the beast of a. gnaws or tears the clothes of b. in b.'s house or grounds, a. shall pay half the damages; but if b.'s clothes are injured in a.'s grounds by a.'s beast, a. is free, for what had b. to do to put his clothes in a.'s grounds? they made such subtile distinctions, as when an ox gores a man or beast, the law inquired into the habits of the beast; whether it was an ox that used to gore, or an ox that was not used to gore. however acute these niceties sometimes were, they were often ridiculous. no beast could be _convicted_ of being vicious till evidence was given that he had done mischief three successive days; but if he leaves off those vicious tricks for three days more, he is innocent again. an ox may be convict of goring an ox and not a man, or of goring a man and not an ox: nay; of goring on the sabbath, and not on a working day. their aim was to make the punishment depend on the proofs of the _design_ of the beast that did the injury; but this attempt evidently led them to distinctions much too subtile and obscure. thus some rabbins say that the morning prayer of the _shemáh_ must be read at the time they can distinguish _blue_ from _white_; but another, more indulgent, insists it may be when we can distinguish _blue_ from _green_! which latter colours are so near akin as to require a stronger light. with the same remarkable acuteness in distinguishing things, is their law respecting not touching fire on the sabbath. among those which are specified in this constitution, the rabbins allow the minister to look over young children by lamp-light, but he shall not read himself. the minister is forbidden to _read_ by lamp-light, lest he should trim his lamp; but he may direct the children where they should read, because that is quickly done, and there would be no danger of his trimming his lamp in their presence, or suffering any of them to do it in his. all these regulations, which some may conceive as minute and frivolous, show a great intimacy with the human heart, and a spirit of profound observation which had been capable of achieving great purposes. the owner of an innocent beast only pays half the costs for the mischief incurred. man is always convict, and for all mischief he does he must pay full costs. however there are casual damages,--as when a man pours water accidentally on another man; or makes a thorn-hedge which annoys his neighbour; or falling down, and another by stumbling on him incurs harm: how such compensations are to be made. he that has a vessel of another's in keeping, and removes it, but in the removal breaks it, must swear to his own integrity; i.e., that he had no design to break it. all offensive or noisy trades were to be carried on at a certain distance from a town. where there is an estate, the sons inherit, and the daughters are maintained; but if there is not enough for all, the daughters are maintained, and the sons must get their living as they can, or even beg. the contrary to this excellent ordination has been observed in europe. these few titles may enable the reader to form a general notion of the several subjects on which the mishna treats. the gemara or commentary is often overloaded with ineptitudes and ridiculous subtilties. for instance, in the article of "negative oaths." if a man swears he will eat no bread, and does eat all sorts of bread, in that case the perjury is but one; but if he swears that he will eat neither barley, nor wheaten, nor rye-bread, the perjury is multiplied as he multiplies his eating of the several sorts.--again, the pharisees and the sadducees had strong differences about touching the holy writings with their hands. the doctors ordained that whoever touched the book of the law must not eat of the truma (first fruits of the wrought produce of the ground), till they had washed their hands. the reason they gave was this. in times of persecution, they used to hide those sacred books in secret places, and good men would lay them out of the way when they had done reading them. it was possible, then, that these rolls of the law might be gnawed by _mice_. the hands then that touched these books when they took them out of the places where they had laid them up, were supposed to be unclean, so far as to disable them from eating the truma till they were washed. on that account they made this a general rule, that if any part of the _bible_ (except _ecclesiastes_, because that excellent book their sagacity accounted less holy than the rest) or their phylacteries, or the strings of their phylacteries, were touched by one who had a right to eat the truma, he might not eat it till he had washed his hands. an evidence of that superstitious trifling, for which the pharisees and the later rabbins have been so justly reprobated. they were absurdly minute in the literal observance of their vows, and as shamefully subtile in their artful evasion of them. the pharisees could be easy enough to themselves when convenient, and always as hard and unrelenting as possible to all others. they quibbled, and dissolved their vows, with experienced casuistry. jesus reproaches the pharisees in matthew xv. and mark vii. for flagrantly violating the fifth commandment, by allowing the vow of a son, perhaps made in hasty anger, its full force, when he had sworn that his father should never be the better for him, or anything he had, and by which an indigent father might be suffered to starve. there is an express case to this purpose in the mishna, in the title of _vows_. the reader may be amused by the story:--a man made a vow that his _father should not profit by him_. this man afterwards made a wedding-feast for his son, and wishes his father should be present; but he cannot invite him, because he is tied up by his vow. he invented this expedient:--he makes a gift of the court in which the feast was to be kept, and of the feast itself, to a third person in trust, that his father should be invited by that third person, with the other company whom he at first designed. this third person then says--if these things you thus have given me are mine, i will dedicate them to god, and then none of you can be the better for them. the son replied--i did not give them to you that you should consecrate them. then the third man said--yours was no donation, only you were willing to eat and drink with your father. thus, says r. juda, they dissolved each other's intentions; and when the case came before the rabbins, they decreed that a gift which may not be consecrated by the person to whom it is given is not a gift. the following extract from the talmud exhibits a subtile mode of reasoning, which the jews adopted when the learned of rome sought to persuade them to conform to their idolatry. it forms an entire mishna, entitled _sedir nezikin_, avoda zara, iv. . on idolatrous worship, translated by wotton. "some roman senators examined the jews in this manner:--if god hath no delight in the worship of idols, why did he not destroy them? the jews made answer--if men had worshipped only things of which the world had had no need, he would have destroyed the object of their worship; but they also worship the sun and moon, stars and planets; and then he must have destroyed his world for the sake of these deluded men. but still, said the romans, why does not god destroy the things which the world does not want, and leave those things which the world cannot be without? because, replied the jews, this would strengthen the hands of such as worship these necessary things, who would then say--ye allow now that these are gods, since they are not destroyed." rabbinical stories. the preceding article furnishes some of the more serious investigations to be found in the talmud. its levities may amuse. i leave untouched the gross obscenities and immoral decisions. the talmud contains a vast collection of stories, apologues, and jests; many display a vein of pleasantry, and at times have a wildness of invention, which sufficiently mark the features of an eastern parent. many extravagantly puerile were designed merely to recreate their young students. when a rabbin was asked the reason of so much nonsense, he replied that the ancients had a custom of introducing music in their lectures, which accompaniment made them more agreeable; but that not having musical instruments in the schools, the rabbins invented these strange stories to arouse attention. this was ingeniously said; but they make miserable work when they pretend to give mystical interpretations to pure nonsense. in , a german professor of the oriental languages, dr. eisenmenger, published in two large volumes quarto, his "judaism discovered," a ponderous labour, of which the scope was to ridicule the jewish traditions. i shall give a dangerous adventure into which king david was drawn by the devil. the king one day hunting, satan appeared before him in the likeness of a roe. david discharged an arrow at him, but missed his aim. he pursued the feigned roe into the land of the philistines. ishbi, the brother of goliath, instantly recognised the king as him who had slain that giant. he bound him, and bending him neck and heels, laid him under a wine-press in order to press him to death. a miracle saves david. the earth beneath him became soft, and ishbi could not press wine out of him. that evening in the jewish congregation a dove, whose wings were covered with silver, appeared in great perplexity; and evidently signified the king of israel was in trouble. abishai, one of the king's counsellors, inquiring for the king, and finding him absent, is at a loss to proceed, for according to the mishna, no one may ride on the king's horse, nor sit upon his throne, nor use his sceptre. the school of the rabbins, however, allowed these things in time of danger. on this abishai vaults on david's horse, and (with an oriental metaphor) the land of the philistines leaped to him instantly! arrived at ishbi's house, he beholds his mother orpa spinning. perceiving the israelite, she snatched up her spinning-wheel and threw it at him, to kill him; but not hitting him, she desired him to bring the spinning-wheel to her. he did not do this exactly, but returned it to her in such a way that she never asked any more for her spinning-wheel. when ishbi saw this, and recollecting that david, though tied up neck and heels, was still under the wine-press, he cried out. "there are now two who will destroy me!" so he threw david high up into the air, and stuck his spear into the ground, imagining that david would fall upon it and perish. but abishai pronounced the magical name, which the talmudists frequently make use of, and it caused david to hover between earth and heaven, so that he fell not down! both at length unite against ishbi, and observing that two young lions should kill one lion, find no difficulty in getting rid of the brother of goliath. of solomon, another favourite hero of the talmudists, a fine arabian story is told. this king was an adept in necromancy, and a male and a female devil were always in waiting for an emergency. it is observable, that the arabians, who have many stories concerning solomon, always describe him as a magician. his adventures with aschmedai, the prince of devils, are numerous; and they both (the king and the devil) served one another many a slippery trick. one of the most remarkable is when aschmedai, who was prisoner to solomon, the king having contrived to possess himself of the devil's seal-ring, and chained him, one day offered to answer an unholy question put to him by solomon, provided he returned him his seal-ring and loosened his chain. the impertinent curiosity of solomon induced him to commit this folly. instantly aschmedai swallowed the monarch; and stretching out his wings up to the firmament of heaven, one of his feet remaining on the earth, he spit out solomon four hundred leagues from him. this was done so privately, that no one knew anything of the matter. aschmedai then assumed the likeness of solomon, and sat on his throne. from that hour did solomon say, "_this_ then is the reward of all my labour," according to ecclesiasticus i. ; which _this_ means, one rabbin says, his walking-staff; and another insists was his ragged coat. for solomon went a begging from door to door; and wherever he came he uttered these words; "i, the preacher, was king over israel in jerusalem." at length coming before the council, and still repeating these remarkable words, without addition or variation, the rabbins said, "this means something: for a fool is not constant in his tale!" they asked the chamberlain, if the king frequently saw him? and he replied to them, no! then they sent to the queens, to ask if the king came into their apartments? and they answered, yes! the rabbins then sent them a message to take notice of his feet; for the feet of devils are like the feet of cocks. the queens acquainted them that his majesty always came in slippers, but forced them to embrace at times forbidden by the law. he had attempted to lie with his mother bathsheba, whom he had almost torn to pieces. at this the rabbins assembled in great haste, and taking the beggar with them, they gave him the ring and the chain in which the great magical name was engraven, and led him to the palace. asehmedai was sitting on the throne as the real solomon entered; but instantly he shrieked and flew away. yet to his last day was solomon afraid of the prince of devils, and had his bed guarded by the valiant men of israel, as is written in cant. iii. , . they frequently display much humour in their inventions, as in the following account of the manners and morals of an infamous town, which mocked at all justice. there were in sodom four judges, who were liars, and deriders of justice. when any one had struck his neighbour's wife, and caused her to miscarry, these judges thus counselled the husband:--"give her to the offender, that he may get her with child for thee." when any one had cut off an ear of his neighbour's ass, they said to the owner--"let him have the ass till the ear is grown again, that it may be returned to thee as thou wishest." when any one had wounded his neighbour, they told the wounded man to "give him a fee for letting him blood." a toll was exacted in passing a certain bridge; but if any one chose to wade through the water, or walk round about to save it, he was condemned to a double toll. eleasar, abraham's servant, came thither, and they wounded him. when, before the judge, he was ordered to pay his fee for having his blood let, eleasar flung a stone at the judge, and wounded him; on which the judge said to him--"what meaneth this?" eleasar replied--"give him who wounded me the fee that is due to myself for wounding thee." the people of this town had a bedstead on which they laid travellers who asked for rest. if any one was too long for it, they cut off his legs; and if he was shorter than the bedstead, they strained him to its head and foot. when a beggar came to this town, every one gave him a penny, on which was inscribed the donor's name; but they would sell him no bread, nor let him escape. when the beggar died from hunger, then they came about him, and each man took back his penny. these stories are curious inventions of keen mockery and malice, seasoned with humour. it is said some of the famous decisions of sancho panza are to be found in the talmud. abraham is said to have been jealous of his wives, and built an enchanted city for them. he built an iron city and put them in. the walls were so high and dark, the sun could not be seen in it. he gave them a bowl full of pearls and jewels, which sent forth a light in this dark city equal to the sun. noah, it seems, when in the ark, had no other light than jewels and pearls. abraham, in travelling to egypt, brought with him a chest. at the custom-house the officers exacted the duties. abraham would have readily paid, but desired they would not open the chest. they first insisted on the duty for clothes, which abraham consented to pay; but then they thought, by his ready acquiescence, that it might be gold. abraham consents to pay for gold. they now suspected it might be silk. abraham was willing to pay for silk, or more costly pearls; and abraham generously consented to pay as if the chest contained the most valuable of things. it was then they resolved to open and examine the chest; and, behold, as soon as that chest was opened, that great lustre of human beauty broke out which made such a noise in the land of egypt; it was sarah herself! the jealous abraham, to conceal her beauty, had locked her up in this chest. the whole creation in these rabbinical fancies is strangely gigantic and vast. the works of eastern nations are full of these descriptions; and hesiod's theogony, and milton's battles of angels, are puny in comparison with these rabbinical heroes, or rabbinical things. mountains are hurled, with all their woods, with great ease, and creatures start into existence too terrible for our conceptions. the winged monster in the "arabian nights," called the roc, is evidently one of the creatures of rabbinical fancy; it would sometimes, when very hungry, seize and fly away with an elephant. captain cook found a bird's nest in an island near new holland, built with sticks on the ground, six-and-twenty feet in circumference, and near three feet in height. but of the rabbinical birds, fish, and animals, it is not probable any circumnavigator will ever trace even the slightest vestige or resemblance. one of their birds, when it spreads its wings, blots out the sun. an egg from another fell out of its nest, and the white thereof broke and glued about three hundred cedar-trees, and overflowed a village. one of them stands up to the lower joint of the leg in a river, and some mariners, imagining the water was not deep, were hastening to bathe, when a voice from heaven said--"step not in there, for seven years ago there a carpenter dropped his axe, and it hath not yet reached the bottom." the following passage, concerning fat geese, is perfectly in the style of these rabbins:--"a rabbin once saw in a desert a flock of geese so fat that their feathers fell off, and the rivers flowed in fat. then said i to them, shall we have part of you in the other world when the messiah shall come? and one of them lifted up a wing, and another a leg, to signify these parts we should have. we should otherwise have had all parts of these geese; but we israelites shall be called to an account touching these fat geese, because their sufferings are owing to us. it is our iniquities that have delayed the coming of the messiah; and these geese suffer greatly by reason of their excessive fat, which daily and daily increases, and will increase till the messiah comes!" what the manna was which fell in the wilderness, has often been disputed, and still is disputable; it was sufficient for the rabbins to have found in the bible that the taste of it was "as a wafer made with honey," to have raised their fancy to its pitch. they declare it was "like oil to children, honey to old men, and cakes to middle age." it had every kind of taste except that of cucumbers, melons, garlic, and onions, and leeks, for these were those egyptian roots which the israelites so much regretted to have lost. this manna had, however, the quality to accommodate itself to the palate of those who did not murmur in the wilderness; and to these it became fish, flesh, or fowl. the rabbins never advance an absurdity without quoting a text in scripture; and to substantiate this fact they quote deut. ii. , where it is said, "through this great wilderness these forty years the lord thy god hath been with thee, and _thou hast lacked nothing_!" st. austin repeats this explanation of the rabbins, that the faithful found in this manna the taste of their favourite food! however, the israelites could not have found all these benefits, as the rabbins tell us; for in numbers xi. , they exclaim, "there is _nothing at all besides this manna_ before our eyes!" they had just said that they remembered the melons, cucumbers, &c., which they had eaten of so freely in egypt. one of the hyperboles of the rabbins is, that the manna fell in such mountains, that the kings of the east and the west beheld them; which they found on a passage in the rd psalm; "thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies!" these may serve as specimens of the forced interpretations on which their grotesque fables are founded. their detestation of titus, their great conqueror, appears by the following wild invention. after having narrated certain things too shameful to read, of a prince whom josephus describes in far different colours, they tell us that on sea titus tauntingly observed, in a great storm, that the god of the jews was only powerful on the water, and that, therefore, he had succeeded in drowning pharaoh and sisera. "had he been strong, he would have waged war with me in jerusalem." on uttering this blasphemy, a voice from heaven said, "wicked man! i have a little creature in the world which shall wage war with thee!" when titus landed, a gnat entered his nostrils, and for seven years together made holes in his brains. when his skull was opened, the gnat was found to be as large as a pigeon: the mouth of the gnat was of copper, and the claws of iron. a collection which has recently appeared of these talmudical stories has not been executed with any felicity of selection. that there are, however, some beautiful inventions in the talmud, i refer to the story of solomon and sheba, in the present volume. on the custom of saluting after sneezing. it is probable that this custom, so universally prevalent, originated in some ancient superstition; it seems to have excited inquiry among all nations. "some catholics," says father feyjoo, "have attributed the origin of this custom to the ordinance of a pope, saint gregory, who is said to have instituted a short benediction to be used on such occasions, at a time when, during a pestilence, the crisis was attended by _sneezing_, and in most cases followed by _death_." but the rabbins, who have a story for everything, say, that before jacob men never sneezed but _once_, and then immediately _died_: they assure us that that patriarch was the first who died by natural disease; before him all men died by sneezing; the memory of which was ordered to be preserved in _all nations_, by a command of every prince to his subjects to employ some salutary exclamation after the act of sneezing. but these are talmudical dreams, and only serve to prove that so familiar a custom has always excited inquiry. even aristotle has delivered some considerable nonsense on this custom; he says it is an honourable acknowledgment of the seat of good sense and genius--the head--to distinguish it from two other offensive eruptions of air, which are never accompanied by any benediction from the by-standers. the custom, at all events, existed long prior to pope gregory. the lover in apuleius, gyton in petronius, and allusions to it in pliny, prove its antiquity; and a memoir of the french academy notices the practice in the new world, on the first discovery of america. everywhere man is saluted for sneezing. an amusing account of the ceremonies which attend the _sneezing_ of a king of monomotapa, shows what a national concern may be the sneeze of despotism.--those who are near his person, when this happens, salute him in so loud a tone, that persons in the ante-chamber hear it, and join in the acclamation; in the adjoining apartments they do the same, till the noise reaches the street, and becomes propagated throughout the city; so that, at each sneeze of his majesty, results a most horrid cry from the salutations of many thousands of his vassals. when the king of sennaar sneezes, his courtiers immediately turn their backs on him, and give a loud slap on their right thigh. with the ancients sneezing was ominous;[ ] from the _right_ it was considered auspicious; and plutarch, in his life of themistocles, says, that before a naval battle it was a sign of conquest! catullus, in his pleasing poem of acmè and septimus, makes this action from the deity of love, from the _left_, the source of his fiction. the passage has been elegantly versified by a poetical friend, who finds authority that the gods sneezing on the _right_ in _heaven_, is supposed to come to us on _earth_ on the _left_. cupid _sneezing_ in his flight, once was heard upon the _right_, boding woe to lovers true; but now upon the _left_ he flew, and with sporting _sneeze_ divine, gave to joy the sacred sign. acmè bent her lovely face, flush'd with rapture's rosy grace, and those eyes that swam in bliss, prest with many a breathing kiss; breathing, murmuring, soft, and low, thus might life for ever flow! "love of my life, and life of love! cupid rules our fates above, ever let us vow to join in homage at his happy shrine." cupid heard the lovers true, again upon the _left_ he flew, and with sporting _sneeze_ divine, renew'd of joy the _sacred sign_! footnotes: [footnote : xenophon having addressed a speech to his soldiers, in which he declared he felt many reasons for a dependence on the favour of the gods, had scarcely concluded his words when one of them emitted a loud sneeze. xenophon at once declared this a spontaneous omen sent by jupiter as a sign that his protection was awarded them. "o, happy bridegroom! thee a lucky sneeze to sparta welcom'd."--_theocritus_, idyll xviii. "prometheus was the first that wished well to the sneezer, when the man which he had made of clay fell into a fit of sternutation upon the approach of that celestial fire which he stole from the sun."--ross's _arcana microcosmi_.] bonaventure de periers. a happy art in the relation of a story is, doubtless, a very agreeable talent; it has obtained la fontaine all the applause which his charming _naïveté_ deserves. of "_bonaventure de periers, valet de chambre de la royne de navarre_," there are three little volumes of tales in prose, in the quaint or the coarse pleasantry of that day. the following is not given as the best, but as it introduces a novel etymology of a word in great use:-- "a student at law, who studied at poitiers, had tolerably improved himself in cases of equity; not that he was over-burthened with learning; but his chief deficiency was a want of assurance and confidence to display his knowledge. his father, passing by poitiers, recommended him to read aloud, and to render his memory more prompt by continued exercise. to obey the injunctions of his father, he determined to read at the _ministery_. in order to obtain a certain quantity of assurance, he went every day into a garden, which was a very retired spot, being at a distance from any house, and where there grew a great number of fine large cabbages. thus for a long time he pursued his studies, and repeated his lectures to these cabbages, addressing them by the title of _gentlemen_, and balancing his periods to them as if they had composed an audience of scholars. after a fort-night or three weeks' preparation, he thought it was high time to take the _chair_; imagining that he should be able to lecture his scholars as well as he had before done his cabbages. he comes forward, he begins his oration--but before a dozen words his tongue freezes between his teeth! confused, and hardly knowing where he was, all he could bring out was--_domini, ego bene video quod non eslis caules_; that is to say--for there are some who will have everything in plain english--_gentlemen, i now clearly see you are not cabbages!_ in the _garden_ he could conceive the _cabbages_ to be _scholars_; but in the _chair_, he could not conceive the _scholars_ to be _cabbages_." on this story la monnoye has a note, which gives a new origin to a familiar term. "the hall of the school of equity at poitiers, where the institutes were read, was called _la ministerie_. on which head florimond de remond (book vii. ch. ), speaking of albert babinot, one of the first disciples of calvin, after having said he was called 'the _good man_,' adds, that because he had been a student of the institutes at this _ministerie_ of poitiers, calvin and others styled him _mr. minister_; from whence, afterwards _calvin_ took occasion to give the name of ministers to the pastors of his church." grotius. the life of grotius shows the singular felicity of a man of letters and a statesman, and how a student can pass his hours in the closest imprisonment. the gate of the prison has sometimes been the porch of fame. grotius, studious from his infancy, had also received from nature the faculty of genius, and was so fortunate as to find in his father a tutor who formed his early taste and his moral feelings. the younger grotius, in imitation of horace, has celebrated his gratitude in verse. one of the most interesting circumstances in the life of this great man, which strongly marks his genius and fortitude, is displayed in the manner in which he employed his time during his imprisonment. other men, condemned to exile and captivity, if they survive, despair; the man of letters may reckon those days as the sweetest of his life. when a prisoner at the hague, he laboured on a latin essay on the means of terminating religious disputes, which occasion so many infelicities in the state, in the church, and in families; when he was carried to louvenstein, he resumed his law studies, which other employments had interrupted. he gave a portion of his time to moral philosophy, which engaged him to translate the maxims of the ancient poets, collected by stobæus, and the fragments of menander and philemon. every sunday was devoted to the scriptures, and to his commentaries on the new testament. in the course of the work he fell ill; but as soon as he recovered his health, he composed his treatise, in dutch verse, on the truth of the christian religion. sacred and profane authors occupied him alternately. his only mode of refreshing his mind was to pass from one work to another. he sent to vossius his observations on the tragedies of seneca. he wrote several other works--particularly a little catechism, in verse, for his daughter cornelia--and collected materials to form his apology. although he produced thus abundantly, his confinement was not more than two years. we may well exclaim here, that the mind of grotius had never been imprisoned. to these various labours we may add an extensive correspondence he held with the learned; his letters were often so many treatises, and there is a printed collection amounting to two thousand. grotius had notes ready for every classical author of antiquity, whenever a new edition was prepared; an account of his plans and his performances might furnish a volume of themselves; yet he never published in haste, and was fond of revising them. we must recollect, notwithstanding such uninterrupted literary avocations, his hours were frequently devoted to the public functions of an ambassador:--"i only reserve for my studies the time which other ministers give to their pleasures, to conversations often useless, and to visits sometimes unnecessary." such is the language of this great man! i have seen this great student censured for neglecting his official duties; but, to decide on this accusation, it would be necessary to know the character of his accuser. noblemen turned critics. i offer to the contemplation of those unfortunate mortals who are necessitated to undergo the criticisms of _lords_, this pair of anecdotes:-- soderini, the gonfalonière of florence, having had a statue made by the great _michael angelo_, when it was finished, came to inspect it; and having for some time sagaciously considered it, poring now on the face, then on the arms, the knees, the form of the leg, and at length on the foot itself; the statue being of such perfect beauty, he found himself at a loss to display his powers of criticism, only by lavishing his praise. but only to praise might appear as if there had been an obtuseness in the keenness of his criticism. he trembled to find a fault, but a fault must be found. at length he ventured to mutter something concerning the nose--it might, he thought, be something more grecian. _angelo_ differed from his grace, but he said he would attempt to gratify his taste. he took up his chisel, and concealed some marble dust in his hand; feigning to re-touch the part, he adroitly let fall some of the dust he held concealed. the cardinal observing it as it fell, transported at the idea of his critical acumen, exclaimed--"ah, _angelo_, you have now given an inimitable grace!" when pope was first introduced to read his iliad to lord halifax, the noble critic did not venture to be dissatisfied with so perfect a composition; but, like the cardinal, this passage, and that word, this turn, and that expression, formed the broken cant of his criticisms. the honest poet was stung with vexation; for, in general, the parts at which his lordship hesitated were those with which he was most satisfied. as he returned home with sir samuel garth, he revealed to him the anxiety of his mind. "oh," replied garth, laughing, "you are not so well acquainted with his lordship as myself; he must criticize. at your next visit, read to him those very passages as they now stand; tell him that you have recollected his criticisms; and i'll warrant you of his approbation of them. this is what i have done a hundred times myself." _pope_ made use of this stratagem; it took, like the marble dust of _angelo_; and my lord, like the cardinal, exclaimed--"dear _pope_, they are now inimitable!" literary impostures. some authors have practised singular impositions on the public. varillas, the french historian, enjoyed for some time a great reputation in his own country for his historical compositions; but when they became more known, the scholars of other countries destroyed the reputation which he had unjustly acquired. his continual professions of sincerity prejudiced many in his favour, and made him pass for a writer who had penetrated into the inmost recesses of the cabinet; but the public were at length undeceived, and were convinced that the historical anecdotes which varillas put off for authentic facts had no foundation, being wholly his own inventions--though he endeavoured to make them pass for realities by affected citations of titles, instructions, letters, memoirs, and relations, all of them imaginary! he had read almost everything historical, printed and manuscript; but his fertile political imagination gave his conjectures as facts, while he quoted at random his pretended authorities. burnet's book against varillas is a curious little volume.[ ] gemelli carreri, a neapolitan gentleman, for many years never quitted his chamber; confined by a tedious indisposition, he amused himself with writing a _voyage round the world_; giving characters of men, and descriptions of countries, as if he had really visited them: and his volumes are still very interesting. i preserve this anecdote as it has long come down to us; but carreri, it has been recently ascertained, met the fate of bruce--for he had visited the places he has described; humboldt and clavigero have confirmed his local knowledge of mexico and of china, and found his book useful and veracious. du halde, who has written so voluminous an account of china, compiled it from the memoirs of the missionaries, and never travelled ten leagues from paris in his life,--though he appears, by his writings, to be familiar with chinese scenery. damberger's travels some years ago made a great sensation--and the public were duped; they proved to be the ideal voyages of a member of the german grub-street, about his own garret. too many of our "travels" have been manufactured to fill a certain size; and some which bear names of great authority were not written by the professed authors. there is an excellent observation of an anonymous author:--"_writers_ who never visited foreign countries, and _travellers_ who have run through immense regions with fleeting pace, have given us long accounts of various countries and people; evidently collected from the idle reports and absurd traditions of the ignorant vulgar, from whom only they could have received those relations which we see accumulated with such undiscerning credulity." some authors have practised the singular imposition of announcing a variety of titles of works preparing for the press, but of which nothing but the titles were ever written. paschal, historiographer of france, had a reason for these ingenious inventions; he continually announced such titles, that his pension for writing on the history of france might not be stopped. when he died, his historical labours did not exceed six pages! gregorio leti is an historian of much the same stamp as varillas. he wrote with great facility, and hunger generally quickened his pen. he took everything too lightly; yet his works are sometimes looked into for many anecdotes of english history not to be found elsewhere; and perhaps ought not to have been there if truth had been consulted. his great aim was always to make a book: he swells his volumes with digressions, intersperses many ridiculous stories, and applies all the repartees he collected from old novel-writers to modern characters. such forgeries abound; the numerous "testaments politiques" of colbert, mazarin, and other great ministers, were forgeries usually from the dutch press, as are many pretended political "memoirs." of our old translations from the greek and latin authors, many were taken from french versions. the travels, written in hebrew, of rabbi benjamin of tudela, of which we have a curious translation, are, i believe, apocryphal. he describes a journey, which, if ever he took, it must have been with his night-cap on; being a perfect dream! it is said that to inspirit and give importance to his nation, he pretended that he had travelled to all the synagogues in the east; he mentions places which he does not appear ever to have seen, and the different people he describes no one has known. he calculates that he has found near eight hundred thousand jews, of which about half are independent, and not subjects of any christian or gentile sovereign. these fictitious travels have been a source of much trouble to the learned; particularly to those who in their zeal to authenticate them followed the aërial footsteps of the hyppogriffe of rabbi benjamin. he affirms that the tomb of ezekiel, with the library of the first and second temples, were to be seen in his time at a place on the banks of the river euphrates; wesselius of groningen, and many other literati, travelled on purpose to mesopotamia, to reach the tomb and examine the library; but the fairy treasures were never to be seen, nor even heard of! the first on the list of impudent impostors is annius of viterbo, a dominican, and master of the sacred palace under alexander vi. he pretended he had discovered the entire works of sanchoniatho, manetho, berosus, and others, of which only fragments are remaining. he published seventeen books of antiquities! but not having any mss. to produce, though he declared he had found them buried in the earth, these literary fabrications occasioned great controversies; for the author died before he made up his mind to a confession. at their first publication universal joy was diffused among the learned. suspicion soon rose, and detection followed. however, as the forger never would acknowledge himself as such, it has been ingeniously conjectured that he himself was imposed on, rather than that he was the impostor; or, as in the case of chatterton, possibly all may not be fictitious. it has been said that a great volume in ms., anterior by two hundred years to the seventeen books of annius, exists in the bibliothèque colbertine, in which these pretended histories were to be read; but as annius would never point out the sources of his, the whole may be considered as a very wonderful imposture. i refer the reader to tyrwhitt's vindication of his appendix to rowley's or chatterton's poems, p. , for some curious observations, and some facts of literary imposture. an extraordinary literary imposture was that of one joseph vella, who, in , was an adventurer in sicily, and pretended that he possessed seventeen of the lost books of livy in arabic: he had received this literary treasure, he said, from a frenchman, who had purloined it from a shelf in st. sophia's church at constantinople. as many of the greek and roman classics have been translated by the arabians, and many were first known in europe in their arabic dress, there was nothing improbable in one part of his story. he was urged to publish these long-desired books; and lady spencer, then in italy, offered to defray the expenses. he had the effrontery, by way of specimen, to edit an italian translation of the sixtieth book, but that book took up no more than one octavo page! a professor of oriental literature in prussia introduced it in his work, never suspecting the fraud; it proved to be nothing more than the epitome of florus. he also gave out that he possessed a code which he had picked up in the abbey of st. martin, containing the ancient history of sicily in the arabic period, comprehending above two hundred years; and of which ages their own historians were entirely deficient in knowledge. vella declared he had a genuine official correspondence between the arabian governors of sicily and their superiors in africa, from the first landing of the arabians in that island. vella was now loaded with honours and pensions! it is true he showed arabic mss., which, however, did not contain a syllable of what he said. he pretended he was in continual correspondence with friends at morocco and elsewhere. the king of naples furnished him with money to assist his researches. four volumes in quarto were at length published! vella had the adroitness to change the arabic mss. he possessed, which entirely related to mahomet, to matters relative to sicily; he bestowed several weeks' labour to disfigure the whole, altering page for page, line for line, and word for word, but interspersed numberless dots, strokes, and flourishes; so that when he published a fac-simile, every one admired the learning of vella, who could translate what no one else could read. he complained he had lost an eye in this minute labour; and every one thought his pension ought to have been increased. everything prospered about him, except his eye, which some thought was not so bad neither. it was at length discovered by his blunders, &c., that the whole was a forgery: though it had now been patronised, translated, and extracted through europe. when this ms. was examined by an orientalist, it was discovered to be nothing but a history of _mahomet and his family_. vella was condemned to imprisonment. the spanish antiquary, medina conde, in order to favour the pretensions of the church in a great lawsuit, forged deeds and inscriptions, which he buried in the ground, where he knew they would shortly be dug up. upon their being found, he published engravings of them, and gave explanations of their unknown characters, making them out to be so many authentic proofs and evidences of the contested assumptions of the clergy. the morocco ambassador purchased of him a copper bracelet of fatima, which medina proved by the arabic inscription and many certificates to be genuine, and found among the ruins of the alhambra, with other treasures of its last king, who had hid them there in hope of better days. this famous bracelet turned out afterwards to be the work of medina's own hand, made out of an old brass candlestick! george psalmanazar, to whose labours we owe much of the great universal history, exceeded in powers of deception any of the great impostors of learning. his island of formosa was an illusion eminently bold,[ ] and maintained with as much felicity as erudition; and great must have been that erudition which could form a pretended language and its grammar, and fertile the genius which could invent the history of an unknown people: it is said that the deception was only satisfactorily ascertained by his own penitential confession; he had defied and baffled the most learned.[ ] the literary impostor lauder had much more audacity than ingenuity, and he died contemned by all the world.[ ] ireland's "shakspeare" served to show that commentators are not blessed, necessarily, with an interior and unerring tact.[ ] genius and learning are ill directed in forming literary impositions, but at least they must be distinguished from the fabrications of ordinary impostors. a singular forgery was practised on captain wilford by a learned hindu, who, to ingratiate himself and his studies with the too zealous and pious european, contrived, among other attempts, to give the history of noah and his three sons, in his "purana," under the designation of satyavrata. captain wilford having _read_ the passage, transcribed it for sir william jones, who translated it as a curious extract; the whole was an interpolation by the dexterous introduction of a forged sheet, discoloured and prepared for the purpose of deception, and which, having served his purpose for the moment, was afterwards withdrawn. as books in india are not bound, it is not difficult to introduce loose leaves. to confirm his various impositions, this learned forger had the patience to write two voluminous sections, in which he connected all the legends together in the style of the _puranas_, consisting of , lines. when captain wilford resolved to collate the manuscript with others, the learned hindu began to disfigure his own manuscript, the captain's, and those of the college, by erasing the name of the country and substituting that of egypt. with as much pains, and with a more honourable direction, our hindu lauder might have immortalized his invention. we have authors who sold their names to be prefixed to works they never read; or, on the contrary, have prefixed the names of others to their own writings. sir john hill, once when he fell sick, owned to a friend that he had over-fatigued himself with writing seven works at once! one of which was on architecture, and another on cookery! this hero once contracted to translate swammerdam's work on insects for fifty guineas. after the agreement with the bookseller, he recollected that he did not understand a word of the dutch language! nor did there exist a french translation! the work, however, was not the less done for this small obstacle. sir john bargained with another translator for twenty-five guineas. the second translator was precisely in the same situation as the first--as ignorant, though not so well paid as the knight. he rebargained with a third, who perfectly understood his original, for twelve guineas! so that the translators who could not translate feasted on venison and turtle, while the modest drudge, whose name never appeared to the world, broke in patience his daily bread! the craft of authorship has many mysteries.[ ] one of the great patriarchs and primeval dealers in english literature was robert green, one of the most facetious, profligate, and indefatigable of the scribleri family. he laid the foundation of a new dynasty of literary emperors. the first act by which he proved his claim to the throne of grub-street has served as a model to his numerous successors--it was an ambidextrous trick! green sold his "orlando furioso" to two different theatres, and is among the first authors in english literary history who wrote as a _trader_;[ ] or as crabbed anthony wood phrases it, in the language of celibacy and cynicism, "he wrote to maintain his _wife_, and that high and loose course of living which _poets generally follow_." with a drop still sweeter, old anthony describes gayton, another worthy; "he came up to london to live in a _shirking condition_, and wrote _trite things_ merely to get bread to sustain him and his _wife_."[ ] the hermit anthony seems to have had a mortal antipathy against the eves of literary men. footnotes: [footnote : burnet's little mo volume was printed at amsterdam, "in the warmoes-straet near the dam," , and compiled by him when living for safety in holland during the reign of james ii. he particularly attacks varillas' ninth book, which relates to england, and its false history of the reformation, or rather "his own imagination for true history." on the authority of catholic students, he says "the greatest number of the pieces he cited were to be found nowhere but in his own fancy." burnet allows full latitude to an author for giving the best colouring to his own views and that of his party--a latitude he certainly always allowed to himself; but he justly censures the falsifying, or rather inventing, of history; after varillas' fashion. "history," says burnet, "is a sort of trade, in which false coyn and false weights are more criminal than in other matters; because the errour may go further and run longer, though their authors colour their copper too slightly to make it keep its credit long."] [footnote : the volume was published in vo in , as "an historical and geographical description of formosa, an island subject to the emperor of japan." it is dedicated to the bishop of london, who is told that "the europeans have such obscure and various notions of japan, and especially of our island formosa, that they believe nothing for truth that has been said of it." he accordingly narrates the political history of the place; the manners and customs of its inhabitants; their religion, language, &c. a number of engravings illustrate the whole, and depict the dresses of the people, their houses, temples, and ceremonies. a "formosan alphabet" is also given, and the lord's prayer, apostles' creed, and ten commandments, are "translated" into this imaginary language. to keep up the imposition, he ate raw meat when dining with the secretary to the royal society, and formosa appeared in the maps as a real island, in the spot he had described as its locality.] [footnote : psalmanazar would never reveal the true history of his early life, but acknowledged one of the southern provinces of france as the place of his birth, about . he received a fair education, became lecturer in a jesuit college, then a tutor at avignon; he afterwards led a wandering life, subsisting on charity, and pretending to be an irish student travelling to rome for conscience sake. he soon found he would be more successful if he personated a pagan stranger, and hence he gradually concocted his tale of _formosa_; inventing an alphabet, and perfecting his story, which was not fully matured before he had had a few years' hard labour as a soldier in the low countries; where a scotch gentleman introduced him to the notice of dr. compton, bishop of london; who patronised him, and invited him to england. he came, and to oblige the booksellers compiled his _history of formosa_, by the two editions of which he realized the noble sum of _l._ he ended in becoming a regular bookseller's hack, and so highly moral a character, that dr. johnson, who knew him well, declared he was "the best man he had ever known."] [footnote : william lauder first began his literary impostures in the _gentleman's magazine_ for , where he accused milton of gross plagiarisms in his _paradise lost_, pretending that he had discovered the prototypes of his best thoughts in other authors. this he did by absolute invention, in one instance interpolating twenty verses of a latin translation of milton into the works of another author, and then producing them with great virulence as a proof that milton was a plagiarist. the falsehood of his pretended quotations was demonstrated by dr. douglas, bishop of salisbury, in , but he returned to the charge in . his character and conduct became too bad to allow of his continued residence in england, and he died in barbadoes, "in universal contempt," about .] [footnote : ireland's famous forgeries began when, as a young man in a lawyer's office, he sought to imitate old deeds and letters in the name of shakspeare and his friends, urged thereto by his father's great anxiety to discover some writings connected with the great bard. such was the enthusiasm with which they were received by men of great general knowledge, that ireland persevered in fresh forgeries until an entire play was "discovered." it was a tragedy founded on early british history, and named _vortigern_. it was produced at kemble's theatre, and was damned. ireland's downward course commenced from that night. he ultimately published confessions of his frauds, and died very poor in .] [footnote : fielding, the novelist, in _the author's farce_, one of those slight plays which he wrote so cleverly, has used this incident, probably from his acquaintance with hill's trick. he introduces his author trying to sell a translation of the _Ã�neid_, which the bookseller will not purchase; but after some conversation offers him "employ" in the house as a translator; he then is compelled to own himself "not qualified," because he "understands no language but his own." "what! and translate _virgil!_" exclaims the astonished bookseller. the detected author answers despondingly, "alas! sir, i translated him out of dryden!" the bookseller joyfully exclaims, "not qualified! if i was an emperor, thou should'st be my prime minister! thou art as well vers'd in thy trade as if thou had'st laboured in my garret these ten years!"] cardinal richelieu. the present anecdote concerning cardinal richelieu may serve to teach the man of letters how he deals out criticisms to the _great_, when they ask his opinion of manuscripts, be they in verse or prose. the cardinal placed in a gallery of his palace the portraits of several illustrious men, and was desirous of composing the inscriptions under the portraits. the one which he intended for montluc, the marechal of france, was conceived in these terms: _multa fecit, plura scripsit, vir tamen magnus fuit_. he showed it without mentioning the author to bourbon, the royal greek professor, and asked his opinion concerning it. the critic considered that the latin was much in the style of the breviary; and, had it concluded with an _allelujah_, it would serve for an _anthem_ to the _magnificat_. the cardinal agreed with the severity of his strictures, and even acknowledged the discernment of the professor; "for," he said, "it is really written by a priest." but however he might approve of bourbon's critical powers, he punished without mercy his ingenuity. the pension his majesty had bestowed on him was withheld the next year. the cardinal was one of those ambitious men who foolishly attempt to rival every kind of genius; and seeing himself constantly disappointed, he envied, with all the venom of rancour, those talents which are so frequently the _all_ that men of genius possess. he was jealous of balzac's splendid reputation; and offered the elder heinsius ten thousand crowns to write a criticism which should ridicule his elaborate compositions. this heinsius refused, because salmasius threatened to revenge balzac on his _herodes infanticida_. he attempted to rival the reputation of corneille's "cid," by opposing to it one of the most ridiculous dramatic productions; it was the allegorical tragedy called "europe," in which the _minister_ had congregated the four quarters of the world! much political matter was thrown together, divided into scenes and acts. there are appended to it keys of the dramatis personæ and of the allegories. in this tragedy francion represents france; ibere, spain; parthenope, naples, &c.; and these have their attendants:--lilian (alluding to the french lilies) is the servant of francion, while hispale is the confidant of ibere. but the key to the allegories is much more copious:--albione signifies england; _three knots of the hair of austrasie_ mean the towns of clermont, stenay, and jamet, these places once belonging to lorraine. _a box of diamonds_ of austrasie is the town of nancy, belonging once to the dukes of lorraine. the _key_ of ibere's great porch is perpignan, which france took from spain; and in this manner is this sublime tragedy composed! when he first sent it anonymously to the french academy it was reprobated. he then tore it in a rage, and scattered it about his study. towards evening, like another medea lamenting over the members of her own children, he and his secretary passed the night in uniting the scattered limbs. he then ventured to avow himself; and having pretended to correct this incorrigible tragedy, the submissive academy retracted their censures, but the public pronounced its melancholy fate on its first representation. this lamentable tragedy was intended to thwart corneille's "cid." enraged at its success, richelieu even commanded the academy to publish a severe _critique_ of it, well known in french literature. boileau on this occasion has these two well-turned verses:-- "en vain contre le cid, un ministre se ligue; tout paris, pour _chimene_, a les yeux de _rodrigue_." "to oppose the cid, in vain the statesman tries; all paris, for _chimene_, has _roderick's_ eyes." it is said that, in consequence of the fall of this tragedy, the french custom is derived of securing a number of friends to applaud their pieces at their first representations. i find the following droll anecdote concerning this droll tragedy in beauchamp's _recherches sur le théâtre_. the minister, after the ill success of his tragedy, retired unaccompanied the same evening to his country-house at ruel. he then sent for his favourite desmaret, who was at supper with his friend petit. desmaret, conjecturing that the interview would be stormy, begged his friend to accompany him. "well!" said the cardinal, as soon as he saw them, "the french will never possess a taste for what is lofty; they seem not to have relished my tragedy."--"my lord," answered petit, "it is not the fault of the piece, which is so admirable, but that of the _players_. did not your eminence perceive that not only they knew not their parts, but that they were all _drunk_?"--"really," replied the cardinal, something pleased, "i observed they acted it dreadfully ill." desmaret and petit returned to paris, flew directly to the players to plan a _new mode_ of performance, which was to _secure_ a number of spectators; so that at the second representation bursts of applause were frequently heard! richelieu had another singular vanity, of closely imitating cardinal ximenes. pliny was not a more servile imitator of cicero. marville tells us that, like ximenes, he placed himself at the head of an army; like him, he degraded princes and nobles; and like him, rendered himself formidable to all europe. and because ximenes had established schools of theology, richelieu undertook likewise to raise into notice the schools of the sorbonne. and, to conclude, as ximenes had written several theological treatises, our cardinal was also desirous of leaving posterity various polemical works. but his gallantries rendered him more ridiculous. always in ill health, this miserable lover and grave cardinal would, in a freak of love, dress himself with a red feather in his cap and sword by his side. he was more hurt by an offensive nickname given him by the queen of louis xiii., than even by the hiss of theatres and the critical condemnation of academies. cardinal richelieu was assuredly a great political genius. sir william temple observes, that he instituted the french academy to give employment to the _wits_, and to hinder them from inspecting too narrowly his politics and his administration. it is believed that the marshal de grammont lost an important battle by the orders of the cardinal; that in this critical conjuncture of affairs his majesty, who was inclined to dismiss him, could not then absolutely do without him. vanity in this cardinal levelled a great genius. he who would attempt to display universal excellence will be impelled to practise meanness, and to act follies which, if he has the least sensibility, must occasion him many a pang and many a blush. footnotes: [footnote : the story is told in _the defence of coneycatching_, , where he is said to have "sold _orlando furioso_ to the queen's players for twenty nobles, and when they were in the country sold the same play to the lord admirall's men for as much more."] [footnote : edmund gayton was born in , was educated at oxford, then led the life of a literary drudge in london, where the best book he produced was _pleasant notes upon don quixote_, in which are many curious and diverting stories, and among the rest the original of prior's _ladle_. he ultimately retired to oxford, and died there very poor, in a subordinate place in his college.] aristotle and plato. no philosopher has been so much praised and censured as aristotle: but he had this advantage, of which some of the most eminent scholars have been deprived, that he enjoyed during his life a splendid reputation. philip of macedon must have felt a strong conviction of his merit, when he wrote to him, on the birth of alexander:--"i receive from the gods this day a son; but i thank them not so much for the favour of his birth, as his having come into the world at a time when you can have the care of his education; and that through you he will be rendered worthy of being my son." diogenes laertius describes the person of the stagyrite.--his eyes were small, his voice hoarse, and his legs lank. he stammered, was fond of a magnificent dress, and wore costly rings. he had a mistress whom he loved passionately, and for whom he frequently acted inconsistently with the philosophic character; a thing as common with philosophers as with other men. aristotle had nothing of the austerity of the philosopher, though his works are so austere: he was open, pleasant, and even charming in his conversation; fiery and volatile in his pleasures; magnificent in his dress. he is described as fierce, disdainful, and sarcastic. he joined to a taste for profound erudition, that of an elegant dissipation. his passion for luxury occasioned him such expenses when he was young, that he consumed all his property. laertius has preserved the will of aristotle, which is curious. the chief part turns on the future welfare and marriage of his daughter. "if, after my death, she chooses to marry, the executors will be careful she marries no person of an inferior rank. if she resides at chalcis, she shall occupy the apartment contiguous to the garden; if she chooses stagyra, she shall reside in the house of my father, and my executors shall furnish either of those places she fixes on." aristotle had studied under the divine plato; but the disciple and the master could not possibly agree in their doctrines: they were of opposite tastes and talents. plato was the chief of the academic sect, and aristotle of the peripatetic. plato was simple, modest, frugal, and of austere manners; a good friend and a zealous citizen, but a theoretical politician: a lover indeed of benevolence, and desirous of diffusing it amongst men, but knowing little of them as we find them; his "republic" is as chimerical as rousseau's ideas, or sir thomas more's utopia. rapin, the critic, has sketched an ingenious parallel of these two celebrated philosophers:-- "the genius of plato is more polished, and that of aristotle more vast and profound. plato has a lively and teeming imagination; fertile in invention, in ideas, in expressions, and in figures; displaying a thousand turns, a thousand new colours, all agreeable to their subject; but after all it is nothing more than imagination. aristotle is hard and dry in all he says, but what he says is all reason, though it is expressed drily: his diction, pure as it is, has something uncommonly austere; and his obscurities, natural or affected, disgust and fatigue his readers. plato is equally delicate in his thoughts and in his expressions. aristotle, though he may be more natural, has not any delicacy: his style is simple and equal, but close and nervous; that of plato is grand and elevated, but loose and diffuse. plato always says more than he should say: aristotle never says enough, and leaves the reader always to think more than he says. the one surprises the mind, and charms it by a flowery and sparkling character: the other illuminates and instructs it by a just and solid method. plato communicates something of genius, by the fecundity of his own; and aristotle something of judgment and reason, by that impression of good sense which appears in all he says. in a word, plato frequently only thinks to express himself well: and aristotle only thinks to think justly." an interesting anecdote is related of these philosophers--aristotle became the rival of plato. literary disputes long subsisted betwixt them. the disciple ridiculed his master, and the master treated contemptuously his disciple. to make his superiority manifest, aristotle wished for a regular disputation before an audience, where erudition and reason might prevail; but this satisfaction was denied. plato was always surrounded by his scholars, who took a lively interest in his glory. three of these he taught to rival aristotle, and it became their mutual interest to depreciate his merits. unfortunately one day plato found himself in his school without these three favourite scholars. aristotle flies to him--a crowd gathers and enters with him. the idol whose oracles they wished to overturn was presented to them. he was then a respectable old man, the weight of whose years had enfeebled his memory. the combat was not long. some rapid sophisms embarrassed plato. he saw himself surrounded by the inevitable traps of the subtlest logician. vanquished, he reproached his ancient scholar by a beautiful figure:--"he has kicked against us as a colt against its mother." soon after this humiliating adventure he ceased to give public lectures. aristotle remained master in the field of battle. he raised a school, and devoted himself to render it the most famous in greece. but the three favourite scholars of plato, zealous to avenge the cause of their master, and to make amends for their imprudence in having quitted him, armed themselves against the usurper.--xenocrates, the most ardent of the three, attacked aristotle, confounded the logician, and re-established plato in all his rights. since that time the academic and peripatetic sects, animated by the spirits of their several chiefs, avowed an eternal hostility. in what manner his works have descended to us has been told in a preceding article, on _destruction of books_. aristotle having declaimed irreverently of the gods, and dreading the fate of socrates, wished to retire from athens. in a beautiful manner he pointed out his successor. there were two rivals in his schools: menedemus the rhodian, and theophrastus the lesbian. alluding delicately to his own critical situation, he told his assembled scholars that the wine he was accustomed to drink was injurious to him, and he desired them to bring the wines of rhodes and lesbos. he tasted both, and declared they both did honour to their soil, each being excellent, though differing in their quality;--the rhodian wine is the strongest, but the lesbian is the sweetest, and that he himself preferred it. thus his ingenuity designated his favourite theophrastus, the author of the "characters," for his successor. abelard and eloisa. abelard, so famous for his writings and his amours with eloisa, ranks amongst the heretics for opinions concerning the trinity! his superior genius probably made him appear so culpable in the eyes of his enemies. the cabal formed against him disturbed the earlier part of his life with a thousand persecutions, till at length they persuaded bernard, his old _friend_, but who had now turned _saint_, that poor abelard was what their malice described him to be. bernard, inflamed against him, condemned unheard the unfortunate scholar. but it is remarkable that the book which was burnt as unorthodox, and as the composition of abelard, was in fact written by peter lombard, bishop of paris; a work which has since been _canonised_ in the sarbonne, and on which the scholastic theology is founded. the objectionable passage is an illustration of the _trinity_ by the nature of a _syllogism_!--"as (says he) the three propositions of a syllogism form but one truth, so the _father and son_ constitute but _one essence_. the _major_ represents the _father_, the _minor_ the _son_, and the _conclusion_ the _holy ghost_!" it is curious to add, that bernard himself has explained this mystical union precisely in the same manner, and equally clear. "the understanding," says this saint, "is the image of god. we find it consists of three parts: memory, intelligence, and will. to _memory_, we attribute all which we know, without cogitation; to _intelligence_, all truths we discover which have not been deposited by memory. by _memory_, we resemble the _father_; by _intelligence_, the _son_; and by _will_, the _holy ghost_." bernard's lib. de animâ, cap. i. num. , quoted in the "mem. secrètes de la république des lettres." we may add also, that because abelard, in the warmth of honest indignation, had reproved the monks of st. denis, in france, and st. gildas de ruys, in bretagne, for the horrid incontinence of their lives, they joined his enemies, and assisted to embitter the life of this ingenious scholar, who perhaps was guilty of no other crime than that of feeling too sensibly an attachment to one who not only possessed the enchanting attractions of the softer sex, but, what indeed is very unusual, a congeniality of disposition, and an enthusiasm of imagination. "is it, in heaven, a crime to love too well?" it appears by a letter of peter de cluny to eloisa, that she had solicited for abelard's absolution. the abbot gave it to her. it runs thus:--"ego petrus cluniacensis abbas, qui petrum abælardum in monachum cluniacensem recepi, et corpus ejus furtim delatum heloissæ abbatissæ et moniali paracleti concessi, auctoritate omnipotentis dei et omnium sanctorum absolvo eum pro officio ab omnibus peccatis suis." an ancient chronicle of tours records, that when they deposited the body of the abbess eloisa in the tomb of her lover, peter abelard, who had been there interred twenty years, this faithful husband raised his arms, stretched them, and closely embraced his beloved eloisa. this poetic fiction was invented to sanctify, by a miracle, the frailties of their youthful days. this is not wonderful;--but it is strange that du chesne, the father of french history, not only relates this legendary tale of the ancient chroniclers, but gives it as an incident well authenticated, and maintains its possibility by various other examples. such fanciful incidents once not only embellished poetry, but enlivened history. bayle tells us that _billets doux_ and _amorous verses_ are two powerful machines to employ in the assaults of love, particularly when the passionate songs the poetical lover composes are sung by himself. this secret was well known to the elegant abelard. abelard so touched the sensible heart of eloisa, and infused such fire into her frame, by employing his _fine pen_, and his _fine voice_, that the poor woman never recovered from the attack. she herself informs us that he displayed two qualities which are rarely found in philosophers, and by which he could instantly win the affections of the female;--he _wrote_ and _sung_ finely. he composed _love-verses_ so beautiful, and _songs_ so agreeable, as well for the _words_ as the _airs_, that all the world got them by heart, and the name of his mistress was spread from province to province. what a gratification to the enthusiastic, the amorous, the vain eloisa! of whom lord lyttleton, in his curious life of henry ii., observes, that had she not been compelled to read the fathers and the legends in a nunnery, and had been suffered to improve her genius by a continued application to polite literature, from what appears in her letters, she would have excelled any man of that age. eloisa, i suspect, however, would have proved but a very indifferent polemic; she seems to have had a certain delicacy in her manners which rather belongs to the _fine lady_. we cannot but smile at an observation of hers on the _apostles_ which we find in her letters:--"we read that the _apostles_, even in the company of their master, were so _rustic_ and _ill-bred,_ that, regardless of common decorum, as they passed through the corn-fields they plucked the ears, and ate them like children. nor did they wash their hands before they sat down to table. to eat with unwashed hands, said our saviour to those who were offended, doth not defile a man." it is on the misconception of the mild apologetical reply of jesus, indeed, that religious fanatics have really considered, that, to be careless of their dress, and not to free themselves from filth and slovenliness, is an act of piety; just as the late political fanatics, who thought that republicanism consisted in the most offensive filthiness. on this principle, that it is saint-like to go dirty, ragged and slovenly, says bishop lavington, in his "enthusiasm of the methodists and papists," how _piously_ did whitfield take care of the outward man, who in his journals writes, "my apparel was mean--thought it unbecoming a penitent to have _powdered hair_.--i wore _woollen gloves_, a _patched gown_, and _dirty shoes!_" after an injury, not less cruel than humiliating, abelard raises the school of the paraclete; with what enthusiasm is he followed to that desert! his scholars in crowds hasten to their adored master; they cover their mud sheds with the branches of trees; they care not to sleep under better roofs, provided they remain by the side of their unfortunate master. how lively must have been their taste for study!--it formed their solitary passion, and the love of glory was gratified even in that desert. the two reprehensible lines in pope's eloisa, too celebrated among certain of its readers-- "not cesar's empress would i deign to prove; no,--make me mistress to the man i love!"-- are, however, found in her original letters. the author of that ancient work, "the romaunt of the rose," has given it thus _naïvely_; a specimen of the _natural_ style in those days:-- si l'empereur, qui est a rome, souhz qui doyvent etre tout homme, me daignoit prendre pour sa femme, et me faire du monde dame! si vouldroye-je mieux, dist-elle et dieù en tesmoing en appelle, etre sa putaine appellée qu'etre emperiere couronnée. physiognomy. a very extraordinary physiognomical anecdote has been given by de la place, in his "_pièces intéressantes et peu connues_," vol. iv. p. . a friend assured him that he had seen a voluminous and secret correspondence which had been carried on between louis xiv. and his favourite physician, de la chambre, on this science. the faith of the monarch seems to have been great, and the purpose to which this correspondence tended was extraordinary indeed, and perhaps scarcely credible. who will believe that louis xiv. was so convinced of that talent which de la chambre attributed to himself, of deciding merely by the physiognomy of persons, not only on the real bent of their character, but to what employment they were adapted, that the king entered into a _secret correspondence_ to obtain the critical notices of his _physiognomist?_ that louis xiv. should have pursued this system, undetected by his own courtiers, is also singular; but it appears, by this correspondence, that this art positively swayed him in his choice of officers and favourites. on one of the backs of these letters de la chambre had written, "if i die before his majesty, he will incur great risk of making many an unfortunate choice!" this collection of physiognomical correspondence, if it does really exist, would form a curious publication; we have heard nothing of it! de la chambre was an enthusiastic physiognomist, as appears by his works; "the characters of the passions," four volumes in quarto; "the art of knowing mankind;" and "the knowledge of animals." lavater quotes his "vote and interest," in favour of his favourite science. it is, however, curious to add, that philip earl of pembroke, under james i., had formed a particular collection of portraits, with a view to physiognomical studies. according to evelyn on medals, p. , such was his sagacity in discovering the characters and dispositions of men by their countenances, that james i. made no little use of his extraordinary talent on _the first arrival of ambassadors at court_. the following physiological definition of physiognomy is extracted from a publication by dr. gwither, of the year , which, dropping his history of "the animal spirits," is curious:-- "soft wax cannot receive more various and numerous impressions than are imprinted on a man's face by _objects_ moving his affections: and not only the _objects_ themselves have this power, but also the very _images_ or _ideas_; that is to say, anything that puts the animal spirits into the same motion that the _object_ present did, will have the same effect with the object. to prove the first, let one observe a man's face looking on a pitiful object, then a ridiculous, then a strange, then on a terrible or dangerous object, and so forth. for the second, that _ideas_ have the same effect with the _object_, dreams confirm too often. "the manner i conceive to be thus:--the animal spirits, moved in the sensory by an object, continue their motion to the brain; whence the motion is propagated to this or that particular part of the body, as is most suitable to the design of its creation; having first made an alteration in the _face_ by its nerves, especially by the _pathetic_ and _oculorum motorii_ actuating its many muscles, as the dial-plate to that stupendous piece of clock-work which shows what is to be expected next from the striking part; not that i think the motion of the spirits in the sensory continued by the impression of the object all the way, as from a finger to the foot; i know it too weak, though the tenseness of the nerves favours it. but i conceive it done in the medulla of the brain, where is the common stock of spirits; as in an organ, whose pipes being uncovered, the air rushes into them; but the keys let go, are stopped again. now, if by repeated acts of frequent entertaining of a favourite idea of a passion or vice, which natural temperament has hurried one to, or custom dragged, the _face_ is so often put into that posture which attends such acts, that the animal spirits find such latent passages into its nerves, that it is sometimes unalterably set: as the _indian_ religious are by long continuing in strange postures in their _pagods_. but most commonly such a habit is contracted, that it falls insensibly into that posture when some present object does not obliterate that more natural impression by a new, or dissimulation hide it. "hence it is that we see great _drinkers_ with _eyes_ generally set towards the nose, the adducent muscles being often employed to let them see their loved liquor in the glass at the time of drinking; which were, therefore, called _bibitory lascivious persons_ are remarkable for the _oculorum nobilis petulantia_, as petronius calls it. from this also we may solve the _quaker's_ expecting face, waiting for the pretended spirit; and the melancholy face of the _sectaries_; the _studious_ face of men of great application of mind; revengeful and _bloody_ men, like executioners in the act: and though silence in a sort may awhile pass for wisdom, yet, sooner or later, saint martin peeps through the disguise to undo all. a _changeable face_ i have observed to show a _changeable mind_. but i would by no means have what has been said understood as without exception; for i doubt not but sometimes there are found men with great and virtuous souls under very unpromising outsides." the great prince of condé was very expert in a sort of physiognomy which showed the peculiar habits, motions, and postures of familiar life and mechanical employments. he would sometimes lay wagers with his friends, that he would guess, upon the pont neuf, what trade persons were of that passed by, from their walk and air. characters described by musical notes. the idea of describing characters under the names of musical instruments has been already displayed in two most pleasing papers which embellish the _tatler_, written by addison. he dwells on this idea with uncommon success. it has been applauded for its _originality_; and in the general preface to that work, those papers are distinguished for their felicity of imagination. the following paper was published in the year , in a volume of "philosophical transactions and collections," and the two numbers of addison in the year . it is probable that this inimitable writer borrowed the seminal hint from this work:-- "a conjecture at dispositions from the modulations of the voice. "sitting in some company, and having been but a little before musical, i chanced to take notice that, in ordinary discourse, _words_ were spoken in perfect _notes_; and that some of the company used _eighths_, some _fifths_, some _thirds_; and that his discourse which was the most pleasing, his _words_, as to their tone, consisted most of _concords_, and were of _discords_ of such as made up harmony. the same person was the most affable, pleasant, and best-natured in the company. this suggests a reason why many discourses which one _hears_ with much pleasure, when they come to be _read_ scarcely seem the same things. "from this difference of music in speech, we may conjecture that of tempers. we know the doric mood sounds gravity and sobriety; the lydian, buxomness and freedom; the Ã�olic, sweet stillness and quiet composure; the phrygian, jollity and youthful levity; the ionic is a stiller of storms and disturbances arising from passion; and why may we not reasonably suppose, that those whose speech naturally runs into the notes peculiar to any of these moods, are likewise in nature hereunto congenerous? _c fa ut_ may show me to be of an ordinary capacity, though good disposition. _g sol re ut_, to be peevish and effeminate. _flats_, a manly or melancholic sadness. he who hath a voice which will in some measure agree with all _cliffs_, to be of good parts, and fit for variety of employments, yet somewhat of an inconstant nature. likewise from the times: so _semi-briefs_ may speak a temper dull and phlegmatic; _minims_, grave and serious; _crotchets_, a prompt wit; _quavers_, vehemency of passion, and scolds use them. _semi-brief-rest_ may denote one either stupid or fuller of thoughts than he can utter; _minimrest,_ one that deliberates; _crotchet-rest_, one in a passion. so that from the natural use of mood, note, and time, we may collect dispositions." milton. it is painful to observe the acrimony which the most eminent scholars have infused frequently in their controversial writings. the politeness of the present times has in some degree softened the malignity of the man, in the dignity of the author; but this is by no means an irrevocable law. it is said not to be honourable to literature to revive such controversies; and a work entitled "querelles littéraires," when it first appeared, excited loud murmurs; but it has its moral: like showing the drunkard to a youth, that he may turn aside disgusted with ebriety. must we suppose that men of letters are exempt from the human passions? their sensibility, on the contrary, is more irritable than that of others. to observe the ridiculous attitudes in which great men appear, when they employ the style of the fish-market, may be one great means of restraining that ferocious pride often breaking out in the republic of letters. johnson at least appears to have entertained the same opinion; for he thought proper to republish the low invective of _dryden_ against _settle_; and since i have published my "quarrels of authors," it becomes me to say no more. the celebrated controversy of _salmasius_, continued by morus with _milton_--the first the pleader of king charles, the latter the advocate of the people--was of that magnitude, that all europe took a part in the paper-war of these two great men. the answer of milton, who perfectly massacred salmasius, is now read but by the few. whatever is addressed to the times, however great may be its merits, is doomed to perish with the times; yet on these pages the philosopher will not contemplate in vain. it will form no uninteresting article to gather a few of the rhetorical _weeds_, for _flowers_ we cannot well call them, with which they mutually presented each other. their rancour was at least equal to their erudition,--the two most learned antagonists of a learned age! salmasius was a man of vast erudition, but no taste. his writings are learned, but sometimes ridiculous. he called his work _defensio regia_, defence of kings. the opening of this work provokes a laugh:--"englishmen! who toss the heads of kings as so many tennis-balls; who play with crowns as if they were bowls; who look upon sceptres as so many crooks." that the deformity of the body is an idea we attach to the deformity of the mind, the vulgar must acknowledge; but surely it is unpardonable in the enlightened philosopher thus to compare the crookedness of corporeal matter with the rectitude of the intellect; yet milbourne and dennis, the last a formidable critic, have frequently considered, that comparing dryden and pope to whatever the eye turned from with displeasure, was very good argument to lower their literary abilities. salmasius seems also to have entertained this idea, though his spies in england gave him wrong information; or, possibly, he only drew the figure of his own distempered imagination. salmasius sometimes reproaches milton as being but a puny piece of man; an homunculus, a dwarf deprived of the human figure, a bloodless being, composed of nothing but skin and bone; a contemptible pedagogue, fit only to flog his boys: and, rising into a poetic frenzy, applies to him the words of virgil, "_monstrum horrendum, informe, ingens, cui lumen ademptum_." our great poet thought this senseless declamation merited a serious refutation; perhaps he did not wish to appear despicable in the eyes of the ladies; and he would not be silent on the subject, he says, lest any one should consider him as the credulous spaniards are made to believe by their priests, that a heretic is a kind of rhinoceros or a dog-headed monster. milton says, that he does not think any one ever considered him as unbeautiful; that his size rather approaches mediocrity than, the diminutive; that he still felt the same courage and the same strength which he possessed when young, when, with his sword, he felt no difficulty to combat with men more robust than himself; that his face, far from being pale, emaciated, and wrinkled, was sufficiently creditable to him: for though he had passed his fortieth year, he was in all other respects ten years younger. and very pathetically he adds, "that even his eyes, blind as they are, are unblemished in their appearance; in this instance alone, and much against my inclination, i am a deceiver!" morus, in his epistle dedicatory of his _regii sanguinis clamor_, compares milton to a hangman; his disordered vision to the blindness of his soul, and so vomits forth his venom. when salmasius found that his strictures on the person of milton were false, and that, on the contrary, it was uncommonly beautiful, he then turned his battery against those graces with which nature had so liberally adorned his adversary: and it is now that he seems to have laid no restrictions on his pen; but, raging with the irritation of milton's success, he throws out the blackest calumnies, and the most infamous aspersions. it must be observed, when milton first proposed to answer salmasius, he had lost the use of one of his eyes; and his physicians declared that, if he applied himself to the controversy, the other would likewise close for ever! his patriotism was not to be baffled, but with life itself. unhappily, the prediction of his physicians took place! thus a learned man in the occupations of study falls blind--a circumstance even now not read without sympathy. salmasius considers it as one from which he may draw caustic ridicule and satiric severity. salmasius glories that milton lost his health and his eyes in answering his apology for king charles! he does not now reproach him with natural deformities; but he malignantly sympathises with him, that he now no more is in possession of that beauty which rendered him so amiable during his residence in _italy_. he speaks more plainly in a following page; and, in a word, would blacken the austere virtue of milton with a crime infamous to name. impartiality of criticism obliges us to confess that milton was not destitute of rancour. when he was told that his adversary boasted he had occasioned the loss of his eyes, he answered, with ferocity--"_and i shall cost him his life!_" a prediction which was soon after verified; for christina, queen of sweden, withdrew her patronage from salmasius, and sided with milton. the universal neglect the proud scholar felt hastened his death in the course of a twelve-month. the greatness of milton's mind was degraded! he actually condescended to enter into a correspondence in holland, to obtain little scandalous anecdotes of his miserable adversary, morus; and deigned to adulate the unworthy christina of sweden, because she had expressed herself favourably on his "defence." of late years, we have had too many instances of this worst of passions, the antipathies of politics! origin of newspapers. we are indebted to the italians for the idea of newspapers. the title of their _gazettas_ was, perhaps, derived from _gazzera_, a magpie or chatterer; or, more probably, from a farthing coin, peculiar to the city of venice, called _gazetta_, which was the common price of the newspapers. another etymologist is for deriving it from the latin _gaza_, which would colloquially lengthen into _gazetta_, and signify a little treasury of news. the spanish derive it from the latin _gaza_, and likewise their _gazatero_, and our _gazetteer_, for a writer of the _gazette_ and, what is peculiar to themselves, _gazetista_, for a lover of the gazette. newspapers, then, took their birth in that principal land of modern politicians, italy, and under the government of that aristocratical republic, venice. the first paper was a venetian one, and only monthly; but it was merely the newspaper of the government. other governments afterwards adopted the venetian plan of a newspaper, with the venetian name:--from a solitary government gazette, an inundation of newspapers has burst upon us. mr. george chalmers, in his life of ruddiman, gives a curious particular of these venetian gazettes:--"a jealous government did not allow a _printed_ newspaper; and the venetian _gazetta_ continued long after the invention of printing, to the close of the sixteenth century, and even to our own days, to be distributed in _manuscript_." in the magliabechian library at florence are thirty volumes of venetian gazettas, all in manuscript. those who first wrote newspapers were called by the italians _menanti_; because, says vossius, they intended commonly by these loose papers to spread about defamatory reflections, and were therefore prohibited in italy by gregory xiii. by a particular bull, under the name of _menantes_, from the latin _minantes_, threatening. menage, however, derives it from the italian _menare_, which signifies to lead at large, or spread afar. we are indebted to the wisdom of elizabeth and the prudence of burleigh for the first newspaper. the epoch of the spanish armada is also the epoch of a genuine newspaper. in the british museum are several newspapers which were printed while the spanish fleet was in the english channel during the year . it was a wise policy to prevent, during a moment of general anxiety, the danger of false reports, by publishing real information. the earliest newspaper is entitled "the english mercurie," which by _authority_ was "imprinted at london by her highness's printer, ." these were, however, but extraordinary gazettes, not regularly published. in this obscure origin they were skilfully directed by the policy of that great statesman burleigh, who, to inflame the national feeling, gives an extract of a letter from madrid which speaks of putting the queen to death, and the instruments of torture on board the spanish fleet. george chalmers first exultingly took down these patriarchal newspapers, covered with the dust of two centuries. the first newspaper in the collection of the british museum is marked no. , and is in roman, not in black letter. it contains the usual articles of news, like the london gazette of the present day. in that curious paper, there are news dated from whitehall, on the rd july, . under the date of july , there is the following notice:--"yesterday the scots ambassador, being introduced to sir francis walsingham, had a private audience of her majesty, to whom he delivered a letter from the king his master; containing the most cordial assurances of his resolution to adhere to her majesty's interests, and to those of the protestant religion. and it may not here be improper to take notice of a wise and spiritual saying of this young prince (he was twenty-two) to the queen's minister at his court, viz.--that all the favour he did expect from the spaniards was the courtesy of polypheme to ulysses, _to be the last devoured_." the gazetteer of the present day would hardly give a more decorous account of the introduction of a foreign minister. the aptness of king james's classical saying carried it from the newspaper into history. i must add, that in respect to his _wit_ no man has been more injured than this monarch. more pointed sentences are recorded of james i. than perhaps of any prince; and yet, such is the delusion of that medium by which the popular eye sees things in this world, that he is usually considered as a mere royal pedant. i have entered more largely on this subject, in an "inquiry of the literary and political character of james i."[ ] periodical papers seem first to have been more generally used by the english, during the civil wars of the usurper cromwell, to disseminate amongst the people the sentiments of loyalty or rebellion, according as their authors were disposed. _peter heylin_, in the preface to his _cosmography_, mentions, that "the affairs of each town, of war, were better presented to the reader in the _weekly news-books_." hence we find some papers, entitled "news from hull," "truths from york," "warranted tidings from ireland," &c. we find also, "the scots' dove" opposed to "the parliament kite," or "the secret owl."--keener animosities produced keener titles: "heraclitus ridens" found an antagonist in "democritus ridens," and "the weekly discoverer" was shortly met by "the discoverer stript naked." "mercuriua britannicus" was grappled by "mercurius mastix, faithfully lashing all scouts, mercuries, posts, spies, and others." under all these names papers had appeared, but a "mercury" was the prevailing title of these "news-books," and the principles of the writer were generally shown by the additional epithet. we find an alarming number of these mercuries, which, were the story not too long to tell, might excite laughter; they present us with a very curious picture of those singular times. devoted to political purposes, they soon became a public nuisance by serving as receptacles of party malice, and echoing to the farthest ends of the kingdom the insolent voice of all factions. they set the minds of men more at variance, inflamed their tempers to a greater fierceness, and gave a keener edge to the sharpness of civil discord. such works will always find adventurers adapted to their scurrilous purposes, who neither want at times either talents, or boldness, or wit, or argument. a vast crowd issued from the press, and are now to be found in private collections. they form a race of authors unknown to most readers of these times: the names of some of their chiefs, however, have reached us, and in the minor chronicle of domestic literature i rank three notable heroes; marchmont needham, sir john birkenhead, and sir roger l'estrange. _marchmont needham_, the great patriarch of newspaper writers, was a man of versatile talents and more versatile politics; a bold adventurer, and most successful, because the most profligate of his tribe. from college he came to london; was an usher in merchant tailors' school; then an under clerk in gray's inn; at length studied physic, and practised chemistry; and finally, he was a captain, and in the words of our great literary antiquary, "siding with the rout and scum of the people, he made them weekly sport by railing at all that was noble, in his intelligence, called mercurius britannicus, wherein his endeavours were to sacrifice the fame of some lord, or any person of quality, and of the king himself, to the beast with many heads." he soon became popular, and was known under the name of captain needham, of gray's inn; and whatever he now wrote was deemed oracular. but whether from a slight imprisonment for aspersing charles i. or some pique with his own party, he requested an audience on his knees with the king, reconciled himself to his majesty, and showed himself a violent royalist in his "mercurius pragmaticus," and galled the presbyterians with his wit and quips. some time after, when the popular party prevailed, he was still further enlightened, and was got over by president bradshaw, as easily as by charles i. our mercurial writer became once more a virulent presbyterian, and lashed the royalists outrageously in his "mercurius politicus;" at length on the return of charles ii. being now conscious, says our cynical friend anthony, that he might be in danger of the halter, once more he is said to have fled into holland, waiting for an act of oblivion. for money given to a hungry courtier, needham obtained his pardon under the great seal. he latterly practised as a physician among his party, but lived detested by the royalists; and now only committed harmless treasons with the college of physicians, on whom he poured all that gall and vinegar which the government had suppressed from flowing through its natural channel. the royalists were not without their needham in the prompt activity of _sir john birkenhead_. in buffoonery, keenness, and boldness, having been frequently imprisoned, he was not inferior, nor was he at times less an adventurer. his "mercurius aulicus" was devoted to the court, then at oxford. but he was the fertile parent of numerous political pamphlets, which appear to abound in banter, wit, and satire. prompt to seize on every temporary circumstance, he had equal facility in execution. his "paul's church-yard" is a bantering pamphlet, containing fictitious titles of books and acts of parliament, reflecting on the mad reformers of those times. one of his poems is entitled "_the jolt_," being written on the protector having fallen off his own coach-box: cromwell had received a present from the german count oldenburgh, of six german horses, and attempted to drive them himself in hyde park, when this great political phaeton met the accident, of which sir john birkenhead was not slow to comprehend the benefit, and hints how unfortunately for the country it turned out! sir john was during the dominion of cromwell an author by profession. after various imprisonments for his majesty's cause, says the venerable historian of english literature already quoted, "he lived by his wits, in helping young gentlemen out at dead lifts in making poems, songs, and epistles on and to their mistresses; as also in translating, and other petite employments." he lived however after the restoration to become one of the masters of requests, with a salary of _l._ a year. but he showed the baseness of his spirit, says anthony, by slighting those who had been his benefactors in his necessities. sir _roger l'estrange_ among his rivals was esteemed as the most perfect model of political writing. he was a strong party-writer on the government side, for charles the second, and the compositions of the author seem to us coarse, yet they contain much idiomatic expression. his Ã�sop's fables are a curious specimen of familiar style. queen mary showed a due contempt of him, after the revolution, by this anagram:-- _roger l'estrange_, _lye strange roger_! such were the three patriarchs of newspapers. de saint foix gives the origin of newspapers to france. renaudot, a physician at paris, to amuse his patients was a great collector of news; and he found by these means that he was more sought after than his learned brethren. but as the seasons were not always sickly, and he had many hours not occupied by his patients, he reflected, after several years of assiduity given up to this singular employment, that he might turn it to a better account, by giving every week to his patients, who in this case were the public at large, some fugitive sheets which should contain the news of various countries. he obtained a privilege for this purpose in . at the restoration the proceedings of parliament were interdicted to be published, unless by authority; and the first daily paper after the revolution took the popular title of "the orange intelligencer." in the reign of queen _anne_, there was but one daily paper; the others were weekly. some attempted to introduce literary subjects, and others topics of a more general speculation. _sir richard steele_ formed the plan of his _tatler_. he designed it to embrace the three provinces, of manners and morals, of literature, and of politics. the public were to be conducted insensibly into so different a track from that to which they had been hitherto accustomed. hence politics were admitted into his paper. but it remained for the chaster genius of _addison_ to banish this painful topic from his elegant pages. the writer in polite letters felt himself degraded by sinking into the diurnal narrator of political events, which so frequently originate in rumours and party fictions. from this time, newspapers and periodical literature became distinct works--at present, there seems to be an attempt to revive this union; it is a retrograde step for the independent dignity of literature. footnotes: [footnote : since the appearance of the _eleventh_ edition of this work, the detection of a singular literary deception has occurred. the evidence respecting _the english mercurie_ rests on the alleged discovery of the literary antiquary, george chalmers. i witnessed, fifty years ago, that laborious researcher busied among the long dusty shelves of our periodical papers, which then reposed in the ante-chamber to the former reading-room of the british museum. to the industry which i had witnessed, i confided, and such positive and precise evidence could not fail to be accepted by all. in the british museum, indeed, george chalmers found the printed _english mercurie_; but there also, it now appears, he might have seen _the original_, with all its corrections, before it was sent to the press, written on paper of modern fabric. the detection of this literary imposture has been ingeniously and unquestionably demonstrated by mr. thomas watts, in a letter to mr. panizzi, the keeper of the printed books in the british museum. the fact is, the whole is a modern forgery, for which birch, preserving it among his papers, has not assigned either the occasion or the motive. mr. watts says--"the general impression left on the mind by the perusal of the _mercurie_ is, that it must have been written after the _spectator_"; that the manuscript was composed in modern spelling, afterwards _antiquated_ in the printed copy; while the type is similar to that used by caslon in . by this accidental reference to the originals, "the unaccountably successful imposition of fifty years was shattered to fragments in five minutes." i am inclined to suspect that it was a _jeu d'esprit_ of historical antiquarianism, concocted by birch and his friends the yorkes, with whom, as it is well known, he was concerned in a more elegant literary recreation, the composition of the athenian letters. the blunder of george chalmers has been repeated in numerous publications throughout europe and in america. i think it better to correct the text by this notice than by a silent suppression, that it may remain a memorable instance of the danger incurred by the historian from forged documents; and a proof that multiplied authorities add no strength to evidence, when nil are to be traced to a single source.] trials and proofs of guilt in superstitious ages. the strange trials to which those suspected of guilt were put in the middle ages, conducted with many devout ceremonies by the ministers of religion, were pronounced to be the _judgments of god_! the ordeal consisted of various kinds: walking blindfold amidst burning ploughshares; passing through fires; holding in the hand a red-hot bar; and plunging the arm into boiling water: the popular affirmation--"i will put my hand in the fire to confirm this," was derived from this custom of our rude ancestors. challenging the accuser to single combat, when frequently the stoutest champion was allowed to supply their place; swallowing a morsel of consecrated bread; sinking or swimming in a river for witchcraft; or weighing a witch; stretching out the arms before the cross, till the champion soonest wearied dropped his arms, and lost his estate, which was decided by this very short chancery suit, called the _judicium crucis_. the bishop of paris and the abbot of st. denis disputed about the patronage of a monastery: pepin the short, not being able to decide on their confused claims, decreed one of these judgments of god, that of the cross. the bishop and abbot each chose a man, and both the men appeared in the chapel, where they stretched out their arms in the form of a cross. the spectators, more devout than the mob of the present day, but still the mob, were piously attentive, but _betted_ however now for one man, now for the other, and critically watched the slightest motion of the arms. the bishop's man was first tired:--he let his arms fall, and ruined his patron's cause for ever. though sometimes these trials might be eluded by the artifice of the priest, numerous were the innocent victims who unquestionably suffered in these superstitious practices. from the tenth to the twelfth century they were common. hildebert, bishop of mans, being accused of high treason by our william rufus, was prepared to undergo one of these trials, when ives, bishop of chartres, convinced him that they were against the canons of the constitutions of the church, and adds, that in this manner _innocentiam defendere, set innocentiam perdere_. an abbot of st. aubin, of angers, in , having refused to present a horse to the viscount of tours, which the viscount claimed in right of his lordship, whenever an abbot first took possession of that abbey, the ecclesiastic offered to justify himself by the trial of the ordeal, or by duel, for which he proposed to furnish a man. the viscount at first agreed to the duel; but, reflecting that these combats, though sanctioned by the church, depended wholly on the skill or vigour of the adversary, and could therefore afford no substantial proof of the equity of his claim, he proposed to compromise the matter in a manner which strongly characterises the times: he waived his claim, on condition that the abbot should not forget to mention in his prayers himself, his wife, and his brothers! as the _orisons_ appeared to the abbot, in comparison with the _horse_, of little or no value, he accepted the proposal. in the tenth century the right of representation was not fixed: it was a question whether the sons of a son ought to be reckoned among the children of the family, and succeed equally with their uncles, if their fathers happened to die while their grandfathers survived. this point was decided by one of these combats. the champion in behalf of the right of children to represent their deceased father proved victorious. it was then established by a perpetual decree that they should thenceforward share in the inheritance, together with their uncles. in the eleventh century the same mode was practised to decide respecting two rival _liturgies_! a pair of knights, clad in complete armour, were the critics to decide which was the authentic. "if two neighbours," say the capitularies of dagobert, "dispute respecting the boundaries of their possessions, let a piece of turf of the contested land be dug up by the judge, and brought by him into the court; the two parties shall touch it with the points of their swords, calling on god as a witness of their claims;--after this let them _combat_, and let victory decide on their rights!" in germany, a solemn circumstance was practised in these judicial combats. in the midst of the lists they placed a _bier_.--by its side stood the accuser and the accused; one at the head and the other at the foot of the bier, and leaned there for some time in profound silence, before they began the combat. the manners of the age are faithfully painted in the ancient fabliaux. the judicial combat is introduced by a writer of the fourteenth century, in a scene where pilate challenges jesus christ to _single combat_. another describes the person who pierced the side of christ as _a knight who jousted with jesus_.[ ] judicial combat appears to have been practised by the jews. whenever the rabbins had to decide on a dispute about property between two parties, neither of which could produce evidence to substantiate his claim, they terminated it by single combat. the rabbins were impressed by a notion, that consciousness of right would give additional confidence and strength to the rightful possessor. it may, however, be more philosophical to observe, that such judicial combats were more frequently favourable to the criminal than to the innocent, because the bold wicked man is usually more ferocious and hardy than he whom he singles out as his victim, and who only wishes to preserve his own quiet enjoyment:--in this case the assailant is the more terrible combatant. those accused of robbery were put to trial by a piece of barley-bread, on which the mass had been said; which if they could not swallow, they were declared guilty. this mode of trial was improved by adding to the _bread_ a slice of _cheese_; and such was their credulity, that they were very particular in this holy _bread_ and _cheese_, called the _corsned_. the bread was to be of unleavened barley, and the cheese made of ewe's milk in the month of may. du cange observed, that the expression--"_may this piece of bread choke me!_" comes from this custom. the anecdote of earl godwin's death by swallowing a piece of bread, in making this asseveration, is recorded in our history. doubtless superstition would often terrify the innocent person, in the attempt of swallowing a consecrated morsel. among the proofs of guilt in superstitious ages was that of the _bleeding of a corpse_. it was believed, that at the touch or approach of the murderer the blood gushed out of the murdered. by the side of the bier, if the slightest change was observable in the eyes, the mouth, feet, or hands of the corpse, the murderer was conjectured to be present, and many innocent spectators must have suffered death. "when a body is full of blood, warmed by a sudden external heat, and a putrefaction coming on, some of the blood-vessels will burst, as they will all in time." this practice was once allowed in england, and is still looked on in some of the uncivilized parts of these kingdoms as a detection of the criminal. it forms a solemn picture in the histories and ballads of our old writers. robertson observes, that all these absurd institutions were cherished from the superstitious of the age believing the legendary histories of those saints who crowd and disgrace the roman calendar. these fabulous miracles had been declared authentic by the bulls of the popes and the decrees of councils; they were greedily swallowed by the populace; and whoever believed that the supreme being had interposed miraculously on those trivial occasions mentioned in legends, could not but expect the intervention of heaven in these most solemn appeals. these customs were a substitute for written laws, which that barbarous period had not; and as no society can exist without _laws_, the ignorance of the people had recourse to these _customs_, which, evil and absurd as they were, closed endless controversies. ordeals are in truth the rude laws of a barbarous people who have not yet obtained a written code, and are not sufficiently advanced in civilization to enter into the refined inquiries, the subtile distinctions, and elaborate investigations, which a court of law demands. these ordeals probably originate in that one of moses called the "waters of jealousy." the greeks likewise had ordeals, for in the antigonus of sophocles the soldiers offer to prove their innocence by handling red-hot iron, and walking between fires. one cannot but smile at the whimsical ordeals of the siamese. among other practices to discover the justice of a cause, civil or criminal, they are particularly attached to using certain consecrated purgative pills, which they make the contending parties swallow. he who _retains_ them longest gains his cause! the practice of giving indians a consecrated grain of rice to swallow is known to discover the thief, in any company, by the contortions and dismay evident on the countenance of the real thief. in the middle ages, they were acquainted with _secrets_ to pass unhurt these singular trials. voltaire mentions one for undergoing the ordeal of boiling water. our late travellers in the east have confirmed this statement. the mevleheh dervises can hold red-hot iron between their teeth. such artifices have been often publicly exhibited at paris and london. mr. sharon turner observes, on the ordeal of the anglo-saxons, that the hand was not to be immediately inspected, and was left to the chance of a good constitution to be so far healed during three days (the time they required to be bound up and sealed, before it was examined) as to discover those appearances when inspected, which were allowed to be satisfactory. there was likewise much preparatory training, suggested by the more experienced; besides, the accused had an opportunity of _going alone into the church_, and making _terms_ with the _priest_. the few _spectators_ were always _distant_; and cold iron might be substituted, and the fire diminished, at the moment. they possessed secrets and medicaments, to pass through these trials in perfect security. an anecdote of these times may serve to show their readiness. a rivalship existed between the austin-friars and the jesuits. the father-general of the austin-friars was dining with the jesuits; and when the table was removed, he entered into a formal discourse of the superiority of the monastic order, and charged the jesuits, in unqualified terms, with assuming the title of "fratres," while they held not the three vows, which other monks were obliged to consider as sacred and binding. the general of the austin-friars was very eloquent and very authoritative:--and the superior of the jesuits was very unlearned, but not half a fool. the jesuit avoided entering the list of controversy with the austin-friar, but arrested his triumph by asking him if he would see one of his friars, who pretended to be nothing more than a jesuit, and one of the austin-friars who religiously performed the aforesaid three vows, show instantly which of them would be the readier to obey his superiors? the austin-friar consented. the jesuit then turning to one of his brothers, the holy friar mark, who was waiting on them, said, "brother mark, our companions are cold. i command you, in virtue of the holy obedience you have sworn to me, to bring here instantly out of the kitchen-fire, and in your hands, some burning coals, that they may warm themselves over your hands." father mark instantly obeys, and, to the astonishment of the austin-friar, brought in his hands a supply of red burning coals, and held them to whoever chose to warm himself; and at the command of his superior returned them to the kitchen-hearth. the general of the austin-friars, with the rest of his brotherhood, stood amazed; he looked wistfully on one of his monks, as if he wished to command him to do the like. but the austin monk, who perfectly understood him, and saw this was not a time to hesitate, observed,--"reverend father, forbear, and do not command me to tempt god! i am ready to fetch you fire in a chafing-dish, but not in my bare hands." the triumph of the jesuits was complete; and it is not necessary to add, that the _miracle_ was noised about, and that the austin-friars could never account for it, notwithstanding their strict performance of the three vows! footnotes: [footnote : these curious passages, so strikingly indicative of the state of thought in the days of their authors, are worth clearly noting. pilate's challenge to the saviour is completely in the taste of the writer's day. he was adam davie, a poet of the fourteenth century, of whom an account is preserved in _warton's history of english poetry_; and the passage occurs in his poem of the _battle of jerusalem_, the incidents of which are treated as froissart would treat the siege of a town happening in his own day. the second passage above quoted occurs in the _vision of piers plowman_, a poem of the same era, where the roman soldier--whose name, according to legendary history, was longinus, and who pierced the saviour's side--is described as if he had given the wound in a passage of arms, or joust; and elsewhere in the same poem it is said that christ, "for mankyndes sake, justed in jerusalem, a joye to us all." and in another part of the poem, speaking of the victory of christ, it is said-- "jhesus justede well."] the inquisition. innocent the third, a pope as enterprising as he was successful in his enterprises, having sent dominic with some missionaries into languedoc, these men so irritated the heretics they were sent to convert, that most of them were assassinated at toulouse in the year . he called in the aid of temporal arms, and published against them a crusade, granting, as was usual with the popes on similar occasions, all kinds of indulgences and pardons to those who should arm against these _mahometans_, so he termed these unfortunate languedocians. once all were turks when they were not romanists. raymond, count of toulouse, was constrained to submit. the inhabitants were passed on the edge of the sword, without distinction of age or sex. it was then he established that scourge of europe, the inquisition. this pope considered that, though men might be compelled to submit by arms, numbers might remain professing particular dogmas; and he established this sanguinary tribunal solely to inspect into all families, and inquire concerning all persons who they imagined were unfriendly to the interests of rome. dominic did so much by his persecuting inquiries, that he firmly established the inquisition at toulouse. not before the year it became known in spain. to another dominican, john de torquemada, the court of rome owed this obligation. as he was the confessor of queen isabella, he had extorted from her a promise, that if ever she ascended the throne, she would use every means to extirpate heresy and heretics. ferdinand had conquered granada, and had expelled from the spanish realms multitudes of unfortunate moors. a few remained, whom, with the jews, he compelled to become christians: they at least assumed the name; but it was well known that both these nations naturally respected their own faith, rather than that of the christians. this race was afterwards distinguished as _christianos novos_; and in forming marriages, the blood of the hidalgo was considered to lose its purity by mingling with such a suspicious source. torquemada pretended that this dissimulation would greatly hurt the interests of the holy religion. the queen listened with respectful diffidence to her confessor; and at length gained over the king to consent to the establishment of this unrelenting tribunal. torquemada, indefatigable in his zeal for the holy chair, in the space of fourteen years that he exercised the office of chief inquisitor, is said to have prosecuted near eighty thousand persons, of whom six thousand were condemned to the flames. voltaire attributes the taciturnity of the spaniards to the universal horror such proceedings spread. "a general jealousy and suspicion took possession of all ranks of people: friendship and sociability were at an end! brothers were afraid of brothers, fathers of their children." the situation and the feelings of one imprisoned in the cells of the inquisition are forcibly painted by orobio, a mild, and meek, and learned man, whose controversy with limborch is well known. when he escaped from spain he took refuge in holland, was circumcised, and died a philosophical jew. he has left this admirable description of himself in the cell of the inquisition. "inclosed in this dungeon i could not even find space enough to turn myself about; i suffered so much that i felt my brain disordered. i frequently asked myself, am i really don balthazar orobio, who used to walk about seville at my pleasure, who so greatly enjoyed myself with my wife and children? i often imagined that all my life had only been a dream, and that i really had been born in this dungeon! the only amusement i could invent was metaphysical disputations. i was at once opponent, respondent, and præses!" in the cathedral at saragossa is the tomb of a famous inquisitor; six pillars surround this tomb; to each is chained a moor, as preparatory to his being burnt. on this st. foix ingeniously observes, "if ever the jack ketch of any country should be rich enough to have a splendid tomb, this might serve as an excellent model." the inquisition punished heretics by _fire_, to elude the maxim, "_ecclesia non novit sanguinem_;" for burning a man, say they, does not _shed his blood_. otho, the bishop at the norman invasion, in the tapestry worked by matilda the queen of william the conqueror, is represented with a _mace_ in his hand, for the purpose that when he _despatched_ his antagonist he might not _spill blood_, but only break his bones! religion has had her quibbles as well as law. the establishment of this despotic order was resisted in france; but it may perhaps surprise the reader that a recorder of london, in a speech, urged the necessity of setting up an inquisition in england! it was on the trial of penn the quaker, in , who was acquitted by the jury, which highly provoked the said recorder. "_magna charta_," writes the prefacer to the trial, "with the recorder of london, is nothing more than _magna f----!_" it appears that the jury, after being kept two days and two nights to alter their verdict, were in the end both fined and imprisoned. sir john howell, the recorder, said, "till now i never understood the reason of the policy and prudence of the spaniards in suffering the inquisition among them; and certainly it will not be well with us, till something _like unto the spanish inquisition be in england_." thus it will ever be, while both parties struggling for the pre-eminence rush to the sharp extremity of things, and annihilate the trembling balance of the constitution. but the adopted motto of lord erskine must ever be that of every briton, "_trial by jury_." so late as the year , gabriel malagrida, an old man of seventy, was burnt by these evangelical executioners. his trial was printed at amsterdam, , from the lisbon copy. and for what was this unhappy jesuit condemned? not, as some have imagined, for his having been concerned in a conspiracy against the king of portugal. no other charge is laid to him in this trial but that of having indulged certain heretical notions, which any other tribunal but that of the inquisition would have looked upon as the delirious fancies of a fanatical old man. will posterity believe, that in the eighteenth century an aged visionary was led to the stake for having said, amongst other extravagances, that "the holy virgin having commanded him to write the life of anti-christ, told him that he, malagrida, was a second john, but more clear than john the evangelist; that there were to be three anti-christs, and that the last should be born at milan, of a monk and a nun, in the year ; and that he would marry proserpine, one of the infernal furies." for such ravings as these the unhappy old man was burnt in recent times. granger assures us, that in his remembrance a _horse_ that had been taught to tell the spots upon cards, the hour of the day, &c., by significant tokens, was, together with his _owner_, put into the inquisition for _both_ of them dealing with the devil! a man of letters declared that, having fallen into their hands, nothing perplexed him so much as the ignorance of the inquisitor and his council; and it seemed very doubtful whether they had read even the scriptures.[ ] one of the most interesting anecdotes relating to the terrible inquisition, exemplifying how the use of the diabolical engines of torture forces men to confess crimes they have not been guilty of, was related to me by a portuguese gentleman. a nobleman in lisbon having heard that his physician and friend was imprisoned by the inquisition, under the stale pretext of judaism, addressed a letter to one of them to request his freedom, assuring the inquisitor that his friend was as orthodox a christian as himself. the physician, notwithstanding this high recommendation, was put to the torture; and, as was usually the case, at the height of his sufferings confessed everything they wished! this enraged the nobleman, and feigning a dangerous illness he begged the inquisitor would come to give him his last spiritual aid. as soon as the dominican arrived, the lord, who had prepared his confidential servants, commanded the inquisitor in their presence to acknowledge himself a jew, to write his confession, and to sign it. on the refusal of the inquisitor, the nobleman ordered his people to put on the inquisitor's head a red-hot helmet, which to his astonishment, in drawing aside a screen, he beheld glowing in a small furnace. at the sight of this new instrument of torture, "luke's iron crown," the monk wrote and subscribed the abhorred confession. the nobleman then observed, "see now the enormity of your manner of proceeding with unhappy men! my poor physician, like you, has confessed judaism; but with this difference, only torments have forced that from him which fear alone has drawn from you!" the inquisition has not failed of receiving its due praises. macedo, a portuguese jesuit, has discovered the "origin of the _inquisition_" in the terrestrial paradise, and presumes to allege that god was the first who began the functions of an _inquisitor_ over cain and the workmen of babel! macedo, however, is not so dreaming a personage as he appears; for he obtained a professor's chair at padua for the arguments he delivered at venice against the pope, which were published by the title of "the literary roarings of the lion at st. mark;" besides he is the author of different works; but it is curious to observe how far our interest is apt to prevail over our conscience,--macedo praised the inquisition up to the skies, while he sank the pope to nothing! among the great revolutions of this age, and since the last edition of this work, the inquisition in spain and portugal is abolished--but its history enters into that of the human mind; and the history of the inquisition by limborch, translated by chandler, with a very curious "introduction," loses none of its value with the philosophical mind. this monstrous tribunal of human opinions aimed at the sovereignty of the intellectual world, without intellect. in these changeful times, the history of the inquisition is not the least mutable. the inquisition, which was abolished, was again restored--and at the present moment, i know not whether it is to be restored or abolished. footnotes: [footnote : see also the remark of galileo in a previous page of this volume, in the article headed "the persecuted learned."] singularities observed by various nations in their repasts. the maldivian islanders eat alone. they retire into the most hidden parts of their houses; and they draw down the cloths that serve as blinds to their windows, that they may eat unobserved. this custom probably arises from the savage, in early periods of society, concealing himself to eat: he fears that another, with as sharp an appetite, but more strong than himself, should come and ravish his meal from him. the ideas of witchcraft are also widely spread among barbarians; and they are not a little fearful that some incantation may be thrown among their victuals. in noticing the solitary meal of the maldivian islander, another reason may be alleged for this misanthropical repast. they never will eat with any one who is inferior to them in birth, in riches, or dignity; and as it is a difficult matter to settle this equality, they are condemned to lead this unsocial life. on the contrary, the islanders of the philippines are remarkably social. whenever one of them finds himself without a companion to partake of his meal, he runs till he meets with one; and we are assured that, however keen his appetite may be, he ventures not to satisfy it without a guest.[ ] savages, says montaigne, when they eat, "_s'essuyent les doigts aux cuisses, à la bourse des génitoires, et à la plante des pieds_." we cannot forbear exulting in the polished convenience of napkins! the tables of the rich chinese shine with a beautiful varnish, and are covered with silk carpets very elegantly worked. they do not make use of plates, knives, and forks: every guest has two little ivory or ebony sticks, which he handles very adroitly. the otaheiteans, who are naturally social, and very gentle in their manners, feed separately from each other. at the hour of repast, the members of each family divide; two brothers, two sisters, and even husband and wife, father and mother, have each their respective basket. they place themselves at the distance of two or three yards from each other; they turn their backs, and take their meal in profound silence. the custom of drinking at different hours from those assigned for eating exists among many savage nations. originally begun from necessity, it became a habit, which subsisted even when the fountain was near to them. a people transplanted, observes an ingenious philosopher, preserve in another climate modes of living which relate to those from whence they originally came. it is thus the indians of brazil scrupulously abstain from eating when they drink, and from drinking when they eat.[ ] when neither decency nor politeness is known, the man who invites his friends to a repast is greatly embarrassed to testify his esteem for his guests, and to offer them some amusement; for the savage guest imposes on himself this obligation. amongst the greater part of the american indians, the host is continually on the watch to solicit them to eat, but touches nothing himself. in new france, he wearies himself with singing, to divert the company while they eat. when civilization advances, men wish to show their confidence to their friends: they treat their guests as relations; and it is said that in china the master of a house, to give a mark of his politeness, absents himself while his guests regale themselves at his table with undisturbed revelry.[ ] the demonstrations of friendship in a rude state have a savage and gross character, which it is not a little curious to observe. the tartars pull a man by the ear to press him to drink, and they continue tormenting him till he opens his mouth; then they clap their hands and dance before him. no customs seem more ridiculous than those practised by a kamschatkan, when he wishes to make another his friend. he first invites him to eat. the host and his guest strip themselves in a cabin which is heated to an uncommon degree. while the guest devours the food with which they serve him, the other continually stirs the fire. the stranger must bear the excess of the heat as well as of the repast. he vomits ten times before he will yield; but, at length obliged to acknowledge himself overcome, he begins to compound matters. he purchases a moment's respite by a present of clothes or dogs; for his host threatens to heat the cabin, and oblige him to eat till he dies. the stranger has the right of retaliation allowed to him: he treats in the same manner, and exacts the same presents. should his host not accept the invitation of him whom he had so handsomely regaled, in that case the guest would take possession of his cabin, till he had the presents returned to him which the other had in so singular a manner obtained. for this extravagant custom a curious reason has been alleged. it is meant to put the person to a trial, whose friendship is sought. the kamschatkan who is at the expense of the fires, and the repast, is desirous to know if the stranger has the strength to support pain with him, and if he is generous enough to share with him some part of his property. while the guest is employed on his meal, he continues heating the cabin to an insupportable degree; and for a last proof of the stranger's constancy and attachment, he exacts more clothes and more dogs. the host passes through the same ceremonies in the cabin of the stranger; and he shows, in his turn, with what degree of fortitude he can defend his friend. the most singular customs would appear simple, if it were possible for the philosopher to understand them on the spot. as a distinguishing mark of their esteem, the negroes of ardra drink out of one cup at the same time. the king of loango eats in one house, and drinks in another. a kamschatkan kneels before his guests; he cuts an enormous slice from a sea-calf; he crams it entire into the mouth of his friend, furiously crying out "_tana!_"--there! and cutting away what hangs about his lips, snatches and swallows it with avidity. a barbarous magnificence attended the feasts of the ancient monarchs of france. after their coronation or consecration, when they sat at table, the nobility served them on horseback. footnotes: [footnote : in cochin-china, a traveller may always obtain his dinner by simply joining the family of the first house he may choose to enter, such hospitality being the general custom.] [footnote : _esprit des usages, et des coutumes._] [footnote : if the master be present, he devotes himself to cramming his guests to repletion.] monarchs. saint chrysostom has this very acute observation on _kings_: many monarchs are infected with a strange wish that their successors may turn out bad princes. good kings desire it, as they imagine, continues this pious politician, that their glory will appear the more splendid by the contrast; and the bad desire it, as they consider such kings will serve to countenance their own misdemeanours. princes, says gracian, are willing to be _aided_, but not _surpassed_: which maxim is thus illustrated. a spanish lord having frequently played at chess with philip ii., and won all the games, perceived, when his majesty rose from play, that he was much ruffled with chagrin. the lord, when he returned home, said to his family--"my children, we have nothing more to do at court: there we must expect no favour; for the king is offended at my having won of him every game of chess." as chess entirely depends on the genius of the players, and not on fortune, king philip the chess-player conceived he ought to suffer no rival. this appears still clearer by the anecdote told of the earl of sunderland, minister to george i., who was partial to the game of chess. he once played with the laird of cluny, and the learned cunningham, the editor of horace. cunningham, with too much skill and too much sincerity, beat his lordship. "the earl was so fretted at his superiority and surliness, that he dismissed him without any reward. cluny allowed himself sometimes to be beaten; and by that means got his pardon, with something handsome besides." in the criticon of gracian, there is a singular anecdote relative to kings. a polish monarch having quitted his companions when he was hunting, his courtiers found him, a few days after, in a market-place, disguised as a porter, and lending out the use of his shoulders for a few pence. at this they were as much surprised as they were doubtful at first whether the _porter_ could be his _majesty_. at length they ventured to express their complaints that so great a personage should debase himself by so vile an employment. his majesty having heard them, replied--"upon my honour, gentlemen, the load which i quitted is by far heavier than the one you see me carry here: the weightiest is but a straw, when compared to that world under which i laboured. i have slept more in four nights than i have during all my reign. i begin to live, and to be king of myself. elect whom you choose. for me, who am so well, it were madness to return to _court_." another polish king, who succeeded this philosophic _monarchical porter_, when they placed the sceptre in his hand, exclaimed--"i had rather tug at an _oar_!" the vacillating fortunes of the polish monarchy present several of these anecdotes; their monarchs appear to have frequently been philosophers; and, as the world is made, an excellent philosopher proves but an indifferent king. two observations on kings were offered to a courtier with great _naïveté_ by that experienced politician, the duke of alva:--"kings who affect to be familiar with their companions make use of _men_ as they do of _oranges_; they take oranges to extract their juice, and when they are well sucked they throw them away. take care the king does not do the same to you; be careful that he does not read all your thoughts; otherwise he will throw you aside to the back of his chest, as a book of which he has read enough." "the squeezed orange," the king of prussia applied in his dispute with voltaire. when it was suggested to dr. johnson that kings must be unhappy because they are deprived of the greatest of all satisfactions, easy and unreserved society, he observed that this was an ill-founded notion. "being a king does not exclude a man from such society. great kings have always been social. the king of prussia, the only great king at present (this was the great frederic) is very social. charles the second, the last king of england who was a man of parts, was social; our henries and edwards were all social." the marquis of halifax, in his character of charles ii., has exhibited a _trait_ in the royal character of a good-natured monarch; that _trait_, is _sauntering_. i transcribe this curious observation, which introduces us into a levee. "there was as much of laziness as of love in all those hours which he passed amongst his mistresses, who served only to fill up his seraglio, while a bewitching kind of pleasure, called sauntering, was the sultana queen he delighted in. "the thing called sauntering is a stronger temptation to princes than it is to others.--the being galled with importunities, pursued from one room to another with asking faces; the dismal sound of unreasonable complaints and ill-grounded pretences; the deformity of fraud ill-disguised:--all these would make any man run away from them, and i used to think it was the motive for making him walk so fast." of the titles of illustrious, highness, and excellence. the title of _illustrious_ was never given, till the reign of constantine, but to those whose reputation was splendid in arms or in letters. adulation had not yet adopted this noble word into her vocabulary. suetonius composed a book to record those who had possessed this title; and, as it was _then_ bestowed, a moderate volume was sufficient to contain their names. in the time of constantine, the title of _illustrious_ was given more particularly to those princes who had distinguished themselves in war; but it was not continued to their descendants. at length, it became very common; and every son of a prince was _illustrious_. it is now a convenient epithet for the poet. in the rage for titles the ancient lawyers in italy were not satisfied by calling kings illustres; they went a step higher, and would have emperors to be _super-illustres_, a barbarous coinage of their own. in spain, they published a book of _titles_ for their kings, as well as for the portuguese; but selden tells us, that "their _cortesias_ and giving of titles grew at length, through the affectation of heaping great attributes on their princes to such an insufferable forme, that a remedie was provided against it." this remedy was an act published by philip iii. which ordained that all the _cortesias_, as they termed these strange phrases they had so servilely and ridiculously invented, should be reduced to a simple superscription, "to the king our lord," leaving out those fantastical attributes of which every secretary had vied with his predecessors in increasing the number. it would fill three or four of these pages to transcribe the titles and attributes of the grand signior, which he assumes in a letter to henry iv. selden, in his "titles of honour," first part, p. , has preserved them. this "emperor of victorious emperors," as he styles himself, at length condescended to agree with the emperor of germany, in , that in all their letters and instruments they should be only styled _father_ and _son_: the emperor calling the sultan his son; and the sultan the emperor, in regard of his years, his _father_. formerly, says houssaie, the title of _highness_ was only given to kings; but now it has become so common that all the great houses assume it. all the great, says a modern, are desirous of being confounded with princes, and are ready to seize on the privileges of royal dignity. we have already come to _highness_. the pride of our descendants, i suspect, will usurp that of _majesty_. ferdinand, king of aragon, and his queen isabella of castile, were only treated with the title of _highness_. charles was the first who took that of _majesty_: not in his quality of king of spain, but as emperor. st. foix informs us, that kings were usually addressed by the titles of _most illustrious_, or _your serenity_, or _your grace_; but that the custom of giving them that of _majesty_ was only established by louis xi., a prince the least majestic in all his actions, his manners, and his exterior--a severe monarch, but no ordinary man, the tiberius of france. the manners of this monarch were most sordid; in public audiences he dressed like the meanest of the people, and affected to sit on an old broken chair, with a filthy dog on his knees. in an account found of his household, this _majestic_ prince has a charge made him for two new sleeves sewed on one of his old doublets. formerly kings were apostrophised by the title of _your grace_. henry viii. was the first, says houssaie, who assumed the title of _highness_; and at length _majesty_. it was francis i. who saluted him with this last title, in their interview in the year , though he called himself only the first gentleman in his kingdom! so distinct were once the titles of _highness_ and _excellence_, that when don juan, the brother of philip ii., was permitted to take up the latter title, and the city of granada saluted him by the title of _highness_, it occasioned such serious jealousy at court, that had he persisted in it, he would have been condemned for treason. the usual title of _cardinals_, about , was _seignoria illustrissima_; the duke of lerma, the spanish minister and cardinal, in his old age, assumed the title of _eccellencia reverendissima_. the church of rome was in its glory, and to be called _reverend_ was then accounted a higher honour than to be styled _illustrious_. but by use _illustrious_ grew familiar, and _reverend_ vulgar, and at last the cardinals were distinguished by the title of _eminent_. after all these historical notices respecting these titles, the reader will smile when he is acquainted with the reason of an honest curate of montferrat, who refused to bestow the title of _highness_ on the duke of mantua, because he found in his breviary these words, _tu solus dominus, tu solus altissimus_; from all which he concluded, that none but the lord was to be honoured with the title of _highness_! the "titles of honour" of selden is a very curious volume, and, as the learned usher told evelyn, the most valuable work of this great scholar. the best edition is a folio of about one thousand pages. selden vindicates the right of a king of england to the title of _emperor_. "and never yet was title did not move; and never eke a mind, _that_ title did not love." titles of sovereigns. in countries where despotism exists in all its force, and is gratified in all its caprices, either the intoxication of power has occasioned sovereigns to assume the most solemn and the most fantastic titles; or the royal duties and functions were considered of so high and extensive a nature, that the people expressed their notion of the pure monarchical state by the most energetic descriptions of oriental fancy. the chiefs of the natchez are regarded by their people as the children of the sun, and they bear the name of their father. the titles which some chiefs assume are not always honourable in themselves; it is sufficient if the people respect them. the king of quiterva calls himself the _great lion_; and for this reason lions are there so much respected, that they are not allowed to kill them, but at certain royal huntings. the king of monomotapa is surrounded by musicians and poets, who adulate him by such refined flatteries as _lord of the sun and moon_; _great magician_; and _great thief!_--where probably thievery is merely a term for dexterity. the asiatics have bestowed what to us appear as ridiculous titles of honour on their _princes_. the king of arracan assumes the following ones: "emperor of arracan, possessor of the white elephant, and the two ear-rings, and in virtue of this possession legitimate heir of pegu and brama; lord of the twelve provinces of bengal, and the twelve kings who place their heads under his feet." his majesty of ava is called _god_: when he writes to a foreign sovereign he calls himself the king of kings, whom all others should obey, as he is the cause of the preservation of all animals; the regulator of the seasons, the absolute master of the ebb and flow of the sea, brother to the sun, and king of the four-and-twenty umbrellas! these umbrellas are always carried before him as a mark of his dignity. the titles of the kings of achem are singular, though voluminous. the most striking ones are sovereign of the universe, whose body is luminous as the sun; whom god created to be as accomplished as the moon at her plenitude; whose eye glitters like the northern star; a king as spiritual as a ball is round; who when he rises shades all his people; from under whose feet a sweet odour is wafted, &c. &c. the kandyan sovereign is called _dewo_ (god). in a deed of gift he proclaims his extraordinary attributes. "the protector of religion, whose fame is infinite, and of surpassing excellence, exceeding the moon, the unexpanded jessamine buds, the stars, &c.; whose feet are as fragrant to the noses of other kings as flowers to bees; our most noble patron and god by custom," &c. after a long enumeration of the countries possessed by the king of persia, they give him some poetical distinctions: _the branch of honour_; _the mirror of virtue_; and _the rose of delight_. royal divinities. there is a curious dissertation in the "mémoires de l'académie des inscriptions et belles lettres," by the abbé mongault, "on the divine honours which were paid to the governors of provinces during the roman republic;" in their lifetime these originally began in gratitude, and at length degenerated into flattery. these facts curiously show how far the human mind can advance, when led on by customs that operate unperceivably on it, and blind us in our absurdities. one of these ceremonies was exquisitely ludicrous. when they voted a statue to a proconsul, they placed it among the statues of the gods in the festival called _lectisternium_, from the ridiculous circumstances of this solemn festival. on that day the gods were invited to a repast, which was however spread in various quarters of the city, to satiate mouths more mortal. the gods were however taken down from their pedestals, laid on beds ornamented in their temples; pillows were placed under their marble heads; and while they reposed in this easy posture they were served with a magnificent repast. when cæsar had conquered rome, the servile senate put him to dine with the gods! fatigued by and ashamed of these honours, he desired the senate to erase from his statue in the capitol the title they had given him of a _demi-god_! the adulations lavished on the first roman emperors were extravagant; but perhaps few know that they were less offensive than the flatterers of the third century under the pagan, and of the fourth under the christian emperors. those who are acquainted with the character of the age of augustulus have only to look at the one, and the other _code_, to find an infinite number of passages which had not been tolerable even in that age. for instance, here is a law of arcadius and honorius, published in :-- "let the officers of the palace be warned to abstain from frequenting tumultuous meetings; and that those who, instigated by a _sacrilegious_ temerity, dare to oppose the authority of _our divinity_, shall be deprived of their employments, and their estates confiscated." the letters they write are _holy_. when the sons speak of their fathers, it is, "their father of _divine_ memory;" or "their _divine_ father." they call their own laws _oracles_, and _celestial_ oracles. so also their subjects address them by the titles of "_your perpetuity_, _your eternity._" and it appears by a law of theodoric the great, that the emperors at length added this to their titles. it begins, "if any magistrate, after having concluded a public work, put his name rather than that of _our perpetuity_, let him be judged guilty of high-treason." all this reminds one of "the celestial empire" of the chinese. whenever the great mogul made an observation, bernier tells us that some of the first omrahs lifted up their hands, crying, "wonder! wonder! wonder!" and a proverb current in his dominion was, "if the king saith at noonday it is night, you are to say, behold the moon and the stars!" such adulation, however, could not alter the general condition and fortune of this unhappy being, who became a sovereign without knowing what it is to be one. he was brought out of the seraglio to be placed on the throne, and it was he, rather than the spectators, who might have truly used the interjection of astonishment! dethroned monarchs fortune never appears in a more extravagant humour than when she reduces monarchs to become mendicants. half a century ago it was not imagined that our own times should have to record many such instances. after having contemplated _kings_ raised into _divinities_, we see them now depressed as _beggars_. our own times, in two opposite senses, may emphatically be distinguished as the _age of kings_. in candide, or the optimist, there is an admirable stroke of voltaire's. eight travellers meet in an obscure inn, and some of them with not sufficient money to pay for a scurvy dinner. in the course of conversation, they are discovered to be _eight monarchs_ in europe, who had been deprived of their crowns! what added to this exquisite satire was, that there were eight living monarchs at that moment wanderers on the earth;--a circumstance which has since occurred! adelaide, the widow of lothario, king of italy, one of the most beautiful women in her age, was besieged in pavia by berenger, who resolved to constrain her to marry his son after pavia was taken; she escaped from her prison with her almoner. the archbishop of reggio had offered her an asylum: to reach it, she and her almoner travelled on foot through the country by night, concealing herself in the day-time among the corn, while the almoner begged for alms and food through the villages. the emperor henry iv. after having been deposed and imprisoned by his son, henry v., escaped from prison; poor, vagrant, and without aid, he entreated the bishop of spires to grant him a lay prebend in his church. "i have studied," said he, "and have learned to sing, and may therefore be of some service to you." the request was denied, and he died miserably and obscurely at liege, after having drawn the attention of europe to his victories and his grandeur! mary of medicis, the widow of henry the great, mother of louis xiii., mother-in-law of three sovereigns, and regent of france, frequently wanted the necessaries of life, and died at cologne in the utmost misery. the intrigues of richelieu compelled her to exile herself, and live an unhappy fugitive. her petition exists, with this supplicatory opening: "supplie marie, reine de france et de navarre, disant, que depuis le février elle aurait été arrêtée prisonnière au château de compiègne, sans être ni accusée ni soupçonné," &c. lilly, the astrologer, in his life and death of king charles the first, presents us with a melancholy picture of this unfortunate monarch. he has also described the person of the old queen-mother of france:-- "in the month of august, , i beheld the old queen-mother of france departing from london, in company of thomas, earl of arundel. a sad spectacle of mortality it was, and produced tears from mine eyes and many other beholders, to see an aged, lean, decrepit, poor queen, ready for her grave, necessitated to depart hence, having no place of residence in this world left her, but where the courtesy of her hard fortune assigned it. she had been the only stately and magnificent woman of europe: wife to the greatest king that ever lived in france; mother unto one king and unto two queens." in the year , died at paris, antonio, king of portugal. his body is interred at the cordeliers, and his heart deposited at the ave-maria. nothing on earth could compel this prince to renounce his crown. he passed over to england, and elizabeth assisted him with troops; but at length he died in france in great poverty. this dethroned monarch was happy in one thing, which is indeed rare: in all his miseries he had a servant, who proved a tender and faithful friend, and who only desired to participate in his misfortunes, and to soften his miseries; and for the recompense of his services he only wished to be buried at the feet of his dear master. this hero in loyalty, to whom the ancient romans would have raised altars, was don diego bothei, one of the greatest lords of the court of portugal, and who drew his origin from the kings of bohemia. hume supplies an anecdote of singular royal distress. the queen of england, with her son charles, "had a moderate pension assigned her; but it was so ill paid, and her credit ran so low, that one morning when the cardinal de retz waited on her, she informed him that her daughter, the princess henrietta, was obliged to lie a-bed for want of a fire to warm her. to such a condition was reduced, in the midst of paris, a queen of england, and a daughter of henry iv. of france!" we find another proof of her extreme poverty. salmasius, after publishing his celebrated political book, in favour of charles i., the _defensio regia_, was much blamed by a friend for not having sent a copy to the widowed queen of charles, who, he writes, "though poor, would yet have paid the bearer." the daughter of james the first, who married the elector palatine, in her attempts to get her husband crowned, was reduced to the utmost distress, and wandered frequently in disguise. a strange anecdote is related of charles vii. of france. our henry v. had shrunk his kingdom into the town of bourges. it is said that having told a shoemaker, after he had just tried a pair of his boots, that he had no money to pay for them, crispin had such callous feelings that he refused his majesty the boots. "it is for this reason," says comines, "i praise those princes who are on good terms with the lowest of their people; for they know not at what hour they may want them." many monarchs of this day have experienced more than once the truth of the reflection of comines. we may add here, that in all conquered countries the descendants of royal families have been found among the dregs of the populace. an irish prince has been discovered in the person of a miserable peasant; and in mexico, its faithful historian clavigero notices, that he has known a locksmith, who was a descendant of its ancient kings, and a tailor, the representative of one of its noblest families. feudal customs. barbarous as the feudal customs were, they were the first attempts at organising european society. the northern nations, in their irruptions and settlements in europe, were barbarians independent of each other, till a sense of public safety induced these hordes to confederate. but the private individual reaped no benefit from the public union; on the contrary, he seems to have lost his wild liberty in the subjugation; he in a short time was compelled to suffer from his chieftain; and the curiosity of the philosopher is excited by contemplating in the feudal customs a barbarous people carrying into their first social institutions their original ferocity. the institution of forming cities into communities at length gradually diminished this military and aristocratic tyranny; and the freedom of cities, originating in the pursuits of commerce, shook off the yoke of insolent lordships. a famous ecclesiastical writer of that day, who had imbibed the feudal prejudices, calls these communities, which were distinguished by the name of _libertates_ (hence probably our municipal term the _liberties_), as "execrable inventions, by which, contrary to law and justice, slaves withdrew themselves from that obedience which they owed to their masters." such was the expiring voice of aristocratic tyranny! this subject has been ingeniously discussed by robertson in his preliminary volume to charles v.; but the following facts constitute the picture which the historian leaves to be gleaned by the minuter inquirer. the feudal government introduced a species of servitude which till that time was unknown, and which was called the servitude of the land. the bondmen or serfs, and the villains or country servants, did not reside in the house of the lord: but they entirely depended on his caprice; and he sold them, as he did the animals, with the field where they lived, and which they cultivated. it is difficult to conceive with what insolence the petty lords of those times tyrannized over their villains: they not only oppressed their slaves with unremitted labour, instigated by a vile cupidity, but their whim and caprice led them to inflict miseries without even any motive of interest. in scotland they had a shameful institution of maiden-rights; and malcolm the third only abolished it, by ordering that they might be redeemed by a quit-rent. the truth of this circumstance dalrymple has attempted, with excusable patriotism, to render doubtful. there seems, however, to be no doubt of the existence of this custom; since it also spread through germany, and various parts of europe; and the french barons extended their domestic tyranny to three nights of involuntary prostitution. montesquieu is infinitely french, when he could turn this shameful species of tyranny into a _bon mot_; for he boldly observes on this, "_c'étoit bien ces trois nuits-là, qu'il falloit choisir; car pour les autres on n'auroit pas donné beaucoup d'argent_." the legislator in the wit forgot the feelings of his heart. others, to preserve this privilege when they could not enjoy it in all its extent, thrust their leg booted into the bed of the new-married couple. this was called the _droit de cuisse_. when the bride was in bed, the esquire or lord performed this ceremony, and stood there, his thigh in the bed, with a lance in his hand: in this ridiculous attitude he remained till he was tired; and the bridegroom was not suffered to enter the chamber till his lordship had retired. such indecent privileges must have originated in the worst of intentions; and when afterwards they advanced a step in more humane manners, the ceremonial was preserved from avaricious motives. others have compelled their subjects to pass the first night at the top of a tree, and there to consummate their marriage; to pass the bridal hours in a river; or to be bound naked to a cart, and to trace some furrows as they were dragged; or to leap with their feet tied over the horns of stags. sometimes their caprice commanded the bridegroom to appear in drawers at their castle, and plunge into a ditch of mud; and sometimes they were compelled to beat the waters of the ponds to hinder the frogs from disturbing the lord! wardship, or the privilege of guardianship enjoyed by some lords, was one of the barbarous inventions of the feudal ages; the guardian had both the care of the person, and for his own use the revenue of the estates. this feudal custom was so far abused in england, that the king sold these lordships to strangers; and when the guardian had fixed on a marriage for the infant, if the youth or maiden did not agree to this, they forfeited the value of the marriage; that is, the sum the guardian would have obtained by the other party had it taken place. this cruel custom was a source of domestic unhappiness, particularly in love-affairs, and has served as the ground-work of many a pathetic play by our elder dramatists. there was a time when the german lords reckoned amongst their privileges that of robbing on the highways of their territory; which ended in raising up the famous hanseatic union, to protect their commerce against rapine and avaricious exactions of toll. geoffrey, lord of coventry, compelled his wife to ride naked on a white pad through the streets of the town; that by this mode he might restore to the inhabitants those privileges of which his wantonness had deprived them. this anecdote some have suspected to be fictitious, from its extreme barbarity; but the character of the middle ages will admit of any kind of wanton barbarism. when the abbot of figeac made his entry into that town, the lord of montbron, dressed in a harlequin's coat, and one of his legs naked, was compelled by an ancient custom to conduct him to the door of his abbey, leading his horse by the bridle. blount's "jocular tenures" is a curious collection of such capricious clauses in the grants of their lands.[ ] the feudal barons frequently combined to share among themselves those children of their villains who appeared to be the most healthy and serviceable, or remarkable for their talent; and not unfrequently sold them in their markets. the feudal servitude is not, even in the present enlightened times, abolished in poland, in germany, and in russia. in those countries, the bondmen are still entirely dependent on the caprice of their masters. the peasants of hungary or bohemia frequently revolt, and attempt to shake off the pressure of feudal tyranny. an anecdote of comparatively recent date displays their unfeeling caprice. a lord or prince of the northern countries passing through one of his villages, observed a small assembly of peasants and their families amusing themselves with dancing. he commands his domestics to part the men from the women, and confine them in the houses. he orders the coats of the women to be drawn up above their heads, and tied with their garters. the men were then liberated, and those who did not recognise their wives in that state received a severe castigation. absolute dominion hardens the human heart; and nobles accustomed to command their bondmen will treat their domestics as slaves, as capricious or inhuman west indians treated their domestic slaves. those of siberia punish theirs by a free use of the cudgel or rod. the abbé chappe saw two russian slaves undress a chambermaid, who had by some trifling negligence given offence to her mistress; after having uncovered as far as her waist, one placed her head betwixt his knees; the other held her by the feet; while both, armed with two sharp rods, violently lashed her back till it pleased the domestic tyrant to decree _it was enough_! after a perusal of these anecdotes of feudal tyranny, we may exclaim with goldsmith-- "i fly from petty tyrants--to the throne." mr. hallam's "state of europe during the middle ages" renders this short article superfluous in a philosophical view. footnotes: [footnote : many are of the nature of "peppercorn rents." thus a manor was held from the king "by the service of one rose only, to be paid yearly, at the feast of st. john the baptist, for all services; and they gave the king one penny for the price of the said one rose, as it was appraised by the barons of the exchequer." nicholas de mora, in the reign of henry iii., "rendered at the exchequer two knives, one good, and the other a very bad one, for certain land which he held in shropshire." the citizens of london still pay to the exchequer six horseshoes with nails, for their right to a piece of ground in the parish of st. clement, originally granted to a farrier, as early as the reign of henry iii.] gaming. gaming appears to be an universal passion. some have attempted to deny its universality; they have imagined that it is chiefly prevalent in cold climates, where such a passion becomes most capable of agitating and gratifying the torpid minds of their inhabitants. the fatal propensity of gaming is to be discovered, as well amongst the inhabitants of the frigid and torrid zones, as amongst those of the milder climates. the savage and the civilized, the illiterate and the learned, are alike captivated by the hope of accumulating wealth without the labours of industry. barbeyrac has written an elaborate treatise on gaming, and we have two quarto volumes, by c. moore, on suicide, gaming, and duelling, which may be placed by the side of barbeyrac. all these works are excellent sermons; but a sermon to a gambler, a duellist, or a suicide! a dice-box, a sword, and pistol, are the only things that seem to have any power over these unhappy men, for ever lost in a labyrinth of their own construction. i am much pleased with the following thought. "the ancients," says the author of _amusemens sérieux et comiques_, "assembled to see their gladiators kill one another; they classed this among their _games_! what barbarity! but are we less barbarous, we who call a _game_ an assembly--who meet at the faro table, where the actors themselves confess they only meet to destroy one another?" in both these cases the philosopher may perhaps discover their origin in the listless state of _ennui_ requiring an immediate impulse of the passions, and very inconsiderate as to the fatal means which procure the desired agitation. the most ancient treatise by a modern on this subject, is said to be by a french physician, one eckeloo, who published in , _de aleâ, sive de curandâ ludendi in pecuniam cupiditate_, that is, "on games of chance, or a cure for gaming." the treatise itself is only worth notice from the circumstance of the author being himself one of the most inveterate gamblers; he wrote this work to convince himself of this folly. but in spite of all his solemn vows, the prayers of his friends, and his own book perpetually quoted before his face, he was a great gamester to his last hour! the same circumstance happened to sir john denham, who also published a tract against gaming, and to the last remained a gamester. they had not the good sense of old montaigne, who gives the reason why he gave over gaming. "i used to like formerly games of chance with cards and dice; but of that folly i have long been cured; merely because i found that whatever good countenance i put on when i lost, i did not feel my vexation the less." goldsmith fell a victim to this madness. to play any game well requires serious study, time, and experience. if a literary man plays deeply, he will be duped even by shallow fellows, as well as by professed gamblers. _dice_, and that little pugnacious animal the _cock_, are the chief instruments employed by the numerous nations of the east, to agitate their minds and ruin their fortunes; to which the chinese, who are desperate gamesters, add the use of _cards_. when all other property is played away, the asiatic gambler scruples not to stake his _wife_ or his _child_, on the cast of a die, or the courage and strength of a martial bird. if still unsuccessful, the last venture he stakes is _himself_. in the island of ceylon, _cock-fighting_ is carried to a great height. the sumatrans are addicted to the use of dice. a strong spirit of play characterises a malayan. after having resigned everything to the good fortune of the winner, he is reduced to a horrid state of desperation; he then loosens a certain lock of hair, which indicates war and destruction to all whom the raving gamester meets. he intoxicates himself with opium; and working himself into a fit of frenzy, he bites or kills every one who comes in his way. but as soon as this lock is seen flowing, it is _lawful_ to fire at the person and to destroy him as fast as possible. this custom is what is called "to run a muck." thus dryden writes-- "frontless and satire-proof, he scours the streets, and _runs_ an indian _muck_ at all he meets." thus also pope-- "satire's my weapon, but =i'm= too discreet to _run a muck_, and tilt at all i meet." johnson could not discover the derivation of the word _muck_. to "run a muck" is an old phrase for attacking madly and indiscriminately; and has since been ascertained to be a malay word. to discharge their gambling debts, the siamese sell their possessions, their families, and at length themselves. the chinese play _night_ and _day_, till they have lost all they are worth; and then they usually go and hang themselves. such is the propensity of the javanese for high play, that they were compelled to make a law, that "whoever ventures his money at play shall be put to death." in the newly-discovered islands of the pacific ocean, they venture even their hatchets, which they hold as invaluable acquisitions, on running-matches.--"we saw a man," says cook, "beating his breast and tearing his hair in the violence of rage, for having lost three hatchets at one of these races, and which he had purchased with nearly half his property." the ancient nations were not less addicted to gaming: persians, grecians, and romans; the goths, and germans. to notice the modern ones were a melancholy task: there is hardly a family in europe which cannot record, from their own domestic annals, the dreadful prevalence of this passion. _gamester_ and _cheater_ were synonymous terms in the time of shakspeare and jonson: they have hardly lost much of their double signification in the present day. the following is a curious picture of a gambling-house, from a contemporary account, and appears to be an establishment more systematic even than the "hells" of the present day. "a list of the officers established in the most notorious gaming-houses," from the daily journal, jan. th, . st. a commissioner, always a proprietor, who looks in of a night; and the week's account is audited by him and two other proprietors. nd. a director, who superintends the room. rd. an operator, who deals the cards at a cheating game, called faro. th. two crowpees, who watch the cards, and gather the money for the hank. th. two puffs, who have money given them to decoy others to play. th. a clerk, who is a check upon the puffs, to see that they sink none of the money given them to play with. th. a squib is a puff of lower rank, who serves at half-pay salary while he is learning to deal. th. a flasher, to swear how often the bank has been stript. th. a dunner, who goes about to recover money lost at play. th. a waiter, to fill out wine, snuff candles, and attend the gaming-room. th. an attorney, a newgate solicitor. th. a captain, who is to fight any gentleman who is peevish for losing his money. th. an usher, who lights gentlemen up and down stairs, and gives the word to the porter. th. a porter, who is generally a soldier of the foot guards. th. an orderly man, who walks up and down the outside of the door, to give notice to the porter, and alarm the house at the approach of the constable. th. a runner, who is to get intelligence of the justices' meeting. th. link-boys, coachmen, chairmen, or others who bring intelligence of the justices' meetings, or of the constables being out, at half-a-guinea reward. th. common-bail, affidavit-men, ruffians, bravoes, assassins, _cum multis aliis_. the "memoirs of the most famous gamesters from the reign of charles ii. to queen anne, by t. lucas, esq., ," appears to be a bookseller's job; but probably a few traditional stories are preserved.[ ] footnotes: [footnote : this curious little volume deserves more attention than the slight mention above would occasion. it is diffuse in style, and hence looks a little like a "bookseller's job," of which the most was to be made; but the same fault has characterised many works whose authors possess a bad style. many of the tales narrated of well-known london characters of the "merry days" of charles the second are very characteristic, and are not to be met with elsewhere.] the arabic chronicle. an arabic chronicle is only valuable from the time of mahomet. for such is the stupid superstition of the arabs, that they pride themselves on being ignorant of whatever has passed before the mission of their prophet. the arabic chronicle of jerusalem contains the most curious information concerning the crusades: longuerue translated several portions of this chronicle, which appears to be written with impartiality. it renders justice to the christian heroes, and particularly dwells on the gallant actions of the count de st. gilles. our historians chiefly write concerning _godfrey de bouillon_; only the learned know that the count _de st. gilles_ acted there so important a character. the stories of the _saracens_ are just the reverse; they speak little concerning godfrey, and eminently distinguish saint gilles. tasso has given in to the more vulgar accounts, by making the former so eminent, at the cost of the other heroes, in his jerusalem delivered. thus virgil transformed by his magical power the chaste dido into a distracted lover; and homer the meretricious penelope into a moaning matron. it is not requisite for poets to be historians, but historians should not be so frequently poets. the same charge, i have been told, must be made against the grecian historians. the persians are viewed to great disadvantage in grecian history. it would form a curious inquiry, and the result might be unexpected to some, were the oriental student to comment on the grecian historians. the grecians were not the demi-gods they paint themselves to have been, nor those they attacked the contemptible multitudes they describe. these boasted victories might be diminished. the same observation attaches to cæsar's account of his british expedition. he never records the defeats he frequently experienced. the national prejudices of the roman historians have undoubtedly occasioned us to have a very erroneous conception of the carthaginians, whose discoveries in navigation and commercial enterprises were the most considerable among the ancients. we must indeed think highly of that people, whose works on agriculture, which they had raised into a science, the senate of rome ordered to be translated into latin. they must indeed have been a wise and grave people.--yet they are stigmatised by the romans for faction, cruelty, and cowardice; and the "punic" faith has come down to us in a proverb: but livy was a roman! and there is such a thing as a patriotic malignity! metempsychosis. if we except the belief of a future remuneration beyond this life for suffering virtue, and retribution for successful crimes, there is no system so simple, and so little repugnant to our understanding, as that of the metempsychosis. the pains and the pleasures of this life are by this system considered as the recompense or the punishment of our actions in an anterior state: so that, says st. foix, we cease to wonder that, among men and animals, some enjoy an easy and agreeable life, while others seem born only to suffer all kinds of miseries. preposterous as this system may appear, it has not wanted for advocates in the present age, which indeed has revived every kind of fanciful theory. mercier, in _l'an deux mille quatre cents quarante_, seriously maintains the present one. if we seek for the origin of the opinion of the metempsychosis, or the transmigration of souls into other bodies, we must plunge into the remotest antiquity; and even then we shall find it impossible to fix the epoch of its first author. the notion was long extant in greece before the time of pythagoras. herodotus assures us that the egyptian priests taught it; but he does not inform us of the time it began to spread. it probably followed the opinion of the immortality of the soul. as soon as the first philosophers had established this dogma, they thought they could not maintain this immortality without a transmigration of souls. the opinion of the metempsychosis spread in almost every region of the earth; and it continues, even to the present time, in all its force amongst those nations who have not yet embraced christianity. the people of arracan, peru, siam, camboya, tonquin, cochin-china, japan, java, and ceylon still entertain that fancy, which also forms the chief article of the chinese religion. the druids believed in transmigration. the bardic triads of the welsh are full of this belief; and a welsh antiquary insists, that by an emigration which formerly took place, it was conveyed to the bramins of india from wales! the welsh bards tell us that the souls of men transmigrate into the bodies of those animals whose habits and characters they most resemble, till after a circuit of such penitential miseries, they are purified for the celestial presence; for man may be converted into a pig or a wolf, till at length he assumes the inoffensiveness of the dove. my learned friend sharon turner has explained, in his "vindication of the ancient british poems," p. , the welsh system of the metempsychosis. their bards mention three circles of existence. the circle of the all-enclosing circle holds nothing alive or dead, but god. the second circle, that of felicity, is that which men are to pervade after they have passed through their terrestrial changes. the circle of evil is that in which human nature passes through those varying stages of existence which it must undergo before it is qualified to inhabit the circle of felicity. the progression of man through the circle of evil is marked by three infelicities: necessity, oblivion, and deaths. the deaths which follow our changes are so many escapes from their power. man is a free agent, and has the liberty of choosing; his sufferings and changes cannot be foreseen. by his misconduct he may happen to fall retrograde into the lowest state from which he had emerged. if his conduct in any one state, instead of improving his being, had made it worse, he fell back into a worse condition, to commence again his purifying revolutions. humanity was the limit of the degraded transmigrations. all the changes above humanity produced felicity. humanity is the scene of the contest; and after man has traversed every state of animated existence, and can remember all that he has passed through, that consummation follows which he attains in the circle of felicity. it is on this system of transmigration that taliessin, the welsh bard, who wrote in the sixth century, gives a recital of his pretended transmigrations. he tells how he had been a serpent, a wild ass, a buck, or a crane, &c.; and this kind of reminiscence of his former state, this recovery of memory, was a proof of the mortal's advances to the happier circle. for to forget what we have been was one of the curses of the circle of evil. taliessin, therefore, adds mr. turner, as profusely boasts of his recovered reminiscence as any modern sectary can do of his state of grace and election. in all these wild reveries there seems to be a moral fable in the notion, that the clearer a man recollects what a _brute_ he has been, it is a certain proof that he is in an improved state! according to the authentic clavigero, in his history of mexico, we find the pythagorean transmigration carried on in the west, and not less fancifully than in the countries of the east. the people of tlascala believe that the souls of persons of rank went after their death to inhabit the bodies of _beautiful and sweet singing birds_, and those of the _nobler quadrupeds_; while the souls of inferior persons were supposed to pass into _weasels_, _beetles_, and such other _meaner animals_. there is something not a little ludicrous in the description plutarch gives at the close of his treatise on "the delay of heavenly justice." thespesius saw at length the souls of those who were condemned to return to life, and whom they violently forced to take the forms of all kinds of animals. the labourers charged with this transformation forged with their instruments certain parts; others, a new form; and made some totally disappear; that these souls might be rendered proper for another kind of life and other habits. among these he perceived the soul of nero, which had already suffered long torments, and which stuck to the body by nails red from the fire. the workmen seized on him to make a viper of, under which form he was now to live, after having devoured the breast that had carried him.--but in this plutarch only copies the fine reveries of plato. spanish etiquette. the etiquette, or rules to be observed in royal palaces, is necessary for keeping order at court. in spain it was carried to such lengths as to make martyrs of their kings. here is an instance, at which, in spite of the fatal consequences it produced, one cannot refrain from smiling. philip the third was gravely seated by the fire-side: the fire-maker of the court had kindled so great a quantity of wood, that the monarch was nearly suffocated with heat, and his _grandeur_ would not suffer him to rise from the chair; the domestics could not _presume_ to enter the apartment, because it was against the _etiquette_. at length the marquis de potat appeared, and the king ordered him to damp the fire; but _he_ excused himself; alleging that he was forbidden by the _etiquette_ to perform such a function, for which the duke d'ussada ought to be called upon, as it was his business. the duke was gone out: the _fire_ burnt fiercer; and the _king_ endured it, rather than derogate from his _dignity_. but his blood was heated to such a degree, that an erysipelas of the head appeared the next day, which, succeeded by a violent fever, carried him off in , in the twenty-fourth year of his reign. the palace was once on fire; a soldier, who knew the king's sister was in her apartment, and must inevitably have been consumed in a few moments by the flames, at the risk of his life rushed in, and brought her highness safe out in his arms: but the spanish _etiquette_ was here wofully broken into! the loyal soldier was brought to trial; and as it was impossible to deny that he had entered her apartment, the judges condemned him to die! the spanish princess however condescended, in consideration of the circumstance, to _pardon_ the soldier, and very benevolently saved his life. when isabella, mother of philip ii., was ready to be delivered of him, she commanded that all the lights should be extinguished: that if the violence of her pain should occasion her face to change colour, no one might perceive it. and when the midwife said, "madam, cry out, that will give you ease," she answered in _good spanish_, "how dare you give me such advice? i would rather die than cry out." "spain gives us _pride_--which spain to all the earth may largely give, nor fear herself a dearth!"--_churchill._ philip the third was a weak bigot, who suffered himself to be governed by his ministers. a patriot wished to open his eyes, but he could not pierce through the crowds of his flatterers; besides that the voice of patriotism heard in a corrupted court would have become a crime never pardoned. he found, however, an ingenious manner of conveying to him his censure. he caused to be laid on his table, one day, a letter sealed, which bore this address--"to the king of spain, philip the third, at present in the service of the duke of lerma." in a similar manner, don carlos, son to philip the second, made a book with empty pages, to contain the voyages of his father, which bore this title--"the great and admirable voyages of the king mr. philip." all these voyages consisted in going to the escurial from madrid, and returning to madrid from the escurial. jests of this kind at length cost him his life. the goths and huns. the terrific honours which these ferocious nations paid to their deceased monarchs are recorded in history, by the interment of attila, king of the huns, and alaric, king of the goths. attila died in , and was buried in the midst of a vast champaign in a coffin which was inclosed in one of gold, another of silver, and a third of iron. with the body were interred all the spoils of the enemy, harnesses embroidered with gold and studded with jewels, rich silks, and whatever they had taken most precious in the palaces of the kings they had pillaged; and that the place of his interment might for ever remain concealed, the huns deprived of life all who assisted at his burial! the goths had done nearly the same for alaric in , at cosença, a town in calabria. they turned aside the river vasento; and having formed a grave in the midst of its bed where its course was most rapid, they interred this king with prodigious accumulations of riches. after having caused the river to reassume its usual course, they murdered, without exception, all those who had been concerned in digging this singular grave. vicars of bray. the vicar of bray, in berkshire, was a papist under the reign of henry the eighth, and a protestant under edward the sixth; he was a papist again under mary, and once more became a protestant in the reign of elizabeth.[ ] when this scandal to the gown was reproached for his versatility of religious creeds, and taxed for being a turncoat and an inconstant changeling, as fuller expresses it, he replied, "not so neither; for if i changed my religion, i am sure i kept true to my principle; which is, to live and die the vicar of bray!" this vivacious and reverend hero has given birth to a proverb peculiar to this county, "the vicar of bray will be vicar of bray still." but how has it happened that this _vicar_ should be so notorious, and one in much higher rank, acting the same part, should have escaped notice? dr. _kitchen_, bishop of llandaff, from an idle abbot under henry viii. was made a busy bishop; protestant under edward, he returned to his old master under mary; and at last took the oath of supremacy under elizabeth, and finished as a parliament protestant. a pun spread the odium of his name; for they said that he had always loved the _kitchen_ better than the _church_! footnotes: [footnote : his name was simon symonds. the popular ballad absurdly exaggerates his deeds, and gives them untrue amplitude. it is not older than the last century, and is printed in ritson's _english songs_.] douglas. it may be recorded as a species of puritanic barbarism, that no later than the year , a man of genius was persecuted because he had written a tragedy which tended by no means to hurt the morals; but, on the contrary, by awakening the piety of domestic affections with the nobler passions, would rather elevate and purify the mind. when home, the author of the tragedy of douglas, had it performed at edinburgh, some of the divines, his acquaintance, attending the representation, the clergy, with the monastic spirit of the darkest ages, published a paper, which i abridge for the contemplation of the reader, who may wonder to see such a composition written in the eighteenth century." "on wednesday, february the nd, , the presbytery of glasgow came to the following resolution. they having seen a printed paper, intituled, 'an admonition and exhortation of the reverend presbytery of edinburgh;' which, among other _evils_ prevailing, observing the following _melancholy_ but _notorious_ facts: that one who is a minister of the church of scotland did _himself_ write and compose _a stage-play_, intituled, 'the tragedy of douglas,' and got it to be acted at the theatre of edinburgh; and that he with several other ministers of the church were present; and _some_ of them _oftener than once_, at the acting of the said play before a numerous audience. the presbytery being _deeply affected_ with this new and strange appearance, do publish these sentiments," &c sentiments with which i will not disgust the reader; but which they appear not yet to have purified and corrected, as they have shown in the case of logan and other scotchmen, who have committed the crying sin of composing dramas! critical history of poverty. m. morin, in the memoirs of the french academy, has formed a little history of poverty, which i abridge. the writers on the genealogies of the gods have not noticed the deity of poverty, though admitted as such in the pagan heaven, while she has had temples and altars on earth. the allegorical plato has pleasingly narrated, that at the feast which jupiter gave on the birth of venus, poverty modestly stood at the gate of the palace to gather the fragments of the celestial banquet; when she observed the god of riches, inebriated with nectar, roll out of the heavenly residence, and passing into the olympian gardens, throw himself on a vernal bank. she seized this opportunity to become familiar with the god. the frolicsome deity honoured her with his caresses; and from this amour sprung the god of love, who resembles his father in jollity and mirth, and his mother in his nudity. the allegory is ingenious. the union of poverty with riches must inevitably produce the most delightful of pleasures. the golden age, however, had but the duration of a flower; when it finished, poverty began to appear. the ancestors of the human race, if they did not meet her face to face, knew her in a partial degree; the vagrant cain encountered her. she was firmly established in the patriarchal age. we hear of merchants who publicly practised the commerce of vending slaves, which indicates the utmost degree of poverty. she is distinctly marked by job: this holy man protests, that he had nothing to reproach himself with respecting the poor, for he had assisted them in their necessities. in the scriptures, legislators paid great attention to their relief. moses, by his wise precautions, endeavoured to soften the rigours of this unhappy state. the division of lands, by tribes and families; the septennial jubilees; the regulation to bestow at the harvest-time a certain portion of all the fruits of the earth for those families who were in want; and the obligation of his moral law to love one's neighbour as one's self; were so many mounds erected against the inundations of poverty. the jews under their theocracy had few or no mendicants. their kings were unjust; and rapaciously seizing on inheritances which were not their right, increased the numbers of the poor. from the reign of david there were oppressive governors, who devoured the people as their bread. it was still worse under the foreign powers of babylon, of persia, and the roman emperors. such were the extortions of their publicans, and the avarice of their governors, that the number of mendicants dreadfully augmented; and it was probably for that reason that the opulent families consecrated a tenth part of their property for their succour, as appears in the time of the evangelists. in the preceding ages no more was given, as their casuists assure us, than the fortieth or thirtieth part; a custom which this singular nation still practise. if there are no poor of their nation where they reside, they send it to the most distant parts. the jewish merchants make this charity a regular charge in their transactions with each other; and at the close of the year render an account to the poor of their nation. by the example of moses, the ancient legislators were taught to pay a similar attention to the poor. like him, they published laws respecting the division of lands; and many ordinances were made for the benefit of those whom fires, inundations, wars, or bad harvests had reduced to want. convinced that _idleness_ more inevitably introduced poverty than any other cause, it was rigorously punished; the egyptians made it criminal, and no vagabonds or mendicants were suffered under any pretence whatever. those who were convicted of slothfulness, and still refused to labour for the public when labour was offered to them, were punished with death. the famous pyramids are the works of men who otherwise had remained vagabonds and mendicants. the same spirit inspired greece. lycurgus would not have in his republic either _poor_ or _rich_: they lived and laboured in common. as in the present times, every family has its stores and cellars, so they had public ones, and distributed the provisions according to the ages and constitutions of the people. if the same regulation was not precisely observed by the athenians, the corinthians, and the other people of greece, the same maxim existed in full force against idleness. according to the laws of draco, solon, &c., a conviction of wilful poverty was punished with the loss of life. plato, more gentle in his manners, would have them only banished. he calls them enemies of the state; and pronounces as a maxim, that where there are great numbers of mendicants, fatal revolutions will happen; for as these people have nothing to lose, they plan opportunities to disturb the public repose. the ancient romans, whose universal object was the public prosperity, were not indebted to greece on this head. one of the principal occupations of their censors was to keep a watch on the vagabonds. those who were condemned as incorrigible sluggards were sent to the mines, or made to labour on the public edifices. the romans of those times, unlike the present race, did not consider the _far niente_ as an occupation; they were convinced that their liberalities were ill-placed in bestowing them on such men. the little republics of the _bees_ and the _ants_ were often held out as an example; and the last particularly, where virgil says, that they have elected overseers who correct the sluggards: "---- pars agmina cogunt, castigantque moras." and if we may trust the narratives of our travellers, the _beavers_ pursue this regulation more rigorously and exactly than even these industrious societies. but their rigour, although but animals, is not so barbarous as that of the ancient germans; who, tacitus informs us, plunged the idlers and vagabonds in the thickest mire of their marshes, and left them to perish by a kind of death which resembled their inactive dispositions. yet, after all, it was not inhumanity that prompted the ancients thus severely to chastise idleness; they were induced to it by a strict equity, and it would be doing them injustice to suppose, that it was thus they treated those _unfortunate poor_, whose indigence was occasioned by infirmities, by age, or unforeseen calamities. every family constantly assisted its branches to save them from being reduced to beggary; which to them appeared worse than death. the magistrates protected those who were destitute of friends, or incapable of labour. when ulysses was disguised as a mendicant, and presented himself to eurymachus, this prince observing him, to be robust and healthy, offered to give him employment, or otherwise to leave him to his ill fortune. when the roman emperors, even in the reigns of nero and tiberius, bestowed their largesses, the distributors were ordered to exempt those from receiving a share whose bad conduct kept them in misery; for that it was better the lazy should die with hunger than be fed in idleness. whether the police of the ancients was more exact, or whether they were more attentive to practise the duties of humanity, or that slavery served as an efficacious corrective of idleness; it clearly appears how small was the misery, and how few the numbers of their poor. this they did, too, without having recourse to hospitals. at the establishment of christianity, when the apostles commanded a community of wealth among their disciples, the miseries of the poor became alleviated in a greater degree. if they did not absolutely live together, as we have seen religious orders, yet the wealthy continually supplied their distressed brethren: but matters greatly changed under constantine. this prince published edicts in favour of those christians who had been condemned in the preceding reigns to slavery, to the mines, to the galleys, or prisons. the church felt an inundation of prodigious crowds of these miserable men, who brought with them urgent wants and corporeal infirmities. the christian families were then not numerous; they could not satisfy these claimants. the magistrates protected them: they built spacious hospitals, under different titles, for the sick, the aged, the invalids, the widows, and orphans. the emperors, and the most eminent personages, were seen in these hospitals, examining the patients; they assisted the helpless; they dressed the wounded. this did so much honour to the new religion, that julian the apostate introduced this custom among the pagans. but the best things are continually perverted. these retreats were found insufficient. many slaves, proud of the liberty they had just recovered, looked on them as prisons; and, under various pretexts, wandered about the country. they displayed with art the scars of their former wounds, and exposed the imprinted marks of their chains. they found thus a lucrative profession in begging, which had been interdicted by the laws. the profession did not finish with them: men of an untoward, turbulent, and licentious disposition, gladly embraced it. it spread so wide that the succeeding emperors were obliged to institute new laws; and individuals were allowed to seize on these mendicants for their slaves and perpetual vassals: a powerful preservative against this disorder. it is observed in almost every part of the world but ours; and prevents that populace of beggary which disgraces europe. china presents us with a noble example. no beggars are seen loitering in that country. all the world are occupied, even to the blind and the lame; and only those who are incapable of labour live at the public expense. what is done _there_ may also be performed _here_. instead of that hideous, importunate, idle, licentious poverty, as pernicious to the police as to morality, we should see the poverty of the earlier ages, humble, modest, frugal, robust, industrious, and laborious. then, indeed, the fable of plato might be realised: poverty might be embraced by the god of riches; and if she did not produce the voluptuous offspring of love, she would become the fertile mother of agriculture, and the ingenious parent of the arts and manufactures. solomon and sheba. a rabbin once told me an ingenious invention, which in the talmud is attributed to solomon. the power of the monarch had spread his wisdom to the remotest parts of the known world. queen sheba, attracted by the splendour of his reputation, visited this poetical king at his own court; there, one day to exercise the sagacity of the monarch, sheba presented herself at the foot of the throne: in each hand she held a wreath; the one was composed of natural, and the other of artificial, flowers. art, in the labour of the mimetic wreath, had exquisitely emulated the lively hues of nature; so that, at the distance it was held by the queen for the inspection of the king, it was deemed impossible for him to decide, as her question imported, which wreath was the production of nature, and which the work of art. the sagacious solomon seemed perplexed; yet to be vanquished, though in a trifle, by a trifling woman, irritated his pride. the son of david, he who had written treatises on the vegetable productions "from the cedar to the hyssop," to acknowledge himself outwitted by a woman, with shreds of paper and glazed paintings! the honour of the monarch's reputation for divine sagacity seemed diminished, and the whole jewish court looked solemn and melancholy. at length an expedient presented itself to the king; and one it must be confessed worthy of the naturalist. observing a cluster of bees hovering about a window, he commanded that it should be opened: it was opened; the bees rushed into the court, and alighted immediately on one of the wreaths, while not a single one fixed on the other. the baffled sheba had one more reason to be astonished at the wisdom of solomon. this would make a pretty poetical tale. it would yield an elegant description, and a pleasing moral; that _the bee_ only _rests_ on the natural beauties, and never _fixes_ on the _painted flowers_, however inimitably the colours may be laid on. applied to the _ladies_, this would give it pungency. in the "practical education" of the edgeworths, the reader will find a very ingenious conversation founded on this story. hell. oldham, in his "satires upon the jesuits," a work which would admit of a curious commentary, alludes to their "lying legends," and the innumerable impositions they practised on the credulous. i quote a few lines in which he has collected some of those legendary miracles, which i have noticed in the article legends, and the amours of the virgin mary are detailed in that on religious nouvellettes. tell, how _blessed virgin_ to come down was seen, like play-house punk descending in machine, how she writ _billet-doux_ and _love-discourse_, made _assignations_, _visits_, and _amours_; how hosts distrest, her _smock_ for _banner_ wore, which vanquished foes! ---- how _fish_ in conventicles met, and _mackerel_ were with _bait of doctrine_ caught: how cattle have judicious hearers been!-- how _consecrated hives_ with bells were hung, and _bees_ kept mass, and holy _anthems sung_! how _pigs_ to th' _rosary_ kneel'd, and _sheep_ were taught to bleat _te deum_ and _magnificat_; how _fly-flap_, of church-censure houses rid of insects, which at _curse of fryar_ died. how _ferrying cowls_ religious pilgrims bore o'er waves, without the help of sail or oar; how _zealous crab_ the _sacred image_ bore, and swam a catholic to the distant shore. with shams like these the giddy rout mislead, their folly and their superstition feed. all these are allusions to the extravagant fictions in the "golden legend." among other gross impositions to deceive the mob, oldham likewise attacks them for certain publications on topics not less singular. the tales he has recounted, oldham says, are only baits for children, like toys at a fair; but they have their profounder and higher matters for the learned and inquisitive. he goes on:-- one undertakes by scales of miles to tell the bounds, dimensions, and extent of hell; how many german leagues that realm contains! how many chaldrons hell each year expends in coals for roasting hugonots and friends! another frights the rout with useful stories of wild chimeras, limbos--purgatories-- where bloated souls in smoky durance hung, like a westphalia gammon or neat's tongue, to be redeem'd with masses and a song.--satire iv. the readers of oldham, for oldham must ever have readers among the curious in our poetry, have been greatly disappointed in the pompous edition of a captain thompson, which illustrates none of his allusions. in the above lines oldham alludes to some singular works. treatises and topographical descriptions of hell, purgatory, and even heaven, were once the favourite researches among certain zealous defenders of the romish church, who exhausted their ink-horns in building up a hell to their own taste, or for their particular purpose.[ ] we have a treatise of cardinal bellarmin, a jesuit, on _purgatory_; he seems to have the science of a surveyor among all the secret tracks and the formidable divisions of "the bottomless pit." bellarmin informs us that there are beneath the earth four different places, or a profound place divided into four parts. the deepest of these places is _hell_; it contains all the souls of the damned, where will be also their bodies after the resurrection, and likewise all the demons. the place nearest _hell_ is _purgatory_, where souls are purged, or rather where they appease the anger of god by their sufferings. he says that the same fires and the same torments are alike in both these places, the only difference between _hell_ and _purgatory_ consisting in their duration. next to _purgatory_ is the _limbo_ of those _infants_ who die without having received the sacrament; and the fourth place is the _limbo_ of the _fathers_; that is to say, of those _just men_ who died before the death of christ. but since the days of the redeemer, this last division is empty, like an apartment to be let. a later catholic theologist, the famous tillemont, condemns _all the illustrious pagans_ to the _eternal torments of hell_? because they lived before the time of jesus, and therefore could not be benefited by the redemption! speaking of young tiberius, who was compelled to fall on his own sword, tillemont adds, "thus by his own hand he ended his miserable life, _to begin another, the misery of which will never end_!" yet history records nothing bad of this prince. jortin observes that he added this _reflection_ in his later edition, so that the good man as he grew older grew more uncharitable in his religious notions. it is in this manner too that the benedictine editor of justin martyr speaks of the illustrious pagans. this father, after highly applauding socrates, and a few more who resembled him, inclines to think that they are not fixed in _hell_. but the benedictine editor takes great pains to clear the good father from the shameful imputation of supposing that a _virtuous pagan might be saved_ as well as a benedictine monk! for a curious specimen of this _odium theologicum_, see the "censure" of the sorbonne on marmontel's belisarius. the adverse party, who were either philosophers or reformers, received all such information with great suspicion. anthony cornelius, a lawyer in the sixteenth century, wrote a small tract, which was so effectually suppressed, as a monster of atheism, that a copy is now only to be found in the hands of the curious. this author ridiculed the absurd and horrid doctrine of _infant damnation_, and was instantly decried as an atheist, and the printer prosecuted to his ruin! cælius secundus curio, a noble italian, published a treatise _de amplitudine beati regni dei_, to prove that _heaven_ has more inhabitants than _hell_,--or, in his own phrase, that the _elect_ are more numerous than the _reprobate_. however we may incline to smile at these works, their design was benevolent. they were the first streaks of the morning light of the reformation. even such works assisted mankind to examine more closely, and hold in greater contempt, the extravagant and pernicious doctrines of the domineering papistical church. footnotes: [footnote : one of the most horrible of these books was the work of the jesuit pinamonti; it details with frightful minuteness the nature of hell-torments, accompanied by the most revolting pictures of the condemned under various refined torments. it was translated in an abbreviated form, and sold for a few pence as a popular religious book in ireland, and may be so still. it is divided into a series of meditations for each day in the week, on hell and its torments.] the absent man. the character of bruyère's "absent man" has been translated in the spectator, and exhibited on the theatre. it is supposed to be a fictitious character, or one highly coloured. it was well known, however, to his contemporaries, to be the count de brancas. the present anecdotes concerning the same person were unknown to, or forgotten by, bruyère; and are to the full as extraordinary as those which characterise _menalcas_, or the absent man. the count was reading by the fireside, but heaven knows with what degree of attention, when the nurse brought him his infant child. he throws down the book; he takes the child in his arms. he was playing with her, when an important visitor was announced. having forgot he had quitted his book, and that it was his child he held in his hands, he hastily flung the squalling innocent on the table. the count was walking in the street, and the duke de la rochefoucault crossed the way to speak to him.--"god bless thee, poor man!" exclaimed the count. rochefoucault smiled, and was beginning to address him:--"is it not enough," cried the count, interrupting him, and somewhat in a passion; "is it not enough that i have said, at first, i have nothing for you? such lazy vagrants as you hinder a gentleman from walking the streets." rochefoucault burst into a loud laugh, and awakening the absent man from his lethargy, he was not a little surprised, himself, that he should have taken his friend for an importunate mendicant! la fontaine is recorded to have been one of the most absent men; and furetière relates a most singular instance of this absence of mind. la fontaine attended the burial of one of his friends, and some time afterwards he called to visit him. at first he was shocked at the information of his death; but recovering from his surprise, observed--"true! true! i recollect i went to his funeral." wax-work. we have heard of many curious deceptions occasioned by the imitative powers of wax-work. a series of anatomical sculptures in coloured wax was projected by the grand duke of tuscany, under the direction of fontana. twenty apartments have been filled with those curious imitations. they represent in every possible detail, and in each successive stage of denudation, the organs of sense and reproduction; the muscular, the vascular, the nervous, and the bony system. they imitate equally well the form, and more exactly the colouring, of nature than injected preparations; and they have been employed to perpetuate many transient phenomena of disease, of which no other art could have made so lively a record.[ ] there is a species of wax-work, which, though it can hardly claim the honours of the fine arts, is adapted to afford much pleasure--i mean figures of wax, which may be modelled with great truth of character. menage has noticed a work of this kind. in the year , the duke de maine received a gilt cabinet, about the size of a moderate table. on the door was inscribed, "_the apartment of wit_." the inside exhibited an alcove and a long gallery. in an arm-chair was seated the figure of the duke himself, composed of wax, the resemblance the most perfect imaginable. on one side stood the duke de la rochefoucault, to whom he presented a paper of verses for his examination. m. de marsillac, and bossuet bishop of meaux, were standing near the arm-chair. in the alcove, madame de thianges and madame de la fayette sat retired, reading a book. boileau, the satirist, stood at the door of the gallery, hindering seven or eight bad poets from entering. near boileau stood racine, who seemed to beckon to la fontaine to come forwards. all these figures were formed of wax; and this philosophical baby-house, interesting for the personages it imitated, might induce a wish in some philosophers to play once more with one. there was lately an old canon at cologne who made a collection of small wax models of characteristic figures, such as personifications of misery, in a haggard old man with a scanty crust and a brown jug before him; or of avarice, in a keen-looking jew miser counting his gold: which were done with such a spirit and reality that a flemish painter, a hogarth or wilkie, could hardly have worked up the _feeling_ of the figure more impressively. "all these were done with truth and expression which i could not have imagined the wax capable of exhibiting," says the lively writer of "an autumn near the rhine." there is something very infantine in this taste; but i lament that it is very rarely gratified by such close copiers of nature as was this old canon of cologne. footnotes: [footnote : the finest collection at present is in guy's hospital, southwark; they are the work of an artist especially retained there, who by long practice has become perfect, making a labour of love of a pursuit that would be disgustful to many.] pasquin and marforio. all the world have heard of these _statues_: they have served as vehicles for the keenest satire in a land of the most uncontrolled despotism. the _statue of pasquin_ (from whence the word _pasquinade_) and that of _marforio_ are placed in rome in two different quarters. _marforio_ is an ancient _statue_ of _mars_, found in the _forum_, which the people have corrupted into _marforio_. _pasquin_ is a marble _statue_, greatly mutilated, supposed to be the figure of a gladiator.[ ] to one or other of these _statues_, during the concealment of the night, are affixed those satires or lampoons which the authors wish should be dispersed about rome without any danger to themselves. when _marforio_ is attacked, _pasquin_ comes to his succour; and when _pasquin_ is the sufferer, he finds in _marforio_ a constant defender. thus, by a thrust and a parry, the most serious matters are disclosed: and the most illustrious personages are attacked by their enemies, and defended by their friends. misson, in his travels in italy, gives the following account of the origin of the name of the statue of _pasquin_:-- a satirical tailor, who lived at rome, and whose name was _pasquin_, amused himself by severe raillery, liberally bestowed on those who passed by his shop; which in time became the lounge of the newsmongers. the tailor had precisely the talents to head a regiment of satirical wits; and had he had time to _publish_, he would have been the peter pindar of his day; but his genius seems to have been satisfied to rest cross-legged on his shopboard. when any lampoons or amusing bon-mots were current at rome, they were usually called, from his shop, _pasquinades_. after his death, this statue of an ancient gladiator was found under the pavement of his shop. it was soon set up, and by universal consent was inscribed with his name; and they still attempt to raise him from the dead, and keep the caustic tailor alive, in the marble gladiator of wit. there is a very rare work, with this title:--"pasquillorum tomi duo;" the first containing the verse, and the second the prose pasquinades, published at basle, . the rarity of this collection of satirical pieces is entirely owing to the arts of suppression practised by the papal government. sallengre, in his literary memoirs, has given an account of this work; his own copy had formerly belonged to daniel heinsius, who, in verses written in his hand, describes its rarity and the price it too cost:-- roma meos fratres igni dedit, unica phoenix vivo, aureisque venio centum heinsio. "rome gave my brothers to the flames, but i survive a solitary phoenix. heinsius bought me for a hundred golden ducats." this collection contains a great number of pieces composed at different times, against the popes, cardinals, &c. they are not, indeed, materials for the historian, and they must be taken with grains of allowance. we find sarcastic epigrams on leo x., and the infamous lucretia, daughter of alexander vi.: even the corrupt romans of the day were capable of expressing themselves with the utmost freedom. of alexander vi. we have an apology for his conduct: vendit alexander claves, altaria, christum; emerat ille prius, vendere jure potest. "alexander _sells_ the keys, the altars, and christ; as he _bought_ them first, he had a right to _sell them_!" on lucretia:-- hoc tumulo dormit lucretia nomine, sed re thais; alexandri filia, sponsa, nurus! "beneath this stone sleeps lucretia by name, but by nature thais; the daughter, the wife, and the daughter-in-law of alexander!" leo x. was a frequent butt for the arrows of pasquin:-- sacra sub extremâ, si forte requiritis, horâ cur leo non potuit sumere; vendiderat. "do you ask why leo did not take the sacrament on his death-bed?--how could he? he had sold it!" many of these satirical touches depend on puns. urban vii., one of the _barberini_ family, pillaged the pantheon of brass to make cannon,[ ] on which occasion pasquin was made to say:-- quod non fecerunt _barbari_ romæ, fecit _barberini_. on clement vii., whose death was said to be occasioned by the prescriptions of his physician:-- curtius occidit clementem; curtius auro donandus, per quem publica parta salus. "dr. curtius has killed the pope by his remedies; he ought to be remunerated as a man who has cured the state." the following, on paul iii., are singular conceptions:-- papa medusæum caput est, coma turba nepotum; perseu cæde caput, cæsaries periit. "the pope is the head of medusa; the horrid tresses are his nephews; perseus, cut off the head, and then we shall be rid of these serpent-locks." another is sarcastic-- ut canerent data multa olim sunt vatibus æra: ut taceam, quantum tu mihi, paule, dabis? "heretofore money was given to poets that they might sing: how much will you give me, paul, to be silent?" this collection contains, among other classes, passages from the scriptures which have been applied to the court of rome; to different nations and persons; and one of "_sortes virgilianæ per pasquillum collectæ_,"--passages from virgil frequently happily applied; and those who are curious in the history of those times will find this portion interesting. the work itself is not quite so rare as daniel heinsius imagined; the price might now reach from five to ten guineas.[ ] these satirical statues are placed at opposite ends of the town, so that there is always sufficient time to make marforio reply to the gibes and jeers of pasquin in walking from one to the other. they are an ingenious substitute for publishing to the world, what no roman newspaper would dare to print. footnotes: [footnote : the description of these two famous statues is not correctly given in the text. the statue called _marforio_ is the figure of a recumbent river god of colossal proportions, found near the arch of septimius severus. when the museum of the capitol was completed, the pope moved the figure into the court-yard; there it is still to be seen. he also wished to move that of _pasquin_, but the duke de braschi refused to allow it; and it still stands on its pedestal, at the angle of the braschi palace, in the small square that takes the name of piazza del pasquino from that circumstance. it is much mutilated, but is the ruin of a very fine work; bernini expressed great admiration for it. it is considered by count maffei to represent ajax supporting menelaus. the torso of the latter figure only is left, the arms of the former are broken away; but enough remains of both to conjecture what the original might have been in design. the _pose_ of both figures is similar to the fine group known as ajax and telamon, in the loggia of the pitti palace at florence.] [footnote : the cannon were to supply the castle of st. angelo, but a large portion of the metal (which formerly covered the roof of the temple) was used to construct the canopy and pillars which still stand over the tomb of st. peter, in the great cathedral at rome.] female beauty and ornaments. the ladies in japan gild their teeth; and those of the indies paint them red. the pearl of teeth must be dyed black to be beautiful in guzerat. in greenland the women colour their faces with blue and yellow. however fresh the complexion of a muscovite may be, she would think herself very ugly if she was not plastered over with paint. the chinese must have their feet as diminutive as those of the she-goat; and to render them thus, their youth is passed in tortures. in ancient persia an aquiline nose was often thought worthy of the crown; and if there was any competition between two princes, the people generally went by this criterion of majesty. in some countries, the mothers break the noses of their children; and in others press the head between two boards, that it may become square. the modern persians have a strong aversion to red hair: the turks, on the contrary, are warm admirers of it. the female hottentot receives from the hand of her lover, not silks nor wreaths of flowers, but warm guts and reeking tripe, to dress herself with enviable ornaments. in china, small round eyes are liked; and the girls are continually plucking their eye-brows, that they may be thin and long. the turkish women dip a gold brush in the tincture of a black drug, which they pass over their eye-brows. it is too visible by day, but looks shining by night. they tinge their nails with a rose-colour. an african beauty must have small eyes, thick lips, a large flat nose, and a skin beautifully black. the emperor of monomotapa would not change his amiable negress for the most brilliant european beauty. an ornament for the nose appears to us perfectly unnecessary. the peruvians, however, think otherwise; and they hang on it a weighty ring, the thickness of which is proportioned by the rank of their husbands. the custom of boring it, as our ladies do their ears, is very common in several nations. through the perforation are hung various materials; such as green crystal, gold, stones, a single and sometimes a great number of gold rings.[ ] this is rather troublesome to them in blowing their noses; and the fact is, as some have informed us, that the indian ladies never perform this very useful operation. the female head-dress is carried in some countries to singular extravagance. the chinese fair carries on her head the figure of a certain bird. this bird is composed of copper or of gold, according to the quality of the person; the wings spread out, fall over the front of the head-dress, and conceal the temples. the tail, long and open, forms a beautiful tuft of feathers. the beak covers the top of the nose; the neck is fastened to the body of the artificial animal by a spring, that it may the more freely play, and tremble at the slightest motion. the extravagance of the myantses is far more ridiculous than the above. they carry on their heads a slight board, rather longer than a foot, and about six inches broad; with this they cover their hair, and seal it with wax. they cannot lie down, or lean, without keeping the neck straight; and the country being very woody, it is not uncommon to find them with their head-dress entangled in the trees. whenever they comb their hair, they pass an hour by the fire in melting the wax; but this combing is only performed once or twice a year. the inhabitants of the land of natal wear caps or bonnets, from six to ten inches high, composed of the fat of oxen. they then gradually anoint the head with a purer grease, which mixing with the hair, fastens these _bonnets_ for their lives. footnotes: [footnote : this vehicle for satire was introduced early into england; thus, in , was published "the return of the renowned cavaliero pasquill to england from the other side of the seas, and his meeting with marforio at london, upon the royall exchange."] [footnote : for some very strong remarks on this fashion, the reader may consult bulwer's _anthropometamorphosis, or artificiall changeling_, . the author is very ungallant in his strictures on "precious jewels in the snouts of such swine."] modern platonism. erasmus, in his age of religious revolution, expressed an alarm, which in some shape has been since realized. he strangely, yet acutely observes, that "_literature_ began to make a great and happy progress; but," he adds, "i fear two things--that the study of _hebrew_ will promote _judaism_, and the study of _philology_ will revive paganism." he speaks to the same purpose in the adages, c. , as jortin observes. blackwell, in his curious life of homer, after showing that the ancient oracles were the fountains of knowledge, and that the votaries of the _god_ of _delphi_ had their faith confirmed by the oracle's perfect acquaintance with the country, parentage, and fortunes of the suppliant, and many predictions verified; that besides all this, the oracles that have reached us discover a wide knowledge of everything relating to greece;--this learned writer is at a loss to account for a knowledge that he thinks has something divine in it: it was a knowledge to be found nowhere in greece but among the _oracles_. he would account for this phenomenon by supposing there existed a succession of learned men devoted to this purpose. he says, "either we must admit the knowledge of the priests, or turn _converts to the ancients_, and believe in the _omniscience of apollo, which in this age i know nobody in hazard of_." yet, to the astonishment of this writer, were he now living, he would have witnessed this incredible fact! even erasmus himself might have wondered. we discover the origin of modern platonism, as it may be distinguished, among the italians. about the middle of the fifteenth century, some time before the turks had become masters of constantinople, a great number of philosophers flourished. _gemisthus pletho_ was one distinguished by his genius, his erudition, and his fervent passion for _platonism_. mr. roscoe notices pletho: "his discourses had so powerful an effect upon cosmo de' medici, who was his constant auditor, that he established an academy at florence, for the sole purpose of cultivating this new and more elevated species of philosophy." the learned marsilio ficino translated plotinus, that great archimage of _platonic mysticism_. such were pletho's eminent abilities, that in his old age those whom his novel system had greatly irritated either feared or respected him. he had scarcely breathed his last when they began to abuse plato and our pletho. the following account is written by george of trebizond. "lately has risen amongst us a second mahomet: and this second, if we do not take care, will exceed in greatness the first, by the dreadful consequences of his wicked doctrine, as the first has exceeded plato. a disciple and rival of this philosopher in philosophy, in eloquence, and in science, he had fixed his residence in the peloponnese. his common name was _gemisthus_, but he assumed that of _pletho_. perhaps gemisthus, to make us believe more easily that he was descended from heaven, and to engage us to receive more readily his doctrine and his new law, wished to change his name, according to the manner of the ancient patriarchs, of whom it is said, that at the time the name was changed they were called to the greatest things. he has written with no vulgar art, and with no common elegance. he has given new rules for the conduct of life, and for the regulation of human affairs; and at the same time has vomited forth a great number of blasphemies against the catholic religion. he was so zealous a platonist that he entertained no other sentiments than those of plato, concerning the nature of the gods, souls, sacrifices, &c. i have heard him myself, when we were together at florence, say, that in a few years all men on the face of the earth would embrace with one common consent, and with one mind, a single and simple religion, at the first instructions which should be given by a single preaching. and when i asked him if it would be the religion of jesus christ, or that of mahomet? he answered, 'neither one nor the other; but a _third_, which will not greatly differ from _paganism_.' these words i heard with so much indignation, that since that time i have always hated him: i look upon him as a dangerous viper; and i cannot think of him without abhorrence." the pious writer might have been satisfied to have bestowed a smile of pity or contempt. when pletho died, full of years and honours, the malice of his enemies collected all its venom. this circumstance seems to prove that his abilities must have been great indeed, to have kept such crowds silent. several catholic writers lament that his book was burnt, and regret the loss of pletho's work; which, they say, was not designed to subvert the christian religion, but only to unfold the system of plato, and to collect what he and other philosophers had written on religion and politics. of his religious scheme, the reader may judge by this summary account. the general title of the volume ran thus:--"this book treats of the laws of the best form of government, and what all men must observe in their public and private stations, to live together in the most perfect, the most innocent, and the most happy manner." the whole was divided into three books. the titles of the chapters where paganism was openly inculcated are reported by gennadius, who condemned it to the flames, but who has not thought proper to enter into the manner of his arguments. the extravagance of this new legislator appeared, above all, in the articles which concerned religion. he acknowledges a plurality of gods: some superior, whom he placed above the heavens; and the others inferior, on this side the heavens. the first existing from the remotest antiquity; the others younger, and of different ages. he gave a king to all these gods, and he called him [greek: zeus], or _jupiter_; as the pagans named this power formerly. according to him, the stars had a soul; the demons were not malignant spirits; and the world was eternal. he established polygamy, and was even inclined to a community of women. all his work was filled with such reveries, and, with not a few impieties, which my pious author has not ventured to give. what were the intentions of pletho? if the work was only an arranged system of paganism, or the platonic philosophy, it might have been an innocent, if not a curious volume. he was learned and humane, and had not passed his life entirely in the solitary recesses of his study. to strain human curiosity to the utmost limits of human credibility, a _modern pletho_ has risen in mr. _thomas taylor_, who, consonant to the platonic philosophy in the present day, religiously professes _polytheism_! at the close of the eighteenth century, be it recorded, were published many volumes, in which the author affects to avow himself a zealous platonist, and asserts that he can prove that the christian religion is "a bastardized and barbarous platonism." the divinities of plato are the divinities to be adored, and we are to be taught to call god, jupiter; the virgin, venus; and christ, cupid! the iliad of homer allegorised, is converted into a greek bible of the arcana of nature! extraordinary as this literary lunacy may appear, we must observe, that it stands not singular in the annals of the history of the human mind. the florentine academy, which cosmo founded, had, no doubt, some classical enthusiasts; but who, perhaps, according to the political character of their country, were prudent and reserved. the platonic furor, however, appears to have reached other countries. in the reign of louis xii., a scholar named hemon de la fosse, a native of abbeville, by continually reading the greek and latin writers, became mad enough to persuade himself that it was impossible that the religion of such great geniuses as homer, cicero, and virgil was a false one. on the th of august, , being at church, he suddenly snatched the host from the hands of the priest, at the moment it was raised, exclaiming--"what! always this folly!" he was immediately seized. in the hope that he would abjure his extravagant errors, they delayed his punishment; but no exhortation or entreaties availed. he persisted in maintaining that jupiter was the sovereign god of the universe, and that there was no other paradise than the elysian fields. he was burnt alive, after having first had his tongue pierced, and his hand cut off. thus perished an ardent and learned youth, who ought only to have been condemned as a bedlamite. dr. more, the most rational of our modern platonists, abounds, however, with the most extravagant reveries, and was inflated with egotism and enthusiasm, as much as any of his mystic predecessors. he conceived that he communed with the divinity itself! that he had been shot as a fiery dart into the world, and he hoped he had hit the mark. he carried his self-conceit to such extravagance, that he thought his urine smelt like violets, and his body in the spring season had a sweet odour; a perfection peculiar to himself. these visionaries indulge the most fanciful vanity. the "sweet odours," and that of "the violets," might, however, have been real--for they mark a certain stage of the disease of diabetes, as appears in a medical tract by the elder dr. latham. anecdotes of fashion. a volume on this subject might be made very curious and entertaining, for our ancestors were not less vacillating, and perhaps more capriciously grotesque, though with infinitely less taste, than the present generation. were a philosopher and an artist, as well as an antiquary, to compose such a work, much diversified entertainment, and some curious investigation of the progress of the arts and taste, would doubtless be the result; the subject otherwise appears of trifling value; the very farthing pieces of history. the origin of many fashions was in the endeavour to conceal some deformity of the inventor: hence the cushions, ruffs, hoops, and other monstrous devices. if a reigning beauty chanced to have an unequal hip, those who had very handsome hips would load them with that false rump which the other was compelled by the unkindness of nature to substitute. patches were invented in england in the reign of edward vi. by a foreign lady, who in this manner ingeniously covered a wen on her neck. full-bottomed wigs were invented by a french barber, one duviller, whose name they perpetuated, for the purpose of concealing an elevation in the shoulder of the dauphin. charles vii. of france introduced long coats to hide his ill-made legs. shoes with very long points, full two feet in length, were invented by henry plantagenet, duke of anjou, to conceal a large excrescence on one of his feet. when francis i. was obliged to wear his hair short, owing to a wound he received in the head, it became a prevailing fashion at court. others, on the contrary, adapted fashions to set off their peculiar beauties: as isabella of bavaria, remarkable for her gallantry, and the fairness of her complexion, introduced the fashion of leaving the shoulders and part of the neck uncovered. fashions have frequently originated from circumstances as silly as the following one. isabella, daughter of philip ii. and wife of the archduke albert, vowed not to change her linen till ostend was taken; this siege, unluckily for her comfort, lasted three years; and the supposed colour of the archduchess's linen gave rise to a fashionable colour, hence called _l'isabeau_, or the isabella; a kind of whitish-yellow-dingy. sometimes they originate in some temporary event; as after the battle of steenkirk, where the allies wore large cravats, by which the french frequently seized hold of them, a circumstance perpetuated on the medals of louis xiv., cravats were called steenkirks; and after the battle of ramilies, wigs received that denomination. the _court_, in all ages and in every country, are the modellers of fashions; so that all the ridicule, of which these are so susceptible, must fall on them, and not upon their servile imitators the _citizens_. this complaint is made even so far back as in , by jean des caures, an old french moralist, who, in declaiming against the fashions of his day, notices one, of the ladies carrying _mirrors fixed to their waists_, which seemed to employ their eyes in perpetual activity. from this mode will result, according to honest des caures, their eternal damnation. "alas! (he exclaims) in what an age do we live: to see such depravity which we see, that induces them even to bring into church these _scandalous mirrors hanging about their waists_! let all histories, divine, human, and profane, be consulted; never will it be found that these objects of vanity were ever thus brought into public by the most meretricious of the sex. it is true, at present none but the ladies of the court venture to wear them; but long it will not be before _every citizen's daughter_ and every _female servant_, will have them!" such in all times has been the rise and decline of fashion; and the absurd mimicry of the _citizens_, even of the lowest classes, to their very ruin, in straining to rival the _newest fashion_, has mortified and galled the courtier. on this subject old camden, in his remains, relates a story of a trick played off on a citizen, which i give in the plainness of his own venerable style. sir philip calthrop purged john drakes, the _shoemaker of norwich_, in the time of king henry viii. of the _proud humour_ which our _people have to be of the gentlemen's cut_. this knight bought on a time as much fine french tawny cloth as should make him a gown, and sent it to the taylor's to be made. john drakes, a shoemaker of that town, coming to this said taylor's, and seeing the knight's gown cloth lying there, liking it well, caused the taylor to buy him as much of the same cloth and price to the same intent, and further bade him to _make it of the same fashion that the knight would have his made of_. not long after, the knight coming to the taylor's to take measure of his gown, perceiving the like cloth lying there, asked of the taylor whose it was? quoth the taylor, it is john drakes' the _shoemaker_, who will have it _made of the self-same fashion that yours is made of_! 'well!' said the knight, 'in good time be it! i will have mine made _as full of cuts as thy shears can make it_.' 'it shall be done!' said the taylor; whereupon, because the time drew near, he made haste to finish both their garments. john drakes had no time to go to the taylor's till christmas-day, for serving his customers, when he hoped to have worn his gown; perceiving the same to be _full of cuts_ began to swear at the taylor, for the making his gown after that sort. 'i have done nothing,' quoth the taylor, 'but that you bid me; for as sir philip calthrop's garment is, even so i have made yours!' 'by my latchet!' quoth john drakes, '_i will never wear gentlemen's fashions again_!' sometimes fashions are quite reversed in their use in one age from another. bags, when first in fashion in france, were only worn _en déshabillé_; in visits of ceremony, the hair was tied by a riband and floated over the shoulders, which is exactly reversed in the present fashion. in the year the men had no hats but a little chapeau de bras; in they wore a very small hat; in they wore an enormous one, as may be seen in jeffrey's curious "collection of habits in all nations." old puttenham, in "the art of poesie," p. , on the present topic gives some curious information. "henry viii. caused his own head, and all his courtiers, to be _polled_ and his _beard_ to be _cut short_; _before that time_ it was thought _more decent_, both for old men and young, to be _all shaven_, and weare _long haire_, either rounded or square. now _again at this time_ (elizabeth's reign), the young gentlemen of the court have _taken up the long haire_ trayling on their shoulders, and think this more decent; for what respect i would be glad to know." when the fair sex were accustomed to behold their lovers with beards, the sight of a shaved chin excited feelings of horror and aversion; as much indeed as, in this less heroic age, would a gallant whose luxuriant beard should "stream like a meteor to the troubled air." when louis vii., to obey the injunctions of his bishops, cropped his hair, and shaved his beard, eleanor, his consort, found him, with this unusual appearance, very ridiculous, and soon very contemptible. she revenged herself as she thought proper, and the poor shaved king obtained a divorce. she then married the count of anjou, afterwards our henry ii. she had for her marriage dower the rich provinces of poitou and guienne; and this was the origin of those wars which for three hundred years ravaged france, and cost the french three millions of men. all which, probably, had never occurred had louis vii. not been so rash as to crop his head and shave his beard, by which he became so disgustful in the eyes of our queen eleanor. we cannot perhaps sympathise with the feelings of her majesty, though at constantinople she might not have been considered unreasonable. there must be something more powerful in _beards_ and _mustachios_ than we are quite aware of; for when these were in fashion--and long after this was written--the fashion has returned on us--with what enthusiasm were they not contemplated! when _mustachios_ were in general use, an author, in his elements of education, published in , thinks that "hairy excrement," as armado in "love's labour lost" calls it, contributed to make men valorous. he says, "i have a favourable opinion of that young gentleman who is _curious in fine mustachios_. the time he employs in adjusting, dressing, and curling them, is no lost time; for the more he contemplates his mustachios, the more his mind will cherish and be animated by masculine and courageous notions." the best reason that could be given for wearing the _longest and largest beard_ of any englishman was that of a worthy clergyman in elizabeth's reign, "that no act of his life might be unworthy of the gravity of his appearance." the grandfather of mrs. thomas, the corinna of cromwell, the literary friend of pope, by her account, "was very nice in the mode of that age, his valet being some hours every morning in _starching his beard_ and _curling his whiskers_; during which time he was always read to." taylor, the water poet, humorously describes the great variety of beards in his time, which extract may be found in grey's hudibras, vol. i. p. . the _beard_ dwindled gradually under the two charleses, till it was reduced into _whiskers_, and became extinct in the reign of james ii., as if its fatality had been connected with that of the house of stuart. the hair has in all ages been an endless topic for the declamation of the moralist, and the favourite object of fashion. if the _beau monde_ wore their hair luxuriant, or their wig enormous, the preachers, in charles the second's reign, instantly were seen in the pulpit with their hair cut shorter, and their sermon longer, in consequence; respect was, however, paid by the world to the size of the _wig_, in spite of the _hair-cutter_ in the pulpit. our judges, and till lately our physicians, well knew its magical effect. in the reign of charles ii. the hair-dress of the ladies was very elaborate; it was not only curled and frizzled with the nicest art, but set off with certain artificial curls, then too emphatically known by the pathetic terms of _heart-breakers_ and _love-locks_. so late as william and mary, lads, and even children, wore wigs; and if they had not wigs, they curled their hair to resemble this fashionable ornament. women then were the hair-dressers. there are flagrant follies in fashion which must be endured while they reign, and which never appear ridiculous till they are out of fashion. in the reign of henry iii. of france, they could not exist without an abundant use of comfits. all the world, the grave and the gay, carried in their pockets a _comfit-box_, as we do snuff-boxes. they used them even on the most solemn occasions; when the duke of guise was shot at blois, he was found with his comfit-box in his hand.--fashions indeed have been carried to so extravagant a length, as to have become a public offence, and to have required the interference of government. short and tight breeches were so much the rage in france, that charles v. was compelled to banish this disgusting mode by edicts, which may be found in mezerai. an italian author of the fifteenth century supposes an italian traveller of nice modesty would not pass through france, that he might not be offended by seeing men whose clothes rather exposed their nakedness than hid it. the very same fashion was the complaint in the remoter period of our chaucer, in his parson's tale. in the reign of our elizabeth the reverse of all this took place; then the mode of enormous breeches was pushed to a most laughable excess. the beaux of that day stuffed out their breeches with rags, feathers, and other light matters, till they brought them out to an enormous size. they resembled woolsacks, and in a public spectacle they were obliged to raise scaffolds for the seats of these ponderous beaux. to accord with this fantastical taste, the ladies invented large hoop farthingales; two lovers aside could surely never have taken one another by the hand. in a preceding reign the fashion ran on square toes; insomuch that a proclamation was issued that no person should wear shoes above six inches square at the toes! then succeeded picked-pointed shoes! the nation was again, in the reign of elizabeth, put under the royal authority. "in that time," says honest john stowe, "he was held the greatest gallant that had the _deepest ruff_ and _longest rapier_: the offence to the eye of the one, and hurt unto the life of the subject that came by the other--this caused her majestie to _make proclamation against them both_, and to _place selected grave citizens at every gate, to cut the ruffes, and breake the rapiers' points_ of all passengers that exceeded a yeard in length of their rapiers, and a nayle of a yeard in depth of their ruffes." these "grave citizens," at every gate cutting the ruffs and breaking the rapiers, must doubtless have encountered in their ludicrous employment some stubborn opposition; but this regulation was, in the spirit of that age, despotic and effectual. paul, the emperor of russia, one day ordered the soldiers to stop every passenger who wore pantaloons, and with their hangers to cut off, upon the leg, the offending part of these superfluous breeches; so that a man's legs depended greatly on the adroitness and humanity of a russ or a cossack; however this war against _pantaloons_ was very successful, and obtained a complete triumph in favour of the _breeches_ in the course of the week. a shameful extravagance in dress has been a most venerable folly. in the reign of richard ii. their dress was sumptuous beyond belief. sir john arundel had a change of no less than fifty-two new suits of cloth of gold tissue. the prelates indulged in all the ostentatious luxury of dress. chaucer says, they had "chaunge of clothing everie daie." brantome records of elizabeth, queen of philip ii. of spain, that she never wore a gown twice; this was told him by her majesty's own _tailleur_, who from a poor man soon became as rich as any one he knew. our own elizabeth left no less than three thousand different habits in her wardrobe when she died. she was possessed of the dresses of all countries. the catholic religion has ever considered the pomp of the clerical habit as not the slightest part of its religious ceremonies; their devotion is addressed to the eye of the people. in the reign of our catholic queen mary, the dress of a priest was costly indeed; and the sarcastic and good-humoured fuller gives, in his worthies, the will of a priest, to show the wardrobe of men of his order, and desires that the priest may not be jeered for the gallantry of his splendid apparel. he bequeaths to various parish churches and persons, "my vestment of crimson satin--my vestment of crimson velvet--my stole and fanon set with pearl--my black gown faced with taffeta," &c. chaucer has minutely detailed in "the persone's tale" the grotesque and the costly fashions of his day; and the simplicity of the venerable satirist will interest the antiquary and the philosopher. much, and curiously, has his caustic severity or lenient humour descanted on the "moche superfluitee," and "wast of cloth in vanitee," as well as "the disordinate scantnesse." in the spirit of the good old times, he calculates "the coste of the embrouding or embroidering; endenting or barring; ounding or wavy; paling or imitating pales; and winding or bending; the costlewe furring in the gounes; so much pounsoning of chesel to maken holes (that is, punched with a bodkin); so moche dagging of sheres (cutting into slips); with the superfluitee in length of the gounes trailing in the dong and in the myre, on horse and eke on foot, as wel of man as of woman--that all thilke trailing," he verily believes, which wastes, consumes, wears threadbare, and is rotten with dung, are all to the damage of "the poor folk," who might be clothed only out of the flounces and draggle-tails of these children of vanity. but then his parson is not less bitter against "the horrible disordinat scantnesse of clothing," and very copiously he describes, though perhaps in terms and with a humour too coarse for me to transcribe, the consequences of these very tight dresses. of these persons, among other offensive matters, he sees "the buttokkes behind, as if they were the hinder part of a sheap, in the ful of the mone." he notices one of the most grotesque modes, the wearing a parti-coloured dress; one stocking part white and part red, so that they looked as if they had been flayed. or white and blue, or white and black, or black and red; this variety of colours gave an appearance to their members of st. anthony's fire, or cancer, or other mischance! the modes of dress during the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries were so various and ridiculous, that they afforded perpetual food for the eager satirist. the conquests of edward iii. introduced the french fashions into england; and the scotch adopted them by their alliance with the french court, and close intercourse with that nation. walsingham dates the introduction of french fashions among us from the taking of calais in ; but we appear to have possessed such a rage for imitation in dress, that an english beau was actually a fantastical compound of all the fashions in europe, and even asia, in the reign of elizabeth. in chaucer's time, the prevalence of french fashions was a common topic with our satirist; and he notices the affectation of our female citizens in speaking the french language, a stroke of satire which, after four centuries, is not obsolete, if applied to their faulty pronunciation. in the prologue to the prioresse, chaucer has these humorous lines:-- entewned in her voice full seemly, and french she spake full feteously, _after the scole of stratford at bowe_: the _french of paris_ was to her unknowe. a beau of the reign of henry iv. has been made out, by the laborious henry. they wore then long-pointed shoes to such an immoderate length, that they could not walk till they were fastened to their knees with chains. luxury improving on this ridiculous mode, these chains the english beau of the fourteenth century had made of gold and silver; but the grotesque fashion did not finish here, for the tops of their shoes were carved in the manner of a church window. the ladies of that period were not less fantastical. the wild variety of dresses worn in the reign of henry viii. is alluded to in a print of a naked englishman holding a piece of cloth hanging on his right arm, and a pair of shears in his left hand. it was invented by andrew borde, a learned wit of those days. the print bears the following inscription:-- i am an englishman, and naked i stand here, musing in my mind, what rayment i shall were; for now i will were this, and now i will were that, and now i will were what i cannot tell what. at a lower period, about the reign of elizabeth, we are presented with a curious picture of a man of fashion by puttenham, in his "arte of poetry," p. . this author was a travelled courtier, and has interspersed his curious work with many lively anecdotes of the times. this is his fantastical beau in the reign of elizabeth. "may it not seeme enough for a courtier to know how to _weare a feather_ and _set his cappe_ aflaunt; his _chain en echarpe_; a straight _buskin, al inglese_; a loose _à la turquesque_; the cape _alla spaniola_; the breech _à la françoise_, and, by twentie maner of new-fashioned garments, to disguise his body and his face with as many countenances, whereof it seems there be many that make a very arte and studie, who can shewe himselfe most fine, i will not say most foolish or ridiculous." so that a beau of those times wore in the same dress a grotesque mixture of all the fashions in the world. about the same period the _ton_ ran in a different course in france. there, fashion consisted in an affected negligence of dress; for montaigne honestly laments, in book i. cap. --"i have never yet been apt to imitate the _negligent garb_ which is yet observable among the _young men_ of our time; to wear my _cloak on one shoulder_, my _bonnet on one side_, and _one stocking_ in something _more disorder than the other_, meant to express a manly disdain of such exotic ornaments, and a contempt of art." the fashions of the elizabethan age have been chronicled by honest john stowe. stowe was originally a _tailor_, and when he laid down the shears, and took up the pen, the taste and curiosity for _dress_ was still retained. he is the grave chronicler of matters not grave. the chronology of ruffs, and tufted taffetas; the revolution of steel poking-sticks, instead of bone or wood, used by the laundresses; the invasion of shoe-buckles, and the total rout of shoe-roses; that grand adventure of a certain flemish lady, who introduced the art of starching the ruffs with a yellow tinge into britain: while mrs. montague emulated her in the royal favour, by presenting her highness the queen with a pair of black silk stockings, instead of her cloth hose, which her majesty now for ever rejected; the heroic achievements of the right honourable edward de vere, earl of oxford, who first brought from italy the whole mystery and craft of perfumery, and costly washes; and among other pleasant things besides, a perfumed jerkin, a pair of perfumed gloves trimmed with roses, in which the queen took such delight, that she was actually pictured with those gloves on her royal hands, and for many years after the scent was called the earl of oxford's perfume. these, and occurrences as memorable, receive a pleasant kind of historical pomp in the important, and not incurious, narrative of the antiquary and the tailor. the toilet of elizabeth was indeed an altar of devotion, of which she was the idol, and all her ministers were her votaries: it was the reign of coquetry, and the golden age of millinery! but for grace and elegance they had not the slightest feeling! there is a print by vertue, of queen elizabeth going in a procession to lord hunsdon. this procession is led by lady hunsdon, who no doubt was the leader likewise of the fashion; but it is impossible, with our ideas of grace and comfort, not to commiserate this unfortunate lady; whose standing-up wire ruff, rising above her head; whose stays, or bodice, so long-waisted as to reach to her knees; and the circumference of her large hoop farthingale, which seems to enclose her in a capacious tub; mark her out as one of the most pitiable martyrs of ancient modes. the amorous sir walter raleigh must have found some of the maids of honour the most impregnable fortification his gallant spirit ever assailed: a _coup de main_ was impossible. i shall transcribe from old stowe a few extracts, which may amuse the reader:-- "in the second yeere of queen elizabeth, , her _silke woman_, mistris montague, presented her majestie for a new yeere's gift, a _paire of black knit silk stockings_, the which, after a few days' wearing, pleased her highness so well, that she sent for mistris montague, and asked her where she had them, and if she could help her to any more; who answered, saying, 'i made them very carefully of purpose only for your majestie, and seeing these please you so well, i will presently set more in hand.' 'do so (quoth the queene), for _indeed i like silk stockings so well, because they are pleasant, fine, and delicate, that henceforth i will wear no more_ cloth stockings'--and from that time unto her death the queene never wore any more _cloth hose_, but only silke stockings; for you shall understand that king henry the eight did weare onely cloath hose, or hose cut out of ell-broade taffety, or that by great chance there came a pair of _spanish silk stockings_ from spain. king edward the sixt had a _payre of long spanish silk stockings_ sent him for a _great present_.--dukes' daughters then wore gownes of satten of bridges (bruges) upon solemn dayes. cushens, and window pillows of velvet and damaske, formerly only princely furniture, now be very plenteous in most citizens' houses." "milloners or haberdashers had not then any _gloves imbroydered_, or trimmed with gold, or silke; neither gold nor imbroydered girdles and hangers, neither could they _make any costly wash_ or _perfume_, until about the fifteenth yeere of the queene, the right honourable edward de vere, earl of oxford, came from _italy_, and brought with him gloves, sweete bagges, a perfumed leather jerkin, and other _pleasant things_; and that yeere the queene had a _pair of perfumed gloves_ trimmed only with four tuffes, or _roses of coloured silk_. the queene took such pleasure in those gloves, that she was pictured with those gloves upon her handes, and for many years after it was called '_the earl of oxford's perfume_.'" in such a chronology of fashions, an event not less important surely was the origin of _starching_; and here we find it treated with the utmost historical dignity. "in the year , mistris dinghen van den plasse, borne at tænen in flaunders, daughter to a worshipfull knight of that province, with her husband, came to london for their better safeties and there professed herself a _starcher_, wherein she excelled, unto whom her owne nation presently repaired, and payed her very liberally for her worke. some very few of the best and most curious wives of that time, observing the _neatness and delicacy of the dutch for whitenesse and fine wearing of linen_, made them _cambricke ruffs_, and sent them to mistris dinghen to _starch_, and after awhile they made them _ruffes of lawn_, which was at that time a stuff most strange, and wonderfull, and thereupon rose a _general scoffe_ or _by-word_, that shortly they would make _ruffs of a spider's web_; and then they began to send their daughters and nearest kinswomen to mistris dinghen to _learn how to starche_; her usuall price was at that time, foure or five pound, to teach them how _to starch_, and twenty shillings how to _seeth starch_." thus italy, holland, and france supplied us with fashions and refinements. but in those days there were, as i have shown from puttenham, as _extravagant dressers_ as any of their present supposed degenerate descendants. stowe affords us another curious extract. "divers noble personages made them _ruffes, a full quarter of a yeard deepe_, and two lengthe in one ruffe. this _fashion_ in _london_ was called the _french fashion_; but when englishmen came to _paris_, the _french_ knew it not, and in derision called it _the english monster_." an exact parallel this of many of our own parisian modes in the present day. this was the golden period of cosmetics. the beaux of that day, it is evident, used the abominable art of painting their faces as well as the women. our old comedies abound with perpetual allusions to oils, tinctures, quintessences, pomatums, perfumes, paint white and red, &c. one of their prime cosmetics was a frequent use of the _bath_, and the application of _wine_. strutt quotes from an old ms. a recipe to make the face of a beautiful red colour. the person was to be in a bath that he might perspire, and afterwards wash his face with wine, and "so should be both faire and roddy." in mr. lodge's "illustrations of british history," the earl of shrewsbury, who had the keeping of the unfortunate queen of scots, complains of the expenses of the queen for _bathing in wine_, and requires a further allowance. a learned scotch professor informed me that _white wine_ was used for these purposes. they also made a bath of _milk_. elder beauties _bathed in wine_, to get rid of their wrinkles; and perhaps not without reason, wine being a great astringent. unwrinkled beauties _bathed in milk_, to preserve the softness and sleekness of the skin. our venerable beauties of the elizabethan age were initiated coquettes; and the mysteries of their toilet might be worth unveiling. the reign of charles ii. was the dominion of french fashions. in some respects the taste was a little lighter, but the moral effect of dress, and which no doubt it has, was much worse. the dress was very inflammatory; and the nudity of the beauties of the portrait-painter, sir peter lely, has been observed. the queen of charles ii. exposed her breast and shoulders without even the gloss of the lightest gauze; and the tucker, instead of standing up on her bosom, is with licentious boldness turned down, and lies upon her stays. this custom of baring the bosom was much exclaimed against by the authors of that age. that honest divine, richard baxter, wrote a preface to a book, entitled, "a just and seasonable reprehension of _naked breasts and shoulders_." in a book was published, entitled, "new instructions unto youth for their behaviour, and also a discourse upon some innovations of habits and dressing; _against powdering of hair_, _naked breasts_, _black spots_ (or patches), and other unseemly customs."a whimsical fashion now prevailed among the ladies, of strangely ornamenting their faces with abundance of black patches cut into grotesque forms, such as a coach and horses, owls, rings, suns, moons, crowns, cross and crosslets. the author has prefixed _two ladies' heads_; the one representing _virtue_, and the other _vice_. _virtue_ is a lady modestly habited, with a black velvet hood, and a plain white kerchief on her neck, with a border. _vice_ wears no handkerchief; her stays cut low, so that they display great part of the breasts; and a variety of fantastical patches on her face. the innovations of fashions in the reign of charles ii. were watched with a jealous eye by the remains of those strict puritans, who now could only pour out their bile in such solemn admonitions. they affected all possible plainness and sanctity. when courtiers wore monstrous wigs, they cut their hair short; when they adopted hats with broad plumes, they clapped on round black caps, and screwed up their pale religious faces; and when shoe-buckles were revived, they wore strings. the sublime milton, perhaps, exulted in his intrepidity of still wearing latchets! the tatler ridicules sir william whitelocke for his singularity in still affecting them. "thou dear _will shoestring_, how shall i draw thee? thou dear outside, will you be _combing your wig_, playing with your _box_, or picking your teeth?" &c. _wigs_ and _snuff-boxes_ were then the rage. steele's own wig, it is recorded, made at one time a considerable part of his annual expenditure. his large black periwig cost him, even at that day, no less than forty guineas!--we wear nothing at present in this degree of extravagance. but such a wig was the idol of fashion, and they were performing perpetually their worship with infinite self-complacency; combing their wigs in public was then the very spirit of gallantry and rank. the hero of richardson, youthful and elegant as he wished him to be, is represented waiting at an assignation, and describing his sufferings in bad weather by lamenting that "his _wig_ and his linen were dripping with the hoar frost dissolving on them." even betty, clarissa's lady's-maid, is described as "tapping on her _snuff-box_," and frequently taking _snuff_. at this time nothing was so monstrous as the head-dresses of the ladies in queen anne's reign: they formed a kind of edifice of three stories high; and a fashionable lady of that day much resembles the mythological figure of cybele, the mother of the gods, with three towers on her head.[ ] it is not worth noticing the changes in fashion, unless to ridicule them. however, there are some who find amusement in these records of luxurious idleness; these thousand and one follies! modern fashions, till, very lately, a purer taste has obtained among our females, were generally mere copies of obsolete ones, and rarely originally fantastical. the dress of _some_ of our _beaux_ will only be known in a few years hence by their _caricatures_. in the dress of a _dandy_ is described in the inspector. a _black_ velvet coat, a _green_ and silver waistcoat, _yellow_ velvet breeches, and _blue_ stockings. this too was the æra of _black silk breeches_; an extraordinary novelty against which "some frowsy people attempted to raise up _worsted_ in emulation." a satirical writer has described a buck about forty years ago;[ ] one could hardly have suspected such a gentleman to have been one of our contemporaries. "a coat of light green, with sleeves too small for the arms, and buttons too big for the sleeves; a pair of manchester fine stuff breeches, without money in the pockets; clouded silk stockings, but no legs; a club of hair behind larger than the head that carries it; a hat of the size of sixpence on a block not worth a farthing." as this article may probably arrest the volatile eyes of my fair readers, let me be permitted to felicitate them on their improvement in elegance in the forms of their dress; and the taste and knowledge of art which they frequently exhibit. but let me remind them that there are universal principles of beauty in dress independent of all fashions. tacitus remarks of poppea, the consort of nero, that she concealed _a part of her face_; to the end that, the imagination having fuller play by irritating curiosity, they might think higher of her beauty than if the whole of her face had been exposed. the sentiment is beautifully expressed by tasso, and it will not be difficult to remember it:-- "non copre sue bellezze, e non l'espose." i conclude by a poem, written in my youth, not only because the late sir walter scott once repeated some of the lines, from memory, to remind me of it, and has preserved it in "the english minstrelsy," but also as a memorial of some fashions which have become extinct in my own days. stanzas addressed to laura, entreating her not to paint, to powder, or to game, but to retreat into the country. ah, laura! quit the noisy town, and fashion's persecuting reign: health wanders on the breezy down, and science on the silent plain. how long from art's reflected hues shalt thou a mimic charm receive? believe, my fair! the faithful muse, they spoil the blush they cannot give. must ruthless art, with tortuous steel, thy artless locks of gold deface, in serpent folds their charms conceal, and spoil, at every touch, a grace. too sweet thy youth's enchanting bloom to waste on midnight's sordid crews: let wrinkled age the night consume, for age has but its hoards to lose. sacred to love and sweet repose, behold that trellis'd bower is nigh! that bower the verdant walls enclose, safe from pursuing scandal's eye. there, as in every lock of gold some flower of pleasing hue i weave, a goddess shall the muse behold, and many a votive sigh shall heave. so the rude tartar's holy rite a feeble mortal once array'd; then trembled in that mortal's sight, and own'd divine the power he made.[ ] footnotes: [footnote : it consisted of three borders of lace of different depths, set one above the other, and was called a _fontange_, from its inventor, mademoiselle font-ange, a lady of the court of louis xiv.] [footnote : this was written in .] a senate of jesuits. in a book entitled "intérêts et maximes des princes et des etats souverains, par m. le duc de rohan; cologne, ," an anecdote is recorded concerning the jesuits, which neither puffendorf nor vertot has noticed in his history. when sigismond, king of sweden, was elected king of poland, he made a treaty with the states of sweden, by which he obliged himself to pass every fifth year in that kingdom. by his wars with the ottoman court, with muscovy, and tartary, compelled to remain in poland to encounter these powerful enemies, during fifteen years he failed in accomplishing his promise. to remedy this in some shape, by the advice of the jesuits, who had gained an ascendancy over him, he created a senate to reside at stockholm, composed of forty chosen jesuits. he presented them with letters-patent, and invested them with the royal authority. while this senate of jesuits was at dantzic, waiting for a fair wind to set sail for stockholm, he published an edict, that the swedes should receive them as his own royal person. a public council was immediately held. charles, the uncle of sigismond, the prelates, and the lords, resolved to prepare for them a splendid and magnificent entry. but in a private council, they came to very contrary resolutions: for the prince said, he could not bear that a senate of priests should command, in preference to all the princes and lords, natives of the country. all the others agreed with him in rejecting this holy senate. the archbishop rose, and said, "since sigismond has disdained to be our king, we also must not acknowledge him as such; and from this moment we should no longer consider ourselves as his subjects. his authority is _in suspenso_, because he has bestowed it on the jesuits who form this senate. the people have not yet acknowledged them. in this interval of resignation on the one side, and assumption on the other, i absolve you all of the fidelity the king may claim from you as his swedish subjects." the prince of bithynia addressing himself to prince charles, uncle of the king, said, "i own no other king than you; and i believe you are now obliged to receive us as your affectionate subjects, and to assist us to hunt these vermin from the state." all the others joined him, and acknowledged charles as their lawful monarch. having resolved to keep their declaration for some time secret, they deliberated in what manner they were to receive and to precede this senate in their entry into the harbour, who were now on board a great galleon, which had anchored two leagues from stockholm, that they might enter more magnificently in the night, when the fireworks they had prepared would appear to the greatest advantage. about the time of their reception, prince charles, accompanied by twenty-five or thirty vessels, appeared before this senate. wheeling about, and forming a caracol of ships, they discharged a volley, and emptied all their cannon on the galleon bearing this senate, which had its sides pierced through with the balls. the galleon immediately filled with water and sunk, without one of the unfortunate jesuits being assisted: on the contrary, their assailants cried to them that this was the time to perform some miracle, such as they were accustomed to do in india and japan; and if they chose, they could walk on the waters! the report of the cannon, and the smoke which the powder occasioned, prevented either the cries or the submersion of the holy fathers from being observed: and as if they were conducting the senate to the town, charles entered triumphantly; went into the church, where they sung _te deum_; and to conclude the night, he partook of the entertainment which had been prepared for this ill-fated senate. the jesuits of the city of stockholm having come, about midnight, to pay their respects to the fathers, perceived their loss. they directly posted up _placards_ of excommunication against charles and his adherents, who had caused the senate of jesuits to perish. they urged the people to rebel; but they were soon expelled the city, and charles made a public profession of lutheranism. sigismond, king of poland, began a war with charles in , which lasted two years. disturbed by the invasions of the tartars, the muscovites, and the cossacs, a truce was concluded; but sigismond lost both his crowns, by his bigoted attachment to roman catholicism. footnotes: [footnote : the _lama_, or god of the tartars, is composed of such frail materials as mere mortality; contrived, however, by the power of priestcraft, to appear immortal; the _succession of lamas_ never failing!] the lover's heart. the following tale, recorded in the historical memoirs of champagne, by bougier, has been a favourite narrative with the old romance writers; and the principal incident, however objectionable, has been displayed in several modern poems. howell, in his "familiar letters," in one addressed to ben jonson, recommends it to him as a subject "which peradventure you may make use of in your way;" and concludes by saying, "in my opinion, which vails to yours, this is choice and rich stuff for you to put upon your loom, and make a curious web of." the lord de coucy, vassal to the count de champagne, was one of the most accomplished youths of his time. he loved, with an excess of passion, the lady of the lord du fayel, who felt a reciprocal affection. with the most poignant grief this lady heard from her lover, that he had resolved to accompany the king and the count de champagne to the wars of the holy land; but she would not oppose his wishes, because she hoped that his absence might dissipate the jealousy of her husband. the time of departure having come, these two lovers parted with sorrows of the most lively tenderness. the lady, in quitting her lover, presented him with some rings, some diamonds, and with a string that she had woven herself of his own hair, intermixed with silk and buttons of large pearls, to serve him, according to the fashion of those days, to tie a magnificent hood which covered his helmet. this he gratefully accepted. in palestine, at the siege of acre, in , in gloriously ascending the ramparts, he received a wound, which was declared mortal. he employed the few moments he had to live in writing to the lady du fayel; and he poured forth the fervour of his soul. he ordered his squire to embalm his heart after his death, and to convey it to his beloved mistress, with the presents he had received from her hands in quitting her. the squire, faithful to the dying injunction of his master, returned to france, to present the heart and the gifts to the lady of du fayel. but when he approached the castle of this lady, he concealed himself in the neighbouring wood, watching some favourable moment to complete his promise. he had the misfortune to be observed by the husband of this lady, who recognised him, and who immediately suspected he came in search of his wife with some message from his master. he threatened to deprive him of his life if he did not divulge the occasion of his return. the squire assured him that his master was dead; but du fayel not believing it, drew his sword on him. this man, frightened at the peril in which he found himself, confessed everything; and put into his hands the heart and letter of his master. du fayel was maddened by the fellest passions, and he took a wild and horrid revenge. he ordered his cook to mince the heart; and having mixed it with meat, he caused a favourite ragout, which he knew pleased the taste of his wife, to be made, and had it served to her. the lady ate heartily of the dish. after the repast, du fayel inquired of his wife if she had found the ragout according to her taste: she answered him that she had found it excellent. "it is for this reason that i caused it to be served to you, for it is a kind of meat which you very much liked. you have, madame," the savage du fayel continued, "eaten the heart of the lord de coucy." but this the lady would not believe, till he showed her the letter of her lover, with the string of his hair, and the diamonds she had given him. shuddering in the anguish of her sensations, and urged by the utmost despair, she told him--"it is true that i loved that heart, because it merited to be loved: for never could it find its superior; and since i have eaten of so noble a meat, and that my stomach is the tomb of so precious a heart, i will take care that nothing of inferior worth shall ever be mixed with it." grief and passion choked her utterance. she retired to her chamber: she closed the door for ever; and refusing to accept of consolation or food, the amiable victim expired on the fourth day. the history of gloves. the present learned and curious dissertation is compiled from the papers of an ingenious antiquary, from the "present state of the republic of letters," vol. x. p. .[ ] the antiquity of this part of dress will form our first inquiry; and we shall then show its various uses in the several ages of the world. it has been imagined that gloves are noticed in the th psalm, where the royal prophet declares, he will cast his _shoe_ over edom; and still farther back, supposing them to be used in the times of the judges, ruth iv. , where the custom is noticed of a man taking off his _shoe_ and giving it to his neighbour, as a pledge for redeeming or exchanging anything. the word in these two texts, usually translated _shoe_ by the chaldee paraphrast, in the latter is rendered _glove_. casaubon is of opinion that _gloves_ were worn by the chaldeans, from the word here mentioned being explained in the talmud lexicon, _the clothing of the hand_. _xenophon_ gives a clear and distinct account of _gloves_. speaking of the manners of the persians, as a proof of their effeminacy, he observes, that, not satisfied with covering their head and their feet, they also guarded their hands against the cold with _thick gloves_. _homer_, describing laertes at work in his garden, represents him with _gloves on his hands, to secure them from the thorns_. _varro_, an ancient writer, is an evidence in favour of their antiquity among the romans. in lib. ii. cap. , _de re rusticâ_, he says, that olives gathered by the naked hand are preferable to those gathered with _gloves_. _athenæus_ speaks of a celebrated glutton who always came to table with _gloves_ on his hands, that he might be able to handle and eat the meat while hot, and devour more than the rest of the company. these authorities show that the ancients were not strangers to the use of _gloves_, though their use was not common. in a hot climate to wear gloves implies a considerable degree of effeminacy. we can more clearly trace the early use of gloves in northern than in southern nations. when the ancient severity of manners declined, the use of _gloves_ prevailed among the romans; but not without some opposition from the philosophers. _musonius_, a philosopher, who lived at the close of the first century of christianity, among other invectives against the corruption of the age, says, _it is shameful that persons in perfect health should clothe their hands and feet with soft and hairy coverings_. their convenience, however, soon made the use general. _pliny_ the younger informs us, in his account of his uncle's journey to vesuvius, that his secretary sat by him ready to write down whatever occurred remarkable; and that he had _gloves_ on his hands, that the coldness of the weather might not impede his business. in the beginning of the ninth century, the use of _gloves_ was become so universal, that even the church thought a regulation in that part of dress necessary. in the reign of _louis le debonair_, the council of aix ordered that the monks should only wear _gloves_ made of sheep-skin. that time has made alterations in the form of this, as in all other apparel, appears from the old pictures and monuments. _gloves_, beside their original design for a covering of the hand, have been employed on several great and solemn occasions; as in the ceremony of _investitures_, in bestowing lands, or in conferring _dignities_. giving possession by the delivery of a _glove_, prevailed in several parts of christendom in later ages. in the year , the bishops of paderborn and moncerco were put into possession of their sees by receiving a _glove_. it was thought so essential a part of the episcopal habit, that some abbots in france presuming to wear _gloves_, the council of poitiers interposed in the affair, and forbad them the use, on the same principle as the ring and sandals; these being peculiar to bishops, who frequently wore them richly adorned with jewels. favin observes, that the custom of blessing _gloves_ at the coronation of the kings of france, which still subsists, is a remain of the eastern practice of investiture by _a glove_. a remarkable instance of this ceremony is recorded. the unfortunate _conradin_ was deprived of his crown and his life by the usurper _mainfroy_. when having ascended the scaffold, the injured prince lamenting his hard fate, asserted his right to the crown, and, as a token of investiture, threw his _glove_ among the crowd, intreating it might be conveyed to some of his relations, who would revenge his death,--it was taken up by a knight, and brought to peter, king of aragon, who in virtue of this glove was afterwards crowned at palermo. as the delivery of _gloves_ was once a part of the ceremony used in giving possession, so the depriving a person of them was a mark of divesting him of his office, and of degradation. the earl of carlisle, in the reign of edward the second, impeached of holding a correspondence with the scots, was condemned to die as a traitor. walsingham, relating other circumstances of his degradation, says, "his spurs were cut off with a hatchet; and his _gloves_ and shoes were taken off," &c. another use of _gloves_ was in a duel; he who threw one down was by this act understood to give defiance, and he who took it up to accept the challenge.[ ] the use of single combat, at first designed only for a trial of innocence, like the ordeals of fire and water, was in succeeding ages practised for deciding rights and property. challenging by the _glove_ was continued down to the reign of elizabeth, as appears by an account given by spelman of a duel appointed to be fought in tothill fields, in the year . the dispute was concerning some lands in the county of kent. the plaintiffs appeared in court, and demanded single combat. one of them threw down his _glove_, which the other immediately taking up, carried off on the point of his sword, and the day of fighting was appointed; this affair was, however, adjusted by the queen's judicious interference. the ceremony is still practised of challenging by a _glove_ at the coronations of the kings of england, by his majesty's champion entering westminster hall completely armed and mounted. challenging by the _glove_ is still in use in some parts of the world. in germany, on receiving an affront, to send a _glove_ to the offending party is a challenge to a duel. the last use of _gloves_ was for carrying the _hawk_. in former times, princes and other great men took so much pleasure in carrying the hawk on their hand, that some of them have chosen to be represented in this attitude. there is a monument of philip the first of france, on which he is represented at length, on his tomb, holding a _glove_ in his hand. chambers says that, formerly, judges were forbid to wear _gloves_ on the bench. no reason is assigned for this prohibition. our judges lie under no such restraint; for both they and the rest of the court make no difficulty of receiving _gloves_ from the sheriffs, whenever the session or assize concludes without any one receiving sentence of death, which is called a _maiden assize_; a custom of great antiquity. our curious antiquary has preserved a singular anecdote concerning _gloves_. chambers informs us, that it is not safe at present to enter the stables of princes without pulling off our _gloves_. he does not tell us in what the danger consists; but it is an ancient established custom in germany, that whoever enters the stables of a prince, or great man, with his _gloves_ on his hands, is obliged to forfeit them, or redeem them by a fee to the servants. the same custom is observed in some places at the death of the stag; in which case, if the _gloves_ are not taken off, they are redeemed by money given to the huntsmen and keepers. the french king never failed of pulling off one of his _gloves_ on that occasion. the reason of this ceremony seems to be lost. we meet with the term _glove-money_ in our old records; by which is meant, money given to servants to buy _gloves_. this, probably, is the origin of the phrase _giving a pair of gloves_, to signify making a present for some favour or service. gough, in his "sepulchral monuments," informs us that gloves formed no part of the female dress till after the reformation.[ ] i have seen some as late as the time of anne richly worked and embroidered. there must exist in the denny family some of the oldest gloves extant, as appears by the following glove anecdote. at the sale of the earl of arran's goods, april th, , the gloves given by henry viii. to sir anthony denny were sold for _l._ _s._; those given by james i. to his son edward denny for _l._ _s._; the mittens given by queen elizabeth to sir edward denny's lady, _l._ _s._; all which were bought for sir thomas denny, of ireland, who was descended in a direct line from the great sir anthony denny, one of the executors of the will of henry viii. footnotes: [footnote : in was published a curious little volume by william hull, "the history of the glove trade, with the customs connected with the glove," which adds some interesting information to the present article.] [footnote : a still more curious use for gloves was proposed by the marquis of worcester, in his "century of inventions," ; it was to make them with "knotted silk strings, to signify any letter," or "pinked with the alphabet," that they might by this means be subservient to the practice of secret correspondence.] [footnote : this is an extraordinary mistake for so accurate an antiquary to make. they occur on monumental effigies, or brasses; also in illuminated manuscripts, continually from the saxon era; as may be seen in strutt's plates to any of his books.] relics of saints. when relics of saints were first introduced, the relique-mania was universal; they bought and they sold, and, like other collectors, made no scruple to _steal_ them. it is entertaining to observe the singular ardour and grasping avidity of some, to enrich themselves with these religious morsels; their little discernment, the curious impositions of the vendor, and the good faith and sincerity of the purchaser. the prelate of the place sometimes ordained a fast to implore god that they might not be cheated with the relics of saints, which he sometimes purchased for the holy benefit of the village or town. guibert de nogent wrote a treatise on the relics of saints; acknowledging that there were many false ones, as well as false legends, he reprobates the inventors of these lying miracles. he wrote his treatise on the occasion of _a tooth_ of our lord's, by which the monks of st. medard de soissons pretended to operate miracles. he asserts that this pretension is as chimerical as that of several persons, who believed they possessed the navel, and other parts less decent, of--the body of christ! a monk of bergsvinck has given a history of the translation of st. lewin, a virgin and a martyr: her relics were brought from england to bergs. he collected with religious care the facts from his brethren, especially from the conductor of these relics from england. after the history of the translation, and a panegyric of the saint, he relates the miracles performed in flanders since the arrival of her relics. the prevailing passion of the times to possess fragments of saints is well marked, when the author particularises with a certain complacency all the knavish modes they used to carry off those in question. none then objected to this sort of robbery; because the gratification of the reigning passion had made it worth while to supply the demand. a monk of cluny has given a history of the translation of the body of st. indalece, one of the earliest spanish bishops, written by order of the abbot of st. juan de la penna. he protests he advances nothing but facts: having himself seen, or learnt from other witnesses, all he relates. it was not difficult for him to be well informed, since it was to the monastery of st. juan de la penna that the holy relics were transported, and those who brought them were two monks of that house. he has authenticated his minute detail of circumstances by giving the names of persons and places. his account was written for the great festival immediately instituted in honour of this translation. he informs us of the miraculous manner by which they were so fortunate as to discover the body of this bishop, and the different plans they concerted to carry it off. he gives the itinerary of the two monks who accompanied the holy remains. they were not a little cheered in their long journey by visions and miracles. another has written a history of what he calls the translation of the relics of st. majean to the monastery of villemagne. _translation_ is, in fact, only a softened expression for the robbery of the relics of the saint committed by two monks, who carried them off secretly to enrich their monastery; and they did not hesitate at any artifice or lie to complete their design. they thought everything was permitted to acquire these fragments of mortality, which had now become a branch of commerce. they even regarded their possessors with an hostile eye. such was the religious opinion from the ninth to the twelfth century. our canute commissioned his agent at rome to purchase _st. augustin's arm_ for one hundred talents of silver and one of gold; a much greater sum, observes granger, than the finest statue of antiquity would have then sold for. another monk describes a strange act of devotion, attested by several contemporary writers. when the saints did not readily comply with the prayers of their votaries, they flogged their relics with rods, in a spirit of impatience which they conceived was necessary to make them bend into compliance. theofroy, abbot of epternac, to raise our admiration, relates the daily miracles performed by the relics of saints, their ashes, their clothes, or other mortal spoils, and even by the instruments of their martyrdom. he inveighs against that luxury of ornaments which was indulged under religious pretext: "it is not to be supposed that the saints are desirous of such a profusion of gold and silver. they care not that we should raise to them such magnificent churches, to exhibit that ingenious order of pillars which shine with gold, nor those rich ceilings, nor those altars sparkling with jewels. they desire not the purple parchment of price for their writings, the liquid gold to embellish the letters, nor the precious stones to decorate their covers, while you have such little care for the ministers of the altar." the pious writer has not forgotten _himself_ in this copartnership with _the saints_. the roman church not being able to deny, says bayle, that there have been false relics, which have operated miracles, they reply that the good intentions of those believers who have recourse to them obtained from god this reward for their good faith! in the same spirit, when it was shown that two or three bodies of the same saint was said to exist in different places, and that therefore they all could not be authentic, it was answered that they were all genuine; for god had multiplied and miraculously reproduced them for the comfort of the faithful! a curious specimen of the intolerance of good sense. when the reformation was spread in lithuania, prince radzivil was so affected by it, that he went in person to pay the pope all possible honours. his holiness on this occasion presented him with a precious box of relics. the prince having returned home, some monks entreated permission to try the effects of these relics on a demoniac, who had hitherto resisted every kind of exorcism. they were brought into the church with solemn pomp, and deposited on the altar, accompanied by an innumerable crowd. after the usual conjurations, which were unsuccessful, they applied the relics. the demoniac instantly recovered. the people called out "_a miracle!_" and the prince, lifting his hands and eyes to heaven, felt his faith confirmed. in this transport of pious joy, he observed that a young gentleman, who was keeper of this treasure of relics, smiled, and by his motions ridiculed the miracle. the prince indignantly took our young keeper of the relics to task; who, on promise of pardon, gave the following _secret intelligence_ concerning them. in travelling from rome he had lost the box of relics; and not daring to mention it, he had procured a similar one, which he had filled with the small bones of dogs and cats, and other trifles similar to what were lost. he hoped he might be forgiven for smiling, when he found that such a collection of rubbish was idolized with such pomp, and had even the virtue of expelling demons. it was by the assistance of this box that the prince discovered the gross impositions of the monks and the demoniacs, and radzivil afterwards became a zealous lutheran. the elector frederic, surnamed _the wise_, was an indefatigable collector of relics. after his death, one of the monks employed by him solicited payment for several parcels he had purchased for our _wise_ elector; but the times had changed! he was advised to give over this business; the relics for which he desired payment they were willing _to return_; that the price had fallen considerably since the reformation of luther; and that they would find a _better market_ in italy than in germany! our henry iii., who was deeply tainted with the superstition of the age, summoned all the great in the kingdom to meet in london. this summons excited the most general curiosity, and multitudes appeared. the king then acquainted them that the great master of the knights templars had sent him a phial containing _a small portion of the precious blood of christ_ which he had shed upon the _cross_; and _attested to be genuine_ by the seals of the patriarch of jerusalem and others! he commanded a procession the following day; and the historian adds, that though the road between st. paul's and westminster abbey was very deep and miry, the king kept his eyes constantly fixed on the phial. two monks received it, and deposited the phial in the abbey, "which made all england shine with glory, dedicating it to god and st. edward." lord herbert, in his life of henry viii., notices the _great fall of the price of relics_ at the dissolution of the monasteries. "the respect given to relics, and some pretended miracles, fell; insomuch, as i find by our records, that _a piece of st. andrew's finger_ (covered only with an ounce of silver), being laid to pledge by a monastery for forty pounds, was left unredeemed at the dissolution of the house; the king's commissioners, who upon surrender of any foundation undertook to pay the debts, refusing to return the price again." that is, they did not choose to repay the _forty pounds_, to receive _apiece of the finger of st. andrew_. about this time the property of relics suddenly sunk to a south-sea bubble; for shortly after the artifice of the rood of grace, at boxley, in kent, was fully opened to the eye of the populace; and a far-famed relic at hales, in gloucestershire, of the blood of christ, was at the same time exhibited. it was shown in a phial, and it was believed that none could see it who were in mortal sin; and after many trials usually repeated to the same person, the deluded pilgrims at length went away fully satisfied. this relic was the _blood of a duck_, renewed every week, and put in a phial; one side was _opaque_, and the other _transparent_; the monk turned either side to the pilgrim, as he thought proper. the success of the pilgrim depended on the oblations he made; those who were scanty in their offerings were the longest to get a sight of the blood: when a man was in despair, he usually became generous! perpetual lamps of the ancients. no. of the spectator relates an anecdote of a person who had opened the sepulchre of the famous rosicrucius. he discovered a lamp burning, which a statue of clock-work struck into pieces. hence, the disciples of this visionary said that he made use of this method to show "that he had re-invented the ever-burning lamps of the ancients." many writers have made mention of these wonderful lamps. it has happened frequently that inquisitive men examining with a flambeau ancient sepulchres which had been just opened, the fat and gross vapours kindled as the flambeau approached them, to the great astonishment of the spectators, who frequently cried out "_a miracle!_" this sudden inflammation, although very natural, has given room to believe that these flames proceeded from _perpetual lamps_, which some have thought were placed in the tombs of the ancients, and which, they said, were extinguished at the moment that these tombs opened, and were penetrated by the exterior air. the accounts of the perpetual lamps which ancient writers give have occasioned several ingenious men to search after their composition. licetus, who possessed more erudition than love of truth, has given two receipts for making this eternal fire by a preparation of certain minerals. more credible writers maintain that it is possible to make lamps perpetually burning, and an oil at once inflammable and inconsumable; but boyle, assisted by several experiments made on the air-pump, found that these lights, which have been viewed in opening tombs, proceeded from the collision of fresh air. this reasonable observation conciliates all, and does not compel us to deny the accounts. the story of the lamp of rosicrucius, even if it ever had the slightest foundation, only owes its origin to the spirit of party, which at the time would have persuaded the world that rosicrucius had at least discovered something. it was reserved for modern discoveries in chemistry to prove that air was not only necessary for a medium to the existence of the flame, which indeed the air-pump had already shown; but also as a constituent part of the inflammation, and without which a body, otherwise very inflammable in all its parts, cannot, however, burn but in its superficies, which alone is in contact with the ambient air. natural productions resembling artificial compositions. some stones are preserved by the curious, for representing distinctly figures traced by nature alone, and without the aid of art. pliny mentions an agate, in which appeared, formed by the hand of nature, apollo amidst the nine muses holding a harp. at venice another may be seen, in which is naturally formed the perfect figure of a man. at pisa, in the church of st. john, there is a similar natural production, which represents an old hermit in a desert, seated by the side of a stream, and who holds in his hands a small bell, as st. anthony is commonly painted. in the temple of st. sophia, at constantinople, there was formerly on a white marble the image of st. john the baptist covered with the skin of a camel; with this only imperfection, that nature had given but one leg. at ravenna, in the church of st. vital, a cordelier is seen on a dusky stone. they found in italy a marble, in which a crucifix was so elaborately finished, that there appeared the nails, the drops of blood, and the wounds, as perfectly as the most excellent painter could have performed. at sneilberg, in germany, they found in a mine a certain rough metal, on which was seen the figure of a man, who carried a child on his back. in provence they found in a mine a quantity of natural figures of birds, trees, rats, and serpents; and in some places of the western parts of tartary, are seen on divers rocks the figures of camels, horses, and sheep. pancirollus, in his lost antiquities, attests, that in a church at rome, a marble perfectly represented a priest celebrating mass, and raising the host. paul iii. conceiving that art had been used, scraped the marble to discover whether any painting had been employed: but nothing of the kind was discovered. "i have seen," writes a friend, "many of these curiosities. they are _always helped out_ by art. in my father's house was a gray marble chimney-piece, which abounded in portraits, landscapes, &c., the greatest part of which was made by myself." i have myself seen a large collection, many certainly untouched by art. one stone appears like a perfect cameo of a minerva's head; another shows an old man's head, beautiful as if the hand of raffaelle had designed it. both these stones are transparent. some exhibit portraits. there is preserved in the british museum a black stone, on which nature has sketched a resemblance of the portrait of chaucer.[ ] stones of this kind, possessing a sufficient degree of resemblance, are rare; but art appears not to have been used. even in plants, we find this sort of resemblance. there is a species of the orchis, where nature has formed a bee, apparently feeding in the breast of the flower, with so much exactness, that it is impossible at a very small distance to distinguish the imposition. hence the plant derives its name, and is called the bee-flower. langhorne elegantly notices its appearance:-- see on that flow'ret's velvet breast, how close the busy vagrant lies! his thin-wrought plume, his downy breast, the ambrosial gold that swells his thighs. perhaps his fragrant load may bind his limbs;--we'll set the captive free-- i sought the living bee to find, and found the picture of a bee. the late mr. jackson, of exeter, wrote to me on this subject: "this orchis is common near our sea-coasts; but instead of being exactly like a bee, _it is not like it at all_. it has a general resemblance to a _fly_, and by the help of imagination may be supposed to be a fly pitched upon the flower. the mandrake very frequently has a forked root, which may be fancied to resemble thighs and legs. i have seen it helped out with nails on the toes." an ingenious botanist, after reading this article, was so kind as to send me specimens of the _fly_ orchis, _ophrys muscifera_, and of the _bee_ orchis, _ophrys apifera_. their resemblance to these insects when in full flower is the most perfect conceivable: they are distinct plants. the poetical eye of langhorne was equally correct and fanciful; and that too of jackson, who differed so positively. many controversies have been carried on, from a want of a little more knowledge; like that of the bee _orchis_ and the fly _orchis_, both parties prove to be right. another curious specimen of the playful operations of nature is the mandrake; a plant, indeed, when it is bare of leaves, perfectly resembling that of the human form. the ginseng tree is noticed for the same appearance. this object the same poet has noticed:-- mark how that rooted mandrake wears his human feet, his human hands; oft, as his shapely form he rears, aghast the frighted ploughman stands. he closes this beautiful fable with the following stanza not inapposite to the curious subject of this article: helvetia's rocks, sabrina's waves, still many a shining pebble bear: where nature's studious hand engraves the perfect form, and leaves it there. footnotes: [footnote : one of the most curious of these natural portraits is the enormous rock in wales, known as the pitt stone. it is an immense fragment, the outline bearing a perfect resemblance to the profile of the great statesman. the frontispiece to brace's "visit to norway and sweden" represents an island popularly known as "the horseman's island," that takes the form of a gigantic mounted horseman wading through the deep. w.b. cooke, the late eminent engraver, amused himself by depicting a landscape with waterfalls and ruins, which, when turned on one side, formed a perfect human face.] the poetical garland of julia. huet has given a charming description of a present made by a lover to his mistress; a gift which romance has seldom equalled for its gallantry, ingenuity, and novelty. it was called the garland of julia. to understand the nature of this gift, it will be necessary to give the history of the parties. the beautiful julia d'angennes was in the flower of her youth and fame, when the celebrated gustavus, king of sweden, was making war in germany with the most splendid success. julia expressed her warm admiration of this hero. she had his portrait placed on her toilet, and took pleasure in declaring that she would have no other lover than gustavus. the duke de montausier was, however, her avowed and ardent admirer. a short time after the death of gustavus, he sent her, as a new-year's gift, the poetical garland of which the following is a description. the most beautiful flowers were painted in miniature by an eminent artist, one robert, on pieces of vellum, all of equal dimensions. under every flower a space was left open for a madrigal on the subject of the flower there painted. the duke solicited the wits of the time to assist in the composition of these little poems, reserving a considerable number for the effusions of his own amorous muse. under every flower he had its madrigal written by n. du jarry, celebrated for his beautiful caligraphy. a decorated frontispiece offered a splendid garland composed of all these twenty-nine flowers; and on turning the page a cupid is painted to the life. these were magnificently bound, and enclosed in a bag of rich spanish leather. when julia awoke on new-year's day, she found this lover's gift lying on her toilet; it was one quite to her taste, and successful to the donor's hopes. of this poetical garland, thus formed by the hands of wit and love, huet says, "as i had long heard of it, i frequently expressed a wish to see it: at length the duchess of usez gratified me with the sight. she locked me in her cabinet one afternoon with this garland: she then went to the queen, and at the close of the evening liberated me. i never passed a more agreeable afternoon." one of the prettiest inscriptions of these flowers is the following, composed for the violet. modeste en ma couleur, modeste en mon séjour, franche d'ambition, je me cache sous l'herbe; mais, si sur votre front je puis me voir un jour, la plus humble des fleurs sera la plus superbe. modest my colour, modest is my place, pleased in the grass my lowly form to hide; but mid your tresses might i wind with grace, the humblest flower would feel the loftiest pride. the following is some additional information respecting "the poetical garland of julia." at the sale of the library of the duke de la vallière, in , among its numerous literary curiosities this garland appeared. it was actually sold for the extravagant sum of , livres! though in , at gaignat's sale, it only cost livres. it is described to be "a manuscript on vellum, composed of twenty-nine flowers painted by one robert, under which are inserted madrigals by various authors." but the abbé rive, the superintendent of the vallière library, published in an inflammatory notice of this garland; and as he and the duke had the art of appreciating, and it has been said _making_ spurious literary curiosities, this notice was no doubt the occasion of the maniacal price. in the great french revolution, this literary curiosity found its passage into this country. a bookseller offered it for sale at the enormous price of _l._ sterling! no curious collector has been discovered to have purchased this unique; which is most remarkable for the extreme folly of the purchaser who gave the , livres for poetry and painting not always exquisite. the history of the garland of julia is a child's lesson for certain rash and inexperienced collectors, who may here learn to do well by others harm. tragic actors. montfleury, a french player, was one of the greatest actors of his time for characters highly tragic. he died of the violent efforts he made in representing orestes in the andromache of racine. the author of the "parnasse reformé" makes him thus express himself in the shades. there is something extremely droll in his lamentations, with a severe raillery on the inconveniences to which tragic actors are liable. "ah! how sincerely do i wish that tragedies had never been invented! i might then have been yet in a state capable of appearing on the stage; and if i should not have attained the glory of sustaining sublime characters, i should at least have trifled agreeably, and have worked off my spleen in laughing! i have wasted my lungs in the violent emotions of jealousy, love, and ambition. a thousand times have i been obliged to force myself to represent more passions than le brun ever painted or conceived. i saw myself frequently obliged to dart terrible glances; to roll my eyes furiously in my head, like a man insane; to frighten others by extravagant grimaces; to imprint on my countenance the redness of indignation and hatred; to make the paleness of fear and surprise succeed each other by turns; to express the transports of rage and despair; to cry out like a demoniac: and consequently to strain all the parts of my body to render my gestures fitter to accompany these different impressions. the man then who would know of what i died, let him not ask if it were of the fever, the dropsy, or the gout; but let him know that it was of _the andromache_!" the jesuit rapin informs us, that when mondory acted herod in the mariamne of tristan, the spectators quitted the theatre mournful and thoughtful; so tenderly were they penetrated with the sorrows of the unfortunate heroine. in this melancholy pleasure, he says, we have a rude picture of the strong impressions which were made by the grecian tragedians. mondory indeed felt so powerfully the character he assumed, that it cost him his life. some readers may recollect the death of bond, who felt so exquisitely the character of lusignan in zara, which he personated when an old man, that zara, when she addressed him, found him _dead_ in his chair. the assumption of a variety of characters by a person of irritable and delicate nerves, has often a tragical effect on the mental faculties. we might draw up a list of actors, who have fallen martyrs to their tragic characters. several have died on the stage, and, like palmer, usually in the midst of some agitated appeal to the feelings.[ ] baron, who was the french garrick, had a most elevated notion of his profession: he used to say, that tragic actors should be nursed on the lap of queens! nor was his vanity inferior to his enthusiasm for his profession; for, according to him, the world might see once in a century a _cæsar_, but that it required a thousand years to produce a _baron_! a variety of anecdotes testify the admirable talents he displayed. whenever he meant to compliment the talents or merits of distinguished characters, he always delivered in a pointed manner the striking passages of the play, fixing his eye on them. an observation of his respecting actors, is not less applicable to poets and to painters. "rules," said this sublime actor, "may teach us not to raise the arms above the head; but if passion carries them, it will be well done; passion knows more than art." betterton, although his countenance was ruddy and sanguine, when he performed hamlet, through the violent and sudden emotion of amazement and horror at the presence of his father's spectre, instantly turned as white as his neckcloth, while his whole body seemed to be affected with a strong tremor: had his father's apparition actually risen before him, he could not have been seized with more real agonies. this struck the spectators so forcibly, that they felt a shuddering in their veins, and participated in the astonishment and the horror so apparent in the actor. davies in his dramatic miscellanies records this fact; and in the richardsoniana, we find that the first time booth attempted the ghost when betterton acted hamlet, that actor's look at him struck him with such horror that he became disconcerted to such a degree, that he could not speak his part. here seems no want of evidence of the force of the ideal presence in this marvellous acting: these facts might deserve a philosophical investigation. le kain, the french actor, who retired from the parisian stage, like our garrick, covered with glory and gold, was one day congratulated by a company on the retirement which he was preparing to enjoy. "as to glory," modestly replied this actor, "i do not flatter myself to have acquired much. this kind of reward is always disputed by many, and you yourselves would not allow it, were i to assume it. as to the money, i have not so much reason to be satisfied; at the italian theatre, their share is far more considerable than mine; an actor there may get twenty to twenty-five thousand livres, and my share amounts at the most to ten or twelve thousand." "how! the devil!" exclaimed a rude chevalier of the order of st. louis, who was present, "how! the devil! a vile stroller is not content with twelve thousand livres annually, and i, who am in the king's service, who sleep upon a cannon and lavish my blood for my country, i must consider myself as fortunate in having obtained a pension of one thousand livres." "and do you account as nothing, sir, the liberty of addressing me thus?" replied le kain, with all the sublimity and conciseness of an irritated orosmane. the memoirs of mademoiselle clairon display her exalted feeling of the character of a sublime actress; she was of opinion, that in common life the truly sublime actor should be a hero, or heroine off the stage. "if i am only a vulgar and ordinary woman during twenty hours of the day, whatever effort i may make, i shall only be an ordinary and vulgar woman in agrippina or semiramis, during the remaining four." in society she was nicknamed the queen of carthage, from her admirable personification of dido in a tragedy of that name. footnotes: [footnote : palmer's death took place on the liverpool stage, august , ; he was in the fifty-seventh year of his age. the death of his wife and his son had some time before thrown him into a profound melancholy, and on this occasion he was unfortunately "cast" for the agitating part of "the stranger." he appeared unusually moved on uttering the words "there is another and a better world," in the third act. in the first scene of the following act, when he was asked "why did you not keep your children with you? they would have amused you in many a dreary hour," he turned to reply--and "for the space of about ten seconds, he paused as if waiting for the prompter to give him the word"--says mr. whitfield the actor, who was then with him upon the stage--"then put out his right hand, as if going to take hold of mine. it dropt, as if to support his fall, but it had no power; in that instant he fell, but not at full length, he crouched in falling, so that his head did not strike the stage with great violence. he never breathed after. i think i may venture to say he died without a pang." it is one of the most melancholy incidents connected with theatrical history.] jocular preachers. these preachers, whose works are excessively rare, form a race unknown to the general reader. i shall sketch the characters of these pious buffoons, before i introduce them to his acquaintance. they, as it has been said of sterne, seemed to have wished, every now and then, to have thrown their wigs into the faces of their auditors. these preachers flourished in the fourteenth, fifteenth, and sixteenth centuries; we are therefore to ascribe their extravagant mixture of grave admonition with facetious illustration, comic tales which have been occasionally adopted by the most licentious writers, and minute and lively descriptions, to the great simplicity of the times, when the grossest indecency was never concealed under a gentle periphrasis, but everything was called by its name. all this was enforced by the most daring personalities, and seasoned by those temporary allusions which neither spared, nor feared even the throne. these ancient sermons therefore are singularly precious, to those whose inquisitive pleasures are gratified by tracing the _manners_ of former ages. when henry stephens, in his apology for herodotus, describes the irregularities of the age, and the minutiæ of national manners, he effects this chiefly by extracts from these sermons. their wit is not always the brightest, nor their satire the most poignant; but there is always that prevailing _naïveté_ of the age running through their rude eloquence, which interests the reflecting mind. in a word, these sermons were addressed to the multitude; and therefore they show good sense and absurdity; fancy and puerility; satire and insipidity; extravagance and truth. oliver maillard, a famous cordelier, died in . this preacher having pointed some keen traits in his sermons at louis xi., the irritated monarch had our cordelier informed that he would throw him into the river. he replied undaunted, and not forgetting his satire: "the king may do as he chooses; but tell him that i shall sooner get to paradise by water, than he will arrive by all his post-horses." he alluded to travelling by post, which this monarch had lately introduced into france. this bold answer, it is said, intimidated louis: it is certain that maillard continued as courageous and satirical as ever in his pulpit. the following extracts are descriptive of the manners of the times. in attacking rapine and robbery, under the first head he describes a kind of usury, which was practised in the days of ben jonson, and i am told in the present, as well as in the times of maillard. "this," says he, "is called a palliated usury. it is thus. when a person is in want of money, he goes to a treasurer (a kind of banker or merchant), on whom he has an order for crowns; the treasurer tells him that he will pay him in a fortnight's time, when he is to receive the money. the poor man cannot wait. our good treasurer tells him, i will give you half in money and half in goods. so he passes his goods that are worth crowns for ." he then touches on the bribes which these treasurers and clerks in office took, excusing themselves by alleging the little pay they otherwise received. "all these practices be sent to the devils!" cries maillard, in thus addressing himself to the _ladies_: "it is for _you_ all this damnation ensues. yes! yes! you must have rich satins, and girdles of gold out of this accursed money. when any one has anything to receive from the husband, he must make a present to the wife of some fine gown, or girdle, or ring. if you ladies and gentlemen who are battening on your pleasures, and wear scarlet clothes, i believe if you were closely put in a good press, we should see the blood of the poor gush out, with which your scarlet is dyed." maillard notices the following curious particulars of the mode of _cheating in trade_ in his times. he is violent against the apothecaries for their cheats. "they mix ginger with cinnamon, which they sell for real spices: they put their bags of ginger, pepper, saffron, cinnamon, and other drugs in damp cellars, that they may weigh heavier; they mix oil with saffron, to give it a colour, and to make it weightier." he does not forget those tradesmen who put water in their wool, and moisten their cloth that it may stretch; tavern-keepers, who sophisticate and mingle wines; the butchers, who blow up their meat, and who mix hog's lard with the fat of their meat. he terribly declaims against those who buy with a great allowance of measure and weight, and then sell with a small measure and weight; and curses those who, when they weigh, press the scales down with their finger. but it is time to conclude with master oliver! his catalogue is, however, by no means exhausted; and it may not be amiss to observe, that the present age has retained every one of the sins. the following extracts are from menot's sermons, which are written, like maillard's, in a barbarous latin, mixed with old french. michael menot died in . i think he has more wit than maillard, and occasionally displays a brilliant imagination; with the same singular mixture of grave declamation and farcical absurdities. he is called in the title-page the _golden-tongued_. it runs thus, _predicatoris qui lingua aurea, sua tempestate nuncupatus est, sermones quadragesimales, ab ipso olim turonis declamati_. _paris, _, vo. when he compares the church with a vine, he says, "there were once some britons and englishmen who would have carried away all france into their country, because they found our wine better than their beer; but as they well knew that they could not always remain in france, nor carry away france into their country, they would at least carry with them several stocks of vines; they planted some in england; but these stocks soon degenerated, because the soil was not adapted to them." notwithstanding what menot said in , and that we have tried so often, we have often flattered ourselves that if we plant vineyards, we may have english wine. the following beautiful figure describes those who live neglectful of their aged parents, who had cherished them into prosperity. "see the trees flourish and recover their leaves; it is their root that has produced all; but when the branches are loaded with flowers and with fruits, they yield nothing to the root. this is an image of those children who prefer their own amusements, and to game away their fortunes, than to give to their old parents that which they want." he acquaints us with the following circumstances of the immorality of that age: "who has not got a mistress besides his wife? the poor wife eats the fruits of bitterness, and even makes the bed for the mistress." oaths were not unfashionable in his day. "since the world has been world, this crime was never greater. there were once pillories for these swearers; but now this crime is so common, that the child of five years can swear; and even the old dotard of eighty, who has only two teeth remaining, can fling out an oath." on the power of the fair sex of his day, he observes--"a father says, my son studies; he must have a bishopric, or an abbey of livres. then he will have dogs, horses, and mistresses, like others. another says, i will have my son placed at court, and have many honourable dignities. to succeed well, both employ the mediation of women; unhappily the church and the law are entirely at their disposal. we have artful dalilahs who shear us close. for twelve crowns and an ell of velvet given to a woman, you gain the worst lawsuit, and the best living." in his last sermon, menot recapitulates the various topics he had touched on during lent. this extract presents a curious picture, and a just notion of the versatile talents of these preachers. "i have told _ecclesiastics_ how they should conduct themselves; not that they are ignorant of their duties; but i must ever repeat to girls, not to suffer themselves to be duped by them. i have told these ecclesiastics that they should imitate the lark; if she has a grain she does not remain idle, but feels her pleasure in singing, and in singing always is ascending towards heaven. so they should not amass; but elevate the hearts of all to god; and not do as the frogs who are crying out day and night, and think they have a fine throat, but always remain fixed in the mud. "i have told the _men of the law_ that they should have the qualities of the eagle. the first is, that this bird when it flies fixes its eye on the sun; so all judges, counsellors, and attorneys, in judging, writing, and signing, should always have god before their eyes. and secondly, this bird is never greedy; it willingly shares its prey with others; so all lawyers, who are rich in crowns after having had their bills paid, should distribute some to the poor, particularly when they are conscious that their money arises from their prey. "i have spoken of the _marriage state_, but all that i have said has been disregarded. see those wretches who break the hymeneal chains, and abandon their wives! they pass their holidays out of their parishes, because if they remained at home they must have joined their wives at church; they liked their prostitutes better; and it will be so every day in the year! i would as well dine with a jew or a heretic, as with them. what an infected place is this! mistress lubricity has taken possession of the whole city; look in every corner, and you'll be convinced. "for you _married women_! if you have heard the nightingale's song, you must know that she sings during three months, and that she is silent when she has young ones. so there is a time in which you may sing and take your pleasures in the marriage state, and another to watch your children. don't damn yourselves for them; and remember it would be better to see them drowned than damned. "as to _widows_, i observe, that the turtle withdraws and sighs in the woods, whenever she has lost her companion; so must they retire into the wood of the cross, and having lost their temporal husband, take no other but jesus christ. "and, to close all i have told _girls_ that they must fly from the company of men, and not permit them to embrace, nor even touch them. look on the rose; it has a delightful odour; it embalms the place in which it is placed; but if you grasp it underneath, it will prick you till the blood issues. the beauty of the rose is the beauty of the girl. the beauty and perfume of the first invite to smell and to handle it, but when it is touched underneath it pricks sharply; the beauty of a girl likewise invites the hand; but you, my young ladies, you must never suffer this, for i tell you that every man who does this designs to make you harlots." these ample extracts may convey the same pleasure to the reader which i have received by collecting them from their scarce originals, little known even to the curious. menot, it cannot be denied, displays a poetic imagination, and a fertility of conception which distinguishes him among his rivals. the same taste and popular manner came into our country, and were suited to the simplicity of the age. in , our bishop latimer preached a sermon,[ ] in which he expresses himself thus:--"now, ye have heard what is meant by this _first card_, and how ye ought to _play_. i purpose again to _deal_ unto you another _card of the same suit_; for they be so nigh affinity, that one cannot be well played without the other."[ ] it is curious to observe about a century afterwards, as fuller informs us, that when a country clergyman imitated these familiar allusions, the taste of the congregation had so changed that he was interrupted by peals of laughter! even in more modern times have menot and maillard found an imitator in little father andré, as well as others. his character has been variously drawn. he is by some represented as a kind of buffoon in the pulpit; but others more judiciously observe, that he only indulged his natural genius, and uttered humorous and lively things, as the good father observes himself, to keep the attention of his audience awake. he was not always laughing. "he told many a bold truth," says the author of _guerre des auteurs anciens et modernes_, "that sent bishops to their dioceses, and made many a coquette blush. he possessed the art of biting when he smiled; and more ably combated vice by his ingenious satire than by those vague apostrophes which no one takes to himself. while others were straining their minds to catch at sublime thoughts which no one understood, he lowered his talents to the most humble situations, and to the minutest things. from them he drew his examples and his comparisons; and the one and the other never failed of success." marville says, that "his expressions were full of shrewd simplicity. he made very free use of the most popular proverbs. his comparisons and figures were always borrowed from the most familiar and lowest things." to ridicule effectually the reigning vices, he would prefer quirks or puns to sublime thoughts; and he was little solicitous of his choice of expression, so the things came home. gozzi, in italy, had the same power in drawing unexpected inferences from vulgar and familiar occurrences. it was by this art whitfield obtained so many followers. in piozzi's british synonymes, vol. ii. p. , we have an instance of gozzi's manner. in the time of charles ii. it became fashionable to introduce humour into sermons. sterne seems to have revived it in his: south's sparkle perpetually with wit and pun. far different, however, are the characters of the sublime preachers, of whom the french have preserved the following descriptions. we have not any more bourdaloue, la rue, and massillon; but the idea which still exists of their manner of addressing their auditors may serve instead of lessons. each had his own peculiar mode, always adapted to place, time, circumstance; to their auditors, their style, and their subject. bourdaloue, with a collected air, had little action; with eyes generally half closed he penetrated the hearts of the people by the sound of a voice uniform and solemn. the tone with which a sacred orator pronounced the words, _tu est ille vir!_ "thou art the man!" in suddenly addressing them to one of the kings of france, struck more forcibly than their application. madame de sévigné describes our preacher, by saying, "father bourdaloue thunders at notre dame." la rue appeared with the air of a prophet. his manner was irresistible, full of fire, intelligence, and force. he had strokes perfectly original. several old men, his contemporaries, still shuddered at the recollection of the expression which he employed in an apostrophe to the god of vengeance, _evaginare gladium tuum!_ the person of massillon affected his admirers. he was seen in the pulpit with that air of simplicity, that modest demeanour, those eyes humbly declining, those unstudied gestures, that passionate tone, that mild countenance of a man penetrated with his subject, conveying to the mind the most luminous ideas, and to the heart the most tender emotions. baron, the tragedian, coming out from one of his sermons, truth forced from his lips a confession humiliating to his profession; "my friend," said he to one of his companions, "this is an _orator!_ and we are _only actors!_" footnotes: [footnote : in it he likens christianity to a game at cards.] [footnote : in his "sermon of the plough," preached at paul's cross, , we meet the same quaint imagery. "preaching of the gospel is one of god's plough works, and the preacher is one of god's ploughmen--and well may the preacher and the ploughman be likened together: first, for their labour at all seasons of the year; for there is no time of the year in which the ploughman hath not some special work to do." he says that satan "is ever busy in following his plough;" and he winds up his peroration by the somewhat startling words, "the devil shall go for my money, for he applieth to his business. therefore, ye unpreaching prelates, learn of the devil: to be diligent in doing your office learn of the devil: and if you will not learn of god, nor good men, for shame learn of the devil."] masterly imitators. there have been found occasionally some artists who could so perfectly imitate the spirit, the taste, the character, and the peculiarities of great masters, that they have not unfrequently deceived the most skilful connoisseurs. michael angelo sculptured a sleeping cupid, of which having broken off an arm, he buried the statue in a place where he knew it would soon be found. the critics were never tired of admiring it, as one of the most precious relics of antiquity. it was sold to the cardinal of st. george, to whom michael angelo discovered the whole mystery, by joining to the cupid the arm which he had reserved. an anecdote of peter mignard is more singular. this great artist painted a magdalen on a canvas fabricated at rome. a broker, in concert with mignard, went to the chevalier de clairville, and told him as a secret that he was to receive from italy a magdalen of guido, and his masterpiece. the chevalier caught the bait, begged the preference, and purchased the picture at a very high price. he was informed that he had been imposed upon, and that the magdalen was painted by mignard. mignard himself caused the alarm to be given, but the amateur would not believe it; all the connoisseurs agreed it was a guido, and the famous le brun corroborated this opinion. the chevalier came to mignard:--"some persons assure me that my magdalen is your work!"--"mine! they do me great honour. i am sure that le brun is not of this opinion." "le brun swears it can be no other than a guido. you shall dine with me, and meet several of the first connoisseurs." on the day of meeting, the picture was again more closely inspected. mignard hinted his doubts whether the piece was the work of that great master; he insinuated that it was possible to be deceived; and added, that if it was guido's, he did not think it in his best manner. "it is a guido, sir, and in his very best manner," replied le brun, with warmth; and all the critics were unanimous. mignard then spoke in a firm tone of voice: "and i, gentlemen, will wager three hundred louis that it is not a guido." the dispute now became violent: le brun was desirous of accepting the wager. in a word, the affair became such that it could add nothing more to the glory of mignard. "no, sir," replied the latter, "i am too honest to bet when i am certain to win. monsieur le chevalier, this piece cost you two thousand crowns: the money must be returned,--the painting is _mine_." le brun would not believe it. "the proof," mignard continued, "is easy. on this canvas, which is a roman one, was the portrait of a cardinal; i will show you his cap."--the chevalier did not know which of the rival artists to credit. the proposition alarmed him. "he who painted the picture shall repair it," said mignard. he took a pencil dipped in oil, and rubbing the hair of the magdalen, discovered the cap of the cardinal. the honour of the ingenious painter could no longer be disputed; le brun, vexed, sarcastically exclaimed, "always paint guido, but never mignard." there is a collection of engravings by that ingenious artist bernard picart, which has been published under the title of _the innocent impostors_. picart had long been vexed at the taste of his day, which ran wholly in favour of antiquity, and no one would look at, much less admire, a modern master. he published a pretended collection, or a set of prints, from the designs of the great painters; in which he imitated the etchings and engravings of the various masters, and much were these prints admired as the works of guido, rembrandt, and others. having had his joke, they were published under the title of _imposteurs innocentes_. the connoisseurs, however, are strangely divided in their opinion of the merit of this collection. gilpin classes these "innocent impostors" among the most entertaining of his works, and is delighted by the happiness with which he has outdone in their own excellences the artists whom he copied; but strutt, too grave to admit of jokes that twitch the connoisseurs, declares that they could never have deceived an experienced judge, and reprobates such kinds of ingenuity, played off at the cost of the venerable brotherhood of the cognoscenti. the same thing was, however, done by goltzius, who being disgusted at the preference given to the works of albert durer, lucas of leyden, and others of that school, and having attempted to introduce a better taste, which was not immediately relished, he published what were afterwards called his _masterpieces_. these are six prints in the style of these masters, merely to prove that goltzius could imitate their works, if he thought proper. one of these, the circumcision, he had printed on soiled paper; and to give it the brown tint of antiquity had carefully smoked it, by which means it was sold as a curious performance, and deceived some of the most capital connoisseurs of the day, one of whom bought it as one of the finest engravings of albert durer: even strutt acknowledges the merit of goltzius's _masterpieces_! to these instances of artists i will add others of celebrated authors. muretus rendered joseph scaliger, a great stickler for the ancients, highly ridiculous by an artifice which he practised. he sent some verses which he pretended were copied from an old manuscript. the verses were excellent, and scaliger was credulous. after having read them, he exclaimed they were admirable, and affirmed that they were written by an old comic poet, trabeus. he quoted them, in his commentary on varro _de re rusticâ_, as one of the most precious fragments of antiquity. it was then, when he had fixed his foot firmly in the trap, that muretus informed the world of the little dependence to be placed on the critical sagacity of one so prejudiced in favour of the ancients, and who considered his judgment as infallible. the abbé regnier desmarais, having written an ode or, as the italians call it, canzone, sent it to the abbé strozzi at florence, who used it to impose on three or four academicians of della crusca. he gave out that leo allatius, librarian of the vatican, in examining carefully the mss. of petrarch preserved there, had found two pages slightly glued, which having separated, he had discovered this ode. the fact was not at first easily credited; but afterwards the similarity of style and manner rendered it highly probable. when strozzi undeceived the public, it procured the abbé regnier a place in the academy, as an honourable testimony of his ingenuity. père commire, when louis xiv. resolved on the conquest of holland, composed a latin fable, entitled "the sun and the frogs," in which he assumed with such felicity the style and character of phædrus, that the learned wolfius was deceived, and innocently inserted it in his edition of that fabulist. flaminius strada would have deceived most of the critics of his age, if he had given as the remains of antiquity the different pieces of history and poetry which he composed on the model of the ancients, in his _prolusiones academicæ_. to preserve probability he might have given out that he had drawn them, from some old and neglected library; he had then only to have added a good commentary, tending to display the conformity of the style and manner of these fragments with the works of those authors to whom he ascribed them. sigonius was a great master of the style of cicero, and ventured to publish a treatise _de consolatione_, as a composition of cicero recently discovered; many were deceived by the counterfeit, which was performed with great dexterity, and was long received as genuine; but he could not deceive lipsius, who, after reading only ten lines, threw it away, exclaiming, "_vah! non est ciceronis_." the late mr. burke succeeded more skilfully in his "vindication of natural society," which for a long time passed as the composition of lord bolingbroke; so perfect is this ingenious imposture of the spirit, manner, and course of thinking of the noble author. i believe it was written for a wager, and fairly won. edward the fourth. our edward the fourth was dissipated and voluptuous; and probably owed his crown to his handsomeness, his enormous debts, and passion for the fair sex. he had many jane shores. honest philip de comines, his contemporary, says, "that what greatly contributed to his entering london as soon as he appeared at its gates was the great debts this prince had contracted, which made his creditors gladly assist him; and the high favour in which he was held by the _bourgeoises_, into whose good graces he had frequently glided, and who gained over to him their husbands, who, for the tranquillity of their lives, were glad to depose or to raise monarchs. many ladies and rich citizens' wives, of whom formerly he had great privacies and familiar acquaintance, gained over to him their husbands and relations." this is the description of his voluptuous life; we must recollect that the writer had been an eye-witness, and was an honest man. "he had been during the last twelve years more accustomed to his ease and pleasure than any other prince who lived in his time. he had nothing in his thoughts but _les dames_, and of them more than was _reasonable_; and hunting-matches, good eating, and great care of his person. when he went in their seasons to these hunting-matches, he always had carried with him great pavilions for _les dames_, and at the same time gave splendid entertainments; so that it is not surprising that his person was as jolly as any one i ever saw. he was then young, and as handsome as any man of his age; but he has since become enormously fat." since i have got old philip in my hand, the reader will not, perhaps, be displeased, if he attends to a little more of his _naïveté_, which will appear in the form of a _conversazione_ of the times. he relates what passed between the english and the french monarch. "when the ceremony of the oath was concluded, our king, who was desirous of being friendly, began to say to the king of england, in a laughing way, that he must come to paris, and be jovial amongst our ladies; and that he would give him the cardinal de bourbon for his confessor, who would very willingly absolve him of any _sin_ which perchance he might commit. the king of england seemed well pleased at the invitation, and laughed heartily; for he knew that the said cardinal was _un fort bon compagnon_. when the king was returning, he spoke on the road to me; and said that he did not like to find the king of england so much inclined to come to paris. 'he is,' said he, 'a very _handsome_ king; he likes the women too much. he may probably find one at paris that may make him like to come too often, or stay too long. his predecessors have already been too much at paris and in normandy;' and that 'his company was not agreeable _this side of the sea_; but that, beyond the sea, he wished to be _bon frère et amy_.'" i have called philip de comines _honest_. the old writers, from the simplicity of their style, usually receive this honourable epithet; but sometimes they deserve it as little as most modern memoir writers. no enemy is indeed so terrible as a man of genius. comines's violent enmity to the duke of burgundy, which appears in these memoirs, has been traced by the minute researchers of anecdotes; and the cause is not honourable to the memoir-writer, whose resentment was implacable. de comines was born a subject of the duke of burgundy, and for seven years had been a favourite; but one day returning from hunting with the duke, then count de charolois, in familiar jocularity he sat himself down before the prince, ordering the prince to pull off his boots. the count laughed, and did this; but in return for comines's princely amusement, dashed the boot in his face, and gave comines a bloody nose, from that time he was mortified in the court of burgundy by the nickname of the _booted head_. comines long felt a rankling wound in his mind; and after this domestic quarrel, for it was nothing more, he went over to the king of france, and wrote off his bile against the duke of burgundy in these "memoirs," which give posterity a caricature likeness of that prince, whom he is ever censuring for presumption, obstinacy, pride, and cruelty. this duke of burgundy, however, it is said, with many virtues, had but one great vice, the vice of sovereigns, that of ambition! the impertinence of comines had not been chastised with great severity; but the nickname was never forgiven: unfortunately for the duke, comines was a man of genius. when we are versed in the history of the times, we often discover that memoir-writers have some secret poison in their hearts. many, like comines, have had the boot dashed on their nose. personal rancour wonderfully enlivens the style of lord orford and cardinal de retz. memoirs are often dictated by its fiercest spirit; and then histories are composed from memoirs. where is truth? not always in histories and memoirs! elizabeth. this great queen passionately admired handsome persons, and he was already far advanced in her favour who approached her with beauty and grace. she had so unconquerable an aversion for men who had been treated unfortunately by nature, that she could not endure their presence. when she issued from her palace, her guards were careful to disperse from before her eyes hideous and deformed people, the lame, the hunchbacked, &c.; in a word, all those whose appearance might shock her fastidious sensations. "there is this singular and admirable in the conduct of elizabeth that she made her pleasures subservient to her policy, and she maintained her affairs by what in general occasions the ruin of princes. so secret were her amours, that even to the present day their mysteries cannot be penetrated; but the utility she drew from them is public, and always operated for the good of her people. her lovers were her ministers, and her ministers were her lovers. love commanded, love was obeyed; and the reign of this princess was happy, because it was the reign of _love_, in which its chains and its slavery are liked!" the origin of raleigh's advancement in the queen's graces was by an act of gallantry. raleigh spoiled a new plush cloak, while the queen, stepping cautiously on this prodigal's footcloth, shot forth a smile, in which he read promotion. captain raleigh soon became sir walter, and rapidly advanced in the queen's favour. hume has furnished us with ample proofs of the _passion_ which her courtiers feigned for her, and it remains a question whether it ever went further than boisterous or romantic gallantry. the secrecy of her amours is not so wonderful as it seems, if there were impediments to any but exterior gallantries. hume has preserved in his notes a letter written by raleigh. it is a perfect amorous composition. after having exerted his poetic talents to exalt _her charms_ and _his affection_, he concludes, by comparing her majesty, who was then _sixty_, to venus and diana. sir walter was not her only courtier who wrote in this style. even in her old age she affected a strange fondness for music and dancing, with a kind of childish simplicity; her court seemed a court of love, and she the sovereign. secretary cecil, the youngest son of lord burleigh, seems to have perfectly entered into her character. lady derby wore about her neck and in her bosom a portrait; the queen inquired about it, but her ladyship was anxious to conceal it. the queen insisted on having it; and discovering it to be the portrait of young cecil, she snatched it away, tying it upon her shoe, and walked with it; afterwards she pinned it on her elbow, and wore it some time there. secretary cecil hearing of this, composed some verses and got them set to music; this music the queen insisted on hearing. in his verses cecil said that he repined not, though her majesty was pleased to grace others; he contented himself with the favour she had given him by wearing his portrait on her feet and on her arms! the writer of the letter who relates this anecdote, adds, "all these things are very secret." in this manner she contrived to lay the fastest hold on her able servants, and her servants on her. those who are intimately acquainted with the private anecdotes of those times, know what encouragement this royal coquette gave to most who were near her person. dodd, in his church history, says, that the earls of arran and arundel, and sir william pickering, "were not out of hopes of gaining queen elizabeth's affections in a matrimonial way." she encouraged every person of eminence: she even went so far, on the anniversary of her coronation, as publicly to take a ring from her finger, and put it on the duke of aleçnon's hand. she also ranked amongst her suitors henry the third of france, and henry the great. she never forgave buzenval for ridiculing her bad pronunciation of the french language; and when henry iv. sent him over on an embassy, she would not receive him. so nice was the irritable pride of this great queen, that she made her private injuries matters of state. "this queen," writes du maurier, in his _memoires pour servir à l'histoire de la hollande_, "who displayed so many heroic accomplishments, had this foible, of wishing to be thought beautiful by all the world. i heard from my father, that at every audience he had with her majesty, she pulled off her gloves more than a hundred times to display her hands, which indeed were very beautiful and very white." a not less curious anecdote relates to the affair of the duke of anjou and our elizabeth; it is one more proof of her partiality for handsome men. the writer was lewis guyon, a contemporary. "francis duke of anjou, being desirous of marrying a crowned head, caused proposals of marriage to be made to elizabeth, queen of england. letters passed betwixt them, and their portraits were exchanged. at length her majesty informed him, that she would never contract a marriage with any one who sought her, if she did not first _see his person_. if he would not come, nothing more should be said on the subject. this prince, over-pressed by his young friends (who were as little able of judging as himself), paid no attention to the counsels of men of maturer judgment. he passed over to england without a splendid train. the said lady contemplated his _person_: she found him _ugly_, disfigured by deep sears of the _small-pox_, and that he also had an _ill-shaped nose_, with _swellings in the neck_! all these were so many reasons with her, that he could never be admitted into her good graces." puttenham, in his very rare book of the "art of poesie," p. , notices the grace and majesty of elizabeth's demeanour: "her stately manner of walk, with a certaine granditie rather than gravietie, marching with leysure, which our sovereign ladye and mistresse is accustomed to doe generally, unless it be when she walketh apace for her pleasure, or to catch her a heate in the cold mornings." by the following extract from a letter from one of her gentlemen, we discover that her usual habits, though studious, were not of the gentlest kind, and that the service she exacted from her attendants was not borne without concealed murmurs. the writer groans in secrecy to his friend. sir john stanhope writes to sir robert cecil in : "i was all the afternowne with her majestie, _at my booke_; and then thinking to rest me, went in agayne with your letter. she was pleased with the filosofer's stone, and hath ben _all this daye reasonably quyett_. mr. grevell is absent, and i am tyed so as i cannot styrr, but shall be _at the wourse_ for yt, these two dayes!"[ ] puttenham, p. , has also recorded an honourable anecdote of elizabeth, and characteristic of that high majesty which was in her thoughts, as well as in her actions. when she came to the crown, a knight of the realm, who had insolently behaved to her when lady elizabeth, fell upon his knees and besought her pardon, expecting to be sent to the tower: she replied mildly, "do you not know that we are descended of the _lion_, whose nature is not to harme or prey upon the mouse, or any other such small vermin?" queen elizabeth was taught to write by the celebrated _roger ascham_. her writing is extremely beautiful and correct, as may be seen by examining a little manuscript book of prayers, preserved in the british museum. i have seen her first writing book, preserved at oxford in the bodleian library: the gradual improvement in her majesty's handwriting is very honourable to her diligence; but the most curious thing is the paper on which she tried her pens; this she usually did by writing the name of her beloved brother edward; a proof of the early and ardent attachment she formed to that amiable prince. the education of elizabeth had been severely classical; she thought and she wrote in all the spirit of the characters of antiquity; and her speeches and her letters are studded with apophthegms, and a terseness of ideas and language, that give an exalted idea of her mind. in her evasive answers to the commons, in reply to their petitions to her majesty to marry, she has employed an energetic word: "were i to tell you that i do not mean to marry, i might say less than i did intend; and were i to tell you that i do mean to marry, i might say more than it is proper for you to know; therefore i give you an _answer_, answerless!" footnotes: [footnote : sir robert cecil, in a letter to sir john harrington, happily characterized her majesty as occasionally "being more than a man, and, in truth, sometimes less than a woman."] the chinese language. the chinese language is like no other on the globe; it is said to contain not more than about three hundred and thirty words, but it is by no means monotonous, for it has four accents; the even, the raised, the lessened, and the returning, which multiply every word into four; as difficult, says mr. astle, for an european to understand, as it is for a chinese to comprehend the six pronunciations of the french e. in fact, they can so diversify their monosyllabic words by the different _tones_ which they give them, that the same character differently accented signifies sometimes ten or more different things. p. bourgeois, one of the missionaries, attempted, after ten months' residence at pekin, to preach in the chinese language. these are the words of the good father: "god knows how much this first chinese sermon cost me! i can assure you this language resembles no other. the same word has never but one termination; and then adieu to all that in our declensions distinguishes the gender, and the number of things we would speak: adieu, in the verbs, to all which might explain the active person, how and in what time it acts, if it acts alone or with others: in a word, with the chinese, the same word is substantive, adjective, verb, singular, plural, masculine, feminine, &c. it is the person who hears who must arrange the circumstances, and guess them. add to all this, that all the words of this language are reduced to three hundred and a few more; that they are pronounced in so many different ways, that they signify eighty thousand different things, which are expressed by as many different characters. this is not all: the arrangement of all these monosyllables appears to be under no general rule; so that to know the language after having learnt the words, we must learn every particular phrase: the least inversion would make you unintelligible to three parts of the chinese. "i will give you an example of their words. they told me _chou_ signifies a _book_: so that i thought whenever the word _chou_ was pronounced, a _book_ was the subject. not at all! _chou_, the next time i heard it, i found signified a _tree_. now i was to recollect; _chou_ was a _book_ or a _tree_. but this amounted to nothing; _chou_, i found, expressed also _great heats_; _chou_ is to _relate_; _chou_ is the _aurora_; _chou_ means to be _accustomed_; _chou_ expresses the _loss of a wager_, &c. i should not finish, were i to attempt to give you all its significations. "notwithstanding these singular difficulties, could one but find a help in the perusal of their books, i should not complain. but this is impossible! their language is quite different from that of simple conversation. what will ever be an insurmountable difficulty to every european is the pronunciation; every word may be pronounced in five different tones, yet every tone is not so distinct that an unpractised ear can easily distinguish it. these monosyllables fly with amazing rapidity; then they are continually disguised by elisions, which sometimes hardly leave anything of two monosyllables. from an aspirated tone you must pass immediately to an even one; from a whistling note to an inward one: sometimes your voice must proceed from the palate; sometimes it must be guttural, and almost always nasal. i recited my sermon at least fifty times to my servant before i spoke it in public; and yet i am told, though he continually corrected me, that of the ten parts of the sermon (as the chinese express themselves), they hardly understood three. fortunately the chinese are wonderfully patient; and they are astonished that any ignorant stranger should be able to learn two words of their language." it has been said that "satires are often composed in china, which, if you attend to the _characters_, their import is pure and sublime; but if you regard the _tone_ only, they contain a meaning ludicrous or obscene. in the chinese _one word_ sometimes corresponds to three or four thousand characters; a property quite opposite to that of our language, in which _myriads_ of different _words_ are expressed by the _same letters_." medical music. in the philosophical magazine for may, , we find that "several of the medical literati on the continent are at present engaged in making inquiries and experiments upon the _influence of music in the cure of diseases_." the learned dusaux is said to lead the band of this new tribe of _amateurs_ and _cognoscenti_. the subject excited my curiosity, though i since have found that it is no new discovery. there is a curious article in dr. burney's history of music, "on the medicinal powers attributed to music by the ancients," which he derived from the learned labours of a modern physician, m. burette, who doubtless could play a tune to, as well as prescribe one to, his patient. he conceives that music can relieve the pains of the sciatica; and that, independent of the greater or less skill of the musician, by flattering the ear, and diverting the attention, and occasioning certain vibrations of the nerves, it can remove those obstructions which occasion this disorder. m. burette, and many modern physicians and philosophers, have believed that music has the power of affecting the mind, and the whole nervous system, so as to give a temporary relief in certain diseases, and even a radical cure. de mairan, bianchini, and other respectable names, have pursued the same career. but the ancients recorded miracles! the rev. dr. mitchell, of brighthelmstone, wrote a dissertation, "_de arte medendi apud priscos, musices ope atque carminum_," printed for j. nichols, . he writes under the assumed name of michael gaspar; but whether this learned dissertator be grave or jocular, more than one critic has not been able to resolve me. i suspect it to be a satire on the parade of germanic erudition, by which they often prove a point by the weakest analogies and most fanciful conceits. amongst half-civilized nations, diseases have been generally attributed to the influence of evil spirits. the depression of mind which is generally attendant on sickness, and the delirium accompanying certain stages of disease, seem to have been considered as especially denoting the immediate influence of a demon. the effect of music in raising the energies of the mind, or what we commonly call animal spirits, was obvious to early observation. its power of attracting strong attention may in some cases have appeared to affect even those who laboured under a considerable degree of mental disorder. the accompanying depression of mind was considered as a part of the disease, perhaps rightly enough, and music was prescribed as a remedy to remove the symptom, when experience had not ascertained the probable cause. homer, whose heroes exhibit high passions, but not refined manners, represents the grecian army as employing music to stay the raging of the plague. the jewish nation, in the time of king david, appear not to have been much further advanced in civilization; accordingly we find david employed in his youth to remove the mental derangement of saul by his harp. the method of cure was suggested as a common one in those days, by saul's servants; and the success is not mentioned as a miracle. pindar, with poetic licence, speaks of Ã�sculapius healing acute disorders with soothing songs; but Ã�sculapius, whether man or deity, or between both, is a physician of the days of barbarism and fable. pliny scouts the idea that music could affect real bodily injury, but quotes homer on the subject; mentions theophrastus as suggesting a tune for the cure of the hip gout, and cato as entertaining a fancy that it had a good effect when limbs were out of joint, and likewise that varro thought it good for the gout. aulus gellius cites a work of theophrastus, which recommends music as a specific for the bite of a viper. boyle and shakspeare mention the effects of music _super vesicam_. kircher's "musurgia," and swinburne's travels, relate the effects of music on those who are bitten by the tarantula. sir w. temple seems to have given credit to the stories of the power of music over diseases. the ancients, indeed, record miracles in the tales they relate of the medicinal powers of music. a fever is removed by a song, and deafness is cured by a trumpet, and the pestilence is chased away by the sweetness of an harmonious lyre. that deaf people can hear best in a great noise, is a fact alleged by some moderns, in favour of the ancient story of curing deafness by a trumpet. dr. willis tells us, says dr. burney, of a lady who could _hear_ only while _a drum was beating_, insomuch, that her husband, the account says, hired a drummer as her servant, in order to enjoy the pleasure of her conversation. music and the sounds of instruments, says the lively vigneul de marville, contribute to the health of the body and the mind; they quicken the circulation of the blood, they dissipate vapours, and open the vessels, so that the action of perspiration is freer. he tells a story of a person of distinction, who assured him, that once being suddenly seized by violent illness, instead of a consultation of physicians, he immediately called a band of musicians; and their violins-played so well in his inside, that his bowels became perfectly in tune, and in a few hours were harmoniously becalmed. i once heard a story of farinelli, the famous singer, who was sent for to madrid, to try the effect of his magical voice on the king of spain. his majesty was buried in the profoundest melancholy; nothing could raise an emotion in him; he lived in a total oblivion of life; he sate in a darkened chamber, entirely given up to the most distressing kind of madness. the physicians ordered farinelli at first to sing in an outer room; and for the first day or two this was done, without any effect, on the royal patient. at length, it was observed, that the king, awakening from his stupor, seemed to listen; on the next day tears were seen starting in his eyes; the day after he ordered the door of his chamber to be left open--and at length the perturbed spirit entirely left our modern saul, and the _medicinal voice_ of farinelli effected what no other medicine could. i now prepare to give the reader some _facts_, which he may consider as a trial of credulity.--their authorities are, however, not contemptible.--naturalists assert that animals and birds, as well as "knotted oaks," as congreve informs us, are sensible to the charms of music. this may serve as an instance:--an officer was confined in the bastile; he begged the governor to permit him the use of his lute, to soften, by the harmonies of his instrument, the rigours of his prison. at the end of a few days, this modern orpheus, playing on his lute, was greatly astonished to see frisking out of their holes great numbers of mice, and descending from their woven habitations crowds of spiders, who formed a circle about him, while he continued breathing his soul-subduing instrument. he was petrified with astonishment. having ceased to play, the assembly, who did not come to see his person, but to hear his instrument, immediately broke up. as he had a great dislike to spiders, it was two days before he ventured again to touch his instrument. at length, having overcome, for the novelty of his company, his dislike of them, he recommenced his concert, when the assembly was by far more numerous than at first; and in the course of farther time, he found himself surrounded by a hundred _musical amateurs_. having thus succeeded in attracting this company, he treacherously contrived to get rid of them at his will. for this purpose he begged the keeper to give him a cat, which he put in a cage, and let loose at the very instant when the little hairy people were most entranced by the orphean skill he displayed. the abbé olivet has described an amusement of pelisson during his confinement in the bastile, which consisted in feeding a spider, which he had discovered forming its web in the corner of a small window. for some time he placed his flies at the edge, while his valet, who was with him, played on a bagpipe: little by little, the spider used itself to distinguish the sound of the instrument, and issued from its hole to run and catch its prey. thus calling it always by the same sound, and placing the flies at a still greater distance, he succeeded, after several months, to drill the spider by regular exercise, so that at length it never failed appearing at the first sound to seize on the fly provided for it, even on the knees of the prisoner. marville has given us the following curious anecdote on this subject. he says, that doubting the truth of those who say that the love of music is a natural taste, especially the sound of instruments, and that beasts themselves are touched by it, being one day in the country i tried an experiment. while a man was playing on the trump marine, i made my observations on a cat, a dog, a horse, an ass, a hind, cows, small birds, and a cock and hens, who were in a yard, under a window on which i was leaning. i did not perceive that the cat was the least affected, and i even judged, by her air, that she would have given all the instruments in the world for a mouse, sleeping in the sun all the time; the horse stopped short from time to time before the window, raising his head up now and then, as he was feeding on the grass; the dog continued for above an hour seated on his hind legs, looking steadfastly at the player; the ass did not discover the least indication of his being touched, eating his thistles peaceably; the hind lifted up her large wide ears, and seemed very attentive; the cows slept a little, and after gazing, as though they had been acquainted with us, went forward; some little birds who were in an aviary, and others on the trees and bushes, almost tore their little throats with singing; but the cock, who minded only his hens, and the hens, who were solely employed in scraping a neighbouring dunghill, did not show in any manner that they took the least pleasure in hearing the trump marine. a modern traveller assures us, that he has repeatedly observed in the island of madeira, that the lizards are attracted by the notes of music, and that he has assembled a number of them by the powers of his instrument. when the negroes catch them for food, they accompany the chase by whistling some tune, which has always the effect of drawing great numbers towards them. stedman, in his expedition to surinam, describes certain sibyls among the negroes, who, among several singular practices, can charm or conjure down from the tree certain serpents, who will wreath about the arms, neck, and breast of the pretended sorceress, listening to her voice. the sacred writers speak of the charming of adders and serpents; and nothing, says he, is more notorious than that the eastern indians will rid the houses of the most venomous snakes, by charming them with the sound of a flute, which calls them out of their holes. these anecdotes seem fully confirmed by sir william jones, in his dissertation on the musical modes of the hindus. "after food, when the operations of digestion and absorption give so much employment to the vessels, that a temporary state of mental repose must be found, especially in hot climates, essential to health, it seems reasonable to believe that a few agreeable airs, either heard or played without effort, must have all the good effects of sleep, and none of its disadvantages; _putting the soul in tune_, as milton says, for any subsequent exertion; an experiment often successfully made by myself. i have been assured by a credible eye-witness, that two wild antelopes used often to come from their woods to the place where a more savage beast, sirájuddaulah, entertained himself with concerts, and that they listened to the strains with an appearance of pleasure, till the monster, in whose soul there was no music, shot one of them to display his archery. a learned native told me that he had frequently seen the most venomous and malignant snakes leave their holes upon hearing tunes on a flute, which, as he supposed, gave them peculiar delight. an intelligent persian declared he had more than once been present, when a celebrated lutenist, surnamed bulbul (i.e., the nightingale), was playing to a large company, in a grove near shiraz, where he distinctly saw the nightingales trying to vie with the musician, sometimes warbling on the trees, sometimes fluttering from branch to branch, as if they wished to approach the instrument, and at length dropping on the ground in a kind of ecstacy, from which they were soon raised, he assured me, by a change in the mode." jackson of exeter, in reply to a question of dryden, "what passion cannot music raise or quell?" sarcastically returns, "what passion _can_ music raise or quell?" would not a savage, who had never listened to a musical instrument, feel certain emotions at listening to one for the first time? but civilized man is, no doubt, particularly affected by _association of ideas_, as all pieces of national music evidently prove. the ranz des vaches, mentioned by rousseau in his dictionary of music, though without anything striking in the composition, has such a powerful influence over the swiss, and impresses them with so violent a desire to return to their own country, that it is forbidden to be played in the swiss regiments, in the french service, on pain of death. there is also a scotch tune, which has the same effect on some of our north britons. in one of our battles in calabria, a bagpiper of the th highland regiment, when the light infantry charged the french, posted himself on the right, and remained in his solitary situation during the whole of the battle, encouraging the men with a famous highland charging tune; and actually upon the retreat and complete rout of the french changed it to another, equally celebrated in scotland, upon the retreat of and victory over an enemy. his next-hand neighbour guarded him so well that he escaped unhurt. this was the spirit of the "last minstrel," who infused courage among his countrymen, by possessing it in so animated a degree, and in so venerable a character. minute writing. the iliad of homer in a nutshell, which pliny says that cicero once saw, it is pretended might have been a fact, however to some it may appear impossible. Ã�lian notices an artist who wrote a distich in letters of gold, which he enclosed in the rind of a grain of corn. antiquity and modern times record many such penmen, whose glory consisted in writing in so small a hand that the writing could not be legible to the naked eye. menage mentions, he saw whole sentences which were not perceptible to the eye without the microscope; pictures and portraits which appeared at first to be lines and scratches thrown down at random; one formed the face of the dauphiness with the most correct resemblance. he read an italian poem, in praise of this princess, containing some thousand verses, written by an officer, in a space of a foot and a half. this species of curious idleness has not been lost in our own country, where this minute writing has equalled any on record. peter bales, a celebrated caligrapher in the reign of elizabeth, astonished the eyes of beholders by showing them what they could not see; for in the harleian mss. , we have a narrative of "a rare piece of work brought to pass by peter bales, an englishman, and a clerk of the chancery;" it seems by the description to have been the whole bible "in an english walnut no bigger than a hen's egg. the nut holdeth the book: there are as many leaves in his little book as the great bible, and he hath written as much in one of his little leaves as a great leaf of the bible." we are told that this wonderfully unreadable copy of the bible was "seen by many thousands." there is a drawing of the head of charles i. in the library of st. john's college, at oxford, wholly composed of minute written characters, which, at a small distance, resemble the lines of an engraving. the lines of the head, and the ruff, are said to contain the book of psalms, the creed, and the lord's prayer. in the british museum we find a drawing representing the portrait of queen anne, not much above the size of the hand. on this drawing appears a number of lines and scratches, which the librarian assures the marvelling spectator includes the entire contents of a thin _folio_, which on this occasion is carried in the hand. the learned huet asserts that, like the rest of the world, he considered as a fiction the story of that indefatigable trifler who is said to have enclosed the iliad in a nutshell. examining the matter more closely, he thought it possible. one day this learned man trifled half an hour in demonstrating it. a piece of vellum, about ten inches in length and eight in width, pliant and firm, can be folded up, and enclosed in the shell of a large walnut. it can hold in its breadth one line, which can contain verses, and in its length lines. with a crow-quill the writing can be perfect. a page of this piece of vellum will then contain verses, and the reverse as much; the whole , verses of the iliad. and this he proved by using a piece of paper, and with a common pen. the thing is possible to be effected; and if on any occasion paper should be most excessively rare, it may be useful to know that a volume of matter may be contained in a single leaf. numerical figures. the learned, after many contests, have at length agreed that the numerical figures , , , , , , , , , usually called _arabic_, are of _indian_ origin. the arabians do not pretend to have been the inventors of them, but borrowed them from the indian nations. the numeral characters of the bramins, the persians, the arabians, and other eastern nations, are similar. they appear afterwards to have been introduced into several european nations by their respective travellers, who returned from the east. they were admitted into calendars and chronicles, but they were not introduced into charters, says mr. astle, before the sixteenth century. the spaniards, no doubt, derived their use from the moors who invaded them. in , the alphonsean astronomical tables were made by the order of alphonsus x. by a jew, and an arabian; they used these numerals, from whence the spaniards contend that they were first introduced by them. they were not generally used in germany until the beginning of the fourteenth century; but in general the forms of the ciphers were not permanently fixed there till after the year . the russians were strangers to them, before peter the great had finished his travels in the beginning of the last century. the origin of these useful characters with the indians and arabians is attributed to their great skill in the arts of astronomy and of arithmetic, which required more convenient characters than alphabetic letters for the expressing of numbers. before the introduction into europe of these arabic numerals, they used alphabetical characters, or _roman numerals_. the learned authors of the nouveau traité diplomatique, the most valuable work on everything concerning the arts and progress of writing, have given some curious notices on the origin of the roman numerals. originally men counted by their fingers; thus, to mark the first four numbers they used an i, which naturally represents them. to mark the fifth, they chose a v, which is made out by bending inwards the three middle fingers, and stretching out only the thumb and the little finger; and for the tenth they used an x, which is a double v, one placed topsy-turvy under the other. from this the progression of these numbers is always from one to five, and from five to ten. the hundred was signified by the capital letter of that word in latin, c--centum. the other letters, d for , and m for a , were afterwards added. they subsequently abbreviated their characters, by placing one of these figures before another; and the figure of less value before a higher number, denotes that so much may be deducted from a greater number; for instance, iv signifies five less one, that is four; ix ten less one, that is nine; but these abbreviations are not found amongst the ancient monuments.[ ] these numerical letters are still continued by us in the accounts of our exchequer. that men counted originally by their fingers, is no improbable supposition; it is still naturally practised by the people. in semi-civilized states small stones have been used, and the etymologists derive the words _calculate_ and _calculations_ from _calculus_, the latin term for a pebble-stone, and by which they denominated their counters used for arithmetical computations. professor ward, in a learned dissertation on this subject in the philosophical transactions, concludes that it is easier to falsify the arabic ciphers than the roman alphabetical numerals; when is dated in arabic ciphers, if the is only changed into an , three centuries are taken away; if the is made into a and take away the , four hundred years are lost. such accidents have assuredly produced much confusion among our ancient manuscripts, and still do in our printed books; which is the reason that dr. robertson in his histories has also preferred writing his dates in _words_, rather than confide them to the care of a negligent printer. gibbon observes, that some remarkable mistakes have happened by the word _mil._ in mss., which is an abbreviation for _soldiers_, or for _thousands_; and to this blunder he attributes the incredible numbers of martyrdoms, which cannot otherwise be accounted for by historical records. footnotes: [footnote : a peculiar arrangement of letters was in use by the german and flemish printers of the th century. thus ci[r 'c'] denoted , and i[r 'c'], . the date would therefore be thus printed:--ci[r 'c']. i[r 'c']cxx.] english astrologers. a belief in judicial astrology can now only exist in the people, who may be said to have no belief at all; for mere traditional sentiments can hardly be said to amount to a _belief_. but a faith in this ridiculous system in our country is of late existence; and was a favourite superstition with the learned. when charles the first was confined, lilly the astrologer was consulted for the hour which would favour his escape. a story, which strongly proves how greatly charles the second was bigoted to judicial astrology, is recorded is burnet's history of his own times. the most respectable characters of the age, sir william dugdale, ellas ashmole, dr. grew, and others, were members of an astrological club. congreve's character of foresight, in love for love, was then no uncommon person, though the humour now is scarcely intelligible. dryden cast the nativities of his sons; and, what is remarkable, his prediction relating to his son charles took place. this incident is of so late a date, one might hope it would have been cleared up. in , the passion for horoscopes and expounding the stars prevailed in france among the first rank. the new-born child was usually presented naked to the astrologer, who read the first lineaments in his forehead, and the transverse lines in its hand, and thence wrote down its future destiny. catherine de medicis brought henry iv., then a child, to old nostradamus, whom antiquaries esteem more for his chronicle of provence than his vaticinating powers. the sight of the reverend seer, with a beard which "streamed like a meteor in the air," terrified the future hero, who dreaded a whipping from so grave a personage. one of these magicians having assured charles ix. that he would live as many days as he should turn about on his heels in an hour, standing on one leg, his majesty every morning performed that solemn gyration; the principal officers of the court, the judges, the chancellors, and generals, likewise, in compliment, standing on one leg and turning round! it has been reported of several famous for their astrologic skill, that they have suffered a voluntary death merely to verify their own predictions; this has been reported of _cardan_, and _burton_, the author of the anatomy of melancholy. it is curious to observe the shifts to which astrologers are put when their predictions are not verified. great _winds_ were predicted, by a famous adept, about the year . no unusual storms, however, happened. bodin, to save the reputation of the art, applied it as _figure_ to some _revolutions_ in the _state_, and of which there were instances enough at that moment. among their lucky and unlucky days, they pretend to give those of various illustrious persons and of families. one is very striking.--thursday was the unlucky day of our henry viii. he, his son edward vi., queen mary, and queen elizabeth, all died on a thursday! this fact had, no doubt, great weight in this controversy of the astrologers with their adversaries.[ ] lilly, the astrologer, is the sidrophel of butler. his life, written by himself, contains so much artless narrative, and so much palpable imposture, that it is difficult to know when he is speaking what he really believes to be the truth. in a sketch of the state of astrology in his day, those adepts, whose characters he has drawn, were the lowest miscreants of the town. they all speak of each other as rogues and impostors. such were booker, backhouse, gadbury; men who gained a livelihood by practising on the credulity of even men of learning so late as in , nor were they much out of date in the eighteenth century. in ashmole's life an account of these artful impostors may be found. most of them had taken the air in the pillory, and others had conjured themselves up to the gallows. this seems a true statement of facts. but lilly informs us, that in his various conferences with _angels_, their voices resembled that of the _irish_! the work contains anecdotes of the times. the amours of lilly with his mistress are characteristic. he was a very artful man, and admirably managed matters which required deception and invention. astrology greatly flourished in the time of the civil wars. the royalists and the rebels had their _astrologers_, as well as their _soldiers!_ and the predictions of the former had a great influence over the latter. on this subject, it may gratify curiosity to notice three or four works, which hear an excessive price. the price cannot entirely be occasioned by their rarity, and i am induced to suppose that we have still adepts, whose faith must be strong, or whose scepticism but weak. the chaldean sages were nearly put to the rout by a quarto park of artillery, fired on them by mr. john chamber, in . apollo did not use marsyas more inhumanly than his scourging pen this mystical race, and his personalities made them feel more sore. however, a norwich knight, the very quixote of astrology, arrayed in the enchanted armour of his occult authors, encountered this pagan in a most stately carousal. he came forth with "a defence of judiciall astrologye, in answer to a treatise lately published by mr. john chamber. by sir christopher heydon, knight; printed at cambridge, ." this is a handsome quarto of about pages. sir christopher is a learned writer, and a knight worthy to defend a better cause. but his dulcinea had wrought most wonderfully on his imagination. this defence of this fanciful science, if science it may be called, demonstrates nothing, while it defends everything. it confutes, according to the knight's own ideas: it alleges a few scattered facts in favour of astrological predictions, which may be picked up in that immensity of fabling which disgraces history. he strenuously denies, or ridicules, what the greatest writers have said against this fanciful art, while he lays great stress on some passages from authors of no authority. the most pleasant part is at the close, where he defends the art from the objections of mr. chamber by recrimination. chamber had enriched himself by medical practice; and when he charges the astrologers with merely aiming to gain a few beggarly pence, sir christopher catches fire, and shows by his quotations, that if we are to despise an art, by its professors attempting to subsist on it, or for the objections which may be raised against its vital principles, we ought by this argument most heartily to despise the medical science and medical men! he gives here all he can collect against physic and physicians; and from the confessions of hippocrates and galen, avicenna and agrippa, medicine appears to be a vainer science than even astrology! sir christopher is a shrewd and ingenious adversary; but when he says he means only to give mr. chamber oil for his vinegar, he has totally mistaken its quality. the defence was answered by thomas vicars, in his "madnesse of astrologers." but the great work is by lilly; and entirely devoted to the adepts. he defends nothing; for this oracle delivers his dictum, and details every event as matters not questionable. he sits on the tripod; and every page is embellished by a horoscope, which he explains with the utmost facility. this voluminous monument of the folly of the age is a quarto valued at some guineas! it is entitled, "christian astrology, modestly treated of in three books, by william lilly, student in astrology, nd edition, ." the most curious part of this work is "a catalogue of most astrological authors." there is also a portrait of this arch rogue, and astrologer: an admirable illustration for lavater![ ] lilly's opinions, and his pretended science, were such favourites with the age, that the learned gataker wrote professedly against this popular delusion. lilly, at the head of his star-expounding friends, not only formally replied to, but persecuted gataker annually in his predictions, and even struck at his ghost, when beyond the grave. gataker died in july, ; and lilly having written in his almanac of that year for the month of august this barbarous latin verse:-- _hoc in tumbo jacet presbyter et nebulo!_ here in this tomb lies a presbyter and a knave! he had the impudence to assert that he had predicted gataker's death! but the truth is, it was an epitaph like lodgings to let; it stood empty ready for the first passenger to inhabit. had any other of that party of any eminence died in that month, it would have been as appositely applied to him. but lilly was an exquisite rogue, and never at fault. having prophesied in his almanac for , that the parliament stood upon a tottering foundation, when taken up by a messenger, during the night he was confined, he contrived to cancel the page, printed off another, and showed his copies before the committee, assuring them that the others were none of his own, but forged by his enemies. footnotes: [footnote : "day fatality" was especially insisted on by these students, and is curiously noted in a folio tract, published in , particularly devoted to "remarques on the th of october, being the auspicious birth-day of his present majesty james ii.," whose author speaks of having seen in the hands of "that genera scholar, and great astrologer, e. ashmole," a manuscript in which the following barbarous monkish rhymes were inserted, noting the unlucky days of each month:-- january prima dies menses, et septima truncat ut ensis. february quarta subit mortem, prosternit tertia fortem. march primus mandentem, disrumpit quarta bibentem. april denus et undenus est mortis vulnere plenus. may tertius occidit, et septimus ora relidit. june denus pallescit, quindenus foedra nescit. july ter-decimus mactat, julii denus labefactat. august prima necat fortem prosternit secunda cohortem. september tertia septembris, et denus fert mala membris. october tertius et denus, est sicut mors alienus. november scorpius est quintus, et tertius e nece cinctus. december septimus exanguis, virosus denus et anguis. the author of this strange book fortifies his notions on "day fatality" by printing a letter from sir winstan churchill, who says, "i have made great experience of the truth of it, and have set down fryday as my own lucky day; the day on which i was born, christened, married, and i believe will be the day of my death. the day whereon i have had sundry deliverances from perils by sea and land, perils by false brethren, perils of lawsuits, &c. i was knighted (by chance unexpected of myself) on the same day, and have several good accidents happened to me on that day; and am so superstitious in the belief of its good omen, that i choose to begin any considerable action that concerns me on the same day."] [footnote : lilly was at one time a staunch adherent of the roundheads, and "read in the stars" all kinds of successes for them. his great feat was a prediction made for the month of june, --"if now we fight, a victory stealeth upon us." a fight did occur at naseby, and concluded the overthrow of the unfortunate charles the first. the words are sufficiently ambiguous; but not so much so, as many other "prophecies" of the same notable quack, happily constructed to shift with changes in events, and so be made to fit them. lilly was opposed by wharton, who saw in the stars as many good signs for the royal army; and lilly himself began to see differently as the power of cromwell waned. among the hundreds of pamphlets poured from the press in the excited days of the great civil wars in england, few are more curious than these "strange and remarkable predictions," "signs in the sky," and "warnings to england," the productions of star-gazing knaves, which "terrified our isle from its propriety."] alchymy. mrs. thomas, the corinna of dryden, in her life, has recorded one of the delusions of alchymy. an infatuated lover of this delusive art met with one who pretended to have the power of transmuting lead to gold; that is, in their language, the _imperfect_ metals to the _perfect one_. the hermetic philosopher required only the materials, and time, to perform his golden operations. he was taken, to the country residence of his patroness. a long laboratory was built, and that his labours might not be impeded by any disturbance, no one was permitted to enter into it. his door was contrived to turn on a pivot; so that, unseen and unseeing, his meals were conveyed to him without distracting the sublime meditations of the sage. during a residence of two years, he never condescended to speak but two or three times in a year to his infatuated patroness. when she was admitted into the laboratory, she saw, with pleasing astonishment, stills, cauldrons, long flues, and three or four vulcanian fires blazing at different corners of this magical mine; nor did she behold with less reverence the venerable figure of the dusty philosopher. pale and emaciated with daily operations and nightly vigils, he revealed to her, in unintelligible jargon, his progresses; and having sometimes condescended to explain the mysteries of the arcana, she beheld, or seemed to behold, streams of fluid and heaps of solid ore scattered around the laboratory. sometimes he required a new still, and sometimes vast quantities of lead. already this unfortunate lady had expended the half of her fortune in supplying the demands of the philosopher. she began now to lower her imagination to the standard of reason. two years had now elapsed, vast quantities of lead had gone in, and nothing but lead had come out. she disclosed her sentiments to the philosopher. he candidly confessed he was himself surprised at his tardy processes; but that now he would exert himself to the utmost, and that he would venture to perform a laborious operation, which hitherto he had hoped not to have been necessitated to employ. his patroness retired, and the golden visions resumed all their lustre. one day, as they sat at dinner, a terrible shriek, and one crack followed by another, loud as the report of cannon, assailed their ears. they hastened to the laboratory; two of the greatest stills had burst, and one part of the laboratory and the house were in flames. we are told that, after another adventure of this kind, this victim to alchymy, after ruining another patron, in despair swallowed poison. even more recently we have a history of an alchymist in the life of romney, the painter. this alchymist, after bestowing much time and money on preparations for the grand projection, and being near the decisive hour, was induced, by the too earnest request of his wife, to quit his furnace one evening, to attend some of her company at the tea-table. while the projector was attending the ladies, his furnace blew up! in consequence of this event, he conceived such an antipathy against his wife, that he could not endure the idea of living with her again.[ ] henry vi., evelyn observes in his numismata, endeavoured to recruit his empty coffers by _alchymy_. the _record_ of this singular proposition contains "the most solemn and serious account of the feasibility and virtues of the _philosopher's stone_, encouraging the search after it, and dispensing with all statutes and prohibitions to the contrary." this record was probably communicated by mr. selden to his beloved friend ben jonson, when the poet was writing his comedy of the alchymist. after this patent was published, many promised to answer the king's expectations so effectually, that the next year he published _another patent_; wherein he tells his subjects, that the _happy hour_ was drawing nigh, and by means of the stone, which he should soon be master of, he would pay all the debts of the nation in real _gold and silver_. the persons picked out for his new operators were as remarkable as the patent itself, being a most "miscellaneous rabble" of friars, grocers, mercers, and fishmongers! this patent was likewise granted _authoritate parliamenti_; and is given by prynne in his _aurum reginæ_, p. . alchymists were formerly called _multipliers_, although they never could _multiply_; as appears from a statute of henry iv. repealed in the preceding record. "none from henceforth shall use to _multiply_ gold or silver, or use the _craft of multiplication_; and if any the same do, he shall incur the pain of felony." among the articles charged on the protector somerset is this extraordinary one:--"you commanded _multiplication_ and _alcumestry_ to be practised, thereby _to abate the king's coin_." stowe, p. . what are we to understand? did they believe that alchymy would be so productive of the precious metals as to _abate_ the value of the coin; or does _multiplication_ refer to an arbitrary rise in the currency by order of the government? every philosophical mind must be convinced that alchymy is not an art, which some have fancifully traced to the _remotest times_; it may be rather regarded, when opposed to such a distance of time, as a modern imposture. cæsar commanded the treatises of alchymy to be burnt throughout the roman dominions: cæsar, who is not less to be admired as a philosopher than as a monarch. gibbon has this succinct passage relative to alchymy:--"the ancient books of alchymy, so liberally ascribed to pythagoras, to solomon, or to hermes, were the pious frauds of more recent adepts. the greeks were inattentive either to the use or the abuse of chemistry. in that immense register where pliny has deposited the discoveries, the arts, and the errors of mankind, there is not the least mention of the transmutations of metals; and the persecution of diocletian is the first authentic event in the history of alchymy. the conquest of egypt by the arabs diffused that vain science over the globe. congenial to the avarice of the human heart, it was studied in china, as in europe, with equal eagerness and equal success. the darkness of the middle ages ensured a favourable reception to every tale of wonder; and the revival of learning gave new vigour to hope, and suggested more specious arts to deception. philosophy, with the aid of experience, has at length banished the study of alchymy; and the present age, however desirous of riches, is content to seek them by the humbler means of commerce and industry." elias ashmole writes in his diary--"may , . my father backhouse (an astrologer who had adopted him for his son, a common practice with these men) lying sick in fleet-street, over against st. dunstan's church, and not knowing whether he should live or die, about eleven of the clock, told me in _syllables_ the true matter of the _philosopher's stone_, which he bequeathed to me as a _legacy_." by this we learn that a miserable wretch knew the art of _making gold_, yet always lived a beggar; and that ashmole really imagined he was in possession of the _syllables of a secret_! he has, however, built a curious monument of the learned follies of the last age, in his "theatrum chemicum britannicum." though ashmole is rather the historian of this vain science than an adept, it may amuse literary leisure to turn over this quarto volume, in which he has collected the works of several english alchymists, subjoining his commentary. it affords a curious specimen of rosicrucian mysteries; and ashmole relates several miraculous stories. of the philosopher's stone, he says he knows enough to hold his tongue, but not enough to speak. this stone has not only the power of transmuting any imperfect earthy matter into its utmost degree of perfection, and can convert the basest metals into gold, flints into stone, &c.; but it has still more occult virtues, when the arcana have been entered into by the choice fathers of hermetic mysteries. the vegetable stone has power over the natures of man, beast, fowls, fishes, and all kinds of trees and plants, to make them flourish and bear fruit at any time. the magical stone discovers any person wherever he is concealed; while the angelical stone gives the apparitions of angels, and a power of conversing with them. these great mysteries are supported by occasional facts, and illustrated by prints of the most divine and incomprehensible designs, which we would hope were intelligible to the initiated. it may be worth showing, however, how liable even the latter were to blunder on these mysterious hieroglyphics. ashmole, in one of his chemical works, prefixed a frontispiece, which, in several compartments, exhibited phoebus on a lion, and opposite to him a lady, who represented diana, with the moon in one hand and an arrow in the other, sitting on a crab; mercury on a tripod, with the scheme of the heavens in one hand, and his caduccus in the other. these were intended to express the materials of the stone, and the season for the process. upon the altar is the bust of a man, his head covered by an astrological scheme dropped from the clouds; and on the altar are these words, "mercuriophilus anglicus," _i.e._, the english lover of hermetic philosophy. there is a tree, and a little creature gnawing the root, a pillar adorned with musical and mathematical instruments, and another with military ensigns. this strange composition created great inquiry among the chemical sages. deep mysteries were conjectured to be veiled by it. verses were written in the highest strain of the rosicrucian language. _ashmole_ confessed he meant nothing more than a kind of _pun_ on his own name, for the tree was the _ash_, and the creature was a _mole_. one pillar tells his love of music and freemasonry, and the other his military preferment and astrological studies! he afterwards regretted that no one added a second volume to his work, from which he himself had been hindered, for the honour of the family of hermes, and "to show the world what excellent men we had once of our nation, famous for this kind of philosophy, and masters of so transcendant a secret." modern chemistry is not without a _hope_, not to say a _certainty_, of verifying the golden visions of the alchymists. dr. girtanner, of gottingen, not long ago adventured the following prophecy: "in the _nineteenth century_ the transmutation of metals will be generally known and practised. every chemist and every artist will _make gold_; kitchen utensils will be of silver, and even gold, which will contribute more than anything else to _prolong life_, poisoned at present by the oxides of copper, lead, and iron, which we daily swallow with our food." phil. mag. vol. vi., p. . this sublime chemist, though he does not venture to predict that universal _elixir_, which is to prolong life at pleasure, yet approximates to it. a chemical friend writes to me, that "the _metals_ seem to be _composite bodies_, which nature is perpetually preparing; and it may be reserved for the future researches of science to trace, and perhaps to imitate, some of these curious operations." sir humphry davy told me that he did not consider this undiscovered art an impossible thing, but which, should it ever be discovered, would certainly be useless. footnotes: [footnote : he was assisted in the art by one williamson, a watchmaker, of dalton, lancashire, with whom romney lived in constant companionship. they were partners in a furnace, and had kept the fire burning for nine months, when the contents of the crucible began to assume the yellow hue which excited all their hopes; a few moments of neglect led to the catastrophe narrated above.] titles of books. were it inquired of an ingenious writer what page of his work had occasioned him most perplexity, he would often point to the _title-page_. the curiosity which we there would excite, is, however, most fastidious to gratify. among those who appear to have felt this irksome situation, are most of our periodical writers. the "tatler" and the "spectator," enjoying priority of conception, have adopted titles with characteristic felicity; but perhaps the invention of the authors begins to fail in the "reader," the "lover," and the "theatre!" succeeding writers were as unfortunate in their titles, as their works; such are the "universal spectator," and the "lay monastery." the copious mind of johnson could not discover an appropriate title, and indeed in the first "idler" acknowledged his despair. the "rambler" was so little understood, at the time of its appearance, that a french journalist has translated it as "_le chevalier errant_;" and when it was corrected to _l'errant_, a foreigner drank johnson's health one day, by innocently addressing him by the appellation of mr. "vagabond!" the "adventurer" cannot be considered as a fortunate title; it is not appropriate to those pleasing miscellanies, for any writer is an adventurer. the "lounger," the "mirror," and even the "connoisseur," if examined accurately, present nothing in the titles descriptive of the works. as for the "world," it could only have been given by the fashionable egotism of its authors, who considered the world as merely a circuit round st. james's street. when the celebrated father of reviews, _le journal des sçavans_, was first published, the very title repulsed the public. the author was obliged in his succeeding volumes to soften it down, by explaining its general tendency. he there assures the curious, that not only men of learning and taste, but the humblest mechanic, may find a profitable amusement. an english novel, published with the title of "the champion of virtue," could find no readers; but afterwards passed through several editions under the happier invitation of "the old english baron." "the concubine," a poem by mickle, could never find purchasers, till it assumed the more delicate title of "sir martyn." as a subject of literary curiosity, some amusement may be gathered from a glance at what has been doing in the world, concerning this important portion of every book. the jewish and many oriental authors were fond of allegorical titles, which always indicate the most puerile age of taste. the titles were usually adapted to their obscure works. it might exercise an able enigmatist to explain their allusions; for we must understand by "the heart of aaron," that it is a commentary on several of the prophets. "the bones of joseph" is an introduction to the talmud. "the garden of nuts," and "the golden apples," are theological questions; and "the pomegranate with its flower," is a treatise of ceremonies, not any more practised. jortin gives a title, which he says of all the fantastical titles he can recollect is one of the prettiest. a rabbin published a catalogue of rabbinical writers, and called it _labia dormientium_, from cantic. vii. . "like the best wine of my beloved that goeth down sweetly, causing _the lips of those that are asleep to speak_." it hath a double meaning, of which he was not aware, for most of his rabbinical brethren talk very much like _men in their sleep_. almost all their works bear such titles as bread--gold--silver--roses--eyes, &c.; in a word, anything that signifies nothing. affected title-pages were not peculiar to the orientals: the greeks and the romans have shown a finer taste. they had their cornucopias, or horns of abundance--limones, or meadows--pinakidions, or tablets--pancarpes, or all sorts of fruits; titles not unhappily adapted for the miscellanists. the nine books of herodotus, and the nine epistles of Ã�schines, were respectively honoured by the name of a muse; and three orations of the latter, by those of the graces. the modern fanatics have had a most barbarous taste for titles. we could produce numbers from abroad, and at home. some works have been called, "matches lighted at the divine fire,"--and one "the gun of penitence:" a collection of passages from the fathers is called "the shop of the spiritual apothecary:" we have "the bank of faith," and "the sixpennyworth of divine spirit:" one of these works bears the following elaborate title: "some fine biscuits baked in the oven of charity, carefully conserved for the chickens of the church, the sparrows of the spirit, and the sweet swallows of salvation." sometimes their quaintness has some humour. sir humphrey lind, a zealous puritan, published a work which a jesuit answered by another, entitled "a pair of spectacles for sir humphrey lind." the doughty knight retorted, by "a case for sir humphrey lind's spectacles." some of these obscure titles have an entertaining absurdity; as "the three daughters of job," which is a treatise on the three virtues of patience, fortitude, and pain. "the innocent love, or the holy knight," is a description of the ardours of a saint for the virgin. "the sound of the trumpet," is a work on the day of judgment; and "a fan to drive away flies," is a theological treatise on purgatory. we must not write to the utter neglect of our title; and a fair author should have the literary piety of ever having "the fear of his title-page before his eyes." the following are improper titles. don matthews, chief huntsman to philip iv. of spain, entitled his book "the origin and dignity of the royal house," but the entire work relates only to hunting. de chantereine composed several moral essays, which being at a loss how to entitle, he called "the education of a prince." he would persuade the reader in his preface, that though they were not composed with a view to this subject, they should not, however, be censured for the title, as they partly related to the education of a prince. the world was too sagacious to be duped, and the author in his second edition acknowledges the absurdity, drops "the magnificent title," and calls his work "moral essays." montaigne's immortal history of his own mind, for such are his "essays," has assumed perhaps too modest a title, and not sufficiently discriminative. sorlin equivocally entitled a collection of essays, "the walks of richelieu," because they were composed at that place; "the attic nights" of aulus gellius were so called, because they were written in attica. mr. tooke, in his grammatical "diversions of purley," must have deceived many. a rhodomontade title-page was once a great favourite. there was a time when the republic of letters was over-built with "palaces of pleasure," "palaces of honour," and "palaces of eloquence;" with "temples of memory," and "theatres of human life," and "amphitheatres of providence;" "pharoses, gardens, pictures, treasures." the epistles of guevara dazzled the public eye with their splendid title, for they were called "golden epistles;" and the "golden legend" of voragine had been more appropriately entitled leaden. they were once so fond of novelty, that every book recommended itself by such titles as "a new method; new elements of geometry; the new letter writer, and the new art of cookery." to excite the curiosity of the pious, some writers employed artifices of a very ludicrous nature. some made their titles rhyming echoes; as this one of a father, who has given his works under the title of _scalæ alæ animi_; and _jesus esus novus orbis_. some have distributed them according to the measure of time, as one father nadasi, the greater part of whose works are _years_, _months_, _weeks_, _days_, and _hours_. some have borrowed their titles from the parts of the body; and others have used quaint expressions, such as--_think before you leap_--_we must all die_--_compel them to enter_. some of our pious authors appear not to have been aware that they were burlesquing religion. one massieu having written a moral explanation of the solemn anthems sung in advent, which begin with the letter o, published this work under the punning title of _la douce moelle, et la sauce friande des os savoureux de l'avent_.[ ] the marquis of carraccioli assumed the ambiguous title of _la jouissance de soi-même_. seduced by the epicurean title of self-enjoyment, the sale of the work was continual with the libertines, who, however, found nothing but very tedious essays on religion and morality. in the sixth edition the marquis greatly exults in his successful contrivance; by which means he had punished the vicious curiosity of certain persons, and perhaps had persuaded some, whom otherwise his book might never have reached. if a title be obscure, it raises a prejudice against the author; we are apt to suppose that an ambiguous title is the effect of an intricate or confused mind. baillet censures the ocean macromicrocosmic of one sachs. to understand this title, a grammarian would send an inquirer to a geographer, and he to a natural philosopher; neither would probably think of recurring to a physician, to inform one that this ambiguous title signifies the connexion which exists between the motion of the waters with that of the blood. he censures leo allatius for a title which appears to me not inelegantly conceived. this writer has entitled one of his books the _urban bees_; it is an account of those illustrious writers who flourished during the pontificate of one of the barberinis. the allusion refers to the _bees_ which were the arms of this family, and urban viii. is the pope designed. the false idea which a title conveys is alike prejudicial to the author and the reader. titles are generally too prodigal of their promises, and their authors are contemned; but the works of modest authors, though they present more than they promise, may fail of attracting notice by their extreme simplicity. in either case, a collector of books is prejudiced; he is induced to collect what merits no attention, or he passes over those valuable works whose titles may not happen to be interesting. it is related of pinelli, the celebrated collector of books, that the booksellers permitted him to remain hours, and sometimes days, in their shops to examine books before he purchased. he was desirous of not injuring his precious collection by useless acquisitions; but he confessed that he sometimes could not help being dazzled by magnificent titles, nor being mistaken by the simplicity of others, which had been chosen by the modesty of their authors. after all, many authors are really neither so vain, nor so honest, as they appear; for magnificent, or simple titles, have often been given from the difficulty of forming any others. it is too often with the titles of books, as with those painted representations exhibited by the keepers of wild beasts; where, in general, the picture itself is made more striking and inviting to the eye, than the inclosed animal is always found to be. footnotes: [footnote : religious parody seems to have carried no sense of impropriety with it to the minds of the men of the th and th centuries. luther was an adept in this art, and the preachers who followed him continued the practice. the sermons of divines in the following century often sought an attraction by quaint titles, such as--"heaven ravished"--"the blacksmith, a sermon preached at whitehall before the king," . beloe, in his _anecdotes of literature_, vol. , has recorded many of these quaint titles, among them the following:--"_the nail hit on the head_, and driven into the city and cathedral wall of norwich. by john carter, ." "_the wheel turned_ by a voice from the throne of glory. by john carter, ." "_two sticks made one_, or the excellence of unity. by matthew mead, ." "_peter's net let downe_, or the fisher and the fish, both prepared towards a blessed haven. by r. matthew, ." in the middle of the last century two religious tracts were published, one bearing the alarming title, "die and be damned," the other being termed, "a sure guide to hell." the first was levelled against the preaching of the methodists, and the title obtained from what the author asserts to be the words of condemnation then frequently applied by them to all who differed from their creed. the second is a satirical attack on the prevalent follies and vices of the day, which form the surest "guide," in the opinion of the author, to the bottomless pit.] literary follies. the greeks composed lipogrammatic works; works in which one letter of the alphabet is omitted. a lipogrammatist is a letter-dropper. in this manner tryphiodorus wrote his odyssey; he had not [greek: alpha] in his first book, nor [greek: beta] in his second; and so on with the subsequent letters one after another. this odyssey was an imitation of the lipogrammatic iliad of nestor. among other works of this kind, athenæus mentions an ode by pindar, in which he had purposely omitted the letter s; so that this inept ingenuity appears to have been one of those literary fashions which are sometimes encouraged even by those who should first oppose such progresses into the realms of nonsense. there is in latin a little prose work of fulgentius, which the author divides into twenty-three chapters, according to the order of the twenty-three letters of the latin alphabet. from a to o are still remaining. the first chapter is with out a; the second without b; the third without c; and so with the rest. there are five novels in prose of lopes de vega; the first without a, the second without e, the third without i, &c. who will attempt to verify them? the orientalists are not without this literary folly. a persian poet read to the celebrated jami a gazel of his own composition, which jami did not like: but the writer replied, it was notwithstanding a very curious sonnet, for the _letter aliff_ was not to be found in any one of the words! jami sarcastically replied, "you can do a better thing yet; take away _all the letters_ from every word you have written." to these works may be added the _ecloga de calvis_, by hugbald the monk. all the words of this silly work begin with a c. it is printed in dornavius. _pugna porcorum_; all the words beginning with a p, in the nugæ venales. _canum cum cattis certamen_; the words beginning with a c: a performance of the same kind in the same work. gregorio leti presented a discourse to the academy of the humorists at rome, throughout which he had purposely omitted the letter r, and he entitled it the exiled r. a friend having requested a copy, as a literary curiosity, for so he considered this idle performance, leti, to show that this affair was not so difficult, replied by a copious answer of seven pages, in which he had observed the same severe ostracism against the letter r! lord north, in the court of james, i., has written a set of sonnets, each of which begins with a successive letter of the alphabet. the earl of rivers, in the reign of edward iv., translated the moral proverbs of christiana of pisa, a poem of about two hundred lines, the greatest part of which he contrived to conclude with the letter e; an instance of his lordship's hard application, and the bad taste of an age which, lord orford observes, had witticisms and whims to struggle with, as well as ignorance. it has been well observed of these minute triflers, that extreme exactness is the sublime of fools, whose labours may be well called, in the language of dryden, pangs without birth, and fruitless industry. and martial says, turpe est difficiles habere nugas, et stultus labor est ineptiarum. which we may translate, 'tis a folly to sweat o'er a difficult trifle, and for silly devices invention to rifle. i shall not dwell on the wits who composed verses in the forms of hearts, wings, altars, and true-love knots; or as ben jonson describes their grotesque shapes, a pair of scissors and a comb in verse. tom nash, who loved to push the ludicrous to its extreme, in his amusing invective against the classical gabriel harvey, tells us that "he had writ verses in all kinds; in form of a pair of gloves, a pair of spectacles, and a pair of pot-hooks," &c. they are not less absurd, who expose to public ridicule the name of their mistress by employing it to form their acrostics. i have seen some of the latter where, _both sides_ and _crossways_, the name of the mistress or the patron has been sent down to posterity with eternal torture. when _one name_ is made out _four times_ in the same acrostic, the great difficulty must have been to have found words by which the letters forming the name should be forced to stand in their particular places. it might be incredible that so great a genius as boccaccio could have lent himself to these literary fashions; yet one of the most gigantic of acrostics may be seen in his works; it is a poem of fifty cantos! ginguené has preserved a specimen in his literary history of italy, vol. iii. p. . puttenham, in "the art of poesie," p. , gives several odd specimens of poems in the forms of lozenges, rhomboids, pillars, &c. puttenham has contrived to form a defence for describing and making such trifling devices. he has done more: he has erected two pillars himself to the honour of queen elizabeth; every pillar consists of a base of eight syllables, the shaft or middle of four, and the capital is equal with the base. the only difference between the two pillars consists in this; in the one "ye must read upwards," and in the other the reverse. these pillars, notwithstanding this fortunate device and variation, may be fixed as two columns in the porch of the vast temple of literary folly. it was at this period, when _words_ or _verse_ were tortured into such fantastic forms, that the trees in gardens were twisted and sheared into obelisks and giants, peacocks, or flower-pots. in a copy of verses, "to a hair of my mistress's eye-lash," the merit, next to the choice of the subject, must have been the arrangement, or the disarrangement, of the whole poem into the form of a heart. with a pair of wings many a sonnet fluttered, and a sacred hymn was expressed by the mystical triangle. _acrostics_ are formed from the initial letters of every verse; but a different conceit regulated _chronograms_, which were used to describe _dates_--the _numeral letters_, in whatever part of the word they stood, were distinguished from other letters by being written in capitals. in the following chronogram from horace, --_feriam sidera vertice_, by a strange elevation of capitals the _chronogrammatist_ compels even horace to give the year of our lord thus, --feriam sidera vertice. mdvi. the acrostic and the chronogram are both ingeniously described in the mock epic of the scribleriad.[ ] the _initial letters_ of the acrostics are thus alluded to in the literary wars:-- firm and compact, in three fair columns wove, o'er the smooth plain, the bold _acrostics_ move; _high_ o'er the rest, the towering leaders rise with _limbs gigantic_, and _superior size_.[ ] but the looser character of the _chronograms_, and the disorder in which they are found, are ingeniously sung thus:-- not thus the _looser chronograms_ prepare careless their troops, undisciplined to war; with _rank irregular, confused_ they stand, the chieftains mingling with the vulgar band. he afterwards adds others of the illegitimate race of wit:-- to join these squadrons, o'er the champaign came a numerous race of no ignoble name; _riddle_ and _rebus_, riddle's dearest son, and _false conundrum_ and _insidious pun_. _fustian_, who scarcely deigns to tread the ground, and _rondeau_, wheeling in repeated round. on their fair standards, by the wind display'd, _eggs_, _altars_, _wings_, _pipes_, _axes_, were pourtray'd. i find the origin of _bouts-rimés_, or "rhyming ends," in goujet's bib. fr. xvi. p. . one dulot, a foolish poet, when sonnets were in demand, had a singular custom of preparing the rhymes of these poems to be filled up at his leisure. having been robbed of his papers, he was regretting most the loss of three hundred sonnets: his friends were astonished that he had written so many which they had never heard. "they were _blank sonnets_," he replied; and explained the mystery by describing his _bouts-rimés_. the idea appeared ridiculously amusing; and it soon became fashionable to collect the most difficult rhymes, and fill up the lines. the _charade_ is of recent birth, and i cannot discover the origin of this species of logogriphes. it was not known in france so late as in ; in the great dictionnaire de trévoux, the term appears only as the name of an indian sect of a military character. its mystical conceits have occasionally displayed singular felicity. _anagrams_ were another whimsical invention; with the _letters_ of any _name_ they contrived to make out some entire word, descriptive of the character of the person who bore the name. these anagrams, therefore, were either satirical or complimentary. when in fashion, lovers made use of them continually: i have read of one, whose mistress's name was magdalen, for whom he composed, not only an epic under that name, but as a proof of his passion, one day he sent her three dozen of anagrams all on her lovely name. scioppius imagined himself fortunate that his adversary _scaliger_ was perfectly _sacrilege_ in all the oblique cases of the latin language; on this principle sir john _wiat_ was made out, to his own satisfaction--_a wit_. they were not always correct when a great compliment was required; the poet _john cleveland_ was strained hard to make _heliconian dew_. this literary trifle has, however, in our own times produced several, equally ingenious and caustic. verses of grotesque shapes have sometimes been contrived to convey ingenious thoughts. pannard, a modern french poet, has tortured his agreeable vein of poetry into such forms. he has made some of his bacchanalian songs to take the figures of _bottles_, and others of _glasses_. these objects are perfectly drawn by the various measures of the verses which form the songs. he has also introduced an _echo_ in his verses which he contrives so as not to injure their sense. this was practised by the old french bards in the age of marot, and this poetical whim is ridiculed by butler in his hudibras, part i. canto , verse . i give an example of these poetical echoes. the following ones are ingenious, lively, and satirical:-- pour nous plaire, un pl_umet_ _met_ tout en usage: mais on trouve sou_vent_ _vent_ dans son langage. on y voit des com_mis_ _mis_ comme des princes, après être ve_nus_ _nuds_ de leurs provinces. the poetical whim of cretin, a french poet, brought into fashion punning or equivocal rhymes. maret thus addressed him in his own way:-- l'homme, sotart, et _non sçavant_ comme un rotisseur, _qui lave oye_, la faute d'autrui, _nonce avant_, qu'il la cognoisse, ou _qu'il la voye_, &c. in these lines of du bartas, this poet imagined that he imitated the harmonious notes of the lark: "the sound" is here, however, _not_ "an echo to the sense." la gentille aloüette, avec son tirelire, tirelire, à lire, et tireliran, tire vers la voute du ciel, puis son vol vers ce lieu, vire et desire dire adieu dieu, adieu dieu. the french have an ingenious kind of nonsense verses called _amphigouries_. this word is composed of a greek adverb signifying _about_, and of a substantive signifying _a circle_. the following is a specimen, elegant in the selection of words, and what the french called richly rhymed, but in fact they are fine verses without any meaning whatever. pope's stanzas, said to be written by a _person of quality_, to ridicule the tuneful nonsense of certain bards, and which gilbert wakefield mistook for a serious composition, and wrote two pages of commentary to prove this song was disjointed, obscure, and absurd, is an excellent specimen of these _amphigouries_. amphigourie. qu'il est heureux de se defendre quand le coeur ne s'est pas rendu! mais qu'il est facheux de se rendre quand le bonheur est suspendu! par un discours sans suite et tendre, egarez un coeur éperdu; souvent par un mal-entendu l'amant adroit se fait entendre. imitated. how happy to defend our heart, when love has never thrown a dart! but ah! unhappy when it bends, if pleasure her soft bliss suspends! sweet in a wild disordered strain, a lost and wandering heart to gain! oft in mistaken language wooed, the skilful lover's understood. these verses have such a resemblance to meaning, that fontenelle, having listened to the song, imagined that he had a glimpse of sense, and requested to have it repeated. "don't you perceive," said madame tencin, "that they are _nonsense verses_?" the malicious wit retorted, "they are so much like the fine verses i have heard here, that it is not surprising i should be for once mistaken." in the "scribleriad" we find a good account of _the cento_. a cento primarily signifies a cloak made of patches. in poetry it denotes a work wholly composed of verses, or passages promiscuously taken from other authors, only disposed in a new form or order, so as to compose a new work and a new meaning. ausonius has laid down the rules to be observed in composing _cento's_. the pieces may be taken either from the same poet, or from several; and the verses may be either taken entire, or divided into two; one half to be connected with another half taken elsewhere; but two verses are never to be taken together. agreeable to these rules, he has made a pleasant nuptial _cento_ from virgil.[ ] the empress eudoxia wrote the life of jesus christ, in centos taken from homer; proba falconia from virgil. among these grave triflers may be mentioned alexander ross, who published "virgilius evangelizans, sive historia domini et salvatoris nostri jesu christi virgilianis verbis et versibus descripta." it was republished in . a more difficult whim is that of "_reciprocal verses_," which give the same words whether read backwards or forwards. the following lines by sidonius apollinaris were once infinitely admired:-- _signa te signa temere me tangis et angis. roma tibi subito motibus ibit amor._ the reader has only to take the pains of reading the lines backwards, and he will find himself just where he was after all his fatigue.[ ] capitaine lasphrise, a french self-taught poet, boasts of his inventions; among other singularities, one has at least the merit of _la difficulté vaincue_. he asserts this novelty to be entirely his own; the last word of every verse forms the first word of the following verse: falloit-il que le ciel me rendit amoureux amoureux, jouissant d'une beauté craintive, craintive à recevoir la douceur excessive, excessive au plaisir qui rend l'amant heureux; heureux si nous avions quelques paisibles lieux, lieux où plus surement l'ami fidèle arrive, arrive sans soupçon de quelque ami attentive, attentive à vouloir nous surprendre tous deux. francis colonna, an italian monk, is the author of a singular book entitled "the dream of poliphilus," in which he relates his amours with a lady of the name of polia. it was considered improper to prefix his name to the work; but being desirous of marking it by some peculiarity, that he might claim it at any distant day, he contrived that the initial letters of every chapter should be formed of those of his name, and of the subject he treats. this strange invention was not discovered till many years afterwards: when the wits employed themselves in deciphering it, unfortunately it became a source of literary altercation, being susceptible of various readings. the correct appears thus:--poliam frater franciscus columna peramavit. "brother francis colonna passionately loved polia." this gallant monk, like another petrarch, made the name of his mistress the subject of his amatorial meditations; and as the first called his laura, his laurel, this called his polia, his polita. a few years afterwards, marcellus palingenius stellatus employed a similar artifice in his zodiacus vitÃ�, "the zodiac of life:" the initial letters of the first twenty-nine verses of the first book of this poem forming his name, which curious particular was probably unknown to warton in his account of this work.--the performance is divided into twelve books, but has no reference to astronomy, which we might naturally expect. he distinguished his twelve books by the twelve names of the celestial signs, and probably extended or confined them purposely to that number, to humour his fancy. warton, however, observes, "this strange pedantic title is not totally without a _conceit_, as the author was born at _stellada_ or _stellata_, a province of ferrara, and from whence he called himself marcellus palingenius stellatus." the work itself is a curious satire on the pope and the church of rome. it occasioned bayle to commit a remarkable _literary blunder_, which i shall record in its place. of italian conceit in those times, of which petrarch was the father, with his perpetual play on words and on his _laurel_, or his mistress _laura_, he has himself afforded a remarkable example. our poet lost his mother, who died in her thirty-eighth year: he has commemorated her death by a sonnet composed of thirty-eight lines. he seems to have conceived that the exactness of the number was equally natural and tender. are we not to class among _literary follies_ the strange researches which writers, even of the present day, have made in _antediluvian_ times? forgeries of the grossest nature have been alluded to, or quoted as authorities. a _book of enoch_ once attracted considerable attention; this curious forgery has been recently translated. the sabeans pretend they possess a work written by _adam_! and this work has been _recently_ appealed to in favour of a visionary theory![ ] astle gravely observes, that "with respect to _writings_ attributed to the _antediluvians_, it seems not only decent but rational to say that we know nothing concerning them." without alluding to living writers, dr. parsons, in his erudite "remains of japhet," tracing the origin of the alphabetical character, supposes that _letters_ were known to _adam_! some, too, have noticed astronomical libraries in the ark of noah! such historical memorials are the deliriums of learning, or are founded on forgeries. hugh broughton, a writer of controversy in the reign of james the first, shows us, in a tedious discussion on scripture chronology, that rahab was a harlot at _ten_ years of age; and enters into many grave discussions concerning the _colour_ of aaron's _ephod_, and the language which _eve_ first spoke. this writer is ridiculed in ben jonson's comedies:--he is not without rivals even in the present day! covarruvias, after others of his school, discovers that when male children are born they cry out with an a, being the first vowel of the word _adam_, while the female infants prefer the letter e, in allusion to _eve_; and we may add that, by the pinch of a negligent nurse, they may probably learn all their vowels. of the pedantic triflings of commentators, a controversy among the portuguese on the works of camoens is not the least. some of these profound critics, who affected great delicacy in the laws of epic poetry, pretended to be doubtful whether the poet had fixed on the right time for a _king's dream_; whether, said they, a king should have a propitious dream on his _first going to bed_ or at the _dawn of the following morning_? no one seemed to be quite certain; they puzzled each other till the controversy closed in this felicitous manner, and satisfied both the night and the dawn critics. barreto discovered that an _accent_ on one of the words alluded to in the controversy would answer the purpose, and by making king manuel's dream to take place at the dawn would restore camoens to their good opinion, and preserve the dignity of the poet. chevreau begins his history of the world in these words:--"several learned men have examined in _what season_ god created the world, though there could hardly be any season then, since there was no sun, no moon, nor stars. but as the world must have been created in one of the four seasons, this question has exercised the talents of the most curious, and opinions are various. some say it was in the month of _nisan_, that is, in the spring: others maintain that it was in the month of _tisri_, which begins the civil year of the jews, and that it was on the _sixth day_ of this month, which answers to our _september_, that _adam_ and _eve_ were created, and that it was on a _friday_, a little after four o'clock in the afternoon!" this is according to the rabbinical notion of the eve of the sabbath. the irish antiquaries mention _public libraries_ that were before the flood; and paul christian ilsker, with profounder erudition, has given an exact catalogue of _adam's_. messieurs o'flaherty, o'connor, and o'halloran, have most gravely recorded as authentic narrations the wildest legendary traditions; and more recently, to make confusion doubly confounded, others have built up what they call theoretical histories on these nursery tales. by which species of black art they contrive to prove that an irishman is an indian, and a peruvian may be a welshman, from certain emigrations which took place many centuries before christ, and some about two centuries after the flood! keating, in his "history of ireland," starts a favourite hero in the giant partholanus, who was descended from japhet, and landed on the coast of munster th may, in the year of the world . this giant succeeded in his enterprise, but a domestic misfortune attended him among his irish friends:--his wife exposed him to their laughter by her loose behaviour, and provoked him to such a degree that he killed two favourite greyhounds; and this the learned historian assures us was the _first_ instance of female infidelity ever known in ireland! the learned, not contented with homer's poetical pre-eminence, make him the most authentic historian and most accurate geographer of antiquity, besides endowing him with all the arts and sciences to be found in our encyclopædia. even in surgery, a treatise has been written to show, by the variety of the _wounds_ of his heroes, that he was a most scientific anatomist; and a military scholar has lately told us, that from him is derived all the science of the modern adjutant and quarter-master general; all the knowledge of _tactics_ which we now possess; and that xenophon, epaminondas, philip, and alexander, owed all their warlike reputation to homer! to return to pleasanter follies. des fontaines, the journalist, who had wit and malice, inserted the fragment of a letter which the poet rousseau wrote to the younger racine whilst he was at the hague. these were the words: "i enjoy the conversation within these few days of my associates in parnassus. mr. piron is an excellent antidote against melancholy; _but_"--&c. des fontaines maliciously stopped at this _but_. in the letter of rousseau it was, "but unfortunately he departs soon." piron was very sensibly affected at this equivocal _but_, and resolved to revenge himself by composing one hundred epigrams against the malignant critic. he had written sixty before des fontaines died: but of these only two attracted any notice. towards the conclusion of the fifteenth century, antonio cornezano wrote a hundred different sonnets on one subject, "the eyes of his mistress!" to which possibly shakspeare may allude, when jaques describes a lover, with his woeful ballad, made to his mistress' eyebrow. not inferior to this ingenious trifler is nicholas franco, well known in italian literature, who employed himself in writing two hundred and eighteen satiric sonnets, chiefly on the famous peter aretin. this lampooner had the honour of being hanged at rome for his defamatory publications. in the same class are to be placed two other writers. brebeuf, who wrote one hundred and fifty epigrams against a painted lady. another wit, desirous of emulating him, and for a literary bravado, _continued_ the same subject, and pointed at this unfortunate fair three hundred more, without once repeating the thoughts of brebeuf! there is a collection of poems called "_la_ puce _des grands jours de poitiers_." "the flea of the carnival of poietiers." these poems were begun by the learned pasquier, who edited the collection, upon a flea which was found one morning in the bosom of the famous catherine des roches! not long ago, a mr. and mrs. bilderdyk, in flanders, published poems under the whimsical title of "white and red."--his own poems were called white, from the colour of his hair; and those of his lady red, in allusion to the colour of the rose. the idea must be flemish! gildon, in his "laws of poetry," commenting on this line of the duke of buckingham's "essay on poetry," nature's chief masterpiece is _writing well_: very profoundly informs his readers "that what is here said has not the least regard to the _penmanship_, that is, to the fairness or badness of the handwriting," and proceeds throughout a whole page, with a panegyric on a _fine handwriting_! the stupidity of dulness seems to have at times great claims to originality! littleton, the author of the latin and english dictionary, seems to have indulged his favourite propensity to punning so far as even to introduce a pun in the grave and elaborate work of a lexicon. a story has been raised to account for it, and it has been ascribed to the impatient interjection of the lexicographer to his scribe, who, taking no offence at the peevishness of his master, put it down in the dictionary. the article alluded to is, "concurro, to run with others; to run together; to come together; to fall foul of one another; to con-_cur,_ to con-_dog_." mr. todd, in his dictionary, has laboured to show the "inaccuracy of this pretended narrative." yet a similar blunder appears to have happened to ash. johnson, while composing his dictionary, sent a note to the gentleman's magazine to inquire the etymology of the word _curmudgeon_. having obtained the information, he records in his work the obligation to an anonymous letter-writer. "curmudgeon, a vicious way of pronouncing _coeur méchant_. an unknown correspondent." ash copied the word into his dictionary in this manner: "curmudgeon: from the french _coeur_ unknown; and _méchant_, a correspondent." this singular negligence ought to be placed in the class of our _literary blunders_; these form a pair of lexicographical anecdotes. two singular literary follies have been practised on milton. there is a _prose version_ of his "paradise lost," which was innocently _translated_ from the french version of his epic! one green published a specimen of a _new version_ of the "paradise lost" into _blank verse_! for this purpose he has utterly ruined the harmony of milton's cadences, by what he conceived to be "bringing that amazing work somewhat _nearer the summit of perfection_." a french author, when his book had been received by the french academy, had the portrait of cardinal richelieu engraved on his title-page, encircled by a crown of _forty rays_, in each of which was written the name of the celebrated _forty academicians_. the self-exaltation frequently employed by injudicious writers, sometimes places them in ridiculous attitudes. a writer of a bad dictionary, which he intended for a cyclopaedia, formed such an opinion of its extensive sale, that he put on the title-page the words "_first edition_," a hint to the gentle reader that it would not be the last. desmarest was so delighted with his "clovis," an epic poem, that he solemnly concludes his preface with a thanksgiving to god, to whom he attributes all its glory! this is like that conceited member of a french parliament, who was overheard, after his tedious harangue, muttering most devoutly to himself, "_non nobis domine_." several works have been produced from some odd coincidence with the _name of their authors_. thus, de saussay has written a folio volume, consisting of panegyrics of persons of eminence whose christian names were _andrew_; because _andrew_ was his own name. two jesuits made a similar collection of illustrious men whose christian names were _theophilus_ and _philip_, being their own. _anthony saunderus_ has also composed a treatise of illustrious _anthonies_! and we have one _buchanan_, who has written the lives of those persons who were so fortunate as to have been his namesakes. several forgotten writers have frequently been intruded on the public eye, merely through such trifling coincidences as being members of some particular society, or natives of some particular country. cordeliers have stood forward to revive the writings of duns scotus, because he had been a cordelier; and a jesuit compiled a folio on the antiquities of a province, merely from the circumstance that the founder of his order, ignatius loyola, had been born there. several of the classics are violently extolled above others, merely from the accidental circumstance of their editors having collected a vast number of notes, which they resolved to discharge on the public. county histories have been frequently compiled, and provincial writers have received a temporary existence, from the accident of some obscure individual being an inhabitant of some obscure town. on such literary follies malebranche has made this refined observation. the _critics_, standing in some way connected with _the author_, their _self-love_ inspires them, and abundantly furnishes eulogiums which the author never merited, that they may thus obliquely reflect some praise on themselves. this is made so adroitly, so delicately, and so concealed, that it is not perceived. the following are strange inventions, originating in the wilful bad taste of the authors. otto venius, the master of rubens, is the designer of _le théâtre moral de la vie humaine_. in this emblematical history of human life, he has taken his subjects from horace; but certainly his conceptions are not horatian. he takes every image in a _literal_ sense. if horace says, "_misce stultitiam_ consiliis brevem," behold, venius takes _brevis_ personally, and represents folly as a _little short child_! of not above three or four years old! in the emblem which answers horace's "_raro antecedentem scelestum deseruit_ pede poena claudo," we find punishment with _a wooden leg_.--and for "pulvis et umbra sumus," we have a dark burying vault, with _dust_ sprinkled about the floor, and a _shadow_ walking upright between two ranges of urns. for "_virtus est vitium fugere, et sapientia prima stultitiâ caruisse_," most flatly he gives seven or eight vices pursuing virtue, and folly just at the heels of wisdom. i saw in an english bible printed in holland an instance of the same taste: the artist, to illustrate "thou seest the _mote_ in thy neighbour's eye, but not the _beam_ in thine own," has actually placed an immense beam which projects from the eye of the cavalier to the ground![ ] as a contrast to the too obvious taste of venius, may be placed cesare di ripa, who is the author of an italian work, translated into most european languages, the _iconologia_; the favourite book of the age, and the fertile parent of the most absurd offspring which taste has known. ripa is as darkly subtle as venius is obvious; and as far-fetched in his conceits as the other is literal. ripa represents beauty by a naked lady, with her head in a cloud; because the true idea of beauty is hard to be conceived! flattery, by a lady with a flute in her hand, and a stag at her feet; because stags are said to love music so much, that they suffer themselves to be taken, if you play to them on a flute. fraud, with two hearts in one hand, and a mask in the other;--his collection is too numerous to point out more instances. ripa also describes how the allegorical figures are to be coloured; hope is to have a sky-blue robe, because she always looks towards heaven. enough of these _capriccios_! footnotes: [footnote : the scribleriad is a poem now scarcely known. it was a partial imitation of the dunciad written by richard owen cambridge, a scholar and man of fortune, who, in his residence at twickenham, surrounded by friends of congenial tastes, enjoyed a life of literary ease. the scribleriad is an attack on pseudo-science, the hero being a virtuoso of the most quixotic kind, who travels far to discover rarities, loves a lady with the _plica polonica_, waits three years at naples to see the eruption of vesuvius; and plays all kinds of fantastic tricks, as if in continual ridicule of _the philosophical transactions_, which are especially aimed at in the notes which accompany the poem. it achieved considerable notoriety in its own day, and is not without merit. it was published by dodsley, in , in a handsome quarto, with some good engravings by boitard.] [footnote : thomas jordan, a poet of the time of charles ii., has the following specimen of a double acrostic, which must have occupied a large amount of labour. he calls it "a cross acrostick on two crost lovers." the man's name running through from top to bottom, and the female's the contrary way of the poem. though crost in our affections, still the flames of honour shall secure our noble names; nor shall our fate divorce our faith, or cause the least mislike of love's diviner lawes. crosses sometimes are cures, now let us prove, that no strength shall abate the power of love: honour, wit, beauty, riches, wise men call frail fortune's badges, in true love lies all. therefore to him we yield, our vowes shall be paid--read, and written in eternity: that all may know when men grant no redress, much love can sweeten the unhappiness.] [footnote : the following example, barbarously made up in this way from passages in the Ã�neid and the georgics, is by stephen de pleurre, and describes the adoration of the magi. the references to each half line of the originals are given, the central cross marks the length of each quotation. tum reges---- Ã� · . externi veniunt x quæ cuiq; est copia læti. Ã� · . Ã� · . munera portantes x molles sua tura sabæi. g · . Ã� · . dona dehinc auro gravia x myrrhaque madentes. Ã� · . Ã� · . agnovere deum regum x regumque parentum. Ã� · . g · . mutavere vias x perfectis ordine votis. Ã� · .] [footnote : the old poet, gascoigne, composed one of the longest english specimens, which he says gave him infinite trouble. it is as follows:-- "lewd did i live, evil i did dwel."] [footnote : we need feel little wonder at this when "the book of mormon" could be fabricated in our own time, and, with abundant evidence of that fact, yet become the gospel of a very large number of persons.] [footnote : there are several instances of this ludicrous literal representation. daniel hopfer, a german engraver of the th century, published a large print of this subject; the scene is laid in the interior of a gothic church, and _the beam_ is a solid squared piece of timber, reaching from the eye of the man to the walls of the building. this peculiar mode of treating the subject may be traced to the earliest picture-books--thus the _ars memorandi_, a block-book of the early part of the th century, represents this figure of speech by a piece of timber transfixing a human eye.] literary controversy. in the article milton, i had occasion to give some strictures on the asperity of literary controversy, drawn from his own and salmasius's writings. if to some the subject has appeared exceptionable, to me, i confess, it seems useful, and i shall therefore add some other particulars; for this topic has many branches. of the following specimens the grossness and malignity are extreme; yet they were employed by the first scholars in europe. martin luther was not destitute of genius, of learning, or of eloquence; but his violence disfigured his works with singularities of abuse. the great reformer of superstition had himself all the vulgar ones of his day; he believed that flies were devils; and that he had had a buffeting with satan, when his left ear felt the prodigious beating. hear him express himself on the catholic divines: "the papists are all asses, and will always remain asses. put them in whatever sauce you choose, boiled, roasted, baked, fried, skinned, beat, hashed, they are always the same asses." gentle and moderate, compared with a salute to his holiness:--"the pope was born out of the devil's posteriors. he is full of devils, lies, blasphemies, and idolatries; he is anti-christ; the robber of churches; the ravisher of virgins; the greatest of pimps; the governor of sodom, &c. if the turks lay hold of us, then we shall be in the hands of the devil; but if we remain with the pope, we shall be in hell.--what a pleasing sight would it be to see the pope and the cardinals hanging on one gallows in exact order, like the seals which dangle from the bulls of the pope! what an excellent council would they hold under the gallows!"[ ] sometimes, desirous of catching the attention of the vulgar, luther attempts to enliven his style by the grossest buffooneries: "take care, my little popa! my little ass! go on slowly: the times are slippery: this year is dangerous: if them fallest, they will exclaim, see! how our little pope is spoilt!" it was fortunate for the cause of the reformation that the violence of luther was softened in a considerable degree by the meek melancthon, who often poured honey on the sting inflicted by the angry wasp. luther was no respecter of kings; he was so fortunate, indeed, as to find among his antagonists a crowned head; a great good fortune for an obscure controversialist, and the very _punctum saliens_ of controversy. our henry viii. wrote his book against the new doctrine: then warm from scholastic studies, henry presented leo x. with a work highly creditable to his abilities, according to the genius of the age. collier, in his ecclesiastical history, has analysed the book, and does not ill describe its spirit: "henry seems superior to his adversary in the vigour and propriety of his style, in the force of his reasoning, and the learning of his citations. it is true he leans _too much_ upon his character, argues in his _garter-robes_, and writes as 'twere with his _sceptre_." but luther in reply abandons his pen to all kinds of railing and abuse. he addresses henry viii. in the following style: "it is hard to say if folly can be more foolish, or stupidity more stupid, than is the head of henry. he has not attacked me with the heart of a king, but with the impudence of a knave. this rotten worm of the earth having blasphemed the majesty of my king, i have a just right to bespatter his english majesty with his own dirt and ordure. this henry has lied." some of his original expressions to our henry viii. are these: "stulta, ridicula, et verissimè _henricicana_ et _thomastica_ sunt hæc--regem angliæ henricum istum planè mentiri, &c.--hoc agit inquietus satan, ut nos a scripturis avocet per _sceleratos henricos_," &c.--he was repaid with capital and interest by an anonymous reply, said to have been written by sir thomas more, who concludes his arguments by leaving luther in language not necessary to translate: "cum suis furiis et furoribus, cum suis merdis et stercoribus cacantem cacatumque." such were the vigorous elegancies of a controversy on the seven sacraments! long after, the court of rome had not lost the taste of these "bitter herbs:" for in the bull of the canonization of ignatius loyola in august, , luther is called _monstrum teterrimum et detestabilis pestis_. calvin was less tolerant, for he had no melancthon! his adversaries are never others than knaves, lunatics, drunkards and assassins! sometimes they are characterised by the familiar appellatives of bulls, asses, cats, and hogs! by him catholic and lutheran are alike hated. yet, after having given vent to this virulent humour, he frequently boasts of his mildness. when he reads over his writings, he tells us, that he is astonished at his forbearance; but this, he adds, is the duty of every christian! at the same time, he generally finishes a period with--"do you hear, you dog?" "do you hear, madman?" beza, the disciple of calvin, sometimes imitates the luxuriant abuse of his master. when he writes against tillemont, a lutheran minister, he bestows on him the following titles of honour:--"polyphemus; an ape; a great ass, who is distinguished from other asses by wearing a hat; an ass on two feet; a monster composed of part of an ape and wild ass; a villain who merits hanging on the first tree we find." and beza was, no doubt, desirous of the office of executioner! the catholic party is by no means inferior in the felicities of their style. the jesuit raynaud calls erasmus the "batavian buffoon," and accuses him of nourishing the egg which luther hatched. these men were alike supposed by their friends to be the inspired regulators of religion![ ] bishop bedell, a great and good man, respected even by his adversaries, in an address to his clergy, observes, "our calling is to deal with errors, not to disgrace the man with scolding words. it is said of alexander, i think, when he overheard one of his soldiers railing lustily against darius his enemy, that he reproved him, and added, "friend, i entertain thee to fight against darius, not to revile him;" and my sentiments of treating the catholics," concludes bedell, "are not conformable to the practice of luther and calvin; but they were but men, and perhaps we must confess they suffered themselves to yield to the violence of passion." the fathers of the church were proficients in the art of abuse, and very ingeniously defended it. st. austin affirms that the most caustic personality may produce a wonderful effect, in opening a man's eyes to his own follies. he illustrates his position with a story, given with great simplicity, of his mother saint monica with her maid. saint monica certainly would have been a confirmed drunkard, had not her maid timelily and outrageously abused her. the story will amuse.--"my mother had by little and little accustomed herself to relish wine. they used to send her to the cellar, as being one of the soberest in the family: she first sipped from the jug and tasted a few drops, for she abhorred wine, and did not care to drink. however, she gradually accustomed herself, and from sipping it on her lips she swallowed a draught. as people from the smallest faults insensibly increase, she at length liked wine, and drank bumpers. but one day being alone with the maid who usually attended her to the cellar, they quarrelled, and the maid bitterly reproached her with being a _drunkard_! that _single word_ struck her so poignantly that it opened her understanding; and reflecting on the deformity of the vice, she desisted for ever from its use." to jeer and play the droll, or, in his own words, _de bouffonner_, was a mode of controversy the great arnauld defended, as permitted by the writings of the holy fathers. it is still more singular, when he not only brings forward as an example of this ribaldry, elijah _mocking_ at the false divinities, but _god_ himself _bantering_ the first man after his fall. he justifies the injurious epithets which he has so liberally bestowed on his adversaries by the example of jesus christ and the apostles! it was on these grounds also that the celebrated pascal apologised for the invectives with which he has occasionally disfigured his provincial letters. a jesuit has collected "an alphabetical catalogue of the names of _beasts_ by which the fathers characterised the heretics!" it may be found in _erotemata de malis ac bonis libris_, p. , to. , of father kaynaud. this list of brutes and insects, among which are a vast variety of serpents, is accompanied by the names of the heretics designated! henry fitzsermon, an irish jesuit, was imprisoned for his papistical designs and seditious preaching. during his confinement he proved himself to be a great amateur of controversy. he said, "he felt like a _bear_ tied to a stake, and wanted somebody to _bait_ him." a kind office, zealously undertaken by the learned _usher_, then a young man. he _engaged to dispute_ with him _once a week_ on the subject of _antichrist_! they met several times. it appears that _our bear_ was out-worried, and declined any further _dog-baiting_. this spread an universal joy through the protestants in dublin. at the early period of the reformation, dr. smith of oxford abjured papistry, with the hope of retaining his professorship, but it was given to peter martyr. on this our doctor recants, and writes several controversial works against peter martyr; the most curious part of which is the singular mode adopted of attacking others, as well as peter martyr. in his margin he frequently breaks out thus: "let hooper read this!"--"here, ponet, open your eyes and see your errors!"--"ergo, cox, thou art damned!" in this manner, without expressly writing against these persons, the stirring polemic contrived to keep up a sharp bush-fighting in his margins. such was the spirit of those times, very different from our own. when a modern bishop was just advanced to a mitre, his bookseller begged to re-publish a popular theological tract of his against another bishop, because he might now meet him on equal terms. my lord answered--"mr.----, no more controversy now!" our good bishop resembled baldwin, who from a simple monk, arrived to the honour of the see of canterbury. the successive honours successively changed his manners. urban the second inscribed his brief to him in this concise description--_balduino monastico ferventissimo, abbati calido, episcopo tepido, archiepiscopo remisso_! on the subject of literary controversies, we cannot pass over the various sects of the scholastics: a volume might be compiled of their ferocious wars, which in more than one instance were accompanied by stones and daggers. the most memorable, on account of the extent, the violence, and duration of their contests, are those of the nominalists and the realists. it was a most subtle question assuredly, and the world thought for a long while that their happiness depended on deciding, whether universals, that is _genera_, have a real essence, and exist independent of particulars, that is _species_:--whether, for instance, we could form an idea of asses, prior to individual asses? roscelinus, in the eleventh century, adopted the opinion that universals have no real existence, either before or in individuals, but are mere names and words by which the kind of individuals is expressed; a tenet propagated by abelard, which produced the sect of _nominalists_. but the _realists_ asserted that universals existed independent of individuals,--though they were somewhat divided between the various opinions of plato and aristotle. of the realists the most famous were thomas aquinas and duns scotus. the cause of the nominalists was almost desperate, till occam in the fourteenth century revived the dying embers. louis xi. adopted the nominalists, and the nominalists flourished at large in france and germany; but unfortunately pope john xxiii. patronised the realists, and throughout italy it was dangerous for a nominalist to open his lips. the french king wavered, and the pope triumphed; his majesty published an edict in , in which he silenced for ever the nominalists, and ordered their books to be fastened up in their libraries with iron chains, that they might not be read by young students! the leaders of that sect fled into england and germany, where they united their forces with luther and the first reformers. nothing could exceed the violence with which these disputes were conducted. vives himself, who witnessed the contests, says that, "when the contending parties had exhausted their stock of verbal abuse, they often came to blows; and it was not uncommon in these quarrels about _universals_, to see the combatants engaging not only with their fists, but with clubs and swords, so that many have been wounded and some killed." on this war of words, and all this terrifying nonsense john of salisbury observes, "that there had been more time consumed than the cæsars had employed in making themselves masters of the world; that the riches of croesus were inferior to the treasures that had been exhausted in this controversy; and that the contending parties, after having spent their whole lives in this single point, had neither been so happy as to determine it to their satisfaction, nor to find in the labyrinths of science where they had been groping any discovery that was worth the pains they had taken." it may be added that ramus having attacked aristotle, for "teaching us chimeras," all his scholars revolted; the parliament put a stop to his lectures, and at length having brought the matter into a law court, he was declared "to be insolent and daring"--the king proscribed his works, he was ridiculed on the stage, and hissed at by his scholars. when at length, during the plague, he opened again his schools, he drew on himself a fresh storm by reforming the pronunciation of the letter q, which they then pronounced like k--kiskis for quisquis, and kamkam for quamquam. this innovation was once more laid to his charge: a new rebellion! and a new ejection of the anti-aristotelian! the brother of that gabriel harvey who was the friend of spenser, and with gabriel had been the whetstone of the town-wits of his time, distinguished himself by his wrath against the stagyrite. after having with gabriel predicted an earthquake, and alarmed the kingdom, which never took place (that is the earthquake, not the alarm), the wits buffeted him. nash says of him, that "tarlton at the theatre made jests of him, and elderton consumed his ale-crammed nose to nothing, in bear-baiting him with whole bundles of ballads." marlow declared him to be "an ass fit only to preach of the iron age." stung to madness by this lively nest of hornets, he avenged himself in a very cowardly manner--he attacked aristotle himself! for he set _aristotle_ with his _heels upwards_ on the school gates at cambridge, and with _asses' ears_ on his head! but this controversy concerning aristotle and the school divinity was even prolonged. a professor in the college at naples published in four volumes of peripatetic philosophy, to establish the principles of aristotle. the work was exploded, and he wrote an abusive treatise under the _nom de guerre_ of benedetto aletino. a man of letters, constantino grimaldi, replied. aletino rejoined; he wrote letters, an apology for the letters, and would have written more for aristotle than aristotle himself perhaps would have done. however, grimaldi was no ordinary antagonist, and not to be outwearied. he had not only the best of the argument, but he was resolved to tell the world so, as long as the world would listen. whether he killed off father benedictus, the first author, is not affirmed; but the latter died during the controversy. grimaldi, however, afterwards pursued his ghost, and buffeted the father in his grave. this enraged the university of naples; and the jesuits, to a man, denounced grimaldi to pope benedict xiii. and to the viceroy of naples. on this the pope issued a bull prohibiting the reading of grimaldi's works, or keeping them, under pain of excommunication; and the viceroy, more active than the bull, caused all the copies which were found in the author's house to be thrown _into the sea_! the author with tears in his eyes beheld his expatriated volumes, hopeless that their voyage would have been successful. however, all the little family of the grimaldis were not drowned--for a storm arose, and happily drove ashore many of the floating copies, and these falling into charitable hands, the heretical opinions of poor grimaldi against aristotle and school divinity were still read by those who were not out-terrified by the pope's bulls. the _salted_ passages were still at hand, and quoted with a double zest against the jesuits! we now turn to writers whose controversy was kindled only by subjects of polite literature. the particulars form a curious picture of the taste of the age. "there is," says joseph scaliger, that great critic and reviler, "an art of abuse or slandering, of which those that are ignorant may be said to defame others much less than they show a willingness to defame." "literary wars," says bayle, "are sometimes as lasting as they are terrible." a disputation between two great scholars was so interminably violent, that it lasted thirty years! he humorously compares its duration to the german war which lasted as long. baillet, when he refuted the sentiments of a certain author always did it without naming him; but when he found any observation which, he deemed commendable, he quoted his name. bayle observes, that "this is an excess of politeness, prejudicial to that freedom which should ever exist in the republic of letters; that it should be allowed always to name those whom we refute; and that it is sufficient for this purpose that we banish asperity, malice, and indecency." after these preliminary observations, i shall bring forward various examples where this excellent advice is by no means regarded. erasmus produced a dialogue, in which he ridiculed those scholars who were servile imitators of cicero; so servile, that they would employ no expression but what was found in the works of that writer; everything with them was ciceronianised. this dialogue is written with great humour. julius cæsar scaliger, the father, who was then unknown to the world, had been long looking for some occasion to distinguish himself; he now wrote a defence of cicero, but which in fact was one continued invective against erasmus: he there treats the latter as illiterate, a drunkard, an impostor, an apostate, a hangman, a demon hot from hell! the same scaliger, acting on the same principle of distinguishing himself at the cost of others, attacked cardan's best work _de subtilitate_: his criticism did not appear till seven years after the first edition of the work, and then he obstinately stuck to that edition, though cardan had corrected it in subsequent ones; but this scaliger chose, that he might have a wider field for his attack. after this, a rumour spread that cardan had died of vexation from julius cæsar's invincible pen; then scaliger pretended to feel all the regret possible for a man he had killed, and whom he now praised: however, his regret had as little foundation as his triumph; for cardan outlived scaliger many years, and valued his criticisms too cheaply to have suffered them to have disturbed his quiet. all this does not exceed the _invectives_ of poggius, who has thus entitled several literary libels composed against some of his adversaries, laurentius valla, philelphus, &c., who returned the poisoned chalice to his own lips; declamations of scurrility, obscenity, and calumny! scioppius was a worthy successor of the scaligers: his favourite expression was, that he had trodden down his adversary. scioppius was a critic, as skilful as salmasius or scaliger, but still more learned in the language of abuse. this cynic was the attila of authors. he boasted that he had occasioned the deaths of casaubon and scaliger. detested and dreaded as the public scourge, scioppius, at the close of his life, was fearful he should find no retreat in which he might be secure. the great casaubon employs the dialect of st. giles's in his furious attacks on the learned dalechamps, the latin translator of athenæus. to this great physician he stood more deeply indebted than he chose to confess; and to conceal the claims of this literary creditor, he called out _vesanum!_ _insanum!_ _tiresiam!_ &c. it was the fashion of that day with the ferocious heroes of the literary republic, to overwhelm each other with invectives, and to consider that their own grandeur consisted in the magnitude of their volumes; and their triumphs in reducing their brother giants into puny dwarfs. in science, linnæus had a dread of controversy--conqueror or conquered we cannot escape without disgrace! mathiolus would have been the great man of his day, had he not meddled with such matters. who is gratified by "the mad cornarus," or "the flayed fox?" titles which fuchsius and cornarus, two eminent botanists, have bestowed on each other. some who were too fond of controversy, as they grew wiser, have refused to take up the gauntlet. the heat and acrimony of verbal critics have exceeded description. their stigmas and anathemas have been long known to bear no proportion to the offences against which they have been directed. "god confound you," cried one grammarian to another, "for your theory of impersonal verbs!" there was a long and terrible controversy formerly, whether the florentine dialect was to prevail over the others. the academy was put to great trouble, and the anti-cruscans were often on the point of annulling this supremacy; _una mordace scritura_ was applied to one of these literary canons; and in a letter of those times the following paragraph appears:--"pescetti is preparing to give a second answer to beni, which will not please him; i now believe the prophecy of cavalier tedeschi will be verified, and that this controversy, begun with pens, will end with poniards!" fabretti, an italian, wrote furiously against gronovius, whom he calls _grunnovius_: he compared him to all those animals whose voice was expressed by the word _grunnire, to grunt_. gronovius was so malevolent a critic, that he was distinguished by the title of the "grammatical cur." when critics venture to attack the person as well as the performance of an author, i recommend the salutary proceedings of huberus, the writer of an esteemed universal history. he had been so roughly handled by perizonius, that he obliged him to make the _amende honorable_ in a court of justice; where, however, i fear an english jury would give the smallest damages. certain authors may be distinguished by the title of literary bobadils, or fighting authors. one of our own celebrated writers drew his sword on a reviewer; and another, when his farce was condemned, offered to fight any one of the audience who hissed. scudery, brother of the celebrated mademoiselle scudery, was a true parnassian bully. the first publication which brought him into notice was his edition of the works of his friend theophile. he concludes the preface with these singular expressions--"i do not hesitate to declare, that, amongst all the dead, and all the living, there is no person who has anything to show that approaches the force of this vigorous genius; but if amongst the latter, any one were so extravagant as to consider that i detract from his imaginary glory, to show him that i fear as little as i esteem him, this is to inform him that my name is "de scudery." a similar rhodomontade is that of claude trellon, a poetical soldier, who begins his poems by challenging the critics, assuring them that if any one attempts to censure him, he will only condescend to answer sword in hand. father macedo, a portuguese jesuit, having written against cardinal noris, on the monkery of st. austin, it was deemed necessary to silence both parties. macedo, compelled to relinquish the pen, sent his adversary a challenge, and according to the laws of chivalry, appointed a place for meeting in the wood of boulogne. another edict forbad the duel! macedo then murmured at his hard fate, which would not suffer him, for the sake of st. austin, for whom he had a particular regard, to spill either his _ink_ or his _blood_. anti, prefixed to the name of the person attacked, was once a favourite title to books of literary controversy. with a critical review of such books baillet has filled a quarto volume; yet such was the abundant harvest, that he left considerable gleanings for posterior industry. anti-gronovius was a book published against gronovius, by kuster. perizonius, another pugilist of literature, entered into this dispute on the subject of the Ã�s grave of the ancients, to which kuster had just adverted at the close of his volume. what was the consequence? dreadful!--answers and rejoinders from both, in which they bespattered each other with the foulest abuse. a journalist pleasantly blames this acrimonious controversy. he says, "to read the pamphlets of a perizonius and a kuster on the Ã�s grave of the ancients, who would not renounce all commerce with antiquity? it seems as if an agamemnon and an achilles were railing at each other. who can refrain from laughter, when one of these commentators even points his attacks at the very name of his adversary? according to kuster, the name of perizonius signifies a _certain part_ of the human body. how is it possible, that with such a name he could be right concerning the Ã�s grave? but does that of kuster promise a better thing, since it signifies a beadle; a man who drives dogs out of churches?--what madness is this!" corneille, like our dryden, felt the acrimony of literary irritation. to the critical strictures of d'aubignac it is acknowledged he paid the greatest attention, for, after this critic's _pratique du théâtre_ appeared, his tragedies were more artfully conducted. but instead of mentioning the critic with due praise, he preserved an ungrateful silence. this occasioned a quarrel between the poet and the critic, in which the former exhaled his bile in several abusive epigrams, which have, fortunately for his credit, not been preserved in his works. the lively voltaire could not resist the charm of abusing his adversaries. we may smile when he calls a blockhead, a blockhead; a dotard, a dotard; but when he attacks, for a difference of opinion, the _morals_ of another man, our sensibility is alarmed. a higher tribunal than that of criticism is to decide on the _actions_ of men. there is a certain disguised malice, which some writers have most unfairly employed in characterising a contemporary. burnet called prior, _one prior_. in bishop parker's history of his own times, an innocent reader may start at seeing the celebrated marvell described as an outcast of society; an infamous libeller; and one whose talents were even more despicable than his person. to such lengths did the hatred of party, united with personal rancour, carry this bishop, who was himself the worst of time-servers. he was, however, amply paid by the keen wit of marvell in "the rehearsal transposed," which may still be read with delight, as an admirable effusion of banter, wit, and satire. le clerc, a cool ponderous greek critic, quarrelled with boileau about a passage in longinus, and several years afterwards, in revising moreri's dictionary, gave a short sarcastic notice of the poet's brother; in which he calls him the elder brother of _him who has written the book entitled, "satires of mr. boileau despréaux_!"--the works of the modern horace, which were then delighting europe, he calls, with simple impudence, "a book entitled satires!" the works of homer produced a controversy, both long and virulent, amongst the wits of france. this literary quarrel is of some note in the annals of literature, since it has produced two valuable books; la motte's "réflexions sur la critique," and madame dacier's "des causes de la corruption du goût." la motte wrote with feminine delicacy, and madame dacier like a university pedant. "at length, by the efforts of valincour, the friend of art, of artists, and of peace, the contest was terminated." both parties were formidable in number, and to each he made remonstrances, and applied reproaches. la motte and madame dacier, the opposite leaders, were convinced by his arguments, made reciprocal concessions, and concluded a peace. the treaty was formally ratified at a dinner, given on the occasion by a madame de staël, who represented "neutrality." libations were poured to the memory of old homer, and the parties were reconciled. footnotes: [footnote : caricaturists were employed on both sides of the question, and by pictures as well as words the war of polemics was vigorously carried on. in one instance, the head of luther is represented as the devil's bagpipe; he blows into his ear, and uses his nose as a chanter. cocleus, in one of his tracts, represents luther as a monster with seven heads, indicative of his follies; the first is that of a disputatious doctor, the last that of barabbas! luther replied in other pamphlets, adorned with equally gross delineations levelled at his opponents.] [footnote : bishop percy's _reliques of ancient english poetry_ will furnish an example of the coarseness of invective used by both parties during the era of the reformation; in such rhymes as "plain truth and blind ignorance"--"a ballad of luther and the pope," &c. the old interlude of "newe custome," printed in dodsley's _old plays_; and that of "lusty juventus," in hawkins's _english drama_, are choice specimens of the vulgarest abuse. bishop bale in his play of _king john_ (published in by the camden society), indulges in a levity and coarseness that would not now be tolerated in an alehouse--"stynkyng heretic" on one side, and "vile popysh swyne" on the other, are among the mildest epithets used in these religious satires. one of the most curious is a dialogue between john bon, a husbandman, and "master parson" of his parish, on the subject of transubstantiation; it was so violent in its style as to threaten great trouble to author and printer (see strype's _ecclesiastical memorials_). it may be seen in vol. xxx. of the percy society's publications.] literary blunders. when dante published his "inferno," the simplicity of the age accepted it as a true narrative of his descent into hell. when the utopia of sir thomas more was first published, it occasioned a pleasant mistake. this political romance represents a perfect, but visionary republic, in an island supposed to have been newly discovered in america. "as this was the age of discovery," says granger, "the learned budæus, and others, took it for a genuine history; and considered it as highly expedient, that missionaries should be sent thither, in order to convert so wise a nation to christianity." it was a long while after publication that many readers were convinced that gulliver's travels were fictitious.[ ] but the most singular blunder was produced by the ingenious "hermippus redivivus" of dr. campbell, a curious banter on the hermetic philosophy, and the universal medicine; but the grave irony is so closely kept up, that it deceived for a length of time the most learned. his notion of the art of prolonging life, by inhaling the breath of young women, was eagerly credited. a physician, who himself had composed a treatise on health, was so influenced by it, that he actually took lodgings at a female boarding-school, that he might never be without a constant supply of the breath of young ladies. mr. thicknesse seriously adopted the project. dr. kippis acknowledged that after he had read the work in his youth, the reasonings and the facts left him several days in a kind of fairy land. i have a copy with manuscript notes by a learned physician, who seems to have had no doubts of its veracity. after all, the intention of the work was long doubtful; till dr. campbell assured a friend it was a mere jeu-d'esprit; that bayle was considered as standing without a rival in the art of treating at large a difficult subject, without discovering to which side his own sentiments leaned: campbell had read more uncommon books than most men, and wished to rival bayle, and at the same time to give many curious matters little known. palavicini, in his history of the council of trent, to confer an honour on m. lansac, ambassador of charles ix. to that council, bestows on him a collar of the order of saint esprit; but which order was not instituted till several years afterwards by henry iii. a similar voluntary blunder is that of surita, in his _annales de la corona de aragon_. this writer represents, in the battles he describes, many persons who were not present; and this, merely to confer honour on some particular families. fabiana, quoting a french narrative of travels in italy, took for the name of the author the words, found at the end of the title-page, _enrichi de deux listes_; that is, "enriched with two lists:" on this he observes, "that mr. enriched with two lists has not failed to do that justice to ciampini which he merited."[ ] the abridgers of gesner's bibliotheca ascribe the romance of amadis to one _acuerdo olvido_; remembrance, oblivion; mistaking the french translator's spanish motto on the title-page for the name of the author. d'aquin, the french king's physician, in his memoir on the preparation of bark, takes _mantissa_, which is the title of the appendix to the history of plants, by johnstone, for the name of an author, and who, he says, is so extremely rare, that he only knows him by name. lord bolingbroke imagined, that in those famous verses, beginning with _excudent alii_, &c., virgil attributed to the romans the glory of having surpassed the greeks in historical composition: according to his idea, those roman historians whom virgil preferred to the grecians were sallust, livy, and tacitus. but virgil died before livy had written his history, or tacitus was born. an honest friar, who compiled a church history, has placed in the class of ecclesiastical writers guarini, the italian poet, on the faith of the title of his celebrated amorous pastoral, _il pastor fido_, "the faithful shepherd;" our good father imagined that the character of a curate, vicar, or bishop, was represented in this work. a blunder has been recorded of the monks in the dark ages, which was likely enough to happen when their ignorance was so dense. a rector of a parish going to law with his parishioners about paving the church, quoted this authority from st. peter--_paveant illi, non paveam ego_; which he construed, _they are to pave the church, not i_. this was allowed to be good law by a judge, himself an ecclesiastic too. one of the grossest literary blunders of modern times is that of the late gilbert wakefield, in his edition of pope. he there takes the well-known "song by a person of quality," which is a piece of ridicule on the glittering tuneful nonsense of certain poets, as a serious composition. in a most copious commentary, he proves that every line seems unconnected with its brothers, and that the whole reflects disgrace on its author! a circumstance which too evidently shows how necessary the knowledge of modern literary history is to a modern commentator, and that those who are profound in verbal greek are not the best critics on english writers. the abbé bizot, the author of the medallic history of holland, fell into a droll mistake. there is a medal, struck when philip ii. set forth his _invincible armada_, on which are represented the king of spain, the emperor, the pope, electors, cardinals, &c., with their eyes covered with a bandage, and bearing for inscription this fine verse of lucretius:-- o cæcas hominum menteis! o pectora cæca! the abbé, prepossessed with the prejudice that a nation persecuted by the pope and his adherents could not represent them without some insult, did not examine with sufficient care the ends of the bandages which covered the eyes and waved about the heads of the personages represented on this medal: he rashly took them for _asses' ears_, and as such they are engraved! mabillon has preserved a curious literary blunder of some pious spaniards, who applied to the pope for consecrating a day in honour of _saint viar_. his holiness, in the voluminous catalogue of his saints, was ignorant of this one. the only proof brought forward for his existence was this inscription:-- s. viar. an antiquary, however, hindered one more festival in the catholic calendar, by convincing them that these letters were only the remains of an inscription erected for an ancient surveyor of the roads; and he read their saintship thus:-- prÃ�fectus viarum. maffei, in his comparison between medals and inscriptions, detects a literary blunder in spon, who, meeting with this inscription, maximo vi consule takes the letters vi for numerals, which occasions a strange anachronism. they are only contractions of _viro illustri_--v i. as absurd a blunder was this of dr. stukeley on the coins of carausius; finding a battered one with a defaced inscription of fortvna avg. he read it orivna avg. and sagaciously interpreting this to be the _wife_ of carausius, makes a new personage start up in history; he contrives even to give some _theoretical memoirs_ of the _august oriuna_.[ ] father sirmond was of opinion that st. ursula and her eleven thousand virgins were all created out of a blunder. in some ancient ms. they found _st. ursula et undecimilla v. m._ meaning st. ursula and _undecimilla_, virgin martyrs; imagining that _undecimilla_ with the _v._ and _m._ which followed, was an abbreviation for _undecem millia martyrum virginum_, they made out of _two virgins_ the whole _eleven thousand_! pope, in a note on measure for measure, informs us, that its story was taken from cinthio's novels, _dec._ . _nov._ . that is, _decade , novel ._ the critical warburton, in his edition of shakspeare, puts the words in full length thus, _december_ , _november ._ when the fragments of petronius made a great noise in the literary world, meibomius, an erudit of lubeck, read in a letter from another learned scholar from bologna, "we have here _an entire petronius_; i saw it with mine own eyes, and with admiration." meibomius in post-haste is on the road, arrives at bologna, and immediately inquires for the librarian capponi. he inquires if it were true that they had at bologna _an entire petronius_? capponi assures him that it was a thing which had long been public. "can i see this petronius? let me examine it!"--"certainly," replies capponi, and leads our erudit of lubeck to the church where reposes _the body of st. petronius_. meibomius bites his lips, calls for his chaise, and takes his flight. a french translator, when he came to a passage of swift, in which it is said that the duke of marlborough _broke_ an officer; not being acquainted with this anglicism, he translated it _roué_, broke on a wheel! cibber's play of "_love's last shift_" was entitled "_la dernière chemise de l'amour_." a french writer of congreve's life has taken his _mourning_ for a _morning_ bride, and translated it _l'espouse du matin_. sir john pringle mentions his having cured a soldier by the use of two quarts of _dog and duck water_ daily: a french translator specifies it as an excellent _broth_ made of a duck and a dog! in a recent catalogue compiled by a french writer of _works on natural history_, he has inserted the well-known "essay on _irish bulls_" by the edgeworths. the proof, if it required any, that a frenchman cannot understand the idiomatic style of shakspeare appears in a french translator, who prided himself on giving a verbal translation of our great poet, not approving of le tourneur's paraphrastical version. he found in the celebrated speech of northumberland in henry iv. even such a man, so faint, so spiritless, so dull, so dead in look, so _woe-begone_-- which he renders "_ainsi douleur! va-t'en!"_ the abbé gregoire affords another striking proof of the errors to which foreigners are liable when they decide on the _language_ and _customs_ of another country. the abbé, in the excess of his philanthropy, to show to what dishonourable offices human nature is degraded, acquaints us that at london he observed a sign-board, proclaiming the master as _tueur des punaises de sa majesté_! bug-destroyer to his majesty! this is, no doubt, the honest mr. tiffin, in the strand; and the idea which must have occurred to the good abbé was, that his majesty's bugs were hunted by the said destroyer, and taken by hand--and thus human nature was degraded! a french writer translates the latin title of a treatise of philo-judæus _omnis bonus liber est_, every good man is a free man, by _tout livre est bon_. it was well for him, observes jortin, that he did not live within the reach of the inquisition, which might have taken this as a reflection on the _index expurgatorius_. an english translator turned "dieu _défend_ l'adultère" into "god _defends_ adultery."--guthrie, in his translation of du halde, has "the twenty-sixth day of the _new_ moon." the whole age of the moon is but twenty-eight days. the blunder arose from his mistaking the word _neuvième_ (ninth) for _nouvelle_ or _neuve_ (new). the facetious tom brown committed a strange blunder in his translation of gelli's circe. the word _starne_, not aware of its signification, he boldly rendered _stares_, probably from the similitude of sound; the succeeding translator more correctly discovered _starne_ to be red-legged partridges! in charles ii.'s reign a new collect was drawn, in which a new epithet was added to the king's title, that gave great offence, and occasioned great raillery. he was styled _our most religious king_. whatever the signification of _religious_ might be in the _latin_ word, as importing the sacredness of the king's person, yet in the _english language_ it bore a signification that was no way applicable to the king. and he was asked by his familiar courtiers, what must the nation think when they heard him prayed for as their _most religious king_?--literary blunders of this nature are frequently discovered in the versions of good classical scholars, who would make the _english_ servilely bend to the latin and greek. even milton has been justly censured for his free use of latinisms and grecisms. the blunders of modern antiquaries on sepulchral monuments are numerous. one mistakes _a lion_ at a knight's feet for a _curled water dog_; another could not distinguish _censers_ in the hands of angels from _fishing-nets_; _two angels_ at a lady's feet were counted as her two cherub-like _babes_; and another has mistaken a _leopard_ and a _hedgehog_ for a _cat_ and a _rat!_ in some of these cases, are the antiquaries or the sculptors most to be blamed?[ ] a literary blunder of thomas warton is a specimen of the manner in which a man of genius may continue to blunder with infinite ingenuity. in an old romance he finds these lines, describing the duel of saladin with richard coeur de lion:-- a _faucon brode_ in hande he bare, for he thought he wolde thare have slayne richard. he imagines this _faucon brode_ means a _falcon bird_, or a hawk, and that saladin is represented with this bird on his fist to express his contempt of his adversary. he supports his conjecture by noticing a gothic picture, supposed to be the subject of this duel, and also some old tapestry of heroes on horseback with hawks on their fists; he plunges into feudal times, when no gentleman appeared on horseback without his hawk. after all this curious erudition, the rough but skilful ritson inhumanly triumphed by dissolving the magical fancies of the more elegant warton, by explaining a _faucon brode_ to be nothing more than a _broad faulchion_, which, in a duel, was certainly more useful than a _bird_. the editor of the private reprint of hentzner, on that writer's tradition respecting "the kings of denmark who reigned in england" buried in the temple church, metamorphosed the two inns of court, _gray's inn_ and _lincoln's inn_, into the names of the danish kings, _gresin_ and _lyconin_.[ ] bayle supposes that marcellus palingenius, who wrote the poem entitled the _zodiac_, the twelve books bearing the names of the signs, from this circumstance assumed the title of _poeta stellatus_. but it appears that this writer was an italian and a native of _stellada_, a town in the ferrarese. it is probable that his birthplace originally produced the conceit of the title of his poem: it is a curious instance how critical conjecture may be led astray by its own ingenuity, when ignorant of the real fact. footnotes: [footnote : the first edition had all the external appearance of truth: a portrait of "captain lemuel gulliver, of redriff, aetat. suæ lviii." faces the title; and maps of all the places, he only, visited, are carefully laid down in connexion with the realities of geography. thus "lilliput, discovered a.d. ," lies between sumatra and van dieman's land. "brobdignag, discovered a.d. ," is a peninsula of north america. one richard sympson vouches for the veracity of his "antient and intimate friend," in a preface detailing some "facts" of gulliver's life. arbuthnot says he "lent the book to an old gentleman, who went immediately to his map to search for lilliput."] [footnote : in nagler's _kunstler-lexicon_ is a whimsical error concerning a living english artist--george cruikshank. some years ago the relative merits of himself and brother were contrasted in an english review, and george was spoken of as "the real simon pure"--the first who had illustrated scenes of "life in london." unaware of the real significance of a quotation which has become proverbial among us, the german editor begins his memoir of cruikshank, by gravely informing us that he is an english artist, "whose real name is simon pure!" turning to the artists under the letter p, we accordingly read:--"pure (simon), the real name of the celebrated caricaturist, george cruikshank."] [footnote : the whole of dr. stukeley's tract is a most curious instance of learned perversity and obstinacy. the coin is broken away where the letter f should be, and stukeley himself allows that the upper part of the t might be worn away, and so the inscription really be _fortuna aug_; but he cast all such evidence aside, to construct an imaginary life of an imaginary empress; "that we have no history of this lady," he says, "is not to be wondered at," and he forthwith imagines one; that she was of a martial disposition, and "signalized herself in battle, and obtained a victory," as he guesses from the laurel wreath around her bust on the coin; her name he believes to be gaulish, and "equivalent to what we now call lucia," and that a regiment of soldiers was under her command, after the fashion of "the present czarina," the celebrated catherine of russia.] [footnote : one of the most curious pictorial and antiquarian blunders may be seen in vallancey's _collectanea_. he found upon one of the ancient stones on the hill of tara an inscription which he read _beli divose_, "to belus, god of fire;" but which ultimately proved to be the work of some idler who, lying on the stone, cut upside down his name and the date of the year, e. conid, ; upon turning this engraving, the fact is apparent.] a literary wife. marriage is such a rabble rout; that those that are out, would fain get in; and those that are in, would fain get out. chaucer. having examined some _literary blunders_, we will now proceed to the subject of a _literary wife_, which may happen to prove one. a learned lady is to the taste of few. it is however matter of surprise, that several literary men should have felt such a want of taste in respect to "their soul's far dearer part," as hector calls his andromache. the wives of many men of letters have been dissolute, ill-humoured, slatternly, and have run into all the frivolities of the age. the wife of the learned budæus was of a different character. how delightful is it when the mind of the female is so happily disposed, and so richly cultivated, as to participate in the literary avocations of her husband! it is then truly that the intercourse of the sexes becomes the most refined pleasure. what delight, for instance, must the great budæus have tasted, even in those works which must have been for others a most dreadful labour! his wife left him nothing to desire. the frequent companion of his studies, she brought him the books he required to his desk; she collated passages, and transcribed quotations; the same genius, the same inclination, and the same ardour for literature, eminently appeared in those two fortunate persons. far from withdrawing her husband from his studies, she was sedulous to animate him when he languished. ever at his side, and ever assiduous; ever with some useful book in her hand, she acknowledged herself to be a most happy woman. yet she did not neglect the education of eleven children. she and budæus shared in the mutual cares they owed their progeny. budæus was not insensible of his singular felicity. in one of his letters, he represents himself as married to two _ladies_; one of whom gave him boys and girls, the other was philosophy, who produced books. he says that in his twelve first years, philosophy had been less fruitful than marriage; he had produced less books than children; he had laboured more corporally than intellectually; but he hoped to make more books than men. "the soul (says he) will be productive in its turn; it will rise on the ruins of the body; a prolific virtue is not given at the same time to the bodily organs and the pen." the lady of evelyn designed herself the frontispiece to his translation of lucretius. she felt the same passion in her own breast which animated her husband's, who has written, with such various ingenuity. of baron haller it is recorded that he inspired his wife and family with a taste for his different pursuits. they were usually employed in assisting his literary occupations; they transcribed manuscripts, consulted authors, gathered plants, and designed and coloured under his eye. what a delightful family picture has the younger pliny given posterity in his letters! of calphurnia, his wife, he says, "her affection to me has given her a turn to books; and my compositions, which she takes a pleasure in reading, and even getting by heart, are continually in her hands. how full of tender solicitude is she when i am entering upon any cause! how kindly does she rejoice with me when it is over! while i am pleading, she places persons to inform her from time to time how i am heard, what applauses i receive, and what success attends the cause. when at any time i recite my works, she conceals herself behind some curtain, and with secret rapture enjoys my praises. she sings my verses to her lyre, with no other master but love, the best instructor, for her guide. her passion will increase with our days, for it is not my youth nor my person, which time gradually impairs, but my reputation and my glory, of which, she is enamoured." on the subject of a literary wife, i must introduce to the acquaintance of the reader margaret duchess of newcastle. she is known, at least by her name, as a voluminous writer; for she extended her literary productions to the number of twelve folio volumes. her labours have been ridiculed by some wits; but had her studies been regulated, she would have displayed no ordinary genius. the _connoisseur_ has quoted her poems, and her verses have been imitated by milton. the duke, her husband, was also an author; his book on horsemanship still preserves his name. he has likewise written comedies, and his contemporaries have not been, penurious in their eulogiums. it is true he was a duke. shadwell says of him, "that he was the greatest master of wit, the most exact observer of mankind, and the most accurate judge of humour that ever he knew." the life of the duke is written "by the hand of his incomparable duchess." it was published in his lifetime. this curious piece of biography is a folio of pages, and is entitled "the life of the thrice noble, high, and puissant prince, william cavendish." his titles then follow:--"written by the thrice noble, illustrious, and excellent princess, margaret duchess of newcastle, his wife. london, ." this life is dedicated to charles the second; and there is also prefixed a copious epistle to her husband the duke. in this epistle the character of our literary wife is described with all its peculiarities. "certainly, my lord, you have had as many enemies and as many friends as ever any one particular person had; nor do i so much wonder at it, since i, a woman, cannot be exempt from the malice and aspersions of spiteful tongues, which they cast upon my poor writings, some denying me to be the true authoress of them; for your grace remembers well, that those books i put out first to the judgment of this censorious age were accounted not to be written by a woman, but that somebody else had writ and published them in my name; by which your lordship was moved to prefix an epistle before one of them in my vindication, wherein you assure the world, upon your honour, that what was written and printed in my name was my own; and i have also made known that your lordship was my only tutor, in declaring to me what you had found and observed by your own experience; for i being young when your lordship married me, could not have much knowledge of the world; but it pleased god to command his servant nature to endue me with a poetical and philosophical genius, even from my birth; for i did write some books in that kind before i was twelve years of age, which for want of good method and order i would never divulge. but though the world would not believe that those conceptions and fancies which i writ were my own, but transcended my capacity, yet they found fault, that they were defective for want of learning, and on the other side, they said i had pluckt feathers out of the universities; which was a very preposterous judgment. truly, my lord, i confess that for want of scholarship, i could not express myself so well as otherwise i might have done in those philosophical writings i published first; but after i was returned with your lordship into my native country, and led a retired country life, i applied myself to the reading of philosophical authors, on purpose to learn those names and words of art that are used in schools; which at first were so hard to me, that i could not understand them, but was fain to guess at the sense of them by the whole context, and so writ them down, as i found them in those authors; at which my readers did wonder, and thought it impossible that a woman could have so much learning and understanding in terms of art and scholastical expressions; so that i and my books are like the old apologue mentioned in Ã�sop, of a father and his son who rid on an ass." here follows a long narrative of this fable, which she applies to herself in these words--"the old man seeing he could not please mankind in any manner, and having received so many blemishes and aspersions for the sake of his ass, was at last resolved to drown him when he came to the next bridge. but i am not so passionate to burn my writings for the various humours of mankind, and for their finding fault; since there is nothing in this world, be it the noblest and most commendable action whatsoever, that shall escape blameless. as for my being the true and only authoress of them, your lordship knows best; and my attending servants are witness that i have had none but my own thoughts, fancies, and speculations, to assist me; and as soon as i set them down i send them to those that are to transcribe them, and fit them for the press; whereof, since there have been several, and amongst them such as only could write a good hand, but neither understood orthography, nor had any learning, (i being then in banishment, with your lordship, and not able to maintain learned secretaries,) which hath been a great disadvantage to my poor works, and the cause that they have been printed so false and so full of errors; for besides that i want also skill in scholarship and true writing, i did many times not peruse the copies that were transcribed, lest they should disturb my following conceptions; by which neglect, as i said, many errors are slipt into my works, which, yet i hope, learned and impartial men will soon rectify, and look more upon the sense than carp at words. i have been a student even from childhood; and since i have been your lordship's wife i have lived for the most part a strict and retired life, as is best known to your lordship; and therefore my censurers cannot know much of me, since they have little or no acquaintance with me. 'tis true i have been a traveller both before and after i was married to your lordship, and some times shown myself at your lordship's command in public places or assemblies, but yet i converse with few. indeed, my lord, i matter not the censures of this age, but am rather proud of them; for it shows that my actions are more than ordinary, and according to the old proverb, it is better to be envied than pitied; for i know well that it is merely out of spite and malice, whereof this present age is so full that none can escape them, and they'll make no doubt to stain even your lordship's loyal, noble, and heroic actions, as well as they do mine; though yours have been of war and fighting, mine of contemplating and writing: yours were performed publicly in the field, mine privately in my closet; yours had many thousand eye-witnesses; mine none but my waiting-maids. but the great god, that hitherto bless'd both your grace and me, will, i question not, preserve both our fames to after-ages. "your grace's honest wife, "and humble servant, "m. newcastle." the last portion of this life, which consists of the observations and good things which she had gathered from the conversations of her husband, forms an excellent ana; and shows that when lord orford, in his "catalogue of noble authors," says, that "this stately poetic couple was a picture of foolish nobility," he writes, as he does too often, with extreme levity. but we must now attend to the reverse of our medal. many chagrins may corrode the nuptial state of literary men. females who, prompted by vanity, but not by taste, unite themselves to scholars, must ever complain of neglect. the inexhaustible occupations of a library will only present to such a most dreary solitude. such a lady declared of her learned husband, that she was more jealous of his books than his mistresses. it was probably while glover was composing his "leonidas," that his lady avenged herself for this _homeric_ inattention to her, and took her flight with a lover. it was peculiar to the learned dacier to be united to woman, his equal in erudition and his superior in taste. when she wrote in the album of a german traveller a verse from sophocles as an apology for her unwillingness to place herself among his learned friends, that "silence is the female's ornament," it was a trait of her modesty. the learned pasquier was coupled to a female of a different character, since he tells us in one of his epigrams that to manage the vociferations of his lady, he was compelled himself to become a vociferator.--"unfortunate wretch that i am, i who am a lover of universal peace! but to have peace i am obliged ever to be at war." sir thomas more was united to a woman of the harshest temper and the most sordid manners. to soften the moroseness of her disposition, "he persuaded her to play on the lute, viol, and other instruments, every day." whether it was that she had no ear for music, she herself never became harmonious as the instrument she touched. all these ladies may be considered as rather too alert in thought, and too spirited in action; but a tame cuckoo bird who is always repeating the same note must be very fatiguing. the lady of samuel clarke, the great compiler of books in , whose name was anagrammatised to "_suck all cream_," alluding to his indefatigable labours in sucking all the cream of every other author, without having any cream himself, is described by her husband as entertaining the most sublime conceptions of his illustrious compilations. this appears by her behaviour. he says, "that she never rose from table without making him a curtsey, nor drank to him without bowing, and that his word was a law to her." i was much surprised in looking over a correspondence of the times, that in the bishop of lichfield and coventry, writing to the earl of shrewsbury on the subject of his living separate from his countess, uses as one of his arguments for their union the following curious one, which surely shows the gross and cynical feeling which the fair sex excited even among the higher classes of society. the language of this good bishop is neither that of truth, we hope, nor certainly that of religion. "but some will saye in your lordship's behalfe that the countesse is a sharpe and bitter shrewe, and therefore licke enough to shorten your lief, if shee should kepe yow company, indeede, my good lord, i have heard some say so; but if shrewdnesse or sharpnesse may be a juste cause of separation between a man and wiefe, i thinck fewe men in englande would keepe their wives longe; for it is a common jeste, yet trewe in some sense, that there is but one shrewe in all the worlde, and everee man hath her: and so everee man must be ridd of his wiefe that wolde be ridd of a shrewe." it is wonderful this good bishop did not use another argument as cogent, and which would in those times be allowed as something; the name of his lordship, _shrewsbury_, would have afforded a consolatory _pun_! the entertaining marville says that the generality of ladies married to literary men are so vain of the abilities and merit of their husbands, that they are frequently insufferable. the wife of barclay, author of "the argenis," considered herself as the wife of a demigod. this appeared glaringly after his death; for cardinal barberini having erected a monument to the memory of his tutor, next to the tomb of barclay, mrs. barclay was so irritated at this that she demolished his monument, brought home his bust, and declared that the ashes of so great a genius as her husband should never be placed beside a pedagogue. salmasius's wife was a termagant; christina said she admired his patience more than his erudition. mrs. salmasius indeed considered herself as the queen of science, because her husband was acknowledged as sovereign among the critics. she boasted that she had for her husband the most learned of all the nobles, and the most noble of all the learned. our good lady always joined the learned conferences which he held in his study. she spoke loud, and decided with a tone of majesty. salmasius was mild in conversation, but the reverse in his writings, for our proud xantippe considered him as acting beneath himself if he did not magisterially call every one names! the wife of rohault, when her husband gave lectures on the philosophy of descartes, used to seat herself on these days at the door, and refused admittance to every one shabbily dressed, or who did not discover a genteel air. so convinced was she that, to be worthy of hearing the lectures of her husband, it was proper to appear fashionable. in vain our good lecturer exhausted himself in telling her, that fortune does not always give fine clothes to philosophers. the ladies of albert durer and berghem were both shrews. the wife of durer compelled that great genius to the hourly drudgery of his profession, merely to gratify her own sordid passion: in despair, albert ran away from his tisiphone; she wheedled him back, and not long afterwards this great artist fell a victim to her furious disposition.[ ] berghem's wife would never allow that excellent artist to quit his occupations; and she contrived an odd expedient to detect his indolence. the artist worked in a room above her; ever and anon she roused him by thumping a long stick against the ceiling, while the obedient berghem answered by stamping his foot, to satisfy mrs. berghem that he was not napping. Ã�lian had an aversion to the married state. sigonius, a learned and well-known scholar, would never marry, and alleged no inelegant reason; "minerva and venus could not live together." matrimony has been considered by some writers as a condition not so well suited to the circumstances of philosophers and men of learning. there is a little tract which professes to investigate the subject. it has for title, _de matrimonio literati, an coelibem esse, an verò nubere conveniat_, i.e., of the marriage of a man of letters, with an inquiry whether it is most proper for him to continue a bachelor, or to marry? the author alleges the great merit of some women; particularly that of gonzaga the consort of montefeltro, duke of urbino; a lady of such distinguished accomplishments, that peter bembus said, none but a stupid man would not prefer one of her conversations to all the formal meetings and disputations of the philosophers. the ladies perhaps will be surprised to find that it is a question among the learned, _whether they ought to marry?_ and will think it an unaccountable property of learning that it should lay the professors of it under an obligation to disregard the sex. but it is very questionable whether, in return for this want of complaisance in them, the generality of ladies would not prefer the beau, and the man of fashion. however, let there be gonzagas, they will find converts enough to their charms. the sentiments of sir thomas browne on the consequences of marriage are very curious, in the second part of his religio medici, sect, . when he wrote that work, he said, "i was never yet once, and commend their resolutions, who never marry twice." he calls woman "the rib and crooked piece of man." he adds, "i could be content that we might procreate like trees, without conjunction, or that there were any way to procreate the world without this trivial and vulgar way." he means the union of sexes, which he declares, "is the foolishest act a wise man commits in all his life; nor is there anything that will more deject his cooled imagination, when he shall consider what an odd and unworthy piece of folly he hath committed." he afterwards declares he is not averse to that sweet sex, but naturally amorous of all that is beautiful: "i could look a whole day with delight upon a handsome picture, though it be but of a horse." he afterwards disserts very profoundly on the music there is in beauty, "and the silent note which cupid strikes is far sweeter than the sound of an instrument." such were his sentiments when youthful, and residing at leyden; dutch philosophy had at first chilled his passion; it is probable that passion afterwards inflamed his philosophy--for he married, and had sons and daughters! dr. cocchi, a modern italian writer, but apparently a cynic as old as diogenes, has taken the pains of composing a treatise on the present subject enough to terrify the boldest _bachelor_ of arts! he has conjured up every chimera against the marriage of a literary man. he seems, however, to have drawn his disgusting portrait from his own country; and the chaste beauty of britain only looks the more lovely beside this florentine wife. i shall not retain the cynicism which has coloured such revolting features. when at length the doctor finds a woman as all women ought to be, he opens a new string of misfortunes which must attend her husband. he dreads one of the probable consequences of matrimony--progeny, in which we must maintain the children we beget! he thinks the father gains nothing in his old age from the tender offices administered by his own children: he asserts these are much better performed by menials and strangers! the more children he has, the less he can afford to have servants! the maintenance of his children will greatly diminish his property! another alarming object in marriage is that, by affinity, you become connected with the relations of the wife. the envious and ill-bred insinuations of the mother, the family quarrels, their poverty or their pride, all disturb the unhappy sage who falls into the trap of connubial felicity! but if a sage has resolved to marry, he impresses on him the prudential principle of increasing his fortune by it, and to remember his "additional expenses!" dr. cocchi seems to have thought that a human being is only to live for himself; he had neither heart to feel, a head to conceive, nor a pen that could have written one harmonious period, or one beautiful image! bayle, in his article _raphelengius_, note b, gives a singular specimen of logical subtlety, in "a reflection on the consequence of marriage." this learned man was imagined to have died of grief, for having lost his wife, and passed three years in protracted despair. what therefore must we think of an unhappy marriage, since a happy one is exposed to such evils? he then shows that an unhappy marriage is attended by beneficial consequences to the survivor. in this dilemma, in the one case, the husband lives afraid his wife will die, in the other that she will not! if you love her, you will always be afraid of losing her; if you do not love her, you will always be afraid of not losing her. our satirical _celibataire_ is gored by the horns of the dilemma he has conjured up. james petiver, a famous botanist, then a bachelor, the friend of sir hans sloane, in an album signs his name with this designation:-- "from the goat tavern in the strand, london, nov. . in the th year of my _freedom_, a.d. ." footnotes: [footnote : erroneous proper names of places occur continually in early writers, particularly french ones. there are some in froissart that cannot be at all understood. bassompierre is equally erroneous. _jorchaux_ is intended by him for _york house_; and, more wonderful still, _inhimthort_, proves by the context to be _kensington_!] [footnote : leopold schefer, the german novelist, has composed an excellent sketch of durer's married life. it is an admirably philosophic narrative of an intellectual man's wretchedness.] dedications. some authors excelled in this species of literary artifice. the italian doni dedicated each of his letters in a book called _la libraria_, to persons whose name began with the first letter of the epistle, and dedicated the whole collection in another epistle; so that the book, which only consisted of forty-five pages, was dedicated to above twenty persons. this is carrying literary mendicity pretty high. politi, the editor of the _martyrologium romanum_, published at rome in , has improved on the idea of doni; for to the days of the year of this martyrology he has prefixed to each an epistle dedicatory. it is fortunate to have a large circle of acquaintance, though they should not be worthy of being saints. galland, the translator of the arabian nights, prefixed a dedication to each tale which he gave; had he finished the "one thousand and one," he would have surpassed even the martyrologist. mademoiselle scudery tells a remarkable expedient of an ingenious trader in this line--one rangouze made a collection of letters which he printed without numbering them. by this means the bookbinder put that letter which the author ordered him first; so that all the persons to whom he presented this book, seeing their names at the head, considered they had received a particular compliment. an italian physician, having written on hippocrates's aphorisms, dedicated each book of his commentaries to one of his friends, and the index to another! more than one of our own authors have dedications in the same spirit. it was an expedient to procure dedicatory fees: for publishing books by subscription was then an art undiscovered. one prefixed a different dedication to a certain number of printed copies, and addressed them to every great man he knew, who he thought relished a morsel of flattery, and would pay handsomely for a coarse luxury. sir balthazar gerbier, in his "counsel to builders," has made up half the work with forty-two dedications, which he excuses by the example of antonio perez; but in these dedications perez scatters a heap of curious things, for he was a very universal genius. perez, once secretary of state to philip ii. of spain, dedicates his "obras," first to "nuestro sanctissimo padre," and "al sacro collegio," then follows one to "henry iv.," and then one still more embracing, "a todos." fuller, in his "church history," has with admirable contrivance introduced twelve title-pages, besides the general one, and as many particular dedications, and no less than fifty or sixty of those by inscriptions which are addressed to his benefactors; a circumstance which heylin in his severity did not overlook; for "making his work bigger by forty sheets at the least; and he was so ambitious of the number of his patrons, that having but four leaves at the end of his history, he discovers a particular benefactress to inscribe them to!" this unlucky lady, the patroness of four leaves, heylin compares to roscius regulus, who accepted the consular dignity for that part of the day on which cecina by a decree of the senate was degraded from it, which occasioned regulus to be ridiculed by the people all his life after, as the consul of half a day. the price for the dedication of a play was at length fixed, from five to ten guineas from the revolution to the time of george i., when it rose to twenty; but sometimes a bargain was to be struck when the author and the play were alike indifferent. sometimes the party haggled about the price, or the statue while stepping into his niche would turn round on the author to assist his invention. a patron of peter motteux, dissatisfied with peter's colder temperament, actually composed the superlative dedication to himself, and completed the misery of the apparent author by subscribing it with his name. this circumstance was so notorious at the time, that it occasioned a satirical dialogue between motteux and his patron heveningham. the patron, in his zeal to omit no possible distinction that might attach to him, had given one circumstance which no one but himself could have known. patron. i must confess i was to blame, that one particular to name; the rest could never have been known _i made the style so like thy own_. poet. i beg your pardon, sir, for that. patron. why d----e what would you be at? i _writ below myself_, you sot! avoiding figures, tropes, what not; for fear i should my fancy raise _above the level of thy plays_! warton notices the common practice, about the reign of elizabeth, of an author's dedicating a work at once to a number of the nobility. chapman's translation of homer has sixteen sonnets addressed to lords and ladies. henry lock, in a collection of two hundred religious sonnets, mingles with such heavenly works the terrestrial composition of a number of sonnets to his noble patrons; and not to multiply more instances, our great poet spenser, in compliance with this disgraceful custom, or rather in obedience to the established tyranny of patronage, has prefixed to the faery queen fifteen of these adulatory pieces, which in every respect are the meanest of his compositions. at this period all men, as well as writers, looked up to the peers as if they were beings on whose smiles or frowns all sublunary good and evil depended. at a much later period, elkanah settle sent copies round to the chief party, for he wrote for both parties, accompanied by addresses to extort pecuniary presents in return. he had latterly one standard _elegy_, and one _epithalamium_, printed off with blanks, which by ingeniously filling up with the printed names of any great person who died or was married; no one who was going out of life, or was entering into it, could pass scot-free. one of the most singular anecdotes respecting dedications in english bibliography is that of the polyglot bible of dr. castell. cromwell, much to his honour, patronized that great labour, and allowed the paper to be imported free of all duties, both of excise and custom. it was published under the protectorate, but many copies had not been disposed of ere charles ii. ascended the throne. dr. castell had dedicated the work gratefully to oliver, by mentioning him with peculiar respect in the preface, but he wavered with richard cromwell. at the restoration, he cancelled the two last leaves, and supplied their places with three others, which softened down the republican strains, and blotted oliver's name out of the book of life! the differences in what are now called the _republican_ and the _loyal_ copies have amused the curious collectors; and the former being very scarce, are most sought after. i have seen the republican. in the _loyal_ copies the patrons of the work are mentioned, but their _titles_ are essentially changed; _serenissimus_, _illustrissimus_, and _honoratissimus_, were epithets that dared not shew themselves under the _levelling_ influence of the great fanatic republican. it is a curious literary folly, not of an individual but of the spanish nation, who, when the laws of castile were reduced into a code under the reign of alfonso x. surnamed the wise, divided the work into _seven volumes_; that they might be dedicated to the _seven letters_ which formed the name of his majesty! never was a gigantic baby of adulation so crammed with the soft pap of _dedications_ as cardinal richelieu. french flattery even exceeded itself.--among the vast number of very extraordinary dedications to this man, in which the divinity itself is disrobed of its attributes to bestow them on this miserable creature of vanity, i suspect that even the following one is not the most blasphemous he received. "who has seen your face without being seized by those softened terrors which made the prophets shudder when god showed the beams of his glory! but as he whom they dared not to approach in the burning bush, and in the noise of thunders, appeared to them sometimes in the freshness of the zephyrs, so the softness of your august countenance dissipates at the same time, and changes into dew, the small vapours which cover its majesty." one of these herd of dedicators, after the death of richelieu, suppressed in a second edition his hyperbolical panegyric, and as a punishment to himself, dedicated the work to jesus christ! the same taste characterises our own dedications in the reigns of charles ii. and james ii. the great dryden has carried it to an excessive height; and nothing is more usual than to compare the _patron_ with the _divinity_--and at times a fair inference may be drawn that the former was more in the author's mind than god himself! a welsh bishop made an _apology_ to james i. for _preferring_ the deity--to his majesty! dryden's extravagant dedications were the vices of the time more than of the man; they were loaded with flattery, and no disgrace was annexed to such an exercise of men's talents; the contest being who should go farthest in the most graceful way, and with the best turns of expression. an ingenious dedication was contrived by sir simon degge, who dedicated "the parson's counsellor" to woods, bishop of lichfield. degge highly complimented the bishop on having most nobly restored the church, which had been demolished in the civil wars, and was rebuilt but left unfinished by bishop hacket. at the time he wrote the dedication, woods had not turned a single stone, and it is said, that much against his will he did something, from having been so publicly reminded of it by this ironical dedication. philosophical descriptive poems. the "botanic garden" once appeared to open a new route through the trodden groves of parnassus. the poet, to a prodigality of imagination, united all the minute accuracy of science. it is a highly-repolished labour, and was in the mind and in the hand of its author for twenty years before its first publication. the excessive polish of the verse has appeared too high to be endured throughout a long composition; it is certain that, in poems of length, a versification, which is not too florid for lyrical composition, will weary by its brilliance. darwin, inasmuch as a rich philosophical fancy constitutes a poet, possesses the entire art of poetry; no one has carried the curious mechanism of verse and the artificial magic of poetical diction to a higher perfection. his volcanic head flamed with imagination, but his torpid heart slept unawakened by passion. his standard of poetry is by much too limited; he supposes that the essence of poetry is something of which a painter can make a picture. a picturesque verse was with him a verse completely poetical. but the language of the passions has no connexion with this principle; in truth, what he delineates as poetry itself, is but one of its provinces. deceived by his illusive standard, he has composed a poem which is perpetually fancy, and never passion. hence his processional splendour fatigues, and his descriptive ingenuity comes at length to be deficient in novelty, and all the miracles of art cannot supply us with one touch of nature. descriptive poetry should be relieved by a skilful intermixture of passages addressed to the heart as well as to the imagination: uniform description satiates; and has been considered as one of the inferior branches of poetry. of this both thomson and goldsmith were sensible. in their beautiful descriptive poems they knew the art of animating the pictures of fancy with the glow of sentiment. whatever may be thought of the originality of darwin's poem, it had been preceded by others of a congenial disposition. brookes's poem on "universal beauty," published about , presents us with the very model of darwin's versification: and the latin poem of de la croix, in , entitled "_connubia florum_," with his subject. there also exists a race of poems which have hitherto been confined to _one subject_, which the poet selected from the works of nature, to embellish with all the splendour of poetic imagination. i have collected some titles. perhaps it is homer, in his battle of the _frogs and mice_, and virgil in the poem on a _gnat_, attributed to him, who have given birth to these lusory poems. the jesuits, particularly when they composed in latin verse, were partial to such subjects. there is a little poem on _gold_, by p. le fevre, distinguished for its elegance; and brumoy has given the _art of making glass_; in which he has described its various productions with equal felicity and knowledge. p. vanière has written on _pigeons_, du cerceau on _butterflies_. the success which attended these productions produced numerous imitations, of which several were favourably received. vanière composed three on the _grape_, the _vintage_, and the _kitchen garden_. another poet selected _oranges_ for his theme; others have chosen for their subjects, _paper, birds_, and fresh-water _fish_. tarillon has inflamed his imagination with _gunpowder_; a milder genius, delighted with the oaten pipe, sang of _sheep_; one who was more pleased with another kind of pipe, has written on _tobacco_; and a droll genius wrote a poem on _asses_. two writers have formed didactic poems on the _art of enigmas_, and on _ships_. others have written on moral subjects. brumoy has painted the _passions_, with a variety of imagery and vivacity of description; p. meyer has disserted on _anger_; tarillon, like our stillingfleet, on the _art of conversation_; and a lively writer has discussed the subjects of _humour and wit_. giannetazzi, an italian jesuit, celebrated for his latin poetry, has composed two volumes of poems on _fishing_ and _navigation_. fracastor has written delicately on an indelicate subject, his _syphilis_. le brun wrote a delectable poem on _sweetmeats_; another writer on _mineral waters_, and a third on _printing_. vida pleases with his _silk-worms_, and his _chess_; buchanan is ingenious with the _sphere_. malapert has aspired to catch the _winds_; the philosophic huet amused himself with _salt_ and again with _tea_. the _gardens_ of rapin is a finer poem than critics generally can write; quillet's _callipedia_, or art of getting handsome children, has been translated by rowe; and du fresnoy at length gratifies the connoisseur with his poem on _painting_, by the embellishments which his verses have received from the poetic diction of mason, and the commentary of reynolds. this list might be augmented with a few of our own poets, and there still remain some virgin themes which only require to be touched by the hand of a true poet. in the "memoirs of trevoux," they observe, in their review of the poem on _gold_, "that poems of this kind have the advantage of instructing us very agreeably. all that has been most remarkably said on the subject is united, compressed in a luminous order, and dressed in all the agreeable graces of poetry. such writers have no little difficulties to encounter: the style and expression cost dear; and still more to give to an arid topic an agreeable form, and to elevate the subject without falling into another extreme.--in the other kinds of poetry the matter assists and prompts genius; here we must possess an abundance to display it." pamphlets. myles davis's "icon libellorum, or a critical history pamphlets," affords some curious information; and as this is a _pamphlet_-reading age, i shall give a sketch of its contents. the author observes: "from pamphlets may be learned the genius of the age, the debates of the learned, the follies of the ignorant, the _bévues_ of government, and the mistakes of the courtiers. pamphlets furnish beaus with their airs, coquettes with their charms. pamphlets are as modish ornaments to gentlewomen's toilets as to gentlemen's pockets; they carry reputation of wit and learning to all that make them their companions; the poor find their account in stall-keeping and in hawking them; the rich find in them their shortest way to the secrets of church and state. there is scarce any class of people but may think themselves interested enough to be concerned with what is published in pamphlets, either as to their private instruction, curiosity, and reputation, or to the public advantage and credit; with all which both ancient and modern pamphlets are too often over familiar and free.--in short, with pamphlets the booksellers and stationers adorn the gaiety of shop-gazing. hence accrues to grocers, apothecaries, and chandlers, good furniture, and supplies to necessary retreats and natural occasions. in pamphlets lawyers will meet with their chicanery, physicians with their cant, divines with their shibboleth. pamphlets become more and more daily amusements to the curious, idle, and inquisitive; pastime to gallants and coquettes; chat to the talkative; catch-words to informers; fuel to the envious; poison to the unfortunate; balsam to the wounded; employ to the lazy; and fabulous materials to romancers and novelists." this author sketches the origin and rise of pamphlets. he deduces them from the short writings published by the jewish rabbins; various little pieces at the time of the first propagation of christianity; and notices a certain pamphlet which was pretended to have been the composition of jesus christ, thrown from heaven, and picked up by the archangel michael at the entrance of jerusalem. it was copied by the priest leora, and sent about from priest to priest, till pope zachary ventured to pronounce it a _forgery_. he notices several such extraordinary publications, many of which produced as extraordinary effects. he proceeds in noticing the first arian and popish pamphlets, or rather _libels_, i. e. little books, as he distinguishes them. he relates a curious anecdote respecting the forgeries of the monks. archbishop usher detected in a manuscript of st. patrick's life, pretended to have been found at louvain, as an original of a very remote date, several passages taken, with little alteration, from his own writings. the following notice of our immortal pope i cannot pass over: "another class of pamphlets writ by roman catholics is that of _poems_, written chiefly by a pope himself, a gentleman of that name. he passed always amongst most of his acquaintance for what is commonly called a whig; for it seems the roman politics are divided as well as popish missionaries. however, one _esdras_, an apothecary, as he qualifies himself, has published a piping-hot pamphlet against mr. pope's '_rape of the lock_,' which he entitles '_a key to the lock_,' wherewith he pretends to unlock nothing less than a _plot_ carried on by mr. pope in that poem against the last and this present ministry and government." he observes on _sermons_,--"'tis not much to be questioned, but of all modern pamphlets what or wheresoever, the _english stitched sermons_ be the most edifying, useful, and instructive, yet they could not escape the critical mr. bayle's sarcasm. he says, 'république des lettres,' march, , in this article _london_, 'we see here sermons swarm daily from the press. our eyes only behold manna: are you desirous of knowing the reason? it is, that the ministers being allowed to _read_ their sermons in the pulpit, _buy all they meet with_, and take no other trouble than to read them, and thus pass for very able scholars at a very cheap rate!'" he now begins more directly the history of pamphlets, which he branches out from four different etymologies. he says, "however foreign the word _pamphlet_ may appear, it is a genuine english word, rarely known or adopted in any other language: its pedigree cannot well be traced higher than the latter end of queen elizabeth's reign. in its first state wretched must have been its appearance, since the great linguist john minshew, in his '_guide into tongues_,' printed in , gives it the most miserable character of which any libel can be capable. mr. minshew says (and his words were quoted by lord chief justice holt), 'a pamphlet, that is _opusculum stolidorum_, the diminutive performance of fools; from [greek: pan], _all_, and [greek: plêtho], i _fill_, to wit, _all_ places. according to the vulgar saying, all things are full of fools, or foolish things; for such multitudes of pamphlets, unworthy of the very names of libels, being more vile than common shores and the filth of beggars, and being flying papers daubed over and besmeared with the foams of drunkards, are tossed far and near into the mouths and hands of scoundrels; neither will the sham oracles of apollo be esteemed so mercenary as a pamphlet.'" those who will have the word to be derived from pam, the famous knave of loo, do not differ much from minshew; for the derivation of the word _pam_ is in all probability from [greek: pan], _all_; or the _whole_ or the _chief_ of the game. under this _first_ etymological notion of pamphlets may be comprehended the _vulgar stories_ of the nine worthies of the world, of the seven champions of christendom, tom thumb, valentine and orson, &c., as also most of apocryphal lucubrations. the greatest collection of this first sort of pamphlets are the rabbinic traditions in the talmud, consisting of fourteen volumes in folio, and the popish legends of the lives of the saints, which, though not finished, form fifty folio volumes, all which tracts were originally in pamphlet forms. the _second_ idea of the _radix_ of the word _pamphlet_ is, that it takes its derivations from [greek: pan], _all_, and [greek: phileo], _i love_, signifying a thing beloved by all; for a pamphlet being of a small portable bulk, and of no great price, is adapted to every one's understanding and reading. in this class may be placed all stitched books on serious subjects, the best of which fugitive pieces have been generally preserved, and even reprinted in collections of some tracts, miscellanies, sermons, poems, &c.; and, on the contrary, bulky volumes have been reduced, for the convenience of the public, into the familiar shapes of stitched pamphlets. both these methods have been thus censured by the majority of the lower house of convocation . these abuses are thus represented: "they have republished, and collected into volumes, pieces written long ago on the side of infidelity. they have reprinted together in the most contracted manner, many loose and licentious pieces, in order to their being purchased more cheaply, and dispersed more easily." the _third_ original interpretation of the word pamphlet may be that of the learned dr. skinner, in his _etymologicon linguæ anglicanæ_, that it is derived from the belgic word _pampier_, signifying a little paper, or libel. to this third set of pamphlets may be reduced all sorts of printed single sheets, or half sheets, or any other quantity of single paper prints, such as declarations, remonstrances, proclamations, edicts, orders, injunctions, memorials, addresses, newspapers, &c. the _fourth_ radical signification of the word pamphlet is that homogeneal acceptation of it, viz., as it imports any little book, or small volume whatever, whether stitched or bound, whether good or bad, whether serious or ludicrous. the only proper latin term for a pamphlet is _libellus_, or little book. this word indeed signifies in english an _abusive_ paper or little book, and is generally taken in the worst sense. after all this display of curious literature, the reader may smile at the guesses of etymologists; particularly when he is reminded that the derivation of _pamphlet_ is drawn from quite another meaning to any of the present, by johnson, which i shall give for his immediate gratification. pamphlet [_par un filet_, fr. whence this word is written anciently, and by caxton, _paunflet_] a small book; properly a book sold unbound, and only stitched. the french have borrowed the word _pamphlet_ from us, and have the goodness of not disfiguring its orthography. _roast beef_ is also in the same predicament. i conclude that _pamphlets_ and _roast beef_ have therefore their origin in our country. pinkerton favoured me with the following curious notice concerning pamphlets:-- "of the etymon of _pamphlet_ i know nothing; but that the word is far more ancient than is commonly believed, take the following proof from the celebrated _philobiblon_, ascribed to richard de buri, bishop of durham, but written by robert holkot, at his desire, as fabricius says, about the year , (fabr. bibl. medii Ã�vi, vol. i.); it is in the eighth chapter. "sed, revera, libros non libras maluimus; codicesque plus dileximus quam florenos: ac panfletos exiguos phaleratis prætulimus palescedis." "but, indeed, we prefer books to pounds; and we love manuscripts better than florins; and we prefer small _pamphlets_ to war horses." this word is as old as lydgate's time: among his works, quoted by warton, is a poem "translated from a _pamflete_ in frenshe." little books. myles davies has given an opinion of the advantages of little books, with some humour. "the smallness of the size of a book was always its own commendation; as, on the contrary, the largeness of a book is its own disadvantage, as well as the terror of learning. in short, a big book is a scare-crow to the head and pocket of the author, student, buyer, and seller, as well as a harbour of ignorance; hence the inaccessible masteries of the inexpugnable ignorance and superstition of the ancient heathens, degenerate jews, and of the popish scholasters and canonists, entrenched under the frightful bulk of huge, vast, and innumerable volumes; such as the great folio that the jewish rabbins fancied in a dream was given by the angel raziel to his pupil adam, containing all the celestial sciences. and the volumes writ by zoroaster, entitled the similitude, which is said to have taken up no more space than hides of cattle: as also the , , or, as some say, , volumes, besides lesser mss. of his. the grossness and multitude of aristotle and varro's books were both a prejudice to the authors, and an hindrance to learning, and an occasion of the greatest part of them being lost. the largeness of plutarch's treatises is a great cause of his being neglected, while longinus and epictetus, in their pamphlet remains, are every one's companions. origen's volumes (as epiphanius will have it) were not only the occasion of his venting more numerous errors, but also for the most part of their perdition.--were it not for euclid's elements, hippocrates' aphorisms, justinian's institutes, and littleton's tenures, in small pamphlet volumes, young mathematicians, fresh-water physicians, civilian novices, and _les apprentices en la ley d'angleterre_, would be at a loss and stand, and total disencouragement. one of the greatest advantages the _dispensary_ has over _king arthur_ is its pamphlet size. so boileau's lutrin, and his other pamphlet poems, in respect of perrault's and chapelain's st. paulin and la pucelle. _these_ seem to pay a deference to the reader's quick and great understanding; _those_ to mistrust his capacity, and to confine his time as well as his intellect." notwithstanding so much may be alleged in favour of books of a small size, yet the scholars of a former age regarded them with contempt. scaliger, says baillet, cavils with drusius for the smallness of his books; and one of the great printers of the time (moret, the successor of plantin) complaining to the learned puteanus, who was considered as the rival of lipsius, that his books were too small for sale, and that purchasers turned away, frightened at their diminutive size; puteanus referred him to plutarch, whose works consist of small treatises; but the printer took fire at the comparison, and turned him out of his shop, for his vanity at pretending that he wrote in any manner like plutarch! a specimen this of the politeness and reverence of the early printers for their learned authors; jurieu reproaches calomiès that he is _a great author of little books_! at least, if a man is the author only of little books, he will escape the sarcastic observation of cicero on a voluminous writer--that "his body might be burned with his writings," of which we have had several, eminent for the worthlessness and magnitude of their labours. it was the literary humour of a certain mæcenas, who cheered the lustre of his patronage with the steams of a good dinner, to place his guests according to the size and thickness of the books they had printed. at the head of the table sat those who had published in _folio, foliissimo_; next the authors in _quarto_; then those in _octavo_. at that table blackmore would have had the precedence of gray. addison, who found this anecdote in one of the anas, has seized this idea, and applied it with his felicity of humour in no. of the spectator. montaigne's works have been called by a cardinal, "the breviary of idlers." it is therefore the book for many men. francis osborne has a ludicrous image in favour of such opuscula. "huge volumes, like the ox roasted whole at bartholomew fair, may proclaim plenty of labour, but afford less of what is _delicate_, _savoury_, and _well-concocted_, than smaller pieces." in the list of titles of minor works, which aulus gellius has preserved, the lightness and beauty of such compositions are charmingly expressed. among these we find--a basket of flowers; an embroidered mantle; and a variegated meadow. a catholic's refutation. in a religious book published by a fellow of the society of jesus, entitled, "the faith of a catholic," the author examines what concerns the incredulous jews and other infidels. he would show that jesus christ, author of the religion which bears his name, did not impose on or deceive the apostles whom he taught; that the apostles who preached it did not deceive those who were converted; and that those who were converted did not deceive us. in proving these three not difficult propositions, he says, he confounds "the _atheist_, who does not believe in god; the _pagan_, who adores several; the _deist_, who believes in one god, but who rejects a particular providence; the _freethinker_, who presumes to serve god according to his fancy, without being attached to any religion; the _philosopher_, who takes reason and not revelation for the rule of his belief; the _gentile_, who, never having regarded the jewish people as a chosen nation, does not believe god promised them a messiah; and finally, the _jew_, who refuses to adore the messiah in the person of christ." i have given this sketch, as it serves for a singular catalogue of _heretics_. it is rather singular that so late as in the year , a work should have appeared in paris, which bears the title i translate, "the christian religion _proved_ by a _single fact_; or a dissertation in which is shown that those _catholics_ of whom huneric, king of the vandals, cut the tongues, _spoke miraculously_ all the remainder of their days; from whence is deduced the _consequences of this miracle_ against the arians, the socinians, and the deists, and particularly against the author of emilius, by solving their difficulties." it bears this epigraph, "_ecce ego admirationem faciam populo huic, miraculo grandi et stupendo_." there needs no further account of this book than the title. the good advice of an old literary sinner. authors of moderate capacity have unceasingly harassed the public; and have at length been remembered only by the number of wretched volumes their unhappy industry has produced. such an author was the abbé de marolles, otherwise a most estimable and ingenious man, and the patriarch of print-collectors. this abbé was a most egregious scribbler; and so tormented with violent fits of printing, that he even printed lists and catalogues of his friends. i have even seen at the end of one of his works a list of names of those persons who had given him books. he printed his works at his own expense, as the booksellers had unanimously decreed this. menage used to say of his works, "the reason why i esteem the productions of the abbé is, for the singular neatness of their bindings; he embellishes them so beautifully, that the eye finds pleasure in them." on a book of his versions of the epigrams of martial, this critic wrote, _epigrams against martial._ latterly, for want of employment, our abbé began a translation of the bible; but having inserted the notes of the visionary isaac de la peyrere, the work was burnt by order of the ecclesiastical court. he was also an abundant writer in verse, and exultingly told a poet, that his verses cost him little: "they cost you what they are worth," replied the sarcastic critic. de marolles in his _memoirs_ bitterly complains of the injustice done to him by his contemporaries; and says, that in spite of the little favour shown to him by the public, he has nevertheless published, by an accurate calculation, one hundred and thirty-three thousand one hundred and twenty-four verses! yet this was not the heaviest of his literary sins. he is a proof that a translator may perfectly understand the language of his original, and yet produce an unreadable translation. in the early part of his life this unlucky author had not been without ambition; it was only when disappointed in his political projects that he resolved to devote himself to literature. as he was incapable of attempting original composition, he became known by his detestable versions. he wrote above eighty volumes, which have never found favour in the eyes of the critics; yet his translations are not without their use, though they never retain by any chance a single passage of the spirit of their originals. the most remarkable anecdote respecting these translations is, that whenever this honest translator came to a difficult passage, he wrote in the margin, "i have not translated this passage, because it is very difficult, and in truth i could never understand it." he persisted to the last in his uninterrupted amusement of printing books; and his readers having long ceased, he was compelled to present them to his friends, who, probably, were not his readers. after a literary existence of forty years, he gave the public a work not destitute of entertainment in his own memoirs, which he dedicated to his relations and all his illustrious friends. the singular postscript to his epistle dedicatory contains excellent advice for authors. "i have omitted to tell you, that i do not advise any one of my relatives or friends to apply himself as i have done to study, and particularly to the composition of books, if he thinks that will add to his fame or fortune. i am persuaded that of all persons in the kingdom, none are more neglected than those who devote themselves entirely to literature. the small, number of successful persons in that class (at present i do not recollect more than two or three) should not impose on one's understanding, nor any consequences from them be drawn in favour of others. i know how it is by my own experience, and by that of several amongst you, as well as by many who are now no more, and with whom i was acquainted. believe me, gentlemen! to pretend to the favours of fortune it is only necessary to render one's self useful, and to be supple and obsequious to those who are in possession of credit and authority; to be handsome in one's person; to adulate the powerful; to smile, while you suffer from them every kind of ridicule and contempt whenever they shall do you the honour to amuse themselves with you; never to be frightened at a thousand obstacles which may be opposed to one; have a face of brass and a heart of stone; insult worthy men who are persecuted; rarely venture to speak the truth; appear devout, with every nice scruple of religion, while at the same time every duty must be abandoned when it clashes with your interest. after these any other accomplishment is indeed superfluous." mysteries, moralities, farces, and sotties. the origin of the theatrical representations of the ancients has been traced back to a grecian stroller singing in a cart to the honour of bacchus. our european exhibitions, perhaps as rude in their commencement, were likewise for a long time devoted to pious purposes, under the titles of mysteries and moralities. of these primeval compositions of the drama of modern europe, i have collected some anecdotes and some specimens.[ ] it appears that pilgrims introduced these devout spectacles. those who returned from the holy land or other consecrated places composed canticles of their travels, and amused their religious fancies by interweaving scenes of which christ, the apostles, and other objects of devotion, served as the themes. menestrier informs us that these pilgrims travelled in troops, and stood in the public streets, where they recited their poems, with their staff in hand; while their chaplets and cloaks, covered with shells and images of various colours formed a picturesque exhibition, which at length excited the piety of the citizens to erect occasionally a stage on an extensive spot of ground. these spectacles served as the amusements and instruction of the people. so attractive were these gross exhibitions in the middle ages, that they formed one of the principal ornaments of the reception of princes on their public entrances. when the mysteries were performed at a more improved period, the actors were distinguished characters, and frequently consisted of the ecclesiastics of the neighbouring villages, who incorporated themselves under the title of _confrères de la passion_. their productions were divided, not into acts, but into different days of performance, and they were performed in the open plain. this was at least conformable to the critical precept of that mad knight whose opinion is noticed by pope. it appears by a ms. in the harleian library, that they were thought to contribute so much to the information and instruction of the people, that one of the popes granted a pardon of one thousand days to every person who resorted peaceably to the plays performed in the whitsun week at chester, beginning with "the creation," and ending with the "general judgment." these were performed at the expense of the different corporations of that city, and the reader may smile at the ludicrous combinations. "the creation" was performed by the drapers; the "deluge" by the dyers; "abraham, melchisedech, and lot," by the barbers; "the purification" by the blacksmiths; "the last supper" by the bakers; the "resurrection" by the skinners; and the "ascension" by the tailors. in these pieces the actors represented the person of the almighty without being sensible of the gross impiety. so unskilful were they in this infancy of the theatrical art, that very serious consequences were produced by their ridiculous blunders and ill-managed machinery. the following singular anecdotes are preserved, concerning a mystery which took up several days in the performance. "in the year , when conrad bayer, bishop of metz, caused the mystery of 'the passion' to be represented on the plain of veximel near that city, _god_ was _an old gentleman_, named mr. nicholas neufchatel, of touraine, curate of saint victory, of metz, and who was very near expiring on the cross had he not been timely assisted. he was so enfeebled, that it was agreed another priest should be placed on the cross the next day, to finish the representation of the person crucified, and which was done; at the same time mr. nicholas undertook to perform 'the resurrection,' which being a less difficult task, he did it admirably well."--another priest, whose name was mr. john de nicey, curate of metrange, personated judas, and he had like to have been stifled while he hung on the tree, for his neck slipped; this being at length luckily perceived, he was quickly cut down and recovered. john bouchet, in his "annales d'aquitaine," a work which contains many curious circumstances of the times, written with that agreeable simplicity which characterises the old writers, informs us, that in he saw played and exhibited in mysteries by persons of poitiers, "the nativity, passion, and resurrection of christ," in great triumph and splendour; there were assembled on this occasion most of the ladies and gentlemen of the neighbouring counties. we will now examine the mysteries themselves. i prefer for this purpose to give a specimen from the french, which are livelier than our own. it is necessary to premise to the reader, that my versions being in prose will probably lose much of that quaint expression and vulgar _naïveté_ which prevail through the originals, written in octo-syllabic verses. one of these mysteries has for its subject the election of an apostle to supply the place of the traitor judas. a dignity so awful is conferred in the meanest manner; it is done by drawing straws, of which he who gets the longest becomes the apostle. louis chocquet was a favourite composer of these religious performances: when he attempts the pathetic, he has constantly recourse to devils; but, as these characters are sustained with little propriety, his pathos succeeds in raising a laugh. in the following dialogue annas and caiaphas are introduced conversing about st. peter and st. john:---- annas. i remember them once very honest people. they have often brought their fish to my house to sell. caiaphas. is this true? annas. by god, it is true; my servants remember them very well. to live more at their ease they have left off business; or perhaps they were in want of customers. since that time they have followed jesus, that wicked heretic, who has taught them magic; the fellow understands necromancy, and is the greatest magician alive, as far as rome itself. st. john, attacked by the satellites of domitian, amongst whom the author has placed longinus and patroclus, gives regular answers to their insulting interrogatories. some of these i shall transcribe; but leave to the reader's conjectures the replies of the saint, which are not difficult to anticipate. parthemia. you tell us strange things, to say there is but one god in three persons. longinus. is it any where said that we must believe your old prophets (with whom your memory seems overburdened) to be more perfect than our gods? pathoclus. you must be very cunning to maintain impossibilities. now listen to me: is it possible that a virgin can bring forth a child without ceasing to be a virgin? domitian. will you not change these foolish sentiments? would you pervert us? will you not convert yourself? lords! you perceive now very clearly what an obstinate fellow this is! therefore let him be stripped and put into a great caldron of boiling oil. let him die at the latin gate. pesart. the great devil of hell fetch me if i don't latinise him well. never shall they hear at the latin gate any one sing so well as he shall sing. torneau. i dare venture to say he won't complain of being frozen. patroclus. frita, run quick; bring wood and coals, and make the caldron ready. frita. i promise him, if he has the gout or the itch, he will soon get rid of them. st. john dies a perfect martyr, resigned to the boiling oil and gross jests of patroclus and longinus. one is astonished in the present times at the excessive absurdity, and indeed blasphemy, which the writers of these moralities permitted themselves, and, what is more extraordinary, were permitted by an audience consisting of a whole town. an extract from the "mystery of st. dennis" is in the duke de la vallière's "bibliothèque du théâtre françois depuis son origine: dresde, ." the emperor domitian, irritated against the christians, persecutes them, and thus addresses one of his courtiers:---- seigneurs romains, j'ai entendu que d'un crucifix d'un pendu, on fait un dieu par notre empire, sans ce qu'on le nous daigne dire. roman lords, i understand that of a crucified hanged man they make a god in our kingdom, without even deigning to ask our permission. he then orders an officer to seize on dennis in france. when this officer arrives at paris, the inhabitants acquaint him of the rapid and grotesque progress of this future saint:---- sire, il preche un dieu à paris qui fait tout les mouls et les vauls. il va à cheval sans chevauls. il fait et defait tout ensemble. il vit, il meurt, il sue, il tremble. il pleure, il rit, il veille, et dort. il est jeune et vieux, foible et fort. il fait d'un coq une poulette. il joue des arts de roulette, ou je ne sçais que ce peut être. sir, he preaches a god at paris who has made mountain and valley. he goes a horseback without horses. he does and undoes at once. he lives, he dies, he sweats, he trembles. he weeps, he laughs, he wakes, and sleeps. he is young and old, weak and strong. he turns a cock into a hen. he knows how to conjure with cup and ball, or i do not know who this can be. another of these admirers says, evidently alluding to the rite of baptism,---- sire, oyez que fait ce fol prestre: il prend de l'yaue en une escuele, et gete aux gens sur le cervele, et dit que partants sont sauvés! sir, hear what this mad priest does: he takes water out of a ladle, and, throwing it at people's heads, he says that when they depart they are saved! this piece then proceeds to entertain the spectators with the tortures of st. dennis, and at length, when more than dead, they mercifully behead him: the saint, after his decapitation, rises very quietly, takes his head under his arm, and walks off the stage in all the dignity of martyrdom. it is justly observed by bayle on these wretched representations, that while they prohibited the people from meditating on the sacred history in the book which contains it in all its purity and truth, they permitted them to see it on the theatre sullied with a thousand gross inventions, which were expressed in the most vulgar manner and in a farcical style. warton, with his usual elegance, observes, "to those who are accustomed to contemplate the great picture of human follies which the unpolished ages of europe hold up to our view, it will not appear surprising that the people who were forbidden to read the events of the sacred history in the bible, in which they are faithfully and beautifully related, should at the same time be permitted to see them represented on the stage disgraced with the grossest improprieties, corrupted with inventions and additions of the most ridiculous kind, sullied with impurities, and expressed in the language and gesticulations of the lowest farce." elsewhere he philosophically observes that, however, they had their use, "not only teaching the great truths of scripture to men who could not read the bible, but in abolishing the barbarous attachment to military games and the bloody contentions of the tournament, which had so long prevailed as the sole species of popular amusement. rude, and even ridiculous as they were, they softened the manners of the people, by diverting the public attention to spectacles in which the mind was concerned, and by creating a regard for other arts than those of bodily strength and savage valour." _mysteries_ are to be distinguished from _moralities_, and _farces_, and _sotties_. _moralities_ are dialogues where the interlocutors represented feigned or allegorical personages. _farces_ were more exactly what their title indicates--obscene, gross, and dissolute representations, where both the actions and words are alike reprehensible. the _sotties_ were more farcical than farce, and frequently had the licentiousness of pasquinades. i shall give an ingenious specimen of one of the moralities. this morality is entitled, "the condemnation of feasts, to the praise of diet and sobriety for the benefit of the human body." the perils of gormandising form the present subject. towards the close is a trial between _feasting_ and _supper_. they are summoned before _experience_, the lord chief justice! _feasting_ and _supper_ are accused of having murdered four persons by force of gorging them. _experience_ condemns _feasting_ to the gallows; and his executioner is _diet_. _feasting_ asks for a father-confessor, and makes a public confession of so many crimes, such numerous convulsions, apoplexies, head-aches, and stomach-qualms, &c., which he has occasioned, that his executioner _diet_ in a rage stops his mouth, puts the cord about his neck, and strangles him. _supper_ is only condemned to load his hands with a certain quantity of lead, to hinder him from putting too many dishes on table: he is also bound over to remain at the distance of six hours' walking from _dinner_ upon pain of death. _supper_ felicitates himself on his escape, and swears to observe the mitigated sentence.[ ] the moralities were allegorical dramas, whose tediousness seems to have delighted a barbarous people not yet accustomed to perceive that what was obvious might be omitted to great advantage: like children, everything must be told in such an age; their own unexercised imagination cannot supply anything. of the farces the licentiousness is extreme, but their pleasantry and their humour are not contemptible. the "village lawyer," which is never exhibited on our stage without producing the broadest mirth, originates among these ancient drolleries. the humorous incident of the shepherd, who having stolen his master's sheep, is advised by his lawyer only to reply to his judge by mimicking the bleating of a sheep, and when the lawyer in return claims his fee, pays him by no other coin, is discovered in these ancient farces. bruèys got up the ancient farce of the "_patelin_" in , and we borrowed it from him. they had another species of drama still broader than farce, and more strongly featured by the grossness, the severity, and personality of satire:--these were called _sotties_, of which the following one i find in the duke de la vallière's "bibliothèque du théâtre françois."[ ] the actors come on the stage with their fools'-caps each wanting the right ear, and begin with stringing satirical proverbs, till, after drinking freely, they discover that their fools'-caps want the right ear. they call on their old grandmother _sottie_ (or folly), who advises them to take up some trade. she introduces this progeny of her fools to the _world_, who takes them into his service. the _world_ tries their skill, and is much displeased with their work. the _cobbler_-fool pinches his feet by making the shoes too small; the _tailor_-fool hangs his coat too loose or too tight about him; the _priest_-fool says his masses either too short or too tedious. they all agree that the _world_ does not know what he wants, and must be sick, and prevail upon him to consult a physician. the _world_ obligingly sends what is required to a urine-doctor, who instantly pronounces that "the _world_ is as mad as a march hare!" he comes to visit his patient, and puts a great many questions on his unhappy state. the _world_ replies, "that what most troubles his head is the idea of a new deluge by fire, which must one day consume him to a powder;" on which the physician gives this answer:---- et te troubles-tu pour cela? monde, tu ne te troubles pas de voir ce larrons attrapars vendre et acheter benefices; les enfans en bras des nourices estre abbés, eveques, prieurs, chevaucher tres bien les deux soeurs, tuer les gens pour leurs plaisirs, jouer le leur, l'autrui saisir, donner aux flatteurs audience, faire la guerre à toute outrance pour un rien entre les chrestiens! and you really trouble yourself about this? oh, _world!_ you do not trouble yourself about seeing those impudent rascals selling and buying livings; children in the arms of their nurses made abbots, bishops, and priors, intriguing with girls, killing people for their pleasures, minding their own interests, and seizing on what belongs to another, lending their ears to flatterers, making war, exterminating war, for a bubble, among christians! the _world_ takes leave of his physician, but retains his advice; and to cure his fits of melancholy gives himself up entirely to the direction of his fools. in a word, the _world_ dresses himself in the coat and cap of _folly_, and he becomes as gay and ridiculous as the rest of the fools. this _sottie_ was represented in the year . such was the rage for mysteries, that rené d'anjou, king of naples and sicily, and count of provence, had them magnificently represented and made them a serious concern. being in provence, and having received letters from his son the prince of calabria, who asked him for an immediate aid of men, he replied, that "he had a very different matter in hand, for he was fully employed in settling the order of a mystery--_in honour of god_."[ ] strutt, in his "manners and customs of the english," has given a description of the stage in england when mysteries were the only theatrical performances. vol. iii, p. . "in the early dawn of literature, and when the sacred mysteries were the only theatrical performances, what is now called the stage did then consist of three several platforms, or stages raised one above another. on the uppermost sat the _pater coelestis_, surrounded with his angels; on the second appeared the holy saints, and glorified men; and the last and lowest was occupied by mere men who had not yet passed from this transitory life to the regions of eternity. on one side of this lowest platform was the resemblance of a dark pitchy cavern, from whence issued appearance of fire and flames; and, when it was necessary, the audience were treated with hideous yellings and noises as imitative of the howlings and cries of the wretched souls tormented by the relentless demons. from this yawning cave the devils themselves constantly ascended to delight and to instruct the spectators:--to delight, because they were usually the greatest jesters and buffoons that then appeared; and to instruct, for that they treated the wretched mortals who were delivered to them with the utmost cruelty, warning thereby all men carefully to avoid the falling into the clutches of such hardened and remorseless spirits." an anecdote relating to an english mystery presents a curious specimen of the manners of our country, which then could admit of such a representation; the simplicity, if not the libertinism, of the age was great. a play was acted in one of the principal cities of england, under the direction of the trading companies of that city, before a numerous assembly of both sexes, wherein _adam_ and _eve_ appeared on the stage entirely naked, performed their whole part in the representation of eden, to the serpent's temptation, to the eating of the forbidden fruit, the perceiving of, and conversing about, their nakedness, and to the supplying of fig-leaves to cover it. warton observes they had the authority of scripture for such a representation, and they gave matters just as they found them in the third chapter of genesis. the following article will afford the reader a specimen of an _elegant morality_. love and folly, an ancient morality. one of the most elegant moralities was composed by louise l'abé; the aspasia of lyons in , adored by her contemporaries. with no extraordinary beauty, she however displayed the fascination of classical learning, and a vein of vernacular poetry refined and fanciful. to accomplishments so various she added the singular one of distinguishing herself by a military spirit, and was nicknamed captain louise. she was a fine rider and a fine lutanist. she presided in the assemblies of persons of literature and distinction. married to a rope-manufacturer, she was called _la belle cordière_, and her name is still perpetuated by that of the street she lived in. her anagram was _belle à soy_.--but she was _belle_ also for others. her _morals_ in one point were not correct, but her taste was never gross: the ashes of her perishable graces may preserve themselves sacred from our severity; but the productions of her genius may still delight. her morality, entitled "débat de folie et d'amour--the contest of _love_ and _folly_," is divided into five parts, and contains six mythological or allegorical personages. this division resembles our five acts, which, soon after the publication of this morality, became generally practised. in the first part, _love_ and _folly_ arrive at the same moment at the gate of jupiter's palace, to join a festival to which he had invited the gods. _folly_ observing _love_ just going to step in at the hall, pushes him aside and enters first. _love_ is enraged, but _folly_ insists on her precedency. _love_, perceiving there was no reasoning with _folly_, bends his bow and shoots an arrow; but she baffled his attempt by rendering herself invisible. she in her turn becomes furious, falls on the boy, tearing out his eyes, and then covers them with a bandage which could not be taken off. in the second part, _love_, in despair for having lost his sight, implores the assistance of his mother; she tries in vain to undo the magic fillet; the knots are never to be unloosed. in the third part, venus presents herself at the foot of the throne of jupiter to complain of the outrage committed by _folly_ on her son. jupiter commands _folly_ to appear.--she replies, that though she has reason to justify herself, she will not venture to plead her cause, as she is apt to speak too much, or to omit what should be said. _folly_ asks for a counsellor, and chooses mercury; apollo is selected by venus. the fourth part consists of a long dissertation between jupiter and _love_, on the manner of loving. _love_ advises jupiter, if he wishes to taste of truest happiness, to descend on earth, to lay down all his majesty, and, in the figure of a mere mortal, to please some beautiful maiden: "then wilt thou feel quite another contentment than that thou hast hitherto enjoyed: instead of a single pleasure it will be doubled; for there is as much pleasure to be loved as to love." jupiter agrees that this may be true, but he thinks that to attain this it requires too much time, too much trouble, too many attentions,--and that, after all, it is not worth them. in the fifth part, apollo, the advocate for venus, in a long pleading demands justice against _folly_. the gods, seduced by his eloquence, show by their indignation that they would condemn _folly_ without hearing her advocate mercury. but jupiter commands silence, and mercury replies. his pleading is as long as the adverse party's, and his arguments in favour of _folly_ are so plausible, that, when he concludes his address, the gods are divided in opinion; some espouse the cause of _love_, and some, that of _folly_. jupiter, after trying in vain to make them agree together, pronounces this award:---- "on account of the difficulty and importance of your disputes and the diversity of your opinions, we have suspended your contest from this day to three times seven times nine centuries. in the mean time we command you to live amicably together without injuring one another. _folly_ shall lead _love,_ and take him whithersoever he pleases, and when restored to his sight, the fates may pronounce sentence." many beautiful conceptions are scattered in this elegant morality. it has given birth to subsequent imitations; it was too original and playful an idea not to be appropriated by the poets. to this morality we perhaps owe the panegyric of _folly_ by erasmus, and the _love and folly_ of la fontaine. religious nouvellettes. i shall notice a class of very singular works, in which the spirit of romance has been called in to render religion more attractive to certain heated imaginations. in the fifteenth century was published a little book of _prayers_, accompanied by _figures_, both of a very uncommon nature for a religious publication. it is entitled _hortulus animæ, cum oratiunculis aliquibus superadditis quæ in prioribus libris non habentur_. it is a small octavo _en lettres gothiques_, printed by john grunninger, . "a garden," says the author, "which abounds with flowers for the pleasure of the soul;" but they are full of poison. in spite of his fine promises, the chief part of these meditations are as puerile as they are superstitious. this we might excuse, because the ignorance and superstition of the times allowed such things: but the _figures_ which accompany this work are to be condemned in all ages; one represents saint ursula and some of her eleven thousand virgins, with all the licentious inventions of an aretine. what strikes the ear does not so much irritate the senses, observes the sage horace, as what is presented in all its nudity to the eye. one of these designs is only ridiculous: david is represented as examining bathsheba bathing, while cupid hovering throws his dart, and with a malicious smile triumphs in his success. we have had many gross anachronisms in similar designs. there is a laughable picture in a village in holland, in which abraham appears ready to sacrifice his son isaac by a loaded blunderbuss; but his pious intention is entirely frustrated by an angel urining in the pan. in another painting, the virgin receives the annunciation of the angel gabriel with a huge chaplet of beads tied round her waist, reading her own offices, and kneeling before a crucifix; another happy invention, to be seen on an altar-piece at worms, is that in which the virgin throws jesus into the hopper of a mill, while from the other side he issues changed into little morsels of bread, with which the priests feast the people. matthison, a modern traveller, describes a picture in a church at constance, called the conception of the holy virgin. an old man lies on a cloud, whence he darts out a vast beam, which passes through a dove hovering just below; at the end of a beam appears a large transparent egg, in which egg is seen a child in swaddling clothes with a glory round it. mary sits leaning in an arm chair, and opens her mouth to receive the egg. i must not pass unnoticed in this article a production as extravagant in its design, in which the author prided himself in discussing three thousand questions concerning the virgin mary. the publication now adverted to was not presented to the world in a barbarous age and in a barbarous country, but printed at paris in . it bears for title, _dévote salutation des membres sacres du corps de la glorieuse vièrge, mère de dieu_. that is, "a devout salutation of the holy members of the body of the glorious virgin, mother of god." it was printed and published with an approbation and privilege, which is more strange than the work itself. valois reprobates it in these just terms: "what would innocent xi. have done, after having abolished the shameful _office of the conception, indulgences, &c._ if he had seen a volume in which the impertinent devotion of that visionary monk caused to be printed, with permission of his superiors, meditations on all the parts of the body of the holy virgin? religion, decency, and good sense, are equally struck at by such an extravagance." i give a specimen of the most decent of these _salutations_. _salutation to the hair._ "i salute you, charming hair of maria! rays of the mystical sun! lines of the centre and circumference of all created perfection! veins of gold of the mine of love! chains of the prison of god! roots of the tree of life! rivulets of the fountain of paradise! strings of the bow of charity! nets that caught jesus, and shall be used in the hunting-day of souls!" _salutation to the ears._ "i salute ye, intelligent ears of maria! ye presidents of the princes of the poor! tribunal for their petitions; salvation at the audience of the miserable! university of all divine wisdom! receivers general of all wards! ye are pierced with the rings of our chains; ye are impearled with our necessities!" the images, prints, and miniatures, with which the catholic religion has occasion to decorate its splendid ceremonies, have frequently been consecrated to the purposes of love: they have been so many votive offerings worthy to have been suspended in the temple of idalia. pope alexander vi. had the images of the virgin made to represent some of his mistresses; the famous vanozza, his favourite, was placed on the altar of santa, maria del popolo; and julia farnese furnished a subject for another virgin. the same genius of pious gallantry also visited our country. the statuaries made the queen of henry iii. a model for the face of the virgin mary. hearne elsewhere affirms, that the virgin mary was generally made to bear a resemblance to the queens of the age, which, no doubt, produced some real devotion among the courtiers. the prayer-books of certain pious libertines were decorated with the portraits of their favourite minions and ladies in the characters of saints, and even of the virgin and jesus. this scandalous practice was particularly prevalent in that reign of debauchery in france, when henry iii. held the reins of government with a loose hand. in a missal once appertaining to the queen of louis xii. may be seen a mitred ape, giving its benediction to a man prostrate before it; a keen reproach to the clergy of that day. charles v., however pious that emperor affected to be, had a missal painted for his mistress by the great albert durer, the borders of which are crowded with extravagant grotesques, consisting of apes, who were sometimes elegantly sportive, giving clysters to one another, and in more offensive attitudes, not adapted to heighten the piety of the royal mistress. this missal has two french verses written by the emperor himself, who does not seem to have been ashamed of his present. the italians carried this taste to excess. the manners of our country were more rarely tainted with this deplorable licentiousness, although i have observed an innocent tendency towards it, by examining the illuminated manuscripts of our ancient metrical romances: while we admire the vivid colouring of these splendid manuscripts, the curious observer will perceive that almost every heroine is represented in a state which appears incompatible with her reputation. most of these works are, i believe, by french artists. a supplement might be formed to religious indecencies from the golden legend, which abounds in them. henry stephens's apology for herodotus might be likewise consulted with effect for the same purpose. there is a story of st. mary the egyptian, who was perhaps a looser liver than mary magdalen; for not being able to pay for her passage to jerusalem, whither she was going to adore the holy cross and sepulchre, in despair she thought of an expedient in lieu of payment to the ferryman, which required at least going twice, instead of once, to jerusalem as a penitential pilgrimage. this anecdote presents the genuine character of certain _devotees_. melchior inchoffer, a jesuit, published a book to vindicate the miracle of a _letter_ which the virgin mary had addressed to the citizens of messina: when naudé brought him positive proofs of its evident forgery, inchoffer ingenuously confessed the imposture, but pleaded that it was done by the _orders_ of his _superiors_. this same _letter_ of the virgin mary was like a _donation_ made to her by louis the eleventh of the _whole county_ of boulogne, retaining, however, for _his own use the revenues_! this solemn act bears the date of the year , and is entitled, "conveyance of louis the eleventh to the virgin of boulogne, of the right and title of the fief and homage of the county of boulogne, which is held by the count of saint pol, to render a faithful account before the image of the said lady." maria agreda, a religious visionary, wrote _the life of the virgin_. she informs us that she resisted the commands of god and the holy mary till the year , when she began to compose this curious rhapsody. when she had finished this _original_ production, her confessor advised her to _burn_ it; she obeyed. her friends, however, who did not think her less inspired than she informed them she was, advised her to re-write the work. when printed it spread rapidly from country to country: new editions appeared at lisbon, madrid, perpignan, and antwerp. it was the rose of sharon for those climates. there are so many pious absurdities in this book, which were found to give such pleasure to the devout, that it was solemnly honoured with the censure of the sorbonne; and it spread the more. the head of this lady was quite turned by her religion. in the first six chapters she relates the visions of the virgin, which induced her to write her life. she begins the history _ab ovo_, as it may be expressed; for she has formed a narrative of what passed during the nine months in which the virgin was confined in the womb of her mother st. anne. after the birth of mary, she received an augmentation of angelic guards; we have several conversations which god held with the virgin during the first eighteen months after her birth. and it is in this manner she formed a _circulating novel_, which delighted the female devotees of the seventeenth century. the worship paid to the virgin mary in spain and italy exceeds that which is given to the son or the father. when they pray to mary, their imagination pictures a beautiful woman, they really feel a _passion_; while jesus is only regarded as a _bambino_, or infant at the breast, and the _father_ is hardly ever recollected: but the _madonna la senhora, la maria santa_, while she inspires their religious inclinations, is a mistress to those who have none. of similar works there exists an entire race, and the libraries of the curious may yet preserve a shelf of these religious _nouvellettes_. the jesuits were the usual authors of these rhapsodies. i find an account of a book which pretends to describe what passes in paradise. a spanish jesuit published at salamanca a volume in folio, , entitled _empyreologia_. he dwells with great complacency on the joys of the celestial abode; there always will be music in heaven with material instruments as our ears are already accustomed to; otherwise he thinks the celestial music would not be music for us! but another jesuit is more particular in his accounts. he positively assures us that we shall experience a supreme pleasure in kissing and embracing the bodies of the blessed; they will bathe in the presence of each other, and for this purpose there are most agreeable baths in which we shall swim like fish; that we shall all warble as sweetly as larks and nightingales; that the angels will dress themselves in female habits, their hair curled; wearing petticoats and fardingales, and with the finest linen; that men and women will amuse themselves in masquerades, feasts, and balls.--women will sing more agreeably than men to heighten these entertainments, and at the resurrection will have more luxuriant tresses, ornamented with ribands and head-dresses as in this life! such were the books once so devoutly studied, and which doubtless were often literally understood. how very bold must the minds of the jesuits have been, and how very humble those of their readers, that such extravagances should ever be published! and yet, even to the time in which i am now writing,--even at this day,--the same picturesque and impassioned pencil is employed by the modern apostles of mysticism--the swedenborgians, the moravians, the methodists! i find an account of another book of this class, ridiculous enough to be noticed. it has for title, "the spiritual kalendar, composed of as many madrigals or sonnets and epigrams as there are days in the year; written for the consolation of the pious and the curious. by father g. cortade, austin preacher at bayonne, ." to give a notion of this singular collection take an epigram addressed to a jesuit, who, young as he was, used to _put spurs under his shirt_ to mortify the outer man! the kalendar-poet thus gives a point to these spurs:-- il ne pourra done plus ni ruer ni hennir sous le rude eperon dont tu fais son supplice; qui vit jamais tel artifice, de piquer un cheval pour le mieux retenir! humbly intimated. your body no more will neigh and will kick, the point of the spur must eternally prick; whoever contrived a thing with such skill, to keep spurring a horse to make him stand still! one of the most extravagant works projected on the subject of the virgin mary was the following:--the prior of a convent in paris had reiteratedly entreated varillas the historian to examine a work composed by one of the monks; and of which--not being himself addicted to letters--he wished to be governed by his opinion. varillas at length yielded to the entreaties of the prior; and to regale the critic, they laid on two tables for his inspection seven enormous volumes in folio. this rather disheartened our reviewer: but greater was his astonishment, when, having opened the first volume, he found its title to be _summa dei-paræ_; and as saint thomas had made a _sum_, or system of theology, so our monk had formed a _system_ of the _virgin_! he immediately comprehended the design of our good father, who had laboured on this work full thirty years, and who boasted he had treated _three thousand_ questions concerning the virgin! of which he flattered himself not a single one had ever yet been imagined by any one but himself! perhaps a more extraordinary design was never known. varillas, pressed to give his judgment on this work, advised the prior with great prudence and good-nature to amuse the honest old monk with the hope of printing these seven folios, but always to start some new difficulties; for it would be inhuman to occasion so deep a chagrin to a man who had reached his seventy-fourth year, as to inform him of the nature of his favourite occupations; and that after his death he should throw the seven folios into the fire. footnotes: [footnote : since this article was written, many of these ancient mysteries and moralities have been printed at home and abroad. hone, in his "ancient mysteries described," , first gave a summary of the _ludus coventriæ,_ the famous mysteries performed by the trading companies of coventry; the entire series have been since printed by the shakspeare society, under the editorship of mr. halliwell, and consist of forty-two dramas, founded on incidents in the old and new testaments. the equally famous _chester mysteries_ were also printed by the same society under the editorship of mr. wright, and consist of twenty-five long dramas, commencing with "the fall of lucifer," and ending with "doomsday." in , the abbotsford club published some others from the digby ms., in the bodleian library, oxford. in , mr. sharp, of coventry, published a dissertation on the mysteries once performed there, and printed the pageant of the sheremen and taylor's company; and in the abbotsford club printed the pageant played by the weavers of that city. in , the surtees society published the series known as _the towneley mysteries,_ consisting of thirty-two dramas; in , dr. marriott published in english, at basle, a selection of the most curious of these dramas. in , m. achille jubinal published two octavo volumes of french "mystères inédits du quinzième siècle." this list might be swelled by other notes of such books, printed within the last thirty years, in illustration of these early religious dramas.] [footnote : in jubinal's _tapisseries anciennes_ is engraved that found in the tent of charles the bold, at nancy, and still preserved in that city. it is particularly curious, inasmuch as it depicts the incidents described in the morality above-named.] [footnote : the british museum library was enriched in by a very curions collection of these old comic plays, which was formed about . it consists of sixty-four dramas, of which number only five or six were known before. they are exceedingly curious as pictures of early manners and amusements; very simple in construction, and containing few characters. one is a comic dialogue between two persons as to the best way of managing a wife. another has for its plot the adventure of a husband sent from home by the seigneur of the village, that he may obtain access to his wife; and who is checkmated by the peasant, who repairs to the neglected lady of the seigneur. some are entirely composed of allegorical characters; all are broadly comic, in language equally broad. they were played by a jocular society, whose chief was termed prince des sots; hence the name sotties given to the farces.] [footnote : the peasants of the ober-ammergau, a village in the bavarian alps, still perform, at intervals of ten years, a long miracle play, detailing the chief incidents of the passion of our saviour from his entrance into jerusalem to his ascension. it is done in fulfilment of a vow made during a pestilence in . the performance lasted twelve hours in , when it was last performed. the actors were all of the peasant class.] "critical sagacity," and "happy conjecture;" or, bentley's milton. ----bentley, long to wrangling schools confined, and but by books acquainted with mankind---- to milton lending sense, to horace wit, he makes them write, what never poet writ. dr. bentley's edition of our english homer is sufficiently known by name. as it stands a terrifying beacon to conjectural criticism, i shall just notice some of those violations which the learned critic ventured to commit, with all the arrogance of a scaliger. this man, so deeply versed in ancient learning, it will appear, was destitute of taste and genius in his native language. our critic, to persuade the world of the necessity of his edition, imagined a fictitious editor of milton's poems: and it was this ingenuity which produced all his absurdities. as it is certain that the blind bard employed an amanuensis, it was not improbable that many words of similar sound, but very different signification, might have disfigured the poem; but our doctor was bold enough to conjecture that this amanuensis _interpolated_ whole verses of his own composition in the "paradise lost!" having laid down this fatal position, all the consequences of his folly naturally followed it. yet if there needs any conjecture, the more probable one will be, that milton, who was never careless of his future fame, had his poem _read_ to him after it had been published. the first edition appeared in , and the second in , in which all the faults of the former edition are continued. by these _faults_, the doctor means what _he_ considers to be such: for we shall soon see that his "canons of criticism" are apocryphal. bentley says that he will _supply_ the want of manuscripts to collate (to use his own words) by his own "sagacity," and "happy conjecture." milton, after the conclusion of satan's speech to the fallen angels, proceeds thus:-- . he spake: and to confirm his words out flew . millions of flaming _swords_, drawn from the thighs . of mighty cherubim: the sudden blaze . far round illumin'd hell; highly they rag'd . against the highest; and fierce with grasped _arms_ . clash'd on their sounding shields the din of war, . hurling defiance tow'rd the _vault_ of heaven. in this passage, which is as perfect as human wit can make, the doctor alters three words. in the second line he puts _blades_ instead of _swords_; in the fifth he puts _swords_ instead of _arms_; and in the last line he prefers _walls_ to _vault_. all these changes are so many defoedations of the poem. the word _swords_ is far more poetical than _blades_, which may as well be understood of _knives_ as _swords_. the word _arms_, the generic for the specific term, is still stronger and nobler than _swords_; and the beautiful conception of _vault_, which is always indefinite to the eye, while the solidity of _walls_ would but meanly describe the highest heaven, gives an idea of grandeur and modesty. milton writes, book i. v. -- no light, but rather darkness visible served only to discover sights of woe. perhaps borrowed from spenser:-- a little glooming light, much like a shade. _faery queene_, b. i. c. . st. . this fine expression of "darkness visible" the doctor's critical sagacity has thus rendered clearer:-- no light, but rather a transpiciuous gloom. again, our learned critic distinguishes the th line of the first book-- as from the centre thrice to the utmost pole, as "a vicious verse," and therefore with "happy conjecture," and no taste, thrusts in an entire verse of his own composition-- distance which to express all measure fails. milton _writes_, our torments, also, may in length of time become our elements. b. ii. ver. . bentley _corrects_-- _then, as was well observ'd_ our torments may become our elements. a curious instance how the insertion of a single prosaic expression turns a fine verse into something worse than the vilest prose. to conclude with one more instance of critical emendation: milton says, with an agreeable turn of expression-- so parted they; the angel up to heaven, from the thick shade; and adam to his bower. bentley "conjectures" these two verses to be inaccurate, and in lieu of the last writes-- adam, to ruminate on past discourse. and then our erudite critic reasons! as thus:-- after the conversation between the angel and adam in the bower, it may be well presumed that our first parent waited on his heavenly guest at his departure to some little distance from it, till he began to take his flight towards heaven; and therefore "sagaciously" thinks that the poet could not with propriety say that the angel parted from the _thick shade_, that is, the _bower_, to go to heaven. but if adam attended the angel no farther than the door or entrance of the bower, then he shrewdly asks, "how adam could return to his bower if he was never out of it?" our editor has made a thousand similar corrections in his edition of milton! some have suspected that the same kind intention which prompted dryden to persuade creech to undertake a translation of horace influenced those who encouraged our doctor, in thus exercising his "sagacity" and "happy conjecture" on the epic of milton. he is one of those learned critics who have happily "elucidated their author into obscurity," and comes nearest to that "true conjectural critic" whose practice a portuguese satirist so greatly admired: by which means, if he be only followed up by future editors, we might have that immaculate edition, in which little or nothing should be found of the original! i have collected these few instances as not uninteresting to men of taste; they may convince us that a scholar may be familiarized to greek and latin, though a stranger to his vernacular literature; and that a verbal critic may sometimes be successful in his attempts on a _single word_, though he may be incapable of tasting an _entire sentence_. let it also remain as a gibbet on the high roads of literature; that "conjectural critics" as they pass may not forget the unhappy fate of bentley. the following epigram appeared on this occasion:-- on milton's executioner. did milton's prose, o charles! thy death defend? a furious foe, unconscious, proves a friend; on milton's verse does bentley comment? know, a weak officious friend becomes a foe. while he would seem his author's fame to farther, the murtherous critic has avenged thy murther. the classical learning of bentley was singular and acute; but the erudition of words is frequently found not to be allied to the sensibility of taste.[ ] footnotes: [footnote : an amusing instance of his classical emendations occurs in the text of shakspeare. [king henry iv. pt. , act , sc. .] the poet speaks of one who "----woebegone drew priam's curtain in the dead of night, and would have told him half his troy was burn'd." bentley alters the first word of the sentence to a proper name, which is given in the third book of the iliad, and the second of the Ã�neid; and reads the passage thus:-- "----ucaligon drew priam's curtain," &c.!] a jansenist dictionary. when l'advocat published his concise biographical dictionary, the jansenists, the methodists of france, considered it as having been written with a view to depreciate the merit of _their_ friends. the spirit of party is too soon alarmed. the abbé barral undertook a dictionary devoted to their cause. in this labour, assisted by his good friends the jansenists, he indulged all the impetuosity and acerbity of a splenetic adversary. the abbé was, however, an able writer; his anecdotes are numerous and well chosen; and his style is rapid and glowing. the work bears for title, "dictionnaire historique, littéraire, et critique, des hommes célèbres," vols. vo. . it is no unuseful speculation to observe in what manner a faction represents those who have not been its favourites: for this purpose i select the characters of fenelon, cranmer, and luther. of fenelon they write, "he composed for the instruction of the dukes of burgundy, anjou, and berri, several works; amongst others, the telemachus--a singular book, which partakes at once of the character of a romance and of a poem, and which substitutes a prosaic cadence for versification." but several luscious pictures would not lead us to suspect that this book issued from the pen of a sacred minister for the education of a prince; and what we are told by a famous poet is not improbable, that fenelon did not compose it at court, but that it is the fruits of his retreat in his diocese. and indeed the amours of calypso and eucharis should not be the first lessons that a minister ought to give his scholars; and, besides, the fine moral maxims which the author attributes to the pagan divinities are not well placed in their mouth. is not this rendering homage to the demons of the great truths which we receive from the gospel, and to despoil j. c. to render respectable the annihilated gods of paganism? this prelate was a wretched divine, more familiar with the light of profane authors than with that of the fathers of the church. phelipeaux has given us, in his narrative of quietism, the portrait of the friend of madame guyon. this archbishop has a lively genius, artful and supple, which can flatter and dissimulate, if ever any could. seduced by a woman, he was solicitous to spread his seduction. he joined to the politeness and elegance of conversation a modest air, which rendered him amiable. he spoke of spirituality with the expression and the enthusiasm of a prophet; with such talents he flattered himself that everything would yield to him. in this work the protestants, particularly the first reformers, find no quarter; and thus virulently their rabid catholicism exults over the hapless end of cranmer, the first protestant archbishop:-- "thomas cranmer married the sister of osiander. as henry viii. detested married priests, cranmer kept this second marriage in profound secrecy. this action serves to show the character of this great reformer, who is the hero of burnet, whose history is so much esteemed in england. what blindness to suppose him an athanasius, who was at once a lutheran secretly married, a consecrated archbishop under the roman pontiff whose power he detested, saying the mass in which he did not believe, and granting a power to say it! the divine vengeance burst on this sycophantic courtier, who had always prostituted his conscience to his fortune." their character of luther is quite lutheran in one sense, for luther was himself a stranger to moderate strictures:-- "the furious luther, perceiving himself assisted by the credit of several princes, broke loose against the church with the most inveterate rage, and rung the most terrible alarum against the pope. according to him we should have set fire to everything, and reduced to one heap of ashes the pope and the princes who supported him. nothing equals the rage of this phrenetic man, who was not satisfied with exhaling his fury in horrid declamations, but who was for putting all in practice. he raised his excesses to the height by inveighing against the vow of chastity, and in marrying publicly catherine de bore, a nun, whom he enticed, with eight others, from their convents. he had prepared the minds of the people for this infamous proceeding by a treatise which he entitled 'examples of the papistical doctrine and theology,' in which he condemns the praises which all the saints had given to continence. he died at length quietly enough, in , at eisleben, his country place--god reserving the terrible effects of his vengeance to another life." cranmer, who perished at the stake, these fanatic religionists proclaim as an example of "divine vengeance;" but luther, the true parent of the reformation, "died quietly at eisleben:" this must have puzzled their mode of reasoning; but they extricate themselves out of the dilemma by the usual way. their curses are never what the lawyers call "lapsed legacies." manuscripts and books. it would be no uninteresting literary speculation to describe the difficulties which some of our most favourite works encountered in their manuscript state, and even after they had passed through the press. sterne, when he had finished his first and second volumes of tristram shandy, offered them to a bookseller at york for fifty pounds; but was refused: he came to town with his mss.; and he and robert dodsley agreed in a manner of which neither repented. the rosciad, with all its merit, lay for a considerable time in a dormant state, till churchill and his publisher became impatient, and almost hopeless of success.--burn's justice was disposed of by its author, who was weary of soliciting booksellers to purchase the ms., for a trifle, and it now yields an annual income. collins burnt his odes after indemnifying his publisher. the publication of dr. blair's sermons was refused by strahan, and the "essay on the immutability of truth," by dr. beattie, could find no publisher, and was printed by two friends of the author, at their joint expense. "the sermon in tristram shandy" (says sterne, in his preface to his sermons) "was printed by itself some years ago, but could find neither purchasers nor readers." when it was inserted in his eccentric work, it met with a most favourable reception, and occasioned the others to be collected. joseph warton writes, "when gray published his exquisite ode on eton college, his first publication, little notice was taken of it." the polyeucte of corneille, which is now accounted to be his masterpiece, when he read it to the literary assembly held at the hotel de rambouillet, was not approved. voiture came the next day, and in gentle terms acquainted him with the unfavourable opinion of the critics. such ill judges were then the most fashionable wits of france! it was with great difficulty that mrs. centlivre could get her "busy body" performed. wilks threw down his part with an oath of detestation--our comic authoress fell on her knees and wept.--her tears, and not her wit, prevailed. a pamphlet published in the year , entitled "a letter to the society of booksellers, on the method of forming a true judgment of the manuscripts of authors," contains some curious literary intelligence. "we have known books, that in the ms. have been damned, as well as others which seem to be so, since, after their appearance in the world, they have often lain by neglected. witness the 'paradise lost' of the famous milton, and the optics of sir isaac newton, which last, 'tis said, had no character or credit here till noticed in france. 'the historical connection of the old and new testament,' by shuckford, is also reported to have been seldom inquired after for about a twelvemonth's time; however, it made a shift, though not without some difficulty, to creep up to a second edition, and afterwards even to a third. and which is another remarkable instance, the manuscript of dr. prideaux's 'connection' is well known to have been bandied about from hand to hand among several, at least five or six, of the most eminent booksellers, during the space of at least two years, to no purpose, none of them undertaking to print that excellent work. it lay in obscurity, till archdeacon echard, the author's friend, strongly recommended it to tonson. it was purchased, and the publication was very successful. robinson crusoe in manuscript also ran through the whole trade, nor would any one print it, though the writer, de foe, was in good repute as an author. one bookseller at last, not remarkable for his discernment, but for his speculative turn, engaged in this publication. _this_ bookseller got above a thousand guineas by it; and the booksellers are accumulating money every hour by editions of this work in all shapes. the undertaker of the translation of rapin, after a very considerable part of the work had been published, was not a little dubious of its success, and was strongly inclined to drop the design. it proved at last to be a most profitable literary adventure." it is, perhaps, useful to record, that while the fine compositions of genius and the elaborate labours of erudition are doomed to encounter these obstacles to fame, and never are but slightly remunerated, works of another description are rewarded in the most princely manner; at the recent sale of a bookseller, the copyright of "vyse's spelling-book" was sold at the enormous price of £ , with an annuity of guineas to the author! the turkish spy. whatever may be the defects of the "turkish spy," the author has shown one uncommon merit, by having opened a new species of composition, which has been pursued by other writers with inferior success, if we except the charming "persian letters" of montesquieu. the "turkish spy" is a book which has delighted our childhood, and to which we can still recur with pleasure. but its ingenious author is unknown to three parts of his admirers. in boswell's "life of johnson" is this dialogue concerning the writer of the "turkish spy." "b.--pray, sir, is the 'turkish spy' a genuine book? j.--no, sir. mrs. mauley, in her 'life' says, that _her father wrote the two first volumes_; and in another book--'dunton's life and errours,' we find that the rest was _written_ by _one sault_, at two guineas a sheet, under the direction of dr. midgeley." i do not know on what authority mrs. manley advances that her father was the author; but this lady was never nice in detailing facts. dunton, indeed, gives some information in a very loose manner. he tells us, p. , that it is probable, by reasons which he insinuates, that _one bradshaw_, a hackney author, was the writer of the "turkish spy." this man probably was engaged by dr. midgeley to translate the volumes as they appeared, at the rate of s. per sheet. on the whole, all this proves, at least, how little the author was known while the volumes were publishing, and that he is as little known at present by the extract from boswell. the ingenious writer of the turkish spy is john paul marana, an italian; so that the turkish spy is just as real a personage as cid hamet, from whom cervantes says he had his "history of don quixote." marana had been imprisoned for a political conspiracy; after his release he retired to monaco, where he wrote the "history of the plot," which is said to be valuable for many curious particulars. marana was at once a man of letters and of the world. he had long wished to reside at paris; in that emporium of taste and luxury his talents procured him patrons. it was during his residence there that he produced his "turkish spy." by this ingenious contrivance he gave the history of the last age. he displays a rich memory, and a lively imagination; but critics have said that he touches everything, and penetrates nothing. his first three volumes greatly pleased: the rest are inferior. plutarch, seneca, and pliny, were his favourite authors. he lived in philosophical mediocrity; and in the last years of his life retired to his native country, where he died in . charpentier gave the first particulars of this ingenious man. even in his time the volumes were read as they came out, while its author remained unknown. charpentier's proof of the author is indisputable; for he preserved the following curious certificate, written in marana's own handwriting. "i, the under-written john paul marana, author of a manuscript italian volume, entitled '_l'esploratore turco, tomo terzo_,' acknowledge that mr. charpentier, appointed by the lord chancellor to revise the said manuscript, has not granted me his certificate for printing the said manuscript, but on condition to rescind four passages. the first beginning, &c. by this i promise to suppress from the said manuscript the places above marked, so that there shall remain no vestige; since, without agreeing to this, the said certificate would not have been granted to me by the said mr. charpentier; and for surety of the above, which i acknowledge to be true, and which i promise punctually to execute, i have signed the present writing. paris, th september, . "john paul marana." this paper serves as a curious instance in what manner the censors of books clipped the wings of genius when it was found too daring or excursive. these rescindings of the censor appear to be marked by marana in the printed work. we find more than once chasms, with these words: "the beginning of _this_ letter is wanting in the italian translation; the _original_ paper _being torn_." no one has yet taken the pains to observe the date of the first editions of the french and the english turkish spies, which would settle the disputed origin. it appears by the document before us, to have been originally _written_ in italian, but probably was first _published_ in french. does the english turkish spy differ from the french one?[ ] spenser, jonson, and shakspeare. the characters of these three great masters of english poetry are sketched by fuller, in his "worthies of england." it is a literary morsel that must not be passed by. the criticisms of those who lived in or near the times when authors flourished merit our observation. they sometimes elicit a ray of intelligence, which later opinions do not always give. he observes on spenser--"the many _chaucerisms_ used (for i will not say affected by him) are thought by the ignorant to be _blemishes_, known by the learned to be _beauties_, to his book; which, notwithstanding, had been more saleable, if more conformed to our modern language." on jonson.--"his parts were not so ready _to run of themselves_, as able to answer the spur; so that it may be truly said of him, that he had an _elaborate wit_, wrought out by his own industry.--he would _sit silent_ in learned company, and suck in (_besides wine_) their several humours into his observation. what was _ore_ in _others_, he was able to _refine_ himself. "he was paramount in the dramatic part of poetry, and taught the stage an exact conformity to the laws of comedians. his comedies were above the _volge_ (which are only tickled with downright obscenity), and took not so well at the _first stroke_ as at the _rebound_, when beheld the second time; yea, they will endure reading so long as either ingenuity or learning are fashionable in our nation. if his latter be not so spriteful and vigorous as his first pieces, all that are old will, and all who desire to be old should, excuse him therein." on shakspeare.--"he was an eminent instance of the truth of that rule, _poëta non fit, sed nascitur_; one is not made, but born a poet. indeed his _learning_ was but very little; so that as _cornish diamonds_ are not polished by any lapidary, but are pointed and smooth, even as they are taken out of the earth, so _nature_ itself was all the _art_ which was used upon him. "many were the _wit-combats_ betwixt him and ben jonson, which two i beheld like a _spanish great galleon_ and an _english man of war_. master _jonson_ (like the former) was built far higher in learning; _solid_, but _slow_ in his performances. _shakspeare_, with an english man of war, lesser in _bulk_, but lighter in _sailing_, could _turn with all tides_, and take advantage of _all winds_, by the quickness of his wit and invention." had these "wit-combats," between shakspeare and jonson, which fuller notices, been chronicled by some faithful _boswell_ of the age, our literary history would have received an interesting accession. a letter has been published by dr. berkenhout relating to an evening's conversation between our great rival bards, and alleyn the actor. peele, a dramatic poet, writes to his friend marlow, another poet. the doctor unfortunately in giving this copy did not recollect his authority. "friend marlow, "i never longed for thy companye more than last night: we were all very merrye at the globe, where ned alleyn did not scruple to affirme pleasantly to thy friend will, that he had stolen his speech about the qualityes of an actor's excellencye in hamlet his tragedye, from conversations manyfold which had passed between them, and opinyons given by alleyn touchinge this subject. shakspeare did not take this talk in good sorte; but jonson put an end to the strife, by wittylie remarking,--this affaire needeth no contention: you stole it from ned, no doubt, do not marvel; have you not seen him act times out of number?" this letter is one of those ingenious forgeries which the late george steevens practised on the literary antiquary; they were not always of this innocent cast. the present has been frequently quoted as an original document. i have preserved it as an example of _literary forgeries_, and the danger which literary historians incur by such nefarious practices. footnotes: [footnote : marana appears to have carelessly deserted his literary offspring. it is not improbable that his english translators continued his plan, and that their volumes were translated; so that what appears the french original may be, for the greater part, of our own home manufacture. the superiority of the first part was early perceived. the history of our ancient grub-street is enveloped in the obscurity of its members, and there are more claimants than one for the honour of this continuation. we know too little of marana to account for his silence; cervantes was indignant at the impudent genius who dared to continue the immortal quixote. the tale remains imperfectly told. see a correspondence on this subject in the gentleman's magazine, and .] ben jonson, feltham, and randolph. ben jonson, like most celebrated wits, was very unfortunate in conciliating the affections of his brother writers. he certainly possessed a great share of arrogance, and was desirous of ruling the realms of parnassus with a despotic sceptre. that he was not always successful in his theatrical compositions is evident from his abusing, in their title-page, the actors and the public. in this he has been imitated by fielding. i have collected the following three satiric odes, written when the reception of his "_new inn_, or _the light heart_," warmly exasperated the irritable disposition of our poet. he printed the title in the following manner:-- "_the new inn_, or _the light heart_; a comedy never acted, but most negligently played by some, the king's servants; and more squeamishly beheld and censured by others, the king's subjects, . now at last set at liberty to the readers, his majesty's servants and subjects, to be judged, ." at the end of this play he published the following ode, in which he threatens to quit the stage for ever; and turn at once a horace, an anacreon, and a pindar. "the just indignation the author took at the vulgar censure of his play, begat this following ode to himself:-- come, leave the loathed stage, and the more loathsome age; where pride and impudence (in faction knit,) usurp the chair of wit; inditing and arraigning every day something they call a play. let their fastidious, vaine commission of braine run on, and rage, sweat, censure, and condemn; they were not made for thee,--less thou for them. say that thou pour'st them wheat, and they will acorns eat; 'twere simple fury, still, thyself to waste on such as have no taste! to offer them a surfeit of pure bread, whose appetites are dead! no, give them graines their fill, husks, draff, to drink and swill. if they love lees, and leave the lusty wine, envy them not their palate with the swine. no doubt some mouldy tale like pericles,[ ] and stale as the shrieve's crusts, and nasty as his fish-- scraps, out of every dish thrown forth, and rak't into the common-tub, may keep up the play-club: there sweepings do as well as the best order'd meale, for who the relish of these guests will fit, needs set them but the almes-basket of wit. and much good do't you then, brave plush and velvet men can feed on orts, and safe in your stage clothes, dare quit, upon your oathes, the stagers, and the stage-wrights too (your peers), of larding your large ears with their foul comic socks, wrought upon twenty blocks: which if they're torn, and turn'd, and patch'd enough the gamesters share your gilt and you their stuff. leave things so prostitute, and take the alcæick lute, or thine own horace, or anacreon's lyre; warm thee by pindar's fire; and, tho' thy nerves be shrunk, and blood be cold, ere years have made thee old, strike that disdainful heat throughout, to their defeat; as curious fools, and envious of thy strain, may, blushing, swear no palsy's in thy brain.[ ] but when they hear thee sing the glories of thy king, his zeal to god, and his just awe o'er men, they may blood-shaken then, feel such a flesh-quake to possess their powers, as they shall cry 'like ours, in sound of peace, or wars, no harp ere hit the stars, in tuning forth the acts of his sweet raign, and raising charles his chariot 'bove his wain.'" this magisterial ode, as langbaine calls it, was answered by _owen feltham_, author of the admirable "resolves," who has written with great satiric acerbity the retort courteous. his character of this poet should be attended to:-- an answer to the ode, come leave the loathed stage, &c. come leave this sawcy way of baiting those that pay dear for the sight of your declining wit: 'tis known it is not fit that a sale poet, just contempt once thrown, should cry up thus his own. i wonder by what dower, or patent, you had power from all to rape a judgment. let't suffice, had you been modest, y'ad been granted wise. 'tis known you can do well, and that you do excell as a translator; but when things require a genius, and fire, not kindled heretofore by other pains, as oft y'ave wanted brains and art to strike the white, as you have levell'd right: yet if men vouch not things apocryphal, you bellow, rave, and spatter round your gall. jug, pierce, peek, fly,[ ] and all your jests so nominal, are things so far beneath an able brain, as they do throw a stain thro' all th' unlikely plot, and do displease as deep as pericles. where yet there is not laid before a chamber-maid discourse so weigh'd,[ ] as might have serv'd of old for schools, when they of love and valour told. why rage, then? when the show should judgment be, and know-[ ] ledge, there are plush who scorn to drudge for stages, yet can judge not only poet's looser lines, but wits, and all their perquisits; a gift as rich as high is noble poesie: yet, tho' in sport it be for kings to play, 'tis next mechanicks' when it works for pay. alcæus lute had none, nor loose anacreon e'er taught so bold assuming of the bays when they deserv'd no praise. to rail men into approbation is new to your's alone: and prospers not: for known, fame is as coy, as you can be disdainful; and who dares to prove a rape on her shall gather scorn--not love. leave then this humour vain, and this more humourous strain, where self-conceit, and choler of the blood, eclipse what else is good: then, if you please those raptures high to touch, whereof you boast so much: and but forbear your crown till the world puts it on: no doubt, from all you may amazement draw, since braver theme no phoebus ever saw. to console dejected ben for this just reprimand, randolph, of the adopted poetical sons of jonson, addressed him with all that warmth of grateful affection which a man of genius should have felt on the occasion. an answer to mr. ben jonson's ode, to persuade him not to leave the stage. i. ben, do not leave the stage cause 'tis a loathsome age; for pride and impudence will grow too bold, when they shall hear it told they frighted thee; stand high, as is thy cause; their hiss is thy applause: more just were thy disdain, had they approved thy vein: so thou for them, and they for thee were born; they to incense, and thou as much to scorn. ii. wilt thou engross thy store of wheat, and pour no more, because their bacon-brains had such a taste as more delight in mast: no! set them forth a board of dainties, full as thy best muse can cull whilst they the while do pine and thirst, midst all their wine. what greater plague can hell itself devise, than to be willing thus to tantalise? iii. thou canst not find them stuff, that will be bad enough to please their palates: let 'em them refuse, for some pye-corner muse; she is too fair an hostess, 'twere a sin for them to like thine inn: 'twas made to entertain guests of a nobler strain; yet, if they will have any of the store, give them some scraps, and send them from thy dore. iv. and let those things in plush till they be taught to blush, like what they will, and more contented be with what broome[ ] swept from thee. i know thy worth, and that thy lofty strains write not to cloaths, but brains: but thy great spleen doth rise, 'cause moles will have no eyes; this only in my ben i faulty find, he's angry they'll not see him that are blind. v. why shou'd the scene be mute 'cause thou canst touch the lute and string thy horace! let each muse of nine claim thee, and say, th'art mine. 'twere fond, to let all other flames expire, to sit by pindar's fire: for by so strange neglect i should myself suspect thy palsie were as well thy brain's disease, if they could shake thy muse which way they please. vi. and tho' thou well canst sing the glories of thy king, and on the wings of verse his chariot bear to heaven, and fix it there; yet let thy muse as well some raptures raise to please him, as to praise. i would not have thee chuse only a treble muse; but have this envious, ignorant age to know, thou that canst sing so high, canst reach as low. footnotes: [footnote : this play, langbaine says, is written by shakspeare.] [footnote : he had the palsy at that time.] [footnote : the names of several of jonson's dramatis personæ.] [footnote : new inn, act iii. scene .--act iv. scene .] [footnote : this break was purposely designed by the poet, to expose that singular one in ben's third stanza.] [footnote : his man, richard broome, wrote with success several comedies. he had been the amanuensis or attendant of jonson. the epigram made against pope for the assistance w. broome gave him appears to have been borrowed from this pun. johnson has inserted it in "broome's life."] ariosto and tasso. it surprises one to find among the literary italians the merits of ariosto most keenly disputed: slaves to classical authority, they bend down to the majestic regularity of tasso. yet the father of tasso, before his son had rivalled the romantic ariosto, describes in a letter the effect of the "orlando" on the people:--"there is no man of learning, no mechanic, no lad, no girl, no old man, who is satisfied to read the 'orlando furioso' once. this poem serves as the solace of the traveller, who fatigued on his journey deceives his lassitude by chanting some octaves of this poem. you may hear them sing these stanzas in the streets and in the fields every day." one would have expected that ariosto would have been the favourite of the people, and tasso of the critics. but in venice the gondoliers, and others, sing passages which are generally taken from tasso, and rarely from ariosto. a different fate, i imagined, would have attended the poet who has been distinguished by the epithet of "_the divine_." i have been told by an italian man of letters, that this circumstance arose from the relation which tasso's poem bears to turkish affairs; as many of the common people have passed into turkey either by chance or by war. besides, the long antipathy existing between the venetians and the turks gave additional force to the patriotic poetry of tasso. we cannot boast of any similar poems. thus it was that the people of greece and ionia sang the poems of homer. the accademia della crusca gave a public preference to ariosto. this irritated certain critics, and none more than chapelain, who could _taste_ the regularity of tasso, but not _feel_ the "brave disorder" of ariosto. he could not approve of those writers, who snatch a grace beyond the reach of art. "i thank you," he writes, "for the sonnet which your indignation dictated, at the academy's preference of ariosto to tasso. this judgment is overthrown by the confessions of many of the _cruscanti_, my associates. it would be tedious to enter into its discussion; but it was passion and not equity that prompted that decision. we confess, that, as to what concerns invention and purity of language, ariosto has eminently the advantage over tasso; but majesty, pomp, numbers, and a style truly sublime, united to regularity of design, raise the latter so much above the other that no comparison can fairly exist." the decision of chapelain is not unjust; though i did not know that ariosto's language was purer than tasso's. dr. cocchi, the great italian critic, compared "ariosto's poem to the richer kind of harlequin's habit, made up of pieces of the very best silk, and of the liveliest colours. the parts of it are, many of them, _more beautiful_ than in tasso's poem, but the whole in tasso is without comparison more of a piece and better made." the critic was extricating himself as safely as he could out of this critical dilemma; for the disputes were then so violent, that i think one of the disputants took to his bed, and was said to have died of ariosto and tasso. it is the conceit of an italian to give the name of _april_ to _ariosto_, because it is the season of _flowers_; and that of _september_ to _tasso_, which is that of _fruits_. tiraboschi judiciously observes that no comparison ought to be made between these great rivals. it is comparing "ovid's metamorphoses" with "virgil's Ã�neid;" they are quite different things. in his characters of the two poets, he distinguishes between a romantic poem and a regular epic. their designs required distinct perfections. but an english reader is not enabled by the wretched versions of hoole to echo the verse of la fontaine, "je cheris l'arioste et j'estime le tasse." boileau, some time before his death, was asked by a critic if he had repented of his celebrated decision concerning the merits of tasso, which some italians had compared with those of virgil? boileau had hurled his bolts at these violators of classical majesty. it is supposed that he was ignorant of the italian language, but some expressions in his answer may induce us to think that he was not. "i have so little changed my opinion, that, on a _re-perusal_ lately of tasso, i was sorry that i had not more amply explained myself on this subject in some of my reflections on 'longinus.' i should have begun by acknowledging that tasso had a sublime genius, of great compass, with happy dispositions for the higher poetry. but when i came to the use he made of his talents, i should have shown that judicious discernment rarely prevailed in his works. that in the greater portion of his narrations he attached himself to the agreeable, oftener than to the just. that his descriptions are almost always overcharged with superfluous ornaments. that in painting the strongest passions, and in the midst of the agitations they excite, frequently he degenerates into witticisms, which abruptly destroy the pathetic. that he abounds with images of too florid a kind; affected turns; conceits and frivolous thoughts; which, far from being adapted to his jerusalem, could hardly be supportable in his 'aminta.' so that all this, opposed to the gravity, the sobriety, the majesty of virgil, what is it but tinsel compared with gold?" the merits of tasso seem here precisely discriminated; and this criticism must be valuable to the lovers of poetry. the errors of tasso were national. in venice the gondoliers know by heart long passages from ariosto and tasso, and often chant them with a peculiar melody. goldoni, in his life, notices the gondolier returning with him to the city: "he turned the prow of the gondola towards the city, singing all the way the twenty-sixth stanza of the sixteenth canto of the jerusalem delivered." the late mr. barry once chanted to me a passage of tasso in the manner of the gondoliers; and i have listened to such from one who in his youth had himself been a gondolier. an anonymous gentleman has greatly obliged me with his account of the recitation of these poets by the gondoliers of venice. there are always two concerned, who alternately sing the strophes. we know the melody eventually by rousseau, to whose songs it is printed; it has properly no melodious movement, and is a sort of medium between the canto fermo and the canto figurato; it approaches to the former by recitativical declamation, and to the latter by passages and course, by which one syllable is detained and embellished. i entered a gondola by moonlight: one singer placed himself forwards, and the other aft, and thus proceeded to saint giorgio. one began the song: when he had ended his strophe the other took up the lay, and so continued the song alternately. throughout the whole of it, the same notes invariably returned; but, according to the subject matter of the strophe, they laid a greater or a smaller stress, sometimes on one, and sometimes on another note, and indeed changed the enunciation of the whole strophe, as the object of the poem altered. on the whole, however, their sounds were hoarse and screaming: they seemed, in the manner of all rude uncivilised men, to make the excellency of their singing consist in the force of their voice: one seemed desirous of conquering the other by the strength of his lungs, and so far from receiving delight from this scene (shut up as i was in the box of the gondola), i found myself in a very unpleasant situation. my companion, to whom i communicated this circumstance, being very desirous to keep up the credit of his countrymen, assured me that this singing was very delightful when heard at a distance. accordingly we got out upon the shore, leaving one of the singers in the gondola, while the other went to the distance of some hundred paces. they now began to sing against one another; and i kept walking up and down between them both, so as always to leave him who was to begin his part. i frequently stood still, and hearkened to the one and to the other. here the scene was properly introduced. the strong declamatory, and, as it were, shrieking sound, met the ear from far, and called forth the attention; the quickly succeeding transitions, which necessarily required to be sung in a lower tone, seemed like plaintive strains succeeding the vociferations of emotion or of pain. the other, who listened attentively, immediately began where the former left off, answering him in milder or more vehement notes, according as the purport of the strophe required. the sleepy canals, the lofty buildings, the splendour of the moon, the deep shadows of the few gondolas that moved like spirits hither and thither, increased the striking peculiarity of the scene, and amidst all these circumstances it was easy to confess the character of this wonderful harmony. it suits perfectly well with an idle solitary mariner, lying at length in his vessel at rest on one of these canals, waiting for his company or for a fare; the tiresomeness of which situation is somewhat alleviated by the songs and poetical stories he has in memory. he often raises his voice as loud as he can, which extends itself to a vast distance over the tranquil mirror; and, as all is still around, he is as it were in a solitude in the midst of a large and populous town. here is no rattling of carriages, no noise of foot passengers; a silent gondola glides now and then by him, of which the splashing of the oars is scarcely to be heard. at a distance he hears another, perhaps utterly unknown to him. melody and verse immediately attach the two strangers; he becomes the responsive echo to the former, and exerts himself to be heard as he had heard the other. by a tacit convention they alternate verse for verse; though the song should last the whole night through, they entertain, themselves without fatigue; the hearers, who are passing between the two, take part in the amusement. this vocal performance sounds best at a great distance, and is then inexpressibly charming, as it only fulfils its design in the sentiment of remoteness. it is plaintive, but not dismal in its sound; and at times it is scarcely possible to refrain from tears. my companion, who otherwise was not a very delicately organised person, said quite unexpectedly, "e singolare come quel canto intenerisce, e molto più quando la cantano meglio." i was told that the women of lido, the long row of islands that divides the adriatic from the lagouns, particularly the women of the extreme districts of malamocca and palestrina, sing in like manner the works of tasso to these and similar tunes. they have the custom, when their husbands are fishing out at sea, to sit along the shore in the evenings and vociferate these songs, and continue to do so with great violence, till each of them can distinguish the responses of her own husband at a distance. how much more delightful and more appropriate does this song show itself here, than the call of a solitary person uttered far and wide, till another equally disposed shall hear and answer him! it is the expression of a vehement and hearty longing, which yet is every moment nearer to the happiness of satisfaction. lord byron has told us that with the independence of venice the song of the gondolier has died away-- in venice tasso's echoes are no more. if this be not more poetical than true, it must have occurred at a moment when their last political change may have occasioned this silence on the waters. my servant _tita_, who was formerly the servant of his lordship, and whose name has been immortalised in the "italy" of mr. rogers, was himself a gondolier. he assures me that every night on the river the chant may be heard. many who cannot even read have acquired the whole of tasso, and some chant the stanzas of ariosto. it is a sort of poetical challenge, and he who cannot take up the subject by continuing it is held as vanquished, and which occasions him no slight vexation. in a note in lord byron's works, this article is quoted by mistake as written by me, though i had mentioned it as the contribution of a stranger. we find by that note that there are two kinds of tasso; the original, and another called the "_canta alla barcarola_," a spurious tasso in the venetian dialect: this latter, however, is rarely used. in the same note, a printer's error has been perpetuated through all the editions of byron; the name of _barry_, the painter, has been printed _berry_. bayle. few philosophers were more deserving of the title than, bayle. his last hour exhibits the socratic intrepidity with which he encountered the formidable approach of death. i have seen the original letter of the bookseller leers, where he describes the death of our philosopher. "on the evening preceding his decease, having studied all day, he gave my corrector some copy of his 'answer to jacquelot,' and told him that he was very ill. at nine in the morning his laundress entered his chamber; he asked her, with a dying voice, if his fire was kindled? and a few moments after he died." his disease was an hereditary consumption, and his decline must have been gradual; speaking had become with him a great pain, but he laboured with the same tranquillity of mind to his last hour; and, with bayle, it was death alone which, could interrupt the printer. the irritability of genius is forcibly characterised by this circumstance in his literary life. when a close friendship had united him to jurieu, he lavished on him the most flattering eulogiums: he is the hero of his "republic of letters." enmity succeeded to friendship; jurieu is then continually quoted in his "critical dictionary," whenever an occasion offers to give instances of gross blunders, palpable contradictions, and inconclusive arguments. these inconsistent opinions may be sanctioned by the similar conduct of a _saint_! st. jerome praised rufinus as the most learned man of his age, while his friend; but when the same rufinus joined his adversary origen, he called him one of the most ignorant! as a logician bayle had no superior; the best logician will, however, frequently deceive himself. bayle made long and close arguments to show that la motte le vayer never could have been a preceptor to the king; but all his reasonings are overturned by the fact being given in the "history of the academy," by pelisson. basnage said of bayle, that _he read much by his fingers_. he meant that he ran over a book more than he read it; and that he had the art of always falling upon that which was most essential and curious in the book he examined. there are heavy hours in which the mind of a man of letters is unhinged; when the intellectual faculties lose all their elasticity, and when nothing but the simplest actions are adapted to their enfeebled state. at such hours it is recorded of the jewish socrates, moses mendelssohn, that he would stand at his window, and count the tiles of his neighbour's house. an anonymous writer has told of bayle, that he would frequently wrap himself in his cloak, and hasten to places where mountebanks resorted; and that this was one of his chief amusements. he is surprised that so great a philosopher should delight in so trifling an object. this objection is not injurious to the character of bayle; it only proves that the writer himself was no philosopher. the "monthly reviewer," in noticing this article, has continued the speculation by giving two interesting anecdotes. "the observation concerning 'heavy hours,' and the want of elasticity in the intellectual faculties of men of letters, when the mind is fatigued and the attention blunted by incessant labour, reminds us of what is related by persons who were acquainted with the late sagacious magistrate sir john fielding; who, when fatigued with attending to complicated cases, and perplexed with discordant depositions, used to retire to a little closet in a remote and tranquil part of the house, to rest his mental powers and sharpen perception. he told a great physician, now living, who complained of the distance of places, as caused by the great extension of london, that 'he (the physician) would not have been able to visit many patients to any purpose, if they had resided nearer to each other; as he could have had no time either to think or to rest his mind.'" our excellent logician was little accustomed to a mixed society: his life was passed in study. he had such an infantine simplicity in his nature, that he would speak on anatomical subjects before the ladies with as much freedom as before surgeons. when they inclined their eyes to the ground, and while some even blushed, he would then inquire if what he spoke was indecent; and, when told so, he smiled, and stopped. his habits of life were, however, extremely pure; he probably left himself little leisure "_to fall into temptation_." bayle knew nothing of geometry; and, as le clerc informs us, acknowledged that he could never comprehend the demonstration of the first problem in euclid. le clerc, however, was a rival to bayle; with greater industry and more accurate learning, but with very inferior powers of reasoning and philosophy. both of these great scholars, like our locke, were destitute of fine taste and poetical discernment. when fagon, an eminent physician, was consulted on the illness of our student, he only prescribed a particular regimen, without the use of medicine. he closed his consultation by a compliment remarkable for its felicity. "i ardently wish one could spare this great man all this constraint, and that it were possible to find a remedy as singular as the merit of him for whom it is asked." voltaire has said that bayle confessed he would not have made his dictionary exceed a folio volume, had he written only for himself, and not for the booksellers. this dictionary, with all its human faults, is a stupendous work, which must last with literature itself. i take an enlarged view of bayle and his dictionary, in a subsequent article. cervantes. m. du boulay accompanied the french ambassador to spain, when cervantes was yet living. he told segrais that the ambassador one day complimented cervantes on the great reputation he had acquired by his don quixote; and that cervantes whispered in his ear, "had it not been for the inquisition, i should have made my book much more entertaining." cervantes, at the battle of lepanto, was wounded, and enslaved. he has given his own history in don quixote, as indeed every great writer of fictitious narratives has usually done. cervantes was known at the court of spain, but he did not receive those favours which might have been expected; he was neglected. his first volume is the finest; and his design was to have finished there: but he could not resist the importunities of his friends, who engaged him to make a second, which has not the same force, although it has many splendid passages. we have lost many good things of cervantes, and other writers, through the tribunal of religion and dulness. one aonius palearius was sensible of this; and said, "that the inquisition was a poniard aimed at the throat of literature." the image is striking, and the observation just; but this victim of genius was soon led to the stake! magliabechi. anthony magliabechi, who died at the age of eighty, was celebrated for his great knowledge of books. he has been called the _helluo_, or the glutton of literature, as peter _comestor_ received his nickname from his amazing voracity for food he could never digest; which appeared when having fallen sick of so much false learning, he threw it all up in his "_sea of histories_," which proved to be the history of all things, and a bad history of everything. magliabechi's character is singular; for though his life was wholly passed in libraries, being librarian to the duke of tuscany, he never _wrote_ himself. there is a medal which represents him sitting, with a book in one hand, and a great number of books scattered on the ground. the candid inscription signifies, that "it is not sufficient to become learned to have read much, if we read without reflection." this is the only remains we have of his own composition that can be of service to posterity. a simple truth, which may, however, be inscribed in the study of every man of letters. his habits of life were uniform. ever among his books, he troubled himself with no other concern whatever; and the only interest he appeared to take for any living thing was his spiders. while sitting among his literary piles, he affected great sympathy for these weavers of webs, and perhaps in contempt of those whose curiosity appeared impertinent, he frequently cried out, "to take care not to hurt his spiders!" although he lost no time in writing himself, he gave considerable assistance to authors who consulted him. he was himself an universal index to all authors; the late literary antiquary, isaac reed, resembled him.[ ] he had one book, among many others, dedicated to him, and this dedication consisted of a collection of titles of works which he had had at different times dedicated to him, with all the eulogiums addressed to him in prose and verse. when he died, he left his vast collection for the public use; they now compose the public library of florence. heyman, a celebrated dutch professor, visited this erudite librarian, who was considered as the ornament of florence. he found him amongst his books, of which the number was prodigious. two or three rooms in the first story were crowded with them, not only along their sides, but piled in heaps on the floor; so that it was difficult to sit, and more so to walk. a narrow space was contrived, indeed, so that by walking sideways you might extricate yourself from one room to another. this was not all; the passage below stairs was full of books, and the staircase from the top to the bottom was lined with them. when you reached the second story, you saw with astonishment three rooms, similar to those below, equally so crowded, that two good beds in these chambers were also crammed with books. this apparent confusion did not, however, hinder magliabechi from immediately finding the books he wanted. he knew them all so well, that even to the least of them it was sufficient to see its outside, to say what it was; he knew his flock, as shepherds are said, by their faces; and indeed he read them day and night, and never lost sight of any.[ ] he ate on his books, he slept on his books, and quitted them as rarely as possible. during his whole life he only went twice from florence; once to see fiesoli, which is not above two leagues distant, and once ten miles further by order of the grand duke. nothing could be more simple than his mode of life; a few eggs, a little bread, and some water, were his ordinary food. a drawer of his desk being open, mr. heyman saw there several eggs, and some money which magliabechi had placed there for his daily use. but as this drawer was generally open, it frequently happened that the servants of his friends, or strangers who came to see him, pilfered some of these things; the money or the eggs. his dress was as cynical as his repasts. a black doublet, which descended to his knees; large and long breeches; an old patched black cloak; an amorphous hat, very much worn, and the edges ragged; a large neckcloth of coarse cloth, begrimed with snuff; a dirty shirt, which he always wore as long as it lasted, and which the broken elbows of his doublet did not conceal; and, to finish this inventory, a pair of ruffles which did not belong to the shirt. such was the brilliant dress of our learned florentine; and in such did he appear in the public streets, as well as in his own house. let me not forget another circumstance; to warm his hands, he generally had a stove with fire fastened to his arms, so that his clothes were generally singed and burnt, and his hands scorched. he had nothing otherwise remarkable about him. to literary men he was extremely affable, and a cynic only to the eye; anecdotes almost incredible are related of his memory. it is somewhat uncommon that as he was so fond of literary _food_, he did not occasionally dress some dishes of his own invention, or at least some sandwiches to his own relish. he indeed should have written curiosities of literature. he was a living cyclopaedia, though a dark lantern.[ ] of such reading men, hobbes entertained a very contemptible, if not a rash opinion. his own reading was inconsiderable; and he used to say, that if he had spent as much time in _reading_ as other men of learning, he should have been as _ignorant_ as they. he put little value on a _large library_, for he considered all _books_ to be merely _extracts_ and _copies_, for that most authors were like sheep, never deviating from the beaten path. history he treated lightly, and thought there were more lies than truths in it. but let us recollect after all this, that hobbes was a mere metaphysician, idolising his own vain and empty hypotheses. it is true enough that weak heads carrying in them too much reading may be staggered. le clerc observes of two learned men, de marcilly and barthius, that they would have composed more useful works had they _read_ less numerous authors, and digested the better writers. footnotes: [footnote : he was remarkable for his memory of all that he read, not only the matter but the form, the contents of each page and the peculiar spelling of every word. it is said he was once tested by the pretended destruction of a manuscript, which he reproduced without a variation of word or line.] [footnote : he used to lie in a sort of lounging-chair in the midst of his study, surrounded by heaps of dusty volumes, never allowed to be removed, and forming a colony for the spiders whose society he so highly valued.] abridgers. abridgers are a kind of literary men to whom the indolence of modern readers, and indeed the multiplicity of authors, give ample employment. it would be difficult, observed the learned benedictines, the authors of the literary history of france, to relate all the unhappy consequences which ignorance introduced, and the causes which produced that ignorance. but we must not forget to place in this number the mode of reducing, by way of abridgment, what the ancients had written in bulky volumes. examples of this practice may be observed in preceding centuries, but in the fifth century it began to be in general use. as the number of students and readers diminished, authors neglected literature, and were disgusted with composition; for to write is seldom done, but when the writer entertains the hope of finding readers. instead of original authors, there suddenly arose numbers of abridgers. these men, amidst the prevailing disgust for literature, imagined they should gratify the public by introducing a mode of reading works in a few hours, which otherwise could not be done in many months; and, observing that the bulky volumes of the ancients lay buried in dust, without any one condescending to examine them, necessity inspired them with an invention that might bring those works and themselves into public notice, by the care they took of renovating them. this they imagined to effect by forming abridgments of these ponderous tomes. all these abridgers, however, did not follow the same mode. some contented themselves with making a mere abridgment of their authors, by employing their own expressions, or by inconsiderable alterations. others formed abridgments in drawing them from various authors, but from whose works they only took what appeared to them most worthy of observation, and embellished them in their own style. others again, having before them several authors who wrote on the same subject, took passages from each, united them, and thus combined a new work; they executed their design by digesting in commonplaces, and under various titles, the most valuable parts they could collect, from the best authors they read. to these last ingenious scholars we owe the rescue of many valuable fragments of antiquity. they fortunately preserved the best maxims, characters, descriptions, and curious matters which they had found interesting in their studies. some learned men have censured these abridgers as the cause of our having lost so many excellent entire works of the ancients; for posterity becoming less studious was satisfied with these extracts, and neglected to preserve the originals, whose voluminous size was less attractive. others, on the contrary, say that these abridgers have not been so prejudicial to literature; and that had it not been for their care, which snatched many a perishable fragment from that shipwreck of letters which the barbarians occasioned, we should perhaps have had no works of the ancients remaining. many voluminous works have been greatly improved by their abridgers. the vast history of trogus pompeius was soon forgotten and finally perished, after the excellent epitome of it by justin, who winnowed the abundant chaff from the grain. bayle gives very excellent advice to an abridger, xiphilin, in his "abridgment of dion," takes no notice of a circumstance very material for entering into the character of domitian:--the recalling the empress domitia after having turned her away for her intrigues with a player. by omitting this fact in the abridgment, and which is discovered through suetonius, xiphilin has evinced, he says, a deficient judgment; for domitian's ill qualities are much better exposed, when it is known that he was mean-spirited enough to restore to the dignity of empress the prostitute of a player. abridgers, compilers, and translators, are now slightly regarded; yet to form their works with skill requires an exertion of judgment, and frequently of taste, of which their contemners appear to have no due conception. such literary labours it is thought the learned will not be found to want; and the unlearned cannot discern the value. but to such abridgers as monsieur le grand, in his "tales of the minstrels," and mr. ellis, in his "english metrical romances," we owe much; and such writers must bring to their task a congeniality of genius, and even more taste than their original possessed. i must compare such to fine etchers after great masters:--very few give the feeling touches in the right place. it is an uncommon circumstance to quote the scriptures on subjects of _modern literature_! but on the present topic the elegant writer of the books of the maccabees has delivered, in a kind of preface to that history, very pleasing and useful instructions to an _abridger_. i shall transcribe the passages, being concise, from book ii. chap. ii. v. , that the reader may have them at hand:-- "all these things, i say, being declared by jason of cyrene, in _five books_, we will assay to _abridge_ in one volume. we will be careful that they that will read may have _delight_, and that they that are desirous to commit to memory might have _ease_, and that all into whose hands it comes might have _profit_." how concise and horatian! he then describes his literary labours with no insensibility:--"to us that have taken upon us this painful labour of _abridging_, it was not easy, but a matter of _sweat_ and _watching_."--and the writer employs an elegant illustration: "even as it is no ease unto him that prepareth a banquet, and seeketh the benefit of others; yet for the pleasuring of many, we will undertake gladly this great pain; leaving to the author the exact handling of every particular, and labouring to follow the _rules of an abridgment_." he now embellishes his critical account with a sublime metaphor to distinguish the original from the copier:--"for as the master builder of a new house must care for the whole building; but he that undertaketh to set it out, and paint it, must seek out fit things for the adorning thereof; even so i think it is with us. to stand upon _every point_, and _go over things at large_, and to be _curious_ in _particulars_, belonging to the _first author_ of the story; but to use _brevity_, and avoid _much labouring_ of the work, is to be granted to him that will make an abridgment." quintilian has not a passage more elegantly composed, nor more judiciously conceived. footnotes: [footnote : his comparatively useless life was quietly satirized by the rev. mr. spence, in "a parallel after the manner of plutarch," between magliabechi and hill, a self-taught tailor of buckinghamshire. it is published in dodsley's _fugitive pieces_, vols., mo, .] professors of plagiarism and obscurity. among the most singular characters in literature may be ranked those who do not blush to profess publicly its most dishonourable practices. the first vender of printed sermons imitating manuscript, was, i think, dr. trusler. he to whom the following anecdotes relate had superior ingenuity. like the famous orator, henley, he formed a school of his own. the present lecturer openly taught not to _imitate_ the best authors, but to _steal_ from them! richesource, a miserable declaimer, called himself "moderator of the academy of philosophical orators." he taught how a person destitute of literary talents might become eminent for literature; and published the principles of his art under the title of "the mask of orators; or the manner of disguising all kinds of composition; briefs, sermons, panegyrics, funeral orations, dedications, speeches, letters, passages," &c. i will give a notion of the work:-- the author very truly observes, that all who apply themselves to polite literature do not always find from their own funds a sufficient supply to insure success. for such he labours; and teaches to gather, in the gardens of others, those fruits of which their own sterile grounds are destitute; but so artfully to gather, that the public shall not perceive their depredations. he dignifies this fine art by the title of plagianism, and thus explains it:-- "the plagianism of orators is the art, or an ingenious and easy mode, which some adroitly employ, to change, or disguise, all sorts of speeches of their own composition, or that of other authors, for their pleasure or their utility; in such a manner that it becomes impossible, even for the author himself to recognise his own work, his own genius, and his own style, so skilfully shall the whole be disguised." our professor proceeds to reveal the manner of managing the whole economy of the piece which is to be copied or disguised; and which consists in giving a new order to the parts, changing the phrases, the words, &c. an orator, for instance, having said that a plenipotentiary should possess three qualities,--_probity_, _capacity_, and _courage_; the plagiarist, on the contrary, may employ, _courage_, _capacity_, and _probity_. this is only for a general rule, for it is too simple to practise frequently. to render the part perfect we must make it more complex, by changing the whole of the expressions. the plagiarist in place of _courage_, will put _force_, _constancy_, or _vigour_. for _probity_ he may say _religion_, _virtue_, or _sincerity_. instead of _capacity_, he may substitute _erudition_, _ability_, or _science_. or he may disguise the whole by saying, that the _plenipotentiary should be firm, virtuous_, and _able_. the rest of this uncommon work is composed of passages extracted from celebrated writers, which are turned into the new manner of the plagiarist; their beauties, however, are never improved by their dress. several celebrated writers when young, particularly the famous flechier, who addressed verses to him, frequented the lectures of this professor! richesource became so zealous in this course of literature, that he published a volume, entitled, "the art of writing and speaking; or, a method of composing all sorts of letters, and holding a polite conversation." he concludes his preface by advertising his readers, that authors who may be in want of essays, sermons, letters of all kinds, written pleadings and verses, may be accommodated on application to him. our professor was extremely fond of copious title-pages, which i suppose to be very attractive to certain readers; for it is a custom which the richesources of the day fail not to employ. are there persons who value _books_ by the length of their titles, as formerly the ability of a physician was judged by the dimensions of his wig? to this article may be added an account of another singular school, where the professor taught _obscurity_ in literary composition! i do not believe that those who are unintelligible are very intelligent. quintilian has justly observed, that the obscurity of a writer is generally in proportion to his incapacity. however, as there is hardly a defect which does not find partisans, the same author informs us of a rhetorician, who was so great an admirer of obscurity, that he always exhorted his scholars to preserve it; and made them correct, as blemishes, those passages of their works which appeared to him too intelligible. quintilian adds, that the greatest panegyric they could give to a composition in that school was to declare, "i understand nothing of this piece." lycophron possessed this taste, and he protested that he would hang himself if he found a person who should understand his poem, called the "prophecy of cassandra." he succeeded so well, that this piece has been the stumbling-block of all the grammarians, scholiasts, and commentators; and remains inexplicable to the present day. such works charpentier admirably compares to those subterraneous places, where the air is so thick and suffocating, that it extinguishes all torches. a most sophistical dilemma, on the subject of _obscurity_, was made by thomas anglus, or white, an english catholic priest, the friend of sir kenelm digby. this learned man frequently wandered in the mazes of metaphysical subtilties; and became perfectly unintelligible to his readers. when accused of this obscurity, he replied, "either the learned understand me, or they do not. if they understand me, and find me in an error, it is easy for them to refute me; if they do not understand me, it is very unreasonable for them to exclaim against my doctrines." this is saying all that the wit of man can suggest in favour of _obscurity_! many, however, will agree with an observation made by gravina on the over-refinement of modern composition, that "we do not think we have attained genius, till others must possess as much themselves to understand us." fontenelle, in france, followed by marivaux, thomas, and others, first introduced that subtilised manner of writing, which tastes more natural and simple reject; one source of such bitter complaints of obscurity. literary dutch. pere bohours seriously asks if a german _can be a_ bel esprit? this concise query was answered by kramer, in a ponderous volume which bears for title, _vindiciæ nominis germanici_. this mode of refutation does not prove that the question was _then_ so ridiculous as it was considered. the germans of the present day, although greatly superior to their ancestors, there are who opine are still distant from the _acmé_ of taste, which characterises the finished compositions of the french and the english authors. nations display _genius_ before they form _taste_. it was the mode with english and french writers to dishonour the germans with the epithets of heavy, dull, and phlegmatic compilers, without taste, spirit, or genius; genuine descendants of the ancient boeotians, crassoque sub æëre nati. many imaginative and many philosophical performances have lately shown that this censure has now become unjust; and much more forcibly answers the sarcastic question of bohours than the thick quarto of kramer. churchill finely says of genius that it is independent of situation, and may hereafter even in holland rise. vondel, whom, as marchand observes, the dutch regard as their Ã�schylus, sophocles, and euripides, had a strange defective taste; the poet himself knew none of these originals, but he wrote on patriotic subjects, the sure way to obtain popularity; many of his tragedies are also drawn from the scriptures; all badly chosen and unhappily executed. in his _deliverance of the children of israel_, one of his principal characters is the _divinity_! in his _jerusalem destroyed_ we are disgusted with a tedious oration by the angel gabriel, who proves theologically, and his proofs extend through nine closely printed pages in quarto, that this destruction has been predicted by the prophets; and, in the _lucifer_ of the same author, the subject is grossly scandalised by this haughty spirit becoming stupidly in love with eve, and it is for her he causes the rebellion of the evil angels, and the fall of our first parents. poor vondel kept a hosier's shop, which he left to the care of his wife, while he indulged his poetical genius. his stocking-shop failed, and his poems produced him more chagrin than glory; for in holland, even a patriotic poet, if a bankrupt, would, no doubt, be accounted by his fellow-citizens as a madman. vondel had no other master but his genius, which, with his uncongenial situation, occasioned all his errors. another dutch poet is even less tolerable. having written a long rhapsody concerning pyramus and thisbe, he concludes it by a ridiculous parallel between the death of these unfortunate victims of love, and the passion of jesus christ. he says:-- om t'concluderem van onsen begrypt, dees historie moraliserende, is in den verstande wel accorderende, by der passie van christus gebenedyt. and upon this, after having turned pyramus into the son of god, and thisbe into the christian soul, he proceeds with a number of comparisons; the latter always more impertinent than the former. i believe it is well known that the actors on the dutch theatre are generally tradesmen, who quit their aprons at the hour of public representation. this was the fact when i was in holland more than forty years ago. their comedies are offensive by the grossness of their buffooneries. one of their comic incidents was a miller appearing in distress for want of wind to turn his mill; he had recourse to the novel scheme of placing his back against it, and by certain imitative sounds behind the scenes the mill is soon set a-going. it is hard to rival such a depravity of taste. i saw two of their most celebrated tragedies. the one was gysbert van amstel, by vondel; that is gysbrecht of amsterdam, a warrior, who in the civil wars preserved this city by his heroism. it is a patriotic historical play, and never fails to crowd the theatre towards christmas, when it is usually performed successively. one of the acts concludes with the scene of a convent; the sound of warlike instruments is heard; the abbey is stormed; the nuns and fathers are slaughtered; with the aid of "blunderbuss and thunder," every dutchman appears sensible of the pathos of the poet. but it does not here conclude. after this terrible slaughter, the conquerors and the vanquished remain for _ten minutes_ on the stage, silent and motionless, in the attitudes in which the groups happened to fall! and this pantomimic pathos commands loud bursts of applause.[ ] the other was the ahasuerus of schubart, or the fall of haman. in the triumphal entry the batavian mordecai was mounted on a genuine flanders mare, that, fortunately, quietly received _her_ applause with a lumpish majesty resembling her rider. i have seen an english ass once introduced on our stage which did not act with this decorum. our late actors have frequently been beasts;--a dutch taste![ ] some few specimens of the best dutch poetry which we have had, yield no evidence in favour of the national poetical taste. the dutch poet katz has a poem on the "games of children," where all the games are moralised; i suspect the taste of the poet as well as his subject is puerile. when a nation has produced no works above mediocrity, with them a certain mediocrity is excellence, and their masterpieces, with a people who have made a greater progress in refinement, can never be accepted as the works of a master. footnotes: [footnote : the dutch are not, however, to be entirely blamed for repulsive scenes on the stage. shakspeare's titus andronicus, and many of the dramas of our elizabethan writers, exhibit cruelties very repulsive to modern ideas. the french stage has occasionally exhibited in modern times scenes that have been afterwards condemned by the censors; and in italy the "people's theatre" occasionally panders to popular tastes by execution scenes, where the criminal is merely taken off the stage; the blow struck on a wooden block, to give reality to the action; and the executioner re-enters flourishing a bloody axe.] [footnote : ned shuter was the comedian who first introduced a donkey on the stage. seated on the beast he delivered a prologue written on the occasion of his benefit. sometimes the donkey wore a great tie-wig. animals educated to play certain parts are a later invention. horses, dogs, and elephants have been thus trained in the present century, and plays written expressly to show their proficiency.] the productions of the mind not seizable by creditors. when crebillon, the french tragic poet, published his catiline, it was attended with an honour to literature, which though it is probably forgotten, for it was only registered, i think, as the news of the day, it becomes one zealous in the cause of literature to preserve. i give the circumstance, the petition, and the decree. at the time catiline was given to the public, the creditors of the poet had the cruelty to attach the produce of this piece, as well at the bookseller's, who had printed the tragedy, as at the theatre where it was performed. the poet, irritated at these proceedings, addressed a petition to the king, in which he showed "that it was a thing yet unknown, that it should be allowed to class amongst seizable effects the productions of the human mind; that if such a practice was permitted, those who had consecrated their vigils to the studies of literature, and who had made the greatest efforts to render themselves, by this means, useful to their country, would see themselves placed in the cruel predicament of not venturing to publish works, often precious and interesting to the state; that the greater part of those who devote themselves to literature require for the first wants of life those aids which they have a right to expect from their labours; and that it never has been suffered in france to seize the fees of lawyers, and other persons of liberal professions." in answer to this petition, a decree immediately issued from the king's council, commanding a replevy of the arrests and seizures of which the petitioner complained. this honourable decree was dated st of may, , and bore the following title:--"decree of the council of his majesty, in favour of m. crebillon, author of the tragedy of catiline, which declares that the productions of the mind are not amongst seizable effects." louis xv. exhibits the noble example of bestowing a mark of consideration to the remains of a man of letters. this king not only testified his esteem of crebillon by having his works printed at the louvre, but also by consecrating to his glory a tomb of marble. critics. writers who have been unsuccessful in original composition have their other productions immediately decried, whatever merit they might once have been allowed to possess. yet this is very unjust; an author who has given a wrong direction to his literary powers may perceive, at length, where he can more securely point them. experience is as excellent a mistress in the school of literature as in the school of human life. blackmore's epics are insufferable; yet neither addison nor johnson erred when they considered his philosophical poem as a valuable composition. an indifferent poet may exert the art of criticism in a very high degree; and if he cannot himself produce an original work, he may yet be of great service in regulating the happier genius of another. this observation i shall illustrate by the characters of two french critics; the one is the abbé d'aubignac, and the other chapelain. boileau opens his art of poetry by a precept which though it be common is always important; this critical poet declares, that "it is in vain a daring author thinks of attaining to the height of parnassus if he does not feel the secret influence of heaven, and if his natal star has not formed him to be a poet." this observation he founded on the character of our abbé; who had excellently written on the economy of dramatic composition. his _pratique du théâtre_ gained him an extensive reputation. when he produced a tragedy, the world expected a finished piece; it was acted, and reprobated. the author, however, did not acutely feel its bad reception; he everywhere boasted that he, of all the dramatists, had most scrupulously observed the _rules_ of aristotle. the prince de guemené, famous for his repartees, sarcastically observed, "i do not quarrel with the abbé d'aubignac for having so closely followed the precepts of aristotle; but i cannot pardon the precepts of aristotle, that occasioned the abbé d'aubignac to write so wretched a tragedy." the _pratique du théâtre_ is not, however, to be despised, because the _tragedy_ of its author is despicable. chapelain's unfortunate epic has rendered him notorious. he had gained, and not undeservedly, great reputation for his critical powers. after a retention of above thirty years, his _pucelle_ appeared. he immediately became the butt of every unfledged wit, and his former works were eternally condemned; insomuch that when camusat published, after the death of our author, a little volume of extracts from his manuscript letters, it is curious to observe the awkward situation in which he finds himself. in his preface he seems afraid that the very name of chapelain will be sufficient to repel the reader. camusat observes of chapelain, that "he found flatterers, who assured him his _pucelle_ ranked above the Ã�neid; and this chapelain but feebly denied. however this may be, it would be difficult to make the bad taste which reigns throughout this poem agree with that sound and exact criticism with which he decided on the works of others. so true is it, that _genius_ is very superior to a justness of mind which is _sufficient to judge_ and to advise others." chapelain was ordered to draw up a critical list of the chief living authors and men of letters in france, for the king. it is extremely impartial, and performed with an analytical skill of their literary characters which could not have been surpassed by an aristotle or a boileau. the _talent of judging_ may exist separately from the _power of execution_. an amateur may not be an artist, though an artist should be an amateur; and it is for this reason that young authors are not to contemn the precepts of such critics as even the abbé d'aubignac and chapelain. it is to walsh, a miserable versifier, that pope stands indebted for the hint of our poetry then being deficient in correctness and polish; and it is from this fortunate hint that pope derived his poetical excellence. dionysius halicarnassensis has composed a lifeless history; yet, as gibbon observes, how admirably has _he_ judged the masters, and defined the rules, of historical composition! gravina, with great taste and spirit, has written on poetry and poets, but he composed tragedies which give him no title to be ranked among them. anecdotes of censured authors. it is an ingenious observation made by a journalist of trevoux, on perusing a criticism not ill written, which pretended to detect several faults in the compositions of bruyère, that in ancient rome the great men who triumphed amidst the applauses of those who celebrated their virtues, were at the same time compelled to listen to those who reproached them with their vices. this custom is not less necessary to the republic of letters than it was formerly to the republic of rome. without this it is probable that authors would be intoxicated with success, and would then relax in their accustomed vigour; and the multitude who took them for models would, for want of judgment, imitate their defects. sterne and churchill were continually abusing the reviewers, because they honestly told the one that obscenity was not wit, and obscurity was not sense; and the other that dissonance in poetry did not excel harmony, and that his rhymes were frequently prose lines of ten syllables cut into verse. they applauded their happier efforts. notwithstanding all this, it is certain that so little discernment exists among common writers and common readers, that the obscenity and flippancy of sterne, and the bald verse and prosaic poetry of churchill, were precisely the portion which they selected for imitation. the blemishes of great men are not the less blemishes, but they are, unfortunately, the easiest parts for imitation. yet criticism may be too rigorous, and genius too sensible to its direst attacks. sir john marsham, having published the first part of his "chronology," suffered so much chagrin at the endless controversies which it raised--and some of his critics went so far as to affirm it was designed to be detrimental to revelation--that he burned the second part, which was ready for the press. pope was observed to writhe with anguish in his chair on hearing mentioned the letter of cibber, with other temporary attacks; and it is said of montesquieu, that he was so much affected by the criticisms, true and false, which he daily experienced, that they contributed to hasten his death. ritson's extreme irritability closed in lunacy, while ignorant reviewers, in the shapes of assassins, were haunting his death-bed. in the preface to his "metrical romances," he describes himself as "brought to an end in ill health and low spirits--certain to be insulted by a base and prostitute gang of lurking assassins who stab in the dark, and whose poisoned daggers he has already experienced." scott, of amwell, never recovered from a ludicrous criticism, which i discovered had been written by a physician who never pretended to poetical taste. pelisson has recorded a literary anecdote, which forcibly shows the danger of caustic criticism. a young man from a remote province came to paris with a play, which he considered as a masterpiece. m. l'etoile was more than just in his merciless criticism. he showed the youthful bard a thousand glaring defects in his chef-d'oeuvre. the humbled country author burnt his tragedy, returned home, took to his chamber, and died of vexation and grief. of all unfortunate men, one of the unhappiest is a middling author endowed with too lively a sensibility for criticism. athenæus, in his tenth book, has given us a lively portrait of this melancholy being. anaxandrides appeared one day on horseback in the public assembly at athens, to recite a dithyrambic poem, of which he read a portion. he was a man of fine stature, and wore a purple robe edged with golden fringe. but his complexion was saturnine and melancholy, which was the cause that he never spared his own writings. whenever he was vanquished by a rival, he immediately gave his compositions to the druggists to be cut into pieces to wrap their articles in, without ever caring to revise his writings. it is owing to this that he destroyed a number of pleasing compositions; age increased his sourness, and every day he became more and more dissatisfied with the awards of his auditors. hence his "tereus," because it failed to obtain the prize, has not reached us, which, with other of his productions, deserved preservation, though they had missed the crown awarded by the public. batteux having been chosen by the french government for the compilation of elementary hooks for the military school, is said to have felt their unfavourable reception so acutely, that he became a prey to excessive grief. the lamentable death of dr. hawkesworth was occasioned by a similar circumstance. government had consigned to his care the compilation of the voyages that pass under his name: how he succeeded is well known. he felt the public reception so sensibly, that he preferred the oblivion of death to the mortifying recollections of life.[ ] on this interesting subject fontenelle, in his "eloge sur newton," has made the following observation:--"newton was more desirous of remaining unknown than of having the calm of life disturbed by those literary storms which genius and science attract about those who rise to eminence." in one of his letters we learn that his "treatise on optics" being ready for the press, several premature objections which appeared made him abandon its publication. "i should reproach myself," he said, "for my imprudence, if i were to lose a thing so real as my ease to run after a shadow." but this shadow he did not miss: it did not cost him the ease he so much loved, and it had for him as much reality as ease itself. i refer to bayle, in his curious article, "hipponax," note f. to these instances we may add the fate of the abbé cassagne, a man of learning, and not destitute of talents. he was intended for one of the preachers at court; but he had hardly made himself known in the pulpit, when he was struck by the lightning of boileau's muse. he felt so acutely the caustic verses, that they rendered him almost incapable of literary exertion; in the prime of life he became melancholy, and shortly afterwards died insane. a modern painter, it is known, never recovered from the biting ridicule of a popular, but malignant wit. cummyns, a celebrated quaker, confessed he died of an anonymous letter in a public paper, which, said he, "fastened on my heart, and threw me into this slow fever." racine, who died of his extreme sensibility to a royal rebuke, confessed that the pain which one severe criticism inflicted outweighed all the applause he could receive. the feathered arrow of an epigram has sometimes been wet with the heart's blood of its victim. fortune has been lost, reputation destroyed, and every charity of life extinguished, by the inhumanity of inconsiderate wit. literary history, even of our own days, records the fate of several who may be said to have _died of criticism_.[ ] but there is more sense and infinite humour in the mode which phædrus adopted to answer the cavillers of his age. when he first published his fables, the taste for conciseness and simplicity were so much on the decline, that they were both objected to him as faults. he used his critics as they deserved. to those who objected against the _conciseness_ of his style, he tells a long _tedious story_ (lib. iii. fab. , ver. ), and treats those who condemned the _simplicity_ of his style with a run of _bombast verses_, that have a great many noisy elevated words in them, without any sense at the bottom--this in lib. iv. fab. . footnotes: [footnote : the doctor was paid _l._ to prepare the narrative of the voyages of captain cook from the rough notes. he indulged in much pruriency of description, and occasional remarks savouring of infidelity. they were loudly and generally condemned, and he died soon afterwards.] [footnote : keats is the most melancholy instance. the effect of the severe criticism in the quarterly review upon his writings, is said by shelley to have "appeared like madness, and he was with difficulty prevented from suicide." he never recovered its baneful effect; and when he died in rome, desired his epitaph might be, "here lies one whose name was writ in water." the tombstone in the protestant cemetery is nameless, and simply records that "a young english poet" lies there.] virginity. the writings of the fathers once formed the studies of the learned. these labours abound with that subtilty of argument which will repay the industry of the inquisitive, and the antiquary may turn them over for pictures of the manners of the age. a favourite subject with saint ambrose was that of virginity, on which he has several works; and perhaps he wished to revive the order of the vestals of ancient rome, which afterwards produced the institution of nuns. from his "treatise on virgins," written in the fourth century, we learn the lively impressions his exhortations had made on the minds and hearts of girls, not less in the most distant provinces, than in the neighbourhood of milan, where he resided. the virgins of bologna, amounting only, it appears, to the number of twenty, performed all kinds of needlework, not merely to gain their livelihood, but also to be enabled to perform acts of liberality, and exerted their industry to allure other girls to join the holy profession of virginity. he exhorts daughters, in spite of their parents, and even their lovers, to consecrate themselves. "i do not blame marriage," he says, "i only show the advantages of virginity." he composed this book in so florid a style, that he considered it required some apology. a religious of the benedictines published a translation in . so sensible was st. ambrose of the _rarity_ of the profession he would establish, that he thus combats his adversaries: "they complain that human nature will be exhausted; but i ask, who has ever sought to marry without finding women enough from amongst whom he might choose? what murder, or what war, has ever been occasioned for a virgin? it is one of the consequences of marriage to kill the adulterer, and to war with the ravisher." he wrote another treatise _on the perpetual virginity of the mother of god_. he attacks bonosius on this subject, and defends her virginity, which was indeed greatly suspected by bonosius, who, however, incurred by this bold suspicion the anathema of _heresy_. a third treatise was entitled _exhortation to virginity_; a fourth, _on the fate of a virgin_, is more curious. he relates the misfortunes of one _susannah_, who was by no means a companion for her namesake; for having made a vow of virginity, and taken the veil, she afterwards endeavoured to conceal her shame, but the precaution only tended to render her more culpable. her behaviour, indeed, had long afforded ample food for the sarcasms of the jews and pagans. saint ambrose compelled her to perform public penance, and after having declaimed on her double crime, gave her hopes of pardon, if, like "soeur jeanne," this early nun would sincerely repent: to complete her chastisement, he ordered her every day to recite the fiftieth psalm. a glance into the french academy. in the republic of letters the establishment of an academy has been a favourite project; yet perhaps it is little more than an utopian scheme. the united efforts of men of letters in academies have produced little. it would seem that no man likes to bestow his great labours on a small community, for whose members he himself does not feel, probably, the most flattering partiality. the french academy made a splendid appearance in europe; yet when this society published their dictionary, that of furetière's became a formidable rival; and johnson did as much as the _forty_ themselves. voltaire confesses that the great characters of the literary republic were formed without the aid of academies.--"for what then," he asks, "are they necessary?--to preserve and nourish the fire which great geniuses have kindled." by observing the _junto_ at their meetings we may form some opinion of the indolent manner in which they trifled away their time. we are fortunately enabled to do this, by a letter in which patru describes, in a very amusing manner, the visit which christina of sweden took a sudden fancy to pay to the academy. the queen of sweden suddenly resolved to visit the french academy, and gave so short a notice of her design, that it was impossible to inform the majority of the members of her intention. about four o'clock fifteen or sixteen academicians were assembled. m. gombaut, who had never forgiven her majesty, because she did not relish his verses, thought proper to show his resentment by quitting the assembly. she was received in a spacious hall. in the middle was a table covered with rich blue velvet, ornamented with a broad border of gold and silver. at its head was placed an armchair of black velvet embroidered with gold, and round the table were placed chairs with tapestry backs. the chancellor had forgotten to hang in the hall the portrait of the queen, which she had presented to the academy, and which was considered as a great omission. about five, a footman belonging to the queen inquired if the company were assembled. soon after, a servant of the king informed the chancellor that the queen was at the end of the street; and immediately her carriage drew up in the court-yard. the chancellor, followed by the rest of the members, went to receive her as she stepped out of her chariot; but the crowd was so great, that few of them could reach her majesty. accompanied by the chancellor, she passed through the first hall, followed by one of her ladies, the captain of her guards, and one or two of her suite. when she entered the academy she approached the fire, and spoke in a low voice to the chancellor. she then asked why m. menage was not there? and when she was told that he did not belong to the academy, she asked why he did not? she was answered, that, however he might merit the honour, he had rendered himself unworthy of it by several disputes he had had with its members. she then inquired aside of the chancellor whether the academicians were to sit or stand before her? on this the chancellor consulted with a member, who observed that in the time of ronsard, there was held an assembly of men of letters before charles ix. several times, and that they were always seated. the queen conversed with m. bourdelot; and suddenly turning to madame de bregis, told her that she believed she must not be present at the assembly; but it was agreed that this lady deserved the honour. as the queen was talking with a member she abruptly quitted him, as was her custom, and in her quick way sat down in the arm-chair; and at the same time the members seated themselves. the queen observing that they did not, out of respect to her, approach the table, desired them to come near; and they accordingly approached it. during these ceremonious preparations several officers of state had entered the hall, and stood behind the academicians. the chancellor sat at the queen's left hand by the fire-side; and at the right was placed m. de la chambre, the director; then boisrobert, patru, pelisson, cotin, the abbé tallemant, and others. m. de mezeray sat at the bottom of the table facing the queen, with an inkstand, paper, and the portfolio of the company lying before him: he occupied the place of the secretary. when they were all seated the director rose, and the academicians followed him, all but the chancellor, who remained in his seat. the director made his complimentary address in a low voice, his body was quite bent, and no person but the queen and the chancellor could hear him. she received his address with great satisfaction. all compliments concluded, they returned to their seats. the director then told the queen that he had composed a treatise on pain, to add to his character of the passions, and if it was agreeable to her majesty, he would read the first chapter.--"very willingly," she answered. having read it, he said to her majesty, that he would read no more lest he should fatigue her. "not at all," she replied, "for i suppose what follows is like what i have heard." m. de mezeray observed that m. cotin had some verses, which her majesty would doubtless find beautiful, and if it was agreeable they should be read. m. cotin read them: they were versions of two passages from lucretius: the one in which he attacks a providence, and the other, where he gives the origin of the world according to the epicurean system: to these he added twenty lines of his own, in which he maintained the existence of a providence. this done, an abbé rose, and, without being desired or ordered, read two sonnets, which by courtesy were allowed to be tolerable. it is remarkable that both the _poets_ read their verses standing, while the rest read their compositions seated. after these readings, the director informed the queen that the ordinary exercise of the company was to labour on the dictionary; and that if her majesty should not find it disagreeable, they would read a _cahier_. "very willingly," she answered. m. de mezeray then read what related to the word _jeu; game_. amongst other proverbial expressions was this: _game of princes, which only pleases the player_, to express a malicious violence committed by one in power. at this the queen laughed heartily; and they continued reading all that was fairly written. this lasted about an hour, when the queen observing that nothing more remained, arose, made a bow to the company, and returned in the manner she entered. furetière, who was himself an academician, has described the miserable manner in which time was consumed at their assemblies. i confess he was a satirist, and had quarrelled with the academy; there must have been, notwithstanding, sufficient resemblance for the following picture, however it may be overcharged. he has been blamed for thus exposing the eleusinian mysteries of literature to the uninitiated. "he who is most clamorous, is he whom they suppose has most reason. they all have the art of making long orations upon a trifle. the second repeats like an echo what the first said; but generally three or four speak together. when there is a bench of five or six members, one reads, another decides, two converse, one sleeps, and another amuses himself with reading some dictionary which happens to lie before him. when a second member is to deliver his opinion, they are obliged to read again the article, which at the first perusal he had been too much engaged to hear. this is a happy manner of finishing their work. they can hardly get over two lines without long digressions; without some one telling a pleasant story, or the news of the day; or talking of affairs of state, and reforming the government." that the french academy were generally frivolously employed appears also from an epistle to balzac, by boisrobert, the amusing companion of cardinal richelieu. "every one separately," says he, "promises great things; when they meet they do nothing. they have been _six years_ employed on the letter f; and i should be happy if i were certain of living till they got through g." the following anecdote concerns the _forty arm-chairs_ of the academicians.[ ] those cardinals who were academicians for a long time had not attended the meetings of the academy, because they thought that _arm-chairs_ were indispensable to their dignity, and the academy had then only common chairs. these cardinals were desirous of being present at the election of m. monnoie, that they might give him a distinguished mark of their esteem. "the king," says d'alembert, "to satisfy at once the delicacy of their friendship, and that of their cardinalship, and to preserve at the same time that academical equality, of which this enlightened monarch (louis xiv.) well knew the advantage, sent to the academy forty arm-chairs for the forty academicians, the same chairs which we now occupy; and the motive to which we owe them is sufficient to render the memory of louis xiv. precious to the republic of letters, to whom it owes so many more important obligations!" footnotes: [footnote : a very clever satire has been concocted in an imaginary history of "a forty-first chair" of the academy which has been occupied by the great men of literature who have not been recognised members of the official body, and whose "existence there has been unaccountably forgotten" in the annals of its members.] poetical and grammatical deaths. it will appear by the following anecdotes, that some men may be said to have died _poetically_ and even _grammatically_. there must be some attraction existing in poetry which is not merely fictitious, for often have its genuine votaries felt all its powers on the most trying occasions. they have displayed the energy of their mind by composing or repeating verses, even with death on their lips. the emperor adrian, dying, made that celebrated address to his soul, which is so happily translated by pope. lucan, when he had his veins opened by order of nero, expired reciting a passage from his pharsalia, in which he had described the wound of a dying soldier. petronius did the same thing on the same occasion. patris, a poet of caen, perceiving himself expiring, composed some verses which are justly admired. in this little poem he relates a dream, in which he appeared to be placed next to a beggar, when, having addressed him in the haughty strain he would probably have employed on this side of the grave, he receives the following reprimand:-- ici tous sont égaux; je ne te dois plus rien; je suis sur mon fumier comme toi sur le tien. here all are equal! now thy lot is mine! i on my dunghill, as thou art on thine. des barreaux, it is said, wrote on his death-bed that well-known sonnet which is translated in the "spectator." margaret of austria, when she was nearly perishing in a storm at sea, composed her epitaph in verse. had she perished, what would have become of the epitaph? and if she escaped, of what use was it? she should rather have said her prayers. the verses however have all the _naïveté_ of the times. they are-- cy gist margot, la gente demoiselle, qu'eut deux maris, et si mourut pucelle. beneath this tomb is high-born margaret laid, who had two husbands, and yet died a maid. she was betrothed to charles viii. of france, who forsook her; and being next intended for the spanish infant, in her voyage to spain, she wrote these lines in a storm. mademoiselle de serment was surnamed the philosopher. she was celebrated for her knowledge and taste in polite literature. she died of a cancer in her breast, and suffered her misfortune with exemplary patience. she expired in finishing these verses, which she addressed to death:-- nectare clausa suo, dignum tantorum pretium tulit illa laborum. it was after cervantes had received extreme unction that he wrote the dedication of his persiles. roscommon, at the moment he expired, with an energy of voice that expressed the most fervent devotion, uttered two lines of his own version of "dies iræ!" waller, in his last moments, repeated some lines from virgil; and chaucer seems to have taken his farewell of all human vanities by a moral ode, entitled, "a balade made by geffrey chaucyer upon his dethe-bedde lying in his grete anguysse."[ ] cornelius de witt fell an innocent victim to popular prejudice. his death is thus noticed by hume:--"this man, who had bravely served his country in war, and who had been invested with the highest dignities, was delivered into the hands of the executioner, and torn in pieces by the most inhuman torments. amidst the severe agonies which he endured he frequently repeated an ode of horace, which contained sentiments suited to his deplorable condition." it was the third ode of the third book which this illustrious philosopher and statesman then repeated. metastasio, after receiving the sacrament, a very short time before his last moments, broke out with all the enthusiasm of poetry and religion in these stanzas:-- t' offro il tuo proprio figlio, che già d'amore in pegno, racchiuso in picciol segno si volle a noi donar. a lui rivolgi il ciglio. guardo chi t' offro, e poi lasci, signor, se vuoi, lascia di perdonar. "i offer to thee, o lord, thine own son, who already has given the pledge of love, enclosed in this thin emblem. turn on him thine eyes: ah! behold whom i offer to thee, and then desist, o lord! if thou canst desist from mercy." "the muse that has attended my course," says the dying gleim in a letter to klopstock, "still hovers round my steps to the very verge of the grave." a collection of lyrical poems, entitled "last hours," composed by old gleim on his death-bed, was intended to be published. the death of klopstock was one of the most poetical: in this poet's "messiah," he had made the death of mary, the sister of martha and lazarus, a picture of the death of the just; and on his own death-bed he was heard repeating, with an expiring voice, his own verses on mary; he was exhorting himself to die by the accents of his own harp, the sublimities of his own muse! the same song of mary was read at the public funeral of klopstock. chatelar, a french gentleman, beheaded in scotland for having loved the queen, and even for having attempted her honour, brantome says, would not have any other viaticum than a poem of ronsard. when he ascended the scaffold he took the hymns of this poet, and for his consolation read that on death, which our old critic says is well adapted to conquer its fear. when the marquis of montrose was condemned by his judges to have his limbs nailed to the gates of four cities, the brave soldier said that "he was sorry he had not limbs sufficient to be nailed to all the gates of the cities in europe, as monuments of his loyalty." as he proceeded to his execution, he put this thought into verse. philip strozzi, imprisoned by cosmo the first, great duke of tuscany, was apprehensive of the danger to which he might expose his friends who had joined in his conspiracy against the duke, from the confessions which the rack might extort from him. having attempted every exertion for the liberty of his country, he considered it as no crime therefore to die. he resolved on suicide. with the point of the sword, with which he killed himself, he cut out on the mantel-piece of the chimney this verse of virgil:-- exoriare aliquis nostris ex ossibus ultor. rise some avenger from our blood! i can never repeat without a strong emotion the following stanzas, begun by andré chenier, in the dreadful period of the french revolution. he was waiting for his turn to be dragged to the guillotine, when he commenced this poem:-- comme un dernier rayon, comme un dernier zéphyre anime la fin d'un beau jour; au pied de l'échafaud j'essaie encore ma lyre, peut-être est ce bientôt mon tour; peut-être avant que l'heure en cercle promenée ait posé sur l'émail brillant, dans les soixante pas où sa route est bornée son pied sonore et vigilant, le sommeil du tombeau pressera ma paupière-- here, at this pathetic line, was andré chenier summoned to the guillotine! never was a more beautiful effusion of grief interrupted by a more affecting incident! several men of science have died in a scientific manner. haller, the poet, philosopher, and physician, beheld his end approach with the utmost composure. he kept feeling his pulse to the last moment, and when he found that life was almost gone, he turned to his brother physician, observing, "my friend, the artery ceases to beat," and almost instantly expired. the same remarkable circumstance had occurred to the great harvey: he kept making observations on the state of his pulse, when life was drawing to its close, "as if," says dr. wilson, in the oration spoken a few days after the event, "that he who had taught us the beginning of life might himself, at his departing from it, become acquainted with those of death." de lagny, who was intended by his friends for the study of the law, having fallen on an euclid, found it so congenial to his dispositions, that he devoted himself to mathematics. in his last moments, when he retained no further recollection of the friends who surrounded his bed, one of them, perhaps to make a philosophical experiment, thought proper to ask him the square of twelve: our dying mathematician instantly, and perhaps without knowing that he answered, replied, "one hundred and forty-four." the following anecdotes are of a different complexion, and may excite a smile. père bohours was a french grammarian, who had been justly accused of paying too scrupulous an attention to the minutiæ of letters. he was more solicitous of his _words_ than his _thoughts_. it is said, that when he was dying, he called out to his friends (a correct grammarian to the last), "_je_ vas _ou je_ vais _mourir; l'un ou l'autre se dit_!" when malherbe was dying, he reprimanded his nurse for making use of a solecism in her language; and when his confessor represented to him the felicities of a future state in low and trite expressions, the dying critic interrupted him:--"hold your tongue," he said; "your wretched style only makes me out of conceit with them!" the favourite studies and amusements of the learned la mothe le vayer consisted in accounts of the most distant countries. he gave a striking proof of the influence of this master-passion, when death hung upon his lips. bernier, the celebrated traveller, entering and drawing the curtains of his bed to take his eternal farewell, the dying man turning to him, with a faint voice inquired, "well, my friend, what news from the great mogul?" footnotes: [footnote : barham, the author of the _ingoldsby legends_, wrote a similar death-bed lay in imitation of the older poets. it is termed "as i laye a-thinkynge." bewick, the wood-engraver, was last employed upon, and left unfinished at his death, a cut, the subject of which was "the old horse waiting for death."] scarron. scarron, as a burlesque poet, but no other comparison exists, had his merit, but is now little read; for the uniformity of the burlesque style is as intolerable as the uniformity of the serious. from various sources we may collect some uncommon anecdotes, although he was a mere author. his father, a counsellor, having married a second wife, the lively scarron became the object of her hatred. he studied, and travelled, and took the clerical tonsure; but discovered dispositions more suitable to the pleasures of his age than to the gravity of his profession. he formed an acquaintance with the wits of the times; and in the carnival of committed a youthful extravagance, for which his remaining days formed a continual punishment. he disguised himself as a savage; the singularity of a naked man attracted crowds. after having been hunted by the mob, he was forced to escape from his pursuers; and concealed himself in a marsh. a freezing cold seized him, and threw him, at the age of twenty-seven years, into a kind of palsy; a cruel disorder which tormented him all his life. "it was thus," he says, "that pleasure deprived me suddenly of legs which had danced with elegance, and of hands, which could manage the pencil and the lute." goujet, without stating this anecdote, describes his disorder as an acrid humour, distilling itself on his nerves, and baffling the skill of his physicians; the sciatica, rheumatism, in a word, a complication of maladies attacked him, sometimes successively, sometimes together, and made of our poor abbé a sad spectacle. he thus describes himself in one of his letters; and who could be in better humour? "i have lived to thirty: if i reach forty, i shall only add many miseries to those which i have endured these last eight or nine years. my person was well made, though short; my disorder has shortened it still more by a foot. my head is a little broad for my shape; my face is full enough for my body to appear very meagre; i have hair enough to render a wig unnecessary; i have got many white hairs, in spite of the proverb. my teeth, formerly square pearls, are now of the colour of wood, and will soon be of slate. my legs and thighs first formed an obtuse angle, afterwards an equilateral angle, and at length, an acute one. my thighs and body form another; and my head, always dropping on my breast, makes me not ill represent a z. i have got my arms shortened as well as my legs, and my fingers as well as my arms. in a word, i am an abridgment of human miseries." he had the free use of nothing but his tongue and his hands; and he wrote on a portfolio placed on his knees. balzac said of scarron, that he had gone further in insensibility than the stoics, who were satisfied in appearing insensible to pain; but scarron was gay, and amused all the world with his sufferings. he pourtrays himself thus humorously in his address to the queen:-- je ne regard plus qu'en bas, je suis torticolis, j'ai la tête penchante; ma mine devient si plaisante que quand on en riroit, je ne m'en plaindrois pas. "i can only see under me; i am wry-necked; my head hangs down; my appearance is so droll, that if people laugh, i shall not complain." he says elsewhere, parmi les torticolis je passe pour un des plus jolis. "among your wry-necked people i pass for one of the handsomest." after having suffered this distortion of shape, and these acute pains for four years, he quitted his usual residence, the quarter du marais, for the baths of the fauxbourg saint germain. he took leave of his friends, by addressing some verses to them, entitled, _adieu aux marais_; in which he describes several celebrated persons. when he was brought into the street in a chair, the pleasure of seeing himself there once more overcame the pains which the motion occasioned, and he has celebrated the transport by an ode, which has for title, "the way from le marais to the fauxbourg saint germain." the baths he tried had no effect on his miserable disorder. but a new affliction was added to the catalogue of his griefs. his father, who had hitherto contributed to his necessities, having joined a party against cardinal richelieu, was exiled. this affair was rendered still more unfortunate by his mother-in-law with her children at paris, in the absence of her husband, appropriating the property of the family to her own use. hitherto scarron had had no connexion with cardinal richelieu. the conduct of his father had even rendered his name disagreeable to the minister, who was by no means prone to forgiveness. scarron, however, when he thought his passion moderated, ventured to present a petition, which is considered by the critics as one of his happiest productions. richelieu permitted it to be read to him, and acknowledged that it afforded him much pleasure, and that it was _pleasantly dated_. this _pleasant date_ is thus given by scarron:-- fait à paris dernier jour d'octobre, par moi, scarron, qui malgre moi suis sobre, l'an que l'on prit le fameux perpignan, et, sans canon, la ville de sedan. at paris done, the last day of october, by me, scarron, who wanting wine am sober, the year they took fam'd perpignan, and, without cannon-ball, sedan. this was flattering the minister adroitly in two points very agreeable to him. the poet augured well of the dispositions of the cardinal, and lost no time to return to the charge, by addressing an ode to him, to which he gave the title of thanks, as if he had already received the favours which he hoped he should receive! thus ronsard dedicated to catherine of medicis, who was prodigal of promises, his hymn to promise. but all was lost for scarron by the death of the cardinal. when scarron's father died, he brought his mother-in-law into court; and, to complete his misfortunes, lost his suit. the cases which he drew up for the occasion were so extremely burlesque, that the world could not easily conceive how a man could amuse himself so pleasantly on a subject on which his existence depended. the successor of richelieu, the cardinal mazarin, was insensible to his applications. he did nothing for him, although the poet dedicated to him his _typhon_, a burlesque poem, in which the author describes the wars of the giants with the gods. our bard was so irritated at this neglect, that he suppressed a sonnet he had written in his favour, and aimed at him several satirical bullets. scarron, however, consoled himself for this kind of disgrace with those select friends who were not inconstant in their visits to him. the bishop of mans also, solicited by a friend, gave him a living in his diocese. when scarron had taken possession of it, he began his _roman comique_, ill translated into english by _comical romance_. he made friends by his dedications. such resources were indeed necessary, for he not only lived well, but had made his house an asylum for his two sisters, who there found refuge from an unfeeling step-mother. it was about this time that the beautiful and accomplished mademoiselle d'aubigné, afterwards so well known by the name of madame de maintenon, she who was to be one day the mistress, if not the queen of france, formed with scarron the most romantic connexion. she united herself in marriage with one whom she well knew could only be a lover. it was indeed amidst that literary society she formed her taste and embellished with her presence his little residence, where assembled the most polished courtiers and some of the finest geniuses of paris of that famous party, called _la fronde_, formed against mazarin. such was the influence this marriage had over scarron, that after this period his writings became more correct and more agreeable than those which he had previously composed. scarron, on his side, gave a proof of his attachment to madame de maintenon; for by marrying her he lost his living of mans. but though without wealth, he was accustomed to say that "his wife and he would not live uncomfortable by the produce of his estate and the _marquisate of quinet_." thus he called the revenue which his compositions produced, and _quinet_ was his bookseller. scarron addressed one of his dedications to his dog, to ridicule those writers who dedicate their works indiscriminately, though no author has been more liberal of dedications than himself; but, as he confessed, he made dedication a kind of business. when he was low in cash he always dedicated to some lord, whom he praised as warmly as his dog, but whom probably he did not esteem as much. when scarron was visited, previous to general conversation his friends were taxed with a perusal of what he had written since he saw them last. segrais and a friend calling on him, "take a chair," said our author, "and let me _try on you_ my 'roman comique.'" he took his manuscript, read several pages, and when he observed that they laughed, he said, "good, this goes well; my book can't fail of success, since it obliges such able persons as yourselves to laugh;" and then remained silent to receive their compliments. he used to call this _trying on his romance_, as a tailor _tries_ his _coat_. he was agreeable and diverting in all things, even in his complaints and passions. whatever he conceived he immediately too freely expressed; but his amiable lady corrected him of this in three months after marriage. he petitioned the queen, in his droll manner, to be permitted the honour of being her _sick-man by right of office_. these verses form a part of his address to her majesty: scarron, par la grace de dieu, malade indigne de la reine, homme n'ayant ni feu, ni lieu, mais bien du mal et de la peine; hôpital allant et venant, des jambes d'autrui cheminant, des sieunes n'ayant plus l'usage, souffrant beaucoup, dormant bien pen, et pourtant faisant par courage bonne mine et fort mauvais jeu. "scarron, by the grace of god, the unworthy sick-man of the queen; a man without a house, though a moving hospital of disorders; walking only with other people's legs, with great sufferings, but little sleep; and yet, in spite of all, very courageously showing a hearty countenance, though indeed he plays a losing game." she smiled, granted the title, and, what was better, added a small pension, which losing, by lampooning the minister mazarin, fouquet generously granted him a more considerable one. the termination of the miseries of this facetious genius was now approaching. to one of his friends, who was taking leave of him for some time, scarron said, "i shall soon die; the only regret i have in dying is not to be enabled to leave some property to my wife, who is possessed of infinite merit, and whom i have every reason imaginable to admire and to praise." one day he was seized with so violent a fit of the hiccough, that his friends now considered his prediction would soon be verified. when it was over, "if ever i recover," cried scarron, "i will write a bitter satire against the hiccough." the satire, however, was never written, for he died soon after. a little before his death, when he observed his relations and domestics weeping and groaning, he was not much affected, but humorously told them, "my children, you will never weep for me so much as i have made you laugh." a few moments before he died, he said, that "he never thought that it was so easy a matter to laugh at the approach of death." the burlesque compositions of scarron are now neglected by the french. this species of writing was much in vogue till attacked by the critical boileau, who annihilated such puny writers as d'assoucy and dulot, with their stupid admirers. it is said he spared scarron because his merit, though it appeared but at intervals, was uncommon. yet so much were burlesque verses the fashion after scarron's works, that the booksellers would not publish poems, but with the word "burlesque" in the title-page. in appeared a poem, which shocked the pious, entitled, "the passion of our lord, in _burlesque verses_." swift, in his dotage, appears to have been gratified by such puerilities as scarron frequently wrote. an ode which swift calls "a lilliputian ode," consisting of verses of three syllables, probably originated in a long epistle in verses of three syllables, which scarron addressed to sarrazin. it is pleasant, and the following lines will serve as a specimen:-- _epître à m. sarrazin._ sarrazin mon voisin, cher ami, qu'à demi, je ne voi, dont ma foi j'ai dépit un petit. n'es-tu pas barrabas, busiris, phalaris, ganelon, le felon? he describes himself-- un pauvret, très maigret; au col tors, dont le corps tout tortu, tout bossu, suranné, décharné, est réduit, jour et nuit, a souffrir sans guérir des tourmens vehemens. he complains of sarrazin's not visiting him, threatens to reduce him into powder if he comes not quickly; and concludes, mais pourtant, repentant si tu viens et tu tiens settlement un moment avec nous, mon courroux finira, et cÃ�tera. the roman comique of our author abounds with pleasantry, with wit and character. his "virgile travestie" it is impossible to read long: this we likewise feel in "cotton's virgil travestied," which has notwithstanding considerable merit. buffoonery after a certain time exhausts our patience. it is the chaste actor only who can keep the attention awake for a length of time. it is said that scarron intended to write a tragedy; this perhaps would not have been the least facetious of his burlesques. peter corneille. exact racine and corneille's noble fire show'd us that france had something to admire. pope. the great corneille having finished his studies, devoted himself to the bar; but this was not the stage on which his abilities were to be displayed. he followed the occupation of a lawyer for some time, without taste and without success. a trifling circumstance discovered to the world and to himself a different genius. a young man who was in love with a girl of the same town, having solicited him to be his companion in one of those secret visits which he paid to the lady, it happened that the stranger pleased infinitely more than his introducer. the pleasure arising from this adventure excited in corneille a talent which had hitherto been unknown to him, and he attempted, as if it were by inspiration, dramatic poetry. on this little subject he wrote his comedy of mélite, in . at that moment the french drama was at a low ebb: the most favourable ideas were formed of our juvenile poet, and comedy, it was expected, would now reach its perfection. after the tumult of approbation had ceased, the critics thought that mélite was too simple and barren of incident. roused by this criticism, our poet wrote his clitandre, and in that piece has scattered incidents and adventures with such a licentious profusion, that the critics say he wrote it rather to expose the public taste than to accommodate himself to it. in this piece the persons combat on the theatre; there are murders and assassinations; heroines fight; officers appear in search of murderers, and women are disguised as men. there is matter sufficient for a romance of ten volumes; "and yet," says a french critic, "nothing can be more cold and tiresome." he afterwards indulged his natural genius in various other performances; but began to display more forcibly his tragic powers in medea. a comedy which he afterwards wrote was a very indifferent composition. he regained his full lustre in the famous cid, a tragedy, of which he preserved in his closet translations in all the european languages, except the sclavonian and the turkish. he pursued his poetical career with uncommon splendour in the horaces, cinna, and at length in polyeucte; which productions, the french critics say, can never be surpassed. at length the tragedy of "pertharite" appeared, and proved unsuccessful. this so much disgusted our veteran bard, that, like ben jonson, he could not conceal his chagrin in the preface. there the poet tells us that he renounces the theatre for ever! and indeed this _eternity_ lasted for _several years_! disgusted by the fate of his unfortunate tragedy, he directed his poetical pursuits to a different species of composition. he now finished his translation in verse, of the "imitation of jesus christ," by thomas à kempis. this work, perhaps from the singularity of its dramatic author becoming a religious writer, was attended with astonishing success. yet fontenelle did not find in this translation the prevailing charm of the original, which consists in that simplicity and _naïveté_ which are lost in the pomp of versification so natural to corneille. "this book," he continues, "the finest that ever proceeded from the hand of man (since the gospel does not come from man) would not go so direct to the heart, and would not seize on it with such force, if it had not a natural and tender air, to which even that negligence which prevails in the style greatly contributes." voltaire appears to confirm the opinion of our critic, in respect to the translation: "it is reported that corneille's translation of the imitation of jesus christ has been printed thirty-two times; it is as difficult to believe this as it is to _read the book once_!" corneille seems not to have been ignorant of the truth of this criticism. in his dedication to the pope, he says, "the translation which i have chosen, by the simplicity of its style, precludes all the rich ornaments of poetry, and far from increasing my reputation, must be considered rather as a sacrifice made to the glory of the sovereign author of all, which i may have acquired by my poetical productions." this is an excellent elucidation of the truth of that precept of johnson which respects religious poetry; but of which the author of "calvary" seemed not to have been sensible. the merit of religious compositions appears, like this "imitation of jesus christ," to consist in a simplicity inimical to the higher poetical embellishments; these are too human! when racine, the son, published a long poem on "grace," taken in its holy sense, a most unhappy subject at least for poetry; it was said that he had written on _grace_ without _grace_. during the space of six years corneille rigorously kept his promise of not writing for the theatre. at length, overpowered by the persuasions of his friends, and probably by his own inclinations, he once more directed his studies to the drama. he recommenced in , and finished in . during this time he wrote ten new pieces, and published a variety of little religious poems, which, although they do not attract the attention of posterity, were then read with delight, and probably preferred to the finest tragedies by the good catholics of the day. in he terminated his career. in the last year of his life his mind became so enfeebled as to be incapable of thinking, and he died in extreme poverty. it is true that his uncommon genius had been amply rewarded; but amongst his talents that of preserving the favours of fortune he had not acquired. fontenelle, his nephew, presents a minute and interesting description of this great man. vigneul marville says, that when he saw corneille he had the appearance of a country tradesman, and he could not conceive how a man of so rustic an appearance could put into the mouths of his romans such heroic sentiments. corneille was sufficiently large and full in his person; his air simple and vulgar; always negligent; and very little solicitous of pleasing by his exterior. his face had something agreeable, his nose large, his mouth not unhandsome, his eyes full of fire, his physiognomy lively, with strong features, well adapted to be transmitted to posterity on a medal or bust. his pronunciation was not very distinct: and he read his verses with force, but without grace. he was acquainted with polite literature, with history, and politics; but he generally knew them best as they related to the stage. for other knowledge he had neither leisure, curiosity, nor much esteem. he spoke little, even on subjects which he perfectly understood. he did not embellish what he said, and to discover the great corneille it became necessary to read him. he was of a melancholy disposition, had something blunt in his manner, and sometimes he appeared rude; but in fact he was no disagreeable companion, and made a good father and husband. he was tender, and his soul was very susceptible of friendship. his constitution was very favourable to love, but never to debauchery, and rarely to violent attachment. his soul was fierce and independent: it could never be managed, for it would never bend. this, indeed, rendered him very capable of portraying roman virtue, but incapable of improving his fortune. nothing equalled his incapacity for business but his aversion: the slightest troubles of this kind occasioned him alarm and terror. he was never satiated with praise, although he was continually receiving it; but if he was sensible to fame, he was far removed from vanity. what fontenelle observes of corneille's love of fame is strongly proved by our great poet himself, in an epistle to a friend, in which we find the following remarkable description of himself; an instance that what the world calls vanity, at least interests in a great genius. nous nous aimons un peu, c'est notre foible à tous; le prix que nous valons que le sçait mieux que nous? et puis la mode en est, et la cour l'autorise, nous parlons de nous-mêmes avec toute franchise, la fausse humilité ne met plus en credit. je sçais ce que je vaux, et crois ce qu'on m'en dit, pour me faire admirer je ne fais point de ligue; j'ai peu de voix pour moi, mais je les ai sans brigue; et mon ambition, pour faire plus de bruit ne les va point quêter de réduit en réduit. mon travail sans appui monte sur le theâtre, chacun en liberté l'y blame ou idolâtre; là, sans que mes amis prêchent leurs sentimens, j'arrache quelquefois leurs applaudissemens; là, content da succès que le mérite donne, par d'illustres avis je n'éblouis personne; je satisfais ensemble et peuple et courtisans; et mes vers en tous lieux sent mes seuls partisans; par leur seule beauté ma plume est estimée; je ne dois qu'à moi seul toute ma renommée; et pense toutefois n'avoir point de rival, a qui je fasse tort, en le traitant d'égal. i give his sentiments in english verse. self-love prevails too much in every state; who, like ourselves, our secret worth can rate? since 'tis a fashion authorised at court, frankly our merits we ourselves report. a proud humility will not deceive; i know my worth; what others say, believe. to be admired i form no petty league; few are my friends, but gain'd without intrigue. my bold ambition, destitute of grace, scorns still to beg their votes from place to place. on the fair stage my scenic toils i raise, while each is free to censure or to praise; and there, unaided by inferior arts, i snatch the applause that rushes from their hearts. content by merit still to win the crown, with no illustrious names i cheat the town. the galleries thunder, and the pit commends; my verses, everywhere, my only friends! 'tis from their charms alone my praise i claim; 'tis to myself alone, i owe my fame; and know no rival whom i fear to meet, or injure, when i grant an equal seat. voltaire censures corneille for making his heroes say continually they are great men. but in drawing the character of a hero he draws his own. all his heroes are only so many corneilles in different situations. thomas corneille attempted the same career as his brother; perhaps his name was unfortunate, for it naturally excited a comparison which could not be favourable to him. gaçon, the dennis of his day, wrote the following smart impromptu under his portrait:-- voyant le portrait de corneille, gardez-vous de crier merveille; et dans vos transports n'allez pas prendre ici _pierre_ pour _thomas_. poets. in all ages there has existed an anti-poetical party. this faction consists of those frigid intellects incapable of that glowing expansion so necessary to feel the charms of an art, which only addresses itself to the imagination; or of writers who, having proved unsuccessful in their court to the muses, revenge themselves by reviling them; and also of those religious minds who consider the ardent effusions of poetry as dangerous to the morals and peace of society. plato, amongst the ancients, is the model of those moderns who profess themselves to be anti-poetical. this writer, in his ideal republic, characterises a man who occupies himself with composing verses as a very dangerous member of society, from the inflammatory tendency of his writings. it is by arguing from its abuse, that he decries this enchanting talent. at the same time it is to be recollected, that no head was more finely organised for the visions of the muse than plato's: he was a true poet, and had addicted himself in his prime of life to the cultivation of the art, but perceiving that he could not surpass his inimitable original, homer, he employed this insidious manner of depreciating his works. in the phædon he describes the feelings of a genuine poet. to become such, he says, it will never be sufficient to be guided by the rules of art, unless we also feel the ecstasies of that _furor_, almost divine, which in this kind of composition is the most palpable and least ambiguous character of a true inspiration. cold minds, ever tranquil and ever in possession of themselves, are incapable of producing exalted poetry; their verses must always be feeble, diffusive, and leave no impression; the verses of those who are endowed with a strong and lively imagination, and who, like homer's personification of discord, have their heads incessantly in the skies, and their feet on the earth, will agitate you, burn in your heart, and drag you along with them; breaking like an impetuous torrent, and swelling your breast with that enthusiasm with which they are themselves possessed. such is the character of a _poet_ in a _poetical age_!--the tuneful race have many corporate bodies of mechanics; pontypool manufacturers, inlayers, burnishers, gilders, and filers! men of taste are sometimes disgusted in turning over the works of the anti-poetical, by meeting with gross railleries and false judgments concerning poetry and poets. locke has expressed a marked contempt of poets; but we see what ideas he formed of poetry by his warm panegyric of one of blackmore's epics! and besides he was himself a most unhappy poet! selden, a scholar of profound erudition, has given us _his_ opinion concerning poets. "it is ridiculous for a _lord_ to print verses; he may make them to please himself. if a man in a private chamber twirls his band-strings, or plays with a rush to please himself, it is well enough; but if he should go into fleet-street, and sit upon a stall and twirl a band-string, or play with a rush, then all the boys in the street would laugh at him."--as if "the sublime and the beautiful" can endure a comparison with the twirling of a band-string or playing with a rush!--a poet, related to an illustrious family, and who did not write unpoetically, entertained a far different notion concerning poets. so persuaded was he that to be a true poet required an elevated mind, that it was a maxim with him that no writer could be an excellent poet who was not descended from a noble family. this opinion is as absurd as that of selden:--but when one party will not grant enough, the other always assumes too much. the great pascal, whose extraordinary genius was discovered in the sciences, knew little of the nature of poetical beauty. he said "poetry has no settled object." this was the decision of a geometrician, not of a poet. "why should he speak of what he did not understand?" asked the lively voltaire. poetry is not an object which comes under the cognizance of philosophy or wit. longuerue had profound erudition; but he decided on poetry in the same manner as those learned men. nothing so strongly characterises such literary men as the following observations in the longueruana, p. . "there are two _books on homer_, which i prefer to _homer himself_. the first is _antiquitates homericæ_ of feithius, where he has extracted everything relative to the usages and customs of the greeks; the other is, _homeri gnomologia per duportum_, printed at cambridge. in these two books is found everything valuable in homer, without being obliged to get through his _contes à dormir debout_!" thus men of _science_ decide on men of _taste_! there are who study homer and virgil as the blind travel through a fine country, merely to get to the end of their journey. it was observed at the death of longuerue that in his immense library not a volume of poetry was to be found. he had formerly read poetry, for indeed he had read everything. racine tells us, that when young he paid him a visit; the conversation turned on _poets_; our _erudit_ reviewed them all with the most ineffable contempt of the poetical talent, from which he said we learn nothing. he seemed a little charitable towards ariosto.--"as for that _madman_," said he, "he has amused me sometimes." dacier, a poetical pedant after all, was asked who was the greater poet, homer or virgil? he honestly answered, "homer by a thousand years!" but it is mortifying to find among the _anti-poetical_ even _poets_ themselves! malherbe, the first poet in france in his day, appears little to have esteemed the art. he used to say that "a good poet was not more useful to the state than a skilful player of nine-pins!" malherbe wrote with costive labour. when a poem was shown to him which had been highly commended, he sarcastically asked if it would "lower the price of bread?" in these instances he maliciously confounded the _useful_ with the _agreeable_ arts. be it remembered, that malherbe had a cynical heart, cold and unfeeling; his character may be traced in his poetry; labour and correctness, without one ray of enthusiasm. le clerc was a scholar not entirely unworthy to be ranked amongst the lockes, the seldens, and the longuerues; and his opinions are as just concerning poets. in the parhasiana he has written a treatise on poets in a very unpoetical manner. i shall notice his coarse railleries relating to what he calls "the personal defects of poets." in vol. i. p. , he says, "in the scaligerana we have joseph scaliger's opinion concerning poets. 'there never was a man who was a poet, or addicted to the study of poetry, but his heart was puffed up with his greatness.'--this is very true. the poetical enthusiasm persuades those gentlemen that they have something in them superior to others, because they employ a language peculiar to themselves. when the poetic furor seizes them, its traces frequently remain on their faces, which make connoisseurs say with horace, aut insanit homo, ant versus facit. there goes a madman or a bard! "their thoughtful air and melancholy gait make them appear insane; for, accustomed to versify while they walk, and to bite their nails in apparent agonies, their steps are measured and slow, and they look as if they were reflecting on something of consequence, although they are only thinking, as the phrase runs, of nothing!" i have only transcribed the above description of our jocular scholar, with an intention of describing those exterior marks of that fine enthusiasm, of which the poet is peculiarly susceptible, and which have exposed many an elevated genius to the ridicule of the vulgar. i find this admirably defended by charpentier: "men may ridicule as much as they please those gesticulations and contortions which poets are apt to make in the act of composing; it is certain, however, that they greatly assist in putting the imagination into motion. these kinds of agitation do not always show a mind which labours with its sterility; they frequently proceed from a mind which excites and animates itself. quintilian has nobly compared them to those lashings of his tail which a lion gives himself when he is preparing to combat. persius, when he would give us an idea of a cold and languishing oration, says that its author did not strike his desk nor bite his nails." nec pluteum cædit, nec demorsos sapit ungues. these exterior marks of enthusiasm may be illustrated by the following curious anecdote:--domenichino, the painter, was accustomed to act the characters of all the figures he would represent on his canvas, and to speak aloud whatever the passion he meant to describe could prompt. painting the martyrdom of st. andrew, carracci one day caught him in a violent passion, speaking in a terrible and menacing tone. he was at that moment employed on a soldier who was threatening the saint. when this fit of enthusiastic abstraction had passed, carracci ran and embraced him, acknowledging that domenichino had been that day his master; and that he had learnt from him the true manner to succeed in catching the expression--that great pride of the painter's art. thus different are the sentiments of the intelligent and the unintelligent on the same subject. a carracci embraced a kindred genius for what a le clerc or a selden would have ridiculed. poets, i confess, frequently indulge _reveries_, which, though they offer no charms to their friends, are too delicious to forego. in the ideal world, peopled with all its fairy inhabitants, and ever open to their contemplation, they travel with an unwearied foot. crebillon, the celebrated tragic poet, was enamoured of solitude, that he might there indulge, without interruption, in those fine romances with which his imagination teemed. one day when he was in a deep reverie, a friend entered hastily: "don't disturb me," cried the poet; "i am enjoying a moment of happiness: i am going to hang a villain of a minister, and banish another who is an idiot." amongst the anti-poetical may be placed the father of the great monarch of prussia. george the second was not more the avowed enemy of the muses. frederic would not suffer the prince to read verses; and when he was desirous of study, or of the conversation of literary men, he was obliged to do it secretly. every poet was odious to his majesty. one day, having observed some lines written on one of the doors of the palace, he asked a courtier their signification. they were explained to him; they were latin verses composed by wachter, a man of letters, then resident at berlin. the king immediately sent for the bard, who came warm with the hope of receiving a reward for his ingenuity. he was astonished, however, to hear the king, in a violent passion, accost him, "i order you immediately to quit this city and my kingdom." wachter took refuge in hanover. as little indeed was this anti-poetical monarch a friend to philosophers. two or three such kings might perhaps renovate the ancient barbarism of europe. barratier, the celebrated child, was presented to his majesty of prussia as a prodigy of erudition; the king, to mortify our ingenious youth, coldly asked him, "if he knew the law?" the learned boy was constrained to acknowledge that he knew nothing of the law. "go," was the reply of this augustus, "go, and study it before you give yourself out as a scholar." poor barratier renounced for this pursuit his other studies, and persevered with such ardour that he became an excellent lawyer at the end of fifteen months; but his exertions cost him at the same time his life! every monarch, however, has not proved so destitute of poetic sensibility as this prussian. francis i. gave repeated marks of his attachment to the favourites of the muses, by composing several occasional sonnets, which are dedicated to their eulogy. andrelin, a french poet, enjoyed the happy fate of oppian, to whom the emperor caracalla counted as many pieces of gold as there were verses in one of his poems; and with great propriety they have been called "golden verses." andrelin, when he recited his poem on the conquest of naples before charles viii., received a sack of silver coin, which with difficulty he carried home. charles ix., says brantome, loved verses, and recompensed poets, not indeed immediately, but gradually, that they might always be stimulated to excel. he used to say, that poets resembled race-horses, that must be fed but not fattened, for then they were good for nothing. marot was so much esteemed by kings, that he was called the poet of princes, and the prince of poets. in the early state of poetry what honours were paid to its votaries! ronsard, the french chaucer, was the first who carried away the prize at the floral games. this meed of poetic honour was an eglantine composed of silver. the reward did not appear equal to the merit of the work and the reputation of the poet; and on this occasion the city of toulouse had a minerva of solid silver struck, of considerable value. this image was sent to ronsard, accompanied by a decree, in which he was declared, by way of eminence, "the french poet." it is a curious anecdote to add, that when, at a later period, a similar minerva was adjudged to maynard for his verses, the capitouls, of toulouse, who were the executors of the floral gifts, to their shame, out of covetousness, never obeyed the decision of the poetical judges. this circumstance is noticed by maynard in an epigram, which bears this title: _on a minerva of silver, promised but not given_. the anecdote of margaret of scotland, wife of the dauphin of france, and alain the poet, is generally known. who is not charmed with that fine expression of her poetical sensibility? the person of alain was repulsive, but his poetry had attracted her affections. passing through one of the halls of the palace, she saw him sleeping on a bench; she approached and kissed him. some of her attendants could not conceal their astonishment that she should press with her lips those of a man so frightfully ugly. the amiable princess answered, smiling, "i did not kiss the man, but the mouth which has uttered so many fine things." the great colbert paid a pretty compliment to boileau and racine. this minister, at his villa, was enjoying the conversation of our two poets, when the arrival of a prelate was announced: turning quickly to the servant, he said, "let him be shown everything except myself!" to such attentions from this great minister, boileau alludes in these verses:-- plus d'un grand m'aima jusqnes à la tendresse; et ma vue à colbert inspiroit l'allégresse. several pious persons have considered it as highly meritable to abstain from the reading of poetry! a good father, in his account of the last hours of madame racine, the lady of the celebrated tragic poet, pays high compliments to her religious disposition, which, he says, was so austere, that she would not allow herself to read poetry, as she considered it to be a dangerous pleasure; and he highly commends her for never having read the tragedies of her husband! arnauld, though so intimately connected with racine for many years, had not read his compositions. when at length he was persuaded to read phædra, he declared himself to be delighted, but complained that the poet had set a dangerous example, in making the manly hippolytus dwindle to an effeminate lover. as a critic, arnauld was right; but racine had his nation to please. such persons entertain notions of poetry similar to that of an ancient father, who calls poetry the wine of satan; or to that of the religious and austere nicole, who was so ably answered by racine: he said, that dramatic poets were public poisoners, not of bodies, but of souls. poets, it is acknowledged, have foibles peculiar to themselves. they sometimes act in the daily commerce of life as if every one was concerned in the success of their productions. poets are too frequently merely poets. segrais has recorded that the following maxim of rochefoucault was occasioned by reflecting on the characters of boileau and racine. "it displays," he writes, "a great poverty of mind to have only one kind of genius." on this segrais observes, and segrais knew them intimately, that their conversation only turned on poetry; take them from that, and they knew nothing. it was thus with one du perrier, a good poet, but very poor. when he was introduced to pelisson, who wished to be serviceable to him, the minister said, "in what can he be employed? he is only occupied by his verses." all these complaints are not unfounded; yet, perhaps, it is unjust to expect from an excelling artist all the petty accomplishments of frivolous persons, who have studied no art but that of practising on the weaknesses of their friends. the enthusiastic votary, who devotes his days and nights to meditations on his favourite art, will rarely be found that despicable thing, a mere man of the world. du bos has justly observed, that men of genius, born for a particular profession, appear inferior to others when they apply themselves to other occupations. that absence of mind which arises from their continued attention to their ideas, renders them awkward in their manners. such defects are even a proof of the activity of genius. it is a common foible with poets to read their verses to friends. segrais has ingeniously observed, to use his own words, "when young i used to please myself in reciting my verses indifferently to all persons; but i perceived when scarron, who was my intimate friend, used to take his portfolio and read his verses to me, although they were good, i frequently became weary. i then reflected, that those to whom i read mine, and who, for the greater part, had no taste for poetry, must experience the same disagreeable sensation. i resolved for the future to read my verses only to those who entreated me, and to read but a few at a time. we flatter ourselves too much; we conclude that what please us must please others. we will have persons indulgent to us, and frequently we will have no indulgence for those who are in want of it." an excellent hint for young poets, and for those old ones who carry odes and elegies in their pockets, to inflict the pains of the torture on their friends. the affection which a poet feels for his verses has been frequently extravagant. bayle, ridiculing that parental tenderness which writers evince for their poetical compositions, tells us, that many having written epitaphs on friends whom they believed on report to have died, could not determine to keep them in their closet, but suffered them to appear in the lifetime of those very friends whose death they celebrated. in another place he says, such is their infatuation for their productions, that they prefer giving to the public their panegyrics of persons whom afterwards they satirized, rather than suppress the verses which contain those panegyrics. we have many examples of this in the poems, and even in the epistolary correspondence of modern writers. it is customary with most authors, when they quarrel with a person after the first edition of their work, to cancel his eulogies in the next. but poets and letter-writers frequently do not do this; because they are so charmed with the happy turn of their expressions, and other elegancies of composition, that they perfer the praise which they may acquire for their style to the censure which may follow from their inconsistency. after having given a hint to _young_ poets, i shall offer one to _veterans_. it is a common defect with them that they do not know when to quit the muses in their advanced age. bayle says, "poets and orators should be mindful to retire from their occupations, which so peculiarly require the fire of imagination; yet it is but too common to see them in their career, even in the decline of life. it seems as if they would condemn the public to drink even the lees of their nectar." afer and daurat were both poets who had acquired considerable reputation, but which they overturned when they persisted to write in their old age without vigour and without fancy. what crowds of these impenitently bold, in sounds and jingling syllables grown old, they run on poets, in a raging rein, e'en to the dregs and squeezings of the brain: strain out the last dull droppings of their sense, and rhyme with all the rage of impotence. pope. it is probable he had wycherley in his eye when he wrote this. the veteran bard latterly scribbled much indifferent verse; and pope had freely given his opinion, by which he lost his friendship! it is still worse when aged poets devote their exhausted talents to _divine poems_, as did waller; and milton in his second epic. such poems, observes voltaire, are frequently entitled "_sacred poems_;" and _sacred_ they are, for no one touches them. from a soil so arid what can be expected but insipid fruits? corneille told chevreau several years before his death, that he had taken leave of the theatre, for he had lost his poetical powers with his teeth. poets have sometimes displayed an obliquity of taste in their female favourites. as if conscious of the power of ennobling others, some have selected them from the lowest classes, whom, having elevated into divinities, they have addressed in the language of poetical devotion. the chloe of prior, after all his raptures, was a plump barmaid. ronsard addressed many of his verses to miss cassandra, who followed the same occupation: in one of his sonnets to her, he fills it with a crowd of personages taken from the iliad, which to the honest girl must have all been extremely mysterious. colletet, a french bard, married three of his servants. his last lady was called _la belle claudine_. ashamed of such menial alliances, he attempted to persuade the world that he had married the tenth muse; and for this purpose published verses in her name. when he died, the vein of claudine became suddenly dry. she indeed published her "adieux to the muses;" but it was soon discovered that all the verses of this lady, including her "adieux," were the compositions of her husband. sometimes, indeed, the ostensible mistresses of poets have no existence; and a slight occasion is sufficient to give birth to one. racan and malherbe were one day conversing on their amours; that is, of selecting a lady who should be the object of their verses. racan named one, and malherbe another. it happening that both had the same name, catherine, they passed the whole afternoon in forming it into an anagram. they found three: arthenice, eracinthe, and charinté. the first was preferred, and many a fine ode was written in praise of the beautiful arthenice! poets change their opinions of their own productions wonderfully at different periods of life. baron haller was in his youth warmly attached to poetic composition. his house was on fire, and to rescue his poems he rushed through the flames. he was so fortunate as to escape with his beloved manuscripts in his hand. ten years afterwards he condemned to the flames those very poems which he had ventured his life to preserve. satirists, if they escape the scourges of the law, have reason to dread the cane of the satirised. of this kind we have many anecdotes on record; but none more poignant than the following:--benserade was caned for lampooning the duc d'epernon. some days afterwards he appeared at court, but being still lame from the rough treatment he had received, he was forced to support himself by a cane. a wit, who knew what had passed, whispered the affair to the queen. she, dissembling, asked him if he had the gout? "yes, madam," replied our lame satirist, "and therefore i make use of a cane." "not so," interrupted the malignant bautru, "benserade in this imitates those holy martyrs who are always represented with the instrument which occasioned their sufferings." romances. romance has been elegantly defined as the offspring of fiction and love. men of learning have amused themselves with tracing the epocha of romances; but the erudition is desperate which would fix on the inventor of the first romance: for what originates in nature, who shall hope to detect the shadowy outlines of its beginnings? the theagenes and chariclea of heliodorus appeared in the fourth century; and this elegant prelate was the grecian fenelon. it has been prettily said, that posterior romances seem to be the children of the marriage of theagenes and chariclea. the romance of "the golden ass," by apuleius, which contains the beautiful tale of "cupid and psyche," remains unrivalled; while the "däphne and chloe" of longus, in the old version of amyot, is inexpressibly delicate, simple, and inartificial, but sometimes offends us, for nature there "plays her virgin fancies." beautiful as these compositions are, when the imagination of the writer is sufficiently stored with accurate observations on human nature, in their birth, like many of the fine arts, the zealots of an ascetic religion opposed their progress. however heliodorus may have delighted those who were not insensible to the felicities of a fine imagination, and to the enchanting elegancies of style, he raised himself, among his brother ecclesiastics, enemies, who at length so far prevailed, that, in a synod, it was declared that his performance was dangerous to young persons, and that if the author did not suppress it, he must resign his bishopric. we are told he preferred his romance to his bishopric. even so late as in racine's time it was held a crime to peruse these unhallowed pages. he informs us that the first effusions of his muse were in consequence of studying that ancient romance, which, his tutor observing him to devour with the keenness of a famished man, snatched from his hands and flung it in the fire. a second copy experienced the same fate. what could racine do? he bought a third, and took the precaution of devouring it secretly till he got it by heart: after which he offered it to the pedagogue with a smile, to burn like the others. the decision of these ascetic bigots was founded in their opinion of the immorality of such works. they alleged that the writers paint too warmly to the imagination, address themselves too forcibly to the passions, and in general, by the freedom of their representations, hover on the borders of indecency. let it be sufficient, however, to observe, that those who condemned the liberties which these writers take with the imagination could indulge themselves with the anacreontic voluptuousness of the wise _solomon_, when sanctioned by the authority of the church. the marvellous power of romance over the human mind is exemplified in this curious anecdote of oriental literature. mahomet found they had such an influence over the imaginations of his followers, that he has expressly forbidden them in his koran; and the reason is given in the following anecdote:--an arabian merchant having long resided in persia, returned to his own country while the prophet was publishing his koran. the merchant, among his other riches, had a treasure of romances concerning the persian heroes. these he related to his delighted countrymen, who considered them to be so excellent, that the legends of the koran were neglected, and they plainly told the prophet that the "persian tales" were superior to his. alarmed, he immediately had a visitation from the angel gabriel, declaring them impious and pernicious, hateful to god and mahomet. this checked their currency; and all true believers yielded up the exquisite delight of poetic fictions for the insipidity of religious ones. yet these romances may be said to have outlived the koran itself; for they have spread into regions which the koran could never penetrate. even to this day colonel capper, in his travels across the desert, saw "arabians sitting round a fire, listening to their tales with such attention and pleasure, as totally to forget the fatigue and hardship with which an instant before they were entirely overcome." and wood, in his journey to palmyra:--"at night the arabs sat in a circle drinking coffee, while one of the company diverted the rest by relating a piece of history on the subject of love or war, or with an extempore tale." mr. ellis has given us "specimens of the early english metrical romances," and ritson and weber have printed two collections of them entire, valued by the poetical antiquary. learned inquirers have traced the origin of romantic fiction to various sources.[ ] from scandinavia issued forth the giants, dragons, witches, and enchanters. the curious reader will be gratified by "illustrations of northern antiquities," a volume in quarto; where he will find extracts from "the book of heroes" and "the nibelungen lay,"[ ] with many other metrical tales from the old german, danish, swedish, and icelandic languages. in the east, arabian fancy bent her iris of many softened hues over a delightful land of fiction: while the welsh, in their emigration to britanny, are believed to have brought with them their national fables. that subsequent race of minstrels, known by the name of _troubadours_ in the south of france, composed their erotic or sentimental poems; and those romancers called _troveurs_, or finders, in the north of france, culled and compiled their domestic tales or _fabliaux_, _dits_, _conte_, or _lai_. millot, sainte palaye, and le grand, have preserved, in their "histories of the troubadours," their literary compositions. they were a romantic race of ambulatory poets, military and religious subjects their favourite themes, yet bold and satirical on princes, and even on priests; severe moralisers, though libertines in their verse; so refined and chaste in their manners, that few husbands were alarmed at the enthusiastic language they addressed to their wives. the most romantic incidents are told of their loves. but love and its grosser passion were clearly distinguished from each other in their singular intercourse with their "dames." the object of their mind was separated from the object of their senses; the virtuous lady to whom they vowed their hearts was in their language styled "_la dame de ses pensées_," a very distinct being from their other mistress! such was the platonic chimera that charmed in the age of chivalry; the laura of petrarch might have been no other than "the lady of his thoughts." from such productions in their improved state poets of all nations have drawn their richest inventions. the agreeable wildness of that fancy which characterised the eastern nations was often caught by the crusaders. when they returned home, they mingled in their own the customs of each country. the saracens, being of another religion, brave, desperate, and fighting for their fatherland, were enlarged to their fears, under the tremendous form of _paynim giants_, while the reader of that day followed with trembling sympathy the _redcross knight_. thus fiction embellished religion, and religion invigorated fiction; and such incidents have enlivened the cantos of ariosto, and adorned the epic of tasso. spenser is the child of their creation; and it is certain that we are indebted to them for some of the bold and strong touches of milton. our great poet marks his affection for "these lofty fables and romances, among which his young feet wandered." collins was bewildered among their magical seductions; and dr. johnson was enthusiastically delighted by the old spanish folio romance of "felixmarte of hircania," and similar works. the most ancient romances were originally composed in verse before they were converted into prose: no wonder that the lacerated members of the poet have been cherished by the sympathy of poetical souls. don quixote's was a very agreeable insanity. the most voluminous of these ancient romances is "le roman de perceforest." i have seen an edition in six small folio volumes, and its author has been called the french homer by the writers of his age. in the class of romances of chivalry, we have several translations in the black letter. these books are very rare, and their price is as voluminous. it is extraordinary that these writers were so unconscious of their future fame, that not one of their names has travelled down to us. there were eager readers in their days, but not a solitary bibliographer! all these romances now require some indulgence for their prolixity, and their platonic amours; but they have not been surpassed in the wildness of their inventions, the ingenuity of their incidents, the simplicity of their style, and their curious manners. many a homer lies hid among them; but a celebrated italian critic suggested to me that many of the fables of homer are only disguised and degraded in the romances of chivalry. those who vilify them as only barbarous imitations of classical fancy condemn them as some do gothic architecture, as mere corruptions of a purer style: such critics form their decision by preconceived notions; they are but indifferent philosophers, and to us seem to be deficient in imagination. as a specimen i select two romantic adventures:-- the title of the extensive romance of perceforest is, "the most elegant, delicious, mellifluous, and delightful history of perceforest, king of great britain, &c." the most ancient edition is that of . the writers of these gothic fables, lest they should be considered as mere triflers, pretended to an allegorical meaning concealed under the texture of their fable. from the following adventure we learn the power of beauty in making _ten days_ appear as _yesterday_! alexander the great in search of perceforest, parts with his knights in an enchanted wood, and each vows they will not remain longer than one night in one place. alexander, accompanied by a page, arrives at sebilla's castle, who is a sorceress. he is taken by her witcheries and beauty, and the page, by the lady's maid, falls into the same mistake as his master, who thinks he is there only one night. they enter the castle with deep wounds, and issue perfectly recovered. i transcribe the latter part as a specimen of the manner. when they were once out of the castle, the king said, "truly, floridas, i know not how it has been with me; but certainly sebilla is a very honourable lady, and very beautiful, and very charming in conversation. sire (said floridas), it is true; but one thing surprises me:--how is it that our wounds have healed in one night? i thought at least ten or fifteen days were necessary. truly, said the king, that is astonishing! now king alexander met gadiffer, king of scotland, and the valiant knight le tors. well, said the king, have ye news of the king of england? ten days we have hunted him, and cannot find him out. how, said alexander, did we not separate _yesterday_ from each other? in god's name, said gadiffer, what means your majesty? it is _ten days_! have a care what you say, cried the king. sire, replied gadiffer, it is so; ask le tors. on my honour, said le tors, the king of scotland speaks truth. then, said the king, some of us are enchanted; floridas, didst thou not think we separated _yesterday_? truly, truly, your majesty, i thought so! but when i saw our wounds healed in one night, i had some suspicion that we were _enchanted_." in the old romance of melusina, this lovely fairy (though to the world unknown as such), enamoured of count raymond, marries him, but first extorts a solemn promise that he will never disturb her on saturdays. on those days the inferior parts of her body are metamorphosed to that of a mermaid, as a punishment for a former error. agitated by the malicious insinuations of a friend, his curiosity and his jealousy one day conduct him to the spot she retired to at those times. it was a darkened passage in the dungeon of the fortress. his hand gropes its way till it feels an iron gate oppose it; nor can he discover a single chink, but at length perceives by his touch a loose nail; he places his sword in its head and screws it out. through this cranny he sees melusina in the horrid form she is compelled to assume. that tender mistress, transformed into a monster bathing in a fount, flashing the spray of the water from a scaly tail! he repents of his fatal curiosity: she reproaches him, and their mutual happiness is for ever lost. the moral design of the tale evidently warns the lover to revere a _woman's secret_! such are the works which were the favourite amusements of our english court, and which doubtless had a due effect in refining the manners of the age, in diffusing that splendid military genius, and that tender devotion to the fair sex, which dazzle us in the reign of edward iii., and through that enchanting labyrinth of history constructed by the gallant froissart. in one of the revenue rolls of henry iii. there is an entry of "silver clasps and studs for his majesty's _great book of romances_." dr. moore observes that the enthusiastic admiration of chivalry which edward iii. manifested during the whole course of his reign, was probably, in some measure, owing to his having studied the _clasped book_ in his great grandfather's library. the italian romances of the fourteenth century were spread abroad in great numbers. they formed the polite literature of the day. but if it is not permitted to authors freely to express their ideas, and give full play to the imagination, these works must never be placed in the study of the rigid moralist. they, indeed, pushed their indelicacy to the verge of grossness, and seemed rather to seek than to avoid scenes, which a modern would blush to describe. they, to employ the expression of one of their authors, were not ashamed to name what god had created. cinthio, bandello, and others, but chiefly boccaccio, rendered libertinism agreeable by the fascinating charms of a polished style and a luxuriant imagination. this, however, must not be admitted as an apology for immoral works; for poison is not the less poison, even when delicious. such works were, and still continue to be, the favourites of a nation stigmatized for being prone to impure amours. they are still curious in their editions, and are not parsimonious in their price for what they call an uncastrated copy. there are many italians, not literary men, who are in possession of an ample library of these old novelists. if we pass over the moral irregularities of these romances, we may discover a rich vein of invention, which only requires to be released from that rubbish which disfigures it, to become of an invaluable price. the _decamerones_, the _hecatommiti_, and the _novellas_ of these writers, translated into english, made no inconsiderable figure in the little library of our shakspeare.[ ] chaucer had been a notorious imitator and lover of them. his "knight's tale" is little more than a paraphrase of "boccaccio's teseoide." fontaine has caught all their charms with all their licentiousness. from such works these great poets, and many of their contemporaries, frequently borrowed their plots; not uncommonly kindled at their flame the ardour of their genius; but bending too submissively to the taste of their age, in extracting the ore they have not purified it of the alloy. the origin of these tales must be traced to the inventions of the troveurs, who doubtless often adopted them from various nations. of these tales, le grand has printed a curious collection; and of the writers mr. ellis observes, in his preface to "way's fabliaux," that the authors of the "cento novelle antiche," boccaccio, bandello, chaucer, gower,--in short, the writers of all europe have probably made use of the inventions of the elder fablers. they have borrowed their general outlines, which they have filled up with colours of their own, and have exercised their ingenuity in varying the drapery, in combining the groups, and in forming them into more regular and animated pictures. we now turn to the french romances of the last century, called heroic, from the circumstance of their authors adopting the name of some hero. the manners are the modern antique; and the characters are a sort of beings made out of the old epical, the arcadian pastoral, and the parisian sentimentality and affectation of the days of voiture.[ ] the astrea of d'urfé greatly contributed to their perfection. as this work is founded on several curious circumstances, it shall be the subject of the following article; for it may be considered as a literary curiosity. the astrea was followed by the illustrious bassa, artamene, or the great cyrus, clelia, &c., which, though not adapted to the present age, once gave celebrity to their authors; and the great cyrus, in ten volumes, passed through five or six editions. their style, as well as that of the astrea, is diffuse and languid; yet zaïde, and the princess of cleves, are masterpieces of the kind. such works formed the first studies of rousseau, who, with his father, would sit up all night, till warned by the chirping of the swallows how foolishly they had spent it! some incidents in his nouvelle heloise have been retraced to these sources; and they certainly entered greatly into the formation of his character. such romances at length were regarded as pernicious to good sense, taste, and literature. it was in this light they were considered by boileau, after he had indulged in them in his youth. a celebrated jesuit pronounced an oration against these works. the rhetorician exaggerates and hurls his thunders on flowers. he entreats the magistrates not to suffer foreign romances to be scattered amongst the people, but to lay on them heavy penalties, as on prohibited goods; and represents this prevailing taste as being more pestilential than the plague itself. he has drawn a striking picture of a family devoted to romance-reading; he there describes women occupied day and night with their perusal; children just escaped from the lap of their nurse grasping in their little hands the fairy tales; and a country squire seated in an old arm-chair, reading to his family the most wonderful passages of the ancient works of chivalry. these romances went out of fashion with our square-cocked hats: they had exhausted the patience of the public, and from them sprung novels. they attempted to allure attention by this inviting title, and reducing their works from ten to two volumes. the name of romance, including imaginary heroes and extravagant passions, disgusted; and they substituted scenes of domestic life, and touched our common feelings by pictures of real nature. heroes were not now taken from the throne: they were sometimes even sought after amongst the lowest ranks of the people. scarron seems to allude sarcastically to this degradation of the heroes of fiction: for in hinting at a new comic history he had projected, he tells us that he gave it up suddenly because he had "heard that his hero had just been hanged at mans." novels, as they were long _manufactured_, form a library of illiterate authors for illiterate readers; but as they are _created_ by genius, are precious to the philosopher. they paint the character of an individual or the manners of the age more perfectly than any other species of composition: it is in novels we observe as it were passing under our eyes the refined frivolity of the french; the gloomy and disordered sensibility of the german; and the petty intrigues of the modern italian in some venetian novels. we have shown the world that we possess writers of the first order in this delightful province of fiction and of truth; for every fiction invented naturally, must be true. after the abundant invective poured on this class of books, it is time to settle for ever the controversy, by asserting that these works of fiction are among the most instructive of every polished nation, and must contain all the useful truths of human life, if composed with genius. they are pictures of the passions, useful to our youth to contemplate. that acute philosopher, adam smith, has given an opinion most favourable to novels. "the poets and romance writers who best paint the refinements and delicacies of love and friendship, and of all other private and domestic affections, racine and voltaire, richardson marivaux, and riccoboni, are in this case much better instructors than zeno, chrysippus, or epictetus." the history of romances has been recently given by mr. dunlop, with many pleasing details; but this work should be accompanied by the learned lenglet du fresnoy's "bibliothèque des romans," published under the name of m. le c. gordon de percel; which will be found useful for immediate reference for titles, dates, and a copious catalogue of romances and novels to the year . footnotes: [footnote : since the above was written, many other volumes have been published illustrative of this branch of literature. the bannatyne and maitland club and the camden and percy societies have printed metrical romances entire.] [footnote : this famed lay has been magnificently published in germany, where it is now considered as the native epic of the ancient kingdom. its scenes have been delineated by the greatest of their artists, who have thus given a world-wide reputation to a poem comparatively unknown when the first edition of this work was printed.] [footnote : these early novels have been collected and published by mr. j. p. collier, under the title of _shakespeare's library_. they form the foundation of some of the great poet's best dramas.] [footnote : they were ridiculed in a french burlesque romance of the shepherd lysis, translated by davis, and published . don quixote, when dying, made up his mind, if he recovered, to turn shepherd, in imitation of some of the romance-heroes, who thus finished their career. this old "anti-romance" works out this notion by a mad reader of pastorals, who assumes the shepherd habit and tends a few wretched sheep at st. cloud.] the astrea. i bring the astrea forward to point out the ingenious manner by which a fine imagination can veil the common incidents of life, and turn whatever it touches into gold. honoré d'urfé was the descendant of an illustrious family. his brother anne married diana of chateaumorand, the wealthy heiress of another great house. after a marriage of no less duration than twenty-two years, this union was broken by the desire of anne himself, for a cause which the delicacy of diana had never revealed. anne then became an ecclesiastic. some time afterwards, honoré, desirous of retaining the great wealth of diana in the family, addressed this lady, and married her. this union, however, did not prove fortunate. diana, like the goddess of that name, was a huntress, continually surrounded by her dogs:--they dined with her at table, and slept with her in bed. this insupportable nuisance could not be patiently endured by the elegant honoré. he was also disgusted with the barrenness of the huntress diana, who was only delivered every year of abortions. he separated from her, and retired to piedmont, where he passed his remaining days in peace, without feeling the thorns of marriage and ambition rankling in his heart. in this retreat he composed his astrea; a pastoral romance, which was the admiration of europe during half a century. it forms a striking picture of human life, for the incidents are facts beautifully concealed. they relate the amours and gallantries of the court of henry the fourth. the personages in the astrea display a rich invention; and the work might be still read, were it not for those wire-drawn conversations, or rather disputations, which were then introduced into romances. in a modern edition, the abbé souchai has _curtailed_ these tiresome dialogues; the work still consists of ten duodecimos. in this romance, celidée, to cure the unfortunate celadon, and to deprive thamire at the same time of every reason for jealousy, tears her face with a pointed diamond, and disfigures it in so cruel a manner, that she excites horror in the breast of thamire; but he so ardently admires this exertion of virtue, that he loves her, hideous as she is represented, still more than when she was most beautiful. heaven, to be just to these two lovers, restores the beauty of celidée; which is effected by a sympathetic powder. this romantic incident is thus explained:--one of the french princes (thamire), when he returned from italy, treated with coldness his amiable princess (celidée); this was the effect of his violent passion, which had become jealousy. the coolness subsisted till the prince was imprisoned, for state affairs, in the wood of vincennes. the princess, with the permission of the court, followed him into his confinement. this proof of her love soon brought back the wandering heart and affections of the prince. the small-pox seized her; which is the pointed diamond, and the dreadful disfigurement of her face. she was so fortunate as to escape being marked by this disease; which is meant by the sympathetic powder. this trivial incident is happily turned into the marvellous: that a wife should choose to be imprisoned with her husband is not singular; to escape being marked by the small-pox happens every day; but to romance, as he has done, on such common circumstances, is beautiful and ingenious. d'urfé, when a boy, is said to have been enamoured of diana; this indeed has been questioned. d'urfé, however, was sent to the island of malta to enter into that order of knighthood; and in his absence diana was married to anne. what an affliction for honoré on his return to see her married, and to his brother! his affection did not diminish, but he concealed it in respectful silence. he had some knowledge of his brother's unhappiness, and on this probably founded his hopes. after several years, during which the modest diana had uttered no complaint, anne declared himself; and shortly afterwards honoré, as we have noticed, married diana. our author has described the parties under this false appearance of marriage. he assumes the names of celadon and sylvander, and gives diana those of astrea and diana. he is sylvander and she astrea while she is married to anne; and he celadon and she diana when the marriage is dissolved. sylvander is represented always as a lover who sighs secretly; nor does diana declare her passion till overcome by the long sufferings of her faithful shepherd. for this reason astrea and diana, as well as sylvander and celadon, go together, prompted by the same despair, to the fountain of the truth of love. sylvander is called an unknown shepherd, who has no other wealth than his flock; because our author was the youngest of his family, or rather a knight of malta who possessed nothing but honour. celadon in despair throws himself into a river; this refers to his voyage to malta. under the name of alexis he displays the friendship of astrea for him, and all those innocent freedoms which passed between them as relatives; from this circumstance he has contrived a difficulty inimitably delicate. something of passion is to be discovered in these expressions of friendship. when alexis assumes the name of celadon, he calls that love which astrea had mistaken for fraternal affection. this was the trying moment. for though she loved him, she is rigorous in her duty and honour. she says, "what will they think of me if i unite myself to him, after permitting, for so many years, those familiarities which a brother may have taken with a sister, with me, who knew that in fact i remained unmarried?" how she got over this nice scruple does not appear; it was, however, for a long time a great obstacle to the felicity of our author. there is an incident which shows the purity of this married virgin, who was fearful the liberties she allowed celadon might be ill construed. phillis tells the druid adamas that astrea was seen sleeping by the fountain of the truth of love, and that the unicorns which guarded those waters were observed to approach her, and lay their heads on her lap. according to fable, it is one of the properties of these animals never to approach any female but a maiden: at this strange difficulty our druid remains surprised; while astrea has thus given an incontrovertible proof of her purity. the history of philander is that of the elder d'urfé. none but boys disguised as girls, and girls as boys, appear in the history. in this manner he concealed, without offending modesty, the defect of his brother. to mark the truth of this history, when philander is disguised as a woman, while he converses with astrea of his love, he frequently alludes to his misfortune, although in another sense. philander, ready to expire, will die with the glorious name of the husband of astrea. he entreats her to grant him this favour; she accords it to him, and swears before the gods that she receives him in her heart for her husband. the truth is, he enjoyed nothing but the name. philander dies too, in combating with a hideous moor, which is the personification of his conscience, and which at length compelled him to quit so beautiful an object, and one so worthy of being eternally beloved. the gratitude of sylvander, on the point of being sacrificed, represents the consent of honoré's parents to dissolve his vow of celibacy, and unite him to diana; and the druid adamas represents ecclesiastical power. the fountain of the truth of love is that of marriage; the unicorns are the symbols of that purity which should ever guard it; and the flaming eyes of the lions, which are also there, represent those inconveniences attending marriage, but over which a faithful passion easily triumphs. in this manner has our author disguised his own private history; and blended in his works a number of little amours which passed at the court of henry the great. these particulars were confided to patru, on visiting the author in his retirement. poets laureat. the present article is a sketch of the history of poets laureat, from a memoir of the french academy, by the abbé resnel. the custom of crowning poets is as ancient as poetry itself; it has, indeed, frequently varied; it existed, however, as late as the reign of theodosius, when it was abolished as a remain of paganism. when the barbarians overspread europe, few appeared to merit this honour, and fewer who could have read their works. it was about the time of petrarch that poetry resumed its ancient lustre; he was publicly honoured with the laurel crown. it was in this century (the thirteenth) that the establishment of bachelor and doctor was fixed in the universities. those who were found worthy of the honour, obtained the _laurel of bachelor_, or the _laurel of doctor_; _laurea baccalaureatus_; _laurea doctoratus_. at their reception they not only assumed this _title_ but they also had a _crown of laurel_ placed on their heads. to this ceremony the ingenious writer attributes the revival of the custom. the _poets_ were not slow in putting in their claims to what they had most a right; and their patrons sought to encourage them by these honourable distinctions. the following _formula_ is the exact style of those which are yet employed in the universities to confer the degree of bachelor and doctor, and serves to confirm the conjecture of resnel:-- "we, count and senator," (count d'anguillara, who bestowed the laurel on petrarch,) "for us and our college, declare francis petrarch great poet and historian, and for a special mark of his quality of poet we have placed with our hands on his head a _crown of laurel_, granting to him, by the tenor of these presents, and by the authority of king robert, of the senate and the people of rome, in the poetic, as well as in the historic art, and generally in whatever relates to the said arts, as well in this holy city as elsewhere, the free and entire power of reading, disputing, and interpreting all ancient books, to make new ones, and compose poems, which, god assisting, shall endure from age to age." in italy, these honours did not long flourish; although tasso dignified the laurel crown by his acceptance of it. many got crowned who were unworthy of the distinction. the laurel was even bestowed on querno, whose character is given in the dunciad:-- not with more glee, by hands pontific crown'd, with scarlet hats wide-waving circled round, rome in her capitol saw _querno_ sit, thron'd on seven hills, the antichrist of wit. canto ii. this man was made laureat, for the joke's sake; his poetry was inspired by his cups, a kind of poet who came in with the dessert; and he recited twenty thousand verses. he was rather the _arch-buffoon_ than the _arch-poet_ of leo. x. though honoured with the latter title. they invented for him a new kind of laureated honour, and in the intermixture of the foliage raised to apollo, slily inserted the vine and the cabbage leaves, which he evidently deserved, from his extreme dexterity in clearing the pontiff's dishes and emptying his goblets. urban viii. had a juster and more elevated idea of the children of fancy. it appears that he possessed much poetic sensibility. of him it is recorded, that he wrote a letter to chiabrera to felicitate him on the success of his poetry: letters written by a pope were then an honour only paid to crowned heads. one is pleased also with another testimony of his elegant dispositions. charmed with a poem which bracciolini presented to him, he gave him the surname of delle-ape, of the bees, which were the arms of this amiable pope. he, however, never crowned these favourite bards with the laurel, which, probably, he deemed unworthy of them. in germany, the laureat honours flourished under the reign of maximilian the first. he founded, in , a poetical college at vienna; reserving to himself and the regent the power of bestowing the laurel. but the institution, notwithstanding this well-concerted scheme, fell into disrepute, owing to a cloud of claimants who were fired with the rage of versifying, and who, though destitute of poetic talents, had the laurel bestowed on them. thus it became a prostituted honour; and satires were incessantly levelled against the usurpers of the crown of apollo: it seems, notwithstanding, always to have had charms in the eyes of the germans, who did not reflect, as the abbé elegantly expresses himself, that it faded when it passed over so many heads. the emperor of germany retains the laureatship in all its splendour. the selected bard is called _il poeta cesareo_. apostolo zeno, as celebrated for his erudition as for his poetic powers, was succeeded by that most enchanting poet, metastasio. the french never had a _poet laureat_, though they had _regal poets_; for none were ever solemnly crowned. the spanish nation, always desirous of titles of honour, seem to have known that of the _laureat_; but little information concerning it can be gathered from their authors. respecting our own country little can be added to the information of selden. john kay, who dedicated a history of rhodes to edward iv., takes the title of his _humble poet laureat_. gower and chaucer were laureats; so was likewise skelton to henry viii. in the acts of rymer, there is a charter of henry vii. with the title of _pro poeta laureato_, t hat is, perhaps, only _a poet laureated at the university_, in the king's household. our poets were never solemnly crowned as in other countries. selden, after all his recondite researches, is satisfied with saying, that some trace of this distinction is to be found in our nation. our kings from time immemorial have placed a miserable dependent in their household appointment, who was sometimes called the _king's poet_, and the _king's versificator_. it is probable that at length the selected bard assumed the title of _poet laureat_, without receiving the honours of the ceremony; or, at the most, the _crown of laurel_ was a mere obscure custom practised at our universities, and not attended with great public distinction. it was oftener placed on the skull of a pedant than wreathed on the head of a man of genius. shadwell united the offices both of poet laureat and historiographer; and by a ms. account of the public revenue, it appears that for two years' salary he received six hundred pounds. at his death rymer became the historiographer and tate the laureat: both offices seem equally useless, but, if united, will not prove so to the poet laureat. angelo politian. angelo politian, an italian, was one of the most polished writers of the fifteenth century. baillet has placed him amongst his celebrated children; for he was a writer at twelve years of age. the muses indeed cherished him in his cradle, and the graces hung round it their wreaths. when he became professor of the greek language, such were the charms of his lectures, that chalcondylas, a native of greece, saw himself abandoned by his pupils, who resorted to the delightful disquisitions of the elegant politian. critics of various nations have acknowledged that his poetical versions have frequently excelled the originals. this happy genius was lodged in a most unhappy form; nor were his morals untainted: it is only in his literary compositions that he appears perfect. as a specimen of his epistles, here is one, which serves as prefatory and dedicatory. the letter is replete with literature, though void of pedantry; a barren subject is embellished by its happy turns. perhaps no author has more playfully defended himself from the incertitude of criticism and the fastidiousness of critics. my lord, you have frequently urged me to collect my letters, to revise and to publish them in a volume. i have now gathered them, that i might not omit any mark of that obedience which i owe to him, on whom i rest all my hopes, and all my prosperity. i have not, however, collected them all, because that would have been a more laborious task than to have gathered the scattered leaves of the sibyl. it was never, indeed, with an intention of forming my letters into one body that i wrote them, but merely as occasion prompted, and as the subjects presented themselves without seeking for them. i never retained copies except of a few, which, less fortunate, i think, than the others, were thus favoured for the sake of the verses they contained. to form, however, a tolerable volume, i have also inserted some written by others, but only those with which several ingenious scholars favoured me, and which, perhaps, may put the reader in good humour with my own. there is one thing for which some will be inclined to censure me; the style of my letters is very unequal; and, to confess the truth, i did not find myself always in the same humour, and the same modes of expression were not adapted to every person and every topic. they will not fail then to observe, when they read such a diversity of letters (i mean if they do read them), that i have composed not epistles, but (once more) miscellanies. i hope, my lord, notwithstanding this, that amongst such a variety of opinions, of those who write letters, and of those who give precepts how letters should be written, i shall find some apology. some, probably, will deny that they are ciceronian. i can answer such, and not without good authority, that in epistolary composition we must not regard cicero as a model. another perhaps will say that i imitate cicero. and him i will answer by observing, that i wish nothing better than to be capable of grasping something of this great man, were it but his shadow! another will wish that i had borrowed a little from the manner of pliny the orator, because his profound sense and accuracy were greatly esteemed. i shall oppose him by expressing my contempt of all writers of the age of pliny. if it should be observed, that i have imitated the manner of pliny, i shall then screen myself by what sidonius apollinaris, an author who is by no means disreputable, says in commendation of his epistolary style. do i resemble symmachus? i shall not be sorry, for they distinguish his openness and conciseness. am i considered in nowise resembling him? i shall confess that i am not pleased with his dry manner. will my letters be condemned for their length? plato, aristotle, thucydides, and cicero, have all written long ones. will some of them be criticised for their brevity? i allege in my favour the examples of dion, brutus, apollonius, philostratus, marcus antoninus, alciphron, julian, symmachus, and also lucian, who vulgarly, but falsely, is believed to have been phalaris. i shall be censured for having treated of topics which are not generally considered as proper for epistolary composition. i admit this censure, provided, while i am condemned, seneca also shares in the condemnation. another will not allow of a sententious manner in my letters; i will still justify myself by seneca. another, on the contrary, desires abrupt sententious periods; dionysius shall answer him for me, who maintains that pointed sentences should not be admitted into letters. is my style too perspicuous? it is precisely that which philostratus admires. is it obscure? such is that of cicero to attica. negligent? an agreeable negligence in letters is more graceful than elaborate ornaments. laboured? nothing can be more proper, since we send epistles to our friends as a kind of presents. if they display too nice an arrangement, the halicarnassian shall vindicate me. if there is none; artemon says there should be none. now as a good and pure latinity has its peculiar taste, its manners, and, to express myself thus, its atticisms; if in this sense a letter shall be found not sufficiently attic, so much the better; for what was herod the sophist censured? but that having been born an athenian, he affected too much to appear one in his language. should a letter seem too attical; still better, since it was by discovering theophrastus, who was no athenian, that a good old woman of athens laid hold of a word, and shamed him. shall one letter be found not sufficiently serious? i love to jest. or is it too grave? i am pleased with gravity. is another full of figures? letters being the images of discourse, figures have the effect of graceful action in conversation. are they deficient in figures? this is just what characterises a letter, this want of figure! does it discover the genius of the writer? this frankness is recommended. does it conceal it? the writer did not think proper to paint himself; and it is one requisite in a letter, that it should be void of ostentation. you express yourself, some one will observe, in common terms on common topics, and in new terms on new topics. the style is thus adapted to the subject. no, no, he will answer; it is in common terms you express new ideas, and in new terms common ideas. very well! it is because i have not forgotten an ancient greek precept which expressly recommends this. it is thus by attempting to be ambidextrous, i try to ward off attacks. my critics, however, will criticise me as they please. it will be sufficient for me, my lord, to be assured of having satisfied you, by my letters, if they are good; or by my obedience, if they are not so. florence, . original letter of queen elizabeth. in the cottonian library, vespasian, f. iii. is preserved a letter written by queen elizabeth, then princess. her brother, edward the sixth, had desired to have her picture; and in gratifying the wishes of his majesty, elizabeth accompanies the present with an elaborate letter. it bears no date of the _year_ in which it was written; but her place of residence was at hatfield. there she had retired to enjoy the silent pleasures of a studious life, and to be distant from the dangerous politics of the time. when mary died, elizabeth was still at hatfield. at the time of its composition she was in habitual intercourse with the most excellent writers of antiquity: her letter displays this in every part of it; but it is too rhetorical. it is here now first published. letter. "like as the riche man that dayly gathereth riches to riches, and to one bag of money layeth a greate sort til it come to infinit, so me thinkes, your majestie not beinge suffised with many benefits and gentilnes shewed to me afore this time, dothe now increase them in askinge and desiring wher you may bid and comaunde, requiring a thinge not worthy the desiringe for it selfe, but made worthy for your highness request. my pictur i mene, in wiche if the inward good mynde towarde your grace might as wel be declared as the outwarde face and countenance shal be seen, i wold nor haue taried the comandement but prevent it, nor haue bine the last to graunt but the first to offer it. for the face, i graunt, i might wel blusche to offer, but the mynde i shall neur be ashamed to present. for thogth from the grace of the pictur, the coulers may fade by time, may giue by wether, may be spotted by chance, yet the other nor time with her swift winges shall ouertake, nor the mistie cloudes with their loweringes may darken, nor chance with her slipery fote may ouerthrow. of this althogth yet the profe could not be greate because the occasions hath bine but smal, notwithstandinge as a dog hathe a day, so may i perchaunce haue time to declare it in dides wher now i do write them but in wordes. and further i shal most humbly beseche your maiestie that whan you shal loke on my pictur you wil witsafe to thinke that as you haue but the outwarde shadow of the body afore you, so my inwarde minde wischeth, that the body it selfe wer oftener in your presence; howbeit bicause bothe my so beinge i thinke coulde do your maiestie litel pleasure thogth my selfe great good, and againe bicause i se as yet not the time agreing ther[=u]to, i shal lerne to folow this saing of orace, feras non culpes quod vitari non potest. and thus i wil (troblinge your maiestie i fere) end with my most humble thankes, beseching god long to preserue you to his honour, to your c[=o]fort, to the realmes profit, and to my joy. from hatfilde this day of may. "your maiesties most humbly sistar "and seruante "elizabeth." anne bullen. that minute detail of circumstances frequently found in writers of the history of their own times is more interesting than the elegant and general narratives of later, and probably of more philosophical historians. it is in the artless recitals of memoir-writers, that the imagination is struck with a lively impression, and fastens on petty circumstances, which must be passed over by the classical historian. the writings of brantome, comines, froissart, and others, are dictated by their natural feelings: while the passions of modern writers are temperate with dispassionate philosophy, or inflamed by the virulence of faction. history instructs, but memoirs delight. these prefatory observations may serve as an apology for anecdotes which are gathered from obscure corners, on which the dignity of the historian must not dwell. in houssaie's _memoirs_, vol. i. p. , a little circumstance is recorded concerning the decapitation of the unfortunate anne bullen, which illustrates an observation of hume. our historian notices that her executioner was a frenchman of calais, who was supposed to have uncommon skill. it is probable that the following incident might have been preserved by tradition in france, from the account of the executioner himself:--anne bullen being on the scaffold, would not consent to have her eyes covered with a bandage, saying that she had no fear of death. all that the divine who assisted at her execution could obtain from her was, that she would shut her eyes. but as she was opening them at every moment, the executioner could not bear their tender and mild glances; fearful of missing his aim, he was obliged to invent an expedient to behead the queen. he drew off his shoes, and approached her silently; while he was at her left hand, another person advanced at her right, who made a great noise in walking, so that this circumstance drawing the attention of anne, she turned her face from the executioner, who was enabled by this artifice to strike the fatal blow, without being disarmed by that spirit of affecting resignation which shone in the eyes of the lovely anne bullen. the common executioner, whose heart th' accustom'd sight of death makes hard, falls not the axe upon the humble neck but first begs pardon. shakspeare. james the first. it was usual, in the reign of james the first, when they compared it with the preceding glorious one, to distinguish him by the title of _queen james_, and his illustrious predecessor by that of _king elizabeth_! sir anthony weldon informs us, "that when james the first sent sir roger aston as his messenger to elizabeth, sir roger was always placed in the lobby: the hangings being turned so that he might see the queen dancing to a little fiddle, which was to no other end than that he should tell his master, by her youthful disposition, how likely he was to come to the crown he so much thirsted after;"--and, indeed, when at her death this same knight, whose origin was low, and whose language was suitable to that origin, appeared before the english council, he could not conceal his scottish rapture, for, asked how the king did? he replied, "even, my lords, like a poore man wandering about forty years in a wildernesse and barren soyle, and now arrived at the _land of promise_." a curious anecdote, respecting the economy of the court in these reigns, is noticed in some manuscript memoirs written in james's reign, preserved in a family of distinction. the lady, who wrote these memoirs, tells us that a great change had taken place in _cleanliness_, since the last reign; for, having rose from her chair, she found, on her departure, that she had the honour of carrying _upon_ her some companions who must have been inhabitants of the palace. the court of elizabeth was celebrated occasionally for its magnificence, and always for its nicety. james was singularly effeminate; he could not behold a drawn sword without shuddering; was much too partial to handsome men; and appears to merit the bitter satire of churchill. if wanting other proofs, we should only read the second volume of "royal letters," , in the harleian collections, which contains stenie's correspondence with james. the gross familiarity of buckingham's address is couched in such terms as these:--he calls his majesty "dere dad and gossope!" and concludes his letters with "your humble slaue and dogge, stenie."[ ] he was a most weak, but not quite a vicious man; yet his expertness in the art of dissimulation was very great indeed. he called this _king-craft_. sir anthony weldon gives a lively anecdote of this dissimulation in the king's behaviour to the earl of somerset at the very moment he had prepared to disgrace him. the earl accompanied the king to royston, and, to his apprehension, never parted from him with more seeming affection, though the king well knew he should never see him more. "the earl, when he kissed his hand, the king hung about his neck, slabbering his cheeks, saying--'for god's sake, when shall i see thee again? on my soul i shall neither eat nor sleep until you come again.' the earl told him on monday (this being on the friday). 'for god's sake let me,' said the king:--'shall i, shall i?'--then lolled about his neck; 'then for god's sake give thy lady this kisse for me, in the same manner at the stayre's head, at the middle of the stayres, and at the stayre's foot.' the earl was not in his coach when the king used these very words (in the hearing of four servants, one of whom reported it instantly to the author of this history), 'i shall never see his face more.'" he displayed great imbecility in his amusements, which are characterised by the following one, related by arthur wilson:--when james became melancholy in consequence of various disappointments in state matters, buckingham and his mother used several means of diverting him. amongst the most ludicrous was the present. they had a young lady, who brought a pig in the dress of a new-born infant: the countess carried it to the king, wrapped in a rich mantle. one turpin, on this occasion, was dressed like a bishop in all his pontifical ornaments. he began the rites of baptism with the common prayer-book in his hand; a silver ewer with water was held by another. the marquis stood as godfather. when james turned to look at the infant, the pig squeaked: an animal which he greatly abhorred. at this, highly displeased, he exclaimed,--"out! away for shame! what blasphemy is this!" this ridiculous joke did not accord with the feelings of james at that moment; he was not "i' the vein." yet we may observe, that had not such artful politicians as buckingham and his mother been strongly persuaded of the success of this puerile fancy, they would not have ventured on such "blasphemies." they certainly had witnessed amusements heretofore not less trivial which had gratified his majesty. the account which sir anthony weldon gives, in his court of king james, exhibits a curious scene of james's amusements. "after the king supped, he would come forth to see pastimes and fooleries; in which sir ed. zouch, sir george goring, and sir john finit, were the chiefe and master fools, and surely this fooling got them more than any others wisdome; zouch's part was to sing bawdy songs, and tell bawdy tales; finit's to compose these songs: there was a set of fiddlers brought to court on purpose for this fooling, and goring was master of the game for fooleries, sometimes presenting david droman and archee armstrong, the kings foole, on the back of the other fools, to tilt one at another, till they fell together by the eares; sometimes they performed antick dances. but sir john millicent (who was never known before) was commended for notable fooling; and was indeed the best _extemporary foole_ of them all." weldon's "court of james" is a scandalous chronicle of the times. his dispositions were, however, generally grave and studious. he seems to have possessed a real love of letters, but attended with that mediocrity of talent which in a private person had never raised him into notice. "while there was a chance," writes the author of the catalogue of noble authors, "that the dyer's son, vorstius, might be divinity-professor at leyden, instead of being burnt, as his majesty hinted _to the christian prudence_ of the dutch that he deserved to be, our ambassadors could not receive instructions, and consequently could not treat on any other business. the king, who did not resent the massacre at amboyna, was on the point of breaking with the states for supporting a man who professed the heresies of enjedius, ostodorus, &c., points of extreme consequence to great britain! sir dudley carleton was forced to threaten the dutch, not only with the hatred of king james, but also with his pen." this royal pedant is forcibly characterised by the following observations of the same writer:-- "among his majesty's works is a small collection of poetry. like several of his subjects, our royal author has condescended to apologise for its imperfections, as having been written in his youth, and his maturer age being otherwise occupied. so that (to employ his own language) 'when his ingyne and age could, his affaires and fascherie would not permit him to correct them, scarslie but at stolen moments, he having the leisure to blenk upon any paper.' when james sent a present of his harangues, turned into latin, to the protestant princes in europe, it is not unentertaining to observe in their answers of compliments and thanks, how each endeavoured to insinuate that he had read them, without positively asserting it! buchanan, when asked how he came to make a pedant of his royal pupil, answered that it was the best he could make of him. sir george mackenzie relates a story of his tutelage, which shows buchanan's humour, and the veneration of others for royalty. the young king being one day at play with his fellow-pupil, the master of erskine, buchanan was reading, and desired them to make less noise. as they disregarded his admonition, he told his majesty, if he did not hold his tongue, he would certainly whip his breech. the king replied, he would be glad to see who would _bell the cat_, alluding to the fable. buchanan lost his temper, and throwing his book from him, gave his majesty a sound flogging. the old countess of mar rushed into the room, and taking the king in her arms, asked how he dared to lay his hands on the lord's anointed? madam, replied the elegant and immortal historian, i have whipped his a----, you may kiss it if you please!" many years after this was published, i discovered a curious anecdote:--even so late as when james i. was seated on the throne of england, once the appearance of his _frowning tutor in a dream_ greatly agitated the king, who in vain attempted to pacify his illustrious pedagogue in this portentous vision. such was the terror which the remembrance of this inexorable republican tutor had left on the imagination of his royal pupil. james i. was certainly a zealous votary of literature; his wish was sincere, when at viewing the bodleian library at oxford, he exclaimed, "were i not a king i would be an university man; and if it were so that i must be a prisoner, if i might have my wish, i would have no other prison than this library, and be chained together with these good authors." hume has informed us, that "his death was decent." the following are the minute particulars: i have drawn them from an imperfect manuscript collection, made by the celebrated sir thomas browne. "the lord keeper, on march , received a letter from the court, that it was feared his majesty's sickness was dangerous to death; which fear was more confirmed, for he, meeting dr. harvey in the road, was told by him that the king used to have a beneficial evacuation of nature, a sweating in his left arm, as helpful to him as any fontenel could be, which of late failed. "when the lord keeper presented himself before him, he moved to cheerful discourse, but it would not do. he stayed by his bedside until midnight. upon the consultations of the physicians in the morning he was out of comfort, and by the prince's leave told him, kneeling by his pallet, that his days to come would be but few in this world. '_i am satisfied_,' said the king; 'but pray you assist me to make me ready for the next world, to go away hence for christ, whose mercies i call for, and hope to find.' "from that time the keeper never left him, or put off his clothes to go to bed. the king took the communion, and professed he died in the bosom of the church of england, whose doctrine he had defended with his pen, being persuaded it was according to the mind of christ, as he should shortly answer it before him. "he stayed in the chamber to take notice of everything the king said, and to repulse those who crept much about the chamber door, and into the chamber; they were for the most addicted to the church of rome. being rid of them, he continued in prayer, while the king lingered on, and at last _shut his eyes with his own hands_." thus, in the full power of his faculties, a timorous prince encountered the horrors of dissolution. _religion_ rendered cheerful the abrupt night of futurity; and what can _philosophy_ do more, or rather, can philosophy do as much? i proposed to have examined with some care the works of james i.; but that uninviting task has been now postponed till it is too late. as a writer, his works may not be valuable, and are infected with the pedantry and the superstition of the age; yet i _suspect_ that james was not that degraded and feeble character in which he ranks by the contagious voice of criticism. he has had more critics than readers. after a great number of acute observations and witty allusions, made extempore, which we find continually recorded of him by contemporary writers, and some not friendly to him, i conclude that he possessed a great promptness of wit, and much solid judgment and acute ingenuity. it requires only a little labour to prove this. that labour i have since zealously performed. this article, composed _more than thirty years_ ago, displays the effects of first impressions and popular clamours. about _ten_ years i _suspected_ that his character was grossly injured, and _lately_ i found how it has suffered from a variety of causes. that monarch preserved for us a peace of more than twenty years; and his talents were of a higher order than the calumnies of the party who have remorselessly degraded him have allowed a common inquirer to discover. for the rest i must refer the reader to "an inquiry into the literary and political character of james i.;" in which he may find many correctives for this article. i shall in a future work enter into further explanations of this ambiguous royal author. footnotes: [footnote : buckingham's style was even stronger and coarser than the text leads one to suppose. "your sowship" is the beginning of one letter, and "i kiss your dirty hands" the conclusion of another. the king had encouraged this by his own extraordinary familiarity. "my own sweet and dear child," "sweet hearty," "my sweet steenie and gossip," are the commencements of the royal epistles to buckingham; and in one instance, where he proposes a hunting party and invites the ladies of his family, he does it in words of perfect obscenity.] general monk and his wife. from the ms. collection of sir thomas browne, i shall rescue an anecdote, which has a tendency to show that it is not advisable to permit ladies to remain at home, when political plots are to be secretly discussed. and while it displays the treachery of monk's wife, it will also appear that, like other great revolutionists, it was ambition that first induced him to become the reformer he pretended to be. "monk gave fair promises to the rump, but last agreed with the french ambassador to take the government on himself; by whom he had a promise from mazarin of assistance from france. this bargain was struck late at night: but not so secretly but that monk's wife, who had posted herself conveniently behind the hangings, finding what was resolved upon, sent her brother clarges away immediately with notice of it to sir a.a. she had promised to watch her husband, and inform sir a. how matters went. sir a. caused the council of state, whereof he was a member, to be summoned, and charged monk that he was playing false. the general insisted that he was true to his principles, and firm to what he had promised, and that he was ready to give them all satisfaction. sir a. told him if he were sincere he might remove all scruples, and should instantly take away their commissions from such and such men in his army, and appoint others, and that before he left the room. monk consented; a great part of the commissions of his officers were changed, and sir edward harley, a member of the council, and then present was made governor of dunkirk, in the room of sir william lockhart; the army ceased to be at monk's devotion; the ambassador was recalled, and broke his heart." such were the effects of the infidelity of the wife of general monk! philip and mary. houssaie, in his mémoires, vol. i. p. , has given the following curious particulars of this singular union:-- "the second wife of philip was mary queen of england; a virtuous princess (houssaie was a good catholic), but who had neither youth nor beauty. this marriage was as little happy for the one as for the other. the husband did not like his wife, although she doted on him; and the english hated philip still more than he hated them. silhon says, that the rigour which he exercised in england against heretics partly hindered prince carlos from succeeding to that crown, and for _which purpose_ mary had invited him in case she died childless!"--but no historian speaks of this pretended inclination, and is it probable that mary ever thought proper to call to the succession of the english throne the son of the spanish monarch? this marriage had made her nation detest her, and in the last years of her life she could be little satisfied with him, from his marked indifference for her. she well knew that the parliament would never consent to exclude her sister elizabeth, whom the nobility loved for being more friendly to the new religion, and more hostile to the house of austria. in the cottonian library, vespasian f. iii. is preserved a note of instructions in the handwriting of queen mary, of which the following is a copy. it was, probably, written when philip was just seated on the english throne. "instructions for my lorde previsel. "firste, to tell the kinge the whole state of this realme, wt all things appartaynyng to the same, as myche as ye knowe to be trewe. "seconde, to obey his commandment in all thyngs. "thyrdly, in all things he shall aske your aduyse to declare your opinion as becometh a faythfull conceyllour to do. "mary the quene." houssaie proceeds: "after the death of mary, philip sought elizabeth in marriage; and she, who was yet unfixed at the beginning of her reign, amused him at first with hopes. but as soon as she unmasked herself to the pope, she laughed at philip, telling the duke of feria, his ambassador, that her conscience would not permit her to marry the husband of her sister." this monarch, however, had no such scruples. incest appears to have had in his eyes peculiar charms; for he offered himself three times to three different sisters-in-law. he seems also to have known the secret of getting quit of his wives when they became inconvenient. in state matters he spared no one whom he feared; to them he sacrificed his only son, his brother, and a great number of princes and ministers. it is said of philip, that before he died he advised his son to make peace with england, and war with the other powers. _pacem cum anglo, bellum cum reliquis_. queen elizabeth, and the ruin of his invincible fleet, physicked his frenzy into health, and taught him to fear and respect that country which he thought he could have made a province of spain. on his death-bed he did everything he could for _salvation_. the following protestation, a curious morsel of bigotry, he sent to his confessor a few days before he died:-- "father confessor! as you occupy the place of god, i protest to you that i will do everything you shall say to be necessary for my being saved; so that what i omit doing will be placed to your account, as i am ready to acquit myself of all that shall be ordered to me." is there, in the records of history, a more glaring instance of the idea which a good catholic attaches to the power of a confessor, than the present authentic example? the most licentious philosophy seems not more dangerous than a religion whose votary believes that the accumulation of crimes can be dissipated by the breath of a few orisons, and which, considering a venal priest to "occupy the place of god," can traffic with the divine power at a very moderate price. after his death a spanish grandee wrote with a coal on the chimney-piece of his chamber the following epitaph, which ingeniously paints his character in four verses:-- siendo moço luxurioso; siendo hombre, fue cruel; siendo viejo, codicioso: que se puede esperar del? in youth he was luxurious; in manhood he was cruel; in old age he was avaricious: what could be hoped from him? end of vol. i. none none none proofreading team. the book of three hundred anecdotes. historical, literary, and humorous. a new selection. burns & oates. london: granville mansions. new york: barclay street. index. abernethy, abon hannifah, actors, - adam, dr., and the schoolboy, affection, - aguesseau, d', chancellor of france, alban's, duchess of, and the sailor, algerine captain, alphonsus, king of naples, american heroines, amour, st., general, andré, st., marquis de, artists, - astley cooper, atterbury, in the house of peers, bakers, the, of lyons, bailly, miss--escape of the pretender, bannister, bautru and the spanish librarian, bayard, the chevalier, beauvais, ladies of, begging, belmont, countess de, benbow and the wounded sailor, benevolence, - ben jonson at dinner, bernard, father, bishop and clerks, books, - boufflers, marshal, bouille, marquis de, boutteville, count de, and the soldier, boutibonne, m., imaginary accident, breton peasants, brougham, lord--examination of a witness, budæus, buffon and his servant, busby, dr., and the scholar, cajeta, siege of, camden, lord, in the stocks, camerons and christians, campo, marquess del, and george iii., candle light, war by, canning and the preacher, carteret, lady, and dean swift, carving accident, catalogue making, chamillart the french lawyer, chantrey--first sculpture, charity, charles ii. and killigrew, charles v. of france, charles vi. of austria, charles xii. and his secretary, charlotte, princess, chatillon, admiral, and the beggar, cherin, general, child and goat, china ware, christmas pudding extraordinary, clerambault and la fontaine, cobbler of leyden, the, cochrane, sir john, cochrane, lord, coleridge's "watchman", coleridge and his dinner companion, conjugal affection--french troops in italy, cornwallis, admiral, and the mutineers, crimean captain, curran and dr. boyse, and the jockey, and the farmer, his witty replies, cuvier and his visitors, day, thomas, and sir w. jones, deaf and dumb mother, denon and defoe, dey of algiers and admiral keppel, dickens--origin of "boz", dictionaries, dieppe pilot, dinners, - doctors, - domat, judge, and the poor widow, douglas, the, drama, the, - dreaming, drummond, provost, duke of newcastle and mr. pitt--a dispute in bed, duncan, admiral, duty, duval, the librarian, edinburgh--spoiled street, erskine and lord kellie, erskine, legal anecdotes of, - eveillan, archdeacon of angers, faithful depositary, faithful domestic, falkland, lord, and the house of commons, family sacrifice--french revolution, fear of death, fenelon, archbishop--his humanity, fidelity, - fielding, sir j., and the irishman, filial affection--french boy, fletcher, of saltown, and his footman, fontenelle, , fools, foote, the actor, forgiveness, fouché and napoleon, francis i. and his fool, frederick the great and the page, and the soldier, and the deserter, his arguments, french curate--forgiveness, peasant girl, officer in flanders, officer in spain, servant at noyon, of la vendée, friends, gainsborough--picture of the pigs, garrick and rich, garrick and sir j. reynolds, gendarmes and priest, george i. and the lieutenant, ii. and the dutch-innkeeper, and the court martial, iii. --punctuality, carbonel the wine merchant, the horse dealer, memorial to a servant, treatment of a caricature, and lord lothian, ghosts, gibbet, sight of a, gin _versus_ drugs, glynn, dr., and the magpie, gonsalvo de cordova, goldsmith's marlow, gooch, sir w., and the negro, gratitude, gregory, dr., a militiaman, granby, marquis of, and the lord-in-waiting, grancé, count de, and the cannon ball, grenadier, french, grog, guise, colonel, h., letter, use of, haddock, admiral, handel, hanging judge, the, hanway, jonas, and the coachman, hawker, colonel, and the french officer, haydn, heavy play, a, heber's palestine, henderson and the actor, henri iv. and d'aubigné, heroism, hill, sergeant, rowland, hogarth--picture of the red sea, hood, sir s., hospitality, hough, dr., and the barometer, housemaid, presence of mind of a, hulet, the comedian, humanity, - hume's speeches, huntly, marquis of, and james vi., ice, custom-house doubt, imagination, james i. and the courtier, in westminster hall, and the earl of scarborough, james iv. of scotland and the robbers, john gilpin, origin of, johnson, dr., and the hare, and wilkes, and lord elibank, reply to miller, judge, a benevolent, kaimes, lord, and the sheepstealer, kean, charles, kennedies, the, keppel, admiral, at algiers, kings, kirwan, dr., kosciusko, labat, mons. of bayonne, lady and highwayman, lamb, counsellor, lamb, charles, and the farmer, law and lawyers, - lely the painter, and the alderman, lessing, lettsom, dr., and the highwayman, librarians, lisieux, bishop of, liston, long and short barristers, longueville, duke of, louis, st., xii. and the composer, xiv. and the comte de grammont, and lord stair, and the eddystone workmen, lyndhurst, lord,--retirement from office, mackenzie, general, maclaurin and his pupils, magnanimity, - mariè antoinette, maximilian i. and the beggar, mayor, an english, a french, memory, artificial, mimicry, miner, swedish, molière and the doctors, monkey, a grenadier, montaigne on doctors, montesquieu, m. de, morand and the critics, morland the painter, morvilliers and charles ix., motte, m. de la, and the critics, mozart, mungo park and the african woman, musicians, - mysterious benefactor, napoleon bonaparte, , , , nash and the doctor, navy chaplains, neckar and the corporation of paris, nelson, lord--punctuality, nena sahib and the devil, nevailles, marshal de, norton, sir f. and lord mansfield, o'brien, lieutenant, old age secured--the irish beggar, old ambrose, o'neil, sir phelim, orkney, countess of, orleans, duke of, ossuna, duke of, and the felon, parisian stockbroker, parisian ragman, parliament, - patience, pepusch, dr., peterborough, lord, and the mob, peter the great, , philadelphian lady, philip ii. of spain, physicians in china, pitt, and the duke of newcastle, pius ix., and the attorney, poets, polignac, compte de, politeness, poor-man-of-mutton, pope the poet, presence of mind, - prideaux--life of mahomet, punctuality, quartering upon the enemy, quick the actor, racine and his family, ragged regiment, rank and ancestry, reclaimed robbers, rejected addresses, the, reynolds, sir joshua, richardson--opinion of a picture, rivardes and the wooden leg, robbers, robert, king of france, ross, lord, sailors, - savage dr., and the pope, savoie, magdeline de, schaumbourg, count, schools, scott, sir w. --punctuality, and the beggar, and the inn-keeper, scott, mr., of exeter, selwyn, g., and the traveller, senesino and farinelli, sentinel on the stage, servants, shaving a queen, sheridan, dr., and the scholar, sheridan, , , sidney, sir philip, signboards, sion college, and george iii., sir and sire, sisters of charity, smith, sydney, charity sermon, smiths, the two, soldiers, - sporting, stackelberg, baron von, steele and addison, sterne and the old woman, strasburgh lawyer, a, suwarrow, marshall, swift, dean, , , , , talleyrand, madame de, tantara, and the landscape, temper, tenterden, lord, thelwall and erskine, "they're all out", thomson the poet, and quin, thurot, admiral, time, value of, travelling, turenne, marshal, turner, the painter, tyrolese heroine, van dyke, vendean servant, vernet--picture of st. jerome, villars, marshal, villecerf, madame de, voisin, chancellor of louis xix., wager, sir c., and the doctors, war, - wardlaw, archbishop of st. andrew's, weeping at a play, welch dispute, a, west, the painter, william iii., and st. evremond, willie law, wise, dr., and the parliament, ximenes, cardinal, "yellow cabriolet," the, york, duke of, and the housekeeper, zimmerman, anecdotes. affection. general st. amour.--this officer, who distinguished himself in the imperial service, was the son of a poor piedmontese peasant, but he never forgot his humble extraction. while the army was in piedmont, he invited his principal officers to an entertainment, when his father happened to arrive just as they were sitting down to table. this being announced to the general, he immediately rose, and stated to his guests his father's arrival. he said he knew the respect he owed to them, but at the same time he hoped they would excuse him if he withdrew, and dined with his father in another room. the guests begged that the father might be introduced, assuring him that they should be happy to see one so nearly related to him; but he replied, "ah, no, gentlemen; my father would find himself so embarrassed in company so unsuited to his rank, that it would deprive us both of the only pleasure of the interview--the unrestrained intercourse of a parent and his son." he then retired, and passed the evening with his father. the deaf and dumb mother.--the late countess of orkney, who died at an advanced age, was deaf and dumb, and was married in by signs. she resided with her husband at his seat, rostellan, near cork. shortly after the birth of her first child, the nurse saw the mother cautiously approach the cradle in which the infant lay asleep, evidently full of some deep design. the countess, having first assured herself that her babe was fast asleep, took from under her shawl a large stone, which had purposely been concealed there, and, to the utter horror of the nurse, who largely shared the popular notion that all dumb persons are possessed of peculiar cunning and malignity, raised it up, as if to enable her to dash it down with greater force. before the nurse could interpose to prevent what she believed would bring certain death to the sleeping and unconscious child, the dreadful stone was flung, not at the cradle, however, but upon the ground, and fell with great violence. the noise awakened the child. the countess was overjoyed, and, in the fulness of a mother's heart, she fell upon her knees to express her thankfulness that her beloved infant possessed a blessing denied to herself--the sense of hearing. this lady often gave similar indications of superior intelligence, though we can believe that few of them equalled the present in interest. filial affection.--a veteran, worn out in the service of france, was left without a pension, although he had a wife and three children to share his wretchedness. his son was placed at _l'ecole militaire_, where he might have enjoyed every comfort, but the strongest persuasion could not induce him to taste anything but coarse bread and water. the duke de choiseul being informed of the circumstance, ordered the boy before him, and enquired the reason of his abstemiousness. the boy, with a manly fortitude, replied, "sir, when i had the honour of being admitted to this royal foundation, my father conducted me hither. we came on foot: on our journey the demands of nature were relieved by bread and water. i was received. my father blessed me, and returned to the protection of a helpless wife and family. as long as i can remember, bread of the blackest kind, with water, has been their daily subsistence, and even that is earned by every species of labour that honour does not forbid. to this fare, sir, my father is reduced; and while he, my mother, and my sisters, are compelled to endure such wretchedness, is it possible that i can enjoy the plenty which my sovereign has provided for me?" the duke felt this tale of nature, gave the boy three louis d'ors for pocket-money, and promised to procure the father a pension. the boy begged the louis d'ors might be sent to his father, which, with the patent of his pension, was immediately done. the boy was patronised by the duke, and became one of the best officers in the service of france. racine.--the celebrated french poet, racine, having one day returned from versailles, where he had been on a visit, was waited upon by a gentleman with an invitation to dine at the hotel de condé. "i cannot possibly do myself that honour," said the poet; "it is some time since i have been with my family; they are overjoyed to see me again, and have provided a fine carp; so that i must dine with my dear wife and children." "but my good sir," replied the gentleman, "several of the most distinguished characters in the kingdom expect your company, and will be anxious to see you." on this, racine brought out the carp and showed it to his visitor, saying, "here, sir, is our little meal; then say, having provided such a treat for me, what apology could i make for not dining with my poor children? neither they nor my wife could have any pleasure in eating a bit of it without me; then pray be so obliging as to mention my excuse to the prince of condé and my other illustrious friends." the gentleman did so; and not only his serene highness, but all the company present, professed themselves infinitely more charmed with this proof of the poet's affection as a husband and a father, than they possibly could have been with his delightful conversation. touching recognition.--some years ago, in making a new communication between two shafts of a mine at fahkin, the capital of delecarlia, the body of a miner was discovered by the workmen in a state of perfect preservation, and impregnated with vitriolic water. it was quite soft, but hardened on being exposed to the air. no one could identify the body: it was merely remembered that the accident, by which he had thus been buried in the bosom of the earth, had taken place above fifty years ago. all enquiries about the name of the sufferer had already ceased, when a decrepid old woman, supported on crutches, slowly advanced towards the corpse, and knew it to be that of a young man to whom she had been promised in marriage more than half a century ago. she threw herself on the corpse, which had all the appearance of a bronze statue, bathed it with her tears, and fainted with joy at having once more beheld the object of her affections. one can with difficulty realize the singular contrast afforded by that couple--the one buried above fifty years ago, still retaining the appearance of youth; while the other, weighed down by age, evinced all the fervency of youthful affections. family sacrifice.--during the french revolution, madame saintmaraule, with her daughter, and a youth, her son, not yet of age, were confined in prison and brought to trial. the mother and daughter behaved with resolution, and were sentenced to die; but of the youth no notice was taken, and he was remanded to prison. "what!" exclaimed the boy, "am i then to be separated from my mother? it cannot be!" and immediately he cried out, "_vive le roi!_" in consequence of this, he was condemned to death, and, with his mother and his sister, was led out to execution. expedient of conjugal affection.--napoleon used to relate an anecdote shewing the conjugal affection of some women who accompanied his troops when he was at col de tende. to enter this mountainous and difficult country, it was necessary for the soldiers to pass over a narrow bridge, and, as the enterprise was a hazardous one, napoleon had given orders that no women should be permitted to cross it with them. to enforce this order, two captains were stationed on the bridge with instructions, on pain of death, not to suffer a woman to pass. the passage was effected, and the troops continued their march. when some miles beyond the bridge, the emperor was greatly astonished at the appearance of a considerable number of women with the soldiers. he immediately ordered the two captains to be put under arrest, intending to have them tried for a breach of duty. the prisoners protested their innocence, and stoutly asserted that no women had crossed the bridge. napoleon, on hearing this, commanded that some of the women should be brought before him, when he interrogated them on the subject. to his utter surprise they readily acknowledged that the captains had not betrayed their trust, but that a contrivance of their own had brought them into their present situation. they informed napoleon, that having taken the provisions, which had been prepared for the support of the army, out of some of the casks, they had concealed themselves in them, and by this stratagem succeeded in passing the bridge without discovery. artists. sir joshua reynolds.--"what do you ask for this sketch?" said sir joshua to an old picture-dealer, whose portfolio he was looking over. "twenty guineas, your honour." "twenty pence, i suppose you mean?" "no, sir; it is true i would have taken twenty pence for it this morning, but if _you_ think it worth looking at, all the world will think it worth buying." sir joshua ordered him to send the sketch home, and gave him the money. ditto.--two gentlemen were at a coffee-house, when the discourse fell upon sir joshua reynold's painting; one of them said that "his tints were admirable, but the colours _flew_." it happened that sir joshua was in the next box, who taking up his hat, accosted them thus, with a low bow--"gentlemen, i return you many thanks for bringing me off with _flying colours_." richardson, in his anecdotes of painting, says, a gentleman came to me to invite me to his house: "i have," says he, "a picture of rubens, and it is a rare good one. there is little h. the other day came to see it, and says it is _a copy_. if any one says so again, i'll _break his head_. pray, mr. richardson, will you do me the favour to come, and give me _your real opinion of it?_" gainsborough.--a countryman was shown gainsborough's celebrated picture of "the pigs." "to be sure," said he, "they be deadly like pigs; but there is one fault; nobody ever saw three pigs feeding together but what one on 'em had a foot in the trough." turner.--once, at a dinner, where several artists, amateurs and literary men were convened, a poet, by way of being facetious, proposed as a toast the health of the _painters and glaziers_ of great britain. the toast was drunk, and turner, after returning thanks for it, proposed the health of the british _paper-stainers_. lely and the alderman.--sir peter lely, a famous painter in the reign of charles i., agreed for the price of a full-length, which he was to draw for a rich alderman of london, who was not indebted to nature either for shape or face. when the picture was finished, the alderman endeavoured to beat down the price; alleging that if he did not purchase it, it would lie on the painter's hands. "that's a mistake," replied sir peter, "for i can sell it at double the price i demand."--"how can that be?" says the alderman; "for it is like nobody but myself."--"but i will draw a tail to it, and then it will be an excellent monkey." the alderman, to prevent exposure, paid the sum agreed for, and carried off the picture. morland.--it is well known that morland the painter used to go on an expedition with a companion sometimes without a guinea, or perhaps scarcely a shilling, to defray the expenses of their journey; and thus they were often reduced to an unpleasant and ludicrous dilemma. on one occasion the painter was travelling in kent, in company with a relative, and finding their cash exhausted, while at a distance from their destination, they were compelled to exert their wits, for the purpose of recruiting themselves after a long and fatiguing march. as they approached canterbury, a homely village ale-house caught their eye; and the itinerant artists hailed, with delight, the sign of the black bull, which indicated abundance of home-made bread and generous ale. they entered, and soon made considerable havoc among the good things of mine host, who, on reckoning up, found that they had consumed as much bread, cheese and ale, as amounted to _ s. d._ morland now candidly informed his host that they were two poor painters going in search of employment, and that they had spent all their money. he, however, added that, as the sign of the bull was a disgraceful daub for so respectable a house, he would have no objection to repaint it, as a set-off for what he and his companion had received. the landlord, who had long been wishing for a new sign (the one in question having passed through two generations), gladly accepted his terms, and morland immediately went to work. the next day the bull was sketched in such a masterly manner that the landlord was enraptured; he supplied his guests with more provisions, and generously gave them money for their subsequent expenses. about three months after a gentleman well acquainted with morland's works, accidentally passing through the village, recognised it instantly to be the production of that inimitable painter: he stopped, and was confirmed in his opinion, by the history which the landlord gave of the transaction. in short, he purchased the sign of him for twenty pounds; the landlord was struck with admiration at his liberality; but this identical painting was some time afterwards sold at a public auction for the sum of _one hundred guineas!_ when benjamin west was seven years old, he was left, one summer day, with the charge of an infant niece. as it lay in the cradle and he was engaged in fanning away the flies, the motion of the fan pleased the child, and caused it to smile. attracted by the charms thus created, young west felt his instinctive passion aroused; and seeing paper, pen and some red and black ink on a table, he eagerly seized them and made his first attempt at portrait painting. just as he had finished his maiden task, his mother and sister entered. he tried to conceal what he had done, but his confusion arrested his mother's attention, and she asked him what he had been doing. with reluctance and timidity, he handed her the paper, begging, at the same time, that she would not be offended. examining the drawing for a short time, she turned to her daughter, and, with a smile, said, "i declare he has made a likeness of sally." she then gave him a fond kiss, which so encouraged him that he promised her some drawings of the flowers which she was then holding, if she wished to have them. the next year a cousin sent him a box of colours and pencils, with large quantities of canvas prepared for the easel, and half a dozen engravings. early the next morning he took his materials into the garret, and for several days forgot all about school. his mother suspected that the box was the cause of his neglect of his books, and going into the garret and finding him busy at a picture, she was about to reprimand him; but her eye fell on some of his compositions, and her anger cooled at once. she was so pleased with them that she loaded him with kisses, and promised to secure his father's pardon for his neglect of school. the world is much indebted to mrs. west for her early and constant encouragement of the talent of her son. he often used to say, after his reputation was established, "_my mothers kiss made me a painter!_" vernet relates, that he was once employed to paint a landscape, with a cave, and st. jerome in it; he accordingly painted the landscape with st. jerome at the entrance of the cave. when he delivered the picture, the purchaser, who understood nothing of perspective, said, "the landscape and the cave are well made, but st. jerome is not _in_ the cave."--"i understand you, sir," replied vernet, "i will alter it." he therefore took the painting, and made the shade darker, so that the saint seemed to sit farther in. the gentleman took the painting; but it again appeared to him that the saint was not actually in the cave. vernet then wiped out the figure, and gave it to the gentleman, who seemed perfectly satisfied. whenever he saw strangers to whom he showed the picture, he said, "here you see a picture by vernet, with st. jerome in the cave." "but we cannot see the saint," replied the visitors. "excuse me, gentlemen," answered the possessor, "he is there; for i saw him standing at the entrance, and afterwards farther back; and am therefore quite sure that he is in it." hogarth.--a nobleman, not remarkable for generosity, sent for hogarth and desired that he would represent on one of the compartments of his staircase, pharoah and his host drowned in the red sea. at the same time he hinted that no great price would be given for the performance. hogarth however agreed. soon afterwards he applied for payment to his employer, who seeing that the space allotted for the picture had only been daubed over with red, declared he had no idea of paying a painter when he had proceeded no farther than to lay his ground. "ground!" exclaimed hogarth, "there is no _ground_ in the case, my lord, it is all sea. the red you perceive is the red sea. pharoah and his host are drowned as you desired, and cannot be made objects of sight, for the sea covers them all." tantara, the celebrated landscape painter, was a man of ready wit, but he once met his match. an amateur had ordered a landscape for his gallery, in which there was to be a church. our painter did not know how to draw figures well, so he put none in the landscape. the amateur was astonished at the truthfulness and colouring of the picture, but he missed the figures. "you have forgotten to put in any figures," said he, laughingly. "sir," replied the painter, "_the people are gone to mass_." "oh, well," replied the amateur, "i will wait and take your picture _when they come out_." chantrey's first sculpture.--chantrey, when a boy, used to take milk to sheffield on an ass. to those not used to seeing and observing such things, it may be necessary to state that the boys generally carry a good thick stick, with a hooked or knobbed end, with which they belabour their asses sometimes unmercifully. on a certain day, when returning home, riding on his ass, chantrey was observed by a gentleman to be intently engaged in cutting a stick with his penknife, and, excited by curiosity, he asked the lad what he was doing, when, with great simplicity of manner, but with courtesy, he replied, "i am cutting _old fox's head_." fox was the schoolmaster of the village. on this, the gentleman asked to see what he had done, pronounced it to be an excellent likeness, and presented the youth with _sixpence_. this may, perhaps, be reckoned the first money chantry ever obtained in the way of his _art_. begging. admiral chatillon had gone one day to hear mass in the dominican friars' chapel; a poor fellow came and begged his charity. he was at the moment occupied with his devotions, and he gave him several pieces of gold from his pocket, without counting them, or thinking what they were. the large amount astonished the beggar, and as m. chatillon was going out of the church-door, the poor man waited for him: "sir," said he, showing him what he had given him, "i cannot think that you intended to give me so large a sum, and am very ready to return it." the admiral, admiring the honesty of the man, said, "i did not, indeed, my good man, intend to have given you so much; but, since you have the generosity to offer to return it, i will have the generosity to desire you to keep it; and here are five pieces more for you." a beggar's wedding.--dean swift being in the country, on a visit to dr. sheridan, they were informed that a beggar's wedding was about to be celebrated. sheridan played well upon the violin; swift therefore proposed that he should go to the place where the ceremony was to be performed, disguised as a blind fiddler, while he attended him as his man. thus accoutred they set out, and were received by the jovial crew with great acclamation. they had plenty of good cheer, and never was a more joyous wedding seen. all was mirth and frolic; the beggars told stories, played tricks, cracked jokes, sung and danced, in a manner which afforded high amusement to the fiddler and his man, who were well rewarded when they departed, which was not till late in the evening. the next day the dean and sheridan walked out in their usual dress, and found many of their late companions, hopping about upon crutches, or pretending to be blind, pouring forth melancholy complaints and supplications for charity. sheridan distributed among them the money he had received; but the dean, who hated all mendicants, fell into a violent passion, telling them of his adventure of the preceding day, and threatening to send every one of them to prison. this had such an effect, that the blind opened their eyes, and the lame threw away their crutches, running away as fast as their legs could carry them. old age secured.--as sir walter scott was riding once with a friend in the neighbourhood of abbotsford, he came to a field gate, which an irish beggar who happened to be near hastened to open for him. sir walter was desirous of rewarding his civility by the present of sixpence, but found that he had not so small a coin in his purse. "here, my good fellow," said the baronet, "here is a shilling for you; but mind, you owe me sixpence." "god bless your honour!" exclaimed pat: "may your honour live till i pay you." maximilian i.--a beggar once asked alms of the emperor maximilian i., who bestowed upon him a small coin. the beggar appeared dissatisfied with the smallness of the gift, and on being asked why, he replied that it was a very little sum for an emperor, and that his highness should remember that we were all descended from one father, and were therefore all _brothers_. maximilian smiled good-humouredly, and replied: "go--go, my good man: if each of your brothers gives you as much as i have done, you will very soon be far richer than me." benevolence. a benevolent judge.--the celebrated anthony domat, author of a treatise on the civil laws, was promoted to the office of judge of the provincial court of clermont, in the territory of auvergne, in the south of france. in this court he presided, with general applause, for twenty-four years. one day a poor widow brought an action against the baron de nairac, her landlord, for turning her out of her mill, which was the poor creature's sole dependence. m. domat heard the cause, and finding by the evidence that she had ignorantly broken a covenant in the lease which gave her landlord the power of re-entry, he recommended mercy to the baron for a poor but honest tenant, who had not wilfully transgressed, or done him any material injury. nairac being inexorable, the judge was compelled to pronounce an ejectment, with the penalty mentioned in the lease and costs of suit; but he could not pronounce the decree without tears. when an order of seizure, both of person and effects was added, the poor widow exclaimed, "o merciful and righteous god, be thou a friend to the widow and her helpless orphans!" and immediately fainted away. the compassionate judge assisted in raising the unfortunate woman, and after enquiring into her character, number of children, and other circumstances, generously presented her with one hundred louis d'ors, the amount of the damages and costs, which he prevailed upon the baron to accept as a full compensation, and to let the widow again enter upon her mill. the poor widow anxiously enquired of m. domat when he would require payment, that she might lay up accordingly. "when my conscience (he replied) shall tell me that i have done an improper act." pope pius ix.--an advocate, the father of a large family, fell into ill health, and soon afterwards into want. pius ix., hearing of this, sent a messenger with a letter to the advocate, but he was at first refused admittance, on the ground that the physician had enjoined the utmost quiet. on the messenger explaining from whom he came he was admitted, and, on the letter being opened, what was the surprise of the family on finding within scudi (£ ), with the words, "for the advocate ...--pius ix.," in the pontiff's own handwriting. dr. glynn was remarkable for many acts of kindness to poor persons. he had attended a sick family in the fens near cambridge for a considerable time, and had never thought of any recompense for his skill and trouble but the satisfaction of being able to do good. one day he heard a noise on the college staircase, and his servant brought him word that the poor woman from the fens waited upon him with a _magpie_, of which she begged his acceptance. this at first a little discomposed the doctor. of all presents, a magpie was the least acceptable to him, as he had a hundred loose things about his rooms, which the bird, if admitted, was likely to make free with. however, his good nature soon returned: he considered the woman's intention, and ordered her to be shown in. "i am obliged to you for thinking of me, good woman," said he, "but you must excuse my not taking your bird, as it would occasion me a great deal of trouble." "pray, doctor," answered the woman, "do, pray, be pleased to have it. my husband, my son, and myself have been long consulting together in what way we could show our thankfulness to you, and we could think of nothing better than to give you our favourite bird. we would not part with it to any other person upon earth. we shall be sadly hurt if you refuse our present." "well, well, my good woman," said dr. glynn, "if that is the case, i must have the bird; but do you, as you say you are so fond of it, take it back again, and keep it for me, and i will allow you eighteenpence a week for the care of it. i shall have the pleasure of seeing it every time i come." this allowance dr. g. punctually paid as long as the bird lived. books. an odd fault.--it is said that when the learned humphrey prideaux offered his life of mahomet to the bookseller, he was desired to leave the copy with him for a few days, for his perusal. the bookseller said to the doctor at his return, "well, mr. what's your name, i have perused your manuscript; i don't know what to say of it; i believe i shall venture to print it; the thing is well enough; but i could wish there were a little more _humour_ in it." this story is otherwise told in a note in swift's works, where the book is said to have been prideaux's "connexion of the history of the old and new testament," in which, it must be confessed, the difficulty of introducing _humour_ is more striking. dictionaries.--dr. johnson, while compiling his dictionary, sent a note to the _gentleman's magazine_, to inquire the etymology of the word curmudgeon. having obtained the desired information, he thus recorded in his work his obligation to an anonymous writer: "curmudgeon, _s._ a vicious way of pronouncing _coeur mechant_. an unknown correspondent." ash copied the word into his dictionary, in the following manner: curmudgeon, from the french, _coeur_, "unknown," and _mechant_, "correspondent!" heber's palestine.--when reginald heber read his prize poem, "palestine," to sir walter scott, the latter observed that, in the verses on solomon's temple, one striking circumstance had escaped him, namely, that no tools were used in its erection. reginald retired for a few minutes to the corner of the room, and returned with the beautiful lines:-- "no hammer fell, no ponderous axes rung; like some tall palm, the mystic fabric sprung. majestic silence," &c. use of h.--"what has become of your famous general _eel?_" said the count d'erleon to mr. campbell. "eel," said a bystander, "that is a military fish i never heard of;" but another at once enlightened his mind by saying to the count, "general lord _hill_ is now commander-in-chief of the british forces!" cowper's "john gilpin."--it happened one afternoon, in those years when cowper's accomplished friend, lady austen, made a part of his little evening circle, that she observed him sinking into increased dejection. it was her custom, on these occasions, to try all the resources of her sprightly powers for his immediate relief, and at this time it occurred to her to tell him the story of john gilpin, (which had been treasured in her memory from her childhood), in order to dissipate the gloom of the passing hour. its effects on the fancy of cowper had the air of enchantment. he informed her the next morning that convulsions of laughter, brought on by his recollection of her story, had kept him waking during the greatest part of the night! and that he had turned it into a ballad. so arose the pleasant poem of "john gilpin." catalogue making.--mr. nichols, in the fourth vol. of his _literary anecdotes_, mentions that dr. taylor, who was librarian at cambridge, about the year , used to relate of himself that one day throwing books in heaps for the purpose of classing and arranging them, he put one among works on _mensuration_, because his eye caught the word _height_ in the title-page; and another which had the word _salt_ conspicuous, he threw among books on chemistry or cookery. but when he began a regular classification, it appeared that the former was "longinus on the sublime," and the other a "theological discourse on the _salt_ of the world, that good christians ought to be seasoned with." thus, too, in a catalogue published about twenty years ago, the "flowers of ancient literature" are found among books on gardening and botany, and "burton's anatomy of melancholy" is placed among works on medicine and surgery. dickens' origin of "boz."--a fellow passenger with mr. dickens, in the _britannia_ steam-ship, across the atlantic, inquired of the author the origin of his signature "boz." mr. dickens replied that he had a little brother who resembled so much the moses in the _vicar of wakefield_, that he used to call him moses also; but a younger girl, who could not then articulate plainly, was in the habit of calling him bozie or boz. this simple circumstance made him assume that name in the first article he risked before the public, and as the first effort was approved of he continued the name. thomson and quin.--thomson the poet, when he first came to london, was in very narrow circumstances, and was many times put to shifts even for a dinner. upon the publication of his seasons one of his creditors arrested him, thinking that a proper opportunity to get his money. the report of this misfortune reached the ears of quin, who had read the seasons, but never seen their author; and he was told that thompson was in a spunging-house in holborn. thither quin went, and being admitted into his chamber, "sir," said he, "you don't know me, but my name is quin." thomson said, "that, though he could not boast of the honour of a personal acquaintance, he was no stranger either to his name or his merit;" and invited him to sit down. quin then told him he was come to sup with him, and that he had already ordered the cook to provide supper, which he hoped he would excuse. when supper was over, and the glass had gone briskly about, mr. quin told him, "it was now time to enter upon business." thomson declared he was ready to serve him as far as his capacity would reach, in anything he should command, (thinking he was come about some affair relating to the drama). "sir," says quin, "you mistake me. i am in your debt. i owe you a hundred pounds, and i am come to pay you." thomson, with a disconsolate air, replied, that, as he was a gentleman whom he had never offended, he wondered he should seek an opportunity to jest with his misfortunes. "no," said quin, raising his voice, "i say i owe you a hundred pounds, and there it is," (laying a bank note of that value before him). thomson, astonished, begged he would explain himself. "why," says quin, "i'll tell you; soon after i had read your seasons, i took it into my head, that as i had something to leave behind me when i died, i would make my will; and among the rest of my legatees i set down the author of the seasons for a hundred pounds; and, this day hearing that you were in this house, i thought i might as well have the pleasure of paying the money myself, as order my executors to pay it, when, perhaps, you might have less need of it; and this, mr. thomson, is my business." of course thomson left the house in company with his benefactor. denon and de foe.--m. de talleyrand, having one day invited m. denon, the celebrated traveller, to dine with him, told his wife to read the work of his guest, which she would find in the library, in order that she might be the better able to converse with him. madame talleyrand, unluckily, got hold, by mistake, of the "adventures of robinson crusoe," by de foe, which she ran over in great haste; and, at dinner, she began to question denon about his shipwreck, his island, &c., and, finally, about his man friday! bonaparte. possibility.--bonaparte was passing along the dreadful road across the echelles de savoie, with his engineer, when he stopped, and pointing to the mountain, said, "is it not possible to cut a tunnel through yonder rock, and to form a more safe and commodious route beneath it?" "it is _possible_, certainly, sire," replied his scientific companion, "but"--"no buts;--let it be done, and immediately," replied the emperor. sir and sire.--a petition from the english _deténus_ at valenciennes was left for signature at the house of the colonel of gendarmerie, addressed in a fulsome manner to bonaparte, under his title of emperor of the french, and beginning with "_sire_." some unlucky wag took an opportunity of altering this word into "_dear sir_," and nearly caused the whole party to be imprisoned. polignac.--monsieur le compte de polignac had been raised to honour by bonaparte; but, from some unaccountable motive, betrayed the trust his patron reposed in him. as soon as bonaparte discovered the perfidy, he ordered polignac to be put under arrest. next day he was to have been tried, and in all probability would have been condemned, as his guilt was undoubted. in the meantime, madame polignac solicited and obtained an audience of the emperor. "i am sorry, madam, for your sake," said he, "that your husband has been implicated in an affair which is marked throughout with such deep ingratitude." "he may not have been so guilty as your majesty supposes," said the countess. "do you know your husband's signature?" asked the emperor, as he took a letter from his pocket and presented it to her. madame de polignac hastily glanced over the letter, recognised the writing, and fainted. as soon as she recovered, bonaparte, offering her the letter, said, "take it; it is the only legal evidence against your husband: there is a fire beside you." madame de p. eagerly seized the important document, and in an instant committed it to the flames. the life of polignac was saved: his honour it was beyond the power even of the generosity of an emperor to redeem. charity. the price of bread.--some years ago, the bakers of lyons thought they could prevail on m. dugas, the provost of the merchants in that city, to befriend them at the expense of the public. they waited upon him in a body, and begged leave to raise the price of bread, which could not be done without the sanction of the chief magistrate. m. dugas told them that he would examine their petition, and give them an early answer. the bakers retired, having first left upon the table a purse of two hundred louis d'ors. in a few days the bakers called upon the magistrate for an answer, not in the least doubting but that the money had effectually pleaded their cause. "gentlemen," said m. dugas, "i have weighed your reasons in the balance of justice, and i find them light. i do not think that the people ought to suffer under a pretence of the dearness of corn, which i know to be unfounded; and as to the purse of money that you left with me, i am sure that i have made such a generous and noble use of it as you yourself intended. i have distributed it among the poor objects of charity in our two hospitals. as you are opulent enough to make such large donations, i cannot possibly think that you can incur any loss in your business; and i shall, therefore, continue the price of bread as it was." kosciusko.--the hero of poland once wished to send some bottles of good wine to a clergyman at solothurn; and as he hesitated to trust them by his servant, lest he should smuggle a part, he gave the commission to a young man of the name of zeltner, and desired him to take the horse which he himself usually rode. on his return, young zeltner said that he never would ride his horse again unless he gave him his purse at the same time. kosciusko enquiring what he meant, he answered, "as soon as a poor man on the road takes off his hat and asks charity, the horse immediately stands still, and will not stir till something is given to the petitioner; and as i had no money about me, i was obliged to feign giving something, in order to satisfy the horse." mysterious benefactor.--in the year , celebrated for the bursting of the south sea bubble, a gentleman called late in the evening at the banking house of messrs. hankey and co. he was in a coach, but refused to get out, and desired that one of the partners of the house would come to him, into whose hands, when he appeared, he put a parcel, very carefully sealed up, and desired that it might be taken care of till he should call again. a few days passed away--a few weeks--a few months--but the stranger never returned. at the end of the second or third year the partners agreed to open this mysterious parcel, when they found it to contain £ , , with a letter, stating that it had been obtained by the south sea speculation, and directing that it should be vested in the hands of three trustees, whose names were mentioned, and the interest appropriated to the relief of the poor. dinners. bannister.--charles bannister dining one day at the turk's head tavern, was much annoyed by a gentleman in the adjoining box, who had just ordered fish for dinner, and was calling on the waiter for every species of fish sauce known to the most refined epicure. "waiter," said he, "bring me anchovy sauce, and soy; and have you got harvey's? and be sure you bring me burgess's;--and waiter--do you hear?--don't omit the sauce _epicurienne_." how many more he would have enumerated it is difficult to say, had not bannister stepped up to him, and bowing very politely, said, "sir, i beg your pardon for thus interrupting you, but i see you are advertised for in the newspaper of this morning." "me, sir, advertised for!" exclaimed the gentleman, half petrified with surprise; "pray, sir, what do you mean?" bannister, taking the paper, pointed to an advertisement addressed to "the curious in fish sauces." the gentleman felt the rebuke, sat down, and ate his dinner without further ceremony. a christmas pudding extraordinary.--when the late lord paget was ambassador at constantinople, he, with the rest of the gentlemen who were in a public capacity at the same court, determined one day when there was to be a grand banquet, to have each of them a dish dressed after the manner of their respective countries; and lord paget, for the honour of england, ordered a piece of _roast beef and a plum pudding_. the beef was easily cooked, but the court cooks not knowing how to make a plum pudding, he gave them a receipt:--"so many eggs, so much milk, so much flour, and a given quantity of raisins; to be beaten up together, and boiled so many hours in so many gallons of water." when dinner was served up, first came the french ambassador's dish--then that of the spanish ambassador--and next, two fellows bearing an immense pan, and bawling, "_room for the english ambassador's dish!_" "confound my stupidity!" cried his lordship; "i forgot to tell them of the bag, and these stupid scoundrels have boiled it without one; and in five gallons of water too. it will be good plum broth, however!" dr. kirwan, the celebrated irish chemist, having one day at dinner with him a party of friends, was descanting upon the antiseptic qualities of charcoal, and added, that if a quantity of pulverised charcoal were boiled together with tainted meat, it would remove all symptoms of putrescence, and render it perfectly sweet. shortly afterwards, the doctor helped a gentleman to a slice of boiled leg of mutton, which was so far gone as to shed an odour not very agreeable to the noses of the company. the gentleman repeatedly turned it upon his plate, without venturing to taste it; and the doctor observing him, said, "sir, perhaps you don't like mutton?" "oh, yes, doctor," he replied, "i am very fond of mutton, but i do not think the cook has boiled charcoal enough with it." when the archbishop of york sent ben jonson an excellent dish of fish from his dinner table, but without drink, he said,-- "in a dish came fish from the arch-bis- hop was not there, because there was no _beer_." poor-man-of-mutton is a term applied to a shoulder of mutton in scotland after it has been served as a roast at dinner, and appears as a broiled bone at supper, or at the dinner next day. the late earl of b., popularly known as "old rag," being indisposed at a hotel in london, one morning the landlord came to enumerate the good things in his larder, in order to prevail on his guest to eat something, when his lordship replied, "landlord, i think i _could_ eat a morsel of a poor man;" which, with the extreme ugliness of his lordship's countenance, so terrified the landlord, that he fled from the room and tumbled down stairs, supposing the earl, when at home, was in the habit of eating a joint of a vassal, or tenant when his appetite was dainty. swift.--a gentleman, at whose house swift was dining in ireland, after dinner introduced remarkably small hock glasses, and at length, turning to swift, addressed him,--"mr. dean, i shall be happy to take a glass of hic, hæc, hoc, with you." "sir," rejoined the doctor, "i shall be happy to comply, but it must be out of a _hujus_ glass." swift, having a shoulder of mutton too much done brought up for his dinner, sent for the cook, and told her to take the mutton down, and do it less. "please your honour, i cannot do it less." "but," said the dean, "if it had not been done enough, you could have done it more, could you not?" "oh, yes, sir, very easily." "why, then," said the dean, "for the future, when you commit a fault, let it be such a one as can be mended." doctors. making things better.--a rich man sent to call a physician for a slight disorder. the physician felt his pulse, and said, "do you eat well?" "yes," said the patient. "do you sleep well?" "i do." "oh, then," said the physician, "i must give you something to take away all that." madame de villecerf, who was brought to death in the flower of her age by the unskilfulness of her surgeon, comforted him thus: "i do not look upon you," she said, in dying, "as a person whose error has cost me my life, but as a benefactor, who hastens my entry into a happy immortality. as the world may judge otherwise, i have put you in a situation, by my will, to quit your profession." willie law, a half-witted man, was the descendant of an ancient family, nearly related to the famous john law, of lauriston, the celebrated financier of france. willie on that account was often spoken to and taken notice of by gentlemen of distinction. posting one day through kirkaldy, with more than ordinary speed, he was met by mr. oswald, of dunnikier, who asked him where he was going in such a hurry. "going!" says willie, with apparent surprise, "i'm gaen to my cousin lord elgin's burial." "your cousin lord elgin's burial, you fool! lord elgin's not dead," replied mr. oswald. "oh, never mind," quoth willie; "there's six doctors out o' edinbro' at him, and they'll hae him dead afore i get there." physicians in china.--caleb colton, nephew of the late sir george staunton, gives in a recent publication the following anecdote:--"my late uncle, sir g. staunton, related to me a curious anecdote of old kien long, emperor of china. he was inquiring of sir george the manner in which physicians were paid in england. when, after some difficulty, his majesty was made to comprehend the system, he exclaimed, 'is any man well in england that can afford to be ill? now, i will inform you,' said he, 'how i manage my physicians. i have four, to whom the care of my health is committed: a certain weekly salary is allowed them; but the moment i am ill the salary stops till i am well again. i need not tell you that my illnesses are usually short.'" zimmerman, who was very eminent as a physician, went from hanover to attend frederick the great in his last illness. one day the king said to him, "you have, i presume, sir, helped many a man into another world?" this was rather a bitter pill for the doctor; but the dose he gave the king in return was a judicious mixture of truth and flattery: "not so many as your majesty, nor with so much honour to myself." montaigne, who is great upon doctors, used to beseech his friends that if he felt ill they would let him get a little stronger before sending for the doctor. molière, when once travelling through auvergne, was taken very ill at a distance from any place where he could procure respectable medical aid. it was proposed to him to send for a celebrated physician at clermont. "no, no," said he, "he is too great a man for me: go and bring me the village surgeon; he will not, perhaps, have the hardihood to kill me so soon." louis xiv., who was a slave to his physicians, asked molière one day what he did with his doctor. "oh, sire," said he, "when i am ill i send for him. he comes; we have a chat, and enjoy ourselves. he prescribes;--i don't take it, and i am cured." general guise going over one campaign to flanders, observed a raw young officer, who was in the same vessel with him, and with his usual humanity told him that he would take care of him, and conduct him to antwerp, where they were both going, which he accordingly did, and then took leave of him. the young fellow was soon told by some arch rogues, whom he happened to fall in with, that he must signalise himself by fighting some man of known courage, or else he would soon be despised in the regiment. the young man said he knew no one but colonel guise, and he had received great obligations from him. "it is all one for that," said they, "in these cases. the colonel is the fittest man in the world, as everybody knows his bravery." soon afterwards the young officer accosted colonel guise, as he was walking up and down the coffee room, and began, in a hesitating manner, to tell him how much obliged he had been to him, and how sensible he was of his obligations. "sir," replied colonel guise, "i have done my duty by you, and no more." "but colonel," added the young officer, faltering, "i am told that i must fight some gentleman of known courage, and who has killed several persons, and that nobody"--"oh, sir," interrupted the colonel, "your friends do me too much honour; but there is a gentleman (pointing to a fierce-looking black fellow that was sitting at one of the tables) who has killed half the regiment, and who will suit you much better." the officer went up to him, and told him he had heard of his bravery, and that for that reason he must fight him. "who?--i, sir?" said the gentleman; "why, i am the _apothecary_." dr. moore, author of "zeluco," used to say that at least two-thirds of a physician's fees were for imaginary complaints. among several instances of this nature, he mentions one of a clothier, who, after drinking the bath waters, took it into his head to try bristol hot wells. previous, however, to his setting off, he requested his physician to favour him with a letter, stating his case to any brother doctor. this done, the patient got into a chaise and started. after proceeding half way, he felt curious to see the contents of the letter, and on opening it, read as follows:--"dear sir,--the bearer is a fat wiltshire clothier: _make the most of him_." it is almost unnecessary to add that his cure was from that moment effected, as he ordered the chaise to turn, and immediately proceeded _home_. sir charles wager had a sovereign contempt for physicians, though he believed a surgeon, in some cases, _might_ be of service. it happened that sir charles was seized with a fever while he was out upon a cruise, and the surgeon, without much difficulty, prevailed upon him to lose a little blood, and suffer a blister to be laid on his back. by-and-bye it was thought necessary to lay on another blister, and repeat the bleeding, to which sir charles also consented. the symptoms then abated, and the surgeon told him that he must now swallow a few bolusses, and take a draught. "no, no, doctor," says sir charles, "you shall batter my hulk as long as you will, but depend on it, you shan't _board_ me." nash and the doctor.--when the celebrated beau nash was ill, dr. cheyne wrote a prescription for him. the next day, the doctor coming to see his patient, inquired if he had followed his prescription? "no, truly, doctor," said nash; "if i had, i should have broken my neck, for i threw it out of a two-pair-of-stairs window." gin _versus_ medicine.--the celebrated dr. ward was not more remarkable for humanity and skill than for wit and humour. an old woman, to whom he had administered some medicines proper for a disorder under which she laboured, applied to him, with a complaint that she had not experienced any kind of effect from taking them. "no effect at all?" said the doctor. "none in the least," replied the woman. "why, then you should have taken a bumping glass of gin." "so i did, sir." "well, but when you found that did not succeed, you should have taken another." "so i did, sir; and another after that." "oh, you did?" said the doctor; "aye, aye, it is just as i imagined: you complain that you found no effect from my prescription, and you confess yourself that you swallowed gin enough to counteract any medicine in the whole system of physic." abernethy.--a chancery barrister having been for a long while annoyed by an irritable ulcer on one of his legs, called upon mr. abernethy for the purpose of obtaining that gentleman's advice. the counsellor judging of an ulcer as of a brief, that it must be seen before its nature could be understood, was busily employed in removing his stocking and bandages, when mr. abernethy abruptly advanced towards him, and exclaimed in a stentorian voice, "halloo! what are you about there? put out your tongue, man! aye, there 'tis--i see it--i'm satisfied. quite enough;--shut up your leg, man--shut it up--shut it up! go home and read my book, p.--, and take one of the pills there mentioned every night on going to bed." the lawyer handed over the fee, and was about to leave the room, when mr. a. thus accosted him: "why, look here;--this is but a shilling!" the barrister sarcastically replied, "aye, there 'tis--i see it--i'm satisfied. quite enough, man;--shut it up--shut it up!" and hastily decamped from the room. a lady, who had received a severe bite in her arm from a dog, went to mr. abernethy, but knowing his aversion to hearing any statement of particulars, she merely uncovered the injured part, and held it before him in silence. after looking at it an instant, he said in an inquiring tone, "scratch?" "bite," replied the lady. "cat?" asked the doctor. "dog," rejoined the patient. so delighted was mr. a. with the brevity and promptness of her answers, that he exclaimed, "zounds, madam! you are the most sensible woman i ever met with in my life." astley cooper.--probably no surgeon of ancient or modern times enjoyed a greater share of reputation during his life than fell to the lot of sir astley, and that in all parts of the world. we cannot give a better example of this than the fact of his signature being received as a passport among the mountains of biscay by the wild followers of don carlos. a young english surgeon, seeking for employment, was carried as a prisoner before zumalacarrequi, who demanded what testimonials he had of his calling or his qualifications. our countryman presented his diploma of the college of surgeons, and the name of astley paston cooper, which was attached to it, no sooner struck the eye of the carlist leader, than he at once received his prisoner with friendship, and appointed him a surgeon in his army. the drama--actors, etc. shaving a queen.--for some time after the restoration of charles the second, young smooth-faced men performed the women's parts on the stage. that monarch, coming before his usual time to hear shakspeare's hamlet, sent the earl of rochester to know the reason of the delay; who brought word back, that the queen was not quite shaved. "ods fish" (his usual expression), "i beg her majesty's pardon! we will wait till her barber is done with her." liston, in his early career, was a favourite at newcastle-upon-tyne, and having applied to the manager for a remuneration equal to the increased value of his services, he refused the request, adding, "if you are dissatisfied you are welcome to leave me; such actors as you, sir, are to be found in every bush." on the evening of the day when this colloquy occurred, the manager was driving to another town, where he intended "to carry on the war," when he perceived liston standing in the middle of a hedge by the road-side. "good heavens! liston," cried the manager, "what are you doing there?" "only looking for some of the actors you told me of this morning," was the reply. good-natured author.--the late m. segur, among other literary productions, supplied the french theatres with a number of pleasing trifles. if he was not always successful, he was at least always gay in his reverses. when his works were ill received by the public, he consoled himself for a failure by a bon-mot; he made even a point of consoling his companions in misfortune. a piece of his was once brought forward called the _yellow cabriolet_, which happened to be condemned on the first representation. some days afterwards a piece, by another author, was presented, which was equally unfortunate. the author, petrified at his failure, stood for a moment immoveable. "come, come, my dear sir," said m. segur, "don't be cast down, i will give you a seat in my _yellow cabriolet_." a heavy play.--when sir charles sedley's comedy of "bellamira" was performed, the roof of the theatre fell down, by which, however, few people were hurt except the author. this occasioned sir fleetwood shepherd to say, "there was so much fire in his play, that it blew up the poet, house and all." "no," replied the good-natured author, "the play was so heavy, that it broke down the house, and buried the poor poet in his own rubbish." monsieur de la motte, soon after the representation of his "ines de castro," which was very successful, although much censured by the press, was sitting one day in a coffee-house, when he heard several of the critics abusing his play. finding that he was unknown to them, he joined heartily in abusing it himself. at length, after a great many sarcastic remarks, one of them, yawning, said, "well, what shall we do with ourselves this evening?" "why, suppose," said de la motte, "we go to the _seventy-second_ representation of this bad play." the sailor and the actress.--"when i was a poor girl," said the duchess of st. albans, "working very hard for my thirty shillings a week, i went down to liverpool during the holidays, where i was always kindly received. i was to perform in a new piece, something like those pretty little dramas they get up now at our minor theatres; and in my character i represented a poor, friendless orphan girl, reduced to the most wretched poverty. a heartless tradesman prosecutes the sad heroine for a heavy debt, and insists on putting her in prison unless some one will be bail for her. the girl replies, 'then i have no hope, i have not a friend in the world.' 'what? will no one be bail for you, to save you from prison?' asks the stern creditor. 'i have told you i have not a friend on earth,' is the reply. but just as i was uttering the words, i saw a sailor in the upper gallery springing over the railing, letting himself down from one tier to another, until he bounded clear over the orchestra and footlights, and placed himself beside me in a moment.' yes, you shall have _one_ friend at least, my poor young woman,' said he, with the greatest expression in his honest, sunburnt countenance; 'i will go bail for you to any amount. and as for _you_ (turning to the frightened actor), if you don't bear a hand, and shift your moorings, you lubber, it will be worse for you when i come athwart your bows.' every creature in the house rose; the uproar was perfectly indescribable; peals of laughter, screams of terror, cheers from his tawny messmates in the gallery, preparatory scrapings of violins from the orchestra, were mingled together; and amidst the universal din there stood the unconscious cause of it, sheltering me, 'the poor, distressed young woman,' and breathing defiance and destruction against my mimic persecutor. he was only persuaded to relinquish his care of me by the manager pretending to arrive and rescue me, with a profusion of theatrical banknotes." kean.--in the second year of kean's london triumph, an elderly lady, whose sympathy had been excited by his forlorn condition in boyhood, but who had lost sight of him in his wanderings till his sudden starting into fame astonished the world, was induced, on renewing their acquaintance, to pay a visit of some days to him and mrs. kean, at their residence in clarges-street. she made no secret of her intention to evince the interest she felt in his welfare by a considerable bequest in her will; but, on accompanying mrs. k. to the theatre to see kean perform _luke_, she was so appalled by the cold-blooded villany of the character, that, attributing the skill of the actor to the actual possession of the fiendlike attributes, her regard was turned into suspicion and distrust. she left london the next day, and dying soon afterwards, it appeared that she had altered her testamentary disposition of her property, which had once been made in kean's favour, and bequeathed the sum originally destined for him to a distant relative, of whom she knew nothing but by name. mimic reclaimed.--in the beginning of the last century, a comedian of the name of griffin, celebrated for his talents as a mimic, was employed by a comic author to imitate the personal peculiarities of the celebrated dr. woodward, whom he intended to be introduced in a comedy as _dr. fossil_. the mimic, dressed as a countryman, waited on the doctor with a long catalogue of complaints with which he said his wife was afflicted. the physician heard with amazement diseases and pains of the most opposite nature, repeated and redoubled on the wretched patient. the actor having thus detained the doctor until he thought himself completely master of his errand, presented him with a guinea as his fee. "put up thy money, poor fellow," cried the doctor, "thou hast need of all thy cash, and all thy patience, too, with such a bundle of diseases tied to thy back." the mimic returned to his employer, who was in raptures at his success, until he told him that he would sooner die than prostitute his talents to render such genuine humanity food for diversion. senesino and farinelli, when in england together, being engaged at different theatres on the same night, had not an opportunity of hearing each other, till, by one of those sudden revolutions which frequently happen, yet are always unexpected, they were both employed to sing on the same stage. senesino had the part of a furious tyrant to represent and farinelli that of an unfortunate hero in chains; but in the course of the very first song, the latter so softened the heart of the enraged tyrant, that senesino, forgetting his assumed character, ran to farinelli and embraced him. weeping at a play.--it is a prevailing folly to be ashamed to shed a tear at any part of a tragedy, however affecting. "the reason," says the spectator, "is, that persons think it makes them look ridiculous, by betraying the weakness of their nature. but why may not nature show itself in tragedy, as well as in comedy or farce? we see persons not ashamed to laugh loudly at the humour of a falstaff,--or the tricks of a harlequin; and why should not the tear be equally allowed to flow for the misfortunes of a juliet, or the forlornness of an ophelia?" sir richard steele records on this subject a saying of mr. wilks the actor, as just as it was polite. being told in the green-room that there was a general in the boxes weeping for juliana, he observed with a smile, "_and i warrant you, sir, he'll fight ne'er the worse for that_." dramatic effect.--it is related in the annals of the stage, as a remarkable instance of the force of imagination, that when banks's play of the _earl of essex_ was performed, a soldier, who stood sentinel on the stage, entered so deeply into the distress of the scene, that in the delusion of his imagination, upon the countess of nottingham's denying the receipt of the ring which essex had sent by her to the queen to claim a promise of favour, he exclaimed, "'tis false! she has it in her bosom;" and immediately seized the mock countess to make her deliver it up. charles hulet, a comedian of some celebrity in the early part of the last century, was an apprentice to a bookseller. after reading plays in his master's shop, he used to repeat the speeches in the kitchen, in the evening, to the destruction of many a chair, which he substituted in the room of the real persons in the drama. one night, as he was repeating the part of alexander, with his wooden representative of clitus, (an elbow chair), and coming to the speech where the old general is to be killed, this young mock alexander snatched a poker, instead of a javelin, and threw it with such strength, against poor clitus, that the chair was killed upon the spot, and lay mangled on the floor. the death of clitus made a monstrous noise, which disturbed the master in the parlour, who called out to know the reason; and was answered by the cook below, "nothing, sir, but that alexander has killed clitus." goldsmith's marlow.--mr. lewis grummit, an eminent grazier of lincolnshire, met late one night a commercial traveller who had mistaken his road, and inquired the way to the nearest inn or public house. mr. g. replied, that as he was a stranger, he would show him the way to a quiet respectable house of public entertainment for man and horse; and took him to his own residence. the traveller, by the perfect ease and confidence of his manner, shewed the success of his host's stratagem; and every thing that he called for, was instantly provided for himself and his horse. in the morning he called, in an authoritative tone, for his bill, and the hospitable landlord had all the recompense he desired in the surprise and altered manners of his guest. it was from this incident that dr. goldsmith took the hint of marlow mistaking the house of mr. hardcastle for an inn, in the comedy of "_she stoops to conquer_." mr. quick, while performing the part of romeo, was seized with an involuntary fit of laughter, which subjected him to the severe rebuke of his auditors. it happened in the scene of romeo and the apothecary, who, going for the phial of poison, found it broken; not to detain the scene, he snatched, in a hurry, a pot of soft pomatum. quick was no sooner presented with it, than he fell into a convulsive fit of laughter. but, being soon recalled to a sense of his duty by the reproofs of the audience, he came forward and made the following whimsical apology:--"ladies and gentlemen, i could not resist the idea that struck me when the pot of pomatum, instead of the phial of poison, was presented. had he at the same time given me a tea-spoon, it would not have been so improper; for the poison might have been made up as a lenitive electuary. but, if you please, ladies and gentlemen, we will begin the scene again without laughing." garrick and rich.--soon after the appearance of garrick at the theatre of drury lane, to which he, by his astonishing powers, brought all the world, while mr. rich was playing his pantomimes at covent garden to empty benches, he and mr. garrick happened to meet one morning at the bedford coffee-house. having fallen into conversation, garrick asked the covent garden manager, how much his house would hold, when crowded with company. "why, master," said rich, "i cannot well tell; but if you will come and play richard for one night, i shall be able to give an account." morand, author of _le capricieuse_, was in a box of the theatre during the first representation of that comedy; the pit loudly expressing disapprobation at the extravagance and improbability of some traits in this character, the author became impatient; he put his head out of the box, and called, "know, gentlemen, that this is the very picture of my mother-in-law. what do you say now?" foote, on his last journey to france for the recovery of his health, while waiting for the packet, entered the kitchen of the ship tavern at dover, and, addressing the cook, who prided herself in never having been ten miles out of town, exclaimed, "why, cookee, i understand you have been a great traveller." she denying the charge, foote replied, "why, they tell me up stairs that you have been all over _grease_, and i am sure i have seen you myself at _spithead_." a person talking to foote of an acquaintance of his, who was so avaricious as even to lament the prospect of his funeral expences, though a short time before he had been censuring one of his own relations for his parsimonious temper--"now is it not strange," continued he, "that this man would not remove the beam from his own eye, before he attempted to take the mote out of other peoples?" "why, so i dare say he would," cried foote, "if he were sure of selling the timber." duty. general mackenzie, when commander-in-chief of the chatham division of marines, during the late war, was very rigid as to duty; and, among other regulations, would suffer no officer to be saluted on guard if out of his uniform. it one day happened that the general observed a lieutenant of marines in a plain dress, and, though he knew the young officer quite intimately, he called to the sentinel to turn him out. the officer appealed to the general, saying who he was; "i know you not," said the general; "turn him out." a short time after, the general had been at a small distance from chatham, to pay a visit, and returning in the evening in a blue coat, claimed entrance at the yard gate. the sentinel demanded the countersign, which the general not knowing, desired the officer of the guard to be sent for, who proved to be the lieutenant whom the general had treated so cavalierly.--"who are you?" inquired the officer.--"i am general mackenzie," was the reply.--"what, without an uniform?" rejoined the lieutenant; "oh, get back, get back, impostor; the general would break your bones if he knew you assumed his name." the general on this made his retreat; and the next day, inviting the young officer to breakfast, told him--"he had done his duty with very commendable exactness." morvilliers, keeper of the seals to charles the ninth of france, was one day ordered by his sovereign to put the seals to the pardon of a nobleman who had committed murder. he refused. the king then took the seals out of his hands, and having put them himself to the instrument of remission, returned them immediately to morvilliers, who refused to take them again, saying, "the seals have twice put me in a situation of great honour: once when i received them, and again when i resigned them." louis the fourteenth had granted a pardon to a nobleman who had committed some very great crime. m. voisin, the chancellor, ran to him in his closet, and exclaimed, "sire, you cannot pardon a person in the situation of mr. ----." "i have promised him," replied the king, who was always impatient of contradiction; "go and fetch the great seal." "but sire--." "pray, sir, do as i order you." the chancellor returned with the seals; louis applied them himself to the instrument containing the pardon, and gives them again to the chancellor. "they are polluted, now, sire," exclaimed the intrepid and excellent magistrate, pushing them from him on the table, "i cannot take them again." "what an impracticable man!" cried the monarch, and threw the pardon into the fire. "i will now, sire, take them again," said the chancellor; "fire purifies all things." fidelity. old ambrose.--among the few individuals who accompanied james ii. to france, when he was dethroned, was madame de varonne, a lady of good family, but of ruined fortune. she was compelled to part with all her servants successively, until she came to her footman, ambrose, who had lived with her twenty years; and who, although of an austere deportment, was a faithful and valuable servant. at length her resources would not permit her to retain even ambrose, and she told him he must seek another place. "another place!" exclaimed the astonished servant; "no; i will never quit you, let what will happen; i will live and die in your service." in vain was ambrose told by his mistress that she was totally ruined; that she had sold every thing she had, and that she had no other means of subsistence than by seeking some employment for herself. ambrose protested he would not quit his mistress; he brought her his scanty savings of twenty years, and engaged himself to a brazier for tenpence a day and his board. the money he brought every evening to his mistress, whom he thus supported for four years; at the end of which time she received a pension from the french king, which enabled her to reward the remarkable fidelity of her old servant. the kennedies.--mr. pennant, in his tour in scotland, relates the following circumstance, which shows that a sense of honour may prevail in those who have little regard to moral obligation:--after the battle of culloden, in the year , a reward of thirty thousand pounds was offered to any one who should discover or deliver up the young pretender. he had taken refuge with the kennedies, two common thieves, who protected him with the greatest fidelity, robbed for his support, and often went in disguise to inverness to purchase provisions for him. a considerable time afterwards one of these men, who had resisted the temptation of thirty thousand pounds from a regard to his honour, was hanged for stealing a cow of the value of thirty shillings. a young woman, named la blonde, was in the service of m. migeon, a furrier, in the rue st. honoré, in paris; this tradesman, though embarrassed in his affairs, was not deserted by his faithful domestic, who remained at his house without receiving any salary. migeon, some years afterwards died, leaving a wife and two young children without the means of support. the cares of la blonde were now transferred to the assistance of the distressed family of her deceased master, for whose support she expended fifteen hundred francs, the fruit of her labour, as well as the produce of rent from her small patrimony. from time to time this worthy servant was offered other situations, but to all such offers she replied by the inquiry, "who will take care of this family if i desert them?" at length the widow migeon, overcome with grief, became seriously ill. la blonde passed her days in comforting her dying mistress, and at night went to take care of the sick, in order to have the means of relieving her wants. the widow migeon died on the th of april, . some persons then proposed to la blonde to send the two little orphans to the poor house; but the generous girl, indignant at this proposition, replied, "that at ruel, her native country, her two hundred livres of rent would suffice for their subsistence and her own." a faithful depositary.--under the ministry of neckar in france, the receiver of taxes at roye, in picardy, had the misfortune to have his premises burnt,--cattle, furniture, and every thing became the prey of the flames, except two thousand livres of the king's money, the produce of the taxes which he had collected. these the courageous man rescued from the flames, and the next day lodged them in the hands of the provincial director. when neckar was apprised of the fact, he laid it before the king, and afterwards wrote to the receiver with his own hand as follows: "his majesty having been informed of the circumstance of your loss, and being pleased with the conduct you have displayed, returns you the livres, which he desires you will keep as a testimony of his esteem." fontenelle. a reproof.--two youngsters once asked fontenelle whether it was more correct to say, _donnez-nous à boire_, (give us to drink), or _apportez-nous à boire_, (bring us drink). the academician replied, "that both were unappropriate in their mouths; and that the proper term for such fellows as they was _menez-nous à boire_, lead us to drink." fontenelle was once staying with his nephew, m. aube, and had the misfortune to let a spark fall upon his clothes, which set fire to the bed, and eventually to the room. m. aube was extremely angry with his uncle, and shewed him what precautions he ought to have taken to prevent such an accident. "my dear nephew," replied fontenelle, calmly, "when i set fire to your house again, depend upon it i will act differently." fontenelle, being praised for the clearness of his style on the deepest subjects, said, "if i have any merit, it is that i have always endeavoured to understand myself." the conversation turning one day, in the presence of fontenelle, on the marks of originality in the works of father castel, well known to the scientific world for his "vrai systeme de physique generale de newton;" some person observed, "but he is mad." "i know it," returned fontenelle, "and i am very sorry for it, for it is a great pity. but i like him better for being original and a little mad, than i should if he were in his senses without being original." fools. triboulet, the fool of francis the first, was threatened with death by a man in power, of whom he had been speaking disrespectfully; and he applied to the king for protection. "be satisfied," said the king: "if any man should put you to death, i will order him to be hanged a quarter of an hour after." "ah, sir!" replied triboulet, "i should be much obliged if your majesty would order him to be hanged a quarter of an hour before!" dr. gregory, professor of the practice of physic at edinburgh, was one of the first to enrol himself in the royal edinburgh volunteers, when that corps was raised. so anxious was he to make himself master of military tactics, that he not only paid the most punctual attendance on all the regimental field-days, but studied at home for several hours a day, under the serjeant-major of the regiment. on one of these occasions the serjeant, out of all temper at the awkwardness of his learned pupil, exclaimed in a rage, "why, sir, i would rather teach ten fools than one philosopher." james i. gave all manner of liberty and encouragement to the exercise of buffoonery, and took great delight in it himself. happening once to bear somewhat hard on one of his scotch courtiers, "by my saul," returns the peer, "he that made your majesty a king, spoiled the best fool in christendom." forgiveness. french curate.--during the french revolution, the inhabitants of a village in dauphiné had determined on sacrificing their lord to their revenge, and were only dissuaded from it by the eloquence of the curé, who thus addressed them:--"my friends," said he, "the day of vengeance is arrived; the individual who has so long tyrannized over you must now suffer his merited punishment. as the care of this flock has been entrusted to me, it behoves me to watch over their best interests, nor will i forsake their righteous cause. suffer me only to be your leader, and swear to me that in all circumstances you will follow my example." all the villagers swore they would. "and," continues he, "you will further solemnly promise to enter into any engagement which i may now make, and to remain faithful to this your oath." all the villagers exclaimed, "we do." "well then," said he, solemnly taking the oath, "i swear to forgive our lord." unexpected as this was, the villagers kept their word and forgave him. the duke of orleans, on being appointed regent of france, insisted on possessing the power of pardoning. "i have no objection," said he, "to have my hands tied from doing harm, but i will have them left free to do good." abon hannifah, chief of a turkish sect, once received a blow in the face from a ruffian, and rebuked him in these terms, not unworthy of christian imitation: "if i were vindictive, i should return you outrage for outrage; if i were an informer, i should accuse you before the caliph: but i prefer putting up a prayer to god, that in the day of judgment he will cause me to enter paradise with you." alphonsus, king of naples and sicily, so celebrated in history for his clemency, was once asked why he was so forgiving to all men, even to those most notoriously wicked? "because," answered he, "good men are won by justice; the bad by clemency." when some of his ministers complained to him on another occasion of his lenity, which they were pleased to say was more than became a prince: "what, then," exclaimed he, "would you have lions and tigers to reign over you? it is for wild beasts to scourge; but for man to forgive." van dyke.--"when any one commits an offence against me," this painter used to say, "i try to raise my soul so high that the offence shall not be able to reach up to it." mariè antoinette.--on the elevation of this princess to the throne after the death of louis xv., an officer of the body-guard, who had given her offence on some former occasion, expressed his intention of resigning his commission; but the queen forbade him. "remain," said she, "forget the past as i forgive it. far be it from the queen of france to revenge the injuries of the dauphiness." friends. friends and hares.--the duke of longueville's reply, when it was observed to him that the gentlemen bordering on his estates were continually hunting upon them, and that he ought not to suffer it, is worthy of imitation: "i had much rather," answered the duke, "have friends than hares." henri iv. once reproached m. d'aubigné for continuing his friendship for m. de la trémouille, who had recently been banished from court. d'aubigné replied--"as m. de la trémouille is so unfortunate as to have lost the confidence of his master, he may well be allowed to retain that of his friend." gratitude. curran says, "when a boy, i was one morning playing at marbles in the village ball alley, with a light heart and lighter pocket. the gibe and the jest went gaily round, when suddenly there appeared amongst us a stranger, of a very remarkable and very cheerful aspect; his intrusion was not the least restraint upon our merry little assemblage, on the contrary, he seemed pleased, and even delighted; he was a benevolent creature, and the days of infancy (after all the happiest we shall ever see), perhaps rose upon his memory. god bless him! i see his fine form, at the distance of half a century, just as he stood before me in the little ball-alley in the days of my childhood. his name was dr. boyse. he took a particular fancy to me. i was winning, and was full of waggery, thinking every thing that was eccentric, and by no means a miser of my eccentricities; every one was welcome to a share of them, and i had plenty to spare after having freighted the company. some sweetmeats easily bribed me home with him. i learned from poor boyse my alphabet and my grammar, and the rudiments of the classics. he taught me all he could, and then sent me to the school at middleton. in short, he made a man of me. i recollect it was about five and thirty years afterwards, when i had risen to some eminence at the bar, and when i had a seat in parliament, on my return one day from court, i found an old gentleman seated alone in my drawing-room, his feet familiarly placed, on each side of the italian marble chimney-piece, and his whole air bespeaking the consciousness of one quite at home. he turned round--_it was my friend of the ball-alley_. i rushed instinctively into his arms, and burst into tears. words cannot describe the scene which followed:--"you are right, sir; you are right. the chimney-piece is your's--the pictures are your's--the house is your's. you gave me all i have--my friend--my father--my benefactor!" he dined with me; and in the evening i caught the tear glistening in his fine blue eye, when he saw poor little jack, the creature of his bounty, rising in the house of commons, to reply to a _right_ honourable. poor boyse! he is now gone; and no suitor had a larger deposit of practical benevolence in the court above. this is his wine--let us drink to his memory." ghosts. bishop fowler, of gloucester, and justice powell, had frequent altercations on the subject of ghosts. the bishop was a zealous defender of the reality of them; the justice was somewhat sceptical. the bishop one day met his friend, and the justice told him that since their last conference on the subject, he had had ocular demonstration, which had convinced him of the existence of ghosts. "i rejoice at your conversion," replied the bishop; "give me the circumstance which produced it, with all the particulars:-- ocular demonstration, you say?"--"yes, my lord; as i lay last night in my bed, about the twelfth hour, i was awakened by an extraordinary noise, and heard something coming up stairs!"--"go on, sir."--"fearfully alarmed at the noise, i drew my curtain--." "proceed."--"and saw a faint glimmering light enter my chamber."--"of a blue colour, was it not?" interrogated the doctor.--"of a pale blue! and this pale blue light was followed by a tall, meagre, stern figure, who appeared as an old man of seventy years of age, arrayed in a long light coloured rug gown, bound with a leathern girdle: his beard thick and grisly; his hair scant and straight; his face of a dark sable hue; upon his head a large fur cap; and in his hand a long staff. terror seized my whole frame. i trembled till the bed shook, and cold drops hung upon every limb. the figure advanced with a slow and solemn step."--"did you not speak to it? there was money hid, or murder committed, without doubt," said the bishop.--"my lord, i did speak to it; i adjured it by all that was holy to tell me whence, and for what purpose it thus appeared."--"and in heaven's name what was the reply?"--"before he deigned to speak, he lifted up his staff three several times, my lord, and smote the floor, even so loudly that verily the strokes caused the room to reverberate the thundering sound. he then waved the pale blue light which he bore in what is called a lantern, he waved it even to my eyes; and he told me, my lord, he told me that he was--yes, my lord--that he was--not more nor less than--_the watchman!_ who had come to give me notice that my street-door was open, and that unless i rose and shut it, i might be robbed before morning." the justice had no sooner concluded, than the bishop disappeared. heroism. a dieppe pilot.--in august, , a vessel from rochelle, laden with salt, and manned by eight hands, with two passengers on board, was discovered making for the pier of dieppe. the wind was at the time so high, and the sea so boisterous, that a coasting pilot made four fruitless attempts to get out, and conduct the vessel into port. boussard, a bold and intrepid pilot, perceiving that the helmsman was ignorant of his dangerous position, endeavoured to direct him by a speaking trumpet and signals; but the captain could neither see nor hear, on account of the darkness of the night, the roaring of the winds, and the tremendous swell of the sea. the vessel in the meantime grounded on a flinty bottom, at a short distance from the advanced jetty. boussard, touched with the cries of the unfortunate crew, resolved to spring to their assistance, in spite of every remonstrance, and the apparent impossibility of success. having tied one end of a rope round his waist, and fastened the other to the jetty, he plunged headlong into the raging deep. when he had got very near the ship, a wave carried him off, and dashed him on shore. several times was he thus repulsed, rolled upon flinty stones, and covered with the wreck of the vessel, which the fury of the waves was tearing rapidly to pieces. he did not however give up his attempt. a wave now threw him under the vessel, and he was given up for lost, but he quickly emerged, holding in his arms a sailor, who had been washed overboard. he brought him on shore motionless and just expiring. in short, after an infinity of efforts and struggles, he reached the wreck, and threw the rope on board. all who had strength enough to avail themselves of this assistance, were successively dragged to land. boussard, who imagined he had now saved all the crew, worn down by fatigue, and smarting from his wounds and bruises, walked with great difficulty to the light-house, where he fainted through exhaustion. assistance being procured, he quickly recovered. on hearing that cries still issued from the wreck, he once more collected the little strength he had left, rushed from the arms of his friends, plunged again into the sea, and had the good fortune to save the life of one of the passengers, who was lashed to the wreck, and who had been unable before to profit by the means of escape. mons. de crosne, the intendant of rouen, having stated these circumstances to m. neckar, then director-general of the finances, he immediately addressed the following letter to boussard, in his own hand-writing:-- "brave man, i was not apprized by the intendant till the day before yesterday, of the gallant deed achieved by you on the st of august. yesterday i reported it to his majesty, who was pleased to enjoin me to communicate to you his satisfaction, and to acquaint you, that he presents you with one thousand livres, by way of present, and an annual pension of three hundred livres. continue to succour others when you have it in your power; and pray for your king, who loves and recompenses the brave." italian peasant.--a great inundation having taken place in the north of italy, owing to an excessive fall of snow in the alps, followed by a speedy thaw, the river adige carried off a bridge near verona, all except the middle part, on which was the house of the toll-gatherer, who thus, with his whole family, remained imprisoned by the waves, and in momentary danger of destruction. they were discovered from the bank, stretching forth their hands, screaming, and imploring succour, while fragments of the only remaining arch were continually dropping into the water. in this extreme danger, a nobleman who was present, a count of pulverino, held out a purse of a hundred sequins, as a reward to any adventurer who would take a boat and deliver this unhappy family. but the danger of being borne down by the rapidity of the current, or of being dashed against a fragment of the bridge, was so great, that no one in the vast number of spectators had courage enough to attempt the exploit. a peasant passing along enquired what was going on, and was informed of the circumstances. immediately jumping into a boat, he, by strength of oars, gained the middle of the river, brought his boat under the pile, and the whole family safely descended by means of a rope. by a still more strenuous effort, and great strength of arm, he brought the boat and family to shore. "brave fellow!" exclaimed the count, handing the purse to him, "here is your recompense." "i shall never expose my life for money," answered the peasant; "my labour is a sufficient livelihood for myself, my wife, and children. give the purse to this poor family, who have lost their all." this incident has been admirably worked up in a german ballad by bürger (see the "song of the brave man," in "popular ballads.") countess de st. belmont.--when m. de st. belmont, who defended a feeble fortress against the arms of louis xiv., was taken prisoner, his wife, the comtesse de st. belmont, who was of a most heroic disposition, still remained upon the estates to take care of them. an officer of cavalry having taken up his quarters there without invitation, madame de st. belmont sent him a very civil letter of complaint on his ill behaviour, which he treated with contempt. piqued at this, she resolved he should give her satisfaction, and sent him a challenge, which she signed "le chevalier de st. belmont." the officer accepted it, and repaired to the place appointed. madame de st. belmont met him, dressed in men's clothes. they immediately drew their swords, and the heroine had the advantage of him; when, after disarming him, she said, with a gracious smile, "you thought, sir, i doubt not, that you were fighting with the chevalier de st. belmont; it is, however, madame de st. belmont, who returns you your sword, and begs you in future to pay more regard to the requests of ladies." she then left him, covered with shame and confusion. french peasant girl.--one evening early in , melanie robert, daughter of a small farmer, near corbeil, was proceeding to essonnes, when a man armed with a stout stick suddenly presented himself, and summoned her to give up her money. pretending to be greatly alarmed, she hastily searched her pocket, and collecting some small pieces of coin held them out to the man, who without distrust approached to take them. but the moment he took the money, melanie made a sudden snatch at the stick, and wresting it from his hand, dealt him so violent a blow with it across the head that she felled him to the ground. she then gave him a sound thrashing, and, in spite of his resistance, forced him to accompany her to the office of the commissary of police, by whom he was committed for trial. gallant daughter.--sir john cochrane, who was engaged in argyle's rebellion against james ii., was taken prisoner, after a desperate resistance, and condemned to be executed. his daughter, having notice that the death-warrant was expected from london, attired herself in men's clothes, and twice attacked and robbed the mails between belford and berwick. the execution was by this means delayed, till sir john cochrane's father, the earl of dundonald, succeeded in making interest with the king for his release. a gamekeeper's daughter.--the gazette of augsburg for january, , contained a singular account of the heroism and presence of mind displayed by the daughter of a gamekeeper, residing in a solitary house near welheim. her father and the rest of the family had gone to church, when there appeared at the door an old man apparently half dead with cold. feeling for his situation, she let him in, and went into the kitchen to prepare him some soup. through a window which communicated from the kitchen to the room in which she had left him, she perceived that he had dropped the beard he wore when he entered; that he now appeared a robust man; and that he was pacing the chamber with a poignard in his hand. finding no mode of escape, she armed herself with a chopper in one hand and the boiling soup in the other, and entering the room where he was, first threw the soup in his face, and then struck him a blow with the hatchet on his neck, which brought him to the ground senseless. at this moment a fresh knock at the door occasioned her to look out of an upper window, when she saw a strange hunter, who demanded admittance, and on her refusal, threatened to break open the door. she immediately got her father's gun, and as he was proceeding to put his threat in execution, she shot him through the right shoulder, on which he made his way back to the forest. half an hour after a third person came, and asked after an old man who must have passed that way. she said she knew nothing of him; and after useless endeavours to make her open the door, he also proceeded to break it in, when she shot him dead on the spot. the excitement of her courage being now at an end, her spirits began to sink, and she fired shots, and screamed from the windows, until some gendarmes were attracted to the house; but nothing would induce her to open the door until the return of her father from church. reward of heroism.--m. labat, a merchant of bayonne, ill in health, had retired in the beginning of the winter, , to a country house on the banks of the adour. one morning, when promenading in his robe-de-chambre, on a terrace elevated a little above the river, he saw a traveller thrown by a furious horse, from the opposite bank, into the midst of the torrent. m. labat was a good swimmer: he did not stop a moment to reflect on the danger of the attempt, but, ill as he was, threw off his robe-de-chambre, leaped into the flood, and caught the drowning stranger at the moment when, having lost all sensation, he must have otherwise inevitably perished. "oh, god!" exclaimed m. labat, clasping him in his arms, and recognizing with a transport of joy the individual he had rescued, "i have saved my son!" the douglas.--when king robert i. died he exacted a promise from sir james douglas to convey his heart to the holy land, where he had been on the point of going when death arrested him. the party had reached sluys, so far on their way to jerusalem, when alonzo, king of leon and castile, at that time engaged in war with the moorish governor of granada, osmyn, sent to demand the aid of douglas; and by his oath as a knight, which forbade him ever to turn a deaf ear to a call in aid of the church of christ, he was obliged to attend to the summons. he fought with his usual heroism, till the moslems believed he bore a charmed life when they saw him rush into the thickest of the fight and escape unwounded. but the christian ranks nevertheless began to give way; and to stem the flight the douglas threw the casket containing the king's heart into the _melée_, and rushed after it, exclaiming, "now pass onward as thou wert wont, and douglas will follow thee or die!" the day after the battle the body of the hero and the casket were found by his surviving companions; and the squire of douglas finding it was impossible to convey it to jerusalem, brought back the king's heart to scotland, and it was interred in melrose abbey. marshal de nevailles.--at the battle of senef, the prince of condé sent word to marshal de nevailles to be ready to engage the enemy. the messenger found him hearing mass, at which the prince being enraged, muttered something in abuse of over-pious persons. but the marquis having evinced the greatest heroism during the engagement, said after it to the prince, "your highness, i fancy, now sees that those who pray to god behave as well in battle as their neighbours." hospitality. breton peasants.--at the conclusion of the war in , three hundred british sailors, who had been prisoners, were assembled on the coast of britanny to embark for england. being severally billetted on the inhabitants for some days before they embarked, one of them requested permission to see the superintendant, monsieur kearnie, which being granted, the british tar thus addressed him: "an please your honour, i don't come to trouble you with any bother about ourselves: we are all as well treated as christians can be; but there is one thing that makes my food sit heavy on my stomach, and that of my two messmates." "what is it, my brave fellow?" replied the superintendent;--"the persons on whom you are quartered don't grudge it you?" "no, your honour;--if they did, that would not vex us." "what, then, do you complain of?" "only this, your honour--that the poor folk cheerfully lay their scanty allowance before us for our mess, and we have just found out that they have hardly touched a mouthful themselves, or their six babes, for the last two days; and this we take to be a greater hardship than any we found in prison." m. kearnie told them that from this hardship they should all be relieved. he instantly ordered the billets to be withdrawn, and rewarded all parties for their kindness, so compassionately exercised and interchanged. an archbishop.--henry wardlaw, archbishop of st. andrew's, at the beginning of the fifteenth century was a prelate of such unbounded liberality, that the masters of his household, apprehensive that his revenues might be exhausted by the expense of entertaining the great numbers who resorted to his palace, solicited him to make out a list of persons to whom the hospitality of his board might be confined. "well," said the archbishop to his secretary, "take a pen and begin. first put down fife and angus"--two large counties, containing several hundred thousands of people. his servants hearing this, retired abashed; "for," says the historian, "they said he would have no man refused that came to his house." rights of hospitality.--dr. johnson, in his tour through north wales, passed two days at the seat of colonel middleton, of gwynnagag. while he remained there, the gardener found a hare amidst some potatoe plants, and brought it to his master, then engaged in conversation with the doctor. an order was given to carry it to the cook. as soon as johnson heard this sentence, he begged to have the animal placed in his arms, which was no sooner done, than approaching the open window, he restored the hare to her liberty, shouting after her to accelerate her speed. "what have you done, doctor?" cried the colonel. "why you have robbed my table of a delicacy--perhaps deprived us of a dinner." "so much the better, sir," replied the humane champion of a condemned hare; "for if your table is to be supplied at the expense of the laws of hospitality, i envy not the appetite of him who eats it. this, sir, is not a hare taken in war, but one which had voluntarily placed itself under your protection; and savage indeed must be that man who does not make his hearth an asylum for the confiding stranger." mungo park.--while park was waiting on the banks of the niger for a passage, the king of the country was informed that a white man intended to visit him. on this intelligence, a messenger was instantly dispatched to tell the stranger that his majesty could not possibly admit him to his presence till he understood the cause of his arrival, and also to warn him not to cross the river without the royal permission. the message was accordingly delivered by one of the chief natives, who advised mr. park to seek a lodging in an adjacent village, and promised to give him some requisite instructions in the morning. mr. park immediately complied with this counsel; but on entering the village he had the mortification to find every door closed against him. he was, therefore, obliged to remain all the day without food, beneath the shade of a tree. about sunset, as he was turning his horse loose to graze, and expected to pass the night in this lonely situation, a woman returning from her employment in the fields stopped to gaze at him, and observing his dejected looks, enquired from what cause they proceeded? mr. p. endeavoured, as well as he could, to make known his destitute situation. the woman immediately took up his saddle and bridle, and desired him to follow her to her residence, where, after lighting a lamp, she presented him with some broiled fish, spread a mat for him to lie upon, and gave him permission to continue under her roof till morning. having performed this humane action, she summoned her female companions to their spinning, which occupied the chief part of the night, while their labour was beguiled by a variety of songs--one of which was observed by mr. park to be an extemporaneous effusion, created by his own adventure. the air was remarkably sweet and plaintive, and the words were literally the following:-- "the winds roared, and the rain fell. the poor white man, faint and weary, came and sat under our tree. he has no mother to bring him milk, no wife to grind him corn. _chorus._ let us pity the white man: no mother has he to bring him milk, no wife to grind his corn." humanity. m. neckar.--the six companies, or bodies corporate, of the city of paris, set on foot in the month of october, , a subscription for the relief of the sufferers by a dreadful hail-storm, which had ravaged a part of the country, and totally destroyed all the hopes of the husbandmen. to the honour of these companies, no less than , livres were collected in a short time, and placed in the hands of m. neckar, in order to be applied to the purpose for which they were subscribed. m. neckar, on receiving the money, directed it to be sent to the treasury. "to the treasury, my lord!" exclaimed the bearer. "yes, sir," replied m. neckar; " , livres will do well for the treasury, from which i drew yesterday , livres, to be distributed among the same husbandmen whom it is your object to relieve, feeling assured that the treasury could never suffer from an advance made on the credit of the humanity of frenchmen." siege of cajeta.--the city of cajeta having rebelled against alphonsus, was invested by that monarch with a powerful army. being sorely distressed for want of provisions, the citizens put forth all their old men, women, and children, and shut the gates upon them. the king's ministers advised his majesty not to permit them to pass, but to force them back into the city; by which means he would speedily become master of it. alphonsus, however, had too humane a disposition to hearken to counsel, the policy of which rested on driving a helpless multitude into the jaws of famine. he suffered them to pass unmolested; and when afterwards reproached with the delay which this produced in the siege, he feelingly said, "i had rather be the preserver of one innocent person, than be the master of a hundred cajetas." provost drummond.--about the middle of last century, george drummond was provost or chief magistrate of edinburgh, and renowned for his humane disposition. he was one day coming into the town by the suburb called the west port, when he saw a funeral procession leaving the door of a humble dwelling, and setting out for the churchyard. the only persons composing the funeral company were four poor-looking old men, seemingly common beggars, one at each end of a pole carrying the coffin, and none to relieve them; there was not a single attendant. the provost at once saw that it must be a beggar's funeral, and he went forward to the old men, saying to them, "since this poor creature now deceased has no friends to follow his remains to the grave, i will perform that melancholy office myself." he then took his place at the head of the coffin. they had not gone far, till they met two gentlemen who were acquainted with the provost, and they asked him what he was doing there. he told them that he was going to the interment of a poor friendless mendicant, as there were none else to do it; so they turned and accompanied him. others joined in the same manner, and at last there was a respectable company at the grave. "now," said the kind-hearted provost, "i will lay the old man's head in the grave," which he accordingly did, and afterwards saw the burial completed in a decent manner. when the solemnity was over, he asked if the deceased had left a wife or family, and learned that he had left a wife, an old woman, in a state of perfect destitution. "well, then, gentlemen," said the provost, addressing those around him, "we met in rather a singular manner, and we cannot part without doing something creditable for the benefit of the helpless widow; let each give a trifle, and i will take it upon me to see it administered to the best advantage." all immediately contributed some money, which made up a respectable sum, and was afterwards given in a fitting way to the poor woman; the provost also afterwards placed her in an industrious occupation, by which she was able to support herself without depending on public relief. sir philip sidney was a gallant soldier, a poet, and the most accomplished gentleman of his time. at the battle of zutphen, in the netherlands, after having two horses killed under him, he received a wound while in the act of mounting a third, and was carried bleeding, faint, and thirsty to the camp. a small quantity of water was brought to allay the thirst of sir philip; but as he was raising it to his lips, he observed that a poor wounded soldier, who was carried past at the moment, looked at the cup with wistful eyes. the generous sidney instantly withdrew it untasted from his mouth, and gave it to the soldier, saying, "thy necessity is yet greater than mine." he died of his wound, aged only thirty-three; but his kindness to the poor soldier has caused his name to be remembered ever since with admiration, and it will probably never be forgotten while humane and generous actions are appreciated among men. bishop of st. lisieux.--the massacre of st. bartholomew was not confined to paris; orders were sent to the most distant provinces to commence the work of destruction. when the governor of the province brought the order to hennuyer, bishop of lisieux, he opposed it with all his power, and caused a formal act of his opposition to be entered on the registers of the province. charles ix., when remorse had taken place of cruelty, was so far from disapproving of what this excellent prelate had done, that he gave him the greatest praise for his humanity; and protestants flocked in numbers to adjure their religion at the feet of this good and kind shepherd, whose gentleness affected them more than either the commands of the sovereign, or the violence of the soldiery. on the same occasion, viscount d'orthe had the courage to write from bayonne to charles ix., that he found many good soldiers in his garrison, but not one executioner; and begged him to command their lives in any service that was possible to men of honor. baron von stackelberg, in going from athens to thessalonica in an armed vessel, was taken by some albanian pirates, who immediately sent the captain of the vessel to the former place, demanding , piastres for the baron's ransom, and threatening that if it was not paid, they would tear his body to pieces. they obliged him, at the same time, to write to baron haller and another friend, to acquaint them with the demand. the time fixed by the pirates had elapsed, and baron stackelberg, who had become extremely ill, was expecting a cruel death, when the humane and generous haller, who had borrowed , turkish piastres, at per cent., appeared. the pirates refused to take less than the sum demanded. haller offered himself as a hostage instead of his friend, if they would prolong his life, and suffer him to recover from his sickness. this noble deed contributed to convince the pirates, that no larger sum could be obtained; they accepted it, and haller returned to athens with the friend whom his humanity had preserved. the princess charlotte.--during the residence of her royal highness at bognor, where she had gone for the recovery of her health, an officer of long standing in the army was arrested for a small sum, and being at a distance from his friends, and unable to procure bail, he was on the point of being torn from his family to be conveyed to arundel gaol. the circumstance came to the knowledge of the princess, who, in the momentary impulse of generous feeling, exclaimed, "i will be his bail!" then, suddenly recollecting herself, she inquired the amount of the debt; which being told her, "there," said she, handing a purse with more than the sum, "take this to him; it is hard that he who has exposed his life in the field of battle should ever experience the rigours of a prison."--during the last illness of an old female attendant, formerly nurse to the princess charlotte, she visited her every day, sat by her bedside, and with her own hand administered the medicine prescribed. when death had closed the eyes of this poor woman, instead of fleeing in haste from an object so appalling to the young and gay in general, the princess remained and gave utterance to the compassion she felt on viewing the remains in that state from which majesty itself cannot be exempt. a friend of the deceased, seeing her royal highness was much affected, said, "if your royal highness would condescend to touch her, perhaps you would not dream of her." "touch her," replied the amiable princess, "yes, poor thing! and kiss her, too; almost the only one i ever kissed, except my poor mother!" then bending her head over the coffin of her humble friend, she pressed her lips to the cold cheeks, while tears flowed from her eyes. m. de montesquieu being at marseilles, hired a boat with the intention of sailing for pleasure; the boat was rowed by two young men, with whom he entered into conversation, and learnt that they were not watermen by trade, but silversmiths, and that when they could be spared from their usual business, they employed themselves in that way to increase their earnings. on expressing his surprise at their conduct, and imputing it to an avaricious disposition; "oh! sir," said the young men, "if you knew our reasons, you would ascribe it to a better motive.--our father, anxious to assist his family, devoted the produce of a life of industry to the purchase of a vessel, for the purpose of trading to the coast of barbary, but was unfortunately taken by a pirate, carried to tripoli, and sold as a slave. in a letter we have received from him, he informs that he has luckily fallen into the hands of a master who treats him with great humanity; but the sum demanded for the ransom is so exorbitant, that it will be impossible for him ever to raise it. he adds, that we must therefore relinquish all hope of ever seeing him again. with the hopes of restoring to his family a beloved father, we are striving by every honest means in our power to collect the sum necessary for his ransom, and we are not ashamed to employ ourselves for such a purpose in the occupation of watermen." m. de montesquieu was struck with this account, and on his departure made them a handsome present. some months afterwards, the young men being at work in their shop, were greatly surprised at the sudden arrival of their father, who threw himself into their arms; exclaiming at the same time, that he feared they had taken some unjust method to raise the money for his ransom, for it was too great for them to have gained by their ordinary occupation. they professed their ignorance of the whole affair; and could only suspect they owed their father's release to that stranger to whose generosity they had before been so much obliged. such, indeed, was the case; but it was not till after montesquieu's death that the fact was known, when an account of the affair, with the sum remitted to tripoli for the old man's ransom, was found among his papers. fenelon.--the venerable archbishop of cambray, whose humanity was unbounded, was in the constant habit of visiting the cottages of the peasants, and administering consolation and relief in their distress. when they were driven from their habitations by the alarms of war, he received them into his house, and served them at his table. during the war, his house was always open to the sick and wounded, whom he lodged and provided with every thing necessary for their relief. besides his constant hospitalities to the military, he performed a most munificent act of patriotism and humanity after the disastrous winter of , by opening his granaries and distributing gratuitously corn to the value of , livres. and when his palace at cambray, and all his books and furniture, were destroyed by fire, he bore it with the utmost firmness, saying, "it is better all these should be burned, than the cottage of one poor family." lord cochrane.--when this gallant officer was entrusted with the perilous duty of conducting the fire-ships in the attack upon the french fleet in basque roads, he had lighted the fusee which was to explode one of these terrific engines of destruction, and had rowed off to some distance, when it was discovered that a dog had been left on board. lord c. instantly ordered the men to row back, assuring them that there was yet time enough, _if they pulled hard_, to save the poor animal. they got back to the fire-ship just a few minutes before it would have been too late to save the animal; and when the dreadful explosion took place, were still so near the floating volcano, that the fragments fell in heaps around them. sir samuel hood.--this gallant officer, when commanding the "juno" on the jamaica station, in , exhibited a noble instance of intrepid humanity. the ship was lying in st. anne's harbour, when a raft, with three persons upon it, was discovered at a great distance. the weather was exceedingly stormy; and the waves broke with such violence, as to leave little hope that the unfortunate men upon it could long survive. captain hood instantly ordered out one of his ship's boats to endeavour to rescue them; but the sea ran so high, that the crew declared the attempt impracticable, and refused to expose themselves to what they considered certain destruction. the captain immediately leaped into the boat, declaring that he would never order them on any service on which he would not himself venture. the effect was such as might be expected: there is no danger that a british sailor will not share with his captain; all now were eager to offer themselves. the boat pushed off, and reached the raft with much difficulty, and saved the exhausted men, who still clung to it. the house of assembly of jamaica, to testify their sense of this undaunted exertion in the cause of humanity, presented captain hood with a sword of the value of two hundred guineas. an uncarpeted house.--m. eveillan, formerly archdeacon of angers, was noted for his humane and charitable disposition towards the poor. on one occasion, when a friend expressed surprise that none of his rooms were carpeted, he replied, "when i enter my house in the winter, i do not hear any complaints of cold from the furniture of my rooms; but the poor who stand shivering at my doors tell me but too plainly that they have need of clothing." imagination and fear. fear of death.--it is recorded of a person who had been sentenced to be bled to death, that, instead of the punishment being actually inflicted, he was made to believe that it was so, merely by causing water, when his eyes were blinded, to trickle down his arm. this mimicry, however, of an operation, stopped as completely the movements of the animated machine as if an entire exhaustion had been effected of the vivifying mud. the man lost his life, although not his blood, by this imaginary venesection. we read of another unfortunate being who had been condemned to lose his head, but the moment after it had been laid upon the block, a reprieve arrived; the victim was, however, already sacrificed. the living principle had been extinguished by the fear of the axe, as effectually as it would have been by its fall. the editor of the _philosophical magazine_ relates a remarkable instance which came within his own knowledge many years ago in scotland. some silver spoons having been mislaid, were supposed to have been stolen; and an expression fell from one of the family, which was either intended, or was so understood by a young lady who acted as governess to the female children, that she had taken them. when the young lady rose next morning, her hair, which before was dark, was found to have changed to a pure white during the night. the spoons were afterwards found where the mistress of the family had herself deposited them. mons. boutibonne, a man of literary attainments, a native of paris, served in napoleon's army, and was present at a number of engagements during the early part of the present century. at the battle of wagram, which resulted in a treaty of peace with austria, in november , mons. boutibonne was actively engaged during the whole of the fray, which lasted, if i rightly remember, from soon after mid-day until dark. the ranks around him had been terribly thinned by the enemy's shot, so that his position at sunset was nearly isolated; and while in the act of reloading his musket, he was shot down by a cannon-ball. the impression produced upon his mind was, that the ball had passed from left to right, through his legs below the knees, separating them from his thighs, as he suddenly sank down, shortened, as he believed, to the extent of about a foot in measurement, the trunk of the body falling backwards on the ground, and the senses being completely paralysed by the shock. in this posture he lay motionless during the remainder of the night, not daring to move a muscle for fear of fatal consequences. he experienced no severe suffering; but this immunity from pain he attributed to the stunning effect produced upon the brain and nervous system. "my wounded companions," said he, "lay groaning in agony on every side, but i uttered not a word, nor ventured to move, lest the torn vessels should be roused into action, and produce fatal hæmorrhage, for i had been made acquainted with the fact that the blood-vessels, wounded in this way, did not usually bleed profusely until reaction took place. at early dawn, on the following morning, i was aroused from a troubled slumber by one of the medical staff, who came round to succour the wounded. 'what's the matter with you my good fellow?' said he. 'ah! touch me softly, i beseech you,' i replied, 'a cannon-ball has carried off my legs.' he proceeded at once to examine my legs and thighs, and giving me a good shake, with a cry of joy he exclaimed 'get up at once, there is nothing the matter with you.' whereupon i sprung up in utter astonishment, and stood firmly on the legs which i believed had been lost to me for ever. i felt more thankful than i had ever done in the whole course of my life before. i had not a wound about me. i had indeed been shot down by an immense cannon-ball, but instead of passing through my legs, as i firmly believed it to have done, the ball had passed under my feet, and had ploughed away a cavity in the earth beneath, at least a foot in depth, into which my feet suddenly sank, giving me the idea that i had been thus shattered by the separation of my legs. such is the power of imagination." johnson. johnson and millar.--when dr. johnson had completed his dictionary, which had quite exhausted the patience of mr. andrew millar, his bookseller, the latter acknowledged the receipt of the last sheet in the following note:--"andrew millar sends his compliments to mr. samuel johnson, with the money for the last sheet of the copy of the dictionary, and thanks god he has done with him." to this rude note the doctor returned the following smart answer:--"samuel johnson returns his compliments to mr. andrew millar, and is very glad to find (as he does by his note) that andrew millar has the grace to thank god for anything." johnson and wilkes.--in his english grammar, prefixed to his dictionary, johnson had written--"_he_ seldom, perhaps never, begins any but the first syllable." wilkes published some remarks upon this dictum, commencing: "the author of this observation must be a man of quick appre-_he_nsion, and of a most compre-_he_nsive genius." johnson and lord elibank.--"lord elibank," says sir w. scott, "made a happy retort on dr. johnson's definition of oats, as the food of horses in england, and men in scotland." "yes," said he, "and where else will you see _such horses_, and _such men?_" kings. james the first.--soon after that would-be _solomon_ came to the throne of england, he went one day to hear the causes in westminster hall, in order to show his learning and wisdom, of which he had no mean opinion. accordingly, being seated on the bench, a cause came on, which the counsel, learned in the law, set forth to such advantage on the part of the plaintiff, that the royal judge thought he saw the justice of it so clearly, that he frequently cried out, "the gude man is i' the richt! the gude man is i' the richt! he mun hae it! he mun hae it!" and when the counsel had concluded, he took it as a high affront that the judges of the court should presume to remonstrate to him, that it was the rule to hear the other side before they gave judgment. curiosity to know what could be said in so clear a case, rather than any respect to their rules, made him defer his decision; but the defendant's counsel had scarcely begun to open his cause, when his majesty appeared greatly discomposed, and was so puzzled as they proceeded, that he had no patience to hear them out, but starting up in a passion, cried, "i'll hear nae mair! i'll hear nae mair! ye are a' knaves aleeke! ye gi' each other the lee (lie), and neither's i' the richt!" frederick the great.--frederick the great rang the bell one day, and nobody answered. he opened the door, and found the page sleeping on a sofa. about to wake him, he perceived the end of a billet out of his pocket, and had the curiosity to know the contents: frederick carefully drew it out, and read it; it was a letter from the mother of the young man, who thanked him for having sent her part of his wages, to assist her in her distress; and it concluded by beseeching god to bless him for his filial goodness. the king returned softly to his room, took a roller of ducats, and slid them, with the letter, into the page's pocket; and then returning to his apartment, rung so violently, that the page came running breathlessly to know what had happened. "you have slept well," said the king. the page made an apology, and, in his embarrassment, he happened to put his hand into his pocket, and felt with astonishment the roller. he drew it out, turned pale, and looking at the king, burst into tears, without being able to speak a word. "what is the matter?" said the king, "what ails you?" "ah, sire," answered the youth, throwing himself at his feet, "somebody would wish to ruin me; i know not how i came by this money in my pocket." "my friend," said frederick, "god often sends us good in our sleep. send this to your mother. salute her in my name, and assure her i shall take care of her and of you." frederick, conqueror as he was, sustained a severe defeat at coslin in the war of . some time after, at a review, he jocosely asked a soldier, who had got a deep cut in his cheek, "friend, at what alehouse did you get that scratch?" "i got it," said the soldier, "at coslin, _where your majesty paid the reckoning_." frederick was very fond of disputation; but as he generally terminated the discussion by collaring his antagonist and kicking his shins, few of his guests were disposed to enter the arena against him. one day, when he was particularly disposed for an argument, he asked one of his suite why he did not venture to give his opinion on a particular question. "it is impossible, your majesty," was the reply, "to express an opinion before a sovereign who has such very strong convictions, and who _wears such very thick boots_." desertion.--frederick, in surveying one evening some of the advanced posts of his camp, discovered a soldier endeavouring to pass the sentinel. his majesty stopped him, and insisted on knowing where he was going. "to tell you the truth," answered the soldier, "your majesty has been so worsted in all your attempts, that i was going to _desert_." "were you?" answered the monarch. "remain here but one week longer, and if fortune does not mend in that time, i'll desert with you too." louis xiv., playing at backgammon, had a doubtful throw; a dispute arose, and all the courtiers remained silent. the count de grammont came in at that instant. "decide the matter," said the king to him. "sire," said the count, "your majesty is in the wrong."--"how so," replied the king; "can you decide without knowing the question?"--"yes," said the count, "because, had the matter been doubtful, all these gentlemen present would have given it for your majesty." louis was told that lord stair was the best bred man in europe. "i shall soon put that to the test," said the king, and asking lord stair to take an airing with him, as soon as the door of the coach was opened he bade him pass and go in, the other bowed and obeyed. the king said, "the world was right in the character it gave of lord stair--another person would have troubled me with ceremony." while the eddystone light-house was erecting, a french privateer took the men upon the rock, together with their tools, and carried them to france; and the captain was in expectation of a reward for the achievement. while the captives lay in prison, the transaction reached the ears of louis xiv., when he immediately ordered them to be released, and the captors put in their places, declaring, that "though he was at war with england, he was not so with all mankind." he directed the men to be sent back to their work, with presents--observing, "that the eddystone light-house was so situated as to be of equal service to all nations having occasion to navigate the channel between england and france." charles ii. was reputed a great connoisseur in naval architecture. being once at chatham, to view a ship just finished on the stocks, he asked the famous killigrew, "if he did not think he should make an excellent shipwright?" he replied, "that he always thought his majesty would have done better at any trade than his own." no favourable compliment, but as true a one, perhaps, as ever was paid. louis xii.--josquin, a celebrated composer, was appointed master of the chapel to louis xii. of france, who promised him a benefice, but contrary to his usual custom, forgot him. josquin, after suffering great inconvenience from the shortness of his majesty's memory, ventured, by a singular expedient, publicly to remind him of his promise, without giving offence. being commanded to compose a motet for the chapel royal, he chose the verse of the psalm, "oh, think of thy servant as concerning thy word," &c., which he set in so supplicating and exquisite a manner, that it was universally admired, particularly by the king, who was not only charmed with the music, but felt the force of the words so effectually, that he soon after granted his petition, by conferring on him the promised appointment. george the second, when returning from his german dominions, on the way between the brill and helvoetsluys, was obliged to stay at an obscure public house on the road, while some of his servants went forward to obtain another carriage, that in which he had travelled having broken down. the king ordered refreshment, but all he could get was a pot of coffee for himself and lord delawar, and two bottles of gin made into punch for his footmen; however, when the bill was called for, the conscientious dutchman, knowing his customer, presented it as follows: "to refreshments for his sacred majesty, king george the second, and his household, £ ." lord delawar was so provoked at this imposition, that the king overheard his altercation with the landlord, and demanded the cause of it. his lordship immediately told him; when his majesty good humouredly replied, "my lord, the fellow is a great knave, but pay him. kings seldom pass this way." a similar anecdote is related of another monarch, who, passing through a town in holland, was charged thirty dollars for two eggs. on this, he said, that "eggs were surely scarce in that town." "no, your majesty," replied the landlord, "but kings are." charles v. of france.--the last words of this patriotic monarch are memorable for the noble moral for kings which they contain. "i have aimed at justice," said he to those around him; "but what king can be certain that he has always followed it? perhaps i have done much evil of which i am ignorant. frenchmen! who now hear me, i address myself in the presence of the supreme being to you. _i find that kings are happy but in this--that they have the power of doing good_." george iii. on punctuality.--the celebrated mathematical instrument maker, mr. ramsden, was frequently deficient in punctuality, and would delay for months, nay, for years, the delivery of instruments bespoken from him. his majesty, who had more than once experienced this dilatory disposition, once ordered an instrument, which he made ramsden positively promise to deliver on a certain day. the day, however, came, but not the instrument. at length ramsden sent word to the king that it was finished; on which a message was sent him, desiring that he would bring it himself to the palace. he, however, answered, that he would not come, unless his majesty would promise not to be angry with him. "well, well," said the king, "let him come: as he confesses his fault, it would be hard to punish him for it." on this assurance he went to the palace, where he was graciously received; the king, after expressing his entire satisfaction with the instrument, only adding, with a good-natured smile, "you have been uncommonly punctual this time, mr. ramsden, having brought the instrument on the very day of the month you promised it; you have only made a small mistake in the date of the year." it was, in fact, exactly a year after the stipulated time. doing homage.--mr. carbonel, the wine merchant who served george iii., was a great favourite with the king, and used to be admitted to the royal hunts. returning from the chase one day, his majesty entered affably into conversation with him, and rode with him side by side a considerable way. lord walsingham was in attendance; and watching an opportunity, took mr. carbonel aside, and whispered something to him. "what's that, what's that walsingham has been saying to you?" inquired the good-humoured monarch. "i find, sire, i have been unintentionally guilty of disrespect; my lord informed me, that, i ought to have taken off my hat whenever i addressed your majesty; but your majesty will please to observe, that whenever i hunt, my hat is fastened to my wig, and my wig is fastened to my head, and i am on the back of a very high-spirited horse; so that if any thing _goes off_, we _all go off together!_" the king accepted, and laughed heartily at, the whimsical apology. the horse dealer.--the king having purchased a horse, the dealer put into his hands a large sheet of paper, completely written over. "what's this?" said his majesty. "the pedigree of the horse, sire, which you have just bought," was the answer. "take it back, take it back," said the king, laughing; "it will do very well for the next horse you sell." the following affords a pleasing trait in the character of george the third, as well as an instance of that feeling which ought to subsist between masters of all ranks and circumstances and their domestics:-- _inscription in the cloisters of st. george's chapel, windsor._ king george iii. caused to be interred near this place the body of mary gaskoin, servant to the late princess amelia; and this tablet to be erected in testimony of his grateful sense of the faithful services and attachment of an amiable young woman to his beloved daughter, whom she survived only three months. she died the th february, , aged years. a very bold caricature was one day shown to his majesty, in which warren hastings was represented wheeling the king and the lord chancellor in a wheelbarrow for sale, and crying, "what a man buys, he may sell." the inference intended was, that his majesty and lord thurlow had used improper influence in favour of hastings. the king smiled at the caricature, and observed, "well, this is something new; i have been in all sorts of carriages, but was never put into a wheel-barrow before." laws and lawyers. a bold trick.--the following anecdote serves to exemplify how necessary it is upon any important occasion to scrutinise the accuracy of a statement before it is taken upon trust. a fellow was tried at the old bailey for highway robbery, and the prosecutor swore positively that he had seen his face distinctly, for it was a bright moonlight night. the counsel for the prisoner cross-questioned the man so as to make him repeat that assertion, and insist upon it. he then affirmed that this was a most important circumstance, and a most fortunate one for the prisoner at the bar: because the night on which the alleged robbery was said to have been committed was one in which there had been no moon: it was then during the dark quarter! in proof of this he handed an almanack to the bench,--and the prisoner was acquitted accordingly. the prosecutor, however, had stated every thing truly; and it was known afterwards that the almanack with which the counsel came provided, had actually been prepared and printed for the occasion! horse trials.--in the art of cross-examining a witness, curran was pre-eminent. a clever repartee is recorded of him in a horse cause. he had asked the jockey's servant his master's age, and the man had retorted, with ready gibe, "i never put my hand into his mouth to try!" the laugh was against the lawyer till he made the bitter reply,--"you did perfectly right, friend; for your master is said to be a great bite." erskine displayed similar readiness in a case of breach of warranty. the horse taken on trial had become dead lame, but the witness to prove it said he had a cataract in his eye. "a singular proof of lameness," suggested the court. "it is cause and effect," remarked erskine; "for what is a cataract but a fall?" erskine.--on mr. erskine's receiving his appointment to succeed mr. dundas, as justiciary in scotland, he exclaimed that he must go and order his silk robe. "never mind," said mr. dundas, "for the short time you will want it you had better borrow mine!"--"no!" replied erskine, "how short a time soever i may need it, heaven forbid that i commence my career by adopting the _abandoned habits_ of my predecessor!" erskine is said to have once forgotten for which party, in a particular cause, he had been retained; and, to the amazement of the agent who had retained him, and the horror of the poor client behind, he made a most eloquent speech in direct opposition to the interests he had been hired to defend. such was the zeal of his eloquence, that no whispered remonstrance from the rear, no tugging at his elbow could stop him. but just as he was about to sit down, the trembling attorney put a slip of paper into his hands. "you have pleaded for the wrong party!" whereupon, with an air of infinite composure, he resumed the thread of his oration, saying, "such, my lord, is the statement you will probably hear from my brother, on the opposite side of this cause. i shall now beg leave, in a very few words, to show your lordship how utterly untenable are the principles, and how distorted are the facts, upon which this very specious statement has proceeded." he then went once more over the same ground, and did not take his seat till he had most energetically refuted himself, and destroyed the effect of his former pleading. he gained the cause. a similar circumstance happened in the rolls court, in . mr. a., an eminent counsel, received a brief in court a short time before the cause was called on, for the purpose of opposing the prayer of a petition. mr. a., conceiving himself to be the petitioner, spoke very ably in support of the petition, and was followed by a counsel on the same side. the master of the rolls then inquired who opposed the petition? mr. a. having by this time discovered his mistake, rose in much confusion, and said, that he felt really much ashamed for a blunder into which he had fallen, for that, instead of supporting the petition, it was his business to have opposed it. the master of the rolls, with great good humour, desired him to proceed now on the other side, observing, that he knew no counsel who could answer his arguments half so well as himself. fools.--a lawyer of strasburgh being in a dying state sent for a brother lawyer to make his will, by which he bequeathed nearly the whole of his estate to the hospital for idiots. the other expressed his surprise at this bequest. "why not bestow it upon them," said the dying man; "you know i got the most of my money by fools, and therefore to fools it ought to return." curran.--a farmer, attending a fair with a hundred pounds in his pocket, took the precaution of depositing it in the hands of the landlord of the public-house at which he stopped. having occasion for it shortly afterwards, he repaired to mine host for the amount, but the landlord, too deep for the countryman, wondered what hundred was meant, and was quite sure no such sum had ever been lodged in his hands. after many ineffectual appeals to the recollection, and finally to the honour of bardolph, the farmer applied to curran for advice. "have patience, my friend," said curran; "speak to the landlord civilly, and tell him you are convinced you must have left your money with some other person. take a friend with you, and lodge with him another hundred in the presence of your friend, and then come to me." we may imagine the vociferations of the honest rustic at such advice; however, moved by the rhetoric of the worthy counsel, he followed it, and returned to his legal friend. "and now, sir, i don't see as i'm to be better off for this, if i get my second hundred again--but how is that to be done?" "go and ask him for it when he is alone," said the counsel. "aye, sir; but asking won't do i'm afraid, and not without my witness, at any rate." "never mind, take my advice," said the counsel; "do as i bid you, and return to me." the farmer returned with the hundred, glad at any rate to find that safe again his possession. "now i suppose i must be content, though i don't see as i'm much better off." "well, then," said the counsel, "now take your friend with you, and ask the landlord for the hundred pounds your friend saw you leave with him." we need not add, that the wily landlord found that he had been taken off his guard, while our honest friend returned to thank his counsel exultingly, with both of his hundreds in his pocket. mr. curran was once engaged in a legal argument; behind him stood his colleague, a gentleman whose person was remarkably tall and slender, and who had originally intended to take orders. the judge observing that the case under discussion involved a question of ecclesiastical law; "then," said curran, "i can refer your lordship to a _high_ authority behind me, who was once intended for the church, though in my opinion he was fitter for the steeple." there is a celebrated reply of mr. curran to a remark of lord clare, who curtly exclaimed at one of his legal positions, "o! if that be law, mr. curran, i may burn my law books!" "better _read_ them, my lord," was the sarcastic and appropriate rejoinder. a good example.--chamillart, comptroller-general of the finances in the reign of louis xiv., had been a celebrated pleader. he once lost a cause in which he was concerned, through his excessive fondness for billiards. his client called on him the day after in extreme affliction, and told him that, if he had made use of a document which had been put into his hands, but which he had neglected to examine, a verdict must have been given in his favour. chamillart read it, and found it of decisive importance to his cause. "you sued the defendant," said he, "for , livres. you have failed by my inadvertence. it is my duty to do you justice. call on me in two days." in the meantime chamillart procured the money, and paid it to his client, on no other condition than that he should keep the transaction secret. legal point.--a few years ago it happened that a cargo of ice was imported into this country from norway. not having such an article in the custom house schedules, application was made to the treasury and to the board of trade; and, after some little delay, it was decided that the ice should be entered as "_dry_ goods;" but the whole cargo had melted before the doubt was cleared up! lord brougham tells the following story. it is a curious instance of the elucidation of facts in court.--during the assizes, in a case of assault and battery, where a stone had been thrown by the defendant, the following clear and conclusive evidence was drawn out of a yorkshireman.--"did you see the defendant throw the stone?" "i saw a stone, and i'ze pretty sure the defendant throwed it." "was it a large stone?" "i should say it wur a largeish stone." "what was its size?" "i should say a sizeable stone." "can't you answer definitely how big it was?" "i should say it wur a stone of some bigness." "can't you give the jury some idea of the stone?" "why, as near as i recollect, it wur something of a stone." "can't you compare it to some other object?" "why, if i wur to compare it, so as to give some notion of the stone, i should say it wur as large as a lump of chalk!" questioning.--sir john fielding gave a curious instance in the case of an irish fellow who was brought before him when sitting as a magistrate at bow-street. he was desired to give some account of himself, and where he came from. wishing to pass for an englishman, he said he came from chester. this he pronounced with a very rich brogue, which caught the ears of sir john. "why, were you ever in chester?" says he. "to be sure i was," said pat, "_wasn't i born there?_" "how dare you," said sir john fielding, "with that brogue, which shows that you are an irishman, pretend to have been born in chester?" "i didn't say i was born there, sure; i only asked your honour whether i was or not." thelwall, when on his trial at the old bailey for high treason, during the evidence for the prosecution, wrote the following note, and sent it to his counsel, mr. erskine: "i am determined to plead my cause myself." mr. erskine wrote under it: "if you do, you'll be hang'd:" to which thelwall immediately returned this reply: "i'll be hang'd, then, if i do." peter the great, being at westminster hall in term time, and seeing multitudes of people swarming about the courts of law, is reported to have asked some about him, what all those busy people were, and what they were about? and being answered, "they are lawyers." "lawyers!" returned he, with great vivacity, "why i have but four in my whole kingdom, and i design to hang two of them as soon as i get home." a sheepish lamb.--counsellor lamb (an old man, at the time the late lord erskine was in the height of his reputation) was a man of timid manners and nervous disposition, and usually prefaced his pleadings with an apology to that effect; and on one occasion, when opposed to erskine, he happened to remark that "he felt himself growing more and more timid as he grew older." "no wonder," replied the witty but relentless barrister, "every one knows the older a _lamb_ grows the more _sheepish_ he becomes." a learned serjeant, since a judge, being once asked what he would do if a man owed him £ , and refused to pay him. "rather than bring an action, with its costs and uncertainty," said he, "i would send him a receipt in full of all demands." "aye," said he, recollecting himself, "and i would moreover send him five pounds to cover possible costs." sir william jones and thomas day.--one day, upon removing some books at the chambers of the former, a large spider dropped upon the floor, upon which sir william, with some warmth, said, "kill that spider, day; kill that spider!" "no," said mr. day, with coolness, "i will not kill that spider, jones: i do not know that i have a right to kill that spider. suppose, when you are going in your coach to westminster hall, a superior being, who perhaps may have as much power over you as you have over this insect, should say to his companion, 'kill that lawyer, kill that lawyer!' how should you like that, jones? and i am sure, to most people, a lawyer is a more noxious animal than a spider." sir fletcher norton was noted for his want of courtesy. when pleading before lord mansfield, on some question of manorial right, he chanced unfortunately to say, "my lord, i can illustrate the point in an instant in my own person: i myself have two little manors." the judge immediately interposed, with one of his blandest smiles, "we all know that, sir fletcher." the stocks.--lord camden once presided at a trial in which a charge was brought against a magistrate for false imprisonment, and for putting the plaintiff in the stocks. the counsel for the magistrate, in his reply, said, the charges were trifling, particularly that of putting in the stocks, which everybody knew was no punishment at all. the chief justice rose, and leaning over the bench, said, in a half whisper, "brother, were you ever in the stocks?" "in the stocks, my lord! no, never." "then i have," said his lordship, "and i assure you, brother, it is no such trifle as you represent." his lordship's knowledge of the stocks arose from the following circumstance. when he was on a visit to lord dacre, his brother-in-law, at alveley in essex, he walked out one day with a gentleman remarkable for his absence of mind. when they had reached a hill, at some distance from the house, his lordship sat down on the parish stocks, which stood by the road side; and after some time, asked his companion to open them, as he wished to know what kind of punishment it was; this being done, the absent gentleman took a book from his pocket, and sauntered about, until he forgot both the judge and his situation, and returned to lord dacre's house. when the judge was tired of the experiment he had so rashly made, he found himself unable to open the stocks, and asked a countryman who passed by to assist him. "no, no, old gentleman," replied hodge, "you was not set there for nothing, i'll be bound!" lord c. protested his innocence, but in vain; the countryman walked on, and left his lordship to meditate for some time longer in his foolish situation, until some of lord dacre's servants, chancing to pass that way, released him. hanging judge.--counsellor grady, in a late trial in ireland, said, he recollected to have heard of a relentless judge; he was known by the name of the hanging judge, and was never seen to shed a tear but once, and that was during the representation of _the beggar's opera_, when macheath got a _reprieve!_ it was the same judge, we believe, between whom and mr. curran the following pass of wit once took place at table. "pray, mr. curran," said the judge, "is that hung beef beside you? if it is, i will try it." "if _you_ try it, my lord," replied mr. curran, "it is sure to be hung." keep to the point.--lord tenterden contracted such an inveterate habit of keeping himself and everybody else to the precise matter in hand, that once, during a circuit dinner, having asked a country magistrate if he would take venison, and receiving what he deemed an evasive reply, "thank you, my lord, i am going to take boiled chicken," his lordship sharply retorted, "that, sir, is no answer to my question; i ask you again if you will take venison, and i will trouble you to say yes or no, without further prevarication." longs and shorts.--there were two barristers at the irish bar who formed a singular contrast in their statures. ninian mahaffy, esq., was as much above the middle size as mr. collis was below it. when lord redesdale was lord chancellor of ireland, these two gentlemen chanced to be retained in the same cause, a short time after his lordship's elevation, and before he was personally acquainted with the irish bar. mr. collis was opening the motion, when the lord chancellor observed, "mr. collis, when a barrister addresses the court, he must stand." "i am standing on the bench, my lord," said collis. "i beg a thousand pardons," said his lordship, somewhat confused. "sit down, mr. mahaffy." "i am sitting, my lord," was the reply to the confounded chancellor. the scotch bar had once to boast in mr. erskine, of cardross, of a pleader quite as diminutive as mr. collis. he had usually a stool brought to him to stand upon when addressing the court, which gave occasion for a witty rival once to observe, that "that was one way of rising at the bar." lord kaimes used to relate a story of a man who claimed the honour of his acquaintance on rather singular grounds. his lordship, when one of the justiciary judges, returning from the north circuit to perth, happened one night to sleep at dunkeld. the next morning, walking towards the ferry, but apprehending he had missed his way, he asked a man whom he met to conduct him. the other answered, with much cordiality, "that i will do with all my heart, my lord. does not your lordship remember me? my name's john ----, i have had the _honour_ to be before your lordship for stealing sheep!" "oh, john! i remember you well; and how is your wife? she had the honour to be before me too, for receiving them, knowing them to be stolen." "at your lordship's service. we were very lucky; we got off for want of evidence; and i am still going on in the butcher trade." "then," replied his lordship, "we may have the _honour_ of meeting again." sergeant hill, who was much celebrated as a lawyer, and eminently qualified to find out a case in point on any disputed question, was somewhat remarkable for absence of mind, the result of that earnestness with which he devoted himself to his professional duties. on the very day when he was married, he had an intricate case in his mind, and forgot his engagement, until reminded of his waiting bride, and that the legal time of performing the ceremony had nearly elapsed. being once on circuit, and having occasion to refer to a law authority, he had recourse as usual to his bag; but, to the astonishment of the court, instead of a volume of viner's abridgment, he took out a specimen candlestick, the property of a birmingham traveller, whose bag the learned sergeant had brought into court by mistake. during the long vacation, the sergeant usually retired to his country seat at rowell in northamptonshire. it happened, during one autumn, that some of the neighbouring sportsmen, among whom was the present earl spencer, being in pursuit of a fox, reynard, who was hard pressed, took refuge in the court-yard of this venerable sage. at this moment the sergeant was reading a _case in point_, which decided that in a trespass of this kind the owners of the ground had a right to inflict the punishment of death. mr. hill accordingly gave orders for punishing the fox, as an original trespasser, which was done instantly. the hunters now arrived with the hounds in full cry, and the foremost horseman, who anticipated the glory of possessing the brush, was the first to behold his victim stretched lifeless on the ground, pinioned to the earth by plebeian pitchforks. the hunters were very anxious to discover the daring culprit who had presumed to deprive the field and the pack of their prey; when the venerable sergeant made his appearance, with his book in his hand, and offered to convince them that execution had taken place according to legal authority. the sportsmen got outrageous, but the learned sergeant was not intimidated; he knew the force of his authorities, and gravely invited the attention of his auditory to a case from one of the old reporters, that would have puzzled a whole bar of modern practitioners to controvert. the effect was ludicrous; the extraordinary appearance of the worthy sergeant, not in his bargown, but in what these adventurous mortals called a mere bedgown; the quaintness of his manner, the singularity of the occurrence, and the novelty of the incident, threw them completely out. librarians. budæus, a very learned man, librarian to francis the first of france, was one day engaged in deep study, when his servant came running to him in a great fright, to tell him that the house was on fire. "go," said he, with perfect calmness, and hardly raising his eyes from his book, "and inform your mistress, 'tis her concern, you know i never interfere in domestic matters." knowledge.--the famous duval, librarian to the emperor francis the first, often used to reply to questions that were put to him, "i do not know." an ignoramus one day said to him, "but the emperor pays you for _knowing_." "the emperor," he replied, "pays me for what i know; if he were to pay me for what i am ignorant of, all the treasures of his empire would not be sufficient." bautru, a celebrated french wit, being in spain, went to visit the famous library of the escurial, where he found a very ignorant librarian. the king of spain asked him his opinion of it. "it is an admirable one, indeed," said he; "but your majesty should give the man who has the care of it the administration of your finances."--"wherefore?" asked the king. "because," replied bautru, "the man never touches the treasure that is confided to him." magnanimity. at the siege of one of the strong towns in flanders, during the wars of louis xiv., it was necessary to reconnoitre the point of attack. the danger was great, and a hundred louis were promised to any one who would undertake it. several of the bravest of the soldiers appeared indifferent to the offer, when a young man stepped forward to undertake the task; he left the detachment, and remained absent a long time; he was thought killed. while the officers were deploring his fate, he returned, and gained their admiration no less by the precision than the _sang froid_ of his recital. the hundred louis were immediately presented to him. "_vous vous moquez de moi, mon général_," was his reply; "_va-t-on là pour de l'argent_."--[you are jesting with me, general; one does not perform such actions for money.] colonel hawker, who commanded the th light dragoons in most of the serious engagements in the peninsula, having formerly lost an arm in action, was attended by an orderly man, who held a guiding rein to the bridle of the colonel's charger; this attendant being slain by his side, just as the enemy's cavalry had broken the line of the th, by a heavy charge of superior numbers, great slaughter ensued on both sides, when a french officer immediately opposed to colonel hawker, lifted up his sabre, and was in the act of cutting him down, but observing the loss of his arm, he instantly dropped the point on the colonel's shoulder, and, bending his head, passed on. a truly noble adversary! st. louis.--louis ix., after his captivity among the saracens, was, with his queen and children, nearly shipwrecked on his return to france, some of the planks of the vessel having started. he was pressed to go on board another ship, and so escape the danger, but he refused, saying, "those that are with me, most assuredly are as fond of their lives as i can be of mine. if i quit the ship, they will likewise quit it; and the vessel not being large enough to receive them, they will all perish. i had rather entrust my life, and the lives of my wife and children, in the hands of god, than be the occasion of making so many of my brave subjects suffer." magnanimous rebel.--sir phelim o'neil, one of the leaders in the irish rebellion of , while in prison, previous to his trial, was frequently solicited, by promises of a free pardon, and large rewards, to bear testimony that the king (charles the first) had been actively instrumental in stirring up that rebellion. it was one of the arts of the factions of that period to throw the odium of the massacre which followed the irish rebellion upon charles; but whatever may have been the political sins of that unhappy prince, impartial history has not ranked this among the number. sir phelim declared, that he could not, in conscience, charge the king with any thing of the kind. his trial was drawn out to the length of several days, that he might be worked upon in that time; but he persisted with constancy and firmness in rejecting every offer made to him by the commissioners. even at the place of execution, the most splendid advantages were pressed upon him, upon the condition of falsely accusing king charles in that point. men saw with admiration this unfortunate chieftain under all the terrors of death, and the strongest temptations man could be under, bravely attesting the king's innocence, and sealing the truth of his testimony with his blood. when on the ladder, and ready to be thrown off, two marshals came riding in great haste, and cried aloud, "stop a little." having passed through the, crowd of spectators and guards, one of them whispered something into the ear of sir phelim, who made answer in so loud a voice, as to be heard by several hundreds of the people. "i thank the lieutenant-general for the intended mercy; but i declare, good people, before god and his holy angels, and all of you that hear me, that i never had any commission from the king for what i have done, in levying, or in prosecuting this war; and do heartily beg your prayers, all good catholics and christians! that god may be merciful unto me, and forgive me my sins." on this the guards beat off those that stood near the place of execution, and in a few minutes sir phelim was no more. admiral thurot.--it has been said of the french naval commander thurot, that he was strictly honest in circumstances that made the exertion of common honesty an act of the highest magnanimity. when this officer appeared on the coast of scotland, and landed in order to supply his three vessels with provisions, he paid a liberal price for every thing he wanted, and behaved with so much affability, that a countryman ventured to complain to him of an officer, who had taken or guineas from him. the officer, on being called on to vindicate himself against the charge, acknowledged the fact, but said, that he had divided the money among his men. thurot immediately ordered the officer to give his bill for the money, which he said should be stopped out of his pay, if they were so fortunate as to return to france. on another occasion, one of thurot's officers gave a bill upon a merchant in france, for some provisions that he had purchased. thurot hearing of the circumstance, informed the countryman that the bill was of no value; and reprimanding the officer severely for the cheat, compelled him to give another on a merchant, whom he knew would pay the money. what makes this act of integrity still more striking and praiseworthy, is, that thurot's men at this time were so dissatisfied, as to be ready to break out in open mutiny. the chevalier bayard.--the town of bresse having revolted against the french, was attacked, taken, and sacked, with an almost unexampled fury. the chevalier bayard, who was wounded at the beginning of the action, was carried to the house of a person of quality, whom he protected from the fury of the conquerors, by placing at the door two soldiers, whom he indemnified with a gift of eight hundred crowns, in lieu of the plunder they might have lost by their attendance at the door. the impatience of bayard to join the army without considering the state of his wound, which was by no means well, determined him to depart. the mistress of the house then threw herself at his feet, saying, "the rights of war make you master of our lives and our possessions, and you have saved our honour. we hope, however, from your accustomed generosity that you will not treat us with severity, and that you will be pleased to content yourself with a present more adapted to our circumstances, than to our inclinations." at the same time, she presented him with a small box full of ducats. bayard, smiling, asked her how many ducats the box contained. "two thousand five hundred, my lord," answered the lady, with much emotion; "but if these will not satisfy you, we will employ all our means to raise more."--"no, madam," replied the chevalier, "i do not want money: the care you have taken of me more than repays the services i have done you. i ask nothing but your friendship; and i conjure you to accept of mine." so singular an instance of generosity gave the lady more surprise than joy. she again threw herself at the feet of the chevalier, and protested that she would never rise until he had accepted of that mark of her gratitude. "since you will have it so," replied bayard, "i will not refuse it; but may i not have the honour to salute your amiable daughters?" the young ladies soon entered, and bayard thanked them for their kindness in enlivening him with their company. "i should be glad," said he, "to have it in my power to convince you of my gratitude; but we soldiers are seldom possessed of jewels worthy the acceptance of your sex. your amiable mother has presented me with two thousand five hundred ducats; i make a present to each of you of one thousand, for a part of your marriage portion. the remaining five hundred i give to the poor sufferers of this town, and i beg you will take on yourselves the distribution." one of the finest actions of a soldier of which history makes mention, is related in the history of the marechal de luxemburg. the marechal, then count de boutteville, served in the army of flanders in , under the command of the prince of condé. he perceived in a march some soldiers that were separated from the main body, and he sent one of his aides-de-camp to bring them back to their colours. all obeyed, except one, who continued his road. the count, highly offended at such disobedience, threatened to strike him with his stick. "that you may do," said the soldier, with great coolness, "but you will repent of it." irritated by this answer, boutteville struck him, and forced him to rejoin his corps. fifteen days after, the army besieged furnes; and boutteville commanded the colonel of a regiment to find a man steady and intrepid for a coup-de-main, which he wanted, promising a hundred pistoles as a reward. the soldier in question, who had the character of being the bravest man in the regiment, presented himself, and taking thirty of his comrades, of whom he had the choice, he executed his commission, which was of the most hazardous nature, with a courage and success beyond all praise. on his return, boutteville, after having praised him highly, counted out the hundred pistoles he had promised. the soldier immediately distributed them to his comrades, saying, that he had no occasion for money; and requested that if what he had done merited any recompense, he might be made an officer. then addressing himself to the count, he asked if he recognised him? and on boutteville replying in the negative, "well," said he, "i am the soldier whom you struck on our march fifteen days ago. was i not right when i said that you would repent of it?" the count de boutteville, filled with admiration, and affected almost to tears, embraced the soldier, created him an officer on the spot, and soon made him one of his aides-de-camp. musicians. handel had such a remarkable irritation of nerves, that he could not bear to hear the tuning of instruments, and therefore at a performance this was always done before he arrived. a musical wag, who knew how to extract some mirth from handel's irascibility of temper, stole into the orchestra, on a night when the prince of wales was to be present, and untuned all the instruments. as soon as the prince arrived, handel gave the signal for beginning, _con spirito;_ but such was the horrible discord, that the enraged musician started up from his seat, and having overturned a double bass, which stood in his way, he seized a kettle-drum, which he threw with such violence at the leader of the band, that he lost his full-bottomed wig in the effort. without waiting to replace it, he advanced bare-headed to the front of the orchestra, breathing vengeance, but so much choked with passion, that utterance was denied him. in this ridiculous attitude he stood staring and stamping for some moments, amidst a convulsion of laughter; nor could he be prevailed upon to resume his seat, until the prince went in person, and with much difficulty appeased his wrath. handel being only a musician, was obliged to employ some person to write his operas and oratorios, which accounts for their being so very defective as poetical compositions. one of those versifiers employed by him, once ventured to suggest, in the most respectful manner, that the music he had composed to some lines of his, was quite contrary to the sense of the passage. instead of taking this friendly hint as he ought to have done, from one who (although not a pindar) was at least a better judge of poetry than himself, he looked upon the advice as injurious to his talents, and cried out, with all the violence of affronted pride, "what! you teach me music? the music is good music: confound your words! here," said he, thrumming his harpsichord, "are my ideas; go and make words to them." handel became afterwards the proprietor of the opera house, london; and presided at the harpsichord in the orchestra (piano-fortes not being then known). his embellishments were so masterly, that the attention of the audience was frequently diverted from the singing to the accompaniment, to the frequent mortification of the vocal professors. a pompous italian singer was, on a certain occasion, so chagrined at the marked attention paid to the harpsichord, in preference to his own singing, that he swore, that if ever handel played him a similar trick, he would jump down upon his instrument, and put a stop to the interruption. handel, who had a considerable turn for humour, replied: "oh! oh! you vill jump, vill you? very vell, sare; be so kind, and tell me de night ven you vill jump, and i vill advertishe it in de bills; and i shall get grate dale more money by your jumping, than i shall get by your singing." although he lived much with the great, handel was no flatterer. he once told a member of the royal family, who asked him how he liked his playing on the violoncello? "vy, sir, your highness _plays like a prince_." when the same prince had prevailed on him to hear a minuet of his own composition, which he played himself on the violoncello, handel heard him out very quietly; but when the prince told him, that he would call in his band to play it to him, that he might hear the full effect of his composition, handel could contain himself no longer, and ran out of the room, crying, "worsher and worsher, upon mine honour." one sunday, having attended divine worship at a country church, handel asked the organist to permit him to play the people out; to which, with a politeness characteristic of the profession, the organist consented. handel accordingly sat down to the organ, and began to play in such a masterly manner, as instantly to attract the attention of the whole congregation, who, instead of vacating their seats as usual, remained for a considerable space of time, fixed in silent admiration. the organist began to be impatient (perhaps his wife was waiting dinner); and at length addressing the performer, told him that he was convinced that _he_ could not play the people out, and advised him to relinquish the attempt; which being done, they were played out in the usual manner. in , handel, who was then proceeding to ireland, was detained for some days at chester, in consequence of the weather. during this time he applied to mr. baker, the organist, to know whether there were any choir men in the cathedral who could sing _at sight_, as he wished to prove some books that had been hastily transcribed, by trying the choruses. mr. baker mentioned some of the best singers in chester, and among the rest, a printer of the name of janson, who had a good bass voice, and was one of the best musicians in the choir. a time was fixed for this private rehearsal at the golden falcon, where handel had taken up his residence; when, on trial of a chorus in the messiah, poor janson, after repeated attempts, failed completely, handel got enraged, and after abusing him in five or six different languages, exclaimed in broken english, "you schauntrel, tit not you dell me dat you could sing at soite?" "yes sir," said the printer, "so i can, but not at _first sight_." mozart, walking in the suburbs of vienna, was accosted by a mendicant of a very prepossessing appearance and manner, who told his tale of woe with such effect, as to interest the musician strongly in his favour; but the state of his purse not corresponding with the impulse of his humanity, he desired the applicant to follow him to a coffee-house. here mozart, drawing some paper from his pocket, in a few minutes composed a minuet, which with a letter he gave to the distressed man, desiring him to take it to his publisher. a composition from mozart was a bill payable at sight; and to his great surprise the now happy mendicant was immediately presented with five double ducats. when haydn was in england, one of the princes commissioned sir joshua reynolds to take his portrait. haydn went to the painter's house, and sat to him, but soon grew tired. sir joshua, careful of his reputation, would not paint a man of acknowledged genius, with a stupid countenance; and deferred the sitting till another day. the same weariness and want of expression occurring at the next attempt, reynolds went and communicated the circumstance to his royal highness, who contrived the following stratagem. he sent to the painter's house a german girl, in the service of the queen. haydn took his seat for the third time, and as soon as the conversation began to flag, a curtain rose, and the fair german addressed him in his native language, with a most elegant compliment. haydn, delighted, overwhelmed the enchantress with questions; his countenance recovered its animation, and sir joshua rapidly seized its traits. haydn could be comic as well as serious; and he has left a remarkable instance of the former, in the well known symphony, during which all the instruments disappear, one after the other, so that, at the conclusion, the first violin is left playing by himself. the origin of this singular piece is thus accounted for. it is said that haydn, perceiving his innovations were ill received by the performers of prince esterhazy, determined to play a joke upon them. he caused his symphony to be performed, without a previous rehearsal, before his highness, who was in the secret. the embarrassment of the performers, who all thought they had made a mistake, and especially the confusion of the first violin, when, at the end, he found he was playing alone, diverted the court of eisenstadt. others assert, that the prince having determined to dismiss all his band, except haydn, the latter imagined this ingenious way of representing the general departure, and the dejection of spirits consequently upon it. each performer left the concert room as soon as his part was finished. parliament. hume.--at a parliamentary dinner, mr. plunkett was asked if mr. hume did not annoy him by his broad speeches. "no," replied he, "it is the _length_ of the speeches, not their _breadth_, that we complain of in the house." henry lord falkland having been brought into the house of commons at a very early age, a grave senator objected to his youth, remarked that "he did not look as if he had sown his wild oats." his lordship replied with great quickness, "then i am come to the fittest place, where there are so many old geese to gobble them up." the duke of newcastle, who was at the head of the treasury, frequently differed with his colleague in office, mr. pitt, the first earl of chatham, though the latter, by his firmness, usually prevailed. a curious scene occurred at one of their interviews. it had been proposed to send admiral hawke to sea, in pursuit of m. conflans. the season was unfavourable, and almost dangerous for a fleet to sail, being the end of the month of november, and very stormy. mr. pitt was at that time confined to his bed by gout, and was obliged to receive visitors in his chamber, in which he could not bear to have a fire. the duke of newcastle waited upon him one very raw day, to discuss the affair of the fleet, but scarcely had he entered the chamber, when shivering with cold, he said, "what, have you no fire?" "no," replied mr. pitt, "i can never bear a fire when i have the gout." the duke sat down by the side of the invalid, wrapt up in his cloak, and began to enter upon the subject of his visit. there was a second bed in the room, and the duke, unable longer to endure the cold, said, "with your leave, i'll warm myself in this other bed;" and without taking off his cloak, he actually got into the bed, and resumed the debate. the duke began to argue against exposing the fleet to hazard in such weather, and mr. pitt was as determined it should put to sea. "the fleet must absolutely sail," said mr. pitt, accompanying his words with the most expressive gesture. "it is impossible," said the duke, with equal animation, "it will certainly be lost." sir charles frederick, of the ordnance department, arrived just at this time, and finding them both in this laughable posture, had the greatest difficulty to preserve his gravity, at seeing two ministers of state deliberating on the affairs of the country in so ludicrous a situation. "they're all out."--at the time when the unfortunate ministry, known as "all the talents," was ousted in , there stood upon the earthen mound in edinburgh many caravans of wild beasts belonging to the famous mr. wombwell, around which there clustered a large crowd of idle folks listening to the dulcet strains of his most harmonious brass band. the news of the tory victory was first made known in the parliament house, and, as can well be believed, the excitement that ensued was intense. under its influence that eager and eccentric judge, lord hermand, making for his home, espied a friend among the wombwell crowd, and shouted aloud in his glee across the street, "they're out! they're out! they're all out!" in half a second there was the wildest distribution of the mob--down to prince's-street, up the castle-hill, into the gardens, and up the vennels. the people picturing the horrors of a tiger-chase did not stop to hear more, and hermand found himself, to his amazement, monarch of all he surveyed, and sole auditor of the last terrified shriek of the band. lord lyndhurst, it is said, tells this story of his surrender of the great seal in . "when i went to the palace," says his lordship, "i alighted at the grand staircase; i was received by the sticks gold and silver, and other officers of the household, who called in sonorous tones from landing to landing, and apartment to apartment, 'room for the lord high chancellor of england.' i entered the presence chamber; i gave the seals to her majesty; i had the honour of kissing her hand; i left the apartment by another door and found myself on a back staircase, down which i descended without any one taking any notice of me, until, as i was looking for my carriage at the outer door, a lackey bustled up, and with a patronising air, said, 'lord lyndhurst, can i do anything for you?'" the slave trade.--in one of the last discussions on the slave trade, sir charles pole said, "while he deprecated the motion (for the abolition), he rejoiced that it had been brought forward thus early, because it showed the cloven foot which had been attempted to be concealed." to this remark mr. sheridan very spiritedly replied, "an honourable baronet," said he, "has talked of a cloven foot; i plead guilty to that cloven foot; but this i will say, that the man who expresses pleasure at the hope of seeing so large a portion of the human race freed from the shackles of tyranny rather displays the pinions of an angel than the cloven foot of a demon." patience. father bernard.--his patience was such as no circumstances, however offensive, could subdue. one day he presented a petition in favour of an unfortunate person, to a nobleman in place; the latter being of a hasty temper, flew into a violent passion, said many injurious things of the person for whom the priest interested himself. father bernard, however, still persisted in his request; and the nobleman was at last so irritated, that he gave him a box on the ear. bernard immediately fell at his feet, and presenting the other, said, "give me a blow on this also, my lord, and grant me my petition." the nobleman was so affected by this humility, that he granted his request. philip, the second king of spain, had once spent several hours of the night in writing a long letter to the pope, and having finished it, gave it to his secretary to fold it up and seal it. the secretary was half asleep, and instead of shaking the sand-bottle over it in order to dry it, he emptied that which contained the ink by mistake, so that all the ink ran out upon the letter and completely spoiled it; perceiving the accident, he was ready to drop with confusion, upon which the king quietly said: "well, give me another sheet of paper;" and then began to write the letter over again with great tranquillity. poets. an italian poet presented some verses to the pope, who had not gone far before he met with a line too short in quantity, which he remarked upon. the poet submissively entreated his holiness to read on, and he would probably meet with a line that was a syllable too long, so that the account would soon be balanced! a certain italian having written a book on the art of making gold, dedicated it to pope leo x., in hopes of a good reward. his holiness finding the man constantly followed him, at length gave him a large empty purse, saying, "sir, since you know how to make gold, you can have no need of anything but a purse to put it in." politeness. a polite mayor.--at the time when queen elizabeth was making one of her progresses through the kingdom, a mayor of coventry, attended by a large cavalcade, went out to meet her majesty, and usher her into the city with due formality. on their return they passed through a wide brook, when mr. mayor's horse several times attempted to drink, and each time his worship checked him; which the queen observing, called out to him, "mr. mayor, let your horse drink, mr. mayor;" but the magistrate, bowing very low, modestly answered, "nay, nay, may it please your majesty's horse to drink first." a french mayor.--a mayor of a small village in france, having occasion to give a passport to a distinguished personage in his neighbourhood who was blind of one eye, was in great embarrassment on coming to the description of his person. fearful of offending the great man, he adopted the following ingenious expedient of avoiding the mention of his deformity, and wrote "black eyes--one of which is absent." sir wm. gooch being engaged in conversation with a gentleman in a street of the city of williamsburgh, returned the salute of a negro, who was passing by about his master's business. "sir william," said the gentleman, "do you descend so far as to salute a slave?"--"why, yes," replied the governor; "i cannot suffer a man of his condition to exceed me in good manners." presence of mind. the marquis st. andré applied to louvois, the war-minister of louis xiv., for a place then vacant. louvois having received some complaints against the marquis, refused to comply. the nobleman, somewhat nettled, said, rather hastily, "if i were to enter again into the service, i know what i would do."--"and pray what would you do?" inquired the minister in a furious tone. st. andré recollected himself, and had the presence of mind to say, "i would take care to behave in such a manner, that your excellency should have nothing to reproach me with." louvois, agreeably surprised at this reply, immediately granted his request. carving.--an accomplished gentleman, when carving a tough goose, had the misfortune to send it entirely out of the dish, and into the lap of the lady next to him; on which he very coolly looked her full in the face, and with admirable gravity and calmness, said, "madam, may i trouble you for that goose." in a case like this, a person must, necessarily, suffer so much, and be such an object of compassion to the company, that the kindest thing he can do is to appear as unmoved as possible. lord peterborough was once taken by the mob for the duke of marlborough (who was then in disgrace with them), and being about to be roughly treated by these friends to summary justice, he told them, "gentlemen, i can convince you, by two reasons, that i am not the duke of marlborough. in the first place, i have only five guineas in my pocket; and, in the second, they are heartily at your service." so throwing his purse amongst them, he got out of their hands, with loud huzzas and acclamations. fouché.--napoleon sent for fouché one day, in a great rage, told him that he was a fool, and not fit to be at the head of the police, as he was quite ignorant of what was passing. "pardon me, sire," said fouché; "i know that your majesty has my dismissal ready signed in your pocket." napoleon changed his mind, and kept his minister. vendean servant.--an unexampled instance of self-devotion and presence of mind was manifested by a maidservant, during the war in la vendée. "the wife of lepinai, a general in the vendean army, was imprisoned at nantes, and attended by a young girl, a native of chatellerault, so faithfully attached to the service of her mistress that she had followed her to prison. one day the soldiers arrived to summon the prisoners who were destined to death: this faithful girl heard madame lepinai called, who had but an instant before retired to her chamber. glad of the opportunity of saving the life of her beloved mistress, she presented herself, and answered to the name. the affectionate creature was instantly led away with the other prisoners, and precipitated among the waves of the loire, in place of madame lepinai." the gendarmes and the priest.--during the revolution a priest took refuge in the house of a farmer. some gendarmes having heard of it came one evening to the house. the whole family were gathered round the hearth, and among them was the priest, disguised as a servant. when the soldiers entered every one grew pale; they asked the farmer if there was not a priest concealed in the house. "gentlemen," returned he, without losing his presence of mind, "you see very well there is no priest here; but one might conceal himself in the house without my knowledge; so i will not prevent you from doing your duty; search the house from cellar to garret." then he said to the priest, "i say, jacques, take your lantern and show these gentlemen everywhere; let them see every corner of the farm." the gendarmes made a minute inspection of the house, uttering many imprecations and many menaces against the priest, promising themselves to pay him well for the trouble he had cost them, if they succeeded in discovering him. seeing their search was useless, they prepared to leave. as they were going the farmer said, "pray gentlemen, remember the boy." they gave the disguised priest a small coin, and thanking him for his civility took their leave. a housemaid in upper grosvenor street, london, going to the cellar for a draught of ale, after the family had retired to bed, glided silently in without a candle. as she was feeling about for the cask, she put her hand upon something which she immediately perceived to be the head of a man. the girl, with great fortitude and presence of mind, forebore to cry out, but said, in a tone of impatience, "that stupid creature, betty, is always putting the mops in the way." she then went on to the cask, quietly drew her beer, retired from the cellar, fastened the door, and then alarmed the house. the man was taken; and afterwards declared, that the maid was entirely indebted to her presence of mind for her life, for had she cried out, he would instantly have murdered her: but as he firmly believed she mistook his head for a mop, particularly as she had drawn the beer after she had felt it, he let her go without injury. king james the fourth of scotland, who used often to amuse himself in wandering about the country in different disguises, was once overtaken by a violent storm in a dark night, and obliged to take shelter in a cavern near wemys. having advanced some way in it, the king discovered a number of men and women ready to begin to roast a sheep, by way of supper. from their appearance, he began to suspect that he had not fallen into the best of company; but, as it was too late to retreat, he asked hospitality from them till the tempest was over. they granted it, and invited the king, whom they did not know, to sit down, and take part with them. they were a band of robbers and cut-throats. as soon as they had finished their supper, one of them presented a plate, upon which two daggers were laid in form of a st. andrew's cross, telling the king, at the same time, that this was the dessert which they always served to strangers; that he must choose one of the daggers, and fight him whom the company should appoint to attack him. the king did not lose his presence of mind, but instantly seized the two daggers, one in each hand, and plunged them into the hearts of the two robbers who were next him; and running full speed to the mouth of the cavern, he escaped from their pursuit, through the obscurity of the night. the rest of the band were seized next morning and hanged. the marquess del campo.--when the attempt was made upon the life of george iii., by margaret nicholson, who attempted to stab him as he was going to st. james's to hold a levee, a council was ordered to be held as soon as the levee was over. the marquess del campo, the spanish ambassador, being apprised of that circumstance, and knowing that the council would detain the king in town three or four hours beyond the usual time, took post horses, and set off for windsor. alighting at the castle, he called upon a lady there with whom he was acquainted. the queen, finding that the king did not return at the usual time, and understanding that the marquess was in the palace, sent to ask him if he had been at the levee. he replied that he had, and that he had left his majesty in perfect health, going to council. when the king arrived, he, of course, told her majesty the extraordinary occurrence of the morning. the queen expressed great surprise that the marquess del campo, who had been nearly three hours in the palace, had not mentioned the subject to her; he was then sent for, when he told their majesties, that finding upon his arrival at the castle, that no rumour of the attempt upon the life of his majesty had reached the queen, he did not think it expedient to apprise her of it till his majesty's arrival gave full assurance of his safety; but, at the same time, fearing that some incorrect and alarming reports might be brought down, he deemed it right to remain in the palace, in order in that case, to be able to remove all apprehensions from her majesty's mind, by acquainting her with the real facts. the king, taking the ambassador graciously by the hand, complimented him on his presence of mind, and assured him, that he scarcely knew a man in the world to whom he was so much obliged. miss bailly.--a few days before the battle of falkirk, so disastrous to the english army, lord loudon made a bold attempt to seize the pretender at moy, a castle belonging to the chief of the clan of mackintosh, about six miles from inverness, where he was then staying, and where he conceived himself in perfect security. his lordship would probably have succeeded in this design, but for the singular courage and presence of mind of a young girl. while some english officers were drinking in the house of mrs. bailly, an innkeeper in inverness, and passing the time till the hour of setting out for the intended capture, her daughter, a girl of about thirteen or fourteen years of age, who happened to wait on them, paid great attention to their conversation, and from certain expressions which they dropped she discovered their design. as soon as she could do so unobserved, she left the house, escaped from the town, notwithstanding the vigilance of the sentinels, and took the road to moy, running as fast as she was able, without shoes or stockings, which to accelerate her progress she had taken off, in order to inform the prince of the danger which menaced him. she reached moy, quite out of breath, before lord loudon and his troops; and the prince had just time to escape, in his robe-de-chambre, nightcap, and slippers, to the neighbouring mountains, where he passed the night in concealment. this girl, to whom the prince owed his life, was in great danger of losing her own, from the excessive fatigue and excitement; but by care and attention she eventually recovered. servant at noyon.--some years ago, an instance of humanity and presence of mind occurred at a place called noyon, in france, which well deserves to be commemorated. four men, who were employed in cleansing a sewer, were so affected by the foetid vapours, that they were unable to ascend. the lateness of the hour (for it was eleven at night) rendered it difficult to procure assistance, and the delay must have been fatal, had not a young girl, a servant in the family, at the hazard of her own life, attempted their deliverance. this generous girl, who was only seventeen years of age, was, at her own request, let down several times to the poor men by a rope: she was so fortunate as to save two of them, but, in tying the third to the cord, which was let down to her for that purpose, she found her breath failing, and was so much affected by the vapour as to be in danger of suffocation. in this dreadful situation, she had the presence of mind to tie herself by her hair to the rope, and was drawn up almost expiring, with the poor man in whose behalf she had so humanely exerted herself. the corporation of the town of noyon, as a small token of their approbation, presented the generous girl with six hundred livres, and conferred on her the civic crown, with a medal engraved with the arms of the town, her name, and a narrative of the action. the duke of orleans also sent her five hundred livres, and settled two hundred yearly on her for life. pride of rank and ancestry. the anecdote is well known of the celebrated dr. busby keeping on his hat when visited by king charles ii., and apologizing for his apparent want of respect, by saying, that he should never be able to keep his scholars in subjection, if they thought that there was a greater man in the world than himself. the same feeling seems to have actuated the gaelic chiefs, who were excessively proud of their rank and prerogatives. when the first marquess of huntly, then the chief of the clan gordon, was presented at the court of james vi., he did not so much as incline his head before his sovereign. being asked why he failed in this point of etiquette? he replied, that he had no intention whatever of showing any disrespect to his king, but that he came from a country where all the world were accustomed to bow down before him. a similar instance occurred with the head of another family. when george ii. offered a patent of nobility to the chief of the grants, the proud celt refused it, saying, "wha would then be laird of grant?" james i. in his progress into england, was entertained at lumley castle, the seat of the earl of scarborough. a relation of the noble earl was very proud in showing and explaining to his majesty an immense genealogical chart of the family, the pedigree of which he carried back rather farther than the greatest strength of credulity would allow. "i gude faith, man," says the king, "it may be they are very true, but i did na ken before that adam's name was lumley." an anecdote is told of a gentleman in monmouthshire, which exhibits the pride of ancestry in a curious point of view. his house was in such a state of dilapidation that the proprietor was in danger of perishing under the ruins of the ancient mansion, which he venerated even in decay. a stranger, whom he accidentally met at the foot of the skyrrid, made various enquiries respecting the country, the prospects, and the neighbouring houses, and, among others, asked--"whose is this antique mansion before us?" "that, sir, is werndee, a very ancient house; for out of it came the earls of pembroke of the first line, and the earls of pembroke of the second line; the lord herberts of cherbury, the herberts of coldbrook, ramsay, cardiff, and york; the morgans of acton; the earl of hunsdon; the houses of ircowm and lanarth, and all the powells. out of this house also, by the female line, came the duke of beaufort." "and pray, sir, who lives there now?" "i do, sir." "then pardon me, and accept a piece of advice; come out of it yourself, or you'll soon be buried in the ruins of it." a curious anecdote is related respecting a contest for precedence, between the rival welch houses of perthir and werndee, which, though less bloody, was not less obstinate than that between the houses of york and lancaster. mr. proger, of werndee, dining with a friend at monmouth, proposed riding home in the evening; but his friend objecting because it was late and likely to rain, mr. proger replied, "with regard to the lateness of the hour, we shall have moonlight; and should it happen to rain, perthir is not far from the road, and my cousin powell will, i am sure, give us a night's lodging." they accordingly mounted their horses; but being soon overtaken by a violent shower, rode to perthir, and found all the family retired to rest. mr. proger, however, calling to his cousin, mr. powell opened the window, and looking out, asked, "in the name of wonder, what means all this noise? who is there?" "it is only i, your cousin proger of werndee, who am come to your hospitable door for shelter from the inclemency of the weather, and hope you will be so kind as to give my friend and me a lodging." "what! is it you, cousin proger? you and your friend shall be instantly admitted, but upon one condition, that you will allow, and never hereafter dispute, that i am the head of the family." "what did you say?" returned mr. proger. "why, i say, if you expect to pass the night in my house, you must allow that i am the head of the family." "no, sir, i never will admit that; were it to rain swords and daggers, i would ride this night to werndee, rather than lower the consequence of my family. come up, bold, come up." "stop a moment, cousin proger; have you not often confessed that the first earl of pembroke (of the name of herbert) was the youngest son of perthir; and will you set yourself above the earls of pembroke?" "true, i must give place to the earl of pembroke, because he is a peer of the realm; but still, though a peer, he is of the youngest branch of my family, being descended from the fourth son of werndee, who was your ancestor, and settled at perthir; whereas i am descended from the eldest son. indeed, my cousin jones of lanarth is of an older branch than you, and yet he never disputes that i am the head of the family." "why, cousin proger, i have nothing more to say; so, good night to you." "stop a moment, mr. powell," said the stranger, "you see how it pours; do admit me at least; i will not dispute with you about our families." "pray, sir, what is your name, and where do you come from?" "my name is * * *, and i come from the county of * * *." "a saxon of course; it would be very curious indeed, sir, should i dispute with a saxon about families; no, sir, you must suffer for the obstinacy of your friend, and so a pleasant ride to you both." punctuality. a quarter of an hour.--when lord nelson was leaving london, on his last, but glorious, expedition against the enemy, a quantity of cabin furniture was ordered to be sent on board his ship. he had a farewell dinner party at his house; and the upholsterer having waited upon his lordship, with an account of the completion of the goods, was brought into the dining-room, in a corner of which his lordship spoke with him. the upholsterer stated to his employer, that everything was finished, and packed, and would go in the wagon, from a certain inn, at _six o'clock_. "and you go to the inn, mr. a., and see them off?" "i shall, my lord; i shall be there _punctually at six_." "_a quarter before six_, mr. a.," returned lord nelson, "be there _a quarter before six_. to that _quarter of an hour_ i owe everything in life." mr. scott, of exeter, travelled on business till about eighty years of age. he was one of the most celebrated characters in the kingdom for punctuality, and by his methodical conduct, joined to uniform diligence, he gradually amassed a fortune. for a long series of years, the proprietor of every inn he frequented in devon and cornwall knew the day, and the very hour, he would arrive. a short time before he died, a gentleman on a journey in cornwall stopped at a small inn at port isaac to dine. the waiter presented him with a bill of fare, which he did not approve of; but observing a fine duck roasting, "i'll have that," said the traveller. "you cannot, sir," said the landlord; "it is for mr. scott of exeter." "i know mr. scott very well," rejoined the gentlemen; "he is not in your house." "true, sir," said the landlord, "but _six months ago, when he was here last, he ordered a duck to be ready for him this day, precisely at two o'clock;_" and, to the astonishment of the traveller, he saw the old gentleman, on his rosinante, jogging into the inn-yard about five minutes before the appointed time. sir w. scott.--a gentleman who, in the year , travelled with sir walter scott in the coach from edinburgh to jedburgh, relates the following anecdote illustrative of his regard for punctuality, and his willingness to serve all who placed confidence in him, particularly those engaged in literary pursuits.--"we had performed half the journey," writes our informant, "when sir walter started as from a dream, exclaiming: 'oh, my friend g----, i have forgotten you till this moment!' a short mile brought us to a small town, where sir walter ordered a post-chaise, in which he deposited his luggage, consisting of a well-worn short hazel stick, and a paper parcel containing a few books; then, much to my regret, he changed his route, and returned to the scottish capital. the following month i was again in edinburgh, and curiosity induced me to wait on the friend g---- apostrophised by sir walter, and whose friendship i had the honour to possess. the cause of sir walter's return, i was informed, was this:--he had engaged to furnish an article for a periodical conducted by my friend, but the promise had slipped from his memory--a most uncommon occurrence, for sir walter was gifted with the best of memories--until the moment of his exclamation. his instant return was the only means of retrieving the error. retrieved, however, it was; and the following morning mr. g---- received several sheets of closely-written manuscript, the transcribing of which alone must have occupied half the night." robbers. candid robber.--the duke of ossuna, viceroy of naples, once visited the galleys, and passing through the prisoners, he asked several of them what their offences were. all of them excused themselves upon various pretences; one said he was put in out of malice, another by bribery of the judge; but all of them declared they were punished unjustly. the duke came at last to a little black man, whom he questioned as to what he was there for. "my lord," said he, "i cannot deny but i am justly put in here; for i wanted money, and my family was starving, so i robbed a passenger near tarragona of his purse." the duke, on hearing this, gave him a blow on the shoulder with his stick, saying, "you rogue, what are you doing here among so many honest, innocent men? get you out of their company." the poor fellow was then set at liberty, while the rest were left to tug at the oar. ingenious contrivance.--many years ago, when stagecoaches were not unfrequently attacked by highwaymen, a party was once travelling on a lonely road, when one of the gentlemen mentioned to the company that he had ten guineas with him, which he was afraid of losing. upon this an elderly lady who sat next to him, advised him to take his money from his pocket, and slip it into his boot, which he did. not long after the coach was attacked, when a highwayman rode up to the window, on the lady's side, and demanded her money; upon which she immediately whispered to him that if he would examine that gentleman's boot, he would find ten guineas. the man took the hint, and the gentleman was obliged to submit patiently; but when the robber had gone, he loaded his fellow-traveller with abuse, declaring her to be in confederacy with the highwayman. she replied that certainly appearances were against her; but if the company in the stage would sup at her house the following evening, she would explain a conduct which appeared so mysterious. after a debate among themselves, they consented to go the next evening according to her invitation. they were ushered into a magnificent room, where an elegant supper was served, after which, the lady taking a pocket-book from her pocket, showed that it contained various notes to the amount of several hundred pounds, and addressing herself to the gentleman who had been robbed: "i thought, sir," said she, "it was better to lose ten guineas, than all this valuable property, which i had about me last night; and i have now the pleasure of returning what you so kindly lent me." reclaimed felons.--the late dr. lettsom says, "i have been so happy as to reform two highwaymen who had robbed me; and from this i think that few of our fellow-creatures are so hardened, as to be impenetrable to repentance. one of these men has since been twice in the gazette promotions, as a military officer. the other married, and became a respectable farmer in surrey." a similar story is told by the celebrated rowland hill. he was attacked by a highwayman, whom he succeeded in convincing of the evil of his way of life, and who afterwards became a most faithful servant to him. the secret was never revealed by mr. hill until the death of the servant. sailors. the wounded sailor.--when admiral benbow was a common sailor, his messmate, who was stationed with him at the same gun, lost his leg by a cannon shot. the poor fellow instantly called out to his friend, who immediately took him up on his shoulder, and began with great care to descend with him into the cockpit; but it happened that just as the poor fellow's head came upon a level with the deck, another ball carried that off also. benbow, however, knew nothing of the matter, but carried the body down to the surgeon, and when he came to the bottom of the ladder, called out that he had brought him a patient, desiring some one to bear a hand, and help him easily down. the surgeon turned about, but instead of giving any assistance, exclaimed, "you blockhead, what do you do here with a man that has lost his head?" "lost his head!" says benbow; "the lying fellow, why he told me it was his leg; but i never in my life believed what he said without being sorry for it afterwards." when lieutenant o'brien (who was called skyrocket jack) was blown up at spithead, in the _edgar_, he was on the carriage of a gun, and when brought to the admiral, all black and wet, he said with pleasantry, "i hope, sir, you will excuse my dirty appearance, for i came out of the ship in so great a hurry, that i had not time to shift myself." a painter was employed in painting a west india ship in the river, suspended on a stage under the ship's stern. the captain, who had just got into the boat alongside, for the purpose of going ashore, ordered the boy to let go the painter (the rope which makes fast the boat); the boy instantly went aft, and let go the rope by which the painter's stage was held. the captain, surprised at the boy's delay, cried out, "heigh-ho, there, you lazy lubber, why don't you let go the painter?" the boy replied, "he's gone, sir, pots and all." precedence.--at a grand review of the fleet at portsmouth by george iii., in , there was a boy who mounted the shrouds with so much agility, as to surprise every spectator. the king particularly noticed it, and said to lord lothian, "lothian, i have heard much of your agility, let us see you run up after that boy." "sire," replied lord lothian, "it is my duty to _follow your majesty_." admiral haddock, when on his death-bed, called his son, and thus addressed him: "considering my rank in life, and public services for so many years, i shall leave you but a small fortune; but, my boy, it is honestly got, and will wear well; there are no seamen's wages or provisions, nor one single penny of dirty money, in it." an odd shot.--an english frigate was obliged to strike to a french vessel of superior force. the english captain, on resigning his sword, was reproached by the french commander for having, contrary to the usages of war, shot pieces of glass from his guns. the english officer, conscious that no such thing had been done, made inquiry into the matter among his men, and found the fact to be this. an irish seaman, just before the vessel struck, took a parcel of shillings out of his pocket, and swearing the french should have none of them, wrapped them in a piece of rag, and thrust them into his gun, exclaiming, "let us see what a _bribe_ can do!" these shillings, flying about the vessel, were mistaken by the french for glass. the above explanation not only satisfied them, but put them in great good humour with their captives. a child on board.--a child of one of the crew of his majesty's ship _peacock_, during the action with the american vessel _hornet_, occupied himself in chasing a goat between decks. not in the least terrified by the destruction and death which was going on all around him, he continued his amusement till a cannon-ball came and took off both the hind legs of the goat; when seeing her disabled, he jumped astride her, crying, "now i've caught you." this singular anecdote is related in a work called "visits of mercy," (new york.) grog.--the british sailors had always been accustomed to drink their allowance of brandy or rum pure, until admiral vernon ordered those under his command to mix it with water. the innovation gave great offence to the sailors, and, for a time, rendered the commander very unpopular among them. the admiral, at that time, wore a grogram coat, for which reason they nick-named him "old grog," hence, by degrees, the mixed liquor he introduced universally obtained the name of "_grog_." navy chaplains.--when the earl of clancarty was captain of a man-of-war, and was cruising on the coast of guinea, he happened to lose his chaplain by a fever, on which the lieutenant, who was a scotchman, gave him notice of it, saying, at the same time, "that he was sorry to inform him that he died in the roman catholic religion." "well, so much the better," said his lordship. "oot, oot, my lord, how can you say so of a british clergyman?" "why," said his lordship, "because i believe i am the first captain of a man-of-war that could boast of having a chaplain _who had any religion at all_." bishop and his clerks.--a fleet of merchant ships, on their return from spain, about three hundred years ago, were shipwrecked on the fatal rocks on which sir cloudsley shovel was cast away: among these unfortunate men none were saved but three, viz. _miles bishop_, and _james_ and _henry clerk_, who were miraculously preserved on a broken mast. from this accident the rocks took the name they bear, "the bishop and his clerks." dey of algiers.--when admiral keppel was sent to the dey of algiers, to demand restitution of two ships which the pirates had taken, he sailed with his squadron into the bay of algiers, and cast anchor in front of the dey's palace. he then landed, and, attended only by his captain and barge's crew, demanded an immediate audience of the dey; this being granted, he claimed full satisfaction for the injuries done to the subjects of his britannic majesty. surprised and enraged at the boldness of the admiral's remonstrance, the dey exclaimed, "that he wondered at the king's insolence in sending him a foolish beardless boy." to this the admiral made a spirited reply, which caused the dey to forget the laws of all nations in respect to ambassadors, and he ordered his mutes to attend with the bowstring, at the same time telling the admiral he should pay for his audacity with his life. unmoved by this menace, the admiral took the dey to a window facing the bay, and showed him the english fleet riding at anchor, and told him, that if he dared to put him to death, there were englishmen enough in that fleet to make him a glorious funeral pile. the dey was wise enough to take the hint. the admiral obtained ample restitution, and came off in safety. a timely answer.--when admiral cornwallis commanded the _canada_, a mutiny broke out in the ship, on account of some unavoidable delay in the clerks paying some of the crew, in consequence of which they signed what is termed a round robin, in which they declared, to a man, that they would not fire a gun till they were paid. cornwallis, on receiving this declaration, caused all hands to be called on deck, and thus addressed them: "my lads, the money cannot be paid till we return to port, and as to your not fighting, that is mere nonsense:--i'll clap you alongside the first large ship of the enemy i see, and i know that the devil himself will not be able to keep you from it." the tars were so pleased with this compliment that they all returned to their duty, better satisfied than if they had been paid the money ten times over. schools. dr. sheridan had a custom of ringing his scholars to prayers, in the school-room, at a certain hour every day. the boys were one day very attentively at prayers, except one, who was stifling a laugh as well as he could, which arose from seeing a rat descending from the bell-rope into the room. the poor boy could hold out no longer, but burst into an immoderate fit of laughter, which set the others off as soon as he pointed out to them the cause. sheridan was so provoked that he declared he would whip them all if the principal culprit was not pointed out to him, which was immediately done. when this poor boy was hoisted up, and made ready for flogging, the witty school-master told him that if he said any thing tolerable on the occasion, as he looked on him as the greatest dunce in his school, he would forgive him. the trembling culprit, immediately addressed his master in the following lines. there was a rat, for want of stairs, came down a rope--to go to prayers. sheridan instantly dropped the rod, and, instead of a good whipping, gave him half-a-crown. dr. busby.--a scholar of dr. busby went into a parlour where the doctor had laid down a fine bunch of grapes for his own eating, took it up, and said aloud, "i publish the banns between these grapes and my mouth; if any one knows any just cause or impediment why these two should not be joined together, let him declare it." the doctor, being in the next room, overheard all that was said, and going into the school, ordered the boy who had eaten his grapes to be _horsed_ on another boy's back; but, before he proceeded to the usual discipline, he cried out aloud, as the delinquent had done: "i publish the banns between my rod and this boy's back; if any one knows any just cause or impediment why these two should not be joined together, let him declare it."--"i forbid the banns." said the boy--"why so?" said the doctor. "because the parties are not agreed," replied the boy. this answer so pleased the doctor, that he ordered the offender to be set free. an appropriate version.--the late dr. adam, rector of the grammar school, edinburgh, was supposed by his scholars to exercise a strong partiality for such as were of patrician descent; and on one occasion was very smartly reminded of it by a boy of mean parentage, whom he was reprehending rather severely for his ignorance--much more so than the boy thought he would have done, had he been the son of a _right honourable_, or even less. "you dunce," exclaimed the rector, "i don't think you can even translate the motto of your own native place, of the _gude_ town of edinburgh. what, sir, does '_nisi dominus frustra_,' mean?" "it means, sir," rejoined the boy, "that unless we are lords' sons, it is in vain to come here." a choice.--at a recent examination at marlborough house grammar school, a piece written for the occasion, entitled "satan's address to nena sahib," was to have been recited by two pupils. only one of the pupils came forward, mr. barrett stating that he could not prevail upon any pupil to take the part of nena sahib, they having such an abhorrence to the character, though several had offered to take the part of the devil. servants. jonas hanway having once advertised for a coachman, he had a great number of applicants. one of them he approved of, and told him, if his character answered, he would take him on the terms agreed on: "but," said he, "my good fellow, as i am rather a particular man, it may be proper to inform you, that every evening, after the business of the stable is done, i expect you to come to my house for a quarter of an hour to attend family prayers. to this i suppose you can have no objection."--"why as to that, sir," replied the fellow, "i doesn't see much to say against it; but i hope you'll consider it in my wages!" coleridge, among his other speculations, started a periodical, in prose and verse, entitled _the watchman_, with the motto, "that all might know the truth, and that the truth might make us free." he watched in vain! his incurable want of order and punctuality, and his philosophical theories, tired out his readers, and the work was discontinued after the ninth number. of the unsaleable nature of this publication, he himself relates an amusing illustration. happening one morning to rise at an earlier hour than usual, he observed his servant girl putting an extravagant quantity of paper into the grate in order to light the fire, and mildly checked her for her wastefulness: "la! sir," replied nanny; "it's only _watchmen_." the marquis of granby having returned from the army in germany, travelled with all possible expedition from the english port at which he landed to london, and finding on his arrival that the king was at windsor, he proceeded there in his travelling-dress; where desiring to be instantly introduced to his majesty, a certain lord came forward, who said he hoped the noble marquis did not mean to go into the presence of his majesty in so improper a habit, adding, "'pon my honour, my lord, you look more like a _groom_ than a gentleman."--"perhaps i may," replied the marquis, "and i give you my word, if you do not introduce me to the king this instant, i will _act_ like a groom, and _curry_ you in a way you won't like." the schoolmaster abroad.--a young woman meeting her former fellow-servant, was asked how she liked her place. "very well."--"then you have nothing to complain of?"--"nothing; only master and missis talk such very bad grammar, and don't pronounce their h's." a soldier's wife.--the late duchess of york having desired her housekeeper to seek out for a new laundress, a decent-looking woman was recommended to the situation. "but, (said the housekeeper) i am afraid that she will not suit your royal highness, as she is a soldier's wife, and these people are generally loose characters." "what is that you say, said the duke, who had just entered the room. a soldier's wife! pray, madam, _what is your mistress?_ if that is all her fault, i desire that the woman may be immediately engaged." signs. a scotch innkeeper, who had determined on adopting the sign of flodden well, was much puzzled for a suitable inscription. at length he waited on sir walter scott, and asked his aid, observing, that "as he had written so much about it in _marmion_, he might know something that would do for an inscription." the poet immediately replied, "why, man, i think ye cannot do better than take a verse from the poem itself." the innkeeper expressed his willingness to do this, when sir walter said to him, "well, then, you have nothing to do, but just to leave out one letter from the line 'drink, weary traveller--drink and pray;' and say instead 'drink, weary traveller--drink and pay!'" dean swift's barber one day told him that he had taken a public-house. "and what's your sign?" said the dean. "oh, the pole and bason; and if your worship would just write me a few lines to put upon it, by way of motto, i have no doubt but it would draw me plenty of customers." the dean took out his pencil, and wrote the following couplet, which long graced the barber's sign: "rove not from _pole_ to _pole_, but step in here, where nought excels the _shaving_, but the _beer_." soldiers. equality in danger.--the french general, cherin, was once conducting a detachment through a very difficult defile. he exhorted his soldiers to endure patiently the fatigues of the march. "it is easy for you to talk," said one of the soldiers near him; "you who are mounted on a fine horse--but we poor devils!"--on hearing these words, cherin dismounted, and quickly proposed to the discontented soldier to take his place. the latter did so; but scarcely had he mounted, when a shot from the adjoining heights struck and killed him. "you see," says cherin, addressing his troops, "that the most elevated place is not the least dangerous." after which he remounted his horse, and continued the march. marshal suwarrow in his march to the attack of ockzakow, proceeded with such rapidity at the head of his advanced guard, that his men began to murmur at the fatigues they endured. the marshal, apprized of this circumstance, after a long day's march, drew his men up in a hollow square, and addressing them, said, "that his legs had that day discovered some symptoms of mutiny, as they refused to second the impulses of his mind, which urged him forward to the attack of the enemy's fortress." he then ordered his boots to be taken off, and some of the drummers to advance with their cats, and flog his legs, which ceremony was continued till they bled considerably. he put on his boots again very coolly, expressing a hope that his legs would in future better know how to discharge their duty. the soldiers after that marched on without a murmur, struck at once with the magnanimity of their commander, and the ingenuity of his device to remind them of their duty. brief explanation.--a french colonel, in taking a redoubt from the russians on the moskwa, lost twelve hundred of his men, more than one half of whom remained dead in the entrenchment which they had so energetically carried. when bonaparte the next morning reviewed this regiment, he asked the colonel what he had done with one of his battalions? "sire," replied he, "it is in the redoubt." death of a hero.--at the battle of malplaquet, in , marshal villars was dangerously wounded, and desired to receive the holy sacrament. being advised to receive in private, he said, "no, if the army cannot see me die like a hero, they shall see me die as a christian." magdeline de savoie.--anne duc de montmorenci, who was prime minister and great constable of france during the reigns of francis i., henry ii., francis ii., and charles ix., was very unwilling to take up arms against the prince of condé and the coligny's, to whom he was endeared by the ties of friendship, as well as those of consanguinity. he was however induced to give way by the following animated and forcible speech of his wife, magdeline de savoie: "it is then in vain, sir, that you have taken as a motto to your escutcheon, the word of command that your ancestors always gave at the outset of every battle in which they were engaged (_dieu aide du premier chretien_). if you do not fight with all your energy in defence of that religion which is now attempted to be destroyed, who then is to give an example of respect and of veneration for the holy see, if not he who takes his very name, his arms, his nobility, from the first baron of france who professed the holy religion of christ?" a relay of legs.--rivardes, a piedmontese, had attached himself to the house of france, and was much esteemed as a soldier. he had lost one of his legs, and had worn a wooden one for some time, when in an engagement a ball carried off the latter, leaving him the other safe and sound. on being raised up, he exclaimed laughingly, "what fools these fellows are! they would have saved their shot had they known that i had two others equally good among my baggage." present!--during the crimean war a french captain wrote to the curé of his native place in these words: "i endeavour to regulate my affairs in such sort, that if god should address to me the call, i may be able to answer, _present!_" not long after this the brave captain met his death under the walls of sebastopol. quartering.--at an election for shrewsbury, in the reign of george i., a half-pay officer, who was a nonresident burgess, was, with some other voters, brought down from london at the expense of mr. kynaston, one of the candidates. the old campaigner regularly attended and feasted at the houses which were opened for the electors in mr. kynaston's interest until the last day of the polling, when, to the astonishment of the party, he gave his vote to his opponent. for this strange conduct he was reproached by his quondam companions, and asked what could have induced him to act so dishonourable a part as to become an apostate. "an apostate," answered the old soldier, "an apostate! by no means--i made up my mind about whom i would vote for before i set out upon this campaign, but i remembered marlborough's constant advice to us when i served with the army in flanders, 'always quarter upon the enemy, my lads--always quarter upon the enemy.'" seeking for a ball.--the count de grancé being wounded in the knee with a musket ball, the surgeons made many incisions. at last, losing patience, he asked them why they treated him so unmercifully? "we are seeking for the ball," said they. "why then did you not speak before?" said the count, "i could have saved you the trouble, for i have it in my pocket." turenne.--in the year , the council of vienna sent montecuculi to oppose turenne, as the only officer that was thought to be a match for him. both generals were perfect masters of the art of war. they passed four months in watching each other, and in marches and counter-marches; at length turenne thought he had got his rival into such a situation as he wanted, near saltsbach, when, going to choose a place to erect a battery, he was unfortunately struck by a cannon shot, which killed him on the spot. the same ball having carried away the arm of st. hilaire, lieutenant-general of the artillery, his son, who was near, could not forbear weeping. "weep not for me," said hilaire, "but for the brave man who lies there, whose loss to his country nothing can repair." generosity of turenne.--the deputies of a great metropolis in germany, once offered the great turenne one hundred thousand crowns not to pass with his army through their city. "gentlemen," said he, "i cannot in conscience accept your money, as i had no intention to pass that way." temper. henderson, the actor, was seldom known to be in a passion. when at oxford, he was one day debating with a fellow student, who, not keeping his temper, threw a glass of wine in the actor's face; upon which henderson took out his handkerchief, wiped his face, and coolly said, "that, sir, was a digression; now for the argument." peter the great made a law in , that if any nobleman beat or ill-treat his slaves he should be looked upon as insane, and a guard should be appointed to take care of his person and his estate. this great monarch once struck his gardener, who being a man of great sensibility, took to his bed, and died in a few days. peter, hearing of this, exclaimed, with tears in his eyes, "alas! i have civilized my own subjects; i have conquered other nations; yet i have not been able to civilize or conquer myself." fletcher, of saltown, is well known to have possessed a most irritable temper. his footman desired to be dismissed. "why do you leave me?" said he. "because, sir," to speak the truth, "i cannot bear your temper." "to be sure, i am passionate, but my passion is no sooner on than it is off." "yes, sir," replied the servant, "but then it is no sooner off than it is on." a neat reply.--in certain debates in the house of lords, in , the bills proposed were opposed by bishop atterbury, who said, "he had prophesied last winter, that this bill would be attempted in the present session, and he was sorry to find he had proved a true prophet." lord coningsby, who usually spoke in a passion, rose, and remarked, that "one of the right reverends had set himself forth as a prophet; but for his part, he did not know what prophet to liken him to, unless to that famous prophet balaam, who was reproved by his own ass." the bishop, in reply, with great readiness and temper exposed this rude attack, concluding in these words: "since the noble lord hath discovered in our manners such a similitude, i must be content to be compared to the prophet balaam; but, my lords, i am at a loss how to make out the other part of the parallel. i am sure that i have been reproved by nobody but his lordship." from that day forth, lord coningsby was called "atterbury's pad." dr. hough, of worcester, was remarkable for evenness of temper, of which the following story affords a proof. a young gentleman, whose family had been well acquainted with the doctor, in making the tour of england before he went abroad, called to pay his respects to him as he passed by his seat in the country. it happened to be at dinner-time, and the room full of company. the bishop, however, received him with much familiarity; but the servant in reaching him a chair, threw down a curious weather-glass that had cost twenty guineas, and broke it. the gentleman was under infinite concern, and began to make an apology for being the occasion of the accident, when the bishop with great good nature interrupted him. "be under no concern, sir," said his lordship, smiling, "for i am much beholden to you for it. we have had a very dry season; and now i hope we shall have rain. i never saw the glass so _low_ in my life." every one was pleased with the humour and pleasantry of the turn; and the more so, as the doctor was then more than eighty, a time of life when the infirmities of old age make most men peevish and hasty. a test.--a cobbler at leyden, who used to attend the public disputations held at the academy, was once asked if he understood latin? "no," replied the mechanic, "but it is easy to know who is wrong in the argument." "how?" enquired his friend. "why, by seeing who is first angry." casaubon, in his "treatise on the passions," relates the following pleasing anecdote of robert, one of the greatest monarchs that ever swayed the sceptre of france. having once surprised a rogue who had cut away the half of his mantle, he took no other notice of the offence than by saying mildly to him, "save thyself, sinner, and leave the rest for another who may have need of it." garrick once complained to sir joshua reynolds of the abuse with which he was loaded by foote, when sir joshua answered, that foote, in so doing, gave the strongest possible proof of being in the wrong; as it was always the man who had the worst side who became violent and abusive. time, value of. spare moments.--the great french chancellor d'aguesseau carefully employed every moment of his time. observing that madame d'aguesseau always delayed ten or twelve minutes before she came down to dinner, he began to compose a work to which he intended to devote these few minutes, which would otherwise have been lost. the result was, at the end of fifteen years, a work in three large quarto volumes, which went through several editions. buffon thus relates the manner in which he acquired a habit of early rising. "in my youth," says he, "i was excessively fond of sleep, and that indolence robbed me of much time. my poor joseph (a domestic who served him for sixty-five years) was of the greatest benefit to me in overcoming it. i promised him a crown for every time he should make me get up at six o'clock. he failed not the next day to rouse me, but i only abused and threatened him. he tried the day following, and i did the same, which made him desist. 'friend joseph,' said i to him at last, 'i have lost my time and you have gained nothing. you do not know how to manage the matter. think only of my promise, and do not regard my threatenings.' the day following he accomplished his point. at first i begged, then entreated and abused, and would have discharged him; but he disregarded me, and raised me up by absolute force. he had his reward every day for my ill-humour at the moment of waking, by thanks, and a crown an hour after. i owe to poor joseph at least ten or twelve volumes of my works." cuvier, the celebrated naturalist, was singularly careful of his time, and did not like those who entered his house to deprive him of it. "i know," said he, "that monsieur l'abbé hauy comes to see _me_; our conversation is an exchange; but i do not want a man to come and tell me whether it is hot or cold, raining or sunshine. my barometer and thermometer know more than all possible visitors; and in my studies in natural history," added he, "i have not found in the whole animal kingdom a species, or class, or family, who frighten me so much as the numerous family of _idlers_" dr. pepusch.--"in one of my visits, very early in life, to that venerable master, dr. pepusch," says dr. burney, "he gave me a short lesson, which made so deep an impression that i long endeavoured to practise it. 'when i was a young man,' said he, 'i determined never to go to bed at night, till i knew something that i did not know in the morning.'" travelling. a tiresome companion.--the celebrated george selwyn was once travelling, and was interrupted by the frequent impertinence of a companion, who was constantly teasing him with questions, and asking him how he did. "how are you now, sir?" said the impertinent. george, in order to get rid of his importunity, replied, "very well: and i intend to continue so all the rest of the journey." charles lamb.--a farmer, by chance a companion in a coach with charles lamb, kept boring him to death with questions, in the jargon of agriculturists, about crops. at length he put a poser--"and pray, sir, how are turnips this year?" "why that, sir," stammered out lamb, "will depend upon the boiled legs of mutton." clans.--an english gentleman travelling through the highlands, came to the inn of letter finlay, in the braes of lochaber. he saw no person near the inn, and knocked at the door. no answer. he knocked repeatedly with as little success; he then opened the door, and walked in. on looking about, he saw a man lying on a bed, whom he hailed thus: "are there any christians in this house?" "no," was the reply, "we are all camerons." welcome sight.--a writer of a modern book of travels, relating the particulars of his being cast away, thus concludes: "after having walked eleven hours without having traced the print of human foot, to my great comfort and delight, i saw a man hanging upon a gibbet; my pleasure at the cheering prospect was inexpressible; for it convinced me that i was in a civilized country!" war. camp dinner.--during the war, in which the eccentric count schaumbourg lippe commanded the artillery in the army of prince frederick of brunswick, against the french, he one day invited several hanoverian officers to dine with him in his tent. when the company were in high spirits, and full of gaiety, several cannon balls flew in different directions about the tent. "the french," exclaimed the officers, "are not far off." "no, no," replied the count, "the enemy, i assure you, are at a great distance; keep your seats." the firing soon afterwards recommenced; when one of the balls carrying away the top of the tent, the officers suddenly rose from their chairs, exclaiming, "the french are here!" "no," replied the count, "the french are not here; and, therefore, gentlemen, i desire you will again sit down, and rely upon my word." the balls continued to fly about; the officers, however, continued to eat and drink without apprehension, though not without whispering their conjectures to each other upon the singularity of their entertainment. the count, at length, rose from the table, and addressing himself to the company, said, "gentlemen, i was willing to convince you how well i can rely upon the officers of my artillery; for i ordered them to fire during the time we continued at dinner, at the pinnacle of the tent, and they have executed my orders with great punctuality." a ragged regiment.--in , the french attacked and defeated the prince of waldeck at fleurus. during this action, a lieutenant-colonel of a french regiment was on the point of charging. not knowing how to animate his men, who were discontented at having commenced the campaign without being fresh clothed, he said to them, "my friends, i congratulate you, that you have the good fortune to be in presence of a regiment newly clothed. charge them vigorously, and we will clothe ourselves." this pleasantry so inspired the soldiers, that they rushed on, and speedily defeated the regiment. the ladies of beauvais.--charles the bold, duke of burgundy, laid siege to the city of beauvais in the year . after investing it closely for twenty-one days, his troops made a general assault, and were on the point of carrying the place, when a band of women, headed by a lady of the name of jeanne hachette, rushing to the walls, opposed such a resistance, with showers of stones, and other missiles, that the tide of fortune was instantaneously turned. a burgundian officer, who attempted to plant the duke's standard on the walls, was fiercely attacked by jeanne hachette, who, snatching the standard from his hands, threw him headlong over the wall. the assailants, in short, were completely repulsed; nor was the distaff, once thrown aside, resumed, till the ladies of beauvais had forced the duke of burgundy to retire in shame from their walls. in memory of this gallant achievement, the municipality of beauvais ordered a general procession of the inhabitants to take place every year, on the th of july, the day on which the siege was raised, in which the ladies were to have the privilege of preceding the men. as long as jeanne hachette lived, she marched in this annual procession, at the head of the women, bearing the standard which she had captured from the burgundian officer; and at her death this standard was deposited in the church of the dominicans, and a portrait of the heroine placed in the town-hall of beauvais. charles xii. was dictating a letter to his secretary during the siege of stralsund, when a bomb fell through the roof into the next room of the house where they were sitting. the terrified secretary let the pen drop from his hand. "what is the matter?" said charles, calmly. the secretary replied, "ah, sire, the bomb!" "but what has the bomb to do," said charles, "with what i am dictating to you?--go on." gonsalvo of cordova.--in an engagement which the spaniards fought under gonsalvo of cordova, their powder-magazine was blown up by the first discharge of the enemy; but so far was this from discouraging the general, that he immediately cried out to his soldiers, "my brave boys, the victory is ours! heaven tells us by this signal that we shall have no further occasion for our artillery." this confidence of the general passed on to the soldiers; they rushed to the contest, and gained a complete victory. algerine captain.--louis xiv., who had once bombarded algiers, ordered the marquess du quesne to bombard it a second time, in order to punish the treachery and insolence of the moors. the despair in which the corsairs found themselves at not being able to beat the fleet off their coasts, caused them to bring all the french slaves, and fasten them to the mouths of their cannon, where they were blown to pieces, the different limbs of their bodies falling even among the french ships. an algerine captain, who had been taken on a cruize, and well treated by the french while he had been their prisoner, one day perceived, among those unfortunate frenchmen who were doomed to the cruel fate just mentioned, an officer named choiseul, from whom he had received the most signal acts of kindness. the algerine immediately begged, entreated, and solicited in the most pressing manner, to save the life of the generous frenchman; but all in vain. at last, when they were going to fire the cannon to which choiseul was fixed, the captain threw himself on the body of his friend, and closely embracing him in his arms, said to the cannonier, "fire! since i cannot serve my benefactor, i shall at least have the consolation of dying with him." the dey, in whose presence this scene passed, was so affected with it, that he commanded the french officer to be set free. marshal boufflers.--a few days previous to the battle of malplaquet, it was publicly talked of at versailles, that a very important battle would soon take place between the french army commanded by marshal villars, and the allied army under prince eugene and marlborough. louis xiv., who for some years had met with many mortifying repulses, seemed to be very uneasy about the event. marshal boufflers, in order to quiet in some degree the perturbation of his sovereign's mind, offered, though a senior officer to villars, to go and serve under him, sacrificing all personal considerations to the glory of his country. his proposal was accepted, and he repaired to the camp. on his arrival, a very singular contest took place between the two commanders. villars desired to have boufflers for his leader; but the latter persisted in yielding him all the glory, while he shared the danger. no event in the life of boufflers ever contributed more to render his name illustrious. marshal villars, who commanded the left wing at the battle, being obliged to retire on account of a wound he had received, marshal boufflers charged the enemy six times after this accident; but finding they had made themselves master of a wood through which they penetrated into the centre of the french army, he yielded them the field of battle, and made a retreat in such good order, that the allies declined pursuing him. war by candle light.--shortly after the commencement of the last peninsular war, a tax was laid on candles, which, as a political economist would prove, made them dearer. a scotch wife, in greenock, remarked to her chandler that the price was raised, and asked why. "it's a' owin' to the war," said he. "the war!" said the astonished matron, "gracious me! are they gaun to fight by candle licht?" admiral duncan's address to the officers of his fleet, when they came on board his ship for his final instructions, previous to the memorable engagement with admiral de winter, was couched in the following laconic and humorous words:--"gentlemen of my fleet, you see a very severe winter fast approaching; and i have only to advise you to keep up a good fire!" a noble enemy.--when the _laura_ and _andromeda_ frigates were wrecked in a violent hurricane in the west indies, on the coast of the martinique, thirty-five men were thrown ashore alive. the marquess de bouille, on hearing of the circumstance, took them to his house, where he treated them most hospitably. after he had cured them of their bruises and sickness, and had clothed them from head to foot, he sent them with a flag of truce to the commanding officer of st. lucia, with a letter, stating that these men having experienced the horrors of shipwreck, he would not add those of war, and had therefore set them free, and at liberty again to serve their country. french grenadier.--during the assault of thurot on the town of carrickfergus in , an incident took place, reflecting at once the highest lustre on the soldier concerned, and evincing the union of consummate courage with noble humanity. whilst the combatants were opposed to each other in the streets, and every inch was pertinaciously disputed by the british forces, a child by some accident escaped from a house in the midst of the scene of action, and ran, unawed by the danger, into the narrow interval between the hostile fronts. one of the french grenadiers seeing the imminent danger of the child, grounded his piece; left the ranks in the hottest fire; took the child in his arms, and placed it in safety in the house from which it had come, and then with all possible haste returned to resume his part in the fight. george i.--during the siege of fort st. philip, a young lieutenant of marines was so unfortunate as to lose both his legs by a chain-shot. in this miserable and helpless condition he was conveyed to england, and a memorial of his case presented to a board; but nothing more than half-pay could be obtained. major manson had the poor lieutenant conducted to court on a public day, in his uniform; where, posted in the ante-room, and supported by two of his brother officers, he cried out, as the king was passing to the drawing-room, "behold, sire, a man who refuses to bend his knee to you; he has lost both in your service." the king, struck no less by the singularity of his address, than by the melancholy object before him, stopped, and hastily demanded what had been done for him. "half-pay," replied the lieutenant, "and please your majesty." "fye, fye on't," said the king, shaking his head; "but let me see you again next levee-day." the lieutenant did not fail to appear, when he received from the immediate hand of royalty a present of five hundred pounds, and an annuity of two hundred pounds a-year for life. charles vi.--at the breaking out of the war against the turks, in the year , the emperor charles vi. of austria took leave of his general, prince eugene, with the following words: "prince, i have set over you a general, who is always to be called to your council, and in whose name all your operations are to be undertaken." with this he put into his hand a crucifix, richly set with diamonds, at the foot of which was the following inscription, 'jesus christus generalissimus.'--"forget not," added the emperor, "that you are fighting his battles who shed his blood for man upon the cross. under his supreme guidance, attack and overwhelm the enemies of christ and christianity." george the second.--it was once found an impracticable task to make george the second acquiesce in a judgment passed by a court-martial on the conduct of two officers high in the army. one of the officers had made himself amenable to military law, by fighting in opposition to the orders of his commander in chief, instead of retreating; by which act of disobedience, the general's plans were frustrated. on these circumstances being detailed to the king, his majesty exclaimed, "oh! the one fight, the other run away." "your majesty will have the goodness to understand, that general ---- did not run away; it was necessary for the accomplishment of his schemes, that he should cause the army to retreat at that critical moment; this he would have conducted with his wonted skill, but for the breach of duty in the officer under the sentence of the court-martial." "i understand," impatiently returned the king; "one fight, he was right; the other run away, he was wrong." it was in vain that ministers renewed their arguments and explanations; his majesty could not, or would not, understand the difference between a disgraceful flight and a politic retreat; they were therefore obliged to end a discussion which merely drew forth the repetition of the same judgment--"the one face the enemy and fight, he right; the other turn his back and not fight, he wrong." ximenes.--at the siege of oran, in africa, cardinal ximenes led the spanish troops to the breach, mounted on a charger, dressed in his pontifical robes, and preceded by a monk on horseback, who bore his archiepiscopal cross. "go on, go on, my children," exclaimed he to the soldiers, "i am at your head. a priest should think it an honour to expose his life for his religion. i have an example in my predecessors, in the archbishopric of toledo. go on to victory." when his victorious troops took possession of the town, he burst into tears on seeing the number of the dead that were lying on the ground; and was heard to say to himself, "they were indeed infidels, but they might have become christians. by their death, they have deprived us of the principal advantage of the victory we have gained over them." an odd grenadier.--during the famous siege of gibraltar, in the absence of the fleet, and when an attack was daily expected, one dark night, a sentinel, whose post was near a tower facing the spanish lines, was standing at the end of his walk, looking towards them, his head filled with nothing but fire and sword, miners, breaching, storming, and bloodshed, while by the side of his box stood a deep narrow-necked earthen jug, in which was the remainder of his supper, consisting of boiled pease. a large monkey (of which there were plenty at the top of the rock), encouraged by the man's absence, and allured by the smell of the pease, ventured to the jug; and, in endeavouring to get at its contents, thrust his neck so far into the jug, as to be unable to withdraw it. at this instant, the soldier approaching, the monkey started up to escape, with the jug on his head. this terrible monster no sooner saluted the eyes of the sentry, than his frantic imagination converted poor pug into a blood-thirsty spanish grenadier, with a tremendous cap on his head. full of this dreadful idea, he instantly fired his piece, roaring out that the enemy had scaled the walls. the guards took the alarm; the drums were beat; signal-guns fired; and in less than ten minutes, the governor and his whole garrison were under arms. the supposed grenadier, being very much incommoded by his cap, and almost blinded by the pease, was soon overtaken and seized; and by this capture, the tranquillity of the garrison was soon restored, without that slaughter and bloodshed which every man had prognosticated at the beginning of this dire alarm. miscellaneous. dunning.--the witty lord ross, having spent all his money in london, set out for ireland, in order to recruit his purse. on his way, he happened to meet with sir murrough o'brien, driving for the capital in a handsome phaëton, with six prime dun-coloured horses. "sir murrough," exclaimed his lordship, "what a contrast there is betwixt you and me! you are driving your _duns_ before you, but my _duns_ are driving me before them." steele & addison.--a gentleman who was dining with another, praised the meat very much, and asked who was the butcher? "his name is addison."--"addison!" echoed the guest, "pray is he any relation to the essayist?"--"in all probability he is, for he is seldom without his steel (_steele_) by his side." a tedious preacher.--mr. canning was once asked by an english clergyman how he liked the sermon he had preached before him. "why, it was a short sermon," quoth canning. "oh yes," said the preacher; "you know i avoid being tedious." "ah, but," replied canning, "you _were_ tedious." charity sermon.--sydney smith, preaching a charity sermon, frequently repeated the assertion that, of all nations, englishmen were most distinguished for generosity and the love of their species. the collection happened to be inferior to his expectations, and he said that he had evidently made a great mistake, for that his expression should have been, that they were distinguished for the love of their _specie_. pope the poet.--this celebrated poet is said to have been once severely retorted upon. a question arose in company respecting the reading of a passage with or without a note of interrogation. pope rather arrogantly asked one gentleman if he knew what a note of interrogation was. "yes, sir: it is _a little crooked thing that asks questions_." pope was little and deformed. estimate of greatness.--pope was with sir godfrey kneller one day, when his nephew, a guinea trader, came in. "nephew," said sir godfrey, "you have the honour of seeing the two greatest men in the world."--"i don't know how great you may be," said the guinea-man, "but i don't like your looks: i have often bought a man much better than both of you together, all muscles and bones, for ten guineas." "rejected addresses."--the fame of the brothers james and horatio smith was confined to a limited circle, until the publication of "the rejected addresses." james used to dwell with much pleasure on the criticism of a leicestershire clergyman: "i do not see why they ('the addresses') should have been rejected: i think some of them very good." this, he would add, is almost as good as the avowal of the irish bishop, that there were some things in "gulliver's travels" which he could not believe. the two smith's.--a gentleman took lodgings in the same house with james smith, one of the celebrated authors of the "rejected addresses." his name was also james smith. the consequence was an eternal confusion of calls and letters, and the postman had no alternative but to share the letters equally between the two. "this is intolerable, sir," said our author, "you must quit." "why am i to quit more than you?" "because you came last, and being james the second you must _abdicate_." coleridge, the poet, once dined in company with a person who listened to the conversation and said nothing for a long time; but occasionally nodded his head, and coleridge concluded him a thoughtful and intelligent man. at length, towards the end of the dinner, some apple dumplings were placed on the table, and the listener had no sooner seen them than he burst forth, "them's the fellows for me!" coleridge adds: "i wish spurzheim could have examined the fellow's head." an appropriate successor.--clerambault, who was deformed, was elected to succeed la fontaine in the french academy. on that occasion it was said that "la fontaine was very properly succeeded by esop." erskine.--lord kellie was amusing the company with an account of a sermon he had heard in italy, in which the preacher related the miracle of st. anthony preaching to the fishes, who, in order to listen to his pious discourse, held their heads out of the water. "i can credit the miracle," said erskine, "if your lordship was at church." "i certainly was there," said the peer. "then, rejoined erskine, there was at least _one fish out of water_." memory.--a humorous comment on this system of artificial memory was made by a waiter at an hotel where feinaigle dined, after having given his lecture on that subject. a few minutes after the professor left the table, the waiter entered, with uplifted hands and eyes, exclaiming, "well, i declare, the _memory man_ has forgotten his umbrella!" parisian rag-picker.--an old chiffonnier (or rag picker) died in paris in a state apparently of the most abject poverty. his only relation was a niece, who lived as servant with a greengrocer. this girl always assisted her uncle as far as her slender means would permit. when she heard of his death, which took place suddenly, she was upon the point of marriage with a journeyman baker, to whom she had been long attached. the nuptial day was fixed, but suzette had not yet bought her wedding clothes. she hastened to tell her lover that their marriage must be deferred, as she wanted the price of her bridal finery to lay her uncle decently in the grave. her mistress ridiculed the idea, and exhorted her to leave the old man to be buried by charity. suzette refused. the consequence was a quarrel, in which the young woman lost at once her place and her lover, who sided with her mistress. she hastened to the miserable garret where her uncle had expired, and by the sacrifice not only of her wedding attire, but of nearly all the rest of her slender wardrobe, she had the old man decently interred. her pious task fulfilled, she sat alone in her uncle's room weeping bitterly, when the master of her faithless lover, a young good-looking man, entered. "so, my good suzette, i find you have lost your place!" cried he, "i am come to offer you one for life--will you marry me?" "i, sir? you are joking." "no, indeed, i want a wife, and i am sure i can't find a better." "but everybody will laugh at you for marrying a poor girl like me," "oh! if that is your only objection we shall soon get over it; come, come along; my mother is prepared to receive you." suzette hesitated no longer; but she wished to take with her a memorial of her deceased uncle: it was a cat that he had kept for many years. the old man was so fond of the animal that he was determined even death should not separate them, and he had caused her to be stuffed and placed near his bed. as suzette took puss down, she uttered an exclamation of surprise at finding her so heavy. the lover hastened to open the animal, when out fell a shower of gold. there were a thousand louis concealed in the body of the cat, and this sum, which the old man had contrived to amass, became the just reward of the worthy girl and her disinterested lover. integrity.--a parisian stock-broker, just before his death, laid a wager on parole with a rich capitalist; and a few weeks after his death, the latter visited the widow and gave her to understand that her late husband had lost a wager of sixteen thousand francs. she went to her secretary, took out her pocket-book, and counted bank notes to the stated amount, when the capitalist thus addressed her: "madame, as you give such convincing proof that you consider the wager binding, _i_ have to pay you sixteen thousand francs. here is the sum, for _i_ am the loser, and not your husband." during the speculations of - , mr. c., a young merchant of philadelphia, possessed of a handsome fortune, caught the mania, entered largely into its operations, and for a time was considered immensely rich. but when the great revulsion occurred he was suddenly reduced to bankruptcy. his young wife immediately withdrew from the circles of wealth and fashion, and adapted her expenses, family and personal, to her altered circumstances. at the time of mr. c.'s failure, his wife was in debt to messrs. stewart and company, merchants of philadelphia, about two hundred dollars for articles which she had used personally. this debt, she had no means of liquidating. however after the lapse of twelve years, and when the creditors had of course looked upon the debt as lost, mrs. c. was able to take the principal, add to it twelve years' interest, enclose the whole in a note and address it to messrs. stewart and company. messrs. stewart and company, upon the receipt of the money, addressed a note in reply to mrs. c., in which they requested her acceptance of the accompanying gift, as a slight testimonial of their high appreciation of an act so honourable and so rare as to call forth unqualified admiration. accompanying the letter was sent a superb brocade silk dress, and some laces of exquisite texture and great value. costume of the sisters of charity.--the sisters of st. vincent de paul, at the time of their re-establishment in their house, in the _rue du vieux colombier_, after the revolution, wore black dresses and caps. on the fourth sunday in advent, , pope pius the seventh visited the community. he seemed surprised that the sisters had not resumed the habit of their order; but he was told that no community had dared to show the religious habit abroad. he then spoke to the emperor, saying to him that the good daughters of charity "_looked like widows_." the emperor, at his request, gave authority to the sisters to wear their habit, and they resumed it in the spring of . china-ware.--an english gentleman wanting a dessert-service of porcelain made after a particular pattern, sent over to china a specimen dish, ordering that it should be exactly copied for the whole service. it unfortunately happened that in the dish so sent over the chinese manufacturer discovered a crack; the consequence was, that the entire service sent over to the party ordering it had a crack in each article, carefully copied from the original. dreaming.--it is a custom among the canadian indians, that when one dreams that another has rendered him any service, the person dreamed of thinks it a duty to fulfil the dream, if possible. a chief one morning came to the governor, sir william johnstone, and told him that he had last night dreamed that sir william had made him a present of the suit of regimentals he wore. the governor readily presented them to him; but as the indian was going out, "stop," said sir william, "i had almost forgot, but i dreamed about you last night; i dreamed that you gave me such a piece of land," describing a large tract. "you shall have it," said he, "but if you please, sir william, we will _not dream any more_." lessing was remarkable for a frequent absence of mind. having missed money at different times, without being able to discover who took it, he determined to put the honesty of his servant to a trial, and left a handful of gold on the table. "of course you counted it?" said one of his friends. "count it!" said leasing, rather embarrassed; "no, i forgot that." at a public sale, there was a book which lessing was very desirous of possessing. he gave three of his friends at different times a commission to buy it at any price. they accordingly bid against each other till they had got as far as ninety crowns, there having been no other bidder after it had reached ten crowns. happily one of them thought it best to speak to the others; when it appeared they had all been bidding for lessing, whose forgetfulness in this instance cost him eighty crowns. edinburgh.--in a debate upon some projected improvement of the streets of edinburgh, the dean of faculty wittily said that the _forwardness_ of the clergy, and the _backwardness_ of the medical faculty, had spoiled the finest street in europe, alluding to the projection of the colonnade of st. andrew's church and the recession of the medical hall in george's-street. maclaurin.--this celebrated professor of mathematics in edinburgh college, and the able expounder of newton's _principia_, always dislocated his jaw, and was unable to shut his mouth, when he yawned. at the same time his instinct of imitation was so strong, that he could not resist yawning when he witnessed that act in others. his pupils were not slow in discovering, and taking advantage of this physical weakness. when tired of his lecture, they either began to yawn, or open their mouths in imitation of that act, and the prelection was interrupted. the professor stood before them with his mouth wide open, and could not proceed till he rang for his servant to come and shut it. in the meantime the mischievous disciples of euclid had effected their escape. william iii. and st. evremond.--william was so little of a man of letters, that on the celebrated french writer, st. evremond, being presented to him at st. james's, his majesty had nothing more _àpropos_ to say than this, "you are, i believe, sir, a major-general in your master's service." music and politics.--dr. wise, the musician, being requested to subscribe his name to a petition against an expected prorogation of parliament in the reign of charles ii., wittily answered, "no, gentlemen, it is not my business to meddle with state affairs; _but i'll set a tune to it, if you like_." sion college.--upon the recovery of george iii. in , the librarian and others connected with sion college were at a loss what device or motto to select for the illumination of the building; when the following happy choice was made by a worthy divine, from the book of psalms; "_sion_ heard of it and was glad." dean swift having preached an assize sermon in ireland, was invited to dine with the judges; and having in his sermon considered the use and abuse of the law, he pressed somewhat hard upon those counsellors, who plead causes, which they knew in their consciences to be wrong. when dinner was over, and the glass began to go round, a young barrister retorted upon the dean; and after several altercations, the counsellor asked him, "if the devil was to die, whether a _parson_ might not be found, who, for money, would preach his funeral?" "yes," said swift, "i would gladly be the man, and i would then give the _devil_ his due, as i have this day done his _children_." swift disliked nothing so much as being troubled with applications from authors to correct their works. a poor poet having written a very indifferent tragedy, got himself introduced to the dean in order to have his opinion of it; and in about a fortnight after, called at the deanery. swift returned the play, carefully folded up, telling him he had read it, and taken some pains with it, and he believed the author would not find above half the number of faults that it had when it came into his hands. the poor author, after a thousand acknowledgments, retired in company with the gentleman who had introduced him, and was so impatient to see the corrections, that he stopped under the first gateway they came to, when to his utter astonishment and confusion, he saw that the dean had taken the pains to blot out every second line throughout the whole play, so carefully as to render them quite illegible. lady carteret, wife of the lord lieutenant, said to swift one day, "the air of ireland is excellent and healthy." "for god's sake, madam," said swift, falling down before her, "don't say so in england, for if you do they will tax it." dr savage, who died in , travelled in his younger days, with the earl of salisbury, to whom he was indebted for a considerable living in hertfordshire. one day at the levee, the king (george i.) asked him how long he had resided at rome with lord salisbury. upon his answering him how long,--"why," said the king, "you staid there long enough; how is it you did not convert the pope?"--"because, sir," replied the doctor, "i had nothing better to offer him." sheridan.--this distinguished wit, upon being asked by a young member of parliament how he first succeeded in establishing his fame as an orator, replied, "why, sir, it was easily effected. after i had been in st. stephen's chapel a few days, i found that four-fifths of the house were composed of country squires, and great fools; my first effort, therefore, was by a lively sally, or an ironical remark, to make them laugh; that laugh effaced from their stupid pates the recollection of what had been urged in opposition to my view of the subject, and then i whipped in an argument, and had all the way clear before me." sheridan.--the father of the celebrated sheridan was one day descanting on the pedigree of his family, regretting that they were no longer styled o'sheridan, as they were formerly. "indeed, father," replied sheridan, then a boy, "we have more right to the o than any one else; for we _owe_ everybody." sheridan inquiring of his son what side of politics he should espouse on his inauguration to st. stephen's chapel; the son replied, that he intended to vote for those who offered best, and that in consequence he should wear on his forehead a label, "to let;" to which the facetious critic rejoined, "i suppose, tom, you mean to add, _unfurnished_." sheridan was once travelling to town in one of the public coaches, for the purpose of canvassing westminster, at the time that mr. paull was his opponent, when he found himself in company with two westminster electors. in the course of conversation, one of them asked his friend to whom he meant to give his vote? the other replied, "to paull, certainly; for, though i think him but a shabby sort of a fellow, i would vote for anyone rather than that rascal sheridan!" "do you know sheridan?" inquired the stranger. "not i, sir," was the answer, "nor should i wish to know him." the conversation dropped here; but when the party alighted to breakfast, sheridan called aside the other gentleman and said, "pray who is that very agreeable friend of your's? he is one of the pleasantest fellows i ever met with; i should be glad to know his name?" "his name is mr. t.; he is an eminent lawyer, and resides in lincoln's inn fields." breakfast being over, the party resumed their seats in the coach; soon after which, sheridan turned the discourse to the law. "it is," said he, "a fine profession. men may rise from it to the highest eminence in the state, and it gives vast scope to the display of talent; many of the most virtuous and noble characters recorded in our history have been lawyers. i am sorry, however, to add, that some of the greatest rascals have also been lawyers; but of all the rascals of lawyers i ever heard of, the greatest is one t., who lives in lincoln's inn fields." the gentleman fired up at the charge, and said very angrily, "i am mr. t., sir." "and i am mr. sheridan," was the reply. the jest was instantly seen; they shook hands, and instead of voting against the facetious orator, the lawyer exerted himself warmly in promoting his election. sterne.--sterne used to relate a circumstance which happened to him at york. after preaching at the cathedral, an old woman whom he observed sitting on the pulpit stairs, stopped him as he came down, and begged to know where she should have the honour of hearing him preach the following sunday. on leaving the pulpit the next sunday he found her placed as before, when she put the same question to him. the following sunday he was to preach four miles out of york, which he told her; and to his great surprise, he found her there too, and the same question was put to him as he descended from the pulpit. "on which," added he "i took for my text these words, expecting to find my old woman as before: 'i will grant the request of this poor widow, lest by her often coming, she weary me,'" one of the company immediately replied, "why, sterne, you omitted the most applicable part of the passage, which is, 'though i neither fear god nor regard man.'" sporting.--burton, in his "anatomie of melancholy," tells us of a physician in milan, who kept a house for the reception of lunatics, and by way of cure, used to make his patients stand for a length of time in a pit of water, some up to the knees, some up to the girdle, and others as high as the chin, according as they were more or less affected. an inmate of this establishment, who happened, for the time to be pretty well recovered, was standing at the door of the house, and seeing a gallant cavalier ride past with a hawk on his fist, and his spaniels after him, asked, "what all these preparations meant?" the cavalier answered, "to kill game." "what may the game be worth which you kill in the course of a year?" rejoined the patient. "about five or ten crowns." "and what may your horse, dogs, and hawks, cost you for a year?" "four hundred crowns." on hearing this, the patient, with great earnestness of manner, bade the cavalier instantly begone, as he valued his life and welfare; "for" said he, "if our master come and find you here, he will put you into his pit up to the very chin." an american heroine.--during the summer of , writes mr. mcclung, in his sketches of western adventure, "the house of mr. john merrill, of nelson county, kentucky, was attacked by the indians, and defended with singular address and good fortune. merrill was alarmed by the barking of a dog about midnight, and on opening the door in order to ascertain the cause of the disturbance, he received the fire of six or seven indians, by which one arm and one thigh were broken. he instantly sank upon the floor, and called upon his wife to close the door. this had scarcely been done when it was violently assailed by the tomahawks of the enemy, and a large breach soon effected. mrs. merrill, however, being a perfect amazon, both in strength and courage, guarded it with an axe, and successively killed or wounded four of the enemy as they attempted to force their way into the cabin. the indians ascended the roof, and attempted to enter by way of the chimney; but here again they were met by the same determined enemy. mrs. merrill seized the only feather bed which the cabin afforded, and hastily ripping it open, poured its contents upon the fire. a furious blaze and stifling smoke instantly ascended the chimney, and brought down two of the enemy, who lay at her mercy. seizing the axe she quickly despatched them, and was instantly afterwards summoned to the door, where the only remaining savage now appeared, endeavoring to effect an entrance. he soon received a gash in the cheek, which compelled him, with a loud yell, to relinquish his purpose, and return hastily to chillicothe, where, he gave an exaggerated account of the fierceness, strength, and courage of the 'long knife squaw!'" another.--the subject of this anecdote was a sister of general isaac worrell. she died two or three years since in philadelphia. the following tribute to her patriotism and humanity, was paid by a new jersey newspaper, in july, .--"the deceased was one of those devoted women who aided to relieve the horrible sufferings of washington's army at valley forge--cooking and carrying provisions to them alone, through the depth of winter, even passing through the outposts of the british army in the disguise of a market woman. and when washington was compelled to retreat before a superior force, she concealed her brother, general worrell--when the british set a price on his head--in a cider hogshead in the cellar for three days, and fed him through the bung-hole; the house being ransacked four different times by the troops in search of him, without success. she was above ninety years of age at the time of her death." tyrolese peasant.--during a conflict at the farm of rainerhof, in the tyrolese war, in , a young woman, who resided at the house, brought out a small cask of wine, with which to encourage and refresh the peasants: she had advanced to the scene of action, regardless of the tremendous fire of the bavarians, carrying the wine upon her head, when a bullet struck the cask, and compelled her to let it go. undaunted by this accident, she endeavoured to repair the mischief, by placing her thumb upon the orifice caused by the ball; and then encouraged those nearest her to refresh themselves quickly, that she might not remain in her dangerous situation, and suffer for her humane generosity to them. the end. the book of the bush containing many truthful sketches of the early colonial life of squatters, whalers, convicts, diggers, and others who left their native land and never returned. by george dunderdale. illustrated by j. macfarlane. london: ward, lock & co., limited, warwick house, salisbury square, e.c. new york and melbourne. [illustration ] contents. _____________ purging out the old leaven. first settlers. wreck of the convict ship "neva" on king's island. discovery of the river hopkins. whaling. out west in . among the diggers in . a bush hermit. the two shepherds. a valiant police-sergeant. white slavers. the government stroke. on the ninety-mile. gippsland pioneers. the isle of blasted hopes. glengarry in gippsland. wanted, a cattle market. two special surveys. how government came to gippsland. gippsland under the law. until the golden dawn. a new rush. gippsland after thirty years. government officers in the bush. seal islands and sealers. a happy convict. list of illustrations. illustration . "joey's out." illustration . "i'll show you who is master aboard this ship." illustration . "you stockman, frank, come off that horse." illustration . "the biggest bully apropriated the belle of the ball." * * * "the best article in the march ( ) number of the 'austral light' is a pen picture by mr. george dunderdale of the famous ninety-mile beach, the vast stretch of white and lonely sea-sands, which forms the sea-barrier of gippsland."--'review of reviews', march, . * * * "the most interesting article in 'austral light' is one on gippsland pioneers, by george dunderdale."--'review of reviews', march, . * * * "in 'austral light' for september mr. george dunderdale contributes, under the title of 'gippsland under the law,' one of those realistic sketches of early colonial life which only he can write."--'review of reviews', september, . * * * the book of the bush. --------------------- purging out the old leaven. while the world was young, nations could be founded peaceably. there was plenty of unoccupied country, and when two neighbouring patriarchs found their flocks were becoming too numerous for the pasture, one said to the other: "let there be no quarrel, i pray, between thee and me; the whole earth is between us, and the land is watered as the garden of paradise. if thou wilt go to the east, i will go to the west; or if thou wilt go to the west, i will go to the east." so they parted in peace. but when the human flood covered the whole earth, the surplus population was disposed of by war, famine, or pestilence. death is the effectual remedy for over-population. heroes arose who had no conscientious scruples. they skinned their natives alive, or crucified them. they were then adored as demi-gods, and placed among the stars. pious aeneas was the pattern of a good emigrant in the early times, but with all his piety he did some things that ought to have made his favouring deities blush, if possible. america, when discovered for the last of many times, was assigned by the pope to the spaniards and portuguese. the natives were not consulted; but they were not exterminated; their descendants occupy the land to the present day. england claimed a share in the new continent, and it was parcelled out to merchant adventurers by royal charter. the adventures of these merchants were various, but they held on to the land. new england was given to the puritans by no earthly potentate, their title came direct from heaven. increase mather said: "the lord god has given us for a rightful possession the land of the heathen people amongst whom we dwell;" and where are the heathen people now? australia was not given to us either by the pope or by the lord. we took this land, as we have taken many other lands, for our own benefit, without asking leave of either heaven or earth. a continent, with its adjacent islands, was practically vacant, inhabited only by that unearthly animal the kangaroo, and by black savages, who had not even invented the bow and arrow, never built a hut or cultivated a yard of land. such people could show no valid claim to land or life, so we confiscated both. the british islands were infested with criminals from the earliest times. our ancestors were all pirates, and we have inherited from them a lurking taint in our blood, which is continually impelling us to steal something or kill somebody. how to get rid of this taint was a problem which our statesmen found it difficult to solve. in times of war they mitigated the evil by filling the ranks of our armies from the gaols, and manning our navies by the help of the press-gang, but in times of peace the scum of society was always increasing. at last a great idea arose in the mind of england. little was known of new holland, except that it was large enough to harbour all the criminals of great britain and the rest of the population if necessary. why not transport all convicts, separate the chaff from the wheat, and purge out the old leaven? by expelling all the wicked, england would become the model of virtue to all nations. so the system was established. old ships were chartered and filled with the contents of the gaols. if the ships were not quite seaworthy it did not matter much. the voyage was sure to be a success; the passengers might never reach land, but in any case they would never return. on the vessels conveying male convicts, some soldiers and officers were embarked to keep order and put down mutiny. order was kept with the lash, and mutiny was put down with the musket. on the ships conveying women there were no soldiers, but an extra half-crew was engaged. these men were called "shilling-a-month" men, because they had agreed to work for one shilling a month for the privilege of being allowed to remain in sydney. if the voyage lasted twelve months they would thus have the sum of twelve shillings with which to commence making their fortunes in the southern hemisphere. but the "shilling-a-month" man, as a matter of fact, was not worth one cent the day after he landed, and he had to begin life once more barefoot, like a new-born babe. the seamen's food on board these transports was bad and scanty, consisting of live biscuit, salt horse, yankee pork, and scotch coffee. the scotch coffee was made by steeping burnt biscuit in boiling water to make it strong. the convicts' breakfast consisted of oatmeal porridge, and the hungry seamen used to crowd round the galley every morning to steal some of it. it would be impossible for a nation ever to become virtuous and rich if its seamen and convicts were reared in luxury and encouraged in habits of extravagance. when the transport cast anchor in the beautiful harbour of port jackson, the ship's blacksmith was called out of his bunk at midnight. it was his duty to rivet chains on the legs of the second-sentence men--the twice convicted. they had been told on the voyage that they would have an island all to themselves, where they would not be annoyed by the contemptuous looks and bitter jibes of better men. all night long the blacksmith plied his hammer and made the ship resound with the rattling chains and ringing manacles, as he fastened them well on the legs of the prisoners. at dawn of day, chained together in pairs, they were landed on goat island; that was the bright little isle--their promised land. every morning they were taken over in boats to the town of sydney, where they had to work as scavengers and road-makers until four o'clock in the afternoon. they turned out their toes, and shuffled their feet along the ground, dragging their chains after them. the police could always identify a man who had been a chain-gang prisoner during the rest of his life by the way he dragged his feet after him. in their leisure hours these convicts were allowed to make cabbage-tree hats. they sold them for about a shilling each, and the shop-keepers resold them for a dollar. they were the best hats ever worn in the sunny south, and were nearly indestructible; one hat would last a lifetime, but for that reason they were bad for trade, and became unfashionable. the rest of the transported were assigned as servants to those willing to give them food and clothing without wages. the free men were thus enabled to grow rich by the labours of the bondmen--vice was punished and virtue rewarded. until all the passengers had been disposed of, sentinels were posted on the deck of the transport with orders to shoot anyone who attempted to escape. but when all the convicts were gone, jack was sorely tempted to follow the shilling-a-month men. he quietly slipped ashore, hurried off to botany bay, and lived in retirement until his ship had left port jackson. he then returned to sydney, penniless and barefoot, and began to look for a berth. at the rum puncheon wharf he found a shilling-a-month man already installed as cook on a colonial schooner. he was invited to breakfast, and was astonished and delighted with the luxuries lavished on the colonial seaman. he had fresh beef, fresh bread, good biscuit, tea, coffee, and vegetables, and three pounds a month wages. there was a vacancy on the schooner for an able seaman, and jack filled it. he then registered a solemn oath that he would "never go back to england no more," and kept it. some kind of government was necessary, and, as the first inhabitants were criminals, the colony was ruled like a gaol, the governor being head gaoler. his officers were mostly men who had been trained in the army and navy. they were all poor and needy, for no gentleman of wealth and position would ever have taken office in such a community. they came to make a living, and when free immigrants arrived and trade began to flourish, it was found that the one really valuable commodity was rum, and by rum the officers grew rich. in course of time the country was divided into districts, about thirty or thirty-five in number, over each of which an officer presided as police magistrate, with a clerk and staff of constables, one of whom was official flogger, always a convict promoted to the billet for merit and good behaviour. new holland soon became an organised pandemonium, such as the world had never known since sodom and gomorrah disappeared in the dead sea, and the details of its history cannot be written. to mitigate its horrors the worst of the criminals were transported to norfolk island. the governor there had not the power to inflict capital punishment, and the convicts began to murder one another in order to obtain a brief change of misery, and the pleasure of a sea voyage before they could be tried and hanged in sydney. a branch pandemonium was also established in van diemen's land. this system was upheld by england for about fifty years. the 'britannia', a convict ship, the property of messrs. enderby & sons, arrived at sydney on october th, , and reported that vast numbers of sperm whales were seen after doubling the south-west cape of van diemen's land. whaling vessels were fitted out in sydney, and it was found that money could be made by oil and whalebone as well as by rum. sealing was also pursued in small vessels, which were often lost, and sealers lie buried in all the islands of the southern seas, many of them having a story to tell, but no story-teller. whalers, runaway seamen, shilling-a-month men, and escaped convicts were the earliest settlers in new zealand, and were the first to make peaceful intercourse with the maoris possible. they built themselves houses with wooden frames, covered with reeds and rushes, learned to converse in the native language, and became family men. they were most of them english and americans, with a few frenchmen. they loved freedom, and preferred maori customs, and the risk of being eaten, to the odious supervision of the english government. the individual white man in those days was always welcome, especially if he brought with him guns, ammunition, tomahawks, and hoes. it was by these articles that he first won the respect and admiration of the native. if the visitor was a "pakeha tutua," a poor european, he might receive hospitality for a time, in the hope that some profit might be made out of him. but the maori was a poor man also, with a great appetite, and when it became evident that the guest was no better than a pauper, and could not otherwise pay for his board, the maori sat on the ground, meditating and watching, until his teeth watered, and at last he attached the body and baked it. in the church missionary society sent labourers to the distant vineyard to introduce christianity, and to instruct the natives in the rights of property. the first native protector of christianity and letters was hongi hika, a great warrior of the ngapuhi nation, in the north island. he was born in , and voyaging to sydney in , he became the guest of the rev. mr. marsden. in the rev. gentleman bought his settlement at kerikeri from hongi hika, the price being forty-eight axes. the area of the settlement was thirteen thousand acres. the land was excellent, well watered, in a fine situation, and near a good harbour. hongi next went to england with the rev. mr. kendall to see king george, who was at that time in matrimonial trouble. hongi was surprised to hear that the king had to ask permission of anyone to dispose of his wife caroline. he said he had five wives at home, and he could clear off the whole of them if he liked without troubling anybody. he received valuable presents in london, which he brought back to sydney, and sold for three hundred muskets and ammunition. the year was the most glorious time of his life. he raised an army of one thousand men, three hundred of whom had been taught the use of his muskets. the neighbouring tribes had no guns. he went up the tamar, and at totara slew five hundred men, and baked and ate three hundred of them. on the waipa he killed fourteen hundred warriors out of a garrison of four thousand, and then returned home with crowds of slaves. the other tribes began to buy guns from the traders as fast as they were able to pay for them with flax; and in , at wangaroa, a bullet went through hongi's lungs, leaving a hole in his back through which he used to whistle to entertain his friends; but he died of the wound fifteen months afterwards. other men, both clerical and lay, followed the lead of the rev. mr. marsden. in mr. fairbairn bought four hundred acres for ten pounds worth of trade. baron de thierry bought forty thousand acres on the hokianga river for thirty-six axes. from to one million acres were bought by settlers and merchants. twenty-five thousand acres were bought at the bay of islands and hokianga in five years, seventeen thousand of which belonged to the missionaries. in the rev. henry williams made a bold offer for the unsold country. he forwarded a deed of trust to the governor of new south wales, requesting that the missionaries should be appointed trustees for the natives for the remainder of their lands, "to preserve them from the intrigues of designing men." before the year , twenty millions of acres had been purchased by the clergy and laity for a few guns, axes, and other trifles, and the maoris were fast wasting their inheritance. but the titles were often imperfect. when a man had bought a few hundreds of acres for six axes and a gun, and had paid the price agreed on to the owner, another owner would come and claim the land because his grandfather had been killed on it. he sat down before the settler's house and waited for payment, and whether he got any or not he came at regular intervals during the rest of his life and sat down before the door with his spear and mere* by his side waiting for more purchase money. [footnote] *axe made of greenstone. some honest people in england heard of the good things to be had in new zealand, formed a company, and landed near the mouth of the hokianga river to form a settlement. the natives happened to be at war, and were performing a war dance. the new company looked on while the natives danced, and then all desire for land in new zealand faded from their hearts. they returned on board their ship and sailed away, having wasted twenty thousand pounds. such people should remain in their native country. your true rover, lay or clerical, comes for something or other, and stays to get it, or dies. after twenty years of labour, and an expenditure of two hundred thousand pounds, the missionaries claimed only two thousand converts, and these were christians merely in name. in the rev. henry williams said the natives were as insensible to redemption as brutes, and in the methodists in england contemplated withdrawing their establishment for want of success. the catholic bishop pompallier, with two priests, landed at hokianga on january th, , and took up his residence at the house of an irish catholic named poynton, who was engaged in the timber trade. poynton was a truly religious man, who had been living for some time among the maoris. he was desirous of marrying the daughter of a chief, but he wished that she should be a christian, and, as there was no catholic priest nearer than sydney, he sailed to that port with the chief and his daughter, called on bishop polding, and informed him of the object of his visit. a course of instruction was given to the father and daughter, poynton acting as interpreter; they were baptised, and the marriage took place. after the lapse of sixty years their descendents were found to have retained the faith, and were living as good practical catholics. bishop pompallier celebrated his first mass on january th, , and the news of his arrival was soon noised abroad and discussed. the methodist missionaries considered the action of the bishop as an unwarrantable intrusion on their domain, and, being protestants, they resolved to protest. this they did through the medium of thirty native warriors, who appeared before poynton's house early in the morning of january nd, when the bishop was preparing to say mass. the chief made a speech. he said the bishop and his priests were enemies to the maoris. they were not traders, for they had brought no guns, no axes. they had been sent by a foreign chief (the pope) to deprive the maoris of their land, and make them change their old customs. therefore he and his warriors had come to break the crucifix, and the ornaments of the altar, and to take the bishop and his priests to the river. the bishop replied that, although he was not a trader, he had come as a friend, and did not wish to deprive them of their country or anything belonging to them. he asked them to wait a while, and if they could find him doing the least injury to anyone they could take him to the river. the warriors agreed to wait, and went away. next day the bishop went further up the river to wherinaki, where laming, a pakeha maori, resided. laming was an irish-protestant who had great influence with his tribe, which was numerous and warlike. he was admired by the natives for his strength and courage. he was six feet three inches in height, as nimble and spry as a cat, and as long-winded as a coyote. his father-in-law was a famous warrior named lizard skin. his religion was that of the church of england, and he persuaded his tribe to profess it. he told them that the protestant god was stronger than the catholic god worshipped by his fellow countryman, poynton. in after years, when his converts made cartridges of their bibles and rejected christianity, he was forced to confess that their religion was of this world only. they prayed that they might be brave in battle, and that their enemies might be filled with fear. laming's christian zeal did not induce him to forget the duties of hospitality. he received the bishop as a friend, and the europeans round tatura and other places came regularly to mass. during the first six years of the mission, twenty thousand maoris either had been baptised or were being prepared for baptism. previous to the year some flax had been brought to sydney from new zealand, and manufactured into every species of cordage except cables, and it was found to be stronger than baltic hemp. on account of the ferocious character of the maoris, the sydney government sent several vessels to open communication with the tribes before permitting private individuals to embark in the trade. the ferocity attributed to the natives was not so much a part of their personal character as the result of their habits and beliefs. they were remarkable for great energy of mind and body, foresight, and self-denial. their average height was about five feet six inches, but men from six feet to six feet six inches were not uncommon. their point of honour was revenge, and a man who remained quiet while the manes of his friend or relation were unappeased by the blood of the enemy, would be dishonoured among his tribe. the maoris were in reality loath to fight, and war was never begun until after long talk. their object was to exterminate or enslave their enemies, and they ate the slain. before commencing hostilities, the warriors endeavoured to put fear into the hearts of their opponents by enumerating the names of the fathers, uncles, or brothers of those in the hostile tribe whom they had slain and eaten in former battles. when a fight was progressing the women looked on from the rear. they were naked to the waist, and wore skirts of matting made from flax. as soon as a head was cut off they ran forward, and brought it away, leaving the body on the ground. if many were slain it was sometimes difficult to discover to what body each head had belonged, whether it was that of a friend or a foe, and it was lawful to bake the bodies of enemies only. notwithstanding their peculiar customs, one who knew the maoris well described them as the most patient, equable, forgiving people in the world, but full of superstitious ideas, which foreigners could not understand. they believed that everything found on their coast was sent to them by the sea god, taniwa, and they therefore endeavoured to take possession of the blessings conferred on them by seizing the first ships that anchored in their rivers and harbours. this led to misunderstandings and fights with their officers and crews, who had no knowledge of the sea god, taniwa. it was found necessary to put netting all round the vessels as high as the tops to prevent surprise, and when trade began it was the rule to admit no more than five maoris on board at once. the flax was found growing spontaneously in fields of inexhaustible extent along the more southerly shores of the islands. the fibre was separated by the females, who held the top of the leaf between their toes, and drew a shell through the whole length of the leaf. it took a good cleaner to scrape fifteen pounds weight of it in a day; the average was about ten pounds, for which the traders gave a fig of tobacco and a pipe, two sheets of cartridge paper, or one pound of lead. the price at which the flax was sold in sydney varied from pounds to pounds per ton, according to quality, so there was a large margin of profit to the trader. in sixty tons of flax valued at , pounds, were exported from sydney to england. the results of trading with the foreigners were fatal to the natives. at first the trade was in axes, knives, and other edge-tools, beads, and ornaments, but in the maoris would scarcely take anything but arms and ammunition, red woollen shirts, and tobacco. every man in a native hapu had to procure a musket, or die. if the warriors of the hapu had no guns they would soon be all killed by some tribe that had them. the price of one gun, together with the requisite powder, was one ton of cleaned flax, prepared by the women and slaves in the sickly swamps. in the meantime the food crops were neglected, hunger and hard labour killed many, some fell victims to diseases introduced by the white men, and the children nearly all died. and the maoris are still dying out of the land, blighted by our civilization. they were willing to learn and to be taught, and they began to work with the white men. in i saw nearly one hundred of them, naked to the waist, sinking shafts for gold on bendigo, and no cousin jacks worked harder. we could not, of course, make them englishmen--the true briton is born, not made; but could we not have kept them alive if we had used reasonable means to do so? or is it true that in our inmost souls we wanted them to die, that we might possess their land in peace? besides flax, it was found that new zealand produced most excellent timber--the kauri pine. the first visitors saw sea-going canoes beautifully carved by rude tools of stone, which had been hollowed out, each from a single tree, and so large that they were manned by one hundred warriors. the gum trees of new holland are extremely hard, and their wood is so heavy that it sinks in water like iron. but the kauri, with a leaf like that of the gum tree, is the toughest of pines, though soft and easily worked--suitable for shipbuilding, and for masts and spars. in twenty-eight vessels made fifty-six voyages from sydney to new zealand, chiefly for flax; but they also left parties of men to prosecute the whale and seal fisheries, and to cut kauri pine logs. two vessels were built by english mechanics, one of tons, and the other of tons burden, and the natives began to assist the new-comers in all their labours. at this time most of the villages had at least one european resident called a pakeha maori, under the protection of a chief of rank and influence, and married to a relative of his, either legally or by native custom. it was through the resident that all the trading of the tribe was carried on. he bought and paid for the flax, and employed men to cut the pine logs and float them down the rivers to the ships. every whaling and trading vessel that returned to sydney or van diemen's land brought back accounts of the wonderful prospects which the islands afforded to men of enterprise, and new zealand became the favourite refuge for criminals, runaway prisoners, and other lovers of freedom. when, therefore the crew of the schooner 'industry' threw captain blogg overboard, it was a great comfort to them to know that they were going to an island in which there was no government. captain blogg had arrived from england with a bad character. he had been tried for murder. he had been ordered to pay five hundred pounds as damages to his mate, whom he had imprisoned at sea in a hencoop, and left to pick up his food with the fowls. he had been out-lawed, and forbidden to sail as officer in any british ship. these were facts made known to, and discussed by, all the whalers who entered the tamar, when the whaling season was over in the year . and yet the notorious blogg found no difficulty in buying the schooner 'industry', taking in a cargo, and obtaining a clearance for hokianga, in new zealand. he had shipped a crew consisting of a mate, four seamen, and a cook. black ned tomlins, jim parrish, and a few other friends interviewed the crew when the 'industry' was getting ready for sea. black ned was a half-breed native of kangaroo island, and was looked upon as the best whaler in the colonies, and the smartest man ever seen in a boat. he was the principal speaker. he put the case to the crew in a friendly way, and asked them if they did not feel themselves to be a set of fools, to think of going to sea with a murdering villain like blogg? dick secker replied mildly but firmly. he reckoned the crew were, in a general way, able to take care of themselves. they could do their duty, whatever it was; and they were not afraid of sailing with any man that ever trod a deck. after a few days at sea they were able to form a correct estimate of their master mariner. he never came on deck absolutely drunk, but he was saturated with rum to the very marrow of his bones. a devil of cruelty, hate, and murder glared from his eyes, and his blasphemies could come from no other place but the lowest depths of the bottomless pit. the mate was comparatively a gentle and inoffensive lamb. he did not curse and swear more than was considered decent and proper on board ship, did his duty, and avoided quarrels. one day blogg was rating the cook in his usual style when the latter made some reply, and the captain knocked him down. he then called the mate, and with his help stripped the cook to the waist and triced him up to the mast on the weather side. this gave the captain the advantage of a position in which he could deliver his blows downward with full effect. then he selected a rope's end and began to flog the cook. at every blow he made a spring on his feet, swung the rope over his head, and brought it down on the bare back with the utmost force. it was evident that he was no 'prentice hand at the business, but a good master flogger. the cook writhed and screamed, as every stroke raised bloody ridges on his back; but blogg enjoyed it. he was in no hurry. he was like a boy who had found a sweet morsel, and was turning it over in his mouth to enjoy it the longer. after each blow he looked at the three seamen standing near, and at the man at the helm, and made little speeches at them. "i'll show you who is master aboard this ship." whack! "that's what every man jack of you will get if you give me any of your jaw." whack! "maybe you'd like to mutiny, wouldn't you?" whack! the blows came down with deliberate regularity; the cook's back was blue, black, and bleeding, but the captain showed no sign of any intention to stay his hand. the suffering victim's cries seemed to inflame his cruelty. he was a wild beast in the semblance of a man. at last, in his extreme agony, the cook made a piteous appeal to the seamen: [illustration ] "mates, are you men? are you going to stand there all day, and watch me being flogged to death for nothing?" before the next stroke fell the three men had seized the captain; but he fought with so much strength and fury that they found it difficult to hold him. the helmsman steadied the tiller with two turns of the rope and ran forward to assist them. they laid blogg flat on the deck, but he kept struggling, cursing, threatening, and calling on the mate to help him; but that officer took fright, ran to his cabin in the deckhouse, and began to barricade the door. then a difficulty arose. what was to be done with the prisoner? he was like a raving maniac. if they allowed him his liberty, he was sure to kill one or more of them. if they bound him he would get loose in some way--probably through the mate--and after what had occurred, it would be safer to turn loose a bengal tiger on deck then the infuriated captain. there was but one way out of the trouble, and they all knew it. they looked at one another; nothing was wanting but the word, and it soon came. secker had sailed from the cove of cork, and being an irishman, he was by nature eloquent, first in speech, and first in action. he reflected afterwards, when he had leisure to do so. "short work is the best," he said, "over he goes; lift the devil." each man seized an arm or leg, and blogg was carried round the mast to the lee side. the men worked together from training and habit. they swung the body athwart the deck like a pendulum, and with a "one! two! three!" it cleared the bulwark, and the devil went head foremost into the deep sea. the cook, looking on from behind the mast, gave a deep sigh of relief. thus it was that a great breach of the peace was committed on the pacific ocean; and it was done, too, on a beautiful summer's evening, when the sun was low, a gentle breeze barely filled the sails, and everybody should have been happy and comfortable. captain blogg rose to the surface directly and swam after his schooner. the fury of his soul did not abate all at once. he roared to the mate to bring the schooner to, but there was no responsive "aye, aye, sir." he was now outside of his jurisdiction, and his power was gone. he swam with all his strength, and his bloated face still looked red as the foam passed by it. the helmsman had resumed his place, and steadied the tiller, keeping her full, while the other men looked over the stern. secker said: "the old man will have a long swim." but the "old man" swam a losing race. his vessel was gliding away from him: his face grew pale, and in an agony of fear and despair, he called to the men for god's sake to take him on board and he would forgive everything. but his call came too late; he could find no sureties for his good behaviour in the future; he had never in his life shown any love for god or pity for man, and he found in his utmost need neither mercy nor pity now. he strained his eyes in vain over the crests of the restless billows, calling for the help that did not come. the receding sails never shivered; no land was near, no vessel in sight. the sun went down, and the hopeless sinner was left struggling alone on the black waste of waters. the men released the cook and held a consultation about a troublesome point of law. had they committed mutiny and murder, or only justifiable homicide? they felt that the point was a very important one to them--a matter of life and death--and they stood in a group near the tiller to discuss the difficulty, speaking low, while the cook was shivering in the forecastle, trying to ease the pain. the conclusion of the seamen was, that they had done what was right, both in law and conscience. they had thrown blogg overboard to prevent him from murdering the cook, and also for their own safety. after they had done their duty by seizing him, he would have killed them if he could. he was a drunken sweep. he was an outlaw, and the law would not protect him. anybody could kill an outlaw without fear of consequences, so they had heard. but still there was some doubt about it, and there was nobody there to put the case for the captain. the law was, at that time, a terrible thing, especially in van diemen's land, under colonel arthur. he governed by the gallows, to make everything orderly and peaceable, and men were peaceable enough after they were hanged. so secker and his mates decided that, although they had done nothing but what was right in throwing blogg over the side, it would be extremely imprudent to trust their innocence to the uncertainty of the law and to the impartiality of colonel arthur. their first idea was to take the vessel to south america, but after some further discussion, they decided to continue the voyage to hokianga, and to settle among the maoris. nobody had actually seen them throw blogg overboard except the cook, and him they looked upon as a friend, because they had saved him from being flogged to death. they had some doubts about the best course to take with the mate, but as he was the only man on board who was able to take the schooner to port, they were obliged to make use of his services for the present, and at the end of the voyage they could deal with him in any way prudence might require, and they did not mean to run any unnecessary risks. they went to the house on deck, and secker called the mate, informing him that the captain had lost his balance, and had fallen overboard, and that it was his duty to take charge of the 'industry', and navigate her to hokianga. but the mate had been thoroughly frightened, and was loth to leave his entrenchment. he could not tell what might happen if he opened his cabin door: he might find himself in the sea in another minute. the men who had thrown the master overboard would not have much scruple about sending an inferior officer after him. if the mate resolved to show fight, it would be necessary for him to kill every man on board, even the cook, before he could feel safe; and then he would be left alone in mid-ocean with nobody to help him to navigate the vessel--a master and crew under one hat, at the mercy of the winds and the waves, with six murdered men on his conscience; and he had a conscience, too, as was soon to be proved. the seamen swore most solemnly that they did not intend to do him the least harm, and at last the mate opened his door. while in his cabin, he had been spending what he believed to be the last minutes of his life in preparing for death; he did his best to make peace with heaven, and tried to pray. but his mouth was dry with fear, his tongue clave to the roof of his mouth, his memory of sacred things failed him, and he could not pray for want of practice. he could remember only one short prayer, and he was unable to utter even that audibly. and how could a prayer ever reach heaven in time to be of any use to him, when he could not make it heard outside the deck-house? in his desperate straits he took a piece of chalk and began to write it; so when at last he opened the door of his cabin, the four seamen observed that he had nearly covered the boards with writing. it looked like a litany, but it was a litany of only three words--"lord, have mercy"--which were repeated in lines one above the other. that litany was never erased or touched by any man who subsequently sailed on board the 'industry'. she was the first vessel that was piloted up the channel to port albert in gippsland, to take in a cargo of fat cattle, and when she arrived there on august rd, , the litany of the mate was still distinctly legible. nothing exalts a man so quickly in the estimation of his fellow creatures as killing them. emperors and kings court the alliance of the conquering hero returning from fields of slaughter. ladies in melbourne forgot for a time the demands of fashion in their struggles to obtain an ecstatic glimpse of our modern bluebeard, deeming; and no one was prouder than the belle of the ball when she danced down the middle with the man who shot sandy m'gee. and the reverence of the mate for his murdering crew was unfathomable. their lightest word was a law to him. he wrote up the log in their presence, stating that captain blogg had been washed into the sea in a sudden squall on a dark night; vessel hove to, boat lowered, searched for captain all night, could see nothing of him; mate took charge, and bore away for hokianga next morning. when these untruthful particulars had been entered and read over to the four seamen, they were satisfied for the present. they would settle among the maoris, and lead a free and happy life. they could do what they liked with the schooner and her cargo, having disposed of the master and owner; and as for the mate, they would dispose of him, too, if he made himself in any way troublesome. what a wonderful piece of good luck it was that they were going to a new country in which there was no government! the 'industry' arrived off the bar at hokianga on november th, , and was boarded by a captain young, who had settled seven miles up the estuary, at one tree point, and acted as pilot of the nascent port. he inquired how much water the schooner drew, noted the state of the tide, and said he would remain on board all night, and go over the bar next morning with the first flood. the mate had a secret and wanted to get rid of it. while looking round at the shore, and apparently talking about indifferent subjects, he said to the pilot: "don't look at the men, and don't take any notice of them. they threw blogg, the master, overboard, when he was flogging the cook, and they would murder me, too, if they knew i told you; so you must pretend not to take any notice of them. what their plans may be, i don't know; but you may be sure they won't go back to the tamar, if they can help it." if the pilot felt any surprise, he did not show it. after a short pause he said: "you go about your business, and don't speak to me again, except when the men can hear you. i will think about what is best to be done." during the night captain young thought about it to some purpose. being a master mariner himself he could imagine no circumstances which would justify a crew in throwing a master mariner overboard. it was the one crime which could not be pardoned either afloat or ashore. next day he took the vessel up the estuary, and anchored her within two hundred yards of the shore, opposite the residence of captain mcdonnell. it is true there was no government at that time at hokianga, nor anywhere else in new zealand; there were no judges, no magistrates, no courts, and no police. but the british angel of annexation was already hovering over the land, although she had not as yet alighted on it. at this time the shores of new zealand were infested with captains. there was a captain busby, who was called british resident, and, unfortunately for our seamen, captain mcdonnell had been appointed additional british resident at hokianga a few weeks previously. so far he had been officially idle; there was no business to do, no chance of his displaying his zeal and patriotism. moreover, he had no pay, and apparently no power and no duties. he was neither a governor nor a government, but a kind of forerunner of approaching empire--one of those harmless and far-reaching tentacles which the british octopus extends into the recesses of ocean, searching for prey to satisfy the demands of her imperial appetite. mcdonnell was a naval lieutenant; had served under the east india company; had smuggled opium to china; had explored the coasts of new zealand; and on march st, , had arrived at hokianga from sydney in the 'sir george murray', a vessel which he had purchased for , pounds. he brought with him his wife, two children, and a servant, but took them back on the return voyage. he was now engaged in the flax and kauri pine trade. the 'industry' had scarcely dropped her anchor before the additional resident boarded her. the pilot spoke to him and in a few words informed him that blogg, the master, had been pitched into the sea, and explained in what manner he proposed to arrest the four seamen. mcdonnell understood, and agreed to the plan at once. he called to the mate in a loud voice, and said: "i am sorry to hear that you have lost the master of this vessel. i live at that house you see on the rising ground, and i keep a list in a book of all vessels that come into the river, and the names of the crews. it is a mere formality, and won't take more than five minutes. so you will oblige me, mate, by coming ashore with your men at once, as i am in a hurry, and have other business to attend to." he then went ashore in his boat. the mate and seamen followed in the ship's boat, and waited in front of the additional resident's house. he had a visitor that morning, the pakeha maori, laming. the men had not to wait long, as it was not advisable to give them much time to think and grow suspicious. mcdonnell came to the front door and called the mate, who went inside, signed his name, re-appeared directly, called secker, and entered the house with him. the additional resident was sitting at a table with the signature book before him. he rose from the chair, told secker to sit down, gave him a pen, and pointed out the place where his name was to be signed. laming was sitting near the table. while secker was signing his name mcdonnell suddenly put a twisted handkerchief under his chin and tightened it round his neck. laming presented a horse-pistol and said he would blow his brains out if he uttered a word, and the mate slipped a pair of handcuffs on his wrists. he was then bundled out at the back door and put into a bullet-proof building at the rear. the other three seamen were then called in one after the other, garrotted, handcuffed, and imprisoned in the same way. the little formality of signing names was finished in a few minutes, according to promise. if such things could be done in new zealand, where there was neither law nor government, what might happen in van diemen's land, where one man was both law and government, and that man was colonel arthur? the prisoners had plenty of time to make a forecast of their fate, while the mate engaged a fresh crew and took in a cargo of flax and timber. when he was ready to sail, he reshipped his old crew in irons, returned with them to the tamar, and delivered them to the police to be dealt with according to law. for a long time the law was in a state of chaos. major abbott was sent from england in as the first judge. the proceedings in his court were conducted in the style of a drum-head court martial, the accusation, sentences, and execution following one another with military precision and rapidity. he adjudicated in petty sessions as a magistrate, and dealt in a summary manner with capital offences, which were very numerous. to imprison a man who was already a prisoner for life was no punishment; the major's powers were, therefore, limited to the cat and the gallows. and as the first gallows had been built to carry only eight passengers, his daily death sentences were also limited to that number. for twenty years torture was used to extort confession-- even women were flogged if they refused to give evidence, and an order of the governor was held to be equal to law. major abbott died in . in the court consisted of the judge-advocate and two of the inhabitants selected by the governor, colonel arthur, who came out in the year , and had been for eleven years a terror to evil-doers. his rule was as despotic as he could possibly make it. if any officer appointed by the home government disagreed with his policy he suspended him from his office, and left him to seek redress from his friends in england--a tedious process, which lasted for years. disagreeable common people he suspended also--by the neck. if a farmer, squatter, or merchant was insubordinate, he stopped his supply of convict labour, and cruelly left him to do his own work. he brooked no discussion of his measures by any pestilent editor. he filled all places of profit with his friends, relatives, and dependents. everything was referred to his royal will and pleasure. his manners were stiff and formal, his tastes moral, his habits on sundays religious, and his temper vindictive. next to the articles of war, the thirty-nine articles claimed his obedience. when his term of office was drawing to a close he went to church on a certain sunday to receive the lord's supper. while studying his prayer book he observed that it was his duty if his brother had anything against him to seek a reconciliation before offering his gift. the ex-attorney-general, gellibrand, was present, a brother christian who had had many things against him for many years. he had other enemies, some living and some dead, but they were absent. to be reconciled to all of them was an impossibility. he could not ask the minister to suspend the service while he went round hobart town looking for his enemies, and shaking hands with them. but he did what was possible. he rose from his knees, marched over to gellibrand, and held out his hand. gellibrand was puzzled; he looked at the hand and could see nothing in it. by way of explanation colonel arthur pointed out the passage in the prayer-book which had troubled his sensitive conscience. gellibrand read it, and then shook hands. with a soul washed whiter than snow, the colonel approached the table. amongst the convicts every grade of society was represented, from king jorgensen to the beggar. one governor had a convict private secretary. officers of the army and navy, merchants, doctors, and clergymen consorted with costermongers, poachers, and pickpockets. the law, it is sad to relate, had even sent out lawyers, who practised their profession under a cloud, and sometimes pleaded by permission of the court. but their ancient pride had been trodden in the dust; the aureole which once encircled their wigs was gone, and they were often snubbed and silenced by ignorant justices. the punishment for being found out is life-long and terrible. their clients paid the fees partly in small change and partly in rum. the defence of the seamen accused of murdering captain blogg was undertaken by mr. nicholas. he had formerly been employed by the firm of eminent solicitors in london who conducted the defence of queen caroline, when the "first gentleman in europe" tried to get rid of her, and he told me that his misfortunes (forgeries) had deprived him of the honour of sharing with lord brougham the credit of her acquittal. many years had passed since that celebrated trial when i made the acquaintance of nicholas. he had by this time lost all social distinction. he had grown old and very shabby, and was so mean that even his old friends, the convicts who had crossed the straits, looked down on him with contempt. he came to me for an elector's right, as a vote in our electorate--the four counties--was sometimes worth as much as forty shillings, besides unlimited grog. we were conservatives then, true patriots, and we imitated--feebly, it is true, but earnestly--the time-honoured customs of old england. mr. nicholas had been a man of many employments, and of many religions. he was never troubled with scruples of conscience, but guided his conduct wholly by enlightened self-interest. he was a broad churchman, very broad. as tutor in various families, he had instructed his pupils in the tenets of the church of england, of the catholics, of the presbyterians, and of the baptists. he always professed the religion of his employer for the time being, and he found that four religions were sufficient for his spiritual and temporal wants. there were many other sects, but the labour of learning all their peculiar views would not pay, so he neglected them. the wesleyans were at one time all-powerful in our road district, and nicholas, foreseeing a chance of filling an office of profit under the board, threw away all his sins, and obtained grace and a billet as toll-collector or pikeman. in england the pike-man was always a surly brute, who collected his fees with the help of a bludgeon and a bulldog, but nicholas performed his duties in the disguise of a saint. he waited for passengers in his little wooden office, sitting at a table, with a huge bible before him, absorbed in spiritual reading. he wore spectacles on his roman nose, had a long grey beard, quoted scripture to chance passengers, and was very earnest for their salvation. he was atoning for the sins of his youth by leading the life of a hermit by praying and cheating. he has had many followers. he made mistakes in his cash, which for a while were overlooked in so good a man, but they became at length so serious that he lost his billet. he had for some time been spoken of by his friends and admirers as "mr. nicholas," but after his last mistakes had been discovered, he began to be known merely as "old nick the lawyer," or "old nick the liar," which some ignorant people look upon as convertible terms. i think lizard skin, the cannibal, was a better christian than old nick the lawyer, as he was brave and honest, and scorned to tell a lie. the convict counsel for the four seamen defended them at a great expenditure of learning and lies. he argued at great length:-- "that there was no evidence that a master mariner named blogg ever existed; that he was an outlaw, and, as such, every british subject had an inchoate right to kill him at sight, and, therefore, that the seamen, supposing for the sake of argument that they did kill him, acted strictly within their legal rights; that blogg drowned himself in a fit of delirium tremens, after being drunk on rum three days and nights consecutively; that he fell overboard accidentally and was drowned; that the cook and mate threw him overboard, and then laid the blame on the innocent seamen; that blogg swam ashore, and was now living on an unchartered island; that if he was murdered, his body had not been found: there could be no murder without a corpse; and finally, he would respectfully submit to that honourable court, that the case bristled with ineradicable difficulties." the seamen would have been sent to the gallows in any case, but nicholas' speech made their fate inevitable. the court brushed aside the legal bristles, and hanged the four seamen on the evidence of the mate and the cook. the tragedy of the gallows was followed by a short afterpiece. jim parrish, ned tomlins, and every whaler and foremast man in hobart town and on the tamar, discussed the evidence both drunk and sober, and the opinion was universal that the cook ought to have sworn an oath strong enough to go through a three-inch slab of hardwood that he had seen captain blogg carried up to heaven by angels, instead of swearing away the lives of men who had taken his part when he was triced up to the mast. the cook was in this manner tried by his peers and condemned to die, and he knew it. he tried to escape by shipping on board a schooner bound to portland bay with whalers. the captain took on board a keg of rum, holding fifteen gallons, usually called a "big pup," and invited the mate to share the liquor with him. the result was that the two officers soon became incapable of rational navigation. off king's island the schooner was hove to in a gale of wind, and for fourteen days stood off and on--five or six hours one way, and five or six hours the other--while the master and mate were down below, "nursing the big pup." the seamen were all strangers to the coast, and did not know any cove into which they could run for refuge. the cook was pitched overboard one dark night during that gale off king's island, and his loss was a piece of ancient history by the time the master and mate had consumed the rum, and were able to enter up the log. ex-attorney-general gellibrand sailed to port philip to look for country in australia felix, and he found it. he was last seen on a rounded hill, gazing over the rich and beautiful land which borders lake colac; land which he was not fated to occupy, for he wandered away and was lost, and his bones lay unburied by the stream which now bears his name. when colonel arthur's term of office expired he departed with the utmost ceremony. the st fusiliers escorted him to the wharf. as he entered his barge his friends cheered, and his enemies groaned, and then went home and illuminated the town, to testify their joy at getting rid of a tyrant. he was the model governor of a crown colony, and the crown rewarded him for his services. he was made a baronet, appointed governor of canada and of bombay, was a member of her majesty's privy council, a colonel of the queen's own regiment, and he died on september th, , full of years and honours, and worth , pounds. laming was left an orphan by the death of lizard skin. the chief had grown old and sick, and he sat every day for two years on a fallen puriri near the white man's pah, but he never entered it. his spear was always sticking up beside him. he had a gun, but was never known to use it. he was often humming some ditty about old times before the white man brought guns and powder, but he spoke to no one. he was pondering over the future of his tribe, but the problem was too much for him. the white men were strong and were overrunning his land. his last injunction to his warriors was, that they should listen to the words of his pakeha, and that they should be brave that they might live. when the british government took possession of new zealand without paying for it, they established a land court to investigate the titles to lands formerly bought from the natives, and it was decided in most cases that a few axes and hoes were an insufficient price to pay for the pick of the country; the purchases were swindles. laming had possession of three or four hundred acres, and to the surprise of the court it was found that he had paid a fair price for them, and his title was allowed. moreover, his knowledge of the language and customs of the maoris was found to be so useful that he was appointed a judge of the land court. the men who laid the foundations of empire in the great south land were men of action. they did not stand idle in the shade, waiting for someone to come and hire them. they dug a vineyard and planted it. the vines now bring forth fruit, the winepress is full, the must is fermenting. when the wine has been drawn off from the lees, and time has matured it, of what kind will it be? and will the lord of the vineyard commend it? first settlers. the first white settler in victoria was the escaped convict buckley; but he did not cultivate the country, nor civilise the natives. the natives, on the contrary, uncivilised him. when white men saw him again, he had forgotten even his mother tongue, and could give them little information. for more than thirty years he had managed to live--to live like a savage; but for any good he had ever done he might as well have died with the other convicts who ran away with him. he never gave any clear account of his companions, and many people were of opinion that he kept himself alive by eating them, until he was found and fed by the blacks, who thought he was one of their dead friends, and had "jumped up a white fellow." while buckley was still living with the blacks about corio bay, in , gellibrand and batman applied for a grant of land at western port, where the whalers used to strip wattle bark when whales were out of season; but they did not get it. englishmen have no business to live anywhere without being governed, and colonel arthur had no money to spend in governing a settlement at western port. so australia felix was unsettled for eight years longer. griffiths & co., of launceston, were trading with sydney in . their cargo outward was principally wheat, the price of which varied very much; sometimes it was s. d. a bushel in launceston, and s. in sydney. the return cargo from port jackson was principally coal, freestone, and cedar. griffiths & co. were engaged in whaling in portland bay. they sent there two schooners, the 'henry' and the 'elizabeth', in june, . they erected huts on shore for the whalers. the 'henry' was wrecked; but the whales were plentiful, and yielded more oil than the casks would hold, so the men dug clay pits on shore, and poured the oil into them. the oil from forty-five whales was put into the pits, but the clay absorbed every spoonful of it, and nothing but bones was gained from so much slaughter. before the 'elizabeth' left portland bay, the hentys, the first permanent settlers in victoria, arrived in the schooner 'thistle', on november th, . when the whalers of the 'elizabeth' had been paid off, and had spent their money, they were engaged to strip wattle bark at western port, and were taken across in the schooner, with provisions, tools, six bullocks and a dray. during that season they stripped three hundred tons of bark and chopped it ready for bagging. john toms went over to weigh and ship the bark, and brought it back, together with the men, in the barque 'andrew mack'. wreck of the convict ship "neva," on king's island. she sailed from cork on january th, , b. h. peck, master; dr. stevenson, r.n., surgeon. she had on board female prisoners and thirty-three of their children, nine free women and their twenty-two children, and a crew of twenty-six. several ships had been wrecked on king's island, and when a vessel approached it the mate of the watch warned his men to keep a bright look out. he said, "king's island is inhabited by anthropophagi, the bloodiest man eaters ever known; and, if you don't want to go to pot, you had better keep your eyes skinned." so the look-out man did not go to sleep. nevertheless, the 'neva' went ashore on the harbinger reef, on may th unshipped her rudder and parted into four pieces. only nine men and thirteen women reached the island; they were nearly naked and had nothing to eat, and they wandered along the beach during the night, searching amongst the wreckage. at last they found a puncheon of rum, upended it, stove in the head, and drank. the thirteen women then lay down on the sand close together, and slept. the night was very cold, and robinson, an apprentice, covered the women as well as he could with some pieces of sail and blankets soaked with salt water. the men walked about the beach all night to keep themselves warm, being afraid to go inland for fear of the cannibal blackfellows. in the morning they went to rouse the women, and found that seven of the thirteen were dead. the surviving men were the master, b. h. peck, joseph bennet, thomas sharp, john watson, edward calthorp, thomas hines, robert ballard, john robinson, and william kinderey. the women were ellen galvin, mary stating, ann cullen, rosa heland, rose dunn, and margaret drury. for three weeks these people lived almost entirely on shellfish. they threw up a barricade on the shore, above high water mark, to protect themselves against the cannibals. the only chest that came ashore unbroken was that of robinson the apprentice, and in it there was a canister of powder. a flint musket was also found among the wreckage, and with the flint and steel they struck a light and made a fire. when they went down to the beach in search of shellfish, one man kept guard at the barricade, and looked out for the blackfellows; his musket was loaded with powder and pebbles. three weeks passed away before any of the natives appeared, but at last they were seen approaching along the shore from the south. at the first alarm all the ship-wrecked people ran to the barricade for shelter, and the men armed themselves with anything in the shape of weapons they could find. but their main hope of victory was the musket. they could not expect to kill many cannibals with one shot, but the flash and report would be sure to strike them with terror, and put them to flight. by this time their diet of shellfish had left them all weak and emaciated, skeletons only just alive; the anthropophagi would have nothing but bones to pick; still, the little life left in them was precious, and they resolved to sell it as dear as they could. they watched the savages approaching; at length they could count their number. they were only eleven all told, and were advancing slowly. now they saw that seven of the eleven were small, only picaninnies. when they came nearer three out of the other four were seen to be lubras, and the eleventh individual then resolved himself into a white savage, who roared out, "mates ahoy!" the white man was scott, the sealer, who had taken up is abode on the island with his harem, three tasmanian gins and seven children. they were the only permanent inhabitants; the cannibal blacks had disappeared, and continued to exist only in the fancies of the mariners. scott's residence was opposite new year's island not far from the shore; there he had built a hut and planted a garden with potatoes and other vegetables. flesh meat he obtained from the kangaroos and seals. their skins he took to launceston in his boat, and in it he brought back supplies of flour and groceries. he had observed dead bodies of women and men, and pieces of a wrecked vessel cast up by the sea, and had travelled along the shore with his family, looking for anything useful or valuable which the wreck might yield. after hearing the story, and seeing the miserable plight of the castaways, he invited them to his home. on arriving at the hut scott and his lubras prepared for their guests a beautiful meal of kangaroo and potatoes. this was their only food as long as they remained on king's island, for scott's only boat had got adrift, and his flour, tea, and sugar had been all consumed. but kangaroo beef and potatoes seemed a most luxurious diet to the men and women who had been kept alive for three weeks on nothing but shellfish. scott and his hounds hunted the kangaroo, and supplied the colony with meat. the liver of the kangaroo when boiled and left to grow cold is a dry substance, which, with the help of hunger and a little imagination, is said to be as good as bread. in the month of july, , heavy gales were blowing over king's island. for fourteen days the schooner 'elizabeth', with whalers for port fairy, was hove to off the coast, standing off and on, six hours one way and six hours the other. akers, the captain, and his mate got drunk on rum and water daily. the cook of the 'industry' was on board the 'elizabeth', the man whom captain blogg was flogging when his crew seized him and threw him overboard. the cook also was now pitched overboard for having given evidence against the four men who had saved him from further flogging. at this time also captain friend, of the whaling cutter 'sarah ann', took shelter under the lee of new year's island, and he pulled ashore to visit scott the sealer. there he found the shipwrecked men and women whom he took on board his cutter, and conveyed to launceston, except one woman and two men. it was then too late in the season to take the whalers to port fairy. captain friend was appointed chief district constable at launceston; all the constables under him were prisoners of the crown, receiving half a dollar a day. he was afterwards collector of customs at the mersey. in november, the schooner 'elizabeth' returned to launceston with tuns of oil. the share of the crew of a whaling vessel was one-fiftieth of the value of the oil and bone. the boat-steerer received one-thirtieth, and of the headmen some had one-twenty-fifth, others one-fifteenth. in this same year, , batman went to port phillip with a few friends and seven sydney blackfellows. on june th he returned to van diemen's land, and by the th of the same month he had compiled a report of his expedition, which he sent to governor arthur, together with a copy of the grant of land executed by the black chiefs. he had obtained three copies of the grant signed by three brothers jagga-jagga, by bungaree, yan-yan, moorwhip, and marmarallar. the area of the land bought by batman was not surveyed with precision, but it was of great extent, like infinite space, whose centre is everywhere, and circumference nowhere. and in addition he took up a small patch of one hundred thousand acres between the bay and the barwon, including the insignificant site of geelong, a place of small account even to this day. batman was a long-limbed sydney native, and he bestrode his real estate like a colossus, but king william was a bigger colossus than batman--he claimed both the land and the blacks, and ignored the crown grant. next, john fawkner and his friends chartered the schooner 'enterprise' for a voyage across the straits to australia felix. he afterwards claimed to be the founder of melbourne. he could write and talk everlastingly, but he had not the 'robur' and 'as triplex' suitable for a sea-robber. sea-sickness nearly killed him, so he stayed behind while the other adventurers went and laid the foundation. they first examined the shores of western port, then went to port philip bay and entered the river yarra. they disembarked on its banks, ploughed some land, sowed maize and wheat, and planted two thousand fruit trees. they were not so grasping as batman, and each man pegged out a farm of only one hundred acres. these farms were very valuable in the days of the late boom, and are called the city of melbourne. batman wanted to oust the newcomers; he claimed the farms under his grant from the jagga-jaggas. he squatted on batman's hill, and looked down with evil eyes on the rival immigrants. he saw them clearing away the scrub along flinders street, and splitting posts and rails all over the city from spencer street to spring street, regardless of the fact that the ground under their feet would be, in the days of their grandchildren, worth , pounds per foot. their bullock-drays were often bogged in elizabeth street, and they made a corduroy crossing over it with red gum logs. some of these logs were dislodged quite sound fifty years afterwards by the tramway company's workmen. discovery of the river hopkins. "know ye not that lovely river? know ye not that smiling river? whose gentle flood, by cliff and wood, with 'wildering sound goes winding ever." in january, , captain smith, who was in charge of the whaling station at port fairy, went with two men, named wilson and gibbs, in a whale boat to the islands near warrnambool, to look for seal. they could find no seal, and then they went across the bay, and found the mouth of the river hopkins. in trying to land there, their boat capsized in the surf, and smith was drowned. the other two men succeeded in reaching the shore naked, and they travelled back along the coast to port fairy, carrying sticks on their shoulders to look like guns, in order to frighten away the natives, who were very numerous on that part of the coast. on this journey they found the wreck of a vessel, supposed to be a spanish one, which has since been covered by the drifting sand. when captain mills was afterwards harbour master at belfast, he took the bearings of it, and reported them to the harbour department in melbourne. vain search was made for it many years afterwards in the hope that it was a spanish galleon laden with doubloons. davy was in the sydney trade in the 'elizabeth' until march, ; he then left her and joined the cutter 'sarah ann', under j. b. mills, to go whaling at port fairy. in the month of may, captain mills was short of boats, and went to the hopkins to look for the boat lost by smith. he took with him two boats with all their whaling gear, in case he should see a whale. david fermaner was in one of the boats, which carried a supply of provisions for the two crews; in the other boat there was only what was styled a nosebag, or snack--a mouthful for each man. on arriving off the hopkins, they found a nasty sea on, and captain mills said it would be dangerous to attempt to land; but his brother charles said he would try, and in doing so his boat capsized in the breakers. all the men clung to the boat, but the off-sea prevented them from getting on shore. when captain mills saw what had happened, he at once pushed on his boat through the surf and succeeded in reaching the shore inside the point on the eastern side of the entrance. he then walked round towards the other boat with a lance warp, waded out in the water as far as he could, and then threw the warp to the men, who hauled on it until their boat came ashore, and they were able to land. all the provisions were lost. the water was baled out of the boat that had been capsized, and she was taken over to the west head. all the food for twelve men was in the nosebag, and it was very little; each man had a mere nibble for supper. in those days wombats were plentiful near the river, but the men could not catch or kill one of them. captain mills had a gun in his boat which happened to be loaded, and he gave it to davy to try if he could shoot anything for breakfast next morning. there was only one charge, all the rest of the ammunition having been lost in the breakers. davy walked up the banks of the river early in the morning, and saw plenty of ducks, but they were so wild he could not get near them. at last he was so fortunate as to shoot a musk duck, which he brought back to the camp, stuck up before the fire, and roasted. he then divided it into twelve portions, and gave one portion to each of the twelve men for breakfast; but it was a mockery of a meal, as unsubstantial as an echo--smell, and nothing else. the two boats were launched, and an attempt was made to pass out to sea through the surf, but the wind was far down south, and the men had to return and beach the boats. the sails were taken ashore and used as tents. in the evening they again endeavoured to catch a wombat, but failed. on the next day they tried again to get out of the river, but the surf half filled the boats with water, and they were glad to reach the camp again. captain mills was a native of australia, and a good bushman; he told the men that sow thistles were good to eat, so they went about looking for them, and having found a quantity ate them. on the third day they tried once more to get out of the river, but without success. on the fourth day mills decided to carry the boats and whaling gear overland to a bight in the bay to the west. the gear was divided into lots among the men, and consisted of ten oars, two steer-oars, two tubs of whale line each fathoms in length, two fifty-pound anchors, four harpoons, six lances, six lance warps, two tomahawks, two water kegs, two piggins for balers, two sheath knives, and two oil-stones for touching up the lances when they became dull. these were carried for about a quarter of a mile, and then put down for a rest, and the men went back to the camp. the boats were much lighter than the gear, being made of only half-inch plank. one boat was capsized bottom up, and the men took it on their shoulders, six on each side, the tallest men being placed in the middle on account of the shear of the boat, and it was carried about half a mile past the gear. they then returned for the other boat, and in this way brought everything to the bight close to the spot where the bathing house at warrnambool has since been erected. there they launched the boats, and got out to sea, pulling against a strong westerly breeze. the men were very weak, having had nothing to eat for four days but some sow thistles and a musk duck, and the pull to port fairy was hard and long. they landed about four o'clock in the afternoon, and captain mills told them not to eat anything, saying he would give them something better. at that time there was a liquor called "black strap," brought out in the convict ships for the use of the prisoners, and it was sold with the ships' surplus stores in sydney and hobarton. mills had some of it at port fairy. he now put a kettle full of it on the fire, and when it was warmed gave each man a half a pint to begin with. he then told them to go and get supper, and afterwards he gave each of them another half pint. rum was in those days a very profitable article of commerce, and the trade in it was monopolised by the government officers, civil and military. like flour in the back settlements of the united states, it was reckoned "ekal to cash," and was made to do the office of the pagoda tree in india, which rained dollars at every shake. the boat that was lost by smith at the hopkins was found in good condition, half filled with sand. joe wilson went for it afterwards, and brought it back to port fairy. he was a native of sydney, and nephew of raibey of launceston, and was murdered not long afterwards at the white hills. he was sent by raibey on horseback to hobarton to buy the revenue cutter 'charlotte', which had been advertised for sale. he was shot by a man who was waiting for him behind a tree. he fell from his horse, and although he begged hard for his life, the man beat out his brains with the gun. the murderer took all the money wilson had, which was only one five-pound note, the number of which raibey knew. a woman tried to pass it in launceston, and her statements led to the discovery and conviction of the murderer, who was hanged in chains at the white hills, and the gibbet remained there for many years. whaling. "i wish i were in portland bay, oh, yes, oh! harpooning whales on a thirtieth lay, a hundred years ago." in the year , j. b. mills had charge of the portland fishery, and davy went with him in the 'thistle' schooner as mate and navigator, and they were over a month on the passage. charles mills was second in command at the station at portland, and peter coakley, an irishman, was third; the remainder of the crew required for whaling was on board the 'thistle'. among them was one named mccann, a sydney native, a stonemason by trade, and father of the mccann who was afterwards member of parliament for geelong. during a westerly gale the schooner ran to western port for shelter. in sailing through the rip, mccann, who was acting as steward, while going aft to the cabin, had to cross over a colonial sofa which was lashed on deck. instead of stepping over it gently, he made a jump, and the vessel lurching at the same time, he went clean overboard. davy, who was standing by the man at the helm, told him to put the helm down and let the vessel come to. he then ran forward and got a steer-oar from underneath the boots, and threw it overboard. mccann, being an expert swimmer, swam to the oar, a boat was launched, four men got into it, picked him up, and brought him aboard again none the worse. there was too much sea on to hoist in the boat, as there were no davits, and while she was being towed in she ran ahead of the vessel, which went over her and filled her with water. on arriving in western port the boat was found to have been not much damaged. there was on board the 'thistle' an apprentice whom davy had stolen in sydney after he had served four years of his time to a boat-builder named green. this apprentice repaired the boat, which afterwards proved to be the fastest out of forty-one boats that went out whaling in portland bay every morning. there were in eight parties of whalers in portland bay, and so many whales were killed that the business from that year declined and became unprofitable. mills' party in the 'thistle' schooner, of which davy was mate and navigator, or nurse to mills, who was not a trained seaman, had their station at single corner; kelly's party was stationed at the neck of land where the breakwater has been constructed. then there were dutton's party, with the barque 'african'; nicholson's, with the barque 'cheviot', from hobarton; chamberlain's, with the barque 'william the fourth', of hobarton; the 'hope' barque, and a brig, both from sydney. the hentys also had a whaling station at double corner, and by offering to supply their men with fresh meat three times a week, obtained the pick of the whalers. their head men were johnny brennan, john moles, and jim long, natives of sydney or tasmania, and all three good whalers. when the 'thistle' arrived at portland bay every other party had got nearly one hundred tuns of oil each, and mills' party had none. he started out next morning, choosing the boat which had picked up mccann at western port, and killed one whale, which turned out six tuns of oil. he did not get any more for three weeks, being very unlucky. after getting the schooner ready for cutting in, davy went to steer the boat for charles mills, and always got in a mess among the whales, being either capsized or stove in among so many boats. at the end of three weeks captain mills got a whale off the second river, halfway round towards port fairy. she was taken in tow with the three boats, and after two days' towing, she was anchored within half-a-mile of the schooner in portland bay, and the men went ashore. during the night a gale of wind came on from the south-west, and the whale, being a bit stale and high out of the water, drove ashore at the bluff, a little way past henty's house. in the morning mills said he would go and see what he could get from her on the beach, and ordered his brother, charles mills, and coakley to go out looking for whales. all the boats used to go out before daylight, and dodge one another round the bay for miles. it was cold work sitting in the boats. the men stayed out until ten or eleven o'clock, and went ashore that day on the convincing ground, which was so-called because the whalers used to go down there to fight, and convince one another who was the best man. in the afternoon, about two o'clock, it was davy's turn to go up a tree to look for whales. in looking round the bay towards the bluff, he saw a boat with a whiff on. he jumped down, and told charles mills, who said: "come on." there was a great rush of all the boats, but mills' boat kept well forward of the lot. when they arrived off the bluff they found captain mills had fastened to a whale, two other loose whales being near. they pulled up alongside him, and he pointed out a loose whale, to which they fastened. mansfield, of the hobarton party, fastened to the third whale. davy came aft to the steer-oar, and charles mills went forward to kill his whale. he had hardly got the lance in his hand when the whale threw herself right athwart the nose of the boat. he then sent the lance right into her and killed her stone dead. mansfield, in hauling up his whale got on top of captain mills' whale, which stove in mansfield's boat, and sent all his men flying in the air. there was a rush then to pick up the men. charles mills, finding his whale dead, struck a whiff in the lance-hole he had made when he killed her, cut the line that was fast to her, and bent it on to another spare iron. mansfield's whale then milled round and came right on to charles mills' boat, and he fastened to her. this gave him a claim of one half of her, so that mills and his men got two and a half out of the three whales. the men were all picked up. mills' whales were anchored about half-a-mile from the schooner, and the boats went out next morning and took them in tow. the whales tow very easily when fresh killed, but if they are allowed to get stiff their fins stand out and hinder the towing. when the two whales were brought alongside the schooner, the boats of kelly's party were seen fast to a whale off black nose point. charles mills pulled over, and when he arrived he found a loose whale, mansfield and chase being fast to two other whales. mills fastened to the loose whale, and then the three whales fouled the three lines, and rolled them all together like a warp, which made it difficult to kill them. after the men had pulled up on them for some time with the oars, two of them began spouting blood and sickened, and chase's boat got on to them and capsized. then the whales took to running, and mansfield cut his line to pick up chase and his crew. mansfield's whale being sick, went in a flurry and died. mills' whale and chase's worked together until mills killed his whale; he then whiffed her and fastened to chase's whale, which gave him a claim for half, and he killed her; so that his party got one and a-half out of the three whales. chase and his crew were all picked up. from that day the luck of mills and his party turned, and they could not try out fast enough. in four months from the time the 'thistle' left launceston she had on board two hundred and forty tuns of oil. in the year , the hentys had a few cattle running behind the bluff when major mitchell arrived overland from sydney, and reported good country to the north. they then brought over more cattle from launceston, and stocked a station. the first beast killed by the hentys for their whalers was a heifer, and the carcase, divided into two parts, was suspended from the flagstaff at their house. it could be seen from afar by the men who were pulling across the bay in their boats, and they knew that henty's men were going to feed on fresh meat, while all the rest were eating such awful stuff as yankee pork and salt horse. the very sight of the two sides of the heifer suspended at the flagstaff was an unendurable insult and mockery to the carnivorous whalers, and an incitement to larceny. davy fermaner was steering one of the boats, and he exclaimed: "there, they are flashing the fresh meat to us. they would look foolish if they lost it to-night." there was feasting and revelry that night at single corner. hungry men were sharpening their sheath-knives with steel, and cutting up a side of beef. a large fire was burning, and on the glowing coals, and in every frying-pan rich steaks were fizzing and hissing. it was like a feast of heroes, and lasted long through the night. they sang responsively, like gentle shepherds--shepherds of the ocean fields whose flocks were mighty whales: "mother, the butcher's brought the meat, what shall i do with it? fry the flesh, and broil the bones, and make a pudding of the su-et." next morning the hentys looked for the missing beef up the flagstaff, and along the shore of the ever-sounding ocean, but their search was vain. they suspected that the men of kelly's party were the thieves, but these all looked as stupid, ignorant, and innocent as the adverse circumstances would permit. there was no evidence against them to be found; the beef was eaten and the bones were burned and buried. mills' men were the beef lifters, and some of kelly's men helped them to eat it. the whales killed at the portland fishery were of two kinds, the right or black whale, and the sperm whale. the right whale has an immense tongue, and lives by suction, the food being a kind of small shrimp. when in a flurry--that is, when she has received her death-stroke with the lance--she goes round in a circle, working with her head and flukes. the sperm whales feed on squid, which they bite, and when in a flurry they work with the head and flukes, and with the mouth open, and often crush the boats. after the crew of the 'thistle' had spent their money, they were taken back to port fairy for the purpose of stripping bark, a large quantity of wattle trees having been found in the neighbouring country. sheep were also taken there in charge of mr. j. murphy, who intended to form a station. john griffiths also sent over his father, jonathan, who had been a carpenter on board the first man-of-war that had arrived at port jackson, three old men who had been prisoners, four bullocks, a plough, and some seed potatoes. a cargo of the previous season's bark was put into the 'thistle', and on her return to launceston, was transferred to the 'rhoda' brig, captain rolls, bound for london. more sheep and provisions were then taken in the 'thistle', and after they were landed at port fairy, another cargo of bark was put on board. for three days there was no wind, and a tremendous sea setting in from the south-east, the schooner could not leave the bay. on the night of december th a gale of wind came on from the south-east; one chain parted, and after riding until three o'clock in the morning of christmas day, the other chain also parted. the vessel drew eight feet, and was lying in between three and four fathoms of water. as soon as the second chain broke, davy went up on the fore-yard and cut the gaskets of the foresail. the schooner grounded in the trough of sea, but when she rose the foresail was down, and she paid off before the wind. the shore was about a mile, or a mile and a half distant, and she took the beach right abreast of a sheep yard, where her wreck now lies. the men got ashore in safety, but all the cargo was lost. a tent was pitched on shore near the wreck, but as there was no vessel in the bay by which they could return to launceston, the four men, captain mills, d. fermaner, charles ferris, and richard jennings, on december st, , set sail in a whaleboat for port philip. davy had stolen jennings from the 'rhoda' brig at launceston, when seamen were scarce. he was afterwards a pilot at port philip, and was buried at williamstown. the whaleboat reached port philip on january rd, , having got through the rip on the night of the nd. ferris was the only man of the crew who had been in before, he having gone in with batman, in the 'rebecca' cutter, captain baldwin. baldwin was afterwards before the mast in the 'elizabeth' schooner; he was a clever man, but fond of drink. the whaleboat anchored off portsea, but the men did not land for fear of the blacks. at daylight davy landed to look for water, but could not find any; and there were only three pints in the water-bag. the wind being from the north, the boat was pulled over to mud island, and the men went ashore to make tea with the three pints of water. davy walked about the island, and found a rookery of small mackerel-gulls and a great quantity of their eggs in the sand. he broke a number of them, and found that the light-coloured eggs were good, and that the dark ones had birds in them. he took off his shirt, tied the sleeves together, bagged a lot of the eggs, and carried them back to the camp. mills broke the best of them into the great pot, and the eggs and water mixed together and boiled made about a quart for each man. after breakfast the wind shifted to the southward, and the 'henry' brig, from launceston, captain whiting, ran in, bound to point henry with sheep; but before mills and his men could get away from mud island the brig had passed. they pulled and sailed after her, but did not overtake her until she arrived off the point where batman first settled, now called port arlington; at that time they called the place indented heads. when the whaleboat came near the brig to ask for water, two or three muskets were levelled at the men over the bulwarks, and they were told to keep off, or they would be shot. at that time a boat's crew of prisoners had escaped from melbourne in a whale boat, and the ship-wrecked men were suspected as the runaways. but one of the crew of the 'henry', named jack macdonald, looked over the side, and seeing davy in the boat, asked him what they had done with the schooner 'thistle', and they told him they had lost her at port fairy. captain whiting asked macdonald if he knew them, and on being informed that they were the captain and crew of the schooner 'thistle', he invited them on board and supplied them with a good dinner. they went on to point henry in the brig, and assisted in landing the sheep. batman was at that time in melbourne. davy had seen him before in launceston. after discharging the sheep the brig proceeded to gellibrand's point, and as captain whiting wanted to go up to melbourne, the men pulled him up the yarra in their whaleboat. fawkner's hotel at that time was above the site of the present customs house, and was built with broad paling. mills and whiting stayed there that night, davy and the other two men being invited to a small public-house kept by a man named burke, a little way down little flinders street, where they were made very comfortable. next day they went back to the brig 'henry', and started for launceston. in may, , davy was made master of the schooner 'elizabeth', and took in her a cargo of sheep, and landed them at port fairy. the three old convicts whom griffiths had sent there along with his father jonathan, had planted four or five acres of potatoes at a place called goose lagoon, about two miles behind the township. the crop was a very large one, from fifteen to twenty tons to the acre, and davy had received orders to take in fifty tons of the potatoes, and to sell them in south australia. he did so, and after four days' passage went ashore at the port, offered the potatoes for sale, and sold twenty tons at pounds shillings per ton. on going ashore again next morning, he was offered pounds per ton for the remainder, and he sold them at that price. on the same day the 'nelson' brig, from hobarton, arrived with one hundred tons of potatoes, but she could not sell them, as davy had fully stocked the market. he was paid for the potatoes in gold by the two men who bought them. he went up to the new city of adelaide. all the buildings were of the earliest style of architecture, and were made of tea-tree and sods, or of reeds dabbed together with mud. the hotels had no signboards, but it was easy to find them by the heaps of bottles outside. kangaroo flesh was s. d. a pound, but grog was cheap. davy was looking for a shipmate named richard ralph, who was then the principal architect and builder in the city. he found him erecting homes for the immigrants out of reeds and mud. he was paid pounds or pounds for each building. he was also hunting kangaroo and selling meat. he was married to a lady immigrant, and on the whole appeared to be very comfortable and prosperous. davy gave the lady a five-shilling piece to go and fetch a bottle of gin, and was surprised when she came back bringing two bottles of gin and s. change. in the settlement the necessaries of life were dear, but the luxuries were cheap. if a man could not afford to buy kangaroo beef and potatoes, he could live sumptuously on gin. davy walked back to the port the same evening, and next day took in ballast, which was mud dug out among the mangroves. he arrived at launceston in four days, and then went as coasting pilot of the barque 'belinda', bound to port fairy to take in oil for london. the barque took in head of cattle, the first that were landed at port fairy. he then went to port philip, and was employed in lightering cargo up the yarra, and in ferrying between williamstown and the beach now called port melbourne. he took out the first boatman's licence issued, and has the brass badge, no. , still. vessels at that time had to be warped up the yarra from below humbug reach, as no wind could get at the topsails, on account of the high tea-tree on the banks. out west in . i did not travel as a capitalist, far from it. i went up the mississippi as a deck passenger, sleeping at night sometimes on planks, at other times on bags of oats piled on the deck about six feet high. the mate of a mississippi boat is always a bully and every now and then he came along with a deck-hand carrying a lamp, and requested us to come down. he said it was "agen the rules of the boat to sleep on oats"; but we kept on breaking the rules as much as possible. above the mouth of the ohio the river bank on the missouri side is high, rocky, and picturesque. i longed to be the owner of a farm up there, and of a modest cottage overlooking the father of waters. i said, "if there's peace and plenty to be had in this world, the heart that is humble might hope for it here," and then the very first village visible was called "vide poche." it is now a suburb of st. louis. i took a passage on another boat up the illinois river. there was a very lordly man on the lower deck who was frequently "trailing his coat." he had, in fact, no coat at all, only a grey flannel shirt and nankeen trousers, but he was remarkably in want of a fight, and anxious to find a man willing to be licked. he was a desperado of the great river. we had heard and read of such men, of their reckless daring and deadly fights; but we were peaceful people; we had come out west to make a living, and therefore did not want to be killed. when the desperado came near we looked the other way. there was a party of five immigrant englishmen sitting on their luggage. one of them was very strongly built, a likely match for the bully, and a deck-hand pointing to him said: "jack, do you know what that englishman says about you?" "no, what does he say?" "he says he don't think you are of much account with all your brag. reckons he could lick you in a couple of minutes." uttering imprecations, jack approached the englishman, and dancing about the deck, cleared the ring for the coming combat. "come on, you green-horn, and take your gruel. here's the best man on the river for you. you'll find him real grit." the stranger sat still, said he was not a fighting man, and did not want to quarrel with anybody. jack grew more ferocious than ever, and aimed a blow at the peaceful man to persuade him to come on. he came on suddenly. the two men were soon writhing together on the guard deck, and i was pleased to observe the desperado was undermost. the englishman was full of fear, and was fighting for his life. he was doing it with great earnestness. he was grasping the throat of his enemy tightly with both hands, and pressing his thumbs on the wind-pipe. we could see he was going to win in his own simple way, without any recourse to science, and he would have done so very soon had he not been interrupted. but as jack was growing black in the face, the other englishmen began to pull at their mate, and tried to unlock his grip on jack's throat. it was not easy to do so. he held on to his man to the very last, crying out: "leave me alone till i do for him. man alive, don't you know the villain wants to murder me?" the desperado lay for a while gulping and gasping on his bed of glory, unable to rise. i observed patches of bloody skin hanging loose on both sides of his neck when he staggered along the deck towards the starboard sponson. there was peace for a quarter of an hour. then jack's voice was heard again. he had lost prestige, and was coming to recover it with a bowie knife. he said: "where's that britisher? i am going to cut his liver out." the englishman heard the threat, and said to him mates: "i told you so! he means to murder me. why didn't you leave me alone when i had the fine holt of him?" he then hurried away and ran upstairs to the saloon. jack followed to the foot of the ladder, and one wild-eyed young lady said: "look at the englishman [he was sitting on a chair a few feet distance]. ain't he pale? oh! the coward!" she wanted to witness a real lively fight, and was disappointed. the smell of blood seems grateful to the nostrils of both ladies and gentlemen in the states. a butcher from st. louis explained it thus: "it's in the liver. nine out of ten of the beasts i kill have liver complaint. i am morally sartin i'd find the human livers just the same if i examined them in any considerable quantity." the captain came to the head of the stairs and descended to the deck. he was tall and lanky and mild of speech. he said: "now, jack, what are you going to do with that knife?" "i am waiting to cut the liver out of that englishman. send him down, captain, till i finish the job." "yes, i see. he has been peeling your neck pretty bad, ain't he? powerful claws, i reckon. jack, you'll be getting into trouble some day with your weepons." he took a small knife out of his pocket. "look here, jack. i've been going up and down the river more'n twenty years, and never carried a weepon bigg'n that, and never had a muss with nobody. a man who draws his bowie sometimes gets shot. let's look at your knife." he examined it closely, deciphered the brand, drew his thumb over the edge, and observed: "why, blame me, if it ain't one of them british bowies--a free-trade brummagen. i reckon you can't carve anyone with a thing like this." he made a dig at the hand-rail with the point, and it actually curled up like the ring in a hog's snout. "you see, jack, a knife like that is mean, unbecoming a gentleman, and a disgrace to a respectable boat." he pitched the british article into the river and went up into the saloon. as jack had not yet recovered his prestige, he went away, and returned with a dinner knife in one hand and a shingling hammer in the other. he waited for his adversary until the sun was low and the deck passengers were preparing their evening meal. two of the englishmen came along towards the stairs and ascended to the saloon. presently they began to descend with their mate in the middle. jack looked at them, and for some reason or other he did not want any more prestige. he sauntered away along the guard deck, and remained in retirement during the rest of the voyage. he was not, after all, a very desperate desperado. during the next night our boat was racing with a rival craft, and one of her engines was damaged. she had then to hop on one leg, as it were, as far as peoria. the illinois river had here spread out into a broad lake; the bank was low, there were no buildings of any kind near the water; some of the passengers landed, and nobody came to offer them welcome. i stood near an english immigrant who had just brought his luggage ashore, and was sitting on it with his wife and three children. they looked around at the low land and wide water, and became full of misery. the wife said: "what are we boun' to do now, samiul? wheer are me and the childer to go in this miserable lookin' place?" samiul: "i'm sure, betsy, i don't know. i've nobbut hafe a dollar left of o' my money. they said peoria was a good place for us to stop at, but i don't see any signs o' farmin' about here, and if i go away to look for a job, where am i to put thee and the childer, and the luggage and the bedding?" "oh!" said betsy, beginning to cry; "i'm sorry we ever left owd england. but thou would come, samiul, thou knows, and this is the end on it. here we are in this wild country without house or home, and wi' nothin' to eat. i allus thowt tha wor a fool, samiul, and now i'm sure and sartin on it." samiul could not deny it. his spirit was completely broken; he hung down his head, and tears began to trickle down his eyes. the three children--two sturdy little boys and a fair-haired little girl-- seeing their dad and ma shedding tears, thought the whole world must be coming to an end, and they began howling out aloud without any reserve. it was the best thing they could have done, as it called public attention to their misery, and drew a crowd around them. a tall stranger came near looked at the group, and said: "my good man, what in thunder are you crying for?" "i was told peoria was a good place for farmin'," samuel said, "and now i don't know where to go, and i have got no money." "well, you are a soft 'un," replied the stranger. "just dry up and wait here till i come back." he walked away with long strides. peoria was then a dreary-looking city, of which we could see nothing but the end of a broad road, a few frame buildings, two or three waggons, and some horses hitched to the posts of the piazzas. the stranger soon returned with a farmer in a waggon drawn by two fine upstanding horses, fit for a royal carriage. the farmer at once hired the immigrant at ten dollars a month with board for himself and family. he put the luggage into his waggon, patted the boys on the head and told them to be men; kissed the little girl as he lifted her into the waggon, and said: "now, sissy, you are a nice little lady, and you are to come along with me, and we'll be good friends." never was sorrow so quickly turned into joy. the man, his wife, and children, actually began smiling before the tears on their cheeks were dry. men on every western prairie were preparing their waggons for the great rush to california; new hands were wanted on the lands, and the immigrants who were then arriving in thousands, took the place of the other thousands who went westward across the plains. there was employment for everybody, and during my three years' residence on the prairies i only saw one beggar. he was an italian patriot, who said he had fought for italy; he was now begging for it in english, badly-broken, so i said: "you are a strong, healthy man; why don't you go to work? you could earn eight or ten dollars a month, with board, anywhere in these parts." but the italian patriot was a high-class beggar; he was collecting funds, and had no idea of wasting his time in hard work. he gave me to understand that i had insulted him. besides this patriot, there were a few horse-thieves and hog duffers on the prairies, but these, when identified, were either stretched under a tree or sent to texas. in those days the prairie farmers were all gentlemen, high-minded, truthful, honourable, and hospitable. there were no poor houses, no asylums. all orphans were adopted and treated as members of some family in the neighbourhood. i am informed that things are quite different now. the march of empire has been rapid; many men have grown rich, to use a novel expression, beyond the dreams of avarice, and ten times as many have grown poor and discontented. the great question for statesmen now is, "what is to be done for the relief of the masses?" and the answer to it is as difficult to find as ever. but i have to proceed up the illinois river. the steamboat stopped at lasalle, the head of navigation, and we had then to travel on the illinois and michigan canal. we went on board a narrow passenger boat towed by two horses, and followed by two freight barges. we did not go at a breakneck pace, and had plenty of time for conversation, and to look at the scenery, which consisted of prairies, sloughs, woods, and rivers. the picture lacked background, as there is nothing in illinois deserving the name of hill. but we passed an ancient monument, a tall pillar, rising out of the bed of the illinois river. it is called "starved rock." once a number of indian warriors, pursued by white men, climbed up the almost perpendicular sides of the pillar. they had no food, and though the stream was flowing beneath them, they could not obtain a drink of water without danger of death from rifle bullets. the white men instituted a blockade of the pillar, and the red men all perished of starvation on the top of it. the conversation was conducted by the captain of the canal boat, as he walked on the deck to and fro. he was full of information. he said he was a native of kentucky; had come down the ohio river from louisville; was taking freight to chicago; reckoned he was bound to rake in the dollars on the canal; was no dog-gonned abolitionist; niggers were made to work for white folks; they had no souls any more than a horse; he'd like to see the man who would argue the point. mrs. beecher stowe was then writing "uncle tom's cabin," at too great a distance to hear the challenge, but a greenhorn ventured to argue the point. "what about the mulatto? half black, half white. his father being a white man had a whole soul; his mother being black had no soul. has the mulatto a whole soul, half a soul, or no soul at all?" the captain paused in his walk, with both hands in his pockets, gazed at the argumentative greenhorn, turned his quid, spat across the canal, went away whistling "old dan tucker," and left the question of the mulatto's soul unsolved. when i arrived at joliet there was a land boom at chicago. the canal company had cut up their alternate sections, and were offering them at the usual alarming sacrifice. a land boom is a dream of celestial bliss. while it lasts, the wisest men and the greatest fools walk with ecstatic steps through the golden streets of a new jerusalem. i have been there three times. it is dreadful to wake up and to find that all the gold in the street is nothing but moonshine. i proceeded to the lake city to lay the foundation of my fortune by buying town lots. i laid the foundation on a five-acre block in west joliet, but had to borrow seven dollars from my nearest friend to pay the first deposit. chicago was then a small but busy wooden town, with slushy streets, plank sidewalks, verandahs full of rats, and bedrooms humming with mosquitoes. i left it penniless but proud, an owner of real estate. while returning to joliet on the canal boat my nearest friend, from whom i had borrowed the seven dollars, kindly gave me his views on the subject of "greenhorns." (the australian equivalent of "greenhorn" is "new chum." i had the advantage of serving my time in both capacities). "no greenhorn," he observed, "ever begins to get along in the states until he has parted with his bottom dollar. that puts a keen edge on his mind, and he grows smart in business. a smart man don't strain his back with hard work for any considerable time. he takes out a patent for something--a mowing machine, or one for sowing corn and pumpkins, a new churn or wash-tub, pills for the shakes, or, best of all, a new religion--anything, in fact, that will catch on and fetch the public." i had parted with my bottom dollar, was also in debt, and therefore in the best position for getting along; but i could not all at once think of anything to patent, and had to earn my daily bread some way or other. i began to do it by hammering sheets of iron into the proper curves for an undershot water-wheel. after i had worked two days my boss suggested that i should seek other employment--in a school, for instance; a new teacher was wanted in the common school of west joliet. i said i should prefer something higher; a teacher was of no more earthly account than a tailor. the boss said: "that might be so in benighted britain, but in the great united states our prominent citizens begin life as teachers in the common schools, and gradually rise to the highest positions in the republic." i concluded to rise, but a certificate of competency was required, and i presented myself for examination to the proper official, the editor and proprietor of 'the true democrat' whose office was across the bridge, nearly opposite matheson's woollen factory. i found the editor and his compositor labouring over the next edition of the paper. the editor began the examination with the alphabet. i said in england we used twenty-six letters, and i named all of them correctly except the last. i called it "zed," but the editor said it was "zee," and i did not argue the point. he then asked me to pick out the vowels, the consonants, the flats, the sharps, the aspirates, the labials, the palatals, the dentals, and the mutes. i was struck dumb; i could feel the very foundation of all learning sinking beneath me, and had to confess that i did not know my letters. then he went on to spelling and writing. my writing was barely passable, and my spelling was quite out of date. i used superfluous letters which had been very properly abolished by webster's dictionary. at last the editor remarked, with becoming modesty, that he was himself of no account at figures, but mr. sims would put me through the arithmetic. mr. sims was the compositor, and an englishman; he put me through tenderly. when the examination was finished, i felt like a convicted impostor, and was prepared to resume work on the undershot water-wheel, but the two professors took pity on me, and certified in writing that i was qualified to keep school. then the editor remarked that the retiring teacher, mr. randal, had advertised in the 'true democrat' his ability to teach the latin language; but, unfortunately, father ingoldsby had offered himself as a first pupil; mr. randal never got another, and all his latin oozed out. on this timely hint i advertised my ability to teach the citizens of joliet not only latin, but greek, french, spanish, and portuguese. my advertisement will be found among the files of the 'true democrat' of the year by anyone taking the trouble to look for it. i had carelessly omitted to mention the english language, but we sometimes get what we don't ask for, and no less than sixteen germans came to night school to study our tongue. they were all masons and quarrymen engaged in exporting steps and window sills to the rising city of chicago. when goldsmith tried to earn his bread by teaching english in holland, he overlooked the fact that it was first necessary for him to learn low dutch. i overlooked the same fact, but it gave me no trouble whatever. there was no united germany then, and my pupils disagreed continually about the pronunciation of their own language, which seemed, like that of babel, intelligible to nobody. i composed their quarrels by confining their minds to english solely, and harmony was restored each night by song. the school-house was a one-storey frame building on the second plateau in west joliet, and was attended by about one hundred scholars. in the rear was a shallow lagoon, fenced on one side by a wall of loose rocks, infested with snakes. the track to the cemetery was near, and it soon began to be in very frequent use. one day during recess the boys had a snake hunt, and they tied their game in one bunch by the heads with string, and suspended them by the wayside. i counted them, and there were twenty-seven snakes in the bunch. the year ' was the 'annus mirabilis' of the great rush for gold across the plains, and it was also an 'annus miserabilis' on account of the cholera. in three weeks fourteen hundred waggons bound for california crossed one of the bridges over the canal. i was desirous of joining the rush, but was, as usual, short of cash, and i had to stay at joliet to earn my salary. i met the editor of the 'true democrat' nearly every day carrying home a bucket of water from the aux plaines river. he did his own chores. he sent two young men who wished to become teachers to my school to graduate. one was named o'reilly, lately from ireland; i gave him his degree in a few weeks, and he kept school somewhere out on the prairie. the other did not graduate before the cholera came. he was a native of vermont, and he played the clarionet in our church choir. the instrumental music came from the clarionet, from a violin, and a flute. the choir came from france and germany, old england and new england, ireland, alsace, and belgium. it was divided into two hostile camps, and the party which first took possession of the gallery took precedence in the music for that day only. there was a want of harmony. one morning when the priest was chanting the first words of the gloria, the head of a little french bugler appeared at the top of the gallery stairs, and at once started a plaint chant, gloria, we had never rehearsed or heard before. he sang his solo to the end. he was thirsting for glory, and he took a full draught. i don't think there was ever a choir like ours but one, and that was conducted by a butcher from dolphinholm in the anglican church at garstang. one sunday he started a hymn with a new tune. three times his men broke down, and three times they were heard by the whole congregation whispering ferociously at one another. at length the parson tried to proceed with the service, and said: "let us pray." but the bold butcher retorted: "pray be hanged. let us try again, lads; i know we can do it." he then started the hymn for the fourth time, and they did it. after the service the parson demanded satisfaction of the butcher, and got it in a neighbouring pasture. the cholera came, and we soon grew very serious. the young man from vermont walked with me after school hours, and we tried to be cheerful, but it was of no use. our talk always reverted to the plague, and the best way to cure it or to avoid it. the doctors disagreed. every theory was soon contradicted by facts; all kinds of people were attacked and died; the young and the old, the weak and the strong, the drunken and the sober. every man adopted a special diet or a favourite liquor--brandy, whiskey, bitters, cherry-bounce, sarsaparilla. my own particular preventive was hot tea, sweetened with molasses and seasoned with cayenne pepper. i survived, but that does not prove anything in particular. the two papers, the 'joliet signal' and the 'true democrat', scarcely ever mentioned the cholera. it would have been bad policy, tending to scare away the citizens and to injure trade. many men suddenly found that they had urgent business to look after elsewhere, and sneaked away, leaving their wives and families behind them. on sunday father ingoldsby advised his people to prepare their souls for the visit of the angel of death, who was every night knocking at their doors. there were many, he said, whose faces he had never seen at the rails since he came to joliet; and what answer would they give to the summons which called them to appear without delay before the judgment seat of god? what doom could they expect but that of damnation and eternal death? the sermon needed no translation for the men of many nations who were present. irishmen and englishmen, highlanders and belgians, french and germans, mexicans and canadians, could interpret the meaning of the flashing eye which roamed to every corner of the church, singling out each miserable sinner; the fierce frown, the threatening gesture, the finger first pointing to the heaven above, and then down to the depths of hell. some stayed to pray and to confess their sins; others hardened their hearts and went home unrepentant. michael mangan went to belz's grocery near the canal. he said he felt pains in his interior, and drank a jigger of whisky. then he bought half-a-gallon of the same remedy to take home with him. it was a cheap prescription, costing only twelve and a half cents, but it proved very effective. old belz put the stuff into an earthenware bottle, which he corked with a corncob. michael started for home by the zigzag path which led up the steep limestone bluff, but his steps were slow and unsteady; he sat down on a rock, and took another dose out of his bottle. he never went any further of his own motion, and we buried him next day. we were of different opinions about the cause of his death; some thought it was the cholera, others the pangs of conscience, some the whisky, and others a mixture of all three; at any rate, he died without speaking to the priest. next day another neighbour died, mr. harrigan. he had lost one arm, but with the other he wrote a good hand, and registered deeds in the county court. i called to see him. he was in bed lying on his back, his one arm outside the coverlet, his heaving chest was bare, and his face was ghastly pale. there were six men in the room, one of whom said: "do you know me, mr. harrigan?" "sure, divil a dog in lockport but knows you, barney," said the dying man. barney lived in lockport, and in an audible whisper said to us: "ain't he getting on finely? he'll be all right again to-morrow, please god." "and didn't the doctor say i'd be dead before twelve this day?" asked harrigan. i looked at the clock on the mantelshelf. it was past ten. he died an hour later. one day the young man from vermont rose from his seat and looked at me across the schoolroom. i thought he was going to say something. he took down his hat, went to the door, turned and looked at me again, but he did not speak or make any sign. next morning his place was vacant, and i asked one of the boys if he had seen the young man. the boy said: "he ain't a-coming to school no more, i calkilate. he was buried this morning before school hours." that year, ' was a dismal year in joliet. mr. rogers, one of the school managers, came and sat on a bench near the door. he was a new englander, a carpenter, round-shouldered, tall and bony. he said: "i called in to tell you that i can't vote for appinting you to this school next term. fact is the ladies are dead against you; don't see you at meeting on the sabbath; say you go to the catholic church with the irish and dutch. i a'n't a word to say agen you myself. this is a free country; every man can go, for aught i care, whichever way he darn chooses--to heaven, or hell, or any other place. but i want to be peaceable, and i can't get no peace about voting for you next term, so i thought i'd let you know, that you mightn't be disappointed." in that way mr. rogers washed his hands of me. i said i was sorry i did not please the ladies, but i liked to hear a man who spoke his mind freely. soon afterwards the germans brought me word that the yankees were calling a meeting about me. i was aware by this time that when a special gathering of citizens takes place to discuss the demerits of any individual, it is advisable for that individual to be absent if possible; but curiosity was strong within me; hitherto i had never been honoured with any public notice whatever, and i attended the meeting uninvited. the yankees are excellent orators; they are born without bashfulness; they are taught to speak pieces in school from their childhood; they pronounce each word distinctly; they use correctly the rising inflection and the falling inflection. moreover, they are always in deadly earnest; there is another miserable world awaiting their arrival. their humorists are the most unhappy of men. you may smile when you read their jokes, but when you see the jokers you are more inclined to weep. with pain and sorrow they grind, like samson, at the jokers' mill all the days of their lives. the meeting was held in the new two-storey school-house. deacon beaumont took the chair--my chair--and mr curtis was appointed secretary. i began to hate deacon beaumont, as also mr. curtis, who was the only other teacher present; it was evident they were going to put him in my place. each speaker on rising put his left hand in the side pocket of his pants. i was not mentioned by name, but nevertheless i was given clearly to understand that i had been reared in a land whose people are under the dominion of a tyrannical monarch and a bloated aristocracy; that therefore i had never breathed the pure air of freedom, and was unfitted to teach the children of the great republic. mr. tucker, an influential citizen, moved finally that the school managers be instructed to engage a mr. sellars, of dresden, as teacher at the west joliet school. he said mr. sellars was a young man from new england who had been teaching for a term at dresden, and had given great satisfaction. he had the best testimony to the character and ability of the young man from his own daughter, miss priscilla tucker, who had been school marm in the same school, and was now home on a visit. she could give, from her own personal knowledge, any information the managers might require. mr. tucker's motion was seconded. there was no amendment proposed, and all in favour of the motion were requested by deacon beaumont to stand up. the yankees all rose to their feet, the others sat still, all but old gorges, a prussian, who, with his two sons, had come to vote for me. but the old man did not understand english. his son john pulled him down, but deacon beaumont had counted his vote, and the motion was carried by a majority of one. so i was, in fact, put out of the school by my best friend, old gorges. i went away in a dudgeon and marked off a cellar on my real estate, feet by feet, on the top of the bluff, near the edge of the western prairie. the ground was a mixture of stiff clay and limestone rock, and i dug at it all through the month of september. curious people came along and made various remarks; some said nothing, but went away whistling. one day mr. jackson and paul duffendorff were passing by, and i wanted them to pass, but they stopped like the rest. mr. jackson was reckoned one of the smartest men in will county. he had a large farm, well stocked, but he was never known to do any work except with his brains. he was one of those men who increased the income of the state of illinois by ability. duffendorf was a huge dutchman, nearly seven feet in height. he was a great friend of mine, great every way, but very stupid; he had no sense of refinement. he said: "ve gates, schoolmeister? py golly! here, mr. shackson, is our schoolmeister a vurkin mit spade and bick. how vas you like dat kind of vurk, mr. shackson?" "never could be such a darned fool; sooner steal," answered jackson. duffendorf laughed until he nearly fell into the cellar. now this talk was very offensive. i knew mr. jackson was defendant in a case then pending. he had been charged with conspiring to defraud; with having stolen three horses; with illegally detaining seventy-five dollars; and on other counts which i cannot remember just now. the thing was originally very simple, even duffendorff could understand it. mr. jackson was in want of some ready money, so he directed his hired man to steal three of his horses in the dead of night, take them to chicago, sell them to the highest bidder, find out where the highest bidder lived, and then return with the cash to joliet. the hired man did his part of the business faithfully, returned and reported to his employer. then mr. jackson set out in search of his stolen horses, found them, and brought them home. the man expected to receive half the profits of the enterprise. the boss demurred, and only offered one-third, and said if that was not satisfactory he would bring a charge of horse-stealing. the case went into court, and under the treatment of learned counsel grew very complicated. it was remarkable as being the only one on record in will county in which a man had made money by stealing his own horses. it is, i fancy, still 'sub judice'. both the old school and the new school remained closed even after the cholera ceased to thin out the citizens, but i felt no further interest in the education of youth. when winter came i tramped three miles into the forest, and began to fell trees and split rails in order to fence in my suburban estate. for some time i carried a rifle, and besides various small game i shot two deer, but neither of them would wait for me to come up with them even after i had shot them; they took my two bullets away with them, and left me only a few drops of blood on the snow; then i left the rifle at home. for about four months the ground was covered with snow, and the cold was intense, but i continued splitting until the snakes came out to bask in the sun and warm themselves. i saw near a dead log eight coiled together, and i killed them all. the juice of the sugar maples began to run. i cut notches in the bark in the shape of a broad arrow, bored a hole at the point, inserted a short spout of bark, and on sunny mornings the juice flowed in a regular stream, clear and sparkling; on cloudy days it only dropped. one evening as i was plodding my weary way homeward, i looked up and saw in the distance a man inspecting my cellar. i said, "here's another disgusting fool who ain't seen it before." it certainly was a peculiar cellar, but not worth looking at so much. i hated the sight of it. it had no building over it, never was roofed in, and was sometimes full of snow. the other fool proved to be mr. curtis, the teacher who had written the resolution of the meeting which voted me out of the school. he held out his hand, and i took it, but reluctantly, and under secret protest. i thought to myself, "this mine enemy has an axe to grind, or he would not be here. i'll be on my guard." "i have been waiting for you some time," said mr. curtis. "i was told you were splitting rails in the forest, and would be home about sundown. i wanted to see you about opening school again. mr. rogers won't have anything to say to it, but the other two managers, mr. strong and mr. demmond, want to engage you and me, one to teach in the upper storey of the school, the other down below, and i came up to ask you to see them about it." "how does it happen that mr. sellars has not come over from dresden?" i said. "joliet is about the last place on this earth that mr. sellars will come to. didn't you hear about him and priscilla?" asked mr. curtis. "no, i heard nothing since that meeting; only saw the school doors were closed every time i passed that way." "well, i am surprised. i thought everybody knew by this time, though we did not like to say much about it." i began to feel interested. mr. curtis had something pleasant to tell me about the misfortunes of my enemies, so i listened attentively. it was a tale of western love, and its course was no smoother in illinois than in any less enlightened country of old europe. miss priscilla reckoned she could hoe her own row. she and mr. sellars conducted the common school at dresden with great success and harmony. all went merry as a marriage bell, and the marriage was to come off by-and-by--so hoped miss priscilla. during the recess she took the teacher's arm, and they walked to and fro lovingly. all dresden said it was to be a match, but at the end of the term miss priscilla returned to joliet--the match was not yet made. it was at this time that the dissatisfaction with the new british teacher became extreme; miss priscilla fanned the flame of discontent. she did not "let concealment like a worm i' th' bud feed on her damask cheek," but boldly proposed that mr. sellars--a true-born native of new england, a good young man, always seen at meetings on the sabbath--should be requested to take charge of the west joliet school. so the meeting was held: i was voted out, mr. sellars was voted in, and the daughters of the puritans triumphed. miss priscilla wrote to dresden, announcing to her beloved the success of her diplomacy, requesting him to come to joliet without delay, and assume direction of the new school. this letter fell into the hands of another lady who had just arrived at dresden from new england in search of her husband, who happened to be mr. sellars. the letter which that other lady wrote to miss priscilla i did not see, but it was said to be a masterpiece of composition, and it emptied two schools. mr. tucker went over to dresden and looked around for mr. sellars, but that gentleman had gone out west, and was never heard of again. the west was a very wide unfenced space, without railways. "the fact is," said mr. curtis, "we were all kinder shamed the way things turned out, and we just let 'em rip. but people are now stirring about the school being closed so long, so mr. strong and mr. demmond have concluded to engage you and me to conduct the school." we were engaged that night, and i went rail-splitting no more. but i fenced my estate; and while running the line on the western boundary i found the grave of highland mary. it was in the middle of a grove of oak and hickory saplings, and was nearly hidden by hazel bushes. the tombstone was a slab about two feet high, roughly hewn. her epitaph was, "mary campbell, aged . ." that was all. poor little mary. the common schools of illinois were maintained principally from the revenue derived from grants of land. when the country was first surveyed, one section of acres in each township of six miles square was reserved for school purposes. there was a state law on education, but the management was entirely local, and was in the hands of a treasurer and three directors, elected biennally by the citizens of each school district. the revenue derived from the school section was sometimes not sufficient to defray the salary of the teacher, and then the deficiency was supplied by the parents of the children who had attended at the school; those citizens whose children did not attend were not taxed by the state for the common schools; they did not pay for that which they did not receive. in some instances only one school was maintained by the revenue of two school sections. when the attendance in the school was numerous, a young lady, called the "school-marm," assisted in the teaching. sometimes, as in the case of miss priscilla, she fell into trouble. the books were provided by the enterprise of private citizens, and an occasional change of "readers" was agreeable both to teachers and scholars. the best of old stories grow tiresome when repeated too often. one day a traveller from cincinnati brought me samples of a new series of "readers," offering on my approval, to substitute next day a new volume for every old one produced. i approved, and he presented each scholar with copies of the new series for nothing. the teaching was secular, but certain virtues were inculcated either directly or indirectly. truth and patriotism were recommended by the example of george washington, who never told a lie, and who won with his sword the freedom of his country. there were lessons on history, in which the tyranny of the english government was denounced; kings, lords and bishops, especially bishop laud, were held up to eternal abhorrence; as was also england's greed of gain, her intolerance, bigotry, taxation; her penal and navigation laws. the glorious war of independence was related at length. the children of the puritans, of the irish and the germans, did not in those days imbibe much prejudice in favour of england or her institutions, and the english teacher desirous of arriving at the truth, had the advantage of having heard both sides of many historical questions; of listening, as it were, to the scream of the american eagle, as well as to the roar of the british lion. mr. curtis was a good teacher, systematic, patient, persevering, and ingenious. i ceased to hate him; miss priscilla's downfall cemented our friendship. we kept order in the school by moral suasion, but the task was sometimes difficult. my private feelings were in favour of the occasional use of the hickory stick, the american substitute for the rod of solomon, and the birch of england. the geography we taught was principally that of the united states and her territories, spacious maps of which were suspended round the school, continually reminding the scholars of their glorious inheritance. it was then full of vacant lots, over which roamed the indian and the buffalo, species of animals now nearly extinct. we did not pay much attention to the rest of the world. elocution was inculcated assiduously, and at regular intervals each boy and girl had to come forth and "speak a piece" in the presence of the scholars, teachers, and visitors. mental arithmetic and the use of fractions were taught daily. the use of the decimal in the american coinage is of great advantage; it is easier and more intelligible to children than the clumsy old system of pounds, shillings, pence, and farthings. it is a system which would no doubt have been long ago adopted by england, if it had not been humiliating to our national pride to take even a good thing from rebellious yankees, and inferior latin races. we cling fondly to absurdities because they are our own. in australia wild rabbits are vermin, in england they are private property; and if one of the three millions of her miserable paupers is found with a rabbit in each of his coat pockets, he is fined s. or sent to gaol. pope gregory xiii. demonstrated the error of the calendar then in use, and all catholic nations adopted his correction. but when the adoption of the calendar was proposed in parliament, john bull put his big foot down at once; he would receive no truth, not even a mathematical one, from the pope of rome, and it was only after the lapse of nearly years, when the memory of gregory and his calendar had almost faded away from the sensitive mind of protestantism, that an act was passed, "equalising the style in great britain and ireland with that used in other countries of europe." a fugitive slave with his wife and daughter came to joliet. one day he was seized by three slave-hunters, who took him towards the canal. a number of abolitionists assembled to rescue the slave, but the three men drew their revolvers, and no abolitionist had the courage to fire the first shot. the slave was put in a canal boat and went south; his wife remained in joliet and earned her bread by weaving drugget; the daughter came to my school; she was of pure negro blood, but was taught with the white girls. the abolitionists were increasing in number, and during the war with the south the slaves were freed. they are now like israel in egypt, they increase too rapidly. if father abraham had sent them back to africa when they were only four millions, he would have earned the gratitude of his country. now they number more than eight millions; the sunny south agrees with their constitution; they work as little and steal as much as possible. in the days of their bondage they were addicted to petty larceny; now they have votes, and when they achieve place and power they are addicted to grand larceny, and they loot the public treasury as unblushingly as the white politicians. the nigger question has doubled in magnitude during the last thirty years, and there will have to be another abolition campaign of some kind. the blacks are incapable of ruling the whites; no time was given to educate them for their new duties, if teaching them was possible; the declaration of independence was in their case a mockery from the beginning. when all the old abolitionists and slave-holders are dead, another generation of men grown wiser by the failure of the policy of their forefathers may solve the black problem. complaint is made that the american education of to-day is in a chaotic condition, due to the want of any definite idea of what education is aiming at. there is evidence that the ancients of new england used to birch their boys, but after independence had been fought for and won, higher aims prevailed. the puritan then believed that his children were born to a destiny far grander than that of any other children on the face of the earth; the treatment accorded to them was therefore to be different. the fundamental idea of american life was to be "freedom," and the definition of "freedom" by a learned american is, "the power which necessarily belongs to the self-conscious being of determining his actions in view of the highest, the universal good, and thereby of gradually realising in himself the eternal divine perfection." the definition seems a little hazy, but the workings of great minds are often unintelligible to common people. "the american citizen must be morally autonomous, regarding all institutions as servants, not as masters. so far man has been for the most part a thrall. the true american must worship the inner god recognised as his own deepest and eternal self, not an outer god regarded as something different from himself." lucifer is said to have entertained a similar idea. he would not be a thrall, and the result as described by the republican milton was truly disastrous: "him the almighty power hurl'd headlong down to bottomless perdition region of sorrow, doleful shades, where peace and rest can never dwell." the manner in which the american citizen is to be made "morally autonomous, and placed beyond the control of current opinion," will require much money; his parents must therefore be rich; they must already have inherited wealth, or have obtained it by ability or labour. the course of training to be given to youth includes travelling for six years in foreign countries under private tutors, studying human history, ethnic, social, political, industrial, æsthetic, religious; gems of poetry; the elements of geometry; mechanics; art, plastic, and graphic; reading confucius, sakya-muni, themistocles, socrates, julius caesar, paul, mahommed, charlemagne, alfred, gregory vii., st. bernard, st. francis, savonarola, luther, queen elizabeth, columbus, washington, lincoln, homer, virgil, dante, tennyson, and lowell. the boys on the prairies had to earn their bread; they could not spend six years travelling around and studying all the writers above mentioned, making themselves morally autonomous, and worshipping their own deepest and eternal selves. the best men america has produced were reared at home, and did chores out of school hours. when i was expelled from school by the yankees, mr. mcevoy, the leading irish politician, called me aside and said: "whisper, you just hang round until next election, and we'll turn out the yankee managers, and put you in the school again." the germans were slow in acquiring political knowledge as well as in learning the english language; but language, politics, and law itself are the birthright of the irish. by force of circumstances, and through the otherwise deplorable failure of miss priscilla, i resumed work in the school before the election, but mr. mcevoy, true to his promise, organised the opposition--it is always the opposition--and ejected the yankee managers, but in the fall of i resigned, and went a long way south. when i returned, joliet was a city, and mr. rendel, one of my german night scholars, was city marshal. i met him walking the streets, and carrying his staff of office with great dignity. i took up my abode in an upper apartment of the gaol, then in charge of sheriff cunningham, who had a farm in west joliet, near a plank road, leading on to the prairie. i had known the sheriff two years before, but did not see much of him at this time, though i was in daily communication with his son, silas, the deputy sheriff. it was under these favourable circumstancesthat i was enabled to witness a general gaol delivery of all the prisoners in joliet. one, charged with killing his third man, was out on bail. i saw him in matheson's boarding-house making love to one of the hired girls, and she seemed quite pleased with his polite attentions. matheson was elected governor of the state of illinois, and became a millionaire by dealing in railways. he was a native of missouri, and a man of ability; in ' i saw him at work in a machine shop. the prisoners did not regain their freedom all at once, but in the space of three weeks they trickled out one by one. the deputy sheriff, silas, had been one of my pupils; he was now about seventeen years of age, and a model son of the prairies. his features were exceedingly thin, his eyes keen, his speech and movements slow, his mind cool and calculating. he never injured his constitution by any violent exertion; in fact, he seemed to have taken leave of active life and all its worries, and to have settled down to an existence of ease and contemplation. if he had any anxiety about the safe custody of his prisoners he never showed it. he had finished his education, so i did not attempt to control him by moral suasion, or by anything else, but by degrees i succeeded in eliciting from him all the particulars he could impart about the criminals under his care. there was no fence around the gaol, and silas kept two of them always locked in. he "calkilated they wer kinder unsafe." they belonged to a society of horse thieves whose members were distributed at regular intervals along the prairies, and who forwarded their stolen animals by night to chicago. the two gentlemen in gaol were of an untrustworthy character, and would be likely to slip away. about a week after my arrival i met silas coming out of the gaol, and he said: "they're gone, be gosh." silas never wasted words. "who is gone?" i inquired. "why, them two horse thieves. just look here." we went round to the east side of the gaol, and there was a hole about two feet deep, and just wide enough to let a man through. the ground underneath the wall was rocky, but the two prisoners had been industrious, had picked a hole under the wall and had gone through. "where's the sheriff?" i asked. "won't mr. cunningham go after the men?" "he's away at bourbonnais' grove, about suthin' or other, among the bluenoses; can't say when he'll be back; it don't matter anyhow. he might just as well try to go to hell backwards as catch them two horse thieves now." silas had still two other prisoners under his care, and he let them go outside as usual to enjoy the fresh air. they had both been committed for murder, but their crime was reckoned a respectable one compared to the mean one of horse stealing, so silas gave them honourable treatment. one of the prisoners was a widow lady who had killed another lady with an axe, at a hut near the canal on the road to lockport. she seemed crazy, and when outside the gaol walked here and there in a helpless kind of way, muttering to herself; but sometimes an idea seemed to strike her that she had something to do lockport way, and she started in that direction, forgetting very likely that she had done it already; but whenever silas called her back, she returned without giving any trouble. one day, however, when silas was asleep she went clean out of sight, and i did not see her any more. the sheriff was still absent among the bluenoses. the fourth prisoner was an englishman named wilkins who owned a farm on the prairie, in the direction of bourbonnais' grove. a few weeks before, returning home from joliet with his waggon and team of horses, he halted for a short time at a distillery, situated at the foot of the low bluff which bounded the bottom, through which ran the aux plaines river. it was a place at which the farmers often called to discuss politics, the prices of produce, and other matters, and also, if so disposed, to take in a supply of liquor. the corn whisky of illinois was an article of commerce which found its way to many markets. although it was sold at a low price at home, it became much more valuable after it had been exported to england or france, and had undergone scientific treatment by men of ability. the corn used in its manufacture was exceedingly cheap, as may be imagined when corn-fed pork was, in the winter of ' , offered for sale in joliet at one cent per pound. after the poison of the prairies had been exported to europe, a new flavour was imparted to it, and it became cognac, or the best irish or scotch whisky. wilkins halted his team and went into the whisky-mill, where the owner, robinson, was throwing charcoal into the furnace under his boiler with a long-handled shovel. he was an enterprising englishman who was wooing the smiles of fortune with better prospects of success than the slow, hard-working farmer. i had seen him first in west joliet in ' , when he was travelling around buying corn for his distillery. he was a handsome man, about thirty years of age, five feet ten inches in height, had been well educated, was quite able to hold his own among the men of the west, and accommodated himself to their manners and habits. there were three other farmers present, and their talk drifted from one thing to another until it at last settled on the question of the relative advantages of life in england and the states. robinson took the part of england, wilkins stuck to the states; he said: "a poor man has no chance at home; he is kept down by landlords, and can never get a farm of his own. in illinois i am a free man, and have no one to lord it over me. if i had lived and slaved in england for a hundred years i should never have been any better off, and now i have a farm as good as any in will county, and am just as good a man as e'er another in it." now wilkins was only a small man, shorter by four inches than robinson, who towered above him, and at once resented the claim to equality. he said: "you as good as any other man, are you? why there ain't a more miserable little skunk within twenty miles round joliet." robinson was forgetting the etiquette of the west. no man--except, perhaps, in speaking to a nigger--ever assumed a tone of insolent superiority to any other man; if he did so, it was at the risk of sudden death; even a hired man was habitually treated with civility. the titles of colonel, judge, major, captain, and squire were in constant use both in public and private; there was plenty of humorous "chaff," but not insult. colonels, judges, majors, captains, and squires were civil, both to each other and to the rest of the citizens. robinson, in speaking to his fellow countryman, forgot for a moment that he was not in dear old england, where he could settle a little difference with his fists. but little wilkins did not forget, and he was not the kind of man to be pounded with impunity. he had in his pocket a hunting knife, with which he could kill a hog--or a man. when robinson called him a skunk he felt in his pocket for the knife, and put his thumb on the spring at the back of the buckhorn handle, playing with it gently. it was not a british brummagem article, made for the foreign or colonial market, but a genuine weapon that could be relied on at a pinch. "oh, i dare say you were a great man at home, weren't you?" he said. "a lord maybe, or a landlord. but we don't have sich great men here, and i am as good a man as you any day, skunk though i be." robinson had just thrown another shovelful of charcoal into the furnace under his boiler, and he held up his shovel as if ready to strike williams, but it was never known whether he really intended to strike or not. the three other men standing near were quite amused with the dispute of the two englishmen, and were smiling pleasantly at their foolishness. but little wilkins did not smile, nor did he wait for the shovel to come down on his head; he darted under it with his open knife in the same manner as the roman soldier went underneath the dense spears of the pyrrhic phalanx, and set to work. robinson tried to parry the blows with the handle of the shovel, but he made only a poor fight; the knife was driven to the hilt into his body seven times, then he threw down his shovel, and tried to save himself behind the boiler, but it was too late; the dispute about england and the states was settled. wilkins took his team home, then returned to joliet and gave himself into the custody of the squire, hoosier smith. at the inquest he was committed to take his trial for murder, and did not get bail. his wife left the farm, and with her two little boys lived in an old log hut near the gaol. she brought with her two cows, which wilkins milked each morning as soon as silas let him out of prison. i could see him every day from the window of my room, and i often passed by the hut when he was doing chores, chopping wood, or fetching water, but i never spoke to him. he did not look happy or sociable, and i could not think of anything pleasant to say by way of making his acquaintance. after much observation and thought i came to the conclusion that sheriff cunningham wanted his prisoner to go away; he would not like to hang the man; the citizens would not take wilkins off his hands; if two fools chose to get up a little difficulty and one was killed, it was their own look-out; and anyway they were only foreigners. the fact was wilkins was waiting for someone to purchase his farm. the court-house for will county was within view of the gaol, at the other side of the street, and one day i went over to look at it. the judge was hearing a civil case, and i sat down to listen to the proceedings. a learned counsel was addressing the jury. he talked at great length in a nasal tone, slowly and deliberately; he had one foot on a form, one hand in a pocket of his pants, and the other hand rested gracefully on a volume of the statutes of the state of illinois. he had much to say about various horses running on the prairie, and particularly about one animal which he called the "skemelhorne horse." i tried to follow his argument, but the "skemelhorne horse" was so mixed up with the other horses that i could not spot him. semicircular seats of unpainted pine for the accommodation of the public rose tier above tier, but most of them were empty. there were present several gentlemen of the legal profession, but they kept silence, and never interrupted the counsel's address. nor did the judge utter a word; he sat at his desk sideways, with his boots resting on a chair. he wore neither wig nor gown, and had not even put on his sunday go-to-meeting clothes. neither had the lawyers. if there was a court crier or constable present he was indistinguishable from the rest of the audience. near the judge's desk there was a bucket of water and three tumblers on a small table. it was a hot day. the counsel paused in his speech, went to the table, and took a drink; a juryman left the box and drank. the judge also came down from his seat, dipped a tumbler in the bucket and quenched his thirst; one spectator after another went to the bucket. there was equality and fraternity in the court of law; the speech about the skemelhorne horse went on with the utmost gravity and decorum, until the nasal drawl of the learned counsel put me to sleep. on awakening, i went into another hall, in which dealings in real estate were registered. shelves fixed against the walls held huge volumes lettered on the back. one of these volumes was on a table in the centre of the hall, and in it the registrar was copying a deed. before him lay a pile of deeds with a lead weight on the top. a farmer came in with a paper, on which the registrar endorsed a number and placed at the bottom of the pile. there was no parchment used; each document was a half-sheet foolscap size, party printed and partly written. another farmer came in, took up the pile and examined the numbers to see how soon his deed was likely to be copied, and if it was in its proper place according to the number endorsed. the registrar was not fenced off from the public by a wide counter; he was the servant of the citizens, and had to satisfy those who paid him for his labours. his pay was a fixed number of cents per folio, not dollars, nor pounds. when i went back to gaol i found it deserted. wilkins had sold his farm and disappeared. his wife remained in the hut. sheriff cunningham was still away among the bluenoses, and silas was 'functus officio', having accomplished a general gaol delivery. he did not pine away on account of the loss of his prisoners, nor grow any thinner--that was impossible. i remained four days longer, expecting something would happen; but nothing did happen, then i left the gaol. i wrote out two notices informing the public that i was willing to sell my real estate; one of these i pasted up at the post office, the other on the bridge over the aux plaines river. next day a german from chicago agreed to pay the price asked, and we called on colonel smith, the squire. the colonel filled in a brief form of transfer, witnessed the payment of the money--which was in twenty-dollar gold pieces, and he charged one dollar as his fee. the german would have to pay about cents for its registration. if the deed was lost or stolen, he would insert in a local journal a notice of his intention to apply for a copy, which would make the original of as little value to anybody as a provincial and suburban bank note. in illinois, transfers of land were registered in each county town. to buy or sell a farm was as easy as horse-stealing, and safer. usually, no legal help was necessary for either transaction. by this time california had a rival; gold had been found in australia. i was fond of gold; i jingled the twenty dollar gold pieces in my pocket, and resolved to look for more at the fountainhead, by way of my native land. a railway from chicago had just reached joliet, and had been opened three days before. it was an invitation to start, and i accepted it. nobody ever loved his native land better than i do when i am away from it. i can call to mind its innumerable beauties, and in fancy saunter once more through the summer woods, among the bracken, the bluebells, and the foxglove. i can wander by the banks of the brock, where the sullen trout hide in the clear depths of the pools. i can walk along the path--the path to paradise--still lined with the blue-eyed speedwell and red campion; i know where the copse is carpeted with the bluebell and ragged robin, where grow the alders, and the hazels rich with brown nuts, the beeches and the oaks; where the flower of the yellow broom blazes like gold in the noontide sun; where the stockdove coos overhead in the ivy; where the kingfisher darts past like a shaft of sapphire, and the water ouzel flies up stream; where the pheasant glides out from his home in the wood to feed on the headland of the wheat field; where the partridge broods in the dust with her young; where the green lane is bordered by the guelder-rose or wayfaring tree, the raspberry, strawberry, and cherry, the wild garlic of starlike flowers, the woodruff, fragrant as new-mown hay; the yellow pimpernel on the hedge side. i see in the fields and meadows the bird's foot trefoil, the oxeye daisy, the lady smocks, sweet hemlock, butterbur, the stitchwort, and the orchis, the "long purpled" of shakespeare. by the margin of the pond the yellow iris hangs out its golden banners over which the dragon fly skims. the hedgerows are gay with the full-blown dog-roses, the bells of the bilberries droop down along the wood-side, and the red-hipped bumble bees hum over them. out of the woodland and up snaperake lane i rise to the moorland, and then the sea coast comes in sight, and the longing to know what lies beyond it. i have been twice to see what lies beyond it, and when i return once more my own land does not know me. there is another sea coast in sight now, and when i sail away from it i hope to land on some one of the isles of the blest. i called on my oldest living love; she looked, i thought, even younger than when we last parted. she was sitting before the fire alone, pale and calm, but she gave me no greeting; she had forgotten me. i took a chair, sat down beside her, and waited. a strange lass with a fair face and strong bare arms came in and stared at me steadily for a minute or two, but went away without saying a word. i looked around the old house room that i knew so well, with its floor of flags from buckley delph, scoured white with sandstone. there stood, large and solid, the mealark of black oak, with the date, , carved just below the heavy lid, more than years old, and as sound as ever. the sloping mirror over the chest of drawers was still supported by the four seasons, one at each corner. above it was queen caroline, with the crown on her head, and the sceptre in her hand, seated in a magnificent roman chariot, drawn by the lion and the unicorn. that team had tortured my young soul for years. i could never understand why that savage lion had not long ago devoured both the queen and the unicorn. my old love was looking at me, and at last she put one hand on my knee, and said: "it's george." "yes," i said, "it's george." she gazed a while into the fire and said: "alice is dead." "yes, alice is dead." "and jenny is dead." "yes, and jenny. they are at the bottom of the sea." in that way she counted a long list of the dead, which she closed by saying: "they are all gone but joe." she had been a widow more than twenty-five years. she was a young woman, tall and strong, before bonaparte, wellington, the united states, or australia, had ever been heard of in lancashire, and from the top of a stile she had counted every windmill and chimney in preston before it was covered with the black pall of smoke from the cotton-mills. among the diggers in . i. i lost a summer in , and had two winters instead, one in england, the other in australia. it was cold in the month of may as we neared bendigo. we were a mixed party of english, irish, and scotch, twelve in number, and accompanied by three horse-teams, carrying tubs, tents, and provisions. we also had plenty of arms wherewith to fight the bush-rangers, but i did not carry any myself; i left the fighting department to my mate, philip, and to the others who were fond of war. philip was by nature and training as gentle and amiable as a lamb, but he was a young irelander, and therefore a fighter on principle. o'connell had tried moral suasion on the english government long enough, and to no purpose, so philip and his fiery young friends were prepared to have recourse to arms. the arms he was now carrying consisted of a gleaming bowie knife, and two pistols stuck in his belt. the pistols were good ones; philip had tried them on a friend in the phoenix park the morning after a ball at the rotunda, and had pinked his man--shot him in the arm. it is needless to say that there was a young lady in the case; i don't know what became of her, but during the rest of her life she could boast of having been the fair demoiselle on whose account the very last duel was fought in ireland. then the age of chivalry went out. the bowie knife was the british article bought in liverpool. it would neither kill a man nor cut a beef-steak, as was proved by experience. we met parties of men from bendigo--unlucky diggers, who offered to sell their thirty-shilling licenses. by this time my cash was low; my twenty-dollar gold pieces were all consumed. while voyaging to the new ophir, where gold was growing underfoot, i could not see any sound sense in being niggardly. but when i saw a regular stream of disappointed men with empty pockets offering their monthly licenses for five shillings each within sight of the goldfield, i had misgivings, and i bought a license that had three weeks to run from william matthews. ten other men bought licenses, but william patterson, a canny scotchman, said he would chance it. it was about midday when we halted near bendigo creek, opposite a refreshment tent. standing in front of it was a man who had passed us on the road, and lit his pipe at our fire. when he stooped to pick up a firestick i saw the barrel of a revolver under his coat. he was accompanied by a lady on horseback, wearing a black riding habit. our teamsters called him captain sullivan. he was even then a man well known to the convicts and the police, and was supposed to be doing a thriving business as keeper of a sly grog shop, but in course of time it was discovered that his main source of profit was murder and robbery. he was afterwards known as "the new zealand murderer," who turned queen's evidence, sent his mates to the gallows, but himself died unhanged. while we stood in the track, gazing hopelessly over the endless heaps of clay and gravel covering the flat, a little man came up and spoke to philip, in whom he recognised a fellow countryman. he said: "you want a place to camp on, don't you?" "yes," replied philip, "we have only just come up from melbourne." "well, come along with me," said the stranger. he was a civil fellow, and said his name was jack moore. we went with him in the direction of the first white hill, but before reaching it we turned to the left up a low bluff, and halted in a gully where many men were at work puddling clay in tubs. after we had put up our tent, philip went down the gully to study the art of gold digging. he watched the men at work; some were digging holes, some were dissolving clay in tubs of water by stirring it rapidly with spades, and a few were stooping at the edge of water-holes, washing off the sand mixed with the gold in milk pans. philip tried to enter into conversation with the diggers. he stopped near one man, and said: "good day, mate. how are you getting along?" the man gazed at him steadily, and replied "go you to hell," so philip moved on. the next man he addressed sent him in the same direction, adding a few blessings; the third man was panning off, and there was a little gold visible in his pan. he was gray, grim, and hairy. philip said: "not very lucky to-day, mate?" the hairy man stood up, straightened his back, and looked at philip from head to foot. "lucky be blowed. i wish i'd never seen this blasted place. here have i been sinking holes and puddling for five months, and hav'n't made enough to pay my tucker and the government license, thirty bob a month. i am a mason, and i threw up twenty-eight bob a day to come to this miserable hole. wherever you come from, young man, i advise you to go back there again. there's twenty thousand men on bendigo, and i don't believe nineteen thousand of 'em are earning their grub." "i can't well go back fifteen thousand miles, even if i had money to take me back," answered philip. "well, you might walk as far as melbourne," said the hairy man, "and then you could get fourteen bob a day as a hodman; or you might take a job at stone breaking; the government are giving s. d. a yard for road metal. ain't you got any trade to work at?" "no, i never learned a trade, i am only a gentleman." he felt mean enough to cry. "well, that's bad. if you are a scholar, you might keep school, but i don't believe there's half-a-dozen kids on the diggin's. they'd be of no mortal use except to tumble down shafts. fact is, if you are really hard up, you can be a peeler. up at the camp they'll take on any useless loafer wot's able to carry a carbine, and they'll give you tucker, and you can keep your shirt clean. but, mind, if you do join the joeys, i hope you'll be shot. i'd shoot the hull blessed lot of 'em if i had my way. they are nothin' but a pack of robbers." the hairy man knew something of current history and statistics, but he had not a pleasant way of imparting his knowledge. picaninny gully ended in a flat, thinly timbered, where there were only a few diggers. turning to the left, philip found two men near a waterhole hard at work puddling. when he bade them good-day, they did not swear at him, which was some comfort. they were brothers, and were willing to talk, but they did not stop work for a minute. they had a large pile of dirt, and were making hay while the sun shone--that is, washing their dirt as fast as they could while the water lasted. during the preceding summer they had carted their wash-dirt from the gully until rain came and filled the waterhole. they said they had not found any rich ground, but they could now make at least a pound a day each by constant work. philip thought they were making more, as they seemed inclined to sing small; in those days to brag of your good luck might be the death of you. while philip was away interviewing the diggers, jack showed me where he had worked his first claim, and had made pounds in a few days. "you might mark off a claim here and try it," he said. "i think i took out the best gold, but there may be a little left still hereabout." i pegged off two claims, one for philip, and one for myself, and stuck a pick in the centre of each. then we sat down on a log. six men came up the gully carrying their swags, one of them was unusually tall. jack said: "do you see that big fellow there? his name is mckean. he comes from my part of ireland. he is a lawyer; the last time i saw him he was in a court defending a prisoner, and now the whole six feet seven of him is nothing but a dirty digger." "what made you leave ireland, jack?" i asked. "i left it, i guess, same as you did, because i couldn't live in it. my father was a fisherman, and he was drowned. mother was left with eight children, and we were as poor as church mice. i was the oldest, so i went to belfast and got a billet on board ship as cabin boy. i made three voyages from liverpool to america, and was boxed about pretty badly, but i learned to handle the ropes. my last port there was boston, and i ran away and lived with a yankee farmer named small. he was a nigger driver, he was, working the soul out of him early and late. he had a boat, and i used to take farm produce in it across the bay to boston, where the old man's eldest son kept a boarding-house. there was a daughter at home, a regular high-flier. she used to talk to me as if i was a nigger. one day when we were having dinner, she was asking me questions about ireland, and about my mother, sisters, and brothers. then i got mad, thinking how poor they were, and i could not help them. 'miss small,' i said, 'my mother is forty years old, and she has eight children, and she looks younger than you do, and has not lost a tooth.' "miss small, although quite young, was nearly toothless, so she was mad enough to kill me; but her brother jonathan was at table, and he took my part, saying, 'sarves you right, sue;' why can't you leave jack alone?' "but sue made things most unpleasant, and i told jonathan i couldn't stay on the farm, and would rather go to sea again. jonathan said he, too, was tired of farming, and he would go with me. he could manage a boat across boston harbour, but he had never been to sea. next time there was farm stuff to go to boston he went with me; we left the boat with his brother, and shipped in a whaler bound for the south seas. i used to show him how to handle the ropes, to knot and splice, and he soon became a pretty good hand, though he was not smart aloft when reefing. his name was small, but he was not a small man; he was six feet two, and the strongest man on board, and he didn't allow any man to thrash me, because i was little. after eighteen months' whaling he persuaded me to run away from the ship at hobarton; he said he was tired of the greasy old tub; so one night we bundled up our swags, dropped into a boat, and took the road to launceston, where we expected to find a vessel going to melbourne. when we were half-way across the island, we called just before sundown at a farmhouse to see if we could get something to eat, and lodging for the night. we found two women cooking supper in the kitchen, and jonathan said to the younger one, 'is the old man at home?' she replied quite pertly: "'captain massey is at home, if that's what you mean by 'old man.' "'well, my dear,' said jonathan, 'will you just tell him that we are two seamen on our way to launceston, and we'd like to have a word with him.' "'i am not your dear,' she replied, tossing her head, and went out. after a while she returned, and said: 'captain massey wanted to speak to the little man first.' that was me. "i went into the house, and was shown into the parlour, where the captain was standing behind a table. there was a gun close to his hand in a corner, two horse pistols on a shelf, and a sword hanging over them. he said: 'who are you, where from, and whither bound?' to which i replied: "'my name is john moore; me and my mate have left our ship, a whaler, at hobarton, and we are bound for launceston.' "'oh, you are a runaway foremast hand are you? then you know something about work on board ship.' he then put questions to me about the work of a seaman, making sail, and reefing, about masts, yards, and rigging, and finished by telling me to box a compass. i passed my examination pretty well, and he told me to send in the other fellow. he put jonathan through his sea-catechism in the same way, and then said we could have supper and a shake-down for the night. "after supper the young lady sat near the kitchen fire sewing, and jonathan took a chair near her and began a conversation. he said: "i must beg pardon for having ventured to address you as 'my dear,' on so short an acquaintance, but i hope you will forgive my boldness. fact is, i felt quite attached to you at first sight.' and so on. if there was one thing that jonathan could do better than another it was talking. the lady was at first very prim and reserved; but she soon began to listen, smiled, and even tittered. a little boy about two years old came in and stood near the fire. having nothing else to do, i took him on my knee, and set him prattling until we were very good friends. then an idea came into my head. i said: "'i guess, jonathan, this little kid is about the same age as your youngest boy in boston, ain't he?' "of course, jonathan had no boy and was not married, but the sudden change that came over that young lady was remarkable. she gave jonathan a look of fury, jumped up from her seat, snatched up her sewing, and bounced out of the kitchen. the old man came in, and told us to come along, and he would show us our bunks. we thought he was a little queer, but he seemed uncommonly kind and anxious to make us comfortable for the night. he took us to a hut very strongly built with heavy slabs, left us a lighted candle, and bade us good-night. after he closed the door we heard him put a padlock on it; he was a kindly old chap, and did not want anybody to disturb us during the night, and we soon fell fast asleep. next morning he came early and called us to breakfast. he stayed with us all the time, and when we had eaten, said: "'well, have you had a good breakfast?' "jonathan spoke: "'yes, old man, we have. you are a gentleman; you have done yourself proud, and we are thankful, ain't we, jack? you are the best and kindest old man we've met since we sailed from boston. and now i think it's time we made tracks for launceston. by-bye, captain. come along, jack.' "'no you won't, my fine coves,' replied the captain. 'you'll go back to hobarton, and join your ship if you have one, which i don't believe. you can't humbug an old salt like me. you are a pair of runaway convicts, and i'll give you in charge as sich. here, constables, put the darbies on 'em, and take 'em back to hobarton.' "two men who had been awaiting orders outside the door now entered, armed with carbines, produced each a pair of handcuffs, and came towards us. but jonathan drew back a step or two, clenched his big fists, and said: "'no, you don't. if this is your little game, captain, all i have to say is, you are the darndest double-faced old cuss on this side of perdition. you can shoot me if you like, but neither you nor the four best men in van diemen's land can put them irons on me. i am a free citizen of the great united states, and a free man i'll be or die. i'll walk back to hobarton, if you like, with these men, for i guess that greasy old whaler has gone to sea again by this time, and we'll get another ship there as well as at launceston.' "captain massey did not like to venture on shooting us off-hand, so at last he told the constables to put up their handcuffs and start with us for hobarton. "after we had travelled awhile jonathan cooled down and began to talk to the constables. he asked them how they liked the island, how long they had been in it, if it was a good country for farming, how they were getting along, and what pay they got for being constables. one of them said: 'the island is pretty good in parts, but it's too mountaynyus; we ain't getting along at all, and we won't have much chance to do any good until our time is out.' "'what on airth do you mean by saying "until you time is out?" ain't your time your own?' asked jonathan. "'no, indeed. i see you don't understand. we are government men, and we ain't done our time. we were sent out from england.' "'oh! you were sent out, were you? now, i see, that means you are penitentiary men, and ought to be in gaol. jack, look here. this kind of thing will never do. you and me are two honest citizens of the united states, and here we are, piloted through van diemen's land by two convicts, and britishers at that. this team has got to be changed right away.' "he seized both carbines and handed them to me; then he handcuffed the constables, who were so taken aback they never said a word. then jonathan said, 'this is training day. now, march.' "the constables walked in front, me and jonathan behind, shouldering the guns. in this way we marched until we sighted hobarton, but the two convicts were terribly afraid to enter the city as prisoners; they said they were sure to be punished, would most likely be sent into a chain gang, and would soon be strangled in the barracks at night for having been policemen. we could see they were really afraid, so we took off the handcuffs and gave them back the carbines. "before entering the city we found that the whaler had left the harbour, and felt sure we would not be detained long, as nothing could be proved against us. when we were brought before the beak jonathan told our story, and showed several letters he had received from boston, so he was discharged. but i had nothing to show; they knew i was an irishman, and the police asked for a remand to prove that i was a runaway convict. i was kept three weeks in gaol, and every time i was brought to court jonathan was there. he said he would not go away without me. the police could find out nothing against me, so, at last, they let me go. we went aboard the first vessel bound for melbourne, and, when sail was made, i went up to the cross-trees and cursed van diemen's land as long as i could see it. jonathan took ship for the states, but i went shepherding, and grew so lazy that if my stick dropped to the ground i wouldn't bend my back to pick it up. but when i heard of the diggings, i woke up, humped my swag, and ran away--i was always man enough for that-- and i don't intend to shepherd again." when philip returned from his excursion down the gully, he gave me a detailed report of the results and said, "gold mining is remarkable for two things, one certain, the other uncertain. the certain thing is labour, the uncertain thing is gold." this information staggered me, so i replied, "those two things will have to wait till morning. let us boil the billy." our spirits were not very high when we began work next day. we slept under our small calico tent, and our cooking had to be done outside. sometimes it rained, and then we had to kindle a fire with stringy bark under an umbrella the umbrella was mine--the only one i ever saw on the diggings. some men who thought they were witty made observations about it, but i stuck to it all the same. no man could ever laugh me out of a valuable property. we lived principally on beef steak, tea, and damper. philip cut his bread and beef with his bowie knife as long as it lasted. every man passing by could see that we were formidable, and ready to defend our gold to the death--when we got it. but the bowie was soon useless; it got a kink in the middle, and a curl at the point, and had no edge anywhere. it was good for nothing but trade. a number of our shipmates had put up tents in the neighbourhood, and at night we all gathered round the camp fire to talk and smoke away our misery. one, whose name i forget, was a journalist, correspondent for the 'nonconformist'. scott was an artist, harrison a mechanical engineer. doran a commercial traveller, moran an ex-policeman, beswick a tailor, bernie a clogger. the first lucky digger we saw, after picaninny jack, came among us one dark night; he came suddenly, head foremost, into our fire, and plunged his hands into the embers. we pulled him out, and then two other men came up. they apologised for the abrupt entry of their mate. they said he was a lucky digger, and they were his friends and fellow-countrymen. a lucky digger could find friends anywhere, from any country, without looking for them, especially if he was drunk, as was this stranger. they said he had travelled from melbourne with a pack horse, and, near mount alexander, he saw a woman picking up something or other on the side of a hill. she might be gathering flowers, but he could not see any. he stopped and watched her for a while and then went nearer. she did not take any notice of him, so he thought the poor thing had been lost in the bush, and had gone cranky. he pitied her, and said: "my good woman, have you lost anything? could i help you to look for it?" "i am not your good woman, and i have not lost anything; so i don't want anybody to help me to look for it." he was now quite sure she was cranky. she stooped and picked up something, but he could not see what it was. he began to look on the ground, and presently he found a bright little nugget of gold. then he knew what kind of flowers the woman was gathering. without a word he took his horse to the foot of the hill, hobbled it, and took off his swag. he went up the hill again, filled his pan with earth, and washed it off at the nearest waterhole. he had struck it rich; the hill-side was sprinkled with gold, either on the surface or just below it. for two weeks there were only two parties at work on that hill, parties of one, but they did not form a partnership. the woman came every day, picking and scratching like an old hen, and went away at sundown. when the man went away he took with him more than a hundredweight of gold. he was worth looking at, so we put more wood on the fire, and made a good blaze. yes, he was a lucky digger, and he was enjoying his luck. he was blazing drunk, was in evening dress, wore a black bell-topper, and kid gloves. the gloves had saved his hands from being burned when he thrust them into the fire. there could be no doubt that he was enjoying himself. he came suddenly out of the black night, and staggered away into it again with his two friends. one forenoon, about ten o'clock, while we were busy, peacefully digging and puddling, we heard a sound like the rumbling of distant thunder from the direction of bendigo flat. the thunder grew louder until it became like the bellowing of ten thousand bulls. it was the welcome accorded by the diggers to our "trusty and well-beloved" government when it came forth on a digger hunt. it was swelled by the roars, and cooeys, and curses of every man above ground and below, in the shafts and drives on the flats, and in the tunnels of the white hills, from golden gully and sheep's head, to job's gully and eaglehawk, until the warning that "joey's out" had reached to the utmost bounds of the goldfield. there was a strong feeling amongst the diggers that the license fee of thirty shillings per month was excessive, and this feeling was intensified by the report that it was the intention of the government to double the amount. as a matter of fact, by far the larger number of claims yielded no gold at all, or not enough to pay the fee. the hatred of the hunted diggers made it quite unsafe to send out a small number of police and soldiers, so there came forth at irregular intervals a formidable body of horse and foot, armed with carbines, swords, and pistols. this morning they marched rapidly along the track towards the white hills, but wheeling to the left up the bluff they suddenly appeared at the head of picaninny gully. mounted men rode down each side of the gully as fast as the nature of the ground would permit, for it was then honeycombed with holes, and encumbered with the trunks and stumps of trees, especially on the eastern side. they thus managed to hem us in like prisoners of war, and they also overtook some stragglers hurrying away to right and left. some of these had licenses in their pockets, and refused to stop or show them until they were actually arrested. it was a ruse of war. they ran away as far as possible among the holes and logs, in order to draw off the cavalry, make them break their ranks, and thus to give a chance to the unlicensed to escape or to hide themselves. the police on foot, armed with carbines and accompanied by officers, next came down the centre of the gully, and every digger was asked to show his license. i showed that of william matthews. it was not that the policy of william patterson was tried and found wanting. he was at work on his claim a little below mine, and knowing he had no license, i looked at him to see how he would behave in the face of the enemy. he had stopped working, and was walking in the direction of his tent, with head bowed down as ifin search of something he had lost. he disappeared in his tent, which was a large one, and had, near the opening, a chimney built up with ironstone boulders and clay. but the police had seen him; he was followed, found hiding in the corner of his chimney, arrested, and placed among the prisoners who were then halted near my tub. immediately behind patterson, and carrying a carbine on his shoulder, stood a well-known shipmate named joynt, whom poverty had compelled to join the enemy. he would willingly have allowed his friend and prisoner to escape, but no chance of doing so occurred, and long after dark patterson approached our camp fire, a free man, but hungry, tired, and full of bitterness. he had been forced to march along the whole day like a convicted felon, with an ever-increasing crowd of prisoners, had been taken to the camp at nightfall and made to pay pounds s.--viz., a fine of pounds and pound s. for a license. the feelings of william patterson, and of thousands of other diggers, were outraged, and they burned for revenge. a roll-up was called, and three public meetings were held on three successive saturday afternoons, on a slight eminence near the government camp. the speakers addressed the diggers from a wagon. some advocated armed resistance. it was well known that many men, french, german, and even english, were on the diggings who had taken part in the revolutionary outbreak of ' , and that they were eager to have recourse to arms once more in the cause of liberty. but the majority advocated the trial of a policy of peace, at least to begin with. a final resolution was passed by acclamation that a fee of ten shillings a month should be offered, and if not accepted, no fee whatever was to be paid. it was argued that if the diggers stood firm, it would be impossible for the few hundreds of soldiers and police to arrest and keep in custody nearly twenty thousand men. if an attempt was made to take us all to gaol, digger-hunting would have to be suspended, the revenue would dwindle to nothing, and government would be starved out. it was, in fact, no government at all; it was a mere assemblage of armed men sent to rob us, not to protect us; each digger had to do that for himself. next day, sunday, i walked through the diggings, and observed the words "no license here" pinned or pasted outside every tent, and during the next month only about three hundred licenses were taken out, instead of the fourteen or fifteen thousand previously issued, the digger-hunting was stopped, and a license-fee of forty shillings for three months was substituted for that of thirty shillings per month. ii. as no man who had a good claim would be willing to run the risk of losing it, the number of licenses taken out after the last meeting would probably represent the number of really lucky diggers then at work on bendigo, viz., three hundred more or less, and of the three hundred i don't think our gully could boast of one. all were finding a little gold, but even the most fortunate were not making more than "tucker." by puddling eight tubs of washdirt i found that we could obtain about one pound's worth of gold each per day; but this was hardly enough to keep hope alive. the golden hours flew over us, but they did not send down any golden showers. i put the little that fell to my share into a wooden match-box, which i carried in my pocket. i knew it would hold twelve ounces--if i could get so much --and looked into it daily and shook the gold about to see if i were growing rich. it was impossible to feel jolly, and i could see that philip was discontented. he had never been accustomed to manual labour; he did not like being exposed to the cold winds, to the frost or rain, with no shelter except that afforded by our small tent. while at work we were always dirty, and often wet; and after we had passed a miserable night, daylight found us shivering, until warmth came with hard work. one morning philip lost his temper; his only hat was soaked with rain, and his trousers, shirt, and boots were stiff with clay. he put a woollen comforter on his head in lieu of the hat. the comforter was of gaudy colours, and soon attracted public attention. a man down the gully said: "i obsarved yesterday we had young ireland puddling up here, and i persave this morning we have an italian bandit or a sallee rover at work among us." every digger looked at philip, and he fell into a sudden fury; you might have heard him at the first white hill. "yesterday i heard a donkey braying down the gully, and this morning he is braying again." "oh! i see," replied the donkey. "we are in a bad temper this morning." father backhaus was often seen walking with long strides among the holes and hillocks on bendigo flat or up and down the gullies, on a visit to some dying digger, for death would not wait until we had all made our pile. his messengers were going around all the time; dysentery, scurvy, or fever; and the priest hurried after them. sometimes he was too late; death had entered the tent before him. he celebrated mass every sunday in a tent made of drugget, and covered with a calico fly. his presbytery, sacristy, confessional, and school were all of similar materials, and of small dimensions. there was not room in the church for more than thirty or forty persons; there were no pews, benches, or chairs. part of the congregation consisted of soldiers from the camp, who had come up from melbourne to shoot us if occasion required. six days of the week we hated them and called "joey" after them, but on the seventh day we merely glared at them, and let them pass in silence. they were sleek and clean, and we were gaunt as wolves, with scarcely a clean shirt among us. philip, especially hated them as enemies of his country, and the more so because they were his countrymen, all but one, who was a black man. the people in and around the church were not all catholics. i saw a man kneeling near me reading the book of common prayer of the church of england; there was also a strict presbyterian, to whom i spoke after mass. he said the priest did not preach with as much energy as the ministers in scotland. and yet i thought father backhaus' sermon had that day been "powerful," as the yankees would say. he preached from the top of a packing case in front of the tent. the audience was very numerous, standing in close order to the distance of twenty-five or thirty yards under a large gum tree. the preacher spoke with a german accent, but his meaning was plain. he said: "my dear brethren' 'beatus ille qui post aurum non abiit'. blessed is the man who has not gone after gold, nor put his trust in money or treasures. you will never earn that blessing, my dear brethren. why are you here? you have come from every corner of the world to look for gold. you think it is a blessing, but when you get it, it is often a curse. you go what you call 'on the spree'; you find the 'sly grog'; you get drunk and are robbed of your gold; sometimes you are murdered; or you fall into a hole and are killed, and you go to hell dead drunk. patrick doyle was here at mass last sunday; he was then a poor digger. next day he found gold, 'struck it rich,' as you say; then he found the grog also and brought it to his tent. yesterday he was found dead at the bottom of his golden shaft, and he was buried in the graveyard over there near the government camp." my conscience was quite easy when the sermon was finished. it would be time enough for me to take warning from the fate of paddy doyle when i had made my pile. let the lucky diggers beware! i was not one of them. after we had been at work a few weeks, father backhaus, before stepping down from the packing-case, said: "i want someone to teach in a school; if there is anyone here willing to do so, i should like to see him after mass." i was looking round for philip among the crowd when he came up, eager and excited. "i am thinking of going in to speak to the priest about that school," he said. "would you have any objection? you know we are doing no good in the gully, but i won't leave itif you think i had better not." philip was honourable; he would not dissolve our short partnership, and leave me alone unless i was quite willing to let him go. "have you ever kept school before?" "no, never. but i don't think the teaching will give me much trouble. there can't be many children around here, and i can surely teach them a b c and the catechism." although i thought he had not given fortune a fair chance to bless us, he looked so wistful and anxious that i had not the heart to say no. philip went into the tent, spoke to the priest, and became a schoolmaster. i was then a solitary "hatter." next day a man came up the gully with a sack on his back with something in it which he had found in a shaft. he thought the shaft had not been dug down to the bedrock, and he would bottom it. he bottomed on a corpse. the claim had been worked during the previous summer by two men. one morning there was only one man on it; he said his mate had gone to melbourne, but he had in fact killed him during the night, and dropped him down the hole. the police never hunted out that murderer; they were too busy hunting us. i was not long alone. a beggarly looking young man came a few days later, and said: "i hear you have lost your mate philip, and my mates have all gone away and taken the tent with them; so i want to ask you to let me stay in your tent until i can look round a bit." this young man's name was david beswick, but he was known simply as "bez." he was a harmonious tailor from manchester; he played the violoncello, also the violin; had a good tenor voice, and a talent for the drama. he, and a man named santley from liverpool, had taken leading parts in our plays and concerts on shipboard. scott, the artist, admired bez; he said he had the head, the features, and the talent of a shakespeare. he had a sketch of bez in his portfolio, which he was filling with crooked trees, common diggers, and ugly blackamoors. i could see no shakespeare in bez; he was nothing but a dissipated tailor who had come out in the steerage, while i had voyaged in the house on deck. i was, therefore, a superior person, and looked down on the young man, who was seated on a log near the fire, one leg crossed over the other, and slowly stroking his elizabethan beard. i said: "yes, philip has left me, but i don't want any partner. i understand you are a tailor by trade, and i don't think much of a tailor." "well," replied bez, "i don't think much of him myself, so i have dropped the business. i am now a sailor. you know yourself i sailed from liverpool to melbourne, and, anyhow, there's only the difference of a letter between a tailor and a sailor." there was a flaw somewhere in the argument, but i only said, "'valeat quantum valere potest.'" bez looked solemn; a little latin goes a long way with some people. he was an object of charity, and i made him feel it. "in the first place this tent is teetotal. no grog is to come inside it. there is to be no mining partnership. you can keep all the gold you get, and i shall do the same. you must keep all trade secrets, and never confess you are a tailor. i could never hold up my head among the diggers if they should discover that my mate was only the ninth part of a man. you must carry to the tent a quantity of clay and rocks sufficient to build a chimney, of which i shall be the architect. you will also pay for your own tucker, chop wood, make the fire, fetch water, and boil the billy." bez promised solemnly to abide by these conditions, and then i allowed him to deposit his swag in the tent. the chimney was built in three days, and we could then defy the weather, and dispense with the umbrella. bez performed his part of the contract well. he adopted a rolling gait and the frown of a pirate; he swore naval oaths strong enough to still a hurricane. among his digging outfit was a huge pick; it was a two-man pick, and he carried it on his shoulder to suggest his enormous strength. he threw tailordom to the winds; when a rent appeared in his trousers he closed it with pins, disdaining the use of the needle, until he became so ragged that i ordered him into dock for repairs. one day in passing philip's school i peeped in at the flap of the tent. he had already acquired the awe-inspiring look of the schoolmaster. he was teaching a class of little boys, whose wandering eyes were soon fixed on my face, and then philip saw me. he smiled and blushed, and came outside. he said he was getting along capitally, and did not want to try digging any more. he had obtained a small treatise called "the twelve virtues of a good master," and he was studying it daily in order to qualify himself for his new calling. he had undertaken to demonstrate one of euclid's propositions every night by way of exercising his reasoning faculties. he was also making new acquaintances amongst men who were not diggers--doctors, storekeepers, and the useful blacksmiths who pointed our picks with steel. he had also two or three friends at the governmnt camp, and i felt inclined to look upon him as a traitor to the diggers' cause but although he had been a member of the party of young irelanders, he was the most innocent traitor and the poorest conspirator i ever heard of. he could keep nothing from me. if he had been a member of some secret society, he would have burst up the secret, or the secret would have burst him. he had some friends among the diggers. the big gum tree in front of the church tent soon became a kind of trysting place on sundays, at which men could meet with old acquaintances and shipmates, and convicts could find old pals. amongst the crowd one sunday were five men belonging to a party of six from nyalong; the sixth man was at home guarding the tent. four of the six were irish catholics, and they came regularly to mass every sunday; the other two were englishmen, both convicts, of no particular religion, but they had married catholic immigrants, and sometimes went to church, but more out of pastime than piety. one of these men, known as john barton-- he had another name in the indents--stood under the gum tree, but not praying; i don't think he ever thought of praying except the need of it was extreme. he was of medium height, had a broad face, snub nose, stood erect like a soldier, and was strongly built. his small ferrety eyes were glancing quickly among the faces around him until they were arrested by another pair of eyes at a short distance. the owner of the second pair of eyes nudged two other men standing by, and then three pairs of eyes were fixed on barton. he was not a coward, but something in the expression of the three men cowed him completely. he turned his head and lowered it, and began to push his way among the crowd to hide himself. after mass, philip found him in his tent, and suspecting that he was a thief put his hand on a medium-sized colt's revolver, which he had exchanged for his duelling pistols, and said: "well, my friend, and what are you doing here?" "for god's sake speak low," whispered barton. "i came in here to hide. there are three men outside who want to kill me." "three men who want to kill you, eh? do you expect me to believe that anybody among the crowd there would murder you in broad daylight? my impression is, my friend, that you are a sneaking thief, and that you came here to look for gold. i'll send a man to the police to come and fetch you, and if you stir a step i'll shoot you." "for goodness' sake, mate, keep quiet. i am not a burglar, not now at any rate. i'll tell you the truth. i was a government flagellator, a flogger, you know, on the sydney side, and i flogged those three men. couldn't help it, it was my business to do it. i know they are looking for me, and they will follow me and take the first chance to murder me. they are most desperate characters. one of them was insubordinate when he was assigned servant to a squatter, and the squatter, who was on horseback, gave him a cut with his stockwhip. then this man jumped at his master, pulled him off his horse, dragged him to the wood-heap, held his head on the block, seized the axe, and was just going to chop his master's head off, when another man stopped him. that is what i had to flog him for, and then he was sent back to sydney. so you can just think what a man like that would do. when my time was up i went as a trooper to the nyalong district under captain foster, the commissioner, and after a while i settled down and married an immigrant woman from tipperary, a catholic. that's the way i happened to be here at mass with my mates, who are catholics; but i'll never do it again; it's as much as my life is worth. i daresay there are lots of men about bendigo whom i flogged while i was in the business, and every single man-jack of them would kill me if he got the chance. and so for goodness' sake let me stay here till dark. i suppose you are an honest man; you look like it anyway, and you would not want to see me murdered, now, would you?" barton was, in fact, as great a liar and rogue as you would meet with anywhere, but in extreme cases he would tell the truth, and the present case was an extreme one. philip was merciful; he allowed barton to remain in his tent all day, and gave him his dinner. when darkness came he escorted him to the tent of the men from nyalong, and was introduced to them by his new friend. their names were gleeson, poynton, lyons, and two brothers mccarthy. one of these men was brother-in-law to barton, and had been a fellow-trooper with him under captain foster. barton had entered into family relations as an honest man; he could give himself any character he chose until he was found out. he was too frightened to stay another night on bendigo, and he began at once to bundle up his swag. gleeson and poynton accompanied him for some distance beyond the pillar of white quartz on specimen hill, and then he left the track and struck into the bush. fear winged his feet' he arrived safely at nyalong, and never went to another rush. the other five then stayed on bendigo for several weeks longer, and when they returned home their gold was sufficient for a dividend of pounds for each man. four of them bought farms, one kept a store, and barton rented some land. philip met them again when he was promoted to the school at nyalong, and they were his firm friends as long as he lived there. i went to various rushes to improve my circumstances. once i was nearly shot. a bullet whizzed past my head, and lodged in the trunk of a stringy bark a little further on. that was the only time in my life i was under fire, and i got from under it as quickly as possible. once i went to a rush of maoris, near job's gully, and scott came along with his portfolio, a small pick, pan, and shovel. he did not dig any, but got the ugliest maori he could find to sit on a pile of dirt while he took his portrait and sketched the tattoos. that spoiled the rush; every man, black and white, crowded around scott while he was at work with his pencil, and then every single savage shook hands with him, and made signs to have his tattoos taken, they were so proud of their ugliness. they were all naked to the waist. near the head of sheep's head gully, jack moore and i found the cap of a quartz reef with visible gold in it. we broke up some of it, but could not make it pay, having no quartz-crushing machinery. golden gully was already nearly worked out, but i got a little gold in it which was flaky, and sticking on edge in the pipeclay bottom. i found some gold also in sheep's head, and then we heard of a rush on the goulburn river. next day we offered our spare mining plant for sale on the roadside opposite specimen hill, placing the tubs, cradles, picks and spades all in a row. bez was the auctioneer. he called out aloud, and soon gathered a crowd, which he fascinated by his eloquence. the bidding was spirited, and every article was sold, even bez's own two-man pick, which would break the heart of a samson to wield it. when we left bendigo, bez, birnie, dan, scott, and moses were of the party, and a one-horse cart carried our baggage. when we came to a swamp we carried the baggage over it on our backs, and then helped the horse to draw the empty cart along. our party increased in number by the way, especially after we met with a dray carrying kegs of rum. before reaching the new rush, afterwards known as waranga, we prospected some country about twenty miles from the goulburn river. here scott left us. before starting he called me aside, and told me he was going to the melbourne hospital to undergo an operation. he had a tumour on one leg above the knee, for which he had been treated in dublin, and had been advised to come to australia, in the hope that a change of climate and occupation might be of benefit, but he had already walked once from bendigo to melbourne, and now he was obliged to go again. he did not like to start without letting someone know his reason for leaving us. i felt full of pity for scott, for i thought he was going to his death alone in the bush, and i asked him if he felt sure that he could find his way. he showed me his pocket compass and a map, and said he could make a straight course for melbourne. he had always lived and worked alone, but whenever we moved he accompanied us not wishing to be quite lost amongst strangers. he arrived at the hospital, but he never came out of it alive. dan gave me his money to take care of while he and bez were living on rum from the dray, and i gave out as little cash as possible in order to promote peace and sobriety. one night dan set fire to my tent in order to rouse his banker. i dragged bez outside the tent and extinguished the fire. there was bloodshed afterwards--from dan's nose--and his account was closed. after a while some policemen in plain clothes came along and examined the dray. they found fourteen kegs of rum in it, which they seized, together with four horses and the dray. i worked for seven months in various parts of the ovens district until i had acquired the value in gold of my vanished twenty-dollar pieces; that was all my luck. during this time some of us paid the £ license fee for three months. we were not hunted by the military. four or five troopers and officials rode slowly about the diggings and the cry of "joey" was never raised, while a single unarmed constable on foot went amongst the claims to inspect licenses. he stayed with us awhile, talking about digging matters. he said the police were not allowed to carry carbines now, because a digger had been accidentally shot. he was a very civil fellow, and his price, if i remember rightly was half-a-crown. yet the digger hunting was continued at ballarat until it ended in the massacre of december rd . at that time i was at colac, and while dr. ignatius was absent, i had the charge of his household, which consisted of one old convict known as "specs," who acted in the capacity of generally useless, received orders most respectfully, but forgot them as much as possible. he was a man of education who had gone astray in london, and had fallen on evil days in queensland and sydney. when alone in the kitchen he consoled himself with curses. i could hear his voice from the other side of the slabs. he cursed me, he cursed the doctor, he cursed the horses, the cat, the dog, and the whole world and everything in it. it was impossible to feel anything but pity for the man, for his life was ruined, and he had ruined it himself. i had also under my care a vegetable garden, a paddock of cape barley, two horses, some guinea fowls, and a potato patch. one night the potatoes had been bandicooted. to all the early settlers in the bush the bandicoot is well known. it is a marsupial quadruped which lives on bulbs, and ravages potato patches. it is about eighteen inches in length from the origin of its tail to the point of its nose. it has the habits of a pickpocket. it inserts its delicate fore paws under the stalks of the potato, and pulls out the tubers. that morning i had endeavoured to dig some potatoes; the stalks were there, but the potatoes were gone. i stopped to think, and examined the ground. i soon discovered tracks of the bandicoot, but they had taken the shape of a small human foot. we had no small human feet about our premises, but at the other side of the fence there was a bark hut full of them. i turned toward the hut suspiciously, and saw the bandicoot sitting on a top-rail, watching me, and dangling her feet to and fro. she wore towzled red hair, a short print frock, and a look of defiance. i went nearer to inspect her bandicoot feet. then she openly defied me, and said: "you need not look so fierce, mister. i have as much right to sit on this rail as you have." "lilias," i replied, "you won't sit there long. you bandicooted my potatoes last night, and you've left the marks of your dirty feet on the ground. the police are coming to measure your feet, and then they will take you to the lock-up." i gazed across the barley paddock for the police, and lilias looked as well. there was a strange man approaching rapidly, and the bandicoot's courage collapsed. she slid from the fence, took to flight, and disappeared among the tussocks near the creek. the stranger did not go to the garden gate, but stood looking over the fence. he said: "is dr. ignatius at home?" "no, he is away somewhere about fiery creek, and i don't think he'll return until saturday." the stranger hung down his head and was silent. he was a young man of small frame, well dressed for those days, but he had o luggage. he looked so miserable that i pitied him. he was like a hunted animal. i said: "are you a friend of dr. ignatius?" "yes, he knows me well. my name is carr; i have come from ballarat." "i knew various men had left ballarat. one had arrived in geelong on december th, and had consulted dr. walshe about a bullet between his knuckles, another was hiding in a house at chilwell.* he had lost one arm, and the government were offering pounds for him, so he took outdoor exercise only by night, disguised in an inverness cape. "there was a chance for me to hear exciting news from the lips of a warrior fresh from the field of battle, so i said: "if you would like to stay here until the doctor returns you will be welcome." *[footnote] peter lalor. he was my guest for four days. he said that he went out with the military on the morning of december rd, and was the first surgeon who entered the eureka stockade after the fight was over. he found twelve men dead in it, and twelve more mortally wounded. this was about all the information he vouchsafed to give me. i was anxious for particulars. i wanted to know what arms he carried to the fray, whether he touched up his sword on the grind-stone before sallying forth, how many men or women he had called upon to stand in the name of her gracious majesty queen victoria, how many skulls he had cloven, how many diggers he had "slewed," and how many peaceful prisoners he had brought back to the government camp. on all these points he was silent, and during his stay with me he spoke as little as possible, neither reading, writing, nor walking about. but there was something to be learned from the papers. he had been a witness at the inquest on scobie, killed by bentley and two others, and principally on his evidence bentley was discharged, but was afterwards re-arrested and condemned to three years' imprisonment. dr. carr was regarded as a "colluding associate" with bentley and dewes, the magistrate, and the official condemnation of dewes confirmed the popular denunciation of them. at a dinner given to mr. tarleton, the american consul, dr. otway, the chairman said: "while i and my fellow-colonists are thoroughly loyal to our sovereign lady, the queen, we do not, and will not, respect her men servants, her maid servants, her oxen, or her asses." a commission was coming to ballarat to report on wrong doings there, and they were looking for witnesses. on friday, december th, the camp surgeon and dr. carr had a narrow escape from being shot. while the former gentleman was entering the hospital he was fired at by one of the sentries. the ball passed close to the shoulder of dr. carr, who was reading inside, went through the lid of the open medicine chest, and some splinters struck him on the side. there were in the hospital at that time seven diggers seriously wounded and six soldiers, including the drummer boy. troubles were coming in crowds, and the bullet, the splinters, and the commission put the little doctor to flight. he left the seven diggers, the five soldiers, and the drummer boy in the hospital, and made straight for colac. fear dogged his footsteps wherever he went, and the mere sight of him had sent the impudent thief lilias to hide behind the tussocks. i always hate a man who won't talk to me and tell me things, and the doctor was so silent and unsociable, that, by way of revenge, i left him to the care and curses of old "specs." after four days he departed, and he appeared again at ballarat on january th, giving evidence at an inquest on one hardy, killed by a gunshot wound. in the meantime a total change had taken place among the occupants of the government camp. commissioner rede had retired, dr. williams, the coroner, and the district surgeons had received notice to quit in twenty-four hours, and they left behind them twenty-four patients in and around the camp hospital. dr. carr left the colony, and the next report about him was from manchester, where he made a wild and incoherent speech to the crowd at the exchange. his last public appearance was in a police-court on a charge of lunacy. he was taken away by his friends, and what became of him afterwards is not recorded. doctors, when there is a dearth of patients, sometimes take to war, and thus succeed in creating a "practice." occasionally they meet with disaster, of which we can easily call to mind instances, both ancient and modern. iii. diggers do not often turn their eyes heavenwards; their treasure does not lie in that direction. but one night i saw bez star-gazing. "do you know the names of any of the stars in this part of the roof?" i asked. "i can't make out many of the manchester stars," he replied. "i knew a few when i was a boy, but there was a good deal of fog and smoke, and latterly i have not looked up that way much; but i can spot a few of them yet, i think." bez was a rather prosy poet, and his eye was not in a fine frenzy rolling. "let me see," he said; "that's the north; charles' wain and the north pole ought to be there, but they have gone down somewhere. there are the seven stars--i never could make 'em seven; if there ever were that number one of 'em has dropped out. and there's orion; he has somehow slipped up to the north, and is standing on his head, heels uppermost. there are the two stars in his heels, two on his shoulders, three in his belt, and three in his sword. there is the southern cross; we could never see that in our part of england, nor those two silvery clouds, nor the two black holes. they look curious, don't they? i suppose the two clouds are the gates of heaven, and the two black spots the gates of hell, the doors of eternity. which way shall we go? that's the question." the old adage is still quite true--'coelum non animum mutant qui trans mare currunt'. when a young gentleman in england takes to idleness and grog, and disgraces his family, he is provided with a passage to australia, in order that he may become a reformed prodigal; but the change of climate does not effect a reform; it requires something else. dan in glasgow and bez in manchester had both been given to drink too much. they came to victoria to acquire the virtue of temperance, and they were sober enough when they had no money. dan told me that when he awoke after his first week at sea, he sat every day on the topgallant forecastle thinking over his past wickedness, watching the foam go by, and continually tempted to plunge into it. after the rum, the dray, and the four horses were seized by the police. dan and bez grew sober, and went to reid's creek, passing me at work on spring creek. they came back as separate items. dan called at my tent, and i gave him a meal of damper, tea, and jam. he ate the whole of the jam, which cost me s. d. per pound. he then humped his swag and started for melbourne. on his way through the township, since named beechworth, he took a drink of liquor which disabled him, and he lay down by the roadside using an ant-hill for a pillow. he awoke at daylight covered with ants, which were stinging and eating him alive. some days later bez came along, passed my tent for a mile, and then came back. he said he was ashamed of himself. i gave him also a feed of damper, tea, and jam limited. dan had made me cautious in the matter of lavish hospitality. the earl of lonsdale lately spent fifty thousand pounds in entertaining the emperor of germany, but it was money thrown away. the next time the kaiser comes to westmoreland he will have to pay for his board and buy his preserves. bez made a start for melbourne, met an old convict, and with him took a job at foot-rotting sheep on a station owned by a widow lady. here he passed as an engraver in reduced circumstances. he told lies so well, that the convict was filled with admiration, and said, "i'm sure, mate, you're a flash covey wot's done his time in the island." the two chums foot-rotted until they had earned thirty shillings each, then they went away and got drunk at a roadside shanty; at least, bez did, and when the convict picked his pockets, he kindly put back three shillings and sixpence, saying, "that will give him another start on the wallaby track." bez at last arrived at flagstaff hill, which was then bare, with a sand-hole on one side of it. he had had nothing to eat for twenty-four hours, and had only one shilling and sixpence in his pocket, which he was loath to spend for fear of arriving in melbourne a complete beggar. he lay down famishing and weary on the top of the hill near flagstaff, and surveyed the city, the bay, and the shipping. he had hoped by this time to have been ready to take a passage in one of those ships to liverpool, and to return home a lucky digger. but he had only eighteen pence, so he said, "i am afraid, bez, you will never see manchester again." there was at that time a small frame building at the west end of flinders street, with a hill behind it, on which goats were browsing; the railway viaduct runs now over the exact spot. many parties of hopeful diggers from england and california had slept there on the floor the night before they started for ballarat, mount alexander, or bendigo. we called it a house of refuge, and bez now looked for refuge in it. there he met dan and moran, who had both found employment in the city, and they fed the hungry bez. dan was labouring at his trade in the building business, and he set bez to work roofing houses with corrugated iron. they soon earned more money than they had ever earned by digging for gold, but on saturday nights and sundays they took their pleasure in the old style, and so they went to the dogs. i don't know how dan's life ended (his real name was donald fraser), but bez died suddenly in the bar of a public-house, and he was honoured with an inquest and a short paragraph in the papers. moran had saved a hundred pounds by digging in picaninny gully, and he was soon afterwards admitted to serve her majesty again in the police department. on the sunday after price was murdered by the convicts at williamstown i met moran after mass in the middle of lonsdale street. i reproached him for his baseness in deserting to the enemy--her majesty, no less--and in self-defence he nearly argued my head off. at last i threatened to denounce him as a "joey" --he was in plain clothes--and have him killed by the crowd in the street. nothing but death could silence moran. the rest of his history is engraved on a monument in the melbourne cemetery; he, his wife, and all his children died many years ago.--r.i.p. he was really a good man, with only one defect--most of us have many--he was always trying to divide a hair 'twixt west and south-west side. i met santley after thirty years, sitting on a bench in front of the "travellers' rest" at alberton, in gippsland. he had a wrinkled old face, and did not recognise my beautiful countenance until he heard my name. he had half-a-dozen little boys and girls around him--his grandchildren, i believe--and was as happy as a king teaching them to sing hymns. i don't think santley had grown rich, but he always carried a fortune about with him wherever he went, viz., a kind heart and a cheerful disposition. nobody could ever think of quarrelling with santlay any more than with george coppin, or with that benevolent bandmaster, herr plock. he told me that he was now related to the highest family in the world, his daughter having married the chinese giant, whose brothers and sisters were all of the race of anak. my mate, philip, was so successful with his little school in the tent that he was promoted to another at the rocky waterholes, and then he went to the township at lake nyalong. philip had never travelled as far as lake nyalong, but picaninny jack told him that he had once been there, and that it was a beautiful country. he tried to find it at another time, but got bushed on the wrong side of the lake; now he believed there was a regular track that way if philip could only find it. the settlers and other inhabitants ought to be well off; if not, it was their own fault, for they had the best land in the whole of australia. philip felt sure that he would find at least one friend at nyalong-- viz., mr. barton, whom he had harboured in his tent at bendigo, and had sheltered from the pursuit of the three bloodthirsty convicts. some people might be too proud to look forward to the friendship of a flagellator, but in those days we could not pick and choose our chums; barton might not be clubable, but he might be useful, and the social ladder requires a first step. thanks to such men as dan and bez, in melbourne, and to other enterprising builders in various places, habitable dwellings of wood, brick, and bluestone began to be used, instead of the handy but uncomfortable tent, and, at the rocky waterholes, philip had for some time been lodging in a weatherboard house with the respectable mrs. martin. before going to look for nyalong he introduced his successor to her, and also to the scholars. her name was miss edgeworth. the first virtue of a good master is gravity, and philip had begun at the beginning. he was now graver even than usual while he briefly addressed his youthful auditors. "my dear children," he said, "i am going away, and have to leave you in the care of this young lady, miss edgeworth. i am sure you will find her to be a better teacher than myself, because she has been trained in the schools of the great city of dublin, and i, unfortunately, had no training at all; she is highly educated, and will be, i doubt not, a perfect blessing to the rising generation of the rocky waterholes. i hope you will be diligent, obedient, and respectful to her. good-bye, and god bless you all." these words were spoken in the tone of a judge passing sentence of death on a criminal, and miss edgeworth was in doubt whether it would be becoming under the circumstances to laugh or to cry, so she made no speech in reply. she said afterwards to mrs. martin, "mr. philip must have been a most severe master; i can see sternness on his brow." moreover, she was secretly aware that she did not deserve his compliments, and that her learning was limited, especially in arithmetic; she had often to blame the figures for not adding up correctly. for this reason she had a horror of examinations, and every time the inspector came round she was in a state of mortal fear. his name was bonwick. he was a little man, but he was so learned that the teachers looked forward to his visits with awe. a happy idea came into miss edgeworth's mind. she was, it is true, not very learned, nor was she perfect in the practice of the twelve virtues, but she had some instinctive knowledge of the weakness of the male man. mr. bonwick was an author, a learned author who had written books--among others a school treatise on geography. miss edgeworth bought two copies of this work, and took care to place them on her table in the school every morning with the name of the author in full view. on his next visit mr. bonwick's searching eyes soon detected the presence of his little treatise, and he took it up with a pleased smile. this was miss edgeworth's opportunity; she said, in her opinion, the work was a must excellent one, and extremely well adapted for the use of schools. the inspector was more than satisfied; a young lady of so much judgment and discrimination was a peerless teacher, and miss edgeworth's work was henceforward beyond all question. there were no coaches running to nyalong, and, as philip's poverty did not permit him to purchase a horse, and he had scruples about stealing one, he packed up his swag and set out on foot. it may be mentioned as bearing on nothing in particular that, after philip had taken leave of miss edgeworth, she stood at a window, flattened her little nose against one of the panes, and watched him trudging away as long as he was in sight. then she said to mrs. martin: "ain't it a pity that so respectable a young man should be tramping through the bush like a pedlar with a pack?" "no, indeed, miss, not a bit of it," replied mrs. martin; "nearly every man in the country has had to travel with his swag one time or another. we are all used to it; and it ain't no use of your looking after him that way, for most likely you'll never see him again." but she did. about two miles from the waterholes philip overtook another swagman, a man of middle age, who was going to nyalong to look for work. he had tried the diggings, and left them for want of luck, and philip, having himself been an unlucky digger, had a fellow feeling for the stranger. he was an old soldier named summers. "i am three and fifty years old," he said, "and i 'listed when i was twenty. i was in all the wars in india for nineteen years, and never was hit but once, and that was on the top of my head. look here," he took off his hat and pointed to a ridge made by the track of a bullet, "if i had been an inch taller i shouldn't be here now. and maybe it would have been all the better. i have been too long at the fighting to learn another trade now. when i 'listed i was told my pay would be a shilling a day and everything found. a shilling a day is seven shillings a week, and i thought i should live like a fighting cock, plenty to eat and a shilling a day for drink or sport. but i found out the difference when it was too late. they kept a strict account against every man; it was full of what they called deductions, and we had to pay for so many things out of that shilling that sometimes for months together i hadn't the price of a pint o' threepenny with a trop o' porter through it." "what was the biggest battle you ever were in?" enquired philip. "well, i had some close shaves, but the worst was when we took a stockade from the burmans. my regiment was the th, and one company of ours, sixty-five, rank and file, and two companies from other regiments were ordered to attack it. our officers were all shot down before we reached the stockade, but we got in, and went at the burmans with the bayonet. but such a crowd came at us from the rear of the stockade that we had to go out again, and we ran down the hill. our ranks were broken, and we had no time to rally before a lot of horsemen were among us. my bayonet was broken, and i had nothing but my empty musket to fight with. i warded off the sabre cuts with it right and left, so, dodging among the horses, and i was not once wounded. it was all over in a hot minute or two, but, when the supports came up, and we were afterwards mustered, only five men of our company answered the roll-call. of course i was one of them, and the barrel of my musket was notched like a saw by all the strokes i had parried with it." the last time philip saw summers he was hammering bluestone by the roadside. the pomp and circumstance of glorious war had left him in hisold age little better than a beggar. philip found nyalong without much trouble, and renewed the acquaintance begun at bendigo with mr. barton and the other diggers. to all appearance his promotion was not worth much; he might as well have stayed at the waterholes. mr. mccarthy acted as school director --an honorary office--and he showed philip the school. he said: "it is not of much account, i must acknowledge; we were short of funds, and had to put it up cheap. most of the wall, you see, is only half a brick thick, and, during the sudden gusts that come across the lake, the north side bulges inward a good deal; so, when you hear the wind coming you had better send the children outside until the gale is over. that is what mr. foy, the last teacher did. and, i must tell you also this school has gone to the dogs; there are some very bad boys here--the boyles and the blakes. when they saw mr. foy was going to use his cane on them they would dart out of the school, the master after them. then there was a regular steeplechase across the paddocks, and every boy and girl came outside to watch it, screaming and yelling. it was great fun, but it was not school-teaching. i am afraid you will never manage the boyles and the blakes. mr. mclaggan, the minister, once found six of them sitting at the foot of a gum tree, drinking a bottle of rum. he spoke to them, told them that they were young reprobates, and were going straight to hell. hugh boyle held out the bottle, and said, 'here, mr. mclaggan, wouldn't you like a nip yourself?' the minister was on horseback, and always carried a whip with a heavy lash, and it was a beautiful sight the way he laid the lash on those boyles and blakes. i really think you had better turn them out of the school, mr. philip, or else they will turn you out." mr. philip's lips closed with a snap. he said, "it is my duty to educate them; turning them out of school is not education. we will see what can be done." as everyone knows, the twelve virtues of a good master are gravity, silence, humility, prudence, wisdom, patience, discretion, meekness, zeal, vigilance, piety, and generosity. i don't suppose any teacher was ever quite perfect in the practice of them, but a sincere endeavour is often useful. on reflection, philip thought it best to add two other virtues to the catalogue--viz., firmness, and a strap of sole-leather. there was a full attendance of scholars the first morning, and when all the names had been entered on the roll, philip observed that the boyles and the blakes were all there; they were expecting some new kind of fun with the new master. in order that the fun might be inside the school and not all over the paddocks, philip placed his chair near the door, and locked it. then education began; the scholars were all repeating their lessons, talking to one another aloud and quarrelling. "please, sir, josh blake's a-pinching me." "please, sir, hugh boyle is a-scroodgin." "please, sir, nancy toomey is making faces at me." it was a pandemonium of little devils, to be changed, if possible, into little angels. the master rose from the chair, put up one hand, and said: "silence!" every eye was on him, every tongue was silent, and every ear was listening, "joseph blake and hugh boyle, come this way." they did so. "no one here is to shout or talk, or read in a loud voice. if any of you want to speak to me you must hold up your hand, so. when i nod you can come to me. if you don't do everything i tell you, you will be slapped on the hand, or somewhere else, with this strap." he held it up to view. it was eighteen inches long, three inches broad, heavy, and pliant. the sight of it made tommy traddles and many other little boys and girls good all at once; but joseph and hugh went back to their seats grinning at one another. mr. foy had often talked that way, but it always came to nothing. hugh was the hero of the school, or rather the leading villain. in about two minutes he called out, "please, sir, josh blake is a-shoving me with his elbow." "hugh boyle, come this way." he came. "now, hugh, i told you that there must be no speaking or reading aloud. of course you forgot what i said; you should have put up your hand." in the course of the day hugh received two slaps, then three, then four. he began to fear the strap as well as to feel it. that was the beginning of wisdom. nancy toomey was naughty, and was sent into a corner. she was sulky and rebellious when told to return to her seat. she said, in the hearing of tommy traddles, "the master is a carroty-headed crawler." it is as well to remark that philip's hair was red; a man with red hair is apt to be of a hasty temper, and, as a matter of fact, i had seen philip's fist fly out very rapidly on several occasions before he began to practise the twelve virtues. tommy put up his hand, and, at a nod, went up to the master. "well, tommy, what is the matter?" "please, sir, nancy toomey has been calling you a carroty-headed crawler." tommy's eyebrows were raised, his eyes and mouth wide open. philip looked over his head at nancy, whose face was on fire. he slowly repeated: "nancy toomey has been calling me a carroty-headed crawler, has she?" "yes, sir. that's what she called you. i heard her." "well, tommy, go to your seat like a good boy. nancy won't call names any more." in a little more than a week perfect discipline and good order prevailed in the school. a bush hermit. it is not good for man to be alone, but philip became a hermit. half a mile from the school and the main road there was an empty slab hut roofed with shingles. it was on the top of a long sloping hill, which afforded a beautiful view over the lake and the distant hills. half an acre of garden ground was fenced in with the hut, and it was part of the farm of a man from hampshire, england, who lived with his wife near the main road. a man from hampshire is an englishman, and should speak english; but, when philip tried to make a bargain about the hut, he could not understand the hampshire language, and the farmer's wife had to interpret. and that farmer lived to the age of eighty years, and never learned to speak english. he was not a fool by any means; knew all about farming; worked twelve or fourteen hours a day all the year round, having never heard of the eight hours system; but he talked, and prayed, and swore all his life in the hampshire dialect. whenever he spoke to the neighbours a look of pain and misery came over them. sometimes he went to meetings, and made a speech, but he was told to go and fetch a chinaman to interpret. philip entered into possession of the hut. it had two rooms, and the furniture did not cost much. at adams' store he bought a camp oven, an earthenware stew-pot, a milk pan, a billy, two pannikins, two spoons, a whittle, and a fork. the extra pannikin and spoon were for the use of visitors, for philip's idea was that a hermit, if not holy, should be at least hospitable. with an axe and saw he made his own furniture--viz., two hardwood stools, one of which would seat two men; for a table he sawed off the butt end of a messmate, rolled it inside the hut, and nailed on the top of it a piece of a pine packing case. his bedstead was a frame of saplings, with strong canvas nailed over it, and his mattress was a sheet of stringy bark, which soon curled up at the sides and fitted him like a coffin. his pillow was a linen bag filled with spare shirts and socks, and under it he placed his revolver, in case he might want it for unwelcome visitors. patrick duggan's wife did the laundry work, and refused to take payment in cash. but she made a curious bargain about it. a priest visited nyalong only once a month; he lived fifty miles away; when mrs. duggan was in her last sickness he might be unable to administer to her the rites of the church. so her bargain was, that in case the priest should be absent, the schoolmaster, as next best man, was to read prayers over her grave. philip thought there was something strange, perhaps simoniacal, about the bargain. twice mrs. duggan, thinking she was on the point of death, sent a messenger to remind him of his duty; and when at last she did die, he was present at the funeral, and read the prayers for the dead over her grave. avarice is a vice so base that i never heard of any man who would confess that he had ever been guilty of it. philip was my best friend, and i was always loath to think unkindly of him, but at this time i really think he began to be rather penurious--not avaricious, certainly not. but he was not a hermit of the holiest kind. he began to save money and acquire stock. he had not been long on the hill before he owned a horse, two dogs, a cat, a native bear, a magpie, and a parrot, and he paid nothing for any of them except the horse. one day he met mr. mccarthy talking to bob atkins, a station hand, who had a horse to sell--a filly, rising three. mccarthy was a good judge of horses, and after inspecting the filly, he said: "she will just suit you, mr. philip, you ought to buy her." so the bargain was made; the price was ten pounds, bob giving in the saddle, bridle, a pair of hobbles, and a tether rope. he was proud of his deal. two years afterwards, when philip was riding through the bush, bob rode up alongside, and after a while said: "well, mister, how do you like that filly i sold you?" "very well indeed. she is a capital roadster and stockhorse." "does she ever throw you?" "never. what makes you ask?" "well, that's queer. the fact is i sold her to you because i could not ride her. every time i mounted, she slung me a buster." "i see, bob, you meant well, didn't you? but she never yet slung me a buster; she is quieter than a lamb, and she will come to me whenever i whistle, and follow me like a dog." philip's first dog was named sam. he was half collie and half bull dog, and was therefore both brave and full of sagacity. he guarded the hut and the other domestics during school hours, and when he saw philip coming up the hill, he ran to meet him, smiling and wagging his tail, and reported all well. the other dog was only a small pup, a skye terrier, like a bunch of tow, a present from tommy traddles. pup's early days were made very miserable by maggie, the magpie. that wicked bird used to strut around philip while he was digging in the garden, and after filling her crop with worms and grubs, she flapped away on one wing and went round the hut looking for amusement. she jumped on pup's back, scratched him with her claws, pecked at his skull, and pulled locks of wool out of it, the poor innocent all the while yelping and howling for mercy. sam never helped pup, or drove maggie away; he was actually afraid of her, and believed she was a dangerous witch. sometimes she pecked at his tail, and he dared not say a word, but sneaked away, looking sideways at her, hanging down his ears, and afraid to say his tail was his own. joey, the parrot, watched all that was going on from his cage, which was hung on a hook outside the hut door. philip tried to teach joey to whistle a tune: "there is na luck aboot the hoose, there is na luck at a'," but the parrot had so many things to attend to that he never had time to finish the tune. he was, indeed, very vain and flighty, sidling along his perch and saying: "sweet pretty joey, who are you, who are you? ha! ha! ha!" wanting everybody to take notice and admire him. when maggie first attacked poor pup, scratched his back, pecked at his head, and tore locks of wool out of him, and pup screamed pitifully to all the world for help, joey poked his head between the wires of his cage, turned one eye downwards, listened to the language, and watched the new performance with silent ecstacy. he had never heard or seen anything like it in the whole course of his life. philip used to drive maggie away, take up poor pup and stroke him, while maggie, the villain, hopped around, flapping her wings and giving the greatest impudence. it really gave philip a great deal of trouble to keep order among his domestics. one day, while hoeing in the garden, he heard the pup screaming miserably. he said, "there's that villain, maggie, at him again," and he ran up to the hut to drive her away. but when he reached it there was neither pup nor maggie to be seen, only joey in his cage, and he was bobbing his head up and down, yelping exactly like the pup, and then he began laughing at philip ready to burst, "ha! ha! ha! who are you? who are you? there is no luck aboot the hoose, there is na luck at a'." the native bear resided in a packing case, nailed on the top of a stump nearly opposite the hut door. he had a strap round his waist, and was fastened to the stump by a piece of clothes line. the boys called him a monkey-bear, but though his face was like that of a bear he was neither a monkey nor a bear. he was in fact a sloth; his legs were not made for walking, but for climbing, and although he had strong claws and a very muscular forearm, he was always slow in his movements. he was very silent and unsociable, never joined in the amusements of the other domestics, and when philip brought him a bunch of tender young gum-tree shoots for his breakfast in the morning, he did not even say "thanks" or smile, or show the least gratitude. he never spoke except at dead of night, when he was exchanging compliments with some other bear up a gum tree in the forty-acre paddock. and such compliments! their voices were frightful, something between a roar and a groan, and although philip was a great linguist he was never quite sure what they were saying. but the bear was always scheming to get away; he was like the boers, and could not abide british rule. philip would not have kept him at all, but as he had taken him into the family circle when a cub he did not like to be cruel and turn him out along in a heartless world. twice bruin managed to untie the clothes line and started for the forty-acre. he crawled along very slowly, and when he saw philip coming after him, he stopped, looked behind him, and said, "hoo," showing his disgust. then philip took hold of the end of the clothes line and brought him back, scolding all the time. "you miserable bruin, you don't know what's good for you; you can't tell a light-wood from a gum-tree, and you'll die of starvation, or else the boys will find you, and they will kill you, thinking you are a wild bush bear, for you don't show any signs of good education, after all the trouble i have taken to teach you manners. i am afraid you will come to a bad end." and so he did. the third time bruin loosed the clothes line he had a six hours' start before he was missed, and sure enough he hid himself in a lightwood for want of sense, and that very night the boys saw him by the light of the moon, and hugh boyle climbed up the tree and knocked him down with a waddy. pussy, philip's sixth domestic, had attained her majority; she had never gone after snakes in her youth, and had always avoided bad company. she did her duty in the house as a good mouser, and when mice grew scarce she went hunting for game; she had a hole under the eaves near the chimney, through which she could enter the hut at any time of the night or day. while philip was musing after tea on the "pons asinorum" by the light of a tallow candle, pussy was out poaching for quail, and as soon as she caught one she brought it home, dropped it on the floor, rubbed her side against philip's boot, and said, "i have brought a little game for breakfast." then philip stroked her along the back, after which she lay down before the fire, tucked in her paws and fell asleep, with a good conscience. but many bush cats come to an unhappy and untimely end by giving way to the vice of curiosity. when dinah, the vain kitten, takes her first walk abroad in spring time, she observes something smooth and shiny gliding gently along. she pricks up her ears, and gazes at the interesting stranger; then she goes a little nearer, softly lifting first one paw and then another. the stranger is more intelligent than dinah. he says to himself, "i know her sort well, the silly thing. saw her ages ago in the garden. she wants mice and frogs and such things--takes the bread out of my mouth. native industry must be protected." so the stranger brings his head round under the grass and waits for dinah, who is watching his tail. the tail moves a little and then a little more. dinah says, "it will be gone if i don't mind," and she jumps for it. at that instant the snake strikes her on the nose with his fangs. dinah's fur rises on end with sudden fright, she shakes her head, and the snake drops off. she turns away, and says, "this is frightful; what a deceitful world! life is not worth living." her head feels queer, and being sleepy she lies down, and is soon a dead cat. that summer was very hot at nyalong, one hundred and ten degrees in the shade. philip began to find his bed of stringy bark very hard, and as it grew older it curled together so much that he could scarcely turn in it from one side to the other. so he made a mattress which he stuffed with straw, and he found it much softer than the stringy bark. but after a while the mattress grew flat, and the stuffing lumpy. sometimes on hot days he took out his bed, and after shaking it, he laid it down on the grass; his blankets he hung on the fence for many reasons which he wanted to get rid of. the water in the forty-acre to the south was all dried up. an old black snake with a streak of orange along his ribs grew thirsty. his last meal was a mouse, and he said, "that was a dry mouthful, and wants something to wash it down." he knew his way to the water-hole at the end of the garden, but he had to pass the hut, which when he travelled that way the summer before was unoccupied. after creeping under the bottom rail of the fence, he raised his head a little, and looked round. he said, "i see there's another tenant here"--bruin was then alive and was sitting on the top of his stump eating gum leaves--"i never saw that fellow so low down in the world before; i wonder what he is doing here; been lagged, i suppose for something or other. he is a stupid, anyway, and won't take any notice even if he sees me." sam and puss were both blinking their eyes in the shade of the lightwood, and whisking the flies from their ears. maggie was walking about with beak open, showing her parched tongue; the heat made her low-spirited. the snake had crept as far as philip's mattress, which was lying on the grass, when maggie saw him. she instantly gave the alarm, "a snake, a snake!" for she knew he was a bad character. sam and puss jumped up and began to bark; joey said, "there is na luck aboot the hoose." bruin was too stupid to say anything. the snake said, "here is a terrible row all at once, i must make for a hole." he had a keen eye for a hole, and he soon saw one. it was a small one, in philip's mattress, almost hidden by the seam, and had been made most likely by a splinter or a nail. the snake put his head in it, saying, "any port in a storm," then drew in his whole length, and settled himself comfortably among the straw. beasts and birds have instincts, and a certain amount of will and understanding, but no memory worth mentioning. for that reason the domestics never told philip about the snake in his mattress, they had forgotten all about it. if sam had buried a bone, he would have remembered it a week afterwards, if he was hungry; but as for snakes, it was, "out of sight, out of mind." philip took in his mattress and blanket before sundown and made his bed. the snake was still in the straw; he had been badly scared, and thought it would be best to keep quiet until he saw a chance to creep out, and continue his journey down the garden. but it was awfully dark inside the mattress, and although he went round and round amongst the straw he could not find any way out of it, so at last he said: "i must wait till morning," and went to sleep. when philip went to bed the snake was disturbed, and woke up. there was so heavy a weight on him that he could scarcely move, and he was almost suffocated. he said: "this is dreadful; i have been in many a tight place in my time, but never in one so tight as this. whatever am i to do? i shall be squeezed to death if i don't get away from this horrid monster on top of me." philip fell asleep as usual, and by-and-by the snake began to flatten his ribs, and draw himself from under the load, until at last he was clear of it; then, heaving a deep sigh of relief he lay quiet for awhile to recover his breath. he knew there was a hole somewhere if he could only find it and he kept poking his nose here and there against the mattress. after sleeping an hour or two, philip turned on his other side, and the snake had to move out of the way in a hurry for fear of being squeezed to death. there was a noise as of something rustling in the straw, and after listening awhile, philip said: "i suppose it's a mouse," and soon fell fast asleep again, because he was not afraid of mice even when they ran across his nose. in the morning he took his blankets out again, and hung them on the fence, shook up his mattress and pillow, and then spread the sheets over them, tucking them in all round, and then he got ready his breakfast. the whole of that day was spent by the snake in trying to find a way out. the sheets being tucked in he was still in the dark, and he kept going round and round, feeling for the hole with his nose until he went completely out of his mind, just as a man does when he is lost in the bush. so the day wore on, night and bedtime came again, and philip lay down to rest once more right over the imprisoned snake. then that snake went raving mad, lost all control of himself, and rolled about recklessly. philip sat up in bed, and a cold sweat began to trickle down his face, and his hair stood on end. he whispered to himself as if afraid the snake might hear him. "the lord preserve us, that's no mouse; it's a snake right under me. what shall i do?" the first thing to do was to strike a light; the matches and candle were on a box at his bedside, and he slowly put out his hand to reach them, expecting every moment to feel the fangs in his wrist. but he found the match-box, struck a light, carefully examined the floor as far as he could see it, jumped out of bed at one bound, and took refuge in the other room. there he looked in every corner, and along every rafter for the other snake, for he knew that at this season snakes are often found in pairs, but he could not see the mate of the one he had left in bed. there was no sleep for philip that night, and, by the light of the candle, he sat waiting for the coming day, and planning dire vengeance. at sunrise he examined closely every hole, and crevice, and corner, and crack in both rooms, floor and floor, slabs, rafters, and shingles. he said, at last: "i think there is only one snake, and he is in the bed." then he went outside, and cut a stick about five feet long, one end of which he pointed with his knife. returning to the bedroom, he lifted up with the point of his stick the sheets, blankets, and pillows, took them outside, and hung them on the fence. next he turned over the mattress slowly, but there was nothing to be seen under it. he poked the mattress with the blunt end of his stick here and there, and he soon saw that something was moving inside. "ah!" he said, "there you are, my friend." the thought of having slept two nights on a live snake made him shudder a little, but he was bent on vengeance. he took hold of one end of the mattress with one hand, and holding the stick in the other, he carried it outside and laid it on the grass. looking carefully at every side of the mattress he discovered the hole through which the snake had entered. it was so small that he could scarcely believe that a snake had gone through it, but no other hole was anywhere visible. philip said, "if the beast comes out it shall be through fire," so he picked up a few pieces of bark which he placed over the hole, and set on fire. the straw inside was soon in a blaze, and the snake was lively. his situation was desperate, and his movements could be traced by the rising and falling of the ticking. philip said, "my friend, you are looking for a hole, but when you find it it will be a hot one." the snake at last made a dash for life through the fire, and actually came out into the open air. but he was dazed and blinded, and his skin was wet and shining with oil, or perspiration, or something. philip gave him a finishing stroke with his stick, and tossed him back into the fire. of course a new mattress was necessary, and a keen eye for snakes ever afterwards. the teaching in the school went on with regularity and success. there was, however, an occasional interruption. once a furious squall came over the lake, and shook the frail building so much that philip threw open the door and sent out all the children, the little ones and girls first, and then the boys, remaining himself to the last like the captain of a sinking ship; but he was not so much of a fool to stay inside and brave destruction; he went out to a safe distance until the squall was over. sometimes a visitor interfered with the work of the school, and philip for that reason hated visitors; but it was his duty to be civil and patient. two inspectors called on two different occasions to examine the scholars. one of them was scarcely sober, and he behaved in a manner so eccentric that the master had a strong temptation to kick him out. however, he at last succeeded in seeing the inspector outside the door peaceably, and soon afterwards the department dispensed with that gentleman's services. he had obtained his office by favour of a minister at home for services rendered at an election. his salary was pounds per annum. the next inspector received the same salary. he was brother or brother-in-law to a bishop, and had many ancestors and relatives of high degree. philip foolishly showed him a few nuggets which he had picked up in picaninny gully, and the inspector showed philip the letter by which he had obtained his appointment and pounds a year. it was only a couple of lines written and signed by a certain lord in london, but it was equivalent to an order for a billet on the government of victoria. then the inspector said he would feel extremely obliged to philip if he would give him one of his little nuggets that he might send it to my lord as a present, and philip at once handed over his biggest nugget. little amenities of this kind make life so pleasant. my lord would be pleased to receive the nugget, the inspector was pleased to send it, and philip said "it cannot be bribery and corruption, but this inspector being a gentleman will be friendly. when he mentions me and my school in his report he cannot possibly forget the nugget." barney, the boozer, one day visited the school. he opened the door and stood on the threshold. his eyes seemed close together, and there was a long red scar on his bare neck, where he had on a former occasion cut his throat. all the scholars were afraid of barney, and the girls climbed up on the benches and began to scream. philip went up to the boozer and said: "well, my friend, what do you want here?" "the devil knows," replied barney. "very likely, but he is not here, he has gone down the road." then taking barney by the arm he turned him round and guided him to the road. barney went about twenty yards until he came to a pool of water. he stepped on to the fence and sat on the top rail gazing into the pool. at last he threw his hat into it, then his boots, coat, shirt, and trousers. when he was quite naked, he stamped on his clothes until they were thoroughly soaked and buried in mud. barney then resumed his search for the devil, swinging his arms to and fro in a free and defiant manner. the school was also visited by a bishop, a priest, a squatter, and a judge. the dress and demeanour of the judge were very impressive at so great a distance from any centre of civilization, for he wore a tall beaver hat, a suit of black broadcloth, and a white necktie. philip received him with reverence, thinking he could not be anything less than a lord spiritual, such is the power of broadcloth and fine linen. nosey, the shepherd, was then living at nyalong, having murdered the other shepherd, baldy, about six months before, and this judge sent nosey to the gallows seventeen years afterwards; but neither nosey nor the judge knew what was to happen after seventeen years. this is the story of nosey and baldy. the two shepherds. by the men on the run they were known as nosey and baldy, but in a former stage of their existence, in the days of the emperor augustus cæsar, they were known as naso and balbus. they were then rivals in love and song, and accused each other of doing things that were mean. and now, after undergoing for their sins various transmigrations into the forms of inferior animals, during two thousand years, as soon as shepherds are required in australia felix, they appear once more following their flocks and herds. but they are entirely forgetful of all greek and roman civilization; their morals have not improved, and their quarrels are more bitter than ever. in the old times they tootled on the tuneful reed, and sang in purest latin the sweetest ditties ever heard, in praise of galatea and amyntas, delia and iolla. but they never tootle now, and never sing, and when they speak, their tongue is that of the unmusical barbarians. in their pagan days they stained their rustic altars with the blood of a kid, a sacrifice to jupiter, and poured out libations of generous wine; but they offer up neither prayer nor sacrifice now, and they pour libations of gin down their throats. the italian rustic is yet musical, and the roman citizen has not lost the genius of his race. he is still unrivalled in sculpture and architecture, in painting, in poetry, and philosophy; and in every handicraft his fingers are as deft as ever. but empire has slipped from his grasp, and empire once lost, like time, never returns. who can rebuild ninevah or babylon, put new life into the mummies of the pharoahs, and recrown them; raise armies from the dust of the warriors of sesostris, and send them forth once more to victory and slaughter? julian the apostate tried to rebuild the holy city and temple of israel, to make prophecy void--apparently a small enterprise for a roman emperor--but all his labours were vain. modern julians have been trying to resuscitate old rome, and to found for her a new empire, and have only made italy another ireland, with a starving people and a bankrupt government. 'nos patriæ fines, nos dulcia linquimus arva'. the italians are emigrating year after year to avoid starvation in the garden of europe. in every city of the great empire on which the sun never sets they wander through the streets, clad in faded garments of olive green--the toga long since discarded and forgotten--making sweet music from the harp and violin, their melancholy eyes wandering after the passing crowd, hoping for the pitiful penny that is so seldom given. the two shepherds were employed on a station north of lake nyalong. it is a country full of dead volcanoes, whose craters have been turned into salt lakes, and their rolling floods of lava have been stiffened into barriers of black rocks; where the ashes belched forth in fiery blasts from the deep furnaces of a burning world have covered the hills and plains with perennial fertility. baldy had been entrusted with a fattening flock, and nosey had in his care a lambing flock. from time to time the sheep were counted, and it was found that the fattening flock was decreasing in numbers. the squatter wanted to know what had become of his missing sheep, but baldy could give no account of them. his suspicions, however, soon fell on nosey. the latter was his nearest neighbour, and although he had only the same wages--viz., thirty pounds a year and rations-- he seemed to be unaccountably prosperous, and was the owner of a wife and two horses. he had been transported for larceny when he was only fifteen years of age, and at twenty-eight he was suspected of being still a thief. girls of the same age were sent from great britain to botany bay and van diemen's land for stealing one bit of finery, worth a shilling, and became the consorts of criminals of the deepest dye. you may read their names in the indents to this day, together with their height, age, complexion, birthplace, and other important particulars. baldy went over to nosey's hut one evening when the blue smoke was curling over the chimney, and the long shadows of the wombat hills were creeping over the stoney rises. julia was boiling the billy for tea, and her husband was chopping firewood outside. "good evening, julia," said baldy; "fine evening." "same to you, baldy. any news to-day?" asked julia. "well, there is," said baldy, "and it's bad news for me; there's ten more of my fatteners missing" (nosey stopped chopping and listened) "and the master says i'll have to hump my swag if i can't find out what has become of them. i say, nosey, you don't happen to have seen any dingoes or blacks about here lately?" "i ain't seen e'er a one, neither dingo nor blackfellow. but, you know, if they were after mischief they'd take care not to make a show. there might be stacks of them about and we never to see one of them." nosey was proud of his cunning. "well," said baldy, "i can hear of nobody having seen any strangers about the rises, nor dingoes, nor black fellows. and the dingoes, anyhow, would have left some of the carcases behind; but the thieves, whoever they are, have not left me as much as a lock of the wool of my sheep. i have been talking about 'em with old sharp; he is the longest here of any shepherd in the country, and knows all the blacks, and he says it's his opinion the man who took the sheep is not far away from the flock now. what do you think about it, nosey?" "what the----should i know about your sheep?" said nosey. "do you mean to insinivate that i took 'em? i'll tell you what it is, baldy; it'll be just as well for you to keep your blasted tongue quiet about your sheep, for if i hear any more about 'em, i'll see you for it; do you hear?" "oh, yes, i hear. all right, nosey, we'll see about it," said baldy. there would have been a fight perhaps, but baldy was a smaller man than the other and was growing old, while nosey was in the prime of life. baldy went to nyalong next day. his rations did not include gin, and he wanted some badly, the more so because he was in trouble about his lost sheep. gin, known then as "old tom," was his favourite remedy for all ailments, both of mind and body. if he could not find out what had become of his sheep, his master might dismiss him without a character. there was not much good character running to waste on the stations, but still no squatter would like to entrust a flock to a shepherd who was suspected of having stolen and sold his last master's sheep. baldy walked to nyalong along the banks of the lake. the country was then all open, unfenced, except the paddocks at the home stations. the boundary between two of the runs was merely marked by a ploughed furrow, not very straight, which started near the lake, and went eastward along the plains. in the rises no plough could make a line through the rocks, and the boundaries there were imaginary. stray cattle were roaming over the country, eating the grass, and the main resource of the squatters was the pounds act. hay was then sold at pounds per ton at bendigo; a draft of fat bullocks was worth a mine of gold at ballarat, and, therefore, grass was everywhere precious. no wonder if the hardy bullock-driver became a cattle lifter after his team had been impounded by the station stockman when found only four hundred yards from the bush track. money, in the shape of fat stock, was running loose, as it were, on every run, and why should not the sagacious nosey do a little business when baldy's fat sheep were tempting him, and a market for mutton could be found no farther away than the nyalong butcher's shop. baldy left the township happier than usual, carrying under his arm two bottles of old tom. he was seen by a man who knew him entering the rises, and going away in the direction of nosey's hut, and then for fifteen years he was a lost shepherd. in course of time it was ascertained that he had called at nosey's hut on his way home. he had the lost sheep on his mind, and he could not resist the impulse to have another word or two with nosey about them. he put down the two bottles of gin outside the door of the hut, near an axe whose handle leaned against the wall. nosey and his wife, julia, were inside, and he bade them good evening. then he took a piece of tobacco out of his pocket, and began cutting it with his knife. he always carried his knife tied to his belt by a string which went through a hole bored in the handle. it was a generally useful knife, and with it he foot-rotted sheep, stirred the tea in his billy, and cut beef and damper, sticks, and tobacco. "i have been to nyalong," he said, "and i heern something about my sheep; they went to the township all right, strayed away, you know, followed one another's tails, and never came back, the o. k. bullocks go just the same way. curious, isn't it?" nosey listened with keen interest. "well, baldy," he said, "and what did you hear? did you find out who took 'em?" "oh, yes," said baldy; "i know pretty well all about 'em now, both sheep and bullocks. old sharp was right about the sheep, anyway. the thief is not far from the flock, and it's not me." baldy was brewing mischief for himself, but he did not know how much. "did you tell the police about 'em?" asked nosey. "oh, no, not to-day!" answered baldy. "time enough yet. i ain't in no hurry to be an informer." nosey eyed him with unusual savagery, and said: "now didn't i tell you to say no more about your blasted sheep, or i'd see you for it? and here you are again, and you can't leave 'em alone. you are no better than a fool." "maybe i am a fool, nosey. just wait till i get a light, and i'll leave your hut and trouble you no more." he was standing in the middle of the floor cutting his tobacco, and rubbing it between the palms of his hands, shaking his head, and eyeing the floor with a look of great sagacity. nosey went outside, and began walking to and fro, thinking and whispering to himself. it was a habit he had acquired while slowly sauntering after his sheep. he seemed to have another self, an invisible companion with whom he discussed whatever was uppermost in his mind. if he had then consulted his other self, julia, he might have saved himself a world of trouble; but he did not think of her. he said to himself: "now, nosey, if you don't mind, you are going to be in a hole. that old fool inside has found out something or other about the sheep, and the peelers will have you, if you don't look out, and they'll give you another seven years and maybe ten. you've done your time once, nosey, and how would you like to do it again? why couldn't you leave the cursed sheep alone and keep out of mischief just when you were settling down in life comfortable, and might have a chance to do better. baldy will be telling the peelers to-morrow all he knows about the sheep you stole, and then they'll fetch you, sure. there's only one thing to stop the old fool's jaw, and you are not game to do it, nosey; you never done a man yet, and you are not game to do it now, and you'll be damned if you do it, and the devil will have you, and you'll be hanged first maybe. and if you don't do him you'll be lagged again for the sheep, and in my opinion, nosey, you are not game. yes, by the powers, you are, nosey, damned if you ain't. who's afeered? and you'll do it quick --do it quick. now or never's your time." while talking thus to himself, nosey was pacing to and fro, and he glanced at the axe every time he passed the door. the weapon was ready to his hand, and seemed to be inviting him to use it. "baldy is going to light his pipe, and while he is stooping to get a firestick, i'll do him with the axe." when baldy turned towards the fire, nosey grasped the axe and held it behind him. he waited a moment, and then entered the hut; but baldy either heard his step, or had some suspicion of danger, for he looked around before takingup a firestick. at that instant the blow, intended for the back of the head, struck him on the jaw, and he fell forward among the embers. for one brief moment of horror he must have realised that he was being murdered, and then another blow behind the head left him senseless. nosey dragged the body out of the fireplace into the middle of the floor, intending, while he was doing a man, to do him well. he raised the axe to finish his work with a third blow, but julia gave a scream so piercing that his attention was diverted to her. "oh, nosey," she said, "what are you doing to poor baldy? you are murdering him." nosey turned to his wife with upraised axe. "hold your jaw, woman, and keep quiet, or i'll do as much for you." she said no more. she was tall and stout, had small, sharp, roving eyes; and nosey was a thick-set man, with a thin, prominent nose, sunken eyes, and overhanging brows. he never had a prepossessing appearance, and now his look and attitude were so ugly and fierce that the big woman was completely cowed. the pair stood still for some time, watching the last convulsive movements of the murdered baldy. nosey could now pride himself on having been "game to do his man," but he could not feel much glory in his work just yet. he had done it without sufficient forethought, and his mind was soon full of trouble. murder was worse than sheep stealing, and the consequences of his new venture in crime began to crowd on his mind with frightful rapidity. he had not even thought of any plan for hiding away the corpse. he had no grave ready, and could not dig one anywhere in the neighbourhood. the whole of the country round his hut was rocky-- little hills of bare bluestone boulders, and grassy hollows covered with only a few inches of soil--rocks everywhere, above ground and below. he could burn the body, but it would take a long time to do it well; somebody might come while he was at the work, and even the ashes might betray his secret. there were shallow lakes and swamps, but he could not put the corpse into any of them with safety: search would be made wherever there was water, on the supposition that baldy had been drowned after drinking too freely of the gin he had brought from nyalong, and if the body was found, the appearance of the skull would show that death had been caused, not by drowning, but by the blows of that cursed axe. nosey began to lay all the blame on the axe, and said, "if it had not stood up so handy near the door, i wouldn't have killed the man." it was the axe that tempted him. excuses of that sort are of a very ancient date. luckily nosey owned two horses, one of which was old and quiet. he told julia to fasten the door, and to open it on no account whatever, while he went for the horse, which was feeding in the rises hobbled, and with a bell tied round his neck. when he returned he saddled the animal, and julia held the bridle while he went into the hut for the body. he observed baldy's pipe on the floor near the fire-place, and he replaced it in the pocket in which it had been usually kept, as it might not be safe to leave anything in the hut belonging to the murdered man. there was a little blood on the floor, but he would scrape that off by daylight, and he would then also look at the axe and put away the two bottles of gin somewhere; he could do all that next morning before baldy was missed. but the corpse must be taken away at once, for he felt that every minute of delay might endanger his neck. he dragged the body outside, and with julia's help lifted it up and placed it across the saddle. then he tried to steady his load with his right hand, and to guide the horse by the bridle with his left, but he soon found that a dead man was a bad rider; baldy kept slipping towards the near side or the off side with every stride of the horse, and soon fell to the ground. nosey was in a furious hurry, he was anxious to get away; he cursed baldy for giving him so much trouble; he could have killed him over again for being so awkward and stubborn, and he begun to feel that the old shepherd was more dangerous dead than alive. at last he mounted his horse, and called to julia to come and help him. "here, julia, lift him up till i catch hold of his collar, and i'll pull him up in front of me on the saddle, and hold him that way." julia, with many stifled moans, raised the body from the ground, nosey reached down and grasped the shirt collar, and thus the two managed to place the swag across the saddle. then nosey made a second start, carefully balancing the body, and keeping it from falling with his right hand, while he held the bridle with his left. the funeral procession slowly wound its way in a westerly direction among the black rocks over the softest and smoothest ground to avoid making any noise. there was no telling what stockman or cattle-stealer the devil might send at any moment to meet the murderer among the lonely rises, and even in the darkness his horrible burden would betray him. nosey was disturbed by the very echo of his horse's steps; it seemed as if somebody was following him at a little distance; perhaps julia, full of woman's curiosity; and he kept peering round and looking back into the darkness. in this way he travelled about a mile and a half, and then dismounting, lowered the body to the ground, and began to look for some suitable hiding place. he chose one among a confused heap of rocks, and by lifting some of them aside he made a shallow grave, to which he dragged the body, and covered it by piling boulders over and around it. he struck several matches to enable him to examine his work carefully, and closed up every crevice through which his buried treasure might be visible. the next morning nosey was astir early. he had an important part to act, and he was anxious to do it well. he first examined the axe and cleaned it well, carefully burning a few of baldy's grey hairs which he found on it. then he searched the floor for drops of blood, which he carefully scraped with a knife, and washed until no red spot was visible. then he walked to baldy's and pretended to himself that he was surprised to find it empty. what had happened the previous night was only a dream, an ugly dream. he met an acquaintance and told him that baldy was neither in his hut nor with his sheep. the two men called at old sharp's hut to make enquiries. the latter said, "i seen baldy's sheep yesterday going about in mobs, and nobody to look after them." then the three men went to the deserted hut. everything in it seemed undisturbed. the dog was watching at the door, and they told him to seek baldy. he pricked up his ears, wagged his tail, and looked wistfully in the direction of nosey's hut, evidently expecting his master to come in sight that way. the men went to the nearest magistrate and informed him that the shepherd was missing. a messenger went to the head station. enquiries were made at the township, and it was found that baldy had been to nyalong the previous day, and had left in the evening carrying two bottles of gin. this circumstance seemed to account for his absence; he had taken too much of the liquor, was lying asleep somewhere, and would reappear in the course of the day. men both on foot and on horseback roamed through the rises, examining the hollows and the flats, the margins of the shallow lakes, and peering into every wombat hole as they passed. they never thought of turning over any of the boulders; a drunken man would never make his bed and blanket of rocks; he would be found lying on the top if he had stumbled amongst them. one by one as night approached the searchers returned to the hut. they had discovered nothing, and the only conclusion they could come to was, that baldy was taking a very long sleep somewhere--which was true enough. next day every man from the neighbouring stations, and some from nyalong, joined in the search. the chief constable was there, and as became a professed detector of crime, he examined everything minutely inside and outside the two huts, but he could not find anything suspicious about either of them. he entered into conversation with julia, but the eye of her husband was on her, and she had little to say. nosey, on the contrary, was full of suggestions as to what might have happened to baldy, and he helped to look for him eagerly and actively in every direction but the right one. for many days the rises were peopled with prospectors, but one by one they dropped away. the chief constable was loath to leave the riddle unsolved; he had the instinct of the sleuth-hound on the scent of blood. he had been a pursuer of bad works amongst the convicts for a long time, both in van diemen's land and in victoria, and had helped to bring many men to the gallows or the chain-gang. he had once been shot in the back by a horse thief who lay concealed behind the door of a shepherd's hut, but he secured the horse thief. he was a man without nerves, of medium height, strongly built, had a broad face, massive ears, wide, firm mouth, and strong jaws. one night after the searchers had departed to their various homes, the chief remained alone in the rises, and leaving his horse hobbled at a distance, cautiously approached nosey's hut. he placed his ear to the outside of the weatherboards, and listened for some time to the conversation of nosey and his wife, expecting to obtain by chance some information about the disappearance of the other shepherd. nosey was in a bad temper, swearing and finding fault with everything. julia was prudent and said little; it was best not to say too much to a man who was so handy with the family axe. but at last she made use of one expression which seemed to mean something. she said, "oh, nosey, you murdering villain, you know you ought to be hanged." there was a prophetic ring in these words which delighted the chief constable, and he glued his great ear to the weatherboards, eagerly listening for more; but the wrangling pair were very disappointing; they would not keep to the point. at last he walked round the hut, suddenly opened the door, and entered. nosey was struck dumb at once. his first thought was that his plan had been sprung, and that the murder was out. the chief addressed julia in a tone of authority, imitating the counsel for the crown when examining a prevaricating witness. "now, missus, remember you will be put on your oath. you said just now, 'oh, nosey, you murdering villain, you know you ought to be hanged.' those were your very words. now what did you mean? on your oath, mind; out with it at once." but julia was not to be caught so easily. she replied: "oh, bad luck to him, he is always angry. i don't know what to do with him. i did not mean anything." "you did not mean anything about baldy, i suppose, did you, now?" queried the constable, shamefully leading the witness, and looking hard at nosey. julia parried the question by heaving a deep sigh, and saying: "hi, ho, harry, if i were a maid, i never would marry;" and then she began singing a silly old song. the constable was disgusted, and said: "my good woman, you'll find there will be nothing to laugh at in this job, when i see you again." as he left the hut, he turned at the door and gave one more look at nosey, who had stood all the time rivetted to the ground, expecting every moment that the constable would produce the handcuffs. soon afterwards julia went outside, walked round the hut, and stayed awhile, listening and looking in every direction. when she returned, nosey said, in a hoarse whisper: "is he gan yet?" "i think," replied julia, "he won't be coming again to-night. he has thrown away his trouble this time, anyhow; but ye must hould your tongue, nosey, if ye want to save your neck; he means to have you if he can." nosey stayed on the run some weeks longer, following his sheep. it would not be advisable to go away suddenly, and, moreover, he recollected that what the eye could not see might some time be discovered by another of the senses. so he waited patiently, standing guard as it were over the dead, until his curiosity induced him to pay a farewell visit by daylight to the place where baldy was buried. there had been hot weather since the body had been deposited in the shallow grave, and the crevices among the piles of bluestones had been filled by the wind with the yellow stalks of decayed grass. nosey walked round his own particular pile, and inspected it closely. he was pleased to find that it showed no signs of having been touched since he raised it. it was just like any of the other heaps of rocks around it. he had, at any rate, given baldy as good a funeral as circumstances would permit, better than that of many a man who had perished of hunger, heat, and thirst, in the shelterless wastes of the never-never land, "beyond moneygrub's farthest run." nosey and the weather had done their work so well that for the next fifteen years no shepherd, stockman, or squatter ever gave a second look at that unknown grave. the black snake coiled itself beneath the decaying skeleton, and spent the winter in secure repose. the native cat tore away bits of baldy's clothing, and with them and the yellow grass made, year after year, a nest for its young among the whitening bones. everything, so far, had turned out quite as satisfactorily as any murderer could expect. nosey had been game to do his man, and he had done him well. julia was prudent enough to hold her tongue for her own sake; it was unlikely that any further search would be made for the lost shepherd; he had been safely put out of sight, and not even julia knew where he was buried. nosey began to have a better opinion of himself than ever. neither the police nor the law could touch him. he would never be called to account for putting away his brother shepherd, in this world at any rate; and as for the next, why it was a long way off, and there was time enough to think about it. the day of reckoning was distant, but it came at last, as it always does to every sinner of us all. nosey resigned his billet, and went to nyalong. he lived in a hut in the eastern part of the township, not far from the lake, and near the corner of the road coming down from the bald hill. here had been laid the foundation of a great inland city by a bush publican, two storekeepers, a wheelwright, and a blacksmith. another city had been started at the western side of wandong creek, but its existence was ignored by the eastern pioneers. the shepherd soon began to forget or despise the advice of his wife, julia; his tongue grew loose again, and at the bar of the inn of the crossroads his voice was often heard loud and abusive. he felt that he had become a person of importance, as the possessor of a secret which nobody could discover. what he said and what he did was discussed about the township, and the chief constable listened to every report, expecting that some valuable information would accidentally leak out. one day a man wearing a blue jumper and an old hat came down the road, stepped on to the verandah of the inn, and threw down his swag. nosey was there, holding forth to bill the butcher, dick smalley, frank barton, bob atkins, charley goodall, and george brown the liar. a dispute occurred, in which the presumptuous stranger joined, and nosey promptly knocked him off the verandah into the gutter. a valid claim to satisfaction was thus established, and the swagman showed a disposition to enforce it. he did not attempt to regain his position on the boards, but took his stand on the broad stone of honour in the middle of the road. he threw up his hat into the air, and began walking rapidly to and fro, clenched his fists, stiffened his sinews, and at every turn in his walk said: "you'll find me as good a man as ever you met in your life." this man's action promised real sport, and true britons as we all were we were delighted to see him. nosey stood on the verandah for a minute or two, watching the motions of the swagman; he did not seem to recollect all at once what the code of honour required, until bill the butcher remarked, "he wants you, nosey," then nosey went. the two men met in the middle of the road, and put up their hands. they appeared well-matched in size and weight. the swagman said: "you'll find me as good a man as ever you met in your life." nosey began the battle by striking out with his right and left, but his blows did not seem to reach home, or to have much effect. the swagman dodged and parried, and soon put in a swinging blow on the left temple. nosey fell to the ground, and the stranger resumed his walk as before, uttering his war cry: "you'll find me as good a man as ever you met in your life." there were no seconds, but the rules of chivalry were strictly observed; the stranger was a true gentleman, and did not use his boots. in the second round nosey showed more caution, but the result was the same, and it was brought about by another hard blow on the temple. the third round finished the fight. nosey lay on the ground so long that bill, the butcher, went over to look at him, and then he threw up the sponge--metaphorically--as there was no sponge, nor any need of one. the defeated nosey staggered towards his hut, and his temper was afterwards so bad that julia declined to stay with him any longer; she loosed the marriage bonds without recourse to law, and disappeared. her husband went away westward, but he did not stay long. he returned to nyalong and lived awhile alone in his hut there, but he was restless and dissatisfied. everybody looked at him so curiously. even the women and children stood still as he passed by them, and began whispering to one another, and he guessed well enough why they were looking at him and what they were saying--"that's nosey the murderer; he killed baldy and hid him away somewhere; his wife said he ought to be hanged, and she has run away and left him." when the hungry hawk comes circling over the grove of crookedy gum in which two magpies are feeding their callow young, the bush is soon filled with cries of alarm. the plump quail hides himself in the depths of a thick tussock; the bronze-winged pigeon dives into the shelter of the nearest scrub, while all the noisiest scolds of the air gather round the intruder. every magpie, minah, and wattle-bird within a mile joins in the clamour. they dart at the hawk as he flies from tree to tree. when he alights on a limb they give him no peace; they flap their wings in his face, and call him the worst of names. even the derwent jackass, the hypocrite with the shining black coat and piercing whistle, joins in the public outcry, and his character is worse than that of the hawk himself, for he has been caught in the act of kidnapping and devouring the unfledged young of his nearest neighbour. the distracted hawk has at length to retreat dinnerless to the swampy margin of the river where the tallest tea-trees wave their feathery tops in the wind. in like manner the human hawk was driven from the township. he descended in the scale of crime, stole a horse, and departed by night. bill, the butcher, said next day: "nosey has gone for good this time. he will ride that horse to death and then steal another." at this time i rode through the rises and called at the two huts; i found them occupied by two shepherds not unlike the former tenants, who knew little and cared less what had become of their predecessors. time empties thrones and huts impartially, and the king feels no pride in his monument of marble, nor the shepherd any shame beneath the shapeless cairn which hides his bones. at this time the old races both of men and animals were dying out around lake nyalong, and others were taking their places. the last black child ever seen in the township was brought by its mother to the hut of a white woman. it was naked and very dirty, and she laid it down on the clay floor. the white woman's heart was moved with pity at the sight of the miserable little bairn. she took it up, washed it with warm water and soap, wrapped it in flannel, and gave it back to the mother. but the lubra was loath to receive it. she said, "black picaninny all die. no good; white picaninny live." the kangaroo, wombat, and dingo were fast dying out, as well a the blackfellow. we could all see well enough how the change was brought about. millions of years ago, new species may have been evolved out of the old species, but nothing of the kind happens now. the white men of australia were not evolved out of the black men. there are no family ties, and never will be, between the kangaroo, the wombat and wallaby, and their successors, the cattle, the sheep, and the goats. we can kill species, but we can't create any. the rabbit, destined to bring nosey to the gallows, was a favoured animal on austin's station at the barwon. it was a privilege to shoot him--in small quantities--he was so precious. but he soon became, as the grammar says, a noun of multitude. he swarmed on the plains, hopped over the hills, burrowed among the rocks in the rises, and nursed his multitudinous progeny in every hollow log of the forest. neither mountain, lake, or river ever barred his passage. he ate up all the grass and starved the pedigree cattle, the well-born dukes and duchesses, and on tens of thousands of fertile acres left no food to keep the nibbling sheep alive. every hole and crevice of the rocks was full of him. an uninvited guest, he dropped down the funnel-shaped entrance to the den of the wombat, and made himself at home with the wild cat and snake. he clothed the hills with a creeping robe of fur, and turned the garden of the west into a wilderness. science may find a theory to account for the beginning of all things, but among all her triumphs she has been unable to put an end to the rabbit. war has been made upon them by fire, dynamite, phosphorus, and all deadly poisons; by dogs, cats, weasels, foxes, and ferrets, but he still marches over the land triumphantly. for fifteen years nosey roamed from station to station under various names, between queensland and the murray, but wherever he went, the memory of his crime never left him. he had been taught in his boyhood that murder was one of the four sins crying to heaven for vengeance, and he knew that sooner or later the cry would be heard. sometimes he longed to unburden his mind to a priest, but he seldom saw or heard of one. the men with whom he worked and wandered were all like himself--lost souls who had taken the wrong turn in the beginning of their days, the failures of all trades and professions; thieves, drunkards, and gamblers; criminals who had fled from justice; men of pleasure and, therefore, of misery; youths of good family exported from england, ireland, and scotland to mend their morals, to study wool, and become rich squatters. all these men get colonial experience, but it does not make them saintly or rich. here and there, all over the endless plains, they at last lie down and die, the dingoes hold inquests over them, and, literally, they go to the dogs, because they took the wrong turn in life and would not come back. in nosey and his two mates were approaching a station on the lachlan. since sunrise they had travelled ten miles without breakfast, and were both hungry and weary. they put down their swags in the shade of a small grove of timber within sight of the station buildings. bob castles said: "i was shearing in them sheds in ' when old shenty owned the run. he was a rum old miser, he was, would skin two devils for one hide; believe he has gone to hell; hope so, at any rate. he couldn't read nor write much, but he could make money better'n any man i ever heard of. bought two runs on the murray, and paid , pounds for 'em in one cheque. he kept a lame schoolmaster to write his cheques and teach his children, gave him pounds a year, the same as a shepherd. lived mostly on mutton all the year round; never killed no beef for the station, but now and then an old bullock past work, salted him down in the round swamp for a change o' grub. never grew no cabbage or wegetables, only a paddock of potatoes. didn't want no visitors, 'cos he was afraid they'd want to select some of his run. wanted everything to look as poor and miserable as possible. he put on a clean shirt once a week, on sabbath to keep it holy, and by way of being religious. kept no fine furniture in the house, only a big hardwood table, some stools, and candle boxes. after supper old mother shenty scraped the potato skins off the table into her apron --she always boiled the potatoes in their jackets--and then shenty lay down on it and smoked his pipe till bedtime, thinking of the best way to keep down expenses. a parson came along one day lifting a subscription for a church, or school, or something. he didn't get anything out of old shenty, only a pannikin of tea and some damper and mutton. the old cove said: 'church nor school never gave me nothing, nor do me no good, and i could buy up a heap o' parsons and schoolmasters if i wanted to, and they were worth buying. us squatters is the harrystockrisy out here. the lords at home sends out their good-for-nothing sons to us, to get rich and be out of the way, and much good they does. why don't you parsons make money by your eddication if it's any good, instead of goin' round beggin'? you are all after the filthy lucre, wantin' to live on other folks.' i was holdin' the parson's horse, and when he got into the saddle, he turns to old shenty, and says: 'from rottenness you sprung, and to rottenness you'll go. your money will drag you down to hell; you'll want to throw it away, but it will burn into your soul for all eternity.' "i am mortal hungry," continued bob, "and they don't give no rations until about sundown, and we'll have to wait six hours. it's hard lines. i see there's an orchard there now, and most likely a wegtable garden--and cabbages. i'd like some boiled beef and cabbage. it wouldn't be no harm to try and get somethin' to eat, anyhow. what do you say, ned? you was a swell cove once, and knows how to talk to the quality. go and try 'em." ned went and talked to the "quality" so well that he brought back rations for three. towards the end of the year nosey arrived at piney station, about forty miles from the murray, and obtained employment. baldy's bones had been lying under the rocks for nearly fifteen years. it was absurd to suppose they could ever be discovered now, or if they were, that any evidence could be got out of them. nosey felt sure that all danger for himself was passed, but still the murder was frequently in his mind. the squatter was often lonely, and his new man was garrulous, and one day nosey, while at work, began to relate many particulars of life in the old country, in van diemen's land, and in the other colonies, and he could not refrain from mentioning the greatest of his exploits. "i once done a man in victoria," he said, "when i was shepherding; he found me out taking his fat sheep, and was going to inform on me, so i done him with an axe, and put him away so as nobody could ever find him." the squatter thought that nosey's story was mostly blowing, especially that part of it referring to the murder. no man who had really done such a deed, would be so foolish as to confess it to a stranger. another man was engaged to work at the station. as soon as he saw nosey he exclaimed, "hello, nosey, is that you?" "my name is not nosey." "all right; a name is nothing. we are old chums, anyway." that night the two men had a long talk about old times. they had both served their time in the island, and were, moreover, "townies," natives of the same town at home. nosey began the conversation by saying to his old friend, "i've been a bad boy since i saw you last --i done a man in victoria"; and then he gave the full particulars of his crime, as already related. but the old chum could not believe the narrative, any more than did the squatter. "well, nosey," he said, "you can tell that tale to the marines." in the meantime the runs around lake nyalong had been surveyed by the government and sold. in the rises the land was being subdivided and fenced with stone walls, and there was a chance that baldy's grave might be discovered if one of the surveyed lines ran near it, for the stonewallers picked up the rocks as near as possible to the wall they were building, and usually to about the distance of one chain on each side of it. a man who had a contract for the erection of one of these walls took with him his stepson to assist in the work. in the month of august, , they were on their way to their work accompanied by a dog which chased a rabbit into a pile of rocks. the boy began to remove the rocks in order to find the rabbit, and in doing so uncovered part of a human skeleton. he beckoned to his stepfather, who was rather deaf, to come and look at what he had found. the man came, took up the skull, and examined it. "i'll be bound this skull once belonged to baldy," he said. "there is a hole here behind; and, yes, one jaw has been broken. that's nosey's work for sure' i wonder where he is now." no work was done at the wall that day, but information was given to the police. mounted constable kerry came over to the rises. the skeleton was found to be nearly entire; one jaw-bone was broken, and there was a hole in the back of the skull. the feet were still encased in a pair of boots laced high above the ankles. there were portions of a blue-striped shirt, and of a black silk necktie with reddish stripes. there was also the brim of an oiled sou'wester' hat, a pipe, and a knife. the chin was very prominent, and the first molar teeth on the lower jaw were missing. the remains were carefully taken up and conveyed to nyalong; they were identified as those of baldy; an inquest was held, and a verdict of wilful murder was returned against nosey and his wife. after the inquest mounted constable kerry packed up the skeleton in a parcel with every small article found with it, placed it in a sack, put it under his bed, slept over it every night, and patiently waited for some tidings of the murderer. in those days news travelled slowly, and the constable guarded his ghastly treasure for eighteen months. nemesis was all the time on her way to piney station, but her steps were slow, and she did not arrive until the seventeenth anniversary of the disapppearance of baldy. on that day she came under the guise of constable, who produced a warrant, and said: "cornelius naso, alias nosey, alias pye, i arrest you under this warrant, charging you with having murdered a shepherd, named thomas balbus, alias baldy, at nyalong, in the colony of victoria, on the th day of february, . you need not say anything unless you like, but if you do say anything i shall take it down in writing, and it will be used as evidence against you at your trial." nosey had nothing to say, except, "i deny the charge"; he had said too much already. he was handcuffed and taken to the police station at albury. in one of his pockets a letter was found purporting to be written by julia, and disclosing her place of residence. soon afterwards nosey and his wife met in captivity after their long separation, but their meeting was not a happy one; they had no word of welcome for each other. the preliminary examination was held in the court house at nyalong, and there was a large gathering of spectators when the proceedings commenced. on a form below the witness box there was something covered with a white sheet. men craned their necks and looked at it over one another's shoulders. the two prisoners eyed it intently. it was guarded by constable kerry, who allowed no one to approach it, but with an authoritative wave of the hand kept back all impertinent intruders. that day was the proudest in all his professional career. he had prepared his evidence and his exhibits with the utmost care. at the proper moment he carefully removed the white sheet, and the skeleton was exposed to view, with everything replaced in the position in which it had been found under the rocks in the rises. nosey's face grew livid as he eyed the evidence of his handiwork; julia threw up both hands, and exclaimed: "oh! there's poor baldy that you murdered!" nosey felt that this uncalled-for statement would damage his chance of escape, so, turning to the bench, he said: "don't mind what the woman says, your lordship; she is not in her right senses, and always was weak-minded." the constable being sworn, related how, on information received, he had gone to the stoney rises, and had uncovered a skeleton which was lying on a broad flat stone. the bones of the legs from the knees downward were covered with stones. the boots were attached to the feet, and were pointing in such a direction as to show that the body must have rested on the right side. large stones, but such as one man could lift, had been placed over the feet and the legs. the other bones were together, but had been disturbed. with them he found the brim of an oiled sou'-westr' hat, a clay tobacco pipe, a rusty clasp-knife with a hole bored through the handle, fragments of a blue shirt; also pieces of a striped silk neckerchief, marked d. s. over ; the marks had been sewn in with a needle. there was a hole in the back of the skull, and the left jaw was broken. just at this time a funeral procession, with a few attendants, passed the court-house on its way to the cemetery. julia's father was going to his grave. he had come over the sea lately to spend the rest of his days in peace and comfort in the home of his daughter, and he found her in gaol under the charge of murder. there was nothing more to live for, so he went out and died. the two prisoners were committed, but they remained in gaol for more than seven months longer, on account of the difficulty of securing the attendance of witnesses from new south wales. but when the evidence was given it was overwhelming. every man who had known baldy seemed to have been kept alive on purpose to give evidence against the murderer. every scrap of clothing which the wild cats had left was identified, together with the knife, the pipe, the hat brim, and the boots; and the prisoner's own confession was repeated. julia also took the side of the prosecution. when asked if she had any questions to put, she said, "my husband killed the man, and forced me to help him to put the body on his horse." the jury retired to consider their verdict, and spent two hours over it. in the meantime the two prisoners sat in the dock as far apart as possible. they had never spoken to each other during the trial, and nosey now said in a low voice: "you had no call, julia, to turn on me the way you did. what good could it do you? sure you might at least have said nothing against me." the pent-up bitterness of seventeen years burst forth. the constable standing near tried to stop the torrent, but he might as well have tried to turn back a south-east gale with a feather. "i was to say nothing, indeed, was i? and what call had i to say nothing? is that what you ask? was i to stand here all day and say never a word for myself until they were ready to hang me? tell me now, did i murder poor baldy or did you? was it not you who struck him down with the axe without saying as much as 'by your leave,' either to me or to him? did you say a word to me until you finished your bloody work? and then you threatened to cut me down, too, with the axe, if i didn't hold my tongue, and help you to lift the man on to your horse. it is this day you should have remembered before you began that night's work. sorrow's the day i ever met you at all, with the miserable life you led me; and you know i was always the good wife to you until you gave yourself entirely to the devil with your wicked ways. wasn't i always on the watch for you every evening looking for you, and the chop on the fire, and the hot tea, and everything comfortable? and is it to hang me now you want to pay me back for the trouble i took for you and all the misery i suffered these long years? and the death of my poor father, who found me in gaol, is at your door too, for he would have been alive and well this day but for the deed you done, which broke his poor old heart; the lord have mercy on him. and who is to blame but your own self for being in this place at all? you not only done the man to death, but you must go about the bush bragging of it to strangers, and twisting the halter for your own neck like a born idiot; and that's what you are, in spite of your roguery and cunning." and so on for two hours of hell until the jury came back. they acquitted julia and found her husband guilty. she left the court without once looking back, and he faced the jury alone. judge pohlman had never before sent a man to the gallows. he made the usual little moral speech, and bewailed his own misfortune in having to perform so disagreeable a duty. then he put on the black cap and passed sentence. at the concluding words, "may the lord have mercy on your soul," the condemned man responded with a fervent "amen," adding, "and that's the last of poor nosey." he seemed greatly relieved when the ceremony was over, but it was not quite the last, there was another to follow. for ten days he remained in his cell, and no one visited him except the priest. his examination of conscience was not difficult, for he had often rehearsed it, and much of it had been done for him in public. he made his last journey between two priests, joining fervently in their prayers for the dying. his step was firm, and he showed neither fear nor bravado. the hangman quickly drew down the cap, but he seemed more flurried than his victim. the sheriff, without speaking, motioned him to place the knot in the correct position under the ear. then the bolt was drawn and the story of "the two shepherds" was finished. the man whom philip met at bendigo had farms in the country thinly timbered. north, south, east, and west the land was held under squatting licenses; with the exception of the home paddocks it was unfenced, and the stock was looked after by boundary riders and shepherds. to the south, between nyalong and the sea--a distance of fifty or sixty miles--the country was not occupied by either the white or the black men. it consisted of ranges of hills heavily timbered, furrowed by deep valleys, through which flowed innumerable streams, winding their way to the river of the plains. sometimes the solitary bushman or prospector, looking across a deep valley, saw, nestled amongst the opposite hills, a beautiful meadow of grass. but when he had crossed the intervening creek and scrubby valley, and continued his journey to the up-land, he found that the deceitful meadow was only a barren plain, covered, not with grass, but with the useless grass-tree. there is a little saccharine matter in the roots of the grass-tree, and a hopeful man from corio once built a sugar-mill near the stream, and took possession of the plain as a sugar plantation. there was much labour, but very little sugar. in the dense forest, cattle had run wild, and were sometimes seen feeding in the thinly-timbered grass land outside; but whenever a horseman approached they dashed headlong into the scrub where no horseman could follow them. wild boars and their progeny also rooted among the tall tussocks in the marshes by the banks of the river, where it emerged from the ranges into the plains. blackfish and eels were plentiful in the river, but they were of a perverse disposition, and would not bite in the day-time. the bend nearest to nyalong was twelve miles distant, and philip once spent a night there with gleeson and mccarthy. a fire was kindled and some fish were caught, but philip took none home. gleeson and mccarthy reserved their catches for their wives and families, and philip's fish were all cooked on the fire at sunrise, and eaten for breakfast. fishing was sport, certainly, but it was not profitable, nor exciting, except to the temper. sometimes an eel took the bait, and then twisted himself round the limb of a tree at the bottom of the river. he then pulled all he was able until either the line or the hook was broken, or his jaw was torn into strips. after midnight philip was drowsy, and leaned his back against a tree to woo sweet sleep. but there were mosquitos in millions, bandicoots hopping close to the fire, and monkey-bears, night hawks, owls, 'possums and dingoes, holding a corroboree hideous enough to break the sleep of the dead. after breakfast the horses were saddled for home. philip carried his revolver in his belt, and gleeson had a shot-gun. a kangaroo was seen feeding about a hundred yards distant, and gleeson dismounted and shot at it, but it hopped away unharmed. a few minutes afterwards, as the men were riding along at an easy walk, three other horsemen suddenly came past them at a gallop, wheeled about, and faced the fishermen. one was burridge, a station manager, the other two were his stockmen. the six men looked at one another for a few moments without speaking. both gleeson and mccarthy had the tipperary temper, and it did not remain idle long. "well," asked gleeson, "is anything the matter?" "i dinna ken yet," said burridge. "did na ye hear a gunshot just now?" "yes, i fired at a kangaroo." "a kangaroo, eh? are you sure it was a kangaroo?" "yes, it was a kangaroo. what of that? oh, i see, you think we are after shooting your cattle. is that it? speak out like a man." "sometimes a beast is shot about here, and i'd like to find out who does it." "oh, indeed! you'd like to know who does it, would you? i can tell you, anyway, who is the biggest cattle duffer round here, if you'd like to know!" gleeson touched one flank of his horse with his heel, and rode close up to burridge with the gun in his right hand. "his name is burridge, and that's yourself. everybody knows you, you old scotch hound. you have as many cattle on the run with your brand on them as your master has. there is not a bigger cattle thief than old burridge within a hundred miles, and you'll be taken off the run in irons yet. get out of my way, or i'll be tempted to send you to blazes before your time." burridge did not go off the run in irons; he left it honourably for another run which he took up, and stocked with cattle bearing no brand but his own. evil tongues might tattle, but no man could prove that burridge ever broke the law. one fishing excursion to the bend was enough for philip, but a pig hunt was organised, and he joined it. the party consisted of gleeson, mccarthy, bill the butcher, bob atkins, and george brown the liar, who brought a rope-net and a cart in which all the game caught was to be carried home. five dogs accompanied the party, viz., lion and tiger, crossbred bull and mastiffs, experienced pig fighters, sam as a reserve, and three mongrels as light skirmishers. the first animal met with was a huge old boar, the hero of a hundred fights, the great-grandfather of pigs. he stood at bay among the tussocks, the dogs barking furiously around him. bill the butcher said, "keep back, you men, or he'll rip the guts out of your horses. i know him well. he has only one tusk, but it's a boomer. look out sharp till the dogs tackle him, he might make a rush at some of us." the boar was a frightful-looking beast, long, tall, and slab-sided, in perfect condition for fight, all bone, muscle, and bristles, with not an ounce of lard in his lean body. he stood still and stiff as a rock watching the dogs, his one white tusk, long and keen sticking out above his upper lip. the loss of the other tusk left him at a disadvantage, as he could only strike effectively on one side. lion and tiger had fought him before, and he had earned their respect. they were wary and cautious, and with good reason. their best hold was by the ears, and these had been chewed away in former wars, till nothing was left of them but the ragged roots. bill the butcher dismounted, dropped his bridle, and cheered on the dogs at a prudent distance, "good dogs; seek him lion; hold him tiger." the dogs went nearer and nearer, jumping away whenever the boar made an attack. at last they seized him by the roots of his ears, one on each side, and held on. bob atkins and bill approached the combatants, carrying some strong cord, of new zealand flax. a running noose was secured round the hind legs of the boar; he was then thrown on his side, and his forelegs were tied together. lion and tiger stood near panting, with blood dripping from their open jaws. philip could not imagine why bill did not butcher the beast at once; it seemed impossible that a leathery old savage like that could ever be transformed into tender pork. for the present he was left prone on the field of battle, and the pig hunt proceeded. there was soon much squealing of pigs, and barking of dogs among the tussocks. gleenson's dog pinned a young boar, and after its legs were tied philip agreed to stand by and guard it, while gleeson fetched the cart. but the boar soon slipped the cord from his legs, and at once attacked his nearest enemy, rushing at philip and trying to rip open his boots. philip's first impulse was to take out his revolver, and shoot; but he was always conscientious, and it occurred to him that he would be committing a breach of trust, as he had undertaken to guard the game alive until gleeson came back with the cart. so he tried to fight the pig with his boots, kicking him on the jaws right and left. but the pig proved a stubborn fighter, and kept coming up to the scratch again and again, until philip felt he had got into a serious difficulty. he began to think as well as to kick quickly. "if i could only throw the animal to the ground i could hold him down." the dogs had shown him that the proper mode of seizing a hog was by the ears, so at the next round he seized both ears and held them. there was a pause in the fight, and philip took advantage of it to address his enemy after the manner of the greeks and trojans. "i have got you at last, my friend, and the curse of cromwell on you, i'd like to murder you without mercy; and if gleeson don't come soon he'll find here nothing but dead pig. i must try to throw you somehow." after examining the pig narrowly he continued, "it will be done by the hind legs." he let go one ear and seized a hind leg instead, taking the enemy, as it were, both in front and rear. for some time there was much kicking and squealing, until one scientific kick and a sudden twist of the hind quarters brought the quarry to earth. philip knelt on the ribs of his foe, still holding one ear and one hind leg. then he proceeded with his speech, gasping for breath: "and this is what happens to a poor man in australia! here have i been fighting a wild beast of a pig for half an hour, just to keep him alive, and all to oblige a cockatoo farmer, and small thanks to me for that same. may all the curses--the lord preserve us and give us patience; i am forgetting the twelve virtues entirely." gleeson came at last with the cart and george brown the liar; the pig's legs were again tied together, he was lifted into the cart and covered with the rope net. four other pigs were caught, and then the hunters and dogs returned to the place in which the old boar had been left. but he had broken or slipped his bonds, and had gone away. he was tracked to the river, which was narrow but deep, so he had saved his bacon for another day. at the division of the game philip declined to take any share. he said: "thanks, i have had pig enough for the present." so there were exactly five pigs for the other five men. having been satiated with the pleasures of fishing and pig-hunting, philip was next invited to try the pursuit of the kangaroo. the first meet of men and hounds took place at gleeson's farm. mccarthy brought his dogs, and philip brought sam, his revolver, and a club. barton was too proud to join in the sport; he despised inferior game. it might amuse new chums, but it was below the notice of the old trooper, whose business had been for many years to hunt and shoot bushrangers and black-fellows, not to mention his regular duty as flagellator. gleeson that morning was cutting up his pumpkin plants with an axe. "good morning, mr. gleeson," said philip. "is anything the matter? is it a snake you are killing?" gleeson began to laugh, a little ashamed of himself, and said, "look at these cursed pumpkins. i think they are bewitched. every morning i come to see if the fruit is growing, but this is what they do. as soon as they get as big as a small potato, they begin to wither and turn yellow, and not a bit more will they grow. so i'm cutting the blessed things to pieces." philip saw that about half the runners had been already destroyed. he said, "don't chop any more, gleeson, and i'll show you how to make pumpkins grow." he picked up a feather in the fowl-yard, and went inside the garden. "now look at these flowers closely; they are not all alike. this flower will never turn into a pumpkin, but this one will if it gets a little of the dust from the first flower. the bees or other insects usually take the dust from one flower to the other, but i suppose there are no bees about here just now?" philip then dusted every flower that was open and said: "now, my friend, put away the axe, and you will have fruit here yet." and the pumpkins grew and ripened. the two men then went towards the house, and philip observed the fragments of a clock scattered about the ground in front of the verandah. "what happened to the clock?" said philip. "why," replied gleeson, "the thing wasn't going right at all, so i took it to pieces just to examine it, and to oil the wheels, and when i tried to put it together again, the fingers were all awry, and the pins wouldn't fit in their places, and the pendulum swung crooked, and the whole thing bothered me so that i just laid it on the floor of the verandah, and gave it one big kick that sent it to smithereens. but don't mind me or the clock at all, master; just come inside, and we'll have a bit o' dinner before we start." gleeson was the kindest man in the world; all he wanted was a little patience. the kangaroo gave better sport than either the fish or the pig, and philip enjoyed it. his mare proved swift, but sometimes shied at the start, when the kangaroos were in full view. she seemed to think that there was a kangaroo behind every tree, so she jumped aside from the trunks. that was to kill philip at last, but he had not the least idea what was to happen, and was as happy as hermits usually are, and they have their troubles and accidents just like other people. the kangaroos when disturbed made for the thick timber, and the half-grown ones, called "flying joeys," always escaped; they were so swift, and they could jump to such a distance that i won't mention it, as some ignorant people might call me a liar. those killed were mostly does with young, or old men. any horse of good speed could round up a heavy old man, and then he made for the nearest gum tree, and stood at bay with his back to it. it was dangerous for man or dog to attack him in front, for with his long hind claws he could cut like a knife. philip's family began to desert him. bruin, as already stated, sneaked away and was killed by hugh boyle. joey opened his cage-door, and flew up a gum tree. when philip came home from the school, and saw the empty cage, he called aloud, "joey, joey, sweet pretty joey," and whistled. the bird descended as far as the lightwood, but would not be coaxed to come any nearer. he actually mocked his master, and said, "ha, ha, ha! who are you? who are you? there is na luck aboot the hoose," which soon proved true, for the next bird pussy brought into the house was joey himself. pup led a miserable life, and died early. the coroner suspected that he had been murdered by maggie, but there was no absolute proof. maggie had really no conscience. she began to gad about the bush. in her girlish days she wore short frocks, as it were, having had her wings clipped, but the next spring she went into society, was a debutante, wore a dress of black and white satin which shone in the sun, and she grew so vain and flighty, and strutted about so, that it was really ridiculous to watch her. she began also to stay out late in the evening, which was very improper, and before going to bed philip would go under the lightwood with a lighted candle, and look for her amongst the leaves, saying, "maggie, are you there?" she was generally fast asleep, and all she could do was to blink her eyes, and say, "peet, peet," and fall asleep again. but one night she never answered at all. she was absent all next day, and many a day after that. october came, when all the scrub, the lightwood, and wattle were in full bloom, and the air everywhere was full of sweetness. philip was digging his first boiling of new potatoes, when all at once maggie swooped down into the garden, and began strutting about, and picking up the worms and grubs from the soil newly turned up. "oh, you impudent hussy!" he said. "where have you been all this time?" he stooped, and tried to stroke her head as usual with his forefinger, but maggie stuck her bill in the ground, turned a complete somersault, and caught the finger with both claws, which were very sharp. she held on for a short time, then dropped nimbly to her feet, and said, "there, now, that will teach you to behave yourself." "why, maggie," said philip, "what on earth is the matter with you?" "oh, there's nothing the matter with me, i assure you. i suppose you didn't hear the news, you are such an old stick-in-the-mud. it was in the papers, though--no cards--and all the best society ladies knew it of course." "why, maggie, you don't mean to say you have got a mate?" "of course i have, you horrid man, you are so vulgar. we were married ages ago. i didn't invite you of course, because i knew you would make yourself disagreeable--forbid the banns, or something, and scare away all the ladies and gentlemen, for you are a most awful fright, with your red hair and freckles, so i thought it best to say nothing about the engagement until the ceremony was over. it was performed by the rev. sinister cornix, and it was a very select affair, i assure you, and the dresses were so lovely. there were six bridesmaids--the misses mudlark. the mudlarks, you know, have a good pedigree, they are come of the younger branch of our family. we were united in the bonds under a cherry tree. oh! it was a lovely time, it was indeed, i assure you." "and where are you living now, maggie?" "oh, i am not going to tell you; you are too inquisitive. but our mansion is on the top of a gum tree. it is among the leaves at the end of a slender branch. if hugh boyle tries to kidnap my babies, the branch will snap, and he will fall and break his neck, the wretch. oh, i assure you we thought of everything beforehand; for i know you keep a lot of boys bad enough to steal anything." "and what sort of a mate--husband, i mean--have you got?" "oh, he is a perfect gentleman, and so attentive to me. latterly he has been a little crusty, i must admit; but you must not say a word against him. if you do, i'll peck your eyes out. a family, you know, is so troublesome, and it takes all your time to feed them. there are two of them, the duckiest little fluffy darlings you ever saw. they were very hungry this morning, so when i saw you digging i knew you wouldn't begrudge them a breakfast, and i just flew down here for it. but bless my soul, the little darlings will be screaming their hearts out with hunger while i am talking to you, and himself will be swearing like a derviner. so, by-by." philip found maggie's mansion easily enough; for, in spite of all her chatter, she had no depth of mind. the tallest gum-tree was on barlow's farm which adjoined the forty-acre on the east. barlow had been a stockman for several years on calvert's run, and had saved money. he invested his money in the bank of love, and the bank broke. it happened in this way. a new shepherd from the other side was living with his wife and daughter near the rises, and one day when barlow was riding over the run, he heard some strange sounds, and stopped his horse to listen. there was nobody in sight in any direction, and barlow said, "there's something the matter at the new shepherd's hut," and he rode swiftly towards it. as he approached the hut, he heard the screams of women and the voice of a blackfellow, who was hammering on the door with his waddy. he was a tame blackfellow who had been educated at the missionary station. he could write english, say prayers, sing hymns, read the bible, and was therefore named parson bedford by the derviners, after the tasmanian missionary. he could box and wrestle so well that few white men could throw him. he could also drink rum; so whenever he got any white money he knew how to spend it. he was the best thief and the worst bully of all the blacks about nyalong, because he had been so well educated. i knew him well, and attended his funeral, walking in the procession with the doctor and twenty blackfellows. he had a white man's funeral, but there was no live parson present, so king coco quine made an oration, waving his hands over the coffin, "all same as whitefellow parson," then we all threw clods on the lid. so much noise was made by the women screaming and the parson hammering, that the stockman was able to launch one crack of his stock-whip on the parson's back before his arrival was observed. the parson sprang up into the air like a shot deer, and then took to his heels. he did not run towards the open plains, but made a straight line for the nearest part of the rises. as he ran, frank followed at an easy canter, and over and over again he landed his lash with a crack like a pistol on the behind of the black, who sprang among the rough rocks which the horse could not cross, and where the lash could not reach him. [illustration .] then there was a parley. the parson was smarting and furious. he had learned the colonial art of blowing along with the language. he threw down his waddy and said: "you stockman, frank, come off that horse, drop your whip, and i'll fight you fair, same as whitefellow. i am as good a man as you any day." "do you take me for a blooming fool, parson? no fear. if ever i see you at that hut again, or anywhere on the run, i'll cut the shirt off your back. i shall tell mr. calvert what you have been after, and you'll soon find yourself in chokey with a rope round your neck." the parson left nyalong, and when he returned he was dying of rum and rheumatism. frank rode back to the hut. the mother and daughter had stood at the door watching him flog the parson. he was in their eyes a hero; he had scourged their savage enemy, and had driven him to the rocks. they were weeping beauties--at least the daughter was a beauty in frank's eyes--but now they wiped away their tears, smoothed their hair, and thanked their gallant knight over and over again. two at a time they repeated their story, how they saw the blackfellow coming, how they bolted the door, and how he battered it with his club, threatening to kill them if they did not open it. frank had never before been so much praised and flattered, at least not since his mother weaned him; but he pretended not to care. he said: "tut, tut, it's not worth mentioning. say no more about it. i would of course have done as much for anybody." of course he could not leave the ladies again to the mercy of the parson, so he waited until the shepherd returned with his flock. then frank rode away with a new sensation, a something as near akin to love as a rough stockman could be expected to feel. neddy, the shepherd, asked mr. calvert for the loan of arms, and he taught his wife and daughter the use of old tower muskets. he said, "if ever that parson comes to the hut again, put a couple of bullets through him." after that frank called at the hut nearly every day, enquiring if the parson had been seen anywhere abroad. "no," said cecily, "we haven't seen him any more;" and she smiled so sweetly, and lowered her eyes, and spoke low, with a bewitching tasmanian accent. frank was in the mud, and sinking daily deeper and deeper. at last he resolved to turn farmer and leave the run, so he rented the land adjoining philip's garden and the forty-acre. there was on it a four-roomed, weather-board house and outbuildings, quite a bush palace. farming was then profitable. frank ploughed a large paddock and sowed it with wheat and oats. then while the grain was ripening he resolved to ask cecily a very important question. one sunday he rode to the hut with a spare horse and side saddle. both horses were well groomed, the side saddle was new, the bits, buckles, and stirrup-irons were like burnished silver. cecily could ride well even without a saddle, but had never owned one. she yielded to temptation, but with becoming coyness and modesty. frank put one hand on his knee, holding the bridle with the other; then cicely raised one of her little feet, was lifted lightly on to the saddle, and the happy pair cantered gaily over the plain to their future home. frank showed his bride-elect the land and the crops, the cows and the horses, the garden and the house. cecily looked at everything, but said next to nothing. "she is shy," frank thought, "and i must treat her gently." but the opportunity must not be thrown away, and on their way over the plains frank told his tale of love. i don't know precisely what he said or how he said it, not having been present, but he did not hook his fish that day, and he took home with him the bait, the horse, and the empty side-saddle. but he persevered with his suit, and before the wheat was ripe, cecily consented to be his bride. he was so overjoyed with his success that instead of waiting for the happy day when he had to say "with this ring i thee wed, with all my worldly goods i thee endow," he gave cecily the worldly goods beforehand--the horse, with the beautiful new side saddle and bridle--and nearly all his cash, reserving only sufficient to purchase the magic ring and a few other necessaries. the evening before the happy day the pair were seen walking together before sundown on a vacant lot in the township, discussing, it was supposed, the arrangements for the morrow. it was the time of the harvest, and philip had been engaged to measure the work of the reapers on a number of farms. i am aware that he asked and received pound for each paddock, irrespective of area. on the bridal morn he walked over frank's farm with his chain and began the measurement, the reapers, most of them broken down diggers, following him and watching him. old jimmy gillon took one end of the chain; he said he had been a chainman when the railway mania first broke out in scotland, so he knew all about land surveying. frank was absent, but he returned while philip was calculating the wages payable to each reaper, and he said: "here's the money, master; pay the men what's coming to 'em and send 'em away." frank looked very sulky, and philip was puzzled. he knew the blissful ceremony was to take place that day, but there was no sign of it, nor of any bliss whatever; no wedding garments, no parson, no bride. the bare matter of fact was, the bride had eloped during the night. "for young lochinvar had come out of the west, and an underbred, fine-spoken fellow was he." he was a bullock-driver of superior manners and attractive personality, and was the only man in australia who waxed and curled his moustaches. cecily had for some time been listening to lochinvar, who was known to have been endeavouring to "cut out" frank. she was staying in the township with her mother preparing for matrimony, and her horse was in the stable at howell's hotel. when frank rode away to his farm on that fateful evening, lochinvar was watching him. he saw cecily going home to her mother for the last night, and while he was looking after her wistfully, and the pangs of despairing love were in his heart, bill the butcher came up and said: "well, lock, what are you going to do?" "why, what can i do? she is going to marry frank in the morning." "i don't believe it: not if you are half the man you ought to be." "but how can i help it?" "help it? just go and take her. saddle your horse and her own, take 'em up to the cottage, and ask her just to come outside for a minute. and if you don't persuade her in five minutes to ride away with you to ballarat, i'll eat my head off. i know she don't want to marry frank; all she wants is an excuse not to, and it will be excuse enough when she has married you." these two worthy men went to the hotel and talked the matter over with howell. the jolly landlord slapped his knee and laughed. he said: "you are right, bill. she'll go, i'll bet a fiver, and here it is, lock; you take it to help you along." this base conspiracy was successful, and that was the reason frank was so sulky on that harvest morning. he was meditating vengeance. love and hate, matrimony and murder, are sometimes not far asunder, but frank was not by nature vengeful; he had that "foolish hanging of the nether lip which shows a lack of decision." i would not advise any man to seek in a law court a sovereign remedy for the wounds inflicted by the shafts of cupid; but frank tried it. during his examination in chief his mien was gloomy and his answers brief. then mr. aspinall rose and said: "i appear for the defendant, your honour, but from press of other engagements i have been unable to give that attention to the legal aspects of this case which its importance demands, and i have to request that your honour will be good enough to adjourn the court for a quarter of an hour." the court was adjourned for half an hour, and mr. aspinall and his solicitor retired to a room for a legal consultation. it began thus: "i say, lane, fetch me a nobbler of brandy; a stiffener, mind." lane fetched the stiffener in a soda-water bottle, and it cleared the legal atmosphere. when the court resumed business, frank took his stand in the witness box, and a voice said: "now, mr. barlow, look at me." frank had been called many names in his time, but never "mr. barlow" before now. he looked and saw the figure of a little man with a large head, whose voice came through a full-grown nose like the blast of a trumpet. "you say you gave cecily some money, a horse, saddle, and bridle?" "i did." "and you bought a wedding ring?" "i've got it in my pocket." "i see. your honour will be glad to hear that the ring, at any rate, is not lost. it will be ready for another cecily, won't it, mr. barlow?" barlow, looking down on the floor of the court and shaking his head slowly from side to side, said: "no, it won't no fear. there 'ull be no more cecilies for me." there was laughter in the court, and when frank raised his eyes, and saw a broad grin on every face, he, too, burst into a fit of laughter. i saw mr. aspinall and dr. macadam walking together arm-in-arm from the court. the long doctor and the little lawyer were a strange pair. everybody knew that they were sliding down the easy slope to their tragic end, but they seemed never to think of it. frank returned to nyalong, happier than either. he related the particulars of the trial to his friends with the utmost cheerfulness. whether he recovered all the worldly goods with which he had endowed cecily is doubtful, but he faithfully kept his promise that "there 'ull be no more cecilies for me." there was a demon of mischief at work on philip's hill at both sides of the dividing fence. sam was poisoned by a villainous butcher; bruin had been killed by hugh boyle; maggie had eloped with a wild native to a gum-tree; joey had been eaten by pussy; barlow had been crossed in love, and then the crowning misfortune befell the hermit. mrs. chisholm was a lady who gave early tokens of her vocation. at the age of seven she began to form benevolent plans for the colonies of great britain. she built ships of broad beans, filled them with poor families of couchwood, sent them to sea in a wash-basin, landed them in a bed-quilt, and started them growing wheat. then she loaded her fleet with a return cargo for the british pauper, one grain of wheat in each ship, and navigated it safely to old england. she made many prosperous voyages, but once a storm arose which sent all her ships to the bottom of the sea. she sent a wesleyan minister and a catholic priest to botany bay in the same cabin, strictly enjoining them not to quarrel during the voyage. at the age of twenty she married captain chisholm, and went with him to madras. there she established a school of industry for girls, and her husband seconded her in all her good works. mr. chamier, the secretary, took a great interest in her school; sir frederick adams subscribed pounds, and officers and gentlemen in madras contributed in five days , rupees. the school became an extensive orphanage. mrs. and captain chisholm came to australia in for the benefit of his health, and they landed at sydney. they saw highland immigrants who could not speak english, and they gave them tools and wheelbarrows wherewith to cut and sell firewood. captain chisholm returned to india in , but the health of her young family required mrs. chisholm to remain in sydney. female immigrants arriving in sydney were regularly hired on board ship, and lured into a vicious course of life. mrs. chisholm went on board each ship, and made it her business to protect and advise them, and begged the captain and agent to act with humanity. some place of residence was required in which the new arrivals could be sheltered, until respectable situations could be found for them, and in january, , she applied to lady gipps for help. a committee of ladies was formed, and mrs. chisholm at length obtained a personal audience from the governor, sir george gipps. he believed she was labouring under an amiable delusion. he wrote to a friend: "i expected to have seen an old lady in a white cap and spectacles, who would have talked to me about my soul. i was amazed when my aide introduced a handsome, stately young woman, who proceeded to reason the question as if she thought her reason, and experience too, worth as much as mine." sir george at last consented to allow her the use of a government building, a low wooden one. her room was seven feet by seven feet. rats ran about in it in all directions, and then alighted on her shoulders. but she outgeneraled the rats. she gave them bread and water the first night, lit two candles, and sat up in bed reading "abercrombie." there came never less than seven nor more than thirteen rats eating at the same time. the next night she gave them another feast seasoned with arsenic. the home for the immigrants given her by sir george had four rooms, and in it at one time she kept ninety girls who had no other shelter. about six hundred females were then wandering about sydney unprovided for. some slept in the recesses of the rocks on the government domain. she received from the ships in the harbour sixty-four girls, and all the money they had was fourteen shillings and three half-pence. she took them to the country, travelling with a covered cart to sleep in. she left married families at different stations, and then sent out decent lasses who should be married. in those days the dead bodies of the poor were taken to the cemetery in a common rubbish-cart. by speeches and letters both public and private, and by interviews with influential men, mrs. chisholm sought help for the emigrants both in sydney and england, where she opened an office in . in the year major chisholm took a house at nyalong, near philip's school. two of the best scholars were john and david. when david lost his place in the class he burst into tears, and the blakes and the boyles laughed. the major spoke to the boys and girls whenever he met them. he asked john to tell him how many weatherboards he would have to buy to cover the walls of his house, which contained six rooms and a lean-to, and was built of slabs. john measured the walls and solved the problem promptly. the major then sent his three young children to the school, and made the acquaintance of the master. mrs. chisholm never went to nyalong, but the major must have given her much information about it, for one day he read a portion of one of her letters which completely destroyed philip's peace of mind. it was to the effect that he was to open a school for boarders at nyalong, and, as a preliminary, marry a wife. the major said that if philip had no suitable young lady in view, mrs. chisholm, he was sure, would undertake to produce one at a very short notice. she had the whole matter already planned, and was actually canvassing for pupils among the wealthiest families in the colony. the major smiled benevolently, and said it was of no use for philip to think of resisting mrs. chisholm; when she had once made up her mind, everybody had to give way, and the thing was settled. philip, too, smiled faintly, and tried to look pleased, dissembling his outraged feelings, but he went away in a state of indignation. he actually made an attack on the twelve virtues, which seemed all at once to have conspired against his happiness. he said: "if i had not kept school so conscientiously, this thing would never have happened. i don't want boarders, and i don't want anybody to send me a wife to nyalong. i am not, thank god, one of the royal family, and not even queen victoria shall order me a wife." in that way the lonely hermit put his foot down and began a countermine, working as silently as possible. during the christmas holidays, after his neighbour frank had been jilted by cecily, he rode away, and returned after a week's absence. the major informed him that mrs. chisholm had met with an accident and would be unable to visit nyalong for some time. philip was secretly pleased to hear the news, outwardly he expressed sorrow and sympathy, and nobody but himself suspected how mean and deceitful he was. at easter he rode away again and returned in less than a week. next day he called at mccarthy's farm and dined with the family. he said he had been married the previous morning before he had started for nyalong, and had left his wife at the waterholes. mccarthy began to suspect that philip was a little wrong in his head; it was a kind of action that contradicted all previous experience. he could remember various lovers running away together before marriage, but he could not call to mind a single instance in which they ran away from one another immediately after marriage. but he said to himself, "it will all be explained by-and-by," and he refrained from asking any impertinent questions merely to gratify curiosity. after dinner gleeson, philip, and mccarthy rode into the bush with the hounds. a large and heavy "old man" was sighted; and the dogs stuck him up with his back to a tree. while they were growling and barking around the tree gleeson dismounted, and, going behind the tree, seized the "old man" by the tail. the kangaroo kept springing upwards and at the dogs, dragging gleeson after him, who was jerking the tail this way and that to bring his game to the ground, for the "old man" was so tall that the dogs could not reach his throat while he stood upright. philip gave his horse to mccarthy and approached the "old man" with his club. "shoot him with your revolver," said gleeson. "if i let go his tail, he'll be ripping you with his toe." "i might shoot you instead," said philip; "better to club him. hold on another moment." philip's first blow was dodged by the kangaroo, but the second fell fairly on the skull; he fell down, and ossian, a big and powerful hound, seized him instantly by the throat and held on. the three men mounted their horses and rode away, but philip's mare was, as usual, shying at every tree. as he came near one which had a large branch, growing horizontally from the trunk, his mare spring aside, carried him under the limb, which struck his head, and threw him to the ground. he never spoke again. after the funeral, mccarthy rode over to the rocky waterholes to make some enquiries. he called at mrs. martin's residence, and he said: "mr. philip told us he was married the day before the accident, but it seemed so strange, we could not believe it; so i thought i would just ride over and enquire about it, for, of course, if he had a wife, she will be entitled to whatever little property he left behind him." "yes, it's quite true," said mrs. martin. "they were married sure enough. he called here at christmas, and said he would like to see miss edgeworth; but she was away on a visit to some friends. i asked him if he had any message to leave for her, but he said, 'oh, no; only i thought i should like to see how she is getting along. that's all, thank you. i might call again at easter.' so he went away. on last easter monday he came again. of course i had told miss edgeworth, about his calling at christmas and enquiring about her, and it made me rather suspicious when he came again. as you may suppose, i could not help taking notice; but for two days, nor, in fact, for the whole week, was there the slightest sign of anything like lovemaking between them. no private conversation, no walking out together, nothing but commonplace talk and solemn looks. i said to myself, 'if there is anything between them, they keep it mighty close to be sure.' on the tuesday evening, however, he spoke to me. he said: "'i hope you won't mention it, mrs. martin, but i would like to have a little advice from you, if you would be so kind as to give it. miss edgeworth has been living with you for some time, and you must be well acquainted with her. i am thinking of making a proposal, but our intercourse has been so slight, that i should be pleased first to have your opinion on the matter.' "'mr. philip,' i said, 'you really must not ask me to say anything one way or the other, for or against. i have my own sentiments, of course; but nobody shall ever say that i either made a match or marred one.' "nothing happened until the next day. in the afternoon miss edgeworth was alone in this room, when i heard mr. philip walking down the passage, and stopping at the door, which was half open. i peeped out, and then put off my slippers, and stepped a little nearer, until through the little opening between the door and the door-post, i could both see and hear them. he was sitting on the table, dangling his boots to and fro just above the floor, and she was sitting on a low rocking-chair about six feet distant. he did not beat about the bush, as the saying is; did not say, 'my dear,' or 'by your leave, miss,' or 'excuse me,' or anything nice, as one would expect from a gentleman on a delicate occasion of the kind, but he said, quite abruptly: "'how would you like to live at nyalong, miss edgeworth?' "she was looking on the floor, and her fingers were playing with a bit of ribbon, and she was so nice and winsome, and well dressed, you couldn't have helped giving her a kiss. she never raised her eyes to his face, but i think she just looked as high as his boots, which were stained and dusty. the silly man was waiting for her to say something; but she hung down her head, and said nothing. at last he said: "'i suppose you know what i mean, miss edgeworth?' "'yes,' she said, in a low voice. 'i know what you mean, thank you.' "then there was silence for i don't know how long; it was really dreadful, and i couldn't think how it was going to end. at last he heaved a big sigh, and said: "'well, miss edgeworth, there is no need to hurry; take time to think about it. i am going to ride out, and perhaps you will be good enough to let me know your mind when i come back.' "then he just shook her hand, and i hurried away from the door. it was rather mean of me to be listening to them, but i took as much interest in miss edgeworth as if she were my own daughter. "'there is no need to hurry,' he had said, but in my opinion there was too much hurry, for they were married on the saturday, and he rode away the same morning having to open school again on monday. "of course, miss edgeworth was a good deal put about when we heard what had happened, through the papers, but i comforted her as much as possible. i said, 'as for myself, i had never liked the look of the poor man with his red hair and freckles. i am sure he had a bad temper at bottom, for red-haired men are always hasty; and then he had a high, thin nose, and men of that kind are always close and stingy, and the stingiest man i ever knew was a dublin man. then his manners, you must remember, were anything but nice; he didn't wasteany compliments on you before you married him, so you may just fancy what kind of compliments you would have had to put up with afterwards. and perhaps you have forgotten what you said yourself about him at bendigo. you were sure he was a severe master, you could see sternness on his brow. and however you could have consented to go to the altar with such a man i cannot understand to this day. i am sure it was a very bad match, and by-and-by you will thank your stars that you are well out of it.' "i must acknowledge that miss edgeworth did not take what i said to comfort her very kindly, and she 'gave me fits,' as the saying is; but bless your soul, she'll soon get over it, and will do better next time." soon after the death of philip, major chisholm and his family left nyalong, and i was appointed clerk to the justices at colac. i sat under them for twelve years, and during that time i wrote a great quantity of criminal literature. when a convict of good conduct in pentridge was entitled to a ticket-of-leave, he usually chose the western district as the scene of his future labours, so that the country was peopled with old jack bartons and young ones. some of the young ones had been philip's scholars--viz., the boyles and the blakes. they were friends of the bartons, and old john, the ex-flogger, trained them in the art of cattle-lifting. his teaching was far more successful than that of philip's, and when in course of time hugh boyle appeared in the dock on a charge of horse-stealing, i was pained but not surprised. barton, to whose farm the stolen horse had been brought by hugh, was summoned as witness for the crown, but he organised the evidence for the defence so well that the prisoner was discharged. on the next occasion both hugh and his brother james were charged with stealing a team of bullocks, but this time the assistance of barton was not available. the evidence against the young men was overwhelming, and we committed them for trial. i could not help pitying them for having gone astray so early in life. they were both tall and strong, intelligent and alert, good stockmen, and quite able to earn an honest living in the bush. they had been taught their duty well by philip, but bad example and bad company out of school had led them astray. the owner of the bullocks, an honest young boor named cowderoy, was sworn and gave his evidence clearly. hugh and james knew him well. they had no lawyer to defend them, and when the crown prosecutor sat down, there seemed no loophole left for the escape of the accused, and i mentally sentenced them to seven years on the roads, the invariable penalty for their offence. but now the advantages of a good moral education were brilliantly exemplified. "have you any questions to put to this witness?" asked the judge of the prisoners. "yes, your honour," said hugh. then turning to cowderoy, he said: "do you know the nature of an oath?" the witness looked helplessly at hugh, then at the judge and crown prosecutor; stood first on one leg, then on the other; leaned down with his elbows on the edge of the witness-box apparently staggering under the weight of his own ignorance. "why don't you answer the question?" asked the judge sharply. "do you know the nature of an oath?" silence. mr. armstrong saw his case was in danger of collapse, so he said: "i beg to submit, your honour, that this question comes too late and should have been put to the witness before he was sworn. he has already taken the oath and given his evidence." "the question is a perfectly fair one, mr. armstrong," said the judge: and turning to the witness he repeated: "do you know the nature of an oath?" "no," said cowderoy. the prisoners were discharged, thanks to their good education. a valiant police-sergeant. sergeant hyde came to my office and asked me to accompany him as far as murray street. he said there was a most extraordinary dispute between a white woman and a black lubra about the ownership of a girl, and he had some doubts whether it was a case within the jurisdiction of a police-court, but thought we might issue a summons for illegal detention of property. he wanted me to advise him, and give my opinion on the matter, and as by this time my vast experience of justices' law entitled me to give an opinion on any imaginable subject, i very naturally complied with his request. he was, moreover, a man so remarkable that a request by him for advice was of itself an honour. in his youth he had been complimented on the possession of a nose exactly resembling that of the great duke of wellington, and ever since that time he had made the great man the guiding star of his voyage over the ocean of life, the only saint in his calendar; and he had, as far as human infirmity would permit, modelled his conduct and demeanour in imitation of those of the immortal hero. he spoke briefly, and in a tone of decision. the expression of his face was fierce and defiant, his bearing erect, his stride measured with soldierly regularity. he was not a large man, weighing probably about nine stone; but that only enhanced his dignity, as it is a great historical fact that the most famous generals have been nearly all small men. when he came into my office, he always brought with him an odour of peppermint, which experience had taught me to associate with the proximity of brandy or whisky. i have never heard or read that the iron duke took pepperment lozenges in the morning, but still it might have been his custom to do so. the sergeant was a londoner, and knew more about the private habits of his grace than i did. if he had been honoured with the command of a numerous army, he would, no doubt, have led it onward, or sent it forward to victory. his forces, unfortunately, consisted of only one trooper, but the way in which he ordered and manoeuvred that single horseman proved what glory he would have won if he had been placed over many squadrons. by a general order he made him parade outside the gate of the station every morning at ten o'clock. he then marched from the front door with a majestic mien and inspected the horse, the rider, and accoutrements. he walked slowly round, examining with eagle eye the saddle, the bridle, the bits, the girth, the sword, pistols, spurs, and buckles. if he could find no fault with anything, he gave in brief the word of command, "patrol the forest road," or any other road on which an enemy might be likely to appear. i never saw the sergeant himself on horseback. he might have been a gay cavalier in the days of his fiery youth, but he was not one now. as we passed the "crook and plaid hotel," on our return to the court-house, after investigating the dispute in murray street, i observed a stranger standing near the door, who said: "hello, hyde! is that you?" he was evidently addressing the sergeant, but the latter merely gave him a slight glance, and went away with his noble nose in the air. the stranger looked after him and laughed. he said: "that policeman was once a shepherd of mine up in riverina, but i see he don't know me now--has grown too big for his boots. cuts me dead, don't he? ha! ha! ha! well i never!" the stranger's name was robinson; he had been selling some cattle to a neighbouring squatter, and was now on his way home. he explained how he had, just before the discovery of gold, hired hyde as a shepherd, and had given him charge of a flock of sheep. there were still a few native blacks about the run, but by this time they were harmless enough: never killed shepherds, or took mutton without leave. they were somewhat addicted to petty larceny, but felony had been frightened out of their souls long ago. they knew all the station hands, and the station hands knew them. they soon spotted a new chum, and found out the soft side of him; and were generally able to coax or frighten him to give them tobacco, some piece of clothing, or white money. when the new shepherd had been following his flock for a few days, mr. robinson, while looking out from the verandah of his house over the plains, observed a strange object approaching at some distance. he said to himself, "that is not a horseman, nor an emu, nor a native companion, nor a swagman, nor a kangaroo." he could not make it out; so he fetched his binocular, and then perceived that it was a human being, stark naked. his first impression was that some unfortunate traveller had lost his way in the wide wilderness, or a station hand had gone mad with drink, or that a sundowner had become insane with hunger, thirst, and despair. he took a blanket and went to meet the man, in order that he might cover him decently before he arrived too near the house. it was hyde, the new shepherd, who said he had been stripped by the blacks. from information afterwards elicited by robinson it appeared that the blacks had approached hyde in silence while his back was turned to them. the sight of them gave a sudden shock to his system. he was totally unprepared for such an emergency. if he had had time to recall to memory some historical examples, he might have summoned up his sinking courage, and have done a deed worthy of record. there was david, the youthful shepherd of israel, who slew a lion and a bear, and killed goliath, the gigantic champion of the philistines. there were the shepherd kings, who ruled the land of egypt. there was one-eyed polyphemus, moving among his flocks on the mountain tops of sicily; a monster, dreadful, vast, and hideous; able to roast and eat these three blackfellows at one meal. and nearer our own time was the youth whose immortal speech begins, "my name is norval; on the grampian hills my father fed his flocks." our shepherd had a stick in his hand and a collie dog at his command. now was the time for him to display "london assurance" to some purpose; and now was the time for the example of the ever-victorious duke to work a miracle of valour. but the crisis had come on too quickly, and there was no time to pump up bravery from the deep well of history. the unearthly ugliness of the savages, their thick lips, prominent cheek bones, scowling and overhanging brows, broad snub noses, matted black hair, and above all the keen, steady, and ferocious scrutiny of their deep-set eyes, extinguished the last spark of courage in the heart of hyde. he did not look fierce and defiant any more. he felt inclined to be very civil, so he smiled a sickly smile and tried to say something, but his chin wobbled, and his tongue would not move. the blacks came nearer, and one of them said, "gib fig tobacker, mate?" here was a gleam of hope, a chance of postponing his final doom. when a foe cannot be conquered, it is lawful to pay him to be merciful; to give him an indemnity for his trouble in not kicking you. the shepherd instantly pulled out his tobacco, his pipe, his tobacco-knife, and matches, and handed them over. a second blackfellow, seeing him so ready to give, took the loan of his tin billy, with some tea and sugar in it, and some boiled mutton and damper. these children of the plains now saw that they had come upon a mine of wealth, and they worked it down to the bed rock. one after another, and with the willing help of the owner, they took possession of his hat, coat, shirt, boots, socks, trousers, and drawers, until the hyde was completely bare, as naked, and, it is to be hoped, as innocent, as a new-born babe. his vanity, which was the major part of his personality, had vanished with his garments, and the remnant left of body and soul was very insignificant. having now delivered up everything but his life, he had some hope that his enemies might at least spare him that. they were jabbering to one another at a great rate, trying on, putting off, and exchanging first one article and then another of the spoils they had won. they did not appear to think that the new chum was worth looking after any longer. so he began slinking away slowly towards his flock of sheep, trying to look as if nothing in particular was the matter; but he soon turned in the direction of the home station. he tried to run, and for a short time fear winged his feet; but the ground was hard and rough, and his feet were tender; and though he believed that death and three devils were behind him, he could go but slowly. a solitary eaglehawk sat on the top branch of a dead gum-tree, watching him with evil eyes; a chorus of laughing jackasses cackled after him in derision from a grove of young timber; a magpie, the joy of the morning, and most mirthful of birds, whistled for him sweet notes of hope and good cheer; then a number of carrion crows beheld him, and approached with their long-drawn, ill-omened "croank, croank," the most dismal note ever uttered by any living thing. they murder sick sheep, and pick out the eyes of stray lambs. they made short straggling flights, alighting on the ground in front of the miserable man, inspecting his condition, and calculating how soon he would be ready to be eaten. they are impatient gluttons, and often begin tearing their prey before it is dead. mr. robinson clothed the naked, and then mounted his horse and went for the blacks. in a short time he returned with them to the station, and made them disgorge the stolen property, all but the tea, sugar, mutton, and damper, which were not returnable. he gave them some stirring advice with his stockwhip, and ordered them to start for a warmer climate. he then directed hyde to return to his sheep, and not let those blank blacks humbug him out of clothes any more. but nothing would induce the shepherd to remain another day; he forswore pastoral pursuits for the rest of his life. his courage had been tried and found wanting; he had been covered--or, rather, uncovered--with disgrace; and his dignity--at least in riverina --was gone for ever. in other scenes, and under happier auspices, he might recover it, but on robinson's station he would be subjected to the derision of the station hands as long as he stayed. how he lived for some time afterwards is unknown; but in he was a policeman at bendigo diggings. at that time any man able to carry a carbine was admitted into the force without question. it was then the refuge of the penniless, of broken-down vagabonds, and unlucky diggers. lords and lags were equally welcomed without characters or references from their former employers, the masters' and servants' act having become a dead letter. hyde entered the government service, and had the good sense to stay there. his military bearing and noble mien proclaimed him fit to be a leader of men, and soon secured his promotion. he was made a sergeant, and in a few years was transferred to the western district, far away, as he thought, from the scene of his early adventure. he lived for several years after meeting with and cutting his old employer, robinson, and died at last of dyspepsia and peppermints, the disease and the remedy combined. white slaves. many men who had been prisoners of the crown, or seamen, lived on the islands in bass' straits, as well as on islands in the pacific ocean, fishing, sealing, or hunting, and sometimes cultivating patches of ground. the freedom of this kind of life was pleasing to those who had spent years under restraint in ships, in gaols, in chain-gangs, or as slaves to settlers in the bush, for the lot of the assigned servant was often worse than that of a slave, as he had to give his labour for nothing but food and clothing, and was liable to be flogged on any charge of disobedience, insolence, or insubordination which his master might choose to bring against him. moreover, the black slave might be sold for cash, for five hundred to a thousand dollars, according to the quality of the article and the state of the market, so that it was for the enlightened self-interest of the owner to keep him in saleable condition. but the white slave was unsaleable, and his life of no account. when he died another could be obtained for nothing from the cargo of the next convict ship. some masters treated their men well according to their deserts; but with regard to others, the exercise of despotic authority drew forth all the evil passions of their souls, and made them callous to the sufferings of their servants. the daily fear of the lash produced in the prisoners a peculiar expression of countenance, and a cowed and slinking gait, which i have never seen in any other men, white or black. and that gait and expression, like that of a dog crouching at the heels of a cruel master in fear of the whip, remained still after the prisoners had served the time of their sentences, and had recovered their freedom. they never smiled, and could never regain the feelings and bearing of free men; they appeared to feel on their faces the brand of cain, by which they were known to all men, and the scars left on their backs by the cruel lash could never be smoothed away. whenever they met, even on a lonely bush track, a man who, by his appearance might be a magistrate or a government officer, they raised a hand to the forehead in a humble salute by mere force of habit. there were some, it is true, whose spirits were never completely broken--who fought against fate to the last, and became bushrangers or murderers; but sooner or later they were shot, or they were arrested and hanged. the gallows-tree on the virgin soil of australia flourished and bore fruit in abundance. the trial of a convict charged with disobedience or insubordination was of summary jurisdiction. joe kermode, a teamster, chanced to be present at one of these trials. it was about ten o'clock in the morning when he saw near a house on the roadside a little knot of men at an open window. he halted his team to see what was the matter, and found that a police magistrate, sitting inside a room, was holding a court of petty sessions at the window. it was an open court, to which the public were admitted according to law; a very open court, the roof of which was blue--the blue sky of a summer's morning. a witness was giving evidence against an assigned servant, charged with some offence against his master. his majesty, the magistrate, yawned--this kind of thing was tiresome. presently a lady came into the room, walked to the open window, clasped her hands together, and laid them affectionately on the shoulder of the court. after listening for a few moments to the evidence she became impatient, and said, "oh, william, give him three dozen and come to breakfast." so william gave the man three dozen and went to breakfast--with a good conscience; having performed the ordinary duty of the day extraordinarily well, he was on the high road to perfection. the sentence of the court was carried out by a scourger, sometimes called flagellator, or flogger. the office of scourger was usually held by a convict; it meant promotion in the government service, and although there was some danger connected with it, there was always a sufficient number of candidates to fill vacancies. in new south wales the number of officers in the cat-o'-nine tails department was about thirty. the danger attached to the office consisted in the certainty of the scourger being murdered by the scourgee, if ever the opportunity was given. joe kermode had once been a hutkeeper on a station. the hut was erected about forty yards from the stockyard, to which the sheep were brought every evening, to protect them from attack by dingoes or blackfellows. if the dingoes and blackfellows had been content with one sheep at a time to allay the pangs of hunger, they could not have been blamed very much; but after killing one they went on killing as many more as they could, and thus wasted much mutton to gratify their thirst for blood. joe and the shepherd were each provided with a musket and bayonet for self-defence. the hut was built of slabs, and was divided by a partition into two rooms, and joe always kept his musket ready loaded, night and day, just inside the doorway of the inner room. two or three blacks would sometimes call, and ask for flour, sugar, tobacco, or a firestick. if they attempted to come inside the hut, joe ordered them off, backing at the same time towards the inner door, and he always kept a sharp look-out for any movement they made; for they were very treacherous, and he knew they would take any chance they could get to kill him, for the sake of stealing the flour, sugar, and tobacco. two of them once came inside the hut and refused to go out, until joe seized his musket, and tickled them in the rear with his bayonet, under the "move on" clause in the police offences statute. early one morning there was a noise as of some disturbance in the stockyard, and joe, on opening the door of his hut, saw several blacks spearing the sheep. he seized his musket and shouted, warning them to go away. one of them, who was sitting on the top rail with his back towards the hut, seemed to think that he was out of range of the musket, for he made most unseemly gestures, and yelled back at joe in a defiant and contemptuous manner. joe's gun was charged with shot, and he fired and hit his mark, for the blackfellow dropped suddenly from the top rail, and ran away, putting his hands behind him, and trying to pick out the pellets. one day a white stockman came galloping on his horse up to the door of the hut, his face, hands, shirt and trousers being smeared and saturated with blood. joe took him inside the hut, and found that he had two severe wounds on the left shoulder. after the bleeding had been stanched and the wounds bandaged, the stranger related that as he was riding he met a blackfellow carrying a fire-stick. he thought it was a good opportunity of lighting his pipe, lucifer matches being then unknown in the bush; so he dismounted, took out his knife, and began cutting tobacco. the blackfellow asked for a fig of tobacco, and, after filling his pipe, the stockman gave him the remainder of the fig he had been cutting, and held out his hand for the firestick. the blackfellow seemed disappointed; very likely expecting to receive a whole fig of tobacco--and, instead of handing him the firestick he threw it on the ground. at the first moment the stockman did not suspect any treachery, as he had seen no weapon in possession of the blackfellow. he stooped to pick up the firestick; but just as he was touching it, he saw the black man's feet moving nearer, and becoming suddenly suspicious, he quickly moved his head to one side and stood upright. at the same instant he received a blow from a tomahawk on his left shoulder. this blow, intended for his head, was followed by another, which inflicted a second wound; but the stockman succeeded in grasping the wrist of his enemy. then began a wrestling match between the two men, the stakes two lives, no umpire, no timekeeper, no backers, and no bets. the only spectator was the horse, whose bridle was hanging on the ground. but he seemed to take no interest in the struggle, and continued nibbling the grass until it was over. the black man, who had now dropped his rug, was as agile and nimble as a beast of prey, and exerted all his skill and strength to free his hand. but the white man felt that to loose his hold would be to lose his life, and he held on to his grip of the blackfellow's wrist with desperate resolution. the tomahawk fell to the ground, but just then neither of the men could spare a hand to pick it up. at length, by superior strength, the stockman brought his enemy to the ground. he then grasped the thick, matted hair with one hand, and thus holding the black's head close to the ground, he reached with the other hand for the tomahawk, and with one fierce blow buried the blade in the savage's brain. even then he did not feel quite sure of his safety. he had an idea that it was very difficult to kill blackfellows outright, that theywere like american 'possums, and were apt to come to life again after they had been killed, and ought to be dead. so to finish his work well, he hacked at the neck with the tomahawk until he had severed the head completely from the body; then taking the head by the hair, he threw it as far as he could to the other side of the track. by this time he began to feel faint from loss of blood, so he mounted his horse and galloped to joe kermode's hut. when joe had performed his duties of a good samaritan to the stranger he mounted his horse, and rode to the field of battle. he found the headless body of the black man, the head at the other side of the track, the tomahawk, the piece of tobacco, the rug, and the firestick. joe and the shepherd buried the body; the white man survived. the government stroke. "the government stroke" is a term often used in the colonies, and indicates a lazy and inefficient manner of performing any kind of labour. it originated with the convicts. when a man is forced to work through fear of the lash, and receives no wages, it is quite natural and reasonable that he should exert himself as little as possible. if you were to reason with him, and urge him to work harder at, for instance, breaking road metal, in order that the public might have good roads to travel on, and show him what a great satisfaction it should be to know that his labours would confer a lasting benefit on his fellow creatures; that, though it might appear a little hard on him individually, he should raise his thoughts to a higher level, and labour for the good of humanity in general, he would very likely say, "do you take me for a fool?" but if you gave him three dozen lashes for his laziness he will see, or at least feel, that your argument has some force in it. as a matter of fact men work for some present or future benefit for themselves. the saint who sells all he has to give to the poor, does so with the hope of obtaining a reward exceedingly great in the life to come. and even if there were no life to come, his present life is happier far than that of the man who grabs at all the wealth he can get until he drops into the grave. the man who works "all for love and nothing for reward" is a being incomprehensible to us ordinary mortals; he is an angel, and if ever he was a candidate for a seat in parliament he was not elected. even love--"which rules the court, the camp, the grove"--is given only with the hope of a return of love; for hopeless love is nothing but hopeless misery. i once hired an old convict as gardener at five shillings a day. he began to work in the morning with a great show of diligence while i was looking on. but on my return home in the evening it was wonderful to find how little work he had contrived to get through during the day; so i began to watch him. his systematic way of doing nothing would have been very amusing if it cost nothing. he pressed his spade into the ground with his boot as slowly as possible, lifted the sod very gently, and turned it over. then he straightened his back, looked at the ground to the right, then to the left, then in front of him, and then cast his eyes along the garden fence. having satisfied himself that nothing particular was happening anywhere within view, he gazed awhile at the sod he had turned over, and then shaved the top off with his spade. having straightened his back once more, he began a survey of the superficial area of the next sod, and at length proceeded to cut it in the same deliberate manner, performing the same succeeding ceremonies. if he saw me, or heard me approaching, he became at once very alert and diligent until i spoke to him, then he stopped work at once. it was quite impossible for him both to labour and to listen; nobody can do two things well at the same time. but his greatest relief was in talking; he would talk with anybody all day long if possible, and do nothing else; his wages, of course, still running on. there is very little talk worth paying for. i would rather give some of my best friends a fee to be silent, than pay for anything they have to tell me. my gardener was a most unprofitable servant; the only good i got out of him was a clear knowledge of what the government stroke meant, and the knowledge was not worth the expense. he was in other respects harmless and useless, and, although he had been transported for stealing, i could never find that he stole anything from me. the disease of larceny seemed somehow to have been worked out of his system; though he used to describe with great pleasure how his misfortunes began by stealing wall-fruit when he was a boy; and although it was to him like the fruit "of that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste brought death into the world, and all our woe." it was so sweet that, while telling me about it sixty years afterwards, he smiled and smacked his lips, renewing as it were the delight of its delicious taste. he always avoided, as much as possible, the danger of dying of hard work, so he is living yet, and is eighty-six years old. whenever i see him he gives me his blessing, and says he never worked for any man he liked so well. a great philosopher says, in order to be happy it is necessary to be beloved, but in order to be beloved we must know how to please, and we can only please by ministering to the happiness of others. i ministered to the old convict's happiness by letting him work so lazily, and so i was beloved and happy. he had formerly been an assigned servant to mr. gellibrand, attorney-general of tasmania, before that gentleman went with mr. hesse on that voyage to australia felix from which he never returned. some portions of a skeleton were found on the banks of a river, which were supposed to belong to the lost explorer, and that river, and mount gellibrand, on which he and hesse parted company, were named after him. there was a blackfellow living for many years afterwards in the colac district who was said to have killed and eaten the lost white man; the first settlers therefore call him gellibrand, as they considered he had made out a good claim to the name by devouring the flesh. this blackfellow's face was made up of hollows and protuberances ugly beyond all aboriginal ugliness. i was present at an interview between him and senior-constable hooley, who nearly rivalled the savage in lack of beauty. hooley had been a soldier in the fifth fusiliers, and had been convicted of the crime of manslaughter, having killed a coloured man near port louis, in the mauritius. he was sentenced to penal servitude for the offence, and had passed two years of his time in tasmania. this incident had produced in his mind an interest in blackfellows generally, and on seeing gellibrand outside the colac courthouse, he walked up to him, and looked him steadily in the face, without saying a word or moving a muscle of his countenance. i never saw a more lovely pair. the black fellow returned the gaze unflinchingly, his deep-set eyes fixed fiercely on those of the irishman, his nostrils dilated, and his frowning forehead wrinkled and hard, as if cast in iron. the two men looked like two wild beasts preparing for a deadly fight. at length, hooley moved his face nearer to that of the savage, until their noses almost met, and between his teeth he slowly ejaculated: "you eat white man? you eat me? eh?" then the deep frown on gellibrand's face began slowly to relax, his thick lips parted by degrees, and displayed, ready for business, his sharp and shining teeth, white as snow and hard as steel. a smile, which might be likened to that of a humorous tiger, spread over his spacious features, and so the interview ended without a fight. i was very much disappointed, as i hoped the two man-slayers were going to eat each other for the public good, and i was ready to back both of them without fear, favour, or affection. there is no doubt that the blacks ate human flesh, not as an article of regular diet, but occasionally, when the fortune of war, or accident, favoured them with a supply. when mr. hugh murray set out from geelong to look for country to the westward, he took with him several natives belonging to the barrabool tribe. when they arrived near lake colac they found the banks of the barongarook creek covered with scrub, and on approaching the spot where the bridge now spans the watercourse, they saw a blackfellow with his lubra and a little boy, running towards the scrub. the barrabool blacks gave chase, and the little boy was caught by one of them before he could find shelter, and was instantly killed with a club. that night the picaninny was roasted at the camp fire, and eaten. and yet these blacks had human feelings and affections. i once saw a tribe travelling from one part of the district to another in search of food, as was their custom. one of the men was dying of consumption, and was too weak to follow the rest. he looked like a living skeleton, but he was not left behind to die. he was sitting on the shoulders of his brother, his hands grasping for support the hair on the head, and his wasted legs dangling in front of the other's ribs. these people were sometimes hunted as if they were wolves, but two brother wolves would not have been so kind to each other. before the white men came the blacks never buried their dead; they had no spades and could not dig graves. sometimes their dead were dropped into the hollow trunks of trees, and sometimes they were burned. there was once a knoll on the banks of the barongarook creek, below the court-house, the soil of which looked black and rich. when i was trenching the ground near my house for vines and fruit trees, making another garden of paradise in lieu of the one i had lost, i obtained cart loads of bones from the slaughter yards and other places, and placed them in trenches; and in order to fertilize one corner of the garden, i spread over it several loads of the rich-looking black loam taken from the knoll near the creek. after a few years the vines and trees yielded great quantities of grapes and fruit, and i made wine from my vineyard. but the land on which i had spread the black loam was almost barren, and yet i had seen fragments of bones mixed with it, and amongst them a lower jaw with perfect teeth, most likely the jaw of a young lubra. on mentioning the circumstance to one of the early settlers, he said my loam had been taken from the spot on which the blacks used to burn their dead. soon after he arrived at colac he saw there a solitary blackfellow crouching before a fire in which bones were visible. so, pointing to them, he asked what was in the fire, and the blackfellow replied with one word "lubra." he was consuming the remains of his dead wife, and large tears were coursing down his cheeks. day and night he sat there until the bones had been nearly all burned and covered with ashes. this accounted for the fragments of bones in my black loam; why it was not fertile, i know, but i don't know how to express the reason well. while the trenching of my vineyard was going on, billy nicholls looked over the fence, and gave his opinion about it. he held his pipe between his thumb and forefinger, and stopped smoking in stupid astonishment. he said--"that ground is ruined, never will grow nothing no more; all the good soil is buried; nothing but gravel and stuff on top; born fool." old billy was a bullock driver, my neighbour and enemy, and lived, with his numerous progeny, in a hut in the paddock next to mine. in the rainy seasons the water flowed through my ground on to his, and he had dug a drain which led the water past his hut, instead of allowing it to go by the natural fall across his paddock. the floods washed his drain into a deep gully near his hut, which was sometimes nearly surrounded with the roaring waters. he then tried to dam the water back on to my ground, but i made a gap in his dam with a long-handled shovel, and let the flood go through. nature and the shovel were too much for billy. he came out of his hut, and stood watching the torrent, holding his dirty old pipe a few inches from his mouth, and uttered a loud soliloquy:--"here i am--on a miserable island--fenced in with water--going to be washed away --by that lord donahoo, son of a barber's clerk--wants to drown me and my kids--don't he--i'll break his head wi' a paling--blowed if i don't." he then put his pipe in his mouth, and gazed in silence on the rushing waters. i planted my ground with vines of fourteen different varieties, but, in a few years, finding that the climate was unsuitable for most of them, i reduced the number to about five. these yielded an unfailing abundance of grapes every year, and as there was no profitable market, i made wine. i pruned and disbudded the vines myself, and also crushed and pressed the grapes. the digging and hoeing of the ground cost about pounds each year. when the wine had been in the casks about twelve months i bottled it; in two years more it was fit for consumption, and i was very proud of the article. but i cannot boast that i ever made much profit out of it--that is, in cash-- as i found that the public taste for wine required to be educated, and it took so long to do it that i had to drink most of the wine myself. the best testimony to its excellence is the fact that i am still alive. the colonial taste for good liquor was spoiled from the very beginning, first by black strap and rum, condensed from the steam of hell, then by old tom and british brandy, fortified with tobacco-- this liquor was the nectar with which the ambrosial station hands were lambed down by the publicans--and in these latter days by colonial beer, the washiest drink a nation was ever drenched with. the origin of bad beer dates from the repeal of the sugar duty in england; before that time beer was brewed from malt and hops, and that we had "jolly good ale and old," and sour pie. a great festival was impending at colac, to consist of a regatta on the lake, the first we ever celebrated, and a picnic on its banks. all the people far and near invited themselves to the feast, from the most extensive of squatters to the oldest of old hands. the blackfellows were there, too--what was left of them. billy leura walked all the way from camperdown, and on the day before the regatta came to my house with a couple of black ducks in his hand. sissy, six years old, was present; she inspected the blackfellow and the ducks, and listened. leura said he wanted to sell me the ducks, but not for money; he would take old clothes for them. he was wearing nothing but a shirt and trousers, both badly out of repair, and was anxious to adorn his person with gay attire on the morrow. so i traded off a pair of old cords and took the ducks. next day we had two guests, a miss sheppard, from geelong, and another lady, and as my house was near the lake, we did our picnicking inside. we put on as much style as possible to suit the occasion, including, of course, my best native wine, and the two ducks roasted. sissy sat at the table next to miss sheppard, and felt it her duty to lead the conversation in the best society style. she said: "you see dose two ducks, miss sheppard?" "yes, dear; very fine ones." "well, papa bought 'em from a black man yesterday. de man said dey was black ducks, but dey was'nt black, dey was brown. de fedders are in de yard, and dey are brown fedders." "yes, i know, dear; they call them black ducks, but they are brown-- dark brown." "well, you see, de blackfellow want to sell de ducks to papa, but papa has no money, so he went into de house and bring out a pair of his old lowsers, and de blackfellow give him de ducks for de lowsers, and dems de ducks you see." "yes, dear; i see," said miss sheppard, blushing terribly. we all blushed. "you naughty girl," said mamma; "hold your tongue, or i'll send you to the kitchen." "but mamma, you know its quite true," said sissy. "didn't i show you de black man just now, miss sheppard, when he was going to de lake? i said dere's de blackfellow, and he's got papa's lowsers on, didn't i now?" the times seemed prosperous with us, but it was only a deceptive gleam of sunshine before the coming storm of adversity. i built an addition to my dwelling; and when it was completed i employed a paperhanger from london named taylor, to beautify the old rooms. he was of a talkative disposition; when he had nobody else to listen he talked to himself, and when he was tired of that he began singing. the weather was hot, and the heat, together with his talking and singing, made him thirsty; so one day he complained to me that his work was very dry. i saw at once an opportunity of obtaining an independent and reliable judgment on the quality of my wine; so i went for a bottle, drew the cork, and offered him a tumblerful, telling him it was wine which i had made from my own grapes. as taylor was a native of london, the greatest city in the world, he must have had a wide experience in many things, was certain to know the difference between good and bad liquor, and i was anxious to obtain a favourable verdict on my australian product. he held up the glass to the light, and eyed the contents critically; then he tasted a small quantity, and paused awhile to feel the effect. he then took another taste, and remarked, "it's sourish." he put the tumbler to his mouth a third time, and emptied it quickly. then he placed one hand on his stomach, said "oh, my," and ran away to the water tap outside to rinse his mouth and get rid of the unpleasant flavour. his verdict was adverse, and very unflattering. next day, while i was inspecting his work, he gave me to understand that he felt dry again. i asked him what he would like, a drink of water or a cup of tea? he said, "well, i think i'll just try another glass of that wine of yours." he seemed very irrational in the matter of drink, but i fetched another bottle. this time he emptied the first tumbler without hesitation, regardless of consequences. he puckered his lips and curled his nose, and said it was rather sourish; but in hot weather it was not so bad as cold water, and was safer for the stomach. he then drew the back of his hand across his mouth, looked at the paper which he had been putting on the wall, and said, "i don't like that pattern a bit; too many crosses on it." "indeed," i said, "i never observed the crosses before, but i don't see any harm in them. why don't you like them?" "oh, it looks too like the catholics, don't you see? too popish. i hate them crosses." "really," i replied. "i am sorry to hear that. i am a catholic myself." "oh, lor! are you, indeed? i always thought you were a scotchman." taylor finished that bottle of wine during the afternoon, and next day he wanted another. he wanted more every day, until he rose to be a three-bottle man. he became reconciled to the crosses on the wall-paper, forgave me for not being a scotchman, and i believe the run of my cellar would have made him a sincere convert to popery-- as long as the wine lasted. soon after this memorable incident, the minister and secretary made an official pleasure excursion through the western district. they visited the court and inspected it, and me, and the books, and the furniture. they found everything correct, and were afterwards so sociable that i expected they would, on returning to melbourne, speedily promote me, probably to the bench. but they forgot me, and promoted themselves instead. i have seen them since sitting nearly as high as haman in those expensive law courts in lonsdale street, while i was a despicable jury-man serving the crown for ten shillings a day. that is the way of this world; the wicked are well-paid and exalted, while the virtuous are ill-paid and trodden down. at a week's notice i was ordered to leave my garden of eden, and i let it to a tenant, the very child of the evil one. he pruned the vines with goats and fed his cattle on the fruit trees. then he wrote to inquire why the vines bore no grapes and the fruit trees no fruit, and wanted me to lower the rent, to repair the vineyard and the house, and to move the front gate to the corner of the fence. that man deserved nothing but death, and he died. in the summer of , the last survivor of the barrabool tribe came to colac, and joined the remnant of the colac blacks, but one night he was killed by them at their camp, near the site of the present hospital. a shallow hole was dug about forty or fifty yards from the south-east corner of the allotment on which the presbyterian manse was built, and the colac tribe buried his body there, and stuck branches of trees around his grave. about six months afterwards a government officer, the head of a department, arrived at colac, and i rode with him about the township and neighbouring country showing him the antiquities and the monuments, among others the mausoleum of the last of the barrabools. the leaves had by this time fallen from the dead branches around the sepulchre, and the small twigs on them were decaying. the cattle and goats would soon tread them down and scatter them, and the very site of the grave would soon be unknown. the officer was a man of culture and of scientific tendencies, and he asked me to dig up the skull of the murdered blackfellow, and sent it to his address in melbourne. he was desirous of exercising his culture on it, and wished to ascertain whether the skull was bracchy-cephalous, dolichophalous, or polycephalous. i think that was the way he expressed it. i said there was very likely a hole in it, and it would be spoiled; but he said the hole would make no difference. i would do almost anything for science and money, but he did not offer me any, and i did not think a six months' mummy was old enough to steal; it was too fresh. if that scientist would borrow a spade and dig up the corpse himself, i would go away to a sufficient distance and close my eyes and nose until he had deposited the relic in his carpet bag. but i was too conscientious to be accessory to the crime of body-snatching, and he had not courage enough to do the foul deed. that land is now fenced in, and people dwell there. the bones of the last of the barrabools still rest under somebody's house, or fertilise a few feet of a garden plot. on the ninety-mile. a home by a remoter sea. the ninety-mile, washed by the pacific, is the sea shore of gippsland. it has been formed by the mills of two oceans, which for countless ages have been slowly grinding into meal the rocks on the southern coast of australia; and every swirling tide and howling gale has helped to build up the beach. the hot winds of summer scorch the dry sand, and spin it into smooth, conical hills. amongst these, low shrubs with grey-green leaves take root, and thrive and flourish under the salt sea spray where other trees would die. strange plants, with pulpy leaves and brilliant flowers, send forth long green lines, having no visible beginning or end, which cling to the sand and weave over it a network of vegetation, binding together the billowy dunes. the beach is broken in places by narrow channels, through which the tide rushes, and wanders in many currents among low mudbanks studded with shellfish--the feeding grounds of ducks, and gulls, and swans; and around a thousand islands whose soil has been woven together by the roots of the spiky mangrove, or stunted tea-tree. upon the muddy flats, scarcely above the level of the water, the black swans build their great circular nests, with long grass and roots compacted with slime. salt marshes and swamps, dotted with bunches of rough grass, stretch away behind the hummocks. here, towards the end of the summer, the blacks used to reap their harvest of fat eels, which they drew forth from the soft mud under the roots of the tussocks. the country between the sea and the mountains was the happy-hunting-ground of the natives before the arrival of the ill-omened white-fellow. the inlets teemed with flathead, mullet, perch, schnapper, oysters, and sharks, and also with innumerable water-fowl. the rivers yielded eels and blackfish. the sandy shores of the islands were honey-combed with the holes in which millions of mutton-birds deposited their eggs in the last days of november in each year. along many tracks in the scrub the black wallabiesand paddy-melons hopped low. in the open glades among the great gum-trees marched the stately emu, and tall kangaroos, seven feet high, stood erect on their monstrous hind-legs, their little fore-paws hanging in front, and their small faces looking as innocent as sheep. every hollow gum-tree harboured two or more fat opossums, which, when roasted, made a rich and savoury meal. parrots of the most brilliant plumage, like winged flowers, flew in flocks from tree to tree, so tame that you could kill them with a stick, and so beautiful that it seemed a sin to destroy them. black cockatoos, screaming harshly the while, tore long strips of bark from the messmate, searching for the savoury grub. bronzed-winged pigeons, gleaming in the sun, rose from the scrub, and flocks of white cockatoos, perched high on the bare limbs of the dead trees, seemed to have made them burst into miraculous bloom like aaron's rod. the great white pelican stood on one leg on a sand-bank, gazing along its huge beak at the receding tide, hour after hour, solemn and solitary, meditating on the mysteries of nature. but on the mountains both birds and beasts were scarce, as many a famishing white man has found to his sorrow. in the heat of summer the sea-breeze grows faint, and dies before it reaches the ranges. long ropes of bark, curled with the hot sun, hang motionless from the black-butts and blue gums; a few birds may be seen sitting on the limbs of the trees, with their wings extended, their beaks open, panting for breath, unable to utter a sound from their parched throats. "when all food fails then welcome haws" is a saying that does not apply to australia, which yields no haws or fruit of any kind that can long sustain life. a starving man may try to allay the pangs of hunger with the wild raspberries, or with the cherries which wear their seeds outside, but the longer he eats them, the more hungry he grows. one resource of the lost white man, if he has a gun and ammunition, is the native bear, sometimes called monkey bear. its flesh is strong and muscular, and its eucalyptic odour is stronger still. a dog will eat opossum with pleasure, but he must be very hungry before he will eat bear; and how lost to all delicacy of taste, and sense of refinement, must the epicure be who will make the attempt! the last quadruped on which a meal can be made is the dingo, and the last winged creature is the owl, whose scanty flesh is viler even than that of the hawk or carrion crow, and yet a white man has partaken of all these and survived. some men have tried roasted snake, but i never heard of anyone who could keep it on his stomach. the blacks, with their keen scent, knew when a snake was near by the odour it emitted, but they avoided the reptile whether alive or dead. before any white man had made his abode in gippsland, a schooner sailed from sydney chartered by a new settler who had taken up a station in the port phillip district. his wife and family were on board, and he had shipped a large quantity of stores, suitable for commencing life in a new land. it was afterwards remembered that the deck of the vessel was encumbered with cargo of various kinds, including a bullock dray, and that the deck hamper would unfit her to encounter bad weather. as she did not arrive at port phillip within a reasonable time, a cutter was sent along the coast in search of her; and her long boat was found ashore near the lakes entrance, but nothing else belonging to her was ever seen. when the report arose in that a white woman had been seen with the blacks, it was supposed that she was one of the passengers of the missing schooner, and parties of horsemen went out to search for her among the natives, but the only white woman ever found was a wooden one--the figure-head of a ship. some time afterwards, when gippsland had been settled by white men, a tree was discovered on woodside station near the beach, in the bark of which letters had been cut, and it was said they would correspond with the initials of the names of some of the passengers and crew of the lost schooner, and by their appearance they must have been carved many years previously. this tree was cut down, and the part of the trunk containing the letters was sawn off and sent to melbourne. there is little doubt that the letters on the tree had been cut by one of the survivors of that ill-fated schooner, who had landed in the long boat near the lakes, and had made their way along the ninety-mile beach to woodside. they were far from the usual track of coasting vessels, and had little chance of attracting attention by signals or fires. even if they had plenty of food, it was impossible for them to travel in safety through that unknown country to port phillip, crossing the inlets, creeks, and swamps, in daily danger of losing their lives by the spears of the wild natives. they must have wandered along the ninety-mile as far as they could go, and then, weary and worn out for want of food, reluctant to die the death of the unhonoured dead, one of them had carved the letters on the tree, as a last despairing message to their friends, before they were killed by the savages, or succumbed to starvation. "for who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, this pleasing, anxious being e'er resigned, left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, nor cast one longing, lingering look behind?" gippsland pioneers. at the old port. most of them were highlanders, and the news of the discovery of gippsland must often have been imparted in gaelic, for many of the children of the mist could speak no english when they landed. year after year settlers had advanced farther from sydney along the coastal ranges, until stations were occupied to the westward of twofold bay. in that rugged country, where no wheeled vehicle could travel, bullocks were trained to carry produce to the bay, and to bring back stores imported from sydney. each train was in charge of a white man, with several native drivers. but rumours of better lands towards the south were rife, and captain macalister, of the border police, equipped a party of men under mcmillan to go in search of them. armed and provisioned, they journeyed over the mountains, under the guidance of the faithful native friday, and at length from the top of a new mount pisgah beheld a fair land, watered throughout as the paradise of the lord. descending into the plains, mcmillan selected a site for a station, left some of his men to build huts and stockyards, and returned to report his discovery to macalister. slabs were split with which walls were erected, but before a roof was put on them the blacks suddenly appeared and began to throw their spears at the intruders; one spear of seasoned hardwood actually penetrated through a slab. the men, all but one, who shall be nameless, seized their guns and fired at the blacks, who soon disappeared. the white men also disappeared over the mountains; the rout was mutual. but the country was too good to be occupied solely by savages, and when mcmillan returned with reinforcements he made some arrangements, the exact particulars of which he would never disclose. he brought cattle to his run, and they quickly grew fat; but civilised man does not live by fat cattle alone, and a market had to be sought. twofold bay was too far away, and young melbourne was somewhere beyond impassable mountains. mcmillan built a small boat, which he launched on the river, and pulled down to the lakes in search of an outlet. he found it, but the current was so strong that it carried him out to sea. he had to land on the outer beach, and to drag his boat back over the sands to the inner waters. he next rode westward with his man friday to look for a port at corner inlet, and he blazed a track to the albert river. friday was an inland black. he gazed at the river, which was flowing towards the mountains, and said: "what for stupid yallock* yan along a bulga**?" [* footnote: *yallock, river. **bulga, mountain.] mcmillan tried to explain the theory of the tides. "one big yallock down there push him along, come back by-and-by." and friday saw the water come back by-and-by. they reached the mouth of the river on february st, , saw a broad expense of salt water, and mcmillan concluded that he had found a port for gippsland. ten months afterwards jack shay arrived at the port. he had first come to twofold bay from van diemen's land, and nothing was known about his former life. "that's nothing to nobody," he said. he was a bushman, rough and weather-beaten, with only one peculiarity. the quart pot which he slung to his belt would hold half a gallon of tea, while other pots only held a quart, and that was the reason why he was known all the way from monaroo to adelaide as "jack of the quart pot." he had arrived rather late on the previous evening, and this morning, as he sat on a log contemplating the scenery, his first conclusion was that the port was not flourishing. there was not a ship within sight. the mouth of the albert river was visible on his right, and the inlet was spread out before him shining in the morning sun. about a mile away on the western shore was one tree hill. towards the south were mud banks and mangrove islands, through which the channel zigzagged like a figure of eight, and then the view was closed by the scrub on sunday island. there was a boat at anchor in the channel about a mile distant, in which two men were fishing for their breakfast, for there was famine in the settlement, and the few pioneers left in it were kept alive on a diet of roast flathead. on the beach three boats were drawn up out of reach of the tide, and looking behind him jack counted twelve huts and one store of wattle-and-dab. the store had been built to hold the goods of the port albert company. it was in charge of john campbell, and contained a quantity of axes, tomahawks, saddles and bridles, a grindstone, some shot and powder, two double-barrelled guns, nails and hammers, and a few other articles, but there was nothing eatable to be seen in it. if there was any flour, tea, or sugar left, it was carefully concealed from any of the famishing settlers who might by chance peep in at the door. outside the hut was a nine-pounder gun on wheels, which had been landed by the company for use in time of war; but until this day there had been no hostilities between the natives and the settlers. from time to time numbers of black faces had been seen among the scrub, but so far no spear had been thrown nor hostile gun fired. the members of the company were turnbull, mcleod, rankin, brodribb, hornden, and orr. soon after they landed they cleared a semi-circular piece of ground behind their tents, to prevent the blacks from sneaking up to them unseen. near the beach stood two she-oak trees, marked, one with the letters m. m., feb., , the other mar., , and the initials of the members of the port albert company. behind the huts three hobbled horses were feeding, two of which had been brought by jack shay. a gaunt deerhound, with a shaggy coat, lame and lean, was lying in the sun. there was also an old cart in front of one of the huts, out of which two boys came and began to gather wood and to kindle a fire. they were ragged and hungry, and looked shyly at jack shay. one was bill clancy, and the other had been printer's devil to hardy, of the 'gazette', and was therefore known as dick the devil. they had been picked up in melbourne by captain davy, who had brought them to port albert in his whaleboat. their ambition had been for "a life on the ocean wave, and a home on the rolling deep," as heroic young pirates; but at present they lived on shore, and their home was george scutt's old cart. a man emerged from one of the huts carrying a candle-box, which he laid on the ground before the fire. jack observed that the box was full of eggs, on the top of which lay two teaspoons. the man was captain david, usually known as davy. he said: "i am going to ask you to breakfast, jack; but you have been a long time coming, and provisions are scarce in these parts." "don't you make no trouble whatsomever about me," said jack. "many's the time i've hadshort rations, and i can take pot-luck with any man." "you'll find pot-luck here is but poor luck," replied davy. "i've got neither grub nor grog, no meat, no flour, no tea, no sugar-- nothing but eggs; but, thank god, i've got plenty of them. there are five more boxes full of them in my hut, so we may as well set to at once." davy drew some hot ashes from the fire, and thrust the eggs into them, one by one. when they were sufficiently cooked, he handed one and a teaspoon to jack and took another himself, saying, "we shall have to eat them just as they are; there is plenty of salt water, but i haven't even a pinch of salt." "why, davy, there's plenty of salt right before your face. did you never try ashes? mix a spoonful with your egg this way, and you'll find you don't want no better salt." "right you are, jack; it goes down grand," said davy, after seasoning and eating one egg. then to the boys, "here you kids, take some eggs and roast 'em and salt 'em with ashes, and then take your sticks and try if you can knock down a few parrots or wattle birds for dinner. but don't you go far from the camp, and keep a sharp look-out for the blacks; for you can never trust 'em, and they might poke their spears through you." "but, davy," asked jack, "where is the port and the shipping, and where are all the settlers? there don't seem to be many people stirring about here this morning." "port and shipping be blessed," said davy; "and as for the settlers, there are only about half-a-dozen left, with these two boys and my wife, and hannah scutt. we don't keep no regular watch, and meal-times is of little use unless there's something to eat. i landed here from that whale-boat on the th of last may, and i have been waiting for you ever since. in a few weeks we had about a hundred and fifty people camped here. they came mostly in cutters from melbourne, looking for work or looking for runs. they said men were working for half-a-crown a day without rations on the road between liardet's beach and the town. but there was no work for them here; and, as their provisions soon ran short, they had to go away or starve. i stopped here, and have been starving most of the time. some went back in the cutters and some overland. "brodribb and hobson came here over the mountains with four port phillip blacks, and they decided to look for a better way by the coast. i landed them and their four blacks at the head of corner inlet. they were attacked by the western port blacks near the river tarwin, but they frightened them away by firing their guns. the four port phillip blacks who were carrying the ammunition and provisions ran away too; and the two white men had nothing to eat for two or three days until they made massey and anderson's station on the bass, where they found their runaway blacks. "william pearson and his party were the next who left the port. they took the road over the mountains, and lived on monkey bears until they reached massey and anderson's. "mcclure, scott, montgomery, and several other men started next. they had very little of their provisions left when i landed them one morning at one tree hill there over the water. they were fourteen days tramping over the mountains, and were so starved that they ate their own dogs. they came back in a schooner, but i think some of them will never get over that journey. i tell you, jack, it's hard to make a start in a new country with no money, no food, and no live stock, except scott's old horse and that lame deerhound. poor ossian was a good dog, and used to run down an old man kangaroo for us, until one of them gave him a terrible rip with his claw, and he has been lame ever since. for eight weeks we were living on roast flat-head, and i grew tired of it, so on the th of last month i started down the inlet in my whaleboat, and went to lady bay to take in some firewood. i knew the mutton-birds would be coming to the islands on the rd or th, but i landed on one of them on the th, four or five days too soon, and began to look for something to eat. there were some pig-faces, but they were only in flower, no fruit on 'em. i could find nothing but penguin's eggs and i put some of those in a pot over the fire. but they would never get hard if i boiled them all day. there is something oily inside of them, and how it gets there i never could tell. you might as well try to live on rancid butter and nothing else. however, on november rd the mutton-birds began to come in thousands, and then i was soon living in clover. i had any quantity of hard-boiled eggs and roast fowl, for i could knock down the birds with a stick. "but, jack, what have you been doing since i met you the year before last? you had a train of pack bullocks and a mob of cattle, looking for a run about mount buninyong. did you start a station there for imlay?" "no, i didn't. i found a piece of good country, but pettit and the coghills hunted me out of it, so imlay sold the cattle, and went back to twofold bay. then charles lynot offered me a job. he was taking a mob of cattle to adelaide, but he heard there was no price for them there, so he took up a station at the pyrenees, seventeen miles beyond parson irvine's run at the amphitheatre. i was there about twelve months. my hut was not far from a deep waterhole, and the milking yard was about two hundred yards from the hut. the wild blacks were very troublesome; they killed three white men at murdering creek, and me and francis, clarke's manager, hunted them off the station two or three times. the blacks were more afraid of francis than of anybody else, as besides his gun he always carried pistols, and they never could tell how many he had in his pockets. cockatoo bill's tribe drove away a lot of parson irvine's sheep, and broke a leg of each sheep to keep them from going back. the parson and francis went after them, and one of our stockmen named walker, and another, a big fellow whose name i forget. they shot some of the blacks, but the sheep were spoiled. "there was a tame blackfellow we called alick, and two gins, living about our station, and he had a daughter we called picaninny charlotte, ten or eleven years old, who was very quick and smart, and spoke english very well. one morning, when i was in the milking yard, she came to me and said, 'you look out. cockatoo bill got your axe under his rug--sitting among a lot of lubras. chop you down when you bring up milk in buckets.' "i had no gun with me, so i crept out of the yard, and sneaked through the scrub to get into the hut through the back door, keeping out of sight of bill and the lubras, who were all sitting on the ground in front of the hut. we had plenty of arms, and i always kept my double-barrelled gun loaded, and hanging over the fireplace. i crept inside the hut, reached down for the gun, and peeped out of the front door, looking for bill. the lubras began yabbering, and in an instant bill dropped his rug and the axe, leaped over the heads of the women, and was off like a deer. i took a flying shot at him with both barrels. his lubra went about afterwards among the stations complaining that jack quart pot shot cockatoo bill, and parker (the government protector) made enquiries about him. i saw him coming towards my hut, and i said to piccaninny charlotte, 'no talk, no english, no nothing;' and when parker asked her if she knew anything about cockatoo bill she shammed stupid, and he couldn't get a word out of her. who is that cove with the spyglass?" "that's john campbell, the company's storeman. he is looking for a schooner every day. he would have gone long ago like the rest, but he does not like to leave the stores behind. here, mr. campbell, wouldn't you like to take a roast egg or two for breakfast? there's plenty for the whole camp." "i will, davy, and thank you. who are the men in the boat down the channel?" "they are george scutt and pately jim fishing for their breakfast. they were hungry, i reckon, and went away before i brought out the eggs, or they might have had a feed." while the men were roasting their eggs, their eyes wandered over everything within view, far and near. on land and sea their lives had often depended on their watchfulness. the sun was growing warm, and there was a quivering haze over the waters. while glancing down the channel, davy observed some dark objects appearing near a mangrove island. he pointed them out to campbell, and said: "what kind of birds are they? do you think they are swans?" "i can't think what else they can be," said campbell; "but they have not got the shape of birds, and they don't swim smoothly like swans, but go jerking along like big coots. take a look through the glass, davy, and see if you can make them out." davy took a long and steady look, and said: "i am blowed if they ain't blackfellows in their canoes. they are poleing them along towards the channel, one, two, three--there's a dozen of 'em or more. i can see their long spears sticking out, and they are after some mischief. the tide is on the ebb, and they are going to drop down with it, and spear those two men in the boat; and they are both landlubbers, and haven't even got a gun with them. we must bear a hand and help them. get your guns and we'll launch the whaleboat." john campbell steered, and shay and davy pulled as hard as they could towards the canoes, which were already drifting down with the current. the two fishermen were busy with their lines, every now and then pulling out a fish and baiting their hooks with a fresh piece of shark. they never looked up the channel, nor guessed the danger that was every moment coming nearer, for the blacks as yet had not made the least noise. at last campbell saw several of them seizing their spears and making ready to throw them, so he fired one of his barrels; and davy stood up in the boat and gave a cooee that might have been heard at sunday island, for when anything excited him on the water he could be heard shouting and swearing at an incredible distance. he yelled at the fishermen, "boat ahoy! up anchor, you lubbers, and scatter. don't you see the blacks after you?" the natives began paddling away as fast as they could towards the nearest land, and davy and shay pulled after them; but the blacks soon reached the shore, and, taking their spears, ran into the nearest scrub. when the whaleboat grounded, there was not one of them to be seen. davy said: "they are watching us not far off. you two keep a sharp look-out, and if you see a black face fire at it. i am going to cut out the fleet." he rolled up his trousers, took a fishing line, waded out to the canoes, and tied them together, one behind another, leaving a little slack line between each of them. he then fastened one end of the line to the whaleboat, shoved off, and sprang inside. the blacks came out of the scrub, yelling and brandishing their spears, a few of which they threw at the boat, but it was soon out of their reach. thus a great naval victory had been gained, and the whole of the enemy's fleet captured without the loss of a man. nothing like it had been achieved since the days of the great gulliver. the two fishermen had taken no part in the naval operations, and when the whaleboat returned with its train of canoes like the tail of a kite, davy administered a sharp reprimand. "why didn't you two lubbers keep your eyes skinned. i suppose you were asleep, eh? you ought to have up anchor and pulled away, and then the devils could never got near you. look here!" holding up a piece of bark, "that's all they've got to paddle with in deep water, and in the shallows they can only pole along with sticks." pately jim had been a prize runner in yorkshire, and trifles never took away his breath. he replied calmly: "yo're o'reet, davy. we wor a bit sleepy, but we're quite wakken noo. keep yor shirt on, and we'll do better next time." when the canoes, which were built entirely with sheets of bark, were drawn up on the beach, nothing was found in them but a few sticks, bark paddles, and a gown--a lilac cotton gown. "that goon," said campbell, "has belonged to some white woman thae deevils have murdered. there is no settler nearer than jamieson, and they maun ha brocht the goon a' the way frae the bass." but campbell was mistaken. there had been another white woman in gippsland. the isle of blasted hopes. there is a large island where the ninety-mile beach ends in a wilderness of roaring breakers. it is the isle of blasted hopes. its enchanting landscape has allured many a landsman to his ruin, and its beacon, seen through the haze of a south-east gale, has guided many a watchful mariner to shipwreck and death. after the discovery of gippsland, pearson and black first occupied the island under a grazing license, and they put eleven thousand sheep on it, with some horses, bullocks, and pigs. the sheep began to die, so they sold them to captain cole at ten shillings a head, giving in the other stock. they were of the opinion that they had made an excellent bargain, but when the muster was made nine thousand six hundred of the sheep were missing. the pigs ran wild, but multiplied. when the last sheep had perished, cole sold his license to a man named thomas, who put on more sheep, and afterwards exchanged as many as he could find with john king for cattle and horses. morrison next occupied the island until he was starved out. then another man named thomas took the fatal grazing license, but he did not live on the land. he placed his brother in charge of it, to be out of the way of temptation, as he was too fond of liquor. the brother was not allowed the use of a boat; he, with his wife and family, was virtually a prisoner, condemned to sobriety. but by this time a lighthouse had been erected, and watts the keeper of it had a boat, and was, moreover, fond of liquor. the two men soon became firm friends, and often found it necessary to make voyages to port albert for flour, or tea, or sugar. the last time they sailed together the barometer was low, and a gale was brewing. when they left the wharf they had taken on board all the stores they required, and more; they were happy and glorious. next day the masthead of their boat was seen sticking out of the water near sunday island. the pilot schooner went down and hauled the boat to the surface, but nothing was found in her except the sand-ballast and a bottle of rum. her sheet was made fast, and when the squall struck her she had gone down like a stone. the isle of blasted hopes was useless even as an asylum for inebriates. the 'ecliptic' was carrying coals from newcastle. the time was midnight, the sky was misty, and the gale was from the south-east, when the watch reported a light ahead. the cabin boy was standing on deck near the captain, when he held a consultation with his mate, who was also his son. father and son agreed; they said the light ahead was the one on kent's group, and then the vessel grounded amongst the breakers. the seamen stripped off their heavy clothing, and went overboard; the captain and his son plunged in together and swam out of sight. there were nine men in the water, while the cabin boy stood shivering on deck. he, too, had thrown away his clothes, all but the wrist-bands of his shirt, which in his flurry he could not unbutton. he could not make up his mind to jump overboard. he heard the men in the water shouting to one another, "make for the light." that course led them away from the nearest land, which they could not see. at length a great sea swept the boy among the breakers, but his good angel pushed a piece of timber within reach, and he held on to it until he could feel the ground with his feet; he then let the timber go, and scrambled out of reach of the angry surge; but when he came to the dry sand he fainted and fell down. when he recovered his senses he began to look for shelter; there was a signal station not far off, but he could not see it. he went away from the pitiless sea through an opening between low conical hills, covered with dark scrub, over a pathway composed of drift sand and broken shells. he found an old hut without a door. there was no one in it; he went inside, and lay down shivering. at daybreak a boy, the son of ratcliff, the signal man, started out to look for his goats, and as they sometimes passed the night in the old fowlhouse, he looked in for them. but instead of the goats, he saw the naked cabin boy. "who are you?" he said, "and what are you doing here, and where did you come from?" "i have been shipwrecked," replied the cabin boy; and then he sat up and began to cry. young ratcliff ran off to tell his father what he had found; and the boy was brought to the cottage, put to bed, and supplied with food and drink. the signal for a wreck was hoisted at the flagstaff, but when the signallman went to look for a wreck he could not find one. he searched along the shore and found the dead body of the captain, and a piece of splintered spar seven or eight feet long, on which the cabin boy had come ashore. the 'ecliptic', with her cargo and crew, had completely disappeared, while the signalman, near at hand, slept peacefully, undisturbed by her crashing timbers, or the shouts of the drowning seamen. ratcliff was not a seer, and had no mystical lore. he was a runaway sailor, who had, in the forties, travelled daily over the egerton run, unconscious of the tons of gold beneath his feet. there was a fair wind and a smooth sea when the 'clonmel' went ashore at three o'clock in the morning of the second day of january, . eighteen hours before she had taken a fresh departure from ram's head to wilson's promontory. the anchors were let go, she swung to wind, and at the fall of the tide she bedded herself securely in the sand, her hull, machinery, and cargo uninjured. the seventy-five passengers and crew were safely landed; sails, lumber, and provisions were taken ashore in the whaleboats and quarter-boats; tents were erected; the food supplies were stowed away under a capsized boat, and a guard set over them by captain tollervey. next morning seven volunteers launched one of the whaleboats, boarded the steamer, took in provisions, made a lug out of a piece of canvas, hoisted the union jack to the mainmast upside down, and pulled safely away from the 'clonmel' against a head wind. they hoisted the lug and ran for one of the seal islands, where they found a snug little cove, ate a hearty meal, and rested for three hours. they then pulled for the mainland, and reached sealer's cove about midnight, where they landed, cooked supper, and passed the rest of the night in the boat for fear of the blacks. next morning three men went ashore for water and filled the breaker, when they saw three blacks coming down towards them; so they hurried on board, and the anchor was hauled up. as the wind was coming from the east, they had to pull for four hours before they weathered the southern point of the cove; they then hoisted sail and ran for wilson's promentory, which they rounded at ten o'clock a.m. at eight o'clock in the evening they brought up in a small bay at the eastern extremity of western port, glad to get ashore and stretch their weary limbs. after a night's refreshing repose on the sandy beach, they started at break of day, sailing along very fast with a strong and steady breeze from the east, although they were in danger of being swamped, as the sea broke over the boat repeatedly. at two o'clock p.m. they were abreast of port philip heads; but they found a strong ebb tide, with such a ripple and broken water that they did not consider it prudent to run over it. they therefore put the boat's head to windward and waited for four hours, when they saw a cutter bearing down on them, which proved to be 'the sisters', captain mulholland, who took the boat in tow and landed them at williamstown at eleven o'clock p.m., sixty-three hours from the time they left the 'clonmel'. captain lewis, the harbour master, went to rescue the crew and passengers and brought them all to melbourne, together with the mails, which had been landed on the island since known by the name of the 'clonmel'. for fifty-two years the black boilers of the 'clonmel' have lain half buried in the sandspit, and they may still be seen among the breakers from the deck of every vessel sailing up the channel to port albert. the 'clonmel', with her valuable cargo, was sold in sydney, and the purchaser, mr. grose, set about the business of making his fortune out of her. he sent a party of wreckers who pitched their camps on snake island, where they had plenty of grass, scrub, and timber. the work of taking out the cargo was continued under various captains for six years, and then mr. grose lost a schooner and was himself landed in the court of insolvency. while the pioneers at the old port were on the verge of starvation, the 'clonmel' men were living in luxury. they had all the blessings both of land and sea--corned beef, salt pork, potatoes, plum-duff, tea, sugar, coffee, wine, beer, spirits, and tobacco from the cargo of the 'clonmel', and oysters without end from a neighbouring lagoon. they constructed a large square punt, which they filled with cargo daily, wind and weather permitting; at other times they rested from their labours, or roamed about the island shooting birds or hunting kangaroo. they saw no other inhabitants, and believed that no black lucifer had as yet entered their island garden; but, though unseen, he was watching them and all their works. one morning the wreckers had gone to the wreck; a man named kennedy was left in charge of the camp; sambo, the black cook, was attending to his duties at the fire; and mrs. kennedy, the only lady of the party, was at the water hole washing clothes. her husband had left the camp with his gun in the hope of shooting some wattle birds, which were then fat with feeding on the sweet blossoms of the honeysuckle. he was sitting on a log near the water-hole talking to his wife, who had just laid out to dry on the bushes three coloured shirts and a lilac dress. she stood with her hands on her hips, pensively contemplating the garments. she had her troubles, and was turning them over in her mind, while her husband was thinking of something else quite different. it is, i believe, a thing that often happens. "i am thinking, flora," he said, "that this would be a grand island to live on--far better than skye, because it has no rocks on it. i would like to haf it for a station. i could put sheep and cattle on it, and they could not go away nor be lifted, because there is deep water all round it; and we would haf plenty of beef, and mutton, and wool, and game, and fish, and oysters. we could make a garden and haf plenty of kail, and potatoes, and apples." "it's all ferry well, donald," she replied, "for you to be talking about sheep, and cattle, and apples; but i'd like to know wherefer we would be getting the money to buy the sheep and cattle? and who would like to live here for efer a thousand miles from decent neebors? and that's my best goon, and it's getting fery shabby; and wherefer i'm to get another goon in a country like this i'm thinking i don't know." donald thought his wife was troubling herself about mere trifles, but before he had time to say so, a blackfellow snatched his gun from across his knees, another hit him on the head with a waddy, and a third did the same to flora and the unfortunate couple lay senseless on the ground. their hopes and troubles had come to a sudden end. this onslaught had been made by four blacks, who now made a bundle of the clothes, and carried them and the gun away, going towards the camp in search of more plunder. the tents occupied by the wreckers had been enclosed in a thick hedge of scrub to protect them from the drifting sand. there was only one opening in the hedge, through which the blacks could see sambo cooking the wreckers' dinner before a fire. his head was bare, and he was enjoying the genial heat of early summer, singing snatches of the melodies of old virginny. the hearing of the australian aboriginal is acute, and his talent for mimicry astonishing; he can imitate the notes of every bird and the call of every animal with perfect accuracy. sambo's senseless song enchanted the four blacks. it was first heard with tremendous applause in new orleans, it was received with enthusiasm by every audience in the great republic, and it had been the delight of every theatre in the british empire. it may be said that "jim crow" buried the legitimate drama and danced on its grave. it really seemed to justify the severe judgment passed on us by the sage of chelsea, that we were "sixteen millions, mostly fools." no air was ever at the same time so silly and so successful as "jim crow." but there was life in it, and it certainly prolonged that of sambo, for as the four savages crouched behind the hedge listening to the "turn about and wheel about, and do just so, and ebery time i turn about i jump jim crow," they forgot their murderous errand. at last there was an echo of the closing words which seemed to come from a large gum tree beyond the tents, against which a ladder had been reared to the forks, used for the purpose of a look-out by captain leebrace. sambo paused, looked up to the gum tree, and said, "by golly, who's dere?" the echo was repeated, and then he wheeled about in real earnest, transfixed with horror, unable to move a limb. the blacks were close to him now, but even their colour could not restore his courage. they were cannibals, and were preparing to kill and eat him. but first they examined their game critically, poking their fingers about him, pinching him in various parts of the body, stroking his broad nose and ample lips with evident admiration, and trying to pull out the curls on his woolly head. sambo was usually proud of his personal appearance, but just now fear prevented him from enjoying the applause of the strangers. at length he recovered his presence of mind sufficiently to make an effort to avert his impending doom. if the blacks could be induced to eat the dinner he was cooking their attention to himself might be diverted, and their appetites appeased, so he pointed towards the pots, saying, "plenty beef, pork, plum duff." the blacks seemed to understand his meaning, and they began to inspect the dinner; so instead of taking the food like sensible men, they upset all the pots with their waddies, and scattered the beef, pork, plum duff and potatoes, so that they were covered with sand and completely spoiled. two of the blacks next peered into the nearest tent, and seeing some knives and forks, took possession of them. but there was a sound of voices from the waterhole, and they quickly gathered together their stolen goods and disappeared. in a few minutes captain leebrace and the wreckers arrived at the camp, bringing with them kennedy and his wife, who had recovered their senses, and were able to tell what had happened. "black debbils been heah, cappen, done spoil all de dinner, and run away wid de knives and forks," sambo said. captain leebrace soon resolved on a course of reprisals. he went up the ladder to the forks of the gum tree with his telescope, and soon obtained a view of the retreating thieves, appearing occasionally and disappearing among the long grass and timber; and after observing the course they were taking he came down the ladder. he selected two of his most trustworthy men, and armed them and himself with double-barrelled guns, one barrel being smooth bore and the other rifled, weapons suitable for game both large and small. during the pursuit the captain every now and then, from behind a tree, searched for the enemy with his telescope, until at last he could see that they had halted, and had joined a number of their tribe. he judged that the blacks, if they suspected that the white men would follow them, would direct their looks principally towards the tents, so he made a wide circuit to the left. then he and his men crept slowly along the ground until they arrived within short range of the natives. three of the blacks were wearing the stolen shirts, a fourth had put on the lilac dress, and they were strutting around to display their brave apparel just like white folks. the savage man retains all finery for his own personal adornment, and never wastes any of it on his despicable wife, but still captain leebrace had some doubt in the matter. he whispered to his men, "i don't like to shoot at a gown; there may be a lubra in it, but i'll take the middle fellow in the shirt, and you take the other two, one to the right, the other to the left; when i say one, two, three, fire." the order was obeyed and when the smoke cleared away the print dress was gone, but all the rest of the plunder was recovered on the spot. the shirts were stripped off the bodies of the blacks; and after they had been rinsed in a water-hole, they were found to have been not much damaged, each shirt having only a small bullet hole in it. it was in this way that the lilac dress escaped, and was found in the canoe at the old port; the blackfellow who wore it had taken it off and put it under his knees in the bottom of his canoe, and when the white men's boat came after him, he was in so great a hurry to hide himself in the scrub that he left the dress behind. next day there was a sudden alarm in the camp at the old port. clancy and dick the devil came running toward the beach, full of fear and excitement, screaming, "the blacks, the blacks, they are coming, hundreds of them, and they are all naked, and daubed over white, and they have long spears." the men who had guns--campbell, shay, and davy--fetched them out of their huts and stood ready to receive the enemy; even mcclure, although very weak, left his bed and came outside to assist in the fight. the fringe of the scrub was dotted with the piebald bodies of the blacks, dancing about, brandishing their spears, and shouting defiance at the white men. they were not in hundreds, as the boys imagined, their number apparently not exceeding forty; but it was evident that they were threatening death and destruction to the invaders of their territory. none, however, but the very bravest ventured far into the cleared space, and they showed no disposition to make a rush or anything like a concerted attack. campbell, after watching the enemy's movements for some time, said, "i think it will be better to give them a taste of the nine-pounder. keep a look-out while i load her." he went into his store to get the charge ready. he tied some powder tightly in a piece of calico and rammed it home. on this he put a nine-pound shot; but, reflecting that the aim at the dancing savages would be uncertain, he put in a double charge, consisting of some broken glass and a handful of nails. he then thrust a wooden skewer down the touch-hole into the powder bag below, primed and directed the piece towards the scrub, giving it, as he judged, sufficient elevation to send the charge among the thickest of the foe. as this was the first time the gun had been brought into action, and there was no telling for certain which way it would act, campbell thought it best to be cautious; so he ordered all his men to take shelter behind the store. he then selected a long piece of bark, which he lighted at the fire, and, standing behind an angle of the building, he applied the light to the touch-hole. every man was watching the scrub to see the effect of the discharge. there was a fearful explosion, succeeded by shrieks of horror and fear from the blacks, as the ball and nails and broken glass went whistling over their heads through the trees. then there was a moment of complete silence. campbell, like a skilful general, ordered his men to pursue at once the flying foe, in order to reap to the full the fruits of victory, and they ran across the open ground to deliver a volley; but on arriving at the scrub no foe was to be seen, either dead or alive. the elevation of the artillery had been too great, and the missiles had passed overhead; but the result was all that could be hoped for, for two months afterwards not a single native was visible. two victories had been gained by the pioneers, and it was felt that they deserved some commemoration. at night there was a feast around the camp fire; it was of necessity a frugal one, but each member of the small community contributed to it as much as he was able. campbell produced flour enough for a large damper, a luxury unseen for the last eight weeks; mcclure gave tea and sugar; davy brought out a box full of eggs and a dozen mutton birds; scutt and pateley furnished a course of roast flathead; clancy and dick the devil, the poor pirates, gave all the game they had that day killed, viz., two parrots and a wattle bird. the twelve canoes, the spoils of victory, were of little value; they were placed on the camp fire one after another, and reduced to ashes. the warriors sat around on logs and boxes enjoying the good things provided and talking cheerfully, but they made no set speeches. dinner oratory is full of emptiness and they had plenty of that every day. they dipped pannikins of tea out of the iron pot. when burke and wills were starving at cooper's creek on a diet of nardoo, the latter recorded in his diary that what the food wanted was sugar; he believed that nardoo and sugar would keep him alive. the pioneers at the old port were convinced that their great want was fat; with that their supper would have been perfect. mcclure was dying of consumption as everybody knew but himself; he could not believe that he had come so far from home only to die, and he joined the revellers at the camp fire. he said to kindly enquirers that he felt quite well, and would soon regain his strength. before that terrible journey over the mountains he had been the life and soul of the port. he could play on the violin, on the bagpipes--both scotch and irish--and he was always so pleasant and cheerful, looking as innocent as a child, that no one could be long dispirited in his company, and the most impatient growler became ashamed of himself. mcclure was persuaded to bring out his violin once more--it had been long silent--and he began playing the liveliest of tunes, strathspeys, jigs, and reels, until some of the men could hardly keep their heels still, but it is hard to dance on loose sand, and they had to be contented with expressing their feelings in song. davy sang "ye mariners of england," and other songs of the sea; and pateley jim gave the "angel's whisper," followed by an old ballad of the days of robin hood called "the wedding of aythur o'braidley," the violin accompanying the airs and putting the very soul of music into every song. but by degrees the musician grew weary, and began to play odds and ends of old tunes, sacred and profane. he dwelt some time on an ancient "kyrie eleeson," and at last glided, unconsciously as it were, into the "land o' the leal." i'm wearin' away, jean, like snaw wreaths in thaw, jean, i'm wearin' awa, jean, to the land o' the leal. there's nae sorrow there, jean, there's nae caul or care, jean, the days aye fair, jean, i' the land of the leal. at last mcclure rose from his seat, and said, "i'll pit awa the fiddle, and bid ye a good nicht. i think i'll be going hame to my mither the morn." he went into his tent. it was high tide, and there was a gentle swish of long low waves lapping the sandy beach. the night wind sighed a soothing lullaby through the spines of the she-oak, and his spirit passed peacefully away with the ebb. he was the first man who died at the old port, and he was buried on the bank of the river where friday first saw its waters flowing towards the mountain. thirty years afterwards i saw two old men, campbell and montgomery, pulling up the long grass which had covered his neglected grave. glengarry in gippsland. jack shay was not sorry to leave the old port. the nocturnal feast made to celebrate the repulse of the blackfellows could not conceal the state of famine which prevailed, and he was pleased to remember that he had brought plenty of flour, tea, and sugar as far as the thomson river. davy had no saddle, but john campbell lent him one for the journey, and also sold him shot and powder on credit. so early in the morning the two men took a "tightener" of roast eggs, and commenced their journey on mcmillan's track, each man carrying his double-barrelled gun, ready loaded, in his hand. by this time the sight of a gun was a sufficient warning to the blackfellows to keep at a safe distance; the discharge of the nine-pounder had proved to them that the white man possessed mysterious powers of mischief, and it was a long time before they could recover courage enough to approach within view of the camp at the old port. on the second day of their journey davy and shay arrived at the thomson, and found the mob of cattle and the men all safe. they built a hut, erected a stockyard, and roughly fixed the boundaries of the station by blazed trees, the bank of the river, and other natural marks. there were three brothers imlay in the twofold bay district--john, alexander, and george--the latter residing at the bay, where he received stores from sydney, and shipped return cargoes of station produce and fat cattle for hobarton. two stations on the mountains were managed by the other two brothers, and their brand was iii., usually called "the bible brand." when the station on the thomson was put in working order, the imlays exchanged it for one owned by p. p. king, which was situated between their two stations in the monaro district. the gippsland station was named fulham, and was managed by john king. jack shay returned to the mountains, and davy to the old port. soon afterwards the steamer 'corsair' arrived from melbourne, bringing many passengers, one of whom was john reeve, who took up a station at snake ridge, and purchased the block of land known as reeve's survey. the new settlers also brought a number of horses, and norman mcleod had twenty bullocks on board. the steamer could not reach the port, and brought-to abreast of the midge channel. the cattle and horses were slung and put into the water, four at a time, and swam to land, but all the bullocks disappeared soon afterwards and fled to the mountains. next the brig 'bruthen' arrived from sydney, chartered by the highland chief macdonnell, of glengarry. in the days of king william iii. a sum of , pounds was voted for the purpose of purchasing the allegiance of the glengarry of that day, and of that of several other powerful chiefs. on taking the oath of loyalty to the new dynasty, they were to receive not more than , pounds each; or, if they preferred dignity to cash, they could have any title of nobility they pleased below that of earl. most of them took the oath and the cash. it is not recorded that any chief preferred a title, but the macdonnell of was lord glengarry to all the new settlers in gippsland. his father, colonel alexander ronaldson macdonnell, was the last genuine specimen of a highland chief, and he was the fergus mcivor of walter scott's "waverley." he always wore the dress of his ancestors, and kept sentinels posted at his doors. he perished in the year , while attempting to escape from a steamer which had gone ashore. his estate was heavily encumbered, and his son was compelled to sell it to the marquis of huntly. in it was sold to the earl of dudley for , pounds, and in to edward ellice for , pounds. the landless young chief resolved to transfer his broken fortunes to australia. he brought with him a number of men and women, chiefly highlanders, who were landed by davy in his whaleboat. for this service glengarry gave a cheque on a sydney bank for five pounds, which was entrusted to captain gaunson of the schooner 'coquette' to purchase groceries. on arriving in sydney the gaunsons went on a pleasure excursion about the harbour, the 'coquette' was capsized in a squall, one or two of the family perished, and davy's cheque went down with the vessel. but when the schooner was raised and the water pumped out, the cheque was found, and the groceries on the next voyage arrived safely at the old port. glengarry's head man and manager of the enterprise was a poor gentleman from tipperary named dancer, and his chief stockman was sandy fraser. by the regulations then in force in new south wales, glengarry was entitled, for a fee of pounds per annum, to hold under a depasturing license an area of twenty square miles, on which he might place head of cattle or , sheep. he selected a site for his head station and residence on the banks of the tarra. the house was built, huts and stockyards were erected, dairy cows were bought at pounds each, and the business of dairy farming commenced. but the young chief and his men were unused to the management of a station in the new country; they had everything to learn, and at a ruinous cost. a number of young men bailed up the cows each morning, and put on the leg ropes; then they sat on the top rails of the stockyard fence and waited while the maids drew the milk. dancer superintended the labours of the men and the milkmaids. he sat in his office in a corner of the stockyard, entering in his books the number of cattle milked, and examining the state of their brands, which were daubed on the hides with paint and brush. some cheese was made, but it was not of much account, and all the milk and butter were consumed on the station. at this time the blacks had quite recovered from the fright occasioned by the discharge of the nine-pounder gun, and were again often seen from the huts at the old port. donald macalister was sent by his uncle, lachlan macalister, of nuntin, to make arrangements for shipping some cattle and sheep. the day before their arrival donald saw some blacks at a distance in the scrub, and without any provocation fired at them with an old tower musket, charged with shot. the next day the drovers and shepherds arrived with the stock, and drove them over glengarry's bridge to a place between the tarra and albert rivers, called the coal hole, afterwards occupied by parson bean. there was no yard there, and the animals would require watching at night; so donald decided to send them back to glengarry's yards. then he and the drovers and shepherds would have a pleasant time; there would be songs and whisky, the piper would play, and the men and maids would dance. the arrangement suited everybody. the drovers started back with the cattle, donald helped the shepherds to gather the sheep, and put them on the way, and then he rode after the cattle. the track led him past a grove of dense ti-tree, on the land now known as the brewery paddock, and about a hundred yards ahead a single blackfellow came out of the grove, and began capering about and waving a waddy. donald pulled up his horse and looked at the black. he had a pair of pistols in the holsters of his saddle, but he did not draw them: there was no danger from a blackfellow a hundred yards off. but there was another behind him and much nearer, who came silently out of the ti-tree and thrust a spear through donald's neck. the horse galloped away towards glengarry's bridge. when the drovers saw the riderless horse, they supposed that macalister had been accidentally thrown, and they sent friday to look for him. he found him dead. the blacks had done their work quickly. they had stripped donald of everything but his trousers and boots, had mutilated him in their usual fashion, and had disappeared. a messenger was sent to old macalister, and the young man was buried on the bank of the river near mcclure's grave. the new cemetery now contained three graves, the second being that of tinker ned, who shot himself accidentally when pulling out his gun from beneath a tarpaulin. lachlan macalister had had a long experience in dealing with blackfellows and bushrangers; he had been a captain in the army, and an officer of the border police. the murder of his nephew gave him both a professional and a family interest in chastising the criminals, and he soon organised a party to look for them. it was, of course, impossible to identify any blackfellow concerned in the outrage, and therefore atonement must be made by the tribe. the blacks were found encamped near a waterhole at gammon creek, and those who were shot were thrown into it, to the number, it was said, of about sixty, men, women, and children; but this was probably an exaggeration. at any rate, the black who capered about to attract young macalister's attention escaped, and he often afterwards described and imitated the part he took in what he evidently considered a glorious act of revenge. the gun used by old macalister was a double-barrelled purdy, a beautiful and reliable weapon, which in its time had done great execution. the dairy business at greenmount was carried on at a continual loss, and glengarry resolved to return to scotland. he sold his cows and their increase to thacker and mason, of sydney, for twenty-seven shillings and sixpence per head; his house was bought by john campbell. on the eve of his departure for sydney in the schooner 'coquette' (captain gaunson), a farewell dinner was given by the highlanders at the old port, and long mason, who had come from sydney to take delivery of the cows on behalf of thacker and mason, was one of the guests. but there was more of gloom than of gaiety around the festive board. all wished well to the young chief, but the very best of his friends could think of nothing cheerful to say to him. his enterprise had been a complete failure; the family tree of clanranald the dauntless had refused to take root in a strange land the glory had gone from it for ever, and there was nothing to celebrate in song or story. other men from the highlands failed to win the smiles of fortune in gippsland. at home, notwithstanding their tribal feuds, they held their own for two thousand years against the roman and saxon, the dane and the norman. only one hundred and fifty years ago (it seems now almost incredible) they nearly scared the hanoverian dynasty from the throne of england, and even yet, though scattered throughout the british empire, they are neither a fallen nor a falling race. glengarry returned to his tent early, and then the buying and selling of the five hundred cows became the subject of conversation; the whisky circulated, and long mason observed that unfriendly looks began to be directed towards himself. he was an englishman, a southron, and it was a foul shame and dishonour that such as he should pay a highland chief only twenty-seven shillings and sixpence for beasts that had cost ten pounds each. that was not the way in the good old days when the hardy men of the north descended from the mountains with broadsword and shield, lifted the cattle of the saxon, and drove them to their homes in the glens. the fervid temper of the gael grew hotter at the thought of the rank injustice which had been done, and it was decided that long mason should be drowned in the inlet. he protested against the decision with vigour, and apparently with reason. he said: "i did not buy the cattle at all. glengarry sold them to thacker and my brother in sydney, and i only came over to take delivery of them. what wrong have i done?" but the reasoning of the prosaic englishman was thrown to the winds: "ye've done everything wrong. ye should hae gin ten pund sterling apiece for the coos, and not twenty-sen and saxpence. it's a pity yer brither, and thacker, and macfarlane are no here the nicht, and we'd droon them, too." four strong men, shouting in gaelic the war-cry of sheriffmuir, "revenge, revenge, revenge to-day, mourning to-morrow!" seized the long limbs of the unfortunate mason, and in spite of his struggles bore him towards the beach. the water near the margin was shallow, so they waded in until it was deep enough for their purpose. there was a piercing cry, "help! murder! murder!" john campbell heard it, but it was not safe for a campbell to stand between a macdonnell and his revenge. however, captain davy and pateley jim came out of their huts to see what was the matter, and they waded after the highlanders. each seized a man by the collar and downhauled. there was a sudden whirlpool, a splashing and a spluttering, as all the five men went under and drank the brine. "i think," said pateley, "that will cool 'em a bit," and it did. long mason was a university man, educated for the church, but before his ordination to the priesthood he had many other adventures and misfortunes. after being nearly drowned by the highlanders he was placed in charge of woodside station by his elder brother; he tried to mitigate the miseries of solitude with drink, but he did so too much and was turned adrift. he then made his way to new zealand, and fought as a common soldier through the heki war. captain patterson, of the schooner 'eagle', met him at a new zealand port. he was wearing a long, ragged old coat, such as soldiers wore, was out of employment, and in a state of starvation. the captain took pity on him, brought him back to port albert, and he became a shepherd on a station near bairnsdale. while he was fighting the maoris his brother had gone home, and had sent to sydney money to pay his passage to england. but he could not be found, and the money was returned to london. at length captain bentley found out where he was, took him to sydney, gave him an outfit, and paid his passage to england. long mason, honest man that he was, sent back the passage money, was ordained priest, obtained a living near london, and roamed no more. he had a younger brother named leonard mason, who lived with coady buckley at prospect, near the ninety-mile, and became a good bushman. in leonard took up a station in north gippsland adjoining the mcleod's run, but the highlanders tried to drive him away by taking his cattle a long distance to a pound which had been established at stratford. the mcleods and their men were too many for leonard. he went to melbourne to try if the law or the government would give him any redress, but he could obtain no satisfaction. the continued impounding of his cattle meant ruin to him, and when he returned to gippsland he found his hut burned down and his cattle gone on the way to the pound. he took a double-barrelled gun and went after them. he found them at providence ponds, which was a stopping place for drovers. next morning he rose early, went to the stockyard with his gun, and waited till mcdougall, who was manager for the mcleods, came out with his stockmen. when they approached the yard he said: "i shall shoot the first man who touches those rails to take my cattle out." mcdougall laughed, and ordered one of his men to take down the slip-rails, but the man hesitated; he did not like the looks of mason. then mcdougall dismounted from his horse and went to the slip-rails, but as soon as he touched them mason shot him. coady buckley spared neither trouble nor expense in obtaining the best counsel for mason's defence at the trial in melbourne. he was found guilty of manslaughter and sentenced to nine years' imprisonment, but after a time was released on the condition of leaving victoria, and when last heard of was a drover beyond the murray. after the departure of glengarry, dancer could find no profitable employment in gippsland, and lived in a state of indigence. at last he borrowed sufficient money on a promissory note to pay his passage to ireland. in tipperary he became a baronet and a sheriff, and lived to a good old age. wanted, a cattle market. it seemed incredible to the first settlers in north gippsland that their new punjaub, the land of the five rivers, which emptied their waters into immense lakes, should communicate with the sea by no channel suitable for ships, and an expedition was organised to endeavour to find an outlet. mcmillan had two boats at his station at bushy park, but he had no sails, so he engaged davy as sailmaker and chief navigator on the intended voyage. the two men rode together from the old port up the track over tom's cap, and shot two pigeons by the way, which was fortunate, for when they arrived at kilmany park william pearson was absent, and his men were found to be living under a discipline so strict that his stock-keeper, jimmy rentoul, had no meat, and dared not kill any without orders; so mcmillan and davy fried the pigeons, and ate one each for supper. next morning they shot some ducks for breakfast, and then proceeded on their journey. they called at mewburn park, arrived at bushy park (mcmillan's own station), and davy began making the sails the same evening. next morning he crossed the river in a canoe, made out of a hollow log, to boisdale, lachlan macalister's station, and went to the milking yard. the management was similar to that of dancer at greenmount. eleven men and women were milking about one hundred and fifty cows, superintended by nine highlanders, who were sitting on the toprails discoursing in gaelic. one of them was jock macdonald, who was over eighteen stone in weight, too heavy for any ordinary horse to carry; the rest were macalisters, gillies, and thomsons. the stockmen were convicts, and they lived with the highlanders in a big building like the barracks for soldiers. every man seemed to do just what he liked, to kill what he liked, and to eat what he liked, and it was astonishing to see so little discipline on a station owned by a gentleman who had seen service both in the army and in the border police. the blacks were at this time very troublesome about the new stations. they began to be fond of beef, and in order to get it they drove fat cattle into the morasses and speared them. this proceeding produced strained relations between the two races, and the only effectual remedy was the gun. but many of the settlers had scruples about shooting blackfellows except in self-defence, and it could hardly be called self-defence to shoot one or more of the natives because a beast had been speared by some person or persons unknown. john campbell, at glencoe, tried a dog, a savage deerhound, which he trained to chase the human game. this dog acquired great skill in seizing a blackfellow by the heel, throwing him, and worrying him until campbell came up on his horse. when the dog had thus expelled the natives from glencoe, campbell agreed to lend him to little curlewis for three months in order to clear holey plains station. curlewis paid ten heifers for the loan of the dog, and campbell himself went to give him a start in the hunt, as the animal would not own any other man as master. but the blacks soon learned that campbell and his dog had left glencoe unprotected, and the second night after his departure they boldly entered the potato patch near his hut, and bandicooted the whole of his potatoes. when the sails were made, the two boats were provisioned with tea, sugar, flour, and a keg of whisky; the meat was carried in the shape of two live sheep, to be killed when required. the party consisted of eight men, and each man was armed with a double-barrelled gun. mcmillan, mclennan, loughnan, and davy went in one boat, and in the other boat were william pearson, john reeve, captain orr, and sheridan, who was manager for raymond at stratford. sheridan was a musical man, and took his flute with him. when everything was ready they dropped down the river to lake wellington, and took note of the soundings during the whole of the voyage as they went along. wherever they approached either shore, they saw natives or found traces of them. every beach was strewn with the feathers of the ducks, swans, and other birds they had killed, and it was difficult to find sufficient dead wood near the water to make a fire, the blacks having used so much of it at their numerous camping places. the gins had an ingenious system of capturing the ducks. they moved along under water, leaving nothing but their nostrils visible above the surface, and they were thus able to approach the unsuspecting birds. as opportunity offered they seized them by the legs, drew them quickly under water, and held them until they were drowned. when they had secured as many as they could hold in one hand they returned to land. one of the explorers always kept guard while the others slept, the first watch of each night being assigned to davy, who baked the damper for the next day. one of the sheep was killed soon after the voyage commenced; and the duty of taking ashore, tethering, and guarding the other sheep at each landing place was taken in turn by pearson and loughnan. at the lower end of the lakes the water was found to be brackish, so they went ashore at several places to look for fresh water. they landed on a flat at reeve's river, and davy found an old well of the natives, but it required cleaning out, so he went back to the boat for a spade. it was loughnan's turn that day to tether the sheep on some grassy spot, and to look after it; the animal by this time had become quite a pet, and was called jimmy. on coming near the boats davy looked about for jimmy, but could not see him and asked loughnan where he was. "oh, he is all right," said loughnan, "i did not tether him, but he is over there eating the reeds." "then he's gone," replied davy. every man became seriously alarmed and ran down to the reeds, for jimmy carried their whole supply of meat. they found his tracks at the edge of the water, and followed them to the foot of a high bluff, which they ascended, calling as they went repeatedly for jimmy. they looked in every direction, scanning especially the tops of the reeds to see if jimmy was moving amongst them, but they could see no sign of the sheep that was lost. the view of land and river, mountain and sea, was very beautiful, but they were too full of sorrow for jimmy to enjoy it. on going away they agreed to call the bluff jimmy's point, but other voyagers came afterwards who knew nothing of jimmy, and they named it kalimna, the beautiful. near the shore a number of sandpipers were shot, and stewed for dinner in the large iron pot which was half full of mutton fat. then the party pulled down to the entrance of the lakes at reeve's river, went ashore, and camped for the night. next day they found an outlet to the ocean, and sounded it as they went along, finding six feet of water on the bar at low tide. but the channel proved afterwards to be a shifting one; the strong current round cape howe, and the southerly gales, often filled it with sand, and it was not until many years had passed, and much money had been expended, that a permanent entrance was formed. in the meantime all the trade of gippsland was carried on first through the old port, and then through the new port albert. for ten years all vessels were piloted without buoy or beacon; in one year one hundred and forty having been entered inwards and outwards. the party now started on the return voyage. in going up the lakes a number of blacks were observed on the port beach, and the boats were pulled towards the land until they grounded, and some of the men went ashore. the natives were standing behind a small sand hummock calling out to the visitors. one of them had lost an eye, and another looked somewhat like a white man browned with the sun and weather, but only the upper part of his body could be seen above the sand. one of the men on shore said, "look at that white-fellow." that was the origin of the rumour which was soon spread through the country that the blacks had a white woman living with them, the result being that for a long time the blackfellows were hunted and harassed continually by parties of armed men. when the natives behind the sand hummock saw that the white men had no arms, they began to approach them without their spears. sheridan took up his flute, and they ran back to the scrub, but after he had played a while they came nearer again and listened to the music. after pulling two or three miles, another party of natives was seen running along the sands, and the explorers went ashore again at a point of land where seven or eight men had appeared, but not one was now visible. davy climbed up a honeysuckle tree, and then he could see them hiding in the scrub. several of them were seized and held by the white men, who gave them some sugar and then let them go. the boats then sailed away with a nice easterly breeze, and in mclennan's straits hundreds of blackfellows were seen up in the trees shouting and shaking their spears; but the boats were kept away in mid-stream, out of reach of the weapons. that night the camp was made at boney point, near the mouth of the river avon; the name was given to it on account of the large quantity of human bones found there. no watch was kept, as it was believed that all the blacks had been left behind in mclennan's straits. there was still some whisky left in the keg; and, before going to sleep, orr, loughnan, and sheridan sang and drank alternately until the vessel was empty. at daylight they pulled up the avon and landed at clydebank, which was at that time one of macalister's stations, but afterwards belonged to thomson and cunningham. after breakfast they walked to raymond's station at stratford, and then to mcmillan's at bushy park. the cattle brought over the mountains into gippsland soon grew fat, and the first settlers sold some of them to other men who came to search for runs; but the local demand was soon supplied. in two years and a half all the best land was occupied. an intending settler, who had driven a herd of cattle seven hundred miles, had some bitter complaints to make about the country in june, . he said: "the whole length of gippsland, from the bore of the mountains in which the road comes, is miles, and the breadth about fifteen miles, the whole area square miles, one-third of which is useless through scrub and morass, which leaves only , square miles come-at-able at all, and nearly a third of this is useless. on this , square miles of land there are , sheep, , cattle, and horses. other herds of cattle and about , sheep are expected daily. the blacks are continuing their outrages, robbing huts and gardens and slaughtering cattle wholesale, messrs. pearson and cunningham being the latest sufferers by the cannibals. sheep shearing is nearly completed, after paying a most exorbitant price to the shearers.* the wool is much lighter than in any other part of the colony, and the skins much thicker than in hotter climates;" and lastly, "a collection has been made for the support of a minister." but the minister was not supported long, and he had to shake the dust of gippsland off his feet. from dan to beersheba--from the bore in the mountains to the shores of corner inlet, all was barren to this disappointed drover. [footnote] *in the season of the average price per for sheep-shearing was s.; the highest price asked, s. d. and the squatters, in order to keep a foothold in the country, had to seek markets for their stock over the sea. the first to export cattle was james mcfarlane of heyfield. he chartered the schooner 'waterwitch' for pounds a month for six months, and found her in everything. she arrived on march nd, , but could not come up to the port being too sharp in the bottom, and drawing (when loaded with cattle) thirteen feet six inches, so she lay down at the oyster beds. mcfarlane borrowed the square punt from the 'clonmel' wreckers, a weak stockyard of tea tree was erected, and the punt was moored alongside. a block was made fast to the bottom of the punt, and a rope rove through it to a bullock's head, and the men hauled on the rope. sometimes a beast would not jump, and had to be levered and bundled into the punt neck and crop. then the men got into a boat, and reached over to make the rope fast from the head of the bullock to one of the eyebolts which were fixed round the punt, and even then the bullock would sometimes go overboard. it took a week to load twenty fat bullocks and twenty cows with their calves. the schooner set sail for new zealand on april nd, , and at port nicholson the bullocks were sold for fifteen and the cows for twelve pounds each, cash. the 'waterwitch' returned to port albert on april th, and took in another cargo of breeding cattle, which had to be sold on bills, the cash at port nicholson being exhausted. mcfarlane next sought for a market at hobarton, which was then supplied with beef from twofold bay. forty bullocks were put on board the 'waterwitch' in five days, and in forty-eight hours they were offered for sale in hobarton, and fetched fourteen pounds ten shillings a head--all but one, a snail-horned brute, which was very wild. when he landed, a number of soldiers were at drill in the paddock, and he charged the redcoats at once. they prepared to receive cavalry, but he broke through the ranks, scattered the citizens the whole length of liverpool street, and reached the open country. guisden, the auctioneer, sold the chance of him for eleven pounds. at this time, nobody in hobarton had heard of such a place as gippsland; but the fat cattle, which were far superior to those imported from twofold bay, soon made the new territory well known, and many enterprising men of various characters found their way to it from the island. mcfarlane sent over another cargo of forty bullocks, thirty-seven of which averaged fourteen pounds; one was lost, and two belonging to macalister, heavy weights, were sold for forty pounds ten shillings. mcmillan took over the 'waterwitch' for the next trip, and also chartered the schooners 'industry' and 'scotia', which were the first vessels brought up to the shipping place at port albert on august, rd, . each of these vessels took two cargoes to hobarton, which sold well, and then macalister chartered the brig 'pateena', which would hold sixty bullocks. the 'clonmel' punt was now dispensed with; the cattle were roped, put in the water, and made to swim between the vessel and a boat. a piece of small ratline was fixed to the slings, with the handlead made fast to it so that it would sink. the mate had the slings, and a man in the boat held the other end of the line, and with it he hauled the slings under the bullocks, which were then made fast, and the animal was hoisted up. in this way forty bullocks were shipped in three hours. oysters were obtained in great abundance at clonmel, snake island, and in other parts of the inlets, and the cattle vessels, after receiving their loading, took bags of oysters on board for sale at hobarton. in june, , the cutter 'lucy' took dozen to melbourne, and in july another dozen. in august the 'mary jane' took dozen, and the cutter 'domain' dozen. the oyster beds were soon destroyed, and when in course of a few years i was appointed inspector of fisheries at port albert i could never find a single dozen oysters to inspect, although i was informed that a certain reverend poacher near the caledonian canal could obtain a bucket full of them when so disposed. gippsland enjoyed one year of prosperity, followed by seven years of adversity. the price of stock declined so rapidly that in april, , the very best beasts only realized pounds per head, and soon afterwards it was estimated that there were in new south wales , fat bullocks which nobody would buy. moreover, the government was grievously in want of money, and in addition to the fees for depasturing licenses, exacted half-yearly assessments on the unsaleable flocks and herds. but the law exacted payment on live cattle only, so the squatters in their dire distress resolved to kill their stock and boil them, the hides and the resulting tallow being of some value. the hentys, in the portland district, commenced boiling their sheep in january, , and on every station in new south wales the paddocks still called the "boiling down" were devoted to the destruction of sheep and cattle and to the production of tallow. it was found that one hundred average sheep would yield one ton of tallow, and ten average bullocks also one ton, the price in london ranging from pounds to pounds per ton. by this device of boiling-down some of the pioneers were enabled to retain their runs until the discovery of gold. the squatters were assisted in their endeavours to diminish the numbers of their live stock by their neighbours, both black and white. it is absurd to blame the aborigines for killing sheep and cattle. you might as well say it is immoral for a cat to catch mice. hunting was their living; the land and every animal thereon was theirs; and after we had conferred on them, as usual, the names of savages and cannibals, they were still human beings; they were our neighbours, to be treated with mercy; and to seize their lands by force and to kill them was robbery and murder. the state is a mere abstraction, has neither body nor soul, and an abstraction cannot be sent either to heaven or hell. but each individual man will be rewarded according to his works, which will follow him. because the state erected a flag on a bluff overlooking the sea, sandy mcbean was not justified in shooting every blackfellow or gin he met with on his run, as i know he did on the testimony of an eye-witness. this is the age of whitewash. there is scarcely a villain of note on whose character a new coat has not been laboriously daubed by somebody, and then we are asked to take a new view of it. it does not matter very much now, but i should prefer to whitewash the aboriginals. j. p. fawkner wrote: "the military were not long here before the melbourne district was stained with the blood of the aborigines, yet i can safely say that in the year in which there was neither governor, magistrate, soldier, nor policemen, not one black was shot or killed in the melbourne district, except amongst or by the blacks themselves. can as much be said of any year since? i think not." in the year mr. latrobe was required to send to the council in sydney a return of all blacks and whites killed in the port phillip district since its first settlement. he said forty whites had been killed by the blacks, and one hundred and thirteen blacks had been reported as killed by the whites; but he added, "the return must not be looked upon as correct with respect to the number of aborigines killed." the reason is plain. when a white man murdered a few blacks it was not likely that he would put his neck into the hangman's noose by making a formal report of his exploit to mr. latrobe. all the surviving blackfellow could say was: "quamby dead --long time--white-fellow--plenty--shoot 'em." he related in eight words the decline and fall of his race more truly than the white man could do it in eight volumes. it is not so easy a task to justify the white men who assisted the squatters to diminish the numbers of their stock. they were principally convicts who had served their sentences, or part of them, in the island, and had come over to gippsland in cattle vessels. some of them lived honestly, about one hundred of them disappeared when the commissioner of crown lands arrived with his black and white police, and a few of the most enterprising spirits adopted the calling of cattle stealers, for which business they found special facilities in the two special surveys. ------------------------------------- two special surveys. a notice dated march th, , was gazetted in sydney to the following effect: "any holder of a land receipt to the extent of not less than five thousand one hundred and twenty acres may, if he think fit, demand a special survey of any land not hereinafter excepted, within the district of port philip, whether such land receipt be obtained in the manner pointed out in the 'government gazette' of the st january last, or granted by the land and emigration commissioners in london. "not more than one mile of frontage to any river, watercourse, or lake to be allowed to every four square miles of area; the other boundaries to be straight lines running north and south, east and west. "no land to be taken up within five miles of the towns of melbourne, geelong, williamstown, or portland. "the right of opening roads through any part of the land to be reserved for the crown, but no other reservation whatever to be inserted in the deeds of grant." the port albert company took up land, under the above conditions, between the albert and tarra rivers. it was in orr's name, and is still known as orr's special survey. a surveyor was appointed to mark and plan the boundaries; he delegated the work to another surveyor. next a re-survey was made, then a sub-divisional survey, and then other surveys went on for fifty years, with ever-varying results. it is now a well-established fact that orr's special survey is subject to an alternate expansion and contraction of area, which from time to time vitiates the labour of every surveyor, and has caused much professional animosity. old men with one foot in the grave, in this year , are still accusing each other of embezzling acres of it; the devil of discord, and mercury the god of thieves, encamped upon it; the port albert company fell into its slough of despond, which in the court of equity was known as "kemmis v. orr," and there all the members perished. mr. john reeve had a land receipt, and wanted land. after he had taken up the station known as snake ridge he looked about for a good special survey. he engaged davy and his whaleboat for a cruise in port albert waters and mcmillan, sheridan, and loughnan were of the party. they went up the narrow channel called the caledonian canal, examined the bluffs, shores, and islands of shallow inlet, and at night encamped on st. margaret's island. when shelter was required, davy usually put up the mainsail of his boat for a tent; but that night was so fine and warm that it was decided to avoid the trouble of bringing the sail ashore and putting it up. after supper the men lay around the fire, and one by one fell asleep; but about midnight heavy rain began to fall, the sail was brought ashore, and they all crept under it to keep themselves as dry as possible. the next morning was fair. on leaving the port it had been the intention of the party to return the same evening, and the boat was victualled for one day only. there was now nothing for breakfast but a little tea and sugar and a piece of damper: no flesh, fish, or fowl. davy was anxious to entertain his passengers to the best of his ability, especially mr. reeve, who, though not of delicate health, was a gentleman of refined tastes, and liked to have his meals prepared and served in the best style. fresh water was of the first necessity, and, after so much rain, should have been plentiful, but not a spoonful could anywhere be found: the soil of the island was sandy, and all the rain had soaked into it and disappeared. the damper having been exposed to the weather was saturated with water. there was in the boat a large three-legged iron pot, half filled with fat, a hard and compact dainty not liable to be spilled or wasted, and in it had been stewed many a savoury meal of sandpipers, parrots, rats, and quail. this pot had been fortunately left upright and uncoveredduring the night, and the abundant rain had filled it with fresh water. davy, with the intuition of artistic genius, at once saw the means of producing a repast fit for the gods. he poured the water which covered the fat from the iron pot into the kettle, which he placed on the fire for the purpose of making tea. he cut the sodden damper into substantial slices, put them into the pot, and cooked them in the fat over the fire. when well done they tasted like fried bread, and gave entire satisfaction; mr. reeve observing, when the feast was finished, that he had never in all his life eaten a better breakfast. a start was made for the port, but the wind came dead ahead, and the men had to pull the whole way across the inlet, through the caledonian canal, and as far as long point. there they went ashore for a rest, and mr. reeve asked davy if he could find the mouth of the tarra river. davy said he had never been there, but he had no doubt that he could find it, as he had seen the river when he was duck-shooting. it was then high water, and the wind still blowing strongly from the west, so a reef was taken in the lug, and the boat ran right into the tarra as far as the site of the present court-house. there the party landed, and after looking at the country mr. reeve decided to take up his special survey there. it was partly open forest, but it contained, also, a considerable area of rich flats covered with luxuriant tea tree and myrtle scrub, which in course of time became mingled with imported blackberry bushes, whins, sweetbriar, and thistles. any quantity of labour might be spent on it with advantage to the owner, so the following advertisement appeared in the public journals: to capitalists and the industrious labouring class. gippsland--port albert. an accurate plan of mr. reeve's special survey of tarra vale having been completed, notice is hereby given that farms of various sizes are now open for sale or lease. the proprietor chiefly desires the establishment of a respectable tenantry, and will let these farms at the moderate rent of one bushel of wheat per acre. the estate consists of , acres of rich alluvial flats; no part of the estate is more than two miles from the freshwater stream of tarra. many families already occupy purchased allotments in the immediate vicinity of the landing place and tarra ville. there is a licensed hotel, good stores and various tradesmen, likewise dray roads from maneroo and port philip. apply to f. taylor, tarra ville, or john brown, melbourne. there were several doubtful statements in this notice, but, as the law says, "buyer, beware." joshua dayton was not a capitalist, but he belonged to the industrious labouring class, and he offered himself, and was accepted as a respectable tenant, at the rental of a bushel of wheat to the acre. he was a thief on principle, but simple mr. taylor, of tarraville, put his trust in him, because it would be necessary to fence and improve the land in order to produce the bushel of wheat. the fee simple, at any rate, would be safe with mr. reeve; but we live and learn--learn that there are men ingenious enough to steal even the fee simple, and transmit it by will to their innocent children. the farm comprised a beautiful and rich bend of the tarra, forming a spacious peninsula. joshua erected a fence across the isthmus, leaving the rest of his land open to the trespass of cattle, which were, therefore, liable to be driven away. but he did not drive them away; he impounded them within his bend, and at his leisure selected the fattest for slaughter, thus living literally on the fat of the land. he formed his boiling-down establishment in a retired glade, surrounded with tea-tree, tall and dense, far from the prying eyes and busy haunts of men. his hut stood on a gentle rise above the highest flood mark, and in close proximity to the slip rails, which were jealously guarded by his cerberus, neddy, a needy immigrant of a plastic nature, whose mind succumbed under the strong logic of his employer. neddy had so far led an honest life, and did not fall into habits of thievery without some feelings of compunction. when joshua first drove cattle into the bend, he did not tell neddy that he had stolen them. oh, no! he said: "here are a few beasts i have had running about for some time, and i think i'll kill one or two of the fattest and make tallow of them. beef is worth next to nothing, and we must make a living somehow. and i know you would like a little fresh beef, neddy; a change of diet is good for the health." but neddy was not so much of a fool as to be able to shut his eyes to the nature of the boiling-down business. the brands were too various, and joshua claimed them all. neddy said one night: "don't you think, joshua, this game of yours is rather dangerous? why, it's nothing better than cattle stealing; and i've heern folks say at one time it was a hanging matter. you may be found out some day by an unlucky chance, and then what will you do?" "you mustn't call it cattle stealing, neddy; that doesn't sound well," said joshua. "i call it back pay for work and labour done. i have good reasons for it. i was sent out for stealing a horse, which i never did steal; i only bought it cheap for a couple of pounds. they sent me to the island, and i worked seven years for a settler for nothing. now i put it to you, neddy, as an honest and sensible man, am i to get no pay for that seven years' work? and how am i to get it if i don't take it myself? the government will give me no pay; they'd give me another seven years if they could. but you see, there are no peelers here, no beaks, and no blooming courts, so i intend to make hay while the sun shines, which means tallow in these times. all these settlers gets as much work out of government men as they can get for nothing, and if you says two words to 'em they'll have you flogged. so while i does my seven years i says nothing, but i thinks, and i makes up my mind to have it out of 'em when my time comes. and i say it's fair and honest to get your back wages the best way you can. these settlers are all tarred with the same brush; they make poor coves like us work for 'em, and flog us like bullocks, and then they pretend they are honest men. i say be blowed to such honesty." "but if you are caught, joshua, what then?" "well, we must be careful. i don't think they'll catch me in a hurry. you see, i does my business quick: cuts out the brand and burns it first thing, and always turns out beasts i don't want directly." other men followed the example of joshua, so that between troubles with the black men, troubles with the white men, and the want of a market for his stock, the settler's days were full of anxiety and misery. and, in addition, the government in sydney was threatening him with a roaming taxgatherer under the name of a commissioner of crown lands, to whom was entrusted the power of increasing or diminishing assessments at his own will and pleasure. the settler therefore bowed down before the lordly tax-gatherer, and entertained him in his hut with all available hospitality, with welcome on his lips, smiles on his face, and hatred in his heart. the fees and fines collected by the commissioners all over new south wales had fallen off in one year to the extent of sixty-five per cent; more revenue was therefore required, and was it not just that those who occupied crown lands should support the dignity of the crown? then the blacks had to be protected, or otherwise dealt with. they could not pay taxes, as the crown had already appropriated all they were worth, viz., their country. but they were made amenable to british law; and in that celebrated case, "regina v. jacky jacky," it was solemnly decided by the judge that the aborigines were subjects of the queen, and that judge went to church on the sabbath and said his prayers in his robes of office, wig and all. jacky jacky was charged with aiding and abetting long bill to murder little tommy. he said: "another one blackfellow killed him, baal me shoot him." the court received his statement as equivalent to a plea of "not guilty." witness billy, an aboriginal, said: "i was born about twenty miles from sydney. if i don't tell stories, i shall go to heaven; if i do, i shall go down below. i don't say any prayers. it is the best place to go up to heaven. i learnt about heaven and hell about three years ago at yass plains when driving a team there. can't say what's in that book; can't read. if i go below, i shall be burned with fire." billy was sworn, and said: "i knew jacky jacky and cosgrove, the bullock driver. i know fyans ford. i know manifolds. i went from fyans ford with cosgrove, a drove of cattle, and a dray for manifolds. i knew little tommy at port fairy. he is dead. i saw him dying. when driving the team, i fell in with a lot of blacks. they asked me what black boy tommy was; told them my brother. they kept following us two miles and a half. jacky jacky said; 'billy, i must kill that black boy in spite of you.'" jacky jacky said sharply, "borack." "jacky jacky, who was the king, got on the dray, and little tommy got down; a blackfellow threw a spear at him, and hit him in the side; the king also threw a spear, and wounded him; a lot of blacks also speared him. long bill came up and shot him with a ball. jacky jacky said to cosgrove: 'plenty gammon; i must kill that black boy.' little tommy belonged to the port fairy tribe, which had always been fighting with jacky jacky's tribe." "it's all gammon," said jacky jacky, "borack me, its another blackfellow." "jacky jacky, when with the dray, spoke his own language which i did not understand. i was not a friend of little tommy. i was not afraid of the port fairy tribe. i am sometimes friend with jacky jacky's tribe. if i met him at yass i can't say whether i should spear him or not; they would kill him at the goulburn river if he went there. blackfellow not let man live who committed murder." are the aboriginals amenable to british law? question argued by learned counsel, messrs. stawell and barry. his honor the resident judge said: "the aboriginals are amenable to british law, and it is a mercy to them to be under that control, instead of being left to seek vengeance in the death of each other; it is a mercy to them to be under the protection of british law, instead of slaughtering each other." jacky jacky was found guilty of "aiding and abetting." the principals in the murder were not prosecuted, probably could not be found. before leaving the court, he turned to the judge and said, "you hang me this time?" he only knew two maxims of british law applicable to his race, and these he had learned by experience. one maxim was "shoot 'em" and the other was "hang him." there is abundant evidence to prove that an aboriginal legal maxim was, "the stranger is an enemy, kill him." it was for that reason jacky jacky killed little tommy, who was a stranger, belonging to the hostile port fairy tribe. joshua and neddy carried on the boiling down business successfully for some time, regularly shipping tallow to melbourne in casks, until some busybody began to insinuate that their tallow was contraband. then joshua took to carrying goods up the country, and neddy took to drink. he died at the first party given by mother murden at her celebrated hostelry. there were at this time about two hundred men, women, and children scattered about the neighbourhood of new leith (afterwards called port albert), the old port, the new alberton and tarra vale. alberton, by the way, was gazetted as a township before the "village" of st. kilda was founded. there were no licenses issued for the various houses of entertainment, vulgarly called "sly grog shops." there was no church, no school, no minister, and no music, until mother murden imported some. it was hidden in the recesses of a barrel organ; and, in order to introduce the new instrument to the notice of her patrons and friends, mother murden posted on her premises a manuscript invitation to a grand ball. she was anxious that everything should be carried out in the best style, and that the festive time should commence at least without intoxication. she therefore had one drunken man carried into the "dead room," another to an outside shed. neddy, the third, had become one of her best customers, and therefore she treated him kindly. he was unsteady on his legs, and she piloted him with her own hands to the front door, expecting that he would find a place for himself somewhere or other. she gave him a gentle shove, said "good night, neddy," and closed the door. she then cleared a space for the dancers in her largest room, placed the barrel-organ on a small table in one corner, and made her toilet. the guests began to arrive, and mother murden received them in her best gown at the front door. neddy was lying across the threshold. "it's only neddy," she said apologetically; "he has been taking a little nobbler, and it always runs to his head. he'll be all right by-and-by. come in my dears, and take your things off. you'll find a looking-glass in the room behind the bar." the gentlemen stepped over neddy, politely gave their hands to the ladies, and helped them over the human obstacle. when everything was ready, mother murden sat down by the barrel-organ, took hold of the handle, and addressed her guests: "now boys, choose your girls." [illustration ] the biggest bully, a "conditional pardon" man of the year , acted as master of the ceremonies, and called out the figures. he also appropriated the belle of the ball as his partner. the dancing began with great spirit, but as the night wore on the music grew monotonous. there were only six tunes in the organ, and not all the skill and energy of mother murden could grind one more out of it. neddy lay across the doorway, and was never disturbed. he did not wake in time to take any part in the festive scene, being dead. now and then a few of the dancers stepped over him, and remarked, "neddy is having a good rest." in the cool night air they walked to and fro, then, returning to the ball-room, they took a little refreshment, and danced to the same old tunes, until they were tired. mother murden's first ball was a grand success for all but neddy. "no sleep till morn when youth and pleasure meet, to chase the glowing hours with flying feet." but morn reveals unsuspected truths, and wrinkled invisible in the light of tallow candles. the first rays of the rising sun fell on neddy's ghastly face, and the "conditional pardon" man said, "why, he's dead and cold." mother murden came to the door with a tumbler in her hand, containing a morning nip for neddy, "to kill the worm," as the latins say; but the worm was dead already. the merry-makers stood around; the men looked serious and the ladies shivered. they said the air felt chilly, so they bade one another good morning and hurried home. it is hard to say why one sinner is taken and the other left. joshua's time did not arrive until many years afterwards, when we had acquitted him at the general sessions; but that is another story. how government came to gippsland. at this time there was no visible government in gippsland. the authorities in sydney and melbourne must have heard of the existence of the country and of its settlement, but they were content for a time with the receipt of the money paid into the treasury for depasturing licenses and for assessments on stock. in the land fund received in new south wales amounted to , pounds; in it was only , pounds; and in sir george gipps, in his address to the council severely reprimanded the colonists for the reckless spirit of speculation and overtrading in which they had indulged during the two preceding years. this general reprimand had a more particular application to mr. benjamin boyd, the champion boomer of those days. labourers out of employment were numerous, and contractors were informed by 'gazette' notice that the services of one hundred prisoners were available for purposes of public utility, such as making roads, dams, breakwaters, harbours, bridges, watchhouses, and police buildings. assignees of convicts were warned that if they wished to return them to the custody of the government, they must pay the expense of their conveyance to sydney, otherwise all their servants would be withdrawn, and they would become ineligible as assignees of prisoners in future. between the first of july, , and the first of november, , , bounty immigrants had been received in sydney. the bounty orders were suspended in the autumn of the latter year, but in lord stanley was of opinion that the colony could beneficially receive ten thousand more immigrants during the current year. many married labourers could find no work in sydney, and in november, , the government requested persons sending wool-drays to the city to take families to inland districts gratis. a regular stream of half-pay officers also poured into the colony, and made sir george's life a burden. they all wanted billets, and if he made the mistake of appointing a civilian to some office, captain smith, with war in his eye and fury in his heart, demanded an interview at once. he said: "i see by this morning's 'gazette' that some fellow of the name of jones has been made a police superintendent, and here am i, an imperial officer, used to command and discipline, left out in the cold, while that counter-jumper steps over my head. i can't understand your policy, sir george. what will my friends of the club in london say, when they hear of it, but that the service is going to the dogs?" so captain smith obtained his appointment as superintendent of police, and with a free sergeant and six convict constables, taken, as it were, out of bond, was turned loose in the bush. he had been for twenty years in the preventive service, but had never captured a prize more valuable than a bottle of whisky. he knew nothing whatever about horses, and rode like a beer barrel, but he nevertheless lectured his troopers about their horses and accoutrements. the sergeant was an old stockrider, and he one day so far forgot the rules of discipline as to indulge in a mutinous smile, and say: "well, captain, you may know something about a ship, but i'll be blowed if you know anything about a horse." that observation was not entered in any report, but the sergeant was fined pounds for "insolence and insubordination." the sum of , pounds was voted for police services in , and captain smith was paid out of it. all the revenue went to sydney, and very little of it found its way to melbourne, so that mr. latrobe's government was sometimes deprived of the necessaries of life. alberton was gazetted as a place for holding courts of petty sessions, and messrs. john reeve and john king were appointed justices of the peace for the new district. then michael shannon met james reading on the port albert road, robbed him of two orders for money and a certificate of freedom, and made his way to melbourne. there he was arrested, and remanded by the bench to the new court at alberton. but there was no court there, no lock-up, and no police; and mr. latrobe, with tears in his eyes, said he had no cash whatever to spend on michael shannon. the public journals denounced gippsland, and said it was full of irregularities. therefore, on september th, , charles j. tyers was appointed commissioner of crown lands for the district. he endeavoured to make his way overland to the scene of his future labours, but the mountains were discharging the accumulated waters of the winter and spring rainfall, every watercourse was full, and the marshes were impassable. the commissioner waited, and then made a fresh start with six men and four baggage horses. midway between dandenong and the bunyip he passed the hut of big mat, a new settler from melbourne, and obtained from him some information about the best route to follow. it began to rain heavily, and it was difficult to ford the swollen creeks before arriving at the big hill. at shady creek there was nothing for the horses to eat, and beyond it the ground became treacherous and full of crabholes. at the moe the backwater was found to be fully a quarter of a mile wide, encumbered with dead logs and scrub, and no safe place for crossing the creek could be found. during the night the famishing horses tore open with their teeth the packages containing the provisions, and before morning all that was left of the flour, tea, and sugar was trodden into the muddy soil and hopelessly lost; not an ounce of food could be collected. there was no game to be seen; every bird and beast seemed to have fled from the desolate ranges. mr. tyers had been for many years a naval instructor on board a man-of-war, understood navigation and surveying, and, it is to be presumed, knew the distance he had travelled and the course to be followed in returning to port philip; but there were valleys filled with impenetrable scrub, creeks often too deep to ford, and boundless morasses, so that the journey was made crooked with continual deviations. if a black boy like mcmillan's friday had accompanied the expedition, his native instinct would, at such a time, have been worth all the science in the world. the seven men, breakfastless, turned their backs to gippsland. the horses were already weak and nearly useless, so they and all the tents and camp equipage were abandoned. each man carried nothing but his gun and ammunition. all day long they plodded wearily through the bush--wading the streams, climbing over the logs, and pushing their way through the scrub. only two or three small birds were shot, which did not give, when roasted, a mouthful to each man. at night a large fire was made, and the hungry travellers lay around it. next morning they renewed their journey, mr. tyers keeping the men from straggling as much as he could, and cheering them with the hope of soon arriving at some station. no game was shot all that day; no man had a morsel of food; the guns and ammunition seemed heavy and useless, and one by one they were dropped. it rained at intervals, the clothing became soaked and heavy, and some of the men threw away their coats. a large fire was again made at night, but no one could sleep, shivering with cold and hunger. next morning one man refused to go any further, saying he might as well die where he was. he was a convict accustomed to life in the bush, and mr. tyers was surprised that he should be the first man to give way to despair, and partly by force and partly by persuasion he was induced to proceed. about midday smoke was seen in the distance, and the hope of soon obtaining food put new life into the wayfarers. but they soon made a long straggling line of march; the strongest in the front, the weakest in the rear. the smoke issued from the chimney of the hut occupied by big mat. he was away looking after his cattle, but his wife norah was inside, busy with her household duties, while the baby was asleep in the corner. there was a small garden planted with vegetables in front of the hut, and norah, happening to look out of the window during the afternoon, saw a strange man pulling off the pea pods and devouring them. the strange man was mr. tyers. some other men were also coming near. "they are bushrangers," she said running to the door and bolting it, "and they'll rob the hut and maybe they'll murder me and the baby." that last thought made her fierce. she seized an old tower musket, which was always kept loaded ready for use, and watched the men through the window. they came into the garden one after another, and at once began snatching the peas and eating them. there was something fearfully wild and strange in the demeanour of the men, but norah observed that they appeared to have no firearms and very little clothing. they never spoke, and seemed to take no notice of anything but the peas. "the lord preserve us," said norah, "i wish mat would come." her prayer was heard, for mat came riding up to the garden fence with two cattle dogs, which began barking at the strangers. mat said: "hello, you coves, is it robbing my garden ye are?" mr. tyers looked towards mat and spoke, but his voice was weak, his mouth full of peas, and mat could not tell what he was saying. he dismounted, hung the bridle on to a post, and came into the garden. he looked at the men, and soon guessed what was the matter with them; he had often seen their complaint in ireland. "poor craythurs," he said, "it's hungry ye are, and hunger's a killing disorder. stop ating they pays to wonst, or they'll kill ye, and come into the house, and we'll give ye something better." the men muttered, but kept snatching off the peas. norah had unbolted the door, and was standing with the musket in her hand. "take away the gun, norah, and put the big billy on the fire, and we'll give 'em something warm. the craythurs are starving. i suppose they are runaway prisoners, and small blame to 'em for that same, but we can't let 'em die of hunger." the strangers had become quite idiotic, and wou'd not leave the peas, until mat lost all patience, bundled them one by one by main force into his hut, and shut the door. he had taken the pledge from father mathew before he left ireland, and had kept it faithfully; but he was not strait-laced. he had a gallon of rum in the hut, to be used in case of snake-bite and in other emergencies, and he now gave each man a little rum and water, and a small piece of damper. rum was a curse to the convicts, immigrants, and natives. its average price was then about s. d. per gallon. the daily ration of a soldier consisted of one pound of bread, one pound of fresh meat, and one-seventh of a quart of rum. but on this day, to mr. tyers and his men, the liquor was a perfect blessing. he was sitting on the floor with his back to the slabs. "you don't know me, mat?" "know ye, is it? sure i never clapped eyes on ye before, that i know of. are ye runaway government men? tell the truth, now, for i am not the man to turn informer agin misfortunate craythurs like yourselves." "my name is tyers. i passed this way, you may remember, not very long ago." "what! mr. tyers, the commissioner? sure i didn't know you from adam. so ye never went to gippsland at all?" "our horses got at the provisions and spoiled them; so we had to come back, and we have had nothing to eat for three days. there is one man somewhere behind yet; i am afraid he will lie down and die. do you think you could find him?" "for the love of mercy, i'll try, anyway. norah, dear, take care of the poor fellows while i go and look for the other man; and mind, only to give 'em a little food and drink at a time, or they'll kill their wake stomachs with greediness; and see you all do just as norah tells you while i'm away, for you are no better than childer." mat galloped away to look for the last man, while his wife watched over the welfare of her guests. she said: "the lord save us, and be betune us and harm, but when i seen you in the garden i thought ye were bushrangers, and i took up the ould gun to shoot ye." mat soon found the last man, put him on his horse, and brought him to the hut. next morning he yoked his bullocks, put all his guests into the dray, and started for dandenong. on december rd, , mr. tyers and his men arrived in melbourne, and he reported to mr. latrobe the failure of his second attempt to reach gippsland. while the commissioner and his men were vainly endeavouring to reach the new country, seven other men were suffering famine and extreme hardships to get away from it. they had arrived at the old port by sea, having been engaged to strip bark by mr. p. w. walsh, usually known in melbourne as paddy walsh. he had been chief constable in launceston. many years before batman or fawkner landed in port philip, parties of whalers were sent each year to strip wattle bark at western port. griffiths and co. had found the business profitable, and paddy walsh came to the conclusion that there was money to be made out of bark in gippsland. he therefore engaged seven men and shipped them by schooner, writing to a storekeeper at the old port to receive the bark, ship it to melbourne, and supply the strippers with the requisite stores. the seven men landed at the old port and talked to the pioneers. they listened to their dismal accounts of starvation on roast flathead and mutton-birds' eggs, of the ferocity of the blacks, of the murder of macalister, of the misfortunes of glengarry. the nine-pounder gun still stood at the corner of the company's store, pointed towards the scrub, a silent warning to the new men of the dangers in store for them. they took their guns and went about the bush looking for wattle trees, but they could not find in any place a sufficient quantity to make the business profitable. there was no regular employment to be had, but fortunately the schooner 'scotia', chartered by john king, went ashore in a gale, and four of the barkers, all irishmen obtained a few days' work in taking out her mud ballast. but no permanent livelihood could be expected from shipwrecks, and the seven strippers resolved, if possible, to return to melbourne. they wanted to see paddy walsh once more, but they had no money, and the storekeeper refused to pay their fare by sea. after much negotiation, they obtained a week's rations, and gave all the tools they had brought with them to captain davy in payment for his trouble in landing them at one tree hill. they were informed that brodribb and hobson had made western port in four days on foot, and of course they could do the same. four of the men were named crow, sparrow, fox, and macnamara; of the other three two were englishmen, smith and brown; the third, a native of london, named spiller, installed himself in the office of captain on account of his superior knowledge. he guaranteed to lead the party in a straight line to western port. he said he could box the compass; he had not one about him, but that made no difference. he would lay out their course every morning; they had to travel westward; the sun rose in the east, everybody knew as much as that; so all he had to do was to turn his back to the rising sun, and march straight on to western port which was situated in the west. the men agreed that spiller's theory was a very good one; they could not think of any objection to it. each man carried his blanket and rations, his gun and ammunition. every morning spiller pointed out the course to be taken and led the way. from time to time, with a look of extreme wisdom, he took observations of the position of the sun, and studied the direction of his own shadow on the ground. for five days the men followed him with great confidence, and then they found that their rations were all consumed, and there was no sign of western port or any settlement. they began to grumble, and to mistrust their captain; they said he must have been leading them astray, otherwise they would have seen some sign of the country being inhabited, and they formed a plan for putting spiller's knowledge of inland navigation to the test. a start was made next morning, the cockney as usual, taking the lead. one man followed him, but kept losing ground purposely, merely keeping the leader in sight; the others did the same. before the last man had lost sight of the camp, he could see spiller in the distance walking towards it. he then uttered a long coo-ee, which was answered by every man of the party. they thought some valuable discovery had been made. one by one they followed the call and were soon assembled at the still burning embers they had lately left. "a nice navigator you are, ain't you, spiller? do you know where you are now?" asked brown. "well, i must say there seems to be some mistake," said spiller. "i came along when i heard the coo-ee, and found myself here. it is most unaccountable. here is where we camped last night, sure enough. it is most surprising." "yes, it is surprising," said smith. "you know the compass, don't you, you conceited little beggar. you can box it and make a bee-line for western port, can't you? here you have been circussing us round the country, nobody knows where, until we have not a morsel of food left; but if i am to be starved to death through you, you miserable little hound, i am not going to leave you alive. what do you say, mates? let us kill him and eat him. i'll do the job myself if nobody else likes it. i say nothing could be fairer." sparrow, one of the irishmen, spoke. he was a spare man, six feet high, had a long thin face, a prominent nose, sloping shoulders, mild blue eyes, and a most gentle voice. i knew him after he returned to gippsland and settled there. he was averse to quarrelling and fighting; and, to enable him to lead a peaceable life, he carried a short riding whip with a hammer handle, and kept the lash twisted round his hand. he was a conscientious man too, and had a strong moral objection to the proposal of killing and eating spiller; but he did not want to offend the company, and he made his refusal as mild as possible. "it's a think i wouldn't like to quarrel about with no man," he said, "and the lord knows i am as hungry as any of you; and if we die through this misleading little chap i couldn't say but he would be guilty of murdering us, and we might be justified in making use of what little there is of him. but for my part i couldn't take my share of the meat--not to-day at any rate, because you may disremember it's friday, and it's agen the laws of the church to ate meat this day. so i'd propose that we wait till to-morrow, and if we grow very wake with the hunger, we can make use of the dog to stay our stomachs a little while longer, and something better may turn up in the meantime." "is it to cook my dog watch you mean?" asked crow. (here watch went to his master, and lay down at his feet, looking up in his face and patting the ground with his tail.) "i tell you what it is, sparrow, you are not going to ate my dog. what has the poor fellow done to you, i'd like to know? you may cook spiller if you like, to-day or to-morrow, it's all the same to me--and i grant he well deserves it --but if you meddle with watch you'll have to deal with me." "it's no use going on this way, mates," said brown. "we might as well be moving while we have strength enough to do so. come along." the men began to rise to their feet. macnamara suddenly snatched spiller's gun, and fired off both barrels; he then said, "now hand over your shot and powder." spiller, half scared to death, handed them over. "now," said macnamara, "you are my prisoner. i am going to take care of you until you are wanted; and if i see you so much as wink the wrong way i'll blow your brains out, if you have any. here's your empty gun. now march." all the men followed. the country was full of scrub, and they walked through it in indian file. not a bird or beast was killed that day or the next. a consultation was held at night, and it was agreed to kill watch in the morning if nothing else turned up, crow by this time being too hungry to say another word in favour of his dog. but at daylight an eaglehawk was watching them from a tree, and brown shot it. it was soon put in the ashes, and when cooked was divided among the seven. on the eighth day macnamara said, "i can smell the ocean." his name means "sons of the sea," and he was born and reared on the shore of the atlantic. sand hummocks were soon seen, and the roar of the breakers beyond could be heard. two redbills were shot and eaten, and spiller and watch were kept for future use. on the ninth day they shot a native bear, which afforded a sumptuous repast, and gave them strength to travel two days longer. when they camped at night a tribe of blacks made a huge fire within a short distance, howling their war songs, and brandishing their weapons. it was impossible to sleep or to pass a peaceful night with such neighbours, so they crawled nearer to the savages and fired a volley at them. then there was silence, which lasted all night. next morning they found a number of spears and other weapons which the blacks had left on the ground; these they threw into the fire, and then resumed their miserable journey. on this day cattle tracks were visible, and at last, completely worn out, they arrived at chisholm's station, eleven days after leaving one tree hill. they still carried their guns, and had no trouble in obtaining food during the rest of their journey to melbourne. at the same time that mr. tyers reported his failure to reach gippsland, the seven men reported to walsh their return from it. the particulars of these interviews may be imagined, but they were never printed, mr. john fawkner, with unusual brevity, remarking that "gippsland appears to be sinking into obscurity." some time afterwards it was stated that "a warrant had been issued for mr p. walsh, formerly one of our leading merchants, on a charge of fraud committed in . warrant returned 'non est inventus'; but whether he has left the colony, or is merely rusticating, does not appear. being an uncertificated bankrupt, it would be a rather dangerous experiment, punishable by law with transportation for fifteen years." but mr. tyers could not afford to allow gippsland to sink into obscurity; his official life and salary depended on his finding it. a detachment of border and native police had arrived from sydney by the 'shamrock', and some of them were intended as a reinforcement for gippsland, "to strengthen the hands of the commissioner in putting down irregularities that at present exist there." dr. holmes was sending a mob of cattle over the mountains, and mr. tyers ordered his troopers to travel with them, arranging to meet them at the head of the glengarry river. he avoided this time all the obstacles he had formerly encountered by making a sea voyage, and he landed at port albert on the th day of january, . gippsland under the law. as soon as it was known at the old port that a commissioner of crown lands had arrived, davy, the pilot, hoisted a flag on his signal staff, and welcomed the representative of law and order with one discharge from the nine-pounder. he wanted to be patriotic, as became a free-born briton. but he was very sorry afterwards; he said he had made a mistake. the proper course would have been to hoist the flag at half-mast, and to fire minute guns, in token of the grief of the pioneers for the death of freedom. mr. tyers rode away with a guide, found his troopers at the head of the glengarry, and returned with them over tom's cap. he camped on the tarra, near the present brewery bridge, and his black men at night caught a number of blackfish, which were found to be most excellent. next day the commissioner entered on his official duties, and began to put down irregularities. he rode to the old port, and halted his men in front of the company's store. all the inhabitants soon gathered around him. he said to the storekeeper: "my name is tyers. i am the commissioner of crown lands. i want to see your license for this store." "this store belongs to the port albert company," replied john campbell. "we have no license, and never knew one was required in such a place as this." "you are, then, in illegal occupation of crown lands, and unless you pay me twenty pounds for a license i am sorry to say it will be my duty to destroy your store," said mr. tyers. there were two other stores, and a similar demand was made at each of them for the pounds license fee, which was paid after some demur, and the licenses were signed and handed to the storekeepers. davy's hut was the next visited. "who owns this building?" asked mr. tyers. "i do," said davy. "i put it up myself." "have you a license?" "no, i have not. never was asked for one since i came here, and i don't see why i should be asked for one now." "well, i ask you now. you are in illegal occupation of crown lands, and you must pay me twenty pounds, or i shall have to destroy your hut." "i hav'nt got the twenty pounds," davy said: "never had as much money in my life; and i wouldn't pay it to you if i had it. i would like to know what right the government, or anybody else, has to ask me for twenty pounds for putting up a hut on this sandbank? i have been here with my family pretty nigh on to three years; sometimes nearly starved to death, living a good deal of the time on birds, and 'possums, and roast flathead; and what right, in the name of common sense, has the government to send you here to make me pay twenty pounds? what has the government done for me or anybody else in gippsland? they have already taken every penny they could get out of the settlers, and, as far as i know, have not spent one farthing on this side of the mountains. they did not even know there was such a country till mcmillan found it. it belonged to the blacks. there was nobody else here when we came, and if we pay anybody it should be the blackfellows. besides, if i had had stock, and money enough to take up a run, i could have had the pick of gippsland, twenty square miles, for ten pounds; and because i am a poor man you want me to pay twenty pounds for occupying a few yards of sand. where is the sense of that, i'd like to know? if you are an honest englishman, you ought to be ashamed of yourself for coming here with your troopers and carbines and pistols on such a business, sticking up a poor man for twenty pounds in the name of the government. why, no bushrangers could do worse than that." "you are insolent, my man. if you don't pay the money at once i'll give you just ten minutes to clear out, and then i shall order my men to burn down your hut. you will find that you can't defy the government with impunity." "burn away, if you like, and much good may it do you." pointing to his whaleboat on the beach, "there's the ship i came here in from melbourne, and that's the ship i shall go back in, and you daren't hinder me." mr. reeve was present, watching the proceedings and listening. he had influential friends in sydney, had a station at snake ridge, a special survey on the tarra, and he felt that it would be advisable to pour oil on the troubled waters. he said: "i must beg of you, mr. tyers, to excuse davy. he is our pilot, and there is no man in gippsland better qualified for that post, nor one whose services have been so useful to the settlers both here and at the lakes. we have already requested the government to appoint him pilot at the port; we are expecting a reply shortly, and it will be only reasonable that he should be allowed a site for his hut." "you see, mr. reeve, i must do my duty," said mr. tyers, "and treat all alike. i cannot allow one man to remain in illegal occupation, while i expel the others." "the settlers cannot afford to lose their pilot, and i will give you my cheque for the twenty pounds," said mr. reeve. "twelve months afterwards the cheque was sent back from sydney, and mr. reeve made a present of it to davy. "at this time the public journals used very strong language in their comments on the action of governors and government officials, and complaint was made in the house of commons that the colonial press was accustomed to use "a coarseness of vituperation and harshness of expression towards all who were placed in authority." but gentlemen were still civil to one another, except on rare occasions, and then their language was a strong as that of the journals, e.g.: "i, arthur huffington, surgeon, residing at the station of mr. w. bowman, on the ovens river, do hereby publicly proclaim george faithful, settler on the king river, to be a malicious liar and a coward. "ovens river, march th, . "you will find a copy of the above posted at every public-house between the ovens and melbourne, and at the corner of every street in the town." this defiance could not escape the notice of the lawyers, and they soon got the matter into their own hands. huffington brought an action of trespass on the case for libel against faithful, damages , pounds. it was all about branding a female calf; "duffing it" was the vulgar term, and to call a settler "duffer" was more offensive than if you called him a murderer. mr. stawell opened the pleadings, brushing up the fur of the two tiger cats thus: "here you have mr. faithful--the son of his father--the pink of superintendents--the champion of crown lands commissioners--the fighting man of the plains of goulburn--the fastidious beau brummel of the ovens river,"--and so on. arthur and george were soon sorry they had not taken a shot at each other in a paddock. the calf was a very valuable animal--to the learned counsel. on january th, , davy became himself an officer of the government he had denounced so fiercely, being appointed pilot at port albert by sir george gipps, who graciously allowed him to continue the receipt of the fee already charged, viz., three pounds for each vessel inwards and outwards. there were eight other huts on the sandbank, but as not one of the occupants was able to pay twenty pounds, their names are not worth mentioning. after making a formal demand for the money, and giving the trespassers ten minutes to take their goods away, mr. tyers ordered his men to set the buildings on fire, and in a short time they were reduced to ashes. the commissioner then rode back to his camp with the eighty pounds, and wrote a report to the government of the successful inauguration of law and order within his jurisdiction, and of the energetic manner in which he had commenced to put down the irregularities prevalent in gippsland. the next duty undertaken by the commissioner was to settle disputes about the boundaries of runs, and he commenced with those of captain macalister, who complained of encroachments. to survey each run with precision would take up much time and labour, so a new mode of settlement was adopted. by the regulations in force no single station was to consist of more than twenty square miles of area, unless the commissioner certified that more was required for stock possessed by applicant. this regulation virtually left everything to the goodwill and pleasure of the commissioner, who first decided what number of square miles he would allot to a settler, then mounted his horse, to whose paces he was accustomed, and taking his compass with him, he was able to calculate distances by the rate of speed of his horse almost as accurately as if he had measured them with a chain. these distances he committed to paper, and he gave to every squatter whose run he thus surveyed a description of his boundaries, together with a tracing from a chart of the district, which he began to make. he allotted to captain macalister all the country which he claimed, and a dispute between mr. william pearson and mr. john king was decided in favour of the latter. it was reported in sydney that mr. tyers was rather difficult of access, but it was believed he had given satisfaction to all and everyone with whom he had come in contact, except those expelled from the old port, and a few squatters who did not get as much land as they wanted. there were also about a hundred escaped prisoners in the country, but these never complained that the commissioner was difficult of access. the blacks were still troublesome, and i heard mr. tyers relate the measures taken by himself and his native police to suppress their irregularities. he was informed that some cattle had been speared, and he rode away with his force to investigate the complaint. he inspected the cattle killed or wounded, and then directed his black troopers to search for tracks, and this they did willingly and well. traces of natives were soon discovered, and their probable hiding-place in the scrub was pointed out to mr. tyers. he therefore dismounted, and directing two of his black troopers armed with carbines to accompany him, he held a pistol in each hand and walked cautiously into the scrub. the two black troopers discharged their carbines. the commissioner had seen nothing to shoot at, but his blacks soon showed him two of the natives a few yards in front, both mortally wounded. mr. tyers sent a report of the affair to the government, and that was the end of it. this manner of dealing with the native difficulty was adopted in the early days, and is still used under the name of "punitive expeditions." that judge who prayed to heaven in his wig and robes of office, said that the aborigines were subjects of the queen, and that it was a mercy to them to be under her protection. the mercy accorded to them was less than jedburgh justice: they were shot first, and not even tried afterwards. the settlers expelled from the sandbank at the old port required some spot on which they could put up their huts without giving offence to the superior powers. the port albert company excised a township from their special survey, and called it victoria; mr. robert turnbull bought acres, the present port albert, at pound per acre, and offered sites for huts to the homeless at the rate of pound per annum, on the condition that they carried on no business. the stores were removed from the old port to the new one, and the first settlement in gippsland was soon again overgrown with scrub and ferns. mr. reeve offered farms to the industrious at the rental of one bushel of wheat to the acre. for some time the township of tarraville was a favourite place of residence, because the swamps which surrounded port albert were impassable for drays during the winter months; the roads to maneroo and melbourne mentioned in mr. reeve's advertisement were as yet in the clouds. captain moore came from sydney in the revenue cutter 'prince george' to look for smugglers, but he did not find any. he was afterwards appointed collector for gippsland, and he came down again from sydney with a boat's crew of six prisoners, a free coxswain, and a portable house, in which he sate for the receipt of customs. for a time the commissioner resided at tarraville, and then he went to the lakes and surveyed a township at flooding creek, now called sale. his black troopers were in some cases useful, in others they were troublesome; they indulged in irregularities; there was no doubt that they drank rum procured in some inexplicable manner. they could not be confined in barracks, or remain continually under the eye of their chief, and it was not always possible to discover in what manner they spent their leisure hours. but occasionally some evidence of their exploits came to light, and mr. tyers became aware that his black police considered themselves as living among hostile tribes, in respect of whom they had a double duty to perform, viz., to track cattle spearers at the order of their chief, and on their own account to shoot as many of their enemies as they could conveniently approach. there were now ladies as well as gentlemen in gippsland, and one day the commissioner sailed away in his boat with a select party. after enjoying the scenery and the summer breezes for a few hours, he cast his eyes along the shore in search of some romantic spot on which to land. dead wood and dry sticks were extremely scarce, as the blacks used all they could find at their numerous camps. he was at length so fortunate as to observe a brown pile of decayed branches, and he said, "i think we had better land over there; that deadwood will make a good fire"; and the boat was steered towards it. but when it neared the land the air was filled with a stench so horrible that mr. tyers at once put the boat about, and went away in another direction. next day he visited the spot with his police, and he found that the dead wood covered a large pile of corpses of the natives shot by his own black troopers, and he directed them to make it a holocaust. the white men brought with them three blessings for the natives-- rum, bullets, and blankets. the blankets were a free gift by the government, and proved to the eyes of all men that our rule was kind and charitable. the country was rightfully ours; that was decided by the supreme court; we were not obliged to pay anything for it, but out of pure benignity we gave the lubras old gowns, and the black men old coats and trousers; the government added an annual blanket, and thus we had good reason to feel virtuous. we also appointed a protector of the aborigines, mr. g. a. robinson, at a salary of pounds per annum. he took up his residence on the then sweet banks of the yarra, and made excursions in various directions, compiling a dictionary. he started on a tour in the month of april, , making alberton his first halting-place, and intending to reach twofold bay by way of omeo. but he found the country very difficult to travel; he had to swim his horse over many rivers, and finally he returned to melbourne by way of yass, having added no less than , words to his vocabulary of the native languages. but the public journals spoke of his labours and his dictionary with contempt and derision. they said, "pshaw! a few mounted police, well armed, would effect more good among the aborigines in one month than the whole preaching mob of protectors in ten years." when a race of men is exterminated somebody ought to bear the blame, and the easiest way is to lay the fault at the door of the dead; they never reply. when every blackfellow in south gippsland, except old darriman, was dead, mr. tyers explained his experience with the government blankets. they were now no longer required, as darriman could obtain plenty of old clothes from charitable white men. it had been the commissioner's duty to give one blanket annually to each live native, and thus that garment became to him the queen's livery, and an emblem of civilisation; it raised the savage in the scale of humanity and encouraged him to take the first step in the march of progress. his second step was into the grave. the result of the gift of blankets was that the natives who received them ceased to clothe themselves with the skins of the kangaroo, the bear or opossum. the rugs which they had been used to make for themselves would keep out the rain, and in them they could pass the wettest night or day in their mia-mias, warm and dry. but the blankets we kindly gave them by way of saving our souls were manufactured for the colonial market, and would no more resist the rain than an old clothes-basket. the consequence was that when the weather was cold and wet, the blackfellow and his blanket were also cold and wet, and he began to shiver; inflammation attacked his lungs, and rheumatism his limbs, and he soon went to that land where neither blankets nor rugs are required. mr. tyers was of opinion that more blacks were killed by the blankets than by rum and bullets. government in gippsland was advancing. there were two justices of the peace, the commissioner, black and white police, a collector of customs, a pilot, and last of all, a parson--parson bean--who quarrelled with his flock on the question of education. the sheep refused to feed the shepherd; he had to shake the dust off his feet, and the salvation of souls was, as usual, postponed to a more convenient season. at length mr. latrobe himself undertook to pay a visit to gippsland. he was a splendid horseman, had long limbs like king edward longshanks, and was in the habit of making dashing excursions with a couple of troopers to take cursory views of the country. he set out in the month of may, , and was introduced to the settlers in the following letter by "a brother squatter": "gentlemen, look out. the jackal of your oppressor has started on a tour. for what purpose? to see the isolated and miserable domiciles you occupy and the hard fare on which you subsist? no! but to see if the oppressor can further apply the screw with success and impunity. you have located yourselves upon lands at the risk of life and property, paying to the government in license and assessment fees for protection which you have never received, and your quiesence under such a system of robbery has stimulated your oppressor to levy on you a still greater amount of taxation, not to advance your interests, but to replenish his exhausted treasury. should you strain your impoverished exchequer to entertain your (in a family sense) worthy superintendent, depend upon it he will recommend a more severe application of the screw. give him, therefore, your ordinary fare, salt junk and damper, or scabby mutton, with a pot of jack the painter's tea, in a black pot stirred with a greasy knife." mr. latrobe and sir george bore all the weight of public abuse, and it was heavy. now it is divided among many ministers, each of whom carries his share with much patience, while our governor's days in the "sunny south" are "days of pleasantness, and all his paths are peace." no gentleman could accept hospitality like that suggested by "a brother squatter," and mr. latrobe sought refuge at the port albert hotel, glengarry's imported house. messrs. tyers, raymond, mcmillan, macalister, and reeve were pitching quoits at the rear of the building under the lee of the ti-tree scrub. davy, the pilot, was standing near on duty, looking for shipping with one eye and at the game with the other. the gentlemen paused to watch the approaching horsemen. mr. latrobe had the royal gift of remembering faces once seen; and he soon recognised all those present, even the pilot whom he had seen when he first arrived in melbourne. he shook hands with everyone, and enquired of davy how he was getting on with the piloting. he said: "now gentlemen, go on with your game. i like quoits myself and i should be sorry to interrupt you." then he went into the hotel and stayed there until morning. he no doubt obtained some information from mr. tyers and his friends, but he went no further into the country. next morning he started with his two troopers on his return to melbourne, and the other gentlemen mounted their horses to accompany him; but the "worthy superintendent" rode so fast that he left everyone behind and was soon out of sight, so his intended escort returned to port. mr. latrobe's view of gippsland was very cursory. rabbit island was stocked with rabbits in by captain wishart, the whaler. in he anchored his barque, the 'wallaby', in lady's bay, and lanced his last whale off horn point. a great, grey shark happened to be cruising about the whaling ground, the taste of blood was on the sea, and he followed the wounded whale; until, going round in her flurry, she ran her nose against wishart's boat and upset it. then the shark saw strange animals in the water which he had never seen before. he swam under them and sniffed at their tarry trousers, until they landed on the rocks: all but one, olav pedersen, a strong man but a slow swimmer. a fin arose above the water between olav and the shore. he knew what that meant, and his heart failed him. three times he called for help and wishart threw off his wet clothes and plunged into the sea. the shark was attracted to the naked captain, and he bit a piece out of one leg. both bodies were recovered; that of wishart was taken to hobarton, and olav was buried on the shore at the foot of a gum tree. his epitaph was painted on a board nailed to the tree, and was seen by one of the pioneers on his first voyage to the old port in . before gippsland was brought under the law, rabbit island was colonised by two whalers named page and yankee jim, and page's wife and baby. they built a bark hut, fenced in a garden with a rabbit-proof fence, and planted it with potatoes. their base of supplies for groceries was at the old port. they were monarchs of all they surveyed, from the centre all round to the sea. they paid no rent and no taxes. sometimes they fished, or went to the seal islands and brought back seal skins. in the time of the potato harvest, and when that of the mutton birds drew near, there were signs of trouble coming from the mainland. fires were visible on the shore at night, and smoke by day; and page suspected that the natives were preparing to invade the island. at length canoes appeared bobbing up and down on the waves, but a shot from the rifle sent them back to the shore. for three days and nights no fire or smoke was seen, and the two whalers ceased to keep watch. but early next morning voices were heard from the beach below the hut; the blacks were trying to launch the boat. page and jim shouted at them and went down the cliff; then the blacks ran away up the rocks, and were quickly out of sight. presently mrs. page came running out of the hut half dressed, and carrying her baby; she said she heard the blacks jabbering in the garden. in a short time the hut was in a blaze, and was soon burned to the ground. the two men then launched their boat and went to the port. davy shipped a crew of six men, and started in his whaleboat for the island; but the wind was blowing hard from the west, and they did not arrive at the island until next day. the blacks had then all disappeared; and, as the men wanted something to eat, davy told them to dig up some potatoes, while he went and shot six rabbits. when he returned with his game, the men said they could not find any potatoes. he said, "that's all nonsense," and went himself to the garden; but he could not find one potato. the blackfellows had shipped the whole crop in their canoes, so that there was nothing but rabbit for breakfast. in this manner the reign of the page dynasty came to an abrupt termination. the baby heir-apparent grew up to man's estate as a private citizen, and became a fisherman at williamstown. until the golden dawn. after mr. latrobe's short visit to port albert, gippsland was for many years ruled by mr. tyers with an authority almost royal. davy, after his first rebellious outburst at the burning of the huts, and his subsequent appointment as pilot, retired to the new port albert and avoided as much as possible the haunts of the commissioner. on the salt water he was almost as powerful and imperious as was his rival by land. he ruled over all ships and shipwrecks, and allowed no man to say him nay. long mason, the first overseer of woodside station, took over a cargo of fat cattle to hobarton for his brother. after receiving the cash for the cattle he proceeded to enjoy himself after the fashion of the day. the shepherd knocked down his cheque at the nearest groggery and then returned to his sheep full of misery. long mason had nearly pounds, and he acted the part of the prodigal brother. he soon made troops of friends, dear brethren and sisters, on whom he lavished his coin; he hired a band of wandering minstrels to play his favourite music, and invited the beauty an chivalry of the convict capital to join him in his revels. when his money was expended he was put on board a schooner bound for port albert, on which davis (of yarram) and his family were passengers. for two days he lay in his bunk sick and suffering. as the vessel approached the shore his misery was intense. he demanded drink, but no one would give him any. he began to search his pockets for coin, but of the pounds only one solitary sixpence was left. with this he tried to bribe the cabin boy to find for him one last taste of rum; but the boy said, "all the grog is locked up, and the captain would welt me if i gave you a single drop." so long mason landed at the port with his sixpence, was dismissed by his brother from woodside station, and became a wandering swagman. the next overseer for woodside voyaged to port albert in the brig 'isabella' in the month of june, . this vessel had been employed in taking prisoners to macquarie harbour and port arthur until the government built a barque called the 'lady franklin'; then captain taylor bought the brig for the cattle trade. on this voyage he was anxious to cross the bar for shelter from a south-east gale, and he did not wait for the pilot, although the vessel was deeply laden; there was not water enough for her on the old bar; she struck on it, and the heavy easterly sea threw her on the west bank. it was some time before the pilot and his two men could get aboard, as they had to fight their way through the breakers to leeward. there was too much sea for the boat to remain in safety near the ship, and davy asked the captain to lend him a hand to steer the boat back to sunday island. the second mate went in her, but she was capsized directly. the ship's boat was hanging on the weather davits, and it was no use letting her down to windward on account of the heavy sea. davy ran out to the end of the jibboom with a lead line. he could see the second mate hanging on to the keel of the capsized boat, and his two men in the water. the ebb sea kept washing them out, and the heavy sea threw them back again, and whenever they could get their heads above water they shouted for help. davy threw the lead towards them from the end of the jibboom, but they were too far away for the line to reach them. at length the ship's boat was launched to leeward, four men and the mate got into her, but by this time the two boatmen were drowned. while the ship's boat was running through the breakers past the pilot boat, the first mate grabbed the second mate by the collar, held on to him until they were in smooth water, and then hauled him in. it was too dangerous for the seamen to face the breakers again, so the pilot sang out to them to go to snake island. about two o'clock in the afternoon the vessel lay pretty quiet on the ebb tide; a fire was lighted in the galley, and all hands had something to eat. there was not much water in the cabin; but, as darkness set in, and the flood tide made, the seas began to come aboard. there was a heavy general cargo in the hold, six steerage passengers, four men and two women (one of whom had a baby), and one cabin passenger, who was going to manage woodside station in place of long mason, dismissed. the sea began to roll over the bulwarks, and the brig was fast filling with water. for some time the pumps were kept going, but the water gained on them, and all hands had to take to the rigging. the two women and the baby were first helped up to the foretop; then the pilot, counting the men, found one missing. "captain," he said, "what has become of the new manager?" "oh, he is lying in his bunk half-drunk." "then," replied davy, "he'll be drowned!" he descended into the cabin and found the man asleep, with the water already on a level with his berth. "why the blazes don't you get up and come out of this rat-hole?" he said. "don't you see you are going to be drowned?" the manager looked up and smiled. "please, don't be so unkind, my dear man," he replied. "let me sleep a little longer, and then i'll go on deck." davy standing with the water up to his belt, grew mad. "come out of that, you confounded fool," he said. he dragged him out of his bunk into the water, and hauled him up the companion ladder, and with the help of the men took him up the rigging, and lashed him there out of reach of the breakers. all the rest of the men went aloft, and remained there during the night. their clothing was soaked with water, and the weather was frosty and bitterly cold. just before daylight, when the tide had ebbed, and the sea had gone down, the two women and the baby were brought below from the foretop, and all hands descended to the deck. they wanted to make a fire, but everything was wet, and they had to cut up some of the standing rigging which had been out of reach of the surf before they could find anything that would burn. with that a fire was made in the galley, and the women and baby were put inside. at sunrise it was found that the sea had washed up a ridge of sand near the ship, and, not wishing to pass another tide on board, all the crew and passengers went over the side, and waded through the shallow water until they came to a dry sand-pit. they were eleven in number, including the women and baby, and they waited until the boat came over from snake island and took them to the port. a little of the cargo was taken out of the 'isabella', but in a few days she went to pieces. captain taylor went to hobarton, and bought from the insurers the schooner 'sylvanus' which had belonged to him, and having been wrecked was then lying ashore on the coast. he succeeded in floating her off without much damage, and he ran her in the cattle trade for some time. he then sold her to boys & hall, of hobarton, went to sydney, bought the schooner 'alert', and sailed her in the same trade until the discovery of gold. all the white seamen went off to the diggings, and he hired four kanakas to man his craft. on his last trip to port albert the pilot was on board, waiting for the tide. the pilot boat had been sent back to sunday island, the ship's boat was in the water, and was supposed to have been made fast astern by the crew. at break of day the pilot came on deck, and on taking a look round, he saw that the longboat had got away and was drifting towards rabbit island. he roared down the companion to captain taylor, "your longboat's got adrift, and is off to rabbit island." in another minute captain taylor was on deck. he gazed at his distant longboat and swore terribly. then he took a rope and went for his four kanakas; but they did not wait for him; they all plunged into the sea and deserted. the captain and pilot stood on deck watching them as they swam away, hand over hand, leaving foaming wakes behind like vessels in full sail. they were making straight for the longboat, and davy said, "they will go away in her and leave us here in the lurch." but the captain said, "i think not." he was right. the kanakas brought back the boat within hail of the schooner, and after being assured by the captain that he would not ropes-end them, they climbed aboard. on returning to hobarton captain taylor was seized with the gold fever. he laid up the 'alert', went with his four men to bendigo, and was a lucky digger. then he went to new zealand, bought a farm, and ploughed the waves no more. in january, , some buoys were sent to port albert and laid down in the channel. the account for the work was duly sent to the chief harbour master at williamstown, but he took no notice of it, nor made any reply to several letters requesting payment. there was something wrong at headquarters, and davy resolved to see for himself what it was. moreover, he had not seen melbourne for ten years, and he yearned for a change. so, without asking leave of anyone, he left port albert and its shipping "to the sweet little cherub that sits up aloft, and takes care of the life of poor jack," and went in his boat to yanakie landing. mrs. bennison lent him a pony, and told him to steer for two bald hills on the hoddle ranges; he could not see the hills for the fog, and kept too much to port, but at last he found a track. he camped out that night, and next morning had breakfast at hobson's station. he stayed one night at kilcunda, and another at lyle's station, near the bay. he then followed a track which septimus martin had cut through the tea-tree, and his pony became lame by treading on the sharp stumps, so that he had to push it or drag it along until he arrived at dandenong, where he left it at an inn kept by a man named hooks. he hired a horse from hooks at five shillings a day. the only house between dandenong and melbourne was once called the south yarra pound, kept by mrs. atkinson. it was near caulfield, on the melbourne side of "no-good-damper swamp." some blackfellows had been poisoned there by a settler who wanted to get rid of them. he gave them a damper with arsenic in it, and when dying they said, "no good, damper." davy landed in melbourne on june th, , put his horse in kirk's bazaar, and stayed at the queen's head in queen street, where sir william clarke's office is now. the landlady was mrs. coulson, a widow. next morning he was at the wharf before daylight, and went down the yarra in the first steamer for williamstown. he found that captain bunbury, the chief harbour-master, had gone away in the buoy-boat, a small schooner called the 'apollo', so he hired a whale-boat, and overtook the schooner off the red bluff. when he went on board he spoke to ruffles, master of the schooner, and said: "is the harbour-master aboard? i want to see him." "yes, but don't speak so loud, or you'll wake him up," replied ruffles. "he is asleep down below." davy roared out, "i want to wake him up. i have come two hundred miles on purpose to do it. i want to get a settlement about those buoys at port albert. i am tired of writing about them." this woke up bunbury, who sang out: "what's the matter, ruffles? what's all that noise about?" "it's the pilot from port albert. he wants to see you, sir, about the buoys." "tell him to come down below." davy went. bunbury was a one-armed naval lieutenant, the head of the harbour department, and drew the salary. he had subordinate officers. a clerk at williamstown did his clerical work, and old ruffles navigated the 'apollo' for him through the roaring waters of port philip bay, while he lay in his bunk meditating on something. he said: "oh, is that you, pilot? well, about those buoys, eh? that's all right. all you have to do is go to my office in williamstown, tell my clerk to fill in a form for you, take it to the treasury, and you will get your money." davy went back to the office at williamstown, had the form made out by the clerk, and took it to melbourne in the steamer, the last trip she made that day. by this time the treasury was closed. it was situated in william street, where the vast law courts are now; and davy was at the door when it was opened next morning, the first claimant for money. a clerk took his paper, looked over it, smiled, and said it was of no use whatever without bunbury's signature. davy started for williamstown again in the second boat, found that bunbury had gone away again in the 'apollo', followed him in a whale boat, overtook him off st. kilda, obtained his signature, and returned to the treasury. captain lonsdale was there, but he said it was too late to pay money that day, and also that the form should be signed by someone at the public works office. then davy's patience was gone, and he spoke the loud language of the sea. the frail building shook as with an earthquake. mr. latrobe was in a back room writing one of those gubernatorial despatches which are so painful to read. he had to suspend the pangs of composition, and he came into the front room to see what was the matter. davy told him what was the matter in very unofficial words. mr. latrobe listened patiently and then directed captain lonsdale to keep the treasury open until the account was paid. he also said the schooner 'agenoria' had been wrecked on the day that davy left port albert, and requested him to return to duty as soon as possible, lest other vessels might be wrecked for want of a pilot. "the sweet little cherub that sits up aloft" could not be depended on to pilot vessels over the bar. davy took his paper to the public works office in queen street. here he found another officer bursting with dignity, who said: "there is already one signature too many on this account." "can't you scratch it out, then?" said davy. "we don't keep hens to scratch in this office," replied the dignified one, who took a ruler, and having drawn a line through the superfluous name, signed his own. when davy went again to the treasury with his account, captain lonsdale said he had not cash on hand to pay it, and deducted twenty pounds, which he sent to port albert afterwards, when the government had recovered its solvency. his honour the superintendent might have assumed the classical motto, "custos sum pauperis horti." davy put the money in his pocket, went to the queen's head, and, as it was already dark, he hired a man for ten shillings to show him the road through the wet wilderness of caulfield and round no-good-damper swamp. it was half-past eleven when he arrived at hook's hotel, and, as his pony was still too lame to travel, he bought the horse he had hired, and set out with the sale mailman. at the moe he found angus mcmillan, william montgomery, and their stockmen, afraid to cross the creek on account of the flood, and they had eaten all their provisions. before dark a black gin came over in a canoe from the accommodation hut on the other side of the creek, having heard the travellers cooeying. they told her they wanted something to eat, but it was too dangerous for her to cross the water again that night. a good fire was kept burning but it was a wretched time. it rained heavily, a gale of wind was blowing, and trees kept falling down in all directions. scott, the hut-keeper, sent the gin over in the canoe next morning with a big damper, tea, sugar, and meat, which made a very welcome breakfast for the hungry travellers. they stayed there two days and two nights, and as the flood was still rising, they resolved to try to cross the creek at all risks, preferring to face the danger of death by drowning rather than to die slowly of starvation. each man took off his clothes, all but his flannel shirt and drawers, strapped them to the pommel of his saddle, threw the stirrup irons over the saddle, and stopped them with a string under the horse's belly to keep them from getting foul in the trees and scrub. in some places the horses had to climb over logs under water, sometimes they had to swim, but in the end they all arrived safely at the hut. they were very cold, and ravenously hungry; and while their clothes were drying before a blazing fire, they drank hot tea and ate up every scrap of food, so that scott was obliged to accompany them to the next station for rations. he left the gin behind, having no anxiety about her. while he was away she could feed sumptuously on grubs, crabs, and opossums. in march, , when everybody was seized with the gold fever, davy took it in the natural way. he again left port albert without a pilot and went to melbourne to resign his office. but mr. latrobe promised to give him a salary of pounds a year and a boat's crew of five men and a coxswain. the men were to have twelve-and-six a day and the coxswain fifteen shillings. by this time the gold fever had penetrated to the remotest parts of gippsland, and from every squatting station and every lonely hut on the plains and mountains men gathered in troops. they were leaving plenty of gold behind them at walhalla and other places. the first party davy met had a dray and bullocks. they were slowly cutting a road through the scrub, and their team was the first that made its way over the mountains from gippsland to melbourne. their captain was a lady of unbounded bravery and great strength--a model pioneeress, with a talent for governing the opposite sex.* when at home on her station she did the work of a man and a woman too. she was the one in a thousand so seldom found. she not only did the cooking and housework, but she also rode after stock, drove a team, killed fat beasts, chopped wood, stripped bark, and fenced. she did not hanker after woman's rights, nor rail against the male sex. she was not cultured, nor scientific, nor artistic, nor aesthetic. she despised all the ologies. all great men respected her, and if the little ones were insolent she boxed their ears and twisted their necks. she conquered all the blackfellows around her land with her own right arm. at first she had been kind to them, but they soon became troublesome, wanted too much flour, sugar, and beef, and refused to go away when she ordered them to do so. without another word she took down her stockwhip, went to the stable, and saddled her horse. then she rounded up the blackfellows like a mob of cattle and started them. if they tried to break away, or to hide themselves among the scrub, or behind tussocks, she cut pieces out of their hides with her whip. then she headed them for the ninety-mile beach, and landed them in the pacific without the loss of a man. in that way she settled the native difficulty. the neills, with a bullock team, the buckleys and moores, with horse teams, followed the track of the leading lady. the station-owners stayed at home and watched their fat stock, which soon became valuable, and was no longer boiled. [footnote] *mrs. buntine; died . on december st, , there were in tasmania twenty thousand and sixty-nine convicts. six months afterwards more than ten thousand had left the island, and in three years forty-five thousand eight hundred and eighty-four persons, principally men, had left for the diggings. it was evident that sir wm. denison would soon have nobody to govern but old women and children, a circumstance derogatory to his dignity, so he wrote to england for more convicts and immigrants, and he pathetically exclaimed, "to whom but convicts could colonists look to cultivate their lands, to tend their flocks, to reap their harvests?" in the month of may, , sir william wrote that "the discovery of gold had turned him topsy-turvy altogether," and he rejoiced that no gold had been discovered in his island. then the legislature perversely offered a reward of five thousand pounds to any man who would discover a gold field in tasmania, but, as a high-toned historian observes, "for many years they were so fortunate as not to find it." the convicts stole boats at launceston, and landed at various places about corner inlet. some were arrested by the police and sent back to tasmania. many called at yanakie station for free rations. mr. bennison applied for police protection, and old joe, armed with a carbine, was sent from alberton as a garrison. soon afterwards a cutter of about fifteen tons burden arrived at corner inlet manned by four convicts, who took the mainsail ashore and used it as a tent. they then allowed the cutter to drift on the rocks under mount singapore, and she went to pieces directly. while trying to find a road to melbourne, they came to yanakie station, and they found nobody at the house except joe, mrs. bennison, and an old hand. it was now joe's duty to overawe and arrest the men, but they, although unarmed, overawed and arrested joe. he became exceedingly civil, and after mrs. bennison had supplied them with provisions he showed them the road to melbourne. they were arrested a few days afterwards at dandenong and sent back to the island prison. a new rush. ---- "and there was gathering in hot haste." when gold was first discovered at stockyard creek, griffiths, one of the prospectors, came to me with the intention of registering the claim, under the impression that i was mining registrar. he showed me a very good sample of gold. as i had not then been appointed registrar, he had to travel sixty miles further before he could comply with the necessary legal formalities. then the rush began. old diggers came from all parts of victoria, new south wales, queensland, and new zealand; also men who had never dug before, and many who did not intend to dig--pickpockets, horse thieves, and jumpers. the prospectors' claim proved the richest, and the jumpers and the lawyers paid particular attention to it. the trail of the old serpent is over everything. the desire of the jumpers was to obtain possession of the rich claim, or of some part of it; and the lawyers longed for costs, and they got them. the prospectors paid, and it was a long time before they could extricate their claim from the clutches of the law. they found the goldfield, and they also soon found an unprofitable crop of lawsuits growing on it. they were called upon to show cause before the warden and the court of mines why they should not be deprived of the fruit of their labours. the fact of their having discovered gold, and of having pegged out and registered their claim, could not be denied; but then it was argued by counsel most learned in mining law that they had done something which they should have omitted to do, or had omitted to do something else which they should have done, frail human beings as they were, and therefore their claim should be declared to belong to some ballarat jumper. i had to sit and listen to such like legal logic until it made me sick, and ashamed of my species. of course, justice was never mentioned, that was out of the question; if law and justice don't agree, so much the worse for justice. gold was next found at turton's creek, which proved one of the richest little gullies ever worked by diggers. it was discovered by some prospectors who followed the tracks which mr. turton had cut over the scrubby mountains, and so they gratefully gave his name to the gully, but i never heard that they gave him any of the gold which they found in it. a narrow track from foster was cut between high walls of impenetrable scrub, and it soon became like a ditch full of mud, deep and dangerous. if the diggers had been assured that they would find heaven at the other end of it, they would never have tried to go, the prospect of eternal happiness having a much less attraction for them than the prospect of gold; but the sacred thirst made them tramp bravely through the slough. the sun and wind never dried the mud, because it was shut in and overshadowed by the dense growth of the bush. all tools and provisions were carried through it on the backs of horses, whose legs soon became caked with mud, and the hair was taken off them as clean as if they had been shaved with a razor. most of them had a short life and a hard one. the digging was quite shallow, and the gully was soon rifled of the gold. at this time there was a mining registrar at foster, as the new diggings at stockyard creek were named, and some men, after pegging out their claim at turton's creek, went back down the ditch to register them at foster. it was a great mistake. it was neither the time nor the place for legal forms or ceremony. time was of the essence of the contract, and they wasted the essence. other and wiser men stepped on to their ground while they were absent, commenced at once to work vigorously, and the original peggers, when they returned, were unable to dislodge them. peter wilson pegged out a claim, and then rode away to register it. he returned next day and found two men on it who had already nearly worked it out. "this claim is mine, mates," said peter; "i pegged it out yesterday, and i have registered it. you will have to come out." one of the men looked up at peter and said, "oh! your name is peter, isn't it? i hear you are a fighting man. well, you just come down off that bare-legged horse, and i'll kill you in a couple of minutes, while i take a spell." "it's no use your talking that way; you'll see i'll have the law on you, and you'll have to pay for it," replied peter. "you can go, peter, and fetch the law as soon as you like. i don't care a tinker's curse for you or the law; all i want is the profits, and i'm going to have them." this profane outlaw and his mate got the profits, cleared all the gold out of peter's claim, and took it away with them. it was reported in melbourne that there was no law or order at turton's creek; that the diggers were treating the mining statutes and regulations with contempt; that the gold went to the strong, and the weakest went to the wall. therefore, six of the biggest policemen in melbourne were selected, stretched out, and measured in russell street barracks, and were then ordered to proceed to turton's creek and vindicate the majesty of the law. they landed from the steamer on the wharf at port albert, and, being armed with carbines and revolvers, looked very formidable. they proceeded on their journey in the direction of foster, and it was afterwards reported that they arrived at turton's creek, and finding everybody quiet and peaceable, they came back again, bringing with them neither jumpers nor criminals. it was said, however, that they never went any further than the commencement of the ditch. they would naturally, on viewing it, turn aside and camp, to recruit their energies and discuss the situation. although they were big constables, it did not follow they were big fools. they said the government ought to have asphalted the ditch for them. it was unreasonable to expect men, each six foot four inches in height, carrying arms and accoutrements, which they were bound by the regulations to keep clean and in good order, to plunge into that river of mud, and to spoil all their clothes. turton's creek was soon worked out, and before any professional jumpers or lawyers could put their fingers in the pie, the plums were all gone. the gully was prospected from top to bottom, and the hills on both sides were tunnelled, but no more gold, and no reefs were found. there was much speculation by geologists, mining experts, and old duffers as to the manner in which the gold had contrived to get into the creek, and where it came from; where it went to, the diggers who carried it away in their pockets knew well enough. the diggers dispersed; some went to melbourne to enjoy their wealth; some stayed at foster to try to get more; some died from the extreme enjoyment of riches suddenly acquired, and a few went mad. one of the latter was brought to palmerston, and remained there a day or two on his way to the yarra bend lunatic asylum. having an inborn thirst for facts, i conversed with him from the wooden platform which overlooks the gaol yard. he was walking to and fro, and talking very cheerfully to himself, and to the world in general. he spoke well, and had evidently been well educated, but his ideas were all in pieces as it were, and lacked connection. he spoke very disrespectfully of men in high places, both in england and the colonies; and remarked that members of parliament were the greatest rascals on the face of the earth. no man of sound mind would ever use such language as that. some years afterwards, while i was collector of customs at port albert, i received a letter from melbourne to the following purport: "yarra bend asylum, ---------- -- "strictly private and confidential "sir,--you are hereby ordered to take possession of and detain every vessel arriving at port albert. you will immediately proceed on board each of them, and place the broad arrow abaft the foremast six feet above the deck. you will thus cut off all communication with the british empire. i may state that i am the lawful heir to the title and estates of a scottish dukedom, and am deprived of the possession and enjoyment of my rightful station and wealth by the machinations of a band of conspirators, who have found means to detain me in this prison in order to enjoy my patrimony. you will particularly observe that you are to hold no communication whatever with the governor of this colony, as he is the paid agent of the conspirators, and will endeavour to frustrate all efforts to obtain my rights. you will also be most careful to withhold all information from the duke of dunsinane, who is a member of the junior branch of my family, and at the head of the conspiracy. you will proceed as soon as possible to enrol a body of men for the purpose of effecting my deliverance by force of arms. as these men will require payment for their services, you will enter the bank of victoria at port albert, and seize all the money you will find there, the amount of which i estimate at ten thousand pounds, which will be sufficient for preliminary expenses. you will give, in my name, to the manager of the bank, a guarantee in writing for repayment of the money, with current rate of interest added, when i recover the dukedom and estates. be careful to explain to him that you take the money only as a loan, and that will prevent the bank from laying any criminal charge against you. should anything of the kind be in contemplation, you will be good enough to report progress to me as soon as possible, and i will give you all necessary instructions as to your future proceedings. "i may mention that in seeking to obtain my title and estates, i am influenced by no mean or mercenary considerations; my sole desire is to benefit the human race. i have been employing all my leisure hours during the last nine years in perfecting a system of philosophy entirely new, and applicable to all times, to all nations, and to all individuals. i have discovered the true foundation for it, which, like all great inventions, is so simple that it will surprise the world it was never thought of before. it is this: "posito impossibili sequitur quidlibet." my philosophy is founded on the firm basis of the impossible; on that you can build anything and everything. my great work is methodical, divided into sections and chapters, perfect in style, and so lucid in argument that he who runs may read and be enlightened. i have counted the words, and they number so far seven hundred and two thousand five hundred and seventy-eight ( , ). five years more will be required to complete the work; i shall then cause it to be translated into every language of the world, and shipped at the lowest rate of tonnage for universal distribution gratis. this will ensure its acceptance and its own beauty and intrinsic merits will secure its adoption by all nations, and the result will be human happiness. it will supersede all the baseless theories of science, religion, and morality which have hitherto confounded the human intellect. "extract from my magnum opus. "we may reasonably suppose that matter is primordially self-existent, and that it imbued itself with the potentiality of life. it therefore produced germs. a pair of germs coalesced, and formed a somewhat discordant combination, the movements in which tended towards divergence. they attracted and enclosed other atoms, and, progressing through sleep and wakefulness, at last arrived at complete satisfaction, or perfect harmonic combination. this harmonic combination is death. we may say then, in brief, that growth is simply discordant currents progressing towards harmony. one question may be briefly noticed. it has been asked, when did life first appear on the earth? we shall understand now that the question is unnecessary. life first appeared on the earth when the earth first appeared as an unsatisfied atom seeking combination. the question is rather, when did the inanimate first appear? it appeared when the first harmonic combination was effected. the earth is indeed to be considered as having grown up through the life that is inherent in it. man is the most concentrated and differentiated outgrowth of that life. mankind is, so to speak, the brain of the earth, and is progressing towards the conscious guidance of all its processes." "dunsinane." it was not clear on what ground this noble duke based his authority over me; but i had been so long accustomed to fulfil the behests of lunatics of low degree that i was able to receive those of an afflicted lord with perfect equanimity. but as i could not see that my obedience would be rewarded with anything except death or pentridge, i refrained from action. i did not place the broad arrow abaft of anything or anybody, nor did i make a levy on the cash in the bank of victoria. gippsland after thirty years. "a pleasing land of drowsihed it was, and dreams that wave before the half-shut eye." for twelve years i did the government stroke in her majesty's court at colac, then i was ordered to make my way to gippsland. the sun of wisdom shone on a new ministry. they observed that many of their officers were destitute of energy, and they resolved to infuse new life into the service, by moving its members continually from place to place. but officials live long, and the most robust ministry dies early, and the wisdom of one cabinet is foolishness to the next. i took root so deeply in the soil of gippsland that i became immoveable. twice the government tried to uproot me, but i remained there to the end of my official days. little reliable information about the country or its inhabitants was to be had, so i fondly imagined that in such a land, secured from contamination by the wicked world outside, i should find a people of primeval innocence and simplicity, and the long-forgotten lines returned to my memory: "beatus ille qui procul negotils, ut prisca gens mortalium." it was summer time, and the weather was serene and beautiful, when in the grey dusk of the evening we sailed through the rip at port philip heads. then began the troubles of the heaving ocean, and the log of the voyage was cut short. it ran thus: "the ship went up, and the ship went down; and then we fell down, and then we was sick; and then we fell asleep; and then we was at port albert; and that's all i knows about it." i walked along the one street past the custom house, the post-office, and the bank, about three hundred yards and saw nothing beyond but tea-tree and swamps, through which ran a roughly-metalled road, leading apparently to the distant mountains. there was nothing but stagnation; it was the deadest seaport ever seen or heard of. there were some old stores, empty and falling to pieces, which the owners had not been enterprising enough to burn for the insurance money; the ribs of a wrecked schooner were sticking out of the mud near the channel; a stockyard, once used for shipping cattle, was rotting slowly away, and a fisherman's net was hanging from the top rails to dry. three or four drays filled with pigs were drawn up near the wharf; these animals were to form part of the steamer's return cargo, one half of her deck space being allotted to pigs, and the other half to passengers. in case of foul weather, the deck hamper, pigs and passengers, was impartially washed overboard. an old man in a dirty buggy was coming along the road, and all the inhabitants and dogs turned out to look and bark at him, just as they do in a small village in england, when the man with the donkey-cart comes in sight. to allay my astonishment on observing so much agitation and excitement, the principal inhabitant introduced himself, and informed me that it was a busy day at the port, a kind of market day, on account of the arrival of the steamer. i began sorrowfully to examine my official conscience to discover for which of my unatoned-for sins i had been exiled to this dreary land. many a time in after years did i see a stranger leave the steamer, walk, as i had done, to the utmost extremity of the seaport, and stand at the corner of the butcher's shop, gazing on the swamps, the tea-tree, and the far-away wooded hills, the strelezcki ranges. the dismal look of hopeless misery thatstole over his countenance was pitiful to behold. after recovering the power of speech, his first question was, "how is it possible that any man could ever consent to live in a hole like this?" here the principal inhabitant intervened, and poured balm on the wounded spirit of the stranger. he gently reminded him that first impressions are not always to be relied on; and assured him that if he would condescend to take up his abode with us for two or three years, he would never want to live anywhere else. the climate was delicious, the best in the world; it induced a feeling of repose, and bliss, and sweet contentment. we had no ice or snow, or piercing blasts in winter; and the heat of summer was tempered by the cool breezes of the pacific ocean, which gently lapped our lovely shores. the land, when cleared, was as rich and fertile as the farmer's heart could wish, yielding abundant pasturage both in summer and winter. the mountains sent down to us unfailing supplies of the purest water; we wanted no schemes of irrigation, for "green are our fields and fair our flowers, our fountains never drumlie." we had no plagues of locust, no animal or insect pests to destroy our crops or herbage. rabbits had been introduced and turned loose at various times, but, instead of multiplying until they had become as numerous as the sand on the seashore, as had been the case in other parts of australia, in gippsland they invariably died; and it had been abundantly proved that rabbits had no more chance of living there than snakes in ireland. and with regard to the salubrity of the climate, the first settlers lived so long that they were absolutely tired of life. let him look at the cemetery, if he could find it. after thirty years of settlement it was almost uninhabited --neglected and overgrown with tussocks and scrub for want of use. it will be gathered from this statement of the principal inhabitant that gippsland had really been discovered and settled about thirty years before; but mountains and sea divided it from the outside world, and, on account of the intense drowsiness and inactivity which the delicious air and even temperature of the climate produced, the land and its inhabitants had been forgotten and unnoticed until it had been rediscovered, and its praises sung by the enterprising minister of the crown before mentioned. following the example of the cautious cat when introduced into a strange house, i investigated every corner of the district as far as the nature of the country would permit; and i found that it contained three principal corners or villages about three miles apart, at each of which the police magistrate and clerk had to attend on certain days, business or no business, generally the latter. it was, of course, beneath the dignity of a court to walk officially so far through the scrub; so the police magistrate was allowed sixty pounds per annum in addition to his salary, and the clerk whom i relieved fifty pounds, to defray the expense of keeping their horses. "away went gilpin, and away went gilpin's hat and wig." i bought a waggonette, and then began to look for a horse to draw it. as soon as my want became known it was pleasing to find so many of my neighbours willing to supply it. cox, the gaoler, said he knew of a horse that would just suit me. it belonged to binns, an ex-constable, who was spending a month in gaol on account of a little trouble that had come upon him. cox invited me into his office, and brought binns out of his cell. "yes," said binns "i have a horse, and there's not another like him on the island," (these men always meant van diemen's land when they said "the island," forgetting occasionally that they had crossed the straits, and were in a land of freedom) "as good a goer as ever carried a saddle, or wore a collar. i wouldn't sell him on no account, only you see i'm hard up just now." "what is his age?" i enquired. "well, he's just rising ten. he has been used a bit hard, but you won't overwork him, and he'll do all the law business you want as easy as winking. he's the best trotter on the island, and has won many a stake for me. when i took johnny-come-lately to gaol in melbourne for stealing him, he brought me back in less time than any horse ever did the distance before or since. and you can have him dirt cheap. i'll take ten pounds for him, and he's worth twenty pounds of any man's money." lovers' vows and horsedealers' oaths are never literally true; it is safer to receive them as lies. i thought it would be prudent to try this trotter before buying him, so binns signed an order, in a very shaky hand, to the man in charge of his farm, to let me have the horse on trial. when i harnessed and put him in between the shafts he was very quiet indeed. i took a whip, not for the purpose of using it, but merely for show; a horse that had won so many races would, of course, go without the lash. when i was seated and requested him to start, he began walking very slowly, as if he had a load of two tons weight behind him, and i never weighed so much as that. i had to use the whip, and at last after a good deal of reflection he began to trot, but not with any speed; he did not want to win anything that day. i remarked that his ears looked dead; no sound or sight of any kind disturbed the peace of his mind. he evidently knew this world well and despised it; nothing in it could excite his feelings any more. halfway up the water road i met bill mills, a carrier. he stopped his team and looked at mine. "have you bought that horse, mister?" he said. "not yet; i am only trying him," i replied. "do you know him?" "know him? i should think i did. that's old punch. i broke him into harness when he was three off. he nearly killed me; ran away with me and my dog-cart among the scrub at the racecourse swamp, and smashed it against a honeysuckle." "is that long ago?" i enquired. "long ago? let me see. that horse is twenty year old if he's a day. he'll not run away with you now; no fear; he's quite safe. good-day, mister. come on, star;" and bill touched his leader with his whip. when i arrived at the court-house, i made a search in the cause list book, and found that johnny-come-lately had been sent to gaol just sixteen years before for stealing old punch, so i restored that venerable trotter to its owner. i had soon more horses offered to me for trial, every old screw within twenty miles being brought to me for inspection. the next animal i harnessed belonged to andrew jackson, and was brought by andrew jackson, junior, who said his father could let me have it for a month on trial. jackson, junior, was anxious to go away without the horse, but i told him to wait a bit while i put on the harness. the animal was of a mouse colour, very tall, something like a giraffe; and by the time i got him between the shafts, i could see that he was possessed by a devil of some kind. it might be a winged one who would fly away with me; so, in order to have a clear course, i led him through the gateway into the middle of the road, and while jackson, junior, held his head, i mounted carefully into the trap. i held the lines ready for a start, and after some hesitation the giraffe did start, but he went tail foremost. i tried to reverse the engine, but it would only work in one direction. he backed me into the ditch, and then across it on to the side path, then against the fence, bucking at it, and trying to go through and put me in the tarra. i told andrew, junior, to take the giraffe home to his parent, and relate what he had seen. my next horse was a black one from sale, and he also was possessed of a devil, but one of a different species. he was named gilpin, and the very name ought to have been a warning to me if i had had sense enough to profit by it. just as i sat down, and took the reins, and was going to observe what he would do, he suddenly went away at full gallop. i tried to pull him in, but he put his chin against his chest, and the harder i pulled the faster he flew. the road was full of ruts, and i was bumped up and down very badly. my hat went away, but, for the present, my head kept its place. i managed to steer safely as far as the bridge across the tarra but, in going over it, the horse's hoofs and whirling wheels sounded like thunder, and brought out the whole population of tarraville to look at me. it was on a sunday afternoon; some good people were singing hymns in the local chapel, and as i passed the turn of the road, they left the anxious benches, came outside in a body, and gazed at me, a bare-headed and miserable sabbath-breaker going swiftly to perdition. i also was on a very anxious bench. but now there was a long stretch of good road before me, and i made good use of it. instead of pulling the horse in, i let him go, and encouraged him with the whip to go faster, being determined to let him gallop until either he or the sun went down. then the despicable wretch slackened his pace, and wanted to come to terms. so i wheeled him round and whipped him without mercy, making him gallop all the way home again. i did not buy him. but the next horse i tried was comparatively blameless, so i bought him, and at the end of the first month sent in a claim to the law department for the usual allowance. i was curtly informed that the amount had been reduced from fifty pounds to ten pounds for my horse, although sixty pounds was still allowed to the other horse for travelling the same distance, the calculation evidently being based on the supposition that the police magistrate's horse would eat six times as much as mine. remonstrance was vain, and i found i had burdened myself with an animal, possessing no social or political influence whatever. i knew already that the world was governed without wisdom, and i now felt that it was also ruled with extreme meanness. and even after my horse was condemned to starve on ten pounds per annum, the cost of justice was still extravagant. without reckoning the expense incurred in erecting and maintaining three court houses, and three police stations, and paying three policemen for doing next to nothing, i ascertained from the cause lists that it cost the government fourteen pounds sterling every time we fined terry, the cobbler, five shillings for being drunk; and terry did not always pay the fines. what ails british law is dignity, and the insufferable expense attending it. the disease will never be cured until a strong-minded chief justice shall be found, who has sense enough to sit on the bench in his native hair, and to take off his coat when the thermometer rises to eighty degrees. it was in that manner judge winstanley kept court at waterloo in illinois, and we had there quicker justice, cheaper laws, and better manners than those which this southern hemisphere yet exhibits. as to the lawyers, if we did not like them, we could lynch them, so they were sociable and civil. moreover, prairie de long was discovered and settled nearly twenty years before australia felix was heard of. the three villages had a life-long feud with, and a consuming jealousy of, each other. until my arrival i was not aware that there were three such places as palmerston, alberton, and tarraville, claiming separate and rival existences. i had a notion that they were merely straggling suburbs of the great city and seaport, port albert. but it was a grievous mistake. i asked a tall young lady at the hotel, who brought in some very salt fish that took the skin off the roof of my mouth, if she could recommend the society of these villages, and if she would favour me with her opinion as to which would be the best place to select as a residence, and she said, "the people there are an 'orrid lot." this was very discouraging; but, on making further enquiries, i found she only expressed the opinion which the inhabitants of these centres of population held of each other; and it was evident that i should have to demean myself with prudence, and show no particular affection for one place more than for another, or trouble would ensue. therefore, as soon as occasion offered, i took a house and paddock within easy distance of all the three corners, so that when the government allowance had reduced my horse to a skeleton, i might give him a spell on grass, and travel to the courts on foot. the house was on a gentle rise, overlooking a rich river flat. it had been built by a retainer of lord glengarry, who had declined to follow any further the fortunes of his chief when he had closed his dairying operations at greenmount. a tragedy had been enacted in it some years before, and a ghost had often since been seen flitting about the house and grounds on moonlight nights. this gave an aristocratic distinction to the property, which was very pleasing, as it is well known that ghosts never haunted any mansions or castles except such as have belonged to ancient families of noble race. i bought the estate on very reasonable terms, no special charge being made for the ghost. the paddock had been without a tenant for some time, but i found it was not unoccupied. a friendly neighbour had introduced his flock of sheep into it, and he was fattening them cheaply. i said, "tityre, tu patulae recubans sub tegmine fayi, be good enough to round up your sheep and travel." tityrus said that would be all right; he would take them away as soon as they were ready for the butcher. it would be no inconvenience to me, as my horse would not be able to eat all the grass. the idea of paying anything did not occur to him; he was doing me a favour. he was one of the simple natives. as i did not like to take favours from an entire stranger, the sheep and the shepherd sought other pastures beyond the winding tarra. the dense tea-tree which bordered the banks of the river was the home of wild hogs, which spent the nights in rooting up the soil and destroying the grass. i therefore armed myself with a gun charged with buckshot, and went to meet the animals by moonlight. i lay in ambush among the tussocks. one shot was enough for each hog; after receiving it he retired hastily into the tea-tree and never came out again. after i had cleared my land from sheep and pigs, the grass began to grow in abundance; and passing travellers, looking pensively over the fence, were full of pity for me because i had not stock enough to eat the grass. one man had a team of bullocks which he was willing to put in; another had six calves ready to be weaned; and a third friend had a horse which he could spare for a spell. all these were willing to put in their stock, and they would not charge me anything. they were three more of the simple natives. i would rather buy forty cows than one horse, because, even allowing for the cow's horns, the horse has so many more points. i wanted a good cow, a quiet milker, and a farmer named ruffy offered to sell me one. he was very rough indeed, both in words and work. he showed me the cow, and put her in the bail with a big stick; said she was as quiet as a lamb, and would stand to be milked anywhere without a leg-rope. "here tom," he roared to his son, "bring a bucket, and come and milk daisy without the rope, and show the gentleman what a quiet beast she is." tom brought a bucket, placed the stool near the cow, sat down, and grasped one of the teats. daisy did not give any milk, but she gave instead three rapid kicks, which scattered tom, the bucket, and the stool all over the stockyard. i could not think of anything that it would be safe to say under the circumstances, so i went away while the farmer was picking up the fragments. government officers in the bush. "satan finds some mischief still for idle hands to do." although i had to attend at three courts on three days of each week, my duties were very light, and quite insufficient to keep me out of mischief; it was therefore a matter of very great importance for me to find something else to do. in bush townships the art of killing time was attained in various ways. mr. a. went on the street with a handball, and coaxed some stray idler to join him in a game. he was a young man of exceptional innocence, and died early, beloved of the gods. mr. b. kept a pair of sticks under his desk in the court house, and made a fencing school of the space allotted to the public. some of the police had been soldiers, and were quite pleased to prove their skill in arms, and show how fields were won. as a result there were more breaches of the peace inside the court than outside. mr. c. tried to while away his lonely hours by learning to play on a violin, which he kept concealed in a corner between a press and the wall of his office. he executed music, and doubled the terrors of the law. intending litigants stood transfixed with horror when they approached the open door of his office, and listened to the wails and long-drawn screeches which filled the interior of the building; and every passing dog sat down on its tail, and howled in sympathetic agony with the maddening sounds. but the majority of the officials condemned to live in the dreary townships tried to alleviate their misery by drinking and gambling. the police magistrate, the surveyor, the solicitor, the receiver of revenue, the police inspector, and the clerk of courts, together with one or two settlers, formed a little society for the promotion of poker, euchre, and other little games, interspersed with whiskies. it is sad to recall to mind the untimely end at which most of them arrived. mr. d. was found dead on the main road; mr. e. shot himself through the head; mr. f. fell asleep in the bush and never woke; and mr. g. was drowned in a waterhole. one officer was not quite so unfortunate as some of his friends. his score at the crook and plaid became so long that he began to pass that hotel without calling. polly, the venerable landlady, took offence at such conduct, and was daily on the watch for him. when she saw him passing, which he always did at a rapid pace, she hobbled to the door, and called after him, "hey, hey!" then the gentleman twirled his cane, whistled a lively tune, looked up, first to the sky, and then to the right and left, but never stopped, or looked back to polly behind him. at last his creditors became so troublesome, and his accounts so inexplicable, that he deserted the public service, and took refuge across the murray. mr. h. fell into the habit of borrowing his collections to pay his gambling debts. he was allowed a certain number of days at the beginning of each month to complete his returns, and send in his cash. so he made use of the money collected during the days of grace to repay any sums he had borrowed from the public cash during the preceding month. but the cards were against him. one morning an inspector of accounts from melbourne appeared unexpectedly in his office. in those days there were no railways and no telegraphs. their introduction was an offensive nuisance to us. the good old times will never come again, when we could regulate our own hours of attendance, take unlimited leave of absence, and relieve distress by having recourse to the government cash. when grimes was auditor-general every officer was a gentleman and a man of honour. in the bush no bank account was kept, as there was no bank within fifty or a hundred miles; and it was an implied insult to expect a gentleman to produce his cash balance out of his pocket. as a matter of courtesy he expected to be informed by letter two or three weeks beforehand when it was intended to make an official inspection of his books, in order that he might not be absent, nor taken unawares. when the inspector appeared, mr. h. did not lose his presence of mind, or show any signs of embarrassment. he said he was glad to see him (which was a lie), hoped he had had a pleasant journey through the bush; asked how things were going on in melbourne, and made enquiries about old friends there. but all the while he was calculating chances. he had acquired the valuable habit of the gambler and speculator, of talking about one thing while he was thinking about another. his thoughts ran on in this style: "this fellow (he could not think of him as a gentleman) wants to see my cash; haven't got any; must be near five hundred pounds short by this time; can't borrow it' no time to go round' couldn't get it if i did' deuced awkward; shall be given in charge; charged with larceny or embezzlement or something; can't help it' better quit till i think about it." so apologising for his absence for a few minutes on urgent business, he went out, mounted his horse, and rode away to the mountains. the inspector waited five minutes, ten minutes, twenty minutes. he made enquiries, and finding that mr. h. had gone away, he examined the books and vouchers, and concluded that there should be a cash balance of more than four hundred pounds payable to revenue. he looked about the office for the cash, but did not find any. then the police began to look for mr. h., but week after week passed by, and mr. h. was neither seen nor heard of. there were only two ways of leaving south gippsland that could be considered safe; one was by sea from port albert, the other by the road over the mountains. if anyone ventured to desert the beaten track, and tried to escape unseen through the forest, he was likely to be lost, and to be starved to death. the only man ever known to escape was an eccentric farmer, a "wandering outlaw of his own dark mind," as byron so darkly expressed it. he deserted his wife one morning in a most systematic manner, taking with him his horse and cart, a supply of provisions, and all the money he was worth. a warrant for his arrest was issued, and the police were on the look-out for him at all the stations from port albert to melbourne, but they never found him. many weeks passed by without any tidings of the man or his team, when one day he drove up to his own gate, unhitched his horse, and went to work as usual. on enquiry it was found that he had gone all the way to sydney overland, on a visit to an old friend living not far from that city. it was supposed that he had some reason for his visit when he started, but if so, he lost it by the way, for when he arrived he had nothing particular to say. after a few days' rest he commenced his return journey to south gippsland, and travelled the whole distance without being observed by the watchful police. when asked about his travels, his only remark was, "splendid horse; there he is between the shafts; walked twelve hundred miles; never turned a hair; splendid horse; there he is." but mr. h. lacked the intellect or the courage to perform a similar fool's errand successfully. he rode up to the police station at alberton, and finding from the officer in charge that he was wanted on a warrant, he supplied that want. he stated that he had been on a visit, for the benefit of his health, to a friend in the mountains, a rail-splitter, who had given him accommodation in his hut on reasonable terms. he had lived in strict retirement. for a time he was in daily and nightly fear of the appearance of the police coming to arrest him; every sound disturbed him. in about ten days he began to feel lonely and disappointed because the police did not come; neither they or anybody else seemed to be looking for him, or to care anything about him. heroic self-denial was not his virtue, and he felt no call to live the life of a hermit. he was treated with undeserved neglect, and at the end of four weeks he resolved that, as the police would not come to him, he would go to the police. he unburdened his mind, and made a confession to the officer who had him in charge. he explained how he had taken the money, how he had lost it, and who had won it. it relieved his mind, and the policeman kept the secret of confession until after the trial. then he broke the seal, and related to me confidentially the story of his penitent, showing that he was quite as unfit for the sacerdotal office as myself. mr. h. on his trial was found not guilty, but the department did not feel inclined to entrust him with the collection or custody of any more cash. in succeeding years he again served the government as state school teacher, having received his appointment from a minister of merciful principles. a reclaimed poacher makes an excellent gamekeeper, and a repentant thief may be a better teacher of youth than a sanctimonious hypocrite. seal islands and sealers. "am i my brother's keeper?" the islands in bass' straits, hogan's group, kent's group, the answers, the judgment rocks, and others, are visited at certain seasons of the year by seals of three different kinds--viz., the hair seals, which are not of much value except for their oil; the grey seals, whose skins are valuable; and the black seals, whose furs always command the highest price. when these animals have not been disturbed in their resorts for some years they are comparatively tame, and it is not difficult to approach them. great numbers of the young ones are sometimes found on the rocks, and if pushed into the water they will presently come out again, scramble back on to the rocks, and begin crying for their dams. but the old seals, when frequently disturbed, become shy, and, on the first alarm, take to the water. the flesh of the young seals is good to eat, and seamen who have been cast away on the islands have been sometimes saved from starvation by eating it. i once made the acquaintance of an old sealer. he had formerly been very sensitive on the point of honour; would resent an insult as promptly as any knight-errant; but by making an idol of his honour his life had been a grievous burden to him. and he was not even a gentleman, and never had been one. he was known only as "jack." it was in the year , when i had been cast ashore in corio bay by a gale of hostile fortune, and had taken refuge for a while at the buck's head hotel, then kept by a man named mckenzie. one evening after tea i was talking to a carpenter at the back door, who was lamenting his want of timber. he had not brought a sufficient supply from geelong to complete his contract, which was to construct some benches for a presbyterian church. jack was standing near listening to the conversation. "what kind of timber do you want?" he said. "there is a lot of planks down there in the yard, and if you'll be outside about eleven o'clock, i'll chuck over as many as you want." the contractor hesitated. "whose planks are they?" he asked. "i don't know whose they are, and i don't care," replied jack. "say the word, and you can have them, if you like." the contractor made no reply, at least in words, to this generous offer. it is not every man that has a friend like jack; many men will steal from you, but very few will steal for you, and when such a one is found he deserves his reward. we adjourned to the bar parlour, and jack had a glass of brandy, for which he did not pay. there was among the company a man from adelaide, a learned mineralogist, who commenced a dissertation on the origin of gold. he was most insufferable; would talk about nothing but science. darwin wrote a book about "the origin of species," and it has been observed that the origin of species is precisely what is not in the book. so we argued about the origin of gold, but we could get nowhere near it. when the rest of the company had retired, jack observed to me: "you put down that adelaide chap gradely; he had not a leg to stand on." i was pleased to find that jack knew a good argument when he heard it, so i rewarded his intelligence with another glass of brandy, and asked him if he had been long in the colonies. he said: "my name's not jack; that's what they call me, but it doesn't matter what my name is. i was brought up in liverpool, but i wasn't born there; that doesn't matter either. i used to work at the docks, was living quite respectable, was married and had a little son about five years old. one night after i had had supper and washed myself, i said to th' missus, 'there's a peep-show i' tithebarn street, and if you'll wash bobby's face i'll tek him there; its nobbut a penny.' you know it was one o' them shows where they hev pictures behind a piece o' calico, paul pry with his umbrella, daniel i' th' lions' den, ducks swimming across a river, a giantess who was a man shaved and dressed in women's clothes, a dog wi' five legs, and a stuffed mermaid--just what little lads would like. there was a man, besides, who played on a flute, and another singing funny songs. when i went outside into the street there was little billy yates, as used to play with bobby, so i says, 'come along, billy, and i'll tek thee to the show.' when we got there we set down on a bench, and, just as they began to show th' pictures, three black-fellows came in and set down on th' bench before us. they thowt they were big swells, and had on black coats, white shirts, stiff collars up to their ears, red and green neck-handkerchers, and bell-topper hats; so i just touched one of em on th' showder and said: 'would you please tek your hats off to let th' lads see th' pictures?' well, the nigger just turned his head half-round, and looked at me impudent like, but he kept his hat on. so i asked him again quite civil, and he called me a low fellow, towld me to mind my own business, and the other two niggers grinned. well, you know, i could not stand that. i knew well enough what they were. they were stewards on the liners running between new york and liverpool, and they were going round trying to pass for swells in a penny peep-show. i didn't want to make a row just then and spoil the show, so i said to th' lads, we mun go hooum, and i took 'em hooum, and then come back to th' show and waited at th' door. when the niggers come out i pitched into th' one as had given me cheek; but we couldn't have it out for th' crowd, and we were all shoved into th' street. i went away a bit, thinking no more about it, and met a man i knew and we went into a public house and had a quart o' fourpenny. we were in a room by ourselves, when the varra same three niggers come in and stood a bit inside the door. so i took my tumbler and threw it at th' head of th' man i wanted, and then went at him. but i couldn't lick him gradely because th' landlord come in and stopped us; so after a while i went hooum. next morning i was going along dale street towards the docks to work, when who should i see but that varra same blackfellow: it looked as if th' devil was in it. he was by hisself this time, coming along at th' other side of th' street. so i crossed over and met him, and went close up to him and said, 'well, what have you to say for yoursel' now?' and i gav him a lick under th' ear. he fell down on th' kerbstone and wouldn't get up-- turned sulky like. there was soon a crowd about, and they tried to wakken him up; but he wouldn't help hisself a bit--just sulked and wouldn't stir. i don't believe he'd ha' died but for that, because i nobbut give him but one hit. i thowt i'd better make mysel' scarce for a while, so i left liverpool and went to preston. were you ever in preston?" i said i was. "well then, you'll remember melling, the fish-monger, a varra big, fat man. i worked for him for about six months, and then come back to liverpool, thinking there'd be no more bother about the blackfellow. but they took me up, and gev me fourteen year for it; and if it had been a white man i wouldn't ha' got more than twelve months, and i was sent out to van diemen's land and ruined for ever, just for nowt else but giving a chance lick to a blackfellow. and now i hear they're going to war wi' russia, and-- england, scotland, ireland, and wales--i hope they'll all get blooming well licked. it don't mend a man much to transport him, nor a woman either for that matter: they all grow worse than ever. when i got my ticket i sometimes went working in th' bush, sometimes whaling and sealing, and sometimes stripping bark at western port and portland bay, before there was such a place as melbourne. i was in a whaler for two years about wilson's promontory, until the whales were all killed or driven away. i never saved any money until nine years back; we always went on th' spree and spent every penny directly we were paid off. at that time i went with a man from port albert to the seal islands in a boat. i knew of a place where there was a cave, a big hollow under the rocks, where th' seals used to go to sleep, and a blow hole coming out of it to th' top of the island. we hired a boat and went there, and made a kind of a door which we could drop down with a rope to shut up the mouth of th' cave and catch the seals inside. we killed so many that we couldn't take th' skins away all at once in the boat to port albert; we had to come back again. i thowt to myself i'd be richer than ever i was in my life; th' skins were worth hundreds of pounds. i had agreed to go halves with th' port albert man, but, you see, he'd ha' never gotten a penny but for me, because he knew nothing whatever about sealing. it didn't look quite fair to give him half; and then i thowt what a lucky thing it would be for me if he were drowned; and he was drowned, but mind you, i didn't do it. it was this way. when we got back to th' blow-hole th' weather was bad. one o' them sou'east gales set in, and th' big waves dashed agen the rocks, roaring and sending spray right across th' island. we had packed away all th' seal-skins snug in th' boat and pulled th' door up from th' bottom of th' chimney before th' gale started. when we were taking down the rope and tackle and th' shears, th' water began to come boiling up th' blow hole and sinking down again. there was a big rush of wind, first up and then down sucking you in like. it was a ticklish time, and just as we were going to lower th' shears, th' port albert man made a kind of slip, and was sucked in with the wind, and went head first into the boiling water and out of sight. i took hold of the slack of a rope, thinking i'd throw it to him; he might get hold of it, and then i could pull him out. in about half a minute he was thrown up again by th' next wave right to the top of th' chimney. i could see his face within four feet of me. he threw up his hands for something to catch at and looked at me, and then gave a fearful scream. i didn't throw him the rope; something stopped me. he might not have got hold of it, you know, anyhow. he went down again among th' white water, and i never saw him no more--only when i am dreaming. i always dream about him. i can see his face come up above the boiling water, and when he screams i wake up. i can never get clear of him out of my head; and yet, mind you, i didn't drown him; he fell in of his self, and i just missed throwing him th' rope, that's all; and i wasn't bound to do it, was i? "as for the money i got for the seal skins, i could have lived comfortably on it all my life, but it never did me no good. i started drinking, trying to forget that port albert man, but it was no use. every shilling was soon gone, and eversince i've been doing odd jobs and loafing about the publics. i've never done no good and never shall. let's have just another nobbler afore we turn in." a happy convict. "thrice did i receive forty stripes, save one." it was court day at palmerston, and there was an unusual amount of business that morning. a constable brought in a prisoner, and charged him with being a vagrant--having no lawful visible means of support. i entered the charge in the cause list, "police v. john smithers, vagrancy," and then looked at the vagrant. he was growing aged, was dressed in old clothes, faded, dirty, and ill-fitting; he had not been measured for them. his face was very dark, and his hair and beard were long and rough, showing that he had not been in gaol lately. his eyes wandered about the court in a helpless and vacant manner. two boys about eight or nine years old entered the court, and, with colonial presumption, sat in the jury box. there were no other spectators, so i left them there to represent the public. they stared at the prisoner, whispered to each other, and smiled. the prisoner could not see anything to laugh at, and frowned at them. then the magistrate came in, rubbing one of his hands over the other, glanced at the prisoner as he passed, and withered him with a look of virtuous severity. he was our black wednesday magistrate, and was death on criminals. when he had taken his seat on the bench, i opened the court, and called the first and only case. it was not often we had a man to sit on, and we sat heavily on this one. i put on my sternest look, and said "john smithers"--here the prisoner instantly put one hand to his forehead and stood at "attention"-- "you are charged by the police with vagrancy, having no lawful visible means of support. what have you to say to that charge?" "i am a blacksmith looking for work," said the prisoner; "i ain't done nothing, your worship, and i don't want nothing." "but you should do something," replied the magistrate; "we don't want idle vagabonds like you wandering about the country. you will be sent to gaol for three months." i stood up and reminded the justice respectfully that there was as yet no evidence against the prisoner, so, as a matter of form, he condescended to hear the constable, who went into the witness-box and proved his case to the hilt. he had found the man at nightfall sitting under the shelter of some tea-tree sticks before a fire; asked him what he was doing there; said he was camping out; had come from melbourne looking for work; was a blacksmith; took him in charge as a vagrant, and locked him up; all his property was the clothes he wore, an old blanket, a tin billy, a clasp knife, a few crusts of bread, and old pipe, and half a fig of tobacco; could find no money about him. that last fact settled the matter. a man travelling about the bush without money is a deep-dyed criminal. i had done it myself, and so was able to measure the extent of such wickedness. i never felt really virtuous unless i had some money in my pocket. "you are sentenced to imprisonment for three months in melbourne gaol," said the magistrate; "and mind you don't come here again." "i ain't done nothing, your worship," replied the prisoner; "and i don't want nothing." "take him away, constable." seven years afterwards, as i was riding home about sundown through tarraville, i observed a solitary swagman sitting before a fire, among the ruins of an old public house, like marius meditating among the ruins of carthage. there was a crumbling chimney built of bricks not worth carting away--the early bricks in south gippsland were very bad, and the mortar had no visible lime in it--the ground was strewn with brick-bats, bottles, sardine tins, hoop iron, and other articles, the usual refuse of a bush shanty. it had been, in the early times, a place reeking with crime and debauchery. men had gone out of it mad with drinking the poisonous liquor, had stumbled down the steep bank, and had ended their lives and crimes in the black tarra river below. here the rising generation had taken their first lessons in vice from the old hands who made the house their favourite resort. here was planned the murder of jimmy the snob by prettyboy and his mates, whose hut was near the end of the bridge across the river, and for which murder prettyboy was hanged in melbourne. in the dusk i mistook the swagman for a stray aboriginal who had survived the destruction of his tribe, but on approaching nearer, i found that he was, or at least once had been, a white man. he had gathered a few sticks, which he was breaking and putting on the fire. i did not recognise him, did not think i had ever seen him before, and i rode away. during the next twenty-four hours he had advanced about half-a-mile on his journey, and in the evening was making his fire in the church paddock, near a small water-hole opposite my house. i could see him from the verandah, and i sent jim to offer him shelter in an outbuilding. jim was one of the two boys who had represented the public in the jury box at the palmerston court seven years before. he came back, and said the man declined the offer of shelter; never slept under a roof winter or summer, if he could help it; had lived in the open air for twelve years, and never stayed a night in any building, except for three months, when he was in melbourne gaol. he had been arrested by a constable near palmerston seven years before, although he had done nothing, and a fool of a beak, with a long grey beard, had given him three months, while two puppies of boys were sitting in the jury box laughing at him. he also gave some paternal advice to the youth, which, like a great deal of other paternal advice, was rejected as of no value. "never you go to melbourne, young man," he said, "and if you do, never stop in any boarding-house, or public. they are full of vermin, brought in by bad characters, mostly government officers and bank clerks, who have been in pentridge. don't you never go near 'em." this advice did not sound very respectful; however, i overlooked it for the present, as it was not unlikely i might have the advantage of seeing him again in custody, and i sent to him across the road some hot tea, bread, butter, and beef. this softened the heart and loosed the tongue of the old swagman. it appeared from his account of himself that he was not much of a blacksmith. he was ostensibly going about the colony looking for work, but as long as he could get food for nothing he did not want any work, and he always avoided a blacksmith's shop; as soon as he found himself near one he ceased to be a blacksmith. when asked about his former life, he said a gentleman had once advised him to write the particulars of it, and had promised him half-a-crown if he would do so. he had written some of them, but had never seen the gentleman again, so he did not get the half-crown; and now he would take sixpence for the copyright of his work. i gave him sixpence, and he drew out a manuscript from an inside pocket of his coat, and handed it to me. it was composed of small sheets of whitey-brown wrapping paper sewn together. he had ruled lines on it, and had written his biography with lead pencil. on looking over it i observed that, although he was deficient in some of the inferior qualifications of a great historian, such as spelling, grammar, and a command of words of seven syllables, yet he had the true instincts of a faithful chronicler. he had carefully recorded the names of all the eminent bad men he had met, of the constable who had first arrested him, of the magistrate who had committed him for trial, of the judge who had sentenced him, of the gaolers and warders who had kept him in prison, of the captain, doctor, and officers of the ship which conveyed him to sydney, of the squatters who had forced him to work for them, and of the scourgers who had scourged him for not working enough. the names of all these celebrated men, together with the wicked deeds for which they were admired, were given in detail, after the true historic method. we all take a great interestin reading every particular relating to the lives of notorious tyrants and great sinners; we like to know what clothes they wore, and how they swore. but the lives of great and good men and women are very uninteresting; some young ladies even, when travelling by train, prefer, as i observe, french novels inspired by cloacina to the "lives of the saints." some people in the colonies are said to have had no grandfathers; but john smithers was even more deficient in pedigree, for he had neither father nor mother, as far as he could recollect. he commenced life as a stable boy and general drudge in england, at a village inn owned and conducted by a widow named cobbledick. this widow had a daughter named jemima. the mischief wrought in this world by women, from eve to jemima downwards, is incalculable, and smithers averred that it was this female, jemima, who brought on his sorrow, grief, and woe. she was very advanced in wordly science, as young ladies are apt to be when they are educated in the retail liquor trade. when smithers had been several years at the inn, and jemima was already in her teens, she thought the world went slowly; she had no lover, there was nobody coming to marry her, nobody coming to woo. but at length she was determined to find a remedy for this state of things. she had never read the history of the loves of the great catherine of russia, nor of those of our own virgin queen elizabeth, but by an inborn royal instinct she was impelled to follow their high example. if lovers did not offer their adoration to her charms spontaneously, there was at any rate one whose homage she could command. one sunday afternoon, while her mother was absent, she went to the stable and ordered smithers to come and take a walk with her, directing him first to polish his shoes and put on his best clothes. she brought out a bottle of scented oil to sweeten him, and told him to rub it well into his hair, and stroke his head with his hands until it was sleek and shiny. she had put on her sunday dress and best bonnet; she had four ringlets at each side of her face; and to crown her charms, had ventured to borrow her mother's gold watch and chain. being now a perfect princess in stateliness and beauty, she took jack by the arm--she called him jack--and made him march away with her. he was rather abashed at the new duty imposed upon him, but he had been so well kicked and cuffed all his life that he never thought of disobeying orders. love fooled the gods, and it gave him little trouble to fool so sorry a pair as jack and his jemima. they walked along perkins' lane where many of the neighbours were likely to see them, for jemima was anxious that all the other girls, her dearest friends, should be filled with spite and envy at her good fortune in having secured a lover. when the happy youth and maid were returning with wandering steps and slow, jemima saw her mother pass the end of the lane on her way homewards, much sooner than she had expected. the golden hours on angel wings had flown away too quickly for the lovers. miss cobbledick was filled with sudden alarm, and her brief day of glory was clouded. it was now impossible to reach home in time to avoid trouble. her mother would be certain to miss the watch, and what was she to do with it? what with jack, and what with herself? self-preservation being the first law of nature, jemima resolved to sacrifice jack in order to shield herself from her mother's rage. he was not of much account in any respect; so she gave him the watch and chain, telling him to keep them safely till she asked for them, and to hurry round by the yard gate into the stable. this gave great relief to her conscience, and enabled her to meet her mother with a face of untroubled innocence. jack had not a lively imagination; but during the night he had a clear and blissful vision of his future destiny, the only dream of fortune his life was ever blessed with. he was to be the landlord of the hotel, when mrs. cobbledick had gone to bliss, and jemima was to be his bride, and the landlady. but early next morning there was trouble in the house. the watch was missing, and nobody knew anything about it. jemima helped her mother to look for it, and could not find it. a constable was sent for, and he questioned everyone in and about the house, and searched everywhere without result. last of all jack was asked if he knew anything of the missing watch. he was faithful and true. how could he betray jemima, his future partner in life? he said he "had never seen no watch, and didn't know nothing whatsomever about no watch," and the next instant the constable pulled the watch out of jack's pocket. at his trial he was asked what he had to say in his defence, and then he told the truth, and said jemima gave him the watch to keep until she should ask for it. but there is a time for all things; and jack could never learn the proper time for telling the truth, or for telling a lie; he was always in the wrong. the judge, in passing sentence, said he had aggravated his crime by endeavouring to implicate an innocent young lady in his villany, and gave him seven years. he was taken on board a hulk, where he found two or three hundred other boys imprisoned. on the evening of his arrival a report was circulated among them that they were all to be sent to another ship, which was bound for botany bay, and that they would never see england again. they would have to work and sleep in chains; they would be yoked together, and whipped like bullocks; and if they escaped into the bush the blacks would kill and eat them. as this dismal tale went round, some of the boys, who were quite young and small, began to cry, and to call for their mothers to come and help them; and then the others began to scream and should and yell. the warders came below and tried to silence them, but the more they tried the louder grew the uproar, and it continued for many hours during the night. "britons rarely swerve from law, however stern, which tends their strength to serve." discipline must be maintained; so next morning the poor little beggars were brought up on deck in batches, stripped, triced up, and severely flogged. jack, and a number of other boys, said they had not cried at all, but the officer in charge thought it was better that a few of the innocent should suffer rather than that one of the guilty should escape, so they were all flogged alike, and soon after they were shipped for new south wales. on his arrival n sydney, jack was assigned as a servant to a squatter, and taken into the bush a long way to the west. the weather had been very hot for a long time, all the grass had withered to dust, and the cattle were starving. the first work which he was ordered to do was to climb trees and cut off the branches, in order that the cattle might keep themselves alive by eating the leaves and twigs. jack had never been used to handle an axe or tomahawk, so he found the labour of chopping very hard. he did his best, but that was not good enough for the squatter, who took him to a magistrate, and had him flogged by the official scourger. while serving his sentence of seven years he was flogged four times; three of the times he said he had "done nothing," and for the fourth flogging he confessed to me that he had "done something," but he did not say what the "something" was. in those days it seems that "doing nothing" and "doing something" were crimes equally meriting the lash. and now after a long life of labour the old convict had achieved independence at last. i don't think i ever met a richer man; he was richer than the whole family of the rothschilds; he wanted scarcely anything. food and clothing he obtained for the asking for them, and he was not particular as to their quality of the quantity was sufficient. property to him was something despicable; he did not want any, and would not live inside of a house if he had one; he preferred the outside. he was free from family cares--never had father or mother, sister or brother, wife or children. no poor relatives ever claimed his hospitality; no intimate friends wanted to borrow half-a-crown; no one ever asked him to buy suburban lots, or to take shares in a limited liability company. he was perfectly indifferent to all danger from bush-rangers, burglars, pickpockets, or cattle stealers; he did not even own a dog, so the dogman never asked him for the dog tax. he never enquired about the state of the money market, nor bothered himself about the prices of land or cattle, wood, wine, or wheat. every bank, and brewery, and building society in the world might go into liquidation at once for aught he cared. he had retired from the government service, had superannuated himself on a pension of nothing per annum, and to draw it he required no voucher. and yet, notwithstanding all these advantages, i don't think there are many men who would voluntarily choose his lot. i watched him from the end of the verandah, and began speculating about him. what was he thinking about during his solitary watches in the night or while he tramped alone through the bush year after year in heat and cold, wind and rain? did he ever think of anything--of his past life, or of his future lot? did he believe in or hope for a heaven? or had he any fear of hell and eternal punishment? surely he had been punished enough; in this life he had endured evil things in plenty, and might at least hope for eternal rest in the next. he was sitting with his back against a gum tree, and his feet towards the fire. from time to time he threw a few more sticks on the embers, and a fitful blaze lit up his dark weatherbeaten face. then to my surprise he began to sing, and to sing well. his voice was strong, clear, and mellow, and its tones rose and fell in the silent night air with a pathetic and wonderful sweetness. the burden of his song was "we may be happy yet." "oh, smile as thou wert wont to smile, before a weight of care had crushed thine heart, and yet awhile left only sorrow there; we may be happy yet." he sang three stanzas, and was silent. then someone said: "poor old fellow; i hope he may be happy yet." next morning he was sitting with his back against the gum tree. his fire had gone out, and he seemed to be late in awaking, and in no hurry to resume his journey. but his travels were finished; he never awoke. his body was quite cold, and he must have died soon after he had sung the last note of his song. he had only sixpence in his pocket--the sixpence i had given him for his biography. the police took him in charge once more and put him in his last prison, where he will remain until we shall all be called together by the dread blast of the archangel's trumpet on the judgment day. [transcriber's note: obvious printer's errors have been corrected, all other inconsistencies are as in the original. author's spelling has been maintained. page : a word was missing after "the major was right, for a little" "while" has been added. bold words are marked with =.] [illustration: alf burnett. from a photograph by winder.] incidents of the war: humorous, pathetic, and descriptive. by alf burnett, comic delineator, army correspondent, humorist, etc., etc. cincinnati: rickey & carroll, publishers, west fourth street. . entered according to act of congress, in the year , by rickey & carroll, in the clerk's office of the district court of the united states for the southern district of ohio. stereotyped at the franklin type foundry, cincinnati. sketch of the author. by enos b. reed. the author of the following sketches, letters, etc., has been known to us for lo, these many years. we have always found him "a fellow of infinite jest," and one who, "though troubles assailed," always looked upon the bright side of life, leaving its reverse to those who could not behold the silver lining to the darkling clouds of their moral horizon. we could fill a good-sized volume with anecdotes illustrating the humorous in mr. burnett's composition, and his keen appreciation of the grotesque and ludicrous--relating how he has, many a time and oft, "set the table in a roar," by his quaint sayings and the peculiar manner in which they were said; but we are "admonished to be brief," four pages only being allotted to "do up" the veritable "don alfredus," better known by the familiar appellation "alf." mr. burnett has been a resident of cincinnati for the past twenty-seven years, his parents removing thereto from utica, new york, in . alf, at the utica academy, in his earliest youth, was quite noted as a declaimer; his "youth but gave promise of the man," mr. b., at the present time, standing without a peer in his peculiar line of declamation and oratory. in , he traveled with professor de bonneville, giving his wonderful rendition of "the maniac," so as to attract the attention of the _literati_ throughout the country. perhaps one great reason for mr. burnett's adopting his present profession was a remark made by the celebrated tragedian, edwin forrest. mr. b. had been invited to meet mr. forrest at the residence of s. s. smith, esq. mr. burnett gave several readings, which caused mr. forrest to make the remark, that "mr. b. had but to step upon the stage to reach fortune and renown." "upon this hint" mr. b. acted, and at once entered upon the duties of his arduous profession. in his readings and recitations he soon discovered that it was imperative, to insure a pleasant entertainment, that humor should be largely mingled with pathos; hence, he introduced a series of droll and comical pieces, in the rendition of which he is acknowledged to have no equal. as a mimic and ventriloquist he stands preeminent, and his entertainment is so varied with pathos, wit, and humor, that an evening's amusement of wonderful versatility is afforded. mr. burnett is a remarkably ready writer--too ready, to pay that care and attention to the "rules," which is considered, and justly so, to be indispensable to a correct writer. to illustrate the rapidity with which he composes, we have but to repeat a story, which a mutual friend relates. he met alf, one afternoon, about five o'clock, he being announced to deliver an original poem in the evening, of something less than a hundred verses. in the midst of the conversation which ensued, alf suddenly recollected that he had not written a line thereof, and, making his excuses, declared he must go home and write up the "_little affair_." in the evening a voluminous poem was forthcoming, alf, in all probability, having "done it up" in half an hour "by shrewsbury clock." mr. burnett has contributed various poems to the literature of the country, which have stamped him as being possessed of a more than ordinary share of the divine afflatus. among them is "the sexton's spade," which has gained a world-wide celebrity. the writer has been connected with mr. burnett in the publication of two or three papers, which, somehow or other, never won their way into popular favor: either the public had very bad taste, or the "combined forces" had not the ability to please, or the perseverance to continue until success crowned their labors. in the commencement of the war, mr. burnett was on a tour of the state, in the full tide of prosperity. immediately after sumter fell, he summoned to him, by telegraph, his traveling agent, together with mr. george humphreys, who had, as an assistant, been with him for years. a consultation was held, which resulted in the determination of all three to enlist in the service of their country. the agent repaired to chillicothe and joined the th ohio; humphreys joined the th ohio, and mr. burnett enlisted as high private in the th ohio, and served with his regiment in west virginia, throughout that memorable campaign. mr. burnett was subsequently engaged by the cincinnati _press_, _times_, and _commercial_, as war correspondent. his letters were read with great avidity, and were replete with wit, humor, and interesting anecdote. his extensive acquaintance enabled him to gather the earliest information, and his letters were always considered among the most reliable. a number of them will be found in the succeeding pages. that "incidents of the war" will be found instructive and entertaining, we can but believe, although mr. burnett's professional engagements precluded the possibility of his devoting that time and attention to its preparation which was almost imperative. it lays no particular claim to merit as a literary production--being a collection of letters and incidents, which mr. b.'s publishers thought would be palatable to the public in their present form. in the volume will be found several pieces for the superior rendition of which mr. burnett has been highly extolled. at the close will be found a famous debate, which, although not an incident of the war, is peculiarly spirited, and was delivered by mr. burnett before general rosecrans. for the graphic illustrations accompanying the volume, mr. burnett is indebted to messrs. jones & hart, engravers, and messrs. ball & thomas, photographic artists. mr. burnett is still engaged in giving readings and recitations, in city and village, and, since the death of winchell, stands almost alone in his profession. upon a visit to england, some years since, he gained the praise of the english press and public, as a correct delineator of the passions, mimic, and humorist. he is never so well pleased as when before an audience, and receiving the applause of the judicious. in conclusion, let us hope that "incidents of the war" may be welcomed by that large number who have had relatives in the armies of the union, and whose names may, perchance, be found in its pages, while we know the numerous friends of mr. burnett will hail its appearance with unfeigned delight. contents. page chapter i preparatory remarks -- camp-life -- incidents of the battle of perryville -- brigadier-general lytle -- captain mcdougal, of the d ohio -- colonel loomis -- after the battle -- rebels playing 'possum -- skeered! that aint no name for it -- camp fun, in a burlesque letter to a friend. chapter ii general nelson -- the general and the pie-women -- the watchful sentinel of the d kentucky -- the wagon-master of the th indiana -- death of general nelson -- his funeral -- colonel nick anderson's opinion of nelson. chapter iii description of a battle -- the d ohio (colonel harris) at perryville -- major-general mccook's report -- major-general rousseau's report -- sketch of major-general a. mcd. mccook. chapter iv looking for the body of a dead nephew on the field of murfreesboro -- the th ohio at murfreesboro -- the dead of the th -- the th indiana -- putting contrabands to some service -- anxiety of owners to retain their slaves -- conduct of a mistress -- "don't shoot, massa, here i is!" -- kidd's safeguard -- "always been a union man" -- negroes exhibiting their preference for their friends. chapter v cutting down a rebel's reserved timber -- home again -- loomis and his coldwater battery -- secession poetry -- heavy joke on an "egyptian" regiment. chapter vi general turchin -- mrs. general turchin in command of the vanguard of the th illinois -- the th ohio at athens -- children and fools always tell the truth -- picket talk -- about soldiers voting -- captain kirk's line of battle. chapter vii comic scenes -- importation of yankees -- wouldn't go round -- major boynton and the chicken -- monotony of camp-life -- experience on a scouting expedition -- larz anderson, esq., in camp -- a would-be secessionist caught in his own trap -- guthrie gray bill of fare for a rebel "reception" -- pic russell among the snakes. chapter viii fun in the d ohio -- a thrilling incident of the war -- general kelley -- vote under strange circumstances -- die, but never surrender. chapter ix our hospitals -- no hope -- a short and simple story -- a soldier's pride -- the last letter -- soldierly sympathy -- the hospitals at gallatin, and their ministering angels. chapter x sports in camp -- anecdote of the d ohio and colonel sprague -- soldier's dream of home -- the wife's reply. chapter xi the atrocities of slavery -- the beauties of the peculiar institution -- a few well-substantiated facts -- visit to gallatin, tennessee. chapter xii general schofield -- colonel durbin ward -- colonel connell -- women in breeches -- another incident of the war -- negro sermon. chapter xiii letter from cheat mountain -- the women of the south -- gilbert's brigade. chapter xiv confessions of a fat man -- home-guard -- the negro on the fence -- a camp letter of early times -- "sweetharts" against war. chapter xv the winter campaign in virginia -- didn't know of the rebellion -- general w. h. lytle -- drilling -- a black nightingale's song. chapter xvi old stonnicker and colonel marrow, of d ohio -- general garnett and his dogs -- "are you the col-o-nel of this post?" -- profanity in the army -- high price of beans in camp -- a little game of "draw." chapter xvii hard on the sutler: spiritualism tried -- a specimen of southern poetry -- singular -- march to nashville -- general steadman challenged by a woman -- nigger question -- "rebels returning." chapter xviii going into battle -- letter to the secesh -- general garfield, major-general rosecrans's chief of staff -- general lew wallace -- the siege of cincinnati -- parson brownlow -- colonel charles anderson. chapter xix an episode of the war -- laughable incident -- old mrs. wiggles on picket duty -- general manson -- god bless the soldiers -- negro's pedigree of abraham lincoln -- a middle tennessee preacher -- a laconic speech. chapter xx union men scarce -- how they are dreaded -- incidents -- the wealthy secessionists and poor union widows -- the john morgans of rebellion -- a contraband's explanation of the mystery -- accident at the south tunnel -- impudence of the rebels -- a pathetic appeal, etc. chapter xxi a friendly visit for corn into an egyptian country -- ohio regiments -- "corn or blood" -- "fanny battles" -- the constitution busted in several places -- edicts against dinner-horns, by colonel brownlow's cavalry -- a signal station burned -- two rebel aids captured. chapter xxii reward for a master -- turning the tables -- dan boss and his adventure -- major pic russell -- a visit to the outposts with general jeff c. davis -- rebel witticisms -- hight igo, ye eccentric quarter-master -- fling out to the breeze, boys. chapter xxiii defense of the conduct of the german regiments at hartsville -- to the memory of captain w. y. gholson -- colonel toland vs. contraband whisky. chapter xxiv war and romance -- colonel fred jones -- hanging in the army -- general a. j. smith vs. dirty guns. chapter xxv a trip into the enemy's country -- the rebels twice driven back by general steadman -- incidents of the charge of the st tennessee cavalry, under major tracy -- the th and th ohio in the fight -- colonel moody and the th ohio -- colonel moody on the battle-field. chapter xxvi a wedding in the army -- a bill of fare in camp -- dishonest female reb -- private cupp -- to the th ohio. chapter xxvii the oath -- a conservative darkey's opinion of yankees -- visit to the graves of ohio and indiana boys -- trip from murfreesboro to louisville -- nashville convalescents -- a death in the hospital -- henry lovie captured. chapter xxviii general steadman superseded by general schofield, of missouri -- colonel brownlow's regiment -- his bravery -- a rebel officer killed by a woman -- discontent in east tennessee -- picket duty and its dangers -- a gallant deed and a chivalrous return. chapter xxix an incident at holly springs, miss. -- the raid by van dorn -- cincinnati cotton-dealers in trouble -- troubles of a reporter. chapter xxx a reporter's idea of mules -- letter from kentucky -- chaplain gaddis turns fireman -- gaddis and the secesh grass-widow. chapter xxxi a visit to the st east tennessee cavalry -- a proposed sermon -- its interruption -- how ye preacher is bamboozled out of $ and a gold watch -- cavalry on the brain -- old stonnicker drummed out of camp -- now and then. chapter xxxii an incident of the th o. v. i. -- how to avoid the draft -- keep the soldiers' letters -- new use of blood-hounds -- proposition to hang the dutch soldiers -- the stolen stars. debate between slabsides and garrotte. sermon from "harp of a thousand strings." list of illustrations. portrait of alf burnett. skeered! that aint no name for it. runaway scrape in virginia. sports in camp. fat volunteer. old stonnicker drummed out of camp. debate between slabsides and garrotte. sermon--"harp of a thousand strings." incidents of the war. chapter i. preparatory remarks -- camp-life -- incidents of the battle of perryville -- brigadier-general lytle -- captain mcdougal, of the d ohio -- colonel loomis -- after the battle -- rebels playing 'possum -- skeered! that aint no name for it. in a two-years' connection with the army, a man with the most ordinary capacity for garnering up the humorous stories of camp may find his _repertoire_ overflowing with the most versatile of incidents. a connection with the daily press is, however, of great service, especially as a letter-writer is expected to know all that occurs in camp--and _more too_! the stories that i shall relate are no fictions, but veritable facts, to most of which i was myself an eye-witness. the hardships of camp-life have been so often depicted by other pens that it will be unnecessary for me to bring them anew before the public. a few jolly spirits in a regiment frequently sway the crowd, and render the hours pleasant to the boys which otherwise would prove exceedingly wearisome; and many a surgeon has remarked, that it would amply remunerate government to hire good, wholesome amusement for the benefit of the soldiers when not on active duty. frequently, when visiting various hospitals, have i noticed the brightening eye of the patients as i have told them some laughable incident, or given an hour's amusement to the crowd of convalescents--a far preferable dose, they told me, to quinine. a word of praise to the suffering hero is of great value. i remember, the day after the battle of perryville, visiting the hospital of which dr. muscroft was surgeon. i had assisted all day in bringing in the wounded from the field-hospital, in the rear of the battle-ground. the boys of the th and d ohio were crowded into a little church, each pew answering for a private apartment for a wounded man. one of the surgeons in attendance requested me to assist in holding a patient while his leg was being amputated. this was my first trial, but the sight of the crowd of wounded had rendered my otherwise sensitive nerves adamant, and as the knife was hastily plunged, the circle-scribe and the saw put to its use, the limb off, scarce a groan escaped the noble fellow's lips. another boy of the th had his entire right cheek cut off by a piece of a shell, lacerating his tongue in the most horrible manner: this wound had to be dressed, and again my assistance was required, and i could but notice the exhilarating effect a few words of praise that i bestowed upon his powers of endurance had. this was invariably the case with all those whom it was my painful duty to assist. the effect of a few words of praise seemed quite magical. men frequently fight on, though severely wounded, so great is the excitement of battle, and i am cognizant of several instances of men fainting from loss of blood, who did not know they were wounded, until, several minutes afterward, they were brought to a realization of the fact through a peculiar dizzy, sickening feeling. brigadier-general (then colonel) lytle, who commanded a brigade during that battle, it is said, by boys who were near him, after the severe wound he received, fought on several minutes. a field-officer, whose name i have forgotten, being shot from his horse, requested to be lifted back into the saddle, and died shortly afterward. captain mcdougal, of newark, ohio, commanding a company in the d ohio, who, with sword upraised, and cheering on his noble boys, received a fatal shot, actually stepped some eight or ten paces before falling. colonel loomis, of the celebrated loomis battery, who did such service in that engagement, says he saw no dead about him; yet there they lay, within a few feet of his battery. loomis at one time sighted one of his favorite pieces, taking what he called a "fair, square, deliberate aim," and, sure enough, he knocked over the rebel gun, throwing it some feet in the air; at the sight of which he was so elated that he fairly jumped with delight, and cheer after cheer rang out from the men of his command, and it was not until a whizzing shot from the remaining guns of the rebels' battery warned him that they were not yet conquered, that his boys were again put to work, and eventually quieted their noisy antagonists. at one time, during that fight, the rebels tried to charge up the hill from "bottom's farm-house," but were repulsed. at that time the th and d ohio, aided by the th kentucky regiment, were holding the eminence; the rebels were protected by a stone wall that skirted the entire meandering creek, giving them, at times, the advantage of an enfilading fire; our boys were partly covered by what was known as "bottom's barn." many of our wounded had crawled into this barn for protection, but a rebel shell exploding directly among the hay set the barn on fire, and several of our poor wounded boys perished in the flames. colonel reed, of delaware, ohio, was in command at perryville, some time after the battle, and it is a disgraceful fact that the rebels left their dead unburied. at one spot, in a ravine, they had piled up thirty bodies in one heap, and thrown a lot of cornstalks over them; and on the springfield road, to the right, as you entered the town of perryville, a regular line of skirmishers lay dead, each one about ten paces from the other; they had evidently been shot instantly dead, and had fallen in their tracks; and there they laid for four days. one, a fine-looking man, with large, black, bushy whiskers, was within a few yards of the toll-gate keeper's house, (himself and family residing there,) who, apparently, was too lazy to dig a grave for the reception of the rebel's body. as a matter of course, the first duty is to the wounded, but these people seemed to pay no attention to either dead or wounded. and it was not until a peremptory order from colonel reed was issued, that the rebel-sympathizing citizens condescended to go out and bury their confederate friends; and this was accomplished by digging a deep hole beside the corpse, and the diggers, taking a couple of fence-rails, would pry the body over and let it fall to the bottom: thus these poor, deluded wretches found a receptacle in mother earth. accompanied by mr. a. seward, the special correspondent of the philadelphia _inquirer_, the day after the fight i visited an improvised hospital in the woods in the rear of the battle-ground. there we found some twenty secesh, who had strayed from their command, and were playing sick and wounded to anybody who came along. they had guards out watching, and, as i suspected they were playing sharp, i bethought me of trying "diamond cut diamond;" so i dismounted, and having on a kentucky-jeans coat, i ventured a "how-de, boys?" they eyed us pretty severely, and ventured the remark that they needed food, and would like some coffee or sugar for the wounded boys. i went inside the log-house, telling them i would send some down; that we were farming close by there; "dry-fork" was the place; we would send them bread. after we had gained their confidence, they wanted to know how they could get out of the state without being captured; said they had not been taken yet, although several of the yanks had been there; but the "d--d fools" thought they were already paroled. we told them that as soon as they got well we would pilot them safely out. they said they had already been promised citizens' clothing by mrs. thompson and some other rebel ladies. they then openly confessed that there was only one of them wounded, and that they had used his bloody rags for arm-bandages and head-bandages only for the brief period when they were visited by _suspicious_-looking persons; but, as we were all right, they had no hesitancy in telling us they were part of hardee's corps, and were left there by accident when the rebel forces marched. by a strange _accident_ they were all taken prisoners that afternoon by a dozen federal prowlers, who kindly took them in out of the wet. skeered! that aint no name for it. about a mile and a half to the rear of the field of battle there stands, in a large, open field, a solitary log-house containing two rooms. the house is surrounded by a fence inclosing a small patch of ground. the chimney had been partly torn away by a cannon-ball. a shell had struck the roof of the building, ripping open quite a gutter in the rafters. a dead horse lay in the little yard directly in front of the house, actually blocking up the doorway, while shot and shell were scattered in every direction about the field in front and rear of this solitary homestead. i dismounted, determined to see who or what was in the house-- "darkness there, and nothing more." a board had been taken from the floor, exhibiting a large hole between two solid beams or logs. an empty bedstead, a wooden cupboard, and three chairs were all the furniture the house contained. hurrying across the field, we caught up with a long, lank, lean woman. she had two children with her: a little boy about nine, and a girl about four years of age. the woman had a table upon her head. the table, turned upside down, contained a lot of bedding. she had a bucket full of crockery-ware in one hand, and was holding on to the table with the other. the children were loaded down with household furniture of great convenience. as it was growing dark, i inquired the nearest road to perryville. the woman immediately unloaded her head, and pointing the direction, set one leg on the table, and yelled to the boy-- "whoray up, jeems; you are so slow!" "how far is it, madam?" "o, about a mile and a half. it aint more nor that, no how." "who lived in that house?" said i, pointing to the log-cabin i had just left. "i did." "were you there during the fight?" "guess i was." "where was your husband?" "he wor dead." "was he killed in the battle?" "no; he died with the measles." "why didn't you leave when you found there was going to be a fight?" "i did start for to go, but i seed the yankees comin' thick, and i hurried back t'other way; and jest as i e'enamost got to the brush yonder, i seed the 'confeds' jest a swarmin' out of the woods. so, seeing i was between two fires, i rund back to the house." "wasn't you afraid you'd be killed?" "guess i was." "what did you do when they commenced firing?" "i cut a hole in the floor with the ax, and hid between the jists." "did they fight long upon your ground?" "it seemed to me like it wor two weeks." "you must have been pretty well scared; were you not?" "humph! _skeered!_ lor bless you, _skeered! that aint no name for it!_" camp fun in a burlesque letter to a friend. the other morning i was standing by billy briggs, in our tent. "hand me them scabbards, jimmy," said he. "scabbards!" said i, looking round. "yes; boots, i mean. i wonder if these boots were any relation to that beef we ate yesterday. if they will only prove as tough, they'll last me a long time. i say, cradle!" he called out, "where are you?" cradle was our contraband, with a foot of extraordinary length, and heel to match. "what do you call him cradle for?" i inquired. "what would _you_ call him? if he aint a cradle, what's he got rockers on for?" cradle made his appearance, with a pair of perforated stockings. "it's no use," said billy, looking at them. "them stockings will do to put on a sore throat, but won't do for feet. it is humiliating for a man like me to be without stockings. a man may be bald-headed, and it's genteel; but to be barefooted, it's ruination. the legs are good, too," he added, thoughtfully, "but the feet are gone. there is something about the heels of stockings and the elbows of stove-pipes, in this world, that is all wrong, jimmy." a supply of stockings had come that day, and were just being given out. a pair of very large ones fell to billy's lot. billy held them up before him. "jimmy," said he, "these are pretty bags to give a little fellow like me. them stockings was knit for the president, or a young gorilla, certain!" and he was about to bestow them upon cradle, when a soldier, in the opposite predicament, made an exchange. "them stockings made me think of the prisoner i scared so the other day," said billy. "how's that?" said i. "he saw a big pair of red leggings, with feet, hanging up before our tent. he never said a word, till he saw the leggings, and then he asked me what they were for. 'them!' said i, 'them's general banks's stockings.' he looked scared. 'he's a big man, is general banks,' said i, 'but then he ought to be, the way he lives.' 'how?' said he. 'why,' said i, 'his regular diet is bricks buttered with mortar.'" the next day billy got a present of a pair of stockings from a lady; a nice, soft pair, with his initials, in red silk, upon them. he was very happy. "jimmy," said he, "just look at 'em," and he smoothed them down with his hand--"marked with my initials, too; 'b,' for my christian name, and 'w' for my heathen name. how kind! they came just in the right time, too; i've got such a sore heel." orders came to "fall in." billy was so overjoyed with his new stockings he didn't keep the line well. "steady, there!" growled the sergeant; "keep your place, and don't be moving round like the boston post-office!" we were soon put upon the double-quick. after a few minutes, billy gave a groan. "what is it, billy?" said i. "it's all up with 'em," said he. i didn't know what he meant, but his face showed something bad had happened. when we broke ranks and got to the tent, he looked the picture of despair--shoes in hand, and his heels shining through his stockings like two crockery door-knobs. "them new stockings of yours is breech-loading, aint they, billy?" said an unfeeling volunteer. "better get your name on both ends, so that you can keep 'em together," said another. "shoddy stockings," said a third. billy was silent. i saw his heart was breaking, and i said nothing. we held a council on them, and billy, not feeling strong-hearted enough for the task, gave them to cradle to sew up the small holes. i saw him again before supper; he came to me looking worse than ever, the stockings in his hand. "jimmy," said he, "you know i gave them to cradle, and told him to sew up the small holes; and what do you think he has done? he's gone and sewed up the heads." "it's a hard case, billy; in such cases, tears are almost justifiable." chapter ii. general nelson -- the general and the pie-women -- the watchful sentinel of the d kentucky -- the wagon-master of the th indiana -- death of general nelson -- his funeral -- colonel nick anderson's opinion of nelson. a great many stories have been told about general nelson, with whom the writer was upon the most intimate terms. that nelson was a noble, warm-hearted, companionable man, those even most opposed to his rough manner, at times, will readily admit. nelson was strongly attached to the th ohio. from his very first acquaintance he said he fell in love with it, and his feeling was reciprocated, for the th was as ardently devoted to him. at camp wickliffe the general was very much annoyed by women coming into his camp, and he had given strict orders that none should be admitted on the following sunday, as he intended reviewing the division that day. his chagrin and rage can only be imagined by those who knew him, when, upon this veritable occasion, he saw at least thirty women huddled together, on mares, mules, jacks, jennies, and horses. the general rode hastily to lieutenant southgate, exclaiming-- "captain southgate, i thought i ordered that no more of those d--d women should come into my camp. what are they doing here?" "i promulgated your order, general," replied captain southgate. "well, by ----, what are they here for?" and riding up to the bevy of women in lathed and split bonnets, he inquired, in a ferocious manner, "what in ---- are all you women doing here?" now, the party was pretty well frightened, but there was one with more daring than the rest, who sidled up to the general, and, with what was intended to be a smile, (but the general said he never saw a more "sardonic grin" in his life,) she answered for the party, and said: "_sellin' pies, gin'ral._" "selling pies, eh! selling pies, eh! let me see 'em; let me see 'em, quick!" the woman untied one end of a bolster-slip, and thrust her arm down the sack, and brought forth a specimen of the article, which nelson seized, and vainly endeavored to break. it was like leather. the general gave it a sudden twist and broke it in two, when out dropped three or four pieces of dried apple. "by ----, madam, you call them pies, do you? pies, eh! those things are just what are _giving all my boys the colic_! get out of this camp every one of you! clear yourselves!" the camp was thus cleared of pie-venders, who escaped on the double-quick. [illustration: skeered! that ain't no name for it. see page .] general nelson was a strict disciplinarian, and frequently tested his pickets by a personal visit. upon one occasion he rode through a drenching rain to the outposts; it was a dark night, and mud and water were knee-deep in some parts of the road. a portion of the d kentucky was on guard, and as the general rode up he met the stern "halt" of the sentinel, and the usual "who comes there?" "general nelson," was the reply. "dismount, general nelson, and give the countersign," was the sentinel's command. "do you know who you are talking to, sir? i tell you i am your general, and you have the impudence to order me to dismount, you scoundrel!" "dismount, and give the countersign, or i will fire upon you," was the stern rejoinder. and nelson did dismount, and gave the countersign, and at the same time inquired the sentinel's name, and to what regiment he belonged. the following day the man was sent for, to appear forthwith at head-quarters. the soldier went with great trepidation, anticipating severe treatment from the general for the previous night's conduct. imagine his surprise when the general invited him in, complimented him highly, in the presence of his officers, and requested, if at any time he required any service from him, to just mention that he was the soldier of the d kentucky who had made him dismount in mud and rain, and give the countersign. on another occasion he was riding along the road, and was accosted by two waggish members of the th ohio. "hallo! mister," said one of the boys, "won't you take a drink?" "where are you soldiers going to?" inquired the general. "o, just over here a little bit." "what regiment do you belong to?" "sixth ohio." "well, get back to your camp, quick!" the boys, although they knew him well, took advantage of the fact that the general displayed no insignia of his rank, and replied: "they guessed they'd go down the road a bit, first." "come back! come back!" shouted the general. "how dare you disobey me? do you know who i am, you scoundrels?" "no, i don't," said one of the boys; and then, looking impudently and inquiringly into his face, said: "_why! ain't you the wagon-master of the th indiana?_" nelson thought activity the best cure for "_ennui_," and consequently kept his men busy. one day, calling his officers together, he ordered them to prepare immediately for a regular, old-fashioned day's work; "for," said he, "there has been so little work done here since the rain set in, that i fear _drilling_ has fallen in the market; but if we succeed in keeping up that article, i am sure _cotton_ must come down." he was exceedingly bitter in his denunciations of the london _times_ and rebel british sympathizers, remarking to me, one evening, that he was exceedingly anxious this war should speedily end, "for," said he, "i would like nothing better than to see our people once more united as a nation; and then i want fifty thousand men at my command, so that i could march them to canada, and go through those provinces like a dose of croton." i was present at the galt house, in louisville, when general nelson was shot by general davis, and immediately telegraphed the sad news to the daily press of cincinnati. the following was my dispatch: general nelson shot by general davis. louisville, _september _. eds. times: i just witnessed general jeff c. davis shoot general nelson. it occurred in the galt house, in the entry leading from the office. the wound is thought to be mortal. alf. later.--general nelson dead. louisville, _september _, a.m. general nelson is dead. i will telegraph particulars as soon as possible. alf. third dispatch. particulars of the affair. louisville, _september _, a.m. eds. times: jefferson c. davis, of indiana, went into the galt house, at half-past eight o'clock this morning. he met general nelson, and referred to the treatment he had received at his hands in ordering him to cincinnati. nelson cursed him, and struck davis in the face several times. nelson then retired a few paces, davis borrowing a pistol from a friend, who, handing it to him, remarked, "it is a tranter trigger--be careful." i had just that moment been in conversation with the general. alf. the particulars were afterward given in a letter, which is here inserted: louisville, _september , _. the greatest excitement of the day has been in discussing the death of general nelson, and the causes which led to the terrible _denouement_. sauntering out in search of an "item"--my custom always in the morning--i happened to be in the galt house just as the altercation between general nelson and general jeff c. davis was reaching its climax, and of which i telegraphed you within ten minutes after its occurrence. from what i learn, from parties who saw the commencement, it would seem that general davis felt himself grossly insulted by nelson's overbearing manner at their former meeting; and seeing him standing talking to governor morton, davis advanced and demanded an explanation, upon which nelson turned and cursed him, calling him an infamous puppy, and using other violent language unfit for publication. upon pressing his demand for an explanation, nelson, who was an immensely powerful and large man, took the back of his hand and deliberately slapped general davis's face. just at this juncture i entered the office. the people congregated there were giving nelson a wide berth. recognizing the general, i said "good morning, general," (at this time i was not aware of what had passed). his reply to me was: "did you hear that d----d insolent scoundrel insult me, sir? i suppose he don't know me, sir. i'll teach him a lesson, sir." during this time he was retiring slowly toward the door leading to the ladies' sitting-room. at this moment i heard general davis ask for a weapon, first of a gentleman who was standing near him, and then meeting captain gibson, who was just about to enter the dining-room, he asked him if he had a pistol? captain gibson replied, "i always carry the article;" and handed one to him, remarking, as davis walked toward nelson, "it is a tranter trigger." nelson, by this time, reached the hall, and was evidently getting out of the way, to avoid further difficulty. davis's face was livid, and such a look of mingled indignation, mortification, and determination i never before beheld. his hand was slowly raised; and, as nelson advanced, davis uttered the one word, "halt!" and fired. nelson, with the bullet in his breast, completed the journey up the entire stairs, and then fell. as he reached the top, john allen crittenden met him and said, "are you hurt, general?" he replied, "yes, i am, mortally." "can i do any thing for you?" continued crittenden. "yes; send for a surgeon and a priest, quick." a rush was made by the crowd toward the place as soon as he was shot. no effort, as far as i can learn, has been made to arrest general davis. a few minutes after the occurrence i was introduced to the aid of governor morton, who told me he saw it all, from the very commencement, and that, had not davis acted as he did, after the gross provocation he received, davis would have deserved to have been shot himself. it is a great pity so brave a man should have had so little control over his temper. although very severe in his discipline and rough in his language, the boys of his division were devotedly attached to him, _because he was a fighting man_. the th ohio, especially, were his ardent admirers. he was hated here, bitterly hated, by all _secessionists_; this of itself should have endeared him to union men. the louisville _journal_, this afternoon, in speaking of the affair, says: "general nelson, from the first, thought the wound was a mortal one, and expressed a desire to have the rev. mr. talbott, of calvary church, summoned. this gentleman resides about three miles below the city, but was unable to get home on sunday after service, and passed the night at the galt house. he immediately obeyed the summons, as he was well acquainted with the general. the reverend gentleman informs us that the dying man spoke no word concerning the difficulty, and made no allusion to his temporal affairs, but was exceedingly solicitous as to the salvation of his soul, and desired mr. talbott to perform the rite of baptism, and receive him into the bosom of the church. "after five minutes' conversation, to ascertain his state of preparedness, the clergyman assented to his wish, and the solemn ordinance was administered with unusual impressiveness, in the presence of dr. murray, the medical director, major-general crittenden, and a few other personal friends. when the service concluded, he was calm, and sank into his last sleep quietly, with no apparent physical pain, but with some mental suffering. the last audible words that he uttered were a prayer for the forgiveness of his sins. that appeal was made to almighty god. let, then, his fellow-mortals be proud of his many virtues, his lofty patriotism, and undaunted courage, while they judge leniently of those faults, which, had they been curbed, might have been trained into virtues. let it not be said of our friend-- "'the evil that men do lives after them, the good is oft interred with their bones.'" the funeral. the funeral of general nelson took place yesterday afternoon. the corpse of the general was incased in a most elegant rosewood coffin, mounted with silver. the american flag, that he had so nobly fought under at shiloh, was wrapped about it; his sword, drawn for the last time by that once brave hand, lay upon the flag. bouquets were strewed upon the coffin. major-general granger, major-general mccook, and major-general crittenden, and brigadier-general jackson, assisted by other officers, conveyed the remains from the hearse to the church-door, and down the aisle. as they entered the building, dr. craig commenced reading the burial service for the dead. as soon as they reached the pulpit, and set down the corpse, the choir chanted a requiem in the most impressive manner. rev. dr. craig then read the th chapter of the first epistle of st. paul to the corinthians, st to the th verses: "for since by man came death, by man came also the resurrection of the dead. "for as in adam all die, even so in christ shall all be made alive." after the reading of this, the rev. mr. talbott, he whom general nelson had sent for immediately upon being shot, and who had administered to his spiritual welfare, and received him into the church, delivered one of the most beautiful and eulogistic discourses i ever heard. he said that the general had been, in private life, one of the most congenial and warm-hearted of men; his hand ever open to the needy. he had known him well. the last half-hour of his life was devoted entirely to the salvation of his soul; he did not refer to worldly matters. mr. talbott told him he must forgive all whom he thought had injured him. his reply was, "o! i do, i do forgive--i do forgive. let me," said nelson, "be baptized quick, for i feel i am fast going." mr. t. then administered to him the sacred rite, and in a few minutes, conscious to the last, smiling and serene, he passed to "that bourne from which no traveler returns." "a more contrite heart and thorough christian resignation," said the divine, "i never saw." the discourse over, the body was conveyed again to the hearse. lieutenant-colonel anderson, of the th ohio, had command of the escort, which consisted of two companies of the d ohio, and two companies of the th, all being from his old and tried division. no relatives, i believe, were here, except captain davis, a foster-brother, belonging to the d minnesota regiment. general nelson's gray horse was led immediately behind the hearse, the general's boots reversed and fastened in the stirrups. an artillery company and cavalry squadron completed the _cortège_, which moved slowly down second street to the beat of the muffled drum. he has gone to his long home! though rash and impetuous at times, we must not forget our country has lost a noble defender, a man of true courage--one who was looked up to by his division. to-day he _was_ to join them; and as i went through the old fourth division, last sunday, the boys were all in a jubilee, because nelson was going to be with them, and they remarked, "if he is along, he'll take us where _we'll have fighting_!" as i have before told you, everywhere secessionists are rejoicing at his death, and kentucky ones especially. the union men of kentucky have lost a noble defender. yesterday general rousseau's division of ten thousand men was reviewed. they are a splendid body of men. there will be no examination of jeff c. davis before the civil authorities, but the affair is to be investigated by a court-martial. a singular incident is related of general nelson. it is said that the rev. dr. talbott, who resides a few miles from the city, wished to return home on sunday night last. nelson refused him the pass. on monday morning it was this reverend gentleman who was sent for by nelson, and received nelson into the church, and who performed the funeral services to-day. yours, alf. the gallant colonel nick anderson, who so bravely led the th ohio at shiloh, and more recently at murfreesboro, in speaking of nelson, says: "and what is said will be assented to by all who shared his familiar moments, that, outside of his military duties, he was a refined gentleman. whatever may be said of his severe dealing with his subordinates, his violent manner when reprimanding them, every one who knew him will bear witness that it was only to exact that iron discipline which makes an army irresistible. his naval education, in which discipline is so mercilessly enforced, will explain clearly his intensity of manner when preparing his forces for the terrible trials of the march or the battle-field. however much he was disliked by subordinate and inefficient officers, he was beloved by his men, the private soldiers. "how carefully he looked after all their wants, their clothing, their food--in short, whatever they needed to make them strong and brave! for it was a maxim with him, that, unless a man's back was kept warm and his stomach well supplied, he could not be relied upon as a soldier. all who know buell's army will bear witness to the splendid condition of nelson's division. "general nelson earned his rank as major-general by no mysterious influences at head-quarters, but by splendid achievements on the battle-field. it has been said that his division was the first to enter nashville; so it was the first in corinth; but these are the poorest of his titles to distinction. it was his success in eastern kentucky, in destroying the army of general marshall; and, greatest of all, his arrival, by forced marches, at pittsburg landing, early enough on sunday afternoon, the th of april, to stop the victorious progress of general beauregard, that placed him among his country's benefactors and heroes, and which will 'gild his sepulcher, and embalm his name.' "but for nelson, grant's army might have been destroyed. his forced march, wading deep streams, brought him to the field just in time. an hour later, and all might have been lost." an officer of his division has recounted to me some thrilling incidents of that memorable conflict. "it was nearly sunset when nelson, at the head of his troops, landed on the west bank of the river, in the midst of the conflict. the landing and shore of the river, up and down, were covered by five thousand of our beaten and demoralized soldiers, whom no appeals or efforts could rally. nelson, with difficulty, forced his way through the crowd, shaming them for their cowardice as he passed, and riding upon a knoll overlooking his disembarking men, cried out, in stentorian tones: 'colonel a., have you your regiment formed?' 'in a moment, general,' was the reply. 'be quick; time is precious; moments are golden.' 'i am ready now, general.' 'forward--march!' was his command; and the gallant th ohio was led quickly to the field. "that night nelson asked captain gwynne, of the 'tyler,' to send him a bottle of wine and a box of cigars; 'for to-morrow i will show you a man-of-war fight.' "during the night buell came up and crossed the river, and by daylight next morning our forces attacked beauregard, and then was fought the desperate battle of shiloh. up to twelve m. we had gained no decisive advantage; in fact, the desperate courage of the enemy had caused us to fall back. 'general buell,' said my informant, 'now came to the front, and held a hasty consultation with his generals. they decided to charge the rebels, and drive them back. nelson rode rapidly to the head of his column, his gigantic figure conspicuous to the enemy in front, and in a voice that rang like a trumpet over the clangor of battle, he called for four of his finest regiments in succession--the th ohio, th indiana, th kentucky, and th ohio. 'trail arms; forward; double-quick--march;' and away, with thundering cheers, went those gallant boys. the brave captain (now brigadier-general) terrell, who alone was left untouched of all his battery, mounted his horse, and, with wild huzzas, rode, with nelson, upon the foe. "it was the decisive moment; it was like wellington's 'up, guards, and at them!' the enemy broke, and their retreat commenced. that was the happiest moment of my life when nelson called my regiment to make that grand charge. "let the country mourn the sad fate of general nelson. he was a loyal kentuckian; fought gallantly the battles of his government; earned all his distinction by gallant deeds. all his faults were those of a commander anxious to secure the highest efficiency of his troops by the most rigid discipline of his officers, and in this severe duty he has, at last, lost his life. "his death, after all, was beautiful. he told colonel moody, in nashville, that, though he swore much, yet he never went to bed without saying his prayers; and now, at last, we find him on his death-bed, not criminating or explaining, but seeking the consolations of religion. _requiescat in pace!_" chapter iii. description of a battle -- the d ohio (colonel harris) at perryville -- major-general mccook's report -- major-general rousseau's report -- sketch of major-general a. mcd. mccook. "then shook the hills with thunder riven, then rushed the steeds to battle driven, and, louder than the bolts of heaven, far flashed the red artillery!" many of you have, no doubt, looked upon the field of battle where contending hosts have met in deadly strife. but there are those whose eyes have never gazed upon so sad a sight; and to such i may be enabled to present a picture that will at best give you but a faint idea of the terrible reality of a fiercely-contested field. imagine thousands upon thousands on either side, spreading over a vast expanse of ground, each armed with all the terrible machinery of modern warfare, and striving to gain the advantage of their opponents by some particular movement, studied long by those learned in the art of war. then comes the clang of battle; steel meets steel, drinking the blood of contending foes. the sabers flash and glitter in the sunlight, descending with terrible force upon devoted heads, which were once pillowed on the bosoms of fond and devoted mothers. jove's dread counterfeit is heard on every hand; the balls and shells go whistling and screaming by, the most terrible music to ears not properly attuned to the melody of war. thousands sink upon the ground overpowered, to be trodden under foot of the flying steed, or their bones to be left whitening the incarnadined field. blows fall thick and heavy on every hand. the cries of the wounded and the orders of the commanders mingle together; and, to the uninitiated, all appears "confusion worse confounded." but there is a method in all this _seeming_ madness; and that which appears confusion is the result of well-laid plans. but as there is "many a slip 'twixt the cup and the lip," so there are slips in the actions of the best regulated armies. gunpowder, shot, shell, and steel are not always to be implicitly relied upon: even they sometimes fail in carrying out what were conceded to be designs infallible; so true it is that "man proposes, _but god disposes_." it has been my province to witness battles wherein western men were the heroes; and that western men will fight, has been pretty well authenticated during the present war. i have noticed the brave conduct of the gallant troops, the fighting boys of the various regiments of the west, and have never known them to falter in the hour of danger. they left their homes totally uneducated in warfare; they are now veterans--each a hero. the conduct of the d ohio at perryville is spoken of thus by a correspondent: "the brigade of len harris was in the center, and met the shock simultaneously with the left and right. the whole brigade was in the open fields, with the rebels in the woods before them. long and gallantly did they sustain their exposed positions. an illinois regiment, of terrell's brigade, flying from the field, ran through this brigade, with terrible cries of defeat and disaster; but the gallant boys of the d ohio and th indiana only laughed at them, as, lying down, they were literally run over by the panic-stricken illinoisans. hardly had they disappeared in the woods in harris's rear when the rebels appeared in the woods in his front. at the same time rousseau came galloping along the line, and they received him with cheers, and the rebels with a terrible fire. terrible was the shock on this part of the line, but gallant was the resistance. up the hill came the rebels, and made as gallant a charge as ever was met by brave men. but, o! so terrible and bloody was the repulse! along the line of the d ohio and th indiana and captain harris's battery, i saw a simultaneous cloud of smoke arise. one moment i waited. the cloud arose, and revealed the broken column of rebels flying from the field, but, in the distance, a second rapidly advancing. the shout that arose from our men drowned the roar of cannon, and sent dismay into the retreating, broken column." in major-general mccook's report of that battle, he says it was "_the bloodiest battle in modern times_ for the number of troops engaged on our side," and "the battle was principally fought by _rousseau's division_; and if there are, or ever were, better soldiers than the old troops engaged, i have neither seen nor read of them." speaking of the new troops, general mccook points out those under the command of colonel harris, saying: "for instance, in the ninth brigade, where the d and d ohio, th indiana, and th wisconsin fought so well, i was proud to see the th and th ohio vie with their brethren in deeds of heroism." the th and th were new troops, and the example of the old soldiers in colonel harris's brigade, and the distinguished courage and good judgment of the colonel, gave them confidence, and they stood in the storm like veterans. general rousseau's report of the battle. ... "i then returned to harris's brigade, hearing that the enemy was close upon him, and found that the d ohio had been ordered further to the front by general mccook, and was then engaged with the enemy, and needed support. general mccook, in person, ordered the d ohio to its support, and sent directions to me to order up the th illinois also, captain mauf commanding. i led the th illinois, in line of battle, immediately forward, and it was promptly deployed as skirmishers by its commander, and went gallantly into action, on the left of the d ohio. the d ohio, moving up to support the d ohio, was engaged before it arrived on the ground where the d was fighting. the th indiana, colonel b. f. scribner commanding, then went gallantly into action, on the right of the d ohio. then followed in support the th ohio, colonel frizell. i wish here to say that this regiment, although new, and but few weeks in the service, behaved most gallantly, under the steady lead of its brave colonel frizell. colonel harris's whole brigade--simonson's battery on its right--was repeatedly assailed by overwhelming numbers, but gallantly held its position. the th indiana and d ohio, after exhausting their ammunition and that taken from the boxes of the dead and wounded on the field, still held their position, as did also, i believe, the th wisconsin and d ohio. for this gallant conduct these brave men are entitled to the gratitude of the country, and i thank them here, as i did on the field of battle.... "i had an opportunity of seeing and knowing the conduct of colonel starkweather, of the twenty-eighth brigade, colonel harris, of the ninth brigade, and of the officers and men under their command, and i can not speak too highly of their bravery and gallantry on that occasion. they did, cheerfully and with alacrity, all that brave men could do...." "i herewith transmit the reports of colonels starkweather, harris, and pope, and also a list of casualties in my division, amounting, in all, to , killed and wounded. my division was about , strong when it went into the action. we fought the divisions of anderson, cheatham, and buckner. "i am, very respectfully, your obedient servant, "lovell h. rousseau." it will not be amiss here to give a brief outline of the early history, coming down to a recent date, of the renowned hero, major-general a. mcd. mccook, united states volunteers. he was born in columbiana county, ohio, april , . at the age of sixteen he entered the military academy at west point, as a cadet. he graduated in july, , and was commissioned brevet second lieutenant, in the d regiment united states infantry. after being assigned to duty for a few months, at newport barracks, ky., he was ordered, in april, , to join his regiment, then serving in the territory of new mexico. here he remained nearly five years, constantly on active duty in the field, and participating in all the indian campaigns on that wild and remote frontier. his long services and good conduct were mentioned in general orders by lieutenant-general winfield scott. in january, , he was ordered from new mexico to west point, and assigned to duty in the military academy, as instructor in tactics and the art of war. on the breaking out of the rebellion he was relieved from duty there, and ordered, in april, , to columbus, ohio, to muster in volunteers. before his arrival there he was elected colonel of the st ohio volunteers, a three-months regiment, already on its way to the seat of war in virginia; and hastening to join the command, to which he was elected without his knowledge or solicitation, soon had an opportunity of exhibiting those admirable qualities as a field-officer for which he has since become so justly distinguished. his coolness in the unfortunate affair at vienna, and his consummate military skill in the management of his command at bull run, were universally commended. at the close of that eventful conflict he marched his regiment back to centerville in the same good order in which it had left there, an honorable exception to the wide-spread confusion and disorder that prevailed elsewhere among the national forces. when the three-months troops were mustered out of the service he received permission to raise the st regiment ohio volunteers, a three-years regiment; but on the d of september, , and before his command was ready to take the field, he was appointed brigadier-general of volunteers, and assigned to command the advance of the federal forces then in kentucky, at camp nevin. here, and at green river, he organized his splendid second division, with which he afterward marched to nashville, and thence toward the tennessee river. on the th of april, , alarmed by the sullen sound of distant artillery, and learning the precarious situation of grant's army, he moved his division, over desperate roads, twenty-two miles, to savannah, and there embarked on steamboats for pittsburg landing. after clearing a way with the bayonet through the army of stragglers that swarmed upon the bank of the river, soon after daylight on the morning of the th of april, the second division of the army of the ohio advanced through the sad scenes of our defeat the day before, and deployed, with stout hearts and cheers, upon the field of shiloh. general mccook fought his troops that day with admirable judgment. he held them in hand; his line of battle was not once broken--it was not once retired; but was steadily and determinedly advanced until the enemy fled, and the reverse of the day before was more than redeemed by a splendid victory. in the movement on corinth, a few weeks after the battle of shiloh, general mccook had the honor of being in the advance of general buell's army corps, and his skirmishers were among the first to scale the enemy's works. the rank of major-general of volunteers was soon after conferred upon him, in view of his distinguished services--a promotion not undeserved. after the evacuation of corinth, the command of general mccook was moved through northern alabama to huntsville, thence to battle creek, where his forces remained for two months, in front of bragg's army at chattanooga. upon the withdrawal of buell's army from alabama and tennessee, general mccook moved his division, by a long march of four hundred miles, back to louisville. here he was assigned to command the first corps in the army of the ohio, and started on a new campaign, under buell, in pursuit of bragg. the enemy were met and engaged near perryville, and two divisions of mccook's corps (one of them composed of raw recruits) bore the assault of almost the entire army of general bragg. the unexpected and unannounced withdrawal of general gilbert's forces on his right; the sad and early loss of those two noble soldiers, terrell and jackson, and the tardiness of reinforcements, made the engagement a desperate one, and resulted in a victory, incomplete but honorable, to the union forces. after the battle of chaplin hills, bragg's army, worn and broken, fled in dismay from kentucky. the army corps of major-general mccook was afterward moved to nashville, and he assumed command of the federal forces in that vicinity. on the th of november, , on the arrival of major-general rosecrans, who succeeded major-general buell in command, general mccook was assigned to command the right wing in the department of the cumberland. on the th of december, , the army of the cumberland moved from nashville to attack the enemy in position in front of murfreesboro. general mccook commanded the right. on the evening of december the two armies were in line of battle, confronting each other. rosecrans had massed his reserves on the left, to crush the rebel right with heavy columns, and turn their position. bragg, unfortunately, learning of his dispositions during the night, massed almost his entire army in front of mccook, and in the gray of the following morning, and before we had attacked on the left, advanced with desperate fury upon the right wing. outnumbered, outflanked, and overpowered, the right was forced to retire, not, however, until its line of battle was marked with the evidences of its struggle and the fearful decimation of the enemy. to check the advancing rebel masses, already flushed with anticipated victory, the federal reserves moved rapidly to the rescue. the furious onslaught of the enemy was resisted, and the right and the fortunes of the day were saved. the rebels, whipped on the left and center, checked on the right, foiled in every attack, having lost nearly one-third of their numbers, fled from the field on the night of the d of january, and the victorious union army advanced through their intrenchments into murfreesboro. the great battle of stone river, dearly won, and incomplete in its results, was yet a victory. the right was turned and forced to retire in the first day's fight. whether this was attributable to accidental causes, that decide so many important engagements, or to the superior generalship of the rebel commander, it is at least certain that generalship was not wanting in the disposition of the forces under general mccook; nor was courage wanting in his troops. major-general mccook now commands the twentieth army corps. chapter iv. looking for the body of a dead nephew on the field of murfreesboro -- the th ohio at murfreesboro -- the dead of the th -- the th indiana -- putting contrabands to some service -- anxiety of owners to retain their slaves -- conduct of a mistress -- "don't shoot, massa, here i is!" -- kidd's safeguard -- "always been a union man" -- negroes exhibiting their preference for their friends. on the gory field of murfreesboro, upon the ushering in of the new year, many a noble life was ebbing away. it was a rainy, dismal night; and, on traversing that field, i saw many a spot sacred to the memory of my loved companions of the glorious th ohio. i incidentally heard of the death of a nephew in that fight. i thought of his poor mother. how could i break the news to her! yes, there was i, surrounded by hundreds of dead and wounded, _pitying the living_. o, how true it is that-- death's swift, unerring dart brings to its victim calm and peaceful rest, while those _who live_ mourn and live on--the arrow in their breast! with anxious haste i sought his body during that night. many an upturned face, some with pleasing smile, and others with vengeance depicted, seemed to meet my gaze. stragglers told me to go further to the left. "there's where crittenden's boys gave 'em h--l!" just to the right of the railroad i found young stephens, of the th ohio. his leg was shattered. he called me by name, and begged me to get him some water, as he was perishing. i went back to the river, stripped three or four dead of their canteens, and filled them, and returned. he told me that young tommy burnett was only wounded. he saw him carried back. this relieved my anxiety. the next day the dead were buried. there, amid the shot and shell and other _debris_ of the battle-field, the dead heroes of the th lie, until the last trump shall call. a few days afterward i met one of the officers of that regiment. of him i eagerly inquired as to its fate. a tear fell from his manly eye as he exclaimed, "o, sad enough, alf! our boys were terribly cut up; but they fought like tigers--no flinching there; no falling out of line; shoulder to shoulder they stood amid the sheeted flame; and, though pressed by almost overwhelming numbers, no blanched cheek, no craven look, not the slightest token of fear was visible. the boys were there to do or die. they were ohio boys, and felt a pride in battling for their country and her honor." and when i asked of names familiar, the loss, indeed, seemed fearful. "what became," said i, "of olly rockenfield?" "dead!" was the reply. "and george ridenour?" "wounded--can not live!" dave medary, a perfect pet of the regiment, a boy so childlike, so quiet in his deportment, yet with as brave a heart as julius cæsar--little dave was killed! i saw his grave a few days after. it was half a mile to the left of the railroad; and, although it was january, the leaves of the prairie-rose were full and green, bending over him as if in mourning for the early dead. jack colwell--few of the typos of cincinnati but knew jack, or add, as he was frequently called--poor jack died from want of attention! his wound was in the leg, below the knee. i saw him a week after the battle, and the ball was not yet extracted. adjutant williams, lieutenant foster, captain mcalpin, captain tinker, lieutenant schaeffer, young montaldo, harry simmonds, a. s. shaw, john crotty, and many others, were wounded or killed in the terrific storm of shot and shell sent by the rebel horde under breckinridge. at one time every standard-bearer was wounded, and for a moment the flag of the th lay in the dust; but colonel anderson seized it and waved it in proud defiance, wounded though he was. the colonel soon found claimants for the flag, and had to give it up to those to whose proud lot it fell to defend it. o! the wild excitement of a fight! how completely carried away men become by enthusiasm! they know no danger; they see none--are oblivious to every thing but _hope of victory_! men behold their boon companions fall, yet onward they dash with closed ranks, themselves the next victims. there are few in the army of the cumberland who have not heard of the th indiana, commanded by colonel mullen, of madison, and as fine an irish regiment as ever trod the poetic sod of the emerald isle. on their march up from huntsville, alabama, toward louisville, kentucky, on the renowned parallel run between buell and bragg, the command were short of provisions. _half-rations_ were considered a rarity. father cony, who is at all times assiduous in his duties to his flock, had called his regiment together, and was instilling into their minds the necessity of their trusting in providence. he spoke of jesus feeding the multitude upon three barley loaves and five small fishes. just at this juncture an excitable, stalwart son of erin arose and shouted: "bully for him! he's the man we want for the _quarter-master of this regiment_!" early in january general rosecrans issued his orders that all the men that could possibly be spared from detail duty should be immediately placed into the ranks, and that negroes should be "conscripted" or captured to take their places as teamsters, blacksmiths, cooks, etc. by this means the third division of the army of the cumberland, then under general james b. steadman, was increased eight hundred men--men acclimated--men who could shoulder a musket. this was all done in less than three weeks. the negroes were all taken from rebel plantations. one morning colonel vandeveer, of the th ohio, commanding the third brigade, sent an orderly to my tent to inquire if i would not like to accompany an excursion into the enemy's country. as items were scarce, i at once assented; and, although scarce daybreak, off we went. the colonel informed me that, as i was a good judge of darkeys, general steadman had advised my going with the party. we called first at mrs. carmichael's, and got two boys, aged, respectively, fifteen and seventeen. mrs. carmichael begged, and, finally, wept quite bitterly at the prospect of losing her boys--said those were all she had left--(she had sent the others south). she plead with us not to take "them boys"--said "they wern't no account--couldn't do nothing nohow." but the _mother_ of these boys told our men a different story, and begged us to take the boys, "for," said she, "dey does all de plantin' corn and tendin' in de feel. dey's my chill'n, and if i never sees 'em agin, i want de satisfaction of knowin' _dey is free_!" mrs. carmichael's supplications for the negroes not to be taken from her were quite pitiful. she said they had been _allers_ raised _jest_ like as they were her own flesh and blood, and she just _keered_ for 'em the same. but, as mrs. carmichael had two sons in the rebel army, the boys were taken. upon the first order to come with us they seemed delighted, which caused the mistress to become very wrathy. i told the boys to go to their cabin and get their blankets, as they would need them. judge my surprise when this _kind-hearted_ woman, who had just informed me that she had "allers treated them boys as if they were her own flesh and blood"--this woman seized the blankets from the half-naked boys, and fairly shrieked at them: "you nasty, dirty little nigger thieves! if them yankees want to steal you, let 'em find you in blankets; _i'm not a-going to do it!_" i merely inquired if that was the way in which she treated _her other children_--those in the rebel _army_? from thence we went to mrs. kidd's, who had a husband and two sons in the rebel service. on our approach she endeavored to secrete some of the blacks, _but they_ wouldn't "_stay hid_." the cause of the visit was explained. the rebels had been driving most of the likely negroes south. they were using them against the government; and it was thought, by some, that they might as well work for as _against_ the union. they were raising their crops, running their mills, manufacturing their army-wagons, etc., besides supporting the families of the rebels, thus placing every able-bodied white man of the south in the hands of the government. the federal service needed teamsters and hospital nurses and cooks. mrs. kidd seemed quite a reasonable woman--said she thought she understood the policy of the north, and that the south knew that _slavery_ was their strength. i made the remark, that, probably, if her husband knew she would be left without help, perhaps he would be induced to return and respect the old flag that had at all times, while he was loyal to it, defended him. this little speech on my part elicited a rejoinder from a young miss, a daughter of mrs. kidd, sixteen or seventeen years of age, who flirted around, and with a nose that reached the altitude of at least "eighty-seven" degrees, exclaimed-- "i don't want my par nor my brothers to come home not till every one of you _yankees_ is driven from our sile!" some of the boys were busy hunting for a secreted negro, one whom this young lady had stored away for safety. a soldier opened a smoke-house door, at which the young secesh fairly yelled-- "there aint no nigger there! you yankees haint a bit o' sense! you don't know a smoke-house from a hut, nohow!" supposing the negro, who we felt almost sure was there, might possibly have escaped, we were about retiring with those already collected, when i suggested, loud enough for any one to hear about the building, that the whole squad should pour a volley through that rickety old dormer-window that projected from the room, when, much to our astonishment, and amid roars of laughter, appeared a woolly head, white eye-balls distended, the darkey yelling loud and fast-- "don't shoot, massa! don't shoot! here i is! i's a comin'! de missus made me clime on dis roof. i wants to go wid you folks anyhow!" mr. crossman's plantation was then visited; but, as the rebels had driven him away because of his unionism, and taken his horses, his property was undisturbed by us. from thence we visited nolinsville--met a gang of twenty "likely-looking boys," stout, healthy fellows, who had clubbed together to come to the union camp. they told us the rebs were only four miles off, "scriptin' all the niggers dar was in de fields, and a-runnin' 'em south." these were added to our stock in trade. on our way back, a couple of old, sour-looking women were standing on the steps that were built for them to _climb_ a _fence_, who, seeing so many blacks, inquired what we were taking them for. "to work," was the reply. "the rebels were about to run them south, and we wanted them to work for us." "now who told you that?" they inquired. "the negroes themselves, madam. many of them came voluntarily, to escape being sent south." "o, yes! you federals git your information from the _niggers altogether_." "yes, madam!" facetiously replied captain dickerson, of the d minnesota regiment, "that's a fact. all the _reliable_ information does come from them." on our homeward trip we called at what is known as "kidd's mills," between concord church and nolinsville. there were there quite a number employed upon the lumber and grist. a selection was made from the lot. they _all_ wanted to come, but some were too young, and others too _old_. old man kidd said he had a "safeguard from the gineral. the gineral had been up to see his darters, delilah and susan, and give him a safeguard." upon examination it was found to be a mere request. requests don't stand in military (not arbitrary enough). then the old man declared he had always been a union man--"allers said this war wern't no good--that the south had better stand by the old flag." i at once told him if _such was the case_ he was all right--to just get his horse and come with me, and if he had "_allers_" been a "_union man_" or a non-combatant, why, they would all be returned to him. the negroes were grouped around with anxious faces, and with rather astonished looks; and, as mr. kidd went to the stable, a venerable, white-haired old darkey, who had been told to stand back--he was too old to join the union teamsters--came forward, and begged to be taken. "why, i does heap o' work. i tends dis mill; i drives a team fustrate. _please take de ole man_, and let him _die free_!" another negro, too old to take, spoke up and said: "what was dat de old man kidd told you?" "why," i replied, "he said he had always been a union man." "de lor' bress my soul! did he say dat _he_ was a union man?" "yes!" "well! well! well! dat he was a union man! well! well! well! and he's gwine to de gineral for to tell him dat; and dat ole man is a member ob de church! well! well! well! why, look heah, my men', when de rebs was here only a few weeks ago--when dey was here, dat ole man got on his white hoss, and took de seceshum flag, and rode, and rode, and waved dat rebel flag and shouted, and more dan hollered for jeff davis, and _now_ he union man! he wants de gineral to gib up dese here colored people--_dat's what's de matter wid him_!" in an hour after we arrived in camp, sure enough, the old kidd and other parties were there, expecting or hoping to get their darkeys back; but general steadman told them if the negroes _wished_ to return, they could do so, but, if they chose rather to work for "uncle sam," why, his orders were to use them. "well, _gineral_, you just tell my niggers that they can go home with me," said kidd. "o! they can if they want to." so, out goes kidd, smiling as a "basket of chips." "boys, the gineral says you can all go home _with me_." "if you want to," was my addition _to his sentence_. not a negro stirred from the line. after a brief consultation, in an under tone, at which kidd, i noticed, was becoming very impatient, kidd broke the quietude by saying: "come on, boys--come, jim." jim looked over to bob and said: "bob, what are you going to do?" "me! ise gwine to stay for de union!" old man kidd looked beaten. "well, jim, what will _you_ do?" "o! i does what bob does!" _this same old kidd_ had been in the habit of going over the country enlisting recruits for the rebel service--telling them that he was an old man, or he would go himself; that the old folks expected to be taxed to take care of the soldiers' families; that if they wanted corn or any thing from his mill, while they were in the army, to come and get it. by such language he induced several men, who had only small families, to enlist. one of them was indebted to kidd about thirteen dollars, and after he had been in the army a month or two, kidd dunned him for the old bill, remarking: "well, john, you're in the army now, gittin' your regular pay now--guess you can pay that little bill now, can't you?" chapter v. cutting down a rebel's reserved timber -- home again -- loomis and his coldwater battery -- secession poetry -- heavy joke on an "egyptian" regiment. just after general schofield took command of the third division, roddy patterson, aided by a division of infantry, made his appearance near our camp, and, as we were weak in numbers, fortifications were erected in every direction, trenches dug, and efforts made to place the troops in the best trim to give the rebs a "fine reception." there was one splendid piece of timber-land that might possibly come in possession of the rebels and do us much mischief. general schofield ordered it cleared, and soon twelve hundred axes were resounding through the vast forest, and abe's rail-splitters were at work forming "abatis" from the fallen trees, while earthworks commanding the position were soon erected. captain stinchcomb was the provost-marshal of the division, and old man jordan was in the habit of going to him with all his grievances. the soldiers had made an awful gap in his _reserved_ timber before he found it out; but, as soon as he did so, he made for head-quarters, and found the captain at dinner. _scene i--act --enter old man._ "look a-heah, gineral stinchcomb, them boys of yourn is cuttin' all my timber down!" captain stinchcomb, affecting great surprise, exclaimed, "is it possible! is it possible!" "y-a-a-a-s; all my _resarve, too_! there! there! do you hear that? them's trees a-fallin', and them's the boys yellin' as they fall." "what are they cutting them for, mr. jordan?" "god only knows! i don't. i think just for to be doin' mischief. _nauen_ else in this world." "why didn't you stop them?" inquired stinchcomb. "o! kase i was afeared. there! there! do you hear that agin? them's my trees!" "well, you'd better go right down and order them to stop." "o, no, gineral. it wouldn't do a bit of good. them there boys would _just cuss the life out of me_. they only laugh at me. won't you please go and have it stopped? won't you?" suffice it to say, when captain s. got there _it was too late_. there are many little incidents connected with the army, which, being jotted down in my "day-book," during service, belong to the public. "home again" is a song ever joyous to the soldier, and i remember a little incident in relation to that song and a serenading party of "young and festive cusses" belonging to uncle sam's service. there is residing near murfreesboro a secession family consisting of a rebel widow and four sprightly daughters. now, our "blue-coats" are proverbial for their gallantry in presence of the ladies, and the secesh girls smile as benignly upon a federal soldier, if he be good-looking, as they would upon the most ultra fire-eater of the south. the mothers don't like this--but mothers can't help themselves in many instances. our boys will visit and enjoy a lively chat with the girls whenever occasion offers. a quartette, of fine vocal abilities, belonging to the gallant rousseau's division, had practiced several beautiful ballads, preparatory to a grand serenade to the daughters of the buxom widow. night threw her mantle o'er the earth just as the serenaders started upon their expedition. arriving in dew course of time, they commenced their melodies. the moon was peeping out from behind the far-distant hill as they commenced, "roll on, silver moon," at which i suggested to the party there should be a big premium, just now, on "_silver_ moons." the serenaders smiled grimly, in token of admiration of the "_goak_," and commenced-- "thine eyes, like the stars that are gleaming, have entered the depths of my soul." now, the repetition of "my soul" sounded to me exactly like mice-hole, and i suggested the propriety of substituting a rat-hole, at which several became wrathy, and proposed a mustard-plaster for my head. the young ladies, aroused from their nocturnal slumbers, glided like sylphs to the windows, and threw several bouquets to the "gallant choristers," after the reception of which, and sundry pressures to fond hearts of the "beautiful flowers," the quartette commenced the song of "home again," etc., and "o, it fills my soul with joy, to meet my friends once more." this brought the widow to the window, who, hastily flinging back the shutter, screamed out, at the top of her voice: "if it will give you yankees any greater joy to get home than it will me, i hope to gracious you'll stop your confounded noise and go home and meet your friends, for you've got none here." this was a bomb-shell thrown right at the party, and such a crouching down and gradual sliding off you can scarcely imagine. to be led, as 't were, to the seventh heaven of bliss by the fair daughters' presentation of beautiful bouquets, and then to have all their hopes blasted by the termagant voice of the mamma! if any of my readers ever visit rousseau's division and inquire for the serenaders, my word for it, the gentlemen concerned will have no recollection of the serenade. colonel loomis, whose name is now engraven in history, and whose battery is mentioned with pride everywhere in the army of the cumberland, was, during the virginia campaign, _captain_ loomis. he was late chief of artillery upon rousseau's staff. captain loomis, with his train, arrived in cincinnati one sunday morning, on his way to the army of virginia. upon each caisson and every piece of artillery was plainly painted "coldwater battery." services in a church on sixth street were just concluded, and the warlike array attracted the congregation's attention, and the rather splendid figure of the young though "venerable-looking" captain loomis demanded a large share of attention. the pastor of the church introduced himself, spoke with admiration of the fine appearance of the captain's men, etc., and, with a hearty pressure of the hand, remarked: "captain loomis, yours is a noble motto; stick to that, stick to that, my young soldier. you have many hardships to undergo, but your glorious motto of cold water will carry you safely through." loomis, for the first time, caught the idea of the parson, but was too courteous to undeceive the preacher by informing him that his battery was raised in the town of coldwater, michigan. i have spent many a pleasant hour with the captain, but never could "see" the "cold water" part of his battery. a very pretty and pathetic little poem was handed me by one of secessia's daughters, upon a prolific theme, entitled the dying soldier. my noble commander! thank god, you have come; you know the dear ones who are waiting at home, and o! it were dreadful to die here alone, no hand on my brow, and my comrades all gone. i thought i would die many hours ago, and those who are waiting me never could know that here, in the faith of its happier years, my soul has not wandered one moment from theirs. the dead were around; but my soul was away with the roses that bloom round my cottage to-day. i thought that i sat where the jessamine twines, and gathered the delicate buds from the vines. and there--like a bird that had folded its wings, at home, 'mid the smile of all beautiful things, with sweet words of welcome, and kisses of love-- was one i will miss in yon heaven above. by the light that i saw on her radiant brow, she watches and waits there and prays for me now. my captain, bend low; for this poor, wounded side is draining my heart of its last crimson tide. some day, when you leave this dark place, and go free, you will meet a fair girl--she will question of me! she has kissed this bright curl, as it lay on my head; when it goes back alone, she will know i am dead. and tell her the soul, which on earth was her own, is waiting and weeping in heaven alone. my mother! god help her! her grief will be wild when she hears the mad hessians have murdered her child; but tell her 'twill be one sweet chime in my knell, that the flag of the south now waves where i fell! it is well, it is well, thus to die in my youth, a martyr to freedom and justice and truth! farewell to earth's hopes--precious dreams of my heart-- my life's going out; but my love shall depart, on the wings that my soul has unfurled, going up, soft and sweet, to that beautiful world. a joke on an "egyptian" regiment. a well-known commander was drilling a brigade at "kripple kreek," a short time since, and in it was a slim portion of the " th" illinois. quite a large number of this regiment have deserted upon every occasion offered, the men generally being very inattentive. the commanding officer of "all that is left of them" was severely censured, the other day, for dereliction of duty. the general swore by the eternal he wished the colonel of the " th" would "_go home_ and join his regiment." chapter vi. general turchin -- mrs. general turchin in command of the vanguard of the th illinois -- the th ohio at athens -- children and fools always tell the truth -- picket talk -- about soldiers voting -- captain kirk's line of battle. it is well known by all that general turchin has been fully vindicated. captain heaton, of columbiana county, who was an eye-witness of his trial, and who knew the noble russian, said to me, in speaking of this gallant soldier, "he looked like a lion among a set of jackals!" general turchin was basely persecuted. he came out of the ordeal unscathed. the correspondent of the _gazette_, who was in huntsville, gave an account of affairs under rousseau, who was as rigid in the punishment of rebels as mitchel was before him. the court-martial convened to try turchin for _punishing traitors_ bid fair to last for months, under buell's management. mrs. turchin, before the arrest of her husband, had been making the campaign of northern alabama in his company, enduring, with the utmost fortitude, and for weeks together, all the hardships incident to a soldier's life. to ride on horseback, forty or fifty miles per day, was to her a mere matter of amusement, and in the recent march of the th illinois, from winchester to bellefonte, she is said to have taken command of the vanguard, and to have given most vigorous and valuable directions for driving off and punishing the infamous bushwhackers who infested the road. these and similar things had so much excited the admiration of colonel turchin's men, that they would have followed his gallant lady into the field of battle with all the enthusiasm that fired the hearts of the french chivalry when gathered around the standard of the maid of orleans. as soon as colonel turchin was arrested, mrs. turchin suddenly disappeared. the next that was heard from her she was in washington city; and now the story goes, that when she left the south she hastened to chicago, enlisted the sympathies of noble-hearted men in the cause of her husband, prevailing upon a delegation of noble illinoisans to accompany her to washington, and, with their assistance, secured the confirmation of the colonel as a brigadier-general of volunteers. truly, in the lottery matrimonial, colonel turchin had the fortune to draw an invaluable prize. all that has been alleged against generals turchin and mitchel authorizing the sacking of athens, alabama, appears to have reacted; and, except general rousseau, they were the most popular officers in that region. the th ohio was stationed at athens, and encamped upon the fair-grounds. here they were assailed by scott's rebel cavalry. they resisted for some hours, when, learning through their scouts that an overwhelming force of the enemy were advancing against them, they thought best to retire, which they did in good order. as they passed through the town, on their way to huntsville, some rash, inconsiderate rebel sympathizers jeered at and insulted them, cheering lustily for jeff davis and the southern confederacy. one or two of them, also, seized their guns, and when the rebel forces made their appearance, joined them in pursuit of our soldiers. a feeling of vindictive wrath sprang up in the minds of the boys of the th, and when they met the th illinois and other troops, who, under command of colonel turchin, were coming to the rescue, they naturally magnified their own loss, and told the rescuers exaggerated stories of the manner in which they had been treated by the citizens of athens. under those circumstances the whole force re-entered the town, driving the rebels before them, and, in the midst of great excitement, vowing vengeance. then came the inevitable result: some good soldiers were carried away into acts of unwarrantable violence, and a few unprincipled scoundrels seized upon the opportunity to plunder, pilfer, and steal. but the mass of the forces entered the place under the impression (as appears from the testimony before the court-martial) that it was to be sacked and burned, as a just and proper military punishment. this impression was, unfortunately, not corrected by colonel turchin, because it was, in all probability, unknown to him. it arose, no doubt, from the fact that a general order had been issued, or, as reported, was about to be issued, denouncing, in severe terms, all citizens who should fire upon, or in any way molest our troops, and threatening both them and their property with destruction. such a proclamation or order was, in fact, issued about this time. notwithstanding it was generally understood that the plundering of athens was permitted, at least three-fourths of the soldiers voluntarily abstained from laying their hands upon a single dollar's worth of private property. now, as to the outrages themselves, i unhesitatingly pronounce that they have been greatly exaggerated. to say that the town was in any way "ruined" is simply an exhibition of ignorance on the part of those who are not acquainted with the facts, and a falsehood on the part of those who are. some three or four stores were broken into, and the most valuable part of the merchandise abstracted; the contents of the apothecary's shop were badly injured, and articles of value were taken from at least a dozen houses; some thousands of dollars' worth of horses, mules, and "niggers" were taken out of the town and suburbs; two or three scoundrels abused the persons of as many colored women; and this was the extent of the "ruin" inflicted upon athens. i visited it more than a month ago. i saw no sign of "ruin," dissolution, or decay, and i am too good a friend of the athenians not to say that i consider their beautiful town as being to-day the most flourishing in all north alabama; and if a citizen from any other place, especially from huntsville, should go to athens and say otherwise, nothing but the presence of the military would prevent him from getting a thrashing upon the spot. it is an old and trite saying, that "children and fools always tell the truth." captain moar and lieutenant wood, of general steadman's staff, went out with a full expedition. it was under colonel bishop, of the d minnesota; but these staff officers preceded the party. we arrived at the proposed field, where we were to bivouac for the night. a house was near, and colonel moar proposed to go there and order supper. there were four females in the house. all pretended to be glad to receive us. we brought them sugar and coffee, articles they had not enjoyed for over a year. while supper was preparing, lieutenant wood, seeing a very pretty little girl, said to her, "come here, sissy." the child reluctantly advanced, and as the lieutenant placed her upon his knee, the little innocent looked up and said, "i hate yankees!" the mother tried to catch the eye of the child. lieutenant wood said, "o, no, you don't!" "yes, i do," reiterated the child. "why, sissy, what makes you hate yankees?" "_'cause mother told me i must_," was the child's reply. the mother blushed crimson, and said, very confusedly, "why, hattie! i never!" picket talk. i have often heard pickets chaff one another. just after the capture of new orleans, one of our boys, on picket duty, as light dawned, discovered a rebel just lighting his breakfast-fire up a ravine. our picket called out to the rebel to stop building fires and come over and take breakfast with him. the rebel replied: "no, i shan't, you haven't got any coffee." "yes, i have," says the union soldier. "well, you haven't any sugar?" "yes, we have. we've got _orleans_." the man who makes the assertion that our boys in the field, when called upon to vote on resolutions, are influenced by fear of officers, _is most grossly mistaken_. why, your american soldier is the most independent "cuss" in the world; and if a regiment is in line, and asked to vote, you may rest assured they vote as they please, and are governed by the dictates of their own consciences. the great address that was sent from the army was voted upon in this way: the regiments were drawn up in line, the address read, and the color-bearers were asked, "do you indorse the address to which you have listened?" from every one came the hearty "i do!" when the colors were ordered two paces front. the regiments then voted on the address, the "ayes" stepping out in line with the colors, and, if there had been any "noes," they were to stand fast; but i have yet to hear of the man who did so. they rallied on their colors to a man, and stood with an unbroken front. during the fight this side of chapel hill, captain kirk, one of the general's aids, seeing two rebels a little way off, on a by-road, put spurs to horse and gave chase. we all watched him very eagerly until he ascended the hill, when three more rebs joined the two, and made a stand. kirk, thinking discretion the better part of valor, reined in his horse, when, to the infinite amusement of the staff, young lu. steadman (a son of the general, and, though but sixteen years of age, a gallant boy) exclaimed: "father, father, look yonder; _kirk has formed a line of battle!_" it is scarcely necessary to say that kirk soon changed his base on a _double-quick_. chapter vii. comic scenes -- importation of yankees -- wouldn't go round -- major boynton and the chicken -- monotony of camp life -- experience on a scouting expedition -- larz anderson, esq., in camp -- a would-be secessionist caught in his own trap -- guthrie gray bill of fare for a rebel "reception" -- pic russell among the snakes. army of the cumberland, third division, camp near triune, tenn., _may , _. "what will become of all of us women?" said an excited female to colonel vandeveer, one morning. "the states-rights men 'scripted all the young men, and you are drivin' all the old away. what will we ladies do?" "import yankees," was the gallant colonel's reply. "we are raising a big stock especially for this market, and can spare any quantity." "o! but yankees don't suit us; we'd rather have our own people," was secesh's reply. "o! if that's the case, you women had better use your influence to get the traitors to lay down their arms and return to their homes, and behave themselves as honest men should, and that will end this little dispute, and you can have all the men you want." "well, colonel, we are all tired of this war, and would be mighty glad to know our kinfolks were on their way home; but it will be mighty grindin' to 'em to have to come back and acknowledge that they couldn't lick you yankees." deserters from the rebel army, i am told by citizens, are fast making their appearance wherever they can get the protection of our forces, and as we advance they will no doubt increase. the provost-marshal of the division was kept busy administering the oath to those who came in from the surrounding country to triune. many very laughable incidents occurred at the swearing-in. one long, lean, lank specimen of the rebel order came up to captain stinchcomb, who was proposing the oath. "hallo, mister, are you the captain of these ridgements around here? dr. wilson, my neighbor over across spring bottom, said i must come over to the feller what swored in folks, and get the constitution, and keep it as long as you folks staid around here." wouldn't go round. captain airhardt, who was well known as the topographical engineer of this division, and one of the best-natured men in the world, was engaged in strengthening the fortifications around the camp near triune, and in doing so had occasion to use some fifty men from the d minnesota. as the boys had worked faithfully for four hours, the captain thought he would issue a ration of whisky to each, and, not having any himself, he borrowed some from general steadman's tent, without leave, from a keg the general had been keeping for his own medical purposes. he drew off about a gallon. the boys were drawn up in line, and the captain commenced the issue, and as each man received his portion he was ordered to fall out. they did so, however, seeking the first opportunity to retire to the other end of the line, and again resume a position in the ranks. the captain went after reinforcements of the _creature comfort_ from the before-mentioned keg, and the _reinstated_ members of the ditch-diggers were again ready for active service. this state of things continued as long as the whisky lasted, and as the captain handed the last ration, he looked at the few remaining boys, whom he supposed would have to go without any, and expressed his sorrow that he _hadn't enough to go round_. the fact was, every body had had at least three drinks. i spent a very pleasant evening among a party of ladies who reside near our camp. our officers are very attentive to them, and the ladies seem thankful for the protection. the house was furnished in elegant style. we had music, songs, and an elocutionary entertainment; every thing passing off pleasantly. as i am above suspicion myself, i may remark that i fear for the hearts of several of this brigade. mine is already engaged; had it not been, i could not swear to the consequences of that visit. one really pretty specimen of secesh sang "the bonnie blue flag," by particular desire. she acknowledged she used to go it strong for dissolution, but let us hope she is becoming enlightened. [illustration: runaway scrape in virginia. see page .] major boynton and the chicken. miss mollie jordan is a peculiar specimen of _ye southern maiden_. i heard a good story illustrative of her rebellious nature some time ago: our troops were then stationed at concord church, and, in their peregrinations for fodder, came out this way, and, among other things, took off several contrabands belonging to miss mollie. some time afterward she rode into camp and inquired for colonel vandeveer, and riding right up to him, she said, "how do, colonel?" the colonel tipped his hat, _a la militaire_, in token of recognition. "colonel, you've been out our way and stole all my niggers, and i've just ridden into camp to see if you would be magnanimous enough to lend me my blacksmith to shoe this horse?" the colonel assisted her in alighting; had her boy hunted up, and the horse shod. dinner being ready, the lady was invited to partake of the repast; and, as she noticed a chicken upon the table almost as large as a turkey, she looked across at the colonel, and then at the good-looking major boynton, and inquired whom she was dining with. "o, with the major, miss. why did you ask?" said the colonel. "i merely wished to know who stole my chickens; for those were particular pets of mine, and the only ones of that breed in the country." the reader can imagine the laugh that took place at the major's expense. as a matter of course, neither the major nor the colonel knew any thing as to where the servant-man had _bought_ the fowls. the tennessee cavalry were out again yesterday, with colonel brownlow, and touched up the alabamians. they brought in six prisoners. the rebels massed their men and undertook to charge us, but our tennessee boys stood their ground, and the rebels backed out. they outnumbered us three to one; but they were not aware of that, or perhaps they would have given us fits. now brownlow is a daring, dashing fellow, and, in fact, all the officers and men seem made of the same material. i suppose you will begin to think i've got cavalry on the brain, i talk so much of those boys; but they, at present, are the only ones out this way doing the fighting. when this bully division of infantry does go in, you can depend upon it somebody will get hurt. all the regiments are quartered in elegant little pup-tents, as they call them. these tents are handsomely sheltered with evergreens and various bushes, presenting a picturesque appearance. the lancaster, chillicothe, and cincinnati boys are vieing with each other as to who shall have the neatest camp. a chicken-fight is to take place this evening between two game-cocks. one is owned by the fat boy of the th, the other by the new grocery-keeper of this brigade--he with the yellow vest and spectacles. spectacles can whip fat boy, sure, so i must hurry up to see it done. we are striving our best to break up this love of cruel sports, but fear our efforts will be fruitless. the weather is delightful; garden truck is progressing finely; the wheat and oat-fields are waving delightfully, while the corn is becoming like a man drinking whisky--_elevated_. with the above horrid joke i close. yours, dismally, till i see my love, alf. reminiscence of camp life in virginia, in . camp beverly, va., _july , _. a soldier's life becomes irksome when he is encamped for any great length of time at any one point. a change of scenery, or the busy bustle of a march, wearisome though it be, makes the hours pass lightly. this is our eighth day at this place, and beautiful though the surroundings are, yet they begin to weary the eye. the boys want action, and if no prospect of a fight is here, they wish for still further progress. the chief product of this never-ending and infernal mountainous region seems to be rain and ignorant people. it rains from monday till saturday, and commences fresh on sunday; and if you put a question of the most commonplace order, the only answer you are likely to receive is the vacant stare of those you speak to. the first relief to this monotony occurred a few days since. captain bracken, editor of the indianapolis _sentinel_, who is in command of a splendid cavalry company, sent me an invitation to accompany him upon a scouting excursion, as a number of houses in the vicinity needed a little examination; so, accompanied by his two lieutenants and our gallant major, alex. christopher, together with the ever-affable andy hall, the scouts, mounted upon as fine horses as could be selected by captain bracken, started jovially on duty. "_now up the mead, now down the mead_," and then over hill and dale they sped. soon the outer pickets were passed, and we were in the enemy's country, where, 'tis said, the faster your horse travels the less likelihood there is of being shot by guerrillas. in the course of the afternoon we visited several houses, at one of which quite a quantity of contraband stuff was found, _which was placed in our canteens_. at dusk we commenced a homeward tramp; and having to pass a house in which i had previously enjoyed the hospitality of its inmates, i alighted to refresh myself with a cool drink of water, the balance of the party going on. i had but just mounted my horse, when he took fright, and in a moment he was beyond control. your humble servant clung with tenacity to the brute, and although i told him to "whoa," he wouldn't do it. now he takes a by-road; away he flies with lightning speed; 'tis getting dark, and the _fool horse_ is running further and further from camp. i tried kicking the animal so as to induce him to believe that it was me that was forcing him to his utmost speed, but 't was no go. then, as i came near falling, i "_affectionately_" threw my arms around his neck, thinking, if life was spared, what a fine item this runaway would make. in vain i tried kicks, seesawing, jerks, coaxing, whoaing; in despair, i gave a loose hold of the reins to the runaway, hoping he would get tired, endeavoring, however, to keep him in the middle of the road. he jumped ditches, turned curves, until i began to think i would make a good circus performer, and eventually hire out to john robinson, if safely delivered from this perilous expedition. at last he took me off my guard: turning abruptly to the left on a by-road, your correspondent went to the right, heels up in the air for a brief space--in fact, a balloon ascension; the balloon's burst was the next vivid thing in my mind, for i remembered scratching in the air, and then an almost instantaneous collision with mother earth, alighting upon the right side of my head, from which the blood gushed in a slight attempt at a deluge. as luck would have it, some friendly folks came to my rescue, and bathed my head with camphor; i remounted, and, in a few minutes, met my companions, who were in search for me. they wet my lips with some of that stuff in the canteens. on arriving at camp, and sending for a surgeon, my wounds were dressed. a broken bone in my right hand, a terrific black eye and disfigured forehead, a sprained leg and battered side were the result of my excursion. this is the first letter i have been able to write since. last saturday the whole regiment was in the finest spirits at seeing among us the kindly face of cincinnati's universally-beloved citizen, larz anderson, and it did one good to see the hearty shake of hands our gallant officers and men gave him. he leaves for home to-day, laden with, no doubt, messages of love to many. god bless and speed him on his journey. captain burdsall arrived to-day from cheat mountain. his command will remain here a few days, acting as mounted scouts. the captain received a serious kick from his horse a week or two ago, and has been confined to his bed ever since. this company has been a very valuable auxiliary to the brigade, both at cheat river mountain and this place. we are sorry to hear of their intended return to cincinnati in a few weeks. the battle-field of rich mountain is about four miles from this place, and to-day i met with an old veteran, upon whose ground they fought. he is a thorough union man, and was a prisoner in the hands of the secession party. the rebels, to spite the old veteran, dug a trench around his house, for burying their dead, only eighteen inches below the surface. they also ruined his well by throwing in decayed horse-flesh--in fact, ruined his old homestead, by cutting down his fruit-trees, and various other specimens of vandalism. an incident occurred during the preparation for that battle worth mentioning. mr. ----, an old man of this town, a representative in the legislature, one who was elected as a union candidate, and then basely betrayed his constituents, and afterward was re-elected as a secessionist--this man, on the eve of the battle, having partaken freely of liquor, heard of the advance of our army, and, mounting his horse, rode hastily to the rebel camp, to inform them of the intended attack. he passed the outer pickets, but was halted by a full company of georgians, who, hearing of the advance of our men, had been thrown out to reconnoiter. he, much frightened, supposing he was mistaken and was in the union men's camp, begged them not to shoot, exclaiming, "_i am a union man._" scarce had the lying words passed his lips when a dozen balls pierced his body. an announcement, made last night, that the rebels were advancing upon this post, put the boys in excellent humor. every piece was put in order, and preparations made for a warm reception of the rebel gentry. extra pickets were sent out by colonel bosley, who has entire command of this post, captain wilmington being field-officer of the day. the _guests_, however, did not arrive, thus greatly disappointing the boys, who had a magnificent _banquet_ in store for them. the bill of fare consisted of bullet soup--with gunpowder sauce; bayonets--drawn from scabbards; minié muskets--nicely _ranged_; twelve six-pound dumplings--u. s. on the margin; , harper's ferry clickers; besides numerous little delicacies in the way of colt's "revolving pudding-hitters" and "_derangers_," lightning-powder, bowies, slashers, etc. but as they refused the banquet, why, we will keep it, for the time being, ready for them in case of an intended _surprise party_. a serenade in camp is sweet music, indeed. last night the guthrie serenading club, consisting of e. p. perkins, w. b. sheridan, charlie foster, captain wilmington, zeke tatem, w. craven, and s. b. rice, gave the denizens of this town and camp a taste of their quality. the hills resounded with sweet sounds. "music soft, music sweet, lingers on the ear." captain pic russell had an acquisition to his company a few evenings since--in fact, a secession emblem: a snake seven feet long--a regular "black sarpent"--quietly coiled himself in the captain's blanket. he was, as soon as discovered, put to death. this region, of country abounds in serpents, the rattlesnake being a prolific article. i must close, as the mail is about to start. yours, alf. chapter viii. fun in the d ohio -- a thrilling incident of the war -- general kelley -- vote under strange circumstances -- die, but never surrender. fun in the d ohio. one of the boys furnished me with a copy of his experiences of camp, entitled "_ye chronicles of ye one hundred and twenty-third regiment._" st. man that is born of woman, and enlisteth as a soldier in the one hundred and twenty-third ohio, is few of days and short of rations. d. he cometh forth at reveille, is present also at retreat, yea, even at tattoo, and retireth, apparently, at taps. d. he draweth his rations from the commissary, and devoureth the same. he striketh his teeth against much hard tack, and is satisfied. he filleth his canteen with apple-jack, and clappeth the mouth thereof upon the bung of a whisky-barrel, and after a little while goeth away, rejoicing in his strategy. th. much soldiering has made him sharp; yea, even the seat of his breeches is in danger of being cut through. th. he covenanteth with the credulous farmer for many turkeys and chickens; also, at the same time, for much milk and honey, to be paid for promptly at the end of each ten days; and lo! his regiment moveth on the ninth day to another post. th. his tent is filled with potatoes, cabbage, turnips, krout, and other delicate morsels of a delicious taste, which abound not in the commissary department. th. and many other things not in the "returns," and which never will return; yet, of a truth, it must be said of the soldier of the one hundred and twenty-third, that he taketh nothing that he can not reach. th. he fireth his austrian rifle at midnight, and the whole camp is aroused and formed in line of battle, when lo! his mess come bearing in a nice porker, which he solemnly declareth so resembled a secesh that he was compelled to pull trigger. th. he giveth the provost-marshal much trouble, often capturing his guard, and possesseth himself of the city. th. at such times "lager" and pretzels flow like milk and honey from his generous hand. he giveth without stint to his own comrades; yea, and withholdeth not from the one hundred and sixteenth ohio volunteer infantry, or from the lean, lank, expectant hoosier of the eighty-seventh indiana. th. he stretcheth forth his hand to deliver his fellow-soldiers of the one hundred and sixteenth from the power of the enemy; yea, starteth at early dawn from petersburg, even on a "double-quick" doth he go, and toileth on through much heat, suffering, privation, and much "vexation of spirit," until they are delivered. verily i say unto you, after that he suffereth for want of tents and camp-kettles. yea, on the hights of moorfield his voice may be heard proclaiming loudly for "hard tack and coffee," yet he murmureth not. th. but the grunt of a pig or the crowing of a cock awakeneth him from, the soundest sleep, and he goeth forth until halted by the guard, when he instantly clappeth his hands upon his "bread-basket," and the guard, in commiseration, alloweth him to pass to the rear. th. no sooner hath he passed the sentry's beat than he striketh a "bee-line" for the nearest hen-roost, and, seizing a pair of plump pullets, returneth, soliloquizing: "the noise of a goose saved rome; how much more the flesh of chickens preserveth the soldier!" th. he even playeth at eucher with the parson, to see whether or not there shall be preaching in camp on the following sabbath; and by dexterously drawing from the bottom a jack, goeth away rejoicing that the service is postponed. th. and many other things doeth he; and lo! are they not recorded in the "morning reports" of company b? yea, verily. a thrilling incident of the war. captain theodore rogers, son of the rev. e. p. rogers, of new york city, formerly of albany, n. y., enlisted in may, . after a varied experience he returned home, and, on the th of january, , was married, in cazenovia, new york, to the adopted daughter of h. ten eyck, esq., a young lady who, we may be allowed at least to say, was every way worthy of the hand of the gallant soldier. the bridal days were passed in the camp, where a few weeks of happiness were afforded them. six months roll away, and the battle at gaines's mills opens. mr. rogers, having left home as first lieutenant, was, on account of his superior qualities as a soldier and as a man, promoted to the office of captain. his indefatigable efforts to discharge the duties of his position seriously impaired his health, and, previous to the battle referred to, he was lying sick in his tent. but the booming of the enemy's cannon roused the spirit of the soldier, and he forgot himself in his desire to win a victory for his country. an account of the last scene is given by an officer in the rebel army, and, coming from such a source, its accuracy can not be questioned. colonel mcrae, while passing through nassau, n. p., on his way to england, sought an introduction to a lady, who, he was informed, was from albany. finding that she knew dr. rogers and his family, she writes that his whole face lighted up, and he said: "o, i am so glad! i have been longing for months to see some one who knew the family of the brave young soldier who fell before my eyes." he then said: "it was just at evening on friday, june , at the battle of gaines's mills, as your army was falling back, i was struck with the appearance of a young man, the captain of a company, who was rushing forward at the head of his men, encouraging them, and leading them on, perfectly regardless of his own life or safety. his gallantry and bravery attracted our notice, and i felt so sure that he must fall, and so regretted the sacrifice of his life, that i tried hard to take him prisoner. but all my efforts were vain; and when at last i saw him fall, i gave orders at once that he should be carried from the field. it was the last of the fight, and in a few moments general garland (also of the confederate army) and i went in search of him, and found him under the tree whither i had ordered him to be carried." here the voice of the colonel trembled so that he was hardly able to proceed. recovering himself, he added: "i took from his pocket his watch, some money, and three letters--one from his wife, another from his father, and the third from his mother. as general garland (who has since been killed) and i read the letters, standing at the side of the youthful husband and son, we cried like children--tears of grief and regret for the brave and honored soldier, and at the thought of those who would mourn him at home." the colonel said: "tell his wife and father and mother that, though he was an enemy of whom we say it, he died the bravest and most gallant man that ever fell on the battle-field--encouraging and leading his men on, going before them to set the example. tell them, also, that we saw him laid tenderly in his grave, (by himself,) and that, when this hateful war is over, i can take his wife to the very spot where her husband lies." colonel mcrae was very anxious to know whether the letters and watch had been received by his wife, as he said that he gave them into the hands of colonel t----, of the d regiment, who had promised to send them by a flag of truce. from all that could be gathered, the lamented youth never spoke a word after receiving his death-wound. while in the army of virginia i obtained the following facts in regard to the shooting of colonel (now general) kelley. a staunton (virginia) paper contained the following boastful article: "colonel kelley, the commandant of a portion of lincoln's forces at philippa, was shot by archey mcclintic, of the bath cavalry, captain richards. leroy and foxall dangerfield, (brothers,) and archey mcclintic, soldiers of the bath cavalry, were at the bridge, when a horse belonging to their company dashed through the bridge without its rider, whereupon these soldiers attempted to cross the bridge for the purpose of seeing what had been the fate of the owner of the riderless horse, when they were met by a portion of the enemy, led on by colonel kelley. as they met, archey mcclintic shot colonel kelley with a pistol. seeing that they would be overcome by the number of the enemy, this gallant trio wheeled and retreated through the bridge. as they were retreating, they heard the enemy exclaim, 'shoot the d--d rascal on the white horse!' meaning mcclintic, who had shot colonel kelley. they fired, and broke the leg of leroy p. dangerfield. as mcclintic was able to unhorse the colonel of a regiment with an old pistol, we hope that no soldier will disdain to use the old-fashioned pistol. they are as good as any, if in the proper hands." from the same paper i cut the following: "we have been informed that the gallant men who were under the command of captain j. b. moomau, in the precipitate retreat from philippa, positively refused, after going a mile or two, to retreat any further. they were told that, if they would not retreat any further, they had better send a flag of truce to the enemy and surrender. it was proposed to decide the matter by a vote, when the men _unanimously_ voted that they would _rather die than surrender_. the word 'surrender' does not belong to the vocabulary of the brave men of our mountains. they are as heroic as spartans. they are willing to _die_, if needs be; but surrender, _never!_ though the enemy were constantly firing minié muskets at them, they were not at all alarmed, and, being true republicans, they were resolved to take the vote of the men before they would agree to send a flag of truce, or think for a moment of surrendering. who ever heard of a vote being taken under such circumstances? they were flying before the superior and overwhelming force of the enemy, yet they were sufficiently calm and self-composed to get through with the republican formality of taking the vote of the company. the men then under the command of captain moomau, of pendleton, were his own company and some fifty belonging to the company of captain hull, of highland, who had become separated from the other portion of their own company. such soldiers will never be conquered--they may be killed, but they will never surrender." a few days afterward these "never-surrender" spartan chaps were brought into camp, the most hang-dog looking set of villains i ever met. chapter ix. our hospitals -- no hope -- a short and simple story -- a soldier's pride -- the last letter -- soldierly sympathy -- the hospitals at gallatin, and their ministering angels. our hospitals. i have visited many of the hospitals, both on the field and those located in cities where every convenience obtainable for money was profuse. those in nashville, gallatin, and louisville were, at all times, in the most perfect order. still, in the field, and often in cities, cut off as nashville and murfreesboro sometimes are, the men suffer from the want of many little things. miss louisa allcott, of boston, who has been kindly administering to the wants of the sick and wounded in the hospitals, says: one evening i found a lately-emptied bed occupied by a large, fair man, with a fine face, and the serenest eyes i ever met. one of the earlier comers had often spoken of a friend who had remained behind, that those apparently worse wounded than himself might reach a shelter first. it seemed a david and jonathan sort of friendship. the man fretted for his mate, and was never tired of praising john, his courage, sobriety, self-denial, and unfailing kindliness of heart--always winding up with--"he's an out-and-out fine feller, ma'am; you see if he aint." i had some curiosity to behold this piece of excellence, and, when he came, watched him for a night or two before i made friends with him; for, to tell the truth, i was afraid of the stately-looking man, whose bed had to be lengthened to accommodate his commanding stature--who seldom spoke, uttered no complaint, asked no sympathy, but tranquilly observed all that went on about him; and, as he lay high upon his pillows, no picture of dying statesman or warrior was ever fuller of real dignity than this virginia blacksmith. no hope. a most attractive face he had, framed in brown hair and beard, comely-featured and full of vigor, as yet unsubdued by pain, thoughtful, and often beautifully mild, while watching the afflictions of others, as if entirely forgetful of his own. his mouth was firm and grave, with plenty of will and courage in its lines, but a smile could make it as sweet as any woman's; and his eyes were child's eyes, looking one fairly in the face, with a clear, straightforward glance, which promised well for such as placed their faith in him. he seemed to cling to life as if it were rich in duties and delights, and he had learned the secret of content. the only time i saw his composure disturbed was when my surgeon brought another to examine john, who scrutinized their faces with an anxious look, asking of the elder: "do you think i shall pull through, sir?" "i hope so, my man." and, as the two passed on, john's eyes followed them with an intentness which would have won a clearer answer from them had they seen it. a momentary shadow flitted over his face; then came the smile of serenity, as if, in that brief eclipse, he had acknowledged the existence of some hard futurity, and, asking nothing, yet hoping all things, left the issue in god's hand, with that submission which is true piety. at night, as i went my rounds with the surgeon, i happened to ask which man in the room probably suffered the most, and, to my great surprise, he glanced at john. "every breath he draws is like a stab; for the ball pierced the left lung, broke a rib, and did no end of damage here and there; so the poor lad can find neither forgetfulness nor ease, because he must lie on his wounded back or suffocate. it will be a hard struggle, and a long one, for he possesses great vitality; but even his temperate life can't save him. i wish it could." "you don't mean he must die, doctor?" "bless you, there is not the slightest hope for him, and you'd better tell him so before long--women have a way of doing such things comfortably; so i leave it to you. he won't last more than a day or two at furthest." i could have sat down on the spot and cried heartily, if i had not learned the propriety of bottling up one's tears for leisure moments. such an end seemed very hard for such a man, when half a dozen worn-out, worthless bodies round him were gathering up the remnants of wasted lives, to linger on for years, perhaps burdens to others, daily reproaches to themselves. the army needed men like john, earnest, brave, and faithful, fighting for liberty and justice, with both heart and hand--a true soldier of the lord. i could not give him up so soon, or think with any patience of so excellent a nature robbed of its fulfillment, and blundered into eternity by the rashness or stupidity of those at whose hands so many lives may be required. it was an easy thing for dr. p---- to say, "tell him he must die," but a cruelly hard thing to do, and by no means as "comfortable" as he politely suggested. i had not the heart to do it then, and privately indulged the hope that some change for the better might take place, in spite of gloomy prophesies, so rendering my task unnecessary. a short and simple story. after that night, an hour of each evening that remained to him was devoted to his ease or pleasure. he could not talk much, for breath was precious, and he spoke in whispers; but from occasional conversations i gleaned scraps of private history, which only added to the affection and respect i felt for him. once he asked me to write a letter, and, as i settled with pen and paper, i said, with an irrepressible glimmer of female curiosity, "shall it be addressed to mother or wife, john?" "neither, ma'am: i've got no wife, and will write to mother, myself, when i get better. did you think i was married because of this?" he asked, touching a plain gold ring he wore, and often turned thoughtfully on his finger when he lay alone. "partly that, but more from a settled sort of look you have--a look young men seldom get until they marry." "i don't know that; but i'm not so very young, ma'am--thirty in may, and have been what you might call settled these ten years, for mother's a widow. i'm the oldest child she has, and it wouldn't do for me to marry till lizzie has a home of her own, and laurie has learned his trade; for we're not rich, and i must be father to the children, and husband to the dear old woman, if i can." "no doubt you are both, john; yet how came you to go to the war, if you felt so? wasn't enlisting as bad as marrying?" "no, ma'am, not as i see it; for one is helping my neighbor, the other pleasing myself. i went because i couldn't help it. i didn't want the glory or the pay; i wanted the right thing done, and the people said the men who were in earnest ought to fight. i was in earnest, the lord knows; but i held off as long as i could, not knowing what was my duty. mother saw the case, gave me her ring to keep me steady, and said 'go;' so i went." a short story, and a simple one; but the man and the mother were portrayed better than pages of fine writing could have done it. a soldier's pride. "do you ever regret that you came, when you lie here suffering so much?" "never, ma'am. i haven't helped a great deal, but i've shown i was willing to give my life, and perhaps i've got to; but i don't blame any body, and if it was to do over again, i'd do it. i'm a little sorry i wasn't wounded in front. it looks cowardly to be hit in the back; but i obeyed orders, and it don't matter much in the end, i know." poor john! it did not matter now, except that a shot in front might have spared the long agony in store for him. he seemed to read the thought that troubled me, as he spoke so hopefully when there was no hope, for he suddenly added: "this is my first battle--do they think it's going to be my last?" "i'm afraid they do, john." it was the hardest question i had ever been called upon to answer; doubly hard with those clear eyes fixed upon mine, forcing a truthful answer by their own truth. he seemed a little startled at first, pondered over the fateful fact a moment, then shook his head, with a glance at the broad chest and muscular limbs stretched out before him. "i'm not afraid; but it is difficult to believe all at once. i'm so strong, it does not seem possible for such a little wound to kill me." the last letter. "shall i write to your mother now?" i asked, thinking that these sudden tidings might change all plans and purposes; but they did not: for the man received the order of the divine commander to march with the same unquestioning obedience with which the soldier had received that of the human one, doubtless remembering that the first led him to life, the last to death. "no, ma'am--to laurie, just the same; he'll break it to her best, and i'll add a line to her, myself, when you get done." so i wrote the letter, which he dictated, finding it better than any i had sent, for, though here and there a little ungrammatical or inelegant, each sentence came to me briefly worded, but most expressive, full of excellent counsel to the boy, tenderly bequeathing "mother and lizzie" to his care, and bidding him good-by in words the sadder for their simplicity. he added a few lines, with steady hand, and, as i sealed it, said, with a patient sort of sigh, "i hope the answer will come in time for me to see it." then, turning away his face, he laid the flowers against his lips, as if to hide some quiver of emotion at the thought of such a sudden sundering of all the dear home ties. those things had happened two days before. now john was dying, and the letter had not come. i had been summoned to many death-beds in my life, but to none that made my heart ache as it did then, since my mother called me to watch the departure of a spirit akin to this, in its gentleness and patient strength. as i went in, john stretched out both his hands. "i knew you'd come! i guess i'm moving on, ma'am." he was, and so rapidly that, even while he spoke, over his face i saw the gray veil falling that no human hand can lift. i sat down by him, wiped the drops from his forehead, stirred the air about him with the slow wave of a fan, and waited to help him die. he stood in sore need of help, and i could do so little; for, as the doctor had foretold, the strong body rebelled against death, and fought every inch of the way, forcing him to draw each breath with a spasm, and clench his hands with an imploring look, as if he asked, "how long must i endure this, and be still?" for hours he suffered, without a moment's respite or a moment's murmuring. his limbs grew cold, his face damp, his lips white, and again and again he tore the covering off his breast, as if the lightest weight added to his agony; yet, through it all, his eyes never lost their perfect serenity, and the man's soul seemed to sit therein, undaunted by the ills that vexed his flesh. soldierly sympathy. one by one the men awoke, and round the room appeared a circle of pale faces and watchful eyes, full of awe and pity; for, though a stranger, john was beloved by all. each man there had wondered at his patience, respected his piety, admired his fortitude, and now lamented his hard death; for the influence of an upright nature had made itself deeply felt, even in one little week. presently, the jonathan who so loved this comely david came creeping from his bed for a last look and word. the kind soul was full of trouble, as the choke in his voice, the grasp of his hand betrayed; but there were no tears, and the farewell of the friends was the more touching for its brevity. "old boy, how are you?" faltered the one. "most through, thank heaven!" whispered the other. "can i say or do any thing for you, anywheres?" "take my things home, and tell them that i did my best." "i will! i will!" "good-by, ned." "good-by, john; good-by!" they kissed each other tenderly as women, and so parted; for poor ned could not stay to see his comrade die. for a little while there was no sound in the room but the drip of water from a pump or two, and john's distressful gasps, as he slowly breathed his life away. i thought him nearly gone, and had laid down the fan, believing its help no longer needed, when suddenly he rose up in his bed, and cried out, with a bitter cry, that broke the silence, sharply startling every one with its agonized appeal, "for god's sake, give, me air!" it was the only cry pain or death had wrung from him, the only boon he had asked, and none of us could grant it, for all the airs that blow were useless now. dan flung up the window; the first red streak of dawn was warming the gray east, a herald of the coming sun. john saw it, and, with the love of light which lingers in us to the end, seemed to read in it a sign of hope, of help, for over his whole face broke that mysterious expression, brighter than any smile, which often comes to eyes that look their last. he laid himself down gently, and stretching out his strong right arm, as if to grasp and bring the blessed air to his lips in fuller flow, lapsed into a merciful unconsciousness, which assured us that for him suffering was forever past. as we stood looking at him, the ward-master handed me a letter, saying it had been forgotten the night before. it was john's letter, come just an hour too late to gladden the eyes that had looked and longed for it so eagerly--yet he had it; for after i had cut some brown locks for his mother, and taken off the ring to send her, telling how well the talisman had done its work, i kissed this good son for her sake, and laid the letter in his hand, still folded as when i drew my own away. on my visit to the hospital at gallatin, i was called to the bedside of a dying boy, who belonged in columbus, ohio. there i met dr. w. p. eltsun, dr. armington, dr. landis, and other surgeons, all working faithfully for the suffering men; but death had marked this boy for his own. i took his almost pulseless hand in mine, wiped the cold sweat from his brow, and, as i did so, he murmured, in a soft tone--a tone of sweet sadness--and with a half vacant stare, "mother, is that you? o, how long i've waited for your coming! tell sister i'm better now. good-by, charlie. halt! who goes there?" and then a sudden start seemed to bring him to a realization of his situation, and he quietly gazed at me for a moment, called me by name, and said, "alf, will you write a letter for me to-morrow?" this i promised, should he be able to dictate to me what i should write. in a few minutes he again called the sweet name of "mother! mother!" and with the words "good-by" upon his lips, and a smile of joy beaming on his face, he fell into that sleep that knows no waking. there were three ministering angels, who had left all the luxuries of a home, attending in this hospital. they had volunteered as nurses, and had come from indianapolis, to render all the aid they could to our country's noble defenders. indiana should remember the names of miss bates, miss cathcart, and mrs. ketchum. [illustration: sports in camp. see page .] the ensign-bearer. written expressly for mr. alf. burnett, by miss cora m. eager. never mind me, uncle jared, never mind my bleeding breast; they are charging in the valley, and you're needed with the rest; all the day through, from its dawning till you saw your kinsman fall, you have answered fresh and fearless to our brave commander's call, and i would not rob my country of your gallant aid to-night, though your presence and your pity stay my spirit in its flight. all along that quivering column, see the death-steeds trampling down men whose deeds this day are worthy of a kingdom and a crown. prithee, hasten, uncle jared--what's the bullet in my breast to that murderous storm of fire, raining tortures on the rest? see, the bayonets flash and falter--look i the foe begins to win! see, see our faltering comrades! god! how the ranks are closing in! hark! there's muttering in the distance, and a thundering in the air, like the snorting of a lion just emerging from his lair; there's a cloud of something yonder, fast unrolling like a scroll; quick, quick! if it be succor that can save the cause a soul! look! a thousand thirsty bayonets are flashing down the vale, and a thousand hungry riders dashing onward like a gale. raise me higher, uncle jared; place the ensign in my hand; i am strong enough to wave it, while you cheer that flying band. louder! louder! shout for freedom, with prolonged and vigorous breath; shout for liberty, and union, and--the victory over death! see! they catch the stirring numbers, and they swell them to the breeze, cap, and plume, and starry banner, waving proudly through the trees. mark! our fainting comrades rally--mark! that drooping column rise; i can almost see the fire newly kindled in their eyes. fresh for conflict, nerved to conquer, see them charging on the foe, face to face, with deadly meaning, shot, and shell and trusty blow; see the thinned ranks wildly breaking; see them scatter toward the sun! i can die now, uncle jared, for the glorious day is won. but there's something, something pressing with a numbness on my heart, and my lips, with mortal dumbness, fail the burden to impart. o, i tell you, uncle jared, there is something, back of all, that a soldier can not part with when he heeds his country's call. ask the mother what, in dying, sends the yearning spirit back over life's broken marches, where she's pointed out the track? ask the dear ones gathered nightly round the shining household hearth, what to them is brighter, better than the choicest things of earth? ask that dearer one, whose loving, like a ceaseless vestal flame, sets my very soul a-glowing at the mention of her name; ask her why the loved, in dying, feels her spirit linked with his in a union death but strengthens? she will tell you what it is. and there's something, uncle jared, you may tell her, if you will, that the precious flag she gave me i have kept unsullied still; and--this touch of pride forgive me--where death sought our gallant host, where our stricken lines were weakest, there it ever waved the most; bear it back, and tell her, fondly, brighter, purer, steadier far, 'mid the crimson strife of battle, shone my life's unsetting star! but, forbear, dear uncle jared, when there's something more to tell, and her lips, with rapid blanching, bid you answer how i fell; teach your tongue the trick of slighting, though 'tis faithful to the rest, lest it say her brother's bullet is the bullet in my breast. but, if it must be that she learn it, despite your tender care, 't will soothe her bleeding heart to know my bayonet pricked the air. life is ebbing, uncle jared; my enlistment endeth here; death, the conqueror, has drafted--i can no more volunteer. but i hear the roll-call yonder, and i go with willing feet through the shadows to the valley where victorious armies meet. raise the ensign, _uncle jared_--let its dear folds o'er me _fall_; strength and union for my country, and _god's_ banner over _all_. chapter x. sports in camp -- anecdote of the d ohio and colonel sprague -- soldier's dream of home -- the wife's reply. army of the cumberland, camp near triune, tenn., _may , _. there are, at all times, sunny sides as well as the dark and melancholy picture, in camp life. men whose business is that of slaughter--men trained to slay and kill, will, amid the greatest destruction of life, become oblivious to all surrounding scenes of death and carnage. i have seen men seated amid hundreds of slain, quietly enjoying a game of "seven-up," or having _a little draw_. yet let them once return to their homes, and enjoy the society and influence of the gentler sex, and they will soon forget the excitement and vices of camp, and return to the more useful and ennobling enjoyments of life. yesterday a lively time, generally, was had in camp. after the drilling of the division, a grand cock-fight occurred on the hill. some of the boys, who are regular game-fanciers, brought some splendid chickens, and, as a consequence, a good deal of money changed hands. the birds fought nobly: three were killed, one of them killing his opponent the first round, and instantly crowing, much to the amusement of the sports. this fighting with gaffs is not a cruel sport, as one or the other is soon killed. snakes are not so prevalent in these parts as they were when we first came: then it was not uncommon to find a nice little "garter" quietly ensconced in one's pocket, or in your pantaloon leg, or taking a nap in one corner of your tent. a prize-fight occurred in the division a few days ago. a couple of sons of _ethiopia_, regular young bucks, feeling their dignity insulted by various epithets hurled at each other, from loud-mouthing adjourned to fight it out in the woods--a big crowd following to enjoy the fun. a ring was soon formed, and at it they went, _a la_ sayers and heenan. umpires were improvised for the occasion, and time-keepers, etc., chosen. the first clash was a _butter_ and a _rebutter_, their heads coming together, fairly making the _wool_ fly. this was round first. _round d._-- th ohio darkey came boldly to the scratch; as he only weighed sixty-five pounds more than his opponent, and with the _slight_ difference of one foot six inches higher, he pitched in most valiantly, and received a splendid hit on the sconce, which made him feel as if a _flea_ bit him. after full ten minutes skirmishing, during which time neither struck the other, both retired to the further _corner_ of the _ring_, until time was called. _round d._--minnesota ethiopian, who had been weakening in the pulse for some time, came up shaky, and was received with laughter by his opponent; but the little fellow hit out splendidly, and launched an eye-shutter at the stalwart form of the th darkey. first blood claimed for the d minnesota. _round th_ was, per agreement, a rough and tumble affair, as the spectators were growing impatient; and such "wool-carding" was never before exhibited. both fought plucky; but the d minnesota having but just recovered from a _sick of fitness_, as he said, was about being overpowered, when the officer of the day interfered; and thus ended the dispute for the time. betters _drew_ their money, as the fight was a _draw_. ball in camp. last night we had a fancy-dress ball, a _recherché_ affair, a fine dancing-floor having been laid down in company i's ground. a first-rate cotillion band was engaged, and played up lively airs. your correspondent had a special invitation to be present, and enjoyed the party amazingly. the belles of the evening were miss allers, the widow place, miss stewart, miss austin, and miss dodge, all of minnesota. miss dodge wore an elegant wreath of red clover, mingled with beech-leaves, and was dressed in red and white--the red being part of a shirt, kindly furnished by one of the friends of the lady; the white was expressly manufactured by the widow place, dressmaker and milliner for this regiment. miss stewart is a beautiful creature, of a bronzed hue, from excessive exposure to the sun. she also wore a wreath of young clover, mingled with bunches of wheat. miss allers was rather undignified in her actions; her dress we thought too short at the bottom, and too high in the neck; however, miss a. was dressed in union colors, having an american flag for an apron, and blue and red dress, with a neat-fitting _waste_--of materials. but the one in whom we felt the deepest interest was the widow. she had all the grace and elegance of a hippopotamus, and her style was enchanting. she wore a low-necked dress, with a bouquet of cauliflowers and garlick in her bosom, a wreath of onion-greens in her hair, full, red dress, and elaborate hoops, which continually said, "don't come a-nigh me." her bashful behavior was the talk of the evening, and the gay widow and your correspondent, when upon the floor, were the cynosure of all eyes. the dance continued until the colonel ordered a _double tattoo_ sounded, so that we could hear it. several intruders were put out, for conduct unbecoming gentlemen. the ball was strictly _private_, as no _commissioned_ officers were allowed to participate. however, the officers were truly amused at the fun, and, as women have, ere this, been dressed in _men's_ clothes, there is no reason the boot shouldn't, this time, be on the other leg. miss austin's dance of the schottische, with double-soled military boots, was excellent. miss austin belongs in louisville, and has long been known as a female _auctioneer_. the th ohio band has arrived, and the boys are delighted. this is a new band, all cincinnati musicians, and they are truly welcome to the camp. boys want to hear from home as often as possible. it will be well for the girls to bear this in mind, and write often. letters of love, we may say, alphabetically speaking, are x t z to those who get them. anecdote of the d ohio and colonel sprague. the d boys love colonel sprague; they are not exactly afraid of him, but many a one would rather be whipped, any day, than take a reprimand from him. for instance: several nights ago one of the men, instigated by the love of good eating, and not having the fear of god before his eyes, attempted to pinch, as they say in the d, a can of fruit at the sutler's tent. but, unluckily for him, the sutler saw him, sprang out of bed, caught him by the collar and took him prisoner. as soon as the sutler got hold of him he began to address him in language more forcible than polite. "you d--d thief, i'll pay you for this; i'll take you before the colonel, and, if i had my boots on, i'd take it out in kicking you." "i'll tell you what," said the soldier, "i'll wait here till you put your boots on, and you may kick me as much as you please, if you won't take me before the colonel." the following exquisite poem was handed me by colonel durbin ward, of the th ohio. i wish i knew the author. they are beautiful lines: the soldier's dream of home. you have put the children to bed, alice-- maud and willie and rose; they have lisped their sweet "our father," and sunk to their night's repose. did they think of me, dear alice? did they think of me, and say, "god bless him, and god bless him, dear father, far away?" o, my very heart grows sick, alice, i long so to behold rose, with her pure white forehead, and maud, with her curls of gold; and willie, so gay and sprightly, so merry and full of glee--, o, my heart yearns to enfold ye, my smiling group of three. i can bear the noisy day, alice-- the camp life, gay and wild, shuts from my yearning bosom the thoughts of wife and child; but when the night is round me, and under its starry beams i gather my cloak about me, and dream such long, sad dreams! i think of a pale young wife, alice, who looked up in my face when the drum beat at evening and called me to my place. i think of three sweet birdlings, left in the dear home-nest, and my soul is sick with longings, that will not be at rest. o, when will the war be over, alice? o, when shall i behold rose, with her pure white forehead, and maud, with her curls of gold; and will, so gay and sprightly, so merry and full of glee, and more than all, the dear wife who bore my babes to me? god guard and keep you all, alice; god guard and keep me, too, for if only one were missing, what would the others do? o, when will the war be over, and when shall i behold those whom i love so dearly, safe in the dear home-fold? * * * * * the wife's reply. dedicated to the author of "the soldier's dream of home." you say you dream of us, willie, when fall the shades of night, and you wrap your cloak around you by the camp-fire's flickering light; and you wonder if our little ones have bowed their curly heads, and asked a blessing for you, before they sought their beds! it was but this very night, willie, that our willie came to me, and looking up into my face, as he stood beside my knee, he said, "mamma, i wonder when will this war be o'er, for o, i long so much to see my dear papa once more." my heart was full of tears, willie, but i kept them from my eyes, and the answer that i made him opened his with sad surprise--? "suppose he should _never_ come, willie!" "but, mamma, i _know_ he will, for i pray to jesus every night to spare my father still." i clasped him in my arms, willie, i pressed him to my breast; his childish faith it shamed me, and my spirit's vague unrest; and i felt that our heavenly father, from his throne in the "city of gold," would watch you and guard you and bring you safe back to the dear home-fold. we think of you every night, willie; we think of you every day; our every prayer wafts to heaven the name of one who is far away. and rose, with her pure white forehead, and maud, with her curls of gold, are talking in whispers together, of the time when they shall behold the father they love so dearly; and willie, with childish glee, is bidding me "not to forget to tell papa to remember me." so we think of you every night, willie by the camp-fire's fitful gleams, until the war shall be over, let us mingle still in your dreams. a. l. y. chapter xi. the atrocities of slavery -- the beauties of the peculiar institution -- a few well-substantiated facts -- visit to gallatin, tennessee. the atrocities of slavery. a late number of the _atlantic monthly_ gives the following in relation to general butler and his administration in louisiana: among the many personal anecdotes are the following, which are almost too horrible to be published, but for the impressive lesson they convey. one of the incidents was related more briefly by the general himself, when in new york, in january last. we quote from the writer in the _atlantic_. just previous to the arrival of general banks at new orleans, i was appointed deputy provost-marshal of the city, and held the office for some days after he had assumed command. one day, during the last week of our stay in the south, a young woman of about twenty years called upon me to complain that her landlord had ordered her out of her house, because she was unable longer to pay the rent, and she wished me to authorize her to take possession of one of her father's houses that had been confiscated, he being a wealthy rebel, then in the confederacy, and actively engaged in the rebellion. the girl was a perfect blonde in complexion; her hair was of a very pretty light shade of brown, and perfectly straight; her eyes a clear, honest gray; and her skin as delicate and fair as a child's. her manner was modest and ingenuous, and her language indicated much intelligence. considering these circumstances, i think i was justified in wheeling around in my chair, and indulging in an unequivocal stare of incredulous amazement, when, in the course of conversation, she dropped a remark about having been born a slave. "do you mean to tell me," said i, "that you have negro blood in your veins?" and i was conscious of a feeling of embarrassment at asking a question so apparently preposterous. "yes," she replied, and then related the history of her life, which i shall repeat as briefly as possible: "my father," she commenced, "is mr. cox, formerly a judge of one of the courts in this city. he was very rich, and owned a great many houses here. there is one of them over there," she remarked, naively, pointing to a handsome residence opposite my office in canal street. "my mother was one of his slaves. when i was sufficiently grown, he placed me at school, at the mechanics' institute seminary, on broadway, new york. i remained there until i was about fifteen years of age, when mr. cox came on to new york and took me from the school to a hotel, where he obliged me to live with him as his mistress; and to-day, at the age of twenty-one, i am the mother of a boy five years old, who is my father's son. after remaining some time in new york, he took me to cincinnati and other cities at the north, in all of which i continued to live with him as before. during this sojourn in the free states i induced him to give me a deed of manumission; but on our return to new orleans he obtained it from me and destroyed it. at this time i tried to break off the unnatural connection, whereupon he caused me to be publicly whipped in the streets of the city, and then obliged me to marry a colored man; and now he has run off, leaving me without the least provision against want or actual starvation, and i ask you to give me one of his houses, that i may have a home for myself and three little children." strange and improbable as this story appeared, i remembered, as it progressed, that i had heard it from governor shepley, who, as well as general butler, had investigated it, and learned that it was not only true in every particular, but was perfectly familiar to the citizens of new orleans, by whom judge cox had been elected to administer justice. the clerks of my office, most of whom were old residents of the city, were well informed in the facts of the case, and attested the truth of the girl's story. i was exceedingly perplexed, and knew not what to do in the matter; but, after some thought, i answered her thus: "this department has changed rulers, and i know nothing of the policy of the new commander. if general butler were still in authority, i should not hesitate a moment to grant your request; for, even if i should commit an error of judgment, i am perfectly certain he would overlook it, and applaud the humane impulse that prompted the act; but general banks might be less indulgent, and make very serious trouble with me for taking a step he would perhaps regard as unwarrantable." i still hesitated, undecided how to act, when suddenly a happy thought struck me, and, turning to the girl, i added-- "to-day is thursday: next tuesday i leave this city with general butler for a land where, thank god! such wrongs as yours can not exist; and, as general banks is deeply engrossed in the immediate business at head-quarters, he will hardly hear of my action before the ship leaves--so i am going to give you the house." i am sure the kind-hearted reader will find no fault with me that i took particular pains to select one of the largest of her father's houses, (it contained forty rooms,) when she told me that she wanted to let the apartments as a means of support for herself and her children. my only regret in the case was that mr. cox had not been considerate enough to leave a carriage and a pair of bays on my hands, that i might have had the satisfaction of enabling his daughter to disport herself about the city in a style corresponding to her importance as a member of so respectable and wealthy a family. and this story, that i have just told, reminds me of another, similar in many respects. one sunday morning, late last summer, as i came down-stairs to the breakfast-room, i was surprised to find a large number of persons assembled in the library. when i reached the door, a member of the staff took me by the arm and drew me into the room toward a young and delicate mulatto girl, who was standing against the opposite wall, with the meek, patient bearing of her race, so expressive of the system of oppression to which they have been so long subjected. drawing down the border of her dress, my conductor showed me a sight more revolting than i trust ever again to behold. the poor girl's back was flayed until the quivering flesh resembled a fresh beefsteak scorched on a gridiron. with a cold chill creeping through my veins, i turned away from the sickening spectacle, and, for an explanation of the affair, scanned the various persons about the room. in the center of the group, at his writing-table, sat the general. his head rested on his hand, and he was evidently endeavoring to fix his attention upon the remarks of a tall, swarthy-looking man who stood opposite, and who, i soon discovered, was the owner of the girl, and was attempting a defense of the foul outrage he had committed upon the unresisting and helpless person of his unfortunate victim, who stood smarting, but silent, under the dreadful pain inflicted by the brutal lash. by the side of the slaveholder stood our adjutant-general, his face livid with almost irrepressible rage, and his fists tight-clenched, as if to violently restrain himself from visiting the guilty wretch with summary and retributive justice. disposed about the room, in various attitudes, but all exhibiting in their countenances the same mingling of horror and indignation, were other members of the staff--while near the door stood three or four house-servants, who were witnesses in the case. to the charge of having administered the inhuman castigation, landry (the owner of the girl) pleaded guilty, but urged, in extenuation, that the girl had dared to make an effort for that freedom which her instincts, drawn from the veins of her abuser, had taught her was the god-given right of all who possess the germ of immortality,--no matter what the color of the casket in which it is hidden. i say "drawn from the veins of her abuser," because she declared she was his daughter; and every one in the room, looking upon the man and woman confronting each other, confessed that the resemblance justified the assertion. after the conclusion of all the evidence in the case, the general continued in the same position as before, and remained for some time apparently lost in abstraction. i shall never forget the singular expression on his face. i had been accustomed to see him in a storm of passion at any instance of oppression or flagrant injustice; but on this occasion he was too deeply affected to obtain relief in the usual way. his whole air was one of dejection, almost listlessness; his indignation too intense, and his anger too stern, to find expression even in his countenance. never have i seen that peculiar look but on three or four occasions similar to the one i am narrating, when i knew he was pondering upon the fatal curse that had cast its withering blight upon all around, until the manhood and humanity were crushed out of the people, and outrages such as the above were looked upon with complacency, and the perpetrators treated as respected and worthy citizens, and that he was realizing the great truth, that, however man might endeavor to guide this war to the advantage of a favorite idea or a sagacious policy, the almighty was directing it surely and steadily for the purification of our country from this greatest of national sins. but to return to my story. after sitting in the mood which i have described at such length, the general again turned to the prisoner, and said, in a quiet, subdued tone of voice-- "mr. landry, i dare not trust myself to decide to-day what punishment would be meet for your offense, for i am in that state of mind that i fear i might exceed the strict demands of justice. i shall, therefore, place you under guard for the present, until i conclude upon your sentence." a few days after, a number of influential citizens having represented to the general that mr. landry was not only a "high-toned gentleman," but a person of unusual "amiability" of character, and was, consequently, entitled to no small degree of leniency, he answered that, in consideration of the prisoner's "high-toned" character, and especially of his "amiability," of which he had seen so remarkable a proof, he had determined to meet their views, and therefore ordered that landry give a deed of manumission to the girl, and pay a fine of five hundred dollars, to be placed in the hands of a trustee for her benefit. beauties of the peculiar institution--a few well-substantiated facts. a mr. p----, deceased, of gallatin, tenn., for years a slave-trader, had children both by his wife and her body-servant, a beautiful mulatto woman--thus making, generally, the additions to his family in _duplicate_. one of his illegitimate daughters--a beautiful, hazel-eyed mulatto girl--is now the waiting-maid of his widow. this bright mulatto girl is married to a slave belonging to a prominent member of congress from tennessee, and has a son, a particularly apt and intelligent boy, whom the rebel women used to send around the camps, head-quarters, and street corners, to obtain the latest news, and report the same to them. although but eight years old, he was too shrewd to remain quietly a slave. when the daughter of a federal officer opened a little school, to teach a few contrabands, he came, and learned very rapidly. but his intellectual growth was suddenly stopped by the interference of his _grand_mother, who followed him to the school one day, and dragged him from the room in a perfect rage, threatening to kill him if he ever dared enter a _free_-school again, at the same time declaring to him that "he was not president lincoln yet." another instance: the wealthy and prominent colonel g----, of gallatin, tenn., a very _respectable_ and _high-toned_ gentleman, who is reputed a _kind-hearted_ and benevolent man, _remarkably lenient_ toward his slaves, whose praise is in the mouths of our northern soldiers for his kind hospitalities, finding that his slaves, in view of the coming difficulties, did not increase fast enough for profit, called them all together on the st of january, , and said to them: "now, wenches, mind, every one of you that aint 'big' in three or four months, i intend to sell to the slave-trader." he afterward chuckled over it, adding that it "brought them to terms." comment needless. in the fall of , in piketon, ky., at the headwaters of the big sandy, were two families--one known as the slone family, the other as the johnson family. the slaves of the former were all liberated about seventeen years before, by a will, stipulating that they should remain with his wife and work the plantation while she lived. mrs. slone died about two years after her husband, and not only emancipated these slaves, according to the last will and testament of her deceased husband, but, as they had taken more care of the old lady in her declining years than her sons, she thought it but equitable and right to disinherit the sons and leave the remnant of a once large estate, reduced to $ , , to the slaves. but the gloating avarice of her gambling sons, backed by a vile public sentiment, prompted these unnatural sons to attempt to break the wills of their father and mother. after litigating the case about twelve years, and having been defeated in the highest courts in kentucky, they went back and set up a claim of $ , against their father's estate, when these despoiled slaves had to deposit the last of their estate as security, having been for more than twelve years thus harassed and perplexed by vexatious lawsuits. when the union army under general nelson came into that country, and had that trumpeted battle at ivy mountain, and our troops reached prestonburg, twenty-five miles from piketon, these hunted and plundered ones concluded that _now_ was the time for them to escape to the "promised land." they gathered together their little _all_, cut fifty or sixty saw-logs, made a raft, loaded their worldly goods on it, and floated down the river. when they reached prestonburg, general nelson had them arrested, cut their raft to pieces, and sent them back to piketon. afterward, when our troops, under the intrepid garfield, moved up the river, and made their head-quarters at piketon, these tormented and persecuted ones were told that now they might avail themselves of the government boats to go down the river and leave the land of their tormentors. the johnson family slaves were liberated, at the death of their owner, by a will, the writer and executor of which had run off into the rebel army, carrying it with him. a distant relative of mr. johnson, a worthless, shiftless, ignorant fellow, moved upon the plantation, and claimed not only the property, but the slaves. "when our troops were about leaving piketon, the most intelligent of the slone family asked of captain h----, a. a. q. m., the privilege of using a push-boat to transport the family down the river. consent was given them, and, the next morning, the _two_ families gathered together, the old and young, men and women and children, numbering fifty-nine souls, and started down the river. colonel c----, commanding the post, had them arrested, and ordered them back. one of his own officers represented to him that these people had an order for the boat from general garfield, and, becoming alarmed, he let them go upon their way. soon, however, the biped hounds were on their track, in hot pursuit. two slaves, married into these families, had escaped and followed this boat-load. although their villainous masters had fought in the rebel army, they were furnished with passes to pursue their fleeing slaves, under the protection of the united states arms. these pursuers, weary and exhausted, stopped at a slave-trader's above paintsville, where a large bend in the river enabled them to gain several miles by a cross cut, took horses, and arrived at foot of buffalo shoals just as the boat-load of fifty-nine frightened souls were going over it. they at once leveled their rifles, and ordered the boat to lie-to, supposing their slaves were aboard. they did so, and occupied a small vacant hut on the bank of the river, awaiting a government boat that would be down on the following morning. early the next morning, (sunday,) two lewd fellows of the baser sort, pursuing them in a skiff, landed at the place of rendezvous, and were about to rush into the cabin, when the leader of the negroes stopped them, saying: "porter and radcliff, _you can't enter here_; we have none of your slaves." but the boldest of these desperadoes, tiger-like, crouched on his hands and knees, and got in the rear of the cabin. then, suddenly rushing upon the old man, said, "damn you, i'll shoot you any way," and fired, the ball lodging in the abdomen. he continued to fire, indiscriminately, into the group of women and children, hitting one girl in the knee, and a younger child on the side of the head. then these cowardly miscreants rushed away, but not until a ball from the rifle of one of these freedmen took effect in the thigh of radcliff. these men seemed to love the negro so well that they were not willing to let even freedmen leave the state, if they have but the least taint of african blood in their veins; and now they stand as sentinels around the tottering bastile, lest some of the victims escape. another instance: in hospital no. , in gallatin, there is now at work a girl eighteen years of age, of pure anglo-saxon blood. this girl's reputed mother says, that when her own child was born, it was taken away from her, and this white child put in its place. she is satisfied it was the illegitimate child of her master's daughter, which she had _by her own father_. in september, , at stevenson, alabama, in collecting contrabands to work on the fortifications, we found a _white man_, sixty-three years old, who had all his life been compelled to herd with negroes. he had been forced to live with four different black women as his wives, by whom he had twenty-eight children. colonel straight, of the st indiana regiment, saw one of the old man's daughters, and said she was as white and had as beautiful blue eyes as any girl he ever saw in his own state. his was the same sad story--that he was an illegitimate son of his master's daughter, in virginia; was taken to the slave-pen, where, with one hundred and twenty-seven others, he was raised for the market. we started him to governor morton, of indiana, as a specimen of the men made chattels, and for which the south was fighting. he was captured on his way north. this is wickedness, "naked, but not ashamed." we copy the following from the montgomery (alabama) _advertiser_: one hundred dollars reward--or fifty dollars if arrested in the state, will be paid for the arrest and confinement in jail, so that i may get him, of my boy lewis, who left home on sunday, the th inst. lewis is about five feet, seven inches high, _light complexion, nearly white_, spare made, well dressed, wore mustache and goatee, quick to reply when spoken to, has "traveled," and _may attempt to pass for a white person_; he may endeavor to get to richmond, where his mother and family reside. william foster. tuskegee, ala., _june , _. we suppose that this "nearly white" slave, who, it is suspected, will try to "pass for a white person," is william foster's grandson, or perhaps his own offspring. foster, no doubt, thinks that the negro is indebted to slavery for his moral and religious training. we advise the conservative journals to copy the above advertisement, and comment indignantly on the practice of amalgamation. the occasion will be a good one; and we assure them that the instances are as plenty as blackberries in dixie. at athens, alabama, in the summer of , when that noble, earnest, and efficient officer, general turchin, was court-martialed because he _hurt_ the rebels of that state, general g---- was invited to make his head-quarters at dr. nicklin's, one of the largest slaveholders in that part of the state, a devoted member of the methodist episcopal church, and really a highly cultivated and courteous gentleman. one day he charged the general with being _radical_. the general said, "no, i'm only a republican; but i have a most radical commissary on my staff." the next day the radical commissary was invited to the house by mrs. n----, who said she "wanted to see a yankee who would not deny being an abolitionist." while at dinner the doctor proposed to investigate the causes of our wide differences. captain h---- remarked at the same time: "would it not be better, while enjoying your hospitalities, to talk upon subjects of agreement?" "no," said the doctor; "we arrive at truth only by comparing notes." "then," the captain said, "i must be a freeman, and talk from my own platform." "certainly," was the answer. "then," said the captain, "you are on trial. you must give a reason for the hope within you. we charge you with having commenced a wicked and causeless war. and now give us your reasons for it." "well, in the first place, the abolitionists are fighting against the bible, and against god. the bible, an express revelation from heaven, says, 'when these servants, or slaves, are to be procured of the heathen round about you, of them shall ye buy, and they shall be your possession forever.' that settles the question of _moral_ right; and in relation to the political question, you were for excluding us from the territories, when they were manifestly ours equal with yours. we had the same right there with our property that you had. equality of rights was the cardinal principle of our government. in your political action you strike a blow at the very foundation of our government--equality of rights." to which captain h---- replied: "though not much of a theologian, i have, nevertheless, looked into the levitical law, and found a paragraph like the following: 'he that stealeth a man, or selleth him, or if he be found in his hands, shall surely be put to death.' let us analyze this 'stealeth a man'--the _foreign_ slave-trader--'and selleth him'--the american slave-seller, or, 'if he be found in his hands'--the american slaveholder. if you will show me how any of these can escape punishment, then i will pursue the biblical argument. in regard to the political question, the citizen of ohio and the citizen of alabama are treated just alike. a citizen of ohio can take his household goods, merchandise, and cattle into the territories. a citizen from alabama has the _same_ right, but he can not take his slave; nor yet can a citizen of ohio. hence, they _have_ equal rights." at the close of the discussion the doctor said, that "his neighbors were greatly alarmed when the union army came into the district, for fear the slaves would leave them; but i said to my slaves, 'if you prefer to go away and leave me, do so: come and tell me; don't sneak away at night with your little bundle, but come right up and tell me, "we want to leave," and i will give you five dollars, and let you go, with this condition, that you never show your faces around my plantation.'" captain h---- looked as though it were doubtful, but said nothing. about a week afterward, the doctor said to the general-- "i want you to take a ride with me over to the plantation. you northern men don't know how well our slaves love us. whenever i go to see them, they run out to meet me; inquire after my wife and children with as much interest as _your_ children would inquire after you." the general said he "would be glad to avail himself of the opportunity to see the workings of their system," and started off with the doctor. on the way down, the doctor remarked that he "had another reason for wishing him to go down;" that "there were three cases of insubordination, and i want to show you _my mode_ of controlling slaves. when i told your abolition commissary, captain h----, the other day, how i managed my boys, i saw he did not believe one word i said. now i want you to see for yourself; then you can convince him." arriving at the plantation, sure enough, the slaves came out, and made special inquiries about his wife and family. the general said that the saddest sight of all was, that all these women and _children_ gave promise to increase the number of slaves--girls eleven years old were among these. the doctor called up the culprits and addressed the principal offender. "aleck," said he, "unless you submit to the mild punishment of our plantation discipline, all order and discipline will be lost. you know my rule. i have told you before, whenever you are not satisfied, just say so, and i will let you go. what do you say, aleck, bob, and dick?" bowing very low, the darkeys said, "well, den, massa, gib us de fibe dollars and we go." he turned pale, and, being utterly dumfounded, after regaining himself, and _not giving_ them the money, said, "be off, then!" he had too much of the southern chivalry to back out, and came away a wiser if not a better man, but said "nary word" about convincing the abolition commissary. chapter xii. general schofield -- colonel durbin ward -- colonel connell -- women in breeches -- another incident of the war -- negro sermon. triune, tenn., _april , _. the last letter i wrote you was from the missouri army. i am so continually _flying_ around that i have won the cognomen of "the kite." it is astonishing what a charm there is in camp life; boys that have been away but a short time feel a craving to once more resume their duties among their comrades. with me 'tis a great pleasure to get back to the familiar faces of this splendid division. our new commander, general schofield, is fast winning the devotion of his troops; his policy in missouri meeting the cordial approbation of men and officers here. leniency is played out; nothing but the most extreme rigor of military law will bring these traitors to a realization of the villainous stand they have taken. nothing but the driving of every enemy from our lines, as we go, will bring the misguided citizen to his senses. the men and women, who have been allowed so many privileges, have all along been acting as spies. a few days since, a little boy, only eight years of age, was caught going over to his "uncle palmer's;" he said his mother wanted him to go over and get a chicken, as the "sogers" ate all theirs up, and his mother was sick. the picket was about to let the child pass, on such an errand as that, and being such a small specimen of humanity. the lieutenant of the guard questioned the child closely, but could not glean any information of importance. as the child started off, down the road, he again called him, and, upon searching, found in the heel of his little stocking, _sewed in_, a full description of the entire camp and fortifications. the boy knew nothing of this, but was merely an instrument in the hands of the parents. as a matter of course the house was immediately searched, but the whole mystery is solved in the fact that several of the secesh _dam-sells_ were quite favorites in camp. general schofield is driving all known sympathizers beyond his lines, and permitting none but the undoubted union men to remain. a few nights since, as i was about retiring beneath the umbrageous shade of a lovely maple, a voice from above shouted, "is 'alf' here?" "yes, sir," was the response. the voice emanated from the epigastrium of a huge fellow-wanderer in this wilderness, who was mounted upon a fiery steed. "you are sent for by the commanding officers of the first brigade, and i have orders to take you there, _peaceably_, if i can; _forcibly_, if i must." as our camp was just getting wrapped in the arms of "murphy," and not wishing to disturb them in their slumber, i consented to go. it was about a mile, over hill, through woods and thicket, to their camp. i preferred walking; but the gentle persuader on the horse induced me to "double up," and, after various efforts, i succeeded in mounting. i told the driver i was a poor rider, and convinced him of it before long. as the horse objected to my being placed so far back on his haunch, and i couldn't get forward, there naturally arose a dispute, which eventuated in the horse running off with both of us. after being duly deposited on the ground, the horse seemed delighted, and expressed his pleasure by kicking up his heels. after various vicissitudes, i was safely deposited at the head-quarters of the first brigade, under the command of colonel connell. upon the announcement that "alf" had "arriv," i heard the stentorian lungs of colonel durbin ward ask: "dead or alive?" with fear and trembling i entered the tent, and found colonel connell, with nearly all his officers. i think byron says something about there being "a sound of revelry by night." well, so there was. byron can prove it by me. o, shades of the "vine-clad hills of bingen," but the "isabella" was profuse! i remember being kept busy for two hours telling yarns and riddles, and the next day was accused of borrowing a horse and leading him home. my medical adviser, dr. wright, of the th ohio, kept with me until the roads forked, and then he _deviated_. yesterday i paid a visit to the lamented bob mccook's "old ninth" regiment. the men are in splendid condition--the pride of the division. they are noted as the most ingenious battalion in the army of the cumberland. they have improvised a turning-shop, and manufacture chessmen, checkers, and every variety of specimens in that line. they have a flying-dutchman, revolving swing, quoits, bag races, etc., while the lovers of horse-racing and cock-fighting can be duly amused every day in the week by members of the different regiments, each tenacious of the fair fame of his favorite battalion. last night a fine game-cock, belonging to the d minnesota, whipped one owned by the th ohio, and, as a matter of course, the d minnesota are in high glee, "crowing" over their chicken. the d minnesota, the th ohio, and th ohio regiments are wedded. each will vie with the other for the laurels in case of a fight. we have here, close at hand, the th, st, and th ohio, besides those already mentioned. our force is adequate for all the rebels dare send against us. the voice of the boys is universally for the union, against all traitors, whether those who openly meet them in the field, or the more dastardly coward that remains at home and backbites, and aids the enemy by words of comfort, and spreading dissensions in the rear. the soldiers are unanimous upon the war question. they want no milk-and-water policy, and all they ask is, that the friends at home will back them in the field. let all, whether democrat, republican, abolitionist, or pro-slavery, _unite_ upon the _union_. let us have the government sustained, regardless of all else. people at home have no right to dictate to our leaders what policy they should pursue. they are presumed to know what is best. if slavery falls, why sympathize with the owners? what claims have they upon your sympathies? a strange change has come over the people since former years. one party accused the other, and all who were opposed to slavery, as having "nigger on the brain." now it is reversed. the rebel sympathizer, the ultra pro-slavery man, is the individual who is now troubled with this complaint. let us hope our whole people will be thoroughly united at the coming elections, and let their motto be: "we are unalterably opposed to the secession of one inch of the territory of the american union." then i, for one, and i know it is the universal feeling of this entire division, will not care if the man who comes in on that platform be democrat, whig, or republican; he should have the support of all true lovers of his country. women in breeches. whether the women in modern times have taken the cue from the poet's words, "once more unto the _breech_, dear friends," and merely added the plural, making it "breeches," i know not; but the present war for the union has elicited much enthusiasm among the gentler sex, causing them, in many instances, to lay aside their accustomed garb, and assume the exterior of the sterner portion of creation; in proof of which the following story of the war is given: a young woman arrived in chicago from louisville, ky., whose history is thus related in the _post_ of that city: "she gave her name as annie lillybridge, of detroit, and stated that her parents reside in hamilton, canada. last spring she was employed in a dry-goods store in detroit, where she became acquainted with a lieutenant w----, of one of the michigan regiments, and an intimacy immediately sprang up between them. they corresponded for some time, and became much attached to each other. some time during last summer, lieutenant w---- was appointed to a position in the st michigan infantry, then rendezvousing in ionia county. the thought of parting from the gay lieutenant nearly drove her mad, and she resolved to share his dangers and be near him. no sooner had she resolved upon this course than she proceeded to the act. purchasing male attire, she visited ionia, enlisted in captain kavanagh's company, st regiment. while in camp she managed to keep her secret from all; not even the object of her attachment, who met her every day, was aware of her presence so near him. "annie left with her regiment for kentucky, passed through all the dangers and temptations of a camp life, endured long marches, and sleeping on the cold ground, without a murmur. at last, the night before the battle of pea ridge, (or prairie grove,) in which her regiment took part, her sex was discovered by a member of her company; but she enjoined secrecy upon him, after relating her previous history. on the following day she was under fire, and, from a letter she has in her possession, it appears she behaved with marked gallantry, and, with her own hand, shot a rebel captain, who was in the act of firing upon lieutenant w----. but the fear of revealing her sex continually haunted her. after the battle, she was sent out, with others, to collect the wounded, and one of the first corpses found by her was the soldier who had discovered her sex. "days and weeks passed on, and she became a universal favorite with the regiment, so much so that her colonel (stephens) frequently detailed her as regimental clerk, a position that brought her in close contact with her lover, who, at this time, was either major or adjutant of the regiment. a few weeks subsequently she was out on picket duty, when she received a shot in the arm that disabled her, and, notwithstanding the efforts of the surgeon, her wound continually grew worse. she was sent to the hospital at louisville, where she has been ever since, until a few weeks ago, when she was discharged by the post surgeon, as her arm was stiffened and rendered useless for life. she implored to be permitted to return to her regiment; but the surgeon was unyielding, and discharged her. annie immediately hurried toward home, and, by the aid of benevolent strangers, reached this city. at cincinnati she told her secret to a benevolent lady, and was supplied with female attire. she declares that she will enlist in her old regiment again, if there is a recruiting officer for the st in michigan. she still clings to the lieutenant, and says she must be near him if he falls or is taken down sick; that where he goes she will go; and when he dies, she will end her life by her own hand." another incident of the war. a few weeks since, a captain, accompanied by a young soldier, apparently about seventeen years of age, arrived in this city, in charge of some rebel prisoners. during their stay in the city, the young soldier alluded to had occasion to visit head-quarters, and at once attracted the attention of colonel mundy, as being exceedingly sprightly, and possessed of more than ordinary intelligence. being in need of such a young man at barracks no. , the colonel detailed him for service in that institution. he soon won the esteem of his superior officers, and became a general favorite with all connected with the barracks. a few days ago, however, the startling secret was disclosed that the supposed young man was a young lady, and the fact was established beyond doubt, by a soldier who was raised in the same town, with her, and knew her parents. she "acknowledged the corn," and begged to be retained in the position to which she had been assigned; having been in the service ten months, she desired to serve during the war. her wish was accordingly granted, and she is still at her post. we learned the facts above stated, and took occasion to visit the barracks, and was introduced to "frank martin," (her assumed name,) and gleaned the following incidents connected with her extraordinary career during the past ten months: frank was born near bristol, penn., and her parents reside in alleghany city, where she was raised. they are highly respectable people, and in very good circumstances. she was sent to the convent in wheeling, va., at twelve years of age, where she remained until the breaking out of the war, having acquired a superior education, and all the accomplishments of modern days. she visited home after leaving the convent; and, after taking leave of her parents, proceeded to this city, in july last, with the design of enlisting in the d east tennessee cavalry, which she accomplished, and accompanied the army of the cumberland to nashville. she was in the thickest of the fight at murfreesboro, and was severely wounded in the shoulder, but fought gallantly, and waded stone river into murfreesboro, on the memorable sunday on which our forces were driven back. she had her wound dressed, and here her sex was disclosed, and general rosecrans made acquainted with the fact. she was accordingly mustered out of service, notwithstanding her earnest entreaty to be allowed to serve the cause she loved so well. the general was very favorably impressed with her daring bravery, and superintended the arrangements for her safe transmission to her parents. she left the army of the cumberland, resolved to enlist again in the first regiment she met. negro sermon delivered at triune, tenn. camp near triune, tenn., _may , _. last sunday week there was a grand revival meeting of the numerous contrabands, at the brick church, near the village. the house was crowded by the most fashionable black belles in the county, many of them dressed "_a la mode_." an old man arose, and stated that he had formerly been a _circus_ preacher, and "done been ober de country from station to station, preachin' de gospel," and he now felt like "talkin' to de brudders and sistern." he commenced his discourse: "my belubed bredern--i haben't got no bible. de rebels, when dey squatulated from dis place, done toted dem all off wid 'em. derefore, i am destrained to make a tex' myself, and ax you, "'whar do you lib?' "is your dwellin' in de tents of wickedness? now, my belubed bredern, de world am a whirlin' and a whirlin', jest as it allers hes bin. dish here world nebber stan' still for de yanks or for de rebs, but keeps on its course jest de same, and why shouldn't you do so likewise? "if de lord is a smilin' on us dark sheep ob de flock, and fader abraham has got his bosom ready for to _deceib_ us, why should we not be _preparred_ for de glory ob dat day? "my tex' _requires_ ob you, '_whar do you lib?_' "is you strollin' round, wid no hope of de future freedom starrin' you in de face? massa linkum has done tole you, dat if you work for de salvation ob de union, dat you shall be saved, no matter what de legislatur' ob kaintuck may say to de reverse contrary dereof--_dat is_, if de _union_ be saved _likewise_; and massa linkum is de man what will stand up to de rack; so, derefore, i ax you, '_whar do you lib?_' "de good book done tole you dat you can't serb two masters; but dat is a passenger ob scriptur' i nebber could understan' wid all my larnin', for de most ob us has been serbin' a heap o' masters durin' dis comboberation ob de white folks, wherein we colored gemmen is interested; derefore i ask, agin and agin, de momentus question ob '_whar do you lib?_' "now, my brudders, i is perfec'ly awar dat many ob you don't lib much, but dat you jest 'sassiate round;' you isn't de right stripe; _you don't lib nowhar_. "wharfor is dis state ob society, after all de white folks am a doin for you? "look aroun' an' aroun' you, an' see de glorious names oh our colored bredern what is fitin' an a fitin' for you in de army. dars horace greeley and fred douglass; dars jack mims and wendal phlips; dars lennox ramond and lloyd garrison. de last-mentioned colored pusson is a tic'lar friend ob mine, and is named after a place whar dey now is trainin' a lot ob our race. de garrison was named after de garrison. "den dars mrs. beechum sto; look at dat lady; isn't she going from de camp to de camp just like de martingale--what de english people had in de las' war in florence; and don't dey call her de florence martingale ob dis hemisphere? "be ye also ready to answer de question as to '_whar do you lib?_' "so dat de glorification ob uncle abraham linkum shall resound ober de earth, and we darkeys no longer hab to hoe de corn, but lib foreber on de fat ob de lan'. brudder jerry will please pass aroun' de hat." chapter xiii. letter from cheat mountain -- the women of the south -- gilbert's brigade. letter from cheat mountain. camp of th ohio, at elkwater, va., . the trees begin to look barren, the bronzed hue of the surrounding hills admonishing us that october, chill and drear, is upon us. every thing in nature is cheerless, and, adding to nature, man has, with despoiling hands, laid waste the country for miles about our present location. pen can not describe the devastation of an army: orchards are swept away; of fences scarce a trace is left; houses are converted into stables, fodder-cribs, and store-houses; corn-fields are used as pastures; forests must fall to supply our men with fire-wood; in fact, with the soldier nothing is sacred. and why should any thing be sacred in this "section," where traitors have been fostered, and where every vote cast was for secession? let them reap the harvest they themselves have sown. the farmers come daily into camp, whining because our men cut down their sugar-trees, or "find" a few cabbages or apples; but, as the colonel is aware that the boys must be kept in fire-wood, he is heedless of their whimperings. the cold is telling fearfully upon the men at night, and i fear, if a supply of clothing is not soon forthcoming, much suffering will be the consequence. it is a burning disgrace to somebody, that such things should be, and it is galling to our regiment to see indiana troops, just mustered into service, passing our encampment with large, heavy overcoats, and every thing about them denoting comfort and an attention to their wants. the cold frosts are beginning to leave their imprints; already snow is capping the mountain-tops, and god help us if we get winter-bound in this "neck of woods." some few are glorying in the thought of the fine deer and bear hunts they will have. the latter i can't _bear_ to think about, and the former a man must be _der_anged to think of catching upon, these mountains. the paymaster has been disbursing his funds for the past three days, and the boys are all in excellent spirits. theodore marsh and leonard swartz will go home heavily laden with the hard earnings of this regiment. how many hearts will be gladdened by the receipt of the little pittances sent, and how loth many will be to use the money when they remember the toil endured to obtain it! but let the friends rest assured that the _money_ was not thought of. a purer, a more noble thought and higher aim animated the breasts, of those who have so nobly suffered--a determination to see their country's honor maintained. our pickets have scoured the country around, far and near, but no signs of the enemy can be found. there is no doubt but that they have retired for the winter. there will, however, be plenty left to guard the interests of the federal army until spring, when, no doubt, the campaign will be opened with vigor, if not sooner settled. in the reconnoissance by our regiment, a week since, traces of captain bense and his party were found in the secession camp; several of hall & cobb's (our sutlers) checks being found in their camp, and a prisoner, afterward brought in, said they had been forwarded to richmond, va. a rumor that this regiment is to be immediately ordered to cincinnati set the boys fairly dancing; but madame rumor is so frequent a visitor that the more sensible scarcely noticed her arrival. the most authentic rumor is, that colonel bosley is to be made a brigadier-general. "we shall see what we shall see." the sky is threatening, and dark as midnight, the air intensely cold, and we are hourly expecting a regular old snow-storm. chestnuts, fine and ripe, are abundant; there are hundreds of bushels all over these hills, while wild grapes are as abundant as hops in kent. yesterday, a wild-cat was shot and brought into camp by one of the d ohio boys. he was about three feet in length, and a "varmint" i shouldn't like to meet on a dark night. yours, alf. the women of the south. a great deal has been written about them, and there is no doubt but they are a thousandfold more bitter than the men. they were, and many are yet, perfectly venomous; and the more ignorant, the more spiteful they seem. the following act was blazoned forth as wonderfully heroic in its character, just after our forces occupied philippa, beelington, and beverly: "the two noble heroines, misses abbie kerr and mary mcleod, of fairmont, marion county, who rode from their home to philippa, a distance of thirty-odd miles, to apprise our forces there of the approach of the enemy, arrived in staunton by the western train, on wednesday night last, and remained till friday morning, when they went to richmond. while here they were the 'observed of all observers,' and were received with a cordial welcome. great anxiety was manifested by all to hear a detailed account of their interesting adventures from their own lips. "they left fairmont at six o'clock on sunday morning, and hastened, without escorts, to philippa. they had not gone a great distance before they found that a shoe of one of the horses needed fixing. they stopped at a blacksmith's shop for that purpose, and while there a union man came up and questioned them very closely as to who they were, and on what mission they were going. miss mcleod replied to his interrogatories, telling him that their surname was fleming, and that they were going to barbour county, to see their relations. their interrogator seemed to be very hard to satisfy, and it taxed the ingenuity of miss mcleod to improvise a story which would succeed in imposing upon him. as soon as the horse-shoe had been fixed, they again proceeded upon their way, but had not gone far before their evil genius, their interrogator at the blacksmith's shop, dashed by them on horseback. they perceived that his suspicions had not been allayed, and that he was going on in advance of them to herald the approach of spies. they allowed him to pass out of sight, in advance, and then destroyed the letters they had in their possession, that the search of their persons, to which they then anticipated they would be required to submit, might not betray them. when they arrived at the village of webster, they found it in commotion, and many persons were anxiously awaiting their arrival, in the eager hope of capturing the spies. "they were there subjected to a rigorous cross-examination. the heroines were calm and self-possessed--answering questions without hesitancy, and expressing a perfect willingness to have their persons searched by any lady who might be selected for that purpose. they were allowed to pass on, after being detained for some time, though there were some in the crowd who were very much opposed to it. as soon as they got out of sight of that village they rode very rapidly, for fear they might still be arrested by some of those who were so much opposed to allowing them to proceed. they arrived at philippa about two o'clock in the afternoon of the same day, and told colonel porterfield that the enemy would attack his camp that night or the next morning. "these ladies then went to the house of a mr. huff, about a mile and a half from philippa, where they stayed all night. the next morning they heard the report of the firing at philippa, and, in disguise, accompanied by a countrywoman, returned to philippa, on foot, to see what had been the result. they moved about among the enemy without being detected or molested in the least degree. going into one of the houses, they found james withers, of the rockbridge cavalry, who had concealed himself there to prevent the enemy from capturing him. these ladies immediately told him that they would effect his rescue, if he would trust to them. he very readily consented; whereupon these ladies disguised him as a common countryman, by furnishing him with some old clothes; they then gave him a basket of soap, with a recipe for making it, that he might pass as a peddler of that necessary article. with these old clothes, and a basket of soap on his arm, and gallantly mounted upon a mule, accompanied by his guardian angels, he passed safely through the crowds of the enemy, and was brought by them, safe and sound, into the camp of his friends at beverly, after a circuitous and hard ride over precipitous mountains, where persons had seldom, if ever, ridden before. his fellow-soldiers and friends rejoiced greatly when he arrived, for they thought that he was either killed or taken prisoner by the enemy; they rejoiced that the supposed 'dead was alive,' and the 'lost was found.' he is now known in our camp as the 'peddler of soap.' the heroic conduct of these ladies will live in history, and they will become the heroines of many a thrilling story of fiction, in years to come." we have no doubt but that their names will live in history. benedict arnold is still in the memory of every american, loathed and despised, as davis and his crew will eventually be, without doubt. gilbert's brigade. in may last, the th ohio was near franklin, tenn., a part of general granger's division, and belonging to gilbert's brigade. friend "esperance," in writing about the regiment, says: "we are encamped near franklin, in a beautiful situation as regards the view of the country; and in a military point of view it is excellent, being surrounded with sufficient elevations of land to enable our fortifications to sweep the whole country in every direction. the brigade is composed of the th, th, th, and the st ohio volunteers, and the th illinois. the th ohio was organized in cleveland, but contains two companies from cincinnati--company g, under the command of william a. powell, of your city, and company i, under the command of captain j. h. frost, also of cincinnati. captain powell has been in the service ever since the commencement of the war; he has served in virginia and maryland, also in missouri, in general fremont's body-guard. he was again in maryland last summer, at cumberland, in command of a company in the th ohio volunteer infantry, and is, in all respects, strictly a military man, very generally liked by his company, and respected by his superior officers. captain frost has also been in the service before, and is much liked by his men, and esteemed by all who know him here. the health of the regiment is good, and of the two companies from cincinnati especially so. "with regard to the army of general rosecrans, it is by us considered invincible. general rosecrans is looked upon as a host in himself. every soldier appears anxious to meet the enemy; the idea of a defeat never seems to enter into their imagination, but all are enthusiastic in their expectation of being able to restore the south and south-west of our common country to subjection to the constitution, and obedience to the laws." * * * * * a chaplain of an indiana regiment recently married one of the hoosier boys to a tennessee girl, and concluded the ceremony by remarking, the _oath_ was binding for three years, or _during the war_! chapter xiv. confessions of a fat man -- home-guard -- the negro on the fence -- a camp letter of early times -- "sweethearts" against the war. confessions of a fat man--home-guard. the moment the flag was threatened, large bodies of men were called upon to rally to its defense. being large and able-bodied, i enrolled with the home-guard. the drill was very severe in hot weather, and i wanted an attendant, a fan, and pitcher of ice-water. i am constantly reminded that one of the first requirements of a soldier is to throw out his chest and draw in his stomach. having been burned out several times, while occupying an attic, i have had considerable practice in throwing out my chest; but by what system of practice could i ever hope to draw in my stomach? i can't "dress up;" it's no use of my trying. if my vest buttons are in a line, i am far in the rear. if i toe the mark, a fearful bulge indicates my position. once we had a new drill-sergeant, who was near-sighted. running his eye along the line, he exclaimed sharply: "what is that man doing in the ranks with a base drum?" he pointed at me; but i hadn't any drum; it was the surplus stomach, that i couldn't, for the life of me, draw in. i am the butt of numberless jokes, as you may well suppose. they have got a story in the guards, that, when i first heard the command "order arms," i dropped my musket, and, taking out my notebook, began drawing an _order_ on the governor for what arms i needed. they say i ordered a winans steam-gun, with a pair of dahlgren howitzers for side arms! base fabrication! my ambition never extended beyond a rifled cannon, and they know it! although, in respect to size, i belong to the "heavies," my preference is for the light infantry service. my knapsack is marked "light infantry!" one evening the spectators seemed convulsed about something, and my comrades tittered by platoons, whenever my back was turned. it was a mystery to me till i laid off my knapsack. some wretch had erased the two final letters, and i had been parading, all the evening, labeled, "light infant!" the above is one of the thousand annoyances to which i am subjected, and nothing but my consuming patriotism could ever induce me to submit to it. i overheard a spectator inquire of the drill-sergeant one day: "do you drill that fat man all at once?" "no," he returned, in an awful whisper; "_i drill him by squads!_" i could have _drilled_ him, if i had had a bayonet. specifications have been published in regard to my uniform, and contractors advertised for; the making will be let out to the lowest bidder. in case the guards are ordered to take the field, a special commissary will be detailed to draw my rations. [illustration: the fat volunteer. see page .] that reminds me of a harrowing incident. on last night's drill an old farmer, who dropped in to see us drill, took me aside, and said he wanted to sell me a yoke of powerful oxen. "my ancient agriculturist," said i, smiling at his simplicity, "i have no use for oxen." "perhaps not at present," quoth he, "but if you go to war you will want them." "for what?" said i, considerably annoyed. "want 'em to _draw your rations_!" the guards paid me a delicate compliment at their last meeting: elected me _child_ of the regiment, with the rank of a first _corpulent_. i was about to return thanks in a neat speech, when they told me it was no use; that a reporter, who was present, had got the whole thing in type--speech and all--and i could read it in the evening paper. i got his views, and held my own. yours for the union, including the stars, also the stripes. fat contributor. "what are you going to do, you bad woman's boy?" said mrs. wiggles, as her youngest son passed through the kitchen into the garden. "down with the seceshers!" he shouted; and she looked out just in time to see the top of a rose-bush fall before the artillery-sword of her son, that the youngster held in his hand. "you had better go to molasses jugtion, if you want to do that," she said, restraining his hand as 't was lifted against a favorite fuschia, that she had trained with so much care. "dear me!" she murmured, half to herself; "what a terrible thing war is, when children show signs of such terrible consanguinity!" the negro on the fence. "hearken to what i now relate, and on its moral meditate." a wagoner, with grist for mill, was stalled at bottom of a hill. a brawny negro passed that way, so stout he might a lion slay. "i'll put my shoulder to the wheels, if you'll bestir your horse's heels." so said the african, and made as if to render timely aid. "no," cried the wagoner, "stand back! i'll take no help from one that's black;" and, to the negro's great surprise, flourished his whip before his eyes. our "darkey" quick "skedaddled" thence, and sat upon the wayside fence. then went the wagoner to work, and lashed his horses to a jerk; but all his efforts were in vain; with shout, and oath, and whip, and rein, the wheels budged not a single inch, and tighter grow the wagoner's pinch. directly there came by a child, with toiling step, and vision wild, "father," said she, with hunger dread, "we famish for the want of bread." then spake the negro: "if you will, i'll help your horses to the mill." the wagoner, in grievous plight, now swore and raved with all his might, because the negro wasn't white; and plainly ordered him to go to a certain place, that's down below; then, rushing, came the wagoner's wife, to save her own and infant's life; by robbers was their homestead sacked, and smoke and blood their pillage tracked. here stops our tale. when last observed, the wagoner was still "conserved" in mud, at bottom of the hill, but bent on getting to the mill; and hard by, not a rod from thence, the negro sat upon the fence. a camp letter of early times. our camp is alive; our camp is exuberant; our camp is in a _furore_. "who's that man with 'secesh' clothes?" says one; and "who's that big-faced, genial, good-natured looking feller?" says another. "are they prisoners?" "maybe it's the paymaster; and that short, chunky man is here to watch the other feller, and see that the money is paid all on the square." "no, it aint one nor t' other--'tis cons millar, the ever-vigilant and hard-working cons, of the _commercial_; and the good-natured looking feller is invisible green, or, as he is familiarly called, bill crippen, of the _times_." they have brought sunshine into camp, for a merrier set of soldiers the sun never shone on than are the guthrie grays to-night. cons has just had supper, and bill is "spreading devastation" over the table of captain andrews. they have both been up inspecting intrenchments, which are _in statu quo_, the brave lee having retreated some sixteen miles, or, more politely speaking, "fallen back." so i suppose we will soon have to creep up on the gallant gentleman once more, and see if he can not be induced to fall still further back. the news of the gallant conduct of our cincinnati boys at the late fight under rosecrans sent a thrill of pleasure to the hearts of all our men, and a feeling of envy that we were not with them to share the glory of that day. colonel lytle, stephen mcgroarty, and the other brave fellows' names, are on the lips of all, and a fervent "god bless them" is frequently uttered. our encampment now may be said to extend over four miles, a brigade of twelve thousand; and i can assure you they make a formidable appearance. three splendid batteries, three or four fine cavalry companies, and any quantity of men, are yet on the way. one of the best secesh tricks i have heard of was attempted, a short time since, by a rebel telegrapher. when lee was about to advance upon this point, wishing to ascertain the number of troops here, he sent out this operator, with pocket implements, to attach to our wires. so, carefully picking his way through the woods, mr. operator came upon a secluded part of the road; climbing the pole, he attached his battery, and "click, click, click," he inquires of our operator at head-quarters, "how many troops have you altogether, that can, at any pressing event, be sent to aid us if we attack lee?" just as he concluded the query, one of the ever-vigilant pickets of the indiana regiments, who infest the woods and roads in every direction, espied the gentleman, and brought him into camp with his non-confiscated horse. a minute more and the fellow, doubtless, would have been fully informed, as he had guarded against cipher-telegraphing by telegraphing that the cipher-operator was out, and the general wanted an immediate answer. our boys continue to scour the woods, and constantly are finding secesh documents. the following _beautiful poem_ is from the pen of miss m. h. cantrell, of jonesboro, tennessee, and was found in the pocket of a "secesher," who had invaliantly fled, dropping his overcoat and love-epistles. it is entitled: sweetharts against war. o dear! its shameful i declare to make the men all go and leive so manny sweetharts here wit out a single bough. we like to see them leave 'tis true, and wold not urge them stay; but what are we poor girls to do when you are all away? we told you we cold spare you here before you had to go, but bless your harts, wernt aware that we would miss you sow. we miss you all in manny ways, but troth will ware out; the gratest things we miss you for joy going withe out. on sunday when we go to church, we look in vane for sum to mete us smilin on the porch, and ask to see us home. and then we dont enjoy a walk since all the bows have gone; for what the good to us plain talk if we must trip alone? but what the use talkin thus we will try to beecontent and if you cannot come to us a message may bee cent. and that one comfort any way although we are apart, there is no reason why we may not open hart to hart. we trust it may not ever come to any war like test, we want to see our southern home secured in peaceful rest. but if the blood of those we love in freedoms cause must floo, with fervent trust in lov above we bid them onward go. written by your friend, m. h. cantrell. i inclose you the original document. i suppose the aforesaid lovyer did "onward go," and, no doubt, is still going, if he has not already reached the town of jonesboro, and met his gal upon "the porch" as she returned from church. snake-hunting has given way to trout-fishing. as a matter of course, the noise of camp has driven all trout four miles from our present abode; but scarcely a day passes but our men return with a nice string of these delicious denizens of the brooks hereabouts. i have often, heretofore, thought i would like much to be a cavalry soldier, but i'll swear i wouldn't like to be a cavalry horse; for, of all the hay-forsaken, fleshless-looking animals eyes ever gazed upon, the horses out here take the premium. well, 'pon my word, i took captain bracken's horse (the roan i once rode) a quart of oats, sent from beverly; well, the horse wouldn't eat them; he didn't know what they were! and i had to break or smash some of them so that he might smell the "aroma," to facilitate his knowledge, and he was too weak to inhale air enough to inflate his nostrils, so that he could smell the dainty meal i had in my kindness brought him. captain bracken promised to have them parched and made into a tea for the animal. _september ._--what a jump of time! well, i'll tell you the cause. the morning i intended to post this letter the entire regiment was ordered to make an advance upon mingo flats, a secession hole fifteen miles from this place. they were accompanied by howe's battery and an indiana regiment. the boys were not more than fairly started when a terrific rain-storm set in. o! what a pitiless, deluging rain! the very thought of that _sprinkle_ of twenty hours of unceasing torrent makes me, even now, feel as if i should forever have an antipathy against drinking water. onward the boys trudged, seemingly not caring a cuss if school kept or not. the elkwater soon assumed a rather formidable appearance; night came on, and with it an increase of the flood. we stood up against trees to rest; some crawled in fence-corners; a few, more lucky, found an old log stable and a smoke-house; these were quickly filled from "pit to dome," as fred hunt would say, for some slept on rafters, cross-beams, etc. still it poured down; still the fountains of heaven gushed _forth_, fifth, tenth, or twentieth; anyhow, it continued to rain, and at daybreak it rained yet, and the regiment moved on to mingo flats; drove in the rebel pickets; heard the secesh varmints beat the long roll; knew they were scared; _and still it rained_! colonel sullivan, of the indiana regiment, was in, command: sent out a big gun; boys went on a big hill; found the enemy were eight or ten thousand strong; big gun ordered back, and as we only had two thousand men, remembered the axiom about "discretion being the better part of valor;" obeyed the aforesaid axiom. _still, recollect, it kept raining in torrents_; dripping down quarter-master shoemaker's pants into his boots; running over colonel anderson's back. major christopher looked dry, in order to get a drink: but that was a failure. captain westcott looked sad; in fact he said it was the wettest time he ever knew or heard tell of--wondered if old noah ever explored these big hills. captain russell picked out a fine hill to locate upon, if this really intended to be another deluge. captain clark observed he was fond of _heavy wet_. jules montagnier said it was _due_ time to _dry up_. _still it rained._ the regiments were ordered to fall back. well, the mud was so infernal slippery it was very easily done; some fell forward in the vain endeavor to fall back. after killing seven or eight poor, pauper-looking, "secesh varmints," the boys set fire to marshall's store, the enterprising proprietor being away from his business--a very notorious secessionist, having donated $ , to the c. s. a. the building made a _beautiful_ fire, and our boys brought away a fine lot of saws, augers, and various other articles of _dry goods_. the loss of the augers, colonel anderson says, will be a great _bore_ to marshall. _please don't forget how infernal hard it was raining all this time._ well, they reached the first ford on their return trip; a sad misnomer now, for it was an unfordable ford. the water of old elkwater was rearing and plunging, and furiously wild. every mountain (and there are myriads) was sending out its wet _aid_ to swell the raging torrent; the regiment, at this time, only three miles from the secessionists. a bold front had to be put on, as it was a sure thing, if the rebels found out the weakness of our force, we were goners. there was no doubt, however, but that they were terribly frightened, as they had heard we were twenty thousand strong. anxiously the boys waited the falling of the mighty waters. _it had now rained twenty-six hours._ large trees came whistling by with lightning speed; the river seemed wild with delight, and the waves clapped their hands, leaping higher and higher; but, _as you know_, (no reflection meant,) mr. editor, a drunken man will get sober if not supplied with more liquor, so the river will _subside_ if not furnished with the "aqueous fluid." colonel anderson was the first to cross the stream. his horse plunged in boldly, but was within an ace of being carried away by the still almost resistless current. there goes "shoemaker," the easy, good-natured "ned," as he is called. yes, sure enough, there he does go, for his horse has plunged, and the torrent is too wild, for they are both beyond their depth, and the horse is going down, down. every eye is bent upon "shoe." he is carried further and further. he grasps a tree and pulls himself up, looking the picture of despair. the major says, "h-o-l-d, b-o-y-s! d-o-n't b-e i-n t-o-o m-u-c-h h-u-r-r-y;" but they, eager to get back, walked a foot-bridge of rough timber and old logs, very narrow. several crossed upon this, captain russell making a very narrow escape with his life. colonel anderson, perceiving the danger, ordered that no more should cross, threatening to shoot the first man who should disobey the order. this, as a matter of course, was done to deter the men from hazarding their lives needlessly. colonel anderson had but just given the order, when frank guhra, a private in captain clark's company, made the attempt, reached the middle of the stream, lost his balance, fell, and in a moment was whirled out of sight, the current running at the rate of twenty miles an hour. several lost their guns. it was three or four hours before they succeeded in crossing. upon their return to camp an unwelcome sight was presented; the water had swept nearly every thing away. the tents had been, many of them, three and four feet in water; some had to take to trees to save life. the water had subsided, leaving a nasty slime, a foot thick, all over the camp-ground. camp-kettles, knapsacks haversacks, and numerous floatable, light articles, had passed down stream--captain wilmington losing every thing. i saw the captain trying to borrow a pair of pantaloons, he running around in his drawers. an old resident of this locality (mr. stonnicker) says this is the biggest flood ever known in this region. by the by, mr. stonnicker has a beautiful daughter, miss delilah, who seems to be fairly "the child of the regiment," especially of the officers. i will not mention names, as the wives at home would be jealous. i see you talk of sending out a gentleman to take money home to the families of the volunteers. but cuss the paymaster, "or any other man." why don't the paymaster come? send _me_ some papers. i can't get any without a peck of trouble. chapter xv. the winter campaign in virginia -- didn't know of the rebellion -- general w. h. litle -- drilling -- a black nightingale's song. the winter campaign in virginia. your correspondent has been sick. your correspondent has been in bed; has had the rheumatism in his back, neck, arms, legs, toes; is down with the mountain-fever; tries in vain to sleep; howling dog, belonging to captain russell's "brigade," keeps up such an infernal howling it makes me mad: wish russell had to eat him, hair and all. it was raining when i last wrote; think we had just been flooded out. well, the very next day we were again ordered over that godforsaken road, when the clouds again blackened up, and five hundred men tramped it. what have the sixth done that the heavens should open their floodgates? all i wonder is, how the boys stand it. but they do bear up under it nobly, remembering the shakspearian passage, slightly altered: "the same clouds that lower upon the house of abe lincoln look frowningly upon jeff davis." the boys are truly "ragged and sassy;" very many are shoeless, and with a flag of truce protruding from the rear. the service in these woods wears out more clothing than ordinary service should. some of the boys are careless, but many are, helplessly, nearly naked. our officers have used every exertion to get apparel, but the apparel is, like a paymaster, "hard to get hold of." our men have been sorely tantalized by seeing regiment after regiment of the indiana troops paid off, before their very eyes. in fact, they have been running round camp, with five, ten, and twenty-dollar gold pieces, shaking them in our faces. add colwell--corporal add--paid an indiana boy of the th regiment three slices of bacon and half a pound of coffee just for the privilege of hefting and rubbing his eye with an _eagle_. colwell is a good printer; colwell is a good writer; and, last and best of all, he can eat more gingerbread than any other one man in the army: he wants wash armstrong to send him a box of the article. since the accidental shooting of lieutenant moses bidwell, by adams, of the th indiana, we have had another accident. mr. hopkins has had his collar-bone broken, and his shoulder-blade thrown completely out of place, by the falling of a tree. we are having jovial times out here, rain or shine. a convocation of good fellows met at captain abbott's quarters, d ohio. captain abbott is from zanesville. captain mcdougal of newark, captain dana of athens, captain rossman of hamilton, lieutenants house and swasey of columbus, lieutenants bell and dale of newark, not forgetting miles--the smiling, good-natured miles--of the th indiana, quarter-master shoemaker, andy hall, j. w. slanker, w. b. sheridan, and self, all of the th ohio, made up the party. the landlord filled his flowing bowl, and stories, songs, and recitations were the order of the evening, and the "glow-worm '_began_' to show the matin to be near" ere we started to separate. miles invited those who would, to go over to his palace, and promised us a sardine supper; accordingly, but few refused the invitation. now, miles had a _jug of oil_, just from the thurston house, paris, _bourbon_ county, ky. this oil was put to good use; and soon a _box_ of herring was opened, and the oil again distributed, and then some speeches were made. the meeting was called to order by the fat quarter-master, shoemaker. a motion was made that we adjourn and go to cincinnati. this was voted down. motions were continually made to take a drink. these were carried, every _pop_, by _sherry_, your correspondent being the only one having the moral courage to vote in the negative. now, miles is from columbus; a jolly, good fellow, and, when the time for retiring arrived, proffered me his bed, provided i would notice him in my next letter. this i promised, and accepted his hospitality. the party dispersed, and miles was soon in the arms of morpheus; he had fallen asleep making an eloquent appeal to the _chair_. i had just got into a nice doze, when i was aroused by the sound of a voice. "gen'l'men, you're all my frens, every one of you. but, gen'l'men, i invite you, freely, to my sardines. you, 'specially, ned shoemaker; 'specially you, andy hall, and all of you. "the country is a momentous question,"---- here i ventured to inquire of him as to whom he was addressing his conversation? "why, my frens," replied he. "isn't that ned shoemaker?" pointing to a barrel, upon the top of which was my hat; "and are not those my companions," pointing to a pile of cheese-boxes, herring-kegs, etc., that were strewn around. he was much astonished when i assured him his friends had _departed_ an hour since, at least. didn't know of the rebellion. going out with a party of scouts, one day, in virginia, we espied, away up a little ravine, a log-house, completely isolated. anticipating a good, substantial meal, we rode up to the domicile, where an old woman, with a face with all the intelligence of a pig beaming from it, came to the door, looking the very picture of consternation. we dismounted, and asked for something to eat. "what! wittles?" exclaimed the horrible-looking creature. "whar did you come from? and what be sogers doin' on here?" "well, i came from indianapolis," said captain bracken, "and am after something to eat. are there any secesh in these parts?" "any what?" "secesh." "why, gracious, what's them?" "are you and your folks for the union?" "why, sartain; thar's the old man neow." just at this moment there came a gaunt-eyed, slim-livered, carnivorous, yellow-skinned, mountain virginian--no doubt belonging to one of the first families, as his name was rhett. "look-a-hear," continued the old woman; "this ere soger wants to know if you be for union?" the old man looked, if any thing, more astonished than the old woman at the soldier. in the course of conversation we asked the man, "what he thought of the war?" "what war?" exclaimed the old fellow; "the revolution?" "yes. the rebellion, we call it." "ah! we gin the britishers fits, didn't we?" it was evident the man knew nothing of the rebellion going on. when asked if he heard the fight, the other day, only six miles from his house, he opened his eyes widely, and said he "heard it '_thunderin'_' mighty loud, but couldn't see no clouds, and didn't know what to make _on it_." the fact was, these people live up in this place; raise what little will keep them from year to year; never read a paper, ('cause why, they can't); and they scarcely ever visit anybody. there are many cases of this kind within a few miles of this place, where as much _pent-up_ ignorance is displayed. if north carolina is any worse, in heaven's name send no more money to _distant heathen_, but attend to those at home. general william h. lytle, of whom our city has cause to be justly proud, has won for himself a name, engraven on the scroll of honor, as one of our country's heroes. a brief mention of his military career may be summed up as follows: he was, during the mexican campaign, on general scott's line, and, although but a mere youth, he commanded an independent company of volunteer infantry, from cincinnati, that was afterward attached to the d ohio, on scott's line, and commanded by colonel william irwin, of lancaster, ohio. they were stationed most of the time at the "rio frio," keeping open the line of communication between the cities of puebla and mexico. brigadier-general robert mitchell, of kansas, and brigadier-general mcginnis, of iowa, were captains in the same regiment. at the termination of that war general lytle studied and entered into the practice of the law. in he was elected major-general of the first district of ohio volunteers. on the th of april, , he was ordered by the governor of ohio to organize a camp for four regiments of infantry, and the day after receiving this order general lytle took into camp harrison the th and th ohio infantry, and shortly after the th and th ohio. the latter regiment tendered him the colonelcy, which was accepted; and he led it through the virginia campaign, under mcclellan and rosecrans, up to the date of carnifex ferry, where he was wounded, september , . recovering from his wounds, he reported for duty in january, , and was placed by general buell in command of the camp of instruction at bardstown, ky., relieving general wood. in march he was relieved, and reporting at nashville, was placed in command of dumont's brigade, major-general o. m. mitchel's division, at murfreesboro, and made, with general mitchel, the campaign in northern alabama, and conducted the evacuation of huntsville, august , , under orders from major-general buell. he commanded the seventeenth brigade up to the battle of chaplin hills, where he was again wounded, october , . during the following winter he was promoted to brigadier-general, dating from november , , and reported for duty to the army of the cumberland in the spring of , and was assigned to the command of the first brigade, third division, of the twentieth army corps. a tribute to the tenth ohio. when colonel mulligan was in cincinnati, he and the noble william h. lytle were invited to the dedication of the catholic institute. it was the d of november, . lytle had just recovered from his carnifex ferry wound. the colonel was called upon for a speech. he said: "when i go back and tell my men how, for their sakes, you have received me to-night, _they will feel very proud_. they often think of you, my fellow-citizens; and the brother, mother, wife, or sister, among you, in spirit visits the soldier as he rests in his chill tent at night. "it does not become me to speak of my own regiment, for i know that he who putteth his armor on can not boast as he that puts it off. but, as it is distant, and can not hear my words, i may say this much: the tenth has been ever true to the motto inscribed upon its flag--'god and the union.'" the colonel paid a feeling tribute to john fitzgibbons, the dead color-bearer of the tenth, and hoped that the memory of his deeds, of kavanagh, and others, who fell on the field in defense of their country, might inspire their countrymen to rise and avenge them. drilling. sweet amy asked, with pleading eyes, "dear charley, teach me, will you, the words i've heard your captain say? i should so like to drill you!" "what! little one, you take command! well, amy, i'm quite willing; in such a company as yours, i can't have too much drilling. "stand over, then, and sing out clear, like this: 'squad! stand at ease!'" "o, charles! you'll wake papa, up stairs; don't shout like that, love, please." "now, stand at ease, like this, you see! and then, i need scarce mention, the next command you have to give, is this one: 'squad! attention!' "now, amy, smartly after me; (you're sure, dear, it won't bore you?) 'forward, march! halt! front! right dress!' there, now, i'm close before you. "'present arms!'" "well, it does look odd." "you don't believe i'd trifle! we hold our arms out, just like this, in drill without the rifle. "now say, 'salute your officer!'" "o, charles! for shame! how can you? i thought you were at some such trick, you horrid, naughty man you." charles "ordered arms" without command; she smoothed her ruffled hair, and pouted, frowned, and blushed, and then said softly, "_as you were_!" a black nightingale's song. shortly after our troops occupied one of the towns in virginia, a squad occupying a tent near a dwelling heard delightful music. the unknown vocalist sang in such sweet, tremulous, thrilling notes, that the boys strained their ears to drink in every note uttered. on the following day they made some excuse to visit the house, but no one was there. once they observed a sylph-like form, but she was not the person; and so they lived on, each night hearing the same divine music. one night, when they were gathered together, the voice was again heard. "by jove!" said one, "i'm bound to find out who that is; she must be discovered." a dozen voices took up the remark, and a certain nervous youth was delegated to reconnoiter the place. he crept on tiptoe toward the dwelling, leaped the garden-wall, and finally, undiscovered, but pallid and remorseful, gained the casement. softly raising his head, he peeped within. the room was full of music; he seemed to grow blind for a moment, when lo! upon the kitchen-table sat the mysterious songster, an ebony-hued negress, scouring the tinware, and singing away. just as he was peering through the window, the ebony songster discovered him. the soldier's limbs sank beneath him, and the black specimen of humanity shouted: "go 'way dar, you soger-man, or i'll let fly de fryin' pan at your head! you musn't stan' dar peekin' at dis chile." the soldier left, his romantic vision dispelled. our hoosier boys. dedicated to the brave soldiers of indiana. from east to west your camp-fires blaze, hoosier boys! our hoosier boys! on vicksburg's hights our flag you raise, hoosier boys! our hoosier boys! and on virginia's trait'rous soil, in answer to your country's call, the echoes of your footsteps fall, hoosier boys! our hoosier boys! while southern suns upon you beat, hoosier boys! our hoosier boys! you sternly march the foe to meet, hoosier boys! our hoosier boys! two winters, numbered with the past, have o'er you swept with stormy blast, since home's dear walls inclosed you last; hoosier boys! our hoosier boys! by richmond's fields, baptized with blood, hoosier boys! our hoosier boys! by precious dust 'neath shiloh's sod, hoosier boys! our hoosier boys! by every martyred hero's grave, by sacred rights they died to save. we'll cherish in our hearts the brave hoosier boys! our hoosier boys! while yet a vacant place is here, hoosier boys! our hoosier boys! from hearts and homes will rise the prayer, hoosier boys! our hoosier boys! "god bless our gallant men and true, and let foul treason meet its due!" that faithful hearts may welcome you home again, our hoosier boys! chapter xvi. old stonnicker and colonel marrow, of d ohio -- general garnett and his dogs -- "are you the col-o-nel of this post?" -- profanity in the army -- high price of beans in camp -- a little game of "draw." old stonnicker and colonel marrow, of d ohio. a peculiar specimen of the "genus virginia" had a great deal of trouble while our army was encamped at elkwater. stonnicker's fences and sugar-camp were used for fire-wood, corn-field for fodder, apple-trees stripped. stonnicker's family were sick. one of his oldest gals had the "soger's fever." he "guessed she must o' cotched it from either the d ohio or th ingeeana regiment, as the officers kept a comin' there so much." one day he sent for colonel marrow, and the colonel obeying the summons, stonnicker said: "colonel, one of my children is dead, and i haven't any thing to bury the child in." the colonel, a kind-hearted gentleman, had a neat coffin made; lent the old man horses and an ambulance, and attended personally to the burial, at which the old man took on "_amazingly_." an hour or two after the funeral, old stonnicker strolled up to the colonel's quarters. "colonel," said he, as the tears rolled down his cheeks; "colonel, what shall i do?" the colonel, thinking he was mourning over the loss of his lately-buried child, replied: "o, bear up under such trials like a man." "wal, i know i orto; but, colonel, can't you do something for me? it is too bad! i feel so miserable! boo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo!" "o, come, be a man," said the colonel; "any thing i can do for you shall be done, willingly." "o, colonel! i knowed it; i knowed it. my old woman allers said you was a fust-rate feller; and, colonel, ef you'll only pay me for them two stacks of hay your men took from my field, i shall be mighty glad, for i want the money." it is needless to say that the colonel's sympathies instantly ceased, and, turning on his heel, he might have been heard to say, "o, d----n you and your hay." general garnett and his dogs. it was said by the boys that at the battle in which general garnett was killed, a favorite dog of his was with him on the field. during the three months following i saw not less than fifty dogs, each one said, positively, to be the identical dog belonging to the rebel general. are you the col-o-nel of this post? i was seated one day in the telegraph office at beverly. prince was the telegrapher, and he was communicating with some female at buckhannon, telling her to come over on the next train. while enjoying a lump of white sugar dissolved in hot water, sent by uncle peter thomson, especially to cure my cold, a big, brawny irishman entered the office, and, as i was rigged out in the secession uniform of captain ezzard, of the gate city guards, atlanta, georgia, i was mistaken for a general by the said irishman, who accosted me much after this style: "good mornin' to ye, sur. and how are yees dis mornin'?" "good morning, sir," said i. "sure, sir," said he; "are you the col-o-nel of this post? for it was him i was towld to ax for--for a pass to get to see my wife, who lives five miles away from here, adjoining the white church, forninst the first woods to the right as you go to huttonsville." as soon as he finished his speech i informed him i was not the col-o-nel, but that colonel william bosley was the gentleman he must see. i told him, moreover, that "the colonel was a very cross man; very strict in his discipline: if he didn't approach him "just so," he would very likely refuse any pass, and kick him into the bargain." "thank you, sur; thank you, sur. o, but i'll approach him right. never fear me!" i pointed him to the marquee, in front of which was a large stake, or post, for hitching horses. "there," said i, "you see; that's the post." "well, sur; plaise to tell me what i must do?" "you must go three times round the post; make your bow; place your hands behind you; walk to the entrance of his tent, and inquire, 'if he commands that post?' tell him you want to see your wife, and the pass, no doubt, will be given you." the irishman did as requested. colonel bosley said he knew there was a joke up, and humored it; and after putting all sorts of grotesque questions to the man, he was allowed to go on his way, rejoicing. high price of beans in camp--a little game of "draw." beans were excessively high, one season, in our army. i have seen charley brutton and lieutenant southgate and captain frank ehrman, and other officers, pay as high as five cents apiece for them. brutton said he intended to make bean-soup of his. often, while i stood looking at parties around a table, i heard remarks like these: "ten beans better than you." i suppose he meant that his ten beans were better than his opponent's ten beans. then some one of the party, seated at the end of the table, would say: "i see them ten beans." well, so did i, and everybody else about there. we couldn't help but see them. why, therefore, need he make so superfluous a remark? then the other would say: "i call you." but i didn't hear him _call_. all he would do was, to lay his beans on the pile in the middle of the table, and soon they all spread out some pictures and dots that were printed on white pasteboard. then _one man_ reaches out his hand and _draws_ over the beans to his side; and he smiles complacently, and all the others look beat and crabbed. and this they call a little game of _draw_. charley clark and captain westcott say 'tis a bad practice; _and they ought to know_. profanity in the army. it is astonishing how rapidly men in the service become profane. i never before appreciated the oft-quoted phrase, "he swears like a trooper." young men whom i have noticed, in times gone by, for their urbanity and quiet demeanor, now use language unbecoming gentlemen upon any occasion. but here it is overlooked, because "_everybody does it_;" but, to my mind, "'tis a custom more honored in the breach than the observance." gambling, too! o, how they take to it! "o, it's just for pastime," says one. yes; but it is a pastime that will grow and grow, and drag many a one to ruin. among the many ways that the boys have of evading the law against it in camp is, going off into the woods and taking a "quiet game," as they term it. chuck-a-luck, sweat-cloth, and every species of device for swindling are resorted to by the baser sort. chapter xvii. hard on the sutler: spiritualism tried -- a specimen of southern poetry -- singular -- march to nashville -- general steadman challenged by a woman -- nigger question -- "rebels returning." hard on the sutler--spiritualism tried. the officers of some regiments will drink--that is, they can be _induced_. there was a sutler, a great devotee to the modern science--if science it can be called--of spiritualism. the officers found this out, and determined to play upon his credulity. the quarter-master was quite a wag, and lent himself to the proposed fun. his large tent was prepared: holes were made in it, and long black threads attached to various articles in the apartment, and one or two persons stationed to play upon these strings. the party met as per agreement; every thing was arranged; the credulous sutler present. while enjoying the evening, the crowd were surprised to see things jumping around; a tumbler was jerked off a table, no one near it; clothing lifted up from the line running through the length of the tent. some one suggested "spirits." all acknowledged the mystery, while some would, and others would not, accept the spiritual hypothesis as a correct solution. the matter must be tested, and the sutler was appointed chief interrogator. "if," said he, "there are really spirits, why can they not prove it, by knocking this candlestick from my hand?" "why can't they?" echoed others. and, sure enough, no sooner said than done, and done so quickly that no one but the performer was the wiser, whose knuckles, he said, pained him for a week afterward. another of the party said to the spirit, "fire a pistol." bang! was the reply. the sutler became terrified. again it was agreed that they should try questioning by the rapping process. the sutler proceeded: "are there any spirits present?" rap! rap! rap! "is it the spirit of a deceased relative?" rap! rap! rap! "whose relative is it? the quarter-master's?" rap. "the adjutant's?" rap. "mine?" rap! rap! rap! here the sutler was requested to ask if there was anybody in the room who had committed any crime. the question was asked, and rap! rap! rap! was the reply. "is it the quarter-master?" rap. "is it the colonel?" rap! "is it the adjutant?" rap! "is it the surgeon?" rap! "is it m-m-e?" rap! rap! rap! "o yes; i know it!" exclaimed the conscience-stricken sutler. (the first case of the kind i ever knew.) "o yes; i confess i was a methodist class-leader, and now, here i am, drinking whisky, and selling it, and getting three prices from the boys for every thing i sell. o! i'll go and pray!" and he accordingly departed. the sutler reported, in the morning, that he had prayed, and felt much relieved. it so wrought upon his mind that the joke had to be explained to him, to prevent his being driven to distraction. a specimen of southern poetry. from the appended exquisite gem of "southern poetry," it will be seen that they wish to raise the black flag. well, _why don't they raise it?_ let us hope that for every black flag they raise, uncle abraham will raise a _black regiment_. it is from the chattanooga _rebel_, and is entitled the black flag. raise now the sable flag! high let it wave o'er all secessia's hills and flowery vales, and on its sable folds the motto trace, "for victory or death!" the hated foe have gathered in our lovely land, and trod, with desecrating steps, our state's proud capital. they've pillaged in our cities, burned our homes, exiled our stanch, true-hearted patriots, arrested loyal citizens, and sent them to those hungry bastiles of the north, the ignominious "chase" and "johnson's isle." our clergy--god's anointed--who refused to take a black, obnoxious oath, to perjure their own souls, they placed in "durance vile." the noble daughters of the "sunny south," whose hearts were with their country's cause, they forced to yield obedience to their hated laws, nor heeded cries of pity; whether from matron staid, beseeching them to leave her, for her little ones, her own meat and bread; or from the bright-eyed boy, with manly grace, who brooks, with sorrowing looks, the insults she is forced to bear, and dares not to resent; or from the gray-haired sire, whose cord of life is nearly loosed, who, in enfeebled tones, prays them to cease their vexing raids, and let an old man die in peace. nor will they list to maiden fair, whose virtue is their goal. they've desolated every home where once abundance bloomed, and with the weapons of a warrior (?)--fire and theft--have laid our homes in ashes, plundered their effects, and sworn th' extermination of secessia's sons. then raise the ebon flag! with spring's warm breath let it unfurl its night-like folds, and wave where noble "freeman" fills a martyr's grave. then strike! but not for booty, soldiers brave; fight to defend your liberties and homes-- the joy it gives to see the vandals fall, and catch the music of their dying groans. go! burn their cities, scourge their fertile lands; teach them retaliation; plow their fields, and slay by thousands with your iron hail; scorn every treaty, every yankee clan. defy with spartan courage. _vengeance_ stamp upon your bayonets; and let the hills and vales resound with _blood_--your battle-cry. singular. civilians are often puzzled, in reading reports of battles, to understand how it is that a thousand troops in a body can "stand the galling fire of the enemy" for an hour or more, and come out with but two or three killed and half a dozen wounded; or how they can "mow down the enemy at every shot" for a long time, and yet not kill over a dozen or so of them. every thing that is done now-a-days is a complete "rout;" all the enemy's camp equipage, guns, ammunition, etc., are taken. will somebody wiser than i am please explain? the modern troubadour. a camp song. gaily the bully boy smoked his cigar, as he was hastening off for the war; singing--"to secesh land, thither i go: rebuels! rebuels! fight all you know!" 'lize for the bully boy gave nary weep, knowing full well he'd his promise keep, and make her his little wife; so this was her song-- "bully boy! bully boy! come right along!" in camp, near tennessee line, _october , _. at five o'clock this morning struck tents at camp, a few miles this side of bowling green, and were on the march for "any place where ordered." i am thus indefinite, because the publication of the "ultimate destination" is contraband news. yesterday we were encamped in a wildly picturesque part of kentucky--_intensely_ rocky--abounding in caverns and subterranean streams; to-day we marched through what has been a delightful country, beautifully rolling land, and highly-cultivated farms; but now, what a sad picture is presented! scarce a fence standing; no evidences of industry; all is desolation, and the demon of devastation seems to have stalked through the entire state with unchecked speed--houses burned, roads neglected, farms destroyed, in fact, nothing but desolation staring you in the face, turn which way you will. early this morning the road was very dusty, but by nine o'clock we had a splendid representation of "bonaparte crossing the alps," minus the alps, and nothing but active marching kept the boys from feeling the extra keenness of old winter's breath. still, the boys trudged merrily on, feeling confident the present march is not to be fruitless in its results, as preceding ones have been. this campaign now presents an active appearance, every thing indicating a head to conceive and the will to do. at three o'clock to-day we passed through the neat-looking town of franklin. it looks very new, most of the houses being substantial bricks. here we met general fry, the man who _slewed_ zollicoffer. the general is of plain, unostentatious appearance, a keen eye, lips compressed, the whole countenance denoting determination and quickness of perception. general steadman challenged by a woman. riding along to-day with general steadman, who, in his province as commander of this brigade, had called at the dwellings on the road-side, to see about the sick soldiers left in the houses, the general knocked at a door, and a voice within yelled "come in." obeying the injunction, he opened the door, and inquired how many men were there, and, also, if they had the requisite attention shown them. after a few minutes' talk with the soldiers, general steadman entered into conversation with mr. reynolds, the owner of the property, who, among other things, asked the general when he thought the war would end; to which the general replied: "not till the rebels lay down their arms, or the secessionists get perfectly tired of having their country devastated." this reply brought in a third party--old mrs. reynolds, a regular spitfire, a she-secessionist of the most rabid, cantankerous species--a tiger-cat in petticoats. this she specimen of the "spirit of the south," of the demon of desolation, had bottled up her venom during the conversation of her son, but could hold in no longer; her _vial_ of wrath "busted," the cork flew out, and the way she came at the general was a caution to the wayfarers over this road, at any rate. "o, yes! and that's all you nasty yankees come here for, is, to destroy our property, invade our sile, _deserlatin'_ our homes. this 'ere whole war is nothing but a yankee speculation, gotten up by the north, so that they can steal niggers and drive us from our homes." "well, madam, as it is not my province to quarrel with a woman, i shall not talk to you. you get excited, and don't know what you're talking about." "o! but i'll talk to _you_ as much as i please. you're all a sneaking set of thieves. you can just take yourself out of my house, you dirty pup. you're drunk." the general very placidly listened to the old termagant, and merely remarked, "it was too cold to go out of the house just then; he guessed he'd warm himself first." "get out, quick," said she, opening the door. "i'll let you know i'm a harney. yes, i'm a grand-daughter of general harney, of revolutionary fame." "well, madam, i have before told you i don't want to quarrel with a woman, but if you have any of the male harneys about the house, who will give me the tenth part of the insolence that i have listened to from the lips of 'one old enough to know better,' i will soon show him of what mettle i'm made." "jeemes, give me your six-shooter," fairly shrieked the old woman; "i'll soon show him. _i'll fight you at ten paces, sir!_" the general laughed at her last remark; seeing which, she became perfectly furious. her sons and daughters begged her to desist from such talk; but the more they cried "don't," the less she "_don'ted_." the family, by this time, had been made aware that it was a real general at whom this insolence of tongue was being hurled, and the tribulation of the son was great. the general, after thoroughly warming himself, quietly walked out with his staff. the son followed to the door, making all sorts of apologies for his mother--that she had been sick, was peevish, and, at times, out of her head. i suggested to him, that i didn't think she would _be so apt to go out of her head if john morgan had come along_, instead of a union man. lucky for that house and its inmates that the th ohio, or any of general steadman's command, were not apprised of the proceedings. the general, in the kindness of his heart, and for the sake of the soldiers quartered there, placed a guard around her house, to prevent her being troubled in the least while the regiments were passing. chapter xviii. going into battle -- letter to the secesh -- general garfield, major-general rosecrans's chief of staff -- general lew wallace -- the siege of cincinnati -- parson brownlow -- colonel charles anderson. going into battle. many wonder if men wear their coats and knapsacks, and carry blankets, when going into battle. that depends upon circumstances. sometimes, when marching, they find themselves in battle when they least expect it. upon such occasions, soldiers drop every thing that is likely to incommode them, and trust to luck for the future. many wonder if regiments fire regularly, in volleys, or whether each man loads and fires as fast as he can. that, also, depends upon circumstances. except when the enemy is near, the regiments fire only at the command of their officers. you hear a drop, drop, drop, as a few of the skirmishers fire, followed by a rattle and a roll, which sounds like the falling of a building, just as you may have heard the brick walls at a fire. sometimes, when a body of the enemy's cavalry are sweeping down upon a regiment to cut it to pieces, the men form in a square, with the officers and musicians in the center. the front rank stand with bayonets charged, while the second rank fires as fast as it can. sometimes they form in four ranks deep--the two front ones kneeling, with their bayonets charged, so that, if the enemy should come upon them, they would run against a picket-fence of bayonets. when they form this way, the other two ranks load and fire as fast as they can. then the roar is terrific, and many a horse and rider go down before the terrible storm of leaden hail. letter to the secesh. my dear rebs: having just learned that vicksburg has gone up--port hudson caved--jackson surrendered--bragg unwell--i thought i would ask you a few questions, for instance: how are you, any how? how does "dying in the last ditch" agree with your general health? how is the constitution down your way? do you think there is any government? how is king kotting? is yancey well and able to hold his oats? has buckner taken louisville yet? i understand tilghman _has quit_ hanging union men. is floyd still _rifling_ cannon, and other small arms? how is the southern heart? are you still able to whip five to one? what is your opinion of the dutch race? when will england and france recognize you? what have you done with the provisional government of kentucky? where is the louisville-bowling-green-nashville-atlanta _courier_ published now? say-- what do you think of yourselves any how? a prompt answer will relieve many anxious hearts. yours, in a horn, a lincoln man. general garfield, major-general rosecrans's chief of staff. the rather brilliant career of the general is worthy of a more extended notice than i have room for. general garfield was born in cuyahoga county, ohio, in . it is said that, in his early love of freedom, he formed a strong attachment for horses, and, to gratify this feeling, he ran away from home and became a driver on the canal. possessing remarkable endurance, and great strength, with no small amount of combative spirit, he soon became a "shoulder-hitter," whipping all opponents who were any way near his own age, and becoming a terror to the quarrelsome rowdies who had previously ruled the ditch. during the hight of his wild career he attended a revival meeting, became converted, found new and wealthy friends, who supplied him with funds to attend college, and, in , he graduated at william's college, massachusetts, with the highest honors. returning to ohio, he at once settled as a clergyman and president of the college at hiram, portage county. he here became very popular as an eloquent divine, as a lecturer before lyceums, and as a profound scholar. the success of his school was without a precedent. two years ago he was elected, by an immense majority, as a member of the state senate. at the first call for troops, he at once entered the field, and rallied round him some of the ablest boys to be found in the state. general garfield is what would be called, by ladies, a really handsome man; has large, blue eyes, an expressive mouth, the outlines of which denote good nature. it was prophesied at once, after his enlistment, that, "let rev. mr. garfield have a chance at the rebels, and he would die in the field, or win a victory." he has, at all times, so far, been on the winning side. humphrey marshall--the barn-door of the southern confederacy--it is said, once beat general garfield, during the early kentucky campaign. marshall was in a trap, and, wanting a little time, called upon garfield with a white flag, who was commanding a brigade, and asked-- "is there no way to settle this without fighting?" "no, sir," said garfield, "none but to fight--_somebody_ has got to get hurt." but marshall didn't see it in that light--retired to consult--and, in the mean time, beat a hasty retreat, and thus beat _garfield_. general lew wallace. general lew wallace was formerly colonel of the th indiana (three-months men,) known as zouaves, who were noted for their daring bravery and dash. when the regiment returned to indiana to be reorganized for the war, general wallace remained quiet a few days, when the trouble in missouri aroused his energies, and he issued a spirited call to his fellow-citizens, which was responded to with the greatest enthusiasm. they flocked to his standard, and were sent to the department of missouri, and thence to paducah, after which he was promoted to a generalship in the division of general c. f. smith. general wallace made himself a legion of friends in his able management of affairs during the memorable siege of cincinnati by the rebels. at a public meeting in columbus, ohio, a _flagg_ was raised, and the following war poem recited: the siege of cincinnati. who saved our city, when the foe swore in his wrath to lay it low, and turned to joy our tears of woe? lew wallace. who taught us how to cock the gun, and aim it straight, and never run, and made us heroes, every one? lew wallace. and told us how to face and wheel, or charge ahead with pointed steel, while cannon thundered, peal on peal? lew wallace. who, when all in bed did sleep, about us watch and ward did keep, like watch-dog round a flock of sheep? lew wallace. who made us all, at his commands, with fainting hearts and blistering hands, dig in the trench with contrabands? lew wallace. who would have led us, warriors plucky, to bloody fields far in kentucky? but wright said, no!--and that was lucky? lew wallace. who sat his prancing steed astraddle, upon a silver-mounted saddle, and saw the enemy skedaddle? lew wallace. and who, "wha hae wi' wallace" fed, on pork and beans and army bread, will e'er forget, when he is dead, lew wallace? parson brownlow. the knoxville _register_ thus laments the release of the parson from the prison of that city: "in brief, brownlow has preached at every church and school-house, made stump-speeches at every crossroad, and knows every man, woman, and child, and their fathers and grandfathers before them, in east tennessee. as a methodist circuit-preacher, a political stump-speaker, a temperance orator, and the editor of a newspaper, he has been equally successful in our division of the state. let him but once reach the confines of kentucky, with his knowledge of the geography and the population of east tennessee, and our section will soon feel the effect of his hard blows. from among his own old partisan and religious sectarian parasites he will find men who will obey him with the fanatical alacrity of those who followed peter the hermit in the first crusade. we repeat again, let us not underrate brownlow." the gallant colonel charles anderson, of the d ohio, in a speech in columbus, said: "the south laugh at the little shams of the hour with which they agitate us; but their purpose is deep and dark. they mean to carry out their system of 'oligarchy' at whatever cost. looking upon slavery as i now do, having seen it from every side, and knowing that the south intend the destruction of this union--were i to stand before the congregated world, i would declare it--i will hew slavery from crest to hip, from hip to heel, and cut my way through white, black, and yellow--nerve, muscles, bone--tribes and races, to the gulf of mexico, to save the union." chapter xix. an episode of the war -- laughable incident -- old mrs. wiggles on picket duty -- general manson -- god bless the soldiers -- negro's pedigree of abraham lincoln -- a middle tennessee preacher -- a laconic speech. an episode of the war. during the early part of the rebellion, when the rebels were in force on munson's hill, mcclellan laid a plan to surround and capture them. this plan was only known to mcclellan, general scott, and colonel scott, a relation of the general, by marriage. as the troops started out at night, for their assault, a signal rocket went up from washington. on their arrival at munson's hill, the bird had flown. mcclellan, being informed of this, immediately called on general scott, finding there colonel scott. he immediately said to the general: "the enemy have been warned of our movements by a rocket; they must have been so warned by one of us. which is the traitor?" no answer was given. mcclellan then called on the president, and mentioned the above facts, stating his conviction that colonel scott was the delinquent, and insisted upon his immediate imprisonment, or his banishment, or his own resignation. then followed general scott's resignation, then his journey to paris, and the self-banishment of colonel scott. a laughable incident. considerable merriment and not a few immodest expressions were elicited at washington, one day, by the action of the patrol, who perambulate the avenue on horseback, a terror to all fast riders. on this occasion they made an onslaught upon the darkeys, who, for some time past, had luxuriated in the uniform of united states volunteers. how the articles of wearing apparel were obtained by the contrabands alluded to we have not inquired. the patrol rode up to each unfortunate "sambo" that made his appearance, and proceeded to divest him of each of the articles enumerated, save where the bare necessity of the case would not admit of such a procedure. caps, vests, and coats rapidly disappeared from "sambo's" body, and were deposited in the street at the feet of the horses. "take off your breeches," we heard escape the lips of one of the patrol. the darkey grinned, then rolled his eyes, gazed at some ladies passing, and then, with an astonished countenance, looked up into the face of the patrol. "massa," he said, "i aint got nuffin else on when i take dese off." this was something of a puzzle to the guard on horseback, and so, not wishing to shock the modesty of the street, "sambo" was allowed to depart with his linen and trowsers. old mrs. wiggles on picket duty. "as for sleeping on a picket," said mrs. wiggles to the three-months volunteer who had dropped in to see her, "i don't see how they can do it without hurting them. sleeping on a post would be a good deal more sensible, unless there's a nail in it, which might be prejudicious for the uniform. every one to his taste, and such things as where a man shall sleep is at his own auction; but nobody can help thinking that either a picket or a post is a very uncomfortable place to sleep on. at any rate, there isn't much room for more than one in a bed." general manson. brigadier-general manson was in camp at glenn's fork, pulaski county, eighteen miles from the scene of the mill spring battle, and, with his brigade, made a forced march that distance, over horrible midwinter roads, arriving just in time to engage honorably in the fight. the gallant th indiana lost seventy-five men. its colonel, commanding the brigade as above, is an officer of great bravery and ability. his conduct at the battle of rich mountain, in western virginia, as colonel of that regiment, and his experience in the war with mexico, constitute a happy preface to his late brilliant achievement. this same th indiana is fully up to the feat of rapid marches. at one time, being detailed to go to greensburg from campbellsville, to repel an anticipated attack of secesh, the march was made by the hoosier boys in three hours, a distance of twelve miles, eight of which was over a dirt-road that had had the advantage of a hard rain the night previous. god bless the soldier. a young and beautiful lady of louisville (minnie myrtle) says; "god bless the soldier!" o, could we but look into the almost bursting heart of the rough-clad, tired soldier, as he plods his way, weary and worn, casting a glance, at intervals, to see one kind smile, to hear one kind and gentle voice to remind him of home, and the "loved ones" left far behind to the mercies of a cold and heartless world--could we but look into that fond heart and see the aching void, we would clasp that hand tenderly, and draw him gently to our homes, a welcome guest. o, did you but think, for a moment, of the sacrifice made by the ones you term "striplings," you would smother the thought before it rises to your pure lips, and your cheeks would burn with the sisterly blush, and your lips would breathe a prayer instead for the wanderer. come with me to yon snow-covered cabin. 'tis a rude hut; but pause ere you enter, and behold the scene: an aged mother, bowed in deep and earnest prayer; and, as she prays for her jewels, a smile, not of sadness, but a settled calmness, gives place to one of extreme agony; her boys--she has but two, the pride of her declining years--both she gave, as did "abraham of old," a living sacrifice upon the "altar of her country." come with me to yonder habitation, not of wealth, but comfort. hark! what shriek was that which rent the air? a widowed mother kneels beside the fatherless babe, and asks god in mercy to let the bitter cup pass from her. another sacrifice to the dark and bloody ground! pause, then, sisters, and give that thought not utterance. your lips should breathe a prayer for the friendless soldier. if you have a brother, then love the soldier for your brother's sake; and if you have none, the honest-hearted soldier will be a brother and protector. but, o, for the love of god, speak kindly to the soldier. a negro's pedigree of abraham lincoln. a full-blooded african, who was taken prisoner on the steamer lewis, on which he is now employed as a cook, in the service of the united states, was encountered one evening by the surgeon of one of the naval ships, who asked him his name. "nathaniel," replied the negro. "any other name?" said the doctor; to which sambo replied: "why, de last name is always de massa's name--massa johnson." "what do the people say this war is about?" asked the doctor. nat replied: "why, sir, dey say that some man, called linkum, is going to kill all de women an' de children, an' drive de massa away; and all de colored folks will be sold to cuba." nathaniel then proceeded to give some new and highly interesting particulars respecting the genealogy of the family of the chief magistrate of the united states. "dey say his wife was a black woman, and dat his fadder and mudder come from ireland," said he, speaking with emphasis. the doctor indignantly refuted the aspersions cast upon the family of the president, and disabused the mind of the negro of the false impressions which he had received from the secessionists of the place. one morning i accosted a contraband named dick, who was employed in the fort. "have you any other name?" said i. "dey calls me dick, de major," was his answer. in reply to interrogatories, he gave an account of his life. "i was born in virginny," said he, holding on the rim of a slouchy felt hat, and raising it at every inquiry. "massa sold me, fore i was old 'nuff to know my mudder, to a preacher man in florida. bimeby massa die, and missus, she had a musical turn o' mind, and swapped me off for a fiddler; but de people all got de laf on de ole 'oman, for in two or free months the old fiddler died, and she lost us both," and the darkey laughed vehemently. a middle tennessee preacher. a secesh preacher, who was elected to a captaincy in the home-guards at chattanooga, hearing they were likely to be called out, sent in the following note: "dear curnel i beg to resind my commishen. being a disciple of krist i can not take up the sord." a laconic speech. an amusing sword presentation took place one day in camp. the th pennsylvania presented a sword to their colonel, william sirwell. captain gillespie spoke as follows: "here _we_ are, and here _it_ is. this is a bully sword, and comes from bully boys; take it, and use it in a bully manner." colonel sirwell replied: "captain, that was a bully speech. let's all take a bully drink." chapter xx. union men scarce -- how they are dreaded -- incidents -- the wealthy secessionists and poor union widows -- the john morgans of rebellion -- a contraband's explanation of the mystery -- accident at the south tunnel -- impudence of the rebels -- a pathetic appeal, etc. camp near gallatin, tenn., _november , _. a trip from the tunnel to gallatin, and back, is a good day's sport, for it behooves all to be on the alert, to avoid being captured by citizen guerrillas. a number of this brigade have already been "gobbled up," while out hunting luxuries at farm-houses. this became so frequent that the general in command issued an order prohibiting the boys from leaving camp without special permission. folks at home have frequently heard of the strong union sentiment pervading tennessee, but, "cuss me" if i haven't hunted in vain for the article during the past two weeks, and, with no exception whatever, save among the laboring class, have i found an out-and-out union man. they answer with a "double meaning," when questioned, and are _professed_ union men while the army is here, and strong secessionists when the rebel army can protect them. the fact is, all the true union men have been driven by the merciless foe into the woods--at any rate from their homes. acts of the most fiendish barbarity have been committed, and the aiders and abettors are within a few miles of this camp, unmolested, enjoying the comforts of a home, while the true patriot, driven from his family to the hills of his native state, is "unsheltered by night, and unrested by day; the heath for his barracks--revenge for his pay." an incident occurred in general fry's division a few days since. two of the d minnesota regiment, john a. smith and mr. mervis, both of st. paul, went out, by permission of their captain, in search of butter and eggs. they took two good horses with them, and although a week has passed, neither men nor horses have returned. the sequel proves that these men were captured by armed residents of this neighborhood, as yesterday a company were sent out for forage, and with them a number of servants were sent for eatables. arriving at the house of 'squire mcmurray, a well-known secessionist, who has two sons in the rebel army, the boys made inquiries of the servants in regard to their missing comrades, and found out they had been taken by a party of guerrillas from near this very house. the old scoundrel mcmurray openly exulted over the fact, and thought it very comical to have the "yankees" jerked up once in awhile. "it will teach them," said he, "to stay at home." the boys wanted to purchase some chickens and turkeys, but he refused to sell to "yanks," swearing his turkeys were not fattened for "down-easters." mrs. mcmurray hurriedly came out, and ordered all her black servants in the house, as she said she didn't want her niggers contaminated with "sich white trash." about two hours after this conversation the brigade teams _drove up_, and soon _drove off_ with ten loads of corn and oats, amounting to sixty dollars. 'squire mcmurray refused to receive a voucher offered by the quarter-master, and said they were of no account to him--it was only a trick of the abolition government to rob the farmers; they had already sixty wagon-loads, and he guessed he could spare a few more. this man has a splendid farm, finely stocked with valuable imported cashmere sheep, some of them worth from four to five hundred dollars apiece. this man is living in luxury, and upon ground that should be occupied by the poor and devoted families of those who, by his connivance, have been driven forth upon the world. yet the great shield of the law--the law he has so basely violated, the constitution he has, and yet does, openly defy--is made his safeguard. is it at all astonishing our men weary of this favoritism, this premium upon traitors? let me tell your readers of what i was an eye-witness, a few evenings ago. you that have comfortable homes and warm firesides, with no war at your doors, can have but a faint idea of the horrors that are broadcast over this once happy country. a poor woman came to the commanding general of this brigade and begged for protection. she lived eight miles from this camp, and the rebels had threatened to burn her barn and house. now, what do you think was this woman's offense? her husband had joined the union army at nashville last august, and when, a few days afterward, he returned to arrange his family affairs, the "guerillas" found out his return, and five of the incarnate fiends walked into his house, and while he was seated at the table, partaking of his breakfast, these men shot him--there, in the presence of his wife and six children, these fiends, that our worthy president deliberately "commutes," murdered their only protector; and now, not satisfied with their former atrocity, they return to drive the poor widow and her children from the desolate little homestead! o! if there is one hell deeper than another, please, god, send these wretches, who would persecute a poor woman thus, to it! the general, upon hearing the story of her troubles, sent out two companies of the d minnesota regiment to guard and bring into camp her children, and what few chattels were left. company a, under captain barnes, and company g, under captain keifer, were assigned to perform this act of deserved charity. it was ten o'clock at night, cold and windy, the rain penetrating to the very bones, and dark as egypt, when the two companies returned with mrs. crane and her six children. one rickety wagon, a mangy old horse, a cow, some bedding, and a few cooking utensils, were the trophies of the trip. these things told a tale of poverty, but they were all the poor widow of the murdered soldier possessed. the children were all barefooted, and most scantily attired; the little ones shivered with the cold, and the older ones wrapped their tattered garments closer as the wind played rudely with them. a little four-year-old boy eyed the soldiers with a side glance, and clung to his mother, as she held her infant to her breast. if i were to decide what to do in such a case, i would quickly turn out mr. 'squire mcmurray, and let mrs. crane and her little ones possess the well-stocked farm. to-day the general is endeavoring to get transportation to indiana for this family, at the expense of the government. an old negro resident near this camp, in conversation, a few days since, said to me: "look-a-heah! all you white folks, when any debbeltry is done, allers lay it to massa john morgan." "well," said i, "don't he do a large share of it?" "yes, he does do a heap; but, lor bress you, massa, gib de _debble_ his due; he don't do de half what de white folks say. you see dat tunnel, don't you?" said he, rolling the white of his eyes to the obliteration of all sight of the pupil. "yes, i see it," i replied. "well, sah! massa morgan had no more to do wid dat tunnel dan you do yourself. morgan _warnt_ no way nigh dis place when dat was done; de folks what lib all round here was de _morganses_ what do dat work; why, dey done toted rails for _free_ days, and packed 'em in dat tunnel, and we darkeys had to help 'em, and den dey set 'em on fire, and sich a cracklin' as you nebber heard, and in less dan a week ebbery body all over de country was a-tellin' about how as _john morgan burnt de tunnel_." impudence of the rebels. "here, sir, i've got an order for you," said an acknowledged well-known rebel citizen, as he entered the head-quarters of the general commanding the third brigade of the first division of the ohio. from the pompous manner of the tennesseean, the general didn't know, for a moment, but that he was about being ordered under arrest by the citizen. the general merely replied in his usual style: "the hell you have, sir! who is it from?" "from general fry, sir." "ah! let me see it." the order was produced. it requested the general not to allow too much of any one man's stock of corn to be taken. the general read the _request_, and instantly inquired of the tennesseean: "are you a union man?" and as instantly received the reply of "no, sir, i am not." "then, g----d d----n you, sir, how dare you have the impudence to come within my lines?" the tennesseean, seeing he had a man of the pure grit to deal with, shook slightly in his boots, and did not put on so much "style," and was about to explain something, when the general interrupted him with a quick order to leave forthwith, or he would have a dozen bayonets in his rear "d----n quick." "but, general, how shall i get out of camp? won't you _please_ give me a pass?" "me give a pass to a rebel! no, sir. how did you get within my lines?" "why, sir, i just walked straight in." "well, sir, you can just walk straight out, and if ever i see you inside my lines again, i'll have you sent where you belong; and, after this, when you have any 'order' for me, if it is from general halleck, 'or any other man,' don't you dare to bring it, but _send_ it in to me, or you will rue the day." a pathetic appeal. i found the following "pathetic" appeal from the women of new orleans. it was laid carefully by, with a lock of hair, bearing the inscription, "to mary looker, from her cousin jane. please send this appeal to all our male friends around gallatin." "an appeal from the women of new orleans. "to every soldier: "we turn to you in mute agony! behold our wrongs, fathers! husbands! brothers! sons! we know these bitter, burning wrongs will be fully avenged. never did southern women appeal in vain for protection from insult! but, for the sakes of our sisters throughout the south, with tears we implore you not to surrender your cities, 'in consideration of the defenseless women and children.' do not leave your women to the merciless foe! would it not have been better for new orleans to have been laid in ruins, and we buried beneath the mass, than subjected to these untold sufferings? is life so priceless a boon that, for the preservation of it, no sacrifice is too great? ah, no! ah, no! rather let us die with you! o, our fathers! rather, like virginius, plunge your own swords into our breasts, saying, 'this is all we can give our daughters.' "the daughters of the south. "new orleans, _may , _." [illustration: old stonnicker drummed out of camp. see page .] chapter xxi. a friendly visit for corn into an egyptian country -- ohio regiments -- "corn or blood" -- "fanny battles" -- the constitution busted in several places -- edicts against dinner horns, by colonel brownlow's cavalry -- a signal station burned -- two rebel aids captured. camp at triune, tennessee, _april , _. last thursday was a "gay day" for a portion of the third division. general schofield, thinking it requisite to lay in a good supply of provender, ordered out one hundred and fifty wagons, to go on an errand of mercy to our benighted "brethren of the south," and _borrow_ of them some corn, oats, and fodder, for federal horses. well, as it is a recognized breach of etiquette to send such a train without escort, therefore, the general sent a retinue, consisting of the th ohio, under colonel long; th ohio, colonel josephs; th ohio, colonel durbin ward; st ohio, colonel phelps; also, the th indiana, colonel shyrock; and the d minnesota, under colonel george; together with two pieces belonging to the th regular battery, under lieutenants rodney and stevenson. we went forward with the determination of obtaining food--"peacefully, if we could; forcibly, if we must;" but we had to use the rebel women's motto, lately made public in richmond, "food or blood." our new commander accompanied the expedition. we started, after partaking of an early breakfast, and crossed harpeth river about nine o'clock. i had forgotten to mention that the st east tennessee cavalry were along: the rebels haven't forgotten it, however, as they were ordered to the front, and, as i am fond of seeing them "go in," i was appointed chief aid and bottle-holder to the command under majors burkhardt and tracy, and had a splendid opportunity of seeing the "secession elephant." after passing through the town of college grove, we commenced feeling our way carefully, as we wished to make our visit a sort of "surprise party" to the "brethren in arms;" as a matter of course, this was only the "by-play," for while the tennessee boys were unloading their muskets, the teamsters were loading corn and oats from secesh cribs. they are excellent _cribbage_-players by this time. as our cavalry advanced, the rebel cavalry fell back, declining to hold any communication. major tracy and "ye correspondent" went off the main road, in pursuit of knowledge, and came upon half a dozen negroes working in a field. the major introduced "ye innocent lamb" as general morgan, and demanded of the darkeys if any d----d yankees had been about there lately. the darkeys replied very evasively; would not say a word that would injure the cause of the union forces; denied all knowledge of them or their whereabouts. there were some two or three hundred fat sheep on the farm, and a good lot of cattle. i suggested the propriety of driving them within our lines, but was astonished when the major told me it was "against orders" to do so. all the males of the family who owned the negroes and _other cattle_ were in the rebel army--the master and two sons. while talking there, we heard firing, and so started for the fun, and soon came upon some of the "gentry," yclept "butternuts." the major had about twelve men in the lead; a few others, with the colors, remaining a quarter of a mile to the rear--the _regiment_ a mile in rear of the advance. when we arrived at what is known as tippets's farm, the rebels, who were sheltered by wilson's house, poured a volley down the road, and without inquiring the cause of such unkind treatment, on their part, this "individual" _retired_ some twenty yards. i have before heard the sound of the enfield-rifle ball, and have heard many persons say, 'tis "quite musical;" but "_i can't see it_." the boys advanced in the most daring manner on the open road, while the _valiant_ and "_noble chivalry_" of alabama kept continually retreating. in order to obtain a better view of the fight, and watch the maneuvers of the combatants, i went upon the side-hill of an open field to the left of the road, and while quietly looking on, three rebs came out from behind wilson's house, and, without as much as saying, "by your leave," they blazed away at me. isn't it a shame that these fellows should act so? why, they "_busted_ the constitution all to the devil," in firing at _me_. the major kindly rode up and told me, in his usual bland and benign style, that i was a d----n fool; that "them fellers was a-shootin' at me." i merely replied that i guessed he was mistaken, as i saw the bullets _plowing_ the field some twenty yards in front of me. while this conversation was going on between the major and myself, the rebels reloaded their guns and gave us another trial of their skill, and settled the dispute at once, as i had asseverated; their bullets would not reach that distance. the major was right, for a little while the nastiest shriek i ever heard came from that volley. the major's horse didn't like it much, and _cavorted_ like the "fiery, untamed steed" ridden by the fair "adah isaacs." then we changed our base: we went toward the chaps, and, when they would get ready to fire, put spurs to our horses and ran from them. this so delighted the "rebs," that we gratified them with two or three trials, and every time we ran, they shouted and said _bad words_. after placing five men in ambush, we retired, as if leaving the field, and as the traitors were advancing directly into the trap of three hours' hard setting, the wilson family came to the door and told them to go back, as the "yankees" were in the orchard there by tippets's house. the men were then within two hundred yards of the ambush, and, upon being so informed, hastily wheeled their horses and left on a double-quick. this act on the part of a citizen rebel so exasperated the men that wilson was given one hour to get out of the house with his furniture, as all houses used for military purposes, signal stations, etc., would meet with destruction. while the house was burning, the women boasted they had warned them, and would do it again. one virago-looking secesh asseverated, in a voice of unearthly screechiness, that they had lots of "_southern friends_, and _millions of money_." the citizens along the road will learn a lesson by this occurrence. it will teach them not to make signal stations of their houses. blowing horns unconstitutional. another source of annoyance to our men was the frequent blasts upon dinner-horns. these "quiet, peaceful" citizens, as our men advanced, gave the enemy information by this _blasted_ method. upon being questioned as to the "cause why" they did so much blowing, they replied, "they were calling in the boys from the field, for fear they would get shot;" and mrs. tippets said, "'t was near dinner-time." one of the men said he would like something to eat, and went in the house, but no sign of dinner preparation could be seen. major tracy took the horn from mrs. tippets, at which the lady (?) protested most violently; said there "was no reason in that man," and asked me, "if it wasn't agin the constitution for that feller to take that horn." i told her, in a _pacific manner_, that that was nothing; tracy took from ten to fifteen horns a day. she didn't see the joke, and i became disgusted with her want of penetration, and left. mr. wilson and a man who was in his employ were brought into camp as prisoners. mr. wilson protested he didn't tell the states-rights men any thing, and held that he "couldn't hender the women talkin'." about four o'clock we commenced a retrograde movement for the "old camp," and soon caught up with the big train, filled with all the delicacies of the season, for the brute portion of our division. the miss fanny battles who is now so sweetly sojourning in the seminary at columbus, ohio, under the guardianship of "uncle samuel," was a resident of this county. our troops were encamped upon the battles farm for a month. miss battles was very industrious in circulating about the country. when she was taken, she had her _drawers_ stuffed with letters, and was trying to steal through our picket-lines. the _secretary_ of state, or those connected with the _bureaus_, will, we hope, see that there are no more such _drawers_ allowed within the lines. the difference. at the house of a mr. bolerjack are the wounded men belonging to the st tennessee cavalry. i called there yesterday, and, in conversation with mr. b., he expressed surprise at what he termed the difference between our wounded and the rebel wounded. he said that he had a house full of secesh at one time, but that they kept moaning and groaning all night and day, and kept his family busy, while our men have never muttered, but, on the contrary, are always cheerful, and only anxious to get back in their saddles. chapter xxii. reward for a master -- turning the tables -- dan boss and his adventure -- major pic russell -- a visit to the outposts with general jeff c. davis -- rebel witticisms -- hight igo, ye eccentric quarter-master -- fling out to the breeze, boys. reward for a master--turning the tables. the darkeys of secession masters fairly flocked into camp on many occasions. when near lebanon, ky., a bright darkey, very witty, kept the camp alive with his humor. during the day some kentuckians had posted up in camp an advertisement: "one hundred dollars reward. ran away from the subscriber, my man bob," etc. jim duncan, the darkey i have referred to, soon after issued the following, and posted it beside the other: fifty cents reward.--ran away from dis chile, an' leff him all alone to take care of his-seff, after i done worked twenty-six years for him faithfully, my massa, "bill duncan." massa bill is supposed to have gone off wid de secesh _for to hunt for his rights_; and i 'spect he done got lost. any pusson 'turnin' him to dis chile, so dat he can take keer ob me, (as he allers said niggers couldn't take keer demselves,) will be much oblige to dis chile. n. b.--pussons huntin' for him will please look in all de "lass ditches," as i offen heern him tellin' about dyin' dar. 'specfull' submitted, jim. the poster created a great deal of merriment in camp, while the residents thought jim a very sassy nigger. dan boss and his adventure. all railroad men know dan boss, of the pittsburg, fort wayne, and chicago railroad. dan was in louisville, on government business, during the raid, with a lot of cars. dan thought he would ride out a few miles on the bardstown pike one fine afternoon, with a friend, and for this purpose hired a fine horse and buggy. dan went out gaily, and in fine spirits, jokingly observing he was about to reconnoiter. only ten miles from the city dan was captured. the rebels demanded a surrender of all his personal effects, which consisted of a rare lot of old passes over all the railroads in the united states, several "bottles," etc. dan told them he was all right on the goose, and they told him to turn round and go back; upon which dan was delighted, thinking he had deceived them, when he was accosted by several more of the gang, who wanted to try the speed of dan's horse. dan begged for the horse; said it wasn't his, to which the rebs replied, "well! as it is not '_yourn_,' why, we'll take care of it," and then drove off, leaving dan and his friend to foot it home. major pic russell says that, on the march to louisville from huntsville, ala., he met hundreds of stragglers from bragg's army. one tall specimen of secesh, going back to his southern home, the major halted. "hallo!" said the major, "where are you going?" the fellow looked at the major very intently, and replied, "home, sir." "where do you live?" inquired russell. "lewis county, alabama!" "why," said the major, "you don't think you will ever be able to walk all that distance, do you?" "well, i do," was his response. "i tell you, major, i wouldn't take _five hundred dollars for my chance_." the distance to his home was over seven hundred miles, through kentucky, tennessee, and northern alabama. the major told me it was a common sight to see them trudging along, singing merrily, no doubt thinking of "_home, sweet home_." a visit to the outposts with gen. jeff c. davis. general davis i found an active, intelligent gentleman, with an eye denoting great determination, and very pleasing in his conversational powers; always on the alert, leaving nothing to subordinates that he could do himself. the general's division commanded the shelbyville pike. i spent two nights with colonel heg, who had a brigade occupying the most dangerous position. the th illinois and th kansas were in his brigade. colonel heg's regiment is mostly composed of norwegians, or scandinavians. they are generally from, and are known as the th wisconsin; are a splendid body of well-disciplined men, and all speak our language fluently. i heard an amusing anecdote of one of their captains, who, a short time since, took a lot of rebel prisoners. as this norwegian captain had them drawn up in line, he said to them, in broken english, and in accent very like the german: "say, you fellers, you putternuts, i vant you all to schwear a leetle. it do you goot to schwear mit de constitution. i schwear him tree year ago; now you schwear him. now, recollect, you schwear him goot; no d----n nonsense. you schwear him, and keep him down, and not _puke him up again_!" the th illinois are close at hand, also the th kansas. these boys are in view of the rebels every day. there is in the th illinois regiment a very clever officer who has an intolerably red nose. he says he can't "help it;" he strives to temper it, but it is no go. a friend inquired of him, how much it cost to color it out here; his reply was, "$ . a canteen." the "rebs" played quite a trick upon the chaplain of the th illinois. after they received his papers, they refused to send any in return. this would have been termed a nasty _yankee trick_, had any of our boys committed such a breach of faith with them. but such is southern _honor_. rebel witticisms. the following is copied from the chattanooga _rebel_: if it is true that general marmaduke hung the regiment of armed negroes at helena, he certainly made a center shot at old abe's emancipation-insurrection scheme; for he "knocked the _black_ out" every time he hung a darkey. we do not know for certain that the price of negroes is going up; but there must have been a slight _advance_ upon a regiment of them at helena, the other day, if the wires were correct. grant's permitting his dead soldiers to decay and create a stench around vicksburg presents the worst feature of the yankee _die-nasty_ we have yet had to chronicle. richmond papers announce that hooker has again, "changed his base." he took it out of the saddle awhile ago, to go and tell old abe "how the thing was did." the soil of the south is becoming so fertilized with. yankee bodies, that we will be able to raise nothing but wooden nutmegs after the war. the "typos" of the _rebel_ suggest the necessity of the immediate return of vallandigham, and our finishing up the yankee raid on vicksburg. both exciting subjects cause too heavy a "run" on the capital "v" box. the yankee officers who lead armed negroes against the southern people will have "a _high_ old time," for our boys will certainly hang them "as high as haman." the chicago _tribune_ says: "there are already twenty thousand colored troops in the federal army." does he mean the _blue-bellied_ ones, or the black ones? "_breakers ahead" for yankee merchantmen!_ the alabama and florida! if they are not breakers to the ships, they will soon break all the ship-owners. the yankee corpses lying around vicksburg are becoming fetid as fast as the living ones are becoming _de_-feated. hight igo, ye eccentric quarter-master. everybody in the third division of crittenden's corps knows the quarter-master of the th indiana, hight igo; in fact, his fame is not confined to general van cleve's division. no, sir! not by any means! his eccentricities are the theme of conversation from triune to stone river, from "kripple kreek" to nashville. his first introduction to the favorable notice of high military authority occurred at louisville. shortly after the gallant th came into service, he stopped general wood one day in the streets of louisville, to inquire upon the subject of "yarn socks." the general informed him he never transacted business on the street, and suggested the propriety of calling at head-quarters. a short time after this the general met igo on the street, and having heard something queer about igo's forage account, requested information in regard thereto. igo coolly remarked: "general, i never transact business on the street. you will please call at my quarters, when i shall be happy to afford you an insight into my affairs." the next day a couple of the general's staff-officers called upon the incorrigible igo, to investigate matters, and they investigated "in a horn." igo remarked that, if they had waited until next morning to make their report, things would have worked; but they foolishly went into the presence of the general immediately upon their arrival; and when they reported "quar-hic-termaster igo's busi-ness all-hic-sound," the general "couldn't see it," and dispatched another officer, who could resist the blandishments of whisky-punch long enough to conduct the investigation. the result of this move was a rather tart request--from the quarter-master-general's department--for lieutenant igo to send all the papers belonging to his department to washington, for adjustment; a request which our friend complied with by heading up vouchers, receipts, requisitions, etc., in an ammunition-keg, with a letter stating that, inasmuch as the department had a great many more clerks at its command than he had, and were probably better acquainted with the "biz" of making out quarterly reports or returns, they might be able to understand how things stood between him and the government; confessing, at the same time, that he "couldn't make head or tail out of the blasted figures." in due course of mail igo received a communication from the department, informing him that if he did not immediately send in his report for the quarter ending on the st of october, he would find himself in washington, under arrest. to this igo answered thus: sir--yours of -- date received. contents noted. i have long been desirous of visiting the city of "magnificent distances," but have not hitherto been able to realize sufficient funds at any one time to gratify that desire; i therefore gratefully avail myself of your obliging offer to defray the expenses of my journey, and most respectfully suggest the propriety of your "going on with your rat-killing." i am, sir, your obedient servant, martin igo, lieutenant and a. a. q. m., th ind. vols. this closed igo's official correspondence with the department at washington. he had the "_good luck_" to be captured by morgan last fall, and, of course, morgan destroyed all his papers. that struck a balance for him for the quarter ending last october. he had another stroke of good fortune at stone river, on the st of january, in having a wagon captured. of course, all his papers were in that identical wagon. he was very indignant that a battle did not take place about the last of march, as that would have saved him a heap of trouble. do not think, however, that our quarter-master has done any thing that will not bear investigation, for a more honest or conscientious man is not to be found in the quarter-master's department; but igo has a holy horror of vouchers and invoices, and receipts all in triplicate; and small blame to him for it. fling out to the breeze, boys! dedicated to the second brigade, second division, m'cook's corps. by w. a. ogden. fling out to the breeze, boys, that old starry flag-- let it float as in days famed in story; for millions of stout hearts and bayonets wait, to clear its old pathway to glory. when the first wail of war that was heard on our shore re-echoed with fierce promulgation, columbia's brave sons then rallied and fought, in defense of our glorious nation. from east, west, north, and south, their numbers did pour, alike seemed their courage and daring; while boldly they stood, as the fierce battle raged, each nobly the proud contest sharing. those patriots have passed-- they now sleep 'neath the sod; but _their_ flag shall be _our_ flag forever! we'll boldly march forward, and strike to the earth the fiends who it from us would sever. hark! hark! from the south comes a sound, deep and shrill-- 'tis the sound of the cannon's deep rattle! up! forward! brave boys, and beat back with a will the foe from the red field of battle. we'll rally and rally, and rally again, to our standard now pennoned and flying; and we swear, 'neath its bright folds of crimson and gold, to _own_ it, though living or dying. then fling to the breeze, boys, that dear, blood-bought flag-- it must float as in days famed in story; for millions of _stout hearts_ and _bayonets_ wait, to clear its old pathway to glory. chapter xxiii. defense of the conduct of the german regiments at hartsville -- to the memory of captain w. y. gholson -- colonel toland vs. contraband whisky. camp near gallatin, tenn., _december , _. after a careful investigation of the facts relative to the late fight at hartsville, having visited the battle-field, and having conversed with numerous officers and privates who were wounded in that engagement, i am satisfied that gross injustice has been done the noble raw recruits of the th and th ohio regiments. i am not biased in the least on account of their being cincinnati men, although i confess to a city pride; and i feel the greatest satisfaction in telling you that those regiments acted in the most heroic manner. that a few acted cowardly and shirked their duty, there is no doubt; but that the entire regiments should bear the blame is very hard. i notice the louisville _journal_ is particularly severe on the men and officers; and, also, that w. d. b. "pitches in," and terms them "scott's cowardly brigade." w. d. b. goes into _minutiæ_ in regard to scott, who, he says, commanded. he is entirely mistaken. scott, finding the place a dangerous one, requested, a week previously, to be allowed to rejoin his regiment, and his request was granted. the scott who had command, and was relieved, belonged to turchin's old regiment, and was their lieutenant-colonel. scott told colonel moore of the dangers of the post, and colonel moore, feeling his weakness, protested against being left there. the fault lies beyond these new regiments. why were three regiments of raw recruits placed in such a dangerous position, with but two guns and a handful of cavalry? as soon as the fight began, a courier was sent to castilian springs, a distance of only five miles, for reinforcements. the brigade was sent, but arrived too late. instead of marching by column, on a double-quick, these men were deployed as skirmishers. the th and th ohio and th illinois held the ground for full two hours, until completely surrounded and driven to the brink of the river, where another large force of rebels awaited them. yet these undisciplined men are called cowards--these men, who bravely held the ground, against odds of three to one, against the disciplined rebels belonging to the d and th kentucky, and under the immediate command of morgan! yet these men are to bear the disgrace and receive the anathemas of the press, in order to shield some imbecile officer! i paid a visit to the hospital to-day, and i tell you it was a pitiable sight to see a large room crowded with the gallant wounded. they told me they didn't care for the wounds, but to be so maligned was more than they could bear. one noble fellow read the remarks of the louisville _journal_, and the big tears rolled down his manly cheek, as he made the remark to me, "good god! _is that all the thanks we get for fighting as we did?_" newspapers may publish what they please, but here is a fact that speaks loud in praise of the daring ohio boys, and proves that the th and th fought well: it is, that company g, of the th, lost every commissioned officer, two sergeants, one corporal, and twelve privates. colonel moore, lieutenant-colonel hapeman, and major wiedman refused to be paroled. lieutenant gessert, of the th, tells me he was present, a week since, when a colored boy came to lieutenant szabo, of the th, who was on picket. the boy stated that he overheard morgan tell his master he was laying a plan to "capture them d----d cincinnati dutch within three days." the boy was sent to head-quarters, where he repeated his story, but no notice was taken of it. to-day, dr. dyer, surgeon of the th illinois, who went over the field directly after the fight, and assisted in dressing the wounds of our men, handed me a green seal ring belonging to adjutant gholson. the rebels had stripped the body of boots, coat and hat, and, fearing this ring would be taken, the doctor placed it in his pocket. the doctor says a rebel captain took a fancy to his (the doctor's) hat, and insisted upon buying it--swore he would shoot him if he didn't sell it; and told him he went in for raising the black flag on the d----d yankees. the doctor quietly went on with his work, attending to the wounded, while the rebel captain was robbing the dead. i telegraphed you in regard to adjutant gholson's death. he died heroically leading his command. his praise is upon every tongue. i will send his body home on to-day's train. alf. the lines following are a touching tribute to the memory of one of the noblest young men sacrificed in the war. captain gholson was a brave, earnest, talented, honorable man, in whose death his many friends feel a sorrowing pride: to the memory of captain w. y. gholson. 'neath western skies i'm dreaming, this drear december morn, of joys forever vanished, of friendships rudely torn; of the friend so lately taken from the heartless world away; of the well-beloved warrior now sleeping 'neath the clay. the links of youthful friendship, unsullied kept through years, grim death hath rudely shattered-- ay, dimmed by memory's tears. thou wilt be missed sincerely by the well-remembered band, who've proved, through endless changes, united heart and hand. thy mother's pain and anguish through life will never cease; the grief she's now enduring no earthly power can ease. a father mourns the idol which god hath taken home, hath borne to sunnier regions, where guardian spirits roam. and for the grieving sister, whose joyous days are o'er, there cometh gleams of sunshine from yonder golden shore. from the throne of god eternal, where the angel roameth free, _he_ speaketh words of music to parents dear, and thee. to friends and weeping kindred he speaketh words of cheer: "be ye prepared to meet me, prepared to meet me here." lizzie a. f. colonel toland vs. contraband whisky. "volunteer" told me a good story of one of the gallant th ohio and colonel toland. during their stay at barboursville, the colonel noticed, one day, an extraordinary number of intoxicated soldiers in camp. where they obtained their whisky was a mystery to the command. the orders were very strict in regard to its prohibition. after considerable effort, the colonel succeeded in finding out the guilty party. the culprit had a little log hut on the banks of the guyandotte river, and was dealing it out with a profuseness entirely unwarranted. the colonel sent his orderly for corporal minshall, of company g. on his arrival, the colonel said: "corporal, you will take ten men, sir, and go to the whisky-cabin on the banks of the guyandotte, seize all the whisky you find, and pour it out." "all right," said the corporal; "your order will be obeyed forthwith." the corporal got his men together, and ordered them to string all the canteens they could find around their necks. on arriving at the cabin, they seized upon and "poured out" the whisky. after a thorough loading-up, the corporal returned and reported at head-quarters. "you poured it out, did you?" inquired the colonel. "yes, sir," categorically replied the corporal. the colonel noticed a canteen about the corporal's neck, and thought he smelled something, and, looking him steadily in the face, repeated: "you poured it out, sir, did you?" "yes, sir," emphatically replied the corporal. "and where did you pour it, sir?" "in our canteens, colonel," he replied. for a moment his eyes flashed with anger; but, on second thought, the joke struck him as being too good, and the pleasant smile so characteristic of the colonel wreathed his face in a moment. "well, corporal," continued he, "i suppose that is some of the 'poured-out' in your canteen, eh?" "yes, sir," he replied, with the utmost _sang froid_, and, at the same time, gracefully disengaging the strap from his neck, said, "won't you try some, colonel?" "i don't care if i do," said the colonel; whereupon he imbibed, saying, as he lowered the vessel, "not a bad article--not a bad article; but, corporal, next time i send you to pour out whisky i will tell you _where_ to pour it." chapter xxiv. war and romance -- colonel fred jones -- hanging in the army -- general a. j. smith vs. dirty guns. war and romance. during the late movement against vicksburg the national transports were fired upon by a rebel battery at skipwith landing, not many miles from the mouth of the yazoo. no sooner was the outrage reported at head-quarters than the admiral sent an expedition to remove the battery and destroy the place. the work of destruction was effectually done; not a structure which could shelter a rebel head was left standing in the region for several miles around. among other habitations destroyed was that of a mrs. harris, a widow lady, young, comely, and possessed of external attractions in the shape of a hundred and fifty "negroes," which she had contrived to save from the present operation of "the decree," by sending them up the yazoo river. but mrs. harris was a rebel--intense, red-hot in her advocacy of southern rights and her denunciation of northern wrongs. although she had not taken up arms against the government, she was none the less subject to the indiscriminating swoop of the proclamation; her niggers, according to that document, were free, and if the confederacy failed, she could only get pay for them by establishing her loyalty in a court of justice. her loyalty to the yankee nation?--not she! she was spunky as a widow of thirty can be. she would see old abe, and every other yankee, in the happy land of canaan before she would acknowledge allegiance to the washington government. nevertheless, being all she possessed of this world's valuables, she would like to save those niggers. "nothing easier," suggested captain edward w. sutherland, of the united states steam-ram queen of the west, who, attracted by her snapping black eyes, engaged in a friendly conversation with the lady after burning her house down. "nothing easier in the world, madam." "how so, captain? you don't imagine i will take that odious oath, do you? i assure you i would not do it for every nigger in the south." "but you need not take that oath, madam--at least not _the_ oath." "i do not understand you, captain," said the widow, thoughtfully. "i said you need not take the oath of allegiance; you can establish your loyalty without it--at least," with a respectful bow, "i can establish it for you." "indeed! how would you do it, captain?" "simply enough. i am in the government service; i command one of the boats of the western navy--technically denominated a ram, madam--down here in the river. of course, my loyalty is unimpeached, and, madam, i assure you it is unimpeachable. now, if i could only say to the government, those niggers are mine"---- the captain waited a moment, to see what effect his speech was producing. "well!" said the widow, impatiently tapping with her well-shaped foot one of the smoking timbers of her late domicile. "in short, my dear madam, you can save the niggers, save your conscientious scruples, and save me from a future life of misery, by becoming my wife!" the captain looked about wildly, as if he expected a sudden attack from guerrillas. the widow tapped the smoldering timber more violently for a few minutes, and then, turning her bright eyes full upon the captain, said: "i'll do it!" the next arrival at cairo from vicksburg brought the intelligence that captain sutherland, of the ram queen of the west, was married, a few days since, on board the gunboat tylor, to mrs. harris, of skipwith landing. several officers of the army and navy were present to witness the ceremony, which was performed by a methodist clergyman, and admiral porter gave away the blushing bride. she is represented to be a woman of indomitable pluck, and, for the present, shares the life of her husband, on the ram queen of the west. colonel fred jones. i was with him on his last trip from cincinnati to louisville, and from thence to the army. little did i think it was the last meeting. noble fred! he has left a name that will never be erased from honor's scroll. a writer in the cincinnati _commercial_, who knew him from boyhood up, says: "he is a native of this city, and favorably known as one of our most brilliant young men. "colonel jones was a graduate of woodward high school, of this city, receiving his diploma, with the highest honor of his class, in . he then entered the law-office of rufus king, esq. as a student, and evinced, in the pursuit of a legal education, a remarkable zeal and talent. two years ago he was elected prosecuting-attorney of the police court, which office he held at the breaking out of the war, in . it was but a few days after the first call for troops, when he threw his business into the hands of a brother lawyer, and became a soldier. he was first an adjutant to general bates, but, in june, , he received a lieutenant-colonel's commission in the st ohio, with which he went into active service. he was afterward transferred, with the same rank, to the th ohio, of which regiment he became colonel in may last. "he distinguished himself at the battle of shiloh, to which, indeed, he owed his promotion. he enjoyed the highest reputation with his superiors as an officer. "colonel jones was about twenty-seven years of age, of fine appearance, with a peculiarly happy manner and disposition. he was a very fine _extempore_ orator, and possessed great military ardor from childhood. the writer, a fellow-student, remembers him as captain of a company of school-boys, at woodward, which, drilling for pastime, became very proficient in tactics. "we can pay no more eloquent tribute to his memory than the mute impression his history will impart. he is dead! our city has offered no heavier sacrifice in any of her sons, and parted with no purer of the jewels which have been so rudely torn from her." hanging in the army. head-quarters d division, th army corps, murfreesboro, _june , _. william a. selkirk, who resided in an adjoining county, murdered, in a most brutal manner, a man by the name of adam weaver. selkirk was a member of a roving band of guerrillas. he entered, with others, the house of weaver, who was known to have money, and demanded its surrender. weaver, not complying, was seized, his ears cut off, his tongue torn out, and he was then stabbed. these facts being proved to the court, selkirk was condemned to death. at twelve o'clock, yesterday, the crowd commenced congregating at the court-house, eyeing with curiosity a large, uncovered ambulance, in which was built a platform. the trap was a leaf, acting as a sort of tailboard to the wagon. this trap, or leaf, was supported by a strip of wood that ran into a notch, similar to the old figure-four trap. attached to the ambulance were six splendid horses. at one o'clock two regiments of infantry, under colonel stoughton, arrived upon the ground and formed in line. the ambulance and military then moved along to the jail; the rough wooden coffin was placed in the vehicle, and the prisoner then, for the first time, made his appearance. he had a pale and care-worn look, and a decidedly southern air. his step was firm, and he got into the wagon with but little assistance. he was accompanied by father cony, chaplain of the th indiana. the procession then moved off toward the gallows, erected a short distance from the town, upon the woodbury pike. the eager crowd thronged the avenues leading to the place of execution--rushing, crushing, cursing and swearing, laughing and yelling. samuel lover, the irish poet, describes, in his poem of "shamus o'brien," a hanging, thus: "and fasther and fasther the crowd gathered there, boys, horses, and gingerbread, _just like a fair_; and whisky was sellin', and 'cosamuck' too, and old men and young women enjoying the view; and thousands were gathered there, if there was one, waiting till such time as the hanging would come." the morbid appetite depicted upon that sea of upturned faces was terrible to think of. by the kindness of colonel stoughton, i was given a very prominent place in the procession. general order no. , from head-quarters, was read. the prisoner then knelt, and was baptized by the clergyman before mentioned. after the baptism was over, rev. mr. patterson, of the th michigan, made a most fervent and eloquent prayer, the prisoner on his knees, with eyes uplifted to heaven, and seemingly praying with all the fervor of his soul. after mr. patterson had finished praying, the prisoner was told he had five minutes to live, and to make any remarks he wished. selkirk arose, with steady limbs, and said: "gentlemen and friends: i am not guilty of the murder of adam weaver; i did not kill him. i hope you will all live to one day find out who was the guilty man. i believe my jesus is waiting to receive my poor soul. i am not guilty of weaver's murder. i was there, but did not kill him." he then knelt down and joined in prayer. after prayer was over, he stood up, and stepped on the scaffold again, to have the fatal rope placed around his neck. while the rope was being adjusted, he prayed audibly, and his last words on earth were: "sweet jesus, take me to thyself. o, lord, forgive me for all my sins;" and again, as the person who escorted him was tightening the rope, he said, "for god's sake don't choke me before i am hung." then, when the black cap was drawn over his eyes, he seemed to know that in a few seconds he would be consigned to "that bourne from whence no traveler returns," and said, "lord, have mercy on my soul." the words were scarcely uttered, when that which was, a few moments before, a stout, healthy man, was nothing but an inanimate form. as the "black cap" was about being put on him, sarah ann weaver, the youngest daughter of the murdered man, adam weaver, made her appearance inside the square, and quite close to the scaffold. she asked captain goodwin and major wiles the privilege of adjusting the rope around his neck, but they would not grant it. she is a young woman of about seventeen years, rather prepossessing and intelligent looking. she stood there unmoved, while the body hung dangling between heaven and earth. she seemed to realize that the murderer of her father had now paid the penalty with his life. i asked her what she thought of the affair, and she curtly remarked: "he will never murder another man, i think." after the body had remained about fifteen minutes swinging in the air, and surgeon dorr pronounced life extinct, it was cut down and put in a coffin. the assemblage departed, some laughing, some crying, and some thinking of the fate of the deceased. general a. j. smith vs. rusty guns. last winter general smith's head-quarters were on board the steamer des arc; he was in command of a division of grant's army. one day, on a trip from arkansas post to young's point, there were on this boat three companies of a nameless regiment. now it happened that these men had rather neglected to clean their guns, which the sharp eye of the old veteran soon discovered. it was in the morning of our third day out, the wind was blowing terribly, and the weather unusually cold, rendering it very unpleasant to remain long on the hurricane-roof, that the general came rushing into the cabin, where nearly all the officers were comfortably seated around a warm stove. "captain," exclaimed the general, in no very mild tone, addressing himself to the commander of one of the aforesaid companies, "have you had an inspection of arms this morning?" "no, general," timidly replied the captain, "i have not." "have you held an inspection of your company at any time since the battle of arkansas post, sir?" sharply asked the general. "no, sir; the weather has been so unpleasant, and i thought i would let my men rest awhile," hesitatingly replied the captain, already nervous, through fear, that something disagreeable was about to turn up. "you thought you'd let them rest awhile? indeed! the d----l you did! who pays you, sir, for permitting your men to lay and rot in idleness, while such important duties remain unattended to? what kind of condition are your arms in, now, to defend this boat, or even the lives of your own men, in case we should be attacked by the enemy this moment? what the d----l are you in the service for, if you thus neglect your most important duty?" fairly yelled the old general. and then, starting menacingly toward the quaking captain, said he, imperatively: "mount, sir, on that roof, this moment, and call your men instantly into line, that i may examine their arms." "and you," resumed he, turning to the lieutenants, who commanded the other companies, "are fully as delinquent as the captain. sirs! i must see your men in line within ten minutes." it is scarcely necessary to state that the officers in question made the best of their time in drumming up their men, whom they found scattered in all parts of the boat. finally, however, the companies referred to were duly paraded on the "hurricane," and an abridged form of inspection was gone through with. the general, finding their arms in bad condition, very naturally inflicted some severe talk, threatening condign punishment in case such neglect should be repeated. but during the time in which one of these companies was falling in, which operation was not executed with that degree of promptness, on the part of the rank and file, satisfactory to the lieutenant commanding, that officer called out, in a most imploring strain, "fall in, gentlemen! fall in, lively, gentlemen!" that application of the word "gentlemen" fell upon the ear of general smith, who, turning quickly around, hastily inquired: "are you the lieutenant in command of that company, sir?" addressing the individual who had given the command in such a polite manner. "yes, sir," replied the trembling subaltern. "then, who the d----l are you calling gentlemen?" cried the general. "i am an old soldier," continued he, approaching and looking more earnestly at the lieutenant, "but i must confess, sir, that i never before heard of the rank of gentleman in the army. soldiers, sir, are all supposed to be gentlemen, of course; but, hereafter, sir, when you address soldiers, remember to say soldiers, or men; let us have no more of this 'bowing and scraping' where it is your duty to command." then, turning upon his heel, his eyes snapping with impatience, the old gentleman gave vent to the following words: "_gentlemen! gentlemen, forsooth!_ and _rusty guns! umph!_ the d----l! i like that! rusty guns! and gentlemen!" chapter xxv. a trip into the enemy's country -- the rebels twice driven back by general steadman -- incidents of the charge of the st tennessee cavalry, under major tracy -- the th and th ohio in the fight -- colonel moody and the th ohio -- colonel moody on the battle-field. a trip into the enemy's country. triune, tennessee, _march , _. after a four-days' trip, without tents, we are once more in camp. last tuesday afternoon general steadman ordered colonel bishop, of the d minnesota, to take his regiment, a section of the th regular battery, under lieutenant stevenson, and six hundred of johnson's st east tennessee cavalry, and proceed forthwith to harpeth river. anticipating a fight, i went with the detachment. as we passed through nolinsville and triune the few butternut inhabitants gazed with apparent envy at our well-clad soldiers. about nine o'clock at night we reached the river. here the infantry bivouacked for the night; the artillery planted their pieces in eligible positions, while the cavalry crossed the river and commenced to search for rebel gentry who were supposed to be on short leave of absence at their homes. quite a number of _citizen_ soldiers were thus picked up. major tracy, of the cavalry, then proceeded, with a dozen men, to the residence of general starnes, and surrounded it, hoping to find the general at home. but the bird had flown the day previous. the major, however, being a _searching_ man, and full of inquiry, looked under the beds, and in the closets, and asked who was up-stairs. "no one," was the reply, "but my brother, and he has never been in the army." major tracy took a candle, went up, saw the young man, and asked where the man had gone who had been in bed with him. the young man protested no one had been there, and mrs. starnes pledged her word, on the "_honor of a southern lady_," that there was no one else in the house. but tracy turned down the sheets, and, being a discerning man, discovered the imprint of another person in the bed, and, from the distance they had slept apart, he felt sure it was not a woman. so telling mrs. s. he hadn't much faith in the honor of a southern woman, under such circumstances, he thought he would take a peep through a dormer-window that projected from the roof; there, sure enough, sat major starnes, a son of the rebel general, in his shirt-tail, breeches and boots in hand, afraid to stir. it was a bitter cold night, and the poor fellow shook like an aspen leaf. he presented at once a pitiable yet ludicrous aspect. after collecting some twenty or thirty horses, they returned to their head-quarters, this side of the river. at night, not relishing the thought of sleeping on a rail, i had the good fortune of sharing a bed with lieutenant stevenson, who commanded the battery. as we anticipated, an early "_reveille of musketry_" awoke the party, and mounting my sorrel rosenante, i proceeded to investigate "why we do these things," or to learn what the _quarrel is all about_. crossing the river, i caught up with major tracy just as he was returning from his expedition to general starnes's house. it was about eight o'clock as we came in sight of college grove, a little village about a mile beyond harpeth river. here we turned toward triune, and had left college grove half a mile to the rear, when we heard the rebels firing upon a few stragglers of the tennessee cavalry. major tracy promptly countermarched his battalion, which was in the rear, and double-quicked back to the school-house at the town, and within a hundred yards of the rebel cavalry, who were drawn up in a line, in the front and rear of some houses, on the right of the road. the major, seeing they outnumbered him two to one, halted, and sent word back to major burkhardt to reinforce. he then formed a line of battle across the road, awaiting the other battalion. just as it arrived, major tracy thought he saw signs of wavering in the rebel line, and immediately ordered squadron e to "forward, by platoons! double-quick! charge!" and galloping to the front, along with lieutenant thurman, away they go. the rebels waver, break, and now comes the chase. the major gains upon their rear, and brings rebel no. to the dust, by the aid of a smith & wesson revolver. the major, now wild with excitement, threw his cap in the air, and, hallooing for the boys to follow, continued the chase. the race was fully a three-mile heat, in which we captured fifty-nine rebels. thirteen were _wounded by the saber_, four very severely. there were not more than fifteen or twenty of our men close on their rear at one time, and as the rebels turned out on the road-side to surrender, the tennessee boys never stopped to make sure of them, but yelled to them to drop their guns and dismount, and if they stirred before they returned, they would murder them. after going as far as the few thought it safe, they returned to camp, bringing the prisoners, horses, and various implements of warfare, "sich" as fine english shotguns and the like. this was certainly one of the most gallant affairs of the season, and may be considered among the most successful charges of the war; for, while not a man of ours was injured, fifty-nine rebels were taken, and i saw more saber cuts that day than any time since i have been with the army. at noon, general steadman arrived with the th and th ohio, together with another section of battery, under lieutenant smith, commanding company i, th regular artillery, and the whole brigade moved at once across the river, and marched out in search of the enemy. we soon came upon their picket-fires, the pickets having skedaddled. we rested for the night at riggs's cross-roads, and continued the march in the morning. by nine o'clock we met the rebels, drawn up in line of battle, about a mile north of chapel hill. the tennessee cavalry were in the advance; general steadman and staff occupied the crest of a hill, in full view of the rebels, and where we all could see the movements of the butternuts; the th ohio arriving, was immediately deployed to the right, the d minnesota and th ohio and th indiana to the left, the battery taking the center. the rebels, consisting of two thousand five hundred of van dorn's forces, ran helter skelter through chapel hill, and turned to the left--the tennessee cavalry again proving their valor by sabering half a dozen of the th alabamians. the rebels, as they retreated across spring creek, formed a line, and gave us a brisk little brush; but our men steadily advanced, driving them back, and, crossing the creek, were in their late camp. we skirmished and drove them some three miles beyond the river, and found we were within one mile of duck river, eleven miles within and beyond their line. not knowing what forces might come to their aid, the general did not further pursue them; but, on returning, we destroyed their camp, setting fire to all the houses and large sheds they had been using for shelter. a church, among the rest, was destroyed, as it had been used by rebel officers for head-quarters. on the return, a great many colored men, women, and children begged to be allowed to come with us. to-day, (the th,) sabbath devotions were disturbed by general steadman ordering the th ohio and a section of battery, under lieutenant rodney, of the th artillery, to feel the rebels at harpeth; so again i thought i might catch an item, and went to the front. the impudent scamps had crossed, and were within four miles of our camp. the tennessee cavalry drove them back across the river. the rebels occupied a hill on the opposite side, adjoining the residence of doctor webb. after several little brushes by cavalry, our artillery opened upon the line formed by two thousand six hundred rebels, under patterson and roddy, of van dorn's division, who were supported by two regiments of infantry. they stood but two rounds from the napoleons, before moving off in disorder. our line advanced, when, much to our astonishment, the rebels opened up a battery from in front of doctor webb's house, which was sharply replied to by lieutenant rodney, who sent his compliments to the "gay and festive cusses," inclosed in a twelve-pounder, and directed to doctor webb's house; it was safely _delivered_, as we saw it _enter the house_. again their four-pounder belched forth, and one of their shots fell directly in front of the th ohio ambulance, but luckily it did not burst. after holding our position four hours, and driving the rebels back to their dens, we returned to camp. colonel moody and the th ohio. in the fight at murfreesboro, general rosecrans said the th ohio behaved nobly. after general mccook's right had been turned, the whole rebel force came against general negley's division, to which this regiment belongs. after the th indiana had retired, it being terribly cut up, the th was ordered to take its place amid such a shower of shot and shell as has scarcely fallen during the war. this regiment did not leave its position until an order came from colonel miller, commanding the brigade; then, slowly and stubbornly, it came from that well-fought field, leaving many of its members, "who never shall fight again," dead upon it. on the friday following that bloody wednesday, they were "in at the death," in the triumphant charge of our left. its commander, colonel moody, is "the fighting parson" of the cumberland army. calmly and steadily he led his men into the seven-times heated furnace of battle, and, "as the battle din, came rolling in, his voice of cheer and encouragement was heard above its roar. just before they came into the whizzing storm, he said: "say your prayers, my boys, and give them your bullets as fast as you can." a conspicuous mark, he was struck by balls in three places, and his horse shot from under him; but he took no notice of the hits. once, during the thickest of the fight, he rode along the line, and was cheered by his men even in the roar of battle. side by side with colonel moody rode, during both battles, the gallant major bell, the new field-officer of this regiment. ohio's th is justly proud that she has the experience of a gray-headed colonel united with the "dash" of a young major. this regiment has won for itself a place among the "crack" regiments of our army; and general rosecrans told it to-day that he would have to call it "the fighting regiment." colonel moody on the battle-field. the ohio _statesman_, speaking of colonel moody at the late battle at murfreesboro, has the following: "colonel moody has been so long accustomed to 'charge home' upon the rebellious 'hosts of sin,' from the pulpit, that he finds himself in no uncongenial position in charging bayonet upon the rebellious hosts of davis and the devil upon the battle-field. and, as in the former position he ever acquitted himself right valiantly, so, in this latter position, he is equally heroic and unconquerable. "his escape from death in the late fight was so wonderful as to seem clearly providential. his friends and members of his church in cincinnati had presented him with a pair of handsome revolvers. one of these he wore in the breast of his coat during the fight. a partially-spent minié-ball had struck him on the breast, pierced his coat, and, striking the butt of his pistol, splintered it to pieces directly over his heart, _but went no further_. the stroke was so violent as to hurl him from his horse by the concussion, and he lay, for a moment, insensible. consciousness soon returned, and, mounting his horse, he raged on through the battle like an enraged lion. he won the most hearty congratulations from general rosecrans himself. so much for having one's life saved by a _bosom_ friend." chapter xxvi. a wedding in the army -- a bill of fare in camp -- dishonest female reb -- private cupp -- to the th ohio. a wedding in the army, and, as it is from the pen of the worthy chaplain, j. h. lozier, it is perfectly reliable. about as pleasant and romantic a wedding as anybody ever saw, lately took place in this department. immediately after the battle, a soldier of the th indiana took sick, from exposure in the fight, and was taken to hospital no. . among the attendants there was a pretty little "yankee girl," whose charms occasioned an affliction of the heart which baffled the skill of all the doctors, and they were compelled to call for the services of the chaplain. [illustration: debate between slabsides and garrotte. see page .] there are obstructions in "the course of true love," even in tennessee, and one of these was the difficulty of procuring "the papers," as there was no clerk's office in the county, or, at least, no clerk to attend to the office. again were the resources of the general commanding brought into requisition, and again did he prove himself "equal to the emergency." the following document, authorized by general rosecrans, dictated by general garfield, and promulgated by major wiles, shows how men get licenses to marry in those counties in this department where martial law alone exists: state of tennessee, rutherford county. _greeting_: _to any person empowered by law to perform marriage in tennessee:_ you are hereby authorized to join together in marriage joseph a. hamilton and francillia l. bean, and this shall be your authority for so doing. witness my hand and official seal of the provost-marshal-general, department of the cumberland. william m. wiles, major th indiana, and provost-marshal-general, department of the cumberland. [illustration: seal] state of tennessee, rutherford county. be it remembered that, on this th day of may, a. d. , personally appeared before me, major william m. wiles, provost-marshal-general, department of the cumberland, one w. t. mendenhall, assistant surgeon of hospital no. , of lawful age, who, being duly sworn, on oath says that he is acquainted with joseph a. hamilton and francillia l. bean; that said parties are of legal age to marry, without the consent of their parents or guardians, and that he knows of no lawful reason why said parties should not marry. [signed] w. t. mendenhall. subscribed and sworn to this th day of may, a. d. . william m. wiles, major and provost-marshal-general, department of the cumberland. [illustration: seal] now, therefore, i, william m. wiles, major of th indiana volunteers, and provost-marshal-general, department of the cumberland, in consideration of the fact that this county has been placed under military law, and civil courts and laws, with their officers, are not in existence, do empower john hogarth lozier, a regularly ordained minister of the methodist episcopal church, and chaplain of the th regiment of indiana volunteers, to join in _holy matrimony_ the above-named parties, and this shall be his full and proper authority for so doing. given this th day of may, a. d., . witness my hand and seal, the day and year above mentioned, w. m. wiles, major and provost-marshal-general, department of the cumberland. [illustration: seal l. s.] accordingly the happy pair, together with a large concourse of officers and soldiers, and a delightful sprinkling of pretty northern belles, met on the battle-field, in a grove on the banks of stone river, on the precise spot where the bridegroom, with his regiment, the noble th indiana, fought on the memorable st of december. a large, flat rock stood up prominently, and upon this the bride and groom, with their attendants, and the chaplain, took their position, while an eager throng gathered around to witness the interesting ceremony. after announcing the "license," as above given, the chaplain asked the usual questions as to "objections." there was a moment's silence, in which, if any man had dared to object, he would have done so at the peril of an immediate "plunging bath" in stone river, for the boys were determined to see the ceremony completed. the chaplain then proceeded, in solemn and impressive tones, to perform the ceremony, at the conclusion of which they dropped upon their knees, and a solemn invocation being uttered, they arose, and having pronounced them husband and wife, he introduced them to the audience. then followed a rare scene of unrestrained social enjoyment. the mingling of shoulder-straps with plain "high-privates," and of "stars" with "stripes," was truly refreshing. we observed three major-generals, mccook, crittenden, and johnson, besides any amount of "lesser lights," among the crowd. i see, by a late chattanooga _rebel_, that the editor of that "delectable sheet" is in grief because he has been told that miss fannie jorden, who resides near our camp, is about to marry captain kirk, of general steadman's staff. the _rebel_ says: "we are sorry to hear that the niece of the gallant colonel rayne has so far forgotten herself as to engage to marry one of the 'lincoln horde.'" we have had the pleasure of meeting miss fannie upon several occasions. she is a very nice young lady, and is not aware of any such engagement. captain kirk is pretty good-looking; but, we rather guess he is not on the right side of jorden this time. if the young lady marries, 'tis more likely she will emigrate to minnesota than ohio. we sincerely hope our neighbor of the _rebel_ will not have cause to "come to grief." he had better mind his own business, and let the soldiers here attend to the "union" unmolested. a strange family feud, quite "corsican" in its character, came to light some time ago, while we were at cunningham's ford. there were two families, bently by name, residing there. these brothers had not spoken to each other for forty years. they nor their families have had any intercourse whatever; never recognizing each other, though they had resided side by side, farms adjoining. one could not go to church, or meeting of any kind, or to town, without passing his brother. while we were there, the elder brother died, and he was buried by his children. the other family knew nothing of it, until told by our soldiers. the cause of the estrangement was, that, in dividing the land left them, more than forty years ago, one claimed the line was drawn some ten feet too far south, thus losing to the other about six acres of ground, the value, at that time, being about twenty-five cents per acre. this feud is now an inheritance, we suppose, to be handed down forever. can't you send out a missionary? those who can afford it are now enjoying in camp all the luxuries of the season. i received an invitation to dine out yesterday. the following bill of fare was partaken of in a beautiful arbor: bill of fare. mock turtle soup. turkey. roast beef. ham and eggs. roast mutton, with currant jelly. radishes. lettuce. onions and potatoes. custard. lemon pies. pound cake. jellies. the whole concluding with elegant "mint juleps," with straws in them. in the st brigade, under colonel connell, each company has a large brick cooking-range erected, and their system is really worthy of emulation. this entire division is supplied with fine fresh bread every day. the division baker has three cincinnati bake-ovens, from which he turns out from three to five hundred loaves a day, besides pies innumerable. it is under the foremanship of mr. john wakely, a well-known cincinnati baker. this arrangement is a great saving to the government in the way of transportation, etc. i heard a first-rate story, which, although it did not occur in this division, is too good to lose. a private soldier, named cupp, who is a german, belonging to the st missouri cavalry, and now one of the body-guard of general granger, was out to the front a few days ago, and seeing a "stray rebel," "made for him." the chase commenced--away went mr. reb and cupp. having the fleetest horse, cupp gained upon him rapidly, crying, "halt! halt! halt!" every leap his horse would make. but the rebel, bent on getting away, heeded not the call. at length the dutchman reached his rear, and, swinging his saber heavily over his head, charged the rebel, and brought him to a "_dead stand_." "ah ha!" said the now excited cupp, "how you vass all de viles? d----n you, anoder time i hollers halt i speck you stop a leetle, unt not try to fool mit me so long, you d----d rebel." dishonest female reb. a rebel sympathizer and his wife, a cross-eyed specimen of the _genus homo_, came within our lines and delivered themselves up, to be where they could get something to eat. captain parshall, of the th ohio, being provost-marshal of triune, and supposing them honest refugees, endeavored to secure comfortable quarters for the woman at the house of dr. williams. dr. williams is a stanch union man, and willing to do all in his power for suffering humanity. the doctor told the captain that the lady was welcome, but that his wife was away from home. captain parshall had kindly provided quarters for the husband who, as he was about going, gazed cautiously around, and eyed the doctor from head to foot, then looked at the woman with an "affectionate" stare, and, with a long-drawn sigh, exclaimed: "well, doctor, i guess i'll risk her with you." in about an hour the captain was startled with the sudden appearance of doctor williams, much excited, who begged that he would have that woman taken away, right off, as she was a thief. the captain went over immediately, and interrogated the woman, but she stoutly denied the charge. the captain, however, noticed a very heavy bust where a bust shouldn't be with so hatchet-faced a woman, and asked her what she had in her bosom. she replied, that was common with her "every grass;" but the captain "couldn't see it," and indelicately placed his masculine fingers within the sacred precincts, and drew forth two children's dresses, one from each side; finding she was fairly caught, she begged for mercy; said she didn't know what "possessed her," and declared that was all she had. the captain told her he would have to hang her if she didn't deliver up every thing. she became frightened, and then commenced the peeling of petticoats, shawls, chemises, pillow-slips, etc., much to the amusement and contempt of all honest people. suffice it to say, the woman, with her husband, was sent back to dixie, to feed upon corn-bread and water, as the union people of this neighborhood didn't wish to be contaminated by such trash. the doctor's wife has since returned. she told me the story, and declares she won't leave the doctor to keep house any more, as she won't trust him alone. to the thirteenth ohio. by martha m. thomas. our fathers house is threatened, boys! the union, grand and free, has warmed an adder in its heart that saps its great roof-tree. we've sworn to hold it pure, boys-- a first love's holy shrine; a home for all the homeless, boys, for "auld lang syne." its foemen are our brothers, boys; but still we must not falter; though dear to us those who offend, they must die by lead or halter. our father's house is ours in trust, from washington's own line; the union knows no pleiad lost for "auld lang syne." the rafters of the old house, boys, must never know pollution; its cement was our father's blood, its roof the constitution; and though, like prodigals astray, its sons eat husks with swine, and feel the rod, we'll kill the calf, for "auld lang syne." then let the bugle sound, my boys and forward to the strife; we'll thrash our rebel brothers well, e'en though it cost our life. and when we've whipped them into grace and made each dim star shine, we'll open wide our father's door, for "auld lang syne." chapter xxvii. the oath -- a conservative darkey's opinion of yankees -- visit to the graves of ohio and indiana boys -- trip from murfreesboro to louisville -- nashville convalescents -- a death in the hospital -- henry lovie captured. the oath. by thomas buchanan read. hamlet--swear on my sword. ghost (below)--_swear!_--[_shakspeare._ ye freemen, how long will ye stifle the vengeance that justice inspires? with treason how long will you trifle, and shame the proud name of your sires? out, out with the sword and the rifle, in defense of your homes and your fires. the flag of the old revolution swear firmly to serve and uphold, that no treasonous breath of pollution shall tarnish one star on its fold. swear! and hark, the deep voices replying from graves where your fathers are lying, "_swear, o, swear!_" in this moment who hesitates, barters the rights which his forefathers won, he forfeits all claim to the charters transmitted from sire to son. kneel, kneel at the graves of our martyrs, and swear on your sword and your gun: lay up your great oath on an altar as huge and as strong as stonehenge, and then with sword, fire, and halter, sweep down to the field of revenge. swear! and hark, the deep voices replying from graves where your fathers are lying, "_swear, o, swear!_" by the tombs of your sires and brothers, the host which the traitors have slain; by the tears of your sisters and mothers, in secret concealing their pain the grief which the heroine smothers, consuming the heart and the brain by the sigh of the penniless widow, by the sob of her orphans' despair, where they sit in their sorrowful shadow, kneel, kneel, every freeman, and swear; swear! and hark, the deep voices replying from graves where your fathers are lying, "_swear, o, swear!_" on mounds which are wet with the weeping where a nation has bowed to the sod, where the noblest of martyrs are sleeping, let the winds bear your vengeance abroad, and your firm oaths be held in the keeping of your patriot hearts and your god. over ellsworth, for whom the first tear rose, while to baker and lyon you look; by winthrop, a star among heroes, by the blood of our murdered mccook, swear! and hark, the deep voices replying from graves where your fathers are lying, "_swear, o, swear!_" a conservative darkey's opinion of yankees. there was a large union meeting in nashville, and an old house-servant of one of the most aristocratic rebel families, who hates "lincolnites" and "poor white trash" as heartily as jeff davis does, was walking slowly along the square as the grand procession was forming. soldiers were moving about in great numbers, the cavalry galloping to and fro, regiments were forming to the sound of lively music, citizens and visitors thronged the sidewalks, children ran about with banners, and thousands of flags fluttered like fragments of rainbows, from the various buildings. the conservative contraband paced slowly along, rolling his distended eyes in all directions, apparently overwhelmed by the exhibition and bustle around him. approaching our friend, he exclaimed: "my god! what are we southern folks coming to? massa said, a year ago, dat de yankees done gone away forever. now dey is swarmin' about thicker dan locusses. dey runs dere boats on our ribber; dey is pressin' all our niggers; dey lib in our houses; dey drivin' our wagons, and ringin' our bells; dey 'fisticatin' our property; dey eatin' up our meat and corn; dey done killed up mose all of our men; and, 'fore god, i spec dey are gwine to marry all our widders!" and, heaving a deep groan from the bottom of his continental waistcoat, he shook his head in sadness, and passed slowly onward, to the joyful chimes of the church-bells and the soul-stirring strains of "yankee doodle." visit to the graves of ohio and indiana boys. traversing the field of battle, near murfreesboro, a few days after the rebel defeat, i could but contrast, in my mind, the terrible quiet with the terrific din and roar of battle of which it was the late scene. the _debris_ of battle is strewn for miles and miles. thousands upon thousands of cannon-balls and shell lie upon the field. the woods present the appearance of having been visited by a tornado, and here and there a pool of blood marks the place where some devoted hero has rendered up his life. the heavy cedar wood is nearly three miles from murfreesboro, to the right of the pike, going south. the rocks bear evidence of the struggle, for thousands of bullet and shell traces may be seen. the smaller branches of trees are cut as if a severe hail-storm had visited the spot. let us dismount and read the names of those soldiers who fell here. they have been given a soldier's funeral. ah! the names here denote this as a part of the gallant rousseau's division; for on rough pieces of board we read: w. mccartin, hamilton, ohio, company f, d ohio; f. burley, hamilton; john motram, company i, cardington, ohio; h. k. bennett, company a, d ohio; m. neer, company d, d ohio. and close beside, a brother indiana soldier sleeps--joseph guest, d indiana. just across the pike, on the left going south, is the grave of a. hardy, th ohio; and opposite this is the spot where lieutenant foster, of the noble th, yielded up his life, and was buried. close by is a log house, perforated with shot and shell. here some of our wounded sought shelter during the storm of iron hail, but were mercilessly driven out by the shot poured into their intended refuge. to the left of this house are numerous graves. among them, francis kiggins, company k, h. borrien, company h, w. keller, company h, all of the th ohio; alf goodman, th indiana; noah miller, th indiana; e. d. tuttles, company b, c. mcelvain, company a, levi colwright, james wright, c. a. mcdowell, company k; j. b. naylor, h. lockmeyer, a. b. endicott, company a; j. cunningham, e. skito, j. reavis, h. cure, company d, all of the th indiana. near this the th ohio lost john tagg, john karn, f. singer, and charles bartholomew; mark e. rakes, of the th indiana, and george kumler and william ogg, of the d ohio, are buried here, together with john van waggoner and lieutenant black, of the th indiana. and still further to the left, along the chattanooga railroad, are the remains of elias m. scott, d indiana; near this, but across the road, on the skirt of a wood, are sergeants potter and puttenry, of the th ohio, henry allen, of the th ohio, and frank nitty, of the th indiana. continuing our course to the left, just crossing a dirt-road leading toward murfreesboro, upon a little knoll, are the ruins of a once handsome mansion. behind an upright southern timber-fence, just back of the still-standing negro-quarters, there is a beautiful cluster of prairie-roses in full leaf. the waving branches, as they bend to the right, cover the graves of three cincinnati boys, two of whom i knew intimately. go ask their comrades, and they will bear willing evidence to the chivalrous bearing of the two noble youths, ally rockenfield and little dave medary. beside them is the grave of w. s. shaw, whom i did not know personally. i am told he died while bravely doing his whole duty. the branches of the same friendly rose-bush, bending to the left, cover the graves of captain weller, lieutenant harmon, and major terry; all of the th ohio, forming a beautiful emblem of the unity of those two splendid regiments, the th and th. continuing still further to the left, we cross stone river, where our forces did such good fighting under crittenden. just after crossing this stream, upon the first knoll, beneath a large oak, are the remains of sergeant jacob mcgillen, of hamilton. he belonged to the th ohio. an incident in regard to this noble youth was told me by a gentleman who knew him well. when that noble man, william beckett, of hamilton, was doing all in his power to assist in raising the th regiment, a number of the "_southern rights_" sympathizers tried to dissuade mcgillen from joining--bidding him to hold off until substitutes were called for, and then, if he would go, they would buy him. he, however, spurned their base offers, and enlisted; and, when crossing the river amid the leaden hail, he received a bullet in his arm; he hastily tied up the wound, and, though weakened from loss of blood, rejoined his command, and the second ball piercing his breast, he fell. nearly opposite his resting place lies captain chandler, of the th illinois. i have been told, by those high in command, that more _individual prowess_ was manifested upon this battle-field than any during the war. there were more hand-to-hand encounters, more desperate fighting--men selling their lives as dearly as possible. as to their general, there is but one acclamation: general rosecrans has endeared himself to the whole army; they love him as a child should love its father; and all are satisfied that, had it not been for the surprise upon the right, and johnson's defeat, the battle would have ended with the total annihilation of the southern army. nashville convalescents--a death in the hospital. on my way back to nashville i called at the different hospitals, and saw quite a number of the wounded. the surgeons were doing all they could toward sending them home. doctor ames and doctor stevens, of the th ohio, in fact, all the surgeons seemed assiduous in their attentions to the wounded. as a matter of course, many thought they were neglected; but there were so many to be attended to. i met major frank cahill. he told me he had six thousand convalescents under his charge at nashville. general mitchell was kept very busy, although but few passes were given to any going south; but lieutenant osgood, his chief business man, was up night and day, ready, at all times, to expedite those going in search of the wounded union soldiers. lieutenant osgood certainly did more business in one day than many men, who are called fast, could do in a week. to know that he did his duty, i will state that secessionists hated him, and union men spoke in high terms of him. a young lad, who had been sick for a long time, died; his name was william stokes, and his home was near dayton, ohio. the boy had been honorably discharged, but there were no blanks, and _red tape_ forbids a surgeon, no matter how high his position, to grant the final discharge without the blank forms. for five weeks this poor home-sick boy, only eighteen years of age, worried along, continually speaking of his mother and home; but the inexorable law kept him there to die. henry lovie captured. at bowling green i met henry lovie, the artist; he had been grossly abused by a party of a dozen butternuts, at a little town called "cromwell," (what's in a name?) they accused him of being a nigger-thief--a d----d abolitionist, and were sworn to hang him. his servant, however, happened to have his free papers, and lovie, exhibiting to them passes from mcclellan, rosecrans, and other "high old names," they were disposed to cave a little. "our traveling artist" for frank leslie took a horse for self and one for servant, riding twenty-eight miles, fearing the butternuts might receive reinforcements, and reached bowling green by early dawn, through mud, slush, snow, and rain. lovie wants to enlist a company to go and take "cromwell," and requested me to see tom jones & co. in regard to the matter. chapter xxviii. general steadman superseded by general schofield, of missouri -- colonel brownlow's regiment -- his bravery -- a rebel officer killed by a woman -- discontent in east tennessee -- picket duty and its dangers -- a gallant deed and a chivalrous return. camp near triune, tennessee, _april , _. i arrived in camp day before yesterday, and immediately reported for duty. last night general schofield took command of this division, general steadman having been assigned to the second brigade. general schofield comes to us with the highest recommendations for gallant daring, and his appearance among the boys was the signal for a neat ovation. he was serenaded by a crowd of singers, and, upon the conclusion of a patriotic song, he came to the front of his head-quarters and made a telling speech, which was enthusiastically received by his command. general steadman being called for responded, regretting to part with his old command, but rejoicing that he had been superseded by a gentleman and a soldier so worthy of the position that had been assigned him. general steadman assured the general that he had as fine a set of soldiers as were to be found in the army of the cumberland; men who had been tried and never found wanting; men whom he assured general schofield would go wherever ordered, and against any foe. after the adjournment of the public demonstration, the two generals, with their staffs, were handsomely entertained by captain roper, where song, sentiment, and recitation were the order of the evening--colonel george, colonel vandeveer, colonel long, and other notables being among the guests. while thus enjoying ourselves, the general received a telegraphic dispatch from head-quarters, announcing the capture of mcminnville by our forces. the command of the third division, we feel confident, is in vigilant hands. brigadier-general schofield has heretofore proved his efficiency in missouri. his staff consists of major j. a. campbell, a. a. s.; w. m. wherry, aid-de-camp; a. h. engle, aid-de-camp and judge advocate; captain kirk, quarter-master; captain roper, commissary; captain budd, inspector of division, and doctor gordon, medical director. the east tennessee cavalry still continue to prove their gallantry. i spent a pleasant afternoon with them yesterday, and paid a visit to their hospital. i saw six of the noble fellows who were wounded in a late fight. about ten days ago, colonel brownlow, a regular "chip of the old block," took a part of the regiment out some twelve miles from camp, toward duck river, and, coming upon a large party of secesh, gave them a "taste of his quality." a short time after, the colonel, with nine of his men, became detached from the main body, and found themselves completely surrounded by the rebels, and were within thirty yards of the foe, who ordered the colonel to surrender. a moment's parley with his men, and the colonel, with the boys, rode toward the rebels, and, with a few adjectives, quite _unparliamentary_ to ears polite, much to their surprise, dashed through their line. this audacity saved them; for, before they had time to recover from their surprise, brownlow and his men were beyond their reach. i was told, by one of the prisoners, that, at one time, twenty rebels were firing at that "little cuss in the blue jacket," as they called the colonel, during the day's performance. several splendid charges were made by these tennesseeans. james mysinger, of company i, from green county, after being mortally wounded--the noble fellow--fired three shots. the colonel dismounted to assist the dying soldier, who, with tears in his eyes, said: "colonel, i've only one regret--that i am not spared to kill more of those wretched traitors. tell me, colonel," continued he, "have i not always obeyed orders?" "yes, mysinger, you are a noble fellow, and have always done your duty," said the colonel, patting him on the cheek, and brushing the cold sweat from his brow. "now, colonel," said he, "i am ready to die." oliver miller, company c, received a severe wound in the arm. he is only seventeen years of age. john harris received three balls. robert adair was wounded in the head. william riddle was completely _riddled_, receiving one ball and four buck-shot. david berry had his thigh broken, jumping from his horse. berry's father was murdered by rebels at cumberland gap. his head was placed upon a block and cut off, by order of colonel brazzleton, of the st east tennessee rebel cavalry. nearly all these men have not only their country's wrongs to avenge, but the wrongs heaped upon their fathers, mothers, and sisters. i spent an hour in conversation with these wounded men, and all were laughing and talking in the best of spirits. such men are invincible. a brother of colonel brownlow, who is now on a visit to this camp, informs me that he had it from the most reliable source, that the rebels in and around knoxville were actually suffering for food. an order was issued by the rebel commander at knoxville, a few days since, to seize all the hams, sides, and bacon belonging to private parties, leaving only fifty pounds for each family. a mrs. tillery, of knox county, residing twelve miles from knoxville, when her house was visited for the purpose of being pillaged, in the fulfillment of this order, expostulated with the lieutenant in command. she told him that fifty pounds would not keep her family two weeks, and she had no way of obtaining more. notwithstanding her entreaties, the rebel lieutenant ordered fifty pounds to be weighed and given to her. he had scarcely given the order when mrs. tillery drew a pistol and shot the lieutenant through the heart. the rebel detail left the meat, and took off the corpse of their commander. the spirit of discontent is manifesting itself in various ways among even the most ultra rebels. they are getting tired of seeing their country devastated by the two armies, and are anxious for a settlement; and it only awaits the _daring of a few_ to inaugurate a "rebellion within a rebellion," which, if once started, will spread like wild-fire. picket duty and its dangers. of all the duties of a soldier, outpost duty is the most trying and dangerous. courage, caution, patience, sleepless vigilance, and iron nerve are essential to its due performance. upon the picket-guards of an army rests an immense responsibility. they are the eyes and ears of the encamped or embattled host. hence, if they are negligent or faithless, the thousands dependent upon their zeal and watchfulness for safety, might almost as well be blind and deaf. the bravest army, under such circumstances, is liable, like a strong man in his sleep, to be pounced upon and discomfited by an inferior foe. for this reason the laws of war declare that the punishment of a soldier found sleeping on his post shall be death. but although the peril and responsibility involved in picket duty are so great, the heroes who are selected for it rarely receive honorable mention in our military bulletins. their collisions with the enemy are "skirmishes." the proportion of killed and wounded in these collisions may be double or triple what it was at magenta or solferino, but still they are mere "affairs of outposts." "our pickets were driven in," or "the enemy's pickets were put to flight," and that is the end of it. presently comes the news of a brilliant union victory; and nobody pauses to consider that if our pickets had been asleep, or faithless, or cowardly, a union _defeat_ might, nay _must_, have been the consequence. we forget what these men endure--their risks, their privations, their fatigues, their anxieties, _their battles with themselves_, when sleep--more insidious than even the lurking enemy in the bush--tugs at their heavy eyelids, and their overwearied senses are barely held to their allegiance by the strongest mental effort. the soldier who rushes to the charge at the command of his officer is animated by the shouts of his comrades, inspirited by the sounds of martial music, and full of the ardor and confidence which the consciousness of being intelligently led and loyally supported engenders. he sees his adversaries; he fights in an open field; his fate is to be decided by the ordinary chances of honorable war. not so the picket-guard. he is surrounded by unseen dangers. the gleam of his bayonet may, at any moment, draw upon him the fire of some prowling assassin. if he hears a rustling among the leaves, and inquires, "who goes there?" the answer may be a ball in his heart. a gallant deed and a chivalrous return. in the recent movement of stoneman's cavalry, the advance was led by lieutenant paine, of the st maine cavalry. being separated, by a considerable distance, from the main body, he encountered, unexpectedly, a superior force of rebel cavalry, and his whole party were taken prisoners. they were hurried off as rapidly as possible to get them out of the way of our advancing force, and, in crossing a rapid and deep stream, lieutenant henry, commanding the rebel force, was swept off his horse. as none of his men seemed to think or care any thing about saving him, his prisoner, lieutenant paine, leaped off his horse, seized the drowning man by the collar, swam ashore with him, and saved his life, thus literally capturing the captor. paine was sent to richmond with the rest of the prisoners, and the facts being made known to general fitz-hugh lee, he wrote a statement of them to general winder, provost-marshal of richmond, who ordered the instant release of lieutenant paine, without even parole, promise, or condition, and, we presume, with the compliments of the confederacy. he arrived in washington on saturday last. this act of generosity, as well as justice, must command our highest admiration. there is some hope for men who can behave in such a manner. but the strangest part of the story is yet to come. lieutenant paine, on arriving in washington, learned that the officer whose life he had thus gallantly saved had since been taken prisoner by our forces, and had just been confined in the old capitol prison. the last we heard of paine he was on his way to general martindale's head-quarters to obtain a pass to visit his imprisoned benefactor. such are the vicissitudes of war. we could not help thinking, when we heard this story, of the profound observation of mrs. gamp: "sich is life, vich likevays is the hend of hall things hearthly." we leave it to casuists to determine whether, when these two gallant soldiers meet on the battle-field, they should fight like enemies or embrace like christians. for our part, we do not believe their swords will be any the less sharp, nor their zeal any the less determined, for this hap-hazard exchange of soldierly courtesy. chapter xxix. an incident at holly springs, miss. -- the raid of van dorn -- cincinnati cotton-dealers in trouble -- troubles of a reporter. an incident at holly springs, miss.--the raid of van dorn. the amount of public and private property captured and destroyed by the enemy is estimated at something over six millions of dollars. he had considerable skirmishing with our troops, whose effective force colonel r. c. murphy, commandant of the post, says was less than three hundred. the confederates lost ten or twelve in killed and wounded, and we six or seven wounded, none fatally. colonel murphy says he received information from grant too late to make the necessary arrangements for the defense of the place. though there were less than three hundred effective union soldiers in town, all the civilians, tradesmen, speculators, and promiscuous hangers-on to the army were captured, swelling the number who gave their parole to about fifteen hundred. the raid, as you may imagine, delighted the residents of holly springs, who turned out _en masse_ to welcome their brief-lingering "deliverers," and were very active in pointing out the places where northerners were boarding. not a few of the precious citizens fired at our troops from the windows, and acted as contemptibly and dastardly as possible. the women, who had been rarely visible before, made their appearance, radiant, and supplied the rebel yahoos with all manner of refreshments. "good union men," who had sold their cotton to the yankees, shook the treasury-notes in the faces of the union prisoners, saying they had been paid for their property, and had the pleasure of burning it before the "d----d abolition scoundrels' eyes." cincinnati cotton-dealers in trouble. a number of cotton-buyers were robbed of whatever money they had on their persons, and some of them are said to have lost from five to ten thousand dollars apiece, which is, probably, an exaggerated statement. w. w. cones, of cincinnati, saved a large sum by an ingenious trick. he had twenty-eight thousand dollars on his person when the enemy entered the place, and immediately throwing off his citizen's garb, he attired himself in the cast-off gauntlets of a private soldier, entered the magnolia house, employed as a hospital, and, throwing himself upon a bed, assumed to be exceedingly and helplessly sick, while the foe remained. as soon as the rebels had departed, he became suddenly and vigorously healthy, and walked into the street to denounce the traitors. he declared his eleven hours' sickness caused him less pain, and saved him more money than any illness he ever before endured. d. w. fairchild, also of the queen city, in addition to losing fifty bales of cotton, was robbed of his pocket-book, containing forty-five dollars, in the following manner: when captured, he was taken before general jackson, popularly known as "billy jackson," considered a high representative of chivalry and soldiership in this benighted quarter of the globe. jackson inquired of fairchild, in a rough way, if he had any money with him? to which the party addressed answered, he had a trifling sum, barely sufficient to pay his expenses to the north. "hand it over, you d----d nigger thief," roared the high-toned general, who, as soon as the porte-monnaie was produced, seized it, thrust it into his pocket, and rode off with a self-satisfied chuckle. what a noble specimen of chivalry is this jackson! he has many kindred spirits in the south, where vulgar ruffians are apotheosized, who would, at an earlier time, have been sent to the pillory. "sixteen-string jack," and all that delectable fraternity, whose lives bloom so fragrantly in the pages of the saffron-hued literature of the day, would have spat in the faces of such fellows as jackson, had they dared to claim the acquaintance of persons so much their superiors. when the rebels were playing the part of incendiaries in town, they set fire to the building containing a great quantity of our ammunition, shells, etc. the consequence was a tremendous explosion, which broke half the windows, and many of the frames, in town, rattled down ceilings, unsettled foundations, and spread general dismay. women and children screamed, and rushed like maniacs into the streets, and fell fainting with terror there. for several hours the shells continued to burst, and, i have heard, two or three children were killed with fragments of the projectiles. two days after, i saw families suffering from hysterics on account of excessive fright, and several seemed to have become quite crazed therefrom. troubles of a reporter. one morning, hearing that john morgan was at elizabethtown, ky., i determined to go as near as possible, and find out the condition of things, and see the fight that was in expectancy. proceeding as far as i could by rail, i hired a carriage and horses, hoping to reach munfordville in time for a big item. i had proceeded some five miles when a party of eight men, whom i at once determined were guerrillas, rode hastily to the carriage, and demanded my credentials. i exhibited a free pass over the ohio and mississippi railroad, four provost-marshal's passes, a permission to leave the state of ohio, also one to leave kentucky, and a ten-cent nashville bill. i was afraid to show them my letter from general starbuck, of the _daily times_. after looking at them awhile, they were passed round to the balance of the fiendish-looking rascals, and i was kept in terrible suspense ten minutes longer. i tried to get off several of my well-authenticated bad jokes, but i choked in the utterance, and my smile was no doubt a sardonic grin. i wiped the perspiration from my brow so frequently that one of the most intellectual of the "brutes" relieved the monotony of the occasion by observing that it was a very hot day, to which i acquiesced, feeling quite glad to have a guerrilla speak to a prisoner. the countryman who had driven me thus far was speechless. he thought of his carriage and horses, and visions of their being immediately possessed by morgan or forrest had rendered him powerless. after a few questions as to where we left the train, and as to the number of passengers on board, the citizen cavalry, or union guards, as they proved to be, told us we might proceed, that we were all right, but to be very careful, as forrest was reported near that region; they hardly thought it safe to attempt to get to green river. this brewed fresh trouble to me, the owner of the horses and carriage refusing positively to proceed on the journey. in vain i expostulated, telling him i would pay for his horses out of the _sinking fund_ of the _times_ office, in case of their loss. it was no go, and i was compelled to retreat. i felt very much like building some fortifications in the woods, and making a stand, but, remembering the saying, "discretion is the better part of valor," retreated, and fell back upon the national hotel, in louisville, with all the luxuries prepared by charley metcalf, major harrow, and colonel myers. chapter xxx. a reporter's idea of mules -- letter from kentucky -- chaplain gaddis turns fireman -- gaddis and the secesh grass-widow. a reporter's idea of mules. junius browne, describing a mule and his antics, says: "now, be it known, i never had any faith in, though possessed of abundant commiseration for, a mule. i always sympathized with sterne in his sentimental reverie over a dead ass, but for a living one, i could never elevate my feeling of pity either into love or admiration. the mule in question, however, seemed to be possessed of gentle and kindly qualifications. he appeared to have reached that degree of culture that disarms viciousness and softens stubbornness into tractability. i believed the sober-looking animal devoid of tricks peculiar to his kind, such as attempting to run up dead walls in cities, and climb trees in the country, mistaking himself for a perpetual motion, and trying to kick time through the front window of eternity. i was deceived in the docile-looking brute. he secured me as his rider by false pretenses. he won my confidence, and betrayed it shamefully. that he was a good mule, in some respects, i'll willingly testify; but in others, he was deeply depraved. he exhibited a disposition undreamed of by me, unknown before in the brothers and sisters of his numerous family. in brief, he was a sectarian mule; a bigot that held narrow views on the subject of religion; believed hebrew the vernacular of the devil, and regarded the passover with malevolent eyes. confound such a creature, there was no hope for him! who could expect to free him from his prejudices? he hated moses for his fate, and rebekkah for her forms of worship. he was insane on judaism. he was a monomaniacal gentile. who could make out a mental diagnosis, or anticipate the conduct of a mule afflicted with religious lunacy? well for your correspondent had he discovered beforehand the bias of the brute, or suspected he was a quadruped zealot! much might have been saved to him, and more to a number of unoffending gentlemen from church, as the sequel of my 'o'er true tale' will prove. "the train got off about eight o'clock, on a cloudy, rainy, muddy, suicidal morning, and the material that composed it was worthy of illustration by cruikshank. the procession was singularly varied, and supremely bizarre. there were the army-wagons, with sick and wounded soldiers, lumbering heavily along; the paroled prisoners wading through the mire; cotton-buyers, on foot and on horseback; members of the twelve tribes of israel, with all possible modes of conveyance--in broken buggies, in dilapidated coaches, on bare-boned rosinantes, on superannuated oxen, with fragmentary reins, rope reins, and no reins; spurring, swearing, hallooing, and gesticulating toward memphis, in mortal terror lest the rebels would capture them again, and some of their hard-earned gains. pauvre juils! they would have excited the pity of a pawnbroker, if he had not known them, so frightened and anxious and disconsolate they looked. they could not have appeared more miserable if they had just learned that a brass watch they had sold for silver had turned out gold. the mule trotted along briskly and quietly enough until he beheld the grotesque vision of the heterogeneously-mounted israelites. then he displayed most extraordinary conduct. he pawed, he hawed, he kicked, all the while glancing at the sons of jerusalem, and braying louder and more discordant every moment. i could not understand the mule's idiosyncrasies. possibly, i thought, the doctrine of the metempsychosis may be true, and this brute, in the early stages of its development, once have been in love. he has a fit on him now, i fancied--he is once more possessed of a petticoat. why not? if love converts men into asses, why should not asses, in their maddest moments, act like men in love? the mule's ire was culminating. i dug my spurs into his side. vain effort! he was bent on mischief, and malignant against the persecuted race. if he had been in the house of commons, (and many of his brethren are there,) i know he never would have voted for the admission of jews into the english parliament. before i could anticipate his movement, he rushed at several pedestrian hebrews and kicked the wind out of their stomachs and three pairs of green spectacles from their noses. while endeavoring to recover their glasses, the mule knocked their hats off with his hoofs, and impaired the perfect semicircle of their proboscis, thus imitating the rebels--by destroying their bridges totally. the infuriated brute then ran for an old buggy, and, by supreme perseverance, kicked it over, and its two hebrew occupants, into the road, where they fell, head-foremost, into the mire, growling profanely, like tigers that have learned german imperfectly, and were trying to swear, in choice teutonic, about the peculiar qualities of limburger cheese. in their sudden subversion, the israelites dropped three fine watches out of their pockets, and the mule, with an unprecedented voracity, and determined on having a good time, ate the chronometers without any apparent detriment to digestion. the owners of the watches were frenzied. they glanced at my beast, and were about to devour him, hoping thereby to get the timepieces back. they did not violate the third commandment. they could not. they were too mad. they merely hissed rage, like a boiling tea-kettle, and grew purple in the face, and spun round in the road, from the excess of their wrath. your correspondent was alarmed. he feared the mule would devour the hebrews themselves, and he knew, if that were done, the animal would explode, and said animal had not been paid for. no time was given for reflection. off ran the mule again, and made a pedal attack on a small hebrew with a huge nasal organ, seated on top of a decayed coach, drawn by a horse, a cow, and three negroes. the quadruped made a herculean effort to kick the diminutive shylock from his seat, but all in vain. the altitude was too great, and, in the midst of his exertions, he kicked himself off his feet, and fell over into a gulley, in which he alighted and stood on his head, as if he had been trained in a circus. the position was admirable, and so worthy of imitation that i stood on my head also, in two feet of mire, and beckoned with my boots for some passing pedestrians to come and pull me out, as they would a radish from a kitchen-garden. the mule resumed his normal position speedily, and went off in his well-sustained character of a jew-hunter. i was less fortunate. three teamsters drew my boots from my feet, and tears from my eyes, before they could extricate me. and when i was removed from _terra firma_, i resembled a hickory stump dragged out by the roots, or a large cat-fish that had left his native element, and, seized with a fit of science, had endeavored to convert himself into a screw of the artesian well. placed feet downward on the ground again, i could not thank my deliverers or swear at the mule. i was dumb with astonishment and the mud, having swallowed eighteen ounces avoirdupois weight of the sacred soil of mississippi while endeavoring to express my admiration of the performance of the mule. when i had removed the mire from my optics, in which cotton-seed would have grown freely, i beheld the mule in the dim distance. i could not see the brute plainly, but i could determine his course by the frequent falling of a human figure along the road. i knew the figures were those of his enemies, the much-abused hebrews--that he was still wreaking his vengeance on the representatives of israel--that he was fulfilling the unfortunate destiny of a misguided and merciless mule. strange animal! had the honest tradesman ever sold his grandfather a bogus watch? or inveigled his innocent sire into the mysterious precincts of a mock-auction? alas! history does not record, and intuition will not reveal. "my narrative is over. i did not go to memphis. i returned, limping, to town, mentally ejaculating, like many adventurous gentlemen who, before me, have recklessly attempted to ride the peculiar beast, 'd----n a mule, any how!'" letters from kentucky. early in september, , i was sent by general starbuck & co., proprietors of the cincinnati _daily times_, to reconnoiter in kentucky. my first stop was a very pleasant one--at the galt house, louisville. from that place i wrote incident after incident concerning the most inhuman barbarity that had been enacted by citizen guerrillas and butternut soldiers. louisville was in a foment of excitement, and if the rebels had only possessed the dash, there was scarce a day but they could have made a foray upon the "galt," and captured from forty to fifty nice-looking officers, from brigadier-generals down to lieutenants. it was supposed the government could spare them; else why were they in the north, when they should have been in the south? while there, i met lieutenant thomas s. pennington, of columbus, ohio, a gentleman of intelligence, who told me he saw citizens of richmond (kentucky) who had pretended to be friendly with our men, shoot them down as they were retreating through their streets. g. w. baker, the regimental blacksmith of the st indiana, who resides in terre haute, was in the city in charge of a number of horses left in richmond. as our boys, worn-out and unarmed, retreated through the place, mr. baker says the men fired from their windows and doors. j. c. haton, of point commerce, indiana, also corroborates this fiendish piece of work upon the very men who had for days stood guard over their private property. all agree that more of our men were killed by these incarnate fiends in citizens' clothing than by the secesh in uniforms. many of the pretended friendly citizens went out (says lieutenant pennington) to aid us, and then treacherously picked off our officers. colonel topkins, of the st indiana, died nobly, leading his men, who, although undisciplined, stood bravely by their gallant colonel while there was a shadow of hope. twice was his horse shot beneath him; and mounting the third horse, he received two bullets. a number of his boys hastily gathered around him. his last words were: "boys, did i do my duty?" with tears coursing their manly cheeks, they replied: "you did, colonel." "then," said he, "i die happy." major concklin, of the st, whom i reported wounded, died shortly afterward. coming from shelbyville, i passed more than one hundred wagons, all heavily loaded with the wreck of the late battles, many of the wounded being brought to this city. chaplain gaddis and the d ohio. charley bunker, in writing from the d ohio, says: "this is the sabbath, which, under present circumstances, can only be known by the neat appearance of the boys, in their shiny boots and clean, boiled shirts, as they make their early morning entrée for company inspection of arms and accouterments, after which, all is dullness and vacuity. there is a sensible void, apparent to all, requiring something to remove the depressing dullness now surrounding them; and that something is to be found only in the presence of an accommodating and pleasing chaplain. being to-day in the camp of the d ohio regiment, i observed this lack of a clerical adviser, in the absence of brother m. p. gaddis, the pleasing and affable chaplain of this gallant band of patriots. brother gaddis, being naturally of a pleasing and accommodating disposition, has won the confidence and favor of his entire command, and is an ever-welcome guest wherever he may chance to offer his presence. but one instance can be recorded wherein the parson has met with refusal of friendship and favor--and this can be credited to nothing but the present distracted condition of our unfortunate country. but, even in this instance, the kind and accommodating nature of the chaplain was fully manifested; forgetting all party or political prejudices, he viewed all the circumstances with a happy mind and christian heart. the following are the circumstances of the above-mentioned case: on the first advance of the national army from louisville toward the land of dixie, a portion of our forces marched along the turnpike, passing in their route the time-noted tavern-stand, distant some twenty miles north of bowling green, and known to all travelers as "ball's tavern." on the evening of the arrival of the forces under the immediate command of general mitchel, at this place, one of the buildings attached to the premises accidently caught fire." chaplain gaddis turns fireman. the d ohio regiment being encamped near the premises, and observing the flames bursting from the roof of the building, brother gaddis, with a number of others, instantly made their way to the building to save the entire property from destruction. entering the building, they made their way to the top of the house, where the fire was then raging, and commenced tearing away the wood-work near the devouring element. no water being convenient, they were obliged to resort to the snow as a substitute, which, at that time, covered the ground, to subdue the flames. having partially succeeded in checking the raging of the fire, a small aperture was made in the roof of the building, and dave thomas, the sutler of the d ohio, being the smallest one of the party, was thrust through the hole in the roof, and made a desperate onslaught upon the fire, while brother gaddis continued to hand up the snow in hats and caps to the daring firemen on the roof, until the fire was entirely extinguished. the following day brother gaddis, knowing the former reputation of the tavern, and, as is natural with all clerical exponents, preferring _fried chicken to hog meat_, and warm rolls to hard crackers, wended his way to the tavern, with a craving appetite, and the full expectation of a kind welcome and an agreeable entertainment. before proceeding further, i must here state that, attached to these premises, is a noted subterranean recess, which has ever been the attraction of all travelers who have chanced to pass over this frequented thoroughfare, and is known as the "diamond cave." gaddis and the secesh grass-widow. entering the dwelling, brother gaddis sought the landlady, mrs. proctor, or the late widow bell, but now the wife of a proctor, who, by-the-by, is at present to be found in the ranks of the rebel army, the madam's entire sympathies leading in the same direction. addressing the landlady in his usual winning manner, brother gaddis requested the privilege of remaining as a guest of the house, and enjoying the luxuries of her well-stored larder and the comforts of her well-furnished rooms. what was the surprise of the chaplain to find in the landlady a real she-devil in politics, and utterly inexorable to all appeals to her charity and hospitality. in her remarks, she observed that "he was on the wrong side of the fence; that she had entertained, the day before the arrival of the union troops, a company of three hundred gentlemen, (referring to that number of rebel cavalry,) and that they had treated her like a lady, and paid her for what they had received"--(_in confederate scrip_). in reply, brother gaddis, not wishing to be deprived of her coveted entertainment, inquired "what was the difference which side of the fence he was on, so that he conducted himself with propriety, and paid her for her trouble?" asking if his money was not as good as that of those of whom she spoke. she answered, "no!" and positively refused to entertain any of the "hated yankees" in her house. "turchin's got your mule." a planter came to camp one day, his niggers for to find; his mules had also gone astray, and stock of every kind. the planter tried to get them back, and thus was made a fool, for every one he met in camp cried, "mister, here's your mule." chorus.--go back, go back, go back, old scamp, and don't be made a fool; your niggers they are all in camp, and turchin's got your mule. his corn and horses all were gone within a day or two. again he went to colonel long, to see what he could do. "i can not change what i have done, and won't be made a fool," was all the answer he could get, the owner of the mule. chorus.--go back, go back, go back, old scamp, and don't be made a fool; your niggers they are all in camp, and turchin's got your mule. and thus from place to place we go, the song is e'er the same; 'tis not as once it used to be, for morgan's lost his name. he went up north, and there he stays, with stricken face, the fool; in cincinnati now he cries, "my kingdom for a mule." chorus.--go back, go back, etc. chapter xxxi. a visit to the st east tennessee cavalry -- a proposed sermon -- its interruption -- how ye preacher is bamboozled out of $ and a gold watch -- cavalry on the brain -- old stonnicker drummed out of camp -- now and then. a visit to the st east tennessee cavalry. the cavalry had been kept very busy during the months of march and april; the picket-duty was arduous and severe, but the east tennessee soldiers stood up to the rack manfully. i had been with them on nearly all their expeditions; shared their toils and dangers, until i felt i was a part and parcel of their "institution." colonel johnson, at this time, was in nashville, raising a brigade; the command of the regiment, therefore, devolved upon colonel brownlow. the colonel had frequently invited me over to the camp, but other engagements had as frequently deterred me from accepting the invitation. i was seated, one beautiful afternoon, in the tent of doctor charles wright, of the th ohio, conversing with colonel brownlow, when major tracy, of the tennessee regiment, with two or three others, agreed that "now was the appointed time." a horse was proffered me by john leiter, esq., and i proceeded forthwith to the head-quarters of the renowned east tennesseeans. arriving there, the major requested that i would entertain the boys, who, as well as they knew me personally, did not know me _facially_--did not know the "power of facial expression." major tracy ordered the assembly-call sounded, which was done, and, in a short time, five or six hundred men were congregated in front of head-quarters, and as those in the rear could not have a good view of the speaker, the major ordered the front rank to kneel, or squat. the boys had been told that alf was going to give them some "fun;" that alf was to amuse them for awhile. during the congregating of the crowd, i was in the tent--the audience in waiting. major t. went to the front and announced that the rev. ebenezer slabsides, from middle tennessee, would address the congregation. a table was placed, and i had taken a "_posish_," with spectacles mounted on my nose, when, just as i had commenced the discourse, by saying: "my beloved brethering," i heard a strange voice say: "we didn't come to hear no sermon--we come to hear alf. put that fellow out!" another voice said: "that's a burlesque on our parson." still i went on, thinking all would be quiet. presently a big, tall e. t. c. fellow shouted "move him, move him!" and shouts of "alf! where's alf?" resounded all over. here i tried to divest myself of my spectacles, but they stuck, and before i could identify myself to the crowd as to who i was, i received a _knock-down_ argument. i changed my base of operations, and retreated to the major's tent. here two stalwart fellows laid violent hands upon me, and each one getting hold, tried to pull me _through the tent-pole_. seeing a fine opportunity for a strategical maneuver, i succeeded in planting a heavy blow on the proboscis of one of my tormentors, which bedizzened his vision. again i changed my base, and got to another tent. by this time the camp was wild; a few, who knew me, were taking my part; blows fell thick and fast, but i succeeded in guarding my head. i had no relish for cavalry on the brain just then. during the melée they robbed me of a watch and about fifteen dollars in money. "_but they can't do it again! hallelujah!_" the news of my _defeat_ spread like wild-fire over the camp before tatoo; the entire division were talking of it, and serious consequences were feared; the cavalry soldiers did not dare show themselves near the d minnesota for several days, i being quite a favorite with those boys, and that being my home for the time. the most exaggerated stories were told of the affair. in a few days all was quiet on the harpeth, and again i was with the boys, who all made the most ample apologies, and expressed sorrow for what had occurred. colonel brownlow called upon me the next day, in condolence, renewing the invitation, but the remembrance of my former reception deterred me from making the journey. some weeks after the occurrence, i was commissioned by the proprietors of the cincinnati _commercial_ to proceed to murfreesboro as their "special," and telegraphed to general garfield for the requisite permission. judge of my surprise upon receiving the following dispatch from general garfield: head-quarters army of the cumberland, murfreesboro, _may , _. alf burnett--_sir_: the commanding general has heard of the occurrence at triune, and refuses you permission to come to murfreesboro. j. a. garfield, _brigadier-general and chief of staff_. i immediately dispatched a batch of letters from prominent generals; also sent forward several fine introductory letters that i held, addressed to general rosecrans and general garfield. a regular diplomatic correspondence was opened, and, after hearing the evidence, i received a telegram to this effect: alf burnett--report forthwith at these head-quarters. j. a. garfield. by order of major-general rosecrans. i arrived at murfreesboro the following day, but did not "_report_," for i felt somewhat chagrined at the general's crediting the stories that he had heard. the succeeding day, however, i met general alex mccook, and his brother, the gallant colonel dan mccook, who told me that the general wanted to see me immediately; that the greatest anxiety was felt at head-quarters for my appearance; that i had been the subject of conversation for an hour past. i immediately dismounted and walked into the house, presenting my card to an orderly, and, in a moment, general garfield came to the door with a cordial welcome and a hearty laugh, took me by the hand and introduced the "preacher from hepsidam" to major-general rosecrans. when this was done, another outburst of laughter was the result. major-general turchin, major-general thomas, and the staffs of those heroes were present. general garfield and "old rosey" formed the party whom i was apprised were a court-martial now duly convened to try the "preacher from hepsidam." general r. asking me if i was ready for trial, i told him i was, if he had a pair of spectacles in the "court" room. so he called the court to order, sent for a few of his staff, who were absent, and requested general garfield to get me a pair of spectacles from an adjoining room. general rosecrans took advantage of general garfield's absence to tell me that general garfield had once been a "hard-shell" baptist preacher, and requested me, if i could, by any possibility, "bring him in," to do so. the sermon was given, and, afterward, the "debate between slabsides and garrotte," together with other pieces. at the conclusion of the "trial," the court unanimously resolved that i should not only be honorably acquitted of all charges, but that i was henceforth to be allowed the freedom of the army of the cumberland. "and," said the general, "in explanation of my dispatch to you, refusing you permission to come here, some one told me you were giving a mock-religious sermon which so disgusted the religious sensibilities of the e. t. c. that they mobbed you; and i thought if you could do any thing to shock their feelings, you must be a devil with '_four horns_;' but, with such a face as you make, no wonder they were deceived." old stonnicker drummed out of camp. the illustration of this scene will be recognized by thousands of our soldier-boys who were occupiers of virginia soil, upon the banks of the elkwater, for some months during the summer and fall of . old stonnicker's was a name familiar as a household word, and many were the pranks played upon the poor old man. ignorant, beyond description, he yet had twice been a "justice" of the peace, and, as he said, "sot on the bench." the scene illustrated is where stonnicker was arrested by a "special order" from the th ohio, and tried by an impromptu court-martial, for selling liquor to soldiers. the mock-trial took place amid the most grotesque queries and absurd improvised telegraph dispatches--the hand-writing of the telegraphic dispatches being sworn to as that of the individuals from whom they were just received, the oath being, "as they solemnly _hoped for the success of the southern confederacy_." the poor wretch had actually been detected in selling, contrary to express orders, liquor to soldiers. he employed counsel, but, notwithstanding all they could do, he was sentenced, by major christopher, to die. he received his sentence with moanings and anguish; he was too frightened to notice the smiles or laughter of the crowd. he got on his knees and begged for mercy, and, after an hour of suspense, the court relented, and commuted the sentence to being drummed out of camp. it is at this juncture the artist has seized the occasion to illustrate the scene. stonnicker is a by-word to all the boys of elkwater notoriety to this day, and was, at one time, "_a password_" at louisville. poor stonnicker is dead. in trying, last fall, to ford that mad torrent, elkwater, during a storm, he was swept from his horse and drowned. andy hall, ned shoemaker, doctor ames, and other notables of the "times that tried men's _soles_," were the recipients of the hospitality of another of the family of stonnickers, who lived up a "ravine" about a mile nearer huttonsville. doctor ames had musk upon his handkerchief, which the young lady, (?) miss delilah stonnicker, noticing, as she waited upon the doctor at the supper-table, exclaimed: "'lor', doctor, how your _hankercher_ stinks!" "does it?" said the doctor, coloring up to his very eyes, roars of laughter proceeding from all present. "yaas; it stinks just like a skunk." "why, miss delilah, do you have skunks out here?" inquired the doctor. "_yaas, lots on 'em up the gut out thar._" now and then. written by enos b. reed, and recited by mr. alf burnett, at the benefit of the ladies' soldiers' aid society of cincinnati, saturday evening, january st, . in other days, as it has oft been told by those who sleep beneath the grave's dank mold, in this, our loved, but now distracted land, men dwelt together as a household band; brothers they were, but not alone in name, sons of columbia and columbia's fame-- they loved the land, the fairest 'neath the sun, home of the brave--the land of washington! peaceful the rivers as they flowed along the plenteous fields, where swelled the harvest song; peaceful the mountains, as they reared on high their snow-capped peaks unto the azure sky-- peaceful the valleys, where contentment smiled, blessing alike the parent and the child-- peaceful the hearts which owned a country blest, and owned their god, who gave them peace and rest! the happy matron and the joyous maid alike were blest--the unknown traveler stayed his weary limbs beneath their roof-tree's shade, while home from toil the husbandman returned, his honest hands the honest pittance earned, willing to share his humble meal with one whether from winter's snows or southern sun. no north--no south, in those the better days-- our starry flag o'er all--its genial rays glistened amid new england's dreary snows, or shone as proudly where the south wind blows: one flag, one nation, and one god we claimed, and traitors' lips had never yet defamed the land for which our fathers fought and bled-- hallowed by graves of honored patriot-dead! fruitful the earth, and fair the skies above; the days were blissful, and the nights were love; we were at peace--our land and freedom gained-- our fair escutcheon with no blot e'er stained-- but all did honor to the fair young state who made herself both glorious and great; our eagle--emblem of the happy free-- was free to soar o'er foreign land or sea! but darkness came, and settled like a pall funereal, on our hearts; o'er one and all it cast its blighting, withering wing, a horrid, shapeless, and revolting thing-- while dove-eyed peace bowed down its gentle head and wept for those, though living, worse than dead; and blood, like rivers, flowed from hill to plain 'till land and sea knew not their ghastly slain. the northern snows incarnadined with gore-- the southern vales with blood, like wine, ran o'er-- the battle raging in the morning sun, at night, the warfare scarcely yet begun-- the sire, in arms to meet his foeman-son, brother, to seek his brother in the strife, rushed madly on--demanding life for life! and children, orphans made--and worse than widowed, wife! and this the land which erst our fathers blest, favored of heaven--the pilgrim's hope of rest-- now cursed by traitors, who with impious hands have dared to sunder our once-hallowed bands-- have dared to poison with their ven'mous breath all that was fair--and raise the flag of death; have dared to blight the country of their birth, striving her name to banish from the earth! god of our fathers! where your lightnings now, to blind their vision, and their hearts to bow? traitors to all that manhood holds most dear, without remorse, with neither hope nor fear, they trail our starry banner in the dust, and flaunt their own base emblem in the gust; like the arch-fiend, who from a heaven once fell, they'd pull us down to their own fearful hell! a boon! o god! a boon from thee we crave-- shine on this gloomy darkness of the grave; stretch forth thine arm, and let the waves be still, and union triumph, as it must and will. god of our fathers! guide our arms aright, be near and with us in the deadly fight; columbia's banner may we still uphold, and keep each star bright in its azure fold. we mourn for those who sleep beneath the wave, or on the land have found a soldier's grave; each heart will be an altar to their fame, and ever sacred kept each glorious name. we'll honor those who nobly fought and bled, and fighting fell, where freedom's banner led; each soldier-son, we'll welcome to our arms, when strife has ceased its din and dread alarms! our soldiers, home returning from the wars, our dames shall nourish--honored scars shall mark them heroes, and they live to tell how once they battled--battled brave and well-- for home and country--mountain, plain, and dell-- and how the nation like a phenix rose from out its ashes, spite of fiendish foes; then once again columbia shall be blest-- home of the free, and land for the oppressed! [illustration: the preacher from hepsidam. see page .] chapter xxxii. an incident of the th o. v. i. -- how to avoid the draft -- keep the soldiers' letters -- new use of blood-hounds -- proposition to hang the dutch soldiers -- stolen stars. an incident of the th o. v. i. there is no regiment in the service that has won more enviable renown than the glorious old th; and, although i have met them but twice in my peregrinations, i can not let them go unnoticed in this volume. many of the boys i knew intimately--none better than young jacobs, who was killed near fredericksburg, virginia. a writer in the cincinnati _commercial_, soon after his death, penned the following merited tribute to his memory: noble deeds have been recorded, during the past two years, of the faithful in our armies, who have struggled amid carnage and blood to consecrate anew our altar of liberty--deeds which have stirred the slumbering fires of patriotism in ten thousand hearts, and revived the nation's hope. i can well conceive that it would be asking too much to record every merited deed of our brave officers and men; but, while too many have strayed from the ranks when their strong arms have been most needed, will you allow a passing tribute to the memory of one who was always at his post of duty? henry g. jacobs, a private in company c, th regiment o. v. i., who was killed in battle near fredericksburg, virginia, was the second son of e. jacobs, esq., of walnut hills. he enlisted in may, , and had, consequently, been in the service two years. since his regiment left camp dennison, he had never been absent from it a day until he fought his last battle. i need not speak of his deeds of personal bravery, for he belonged to a regiment of heroes. for unflinching courage on the field of battle, the th ohio has few parallels and no superior. in that respect, the history of one is the history of all. in the battle of winchester, henry escaped with two ball-holes in his coat. in the battle of port republic, only one (a young man from cincinnati) besides himself, of all his company who were in the action, escaped capture. they reached the mountains after being fired at several times, and, two days after, they arrived at their camp. at the battle of cedar mountain the stock of his gun was shattered in his hands by a rebel shot. he was in the battles of antietam and south mountain, and in over twenty considerable skirmishes. last autumn, his sister wrote, urging him to ask for a furlough and visit home, if but for a few days. his answer was: "our country needs every man at his post, and my place is here with my regiment till this rebellion is put down." no young man could be more devotedly attached to his home, yet he wrote, last winter: "i have never asked for a furlough since i have been in the service; but, if you think father's life is in danger from the surgical operation which is to be performed upon his arm, i will try to get home; for you do not know how deeply i share with you all in this affliction." his talents and education fitted him for what his friends considered a higher position than the one he occupied. accordingly, application was made to the governor to commission him as a lieutenant in one of the new regiments. in signing the application, professor d. h. allen, of lane seminary, prefaced his signature as follows: "i know no young man in the ranks who, in my opinion, is better qualified for an officer in the army than henry c. jacobs." in this opinion w. s. scarborough, esq., colonel a. e. jones, and many others who were personally acquainted with him, heartily concurred. such encouragement was received from the governor as led his sister to write, congratulating him upon the prospect of his appointment. his answer was: "i had rather be a private in the th ohio than captain in any new regiment. in fact, i do not want a commission. when i enlisted, it was not for pay; i never expected to receive one dollar. i have fought in many battles, and served my country to the best of my ability; and i wish to remain in the position i now occupy till the war is over." it is not only to offer a tribute to the memory of henry that i would intrude upon your readers, but, by presenting an example, encourage faithfulness and patriotic devotion to the cause of liberty. if any man, officer or private, has been more faithful, his be the higher monument in a grateful nation's heart when treason is no more. he shouldered his musket, and it was at his country's service every hour till it was laid down beside his bleeding, mangled body, on the banks of the rappahannock. if my country ever forgets such heroes as these, her very name should perish forever. young men whose hearts are not stirred within them to rush into the breach, avenge the fallen brave, and save their country, are making for themselves no enviable future. who that calls himself a man will sit with folded arms and careless mien, under the shade of the tree of liberty, while the wild boar is whetting his tusks against its bark, and the gaunt stag rudely tears its branches? it was planted in tears and watered with blood; and if you do not protect it now, your names will perish. henry had made two firm resolves: one was to keep out of the hospital, and the other was to keep out of the hands of the rebels. he would not be taken a prisoner, and, if die he must, he preferred the battle-field to the hospital. he has realized his wish, and though the bitterness of our anguish at his loss may only wear out with our lives, our country, in his death, has lost more than his kindred. we are making history for all time to come. eternity will tell its own story of unending joy for those who have freely shed their blood to lay a firm foundation for the happiness of millions yet unborn. "give me the death of those who for their country die; and o! be mine like their repose, when cold and low they lie! "their loveliest mother earth entwines the fallen brave; in her sweet lap who gave them birth they find their tranquil grave." how to avoid the draft. during the troubles of raising men, a rough-looking customer, determined upon evasion, called upon the military commission, when the following colloquy ensued, the individual in question remarking: "mr. commissioner, i'm over forty-five." "how old _are_ you?" "i don't know how old i am; but i'm over _forty-five_." "in what year did you make your appearance on this mundane sphere?" "i don't know what you mean; but i'm over forty-five." "when were you born?" "i don't know; but i'm over forty-five." "how am i to know you are over age?" "i don't know and i don't care; but i'm over forty-five." "when were you forty-five?" "i don't know; but i know i'm over forty-five." "you must give me some proof that you are over age." "i've been in the country thirty-six years, and i'm over forty-five." "that does not prove that you are too old to be drafted." "i don't care; i know i'm over forty-five." "i shall not erase your name until you prove your age." "i tell you i've been in this country thirty-six years, and i went sparking before i came here, and i'm over forty-five." "will you swear it?" "yes, i'm over forty-five. d----d if i aint over forty-five." "well, i will exempt you." "i don't care whether you do or not, for _i've got a wooden leg_." new use of blood-hounds. one fine summer's sunday afternoon, as a steamboat was stopping at a landing on the mississippi to take in wood, the passengers were surprised to see two or three young, athletic negroes perched upon a tree like monkeys, and about as many blood-hounds underneath, barking and yelping, and jumping up in vain endeavors to seize the frightened negroes. the overseer was standing by, encouraging the dogs, and several bystanders were looking on, enjoying the sport. it was only the owner of some blood-hounds training his dogs, and keeping them in practice, so as to be able to hunt down the runaways, who often secrete themselves in the woods. it was thought fine sport, and useful, too, in its way, ten years ago. but now the same hounds are being made use of, all through alabama and mississippi, and, we have no doubt, in other of the southern states, to hunt down white men hiding in the woods to escape the fierce conscription act, which is now seizing about every man under sixty years of age able to carry a gun. nor is this the worst. it is found that those camped out are supplied with food brought them by their children, who go out apparently to play in the woods, and then slip off and carry provisions to their fathers. to meet this exigency, blood-hounds are now employed to follow these little children on their pious errands, and the other day a beautiful little girl was thus chased and overtaken in the woods, and there torn in pieces, alone and unaided, by the trained blood-hounds of jefferson davis! nor is this a solitary case. it appears that many white men, women, and children have thus been sacrificed, in order to carry out the conscription act in all its terrors. in a large number of cases, those who are thus hunted down are such as have in some way exhibited union proclivities; for, although such have ceased to offer any opposition to the rebels, they do not like taking up arms against the flag of the union, to which many of them have, in former days, sworn allegiance. these persons, and all suspected, are especially marked out as objects of the conscription and the blood-hound, be their ages and fighting qualities what they may. and these are the men hunted down with dogs, and their wives and their children, if they attempt to follow them. there are, however, many men not unionists, and willing to contribute of their property to any amount to support the rebels, but now being drawn into the conscription, or, having tasted the desperate neglects of the rebel service, have deserted, and will not again take up arms. their wives are ladies, most delicate and tender, and their children brought up with a refinement and delicacy of the most perfect character, until this war began. and these are the women that now have to wander alone in the woods, in search of their husbands and brothers and sons; and these are the little girls, who, going to carry food to their relatives, are liable at any moment to be overtaken by swift hounds, let loose and set upon their track by the agents of jefferson davis. it may be doubted if war itself, ever but once in the history of mankind, proved so disastrous to a people, by the hands of those engaged in carrying it on. perhaps, in the final destruction of jerusalem, there may have been scenes of greater and more fiendish cruelty by the factions of john and simon destroying each other, while both were at war with the romans. and what must be the state of the south, when a delicate woman, who would hardly set her feet on the ground for delicacy, and used to have servants to attend upon her every wish and want, is reduced to straits like these, and children are torn to pieces by the dogs of humble hunters after white flesh for jefferson davis's shambles! keep the soldiers' letters. mother, father, brother, sister, wife, sweetheart, keep that bundle sacredly! each word will be historic, each line invaluable. when peace has restored the ravages of war, and our nation's grandeur has made this struggle the most memorable of those great conflicts by which ideas are rooted into society, these pen-pictures of the humblest events, the merest routine details of the life led in winning national unity and freedom, will be priceless. not for the historian's sake alone, do i say, keep those letters, but for your sakes who receive them, and ours who write them. the next skirmish may stop our pulses forever, and our letters, full of love for you, will be our only legacy besides that of having died in a noble cause. and should we survive the war, with health and limb uninjured, or bowed with sickness or crippled with wounds, those letters will be dear mementoes to us of dangers past, of trials borne, of privations suffered, of comrades beloved. keep our letters, then, and write to us all the home news and "gossip." bid us godspeed. speak kindly, loving, courageous words to us. if you can't be spartans--and we don't want you to be--be "lovers, countrymen, and friends." so shall our feet fall lighter, and our sabers heavier! proposition to hang the dutch soldiers. the following specimen of "chivalric" literature is copied from the knoxville _register_, of june , : of late, in all battles and in all recent incursions made by federal cavalry, we have found the great mass of northern soldiers to consist of dutchmen. the plundering thieves captured by forrest, who stole half the jewelry and watches in a dozen counties of alabama, were immaculate dutchmen. the national odor of dutchmen, as distinctive of the race as that which, constantly ascending to heaven, has distended the nostrils of the negro, is as unmistakable as that peculiar to a polecat, an old pipe, or a lager-beer saloon. crimes, thefts, and insults to the women of the south invariably mark the course of these stinking bodies of _sour-krout_. rosecrans himself is an unmixed dutchman, an accursed race which has overrun the vast districts of the country of the north-west.... it happens that we entertain a greater degree of respect for an ethiopian in the ranks of the northern armies, than for an odoriferous dutchman, who can have no possible interest in this revolution. why not hang every dutchman captured? we will, hereafter, hang, shoot, or imprison for life all white men taken in the command of negroes, and enslave the negroes themselves. this is not too harsh. no human being will assert the contrary. why, then, should we not hang a dutchman, who deserves infinitely less of our sympathy than sambo? the live masses of beer, krout, tobacco, and rotten cheese, which, on two legs and four (on foot and mounted), go prowling through the south, should be used to manure the sandy plains and barren hill-sides of alabama, tennessee, and georgia.... whenever a dutch regiment adorns the limbs of a southern forest, daring cavalry raids into the south shall cease.... president davis need not be specially consulted; and if an accident of this sort should occur to a plundering band, like that captured by forrest, we are not inclined to believe our president would be greatly dissatisfied. * * * * * "my young colored friend," said a benevolent chaplain to a contraband, "can you read?" "yes, sah," was the reply. "glad to hear it. shall i give you a paper?" "sartin, massa, if you please." "what paper would you choose?" asked the chaplain. "_if you chews_, i'll take a paper of terbacker." the stolen stars. [at a dinner party, at which were present major-general lewis wallace, thomas buchanan read, and james e. murdoch, a conversation sprung up respecting ballads for the soldiers. the general maintained that hardly one had been written suited for the camp. it was agreed that each of them should write one. the following is that by general wallace:] when good old father washington was just about to die, he called our uncle samuel unto his bedside nigh; "this flag i give you, sammy, dear," said washington, said he; "where e'er it floats, on land or wave, my children shall be free." and fine old uncle samuel he took the flag from him, and spread it on a long pine pole, and prayed, and sung a hymn. a pious man was uncle sam, back fifty years and more; the flag should fly till judgment-day, so, by the lord, he swore. and well he kept that solemn oath; he kept it well, and more: the thirteen stars first on the flag soon grew to thirty-four; and every star bespoke a state, each state an empire won. no brighter were the stars of night than those of washington. beneath that flag two brothers dwelt; to both 't was very dear; the name of one was puritan, the other cavalier. "go, build ye towns," said uncle sam, unto those brothers dear; "build anywhere, for in the world you've none but god to fear." "i'll to the south," said cavalier, "i'll to the south," said he; "i'll to the north," said puritan, "the north's the land for me." each took a flag, each left a tear to good old uncle sam; he kissed the boys, he kissed the flags, and, doleful, sung a psalm. and in a go-cart puritan his worldly goods did lay; with wife and gun and dog and ax, he, singing, went his way. of buckskin was his sunday suit, his wife wore linsey-jeans; and fat they grew, like porpoises, on hoe-cake, pork, and beans. but cavalier a cockney was; he talked french and latin; every day he wore broadcloth, while his wife wore satin. he went off in a painted ship-- in glory he did go; a thousand niggers up aloft, a thousand down below. the towns were built, as i've heard said; their likes were never seen; they filled the north, they filled the south, they filled the land between. "the lord be praised!" said puritan; "bully!" said cavalier; "there's room and town-lots in the west, if there isn't any here." out to the west they journeyed then, and in a quarrel got; one said 't was his, he knew it was, the other said 't was not. one drew a knife, a pistol t' other, and dreadfully they swore; from northern lake to southern gulf wild rang the wordy roar. all the time good old uncle sam sat by his fireside near, smokin' of his kinnikinnick, and drinkin' lager-beer. he laughed and quaffed, and quaffed and laughed, nor thought it worth his while, until the storm in fury burst on sumter's sea-girt isle. o'er the waves to the smoking fort, when came the dewy dawn, to see the flag he looked--and lo! _eleven stars were gone!_ "my pretty, pretty stars," he cried, and down did roll a tear. "i've got your stars, old fogy sam, ha, ha!" laughed cavalier. "i've got your stars in my watch-fob; come take them if you dare!" and uncle sam he turned away, too full of wrath to swear. "let thunder all the drums!" he cried, while swelled his soul, like mars; "a million northern boys i'll get to bring me home my stars." and on his mare, stout betsey jane, to northside town he flew; the dogs they barked, the bells did ring, and countless bugles blew. "my stolen stars!" cried uncle sam, "my stolen stars!" cried he, "a million soldiers i must have to bring them back to me." "dry up your tears, good uncle sam; dry up!" said puritan, "we'll bring you home your stolen stars, or perish every man!" and at the words a million rose, all ready for the fray; and columns formed, like rivers deep, and southward marched away. * * * * * and still old uncle samuel sits by his fireside near, smokin' of his kinnikinnick and drinkin' lager-beer; while there's a tremble in the earth, a gleaming of the sky, and the rivers stop to listen as the million marches by. debate between rev. ebenezer slabsides and honorable felix garrotte, delivered before general rosecrans and the society of the toki. the subject of discussion was--"who deserved the greatest praise: mr. columbus, for discovering america, or mr. washington, for defending it after it was discovered?" the two characters are personated by an instantaneous change of feature. [the honorable felix garrotte arose, and said:] mr. president, and gentlemen of this lyceum: i suppose the whole country is aware that i take sides with mr. kerlumbus, and i hope, mr. president, that i may be allowed to go a leetle into detail in regard to the history of my hero. i find, mr. president, after a deal of research, that mr. kerlumbus was born in the year , at rome, a small town situated on the banks of the nile, a small creek that takes its rise in the alps, and flows in a south-westerly direction, and empties into the gulf of mexico. mr. kerlumbus's parents were poor; his father was a basket-maker, and, being in such low circumstances, was unable to give his only son that education which his talents and genius demanded. he therefore bound him out to a shepherd, who sot him to watchin' swine on the banks of the nile; and it was thar, sir, by a cornstalk and rush-light fire, a readin' the history of robinson crusoe, that first inspired in his youthful breast the seeds of sympathy and ambition. sympathy for what? why, sir, to rescue that unfortunate hero, mr. crusoe, from his solitary and lone situation upon the island of juan fernandeze, and restore him to the bosom of his family in germany. he accordingly made immediate application to julius cæsar for two canoes and a yawl, eight men, and provisions to last him a three-days' cruise; but, sir, he was indignantly refused. he was tuk up the next day and tried by a court-martial for treason, and sentenced to two months' banishment upon the island of cuba--a small island situated in the mediterranean sea--which has lately been purchased by the sons of malta for jeff davis. but, sir, he was not to be intimidated by this harsh and cruel treatment. no, sir-ee; on the contrary, he was inspired with renewed zeal and energy; and i can put into the mouth of my hero the immortal words which milton spoke to the duke of wellington, at the siege of yorktown: "once more into the breach, dear friends!" well, after the tarm of his banishment had expired, he returned to rome, and he found that cæsar had died again, and that alexander the great had succeeded him. well, he made the same demand of alexander that he made of mr. cæsar, but he met with a similar denial; but, finally, through the intermediation of cleopatra, (that was aleck's first wife,) he ultimately succeeded. it is unnecessary for me to go into a detail of his outfit and voyage. suffice it to say, that, after having been tossed about upon waves that ran mountain-high, all his crew was lost, except himself and a small boy, and they were thrown upon the state of insensibility. well, when he came-to, he rose up, in the majesty of his strength, and found he was upon an island; so he pulled out his red cotton bandana handkercher, tied it to a fish-pole, and rared the stake of alexander, and took formal possession of the territory in his name, and he called it san salvador; that was in honor of cleopatra's eldest daughter. well now, you see, cleopatra was so well pleased with the honor conferred upon her daughter, that she migrated to this country for to settle; hence you see the long line of distinguished antecedents that she left here previously, and they are known as _pat_riots, from cleo_patra_. now, sir, having accomplished the great and paramount object of his life, he was ready for to die. the natives, therefore, for intrudin' upon their sile, tuk him prisoner, stripped him of his hunting-shirt and other clothing, tarred and feathered him, and rid him on a rail! thus perished that truly great and good man, who lived and died for mankind. one more remark, mr. president, and then i am done; and i lay it down as a particular pint in my argument. if it had not have been for mr. kerlumbus, mr. washington would never have been born; besides all this, mr. washington was a coward. with these remarks, i leave the floor to abler hands. [here mr. slabsides arose, much excited at hearing mr. washington called a coward, and said:] mr. president: i, sir, for one, am sureptaciously surprised at the quiet manner in which you have listened to the base suspersions cast upon that glorious and good man. mr. washington a coward! why, sir, lockjawed be the mouth that spoke it. mr. washington a coward! mr. president, my blood's a-bilin' at the idea. why, sir, look at him at the battle of tippecanoe! look at him at the battle of sarah gordon! look at him at the battle of new orleans! did he display cowardice thar, sir, or at any of the similar battles that he fout? i ask you, sir, did he display cowardice at the battle of new orleans? [mr. garrotte arose, and responded to the question. said he:] the gentleman will allow me to correct him, one moment. mr. washington, sir, never fit the battle of new orleans. he couldn't have fout that battle, for he'd been dead more'n _two weeks_ afore that ar battle was ever fout. he never fit the battle of new orleans. mr. slabsides.--will the gentleman--will mr. garrotte please state who it was that fit the battle of new orleans? the gentleman has seen fit to interrupt me; will he please to state who it was fit the battle of new orleans? hon. felix garrotte.--if the gentleman will have patience to turn to josephus, or read benjamin franklin's history of the black-hawk war, you will thar learn, sir, that it was general douglas that fit the battle of new orleans. mr. slabsides.--i thank my very learned opponent, not only for his instructions, but more especially for his corrections, in which he has shown himself totally ignorant of history, men, and things. i contend, mr. president, notwithstanding the gentleman's assertion to the contrary, that mr. washington not only fit the battle of new orleans, but that he is _alive now_, sir! i have only to pint you, mr. president, and gentlemen of this lyceum, to his quiet and retired home at _sandoval_, on the banks of the tombigbee river, whar he now resides, conscious of his private worth and of the glorious achievements heaped upon his grateful brow by his aged countrymen; and allow me to call your attention to the fact that general douglas never fit the battle of new orleans. he couldn't have fout that battle, cause he was dead. yes, sir, and i can prove it, if you'll have the patience to turn and look over horace greeley's history of the kansas hymn-book war; for there you will find that general douglas, at the head of an army of negroes, made a desperate charge on mason and dixon's line, and horace said he never breathed afterward. [hereupon the speaker left in disgust at the ignorance of his opponent.] a sermon from the harp of a thousand strings. preached before general rosecrans and staff. my beluved brethering: i am a plain and unlarnt preacher, of whom you've no doubt heern on afore; and i now appear to expound the scripters, and pint out the narrow way which leads from a vain world to the streets of the juroosalum; and my tex which i shall choose for the occasion is somewhar between the second chronikills and the last chapter of timothy titus, and when found you will find it in these words: "and they shall gnaw a file, and flee unto the mountains of hepsidam, whar the lion roareth and the whang-doodle mourneth for its first-born." now, my beluved brethering, as i have afore told you, i am an unedicated man, and know nothing about grammar talk and collidge highfaluting; but i'm a plain, unlarnt preacher of the gospil, what's been foreordained, and called to expound the scripters to a dyin' world, and prepare a perverse generation for the day of wrath; "for they shall gnaw a file, and flee unto the mountains of hepsidam, whar the lion roareth and the whang-doodle mourneth for its first-born." my beluved brethering, the text says "they shall gnaw a file." it don't say they _may_, but they _shall_. and now, there's more'n one kind of file: there's the hand-saw file, rat-tail file, single file, double file, and profile; but the kind of file spoken of here isn't one of them kind neither, because it's a figger of speech, my brethering, and means goin' it alone, getting ukered; "for they shall gnaw a file, and flee unto the mountains of hepsidam, whar the lion roareth and the whang-doodle mourneth for its first-born." and now, there be some here with fine clothes on thar backs, brass rings on thar fingers, and lard on thar har, what goes it while they're young; and thar be brothers here what, as long as thar constitutions and forty-cent whisky last, goes it blind; and thar be sisters here what, when they get sixteen years old, cut thar tiller-ropes and goes it with a rush. but i say, my brethering, take care you don't find, when gabriel blows his last trump, that you've all went it alone and got ukered; "for they shall gnaw a file, and flee unto the mountains of hepsidam." and, my brethering, there's more dam beside hepsidam: thar's rotterdam, haddam, amsterdam, mill-dam, and don't-care-a-dam; the last of which, my dear brethering, is the worst of all, and reminds me of a circumstance i once knew in the state of illinoy. there was a man what built him a mill on the east fork of auger creek, and it was a good mill, and ground a site of grain; but the man what built it was a miserable sinner, and never give any thing to the church; and, my brethering, one night thar come a dreadful storm of wind and rain, and the fountains of the great deep was broken up, and the waters rushed down and swept that man's mill-dam into kingdom come, and, lo, and behold! in the morning, when he got up, he found he was not worth a dam. now, my young brethering, when storms of temptation overtake ye, take care you don't fall from grace, and become like that mill--not worth a dam; "for they shall gnaw a file, and flee unto the mountains of hepsidam, whar the lion roareth and the whang-doodle mourneth for its first-born." "whar the whang-doodle mourneth for its first-born." this part of the tex, my brethering, is another figger of speech, and isn't to be taken as it says. it doesn't mean the howlin' wilderness whar john the hard-shell baptist was fed on locusts and wild asses; but it means, my brethering, the city of new yorleans, whar corn is worth six bits a bushel one day, and nary red the next; whar gamblers, thieves, and pickpockets go skiting about the streets like weasels in a barnyard; whar they have cream-colored hosses, gilded carriages, marble saloons with brandy and sugar in 'em; whar honest men are scarcer than hens' teeth; and whar a strange woman once tuk in your beluved preacher, and bamboozled him out of two hundred and twenty-seven dollars; but she can't do it again, hallelujah! for "they shall gnaw a file, and flee unto the mountains of hepsidam, whar the lion roareth and the whang-doodle mourneth for its first-born." brother flint will please pass round the hat, and let every hard-shell shell out. the end. rickey & carroll's list of publications. _n. b.--any book sent by mail, postage paid, on receipt of price._ =lawson on consumption.= a practical treatise on phthisis pulmonalis: embracing its pathology, causes, symptoms, and treatment. by l. m. lawson, m. d., professor of the theory and practice of medicine in the medical college of ohio; formerly professor of clinical medicine in the university of louisiana, and visiting physician to the new orleans charity hospital, etc. one vol., vo.; pp. ; sheep price, =$ . =. * * * * * =flourens on the circulation of the blood.= a history of the discovery of the circulation of the blood. by p. flourens, perpetual secretary of the academy of sciences, (institute of france); member of the royal societies and academies of science of london, edinburgh, stockholm, munich, madrid, brussels, etc., etc., and professor at the museum of natural history of paris. translated from the french by j. c. reeve, m. d. one vol., mo.; cloth price, = c=. * * * * * =newton and powell on the eclectic practice of medicine.= the eclectic practice of medicine (diseases of children). by wm. byrd powell, m. d., formerly professor of chemistry in the medical college of louisiana, and of cerebral physiology and medical geology in the memphis institute; professor of cerebral physiology in the eclectic medical institute, etc., etc. and r. s. newton, m. d., professor of surgery and surgical practice in the eclectic institute of cincinnati, and formerly professor of practice and pathology in the same, etc. one vol., vo.; sheep price, =$ . =. * * * * * =mystic circle.= the mystic circle, and american hand-book of masonry. containing a brief history of freemasonry in europe and america; symbolic chart; ancient constitutions of the grand lodge of england; ahiman rezon; constitutional rules, resolutions, decisions, and opinions of grand lodges and enlightened masons on questions liable to arise in subordinate lodges; a code of by-laws for subordinate lodges; instructions, suggestions, and forms, for secretaries of lodges. by george h. gray, sen., of mississippi. fourth edition. revised and corrected. large mo.; pp. ; roan price, =$ . =. * * * * * =zachos' high-school speaker.= the high-school speaker: a collection of declamations, poetic pieces, and dialogues, for the use of boys in intermediate schools and academies. by prof. j. c. zachos, a. m. mo.; half-bound price, = c=. * * * * * =trial of vallandigham.= the trial of clement l. vallandigham, by a military commission, and the proceedings under his application for a writ of habeas corpus in the circuit court of the united states for the southern district of ohio. one vol., vo.; pp. ; paper; price, c. law sheep price, =$ . =. * * * * * r. & c. are also the special agents for =annals of the army of the cumberland.= comprising biographies, descriptions of departments, accounts of expeditions, skirmishes, and battles; also, its police record of spies, smugglers, and prominent rebel emissaries: together with anecdotes, incidents, poetry, reminiscences, etc., and official reports of the battle of stone river. by an officer. illustrated with steel portraits, wood engravings, and maps. one vol., vo.; pp. price, =$ . =. also, a fine edition, elegantly bound in cloth, gilt price, =$ . =. this book is elegantly gotten up, on the finest paper, and is copiously illustrated with engravings on steel. the proceeds of the sale of this work are to be applied to the patriotic purpose of erecting a monument on the battle-field of stone river, to the army which there immortalized itself. * * * * * =catalogue raisonne.= a general and classified list of the most important works in nearly every department of literature and science, published in the united states and england. with a bibliographical introduction. mo.; 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and, given as they are, either in the handwriting or directly from the lips of those who, miraculously escaping the perils of the tomahawk, the rifle, and starvation, both saw and suffered, from the incidents they relate, bear throughout the unmistakable impress of truth, and must carry conviction to the mind of every reader." in press: =arguments and addresses.= by hon. william johnston, formerly judge of the superior court of cincinnati. vo.; about pages; cloth. * * * * * rickey & carroll, wholesale and retail dealers in books and stationery, west fourth street, (opera-house building,) cincinnati, ohio. none this ebook was created by charles aldarondo (pg@aldarondo.net). the recreations of a country parson. second series. a. k. h. boyd. boston: . contents. chapter i. concerning the parson's choice chapter ii. concerning disappointment and success chapter iii. concerning scylla and charybdis chapter iv. concerning churchyards chapter v. concerning summer days chapter vi. concerning screws chapter vii. concerning solitary days chapter viii. concerning glasgow down the water chapter ix. concerning man and his dwelling-place chapter x. life at the water-cure chapter xi. concerning friends in council chapter xii. concerning the pulpit in scotland chapter xiii. concerning future tears chapter xiv. conclusion chapter i. concerning the parson's choice between town and country. one very happy circumstance in a clergyman's lot, is that he is saved from painful perplexity as regards his choice of the scene in which he is to spend his days and years. i am sorry for the man who returns from australia with a large fortune; and with no further end in life than to settle down somewhere and enjoy it. for in most cases he has no special tie to any particular place; and he must feel very much perplexed where to go. should any person who may read this page cherish the purpose of leaving me a hundred thousand pounds to invest in a pretty little estate, i beg that he will at once abandon such a design. he would be doing me no kindness. i should be entirely bewildered in trying to make up my mind where i should purchase the property. i should be rent asunder by conflicting visions of rich english landscape, and heathery scottish hills: of seaside breezes, and inland meadows: of horse-chestnut avenues, and dark stern pine-woods. and after the estate had been bought, i should always be looking back and thinking i might have done better. so, on the whole, i would prefer that my reader should himself buy the estate, and bequeath it to me: and then i could soon persuade myself that it was the prettiest estate and the pleasantest neighbourhood in britain. now, as a general rule, the great disposer says to the parson, here is your home, here lies your work through life: go and reconcile your mind to it, and do your best in it. no doubt there are men in the church whose genius, popularity, influence, or luck is such, that they have a bewildering variety of livings pressed upon them: but it is not so with ordinary folk; and certainly it was not so with me. i went where providence bade me go, which was not where i had wished to go, and not where i had thought to go. many who know me through the pages which make this and a preceding volume, have said, written, and printed, that i was specially cut out for a country parson, and specially adapted to relish a quiet country life. not more, believe me, reader, than yourself. it is in every man who sets himself to it to attain the self-same characteristics. it is quite true i have these now: but, a few years since, never was mortal less like them. no cockney set down near sydney smith at foston-le-clay: no fish, suddenly withdrawn from its native stream: could feel more strange and cheerless than did i when i went to my beautiful country parish, where i have spent such happy days, and which i have come to love so much. i have said that the parson is for the most part saved the labour of determining where he shall pitch his tent: his place and his path in life are marked out for him. but he has his own special perplexity and labour: quite different from those of the man to whom the hundred thousand pounds to invest in land are bequeathed: still, as some perhaps would think, no less hard. his work is to reconcile his mind to the place where god has set him. every mortal must, in many respects, face one of these two trials. there is all the world before you, where to choose; and then the struggle to make a decided choice with which you shall on reflection remain entirely satisfied. or there is no choice at all: the hand above gives you your place and your work; and then there is the struggle heartily and cheerfully to acquiesce in the decree as to which you were not consulted. and this is not always an easy thing; though i am sure that the man who honestly and christianly tries to do it, will never fail to succeed at last. how curiously people are set down in the church; and indeed in all other callings whatsoever! you find men in the last places they would have chosen; in the last places for which you would say they are suited. you pass a pretty country church, with its parsonage hard-by embosomed in trees and bright with roses. perhaps the parson of that church had set his heart on an entirely different kind of charge: perhaps he is a disappointed man, eager to get away, and (the very worst possible policy) trying for every vacancy of which he can hear. you think, as you pass by, and sit down on the churchyard wall, how happy you could be in so quiet and sweet a spot: well, if you are willing to do a thing, it is pleasant: but if you are struggling with a chain you cannot break, it is miserable. the pleasantest thing becomes painful, if it is felt as a restraint. what can be cosier than the warm environment of sheet and blanket which encircles you in your snug bed? yet if you awake during the night at some alarm of peril, and by a sudden effort try at once to shake yourself clear of these trammels, you will, for the half-minute before you succeed, feel that soft restraint as irksome as iron fetters. 'let your will lead whither necessity would drive,' said locke, 'and you will always preserve your liberty.' no doubt, it is wise advice; but how to do all that? well, it can be done: but it costs an effort. great part of the work of the civilized and educated man consists of that which the savage, and even the uneducated man, would not regard as work at all. the things which cost the greatest effort may be done, perhaps, as you sit in an easy chair with your eyes shut. and such an effort is that of making up our mind to many things, both in our own lot, and in the lot of others. i mean not merely the intellectual effort to look at the success of other men and our own failure in such a way as that we shall be intellectually convinced that, we have no right to complain of either: i do not mean merely the labour to put things in the right point of view: but the moral effort to look fairly at the facts not in any way disguised,--not tricked out by some skilful art of putting things;--and yet to repress all wrong feeling;--all fretfulness, envy, jealousy, dislike, hatred. i do not mean, to persuade ourselves that the grapes are sour; but (far nobler surely) to be well aware that they are sweet, and yet be content that another should have them and not we. i mean the labour, when you have run in a race and been beaten, to resign your mind to the fact that you have been beaten, and to bear a kind feeling towards the man who beat you. and this is labour, and hard labour; though very different from that physical exertion which the uncivilized man would understand by the word. every one can understand that to carry a heavy portmanteau a mile is work. not every one remembers that the owner of the portmanteau, as he walks on carrying nothing weightier than an umbrella, may be going through exertion much harder than that of the porter. probably st. paul never spent days of harder work in all his life, than the days he spent lying blind at damascus, struggling to get free from the prejudices and convictions of all his past years, and resolving--on the course he would pursue in the years to come. i know that in all professions and occupations to which men can devote themselves, there is such a thing as com petition: and wherever there is competition, there will be the temptation to envy, jealousy, and detraction, as regards a man's competitors: and so there will be the need of that labour and exertion which lie in resolutely trampling that temptation down. you are quite certain, rny friend, as you go on through life, to have to make up your mind to failure and disappointment on your own part, and to seeing other men preferred before you. when these tilings come, there are two ways of meeting them. one is, to hate and vilify those who surpass you, either in merit or in success: to detract from their merit and under-rate their success: or, if you must admit some merit, to bestow upon it very faint praise. now, all this is natural enough; but assuredly it is neither a right nor a happy course to follow. the other and better way is, to fight these tendencies to the death: to struggle against them, to pray against them: to resign yourself to god's good will: to admire and love the man who beats you. this course is the right one, and the happy one. i believe the greatest blessing god can send a man, is disappointment, rightly met and used. there is no more ennobling discipline: there is no discipline that results in a happier or kindlier temper of mind. and in honestly fighting against the evil impulses which have been mentioned, you will assuredly get help and strength to vanquish them. i have seen the plain features look beautiful, when man or woman was faithfully by god's grace resisting wrong feelings and tendencies, such as these. it is a noble end to attain, and it is well worth all the labour it costs, to resolutely be resigned, cheerful, and kind, when you feel a strong inclination to be discontented, moody, and bitter of heart. well said a very wise mortal, 'better is he that ruleth his spirit, than he that taketh a city.' and that ruling of the spirit which is needful to rightly meet disappointment, brings out the best and noblest qualities that can be found in man. sometimes, indeed, even in the parson's quiet life, he may know something of the first perplexity of which we have been thinking: the perplexity of the man who is struggling to make up his mind where he is to settle down for the remainder of life. and it is not long since such a perplexity came my way. for i had reached a spot in my onward path at which i must make a decided choice. i must go either to the right or the left: for, as goldsmith has remarked with great force, when the road you are pursuing parts into several roads, you must be careful to follow only one. and i had to decide between country and town. i had to resolve whether i was to remain in that quiet cure of souls about which i formerly told you; or go into the hard work and hurry of a large parish in a certain great city. i had been for more than five years in that sweet country place: it seemed a very long time as the days passed over. even slow-growing ivy grew feet longer in that time, and climbing roses covered yards and yards of wall. and for very many months i thought that here i was to live and die, and never dreamt of change. not indeed that my tastes were always such. at the beginning of that term of years, when i went down each sunday morning to preach in the plain little church to a handful of quiet rustic people, i used to think of a grand edifice where once upon a time, at my first start in my profession, i had preached each afternoon for many months to a very large congregation of educated folk; and i used to wonder whether my old friends remembered and missed me. once there was to me a fascination about that grand church, and all connected with it: now it is to me no more than it is to every one else, and i pass near it almost every day and hardly look at it. other men have taken my old place in it, and had the like feelings, and got over them. several of these men i never saw: how much i should like to shake each man's hand! but all these fancies were long, long ago: i was pleased to be a country parson, and to make the best of it. friends, who have held like stations in life, have you not felt, now and then, a little waking up of old ideas and aspirations? all this, you thought, was not what you once had wished, and pictured to yourself. you vainly fancied, in your student days, that you might reach a more eminent place and greater usefulness. i know, indeed, that even such as have gone very unwillingly to a little remote country parish, have come most heartily to enjoy its peaceful life: have grown fond of that, as they never thought to do. i do not mean that you need affectedly talk, after a few months there, as if you had lived in the country all your life, and as if your thoughts had from childhood run upon horses, turnips, and corn. but in sober earnest, as weeks pass over, you gain a great interest in little country cares; and you discover that you may be abundantly useful, and abundantly laborious, amid a small and simple population. yet sometimes, my clever friend, i know you sit down on a green bank, under the trees, and look at your little church. you think, of your companions and competitors in college days, filling distinguished places in life: and, more particularly, of this and that friend in your own calling, who preaches to as many people on one sunday as you do in half a year. fine fellows they were: and though you seldom meet now, you are sure they are faithful, laborious, able, and devoted ministers: god bless them all! you wonder how they can do so much work; and especially how they have confidence to preach to so large and intelligent congregations. for a certain timidity, and distrust of his own powers, grows upon the country parson. he is reaching the juster estimate of himself, indeed: yet there is something not desirable in the nervous dislike to preach in large churches and to cultivated people which is sure to come. and little things worry him, which would not worry a mind kept more upon the stretch. it is possible enough that among the cumberland hills, or in curacies like sydney smith's on salisbury plain, or wandering sadly by the shore of shetland fiords, there may be men who had in them the makings of eminent preachers; but whose powers have never been called out, and are rusting sadly away: and in whom many petty cares are developing a pettiness of nature. i have observed that in those advertisements which occasionally appear in certain newspapers, offering for sale the next presentation to some living in the church, the advertiser, after pointing out the various advantages of the situation, frequently sums up by stating that the population of the parish is very small, and so the clergyman's duty very light. i always read such a statement with great displeasure. for it seems to imply, that a clergyman's great object is, to enjoy his benefice and do as little duty as possible in return for it. i suppose it need not be proved, that if such were truly the great object of any parson, he has no business to be in the church at all. failing health, or powers overdriven, may sometimes make even the parson whose heart is in his work desire a charge whose duty and responsibility are comparatively small: but i firmly believe that in the case of the great majority of clergymen, it is the interest and delight they feel in their work, and not its worldly emolument, that mainly attach them to their sacred profession: and thus that the more work they have to do (provided their strength be equal to it), the more desirable and interesting they hold their charge to be. and i believe that the earnest pastor, settled in some light and pleasant country charge, will oftentimes, even amid his simple enjoyment of that pleasant life, think that perhaps he would be more in the path of duty, if, while the best years of his life are passing on, he were placed where he might serve his master in a larger sphere. and thinking now and then in this fashion, i was all of a sudden asked to undertake a charge such as would once have been my very ideal: and in that noble city where my work began, and so which has always been very dear. but i felt that everything was changed. before these years of growing experience, i dare say i should not have feared to set myself even to work as hard; but now i doubted greatly whether i should prove equal to it. that time in the country had made me sadly lose confidence. and i thought it would be very painful and discouraging to go to preach to a large congregation, and to see it sunday by sunday growing less, as people got discontented and dropped away. but happily, those on whom i leant for guidance and advice, were more hopeful than myself; and so i came away from my beautiful country parish. you know, my friends, who have passed through the like, the sorrow to look for the last time at each kind homely face: the sorrow to turn away from the little church where you have often preached to very small congregations: the sorrow to leave each tree you have planted, and the evergreens whose growth you have watched, year by year. soon, you are in all the worry of what in scotland we call a flitting: the house and all its belongings are turned upside down. the kindness of the people comes out with tenfold strength when they know how soon you are to part. and some, to whom you had tried to do little favours, and who had somewhat disappointed you by the slight sense of them they had shown, now testify by their tears a hearty regard which you never can forget. the sunday comes when you enter your old pulpit for the last time. you had prepared your sermon in a room from which the carpet had been removed, and amid a general confusion and noise of packing. the church is crowded in a fashion never seen before. you go through the service, i think, with a sense of being somewhat stunned and bewildered. and in the closing sentences of your sermon, you say little of yourself; but in a few words, very hard to speak, you thank your old friends for their kindness to you through the years you have passed together; and you give them your parting advice, in some sentence which seems to contain the essence of all you meant to teach in all these sundays; and you say farewell, farewell. you are happy, indeed, if after all, though quitting your country parsonage, and turning over a new leaf in life, you have not to make a change so entire as that from country to town generally is: if, like me, you live in the most beautiful city in britain: a city where country and town are blended together: where there are green gardens, fields, and trees: shady places into which you may turn from the glaring streets, into verdure as cool and quiet as ever, and where your little children can roll upon the grass, and string daisies as of old; streets, from every opening in which you look out upon blue hills and blue sea. no doubt, the work is very hard, and very constant; and each sunday is a very exciting and exhausting day. you will understand, my friend, when you go to such a charge, what honour is due to those venerable men who have faithfully and efficiently done the duty of the like for thirty or forty years. you will look at them with much interest: you will receive their kindly counsel with great respect. you will feel it somewhat trying and nervous work to ascend your pulpit; and to address men and women who in mental cultivation, and in things much more important, are more than equal to yourself. and as you walk down; always alone, to church each sunday morning, you will very earnestly apply for strength and wisdom beyond your own, in a certain quarter where they will never be sought in vain. yet you will delight in all your duty: and you will thank god you feel that were your work in life to choose again, you would give yourself to the noblest task that can be undertaken by mortal, with a resolute purpose firmer a thousand times than even the enthusiastic preference of your early youth. the attention and sympathy with which your congregation will listen to your sermons, will be a constant encouragement and stimulus; and you will find friends so dear and true, that yon. will hope never to part from them while life remains. in such a life, indeed, these essays, which never would have been begun had my duty been always such, must be written in little snatches of time: and perhaps a sharp critic could tell, from internal evidence, which of them have been written in the country and which in the town. i look up from the table at which i write: and the roses, honeysuckle, and the fuchsias, of a year since, are far away: through the window i discover lofty walls, whose colour inclines to black. yet i have not regretted the day, and i do not believe i ever will regret the day, when i ceased to be a country parson. chapter ii. concerning disappointment and success. russet woods of autumn, here you are once more! i saw you, golden and brown, in the afternoon sunshine to-day. crisp leaves were falling, as i went along the foot-path through the woods: crisp leaves lie upon the green graves in the churchyard, fallen from the ashes: and on the shrubbery walks, crisp leaves from the beeches, accumulated where the grass bounds the gravel, make a warm edging, irregular, but pleasant to see. it is not that one is 'tired of summer:' but there is something soothing and pleasing about the autumn days. there is a great clearness of the atmosphere sometimes; sometimes a subdued, gray light is diffused everywhere. in the country, there is often, on these afternoons, a remarkable stillness in the air, amid which you can hear a withering leaf rustling down. i will not think that the time of bare branches and brown grass is so very near as yet; nature is indeed decaying, but now we have decay only in its beautiful stage, wherein it is pensive, but not sad. it is but early in october; and we, who live in the country all through the winter, please ourselves with the belief that october is one of the finest months of the year, and that we have many warm, bright, still days yet before us. of course we know we are practising upon ourselves a cheerful, transparent delusion; even as the man of forty-eight often declares that about forty-eight or fifty is the prime of life. i like to remember that mrs. hemans was describing october, when she began her beautiful poem on the battle of morgarlen, by saying that, 'the wine-month shone in its golden prime:' and i think that in these words the picture presented to the mind of an untravelled briton, is not the red grapes hanging in blushing profusion, but rather the brown, and crimson, and golden woods, in the warm october sunshine. so, you russet woods of autumn, you are welcome once more; welcome with all your peculiar beauty, so gently enjoyable by all men and women who have not used up life; and with all your lessons, so unobtrusive, so touching, that have come home to the heart of human generations for many thousands of years. yesterday was sunday; and i was preaching to my simple rustics an autumn sermon from the text we all do fade as a leaf. as i read out the text, through a half-opened window near me, two large withered oak-leaves silently floated into the little church in the view of all the congregation. i could not but pause for a minute till they should preach their sermon before i began mine. how simply, how unaffectedly, with what natural pathos they seemed to tell their story! it seemed as if they said, ah you human beings, something besides us is fading; here we are, the things like which you fade! and now, upon this evening, a little sobered by the thought that this is the fourth october which has seen this hand writing that which shall attain the authority of print, i sit down to begin an essay which is to be written leisurely as recreation and not as work. i need not finish this essay, unless i choose, for six weeks to come: so i have plenty of time, and i shall never have to write under pressure. that is pleasant. and i write under another feeling, more pleasing and encouraging still. i think that in these lines i am addressing many unknown friends, who, though knowing nothing more of me than they can learn from pages which i have written, have come gradually not to think of me as a stranger. i wish here to offer my thanks to many whose letters, though they were writing only to a shadow, have spoken in so kindly a fashion of the writer's slight productions, that they have given me much enjoyment in the reading, and much encouragement to go on. to all my correspondents, whether named or nameless, i now, in a moral sense, extend a friendly hand. as to the question sometimes put, who the writer is, that is of no consequence. but as to what he is, i think, intelligent readers of his essays, you will gradually and easily see that. it is a great thing to write leisurely, and with a general feeling of kindliness and satisfaction with everybody; but there is a further reason why one should set to work at once. i feel i must write now, before my subject loses its interest; and before the multitude of thoughts, such as they are, which have been clustering round it since it presented itself this afternoon in that walk through the woods, have faded away. it is an unhappy thing, but it is the fact with many men, that if you do not seize your fancies when they come to you, and preserve them upon the written page, you lose them altogether. they go away, and never come back. a little while ago i pulled out a drawer in this table whereon i write; and i took out of it a sheet of paper, on which there are written down various subjects for essays. several are marked with a large cross; these are the essays which are beyond the reach of fate: they are written and printed. several others have no cross; these are the subjects of essays which are yet to be written. but upon four of those subjects i look at once with interest and sorrow. i remember when i wrote down their names, what a vast amount, as i fancied, i had to say about them: and all experience failed to make me feel that unless those thoughts were seized and chronicled at once, they would go away and never come back again. how rich the subjects appeared to me, i well remember! now they are lifeless, stupid things, of which it is impossible to make anything. before, they were like a hive, buzzing with millions of bees. now they are like the empty hive, when the life and stir and bustle of the bees are gone. o friendly reader, what a loss it was to you, that the writer did not at once sit down and sketch out his essays, concerning things slowly learnt; and concerning growing old! and two other subjects of even greater value were, concerning the practical effect of illogical reasons, and an estimate of the practical influence of false assertions. how the hive was buzzing when these titles were written down: but now i really hardly remember anything of what i meant to say, and what i remember appears wretched stuff. the effervescence has gone from the champagne; it is flat and dead. still, it is possible that these subjects may recover their interest; and the author hereby gives notice that he reserves the right of producing an essay upon each of them. let no one else infringe his vested claims. there is one respect in which i have often thought that there is a curious absence of analogy between the moral and the material worlds. you are in a great excitement about something or other; you are immensely interested in reaching some aim; you are extremely angry and ferocious at some piece of conduct; let us suppose. well, the result is that you cannot take a sound, clear, temperate view of the circumstances; you cannot see the case rightly; you actually do see it very wrongly. you wait till a week or a month passes; till some distance, in short, intervenes between you and the matter; and then your excitement, your fever, your wrath, have gone down, as the matter has lost its freshness; and now you see the case calmly, you see it very differently indeed from the fashion in which you saw it first; you conclude that now you see it rightly. one can think temperately now of the atrocities of the mutineers in india, it does riot now quicken your pulse to think of them. you have not now the burning desire you once felt, to take a sepoy by the throat and cut him to pieces with a cat-of-nine-tails. the common consent of mankind has decided that you have now attained the right view. i ask, is it certain that in all cases the second thought is the best;--is the right thought, as well as the calmest thought? would it be just to say (which would be the material analogy) that you have the best view of some great rocky island when you have sailed away from it till it has turned to a blue cloud on the horizon; rather than when its granite and heather are full in view, close at hand? i am not sure that in every case the calmer thought is the right thought, the distant view the right view. you have come to think indifferently of the personal injury, of the act of foul cruelty and falsehood, which once roused you to flaming indignation. are you thinking rightly too? or has not just such an illusion been practised upon your mental view, as is played upon your bodily eye when looking over ten miles of sea upon staffa? you do not see the basaltic columns now; but that is because you see wrongly. you do not burn at the remembrance of the wicked lie, the crafty misrepresentation, the cruel blow; but perhaps you ought to do so. and now (to speak of less grave matters) when all i had to say about growing old seems very poor, do i see it rightly? do i see it as my reader would always have seen it? or has it faded into falsehood, as well as into distance and dimness? when i look back, and see my thoughts as trash, is it because they are trash and no better? when i look back, and see ailsa as a cloud, is it because it is a cloud and nothing more? or is it, as i have already suggested, that in one respect the analogy between the moral and the material fails. i am going to write concerning disappointment and success. in the days when i studied metaphysics, i should have objected to that title, inasmuch as the antithesis is imperfect between the two things named in it. disappointment and success are not properly antithetic; failure and success are. disappointment is the feeling caused by failure, and caused also by other things besides failure. failure is the thing; disappointment is the feeling caused by the thing; while success is the thing, and not the feeling. but such minute points apart, the title i have chosen brings out best the subject about which i wish to write. and a very wide subject it is; and one of universal interest. i suppose that no one will dispute the fact that in this world there are such things as disappoititment and success. i do not mean merely that each man's lot has its share of both; i mean that there are some men whose life on the whole is a failure, and that there are others whose life on the whole is a success. you and i, my reader, know better than to think that life is a lottery; but those who think it a lottery, must see that there are human beings who draw the prizes, and others who draw the blanks. i believe in luck, and ill luck, as facts; of course i do not believe the theory which common consent builds upon these facts. there is, of course, no such thing as chance; this world is driven with far too tight a rein to permit of anything whatsoever falling out in a way properly fortuitous. but it cannot be denied that there are persona with whom everything goes well, and other persons with whom everything goes ill. there are people who invariably win at what are called games of chance. there are people who invariably lose. you remember when sydney smith lay on his deathbed, how he suddenly startled the watchers by it, by breaking a long silence with a sentence from one of his sermons, repeated in a deep, solemn voice, strange from the dying man: his life had been successful at last; but success had come late; and how much of disappointment he had known! and though he had tried to bear up cheerily under his early cares, they had sunk in deep. 'we speak of life as a journey,' he said, 'but how differently is that journey performed! some are borne along their path in luxury and ease; while some must walk it with naked feet, mangled and bleeding.' who is there that does not sometimes, on a quiet evening, even before he has attained to middle age, sit down and look back upon his college days, and his college friends; and think sadly of the failures, the disappointments, the broken hearts, which have been among those who all started fair and promised well? how very much has after life changed the estimates which we, formed in those days, of the intellectual mark and probable fate of one's friends and acquaintances! you remember the dense, stolid dunces of that time: you remember the men who sat next you in the lecture-room, and never answered rightly a question that was put to them: you remember how you used to wonder if they would always be the dunces they were then. well, i never knew a man who was a dunce at twenty, to prove what might be called a brilliant or even a clever man in after life; but we have all known such do wonderfully decently. you did not expect much of them, you see. you did not try them by an exacting standard. if a monkey were to write his name, you would be so much surprised at seeing him do it at all, that you would never think of being surprised that he did not do it very well. so, if a man you knew as a remarkably stupid fellow preaches a decent sermon, you hardly think of remarking that it is very common-place and dull, you are so much pleased and surprised' to find that the man can preach at all. and then, the dunces of college days are often sensible, though slow and in this world, plain plodding common sense is very likely in the long run to beat erratic brilliancy. the tortoise passes the hare. i owe an apology to lord campbell for even naming him on the same page on which stands the name of dunce: for assuredly in shrewd, massive sense, as well as in kindness of manner, the natural outflow of a kind and good heart, no judge ever surpassed him. but i may fairly point to his career of unexampled success as an instance which proves my principle. see how that man of parts which are sound and solid, rather than brilliant or showy, has won the derby and the st. ledger of the law: has filled with high credit the places of chief justice of england and lord chancellor. and contrast his eminently successful and useful course with that of the fitful meteor, lord brougham. what a great, dazzling genius brougham unquestionably is; yet his greatest admirer must admit that his life has been a brilliant failure. but while you, thoughtful reader, in such a retrospect as i have been supposing, sometimes wonder at the decent and reasonable success of the dunce, do you not often lament over the fashion in which those who promised well, and even brilliantly, have disappointed the hopes entertained of them? what miserable failures such have not unfrequently made! and not always through bad conduct either: not always, though sometimes, by taking to vicious courses; but rather by a certain want of tact and sense, or even by just somehow missing the favourable tide. you have got a fair living and a fair standing in the church; you have held them for eight or ten years; when some evening as you are sitting in your study or playing with your children, a servant tells you, doubtfully, that a man is waiting to see you. a poor, thin, shabbily-dressed fellow comes in, and in faltering tones begs for the lean of five shillings. ah, with what a start you recognise him! it is the clever fellow whom you hardly beat at college, who was always so lively and merry, who sang so nicely, and was so much asked out into society. you had lost sight of him for several years; and now here he is, shabby, dirty, smelling of whisky, with bloated face and trembling hand: alas, alas, ruined! oh, do not give him up. perhaps you can do something for him. little kindness he has known for very long. give him the five shillings by all means; but next morning see you go out, and try what may be done to lift him out of the slough of despond, and to give him a chance for better days! i know that it may be all in vain; and that after years gradually darkening down you may some day, as you pass the police-office, find a crowd at the door, and learn that they have got the corpse of the poor suicide within. and even when the failure is not so utter as this, you find, now and then, as life goes onward, that this and that old acquaintance has, you cannot say how, stepped out of the track, and is stranded. he went into the church: he is no worse preacher or scholar than many that succeed; but somehow he never gets a living. you sometimes meet him in the street, threadbare and soured: he probably passes you without recognising you. o reader, to whom god has sent moderate success, always be chivalrously kind and considerate to such a disappointed man! i have heard of an eminent man who, when well advanced in years, was able to say that through all his life he had never set his mind on anything which he did not succeed in attaining. great and little aims alike, he never had known what it was to fail. what a curious state of feeling it would be to most men to know themselves able to assert so much! think of a mind in which disappointment is a thing unknown! i think that one would be oppressed by a vague sense of fear in regarding one's self as treated by providence in a fashion so different from the vast majority of the race. it cannot be denied that there are men in this world in whose lot failure seems to be the rule. everything to which they put their hand breaks down or goes amiss. but most human beings can testify that their lot, like their abilities, their stature, is a sort of middling thing. there is about it an equable sobriety, a sort of average endurableness. some things go well: some things go ill. there is a modicum of disappointment: there is a modicum of success. but so much of disappointment comes to the lot of almost all, that there is no object in nature at which we all look with so much interest as the invariably lucky man--the man whom all this system of things appears to favour. you knew such a one at school: you knew him at college: you knew him at the bar, in the church, in medicine, in politics, in society. somehow he pushes his way: things turn up just at the right time for him: great people take a fancy to him: the newspapers cry him up. let us hope that you do not look at him with any feeling of envy or bitterness; but you cannot help looking at him with great interest, he is so like yourself, and at the same time so very unlike you. philosophers tell us that real happiness is very equally distributed; but there is no doubt that there is a tremendous external difference between the man who lives in a grand house, with every appliance of elegance and luxury, with plump servants, fine horses, many carriages, and the poor struggling gentleman, perhaps a married curate, whose dwelling is bare, whose dress is poor, whose fare is scanty, whose wife is careworn, whose children are ill-fed, shabbily dressed, and scantily educated. it is conceivable that fanciful wants, slights, and failures, may cause the rich man as much and as real suffering as substantial wants and failures cause the poor; but the world at large will recognise the rich man's lot as one of success, and the poor man's as one of failure. this is a world of competition. it is a world full of things that many people wish to get, and that all cannot get at once; and to say this is much as to say that this is a world of failure and disappointments. all things desirable, by their very existence imply the disappointment of some. when you, my reader, being no longer young, look with a philosophic eye at some pretty girl entering a drawing-room, you cannot but reflect, as you survey the pleasing picture, and more especially when you think of the twenty thousand pounds--ah! my gentle young friend, you will some day make one heart very jolly, but a great many more extremely envious, wrathful, and disappointed. so with all other desirable things; so with a large living in the church; so with aliy place of dignity; so with a seat on the bench; so with the bishopric; so with the woolsack; so with the towers of lambeth. so with smaller matters; so with a good business in the greengrocery line; so with a well-paying milk-walk; so with a clerk's situation of eighty pounds a year; so with an errand boy's place at three shillings a week, which thirty candidates want, and only one can get. alas for our fallen race! is it not part, at least, of some men's pleasure in gaining some object which has been generally sought for, to think of the mortification of the poor fellows that failed? disappointment, in short, may come and must come wherever man can set his wishes and his hopes. the only way not to be disappointed when a thing turns out against you, is not to have really cared how the thing went. it is not a truism to remark that this is impossible if you did care. of course you are not disappointed at failing of attaining an end which you did not care whether you attained or not; but men seek very few such ends. if a man has worked day and night for six weeks in canvassing his county, and then, having been ignominiously beaten, on the following day tells you he is not in the least degree disappointed, he might just as trulv assure you, if you met him walking up streaming with water from a river into which he had just fallen, that he is not the least wet. no doubt there is an elasticity in the healthy mind which very soon tides it over even a severe disappointment; and no doubt the grapes which are unattainable do sometimes in actual fact turn sour. but let no man tell us that he has not known the bitterness of disappointment for at least a brief space, if he have ever from his birth tried to get anything, great or small, and yet not got it. failure is indeed a thing of all degrees, from the most fanciful to the most weighty: disappointment is a thing of all degrees, from the transient feeling that worries for a minute, to the great crushing blow that breaks the mind's spring for ever. failure is a fact which reaches from the poor tramp who lies down by the wayside to die, up to the man who is only made chief justice when he wanted the chancellorship, or who dies bishop of london when he had set his heart upon being archbishop of canterbury; or to the prime minister, unrivalled in eloquence, in influence, in genius, with his fair domains and his proud descent, but whose horse is beaten after being first favourite for the derby. who shall say that either disappointed man felt less bitterness and weariness of heart than the other? each was no more than disappointed; and the keenness of disappointment bears no proportion to the reality of the value of the object whose loss caused it. and what endless crowds of human beings, children and old men, nobles and snobs, rich men and poor, know the bitterness of disappointment from day to day. it begins from the child shedding many tears when the toy bought with the long-hoarded pence is broken the first day it comes home; it goes on to the duke expecting the garter, who sees in the newspaper. at breakfast that the yards of blue ribbon have been given to another. what a hard time his servants have that day. how loudly he roars at them, how willingly would he kick them! little recks he that forenoon of his magnificent castle and his ancestral woods. it may here be mentioned that a very pleasing opportunity is afforded to malignant people for mortifying a clever, ambitious man, when any office is vacant to which it is known he aspires. a judge of the queen's bench has died: you, mr. verjuice, know how mr. swetter, q. c., has been rising at the bar; you know how well he deserves the ermine. well, walk down to his chambers; go in and sit down; never mind how busy he is--your time is of no value--and talk of many different men as extremely suitable for the vacant seat on the bench, but never in the remotest manner hint at the claims of swetter himself. i have often seen the like done. and you, mr. verjuice, may conclude almost with certainty that in doing all this you are vexing and mortifying a deserving man. and such a consideration will no doubt be compensation sufficient to your amiable nature for the fact that every generous muscular christian would like to take you by the neck, and swing your sneaking carcase out of the window. even a slight disappointment, speedily to be repaired, has in it something that jars painfully the mechanism of the mind. you go to the train, expecting a friend, certainly. he does not come. now this worries you, even though you receive at the station a telegraphic message that he will be by the train which follows in two hours. your magazine fails to come by post on the last day of the month; you have a dull, vague sense of something wanting for an hour or two, even though you are sure that you will have it next morning. and indeed a very krge share of the disappointments of civilized life are associated with the post-office. i do not suppose the extreme case of the poor fellow who calls at the office expecting a letter containing the money without which he cannot see how he is to get through the day; nor of the man who finds no letter on the day when he expects to hear how it fares with a dear relative who is desperately sick. i am thinking merely of the lesser disappointments which commonly attend post-time: the times not coming when you were counting with more than ordinary certainty on its appearing; the letter of no great consequence, which yet you would have liked to have had. a certain blankness--a feeling difficult to define--attends even the slightest disappointment; and the effect of a great one is very stunning and embittering indeed. you remember how the nobleman in ten thousand a year, who had been refused a seat in the cabinet, sympathized with poor titmouse's exclamation when, looking at the manifestations of gay life in hyde-park, and feeling his own absolute exclusion from it, he consigned everything to perdition. all the ballads of professor aytoun and mr. theodore martin are admirable, but there is none which strikes me as more so than the brilliant imitation of locksley hall, and how true to nature the state of mind ascribed to the vulgar snob who is the hero of the ballad, who, bethinking himself of his great disappointment when his cousin married somebody else, bestowed his extremest objurgations upon all who had abetted the hateful result, and then summed up thus comprehensively:-- cursed be the foul apprentice, who his loathsome fees did earn; cursed be the clerk and parson; cursed be the whole concern! it may be mentioned here as a fact to which experience will testify, that such disappointments as that at the railway station and the post-office are most likely to come when you are counting with absolute certainty upon things happening as you wish; when not a misgiving has entered your mind as to your friend's arriving or your letter coining. a little latent fear in your soul that you may possibly be disappointed, seems to have a certain power to fend off disappointment, on the same principle on which taking out an umbrella is found to prevent rain. what you are prepared for rarely happens. the precise thing you expected comes not once in a thousand times. a confused state of mind results from long experience of such cases. your real feeling often is: such a thing seems quite sure to happen; i may say i expect it to happen; and yet i don't expect it, because i do: for experience has taught me that the precise thing which i expect, which i think most likely, hardly ever comes. i am not prepared to side with a thoughtless world, which is ready to laugh at the confused statement of the irishman who had killed his pig. it is not a bull; it is a great psychological fact that is involved in his seemingly contradictory declaration--'it did not weigh as much as i expected, and i never thought it would!' when young ladies tell us that such and such a person 'has met with a disappointment,' we all understand what is meant. the phrase, though it is conventionally intelligible enough, involves a fallacy: it seems to teach that the disappointment of the youthful heart in the matter of that which in its day is no doubt the most powerful of all the affections, is by emphasis the greatest disappointment which a human being can ever know. of course that is an entire mistake. people get over that disappointment not but what it may leave its trace, and possibly colour the whole of remaining life; sometimes resulting in an unlovely bitterness and hardness of nature; sometimes prolonging even into age a lingering thread of old romance, and keeping a kindly corner in a heart which worldly cares have in great measure deadened. but the disappointment which has its seat in the affections is outgrown as the affections themselves are outgrown, as the season of their predominance passes away; and the disappointment which sinks the deepest and lasts the longest of all the disappointments which are fanciful rather than material, is that which reaches a man through his ambition and his self-love,--principles in his nature which outlast the heyday of the heart's supremacy, and which endure to man's latest years. the bitter and the enduring disappointment to most human beings is that which makes them feel, in one way or other, that they are less wise, clever, popular, graceful, accomplished, tall, active, and in short fine, than they had fancied themselves to be. but it is only to a limited portion of human kind that such words as disappointment and success are mainly suggestive of gratified or disappointed ambition, of happy or blighted affection; to the great majority they are suggestive rather of success or non-success in earning bread and cheese, in finding money to pay the rent, in generally making the ends meet. you are very young, my reader, and little versed in the practical affairs of ordinary life, if you do not know that such prosaic matters make to most men the great aim of their being here, so far as that aim is bounded by this world's horizon. the poor cabman is successful or is disappointed, according as he sees, while the hours of the day are passing over, that he is making up or not making up the shillings he must hand over to his master at night, before he has a penny to get food for his wife and children. the little tradesman is successful or the reverse, according as he sees or does not see from week to week such a small accumulation of petty profits as may pay his landlord, and leave a little margin by help of which he and his family may struggle on. and many an educated man knows the analogous feelings. the poor barrister, as he waits for the briefs which come in so slowly--the young doctor, hoping for patients--understand them all. oh what slight, fanciful things, to such men, appear such disappointments as that of the wealthy proprietor who fails to carry his county, or the rich mayor or provost who fails of being knighted! there is an extraordinary arbitrariness about the way in which great success is allotted in this world. who shall say that in one case out of every two, relative success is in proportion to relative merit? nor need this be said in anything of a grumbling or captious spirit. it is but repeating what a very wise man said long ago, that 'the race is not always to the swift, nor the battle to the strong.' i suppose no one will say that the bishops are the greatest men in the church of england, or that every chief justice is a greater man than every puisne judge. success is especially arbitrary in cases where it goes by pure patronage: in many such cases the patron would smile at your weakness if you fancied that the desire to find the best man ever entered his head. in the matter of the bench and bar, where tangible duties are to be performed, a patron is compelled to a certain amount of decency; for, though he may not pretend to seek for the fittest man, he must at least profess to have sought a fit man. no prime minister dare appoint a blockhead a judge, without at least denying loudly that he is a blockhead. but the arbitrariness of success is frequently the result of causes quite apart from any arbitrariness in the intention of the human disposer of success; a higher hand seems to come in here. the tide of events settles the matter: the arbitrariness is in the way in which the tide of events sets. think of that great lawyer and great man, sir samuel romilly. through years of his practice at the bar, he himself, and all who knew him, looked to the woolsack as his certain destination. you remember the many entries in his diary bearing upon the matter; arid i suppose the opinion of the most competent was clear as to his unrivalled fitness for the post. yet all ended in nothing. the race was not to the swift. the first favourite was beaten, and more than one outsider has carried ofil the prize for which he strove in vain. did any mortal ever dream, during his days of mediocrity at the bar, or his time of respectability as a baron of the exchequer, that sir r. m. rolfe was the future chancellor? probably there is no sphere in which there is more of disappointment and heartburning than the army. it must be supremely mortifying to a grey-headed veteran, who has served his country for forty years, to find a beardless guardsman put over his head into the command of his regiment, and to see honours and emoluments showered upon that fair-weather colonel. and i should judge that the despatch written by a general after an important battle must be a source of sad disappointment to many who fancied that their names might well be mentioned there. but after all, i do not know but that it tends to lessen disappointment, that success should be regarded as going less by merit than by influence or good luck. the disappointed man can always soothe himself with the fancy that he deserved to succeed. it would be a desperately mortifying thing to the majority of mankind, if it were distinctly ascertained that each man gets just what he deserves. the admitted fact that the square man, is sometimes put in the round hole, is a cause of considerable consolation to all disappointed men, and to their parents, sisters, aunts, and grandmothers. no stronger proof can be adduced of the little correspondence that often exists between success and merit, than the fact that the self-same man, by the exercise of the self-same powers, may at one time starve and at another drive his carriage and four. when poor edmund kean was acting in barns to country bumpkins, and barely rinding bread for his wife and child, he was just as great a genius as when he was crowding drury lane. when brougham presided in the house of lords, he was not a bit better or greater than when he had hung about in the parliament house at edinburgh, a briefless and suspected junior barrister. when all london crowded to see the hippopotamus, he was just the animal that he was a couple of years later, when no one took the trouble of looking at him. and when george stephenson died, amid the applause and gratitude of all the intelligent men in britain, he was the same man, maintaining the same principle, as when men of science and of law regarded as a mischievous lunatic the individual who declared that some day the railroad would be the king's highway, and mail-coaches would be drawn by steam. as to the very highest prizes of human affairs, it is, i believe, admitted on all hands, that these generally fall to second-rate men. civilized nations have found it convenient entirely to give up the hallucination that the monarch is the greatest, wisest, and best man in his dominions. nobody supposes that. and in the case of hereditary dynasties, such an end is not even aimed at. but it is curious to find how with elective sovereignties it is just the same way. the great statesmen of america have very rarely attained to the dignity of president of the united states. not clays and webstcrs have had their four years at the white house. and even cardinal wiseman candidly tells us that the post which is regarded by millions as the highest which can be held by mortal, is all but systematically given to judicious mediocrity. a great genius will never be pope. the coach must not be trusted to too dashing a charioteer. give us the safe and steady man. everybody knows that the same usage applies to the primacy in england. bishops must be sensible; but archbishops are by some regarded with suspicion if they have ever committed themselves to sentiments more startling than that two and two make four. let me suppose, my reader, that you have met with great success: i mean success which is very great in your own especial field. the lists are just put out, and you are senior wrangler; or you have got the gold medal in some country grammar-school. the feeling in both cases is the same. in each case there combines with the exultant emotion, an intellectual conception that you are one of the greatest of the human race. well, was not the feeling a strange one? did you not feel somewhat afraid? it seemed too much. something was sure to come, you thought, that would take you down. few are burdened with such a feeling; but surely there is something alarming in great success. you were a barber's boy: you are made a peer. surely you must go through life with an ever-recurring emotion of surprise at finding yourself where you are. it must be curious to occupy a place whence you look down upon the heads of most of your kind. a duke gets accustomed to it; but surely even he must sometimes wonder how he comes to be placed so many degrees above multitudes who deserve as well. or do such come to fancy that their merit is equal to their success; and that by as much as they are better off than other men, they are better than other men? very likety they do. it is all in human nature. and i suppose the times have been in which it would have been treasonable to hint that a man with a hundred thousand pounds a year was not at least two thousand times as good as one with fifty. the writer always feels a peculiar sympathy with failure, and with people who are suffering from disappointment, great or small. it is not that he himself is a disappointed man. no; he has to confess, with deep thankfulness, that his success has far, very far, transcended his deserts. and, like many other men, he has found that one or two events in his life, which seemed disappointments at the time, were in truth great and signal blessings. still, every one has known enough of the blank, desolate feeling of disappointment, to sympathize keenly with the disappointments of others. i feel deeply for the poor punch and judy man, simulating great excitement in the presence of a small, uninterested group, from which people keep dropping away. i feel for the poor barn-actor, who discovers, on his first entrance upon his rude stage, that the magnates of the district, who promised to be present at the performance, have not come. you have gone to see a panorama, or to hear a lecture on phrenology. did you not feel for the poor fellow, the lecturer or exhibitor, when ne came in ten minutes past the hour, and found little but empty benches? did you not see what a chill fell upon him: how stupified he seemed: in short, how much disappointed he was? and if the money he had hoped to earn that evening was to pay the lodgings in which he and his wife were staying, you may be sure there was a heart sickness about his disappointment far beyond the mortification of mere self-love. when a rainy day stops a pic-nic, or mars the enjoyment of it, although the disappointment is hardly a serious one, still it is sure to cause so much real suffering, that only rancorous old ladies will rejoice in the fact. it is curious how men who have known disappointment themselves, and who describe it well, seem to like to paint lives which in the meantime are all hope and success. there is mr. thackeray. with what sympathy, with what enjoyment, he shows us the healthy, wealthy, hopeful youths, like clive newcome, or young pendennis, when it was all sunshine around the young prince! and yet how sad a picture of life he gives us in the newcomes. it would not have done to make it otherwise: it is true, though sad: that history of the good and gallant gentleman, whose life was a long disappointment, a long failure in all on which he had set his heart; in his early love, in his ambitious plans for his son, even in his hopes for his son's happiness, in his own schemes of fortune, till that life of honour ended in the almshouse at last. how the reader wishes that the author would make brighter days dawn upon his hero! but the author cannot: he must hold on unflinchingly as fate. in such a story as his, truth can no more be sacrificed to our wishes than in real life we know it to be. well, all disappointment is discipline; and received in a right spirit, it may prepare us for better things elsewhere. it has been said that heaven is a place for those who failed on earth. the greatest hero is perhaps the man who does his very best, and signally fails, and still is not embittered by the failure. and looking at the fashion in which an unseen power permits wealth and rank and influence to go sometimes in this world, we are possibly justified in concluding that in his judgment the prizes of this vanity fair are held as of no great account. a life here, in which you fail of every end you seek, yet which disciplines you for a better, is assuredly not a failure. what a blessing it would be, if men's ambition were in every case made to keep pace with their ability. very much disappointment arises from a man's having an absurd over-estimate of his own powers, which leads him, to use an expressive scotticism, to even himself to some position for which he is utterly unfit, and which he has no chance at all of reaching. a lad comes to the university who has been regarded in his own family as a great genius, and who has even distinguished himself at some little country school. what a rude shock to the poor fellow's estimate of himself; what a smashing of the hopes of those at home, is sure to come when he measures his length with his superiors; and is compelled, as is frequently the case, to take a third or fourth-rate position. if you ever read the lives of actors (and every one ought, for they show you a new and curious phase of life), you must have smiled to see the ill-spelled, ungrarnmatical letters in which some poor fellow writes to a london manager for an engagement, and declares that he feels within him the makings of a greater actor than garrick or kean. how many young men who go into the church fancy that they are to surpass melvill or chalmers! no doubt, reader, you have sometimes come out of a church, where you had heard a preacher aiming at the most ambitious eloquence, who evidently had not the slightest vocation that way; and you have thought it would be well if no man ever wished to be eloquent who had it not in him to be so. would that the principle were universally true! who has not sometimes been amused iff passing along the fashionable street of a great city, to see a little vulgar snob dressed out within an inch of his life, walking along, evidently fancying that he looks like a gentleman, and that he is the admired of all admirers? sometimes, in a certain street which i might name, i have witnessed such a spectacle, sometimes with amusement, oftener with sorrow and pity, as i thought of the fearful, dark surmises which must often cross the poor snob's mind, that he is failing in his anxious endeavours. occasionally, too, i have beheld a man bestriding a horse in that peculiar fashion which may be described as his being on the outside of the animal, slipping away over the hot stones, possibly at a trot, and fancying ivthough with many suspicions to the contrary; that he is witching the world with noble horsemanship. what a pity that such poor fellows will persist in aiming at what they cannot achieve! what mortification and disappointment they must often know! the horse backs on to the pavement, into a plate-glass window, just as maria, for whose sake the poor screw was hired, is passing by. the boys halloo in derision; and some ostler, helpful, but not complimentary, extricates the rider, and says, 'i see you have never been on 'ossback before; you should not have pulled the curb-bit that way!' and when the vulgar dandy, strutting along, with his brummagem jewellery, his choking collar, and his awfully tight boots which cause him agony, meets the true gentleman; how it rushes upon him that he himself is only a humbug! how the poor fellow's heart sinks! turning from such inferior fields of ambition as these, i think how often it happens that men come to some sphere in life with a flourish of trumpets, as destined to do great things, and then fail. there is a modest, quiet self-confidence, without which you will hardly get on in this world; but i believe, as a general rule, that the men who have attained to very great success have started with very moderate expectations. their first aim was lowly; and the way gradually opened before them. their ambition, like their success, went on step by step; they did not go at the top of the tree at once. it would be easy to mention instances in which those who started with high pretensions have been taught by stern fact to moderate them; in which the man who came over from the irish bar intending to lead the queen's bench, and become a chief justice, was glad, after thirty years of disappointment, to get made a county court judge. not that this is always so; sometimes pretension, if big enough, secures success. a man setting up as a silk-mercer in a strange town, is much likelier to succeed if he opens a huge shop, painted in flaring colours and puffed by enormous bills and vast advertising vans, than if he set up in a modest way, in something like proportion to his means. and if he succeeds, well; if he fails, his creditors bear the loss. a great field has been opened for the disappointment of men who start with the flourish of trumpets already mentioned, by the growing system of competitive examinations. by these, your own opinion of yourself, and the home opinion of you, are brought to a severe test. i think with sympathy of the disappointment of poor lads who hang on week after week, hoping to hear that they have succeeded in gaining the coveted appointment, and then learn that they have failed. i think with sympathy of their poor parents. even when the prize lost is not substantial pudding, but only airy praise, it is a bitter thing to lose it, after running the winner close. it must be a supremely irritating and mortifying thing to be second wrangler. look at the rows of young fellows, sitting with their papers before them at a civil service examination, and think what interest and what hopes are centred on every one of them. think how many count on great success, kept up to do so by the estimation in which they are held at home. their sisters and their mothers think them equal to anything. sometimes justly; sometimes the fact justifies the anticipation. when baron alderson went to cambridge, he tells us that he would have spurned the offer of being second man of his year; and sure enough, he was out of sight the first. but for one man of whom the home estimation is no more than just, there are ten thousand in whose case, to strangers, it appears simply preposterous. there is one sense in which all after-life may be said to be a disappointment. it is far different from that which it was pictured by early anticipations and hopes. the very greatest material success still leaves the case thus. and no doubt it seems strange to many to look back on the fancies of youth, which experience has sobered down. when you go back, my reader, to the village where you were brought up, don't you remember how you used to fancy that when you were a man you would come to it in your carriage and four? this, it is unnecessary to add, you have not yet done. you thought likewise that when you came back you would be arrayed in a scarlet coat, possibly in a cuirass of steel; whereas in fact you have come to the little inn where nobody knows you to spend the night, and you are wandering along the bank of the river (how little changed!) in a shooting-jacket of shepherd's plaid. you intended to marry the village grocer's pretty daughter; and for that intention probably you were somewhat hastily dismissed to a school a hundred miles off; but this evening as you passed the shop you discovered her, a plump matron, calling to her children in a voice rather shrill than sweet; and you discovered from the altered sign above the door that her father is dead, and that she has married the shopman, your hated rival of former years. and yet how happily the wind is tempered to the shorn lamb! you are not the least mortified. you are much amused that your youthful fancies have been blighted. it would have been fearful to have married that excellent individual; the shooting-jacket is greatly more comfortable than the coat of mail; and as for the carriage and four, why, even if you could afford them, you would seldom choose to drive four horses. and it is so with the more substantial anticipations of maturer years. the man who, as already mentioned, intended to be a chief justice, is quite happy when he is made a county court judge. the man who intended to eclipse mr. dickens in the arts of popular authorship is content and proud to be the great writer of the london journal. the clergyman who would have liked a grand cathedral like york minster is perfectly pleased with his little country church, ivy-green and grey. we come, if we are sensible folk, to be content with what we can get, though we have not what we could wish. still, there are certain cases in which this can hardly be so. a man of sense can bear cheerfully the frustration of the romantic fancies of childhood and youth; but not many are so philosophical in regard to the comparatively reasonable anticipations of more reasonable years. when you got married at five-and-forty, your hopes were not extravagant. you knew quite well you were not winning the loveliest of her sex, and indeed you felt you had no right to expect to do so. you were well aware that in wisdom, knowledge, accomplishment, amiability, you could not reasonably look for more than the average of the race. but you thought you might reasonably look for that: and now, alas, alas! you find you have not got it. how have i pitied a worthy and sensible man, listening to his wife making a fool of herself before a large company of people! how have i pitied such a one, when i heard his wife talking the most idiotical nonsense; or when i saw her flirting scandalously with a notorious scapegrace; or learned of the large parties which she gave in his absence, to the discredit of her own character and the squandering of his hard-earned gains! no habit, no philosophy, will ever reconcile a human being of right feeling to such a disappointment as that. and even a sadder thing than this--one of the saddest things in life--is when a man begins to feel that his whole life is a failure; not merely a failure as compared with the vain fancies of youth, but a failure as compared with his sobered convictions of what he ought to have been and what he might have been. probably, in a desponding mood, we have all known the feeling; and even when we half knew it was morbid and transient, it was a very painful one. but painful it must be beyond all names of pain, where it is the abiding, calm, sorrowful conviction of the man's whole being. sore must be the heart of the man of middle age, who often thinks that he is thankful his father is in his grave, and so beyond mourning over his son's sad loss in life. and even when the stinging sense of guilt is absent, it is a mournful thing for one to feel that he has, so to speak, missed stays in his earthly voyage, and run upon a mud-bank which he can never get off: to feel one's self ingloriously and uselessly stranded, while those who started with us pass by with gay flag and swelling sail. and all this may be while it is hard to know where to attach blame; it may be when there was nothing worse to complain of than a want of promptitude, resolution, and tact, at the one testing time. every one knows the passage in point in shakspeare. disappointment, i have said, is almost sure to be experienced in a greater or less degree, so long as anything remains to be wished or sought. and a provision is made for the indefinite continuance of disappointment in the lot of even the most successful of men, by the fact in rerum naturu that whenever the wants felt on a lower level are supplied, you advance to a higher platform, where a new crop of wants is felt. till the lower wants are supplied you never feel the higher; and accordingly people who pass through life barely succeeding in gaining the supply of the lower wants, will hardly be got to believe that the higher wants are ever really felt at all. a man who is labouring anxiously to earn food and shelter for his children--who has no farther worldly end, and who thinks he would be perfectly happy if he could only be assured on new year's day that he would never fail in earning these until the thirty-first of december, will hardly believe you when you tell him that the marquis at the castle is now utterly miserable because the king would not give him a couple of yards of blue or green ribbon. and it is curious in how many cases worldly-successful men mount, step after step, into a new series of wants, implying a new set of mortifications and disappointments. a person begins as a small tradesman; all he aims at is a maintenance for him and his. that is his first aim. say he succeeds in reaching it. a little ago he thought he would have been quite content could he only do that. but from his new level he sees afar a new peak to climb; now he aims at a fortune. that is his next aim. say he reaches it. now he buys an estate; now he aims at being received and admitted as a country gentleman; and the remainder of his life is given to striving for social recognition in the county. how he schemes to get the baronet to dine with him, and the baronet's lady to call upon his homely spouse! and every one has remarked with amusement the hive of petty mortifications, failures, and disappointments, through which he fights his way, till, as it may chance, he actually gains a dubious footing in the society he seeks, or gives up the endeavour as a final failure. who shall say that any one of the successive wants the man has felt is more fanciful, less real, than any other? to mr. oddbody, living in his fine house, it is just as serious an aim to get asked to the duke's ball, as in former days it was to jack oddbody to carry home on saturday night the shillings which were to buy his bread and cheese. and another shade of disappointment which keeps pace with all material success is that which arises, not from failing to get a thing, but from getting it and then discovering that it is not what we had fancied--that it will not make us happy. is not this disappointment ft it everywhere? when the writer was a little boy, he was promised that on a certain birthday a donkey should be bought for his future riding. did not he frequently allude to it in conversation with his companions? did not he plague the servants for information as to the natural history and moral idiosyncrasy of donkeys? did not the long-eared visage appear sometimes through his dreams? ah, the donkey came! then followed the days of being pitched over his head; the occasions on which the brute of impervious hide rushed through hedges and left me sticking in them: happiness was no nearer, though the donkey was there. have you not, my philosophic friend, had your donkey? i mean your moral donkey. yes, and scores of such. when you were a schoolboy, longing for the holidays, have you not chalked upon doors the legend--oh for august! vague, delightful visions of perfect happiness were wrapped up in the words. but the holidays came, as all holidays have done and will do; and in a few days you were heartily wearied of them. when you were spoony about marjory anne, you thought that once your donkey came, once you were fairly married and settled, what a fine thing it would be! i do not say a syllable against that youthful matron; but i presume you have discovered that she falls short of perfection, and that wedded life has its many cares. you thought you would enjoy so much the setting-up of your carriage; your wife and you often enjoyed it by anticipation on dusty summer days: but though all very well, wood and iron and leather never made the vehicle that shall realize your anticipations. the horses were often lame; the springs would sometimes break; the paint was always getting scratched and the lining cut. oh, what a nuisance is a carriage! you fancied you would be perfectly happy when you retired from business and settled in the country. what a comment upon such fancies is the fashion in which retired men of business haunt the places of their former toils like unquiet ghosts! how sick they get of the country! i do not think of grand disappointments of the sort; of the satiety of vathek, turning sickly away from his earthly paradise at cintra; nor of the graceful towers i have seen rising from a woody cliff above a summer sea, and of the story told me of their builder, who, after rearing them, lost interest in them, and in sad disappointment left them to others, and went back to the busy town wherein he had made his wealth. i think of men, more than one or two, who rented their acre of land by the sea-side, and built their pretty cottage, made their grassplots and trained their roses, and then in unaccustomed idleness grew weary of the whole and sold their place to some keen bargain-maker for a tithe of what it cost them. why is it that failure in attaining ambitious ends is so painful? when one has honestly done one's best, and is beaten after all, conscience must be satisfied: the wound is solely to self-love; and is it not to the discredit of our nature that that should imply such a weary, blank, bitter feeling as it often does? is it that every man has within his heart a lurking belief that, notwithstanding the world's ignorance of the fact, there never was in the world anybody so remarkable as himself? i think that many mortals need daily to be putting down a vague feeling which really comes to that. you who have had experience of many men, know that you can hardly over-estimate the extent and depth of human vanity. never be afraid but that nine men out of ten will swallow with avidity flattery, however gross; especially if it ascribe to them those qualities of which they are most manifestly deficient. a disappointed man looks with great interest at the man who has obtained what he himself wanted. your mother, reader, says that her ambition for you would be entirely gratified if you could but reach a certain place which some one you know has held for twenty years. you look at him with much curiosity; he appears very much like yourself; and, curiously, he does not appear particularly happy. oh, reader, whatever you do--though last week he gained without an effort what you have been wishing for all your life--do not hate him. resolve that you will love and wish well to the man who fairly succeeded where you fairly failed. go to him and get acquainted with him: if you and he are both true men, you will not find it a difficult task to like him. it is perhaps asking too much of human nature to ask you to do all this in the case of the man who has carried off the woman you loved; but as regards anything else, do it all. go to your successful rival, heartily congratulate him. don't be jesuitical; don't merely felicitate the man; put down the rising feeling of envy: that is always out-and-out wrong. don't give it a moment's quarter. you clerks in an office, ready to be angry with a fellow-clerk who gets the chance of a trip to scotland on business, don't give in to the feeling. shake hands with him all round, and go in a body with him to euston square, and give him three cheers as he departs by the night mail. and you, greater mortals--you, rector of a beautiful parish, who think you would have done for a bishop as well as the clergyman next you who has got the mitre; you, clever barrister, sure some day to be solicitor-general, though sore to-day because a man next door has got that coveted post before you; go and see the successful man--go forthwith, congratulate him heartily, say frankly you wish it had been you: it will do oreat good both to him and to yourself. let it not be that envy--that bitter and fast-growing fiend--shall be suffered in your heart for one minute. when i was at college i sat on the same bench with a certain man. we were about the same age. now, i am a country parson, and he is a cabinet minister. oh, how he has distanced poor me in the race of life! well, he had a tremendous start, no doubt. now, shall i hate him? shall i pitch into him, rake up all his errors of youth, tell how stupid he was (though indeed he was not stupid), and bitterly gloat over the occasion on which he fell on the ice and tore his inexpressibles in the presence of a grinning throng? no, my old fellow-student, who hast now doubtless forgotten my name, though i so well remember yours, though you got your honours possibly in some measure from the accident of your birth, you have nobly justified their being given you so early; and so i look on with interest to your loftier advancement yet, and i say--god bless you! i think, if i were an examiner at one of the universities, that i should be an extremely popular one. no man should ever be plucked. of course it would be very wrong, and, happily, the work is in the hands of those who are much fitter for it; but, instead of thinking solely and severely of a man's fitness to pass, i could not help thinking a great deal of the heartbreak it would be to the poor fellow and his family if he were turned. it would be ruin to any magazine to have me for its editor. i should always be printing all sorts of rubbishing articles, which are at present consigned to the balaam-box. i could not bear to grieve and disappoint the young lady who sends her gushing verses. i should be picturing to myself the long hours of toil that resulted in the clever lad's absurd attempt at a review, and all his fluttering hopes and fears as to whether it was to be accepted or not. no doubt it is by this mistaken kindness that institutions are damaged and ruined. the weakness of a sympathetic bishop burdens the church with a clergy-man who for many years will be an injury to her; and it would have been far better even for the poor fellow himself to have been decidedly and early kept out of a vocation for which he is wholly unfit. i am far from saying that the resolute examiner who plucks freely, and the resolute editor who rejects firmly, are deficient in kindness of heart, or even in vividness of imagination to picture what they are doing: though much of the suffering and disappointment of this world is caused by men who are almost unaware of what they do. like the brothers of isabella, in keats' beautiful poem, half ignorant, they turn an easy wheel, that sets sharp racks at work, to pinch and peel. yet though principle and moral decision may be in you sufficient to prevent your weakly yielding to the feeling, be sure you always sympathize with failure;--honest, laborious failure. and i think all but very malicious persons generally do sympathize with it. it is easier to sympathize with failure than with success. no trace of envy comes in to mar your sympathy, and you have a pleasant sense that you are looking down from a loftier elevation. the average man likes to have some one to look down upon--even to look down upon kindly. i remember being greatly touched by hearing of a young man of much promise, who went to preach his first sermon in a little church by the sea-shore in a lonely highland glen. he preached his sermon, and got on pretty fairly; but after service he went down to the shore of the far-sounding sea, and wept to think how sadly he had fallen short of his ideal, how poor was his appearance compared to what he had intended and hoped. perhaps a foolish vanity and self-conceit was at the foundation of his disappointment; but though i did not know him at all, i could not but have a very kindly sympathy for him. i heard, years afterwards, with great pleasure, that he had attained to no small eminence and success as a pulpit orator; and i should not have alluded to him here but for the fact that in early youth, and amid greater expectations of him, he passed away from this life of high aims and poor fulfilments. i think how poor keats, no doubt morbidly ambitious as well as morbidly sensitive, declared in his preface to endymion that 'there is no fiercer hell than failure in a great attempt.' most thoughtful men must feel it a curious and interesting study, to trace the history of the closing days of those persons who have calmly and deliberately, in no sudden heat of passion, taken away their own life. in such cases, of course, we see the sense of failure, absolute and complete. they have quietly resolved lo give up life as a losing game. you remember the poor man who, having spent his last shilling, retired to a wood far from human dwellings, and there died voluntarily by starvation. he kept a diary of those days of gradual death, setting out his feelings both of body and mind. no nourishment passed his lips after he had chosen his last resting-place, save a little water, which he dragged himself to a pond to drink. he was not discovered till he was dead; but his melancholy chronicle appeared to have been carried down to very near the time when he became unconscious. i remember its great characteristic appeared to be a sense of utter failure. there seemed to be no passion, none of the bitter desperate resolution which prompts the energetic 'anywhere, anywhere, out of the world;' but merely a weary, lonely wish to creep quietly away. i have no look but one of sorrow and pity to cast on the poor suicide's grave. i think the common english verdict is right as well as charitable, which supposes that in every such case reason has become unhinged, and responsibility is gone. and what desperate misery, what a black horrible anguish of heart, whether expressing itself calmly or feverishly, must have laid its gripe upon a human being before it can overcome in him the natural clinging to life, and make him deliberately turn his back upon 'the warm precincts of the cheerful day.' no doubt it is the saddest of all sad ends; but i do not forget that a certain authority, the highest of all authorities, said to all human beings, 'judge not, that ye be not judged.' the writer has, in the course of his duty, looked upon more than one suicide's dead face; and the lines of hood appeared to sketch the fit feeling with which to do so:-- owning her weakness, her evil behaviour; and leaving, with meekness, her soul to her saviour. what i have just written recalls to me, by some link of association, the words i once heard a simple old scotch-woman utter by her son's deathbed. he was a young man of twenty-two, a pious and good young man, and i had seen him very often throughout his gradual decline. calling one morning, i found he was gone, and his mother begged me to come and see his face once more; and standing for the last time by him, i said (and i could say them honestly) some words of christian comfort to the poor old woman. i told her, in words far better than any of my own, how the best friend of mankind had said, 'i am the resurrection and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in me, shall never die.' i remember well her answer. 'aye,' said she, 'he gaed away trusting in that; and he'll be sorely disappointed if he doesna' find it so.' let me venture to express my hope, that when my readers and i pass within the veil, we may run the risk of no other disappointment than that these words should prove false; and then it will be well with us. there will be no disappointment there, in the sense of things failing to come up to our expectations. let it be added, that there are disappointments with which even the kindest hearts will have no sympathy, and failures over which we may without malignity rejoice. you do not feel very deeply for the disappointed burglar, who retires from your dwelling at a. m., leaving a piece of the calf of his leg in the jaws of your trusty watch-dog; nor for the irish bog-trotter who (poor fellow), from behind the hedge, misses his aim at the landlord who fed him and his family through the season of famine. you do not feel very deeply for the disappointment of the friend, possibly the slight acquaintance, who with elongated face retires from your study, having failed to persuade you to attach your signature to a bill for some hundreds of pounds 'just as a matter of form.' very likely he wants the money; so did the burglar: but is that any reason why you should give it to him? refer him to the wealthy and influential relatives of whom he has frequently talked to you; tell him they are the very people to assist him in such a case with their valuable autograph. as for yourself, tell him you know what you owe to your children and yourself; and say that the slightest recurrence to such a subject must be the conclusion of all intercourse between you. ah, poor disappointed fellow! how heartless it is in you to refuse to pay, out of your hard earnings, the money which he so jauntily and freely spent! how should disappointment be met? well, that is far too large a question to be taken up at this stage of my essay, though there are various suggestions which i should like to make. some disappointed men take to gardening and farming; and capital things they are. but when disappointment is extreme, it will paralyse you so that you will suffer the weeds to grow up all about you, without your having the heart to set your mind to the work of having the place made neat. the state of a man's garden is a very delicate and sensitive test as to whether he is keeping hopeful and well-to-do. it is to me a very sad sight to see a parsonage getting a dilapidated look, and the gravel walks in its garden growing weedy. the parson must be growing old and poor. the parishioners tell you how trim and orderly everything was when he came first to the parish. but his affairs have become embarrassed, or his wife and children are dead; and though still doing his duty well, and faithfully, he has lost heart and interest in these little matters; and so things are as you see. i have been amused by the way in which some people meet disappointment. they think it a great piece of worldly wisdom to deny that they have ever been disappointed at all. perhaps it might be so, if the pretext were less transparent than it is. an old lady's son is plucked at an examination for a civil appointment. she takes up the ground that it is rather a credit to be plucked; that nearly everybody is plucked; that all the cleverest fellows are plucked; and that only stupid fellows are allowed to pass. when the examiners find a clever man, they take a pleasure in plucking him. a number of the cleverest men in england can easily put out a lad of one-and-twenty. then, shifting her ground, she declares the examination was ridiculously easy: her son was rejected because he could not tell what two and two amount to: because he did not know the name of the river on which london is built: because he did not (in his confusion) know his own name. she shows you the indignant letter which the young man wrote to her, announcing the scandalous injustice with which he was treated. you remark three words misspelt in the first five lines; and you fancy you have fathomed the secret of the plucking. i have sometimes tried, but in vain, to discover the law which regulates the attainment of extreme popularity. extreme popularity, in this country and age, appears a very arbitrary thing. i defy any person to predict a priori what book, or song, or play, or picture, is to become the rage,--to utterly transcend all competition. i believe, indeed, that there cannot be popularity for even a short time, without some kind or degree of merit to deserve it; and in any case there is no other standard to which one can appeal than the deliberate judgment of the mass of educated persons. if you are quite convinced that a thing is bad which all such think good, why, of course you are wrong. if you honestly think shakspeare a fool, you are aware you must be mistaken. and so, if a book, or a picture, or a play, or a song, be really good, and if it be properly brought before the public notice, you may, as a general rule, predict that it will attain a certain measure of success. but the inexplicable thing--the thing of which i am quite unable to trace the law--is extreme success. how is it that one thing shoots ahead of everything else of the same class; and without being materially better, or even materially different, leaves everything else out of sight behind? why is it that eclipse is first and the rest nowhere, while the legs and wind of eclipse are no whit better than the legs and wind of all the rest? if twenty novels of nearly equal merit are published, it is not impossible that one shall dart ahead of the remaining nineteen; that it shall be found in every library; that mr. mudie may announce that he has copies of it; that it shall be the talk of every circle; its incidents set to music, its plot dramatized; that it shall count readers by thousands while others count readers by scores; while yet one cannot really see why any of the others might not have taken its place. or of a score of coarse comic songs, nineteen shall never get beyond the walls of the cyder cellars (i understand there is a place of the name), while the twentieth, no wise superior in any respect, comes to be sung about the streets, known by everybody, turned into polkas and quadrilles and in fact to become for the time one of the institutions of this great and intelligent country. i remember how, a year or two since, that contemptible rat-catcher's daughter, without a thing to recommend it, with no music, no wit, no sentiment, nothing but vulgar brutality, might be heard in every separate town of england and scotland, sung about the streets by every ragged urchin; while the other songs of the vivacious cowell fell dead from his lips. the will of the sovereign people has decided that so it shall be. and as likings and dislikings in most cases are things strongly felt, but impossible to account for even by the person who feels them, so is it ffith the enormous admiration, regard, and success which fall to the lot of many to whom popularity is success. actors, statesmen, authors, preachers, have often in england their day of quite undeserved popular ovation; and by and bye their day of entire neglect. it is the rocket and the stick. we are told that bishop butler, about the period of the great excesses of the french revolution, was walking in his garden with his chaplain. after a long fit of musing, the bishop turned to the chaplain, and asked the question whether nations might not go mad, as well as individuals? classes of society, i think, may certainly have attacks of temporary insanity on some one point. the jenny lind fever was such an attack. such was the popularity of the boy-actor betty. such the popularity of the small coal man some time in the last century; such that of the hippopotamus at the regent's park; such that of uncle tom's cabin. but this essay must have an end. it is far too long already. i am tired of it, and a fortiori my reader must be so. let me try the effect of an abrupt conclusion. chapter iii. concerning scylla and charybdis; some thoughts upon the swing of the pendulum. [footnote: for the suggestion of the subject of this essay, and for many valuable hints as to its treatment, i am indebted to the kindness of the archbishop of dublin. indeed, in all that part of the essay which treats of secondary vulgar errwi, i have done little more than expand and illustrate the skeleton of thought supplied to me by archbishop whately.] i have eaten up all the grounds of my tea, said, many years since, in my hearing, in modest yet triumphant tones, a little girl of seven years old. i have but to close my eyes, and i see all that scene again, almost as plainly as ever. six or seven children (i am one of them) are sitting round a tea-table; their father and mother are there too; and an old gentleman, who is (in his own judgment) one of the wisest of men. i see the dining-room, large and low-ceilinged; the cheerful glow of the autumnal fire; the little faces in the soft candle-light, for glaring gas was there unknown. there had been much talk about the sinfulness of waste--of the waste of even very little things. the old gentleman, so wise (in his own judgment, and indeed in my judgment at that period), was instilling into the children's minds some of those lessons which are often impressed upon children by people (i am now aware) of no great wisdom or cleverness. he had dwelt at considerable length upon the sinfulness of wasting anything; likewise on the sinfulness of children being saucy or particular as to what they should eat. he enforced, with no small solemnity, the duty of children's eating what was set before them without minding whether it was good or not, or at least without minding whether they liked it or not. the poor little girl listened to all that was said, and of course received it all as indubitably true. waste and sauciness, she saw, were wrong, so she judged that the very opposite of waste and sauciness must be right. accordingly, she thought she would turn to use something that was very small, but still something that ought not to be wasted. accordingly, she thought she would show the docility of her taste by eating up something that was very disagreeable. here was an opportunity at once of acting out the great principles to which she had been listening. and while a boy, evidently destined to be a metaphysician, and evidently possessed of the spirit of resistance to constituted authority whether in government or doctrine, boldly argued that it could not be wicked in him to hate onions, because god had made him so that he did hate onions, and (going still deeper into things) insisted that to eat a thing when you did not want it was wasting it much more truly than it would be wasting it to leave it; the little girl ate up all the grounds left in her teacup, and then announced the fact with considerable complacency. very, very natural. the little girl's act was a slight straw showing how a great current sets. it was a fair exemplification of a tendency which is woven into the make of our being. tell the average mortal that it is wrong to walk on the left side of the road, and in nine cases out of ten he will conclude that the proper thing must be to walk on the right side of the road; whereas in actual life, and in almost all opinions, moral, political, and religious, the proper thing is to walk neither on the left nor the right side, but somewhere about the middle. say to the ship-master, you are to sail through a perilous strait; you will have the raging scylla on one hand as you go. his natural reply will be, well, i will keep as far away from it as possible; i will keep close by the other side. but the rejoinder must be, no, you will be quite as ill off there; you will be in equal peril on the other side: there is charybdis. what you have to do is to keep at a safe distance from each. in avoiding the one, do not run into the other. it seems to be a great law of the universe, that wrong lies upon either side of the way, and that right is the narrow path between. there are the two ways of doing wrong--too much and too little. go to the extreme right hand, and you are wrong; go to the extreme left hand, and you are wrong too. that you may be right, you have to keep somewhere between these two extremes: but not necessarily in the exact middle. all this, of course, is part of the great fact that in this world evil has the advantage of good. it is easier to go wrong than right. it is very natural to think that if one thing or course be wrong, its reverse must be right. if it be wrong to walk towards the east, surely it must be right to walk towards the west. if it be wrong to dress in black, it must be right to dress in white. it is somewhat hard to say, dum vitant stulti vitia, in contraria currunt--to declare, as if that were a statement of the whole truth, that fools mistake reverse of wrong for right. fools do so indeed, but not fools only. the average jiuman being, with the most honest intentions, is prone to mistake reverse of wrong for right. we are fond, by our natural constitution, of broad distinctions--of classifications that put the whole interests and objects of this world to iho tight-hand and to the left. we long for aye or no--for heads or tails. we are impatient of limitations, qualifications, restrictions. you remember how mr. micawber explained the philosophy of income and expenditure, and urged people never to run in debt. income, said he, a hundred pounds a year; expenditure ninety-nine pounds nineteen shillings: happiness. income, a hundred pounds a year; expenditure a hundred pounds and one shilling: misery. you see the principle involved is, that if you are not happy, you must be miserable--that if you are not miserable, you must be happy. if you are not any particular thing, then you are its opposite. if you are not for, then you are against. if you are not black, many men will jump to the conclusion that you are white: the fact probably being that you are gray. if not a whig, you must be a tory: in truth, you are a liberal-conservative. we desiderate in all things the sharp decidedness of the verdict of a jury--guilty or not guilty. we like to conclude that if a man be not very good, then he is very bad; if not very clever, then very stupid; if not very wise, then a fool: whereas in fact, the man probably is a curious mixture of good and evil, strength and weakness, wisdom and folly, knowledge and ignorance, cleverness and stupidity. let it be here remarked, that in speaking of it as an error to take reverse of wrong for right, i use the words in their ordinary sense, as generally understood. in common language the reverse of a thing is taken to mean the thing at the opposite end of the scale from it. thus, black is the reverse of white, bigotry of latitudinarianism, malevolence of benevolence, parsimony of extravagance, and the like. of course, in strictness, these things are not the reverse of one another. in strictness, the reverse of wrong always is right; for, to speak with severe precision, the reverse of steering upon scylla is simply not steering upon scylla; the reverse of being extravagant is not being parsimonious--it is simply not being extravagant; the reverse of walking eastward is not walking westward--it is simply not walking eastward. and that may include standing still, or walking to any point of the compass except the east. but i understand the reverse of a thing as meaning the opposite extreme from it. and you see, the latin words quoted above are more precise than the english. it is severely true, that while fools think to shun error on one side, they run into the contrary error--i. e., the error that lies equi-distant, or nearly equi-distant, on the other side of the line of right. one class of the errors into which men are prone to run under this natural impulse are those which have been termed secondary vulgar errors. a vulgar error, you will understand, my reader, does not by any means signify an error into which only the vulgar are likely to fall. it does not by any means signify a mistaken belief which will be taken up only by inferior and uneducated minds. a vulgar error means an error either in conduct or belief into which man, by the make of his being, is likely to fall. now, people a degree wiser and more thoughtful than the mass, discover that these vulgar errors are errors. they conclude that their opposites (i. e., the things at the other extremity of the scale) must be right; and by running into the opposite extreme they run just as far wrong upon the other side. there is too great a reaction. the twig was bent to the right--they bend it to the left, forgetting that the right thing was that the twig should be straight. if convinced that waste and sauciness are wrong, they proceed to eat the grounds of their tea; if convinced that self-indulgence is wrong, they conclude that hair-shirts and midnight floggings are right; if convinced that the church of rome has too many ceremonies, they resolve that they will have no ceremonies at all; if convinced that it is unworthy to grovel in the presence of a duke, they conclude that it will be a fine thing to refuse the duke ordinary civility; if convinced that monarehs are not much wiser or better than other human beings, they run off into the belief that all kings have been little more than incarnate demons; if convinced that representative government often works very imperfectly, they raise a cry for imperialism; if convinced that monarchy has its abuses, they call out for republicanism; if convinced that britain has many things which are not so good as they ought to be, they keep constantly extolling the perfection of the united states. now, inasmuch as a rise of even one step in the scale of thought elevates the man who has taken it above the vast host of men who have never taken even that one step, the number of people who (at least in matters of any moment) arrive at the secondary vulgar error is much less than the number of the people who stop at the primary vulgar error. very great multitudes of human beings think it a very fine thing, the very finest of all human things, to be very rich. a much smaller number, either from the exercise of their own reflective powers, or from the indoctrination of romantic novels and overdrawn religious books, run to the opposite extreme: undervalue wealth, deny that it adds anything to human comfort and enjoyment, declare that it is an unmixed evil, profess to despise it. i dare say that many readers of the idylls of the king will so misunderstand that exquisite song of 'fortune and her wheel,' as to see in it only the charming and sublime embodiment of a secondary vulgar error,--the error, to wit, that wealth and outward circumstances are of no consequence at all. to me that song appears rather to take the further step, and to reach the conclusion in which is embodied the deliberate wisdom of humankind upon this matter: the conclusion which shakes from itself on either hand either vulgar error: the idolization of wealth on the one side, the contempt of it on the other: and to convey the sobered judgment that while the advantages and refinements of fortune are so great that no thoughtful man can long despise it, the responsibilities and temptations of it are so great that no thoughtful man will much repine if he fail to reach it; and thus that we may genially acquiesce in that which it pleases god to send. midway between two vulgar errors: steering a sure track between scylla and charybdis: the grovelling multitude to the left, the romantic few to the right; stand the words of inspired wisdom. the pendulum had probably oscillated many times between the two errors, before it settled at the central truth; 'give me neither poverty nor riches; feed me with food convenient for me: lest i be full and deny thee, and say, who is the lord? or lest i be poor, and steal, and take the name of my god in vain.' but although these errors of reaction are less common than the primary vulgar errors, they are better worth noticing: inasmuch as in many cases they are the errors of the well-intentioned. people fall into the primary vulgar errors without ever thinking of right or wrong: merely feeling an impulse to go there, or to think thus. but worthy folk, for the most part, fall into the secondary vulgar errors, while honestly endeavouring to escape what they have discerned to be wrong. not indeed that it is always in good faith that men run to the opposite extreme. sometimes they do it in pet and perversity, being well aware that they are doing wrong. you hint to some young friend, to whom you are nearly enough related to be justified in doing so, that the dinner to which he has invited you, with several others, is unnecessarily fine, is somewhat extravagant, is beyond what he can afford. the young friend asks you back in a week or two, and sets before you a feast of salt herrings and potatoes. now the fellow did not run into this extreme with the honest intention of doing right. he knew perfectly well that this was not what you meant. he did not go through this piece of folly in the sincere desire to avoid the other error of extravagance. or, you are a country clergyman. you are annoyed, sunday by sunday, by a village lad who, from enthusiasm or ostentation, sings so loud in church as to disturb the whole congregation. you hint to him, as kindly as you can, that there is something very pleasing about the softer tones of his voice, and that you would like to hear them more frequently. but the lad sees through your civil way of putting the case. his vanity is touched. he sees you mean that you don't like to hear him bellow: and next sunday you will observe that he shuts up his hymn-book in dudgeon, and will not sing at all. leave the blockhead to himself do not set yourself to stroke down his self-conceit: he knows quite well he is doing wrong: there is neither sense nor honesty in what he does. you remark at dinner, while staying with a silly old gentleman, that the plum-pudding, though admirable, perhaps errs on the side of over-richness; next day he sets before you a mass of stiff paste with no plums at all, and says, with a look of sly stupidity, 'well, i hope you are satisfied now.' politeness prevents your replying, 'no, you don't. you know that is not what i meant. you are a fool.' you remember the boy in pickwick, who on his father finding fault with him for something wrong he had done, offered to kill himself if that would be any satisfaction to his parent. in this case you have a more recondite instance of this peculiar folly. here the primary course is tacitly assumed, without being stated. the primary impulse of the human being is to take care of himself; the opposite of that of course is to kill himself. and the boy, being chidden for doing something which might rank under the general head of taking care of himself, proposed (as that course appeared unsatisfactory) to take the opposite one. 'you don't take exercise enough,' said a tutor to a wrong-headed boy who was under his care: 'you ought to walk more.' next morning the perverse fellow entered the breakfast parlour in a fagged condition, and said, with the air of a martyr, 'well, i trust i have taken exercise enough to-day: i have walked twenty miles this morning.' as for all such manifestations of the disposition to run into opposite extremes, let them be treated as manifestations of pettedness, perversity, and dishonesty. in some cases a high-spirited youth may be excused them; but, for the most part, they come with doggedness, wrong-headedness, and dense stupidity. and any pretext that they are exhibited with an honest intention to do right, ought to be regarded as a transparently false pretext. i have now before me a list (prepared by a much stronger hand than mine) of honest cases in which men, avoiding scylla, run into charybdis: in which men, thinking to bend the crooked twig straight, bend it backwards. but before mentioning these, it may be remarked, that there is often such a thing as a reaction from a natural tendency, even when that natural tendency is not towards what may be called a primary vulgar error. the law of reaction extends to all that human beings can ever feel the disposition to think or do. there are, doubtless, minds of great fixity of opinion and motive: and there are certain things, in the case of almost all men, as regards which their belief and their active bias never vary through life: but with most human beings, with nations, with humankind, as regards very many and very important matters, as surely and as far as the pendulum has swung to the right, so surely and so far will it swing to the left. i do not say that an opinion in favour of monarchy is a primary vulgar error; or that an opinion in favour of republicanism is a secondary: both may be equally right: but assuredly each of these is a reaction from the other. america, for instance, is one great reaction from europe. the principle on which these reactionary swings of the pendulum take place, is plain. whatever be your present position, you feel its evils and drawbacks keenly. your feeling of the present evil is much more vivid than your imagination of the evil which is sure to be inherent in the opposite system, whatever that may be. you live in a country where the national church is presbyterian. you see, day by day, many inconveniences and disadvantages inherent in that form of church government. it is of the nature of evil to make its presence much more keenly felt than the presence of good. so while keenly alive to the drawbacks of presbytery, you are hardly conscious of its advantages. you swing over, let us suppose, to the other end: you swing over from scotland into england, from presbytery to episcopacy. for awhile you are quite delighted to find yourself free from the little evils of which you had been wont to complain. but by and bye the drawbacks of episcopacy begin to push themselves upon your notice. you have escaped one set of disadvantages: you find that you have got into the middle of another. scylla no longer bellows in your hearing; but charybdis whirls you round. you begin to feel that the country and the system yet remain to be sought, in which some form of evil, of inconvenience, of worry, shall not press you. am i wrong in fancying, dear friends more than one or two, that but for very shame the pendulum would swing back again to the point from which it started: and you, kindly scots, would find yourselves more at home in kindly and homely scotland, with her simple forms and faith? so far as my experience has gone, i think that in all matters not of vital moment, it is best that the pendulum should stay at the end of the swing where it first found itself: it will be in no more stable position at the other end: and it will somehow feel stranger-like there. and you, my friend, though in your visits to anglican territory you heartily conform to the anglican church, and enjoy as much as mortal san her noble cathedrals and her stately worship; still i know that after all, you cannot shake off the spell in which the old remembrances of your boyhood have bound you. i know that your heart warms to the burning bush; [footnote: the scutcheon of the church of scotland.] and that it will, till death chills it. a noteworthy fact in regard to the swing of the pendulum, is that the secondary tendency is sometimes found in the ruder state of society, and the less reflective man. naturalness comes last. the pendulum started from naturalness: it swung over into artificiality: and with thoughtful people it has swung back to naturalness again. thus it is natural, when in danger, to be afraid. it is natural, when you are possessed by any strong feeling, to show it. you see all this in children: this is the point which the pendulum starts from. it swings over, and we find a reaction from this. the reaction is, to maintain and exhibit perfect coolness and indifference in danger; to pretend to be incapable of fear. this state of things we find in the red indian, a rude and uncivilized being. but it is plain that with people who are able to think, there must be a reaction from this. the pendulum cannot long stay in a position which flies so completely in the face of the law of gravitation. it is pure nonsense to talk about being incapable of fear. i remember reading somewhere about queen elizabeth, that 'her soul was incapable of fear.' that statement is false and absurd. you may regard fear as unmanly and unworthy: you may repress the manifestations of it; but the state of mind which (in beings not properly monstrous or defective) follows the perception of being in danger, is fear. as surely as the perception of light is sight, so surely is the perception of danger fear. and for a man to say that his soul is incapable of fear, is just as absurd as to say that from a peculiarity of constitution, when dipped in water, he does not get wet. you, human being, whoever you may be, when you are placed in danger, and know you are placed in danger, and reflect on the fact, you feel afraid. don't vapour and say no; we know how the mental machine must work, unless it be diseased. now, the thoughtful man admits all this: he admits that a bullet through his brain would be a very serious thing for himself, and like-wise for his wife and children: he admits that he shrinks from such a prospect; he will take pains to protect himself from the risk; but he says that if duty requires him to run the risk he will run it. this is the courage of the civilized man as opposed to the blind, bull-dog insensibility of the savage. this is courage--to know the existence of danger, but to face it nevertheless. here, under the influence of longer thought, the pendulum has swung into common sense, though not quite back to the point from which it started. of course, it still keeps swinging about in individual minds. the other day i read in a newspaper a speech by a youthful rifleman, in which he boasted that no matter to what danger exposed, his corps would never take shelter behind trees and rocks, but would stand boldly out to the aim of the enemy. i was very glad to find this speech answered in a letter to the times, written by a rifleman of great experience and proved bravery. the experienced man pointed out that the inexperienced man was talking nonsense: that true courage appeared in manfully facing risks which were inevitable, but not in running into needless peril: and that the business of a soldier was to be as useful to his country and as destructive to the enemy as possible, and not to make needless exhibitions of personal foolhardiness. thus swings the pendulum as to danger and fear. the point of departure, the primary impulse, is, . an impulse to avoid danger at all hazards: i. e., to run away, and save yourself, however discreditably. the pendulum swings to the other extremity, and we have the secondary impulse-- . an impulse to disregard danger, and even to run into it, as if it were of no consequence at all; i. e., young rifleman foolhardiness, and red indian insensibility. the pendulum comes so far back, and rests at the point of wisdom: . a determination to avoid all danger, the running into which would do no good, and which may be avoided consistently with honour; but manfully to face danger, however great, that comes in the way of duty. but after all this deviation from the track, i return to my list of secondary vulgar errors, run into with good and honest intentions. here is the first-- don't you know, my reader, that it is natural to think very bitterly of the misconduct which affects yourself? if a man cheats your friend, or cheats your slight acquaintance, or cheats some one who is quite unknown to you, by selling him a lame horse, you disapprove his conduct, indeed, but not nearly so much as if he had cheated yourself. you learn that miss limejuice has been disseminating a grossly untrue account of some remarks which you made in her hearing: and your first impulse is to condemn her malicious falsehood, much more severely than if she had merely told a few lies about some one else. yet it is quite evident that if we were to estimate the doings of men with perfect justice, we should fix solely on the moral element in their doings; and the accidental circumstance of the offence or injury to ourselves would be neither here nor there. the primary vulgar error, then, in this case is, undue and excessive disapprobation of misconduct from which we have suffered. no one but a very stupid person would, if it were fairly put to him, maintain that this extreme disapprobation was right: but it cannot be denied that this is the direction to which all human beings are likely, at first, to feel an impulse to go. a man does you some injury: you are much angrier than if he had done the like injury to some one else. you are much angrier when your own servants are guilty of little neglects and follies, than when the servants of your next neighbour are guilty in a precisely similar degree. the prime minister (or chancellor) fails to make you a queen's counsel or a judge: you are much more angry than if he had overlooked some other man, of precisely equal merit. and i do not mean merely that the injury done to yourself comes more home to you, but that positively you think it a worse thing. it seems as if there were more of moral evil in it. the boy who steals your plums seems worse than other boys stealing other plums. the servant who sells your oats and starves your horses, seems worse than other servants who do the like. it is not merely that you feel where the shoe pinches yourself, more than where it pinches another: that is all quite right. it is that you have a tendency to think it is a worse shoe than another which gives an exactly equal amount of pain. you are prone to dwell upon and brood over the misconduct which affected yourself. well, you begin to see that this is unworthy, that selfishness and mortified conceit are at the foundation of it. you determine that you will shake yourself free from this vulgar error. what more magnanimous, you think, than to do the opposite of the wrong thing? surely it will be generous, and even heroic, to wholly acquit the wrong-doer, and even to cherish him for a bosom friend. so the pendulum swings over to the opposite extreme, and you land in the secondary vulgar error. i do not mean to say that in practice many persons are likely to thus bend the twig backwards; but it is no small evil to think that it would be a right thing, and a fine thing, to do even that which you never intend to do. so you write an essay, or even a book, the gist of which is that it is a grand thing to select for a friend and guide the human being who has done you signal injustice and harm. over that book, if it be a prettily written tale, many young ladies will weep: and though without the faintest intention of imitating your hero's behaviour, they will think that it would be a fine thing if they did so. and it is a great mischief to pervert the moral judgment and falsely to excite the moral feelings. you forget that wrong is wrong, though it be done against yourself, and that you have no right to acquit the wrong to yourself as though it were no wrong at all. that lies beyond your province. you may forgive the personal offence, but it does not rest with you to acquit the guilt. you have no right to confuse moral distinctions by practically saying that wrong is not wrong, because it is done against you. all wrong is against very many things and very grave things, besides being against you. it is not for you to speak in the name of god and the universe. you may not wish to say much about the injury done to yourself, but there it is; and as to the choosing for your friend the man who has greatly injured you, in most cases such a choice would be a very unwise one, because in most cases it would amount to this--that you should select a man for a certain post mainly because he has shown himself possessed of qualities which unfit him for that post. that surely would be very foolish. if you had to appoint a postman, would you choose a man because he had no legs? and what is very foolish can never be very magnanimous. the right course to follow lies between the two which have been set out. the man who has done wrong to you is still a wrong-doer. the question you have to consider is, what ought your conduct to be towards a wrong-doer? let there be no harbour given to any feeling of personal revenge. but remember that it is your duty to disapprove what is wrong, and that it is wisdom not too far to trust a man who has proved himself unworthy to be trusted. i have no feeling of selfish bitterness against the person who deceived me deliberately and grossly, yet i cannot but judge that deliberate and gross deceit is bad; and i cannot but judge that the person who deceived me once might, if tempted, deceive me again: so he shall not have the opportunity. i look at the horse which a friend offers me for a short ride. i discern upon the knees of the animal a certain slight but unmistakeable roughness of the hair. that horse has been down; and if i mount that horse at all (which i shall not do except in a case of necessity), i shall ride him with a tight rein, and with a sharp look-out for rolling stones. another matter in regard to which scylla and charybdis are very discernible, is the fashion in which human beings think and speak of the good or bad qualities of their friends. the primary tendency here is to blindness to the faults of a friend, and over-estimate of his virtues and qualifications. most people are disposed extravagantly to over-value anything belonging to or connected with themselves. a farmer tells you that there never were such turnips as his turnips; a schoolboy thinks that the world cannot show boys so clever as those with whom he is competing for the first place in his class; a clever student at college tells you what magnificent fellows are certain of his compeers--how sure they are to become great men in life. talk of tennyson! you have not read smith's prize poem. talk of macaulay! ah, if you could see brown's prize essay! a mother tells you (fathers are generally less infatuated) how her boy was beyond comparison the most distinguished and clever in his class--how he stood quite apart from, any of the others. your eye happens to fall a day or two afterwards upon the prize-list advertised in the newspapers, and you discover that (curiously) the most distinguished and clever boy in that particular school is rewarded with the seventh prize. i dare say you may have met with families in which there existed the most absurd and preposterous belief as to their superiority, social, intellectual, and moral, above other families which were as good or better. and it is to be admitted, that if you are happy enough to have a friend whose virtues and qualifications are really high, your primary tendency will probably be to fancy him a great deal cleverer, wiser, and better than, he really is, and to imagine that he possesses no faults at all. the over-estimate of his good qualities will be the result of your seeing them constantly, and having their excellence much pressed on your attention, while from not knowing so well other men who are quite as good, you are led to think that those good qualities are more rare and excellent than in fact they are. and you may possibly regard it as a duty to shut your eyes to the faults of those who are dear to you, and to persuade yourself, against your judgment, that they have no faults or none worth thinking of. one can imagine a child painfully struggling to be blind to a parent's errors, and thinking it undutiful and wicked to admit the existence of that: which is too evident. and if you know well a really good and able man, you will very naturally think his goodness and his ability to be relatively much greater than they are. for goodness and ability are in truth very noble things: the more you look at them the more you will feel this: and it is natural to judge that what is so noble cannot be very common; whereas in fact there is much more good in this world than we are ready to believe. if you find an intelligent person who believes that some particular author is by far the best in the language, or that some particular composer's music is by far the finest, or that some particular preacher is by far the most eloquent and useful, or that some particular river has by far the finest scenery, or that some particular sea-side place has by far the most bracing and exhilarating air, or that some particular magazine is ten thousand miles ahead of all competitors, the simple explanation in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred is this--that the honest individual who holds these overstrained opinions knows a great deal better than he knows any others, that author, that music, that preacher, that river, that sea-side place, that magazine. he knows how good they are: and not having much studied the merits of competing things, he does not know that these are very nearly as good. but i do not think that there is any subject whatever in regard to which it is so capricious and arbitrary whether you shall run it into scylla or into charybdis. it depends entirely on how it strikes the mind, whether you shall go off a thousand miles to the right or a thousand miles to the lefn you know, if you fire a rifle-bullet at an iron-coated ship, the bullet, if it impinge upon the iron plate at a, may glance away to the west, while if it impinge upon the iron plate at b, only an inch distant from a, it may glance off towards the directly opposite point of the compass. a very little thing makes all the difference. you stand in the engine-room of a steamer; you admit the steam to the cylinders, and the paddles turn ahead; a touch of a lever, you admit the selfsame steam to the selfsame cylinders, and the paddles turn astern. it is so oftentimes in the moral world. the turning of a straw decides whether the engines shall work forward or backward. now, given a friend, to whom you are very warmly attached: it is a toss-up whether your affection for your friend shall make you, . quite blind to his faults; or, . acutely and painfully alive to his faults. sincere affection may impel either way. your friend, for instance, makes a speech at a public dinner. he makes a tremendously bad speech. now, your love for him may lead you either . to fancy that his speech is a remarkably good one; or, . to feel acutely how bad his speech is, and to wish you could sink through the floor for very shame. if you did not care for him at all, you would not mind a bit whether he made a fool of himself or not. but if you really care for him, and if the speech be really very bad, and if you are competent to judge whether speeches in general be bad or not, i do not see how you can escape falling either into scylla or charybdis. and accordingly, while there are families in which there exists a preposterous over-estimate of the talents and acquirements of their several members, there are other families in which the rifle-bullet has glanced off in the opposite direction, and in which there exists a depressing and unreasonable under-estimate of the talents and acquirements of their several members. i have known such a thing as a family in which certain boys during their early education had it ceaselessly drilled into them that they were the idlest, stupidest, and most ignorant boys in the world. the poor little fellows grew up under that gloomy belief: for conscience is a very artificial thing, and you may bring up very good boys in the belief that they are very bad. at length, happily, they went to a great public school; and like rockets they went up forthwith to the top of their classes, and never lost their places there. from school they went to the university, and there won honours more eminent than had ever been won before. it will not surprise people who know much of human nature, to be told that through this brilliant career of school and college work the home belief in their idleness and ignorance continued unchanged, and that hardly at its end was the toil-worn senior wrangler regarded as other than an idle and useless blockhead. now, the affection which prompts the under-estimate may be quite as real and deep as that which prompts the over-estimate, but its manifestation is certainly the less amiable and pleasing. i have known a successful author whose relatives never believed, till the reviews assured them of it, that his writings were anything but contemptible and discreditable trash. i have been speaking of an honest though erroneous estimate of the qualities of one's friends, rather than of any expression of that estimate. the primary tendency is to an over-estimate; the secondary tendency is to an under-estimate. a commonplace man thinks there never was mortal so wise and good as the friend he values; a man who is a thousandth part of a degree less common-place resolves that he will keep clear of that error, and accordingly he feels bound to exaggerate the failings of his friend and to extenuate his good qualities. he thinks that a friend's judgment is very good and sound, and that he may well rely upon it; but for fear of showing it too much regard, he probably shows it too little. he thinks that in some dispute his friend is right; but for fear of being partial he decides that his friend is wrong. it is obvious that in any instance in which a man, seeking to avoid the primary error of over-estimating his friend, falls into the secondary of under-estimating him, he will (if any importance be attached to his judgment) damage his friend's character; for most people will conclude that he is saying of his friend the best that can be said; and that if even he admits that there is so little to approve about his friend, there must be very little indeed to approve: whereas the truth may be, that he is saying the worst that can be said--that no man could with justice give a worse picture of the friend's character. not very far removed from this pair of vulgar errors stand the following: the primary vulgar error is, to set up as an infallible oracle one whom we regard as wise--to regard any question as settled finally if we know what is his opinion upon it. you remember the man in the spectator who was always quoting the sayings of mr. nisby. there was a report in london that the grand vizier was dead. the good man was uncertain whether to believe the report or not. he went and talked with mr. nisby and returned with his mind reassured. now, he enters in his diary that 'the grand vizier was certainly dead.' considering the weakness of the reasoning powers of many people, there is something pleasing after all in this tendency to look round for somebody stronger upon whom they may lean. it is wise and natural in a scarlet-runner to climb up something, for it could not grow up by itself; and for practical purposes it is well that in each household there should be a little pope, whose dicta on all topics shall be unquestionable. it saves what is to many people the painful effort of making up their mind what they are to do or to think. it enables them to think or act with much greater decision and confidence. most men have always a lurking distrust of their own judgment, unless they find it confirmed by that of somebody else. there are very many decent commonplace people who, if they had been reading a book or article and had been thinking it very fine, would, if you were resolutely and loudly to declare in their hearing that it was wretched trash, begin to think that it was wretched trash too. the primary vulgar error, then, is to regard as an oracle one whom we esteem as wise; and the secondary, the charybdis opposite to this scylla, is, to entertain an excessive dread of being too much led by one whom we esteem as wise. i mean an honest candid dread. i do not mean a petted, wrong-headed, pragmatical determination to let him see that you can think for yourself. you see, rny friend, i don't suppose you to be a self-conceited fool. you remember how presumption, in the pilgrim's progress, on being offered some good advice, cut his kind adviser short by declaring that every tub must stand on its own bottom. we have all known men, young and old, who, upon being advised to do something which they knew they ought to do, would, out of pure perversity and a wrong-headed independence, go and do just the opposite thing. the secondary error of which i am now thinking is that of the man who honestly dreads making too much of the judgment of any mortal: and who, acting from a good intention, probably goes wrong in the same direction as the wrong-headed conceited man. now, don't you know that to such an extent does this morbid fear of trusting too much to any mortal go in some men, that in their practical belief you would think that the fact of any man being very wise was a reason why his judgment should be set aside as unworthy of consideration; and more particularly, that the fact of any man being supposed to be a powerful reasoner, was quite enough to show that all he says is to go for nothing? you are quite aware how jauntily some people use this last consideration, to sweep away at once all the reasons given by an able and ingenious speaker or writer. and it cuts the ground effectually from under his feet. you state an opinion, somewhat opposed to that commonly received. an honest, stupid person meets it with a surprised stare. you tell him (i am recording what i have myself witnessed) that you have been reading a work on the subject by a certain prelate: you state as well as you can the arguments which are set forth by the distinguished prelate. these arguments seem of great weight. they deserve at least to be carefully considered. they seem to prove the novel opinion to be just: they assuredly call on candid minds to ponder the whole matter well before relapsing into the old current way of thinking. do you expect that the honest, stupid person will judge thus? if so, you are mistaken. he is not shaken in the least by all these strong reasons. the man who has set these reasons forth is known to be a master of logic: that is good ground why all his reasons should count for nothing. oh, says the stupid, honest person, we all know that the archbishop can prove anything! and so the whole thing is finally settled. i have a considerable list of instances in which the reaction from an error on one side of the line of right, lands in error equally distant from the line of right on the other side: but it is needless to go on to illustrate these at length; the mere mention of them will suffice to suggest many thoughts to the intelligent reader. a primary vulgar error, to which very powerful minds have frequently shown a strong tendency, is bigoted intolerance: intolerance in politics, in religion, in ecclesiastical affairs, in morals, in anything. you may safely say that nothing but most unreasonable bigotry would lead a tory to say that all whigs are scoundrels, or a whig to bay that all tories are bloated tyrants or crawling sycophants. i must confess that, in severe reason, it is impossible entirely to justify the churchman who holds that all dissenters are extremely bad; though (so does inveterate prepossession warp the intellect) i have also to admit that it appears to me that for a dissenter to hold that there is little or no good in the church is a great deal worse. there is something fine, however, about a heartily intolerant man: you like him, though you disapprove of him. even if i were inclined to whiggery, i should admire the downright dictum of dr. johnson, that the devil was the first whig. even if i were a nonconformist, i should like sydney smith the better for the singular proof of his declining strength which he once adduced: 'i do believe,' he said, 'that if you were to put a knife into my hand, i should not have vigour enough to stick it into a dissenter!' the secondary error in this respect is a latitudinarian liberality which regards truth and falsehood as matters of indifference. genuine liberality of sentiment is a good thing, and difficult as it is good: but much liberality, political and religious, arises really from the fact, that the liberal man does not care a rush about the matter in debate. it is very easy to be tolerant in a case in which you have no feeling whatever either way. the churchman who does not mind a bit whether the church stands or falls, has no difficulty in tolerating the enemies and assailants of the church. it is different with a man who holds the existence of a national establishment as a vital matter. and i have generally remarked that when clergymen of the church profess extreme catholicity of spirit, and declare that they do not regard it as a thing of the least consequence whether a man be churchman or dissenter, intelligent nonconformists receive such protestations with much contempt, and (possibly with injustice) suspect their utterer of hypocrisy. if you really care much about any principle; and if you regard it as of essential importance; you cannot help feeling a strong impulse to intolerance of those who decidedly and actively differ from you. here are some further vulgar errors, primary and secondary: primary--idleness, and excessive self-indulgence; secondary--penances, and self-inflicted tortures. primary--swallowing whole all that is said or done by one's party; secondary--dread of quite agreeing, or quite disagreeing on any point with any one; and trying to keep at exactly an equal distance from each. primary--following the fashion with indiscriminate ardour; secondary--finding a merit in singularity, as such. primary--being quite captivated with thought which is striking and showy, but not sound; secondary--concluding that whatever is sparkling must be unsound. i hardly know which tendency of the following is the primary, and which the secondary; but i am sure that both exist. it may depend upon the district of country, and the age of the thinker, which of the two is the action and which the reaction: . thinking a clergyman a model of perfection, because he is a stout dashing fellow who plays at cricket and goes out fox-hunting; and, generally, who flies in the face of all conventionalism; . thinking a clergyman a model of perfection because he is of very grave and decorous deportment; never plays at cricket, and never goes out fox-hunting; and, generally, conforms carefully to all the little proprieties. . thinking a bishop a model prelate because he has no stiffness or ceremony about him, but talks frankly to everybody, and puts all who approach him at their ease; . thinking a bishop a model prelate because he never descends from his dignity; never forgets that he is a bishop, and keeps all who approach him in their proper places. . thinking the anglican church service the best, because it is so decorous, solemn, and dignified; . thinking the scotch church service the best, because it is so simple and so capable of adaptation to all circumstances which may arise. . thinking an artisan a sensible right-minded man, knowing his station, because he is always very respectful in his demeanour to the squire, and great folks generally; . thinking an artisan a fine, manly, independent fellow, because he is always much less respectful in his demeanour to the squire than he is to other people. . thinking it a fine thing to be a fast, reckless, swaggering, drinking, swearing reprobate: being ashamed of the imputation of being a well-behaved and (above all) a pious and conscientious young man: thinking it manly to do wrong, and washy to do right; . thinking it a despicable thing to be a fast, reckless, swaggering, drinking, swearing reprobate: thinking it is manly to do right, and shameful to do wrong. . that a young man should begin his letters to his father with honoured sir; and treat the old gentleman with extraordinary deference upon all occasions: . that a young man should begin his remarks to his father on any subject with, i say, governor; and treat the old gentleman upon all occasions with no deference at all. but indeed, intelligent reader, the swing of the pendulum is the type of the greater amount of human opinion and human feeling. in individuals, in communities, in parishes, in little country towns, in great nations, from hour to hour, from week to week, from century to century, the pendulum swings to and fro. from yes on the one side to no on the other side of almost all conceivable questions, the pendulum swings. sometimes it swings over from yes to no in a few hours or days; sometimes it takes centuries to pass from the one extremity to the other. in feeling, in taste, in judgment, in the grandest matters and the least, the pendulum swings. from popery to puritanism; from puritanism back towards popery; from imperialism to republicanism, and back towards imperialism again; from gothic architecture to palladian, and from palladian back to gothic; from hooped petticoats to drapery of the scantiest, and from that backwards to the multitudinous crinoline; from crying up the science of arms to crying it down, and back; from the schoolboy telling you that his companion brown is the jolliest fellow, to the schoolboy telling you that his companion brown is a beast, and back again; from very high carriages to very low ones and back; from very short horsetails to very long ones and back again--the pendulum swings. in matters of serious judgment it is comparatively easy to discern the rationale of this oscillation from side to side. it is that the evils of what is present are strongly felt, while the evils of what is absent are forgotten; and so, when the pendulum has swung over to a, the evils of a send it flying over to b, while when it reaches b the evils of b repel it again to a. in matters of feeling it is less easy to discover the how and why of the process: we can do no more than take refuge in the general belief that nature loves the swing of the pendulum. there are people who at one time have an excessive affection for some friend, and at another take a violent disgust at him: and who (though sometimes permanently remaining at the latter point) oscillate between these positive and negative poles. you, being a sensible man, would not feel very happy if some men were loudly crying you up: for you would be very sure that in a little while they would be loudly crying you dovvn. if you should ever happen to feel for one day an extraordinary lightness and exhilaration of spirits, you will know that you must pay for all this the price of corresponding depression--the hot fit must be counterbalanced by the cold. let us thank god that there are beliefs and sentiments as to which the pendulum does not swing, though even in these i have known it do so. i have known the young girl who appeared thoroughly good and pious, who devoted herself to works of charity, and (with even an over-scrupulous spirit) eschewed vain company: and who by and bye learned to laugh at all serious things, and ran into the utmost extremes of giddiness and extravagant gaiety. and not merely should all of us be thankful if we feel that in regard to the gravest sentiments and beliefs our mind and heart remain year after year at the same fixed point: i think we should be thankful if we find that as regards our favourite books and authors our taste remains unchanged; that the calm judgment of our middle age approves the preferences of ten years since, and that these gather strength as time gives them the witchery of old remembrances and associations. you enthusiastically admired byron once, you estimate him very differently now. you once thought festus finer than paradise loft, but you have swung away from that. but for a good many years you have held by wordsworth, shakspeare, and tennyson, and this taste you are not likely to outgrow. it is very curious to look over a volume which we once thought magnificent, enthralling, incomparable, and to wonder how on earth we ever cared for that stilted rubbish. no doubt the pendulum swings quite as decidedly to your estimate of yourself as to your estimate of any one else. it would be nothing at all to have other people attacking and depreciating your writings, sermons, and the like, if you yourself had entire confidence in them. the mortifying thing is when your own taste and judgment say worse of your former productions than could be said by the most unfriendly critic; and the dreadful thought occurs, that if you yourself to-day think so badly of what you wrote ten years since, it is probable enough that on this day ten years hence (if you live to see it) you may think as badly of what you are writing to-day. let us hope not. let us trust that at length a standard of taste and judgment is reached from which we shall not ever materially swing away. yet the pendulum will never be quite arrested as to your estimate of yourself. now and then you will think yourself a block-head: by and bye you will think yourself very clever; and your judgment will oscillate between these opposite poles of belief. sometimes you will think that your house is remarkably comfortable, sometimes that it is unendurably uncomfortable; sometimes you will think that your place in life is a very dignified and important one, sometimes that it is a very poor and insignificant one; sometimes you will think that some misfortune or disappointment which has befallen you is a very crushing one; sometimes you will think that it is better as it is. ah, my brother, it is a poor, weak, wayward thing, the human heart! you know, of course, how the pendulum of public opinion swings backwards and forwards. the truth lies somewhere about the middle of the arc it describes, in most cases. you know how the popularity of political men oscillates, from a, the point of greatest popularity, to b, the point of no popularity at all. think of lord brougham. once the pendulum swung far to the right: he was the most popular man in britain. then, for many years, the pendulum swung far to the left, into the cold regions of unpopularity, loss of influence, and opposition benches. and now, in his last days, the pendulum has come over to the right again. so with lesser men. when the new clergyman comes to a country parish, how high his estimation! never was there preacher so impressive, pastor so diligent, man so frank and agreeable. by and bye his sermons are middling, his diligence middling; his manners rather stiff or rather too easy. in a year or two the pendulum rests at its proper point: and from that time onward the parson gets, in most cases, very nearly the credit he deserves. the like oscillation of public opinion and feeling exists in the case of unfavourable as of favourable judgments. a man commits a great crime. his guilt is thought awful. there is a general outcry for his condign punishment. he is sentenced to be hanged. in a few days the tide begins to turn. his crime was not so great. he had met great provocation. his education had been neglected. he deserves pity rather than reprobation. petitions are got up that he should be let off; and largely signed by the self-same folk who were loudest in the outcry against him. and instead of this fact, that those folk were the keenest against the criminal, being received (as it ought) as proof that their opinion is worth nothing at all, many will receive it as proof that their opinion is entitled to special consideration. the principle of the pendulum in the matter of criminals is well understood by the old bailey practitioners of new york and their worthy clients. when a new yorker is sentenced to be hanged, he remains as a cool as cucumber; for the new york law is, that a year must pass between the sentence and the execution. and long before the year passes, the public sympathy has turned in the criminal's favour. endless petitions go up for his pardon. of course he gets off. and indeed it is not improbable that he may receive a public testimonial. it cannot be denied that the natural transition in the popular feeling is from applauding a man to hanging him, and from hanging a man to applauding him. even so does the pendulum swing, and the world run away! chapter iv. concerning churchyards. many persons do not like to go near a churchyard: some do not like even to hear a churchyard mentioned. many others feel an especial interest in that quiet place--an interest which is quite unconnected with any personal associations with it. a great deal depends upon habit; and a great deals turns, too, on whether the churchyard which we know best is a locked-up, deserted, neglected place, all grown over with nettles; or a spot not too much retired, open to all passers-by, with trimly-mown grass and neat gravelled walks. i do not sympathize with the taste which converts a burying-place into a flower-garden or a fashionable lounge for thoughtless people: let it be the true 'country churchyard,' only with some appearance of being remembered and cared for. for myself, though a very commonplace person, and not at all sentimentally inclined, i have a great liking for a churchyard. hardly a day passes on which i do not go and walk up and down for a little in that which surrounds my church. probably some people may regard me as extremely devoid of occupation, when i confess that daily, after breakfast, and before sitting down to my work (which is pretty hard, though they may not think so), i walk slowly down to the churchyard, which is a couple of hundred yards off, and there pace about for a few minutes, looking at the old graves and the mossy stones. nor is this only in summer-time, when the sward is white with daisies, when the ancient oaks around the gray wall are leafy and green, when the passing river flashes bright through their openings and runs chiming over the warm stones, and when the beautiful hills that surround the quiet spot at a little distance are flecked with summer light and shade; but in winter too, when the bare branches look sharp against the frosty sky, and the graves look like wavelets on a sea of snow. now, if i were anxious to pass myself off upon my readers as a great and thoughtful man, i might here give an account of the profound thoughts which i think in my daily musings in my pretty churchyard. but, being an essentially commonplace person (as i have no doubt about nine hundred and ninety-nine out of every thousand of my readers also are), i must here confess that generally i walk about the churchyard, thinking and feeling nothing very particular. i do not believe that ordinary people, when worried by some little care, or pressed down by some little sorrow, have only to go and muse in a churchyard in order to feel how trivial and transient such cares and sorrows are, and how very little they ought to vex us. to commonplace mortals, it is the sunshine within the breast that does most to brighten; and the thing that has most power to darken is the shadow there. and the scenes and teachings of external nature have, practically, very little effect indeed. and so, when musing in the churchyard, nothing grand, heroical, philosophical, or tremendous ever suggests itself to me. i look with pleasure at the neatly cut walks and grass. i peep in at a window of the church, and think how i am to finish my sermon for next sunday. i read over the inscriptions on the stones which mark where seven of my predecessors sleep. i look vacantly at the lichens and moss which have overgrown certain tombstones three or four centuries old. and occasionally i think of what and where i shall be, when the village mason, whistling cheerfully at his task, shall cut out my name and years on the stone which will mark my last resting-place. but all these, of course, are commonplace thoughts, just what would occur to anybody else, and really not worth repeating. and yet, although 'death, and the house appointed for all living,' form a topic which has been treated by innumerable writers, from the author of the book of job to mr. dickens; and although the subject might well be vulgarized by having been, for many a day, the stock resort of every commonplace aimer at the pathetic; still the theme is one which never can grow old. and the experience and the heart of most men convert into touching eloquence even the poorest formula of set phrases about the tremendous fact. nor are we able to repress a strong interest in any account of the multitude of fashions in which the mortal part of man has been disposed of, after the great change has passed upon it. in a volume entitled god's acre, written by a lady, one mrs. stone, and published a year or two since, you may find a great amount of curious information upon such points: and after thinking of the various ways of burial described, i think you will return with a feeling of home and of relief to the quiet english country churchyard. i should think that the shocking and revolting description of the burning of the remains of shelley, published by mr. trelawney, in his last days of shelhy and byron, will go far to destroy any probability of the introduction of cremation in this country, notwithstanding the ingenuity and the eloquence of the little treatise published about two years ago by a member of the college of surgeons, whose gist you will understand from its title, which is burning the dead; or, urn-sepulture religiously, socially, and generally considered; with suggestions for a revival of the practice, as a sanitary measure. the choice lies between burning and burying: and the latter being universally accepted in britain, it remains that it be carried out in the way most decorous as regards the deceased, and most soothing to the feelings of surviving friends. every one has seen burying-places of all conceivable kinds, and every one knows how prominent a feature they form in the english landscape. there is the dismal corner in the great city, surrounded by blackened walls, where scarce a blade of grass will grow, and where the whole thing is foul and pestilential. there is the ideal country churchyard, like that described by gray, where the old elms and yews keep watch over the graves where successive generations of simple rustics have found their last resting-place, and where in the twilight the owls hoot from the tower of the ivy-covered church. there is the bare enclosure, surrounded by four walls, and without a tree, far up the lonely highland hill-side; and more lonely still, the little gray stone, rising above the purple heather, where rude letters, touched up by old mortality's hands, tell that one, probably two or three, rest beneath, who were done to death for what they firmly believed was their redeemer's cause, by claverhouse or dalyell. there is the churchyard by the bleak sea-shore, where coffins have been laid bare by the encroaching waves; and the niche in cathedral crypt, or the vault under the church's floor. i cannot conceive anything more irreverent than the american fashion of burying in unconsecrated earth, each family having its own place of interment in the corner of its own garden: unless it be the crotchet of the silly old peer, who spent the last years of his life in erecting near his castle-door, a preposterous building, the progress of which he watched day by day with the interest of a man who had worn out all other interest, occasionally lying down in the stone coffin which he had caused to be prepared, to make sure that it would fit him. i feel sorry, too, for the poor old pope, who when he dies is laid on a shelf above a door in st. peter's, where he remains till the next pope dies, and then is put out of the way to make room for him; nor do i at all envy the noble who has his family vault filled with coffins covered with velvet and gold, occupied exclusively by corpses of good quality. it is better surely to be laid, as allan cunningham wished, where we shall 'not be built over;' where 'the wind shall blow and the daisy grow upon our grave.' let it be among our kindred, indeed, in accordance with the natural desire; but not on dignified shelves, not in aristocratic vaults, but lowly and humbly, where the christian dead sleep for the resurrection. most people will sympathize so far with beattie, though his lines show that he was a scotchman, and lived where there are not many trees:-- mine be the breezy hill that skirts the down, where a green grassy turf is all i crave, with here and there a violet bestrown, fast by a brook, or fountain's murmuring wave; and many an evening sun shine sweetly on my grave! but it depends entirely upon individual associations and fancies where one would wish to rest after life's fitful fever: and i have hardly ever been more deeply impressed than by certain lines which i cut out of an old newspaper when i was a boy, and which set out a choice far different from that of the minstrel. they are written by mr. westwood, a true poet, though not known as he deserves to be. here they are:-- not there, not there! not in that nook, that ye deem so fair;-- little reck i of the blue bright sky, and the stream that floweth so murmuringly, and the bending boughs, and the breezy air-- not there, good friends, not there! in the city churchyard, where the grass groweth rank and black, and where never a ray of that self-same sun doth find its way through the heaped-up houses' serried mass-- where the only sounds are the voice of the throng, and the clatter of wheels as they rush along-- or the plash of the rain, or the wind's hoarse cry, or the busy tramp of the passer-by, or the toll of the bell on the heavy air-- good friends, let it be there! i am old, my friends--i am very old-- fourscore and five--and bitter cold were that air on the hill-side far away; eighty full years, content, i trow, have i lived in the home where ye see me now, and trod those dark streets day by day, till my soul doth love them; i love them all, each battered pavement, and blackened wall, each court and corner. good sooth! to me they are all comely and fair to see-- they have old faces--each one doth tell a tale of its own, that doth like me well-- sad or merry, as it may be, from the quaint old book of my history. and, friends, when this weary pain is past, fain would i lay me to rest at last in their very midst;--full sure am i, how dark soever be earth and sky, i shall sleep softly--i shall know that the things i loved so here below are about me still--so never care that my last home looketh all bleak and bare-- good friends, let it be there! some persons appear to think that it argues strength of mind and freedom from unworthy prejudice, to profess great indifference as to what becomes of their mortal part after they die. i have met with men who talked in a vapouring manner about leaving their bodies to be dissected; and who evidently enjoyed the sensation which such sentiments produced among simple folk. whenever i hear any man talk in this way, my politeness, of course, prevents my telling him that he is an uncommonly silly person; but it does not prevent my thinking him one. it is a mistake to imagine that the soul is the entire man. human nature, alike here and hereafter, consists of soul and body in union; and the body is therefore justly entitled to its own degree of thought and care. but the point, indeed, is not one to be argued; it is, as it appears to me, a matter of intuitive judgment and instinctive feeling; and i apprehend that this feeling and judgment have never appeared more strongly than in the noblest of our race. i hold by burke, who wrote, 'i should like that my dust should mingle with kindred dust; the good old expression, "family burying-ground," has something pleasing in it, at least to me.' mrs. stone quotes lady murray's account of the death of her mother, the celebrated grissell baillie, which shows that that strong-minded and noble-hearted woman felt the natural desire:-- the next day she called me: gave directions about some few things: said she wished to be carried home to lie by my father, but that perhaps it would be too much trouble and inconvenience to us at that season, therefore left me to do as i pleased; but that, in a black purse in her cabinet, i would find money sufficient to do it, which she had kept by her for that use, that whenever it happened, it might not straiten us. she added, 'i have now no more to say or do:' tenderly embraced me, and laid down her head upon the pillow, and spoke little after that. an instance, at once touching and awful, of care for the body after the soul has gone, is furnished by certain well-known lines written by a man not commonly regarded as weak-minded or prejudiced; and engraved by his direction on the stone that marks his grave. if i am wrong, i am content to go wrong with shakspeare: good friend, for jesus' sake forbear to dig the dust enclosed here: blest be the man that spares these stones, and curst be he that moves my bones. the most eloquent exposition i know of the religious aspect of the question, is contained in the concluding sentences of mr. melvill's noble sermon on the 'dying faith of joseph.' i believe my readers will thank me for quoting it:-- it is not a christian thing to die manifesting indifference as to what is done with the body. that body is redeemed: not a particle of its dust but was bought with drops of christ's precious blood. that body is appointed to a glorious condition; not a particle of the corruptible but what shall put on incorruption; of the mortal that shall not assume immortality. the christian knows this: it is not the part of a christian to seem unmindful of this. he may, therefore, as he departs, speak of the place where he would wish to be laid. 'let me sleep,' he may say, 'with my father and my mother, with my wife and my children; lay me not here, in this distant land, where my dust cannot mingle with its kindred. i would he chimed to my grave by my own village bell, and have my requiem sung where i was baptized into christ.' marvel ye at such last words? wonder ye that one, whose spirit is just entering the separate state, should have this care for the body which he is about to leave to the worms? nay, he is a believer in jesus as 'the resurrection and the life:' this belief prompts his dying words; and it shall have to be said of him as of joseph, that 'by faith,' yea, 'by faith,' he 'gave commandment concerning his bones!' if you hold this belief, my reader, you will look at a neglected churchyard with much regret; and you will highly approve of all endeavours to make the burying-place of the parish as sweet though solemn a spot as can be found within it. i have lately read a little tract, by mr. hill, the rural dean of north frome, in the diocese of hereford, entitled thoughts on churches and churchyards, which is well worthy of the attentive perusal of the country clergy. its purpose is to furnish practical suggestions for the maintenance of decent propriety about the church and churchyard. i am not, at present, concerned with that part of the tract which relates to churches; but i may remark, in passing, that mr. hill's views upon that subject appear to me distinguished by great good sense, moderation, and taste. he does not discourage country clergymen, who have but limited means with which to set about ordering and beautifying their churches, by suggesting arrangements on too grand and expensive a scale: on the contrary, he enters with hearty sympathy into all plans for attaining a simple and inexpensive seemliness where more cannot be accomplished. and i think he hits with remarkable felicity the just mean between an undue and excessive regard to the mere externalities of worship, and a puritanical bareness and contempt for material aids, desiring, in the words of archbishop bramhall, that 'all be with due moderation, so as neither to render religion sordid and sluttish, nor yet light and garish, but comely and venerable.' equally judicious, and equally practical, are mr. hill's hints as to the ordering of churchyards. he laments that churchyards should ever be found where long, rank grass, briers, and nettles abound, and where neatly kept walks and graves are wanting. he goes on:-- and yet, how trifling an amount of care and attention would suffice to render neat, pretty, and pleasant to look upon, that which has oftentimes an unpleasing, desolate, and painful aspect. a few sheep occasionally (or better still, the scythe and shears now and then employed), with a trifling attention to the walks, once properly formed and gravelled, will suffice, when the fences are duly kept, to make any churchyard seemly and neat: a little more than this will make it ornamental and instructive. it is possible that many persons might feel that flower-beds and shrubberies are not what they would wish to see in a churchyard; they might think they gave too garden-like and adorned a look to so solemn and sacred a spot; persons will not all think alike on such a matter: and yet something may be done in this direction with an effect which would please everybody. a few trees of the arbor vitae, the cypress, and the irish yew, scattered here and there, with tirs in the hedge-rows or boundary fences, would be unobjectionable; while wooden baskets, or boxes, placed by the sides of the walks, and filled in summer with the fuchsia or scarlet geranium, would give our churchyards an exceedingly pretty, and perhaps not unsuitable appearance. little clumps of snowdrops and primroses might also be planted here and there; for flowers may fitly spring up, bloom, and fade away, in a spot which so impressively tells us of death and resurrection: and where sheep even are never admitted, all these methods for beautifying a churchyard may be adopted. shrubs and flowers on and near the graves, as is so universal in wales; independently of their pretty effect, show a kindly feeling for the memory of those whose bodies rest beneath them; and how far to be preferred to those enormous and frightful masses of brick or stone which the country mason has, alas, so plentifully supplied! in the case of a clergyman, a taste for keeping his churchyard in becoming order is just like a taste for keeping his garden and shrubbery in order: only let him begin the work, and the taste will grow. there is latent in the mind of every man, unless he be the most untidy and unobservant of the species, a love for well-mown grass and for sharply outlined gravel-walks. my brethren, credite experto. i did not know that in my soul there was a chord that vibrated responsive to trim gravel and grass, till i tried, and lo! it was there. try for yourselves: you do not know, perhaps, the strange affinities that exist between material and immaterial nature. if any youthful clergyman shall read these lines, who knows in his conscience that his churchyard-walks are grown up with weeds, and the graves covered with nettles, upon sight hereof let him summon his man-servant, or get a labourer if he have no man-servant. let him provide a reaping-hook and a large new spade. these implements will suffice in the meantime. proceed to the churchyard: do not get disheartened at its neglected look, and turn away. begin at the entrance-gate. let all the nettles and long grass for six feet on. either side of the path be carefully cut down and gathered into heaps. then mark out with a line the boundaries of the first ten yards of the walk. fall to work and cut the edges with the spade; clear away the weeds and grass that have overspread the walk, also with the spade. in a little time you will feel the fascination of the sharp outline of the walk against the grass on each side. and i repeat, that to the average human being there is something inexpressibly pleasing in that sharp outline. by the time the ten yards of walk are cut, you will find that you have discovered a new pleasure and a new sensation; and from that day will date a love of tidy walks and grass;--and what more is needed to make a pretty churchyard? the fuchsias, geraniums, and so forth, are of the nature of luxuries, and they will follow in due time: but grass and gravel are the foundation of rustic neatness and tidiness. as for the treatise on burning the dead, it is interesting and eloquent, though i am well convinced that its author has been putting forih labour in vain. i remember the consternation with which i read the advertisements announcing its publication. i made sure that it must be the production of one of those wrong-headed individuals who are always proposing preposterous things, without end or meaning. why on earth should we take to burning the dead? what is to be gained by recurring to a heathen rite, repudiated by the early christians, who, as sir thomas browne tells us, 'stickt not to give their bodies to be burnt in their lives, but detested that mode after death?' and wherefore do anything so horrible, and so suggestive of cruelty and sacrilege, as to consign to devouring flames even the unconscious remains of a departed friend? but after reading the essay, i feel that the author has a great deal to say in defence of his views. i am obliged to acknowledge that in many cases important benefits would follow the adoption of urn-sepulture. the question to be considered is, what is the best way to dispose of the mortal part of man when the soul has left it? a first suggestion might be to endeavour to preserve it in the form and features of life; and, accordingly, in many countries and ages, embalming in its various modifications has been resorted to. but all attempts to prevent the human frame from obeying the creator's law of returning to the elements have miserably failed. and surely it is better a thousand times to 'bury the dead from our sight,' than to preserve a hideous and revolting mockery of the beloved form. the egyptian mummies every one has heard of; but the most remarkable instance of embalming in recent times is that of the wife of one martin van butchell, who, by her husband's desire, was embalmed in the year , by dr. william hunter and mr. carpenter, and who may be seen in the museum of the royal college of surgeons in london. she was a beautiful woman, and all that skill and science could do were done to preserve her in the appearance of life; but the result is nothing short of shocking and awful. taking it, then, as admitted, that the body must return to the dust from whence it was taken, the next question is, how? how shall dissolution take place with due respect to the dead, and with least harm to the health and the feelings of the living? the two fashions which have been universally used are, burial and burning. it has so happened that burial has been associated with christianity, and burning with heathenism; but i shall admit at once that the association is not essential, though it would be hard, without very weighty reason indeed, to deviate from the long-remembered 'earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.' but such weighty reason the author of this treatise declares to exist. the system of burial, he says, is productive of fearful and numberless evils and dangers to the living. in the neighbourhood of any large burying-place, the air which the living breathe, and the water which they drink, are impregnated with poisons the most destructive of health and life. even where the damage done to air and water is inappreciable by our senses, it is a predisposing cause of headache, dysentery, sore throat, and low fever;' and it keeps all the population around in a condition in which they are the ready prey of all forms of disease. i shall not shock my readers by relating a host of horrible facts, proved by indisputable evidence, which are adduced by the surgeon to show the evils of burial: and all these evils, he maintains, may be escaped by the revival of burning. four thousand human beings die every hour; and only by that swift and certain method can the vast mass of decaying matter which, while decaying, gives off the most subtle and searching poisons, be resolved with the elements without injury or risk to any one. so convinced has the french government become of the evils of burial that it has patronized and encouraged one m. bonneau, who proposes that instead of a great city having its neighbouring cemeteries, it should be provided with a building called the sarcophagus, occupying an elevated situation, to which the bodies of rich and poor should be conveyed, and there reduced to ashes by a powerful furnace. and then m. bonneau, frenchman all over, suggests that the ashes of our friends might be preserved in a tasteful manner; the funeral urn, containing these ashes, 'replacing on our consoles and mantelpieces the ornaments of bronze clocks and china vases now found there.' our author, having shown that burning would save us from the dangers of burying, concludes his treatise by a careful description of the manner in which he would carry out the burning process. and certainly his plan contains as little to shock one as may be, in carrying out a system necessarily suggestive of violence and cruelty. there is nothing like the repulsiveness of the hindoo burning, only half carried out, or even of mr. trelawney's furnace for burning poor shelley. i do not remember to have lately read anything more ghastly and revolting than the entire account of shelley's cremation. it says much for mr. trelawney's nerves, that he was able to look on at it; and it was no wonder that it turned byron sick, and that mr. leigh hunt kept beyond the sight of it. i intended to have quoted the passage from mr. trelawney's book, but i really cannot venture to do so. but it is right to say that there were very good reasons for resorting to that melancholy mode of disposing of the poet's remains, and that mr. trelawney did all he could to accomplish the burning with efficiency and decency: though the whole story makes one feel the great physical difficulties that stand in the way of carrying out cremation successfully. the advocate of urn-sepulture, however, is quite aware of this, and he proposes to use an apparatus by which they would be entirely overcome. it is only fair to let him speak for himself; and i think the following passage will be read with interest:-- on a gentle eminence, surrounded by pleasant grounds, stands a convenient, well-ventilated chapel, with a high spire or steeple. at the entrance, where some of the mourners might prefer to take leave of the body, are chambers for their accommodation. within the edifice are seats for those who follow the remains to the last: there is also an organ, and a gallery for choristers. in the centre of the chapel, embellished with appropriate emblems and devices, is erected a shrine of marble, somewhat like those which cover the ashes of the great and mighty in our old cathedrals, the openings being filled with prepared plate glass. within this--a sufficient space intervening--is an inner shrine covered with bright non-radiating metal, and within this again is a covered sarcophagus of tempered fire-clay, with one or more longitudinal slits near the top, extending its whole length. as soon as the body is deposited therein, sheets of flame at an immensely high temperature rush through the long apertures from end to end, and acting as a combination of a modified oxy-hydrogen blowpipe, with the reverberatory furnace, utterly and completely consume and decompose the body, in an incredibly short space of time. even the large quantity of water it contains is decomposed by the extreme heat, and its elements, instead of retarding, aid combustion, as is the case in fierce conflagrations. the gaseous products of combustion are conveyed away by flues; and means being adopted to consume anything like smoke, all that is observed from the outside is occasionally a quivering transparent ether floating away from the high steeple to mingle vith the atmosphere. at either end of the sarcophagus is a closely-fitting fire-proof door, that farthest from the chapel entrance communicating with a chamber which projects into the chapel and adjoins the end of the shrine. here are the attendants, who, unseen, conduct the operation. the door at the other end of the sarcophagus, with a corresponding opening in the inner and outer shrine, is exactly opposite a slab of marble on which the coffin is deposited when brought into the chapel. the funeral service then commences according; to any form decided on. at an appointed signal the end of the coffin, which is placed just within the opening in the shrine, is removed, and the body is drawn rapidly but gently and without exposure into the sarcophagus: the sides of the coffin, constructed for the purpose, collapse; and the wooden box is removed to be burned elsewhere. meantime the body is committed to the flames to be consumed, and the words 'ashes to ashes, dust to dust' may be appropriately used. the organ peals forth a solemn strain, and a hymn or requiem for the dead is sung. in a few minutes, or even seconds, and without any perceptible noise or commotion, all is over, and nothing but a few pounds or ounces of light ash remains. this is carefully collected by the attendants of the adjoining chamber: a door communicating with the chapel is thrown open; and the relic, enclosed in a vase of glass or other material, is brought in and placed before the mourners, to be finally enshrined in the funeral urn of marble, alabaster, stone, or metal. speaking for myself, i must say that i think it would cause a strange feeling in most people to part at the chapel-door with the corpse of one who had been very dear, and, after a few minutes of horrible suspense, during which they should know that it was burning in a fierce furnace, to see the vessel of white ashes brought back, and be told that there was all that was mortal of the departed friend. no doubt it may be weakness and prejudice, but i think that few could divest themselves of the feeling of sacrilegious violence. better far to lay the brother or sister, tenderly as though still they felt, in the last resting-place, so soft and trim. it soothes us, if it does no good to them, and the sad change which we know is soon to follow is wrought only by the gentle hand of nature. and only think of a man pointing to half-a-dozen vases on his mantelpiece, and as many more on his cheffonier, and saying, 'there the wicked cease from troubling, and there the weary are at rest!' no, no; the thing will never do! one of the latest examples of burning, in the case of a christian, is that of henry laurens, the first president of the american congress. in his will he solemnly enjoined upon his children that they should cause his body to be given to the flames. the emperor napoleon, when at st. helena, expressed a similar desire; and said, truly enough, that as for the resurrection, that would be miraculous at all events, and it would be just as easy for the almighty to accomplish that great end in the case of burning as in that of burial. and, indeed, the doctrine of the resurrection is one that it is not wise to scrutinize too minutely--i mean as regards its rationale. it is best to simply hold by the great truth, that 'this corruptible shall put on incorruption, and this mortal shall put on immortality.' i presume that it has been shown beyond doubt that the material particles which make up our bodies are in a state of constant flux, the entire physical nature being changed every seven years, so that if all the particles which once entered into the structure of a man of fourscore were reassembled, they would suffice to make seven or eight bodies. and the manner in which it is certain that the mortal part of man is dispersed and assimilated to all the elements furnishes a very striking thought. bryant has said, truly and beautifully, all that tread the globe, are but a handful to the tribes that slumber in its bosom. and james montgomery, in a poem of his which is little known, and which is amplified and spoiled in the latest editions of his works, has suggested to us whither the mortal vestiges of these untold millions have gone. it is entitled lines to a molehill in a churchyard. tell me, thou dust beneath my feet,-- thou dust that once hadst breath,-- tell me, how many mortals meet in this small hill of death. the mole, that scoops with curious toil her subterranean bed, thinks not she plows a human soil, and mines among the dead. yet, whereso'er she turns the ground, my kindred earth i see: once every atom of this mound lived, breathed, and felt, like me. through all this hillock's crumbling mould once the warm lifeblood ran: here thine original behold, and here thy ruins, man! by wafting winds and flooding rains, from ocean, earth, and sky, collected here, the frail remains of slumbering millions lie. the towers and temples crushed by time, stupendous wrecks, appear to me less mournfully sublime than this poor molehill here. methinks this dust yet heaves with breath-- ten thousand pulses beat;-- tell me, in this small hill of death, how many mortals meet! one idea, you see, beaten out rather thin, and expressed in a great many words, as was the good man's wont. and in these days of the misty and spasmodic school, i owe my readers an apology for presenting them with poetry which they will have no difficulty in understanding. amid a great number of particulars as to the burial customs of various nations, we find mention made of an odd way in which the natives of thibet dignify their great people. they do not desecrate such by giving them to the earth, but retain a number of sacred dogs to devour them. not less strange was the fancy of that englishwoman, a century or two back, who had her husband burnt to ashes, and these ashes reduced to powder, of which she mixed some with all the water she drank, thinking, poor heart-broken creature, that, thus she was burying the dear form within her own. in rare cases i have known of the parson or the churchwarden turning his cow to pasture in the churchyard, to the sad desecration of the place. it appears, however, that worse than this has been done, if we may judge from the following passage quoted by mrs. stone:-- . proceedings in the court of archdeaconry of colchester, colne wake. notatur per iconimos dicte ecclesie yt the parson mysusithe the churche-yard, for hogis do wrote up graves, and besse lie in the porche, and ther the pavements he broke up and soyle the porche; and ther is so mych catell yt usithe the church-yarde, yt is more liker a pasture than a halowed place. it is usual, it appears, in the southern parts of france, to erect in the churchyard a lofty pillar, bearing a large lamp, which throws its light upon the cemetery during the night. the custom began in the twelfth or thirteenth century. sometimes the lanterne des marts was a highly ornamented chapel, built in a circular form, like the church of the holy sepulchre at jerusalem, in which the dead lay exposed to view in the days which preceded their interment: sometimes it was merely a hollow column, ascended by a winding stair inside, or by projections left for the purpose within. it must have been a striking sight when the traveller, through the dark night, saw far away the lonely flame that marked the spot where so many of his fellow-men had completed their journey. one of the oddest things ever introduced into materia medica was the celebrated mummy powder. egyptian mummies, being broken up and ground into dust, were held of great value as medicine both for external and internal application. boyle and bacon unite in commending its virtues: the latter, indeed, venturing to suggest that 'the mixture of balms that are glutinous' was the foundation of its power, though common belief held that the virtue was 'more in the egyptian than in the spice.' even in the seventeenth century mummy was an important article of commerce, and was sold at a great price. one eastern traveller brought to the turkey company six hundred weight of mummy broken into pieces. adulteration came into play in a manner which would have gratified the lancet commission: the jews collecting the bodies of executed criminals, filling them with common asphaltum, which cost little, and then drying them in the sun, when they became undistinguishable from the genuine article. and the maladies which mummy was held to cure are set forth in a list which we commend to the notice of professor holloway. it was 'to be taken in decoctions of marjoram, thyme, elder-flower, barley, roses, lentils, jujubes, cummin-seed, carraway, saffron, cassia, parsley, with oxymel, wine, milk, butter, castor, and mulberries.' sir thomas browne, who was a good deal before his age, did not approve of the use of mummy. he says: were the efficacy thereof more clearly made out, we scarce conceive the use thereof allowable in physic: exceeding the barbarities of cambyses, and turning old heroes into unworthy potions. shall egypt lend out her ancients unto chirurgeons and apothecaries, and cheops and psammeticus be weighed unto us for drugs? shall we eat of chamnes and amasis in electuaries and pills, and be cured by cannibal mixtures? surely such diet is miserable vampirism; and exceeds in horror the black banquet of domitian, not to be paralleled except in those arabian feasts wherein ghouls feed horribly. i need hardly add that the world has come round to the great physician's way of thinking, and that mummy is not included in the pharmacopoeia of modern days. the monumental inscriptions of this country, as a general rule, furnish lamentable proof of the national bad taste. somehow our peculiar genius seems not to lie in that direction; and very eminent men, who did most other things well, have signally failed when they tried to produce an epitaph. what with stilted extravagance and bombast on the one side, and profane and irreverent jesting on the other, our epitaphs, for the most part, would be better away. it was well said by addison of the inscriptions in westminster abbey,--'some epitaphs are so extravagant that the dead person would blush; and others so excessively modest that they deliver the character of the person departed in greek and hebrew, and by that means are not understood once in a twelve-month.' and fuller has hit the characteristics of a fitting epitaph when he said that 'the shortest, plainest, and truest epitaphs are the best.' in most cases the safe plan is to give no more than the name and age, and some brief text of scripture. every one knows that epitaphs generally are expressed in such complimentary terms as quite explain the question of the child, who wonderingly inquired where they buried the bad people. mrs. stone, however, quotes a remarkably out-spoken one, from a monument in horselydown church, in cumberland. it runs as follows:-- here lie the bodies of thomas bond and mary his wife. she was temperate, chaste, and charitable; but she was proud, peevish, and passionate. she was an affectionate wife and a tender mother; but her husband and child, whom she loved, seldom saw her countenance without a disgusting frown; while she received visitors whom she despised with an endearing smile. her behaviour was discreet towards strangers; but imprudent in her family. abroad her conduct was influenced by good breeding; but at home by ill temper. and so the epitaph runs on to considerable length, acknowledging the good qualities of the poor woman, but killing each by setting against it some peculiarly unamiable trait. i confess that my feeling is quite turned in her favour by the unmanly assault which her brother (the author of the inscription) has thus made upon the poor dead woman. if you cannot honestly say good of a human being on his grave-stone, then say nothing at all. there are some cases in which an exception may justly be made; and such a one, i think, was that of the infamous francis chartres, who died in . he was buried in scotland, and at his funeral the populace raised a riot, almost tore his body from the coffin, and threw dead dogs into the grave along with it. dr. arbuthnot wrote his epitaph, and here it is:-- here continueth to rot the body of francis chartres: who, with an inflexible constancy, and inimitable uniformity of life, persisted, in spite of age and infirmities, in the practice of every human vice, excepting prodigality and hypocrisy: his insatiable avarice exempted him from the first, his matchless impudence from the second. nor was he more singular in the undeviating pravity of his manners, than successful in accumulating wealth: for without trade or profession, without trust of public money, and without bribeworthy service, he acquired, or more properly created, a ministerial estate: he was the only person of his time who could cheat without the mask of honesty, retain his primeval meanness when possessed of ten thousand a year: and having daily deserved the gibbet for what he did, was at last condemned for what he could not do. oh! indignant reader! think not his life useless to mankind! providence connived at his execrable designs, to give to after ages a conspicuous proof and example of how small estimation is exorbitant wealth in the sight of god, by his bestowing it on the most unworthy of all mortals. if one does intend to make a verbal assault upon any man, it is well to do so in words which will sting and cut; and assuredly arbuthnot has succeeded in his laudable intention. the character is justly drawn; and with the change of a very few words, it might correctly be inscribed on the monument of at least one scotch and one english peer, who have died within the last half-century. there are one or two extreme cases in which it is in good taste, and the effect not without sublimity, to leave a monument with no inscription at all. of course this can only be when the monument is that of a very great and illustrious man. the pillar erected by bernadotte at frederickshall, in memory of charles the twelfth, bears not a word; and i believe most people who visit the spot feel that bernadotte judged well. the rude mass of masonry, standing in the solitary waste, that marks where howard the philanthropist sleeps, is likewise nameless. and when john kyrle died in , he was buried in the chancel of the church of ross in herefordshire, 'without so much as an inscription.' but the man of ross had his best monument in the lifted head and beaming eye of those he left behind him at the mention of his name. he never knew, of course, that the bitter little satirist of twickenham would melt into unwonted tenderness in telling of all he did, and apologize nobly for his nameless grave:-- and what! no monument, inscription, stone? his race, his form, his name almost, unknown? who builds a church to god, and not to fame, will never mark the marble with his name: go, search it there, where to be born and die, of rich and poor make all the history: enough, that virtue filled the space between, proved, by the ends of being, to have been! [footnote: pope's moral essays. epistle iii.] the two fine epitaphs written by ben jonson are well known. one is on the countess of pembroke:-- underneath this marble hearse, lies the subject of all verse: sidney's sister, pembroke's'mother; death! ere thou hast slain another, learned and fair, and good as she, time shall throw a dart at thee. and the other is the epitaph of a certain unknown elizabeth:-- wouldst thou hear what man can say in a little?--reader, stay. underneath this stone doth lie as much beauty as could die; which in life did harbour give, to more virtue than doth live. if at all she had a fault, leave it buried in this vault: one name was elizabeth, the other let it sleep with death: fitter, where it died, to tell, than that it lived at all. farewell! most people have heard of the brief epitaph inscribed on a tombstone in the floor of hereford cathedral, which inspired one of the sonnets of wordsworth. there is no name, no date, but the single word miserrimus. the lines, written by herself, which are inscribed on the gravestone of mrs. hemans, in st. anne's church at dublin, are very beautiful, but too well known to need quotation. and longfellow, in his charming little poem of nuremburg, has preserved the characteristic word in the epitaph of albert durer:-- emigravit is the inscription on the tombstone where he lies; dead he is not,--but departed,--for the artist never dies. perhaps some readers may be interested by the following epitaph, written by no less a man than sir walter scott, and inscribed on the stone which covers the grave of a humble heroine whose name his genius has made known over the world. the grave is in the churchyard of kirkpatrick-irongray, a few miles from dumfries:-- this stone was erected by the author of waverley to the memory of helen walker who died in the year of god . this humble individual practised in real life the virtues with which fiction has invested the imaginary character of jeanie deans. refusing the slightest departure from veracity even to save the life of a sister, she neverthless showed her kindness and fortitude by rescuing her from the severity of the law; at the expense of personal exertions which the time rendered as difficult as the motive was laudable. respect the grave of poverty when combined with love of truth and dear affection. although, of course, it is treasonable to say so, i confess i think this inscription somewhat cumbrous and awkward. the antithesis is not a good one, between the difficulty of jeanie's 'personal exertions' and the laudableness of the motive which led to them. and there is something not metaphysically correct in the combination described in the closing sentence--the combination of poverty, an outward condition, with truthfulness and affection, two inward characteristics. the only parallel phrase which i remember in literature is one which was used by mr. stiggins when he was explaining to sam weller what was meant by a moral pocket-handkerchief. 'it's them,' were mr. stiggins's words, 'as combines useful instruction with wood-cuts.' poverty might co-exist with, or be associated with, any mental qualities you please, but assuredly it cannot correctly be said to enter into combination with any. as for odd and ridiculous epitaphs, their number is great, and every one has the chief of them at his fingers' ends. i shall be content to give two or three, which i am quite sure hardly any of my readers ever heard of before. the following, which may be read on a tombstone in a country churchyard in ayrshire, appears to me to be unequalled for irreverence. and let critics observe the skilful introduction of the dialogue form, giving the inscription a dramatic effect:-- wha is it that's lying here?-- robin wood, ye needna speer. eh robin, is this you? ou aye, but i'm deid noo! the following epitaph was composed by a village poet and wit, not unknown to me in my youth, for a rival poet, one syme, who had published a volume of verses on the times (not the newspaper). beneath this thistle, skin, bone, and gristle, in sexton goudie's keepin' lies, of poet syme, who fell to rhyme, (o bards beware!) a sacrifice. ask not at all, where flew his saul, when of the body death bereft her: she, like his rhymes upon the times, was never worth the speerin' after! speerin', i should mention, for the benefit of those ignorant of lowland scotch, means asking or inquiring. it is recorded in history that a certain mr. anderson, who filled the dignified office of provost of dundee, died, as even provosts must. it was resolved that a monument should be erected in his memory, and that the inscription upon it should be the joint composition of four of his surviving colleagues in the magistracy. they met to prepare the epitaph; and after much consideration it was resolved that the epitaph should be a rhymed stanza of four lines, of which lines each magistrate should contribute one. the senior accordingly began, and having deeply ruminated he produced the following:-- here lies anderson, provost of dundee. this formed a neat and striking introduction, going (so to speak) to the heart of things at once, but leaving room for subsequent amplification. the second magistrate perceived this, and felt that the idea was such a good one that it ought to be followed up. he therefore produced the line, here lies him, here lies he: thus repeating in different modifications the same grand thought, after the style which has been adopted by burke, chalmers, melvill, and other great orators. the third magistrate, whose turn had now arrived, felt that the foundation had thus been substantially laid down, and that the time had come to erect upon it a superstructure of reflection, inference, or exclamation. with the simplicity of genius he wrote as follows, availing himself of a poet's license to slightly alter the ordinary forms of language:-- hallelujah, hallelujee! the epitaph being thus, as it were, rounded and complete, the fourth contributor to it found himself in a difficulty; wherefore add anything to that which needed and in truth admitted nothing more? still the stanza must he completed. what should he do? he would fall back on the earliest recollections of his youth--he would recur to the very fount and origin of all human knowledge. seizing his pen, he wrote thus:-- a. b. c. d. e. f. g.! whoever shall piece together these valuable lines, thus fragmentarily presented, will enter into the feelings of the town council, which bestowed a vote of thanks upon their authors, and caused the stanza to be engraven on the worthy provost's monument. i have not myself read it, but am assured it is in existence. there was something of poor thomas hood's morbi taste for the ghastly, and the physically repulsive, in his fancy of spending some time during his last illness in drawing a picture of himself dead in his shroud. in his memoirs, published by his children, you may see the picture, grimly truthful: and bearing the legend, he sang the song of the shirt. you may discover in what he drew, as well as in what he wrote, many indications of the humourist's perverted taste: and no doubt the knowledge that mortal disease was for years doing its work within, led his thoughts oftentimes to what was awaiting himself. he could not walk in an avenue of elm-trees, without fancying that one of them might furnish his coffin. when in his ear, as in longfellow's, 'the green trees whispered low and mild,' their sound did not carry him back to boyhood, but onward to his grave. he listened, and there rose within a secret, vague, prophetic fear, as though by certain mark, i knew the fore-ordained tree, within whose rugged bark, this warm and living form shall find its narrow house and dark. not but that such thoughts are well in their due time and place. it is very fit that we should all sometimes try to realize distinctly what is meant when each of us repeats words four thousand years old, and says, 'i know that thou wilt bring me to death, and to the house appointed for all living.' even with all such remembrances brought home to him by means to which we are not likely to resort, the good priest and martyr robert southwell tells us how hard he found it, while in buoyant life, to rightly consider his end. but in perfect cheerfulness and healthfulness of spirit, the human being who knows (so far as man can know) where he is to rest at last, may oftentimes visit that peaceful spot. it will do him good: it can do him no harm. the hard-wrought man may fitly look upon the soft green turf, some day to be opened for him; and think to himself, not yet, i have more to do yet; but in a little while. somewhere there is a place appointed for each of us, a place that is waiting for each of us, and that will not be complete till we are there. well, we rest in the humble trust, that 'through the grave and gate of death, we shall pass to our joyful resurrection.' and we turn away now from the churchyard, recalling bryant's lines as to its extent: yet not to thy eternal resting-place shalt thou retire alone; nor couldst thou wish couch more magnificent. thou shalt lie down with patriarchs of the infant world, with kings, the powerful of the earth, the wise and good, fair forms and hoary seers of ages past, all in one mighty sepulchre. the hills, rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun; the vales, stretching in pensive quietness between; the venerable woods; rivers that move in majesty, and the complaining brooks that make the meadows green; and, poured round all, old ocean's gray and melancholy waste,-- are but the solemn decorations all of the great tomb of man! chapter v. concerning summer days. there are some people whom all nature helps. they have somehow got the material universe on their side. what they say and do, at least upon important occasions, is so backed up by all the surroundings that it never seems out of keeping with these, and still less ever seems to be contradicted by these. when mr. midhurst [footnote: see the new series of friends in council.] read his essay on the miseries of human life, he had all the advantage of a gloomy, overcast day. and so the aspect of the external world was to the essay like the accompaniment in music to a song. the accompaniment, of course, has no specific meaning; it says nothing, but it appears to accord and sympathize with the sense conveyed by the song's words. but gloomy hills and skies and woods are to desponding views of life and man, even more than the sympathetic chords, in themselves meaningless. the gloomy world not merely accords with the desponding views, but seems somehow to back them. you are conscious of a great environing presence standing by and looking on approvingly. from all points in the horizon a voice, soft and undefined, seems to whisper to your heart, all true, all too true. now, there are human beings who, in the great things they say and do, seldom fail of having this great, vague backing. there are others whom the grand current for the most part sets against. it is part of the great fact of luck--the indubitable fact that there are men, women, ships, horses, railway-engines, whole railways, which are lucky, and others which are unlucky. i do not believe in the common theory of luck, but no thoughtful or observant man can deny the fact of it. and in no fashion does it appear more certainly than in this, that in the case of some men cross-accidents are always marring them, and the effect they would fain produce. the system of things is against them. they are not in every case unsuccessful, but whatever success they attain is got by brave fighting against wind and tide. at college they carried off many honours, but no such luck ever befel them as that some wealthy person should offer during their days some special medal for essay or examination, which they would have gained as of course. there was no extra harvest for them to reap: they could do no more than win all that was to be won. they go to the bar, and they gradually make their way; but the day never comes on which their leader is suddenly taken ill, and they have the opportunity of earning a brilliant reputation by conducting in his absence a case in which they are thoroughly prepared. they go into the church, and earn a fair character as preachers; but ihe living they would like never becomes vacant, and when they are appointed to preach upon some important occasion, it happens that the ground is a foot deep with snow. several years since, on a sunday in july, i went to afternoon service at a certain church by the sea-shore. the incumbent of that church was a young clergyman of no ordinary talent; he is a distinguished professor now. it was a day of drenching rain and howling hurricane; the sky was black, as in mid-winter; the waves were breaking angry and loud upon the rocks hard by. the weather the previous week had been beautiful; the weather became beautiful again the next morning. there came just the one gloomy and stormy summer day. the young parson could not forsee the weather. what more fitting subject for a july sunday than the teachings of the beautiful season which was passing over? so the text was, thou hast made summer: it was a sermon on summer, and its moral and spiritual lessons. how inconsistent the sermon seemed with everything around! the outward circumstances reduced it to an absurdity. the congregation was diminished to a sixth of its usual number; the atmosphere was charged with a muggy vapour from sloppy garments and dripping umbrellas: and as the preacher spoke, describing vividly (though with the chastened taste of the scholar) blue skies, green leaves, and gentle breezes, ever and anon the storm outside drove the rain in heavy plashes upon the windows, and, looking through them, you could see the black sky and the fast-drifting clouds. i thought to myself, as the preacher went on under the cross influence of these surroundings, now, i am sure you are in small things an unlucky man. no doubt the like happens to you frequently. you are the kind of man to whom the times fails to come on the morning you specially wish to see it. your horse falls lame on the morning when you have a long drive before you. your manservant catches a sore throat, and is unable to go out, just when the visitor comes to whom you wish to show the neighboring country. i felt for the preacher. i was younger then, but i had seen enough to make me think how mr. snarling of the next parish (a very dull preacher, with no power of description) would chuckle over the tale of the summer sermon on the stormy day. that youthful preacher (not mr. snarling) had been but a few months in the church, and he probably had not another sermon to give in the unexpected circumstances: he must preach what he had prepared. he had fallen into error. i formed a resolution never to do the like. i was looking forward then with great enthusiasm to the work of my sacred, profession: with enthusiasm which has only grown deeper and warmer through the experience of more than nine years. i resolved that if ever i thought of preaching a summer sermon, i would take care to have an alternative one ready for that day in case of unfavourable weather. i resolved that i would give my summer discourse only if external nature, in her soft luxuriant beauty, looked summer-like: a sweet pervading accompaniment to my poor words, giving them a force and meaning far beyond their own. what talk concerning summer skies is like the sapphire radiance, so distant and pure, looking in through the church windows? you do not remember how blue and beautiful the sky is, unless when you are looking at it: nature is better than our remembrance of her. what description of a leafy tree equals that noble, soft, massive, luxuriant object which i looked at for half-an-hour yesterday through the window of a little country church, while listening to the sermon of a friend? do not think that i was inattentive. i heard the sermon with the greater pleasure and profit for the sight. it is characteristic of the preaching of a really able man, preaching what he himself has felt, that all he says appears (as a general rule) in harmony with all the universe; while the preaching of a commonplace man, giving us from memory mere theological doctrine which has been drilled into him, and which he repeats because he supposes it must be all right, seems inconsistent with all the material universe, or at least quite apart from it. yet, even listening to that excellent sermon (whose masculine thought was very superior to its somewhat slovenly style), i thought, as i looked at the beautiful tree rising in the silent churchyard,--the stately sycamore, so bright green, with the blue sky all around it,--how truly john foster wrote, that when standing in january at the foot of a large oak, and looking at its bare branches, he vainly tried to picture to himself what that tree would be in june. the reality would be far richer and finer than anything he could imagine on the winter day. who does not know this? the green grass and the bright leaves in spring are far greener (you see when they come back) than you had remembered or imagined; the sunshine is more golden, and the sky more bright. god's works are better and more beautiful than our poor idea of them. though i have seen them and loved them now for more than thirty summers, i have felt this year, with something of almost surprise, how exquisitely beautiful are summer foliage and summer grass. here they are again, fresh from god! the summer world is incomparably more beautiful than any imagination could picture it on a dull december day. you did not know on new year's day, my reader, how fair a thing the sunshine is. and the commonest things are the most beautiful. flowers are beautiful: he must be a blackguard who does not love them. summer seas are beautiful, so exquisitely blue under the blue summer sky. but what can surpass the beauty of green grass and green trees! amid such things let me live; and when i am gone, let green grass grow over me. i would not be buried beneath a stone pavement, not to sleep in the great abbey itself. my summer sermon has never been written, and so has never been preached; i doubt whether i could make much of the subject, treated as it ought to be treated there. but an essay is a different matter, notwithstanding that a dear, though sarcastic friend says that my essays are merely sermons played in polka time; the thought of sermons, to wit, lightened somewhat by a somewhat lighter fashion of phrase and illustration. and all that has hitherto been said is introductory to remarking, that i stand in fear of what kind of day it may be when my reader shall see this essay, which as yet exists but vaguely in the writer's mind; and upon, four pieces of paper, three large and one small. if your eye lights upon this page on a cold, bleak day; if it be wet and plashy; above all, if there be east wind, read no further. keep this essay for a warm, sunshiny day; it is only then that you will sympathize with its author. for amid a dismal, rainy, stormy summer, we have reached fair weather at last; and this is a lovely, sunny summer morning. and what an indescribably beautiful thing is a summer day! i do not mean merely the hours as they pass over; the long light; the sun going up and going down; but all that one associates with summer days, spent in sweet rural scenes. there is great variety in summer days. there is the warm, bright, still summer day; when everything seems asleep, and the topmost branches of the tall trees do not stir in the azure air. there is the breezy summer day, when warm breaths wave these topmost branches gently to and fro, and you stand and look at them; when sportive winds bend the green corn as they swiftly sweep over it; when the shadows of the clouds pass slowly along the hills. even the rainy day, if it come with soft summer-like rain, is beautiful. people in town are apt to think of rain as a mere nuisance; the chief good it does there is to water the streets more generally and thoroughly than usual; a rainy day in town is equivalent to a bad day; but in the country, if you possess even the smallest portion of the earth, you learn to rejoice in the rain. you go out in it; you walk about and enjoy the sight of the grass momently growing greener; of the trees looking refreshed, and the evergreens gleaming, the gravel walks so free from dust, and the roads watered so as to render them beautifully compact, but not at all sloppy or muddy; summer rain never renders well-made country roads sloppy or muddy. there is a pleasure in thinking that you have got far ahead of man or machine; and you heartily despise a watering-cart, while enjoying a soft summer shower. and after the shower is over, what fragrance is diffused through the country air; every tree and shrub has an odour which a summer shower brings out, and which senses trained to perception will perceive. and then, how full the trees and woods are of the singing of birds! but there is one feeling which, if you live in the country, is common to all pleasant summer days, but particularly to sunshiny ones; it is that you are doing injustice to nature, that you are losing a great deal, if you do not stay almost constantly in the open air. you come to grudge every half hour that you are within doors, or busied with things that call you off from observing and thinking of all the beauty that is around you everywhere. that fair scene,--trees, grass, flowers, sky, sunshine, is there to be looked at and enjoyed; it seems wrong, that with such a picture passing on before your eyes, your eyes should be turned upon anything else. work, especially mental work, is always painful; always a thing you would shrink from if you could; but how strongly you shrink from it on a beautiful summer morning! on a gloomy winter day you can walk with comparative willingness into your study after breakfast, and spread out your paper, and begin to write your sermon. for although writing the sermon is undoubtedly an effort; and although all sustained effort partakes of the nature of pain; and although pain can never be pleasant; still, after all, apart from other reasons which impel you to your work, you cannot but feel that really if you were to turn away from your task of writing, there is nothing to which you could take that you would enjoy very much more than itself. and even on the fairest summer morning, you can, if you are living in town, take to your task with comparative ease. somehow, in town, the weather is farther off from you; it does not pervade all the house, as it does in the country: you have not windows that open into the garden: through which you see green trees and grass every time you look up; and through which you can in a minute, without the least change of dress, pass into the verdant scene. there is all the difference in the world, between the shadiest and greenest public garden or park even within a hundred yards of your door; and the green shady little spot that comes up to your very window. the former is no very great temptation to the busy scholar of rural tastes; the latter is almost irresistible. a hundred yards are a long way to go, with purpose prepense of enjoying something so simple as the green earth. after having walked even a hundred yards, you feel that you need a more definite aim. and the grass and trees seem very far away, if you see them at the end of a vista of washing your hands, and putting on another coat and other boots, and still more of putting on gloves and a hat. give me the little patch of grass, the three or four shady trees, the quiet corner of the shrubbery, that comes up to the study window, and which you can reach without even the formality of passing through the hall and out by the front door. if you wish to enjoy nature in the summer-time, you must attend to all these little things. what stout old gentleman but knows that when he is seated snugly in his easy chair by the winter evening fireside, he would take up and read many pages in a volume which lay within reach of his arm, though he would do without the volume, if in order to get it he had to take the slight trouble of rising from his chair and walking to a table half a dozen yards off? even so must nature be brought within easy reach of even the true lover of nature; otherwise on a hundred occasions, all sorts of little, fanciful hindrances will stand between him and her habitual appreciation. a very small thing may prevent your doing a thing which you even wish to do; but which you do not wish with any special excitement, and which you may do at any time. i daresay some reader would have written months since to a friend in india to whom he promised faithfully to write frequently, but that when he sat down once or twice to write, and pulled out his paper-drawer, lie found that all the thin indian paper was done. and so the upshot is, that the friend has been a year out; and you have never written to him at all. but to return to the point from which this deviation proceeded, i repeat, that on a fine summer morning in the country it is excessively difficult to take to your work. apart from the repellent influence which is in work itself, you think that you will miss so much. you go out after breakfast (with a wide-awake hat, and no gloves) into the fresh atmosphere. you walk round the garden. you look particularly at the more eminent roses, and the largest trees. you go to the stable-yard, and see what is doing there. there are twenty things to think of: numberless little directions to give. you see a weedy corner, and that must not be suffered: you see a long spray of a climbing rose that needs training. you look into the corn-chest: the corn is almost finished. you have the fact impressed upon you that the old potatoes are nearly done, and the new ones hardly ready for use. these things partake of the nature of care: if you do not feel very well, you will regard them as worries. but it is no care nor worry to walk down to your gate, to lean upon it, and to look at the outline of the hills: nor to go out with your little children, and walk slowly along the country lane outside your gate, relating for the hundredth time the legend of the renowned giant-killer, or the enchanted horse that flew through the air; to walk on till you come to the bridge, and there sit down, and throw in stones for your dog to dive after, while various shouts (very loud to come from such little mouths) applaud his success. how crystal-clear the water of the river! it is six feet deep, yet you may see every pebble of its bed. an undefined laziness possesses you. you would like to sit here, and look, and think, all day. but of course you will not give in to the temptation. slowly you return to your door: unwillingly you enter it: reluctantly you take to your work. until you have got somewhat into the spirit of your task, you cannot help looking sometimes at the roses which frame your window, and the green hill you see through it, with white sheep. and even when you have got your mind under control, and the lines flow more willingly from your pen, you cannot but look out occasionally into the sunshiny, shady corner in your view, and think you should be there. and when the prescribed pages are at length completed, how delightful to lock them up, and be off into the air again! you are far happier now than you were in the morning. the shadow of your work was upon you then: now you may with a pleased conscience, and under no sense of pressure, saunter about, and enjoy your little domain. many things have been accomplished since you went indoors. the weeds are gone from the corner: the spray of the rose lias been trained. the potato-beds have been examined: the potatoes will be all ready in two days more. sit down in the shade, warm yet cool, of a great tree. now is the time to read the saturday review, especially the article that pitches into you. what do you care for it? i don't mean that you despise it: i mean that it causes you no feeling but one of amusement and pleasure. you feel that it is written by a clever man and a gentleman: you know that there is not a vestige of malice in it. you would like to shake hands with the writer, and to thank him for various useful hints. as for reviewing which is truly malignant--that which deals in intentional misrepresentation and coarse abuse--it is practically unknown in respectable periodicals. and wherever you may find it (as you sometimes may) you ought never to be angry with the man who did it: you ought to be sorry for him. depend upon it, the poor fellow is in bad health or in low spirits: no one but a man who is really unhappy himself will deliberately set himself to annoy any one else. it is the misery, anxiety, poverty, which are wringing the man's heart, that make their pitiful moan in that bitter article. make the poor man better off, and he will be better natured. and so, my friend, now that our task is finished, let us go out in this kindly temper to enjoy the summer day. but you must first assure your mind that your work is really finished. you cannot thus simply enjoy the summer day, if you have a latent feeling rankling at your heart that you are neglecting something that you ought to do. the little jar of your moral being caused by such a feeling, will be like the horse-hair shirt, will be like the peas in the pilgrim's shoes. so, clerical reader, after you have written your allotted pages of sermon, and answered your few letters, turn to your tablet-diary, or whatever contrivance you have for suggesting to your memory the work you have to do. if you have marked down some mere call to make, that may fairly enough be postponed on this hot day. but look at your list of sick, and see when you visited each last, and consider whether there be any you ought to visit to-day. and if there be, never mind though the heat be sweltering and the roads dusty and shadeless: never mind though the poor old man or woman lives five miles off, and though your horse is lame: get ready, and walk away as slowly as you can, and do your duty. you are not the reader i want: you are not the man with whom i wish to think of summer days: if you could in the least enjoy the afternoon, or have the faintest pleasure in your roses and your grass, with the thought of that neglected work hanging over you. and though you may return four hours hence, fagged and jaded, you will sit with a pleased heart down to dinner, and you will welcome the twilight when it comes, with the cheerful sense of duty done and temptation resisted. but upon my ideal summer day, i suppose that after looking over your sick-list, and all your memoranda, you find that there is nothing to do that need take you to-day beyond your own little realm. and so, with the delightful sense of leisure to breathe and think, you walk forth into the green shade to spend the summer afternoon. bring with you two or three books: bring the times that came that morning: you will not read much, but it is pleasant to know that you may read if you choose: and then sit down upon a garden-seat, and think and feel. do you not feel, my friend of even five-and-thirty, that there is music yet in the mention of summer days? well, enjoy that music now, and the vague associations which are summoned up by the name. do not put off the enjoyment of these things to some other day. you will never have more time, nor better opportunity. the little worries of the present cease to sting in the pensive languor of the season. enjoy the sunshine and the leaves while they last: they will not last long. grasp the day and hold it and rejoice in it: some time soon you will find of a sudden that the summer time has passed away. you come to yourself, and find it is december. the earth seems to pause in its orbit in the dreary winter days: it hurries at express speed through summer. you wish you could put on a break, and make time go on more slowly. well, watch the sandgrains as they pass. remark the several minutes, yet without making it a task to do so. as you sit there, you will think of old summer days long ago: of green leaves long since faded: of sunsets gone. well, each had its turn: the present has nothing more. and let us think of the past without being lackadaisical. look now at your own little children at play: that sight will revive your flagging interest in life. look at the soft turf, feel the gentle air: these things are present now. what a contrast to the lard, repellent earth of winter! i think of it like the difference between the man of sternly logical mind, and the genial, kindly man with both head and heart! i take it for granted that you agree with me in holding such to be the true type of man. not but what some people are proud of being all head and no heart. there is no flummery about them. it is stern, severe sense and principle. well, my friends, say i to such, you are (in a moral sense) deficient of a member. fancy a mortal hopping through creation, and boasting that he was born with only one leg! or even if you have a little of the kindly element, but very little when compared with the logical, you have not much to boast of. your case is analogous to that of the man who has two legs indeed, but one of them a great deal longer than the other. it is pleasanter to spend the summer days in an inland country place, than by the seaside. the sea is too glaring in sunshiny weather; the prospects are too extensive. it wearies eyes worn by much writing and reading to look at distant hills across the water. the true locality in which to enjoy the summer time is a richly-wooded country, where you have hedges and hedge-rows, and clumps of trees everywhere: where objects for the most part are near to you; and, above all, are green. it is pleasant to live in a district where the roads are not great broad highways, in whose centre you feel as if you were condemned to traverse a strip of arid desert stretching through the landscape; and where any carriage short of a four-in-hand looks so insignificantly small. give me country lanes: so narrow that their glare does not pain the eye upon even the sunniest day: so narrow that the eye without an effort takes in the green hedges and fields on either side as you drive or walk along. and now, looking away mentally from this cool shady verdure amid which we are sitting, let us think of summer days elsewhere. let us think of them listlessly, that we may the more enjoy the quiet here: as a child on a frosty winter night, snug in his little bed, puts out a foot for a moment into the chilly expanse of sheet that stretches away from the warm nest in which he lies, and then pulls it swiftly back again, enjoying the cozy warmth the more for this little reminder of the bitter chill. here, where the air is cool, pure, and soft, let us think of a hoarding round some old house which the labourers are pulling down, amid clouds of the white, blinding, parching dust of lime, on a sultry summer day. i can hardly think of any human position as worse, if not intended directly as a position of torture. i picture, too, a crowded wharf on a river in a great town, with ships lying alongside. there is a roar of passing drays, a cracking of draymen's whips, a howling of the draymen. there is hot sunshine; there are clouds of dust; and i see several poor fellows wheeling heavy casks in barrows up a narrow plank into a ship. their faces are red and puffy with the exertion: their hair is dripping. ah, the summer day is hard upon these poor fellows! but it would be pleasant to-day to drive a locomotive engine through a fine agricultural country, particularly if one were driving an express train, and so were not worried by perpetual stoppages. i have often thought that i should like to be an engine-driver. should any revolution or convulsion destroy the church, it is to that field of industry that i should devote my energies. i should stipulate not to drive luggage-trains; and if i had to begin with third-class passenger-trains, i have no doubt that in a few months, by dint of great punctuality and carefulness, and by having my engine always beautifully clean and bright, i should be promoted to the express. there was a time when driving a locomotive was not so pleasant as now. in departed days, when the writer was wont to stand upon the foot-plates, through the kindness of engine-driving friends now far away, there was a difficulty in looking out ahead: the current of air was so tremendous, and particles of dust were driven so viciously into one's eyes. but advancing civilization has removed that disadvantage. a snug shelter is now provided for the driver: an iron partition arises before him, with two panes of glass through which to look out. the result is that he can maintain a far more effectual look-out; and that he is in great measure protected from wind and weather. yes, it would be pleasant to be an engine-driver, especially on such a day as this. pleasant to look at the great train of carriages standing in the station before starting: to see the piles of luggage going up through the exertions of hot porters: to see the numbers of passengers, old and young, cool and flurried, with their wraps, their newspapers, their books, at length arranged in the soft, roomy interiors; and then the sense of power, when by the touch of a couple of fingers upon the lever, you make the whole mass of luggage, of life, of human interests and cares, start gently into motion; till, gathering speed as it goes, it tears through the green stillness of the summer noon, amid daisied fields, through little woody dells, through clumps of great forest-trees, within sight of quiet old manor houses, across little noisy brooks and fair broad rivers, beside churchyard walls and grey ivied churches, alongside of roads where you see the pretty phaeton, the lordly coach, the lumbering waggon, and get glimpses that suggest a whole picture of the little life of numbers of your fellow-men, each with heart and mind and concerns and fears very like your own. yes, my friend, if you rejoice in fair scenery, if you sympathize with all modes of human life--if you have some little turn for mechanics, for neatness and accuracy, for that which faithfully does the work it was made to do, and neither less nor more: retain it in your mind as an ultimate end, that you may one day drive a locomotive engine. you need not of necessity become greasy of aspect; neither need you become black. i never have known more tidy, neat, accurate, intelligent, sharp, punctual, responsible, god-fearing, and truly respectable men, than certain engine-drivers. remember the engine must be a locomotive engine. your taste for scenery and life will not be gratified by employment on a stationary one. and it is fearfully hot work on a summer day to take charge of a stationary steam-engine; while (perhaps you would not think it) to drive a locomotive is perfectly cool work. you never feel, in that rapid motion, the raging flame that is doing its work so near you. the driver of the express train may be a man of large sympathies, of cheerful heart, of tolerant views; the man in charge of the engine of a coal-pit or factory, even of a steam-ship, is apt to acquire contracted ways of thinking, and to become somewhat cynical and gloomy in his ideas as to the possible amelioration of society. it cannot be a pleasing employment, one would think, on a day like this, to sit and watch a great engine fire, and mend it when needful. that occupation would not be healthful, either to mind or body. i dare say you remember the striking and beautiful description in mr. dickens's old curiosity shop, of a man who had watched and fed a furnace-fire for years, till he had come to think of it as a living being. the fire was older than he was; it had never gone out since before he was horn. i can imagine, perfectly well, what kind of effect such a mode of life would have had on myself. and very few readers are likely to have within themselves an intellectual and moral fibre of bent and nature so determined, that they are not what they are, mainly through the influence of the external circumstances which have been acting upon them all through life. did you ever think to yourself that you would like to make trial for a few days' space, of certain modes of life very different from your own, and very different from each other? i have done so many a time. and a lazy summer afternoon here in the green shade is the time to try and picture out such. think of being to-day in a stifling counting-house in the hot bustling town. i have been especially interested in a glazed closet which i have seen in a certain immensely large and very crowded shop in a certain beautiful city. it is a sort of little office partitioned off from the shop it has a sloping table, with three or four huge books bound in parchment. there is a ceaseless bustle, crush, and hum of talking outside; and inside there are clerks bitting writing, and receiving money through little pigeonholes. i should like to sit for two or three days in a corner of that little retreat; and to write a sermon there. it would be curious to sit there to-day in the shadow, and to see the warm sunbeams only outside through a distant window, resting on sloping roofs. if one did not get seasick, there would be something fresh in a summer day at sea. it is always cool and breezy there, at least in these latitudes, on the warmest day. above all there is no dust. think of the luxurious cabin of a fine yacht to-day. deep cushions; rich curtains; no tremor of machinery; flowers, books, carpets inches thick; and through the windows, dim hills and blue sea. then, flying away in spirit, let us go to-day (only in imagination) into the courts of law at westminster. the atmosphere on a summer day in these scenes is always hot and choky. there is a suggestion of summer time in the sunshine through the dusty lanterns in the roofs. thinking of these courts, and all their belongings and associations, here on this day, is like the child already mentioned when he puts his foot into a very cold corner of his bed, that he may pull it back with special sense of what a blessing it is that he is not bodily in that very cold corner. yes, let us enjoy this spot where we are, the more keenly, for thinking of the very last place in this world where we should like to-day to be. i went lately (on a bright day in may) to revive old remembrances of westminster hall. the judges of the present time are very able and incorruptible men; but they are much uglier than the judges i remember in my youth. several of them, in their peculiar attire, hardly looked like human beings. almost all wrore wigs a great deal too large for them; i mean much too thick and massive. the queen's counsel, for the most part, seemed much younger than they used to be; but i was aware that this phenomenon arose from the fact that i myself was older. and various barristers, who fifteen years since were handsome, smooth-faced young men, had now a complexion rough as a nutmeg-grater, and red with that unhealthy colour which is produced by long hours in a poisonous atmosphere. the courts at westminster, for cramped space and utter absence of ventilation, are nothing short of a disgrace to a civilized nation. but the most painful reflection which they suggest to a man with a little knowledge of the practical working of law, is, how vainly human law strives to do justice. there, on the benches of the various courts, you have a number of the most able and honest men in britain: skilled by long practice to distinguish between right and wrong, between truth and falsehood; and yet, in five cases out of six that come before them, they signally fail of redressing the wrongs brought before them. unhappily, in the nature of things, much delay must occur in all legal procedure; and further, the machinery of the law cannot be set in motion unless at very considerable expense. now, every one knows that delay in gaining a legal decision of a debated question, very often amounts to a decision against both parties. what enjoyment of the summer days has the harassed suitor, waiting in nervous anxiety for the judgment or the verdict which may be his ruin? for very small things may be the ruin of many men. a few pounds to be paid may dip an honest man's head under water for years, or for life. but the great evil of the law, after all, is, that it costs so much. i am aware that this may be nobody's fault; it may be a vice inherent in the nature of things. still, where the matter in question is of no very great amount, it is a fact that makes the wise man willing rather to take injustice than to go to law. a man meets with an injury; he sustains some wrong. he brings his action; the jury give him ten or twenty pounds damages. the jury fancy that this sum will make him amends for what he has lost or suffered; they fancy that of course he will get this sum. what would the jury think if told that he will never get a penny of it? it will all go (and probably a good deal more) for extra costs; that is, the costs the winning party will have to pay his own attorney, besides the costs in the cause which the losing party has to pay. no one profits pecuniarily by that verdict or that trial, except the lawyers on either side. and does it not reduce the administration of justice to an absurdity, to think that in the majority of cases, the decision, no matter on which side, does no good to the man in whose favour it is given. another thing which makes the courts of law a sad sight is, that probably in no scene in human affairs are disappointment and success set in so sharp contrast--brought so close together. there, on the bench, dignified, keen, always kind and polite (for the days of bullying have gone by), sits the chief justice--a peer (if he pleases to be one)--a great, distinguished, successful man; his kindred all proud of him. and there, only a few yards off, sharp-featured, desponding, soured, sits poor mr. briefless, a disappointed man, living in lonely chambers in the temple: a hermit in the great wilderness of london; in short, a total failure in life. very likely he absurdly over-estimates his talents, and what he could have done if he had had the chance; but it is at least possible that he may have in him the genius of another follett, wasting sadly and uselessly away. now, of course, in all professions, and all walks of life, there are success and failure; but there is none, i think, in which poor failure must bear so keenly the trial of being daily and closely set in contrast with flushed success. mr. smith and mr. brown were rival suitors for the hand of miss jones; mr. smith succeeded, and mr. brown failed; but though mr. brown feels his mortification severely even as things are, it would be a great deal worse if he were compelled to follow at a hundred yards' distance mr. smith and miss jones in their moonlight walks, and contemplate their happiness; to be present when they are married, and daily to attend them throughout their marriage excursion. or some one else gets the bishopric you wished for; but you are not obliged daily to contemplate the cathedral and the palace which you had hoped to call your own. in most cases in this world failure may look away from the success which makes its eyes sore and its heart heavy. you try to have a kindly feeling towards the man who succeeded where you failed, and in time you have it; but just at first you would not have liked to have had ever before you the visible manifestation of his success and your failure. you must have a very sweet nature, and (let me say it) much help from a certain high quarter, if, without the least envy or jealousy, genially and unsoured, you can daily look upon the man who, without deserving to beat you, actually did beat you;--at least while the wound is fresh. and while talking of disappointment and success in courts of law. let me remark, that petty success sometimes produces, in vulgar natures, manifestations which are inexpressibly disgusting. did you ever remark the exultation of some low attorney when he had succeeded in snapping a verdict in some contemptible case which he had taken up and carried en upon speculation? i have witnessed such a thing, and cannot but say that it appeared to me one of the most revolting and disgusting phases which it is possible that human nature should assume. i think i see the dirty, oily-looking animal, at once servile and insolent, with trickery and rascality in every line of his countenance, rubbing his hands in the hour of his triumph, and bustling about to make immediate preparation for availing himself of it. and following him, also sneakily exulting, i see an object more dirty, more oily-looking, than the low attorney; it is the low attorney's clerk. and on such an occasion, glancing at the bench, when the judgment-seat was occupied by a judge who had not yet learned never to look as if he thought or felt anything in particular, i have discerned upon the judicial countenance an expression of disgust as deep as my own. pleasanter scenes come up this afternoon with the mention of summer days. i see depths of wood, where all the light is coolly green, and the rippling brook is crystal clear. i see vistas through pines, like cathedral vaults; the space enclosed looks on a sunshiny day almost black, and a bit of bright blue sky at the end of each is framed by the trees into the likeness of a gothic window. i see walls of gray rock on either side of a river, noisy and brawling in winter time, but now quiet and low. for two or three miles the walls of rock stretch onward; there are thick woods above them, and here and there a sunny field: masses of ivy clothe the rock in places; long sprays of ivy hang over. i walk on in thought till i reach the opening of the glen; here a green bank slopes upward from a dark pool below, and there is a fair stretch of champaign country beyond the river; on the summit of the green bank, on this side, mouldering, grey, ivied, lonely, stand the ruins of the monastery, which has kept its place here for seven hundred years. i see the sky-framing eastern window, its tracery gone. there are masses of large daisies varying the sward, and the sweet fragrance of young clover is diffused through all the air. i turn aside, and walk through lines of rose-trees in their summer perfection. i hear the drowsy hum of the laden bees. suddenly it is the twilight, the long twilight of scotland, which would sometimes serve you to read by at eleven o'clock at night. the crimson flush has faded from the bosom of the river; if you are alone, its murmur begins to turn to a moan; the white stones of the churchyard look spectral through the trees. i think of poor doctor adam, the great scotch schoolmaster of the last century, the teacher of sir walter scott, and his last words, when the shadow of death was falling deeper--'it grows dark, hoys; you may go.' then, with the professional bias, i go to a certain beautiful promise which the deepening twilight seldom fails to suggest to me; a promise which tells us how the christian's day shall end, how the day of life might be somewhat overcast and dreary, but light should come on the darkened way at last. 'it shall come to pass in that day, that the light shall not be clear nor dark. but it shall be one day which shall be known to the lord, not day, nor night; but it shall come to pass that at evening time it shall be light.' i think of various senses in which it might be shown that these words speak truly; in which its great principle holds good, that signal blessing shall come when it is needed most and expected least; but i think mainly how, sometimes, at the close of the chequered and sober day, the better sun has broken through the clouds, and made the naming west all purple and gold. i think how always the purer light comes, if not in this world, then in a better. bowing his head to pass under the dark portal, the christian lifts it on the other side, in the presence and the light of god. j think how you and i, my reader, may perhaps have stood in the chamber of death, and seen in the horizon the summer sun in glory going down. but it is only to us who remain that the evening darkness is growing--only for us that the sun is going down. look on the sleeping features, and think, 'thy sun shall no more go down, neither shall thy moon withdraw herself; for the lord shall be thine everlasting light, and the days of thy mourning shall be ended.' and then, my reader, tell me--as the evening falls on you, but not on him; as the shadows deepen on you, but not on him; as the darkness gathers on you, but not on him--if, in sober reality, the glorious promise has not found its perfect fulfilment, that 'at the evening time there shall be light!' every one knows that summer days dispose one to a certain listlessly meditative mood. in cold weather, out of doors at least, you must move about actively; it is only by the evening fireside, watching the dancing shadows, that you have glimpses of this not wholly unprofitable condition of mind. in summer-time you sometimes feel disposed to stand and look for a good while at the top of a large tree, gently waving about in the blue sky. you begin by thinking it would be curious to be up there: but there is no thought or speculation, moral, political, or religious, which may not come at the end of the train started by the loftiest branches of the great beech. you are able to sit for a considerable space in front of an ivied wall, and think out your sermon for sunday as you look at the dark leaves in the sun. above all, it is soothing and suggestive to look from a height at the soft outline of distant hills of modest elevation; and to see, between yourself and them, many farm-houses and many little cottages dotted here and there. there, under your eye, how much of life, and of the interests of life, is going on! looking at such things, you muse, in a vague, desultory way. i wonder whether when ordinary folk profess to be thinking, musing, or meditating, they are really thinking connectedly or to any purpose. i daresay the truth is they have (so to speak) given the mind its head; laid the reins of the will on the mind's neck; and are letting it go on and about in a wayward, interrupted, odd, semi-conscious way. they are not holding onward on any track of thought. i believe that common-place human beings can only get their ideas upon any subject into shape and order by writing them down, or (at least) expressing them in words to some one besides themselves. you have a walk of an hour, before you: you resolve that you will see your way through some perplexed matter as you walk along; your mind is really running upon it all the way: but when you have got within a hundred yards of your journey's end, you find with a start that you have made no progress at all: you are as far as ever from seeing what to think or do. with most people, to meditate means to approach to doing nothing at all as closely as in the nature of humanity it is possible to do so. and in this sense of it, summer days, after your work is over, are the time for meditation. so, indeed, are quiet days of autumn: so the evening generally, when it is not cold. 'isaac went out to meditate in the field, at the eventide.' perhaps he thought of the progress of his crops, his flocks, his affairs: perhaps he thought of his expected wife: most, probably he thought of nothing in particular; for four thousand years have left human nature in its essence the selfsame thing. it would be miserable work to moon through life, never thinking except in this listless, purposeless way: but after hard work, when you feel the rest has been fairly earned, it is very delightful on such a day and in such a scene as this, to sit down and muse. the analogy which suggests itself to me is that of a carriage-horse, long constrained to keep to the even track along hard dusty roads, drawing a heavy burden; now turned free into a cool green field to wander, and feed, and roll about untrammelled. even so does the mind, weary of consecutive thinking--of thinking in the track and thinking with a purpose--expatiate in the license of aimless meditation. there are various questions which may fitly be thought of in the listlessness of this summer day. they are questions the consideration of which does not much excite; questions to which you do not very much mind whether you get an answer or no. i have been thinking for a little while, since i finished the last paragraph, of this point: whether that clergyman, undertaking the charge of some important church, is best equipped for his duty, who has a great many sermons carefully written and laid up in a box, ready to come out when needed: or that other clergyman, who has very few sermons fully written out, but who has spent great pains in disciplining his mind into that state in which it shall always be able to produce good material. which of these has made best progress towards the end of being a good and efficient preacher? give me, i should say, on the whole, the solid material stock, rather than the trained inind. i look with a curious feeling upon certain very popular preachers, who preach entirely extempore: who make a few notes of their skeleton of thought; but trust for the words and even for the illustrations to the inspiration of the moment. they go on boldly: but their path crumbles away behind them as they advance. their minds are in splendid working order: they turn off admirable work sunday by sunday: and while mind and nervous system keep their spring, that admirable work may be counted on almost with certainty. they have fortunio's purse: they can always put their hand upon the sovereigns they need: but they have no hoard accumulated which they might draw from, should the purse some day fail. and remembering how much the success of the extempore speaker depends upon the mood of the moment: remembering what little things, menial and physical, may mar and warp the intellectual machine for the moment: remembering how entirely successful extempore speaking founds on perfect confidence and presence of mind: remembering how as one grows older the nervous system may get shaken and even broken down: remembering how the train of thought which your mind has produced melts away from you unless you preserve a record of it (for i am persuaded that to many men that which they themselves have written looks before very long as strange and new as that produced by another mind): remembering these things, i say to myself, and to you if you choose to listen: write sermons diligently: write them week by week, and always do your very best: never make up your mind that this one shall be a third-rate affair, just to get the sunday over; and thus accumulate material for use in days when thoughts will not come so readily, and when the hand must write tremblingly and slow. don't be misled by any clap-trap about the finer thing being to have the mental machine always equal to its task. you cannot have that. the mind is a wayward, capricious thing. the engine which did its sixty miles an hour to-day, may be depended on (barring accident) to do as much to-morrow. but it is by no means certain that because you wrote your ten or twenty pages to-day, you will be able to do the like on another day. what educated man does not know, that when he sits down to his desk after breakfast, it is quite uncertain whether he will accomplish an ordinary task, or a double task, or a quadruple one? dogged determination may make sure, on almost every day, of a decent amount of produced material: but the quality varies vastly, and the quantity which the same degree and continuance of strain will produce is not a priori to be calculated. and a spinning-jenny will day by day produce thread of uniform quality: but a very clever man, by very great labour, will on some days write miserable rubbish. and no one will feel that more bitterly than himself. i pass from thinking of these things to a matter somewhat connected with them. is it because preachers now-a-days shrink from the labour of writing sermons for themselves, or is it because they distrust the quality of what they can themselves produce, that shameless plagiarism is becoming so common? one cannot but reflect, thus lazily inclined upon a summer day, what an amount of painful labour would be saved one if, instead of toiling to see the way through a subject, and then to set out one's views in an interesting and (if possible) an impressive manner, one had simply to go to the volumes of mr. melvill or bishop wilberforce or dean trench; or, if your taste be of a different order, to those of mr. spurgeon, mr. punshon, or mr. stowell brown--and copy out what you want. the manual labour might be considerable--for one blessing of original composition is, that it makes you insensible to the mere mechanical labour of writing,--but the intellectual saving would be tremendous. i say nothing of the moral deterioration. i say nothing as to what a mean, contemptible pickpocket, what a jackdaw in peacock's feathers, you will feel yourself. there is no kind of dishonesty which ought to be exposed more unsparingly. whenever i hear a sermon preached which has been stolen, i shall make a point of informing every one who knows the delinquent. let him get the credit which is his due. i have not read many published sermons, and i seldom hear any one preach except myself; so that i do not speak from personal knowledge of the fact alleged by many, that there never was a period when this paltry lying and cheating was so prevalent. but five or six times within the last nine years i have listened to sermons in which there was not merely a manifest appropriation of thoughts which the preacher had never digested or made his own, but which were stolen word for word; and i have been told by friends in whom i have implicit confidence of instances twice five or six. generally, this dishonesty is practised by frightful block-heads, whose sole object perhaps is to get decently through a task for which they feel themselves unfit; but it is much more irritating to find men of considerable talent, and of more than considerable popularity, practising it in a very gross degree. and it is curious how such dishonest persons gain in hardihood as they go on. either because they really escape detection, or because no one tells them that they have been detected, they come at length to parade themselves in their swindled finery upon the most public occasions. i do believe that, like the liar who has told his story so long that he has come to believe it at last, there are persons who have stolen the thoughts of others so often and so long, that they hardly remember that they are thieves. and in two or three cases in which i put the matter to the proof, by speaking to the thief of the characteristics of the stolen composition, i found him quite prepared to carry out his roguery to the utmost, by talking of the trouble it had cost him to write dr. newman's or mr. logan's discourse. 'quite a simple matter--no trouble; scribbled off on saturday afternoon,' said, in my hearing, a man who had preached an elaborate sermon by an eminent anglican divine. the reply was irresistible: 'well, if it cost you little trouble, i am sure it cost mr. melvill a great deal.' i am speaking, you remark, of those despicable individuals who falsely pass off as their own composition what they have stolen from some one else. i do not allude to such as follow the advice of southey, and preach sermons which they honestly declare are not their own. i can see something that might be said in favour of the young inexperienced divine availing himself of the experience of others. of course, you may take the ground that it is better to give a good sermon by another man than a bad one of your own. well, then, say that it is not your own. every one knows that when a clergyman goes to the pulpit and gives out his text, and then proceeds with his sermon, the understanding is that he wrote that sermon for himself. if he did not write it, he is bound in common honesty to say so. but besides this, i deny the principle on which some justify the preaching of another man's sermon. i deny that it is better to give the good sermon of another than the middling one by yourself. depend upon it, if you have those qualifications of head and heart that fit you for being in the church at all, your own sermon, however inferior in literary merit, is the better sermon for you to give and for your congregation to hear; it is the better fitted to accomplish the end of all worthy preaching, which, as you know, is not at all to get your hearers to think how clever a man you are. the simple, unambitious instruction into which you have thrown the teachings of your own little experience, and which you give forth from your own heart, will do a hundred times more good than any amount of ingenuity, brilliancy, or even piety, which you may preach at second-hand, with the feeling that somehow you stand to all this as an outsider. if you wish honestly to do good, preach what you have felt, and neither less nor more. but in no way of regarding the case can any excuse be found for persons who steal and stick into their discourses tawdry little bits of bombast, purple patches of thought or sentiment, which cannot be supposed to do any good to anybody, which stand merely instead of a little stolen gilding for the gingerbread which is probably stolen too. i happened the other day to turn over a volume of discourses (not, i am thankful to say, by a clergyman of either of the national churches), and i came upon a sermon or lecture on woman. you can imagine the kind of thing it was. it was by no means devoid of talent. the writer is plainly a clever, flippant person, with little sense, and no taste at all. the discourse sets out with a request that the audience 'would kindly try to keep awake by pinching one another in the leg, or giving some nodding neighbour a friendly pull of the hair;' and then there is a good deal about woman, in the style of a yankee after-dinner speech in proposing such a toast. after a little we have a highly romantic description of a battle-field after the battle, in which gasping steeds, midnight ravens, spectral bats, moping owls, screeching vultures, howling night wolves appear. these animals are suddenly startled by a figure going about with a lantern 'to find the one she loves.' of course the figure is a woman; and the paragraph winds up with the following passage:-- shall we go to her? no! let her weep on. leave her, &c. oh, woman! god beloved in old jerusalem! we need deal lightly with thy faults, if only for the agony thy nature will endure, in bearing heavy evidence against us on the day of judgment! now, my friend, have you read mr. dickens' story of martin chuzzlewit? turn up the twenty-eighth chapter of that work, and in the closing sentence you may read as follows:-- oh woman, god-beloved in old jerusalem! the best among us need deal lightly with thy faults, if only for the punishment thy nature will endure, in bearing heavy evidence against us on the day of judgment! i wonder whether the writer of the discourse imagined that by varying one or two words, and adopting small letters instead of capitals in alluding to the last day, he made this sentence so entirely his own as to justify him in bagging it without one hint that it was a quotation. as for the value of the property bagged, that is another question. after thinking for a few minutes of the curious constitution of mind which enables a man to feel his vanity flattered when he gets credit to which he knows he is not entitled, as the plagiarist does, i pass away into the. vast field of thought which is afforded by the contemplation of human vanity in general. the ettrick shepherd was wont to say that when he tried a new pen, instead of writing his name, as most people do, he always wrote solomon's famous sentence, all is vanity. but he did not understand the words in solomon's sense: what he thought of was the limitless amount of self-conceit which exists in human beings, and which hardly any degree of mortification can (in many cases) cut down to a reasonable quantity. i find it difficult to arrive at any fixed law in regard to human self-conceit. it would be very pleasant if one could conclude that monstrous vanity is confined to tremendous fools; but although the greatest intellectual self-conceit i have ever seen has been in blockheads of the greatest density and ignorance; and although the greatest self-conceit of personal attractions has been in men and women of unutterable silliness; still, it must be admitted that very great and illustrious members of the human race have been remarkable for their vanity. i have met very clever men, as well as very great fools, who would willingly talk of no other matters than themselves, and their own wonderful doings and attainments. i have known men of real ability, who were always anxious to impress you with the fact that they were the best riders, the best shots, the best jumpers, in the world; who were always telling stories of the sharp things they said on trying occasions, and the extraordinary events which were constantly befalling them. when a clever man evinces this weakness, we must remember that human nature is a weak and imperfect thing, and try to excuse the silliness for the sake of the real merit. but there are few things more irritating to witness than a stupid, ignorant dunce, wrapped up in impenetrable conceit of his own abilities and acquirements. it requires all the beauty, and all the listlessness too, of this sweet summer day, to think, without the pulse quickening to an indignant speed, of the half-dozen such persons whom each of us has known. it would soothe and comfort us if we could be assured that the blockhead knew that he was a blockhead: if we could be assured that now and then there penetrated into the dense skull and reached the stolid brain, even the suspicion of what his intellectual calibre really is. i greatly fear that such a suspicion never is known. if you witness the perfect confidence with which the man is ready to express his opinion upon any subject, you will be quite sure that the man has not the faintest notion of what his opinion is worth. i remember a blockhead saying that certain lines of poetry were nonsense. he said that they were unintelligible: that they were rubbish. i suggested that it did not follow that they were unintelligible because he could not understand them. i told him that various competent judges thought them very noble lines indeed. the blockhead stuck to his opinion with the utmost firmness. what was the use of talking to him? if a blind man tells you he does not see the sun, and does not believe there is any sun, you ought to be sorry for him rather than angry with him. and when the blockhead declared that he saw only rubbish in verses which i trust every reader knows, and which begin with the line-- tears, idle tears, i know not what they mean, his declaration merely showed that he lacked the power to appreciate mr. tennyson. but i think, my thoughtful friend, you would have found it hard to pity him when you saw plainly that the poor blockhead despised and pitied you. the conceit of the stolid dunce is bad, but the conceit of the brisk and lively dunce is worse. the stolid dunce is comparatively quiet; his crass mind works slowly; his vacant face wears an aspect of repose; his talk is merely dull and twaddling. but the talk of the brisk dunce is ambitiously absurd: he lays down broad principles: he announces important discoveries which lie has made: he has heard able and thoughtful men talk, and he tries to do that kind of thing. there is an indescribable jauntiness about him apparent in every word and gesture. as for the stolid dunce, you would be content if the usages of society permitted your telling him that he is a dunce. as for the brisk dunce, you would like to take him by the ears and shake him. it is wonderful how ordinary, sensjble persons, with nothing brilliant about them, may live daily in a comfortable feeling that they are great geniuses: if they live constantly amid a little circle of even the most incompetent judges, who are always telling them that they are great geniuses. for it is natural to conclude that the opinion of the people whom you commonly see is a fair reflex of the opinion of all the world; and it is wonderful how highly even a very able man will estimate the value of the opinion of even a very stupid man, provided the stupid man entertains and frequently expresses an immensely high opinion of the very able man. i have known a man, holding a somewhat important position for which he was grossly unfit, and for which every one knew he was grossly unfit; yet perfectly self-satisfied and comfortable under circumstances which would have crushed many men, because he was kept up by two or three individuals who frequently assured him that he was a very eminent and useful person. these two or three individuals acted as a buffer between him and the estimate of mankind at large. he received their opinion as a fair sample of the general opinion. he was indeed a man of very moderate ability; but i have known another of very great talent, who by the laudations of one or two old women was led to suppose that he possessed abilities of a totally different nature from those which he actually possessed. i do not mean higher abilities, but abilities extending into a field into which his peculiar talents did not reach. yet no one would have been sharper at discerning the worthlessness of the judgment of the old women had it been other than very flattering to himself. who is there that does not know that sometimes clever young men are bolstered up into a self-conceit which does them much harm with the outer world, by the violent admiration and flattery of their mothers, sisters, and aunts at home? but not merely does the favourable estimate of the. little circle in which he lives serve to keep a man on good terms with himself; it goes some way towards influencing the estimation in which he is held by mankind at large--so far, that is, as mankind at large know anything about him. i have known such a thing as a family whose several members were always informing everybody they met what noble fellows the other members of the family were. and i am persuaded that all this really had some result. they were fine fellows, no doubt; but this tended to make sure that they should not be hid under a bushel. i am persuaded that if half-a-dozen clever young men were to form themselves into a little association, each member of which should be pledged to lose no opportunity of crying up the other five members in conversation, through the press, and in--every other possible way, this would materially further their success in life and the estimation in which they would be held wherever known. the world would take them at the value so constantly dinned into its ear. when you read on a silver coin the legend one shilling, you readily take it for a shilling; and if a man walks about with great genius painted upon him in large red letters, many people will aecept the truth of the inscription. every one has seen how a knot of able young men hanging together at college and in after life can help one another even in a material sense, and not less valuably by keeping up one another's heart. all this is quite fair, and so is even the mutual praise when it is hearty and sincere. for several months past i have been possessed of an idea which has been gradually growing into shape. i have thought of getting up an association, whose members should always hold by one another, be true to one another, and cry one another up. a friend to whom i mentioned my plan highly approved it, and suggested the happy name of the mutual exaltation society. the association would be limited in number: not more than fifty members could be admitted. it would include educated men in all walks of life; more particularly men whose success in life depends in any measure upon the estimation in which they are commonly held, as barristers, preachers, authors, and the like. its purposes and operations have already been indicated with as much fulness as would be judicious at the present juncture. mr. barnum and messrs. moses and son would be consulted on the details. sir john ellesmere, ex-solicitor-general and author of the essay on the arts of self-advancement, would be the first president, and the general guide, philosopher, and friend of the mutual exaltation society. the present writer will be secretary. the only remuneration he would expect would be that all the members should undertake, at least six times every day, to make favourable mention of a recently published work. six times a day would they be expected to say promiscuously to any intelligent friend or stranger, 'have you read the recreations of a country parson? most wonderful book! not read it? go to mudie's and get it directly '--and the like. for obvious reasons it would not do to make public the names of the members of the association; the moral weight of their mutual laudation would be much diminished. but clever young men in various parts of the country who may desire to join the society, may make application to the editor of eraser's magazine, enclosing testimonials of moral and intellectual character. applications will be received until the first of april, . i wonder whether any real impression is produced by those puffing paragraphs which appear in country newspapers about some men, and which are written either by the men themselves or by their near relatives and friends. i think no impression is ever produced upon intelligent people, and no permanent impression upon any one. still, among a rural population, there may be found those who believe all that is printed in a newspaper; and who think that the man who is mentioned in a newspaper is a very great man. and if you live among such, it is pleasant to be regarded by them as a hero. the reverend mr. smith receives from his parishioners the gift of a silver salver: the county paper of the following friday contains a lengthy paragraph recording the fact, and giving the reverend gentleman's feeling and appropriate reply. the same worthy clergy-man preaches a charity sermon: and the circumstance is recorded very fully, the eloquent peroration being given with an accuracy which says much for the perfection of provincial reporting--given, indeed, word for word. now it is natural to think that mr. smith is a much more eminent man than those other men whose salvers and charity sermons find no place in the newspaper: and mr. smith's agricultural parishioners no doubt think so. a different opinion is entertained by such as know that mr. smith's uncle is a large proprietor in the puffing newspaper; and that he wrote the articles in question in a much warmer strain than that in which they appeared, the editor having sadly curtailed and toned them down. in the long run, all this quackery does no good. and indeed long accounts in provincial journals of family matters, weddings and the like, serve only to make the family in question laughed at. still, they do harm to nobody. they are very innocent. they please the family whose proceedings are chronicled; and if the family are laughed at, why, they don't know it. and, happily, that which we do not know does us no harm: at least, gives us no pain. and it is a law, a kindly and a reasonable law, of civilized life, that when it is not absolutely necessary that a man should know that which would give him pain, he shall not be told of it. only the most malicious violate this law. even they cannot do it long: for they come to be excluded from society as its common enemies. one great characteristic of educated society is this: it is always under a certain degree of restraint. nohody, in public, speaks out all his mind. nobody tells the whole truth, at least, in public speeches and writings. it is a terrible thing when an inexperienced man in parliament (for instance) blurts out the awkward fact which everybody knows, but of which nobody is to speak except in the confidence of friendship or private society. how such a man is hounded down! he is every one's enemy. every one is afraid of him. no one knows what he may say next. and it is quite fit that he should be stopped. civilized life could not otherwise go on. it is quite right (when you calmly reflect upon it) that the county paper, speaking of the member of parliament, should tell us how this much-respected gentleman has been visiting his constituents, but should suppress a good deal of the speech he made, which the editor (though of the same politics) tells you frankly was worthy only of an escaped lunatic. above all, it is fit and decent that the very odd private life and character of the legislator should be by tacit consent ignored even by the journals most opposed to him. it is right that kings and nobles should be, for the most part, spoken of in public as if they actually were what they ought to be. it is something of a reminder and a rebuke to them: and it is just as well that mankind at large should not know too much of the actual fact as to those above them. i should never object to calling a graceless duke tour grace: nor to praying for a villariously bad monarch as our most religious and gracious king (i know quite well, small critic, that religious is an absurd mistranslation: but let us take the liturgy in the sense in which ninety-nine out of every hundred who hear it understand it): for it seems to me that the daily recurring phrases are something ever suggesting what mankind have a right to expect from those in eminent station; and a kindly determination to believe that such are at least endeavoring to be what they ought. no doubt there is often most bitter rehuke in the names! this law of restraint extends to all the doings of civilized men. no one does anything to the very utmost of his ability. no one speaks the entire truth, unless in confidence. no one exerts his whole bodily strength. no one ever spoke at the very top of his voice, unless in mortal extremity. unquestionably, the feeling that you must work within limits curtails the result accomplished. you may see this in cases in which the restraint of the civilized man binds him no longer. a man delirious or mad needs four men to hold him: there is no restraint keeping in his exertions; and you see what physical energy can do when utterly unlimited. and a man who always spoke out in public the entire truth about all men and all things, would inspire i know not what of terror. he would be like a mad malay running a muck, dagger in hand. if the person who in a deliberative assembly speaks of another person as his venerable friend, were to speak of him there as he did half an hour before in private, as an obstructive old idiot, how people would start! it would be like the bare bones of the skeleton showing through the fair covering of flesh and blood. the shadows are lengthening eastward now; the summer day will soon be gone. and looking about on this beautiful world, i think of a poem by bryant, in which he tells us how, gazing on the sky and the mountains in june, he wished that when his time should come, the green turf of summer might be broken to make his grave. he could not bear, he tells us, the idea of being borne to his resting-place through sleety winds, and covered with icy clods. of course, poets give us fanciful views, gained by looking at one side of a picture: arid de quincey somewhere states the opposite opinion, that death seems sadder in summer, because there is a feeling that in quitting this world our friend is losing more. it will not matter much, friendly reader, to you and me, what kind of weather there may be on the day of our respective funerals; though one would wish for a pleasant, sunshiny time. and let us humbly trust that when we go, we may find admission to a place so beautiful, that we shall not miss the green fields and trees, the roses and honeysuckle of june. you may think, perhaps, of another reason besides bryant's, for preferring to die in the summer time; you remember the quaint old scotch lady, dying on a night of rain and hurricane, who said (in entire simplicity and with nothing of irreverence) to the circle of relations round her bed, 'eh, what a fearfu' nicht for me to be fleein' through the air!' and perhaps it is natural to think it would be pleasant for the parted spirit, passing away from human ken and comfort, to mount upwards, angel-guided, through the soft sunset air of june, towards the country where suns never set, and where all the days are summer days. but all this is no better than a wayward fancy; it founds on forgetfulness of the nature of the immaterial soul, to think that there need be any lengthened journey, or any flight through skies either stormy or calm. you have not had the advantage, i dare say, of being taught in your childhood the catechism which is drilled into all children in scotland; and which sketches out with admirable clearness and precision the elements of christian belief. if you had, you would have been taught to repeat words which put away all uncertainty as to the intermediate state of departed spirits. 'the souls of believers are at their death made perfect in holiness, and do immediately pass into glory.' yes; immediately; there is to the departed spirit no middle space at all between earth and heaven. the old lady need not have looked with any apprehension to going out from the warm chamber into the stormy winter night, and flying far away. not but that millions of miles may intervene; not but that the two worlds may be parted by a still, breathless ocean, a fathomless abyss of cold dead space; yet, swift as never light went, swift as never thought went, flies the just man's spirit across the profound. one moment the sick-room, the scaffold, the stake; the next, the paradisal glory. one moment the sob of parting anguish; the next the great deep swell of the angel's song. never think, reader, that the dear ones you have seen die, had far to go to meet god after they parted from you. never think, parents who have seen your children die, that after they left you, they had to traverse a dark solitary way, along which you would have liked (if it had been possible) to lead them by the hand, and bear them company till they came into the presence of god. you did so, if you stood by them till the last breath was drawn. you did bear them company into god's very presence, if you only stayed beside them till they died. the moment they left you, they were with him. the slight pressure of the cold fingers lingered with you yet; but the little child was with his saviour. chapter vi. concerning screws: being thoughts on the practical service of imperfect means. a consolatory essay. almost every man is what, if he were a horse, would be called a screw. almost every man is unsound. indeed, my reader, i might well say even more than this. it would be no more than truth, to say that there does not breathe any human being who could satisfactorily pass a thorough examination of his physical and moral nature by a competent inspector. i do not here enter on the etymological question, why an unsound horse is called a screw. let that be discussed by abler hands. possibly the phrase set out at length originally ran, that an unsound horse was an animal in whose constitution there was a screw loose. and the jarring effect produced upon any machine by looseness on the part of a screw which ought to be tight, is well known to thoughtful and experienced minds. by a process of gradual abbreviation, the phrase indicated passed into the simpler statement, that the unsound steed was himself a screw. by a bold transition, by a subtle intellectual process, the thing supposed to be wrong in the animal's physical system was taken to mean the animal in whose physical system the thing was wrong. or, it is conceivable that the use of the word screw implied that the animal, possibly in early youth, had got some unlucky twist or wrench, which permanently damaged its bodily nature, or warped its moral development. a tendon perhaps received a tug which it never quite got over. a joint was suddenly turned in a direction in which nature had not contemplated its ever turning: and the joint never played quite smoothly and sweetly again. in this sense, we should discern in the use of the word screw, something analogous to the expressive scotticism, which says of a perverse and impracticable man, that he is a thrown person; that is, a person who has got a thraw or twist; or rather, a person the machinery of whose mind works as machinery might be conceived to work which had got a thraw or twist. the reflective reader will easily discern that a complex piece of machinery, by receiving an unlucky twist, even a slight twist, would be put into a state in which it would not go sweetly, or would not go at all. after this excursus, which i regard as not unworthy the attention of the eminent dean of westminster, who has for long been, through his admirable works, my guide and philosopher in all matters relating to the study of words, i recur to the grand principle laid down at the beginning of the present dissertation, and say deliberately, that almost every man that lives, is what, if he were a horse, would be called a screw. almost every man is unsound. every man (to use the language of a veterinary surgeon) has in him the seeds of unsoundness. you could not honestly give a warranty with almost any mortal. alas! my brother; in the highest and most solemn of all respects, if soundness ascribed to a creature implies that it is what it ought to be, who shall venture to warrant any man sound! i do not mean to make my readers uncomfortable, by suggesting that every man is physically unsound: i speak of intellectual and moral unsoundness. you know, the most important thing about a horse is. his body; and accordingly when we speak of a horse's soundness or unsoundness, we speak physically; we speak of his body. but the most important thing about a man is his mind; and so, when we say a man is sound or unsound, we are thinking of mental soundness or unsoundness. in short, the man is mainly a soul; the horse is mainly and essentially a body. and though the moral qualities even of a horse are of great importance,--such qualities as vice (which in a horse means malignity of temper), obstinacy, nervous shyness (which carried out into its practical result becomes shying); still the name of screw is chiefly suggestive of physical defects. its main reference is to wind and limb. the soundness of a horse is to the philosophic and stable mind suggestive of good legs, shoulders, and hoofs; of uncongested lungs and free air-passages; of efficient eyes and entire freedom from staggers. it is the existence of something wrong in these matters which constitutes the unsound horse, or screw. but though the great thing about rational and immortal man is the soul: and though accordingly the most important soundness or unsoundness about him is that which has its seat there; still, let it be said that even as regards physical soundness there are few men whom a veterinary surgeon would pass, if they were horses. most educated men are physically in very poor condition. and particularly the cleverest of our race, in whom intellect is most developed and cultivated, are for the most part in a very unsatisfactory state as regards bodily soundness. they rub on: they manage somehow to get through their work in life; but they never feel brisk or buoyant. they never know high health, with its attendant cheerfulness. it is a rare case to find such a combination of muscle and intellect as existed in christopher north: the commoner type is the shambling wordsworth, whom even his partial sister thought so mean-looking when she saw him walking with a handsome man. let it be repeated, most civilized men are physically unsound. for one thing, most educated men are broken-winded. they could not trot a quarter of a mile without great distress. i have been amused, when in church i have heard a man beyond middle age singing very loud, and plainly proud of his volume of voice, to see how the last note of the line was cut short for want of wind. i say nothing of such grave signs of physical unsoundness as little pangs shooting about the heart, and little dizzinesses of the brain; these matters are too serious for this page. but it is certain that educated men, for the most part, have great portions of their muscular system hardly at all developed, through want of exercise. the legs of even hard brain-workers are generally exercised a good deal; for the constitutional exercise of such is usually walking. but in large town such men give fair play to no other thews and sinews. more especially the arms of such men are very flabby. the muscle is soft, and slender. if the fore legs of a horse were like that, you could not ride him but at the risk of your neck. still, the great thing about man is the mind; and when i set out by declaring that almost every man is unsound, i was thinking of mental unsoundness. most minds are unsound. no horse is accepted as sound in which the practised eye of the veterinarian can find some physical defect, something, away from normal development and action. and if the same rule be applied to us, my readers; if every man is mentally a screw, in whose intellectual and moral development a sharp eye can detect something not right in the play of the machinery or the formation of it; then i fancy that we may safely lay it down as an axiom, that there is not upon the face of the earth a perfectly sane man. a sane mind means a healthy mind; that is, a mind that is exactly what it ought to be. where shall we discover such a one? my reader, you have not got it. i have not got it. nobody has got it. no doubt, at the first glance, this seems startling; but i intend this essay to be a consolatory one, and i wish to show you that in this world it is well if means will fairly and decently suffice for their ends, even though they be very far from being all that we could wish. god intends not that this world should go on upon a system of optimism. it is enough, if things are so, that they will do. they might do far better. and let us remember, that though a veterinary surgeon would tell you that there is hardly such a thing as a perfectly sound horse in britain, still in britain there is very much work done, and well done, by horses. even so, much work, fair work, passable work, noble work, magnificent work, may be turned off, and day by day is turned off, by minds which, in strict severity, are no better than good, workable, or showy screws. many minds, otherwise good and even noble, are unsound upon the point of vanity. nor is the unsoundness one that requires any very sharp observer to detect. it is very often extremely conspicuous; and the merest block-head can discern, and can laugh at, the unfortunate defect in one who is perhaps a great and excellent man. many minds are off the balance in the respect of suspiciousness; many in that of absurd prejudice. many are unsound in the matters of silliness, pettiness, pettedness, perversity, or general unpleasantness and thrawn-ness. multitudes of men are what in scotland is called cat-witted. i do not know whether the word is intelligible in england. it implies a combination of littleness of nature, small self-conceit, readiness to take offence, determination in little things to have one's own way, and general impracticability. there are men to whom even the members of their own families do not like to talk about their plans and views: who will suddenly go off on a long journey without telling anyone in the house till the minute before they go; and concerning whom their nearest relatives think it right to give you a hint that they are rather peculiar in temper, and you must mind how you talk to them. there are human beings whom to manage into doing the simplest and most obvious duty, needs, on your part, the tact of a diplomatist combined with the skill of a driver of refractory pigs. in short, there are in human beings all kinds of mental twists and deformities. there are mental lameness and broken-windedness. mental and moral shying is extremely common. as for biting, who does not know it? we have all seen human biters; not merely backbiters, but creatures who like to leave the marks of their teeth upon people present too. there are many kickers; men who in running with others do (so to speak) kick over the traces, and viciously lash out at their companions with little or no provocation. there are men who are always getting into quarrels, though in the main warm-hearted and well-meaning. there are human jibbers: creatures that lie down in the shafts instead of manfully (or horsefully) putting their neck to the collar, and going stoutly at the work of life. there are multitudes of people who are constantly suffering from depression of spirits, a malady which appears in countless forms. there is not a human being in whose mental constitution there is not something wrong; some weakness, some perversion, some positive vice. and if you want further proof of the truth of what i am saying, given by one whose testimony is worth much more than mine, go and read that eloquent and kindly and painfully fascinating book lately published by dr. forbes winslow, on obscure diseases of the brain and mind; and you will leave off with the firmest conviction that every breathing mortal is mentally a screw. and yet, my reader, if you have some knowledge of horse-flesh, and if you have been accustomed in your progress through life (in the words of dr. johnson) to practise observation, and to look about you with extensive view, your survey must have convinced you that great part of the coaching and other horse work of this country is done, and fairly done, by screws. these poor creatures are out in all kinds of weather, and it seems to do them little harm. any one who knows how snug, dry, and warm a gentleman's horses are kept, and how often with all that they are unfit for their duty, will wonder to see poor cab horses shivering on the stand hour after hour on a winter day, and will feel something of respect mingle with his pity for the thin, patient, serviceable screws. horses that are lame, broken-winded, and vicious, pull the great bulk of all the weight that horses pull. and they get through their work somehow. not long since, sitling on the box of a highland coach of most extraordinary shape, i travelled through glenorchy and along loch awe side. the horses were wretched to look at, yet they took the coach at a good pace over that very up and down road, which was divided into very long stages. at last, amid a thick wood of dwarf oaks, the coach stopped to receive its final team. it was an extraordinary place for a coach to change horses. there was not a house near: the horses had walked three miles from their stable. they were by far the best team that had drawn the coach that day. four tall greys, nearly white with age; but they looked well and went well, checking the coach stoutly as they went down the precipitous descents, and ascending the opposite hills at a tearing gallop. no doubt you could see various things amiss. they were blowing a little; one or two were rather blind; and all four a little stiff at starting. they were all screws. the dearest of them had not cost the coach proprietor seven pounds; yet how well they went over the eleven-mile stage into inverary! now in like manner, a great part of the mental work that is done, is done by men who mentally are screws. the practical every-day work of life is done, and respectably done, by very silly, weak, prejudiced people. mr. carlyle has stated, that the population of britain consists of 'seventeen millions of people, mostly fools.' i shall endeavour by and bye to make some reservation upon the great author's sweeping statement; but here it is enough to remark that even mr. carlyle would admit that the very great majority of these seventeen millions get very decently and creditably through the task which god sets them in this world. let it be admitted that they are not so wise as they should be; yet surely it may be admitted too, that they possess that in heart and head which makes them good enough for the rough and homely wear of life. no doubt they blow and occasionally stumble, they sometimes even bite and kick a little; yet somehow they get the coach along. for it is to be remembered that the essential characteristic of a screw is, that though unsound, it can yet by management be got to go through a great deal of work. the screw is not dead lame, nor only fit for the knacker; it falls far short of the perfection of a horse, but still it is a horse, after all, and it can fulfil in some measure a horse's duty. you see, my friend, the moderation of my view. i do not say that men in general are mad, but only that men in general are screws. there is a little twist in their intellectual or moral nature; there is something wanting or something wrong; they are silly, conceited, egotistical, and the like; yet decently equal to the work of this world. by judicious management you may get a great deal of worthy work out of the unsound minds of other men; and out of your own unsound mind. but always remember that you have an imperfect and warped machine to get on with; do not expect too much of it; and be ready to humour it and yield to it a little. just as a horse which is lame and broken-winded can yet by care and skill be made to get creditably through a wonderful amount of labour; so may a man, low-spirited, foolish, prejudiced, ill-tempered, soured, and wretched, be enabled to turn off a great deal of work for which the world may be the better. a human being who is really very weak and silly, may write many pages which shall do good to his fellow men, or which shall at the least amuse them. but as you carefully drive an unsound horse, walking him at first starting, not trotting him down hill, making play at parts of the road which suit him; so you must manage many men, or they will break down or bolt out of the path. above all, so you must manage your own mind, whose weaknesses and wrong impulses you know best, if you would keep it cheerful, and keep it in working order. the showy, unsound horse can go well perhaps, but it must be shod with leather, otherwise it would be dead-lame in a mile. and just in that same fashion we human beings, all more or less of screws mentally and morally, need all kinds of management, on the part of our friends and on our own part, or we should go all wrong. there is something truly fearful when we find that clearest-headed and soberest-hearted of men, the great bishop butler, telling us that all his life long he was struggling with horrible morbid suggestions, devilish is what he calls them, which, but for being constantly held in check with the sternest effort of his nature, would have driven him mad. oh, let the uncertain, unsound, unfathomable human heart be wisely and tenderly driven! and as there are things which with the unsound horse you dare not venture on at all, so with the fallen mind. you who know your own horse, know that you dare not trot him hard down hill. and you who know your own mind and heart, know that there are some things of which you dare not think; thoughts on which your only safety is resolutely to turn your back. the management needful here is the management of utter avoidance. how often we find poor creatures who have passed through years of anxiety and misery, and experienced savage and deliberate cruelty which it is best to forget, lashing themselves up to wrath and bitterness by brooding over these things, on which wisdom would bid them try to close their eyes for ever! but not merely do screws daily draw cabs and stage-coaches: screws have won the derby and the st. leger. a noble-looking thorough-bred has galloped by the winning-post at epsom at the rate of forty miles an hour, with a white bandage tightly tied round one of its fore-legs: and thus publicly confessing its unsoundness, and testifying to its trainer's fears, it has beaten a score of steeds which were not screws, and borne off from them the blue ribbon of the turf. yes, my reader: not only will skilful management succeed in making unsound animals do decently the hum-drum and prosaic task-work of the equine world; it will succeed occasionally in making unsound animals do in magnificent style the grandest things that horses ever do at all. don't you see the analogy i mean to trace? even so, not merely do mr. carlyle's seventeen millions of fools get somehow through the petty wrork of our modern life, but minds which no man could warrant sound and free from vice, turn off some of the noblest work that ever was done by mortal. many of the grandest things ever done by human minds, have been done by minds that were incurable screws. think of the magnificent service done to humankind by james watt. it is positively impossible to calculate what we all owe to the man that gave us iho steam-engine. it is sober truth that the inscription in westminster abbey tells, when it speaks of him as among the 'best benefactors' of the race. yet what an unsound organization that great man had! mentally, what a screw! through most of his life, he suffered the deepest misery from desperate depression of spirits; he was always fancying that his mind was breaking down: he has himself recorded that he often thought of casting off, by suicide, the unendurable burden of life. and still, what work the rickety machine got through! with tearing headaches, with a sunken chest, with the least muscular of limbs, with the most melancholy of temperaments, worried and tormented by piracies of his great inventions, yet doing so much and doing it so nobly, was not james watt like the lame race-horse that won the derby? as for byron, he was unquestionably a very great man; and as a poet, he is in his own school without a rival. still, he was a screw. there was something morbid and unsound about his entire development. in many respects he was extremely silly. it was extremely silly to take pains to represent that he was morally much worse than he really was. the greatest blockheads i know are distinguished by the same characteristic. oh, empty-headed noodle! who have more than once dropped hints in my presence as to the awful badness of your life, and the unhappy insight which your life has given you into the moral rottenness of society, don't do it again. i always thought you a contemptible fool: but next time i mean to tell you so. wordsworth was a screw. though one of the greatest of poets, he was dreadfully twisted by inordinate egotism and vanity: the result partly of original constitution, and partly of living a great deal too much alone in that damp and misty lake country. lie was like a spavined horse. coleridge, again, was a jibber. he never would pull in the team of life. there is something unsound in the mind of the man who fancies that because he is a genius, he need not support his wife and children. even the sensible and exemplary southey was a little unsound in the matter of a crotchety temper, needlessly ready to take offence. he was always quarrelling with his associates in the quarterly review: with the editor and the publisher. perhaps you remember how on one occasion he wrought himself up into a fever of wrath with mr. murray, because that gentleman suggested a subject on which he wished southey to write for the quarterly, and begged him to put his whole strength to it, the subject being one which was just then of great interest and importance. 'flagrant insolence,' exclaimed southey. 'think of the fellow bidding me put my whole strength to an article in his six-shilling review!' now, reader, there you see the evil consequence of a man who is a little of a screw in point of temper, living in the country. most reasonable men would never have discerned any insult in mr. murray's request: but even if such a one had thought it a shade too authoritatively expressed, he would, if he had lived in town, gone out to the crowded street, gone down to his club, and in half an hour have entirely forgotten the little disagreeable impression. but a touchy man, dwelling in the country, gets the irritative letter by the morning's post, is worried by it all the forenoon, and goes out and broods on the offence through all his solitary afternoon walk,--a walk in which he does not see a face, perhaps, and certainly does not exchange a sentence with any human being whose presence is energetic enough to turn the current of thought into a healthier direction. and so, by the evening he has got the little offence into the point of view in which it looks most offensive: he is in a rage at being asked to do his best in writing anything for a six-shilling publication. why on earth not do so? is not the mind unsoundly sensitive that finds an offence in a request like that? my brilliant brethren who write for fraser, don't you put your whole strength to articles to be published in a periodical that sells for half-a-crown? you could not have warranted manly samuel johnson sound, on the points of prejudice and bigotry. there was something unsound in that unreasoning hatred of everything scotch. rousseau was altogether a screw. he was mentally lame, broken-winded, a shyer, a kicker, a jibber, a biter: he would do anything but run right on and do his duty. shelley was a notorious screw. i should say, indeed, that his unsoundness passed the limit of practical sanity, and that on certain points he was unquestionably mad. you could not have warranted keats sound. you could not deny the presence of a little perverse twist even in the noble mind and heart of the great sir charles napier. the great emperor napoleon was cracky, if not cracked, on various points. there was unsoundness in his strange belief in his fate. neither bacon nor newton was entirely sound. but the mention of newton suggests to me the single specimen of human kind who might stand even before him: and reminds me that shakspeare was as sound as any mortal ean be. any defect in him extends no farther than to his taste: and possibly where we should differ from him, he is right and we are wrong. you could not say that shakspeare was mentally a screw. the noblest of all genius is sober and reasonable: it is among geniuses of the second order that you find something so warped, so eccentric, so abnormal, as to come up to our idea of a screw. sir walter scott was sound: save perhaps in the matter of his veneration for george iv., and of his desire to take rank as one of the country gentlemen of roxburghshire. to sum up: let it be admitted that very noble work has been turned off by minds in so far unhinged. it is not merely that great wits are to madness near allied, it is that great wits are sometimes actually in part mad. madness is a matter of degree. the slightest departure from the normal and healthy action of the mind is an approximation to it. every mind is a little unsound; but you don't talk of insanity till the un.-oundness becomes very glaring, and unfits for the duty of life. just as almost every horse is a little lame: one leg steps a hair-breadth shorter than the other, or is a thought less muscular, or the hoof is a shade too sensitive; but you don't talk of lameness till the creature's head begins to go up and down, or till it plainly shrinks from putting its foot to the ground. southey's wrath about the six-shilling review, and his brooding on murray's slight offence, was a step in the direction of marked delusion such as conveys a man to harwell or morningside. and the sensitive, imaginative nature, which goes to the production of some of the human mind's best productions, is prone to such little deviations from that which is strictly sensible and right. you do not think, gay young readers, what poor unhappy half-cracked creatures may have written the pages which thrill you or amuse you; or painted the picture before which you pause so long. i know hardly any person who ever published anything; but i have sometimes thought that i should like to see assembled in one chamber, on the first of any month, all the men and women who wrote all the articles in all the magazines for that month. some of them doubtless would be very much like other people; but many would certainly be very odd-looking and odd-tempered samples of humankind. the history of some would be commonplace enough, but that of many would be very curious. a great many readers, i dare say, would like to stand in a gallery, and look at the queer individuals assembled below. magazine articles, of course, are not (speaking generally) specimens of the highest order of literature; but still, some experience, some thought, some observation, have gone to produce even them. and it is unquestionably out of deep sorrow, out of the travail of heart and nature, that the finest and noblest of all human thoughts have come. as for the ordinary task-work of life, it must, beyond all question, be generally done by screws,--that is, by folk whose mental organization is unsound on some point. vain people, obstinate people, silly people, evil-foreboding people, touchy people, twaddling people, carry on the work-day world. not that it would be giving a fair account of them to describe them thus, and leave the impression that such are their essential characteristics. they are all that has been said; but there is in most a good substratum of practical sense; and they do fairly, or even remarkably well, the particular thing which it is their business in this life to do. when mr. carlyle said that the population of britain consists of so many millions, 'mostly fools,' he conveys a quite wrong impression. no doubt there are some who are silly out and out, who are always fools, and essentially fools. no doubt almost all, if you questioned them on great matters of which they have hardly thought, would express very foolish and absurd opinions. but then these absurd opinions are not the staple production of their minds. these are not a fair sample of their ordinary thoughts. their ordinary thoughts are, in the main, sensible and reasonable, no doubt. once upon a time, while a famous criminal trial was exciting vast interest, i heard a man in a railway-carriage, with looks of vast slyness and of special stores of information, tell several others that the judge and the counsel on each side had met quietly the evening before to arrange what the verdict should be; and that though the trial would go on to its end to delude the public, still the whole thing was already settled. now, my first impulse was to regard the man with no small interest, and to say to myself, there, unquestionably, is a fool. but, on reflection, i felt i was wrong. no doubt he talked like a fool on this point. no doubt he expressed himself in terms worthy of an asylum for idiots. but the man may have been a very shrewd and sensible man in matters with which he was accustomed to deal: he was a horse-dealer, i believe, and i doubt not sharp enough at market; and the idiotic appearance he made was the result of his applying his understanding to a matter quite beyond his experience and out of his province. but a man is not properly to be called a fool, even though occasionally he says and does very foolish things, if the great preponderance of the things he says and does be reasonable. no doubt mr. carlyle is right in so far as this: that in almost every man there is an element of the fool. almost all have a vein of folly running through them, and cropping out at the surface now and then. but in most men that is not the characteristic part of their nature. there is more of the sensible man than of the fool. for the forms of unsoundness in those who are mental screws of the commonplace order; they are endless. you sometimes meet an intellectual defect like that of the conscientious blockhead james ii., who thought that to differ from him in opinion was to doubt his word and call him a liar. an unsoundness common to all uneducated people is, that they cannot argue any question without getting into a rage and roaring at the top of their voice. this unsoundness exists in a good many educated men too. a peculiar twist of some minds is this--that instead of maintaining by argument the thesis they are maintaining, which is probably that two and two make five, they branch off and begin to adduce arguments which do not go to prove that, but to prove that the man who maintains that two and two make four is a fool, or even a ruffian. some good men are subject to this infirmity--that if you differ from them on any point whatever, they regard the fact of your differing from them as proof, not merely that you are intellectually stupid, but that you are morally depraved. some really good men and women cannot let slip an opportunity of saying anything that may be disagreeable. and this is an evil that tends to perpetuate itself; for when mr. snarling comes and says to you something uncomplimentary of yourself or your near relations, instead of your doing what you ought to do, and pitying poor snarling, and recommending him some wholesome medicine, you are strongly tempted to retort in kind: and thus you sink yourself to snarling's level, and you carry on the row. your proper course is either to speak kindly to poor snarling, or not to speak to him at all. there is something unsound about the man whom you never heard say a good word of any mortal, but whom you have heard say a great many bad words of a great many mortals. there is unsoundness verging on entire insanity in the man who is always fancying that all about him are constantly plotting to thwart his plans and damage his character. there is unsoundness in the man who is constantly getting into furious altercations with his fellow passengers in steamers and rail-ways, or getting into angry and lengthy correspondence with anybody in the newspapers or otherwise. there is unsoundness in the man who is ever telling you amazing stories which he fancies prove himself to be the bravest, cleverest, swiftest of mankind, but which (on his own showing) prove him to be a vapouring goose. there is unsoundness in the man or woman who turns green with envy as a handsome carriage drives past, and then says with awful bitterness that he or she would not enter such a shabby old conveyance. there is unsoundness in the mortal whose memory is full to repletion of contemptible little stories going to prove that all his neighbours are rogues or fools. there is unsoundness in the unfortunate persons who are always bursting into tears and bahooing out that nobody loves them. nobody will, so long as they bahoo. let them stop bahooing. there is unsoundness in the mental organization of the sneaky person who stays a few weeks in a family, and sets each member of it against all the rest by secretly repeating to each exaggerated and malicious accounts of what has been paid as to him or her by the others. there is unsoundness in the perverse person who resolutely docs the opposite of what you wish and expect: who won't go the pleasure excursion you had arranged on his account, or partake of the dish which has been cooked for his special eating. there is unsoundness in the deluded and unamiable person who, by a grim, repellent, pharisaic demeanour and address excites in the minds of young persons gloomy and repulsive ideas of religion, which wiser and better folk find it very hard to rub away. 'will my father be there?' said a little scotch boy to some one who had been telling him of the happiest place in the universe, and recounting its joys. 'yes,' was the reply. said the little man, with prompt decision, 'then i'll no gang!' he must have been a wretched screw of a christian who left that impression on a young child's heart. there is unsoundness in the man who cannot listen to the praises of another man's merit without feeling as though this were something taken from himself. and it is amusing, though sad, to gee how such folk take for granted in others the same pretty enviousness which they feel in themselves. they will go to one writer, painter, preacher, and begin warmly to praise the doings of another man in the same vocation; and when i have seen the man addressed listen to and add to the praises with the hearty, self-forgetting sincerity of a generous mind, i have witnessed the bitter disappointment of the petty malignants at the failure of their poisoned dart. generous honesty quite baffles such. if their dart ever wounds you, reader, it is because you deserve that it should. there is unsoundness in the kindly, loveable man, whose opinions are preposterous, and whose conversation that of a jackass. but still, who can help loving the man, occasionally to be met, whose heart is right and whose talk is twaddle? let me add, that i have met with one or two cases in which conscience was quite paralysed, but all the other intellectual faculties were right. surely there is no more deplorable instance of the mental screw. tou may find the notorious cheat who is never out of church, and who fancies himself a most creditable man. you will find the malicious tale-bearer and liar, who attends all the prayer-meetings within her reach, and who thanks god (like an individual in former days) that she is so much better than other women. in the case of commonplace screws, if they do their work well, it is for the most part in spite of their being screws. it is because they are sound in the main, in those portions of their mental constitution which their daily work calls into play; and because they are seldom required to do those things which their unsoundness makes them unfit to do. you know, if a horse never fell lame except when smartly trotted down a hill four miles long, you might say that for practical purposes that horse was never lame at all. for the single contingency to which its powers are unequal would hardly ever occur. in like manner, if the mind of a tradesman is quite equal to the management of his business and the respectable training of his family, you may say that the tradesman's mind is for practical purposes a sound and good one; although if called to consider some important political question, such as that of the connexion of church and state, his judgment might be purely idiotical. you see, he is hardly ever required to put his mind (so to speak) at a hill at which it would break down. i have walked a mile along the road with a respectable scotch farmer, talking of country matters; and i have concluded that i had hardly ever conversed with a shrewder and more sensible man. but having accidentally chanced to speak of a certain complicated political question, i found that quoad hoc my friend's intellect was that of a baby. i had just come upon the four-mile descent which would knock up the horse which for ordinary work was sound. yes, reader, in the case of commonplace screws, if hey do their work well, it is in spite of their being screws. but in the case of great geniuses who are screws, it is often because of their unsoundness that they do the fine things they do. it is the hectic beauty which his morbid mind cast upon his page, that made byron the attractive and fascinating poet that he is to young and inexperienced minds. had his views been sounder and his feeling healthier, he might have been but a commonplace writer after all. in poetry, and in all imaginative writing, we look for beauty, not for sense; and we all know that what is properly disease and unsoundness sometimes adds to beauty. you know the delicate flush, the bright eyes, the long eyelashes, which we often see in a young girl on whom consumption is doing its work. you know the peachy complexion which often goes with undeveloped scrofula. and had charles lamb not been trembling on the verge of insanity, the essays of elia would have wanted great part of their strange, undefinable charm. had ford and massinger led more regular lives and written more reasonable sentiments, what a caput mortuum their tragedies would be! had coleridge been a man of homely common-sense, he would never have written christabel. i remember in my boyhood reading the ancient mariner to a hard-headed lawyer of no literary taste. he listened to the poem, and merely remarked that its author was a horrible fool. there is no doubt that physical unsoundness often is a cause of mental excellence. some of the best women on earth are the ugliest. their ugliness cut them off from the enjoyment of the gaieties of life; they did not care to go to a ball-room and sit all the evening without once being asked to dance; and so they learned to devote themselves to better things. you have seen the pretty sister, a frivolous, silly flirt; the homely sister, quietly devoting herself to works of christian charity. ugly people, we often hear it said, cry up the beauties of the mind. it may be added, that ugly people possess a very large proportion of those beauties. and a great deal of the best intellectual work is done by men who are physically screws; by men who are nearly blind, broken-winded, lame, and weakly. we all know what the apostle paul was physically; we know too what the world owes to that dwarfish, bald, stammering man. i never in my life read anything more touching than the story of that poor weakly creature, dr. george wilson, the professor of technology in the university of edinburgh. poor weakly creature, only in a physical sense; what a noble intellectual and moral nature dwelt within that slender frame! you remember how admirably he did his work, though in a condition of almost ceaseless bodily weakness and suffering; how he used to lecture often with a great blister on his chest; how his lungs and his entire system were the very poorest that could just retain his soul. i never saw him; but i have seen his portrait. you see the intellectual kindly face; but it is but the weakly shadow of a physical man. but it was only physically that george wilson was a poor type of humanity. what noble health and excellence there were in that noble mind and heart! so amiable, so patient, so unaffectedly pious, so able and industrious; a beautiful example of a great, good, memorable and truly loveable man. let us thank god for george wilson: for his life and his example. hundreds of poor souls ready to sink into morbid despair of ever doing anything good, will get fresh hope and heart from his story. it is well, indeed, that there have been some in whom the physical system equals the moral; men like christopher north and sydney smith,--men in whom the play of the lungs was as good as the play of the imagination, and whose literal heart was as excellent as their metaphysical. we have all seen examples in which the noblest intellect and kindest disposition were happily blended with the stoutest limbs and the pleasantest face. and the sound mind in the sound body is doubtless the perfection of the human being. i have walked many miles and many hours over the heather, with one of the ablest men in britain: a man whom at fourscore his country can heartily trust with perhaps the gravest charge which any british subject can undertake. and i have witnessed with great delight the combination of the keenest head and best heart, with physical strength and activity which quite knock up men younger by forty years. when i was reading dr. forbes winslow's book, already named, a very painful idea was impressed upon me. dr. winslow gives us to understand that madness is for the most part a condition of most awful suffering. i used to think that though there might be dreadful misery on the way to madness, yet once reason was fairly overthrown, the suffering was over. this appears not to be so. all the miserable depression of spirits, all the incapacity to banish distressing fears and suspicions, which paved the way to real insanity, exist in even intensified degree when insanity has actually been reached. the poor maniac fancies he is surrounded by burning fires, that he is encircled by writhing snakes, that he is in hell, tormented by devils; and we must remember that the misery caused by firmly believing a thing which does not exist, is precisely the same as that which would be occasioned to a sane person if the things imagined were facts. it seems, too, that many insane people are quite aware that they are insane, which of course aggravates what they have to endure. it must be a dreadful thing when the mind passes the point up to which it is still useful and serviceable, though unsound, and enters upon the stage of recognized insanity. it must be dreadful to feel that you are not quite yourself; that something is wrong; that you cannot discard suspicions and fears which still you are aware are foolish and groundless. this is a melancholy stage, and if it last long a very perilous one. great anxiety, if continued for any length of time, is almost certain to lead to some measure of insanity. the man who night and day is never free from the thought of how he is to pay his way, to maintain his children, is going mad. it is thoroughly evil when one single thought conies to take entire possession of the mind. it shows the brain is going. it is no wonder, my friendly reader, that so many men are mentally screws! there is something perfectly awful in reading what are the premonitory symptoms of true insanity. read this, my friend, and be afraid of yourself. here are what dr. winslow says indicates that insanity is drawing near. have you never seen it? have you never felt it? the patient is irritable, and fractious, peevish, and pettish. he is morbidly anxious about trifles: slight ruffles on the surface, and trivial annoyances in the family circle or during the course of business, worry, flurry, tease and fret him, nothing satisfying or soothing his mind, and everything, to his distempered fancy, going wrong within the sacred precincts of domestic life. he is quick at fancying affronts, and greatly exaggerates the slightest and most trifling acts of supposed inattention. the least irregularity on the part of the domestics excites, angers, and vexes him. he is suspicious of and quarrels with his nearest relations, and mistrusts his best, kindest, and most faithful friends. while in this premonitory stage of mental derangement, bordering closely on an attack of acute insanity, he twists, distorts, misconceives, misconstrues, and perverts in a most singular manner every look, gesture, action, and word of those closely associated, and nearly related to him. considering that dr. winslow does really in that paragraph sketch the moral characteristics of at least a score of people known to every one of us, all this is alarming enough. and considering, too, how common a thing sleeplessness is among men who go through hard mental work, or who are pressed by many cares and anxieties, it is even more alarming to read, that-- wakefulness is one of the most constant concomitants of some types of incipient brain disease, and in many cases a certain forerunner of insanity. it is an admitted axiom in medicine, that the brain cannot be in a healthy condition while a state of sleeplessness exists. but i pass away from this part of my subject. i do not believe that it is good for either my readers or myself to look from a medical point of view at those defects or morbid manifestations in our mental organization which stamp us screws. we accept the fact, generally; without going into details. it is a bad thing for a man to be always feeling his pulse after every little exertion, and fancying that its acceleration or irregularity indicates that something is wrong. such a man is in the fair way to settled hypochondria. and i think it is even worse to be always watching closely the play of the mental machine, and thinking that this process or that emotion is not as it ought to be. let a man work his mind fairly and moderately, and not worry himself as to its state. the mind can get no more morbid habit than that of continually watching itself for a stumble. except in the case of metaphysicians, whose business it is to watch and analyse the doings of the mind, the mind ought to be like the stomach. you know that your stomach is right, because you never feel that you have one; but the work intended for that organ is somehow done. and common folk should know that they have minds, only by finding the ends fairly attained, which are intended to be attained by that most sensitive and ticklish piece of machinery. i think that it is a piece of practical wisdom in driving the mental screw, to be careful how you allow it to dwell too constantly upon any one topic. if you allow yourself to think too much of any subject, you will get a partial craze upon that; you will come to vastly overrate its importance. you will make yourself uncomfortable about it. there once was a man who mused long upon the notorious fact that almost all human beings stoop consider ably. few hold themselves as upright as they ought. and this notion took such hold upon the poor man's mind, that, waking or sleeping, he could not get rid of it; and he published volume after volume to prove the vast extent of the evils which come of this bad habit of stooping, and to show that to get fairly rid of this bad habit would be the regeneration of the human race, physically and morally. we know how authors exaggerate the claims of their subject; and i can quite imagine a very earnest man feeling afraid to think too much and long about any existing evil, for fear it should greaten on his view into a thing so large and pernicious, that he should be constrained to give all his life to wrestling with that one thing, and attach to it an importance which would make his neighbours think him a monomaniac. if you think long and deeply upon any subject, it grows in apparent magnitude and weight; if you think of it too long, it may grow big enough to exclude the thought of all things besides. if it be an existing and prevalent evil you are thinking of, you may come to fancy that if that one thing were done away, it would be well with the human race: all evil would go with it. i can conceive the process by which, without mania, without anything worse than the workable unsoundness of the practically sound mind, one might come to think as the man who wrote against stooping thought. for myself, i feel the force of this law so deeply, that there are certain evils of which i am afraid to think much, for fear i should come to be able to think of nothing else and nothing more. i remember, when i was a boy, there was a man in london who constantly advertised himself in the newspapers as the inventor of the only rational system of writing in the universe. his system was, i believe, to move in writing, not the fingers merely, but the entire arm from the shoulder. this may be an improvement perhaps: and that man had brooded over the mischiefs of moving the fingers in writing till these mischiefs shut out the view of the rest of creation, or at least till he saw nothing but irrationality in writing otherwise. all the millions who wrote by the fingers were cracked. the writing-master, in short, though possibly a reasonable man on other subjects, was certainly unsound upon this. you may allow yourself to speculate on the chance of being bitten by a mad dog, or of being maimed by a railway accident, till you grow morbid on these points. if you live in the country, you may give in to the idea that your house will be broken into at night by burglars, till, every time you wake in the dark hours, you may fancy you hear the centre-bit at work boring through the window-shutters down stairs. a very clever woman once told me, that for a year she yielded so much to the fear that she had left, a spark behind her in any room into which she had gone with a lighted candle, which spark would set the house on fire, that she could not be easy till she had groped her way back in the dark to see that things were right. now, ye readers whose minds must be carefully driven (i mean all the readers who will ever see this page), don't give in to these fancies. as you would carefully train your horse to pass the corner he always shies at, so break your mind of this bad habit. and in breaking your mind of the smallest bad habit, i would counsel you to resort to the same kindly helper whose aid you would ask in breaking your mind of the greatest and worst. it is not a small matter, the existence in the mind of any tendency or characteristic which is unsound. we know what lies in that direction. you are like the railway-train which, with breaks unapplied, is stealing the first yard down the incline at the rale of a mile in two hours; but if that train be not pulled up, in ten minutes it may be tearing down to destruction at sixty miles an hour. i have said that almost every human being is mentally a screw; that all have some intellectual peculiarity, some moral twist, away from the normal standard of tightness. let it, be added, that it is little wonder that the fact should be as it is. i do not think merely of a certain unhappy warping, of an old original wrench, which human nature long ago received, and from which it never has recovered. i am not writing as a theologian; and so i do not suggest the grave consideration that human nature, being fallen, need not be expected to be the right-working machinery that it may have been before it fell. but i may at least say, look how most people are educated; consider the kind of training they get, and the incompetent hands that train them: what chance have they of being anything but screws? ah, my reader, if horses were broken by people as unfit for their work as most of the people who form human minds, there would not be a horse in the world that would not be dead lame. you do not trust your thorough-bred colt, hitherto unhandled, to any one who is not understood to have a thorough knowledge of the characteristics and education of horses. but in numberless instances, even in the better classes of society, a thing which needs to be guarded against a thousand wrong tendencies, and trained up to a thousand right things from which it is ready to shrink, the most sensitive and complicated thing in nature, the human soul, is left to have its character formed by hands as hopelessly unfit for the task as the lord chancellor is to prepare the winner of the next st. leger. you find parents and guardians of children systematically following a course of treatment calculated to bring out the very worst tendencies of mind and heart that are latent in the little things given to their care. if a young horse has a tendency to shy, how carefully the trainer seeks to win him away from the habit. but if a poor little boy has a hasty temper, you may find his mother taking the greatest pains to irritate that temper. if the little fellow have some physical or mental defect, you have seen parents who never miss an opportunity of throwing it in the boy's face; parents who seem to exult in the thought that they know the place where a touch will always cause to wince,--the sensitive, unprotected point where the dart of malignity will never fail to get home. if a child has said or done some wrong or foolish thing, you will find parents who are constantly raking up the remembrance of it, for the pure pleasure of giving pain. even so would a kindly man, who knows that his horse has just come down and cut himself, take pains whenever he came to a bit of road freshly macadamized to bring down the poor horse on the sharp stones, again with his bleeding knees. and even where you do not find positive malignity in those entrusted with the training of human minds, you find hopeless incornpetcncy exhibited in many other ways; outrageous silliness and vanity, want of honesty, and utter want of sense. i say it deliberately, instead of wondering that most minds are such screws, i wonder with indescribable surprise that they are not a thousand times worse. for they are like trees pruned and trained into ugliness and barrenness. they are like horses carefully tutored to shy, kick, rear, and bite. it says something hopeful as to what may yet be made of human beings, that most of them are no worse than they are. some parents, fancying too that they are educating their children on christian principles, educate them in such fashion that ihe only wonder is that the children do not end at the gallows. let us recognise the fact in all our treatment of others, that we have to deal with screws. let us not think, as some do, that by ignoring a fact you make it cease to be a fact. i have seen a man pulling his lame horse up tight, and flicking it with his whip, and trying to drive it as if it were not lame. now, that won't do. the poor horse makes a desperate effort, and runs a step or two as if sound. but in a little the heavy head falls upon the bit at each step, and perhaps the creature comes down bodily with a tremendous smash. if it were only his idiotic master that was smashed, i should not mind. so have i seen parents refusing to see or allow for the peculiarities of their children, insisting on driving the poor screw as though it were perfect in wind and limb. so have i seen people refusing to see or allow for the peculiarities of those around them; ignoring the depressed spirits, the unhappy twist, the luckless perversity of temper, in a servant, an acquaintance, a friend, which, rightly managed, would still leave them most serviceable screws; but which, determinedly ignored, will land in uselessness and misery. i believe there are people who (in a moral sense), if they have a crooked stick, fancy that by using it as if it were straight, it will become straight. if you have got a rifle that sends its ball somewhat to the left side, you (if you are not a fool) allow for that in shooting. if you have a friend of sterling value, but of crotchety temper, you (if you are not a fool) allow for that. if you have a child who is weak, desponding, and early old, you (if you are not a hopeless idiot) remember that, and allow for it, and try to make the best of it. but if you be an idiot, you will think it deep diplomacy, and adamantine firmness, and wisdom beyond solomon's, to shut your eyes to the state of facts; to tug sharply the poor screw's mouth, to lash him violently, to drive him as though he were sound. probably you will come to a smash: alas! that the smash will probably include more than you. not, reader, that all human beings thus idiotically ignore the fact that it is with screws they have to deal. it is very touching to see, as we sometimes see, people trying to make the best of awful screws. you are quite pleased if your lame horse trots four or five miles without showing very gross unsoundness, though of course this is but a poor achievement. and even so, i have been touched to see the child quite happy at having coaxed a graceless father to come for once to church; and the wife quite happy when the blackguard bully, her husband, for once evinces a little kindness. it was not much they did, you see: but remember what wretched screws did it, and be thankful if they do even that little. i have heard a mother repeat, with a pathetic pride, a connected sentence said by her idiot boy. you remember how delighted miss trotwood was, in mr. dickens's beautiful story, with mr. dick's good sense, when he said something which in anybody else would have been rather silly. but mr. dick, you see, was just out of the asylum, and no more. how pleased you are to find a relation, who is a terrific fool, merely behaving like anybody else! yes: there is a good deal of practical resignation in this world. we get reconciled to having and to being screws. we grow reconciled to the fact that our possessions, our relations, our friends, are very far indeed from being what we could wish. we grow reconciled to the fact, and we try to make the best of it, that we ourselves are screws: that in temper, in judgment, in talent, in tact, we are a thousand miles short of being what we ought; and that we can hope for little more than decently, quietlv, sometimes wearily and sadly, to plod along the path in life which god in his kindness and wisdom has set us. we come to look with interest, but without a vestige of envy, at those who are cleverer and better off than ourselves. a great many good people are so accustomed to things going against them, that they are rather startled when things go as they could have desired: they can stand disappointment, but success puts them out, it is so unwonted a thing. the lame horse, the battered old gig,--they feel at home with these; but they would be confused if presented with my friend smith's drag, with its beautiful steeds, all but thoroughbred, and perfectly sound. to struggle on with a small income, manifold worries, and lowly estimation,--to these things they have quietly reconciled themselves. but give them wealth, and peace, and fame (if these things can be combined), and they would hardly know what to do. yesterday i walked up a very long flight of steps in a very poor part of the most beautiful city in britain. just before me, a feeble old woman, bent down apparently by eighty years, was slowly ascending. she had a very large bundle on her back, and she supported herself by a short stick in her withered, trembling hand. if it had been in the country, i should most assuredly have carried up the poor creature's bundle for her; but i am sorry to say i had not moral courage to offer to do so in town: for a parson with a great sackcloth bundle on his back, would be greeted in that district with depreciatory observations. but i kept close by her, to help her if she fell; and when i got to the top of the steps i passed her and went on. i looked sharply at the poor old face in passing; i see it yet. i see the look of cowed, patient, quiet, hopeless submission: i saw she had quite reconciled her mind to bearing her heavy burden, and to the far heavier load of years, and infirmities, and poverty, she was bearing too. she had accepted those for her portion in this life. she looked for nothing better. she was like the man whose horse has been broken-winded and lame so long, that he has come almost to think that every horse is a screw. i see yet the quiet, wearied, surprised look she cast up at me as i passed: a look merely of surprise to see an entire coat in a place where my fellow-creatures (every one deserving as much as me) for the most part wear rags. i do not think she even wished to possess an equally entire garment: she looked at it with interest merely as the possession of some one else. she did not even herself (as we scotch say) to anything better than the rags she had worn so long. long experience had subdued her to what she is. but short experience does so too. we early learn to be content with screws, and to make the best of imperfect means. as i have been writing that last paragraph, i have been listening to a colloquy outside my study door, which is partly open. the parties engaged in the discussion were a certain little girl of five years old, and her nurse. the little girl is going out to spend the day at the house of a little companion; and she is going to take her doll with her. i heard various sentences not quite distinctly, which conveyed to me a general impression of perplexity; and at length, in a cheerful, decided voice, the little girl said, 'the people will never know it has got no legs!' the doll, you see, was unsound. accidents had brought it to an imperfect state. but that wise little girl had done what you and i, my reader, must try to do very frequently: she had made up her mind to make the best of a screw. i learn a lesson, as i close my essay, from the old woman of eighty, and the little girl of five. let us seek to reconcile our minds both to possessing screws, and (harder still) to being screws. let us make the best of our imperfect possessions, and of our imperfect selves. let us remember that a great deal of good can be done by means which fall very far short of perfection; that our moderate abilities, honestly and wisely husbanded and directed, may serve valuable ends in this world before we quit it,--ends which may remain after we are gone. i do not suppose that judicious critics, in pointing out an author's faults, mean that he ought to stop writing altogether. there are hopeless cases in which he certainly ought: cases in which the steed passes being a screw, and is fit only for the hounds. but in most instances the critic would be quite wrong, if he argued what because his author has many flaws and defects, he should write no more. with all its errors, what he writes may be much better than nothing; as the serviceable screw is better than no horse at all. and if the critic's purpose is merely to show the author that the author is a screw,--why, if the author have any sense at all, he knows that already. he does not claim to be wiser than other men; and still less to be better: yet he may try to do his best. with many defects and errors, still fair work may be turned off. i will not forget the lame horses that took the coach so well to inverary. and i remember certain words in which one who is all but the greatest english poet declared that under the heavy visitation of god he would do his utmost still. here is the resolution of a noble screw:-- i argue not against heaven's hand or will, nor bate a jot of heart or hope; but still bear up and steer right onward! chapter vii. concerning solitary days. let me look back, this new year's time, over nine years. let me try to revive again the pervading atmosphere of the days when i used to live entirely alone. all days crush up into very little in the perspective. the months and years which were long as they passed over, are but a hand-breadth in remembrance. five or ten years may be packed away into a very little corner in your mind; and in the case of a man brought up from childhood in a large family, who spends no more than three or four years alone before he again sees a household beginning to surround him, i think those lonely years seem especially short in the retrospect. yet possibly in these he may have done some of the best work of his life; and possibly none, of all the years he has seen, have produced so great an impression on his character and on his temperament. and the impression left may be most diverse in nature. i have known a man remarkably gentle, kind, and sympathetic; always anxious to say a pleasant and encouraging word; discerning by a wonderful intuition whenever he had presented a view or made a remark that had caused pain to the most sensitive, and eager to efface the painful feeling; and i have thought that in all this i could trace the result of his having lived entirely alone for many years. i have known a man insufferably arrogant, conceited, and self-opinionated; another morbidly suspicious and ever nervously anxious; another conspicuously devoid of common eense; and in each of these i have thought i could trace the result of a lonely life. but indeed it depends so entirely on the nature of the material subjected to the mill what the result turned off shall be, that it is hard to say of any human being what shall be the effect produced upon his character by almost any discipline you can think of. and a solitary life may make a man either thoughtful or vacant, either humble or conceited, either sympathetic or selfish, either frank or shrinkingly shy. great numbers of educated people in this country live solitary lives. and by a solitary life i do not mean a life in a remote district of country with hardly a neighbour near, but with your house well filled and noisy with, children's voices. by a solitary life i mean a life in which, day after day and week after week, you rise in the morning in a silent dwelling, in which, save servants, there are none but yourself; in which you sit down to breakfast by yourself, perhaps set yourself to your day's work all alone, then dine by yourself, and spend the evening by yourself. barristers living in chambers in some cases do this; young lads living in lodgings, young clergymen in country parsonages, old bachelors in handsome town houses and beautiful country mansions, old maids in quiet streets of country towns, old ladies once the centre of cheerful families, but whose husband and children are gone--even dukes in palaces and castles, amid a lonely splendour which must, one would think, seem dreary and ghastly. but you know, my reader, we sympathize the most completely with that which we have ourselves experienced. and when i hear people talk of a solitary life, the picture called up before me is that of a young man who has always lived as one of a household considerable in numbers, who gets a living in the church, and who, having no sister to keep house for him, goes to it to live quite alone. how many of my friends have done precisely that! was it not a curious mode of life? a thing is not made commonplace to your own feeling by the fact that hundreds or thousands of human beings have experienced the very same. and although fifty smiths have done it (all very clever fellows), and fifty robinsons have done it (all very commonplace and ordinary fellows), one does not feel a bit the less interest in recurring to that experience which, hackneyed as it may be, is to you of greater interest than all other experience, in that it is your own. draw up a thousand men in a row, all dressed in the same dark-green uniform of the riflemen; and i do not think that their number, or their likeness to one another, will cause any but the most unthinking to forget that each is an individual man as much as if he stood alone in the desert; that each has his own ties, cares, and character, and that possibly each, like to all the rest as he may appear to others, is to several hearts, or perhaps to one only, the one man of all mankind. most clergymen whom i have known divide their day very much in the same fashion. after breakfast they go into their study and write their sermon for two or three hours; then they go out and visit their sick or make other calls of duty for several hours. if they have a large parish, they probably came to it with the resolution that before dinner they should always have an hour's smart walk at least; but they soon find that duty encroaches on that hour, and finally eats it entirely up, and their duty calls are continued till it is time to return home to dinner. don't you remember, my friend, how short a time that lonely meal lasted, and how very far from jovial the feast was? as for me, that i might rest my eyes from reading between dinner and tea (a thing much to be desired in the case of every scholar), i hardly ever, failed, save for a few weeks of midwinter, to go out in the twilight and have a walk--a solitary and very slow walk. my hours, you see, were highly unfashionable. i walked from half-past five to half-past six: that was my after-dinner walk. it was always the same. it looks somewhat dismal to recall. do you ever find, in looking back at some great trial or mortification you have passed through, that you are pitying yourself as if you were another person? i do not mean to say that those walks were a trial. on the contrary, they were always an enjoyment--a subdued quiet enjoyment, as are the enjoyments of solitary folk. still, now looking back, it seems to me as if i were watching some one else going out in the cold february twilight, and walking from half-past five to half-past six. i think i see a human being, wearing a very thick and rough great-coat, got for these walks, and never worn on any other occasion, walking very slowly, bearing an extremely thick oak walking-stick (i have it yet) by the shore of the bleak gray sea. only on the beach did i ever bear that stick; and by many touches of the sand it gradually wore down till it became too short for use. i see the human being issuing from the door of a little parsonage (not the one where there are magnificent beeches and rich evergreens and climbing roses), and always waiting at the door for him there was a friendly dog, a terrier, with very short legs and a very long back, and shaggy to that degree that at a cursory glance it was difficult to decide which was his head and which his tail. ah, poor old dog, you are grown very stiff and lazy now, and time has not mellowed your temper. even then it was somewhat doubtful. not that you ever offered to bite me; but it was most unlucky, and it looked most invidious, that occasion when you rushed out of the gate and severely tore the garments of the dissenting minister! but he was a worthy man: and i trust that he never supposed that upon that day you acted by my instigation. you were very active then; and so few faces did you see (though a considerable town was within a few hundred yards), that the appearance of one made you rush about and bark tremendously. cross a field, pass through a hedgerow of very scrubby and stunted trees, cross a railway by a path on the level, go on by a dirty track on its further side; and you come upon the sea-shore. it is a level, sandy beach; and for a mile or two inland the ground is level, and the soil ungenial. there are sandy downs, thinly covered with coarse grass. trees will hardly grow; the few trees there are, are cut down by the salt winds from the atlantic. the land view, in a raw twilight of early spring, is dreary beyond description; but looking across the sea, there is a magnificent view of mountain peaks. and if you turn in another direction, and look along the shore, you will see a fine hill rising from the sea and running inland, at whose base there flows a beautiful river, which pilgrims come hundreds of miles to visit. how often, o sandy beach, have these feet walked slowly along you! and in these years of such walks, i did not meet or see in all six human beings. a good many years have passed since i saw that dismal beach last; i dare say it would look very strange now. the only excitement of those walks consisted in sending the dog into the sea, and in making him run after stones. how tremendously he ran; what tiger-like bounds he made, as he overtook the missile! just such walks, my friends, many of you have taken. homines estis. and then you have walked into your dwelling again, walked into your study, had tea in solitude, spent the evening alone in reading and writing. you have got on in life, let it be hoped; but you remember well the aspect and arrangement of the room; you remember where stood tables, chairs, candles; you remember the pattern of the grate, often vacantly studied. i think every one must look back with great interest upon such days. life was in great measure before you, what you might do with it. for anything you knew then, you might be a great genius; whereas if the world, even ten years later, has not yet recognized you as a great genius, it is all but certain that it never will recognize you as such at all. and through those long winter evenings, often prolonged far into the night, not only did you muse on many problems, social, philosophical, and religious, but you pictured out, i dare say, your future life, and thought of many things which you hoped to do and to be. a very subdued mood of thought and feeling, i think, creeps gradually over a man living such a solitary life. i mean a man who has been accustomed to a house with many inmates. there is something odd in the look of an apartment in which hardly a word is ever spoken. if you speak while by yourself, it is in a very low tone; and though you may smile, i don't think any sane man could often laugh heartily while by himself. think of a life in which, while at home, there is no talking and no laughing. why, one distinctive characteristic of rational man is cut off when laughing ceases. man is the only living creature that laughs with the sense of enjoyment. i have heard, indeed, of the laughing hyena; but my information respecting it is mainly drawn from shakspeare, who was rather a great philosopher and poet than a great naturalist. 'i will laugh like a hyen,' says that great man; and as these words are spoken as a threat, i apprehend the laughter in question is of an unpleasant and umnirthful character. but to return from such deep thoughts, let it be repeated, that the entire mood of the solitary man is likely to be a sobered and subdued one. even if hopeful and content, he will never be in high spirits. the highest degree in the scale he will ever reach, may be that of quiet lightheartedness; and that will come seldom. jollity, or exhilaration, is entirely a social thing. i do not believe that even sydney smith could have got into one of his rollicking veins when alone. he enjoyed his own jokes, and laughed at them with extraordinary zest; but he enjoyed them because he thought others were enjoying them too. why, you would be terrified that your friend's mind was going, if before entering his room you heard such a peal of merriment from within, as would seem a most natural thing were two or three cheerful companions together. and gradually that chastened, subdued stage comes, in which a man can sit for half an hour before the fire as motionless as marble; even a man who in the society of others is in ceaseless movement. it is an odd feeling, when you find that you yourself, once the most restless of living creatures, have come to this. i dare say robinson crusoe often sat for two or three hours together in his cave, without stirring hand or foot. the vital principle grows weak when isolated. you must have a number of embers together to make a warm fire; separate them, and they will soon go out and grow cold. and even so, to have brisk, conscious, vigorous life, you must have a number of lives together. they keep each other warm. they encourage and support each other. i dare say the solitary man, sitting at the close of a long evening by his lonely fireside, has sometimes felt as though the flame of life had sunk so low that a very little thing would be enough to put it out altogether. from the motionless limbs, from the unstrung hands, it seemed as though vitality had ebbed away, and barely kept its home in the feeble heart. at such a time some sudden blow, some not very violent shock, would suffice to quench the spark for ever. reading the accounts in the newspapers of the cold, hunger, and misery which our poor soldiers suffered in the crimea, have you not thought at such a time that a hundredth part of that would have been enough to extinguish you? have you not wondered at the tenacity of material life, and at the desperate grasp with which even the most wretched cling to it? is it worth the beggar's while, in the snow-storm, to struggle on through the drifting heaps towards the town eight miles off, where he may find a morsel of food to half-appease his hunger, and a stone stair to sleep in during the night? have not you thought, in hours when you were conscious of that shrinking of life into its smallest compass--that retirement of it from the confines of its territory, of which we have been thinking--that in that beggar's place you would keep up the fight no longer, but creep into some quiet corner, and there lay yourself down and sleep away into forgetfulness? i do not say that the feeling is to be approved, or that it can in any degree bear being reasoned upon; but i ask such readers as have led solitary lives, whether they have not somelimes felt it? it is but the subdued feeling which comes of loneliness carried out to its last development. it is the highest degree of that influence which manifests itself in slow steps, in subdued tones of voice, in motionless musings beside the fire. another consequence of a lonely life in the case of many men, is an extreme sensitiveness to impressions from external nature. in the absence of other companions of a more energetic character, the scenes amid which you live produce an effect on you which they would fail to produce if you were surrounded by human friends. it is the rule in nature, that the stronger impression makes you unconscious of the weaker. if you had charged with the six hundred, you would not have remarked during the charge that one of your sleeves was too tight. perhaps in your boyhood, a companion of a turn at once thoughtful and jocular, offered to pull a hair out of your head without your feeling it. and this he accomplished, by taking hold of the doomed hair, and then giving you a knock on the head that brought tears to your eyes. for, in the more vivid sensation of that knock you never felt the little twitch of the hair as it quitted its hold. yes, the stronger impression makes you unaware of the weaker. and the impression produced either upon thought or feeling by outward scenes, is so much weaker than that produced by the companionship of our kind, that in the presence of the latter influence, the former remains unfelt, even by men upon whom it would tell powerfully in the absence of another. and so it is upon the lonely man that skies and mountains, woods and fields and rivers, tell with their full effect; it is to him that they become a part of life; it is in him that they make the inner shade or sunshine, and originate and direct the processes of the intellect. you go out to take a walk with a friend: you get into a conversation that interests and engrosses you. and thus engrossed, you hardly remark the hedges between which you walk, or the soft outline of distant summer hills. after the first half-mile, you are proof against the influence of the dull december sky, or the still october woods. but when you go out for your solitary walk, unless your mind be very much preoccupied indeed, your feeling and mood are at the will of external nature. and after a few hundred yards, unless the matter which was in your mind at starting be of a very worrying and painful character, you begin gradually to take your tone from the sky above you, and the ground on which you tread. you hear the birds, which, walking with a sympathetic companion, you would never have noticed. you feel the whole spirit of the scene, whether cheerful or gloomy, gently pervading you, and sinking into your heart. i do not know how far all this, continued through months or years of comparative loneliness, may permanently affect character; we can stand a great deal of kneading without being lastingly affected, either for better or worse; but there can be no question at all, that in a solitary life nature rises into a real companion, producing upon our present mood a real effect. as more articulate and louder voices die away upon our ear, we begin to hear the whisper of trees, the murmur of brooks, the song of birds, with a distinctness and a meaning not known before. the influence of nature on most minds is likely to be a healthful one; still, it is not desirable to allow that influence to become too strong. and there is a further influence which is felt in a solitary life, which ought never to be permitted to gain the upper hand. i mean the influence of our own mental moods. it is not expedient to lead too subjective a life. we look at all things, doubtless, through our own atmosphere; our eyes, to a great extent, make the world they see. and no doubt, too, it is the sunshine within the breast that has most power to brighten; and the thing that can do most to darken is the shadow there. still, it is not fit that these mental moods should be permitted to arise mainly through the mind's own working. it is not fit that a man should watch his mental moods as he marks the weather; and be always chronicling that on such a day and such another he was in high or low spirits, he was kindly-disposed or snappish, as the case may be. the more stirring influence of intercourse with others, renders men comparatively heedless of the ups and downs of their own feelings; change of scenes and faces, conversation, business engagements, may make the day a lively or a depressed one, though they rose at morning with a tendency to just the opposite thing. but the solitary man is apt to look too much inward; and to attach undue importance to the fancies and emotions which arise spontaneously within his own breast; many of them in great measure the result of material causes. and as it is not a healthy thing for a man to be always feeling his pulse, and fearing that it shows something amiss; it is not a healthy thing to follow the analogous course as regards our immaterial health and development. and i cannot but regard those religious biographies which we sometimes read, in which worthy people of little strength of character record particularly from day to day all the shifting moods and fancies of their minds as regards their religious concerns, as calculated to do a great deal of mischief. it is founded upon a quite mistaken notion of the spirit of true christianity, that a human being should be ever watching the play of his mind, as one might watch the rise and fall of the barometer; and recording phases of thought and feeling which it is easy to see are in some cases, and in some degree, at least, the result of change of temperature, of dyspepsia, of deranged circulation of the blood, as though these were the unquestionable effects of spiritual influence, either supernal or infernal. let us try, in the matter of these most solemn of all interests, to look more to great truths and facts which exist quite independently of the impression they may for the time produce upon us; and less to our own fanciful or morbid frames and feelings. it cannot be denied that, in some respects, most men are better men alone than in the society of their fellows. they are kinder-hearted; more thoughtful; more pious. i have heard a man say that he always acted and felt a great deal more under the influence of religious principle while living in a house all by himself for weeks and months, than he did when the house was filled by a family. of course this is not saying much for the steadfastness of a man's christian principle. it is as much as to say that he feels less likely to go wrong when he is not tempted to go wrong. it is as though you said in praise of a horse, that he never shies when there is nothing to shy at. no doubt, when there are no little vexatious realities to worry you, you will not be worried by them. and little vexatious realities are doubtless a trial of temper and of principle. living alone, your nerves are not jarred by discordant voices; you are to a great degree free from annoying interruptions; and if you be of an orderly turn of mind, you are not put about by seeing things around you in untidy confusion. you do not find leaves torn out of books; nor carpets strewn with fragments of biscuits; nor mantelpieces getting heaped with accumulated rubbish. sawdust, escaped from maimed dolls, is never sprinkled upon your table-covers; nor ink poured over your sermons; nor leaves from these compositions cut up for patterns for dolls' dresses. there is an audible quiet which pervades the house, which is favourable to thought. the first evenings, indeed, which you spent alone in it, were almost awful for their stillness; but that sort of nervous feeling soon wears off. and then you have no more than the quiet in which the mind's best work must be done, in the case of average men. and there can be little doubt, that when you gird up the mind, and put it to its utmost stretch, it is best that you should be alone. even when the studious man comes to have a wife and children, he finds it needful that he should have his chamber to which he may retire when he is to grapple with his task of head-work; and he finds it needful, as a general rule, to suffer no one to enter that chamber while he is at work. it is not without meaning that this solitary chamber is called a study: the word reminds us that hard mental labour must generally be gone through when we are alone. any interruption by others breaks the train of thought; and the broken end may never be caught again. you remember how maturin, the dramatist, when he felt himself getting into the full tide of composition, used to stick a wafer on his forehead, to signify to any member of his family who might enter his room, that he must not on any account be spoken to. you remember the significant arrangement of sir walter's library, or rather study, at abbotsford; it contained one chair, and no more. yes, the mind's best work, at the rate of writing, must be done alone. at the speed of talking, the case is otherwise. the presence of others will then stimulate the mind to do its best; i mean to do the best it can do at that rate of speed. talking with a clever man, on a subject which interests you, your mind sometimes produces material which is (for you) so good, that you are truly surprised at it. and a barrister, addressing a judge or a jury, has to do hard mental work, to keep all his wits awake, to strain his intellect to the top of its bent, in the presence of many; but, at the rate of speed at which he does this, he does it all the better for their presence. so with an extempore preacher. the eager attention of some hundreds of his fellow-creatures spurs him on (if he be mentally and physically in good trim) to do perhaps the very best he ever does. i have heard more than two or three clergymen who preach extempore (that is, who trust to the moment for the words entirely, for the illustration mainly, and for the thought in some degree), declare that they have sometimes felt quite astonished at the fluency with which they were able to express their thoughts, and at the freshness and fulness with which thoughts crowded upon them, while actually addressing a great assemblage of people. of course, such extemporaneous speaking is an uncertain thing. it is a hit or a miss. a little physical or mental derangement, and the extempore speaker gets on lamely enough; he flounders, stammers, perhaps breaks down entirely. but still, i hold that though the extempore speaker may think and say that his mind often produces extempore the best material it ever produces, it is in truth only the best material which it can produce at the rate of speaking: and though the freshly manufactured article, warm from the mind that makes it, may interest and impress at the moment, we all know how loose, wordy, and unsymmetrical such a composition always is: and it is unquestionable that the very best product of the human soul must be turned off, not at the rate of speaking, but at the much slower rate of writing: yes, and oftentimes of writing with many pauses between the sentences, and long musing over individual phrases and words. could mr. tennyson have spoken off in half-an-hour any one of the idylls of the kingt could he have said in three minutes any one of the sections of in memoriam? and i am not thinking of the mechanical difficulty of composition in verse: i am thinking of the simple product in thought. could bacon have extemporized at the pace of talking, one of his essays? or does not ben jonson sum up just those characteristics which extempore composition (even the best) entirely wants, when he tells us of bacon that 'no man ever wrote more neatly, more pressly; nor suffered less emptiness, less idleness, in that he uttered?' i take it for granted, that the highest human composition is that which embodies most thought, experience, and feeling; and that must be produced slowly and alone. and if a man's whole heart be in his work, whether it be to write a book, or to paint a picture, or to produce a poem, he will be content to make his life such as may tend to make him do his work best, even though that mode of life should not be the pleasantest in itself. he may gay to himself, i would rather be a great poet than a very cheerful and happy man; and if to lend a very retired and lonely life be the likeliest discipline to make me a great poet, i shall submit to that discipline. you must pay a price in labour and self-denial to accomplish any great end. when milton resolved to write something 'which men should not willingly let die,' he knew what it would cost him. it was to be 'by labour and intent study, which i take to be my portion in this life.' when mr. dickens wrote one of his christmas books, he shut himself up for six weeks to do it; he 'put his whole heart into it, and came out again looking as haggard as a murderer.' there is a substratum of philosophic truth in professor aytoun's brilliant burlesque of firmilian. that gentleman wanted to be a poet. and being persuaded that the only way to successfully describe tragic and awful feelings was to have actually felt them, he got into all kinds of scrapes of set purpose, that he might know what were the actual sensations of people in like circumstances. wishing to know what are the emotions of a murderer, he goes and kills somebody. he finds, indeed, that feelings sought experimentally prove not to be the genuine article: still, you see the spirit of the true artist, content to make any sacrifice to attain perfection in his art. the highest excellence, indeed, in some one department of human exertion is not consistent with decent goodness in all: you dwarf the remaining faculties when you develop one to abnormal size and strength. thus have men been great preachers, but uncommonly neglectful parents. thus have men been great statesmen, but omitted to pay their tradesmen's bills. thus men have been great moral and social reformers, whose own lives stood much in need of moral and social reformation. i should judge from a portrait i have seen of mr. thomas sayers, the champion of england, that this eminent individual has attended to his physical to the neglect of his intellectual development. his face appeared deficient in intelligence, though his body seemed abundant in muscle. and possibly it is better to seek to develop the entire nature--intellectual, moral, and physical-than to push one part of it into a prominence that stunts and kills the rest. it is better to be a complete man than to be essentially a poet, a statesman, a prize-fighter. it is better that a tree should be fairly grown all round, than that it should send out one tremendous branch to the south, and have only rotten twigs in every other direction; better, even though that tremendous branch should be the very biggest that ever was seen. such an inordinate growth in a single direction is truly morbid. it reminds one of the geese whose livers go to form that regal dainty, the pate de foie gras. by subjecting a goose to a certain manner of life, you dwarf its legs, wings, and general muscular development; but you make its liver grow as large as itself. i have known human beings who practised on their mental powers a precisely analogous discipline. the power of calculating in figures, of writing poetry, of chess-playing, of preaching sermons, was tremendous; but all their other faculties were like the legs and wings of the fattening goose. let us try to be entire human beings, round and complete; and if we wish to be so, it is best not to live too much alone. the best that is in man's nature taken as a whole is brought out by the society of his kind. in one or two respects he may be better in solitude, but not as the complete man. and more especially a good deal of the society of little children is much to be desired. you will be the better for having them about you, for listening to their stories, and watching their ways. they will sometimes interrupt you at your work, indeed, but their effect upon your moral development will be more valuable by a great deal than the pages you might have written in the time you spent with them. read over the following verses, which are among the latest written by longfellow. i do not expect that men who have no children of their own will appreciate them duly; but they seem to me among the most pleasing and touching which that pleasing poet ever wrote. miserable solitary beings, see what improving and softening influences you miss! between the dark and the daylight, when the night is beginning to lower, comes a pause in the day's occupations that is known as the children's hour. i hear in the chamber above me the patter of little feet, the sound of a door that is opened, and voices soft and sweet. from my study i see in the lamplight, descending the broad hall-stair, grave alice, and laughing allegra, and edith with golden hair. a whisper, and then a silence: yet i know by their merry eyes they are plotting and planning together to take me by surprise. a sudden rush from the stairway, a sudden raid from the hall! by three doors left unguarded they enter my castle wall! they climb up into my turret, o'er the arms and back of my chair: if i try to escape, they surround me; they seem to be everywhere. they almost devour me with kisses, their arms about me entwine, till i think of the bishop of bingen in his mouse-tower on the rhine! do you think, o blue-eyed banditti, because you have scaled the wall, such an old moustache as i am is not a match for you all? i have you fast in my fortress, and will not let you depart, but put you down into the dungeons, in the round-tower of my heart. and there will i keep you forever, yes, forever and a day, till the walls shall crumble to ruin, and moulder in dust away! what shall be said as to the effect which a solitary life will produce upon a man's estimate of himself? shall it lead him to fancy himself a man of very great importance? or shall it tend to make him underrate himself, and allow inferior men of superior impudence to take the wall of him? possibly we have all seen each effect follow from a too lonely mode of life. each may follow naturally enough. perhaps it is natural to imagine your mental stature to be higher than it is, when you have no one near with whom you may compare yourself. it no doubt tends to take down a human being from his self-conceit, to find himself no more than one of a large circle, no member of which is disposed to pay any special regard to his judgment, or in any way to yield him precedence. and the young man who has come in his solitary dwelling to think that he is no ordinary mortal, has that nonsense taken out of him when he goes back to spend some days in his father's house among a lot of brothers of nearly his own age, who are generally the very last of the race to believe in any man. but sometimes the opposite effect comes of the lonely life. you grow anxious, nervous, and timid; you lose confidence in yourself, in the absence of any who may back up your failing sense of your own importance. you would like to shrink into a corner, and to slip quietly through life unnoticed. and all this without affectation, without the least latent feeling that perhaps you are not so very insignificant after all. yet, even where men have come well to understand how infinitely little they are as regards the estimation of mankind, you will find them, if they live alone, cherishing some vain fancy that some few people, some distant friends, are sometimes thinking of them. you will find them arranging their papers, as though fancying that surely somebody would like some day to see them; and marshalling their sermons, as though in the vague notion that at some future time mortals would be found weak enough to read them. it is one of the things slowly learnt by repeated lessons and lengthening experience, that nobody minds very much about you, my reader. you remember the sensitive test which dr. johnson suggested as to the depth of one mortal's feeling for another. how does it affect his appetite? multitudes in london, he said, professed themselves extremely distressed at the hanging of dr. dodd; but how many on the morning he was hung took a materially worse breakfast than usual? solitary dreamer, fancying that your distant friends feel deep interest in your goings-on, how many of them are there who would abridge their dinner if the black-edged note arrived by post which will some day chronicle the last fact in your worldly history? you get, living alone, into little particular ways of your own. you know how, walking along a crowded street, you cannot keep a straight line: at every step you have to yield a little to right or left to avoid the passers by. this is no great trouble: you do it almost unconsciously, and your journey is not appreciably lengthened. even so, living in a family, walking along the path of life in the same track with many more, you find it needful scores of times each day to give up your own fancies and wishes and ways, in deference to those of others. you cannot divide the day in that precise fashion which you would yourself like best. you must, in deciding what shall be the dinner-hour, regard what will suit others as well as you. you cannot sit always just in the corner or in the chair you would prefer. sometimes you must tell your children a story when you are weary, or busy; but you cannot find it in your heart to cast a shadow of disappointment on the eager little faces that come and ask you. you have to stop writing many a time, in the middle of a sentence, to open your study door at the request of a little voice outside; and to admit a little visitor who can give no more definite reason for her visit than that she has come to see you, and tell you she has been a good girl. and all this is well for you it breaks in hour by hour upon your native selfishness. and it cosfs you not the slightest effort to give up your own wish to that of your child. even if to middle age you retain the innocent taste for sweetmeats, would you not have infinitely greater pleasure in seeing your little boy or girl eating up the contents of your parcel, than in eating them yourself? it is to me a thoroughly disgusting sight to see, as we sometimes do, the wife and children of a family kept in constant terror of the selfish bashaw at the head of the house, and ever on the watch to yield in every petty matter to his whims and fancies. sometimes, where he is a hard-wrought and anxious man, whose hard work earns his children's bread, and whose life is their sole stay, it is needful that he should be deferred to in many things, lest the overtasked brain and overstrained nervous system should break down or grow unequal to their task. but i am not thinking of such cases. i mean cases in which the head of the family is a great fat, bullying, selfish scoundrel; who devours sullenly the choice dishes at dinner, and walks into all the fruit at dessert, while his wife looks on in silence, and the awe-stricken children dare not hint that they would like a little of what the brutal hound is devouring. i mean cases in which the contemptible dog is extremely well dressed, while his wife and children's attire is thin and bare; in which he liberally tosses about his money in the billiard-room, and goes off in autumn for a tour on the continent by himself, leaving them to the joyless routine of their unvaried life. it is sad to see the sudden hush that falls upon the little things when he enters the house; how their sports are cut short, and they try to steal away from the room. would that i were the emperor of russia, and such a man my subject! should not he taste the knout? should not i make him howl? that would be his suitable punishment: for he will never feel what worthier mortals would regard as the heavier penalty by far, the utter absence of confidence or real affection between him and his children when they grow up. he will not mind that there never was a day when the toddling creatures set up a shout of delight at his entrance, and rushed at him and scaled him and searched in his pockets, and pulled him about; nor that the day will never come when, growing into men and women, they will come to him for sympathy and guidance in their little trials and perplexities. oh, woful to think that there are parents, held in general estimation too, to whom their children would no more think of going for kindly sympathy, than they would think of going to nova zembla for warmth! but this is an excursus: i would that my hand were wielding a stout horsewhip rather than a pen! let me return to the point of deviation, and say that a human being, if he be true-hearted, by living in a family, insensibly and constantly is gently turned from his own stiff track; and goes through life sinuously, so to speak. but the lonely man settles into his own little ways. he is like the man who walks through the desert without a soul to elbow him for miles. he fixes his own hours; he sits in his own corner, in his peculiar chair; he arranges the lamp where it best suits himself that it should stand; he reads his newspaper when he pleases, for no one else wants to see it; he orders from the club the books that suit his own taste. and all this quite fitly: like the duke of argyle's attacks upon lord derby, these things please himself, and do harm to nobody. it is not selfishness not to consult the wishes of other people, if there be no other people whose wishes you can consult. and, though with great suffering to himself, i believe that many a kind-hearted, precise old bachelor, stiffened into his own ways through thirty solitary years would yet make an effort to give them up, if he fancied that to yield a little from them was needful to the comfort of others. he would give up the corner by the fire in which he las sat through the life of a generation: he would resign to another the peg on which his hat has hung through that long time. still, all this would cost a painful effort; and one need hardly repeat the common-place, that if people intend ever to get married, it is expedient that they should do so before they have settled too rigidly into their own ways. it is a very touching thing, i think, to turn over the repositories of a lonely man after he is dead. you come upon so many indications of all his little ways and arrangements. in the case of men who have been the heads of large families, this work is done by those who have been most nearly connected with them, and who knew their ways before; and such men, trained hourly to yield their own wishes in things small and great, have comparatively few of those little peculiar ways in which so much of their individuality seems to make its touching appeal to us after they are gone. but lonely men not merely have very many little arrangements of their own, but have a particular reserve in exhibiting these: there is a strong sensitiveness about them: you know how they would have shrunk in life from allowing any one to turn over their papers, or even to look into the arrangements of their wardrobe and their linen-press. i remember once, after the sudden death of a reserved old gentleman, being one of two or three who went over all his repositories. the other people who did so with me were hard-headed lawyers, and did not seem to mind much; but i remember that it appeared to me a most touching sight we saw. all the little ways into which he had grown in forty lonely years; all those details about his property (a very large one), which in life he had kept entirely to himself--all these we saw. i remember, lying on the top of the documents contained in an iron chest, a little scrap of paper, the back of an ancient letter, on which was written a note of the amount of all his wealth. there you saw at once a secret which in life he would have confided to no one. i remember the precise arrangement of all the little piles of papers, so neatly tied up in separate parcels. i remember the pocket-handkerchiefs, of several different kinds, each set wrapped up by itself in a piece of paper. it was curious to think that he had counted and sorted those, handkerchiefs; and now he was so far away. what a contrast, the little cares of many little matters like that, and the solemn realities of the unseen world! i would not on any account have looked over these things alone. i should have had an awe-stricken expectation that i should be interrupted. i should have expected a sudden tap on the shoulder, and to be asked what i was doing there. and doubtless, in many such cases, when the repositories of the dead are first looked into by strangers, some one far away would be present, if such things could be. solitary men, of the class which i have in my mind, are generally very hard-wrought men, and are kept too busy to allow very much time for reverie. still, there is some. there are evening hours after the task is done, when you sit by the fire, or walk up and down your study, and think that you are missing a great deal in this lonely life; and that much more might be made of your stay in this world, while its best years are passing over. you think that there are many pleasant people in the world, people whom you would like to know, and who might like you if they knew you. but you and they have never met; and if you go on in this solitary fashion, you and they never will meet. no doubt here is your comfortable room; there is the blazing fire and the mellow lamp and the warmly-curtained windows; and pervading the silent chamber, there is the softened murmur of the not distant sea. the backs of your books look out at you like old friends; and after you are married, you won't be able to afford to buy so many. still, you recall the cheerful society in which you have often spent such hours, and you think it might be well if you were not so completely cut off from it. you fancy you hear the hum of lively conversation, such as gently exhilarates the mind without tasking it; and again you think what a loss it is to live where you hardly ever hear music, whether good or bad. you think of the awkward shyness and embarrassment of manner which grows upon a man who is hardly ever called to join in general conversation. yes, he knew our nature best who said that it is not good that man should be alone. we lean to our kind. there is indeed a solitariness which is the condition of an individual soul's being, which no association with others can do away; but there is no reason why we should add to that burden of personality which the bishop of oxford, in one of his most striking sermons, has shown to be truly 'an awful gift.' and say, youthful recluse (i don't mean you, middle-aged bachelor, i mean really young men of five or six and twenty), have you not sometimes, sitting by the fireside in the evening, looked at the opposite easy chair in the ruddy glow, and imagined that easy chair occupied by a gentle companion--one who would bring out into double strength all that is good in you--one who would sympathize with you and encourage you in all your work--one who would think you much wiser, cleverer, handsomer, and better than any mortal has ever yet thought you--the angel in the house, in short, to use the strong expression of mr. coventry patmore? probably you have imagined all that: possibly you have in some degree realized it all. if not, in all likelihood the fault lies chiefly with yourself. it must be a dismal thing for a solitary man to be taken ill: i mean so seriously ill as to be confined to bed, yet not so dangerously ill as to make some relation or friend come at all sacrifices to be with you. the writer speaks merely from logical considerations: happily he never experienced the case. but one can see that in that lonely life, there can be none of those pleasant circumstances which make days in bed, when acute pain is over, or the dangerous turning-point of disease is happily past, as quietly enjoyable days as any man is ever likely to know. no one should ever be seriously ill (if he can help it) unless he be one of a considerable household. even then, indeed, it will be advisable to be ill as seldom as may be. but to a person who when well is very hard-worked, and a good deal worried, what restful days those are of which we are thinking! you have such a feeling of peace and quietness. there you lie, in lazy luxury, when you are suffering merely the weakness of a serious illness, but the pain and danger are past. all your wants are so thoughtfully and kindly anticipated. it is a very delightful sensation to lift your head from the pillow, and instantly to find yourself giddy and blind from loss of blood, and just drop your head down again. it is not a question, even for the most uneasily exacting conscience, whether you are to work or not: it is plain you cannot. there is no difficulty on that score. and then you are weakened to that degree that nothing worries you. things going wrong or remaining neglected about the garden or the stable, which would have annoyed you when well, cannot touch you here. all you want is to lie still and rest. everything is still. you faintly hear the door-bell ring; and though you live in a quiet country house where that phenomenon rarely occurs, you feel not the least curiosity to know who is there. you can look for a long time quite contentedly at the glow of the fire on the curtains and on the ceiling. you feel no anxiety about the coming in of the post; but when your letters and newspapers arrive, you luxuriously read them, a very little at a time, and you soon forget all you have read. you turn over and fall asleep for a while; then you read a little more. your reviving appetite makes simple food a source of real enjoyment. the children come in, and tell you wonderful stories of all that has happened since you were ill. they are a little subdued at first, but soon grow noisy as usual; and their noise does not in the least disturb you. you hear it as though it were miles off. after days and nights of great pain, you understand the blessing of ease and rest: you are disposed to be pleased with everything, and everybody wants to please you. the day passes away, and the evening darkness comes before you are aware. everything is strange, and everything is soothing and pleasant. the only disadvantage is, that you grow so fond of lying in bed, that you shrink extremely from the prospect of ever getting up again. having arrived at this point, at . on this friday evening, i gathered up all the pages which have been written, and carried them to the fireside, and sitting there, i read them over; and i confess, that on the whole, it struck me that the present essay was somewhat heavy. a severe critic might possibly say that it was stupid. i fancied it would have been rather good when it was sketched out; but it has not come up to expectation. however, it is as good as i could make it; and i trust the next essay may be better. it is a chance, you see, what the quality of any composition shall be. give me a handle to turn, and i should undertake upon every day to turn it equally well. but in the working of the mental machine, the same pressure of steam, the same exertion of will, the same strain of what powers you have, will not always produce the same result. and if you, reader, feel some disappointment at looking at a new work by an old friend, and finding it not up to the mark you expected, think how much greater his disappointment must have been as the texture rolled out from the loom, and he felt it was not what he had wished. here, to-night, the room and the house are as still as in my remembrance of the solitary days which are gone. but they will not be still to-morrow morning; and they are so now because sleep has hushed two little voices, and stayed the ceaseless movements of four little pattering feet. may those solitary days never return. they are well enough when the great look-out is onward; but, oh! how dreary such days must be to the old man whose main prospect is of the past! i cannot imagine a lot more completely beyond all earthly consolation, than that of a man from whom wife and children have been taken away, and who lives now alone in the dwelling once gladdened by their presence, but now haunted by their memory. let us humbly pray, my reader, that such a lot may never be yours or mine. chapter viii. concerning glasgow down the water. upon any day in the months of june, july, august, and september, the stranger who should walk through the handsome streets, crescents, and terraces which form the west end of glasgow, might be led to fancy that the plague was in the town, or that some fearful commercial crash had brought ruin upon all its respectable families,--so utterly deserted is the place. the windows are all done up with brown paper: the door-plates and handles, ere-while of glittering brass, are black with rust: the flights of steps which lead to the front-doors of the houses have furnished a field for the chalked cartoons of vagabond boys with a turn for drawing. the more fashionable the terrace or crescent, the more completely is it deserted: our feet waken dreary echoes as we pace the pavement. we naturally inquire of the first policeman we meet, what is the matter with glasgow,--has anything dreadful happened? and we receive for answer the highly intelligible explanation, that the people are all down the water. we are enjoying (shall we suppose) our annual holiday from the turmoil of westminster hall and the throng of london streets; and we have taken glasgow on our way to the highlands. we have two or three letters of introduction to two or three of the merchant-princes of the city; and having heard a great deal of the splendid hospitalities of the western metropolis of the north, we have been anticipating with considerable satisfaction stretching our limbs beneath their mahogany, and comparing their cuisine and their cellar with the descriptions of both which we have often heard from mr. allan m'collop, a glasgow man who is getting on fairly at the bar. but when we go to see our new acquaintances, or when they pay us a hurried visit at our hotel, each of them expresses his deep regret that he cannot ask us to his house, which he tells us is shut up, his wife and family being down the water. no explanation is vouchsafed of the meaning of the phrase, which is so familiar to glasgow folk that they forget how oddly it sounds on the ear of the stranger. our first hasty impression, perhaps, from the policeman's sad face (no cold meat for him now, honest man), was that some sudden inundation had swept away the entire wealthier portion of the population,--at the same time curiously sparing the toiling masses. but the pleasant and cheerful look of our mercantile friend, as he states what has become of his domestic circle, shows us that nothing very serious is amiss. at length, after much meditation, we conclude that the people are at the sea-side; and as that lies down the clyde from glasgow, when a glasgow man means to tell us that his family and himself are enjoying the fresh breezes and the glorious scenery of the frith of clyde, he says they are down the water. everybody everywhere of course longs for the country, the sea-side, change of air and scene, at some period during the year. almost every man of the wealthier and more cultivated class in this country has a vacation, longer or shorter. but there never was a city whence the annual migration to the sea-side is so universal or so protracted as it is from glasgow. by the month of march in each year, every house along the coast within forty miles of glasgow is let for the season at a rent which we should say must be highly remunerative. many families go to the coast early in may, and every one is down the water by the first of june. most people now stay till the end of september. the months of june and july form what is called 'the first season;' august and september are 'the second season.' until within the last few years, one of these 'seasons' was thought to furnish a glasgow family with vigour and buoyancy sufficient to face the winter, but now almost all who can afford it stay at the sea-side during both. and from the little we have seen of glasgow, we do not wonder that such should be the case. no doubt glasgow is a fine city on the whole. the trongate is a noble street; the park on the banks of the kelvin, laid out by sir joseph paxton, furnishes some pleasant walks; the sauchyhall-road is an agreeable promenade; claremont, crescent and park gardens consist of houses which would be of the first class even in belgravia or tyburnia; and from the west-end streets, there are prospects of valley and mountain which are worth going some distance to see. but the atmosphere, though comparatively free from smoke, wants the exhilarating freshness of breezes just arrived from the atlantic. the sun does not set in such glory beyond gilmore-hill, as behind the glowing granite of goatfell; and the trunks of the trees round glasgow are (if truth must be spoken) a good deal blacker than might be desired, while their leaves are somewhat shrivelled up by the chemical gales of st. rollox. no wonder, then, that the purest of pure air, the bluest of blue waves, the most picturesque of noble hills, the most purple of heather, the greenest of ivy, the thickest of oak-leaves, the most fragrant of roses and honeysuckle, should fairly smash poor old glasgow during the summer months, and leave her not a leg to stand on. the ladies and children of the multitudinous families that go down the water, remain there permanently, of course: most of the men go up to business every morning and return to the sea-side every night. this implies a journey of from sixty to eighty miles daily; but the rapidity and the cheapness of the communication, render the journey a comparatively easy one. still, it occupies three or four hours of the day; and many persons remain in town two or three nights weekly, smuggling themselves away in some little back parlour of their dismantled dwellings. but let us accept our friend's invitation to spend a few days at his place down the water, and gather up some particulars of the mode of life there. there are two ways of reaching the coast from glasgow. we may sail all the way down the clyde, in steamers generally remarkably well-appointed and managed; or we may go by railway to greenock, twenty-three miles off, and catch the steamer there. by going by railway we save an hour,--a great deal among people with whom emphatically time is money,--and we escape a somewhat tedious sail down the river. the steamer takes two hours to reach greenock, while some express trains which run all the way without stopping, accomplish the distance in little more than half an hour. the sail down the clyde to greenock is in parts very interesting. the banks of the river are in some places richly wooded: on the north side there are picturesque hills; and the huge rock on which stands the ancient castle of dumbarton, is a striking feature. but we have never met any glasgow man or woman who did not speak of the sail between glasgow and greenock as desperately tedious, and by all means to be avoided. then in warm summer weather the clyde is nearly as filthy as the thames; and sailing over a sewer, even through fine scenery, has its disadvantages. so we resolve to go with our friend by railway to greenock, and thus come upon the clyde where it has almost opened into the sea. quite opened into the sea, we might say: for at greenock the river is three miles broad, while at glasgow it is only some three hundred yards. 'meet me at bridge-street station at five minutes to four,' says mr. b--, after we have agreed to spend a few days on the clyde. there are a couple of hours to spare, which we give to a basin of very middling soup at mclerie's, and to a visit to the cathedral, which is a magnificent specimen of the severest style of gothic architecture. we are living at the royal hotel in george square, which we can heartily recommend to tourists; and when our hour approaches, boots brings us a cab. we are not aware whether there is any police regulation requiring the cabs of glasgow to be extremely dirty, and the horses that draw them to be broken-winded, and lame of not more than four nor less than two legs. perhaps it is merely the general wish of the inhabitants that has brought about the present state of things. however this may be, the unhappy animal that draws us reaches bridge-street station at last. as our carriage draws up we catch a glimpse of half-a-dozen men, in that peculiar green dress which railway servants affect, hastening to conceal themselves behind the pillars which decorate the front of the building, while two or three excited ticket-porters seize our baggage, and offer to carry it up-stairs. but our friend with scotch foresight and economy, has told us to make the servants of the company do thein work. 'hands off,' we say to the ticket-porters; and walking up the steps we round a pillar, and smartly tapping on the shoulder one of the green-dressed gentlemen lurking there, we indicate to him the locality of our port-manteau. sulkily he shoulders it, and precedes us to the booking-office. the fares are moderate; eighteen-pence to greenock, first class: and we understand that persona who go daily, by taking season tickets, travel for much less. the steamers afford a still cheaper access to the sea-side, conveying passengers from glasgow to rothesay, about forty-five miles, for sixpence cabin and three-pence deck. the trains start from a light and spacious shed, which has the very great disadvantage of being at an elevation of thirty or forty feet above the ground level. railway companies have sometimes spent thousands of pounds to accomplish ends not a tenth part so desirable as is the arranging their stations in such a manner as that people in departing, and still more in arriving, shall be spared the annoyance and peril of a break-neck staircase like that at the glasgow railway station. it is a vast comfort when cabs can draw up alongside the train, under cover, so that people can get into them at once, as at euston-square. the railway carriages that run between glasgow and greenock have a rather peculiar appearance. the first-class carriages are of twice the usual length, having six compartments instead of three. each compartment holds eight passengers; and as this accommodation is gained by increasing the breadth of the carriages, brass bars are placed across the windows, to prevent any one from putting out his head. should any one do so, his head would run some risk of coming in collision with the other train; and although, from physiological reasons, tome heads might receive no injury in such a case, the carriage with which they came in contact would probably suffer. the expense of painting is saved by the carriages being built of teak, which when varnished has a cheerful light-oak colour. there is a great crowd of men on the platform, for the four o'clock train is the chief down-train of the day. the bustle of the business-day is over; there is a general air of relief and enjoyment. we meet our friend punctual to the minute; we take our seat on the comfortable blue cushions; the bell rings; the engine pants and tugs; and we are off 'down the water.' we pass through a level country on leaving glasgow: there are the rich fields which tell of scotch agricultural industry. it is a bright august afternoon: the fields are growing yellow; the trees and hedges still wear their summer green. in a quarter of an hour the sky suddenly becomes overcast. it is not a cloud: don't be afraid of an unfavourable change of weather; we have merely plunged into the usual atmosphere of dirty and ugly paisley. without a pause, we sweep by, and here turn off to the right. that line of railway from which we have turned aside runs on to dumfries and carlisle; a branch of it keeps along the ayrshire coast to ardrossan and ayr. in a little while we are skimming the surface of a bleak, black moor; it is a dead level, and not in the least interesting: but, after a plunge into the mirk darkness of a long tunnel, we emerge into daylight again; and there, sure enough, are the bright waters of the clyde. we are on its south side; it has spread out to the breadth of perhaps a couple of miles. that rocky height on its north shore is dumbarton castle; that great mass beyond is ben lomond, at whose base lies loch lomond, the queen of scottish lakes, now almost as familiar to many a cockney tourist as a hundred years since to rob roy macgregor. we keep close by the water's edge, skirting a range of hills on which grow the finest strawberries in scotland. soon, to the right, we see many masts, many great rafts of timber, many funnels of steamers; and there, creeping along out in the middle of the river, is the steamer we are to join, which left glasgow an hour before us. we have not stopped since we left glasgow; thirty-five minutes have elapsed, and now we sweep into a remarkably tasteless and inconvenient station. this is greenock at last; but, as at glasgow, the station is some forty feet above the ground. a railway cart at the foot of a long stair receives the luggage of passengers, and then sets off at a gallop down a dirty little lane. we follow at a run; and, a hundred and fifty yards off, we come on a long range of wharf, beside which lie half-a-dozen steamers, sputtering out their white steam with a roar, as though calling impatiently for their passengers to come faster. our train has brought passengers for a score of places on the frith; and in the course of the next hour and a half, these vessels will disperse them to their various destinations. by way of guidance to the inexperienced, a post is erected on the wharf, from which arms project, pointing to the places of the different steamers. the idea is a good one, and if carried out with the boldness with which it was conceived, much advantage might be derived by strangers. but a serious drawback about these indicators is, that they are invariably pointed in the wrong direction, which renders them considerably less useful than they might otherwise be. fortunately we have a guide, for there is not a moment to lose. we hasten on board, over an awkward little gangway, kept by a policeman of rueful countenance, who punches the heads of several little boys who look on with awe. bareheaded and bare-footed girls offer baskets of gooseberries and plums of no tempting appearance. ragged urchins bellow 'day's penny paper! glasgow daily news!' in a minute or two, the ropes are cast off, and the steamers diverge as from a centre to their various ports. we are going to dunoon. leaving the ship-yards of greenock echoing with multitudinous hammerings, and rounding a point covered with houses, we see before us gourock, the nearest to greenock of the places 'down the water.' it is a dirty little village on the left side of the frith. a row of neat houses, quite distinct from the dirty village, stretches for two miles along the water's edge. the hills rise immediately behind these. the frith is here about three miles in breadth. it is renfrewshire on the left hand; a few miles on, and it will be ayrshire. on the right are the hills of argyleshire. and now, for many miles on either side, the shores of the frith, and the shores of the long arms of the sea that run up among those argyleshire mountains, are fringed with villas, castles, and cottages--the retreats of glasgow men and their families. it is not, perhaps, saying much for glasgow to state that one of its greatest advantages is the facility with which one can get away from it, and the beauty of the places to which one can get. but true it is, that there is hardly a great city in the world which is so well off in this respect. for six-pence, the artisan of bridgeton or calton can travel forty miles in the purest air, over as blue a sea, and amid as noble hills, as can be found in britain. the clyde is a great highway: a highway traversed, indeed, by a merchant navy scarcely anywhere surpassed in extent; but a highway, too, whose gracious breezes, through the summer and autumn time, are ever ready to revive the heart of the pale weaver, with his thin wife and child, arid to fan the cheek of the poor consumptive needlewoman into the glow of something like country health and strength. after greenock is passed, and the river has grown into the frith, the general features of the scene'remain very much the same for upwards of twenty miles. the water varies from three to seven or eight miles in breadth; and then suddenly opens out to a breadth of twenty or thirty miles. hills, fringed with wood along their base, and gradually passing into moorland as they ascend, form, the shores on either side. the rocky islands of the great and little cumbrae occupy the middle of the frith, about fourteen or fifteen miles below greenock: to the right lies the larger island of bute; and further on the still larger island of arran. the hills on the argyleshire side of the frith are generally bold and precipitous: those on the ayrshire side are of much less elevation. the character of all the places'down the water' is almost identical: they consist of a row of houses, generally detached villas or cottages, reaching along the shore, at only a few yards' distance from the water, with the hills arising immediately behind. the beach is not very convenient for bathing, being generally rocky; though here and there we find a btrip of yellow sand. trees and shrubs grow in the richest way down to the water's edge. the trees are numerous, and luxuriant rather than large; oaks predominate; we should say few of them are a hundred years old. ivy and honeysuckle grow in profusion; for several miles along the coast, near largs, there is a perpendicular wall of rock from fifty to one hundred feet in height, which follows the windings of the shore at a distance of one hundred and fifty yards from the water, enclosing between itself and the sea a long ribbon of fine soil, on which shrubs, flowers, and fruit grow luxuriantly; and this natural rampart, which advances and retreats as we pursue the road at its base, like the bastions and curtains of some magnificent feudal castle, is in many places clad with ivy, so fresh and green that we can hardly believe that for months in the year it is wet with the salt spray of the atlantic. here and there, along the coast, are places where the land is capable of cultivation for a mile or two inland; but, as the rule, the hill ascends almost from the water's edge, into granite and heather. let us try to remember the names of the places which reach along the frith upon either hand: we believe that a list of them will show that not without reason it is said that glasgow is unrivalled in the number of her sea-side retreats. on the right hand, as we go down the frith, there are helensburgh, row, roseneath, shandon, gareloch-head, cove, kilcreggan, lochgoil-head, arrochar, ardentinny, strone, kilmun, kirn, dunoon, inellan, toward, port bonnatyne, rothesay, askog, colintrave, tynabruach. sometimes these places form for miles one long range of villas. indeed, from strone to toward, ten or twelve miles, the coast is one continuous street. on the left hand of the frith are gourock, ashton, inverkip, wemyss bay, skelmorlie, largs, fairlie: then comes a bleak range of sandy coast, along which stand ardrossan, troon, and ayr. in the island of cumbrae is millport, conspicuously by the tall spire which marks the site of an episcopal chapel and college of great architectural beauty, built within the last few years. and in arran are the villages of lamlash and brodick. the two cumbrae islands constitute a parish. a simple-minded clergyman, not long deceased, who held the cure for many years, was wont, sunday by sunday, to pray (in the church service) for 'the islands of the great and little cumbrae, and also for the adjacent islands of great britain and ireland.' but all this while the steam has been fiercely chafing through the funnel as we have been stopping at gourock quay. we are away at last, and are now crossing the frith towards the argyleshire side. a mile or two down, along the ayrshire side, backed by the rich woods of ardgowan, tall and spectral-white, stands the cloch lighthouse. we never have looked at it without thinking how many a heart-broken emigrant must be remembering that severely simple white tower as almost the last thing he saw in scotland when he was leaving it for ever. the frith opens before us as we advance: we are running at the rate (quite usual among clyde steamers) of sixteen or seventeen miles an hour. there, before us, is cumbrae: over bute and over cumbrae look the majestic mountains of arran; that great granite peak is goat-fell. and on a clear day, far out, guarding the entrance to the frith, rising sheer up from the deep sea, at ten miles' distance from the nearest land, looms ailsa, white with sea-birds, towering to the height of twelve or thirteen hundred feet. it is a rocky islet of about a mile in circumference, and must have been thrown up by volcanic agency; for the water around it is hundreds of feet in depth. out in the middle of the frith we can see the long, low, white line of buildings on either side of it, nestling at the foot of the hills. we are drawing near dunoon. that opening on the right is the entrance to loch long and loch goyle; and a little further on we pass the entrance to the holy loch, on whose shore is the ancient burying-place of the family of argyle. how remarkably tasteful many of these villas are! they are generally built in the elizabethan style: they stand in grounds varying from half an acre up to twenty or thirty acres, very prettily laid out with shrubbery and flowers; a number (we can see, for we are now skirting the argyleshire coast at the distance of only a few hundred yards) have conservatories and hot-houses of more or less extent: flagstaffs appear to be much affected (for send a landsman to the coast, and he is sure to become much more marine than a sailor): and those pretty bow-windows, with the crimson fuchsias climbing up them--those fantastic gables and twisted chimneys--those shining evergreens and cheerful gravel walks--with no lack of pretty girls in round hats, and sportive children rolling about the trimly-kept grass plots--all seen in this bright august sunshine--all set off against this blue smiling expanse of sea--make a picture so gay and inviting, that we really do not wonder any more that glasgow people should like to 'go down the water.' here is dunoon pier. several of the coast places have, like dunoon, a long jetty of wood running out a considerable distance into the water, for the accommodation of the steamers, which call every hour or two throughout the day. other places have deep water close in-shore, and are provided with a wharf of stone. and several of the recently founded villages (and half of those we have enumerated have sprung up within the last ten years) have no landing-place at which steamers can touch; and their passengers have to land and embark by the aid of a ferry-boat. we touch the pier at last: a gangway is hastily thrown from the pier to the steamer, and in company with many others we go ashore. at the landward end of the jetty, detained there by a barrier of twopence each of toll, in round hats and alpaca dresses, are waiting our friend's wife and children, from whom we receive a welcome distinguished by that frankness which is characteristic of glasgow people. but we do not intend so far to imitate the fashion of some modern tourists and biographers, as to give our readers a description of our friend's house and family, his appearance and manners. we shall only say of him what will never single him out--for it may be said of hundreds more--that he is a wealthy, intelligent, well-informed, kind-hearted glasgow merchant. and if his daughters did rather bore us by their enthusiastic descriptions of the sermons of 'our minister,' mr. macduff, the still grander orations of mr. caird, and the altogether unexampled eloquence of dr. gumming, why, they were only showing us a thoroughly glasgow feature; for nowhere in britain, we should fancy, is there so much talk about preaching and preachers. in sailing down the frith, one gets no just idea of the richness and beauty of its shores. we have said that a little strip of fine soil,--in some places only fifty or sixty yards in breadth,--runs like a ribbon, occasionally broadening out to three or four times that extent, along the sea-margin; beyond this ribbon of ground come the wild moor and mountain. in sailing down the frith, our eye is caught by the large expanse of moorland, and we do not give due importance to the rich strip which bounds it, like an edging of gold lace (to use king james's comparison) round a russet petticoat. when we land we understand things better. we find next the sea, at almost any point along the frith, the turnpike road, generally nearly level, and beautifully smooth. here and there, in the places of older date, we find quite a street of contiguous houses; but the general rule is of detached dwellings of all grades, from the humblest cottage to the most luxurious villa. at considerable intervals, there are residences of a much higher class than even this last, whose grounds stretch for long distances along the shore. such places are ardgovvan, kelly, skelmorlie castle, and kelburne, on the ayrshire side; and on the other shore of the frith, roseneath castle, toward castle, and mountstuart. [footnote: ardgowan, residence of sir michael shaw stewart; kelly, mr. scott; skelmorlie, the earl of eglinton; kelburne, the earl of glasgow; roseneath, the duke of argyle; toward, mr. kirkwall finlay mountstuart, the marquis of bute.] and of dwellings of a less ambitious standing than these really grand abodes, yet of a mark much above that suggested by the word villa, we may name the very showy house of mr. napier, the eminent maker of marine steam-engines, on the gareloch, a building in the saracenic style, which cost we are afraid to say how many thousand pounds; the finely-placed castle of wemyss, built from the design of billings; and the very striking piece of baronial architecture called knock castle, the residence of mr. steel, a wealthy shipbuilder of greenock. the houses along the frith are, in scotch fashion, built exclusively of stone, which is obtained with great facility. along the ayrshire coast, the warm-looking red sandstone of the district is to be had everywhere, almost on the surface. one sometimes sees a house rising, the stone being taken from a deep quarry close to it: the same crane often serving to lift a block from the quarry, and to place it in its permanent position upon the advancing wall. we have said how rich is vegetation all along the frith, until we reach the sandy downs from ardrossan to ayr. all evergreens grow with great rapidity: ivy covers dead walls very soon. to understand in what luxuriance vegetable life may be maintained close to the sea-margin, one must walk along the road which leads from the west bay at dunoon towards toward. we never saw trees so covered with honeysuckle; and fuchsias a dozen feet in height are quite common. in this sweet spot, in an elizabethan house of exquisite design, retired within grounds where fine taste has done its utmost, resides, during the summer vacation (and the summer vacation is six months!), mr. buchanan, the professor of logic in the university of glasgow. it must be a very fair thing to teach logic at glasgow, if the revenue of that chair maintains the groves and flowers, and (we may add) the liberal hospitalities, of ardflllane. one pleasing circumstance about the frith of clyde, which we remark the more from its being unhappily the exception to the general rule in scotland, is the general neatness and ecclesiastical character of the churches. the parish church of dunoon, standing on a wooded height, rising from the water, with its grey tower looking over the trees, is a dignified and commanding object. the churches of roseneath and row, which have been built within a year or two, are correct and elegant specimens of ecclesiastical gothic: indeed they are so thoroughly like churches, that john knox would assuredly have pulled them down had they been standing in his day. and here and there along the coast the rich glasgow merchants and the neighbouring proprietors have built pretty little chapels, whose cross-crowned gables, steep-pitched roofs, dark oak wood-work, and stained windows, are pleasant indications that old prejudice lias given way among cultivated scotchmen; and that it has come to be understood that it is false religion as well as bad taste and sense to make god's house the shabbiest, dirtiest, and most uncomfortable house in the parish. some of these sea-side places of worship are crowded in summer by a fashionable congregation, and comparatively deserted in winter when the glasgow folks are gone. a very considerable number of the families that go 'down the water' occupy houses which are their own property. there must be, one would think, a special interest about a house which is one's own. a man must become attached to a spot where he himself planted the hollies and yews, and his children have marked their growth year by year. still, many people do not like to be tied to one place, and prefer varying their quarters each season. very high rents are paid for good houses on the frith of clyde. from thirty to fifty pounds a month is a common charge for a neat villa at one of the last founded and most fashionable places. a little less is charged for the months of august and september than for june and july; and if a visitor takes a house for the four months which constitute the season, he may generally have it for may and october without further cost, decent houses or parts of houses (flats as they are called), may be had for about ten pounds a month; and at those places which approach to the character of a town, as largs, eothesay, and dunoon, lodgings may be obtained where attendance is provided by the people of the house. a decided drawback about the sea-side places within twenty miles from greenock, is their total want of that fine sandy beach, so firm and dry and inviting when the tide is out, which forms so great an attraction at ardrossan, troon, and ayr. at a few points, as for instance the west bay at dunoon, there is a beautiful expanse of yellow sand: but as a rule, where the shore does not consist of precipitous rocks, sinking at once into deep water, it is made of great rough stones, which form a most unpleasant footing for bathers. in front of most villas a bathing place is formed by clearing the stones away. bathing machines, we should mention, are quite unknown upon the frith of clyde. so much for the locality which is designated by the phrase, down the water: and now we can imagine our readers asking what kind of life glasgow people lead there. of course there must be a complete breaking up of all city ways and habits, and a general return to a simpler and more natural mode of living. our few days at dunoon, and a few days more at two other places on the frith, were enough to give us some insight into the usual order of things. by seven or half-past seven o'clock in the morning the steam is heard by us, as we are snug in bed, fretting through the waste-pipe of the early boat for glasgow; and with great complacency we picture to ourselves the unfortunate business-men, with whom we had a fishing excursion last night, already up, and breakfasted, and hurrying along the shore towards the vessel which is to bear them back to the counting-house and the exchange. poor fellows! they sacrifice a good deal to grow rich. at each village along the shore the steamer gets an accession to the number of her passengers; for the most part of trim, close-shaved, well-dressed gentlemen, of sober aspect and not many words; though here and there comes some whiskered and moustached personage, with a shirt displaying a pattern of ballet-dancers, a shooting coat of countless pockets, and trousers of that style which, in our college days, we used to call loud. a shrewd bank-manager told us that he always made a mental memorandum of such individuals, in case they should ever come to him to borrow money. don't they wish they may get it! the steamer parts with her entire freight at greenock, whence an express train rapidly conveys our friends into the heat and smoke of glasgow. before ten o'clock all of them are at their work. for us, who have the day at our own disposal, we have a refreshing dip in the sea at rising, then a short walk, and come in to breakfast with an appetite foreign to paper buildings. it is quite a strong sensation when the post appears about ten o'clock, bearing tidings from the toiling world we have left behind. those families who have their choice dine at two o'clock--an excellent dinner hour when the day is not a working one: the families whose male members are in town, sometimes postpone the most important engagement of the day till their return at six or half-past six o'clock. as for the occupations of the day, there are boating and yachting, wandering along the beach, lying on the heather looking at arran through the sun-mist, lounging into the reading-room, dipping into any portion of the times except the leading articles, turning over the magazines, and generally enjoying the blessing of rest. fishing is in high favour, especially among the ladies. hooks baited with muscles are sunk to the ground by leaden weights (the fishers are in a boat), and abundance of whitings are caught when the weather is favourable. we confess we don't think the employment ladylike. sticking the muscles upon the hooks is no work for fair fingers; neither is the pulling the captured fish off the hooks. and, even in the pleasantest company, we cannot see anything very desirable in sitting in a boat, all the floor of which is covered by unhappy whitings and codlings flapping about in their last agony. many young ladies row with great vigour and adroitness. and as we walk along the shore in the fading twilight, we often hear, from boats invisible in the gathering shadows, music mellowed by the distance into something very soft and sweet. the lords of the creation have come back by the late boats; and we meet pater-familias enjoying his evening walk, surrounded by his children, shouting with delight at having their governor among them once more. no wonder that, after a day amid the hard matter-of-fact of business life, he should like to hasten away to the quiet fireside and the loving hearts by the sea. few are the hard-wrought men who cannot snatch an entire day from business sometimes: and then there is a pic-nic. glasgow folk have even more, we believe, than the average share of stiff dinner parties when in town: we never saw people who seemed so completely to enjoy the freshness and absence of formality which characterize the well-assorted entertainment al fresco. we were at one or two of these; and we cannot describe the universal gaiety and light-heartedness, extending to grave presbyterian divines and learned glasgow professors; the blue sea and the smiling sky; the rocky promontory where our feast was spread; its abundance and variety; the champagne which flowed like water; the joviality and cleverness of many of the men; the frankness and pretty faces of all of the women. [footnote: we do not think, from what we hare seen, that glasgow is rich in beauties; though pretty faces are very common. times are improved, however, since the days of the lady who said, on being asked if there were many beauties in glasgow, 'oh no; very few; there are only three of us.'] we had a pleasant yachting excursion one day; and the delight of a new sensation was well exemplified in the intense enjoyment of dinner in the cramped little cabin where one could hardly turn, and great was the sight when our host, with irrepressible pride, produced his preserved meats and vegetables, as for an arctic voyage, although a messenger sent in the boat which was towing behind could have procured them fresh in ten minutes. a sunday at the sea-side, or as scotch people prefer calling it, a sabbath, is an enjoyable thing. the steamers that come down on saturday evening are crammed to the last degree. houses which are already fuller than they can hold, receive half-a-dozen new inmates,--how stowed away we cannot even imagine. we cannot but reject as apocryphal the explanation of a glasgow tout, that on such occasions poles are projected from the upper windows, upon which young men of business roost until the morning. late walks, and the spooniest of flirtations characterize the saturday evening. every one, of course, goes to church on sunday morning; no glasgow man who values his character durst stop away. we shall not soon forget the beauty of the calm sunday on that beautiful shore: the shadows of the distant mountains; the smooth sea; the church-bells, faintly heard from across the water; the universal turning-out of the population to the house of prayer, or rather of preaching. it was almost too much for us to find dr. gumming here before us, giving all his old brilliancies to enraptured multitudes. we had hoped he was four hundred and odd miles off; but we resigned ourselves, like the turk, to what appears an inevitable destiny. this gentleman, we felt, is really one of the institutions of the country, and no more to be escaped than the income-tax. morning service over, most people take a walk. this would have been regarded in scotland a few years since as a profanation of the day. but there is a general air of quiet; people speak in lower tones; there are no joking and laughing. and the frith, so covered with steamers on week-days, is to-day unruffled by a single paddle-wheel. still it is a mistake to fancy that a scotch sunday is necessarily a gloomy thing. there are no excursion trains, no pleasure trips in steamers, no tea-gardens open: but it is a day of quiet domestic enjoyment, not saddened but hallowed by the recognized sacredness of the day. the truth is, the feeling of the sanctity of the sabbath is so ingrained into the nature of most scotchmen by their early training, that they could not enjoy sunday pleasuring. their religious sense, their superstition if you choose, would make them miserable on a sunday excursion. the sunday morning service is attended by a crowded congregation: the church is not so full in the afternoon. in some places there is evening service, which is well attended. we shall not forget one pleasant walk, along a quiet road bounded by trees as rich and green as though they grew in surrey, though the waves were lapping on the rocks twenty yards off, and the sun was going down behind the mountains of cowal, to a pretty little chapel where we attended evening worship upon our last sunday on the clyde. every now and then, as we are taking our saunter by the shore after breakfast, we perceive, well out in the frith, a steamer, decked with as many flags as can possibly be displayed about her rigging. the strains of a band of music come by starts upon the breeze; a big drum is heard beating away when we can hear nothing else; and a sound of howling springs up at intervals. do not fancy that these yells imply that anything is wrong; t/tat is merely the way in which working folk enjoy themselves in this country. that steamer has been hired for the day by some wealthy manufacturer, who is giving his 'hands' a day's pleasure-sailing. they left glasgow at seven or eight o'clock: they will be taken probably to arran, and there feasted to a moderate extent; and at dusk they will be landed at the broomielaw again. we lament to say that very many scotch people of the working class seem incapable of enjoying a holiday without getting drunk and uproarious. we do not speak from hearsay, but from what we have ourselves seen. once or twice we found ourselves on board a steamer crowded with a most disagreeable mob of intoxicated persons, among whom, we grieve to say, we saw many women. the authorities of the vessel appeared entirely to lack both the power and the will to save respectable passengers from the insolence of the 'roughs.' the highland fling may be a very picturesque and national dance, but when executed on a crowded deck by a maniacal individual, with puffy face and blood-shot eyes, swearing, yelling, dashing up against peaceable people, and mortally drunk, we should think it should be matter less of assthetical than of police consideration. unless the owners of the clyde steamers wish to drive all decent persons from their boats, they must take vigorous steps to repress such scandalous goings-on as we have witnessed more than once or twice. and we also take the liberty to suggest that the infusion of a little civility into the manner and conversation of some of the steam-boat officials on the quay at greenock, would be very agreeable to passengers, and could not seriously injure those individuals themselves. what sort of men are the glasgow merchants? why, courteous reader, there are great diversities among them. almost all we have met give us an impression of shrewdness and strong sense; some, of extraordinary tact and cleverness--though these last are by no means among the richest men. in some cases we found extremely unaffected and pleasing address, great information upon general topics--in short, all the characteristics of the cultivated gentleman. in others there certainly was a good deal of boorishness; and in one or two instances, a tendency to the use of oaths which in this country have long been unknown in good society. the reputed wealth of some glasgow men is enormous, though we think it not unlikely that there is a great deal of exaggeration as to that subject. we did, however, hear it said that one firm of iron merchants realized for some time profits to the extent of nearly four hundred thousand a year. we were told of an individual who died worth a million, all the produce of his own industry and skill; and one hears incidentally of such things as five-hundred-pound bracelets, thousand-guinea necklaces, and other appliances of extreme luxury, as not unknown among the fair dames of glasgow. and so, in idle occupations, and in gleaning up particulars as to glasgow matters according to our taste wherever we go, our sojourn upon the frith of clyde pleasantly passed away. we left our hospitable friends, not without a promise that when the christmas holidays come we should visit them once more, and see what kind of thing is the town life of the winter time in that warm-hearted city. and meanwhile, as the days shorten to chill november,--as the clouds of london smoke drift by our windows,--as the thames runs muddy through this mighty hum and bustle away to the solitudes of its last level,--we recall that cheerful time with a most agreeable recollection of the kindness of glasgow friends,--and of all that is implied in glasgow down the water. chapter ix. concerning man and his dwelling-place when my friend smith's drag comes round to his door, as he and i are standing on the steps ready to go out for a drive, how cheerful and frisky the horses look! i think i see them, as i saw them yesterday, coming round from the stable-yard, with their glossy coats and the silver of their harness glancing in the may sunshine, the may sunshine mellowed somewhat by the green reflection of two great leafy trees. they were going out for a journey of twenty miles. they were, in fact, about to begin their day's work, and they knew they were; yet how buoyant and willing they looked! there was not the faintest appearance of any disposition to shrink from their task, as if it were a hard and painful one. no; they were eager to be at it: they were manifestly enjoying the anticipation of the brisk exertion in the midst of which they would be in five minutes longer. and by the time we have got into our places, and have wrapped those great fur robes comfortably about our limbs, the chafing animals have their heads given them; and instantly they fling themselves at their collars, and can hardly be restrained from breaking into a furious gallop. happy creatures, you enjoy your work; you wish nothing better than to get at it! and when i have occasionally beheld a ploughman, bricklayer, gardener, weaver, or blacksmith, begin his work in the morning, i have envied him the readiness and willingness with which he took to it. the plough-man, after he has got his horses harnessed to the plough, does not delay a minute: into the turf the shining share enters, and away go horses, plough and man. it costs the ploughman no effort to make up his mind to begin. he does not stand irresolute, as you and i in childish days have often done when taken down to the sea for our morning dip, and when trying to get courage to take the first plunge under water. and the bricklayer lifts and places the first brick of his daily task just as easily as the last one. the weaver, too, sits down without mental struggle at his loom, and sets off at once. how different is the case with most men whose work is mental; more particularly how different is the case with most men whose work is to write--to spin out their thoughts into compositions for other people to read or to listen to! how such men, for the most part, shrink from their work--put it off as long as may be; and even when the paper is spread out and the pen all right, and the ink within easy reach, how they keep back from the final plunge! and after they have begun to write, how they dally with their subject; shrink back as long as possible from grappling with its difficulties; twist about and about, talking of many irrelevant matters, before they can summon up resolution to go at the real point they have got to write about! how much unwillingness there is fairly to put the neck to the collar! such are my natural reflections, suggested by my personal feelings at this present time. i know perfectly well what i have got to do. i have to write some account, and attempt some appreciation, of a most original, acute, well-expressed, and altogether remarkable book--the book, to wit, which bears the comprehensive title of man and his dwelling-place. it is a metaphysical book; it is a startling book; it is a very clever book; and though it is published anonymously, i have heard several acquaintances say, with looks expressive of unheard-of stores of recondite knowledge, that they have reason to believe that it is written by, this and that author, whose name is already well known to fame. it may be so, but i did not credit it a bit the more because thus assured of it. in most cases the people who go about dropping hints of how much they know on such subjects, know nothing earthly about the matter; but still the premises (as lawyers would say) make it be felt that the book is a serious one to meddle with. not that in treating such a volume, plainly containing the careful and deliberate views and reflections of an able and well-informed man, i should venture to assume the dignified tone of superiority peculiar to some reviewers in dissecting works which they could not have written for their lives. there are not a score of men in britain who would be justified in reviewing such a book as this de haut en has. i intend the humbler task of giving my readers some description of the work, stating its great principle, and arguing certain points with its eminently clever author; and under the circumstances in which this article is written, it discards the dignified and undefined we, and adopts the easier and less authoritative first person singular. the work to be done, therefore, is quite apparent: there is no doubt about that. but the writer is most unwilling to begin it. slowly was the pen taken up; oftentimes was the window looked out of. i am well aware that i shall not settle steadily to my task till i shall have had a preliminary canter, so to speak. thus have i seen school-hoys, on a warm july day, about to jump from a sea-wall into the azure depths of ocean. but after their garments were laid aside, and all was ready for the plunge, long time sat they upon the tepid stones, and paddled with idle feet in the water. how shall i better have that preliminary and moderate exercitation which serves to get up the steam, than by talking for a little about the scene around me? through diamond-shaped panes the sunshine falls into this little chamber; and going to the window you look down upon the tops of tall trees. and it is pleasant to look down upon the tops of tall trees. the usual way of looking at trees, it may be remarked, is from below. but this chamber is high up in the tower of a parish church far in the country. its furniture is simple as that of the chamber of a certain prophet, who lived long ago. there are some things here, indeed, which he had not; for yesterday's times lies upon the floor drying in the morning sunbeams, and fraser's magazine for may is on a chair by the window. why does that incomparable monthly act blisteringly upon the writer's mind? it never did so till may, . why does he put it for the time out of sight? why, but because, for once, he has read in that magazine an article--by a very eminent man, too--written in what he thinks a thoroughly mistaken spirit, and setting out views which he thinks to be utterly false and mischievous. not such, the writer knows well, are the views of his dear friend the editor; not such are the doctrines which fraser teaches to a grateful world. in the latter pages of his review of mill on liberty, mr. buckle spoke golely for himself; he did not express the opinions which this magazine upholds, nor commit for one moment the staff of men who write in it; and, as one insignificant individual who has penned a good many pages of fraser, i beg to express my keen disapprobation of mr. buckle's views upon the subject of christianity. they may be right, but i firmly believe they are wrong; they may be true, but i think them false. i repudiate any share in them: let their author bear their responsibility for himself. alas, say i, that so able a man should sincerely think (i give him credit for entire sincerity) that man's best refuge and most precious hope is vain delusion! very jarringly to my mind sound those eloquent periods, so inexpressibly sad and dreary, amid pages penned in many quiet parsonages, by many men who for the truth of christianity would, god helping them, lay down their lives. so, you may magazine, get meanwhile out of sight: i don't want to think of you. rather let me stay this impatient throbbing of heart by looking down on the green tops of those great silent trees. thick ivy frames this mullioned window, with its three lance-shaped lights. seventy feet below, the grassy graves of the churchyard swell like green waves. the white headstones gleam in the sun. ancient oaks line the lichened wall of the churchyard: their leaves not yet to thick as they will be a month hereafter. beyond the wall, i see a very verdant field, between two oaks; six or seven white lambs are lying there, or frisking about. the silver gleam of a river bounds the field; and beyond are thick hedges, white with hawthorn blossoms. in the distance there is a great rocky hill, which bounds the horizon. there is not a sound, save when a little flaw of air brushes a twig against the wall some feet below me. the smoke of two or three scattered cottages rises here and there. the sky is very bright blue, with many fleecy clouds. quiet, quiet! and all this while the omnibuses, cabs, carriages, drays, horses, men, are hurrying, sweltering, and fretting along cheapside! man and his dwetting-place! truly a comprehensive subject. for man's dwelling-place is the universe; and remembering this, it is plain that there is not much to be said which might not be said under that title. but, of course, there are sweeping views and opinions which include man and the universe, and which colour all beliefs as to details. and the author of this remarkable book has arrived at such a sweeping view. he holds, that where-as we fancy that we are living creatures, and that inanimate nature is inert, or without life, the truth is just the opposite of this fancy. he holds that man wants life, and that his dwelling-place possesses life. we are dead, and the world is living. no doubt it would be easy to laugh at all this; but i can promise the thoughtful reader that, though after reading the book he may still differ from its author, he will not laugh at him. very moderately informed folk are quite aware of this--that the fact of any doctrine seeming startling at the first mention of it, is no argument whatever against its truth. some centuries since you could hardly have startled men more than by saying that the earth moves, and the sun stands still. nay, it is not yet forty years since practical engineers judged george stephenson mad, for saying that a steam-engine could draw a train of carriages along a rail-way at the rate of fourteen miles an hour. it is certainly a startling thing to be told that i am dead, and that the distant hill out there is living. the burden of proof rests with the man who propounds the theory; the prima facie case is against him. trees do not read newspapers; hills do not write articles. we must try to fix the author's precise meaning when he speaks of life; perhaps he may intend by it something quite different from that which we understand. and then we must see what he has to say in support of a doctrine which at the first glance seems nothing short of monstrous and absurd. no: i cannot get on. i cannot forget that may magazine that is lying in the corner. i must be thoroughly done with it before i can fix my thoughts upon the work which is to be considered. mr. buckle has done a service to my mind, entirely analogous to that which would be done to a locomotive engine by a man who should throw a handful of sand into its polished machinery. i am prepared, from personal experience, to meet with a flat contradiction his statement that a man does you no harm by trying to cast doubt and discredit upon the doctrines you hold most dear. mr. buckle, by his article, has done me an injury. it is an injury, irritating but not dangerous. for the large assertions, which if they stated truths, would show that the religion of christ is a miserable delusion, are unsupported by a tittle of proof: and the general tone in regard to christianity, though sufficiently hostile, and very eloquently expressed, appears to me uncommonly weak in logic. but as mr. buckle's views have been given to the world, with whatever weight may be derived from their publication in this magazine, it is no more than just and necessary that through the same channel there should be conveyed another contributor's strong disavowal of them, and keen protest against them. i do not intend to argue against mr. buckle's opinions. this is not the time or place for such an undertaking. and mr. buckle, in his article, has not argued but dogmatically asserted, and then called hard names at those who may conscientiously differ from him. let me suggest to mr. buckle that such names can very easily be retorted. any man who would use them, very easily could. mr. buckle says that any man who would punish by legal means the publication of blasphemous sentiments, should be regarded as a noxious animal. it is quite easy for me to say, and possibly to prove, that the man who advocates the free publication of blasphemous sentiments, is a noxious animal. so there we are placed on an equal footing; and what progress has been made in the argument of the question in debate? then mr. buckle very strongly disapproves a certain judgment of, as i believe, one of the best judges who ever sat on the english bench: i mean mr. justice coleridge. that judge on one occasion sentenced to imprisonment a poor, ignorant man, convicted of having written certain blasphemous words upon a gate. i am prepared to justify every step that was taken in the prosecution and punishment of that individual. that, however, is not the point at issue. even supposing that the magistrates who committed, and the judge who sentenced, that miserable wretch, had acted wrongly and unjustly, could not mr. buckle suppose that they had acled conscientiously? what right had he to speak of mr. justice coleridge as a 'stony-hearted man?' what right had he to say that the judge and the magistrates, in doing what they honestly believed to be right, were 'criminals,' who had 'committed a great crime?' what right had he to say that their motives were 'the pride of their power and the wickedness of their hearts?' what right had he to call one of the most admirable men in britain 'this unjust and unrighteous judge?' and where did mr. buckle ever see anything to match the statement, that mr. justice coleridge grasped at the opportunity of persecuting a poor blasphemer in a remote county, where his own wickedness was likely to be overlooked, while he durst not have done as much in the face of the london press? who will believe that mr. justice coleridge is distinguished for his 'cold heart and shallow understanding?' but i feel much more comfortable now, when i have written upon this page that i, as one humble contributor to this magazine, utterly repudiate mr. buckle's sentiments with regard to sir j. t. coleridge, and heartily condemn the manner in which he has expressed them. if there be any question which ought to be debated with scrupulous calmness and fairness, it is the question whether it is just that human laws should prevent and punish the publication of views commonly regarded as blasphemous. i deny mr. buckle's statement, that all belief is involuntary. i say that in a country like this, every man of education is responsible for his religious belief; but of course responsible only to his maker. thus, on totally different grounds from mr. buckle, i agree with him in thinking that no human law should interfere with a man's belief. i am not prepared, without much longer thought than i have yet given to the subject, to agree with mr. buckle and mr. mill, that human law should never interfere with the publication of opinions, no matter how blasphemous they may be esteemed by the great majority of the nation to which they are published. i might probably say that i should not interfere with the publication of any book, however false and mischievous i might regard the religious doctrines it taught, provided the book were written in the interest of truth--provided its author manifestly desired to set out doctrines which he regarded as true and important. but if the book set out blasphemous doctrine in such a tone and temper as made it evident that the writer's main intention was to irritate and distress those who held the belief regarded as orthodox, i should probably suppress or punish the publication of such a book. sincere infidelity is a sad thing, with little of the propagandist spirit. even if it should think that those christian doctrines which afford so much comfort and support to men are fond delusions, i think its humane feeling would be,--well, i shall not seek to shatter hopes which i cannot replace. i know that such was the feeling of the most amiable of unbelievers--david hume. i know how he regularly attended church, anxious that he might not by his example dash in humble minds the belief which tended to make them good and happy, though it was a belief which he could not share. my present nolion is, that laws ought to punish coarse and abusive blasphemy. they may let thoughtful and philosophic scepticism alone. it will hardly reach, it will never distress, the masses. but if a blackguard goes up to a parsonage door, and bellows out blasphemous remarks about the trinity; or if a man who is a blockhead as well as a malicious wretch writes blasphemous words upon a parsonage gate, i cannot for an instant recognize in these men the champions of freedom of religious thought and speech. even mr. buckle cannot think that their purpose is to teach the clergymen important truth. they don't intend to proselytize. their object is to insult and annoy and shock. and i think it is right to punish them. they are not punished for setting out their peculiar opinions. they are punished for designedly and maliciously injuring their neighbours. mr. justice coleridge punished the blasphemer in cornwall, not because he held wrong views, not because he expressed wrong views. he might have expressed them in a decent way as long as he liked, and no one would have interfered with him. he was punished because, with malicious and insulting intention, he wrote blasphemous words where he thought they would cause pain and horror. he was punished for that: and rightly. mr. buckle seeks to excite sympathy for the man, by mixing up with the question whether or no his crime deserved punishment, the wholly distinct question, whether or no the man was so far sane as to deserve punishment for any crime whatever. these two questions have no connexion; and it is unfair to mingle them. the question of the man's sanity or insanity was for the jury to decide. the jury decided that he was so sane as to be responsible. mr. buckle's real point is, that however sane the man might have been, it was wicked to punish him; and i do not hesitate to say, for myself, that looking to the entire circumstances of the case, the magistrates who committed that nuisanee of his neighbourhood, and the judge who sent him to jail, did no more than their duty. there are several statements made by mr. buckle which must not be regarded as setting forth the teaching of the magazine in which they were made. mr. buckle says that no man can be sure that any doctrine is divinely revealed: that whoever says so must be 'absurdly and immodestly confident in his own powers.' i deny that. mr. buckle says that it is part of christian doctrine that rich men cannot be saved. i deny that. christ's statement as to the power of worldly possessions to concentrate the affections upon this world, went not an inch further than daily experience goes. what said samuel johnson when garrick showed him his grand house? 'ah, david, these are the things that make death terrible!' mr. buckle says that christianity gained ground in early ages because its doctrines were combated. they were not combated. its professors were persecuted, which is quite another thing. mr. buckle says that the doctrine of immortality was known to the world before christianity was heard of, or any other revealed religion. i deny that. greek and roman philosophers of the highest class regarded that doctrine as a delusion of the vulgar. did mr. buckle ever read the letter of condolence which sulpicius wrote to cicero after the death of cicero's daughter? a beautiful letter, beautifully expressed; stating many flimsy and wretched reasons for drying one's tears; but containing not a hint of any hope of meeting in another world. and the same may be said of cicero's reply. as for mr. buckle's argument for immortality, i think it extremely weak and inconclusive. it certainly goes to prove, if it proves anything, that my cousin tom, who lately was called to the bar, is quite sure to be lord chancellor; and that sam lloyd, who went up from our village last week to a merchant's counting-house in liverpool, is safe to rival his eminent namesake in wealth. mr. buckle's argument is just this: that if your heart is very much set upon a thing, you are perfectly sure to get it. of course everybody has read the soliloquy in addison's cato, where mr. buckle's argument is set forth. i deem it not worth a rush. does any man's experience of this life tend to assure him, that because some people (and not all people) would like to see their friends again after they die, therefore they shall? do things usually turn out just as we particularly wish that they should turn out? has not many a young girl felt, like cato, a 'secret dread and inward horror' lest the pic-nic day should be rainy? did that ensure its being fine? was not i extremely anxious to catch the express train yesterday, and did not i miss it? does not every child of ten years old know, that this is a world in which things have a wonderful knack of falling out just in the way least wished for? if i were an infidel, i should believe that some spiteful imp of the perverse had the guidance of the affairs of humanity. i know better than that: but for my knowledge i have to thank revelation. but is it philosophical, is it common sense, in a man who rejects revelation, and who must be guided in his opinions of a future life by the analogy of the present, to argue that because here the issue all but constantly defeats our wishes and hopes, therefore an end on which (as he says) human hearts are very much set shallcertainly be attained hereafter? 'if the separation were final,' says mr. buckle, in a most eloquent and pathetic passage, 'how could we stand up and live?' fine feeling, indeed, but impotent logic. when a man has worked hard and accumulated a little competence, and then in age loses it all in some swindling bank, and sees his daughters, tenderly reared, reduced to starvation, i doubt not he may think 'how can i live?' but will all this give him his fortune back again? has not many a youthful heart, crushed down by bitter disappointment, taken up the fancy that surely life would now be impossible; but did the fancy, by the weight of a feather, affect the fact? i remember, indeed, seeing mr. buckle's question put with a wider reach of meaning. poor uncle tom, torn from his family, is sailing down the mississippi, and finding comfort as he reads his well-worn bible. how could that poor negro weigh the arguments on either side, and be sure that the blessed faith, which was then his only support, was true? with better logic than mr. buckle's, he drew his best evidence from his own consciousness. 'it fitted him so well: it was so exactly what he needed. it must be true, or how could he live?' having written all this, i feel that i can now think without distraction of man and his dwelling-place, i have mildly vented my indignation; and i now, in a moral sense, extend my hand to mr. buckle. had he come up that corkscrew stair an hour or two ago, i am not entirely certain that i might not have taken him by the collar and shaken him. and had i found him standing on a chair in the green behind the church, and indoctrinating my simple parishioners with his peculiar notions, i have an entire conviction that i should have forgotten my theoretical assent to the doctrine of religious toleration, and by a gentle hint to my sturdy friends, procured him an invigorating bath in that gleaming river. i have got rid of that feeling now. and although mr. buckle is the last man who would find fault with any honest opposition, i yet desire to express my regret if i have written any word that passes the limit of goodnatured though sturdy conflict. i respect mr. buckle's earnestness and moral courage: i heartily admire his eloquence: i give him credit for entire sincerity in the opinions he holds, though i think them sadly mistaken. so now for man and his dwelling-place. twice already has the writer put his mind at that book, but it has each time swerved, like a middling hunter from a very stiff fence, and taken a circle round the field. now at last the thing matt really be done. if you, my reader, are desirous of discovering a book which shall entirely knock up your previous views upon all possible subjects, read this essay towards the interpretation of nature. it does, indeed, interpret nature, and man too, in a fashion which, to the best of my knowledge, is thoroughly original. and the book is dis tinguished not more by originality than by piety, earnestness, and eloquence. its author is an enthusiastic christian; and indeed his peculiar views in metaphysics and science are founded upon his interpretation of certain passages in the new testament. it is from the sacred volume that he derives his theory that man is at present dead. the work appears likely to appeal to a limited circle of readers; it will be understood and appreciated by few. though its style is clear, the abstruseness of the subjects discussed and the transcendental scope of its author, make the train of thought often difficult to follow. possibly the fault is not in the book, but in the reader: possibly it may result from the book having been read rapidly and while pressed by many other concerns; but there seems to me a certain want of clearness and sharpness of presentment about it. the great principle maintained is indeed set forth with unmistakable force; but, it is hard to say how, there appears in details a certain absence of method, and what in scotland is called a drumliness of style. there is a good deal of repetition too; but for that one is rather thankful than otherwise; for the great idea of the deadness of man and the life and spirituality of nature grows much better defined, and is grasped more completely and intelligently, as we come upon it over and over again, put in many different ways and with great variety of illustration. it is a humiliating confession for a reviewer to make, but, to say the truth, i do not know what to make of this book. if its author should succeed in indoctrinating the race with his views, he will produce an intellectual revolution. every man who thinks at all will be constrained for the remainder of his days (i must not say of his life) to think upon all subjects quite differently from what he has ever hitherto thought. as for readers for amusement, and for all readers who do not choose to read what cannot be read without some mental effort, they will certainly find the first half-dozen pages of this work quite sufficient for them. without pretending to follow the author's views into the vast number of details into which they reach, i shall endeavour in a short compass to draw the great lines of them. there is an interesting introduction, which gradually prepares us for the announcement of the startling fact, that all men hitherto have been entirely mistaken in their belief both as to themselves and the universe which surrounds them. it is first impressed upon us that things may be in themselves very different indeed from that which they appear to us: that phenomenon may be something far apart from actual being. yet though our conceptions, whether given by sense or intellect, do not correspond with the truth of things, still they are the elements from which truth is to be gathered. the following passage, which occurs near the beginning of the introduction, is the sharp end of the wedge:-- all advance in knowledge is a deliverance of man from himself. slowly and painfully we learn that he is not the measure of truth, that the fact may be very different from the appearance to him. the lesson is hard, but the reward is great. so he escapes from illusion and error, from ignorance and failure. directing his thoughts and energies no longer according to his own impressions, but according to the truth of things, he finds himself in possession of an unimaginable power alike of understanding and of acting. to a truly marvellous extent he is the lord of nature. but the conditions of this lordship are inexorable. they are the surrender of prepossessions, the abandonment of assumption, the confession of ignorance: the open eye and the humble heart. hence in all passing from error to truth we learn something respecting ourselves, as well as something respecting the object of our study. simultaneously with our better knowledge we recognize the reason of our ignorance, and perceive what defect on our part has caused us to think wrongly. either the world is such as it appears to us, or it is not. if it be not, there must be some condition affecting ourselves which modifies the impression we receive ffom it. and this condition must be operative upon all mankind: it must relate to man as a whole rather than to individual men. thus does the author lay down the simple, general principle from which he is speedily to draw conclusions so startling. nothing can be more innocuous than all this. every one must agree in it. now come the further steps. the study of nature leads to the conclusion that there is a defectiveness in man which modifies his perception of all external things; and that thus in so far as the actual fact of the universe differs from our impression of it, the actual fact is better, higher, more complete, than our impression of it. there are qualities, there is a glory about the universe, which our defective condition prevents our seeing or discerning. the universe, or nature, is not in itself such as it is to man's feeling; and man's feeling of it differs from the fact liy defect. all that we discern in the universe is there: and a great deal besides. now, we think of nature as existing in a certain way which we call physical. we call the world the physical world. this mode of existence involves inertness. that which is physical does not act, except passively, as it is acted upon. inertness is inaction. that which is inert, therefore, differs from that which is not inert by defect. the inert wants something of being active. next, we have a conception of another mode of being besides the inert. we conceive of being which possesses a spontaneous and primary activity. this kind of being is called spiritual. this kind of being has shaken off the reproach of inertness. it can act, and originate action. the physical thus differs from the spiritual (as regards inertness) by defect. the physical wants something of being spiritual. so far, my reader, we do not of necessity start back from anything our author teaches us. quite true, we think of matter, a kind of being which can do nothing of itself. quite true, we think of spirit, a kind of being which can do. and no doubt that which is able to do is (quoad hoc) a higher and more noble kind of being than that which cannot do, but only be done to. but remember here, i do not admit that in this point lies the differentia between matter and spirit. i do not grant that by taking from matter the reproach of inertness, you would make it spirit. the essential difference seems to me not to lie there. we could conceive of matter as capable of originating action, and yet as material. this is by the bye--but now be on your guard. here is our author's great discovery-- it is man's defectiveness which makes him feel the world as thus defective. nature is really not inert, though it appears so to man. we have been wont to think that nature, the universe, is inert or physical; that man is not-inert, or spiritual. now, there is no doubt at all that there is inertness somewhere. here are the two things, man and nature; with which thing does the inertness lie? our author maintains that it lies with man, not with nature. science has proved to us that nature is not-inert. as there is inertness somewhere, and as it is not in nature, of course the conclusion is that it is in man. inertness is in the phenomenon; that is, in nature as it. appears to us. there cannot be any question that nature seems to us to be inert. but the author of this book declares that this inertness, though in the phenomenon, is not in the fact. nature looks inert; it is not-inert. how does the notion of inertness come at all, then? now comes the very essence of the new theory; i give it in its author's words:-- the inertness is introduced by man. he perceives defect without him, only because there is defect within him. to be inert has the same meaning as to be dead. so we speak of nature, thinking it to be inert, as 'dead matter.' to say that man introduces inertness into nature implies a deadness in him: it is to say that he wants life. this is the proposition which is affirmed. this condition which we call our life, is not the true life of man. the book that has had greater influence upon the world than all others, differs from all others, in affirming that man wants life, and in making that statement the basis of all that it contains respecting the past and present and future of mankind. science thus pays homage to the bible. what that book has declared as if with authority, so long ago, she has at last decyphered on the page of nature. this is not man's true life. and who is there who can doubt, looking at man as lie is now, and then thinking of what he is to be in another world, that there is about him, now, great defect? there is truly much wanting which it is hoped will one day be supplied. what shall we call this lacking thing--this one thing lacking whose absence is felt in every fibre of our being? our author chooses to call it life; i am doubtful with how much felicity or naturalness of expression. of course we all know that in the new testament life does not mean merely existence continued; eternal life does not mean merely existence continued for ever: it means the highest and purest form of our being continued for ever;--happiness and holiness continued for ever. we know, too, that holy scripture describes the step taken by any man in becoming an earnest believer in christ, as 'passing from death to life;' we remember such a text as 'this is life eternal, that they may know thee, the only true god, and-jesus christ whom thou hast sent.' we know that a general name for the gospel, which grasps its grand characteristics, is 'the word of life;' and that, in religious phrase, christianity is concerned with the revealing, the implanting, the sustaining, the crowning, of a certain better life. nor is it difficult to trace out such analogies between natural and spiritual death, between natural and spiritual life, as tend to prove that spiritual life and death are not spoken of in scripture merely as the strongest words which could be employed, but that there is a further and deeper meaning in their constant use. but i do not see any gain in forcing figurative language into a literal use. everybody knows what life and death, in ordinary language, imply. life means sensibility, consciousness, capacity of acting, union with the living. death means senselessness, helplessness, separation. no doubt we may trace analogies, very close and real, between the natural and the spiritual life and death. but still they are no more than analogies. you do not identify the physical with the spiritual. and it is felt by all that the use of the words in a spiritual sense is a figurative use. to the common understanding, a man is living, when he breathes and feels and moves. he is dead when he ceases to do all that. and it is a mere twisting of words from their understood sense to say that in reality, and without a figure, a breathing, feeling, moving man is dead, because he lacks some spiritual quality, however great its value may be. it may be a very valuable quality; it may be worth more than life; but it is not life, as men understand it; and as words have no meaning at all except that which men agree to give these arbitrary sounds, it matters not at all that this higher quality is what you may call true life, better life, real life. if you enlarge the meaning of the word life to include, in addition to what is generally understood by it, a higher power of spiritual action and discernment, why, all that can be said is, that you understand by life something quite different from men in general. if i choose to enlarge the meaning of the word black to include white, of course i might say with truth (relatively to myself) that white forms the usual clothing of clergymen. if i extend the meaning of the word fast to include slow, i might boldly declare that the great northern express is a slow train. and the entire result of such use of language would be, that no mortal would understand what i meant. thus it is that i demur to any author's right to tell me that such and such a thing is, or is not, 'the true life of man.' and when he says 'that man wants life, means that the true life of man is of another kind from this,' i reply to him, tell me what is the blessing man needs; tell me, above all, where and how he is to get it: but as to its name, i really do not care what you call it, so you call it by some name that people will understand. call it so that people will know what you mean--salvation, glory, happiness, holiness, redemption, or what else you please. do not mystify us by saying we want life, and then, when we are startled by the perfectly intelligible assertion, edge off by explaining that by life you mean something quite different from what we do. there is no good in that. if i were to declare that this evening, before i sleep, i shall cross the atlantic and go to america, my readers would think the statement a sufficiently extraordinary one; but if, after thus surprising them, i went on to explain that by the atlantic i did not mean the ocean, nor by america the western continent, but that the atlantic meant the village green, and america the squire's house on the other side of it, i should justly gain credit for a very silly mystification. as nicholas nickleby very justly remarked, if dotheboy's hall is not a hall, why call it one? mr. squeers, in his reply, no doubt stated the law of the case: if a man chooses to call his house an island, what is to hinder him? if the author of man and his dwelling-place means to tell us only that we want some spiritual capacity, which it pleases him to call life, but which not one man in a million understands by that word, is he not amusing himself at our expense by telling us we want life? we know what we mean by being dead: our author means something quite different. let him speak for himself: that man wants life means that the true life of man is of another kind from this. it corresponds to that true, absolute being which he as he now is cannot know. he cannot know it because he is out of relation with it. this is his deadness. to know it is to have life. yes, reader--this is his deadness! something, that is, which no plain mortal would ever understand by the word. when i told you, a long time ago, that this book taught that man is dead and nature living, was this what the words conveyed to you? still, though there may be something not natural in the word, the author's meaning is a broad and explicit one. for the want of that which he calls our true life (he maintains) utterly distorts and deforms this world to our view. here is his statement as to the things which surround us: there is not a physical world and a spiritual world besides; but the spiritual world which alone is is physical to man, the physical being the mode in which man, by his defectiveness, perceives the spiritual. we feel a physical world to be: that which is is the spiritual world. the phenomenon, that is, is physical: the fact is spiritual. a tree looks to us material, because we want life: if we had life, we should see that it is spiritual. really, there is no such thing as matter. our own defectiveness makes us fancy that to be material which in truth is spirilual. so i was misinterpreting the author, when i said that all that we see in nature is there, and a great deal more. the defect in us, it appears, not only subtracts from nature, it transforms it. not merely do we fail to discern that which is in nature, we do actually discern that which is not in nature. and to be delivered from all this deadness and delusion, what we have to do is to betake ourselves to the saviour. christianity is a system which starts from the fundamental principle that man is dead, and proposes to make him alive. under its working man gains true life, otherwise called eternal life; and in gaining that life he finds himself ipso facto conveyed into a spiritual world. this world ceases to be physical to him, and becomes spiritual. such are the great lines of the new theory as to man and his dwelling-place. thus does our author interpret nature. i trust and believe that i have not in any way misrepresented or caricatured his opinions. his introduction sets out in outline the purport of the entire book. the remainder of the volume is given to carrying out these opinions into detail, as they are suggested by or as they affect the entire system of things. it is divided into four hooks. book i. treats of science; book ii. of philosophy; book iii. of religion; book iv. of ethics; and the volume is closed by four dialogues between the writer and reader, in which, in a desultory manner, the principles already set forth are further explained and enforced. early in the first chapter of the book of science, the author anticipates the obvious objection to his use of the terms life and death. i do not think he succeeds in justifying the fashion in which he employs them. but let him speak for himself: it may seem unnatural to speak of a conscious existence as a state of death. but what is affirmed is, that a sensational existence such as ours is not the life of man; that a consciousness of physical life does itself imply a deadness. the affirmations that we are living men, and that man has not true and absolute life, are not opposed. life is a relative term. our possession of a conscious life in relation to the things that we feel around us, is itself the evidence of man's defect of life in a higher and truer sense. let a similitude make the thought more clear. are not we, as individuals, at rest, steadfast in space; evidently so to our own consciousness, demonstrably so in relation to the objects around us? but is man at rest in space? by no means. we are all partakers of a motion. nay, if we were truly at rest, we could not have this relative steadfastness, we should not beat rest to the things around us: they would fleet and slip away. our relative rest, and consciousness of steadfastness, depend upon our being not at rest. there are moving things, to which he only can be steadfast who is moving too. even buch is the life of which we have consciousness. we have a life in relation to these physical things, because man wants life. true life in man would alter his relation to them. they could not be the realities any more: he could not have a life in them. as rest to moving things is not truly rest, but motion; so life to inert things is not truly life, but deadness. very ingeniously thought out: very skilfully put, with probably the only illustration which would go on all fours. but to me all this is extremely unsatisfactory: and unsatisfactory in a much farther sense than merely that it is using terms in a non-natural sense. i know, of course, that to look at nature through blue spectacles will make nature blue: but i cannot see that to look at nature through dead eyes should make nature dead. i see no proof that nature, in fact, is living and active, though it admittedly looks inert and dead. and i can discover nothing more than a daring assertion, in the statement that we are dead, and that we project our own deadness upon living nature. i cannot see how to the purest and most elevated of beings, a tree should look less solid than it does to me. i cannot discover how greater purity of heart, and more entire faith in christ, should turn this material world into a world of spirit. i doubt the doctrine that spirit in itself, as usually understood (apart from its power of originating action) is a higher and holier existence than matter. it seems to me that very much from a wrong idea that it is, come those vague, unreal, intangible notions as to the christian heaven, which do so much to make it a chilly, unattractive thing, to human wishes and hopes. it is hard enough for us to feel the reality of the things beyond the grave, without having the additional stumbling-block cast in our way, of being told that truly there is nothing real there for us to feel. as for the following eloquent passage, in which our author subsequently returns to the justification of his great doctrine, no more need be said than that it is rhetoric, not logic:-- that man has not his true life, must have taken him long to learn. all our prepossessions, all our natural convictions, are opposed to that belief. if these activities, these powers, these capacities of enjoyment and suffering, this consciousness of free will, this command of the material world, be not life, what is life? what more do we want to make us truly man? this is the feeling that has held men captive, and biased all their thoughts so that they could not perceive what they themselves were saying. yet the sad undercurrent has belied the boast. from all ages and all lands the cry of anguish, the prayer for life unconscious of itself, has gone up to heaven. in groans and curses, in despair and cruel rage, man pours out his secret to the universe; writing it in blood, and lust, and savage wrong, upon the fair bosom of the earth; he alone not knowing what he does. if this be the life of man, what is his death? no doubt this would form a very eloquent and effective paragraph in a popular sermon. but in a philosophic treatise, where an author is tied to the severely precise use of terms, and where it will not do to call a thing death merely because it is very bad, nor to call a thing life merely because it is vry good, the argument appears to have but little weight. you must see, intelligent reader, that one thing which we are entitled to require our author to satisfactorily prove, is the fact that nature is not inert, as it appears to man. if you can make it certain that nature is living and active, then, no doubt, some explanation will be needful as to how it comes to look so different to us; though, even then, i do not see that it necessarily follows that the inertness is to be supposed to exist in ourselves. but unless the author can prove that nature is not inert, he has no foundation to build on. he states three arguments, from which he derives the grand principle:-- . inertness necessarily belongs to all phenomena. that which is only felt to be, and does not truly or absolutely exist, must have the character of inaction. it must be felt as passive a phenomenon must be inert because it is a phenomenon. we cannot argue from inertness in that which appears to us, to inertness in that which is. of whatsoever kind the essence of nature may be, if it be unknown, the phenomenon must be equally inert. we have no ground, therefore, in the inertness which we feel, for affirming of nature that it is inert. we must feel it so, by virtue of our known relation to it, as not perceiving its essence. . the question, therefore, rests entirely upon its own evidence. since we have no reason, from the inertness of the phenomenal, for inferring the inertness of the essential, can we know whether that essential be inert or not? we can know. inertness, as being absolute inaction, cannot belong to that which truly is. being and absolute inaction are contraries. inertness, therefore, must be a property by which the phenomenal differs from the essential or absolute. . again, nature does act: it acts upon us, or we could not perceive it at all. the true being of nature is active therefore. that we feel it otherwise shows that we do not feel it as it is. we must look for the source of nature's apparent or felt inertness in man's condition. never should man have thought to judge of nature without remembering his own defectiveness. such are the grounds upon which rests the belief, that nature is not inert. it appears to me that there is little force in them. to a great extent they are mere assumptions and assertions; and anything they contain in the nature of argument is easily answered. first: why must every phenomenon be felt as inert? why must a 'phenomenon be inert because it is a phenomenon?' i cannot see why. we know nothing but phenomena; that is, things as they appear to us. where did we get the ideas of life and activity, if not from phenomena? many things appear to us to have life and activity. that is, there are phenomena which are not inert. secondly: wherefore should we conclude that the phenomenon differs essentially from the fact? the phenomenon is the fact-as-discerned-by-us. and granting that our defectiveness forbids our having a full and complete discernment of the fact, why should we doubt that our discernment is right so far as it goes? it is incomparably more likely that things (not individual things, but the entire system, i mean) are what they seem, than that they are not. why believe that we are gratuitously and needlessly deluded? god made the universe; he placed us in it; he gave us powers whereby to discern it. is it reasonable to think that he did so in a fashion so blundering or so deceitful that we can only discern it wrong? and if nature seems inert, is not the rational conclusion that it is so? thirdly: why cannot 'inertness, as being absolute inaction, belong to that which truly is?' why cannot a thing exist without doing anything? is not that just what millions of things actually do? or if you intend to twist the meaning of the substantive verb, and to say that merely to be is to do something,--that simply to exist is a certain form of exertion and action,--i shall grant, of course, that nothing whatever that exists is in that sense inert; but i shall affirm that you use the word inert in quite a different sense from the usual one. and in that extreme and non-natural sense of the word, the phenomenon is no more inert than is the essence. certainly things seem to us to be: and if just to be is to be active, then no phenomenon is inert; no single thing discerned by us appears to be inert. fourthly: i grant that 'nature does act upon us, or we could not perceive it at all.' but then i maintain that this kind of action is not action as men understand the word. this kind of action is quite consistent with the general notion of inertness. a thing may be inert, as mankind understand the word; and also active, as the author of this book understands the word. to discern this sort of activity and life in nature we have no need to 'pass from death to life' ourselves. we simply need to have the thing pointed out to us, and it is seen at once. it is playing with words to say that nature acts upon us, or we could not perceive it. no doubt, when you stand before a tree, and look at it, it does act in so far as that it depicts itself upon your retina; but that action is quite consistent with what we understand by inertness. it does not matter whether you say that your eye takes hold of the tree, or that the tree takes hold of your eye. when you hook a trout, you may say either that you catch the fish, or that the fish catches you. is the alternative worth fighting about? which is the natural way of speaking: to say that the man sees the tree, or that the tree shows itself to the man? all the activity which our author claims for nature goes no farther than that. our reply is that that is not activity at all. if that is all he contends for, we grant it at once; and we say that it is not in the faintest degree inconsistent with the fact of nature's being inert, as that word is understood. you come and tell me that mr. smith has just passed your window flying. i say no; i saw him; he was not flying, but walking. ah, you reply, i hold that walking is an indicate flying; it is a rudimentary flying, the lowest form of flying; and therefore i maintain that he flew past the window. my friend, i answer, if it be any satisfaction to you to use words in that way, do so and rejoice; only do not expect any human being to understand what you mean; and beware of the lunatic asylum. why, i ask again, are we to cry down man for the sake of crying up nature? why are we to depreciate the dweller that we may magnify the dwelling-place? is not, man (to say the least) one of the works of god? did not god make, both man and nature? and does not revelation (which our author holds in so deep reverence) teach that man was the last and noblest of the handiworks of the creator? and thus it is that i do not hesitate to answer such a question as that which follows, and to answer it contrariwise to what the author expects. it is from the human soul that glory and meaning are projected upon inanimate nature. to newton, and to newton's dog, the outward creation was physically the same; to the apprehension of newton and of newton's dog, how different! hear the author:-- to this clear issue the case is brought: man does introduce into nature something from himself: either the inertness, the negative qualily, the defect, or the beauty, the meaning, the glory. either that whereby the world is noble comes from ourselves, or that whereby it is mean; that which it has, or that which it wants. can it be doubtful which it is? not in the least! give me the rational and immortal man, made in god's image, rather than the grandest oak which the june sunbeams will be warming when you read this, my friend--rather than the most majestic mountain which by and bye will be purple with the heather. reason, immortality, love, and faith, are things liker god than ever so many cubic feet of granite, than ever so many loads of timber. 'behold,' says archer butler, 'we stand alone in the universe! earth, air, and ocean can show us nothing so awful as we!' you fancy, says our author, that nature is inert, because it goes on in so constant and unvarying a course. you know, says he, what conscious exertion it costs you to produce physical changes; you can trace no such exertion in nature. you would believe, says he, that nature is active, but for the fact that her doings are all conformed to laws that you can trace. but invariableness, he maintains, is no proof of inaction. right action is invariable; right action is absolutely conformed to law. why, therefore, should not the secret of nature's invariableness be, not passiveness, but rightness?' the unchanging uniformity of nature's course proves her holiness--her willing, unvarying obedience to the divine law. 'the invariableness of nature bespeaks holiness as its cause.' may we not think upon all this (not dogmatically) in some such fashion as this? which is likelier: . that nature has it in her power to vary from the well-known laws of nature; that she could disobey god if she pleased; but that she is so holy that she could not think of such a thing, and so through all ages has never swerved once. or, . that nature is bound by laws which she has not the power to disobey; that she is what she looks, an inanimate, passive, inert thing, actuated, as her soul and will, by the will of the creator? and to aid in considering which alternative is the likelier, let it be remembered that revelation teaches that this is a fallen world; that experience proves that this world is not managed upon any system of optimism; that in this creation things are constantly going wrong; and especially, that all history gives no account of any mere creature whose will was free to do either good or ill; and yet who did not do ill frequently. is it likely that to all this there is one entire exception; one thing, and that so large a thing as all inanimate nature, perfectly obedient, perfectly holy, perfectly right-and all by its own free will? i grant there is something touching in the author's eloquent words:-- because she is right, nature is ours: more truly ours than we ourselves. we turn from the inward ruin to the outward glory, and marvel at the contrast. but we need not marvel: it is the difference of life and death: piercing the dimness even of man's darkened sense, jarring upon his fond illusion like waking realities upon a dream. without is living holiness, within is deathly wrong. let the reader, ever remembering that in such cases analogy is not argument but illustration--that it makes a doctrine clearer, but does not in any degree confirm it--read the chapter entitled 'of the illustration from astronomy.' it will tend to make the great doctrine of man and his dwelling-place comprehensible; you will see exactly what it is, although you may not think it true. as astronomy has transferred the apparent movements of the planets from them to ourselves, so, says our author, has science transferred the seeming inertness of nature from it to us. the phenomenon of nature is physical and inert: the being is spiritual and active and holy. and if we now seem to have an insuperable conviction that man is not inert and that nature is inert, it is not stronger than our apparent consciousness that the earth is unmoving. man lives under illusion as to himself and as to the universe. reason, indeed, furnishes him with the means of correcting that illusion; but in that illusion is his want of life. strong in his conviction of the grand principle which he has established, as he conceives, in his first book, the author, in his second book, goes crashing through all systems of philosophy. his great doctrine makes havock of them all. all are wrong; though each may have some grain of truth in it. the idealists are right in so far as that there is no such thing as matter. matter is the vain imagination of man through his wrong idea of nature's inertness. but the idealists are wrong if they fancy that because there is no matter, there is nothing but mind, and ideas in mind. nature, though spiritual, has a most real and separate existence. then the sceptics are right in so far as they doubt what our author thinks wrong; but they are wrong in so far as they doubt what our author thinks right. positivism is right in so far as it teaches that we see all things relatively to ourselves, and so wrongly; but it is wrong in teaching that what things are in themselves is no concern of ours, and that we should live on as though things were what they seem. if it were not that the reader of man and his dwelling-place is likely, after the shock of the first grand theory, that man is dead and the universe living, to receive with comparative coolness any further views set out in the book, however strange, i should say that probably, the third book, 'of religion,' would startle him more than anything else in the work. although this book stands third in the volume, it is first both in importance and in chronology. for the author tells us that his views of religion are not deduced from the theoretical conceptions already stated, but have been drawn immediately from the study of scripture, and that from them the philosophical ideas are mainly derived. and indeed it is perfectly marvellous what doctrines men will find in scripture, or deduce from scripture. is there not something curious in the capacity of the human mind, while glancing along the sacred volume, to find upon its pages both what suits its prevailing mood and its firm conviction at the time? you feel buoyant and cheerful: you open your bible and read it; what a cheerful, hopeful book it is! you are depressed and anxious: you open your bible; surely it was written for people in your present frame of mind! it is wonderful to what a degree the psalms especially suit the mood and temper of all kinds of readers in every conceivable position. i can imagine the poor suicide, stealing towards the peaceful river, and musing on a verse of a psalm. i can imagine the joyful man, on the morning of a marriage day which no malignant relatives have embittered, finding a verse which will seem like the echo of his cheerful temper. and passing from feeling to understanding, it is remarkable how, when a man is possessed with any strong belief, he will find, as he reads the bible, not only many things which appear to him expressly to confirm his view, but something in the entire tenor of what he reads that appears to harmonize with it. i doubt not the author of man and his dwelling-place can hardly open the bible at random without chancing upon some passage which he regards as confirmatory of his opinions. i am quite sure that to ordinary men his opinions will appear flally to conflict with the bible's fundamental teaching. it has already been indicated in this essay in what sense the statements of the new testament to the following effect are to be understood:-- the writers of the new testament declare man to be dead. they speak of men as not having life, and tell of a life to be given them. if, therefore, our thoughts were truly conformed to the new testament, how could it seem a strange thing to us that this state of man should be found a state of death; how should its very words, reaffirmed by science, excite our surprise? would it not have appeared to us a natural result of the study of nature to prove man dead? might we not, if we had truly accepted the words of scripture, have anticipated that it should be so? for, if man be rightly called dead, should not that condition have affected his experience, and ought not a discovery of that fact to be the issue of his labours to ascertain his true relation to the universe? why does it seem a thing incredible to us that man should be really, actually dead: dead in such a sense as truly to affect his being, and determine his whole state? why have we been using words which affirm him dead in our religious speech, and feel startled at finding them proved true in another sphere of inquiry? it is indeed true--it is a thing to be taken as a fundamental truth in reading the bible--that in a certain sense man is dead, and is to be made alive; and the analogy which obtains between natural death and what in theological language is called spiritual death, is in several respects so close and accurate that we feel that it is something more than a strong figure when the new testament says such things as 'you hath he quickened who were dead in trespasses and sins.' but it tends only to confusion to seek to identify things so thoroughly different as natural and spiritual death. it is trifling with a man to say to him 'you are dead!' and having thus startled him, to go on to explain that you mean spiritually dead. 'oh,' he will reply, 'i grant you that i may be dead in that sense, and possibly that is the more important sense, but it is not the sense in which words are commonly understood.' i can see, of course, various points of analogy between ordinary death and spiritual death. does ordinary death render a man insensible to the presence of material things? then spiritual death renders him heedless of spiritual realities, of the presence of god, of the value of salvation, of the closeness of eternity. does natural death appear in utter helplessness and powerlessness? so does spiritual death render a man incapable of spiritual action and exertion. has natural death its essence in the entire separation it makes between dead and living? so has spiritual death its essence in the separation of the soul from god. but, after all, these things do but show an analogy between natural death and spiritual: they do not show that the things are one; they do not show that in the strict unfigurative use of terms man's spiritual condition is one of death. they show that man's spiritual condition is very like death; that is all. it is so like as quite to justify the assertion in scripture: it is not so identical as to justify the introduction of a new philosophical phrase. it is perfectly true that christianity is described in scripture as a means for bringing men from death to life; but it is also described, with equal meaning, as a means for bringing men from darkness to light. and it is easy to trace the analogy between man's spiritual condition and the condition of one in darkness--between man's redeemed condition and the condition of one in light; but surely it would be childish to announce, as a philosophical discovery, that all men are blind, because they cannot see their true interests and the things that most concern them. they are not blind in the ordinary sense, though they may be blind in a higher; neither are they dead in the ordinary sense, though they may be in a higher. and only confusion, and a sense of being misled and trifled with, can follow from the pushing figure into fact and trying to identify the two. stripping our author's views of the unusual phraseology in which they are disguised, they do, so far as regards the essential fact of man's loss and redemption, coincide exactly with the orthodox teaching of the church of england. man is by nature and sinfulness in a spiritual sense dead; dead now, and doomed to a worse death hereafter. by believing in christ he at once obtains some share of a better spiritual life, and the hope of a future life which shall be perfectly holy and happy. surely this is no new discovery. it is the type of christianity implied in the liturgy of the church, and weekly set out from her thousands of pulpits. the startling novelties of man and his dwelling-place are in matters of detail. he holds that fearful thing, damnation, which orthodox views push off into a future world, to be a present thing. it is now men are damned. it is now men are in hell. wicked men are now in a state of damnation: they are now in hell. the common error arises from our thinking damnation a state of suffering. it is not. it is a state of something worse than suffering, viz., of sin:-- we find it hard to believe that damnation can he a thing men like. but does not--what every being likes depend on what it is? is corruption less corruption, in man's view, because worms like it? is damnation less damnation, in god's view, because men like it? and god's view is simply the truth. surely one object of a revelation must be to show us things from god's view of them, that is. as they truly are. sin truly is damnation, though to us it is pleasure. that sin is pleasure to us, surely is the evil part of our condition. and indeed it is to be admitted that there is a great and much-forgotten truth implied here. it is a very poor, and low, and inadequate idea of christianity, to think of it merely as something which saves from suffering--as something which saves us from hell, regarded merely as a place of misery. the christian salvation is mainly a deliverance from sin. the deliverance is primarily from moral evil; and only secondarily from physical or moral pain. 'thou shalt call his name jesus, for he shall save his people from their sins.' no doubt this is very commonly forgotten. no doubt the vulgar idea of salvation and perdition founds on the vulgar belief that pain is the worst of all things, and happiness the best of all things. it is well that the coarse and selfish type of religion which founds on the mere desire to escape from burning and to lay hold of bliss, should be corrected by the diligent instilling of the belief, that sin is worse than sorrow. the saviour's compassion, though ever ready to well out at the sight of suffering, went forth most warmly at the sight of sin. here i close the book, not because there is not much more in it that well deserves notice, but because i hope that what has here been said of it will induce the thoughtful reader to study it for himself, and because i have space to write no more. it is a may afternoon; not that on which the earliest pages of my article were written, but a week after it. i have gone at the ox-fence at last, and got over it with several contusions. pardon me, unknown author, much admired for your ingenuity, your earnestness, your originality, your eloquence, if i have written with some show of lightness concerning your grave book. very far, if you could know it, was any reality of lightness from your reviewer's feeling. he is non ignarus mali: he has had his full allotment of anxiety and care; and he hails with you the prospect of a day when human nature shall cast off its load of death, and when sinful and sorrowful man shall be brought into a beautiful conformity to external nature. would that man were worthy of his dwelling-place as it looks upon this summer-like day! open, you latticed window: let the cool breeze come into this somewhat feverish room. again, the tree-tops; again the white stones and green graves; again the lambs, somewhat larger; again the distant hill. again i think of cheapside, far away. yet there is trouble here. not a yard of any of those hedges but has worried its owner in watching that it be kept tight, that sheep or cattle may not break through. not a gate i see but screwed a few shillings out of the anxious farmer's pocket, and is always going wrong. not a field but either the landlord squeezed the tenant in the matter of rent, or the tenant cheated the landlord. not the smoke of a cottage but marks where pass lives weighted down with constant care, and with little end save the sore struggle to keep the wolf from the door. not one of these graves, save perhaps the poor friendless tramp's in the corner, but was opened and closed to the saddening of certain hearts. here are lives of error, sleepless nights, over-driven brains; wayward children, unnatural parents, though of these last, god be thanked, very few. yes, says adam bede, 'there's a sort of wrong that can never be made up for.' no doubt we are dead: when shall we be quickened to a better life? surely, as it is, the world is too good for man. and i agree, most cordially and entirely, with the author of this book, that there is but one agency in the universe that can repress evil here, and extinguish it hereafter. chapter x. life at the water cure [footnote: a month at malvern, under the water cure. by r. j. lane, a. e. r. a. third edition. reconsidered--rewritten, london: john mitchell. . spirits and water. by r. j. l. london: john mitchell. . confessions of a water-patient. by sir e. b. lytton, bart. hints to the side, the lame, and the lazy: or, passages in the life of a hydropathist. by a veteran. london: john ollivier. .] all our readers, of course, have heard of the water cure; and many of them, we doubt not, have in their own minds ranked it among those eccentric medical systems which now and then spring up. are much talked of for a while, and finally sink into oblivion. the mention of the water cure is suggestive of galvanism, homoepathy, mesmerism, the grape cure, the bread cure, the mud-bath cure, and of the views of that gentleman who maintained that almost all the evils, physical and moral, which assail the constitution of man, are the result of the use of salt as an article of food, and may be avoided by ceasing to employ that poisonous and immoral ingredient. perhaps there is a still more unlucky association with life pills, universal vegetable medicines, and the other appliances of that coarser quackery which yearly brings hundreds of gullible britons to their graves, and contributes thousands of pounds in the form of stamp-duty to the revenue of this great and enlightened country. it is a curious phase of life that is presented at a water cure establishment. the water cure system cannot be carried out satisfactorily except at an establishment prepared for the purpose. an expensive array of baths is necessary; so are well-trained bath servants, and an experienced medical man to watch the process of cure: the mode of life does not suit the arrangements of a family, and the listlessness of mind attendant on the water-system quite unfits a man for any active employment. there must be pure country air to breathe, a plentiful supply of the best water, abundant means of taking exercise--sir e. b. lytton goes the length of maintaining that mountains to climb are indispensable;--and to enjoy all these advantages one must go to a hydropathic establishment. it may be supposed that many odd people are to be met at such a place; strong-minded women who have broken through the trammels of the faculty, and gone to the water cure in spite of the warnings of their medical men, and their friends' kind predictions that they would never live to come back; and hypochondriac men, who have tried all quack remedies in vain, and who have come despairingly to try one which, before trying it, they probably looked to as the most violent and perilous of all. and the change of life is total. you may have finished your bottle of port daily for twenty years, but at the water cure you must perforce practise total abstinence. for years you may never have tasted fair water, but here you will get nothing else to drink, and you will have to dispose of your seven or eight tumblers a day. you may have been accustomed to loll in bed of a morning till nine or ten o'clock; but here you must imitate those who would thrive, and 'rise at five:' while the exertion is compensated by your having to bundle off to your chamber at . p. m. you may long at breakfast for your hot tea, and if a scotchman, for your grouse pie or devilled kidneys; but you will be obliged to make up with the simpler refreshment of bread and milk, with the accompaniment of stewed normandy pippins. you may have been wont to spend your days in a fever of business, in a breathless hurry and worry of engagements to be met and matters to be seen to; but after a week under the water cure, you will find yourself stretched listlessly upon grassy banks in the summer noon, or sauntering all day beneath the horse-chestnuts of sudbrook, with a mind as free from business cares as if you were numbered among tennyson's lotos-eaters, or the denizens of thomson's castle of indolence. and with god's blessing upon the pure element he has given us in such abundance, you will shortly (testibus mr. lane and sir e. b. lytton) experience other changes as complete, and more agreeable. you will find that the appetite which no dainty could tempt, now discovers in the simplest fare a relish unknown since childhood. you will find the broken rest and the troubled dreams which for years have made the midnight watches terrible, exchanged for the long refreshful sleep that makes one mouthful of the night. you will find the gloom and depression and anxiety which were growing your habitual temper, succeeded by a lightness of heart and buoyancy of spirit which you cannot account for, but which you thankfully enjoy. we doubt not that some of our readers, filled with terrible ideas as to the violent and perilous nature of the water cure, will give us credit for some strength of mind when we tell them that we have proved for ourselves the entire mode of life; we can assure them that there is nothing so very dreadful about it; and we trust they may not smile at us as harmlessly monomaniacal when we say that, without going the lengths its out-and-out advocates do, we believe that in certain states of health much benefit may really be derived from the system, sir e. b. lytton's eloquent confessions of a water-patient have been before the public for some years. the hints to the sick, the lame, and the lazy, give us an account of the ailments and recovery of an old military officer, who, after suffering severety from gout, was quite set up by a few weeks at a hydropathic establishment at marienberg on the rhine; and who, by occasional recurrence to the same remedy, is kept in such a state of preservation that, though advanced in years, he 'is able to go eight miles within two hours, and can go up hill with most young fellows.' the old gentleman's book, with its odd woodcuts, and a certain freshness and incorrectness of style--we speak grammatically--in keeping with the character of an old soldier, is readable enough. mr. lane's books are far from being well written; the spirits and water, especially, is extremely poor stuff. the month at malvern is disfigured by similar faults of style; but mr. lane has really something to tell us in that work: and there is a good deal of interest at once in knowing how a man who had been reduced to the last degree of debility of body and mind, was so effectually restored, that now for years he has, on occasion, proved himself equal to a forty-miles' walk among the welsh mountains on a warm summer day; and also in remarking the boyish exhilaration of spirits in which mr. lane writes, which he tells us is quite a characteristic result of 'initiation into the excitements of the water cure.' mr. lane seems to have been in a very bad way. he gives an appalling account of the medical treatment under which he had suffered for nearly thirty years. in spite of it all he found, at the age of forty-five, that his entire system was showing signs of breaking up. he was suffering from neuralgia, which we believe means something like tic-douloureux extending over the whole body; he was threatened with paralysis, which had advanced so far as to have benumbed his right side; his memory was going; his mind was weakened; he was, in his own words, 'no use to anybody:' there were deep cracks round the edge of his tongue; his throat was ulcerated; in short, he was in a shocking state, and never likely to be better. like many people in such sad circumstances, lie had tried all other remedies before thinking of the water cure; he had resorted to galvanism, and so forth, but always got worse. at length, on the th of may, , mr. lane betook himself to malvern, where dr. wilson presides over one of the largest cold-water establishments in the kingdom. in those days there were some seventy patients in residence, but the new-comer was pleased to find that there was nothing repulsive in the appearance of any of his confreres,--a consideration of material importance, inasmuch as the patients breakfast, dine, and sup together. nothing could have a more depressing effect upon any invalid, than to be constantly surrounded by a crowd of people manifestly dying, or afflicted with visible and disagreeable disease. the fact is, judging from our own experience, that the people who go to the water cure are for the most part not suffering from real and tangible ailments, but from maladies of a comparatively fanciful kind,--such as low spirits, shattered nerves, and lassitude, the result of overwork. and our readers may be disposed to think, with ourselves, that the change of air and scene, the return to a simple and natural mode of life, and the breaking off from the cares and engagements of business, have quite as much to do with their restoration as the water-system, properly so called. the situation of malvern is well adapted to the successful use of the water system. sir e. b. lytton tells us that 'the air of malvern is in itself hygeian: the water is immemorially celebrated for its purity: the landscape is a perpetual pleasure to the eye.' the neighbouring hills offer the exercise most suited to the cure: priessnitz said 'one must have mountains:' and dr. wilson told mr. lane, in answer to a remark that the water cure had failed at bath and cheltenham, that 'no good and difficult cures can be made in low or damp situations, by swampy grounds, or near the beds of rivers.' the morning after his arrival, mr. lane fairly entered upon the water system: and his diary for the following month shows us that his time was fully occupied by baths of one sort or another, and by the needful exercise before and after these. the patient is gradually brought under the full force of hydropathy: some of the severer appliances--such as the plunge-bath after packing, and the douche--not being employed till he has been in some degree seasoned and strung up for them. a very short time sufficed to dissipate the notion that there is anything violent or alarming about the water cure; and to convince the patient that every part of it is positively enjoyable. there was no shock to the system: there was nothing painful: no nauseous medicines to swallow; no vile bleeding and blistering. sitz-baths, foot-baths, plunge-baths, douches, and wet-sheet packings, speedily began to do their work upon mr. lane; and what with bathing, walking, hill-climbing, eating and drinking, and making up fast friendships with some of his brethren of the water cure, he appears to have had a very pleasant time of it. he tells us that he found that-- the palliative and soothing effects of the water treatment are established immediately; and the absence of all irritation begets a lull, as instantaneous in its effects upon the frame as that experienced in shelter from the storm. a sense of present happiness, of joyous spirits, of confidence in my proceedings, possesses me on this, the third day of my stay. i do nut say that it is reasonable to experience this sudden accession, or that everybody is expected to attribute it to the course of treatment so recently commenced. i only say, so it is; and i look for a confirmation of this happy frame of mind, when supported by renewed strength of body. to the same effect sir e. b. lytton: cares and griefs are forgotten: the sense of the present absorbs the past and future: there is a certain freshness and youth which pervade the spirits, and live upon the enjoyment of the actual hour. and the author of the hints to the sick, &c.: should my readers find me prosy, i hope that they will pardon an old fellow, who looks back to his water cure course as one of the most delightful portions of a tolerably prosperous life. when shall we find the subjects of the established system of medical treatment growing eloquent on the sudden accession of spirits consequent on a blister applied to the chest; the buoyancy of heart which attends the operation of six dozen leeches; the youthful gaiety which results from the 'exhibition' of a dose of castor oil? it is no small recommendation of the water system, that it makes people so jolly while under it. but it was not merely present cheerfulness that mr. lane experienced: day by day his ailments were melting away. when he reached malvern he limped painfully, and found it impossible to straighten his right leg, from a strain in the knee. in a week he 'did not know that he had a knee.' we are not going to follow the detail of his symptoms: suffice it to say that the distressing circumstances already mentioned gradually disappeared; every day he felt stronger and better; the half-paralysed side got all right again; mind and body alike recovered their tone: the 'month at malvern' was followed up by a course of hydropathic treatment at home, such as the exigencies of home-life will permit; and the upshot of the whole was, lhat from being a wretched invalid, incapable of the least exertion, mental or physical, mr. lane was permanently brought to a state of health and strength, activity and cheerfulness. all this improvement he has not the least hesitation in ascribing to the virtue of the water cure; and after eight or ten years' experience of the system and its results, his faith in it is stronger than ever. in quitting malvern, the following is his review of the sensations of the past month:-- i look back with astonishment at the temper of mind which has prevailed over the great anxieties that, heavier than my illness, had been bearing their weight upon me. weakness of body had been chiefly oppressive, because by it i was deprived of the power of alleviating those anxieties; and now, with all that accumulation of mental pressure, with my burden in full cry, and even gaining upon me during the space thus occupied, i have to reflect upon time passed in merriment, and attended by never-failing joyous spirits. to the distress of mind occasioned by gathering ailments, was added the pain of banishment from home; and yet i have been translated to a life of careless ease. any one whose knowledge of the solid weight that i carried to this place would qualify him to estimate the state of mind in which i left my home, might well be at a loss to appreciate the influences which had suddenly soothed and exhilarated my whole nature, until alacrity of mind and healthful gaiety became expansive, and the buoyant spirit on the surface was stretched to unbecoming mirth and lightness of heart. so much for mr. lane's experience of the water cure. as to its power in acute disease we shall speak hereafter; but its great recommendations in all cases where the system has been broken down by overwork, are (if we are to credit its advocates) two: first, it braces up body and mind, and restores their healthy tone, in a way that nothing else can; and next, the entire operation by which all this is accomplished, is a course of physical and mental enjoyment. but by this time we can imagine our readers asking with some impatience, what is the water cure? what is the precise nature of all those oddly-named appliances by which it produces its results? now this is just what we are going to explain; but we have artfully and deeply sought to set out the benefits ascribed to the system before doing so, in the hope that that large portion of the human race which reads fraser may feel the greater interest in the details which follow, when each of the individuals who compose it remembers, that these sitzes and douches are not merely the things which set up sir e. b. lytton, mr. lane, and our old military friend, but are the things which may some day be called on to revive his own sinking strength and his own drooping spirits. and as the treatment to which all water patients are subjected appears to be much the same, we shall best explain the nature of the various baths by describing them as we ourselves found them. our story is a very simple one. some years since, after many terms of hard college work, we found our strength completely break down. we were languid and dispirited; everything was an effort: we felt that whether study in our case had 'made the mind' or not, it had certainly accomplished the other result which festus ascribes to it, and 'unmade the body.' we tried sea-bathing, cod-liver oil, and everything else that medical men prescribe to people done up by over study; but nothing did much good. finally, we determined to throw physic to the dogs, and to try a couple of months at the water cure. it does cost an effort to make up one's mind to go there, not only because the inexperienced in the matter fancy the water system a very perilous one, but also because one's steady-going friends, on hearing of our purpose, are apt to shake their heads,--perhaps even to tap their foreheads,--to speak doubtfully of our common sense, and express a kind hope--behind our backs, especially--that we are not growing fanciful and hypochondriac, and that we may not end in writing testimonials in favour of professor holloway. we have already said that to have the full benefit of the water cure, one must go to a hydropathic establishment. there are numbers of these in germany, and all along the rhine; and there are several in england, which are conducted in a way more accordant with our english ideas. at malvern we believe there are two; there is a large one at ben rhydding, in yorkshire; one at sudbrook park, between richmond and ham; and another at moor park, near farnham. its vicinity to london led us to prefer the one at sudbrook; and on a beautiful evening in the middle of may we found our way down through that garden-like country, so green and rich to our eyes, long accustomed to the colder landscapes of the north. sudbrook park is a noble place. the grounds stretch for a mile or more along richmond park, from which they are separated only by a wire fence; the trees are magnificent, the growth of centuries, and among them are enormous hickories, acacias, and tulip-trees; while horse-chestnuts without number make a very blaze of floral illumination through the leafy month of june. richmond-hill, with its unrivalled views, rises from sudbrook park; and that eerie-looking ham house, the very ideal of the old english manor-house, with its noble avenues which make twilight walks all the summer day, is within a quarter of a mile. as for the house itself, it is situated at the foot of the slope on whose summit lord john russell's house stands; it is of great extent, and can accommodate a host of patients, though when we were there, the number of inmates was less than twenty. it is very imposing externally; but the only striking feature of its interior is the dining-room, a noble hall of forty feet in length, breadth, and height. it is wainscoted with black oak, which some vile wretch of a water doctor painted white, on the ground that it darkened the room. as for the remainder of the house, it is divided into commonplace bed-rooms and sitting-rooms, and provided with bathing appliances of every conceivable kind. on arriving at a water establishment, the patient is carefully examined, chiefly to discover if anything be wrong about the heart, as certain baths would have a most injurious effect should that be so. the doctor gives his directions to the bath attendant as to the treatment to be followed, which, however, is much the same with almost all patients. the newcomer finds a long table in the dining-hall, covered with bread and milk, between six and seven in the evening; and here he makes his evening meal with some wry faces. at half-past nine p. m. he is conducted to his chamber, a bare little apartment, very plainly furnished. the bed is a narrow little thing, with no curtains of any kind. one sleeps on a mattress, which feels pretty hard at first. the jolly and contented looks of the patients had tended somewhat to reassure us; still, we had a nervous feeling that we were fairly in for it, and could not divest ourselves of some alarm as to the ordeal before us; so we heard the nightingale sing for many hours before we closed our eyes on that first night at sudbrook park. it did not seem a minute since we had fallen asleep, when we were awakened by some one entering our room, and by a voice which said, 'i hef come tu pack yew.' it was the bath-man, william, to whose charge we had been given, and whom we soon came to like exceedingly; a most good-tempered, active, and attentive little german. we were very sleepy, and inquired as to the hour; it was five a.m. there was no help for it, so we scrambled out of bed and sat on a chair, wrapped in the bed-clothes, watching william with sleepy eyes. he spread upon our little bed a very thick and coarse double blanket; he then produced from a tub what looked like a thick twisted cable, which he proceeded to unroll. it was a sheet of coarse linen, wrung out of the coldest water. and so here was the terrible wet sheet of which we had heard so much. we shuddered with terror. william saw our trepidation, and said, benevolently, 'yew vill soon like him mosh.' he spread out the wet sheet upon the thick blanket, and told us to strip and lie down upon it. oh! it was cold as ice! william speedily wrapped it around us. awfully comfortless was the first sensation. we tried to touch the cold damp thing at as few points as possible. it would not do. william relentlessly drew the blanket tight round us; every inch of our superficies felt the chill of the sheet. then he placed above us a feather bed, cut out to fit about the head, and stretched no end of blankets over all. 'how long are we to be here?' was our inquiry. 'fifty minutes,' said william, and disappeared. so there we were, packed in the wet sheet, stretched on our back, our hands pinioned by our sides, as incapable of moving as an egyptian mummy in its swathes. 'what on earth shall we do,' we remember thinking, 'if a fire breaks out?' had a robber entered and walked off with our watch and money, we must have lain and looked at him, for we could not move a finger. by the time we had thought all this, the chilly, comfortless feeling was gone; in ten minutes or less, a sensation of delicious languor stole over us: in a little longer we were fast asleep. we have had many a pack since, and we may say that the feeling is most agreeable when one keeps awake; body and mind are soothed into an indescribable tranquillity; the sensation is one of calm, solid enjoyment. in fifty minutes william returned. he removed the blankets and bed which covered us, but left us enveloped in the sheet and coarse blanket. by this time the patient is generally in a profuse perspiration. william turned us round, and made us slip out of bed upon our feet; then slightly loosing the lower part of our cerements so that we could walk with difficulty, he took us by the shoulders and guided our unsteady steps out of our chamber, along a little passage, into an apartment containing a plunge bath. the bath was about twelve feet square; its floor and sides covered with white encaustic tiles; the water, clear as crystal against that light background, was five feet deep. in a trice we were denuded of our remaining apparel, and desired to plunge into the bath, head first. the whole thing was done in less time than it has taken to describe it: no caloric had escaped: we were steaming like a coach horse that has done its ten miles within the hour on a summer-day; and it certainly struck us that the water cure had some rather violent measures in its repertory. we went a step or two down the ladder, and then plunged in overhead. 'one plunge more and out,' exclaimed the faithful william; and we obeyed. we were so thoroughly heated beforehand, that we never felt the bath to be cold. on coming out, a coarse linen sheet was thrown over us, large enough to have covered half-a-dozen men, and the bath-man rubbed us, ourselves aiding in the operation, till we were all in a glow of warmth. we then dressed as fast as possible, postponing for the present the operation of shaving, drank two tumblers of cold water, and took a rapid walk round the wilderness (an expanse of shrubbery near the house is so called), in the crisp, fresh morning air. the sunshine was of the brightest; the dew was on the grass; everybody was early there; fresh-looking patients were walking in all directions at the rate of five miles an hour; the gardeners were astir; we heard the cheerful sound of the mower whetting his scythe; the air was filled with the freshness of the newly-cut grass, and with the fragrance of lilac and hawthorn blossom; and all this by half-past six a.m.! how we pitied the dullards that were lagging a-bed on that bright summer morning! one turn round the wilderness occupies ten minutes: we then drank two more tumblers of water, and took a second turn of ten minutes. two tumblers more, and another turn; and then, in a glow of health and good humour, into our chamber to dress for the day. the main supply of water is drunk before breakfast; we took six tumblers daily at that time, and did not take more than two or three additional in the remainder of the day. by eight o'clock breakfast was on the table in the large hall, where it remained till half-past nine. bread, milk, water, and stewed pippins (cold), formed the morning meal. and didn't we polish it off! the accession of appetite is immediate. such is the process entitled the pack and plunge. it was the beginning of the day's proceedings during the two months we spent at sudbrook. we believe it forms the morning treatment of almost every patient; a shallow bath after packing being substituted for the plunge in the case of the more nervous. with whatever apprehension people may have looked forward to being packed before having experienced the process, they generally take to it kindly after a single trial. the pack is perhaps the most popular part of the entire cold water treatment. mr. lane says of it:-- what occurred during a full hour after this operation (being packed) i am not in a condition to depose, beyond the fact that the sound, sweet, soothing sleep which i enjoyed, was a matter of surprise and delight. i was detected by mr. bardon, who came to awake me, smiling, like a great fool, at nothing; if not at the fancies which had played about my slumbers. of the heat in which i found myself, i must remark, that it is as distinct from perspiration, as from the parched and throbbing glow of fever. the pores are open, and the warmth of the body is soon communicated to the sheet; until--as in this my first experience of the luxury--a breathing, steaming heat is engendered, which fills the whole of the wrappers, and is plentifully shown in the smoking state which they exhibit as they are removed. i shall never forget the luxurious ease in which i awoke on this morning, and looked forward with pleasure to the daily repetition of what had been quoted to me by the uninitiated with disgust and shuddering. sir e. b. lytton says of the pack:-- of all the curatives adopted by hydropathists, it is unquestionably the safest--the one that can be applied without danger to the greatest variety of cases; and which, i do not hesitate to aver, can rarely, if ever, be misapplied in any case where the pulse is hard and high, and the skin dry and burning. its theory is that of warmth and moisture, those friendliest agents to inflammatory disorders. i have been told, or have read (says mr. lane), put a man into the wet sheet who had contemplated suicide, and it would turn him from his purpose. at least i will say, let me get hold of a man who has a pet enmity, who cherishes a vindictive feeling, and let me introduce him to the soothing process. i believe that his bad passion would not linger in its old quarters three days, and that after a week his leading desire would be to hold out the hand to his late enemy. of the sensation in the pack, sir e. b. lytton tells us:-- the momentary chill is promptly succeeded by a gradual and vivifying warmth, perfectly free from the irritation of dry heat; a delicious sense of ease is usually followed by a sleep more agreeable than anodynes ever produced. it seems a positive cruelty to be relieved from this magic girdle, in which pain is lulled, and fever cooled, and watchfulness lapped in slumber. the hydropathic breakfast at sudbrook being over, at nine o'clock we had a foot-bath. this is a very simple matter. the feet are placed in a tub of cold water, and rubbed for four or five minutes by the bath-man. the philosophy of this bath is thus explained:-- the soles of the feet and the palms of the hands are extremely sensitive, having abundance of nerves, as we find if we tickle them. if the feet are put often into hot water, they will become habitually cold, and make one more or less delicate and nervous. on the other hand, by rubbing the feet often in cold water, they will become permanently warm. a cold foot-bath will stop a violent fit of hysterics. cold feet show defective circulation. at half-past ten in the forenoon we were subjected to by far the most trying agent in the water system--the often-mentioned douche. no patient is allowed to have the douche till he has been acclimated by at least a fortnight's treatment. our readers will understand that from this hour onward we are describing not our first sudbrook day, but a representative day, such as our days were when we had got into the full play of the system. the douche consists of a stream of water, as thick as one's arm, falling from a height of twenty-four feet. a pipe, narrowing to the end, conducts the stream for the first six feet of its fall, and gives it a somewhat slanting direction. the water falls, we need hardly say, with a tremendous rush, and is beaten to foam on the open wooden floor. there were two douches at sudbrook: one, of a somewhat milder nature, being intended for the lady patients. every one is a little nervous at first taking this bath. one cannot be too warm before having it: we always took a rapid walk of half an hour, and came up to the ordeal glowing like a furnace. the faithful william was waiting our arrival, and ushered us into a little dressing-room, where we disrobed. william then pulled a cord, which let loose the formidable torrent, and we hastened to place ourselves under it. the course is to back gradually till it falls upon the shoulders, then to sway about till every part of the back and limbs has been played upon: but great care must be taken not to let the stream fall upon the head, where its force would probably be dangerous. the patient takes this bath at first for one-minute; the time is lengthened daily till it reaches four minutes, and there it stops. the sensation is that of a violent continuous force assailing one; we are persuaded that were a man blindfolded, and so deaf as not to hear the splash of the falling stream, he could not for his life tell what was the cause of the terrible shock he was enduring. it is not in the least like the result of water: indeed it is unlike any sensation we ever experienced elsewhere. at the end of our four minutes the current ceases; we enter the dressing-room, and are rubbed as after the plunge-bath. the reaction is instantaneous: the blood is at once called to the surface. 'red as a rose were we:' we were more than warm; we were absolutely hot. mr. lane records some proofs of the force with which the douche falls:-- in a corner of one dressing-room is a broken chair. what does it mean? a stout lady, being alarmed at the fall from the cistern, to reduce the height, carefully placed what was a chair, and stood upon it. down came the column of water--smash went the chair to bits--and down fell the poor lady prostrate. she did not douche again for a fortnight. last winter a man was being douched, when an icicle that had been formed in the night was dislodged by the first rush of water, and fell on his back. bardon, seeing the bleeding, stopped the douche, but the douchee had not felt the blow as anything unusual. he had been douched daily, and calculated on such a force as he experienced. although most patients come to like the douche, it is always to be taken with caution. that it is dangerous in certain conditions of the body, there is no doubt. sir e. b. lytton speaks strongly on this point:-- never let the eulogies which many will pass upon the douche tempt you to take it on the sly, unknown to your adviser. the douche is dangerous when the body is unprepared--when the heart is affected--when apoplexy may be feared. after having douched, which process was over by eleven, we had till one o'clock without further treatment. we soon came to feel that indisposition to active employment which is characteristic of the system; and these two hours were given to sauntering, generally alone, in the green avenues and country lanes about ham and twickenham; but as we have already said something of the charming and thoroughly english scenes which surround sudbrook, we shall add nothing further upon that subject now--though the blossoming horse chestnuts and the sombre cedars of richmond park, the bright stretches of the thames, and the quaint gateways and terraces of ham house, the startled deer and the gorse-covered common, all picture themselves before our mind at the mention of those walks, and tempt us sorely. at one o'clock we returned to our chamber, and had a head-bath. we lay upon the ground for six minutes, if we remember rightly, with the back of our head in a shallow vessel of water. half-past one was the dinner hour. all the patients were punctually present; those who had been longest in the house occupying the seats next those of dr. and mrs. ellis, who presided at either end of the table. the dinners were plain, but abundant; and the guests brought with them noble appetites, so that it was agreed on all hands that there never was such beef or mutton as that of sudbrook. soup was seldom permitted: plain joints were the order of the day, and the abundant use of fresh vegetables was encouraged. plain puddings, such as lice and sago, followed; there was plenty of water to drink. a number of men-servants waited, among whom we recognized our friend william, disguised in a white stock. the entertainment did not last long. in half an hour the ladies withdrew to their drawing-room, and the gentlemen dispersed themselves about the place once more. of the malvern dinners, mr. lane writes as follows:-- at the head of the table, where the doctor presides, was the leg of mutton, which, i believe, is even' day's head dish. i forget what mr. wilson dispensed, but it was something savoury of fish. i saw veal cutlets with bacon, and a companion dish; maccaroni with gravy, potatoes plain boiled, or mashed and browned, spinach, and other green vegetables. then followed rich pudding, tapioca, and some other farinaceous ditto, rhubarb tarts, &c. so much for what i have heard of the miserable diet of water patients. dinner being dispatched, there came the same listless sauntering about till four o'clock, when the pack and plunge of the morning were repeated. at half-past six we had another head-bath. immediately after it there was supper, which was a fac simile of breakfast. then, more sauntering in the fading twilight, and at half-past bine we paced the long corridor leading to our chamber, and speedily were sound asleep. no midnight tossings, no troubled dreams; one long deep slumber till william appeared next morning at five, to begin the round again. such was our life at the water cure: a contrast as complete as might be to the life which preceded and followed it. speaking for ourselves, we should say that there is a great deal of exaggeration in the accounts we have sometimes read of the restorative influence of the system. it wrought no miracle in our case. a couple of months at the sea-side would probably have produced much the same effect. we did not experience that extreme exhilaration of spirits which mr. lane speaks of. perhaps the soft summer climate of surrey, in a district rather over-wooded, wanted something of the bracing quality which dwells in the keener air of the malvern hills. yet the system strung us up wonderfully, and sent us home with much improved strength and heart. and since that time, few mornings have dawned on which we have not tumbled into the cold bath on first rising, and, following the process by a vigorous rubbing with towels of extreme roughness, experienced the bracing influence of cold water alike on the body and the mind. we must give some account of certain other baths, which have not come within our course latterly, though we have at different times tried them all. we have mentioned the sitz-bath; here is its nature:-- it is not disagreeable, but very odd: and exhibits the patient in by no means an elegant or dignified attitude. for this bath it is not necessary to undress, the coat only being taken off, and the shirt gathered under the waistcoat, which is buttoned upon it; and when seated in the water, which rises to the waist, a blanket is drawn round and over the shoulders. having remained ten minutes in this condition, we dried and rubbed ourselves with coarse towels, and after tea minutes' walk, proceeded to supper with a good appetite. the soothing and tranquillizing effect of the sitz is described as extraordinary:-- in sultry weather, when indolence seems the only resource, a sitz of ten minutes at noon will suffice to protect against the enervating effect of heat, and to rouse from listlessness and inactivity. if two or three hours have been occupied by anxious conversation, by many visitors, or by any of the perplexities of daily occurrence, a sitz will effectually relieve the throbbing head, anil fit one for a return (if it must be so) to the turmoil and bustle. if an anxious letter is to be mentally weighed, or an important letter to be answered, the matter and the manner can he under no circumstances so adequately pondered as in the sitz. how this quickening of the faculties is engendered, and by what immediate action it is produced, i cannot explain, and invite others to test it by practice. i have in my own experience proved the sitz to be cogitatory, consolatory, quiescent, refrigeratory, revivificatory, or all these together. thus far mr. lane. the brause-bad is thus described by our old military friend:-- at eleven o'clock i went to the brause-bad. this is too delightful: it requires a day or two of practice to enable the patient to enjoy it thoroughly. the water at marienberg is all very cold, and one must never stand still for above a few seconds at a time, and must be ever employed in rubbing the parts of the body which are exposed to the silvery element. the bath is a square room, eight feet by six. the shower above consists of a treble row of holes, drilled in a metal vessel, about one foot long, and at an elevation of eight feet from the floor. there is, besides, a lateral gush of water, in bulk about equal to three ordinary pumps, which bathes the middle man. when i entered the bath, i held my hands over my head, to break the force of the water; and having thus seasoned my knowledge-box, i allowed the water to fall on my back and breast alternately, rubbing most vigorously with both hands: the allotted time for this aquatic sport is four minutes, but i frequently begged the bademeister to allow me a minute or two more. at my sortie, the bademeister threw over me the dry sheet, and he and his assistants rubbed me dry to the bone, and left me in full scarlet uniform. after this bath i took at least three glasses of water, and a most vigorous walk. one of the least agreeable processes in the water system is being sweated. mr. lane describes his sensations as follows:-- at five o'clock in walked the executioner who was to initiate me into the sweating process. there was nothing awful in the commencement. two dry blankets were spread upon the mattress, and i was enveloped in them as in the wet sheet, being well and closely tucked in round the neck, and the head raised on two pillows. then came my old friend the down bed, and a counterpane. at first i felt very comfortable, but in ten minutes the irritation of the blanket was disagreeable, and endurance was nly only resource; thought upon other subjects out of the question. in half-an-hour i wondered when it would begin to act. at six, in came bardon to give me water to drink. another hour, and i was getting into a state. i had for ten minutes followed bardon's directions by slightly moving my hands and legs, and the profuse perspiration was a relief; besides, i knew that i should be soon fit to be bathed, and what a tenfold treat! he gave me more water; and in a quarter of an hour he returned, when. i stepped, in a precious condition, into the cold bath, bardon using more water on my head and shoulders than usual, more rubbing and spunging, and afterwards more vigorous dry rubbing. i was more than pink, and hastened to get out and compare notes with sterling. by the sweating process, the twenty-eight miles of tubing which exist in the pores of the skin are effectually relieved; and--in dr. wilson's words--'you lose a little water, and put yourself in a state to make flesh.' the sweating process is known at water establishments as the 'blanket-pack.' we believe we have mentioned every hydropathic appliance that is in common use, with the exception of what is called the 'rub in a wet sheet.' this consists in having a sheet, dripping wet, thrown round one, and in being vehemently rubbed by the bath-man, the patient assisting. the effect is very bracing and exhilarating on a sultry summer day; and this treatment has the recommendation that it is applied and done with in the course of a few minutes; nor does it need any preliminary process. it is just the thing to get the bath-man to administer to a friend who has come down to visit one, as a slight taste of the quality of the water cure. one pleasing result of the treatment is, that the skin is made beautifully soft and white. another less pleasing circumstance is, that when there is any impurity lurking in the constitution, a fortnight's treatment brings on what is called a crisis, in which the evil is driven off in the form of an eruption all over the body. this result never follows unless where the patient has been in a most unhealthy state. people who merely need a little bracing up need not have the least fear of it. our own two months of water never produced the faintest appearance of such a thing. let us sum up the characteristics of the entire system. in the words of sir e. b. lytton:-- the first point which impressed me was the extreme and utter innocence of the water-cure in skilful hands--in any hands, indeed, not thoroughly new to the system. the next thing that struck me was the extraordinary ease with which, under this system, good habits are acquired and bad habits are relinquished. that which, thirdly, impressed me, was no less contrary to all my preconceived opinions. i had fancied that, whether good or bad, the system must be one of great hardship, extremely repugnant and disagreeable. i wondered at myself to find how soon it became so associated with pleasurable and grateful feelings as to dwell upon the mind as one of the happiest passages of existence. we have left ourselves no space to say anything of the effect of the water cure in acute disease. it is said to work wonders in the case of gout, and all rheumatic complaints: the severe suffering occasioned by the former vexatious malady is immediately subdued, and the necessity of colchicum and other deleterious drugs is obviated. fever and inflammation, too, are drawn off by constant packing, without being allowed to run their usual course. our readers may find remarkable cures of heart arid other diseases recorded at pages , , , and , of the month at malvern. we quote the account of one case:-- i was introduced to a lady, that i might receive her own report of her cure. she had been for nine years paralysed, from the waist downwards; pale and emaciated; and coming to malvern, she had no idea of recovering the use of her limbs, but merely bodily health. in five months she became ruddy, and then her perseverance in being packed twice every day was rewarded. the returning muscular power was advanced to perfect recovery of the free use of her limits. she grew stout and strong, and now walks ten miles daily. we confess we should like to have this story confirmed by some competent authority. it appears to verge on the impossible: unless, indeed, the fact was that the lady was some nervous, fanciful person, who took up a hypochondriac idea that she was paralysed, and got rid of the notion by having her constitution braced up. we have already said a good deal of the enjoyable nature of the water system; we make a final quotation from our military friend:-- i have given some account of my daily baths, and on reading over what i have written, i feel quite ashamed of the coldness of the recital of all my delight, the recollection of which makes my mouth water. the reader will observe that i am a scotchman (proverbially a matter-of-fact race), an old fellow, my enemy would say a slow coach. i might enlarge on my ecstatic delight in my baths, my healthy glow, my light-heartedness, my feelings of elasticity, which made me fancy i could trip along the sward like a patent vestris. i might go much farther, i might indulge in poetic rapture--most unbecoming my mature age--and after all, fall far short of the reality. the reader will do well to allow a large percentage of omitted ecstatic delineation in consequence of want of ardour on the part of the writer. this is in fact due to justice. see how old patients describe the water cure! this is, at all events, a different strain from that of people who have been victimized by ordinary quacks and quack medicines, and who bestow their imprecations on the credulity which has at once ruined their constitutions and emptied their pockets. we trust we have succeeded in persuading those who have glanced over these pages, that the water cure is by no means the violent thing which they have in all probability been accustomed to consider it. there is no need for being nervous about going to it. there is nothing about it that is half such a shock to the system as are blue pill and mercury, purgatives and drastics, leeches and the lancet. almost every appliance within its range is a source of positive enjoyment; the time spent under it is a cheerful holiday to body and mind. we take it to be quackery and absurdity to maintain that all possible diseases can be cured by the cold water system; but, from our own experience, we believe that the system and its concomitants do tend powerfully to brace and re-invigorate, when mental exertion has told upon the system, and even threatened to break it down. but really it is no new discovery that fresh air and water, simple food and abundant exercise, change of scene and intermission of toil and excitement, tend to brace the nerves and give fresh vigour to the limbs. in the only respect in which we have any confidence in the water cure, it is truly no new system at all. we did not need priessnitz to tell us that the fair element which, in a hundred forms, makes so great a part of creation's beauty--trembling, crystal-clear, upon the rosebud; gleaming in the sunset river; spreading, as we see it to-day, in the bright blue summer sea; fleecy-white in the silent clouds, and gay in the evening rainbow,--is the true elixir of health and life, the most exhilarating draught, the most soothing anodyne; the secret of physical enjoyment, and mental buoyancy and vigour. chapter xi concerning friends in council. [footnote: friends in council: a series of readings and discourse thereon. a. new series. two volumes. london: john w. parker and son, west strand, .] there is a peculiar pleasure in paying a visit to a friend whom you never saw in his own house before. let it not be believed that in this world there is much difficulty in finding a new sensation. the genial, unaffected, hard-wrought man, who does not think it fine to appear to care nothing for anything, will find a new sensation in many quiet places, and in many simple ways. there is something fresh and pleasant in arriving at an entirely new railway station, in getting out upon a platform on which you never before stood; in finding your friend standing there looking quite at home in a place quite strange to you; in taking in at a glance the expression of the porter who takes your luggage and the clerk who receives your ticket, and reading there something of their character and their life; in going outside, and seeing for the first time your friend's carriage, whether the stately drag or the humbler dog-cart, and beholding horses you never saw before, caparisoned in harness heretofore unseen; in taking your seat upon cushions hitherto impressed by you, in seeing your friend take the reins, and then in rolling away over a new road, under new trees, over new bridges, beside new hedges, looking upon new landscapes stretching far away, and breaking in upon that latent idea common to all people who have seen very little, that they have seen almost all the world. then there is something fresh and pleasant in driving for the first time up the avenue, in catching the first view of the dwelling which is to your friend the centre of all the world, in walking up for the first time to your chamber (you ought always to arrive at a country house for a visit about three quarters of an hour before dinner), and then in coming down and finding yourself in the heart of his belongings; seeing his wife and children, never seen before; finding out his favourite books, and coming to know something of his friends, horses, dogs, pigs, and general way of life; and then after ten days, in going away, feeling that you have occupied a new place and seen a new phase of life, henceforward to be a possession for ever. but it is pleasanter by a great deal to go and pay a visit to a friend visited several times (not too frequently) before: to arrive at the old railway station, quiet and country-like, with trees growing out of the very platform on which you step; to see your friend's old face not seen for two years; to go out and discern the old drag standing just where you remember it, and to smooth down the horses' noses as an old acquaintance; to discover a look of recognition on the man-servant's impassive face, which at your greeting expands into a pleased smile; to drive away along the old road, recognizing cottages and trees; to come in sight of the house again, your friend's conversation and the entire aspect of things bringing up many little remembrances of the past; to look out of your chamber window before dinner and to recognize a large beech or oak which you had often remembered when you were far away, and the field beyond, and the hills in the distance, and to know again even the pattern of the carpet and the bed curtains; to go down to dinner, and meet the old greeting; to recognize the taste of the claret; to find the children a little bigger, a little shy at first, but gradually acknowledging an old acquaintance; and then, when your friend and you are left by yourselves, to draw round the fire (such visits are generally in september), and enjoy the warm, hearty look of the crimson curtains hanging in the self-same folds as twenty-four months since, and talk over many old things. we feel, in opening the new volumes of friends in council, as we should in going to pay a visit to an old friend living in the same pleasant home, and at the same pleasant autumnal season in which we visited him before. we know what to expect. we know that there may be little variations from what we have already found, little changes wrought by time; but, barring great accident or disappointment, we know what kind of thing the visit will be. and we believe that to many who have read with delight the previous volumes of this work, there can hardly be any pleasanter anticipation than that of more of the same wise, kindly, interesting material which they remember. a good many years have passed since the first volume of friends in council was published; a good many years even since the second: for, the essays and discourses now given to the public form the third published portion of the work. continuations of successful works have proverbially proved failures; the author was his own too successful rival; and intelligent readers, trained to expect much, have generally declared that the new production was, if not inferior to its predecessor, at all events inferior to what its predecessor had taught them to look for. but there is no falling off here. the writing of essays and conversations, set in a framework of scenery and incident, and delineating character admirably though only incidentally, is the field of literature in which the author stands without a rival. no one in modern days can discuss a grave subject in a style so attractive; no one can convey so much wisdom with so much playfulness and kindliness; no one can evince so much earnestness unalloyed by the least tinge of exaggeration. the order of thought which is contained in friends in council, is quarried from its authors best vein. here, he has come upon what gold-diggers call a pocket: and he appears to work it with little effort. however difficult it might be for others to write an essay and discourse on it in the fashion of this book, we should judge that its author does so quite easily. it is no task for suns to shine. and it will bring back many pleasant remembrances to the minds of many readers, to open these new volumes, and find themselves at once in the same kindly atmosphere as ever; to find that the old spring is flowing yet. the new series of friends in council is precisely what the intelligent reader must have expected. a thoroughly good writer can never surprise us. a writer whom we have studied, mused over, sympathized with, can surprise us only by doing something eccentric, affected, unworthy of himself. the more thoroughly we have sympathized with him; the more closely we have marked not only the strong characteristics which are already present in what he writes, but those little matters which may be the germs of possible new characteristics; the less likely is it that we shall be surprised by anything he does or says. it is so with the author of friends in council. we know precisely what to expect from him. we should feel aggrieved if he gave us anything else. of course there will be much wisdom and depth of insight; much strong practical sense: there will be playfulness, pensiveness, pathos; great fairness and justice; much kindness of heart; something of the romantic element; and as for style, there will be language always free from the least trace of affectation; always clear and comprehensible; never slovenly; sometimes remarkable for a certain simple felicity; sometimes rising into force and eloquence of a very high order: a style, in short, not to be parodied, not to be caricatured, not to be imitated except by writing as well. the author cannot sink below our expectations; cannot rise above them. he has already written so much, and so many thoughtful readers have so carefully studied what he has written, that we know the exact length of his tether, and he can say nothing for which we are not prepared. you know exactly what to expect in this new work. you could not, indeed, produce it; you could not describe it, you could not say beforehand what it will be; but when you come upon it, you will feel that it is just what you were sure it would be. you were sure, as you are sure what will be the flavour of the fruit on your pet apple-tree, which you have tasted a hundred times. the tree is quite certain to produce that fruit which you remember and like so well; it is its nature to do so. and the analogy holds further. for, as little variations in weather or in the treatment of the tree--a dry season, or some special application to the roots--may somewhat alter the fruit, though all within narrow limits; so may change of circumstances a little affect an author's writings, but only within a certain range. the apple-tree may produce a somewhat different apple; but it will never producn an orange, neither will it yield a crab. so here we are again among our old friends. we should have good reason to complain had dunsford, ellesmere, or milverton been absent; and here they are again just as before. possibly they are even less changed than they'should have been after thirteen or fourteen years, considering what their age was at our first introduction to them. dunsford, the elderly country parson, once fellow and tutor of his college, still reports the conversations of the friends; milverton and ellesmere are, in their own way, as fond of one another as ever; dunsford is still judicious, kind, good, somewhat slow, as country parsons not unnaturally become; ellesmere is still sarcastic, keen, clever, with much real worldly wisdom and much affected cynicism overlying a kind and honest heart. as for milverton, we should judge that in him the author of the work has unconsciously shown us himself; for assuredly the great characteristics of the author of friends in council must be that he is laborious, thoughtful, generous, well-read, much in earnest, eager for the welfare of his fellow-men, deeply interested in politics and in history, impatient of puritanical restraints, convinced of the substantial importance of amusement. milverton, we gather, still lives at his country-seat in hampshire, and takes some interest in rustic concerns. ellesmere continues to rise at the bar; since we last met him has been solicitor-general, and is now sir john, a member of the house of commons, and in the fair way to a chief justiceship. the clergyman's quiet life is going on as before. but in addition to our three old friends we find an elderly man, one mr. midhurst, whose days have been spent in diplomacy, who is of a melancholy disposition, and takes gloomy views of life, but who is much skilled in cookery, very fat, and very fond of a good dinner. also mildred and blanche, milverton's cousins, two sisters, have grown up into young women of very different character: and they take some share in the conversations, and, as we shall hereafter see, a still more important part in the action of the story. we feel that we are in the midst of a real group of actual human beings:--just what third-rate historians fail to make us feel when telling us of men and women who have actually lived. the time and place are very varied; hut through the greater portion of the book the party are travelling over the continent. a further variation from the plan of the former volumes, besides the introduction of new characters, is, that while all the essays in the preceding series were written by milverton, we have now one by ellesmere, one by dunsford, and one by mr. midhurst, each being in theme and manner very characteristic of its author. but, as heretofore, the writer of the book holds to his principle of the impolicy of 'jading anything too far,' and thinks with bacon that 'it is good, in discourse and speech of conversation, to vary and intermingle speech of the present occasion with arguments, tales with reasons, asking of questions with telling of opinions, and jest with earnest.' the writer likewise holds by that system which his own practice has done so much to recommend--of giving locality and time to all abstract thought, and thus securing in the case of the majority of readers an interest and a reality in no other way to be attained. admirable as are the essays contained in the work, but for their setting in something of a story, and their vivification by being ascribed to various characters, and described as read and discussed in various scenes, they would interest a very much smaller class of readers than now they do. no doubt much of the skill of tho dramatist is needed to secure this souce of interest. it can be secured only where we feel that the characters are living men and women, and the attempt to secure it has often proved a miserable failure. but it is here that the author of friends in council succeeds so well. not only do we know precisely what dunsford, milverton, and ellesmere are like; we know exactly what they ought and what they ought not to say. the author ran a risk in reproducing those old friends. we had a right to expect in each of them a certain idiosyncrasy; and it is not easy to maintain an individuality which does not dwell in mere caricature and exaggeration, but in the truthful traits of actual life. we feel we have a vested interest in the characters of the three friends: not even their author has the right essentially to alter them; we should feel it an injury if he did. but he has done what he intended. here we have the selfsame men. not a word is said by one of them that ought to have been said by another. and here it may be remarked, that any one who is well read in the author's writings, will not fail here and there to come upon what will appear familiar to him. various thoughts, views, and even expressions, occur which the author has borrowed from himself. it is easy to be seen that in all this there is no conscious repetition, but that veins of thought and feeling long entertained have cropped out to the surface again. we do not know whether or not the readers of friends in council will be startled at finding that these volumes show us the grave milverton and the sarcastic ellesmere in the capacity of lovers, and leave them in the near prospect of being married--ellesmere to the bold and dashing mildred; milverton to the quiet blanche. the gradual tending of things to this conclusion forms the main action of the book. the incidents are of the simplest character: there is a plan but no plot, except as regards these marriages. wearied and jaded with work at home, the three friends of the former volumes resolve on going abroad for awhile. midhurst and the girls accompany them: and the story is simply that at various places to which they came, one friend read an essay or uttered a discourse (for sometimes the essays are supposed to have been given extempore), and the others talked about it. but the gradual progress of matters towards the weddings (it may be supposed that the happy couples are this september on their wedding tours) is traced with much skill and much knowledge of the fashion in which such things go; and it supplies a peculiar interest to the work, which will probably tide many young ladies over essays on such grave subjects as government and despotism. still, we confess that we had hardly regarded ellesmere and milverton as marrying men. we had set them down as too old, grave, and wise, for at least the preliminary stages. we have not forgotten that dunsford told us [footnote: friends in council, introduction to book ii.] that in the summer of he supposed no one but himself would speak of milverton and ellesmere as young men; and now of course they are twelve years older, and yet about to be married to girls whom we should judge to be about two or three and twenty. and although it is not an unnatural thing that ellesmere should have got over his affection for the german gretchen, whose story is so exquisitely told in the companions of my solitude, we find it harder to reconcile milverton's marriage with our previous impression of him. yet perhaps all this is truthful to life. it is not an unnatural thing that a man who for years has settled down into the belief that he has faded, and that for him the romantic interest has gone from life, should upon some fresh stimulus gather himself up from that idea, and think that life is not so far gone after all. who has not on a beautiful september day sometimes chidden himself for having given in to the impression that the season was so far advanced, and clung to the belief that it is almost summer still? in a preliminary address to the reader, the author explains that the essay on war, which occupies a considerable portion of the first volume, was written some time ago, and intends no allusion to recent events in europe. the address contains an earnest protest against the maintenance of large standing armies; it is eloquent and forcible, and it affords additional proof how much the author has thought upon the subject of war, and how deeply he feels upon it. then comes the introduction proper, written, of course, by dunsford. it sets out with the praise of conversation, and then it sums up what the 'friends' have learned in their longer experience of life:-- we 'friends in council' are of course somewhat older men than when we first began to meet in friendly conclave; and i have observed as men go on in life they are less and less inclined to be didactic. they have found out that nothing is, didactically speaking, true. they long for exceptions, modifications, allowances. a boy is clear, sharp, decisive in his talk. he would have this. he would do that. he hates this; he loves that: and his loves or his hatreds admit of no exception. he is sure that the one thing is quite right, and the other quite wrong. he is not troubled with doubts. he knows. i see now why, as men go on in life, they delight, in anecdotes. these tell so much, and argue, or pronounce directly, so little. the three friends were sauntering one day in milverton's garden, all feeling much overwrought and very stupid. ellesmere proposed that for a little recreation they should go abroad. milverton pleads his old horror of picture-galleries, and declares himself content with the unpainted pictures he has in his mind:-- it is curious, but i have been painting two companion pictures ever since we have been walking about in the garden. one consists of some dilapidated garden architecture, with overgrown foliage of all kinds, not forest foliage, but that of rare trees such as the sumach and japan-cedar, which should have been neglected for thirty years. here and there, instead of the exquisite parterre, there should be some miserable patches of potatoes and beans, and some squalid clothes hung out to dry. two ill-dressed children, but of delicate features, should be playing about an ugly neglected pool that had once been the basin to the fountain. but the foliage should be the chief thing, gaunt, grotesque, rare, beautiful, like an unkempt, uncared-for, lovely mountain girl. underneath this picture:--'property in the country, in chancery.' the companion picture, of course, should be:--'property in town, in chancery.' it should consist of two orthree hideous, sordid, window-broken, rat-deserted, paintless, blackened houses, that should look as if they had once been too good company for the neighbourhood, and had met with a fall in life, not deplored by any one. at the opposite corner should be a flaunting new gin-palace. i do not know whether i should have the heart to bring any children there, but i would if i could. the reader will discern that the author of friends in council has lost nothing of his power of picturesque description, and nothing of his horror of the abuses and cruelties of the law. and the passage may serve to remind of the touching, graphic account of the country residence of a reduced family in the companions of my solitude. [footnote: chap. iv.] ellesmere assures milverton that he shall not be asked to see a single picture; and that if milverton will bring blanche and mildred with him, he will himself go and see seven of the chief sewers in seven of the chief towns. the appeal to the sanitarian's feelings is successful; the bargain is struck; and we next find the entire party sauntering, after an early german dinner, on the terrace of some small town on the rhine,--dunsford forgets which. milverton, ellesmere, and mr. midhurst arc smoking, and we commend their conversation on the soothing power of tobacco to the attention of the dean of carlisle. dean close, by a bold figure, calls tobacco a 'gorging fiend.' milverton holds that smoking is perhaps the greatest blessing that we owe to the discovery of america. he regards its value as abiding in its power to soothe under the vexations and troubles of life. while smoking, you cease to live almost wholly in the future, which miserable men for the most part do. the question arises, whether the sorrows of the old or the young are the most acute? it is admitted that the sorrows of children are very overwhelming for the time, but they are not of that varied, perplexed, and bewildering nature which derives much consolation from smoke. ellesmere suggests, very truthfully, that the feeling of shame for having done anything wrong, or even ridiculous, causes most acute misery to the young. and, indeed, who does not know, from personal experience, that the sufferings of children of even four or five years old are often quite as dreadful as those which come as the sad heritage of after years? we look back on them now, and smile at them as we think how small were their causes. well, they were great to us. we were little creatures then, and little things were relatively very great. 'the sports of childhood satisfy the child:' the sorrows of childhood overwhelm the poor little thing. we think a sympathetic reader would hardly read without a tear as well as a smile, an incident in the early life of patrick fraser tytler, recorded in his recently published biography. when five years old he got hold of the gun of an elder brother, and broke the spring of its lock. what anguish the little boy must have endured, what a crushing sense of having caused an irremediable evil, before he sat down and printed in great letters the following epistle to his brother, the owner of the gun--'oh, jamie, think no more of guns, for the main-spring of that is broken, and my heart is broken!' doubtless the poor little fellow fancied that for all the remainder of his life he would never feel as he had felt before he touched the unlucky weapon. doubtless the little heart was just as full of anguish as it could hold. looking back over many years, most of us can remember a child crushed and overwhelmed by some sorrow which it thought could never be got over, and can feel for our early self as though sympathizing with another personality. the upshot of the talk which began with tobacco was, that milverton was prevailed upon to write an essay on a subject of universal interest to all civilized beings, an essay on worry. he felt, indeed, that he. should be writing it at a disadvantage; for an essay on worry can be written with full effect only by a thoroughly worried man. there was no worry at all in that quiet little town on the rhine; they had come there to rest, and there was no intruding duty that demanded that it should be attended to. and probably there is no respect in which that great law of the association of ideas, that like suggests like, holds more strikingly true than in the power of a present state of mind, or a present state of outward circumstances, to bring up vividly before us all such states in our past history. we are depressed, we are worried: and when we look back, all our departed days of worry and depression appear to start up and press themselves upon our view to the exclusion of anything else, so that we are ready to think that we have never been otherwise than depressed and worried all our life. but when more cheerful times come, they suggest only such times of cheerfulness, and no effort will bring back the worry vividly as when we felt it. it is not selfishness or heartlessness; it is the result of an inevitable law of mind that people in happy circumstances should resolutely believe that it is a happy world after all; for looking back, and looking around, the mind refuses to take distinct note of anything that is not somewhat akin to its present state. milverton wrote an excellent essay on worry on the evening of that day; but he might possibly have written a better one at worth-ashton on the evening of a day on which he had discovered that his coachman was stealing the corn provided for the carriage horses, or galloping these animals about the country at the dead of night to see his friends. we must have a score of little annoyances stinging us at once to have the undiluted sense of being worried. and probably a not wealthy man, residing in the country, and farming a few acres of ground by means of somewhat unfaithful and neglectful servants, may occasionally find so many things going wrong at once, and so many little things demanding to be attended to at once, that he shall experience worry in as high a degree as it can be felt by mortal. thus truthfully does milverton's essay begin:-- the great characteristic of modern life is worry. if the pagan religion still prevailed, the new goddess, in whose honour temples would be raised and to whom statues would be erected in all the capitals of the world, would he the goddess worry. london would be the chief seat and centre of her sway. a gorgeous statue, painted and enriched after the manner of the ancients (for there is no doubt that they adopted this practice, however barbarous it may seem to us), would he set up to the goddess in the west-end of the town: another at temple bar, of less ample dimensions and less elaborate decoration, would receive the devout homage of worshippers who came to attend their lawyers in that quarter of the town: while a statue, on which the cunning sculptor should have impressed the marks of haste, anxiety, and agitation, would be sharply glanced up at, with as much veneration as they could afford to give to it, by the eager men of business in the city. the goddess worry, however, would be no local deity, worshipped merely in some great town, like diana of the ephesians; but, in the market-places of small rural communities, her statue, made somewhat like a vane, and shitting with every turn of the wind, would be regarded with stolid awe by anxious votaries belonging to what is called the farming interest. familiar too and household would be her worship: and in many a snug home, where she might be imagined to have little potency, small and ugly images of her would be found as household gods--the lares and penates--near to the threshold, and ensconced above the glowing hearth. the poet, always somewhat inclined to fable, speaks of love as ruling the court, the camp, the grove, and men below, and heaven above; but the dominion of love, as compared with that of worry, would be found, in the number of subjects, as the macedonian to the persian--in extent of territory, as the county of rutland to the empire of russia. not verbally accurate is the quotation from the lay of the last minstrel, we may remark; but we may take it for granted that no reader who has exceeded the age of twenty-five will fail to recognize in this half-playful and half-earnest passage the statement of a sorrowful fact. and the essay goes on to set forth many of the causes of modern worry with all the knowledge and earnestness of a man who has seen much of life, and thought much upon what he has seen. the author's sympathies are not so much with the grand trials of historical personages, such as charles v., columbus, and napoleon, as with the lesser trials and cares of ordinary men; and in the following paragraph we discern at once the conviction of a clear head and the feeling of a kind heart:-- and the ordinary citizen, even of a well-settled state, who, with narrow means, increasing taxation, approaching age, failing health, and augmenting cares, goes plodding about his daily work thickly bestrewed with trouble and worry (all the while, perhaps, the thought of a sick child at home being in the background of his mind), may also, like any hero of renown in the midst of his world-wide and world-attracting fortune, be a beautiful object for our sympathy. there is indeed no more common error, than to estimate the extent of suffering by the greatness of the causes which have produced it; we mean their greatness as regards the amount of notice which they attract. the anguish of an emperor who has lost his empire, is probably not one whit greater than that of a poor lady who loses her little means in a swindling bank, and is obliged to take away her daughter from school and to move into an inferior dwelling. nor is it unworthy of remark, in thinking of sympathy with human beings in suffering, that scrubby-looking little men, with weak hair and awkward demeanour, and not in the least degree gentleman-like, may through domestic worry and bereavement undergo distress quite as great as heroic individuals six feet four inches in height, with a large quantity of raven hair, and with eyes of remarkable depth of expression. it is probable, too, that in the lot of ordinary men a ceaseless and countless succession of little worries does a great deal more to fret away the happiness of life than is done by the few great and overwhelming misfortunes which happen at long intervals. you lose your child, and your sorrow is overwhelming; but it is a sorrow on which before many months you look back with a sad yet pleasing interest, and it is a sorrow which you know you are the better for having felt. but petty unfaithfulness, carelessness, and stupidity on the part of your servants; little vexations and cross-accidents in your daily life; the ceaseless cares of managing a household and family, and possibly of making an effort to maintain appearances with very inadequate means;--all those little annoying things which are not misfortune but worry, effectually blister away the enjoyment of life while they last, and serve no good end in respect to mental and moral discipline. 'much tribulation,' deep and dignified sorrow, may prepare men for 'the kingdom of god;' but ceaseless worry, for the most part, does but sour the temper, jaundice the views, and embitter and harden the heart. 'the grand source of worry,' says our author, 'compared with which perhaps all others are trivial, lies in the complexity of human affairs, especially in such an era of civilization as our own.' there can be no doubt of it. in these modern days, we are encumbered and weighed down with the appliances, physical and moral, which have come to be regarded as essential to the carry lag forward of our life. we forget how many thousands of separate items and articles were counted up, as having been used, some time within the last few years, by a dinner-party of eighteen persons, at a single entertainment. what incalculable worry in the procuring, the keeping in order, the using, the damage, the storing up, of that enormous complication of china, glass, silver, and steel! we can well imagine how a man of simple tastes arid quiet disposition, worried even to death by his large house, his numerous servants and horses, his quantities of furniture and domestic appliances, all of a perishable nature, and all constantly wearing out and going wrong in various degrees, might sigh a wearied sigh for the simplicity of a hermit's cave and a hermit's fare, and for 'one perennial suit of leather.' such a man as the duke of buccleuch, possessing enormous estates, oppressed by a deep feeling of responsibility, and struggling to maintain a personal supervision of all his intricate and multitudinous belongings, must day by day undergo an amount of worry which the philosopher would probably regard as poorly compensated by a dukedom and three hundred thousand a year. he would be a noble benefactor of the human race who should teach men how to combine the simplicity of the savage life with the refinement and the cleanliness of the civilized. we fear it must be accepted as an unquestionable fact, that the many advantages of civilization are to be obtained only at the price of countless and ceaseless worry. of course, we must all sometimes sigh for the woods and the wigwam; but the feeling is as vain as that of the psalmist's wearied aspiration, 'oh that i had wings like a dove: then would i flee away and be at rest!' our author says, the great von humboldt went into the cottages of south american indiana, and, amongst an unwrinkled people, could with difficulty discern who was the father and who was the son, when he saw the family assembled together. and how plainly the smooth, cheerful face of the savage testified to the healthfulness, in a physical sense; of a life devoid of worry! if you would see the reverse of the medal, look at the anxious faces, the knit brows, and the bald heads, of the twenty or thirty greatest merchants whom you will see on the exchange of glasgow or of manchester. or you may find more touching proof of the ageing effect of worry, in the careworn face of the man of thirty with a growing family and an uncertain income; or the thin figure and bloodless cheek which testify to the dull weight ever resting on the heart of the poor widow who goes out washing, and leaves her little children in her poor garret under the care of one of eight years old. but still, the cottages of humboldt's 'unwrinkled people' were, we have little doubt, much infested with vermin, and possessed a pestilential atmosphere; and the people's freedom from care did but testify to their ignorance, and to their lack of moral sensibility. we must take worry, it is to be feared, along with civilization. as you go down in the scale of civilization, you throw off worry by throwing off the things to which it can adhere. and in these days, in which no man would seriously think of preferring the savage life, with its dirt, its stupidity, its listlessness, its cruelty, the good we may derive from that life, or any life approximating to it, is mainly that of a sort of moral alterative and tonic. the thing itself would not suit us, and would do us no good; but we may be the better for musing upon it. it is like a refreshing shower-bath, it is like breathing a cool breeze after the atmosphere of a hot-house, to dwell for a little, with half-closed eyes, upon pictures which show us all the good of the unworried life, and which say nothing of all the evil. we know the thing is vain: we know it is but an idle fancy; but still it is pleasant and refreshful to think of such a life as byron has sketched as the life of daniel boone. not in misanthropy, but from the strong preference of a forest life, did the kentucky backwoodsman keep many scores of miles ahead of the current of european population setting onwards to the west. we shall feel much indebted to any reader who will tell us where to find anything more delightful than the following stanzas, to read after an essay on modern worry:-- he was not all alone: around him grew a sylvan tribe of children of the chase; whose young, unwakened world was ever new, nor sin, nor sorrow, yet had left a trace on her unwrinkled brow; nor could you view a frown on nature's or on human face: the free-born forest found and kept them free, and fresh as is a torrent or a tree. and tall, and strong, and swift of foot were they, beyond the dwarfing city's pale abortions: because their thoughts had never been the prey of care or gain: the green woods were their portions. no sinking spirits told them they grew grey, no fashion made them apes of her distortions; simple they were, not savage, and their rifles, though very true, were yet not used for trifles. motion was in their days, rest in their slumbers, and cheerfulness the handmaid of their toil: nor yet too many, nor too few their numbers, corruption could not make their hearts her soil: the lust which stings, the splendour which encumbers, with the free foresters divide no spoil: serene, not sullen, were the solitudes, of this unsighing people of the woods. the essay on worry is followed by an interesting conversation on the same subject, at the close of which we are heartily obliged to blanche for suggesting one pleasant thought; to wit, that children for the most part escape that sad infliction; it is the special heritage of comparatively mature years. and milverton replies:-- yes; i have never been more struck with that than when observing a family in the middle class of life going to the sea-side. there is the anxious mother wondering how they shall manage to stow away all the children when they get down. visions of damp sheets oppress her. the cares of packing sit upon her soul. doubts of what will become of the house when it is left, are a constant drawback from her thoughts of enjoyment; and she confides to the partner of her cares how willingly, if it were not for the dear children, she would stay at tome. he, poor man, has not an easy time of it. he is meditating over the expense, and how it is to be provided for. he knows, if he has any knowledge of the world, that the said expense will somehow or other exceed any estimate he and his wife have made of it. he is studying the route of the journey, and is perplexed by the various modes of going. this one would be less expensive, but would take more time; and then time always turns into expense on a journey. in a word, the old birds are as full of care and trouble as a hen with ducklings; but the young birds! some of them have never seen the sea before, and visions of unspeakable delight fill their souls--visions that will almost be fulfilled. the journey, and the cramped accommodation, and the packing, and the everything out of place, are matters of pure fun and anticipated joy to them. we have lingered all this while upon the first chapter of the work: the second contains an essay and conversation on war. of this chapter we shall say no more than that it is earnest and sound in its views, and especially worthy of attentive consideration at the present time. the third chapter is one which will probably be turned to with interest by many readers; it bears the taking title of a love story. dunsford, a keen though quiet observer, has discovered that ellesmere has grown fond of mildred, though the lawyer was not likely to disclose his love. dunsford suspects that mildred's affections are get on milverton, as he has little doubt those of blanche are. both girls are very loving to dunsford, whom they call their uncle, though he is no relation, and the old clergyman determines to have an explanation with mildred. he manages to walk alone with her through the unguarded orchards which lie along the rhine; and there, somewhat abruptly, he begins to moralize on the grand passion. mildred remarks what a happy woman she would have been whom dunsford had loved; when the lucky thought strikes him that he would tell her his own story, never yet told to any one. and then he tells it, very simply and very touchingly. like most true stories of the kind, it has little incident; but it constituted the romance, not yet outlived, of the old--gentleman's existence. he and a certain alice were brought up together. like many of the most successful students, dunsford hated study, and was devoted to music and poetry, to nature and art. but he knew his only chance of winning alice was to obtain some success in life, and he devoted himself to study. who does not feel for the old man recalling the past, and, as he remembered those laborious days, saying to the girl by his side, "always reverence a scholar, my dear; if not for the scholarship, at least for the suffering and the self-denial which have been endured to gain the scholar's proficiency." his only pleasure was in correspondence with alice. he succeeded at last. he took his degree, being nearly the first man of his year in both of the great subjects of examination; and he might now come home with some hope of having made a beginning of fortune. a gay young fellow, a cousin of alice, came to spend a few days; and of course this lively, thoughtless youth, without an effort, carried off the prize of all poor dunsford's toils. you never win the thing on which your heart is set and your life staked; it falls to some one else who cares very little about it. it is poor compensation that you get something you care little for which would have made the happiness of another man. dunsford discovers one evening, in a walk with alice, the frustration of all his hopes:-- alice and i were alone again, and we walked out together in the evening. we spoke of my future hopes and prospects. i remember that i was emboldened to press her arm. she returned the pressure, and for a moment there never was, perhaps, a happier man. had i known more of love, i should have known that this evident return of affection was anything but a good sign; "and," continued she, in the unconnected manner that you women sometimes speak, "i am so glad that you love dear henry. oh, if we could but come and live near you when you get a curacy, how happy we should all be." this short sentence was sufficient. there was no need of more explanation. i knew all that had happened, and felt as if i no longer trod upon the firm earth, for it seemed a quicksand under me. the agony of that dull evening, the misery of that long night! i have sometimes thought that unsuccessful love is almost too great a burden to be put upnn such a poor creature as man. but he knows best; and it must have been intended, for it is so common. the next day i remember i borrowed henry's horse, and rode madly about, bounding through woods (i who had long forgotten to ride) and galloping over open downs. if the animal had not been wiser and more sane than i was, we should have been dashed to pieces many times. and so by sheer exhaustion of body i deadened the misery of my mind, and looked upon their happy state with a kind of stupefaction. in a few days i found a pretext for quitting my home, and i never saw your mother again, for it was your mother, mildred, and you are not like her, but like your father, and still i love you. but the great wound has never been healed. it is a foolish thing, perhaps, that any man should so doat upon a woman, that he should never afterwards care for any other, but so it has been with me; and you cannot wonder that a sort of terror should come over me when i see anybody in love, and when i think that his or her love is not likely to be returned. who would have thought that dunsford, with his gaiters, lying on the grass listening cheerfully to the lively talk of his two friends, or sitting among his bees repeating virgil to himself, or going about among his parishioners, the ideal of prosaic content and usefulness, had still in him this store of old romance? in asking the question, all we mean is to remark an apparent inconsistency: we have no doubt at all of the philosophic truth of the representation. probably it is only in the finer natures that such early fancies linger with appreciable effect. we do not forget the perpetually repeated declarations of mr. thackeray; we did not read mr. gilfits love story for nothing; we remember the very absurd incident which is told of dr. chalmers, who in his last years testified his remembrance of an early sweet-heart by sticking his card with two wafers behind a wretched little silhouette of her. and it is conceivable that the tenderest and most beautiful reminiscences of a love of departed days may linger with a man who has grown grey, fat, and even snuffy. but it is only in the case of remarkably tidy, neat, and clever old gentlemen that such feelings are likely to attract much sympathy from their juniors. possibly this world has more of such lingering romance than is generally credited. possibly with all but very stolid and narrow natures, no very strong feeling goes without leaving some trace. pain and grief are transitory things no less than joy; and though they leave us not the men we were, yet they do leave us. possibly it is not without some little stir of heart that most thoughtful aged persons can revisit certain spots, or see certain days return. and the affection which would have worn itself down into dull common-place in success, by being disappointed and frustrated, lives on in memory with diminished vividness but with increasing beauty, which the test of actual fact can never make prosaic. dunsford tells mildred what was his great inducement to make this continental tour. not the rhine; not the essays nor the conversations of his friends. at the palace of the luxemburg there is a fine picture, called les illusions perdues. it is one of the most affecting pictures dunsford ever saw. but that is not its peculiar merit. one girl in the picture is the image of what alice was. the chief thing i had to look forward to in this journey we are making was, thsit we might return by way of paris, and that i might see that picture again. you must contrive that we do return that way. ellesmere will do anything to please you, and milverton is always perfectly indifferent as to where he goes, so that he is not asked to see works of art, or to accompany a party of sight-seers to a cathedral. we will go and see this picture together once; and once i must see it alone. and a very touching sight it would be to one who knew the story, the grey-haired old clergyman looking, for a long while, at that young face. it would be indeed a contrast, the aged man, and the youthful figure in the picture. dunsford never saw alice again after his early disappointment: he never saw her as she grew matronly and then old; and so, though now in her grave, she remained in his memory the same young thing forever. the years which had made him grow old, had wrought not the slightest change upon her. and alice, old and dead, was the same on the canvas still. dunsford's purpose in telling his love-story, was to caution mildred against falling in love with milverton. she told him there was no danger. once, she frankly said, she had long struggled with her feelings, not only from natural pride, but for the sake of blanche, who loved milverton better and would be less able to control her love. but she had quite got over the struggle; and though now intensely sympathizing with her cousin, she felt she never could resolve to marry him. so the conversation ended satisfactorily; and then a short sentence shows us a scene, beautiful, vivid, and complete:-- we walked home silently amidst the mellow orchards glowing ruddily in the rays of the setting sun. the next chapter contains an essay and conversation on criticism: but its commencement shows us dunsford still employed in the interests of his friends. he tells milverton that blanche is growing fond of him. we can hardly give milverton credit for sincerity or judgment in being "greatly distressed and vexed." for once, he was shamming. all middle-aged men are much flattered and pleased with the admiration of young girls. milverton declared that the thing must be put a stop to; that "the idea of a young and beautiful girl throwing her affections away upon a faded widower like himself, was absurd." however, as the days went on, milverton began to be extremely attentive to blanche; asked her opinion about things quite beyond her comprehension; took long walks with her, and assured dunsford privately that "blanche had a great deal more in her than most people supposed, and that she was becoming an excellent companion." who does not recognize the process by which clever men persuade themselves into the belief that they are doing a judicious thing in marrying stupid women? the chapter which follows that on criticism, contains a conversation on biography, full of interesting suggestions which our space renders it impossible for us to quote; but we cannot forego the pleasure of extracting the following paragraphs. it is milverton who speaks:-- during walter's last holidays, one morning after breakfast he took a walk with me. i saw something was on the boy's mind. at last he suddenly asked me, "do sons often write the lives of fathers?"--"often," i replied, "but i do not think they are the best kind of biographers, for you see, walter, sons cannot well tell the faults and weaknesses of their fathers, and so filial biographies are often rather insipid performances."--"i don't know about that," he said, "i think i could write yours. i have made it already into chapters." "now then, my boy," i said, "begin it: let us have the outline at least." walter then commenced his biography. "the first chapter," he said, "should be you and i and henry walking amongst the trees and settling which should be cut down, and which should be transplanted." "a very pretty chapter," i said, "and a great deal might be made of it." "the second chapter," he continued, "should be your going to the farm, and talking to the pigs." "also a very good chapter, my dear." "the third chapter," he said, after a little thought, "should be your friends. i would describe them all, and what they could do." there, you see, ellesmere, you would come in largely, especially as to what you could do. "an excellent chapter," i exclaimed, and then of course i broke out into some paternal admonition about the choice of friends, which i know will have no effect whatever, but still one cannot help uttering these paternal admonitions. "now then," i said, "for chapter four." here walter paused, and looked about him vaguely for a minute or two. at length he seemed to have got hold of the right idea, for he burst out with the words, "my going back to school;" and that, it seemed, was to be the end of the biography. now, was there ever so honest a biographer? his going hack to school was the "be-all and end-all here" with him, and he resolved it should be the same with his hero, and with everybody concerned in the story. then see what a pleasant biographer the boy is! he does not drag his hero down through the vale of life, amidst declining fortune, breaking health, dwindling away of friends, and the usual dreariness of the last few stages. neither does the biography end with the death of his hero; and by the way, it is not very pleasant to have one's children contemplating one's death, even for the sake of writing one's life; but the biographer brings the adventures of his hero to an end by his own going back to school. how delightful it would be if most biographers planned their works after walter's fashion: just gave a picture of their hero at his farm, or his business; then at his pleasure, as walter brought me amongst my trees; then, to show what manner of man he was, gave some description of his friends; and concluded by giving an account of their own going back to school--a conclusion that is greatly to be desired for many of them. when we begin to copy a passage from this work, we find it very difficult to stop. but the thoughtful reader will not need to have it pointed out to him how much sound wisdom is conveyed in that playful form. and here is excellent advice as to the fashion in which men may hope to get through great intellectual labour: says ellesmere,-- i can tell you in a--very few words how all work is done. getting up early, eating vigorously, saying "no" to intruders resolutely, doing one thing at a time, thinking over difficulties at odd times, that is, when stupid people are talking in the house of commons, or speaking at the bar, not indulging too much in affections of any kind which waste the time and energies, carefully changing the current of your thoughts before you go to bed, planning the work of the day in the quarter of an hour before you get up, playing with children occasionally, and avoiding fools as much as possible: that is the way to do a great deal of work. milverton remarks, with justice, that some practical advices as to the way in which a working man might succeed in avoiding fools were very much to be desired, inasmuch as that brief direction contains the whole art of life; and suggests with equal justice that the taking of a daily bath should be added to ellesmere's catalogue of appliances which aid in working. we cannot linger upon the remaining pages which treat of biography, nor upon two interesting chapters concerning proverbs. it may be noticed, however, that ellesmere insists that the best proverb in the world is the familiar english, one, 'nobody knows where the shoe pinches hut the wearer;' while milverton tells us that the spanish language is far richer in proverbs than that of any other nation. but we hasten to an essay which will be extremely fresh and interesting to all readers. we have had many essays by milverton: here is one by ellesmere. he had announced some time before his purpose of writing an essay on the arts of self-advancement, and mildred, whom ellesmere took a pleasure in annoying by making a parade of mean, selfish, and cynical views, discerned at once that in such an essay he would have an opportunity of bringing together a crowd of these, and declared before ellesmere began to write it that it would be a nauseous essay.' the essay is finished at length. the friends are now at salzburg; and on a very warm day they assembled in a sequestered spot whence they could see the snowy peaks of the tyrolese alps. ellesmere begins by deprecating criticism of his style, declaring that anything inaccurate or ungrammatical is put in on purpose. then he begins to read:-- in the first place, it is desirable to be born north of the tweed (i like to begin at the beginning of things); and if that cannot be managed, you must at least contrive to be born in a moderately-sized town--somewhere. you thus get the advantage of being favoured by a small community without losing any individual force. if i had been born in affpuddle--milverton in tolpuddle--and dunsford in tollerporcorum (there are such places, at least i saw them once arranged together in a petition to the house of commons), the men of affpuddle, tolpuddle, and tollerporcorum would have been proud of us, would have been true to us, and would have helped to push our fortunes. i see, with my mind's eye, a statue of dunsford raised in tollerporcorum. you smile, i observe; but it is the smile of ignorance, for let me tell you, it is of the first importance not to be born vaguely, as in london, or in some remote country-house. if you cannot, however, be born properly, contrive at least to be connected with some small sect or community, who may consider your renown as part of their renown, and be always ready to favour and defend you. after this promising introduction ellesmere goes on to propound views which in an extraordinary way combine real good sense and sharp worldly wisdom with a parade of all sorts of mean shifts and contemptible tricks where-by to take advantage of the weakness, folly, and wickedness of human nature. very characteristically he delights in thinking how he is shocking and disgusting poor mildred: of course dunsford and milverton understand him. and the style is as characteristic as the thought. it is unquestionably ellesmere to whose essay we are listening; milverton could not and would not have produced such a discourse. we remember to have read in a review, published several years since, of the former series of friends in council, that it was judicious in the author of that work, though introducing several friends as talking together, to represent all the essays as written by one individual; because, although he could keep up the individuality of the speakers through a conversation, it was doubtful whether he could have succeeded in doing so through essays purporting to. be written by each of them. we do not know whether the author ever saw the challenge thus thrown down to him: but it is certain that in the present series he has boldly attempted the thing, and thoroughly succeeded. and it may be remarked that not one of ellesmere's propositions can be regarded as mere vagaries--every one of them contains truth, though truth put carefully in the most disagreeable and degrading way. who does not know how great an element of success it is to belong to a sect or class which regard your reputation as identified with their own, and cry you up accordingly? it is to be admitted that there is the preliminary difficulty of so far overcoming individual envies and jealousies as to get your class to accept you as their representative; but once that end is accomplished the thing is done. as to being born north of the tweed, a scotch lord chancellor and a scotch bishop of london are instructive instances. and however much scotchmen may abuse one another at home, it cannot be denied that all scotchmen feel it a sacred duty to stand up for every scotchman who has attained to eminence oeyond the boundaries of his native land. scotland, indeed, in the sense in which ellesmere uses the phrase, is a small community; and a community of very energetic, self-denying, laborious, and determined men, with very many feelings in common which they have in common only with their countrymen, and with an invincible tendency in all times of trouble to remember the old cry of highlandmen, shoulder to shoulder! let the ambitious reader muse on what follows:-- let your position be commonplace, whatever you are yourself. if you are a genius, and contrive to conceal the fact, you really deserve to get on in the world, and you will do so, if only you keep on the level road. remember always that the world is a place where second-rate people mostly succeed: not fools, nor first-rate people. cynically put, no doubt, but admirably true. a great blockhead will never be made an archbishop; but in ordinary times a great genius stands next to him in the badness of his chance. after all, good sense and sound judgment are the essentially needful things in all but very exceptional situations in life--and for these commend us to the safe, steady-going, commonplace man. it cannot be denied that the great mass of mankind stand in doubt and fear of people who are wonderfully clever. what an amount of stolid, self-complacent, ignorant, stupid, conceited respectability, is wrapped up in the declaration concerning any person, that he is "too clever by half!" how plainly it teaches that the general belief is that too ingenious machinery will break down in practical working, and that most men will do wrong who have the power to do it! the following propositions are true in very large communities, but they will not hold good in the country or in little towns:-- remember always that what is real and substantive ultimately has its way in this world. you make good bricks for instance: it is in vain that your enemies prove that you are a heretic in morals, politics, and religion; insinuate that you beat your wife; and dwell loudly on the fact that you failed in making picture-frames. in so far as you are a good brick-maker, you have all the power that depends on good brick-making; and the world will mainly look to j-our positive qualities as a brick-maker. after having gone on with a number of maxims of a very base, selfish, and suspicious nature, to the increasing horror of the girls who are listening, ellesmere passes from the consideration of modes of action to a much more important matter:-- those who wish for self-advancement should remember, that the art in life is not so much to do a thing well, as to get a thing that has been moderately well done largely talked about. some foolish people, who should have belonged to another planet, give all their minds to doing their work well. this is an entire mistake. this is a grievous loss of power. such a method of proceeding may be very well in jupiter, mars, or saturn, but is totally out of place in this puffing, advertising, bill-sticking part of creation. to rush into the battle of life without an abundance of kettle-drums and trumpets is a weak and ill-advised adventure, however well-armed and well-accoutred you may be. as i hate vague maxims, i will at once lay down the proportions in which force of any kind should be used in this world. suppose you have a force which may be represented by the number one hundred: seventy-three parts at least of that force should be given to the trumpet; the remaining twenty-seven parts may not disadvantageously be spent in doing the thing which is to be trumpeted. this is a rule unlike some rules in grammar, which are entangled and controlled by a multitude of vexatious exceptions; but it applies equally to the conduct of all matters upon earth, whether social, moral, artistic, literary, political, or religious. ellesmere goes on to sum up the personal qualities needful to success; and having sketched out the character of a mean, crafty, sharp, energetic rascal, he concludes by saying that such a one will not fail to succeed in any department of life--provided always he keeps for the most part to one department, and does not attempt to conquer in many directions at once. i only hope that, having protited by this wisdom of mine, he will give me a share of the spoil. thus the essay ends; and then the discourse thereon begins-- milverton. well, of all the intolerable wretches and black-guards--' mr. midhurst. a conceited prig, too! uunsford. a wicked, designing villain! ellesmere. any more: any more? pray go on, gentlemen; and have you, ladies, nothing to say against the wise man of the world that i have depicted? and yet the upshot of the conversation was, that though given in a highly disagreeable and obtrusively base form, there was much truth in what ellesmere had said. it is to be remembered that he did not pretend to describe a good man, but only a successful one. and it is to be remembered likewise that prudence verges toward baseness: and that the difference between the suggestions of each lies very much in the fashion in which these suggestions are put and enforced. as to the use of the trumpet, how many advertising tailors and pill-makers could testify to the soundness of ellesmere's principle? and beyond the atlantic it finds special favor. when barnum exhibited his mermaid, and stuck up outside his show-room a picture of three beautiful mermaids, of human size, with flowing hair, basking upon a summer sea, while inside the show-room he had the hideous little contorted figure made of a monkey with a fish's tail attached to it, probably the proportion of the trumpet to the thing trumpeted was even greater than seventy-three to twenty-seven. dunsford suggests, for the comfort of those who will not stoop to unworthy means for obtaining success, the beautiful saying, that "heaven is probably a place for those who have failed on earth." and ellesmere, adhering to his expressed views, declares-- if you had attended to them earlier in life, dunsford would now be mr. dean; milverton would be the right honorable leonard milverton, and the leader of a party; mr. midhurst would be chief cook to the emperor napoleon; the bull-dog would have been promoted to the parlor; i, but no man is wise for himself, should have been lord chancellor; walter would be at the head of his class without having any more knowledge than he has at present; and as for you two girls, one. would be a maid of honor to the queen, and the other would have married the richest man in the county. we have not space to tell how ellesmere planned to get mr. midhurst to write an essay on the miseries of human life; nor how at treves, upon a lowering day, the party, seated in the ancient amphitheatre, heard it read; nor how fully, eloquently, and not unfairly, the gloomy man, not without a certain solemn enjoyment, summed up his sad catalogue of the ills that flesh is heir to; nor how milverton agreed in the evening to speak an answer to the essay, and show that life was not so miserable after all; nor how ellesmere, eager to have it answered effectively, determined that milverton should have the little accessories in his favor, the red curtains drawn, a blazing wood-fire, and plenty of light; nor how before the answer began, he brought milverton a glass of wine to cheer him; nor how milverton endeavored to show that in the present system misery was not quite predominant, and that much good in many ways came out of ill. then we have some talk about pleasantness; and dunsford is persuaded to write and read an essay on that subject, which he read one morning, 'while we were sitting in the balcony of an hotel, in one of the small towns that overlook the moselle, which was flowing beneath in a reddish turbid stream.' in the conversation which follows milverton says, it is a fault certainly to which writers are liable, that of exaggerating the claims of their subject. and how truly is that said! indeed we can quite imagine a very earnest man feeling afraid to think too much and long about any existing evil, for fear it should greaten on his view into a thing so large and pernicious, that he should be constrained to give all his life to the wrestling with that one thing; and attach to it an importance which would make his neighbors think him a monomaniac. if you think long and deeply upon any subject, it grows in magnitude and weight: if you think of it too long, it may grow big enough to exclude the thought of all things beside. if it be an existing and prevalent evil you are thinking of, you may come to fancy that if that one thing could be done away, it would be well with the human race,--all evil would go with it. we can sympathize deeply with that man who died a short while since, who wrote volume after volume to prove that if men would only leave off stooping, and learn to hold themselves upright, it would be the grandest blessing that ever came to humanity. we can quite conceive the process by which a man might come to think so, without admitting mania as a cause. we confess, for ourselves, that so deeply do we feel the force of the law milverton mentions, there are certain evils of which we are afraid to think much, for fear we should come to be able to think of nothing else, and of nothing more. then a pleasant chapter, entitled lovers' quarrels, tells us how matters are progressing with the two pairs. milverton and blanche are going on most satisfactorily; but ellesmere and mildred are wayward and hard to keep right. ellesmere sadly disappointed mildred by the sordid views he advanced in his essay, and kept advancing in his talk; and like a proud and shy man of middle age when in love, he was ever watching for distant slight indications of how his suit might be received, and rendered fractious by the uncertainty of mildred's conduct and bearing. and probably women have little notion by what slight and hardly thought-of sayings and doings they may have repressed the declaration and the offer which might perhaps have made them happy. day by day dunsfbrd was vexed by the growing estrangement between two persons who were really much attached; and this unhappy state of matters might have ended in a final separation but for the happy incident recorded in the chapter called rowing down the river moselle. the party had rowed down the river, talking as usual of many things:-- it was just at this point of the conversation that we pulled in nearer to the land, as walter had made signs that he wished now to get into the boat. it was a weedy rushy part of the river that we entered. fixer saw a rat or some other creature, which he was wild to get at. eliesmere excited him to do so, and the dog sprang out of the boat. in a minute or two fixer became entangled in the weeds, and seemed to be in danger of sinking. ellesmere, without thinking what he was about, made a hasty effort to save the dog, seized hold of him, but lost his own balance and fell out of the boat. in another moment mildred gave me the end of her shawl to hold, which she had wound round herself, and sprang out too. the sensible diplomatist lost no time in throwing his weighty person to the other side of the boat. the two boatmen did the same. but for this move, the boat would, in all probability, have capsized, and we should all have been lost. mildred was successful in clutching hold of ellesmere; and milverton and i managed to haul them close to the boat and to pull them in. ellesmere had uot relinquished hold of fixer. all this happened, as such accidents do, in almost less time than it takes to describe them. and now came another dripping creature splashing into the boat; for master walter, who can swim like a duck, had plunged in directly he saw the accident, but too late to be of any assistance. things are now all right; and ellesmere next day announces to his friends that mildred and he are engaged. two chapters, on government and despotism respectively, give us the last thoughts of the friends abroad; then we have a pleasant picture of them all in milverton's farmyard, under a great sycamore, discoursing cheerfully of country cares. the closing chapter of the book is on the need for tolerance. it contains a host of thoughts which we should be glad to extract; but we must be content with a wise saying of milverton's:-- for a man who has been rigidly good to be supremely tolerant, would require an amount of insight which seems to belong only to the greatest genius. for we hardly sympathize with that which we have not in some measure experienced; and the great thing, after all, which makes us tolerant of the errors of other men, is the feeling that under like circumstances we should have ourselves erred in like manner; or, at all events, the being able to see the error in such a light as to feel that there is that within ourselves which enables us at least to understand how men should in such a way have erred. the sins on which we are most severe are those concerning which our feeling is, that we cannot conceive how any man could possibly have done them. and probably such would be the feeling of a rigidly good man concerning every sin. so we part, for the present, from our friends, not without the hope of again meeting them. we have been listening to the conversation of living men; and, in parting, we feel the regret that we should feel in quitting a kind friend's house after a pleasant visit, not, perhaps, to be renewed for many a day. and this is a changing world. we have been breathing the old atmosphere, and listening to the old voices talking in the old way. we have had new thought and new truth, but presented in the fashion we have known and enjoyed for years. happily we can repeat our visit as often as we please, without the fear of worrying or wearying; for we may open the book at will. and we shall hope for new visits likewise. milverton will be as earnest and more hopeful, ellesmere will retain all that is good, and that which is provoking will now be softened down. no doubt by this time they are married. where have they gone? the continent is unsettled, and they have often already been there. perhaps they have gone to scotland? no doubt they have. and perhaps before the leaves are sere we may find them out among the sea lochs of the beautiful frith of clyde, or under the shadow of ben nevis. chapter xii. concerning the pulpit in scotland. nearly forty years since, dr. chalmers, one of the parish ministers of glasgow, preached several times in london. he was then in the zenith of his popularity as a pulpit orator. canning and wilberforce went together to hear him upon one occasion; and after sitting spell-bound under his eloquence, canning said to wilberforce when the sermon was done, 'the tarlan beats us; we have no preaching like that in england.' in october , the rev. john caird, incumbent of the parish of errol, in perthshire, preached before the queen and court at the church of crathie. her majesty was so impressed by the discourse that she commanded its publication; and the prince consort, no mean authority, expressed his admiration of the ability of the preacher, saying that 'he had not heard a preacher like him for ssven years, and did not expect to enjoy a like pleasure for as long a period to come.' so, at all events, says a paragraph in the times of december th, . it is somewhat startling to find men of cultivated taste, who are familiar with the highest class preaching of the english church, expressing their sense of the superior effect of pulpit oratory of a very different kind. no doubt caird and chalmers are the best of their class; and the overwhelming effect which they and a few other scotch preachers have often produced, is in a great degree owing to the individual genius of the men, and not to the school of preaching they belong to. yet both are representatives of what may be called the scotch school of preaching: and with all their genius, they never could have carried away their audience as they have done, had they been trammelled by those canons of taste to which english preachers almost invariably conform. their manner is just the regular scotch manner, vivified into tenfold effect by their own peculiar genius. preaching in scotland is a totally different thing from what it is in england. in the former country it is generally characterized by an amount of excitement in delivery and matter, which in england is only found among the most fanatical dissenters, and is practically unknown in the pulpits of the national church. no doubt english and scotch preaching differ in substance to a certain 'extent.' scotch sermons are generally longer, averaging from forty minutes to an hour in the delivery. there is a more prominent and constant pressing of what is called evangelical doctrine. the treatment of the subject is more formal. there is an introduction; two or three heads of discourse, formally announced; and a practical conclusion; and generally the entire calvinistic system is set forth in every sermon. but the main difference lies in the manner in which the discourses of the two schools are delivered. while english sermons are generally read with quiet dignity, in scotland they are very commonly repeated from memory, and given with great vehemence and oratorical effect, and abundant gesticulation. nor is it to be supposed that when we say the difference is main ly in manner, we think it a small one. there is only one account given by all who have heard the most striking scotch preachers, as to the proportion which their manner bears in the effect produced. lockhart, late of the quarterly, says of chalmers, 'never did the world possess any orator whose minutest peculiarities of gesture and voice have more power in increasing the effect of what he says; whose delivery, in other words, is the first, and the second, and the third excellence in his oratory, more truly than is that of dr. chalmers.' the same words might be repeated of caird, who has succeeded to chalmers's fame. a hundred little circumstances of voice and manner--even of appearance and dress--combine to give his oratory its overwhelming power. and where manner is everything, difference in manner is a total difference. nor does manner affect only the less educated and intelligent class of hearers. it cannot be doubted that the unparalleled impression produced, even on such men as wilberforce, canning, lockhart, lord jeffrey, and prince albert, was mainly the result of manner. in point of substance and style, many english preachers are quite superior to the best of the scotch. in these respects, there are no preachers in scotland who come near the mark of melvill, manning, arnold, or bishop wilberforce. lockhart says of chalmers, i have heard many men deliver sermons far better arranged in point of argument; and i have heard very many deliver sermons far more uniform in elegance, both of conception and of style; but most unquestionably, i have never heard, either in england or scotland, or in any other country, a preacher whose eloquence is capable of producing an effect so strong and irresistible as his. [footnote: peter's letters to his kinsfolk, vol. iii. p. .] the best proof how much chalmers owed to his manner, is, that in his latter days, when he was no longer able to give them with his wonted animation and feeling, the very same discourses fell quite flat on his congregation. it is long since sydney smith expressed his views as to the chilliness which is the general characteristic of the anglican pulpit. in the preface to his published sermons, he says: the english, generally remarkable for doing very good things in a very bad manner, seem to have reserved the maturity and plenitude of their awkwardness for the pulpit. a clergyman clings to his velvet cushion with either hand, keeps his eye rivetted on his book, speaks of the ecstacies of joy and fear with a voice and a face which indicates neither; and pinions his body and soul into the same attitude of limb and thought, for fear of being thought theatrical and affected. the most intrepid veteran of us all dares no more than wipe his face with his cambric sudarium; if by mischance his hand slip from its orthodox gripe of the velvet, he draws it back as from liquid brimstone, and atones for the indecorum by fresh inflexibility and more rigorous sameness. is it wonder, then, that every semi-delirious sectary who pours forth his animated nonsense with the genuine look and voice of passion, should gesticulate away the congregation of the most profound and learned divine of the established church, and in two sundays preach him bare to the very sexton? why are we natural everywhere but in the pulpit? no man expresses warm and animated feelings anywhere else, with his mouth only, but with his whole body; he articulates with every limb, and talks from head to foot with a thousand voices. why this holoplexia on sacred occasions only? why call in the aid of paralysis to piety? is sin to be taken from men, as eve was from adam, by casting them into a deep slumber? or from what possible perversion of common sense are we all to look like field preachers in zembla, holy lumps of ice, numbed into quiescence and stagnation and mumbling? now in scotland, for very many years past, the standard style of preaching has been that which the lively yet gentle satirist wished to see more common in england. whether successfully or not, scotch preachers aim at what sydney smith regarded as the right way of preaching--'to rouse, to appeal, to inflame, to break through every barrier, up to the very haunts and chambers of the soul.' whether this end be a safe one to propose to each one of some hundreds of men of ordinary ability and taste, may be a question. an unsuccessful attempt at it is very likely to land a man in gross offence against common taste and common sense, from which he whose aim is less ambitious is almost certainly safe. the preacher whose purpose is to preach plain sense in such a style and manner as not to offend people of education and refinement, if he fail in doing what he wishes, may indeed be dull, but will not be absurd and offensive. but however this may be, it is curious that this impassioned and highly oratorical school of preaching should be found among a cautious, cool-headed race like the scotch. the scotch are proverbial for long heads, and no great capacity of emotion. sir walter scott, in rob roy, in describing the preacher whom the hero heard in the crypt of glasgow cathedral, says that his countrymen are much more accessible to logic than rhetoric; and that this fact determines the character of the preaching which is most acceptable to them. if the case was such in those times, matters are assuredly quite altered now. logic is indeed not overlooked: but it is brilliancy of illustration, and, above all, great feeling and earnestness, which go down. mr. caird, the most popular of modern scotch preachers, though possessing a very powerful and logical mind, yet owes his popularity with the mass of hearers almost entirely to his tremendous power of feeling and producing emotion. by way of contrast to sydney smith's picture of the english pulpit manner, let us look at one of chalmers's great appearances. look on that picture, and then on this: the doctor's manner during the whole delivery of that magnificent discourse was strikingly animated: while the enthusiasm and energy he threw into some of his bursts rendered them quite overpowering. one expression which he used, together with his action, his look, and the tones of his voice, made a most vivid and indelible impression on my memory... while uttering these words, which he did with peculiar emphasis, accompanying them with a flash from his eye and a slump of his foot, he threw his right arm with clenched fist right across the book-board, and brandished it full in the face of the town council, sitting in state before him. the words seem to startle, like an electric shock, the whole audience. very likely they did: but we should regret to see a bishop, or even a dean, have recourse to such means of producing an impression. we shall give one other extract descriptive of chalmers's manner: it was a transcendently grand, a glorious burst. the energy of his action corresponded. intense emotion beamed from his countenance. i cannot describe the appearance of his face better than by saving it was lighted up almost into a glare. the congregation were intensely excited, leaning forward in the pews like a forest bending under the power of the hurricane,--looking steadfastly at the preacher, and listening in breathless wonderment. so soon as it was concluded, there was (as invariably was the case at the close of the doctor's bursts) a deep sigh, or rather gasp for breath, accompanied by a movement throughout the whole audience. [footnote: life of chalmers, vol. i. pp. , , and , . it should be mentioned that chahners, notwithstanding this tremendous vehemence, always read his sermons.] there is indeed in the scotch church a considerable class of most respectable preachers who read their sermons, and who, both for matter and manner, might be transplanted without remark into the pulpit of any cathedral in england. there is a school, also, of high standing and no small popularity, whose manner and style are calm and beautiful; but who, through deficiency of that vehemence which is at such a premium in scotland at present, will never draw crowds such as hang upon the lips of more excited orators. foremost among such stands mr. robertson, minister of strathmartin, in forfarshire. dr. mcculloch, of greenock, and dr. veitch, of st. cuthbert's, edinburgh, are among the best specimens of the class. but that preaching which interests, leads onward, and instructs, has few admirers compared with that which thrills, overwhelms, and sweeps away. and from the impression made on individuals so competent to judge as those already mentioned, it would certainly seem that, whether suited to the dignity of the pulpit or not, the deepest oratorical effect is made by the latter, even on cultivated minds. some of the most popular preachers in england have formed themselves on the scotch model. melvill and m'neile are examples: so, in a different walk, is ryle, so well known by his tracts. we believe that melvill in his early days delivered his sermons from memory, and of late years only has taken to reading, to the considerable diminution of the effect he produces. we may here remark, that in some country districts the prejudice of the people against clergymen reading their sermons is excessive. it is indeed to be admitted that it is a more natural thing that a speaker should look at the audience he is addressing, and appear to speak from the feeling of the moment, than that he should read to them what he has to say; but it is hard to impose upon a parish minister, burdened with pastoral duty, the irksome school-boy task of committing to memory a long sermon, and perhaps two, every week. the system of reading is spreading rapidly in the scotch church, and seems likely in a few years to become all but universal. caird reads his sermons closely on ordinary sundays, but delivers entirely from memory in preaching on any particular occasion. it may easily be imagined that when every one of fourteen or fifteen hundred preachers understands on entering the church that his manner must be animated if he looks for preferment, very many will have a very bad manner. it is wonderful, indeed, when we look to the average run of respectable scotch preachers, to find how many take kindly to the emotional style. often, of course, such a style is thoroughly contrary to the man's idiosyncracy. still, he must seem warm and animated; and the consequence is frequently loud speaking without a vestige of feeling, and much roaring when there is nothing whatever in what is said to demand it. noise is mistaken for animation. we have been startled on going into a little country kirk, in which any speaking above a whisper would have been audible, to find the minister from the very beginning of the service, roaring as if speaking to people a quarter of a mile off. yet the rustics were still, and appeared attentive. they regarded their clergyman as 'a powerfu' preacher;' while the most nervous thought, uttered in more civilized tones, would have been esteemed 'unco weak.' we are speaking, of course, of very plain congregations; but among such 'a powerful preacher' means a preacher with a powerful voice and great physical energy. let not english readers imagine, when we speak of the vehemence of the scotch pulpit, that we mean only a gentlemanly degree of warmth and energy. it often amounts to the most violent melo-dramatic acting. sheil's irish speeches would have been immensely popular scotch sermons, so far as their style and delivery are concerned. the physical energy is tremendous. it is said that when chalmers preached in st. george's, edinburgh, the massive chandeliers, many feet off, were all vibrating. he had often to stop, exhausted, in the midst of his sermon, and have a psalm sung till he recovered breath. caird begins quietly, but frequently works himself up to a frantic excitement, in which his gestulation is of the wildest, and his voice an absolute howl. one feels afraid that he may burst a bloodvessel. were his hearers cool enough to criticise him, the impression would be at an end; but he has wound them up to such a pitch that criticism is impossible. they must sit absolutely passive, with nerves tingling and blood pausing: frequently many of the congregation have started to their feet. it may be imagined how heavily the physical energies of the preacher are drawn upon by this mode of speaking. dr. bennie, one of the ministers of edinburgh, and one of the most eloquent and effective of scotch pulpit orators, is said to have died at an age much short of fifty, worn out by the enthusiastic animation of his style. there are some little accessories of the scotch pulpit, which in england are unknown: such as thrashing the large bible which lies before the minister--long pauses to recover breath--much wiping of the face--sodorific results to an unpleasant degree, necessitating an entire change of apparel after preaching. the secret of the superior power over a mixed congregation of the best scotch, as compared with most english preachers, is that the former are not deterred by any considerations of the dignity of the pulpit, from any oratorical art which is likely to produce an effect. some times indeed, where better things might be expected, the most reprehensible clap-trap is resorted to. an english preacher is fettered and trammelled by fear of being thought fanatical and methodistical,--and still worse, ungentlemanlike. he knows, too, that a reputation as a 'popular preacher' is not the thing which will conduce much to his preferment in his profession. the scotch preacher, on the other hand, throws himself heart and soul into his subject. chalmers overcame the notion that vehemence in the pulpit was indicative of either fanaticism or weakness of intellect: he made ultra-animation respectable: and earnestness, even in an excessive degree, is all in favour of a young preacher's popularity; while a man's chance of the most valuable preferments (in the way of parochial livings) of the scotch church, is in exact proportion to his popularity as a preacher. the spell of the greatest preachers is in their capacity of intense feeling. this is reflected on the congregation. a congregation will in most cases feel but a very inferior degree of the emotion which the preacher feels. but intense feeling is contagious. there is much in common between the tragic actor and the popular preacher; but while the actor's power is generally the result of a studied elocution, the preacher's is almost always native. a teacher of elocution would probably say that the manner of chalmers, guthrie, or caird was a very bad one; but it suits the man, and no other would produce a like impression. in reading the most effective discourses of the greatest preachers, we are invariably disappointed. we can see nothing very particular in those quotations from chalmers which are recorded as having so overwhelmingly impressed those who heard them. it was manner that did it all. in short, an accessory which in england is almost entirely neglected, is the secret of scotch effect. nor is it any derogation from an orator's genius to say that his power lies much less in what he says than in how he says it. it is but saying that his weapon can be wielded by no other hand than his own. manner makes the entire difference between macready and the poorest stroller that murders shakspeare. the matter is the baine in the case of each. each has the same thing to say; the enormous difference lies in the manner in which each says it. the greatest effects recorded to have been produced by human language, have been produced by things which, in merely reading them, would not have appeared so very remarkable. hazlitt tells us that nothing so lingered on his ear as a line from home's douglas, as spoken by young betty:-- and happy, in my mind, was he that died. we have heard it said that macready never produced a greater effect than by the very simple words 'who said that?' it is perhaps a burlesque of an acknowledged fact, to record that whitfield could thrill an audience by saying 'mesopotamia!' hugh miller tells us that he heard chahners read a piece which he (miller) had himself written. it produced the effect of the most telling acting; and its author never knew how fine it was till then. we remember well the feeling which ran through us when we heard caird say, 'as we bend over the grave, where the dying are burying the dead.' all this is the result of that gift of genius; to feel with the whole soul and utter with the whole soul. the case of gavazzi shows that tremendous energy can carry an audience away, without its understanding a syllable of what is said. inferior men think by loud roaring and frantic gesticulation to produce that impression which genius alone can produce. but the counterfeit is wretched; and with all intelligent people the result is derision and disgust. many of our readers, we daresay, have never witnessed the service of the scotch church. its order is the simplest possible. a psalm is sung, the congregation sitting. a prayer of about a quarter of an hour in length is offered, the congregation standing. a chapter of the bible is read; another psalm sung; then comes the sermon. a short prayer and a psalm follow; and the service is terminated by the benediction. the entire service lasts about an hour and a half. it is almost invariably conducted by a single clergyman. in towns, the churches now approximate pretty much to the english, as regards architecture. it is only in country places that one finds the true bareness of presbytery. the main difference is that there is no altar; the communion table being placed in the body of the church. the pulpit occupies the altar end, and forms the most prominent object; symbolizing very accurately the relative estimation of the sermon in the scotch service. whenever a new church is built, the recurrence to a true ecclesiastical style is marked; and vaulted roofs, stained glass, and dark oak, have, in large towns, in a great degree, supplanted the flat-roofed meetinghouses which were the presbyterian ideal. the preacher generally wears the english preaching gown. the old geneva gown covered with frogs is hardly ever seen; but the surplice would still stir up a revolution. the service is performed with much propriety of demeanour; the singing is often so well done by a good choir, that the absence of the organ is hardly felt. educated scotchmen have come to lament the intolerant zeal which led the first reformers in their country to such extremes. but in the country we still see the true genius of the presbytery. the rustics walk into church with their hats on; and replace them and hurry out the instant the service is over. the decorous prayer before and after worship is unknown. the minister, in many churches wears no gown. the stupid bigotry of the people in some of the most covenanting districts is almost incredible. there are parishes in which the people boast that they have never suffered so romish a thing as a gown to appear in their pulpit; and the country people of scotland generally regard episcopacy as not a whit better than popery. it has sometimes struck us as curious, that the scotch have always made such endeavours to have a voice in the selection of their clergy. almost all the dissenters from the church of scotland hold precisely the same views both of doctrine and church government as the church, and have seceded on points connected with the existence of lay patronage. in england much discontent may sometimes be excited by an arbitrary appointment to a living; but it would be vain to endeavour to excite a movement throughout the whole country to prevent the recurrence of such appointments. yet upon precisely this point did some three or four hundred ministers secede from the scotch church in ; and to maintain the abstract right of congregations to a share in the appointment of their minister, has the 'free church' drawn from the humbler classes of a poor country many hundred thousand pounds. no doubt all this results in some measure from the self-sufficiency of the scotch character; but besides this, it should be remembered that to a scotchman it is a matter of much graver importance who shall be his clergyman than it is to an englishman. in england, if the clergyman can but read decently, the congregation may find edification in listening to and joining in the beautiful prayers provided by the church, even though the sermon should be poor enough. but in scotland everything depends on the minister. if he be a fool, he can make the entire service as foolish as himself. for prayers, sermon, choice of passages of scripture which are read, everything, the congregation is dependent on the preacher. the question, whether the worship to which the people of a parish are invited weekly shall be interesting and improving, or shall be absurd and revolting, is decided by the piety, good sense, and ability of the parish priest. coleridge said he never knew the value of the liturgy till he had heard the prayers which were offered in some remote country churches in scotland. we have not space to inquire into the circumstances which have given scotch preaching its peculiar character. we may remark, however, that the sermon is the great feature of the scotch service; it is the only attraction; and pains must be taken with it. the prayers are held in very secondary estimation. the preacher who aims at interesting his congregation, racks his brain to find what will startle and strike; and then the warmth of his delivery adds to his chance of keeping up attention. then the scotch are not a theatre-going people; they have not, thus, those stage-associations with a dramatic manner which would suggest themselves to many minds. many likewise expect that excitement in the church, which is more suited to the atmosphere of the play-house. patrons of late years not unfrequently allow a congregation to choose its own minister; the crown almost invariably consults the people; the decided taste of almost all songregations is for great warmth of manner; and the supply is made to suit the demand. as for the solemn question, how far scotch preaching answers the great end of all right preaching, it is hard to speak. no doubt it is a great thing to arouse the somewhat comatose attention of any audience to a discourse upon religion, and any means short of clap-trap and indecorum are justified if they succeed in doing so. no man will be informed or improved by a sermon which sets him asleep. yet it is to be feared that, in the prevailing rage for what is striking and new, some eminent preachers sacrifice usefulness to glitter. we have heard discourses concerning which, had we been asked when they were over, what is the tendency and result of all this?--what is the conclusion it all leads to?--we should have been obliged to reply, only that mr. such-a-one is an uncommonly clever man. the intellectual treat, likewise, of listening to first-class pulpit oratory, tends to draw many to church merely to enjojr it. many go, not to be the better for the truth set forth, but to be delighted by the preacher's eloquence. and it is certain that many persons whose daily life exhibits no trace of religion, have been most regular and attentive hearers of the most striking preachers. we may mention an instance in point. when mr. caird was one of the ministers of edinburgh, he preached in a church, one gallery of which is allotted to students of the university. a friend of ours was one sunday afternoon in that gallery, when he observed in the pew before him two very rough-looking fellows, with huge walking-sticks projecting from their great-coat pockets, and all the unmistakable marks of medical students. it was evident they were little accustomed to attend any place of worship. the church, as usual, was crammed to suffocation, and mr. caird preached a most stirring sermon. as he wound up one paragraph to an overwhelming climax, the whole congregation bent forward in eager and breathless silence. the medical students were under the general spell. half rising from their seats they gazed at the preacher with open mouths. at length the burst was over, and a long sigh relieved the wrought-up multitude. the two students sank upon their seat, and looked at one another fixedly: and the first expressed his appreciation of the eloquence of what he had heard by exclaiming half aloud to his companion, 'damn it, that's it.' the doctrine preached in scotch pulpits is now almost invariably what is termed evangelical. for a long time, now long gone by, many of the clergy preached morality, with very inadequate views of christian doctrine. we cannot but notice a misrepresentation of dr. hanna, in his life of chalmers. without saying so, he leaves an impression that all the clergy of the moderate or conservative party in the church held those semi-infidel views which chalmers entertained in his early days. the case is by no means so. very many ministers, not belonging to the movement party, held truly orthodox opinions, and did their pastoral work as faithfully as ever chalmers did after his great change of sentiment. it is curious to know that while party feeling ran high in the scotch church, it was a shibboleth of the moderate party to use the lord's prayer in the church service. the other party rejected that beautiful compendium of all supplication, on the ground that, it was not a christian prayer, no mention being made in it of the doctrine of the atonement. it is recorded that on one occasion a minister of what was termed the 'high-fiying' party was to preach for dr. gilchrist, of the canongate church in edinburgh. that venerable clergyman told his friend before service that it was usual in the canongate church to make use of the lord's prayer at every celebration of worship. the friend looked somewhat disconcerted, and said, 'is it absolutely necessary that i should give the lord's prayer?' 'not at all,' was dr. gilchrist's reply, 'not at all, if you can give us anything better!' mr. caird's sermon preached at crathie has been published by royal command. it is no secret that the queen arid prince, after hearing it, read it in manuscript, and expressed themselves no less impressed in reading it by the soundness of its views, than they had been in listening to it by its extraordinary eloquence. our perusal of it has strongly confirmed us in the views we have expressed as to the share which mr. caird's manner has in producing the effect with which his discourses tell upon any audience. the sermon is indeed an admirable one; accurate, and sometimes original in thought: illustrated with rare profusion of imagery, all in exquisite taste, and expressed in words scarcely one of which could be allered or displaced but for the worse. but mr. caird could not publish his voice and manner, and in warning these, the sermon wants the first, second, and third things which conduced to its effect when delivered. in may, , mr. caird preached this discourse in the high church, edinburgh, before the commissioner who represents her majesty at the meetings of the general assembly of the scotch church, and an exceedingly crowded and brilliant audience. given there, with all the fkill of the most accomplished actor, yet with a simple earnestness which prevented the least suspicion of anything like acting, the impression it produced is described as something marvellous. hard-headed scotch lawyers, the last men in the world to be carried into superlatives, declared that never till then did they understand what effect could be produced by human speech. but we confess that now we have these magic words to read quietly at home, we find it something of a task to get through them. a volume just published by dr. guthrie of edinburgh, the greatest pulpit orator of the 'free church,' contains many sermons much more likely to interest a reader. the sermon is from the text, 'not slothful in business; fervent in spirit, serving the lord.' [footnote: romans xii. .] it sets out thus:-- to combine business with religion, to keep up a spirit of serious piety amid the stir and distraction of a busy and active life,--this is one of the most difficult parts of a christian's trial in this world. it is comparatively easy to be religious in the church--to collect our thoughts and compose our feelings, and enter, with an appearance of propriety and decorum, into the offices of religious worship, amidst the quietude of the sabbath, and within the still and sacred precincts of the house of prayer. but to be religious in the world--to be pious and holy and earnest-minded in the counting-room, the manufactory, the market-place, the field, the farm--to cany our good and solemn thoughts and feelings into the throng and thoroughfare of daily life,--this is the great difficulty of our christian calling. no man not lost to all moral influence can help feeling his worldly passions calmed, and some measure of seriousness stealing over his mind, when engaged in the performance of the more awful and serious rites of religion; but the atmosphere of the domestic circle, the exchange, the street, the city's throng, amidst coarse work and cankering cares and toils, is a very different atmosphere from that of a communion-table. passing from one to the other has often seemed as the sudden transition from a tropical to a polar climate--from balmy warmth and sunshine to murky mist and freezing cold. and it appears sometimes as difficult to maintain the strength and steadfastness of religious principle and feeling when we go forth from the church to the world, as it would be to preserve an exotic alive in the open air in winter, or to keep the lamp that burns steadily within doors from being blown out if you take it abroad unsheltered from the wind. the preacher then speaks of the shifts by which men have evaded the task of being holy, at once in the church and in the world; in ancient times by flying from the world altogether, in modern times by making religion altogether a sunday thing. in opposition to either notion the text suggests,-- that piety is not for sundays only, but for all days; that spirituality of mind is not appropriate to one set of actions, and an impertinence and intrusion with reference to others; but like the act of breathing, like the circulation of the blood, like the silent growth of the stature, a process that may be going on simultaneously with all our actions--when we are busiest as when we are idlest; in the church, in the world; in solitude, in society; in our grief and in our gladness; in our toil and in our rest; sleeping, waking; by day, by night; amidst all the engagements and exigencies of life. the burden of the discourse is to prove that this is so; that religion is compatible with the business of common life. this appears, first, because religion, as a science, sets out doctrines easy to be understood by the humblest intellects; and as an art, sets out duties which may be practised simultaneously with all other work. it is the art of being and of doing good: and for this art every profession and calling affords scope and discipline. when a child is learning to write, it matters not of what words the copy set to him is composed, the thing desired being that, whatever he writes, he learns to write well. when a man is learning to be a christian, it matters not what his particular work in life may be, the work he does is but the copy-line set to him; the main thing to be considered is that he learn to live well. the second consideration by which mr. caird supports his thesis is, that religion consists, not so much in doing spiritual or sacred acts, as in doing secular acts from a sacred or spiritual motive. 'a man may be a christian thinker and writer as much when giving to science, or history, or biography, or poetry a christian tone and spirit, as when composing sermons or writing hymns.' the third and most eloquent division of the discourse illustrates the thesis from the mind's power of acting on lattat principles. though we cannot, in our worldly work, be always consciously thinking of religion, yet unconsciously, insensibly, we may be acting under its ever present control. for example, the preacher, amidst all his mental exertions, has underneath the outward workings of his mind, the latent thought of the presence of his auditory. like a secret atmosphere it surrounds and bathes his spirit as he goes on with the external work. and have not yon, too, my friends, an auditor--it may he, a 'great cloud of witnesses'--but at least one all glorious witness and listener ever present, ever watchful, as the discourse of life proceeds? why, then, in this case too, while the outward business is diligently prosecuted, may there not be on your spirit a latent and constant impression of that awful inspection? what worldly work so absorbing as to leave no room in a believer's spirit for the hallowing thought of that glorious presence ever near? we shall give but one extract more, the final illustration of this third head of discourse. it is a very good specimen of one of those exciting and irresistible bursts by which caird sweeps away his audience. imagine the following sentences given, at first quietly, but with great feeling, gradually waxing in energy and rapidity; and at length, amid dead stillness and hushed breaths, concluded as with a torrent's rush:-- or, have we not all felt that the thought of anticipated happiness may blend itself with the work of our busiest hours? the labourer's coming, released from toil--the schoolboy's coming holiday, or the hard-wrought business man's approaching season of relaxation--the expected return of a long absent and much loved friend; is not the thought of these, or similar joyous events, one which often intermingles with, without interrupting, our common work? when a father goes forth to his 'labour till the evening,' perhaps often, very often, in the thick of his toils the thought of home may start up to cheer him. the smile that is to welcome him, as he crosses his lowly threshold when the work of the day is over, the glad faces, and merry voices, arid sweet caresses of little ones, as they shall gather round him in the quiet evening hours, the thought of all this may dwell, a latent joy, a hidden motive, deep down in his heart of hearts, may come rushing in a sweet solace at every pause of exertion, and act like a secret oil to smooth the wheels of labour. the heart has a secret treasury, where our hopes and joys are often garnered, too precious to be parted with, even for a moment. and why may not the highest of all hopes and joys possess the same all-pervading influence? have we, if our religion is real, no anticipation of happiness in the glorious future? is there no 'rest that remaineth for the people of god,' no home and loving heart awaiting us when the toils of our hurried day of life are ended? what is earthly rest or relaxation, what the release from toil after which we so often sigh, but the faint shadow of the saint's everlasting rest, the rest of the soul in god? what visions of earthly bliss can ever, if our christian faith be not a form, compare with 'the glory soon to be revealed?' what glory of earthly reunion with the rapture of that hour when the heavens shall yield an absent lord to our embrace, to be parted from us no more for ever! and if all this be most sober truth, what is there to except this joyful hope from that law to which, in all other deep joys, our minds are subject? why may we not, in this case too, think often, amidst our worldly work, of the house to which we are going, of the true and loving heart that heats for us, and of the sweet and joyous welcome that awaits us there? and even when we make them not, of set purpose, the subject of our thoughts, is there not enough of grandeur in the objects of a believer's hope to pervade his spirit at all times with a calm and reverential joy? do not think all this strange, fanatical, impossible. if it do seem so, it can only be because your heart is in the earthly, but not in the higher and holier hopes. no, my friends! the strange thing is, not that amidst the world's work we should be able to think of our house, but that we should ever be able to forget it; and the stranger, sadder still, that while the little day of life is passing--morning, noontide, evening--each stage more rapid than the last; while to many the shadows are already fast lengthening, and the declining sun warns them that 'the night is at hand, wherein no man can work,' there should be those amongst us whose whole thoughts are absorbed in the business of the world, and to whom the reflection never occurs, that soon they must go out into eternity, without a friend, without a home! the discourse thus ends in orthodox scotch fashion, with a practical conclusion. we think it not unlikely that the sermon has been toned down a good deal before publication, in anticipation of severe criticism. some passages which were very effective when delivered, hate probably been modified so as to bring them more thoroughly within the limits of severe good taste. we think mr. caird has deserved the honours done him by royalty; and we willingly accord him his meed, as a man of no small force of intellect, of great power of illustration by happy analogies, of sincere piety, and of much earnestness to do good. he is still young--we believe considerably under forty--and much may be expected of him. but we have rambled on into an unduly long gossip about scotch preaching, and must abruptly conclude. we confess that it would please us to see, especially in the pulpits of our country churches, a little infusion of its warmth, rejecting anything of its extravagance. chapter xiii concerning future years. does it ever come across you, my friend, with something of a start, that things cannot always go on in your lot as they are going now? does not a sudden thought sometimes flash upon you, a hasty, vivid glimpse, of what you will be long hereafter, if you are spared in this world? our common way is too much to think that things will always go on as they are going. not that we clearly think so: not that we ever put that opinion in a definite shape, and avow to ourselves that we hold it: but we live very much under that vague, general impression. we can hardly help it. when a man of middle age inherits a pretty country seat, and makes up his mind that he cannot yet afford to give up business and go to live at it, but concludes that in six or eight years he will be able with justice to his children to do so, do you think he brings plainly before him the changes which must be wrought on himself and those around him by these years? i do not speak of the greatest change of all, which may come to any of us so very soon: i do not think of what may be done by unlooked-for accident: i think merely of what must be done by the passing on of time. i think of possible changes in taste and feeling, of possible loss of liking for that mode of life. i think of lungs that will play less freely, and of limbs that will suggest shortened walks, and dissuade from climbing hills. i think how the children will have outgrown daisy-chains, or even got beyond the season of climbing trees. the middle-aged man enjoys the prospect of the time when he shall go to his country house; and the vague, undefined belief surrounds him, like an atmosphere, that he and his children, his views and likings, will be then just such as they are now. he cannot bring it home to him at how many points change will be cutting into him, and hedging him in, and paring him down. and we all live very much under that vague impression. yet it is in many ways good for us to feel that we are going on--passing from the things which surround us--advancing into the undefined future, into the unknown land. and i think that sometimes we all have vivid flashes of such a conviction. i dare say, my friend, you have seen an old man, frail, soured, and shabby, and you have thought, with a start, perhaps there is myself of future years. we human beings can stand a great deal. there is great margin allowed by our constitution, physical and moral. i suppose there is no doubt that a man may daily for years eat what is unwholesome, breathe air which is bad, or go through a round of life which is not the best or the right one for either body or mind, and yet be little the worse. and so men pass through great trials and through long years, and yet are not altered so very much. the other day, walking along the street, i saw a man whom i had not seen for ten years. i knew that since i saw him last he had gone through very heavy troubles, and that these had sat very heavily upon him. i remembered how he had lost that friend who was the dearest to him of all human beings, and i knew how broken down he had been for many months after that great sorrow carne. yet there he was, walking along, an unnoticed unit, just like any one else; and he was looking wonderfully well. no doubt he seemed pale, worn, and anxious: but he was very well and carefully dressed; he was walking with a brisk, active step; and i dare say in feeling pretty well reconciled to being what he is, and to the circumstances amid which he is living. still, one felt that somehow a tremendous change had passed over him. i felt sorry for him, and all the more that he did not seem to feel sorry for himself. it made me sad to think that some day i should be like him; that perhaps in the eyes of my juniors i look like him already, careworn and ageing. i dare say in his feeling there was no such sense of falling off. perhaps he was tolerably content. he was walking so fast, and looking so sharp, that i am sure ho had no desponding feeling at the time. despondency goes with slow movements and with vague looks. the sense of having materially fallen off is destructive to the eagle-eye. yes, he was tolerably content. we can go down-hill cheerfully, save at the points where it is sharply brought home to us that we are going down-hill. lately i sat at dinner opposite an old lady who had the remains of striking beauty. i remember how much she interested me. her hair was false, her teeth were false, her complexion was shrivelled, her form had lost the round symmetry of earlier years, and was angular and stiff; yet how cheerful and lively she was! she had gone far down-hill physically; but either she did not feel her decadence, or she had grown quite reconciled to it. her daughter, a blooming matron, was there, happy, wealthy, good; yet not apparently a whit more reconciled to life than the aged grandame. it was pleasing, and yet it was sad, to see how well we can make up our mind to what is inevitable. and such a sight brings up to one a glimpse of future years. the cloud seems to part before one, and through the rift you discern your earthly track far away, and a jaded pilgrim plodding along it with weary step; and though the pilgrim does not look like you, yet you know the pilgrim is yourself. this cannot always go on. to what is it all tending? i am not thinking now of an out-look so grave, that this is not the place to discuss it. but i am thinking how everything is going on. in this world there is no standing still. and everything that belongs entirely to this world, its interests and occupations, is going on towards a conclusion. it will all come to an end. it cannot go on forever. i cannot always be writing sermons as i do now, and going on in this regular course of life. i cannot always be writing essays. the day will come when i shall have no more to say, or when the readers of the magazine will no longer have patience to listen to me in that kind fashion in which they have listened so long. i foresee it plainly, this evening.--even while writing my first essay for the atlantic monthly, the time when the reader shall open the familiar cover, and glance at the table of contents, and exclaim indignantly, 'here is that tiresome person again with the four initials: why will he not cease to weary us?' i write in sober sadness, my friend: i do not intend any jest. if you do not know that what i have written is certainly true, you have not lived very long. you have not learned the sorrowful lesson, that all worldly occupations and interests are wearing to their close. you cannot keep up the old thing, however much you may wish to do so. you know how vain anniversaries for the most part are. you meet with certain old friends, to try to revive the old days; but the spirit of the old time will not come over you. it is not a spirit that can be raised at will. it cannot go on forever, that walking down to church on sundays, and ascending those pulpit steps; it will change to feeling, though i humbly trust it may be long before it shall change in fact. don't you all sometimes feel something like that? don't you sometimes look about you and say to yourself, that furniture will wear out: those window-curtains are getting sadly faded; they will not last a lifetime? those carpets must be replaced some day; and the old patterns which looked at you with a kindly, familiar expression, through these long years, must be among the old familiar faces that are gone. these are little things, indeed, but they are among the vague recollections that bewilder our memory; they are among the things which come up in the strange, confused remembrance of the dying man in the last days of life. there is an old fir-tree, a twisted, strange-looking fir-tree, which will be among my last recollections, i know, as it was among my first. it was always before my eyes when i was three, four, five years old: i see the pyramidal top, rising over a mass of shrubbery; i see it always against a sunset-sky; always in the subdued twilight in which we seem to see things in distant years. these old friends will die, you think; who will take their place? you will be an old gentleman, a frail old gentleman, wondered at by younger men, and telling them long stories about the days when lincoln was president, like those which weary you now about the declaration of independence. it will not be the same world then. your children will not be always children. enjoy their fresh, youth while it lasts, for it will not last long. do not skim over the present too fast, through a constant habit of onward-looking. many men of an anxious turn are so eagerly concerned in providing for the future, that they hardly remark the blessings of the present. yet it is only because the future will some day be present, that it deserves any thought at all. and many men, instead of heartily enjoying present blessings while they are present, train themselves to a habit of regarding these things as merely the foundation on which they are to build some vague fabric of they know not what. i have known a clergyman, who was very fond of music, and in whose church the music was very fine, who seemed incapable of enjoying its solemn beauty as a tiling to be enjoyed while passing, but who persisted in regarding each beautiful strain merely as a promising indication of what his choir would come at some future time to be. it is a very bad habit, and one which grows unless repressed. you, my reader, when you see your children racing on the green, train yourself to regard all that as a happy end in itself. do not grow to think merely that those sturdy young limbs promise to be stout and serviceable when they are those of a grown-up man; and rejoice in the smooth little forehead with its curly hair, without any forethought of how it is to look some day when over-shadowed (as it is sure to be) by the great wig of the lord chancellor. good advice: let us all try to take it. let all happy things be enjoyed as ends, as well as regarded as means. yet it is in the make of our nature to be ever onward-looking; and we cannot help it. when you get the first number for the year of the. magazine which you take in, you instinctively think of it as the first portion of a new volume; and you are conscious of a certain though slight restlessness in the thought of a thing incomplete, and of a wish that you had the volume completed. and sometimes, thus locking onward into the future, you worry yourself with litile thoughts and cares. there is that old dog: you lave had him for many years; he is growing stiff and frail; what arc you to do when he dies? when he is gone, the new dog you get will never be like him; he may be, indeed, a far handsomer and more amiable animal, but he will not be your old companion; he will not be surrounded with all those old associations, not merely with your own by-past life, but with the lives, the faces, and the voices of those who have left you, which invest with a certain saeredness even that humble but faithful friend. he will not have been the companion of your youthful walks, when you went, at a pace which now you cannot attain. he will just be a common dog; and who that has reached your years cares for that? the other indeed was a dog too, but that was merely the substratum on which was accumulated a host of recollections: it is auld lang syne that walks into your study when your shaggy friend of ten summers comes stiffly in, and after many querulous turnings lays himself down on the rug before the fire. do you not feel the like when you look at many little matters, and then look into the future years? that harness--how will you replace it? it will be a pang to throw it by, and it will be a considerable expense too to get a new suit. then you think how long harness may continue to be serviceable. i once saw, on a pair of horses drawing a stage-coach among the hills, a set of harness which was thirty-five years old. it had been very costly and grand when new; it had belonged for some of its earliest years to a certain wealthy nobleman. the nobleman had been for many years in his grave, but there was his harness still. it was tremendously patched, and the blinkers were of extraordinary aspect; but it was quite serviceable. there is comfort for you, poor country parsons! how thoroughly i understand your feeling about such little things. i know how you sometimes look at your phaeton or your dog-cart; and even while the morocco is fresh, and the wheels still are running with their first tires, how you think you see it after it has grown shabby and old-fashioned. yes, you remember, not without a dull kind of pang, that it is wearing out. you have a neighbour, perhaps, a few miles off, whose conveyance, through the wear of many years, has become remarkably seedy; and every time you meet it you think that there you see your own, as it will some day be. every dog has his day: but the day of the rational dog is over-clouded in a fashion unknown to his inferior fellow-creature; it is overclouded by the anticipation of the coming day which will not be his. you remember how that great though morbid man, john foster, could not heartily enjoy the summer weather, for thinking how every sunny day that shone upon him was a downward step towards the winter gloom. each indication that the season was progressing, even though progressing as yet only to greater beauty, filled him with great grief. 'i have seen a fearful sight to-day,' he would say, 'i have seen a buttercup.' and we know, of course, that in his case there was nothing like affectation; it was only that, unhappily for himself, the bent of his mind was so onward-looking, that he saw only a premonition of the snows of december in the roses of june. it would be a blessing if we could quite discard the tendency. and while your trap runs smoothly and noiselessly, while the leather is fresh and the paint unscratched, do not worry yourself with visions of the day when it will rattle and crack, and when you will make it wait for you at the corner of back-streets when you drive into town. do not vex yourself by fancying that you will never have heart to send off the old carriage, nor by wondering where you shall find the money to buy a new one. have you ever read the life of mansie wauch, tailor in dalkeith, by that pleasing poet and most amiable man, the late david macbeth moir? i have been looking into it lately; and i have regretted much that the lowland scotch dialect is so imperfectly understood in england, and that even where so far understood its raciness is so little felt; for great as is the popularity of that work, it is much less known than it deserves to be. only a scotchman can thoroughly appreciate it. it is curious, and yet it is not curious, to find the pathos and the polish of one of the most touching and elegant of poets in the man who has with such irresistible humour, sometimes approaching to the farcical, delineated humble scotch life. one passage in the book always struck me very much. we have in it the poet as well as the humorist; and it is a perfect example of what i have been trying to describe in the pages which you have rend. i mean the passage in which mansie tells us of a sudden glimpse which, in circumstances of mortal terror, he once had of the future. on a certain 'awful night' the tailor was awakened by cries of alarm, and, looking out, he saw the next house to his own was on fire from cellar to garret. the earnings of poor mansie's whole life were laid out on his stock in trade and his furniture, and it appeared likely that these would be at once destroyed. "then," says he, "the darkness of the latter days came over my spirit like a vision before the prophet isaiah; and i could see nothing in the years to come but beggary and starvation,--myself a fallen-back old man. with an out-at-the-elbows coat, a greasy hat, and a bald brow, hirpling over a staff, requeeshting an awmous: nanse a broken-hearted beggar-wife, torn down to tatters, and weeping like eachel when she thought on better days; and poor wee benjie going from door to door with a meal-pock on his back." ah, there is exquisite pathos there, as well as humour; but the thing for which i have quoted that sentence is its startling truthfulness. you have all done what mansie wauch did, i know. every one has his own way of doing it, and it is his own especial picture which each sees; but there has appeared to us, as to mansie, (i must recur to my old figure,) as it were a sudden rift in the clouds that conceal the future, and we have seen the way, far ahead--the dusty way--and an aged pilgrim pacing slowly along it; and in that aged figure we have each recognized our own young self. how often have i sat down on the mossy wall that surrounded my churchyard, when i had more time for reverie than i have now--sat upon the mossy wall, under a great oak, whose brandies came low down and projected far out--and looked at the rough gnarled bark, and at the passing river, and at the belfry of the little church, and there and then thought of mansie wauch and of his vision of future years! how often in these hours, or in long solitary walks and rides among the hills, have i had visions clear as that of mansie wauch, of how i should grow old in my country parish! do not think that i wish or intend to be egotistical, my friendly reader. i describe these feelings and fancies because i think this is the likeliest way in which to reach and describe your own. there was a rapid little stream that flowed, in a very lonely place, between the highway and a cottage to which i often went to see a poor old woman; and when i came out of the cottage, having made sure that no one saw me, i always took a great leap over the little stream, which saved going round a little way. and never once, for several years, did i thus cross it without seeing a picture as clear to the mind's eye as mansie wauch's--a picture which made me walk very thoughtfully along for the next mile or two. it was curious to think how one was to get through the accustomed duty after having grown old and frail. the day would come when the brook could be crossed in that brisk fashion no more. it must be an odd thing for the parson to walk as an old man into the pulpit, still his own, which was his own when he was a young man of six-and-twenty. what a crowd of old remembrances must be present each sunday to the clergyman's mind, who has served the same parish and preached in the same church for fifty years! personal identity, continued through the successive stages of life, is a common-place thing to think of; but when it is brought home to your own case and feeling, it is a very touching and a very bewildering thing. there are the same trees and hills as when you were a boy; and when each of us comes to his last days in this world, how short a space it will seem since we were little children! let us humbly hope, that, in that brief space parting the cradle from the grave, we may (by help from above) have accomplished a certain work which will cast its blessed influence over all the years and all the ages before us. yet it remains a strange thing to look forward and to see yourself with grey hair, and not much even of that; to see your wife an old woman, and your little boy or girl grown up into manhood or womanhood. it is more strange still to fancy you see them all going on as usual in the round of life, and you no longer among them. you see your empty chair. there is your writing-table and your inkstand; there are your books, not so carefully arranged as they used to be; perhaps,--on the whole, less indication than you might have hoped that they miss you. all this is strange when you bring it home to your own case; and that hundreds of millions have felt the like makes it none the less strange to you. the commonplaces of life and death are not commonplace when they befall ourselves. it was in desperate hurry and agitation that mansie waueh saw his vision; and in like circumstances you may have yours too. but for the most part such moods come in leisure--in saunterings through the autumn woods--in reveries by the winter fire. i do not think, thus musing upon our occasional glimpses of the future, of such fancies as those of early youth--fancies and anticipations of greatness, of felicity, of fame; i think of the onward views of men approaching middle-age, who have found their place and their work in life, and who may reasonably believe that, save for great unexpected accidents, there will be no very material change in their lot till that "change come" to which job looked forward four thousand years since. there are great numbers of educated folk who are likely always to live in the same kind of house, to have the same establishment, to associate with the same class of people, to walk along the same streets, to look upon the same hills, as iong as they live. the only change will be the gradual one which will be wrought by advancing years. and the onward view of such people in such circumstances is generally a very vague one. it is only now and then that there comes the startling clearness of prospect so well set forth by mansie wauch. yet sometimes, when such a vivid view comes, it remains for days and is a painful companion of your solilude. don't you remember, clerical reader of thirty-two, having seen a good deal of an old parson, rather sour in aspect, rather shabby-looking, sadly pinched for means, and with powers dwarfed by the sore struggle with the world to maintain his family and to keep up a respectable appearance upon his limited resources; perhaps with his mind made petty and his temper spoiled by the little worries, the petty malignant tattle and gossip and occasional insolence of a little backbiting village? and don't you remember how for days you felt haunted by a sort of nightmare that there was what you would be, if you lived so long? yes; you know how there have been times when for ten days together that jarring thought would intrude, whenever your mind was disengaged from work; and sometimes, when you went to bed, that thought kept you awake for hours. you knew the impression was morbid, and you were angry with yourself for your silliness; but you could not drive it away. it makes a great difference in the prospect of future years, if you are one of those people who, even after middle age, may still make a great rise in life. this will prolong the restlessness which in others is sobered down at forty: it will extend the period during which you will every now and then have brief seasons of feverish anxiety, hope, and fear, followed by longer stretches of blank disappointment. and it will afford the opportunity of experiencing a vividly new sensation, and of turning over a quite new leaf, after most people have settled to the jog-trot at which the remainder of the pilgrimage is to be covered. a clergyman of the church of england may be made a bishop, and exchange a quiet rectory for a palace. no doubt the increase of responsibility is to a conscientious man almost appalling; but surely the rise in life is great. there you are, one of four-and-twenty,--selected out of near twenty thousand. it is possible, indeed, that you may feel more reason for shame than for elation at the thought. a barrister unknown to fame, but of respectable stantling, may be made a judge. such a man may even, if he gets into the groove, be gradually pushed on till he reaches an eminence which probably surprises himself as much as any one else. a good speaker in parliament may at sixty or seventy be made a cabinet minister. and we can all imagine what indescribable pride and elation must in such cases possess the wife and daughters of the man who has attained this decided step in advance. i can say sincerely that i never saw human beings walk with so airy tread, and evince so fussily their sense of a greatness more than mortal, as the wife and the daughter of an amiable but not able bishop i knew in my youth, when they came to church on the sunday morning on which the good man preached for the first time in his lawn sleeves. their heads were turned for the time; but they gradually came right again, as the ladies became accustomed to the summits of human affairs. let it be said for the bishop himself, that there was not a vestige of that sense of elevation about him. he looked perfectly modest and unaffected. his dress was remarkably ill put on, and his sleeves stuck out in the most awkward fashion ever assumed by drapery. i suppose that sometimes these rises in life come very unexpectedly. i have heard of a man who, when he received a letter from the prime minister of the day offering him a place of great dignity, thought the letter was a hoax, and did not notice it for several days. you could not certainly infer from his modesty what has proved to be the fact, that he has filled his place admirably well. the possibility of such material changes must no doubt tend to prolong the interest in life, which is ready to flag as years go on. but perhaps with the majority of men the level is found before middle age, and no very great worldly change awaits them. the path stretches on, with its ups and downs; and they only hope for strength for the day. but in such men's lot of humble duty and quiet content there remains room for many fears. all human beings who are as well off as they can ever be, and so who have little room for hope, seem to be liable to the invasion of great fear as they look into the future. it seems to be so with kings, and with great nobles. many such have lived in a nervous dread of change, and have ever been watching the signs of the times with apprehensive eyes. nothing that can happen can well make such better; and so they suffer from the vague foreboding of something which will make them worse. and the same law readies to those in whom hope is narrowed down, not by the limit of grand possibility, but of little,--not by the fact that they have got all that mortal can get, but by the fact that they have got the little which is all that providence seems to intend to give to them. and, indeed, there is something that is almost awful, when your affairs are all going happily, when your mind is clear and equal to its work, when your bodily health is unbroken, when your home is pleasant, when your income is ample, when your children are healthy and merry and hopeful,--in looking on to future years. the more happy you are, the more there is of awe in the thought how frail are the foundations of your earthly happiness,--what havoc may be made of them by the chances of even a single day. it is no wonder that the solemnity and awfuluess of the future have been felt so much, that the languages of northern europe have, as i dare say you know, no word which expresses the essential notion of futurity. you think, perhaps, of shall and will. well, these words have come now to convey the notion of futurity; but they do so only in a secondary fashion. look to their etymology, and you will see that they imply futurity, but do not express it. i shall do such a thing means i am bound to do it, i am under an obligation to do it. i will do such a thing means i intend to do it, it is my present purpose to do it. of course, if you are under an obligation to do anything, or if it be your intention to do anything, the probability is that the thing will be done; but the northern family of languages ventures no nearer than that towards the expression of the bare, awful idea of future time. it was no wonder that mr. croaker was able to cast a gloom upon the gayest circle, and the happiest conjuncture of circumstances, by wishing that all might be as well that day six months. six months! what might that time not do? perhaps you have not read a little poem of barry cornwall's, the idea of which must come home to the heart of most of us:-- touch us gently, time! let us glide adown thy stream gently,--as we sometimes glide through a quiet dream. humble voyagers are we, husband, wife, and children three-- one is lost,--an angel, fled to the azure overhead. touch us gently, time! we've not proud nor soaring wings: our ambition, our content, lies in simple things. humble voyagers are we, o'er life's dim, unsounded sea, seeking only some calm clime:-- touch us gently, gentle time! i know that sometimes, my friend, you will not have much sleep, if, when you lay your head on your pillow, you begin to think how much depends upon your health and life. you have reached now that time at which you value life and health not so much for their service to yourself, as for their needfulness to others. there is a petition familiar to me in this scotch country, where people make their prayers for themselves, which seems to me to possess great solemnity and force, when we think of all that is implied in it. it is, spare useful lives! one life, the slender line of blood passing into and passing out of one human heart, may decide the question, whether wife and children shall grow up affluent, refined, happy, yes, and good, or be reduced to hard straits, with all the manifold evils which grow of poverty in the case of those who have been reduced to it after knowing other things. you often think, i doubt not, in quiet hours, what would become of your children, if you were gone. you have done, i trust, what you can to care for them, even from your grave: you think sometimes of a poetical figure of speech amid the dry technical phrases of english law: you know what is meant by the law of mortmain; and you like to think that even your dead hand may be felt to be kindly intermeddling yet in the affairs of those who were your dearest: that some little sum, slender, perhaps, but as liberal as you could make it, may come in periodically when it is wanted, and seem like the gift of a thoughtful, heart and a kindly hand which are far away. yes, cut down your present income to any extent, that you may make some provision for your children after you are dead. you do not wish that they should have the saddest of all reasons for taking care of you, and trying to lengthen out your life. but even after you have done everything which your small means permit, you will still think, with an anxious heart, of the possibilities of future years. a man or woman who has children has very strong reason for wishing to live as long as may be, and has no right to trifle with, health or life. and sometimes, looking out into days to come, you think of the little things, hitherto so free from man's heritage of care, as they may some day be. you see them shabby, and early anxious: can that be the little boy's rosy face, now so pale and thin? you see them in a poor room, in which you recognize your study chairs, with the hair coming out of the cushions, and a carpet which you remember now threadbare and in holes. it is no wonder at all that people are so anxious about money. money means every desirable material thing on earth, and the manifold immaterial things which come of material possessions. poverty is the most comprehensive earthly evil; all conceivable evils, temporal, spiritual, and eternal, may come of that. of course, great temptations attend its opposite; and the wise man's prayer will be what it was long ago--'give me neither poverty nor riches.' but let us have no nonsense talked about money being of no consequence. the want of it has made many a father and mother tremble at the prospect of being taken from their children; the want of it has embittered many a parent's dying hours. you hear selfish persons talking vaguely about faith. you find such heartless persons jauntily spending all they get on themselves, and then leaving their poor children to beggary, with the miserable pretext that they are doing all this through their abundant trust in god. now this is not faith; it is insolent presumption. it is exactly as if a man should jump from the top of st. paul's, and say that he had faith that the almighty would keep him from being dashed to pieces on the pavement. there is a high authority as to such cases--'thou shalt not tempt the lord thy god.' if god had promised that people should never fall into the miseries of penury under any circumstances, it would be faith to trust that promise, however unlikely of fulfilment it might seem in any particular case. but god has made no such promise; and if you leave your children without provision, you have no right to expect that they shall not suffer the natural consequences of your heartlessness and thoughtlessness. true faith lies in your doing everything you possibly can, and then humbly trusting in god, and if, after you have done your very best, you must still go, with but a blank outlook for those you leave, why, then, you may trust them to the husband of the widow and father of the fatherless. faith, as regards such matters, means firm belief that god will do all he has promised to do, however difficult or unlikely. but some people seem to think that faith means firm belief that god will do whatever they think would suit them, however unreasonable, and however flatly in the face of all the established laws of his government. we all have it in our power to make ourselves miserable, if we look far into future years and calculate their probabilities of evil, and steadily anticipate the worst. it is not expedient to calculate too far a-head. of course, the right way in this, as in other things, is the middle way: we are not to run either into the extreme of over-carefulness and anxiety on the one hand, or of recklessness and imprudence on the other. but as mention has been made of faith, it may safely be said that we are forgetful of that rational trust in god which is at once our duty and our inestimable privilege, if we are always looking out into the future, and vexing ourselves with endless fears as to how things are to go then. there is no divine promise, that, if a reckless blockhead leaves his children to starve, they shall not starve. and a certain inspired volume speaks with extreme severity of the man who fails to provide for them of his own house. but there is a divine promise which says to the humble christian,--'as thy days, so shall thy strength be.' if your affairs are going on fairly now, be thankful, and try to do your duty, and to do your best, as a christian man and a prudent man, and then leave the rest to god. your children are about you; no doubt they may die, and it is fit enough that you should not forget the fragility of your most prized possessions; it is fit enough that you should sometimes sit by the fire and look at the merry faces and listen to the little voices, and think what it would be to lose them. but it is not needful, or rational, or christian-like, to be always brooding on that thought. and when they grow up, it may be hard to provide for them. the little thing that is sitting on your knee may before many years be alone in life, thousands of miles from you and from his early home, an insignificant item in the bitter price which britain pays for her indian empire. it is even possible, though you hardly for a moment admit that thought, that the child may turn out a heartless and wicked man, and prove your shame and heart-break; all wicked and heartless men have been the children of somebody; and many of them, doubtless, the children of those who surmised the future as little as eve did when she smiled upon the infant cain. and the fireside by which you sit, now merry and noisy enough, may grow lonely,--lonely with the second loneliness, not the hopeful solitude of youth looking forward, but the desponding loneliness of age looking back. and it is so with everything else. your health may break down. some fearful accident may befall you. the readers of the magazine may cease to care for your articles. people may get tired of your sermons. people may stop buying your books, your wine, your groceries, your milk and cream. younger men may take away your legal business. yet how often these fears prove utterly groundless! it was good and wise advice given by one who had managed, with a cheerful and hopeful spirit, to pass through many trying and anxious years, to 'take short views:'--not to vex and worry yourself by planning too far a-head. and a wiser than the wise and cheerful sydney smith had anticipated his philosophy. you remember who said, 'take no thought,'--that is, no over-anxious and over-careful thought--'for the morrow; for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself.' did you ever sail over a blue summer sea towards a mountainous coast, frowning, sullen, gloomy: and have you not seen the gloom retire before you as you advanced; the hills, grim in the distance, stretch into sunny slopes when you neared them; and the waters smile in cheerful light that looked so black when they were far away? and who is there that has not seen the parallel in actual life? we have all known the anticipated ills of life--the danger that looked so big, the duty that looked so arduous, the entanglement that we could not see our way through--prove to have been nothing more than spectres on the far horizon; and when at length we reached them, all their difficulty had vanished into air, leaving us to think what fools we had been for having so needlessly conjured up phantoms to disturb our quiet. yes, there is no doubt of it, a very great part of all we suffer in this world is from the apprehension of things that never come. i remember well how a dear friend, whom i (and many more) lately lost, told me many times of his fears as to what he would do in a certain contingency which both he and i thought was quite sure to come sooner or later. i know that the anticipation of it caused him some of the most anxious hours of a very anxious, though useful and honoured life. how vain his fears proved! he was taken from this world before what he had dreaded had cast its most distant shadow. well, let me try to discard the notion which has been sometimes worrying me of late, that perhaps i have written nearly as many essays as any one will care to read. don't let any of us give way to fears which may prove to have been entirely groundless. and then, if we are really spared to see those trials we bometimes think of, and which it is right that we should sometimes think of, the strength for them will come at the time. they will not look nearly so black, and we shall be enabled to bear them bravely. there is in human nature a marvellous power of accommodation to circumstances. we can gradually make up our mind to almost anything. if this were a sermon instead of an essay, i should explain my theory of how this comes to be. i see in all this something beyond the mere natural instinct of acquiescence in what is inevitable; something beyond the benevolent law in the human mind, that it shall adapt itself to whatever circumstances it may be placed in; something beyond the doing of the gentle comforter time. yes, it is wonderful what people can go through, wonderful what people can get reconciled to. i dare say my friend smith, when his hair began to fall off, made frantic efforts to keep it on. i have no doubt he anxiously tried all the vile concoctions which quackery advertises in the newspapers, for the advantage of those who wish for luxuriant locks. i dare say for a while it really weighed upon his mind, and disturbed his quiet, that he was getting bald. but now he has quite reconciled himself to his lot; and with a head smooth and sheeny as the egg of the ostrich, smith goes on through life, and feels no pang at the remembrance of the ambrosial curls of his youth. most young people, i dare say, think it will be a dreadful thing to grow old: a girl of eighteen thinks it must be an awful sensation to be thirty. believe me, not at all. you are brought to it bit by bit; and when you reach the spot, you rather like the view. and it is so with graver things. we grow able to do and to bear that which it is needful that we should do and bear. as is the day, so the strength proves to be. and you have heard people tell you truly, that they have been enabled to bear what they never thought they could have come through with their reason or their life. i have no fear for the christian man, so he keeps to the path of duty. straining up the steep hill, his heart will grow stout in just proportion to its steepness. yes, and if the call to martyrdom came, i should not despair of finding men who would show themselves equal to it, even in this commonplace age, and among people who wear highland cloaks and knickerbockers. the martyr's strength would come with the martyr's day. it is because there is no call for it now, that people look so little like it. it is very difficult, in this world, to strongly enforce a truth, without seeming to push it into an extreme. you are very apt, in avoiding one error, to run into the opposite error; forgetting that truth and right lie generally between two extremes. and in agreeing with sydney smith, as to the wisdom and the duty of 'taking short views,' let us take care of appearing to approve the doings of those foolish and unprincipled people who will keep no out-look into the future time at all. a bee, you know, cannot see more than a single inch before it; and there are many men, and perhaps more women, who appear, as regards their domestic concerns, to be very much of bees. not bees in the respect of being busy; but bees in the respect of being blind. you see this in all ranks of life. you see it in the artisan, earning good wages, yet with every prospect of being weeks out of work next summer or winter, who yet will not be persuaded to lay by a little in preparation for a rainy day. you see it in the country gentleman, who, having five thousand a year, spends ten thousand a year; resolutely shutting his eyes to the certain and not very remote consequences. you see it in the man who walks into a shop and buys a lot of things which he has not the money to pay for, in the vague hope that something will turn up. it is a comparatively thoughtful and anxious class of men who systematically overcloud the present by anticipations of the future. the more usual thing is to sacrifice the future to the present; to grasp at what in the way of present gratification or gain can be got, with very little thought of the consequences. you see silly women, the wives of men whose families are mainly dependent on their lives, constantly urging on their husbands to extravagances which eat up the little provision which might have been made for themselves and their children when he is gone who earned their bread. there is no sadder sight, i think, than that which is not a very uncommon sight, the care-worn, anxious husband, labouring beyond his strength, often sorrowfully calculating how he may make the ends to meet, denying himself in every way; and the extravagant idiot of a wife, bedizened with jewellery and arrayed in velvet and lace, who tosses away his hard earnings in reckless extravagance; in entertainments which he cannot afford, given to people who do not care a rush for him; in preposterous dress; in absurd furniture; in needless men-servants; in green-grocers above measure; in resolute aping of the way of living of people with twice or three times the means. it is sad to see all the forethought, prudence, and moderation of the wedded pair confined to one of them. you would say that it will not be any solid consolation to the widow, when the husband is fairly worried into his grave at last,--when his daughters have to go out as governesses, and she has to let lodgings,--to reflect that while he lived they never failed to have champagne at their dinner parties; and that they had three men to wait at table on such occasions, while mr. smith, next door, had never more than one and a maidservant. if such idiotic women would but look forward, and consider how all this must end! if the professional man spends all he earns, what remains when the supply is cut off; when the toiling head and hand can toil no more? ah, a little of the economy and management which must perforce be practised after that might have tended powerfully to pirt off the evil day. sometimes the husband is merely the care-worn drudge who provides what the wife squanders. have you not known such a thing as that a man should be labouring under an indian sun, and cutting down every personal expense to the last shilling, that he might send a liberal allowance to his wife in england; while she meanwhile was recklessly spending twice what was thus sent her; running up overwhelming accounts, dashing about to public balls, paying for a bouquet what cost the poor fellow far away much thought to save, giving costly entertainments at home, filling her house with idle and empty-headed scapegraces, carrying on scandalous flirtations; till it becomes a happy thing, if the certain ruin she is bringing on her husband's head is cut short by the needful interference of sir cresswell cresswell? there are cases in which tarring and feathering would soothe the moral sense of the right-minded onlooker. and even where things are not so bad as in the case of which we have been thinking, it remains the social curse of this age, that people with a few hundreds a year determinedly act in various respects as if they had as many thousands. the dinner given by a man with eight hundred a year, in certain regions of the earth which i could easily point out, is, as regards food, wine, and attendance, precisely the same as the dinner given by another man who has five thousand a year. when will this end? when will people see its silliness? in truth, you do not really, as things are in this country, make many people better off by adding a little or a good deal to their yearly income. for in all probability they were living up to the very extremity of their means before they got the addition; and in all probability the first thing they do, on getting the addition, is so far to increase their establishment and their expense that it is just as hard a struggle as ever to make the ends meet. it would not be a pleasant arrangement, that a man who was to be carried across the straits from england to france, should be fixed on a board so weighted that his mouth and nostrils should be at the level of the water, and thus that he should be struggling for life, and barely escaping drowning all the way. yet hosts of people, whom no one proposes to put under restraint, do as regards their income and expenditure a precisely analogous thing. they deliberately weight themselves to that degree that their heads are barely above water, and that any unforeseen emergency dips their heads under. they rent a house a good deal dearer than they can justly afford; and they have servants more and more expensive than they ought; and by many such things they make sure that their progress through life shall be a drowning struggle; while, if they would rationally resolve and manfully confess that they cannot afford to have things as richer folk have them, and arrange their way of living in accordance with what they can afford, they would enjoy the feeling of ease and comfort; they would not be ever on the wretched stretch on which they are now, nor keeping up the jollow appearance of what is not the fact. but there are folk who make it a point of honour never to admit that in doing or not doing anything, they are actuated for an instant by so despicable a consideration as the question whether or not they can afford it. and who shall reckon up the brains which this social calamity has driven into disease, or the early paralytic shocks which it has brought on? when you were very young, and looked forward to future years, did you ever feel a painful fear that you might outgrow your early home affections, and your associations with your native scenes? did you ever think to yourself,--will the day come when i have been years away from that river's side, and yet not care? i think we have all known the feeling. o plain church to which i used to go when i was a child, and where i used to think the singing so very splendid! o little room where i used to sleep! and you, tall tree,--on whose topmost branch i cut the initials which perhaps the reader knows, did i not even then wonder to myself if the time would ever come when i should be far away from-you,--far away, as now, for many years, and not likely to go back,--and yet feel entirely indifferent to the matter? and did not i even then feel a strange pain in the fear that very likely it might? these things come across the mind of a little boy with a curious grief and bewilderment. ah, there is something strange in the inner life of a thoughtful child of eight years old! i would rather see a faithful record of his thoughts, feelings, fancies, and sorrows, for a single week, than know all the political events that have happened during that space in spain, denmark, norway, sweden, russia, and turkey. even amid the great grief at leaving home for school in your early days, did you not feel a greater grief to think that the day might come when you would not care at all; when your home ties and affections would be outgrown; when you would be quite content to live on, month after month, far from parents, sisters, brothers, and feel hardly a perceptible blank when you remembered that they were far away? but it is of the essence of such fears, that, when the thing comes that you were afraid of, it has ceased to be fearful; still it is with a little pang that you sometimes call to remembrance how much you feared it once. it is a daily regret, though not a very acute one, (more's the pity,) to be thrown much, in middle life, into the society of an old friend whom as a boy you had regarded as very wise, and to be compelled to observe that he is a tremendous fool. you struggle with the conviction; you think it wrong to give in to it; but you cannot help it. but it would have been a sharper pang to the child's heart, to have impressed upon the child the fact, that 'good mr. goose is a fool, and some day you will understand that he is.' in those days one admits no imperfection in the people and the things one likes. tou like a person; and he is good. that seems the whole case. you do not go into exceptions and reservations. i remember how indignant i felt, as a boy, at reading some depreciatory criticism of the waverley novels. the criticism was to the effect that the plots generally dragged at first, and were huddled up at the end. but to me the novels were enchaining, enthralling; and to hint a defect in them stunned one. in the boy's feeling, if a thing be good, why, there cannot be anything bad about it. but in the man's mature judgment, even in the people he likes best, and in the things he appreciates most highly, there are many flaws and imperfections. it does not vex us much now to find that this is so; but it would have greatly vexed us many years since to have been told that it would be so. i can well imagine, that, if you told a thoughtful and affectionate child, how well he would some day get on, far from his parents and his home, his wish would be that any evil might befall him rather than that! we shrink with terror from the prospect of things which we can take easily enough when they come. i dare say lord chancellor thurlow was moderately sincere when he exclaimed in the house of peers, 'when i forget, my king, may my god forget me!' and you will understand what leigh hunt meant, when, in his pleasant poem of the palfrey, he tells us of a daughter who had lost a very bad and heartless father by death, that, the daughter wept, and wept the more, to think her tears would soon be o'er. even in middle age, one sad thought which comes in the prospect of future years is of the change which they are sure to work upon many of our present views and feelings. and the change, in many cases, will be to the worse. one thing is certain,--that your temper will grow worse, if it do not grow better. years will sour it, if they do not mellow it. another certain thing is, that, if you do not grow wiser, you will be growing more foolish. it is very true that there is no fool so foolish as an old fool. let us hope, my friend, that, whatever be our honest worldly work, it may never lose its interest. we must always speak humbly about the changes which coming time will work upon us, upon even our firmest resolutions and most rooted principles; or i should say for myself that i cannot even imagine myself the same being, with bent less resolute and heart less warm to that best of all employments which is the occupation of my life. but there are few things which, as we grow older, impress us more deeply than the transitoriness of thoughts and feelings in human hearts. nor am i thinking of contemptible people only, when i say so. i am not thinking of the fellow who is pulled up in court in an action for breach of promise of marriage, and who in one letter makes vows of unalterable affection, and in another letter, written a few weeks or months later, tries to wriggle out of his engagement. nor am i thinking of the weak, though well-meaning lady, who devotes herself in succession to a great variety of uneducated and unqualified religious instructors; who tells you one week how she has joined the flock of mr. a., the converted prize-fighter, and how she regards him as by far the most improving preacher she ever heard; and who tells you the next week that she has seen through the prize-fighter, that he has gone and married a wealthy roman catholic, and that now she has resolved to wait on the ministry of mr. b., an enthusiastic individual who makes shoes during the week and gives sermons on sundays, and in whose addresses she finds exactly what suits her. i speak of the better feelings and purposes of wiser, if not better folk. let me think here of pious emotions and holy resolutions, of the best and purest frames of heart and mind. oh, if we could all always remain at our best! and after all, permanence is the great test. in the matter of christian faith and feeling, in the matter of all our worthier principles and purposes, that which lasts longest is best. this, indeed, is true of most things. the worth of anything depends much upon its durability,--upon the wear that is in it. a thing that is merely a fine flash and over only disappoints. the highest authority has recognized this. you remember who said to his friends, before leaving them, that he would have them bring forth fruit, and much fruit. but not even that was enough. the fairest profession for a time, the most earnest labour for a time, the most ardent affection for a time, would not suffice. and so the redeemer's words were,--'i have chosen you, and ordained you, that ye should go and bring forth fruit, and that your fruit should remain.' well, let us trust, that, in the most solemn of all respects, only progress shall be brought to us by all the changes of future years.' but it is quite vain to think that feelings, as distinguished from principles, shall not lose much of their vividness, freshness, and depth, as time goes on. you cannot now by any effort revive the exultation you felt at some unexpected great success, nor the heart-sinking of some terrible loss or trial. you know how women, after the death of a child, determine that every day, as long as they live, they will visit the little grave. and they do so for a time, sometimes for a long time; but they gradually leave off. you know how burying-places are very trimly and carefully kept at first, and how flowers are hung upon the stone; but these things gradually cease. you know how many husbands and wives, after their partner's death, determine to give the remainder of life to the memory of the departed, and would regard with sincere horror the suggestion that it was possible they should ever marry again; but after a while they do. and you will even find men, beyond middle age, who made a tremendous work at their first wife's death, and wore very conspicuous mourning, who in a very few months may be seen dangling after some new fancy, and who in the prospect of their second marriage evince an exhilaration that approaches to crackiness. it is usual to speak of such things in a ludicrous manner, but i confess the matter seems to me anything but one to laugh at. i think that the rapid dying out of warm feelings, the rapid change of fixed resolutions, is one of the most sorrowful subjects of reflection which it is possible to suggest, ah, my friends, after we die, it would not be expedient, even if it were possible, to come back. many of us would not like to find how very little they miss us. but still, it is the manifest intention of the creator that strong feelings should be transitory. the sorrowful thing is when they pass and leave absolutely no truce behind them. there should always be some corner kept in the heart for a feeling which once possessed it all. let us look at the case temperately. let us face and admit the facts. the healthy body and mind can get over a great deal; but there are some things which it is not to the credit of our nature should ever be entirely got over. here are sober truth, and sound philosophy, and sincere feeling together, in the words of philip van artevelde:-- well, well, she's gone, and i have tamed my sorrow. pain and grief are transitory things, no less than joy; and though they leave us not the men we were, yet they do leave us. you behold me here, a man bereaved, with something of a blight upon the early blossoms of his life, and its first verdure,--having not the less a living root, and drawing from the earth its vital juices, from the air its powers: and surely as man's heart and strength are whole, his appetites regerminate, his heart re-opens, and his objects and desires spring up renewed. but though artevelde speaks truly and well, you remember how mr. taylor, in that noble play, works out to our view the sad sight of the deterioration of character, the growing coarseness and harshness, the lessening tenderness and kindliness, which are apt to come with advancing years. great trials, we know, passing over us, may influence us either for the worse or the better; and unless our nature is a very obdurate and poor one, though they may leave us, they will not leave us the men we were. once, at a public meeting, i heard a man in eminent station make a speech. i had never seen him before; but i remembered an inscription which i had read, in a certain churchyard far away, upon the stone that marked the resting-place of his young wife, who had died many years before. i thought of its simple words of manly and hearty sorrow. i knew that the eminence he had reached had not come till she who would have been proudest of it was beyond knowing it or caring for it. and i cannot say with what interest and satisfaction i thought i could trace, in the features which were sad without the infusion of a grain of sentirnentalism, in the subdued and quiet tone of the man's whole aspect and manner and address, the manifest proof that he had not shut down the leaf upon that old page of his history, that lie had never quite got over that great grief of earlier years. one felt better and more hopeful for the sight. i suppose many people, after meeting some overwhelming loss or trial, have fancied that they would soon die; but that is almost invariably a delusion. various dogs have died of a broken heart, but very few human beings. the inferior creature has pined away at his master's loss: as for us, it is not that one would doubt the depth and sincerity of sorrow, but that there is more endurance in our constitution, and that god has appointed that grief shall rather mould and influence than kill. it is a much sadder sight than an early death, to see human beings live on after heavy trial, and sink into something very unlike their early selves and very inferior to their early selves. i can well believe that many a human being, if he eould have a glimpse in innocent youth of what he will be twenty or thirty years after, would pray in anguish to be taken before coming to that! mansie wauch's glimpse of destitution was bad enough; but a million times worse is a glimpse of hardened and unabashed sin and shame. and it would be no comfort--it would be an aggravation in that view--to think that by the time you have reached that miserable point, you will have grown pretty well reconciled to it. that is the worst of all. to be wicked and depraved, and to feel it, and to be wretched under it, is bad enough; but it is a great deal worse to have fallen into that depth of moral degradation, and to feel that really you don't care. the instinct of accommodation is not always a blessing. it is happy for us, that, though in youth we hoped to live in a castle or a palace, we can make up our mind to live in a little parsonage or a quiet street in a country town. it is happy for us, that, though in youth we hoped to be very great and famous, we are so entirely reconciled to being little and unknown. but it is not happy for the poor girl who walks the haymarket at night that she feels her degradation so little. it is not happy that she has come to feel towards her miserable life so differently now from what she would have felt towards it, had it been set before her while she was the blooming, thoughtless creature in the little cottage in the country. it is only by fits and starts that the poor drunken wretch, living in a garret upon a little pittance allowed him by his relations, who was once a man of character and hope, feels what a sad pitch he has come to. if you could get him to feel it constantly, there would be some hope of his reclamation even yet. it seems to me a very comforting thought, in looking on to future years, if you are able to think that you are in a profession or a calling from which you will never retire. for the prospect of a total change in your mode of life, and the entire cessation of the occupation which, for many years employed the greater part of your waking thoughts, and all this amid the failing powers and nagging hopes of declining, years, is both a sad and a perplexing prospect to a thoughtful person. for such a person cannot regard this great change simply in the light of a rest from toil and worry; he will know quite well what a blankness, and listlessness, and loss of interest in life, will come of feeling all at once that you have nothing at all to do. and so it is a great blessing, if your vocation be one which is a dignified and befitting one for an old man to be engaged in, one that beseems his gravity and his long experience, one that beseems even his slow movements and his white hairs. it is a pleasant thing to see an old man a judge; his years become the judgment-seat. but then the old man can hold such an office only while he retains strength of body and mind efficiently to perform its duties; and he must do all his work for himself: and accordingly a day must come when the venerable chancellor resigns the great seal; when the aged justice or baron must give up his place; and when these honoured judges, though still retaining considerable vigour, but vigour less than enough for their hard work, are compelled to feel that their occupation is gone. and accordingly i hold that what is the best of all professions, for many reasons, is especially so for this, that you need never retire from it. in the church you need not do all your duty yourself. you may get assistance to supplement your own lessening strength. the energetic young curate or curates may do that part of the parish work which exceeds the power of the ageing incumbent, while the entire parochial machinery has still the advantage of being directed by his wisdom and experience, and while the old man is still permitted to do what he can with such strength as is spared to him, and to feel that he is useful in the noblest cause yet. and even to extremest age and frailty,--to age and frailty which would long since have incapacitated the judge for the bench--the parish clergyman may take some share in the much-loved duty in which he has laboured so long. he may still, though briefly, and only now and then, address his flock from the pulpit, in words which his very feebleness will make far more touchingly effective than the most vigorous eloquence and the richest and fullest tones of his young coadjutors. there never will be, within the sacred walls, a silence and reverence more profound than when the withered kindly face looks as of old upon the congregation, to whose fathers its owner first ministered, and which has grown up mainly under his instruction,--and when the voice that falls familiarly on so many ears tells again, quietly and earnestly, the old story which we all need so much to hear. and he may still look in at the parish school, and watch the growth of a generation that is to do the work of life when he is in his grave; and kindly smooth the children's heads; and tell them how one, once a little child, and never more than a young man, brought salvation alike to young and old. he may still sit by the bedside of the sick and dying, and speak to such with the sympathy and the solemnity of one who does not forget that the last great realities are drawing near to both. but there are vocations which are all very well for young or middle-aged people, but which do not quite suit the old. such is that of the barrister. wrangling and hair-splitting, browbeating and bewildering witnesses, making coarse jokes to excite the laughter of common jurymen, and addressing such with clap-trap bellowings, are not the work for grey-headed men. if such remain at the bar, rather let them have the more refined work of the equity courts, where you address judges, and not juries; and where you spare clap-trap and misrepresentation, if for no better reason, because, you know that these will not stand you in the slightest stead. the work which best befits the aged, the work for which no mortal can ever become too venerable and dignified or too weak and frail, is the work of christian usefulness and philanthropy. and it is a beautiful sight to see, as i trust we all have seen, that work persevered in with the closing energies of life. it is a noble test of the soundness of the principle that prompted to its first undertaking. it is a hopeful and cheering sight to younger men, looking out with something of fear to the temptations and trials of the years before them. oh! if the grey-haired clergyman, with less now, indeed, of physical strength and mere physical warmth, yet preaches, with the added weight and solemnity of his long experience, the same blessed doctrines now, after forty years, that he preached in his early prime; if the philanthropist of half a century since is the philanthropist still,--still kind, hopeful, and unwearied, though with the snows of age upon his head, and the hand that never told its fellow of what it did now trembling as it does the deed of mercy; then i think that even the most doubtful will believe that the principle and the religion of such men were a glorious reality! the sternest of all touchstones of the genuineness of our better feelings is the fashion in which they stand the wear of years. but my shortening space warns me to stop; and i must cease, for the present, from these thoughts of future years,--cease, i mean, from writing about that mysterious tract before us: who can cease from thinking of it? you remember how the writer of that little poem which has been quoted asks time to touch gently him and his. of course he spoke as a poet, stating the case fancifully,--but not forgetting, that, when we come to sober sense, we must prefer our requests to an ear more ready to hear us and a hand more ready to help. it is not to time that i shall apply to lead me through life into immortality! and i cannot think of years to come without going back to a greater poet, whom we need not esteem the less because his inspiration was loftier than that of the muses, who has summed up so grandly in one comprehensive sentence all the possibilities which could befall him in the days and ages before him. "thou shalt guide me with thy counsel, and afterward receive me to glory!" let us humbly trust that in that sketch, round and complete, of all that can ever come to us, my readers and i may be able to read the history of our future years! conclusion. and now, friendly reader, who have borne me company so far, your task is ended. you will have no more of the recreations of a country parson. yet do not be alarmed. i trust you have not seen the writer's last appearance. it is only that the essays which he hopes yet to write, will not be composed in the comparative leisure of a country clergyman's quiet life. and not merely is it still a pleasant change of occupation, to write such chapters as those you have read: but the author cannot forget that to them he is indebted for the acquaintance of some of the most valued friends he has in this world. it was especially delightful to find a little sympathetic public, whose taste these papers suited; and to which they have not been devoid of profit and comfort. nor was it without a certain subdued exultation that a quiet scotch minister learned that away across the ocean he had found an audience as large and sympathetic as in his own country; and a kind appreciation by the organs of criticism there, which he could not read without much emotion. of course, if i had fancied myself a great genius, it would have seemed nothing strange that the thoughts i had written down in my little study in the country manse, should be read by many fellow-creatures four thousand miles off. but then i knew i was not a great genius: and so i felt it at once a great pleasure and a great surprise. my heart smote me when i thought of some flippant words of depreciation which these essays have contained concerning our american brothers. they are the last this hand shall ever write: and i never will forget how simple thoughts, only sincere and not unconsidered, found their way to hearts, kindly scotch and english yet, though beating on the farther side of the great atlantic. after all, a clergyman's great enjoyment is in his duty: and i think that, unless he be crushed down by a parish of utter misery and destitution, in which all he can do is like a drop in the ocean (as that great and good man dr. guthrie tells us he was), the town is to the clergyman better than the country. the crowded city, when all is said, contains the best of the race. your mind is stirred up there, to do what you could not have done elsewhere. the best of your energy and ability is brought out by the never-ceasing spur. yet you will be sensible of various evils in the city clergyman's life. one is the great evil of over-work. you are always on the stretch. you never feel that your work is overtaken. the time never comes, in which you feel that you may sit down and rest: never comes, at least, save in the autumnal holiday. it is expedient that a city clergyman should have his mind well stored before going to his charge: for there he will find a perpetual drain upon his mind, and very little time for refilling it by general reading. to prepare two sermons a week, or even one sermon a week, for an educated congregation (or indeed for any congregation), implies no small sustained effort. it is not so very hard to write one sermon in one week; but is very hard to write thirty sermons in thirty successive weeks. you know how five miles in five hours are nothing: but a thousand miles in a thousand hours are killing. but every one knows that the preparation for the pulpit is the least part of a town clergyman's work. you have many sick to visit regularly: many frail and old people who cannot come to church. you have schools, classes, missions. and there is the constant effort to maintain some acquaintance with the families that attend your church, so that you and they shall not be strangers. i am persuaded that there ought to be at least two clergymen to every extensive parish. for it is not expedient that the clergy should have their minds and bodies ever on the strain, just to get througr the needful work of the day. there is no opportunity, then, for the accumulation of some stock and store of thought and learning. and one important service which the clergy of a country ought to render it, is the maintenance of learning, and general culture. indeed, a man not fairly versed in literature and science is not capable of preaching as is needful at the present day. and when always overdriven, a man is tempted to lower his standard: and instead of trying to do his work to the very best of his ability, to wish just to get decently through it. then, as for other men, they have the great happiness of knowing when their work is done. when a lawyer has attended to his cases, he has no more to do that day. so when the doctor has visited his patients. but to clerical work there is no limit. your work is to do all the good you can. there is the parish: there is the population: and the uneasy conscience is always suggesting thia and that new scheme of benevolent exertion. the only limit to the clergyman's duty is his strength: and very often that limit is outrun. oh that one could wisely fix what one may safely and rightly do; and then resolutely determine not to attempt any more! but who can do that? if your heart be in your work, you are every now and then knocking yourself up. and you cannot help it. you advise your friends prudently against overwork; and then you go and work till you drop. and a further evil of the town parish is, that a great part of your work is done by the utmost stretch of body and mind. much of it is work of that nature, that when you are not actually doing it, you wonder how you can do it at all. when you think of it, it is a very great trial and effort to preach each sunday to a thousand or fifteen hundred human beings. and by longer experience, and that humbler self-estimate which longer experience brings, the trial is ever becoming greater. it is the utmost strain of human energy, to do that duty fittingly. you know how easily some men go through their work. it is constant and protracted; but not a very great strain at any one time: there is no overwhelming nervous tension. i suppose even the chief justice, or the lord chancellor, when in the morning he walks into court and takes his seat on the bench, does so without a trace of nervous tremour. he is thoroughly cool. he has a perfect conviction that he is equal to his work; that he is master of it. but preaching is to many men an unceasing nervous excitement. there is great wear in it. and this is so, i am persuaded, even with the most eminent men. preaching is a thing by itself. when you properly reflect upon it, it is very solemn, responsible, and awful work. not long since, i heard the bishop of oxford preach to a very great congregation. i was sitting very near him, and watched him with the professional interest. i am much mistaken if that great man was not as nervous as a young parson, preaching for the first time. pie had a number of little things in the pulpit to look after: his cap, gloves, handkerchief, sermon-case: i remember the nervous way in which he was twitching them about, and arranging them. no doubt that tremour wore off when he began to speak; and he gave a most admirable sermon. still, the strain had been there, and had been felt. and i do not think that the like can recur week by week, without considerable wear of the principle of life within. now, in preaching to a little country congregation, there is much less of that wear: to say nothing of the increased physical effort of addressing many hundreds of people, as compared with that of addressing eighty or ninety. it is quite possible that out of the many hundreds, there may not be very many individuals of whom, intellectually, you stand in very overwhelming awe: and the height of a crowd of a thousand people is no more than the height of the tallest man in it. still, there is always something very imposing and awe-striking in the presence of a multitude of human beings. and yet, if you have physical strength equal to your work, i do not think that for all the nervous anxiety which attends your charge, or for all its constant pressure, you would ever wish to leave it. there is a happiness in such sacred duty which only those who have experienced it know. and without (so far as you are aware) a shade of self-conceit, but in entire humility and deep thankfulness, you will rejoice that god makes you the means of comfort and advantage to many of your fellow-men. it is a delightful thing to think that you are of use: and, whether in town or country, the diligent clergyman may always hope that he is so, less or more. the end. anomalies and curiosities of medicine being an encyclopedic collection of rare and extraordinary cases, and of the most striking instances of abnormality in all branches of medicine and surgery, derived from an exhaustive research of medical literature from its origin to the present day, abstracted, classified, annotated, and indexed. by george m. gould, a.m., m.d. and walter l. pyle, a.m., m.d. prefatory and introductory. ---- since the time when man's mind first busied itself with subjects beyond his own self-preservation and the satisfaction of his bodily appetites, the anomalous and curious have been of exceptional and persistent fascination to him; and especially is this true of the construction and functions of the human body. possibly, indeed, it was the anomalous that was largely instrumental in arousing in the savage the attention, thought, and investigation that were finally to develop into the body of organized truth which we now call science. as by the aid of collected experience and careful inference we to-day endeavor to pass our vision into the dim twilight whence has emerged our civilization, we find abundant hint and even evidence of this truth. to the highest type of philosophic minds it is the usual and the ordinary that demand investigation and explanation. but even to such, no less than to the most naive-minded, the strange and exceptional is of absorbing interest, and it is often through the extraordinary that the philosopher gets the most searching glimpses into the heart of the mystery of the ordinary. truly it has been said, facts are stranger than fiction. in monstrosities and dermoid cysts, for example, we seem to catch forbidden sight of the secret work-room of nature, and drag out into the light the evidences of her clumsiness, and proofs of her lapses of skill,--evidences and proofs, moreover, that tell us much of the methods and means used by the vital artisan of life,--the loom, and even the silent weaver at work upon the mysterious garment of corporeality. "la premiere chose qui s'offre a l' homme quand il se regarde, c'est son corps," says pascal, and looking at the matter more closely we find that it was the strange and mysterious things of his body that occupied man's earliest as well as much of his later attention. in the beginning, the organs and functions of generation, the mysteries of sex, not the routine of digestion or of locomotion, stimulated his curiosity, and in them he recognized, as it were, an unseen hand reaching down into the world of matter and the workings of bodily organization, and reining them to impersonal service and far-off ends. all ethnologists and students of primitive religion well know the role that has been played in primitive society by the genetic instincts. among the older naturalists, such as pliny and aristotle, and even in the older historians, whose scope included natural as well as civil and political history, the atypic and bizarre, and especially the aberrations of form or function of the generative organs, caught the eye most quickly. judging from the records of early writers, when medicine began to struggle toward self-consciousness, it was again the same order of facts that was singled out by the attention. the very names applied by the early anatomists to many structures so widely separated from the organs of generation as were those of the brain, give testimony of the state of mind that led to and dominated the practice of dissection. in the literature of the past centuries the predominance of the interest in the curious is exemplified in the almost ludicrously monotonous iteration of titles, in which the conspicuous words are curiosa, rara, monstruosa, memorabilia, prodigiosa, selecta, exotica, miraculi, lusibus naturae, occultis naturae, etc., etc. even when medical science became more strict, it was largely the curious and rare that were thought worthy of chronicling, and not the establishment or illustration of the common, or of general principles. with all his sovereign sound sense, ambrose pare has loaded his book with references to impossibly strange, and even mythologic cases. in our day the taste seems to be insatiable, and hardly any medical journal is without its rare or "unique" case, or one noteworthy chiefly by reason of its anomalous features. a curious case is invariably reported, and the insertion of such a report is generally productive of correspondence and discussion with the object of finding a parallel for it. in view of all this it seems itself a curious fact that there has never been any systematic gathering of medical curiosities. it would have been most natural that numerous encyclopedias should spring into existence in response to such a persistently dominant interest. the forelying volume appears to be the first thorough attempt to classify and epitomize the literature of this nature. it has been our purpose to briefly summarize and to arrange in order the records of the most curious, bizarre, and abnormal cases that are found in medical literature of all ages and all languages--a thaumatographia medica. it will be readily seen that such a collection must have a function far beyond the satisfaction of mere curiosity, even if that be stigmatized with the word "idle." if, as we believe, reference may here be found to all such cases in the literature of medicine (including anatomy, physiology, surgery, obstetrics, etc.) as show the most extreme and exceptional departures from the ordinary, it follows that the future clinician and investigator must have use for a handbook that decides whether his own strange case has already been paralleled or excelled. he will thus be aided in determining the truth of his statements and the accuracy of his diagnoses. moreover, to know extremes gives directly some knowledge of means, and by implication and inference it frequently does more. remarkable injuries illustrate to what extent tissues and organs may be damaged without resultant death, and thus the surgeon is encouraged to proceed to his operation with greater confidence and more definite knowledge as to the issue. if a mad cow may blindly play the part of a successful obstetrician with her horns, certainly a skilled surgeon may hazard entering the womb with his knife. if large portions of an organ,--the lung, a kidney, parts of the liver, or the brain itself,--may be lost by accident, and the patient still live, the physician is taught the lesson of nil desperandum, and that if possible to arrest disease of these organs before their total destruction, the prognosis and treatment thereby acquire new and more hopeful phases. directly or indirectly many similar examples have also clear medicolegal bearings or suggestions; in fact, it must be acknowledged that much of the importance of medical jurisprudence lies in a thorough comprehension of the anomalous and rare cases in medicine. expert medical testimony has its chief value in showing the possibilities of the occurrence of alleged extreme cases, and extraordinary deviations from the natural. every expert witness should be able to maintain his argument by a full citation of parallels to any remarkable theory or hypothesis advanced by his clients; and it is only by an exhaustive knowledge of extremes and anomalies that an authority on medical jurisprudence can hope to substantiate his testimony beyond question. in every poisoning case he is closely questioned as to the largest dose of the drug in question that has been taken with impunity, and the smallest dose that has killed, and he is expected to have the cases of reported idiosyncrasies and tolerance at his immediate command. a widow with a child of ten months' gestation may be saved the loss of reputation by mention of the authentic cases in which pregnancy has exceeded nine months' duration; the proof of the viability of a seven months' child may alter the disposition of an estate; the proof of death by a blow on the epigastrium without external marks of violence may convict a murderer; and so it is with many other cases of a medicolegal nature. it is noteworthy that in old-time medical literature--sadly and unjustly neglected in our rage for the new--should so often be found parallels of our most wonderful and peculiar modern cases. we wish, also, to enter a mild protest against the modern egotism that would set aside with a sneer as myth and fancy the testimonies and reports of philosophers and physicians, only because they lived hundreds of years ago. we are keenly appreciative of the power exercised by the myth-making faculty in the past, but as applied to early physicians, we suggest that the suspicion may easily be too active. when pare, for example, pictures a monster, we may distrust his art, his artist, or his engraver, and make all due allowance for his primitive knowledge of teratology, coupled with the exaggerations and inventions of the wonder-lover; but when he describes in his own writing what he or his confreres have seen on the battle-field or in the dissecting room, we think, within moderate limits, we owe him credence. for the rest, we doubt not that the modern reporter is, to be mild, quite as much of a myth-maker as his elder brother, especially if we find modern instances that are essentially like the older cases reported in reputable journals or books, and by men presumably honest. in our collection we have endeavored, so far as possible, to cite similar cases from the older and from the more recent literature. this connection suggests the question of credibility in general. it need hardly be said that the lay-journalist and newspaper reporter have usually been ignored by us, simply because experience and investigation have many times proved that a scientific fact, by presentation in most lay-journals, becomes in some mysterious manner, ipso facto, a scientific caricature (or worse!), and if it is so with facts, what must be the effect upon reports based upon no fact whatsoever? it is manifestly impossible for us to guarantee the credibility of chronicles given. if we have been reasonably certain of unreliability, we may not even have mentioned the marvelous statement. obviously, we could do no more with apparently credible cases, reported by reputable medical men, than to cite author and source and leave the matter there, where our responsibility must end. but where our proper responsibility seemed likely never to end was in carrying out the enormous labor requisite for a reasonable certainty that we had omitted no searching that might lead to undiscovered facts, ancient or modern. choice in selection is always, of course, an affair de gustibus, and especially when, like the present, there is considerable embarrassment of riches, coupled with the purpose of compressing our results in one handy volume. in brief, it may be said that several years of exhaustive research have been spent by us in the great medical libraries of the united states and europe in collecting the material herewith presented. if, despite of this, omissions and errors are to be found, we shall be grateful to have them pointed out. it must be remembered that limits of space have forbidden satisfactory discussion of the cases, and the prime object of the whole work has been to carefully collect and group the anomalies and curiosities, and allow the reader to form his own conclusions and make his own deductions. as the entire labor in the preparation of the forelying volume, from the inception of the idea to the completion of the index, has been exclusively the personal work of the authors, it is with full confidence of the authenticity of the reports quoted that the material is presented. complete references are given to those facts that are comparatively unknown or unique, or that are worthy of particular interest or further investigation. to prevent unnecessary loading of the book with foot-notes, in those instances in which there are a number of cases of the same nature, and a description has not been thought necessary, mere citation being sufficient, references are but briefly given or omitted altogether. for the same reason a bibliographic index has been added at the end of the text. this contains the most important sources of information used, and each journal or book therein has its own number, which is used in its stead all through the book (thus, signifies the lancet, london; , the new york medical journal; etc.). these bibliographic numbers begin at . notwithstanding that every effort has been made to conveniently and satisfactorily group the thousands of cases contained in the book (a labor of no small proportions in itself), a complete general index is a practical necessity for the full success of what is essentially a reference-volume, and consequently one has been added, in which may be found not only the subjects under consideration and numerous cross-references, but also the names of the authors of the most important reports. a table of contents follows this preface. we assume the responsibility for innovations in orthography, certain abbreviations, and the occasional substitution of figures for large numerals, fractions, and decimals, made necessary by limited space, and in some cases to more lucidly show tables and statistics. from the variety of the reports, uniformity of nomenclature and numeration is almost impossible. as we contemplate constantly increasing our data, we shall be glad to receive information of any unpublished anomalous or curious cases, either of the past or in the future. for many courtesies most generously extended in aiding our research-work we wish, among others, to acknowledge our especial gratitude and indebtedness to the officers and assistants of the surgeon-general's library at washington, d.c., the library of the royal college of surgeons of london, the library of the british museum, the library of the british medical association, the bibliotheque de faculte de medecine de paris, the bibliotheque nationale, and the library of the college of physicians of philadelphia. george m. gould. philadelphia, october, . walter l. pyle. table of contents. chapter pages i. genetic anomalies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . - ii. prenatal anomalies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . - iii. obstetric anomalies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . - iv. prolificity . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . - v. major terata . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . - vi. minor terata . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . - vii. anomalies of stature, size, and development . . . - viii. longevity . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . - ix. physiologic and functional anomalies . . . . . . . - x. surgical anomalies of the head and neck . . . . . . - xi. surgical anomalies of the extremities . . . . . . - xii. surgical anomalies of the thorax and abdomen . . - xiii. surgical anomalies of the genitourinary system . - xiv. miscellaneous surgical anomalies . . . . . . . . - xv. anomalous types and instances of disease . . . . . - xvi. anomalous skin-diseases . . . . . . . . . . . . . - xvii. anomalous nervous and mental diseases . . . . . - xviii. historic epidemics . . . . . . . . . . . . . . - anomalies and curiosities of medicine. chapter i. genetic anomalies. menstruation has always been of interest, not only to the student of medicine, but to the lay-observer as well. in olden times there were many opinions concerning its causation, all of which, until the era of physiologic investigation, were of superstitious derivation. believing menstruation to be the natural means of exit of the feminine bodily impurities, the ancients always thought a menstruating woman was to be shunned; her very presence was deleterious to the whole animal economy, as, for instance, among the older writers we find that pliny remarks: "on the approach of a woman in this state, must will become sour, seeds which are touched by her become sterile, grass withers away, garden plants are parched up, and the fruit will fall from the tree beneath which she sits." he also says that the menstruating women in cappadocia were perambulated about the fields to preserve the vegetation from worms and caterpillars. according to flemming, menstrual blood was believed to be so powerful that the mere touch of a menstruating woman would render vines and all kinds of fruit-trees sterile. among the indigenous australians, menstrual superstition was so intense that one of the native blacks, who discovered his wife lying on his blanket during her menstrual period, killed her, and died of terror himself in a fortnight. hence, australian women during this season are forbidden to touch anything that men use. aristotle said that the very look of a menstruating woman would take the polish out of a mirror, and the next person looking in it would be bewitched. frommann mentions a man who said he saw a tree in goa which withered because a catamenial napkin was hung on it. bourke remarks that the dread felt by the american indians in this respect corresponds with the particulars recited by pliny. squaws at the time of menstrual purgation are obliged to seclude themselves, and in most instances to occupy isolated lodges, and in all tribes are forbidden to prepare food for anyone save themselves. it was believed that, were a menstruating woman to step astride a rifle, a bow, or a lance, the weapon would have no utility. medicine men are in the habit of making a "protective" clause whenever they concoct a "medicine," which is to the effect that the "medicine" will be effective provided that no woman in this condition is allowed to approach the tent of the official in charge. empiricism had doubtless taught the ancient husbands the dangers of sexual intercourse during this period, and the after-results of many such connections were looked upon as manifestations of the contagiousness of the evil excretions issuing at this period. hence at one time menstruation was held in much awe and abhorrence. on the other hand, in some of the eastern countries menstruation was regarded as sacred, and the first menstrual discharge was considered so valuable that premenstrual marriages were inaugurated in order that the first ovum might not be wasted, but fertilized, because it was supposed to be the purest and best for the purpose. such customs are extant at the present day in some parts of india, despite the efforts of the british government to suppress them, and descriptions of child-marriages and their evil results have often been given by missionaries. as the advances of physiology enlightened the mind as to the true nature of the menstrual period, and the age of superstition gradually disappeared, the intense interest in menstruation vanished, and now, rather than being held in fear and awe, the physicians of to-day constantly see the results of copulation during this period. the uncontrollable desire of the husband and the mercenary aims of the prostitute furnish examples of modern disregard. the anomalies of menstruation must naturally have attracted much attention, and we find medical literature of all times replete with examples. while some are simply examples of vicarious or compensatory menstruation, and were so explained even by the older writers, there are many that are physiologic curiosities of considerable interest. lheritier furnishes the oft-quoted history of the case of a young girl who suffered from suppression of menses, which, instead of flowing through the natural channels, issued periodically from vesicles on the leg for a period of six months, when the seat of the discharge changed to an eruption on the left arm, and continued in this location for one year; then the discharge shifted to a sore on the thumb, and at the end of another six months again changed, the next location being on the upper eyelid; here it continued for a period of two years. brierre de boismont and meisner describe a case apparently identical with the foregoing, though not quoting the source. haller, in a collection of physiologic curiosities covering a period of a century and a half, cites instances of menstruation from the skin. parrot has also mentioned several cases of this nature. chambers speaks of bloody sweat occurring periodically in a woman of twenty-seven; the intervals, however, were occasionally but a week or a fortnight, and the exudation was not confined to any one locality. van swieten quotes the history of a case of suppression of the menstrual function in which there were convulsive contractions of the body, followed by paralysis of the right arm. later on, the patient received a blow on the left eye causing amaurosis; swelling of this organ followed, and one month later blood issued from it, and subsequently blood oozed from the skin of the nose, and ran in jets from the skin of the fingers and from the nails. d'andrade cites an account of a healthy parsee lady, eighteen years of age, who menstruated regularly from thirteen to fifteen and a half years; the catamenia then became irregular and she suffered occasional hemorrhages from the gums and nose, together with attacks of hematemesis. the menstruation returned, but she never became pregnant, and, later, blood issued from the healthy skin of the left breast and right forearm, recurring every month or two, and finally additional dermal hemorrhage developed on the forehead. microscopic examination of the exuded blood showed usual constituents present. there are two somewhat similar cases spoken of in french literature. the first was that of a young lady, who, after ten years' suppression of the menstrual discharge, exhibited the flow from a vesicular eruption on the finger. the other case was quite peculiar, the woman being a prostitute, who menstruated from time to time through spots, the size of a five-franc piece, developing on the breasts, buttocks, back, axilla, and epigastrium. barham records a case similar to the foregoing, in which the menstruation assumed the character of periodic purpura. duchesne mentions an instance of complete amenorrhea, in which the ordinary flow was replaced by periodic sweats. parrot speaks of a woman who, when seven months old, suffered from strumous ulcers, which left cicatrices on the right hand, from whence, at the age of six years, issued a sanguineous discharge with associate convulsions. one day, while in violent grief, she shed bloody tears. she menstruated at the age of eleven, and was temporarily improved in her condition; but after any strong emotion the hemorrhages returned. the subsidence of the bleeding followed her first pregnancy, but subsequently on one occasion, when the menses were a few days in arrears, she exhibited a blood-like exudation from the forehead, eyelids, and scalp. as in the case under d'andrade's observation, the exudation was found by microscopic examination to consist of the true constituents of blood. an additional element of complication in this case was the occurrence of occasional attacks of hematemesis. menstruation from the breasts.--being in close sympathy with the generative function, we would naturally expect to find the female mammae involved in cases of anomalous menstruation, and the truth of this supposition is substantiated in the abundance of such cases on record. schenck reports instances of menstruation from the nipple; and richter, de fontechia, laurentius, marcellus donatus, amatus lusitanus, and bierling are some of the older writers who have observed this anomaly. pare says the wife of pierre de feure, an iron merchant, living at chasteaudun, menstruated such quantities from the breasts each month that several serviettes were necessary to receive the discharge. cazenave details the history of a case in which the mammary menstruation was associated with a similar exudation from the face, and wolff saw an example associated with hemorrhage from the fauces. in the lancet ( - ) is an instance of monthly discharge from beneath the left mamma. finley also writes of an example of mammary hemorrhage simulating menstruation. barnes saw a case in st. george's hospital, london, , in which the young girl menstruated vicariously from the nipple and stomach. in a london discussion there was mentioned the case of a healthy woman of fifty who never was pregnant, and whose menstruation had ceased two years previously, but who for twelve months had menstruated regularly from the nipples, the hemorrhage being so profuse as to require constant change of napkins. the mammae were large and painful, and the accompanying symptoms were those of ordinary menstruation. boulger mentions an instance of periodic menstrual discharge from beneath the left mamma. jacobson speaks of habitual menstruation by both breasts. rouxeau describes amenorrhea in a girl of seventeen, who menstruated from the breast; and teufard reports a case in which there was reestablishment of menstruation by the mammae at the age of fifty-six. baker details in full the description of a case of vicarious menstruation from an ulcer on the right mamma of a woman of twenty. at the time he was called to see her she was suffering with what was called "green-sickness." the girl had never menstruated regularly or freely. the right mamma was quite well developed, flaccid, the nipple prominent, and the superficial veins larger and more tortuous than usual. the patient stated that the right mamma had always been larger than the left. the areola was large and well marked, and / inch from its outer edge, immediately under the nipple, there was an ulcer with slightly elevated edges measuring about / inches across the base, and having an opening in its center / inch in diameter, covered with a thin scab. by removing the scab and making pressure at the base of the ulcer, drops of thick, mucopurulent matter were made to exude. this discharge, however, was not offensive to the smell. on march , , the breast became much enlarged and congested, as portrayed in plate . the ulcer was much inflamed and painful, the veins corded and deep colored, and there was a free discharge of sanguineous yellowish matter. when the girl's general health improved and menstruation became more natural, the vicarious discharge diminished in proportion, and the ulcer healed shortly afterward. every month this breast had enlarged, the ulcer became inflamed and discharged vicariously, continuing in this manner for a few days, with all the accompanying menstrual symptoms, and then dried up gradually. it was stated that the ulcer was the result of the girl's stooping over some bushes to take an egg from a hen's nest, when the point of a palmetto stuck in her breast and broke off. the ulcer subsequently formed, and ultimately discharged a piece of palmetto. this happened just at the time of the beginning of the menstrual epoch. the accompanying figures, plate , show the breast in the ordinary state and at the time of the anomalous discharge. hancock relates an instance of menstruation from the left breast in a large, otherwise healthy, englishwoman of thirty-one, who one and a half years after the birth of the youngest child (now ten years old) commenced to have a discharge of fluid from the left breast three days before the time of the regular period. as the fluid escaped from the nipple it became changed in character, passing from a whitish to a bloody and to a yellowish color respectively, and suddenly terminating at the beginning of the real flow from the uterus, to reappear again at the breast at the close of the flow, and then lasting two or three days longer. some pain of a lancinating type occurred in the breast at this time. the patient first discovered her peculiar condition by a stain of blood upon the night-gown on awakening in the morning, and this she traced to the breast. from an examination it appeared that a neglected lacerated cervix during the birth of the last child had given rise to endometritis, and for a year the patient had suffered from severe menorrhagia, for which she was subsequently treated. at this time the menses became scanty, and then supervened the discharge of bloody fluid from the left breast, as heretofore mentioned. the right breast remained always entirely passive. a remarkable feature of the case was that some escape of fluid occurred from the left breast during coitus. as a possible means of throwing light on this subject it may be added that the patient was unusually vigorous, and during the nursing of her two children she had more than the ordinary amount of milk (galactorrhea), which poured from the breast constantly. since this time the breasts had been quite normal, except for the tendency manifested in the left one under the conditions given. cases of menstruation through the eyes are frequently mentioned by the older writers. bellini, hellwig, and dodonaeus all speak of menstruation from the eye. jonston quotes an example of ocular menstruation in a young saxon girl, and bartholinus an instance associated with bloody discharge of the foot. guepin has an example in a case of a girl of eighteen, who commenced to menstruate when three years old. the menstruation was tolerably regular, occurring every thirty-two or thirty-three days, and lasting from one to six days. at the cessation of the menstrual flow, she generally had a supplementary epistaxis, and on one occasion, when this was omitted, she suffered a sudden effusion into the anterior chamber of the eye. the discharge had only lasted two hours on this occasion. he also relates an example of hemorrhage into the vitreous humor in a case of amenorrhea. conjunctival hemorrhage has been noticed as a manifestation of vicarious menstruation by several american observers. liebreich found examples of retinal hemorrhage in suppressed menstruation, and sir james paget says that he has seen a young girl at moorfields who had a small effusion of blood into the anterior chamber of the eye at the menstrual period, which became absorbed during the intervals of menstruation. blair relates the history of a case of vicarious menstruation attended with conjunctivitis and opacity of the cornea. law speaks of a plethoric woman of thirty who bled freely from the eyes, though menstruating regularly. relative to menstruation from the ear, spindler, paullini, and alibert furnish examples. in paullini's case the discharge is spoken of as very foul, which makes it quite possible that this was a case of middle-ear disease associated with some menstrual disturbance, and not one of true vicarious menstruation. alibert's case was consequent upon suppression of the menses. law cites an instance in a woman of twenty-three, in whom the menstrual discharge was suspended several months. she experienced fulness of the head and bleeding (largely from the ears), which subsequently occurred periodically, being preceded by much throbbing; but the patient finally made a good recovery. barnes, stepanoff, and field adduce examples of this anomaly. jouilleton relates an instance of menstruation from the right ear for five years, following a miscarriage. hemorrhage from the mouth of a vicarious nature has been frequently observed associated with menstrual disorders. the ephemerides, meibomius, and rhodius mention instances. the case of meibomius was that of an infant, and the case mentioned by rhodius was associated with hemorrhages from the lungs, umbilicus, thigh, and tooth-cavity. allport reports the history of a case in which there was recession of the gingival margins and alveolar processes, the consequence of amenorrhea. caso has an instance of menstruation from the gums, and there is on record the description of a woman, aged thirty-two, who had bleeding from the throat preceding menstruation; later the menstruation ceased to be regular, and four years previously, after an unfortunate and violent connection, the menses ceased, and the woman soon developed hemorrhoids and hemoptysis. henry speaks of a woman who menstruated from the mouth; at the necropsy stones were found in the gall-bladder. krishaber speaks of a case of lingual menstruation at the epoch of menstruation. descriptions of menstruation from the extremities are quite numerous. pechlin offers an example from the foot; boerhaave from the skin of the hand; ephemerides from the knee; albertus from the foot; zacutus lusitanus from the left thumb; bartholinus a curious instance from the hand; and the ephemerides another during pregnancy from the ankle. post speaks of a very peculiar case of edema of the arm alternating with the menstrual discharge. sennert writes of menstruation from the groin associated with hemorrhage from the umbilicus and gums. moses offers an example of hemorrhage from the umbilicus, doubtless vicarious. verduc details the history of two cases from the top of the head, and kerokring cites three similar instances, one of which was associated with hemorrhage from the hand. a peculiar mode is vicarious menstrual hemorrhage through old ulcers, wounds, or cicatrices, and many examples are on record, a few of which will be described. calder gives an excellent account of menstruation at an ankle-ulcer, and brincken says he has seen periodical bleeding from the cicatrix of a leprous ulcer. in the lancet is an account of a case in the vienna hospital of simulated stigmata; the scar opened each month and a menstrual flow proceeded therefrom; but by placing a plaster-of-paris bandage about the wound, sealing it so that tampering with the wound could be easily detected, healing soon ensued, and the imposture was thus exposed. such would likely be the result of the investigation of most cases of "bleeding wounds" which are exhibited to the ignorant and superstitious for religious purposes. hogg publishes a report describing a young lady who injured her leg with the broken steel of her crinoline. the wound healed nicely, but always burst out afresh the day preceding the regular period. forster speaks of a menstrual ulcer of the face, and moses two of the head. white, quoted by barnes, cites an instance of vicarious hemorrhage from five deep fissures of the lips in a girl of fourteen; the hemorrhage was periodical and could not be checked. at the advent of each menstrual period the lips became much congested, and the recently-healed menstrual scars burst open anew. knaggs relates an interesting account of a sequel to an operation for ovarian disease. following the operation, there was a regular, painless menstruation every month, at which time the lower part of the wound re-opened, and blood issued forth during the three days of the catamenia. mcgraw illustrates vicarious menstruation by an example, the discharge issuing from an ovariotomy-scar, and hooper cites an instance in which the vicarious function was performed by a sloughing ulcer. buchanan and simpson describe "amenorrheal ulcers." dupuytren speaks of denudation of the skin from a burn, with the subsequent development of vicarious catamenia from the seat of the injury. there are cases on record in which the menstruation occurs by the rectum or the urinary tract. barbee illustrates this by a case in which cholera morbus occurred monthly in lieu of the regular menstrual discharge. barrett speaks of a case of vicarious menstruation by the rectum. astbury says he has seen a case of menstruation by the hemorrhoidal vessels, and instances of relief from plethora by vicarious menstruation in this manner are quite common. rosenbladt cites an instance of menstruation by the bladder, and salmuth speaks of a pregnant woman who had her monthly flow by the urinary tract. ford illustrates this anomaly by the case of a woman of thirty-two, who began normal menstruation at fourteen; for quite a period she had vicarious menstruation from the urinary tract, which ceased after the birth of her last child. the coexistence of a floating kidney in this case may have been responsible for this hemorrhage, and in reading reports of so-called menstruation due consideration must be given to the existence of any other than menstrual derangement before we can accept the cases as true vicarious hemorrhage. tarnier cites an instance of a girl without a uterus, in whom menstruation proceeded from the vagina. zacutus lusitanus relates the history of a case of uterine occlusion, with the flow from the lips of the cervix. there is mentioned an instance of menstruation from the labia. the occurrence of menstruation after removal of the uterus or ovaries is frequently reported. storer, clay, tait, and the british and foreign medico-chirurgical review report cases in which menstruation took place with neither uterus nor ovary. doubtless many authentic instances like the preceding could be found to-day. menstruation after hysterectomy and ovariotomy has been attributed to the incomplete removal of the organs in question, yet upon postmortem examination of some cases no vestige of the functional organs in question has been found. hematemesis is a means of anomalous menstruation, and several instances are recorded. marcellus donatus and benivenius exemplify this with cases. instances of vicarious and compensatory epistaxis and hemoptysis are so common that any examples would be superfluous. there is recorded an inexplicable case of menstruation from the region of the sternum, and among the curious anomalies of menstruation must be mentioned that reported by parvin seen in a woman, who, at the menstrual epoch, suffered hemoptysis and oozing of blood from the lips and tongue. occasionally there was a substitution of a great swelling of the tongue, rendering mastication and articulation very difficult for four or five days. parvin gives portraits showing the venous congestion and discoloration of the lips. instances of migratory menstruation, the flow moving periodically from the ordinary passage to the breasts and mammae, are found in the older writers. salmuth speaks of a woman on whose hands appeared spots immediately before the establishment of the menses. cases of semimonthly menstruation and many similar anomalies of periodicity are spoken of. the ephemerides contains an instance of the simulation of menstruation after death, and testa speaks of menstruation lasting through a long sleep. instances of black menstruation are to be found, described in full, in the ephemerides, by paullini and by schurig, and in some of the later works; it is possible that an excess of iron, administered for some menstrual disorder, may cause such an alteration in the color of the menstrual fluid. suppression of menstruation is brought about in many peculiar ways, and sometimes by the slightest of causes, some authentic instances being so strange as to seem mythical. through the ephemerides we constantly read of such causes as contact with a corpse, the sight of a serpent or mouse, the sight of monsters, etc. lightning stroke and curious neuroses have been reported as causes. many of the older books on obstetric subjects are full of such instances, and modern illustrations are constantly reported. menstruation in man.--periodic discharges of blood in man, constituting what is called "male menstruation," have been frequently noticed and are particularly interesting when the discharge is from the penis or urethra, furnishing a striking analogy to the female function of menstruation. the older authors quoted several such instances, and mehliss says that in the ancient days certain writers remarked that catamenial lustration from the penis was inflicted on the jews as a divine punishment. bartholinus mentions a case in a youth; the ephemerides several instances; zacutus lusitanus, salmuth, hngedorn, fabricius hildanus, vesalius, mead, and acta eruditorum all mention instances. forel saw menstruation in a man. gloninger tells of a man of thirty-six, who, since the age of seventeen years and five months, had had lunar manifestations of menstruation. each attack was accompanied by pains in the back and hypogastric region, febrile disturbance, and a sanguineous discharge from the urethra, which resembled in color, consistency, etc., the menstrual flux. king relates that while attending a course of medical lectures at the university of louisiana he formed the acquaintance of a young student who possessed the normal male generative organs, but in whom the simulated function of menstruation was periodically performed. the cause was inexplicable, and the unfortunate victim was the subject of deep chagrin, and was afflicted with melancholia. he had menstruated for three years in this manner: a fluid exuded from the sebaceous glands of the deep fossa behind the corona glandis; this fluid was of the same appearance as the menstrual flux. the quantity was from one to two ounces, and the discharge lasted from three to six days. at this time the student was twenty-two years of age, of a lymphatic temperament, not particularly lustful, and was never the victim of any venereal disease. the author gives no account of the after-life of this man, his whereabouts being, unfortunately, unknown or omitted. vicarious menstruation in the male.--this simulation of menstruation by the male assumes a vicarious nature as well as in the female. van swieten, quoting from benivenius, relates a case of a man who once a month sweated great quantities of blood from his right flank. pinel mentions a case of a captain in the army (m. regis), who was wounded by a bullet in the body and who afterward had a monthly discharge from the urethra. pinel calls attention particularly to the analogy in this case by mentioning that if the captain were exposed to fatigue, privation, cold, etc., he exhibited the ordinary symptoms of amenorrhea or suppression. fournier speaks of a man over thirty years old, who had been the subject of a menstrual evacuation since puberty, or shortly after his first sexual intercourse. he would experience pains of the premenstrual type, about twenty-four hours before the appearance of the flow, which subsided when the menstruation began. he was of an intensely voluptuous nature, and constantly gave himself up to sexual excesses. the flow was abundant on the first day, diminished on the second, and ceased on the third. halliburton, jouilleton, and rayman also record male menstruation. cases of menstruation during pregnancy and lactation are not rare. it is not uncommon to find pregnancy, lactation, and menstruation coexisting. no careful obstetrician will deny pregnancy solely on the regular occurrence of the menstrual periods, any more than he would make the diagnosis of pregnancy from the fact of the suppression of menses. blake reports an instance of catamenia and mammary secretion during pregnancy. denaux de breyne mentions a similar case. the child was born by a face-presentation. de saint-moulin cites an instance of the persistence of menstruation during pregnancy in a woman of twenty-four, who had never been regular; the child was born at term. gelly speaks of a case in which menstruation continued until the third month of pregnancy, when abortion occurred. post, in describing the birth of a two-pound child, mentions that menstruation had persisted during the mother's pregnancy. rousset reports a peculiar case in which menstruation appeared during the last four months of pregnancy. there are some cases on record of child-bearing after the menopause, as, for instance, that of pearson, of a woman who had given birth to nine children up to september, ; after this the menses appeared only slightly until july, , when they ceased entirely. a year and a half after this she was delivered of her tenth child. other cases, somewhat similar, will be found under the discussion of late conception. precocious menstruation is seen from birth to nine or ten years. of course, menstruation before the third or fourth year is extremely rare, most of the cases reported before this age being merely accidental sanguineous discharges from the genitals, not regularly periodical, and not true catamenia. however, there are many authentic cases of infantile menstruation on record, which were generally associated with precocious development in other parts as well. billard says that the source of infantile menstruation is the lining membrane of the uterus; but camerer explains it as due to ligature of the umbilical cord before the circulation in the pulmonary vessels is thoroughly established. in the consideration of this subject, we must bear in mind the influence of climate and locality on the time of the appearance of menstruation. in the southern countries, girls arrive at maturity at an earlier age than their sisters of the north. medical reports from india show early puberty of the females of that country. campbell remarks that girls attain the age of puberty at twelve in siam, while, on the contrary, some observers report the fact that menstruation does not appear in the esquimaux women until the age of twenty-three, and then is very scanty, and is only present in the summer months. cases of menstruation commencing within a few days after birth and exhibiting periodical recurrence are spoken of by penada, neues hannoverisehes magazin, drummond, buxtorf, arnold, the lancet, and the british medical journal. cecil relates an instance of menstruation on the sixth day, continuing for five days, in which six or eight drams of blood were lost. peeples cites an instance in texas in an infant at the age of five days, which was associated with a remarkable development of the genital organs and breasts. van swieten offers an example at the first month; the british medical journal at the second month; conarmond at the third month. ysabel, a young slave girl belonging to don carlos pedro of havana, began to menstruate soon after birth, and at the first year was regular in this function. at birth her mamma were well developed and her axillae were slightly covered with hair. at the age of thirty-two months she was three feet ten inches tall, and her genitals and mammae resembled those of a girl of thirteen. her voice was grave and sonorous; her moral inclinations were not known. deever records an instance of a child two years and seven months old who, with the exception of three months only, had menstruated regularly since the fourth month. harle speaks of a child, the youngest of three girls, who had a bloody discharge at the age of five months which lasted three days and recurred every month until the child was weaned at the tenth month. at the eleventh month it returned and continued periodically until death, occasioned by diarrhea at the fourteenth month. the necropsy showed a uterus / inches long, the lips of which were congested; the left ovary was twice the size of the right, but displayed nothing strikingly abnormal. baillot and the british medical journal cite instances of menstruation at the fourth month. a case is on record of an infant who menstruated at the age of six months, and whose menses returned on the twenty-eighth day exactly. clark, wall, and the lancet give descriptions of cases at the ninth month. naegele has seen a case at the eighteenth month, and schmidt and colly in the second year. another case is that of a child, nineteen months old, whose breasts and external genitals were fully developed, although the child had shown no sexual desire, and did not exceed other children of the same age in intellectual development. this prodigy was symmetrically formed and of pleasant appearance. warner speaks of sophie gantz, of jewish parentage, born in cincinnati, july , , whose menses began at the twenty-third month and had continued regularly up to the time of reporting. at the age of three years and six months she was inches tall, pounds in weight, and her girth at the hip was / inches. the pelvis was broad and well shaped, and measured / inches from the anterior surface of the spinous process of one ilium to that of the other, being a little more than the standard pelvis of churchill, and, in consequence of this pelvic development, her legs were bowed. the mammae and labia had all the appearance of established puberty, and the pubes and axillae were covered with hair. she was lady-like and maidenly in her demeanor, without unnatural constraint or effrontery. a case somewhat similar, though the patient had the appearance of a little old woman, was a child of three whose breasts were as well developed as in a girl of twenty, and whose sexual organs resembled those of a girl at puberty. she had menstruated regularly since the age of two years. woodruff describes a child who began to menstruate at two years of age and continued regularly thereafter. at the age of six years she was still menstruating, and exhibited beginning signs of puberty. she was cm. tall, her breasts were developed, and she had hair on the mons veneris. van der veer mentions an infant who began menstruating at the early age of four months and had continued regularly for over two years. she had the features and development of a child ten or twelve years old. the external labia and the vulva in all its parts were well formed, and the mons veneris was covered with a full growth of hair. sir astley cooper, mandelshof, the ephemerides, rause, geoffroy-saint-hilaire, and several others a report instances of menstruation occurring at three years of age. le beau describes an infant prodigy who was born with the mammae well formed and as much hair on the mons veneris as a girl of thirteen or fourteen. she menstruated at three and continued to do so regularly, the flow lasting four days and being copious. at the age of four years and five months she was / inches tall; her features were regular, the complexion rosy, the hair chestnut, the eyes blue-gray, her mamma the size of a large orange, and indications that she would be able to bear children at the age of eight. prideaux cites a case at five, and gaugirau casals, a doctor of agde, has seen a girl of six years who suffered abdominal colic, hemorrhage from the nose, migraine, and neuralgia, all periodically, which, with the association of pruritus of the genitals and engorged mammae, led him to suspect amenorrhea. he ordered baths, and shortly the menstruation appeared and became regular thereafter. brierre de boismont records cases of catamenia at five, seven, and eight years; and skene mentions a girl who menstruated at ten years and five months. she was in the lowest grade of society, living with a drunken father in a tenement house, and was of wretched physical constitution, quite ignorant, and of low moral character, as evinced by her specific vaginitis. occurring from nine years to the ordinary time of puberty, many cases are recorded. instances of protracted menstruation are, as a rule, reliable, the individuals themselves being cognizant of the nature of true menstruation, and themselves furnishing the requisite information as to the nature and periodicity of the discharge in question. such cases range even past the century-mark. many elaborate statistics on this subject have been gathered by men of ability. dr. meyer of berlin quotes the following:-- at years of age, at years of age, " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " these statistics were from examination of cases of menstruating women. the last seven were found to be in women in the highest class of society. mehliss has made the following collection of statistics of a somewhat similar nature-- late dentition. late late male. female. lactation. menstruation. between and " " " " " " " " " " above ..... -- -- -- -- these statistics seem to have been made with the idea of illustrating the marvelous rather than to give the usual prolongation of these functions. it hardly seems possible that ordinary investigation would show no cases of menstruation between sixty and seventy, and seven cases between seventy and eighty; however, in searching literature for such a collection, we must bear in mind that the more extraordinary the instance, the more likely it is that it would be spoken of, as the natural tendency of medical men is to overlook the important ordinary and report the nonimportant extraordinary. dewees mentions an example of menstruation at sixty-five, and others at fifty-four and fifty-five years. motte speaks of a case at sixty-one; ryan and others, at fifty-five, sixty, and sixty-five; parry, from sixty-six to seventy seven; desormeux, from sixty to seventy-five; semple, at seventy and eighty seven; higgins, at seventy-six; whitehead, at seventy-seven; bernstein, at seventy-eight; beyrat, at eighty-seven; haller, at one hundred; and highest of all is blancardi's case, in which menstruation was present at one hundred and six years. in the london medical and surgical journal, , are reported cases at eighty and ninety-five years. in good's system of nosology there are instances occurring at seventy-one, eighty, and ninety years. there was a woman in italy whose menstrual function continued from twenty-four to ninety years. emmet cites an instance of menstruation at seventy, and brierre de boismont one of a woman who menstruated regularly from her twenty-fourth year to the time of her death at ninety-two. strasberger of beeskow describes a woman who ceased menstruating at forty-two, who remained in good health up to eighty, suffering slight attacks of rheumatism only, and at this late age was seized with abdominal pains, followed by menstruation, which continued for three years; the woman died the next year. this late menstruation had all the sensible characters of the early one. kennard mentions a negress, aged ninety-one, who menstruated at fourteen, ceased at forty-nine, and at eighty-two commenced again, and was regular for four years, but had had no return since. on the return of her menstruation, believing that her procreative powers were returning, she married a vigorous negro of thirty-five and experienced little difficulty in satisfying his desires. du peyrou de cheyssiole and bonhoure speak of an aged peasant woman, past ninety-one years of age, who menstruated regularly. petersen describes a woman of seventy-nine, who on march th was seized with uterine pains lasting a few days and terminating with hemorrhagic discharge. on april d she was seized again, and a discharge commenced on the th, continuing four days. up to the time of the report, one year after, this menstruation had been regular. there is an instance on record of a female who menstruated every three months during the period from her fiftieth to her seventy-fourth year, the discharge, however, being very slight. thomas cites an instance of a woman of sixty-nine who had had no menstruation since her forty-ninth year, but who commenced again the year he saw her. her mother and sister were similarly affected at the age of sixty, in the first case attributable to grief over the death of a son, in the second ascribed to fright. it seemed to be a peculiar family idiosyncrasy. velasquez of tarentum says that the abbess of monvicaro at the very advanced age of one hundred had a recurrence of catamenia after a severe illness, and subsequently a new set of teeth and a new growth of hair. late establishment of menstruation.--in some cases menstruation never appears until late in life, presenting the same phenomena as normal menstruation. perfect relates the history of a woman who had been married many years, and whose menstruation did not appear until her forty-seventh year. she was a widow at the time, and had never been pregnant. up to the time of her death, which was occasioned by a convulsive colic, in her fifty-seventh year, she had the usual prodromes of menstruation followed by the usual discharge. rodsewitch speaks of a widow of a peasant who menstruated for the first time at the age of thirty-six. her first coitus took place at the age of fifteen, before any signs of menstruation had appeared, and from this time all through her married life she was either pregnant or suckling. her husband died when thirty-six years old, and ever since the catamenial flow had shown itself with great regularity. she had borne twins in her second, fourth, and eighth confinement, and altogether had children. holdefrund in mentions a case in which menstruation did not commence until the seventieth year, and hoyer mentions one delayed to the seventy-sixth year. marx of krakau speaks of a woman, aged forty-eight, who had never menstruated; until forty-two years old she had felt no symptoms, but at this time pain began, and at forty-eight regular menstruation ensued. at the time of report, four years after, she was free from pain and amenorrhea, and her flow was regular, though scant. she had been married since she was twenty-eight years of age. a somewhat similar case is mentioned by gregory of a mother of children who had never had her menstrual flow. there are two instances of delayed menstruation quoted: the first, a woman of thirty, well formed, healthy, of good social position, and with all the signs of puberty except menstruation, which had never appeared; the second, a married woman of forty-two, who throughout a healthy connubial life had never menstruated. an instance is known to the authors of a woman of forty who has never menstruated, though she is of exceptional vigor and development. she has been married many years without pregnancy. the medical literature relative to precocious impregnation is full of marvelous instances. individually, many of the cases would be beyond credibility, but when instance after instance is reported by reliable authorities we must accept the possibility of their occurrence, even if we doubt the statements of some of the authorities. no less a medical celebrity than the illustrious sir astley cooper remarks that on one occasion he saw a girl in scotland, seven years old, whose pelvis was so fully developed that he was sure she could easily give birth to a child; and warner's case of the jewish girl three and a half years old, with a pelvis of normal width, more than substantiates this supposition. similar examples of precocious pelvic and sexual development are on record in abundance, and nearly every medical man of experience has seen cases of infantile masturbation. the ordinary period of female maturity is astonishingly late when compared with the lower animals of the same size, particularly when viewed with cases of animal precocity on record. berthold speaks of a kid fourteen days old which was impregnated by an adult goat, and at the usual period of gestation bore a kid, which was mature but weak, to which it gave milk in abundance, and both the mother and kid grew up strong. compared with the above, child-bearing by women of eight is not extraordinary. the earliest case of conception that has come to the authors' notice is a quotation in one of the last century books from von mandelslo of impregnation at six; but a careful search in the british museum failed to confirm this statement, and, for the present, we must accept the statement as hearsay and without authority available for reference-purposes. molitor gives an instance of precocious pregnancy in a child of eight. it was probably the same case spoken of by lefebvre and reported to the belgium academy: a girl, born in luxemborg, well developed sexually, having hair on the pubis at birth, who menstruated at four, and at the age of eight was impregnated by a cousin of thirty-seven, who was sentenced to five years' imprisonment for seduction. the pregnancy terminated by the expulsion of a mole containing a well-characterized human embryo. schmidt's case in was in a child who had menstruated at two, and bore a dead fetus when she was but eight years and ten months old. she had all the appearance and development of a girl of seventeen. kussmaul gives an example of conception at eight. dodd speaks of a child who menstruated early and continued up to the time of impregnation. she was a hard worker and did all her mother's washing. her labor pains did not continue over six hours, from first to the last. the child was a large one, weighing pounds, and afterward died in convulsions. the infant's left foot had but toes. the young mother at the time of delivery was only nine years and eight months old, and consequently must have been impregnated before the age of nine. meyer gives an astonishing instance of birth in a swiss girl at nine. carn describes a case of a child who menstruated at two, became pregnant at eight, and lived to an advanced age. ruttel reports conception in a girl of nine, and as far north as st. petersburg a girl has become a mother before nine years. the journal de scavans, , contains the report of the case of a boy, who survived, being born to a mother of nine years. beck has reported an instance of delivery in a girl a little over ten years of age. there are instances of fecundity at nine years recorded by ephemerides, wolffius, savonarola, and others. gleaves reports from wytheville, va., the history of what he calls the case of the youngest mother in virginia--annie h.--who was born in bland county, july , , and, on september , , was delivered of a well-formed child weighing pounds. the girl had not the development of a woman, although she had menstruated regularly since her fifth year. the labor was short and uneventful, and, two hours afterward, the child-mother wanted to arise and dress and would have done so had she been permitted. there were no developments of the mammae nor secretion of milk. the baby was nourished through its short existence (as it only lived a week) by its grandmother, who had a child only a few months old. the parents of this child were prosperous, intelligent, and worthy people, and there was no doubt of the child's age. "annie is now well and plays about with the other children as if nothing had happened." harris refers to a kentucky woman, a mother at ten years, one in massachusetts a mother at ten years, eight months, and seventeen days, and one in philadelphia at eleven years and three months. the first case was one of infantile precocity, the other belonging to a much later period, the menstrual function having been established but a few months prior to conception. all these girls had well-developed pelves, large mammae, and the general marks of womanhood, and bore living children. it has been remarked of very markedly precocious cases of pregnancy that one was the daughter of very humble parents, one born in an almshouse, and the other raised by her mother in a house of prostitution. the only significance of this statement is the greater amount of vice and opportunity for precocious sexual intercourse to which they were exposed; doubtless similar cases under more favorable conditions would never be recognized as such. the instance in the journal decavans is reiterated in , which is but such a repetition as is found all through medical literature--"new friends with old faces," as it were. haller observed a case of impregnation in a girl of nine, who had menstruated several years, and others who had become pregnant at nine, ten, and twelve years respectively. rowlett, whose case is mentioned by harris, saw a child who had menstruated the first year and regularly thereafter, and gave birth to a child weighing / pounds when she was only ten years and thirteen days old. at the time of delivery she measured feet inches in height and weighed pounds. curtis, who is also quoted by harris, relates the history of elizabeth drayton, who became pregnant before she was ten, and was delivered of a full-grown, living male child weighing pounds. she had menstruated once or twice before conception, was fairly healthy during gestation, and had a rather lingering but natural labor. to complete the story, the father of this child was a boy of fifteen. one of the faculty of montpellier has reported an instance at new orleans of a young girl of eleven, who became impregnated by a youth who was not yet sixteen. maygrier says that he knew a girl of twelve, living in the faubourg saint-germain, who was confined. harris relates the particulars of the case of a white girl who began to menstruate at eleven years and four months, and who gave birth to an over-sized male child on january , , when she was twelve years and nine months old. she had an abundance of milk and nursed the child; the labor was of about eighteen hours' duration, and laceration was avoided. he also speaks of a mulatto girl, born in , who began to menstruate at eleven years and nine months, and gave birth to a female child before she reached thirteen, and bore a second child when fourteen years and seven months old. the child's father was a white boy of seventeen. the following are some indian statistics: pregnancy at ten, at eleven, at eighteen, at nineteen. chevers speaks of a mother at ten and others at eleven and twelve; and green, at dacca, performed craniotomy upon the fetus of a girl of twelve. wilson gives an account of a girl thirteen years old, who gave birth to a full-grown female child after three hours' labor. she made a speedy convalescence, but the child died four weeks afterward from bad nursing. the lad who acknowledged paternity was nineteen years old. king reports a well-verified case of confinement in a girl of eleven. both the mother and child did well. robertson of manchester describes a girl, working in a cotton factory, who was a mother at twelve; de la motte mentions pregnancy before twelve; kilpatrick in a negress, at eleven years and six months; fox, at twelve; hall, at twelve; kinney, at twelve years, ten months, and sixteen days; herrick, at thirteen years and nine months; murillo, at thirteen years; philippart, at fourteen years; stallcup, at eleven years and nine months; stoakley, at thirteen years; walker, at the age of twelve years and eight months; another case, at twelve years and six months; and williams, at eleven. an editorial article in the indian medical gazette of sept., , says:-- "the appearance of menstruation is held by the great majority of natives of india to be evidence and proof of marriageability, but among the hindu community it is considered disgraceful that a girl should remain unmarried until this function is established. the consequence is that girls are married at the age of nine or ten years, but it is understood or professed that the consummation of the marriage is delayed until after the first menstrual period. there is, however, too much reason to believe that the earlier ceremony is very frequently, perhaps commonly, taken to warrant resort to sexual intercourse before the menstrual flux has occurred: it may be accepted as true that premenstrual copulation is largely practised under the cover of marriage in this country. "from this practice it results that girls become mothers at the earliest possible period of their lives. a native medical witness testified that in about per cent of marriages children were born by wives of from twelve to thirteen years of age. cases of death caused by the first act of sexual intercourse are by no means rare. they are naturally concealed, but ever and anon they come to light. dr. chevers mentioned some cases of this sort in the last edition of his 'handbook of medical jurisprudence for india,' and dr. harvey found in the medicolegal returns submitted by the civil surgeons of the bengal presidency during the years - - . "reform must come from conviction and effort, as in every other case, but meantime the strong arm of the law should be put forth for the protection of female children from the degradation and hurt entailed by premature sexual intercourse. this can easily be done by raising the age of punishable intercourse, which is now fixed at the absurd limit of ten years. menstruation very seldom appears in native girls before the completed age of twelve years, and if the 'age of consent' were raised to that limit, it would not interfere with the prejudices and customs which insist on marriage before menstruation." in some girls were admitted to the paris maternite as young as thirteen, and during the revolution several at eleven, and even younger. smith speaks of a legal case in which a girl, eleven years old, being safely delivered of a living child, charged her uncle with rape. allen speaks of a girl who became pregnant at twelve years and nine months, and was delivered of a healthy, -pound boy before the physician's arrival; the placenta came away afterward, and the mother made a speedy recovery. she was thought to have had "dropsy of the abdomen," as the parents had lost a girl of about the same age who was tapped for ascites. the father of the child was a boy only fourteen years of age. marvelous to relate, there are on record several cases of twins being born to a child mother. kay reports a case of twins in a girl of thirteen; montgomery, at fourteen; and meigs reports the case of a young girl, of spanish blood, at maracaibo, who gave birth to a child before she was twelve and to twins before reaching fourteen years. in the older works, the following authors have reported cases of pregnancy before the appearance of menstruation: ballonius, vogel, morgagni, the anatomist of the kidney, schenck, bartholinus, bierling, zacchias, charleton, mauriceau, ephemerides, and fabricius hildanus. in some cases this precocity seems to be hereditary, being transmitted from mother to daughter, bringing about an almost incredible state of affairs, in which a girl is a grandmother about the ordinary age of maternity. kay says that he had reported to him, on "pretty good" authority, an instance of a damascus jewess who became a grandmother at twenty-one years. in france they record a young grandmother of twenty-eight. ketchum speaks of a negress, aged thirteen, who gave birth to a well-developed child which began to menstruate at ten years and nine months and at thirteen became pregnant; hence the negress was a grandmother at twenty-five years and nine months. she had a second child before she was sixteen, who began to menstruate at seven years and six months, thus proving the inheritance of this precocity, and leaving us at sea to figure what degree of grandmother she may be if she lives to an advanced age. another interesting case of this nature is that of mrs. c., born , married in , and who had a daughter ten months after. this daughter married in , and in march, , gave birth to a -pound boy. the youthful grandmother, not twenty-nine, was present at the birth. this case was remarkable, as the children were both legitimate. fecundity in the old seems to have attracted fully as much attention among the older observers as precocity. pliny speaks of cornelia, of the family of serpios, who bore a son at sixty, who was named volusius saturnius; and marsa, a physician of venice, was deceived in a pregnancy in a woman of sixty, his diagnosis being "dropsy." tarenta records the history of the case of a woman who menstruated and bore children when past the age of sixty. among the older reports are those of blanchard of a woman who bore a child at sixty years; fielitz, one at sixty; ephemerides, one at sixty-two; rush, one at sixty; bernstein, one at sixty years; schoepfer, at seventy years; and, almost beyond belief, debes cites an instance as taking place at the very advanced age of one hundred and three. wallace speaks of a woman in the isle of orkney bearing children when past the age of sixty. we would naturally expect to find the age of child-bearing prolonged in the northern countries where the age of maturity is later. capuron cites an example of child-birth in a woman of sixty; haller, cases at fifty-eight, sixty-three, and seventy; dewees, at sixty-one; and thibaut de chauvalon, in a woman of martinique aged ninety years. there was a woman delivered in germany, in , at the age of fifty-five; one at fifty-one in kentucky; and one in russia at fifty. depasse speaks of a woman of fifty-nine years and five months old who was delivered of a healthy male child, which she suckled, weaning it on her sixtieth birthday. she had been a widow for twenty years, and had ceased to menstruate nearly ten years before. in st. peter's church, in east oxford, is a monument bearing an inscription recording the death in child-birth of a woman sixty-two years old. cachot relates the case of a woman of fifty-three, who was delivered of a living child by means of the forceps, and a year after bore a second child without instrumental interference. she had no milk in her breasts at the time and no signs of secretion. this aged mother had been married at fifty-two, five years after the cessation of her menstruation, and her husband was a young man, only twenty-four years old. kennedy reports a delivery at sixty-two years, and the cincinnati enquirer, january, , says: "dr. w. mccarthy was in attendance on a lady of sixty-nine years, on thursday night last, who gave birth to a fine boy. the father of the child is seventy-four years old, and the mother and child are doing well." quite recently there died in great britain a mrs. henry of gortree at the age of one hundred and twelve, leaving a daughter of nine years. mayham saw a woman seventy-three years old who recovered after delivery of a child. a most peculiar case is that of a widow, seventy years old, a native of garches. she had been in the habit of indulging freely in wine, and, during the last six months, to decided excess. after an unusually prolonged libation she found herself unable to walk home; she sat down by the roadside waiting until she could proceed, and was so found by a young man who knew her and who proposed helping her home. by the time her house was reached night was well advanced, and she invited him to stop over night; finding her more than affable, he stopped at her house over four nights, and the result of his visits was an ensuing pregnancy for madame. multiple births in the aged have been reported from authentic sources. the lancet quotes a rather fabulous account of a lady over sixty-two years of age who gave birth to triplets, making her total number of children . montgomery, colomb, and knehel, each, have recorded the birth of twins in women beyond the usual age of the menopause, and there is a case recorded of a woman of fifty-two who was delivered of twins. impregnation without completion of the copulative act by reason of some malformation, such as occlusion of the vagina or uterus, fibrous and unruptured hymen, etc., has been a subject of discussion in the works of medical jurisprudence of all ages; and cases of conception without entrance of the penis are found in abundance throughout medical literature, and may have an important medicolegal bearing. there is little doubt of the possibility of spermatozoa deposited on the genitalia making progress to the seat of fertilization, as their power of motility and tenacity of life have been well demonstrated. percy reports an instance in which semen was found issuing from the os uteri eight and one-half days after the last intercourse; and a microscopic examination of this semen revealed the presence of living as well as dead spermatozoa. we have occasional instances of impregnation by rectal coitus, the semen finding its way into an occluded vaginal canal by a fistulous communication. guillemeau, the surgeon of the french king, tells of a girl of eighteen, who was brought before the french officials in paris, in , on the citation of her husband of her inability to allow him completion of the marital function. he alleged that he had made several unsuccessful attempts to enter her, and in doing so had caused paraphimosis. on examination by the surgeons she was found to have a dense membrane, of a fibrous nature, entirely occluding the vagina, which they incised. immediately afterward the woman exhibited morning sickness and the usual signs of pregnancy, and was delivered in four months of a full-term child, the results of an impregnation occasioned by one of the unsuccessful attempts at entrance. such instances are numerous in the older literature, and a mere citation of a few is considered sufficient here. zacchias, amand, fabricius hildanus, graaf, the discoverer of the follicles that bear his name, borellus, blegny, blanchard, diemerbroeck, duddell, mauriceau, a reyes, riolan, harvey, the discoverer of the circulation of the blood, wolfius, walther, rongier, ruysch, forestus, ephemerides, and schurig all mention cases of conception with intact hymen, and in which there was no entrance of the penis. tolberg has an example of hymen integrum after the birth of a fetus five months old, and there is recorded a case of tubal pregnancy in which the hymen was intact. gilbert gives an account of a case of pregnancy in an unmarried woman, who successfully resisted an attempt at criminal connection and yet became impregnated and gave birth to a perfectly formed female child. the hymen was not ruptured, and the impregnation could not have preceded the birth more than thirty-six weeks. unfortunately, this poor woman was infected with gonorrhea after the attempted assault. simmons of st. louis gives a curious peculiarity of conception, in which there was complete closure of the vagina, subsequent conception, and delivery at term. he made the patient's acquaintance from her application to him in regard to a malcondition of her sexual apparatus, causing much domestic infelicity. lawson speaks of a woman of thirty-five, who had been married ten months, and whose husband could never effect an entrance; yet she became pregnant and had a normal labor, despite the fact that, in addition to a tough and unruptured hymen, she had an occluding vaginal cyst. hickinbotham of birmingham reports the history of two cases of labor at term in females whose hymens were immensely thickened. h. grey edwards has seen a case of imperforate hymen which had to be torn through in labor; yet one single act of copulation, even with this obstacle to entrance, sufficed to impregnate. champion speaks of a woman who became pregnant although her hymen was intact. she had been in the habit of having coitus by the urethra, and all through her pregnancy continued this practice. houghton speaks of a girl of twenty-five into whose vagina it was impossible to pass the tip of the first finger on account of the dense cicatricial membrane in the orifice, but who gave birth, with comparative ease, to a child at full term, the only interference necessary being a few slight incisions to permit the passage of the head. tweedie saw an irish girl of twenty-three, with an imperforate os uteri, who had menstruated only scantily since fourteen and not since her marriage. she became pregnant and went to term, and required some operative interference. he incised at the point of usual location of the os, and one of his incisions was followed by the flow of liquor amnii, and the head fell upon the artificial opening, the diameter of which proved to be one and a half or two inches; the birth then progressed promptly, the child being born alive. guerard notes an instance in which the opening barely admitted a hair; yet the patient reached the third month of pregnancy, at which time she induced abortion in a manner that could not be ascertained. roe gives a case of conception in an imperforate uterus, and duncan relates the history of a case of pregnancy in an unruptured hymen, characterized by an extraordinary ascent of the uterus. among many, the following modern observers have also reported instances of pregnancy with hymen integrum: braun, cases; francis, horton, oakman, brill, cases; burgess, haig, hay, and smith. instances in which the presence of an unruptured hymen has complicated or retarded actual labor are quite common, and until the membrane is ruptured by external means the labor is often effectually obstructed. among others reporting cases of this nature are beale, carey, davis, emond fetherston, leisenring, mackinlay, martinelli, palmer, rousseau, ware, and yale. there are many cases of stricture or complete occlusion of the vagina, congenital or acquired from cicatricial contraction, obstructing delivery, and in some the impregnation seems more marvelous than cases in which the obstruction is only a thin membranous hymen. often the obstruction is so dense as to require a large bistoury to divide it, and even that is not always sufficient, and the cesarean operation only can terminate the obstructed delivery; we cannot surmise how conception could have been possible. staples records a case of pregnancy and parturition with congenital stricture of the vagina. maisonneuve mentions the successful practice of a cesarean operation in a case of congenital occlusion of the vagina forming a complete obstruction to delivery. verdile records an instance of imperforate vagina in which rectovaginal wall was divided and the delivery effected through the rectum and anus. lombard mentions an observation of complete occlusion of the vagina in a woman, the mother of living children and pregnant for the fifth time. thus, almost incredible to relate, it is possible for a woman to become a mother of a living child and yet preserve all the vaginal evidences of virginity. cole describes a woman of twenty-four who was delivered without the rupture of the hymen, and meek remarks on a similar case. we can readily see that, in a case like that of verdile, in which rectal delivery is effected, the hymen could be left intact and the product of conception be born alive. a natural sequence to the subject of impregnation without entrance is that of artificial impregnation. from being a matter of wonder and hearsay, it has been demonstrated as a practical and useful method in those cases in which, by reason of some unfortunate anatomic malformation on either the male or the female side, the marriage is unfruitful. there are many cases constantly occurring in which the birth of an heir is a most desirable thing in a person's life. the historic instance of queen mary of england, whose anxiety and efforts to bear a child were the subject of public comment and prayers, is but an example of a fact that is occurring every day, and doubtless some of these cases could be righted by the pursuance of some of the methods suggested. there have been rumors from the beginning of the century of women being impregnated in a bath, from contact with cloths containing semen, etc., and some authorities in medical jurisprudence have accepted the possibility of such an occurrence. it is not in the province of this work to speculate on what may be, but to give authoritative facts, from which the reader may draw his own deductions. fertilization of plants has been thought to have been known in the oldest times, and there are some who believe that the library at alexandria must have contained some information relative to it. the first authentic account that we have of artificial impregnation is that of schwammerdam, who in attempted it without success by the fecundation of the eggs of fish. roesel, his scholar, made an attempt in , but also failed; and to jacobi, in , belongs the honor of success. in , abbe spallanzani, following up the success of jacobi, artificially impregnated a bitch, who brought forth in sixty-two days puppies, all resembling the male. the illustrious john hunter advised a man afflicted with hypospadias to impregnate his wife by vaginal injections of semen in water with an ordinary syringe, and, in spite of the simplicity of this method, the attempt was followed by a successful issue. since this time, nicholas of nancy and lesueur have practised the simple vaginal method; while gigon, d'angouleme ( cases), girault ( cases), marion sims, thomas, salmon, pajot, gallard, courty, roubaud, dehaut, and others have used the more modern uterine method with success. a dog-breeder, by syringing the uterus of a bitch, has succeeded in impregnating her. those who are desirous of full information on this subject, as regards the modus operandi, etc., are referred to girault; this author reports in full several examples. one case was that of a woman, aged twenty-five, afflicted with blenorrhea, who, chagrined at not having issue, made repeated forcible injections of semen in water for two months, and finally succeeded in impregnating herself, and was delivered of a living child. another case was that of a female, aged twenty-three, who had an extra long vaginal canal, probably accounting for the absence of pregnancy. she made injections of semen, and was finally delivered of a child. he also reports the case of a distinguished musician who, by reason of hypospadias, had never impregnated his wife, and had resorted to injections of semen with a favorable result. this latter case seems hardly warranted when we consider that men afflicted with hypospadias and epispadias have become fathers. percy gives the instance of a gentleman whom he had known for some time, whose urethra terminated a little below the frenum, as in other persons, but whose glans bulged quite prominently beyond it, rendering urination in the forward direction impossible. despite the fact that this man could not perform the ejaculatory function, he was the father of three children, two of them inheriting his penile formation. the fundamental condition of fecundity being the union of a spermatozoid and an ovum, the object of artificial impregnation is to further this union by introducing semen directly to the fundus of the uterus. the operation is quite simple and as follows: the husband, having been found perfectly healthy, is directed to cohabit with his wife, using a condom. the semen ejaculated is sucked up by an intrauterine syringe which has been properly disinfected and kept warm. the os uteri is now exposed and wiped off with some cotton which has been dipped in an antiseptic fluid; introduced to the fundus of the uterus, and some drops of the fluid slowly expressed into the uterus. the woman is then kept in bed on her back. this operation is best carried out immediately before or immediately after the menstrual epoch, and if not successful at the first attempt should be repeated for several months. at the present day artificial impregnation in pisciculture is extensively used with great success. {footnote} the following extraordinary incident of accidental impregnation, quoted from the american medical weekly by the lancet, is given in brief, not because it bears any semblance of possibility, but as a curious example from the realms of imagination in medicine. l. g. capers of vicksburg, miss., relates an incident during the late civil war, as follows: a matron and her two daughters, aged fifteen and seventeen years, filled with the enthusiasm of patriotism, stood ready to minister to the wounds of their countrymen in their fine residence near the scene of the battle of r----, may , , between a portion of grant's army and some confederates. during the fray a gallant and noble young friend of the narrator staggered and fell to the earth; at the same time a piercing cry was heard in the house near by. examination of the wounded soldier showed that a bullet had passed through the scrotum and carried away the left testicle. the same bullet had apparently penetrated the left side of the abdomen of the elder young lady, midway between the umbilicus and the anterior superior spinous process of the ilium, and had become lost in the abdomen. this daughter suffered an attack of peritonitis, but recovered in two months under the treatment administered. marvelous to relate, just two hundred and seventy-eight days after the reception of the minie-ball, she was delivered of a fine boy, weighing pounds, to the surprise of herself and the mortification of her parents and friends. the hymen was intact, and the young mother strenuously insisted on her virginity and innocence. about three weeks after this remarkable birth dr. capers was called to see the infant, and the grandmother insisted that there was something wrong with the child's genitals. examination showed a rough, swollen, and sensitive scrotum, containing some hard substance. he operated, and extracted a smashed and battered minie-ball. the doctor, after some meditation, theorized in this manner: he concluded that this was the same ball that had carried away the testicle of his young friend, that had penetrated the ovary of the young lady, and, with some spermatozoa upon it, had impregnated her. with this conviction he approached the young man and told him the circumstances; the soldier appeared skeptical at first, but consented to visit the young mother; a friendship ensued which soon ripened into a happy marriage, and the pair had three children, none resembling, in the same degree as the first, the heroic pater familias. interesting as are all the anomalies of conception, none are more so than those of unconscious impregnation; and some well-authenticated cases can be mentioned. instances of violation in sleep, with subsequent pregnancy as a result, have been reported in the last century by valentini, genselius, and schurig. reports by modern authorities seem to be quite scarce, though there are several cases on record of rape during anesthesia, followed by impregnation. capuron relates a curious instance of a woman who was raped during lethargy, and who subsequently became pregnant, though her condition was not ascertained until the fourth month, the peculiar abdominal sensation exciting suspicion of the true nature of the case, which had previously been thought impossible. there is a record of a case of a young girl of great moral purity who became pregnant without the slightest knowledge of the source; although, it might be remarked, such cases must be taken "cum grano salis." cases of conception without the slightest sexual desire or pleasure, either from fright, as in rape, or naturally deficient constitution, have been recorded; as well as conception during intoxication and in a hypnotic trance, which latter has recently assumed a much mooted legal aspect. as far back as , duverney speaks of conception without the slightest sense of desire or pleasure on the part of the female. conception with deficient organs.--having spoken of conception with some obstructive interference, conception with some natural or acquired deficiency of the functional, organic, or genital apparatus must be considered. it is a well-known fact that women exhibiting rudimentary development of the uterus or vagina are still liable to become pregnant, and many such cases have been recorded; but the most peculiar cases are those in which pregnancy has appeared after removal of some of the sexual apparatus. pregnancy going to term with a successful delivery frequently follows the performance of ovariotomy with astonishing rapidity. olier cites an instance of ovariotomy with a pregnancy of twins three months afterward, and accouchement at term of two well-developed boys. polaillon speaks of a pregnancy consecutive to ovariotomy, the accouchement being normal at term. crouch reports a case of successful parturition in a patient who had previously undergone ovariotomy by a large incision. parsons mentions a case of twin pregnancy two years after ovariotomy attended with abnormal development of one of the children. cutter speaks of a case in which a woman bore a child one year after the performance of ovariotomy, and pippingskold of two cases of pregnancy after ovariotomy in which the stump as well as the remaining ovary were cauterized. brown relates a similar instance with successful delivery. bixby, harding, walker ( - ), and mears all report cases, and others are not at all rare. in the cases following shortly after operation, it has been suggested that they may be explained by the long retention of the ova in the uterus, deposited them prior to operation. in the presence of such facts one can but wonder if artificial fecundation of an ovum derived from another woman may ever be brought about in the uterus of a sterile woman! conception soon after a preceding pregnancy.--conception sometimes follows birth (or abortion) with astonishing rapidity, and some women seem for a period of their lives either always pregnant or with infants at their breasts. this prolificity is often alluded to, and is not confined to the lower classes, as often stated, but is common even among the nobility. illustrative of this, we have examples in some of the reigning families in europe to-day. a peculiar instance is given by sparkman in which a woman conceived just forty hours after abortion. rice mentions the case of a woman who was confined with her first child, a boy, on july , , and was again delivered of another child on june , . she had become pregnant twenty-eight days after delivery. he also mentions another case of a mrs. c., who, at the age of twenty-three, gave birth to a child on september , , and bore a second child on july , . she must have become pregnant twenty-one days after the delivery of her first child. superfetation has been known for many centuries; the romans had laws prescribing the laws of succession in such cases, and many medical writers have mentioned it. hippocrates and aristotle wrote of it, the former at some length. pliny speaks of a slave who bore two infants, one resembling the master, the other a man with whom she had intercourse, and cites the case as one of superfetation. schenck relates instances, and zacchias, velchius, and sinibaldus mention eases. pare seemed to be well conversant with the possibility as well as the actuality of superfetation; and harvey reports that a certain maid, gotten with child by her master, in order to hide her knavery came to london in september, where she lay in by stealth, and being recovered, returned home. in december of the same year she was unexpectedly delivered of another child, a product of superfetation, which proclaimed the crime that she had so cunningly concealed before. marcellus donatus, goret, schacher, and mauriceau mention superfetation. in the academie des sciences, at paris, in , there was mentioned the case of a woman who was delivered of a boy; in the placenta was discovered a sort of bladder which was found to contain a female fetus of the age of from four to five months; and in , before the same society, there was an instance in which two fetuses were born a day apart, one aged forty days and the other at full term. from the description, it does not seem possible that either of these were blighted twin pregnancies. ruysch gives an account of a surgeon's wife at amsterdam, in , who was delivered of a strong child which survived, and, six hours after, of a small embryo, the funis of which was full of hydatids and the placenta as large and thick as one of three months. ruysch accompanies his description with an illustrative figure. at lyons, in , benoite franquet was unexpectedly delivered of a child seven months old; three weeks later she experienced symptoms indicative of the existence of another fetus, and after five months and sixteen days she was delivered of a remarkably strong and healthy child. baudeloque speaks of a case of superfetation observed by desgranges in lyons in . after the birth of the first infant the lochia failed to flow, no milk appeared in the breasts, and the belly remained large. in about three weeks after the accouchement she had connection with her husband, and in a few days felt fetal movements. a second child was born at term, sixty-eight days after the first; and in both children were living. a woman of arles was delivered on november , , of a child at term; she had connection with her husband four days after; the lochia stopped, and the milk did not flow after this intercourse. about one and a half months after this she felt quickening again, and naturally supposed that she had become impregnated by the first intercourse after confinement; but five months after the first accouchement she was delivered of another child at term, the result of a superfetation. milk in abundance made its appearance, and she was amply able to nourish both children from the breasts. lachausse speaks of a woman of thirty who bore one child on april , , and another on september th in the same year. her breasts were full enough to nourish both of the children. it might be remarked in comment on this case that, according to a french authority, the woman died in , and on dissection was found to have had a double uterus. a peculiar instance of superfetation was reported by langmore in which there was an abortion of a fetus between the third and fourth months, apparently dead some time, and thirteen hours later a second fetus; an ovum of about four weeks and of perfect formation was found adherent near the fundus. tyler smith mentions a lady pregnant for the first time who miscarried at five months and some time afterward discharged a small clot containing a perfectly fresh and healthy ovum of about four weeks' formation. there was no sign of a double uterus, and the patient menstruated regularly during pregnancy, being unwell three weeks before the abortion. harley and tanner speak of a woman of thirty-eight who never had borne twins, and who aborted a fetus of four months' gestation; serious hemorrhage accompanied the removal of the placenta, and on placing the hand in the uterine cavity an embryo of five or six weeks was found inclosed in a sac and floating in clear liquor amnii. the patient was the mother of nine children, the youngest of which was three years old. young speaks of a woman who three months previously had aborted a three months' fetus, but a tumor still remained in the abdomen, the auscultation of which gave evidence of a fetal heart-beat. vaginal examination revealed a dilatation of the os uteri of at least one inch and a fetal head pressing out; subsequently a living fetus of about six months of age was delivered. severe hemorrhage complicated the case, but was controlled, and convalescence speedily ensued. huse cites an instance of a mother bearing a boy on november , , and a girl on august , . at birth the boy looked premature, about seven months old, which being the case, the girl must have been either a superfetation or a seven months' child also. van bibber of baltimore says he met a young lady who was born five months after her sister, and who was still living. the most curious and convincing examples of superfetation are those in which children of different colors, either twins or near the same age, are born to the same woman,--similar to that exemplified in the case of the mare who was covered first by a stallion and a quarter of an hour later by an ass, and gave birth at one parturition to a horse and a mule. parsons speaks of a case at charleston, s.c., in , of a white woman who gave birth to twins, one a mulatto and the other white. she confessed that after her husband left her a negro servant came to her and forced her to comply with his wishes by threatening her life. smellie mentions the case of a black woman who had twins, one child black and the other almost white. she confessed having had intercourse with a white overseer immediately after her husband left her bed. dewees reports a similar case. newlin of nashville speaks of a negress who bore twins, one distinctly black with the typical african features, while the other was a pretty mulatto exhibiting the distinct characters of the caucasian race. both the parents were perfect types of the black african negro. the mother, on being questioned, frankly acknowledged that shortly after being with her husband she had lain a night with a white man. in this case each child had its own distinct cord and placenta. archer gives facts illustrating and observations showing: "that a white woman, by intercourse with a white man and negro, may conceive twins, one of which shall be white and the other a mulatto; and that, vice versa, a black woman, by intercourse with a negro and a white man, may conceive twins, one of which shall be a negro and the other a mulatto." wight narrates that he was called to see a woman, the wife of an east indian laborer on the isle of trinidad, who had been delivered of a fetus inches long, about four months old, and having a cord of about inches in length. he removed the placenta, and in about half an hour the woman was delivered of a full-term white female child. the first child was dark, like the mother and father, and the mother denied any possibility of its being a white man's child; but this was only natural on her part, as east indian husbands are so intensely jealous that they would even kill an unfaithful wife. both the mother and the mysterious white baby are doing well. bouillon speaks of a negress in guadeloupe who bore twins, one a negro and the other a mulatto. she had sexual congress with both a negro and a white man. delmas, a surgeon of rouen, tells of a woman of thirty-six who was delivered in the hospital of his city on february , , of two children, one black and the other a mulatto. she had been pregnant eight months, and had had intercourse with a negro twice about her fourth month of pregnancy, though living with the white man who first impregnated her. two placentae were expelled some time after the twins, and showed a membranous junction. the children died shortly after birth. pregnancy often takes place in a unicorn or bicorn uterus, leading to similar anomalous conditions. galle, hoffman, massen, and sanger give interesting accounts of this occurrence, and ross relates an instance of triple pregnancy in a double uterus. cleveland describes a discharge of an anomalous deciduous membrane during pregnancy which was probably from the unimpregnated half of a double uterus. chapter ii. prenatal anomalies. extrauterine pregnancy.--in the consideration of prenatal anomalies, the first to be discussed will be those of extrauterine pregnancy. this abnormalism has been known almost as long as there has been any real knowledge of obstetrics. in the writings of albucasis, during the eleventh century, extrauterine pregnancy is discussed, and later the works of n. polinus and cordseus, about the sixteenth century, speak of it; in the case of cordseus the fetus was converted into a lithopedion and carried in the abdomen twenty-eight years. horstius in the sixteenth century relates the history of a woman who conceived for the third time in march, , and in the remains of the fetus were still in the abdomen. israel spach, in an extensive gynecologic work published in , figures a lithopedion drawn in situ in the case of a woman with her belly laid open. he dedicated to this calcified fetus, which he regarded as a reversion, the following curious epigram, in allusion to the classical myth that after the flood the world was repopulated by the two survivors, deucalion and pyrrha, who walked over the earth and cast stones behind them, which, on striking the ground, became people. roughly translated from the latin, this epigram read as follows: "deucalion cast stones behind him and thus fashioned our tender race from the hard marble. how comes it that nowadays, by a reversal of things, the tender body of a little babe has limbs nearer akin to stone?" many of the older writers mention this form of fetation as a curiosity, but offer no explanation as to its cause. mauriceau and de graaf discuss in full extrauterine pregnancy, and salmuth, hannseus, and bartholinus describe it. from the beginning of the eighteenth century this subject always demanded the attention and interest of medical observers. in more modern times, campbell and geoffroy-saint-hilaire, who named it "grossesse pathologique," have carefully defined and classified the forms, and to-day every text-book on obstetrics gives a scientific discussion and classification of the different forms of extrauterine pregnancy. the site of the conception is generally the wall of the uterus, the fallopian tube, or the ovary, although there are instances of pregnancy in the vagina, as for example when there is scirrhus of the uterus; and again, cases supposed to be only extrauterine have been instances simply of double uterus, with single or concurrent pregnancy. ross speaks of a woman of thirty-three who had been married fourteen years, had borne six children, and who on july , , miscarried with twins of about five months' development. after a week she declared that she was still pregnant with another child, but as the physician had placed his hand in the uterine cavity after the abortion, he knew the fetus must be elsewhere or that no pregnancy existed. we can readily see how this condition might lead to a diagnosis of extrauterine pregnancy, but as the patient insisted on a thorough examination, the doctor found by the stethoscope the presence of a beating fetal heart, and by vaginal examination a double uterus. on introducing a sound into the new aperture he discovered that it opened into another cavity; but as the woman was pregnant in this, he proceeded no further. on october st she was delivered of a female child of full growth. she had menstruated from this bipartite uterus three times during the period between the miscarriage of the twins and the birth of the child. both the mother and child did well. in most cases there is rupture of the fetal sac into the abdominal cavity or the uterus, and the fetus is ejected into this location, from thence to be removed or carried therein many years; but there are instances in which the conception has been found in situ, as depicted in figure . a sturdy woman of thirty was executed on january , , for the murder of her child. it was ascertained that she had passed her catamenia about the first of the month, and thereafter had sexual intercourse with one of her fellow-prisoners. on dissection both fallopian tubes were found distended, and the left ovary, which bore signs of conception, was twice as large as the right. campbell quotes another such case in a woman of thirty-eight who for twenty years had practised her vocation as a cyprian, and who unexpectedly conceived. at the third month of pregnancy a hard extrauterine tumor was found, which was gradually increasing in size and extending to the left side of the hypogastrium, the associate symptoms of pregnancy, sense of pressure, pain, tormina, and dysuria, being unusually severe. there was subsequently at attack of inflammatory fever, followed by tumefaction of the abdomen, convulsions, and death on the ninth day. the fetus had been contained in the peritoneal coat of the ovary until the fourth month, when one of the feet passed through the cyst and caused the fatal result. signs of acute peritonitis were seen postmortem, the abdominal cavity was full of blood, and the ovary much lacerated. the termination of extrauterine pregnancy varies; in some cases the fetus is extracted by operation after rupture; in others the fetus has been delivered alive by abdominal section; it may be partially absorbed, or carried many years in the abdomen; or it may ulcerate through the confining walls, enter the bowels or bladder, and the remnants of the fetal body be discharged. the curious cases mentioned by older writers, and called abortion by the mouth, etc., are doubtless, in many instances, remnants of extrauterine pregnancies or dermoid cysts. maroldus speaks in full of such cases; bartholinus, salmuth, and a reyes speak of women vomiting remnants of fetuses. in germany, in the seventeenth century, there lived a woman who on three different occasions is said to have vomited a fetus. the last miscarriage in this manner was of eight months' growth and was accompanied by its placenta. the older observers thought this woman must have had two orifices to her womb, one of which had some connection with the stomach, as they had records of the dissection of a female in whom was found a conformation similar to this. discharge of the fetal bones or even the whole of an extrauterine fetus by the rectum is not uncommon. there are two early cases mentioned in which the bones of a fetus were discharged at stool, causing intense pain. armstrong describes an anomalous case of pregnancy in a syphilitic patient who discharged fetal bones by the rectum. bubendorf reports the spontaneous elimination of a fetal skeleton by the rectum after five years of retention, with recovery of the patient. butcher speaks of delivery through the rectum at the fourth month, with recovery. depaul mentions a similar expulsion after a pregnancy of about two months and a half. jackson reports the dissection of an extrauterine sac which communicated freely with the large intestine. peck has an example of spontaneous delivery of an extrauterine fetus by the rectum, with recovery of the mother. skippon, in the early part of the last century, reports the discharge of the bones of a fetus through an "imposthume" in the groin. other cases of anal discharge of the product of extrauterine conception are recorded by winthrop, woodbury, tuttle, atkinson, browne, weinlechner, gibson, littre, magruder, gilland, and many others. de brun du bois-noir speaks of the expulsion of extrauterine remains by the anus after seven years, and heyerdahl after thirteen years. benham mentions the discharge of a fetus by the rectum; there was a stricture of the rectum associated with syphilitic patches, necessitating the performance of colotomy. bartholinus and rosseus speak of fetal bones being discharged from the urinary passages. ebersbach, in the ephemerides of , describes a necropsy in which a human fetus was found contained in the bladder. in white reported an instance of the discharge of fetal remains through the bladder. discharge of the fetus through the abdominal walls.--margaret parry of berkshire in voided the bones of a fetus through the flesh above the os pubis, and in she was alive and well, having had healthy children afterward. brodie reports the history of a case in a negress who voided a fetus from an abscess at the navel about the seventeenth month of conception. modern instances of the discharge of the extrauterine fetus from the walls of the abdomen are frequently reported. algora speaks of an abdominal pregnancy in which there was spontaneous perforation of the anterior abdominal parietes, followed by death. bouzal cites an extraordinary case of ectopic gestation in which there was natural expulsion of the fetus through abdominal walls, with subsequent intestinal strangulation. an artificial anus was established and the mother recovered. brodie, dunglison, erich, rodbard, fox, and wilson are among others reporting the expulsion of remnants of ectopic pregnancies through the abdominal parietes. campbell quotes the case of a polish woman, aged thirty-five, the mother of nine children, most of whom were stillborn, who conceived for the tenth time, the gestation being normal up to the lying-in period. she had pains followed by extraordinary effusion and some blood into the vagina. after various protracted complaints the abdominal tumor became painful and inflamed in the umbilical region. a breach in the walls soon formed, giving exit to purulent matter and all the bones of a fetus. during this process the patient received no medical treatment, and frequently no assistance in dressing the opening. she recovered, but had an artificial anus all her life. sarah mckinna was married at sixteen and menstruated for the first time a month thereafter. ten months after marriage she showed signs of pregnancy and was delivered at full term of a living child; the second child was born ten months after the first, and the second month after the second birth she again showed signs of pregnancy. at the close of nine months these symptoms, with the exception of the suppression of menses, subsided, and in this state she continued for six years. during the first four years she felt discomfort in the region of the umbilicus. about the seventh year she suffered tumefaction of the abdomen and thought she had conceived again. the abscess burst and an elbow of the fetus protruded from the wound. a butcher enlarged the wound and, fixing his finger under the jaw of the fetus, extracted the head. on looking into the abdomen he perceived a black object, whereupon he introduced his hand and extracted piecemeal an entire fetal skeleton and some decomposed animal-matter. the abdomen was bound up, and in six weeks the woman was enabled to superintend her domestic affairs; excepting a ventral hernia she had no bad after-results. kimura, quoted by whitney, speaks of a case of extrauterine pregnancy in a japanese woman of forty-one similar to the foregoing, in which an arm protruded through the abdominal wall above the umbilicus and the remains of a fetus were removed through the aperture. the accompanying illustration shows the appearance of the arm in situ before extraction of the fetus and the location of the wound. bodinier and lusk report instances of the delivery of an extrauterine fetus by the vagina; and mathieson relates the history of the delivery of a living ectopic child by the vagina, with recovery of the mother. gordon speaks of a curious case in a negress, six months pregnant, in which an extrauterine fetus passed down from the posterior culdesac and occluded the uterus. it was removed through the vagina, and two days later labor-pains set in, and in two hours she was delivered of a uterine child. the placenta was left behind and drainage established through the vagina, and the woman made complete recovery. combined intrauterine and extrauterine gestation.--many well-authenticated cases of combined pregnancy, in which one of the products of conception was intrauterine and the other of extrauterine gestation, have been recorded. clark and ramsbotham report instances of double conception, one fetus being born alive in the ordinary manner and the other located extrauterine. chasser speaks of a case in which there was concurrent pregnancy in both the uterus and the fallopian tube. smith cites an instance of a woman of twenty-three who became pregnant in august, . in the following december she passed fetal bones from the rectum, and a month later gave birth to an intrauterine fetus of six months' growth. mcgee mentions the case of a woman of twenty-eight who became pregnant in july, , and on october th and st passed several fetal bones by the rectum, and about four months later expelled some from the uterus. from this time she rapidly recovered her strength and health. devergie quotes an instance of a woman of thirty who had several children, but who died suddenly, and being pregnant was opened. in the right iliac fossa was found a male child weighing pounds and ounces, / inches long, and of about five months' growth. the uterus also contained a male fetus of about three months' gestation. figure shows combined intrauterine and extrauterine gestation. hodgen speaks of a woman of twenty-seven, who was regular until november, ; early in january, , she had an attack of pain with peritonitis, shortly after which what was apparently an extrauterine pregnancy gradually diminished. on august , , after a labor of eight hours, she gave birth to a healthy fetus. the hand in the uterus detected a tumor to the left, which wag reduced to about one-fourth the former size. in april, , the woman still suffered pain and tenderness in the tumor. hodgen believed this to have been originally a tubal pregnancy, which burst, causing much hemorrhage and the death of the fetus, together with a limited peritonitis. beach has seen a twin compound pregnancy in which after connection there was a miscarriage in six weeks, and four years after delivery of an extrauterine fetus through the abdominal walls. cooke cites an example of intrauterine and extrauterine pregnancy progressing simultaneously to full period of gestation, with resultant death. rosset reports the case of a woman of twenty-seven, who menstruated last in november, , and on august , , was delivered of a well-developed dead female child weighing seven pounds. the uterine contractions were feeble, and the attached placenta was removed only with difficulty; there was considerable hemorrhage. the hemorrhage continued to occur at intervals of two weeks, and an extrauterine tumor remained. two weeks later septicemia supervened and life was despaired of. on the th of october a portion of a fetus of five months' growth in an advanced stage of decomposition protruded from the vulva. after the escape of this putrid mass her health returned, and in four months she was again robust and healthy. whinery speaks of a young woman who at the time of her second child-birth observed a tumor in the abdomen on her right side and felt motion in it. in about a month she was with severe pain which continued a week and then ceased. health soon improved, and the woman afterward gave birth to a third child; subsequently she noticed that the tumor had enlarged since the first birth, and she had a recurrence of pain and a slight hemorrhage every three weeks, and distinctly felt motion in the tumor. this continued for eighteen months, when, after a most violent attack of pain, all movement ceased, and, as she expressed it, she knew the moment the child died. the tumor lost its natural consistence and felt flabby and dead. an incision was made through the linea alba, and the knife came in contact with a hard, gritty substance, three or four lines thick. the escape of several quarts of dark brown fluid followed the incision, and the operation had to be discontinued on account of the ensuing syncope. about six weeks afterward a bone presented at the orifice, which the woman extracted, and this was soon followed by a mass of bones, hair, and putrid matter. the discharge was small, and gradually grew less in quantity and offensiveness, soon ceasing altogether, and the wound closed. by december health was good and the menses had returned. ahlfeld, ambrosioni, galabin, packard, thiernesse, maxson, de belamizaran, dibot, and chabert are among others recording the phenomenon of coexisting extrauterine and intrauterine pregnancy. argles mentions simultaneous extrauterine fetation and superfetation. sanger mentions a triple ectopic gestation, in which there was twin pregnancy in the wall of the uterus and a third ovum at the fimbriated end of the right tube. careful examination showed this to be a case of intramural twin pregnancy at the point of entrance of the tube and the uterus, while at the abdominal end of the same tube there was another ovum,--the whole being an example of triple unilateral ectopic gestation. the instances of delivery of an extrauterine fetus, with viability of the child, from the abdomen of the mother would attract attention from their rarity alone, but when coupled with associations of additional interest they surely deserve a place in a work of this nature. osiander speaks of an abdominal fetus being taken out alive, and there is a similar case on record in the early part of this century. the london medical and physical journal, in one of its early numbers, contained an account of an abdominal fetus penetrating the walls of the bladder and being extracted from the walls of the hypogastrium; but sennertus gives a case which far eclipses this, both mother and fetus surviving. he says that in this case the woman, while pregnant, received a blow on the lower part of her body, in consequence of which a small tumor appeared shortly after the accident. it so happened in this case that the peritoneum was extremely dilatable, and the uterus, with the child inside, made its way into the peritoneal sac. in his presence an incision was made and the fetus taken out alive. jessop gives an example of extrauterine gestation in a woman of twenty-six, who had previously had normal delivery. in this case an incision was made and a fetus of about eight months' growth was found lying loose in the abdominal cavity in the midst of the intestines. both the mother and child were saved. this is a very rare result. campbell, in his celebrated monograph, in a total of operations had only seen recorded the accounts of two children saved, and one of these was too marvelous to believe. lawson tait reports a case in which he saved the child, but lost the mother on the fourth day. parvin describes a case in which death occurred on the third day. browne quotes parry as saying that there is one twin pregnancy in extrauterine conceptions. he gives cases of twin conception, one of which was uterine, the other extrauterine, and says that of in the third month, with no operation, the mother died in . of cases of from four and a half to seven months' duration, lived, and in case at the fifth month there was an intrauterine fetus delivered which lived. of such cases at nine months, mothers lived and intrauterine fetuses lived. in of these cases no operation was performed. in one case the mother died, but both the uterine and the extrauterine conceptions lived. in another the mother and intrauterine fetus died, and the extrauterine fetus lived. wilson a gives an instance of a woman delivered of a healthy female child at eight months which lived. the after-birth came away without assistance, but the woman still presented every appearance of having another child within her, although examination by the vagina revealed none. wilson called chatard in consultation, and from the fetal heart-sounds and other symptoms they decided that there was another pregnancy wholly extrauterine. they allowed the case to go twenty-three days, until pains similar to those of labor occurred, and then decided on celiotomy. the operation was almost bloodless, and a living child weighing eight pounds was extracted. unfortunately, the mother succumbed after ninety hours, and in a month the intrauterine child died from inanition, but the child of extrauterine gestation thrived. sales gives the case of a negress of twenty-two, who said that she had been "tricked by a negro," and had a large snake in the abdomen, and could distinctly feel its movements. she stoutly denied any intercourse. it was decided to open the abdominal cyst; the incision was followed by a gush of blood and a placenta came into view, which was extracted with a living child. to the astonishment of the operators the uterus was distended, and it was decided to open it, when another living child was seen and extracted. the cyst and the uterus were cleansed of all clots and the wound closed. the mother died of septicemia, but the children both lived and were doing well six weeks after the operation. a curious case was seen in of a woman who at her fifth gestation suffered abdominal uneasiness at the third month, and this became intolerable at the ninth month. the head of the fetus could be felt through the abdomen; an incision was made through the parietes; a fully developed female child was delivered, but, unfortunately, the mother died of septic infection. the british medical journal quotes: "pinard (bull. de l'acad. de med., august , ) records the following, which he describes as an ideal case. the patient was aged thirty-six, had had no illness, and had been regular from the age of fourteen till july, . during august of that year she had nausea and vomiting; on the d and d she lost a fluid, which was just pink. the symptoms continued during september, on the d and d of which month there was a similar loss. in october she was kept in bed for two days by abdominal pain, which reappeared in november, and was then associated with pain in micturition and defecation. from that time till february , , when she came under pinard's care, she was attended by several doctors, each of whom adopted a different diagnosis and treatment. one of them, thinking she had a fibroid, made her take in all about an ounce of savin powder, which did not, however, produce any ill effect. when admitted she looked ill and pinched. the left thigh and leg were painful and edematous. the abdomen looked like that of the sixth month of pregnancy. the abdominal wall was tense, smooth, and without lineae albicantes. palpation revealed a cystic immobile tumor, extending inches above the umbilicus and apparently fixed by deep adhesions. the fetal parts could only be made out with difficulty by deep palpation, but the heart-sounds were easily heard to the right of and below the umbilicus. by the right side of this tumor one could feel a small one, the size of a tangerine orange, which hardened and softened under examination. when contracted the groove between it and the large tumor became evident. vaginal examination showed that the cervix, which was slightly deflected forward and to the right and softened, as in uterine gestation, was continuous with the smaller tumor. cephalic ballottement was obtained in the large tumor. no sound was passed into the uterus for fear of setting up reflex action; the diagnosis of extrauterine gestation at about six and a half months with a living child was established without requiring to be clinched by proving the uterus empty. the patient was kept absolutely at rest in bed and the edema of the left leg cured by position. on april th the fundus of the tumor was cm. above the symphysis and the uterus / cm.; the cervix was soft as that of a primipara at term. operation, may d: uterus found empty, cavity / cm. long. median incision in abdominal wall; cyst walls exposed; seen to be very slight and filled with enormous vessels, some greater than the little finger. on seizing the wall one of these vessels burst, and the hemorrhage was only rendered greater on attempting to secure it, so great was the friability of the walls. the cyst was therefore rapidly opened and the child extracted by the foot. hemorrhage was restrained first by pressure of the hands, then by pressure-forceps and ligatures. the walls of the cyst were sewn to the margins of the abdominal wound, the edge of the placenta being included in the suture. a wound was thus formed cm. in diameter, with the placenta for its base; it was filled with iodoform and salicylic gauze. the operation lasted an hour, and the child, a boy weighing / pounds, after a brief period of respiratory difficulties, was perfectly vigorous. there was at first a slight facial asymmetry and a depression on the left upper jaw caused by the point of the left shoulder, against which it had been pressed in the cyst; these soon disappeared, and on the nineteenth day the boy weighed pounds. the maternal wound was not dressed till may th, when it was washed with biniodid, : . the placenta came away piecemeal between may th and june d. the wound healed up, and the patient got up on the forty-third day, having suckled her infant from the first day after its birth." quite recently werder has investigated the question of the ultimate fate of ectopic children delivered alive. he has been able to obtain the record of cases. of these, died within a week after birth; within a month; died at six months of bronchopneumonia; at seven months of diarrhea; at eleven months, from croup; at eighteen months from cholera infantum--making a total of deaths and leaving children to be accounted for. of these, were reported as living and well after operation, with no subsequent report; was strong and healthy after three weeks, but there has been no report since; was well at six months, then was lost sight of; was well at the last report; live and are well at one year; are living and well at two years; (beisone's case) is well at seven years; and (tait's case) is well at fourteen and one-half years. the list given on pages and has been quoted by hirst and dorland. it contains data relative to cases in which abdominal section has been successfully performed for advanced ectopic gestation with living children. long retention of extrauterine pregnancy.--the time of the retention of an extrauterine gestation is sometimes remarkable, and it is no uncommon occurrence for several pregnancies to successfully ensue during such retention. the ephemerides contains examples of extrauterine pregnancy remaining in the abdomen forty-six years; hannaeus mentioned an instance remaining ten years, the mother being pregnant in the meantime; primperosius speaks of a similar instance; de blegny, one of twenty-five years in the abdomen; birch, a case of eighteen years in the abdomen, the woman bearing in the meantime; bayle, one of twenty-six years, and the ephemerides, another. in a woman of forty-six, the labor pains intervened without expulsion of the fetus. impregnation ensued twice afterward, each followed by the birth of a living child. the woman lived to be ninety-four, and was persuaded that the fetus was still in the abdomen, and directed a postmortem examination to be made after her decease, which was done, and a large cyst containing an ossified fetus was discovered in the left side of the cavity. in a woman of joigny when thirty years old, having been married four years, became pregnant, and three months later felt movements and found milk in her breasts. at the ninth month she had labor-pains, but the fetus failed to present; the pains ceased, but recurred in a month, still with a negative result. she fell into a most sickly condition and remained so for eighteen months, when the pains returned again, but soon ceased. menstruation ceased and the milk in her breasts remained for thirty years. she died at sixty-one of peripneumonia, and on postmortem examination a tumor was found occupying part of the hypogastric and umbilical regions. it weighed eight pounds and consisted of a male fetus of full term with six teeth; it had no odor and its sac contained no liquid. the bones seemed better developed than ordinarily; the skin was thick, callous, and yellowish the chorion, amnion, and placenta were ossified and the cord dried up. walther mentions the case of an infant which remained almost petrified in the belly of its mother for twenty-three years. no trace of the placenta, cord, or enveloping membrane could be found. cordier publishes a paper on ectopic gestation, with particular reference to tubal pregnancy, and mentions that when there is rupture between the broad ligaments hemorrhage is greatly limited by the resistance of the surrounding structures, death rarely resulting from the primary rupture in this location. cordier gives an instance in which he successfully removed a full-grown child, the result of an ectopic gestation which had ruptured intraligamentally and had been retained nearly two years. lospichlerus gives an account of a mother carrying twins, extrauterine, for six years. mounsey of riga, physician to the army of the czarina, sent to the royal society in the bones of a fetus that had been extracted from one of the fallopian tubes after a lodgment of thirteen years. starkey middleton read the report of a case of a child which had been taken out of the abdomen, having lain there nearly sixteen years, during which time the mother had borne four children. it was argued at this time that boys were conceived on the right side and girls on the left, and in commenting on this middleton remarks that in this case the woman had three boys and one girl after the right fallopian tube had lost its function. chester cites the instance of a fetus being retained fifty-two years, the mother not dying until her eightieth year. margaret mathew carried a child weighing eight pounds in her abdomen for twenty-six years, and which after death was extracted. aubrey speaks of a woman aged seventy years unconsciously carrying an extrauterine fetus for many years, which was only discovered postmortem. she had ceased to menstruate at forty and had borne a child at twenty-seven. watkins speaks of a fetus being retained forty-three years; james, others for twenty-five, thirty, forty-six, and fifty years; murfee, fifty-five years; cunningham, forty years; johnson, forty-four years; josephi, fifteen years (in the urinary bladder); craddock, twenty-two years, and da costa simoes, twenty-six years. long retention of uterine pregnancy.--cases of long retained intrauterine pregnancies are on record and deserve as much consideration as those that were extrauterine. albosius speaks of a mother carrying a child in an ossified condition in the uterus for twenty-eight years. cheselden speaks of a case in which a child was carried many years in the uterus, being converted into a clay-like substance, but preserving form and outline. caldwell mentions the case of a woman who carried an ossified fetus in her uterus for sixty years. camerer describes the retention of a fetus in the uterus for forty-six years; stengel, one for ten years, and storer and buzzell, for twenty-two months. hannaeus, in , issued a paper on such a case under the title, "mater, infantis mortui vivum sepulchrum," which may be found in french translation. buchner speaks of a fetus being retained in the uterus for six years, and horstius relates a similar case. schmidt's jahrbucher contain the report of a woman of forty-nine, who had borne two children. while threshing corn she felt violent pain like that of labor, and after an illness suffered a constant fetid discharge from the vagina for eleven years, fetal bones being discharged with occasional pain. this poor creature worked along for eleven years, at the end of which time she was forced to bed, and died of symptoms of purulent peritonitis. at the necropsy the uterus was found adherent to the anterior wall of the abdomen and containing remnants of a putrid fetus with its numerous bones. there is an instance recorded of the death of a fetus occurring near term, its retention and subsequent discharge being through a spontaneous opening in the abdominal wall one or two months after. meigs cites the case of a woman who dated her pregnancy from march, , and which proceeded normally for nine months, but no labor supervened at this time and the menses reappeared. in march, , she passed a few fetal bones by the rectum, and in may, , she died. at the necropsy the uterus was found to contain the remains of a fully developed fetus, minus the portions discharged through a fistulous connection between the uterine cavity and the rectum. in this case there had been retention of a fully developed fetus for nine years. cox describes the case of a woman who was pregnant seven months, and who was seized with convulsions; the supposed labor-pains passed off, and after death the fetus was found in the womb, having lain there for five years. she had an early return of the menses, and these recurred regularly for four years. dewees quotes two cases, in one of which the child was carried twenty months in the uterus; in the other, the mother was still living two years and five months after fecundation. another case was in a woman of sixty, who had conceived at twenty-six, and whose fetus was found, partly ossified, in the uterus after death. there are many narratives of the long continuation of fetal movements, and during recent years, in the southern states, there was quite a prevalence of this kind of imposters. many instances of the exhibition of fetal movements in the bellies of old negro women have been noticed by the lay journals, but investigation proves them to have been nothing more than an exceptional control over the abdominal muscles, with the ability to simulate at will the supposed fetal jerks. one old woman went so far as to show the fetus dancing to the music of a banjo with rhythmical movements. such imposters flourished best in the regions given to "voodooism." we can readily believe how easy the deception might be when we recall the exact simulation of the fetal movements in instances of pseudocyesis. the extraordinary diversity of reports concerning the duration of pregnancy has made this a much mooted question. many opinions relative to the longest and shortest period of pregnancy, associated with viability of the issue, have been expressed by authors on medical jurisprudence. there is perhaps no information more unsatisfactory or uncertain. mistakes are so easily made in the date of the occurrence of pregnancy, or in the date of conception, that in the remarkable cases we can hardly accept the propositions as worthy evidence unless associated with other and more convincing facts, such as the appearance and stage of development of the fetus, or circumstances making conception impossible before or after the time mentioned, etc. it will be our endeavor to cite the more seemingly reliable instances of the anomalies of the time or duration of pregnancy reported in reputable periodicals or books. short pregnancies.--hasenet speaks of the possibility of a living birth at four months; capuron relates the instance of fortunio liceti, who was said to have been born at the end of four and a half months and lived to complete his twenty-fourth year. in the case of the marechal de richelieu, the parliament of paris decreed that an infant of five months possessed that capability of living the ordinary period of existence, i.e., the "viabilite," which the law of france requires for the establishment of inheritance. in his seventh book pliny gives examples of men who were born out of time. jonston gives instances of births at five, six, seven, and eight months. bonnar quotes living births before the one hundred and fiftieth day; of one hundred and twenty-five days; of one hundred and twenty days; of one hundred and thirty-three days, surviving to twenty-one months; and of one hundred and thirty-five days' pregnancy surviving to eighty years. maisonneuve describes a case in which abortion took place at four and a half months; he found the fetus in its membranes two hours after delivery, and, on laying the membranes open, saw that it was living. he applied warmth, and partly succeeded in restoring it; for a few minutes respiratory movements were performed regularly, but it died in six hours. taylor quotes carter concerning the case of a fetus of five months which cried directly after it was born, and in the half hour it lived it tried frequently to breathe. he also quotes davies, mentioning an instance of a fetus of five months, which lived twelve hours, weighing pounds, and measuring inches, and which cried vigorously. the pupillary membrane was entire, the testes had not descended, and the head was well covered with hair. usher speaks of a woman who in was delivered of male children on the one hundred and thirty-ninth day; both lived for an hour; the first weighed ounces drams and measured / inches; the other ounces drams, with the same length as the first. routh speaks of a mrs. f----, aged thirty-eight, who had borne children and had had miscarriages, the last conception terminating as such. her husband was away, and returned october , . she did not again see her husband until the d or th of january. the date of quickening was not observed, and the child was born june , . during gestation she was much frightened by a rat. the child was weak, the testes undescended, and it lived but eighteen days, dying of symptoms of atrophy. the parents were poor, of excellent character, and although, according to the evidence, this pregnancy lasted but twenty-two weeks and two days, there was absolutely no reason to suspect infidelity. ruttel speaks of a child of five months who lived twenty-four hours; and he saw male twins born at the sixth month weighing pounds each who were alive and healthy a year after. barker cites the case of a female child born on the one hundred and fifty-eighth day that weighed pound and was inches long. it had rudimentary nails, very little hair on the head, its eyelids were closed, and the skin much shriveled; it did not suckle properly, and did not walk until nineteen months old. three and a half years after, the child was healthy and thriving, but weighed only / pounds. at the time of birth it was wrapped up in a box and placed before the fire. brouzet speaks of living births of from five to six months' pregnancy, and kopp speaks of a six months' child which lived four days. the ephemerides contains accounts of living premature births. newinton describes a pregnancy of five months terminating with the birth of twins, one of whom lived twenty minutes and the other fifteen. the first was / inches long, and weighed pound / ounces, and the other was inches long, and weighed pound. there is a recent instance of premature birth following a pregnancy of between five and a half and six months, the infant weighing grams. one month after birth, through the good offices of the wet-nurse and m. villemin, who attended the child and who invented a "couveuse" for the occasion, it measured cm. long. moore is accredited with the trustworthy report of the case of a woman who bore a child at the end of the fifth month weighing / pounds and measuring inches. it was first nourished by dropping liquid food into its mouth; and at the age of fifteen months it was healthy and weighed pounds. eikam saw a case of abortion at the fifth month in which the fetus was inches in length and weighed about ounces. the head was sufficiently developed and the cranial bones considerably advanced in ossification. he tied the cord and placed the fetus in warm water. it drew up its feet and arms and turned its head from one side to the other, opening its mouth and trying to breathe. it continued in this wise for an hour, the action of the heart being visible ten minutes after the movements ceased. from its imperfectly developed genitals it was supposed to have been a female. professor j. muller, to whom it was shown, said that it was not more than four months old, and this coincided with the mother's calculation. villemin before the societe obstetricale et gynecologique reported the case of a two-year-old child, born in the sixth month of pregnancy. that the child had not had six months of intrauterine life he could vouch, the statement being borne out by the last menstrual period of the mother, the date of the first fetal movements, the child's weight, which was / ounces, and its appearance. budin had had this infant under observation from the beginning and corroborated villemin's statements. he had examined infants of six or seven months that had cried and lived a few days, and had found the alveolar cavities filled with epithelial cells, the lung sinking when placed in a vessel of water. charpentier reported a case of premature birth in his practice, the child being not more than six and a half months and weighing / ounces. so sure was he that it would not live that he placed it in a basin while he attended to the mother. after this had been done, the child being still alive, he wrapped it in cotton and was surprised next day to find it alive. it was then placed in a small, well-heated room and fed with a spoon on human milk; on the twelfth day it could take the breast, since which time it thrived and grew. there is a case on record of a child viable at six months and twenty days. the mother had a miscarriage at the beginning of , after which menstruation became regular, appearing last from july to , . on january , , she gave birth to a male infant, which was wrapped in wadding and kept at an artificial temperature. being unable to suckle, it was fed first on diluted cow's milk. it was so small at birth that the father passed his ring over the foot almost to the knee. on the thirteenth day it weighed grams, and at the end of a week it was taking the breast. in december, , it had teeth, weighed kilograms, walked with agility, could pronounce some words, and was especially intelligent. capuron relates an instance of a child born after a pregnancy of six and a half months and in excellent health at two years, and another living at ten years of the same age at birth. tait speaks of a living female child, born on the one hundred and seventy-ninth day, with no nails on its fingers or toes, no hair, the extremities imperfectly developed, and the skin florid and thin. it was too feeble to grasp its mother's nipple, and was fed for three weeks by milk from the breast through a quill. at forty days it weighed pounds and measured inches. before the expiration of three months it died of measles. dodd describes a case in which the catamenia were on the th of june, , and continued a week; the woman bore twins on january , , one of which survived, the other dying a few minutes after birth. she was never irregular, prompt to the hour, and this fact, coupled with the diminutive size of the children, seemed to verify the duration of the pregnancy. in , baber of buxur, india, spoke of a child born at six and a half months, who at the age of fifty days weighed pound and ounces and was inches long. the longest circumference of the head was inches and the shortest . inches. the child suckled freely and readily. in spaeth's clinic there was a viable infant at six and a half months weighing grams. spaeth says that he has known a child of six months to surpass in eventual development its brothers born at full term. in some cases there seems to be a peculiarity in women which manifests itself by regular premature births. la motte, van swieten, and fordere mention females who always brought forth their conceptions at the seventh month. the incubator seems destined to be the future means of preserving these premature births. several successful cases have been noticed, and by means of an incubator tarnier succeeded in raising infants which at the age of six months were above the average. a full description of the incubator may be found. the modified auvard incubator is easily made; the accompanying illustrations (figs. , , and ) explain its mechanism. several improved incubators have been described in recent years, but the auvard appears to be the most satisfactory. the question of retardation of labor, like that of premature birth, is open to much discussion, and authorities differ as to the limit of protraction with viability. aulus gellius says that, after a long conversation with the physicians and wise men, the emperor adrian decided in a case before him, that of a woman of chaste manners and irreproachable character, the child born eleven months after her husband's death was legitimate. under the roman law the decenviri established that a woman may bear a viable child at the tenth month of pregnancy. paulus zacchias, physician to pope innocent x, declared that birth may be retarded to the tenth month, and sometimes to a longer period. a case was decided in the supreme court of friesland, a province in the northern part of the netherlands, october, , in which a child born three hundred and thirty-three days after the death of the husband was pronounced legitimate. the parliament of paris was gallant enough to come to the rescue of a widow and save her reputation by declaring that a child born after a fourteen months' gestation was legitimate. bartholinus speaks of an unmarried woman of leipzig who was delivered after a pregnancy of sixteen months. the civil code of france provides that three hundred days shall constitute the longest period of the legitimacy of an infant; the scottish law, three hundred days; and the prussian law, three hundred and one days. there are numerous cases recorded by the older writers. amman has one of twelve months' duration; enguin, one of twelve months'; buchner, a case of twelve months'; benedictus, one of fourteen months'; de blegny, one of nineteen months'; marteau, osiander, and others of forty-two and forty-four weeks'; and stark's archives, one of forty-five weeks', living, and also another case of forty-four weeks'. an incredible case is recorded of an infant which lived after a three years' gestation. instances of twelve months' duration are also recorded. jonston quotes paschal in relating an instance of birth after pregnancy of twenty-three months; aventium, one after two years; and mercurialis, a birth after a four years' gestation--which is, of course, beyond belief. thormeau writes from tours, , of a case of gestation prolonged to the twenty-third month, and santorini, at venice, in , describes a similar case, the child reaching adult life. elvert records a case of late pregnancy, and henschel one of forty-six weeks, but the fetus was dead. schneider cites an instance of three hundred and eight days' duration. campbell says that simpson had cases of three hundred and nineteen, three hundred and thirty-two, and three hundred and thirty-six days'; meigs had one of four hundred and twenty. james reid, in a table of mature births, gives as being from three hundred and two to three hundred and fifteen days'. not so long ago a jury rendered a verdict of guilty of fornication and bastardy when it was alleged that the child was born three hundred and seventeen days after intercourse. taylor relates a case of pregnancy in which the wife of a laborer went to america three hundred and twenty-two days before the birth. jaffe describes an instance of the prolongation of pregnancy for three hundred and sixty-five days, in which the developments and measurements corresponded to the length of protraction. bryan speaks of a woman of twenty-five who became pregnant on february , , and on june th felt motion. on july th she was threatened with miscarriage, and by his advice the woman weaned the child at the breast. she expected to be confined the middle of november, , but the expected event did not occur until april , , nine months after the quickening and four hundred and forty days from the time of conception. the boy was active and weighed nine pounds. the author cites meigs' case, and also one of atlee's, at three hundred and fifty-six days. talcott, superintendent of the state homeopathic asylum for the insane, explained the pregnancy of an inmate who had been confined for four years in this institution as one of protracted labor. he said that many such cases have been reported, and that something less than two years before he had charge of a case in which the child was born. he made the report to the new york senate commission on asylums for the insane as one of three years' protraction. tidd speaks of a woman who was delivered of a male child at term, and again in ten months delivered of a well-developed male child weighing / pounds; he relates the history of another case, in clifton, w. va., of a woman expecting confinement on june st going over to september th, the fetus being in the uterus over twelve months, and nine months after quickening was felt. two extraordinary cases are mentioned, one in a woman of thirty-five, who expected to be confined april , . in may she had a few labor-pains that passed away, and during the next six months she remained about as large as usual, and was several times thought to be in the early stages of labor. in september the os dilated until the first and second fingers could be passed directly to the head. this condition lasted about a month, but passed away. at times during the last nine months of pregnancy she was almost unable to endure the movements of the child. finally, on the morning of november th, after a pregnancy of four hundred and seventy-six days, she was delivered of a male child weighing pounds. both the mother and child did well despite the use of chloroform and forceps. the other case was one lasting sixteen months and twenty days. in a rather loose argument, carey reckons a case of three hundred and fifty days. menzie gives an instance in a woman aged twenty-eight, the mother of one child, in whom a gestation was prolonged to the seventeenth month. the pregnancy was complicated by carcinoma of the uterus. ballard describes the case of a girl of sixteen years and six months, whose pregnancy, the result of a single intercourse, lasted three hundred and sixty days. her labor was short and easy for a primipara, and the child was of the average size. mackenzie cites the instance of a woman aged thirty-two, a primipara, who had been married ten years and who always had been regular in menstruation. the menses ceased on april , , and she felt the child for the first time in september. she had false pains in january, , and labor did not begin until march th, lasting sixty-six hours. if all these statements are correct, the probable duration of this pregnancy was eleven months and ten days. lundie relates an example of protracted gestation of eleven months, in which an anencephalous fetus was born; and martin of birmingham describes a similar case of ten and a half months' duration. raux-tripier has seen protraction to the thirteenth month. enguin reports an observation of an accouchement of twins after a pregnancy that had been prolonged for eleven months. resnikoff mentions a pregnancy of eleven months' duration in an anemic secundipara. the case had been under his observation from the beginning of pregnancy; the patient would not submit to artificial termination at term, which he advised. after a painful labor of twenty-four hours a macerated and decomposed child was born, together with a closely-adherent placenta. tarnier reports an instance of partus serotinus in which the product of conception was carried in the uterus forty days after term. the fetus was macerated but not putrid, and the placenta had undergone fatty degeneration. at a recent meeting of the chicago gynecological society, dr. f. a. stahl reported the case of a german-bohemian woman in which the fifth pregnancy terminated three hundred and two days after the last menstruation. twenty days before there had occurred pains similar to those of labor, but they gradually ceased. the sacral promontory was exaggerated, and the anteroposterior pelvic diameter of the inlet in consequence diminished. the fetus was large and occupied the first position. version was with difficulty effected and the passage of the after-coming head through the superior strait required expression and traction, during which the child died. the mother suffered a deep laceration of the perineum involving an inch of the wall of the rectum. among others reporting instances of protracted pregnancy are collins, eleven months; desbrest, eighteen months; henderson, fifteen months; jefferies, three hundred and fifty-eight days, and de la vergne gives the history of a woman who carried an infant in her womb for twenty-nine months; this case may possibly belong under the head of fetus long retained in the uterus. unconscious pregnancy.--there are numerous instances of women who have had experience in pregnancy unconsciously going almost to the moment of delivery, yet experiencing none of the usual accompanying symptoms of this condition. crowell speaks of a woman of good social position who had been married seven years, and who had made extensive preparations for a long journey, when she was seized with a "bilious colic," and, to her dismay and surprise, a child was born before the arrival of the doctor summoned on account of her sudden colic and her inability to retain her water. a peculiar feature of this case was the fact that mental disturbance set in immediately afterward, and the mother became morbid and had to be removed to an asylum, but recovered in a few months. tanner saw a woman of forty-two who had been suffering with abdominal pains. she had been married three years and had never been pregnant. her catamenia were very scant, but this was attributed to her change of life. she had conceived, had gone to the full term of gestation, and was in labor ten hours without any suspicion of pregnancy. she was successfully delivered of a girl, which occasioned much rejoicing in the household. tasker of kendall's mills, me., reports the case of a young married woman calling him for bilious colic. he found the stomach slightly distended and questioned her about the possibility of pregnancy. both she and her husband informed him that such could not be the case, as her courses had been regular and her waist not enlarged, as she had worn a certain corset all the time. there were no signs of quickening, no change in the breasts, and, in fact, none of the usual signs of pregnancy present. he gave her an opiate, and to her surprise, in about six hours she was the mother of a boy weighing five pounds. both the mother and child made a good recovery. duke cites the instance of a woman who supposed that she was not pregnant up to the night of her miscarriage. she had menstruated and was suckling a child sixteen months old. during the night she was attacked with pains resembling those of labor and a fetus slipped into the vagina without any hemorrhage; the placenta came away directly afterward. in this peculiar case the woman was menstruating regularly, suckling a child, and at the same time was unconsciously pregnant. isham speaks of a case of unconscious pregnancy in which extremely small twins were delivered at the eighth month. fox cites an instance of a woman who had borne eight children, and yet unconscious of pregnancy. merriman speaks of a woman forty years of age who had not borne a child for nine years, but who suddenly gave birth to a stout, healthy boy without being cognizant of pregnancy. dayral tells of a woman who carried a child all through pregnancy, unconscious of her condition, and who was greatly surprised at its birth. among the french observers speaking of pregnancy remaining unrecognized by the mother until the period of accouchement, lozes and rhades record peculiar cases; and mouronval relates an instance in which a woman who had borne three children completely ignored the presence of pregnancy until the pains of labor were felt. fleishman and munzenthaler also record examples of unconscious pregnancy. pseudocyesis.--on the other hand, instances of pregnancy with imaginary symptoms and preparations for birth are sometimes noticed, and many cases are on record. in fact, nearly every text-book on obstetrics gives some space to the subject of pseudocyesis. suppression of the menses, enlargement of the abdomen, engorgement of the breasts, together with the symptoms produced by the imagination, such as nausea, spasmodic contraction of the abdomen, etc., are for the most part the origin of the cases of pseudocyesis. of course, many of the cases are not examples of true pseudocyesis, with its interesting phenomena, but instances of malingering for mercenary or other purposes, and some are calculated to deceive the most expert obstetricians by their tricks. weir mitchell delineates an interesting case of pseudocyesis as follows: "a woman, young, or else, it may be, at or past the climacteric, eagerly desires a child or is horribly afraid of becoming pregnant. the menses become slight in amount, irregular, and at last cease or not. meanwhile the abdomen and breasts enlarge, owing to a rapid taking on of fat, and this is far less visible elsewhere. there comes with this excess of fat the most profound conviction of the fact of pregnancy. by and by the child is felt, the physician takes it for granted, and this goes on until the great diagnostician, time, corrects the delusion. then the fat disappears with remarkable speed, and the reign of this singular simulation is at an end." in the same article, dr. mitchell cites the two following cases under his personal observation: "i was consulted by a lady in regard to a woman of thirty years of age, a nurse in whom she was interested. this person had been married some three years to a very old man possessed of a considerable estate. he died, leaving his wife her legal share and the rest to distant cousins, unless the wife had a child. for two months before he died the woman, who was very anemic, ceased to menstruate. she became sure that she was pregnant, and thereupon took on flesh at a rate and in a way which seemed to justify her belief. her breasts and abdomen were the chief seats of this overgrowth. the menses did not return, her pallor increased; the child was felt, and every preparation made for delivery. at the eighth month a physician made an examination and assured her of the absence of pregnancy. a second medical opinion confirmed the first, and the tenth month found her of immense size and still positive as to her condition. at the twelfth month her menstrual flow returned, and she became sure it was the early sign of labor. when it passed over she became convinced of her error, and at once dropped weight at the rate of half a pound a day despite every effort to limit the rate of this remarkable loss. at the end of two months she had parted with fifty pounds and was, on the whole, less anemic. at this stage i was consulted by letter, as the woman had become exceedingly hysteric. this briefly stated case, which occurred many years ago, is a fair illustration of my thesis. "another instance i saw when in general practice. a lady who had several children and suffered much in her pregnancies passed five years without becoming impregnated. then she missed a period, and had, as usual, vomiting. she made some wild efforts to end her supposed pregnancy, and failing, acquiesced in her fate. the menses returned at the ninth month and were presumed to mean labor. meanwhile she vomited, up to the eighth month, and ate little. nevertheless, she took on fat so as to make the abdomen and breasts immense and to excite unusual attention. no physician examined her until the supposed labor began, when, of course, the truth came out. she was pleased not to have another child, and in her case, as in all the others known to me, the fat lessened as soon as the mind was satisfied as to the non-existence of pregnancy. as i now recall the facts, this woman was not more than two months in getting rid of the excess of adipose tissue. dr. hirst tells me he has met with cases of women taking on fat with cessation of the menses, and in which there was also a steady belief in the existence of pregnancy. he has not so followed up these cases as to know if in them the fat fell away with speed when once the patient was assured that no child existed within her." hirst, in an article on the difficulties in the diagnosis of pregnancy, gives several excellent photographs showing the close resemblance between several pathologic conditions and the normal distention of the abdomen in pregnancy. a woman who had several children fell sick with a chest-affection, followed by an edema. for fifteen months she was confined to her bed, and had never had connection with her husband during that time. her menses ceased; her mammae became engorged and discharged a serous lactescent fluid; her belly enlarged, and both she and her physician felt fetal movements in her abdomen. as in her previous pregnancies, she suffered nausea. naturally, a suspicion as to her virtue came into her husband's mind, but when he considered that she had never left her bed for fifteen months he thought the pregnancy impossible. still the wife insisted that she was pregnant and was confirmed in the belief by a midwife. the belly continued to increase, and about eleven months after the cessation of the menses she had the pains of labor. three doctors and an accoucheur were present, and when they claimed that the fetal head presented the husband gave up in despair; but the supposed fetus was born shortly after, and proved to be only a mass of hydatids, with not the sign of a true pregnancy. girard of lyons speaks of a female who had been pregnant several times, but again experienced the signs of pregnancy. her mammae were engorged with a lactescent fluid, and she felt belly-movements like those of a child; but during all this time she had regular menstruation. her abdomen progressively increased in size, and between the tenth and eleventh months she suffered what she thought to be labor-pains. these false pains ceased upon taking a bath, and with the disappearance of the other signs was dissipated the fallacious idea of pregnancy. there is mentioned an instance of medicolegal interest of a young girl who showed all the signs of pregnancy and confessed to her parents that she had had commerce with a man. the parents immediately prosecuted the seducer by strenuous legal methods, but when her ninth month came, and after the use of six baths, all the signs of pregnancy vanished. harvey cites several instances of pseudocyesis, and says we must not rashly determine of the the inordinate birth before the seventh or after the eleventh month. in a woman, after having laughed heartily at the jests of an ill-bred, covetous clown, was seized with various movements and motions in her belly like those of a child, and these continued for over a month, when the courses appeared again and the movements ceased. the woman was certain that she was pregnant. the most noteworthy historic case of pseudocyesis is that of queen mary of england, or "bloody mary," as she was called. to insure the succession of a catholic heir, she was most desirous of having a son by her consort, philip, and she constantly prayed and wished for pregnancy. finally her menses stopped; the breasts began to enlarge and became discolored around the nipples. she had morning-sickness of a violent nature and her abdomen enlarged. on consultation with the ladies of her court, her opinion of pregnancy was strongly confirmed. her favorite amusement then was to make baby-clothes and count on her fingers the months of pregnancy. when the end of the ninth month approached, the people were awakened one night by the joyous peals of the bells of london announcing the new heir. an ambassador had been sent to tell the pope that mary could feel the new life within her, and the people rushed to st. paul's cathedral to listen to the venerable archbishop of canterbury describe the baby-prince and give thanks for his deliverance. the spurious labor pains passed away, and after being assured that no real pregnancy existed in her case, mary went into violent hysterics, and philip, disgusted with the whole affair, deserted her; then commenced the persecution of the protestants, which blighted the reign. putnam cites the case of a healthy brunet, aged forty, the mother of three children. she had abrupt vertical abdominal movements, so strong as to cause her to plunge and sway from side to side. her breasts were enlarged, the areolae dark, and the uterus contained an elastic tumor, heavy and rolling under the hand. her abdomen progressively enlarged to the regular size of matured gestation; but the extrauterine pregnancy, which was supposed to have existed, was not seen at the autopsy, nothing more than an enlarged liver being found. the movement was due to spasmodic movements of the abdominal muscles, the causes being unknown. madden gives the history of a primipara of twenty-eight, married one year, to whom he was called. on entering the room he was greeted by the midwife, who said she expected the child about p.m. the woman was lying in the usual obstetric position, on the left side, groaning, crying loudly, and pulling hard at a strap fastened to the bed-post. she had a partial cessation of menses, and had complained of tumultuous movements of the child and overflow of milk from the breasts. examination showed the cervix low down, the os small and circular, and no signs of pregnancy in the uterus. the abdomen was distended with tympanites and the rectum much dilated with accumulated feces. dr. madden left her, telling her that she was not pregnant, and when she reappeared at his office in a few days, he reassured her of the nonexistence of pregnancy; she became very indignant, triumphantly squeezed lactescent fluid from her breasts, and, insisting that she could feel fetal movements, left to seek a more sympathetic accoucheur. underhill, in the words of hamilton, describes a woman as "having acquired the most accurate description of the breeding symptoms, and with wonderful facility imagined that she had felt every one of them." he found the woman on a bed complaining of great labor-pains, biting a handkerchief, and pulling on a cloth attached to her bed. the finger on the abdomen or vulva elicited symptoms of great sensitiveness. he told her she was not pregnant, and the next day she was sitting up, though the discharge continued, but the simulated throes of labor, which she had so graphically pictured, had ceased. haultain gives three examples of pseudocyesis, the first with no apparent cause, the second due to carcinoma of the uterus, while in the third there was a small fibroid in the anterior wall of the uterus. some cases are of purely nervous origin, associated with a purely muscular distention of the abdomen. clay reported a case due to ascites. cases of pseudocyesis in women convicted of murder are not uncommon, though most of them are imposters hoping for an extra lease of life. croon speaks of a child seven years old on whom he performed ovariotomy for a round-celled sarcoma. she had been well up to may, but since then she had several times been raped by a boy, in consequence of which she had constant uterine hemorrhage. shortly after the first coitus her abdomen began to enlarge, the breasts to develop, and the areolae to darken. in seven months the abdomen presented the signs of pregnancy, but the cervix was soft and patulous; the sound entered three inches and was followed by some hemorrhage. the child was well developed, the mons was covered with hair, and all the associate symptoms tended to increase the deception. sympathetic male nausea of pregnancy.--associated with pregnancy there are often present morning-nausea and vomiting as prominent and reliable symptoms. vomiting is often so excessive as to be provocative of most serious issue and even warranting the induction of abortion. this fact is well known and has been thoroughly discussed, but with it is associated an interesting point, the occasional association of the same symptoms sympathetically in the husband. the belief has long been a superstition in parts of great britain, descending to america, and even exists at the present day. sir francis bacon has written on this subject, the substance of his argument being that certain loving husbands so sympathize with their pregnant wives that they suffer morning-sickness in their own person. no less an authority than s. weir mitchell called attention to the interesting subject of sympathetic vomiting in the husband in his lectures on nervous maladies some years ago. he also quotes the following case associated with pseudocyesis:-- "a woman had given birth to two female children. some years passed and her desire for a boy was ungratified. then she missed her flow once, and had thrice after this, as always took place with her when pregnant, a very small but regular loss. at the second month morning-vomiting came on as usual with her. meanwhile she became very fat, and as the growth was largely, in fact excessively, abdominal, she became easily sure of her condition. she was not my patient, but her husband consulted me as to his own morning-sickness, which came on with the first occurrence of this sign in his wife, as had been the case twice before in her former pregnancies. i advised him to leave home, and this proved effectual. i learned later that the woman continued to gain flesh and be sick every morning until the seventh month. then menstruation returned, an examination was made, and when sure that there was no possibility of her being pregnant she began to lose flesh, and within a few months regained her usual size." hamill reports an instance of morning-sickness in a husband two weeks after the appearance of menstruation in the wife for the last time. he had daily attacks, and it was not until the failure of the next menses that the woman had any other sign of pregnancy than her husband's nausea. his nausea continued for two months, and was the same as that which he had suffered during his wife's former pregnancies, although not until both he and his wife became aware of the existence of pregnancy. the lancet describes a case in which the husband's nausea and vomiting, as well as that of the wife, began and ended simultaneously. judkins cites an instance of a man who was sick in the morning while his wife was carrying a child. this occurred during every pregnancy, and the man related that his own father was similarly affected while his mother was in the early months of pregnancy with him, showing an hereditary predisposition. the perverted appetites and peculiar longings of pregnant women furnish curious matter for discussion. from the earliest times there are many such records. borellus cites an instance, and there are many others, of pregnant women eating excrement with apparent relish. tulpius, sennert, langius, van swieten, a castro, and several others report depraved appetites. several writers have seen avidity for human flesh in such females. fournier knew a woman with an appetite for the blood of her husband. she gently cut him while he lay asleep by her side and sucked blood from the wounds--a modern "succubus." pare mentions the perverted appetites of pregnant women, and says that they have been known to eat plaster, ashes, dirt, charcoal, flour, salt, spices, to drink pure vinegar, and to indulge in all forms of debauchery. plot gives the case of a woman who would gnaw and eat all the linen off her bed. hufeland's journal records the history of a case of a woman of thirty-two, who had been married ten years, who acquired a strong taste for charcoal, and was ravenous for it. it seemed to cheer her and to cure a supposed dyspepsia. she devoured enormous quantities, preferring hard-wood charcoal. bruyesinus speaks of a woman who had a most perverted appetite for her own milk, and constantly drained her breasts; krafft-ebing cites a similar case. another case is that of a pregnant woman who had a desire for hot and pungent articles of food, and who in a short time devoured a pound of pepper. scheidemantel cites a case in which the perverted appetite, originating in pregnancy, became permanent, but this is not the experience of most observers. the pregnant wife of a farmer in hassfort-on-the-main ate the excrement of her husband. many instances could be quoted, some in which extreme cases of polydipsia and bulimia developed; these can be readily attributed to the increased call for liquids and food. other cases of diverse new emotions can be recalled, such as lasciviousness, dirty habits, perverted thoughts, and, on the other hand, extreme piety, chastity, and purity of the mind. some of the best-natured women are when pregnant extremely cross and irritable and many perversions of disposition are commonly noticed in pregnancy. there is often a longing for a particular kind of food or dish for which no noticeable desire had been displayed before. maternal impressions.--another curious fact associated with pregnancy is the apparent influence of the emotions of the mother on the child in utero. every one knows of the popular explanation of many birth-marks, their supposed resemblance to some animal or object seen by the mother during pregnancy, etc. the truth of maternal impressions, however, seems to be more firmly established by facts of a substantial nature. there is a natural desire to explain any abnormality or anomaly of the child as due to some incident during the period of the mother's pregnancy, and the truth is often distorted and the imagination heavily drawn upon to furnish the satisfactory explanation. it is the customary speech of the dime-museum lecturer to attribute the existence of some "freak" to an episode in the mother's pregnancy. the poor "elephant-man" firmly believed his peculiarity was due to the fact that his mother while carrying him in utero was knocked down at the circus by an elephant. in some countries the exhibition of monstrosities is forbidden because of the supposed danger of maternal impression. the celebrated "siamese twins" for this reason were forbidden to exhibit themselves for quite a period in france. we shall cite only a few of the most interesting cases from medical literature. hippocrates saved the honor of a princess, accused of adultery with a negro because she bore a black child, by citing it as a case of maternal impression, the husband of the princess having placed in her room a painting of a negro, to the view of which she was subjected during the whole of her pregnancy. then, again, in the treatise "de superfoetatione" there occurs the following distinct statement: "if a pregnant woman has a longing to eat earth or coals, and eats of them, the infant which is born carries on its head the mark of these things." this statement, however, occurs in a work which is not mentioned by any of the ancient authorities, and is rejected by practically all the modern ones; according to ballantyne, there is, therefore, no absolute proof that hippocrates was a believer in one of the most popular and long-persisting beliefs concerning fetal deformities. in the explanation of heredity, hippocrates states "that the body of the male as well as that of the female furnishes the semen. that which is weak (unhealthy) is derived from weak (unhealthy) parts, that which is strong (healthy) from strong (healthy) parts, and the fetus will correspond to the quality of the semen. if the semen of one part come in greater quantity from the male than from the female, this part will resemble more closely the father; if, however, it comes more from the female, the part will rather resemble the mother. if it be true that the semen comes from both parents, then it is impossible for the whole body to resemble either the mother or the father, or neither the one nor the other in anything, but necessarily the child will resemble both the one and the other in something. the child will most resemble the one who contributes most to the formation of the parts." such was the hippocratic theory of generation and heredity, and it was ingeniously used to explain the hereditary nature of certain diseases and malformations. for instance, in speaking of the sacred disease (epilepsy), hippocrates says: "its origin is hereditary, like that of other diseases; for if a phlegmatic person be born of a phlegmatic, and a bilious of a bilious, and a phthisical of a phthisical, and one having spleen disease of another having disease of the spleen, what is to hinder it from happening that where the father and mother were subject to this disease certain of their offspring should be so affected also? as the semen comes from all parts of the body, healthy particles will come from healthy parts, and unhealthy from unhealthy parts." according to pare, damascene saw a girl with long hair like a bear, whose mother had constantly before her a picture of the hairy st. john. pare also appends an illustration showing the supposed resemblance to a bear. jonston quotes a case of heliodorus; it was an ethiopian, who by the effect of the imagination produced a white child. pare describes this case more fully: "heliodorus says that persina, queen of ethiopia, being impregnated by hydustes, also an ethiopian, bore a daughter with a white skin, and the anomaly was ascribed to the admiration that a picture of andromeda excited in persina throughout the whole of the pregnancy." van helmont cites the case of a tailor's wife at mechlin, who during a conflict outside her house, on seeing a soldier lose his hand at her door, gave birth to a daughter with one hand, the other hand being a bleeding stump; he also speaks of the case of the wife of a merchant at antwerp, who after seeing a soldier's arm shot off at the siege of ostend gave birth to a daughter with one arm. plot speaks of a child bearing the figure of a mouse; when pregnant, the mother had been much frightened by one of these animals. gassendus describes a fetus with the traces of a wound in the same location as one received by the mother. the lancet speaks of several cases--one of a child with a face resembling a dog whose mother had been bitten; one of a child with one eye blue and the other black, whose mother during confinement had seen a person so marked; of an infant with fins as upper and lower extremities, the mother having seen such a monster; and another, a child born with its feet covered with scalds and burns, whose mother had been badly frightened by fireworks and a descending rocket. there is the history of a woman who while pregnant at seven months with her fifth child was bitten on the right calf by a dog. ten weeks after, she bore a child with three marks corresponding in size and appearance to those caused by the dog's teeth on her leg. kerr reports the case of a woman in her seventh month whose daughter fell on a cooking stove, shocking the mother, who suspected fatal burns. the woman was delivered two months later of an infant blistered about the mouth and extremities in a manner similar to the burns of her sister. this infant died on the third day, but another was born fourteen months later with the same blisters. inflammation set in and nearly all the fingers and toes sloughed of. in a subsequent confinement, long after the mental agitation, a healthy unmarked infant was born. hunt describes a case which has since become almost classic of a woman fatally burned, when pregnant eight months, by her clothes catching fire at the kitchen grate. the day after the burns labor began and was terminated by the birth of a well-formed dead female child, apparently blistered and burned in extent and in places corresponding almost exactly to the locations of the mother's injuries. the mother died on the fourth day. webb reports the history of a negress who during a convulsion while pregnant fell into a fire, burning the whole front of the abdomen, the front and inside of the thighs to the knees, the external genitals, and the left arm. artificial delivery was deemed necessary, and a dead child, seemingly burned much like its mother, except less intensely, was delivered. there was also one large blister near the inner canthus of the eye and some large blisters about the neck and throat which the mother did not show. there was no history of syphilis nor of any eruptive fever in the mother, who died on the tenth day with tetanus. graham describes a woman of thirty-five, the mother of seven children, who while pregnant was feeding some rabbits, when one of the animals jumped at her with its eyes "glaring" upon her, causing a sudden fright. her child was born hydrocephalic. its mouth and face were small and rabbit-shaped. instead of a nose, it had a fleshy growth / inch long by / inch broad, directed upward at an angle of degrees. the space between this and the mouth was occupied by a body resembling an adult eye. within this were two small, imperfect eyes which moved freely while life lasted (ten minutes). the child's integument was covered with dark, downy, short hair. the woman recovered and afterward bore two normal children. parvin mentions an instance of the influence of maternal impression in the causation of a large, vivid, red mark or splotch on the face: "when the mother was in ireland she was badly frightened by a fire in which some cattle were burned. again, during the early months of her pregnancy she was frightened by seeing another woman suddenly light the fire with kerosene, and at that time became firmly impressed with the idea that her child would be marked." parvin also pictures the "turtle-man," an individual with deformed extremities, who might be classed as an ectromelus, perhaps as a phocomelus, or seal-like monster. according to the story, when the mother was a few weeks pregnant her husband, a coarse, rough fisherman, fond of rude jokes, put a large live turtle in the cupboard. in the twilight the wife went to the cupboard and the huge turtle fell out, greatly startling her by its hideous appearance as it fell suddenly to the floor and began to move vigorously. copeland mentions a curious case in which a woman was attacked by a rattlesnake when in her sixth month of pregnancy, and gave birth to a child whose arm exhibited the shape and action of a snake, and involuntarily went through snake-like movements. the face and mouth also markedly resembled the head of a snake. the teeth were situated like a serpent's fangs. the mere mention of a snake filled the child (a man of twenty-nine) with great horror and rage, "particularly in the snake season." beale gives the history of a case of a child born with its left eye blackened as by a blow, whose mother was struck in a corresponding portion of the face eight hours before confinement. there is on record an account of a young man of twenty-one suffering from congenital deformities attributed to the fact that his mother was frightened by a guinea-pig having been thrust into her face during pregnancy. he also had congenital deformity of the right auricle. at the autopsy, all the skin, tissues, muscles, and bones were found involved. owen speaks of a woman who was greatly excited ten months previously by a prurient curiosity to see what appearance the genitals of her brother presented after he had submitted to amputation of the penis on account of carcinoma. the whole penis had been removed. the woman stated that from the time she had thus satisfied herself, her mind was unceasingly engaged in reflecting and sympathizing on the forlorn condition of her brother. while in this mental state she gave birth to a son whose penis was entirely absent, but who was otherwise well and likely to live. the other portions of the genitals were perfect and well developed. the appearance of the nephew and the uncle was identical. a most peculiar case is stated by clerc as occurring in the experience of kuss of strasburg. a woman had a negro paramour in america with whom she had had sexual intercourse several times. she was put in a convent on the continent, where she stayed two years. on leaving the convent she married a white man, and nine months after she gave birth to a dark-skinned child. the supposition was that during her abode in the convent and the nine months subsequently she had the image of her black paramour constantly before her. loin speaks of a woman who was greatly impressed by the actions of a clown at a circus, and who brought into the world a child that resembled the fantastic features of the clown in a most striking manner. mackay describes five cases in which fright produced distinct marks on the fetus. there is a case mentioned in which a pregnant woman was informed that an intimate friend had been thrown from his horse; the immediate cause of death was fracture of the skull, produced by the corner of a dray against which the rider was thrown. the mother was profoundly impressed by the circumstance, which was minutely described to her by an eye-witness. her child at birth presented a red and sensitive area upon the scalp corresponding in location with the fatal injury in the rider. the child is now an adult woman, and this area upon the scalp remains red and sensitive to pressure, and is almost devoid of hair. mastin of mobile, alabama, reports a curious instance of maternal impression. during the sixth month of the pregnancy of the mother her husband was shot, the ball passing out through the left breast. the woman was naturally much shocked, and remarked to dr. mastin: "doctor, my baby will be ruined, for when i saw the wound i put my hands over my face, and got it covered with blood, and i know my baby will have a bloody face." the child came to term without a bloody face. it had, however, a well-defined spot on the left breast just below the site of exit of the ball from its father's chest. the spot was about the size of a silver half-dollar, and had elevated edges of a bright red color, and was quite visible at the distance of one hundred feet. the authors have had personal communication with dr. mastin in regard to this case, which he considers the most positive evidence of a case of maternal impression that he has ever met. paternal impressions.--strange as are the foregoing cases, those of paternal impression eclipse them. several are on record, but none are of sufficient authenticity to warrant much discussion on the subject. those below are given to illustrate the method of report. stahl, quoted by steinan, , speaks of the case of a child, the father being a soldier who lost an eye in the war. the child was born with one of its eyes dried up in the orbit, in this respect presenting an appearance like that of the father. schneider says a man whose wife was expecting confinement dreamt that his oldest son stood beside his bedside with his genitals much mutilated and bleeding. he awoke in a great state of agitation, and a few days later the wife was delivered of a child with exstrophy of the bladder. hoare recites the curious story of a man who vowed that if his next child was a daughter he would never speak to it. the child proved to be a son, and during the whole of the father's life nothing could induce the son to speak to his father, nor, in fact, to any other male person, but after the father's death he talked fluently to both men and women. clark reports the birth of a child whose father had a stiff knee-joint, and the child's knee was stiff and bent in exactly the same position as that of its father. telegony.--the influence of the paternal seed on the physical and mental constitution of the child is well known. to designate this condition, telegony is the word that was coined by weismann in his "das keimplasma," and he defines it as "infection of the germ," and, at another time, as "those doubtful instances in which the offspring is said to resemble, not the father, but an early mate of the mother,"--or, in other words, the alleged influence of a previous sire on the progeny produced by a subsequent one from the same mother. in a systematic discussion of telegony before the royal medical society, edinburgh, on march , , brunton blaikie, as a means of making the definition of telegony plainer by practical example, prefaced his remarks by citing the classic example which first drew the attention of the modern scientific world to this phenomenon. the facts of this case were communicated in a letter from the earl of morton to the president of the royal society in , and were as follows: in the year lord morton put a male quagga to a young chestnut mare of / arabian blood, which had never before been bred from. the result was a female hybrid which resembled both parents. he now sold the mare to sir gore ousley, who two years after she bore the hybrid put her to a black arabian horse. during the two following years she had two foals which lord morton thus describes: "they have the character of the arabian breed as decidedly as can be expected when / of the blood are arabian, and they are fine specimens of the breed; but both in their color and in the hair of their manes they have a striking resemblance to the quagga. their color is bay, marked more or less like the quagga in a darker tint. both are distinguished by the dark line along the ridge of the back, the dark stripes across the forehand, and the dark bars across the back part of the legs." the president of the royal society saw the foals and verified lord morton's statement. "herbert spencer, in the contemporary review for may, , gives several cases communicated to him by his friend mr. fookes, whom spencer says is often appointed judge of animals at agricultural shows. after giving various examples he goes on to say: 'a friend of mine near this had a valuable dachshund bitch, which most unfortunately had a litter by a stray sheep-dog. the next year the owner sent her on a visit to a pure dachshund dog, but the produce took quite as much of the first father as the second, and the next year he sent her to another dachshund, with the same result. another case: a friend of mine in devizes had a litter of puppies unsought for, by a setter from a favorite pointer bitch, and after this she never bred any true pointers, no matter what the paternity was.' "lord polwarth, whose very fine breed of border leicesters is famed throughout britain, and whose knowledge on the subject of breeding is great, says that 'in sheep we always consider that if a ewe breeds to a shrop ram, she is never safe to breed pure leicesters from, as dun or colored legs are apt to come even when the sire is a pure leicester. this has been proved in various instances, but is not invariable.'" hon. henry scott says: "dog-breeders know this theory well; and if a pure-bred bitch happens to breed to a dog of another breed, she is of little use for breeding pure-bred puppies afterward. animals which produce large litters and go a short time pregnant show this throwing back to previous sires far more distinctly than others--i fancy dogs and pigs most of all, and probably horses least. the influence of previous sires may be carried into the second generation or further, as i have a cat now which appears to be half persian (long hair). his dam has very long hair and every appearance of being a half persian, whereas neither have really any persian blood, as far as i know, but the grand-dam (a very smooth-haired cat) had several litters by a half-persian tom-cat, and all her produce since have showed the influence retained. the persian tom-cat died many years ago, and was the only one in the district, so, although i cannot be absolutely positive, still i think this case is really as stated." breeders of bedlington terriers wish to breed dogs with as powerful jaws as possible. in order to accomplish this they put the bedlington terrier bitch first to a bull-terrier dog, and get a mongrel litter which they destroy. they now put the bitch to a bedlington terrier dog and get a litter of puppies which are practically pure, but have much stronger jaws than they would otherwise have had, and also show much of the gameness of the bull-terrier, thus proving that physiologic as well as anatomic characters may be transmitted in this way. after citing the foregoing examples, blaikie directs his attention to man, and makes the following interesting remarks:-- "we might expect from the foregoing account of telegony amongst animals that whenever a black woman had a child to a white man, and then married a black man, her subsequent children would not be entirely black. dr. robert balfour of surinam in wrote to harvey that he was continually noticing amongst the colored population of surinam 'that if a negress had a child or children by a white, and afterward fruitful intercourse with a negro, the latter offspring had generally a lighter color than the parents.' but, as far as i know, this is the only instance of this observation on record. herbert spencer has shown that when a pure-bred animal breeds with an animal of a mixed breed, the offspring resembles much more closely the parent of pure blood, and this may explain why the circumstance recorded by balfour has been so seldom noted. for a negro, who is of very pure blood, will naturally have a stronger influence on the subsequent progeny than an anglo-saxon, who comes of a mixed stock. if this be the correct explanation, we should expect that when a white woman married first a black man, and then a white, the children by the white husband would be dark colored. unfortunately for the proof of telegony, it is very rare that a white woman does marry a black man, and then have a white as second husband; nevertheless, we have a fair number of recorded instances of dark-colored children being born in the above way of white parents. "dr. harvey mentions a case in which 'a young woman, residing in edinburgh, and born of white (scottish) parents, but whose mother, some time previous to her marriage, had a natural (mulatto) child by a negro man-servant in edinburgh, exhibits distinct traces of the negro. dr. simpson--afterward sir james simpson--whose patient the young woman at one time was, has had no recent opportunities of satisfying himself as to the precise extent to which the negro character prevails in her features; but he recollects being struck with the resemblance, and noticed particularly that the hair had the qualities characteristic of the negro.' herbert spencer got a letter from a 'distinguished correspondent' in the united states, who said that children by white parents had been 'repeatedly' observed to show traces of black blood when the women had had previous connection with (i.e., a child by) a negro. dr. youmans of new york interviewed several medical professors, who said the above was 'generally accepted as a fact.' prof. austin flint, in 'a text-book of human physiology,' mentioned this fact, and when asked about it said: 'he had never heard the statement questioned.' "but it is not only in relation to color that we find telegony to have been noticed in the human subject. dr. middleton michel gives a most interesting case in the american journal of the medical sciences for : 'a black woman, mother of several negro children, none of whom were deformed in any particular, had illicit intercourse with a white man, by whom she became pregnant. during gestation she manifested great uneasiness of mind, lest the birth of a mulatto offspring should disclose her conduct.... it so happened that her negro husband possessed a sixth digit on each hand, but there was no peculiarity of any kind in the white man, yet when the mulatto child was born it actually presented the deformity of a supernumerary finger.' taruffi, the celebrated italian teratologist, in speaking of the subject, says: 'our knowledge of this strange fact is by no means recent for fienus, in , said that most of the children born in adultery have a greater resemblance to the legal than to the real father'--an observation that was confirmed by the philosopher vanini and by the naturalist ambrosini. from these observations comes the proverb: 'filium ex adultera excusare matrem a culpa.' osiander has noted telegony in relation to moral qualities of children by a second marriage. harvey said that it has long been known that the children by a second husband resemble the first husband in features mind, and disposition. he then gave a case in which this resemblance was very well marked. orton, burdach (traite de physiologie), and dr. william sedgwick have all remarked on this physical resemblance; and dr. metcalfe, in a dissertation delivered before this society in , observed that in the cases of widows remarrying the children of the second marriage frequently resemble the first husband. "an observation probably having some bearing on this subject was made by count de stuzeleci (harvey, loc. cit.). he noticed that when an aboriginal female had had a child by a european, she lost the power of conception by a male of her own race, but could produce children by a white man. he believed this to be the case with many aboriginal races; but it has been disproved, or at all events proved to be by no means a universal law, in every case except that of the aborigines of australia and new zealand. dr. william sedgwick thought it probable that the unfruitfulness of prostitutes might in some degree be due to the same cause as that of the australian aborigines who have had children by white men. "it would seem as though the israelites had had some knowledge of telegony, for in deuteronomy we find that when a man died leaving no issue, his wife was commanded to marry her husband's brother, in order that he might 'raise up seed to his brother.'" we must omit the thorough inquiry into this subject that is offered by mr. blaikie. the explanations put forward have always been on one of three main lines:-- ( ) the imagination-theory, or, to quote harvey: "due to mental causes so operating either on the mind of the female and so acting on her reproductive powers, or on the mind of the male parent, and so influencing the qualities of his semen, as to modify the nutrition and development of the offspring." ( ) due to a local influence on the reproductive organs of the mother. ( ) due to a general influence through the fetus on the mother. antenatal pathology.--we have next to deal with the diseases, accidents, and operations that affect the pregnant uterus and its contents; these are rich in anomalies and facts of curious interest, and have been recognized from the earliest times. in the various works usually grouped together under the general designation of "hippocratic" are to be found the earliest opinions upon the subject of antenatal pathology which the medical literature of greece has handed down to modern times. that there were medical writers before the time of hippocrates cannot be doubted, and that the works ascribed to the "father of medicine" were immediately followed by those of other physicians, is likewise not to be questioned; but whilst nearly all the writings prior to and after hippocrates have been long lost to the world, most of those that were written by the coan physician and his followers have been almost miraculously preserved. as littre puts it, "les ecrits hippocratiques demeurent isoles au milieu des debris de l'antique litterature medicale."--(ballantyne.) the first to be considered is the transmission of contagious disease to the fetus in utero. the first disease to attract attention was small-pox. devilliers, blot, and depaul all speak of congenital small-pox, the child born dead and showing evidences of the typical small-pox pustulation, with a history of the mother having been infected during pregnancy. watson reports two cases in which a child in utero had small-pox. in the first case the mother was infected in pregnancy; the other was nursing a patient when seven months pregnant; she did not take the disease, although she had been infected many months before. mauriceau delivered a woman of a healthy child at full term after she had recovered from a severe attack of this disease during the fifth month of gestation. mauriceau supposed the child to be immune after the delivery. vidal reported to the french academy of medicine, may, , the case of a woman who gave birth to a living child of about six and one-half months' maturation, which died some hours after birth covered with the pustules of seven or eight days' eruption. the pustules on the fetus were well umbilicated and typical, and could have been nothing but those of small-pox; besides, this disease was raging in the neighborhood at the time. the mother had never been infected before, and never was subsequently. both parents were robust and neither of them had ever had syphilis. about the time of conception, the early part of december, , the father had suffered from the semiconfluent type, but the mother, who had been vaccinated when a girl, had never been stricken either during or after her husband's sickness. quirke relates a peculiar instance of a child born at midnight, whose mother was covered with the eruption eight hours after delivery. the child was healthy and showed no signs of the contagion, and was vaccinated at once. although it remained with its mother all through the sickness, it continued well, with the exception of the ninth day, when a slight fever due to its vaccination appeared. the mother made a good recovery, and the author remarks that had the child been born a short time later, it would most likely have been infected. ayer reports an instance of congenital variola in twins. chantreuil speaks of a woman pregnant with twins who aborted at five and a half months. one of the fetuses showed distinct signs of congenital variola, although the mother and other fetus were free from any symptoms of the disease. in charcot reported the birth of a premature fetus presenting numerous variolous pustules together with ulcerations of the derm and mucous membranes and stomach, although the mother had convalesced of the disease some time before. mitchell describes a case of small-pox occurring three days after birth, the mother not having had the disease since childhood. shertzer relates an instance of confluent small-pox in the eighth month of pregnancy. the child was born with the disease, and both mother and babe recovered. among many others offering evidence of variola in utero are degner, derham, john hunter, blot, bulkley, welch, wright, digk, forbes, marinus, and bouteiller. varicella, measles, pneumonia, and even malaria are reported as having been transmitted to the child in utero. hubbard attended a woman on march , , in her seventh accouchement. the child showed the rash of varicella twenty-four hours after birth, and passed through the regular coarse of chicken-pox of ten days' duration. the mother had no signs of the disease, but the children all about her were infected. ordinarily the period of incubation is from three to four days, with a premonitory fever of from twenty-four to seventy-two hours' duration, when the rash appears; this case must therefore have been infected in utero. lomer of hamburg tells of the case of a woman, twenty-two years, unmarried, pregnant, who had measles in the eighth month, and who gave birth to an infant with measles. the mother was attacked with pneumonia on the fifth day of her puerperium, but recovered; the child died in four weeks of intestinal catarrh. gautier found measles transmitted from the mother to the fetus in out of cases, there being maternal deaths in the cases. netter has observed the case of transmission of pneumonia from a mother to a fetus, and has seen two cases in which the blood from the uterine vessels of patients with pneumonia contained the pneumococcus. wallick collected a number of cases of pneumonia occurring during pregnancy, showing a fetal mortality of per cent. felkin relates two instances of fetal malaria in which the infection was probably transmitted by the male parent. in one case the father near term suffered severely from malaria; the mother had never had a chill. the violent fetal movements induced labor, and the spleen was so large as to retard it. after birth the child had seven malarial paroxysms but recovered, the splenic tumor disappearing. the modes of infection of the fetus by syphilis, and the infection of the mother, have been well discussed, and need no mention here. there has been much discussion on the effects on the fetus in utero of medicine administered to the pregnant mother, and the opinions as to the reliability of this medication are so varied that we are in doubt as to a satisfactory conclusion. the effects of drugs administered and eliminated by the mammary glands and transmitted to the child at the breast are well known, and have been witnessed by nearly every physician, and, as in cases of strong metallic purges, etc., need no other than the actual test. however, scientific experiments as to the efficacy of fetal therapeutics have been made from time to time with varying results. gusserow of strasbourg tested for iodin, chloroform, and salicylic acid in the blood and secretions of the fetus after maternal administration just before death. in cases in which iodin had been administered, he examined the fetal urine of cases; in , iodin was present, and in the others, absent. he made some similar experiments on the lower animals. benicke reports having given salicylic acid just before birth in cases, and in each case finding it in the urine of the child shortly after birth. at a discussion held in new york some years ago as to the real effect on the fetus of giving narcotics to the mother, dr. gaillard thomas was almost alone in advocating that the effect was quite visible. fordyce barker was strongly on the negative side. henning and ahlfeld, two german observers, vouch for the opinion of thomas, and thornburn states that he has witnessed the effect of nux vomica and strychnin on the fetus shortly after birth. over fifty years ago, in a memoir on "placental phthisis," sir james y. simpson advanced a new idea in the recommendation of potassium chlorate during the latter stages of pregnancy. the efficacy of this suggestion is known, and whether, as simpson said, it acts by supplying extra oxygen to the blood, or whether the salt itself is conveyed to the fetus, has never been definitely settled. mcclintock, who has been a close observer on this subject, reports some interesting cases. in his first case he tried a mixture of iron perchlorid and potassium chlorate three times a day on a woman who had borne three dead children, with a most successful result. his second case failed, but in a third he was successful by the same medication with a woman who had before borne a dead child. in a fourth case of unsuccessful pregnancy for three consecutive births he was successful. his fifth case was extraordinary: it was that of a woman in her tenth pregnancy, who, with one exception, had always borne a dead child at the seventh or eighth month. the one exception lived a few hours only. under this treatment he was successful in carrying the woman safely past her time for miscarriage, and had every indication for a normal birth at the time of report. thornburn believes that the administration of a tonic like strychnin is of benefit to a fetus which, by its feeble heart-beats and movements, is thought to be unhealthy. porak has recently investigated the passage of substances foreign to the organism through the placenta, and offers an excellent paper on this subject, which is quoted in brief in a contemporary number of teratologia. in this important paper, porak, after giving some historical notes, describes a long series of experiments performed on the guinea-pig in order to investigate the passage of arsenic, copper, lead, mercury, phosphorus, alizarin, atropin, and eserin through the placenta. the placenta shows a real affinity for some toxic substances; in it accumulate copper and mercury, but not lead, and it is therefore through it that the poison reaches the fetus; in addition to its pulmonary, intestinal, and renal functions, it fixes glycogen and acts as an accumulator of poisons, and so resembles in its action the liver; therefore the organs of the fetus possess only a potential activity. the storing up of poisons in the placenta is not so general as the accumulation of them in the liver of the mother. it may be asked if the placenta does not form a barrier to the passage of poisons into the circulation of the fetus; this would seem to be demonstrated by mercury, which was always found in the placenta and never in the fetal organs. in poisoning by lead and copper the accumulation of the poison in the fetal tissues is greater than in the maternal, perhaps from differences in assimilation and disassimilation or from greater diffusion. whilst it is not an impermeable barrier to the passage of poisons, the placenta offers a varying degree of obstruction: it allows copper and lead to pass easily, arsenic with greater difficulty. the accumulation of toxic substances in the fetus does not follow the same law as in the adult. they diffuse more widely in the fetus. in the adult the liver is the chief accumulatory organ. arsenic, which in the mother elects to accumulate in the liver, is in the fetus stored up in the skin; copper accumulates in the fetal liver, central nervous system, and sometimes in the skin; lead which is found specially in the maternal liver, but also in the skin, has been observed in the skin, liver, nervous centers, and elsewhere in the fetus. the frequent presence of poisons in the fetal skin demonstrates its physiologic importance. it has probably not a very marked influence on its health. on the contrary, accumulation in the placenta and nerve centers explains the pathogenesis of abortion and the birth of dead fetuses ("mortinatatite") copper and lead did not cause abortion, but mercury did so in two out of six cases. arsenic is a powerful abortive agent in the guinea-pig, probably on account of placental hemorrhages. an important deduction is that whilst the placenta is frequently and seriously affected in syphilis, it is also the special seat for the accumulation of mercury. may this not explain its therapeutic action in this disease? the marked accumulation of lead in the central nervous system of the fetus explains the frequency and serious character of saturnine encephalopathic lesions. the presence of arsenic in the fetal skin alone gives an explanation of the therapeutic results of the administration of this substance in skin diseases. intrauterine amputations are of interest to the medical man, particularly those cases in which the accident has happened in early pregnancy and the child is born with a very satisfactory and clean stump. montgomery, in an excellent paper, advances the theory, which is very plausible, that intrauterine amputations are caused by contraction of bands or membranes of organized lymph encircling the limb and producing amputation by the same process of disjunctive atrophy that the surgeons induce by ligature. weinlechner speaks of a case in which a man devoid of all four extremities was exhibited before the vienna medical society. the amputations were congenital, and on the right side there was a very small stump of the upper arm remaining, admitting the attachment of an artificial apparatus. he was twenty-seven years old, and able to write, to thread a needle, pour water out of a bottle, etc. cook speaks of a female child born of indian parents, the fourth birth of a mother twenty-six years old. the child weighed / pounds; the circumference of the head was inches and that of the trunk inches. the upper extremities consisted of perfect shoulder joints, but only / of each humerus was present. both sides showed evidences of amputation, the cicatrix on the right side being inch long and on the left / inch long. the right lower limb was merely a fleshy corpuscle / inch wide and / inch long; to the posterior edge was attached a body resembling the little toe of a newly-born infant. on the left side the limb was represented by a fleshy corpuscle inch long and / inch in circumference, resembling the great toe of an infant. there was no history of shock or injury to the mother. the child presented by the breech, and by the absence of limbs caused much difficulty in diagnosis. the three stages of labor were one and one-half hours, forty-five minutes, and five minutes, respectively. the accompanying illustration shows the appearance of the limbs at the time of report. figure represents a negro boy, the victim of intrauterine amputation, who learned to utilize his toes for many purposes. the illustration shows his mode of holding his pen. there is an instance reported in which a child at full term was born with an amputated arm, and at the age of seventeen the stump was scarcely if at all smaller than the other. blake speaks of a case of congenital amputation of both the upper extremities. gillilam a mentions a case that shows the deleterious influence of even the weight of a fetal limb resting on a cord or band. his case was that of a fetus, the product of a miscarriage of traumatic origin; the soft tissues were almost cut through and the bone denuded by the limb resting on one of the two umbilical cords, not encircling it, but in a sling. the cord was deeply imbedded in the tissues. the coilings of the cord are not limited to compression about the extremities alone, but may even decapitate the head by being firmly wrapped several times about the neck. according to ballantyne, there is in the treatise de octimestri partu, by hippocrates, a reference to coiling of the umbilical cord round the neck of the fetus. this coiling was, indeed, regarded as one of the dangers of the eighth month, and even the mode of its production is described. it is said that if the cord he extended along one side of the uterus, and the fetus lie more to the other side, then when the culbute is performed the funis must necessarily form a loop round the neck or chest of the infant. if it remain in this position, it is further stated, the mother will suffer later and the fetus will either perish or be born with difficulty. if the hippocratic writers knew that this coiling is sometimes quite innocuous, they did not in any place state the fact. the accompanying illustrations show the different ways in which the funis may be coiled, the coils sometimes being as many as . bizzen mentions an instance in which from strangulation the head of a fetus was in a state of putrefaction, the funis being twice tightly bound around the neck. cleveland, cuthbert, and germain report analogous instances. matthyssens observed the twisting of the funis about the arm and neck of a fetus the body of which was markedly wasted. there was complete absence of amniotic fluid during labor. blumenthal presented to the new york pathological society an ovum within which the fetus was under going intrauterine decapitation. buchanan describes a case illustrative of the etiology of spontaneous amputation of limbs in utero nebinger reports a case of abortion, showing commencing amputation of the left thigh from being encircled by the funis. the death of the fetus was probably due to compression of the cord. owen mentions an instance in which the left arm and hand of a fetus were found in a state of putrescence from strangulation, the funis being tightly bound around at the upper part. simpson published an article on spontaneous amputation of the forearm and rudimentary regeneration of the hand in the fetus. among other contributors to this subject are avery, boncour, brown, ware, wrangell, young, nettekoven, martin, macan, leopold, hecker, gunther, and friedinger. wygodzky finds that the greatest number of coils of the umbilical cord ever found to encircle a fetus are (baudelocque), (crede), and (muller and gray). his own case was observed this year in wilna. the patient was a primipara aged twenty. the last period was seen on may , . on february th the fetal movements suddenly ceased. on the th pains set in about two weeks before term. at noon turbid liquor amnii escaped. at p.m., on examination, wygodzky defined a dead fetus in left occipito-anterior presentation, very high in the inlet. the os was nearly completely dilated, the pains strong. by p.m. the head was hardly engaged in the pelvic cavity. at p.m. it neared the outlet at the height of each pain, but retracted immediately afterward. after p.m. the pains grew weak. at midnight wygodzky delivered the dead child by expression. not till then was the cause of delay clear. the funis was very tense and coiled times round the neck and once round the left shoulder; there was also a distinct knot. it measured over inches in length. the fetus was a male, slightly macerated. it weighed over pounds, and was easily delivered entire after division and unwinding of the funis. no marks remained on the neck. the placenta followed ten minutes later and, so far as naked-eye experience indicated, seemed healthy. intrauterine fractures are occasionally seen, but are generally the results of traumatism or of some extraordinary muscular efforts on the part of the mother. a blow on the abdomen or a fall may cause them. the most interesting cases are those in which the fractures are multiple and the causes unknown. spontaneous fetal fractures have been discussed thoroughly, and the reader is referred to any responsible text-book for the theories of causation. atkinson, de luna, and keller report intrauterine fractures of the clavicle. filippi contributes an extensive paper on the medicolegal aspect of a case of intrauterine fracture of the os cranium. braun of vienna reports a case of intrauterine fracture of the humerus and femur. rodrigue describes a case of fracture and dislocation of the humerus of a fetus in utero. gaultier reports an instance of fracture of both femora intrauterine. stanley, vanderveer, and young cite instances of intrauterine fracture of the thigh; in the case of stanley the fracture occurred during the last week of gestation, and there was rapid union of the fragments during lactation. danyau, proudfoot, and smith mention intrauterine fracture of the tibia; in proudfoot's case there was congenital talipes talus. dolbeau describes an instance in which multiple fractures were found in a fetus, some of which were evidently postpartum, while others were assuredly antepartum. hirschfeld describes a fetus showing congenital multiple fractures. gross speaks of a wonderful case of chaupier in which no less than fractures were discovered in a child at birth. it survived twenty-four hours, and at the postmortem examination it was found that some were already solid, some uniting, whilst others were recent. it often happens that the intrauterine fracture is well united at birth. there seems to be a peculiar predisposition of the bones to fracture in the cases in which the fractures are multiple and the cause is not apparent. the results to the fetus of injuries to the pregnant mother are most diversified. in some instances the marvelous escape of any serious consequences of one or both is almost incredible, while in others the slightest injury is fatal. guillemont cites the instance of a woman who was killed by a stroke of lightning, but whose fetus was saved; while fabricius hildanus describes a case in which there was perforation of the head, fracture of the skull, and a wound of the groin, due to sudden starting and agony of terror of the mother. here there was not the slightest history of any external violence. it is a well-known fact that injuries to the pregnant mother show visible effects on the person of the fetus. the older writers kept a careful record of the anomalous and extraordinary injuries of this character and of their effects. brendelius tells us of hemorrhage from the mouth and nose of the fetus occasioned by the fall of the mother; buchner mentions a case of fracture of the cranium from fright of the mother; reuther describes a contusion of the os sacrum and abdomen in the mother from a fall, with fracture of the arm and leg of the fetus from the same cause; sachse speaks of a fractured tibia in a fetus, caused by a fall of the mother; slevogt relates an instance of rupture of the abdomen of a fetus by a fall of the mother; the ephemerides contains accounts of injuries to the fetus of this nature, and among others mentions a stake as having been thrust into a fetus in utero; verduc offers several examples, one a dislocation of the fetal foot from a maternal fall; plocquet gives an instance of fractured femur; walther describes a case of dislocation of the vertebrae from a fall; and there is also a case of a fractured fetal vertebra from a maternal fall. there is recorded a fetal scalp injury, together with clotted blood in the hair, after a fall of the mother: autenrieth describes a wound of the pregnant uterus, which had no fatal issue, and there is also another similar case on record. the modern records are much more interesting and wonderful on this subject than the older ones. richardson speaks of a woman falling down a few weeks before her delivery. her pelvis was roomy and the birth was easy; but the infant was found to have extensive wounds on the back, reaching from the d dorsal vertebra across the scapula, along the back of the humerus, to within a short distance of the elbow. part of these wounds were cicatrized and part still granulating, which shows that the process of reparation is as active in utero as elsewhere. injuries about the genitalia would naturally be expected to exercise some active influence on the uterine contents; but there are many instances reported in which the escape of injury is marvelous. gibb speaks of a woman, about eight months pregnant, who fell across a chair, lacerating her genitals and causing an escape of liquor amnii. there was regeneration of this fluid and delivery beyond term. the labor was tedious and took place two and a half months after the accident. the mother and the female child did well. purcell reports death in a pregnant woman from contused wound of the vulva. morland relates an instance of a woman in the fifth month of her second pregnancy, who fell on the roof of a woodshed by slipping from one of the steps by which she ascended to the roof, in the act of hanging out some clothes to dry. she suffered a wound on the internal surface of the left nympha / inch long and / inch deep. she had lost about three quarts of blood, and had applied ashes to the vagina to stop the bleeding. she made a recovery by the twelfth day, and the fetal sounds were plainly audible. cullingworth speaks of a woman who, during a quarrel with her husband, was pushed away and fell between two chairs, knocking one of them over, and causing a trivial wound one inch long in the vagina, close to the entrance. she screamed, there was a gush of blood, and she soon died. the uterus contained a fetus three or four months old, with the membranes intact, the maternal death being due to the varicosity of the pregnant pudenda, the slight injury being sufficient to produce fatal hemorrhage. carhart describes the case of a pregnant woman, who, while in the stooping position, milking a cow, was impaled through the vagina by another cow. the child was born seven days later, with its skull crushed by the cow's horn. the horn had entered the vagina, carrying the clothing with it. there are some marvelous cases of recovery and noninterference with pregnancy after injuries from horns of cattle. corey speaks of a woman of thirty-five, three months pregnant, weighing pounds, who was horned by a cow through the abdominal parietes near the hypogastric region; she was lifted into the air, carried, and tossed on the ground by the infuriated animal. there was a wound consisting of a ragged rent from above the os pubis, extending obliquely to the left and upward, through which protruded the great omentum, the descending and transverse colon, most of the small intestines, as well as the pyloric extremity of the stomach. the great omentum was mangled and comminuted, and bore two lacerations of two inches each. the intestines and stomach were not injured, but there was considerable extravasation of blood into the abdominal cavity. the intestines were cleansed and an unsuccessful attempt was made to replace them. the intestines remained outside of the body for two hours, and the great omentum was carefully spread out over the chest to prevent interference with the efforts to return the intestines. the patient remained conscious and calm throughout; finally deep anesthesia was produced by ether and chloroform, three and a half hours after the accident, and in twenty minutes the intestines were all replaced in the abdominal cavity. the edges were pared, sutured, and the wound dressed. the woman was placed in bed, on the right side, and morphin was administered. the sutures were removed on the ninth day, and the wound had healed except at the point of penetration. the woman was discharged twenty days after, and, incredible to relate, was delivered of a well-developed, full-term child just two hundred and two days from the time of the accident. both the mother and child did well. luce speaks of a pregnant woman who was horned in the lower part of the abdomen by a cow, and had a subsequent protrusion of the intestines through the wound. after some minor complications, the wound healed fourteen weeks after the accident, and the woman was confined in natural labor of a healthy, vigorous child. in this case no blood was found on the cow's horn, and the clothing was not torn, so that the wound must have been made by the side of the horn striking the greatly distended abdomen. richard, quoted also by tiffany, speaks of a woman, twenty-two, who fell in a dark cellar with some empty bottles in her hand, suffering a wound in the abdomen inches above the navel on the left side cm. long. through this wound a mass of intestines, the size of a man's head, protruded. both the mother and the child made a good convalescence. harris cites the instance of a woman of thirty, a multipara, six months pregnant, who was gored by a cow; her intestines and omentum protruded through the rip and the uterus was bruised. there was rapid recovery and delivery at term. wetmore of illinois saw a woman who in the summer of , when about six months pregnant, was gored by a cow, and the large intestine and the omentum protruded through the wound. three hours after the injury she was found swathed in rags wet with a compound solution of whiskey and camphor, with a decoction of tobacco. the intestines were cold to the touch and dirty, but were washed and replaced. the abdomen was sewed up with a darning needle and black linen thread; the woman recovered and bore a healthy child at the full maturity of her gestation. crowdace speaks of a female pauper, six months pregnant, who was attacked by a buffalo, and suffered a wound about / inch long and / inch wide just above the umbilicus. through this small opening inches of intestine protruded. the woman recovered, and the fetal heart-beats could be readily auscultated. major accidents in pregnant women are often followed by the happiest results. there seems to be no limit to what the pregnant uterus can successfully endure. tiffany, who has collected some statistics on this subject, as well as on operations successfully performed during pregnancy, which will be considered later, quotes the account of a woman of twenty-seven, eight months pregnant, who was almost buried under a clay wall. she received terrible wounds about the head, sutures being used in this location alone. subsequently she was confined, easily bore a perfectly normal female child, and both did well. sibois describes the case of a woman weighing pounds, who fell on her head from the top of a wall from to feet high. for several hours she exhibited symptoms of fracture of the base of the skull, and the case was so diagnosed; fourteen hours after the accident she was perfectly conscious and suffered terrible pain about the head, neck, and shoulders. two days later an ovum of about twenty days was expelled, and seven months after she was delivered of a healthy boy weighing / pounds. she had therefore lost after the accident one-half of a double conception. verrier has collected the results of traumatism during pregnancy, and summarizes cases. prowzowsky cites the instance of a patient in the eighth month of her first pregnancy who was wounded by many pieces of lead pipe fired from a gun but a few feet distant. neither the patient nor the child suffered materially from the accident, and gestation proceeded; the child died on the fourth day after birth without apparent cause. milner records an instance of remarkable tolerance of injury in a pregnant woman. during her six months of pregnancy the patient was accidentally shot through the abdominal cavity and lower part of the thorax. the missile penetrated the central tendon of the diaphragm and lodged in the lung. the injury was limited by localized pneumonia and peritonitis, and the wound was drained through the lung by free expectoration. recovery ensued, the patient giving birth to a healthy child sixteen weeks later. belin mentions a stab-wound in a pregnant woman from which a considerable portion of the epiploon protruded. sloughing ensued, but the patient made a good recovery, gestation not being interrupted. fancon describes the case of a woman who had an injury to the knee requiring drainage. she was attacked by erysipelas, which spread over the whole body with the exception of the head and neck; yet her pregnancy was uninterrupted and recovery ensued. fancon also speaks of a girl of nineteen, frightened by her lover, who threatened to stab her, who jumped from a second-story window. for three days after the fall she had a slight bloody flow from the vulva. although she was six months pregnant there was no interruption of the normal course of gestation. bancroft speaks of a woman who, being mistaken for a burglar, was shot by her husband with a -caliber bullet. the missile entered the second and third ribs an inch from the sternum, passed through the right lung, and escaped at the inferior angle of the scapula, about three inches below the spine; after leaving her body it went through a pine door. she suffered much hemorrhage and shock, but made a fair recovery at the end of four weeks, though pregnant with her first child at the seventh month. at full term she was delivered by foot-presentation of a healthy boy. the mother at the time of report was healthy and free from cough, and was nursing her babe, which was strong and bright. all the cases do not have as happy an issue as most of the foregoing ones, though in some the results are not so bad as might be expected. a german female, thirty-six, while in the sixth month of pregnancy, fell and struck her abdomen on a tub. she was delivered of a normal living child, with the exception that the helix of the left ear was pushed anteriorly, and had, in its middle, a deep incision, which also traversed the antihelix and the tragus, and continued over the cheek toward the nose, where it terminated. the external auditory meatus was obliterated. gurlt speaks of a woman, seven months pregnant, who fell from the top of a ladder, subsequently losing some blood and water from the vagina. she had also persistent pains in the belly, but there was no deterioration of general health. at her confinement, which was normal, a strong boy was born, wanting the arm below the middle, at which point a white bone protruded. the wound healed and the separated arm came away after birth. wainwright relates the instance of a woman of forty, who when six months pregnant was run over by railway cars. after a double amputation of the legs she miscarried and made a good recovery. neugebauer reported the history of a case of a woman who, while near her term of pregnancy, committed suicide by jumping from a window. she ruptured her uterus, and a dead child with a fracture of the parietal bone was found in the abdominal cavity. staples speaks of a swede of twenty-eight, of minnesota, who was accidentally shot by a young man riding by her side in a wagon. the ball entered the abdomen two inches above the crest of the right ilium, a little to the rear of the anterior superior spinous process, and took a downward and forward course. a little shock was felt but no serious symptoms followed. in forty hours there was delivery of a dead child with a bullet in its abdomen. labor was normal and the internal recovery complete. von chelius, quoting the younger naegele, gives a remarkable instance of a young peasant of thirty-five, the mother of four children, pregnant with the fifth child, who was struck on the belly violently by a blow from a wagon pole. she was thrown down, and felt a tearing pain which caused her to faint. it was found that the womb had been ruptured and the child killed, for in several days it was delivered in a putrid mass, partly through the natural passage and partly through an abscess opening in the abdominal wall. the woman made a good recovery. a curious accident of pregnancy is that of a woman of thirty-eight, advanced eight months in her ninth pregnancy, who after eating a hearty meal was seized by a violent pain in the region of the stomach and soon afterward with convulsions, supposed to have been puerperal. she died in a few hours, and at the autopsy it was found that labor had not begun, but that the pregnancy had caused a laceration of the spleen, from which had escaped four or five pints of blood. edge speaks of a case of chorea in pregnancy in a woman of twenty-seven, not interrupting pregnancy or retarding safe delivery. this had continued for four pregnancies, but in the fourth abortion took place. buzzard had a case of nervous tremor in a woman, following a fall at her fourth month of pregnancy, who at term gave birth to a male child that was idiotic. beatty relates a curious accident to a fetus in utero. the woman was in her first confinement and was delivered of a small but healthy and strong boy. there was a small puncture in the abdominal parietes, through which the whole of the intestines protruded and were constricted. the opening was so small that he had to enlarge it with a bistoury to replace the bowel, which was dark and congested; he sutured the wound with silver wire, but the child subsequently died. tiffany of baltimore has collected excellent statistics of operations during pregnancy; and mann of buffalo has done the same work, limiting himself to operations on the pelvic organs, where interference is supposed to have been particularly contraindicated in pregnancy. mann, after giving his individual cases, makes the following summary and conclusions:-- ( ) pregnancy is not a general bar to operations, as has been supposed. ( ) union of the denuded surfaces is the rule, and the cicatricial tissue, formed during the earlier months of pregnancy, is strong enough to resist the shock of labor at term. ( ) operations on the vulva are of little danger to mother or child. ( ) operations on the vagina are liable to cause severe hemorrhage, but otherwise are not dangerous. ( ) venereal vegetations or warts are best treated by removal. ( ) applications of silver nitrate or astringents may be safely made to the vagina. for such application, phenol or iodin should not be used, pure or in strong solution. ( ) operations on the bladder or urethra are not dangerous or liable to be followed by abortion. ( ) operations for vesicovaginal fistulae should not be done, as they are dangerous, and are liable to be followed by much hemorrhage and abortion. ( ) plastic operations may be done in the earlier months of pregnancy with fair prospects of a safe and successful issue. ( ) small polypi may be treated by torsion or astringents. if cut, there is likely to be a subsequent abortion. ( ) large polypi removed toward the close of pregnancy will cause hemorrhage. ( ) carcinoma of the cervix should be removed at once. a few of the examples on record of operations during pregnancy of special interest, will be given below. polaillon speaks of a double ovariotomy on a woman pregnant at three months, with the subsequent birth of a living child at term. gordon reports five successful ovariotomies during pregnancy, in lebedeff's clinic. of these cases, aborted on the fifth day, on the fifteenth, and the other continued uninterrupted. he collected cases with a mortality of only per cent; per cent aborted, and . per cent were delivered at full term. kreutzman reports two cases in which ovarian tumors were successfully removed from pregnant subjects without the interruption of gestation. one of these women, a secundipara, had gone two weeks over time, and had a large ovarian cyst, the pedicle of which had become twisted, the fluid in the cyst being sanguineous. may describes an ovariotomy performed during pregnancy at tottenham hospital. the woman, aged twenty-two, was pale, diminutive in size, and showed an enormous abdomen, which measured inches in circumference at the umbilicus and inches from the ensiform cartilage to the pubes. at the operation, pints of brown fluid were drawn off. delivery took place twelve hours after the operation, the mother recovering, but the child was lost. galabin had a case of ovariotomy performed on a woman in the sixth month of pregnancy without interruption of pregnancy; potter had a case of double ovariotomy with safe delivery at term; and storry had a similar case. jacobson cites a case of vaginal lithotomy in a patient six and a half months pregnant, with normal delivery at full term. tiffany quotes keelan's description of a woman of thirty-five, in the eighth month of pregnancy, from whom he removed a stone weighing / ounces and measuring by / inches, with subsequent recovery and continuation of pregnancy. rydygier mentions a case of obstruction of the intestine during the sixth month of gestation, showing symptoms of strangulation for seven days, in which he performed abdominal section. recovery of the woman without abortion ensued. the revue de chirurgien , contains an account of a woman who suffered internal strangulation, on whom celiotomy was performed; she recovered in twenty-five days, and did not miscarry, which shows that severe injury to the intestine with operative interference does not necessarily interrupt pregnancy. gilmore, without inducing abortion, extirpated the kidney of a negress, aged thirty-three, for severe and constant pain. tiffany removed the kidney of a woman of twenty-seven, five months pregnant, without interruption of this or subsequent pregnancies. the child was living. he says that fancon cites instances of operation without abortion. lovort describes an enucleation of the eye in the second month of pregnancy. pilcher cites the instance of a woman of fifty-eight, eight months in her fourth pregnancy, whose breast and axilla he removed without interruption of pregnancy. robson, polaillon, and coen report similar instances. rein speaks of the removal of an enormous echinococcus cyst of the omentum without interruption of pregnancy. robson reports a multi-locular cyst of the ovary with extensive adhesions of the uterus, removed at the tenth week of pregnancy and ovariotomy performed without any interruption of the ordinary course of labor. russell cites the instance of a woman who was successfully tapped at the sixth month of pregnancy. mclean speaks of a successful amputation during pregnancy; napper, one of the arm; nicod, one of the arm; russell, an amputation through the shoulder joint for an injury during pregnancy, with delivery and recovery; and vesey speaks of amputation for compound fracture of the arm, labor following ten hours afterward with recovery. keen reports the successful performance of a hip-joint amputation for malignant disease of the femur during pregnancy. the patient, who was five months advanced in gestation, recovered without aborting. robson reports a case of strangulated hernia in the third month of pregnancy with stercoraceous vomiting. he performed herniotomy in the femoral region, and there was a safe delivery at full term. in the second month of pregnancy he also rotated an ovarian tumor causing acute symptoms and afterward performed ovariotomy without interfering with pregnancy. mann quotes munde in speaking of an instance of removal of elephantiasis of the vulva without interrupting pregnancy, and says that there are many cases of the removal of venereal warts without any interference with gestation. campbell of georgia operated inadvertently at the second and third month in two cases of vesicovaginal fistula in pregnant women. the first case showed no interruption of pregnancy, but in the second case the woman nearly died and the fistula remained unhealed. engelmann operated on a large rectovaginal fistula in the sixth month of pregnancy without any interruption of pregnancy, which is far from the general result. cazin and rey both produced abortion by forcible dilatation of the anus for fissure, but gayet used both the fingers and a speculum in a case at five months and the woman went to term. by cystotomy reamy removed a double hair-pin from a woman pregnant six and a half months, without interruption, and according to mann again, mcclintock extracted stones from the bladder by the urethra in the fourth month of pregnancy, and phillips did the same in the seventh month. hendenberg and packard report the removal of a tumor weighing / pounds from a pregnant uterus without interrupting gestation. the following extract from the university medical magazine of philadelphia illustrates the after-effects of abdominal hysteropasy on subsequent pregnancies:-- "fraipont (annales de la societe medico-chirurgicale de liege, ) reports four cases where pregnancy and labor were practically normal, though the uterus of each patient had been fixed to the abdominal walls. in two of the cases the hysteropexy had been performed over five years before the pregnancy occurred, and, although the bands of adhesion between the fundus and the parietes must have become very tough after so long a period, no special difficulty was encountered. in two of the cases the forceps was used, but not on account of uterine inertia; the fetal head was voluminous, and in one of the two cases internal rotation was delayed. the placenta was always expelled easily, and no serious postpartum hemorrhage occurred. fraipont observed the progress of pregnancy in several of these cases. the uterus does not increase specially in its posterior part, but quite uniformly, so that, as might be expected, the fundus gradually detaches itself from the abdominal wall. even if the adhesions were not broken down they would of necessity be so stretched as to be useless for their original purpose after delivery. bands of adhesion could not share in the process of involution. as, however, the uterus undergoes perfect involution, it is restored to its original condition before the onset of the disease which rendered hysteropexy necessary." the coexistence of an extensive tumor of the uterus with pregnancy does not necessarily mean that the product of conception will be blighted. brochin speaks of a case in which pregnancy was complicated with fibroma of the uterus, the accouchement being natural at term. byrne mentions a case of pregnancy complicated with a large uterine fibroid. delivery was effected at full term, and although there was considerable hemorrhage the mother recovered. ingleby describes a case of fibrous tumor of the uterus terminating fatally, but not until three weeks after delivery. lusk mentions a case of pregnancy with fibrocystic tumor of the uterus occluding the cervix. at the appearance of symptoms of eclampsia version was performed and delivery effected, followed by postpartum hemorrhage. the mother died from peritonitis and collapse, but the stillborn child was resuscitated. roberts reports a case of pregnancy associated with a large fibrocellular polypus of the uterus. a living child was delivered at the seventh month, ecrasement was performed, and the mother recovered. von quast speaks of a fibromyoma removed five days after labor. gervis reports the removal of a large polypus of the uterus on the fifth day after confinement. davis describes the spontaneous expulsion of a large polypus two days after the delivery of a fine, healthy, male child. deason mentions a case of anomalous tumor of the uterus during pregnancy which was expelled after the birth of the child; and daly also speaks of a tumor expelled from the uterus after delivery. cathell speaks of a case of pregnancy complicated with both uterine fibroids and measles. other cases of a similar nature to the foregoing are too numerous to mention. figure , taken from spiegelberg, shows a large fibroid blocking the pelvis of a pregnant woman. there are several peculiar accidents and anomalies not previously mentioned which deserve a place here, viz., those of the membranes surrounding the fetus. brown speaks of protrusion of the membranes from the vulva several weeks before confinement. davies relates an instance in which there was a copious watery discharge during pregnancy not followed by labor. there is a case mentioned in which an accident and an inopportune dose of ergot at the fifth month of pregnancy were followed by rupture of the amniotic sac, and subsequently a constant flow of watery fluid continued for the remaining three months of pregnancy. the fetus died at the time, and was born in an advanced state of putrefaction, by version, three months after the accident. the mother died five months after of carcinoma of the uterus. montgomery reports the instance of a woman who menstruated last on may , , and quickened on september th, and continued well until the th of november. at this time, as she was retiring, she became conscious that there was a watery discharge from the vagina, which proved to be liquor amnii. her health was good. the discharge continued, her size increased, and the motions of the child continued active. on the th of january a full-sized eight months' child was born. it had an incessant, wailing, low cry, always of evil augury in new-born infants. the child died shortly after. the daily discharge was about ounces, and had lasted sixty-eight days, making pints in all. the same accident of rupture of the membranes long before labor happened to the patient's mother. bardt speaks of labor twenty-three days after the flow of the waters; and cobleigh one of seventeen days; bradley relates the history of a case of rupture of the membranes six weeks before delivery. rains cites an instance in which gestation continued three months after rupture of the membranes, the labor-pains lasting thirty-six hours. griffiths speaks of rupture of the amniotic sac at about the sixth month of pregnancy with no untoward interruption of the completion of gestation and with delivery of a living child. there is another observation of an accouchement terminating successfully twenty-three days after the loss of the amniotic fluid. campbell mentions delivery of a living child twelve days after rupture of the membranes. chesney relates the history of a double collection of waters. wood reports a case in which there was expulsion of a bag of waters before the rupture of the membranes. bailly, chestnut, bjering, cowger, duncan, and others also record premature rupture of the membranes without interruption of pregnancy. harris gives an instance of the membranes being expelled from the uterus a few days before delivery at the full term. chatard, jr., mentions extrusion of the fetal membranes at the seventh month of pregnancy while the patient was taking a long afternoon walk, their subsequent retraction, and normal labor at term. thurston tells of a case in which nature had apparently effected the separation of the placenta without alarming hemorrhage, the ease being one of placenta praevia, terminating favorably by natural processes. playfair speaks of the detachment of the uterine decidua without the interruption of pregnancy. guerrant gives a unique example of normal birth at full term in which the placenta was found in the vagina, but not a vestige of the membranes was noticed. the patient had experienced nothing unusual until within three months of expected confinement, since which time there had been a daily loss of water from the uterus. she recovered and was doing her work. there was no possibility that this was a case of retained secundines. anomalies of the umbilical cord.--absence of the membranes has its counterpart in the deficiency of the umbilical cord, so frequently noticed in old reports. the ephemerides, osiander, stark's archives, thiebault, van der wiel, chatton, and schurig all speak of it, and it has been noticed since. danthez speaks of the development of a fetus in spite of the absence of an umbilical cord. stute reports an observation of total absence of the umbilical cord, with placental insertion near the cervix of the uterus. there is mentioned a bifid funis. the ephemerides and van der wiel speak of a duplex funis. nolde reports a cord inches long; and werner cites the instance of a funis inches long. there are modern instances in which the funis has been bifid or duplex, and there is also a case reported in which there were two cords in a twin pregnancy, each of them measuring five feet in length. the lancet gives the account of a most peculiar pregnancy consisting of a placenta alone, the fetus wanting. what this "placenta" was will always be a matter of conjecture. occasionally death of the fetus is caused by the formation of knots in the cord, shutting off the fetal circulation; gery, grieve, mastin, passot, piogey, woets, and others report instances of this nature. newman reports a curious case of twins, in which the cord of one child was encircled by a knot on the cord of the other. among others, latimer and motte report instances of the accidental tying of the bowel with the funis, causing an artificial anus. the diverse causes of abortion are too numerous to attempt giving them all, but some are so curious and anomalous that they deserve mention. epidemics of abortion are spoken of by fickius, fischer, and the ephemerides. exposure to cold is spoken of as a cause, and the same is alluded to by the ephemerides; while another case is given as due to exposure white nude. there are several cases among the older writers in which odors are said to have produced abortion, but as analogues are not to be found in modern literature, unless the odor is very poisonous or pungent, we can give them but little credence. the ephemerides gives the odor of urine as provocative of abortion; sulzberger, meyer, and albertus all mention odors; and vesti gives as a plausible cause the odor of carbonic vapor. the ephemerides mentions singultus as a cause of abortion. mauriceau, pelargus, and valentini mention coughing. hippocrates mentions the case of a woman who induced abortion by calling excessively loud to some one. fabrieius hildanus speaks of abortion following a kick in the region of the coccyx. gullmannus speaks of an abortion which he attributes to the woman's constant neglect to answer the calls of nature, the rectum being at all times in a state of irritation from her negligence. hawley mentions abortion at the fourth or fifth month due to the absorption of spirits of turpentine. solingen speaks of abortion produced by sneezing. osiander cites an instance in which a woman suddenly arose, and in doing so jolted herself so severely that she produced abortion. hippocrates speaks of extreme hunger as a cause of abortion. treuner speaks of great anger and wrath in a woman disturbing her to the extent of producing abortion. the causes that are observed every day, such tight lacing, excessive venery, fright, and emotions, are too well known to be discussed here. there has been reported a recent case of abortion following a viper-bite, and analogues may be found in the writings of severinus and oedman, who mention viper-bites as the cause; but there are so many associate conditions accompanying a snake-bite, such as fright, treatment, etc., any one of which could be a cause in itself, that this is by no means a reliable explanation. information from india an this subject would be quite valuable. the ephemerides speak of bloodless abortion, and there have been modern instances in which the hemorrhage has been hardly noticeable. abortion in a twin pregnancy does not necessarily mean the abortion or death of both the products of conception. chapman speaks of the case of the expulsion of a blighted fetus at the seventh month, the living child remaining to the full term, and being safely delivered, the placenta following. crisp says of a case of labor that the head of the child was obstructed by a round body, the nature of which he was for some time unable to determine. he managed to push the obstructing body up and delivered a living, full-term child; this was soon followed by a blighted fetus, which was inches long, weighed ounces, with a placenta attached weighing / ounces. it is quite common for a blighted fetus to be retained and expelled at term with a living child, its twin. bacon speaks of twin pregnancy, with the death of one fetus at the fourth month and the other delivered at term. beall reports the conception of twins, with one fetus expelled and the other retained; beauchamp cites a similar instance. bothwell describes a twin labor at term, in which one child was living and the other dead at the fifth month and macerated. belt reports an analogous case. jameson gives the history of an extraordinary case of twins in which one (dead) child was retained in the womb for forty-nine weeks, the other having been born alive at the expiration of nine months. hamilton describes a case of twins in which one fetus died from the effects of an injury between the fourth and fifth months and the second arrived at full period. moore cites an instance in which one of the fetuses perished about the third month, but was not expelled until the seventh, and the other was carried to full term. wilson speaks of a secondary or blighted fetus of the third month with fatty degeneration of the membranes retained and expelled with its living twin at the eighth month of uterogestation. there was a case at riga in of a robust girl who conceived in february, and in consequence her menses ceased. in june she aborted, but, to her dismay, soon afterward the symptoms of advanced pregnancy appeared, and in november a full-grown child, doubtless the result of the same impregnation as the fetus, was expelled at the fourth month. in schuh reported an instance before the vienna faculty of medicine in which a fetus was discharged at the third month of pregnancy and the other twin retained until full term. the abortion was attended with much metrorrhagia, and ten weeks afterward the movements of the other child could be plainly felt and pregnancy continued its course uninterrupted. bates mentions a twin pregnancy in which an abortion took place at the second month and was followed by a natural birth at full term. hawkins gives a case of miscarriage, followed by a natural birth at full term; and newnham cites a similar instance in which there was a miscarriage at the seventh month and a birth at full term. worms in the uterus.--haines speaks of a most curious case--that of a woman who had had a miscarriage three days previous; she suffered intense pain and a fetid discharge. a number of maggots were seen in the vagina, and the next day a mass about the size of an orange came away from the uterus, riddled with holes, and which contained a number of dead maggots, killed by the carbolic acid injection given soon after the miscarriage. the fact seems inexplicable, but after their expulsion the symptoms immediately ameliorated. this case recalls a somewhat similar one given by the older writers, in which a fetus was eaten by a worm. analogous are those cases spoken of by bidel of lumbricoides found in the uterus; by hole, in which maggots were found in the vagina and uterus; and simpson, in which the abortion was caused by worms in the womb--if the associate symptoms were trustworthy. we can find fabulous parallels to all of these in some of the older writings. pare mentions lycosthenes' account of a woman in cracovia in who bore a dead child which had attached to its back a live serpent, which had gnawed it to death. he gives an illustration showing the serpent in situ. he also quotes the case of a woman who conceived by a mariner, and who, after nine months, was delivered by a midwife of a shapeless mass, followed by an animal with a long neck, blazing eyes, and clawed feet. ballantyne says that in the writings of hippocrates there is in the work on "diseases", which is not usually regarded as genuine, a some what curious statement with regard to worms in the fetus. it is affirmed that flat worms develop in the unborn infant, and the reason given is that the feces are expelled so soon after birth that there would not be sufficient time during extrauterine life for the formation of creatures of such a size. the same remark applies to round worms. the proof of these statements is to be found in the fact that many infants expel both these varieties of parasites with the first stool. it is difficult to know what to make of these opinions; for, with the exception of certain cases in some of the seventeenth and eighteenth century writers, there are no records in medicine of the occurrence of vermes in the infant at birth. it is possible that other things, such as dried pieces of mucus, may have been erroneously regarded as worms. chapter iii. obstetric anomalies. general considerations.--in discussing obstetric anomalies we shall first consider those strange instances in which stages of parturition are unconscious and for some curious reason the pains of labor absent. some women are anatomically constituted in a manner favorable to child-birth, and pass through the experience in a comparatively easy manner; but to the great majority the throes of labor are anticipated with extreme dread, particularly by the victims of the present fashion of tight lacing. it seems strange that a physiologic process like parturition should be attended by so much pain and difficulty. savages in their primitive and natural state seem to have difficulty in many cases, and even animals are not free from it. we read of the ancient wild irish women breaking the pubic bones of their female children shortly after birth, and by some means preventing union subsequently, in order that these might have less trouble in child-birth--as it were, a modified and early form of symphysiotomy. in consequence of this custom the females of this race, to quote an old english authority, had a "waddling, lamish gesture in their going." these old writers said that for the same reason the women in some parts of italy broke the coccyxes of their female children. this report is very likely not veracious, because this bone spontaneously repairs itself so quickly and easily. rodet and engelmunn, in their most extensive and interesting papers on the modes of accouchement among the primitive peoples, substantiate the fear, pain, and difficulty with which labor is attended, even in the lowest grades of society. in view of the usual occurrence of pain and difficulty with labor, it seems natural that exceptions to the general rule should in all ages have attracted the attention of medical men, and that literature should be replete with such instances. pechlin and muas record instances of painless births. the ephemerides records a birth as having occurred during asphyxia, and also one during an epileptic attack. storok also speaks of birth during unconsciousness in an epileptic attack; and haen and others describe cases occurring during the coma attending apoplectic attacks. king reports the histories of two married women, fond mothers and anticipating the event, who gave birth to children, apparently unconsciously. in the first case, the appearance of the woman verified the assertion; in the second, a transient suspension of the menstrual influence accounted for it. after some months epilepsy developed in this case. crawford speaks of a mrs. d., who gave birth to twins in her first confinement at full term, and who two years after aborted at three months. in december, , a year after the abortion, she was delivered of a healthy, living fetus of about five or six months' growth in the following manner: while at stool, she discovered something of a shining, bluish appearance protruding through the external labia, but she also found that when she lay down the tumor disappeared. this tumor proved to be the child, which had been expelled from the uterus four days before, with the waters and membranes intact, but which had not been recognized; it had passed through the os without pain or symptoms, and had remained alive in the vagina over four days, from whence it was delivered, presenting by the foot. the state of intoxication seems by record of several cases to render birth painless and unconscious, as well as serving as a means of anesthesia in the preanesthetic days. the feasibility of practising hypnotism in child-birth has been discussed, and fanton reports cases of parturition under the hypnotic influence. he says that none of the subjects suffered any pain or were aware of the birth, and offers the suggestion that to facilitate the state of hypnosis it should be commenced before strong uterine contractions have occurred. instances of parturition or delivery during sleep, lethargies, trances, and similar conditions are by no means uncommon. heister speaks of birth during a convulsive somnolence, and osiander of a case during sleep. montgomery relates the case of a lady, the mother of several children, who on one occasion was unconsciously delivered in sleep. case relates the instance of a french woman residing in the town of hopedale, who, though near confinement, attributed her symptoms to over-fatigue on the previous day. when summoned, the doctor found that she had severe lumbar pains, and that the os was dilated to the size of a half-dollar. at ten o'clock he suggested that everyone retire, and directed that if anything of import occurred he should be called. about a.m. the husband of the girl, in great fright, summoned the physician, saying: "monsieur le medecin, il y a quelque chose entre les jambes de ma femme," and, to dr. case's surprise, he found the head of a child wholly expelled during a profound sleep of the mother. in twenty minutes the secundines followed. the patient, who was only twenty years old, said that she had dreamt that something was the matter with her, and awoke with a fright, at which instant, most probably, the head was expelled. she was afterward confined with the usual labor-pains. palfrey speaks of a woman, pregnant at term, who fell into a sleep about eleven o'clock, and dreamed that she was in great pain and in labor, and that sometime after a fine child was crawling over the bed. after sleeping for about four hours she awoke and noticed a discharge from the vagina. her husband started for a light, but before he obtained it a child was born by a head-presentation. in a few minutes the labor-pains returned and the feet of a second child presented, and the child was expelled in three pains, followed in ten minutes by the placenta. here is an authentic case in which labor progressed to the second stage during sleep. weill describes the case of a woman of twenty-three who gave birth to a robust boy on the th of june, , and suckled him eleven months. this birth lasted one hour. she became pregnant again and was delivered under the following circumstances: she had been walking on the evening of september th and returned home about eleven o'clock to sleep. about a.m. she awoke, feeling the necessity of passing urine. she arose and seated herself for the purpose. she at once uttered a cry and called her husband, telling him that a child was born and entreating him to send for a physician. weill saw the woman in about ten minutes and she was in the same position, so he ordered her to be carried to bed. on examining the urinal he found a female child weighing pounds. he tied the cord and cared for the child. the woman exhibited little hemorrhage and made a complete recovery. she had apparently slept soundly through the uterine contractions until the final strong pain, which awoke her, and which she imagined was a call for urination. samelson says that in he was sent for in zabelsdorf, some miles from berlin, to attend hannah rhode in a case of labor. she had passed easily through eight parturitions. at about ten o'clock in the morning, after a partially unconscious night, there was a sudden gush of blood and water from the vagina; she screamed and lapsed into an unconscious condition. at . the face presented, soon followed by the body, after which came a great flow of blood, welling out in several waves. the child was a male middle-sized, and was some little time in making himself heard. only by degrees did the woman's consciousness return. she felt weary and inclined to sleep, but soon after she awoke and was much surprised to know what had happened. she had seven or eight pains in all. schultze speaks of a woman who, arriving at the period for delivery, went into an extraordinary state of somnolence, and in this condition on the third day bore a living male child. berthier in observed a case of melancholia with delirium which continued through pregnancy. the woman was apparently unconscious of her condition and was delivered without pain. cripps mentions a case in which there was absence of pain in parturition. depaul mentions a woman who fell in a public street and was delivered of a living child during a syncope which lasted four hours. epley reports painless labor in a patient with paraplegia. fahnestock speaks of the case of a woman who was delivered of a son while in a state of artificial somnambulism, without pain to herself or injury to the child. among others mentioning painless or unconscious labor are behrens (during profound sleep), eger, tempel, panis, agnoia, blanckmeister, whitehill, gillette, mattei, murray, lemoine, and moglichkeit. rapid parturition without usual symptoms.--births unattended by symptoms that are the usual precursors of labor often lead to speedy deliveries in awkward places. according to willoughby, in darby, february , , a poor fool, mary baker, while wandering in an open, windy, and cold place, was delivered by the sole assistance of nature, eve's midwife, and freed of her afterbirth. the poor idiot had leaned against a wall, and dropped the child on the cold boards, where it lay for more than a quarter of an hour with its funis separated from the placenta. she was only discovered by the cries of the infant. in "carpenter's physiology" is described a remarkable case of instinct in an idiotic girl in paris, who had been seduced by some miscreant; the girl had gnawed the funis in two, in the same manner as is practised by the lower animals. from her mental imbecility it can hardly be imagined that she had any idea of the object of this separation, and it must have been instinct that impelled her to do it. sermon says the wife of thomas james was delivered of a lusty child while in a wood by herself. she put the child in an apron with some oak leaves, marched stoutly to her husband's uncle's house a half mile distant, and after two hours' rest went on her journey one mile farther to her own house; despite all her exertions she returned the next day to thank her uncle for the two hours' accommodation. there is related the history of a case of a woman who was delivered of a child on a mountain during a hurricane, who took off her gown and wrapped the child up in it, together with the afterbirth, and walked two miles to her cottage, the funis being unruptured. harvey relates a case, which he learned from the president of munster, ireland, of a woman with child who followed her husband, a soldier in the army, in daily march. they were forced to a halt by reason of a river, and the woman, feeling the pains of labor approaching, retired to a thicket, and there alone brought forth twins. she carried them to the river, washed them herself, did them up in a cloth, tied them to her back, and that very day marched, barefooted, miles with the soldiers, and was none the worse for her experience. the next day the deputy of ireland and the president of munster, affected by the story, to repeat the words of harvey, "did both vouchsafe to be godfathers of the infants." willoughby relates the account of a woman who, having a cramp while in bed with her sister, went to an outhouse, as if to stool, and was there delivered of a child. she quickly returned to bed, her going and her return not being noticed by her sleeping sister. she buried the child, "and afterward confessed her wickedness, and was executed in the stafford gaol, march , ." a similar instance is related by the same author of a servant in darby in . nobody suspected her, and when delivered she was lying in the same room with her mistress. she arose without awakening anyone, and took the recently delivered child to a remote place, and hid it at the bottom of a feather tub, covering it with feathers; she returned without any suspicion on the part of her mistress. it so happened that it was the habit of the darby soldiers to peep in at night where they saw a light, to ascertain if everything was all right, and they thus discovered her secret doings, which led to her trial at the next sessions at darby. wagner relates the history of a case of great medicolegal interest. an unmarried servant, who was pregnant, persisted in denying it, and took every pains to conceal it. she slept in a room with two other maids, and, on examination, she stated that on the night in question she got up toward morning, thinking to relieve her bowels. for this purpose she secured a wooden tub in the room, and as she was sitting down the child passed rapidly into the empty vessel. it was only then that she became aware of the nature of her pains. she did not examine the child closely, but was certain it neither moved nor cried. the funis was no doubt torn, and she made an attempt to tie it. regarding the event as a miscarriage, she took up the tub with its contents and carried it to a sand pit about paces distant, and threw the child in a hole in the sand that she found already made. she covered it up with sand and packed it firmly so that the dogs could not get it. she returned to her bedroom, first calling up the man-servant at the stable. she awakened her fellow-servants, and feeling tired sat down on a stool. seeing the blood on the floor, they asked her if she had made way with the child. she said: "do you take me for an old sow?" but, having their suspicions aroused, they traced the blood spots to the sand pit. fetching a spade, they dug up the child, which was about one foot below the surface. on the access of air, following the removal of the sand and turf, the child began to cry, and was immediately taken up and carried to its mother, who washed it and laid it on her bed and soon gave it the breast. the child was healthy with the exception of a club-foot, and must have been under ground at least fifteen minutes and no air could have reached it. it seems likely that the child was born asphyxiated and was buried in this state, and only began to assume independent vitality when for the second time exposed to the air. this curious case was verified to english correspondents by dr. wagner, and is of unquestionable authority; it became the subject of a thorough criminal investigation in germany. during the funeral procession of marshal macmahon in paris an enormous crowd was assembled to see the cortege pass, and in this crowd was a woman almost at the time of delivery; the jostling which she received in her endeavors to obtain a place of vantage was sufficient to excite contraction, and, in an upright position, she gave birth to a fetus, which fell at her feet. the crowd pushed back and made way for the ambulance officials, and mother and child were carried off, the mother apparently experiencing little embarrassment. quoted by taylor, anderson speaks of a woman accused of child murder, who walked a distance of miles on a single day with her two-days-old child on her back. there is also a case of a female servant named jane may, who was frequently charged by her mistress with pregnancy but persistently denied it. on october th she was sent to market with some poultry. returning home, she asked the boy who drove her to stop and allow her to get out. she went into a recess in a hedge. in five minutes she was seen to leave the hedge and follow the cart, walking home, a distance of a mile and a half. the following day she went to work as usual, and would not have been found out had not a boy, hearing feeble cries from the recess of the hedge, summoned a passer-by, but too late to save the child. at her trial she said she did not see her babe breathe nor cry, and she thought by the sudden birth that it must have been a still-born child. shortt says that one day, while crossing the esplanade at villaire, between seven and eight o'clock in the morning, he perceived three hindoo women with large baskets of cakes of "bratties" on their heads, coming from a village about four miles distant. suddenly one of the women stood still for a minute, stooped, and to his surprise dropped a fully developed male child to the ground. one of her companions ran into the town, about yards distant, for a knife to divide the cord. a few of the female passers-by formed a screen about the mother with their clothes, and the cord was divided. the after-birth came away, and the woman was removed to the town. it was afterward discovered that she was the mother of two children, was twenty-eight years old, had not the slightest sign of approaching labor, and was not aware of parturition until she actually felt the child between her thighs. smith of madras, in , says he was hastily summoned to see an english lady who had borne a child without the slightest warning. he found the child, which had been born ten minutes, lying close to the mother's body, with the funis uncut. the native female maid, at the lady's orders, had left the child untouched, lifting the bed-clothes to give it air. the lady said that she arose at . feeling well, and during the forenoon had walked down a long flight of steps across a walk to a small summer-house within the enclosure of her grounds. feeling a little tired, she had lain down on her bed, and soon experienced a slight discomfort, and was under the impression that something solid and warm was lying in contact with her person. she directed the servant to look below the bed-clothes, and then a female child was discovered. her other labors had extended over six hours, and were preceded by all the signs distinctive of childbirth, which fact attaches additional interest to the case. the ultimate fate of the child is not mentioned. smith quotes wilson, who said he was called to see a woman who was delivered without pain while walking about the house. he found the child on the floor with its umbilical cord torn across. langston mentions the case of a woman, twenty-three, who, between and a.m., felt griping pains in the abdomen. knowing her condition she suspected labor, and determined to go to a friend's house where she could be confined in safety. she had a distance of about yards to go, and when she was about half way she was delivered in an upright position of a child, which fell on the pavement and ruptured its funis in the fall. shortly after, the placenta was expelled, and she proceeded on her journey, carrying the child in her arms. at . the physician saw the woman in bed, looking well and free from pain, but complaining of being cold. the child, which was her first, was healthy, well nourished, and normal, with the exception of a slight ecchymosis of the parietal bone on the left side. the funis was lacerated transversely four inches from the umbilicus. both mother and child progressed favorably. doubtless the intense cold had so contracted the blood-vessels as to prevent fatal hemorrhage to mother and child. this case has a legal bearing in the supposition that the child had been killed in the fall. there is reported the case of a woman in wales, who, while walking with her husband, was suddenly seized with pains, and would have been delivered by the wayside but for the timely help of madame patti, the celebrated diva, who was driving by, and who took the woman in her carriage to her palatial residence close by. it was to be christened in a few days with an appropriate name in remembrance of the occasion. coleman met an instance in a married woman, who without the slightest warning was delivered of a child while standing near a window in her bedroom. the child fell to the floor and ruptured the cord about one inch from the umbilicus, but with speedy attention the happiest results were attained. twitchell has an example in the case of a young woman of seventeen, who was suddenly delivered of a child while ironing some clothes. the cord in this case was also ruptured, but the child sustained no injury. taylor quotes the description of a child who died from an injury to the head caused by dropping from the mother at an unexpected time, while she was in the erect position; he also speaks of a parallel case on record. unusual places of birth.--besides those mentioned, the other awkward positions in which a child may be born are so numerous and diversified that mention of only a few can be made here. colton tells of a painless labor in an irish girl of twenty-three, who felt a desire to urinate, and while seated on the chamber dropped a child. she never felt a labor-pain, and twelve days afterward rode miles over a rough road to go to her baby's funeral. leonhard describes the case of a mother of thirty-seven, who had borne six children alive, who was pregnant for the tenth time, and who had miscalculated her pregnancy. during pregnancy she had an attack of small-pox and suffered all through pregnancy with constipation. she had taken a laxative, and when returning to bed from stool was surprised to find herself attached to the stool by a band. the child in the vessel began to cry and was separated from the woman, who returned to bed and suddenly died one-half hour later. the mother was entirely unconscious of the delivery. westphal mentions a delivery in a water-closet. brown speaks of a woman of twenty-six who had a call of nature while in bed, and while sitting up she gave birth to a fine, full-grown child, which, falling on the floor, ruptured the funis. she took her child, lay down with it for some time, and feeling easier, hailed a cab, drove to a hospital with the child in her arms, and wanted to walk upstairs. she was put to bed and delivered of the placenta, there being but little hemorrhage from the cord; both she and her child made speedy recoveries. thebault reports an instance of delivery in the erect position, with rupture of the funis at the placenta. there was recently a rumor, probably a newspaper fabrication, that a woman while at stool in a railway car gave birth to a child which was found alive on the track afterward. there is a curious instance on record in which a child was born in a hip-bath and narrowly escaped drowning. the mother was a european woman aged forty, who had borne two children, the last nine years before. she was supposed to have dropsy of the abdomen, and among other treatments was the use of a speculum and caustic applications for inflammation of the womb. the escape of watery fluid for two days was considered evidence of the rupture of an ovarian cyst. at the end of two days, severe pains set in, and a warm hip-bath and an opiate were ordered. while in the bath she bore a fully-matured, living, male child, to the great surprise of herself and her friends. the child might have been drowned had not assistance been close at hand. birth by the rectum.--in some cases in which there is some obstacle to the delivery of a child by the natural passages, the efforts of nature to expel the product of conception lead to an anomalous exit. there are some details of births by the rectum mentioned in the last century by reta and others. payne cites the instance of a woman of thirty-three, in labor thirty-six hours, in whom there was a congenital absence of the vaginal orifice. the finger, gliding along the perineum, arrived at a distended anus, just inside of which was felt a fetal head. he anesthetized the patient and delivered the child with forceps, and without perineal rupture. there was little hemorrhage, and the placenta was removed with slight difficulty. five months later, payne found an unaltered condition of the perineum and vicinity; there was absence of the vaginal orifice, and, on introducing the finger along the anterior wall of the rectum, a fistula was found, communicating with the vagina; above this point the arrangement and the situation of the parts were normal. the woman had given birth to three still-born children, and always menstruated easily. coitus always seemed satisfactory, and no suspicion existed in the patient's mind, and had never been suggested to her, of her abnormality. harrison saw a fetus delivered by the anus after rupture of the uterus; the membranes came away by the same route. in this case the neck of the uterus was cartilaginous and firmly adherent to the adjacent parts. in seven days after the accouchement the woman had completely regained her health. vallisneri reports the instance of a woman who possessed two uteruses, one communicating with the vagina, the other with the rectum. she had permitted rectal copulation and had become impregnated in this manner. louis, the celebrated french surgeon, created a furore by a pamphlet entitled "de partium externarum generationi inservientium in mulieribus naturali vitiosa et morbosa dispositione, etc.," for which he was punished by the sorbonne, but absolved by the pope. he described a young lady who had no vaginal opening, but who regularly menstruated by the rectum. she allowed her lover to have connection with her in the only possible way, by the rectum, which, however, sufficed for impregnation, and at term she bore by the rectum a well-formed child. hunter speaks of a case of pregnancy in a woman with a double vagina, who was delivered at the seventh month by the rectum. mekeln and andrews give instances of parturition through the anus. morisani describes a case of extrauterine pregnancy with tubal rupture and discharge into the culdesac, in which there was delivery by the rectum. after an attack of severe abdominal pain, followed by hemorrhage, the woman experienced an urgent desire to empty the rectum. the fetal movements ceased, and a recurrence of these symptoms led the patient to go to stool, at which she passed blood and a seromucoid fluid. she attempted manually to remove the offending substances from the rectum, and in consequence grasped the leg of a fetus. she was removed to a hospital, where a fetus nine inches long was removed from the rectum. the rectal opening gradually cicatrized, the sac became obliterated, and the woman left the hospital well. birth through perineal perforation.--occasionally there is perineal perforation during labor, with birth of the child through the opening. brown mentions a case of rupture of the perineum with birth of a child between the vaginal opening and the anus. cassidy reports a case of child-birth through the perineum. a successful operation was performed fifteen days after the accident. dupuytren speaks of the passage of an infant through a central opening of the perineum. capuron, gravis, and lebrun all report accouchement through a perineal perforation, without alteration in the sphincter ani or the fourchet. in his "diseases of women" simpson speaks of a fistula left by the passage of an infant through the perineum. wilson, toloshinoff, stolz, argles, demarquay, harley, hernu, martyn, lamb, morere, pollock, and others record the birth of children through perineal perforations. birth through the abdominal wall.--hollerius gives a very peculiar instance in which the abdominal walls gave way from the pressure exerted by the fetus, and the uterus ruptured, allowing the child to be extracted by the hand from the umbilicus; the mother made a speedy recovery. in such cases delivery is usually by means of operative interference (which will be spoken of later), but rarely, as here, spontaneously. farquharson and ill both mention rupture of the abdominal parietes during labor. there have been cases reported in which the recto-vaginal septum has been ruptured, as well as the perineum and the sphincter ani, giving all the appearance of a birth by the anus. there is an account of a female who had a tumor projecting between the vagina and rectum, which was incised through the intestine, and proved to be a dead child. saviard reported what he considered a rather unique case, in which the uterus was ruptured by external violence, the fetus being thrown forward into the abdomen and afterward extracted from an umbilical abscess. birth of the fetus enclosed in the membranes.--harvey says that an infant can rest in its membranes several hours after birth without loss of life. schurig eventrated a pregnant bitch and her puppies lived in their membranes half an hour. wrisberg cites three observations of infants born closed in their membranes; one lived seven minutes; the other two nine minutes; all breathed when the membranes were cut and air admitted. willoughby recorded the history of a case which attracted much comment at the time. it was the birth of twins enclosed in their secundines. the sac was opened and, together with the afterbirth, was laid over some hot coals; there was, however, a happy issue, the children recovering and living. since willoughby's time several cases of similar interest have been noticed, one in a woman of forty, who had been married sixteen years, and who had had several pregnancies in her early married life and a recent abortion. her last pregnancy lasted about twenty-eight or twenty-nine weeks, and terminated, after a short labor, by the expulsion of the ovum entire. the membranes had not been ruptured, and still enclosed the fetus and the liquor amnii. on breaking them, the fetus was seen floating on the waters, alive, and, though very diminutive, was perfectly formed. it continued to live, and a day afterward took the breast and began to cry feebly. at six weeks it weighed pounds ounces, and at ten months, pounds, but was still very weak and ill-nourished. evans has an instance of a fetus expelled enveloped in its membranes entire and unruptured. the membranes were opaque and preternaturally thickened, and were opened with a pair of scissors; strenuous efforts were made to save the child, but to no purpose. the mother, after a short convalescence, made a good recovery. forman reports an instance of unruptured membranes at birth, the delivery following a single pain, in a woman of twenty-two, pregnant for a second time. woodson speaks of a case of twins, one of which was born enveloped in its secundines. van bibber was called in great haste to see a patient in labor. he reached the house in about fifteen minutes, and was told by the midwife, a woman of experience, that she had summoned him because of the expulsion from the womb of something the like of which she had never seen before. she thought it must have been some variety of false conception, and had wrapped it up in some flannel. it proved to be a fetus enclosed in its sac, with the placenta, all having been expelled together and intact. he told the nurse to rupture the membranes, and the child, which had been in the unruptured sac for over twenty minutes, began to cry. the infant lived for over a month, but eventually died of bronchitis. cowger reports labor at the end of the seventh month without rupture of the fetal sac. macknus and rootes speak of expulsion of the entire ovum at the full period of gestation. roe mentions a case of parturition with unruptured membrane. slusser describes the delivery of a full-grown fetus without rupture of the membrane. "dry births."--the reverse of the foregoing are those cases in which, by reason of the deficiency of the waters, the birth is dry. numerous causes can be stated for such occurrences, and the reader is referred elsewhere for them, the subject being an old one. the ephemerides speaks of it, and rudolph discusses its occurrence exhaustively and tells of the difficulties of such a labor. burrall mentions a case of labor without apparent liquor amnii, delivery being effected by the forceps. strong records an unusual obstetric case in which there was prolongation of the pregnancy, with a large child, and entire absence of liquor amnii. the case was also complicated with interstitial and subserous fibroids and a contracted pelvis, combined with a posterior position of the occiput and nonrotation of the head. lente mentions a case of labor without liquor amnii; and townsend records delivery without any sanguineous discharge. cosentino mentions a case of the absence of liquor amnii associated with a fetal monstrosity. delivery after death of the mother.--curious indeed are those anomalous cases in which the delivery is effected spontaneously after the death of the mother, or when, by manipulation, the child is saved after the maternal decease. wegelin gives the account of a birth in which version was performed after death and the child successfully delivered. bartholinus, wolff, schenck, horstius, hagendorn, fabricius hildanus, valerius, rolfinck, cornarius, boener, and other older writers cite cases of this kind. pinard gives a most wonderful case. the patient was a woman of thirty-eight who had experienced five previous normal labors. on october th she fancied she had labor pains and went to the lariboisiere maternite, where, after a careful examination, three fetal poles were elicited, and she was told, to her surprise, of the probability of triplets. at p.m., november th, the pains of labor commenced. three hours later she was having great dyspnea with each pain. this soon assumed a fatal aspect and the midwife attempted to resuscitate the patient by artificial respiration, but failed in her efforts, and then she turned her attention to the fetuses, and, one by one, she extracted them in the short space of five minutes; the last one was born twelve minutes after the mother's death. they all lived (the first two being females), and they weighed from / to / pounds. considerable attention has been directed to the advisability of accelerated and forced labor in the dying, in order that the child may be saved. belluzzi has presented several papers on this subject. csurgay of budapest mentions saving the child by forced labor in the death agonies of the mother. devilliers considers this question from both the obstetric and medicolegal points of view. hyneaux mentions forcible accouchement practised on both the dead and the dying. rogowicz advocates artificial delivery by the natural channel in place of cesarian section in cases of pending or recent death, and thevenot discussed this question at length at the international medico-legal congress in . duer presented the question of postmortem delivery in this country. kelly reports the history of a woman of forty who died in her eighth pregnancy, and who was delivered of a female child by version and artificial means. artificial respiration was successfully practised on the child, although fifteen minutes had elapsed from the death of the mother to its extraction. driver relates the history of a woman of thirty-five, who died in the eighth month of gestation, and who was delivered postmortem by the vagina, manual means only being used. the operator was about to perform cesarean section when he heard the noise of the membranes rupturing. thornton reports the extraction of a living child by version after the death of the mother. aveling has compiled extensive statistics on all varieties of postmortem deliveries, collecting cases of spontaneous expulsion of the fetus after death of the mother. aveling states that in the council of cologne sanctioned the placing of a gag in the mouth of a dead pregnant woman, thereby hoping to prevent suffocation of the infant, and there are numerous such laws on record, although most of them pertain to the performance of cesarean section immediately after death. reiss records the death of a woman who was hastily buried while her husband was away, and on his return he ordered exhumation of her body, and on opening the coffin a child's cry was heard. the infant had evidently been born postmortem. it lived long afterward under the name of "fils de la terre." willoughby mentions the curious instance in which rumbling was heard from the coffin of a woman during her hasty burial. one of her neighbors returned to the grave, applied her ear to the ground, and was sure she heard a sighing noise. a soldier with her affirmed her tale, and together they went to a clergyman and a justice, begging that the grave be opened. when the coffin was opened it was found that a child had been born, which had descended to her knees. in derbyshire, to this day, may be seen on the parish register: "april ye , , was buried emme, the wife of thomas toplace, who was found delivered of a child after she had lain two hours in the grave." johannes matthaeus relates the case of a buried woman, and that some time afterward a noise was heard in the tomb. the coffin was immediately opened, and a living female child rolled to the feet of the corpse. hagendorn mentions the birth of a living child some hours after the death of the mother. dethardingius mentions a healthy child born one-half hour after the mother's death. in the gentleman's magazine there is a record of an instance, in , in which a midwife, after the death of a woman whom she had failed to deliver, imagined that she saw a movement under the shroud and found a child between its mother's legs. it died soon after. valerius maximus says that while the body of the mother of gorgia epirotas was being carried to the grave, a loud noise was heard to come from the coffin and on examination a live child was found between the thighs,--whence arose the proverb: "gorgiam prius ad funus elatum, quam natum fuisse." other cases of postmortem delivery are less successful, the delivery being delayed too late for the child to be viable. the first of aveling's cases was that of a pregnant woman who was hanged by a spanish inquisitor in while still hanging, four hours later, two children were said to have dropped from her womb. the second case was of a woman of madrid, who after death was shut in a sepulcher. some months after, when the tomb was opened, a dead infant was found by the side of the corpse. rolfinkius tells of a woman who died during parturition, and her body being placed in a cellar, five days later a dead boy and girl were found on the bier. bartholinus is accredited with the following: three midwives failing to deliver a woman, she died, and forty-eight hours after death her abdomen swelled to such an extent as to burst her grave-clothes, and a male child, dead, was seen issuing from the vagina. bonet tells of a woman, who died in brussels in , who, undelivered, expired in convulsions on thursday. on friday abdominal movements in the corpse were seen, and on sunday a dead child was found hanging between the thighs. according to aveling, herman of berne reports the instance of a young lady whose body was far advanced in putrefaction, from which was expelled an unbroken ovum containing twins. even the placenta showed signs of decomposition. naumann relates the birth of a child on the second day after the death of the mother. richter of weissenfels, in , reported the case of a woman who died in convulsions, and sixty hours after death an eight months' fetus came away. stapedius writes to a friend of a fetus being found dead between the thighs of a woman who expired suddenly of an acute disease. schenk mentions that of a woman, dying at p.m., a child having two front teeth was born at a.m. veslingius tells of a woman dying of epilepsy on june , , from whose body, two days later, issued a child. wolfius relates the case of a woman dying in labor in . abdominal movements being seen six hours after death, cesarean section was suggested, but its performance was delayed, and eighteen hours after a child was spontaneously born. hoyer of mulhausen tells of a child with its mouth open and tongue protruding, which was born while the mother was on the way to the grave. bedford of sydney, according to aveling, relates the story of a case in which malpractice was suspected on a woman of thirty-seven, who died while pregnant with her seventh child. the body was exhumed, and a transverse rupture of the womb six inches long above the cervix was found, and the body of a dead male child lay between the thighs. in , lanigan tells of a woman who was laid out for funeral obsequies, and on removal of the covers for burial a child was found in bed with her. swayne is credited with the description of the death of a woman whom a midwife failed to deliver. desiring an inquest, the coroner had the body exhumed, when, on opening the coffin, a well-developed male infant was found parallel to and lying on the lower limbs, the cord and placenta being entirely unattached from the mother. some time after her decease harvey found between the thighs of a dead woman a dead infant which had been expelled postmortem. mayer relates the history of a case of a woman of forty-five who felt the movement of her child for the fourth time in the middle of november. in the following march she had hemoptysis, and serious symptoms of inflammation in the right lung following, led to her apparent death on the st of the month. for two days previous to her death she had failed to perceive the fetal movements. she was kept on her back in a room, covered up and undisturbed, for thirty-six hours, the members of the family occasionally visiting her to sprinkle holy water on her face. there was no remembrance of cadaveric distortion of the features or any odor. when the undertakers were drawing the shroud on they noticed a half-round, bright-red, smooth-looking body between the genitals which they mistook for a prolapsed uterus. early on april d, a few hours before interment, the men thought to examine the swelling they had seen the day before. a second look showed it to be a dead female child, now lying between the thighs and connected with the mother by the umbilical cord. the interment was stopped, and mayer was called to examine the body, but with negative results, though the signs of death were not plainly visible for a woman dead fifty-eight hours. by its development the body of the fetus confirmed the mother's account of a pregnancy of twenty-one weeks. mayer satisfies himself at least that the mother was in a trance at the time of delivery and died soon afterward. moritz gives the instance of a woman dying in pregnancy, undelivered, who happened to be disinterred several days after burial. the body was in an advanced state of decomposition, and a fetus was found in the coffin. it was supposed that the pressure of gas in the mother's body had forced the fetus from the uterus. ostmann speaks of a woman married five months, who was suddenly seized with rigors, headache, and vomiting. for a week she continued to do her daily work, and in addition was ill-treated by her husband. she died suddenly without having any abdominal pain or any symptoms indicative of abortion. the body was examined twenty-four hours after death and was seen to be dark, discolored, and the abdomen distended. there was no sanguineous discharge from the genitals, but at the time of raising the body to place it in the coffin, a fetus, with the umbilical cord, escaped from the vagina. there seemed to have been a rapid putrefaction in this ease, generating enough pressure of gas to expel the fetus as well as the uterus from the body. this at least is the view taken by hoffman and others in the solution of these strange cases. antepartum crying of the child.--there are on record fabulous cases of children crying in the uterus during pregnancy, and all sorts of unbelievable stories have been constructed from these reported occurrences. quite possible, however, and worthy of belief are the cases in which the child has been heard to cry during the progress of parturition--that is, during delivery. jonston speaks of infants crying in the womb, and attempts a scientific explanation of the fact. he also quotes the following lines in reference to this subject:-- "mirandum foetus nlaterna clausus in alvo dicitur insuetos ore dedisse sonos. causa subest; doluit se angusta sede telleri et cupiit magnae cernere moliis opus. aut quia quaerendi studio vis fessa parentum aucupii aptas innuit esse manus." the ephemerides gives examples of the child hiccoughing in the uterus. cases of crying before delivery, some in the vagina, some just before the complete expulsion of the head from the os uteri, are very numerous in the older writers; and it is quite possible that on auscultation of the pregnant abdomen fetal sounds may have been exaggerated into cries. bartholinus, borellus, boyle, buchner, paullini, mezger, riolanus, lentillus, marcellus donatus, and wolff all speak of children crying before delivery; and mazinus relates the instance of a puppy whose feeble cries could be heard before expulsion from the bitch. osiander fully discusses the subject of infants crying during parturition. mclean describes a case in which he positively states that a child cried lustily in utero during application of the forceps. he compared the sound as though from a voice in the cellar. this child was in the uterus, not in the vagina, and continued the crying during the whole of the five minutes occupied by delivery. cesarean section.--although the legendary history of cesarean section is quite copious, it is very seldom that we find authentic records in the writings of the older medical observers. the works of hippocrates, aretxeus, galen, celsus, and aetius contain nothing relative to records of successful cesarean sections. however, pliny says that scipio africanus was the first and manlius the second of the romans who owed their lives to the operation of cesarean section; in his seventh book he says that julius caesar was born in this way, the fact giving origin to his name. others deny this and say that his name came from the thick head of hair which he possessed. it is a frequent subject in old roman sculpture, and there are many delineations of the birth of bacchus by cesarean section from the corpse of semele. greek mythology tells us of the birth of bacchus in the following manner: after zeus burnt the house of semele, daughter of cadmus, he sent hermes in great haste with directions to take from the burnt body of the mother the fruit of seven months. this child, as we know, was bacchus. aesculapius, according to the legend of the romans, had been excised from the belly of his dead mother, corinis, who was already on the funeral pile, by his benefactor, apollo; and from this legend all products of cesarean sections were regarded as sacred to apollo, and were thought to have been endowed with sagacity and bravery. old records tell us that one of the kings of navarre was delivered in this way, and we also have records of the birth of the celebrated doge, andreas doria, by this method. jane seymour was supposed to have been delivered of edward vi by cesarean section, the father, after the consultation of the physicians was announced to him, replying: "save the child by all means, for i shall be able to get mothers enough." robert ii of scotland was supposed to have been delivered in this way after the death of his mother, margery bruce, who was killed by being thrown from a horse. shakespere's immortal citation of macduff, "who was from his mother's womb untimely ripped," must have been such a case, possibly crudely done, perchance by cattle-horn. pope gregory xiv was said to have been taken from his mother's belly after her death. the philosophical transactions, in the last century contain accounts of cesarean section performed by an ignorant butcher and also by a midwife; and there are many records of the celebrated case performed by jacob nufer, a cattle gelder, at the beginning of the sixteenth century. by the advent of antisepsis and the improvements of porro and others, cesarean section has come to be a quite frequent event, and a record of the successful cases would hardly be considered a matter of extraordinary interest, and would be out of the province of this work, but a citation of anomalous cases will be given. baldwin reports a case of cesarean section on a typical rachitic dwarf of twenty-four, who weighed pounds and was only / inches tall. it was the ninth american case, according to the calculation of harris, only the third successful one, and the first successful one in ohio. the woman had a uniformly contracted pelvis whose anteroposterior diameter was about / inches. the hygienic surroundings for the operation were not of the best, as the woman lived in a cellar. tait's method of performing the operation was determined upon and successfully performed. convalescence was prompt, and in three weeks the case was dismissed. the child was a female of / pounds which inherited the deformities of its mother. it thrived for nine and a half months, when it died of angina ludovici. figure represents the mother and child. harris gives an account of an operation upon a rachitic dwarf who was impregnated by a large man, a baby weighing pounds and measuring inches being delivered by the knife. st. braun gives the account of a porro-cesarean operation in the case of a rachitic dwarf feet inches tall, in which both the mother and child recovered. munde speaks of twins being delivered by cesarean section. franklin gives the instance of a woman delivered at full term of a living child by this means, in whom was also found a dead fetus. it lay behind the stump of the amputated cervix, in the culdesac of douglas. the patient died of hemorrhage. croston reports a case of cesarean section on a primipara of twenty-four at full term, with the delivery of a double female monster weighing / pounds. this monster consisted of two females of about the same size, united from the sternal notch to the navel, having one cord and one placenta. it was stillborn. the diagnosis was made before operation by vaginal examination. in a communication to croston, harris remarked that this was the first successful cesarean section for double monstrous conception in america, and added that in collins and leidy performed the same operation without success. instances of repeated cesarean section were quite numerous, and the pride of the operators noteworthy, before the uterus was removed at the first operation, as is now generally done. bacque reports two sections in the same woman, and bertrandi speaks of a case in which the operation was successfully executed many times in the same woman. rosenberg reports three cases repeated successfully by leopold of dresden. skutsch reports a case in which it was twice performed on a woman with a rachitic pelvis, and who the second time was pregnant with twins; the children and mother recovered. zweifel cites an instance in which two cesarean sections were performed on a patient, both of the children delivered being in vigorous health. stolz relates a similar case. beck gives an account of a cesarean operation twice on the same woman; in the first the child perished, but in the second it survived. merinar cites an instance of a woman thrice opened. parravini gives a similar instance. charlton gives an account of the performance carried out successfully four times in the same woman; chisholm mentions a case in which it was twice performed. michaelis of kiel gives an instance in which he performed the same operation on a woman four times, with successful issues to both mother and children, despite the presence of peritonitis the last time. he had operated in , , , and . coe and gueniot both mention cases in which cesarean section had been twice performed with successful terminations as regards both mothers and children. rosenberg tabulates a number of similar cases from medical literature. cases of cesarean section by the patient herself are most curious, but may be readily believed if there is any truth in the reports of the operation being done in savage tribes. felkin gives an account of a successful case performed in his presence, with preservation of the lives of both mother and child, by a native african in kahura, uganda country. the young girl was operated on in the crudest manner, the hemorrhage being checked by a hot iron. the sutures were made by means of seven thin, hot iron spikes, resembling acupressure-needles, closing the peritoneum and skin. the wound healed in eleven days, and the mother made a complete recovery. thomas cowley describes the case of a negro woman who, being unable to bear the pains of labor any longer, took a sharp knife and made a deep incision in her belly--deep enough to wound the buttocks of her child, and extracted the child, placenta and all. a negro horse-doctor was called, who sewed the wound up in a manner similar to the way dead bodies are closed at the present time. barker gives the instance of a woman who, on being abused by her husband after a previous tedious labor, resolved to free herself of the child, and slyly made an incision five inches long on the left side of the abdomen with a weaver's knife. when barker arrived the patient was literally drenched with blood and to all appearance dead. he extracted a dead child from the abdomen and bandaged the mother, who lived only forty hours. in his discourses on tropical diseases moseley speaks of a young negress in jamaica who opened her uterus and extracted therefrom a child which lived six days; the woman recovered. barker relates another case in rensselaer county, n.y., in which the incision was made with the razor, the woman likewise recovering. there is an interesting account of a poor woman at prischtina, near the servian frontier, who, suffering greatly from the pains of labor, resolved to open her abdomen and uterus. she summoned a neighbor to sew up the incision after she had extracted the child, and at the time of report, several months later, both the mother and child were doing well. madigan cites the case of a woman of thirty-four, in her seventh confinement, who, while temporarily insane, laid open her abdomen with a razor, incised the uterus, and brought out a male child. the abdominal wound was five inches long, and extended from one inch above the umbilicus straight downward. there was little or no bleeding and the uterus was firmly contracted. she did not see a physician for three hours. the child was found dead and, with the placenta, was lying by her side. the neighbors were so frightened by the awful sight that they ran away, or possibly the child might have been saved by ligature of the funis. not until the arrival of the clergyman was anything done, and death ultimately ensued. a most wonderful case of endurance of pain and heroism was one occurring in italy, which attracted much european comment at the time. a young woman, illegitimately pregnant, at full term, on march th, at dawn, opened her own abdomen on the left side with a common knife such as is generally used in kitchens. the wound measured five inches, and was directed obliquely outward and downward. she opened the uterus in the same direction, and endeavored to extract the fetus. to expedite the extraction, she drew out an arm and amputated it, and finding the extraction still difficult, she cut off the head and completely emptied the womb, including the placenta. she bound a tight bandage around her body and hid the fetus in a straw mattress. she then dressed herself and attended to her domestic duties. she afterward mounted a cart and went into the city of viterbo, where she showed her sister a cloth bathed in blood as menstrual proof that she was not pregnant. on returning home, having walked five hours, she was seized with an attack of vomiting and fainted. the parents called drs. serpieri and baliva, who relate the case. thirteen hours had elapsed from the infliction of the wound, through which the bulk of the intestines had been protruding for the past six hours. the abdomen was irrigated, the toilet made, and after the eighteenth day the process of healing was well progressed, and the woman made a recovery after her plucky efforts to hide her shame. cases like the foregoing excite no more interest than those on record in which an abdominal section has been accidental, as, for instance, by cattle-horns, and the fetus born through the wound. zuboldie speaks of a case in which a fetus was born from the wound made by a bull's horn in the mother's abdomen. deneux describes a case in which the wound made by the horn was not sufficiently large to permit the child's escape, but it was subsequently brought through the opening. pigne speaks of a woman of thirty-eight, who in the eighth month of her sixth pregnancy was gored by a bull, the horn effecting a transverse wound inches long, running from one anterior spine to the other. the woman was found cold and insensible and with an imperceptible pulse. the small intestines were lying between the thighs and covered with coagulated blood. in the process of cleansing, a male child was expelled spontaneously through a rent in the uterus. the woman was treated with the usual precautions and was conscious at midday. in a month she was up. she lived twenty years without any inconvenience except that due to a slight hernia on the left side. the child died at the end of a fortnight. in a very exhaustive article harris of philadelphia has collected nearly all the remaining cases on record, and brief extracts from some of them will be given below. in zaandam, holland, , a farmer's wife was tossed by a furious bull. her abdomen was ripped open, and the child and membranes escaped. the child suffered no injuries except a bruised upper lip and lived nine months. the mother died within forty hours of her injuries. figure taken from an engraving dated , represents an accouchement by a mad bull, possibly the same case. in dillenberg, germany, in , a multipara was gored by an ox at her sixth month of pregnancy; the horn entered the right epigastric region, three inches from the linea alba, and perforated the uterus. the right arm of the fetus protruded; the wound was enlarged and the fetus and placenta delivered. thatcher speaks of a woman who was gored by a cow in king's park, and both mother and child were safely delivered and survived. in the parish of zecoytia, spain, in , marie gratien was gored by an ox in the superior portion of her epigastrium, making a wound eight inches long which wounded the uterus in the same direction. dr. antonio di zubeldia and don martin monaco were called to take charge of the case. while they were preparing to effect delivery by the vagina, the woman, in an attack of singultus, ruptured the line of laceration and expelled the fetus, dead. on the twenty-first day the patient was doing well. the wound closed at the end of the sixteenth week. the woman subsequently enjoyed excellent health and, although she had a small ventral hernia, bore and nursed two children. marsh cites the instance of a woman of forty-two, the mother of eight children, who when eight months pregnant was horned by a cow. her clothes were not torn, but she felt that the child had slipped out, and she caught it in her dress. she was seen by some neighbors twelve yards from the place of accident, and was assisted to her house. the bowels protruded and the child was separated from the funis. a physician saw the woman three-quarters of an hour afterward and found her pulseless and thoroughly exhausted. there was considerable but not excessive loss of blood, and several feet of intestine protruded through the wound. the womb was partially inverted through the wound, and the placenta was still attached to the inverted portion. the wound in the uterus was y-shaped. the mother died in one and a half hours from the reception of her injuries, but the child was uninjured. scott mentions the instance of a woman thirty-four years old who was gored by an infuriated ox while in the ninth month of her eighth pregnancy. the horn entered at the anterior superior spinous process of the ilium, involving the parietes and the uterus. the child was extruded through the wound about half an hour after the occurrence of the accident. the cord was cut and the child survived and thrived, though the mother soon died. stalpart tells the almost incredible story of a soldier's wife who went to obtain water from a stream and was cut in two by a cannonball while stooping over. a passing soldier observed something to move in the water, which, on investigation, he found to be a living child in its membranes. it was christened by order of one cordua and lived for some time after. postmortem cesarean section.--the possibility of delivering a child by cesarean section after the death of the mother has been known for a long time to the students of medicine. in the olden times there were laws making compulsory the opening of the dead bodies of pregnant women shortly after death. numa pompilius established the first law, which was called "les regia," and in later times there were many such ordinances. a full description of these laws is on record. life was believed possible after a gestation of six months or over, and, as stated, some famous men were supposed to have been born in this manner. francois de civile, who on great occasions signed himself "trois fois enterre et trois fois par le grace de dieu ressucite," saw the light of the world by a happy cesarean operation on his exhumed mother. fabricius hildanus and boarton report similar instances. bourton cites among others the case of an infant who was found living twelve hours after the death of his mother. dufour and mauriceau are two older french medical writers who discuss this subject. flajani speaks of a case in which a child was delivered at the death of its mother, and some of the older italian writers discuss the advisability of the operation in the moribund state before death actually ensues. heister writes of the delivery of the child after the death of the mother by opening the abdomen and uterus. harris relates several interesting examples. in peru in a sambi woman was killed by lightning, and the next day the abdomen was opened by official command and a living child was extracted. the princess von swartzenberg, who was burned to death at a ball in paris in , was said to have had a living child removed from her body the next day. like all similar instances, this was proved to be false, as her body was burned beyond the possibility of recognition, and, besides, she was only four months pregnant. harris mentions another case of a young woman who threw herself from the pont neuf into the seine. her body was recovered, and a surgeon who was present seized a knife from a butcher standing by and extracted a living child in the presence of the curious spectators. campbell discusses this subject most thoroughly, though he advances no new opinions upon it. duer tabulates the successful results of a number of cases of cesarean section after death as follows:-- children extracted between and minutes after death of the mother, " " and " " " " " " " " and " " " " " " " " hour " " " " " " " " hours " " " " " " garezky of st. petersburg collected reports of cases of cesarean section after death with the following results: were extracted dead; showed signs of life; were born alive. of the , only lived for any length of time. he concludes that if extracted within five or six minutes after death, they may be born alive; if from six to ten minutes, they may still be born alive, though asphyxiated; if from ten to twenty-six minutes, they will be highly asphyxiated. in a great number of these cases the infant was asphyxiated or dead in one minute. of course, if the death is sudden, as by apoplexy, accident, or suicide, the child's chances are better. these statistics seem conscientious and reliable, and we are safe in taking them as indicative of the usual result, which discountenances the old reports of death as taking place some time before extraction. peuch is credited with statistics showing that in operations children gave signs of life, but only survived. during the commune of paris, tarnier, one night at the maternite, was called to an inmate who, while lying in bed near the end of pregnancy, had been killed by a ball which fractured the base of the skull and entered the brain. he removed the child by cesarean section and it lived for several days. in another case a pregnant woman fell from a window for a distance of more than feet, instant death resulting; thirty minutes at least after the death of the mother an infant was removed, which, after some difficulty, was resuscitated and lived for thirteen years. tarnier states that delivery may take place three-quarters of an hour or even an hour after the death of the mother, and he also quotes an extraordinary case by hubert of a successful cesarean operation two hours after the mother's death; the woman, who was eight months pregnant, was instantly killed while crossing a railroad track. hoffman records the case of a successful cesarean section done ten minutes after death. the patient was a woman of thirty-six, in her eighth month of pregnancy, who was suddenly seized with eclampsia, which terminated fatally in ten hours. ten minutes after her last respiration the cesarean section was performed and a living male child delivered. this infant was nourished with the aid of a spoon, but it died in twenty-five hours in consequence of its premature birth and enfeebled vitality. green speaks of a woman, nine months pregnant, who was run over by a heavily laden stage-coach in the streets of southwark. she died in about twenty minutes, and in about twenty minutes more a living child was extracted from her by cesarean section. there was a similar case in the hopital st. louis, in paris, in ; but in this case the child was born alive five minutes after death. squire tells of a case in which the mother died of dilatation of the aorta, and in from twenty to thirty minutes the child was saved. in comment on this case aveling is quoted as saying that he believed it possible to save a child one hour after the death of the mother. no less an authority than playfair speaks of a case in which a child was born half an hour after the death of the mother. beckman relates the history of a woman who died suddenly in convulsions. the incision was made about five minutes after death, and a male child about four pounds in weight was extracted. the child exhibited feeble heart-contractions and was despaired of. happily, after numerous and persistent means of resuscitation, applied for about two and a half hours, regular respirations were established and the child eventually recovered. walter reports a successful instance of removal of the child after the death of the mother from apoplexy. cleveland gives an account of a woman of forty-seven which is of special interest. the mother had become impregnated five months after the cessation of menstruation, and a uterine sound had been used in ignorance of the impregnation at this late period. the mother died, and one hour later a living child was extracted by cesarean section. there are two other recent cases recorded of extraction after an hour had expired from the death. one is cited by veronden in which the extraction was two hours after death, a living child resulting, and the other by blatner in which one hour had elapsed after death, when the child was taken out alive. cases of rupture of the uterus during pregnancy from the pressure of the contents and delivery of the fetus by some unnatural passage are found in profusion through medical literature, and seem to have been of special interest to the older observers. benivenius saw a case in which the uterus ruptured and the intestines protruded from the vulva. an instance similar to the one recorded by benivenius is also found in the last century in germany. bouillon and desbois, two french physicians of the last century, both record examples of the uterus rupturing in the last stages of pregnancy and the mother recovering. schreiber gives an instance of rupture of the uterus occasioned by the presence of a -pound fetus, and there is recorded the account of a rupture caused by a -pound fetus that made its way into the abdomen. we find old accounts of cases of rupture of the uterus with birth by the umbilicus and the recovery of the woman. vespre describes a case in which the uterus was ruptured by the feet of the fetus. farquharson has an account of a singular case in midwifery in which abdomen ruptured from the pressure of the fetus; and quite recently geoghegan illustrates the possibilities of uterine pressure in pregnancy by a postmortem examination after a fatal parturition, in which the stomach was found pushed through the diaphragm and lying under the left clavicle. heywood smith narrates the particulars of a case of premature labor at seven months in which rupture of the uterus occurred and, notwithstanding the fact that the case was complicated by placenta praevia, the patient recovered. rupture of the uterus and recovery does not necessarily prevent subsequent successful pregnancy and delivery by the natural channels. whinery relates an instance of a ruptured uterus in a healthy irish woman of thirty-seven from whom a dead child was extracted by abdominal section and who was safely delivered of a healthy female child about one year afterward. analogous to this case is that of lawrence, who details the instance of a woman who had been delivered five times of dead children; she had a very narrow pelvis and labor was always induced at the eighth month to assure delivery. in her sixth pregnancy she had miscalculated her time, and, in consequence, her uterus ruptured in an unexpected parturition, but she recovered and had several subsequent pregnancies. occasionally there is a spontaneous rupture of the vagina during the process of parturition, the uterus remaining intact. wiltshire reports such a case in a woman who had a most prominent sacrum; the laceration was transverse and quite extensive, but the woman made a good recovery. schauta pictures an exostosis on the promontory of the sacrum. blenkinsop cites an instance in which the labor was neither protracted nor abnormally severe, yet the rupture of the vagina took place with the escape of the child into the abdomen of the mother, and was from thence extracted by cesarean section. a peculiarity of this case was the easy expulsion from the uterus, no instrumental or other manual interference being attempted and the uterus remaining perfectly intact. in some cases there is extensive sloughing of the genitals after parturition with recovery far beyond expectation. gooch mentions a case in which the whole vagina sloughed, yet to his surprise the patient recovered. aetius and benivenius speak of recovery in such cases after loss of the whole uterus. cazenave of bordeaux relates a most marvelous case in which a primipara suffered in labor from an impacted head. she was twenty-five, of very diminutive stature, and was in labor a long time. after labor, sloughing of the parts commenced and progressed to such an extent that in one month there were no traces of the labia, nymphae, vagina, perineum, or anus. there was simply a large opening extending from the meatus urinarius to the coccyx. the rectovaginal septum, the lower portion of the rectum, and the neck of the bladder were obliterated. the woman survived, although she always experienced great difficulty in urination and in entirely emptying the rectum. a similar instance is reported in a woman of thirty who was thirty-six hours in labor. the fundus of the uterus descended into the vagina and the whole uterine apparatus was removed. the lower part of the rectum depended between the labia; in the presence of the physician the nurse drew this out and it separated at the sphincter ani. on examining the parts a single opening was seen, as in the preceding case, from the pubes to the coccyx. some time afterward the end of the intestine descended several inches and hung loosely on the concave surface of the rectum. a sponge was introduced to support the rectum and prevent access of air. the destruction of the parts was so complete and the opening so large as to bring into view the whole inner surface of the pelvis, in spite of which, after prolonged suppuration, the wound cicatrized from behind forward and health returned, except as regards the inconvenience of feces and urine. milk-secretion appeared late and lasted two months without influencing the other functions. there are cases in which, through the ignorance of the midwife or the physician, prolapsed pelvic organs are mistaken for afterbirth and extracted. there have been instances in which the whole uterus and its appendages, not being recognized, have been dragged out. walters cites the instance of a woman of twenty-two, who was in her third confinement. the midwife in attendance, finding the afterbirth did not come away, pulled at the funis, which broke at its attachment. she then introduced her hand and tore away what proved to be the whole of the uterus, with the right ovary and fallopian tube, a portion of the round ligament, and the left tube and ovarian ligament attached to it. a large quantity of omentum protruded from the vulva and upper part of the vagina, and an enormous rent was left. walters saw the woman twenty-one hours afterward, and ligated and severed the protruding omentum. on the twenty-eighth day, after a marvelous recovery, she was able to drive to the royal berkshire hospital, a distance of five miles. at the time of report, two years and six months after the mutilation, she was in perfect health. walters looked into the statistics of such cases and found accidental removals of the uterus in the puerperium with recoveries. all but three of these were without a doubt attended by previous inversion of the uterus. a medical man was tried for manslaughter in because he made a similar mistake. he had delivered a woman by means of the forceps, and, after delivery, brought away what he thought a tumor. this "tumor" consisted of the uterus, with the placenta attached to the fundus, the funis, a portion of the lateral ligament, containing one ovary and about three inches of vagina. the uterus was not inverted. a horrible case, with similar results, happened in france, and was reported by tardieu. a brutal peasant, whose wife was pregnant, dragged out a fetus of seven months, together with the uterus and the whole intestinal canal, from within cm. of the pylorus to within cm. of the ileocecal valve. the woman was seen three-quarters of an hour after the intestines had been found in the yard (where the brute had thrown them), still alive and reproaching her murderer. hoffman cites an instance in which a midwife, in her anxiety to extract the afterbirth, made traction on the cord, brought out the uterus, ovaries, and tubes, and tore the vulva and perineum as far as the anus. woodson tells the story of a negress who was four months pregnant, and who, on being seized with severe uterine pains in a bath, succeeded in seizing the fetus and dragging it out, but inverting the uterus in the operation. there is a case recorded of a girl of eighteen, near her labor, who, being driven from her house by her father, took refuge in a neighboring house, and soon felt the pains of child-birth. the accoucheur was summoned, pronounced them false pains, and went away. on his return he found the girl dying, with her uterus completely inverted and hanging between her legs. this unfortunate maiden had been delivered while standing upright, with her elbows on the back of a chair. the child suddenly escaped, bringing with it the uterus, but as the funis ruptured the child fell to the floor. wagner pictures partial prolapse of the womb in labor. it would too much extend this chapter to include the many accidents incident to labor, and only a few of especial interest will be given. cases like rupture of an aneurysm during labor, extensive hemorrhage, the entrance of air into the uterine veins and sinuses, and common lacerations will be omitted, together with complicated births like those of double monsters, etc., but there are several other cases that deserve mention. eldridge gives an instance of separation of the symphysis pubis during labor,--a natural symphysiotomy. a separation of / inch could be discerned at the symphysis, and in addition the sacroiliac synchondrosis was also quite movable. the woman had not been able to walk in the latter part of her pregnancy. the child weighed / pounds and had a large head in a remarkably advanced stage of ossification, with the fontanelles nearly closed. delivery was effected, though during the passage of the head the pubes separated to such an extent that eldridge placed two fingers between them. the mother recovered, and had perfect union and normal locomotion. sanders reports a case of the separation of the pubic bones in labor. studley mentions a case of fracture of the pelvis during instrumental delivery. humphreys cites a most curious instance. the patient, it appears, had a large exostosis on the body of the pubes which, during parturition, was forced through the walls of the uterus and bladder, resulting in death. kilian reports four cases of death from perforation of the uterus in this manner. schauta pictures such an exostosis. chandler relates an instance in which there was laceration of the liver during parturition; and hubbard records a case of rupture of the spleen after labor. symphysiotomy is an operation consisting of division of the pubic symphysis in order to facilitate delivery in narrow pelves. this operation has undergone a most remarkable revival during the past two years. it originated in a suggestion by pineau in his work on surgery in , and in was first performed by la courvee upon a dead body in order to save the child, and afterward by plenk, in , for the same purpose. in sigault first proposed the operation on the living, and ferrara was the one to carry out, practically, the proposition,--although sigault is generally considered to be the first symphysiotormist, and the procedure is very generally known as the "sigaultean operation." from ferrara's time to , when the operation had practically died out, it had been performed times, with a recorded mortality of per cent. in the italians, under the leadership of morisani of naples, revived the operation, and in twenty years had performed it times with a mortality of per cent. owing to rigid antiseptic technic, the last of these operations ( to ) showed a mortality of only per cent, while the infant-mortality was only / per cent. the modern history of this operation is quite interesting, and is very completely reviewed by hirst and dorland. in november, , hirst reported operations since , with a maternal mortality of . per cent and a fetal mortality of per cent. in his later statistics morisani gives cases with maternal deaths and infantile death, while zweifel reports cases from the leipzig clinic with no maternal death and fetal deaths, from asphyxia and from pneumonia, two days after birth. all the modern statistics are correspondingly encouraging. irwin reports a case in which the firm attachment of the fetal head to the uterine parietes rendered delivery without artificial aid impossible, and it was necessary to perform craniotomy. the right temporal region of the child adhered to the internal surface of the neck of the uterus, being connected by membranes. the woman was forty-four years old, and the child was her fourth. delay in the birth of the second twin.--in twin pregnancies there is sometimes a delay of many days in the birth of a second child, even to such an extent as to give suspicion of superfetation. pignot speaks of one twin two months before the other. de bosch speaks of a delay of seventeen days; and there were cases on record in france in the last century, one of which was delayed ten days, and the other showed an interval of seven weeks between the delivery of the twins. there is an old case on record in which there was an interval of six weeks between deliveries; jansen gives an account of three births in ten months; pinart mentions a case with an interval of ten days; thilenius, one of thirteen days; and ephemerides, one of one week. wildberg describes a case in which one twin was born two months after the other, and there was no secretion of milk until after the second birth. a full description of wildberg's case is given in another journal in brief, as follows: a woman, eighteen months married, was in labor in the eighth month of pregnancy. she gave birth to a child, which, though not fully matured, lived. there was no milk-secretion in her breasts, and she could distinctly feel the movements of another child; her abdomen increased in size. after two months she had another labor, and a fully developed and strong child was born, much heavier than the first. on the third day after, the breasts became enlarged, and she experienced considerable fever. it was noticeable in this case that a placenta was discharged a quarter of an hour after the first birth. irvine relates an instance of thirty-two days' delay; and pfau one of seven days'. carson cites the instance of a noblewoman of forty, the mother of four children, who was taken ill about two weeks before confinement was expected, and was easily delivered of a male child, which seemed well formed, with perfect nails, but weakly. after the birth the mother never became healthy or natural in appearance. she was supposed to be dying of dropsy, but after forty-four days the mystery was cleared by the birth of a fine, well-grown, and healthy daughter. both mother and child did well. addison describes the case of a woman who was delivered of a healthy male child, and everything was well until the evening of the fourth day, when intense labor-pains set in, and well-formed twins about the size of a pigeon's egg were born. in this strange case, possibly an example of superfetation, the patient made a good recovery and the first child lived. a similar case is reported by lumby in which a woman was delivered on january th, by a midwife, of a full-grown and healthy female child. on the third day she came down-stairs and resumed her ordinary duties, which she continued until february th (seventeen days after). at this time she was delivered of twins, a boy and a girl, healthy and well-developed. the placenta was of the consistency of jelly and had to be scooped away with the hand. the mother and children did well. this woman was the mother of ten children besides the product of this conception, and at the latter occurrence had entire absence of pains and a very easy parturition. pincott had a case with an interval of seven weeks between the births; vale of two months; bush of seventeen days; and burke with an interval of two months. douglas cites an instance of twins being born four days apart. bessems of antwerp, in , mentions a woman with a bicornate uterus who bore two twins at fifty-four days' interval. chapter iv. prolificity. general historic observations.--prolificity is a much discussed subject, for besides its medical and general interest it is of importance in social as well as in political economy. superfluous population was a question that came to consciousness early; aristotle spoke of legislation to prevent the increase of population and the physical and mental deterioration of the race,--he believed in a population fixed as regards numbers,--and later lycurgus transformed these precepts into a terrible law. strabonius reports that the inhabitants of cathea brought their infants at the age of two months before a magistrate for inspection. the strong and promising were preserved and the weak destroyed. the founders of the roman empire followed a similar usage. with great indignation seneca, ovid, and juvenal reproved this barbarity of the romans. with the domination of christianity this custom gradually diminished, and constantine stopped it altogether, ordering succor to the people too poor to rear their own children. the old celts were so jealous of their vigor that they placed their babes on a shield in the river, and regarded those that the waves respected as legitimate and worthy to become members of their clans. in many of the oriental countries, where the population is often very excessive and poverty great, the girl babies of the lower classes were destroyed. at one time the crocodiles, held sacred in the nile, were given the surplus infants. by destroying the females the breeding necessarily diminished, and the number of the weaker and dependent classes became less. in other countries persons having children beyond their ability to support were privileged to sell them to citizens, who contracted to raise them on condition that they became their slaves. general law, and the influence of war.--in the increase of the world's population, although circumstances may for the time alter it, a general average of prolificity has, in the long run, been maintained. in the history of every nation artificial circumstances, such as fashion, war, poverty, etc., at some period have temporarily lowered the average of prolificity; but a further search finds another period, under opposite circumstances, which will more than compensate for it. the effect of a long-continued war or wars on generation and prolificity has never been given proper consideration. in such times marriages become much less frequent; the husbands are separated from their wives for long periods; many women are left widows; the females become in excess of the males; the excitement of the times overtops the desire for sexual intercourse, or, if there is the same desire, the unprolific prostitute furnishes the satisfaction; and such facts as these, coupled with many similar ones, soon produce an astonishing effect upon the comparative birth-rate and death-rate of the country. the resources of a country, so far as concerns population, become less as the period of peace-disturbance is prolonged. mayo-smith quotes von mayr in the following example of the influence of the war of - on the birth-rate in bavaria,--the figures for births are thrown back nine months, so as to show the time of conception: before the war under normal conception the number of births was about , per month. during the war it sank to about per month. immediately on the cessation of hostilities it arose to its former number, while the actual return of the troops brought an increase of per month. the maximum was reached in march, , when it was , . the war of seems to have passed over germany without any great influence, the birth-rate in being . ; in , . ; in , . ; in , . . on the other hand, while the birth-rate in was . , in it was only . ; in it recovered to . , and remained above down to . von mayr believes the war had a depressing influence upon the rate apart from the mere absence of the men, as shown in the fact that immediately upon the cessation of hostilities it recovered in bavaria, although it was several months before the return of the troops. mayo-smith, in remarking on the influence of war on the marriage-rate, says that in the prussian rate fell from . to . , while the austrian rate fell from . to . . in the war of - the prussian rate fell from . in to . in and . in ; but in the two years after peace was made it rose to . and . , the highest rates ever recorded. in france the rate fell from . to . and . , and then rose to . and . , the highest rates ever recorded in france. influence of rural and urban life.--rural districts are always very prolific, and when we hear the wails of writers on "social economy," bemoaning the small birth-rates of their large cities, we need have no fear for urban extinction, as emigration from the country by many ambitious sons and daughters, to avail themselves of the superior advantages that the city offers, will not only keep up but to a certain point increase the population, until the reaction of overcrowding, following the self-regulating law of compensation, starts a return emigration. the effect of climate and race on prolificity, though much spoken of, is not so great a factor as supposed. the inhabitants of great britain are surpassed by none in the point of prolificity; yet their location is quite northern. the swedes have always been noted for their fecundity. olaf rudbeck says that from to was the usual family number, and some ran as high as or . according to lord kames, in iceland before the plague (about ) families of from to were quite common. the old settlers in cold north america were always blessed with large families, and quebec is still noted for its prolificity. there is little difference in this respect among nations, woman being limited about the same everywhere, and the general average of the range of the productive function remaining nearly identical in all nations. of course, exception must be made as to the extremes of north or south. ancient and modern prolificity.--nor is there much difference between ancient and modern times. we read in the writings of aristotle, pliny, and albucasis of the wonderful fertility of the women of egypt, arabia, and other warm countries, from to children often being born at once and living to maturity; but from the wonder and surprise shown in the narration of these facts, they were doubtless exceptions, of which parallels may be found in the present day. the ancient greek and roman families were no larger than those of to-day, and were smaller in the zenith of roman affluence, and continued small until the period of decadence. legal encouragement of prolificity.--in quebec province, canada, according to a montreal authority, acres of land are allotted to the father who has a dozen children by legitimate marriage. the same journal states that, stimulated by the premium offered, families of or more are not rare, the results of patriotic efforts. in , "chefs de famille" made their claim according to the conditions of the law, and one, paul bellanger, of the river du loup, claimed acres as his premium, based on the fact that he was the father of children. another claimant, monsieur thioret de sainte genevieve, had been presented by his wife, a woman not yet thirty years old, with children. she had triplets twice in the space of five years and twins thrice in the mean time. it is a matter of conjecture what the effect would be of such a premium in countries with a lowering birth-rate, and a french medical journal, quoting the foregoing, regretfully wishes for some countrymen at home like their brothers in quebec. old explanations of prolificity.--the old explanation of the causation of the remarkable exceptions to the rules of prolificity was similar to that advanced by empedocles, who says that the greater the quantity of semen, the greater the number of children at birth. pare, later, uses a similar reason to explain the causation of monstrosities, grouping them into two classes, those due to deficiency of semen, such as the acephalous type, and those due to excess, such as the double monsters. hippocrates, in his work on the "nature of the infant," tells us that twins are the result of a single coitus, and we are also informed that each infant has a chorion; so that both kinds of plural gestation (monochorionic and dichorionic) were known to the ancients. in this treatise it is further stated that the twins may be male or female, or both males or both females; the male is formed when the semen is thick and strong. the greatest number of children at a single birth that it is possible for a woman to have has never been definitely determined. aristotle gives it as his opinion that one woman can bring forth no more than children at a single birth, and discredits reports of multiplicity above this number; while pliny, who is not held to be so trustworthy, positively states that there were authentic records of as many as at a birth. throughout the ages in which superstitious distortion of facts and unquestioning credulity was unchecked, all sorts of incredible accounts of prolificity are found. martin cromerus, a polish historian, quoted by pare, who has done some good work in statistical research on this subject, says a that margaret, of a noble and ancient family near cracovia, the wife of count virboslaus, brought forth living children on january , . the celebrated case of countess margaret, daughter of florent iv, earl of holland, and spouse of count hermann of henneberg, was supposed to have occurred just before this, on good friday, . she was at this time forty-two years of age, and at one birth brought forth infants, males, females, and hermaphrodite. they were all baptized in two large brazen dishes by the bishop of treras, the males being called john, the females elizabeth. during the last century the basins were still on exhibition in the village church of losdun, and most of the visitors to hague went out to see them, as they were reckoned one of the curiosities of holland. the affliction was ascribed to the curse of a poor woman who, holding twins in her arms, approached the countess for aid. she was not only denied alms, but was insulted by being told that her twins were by different fathers, whereupon the poor woman prayed god to send the countess as many children as there were days in the year. there is room for much speculation as to what this case really was. there is a possibility that it was simply a case of hydatidiform or multiple molar pregnancy, elaborated by an exhaustive imagination and superstitious awe. as late as there was a woman of a town of andalusia who was reported to have been delivered of male infants, of which were alive two months later. mayo-smith remarks that the proportion of multiple births is not more than per cent of the total number of parturitions. the latest statistics, by westergaard, give the following averages to number of cases of births in which there were or more at a birth:-- sweden, . germany, . bavaria, . denmark, . holland, . prussia, . scotland, . norway, . saxony, . italy, . austria, . switzerland, . france, . belgium, . spain, . in prussia, from to , there were cases of quadruplets and cases of at a birth. the most extensive statistics in regard to multiple births are those of veit, who reviews , , births in prussia. according to his deductions, twins occur once in births; triplets, once in ; and quadruplets, once in , . recent statistics supplied by the boards of health of new york and philadelphia place the frequency of twin births in these cities at in every births, while in bohemia twins occur once in about births, a proportion just twice as great. of , twin pregnancies studied by veit, in one-third both children were boys; in slightly less than one-third both were girls; in the remaining third both sexes were represented. authentic records of and at a birth are extremely rare and infinitesimal in proportion. the reputed births in excess of must be looked on with suspicion, and, in fact, in the great majority of reports are apochryphal. the examples of multiple births of a single pregnancy will be taken up under their respective numbers, several examples of each being given, together with the authorities. many twin and triplet brothers have figured prominently in history, and, in fact, they seem especially favored. the instance of the horatii and the curatii, and their famous battle, on which hung the fate of rome and alba, is familiar to every one, their strength and wisdom being legendary with the romans. twins and triplets, being quite common, will not be considered here, although there are cases of interest of the latter that deserve citation. sperling reports instances of triplets; in the first there was placenta and chorion, amnions, and the sex was the same; in the second case, in which the sexes were different, there were placentas, chorions, and amnions. what significance this may have is only a matter of conjecture. petty describes a case of triplets in which one child was born alive, the other having lost their vitality three months before. mirabeau has recently found that triple births are most common ( to ) in multiparous women between thirty and thirty-four years of age. heredity seems to be a factor, and duplex uteruses predispose to multiple births. ross reports an instance of double uterus with triple pregnancy. quadruplets are supposed to occur once in about every , births. there are instances recorded in the index catalogue of the surgeon general's library, u. s. a., up to the time of compilation, not including the subsequent cases in the index medicus. at the hotel-dieu, in paris, in , births, covering a period of sixty years, mostly in the last century, there was only one case of quadruplets. the following extract of an account of the birth of quadruplets is given by dr. de leon of ingersoll, texas:-- "i was called to see mrs. e. t. page, january , , about o'clock a.m.; found her in labor and at full time, although she assured me that her 'time' was six weeks ahead. at o'clock a.m. i delivered her of a girl baby; i found there were triplets, and so informed her. at a.m. i delivered her of the second girl, after having rectified presentation, which was singular, face, hands, and feet all presented; i placed in proper position and practised 'version.' this child was 'still-born,' and after considerable effort by artificial respiration it breathed and came around 'all right.' the third girl was born at . a.m. this was the smallest one of the four. in attempting to take away the placenta, to my astonishment i found the feet of another child. at p.m. this one was born; the head of this child got firmly impacted at the lower strait, and it was with a great deal of difficulty and much patient effort that it was finally disengaged; it was blocked by a mass of placenta and cords. the first child had its own placenta; the second and third had their placenta; the fourth had also a placenta. they weighed at birth in the aggregate / pounds without clothing; the first weighed pounds; the second pounds; the third / pounds; the fourth pounds. mrs. page is a blonde, about thirty-six years old, and has given birth to children, twins three times before this, one pair by her first husband. she has been married to page three years, and has had children in that time. i have waited on her each time. page is an englishman, small, with dark hair, age about twenty-six, and weighs about pounds. they are in st. joseph, mo., now, having contracted with mr. uffner of new york to travel and exhibit themselves in denver, st. joseph, omaha, and nebraska city, then on to boston, mass., where they will spend the summer." there is a report from canada of the birth of living children at one time. the mother, a woman of thirty-eight, of small stature, weighing pounds, had living children of the ages of twelve, ten, eight, and seven years, respectively. she had aborted at the second month, and at full term was delivered of males, weighing, respectively, pounds / ounces and pounds ounces; and of females, weighing pounds ounces and pounds / ounces, respectively. there was but one placenta, and no more exhaustion or hemorrhage than at a single birth. the father weighed pounds, was forty-one years old, and was feet inches tall, healthy and robust. the journal of st. petersburg, a newspaper of the highest standard, stated that at the end of july, , a jewish woman residing in courland gave birth to girls, and again, in may, , bore boys and a girl; the mother and the children, born within a period of ten months, were doing well at the time of the report. in the village of iwokina, on may , , the wife of a peasant bore children at a birth, all surviving. bousquet speaks of a primiparous mother, aged twenty-four, giving birth to living infants, by the breech and by the vertex, apparently all in one bag of membranes. they were nourished by the help of wet-nurses. bedford speaks of children at a birth, averaging pounds each, and all nursing the mother. quintuplets are quite rare, and the index catalogue of the surgeon general's library, u. s. a., gives only cases, reports of a few of which will be given here, together with others not given in the catalogue, and from less scientific though reliable sources. in the year there was one case of quintuplets in upper saxony and another near prague, bohemia. in both of these cases the children were all christened and had all lived to maturity. garthshore speaks of a healthy woman, margaret waddington, giving birth to girls, of which lived; the that lived weighed at birth pounds ounces and pounds, respectively. he discusses the idea that woman was meant to bear more than one child at a birth, using as his argument the existence of the double nipple and mamma, to which might be added the not infrequent occurrence of polymazia. in march, , in a dairy cellar in the strand, london, a poor woman gave birth to boys and girls. in the same journal was reported the birth at wells, somersetshire, in , of boys and a girl, all of whom were christened and were healthy. pare in gives several instances of children at a birth, and pliny reports that in the peninsula of greece there was a woman who gave birth to quintuplets on four different occasions. petritus, a greek physician, speaks of the birth of quintuplets at the seventh month. two males and one female were born dead, being attached to the same placenta; the others were united to a common placenta and lived three days. chambon mentions an instance of at a birth. not far from berne, switzerland, the wife of john gelinger, a preacher in the lordship of berne, brought forth twins, and within a year after she brought forth quintuplets, sons and daughters. there is a similar instance reported in of a woman of twenty-seven who, having been delivered of twins two years before, was brought to bed with children, boys and girls. their length was from / to / inches. although regularly formed, they did not seem to have reached maturity. the mother was much exhausted, but recovered. the children appeared old-looking, had tremulous voices, and slept continually; during sleep their temperatures seemed very low. kennedy showed before the dublin pathological society fetuses with the involucra, the product of an abortion at the third month. at naples in giuseppa califani gave birth to children; and about the same time paddock reported the birth in franklin county, pa., of quintuplets. the lancet relates an account of the birth of quintuplets, boys and girls, by the wife of a peasant on march , . moffitt records the birth at monticello, ill., of quintuplets. the woman was thirty-five years of age; examination showed a breech presentation; the second child was born by a foot-presentation, as was the third, but the last was by a head-presentation. the combined weight was something over pounds, and of the , were still-born, and the other died soon after birth. the elgin courant (scotland), , speaks of a woman named elspet gordon, at rothes, giving birth to males and females. although they were six months' births, the boys all lived until the following morning. the girls were still-born. one of the boys had two front teeth when born. dr. dawson of rothes is the obstetrician mentioned in this case. the following recent instance is given with full details to illustrate the difficulties attending the births of quintuplets. stoker has reported the case of a healthy woman, thirty-five years old, feet inch high, and of slight build, whom he delivered of fetuses in the seventh month of pregnancy, none of the children surviving. the patient's mother had on two occasions given birth to twins. the woman herself had been married for six years and had borne children at full term, having no difficulty in labor. when she came under observation she computed that she had been pregnant for six months, and had had her attention attracted to the unusually large size of her abdomen. she complained of fixed pain in the left side of the abdomen on which side she thought she was larger. pains set in with regularity and the labor lasted eight and three-quarter hours. after the rupture of the membranes the first child presented by the shoulder. version was readily performed; the child was dead (recently). examination after the birth of the first child disclosed the existence of more than one remaining fetus. the membranes protruded and became tense with each contraction. the presentation was a transverse one. in this case also there was little difficulty in effecting internal version. the child lived a couple of hours. the third fetus was also enclosed in a separate sac, which had to be ruptured. the child presented by the breech and was delivered naturally, and lived for an hour. in the fourth case the membranes had likewise to be ruptured, and alarming hemorrhage ensued. version was at once practised, but the chin became locked with that of the remaining fetus. there was some difficulty and considerable delay in freeing the children, though the extent of locking was not at any time formidable. the child was dead (recently). the fifth fetus presented by the head and was delivered naturally. it lived for half an hour. the placenta was delivered about five minutes after the birth of the last child, and consisted of two portions united by a narrow isthmus. one, the smaller, had two cords attached centrally and close together; the other, and larger, had two cords attached in a similar way and one where it was joined to the isthmus. the organ appeared to be perfectly healthy. the cord of the fourth child was so short that it had to be ligated in the vagina. the children were all females and of about the same size, making a total weight of pounds. the mother rallied quickly and got on well. trustworthy records of sextuplets are, of course, extremely scarce. there are few catalogued at washington, and but two authentic cases are on record in the united states. on december , , a woman in dropin was delivered of daughters, all living, and only a little smaller than usual in size. the mother was not quite twenty years old, but was of strong constitution. the lived long enough to be baptized, but died the evening of their births. there was a case a of sextuplets in italy in . in maine, june , , a woman was delivered of children, surviving and, together with the mother, doing well. in there was reported the birth of sextuplets in lorca, spain, of which only one survived. at dallas, texas, in , mrs. george hirsh of navarro county gave birth to children, the mother and the children all doing well. there were boys and girls, and they were all perfect, well formed, but rather small. valsalli gives an instance which is quoted by the medical news without giving the authority. valsalli's account, which differs slightly from the account in the medical news, is briefly as follows: while straining at stool on the one hundred and fifteenth day of pregnancy the membranes ruptured and a foot prolapsed, no pain having been felt before the accident. a fetus was delivered by the midwife. valsalli was summoned and found the woman with an enormously distended abdomen, within which were felt numerous fetal parts; but no fetal heart-sounds or movements were noticed. the cervix was only slightly dilated, and, as no pains were felt, it was agreed to wait. on the next day the membranes were ruptured and more fetuses were delivered. traction on the umbilical cord started hemorrhage, to check which the physician placed his hand in the uterine cavity. in this most arduous position he remained four hours until assistance from lugano came. then, in the presence of the three visiting physicians, a sixth amniotic sac was delivered with its fetus. the woman had a normal convalescence, and in the following year gave birth to healthy, living twins. the news says the children all moved vigorously at birth; there were males and females, and for the there was only one placenta the mother, according to the same authority, was thirty-six years of age, and was in her second pregnancy. multiple births over six.--when we pass sextuplets the records of multiple births are of the greatest rarity and in modern records there are almost none. there are several cases mentioned by the older writers whose statements are generally worthy of credence, which, however incredible, are of sufficient interest at least to find a place in this chapter. albucasis affirms that he knew of the birth of seven children at one time; and d'alechampius reports that bonaventura, the slave of one savelli, a gentleman of siena, gave birth to children, of whom were baptized. at the parish of san ildefonso, valladolid, julianna, wife of benito quesada, gave birth to children in one day, and during the following night to more. sigebert, in his chronicles, says that the mother of the king of lombardy had borne children at a birth. borellus says that in the lady of the then present lord darre gave birth to eight perfect children at one parturition and that it was the unusual event of the country. mrs. timothy bradlee of trumbull county, ohio, in is reported to have given birth to children at one time. they were healthy and living, but quite small. the mother was married six years previously and then weighed pounds. she had given birth to pairs of twins, and, with these boys and girls, she had borne children in six years. she herself was a triplet and her father and her mother were of twin births and one of her grandmothers was the mother of pairs of twins. this case was most celebrated and was much quoted, several british journals extracting it. watering of maregnac speaks of the simultaneous birth of children at one time. when several months pregnant the woman was seized with colicky pains and thought them a call of nature. she went into a vineyard to answer it, and there, to her great astonishment, gave birth to fetuses. watering found them enclosed in a sac, and thought they probably had died from mutual pressure during growth. the mother made a good recovery. in seignette of dijon reports the simultaneous birth of nine children. franciscus picus mirandulae, quoted by pare, says that one dorothea, an italian, bore children at confinements, the first time bearing and the second time eleven. he gives a picture of this marvel of prolificity, in which her belly is represented as hanging down to her knees, and supported by a girdle from the neck. in the annals, history, and guide to leeds and york, according to walford, there is mention of ann birch, who in was delivered of children. one daughter, the sole survivor of the , married a market gardener named platt, who was well known in leeds. jonston quotes baytraff as saying that he knew of a case in which children were born simultaneously; and also says that the countess of altdorf gave birth to twelve at one birth. albucasis mentions a case of fifteen well-formed children at a birth. according to le brun, gilles de trazegines, who accompanied saint louis to palestine, and who was made constable of france, was one of thirteen infants at a simultaneous accouchement. the marquise, his mother, was impregnated by her husband before his departure, and during his absence had living children. she was suspected by the native people and thought to be an adulteress, and some of the children were supposed to be the result of superfetation. they condemned them all to be drowned, but the marquis appeared upon the scene about this time and, moved by compassion, acknowledged all . they grew up and thrived, and took the name of trazegines, meaning, in the old language, drowned, although many commentaries say that "gines" was supposed to mean in the twelfth century "nes," or, in full, the interpretation would be " born." cases in which there is a repetition of multiple births are quite numerous, and sometimes so often repeated as to produce a family the size of which is almost incredible. aristotle is credited with saying that he knew the history of a woman who had quintuplets four times. pliny's case of quintuplets four times repeated has been mentioned; and pare, who may be believed when he quotes from his own experience, says that the wife of the last lord de maldemeure, who lived in the parish of seaux, was a marvel of prolificity. within a year after her marriage she gave birth to twins; in the next year to triplets; in the third year to quadruplets; in the fourth year to quintuplets, and in the fifth year bore sextuplets; in this last labor she died. the then present lord de maldemeure, he says, was one of the final sextuplets. this case attracted great notice at the time, as the family was quite noble and very well known. seaux, their home, was near chambellay. picus mirandulae gathered from the ancient egyptian inscriptions that the women of egypt brought forth sometimes children at a birth, and that one woman bore children in confinements. he also cites, from the history of a certain bishop of necomus, that a woman named antonia, in the territory of mutina, italy, now called modena, had brought forth sons before she was forty years of age, and that she had had and at a birth. at the auction of the san donato collection of pictures a portrait of dianora frescobaldi, by one of the bronzinos in the sixteenth century, sold for about $ . at the bottom of this portrait was an inscription stating that she was the mother of children. this remarkable woman never had less than at a birth, and tradition gives her as many as . merriman quotes a case of a woman, a shopkeeper named blunet, who had children in successive births. they were all born alive, and still survived and were healthy. as though to settle the question as to whom should be given the credit in this case, the father or the mother, the father experimented upon a female servant, who, notwithstanding her youth and delicateness, gave birth to male children that lived three weeks. according to despatches from lafayette, indiana, investigation following the murder, on december , , of hester curtis, an aged woman of that city, developed the rather remarkable fact that she had been the mother of children, including pairs of twins. according to a french authority the wife of a medical man at fuentemajor, in spain, forty-three years of age, was delivered of triplets times. puech read a paper before the french academy in which he reports twin births in nimes from to , and states that of the whole number in cases the twins were duplicated, and in cases thrice repeated, and in one case times repeated. warren gives an instance of a lady, mrs. m----, thirty-two years of age, married at fourteen, who, after the death of her first child, bore twins, one living a month and the other six weeks. later she again bore twins, both of whom died. she then miscarried with triplets, and afterward gave birth to living children, as follows: july , , child; june , , children; march , , children; march , , children; february , , children; making a total of children in eighteen years, with remarkable prolificity in the later pregnancies. she was never confined to her bed more than three days, and the children were all healthy. a woman in schlossberg, germany, gave birth to twins; after a year, to triplets, and again, in another year, to fairly strong boys. in the state papers, domestic series, charles i, according to walford, appears an extract from a letter from george garrard to viscount conway, which is as follows: "sir john melton, who entertained you at york, hath buried his wife, curran's daughter. within twelve months she brought him sons and a daughter, sons last summer, and at this birth more and a daughter, all alive." swan mentions a woman who gave birth to children in seventeen months in triple pregnancies. the first terminated prematurely, children dying at once, the other in five weeks. the second was uneventful, the children living at the time of the report. rockwell gives the report of a case of a woman of twenty-eight, herself a twin, who gave birth to twins in january, . they died after a few weeks, and in march, , she again bore twins, one living three and the other nine weeks. on march , , she gave birth to triplets. the first child, a male, weighed pounds; the second, a female, / pounds; the third, a male, / pounds. the third child lived twenty days, the other two died of cholera infantum at the sixth month, attributable to the bottle-feeding. banerjee gives the history of a case of a woman of thirty being delivered of her fourth pair of twins. her mother was dead, but she had sisters living, of one of which she was a twin, and the other were twins. one of her sisters had twin terms, child surviving; like her own children, all were females. a second sister had a twin term, both males, surviving. the other sister aborted female twins after a fall in the eighth month of pregnancy. the name of the patient was mussamat somni, and she was the wife of a respectable indian carpenter. there are recorded the most wonderful accounts of prolificity, in which, by repeated multiple births, a woman is said to have borne children almost beyond belief. a naples correspondent to a paris journal gives the following: "about or stations beyond pompeii, in the city of nocera, lives maddalena granata, aged forty-seven, who was married at twenty-eight, and has given birth to living and dead children, being males. dr. de sanctis, of nocera, states that she has had triplets times." peasant kirilow was presented to the empress of russia in , at the age of seventy years. he had been twice married, and his first wife had presented him with children, the fruits of pregnancies. she had quadruplets four times, triplets seven times, and twins thrice. by his second wife he had children, twins six times, and triplets once. this man, accordingly, was the father of children, and, to magnify the wonder, all the children were alive at the time of presentation. herman, in some russian statistics, relates the instance of fedor vassilet, a peasant of the moscow jurisdiction, who in , at the age of seventy-five years, was the father of children. he had been twice married; his first wife bore him children in accouchements, having twins sixteen times, triplets seven times, and quadruplets four times, but never a single birth. his second wife bore him children in accouchements. in , of the children were living. the author says this case is beyond all question, as the imperial academy of st. petersburg, as well as the french academy, have substantial proof of it. the family are still living in russia, and are the object of governmental favors. the following fact is interesting from the point of exaggeration, if for nothing else: "the new york medical journal is accredited with publishing the following extract from the history of a journey to saragossa, barcelona, and valencia, in the year , by philip ii of spain. the book was written by henrique cock, who accompanied philip as his private secretary. on page the following statements are to be found: at the age of eleven years, margarita goncalez, whose father was a biscayian, and whose mother was french, was married to her first husband, who was forty years old. by him she had boys and girls. he died thirteen years after the marriage, and, after having remained a widow two years, the woman married again. by her second husband, thomas gchoa, she had boys and girls. these children were all born in valencia, between the fifteenth and thirty-fifth year of the mother's age, and at the time when the account was written she was thirty-five years old and pregnant again. of the children, by the first husband and by the second were baptized; the other births were still or premature. there were confinements in all." extreme prolificity by single births.--the number of children a woman may bring forth is therefore not to be accurately stated; there seems to be almost no limit to it, and even when we exclude those cases in which remarkable multiplicity at each birth augments the number, there are still some almost incredible cases on record. the statistics of the st. pancras royal dispensary, , estimated the number of children one woman may bear as from to . eisenmenger relates the history of a case of a woman in the last century bearing children, and there is another case in which a woman bore children, all boys. atkinson speaks of a lady married at sixteen, dying when she was sixty-four, who had borne children, all at single births, by one husband, whom she survived. the children, daughters and sons, all attained their majority. there was a case of a woman in america who in twenty-six years gave birth to children, all at single births. thoresby in his "history of leeds," , mentions three remarkable cases--one the wife of dr. phineas hudson, chancellor of york, as having died in her thirty-ninth year of her twenty-fourth child; another of mrs. joseph cooper, as dying of her twenty-sixth child, and, lastly, of mrs. william greenhill, of a village in hertford, england, who gave birth to children during her life. brand, a writer of great repute, in his "history of newcastle," quoted by walford, mentions as a well attested fact the wife of a scotch weaver who bore children by one husband, all of whom lived to be baptized. a curious epitaph is to be seen at conway, carnarvonshire-- "here lieth the body of nicholas hookes, of conway, gentleman, who was one-and-fortieth child of his father, william hookes, esq., by alice, his wife, and the father of children. he died th of march, ." on november , , mrs. shury, the wife of a cooper, in vine street, westminster, was delivered of boys, making by the same husband. she had previously been confined with twins during the year. it would be the task of a mathematician to figure the possibilities of paternity in a man of extra long life who had married several prolific women during his prolonged period of virility. a man by the name of pearsons of lexton, nottingham, at the time of the report had been married times. by his first wives he had children and by his last , making a total of . he was feet tall and lived to his ninety-sixth year. we have already mentioned the two russian cases in which the paternity was and children respectively, and in "notes and queries," june , , there is an account of david wilson of madison, ind., who had died a few years previously at the age of one hundred and seven. he had been times married and was the father of children, of whom were living at the time of his death. on a tomb in ely, cambridgeshire, there is an inscription saying that richard worster, buried there, died on may , , the tomb being in memory of his sons and daughters. artaxerxes was supposed to have had children; conrad, duke of moscow, ; and in the polygamous countries the number seems incredible. herotinus was said to have had ; and jonston also quotes instances of and even of in the eastern countries. recently there have been published accounts of the alleged experiments of luigi erba, an italian gentleman of perugia, whose results have been announced. about forty years of age and being quite wealthy, this bizarre philanthropist visited various quarters of the world, securing women of different races; having secured a number sufficient for his purposes, he retired with them to polynesia, where he is accredited with maintaining a unique establishment with his household of females. in , just seven years after the experiment commenced, the reports say he is the father of children. the following is a report from raleigh, n.c., on july , , to the new york evening post:-- "the fecundity of the negro race has been the subject of much comment and discussion. a case has come to light in this state that is one of the most remarkable on record. moses williams, a negro farmer, lives in the eastern section of this state. he is sixty-five years old (as nearly as he can make out), but does not appear to be over fifty. he has been married twice, and by the two wives has had born to him children. by the first wife he had children, of whom were girls and were boys. by the second wife he had children-- girls and boys. he also has about grand-children. the case is well authenticated." we also quote the following, accredited to the "annals of hygiene:"-- "were it not part of the records of the berks county courts, we could hardly credit the history of john heffner, who was accidentally killed some years ago at the age of sixty-nine. he was married first in . in eight years his wife bore him children. the first and second years of their marriage she gave birth to twins. for four successive years afterward she gave birth to triplets. in the seventh year she gave birth to one child and died soon afterward. heffner engaged a young woman to look after his large brood of babies, and three months later she became the second mrs. heffner. she presented her husband with children in the first two years of her wedded life. five years later she had added more to the family, having twins times. then for three years she added but a year. at the time of the death of the second wife of the children had died. the that were left did not appear to be any obstacle to a young widow with one child consenting to become the third wife of the jolly little man, for he was known as one of the happiest and most genial of men, although it kept him toiling like a slave to keep a score of mouths in bread. the third mrs. heffner became the mother of children in ten years, and the contentment and happiness of the couple were proverbial. one day, in the fall of , the father of the children was crossing a railroad track and was run down by a locomotive and instantly killed. his widow and of the children are still living." many marriages.--in this connection it seems appropriate to mention a few examples of multimarriages on record, to give an idea of the possibilities of the extent of paternity. st. jerome mentions a widow who married her twenty-second husband, who in his time had taken to himself loving spouses. a gentleman living in bordeaux in had been married times. delongueville, a frenchman, lived to be one hundred and ten years old, and had been joined in matrimony to wives, his last wife bearing him a son in his one hundred and first year. possible descendants.--when we indulge ourselves as to the possible number of living descendants one person may have, we soon get extraordinary figures. the madrid estafette states that a gentleman, senor lucas nequeiras saez, who emigrated to america seventy years previously, recently returned to spain in his own steamer, and brought with him his whole family, consisting of persons. he had been thrice married, and by his first wife had children at births; by his second wife, at births, and by his third wife, at births. the youngest of the was thirteen years old and the eldest seventy. this latter one had a son aged forty-seven and children besides. he had granddaughters, grandsons, great granddaughters, great grandsons, all living. senor saez himself was ninety-three years old and in excellent health. at litchfield, conn., there is said to be the following inscription:-- "here lies the body of mrs. mary, wife of dr. john bull, esq. she died november , , aetat. ninety, having had children, grandchildren, great grandchildren, and great-great grandchildren, a total of ; surviving, ." in esher church there is an inscription, scarcely legible, which records the death of the mother of mrs. mary morton on april , , and saying that she was the wonder of her sex and age, for she lived to see nearly issued from her loins. the following is a communication to "notes and queries," march , : "mrs. mary honeywood was daughter and one of the coheiresses of robert waters, esq., of lenham, in kent. she was born in ; married in february, , at sixteen years of age, to her only husband, robert honeywood, esq., of charing, in kent. she died in the ninety-third year of her age, in may, . she had children of her own body, sons and daughters, of whom one had no issue, died young--the youngest was slain at newport battle, june , . her grandchildren, in the second generation, were ; in the third, , and in the fourth, ; so that she could almost say the same as the distich doth of one of the dalburg family of basil: 'rise up, daughter and go to thy daughter, for thy daughter's daughter hath a daughter.' "in markshal church, in essex, on mrs. honeywood's tomb is the following inscription: 'here lieth the body of mary waters, the daughter and coheir of robert waters, of lenham, in kent, wife of robert honeywood, of charing, in kent, her only husband, who had at her decease, lawfully descended from her, children, of her own body, grandchildren, in the third generation, and in the fourth. she lived a most pious life and died at markshal, in the ninety-third year of her age and the forty-fourth of her widowhood, may , .' (from 'curiosities for the ingenious,' .) s. s. r." animal prolificity though not finding a place in this work, presents some wonderful anomalies. in illustration we may note the following: in the illustrated london news, may , , is a portrait of "lady millard," a fine st. bernard bitch, the property of mr. thorp of northwold, with her litter of puppies, born on february , , their sire being a magnificent dog--"young york." there is quoted an incredible account of a cow, the property of j. n. sawyer of ohio, which gave birth to calves, one of which was fully matured and lived, the others being about the size of kittens; these died, together with the mother. there was a cow in france, in , delivered of calves. chapter v. major terata. monstrosities have attracted notice from the earliest time, and many of the ancient philosophers made references to them. in mythology we read of centaurs, impossible beings who had the body and extremities of a beast; the cyclops, possessed of one enormous eye; or their parallels in egyptian myths, the men with pectoral eyes,--the creatures "whose heads do beneath their shoulders grow;" and the fauns, those sylvan deities whose lower extremities bore resemblance to those of a goat. monsters possessed of two or more heads or double bodies are found in the legends and fairy tales of every nation. hippocrates, his precursors, empedocles and democritus, and pliny, aristotle, and galen, have all described monsters, although in extravagant and ridiculous language. ballantyne remarks that the occasional occurrence of double monsters was a fact known to the hippocratic school, and is indicated by a passage in de morbis muliebribus, in which it is said that labor is gravely interfered with when the infant is dead or apoplectic or double. there is also a reference to monochorionic twins (which are by modern teratologists regarded as monstrosities) in the treatise de superfoetatione, in which it is stated that "a woman, pregnant with twins, gives birth to them both at the same time, just as she has conceived them; the two infants are in a single chorion." ancient explanations of monstrosities.--from the time of galen to the sixteenth century many incredible reports of monsters are seen in medical literature, but without a semblance of scientific truth. there has been little improvement in the mode of explanation of monstrous births until the present century, while in the middle ages the superstitions were more ludicrous and observers more ignorant than before the time of galen. in his able article on the teratologic records of chaldea, ballantyne makes the following trite statements: "credulity and superstition have never been the peculiar possession of the lower types of civilization only, and the special beliefs that have gathered round the occurrence of teratologic phenomena have been common to the cultured greek and roman of the past, the ignorant peasant of modern times, and the savage tribes of all ages. classical writings, the literature of the middle ages, and the popular beliefs of the present day all contain views concerning teratologic subjects which so closely resemble those of the chaldean magi as to be indistinguishable from them. indeed, such works as those of obsequens, lycosthenes, licetus, and ambroise pare only repeat, but with less accuracy of description and with greater freedom of imagination, the beliefs of ancient babylon. even at the present time the most impossible cases of so-called 'maternal impressions' are widely scattered through medical literature; and it is not very long since i received a letter from a distinguished member of the profession asking me whether, in my opinion, i thought it possible for a woman to give birth to a dog. of course, i do not at all mean to infer that teratology has not made immense advances within recent times, nor do i suggest that on such subjects the knowledge of the magi can be compared with that of the average medical student of the present; but what i wish to emphasize is that, in the literature of ancient babylonia, there are indications of an acquaintance with structural defects and malformations of the human body which will compare favorably with even the writings of the sixteenth century of the christian era." many reasons were given for the existence of monsters, and in the middle ages these were as faulty as the descriptions themselves. they were interpreted as divinations, and were cited as forebodings and examples of wrath, or even as glorifications of the almighty. the semi-human creatures were invented or imagined, and cited as the results of bestiality and allied forms of sexual perversion prevalent in those times. we find minute descriptions and portraits of these impossible results of wicked practices in many of the older medical books. according to pare there was born in , as the result of illicit intercourse between a woman and a dog, a creature resembling in its upper extremities its mother, while its lower extremities were the exact counterpart of its canine father. this particular case was believed by bateman and others to be a precursor to the murders and wickedness that followed in the time of pope alexander i. volateranus, cardani, and many others cite instances of this kind. lycosthenes says that in the year , in the bourg of liege, there was found a creature with the head, visage, hands, and feet of a man, and the rest of the body like that of a pig. pare quotes this case and gives an illustration. rhodiginus mentions a shepherd of cybare by the name of cratain, who had connection with a female goat and impregnated her, so that she brought forth a beast with a head resembling that of the father, but with the lower extremities of a goat. he says that the likeness to the father was so marked that the head-goat of the herd recognized it, and accordingly slew the goatherd who had sinned so unnaturally. in the year , at cracovia, a very strange monster was born, which lived three days. it had a head shaped like that of a man; a nose long and hooked like an elephant's trunk; the hands and feet looking like the web-foot of a goose; and a tail with a hook on it. it was supposed to be a male, and was looked upon as a result of sodomy. rueff says that the procreation of human beings and beasts is brought about-- ( ) by the natural appetite; ( ) by the provocation of nature by delight; ( ) by the attractive virtue of the matrix, which in beasts and women is alike. plutarch, in his "lesser parallels," says that aristonymus ephesius, son of demonstratus, being tired of women, had carnal knowledge with an ass, which in the process of time brought forth a very beautiful child, who became the maid onoscelin. he also speaks of the origin of the maiden hippona, or as he calls her, hippo, as being from the connection of a man with a mare. aristotle mentions this in his paradoxes, and we know that the patron of horses was hippona. in helvetia was reported the existence of a colt (whose mother had been covered by a bull) that was half horse and half bull. one of the kings of france was supposed to have been presented with a colt with the hinder part of a hart, and which could outrun any horse in the kingdom. its mother had been covered by a hart. writing in , lycosthenes reports the mythical birth of a serpent by a woman. it is quite possible that some known and classified type of monstrosity was indicated here in vague terms. in mary toft, of godalming, in surrey, england, achieved considerable notoriety throughout surrey, and even over all england, by her extensively circulated statements that she bore rabbits. even at so late a day as this the credulity of the people was so great that many persons believed in her. the woman was closely watched, and being detected in her maneuvers confessed her fraud. to show the extent of discussion this case called forth, there are no less than nine pamphlets and books in the surgeon-general's library at washington devoted exclusively to this case of pretended rabbit-breeding. hamilton in , and hard in , both report the births in this country of fetal monstrosities with heads which showed marked resemblance to those of dogs. doubtless many of the older cases of the supposed results of bestiality, if seen to-day, could be readily classified among some of our known forms of monsters. modern investigation has shown us the sterile results of the connections between man and beast or between beasts of different species, and we can only wonder at the simple credulity and the imaginative minds of our ancestors. at one period certain phenomena of nature, such as an eclipse or comet, were thought to exercise their influence on monstrous births. rueff mentions that in sicily there happened a great eclipse of the sun, and that women immediately began to bring forth deformed and double-headed children. before ending these preliminary remarks, there might be mentioned the marine monsters, such as mermaids, sea-serpents, and the like, which from time to time have been reported; even at the present day there are people who devoutly believe that they have seen horrible and impossible demons in the sea. pare describes and pictures a monster, at rome, on november , , with the upper portion of a child apparently about five or six years old, and the lower part and ears of a fish-like animal. he also pictures a sea-devil in the same chapter, together with other gruesome examples of the power of imagination. early teratology.--besides such cases as the foregoing, we find the medieval writers report likely instances of terata, as, for instance, rhodiginus, who speaks of a monster in italy with two heads and two bodies; lycosthenes saw a double monster, both components of which slept at the same time; he also says this creature took its food and drink simultaneously in its two mouths. even saint augustine says that he knew of a child born in the orient who, from the belly up, was in all parts double. the first evidences of a step toward classification and definite reasoning in regard to the causation of monstrosities were evinced by ambroise pare in the sixteenth century, and though his ideas are crude and some of his phenomena impossible, yet many of his facts and arguments are worthy of consideration. pare attributed the cause of anomalies of excess to an excessive quantity of semen, and anomalies of default to deficiency of the same fluid. he has collected many instances of double terata from reliable sources, but has interspersed his collection with accounts of some hideous and impossible creatures, such as are illustrated in the accompanying figure, which shows a creature that was born shortly after a battle of louis xii, in ; it had the wings, crest, and lower extremity of a bird and a human head and trunk; besides, it was an hermaphrodite, and had an extra eye in the knee. another illustration represents a monstrous head found in an egg, said to have been sent for examination to king charles at metz in . it represented the face and visage of a man, with small living serpents taking the place of beard and hair. so credulous were people at this time that even a man so well informed as pare believed in the possibility of these last two, or at least represented them as facts. at this time were also reported double hermaphroditic terata, seemingly without latter-day analogues. rhodiginus speaks of a two-headed monster born in ferrari, italy, in , well formed, and with two sets of genitals, one male and the other female. pare gives a picture of twins, born near heidelberg in , which had double bodies joined back to back; one of the twins had the aspect of a female and the other of a male, though both had two sets of genitals. scientific teratology.--about the first half of the eighteenth century what might be called the positive period of teratology begins. following the advent of this era come mery, duverney, winslow, lemery, and littre. in their works true and concise descriptions are given and violent attacks are made against the ancient beliefs and prejudices. from the beginning of the second half of the last century to the present time may be termed the scientific epoch of teratology. we can almost with a certainty start this era with the names of haller, morgagni, geoffroy-saint-hilaire, and meckel, who adduced the explanations asked for by harvey and wolff. from the appearance of the treatise by geoffroy-saint-hilaire, teratology has made enormous strides, and is to-day well on the road to becoming a science. hand in hand with embryology it has been the subject of much investigation in this century, and to enumerate the workers of the present day who have helped to bring about scientific progress would be a task of many pages. even in the artificial production of monsters much has been done, and a glance at the work of dareste well repays the trouble. essays on teratogenesis, with reference to batrachians, have been offered by lombardini; and by lereboullet and knoch with reference to fishes. foll and warynski have reported their success in obtaining visceral inversion, and even this branch of the subject promises to become scientific. terata are seen in the lower animals and always excite interest. pare gives the history of a sheep with three heads, born in ; the central head was larger than the other two, as shown in the accompanying illustration. many of the museums of natural history contain evidences of animal terata. at hallae is a two-headed mouse; the conant museum in maine contains the skeleton of an adult sheep with two heads; there was an account of a two-headed pigeon published in france in ; leidy found a two-headed snake in a field near philadelphia; geoffroy saint-hilaire and conant both found similar creatures, and there is one in the museum at harvard; wyman saw a living double-headed snake in the jardin des plantes in paris in , and many parallel instances are on record. classification.--we shall attempt no scientific discussion of the causation or embryologic derivation of the monster, contenting ourselves with simple history and description, adding any associate facts of interest that may be suggested. for further information, the reader is referred to the authors cited or to any of the standard treatises on teratology. many classifications of terata have been offered, and each possesses some advantage. the modern reader is referred to the modification of the grouping of geoffroy-saint-hilaire given by hirst and piersol, or those of blanc and guinard. for convenience, we have adopted the following classification, which will include only those monsters that have lived after birth, and who have attracted general notice or attained some fame in their time, as attested by accounts in contemporary literature. class .--union of several fetuses. class .--union of two distinct fetuses by a connecting band. class .--union of two distinct fetuses by an osseous junction of the cranial bones. class .--union of two distinct fetuses in which one or more parts are eliminated by the junction. class .--fusion of two fetuses by a bony union of the ischii. class .--fusion of two fetuses below the umbilicus into a common lower extremity. class .--bicephalic monsters. class .--parasitic monsters. class .--monsters with a single body and double lower extremities. class .--diphallic terata. class .--fetus in fetu, and dermoid cysts. class .--hermaphrodites. class i.--triple monsters.--haller and meckel were of the opinion that no cases of triple monsters worthy of credence are on record, and since their time this has been the popular opinion. surely none have ever lived. licetus describes a human monster with two feet and seven heads and as many arms. bartholinus speaks of a three-headed monster who after birth gave vent to horrible cries and expired. borellus speaks of a three-headed dog, a veritable cerberus. blasius published an essay on triple monsters in . bordenave is quoted as mentioning a human monster formed of three fetuses, but his description proves clearly that it was only the union of two. probably the best example of this anomaly that we have was described by galvagni at cattania in . this monster had two necks, on one of which was a single head normal in dimensions. on the other neck were two heads, as seen in the accompanying illustration. geoffroy-saint-hilaire mentions several cases, and martin de pedro publishes a description of a case in madrid in . there are also on record some cases of triple monster by inclusion which will be spoken of later. instances in the lower animals have been seen, the three-headed sheep of pare, already spoken of, being one. class ii.--double monsters.--a curious mode of junction, probably the most interesting, as it admits of longer life in these monstrosities, is that of a simple cartilaginous band extending between two absolutely distinct and different individuals. the band is generally in the sternal region. in there was described a remarkable monstrosity which consisted of conjoined twins, a perfect and an imperfect child, connected at their ensiform cartilages by a band inches in circumference. the hindoo sisters, described by dr. andrew berry, lived to be seven years old; they stood face to face, with their chests / inches and their pubes / inches apart. mitchell describes the full-grown female twins, born at newport, ky., called the newport twins. the woman who gave birth to them became impregnated, it is said, immediately after seeing the famous siamese twins, and the products of this pregnancy took the conformation of those celebrated exhibitionists. perhaps the best known of all double monsters were the siamese twins. they were exhibited all over the globe and had the additional benefit and advertisement of a much mooted discussion as to the advisability of their severance, in which opinions of the leading medical men of all nations were advanced. the literature on these famous brothers is simply stupendous. the amount of material in the surgeon general's library at washington would surprise an investigator. a curious volume in this library is a book containing clippings, advertisements, and divers portraits of the twins. it will be impossible to speak at all fully on this subject, but a short history and running review of their lives will be given: eng and chang were born in siam about may, . their father was of chinese extraction and had gone to siam and there married a woman whose father was also a chinaman. hence, for the most part, they were of chinese blood, which probably accounted for their dark color and chinese features. their mother was about thirty-five years old at the time of their birth and had borne female children prior to chang and eng. she afterward had twins several times, having eventually children in all. she gave no history of special significance of the pregnancy, although she averred that the head of one and the feet of the other were born at the same time. the twins were both feeble at birth, and eng continued delicate, while chang thrived. it was only with difficulty that their lives were saved, as chowpahyi, the reigning king, had a superstition that such freaks of nature always presaged evil to the country. they were really discovered by robert hunter, a british merchant at bangkok, who in saw them boating and stripped to the waist. he prevailed on the parents and king chowpahyi to allow them to go away for exhibition. they were first taken out of the country by a certain captain coffin. the first scientific description of them was given by professor j. c. warren, who examined them in boston, at the harvard university, in . at that time eng was feet inches and chang feet / inches in height. they presented all the characteristics of chinamen and wore long black queues coiled thrice around their heads, as shown by the accompanying illustration. after an eight-weeks' tour over the eastern states they went to london, arriving at that port november , . their tour in france was forbidden on the same grounds as the objection to the exhibition of ritta-christina, namely, the possibility of causing the production of monsters by maternal impressions in pregnant women. after their european tour they returned to the united states and settled down as farmers in north carolina, adopting the name of bunker. when forty-four years of age they married two sisters, english women, twenty-six and twenty-eight years of age, respectively. domestic infelicity soon compelled them to keep the wives at different houses, and they alternated weeks in visiting each wife. chang had six children and eng five, all healthy and strong. in they made another trip to europe, ostensibly to consult the most celebrated surgeons of great britain and france on the advisability of being separated. it was stated that a feeling of antagonistic hatred after a quarrel prompted them to seek "surgical separation," but the real cause was most likely to replenish their depleted exchequer by renewed exhibition and advertisement. a most pathetic characteristic of these illustrious brothers was the affection and forbearance they showed for each other until shortly before their death. they bore each other's trials and petty maladies with the greatest sympathy, and in this manner rendered their lives far more agreeable than a casual observer would suppose possible. they both became christians and members or attendants of the baptist church. figure is a representation of the siamese twins in old age. on each side of them is a son. the original photograph is in the mutter museum, college of physicians, philadelphia. the feasibility of the operation of separating them was discussed by many of the leading men of america, and thompson, fergusson, syme, sir j. y. simpson, nelaton, and many others in europe, with various reports and opinions after examination. these opinions can be seen in full in nearly any large medical library. at this time they had diseased and atheromatous arteries, and chang, who was quite intemperate, had marked spinal curvature, and shortly afterward became hemiplegic. they were both partially blind in their two anterior eyes, possibly from looking outward and obliquely. the point of junction was about the sterno-siphoid angle, a cartilaginous band extending from sternum to sternum. in simpson measured this band and made the distance on the superior aspect from sternum to sternum / inches, though it is most likely that during the early period of exhibition it was not over inches. the illustration shows very well the position of the joining band. the twins died on january , , and a committee of surgeons from the college of physicians of philadelphia, consisting of doctors andrews, allen, and pancoast, went to north carolina to perform an autopsy on the body, and, if possible, to secure it. they made a long and most interesting report on the results of their trip to the college. the arteries, as was anticipated, were found to have undergone calcareous degeneration. there was an hepatic connection through the band, and also some interlacing diaphragmatic fibers therein. there was slight vascular intercommunication of the livers and independence of the two peritoneal cavities and the intestines. the band itself was chiefly a coalescence of the xyphoid cartilages, surrounded by areolar tissue and skin. the "orissa sisters," or radica-doddica, shown in europe in , were similar to the siamese twins in conformation. they were born in orissa, india, september, , and were the result of the sixth pregnancy, the other five being normal. they were healthy girls, four years of age, and apparently perfect in every respect, except that, from the ensiform cartilage to the umbilicus, they were united by a band inches long and inches wide. the children when facing each other could draw their chests three or four inches apart, and the band was so flexible that they could sit on either side of the body. up to the date mentioned it was not known whether the connecting band contained viscera. a portrait of these twins was shown at the world's fair in chicago. in the village of arasoor, district of bhavany, there was reported a monstrosity in the form of two female children, one inches and the other / inches high, connected by the sternum. they were said to have had small-pox and to have recovered. they seemed to have had individual nervous systems, as when one was pinched the other did not feel it, and while one slept the other was awake. there must have been some vascular connection, as medicine given to one affected both. fig. shows a mode of cartilaginous junction by which each component of a double monster may be virtually independent. operations on conjoined twins.--swingler speaks of two girls joined at the xiphoid cartilage and the umbilicus, the band of union being / inches thick, and running below the middle of it was the umbilical cord, common to both. they first ligated the cord, which fell off in nine days, and then separated the twins with the bistoury. they each made early recovery and lived. in the ephemerides of konig gives a description of two swiss sisters born in and united belly to belly, who were separated by means of a ligature and the operation afterward completed by an instrument. the constricting band was formed by a coalition of the xiphoid cartilages and the umbilical vessels, surrounded by areolar tissue and covered with skin. le beau says that under the roman reign, a. d. , two male children were brought from armenia to constantinople for exhibition. they were well formed in every respect and united by their abdomens. after they had been for some time an object of great curiosity, they were removed by governmental order, being considered a presage of evil. they returned, however, at the commencement of the reign of constantine vii, when one of them took sick and died. the surgeons undertook to preserve the other by separating him from the corpse of his brother, but he died on the third day after the operation. in boehm gives an account of guzenhausen's case of twins who were united sternum to sternum. an operation for separation was performed without accident, but one of the children, already very feeble, died three days after; the other survived. the last attempt at an operation like this was in , when biaudet and buginon attempted to separate conjoined sisters (marie-adele) born in switzerland on june th. unhappily, they were very feeble and life was despaired of when the operation was performed, on october th. adele died six hours afterward, and marie died of peritonitis on the next day. class iii.--those monsters joined by a fusion of some of the cranial bones are sometimes called craniopagi. a very ancient observation of this kind is cited by geoffroy-saint-hilaire. these two girls were born in , and lived to be ten years old. they were normal in every respect, except that they were joined at the forehead, causing them to stand face to face and belly to belly. when one walked forward, the other was compelled to walk backward; their noses almost touched, and their eyes were directed laterally. at the death of one an attempt to separate the other from the cadaver was made, but it was unsuccessful, the second soon dying; the operation necessitated opening the cranium and parting the meninges. bateman said that in there was living an instance of double female twins, joined at the forehead. this case was said to have been caused in the following manner: two women, one of whom was pregnant with the twins at the time, were engaged in an earnest conversation, when a third, coming up behind them, knocked their heads together with a sharp blow. bateman describes the death of one of the twins and its excision from the other, who died subsequently, evidently of septic infection. there is a possibility that this is merely a duplication of the account of the preceding case with a slight anachronism as to the time of death. at a foundling hospital in st. petersburg there were born two living girls, in good health, joined by the heads. they were so united that the nose of one, if prolonged, would strike the ear of the other; they had perfectly independent existences, but their vascular systems had evident connection. through extra mobility of their necks they could really lie in a straight line, one sleeping on the side and the other on the back. there is a report a of two girls joined at their vertices, who survived their birth. with the exception of this junction they were well formed and independent in existence. there was no communication of the cranial cavities, but simply fusion of the cranial bones covered by superficial fascia and skin. daubenton has seen a case of union at the occiput, but further details are not quoted. class iv.--the next class to be considered is that in which the individuals are separate and well formed, except that the point of fusion is a common part, eliminating their individual components in this location. the pygopagous twins belong in this section. according to bateman, twins were born in at rome joined back to back, and survived their birth. the same authority speaks of a female child who was born with " bellies, arms, legs, heads, and sets of privates, and was exhibited throughout italy for gain's sake." the "biddenden maids" were born in biddenden, kent, in . their names were mary and eliza chulkhurst, and their parents were fairly well-to-do people. they were supposed to have been united at the hips and the shoulders, and lived until . at the death of one it was proposed to separate them, but the remaining sister refused, saying, "as we came together, we will also go together," and, after about six hours of this mezentian existence, they died. they bequeathed to the church-wardens of the parish and their successors land to the extent of acres, at the present time bringing a rental of about $ . annually, with the instructions that the money was to be spent in the distribution of cakes (bearing the impression of their images, to be given away on each easter sunday to all strangers in biddenden) and also quartern loaves, with cheese in proportion, to all the poor in said parish. ballantyne has accompanied his description of these sisters by illustrations, one of which shows the cake. heaton gives a very good description of these maids; and a writer in "notes and queries" of march , , gives the following information relative to the bequest:-- "on easter monday, at biddenden, near staplehurst, kent, there is a distribution, according to ancient custom, of 'biddenden maids' cakes,' with bread and cheese, the cost of which is defrayed from the proceeds of some acres of land, now yielding l per annum. and known as the 'bread and cheese lands.' about the year there lived eliza and mary chulkhurst, who were joined together after the manner of the siamese twins, and who lived for thirty-four years, one dying, and then being followed by her sister within six hours. they left by their will the lands above alluded to and their memory is perpetuated by imprinting on the cakes their effigies 'in their habit as they lived.' the cakes, which are simple flour and water, are four inches long by two inches wide, and are much sought after as curiosities. these, which are given away, are distributed at the discretion of the church-wardens, and are nearly in number. the bread and cheese amounts to quartern loaves and pounds of cheese. the distribution is made on land belonging to the charity, known as the old poorhouse. formerly it used to take place in the church, immediately after the service in the afternoon, but in consequence of the unseemly disturbance which used to ensue the practice was discontinued. the church used to be filled with a congregation whose conduct was occasionally so reprehensible that sometimes the church-wardens had to use their wands for other purposes than symbols of office. the impressions of the maids 'on the cakes are of a primitive character, and are made by boxwood dies cut in . they bear the date , when eliza and mary chulkhurst are supposed to have been born, and also their age at death, thirty-four years." ballantyne has summed up about all there is to be said on this national monstrosity, and his discussion of the case from its historic as well as teratologic standpoint is so excellent that his conclusions will be quoted-- "it may be urged that the date fixed for the birth of the biddenden maids is so remote as to throw grave doubt upon the reality of the occurrence. the year was, it will be remembered, that in which william rufus was found dead in the new forest, 'with the arrow either of a hunter or an assassin in his breast.' according to the anglo-saxon chronicle, several 'prodigies' preceded the death of this profligate and extravagant monarch. thus it is recorded that 'at pentecost blood was observed gushing from the earth at a certain town of berkshire, even as many asserted who declared that they had seen it. and after this, on the morning after lammas day, king william was shot.' now, it is just possible that the birth of the biddenden maids may have occurred later, but have been antedated by the popular tradition to the year above mentioned. for such a birth would, in the opinion of the times, be regarded undoubtedly as a most evident prodigy or omen of evil. still, even admitting that the date must be allowed to stand, its remoteness from the present time is not a convincing argument against a belief in the real occurrence of the phenomenon; for of the dicephalic scottish brothers, who lived in , we have credible historic evidence. further, lycosthenes, in his "chronicon prodigiorum atque ostentorum", published in , states, upon what authority i know not, that in the year joined twins resembling the biddenden phenomenon in all points save in sex were born in england. the passage is as follows: 'in anglia natus est puer geminus a clune ad superiores partes ita divisus, ut duo haberet capita, duo corpora integra ad renes cum suis brachiis, qui baptizatus triduo supervixit.' it is just possible that in some way or other this case has been confounded with the story of biddenden; at any rate, the occurrence of such a statement in lycosthenes' work is of more than passing interest. had there been no bequest of land in connection with the case of the kentish maids, the whole affair would probably soon have been forgotten. "there is, however, one real difficulty in accepting the story handed down to us as authentic,--the nature of the teratologic phenomenon itself. all the records agree in stating that the maids were joined together at the shoulders and hips, and the impression on the cakes and the pictures on the 'broadsides' show this peculiar mode of union, and represent the bodies as quite separate in the space between the above-named points. the maids are shown with four feet and two arms, the right and left respectively, whilst the other arms (left and right) are fused together at the shoulder according to one illustration, and a little above the elbow according to another. now, although it is not safe to say that such an anomaly is impossible, i do not know of any case of this peculiar mode of union; but it may be that, as prof. a. r. simpson has suggested, the maids had four separate arms, and were in the habit of going about with their contiguous arms round each other's necks, and that this gave rise to the notion that these limbs were united. if this be so, then the teratologic difficulty is removed, for the case becomes perfectly comparable with the well-known but rare type of double terata known as the pygopagous twins, which is placed by taruffi with that of the ischiopagous twins in the group dicephalus lecanopagus. similar instances, which are well known to students of teratology, are the hungarian sisters (helen and judith), the north carolina twins (millie and christine), and the bohemian twins (rosalie and josepha blazek). the interspace between the thoraces may, however, have simply been the addition of the first artist who portrayed the maids (from imagination?); then it may be surmised that they were ectopagous twins. "pygopagous twins are fetuses united together in the region of the nates and having each its own pelvis. in the recorded cases the union has been usually between the sacra and coccyges, and has been either osseous or (more rarely) ligamentous. sometimes the point of junction was the middle line posteriorly, at other times it was rather a posterolateral union; and it is probable that in the biddenden maids it was of the latter kind; and it is likely, from the proposal made to separate the sisters after the death of one, that it was ligamentous in nature. "if it be granted that the biddenden maids were pygopagous twins, a study of the histories of other recorded cases of this monstrosity serves to demonstrate many common characters. thus, of the cases which taruffi has collected, in the twins were female; and if to these we add the sisters rosalie and josepha blazek and the maids, we have cases, of which were girls. again, several of the pygopagous twins, of whom there are scientific records, survived birth and lived for a number of years, and thus resembled the biddenden terata. helen and judith, for instance, were twenty-three years old at death; and the north carolina twins, although born in , are still alive. there is, therefore, nothing inherently improbable in the statement that the biddenden maids lived for thirty-four years. with regard also to the truth of the record that the one maid survived her sister for six hours, there is confirmatory evidence from scientifically observed instances, for joly and peyrat (bull. de l'acad. med., iii., pp. and , ) state that in the case seen by them the one infant lived ten hours after the death of the other. it is impossible to make any statement with regard to the internal structure of the maids or to the characters of their genital organs, for there is absolutely no information forthcoming upon these points. it may simply be said, in conclusion, that the phenomenon of biddenden is interesting not only on account of the curious bequest which arose out of it, but also because it was an instance of a very rare teratologic type, occurring at a very early period in our national history." possibly the most famous example of twins of this type were helen and judith, the hungarian sisters, born in at szony, in hungary. they were the objects of great curiosity, and were shown successively in holland, germany, italy, france, england, and poland. at the age of nine they were placed in a convent, where they died almost simultaneously in their twenty-second year. during their travels all over europe they were examined by many prominent physiologists, psychologists, and naturalists; pope and several minor poets have celebrated their existence in verse; buffon speaks of them in his "natural history," and all the works on teratology for a century or more have mentioned them. a description of them can be best given by a quaint translation by fisher of the latin lines composed by a hungarian physician and inscribed on a bronze statuette of them:-- two sisters wonderful to behold, who have thus grown as one, that naught their bodies can divide, no power beneath the sun. the town of szoenii gave them birth, hard by far-famed komorn, which noble fort may all the arts of turkish sultans scorn. lucina, woman's gentle friend, did helen first receive; and judith, when three hours had passed, her mother's womb did leave. one urine passage serves for both;--one anus, so they tell; the other parts their numbers keep, and serve their owners well. their parents poor did send them forth, the world to travel through, that this great wonder of the age should not be hid from view. the inner parts concealed do lie hid from our eyes, alas! but all the body here you view erect in solid brass. they were joined back to back in the lumbar region, and had all their parts separate except the anus between the right thigh of helen and the left of judith and a single vulva. helen was the larger, better looking, the more active, and the more intelligent. judith at the age of six became hemiplegic, and afterward was rather delicate and depressed. they menstruated at sixteen and continued with regularity, although one began before the other. they had a mutual affection, and did all in their power to alleviate the circumstances of their sad position. judith died of cerebral and pulmonary affections, and helen, who previously enjoyed good health, soon after her sister's first indisposition suddenly sank into a state of collapse, although preserving her mental faculties, and expired almost immediately after her sister. they had measles and small-pox simultaneously, but were affected in different degree by the maladies. the emotions, inclinations, and appetites were not simultaneous. eccardus, in a very interesting paper, discusses the physical, moral, and religious questions in reference to these wonderful sisters, such as the advisability of separation, the admissibility of matrimony, and, finally, whether on the last day they would rise as joined in life, or separated. there is an account of two united females, similar in conjunction to the "hungarian sisters," who were born in italy in . they were killed at the age of four months by an attempt of a surgeon to separate them. in there was reported to have been born in texas, twins after the manner of helen and judith, united back to back, who lived and attained some age. they were said to have been of different natures and dispositions, and inclined to quarrel very often. pancoast gives an extensive report of millie-christine, who had been extensively exhibited in europe and the united states. they were born of slave parents in columbus county, n.c., july , ; the mother, who had borne children before, was a stout negress of thirty-two, with a large pelvis. the presentation was first by the stomach and afterward by the breech. these twins were united at the sacra by a cartilaginous or possibly osseous union. they were exhibited in paris in , and provoked as much discussion there as in the united states. physically, millie was the weaker, but had the stronger will and the dominating spirit. they menstruated regularly from the age of thirteen. one from long habit yielded instinctively to the other's movements, thus preserving the necessary harmony. they ate separately, had distinct thoughts, and carried on distinct conversations at the same time. they experienced hunger and thirst generally simultaneously, and defecated and urinated nearly at the same times. one, in tranquil sleep, would be wakened by a call of nature of the other. common sensibility was experienced near the location of union. they were intelligent and agreeable and of pleasant appearance, although slightly under size; they sang duets with pleasant voices and accompanied themselves with a guitar; they walked, ran, and danced with apparent ease and grace. christine could bend over and lift millie up by the bond of union. a recent example of the pygopagus type was rosa-josepha blazek, born in skerychov, in bohemia, january , . these twins had a broad bony union in the lower part of the lumbar region, the pelvis being obviously completely fused. they had a common urethral and anal aperture, but a double vaginal orifice, with a very apparent septum. the sensation was distinct in each, except where the pelves joined. they were exhibited in paris in , being then on an exhibition tour around the world. rosa was the stronger, and when she walked or ran forward she drew her sister with her, who must naturally have reversed her steps. they had independent thoughts and separate minds; one could sleep while the other was awake. many of their appetites were different, one preferring beer, the other wine; one relished salad, the other detested it, etc. thirst and hunger were not simultaneous. baudoin describes their anatomic construction, their mode of life, and their mannerisms and tastes in a quite recent article. fig. is a reproduction of an early photograph of the twins, and fig. represents a recent photograph of these "bohemian twins," as they are now called. the latest record we have of this type of monstrosity is that given by tynberg to the county medical society of new york, may , . the mother was present with the remarkable twins in her arms, crying at the top of their voices. these two children were born at midnight on april th. tynberg remarked that he believed them to be distinct and separate children, and not dependent on a common arterial system; he also expressed his intention of separating them, but did not believe the operation could be performed with safety before another year. jacobi describes in full tynberg's instance of pygopagus. he says the confinement was easy; the head of one was born first, soon followed by the feet and the rest of the twins. the placenta was single and the cord consisted of two branches. the twins were united below the third sacral vertebrae in such a manner that they could lie alongside of each other. they were females, and had two vaginae, two urethrae four labia minora, and two labia majora, one anus, but a double rectum divided by a septum. they micturated independently but defecated simultaneously. they virtually lived separate lives, as one might be asleep while the other cried, etc. class v.--while instances of ischiopagi are quite numerous, few have attained any age, and, necessarily, little notoriety. pare speaks of twins united at the pelves, who were born in paris july , . they were baptized, and named louis and louise. their parents were well known in the rue des gravelliers. according to bateman, and also rueff, in the year there were born, not far from oxford, female twins, who, from the description given, were doubtless of the ischiopagus type. they seldom wept, and one was of a cheerful disposition, while the other was heavy and drowsy, sleeping continually. they only lived a short time, one expiring a day before the other. licetus speaks of mrs. john waterman, a resident of fishertown, near salisbury, england, who gave birth to a double female monster on october , , which evidently from the description was joined by the ischii. it did not nurse, but took food by both the mouths; all its actions were done in concert; it was possessed of one set of genitourinary organs; it only lived a short while. many people in the region flocked to see the wonderful child, whom licetus called "monstrum anglicum." it is said that at the same accouchement the birth of this monster was followed by the birth of a well-formed female child, who survived. geoffroy-saint-hilaire quotes a description of twins who were born in france on october , , symmetrically formed and united at their ischii. one was christened marie-louise, and the other hortense-honorine. their avaricious parents took the children to paris for exhibition, the exposures of which soon sacrificed their lives. in the year there was born in the island of ceylon, of native parents, a monstrous child that was soon brought to columbo, where it lived only two months. it had two heads and seemed to have duplication in all its parts except the anus and male generative organs. montgomery speaks of a double child born in county roscommon, ireland, on the th of july, . it had two heads, two chests with arms complete, two abdominal and pelvic cavities united end to end, and four legs, placed two on either side. it had only one anus, which was situated between the thighs. one of the twins was dark haired and was baptized mary, while the other was a blonde and was named catherine. these twins felt and acted independently of each other; they each in succession sucked from the breast or took milk from the spoon, and used their limbs vigorously. one vomited without affecting the other, but the feces were discharged through a common opening. goodell speaks of minna and minnie finley, who were born in ohio and examined by him. they were fused together in a common longitudinal axis, having one pelvis, two heads, four legs, and four arms. one was weak and puny and the other robust and active; it is probable that they had but one rectum and one bladder. goodell accompanies his description by the mention of several analogous cases. ellis speaks of female twins, born in millville, tenn., and exhibited in new york in , who were joined at the pelves in a longitudinal axis. between the limbs on either side were to be seen well-developed female genitals, and the sisters had been known to urinate from both sides, beginning and ending at the same time. huff details a description of the "jones twins," born on june , , in tipton county, indiana, whose spinal columns were in apposition at the lower end. the labor, of less than two hours' duration, was completed before the arrival of the physician. lying on their mother's back, they could both nurse at the same time. both sets of genitals and ani were on the same side of the line of union, but occupied normal positions with reference to the legs on either side. their weight at birth was pounds and their length inches. their mother was a medium-sized brunette of , and had one previous child then living at the age of two; their father was a finely formed man feet inches in height. the twins differed in complexion and color of the eyes and hair. they were publicly exhibited for some time, and died february and , , at st. john's hotel, buffalo, n.y. figure shows their appearance several months after birth. class vi.--in our sixth class, the first record we have is from the commentaries of sigbert, which contains a description of a monstrosity born in the reign of the emperor theodosius, who had two heads, two chests with four arms attached, but a single lower extremity. the emotions, affections, and appetites were different. one head might be crying while the other laughed, or one feeding while the other was sleeping. at times they quarreled and occasionally came to blows. this monster is said to have lived two years, one part dying four days before the other, which evinced symptoms of decay like its inseparable neighbor. roger of wendover says that in lesser brittany and normandy, in , there was seen a female monster, consisting of two women joined about the umbilicus and fused into a single lower extremity. they took their food by two mouths but expelled it at a single orifice. at one time, one of the women laughed, feasted, and talked, while the other wept, fasted, and kept a religious silence. the account relates how one of them died, and the survivor bore her dead sister about for three years before she was overcome by the oppression and stench of the cadaver. batemen describes the birth of a boy in , who had two heads, four ears, four arms, but only two thighs and two legs. buchanan speaks at length of the famous "scottish brothers," who were the cynosure of the eyes of the court of james iii of scotland. this monster consisted of two men, ordinary in appearance in the superior extremities, whose trunks fused into a single lower extremity. the king took diligent care of their education, and they became proficient in music, languages, and other court accomplishments. between them they would carry on animated conversations, sometimes merging into curious debates, followed by blows. above the point of union they had no synchronous sensations, while below, sensation was common to both. this monster lived twenty-eight years, surviving the royal patron, who died june, . one of the brothers died some days before the other, and the survivor, after carrying about his dead brother, succumbed to "infection from putrescence." there was reported to have been born in switzerland a double headed male monster, who in , at the age of thirty, was possessed of a beard on each face, the two bodies fused at the umbilicus into a single lower extremity. these two twins resembled one another in contour and countenance. they were so joined that at rest they looked upon one another. they had a single wife, with whom they were said to have lived in harmony. in the gentleman's magazine about one hundred and fifty years since there was given the portrait and description of a double woman, who was exhibited all over the large cities of europe. little can be ascertained anatomically of her construction, with the exception that it was stated that she had two heads, two necks, four arms, two legs, one pelvis, and one set of pelvic organs. the most celebrated monster of this type was ritta-christina, who was born in sassari, in sardinia, march , . these twins were the result of the ninth confinement of their mother, a woman of thirty-two. their superior extremities were double, but they joined in a common trunk at a point a little below the mammae. below this point they had a common trunk and single lower extremities. the right one, christened ritta, was feeble and of a sad and melancholy countenance; the left, christina, was vigorous and of a gay and happy aspect. they suckled at different times, and sensations in the upper extremities were distinct. they expelled urine and feces simultaneously, and had the indications in common. their parents, who were very poor, brought them to paris for the purpose of public exhibition, which at first was accomplished clandestinely, but finally interdicted by the public authorities, who feared that it would open a door for psychologic discussion and speculation. this failure of the parents to secure public patronage increased their poverty and hastened the death of the children by unavoidable exposure in a cold room. the nervous system of the twins had little in common except in the line of union, the anus, and the sexual organs, and christina was in good health all through ritta's sickness; when ritta died, her sister, who was suckling at the mother's breast, suddenly relaxed hold and expired with a sigh. at the postmortem, which was secured with some difficulty on account of the authorities ordering the bodies to be burned, the pericardium was found single, covering both hearts. the digestive organs were double and separate as far as the lower third of the ilium, and the cecum was on the left side and single, in common with the lower bowel. the livers were fused and the uterus was double. the vertebral columns, which were entirely separate above, were joined below by a rudimentary os innorminatum. there was a junction between the manubrium of each. sir astley cooper saw a monster in paris in which, by his description, must have been very similar to ritta-christina. the tocci brothers were born in in the province of turin, italy. they each had a well-formed head, perfect arms, and a perfect thorax to the sixth rib; they had a common abdomen, a single anus, two legs, two sacra, two vertebral columns, one penis, but three buttocks, the central one containing a rudimentary anus. the right boy was christened giovanni-batista, and the left giacomo. each individual had power over the corresponding leg on his side, but not over the other one. walking was therefore impossible. all their sensations and emotions were distinctly individual and independent. at the time of the report, in , they were in good health and showed every indication of attaining adult age. figure represents these twins as they were exhibited several years ago in germany. mccallum saw two female children in montreal in named marie-rosa drouin. they formed a right angle with their single trunk, which commenced at the lower part of the thorax of each. they had a single genital fissure and the external organs of generation of a female. a little over three inches from the anus was a rudimentary limb with a movable articulation; it measured five inches in length and tapered to a fine point, being furnished with a distinct nail, and it contracted strongly to irritation. marie, the left child, was of fair complexion and more strongly developed than rosa. the sensations of hunger and thirst were not experienced at the same time, and one might be asleep while the other was crying. the pulsations and the respiratory movements were not synchronous. they were the products of the second gestation of a mother aged twenty-six, whose abdomen was of such preternatural size during pregnancy that she was ashamed to appear in public. the order of birth was as follows: one head and body, the lower extremity, and the second body and head. class vii.--there are many instances of bicephalic monsters on record. pare mentions and gives an illustration of a female apparently single in conformation, with the exception of having two heads and two necks. the ephemerides, haller, schenck, and archenholz cite examples, and there is an old account of a double-headed child, each of whose heads were baptized, one called martha and the other mary. one was of a gay and the other a sad visage, and both heads received nourishment; they only lived a couple of days. there is another similar record of a milanese girl who had two heads, but was in all other respects single, with the exception that after death she was found to have had two stomachs. besse mentions a bavarian woman of twenty-six with two heads, one of which was comely and the other extremely ugly; batemen quotes what is apparently the same case--a woman in bavaria in with two heads, one of which was deformed, who begged from door to door, and who by reason of the influence of pregnant women was given her expenses to leave the country. a more common occurrence of this type is that in which there is fusion of the two heads. moreau speaks of a monster in spain which was shown from town to town. its heads were fused; it had two mouths and two noses; in each face an eye well conformed and placed above the nose; there was a third eye in the middle of the forehead common to both heads; the third eye was of primitive development and had two pupils. each face was well formed and had its own chin. buffon mentions a cat, the exact analogue of moreau's case. sutton speaks of a photograph sent to sir james paget in by william budd of bristol. this portrays a living child with a supernumerary head, which had mouth, nose, eyes, and a brain of its own. the eyelids were abortive, and as there was no orbital cavity the eyes stood out in the form of naked globes on the forehead. when born, the corneas of both heads were transparent, but then became opaque from exposure. the brain of the supernumerary head was quite visible from without, and was covered by a membrane beginning to slough. on the right side of the head was a rudimentary external ear. the nurse said that when the child sucked some milk regurgitated through the supernumerary mouth. the great physiologic interest in this case lies in the fact that every movement and every act of the natural face was simultaneously repeated by the supernumerary face in a perfectly consensual manner, i.e., when the natural mouth sucked, the second mouth sucked; when the natural face cried, yawned, or sneezed, the second face did likewise; and the eyes of the two heads moved in unison. the fate of the child is not known. home speaks of a child born in bengal with a most peculiar fusion of the head. the ordinary head was nearly perfect and of usual volume, but fused with its vertex and reversed was a supernumerary head. each head had its own separate vessels and brain, and each an individual sensibility, but if one had milk first the other had an abundance of saliva in its mouth. it narrowly escaped being burned to death at birth, as the midwife, greatly frightened by the monstrous appearance, threw it into the fire to destroy it, from whence it was rescued, although badly burned, the vicious conformation of the accessory head being possibly due to the accident. at the age of four it was bitten by a venomous serpent and, as a result, died. its skull is in the possession of the royal college of surgeons in london. the following well-known story of edward mordake, though taken from lay sources, is of sufficient notoriety and interest to be mentioned here:-- "one of the weirdest as well as most melancholy stories of human deformity is that of edward mordake, said to have been heir to one of the noblest peerages in england. he never claimed the title, however, and committed suicide in his twenty-third year. he lived in complete seclusion, refusing the visits even of the members of his own family. he was a young man of fine attainments, a profound scholar, and a musician of rare ability. his figure was remarkable for its grace, and his face--that is to say, his natural face--was that of an antinous. but upon the back of his head was another face, that of a beautiful girl, 'lovely as a dream, hideous as a devil.' the female face was a mere mask, 'occupying only a small portion of the posterior part of the skull, yet exhibiting every sign of intelligence, of a malignant sort, however.' it would be seen to smile and sneer while mordake was weeping. the eyes would follow the movements of the spectator, and the lips would 'gibber without ceasing.' no voice was audible, but mordake avers that he was kept from his rest at night by the hateful whispers of his 'devil twin,' as he called it, 'which never sleeps, but talks to me forever of such things as they only speak of in hell. no imagination can conceive the dreadful temptations it sets before me. for some unforgiven wickedness of my forefathers i am knit to this fiend--for a fiend it surely is. i beg and beseech you to crush it out of human semblance, even if i die for it.' such were the words of the hapless mordake to manvers and treadwell, his physicians. in spite of careful watching he managed to procure poison, whereof he died, leaving a letter requesting that the 'demon face' might be destroyed before his burial, 'lest it continues its dreadful whisperings in my grave.' at his own request he was interred in a waste place, without stone or legend to mark his grave." a most curious case was that of a fellah woman who was delivered at alexandria of a bicephalic monster of apparently eight months' pregnancy. this creature, which was born dead, had one head white and the other black the change of color commencing at the neck of the black head. the bizarre head was of negro conformation and fully developed, and the colored skin was found to be due to the existence of pigment similar to that found in the black race. the husband of the woman had a light brown skin, like an ordinary fellah man, and it was ascertained that there were some negro laborers in port during the woman's pregnancy; but no definite information as to her relations with them could be established, and whether this was a case of maternal impression or superfetation can only be a matter of conjecture. fantastic monsters, such as acephalon, paracephalon, cyclops, pseudencephalon, and the janiceps, prosopthoracopagus, disprosopus, etc., although full of interest, will not be discussed here, as none are ever viable for any length of time, and the declared intention of this chapter is to include only those beings who have lived. class viii.--the next class includes the parasitic terata, monsters that consist of one perfect body, complete in every respect, but from the neighborhood of whose umbilicus depends some important portion of a second body. pare, benivenius, and columbus describe adults with acephalous monsters attached to them. schenck mentions cases, of which were observed by him. aldrovandus shows illustrations under the name of "monstrum bicorpum monocephalon." bustorf speaks of a case in which the nates and lower extremities of one body proceeded out of the abdomen of the other, which was otherwise perfect. reichel and anderson mention a living parasitic monster, the inferior trunk of one body proceeding from the pectoral region of the other. pare says that there was a man in paris in , quite forty years of age, who carried about a parasite without a head, which hung pendant from his belly. this individual was exhibited and drew great crowds. pare appends an illustration, which is, perhaps, one of the most familiar in all teratology. he also gives a portrait of a man who had a parasitic head proceeding from his epigastrium, and who was born in germany the same year that peace was made with the swiss by king francis. this creature lived to manhood and both heads were utilized in alimentation. bartholinus details a history of an individual named lazarus-joannes baptista colloredo, born in genoa in , who exhibited himself all over europe. from his epigastrium hung an imperfectly developed twin that had one thigh, hands, body, arms, and a well-formed head covered with hair, which in the normal position hung lowest. there were signs of independent existence in the parasite, movements of respiration, etc., but its eyes were closed, and, although saliva constantly dribbled from its open mouth, nothing was ever ingested. the genitals were imperfect and the arms ended in badly formed hands. bartholinus examined this monster at twenty-two, and has given the best report, although while in scotland in he was again examined, and accredited with being married and the father of several children who were fully and admirably developed. moreau quotes a case of an infant similar in conformation to the foregoing monster, who was born in switzerland in , and whose supernumerary parts were amputated by means of a ligature. winslow reported before the academie royale des sciences the history of a girl of twelve who died at the hotel-dieu in . she was of ordinary height and of fair conformation, with the exception that hanging from the left flank was the inferior half of another girl of diminutive proportions. the supernumerary body was immovable, and hung so heavily that it was said to be supported by the hands or by a sling. urine and feces were evacuated at intervals from the parasite, and received into a diaper constantly worn for this purpose. sensibility in the two was common, an impression applied to the parasite being felt by the girl. winslow gives an interesting report of the dissection of this monster, and mentions that he had seen an italian child of eight who had a small head proceeding from under the cartilage of the third left rib. sensibility was common, pinching the ear of the parasitic head causing the child with the perfect head to cry. each of the two heads received baptism, one being named john and the other matthew. a curious question arose in the instance of the girl, as to whether the extreme unction should be administered to the acephalous fetus as well as to the child. in , during the ambassadorship of the marquis de l'hopital at naples, he saw in that city an aged man, well conformed, with the exception that, like the little girl of winslow, he had the inferior extremities of a male child growing from his epigastric region. haller and meckel have also observed cases like this. bordat described before the royal institute of france, august, , a chinaman, twenty-one years of age, who had an acephalous fetus attached to the surface of his breast (possibly "a-ke"). dickinson describes a wonderful child five years old, who, by an extraordinary freak of nature, was an amalgamation of two children. from the body of an otherwise perfectly formed child was a supernumerary head protruding from a broad base attached to the lower lumbar and sacral region. this cephalic mass was covered with hair about four or five inches long, and showed the rudiments of an eye, nose, mouth, and chin. this child was on exhibition when dickinson saw it. montare and reyes were commissioned by the academy of medicine of havana to examine and report on a monstrous girl of seven months, living in cuba. the girl was healthy and well developed, and from the middle line of her body between the xiphoid cartilage and the umbilicus, attached by a soft pedicle, was an accessory individual, irregular, of ovoid shape, the smaller end, representing the head, being upward. the parasite measured a little over foot in length, inches about the head, and / inches around the neck. the cranial bones were distinctly felt, and the top of the head was covered by a circlet of hair. there were two rudimentary eyebrows; the left eye was represented by a minute perforation encircled with hair; the right eye was traced by one end of a mucous groove which ran down to another transverse groove representing the mouth; the right third of this latter groove showed a primitive tongue and a triangular tooth, which appeared at the fifth month. there was a soft, imperforate nose, and the elements of the vertebral column could be distinguished beneath the skin; there were no legs; apparently no vascular sounds; there was separate sensation, as the parasite could be pinched without attracting the perfect infant's notice. the mouth of the parasite constantly dribbled saliva, but showed no indication of receiving aliment. louise l., known as "la dame a quatre jambes," was born in , and had attached to her pelvis another rudimentary pelvis and two atrophied legs of a parasite, weighing kilos. the attachment was effected by means of a pedicle cm. in diameter, having a bony basis, and being fixed without a joint. the attachment almost obliterated the vulva and the perineum was displaced far backward. at the insertion of the parasite were two rudimentary mammae, one larger than the other. no genitalia were seen on the parasite and it exhibited no active movements, the joints of both limbs being ankylosed. the woman could localize sensations in the parasite except those of the feet. she had been married five years, and bore, in the space of three years, two well-formed daughters. quite recently there was exhibited in the museums of the united states an individual bearing the name "laloo," who was born in oudh, india, and was the second of four children. at the time of examination he was about nineteen years of age. the upper portion of a parasite was firmly attached to the lower right side of the sternum of the individual by a bony pedicle, and lower by a fleshy pedicle, and apparently contained intestines. the anus of the parasite was imperforate; a well-developed penis was found, but no testicles; there was a luxuriant growth of hair on the pubes. the penis of the parasite was said to show signs of erection at times, and urine passed through it without the knowledge of the boy. perspiration and elevation of temperature seemed to occur simultaneously in both. to pander to the morbid curiosity of the curious, the "dime museum" managers at one time shrewdly clothed the parasite in female attire, calling the two brother and sister; but there is no doubt that all the traces of sex were of the male type. an analogous case was that of "a-ke," a chinaman, who was exhibited in london early in the century, and of whom and his parasite anatomic models are seen in our museums. figure represents an epignathus, a peculiar type parasitic monster, in which the parasite is united to the inferior maxillary bone of the autosite. class ix.--of "lusus naturae" none is more curious than that of duplication of the lower extremities. pare says that on january , , there was living in germany a male infant having four legs and four arms. in paris, at the academie des sciences, on september , , there was presented by madame hen, a midwife, a living male child with four legs, the anus being nearly below the middle of the third buttock; and the scrotum between the two left thighs, the testicles not yet descended. there was a well-formed and single pelvis, and the supernumerary legs were immovable. aldrovandus mentions several similar instances, and gives the figure of one born in rome; he also describes several quadruped birds. bardsley speaks of a male child with one head, four arms, four legs, and double generative organs. he gives a portrait of the child when it was a little over a year old. heschl published in vienna in a description of a girl of seventeen, who instead of having a duplication of the superior body, as in "millie-christine, the two-headed nightingale," had double parts below the second lumbar vertebra. her head and upper body resembled a comely, delicate girl of twelve. wells a describes mrs. b., aged twenty, still alive and healthy. the duplication in this case begins just above the waist, the spinal column dividing at the third lumbar vertebra, below this point everything being double. micturition and defecation occur at different times, but menstruation occurs simultaneously. she was married at nineteen, and became pregnant a year later on the left side, but abortion was induced at the fourth month on account of persistent nausea and the expectation of impossible delivery. whaley, in speaking of this case, said mrs. b. utilized her outside legs for walking; he also remarks that when he informed her that she was pregnant on the left side she replied, "i think you are mistaken; if it had been on my right side i would come nearer believing it;"--and after further questioning he found, from the patient's observation, that her right genitals were almost invariably used for coitus. bechlinger of para, brazil, describes a woman of twenty-five, a native of martinique, whose father was french and mother a quadroon, who had a modified duplication of the lower body. there was a third leg attached to a continuation of the processus coceygeus of the sacrum, and in addition to well developed mammae regularly situated, there were two rudimentary ones close together above the pubes. there were two vaginae and two well-developed vulvae, both having equally developed sensations. the sexual appetite was markedly developed, and coitus was practised in both vaginae. a somewhat similar case, possibly the same, is that of blanche dumas, born in . she had a very broad pelvis, two imperfectly developed legs, and a supernumerary limb attached to the symphysis, without a joint, but with slight passive movement. there was a duplication of bowel, bladder, and genitalia. at the junction of the rudimentary limb with the body, in front, were two rudimentary mammary glands, each containing a nipple. other instances of supernumerary limbs will be found in chapter vi. class x.--the instances of diphallic terata, by their intense interest to the natural bent of the curious mind, have always elicited much discussion. to many of these cases have been attributed exaggerated function, notwithstanding the fact that modern observation almost invariably shows that the virile power diminishes in exact proportion to the extent of duplication. taylor quotes a description of a monster, exhibited in london, with two distinct penises, but with only one distinct testicle on either side. he could exercise the function of either organ. schenck, schurig, bartholinus, loder, and ollsner report instances of diphallic terata; the latter case a was in a soldier of charles vi, twenty-two years old, who applied to the surgeon for a bubonic affection, and who declared that he passed urine from the orifice of the left glans and also said that he was incapable of true coitus. valentini mentions an instance in a boy of four, in which the two penises were superimposed. bucchettoni speaks of a man with two penises placed side by side. there was an anonymous case described of a man of ninety-three with a penis which was for more than half its length divided into two distinct members, the right being somewhat larger than the left. from the middle of the penis up to the symphysis only the lower wall of the urethra was split. jenisch describes a diphallic infant, the offspring of a woman of twenty-five who had been married five years. her first child was a well-formed female, and the second, the infant in question, cried much during the night, and several times vomited dark-green matter. in lieu of one penis there were two, situated near each other, the right one of natural size and the left larger, but not furnished with a prepuce. each penis had its own urethra, from which dribbled urine and some meconium. there was a duplication of each scrotum, but only one testicle in each, and several other minor malformations. gore, reported by velpeau, has seen an infant of eight and one-half months with two penises and three lower extremities. the penises were cm. apart and the scrotum divided, containing one testicle in each side. each penis was provided with a urethra, urine being discharged from both simultaneously. in a similar case, spoken of by geoffroy-saint-hilaire, the two organs were also separate, but urine and semen escaped sometimes from one, sometimes from both. the most celebrated of all the diphallic terata was jean baptista dos santos, who when but six months old was spoken of by acton. his father and mother were healthy and had two well-formed children. he was easily born after an uneventful pregnancy. he was good-looking, well proportioned, and had two distinct penises, each as large as that of a child of six months. urination proceeded simultaneously from both penises; he had also two scrotums. behind and between the legs there was another limb, or rather two, united throughout their length. it was connected to the pubis by a short stem / inch long and as large as the little finger, consisting of separate bones and cartilages. there was a patella in the supernumerary limb on the anal aspect, and a joint freely movable. this compound limb had no power of motion, but was endowed with sensibility. a journal in london, after quoting acton's description, said that the child had been exhibited in paris, and that the surgeons advised operation. fisher, to whom we are indebted for an exhaustive work in teratology, received a report from havana in july, , which detailed a description of santos at twenty-two years of age, and said that he was possessed of extraordinary animal passion, the sight of a female alone being sufficient to excite him. he was said to use both penises, after finishing with one continuing with the other; but this account of him does not agree with later descriptions, in which no excessive sexual ability had been noticed. hart describes the adult santos in full, and accompanies his article with an illustration. at this time he was said to have developed double genitals, and possibly a double bladder communicating by an imperfect septum. at adulthood the anus was three inches anterior to the os coceygeus. in the sitting or lying posture the supernumerary limb rested on the front of the inner surface of the lower third of his left thigh. he was in the habit of wearing this limb in a sling, or bound firmly to the right thigh, to prevent its unseemly dangling when erect. the perineum proper was absent, the entire space between the anus and the posterior edge of the scrotum being occupied by the pedicle. santos' mental and physical functions were developed above normal, and he impressed everybody with his accomplishments. geoffroy-saint-hilaire records an instance in which the conformation was similar to that of santos. there was a third lower extremity consisting of two limbs fused into one with a single foot containing ten distinct digits. he calls the case one of arrested twin development. van buren and keyes describe a case in a man of forty-two, of good, healthy appearance. the two distinct penises of normal size were apparently well formed and were placed side by side, each attached at its root to the symphysis. their covering of skin was common as far as the base of the glans; at this point they seemed distinct and perfect, but the meatus of the left was imperforate. the right meatus was normal, and through it most of the urine passed, though some always dribbled through an opening in the perineum at a point where the root of the scrotum should have been. on lifting the double-barreled penis this opening could be seen and was of sufficient size to admit the finger. on the right side of the aperture was an elongated and rounded prominence similar in outline to a labium majus. this prominence contained a testicle normal in shape and sensibility, but slightly undersized, and surrounded, as was evident from its mobility, by a tunica vaginalis. the left testicle lay on the tendon of the adductor longus in the left groin; it was not fully developed, but the patient had sexual desires, erections, and emissions. both penises became erect simultaneously, the right more vigorously. the left leg was shorter than the right and congenitally smaller; the mammae were of normal dimensions. sangalli speaks of a man of thirty-five who had a supernumerary penis, furnished with a prepuce and capable of erection. at the apex of the glans opened a canal about cm. long, through which escaped monthly a serous fluid. smith mentions a man who had two penises and two bladders, on one of which lithotomy was performed. according to ballantyne, taruffi, the scholarly observer of terata, mentions a child of forty-two months and height of cm. who had two penises, each furnished with a urethra and well-formed scrotal sacs which were inserted in a fold of the groin. there were two testicles felt in the right scrotum and one in the left. fecal evacuations escaped through two anal orifices. there is also another case mentioned similar to the foregoing in a man of forty; but here there was an osseous projection in the middle line behind the bladder. this patient said that erection was simultaneous in both penises, and that he had not married because of his chagrin over his deformity. cole speaks of a child with two well-developed male organs, one to the left and the other to the right of the median line, and about / or / inch apart at birth. the urethra bifurcated in the perineal region and sent a branch to each penis, and urine passed from each meatus. the scrotum was divided into three compartments by two raphes, and each compartment contained a testicle. the anus at birth was imperforate, but the child was successfully operated on, and at its sixtieth day weighed pounds. lange says that an infant was brought to karg for relief of anal atresia when fourteen days old. it was found to possess duplicate penises, which communicated each to its distinct half of the bladder as defined by a median fold. the scrotum was divided into three portions by two raphes, and each lateral compartment contained a fully formed testicle. this child died because of its anal malformation, which we notice is a frequent associate of malformations or duplicity of the penis. there is an example in an infant described in which there were two penises, each about / inch long, and a divided scrotal sac inches long. englisch speaks of a german of forty who possessed a double penis of the bifid type. ballantyne and his associates define diphallic terata as individuals provided with two more or less well-formed and more or less separate penises, who may show also other malformations of the adjoining parts and organs (e.g., septate bladder), but who are not possessed of more than two lower limbs. this definition excludes, therefore, the cases in which in addition to a double penis there is a supernumerary lower extremity--such a case, for example, as that of jean baptista dos santos, so frequently described by teratologists. it also excludes the more evident double terata, and, of course, the cases of duplication of the female genital organs (double clitoris, vulva, vagina, and uterus). although schurig, meckel, himly, taruffi, and others give bibliographic lists of diphallic terata, even in them erroneous references are common, and there is evidence to show that many cases have been duplicated under different names. ballantyne and skirving have consulted all the older original references available and eliminated duplications of reports and, adhering to their original definition, have collected and described individually cases; they offer the following conclusions:-- . diphallus, or duplication of the penis in an otherwise apparently single individual, is a very rare anomaly, records of only cases having been found in a fairly exhaustive search through teratologic literature. as a distinct and well-authenticated type it has only quite recently been recognized by teratologists. . it does not of itself interfere with intrauterine or extrauterine life; but the associated anomalies (e.g., atresia ani) may be sources of danger. if not noticed at birth, it is not usually discovered till adult life, and even then the discovery is commonly accidental. . with regard to the functions of the pelvic viscera, urine may be passed by both penises, by one only, or by neither. in the last instance it finds exit by an aperture in the perineum. there is reason to believe that semen may be passed in the same way; but in most of the recorded cases there has been sterility, if not inability to perform the sexual act. . all the degrees of duplication have been met with, from a fissure of the glans penis to the presence of two distinct penises inserted at some distance from each other in the inguinal regions. . the two penises are usually somewhat defective as regards prepuce, urethra, etc.; they may lie side by side, or more rarely may be situated anteroposteriorly; they may be equal in size, or less commonly one is distinctly larger than the other; and one or both may be perforate or imperforate. . the scrotum may be normal or split; the testicles, commonly two in number, may be normal or atrophic, descended or undescended; the prostate may be normal or imperfectly developed, as may also the vasa deferentia and vesiculae seminales. . the commonly associated defects are: more or less completely septate bladder, atresia ani, or more rarely double anus, double urethra, increased breadth of the bony pelvis with defect of the symphysis pubis, and possibly duplication of the lower end of the spine, and hernia of some of the abdominal contents into a perineal pouch. much more rarely, duplication of the heart, lungs, stomach, and kidneys has been noted, and the lower limbs may be shorter than normal. class xi.--cases of fetus in fetu, those strange instances in which one might almost say that a man may be pregnant with his brother or sister, or in which an infant may carry its twin without the fact being apparent, will next be discussed. the older cases were cited as being only a repetition of the process by which eve was born of adam. figure represents an old engraving showing the birth of eve. bartholinus, the ephemerides, otto, paullini, schurig, and plot speak of instances of fetus in fetu. ruysch describes a tumor contained in the abdomen of a man which was composed of hair, molar teeth, and other evidences of a fetus. huxham reported to the royal society in the history of a child which was born with a tumor near the anus larger than the whole body of the child; this tumor contained rudiments of an embryo. young speaks of a fetus which lay encysted between the laminae of the transverse mesocolon, and highmore published a report of a fetus in a cyst communicating with the duodenum. dupuytren gives an example in a boy of thirteen, in whom was found a fetus. gaetano-nocito, cited by philipeaux, has the history of a taken with a great pain in the right hypochondrium, and from which issued subsequently fetal bones and a mass of macerated embryo. his mother had had several double pregnancies, and from the length of the respective tibiae one of the fetuses seemed to be of two months' and the other of three months' intrauterine life. the man died five years after the abscess had burst spontaneously. brodie speaks of a case in which fetal remains were taken from the abdomen of a girl of two and one-half years. gaither describes a child of two years and nine months, supposed to be affected with ascites, who died three hours after the physician's arrival. in its abdomen was found a fetus weighing almost two pounds and connected to the child by a cord resembling an umbilical cord. this child was healthy for about nine months, and had a precocious longing for ardent spirits, and drank freely an hour before its death. blundell says that he knew "a boy who was literally and without evasion with child, for the fetus was contained in a sac communicating with the abdomen and was connected to the side of the cyst by a short umbilical cord; nor did the fetus make its appearance until the boy was eight or ten years old, when after much enlargement of pregnancy and subsequent flooding the boy died." the fetus, removed after death, on the whole not very imperfectly formed, was of the size of about six or seven months' gestation. bury cites an account of a child that had a second imperfectly developed fetus in its face and scalp. there was a boy by the name of bissieu who from the earliest age had a pain in one of his left ribs; this rib was larger than the rest and seemed to have a tumor under it. he died of phthisis at fourteen, and after death there was found in a pocket lying against the transverse colon and communicating with it all the evidences of a fetus. at the hopital de la charite in paris, velpeau startled an audience of students and many physicians by saying that he expected to find a rudimentary fetus in a scrotal tumor placed in his hands for operation. his diagnosis proved correct, and brought him resounding praise, and all wondered as to his reasons for expecting a fetal tumor. it appears that he had read with care a report by fatti of an operation on the scrotum of a child which had increased in size as the child grew, and was found to contain the ribs, the vertebral column, the lower extremities as far as the knees, and the two orbits of a fetus; and also an account of a similar operation performed by wendt of breslau on a silesian boy of seven. the left testicle in this case was so swollen that it hung almost to the knee, and the fetal remains removed weighed seven ounces. sulikowski relates an instance of congenital fetation in the umbilicus of a girl of fourteen, who recovered after the removal of the anomaly. aretaeos described to the members of the medical fraternity in athens the case of a woman of twenty-two, who bore two children after a seven months' pregnancy. one was very rudimentary and only inches long, and the other had an enormous head resembling a case of hydrocephalus. on opening the head of the second fetus, another, three inches long, was found in the medulla oblongata, and in the cranial cavity with it were two additional fetuses, neither of which was perfectly formed. broca speaks of a fetal cyst being passed in the urine of a man of sixty-one; the cyst contained remnants of hair, bone, and cartilage. atlee submits quite a remarkable case of congenital ventral gestation, the subject being a girl of six, who recovered after the discharge of the fetal mass from the abdomen. mcintyre speaks of a child of eleven, playing about and feeling well, but whose abdomen progressively increased in size / inches each day. after ten days there was a large fluctuating mass on the right side; the abdomen was opened and the mass enucleated; it was found to contain a fetal mass weighing nearly five pounds, and in addition ten pounds of fluid were removed. the child made an early recovery. rogers mentions a fetus that was found in a man's bladder. bouchacourt reports the successful extirpation of the remains of a fetus from the rectum of a child of six. miner describes a successful excision of a congenital gestation. modern literature is full of examples, and nearly every one of the foregoing instances could be paralleled from other sources. rodriguez is quoted as reporting that in july, , several newspapers in the city of mexico published, under the head of "a man-mother," a wonderful story, accompanied by wood-cuts, of a young man from whose body a great surgeon had extracted a "perfectly developed fetus." one of these wood-cuts represented a tumor at the back of a man opened and containing a crying baby. in commenting upon this, after reviewing several similar cases of endocymian monsters that came under his observation in mexico, rodriguez tells what the case which had been so grossly exaggerated by the lay journals really was: an indian boy, aged twenty-two, presented a tumor in the sacrococcygeal region measuring cm. in circumference at the base, having a vertical diameter of cm. and a transverse diameter of cm. it had no pedicle and was fixed, showing unequal consistency. at birth this tumor was about the size of a pigeon's egg. a diagnosis of dermoid cyst was made and two operations were performed on the boy, death following the second. the skeleton showed interesting conditions; the rectum and pelvic organs were natural, and the contents of the cyst verified the diagnosis. quite similar to the cases of fetus in fetu are the instances of dermoid cysts. for many years they have been a mystery to physiologists, and their origin now is little more than hypothetic. at one time the fact of finding such a formation in the ovary of an unmarried woman was presumptive evidence that she was unchaste; but this idea was dissipated as soon as examples were reported in children, and to-day we have a well-defined difference between congenital and extrauterine pregnancy. dermoid cysts of the ovary may consist only of a wall of connective tissue lined with epidermis and containing distinctly epidermic scales which, however, may be rolled up in firm masses of a more or less soapy consistency; this variety is called by orth epidermoid cyst; or, according to warren, a form of cyst made up of skin containing small and ill-defined papillae, but rich in hair follicles and sebaceous glands. even the erector pili muscle and the sudoriparous gland are often found. the hair is partly free and rolled up into thick balls or is still attached to the walls. a large mass of sebaceous material is also found in these cysts. thomson reports a case of dermoid cyst of the bladder containing hair, which cyst he removed. it was a pedunculated growth, and it was undoubtedly vesical and not expelled from some ovarian source through the urinary passage, as sometimes occurs. the simpler forms of the ordinary dermoid cysts contain bone and teeth. the complicated teratoma of this class may contain, in addition to the previously mentioned structures, cartilage and glands, mucous and serous membrane, muscle, nerves, and cerebral substance, portions of eyes, fingers with nails, mammae, etc. figure represents a cyst containing long red hair that was removed from a blonde woman aged forty-four years who had given birth to six children. cullingworth reports the history of a woman in whom both ovaries were apparently involved by dermoids, who had given birth to children and had three miscarriages--the last, three months before the removal of the growths. the accompanying illustration, taken from baldy, pictures a dermoid cyst of the complicated variety laid open and exposing the contents in situ. mears of philadelphia reports a case of ovarian cyst removed from a girl of six and a half by bradford of kentucky in . from this age on to adult life many similar cases are recorded. nearly every medical museum has preserved specimens of dermoid cysts, and almost all physicians are well acquainted with their occurrence. the curious formations and contents and the bizarre shapes are of great variety. graves mentions a dermoid cyst containing the left side of a human face, an eye, a molar tooth, and various bones. dermoid cysts are found also in regions of the body quite remote from the ovary. the so-called "orbital wens" are true inclusion of the skin of a congenital origin, as are the nasal dermoids and some of the cysts of the neck. weil reported the case of a man of twenty-two years who was born with what was supposed to be a spina bifida in the lower sacral region. according to senn, the swelling never caused any pain or inconvenience until it inflamed, when it opened spontaneously and suppurated, discharging a large quantity of offensive pus, hair, and sebaceous material, thus proving it to have been a dermoid. the cyst was freely incised, and there were found numerous openings of sweat glands, from which drops of perspiration escaped when the patient was sweating. dermoid cysts of the thorax are rare. bramann reported a case in which a dermoid cyst of small size was situated over the sternum at the junction of the manubrium with the gladiolus, and a similar cyst in the neck near the left cornu of the hyoid bone. chitten removed a dermoid from the sternum of a female of thirty-nine, the cyst containing ounces of atheromatous material. in the museum of st. bartholomew's hospital in london there is a congenital tumor which was removed from the anterior mediastinum of a woman of twenty one, and contained portions of skin, fat, sebaceous material, and two pieces of bone similar to the superior maxilla, and in which several teeth were found. dermoids are found in the palate and pharynx, and open dermoids of the conjunctiva are classified by sutton with the moles. according to senn, barker collected sixteen dermoid tumors of the tongue. bryk successfully removed a tumor of this nature the size of a fist. wellington gray removed an enormous lingual dermoid from the mouth of a negro. it contained ounces of atheromatous material. dermoids of the rectum are reported. duyse reports the history of a case of labor during which a rectal dermoid was expelled. the dermoid contained a cerebral vesicle, a rudimentary eye, a canine and a molar tooth, and a piece of bone. there is little doubt that many cases of fetus in fetu reported were really dermoids of the scrotum. ward reports the successful removal of a dermoid cyst weighing pounds from a woman of thirty-two, the mother of two children aged ten and twelve, respectively. the report is briefly as follows: "the patient has always been in good health until within the last year, during which time she has lost flesh and strength quite rapidly, and when brought to my hospital by her physician, dr. james of williamsburg, kansas, was quite weak, although able to walk about the house. a tumor had been growing for a number of years, but its growth was so gradual that the patient had not considered her condition critical until quite recently. the tumor was diagnosed to be cystoma of the left ovary. upon opening the sac with the trocar we were confronted by complications entirely unlooked for, and its use had to be abandoned entirely because the thick contents of the cyst would not flow freely, and the presence of sebaceous matter blocked the instrument. as much of the fluid as possible was removed, and the abdominal incision was enlarged to allow of the removal of the large tumor. an ovarian hematoma the size of a large orange was removed from the right side. we washed the intestines quite as one would wash linen, since some of the contents of the cyst had escaped into the abdominal cavity. the abdomen was closed without drainage, and the patient placed in bed without experiencing the least shock. her recovery was rapid and uneventful. she returned to her home in four weeks after the operation. "the unusual feature in this case was the nature of the contents of the sac. there was a large quantity of long straight hair growing from the cyst wall and an equal amount of loose hair in short pieces floating through the tumor-contents, a portion of which formed nuclei for what were called 'moth-balls,' of which there were about / gallons. these balls, or marbles, varied from the size of moth-balls, as manufactured and sold by druggists, to that of small walnuts. they seemed to be composed of sebaceous matter, and were evidently formed around the short hairs by the motion of the fluid produced by walking or riding. there was some tissue resembling true skin attached to the inner wall of the sac." there are several cases of multiple dermoid cysts on record, and they may occur all over the body. jamieson reports a case in which there were , and in maclaren's case there were . according to crocker, hebra and rayer also each had a case. in a case of sangster, reported by politzer, although most of the dermoids, as usual, were like fibroma-nodules and therefore the color of normal skin, those over the mastoid processes and clavicle were lemon-yellow, and were generally thought to be xanthoma until they were excised, and politzer found they were typical dermoid cysts with the usual contents of degenerated epithelium and hair. hermaphroditism.--some writers claim that adam was the first hermaphrodite and support this by scriptural evidence. we find in some of the ancient poets traces of an egyptian legend in which the goddess of the moon was considered to be both male and female. from mythology we learn that hermaphroditus was the son of hermes, or mercury, and venus aphrodite, and had the powers both of a father and mother. in speaking of the foregoing ausonius writes, "cujus erat facies in qua paterque materque cognosci possint, nomen traxit ab illis." ovid and virgil both refer to legendary hermaphrodites, and the knowledge of their existence was prevalent in the olden times. the ancients considered the birth of hermaphrodites bad omens, and the athenians threw them into the sea, the romans, into the tiber. livy speaks of an hermaphrodite being put to death in umbria, and another in etruria. cicero, aristotle, strabonius, and pliny all speak concerning this subject. martial and tertullian noticed this anomaly among the romans. aetius and paulus aegineta speak of females in egypt with prolonged clitorides which made them appear like hermaphrodites. throughout the middle ages we frequently find accounts, naturally exaggerated, of double-sexed creatures. harvey, bartholinus, paullini, schenck, wolff, wrisberg, zacchias, marcellus donatus, haller, hufeland, de graff, and many others discuss hermaphroditism. many classifications have been given, as, e.g., real and apparent; masculine, feminine, or neuter; horizontal and vertical; unilateral and bilateral, etc. the anomaly in most cases consists of a malformation of the external genitalia. a prolonged clitoris, prolapsed ovaries, grossness of figure, and hirsute appearance have been accountable for many supposed instances of hermaphrodites. on the other hand, a cleft scrotum, an ill-developed penis, perhaps hypospadias or epispadias, rotundity of the mammae, and feminine contour have also provoked accounts of similar instances. some cases have been proved by dissection to have been true hermaphrodites, portions or even entire genitalia of both sexes having been found. numerous accounts, many mythical, but always interesting, are given of these curious persons. they have been accredited with having performed the functions of both father and mother, notwithstanding the statements of some of the best authorities that they are always sterile. observation has shown that the sexual appetite diminishes in proportion to the imperfections in the genitalia, and certainly many of these persons are sexually indifferent. we give descriptions of a few of the most famous or interesting instances of hermaphroditism. pare speaks of a woman who, besides a vulva, from which she menstruated, had a penis, but without prepuce or signs of erectility. haller alludes to several cases in which prolonged clitorides have been the cause of the anomaly. in commenting on this form of hermaphroditism albucasiusus describes a necessary operation for the removal of the clitoris. columbus relates the history of an ethiopian woman who was evidently a spurious female hermaphrodite. the poor wretch entreated him to cut off her penis, an enlarged clitoris, which she said was an intolerable hindrance to her in coitus. de graff and riolan describe similar cases. there is an old record of a similar creature, supposing herself to be a male, who took a wife, but previously having had connection with a man, the outcome of which was pregnancy, was shortly after marriage delivered of a daughter. there is an account of a person in germany who, for the first thirty years of life, was regarded as feminine, and being of loose morals became a mother. at a certain period she began to feel a change in her sexual inclinations; she married and became the father of a family. this is doubtless a distortion of the facts of the case of catherine or charles hoffman, born in , and who was considered a female until the age of forty. at puberty she had the instincts of a woman, and cohabitated with a male lover for twenty years. her breasts were well formed and she menstruated at nineteen. at the age of forty-six her sexual desires changed, and she attempted coitus as a man, with such evident satisfaction that she married a woman soon afterward. fitch speaks of a house-servant with masculine features and movements, aged twenty-eight, and feet and inches tall, who was arrested by the police for violating the laws governing prostitution. on examination, well-developed male and female organs of generation were found. the labia majora were normal and flattened on the anterior surface. the labia minora and hymen were absent. the vagina was spacious and the woman had a profuse leukorrhea. she stated that several years previously she gave birth to a normal child. in place of a clitoris she had a penis which, in erection, measured / inches long and / inches in circumference. the glans penis and the urethra were perfectly formed. the scrotum contained two testicles, each about an inch long; the mons veneris was sparsely covered with straight, black hair. she claimed functional ability with both sets of genitalia, and said she experienced equal sexual gratification with either. semen issued from the penis, and every three weeks she had scanty menstruation, which lasted but two days. beclard showed marie-madeline lefort, nineteen years of age, / meters in height. her mammae were well developed, her nipples erectile and surrounded by a brown areola, from which issued several hairs. her feet were small, her pelvis large, and her thighs like those of a woman. projecting from the vulva was a body looking like a penis cm. long and slightly erectile at times; it was imperforate and had a mobile prepuce. she had a vulva with two well-shaped labia as shown by the accompanying illustration. she menstruated slightly and had an opening at the root of the clitoris. the parotid region showed signs of a beard and she had hair on her upper lip. on august , , a person came into the hotel-dieu, asking treatment for chronic pleurisy. he said his age was sixty-five, and he pursued the calling of a mountebank, but remarked that in early life he had been taken for a woman. he had menstruated at eight and had been examined by doctors at sixteen. the menstruation continued until , and at its cessation he experienced the feelings of a male. at this time he presented the venerable appearance of a long-bearded old man. at the autopsy, about two months later, all the essentials of a female were delineated. a fallopian tube, ovaries, uterus, and round ligaments were found, and a drawing in cross-section of the parts was made. there is no doubt but that this individual was marie-madeline lefort in age. worbe speaks of a person who was supposed to be feminine for twenty-two years. at the age of sixteen she loved a farmer's son, but the union was delayed for some reason, and three years later her grace faded and she became masculine in her looks and tastes. it was only after lengthy discussion, in which the court took part, that it was definitely settled that this person was a male. adelaide preville, who was married as a female, and as such lived the last ten years of her life in france, was found on dissection at the hotel-dieu to be a man. a man was spoken of in both france and germany a who passed for many years as a female. he had a cleft scrotum and hypospadias, which caused the deception. sleeping with another servant for three years, he constantly had sexual congress with her during this period, and finally impregnated her. it was supposed in this case that the posterior wall of the vagina supplied the deficiency of the lower boundary of the urethra, forming a complete channel for the semen to proceed through. long ago in scotland a servant was condemned to death by burial alive for impregnating his master's daughter while in the guise and habit of a woman. he had always been considered a woman. we have heard of a recent trustworthy account of a pregnancy and delivery in a girl who had been impregnated by a bed-fellow who on examination proved to be a male pseudohermaphrodite. fournier speaks of an individual in lisbon in who was in the highest degree graceful, the voice feminine, the mammae well developed, the female genitalia were normal except the labia majora, which were rather diminutive. the thighs and the pelvis. were not so wide as those of a woman. there was some beard on the chin, but it was worn close. the male genitalia were of the size and appearance of a male adult and were covered with the usual hair. this person had been twice pregnant and aborted at the third and fifth month. during coitus the penis became erect, etc. schrell describes a case in which, independent of the true penis and testicles, which were well formed, there existed a small vulva furnished with labia and nymphae, communicating with a rudimentary uterus provided with round ligaments and imperfectly developed ovaries. schrell remarks that in this case we must notice that the female genitalia were imperfectly developed, and adds that perfect hermaphroditism is a physical impossibility without great alterations of the natural connections of the bones and other parts of the pelvis. cooper describes a woman with an enormous development of the clitoris, an imperforate uterus, and absence of vagina; at first sight of the parts they appeared to be those of a man. in hugier succeeded in restoring a vagina to a young girl of twenty who had an hypertrophied clitoris and no signs of a vagina. the accompanying illustrations show the conformation of the parts before operation with all the appearance of ill-developed male genitalia, and the appearance afterward with restitution of the vaginal opening. virchow in , boddaert in , and marchand in report cases of duplication of the genitalia, and call their cases true hermaphrodites from an anatomic standpoint. there is a specimen in st. bartholomew's hospital in london from a man of forty-four, who died of cerebral hemorrhage. he was well formed and had a beard and a full-sized penis. he was married, and it was stated that his wife had two children. the bladder and the internal organs of generation were those of a man in whom neither testis had descended into the scrotum, and in whom the uterus masculinus and vagina were developed to an unusual degree. the uterus, nearly as large as in the adult female, lay between the bladder and rectum, and was enclosed between two layers of peritoneum, to which, on either side of the uterus, were attached the testes. there was also shown in london the pelvic organs from a case of complex or vertical hermaphroditism occurring in a child of nine months who died from the effects of an operation for the radical cure of a right inguinal hernia. the external organs were those of a male with undescended testes. the bladder was normal and its neck was surrounded by a prostate gland. projecting backward were a vagina, uterus, and broad ligaments, round ligaments, and fallopian tubes, with the testes in the position of the ovaries. there were no seminal vesicles. the child died eleven days after the operation. the family history states that the mother had had children and eight miscarriages. seven of the children were dead and showed no abnormalities. the fifth and sixth children were boys and had the same sexual arrangement. barnes, chalmers, sippel, and litten describe cases of spurious hermaphroditism due to elongation of the clitoris. in litten's case a the clitoris was / inches long, and there was hydrocele of the processus vaginalis on both sides, making tumors in the labium on one side and the inguinal canal on the other, which had been diagnosed as testicles and again as ovaries. there was associate cystic ovarian disease. plate is taken from a case of false external bilateral hermaphroditism. phillips mentions four cases of spurious hermaphroditism in one family, and recently pozzi tells of a family of nine individuals in whom this anomaly was observed. the first was alive and had four children; the second was christened a female but was probably a male; the third, fourth, and fifth were normal but died young; the sixth daughter was choreic and feeble-minded, aged twenty-nine, and had one illegitimate child; the seventh, a boy, was healthy and married; the eighth was christened a female, but when seventeen was declared by the faculty to be a male; the ninth was christened a female, but at eighteen the genitals were found to be those of a male, though the mammae were well developed. o'neill speaks of a case in which the clitoris was five inches long and one inch thick, having a groove in its inferior surface reaching down to an oblique opening in the perineum. the scrotum contained two hard bodies thought to be testicles, and the general appearance was that of hypospadias. postmortem a complete set of female genitalia was found, although the ovaries were very small. the right round ligament was exceedingly thick and reached down to the bottom of the false scrotum, where it was firmly attached. the hard bodies proved to be on one side an irreducible omental hernia, probably congenital, and on the other a hardened mass having no glandular structure. the patient was an adult. as we have seen, there seems to be a law of evolution in hermaphroditism which prevents perfection. if one set of genitalia are extraordinarily developed, the other set are correspondingly atrophied. in the case of extreme development of the clitoris and approximation to the male type we must expect to find imperfectly developed uterus or ovaries. this would answer for one of the causes of sterility in these cases. there is a type of hermaphroditism in which the sex cannot be definitely declared, and sometimes dissection does not definitely indicate the predominating sex. such cases are classed under the head of neuter hermaphrodites, possibly an analogy of the "genus epicoenum" of quintilian. marie dorothee, of the age of twenty-three, was examined and declared a girl by hufeland and mursina, while stark, raschig, and martens maintained that she was a boy. this formidable array of talent on both sides provoked much discussion in contemporary publications, and the case attracted much notice. marc saw her in , at which time she carried contradicting certificates as to her sex. he found an imperforate penis, and on the inferior face near the root an opening for the passage of urine. no traces of nymphae, vagina, testicles, nor beard were seen. the stature was small, the form debilitated, and the voice effeminate. marc came to the conclusion that it was impossible for any man to determine either one sex or the other. everard home dissected a dog with apparent external organs of the female, but discovered that neither sex was sufficiently pronounced to admit of classification. home also saw at the royal marine hospital at plymouth, in , a marine who some days after admission was reported to be a girl. on examination home found him to possess a weak voice, soft skin, voluminous breasts, little beard, and the thighs and legs of a woman. there was fat on the pubis, the penis was short and small and incapable of erection, the testicles of fetal size; he had no venereal desires whatever, and as regards sex was virtually neuter. the legal aspect of hermaphroditism has always been much discussed. many interesting questions arise, and extraordinary complications naturally occur. in rome a hermaphrodite could be a witness to a testament, the exclusive privilege of a man, and the sex was settled by the predominance. if the male aspect and traits together with the generative organs of man were most pronounced, then the individual could call himself a man. "hermaphroditus an ad testamentum adhiberi possit qualitas sesus incalescentis ostendit." there is a peculiar case on record in which the question of legal male inheritance was not settled until the individual had lived as a female for fifty-one years. this person was married when twenty-one, but finding coitus impossible, separated after ten years, and though dressing as a female had coitus with other women. she finally lived with her brother, with whom she eventually came to blows. she prosecuted him for assault, and the brother in return charged her with seducing his wife. examination ensued, and at this ripe age she was declared to be a male. the literature on hermaphroditism is so extensive that it is impossible to select a proper representation of the interesting cases in this limited space, and the reader is referred to the modern french works on this subject, in which the material is exhaustive and the discussion thoroughly scientific. chapter vi. minor terata. ancient ideas relative to minor terata.--the ancients viewed with great interest the minor structural anomalies of man, and held them to be divine signs or warnings in much the same manner as they considered more pronounced monstrosities. in a most interesting and instructive article, ballantyne quotes ragozin in saying that the chaldeo-babylonians, in addition to their other numerous subdivisions of divination, drew presages and omens for good or evil from the appearance of the liver, bowels, and viscera of animals offered for sacrifice and opened for inspection, and from the natural defects or monstrosities of babies or the young of animals. ballantyne names this latter subdivision of divination fetomancy or teratoscopy, and thus renders a special chapter as to omens derived from monstrous births, given by lenormant:-- "the prognostics which the chaldeans claimed to draw from monstrous births in man and the animals are worthy of forming a class by themselves, insomuch the more as it is the part of their divinatory science with which, up to the present time, we are best acquainted. the development that their astrology had given to 'genethliaque,' or the art of horoscopes of births, had led them early to attribute great importance to all the teratologic facts which were there produced. they claimed that an experience of , years of observations, all concordant, fully justified their system, and that in nothing was the influence of the stars marked in a more indubitable manner than in the fatal law which determined the destiny of each individual according to the state of the sky at the moment when he came into the world. cicero, by the very terms which he uses to refute the chaldeans, shows that the result of these ideas was to consider all infirmities and monstrosities that new-born infants exhibited as the inevitable and irremediable consequence of the action of these astral positions. this being granted, the observation of similar monstrosities gave, as it were, a reflection of the state of the sky; on which depended all terrestrial things; consequently, one might read in them the future with as much certainty as in the stars themselves. for this reason the greatest possible importance was attached to the teratologic auguries which occupy so much space in the fragments of the great treatise on terrestrial presages which have up to the present time been published." the rendering into english of the account of teratologic cases in the human subject with the prophetic meanings attached to them by chaldean diviners, after the translation of opport, is given as follows by ballantyne, some of the words being untranslatable:-- "when a woman gives birth to an infant-- ( ) that has the ears of a lion, there will be a powerful king in the country; ( ) that wants the right ear, the days of the master (king) will be prolonged (reach old age); ( ) that wants both ears, there will be mourning in the country, and the country will be lessened (diminished); ( ) whose right ear is small, the house of the man (in whose house the birth took place) will be destroyed; ( ) whose ears are both small, the house of the man will be built of bricks; ( ) whose right ear is mudissu tehaat (monstrous), there will be an androgyne in the house of the new-born ( ) whose ears are both mudissu (deformed), the country will perish and the enemy rejoice; ( ) whose right ear is round, there will be an androgyne in the house of the new-born; ( ) whose right ear has a wound below, and tur re ut of the man, the house will be estroyed; ( ) that has two ears on the right side and none on the left, the gods will bring about a stable reign, the country will flourish, and it will be a land of repose; ( ) whose ears are both closed, sa a au; ( ) that has a bird's beak, the country will be peaceful; ( ) that has no mouth, the mistress of the house will die; ( ) that has no right nostril, the people of the world will be injured; ( ) whose nostrils are absent, the country will be in affliction, and the house of the man will be ruined; ( ) whose jaws are absent, the days of the master (king) will be prolonged, but the house (where the infant is born) will be ruined. when a woman gives birth to an infant-- ( ) that has no lower jaw, mut ta at mat, the name will not be effaced; ( ) that has no nose, affliction will seize upon the country, and the master of the house will die; ( ) that has neither nose nor virile member (penis), the army of the king will be strong, peace will be in the land, the men of the king will be sheltered from evil influences, and lilit (a female demon) shall not have power over them; ( ) whose upper lip overrides the lower, the people of the world will rejoice (or good augury for the troops); ( ) that has no lips, affliction will seize upon the land, and the house of the man will be destroyed; ( ) whose tongue is kuri aat, the man will be spared (?); ( ) that has no right hand, the country will be convulsed by an earthquake; ( ) that has no fingers, the town will have no births, the bar shall be lost; ( ) that has no fingers on the right side, the master (king) will not pardon his adversary (or shall be humiliated by his enemies); ( ) that has six fingers on the right side, the man will take the lukunu of the house; ( ) that has six very small toes on both feet, he shall not go to the lukunu; ( ) that has six toes on each foot, the people of the world will be injured (calamity to the troops); ( ) that has the heart open and that has no skin, the country will suffer from calamities; ( ) that has no penis, the master of the house will be enriched by the harvest of his field; ( ) that wants the penis and the umbilicus, there will be ill-will in the house, the woman (wife) will have an overbearing eye (be haughty); but the male descent of the palace will be more extended. when a woman gives birth to an infant-- ( ) that has no well-marked sex, calamity and affliction will seize upon the land; the master of the house shall have no happiness; ( ) whose anus is closed, the country will suffer from want of nourishment; ( ) whose right testicle (?) is absent, the country of the master (king) will perish; ( ) whose right foot is absent, his house will be ruined and there will be abundance in that of the neighbor; ( ) that has no feet, the canals of the country will be cut (intercepted) and the house ruined; ( ) that has the right foot in the form of a fish's tail, the booty of the country of the humble will not be imas sa bir; ( ) whose hands and feet are like four fishes' tails (fins), the master (king) shall perish (?) and his country shall be consumed; ( ) whose feet are moved by his great hunger, the house of the su su shall be destroyed; ( ) whose foot hangs to the tendons of the body, there will be great prosperity in the land; ( ) that has three feet, two in their normal position (attached to the body) and the third between them, there will be great prosperity in the land; ( ) whose legs are male and female, there will be rebellion; ( ) that wants the right heel, the country of the master (king) will be destroyed. when a woman gives birth to an infant-- ( ) that has many white hairs on the head, the days of the king will be prolonged; ( ) that has much ipga on the head, the master of the house will die, the house will be destroyed; ( ) that has much pinde on the head, joy shall go to meet the house (that has a head on the head, the good augury shall enter at its aspect into the house); ( ) that has the head full of hali, there will be ill-will toward him and the master (king) of the town shall die; ( ) that has the head full of siksi the king will repudiate his masters; ( ) that has some pieces of flesh (skin) hanging on the head, there shall be ill-will; ( ) that has some branches (?) (excrescences) of flesh (skin) hanging on the head, there shall be ill-will, the house will perish; ( ) that has some formed fingers (horns?) on the head, the days of the king will be less and the years lengthened (in the duration of his old age); ( ) that has some kali on the head, there will be a king of the land; ( ) that has a ---- of a bird on the head, the master of the house shall not prosper; ( ) that has some teeth already through (cut), the days of the king will arrive at old age, the country will show itself powerful over (against) strange (feeble) lands, but the house where the infant is born will be ruined; ( ) that has the beard come out, there will be abundant rains; ( ) that has some birta on the head, the country will be strengthened (reinforced); ( ) that has on the head the mouth of an old man and that foams (slabbers), there will be great prosperity in the land, the god bin will give a magnificent harvest (inundate the land with fertility), and abundance shall be in the land; ( ) that has on one side of the head a thickened ear, the first-born of the men shall live a long time (?); ( ) that has on the head two long and thick ears, there will be tranquility and the pacification of litigation (contests); ( ) that has the figure in horn (like a horn?)..." as ancient and as obscure as are these records, ballantyne has carefully gone over each, and gives the following lucid explanatory comments:-- "what 'ears like a lion' (no. ) may have been it is difficult to determine; but doubtless the direction and shape of the auricles were so altered as to give them an animal appearance, and possibly the deformity was that called 'orechio ad ansa' by lombroso. the absence of one or both ears (nos. and ) has been noted in recent times by virchow (archiv fur path. anat. xxx., p. ), gradenigo (taruffi's 'storia della teratologia,' vi., p. ), and others. generally some cartilaginous remnant is found, but on this point the chaldean record is silent. variations in the size of the ears (nos. and ) are well known at the present time, and have been discussed at length by binder (archiv fur psychiatrie und nervenkrankheiten, xx., ) and others. the exact malformation indicated in nos. and is, of course, not to be determined, although further researches in assyriology may clear up this point. the 'round ear' (no. ) is one of binder's types, and that with a 'wound below' (no. ) probably refers to a case of fistula auris congenita (toynbee, 'diseases of the ear,' ). the instance of an infant born with two ears on the right side (no. ) was doubtless one of cervical auricle or preauricular appendage, whilst closure of the external auditory meatus (no. ) is a well-known deformity. "the next thirteen cases (nos. - ) were instances of anomalies of the mouth and nose. the 'bird's beak' (no. ) may have been a markedly aquiline nose; no. was a case of astoma; and nos. and were instances of stenosis or atresia of the anterior nares. fetuses with absence of the maxillae (nos. and ) are in modern terminology called agnathous. deformities like that existing in nos. and have been observed in paracephalic and cyclopic fetuses. the coincident absence of nose and penis (no. ) is interesting, especially when taken in conjunction with the popular belief that the size of the former organ varies with that of the latter. enlargement of the upper lip (no. ), called epimacrochelia by taruffi, and absence of the lips (no. ), known now under the name of brachychelia, have been not unfrequently noticed in recent times. the next six cases (nos. - ) were instances of malformations of the upper limb: nos. , . and were probably instances of the so-called spontaneous or intrauterine amputation; and nos. , , and were examples of the comparatively common deformity known as polydactyly. no. was probably a case of ectopia cordis. "then follow five instances of genital abnormalities (nos. - ), consisting of absence of the penis (epispadias?), absence of penis and umbilicus (epispadias and exomphalos?), hermaphroditism, imperforate anus, and nondescent of one testicle. the nine following cases (nos. - ) were anomalies of the lower limbs: nos. , , and may have been spontaneous amputations; nos. and were doubtless instances of webbed toes (syndactyly), and the deformity indicated in no. was presumably talipes equinus. the infant born with three feet (no. ) was possibly a case of parasitic monstrosity, several of which have been reported in recent teratologic literature; but what is meant by the statement concerning 'male and female legs' it is not easy to determine. "certain of the ten following prodigies (nos. - ) cannot in the present state of our knowledge be identified. the presence of congenital patches of white or gray hair on the scalp, as recorded in no. , is not an unknown occurrence at the present time; but what the chaldeans meant by ipga, pinde, hali riksi, and kali on the head of the new-born infant it is impossible to tell. the guess may be hazarded that cephalhematoma, hydrocephalus, meningocele, nevi, or an excessive amount of vernix caseosa were the conditions indicated, but a wider acquaintance with the meaning of the cuneiform characters is necessary before any certain identification is possible. the 'pieces of skin hanging from the head' (no. ) may have been fragments of the membranes; but there is nothing in the accompanying prediction to help us to trace the origin of the popular belief in the good luck following the baby born with a caul. if no. was a case of congenital horns on the head, it must be regarded as a unique example, unless, indeed, a form of fetal ichthyosis be indicated. "the remaining observations (no. - ) refer to cases of congenital teeth (no. ) to deformity of the ears (nos. and ), and a horn (no. )." from these early times almost to the present day similar significance has been attached to minor structural anomalies. in the following pages the individual anomalies will be discussed separately and the most interesting examples of each will be cited. it is manifestly evident that the object of this chapter is to mention the most striking instances of abnormism and to give accompanying descriptions of associate points of interest, rather than to offer a scientific exposition of teratology, for which the reader is referred elsewhere. congenital defect of the epidermis and true skin is a rarity in pathology. pastorello speaks of a child which lived for two and a half hours whose hands and feet were entirely destitute of epidermis; the true skin of those parts looked like that of a dead and already putrefying child. hanks cites the history of a case of antepartum desquamation of the skin in a living fetus. hochstetter describes a full-term, living male fetus with cutaneous defect on both sides of the abdomen a little above the umbilicus. the placenta and membranes were normal, a fact indicating that the defect was not due to amniotic adhesions; the child had a club-foot on the left side. the mother had a fall three weeks before labor. abnormal elasticity of the skin.--in some instances the skin is affixed so loosely to the underlying tissues and is possessed of so great elasticity that it can be stretched almost to the same extent as india rubber. there have been individuals who could take the skin of the forehead and pull it down over the nose, or raise the skin of the neck over the mouth. they also occasionally have an associate muscular development in the subcutaneous tissues similar to the panniculus adiposus of quadrupeds, giving them preternatural motile power over the skin. the man recently exhibited under the title of the "elastic-skin man" was an example of this anomaly. the first of this class of exhibitionists was seen in buda-pesth some years since and possessed great elasticity in the skin of his whole body; even his nose could be stretched. figure represents a photograph of an exhibitionist named felix wehrle, who besides having the power to stretch his skin could readily bend his fingers backward and forward. the photograph was taken in january, . in these congenital cases there is loose attachment of the skin without hypertrophy, to which the term dermatolysis is restricted by crocker. job van meekren, the celebrated dutch physician of the seventeenth century, states that in a spaniard, georgius albes, is reported to have been able to draw the skin of the left pectoral region to the left ear, or the skin under the face over the chin to the vertex. the skin over the knee could be extended half a yard, and when it retracted to its normal position it was not in folds. seiffert examined a case of this nature in a young man of nineteen, and, contrary to kopp's supposition, found that in some skin from over the left second rib the elastic fibers were quite normal, but there was transformation of the connective tissue of the dermis into an unformed tissue like a myxoma, with total disappearance of the connective-tissue bundles. laxity of the skin after distention is often seen in multipara, both in the breasts and in the abdominal walls, and also from obesity, but in all such cases the skin falls in folds, and does not have a normal appearance like that of the true "elastic-skin man." occasionally abnormal development of the scalp is noticed. mcdowall of twenty-two. on each side of the median line of the head there were five deep furrows, more curved and shorter as the distance from the median line increased. in the illustration the hair in the furrows is left longer than that on the rest of the head. the patient was distinctly microcephalic and the right side of the body was markedly wasted. the folds were due to hypertrophy of the muscles and scalp, and the same sort of furrowing is noticed when a dog "pricks his ears." this case may possibly be considered as an example of reversion to inferior types. cowan records two cases of the foregoing nature in idiots. the first case was a paralytic idiot of thirty-nine, whose cranial development was small in proportion to the size of the face and body; the cranium was oxycephalic; the scalp was lax and redundant and the hair thin; there were furrows, five on each side running anteroposteriorly, and three in the occipital region running transversely. the occipitofrontalis muscle had no action on them. the second case was that of an idiot of forty-four of a more degraded type than the previous one. the cranium was round and bullet-shaped and the hair generally thick. the scalp was not so lax as in the other case, but the furrows were more crooked. by tickling the scalp over the back of the neck the two median furrows involuntarily deepened. impervious skin.--there have been individuals who claimed that their skin was impervious to ordinary puncture, and from time to time these individuals have appeared in some of the larger medical clinics of the world for inspection. according to a recent number of the london graphic, there is in berlin a singhalese who baffles all investigations by physicians by the impenetrability of his skin. the bronzed easterner, a hercules in shape, claims to have found an elixir which will render the human skin impervious to any metal point or sharpened edge of a knife or dagger, and calls himself the "man with iron skin." he is now exhibiting himself, and his greatest feat is to pass with his entire body through a hoop the inside of which is hardly big enough to admit his body and is closely set with sharp knife-points, daggers, nails, and similar things. through this hoop he squeezes his body with absolute impunity. the physicians do not agree as to his immunity, and some of them think that rhannin, which is his name, is a fakir who has by long practice succeeded in hardening himself against the impressions of metal upon his skin. the professors of the berlin clinic, however, considered it worth while to lecture about the man's skin, pronouncing it an inexplicable matter. this individual performed at the london alhambra in the latter part of . besides climbing with bare feet a ladder whose rungs were sharp-edged swords, and lying on a bed of nail points with four men seated upon him, he curled himself up in a barrel, through whose inner edges nails projected, and was rolled about the stage at a rapid rate. emerging from thence uninjured, he gracefully bows himself off the stage. some individuals claim immunity from burns and show many interesting feats in handling fire. as they are nothing but skilful "fire jugglers" they deserve no mention here. the immunity of the participants in the savage fire ceremonies will be discussed in chapter ix. albinism is characterized by the absolute or relative absence of pigment of the skin, due to an arrest, insufficiency, or retardation of this pigment. following trelat and guinard, we may divide albinism into two classes,--general and partial. as to the etiology of albinism, there is no known cause of the complete form. heredity plays no part in the number of cases investigated by the authors. d'aube, by his observations on white rabbits, believes that the influence of consanguinity is a marked factor in the production of albinism; there are, however, many instances of heredity in this anomaly on record, and this idea is possibly in harmony with the majority of observers. geoffroy-saint-hilaire has noted that albinism can also be a consequence of a pathologic condition having its origin in adverse surroundings, the circumstances of the parents, such as the want of exercise, nourishment, light, etc. lesser knew a family in which six out of seven were albinos, and in some tropical countries, such as loango, lower guinea, it is said to be endemic. it is exceptional for the parents to be affected; but in a case of schlegel, quoted by crocker, the grandfather was an albino, and marey describes the case of the cape may albinos, in which the mother and father were "fair emblems of the african race," and of their children three were black and three were white, born in the following order: two consecutive black boys, two consecutive white girls, one black girl, one white boy. sym of edinburgh relates the history of a family of seven children, who were alternately white and black. all but the seventh were living and in good health and mentally without defect. the parents and other relatives were dark. figure portrays an albino family by the name of cavalier who exhibited in minneapolis in . examples of the total absence of pigment occur in all races, but particularly is it interesting when seen in negroes who are found absolutely white but preserving all the characteristics of their race, as, for instance, the kinky, woolly hair, flattened nose, thick lips, etc. rene claille, in his "voyage a tombouctou," says that he saw a white infant, the offspring of a negro and negress. its hair was white, its eyes blue, and its lashes flaxen. its pupils were of a reddish color, and its physiognomy that of a mandingo. he says such cases are not at all uncommon; they are really negro albinos. thomas jefferson, in his "history of virginia," has an excellent description of these negroes, with their tremulous and weak eyes; he remarks that they freckle easily. buffon speaks of ethiops with white twins, and says that albinos are quite common in africa, being generally of delicate constitution, twinkling eyes, and of a low degree of intelligence; they are despised and ill-treated by the other negroes. prichard, quoted by sedgwick, speaks of a case of atavic transmission of albinism through the male line of the negro race. the grandfather and the grandchild were albinos, the father being black. there is a case of a brother and sister who were albinos, the parents being of ordinary color but the grandfather an albino. coinde, quoted by sedgwick, speaks of a man who, by two different wives, had three albino children. a description of the ordinary type of albino would be as follows: the skin and hair are deprived of pigment; the eyebrows and eyelashes are of a brilliant white or are yellowish; the iris and the choroid are nearly or entirely deprived of coloring material, and in looking at the eye we see a roseate zone and the ordinary pink pupil; from absence of pigment they necessarily keep their eyes three-quarters closed, being photophobic to a high degree. they are amblyopic, and this is due partially to a high degree of ametropia (caused by crushing of the eyeball in the endeavor to shut out light) and from retinal exhaustion and nystagmus. many authors have claimed that they have little intelligence, but this opinion is not true. ordinarily the reproductive functions are normal, and if we exclude the results of the union of two albinos we may say that these individuals are fecund. partial albinism is seen. the parts most often affected are the genitals, the hair, the face, the top of the trunk, the nipple, the back of the hands and fingers. folker reports the history of a case of an albino girl having pink eyes and red hair, the rest of the family having pink eyes and white hair. partial albinism, necessarily congenital, presenting a piebald appearance, must not be confounded with leukoderma, which is rarely seen in the young and which will be described later. albinism is found in the lower animals, and is exemplified ordinarily by rats, mice, crows, robins, etc. in the zoologic garden at baltimore two years ago was a pair of pure albino opossums. the white elephant is celebrated in the religious history of oriental nations, and is an object of veneration and worship in siam. white monkeys and white roosters are also worshiped. in the natural history museum in london there are stuffed examples of albinism and melanism in the lower animals. melanism is an anomaly, the exact contrary of the preceding. it is characterized by the presence in the tissues and skin of an excessive amount of pigment. true total melanism is unknown in man, in whom is only observed partial melanism, characterized simply by a pronounced coloration of part of the integument. some curious instances have been related of an infant with a two-colored face, and of others with one side of the face white and the other black; whether they were cases of partial albinism or partial melanism cannot be ascertained from the descriptions. such epidermic anomalies as ichthyosis, scleroderma, and molluscum simplex, sometimes appearing shortly after birth, but generally seen later in life, will be spoken of in the chapter on anomalous skin diseases. human horns are anomalous outgrowths from the skin and are far more frequent than ordinarily supposed. nearly all the older writers cite examples. aldrovandus, amatus lusitanus, boerhaave, dupre, schenck, riverius, vallisneri, and many others mention horns on the head. in the ancient times horns were symbolic of wisdom and power. michael angelo in his famous sculpture of moses has given the patriarch a pair of horns. rhodius observed a benedictine monk who had a pair of horns and who was addicted to rumination. fabricius saw a man with horns on his head, whose son ruminated; the son considered that by virtue of his ruminating characteristics his father had transmitted to him the peculiar anomaly of the family. fabricius hildanus saw a patient with horns all over the body and another with horns on the forehead. gastaher speaks of a horn from the left temple; zacutus lusitanus saw a horn from the heel; wroe, one of considerable length from the scapula; cosnard, one from the bregma; the ephemerides, from the foot; borellus, from the face and foot, and ash, horns all over the body. home, cooper, and treves have collected examples of horns, and there is one inches long and / in circumference in a london museum. lozes collected reports of cases of horns,-- in females, in males, and three in infants. of this number, were on the head, eight on the face, on the lower extremities, eight on the trunk, and three on the glans penis. wilson collected reports of cases,-- females, males, the sex not being mentioned in the remainder. of these were on the head, four on the face, four on the nose, on the thigh, three on the leg and foot, six on the back, five on the glans penis, and nine on the trunk. lebert's collection numbered cases of cutaneous horns. the greater frequency among females is admitted by all authors. old age is a predisposing cause. several patients over seventy have been seen and one of ninety-seven. instances of cutaneous horns, when seen and reported by the laity, give rise to most amusing exaggerations and descriptions. the following account is given in new south wales, obviously embellished with apocryphal details by some facetious journalist: the child, five weeks old, was born with hair two inches long all over the body; his features were fiendish and his eyes shone like beads beneath his shaggy brows. he had a tail inches long, horns from the skull, a full set of teeth, and claw-like hands; he snapped like a dog and crawled on all fours, and refused the natural sustenance of a normal child. the mother almost became an imbecile after the birth of the monster. the country people about bomballa considered this devil-child a punishment for a rebuff that the mother gave to a jewish peddler selling crucifixion-pictures. vexed by his persistence, she said she would sooner have a devil in her house than his picture. lamprey has made a minute examination of the much-spoken-of "horned men of africa." he found that this anomaly was caused by a congenital malformation and remarkable development of the infraorbital ridge of the maxillary bone. he described several cases, and through an interpreter found that they were congenital, followed no history of traumatism, caused little inconvenience, and were unassociated with disturbance of the sense of smell. he also learned that the deformity was quite rare in the cape coast region, and received no information tending to prove the conjecture that the tribes in west africa used artificial means to produce the anomaly, although such custom is prevalent among many aborigines. probably the most remarkable case of a horn was that of paul rodrigues, a mexican porter, who, from the upper and lateral part of his head, had a horn inches in circumference and divided into three shafts, which he concealed by constantly wearing a peculiarly shaped red cap. there is in paris a wax model of a horn, eight or nine inches in length, removed from an old woman by the celebrated souberbielle. figure is from a wax model supposed to have been taken from life, showing an enormous grayish-black horn proceeding from the forehead. warren mentions a case under the care of dubois, in a woman from whose forehead grew a horn six inches in diameter and six inches in height. it was hard at the summit and had a fetid odor. in there was an old woman in france who constantly shed long horns from her forehead, one of which was presented to the king. bartholinus mentions a horn inches long. voigte cites the case of an old woman who had a horn branching into three portions, coming from her forehead. sands speaks of a woman who had a horn / inches long, growing from her head. there is an account of the extirpation of a horn nearly ten inches in length from the forehead of a woman of eighty-two. bejau describes a woman of forty from whom he excised an excrescence resembling a ram's horn, growing from the left parietal region. it curved forward and nearly reached the corresponding tuberosity. it was eight cm. long, two cm. broad at the base, and / cm. at the apex, and was quite mobile. it began to grow at the age of eleven and had constantly increased. vidal presented before the academie de medecine in a twisted horn from the head of a woman. this excrescence was ten inches long, and at the time of presentation reproduction of it was taking place in the woman. figure shows a case of ichthyosis cornea pictured in the lancet, . there was a woman of seventy-five, living near york, who had a horny growth from the face which she broke off and which began to reproduce, the illustration representing the growth during twelve months. lall mentions a horn from the cheek; gregory reports one that measured / inches long that was removed from the temple of a woman in edinburgh; chariere of barnstaple saw a horn that measured seven inches growing from the nape of a woman's neck; kameya iwa speaks of a dermal horn of the auricle; saxton of new york has excised several horns from the tympanic membrane of the ear; noyes speaks of one from the eyelid; bigelow mentions one from the chin; minot speaks of a horn from the lower lip, and doran of one from the neck. gould cites the instance of a horn growing from an epitheliomatous penis. the patient was fifty-two years of age and the victim of congenital phimosis. he was circumcised four years previously, and shortly after the wound healed there appeared a small wart, followed by a horn about the size of a marble. jewett speaks of a penile horn / inches long and / inches in diameter; pick mentions one / inches long. there is an account of a russian peasant boy who had a horn on his penis from his earliest childhood. johnson mentions a case of a horn from the scrotum, which was of sebaceous origin and was subsequently supplanted by an epithelioma. ash reported the case of a girl named annie jackson, living in waterford, ireland, who had horny excrescences from her joints, arms, axillae, nipples, ears, and forehead. locke speaks of a boy at the hopital de la charite in paris, who had horny excrescences four inches long and inches in circumference growing from his fingers and toes. wagstaffe presents a horn which grew from the middle of the leg six inches below the knee in a woman of eighty. it was a flattened spiral of more than two turns, and during forty years' growth had reached the length of . inches. its height was . inches, its skin-attachment . inches in diameter, and it ended in a blunt extremity of . inch in diameter. stephens mentions a dermal horn on the buttocks at the seat of a carcinomatous cicatrix. harris and domonceau speak of horns from the leg. cruveilhier saw a mexican indian who had a horn four inches long and eight inches in circumference growing from the left lumbar region. it had been sawed off twice by the patient's son and was finally extirpated by faget. the length of the pieces was inches. bellamy saw a horn on the clitoris about the size of a tiger's claw in a its origin from beneath the preputium clitoridis. horns are generally solitary but cases of multiple formation are known lewin and heller record a syphilitic case with eight cutaneous horns on the palms and soles. a female patient of manzuroff had as many as horns. pancoast reports the case of a man whose nose, cheeks, forehead, and lips were covered with horny growths, which had apparently undergone epitheliomatous degeneration. the patient was a sea-captain of seventy-eight, and had been exposed to the winds all his life. he had suffered three attacks of erysipelas from prolonged exposure. when he consulted pancoast the horns had nearly all fallen off and were brought to the physician for inspection; and the photograph was taken after the patient had tied the horns in situ on his face. anomalies of the hair.--congenital alopecia is quite rare, and it is seldom that we see instances of individuals who have been totally destitute of hair from birth. danz knew of two adult sons of a jewish family who never had hair or teeth. sedgwick quotes the case of a man of fifty-eight who ever since birth was totally devoid of hair and in whom sensible perspiration and tears were absent. a cousin on his mother's side, born a year before him, had precisely the same peculiarity. buffon says that the turks and some other people practised depilatory customs by the aid of ointments and pomades, principally about the genitals. atkinson exhibited in philadelphia a man of forty who never had any distinct growth of hair since birth, was edentulous, and destitute of the sense of smell and almost of that of taste. he had no apparent perspiration, and when working actively he was obliged to wet his clothes in order to moderate the heat of his body. he could sleep in wet clothes in a damp cellar without catching cold. there was some hair in the axillae and on the pubes, but only the slightest down on the scalp, and even that was absent on the skin. his maternal grandmother and uncle were similarly affected; he was the youngest of children, had never been sick, and though not able to chew food in the ordinary manner, he had never suffered from dyspepsia in any form. he was married and had eight children. of these, two girls lacked a number of teeth, but had the ordinary quantity of hair. hill speaks of an aboriginal man in queensland who was entirely devoid of hair on the head, face, and every part of the body. he had a sister, since dead, who was similarly hairless. hill mentions the accounts given of another black tribe, about miles west of brisbane, that contained hairless members. this is very strange, as the australian aboriginals are a very hairy race of people. hutchinson mentions a boy of three and a half in whom there was congenital absence of hair and an atrophic condition of the skin and appendages. his mother was bald from the age of six, after alopecia areata. schede reports two cases of congenitally bald children of a peasant woman (a boy of thirteen and a girl of six months). they had both been born quite bald, and had remained so. in addition there were neither eyebrows nor eyelashes and nowhere a trace of lanugo. the children were otherwise healthy and well formed. the parents and brothers were healthy and possessed a full growth of hair. thurman reports a case of a man of fifty-eight, who was almost devoid of hair all his life and possessed only four teeth. his skin was very delicate and there was absence of sensible perspiration and tears. the skin was peculiar in thinness, softness, and absence of pigmentation. the hair on the crown of the head and back was very fine, short, and soft, and not more in quantity than that of an infant of three months. there was a similar peculiarity in his cousin-german. williams mentions the case of a young lady of fifteen with scarcely any hair on the eyebrows or head and no eyelashes. she was edentulous and had never sensibly perspired. she improved under tonic treatment. rayer quotes the case of beauvais, who was a patient in the hopital de la charite in . the skin of this man's cranium was apparently completely naked, although in examining it narrowly it was found to be beset with a quantity of very white and silky hair, similar to the down that covers the scalp of infants; here and there on the temples there were a few black specks, occasioned by the stumps of several hairs which the patient had shaved off. the eyebrows were merely indicated by a few fine and very short hairs; the free edges of the eyelids were without cilia, but the bulb of each of these was indicated by a small, whitish point. the beard was so thin and weak that beauvais clipped it off only every three weeks. a few straggling hairs were observed on the breast and pubic region, as in young people on the approach of puberty. there was scarcely any under the axillae. it was rather more abundant on the inner parts of the legs. the voice was like that of a full-grown and well-constituted man. beauvais was of an amorous disposition and had had syphilis twice. his mother and both sisters had good heads of hair, but his father presented the same defects as beauvais. instances are on record of women devoid of hair about the genital region. riolan says that he examined the body of a female libertine who was totally hairless from the umbilical region down. congenital alopecia is seen in animals. there is a species of dog, a native of china but now bred in mexico and in the united states, which is distinguished for its congenital alopecia. the same fact has been observed occasionally in horses, cattle, and dogs. heusner has seen a pigeon destitute of feathers, and which engendered a female which in her turn transmitted the same characteristic to two of her young. sexualism and hair growth.--the growth or development of the hair may be accelerated by the state of the organs of generation. this is peculiarly noticeable in the pubic hairs and the beard, and is fully exemplified in the section on precocious development (chapter vii); however, moreau de la sarthe showed a child to the medical faculty of paris in whom precocious development of the testicles had influenced that of the hair to such a degree that, at the age of six, the chest of this boy was as thickly set with hair as is usually seen in adults. it is well known that eunuchs often lose a great part of their beards, and after removal of the ovaries women are seen to develop an extra quantity of hair. gerberon tells of an infant with a beard, and paullini and the ephemerides mention similar instances. bearded women are not at all infrequent. hippocrates mentions a female who grew a beard shortly after menstruation had ceased. it is a well-recognized fact that after the menopause women become more hirsute, the same being the case after removal of any of the functional generative apparatus. vicat saw a virgin who had a beard, and joch speaks of "foeminis barbati." leblond says that certain women of ethiopia and south america have beards and little or no menstruation. he also says that sterility and excessive chastity are causes of female beards, and cites the case of schott of a young widow who secluded herself in a cloister, and soon had a beard. barbara urster, who lived in the th century, had a beard to her girdle. the most celebrated "bearded woman" was rosine-marguerite muller, who died in a hospital in dresden in , with a thick beard and heavy mustache. julia pastrana had her face covered with thick hair and had a full beard and mustache. she exhibited defective dentition in both jaws, and the teeth present were arranged in an irregular fashion. she had pronounced prognathism, which gave her a simian appearance. ecker examined in a woman who died at fribourg, whose face contained a full beard and a luxuriant mustache. harris reports several cases of bearded women, inmates of the coton hill lunatic asylum. one of the patients was eighty-three years of age and had been insane forty-four years following a puerperal period. she would not permit the hair on her face to be cut, and the curly white hairs had attained a length of from eight to ten inches on the chin, while on the upper lip the hairs were scarcely an inch. this patient was quite womanly in all her sentiments. the second case was a woman of thirty-six, insane from emotional melancholia. she had tufts of thick, curly hair on the chin two inches long, light yellowish in color, and a few straggling hairs on the upper lip. the third case was that of a woman of sixty-four, who exhibited a strong passion for the male sex. her menstruation had been regular until the menopause. she plaited her beard, and it was seven or eight inches long on the chin and one inch on the lip. this woman had extremely hairy legs. another case was that of a woman of sixty-two, who, though bald, developed a beard before the climacteric. her structural proportions were feminine in character, and it is said that her mother, who was sane, had a beard also. a curious case was that of a woman of twenty-three (mrs. viola m.), who from the age of three had a considerable quantity of hair on the side of the cheek which eventually became a full beard. she was quite feminine was free from excessive hair elsewhere, her nose and forehead being singularly bare. her voice was very sweet; she was married at seventeen and a half, having two normal children, and nursed each for one month. "the bearded woman" of every circus side-show is an evidence of the curious interest in which these women are held. the accompanying illustration is a representation of a "bearded woman" born in bracken county, ky. her beard measured inches in length. there is a class of anomalies in which there is an exaggerated development of hair. we would naturally expect to find the primitive peoples, who are not provided with artificial protection against the wind, supplied with an extra quantity of hair or having a hairy coat like animals; but this is sometimes found among civilized people. this abnormal presence of hair on the human body has been known for many years; the description of esau in the bible is an early instance. aldrovandus says that in the sixteenth century there came to the canary islands a family consisting of a father, son, and two daughters, who were covered all over their bodies by long hair, and their portrait, certainly reproduced from life, resembles the modern instances of "dog men." in there was shown in england and france, afterward in america, a girl of seven named "krao," a native of indo-china. the whole body of this child was covered with black hair. her face was of the prognathic type, and this, with her extraordinary prehensile powers of feet and lips, gave her the title of "darwin's missing link." in there was exhibited in paris, under the name of "l'homme-chien" adrien jeftichew, a russian peasant of fifty-five, whose face, head, back, and limbs were covered with a brown hairy coat looking like wool and several centimeters long. the other parts of the body were also covered with hair, but less abundantly. this individual had a son of three, theodore, who was hairy like himself. a family living in burmah (shive-maon, whose history is told by crawford and yule), consisting of a father, a daughter, and a granddaughter, were nearly covered with hair. figure represents a somewhat similar family who were exhibited in this country. teresa gambardella, a young girl of twelve, mentioned by lombroso, was covered all over the body, with the exception of the hands and feet, by thick, bushy hair. this hypertrichosis was exemplified in this country only a few months since by a person who went the rounds of the dime museums under the euphonious name of "jo-jo, the dog-face boy." his face was truly that of a skye-terrier. sometimes the hairy anomalies are but instances of naevus pilosus. the indian ourang-outang woman examined at the office of the lancet was an example of this kind. hebra, hildebrandt, jablokoff, and klein describe similar cases. many of the older "wild men" were individuals bearing extensive hairy moles. rayer remarks that he has seen a young man of sixteen who exhibited himself to the public under the name of a new species of wild man whose breast and back were covered with light brown hair of considerable length. the surface upon which it grew was of a brownish hue, different from the color of the surrounding integument. almost the whole of the right arm was covered in the same manner. on the lower extremity several tufts of hair were observed implanted upon brown spots from seven to eight lines in diameter symmetrically disposed upon both legs. the hair was brown, of the same color as that of the head. bichat informs us that he saw at paris an unfortunate man who from his birth was afflicted with a hairy covering of his face like that of a wild boar, and he adds that the stories which were current among the vulgar of individuals with a boar's head, wolf's head, etc., undoubtedly referred to cases in which the face was covered to a greater or less degree with hair. villerme saw a child of six at poitiers in whose body, except the feet and hands, was covered with a great number of prominent brown spots of different dimensions, beset with hair shorter and not so strong as that of a boar, but bearing a certain resemblance to the bristles of that animal. these spots occupied about one-fifth of the surface of this child's skin. campaignac in the early part of this century exhibited a case in which there was a large tuft of long black hair growing from the shoulder. dufour has detailed a case of a young man of twenty whose sacral region contained a tuft of hair as long and black, thick and pliant, as that of the head, and, particularly remarkable in this case, the skin from which it grew was as fine and white as the integument of the rest of the body. there was a woman exhibited recently, under the advertisement of "the lady with a mane," who had growing from the center of her back between the shoulders a veritable mane of long, black hair, which doubtless proceeded from a form of naevus. duyse reports a case of extensive hypertrichosis of the back in a girl aged nine years; her teeth were normal; there was pigmentation of the back and numerous pigmentary nevi on the face. below each scapula there were tumors of the nature of fibroma molluscum. in addition to hairy nevi on the other parts of the body there was localized ichthyosis. ziemssen figures an interesting case of naevus pilosus resembling "bathing tights". there were also present several benign tumors (fibroma molluscum) and numerous smaller nevi over the body. schulz first observed the patient in . this individual's name was blake, and he stated that he was born with a large naevus spreading over the upper parts of the thighs and lower parts of the trunk, like bathing-tights, and resembling the pelt of an animal. the same was true of the small hairy parts and the larger and smaller tumors. subsequently the altered portions of the skin had gradually become somewhat larger. the skin of the large hairy naevus, as well as that of the smaller ones, was stated by schulz to have been in the main thickened, in part uneven, verrucose, from very light to intensely dark brown in color; the consistency of the larger mammiform and smaller tumors soft, doughy, and elastic. the case was really one of large congenital naevus pilosus and fibroma molluscum combined. a peruvian boy was shown at the westminster aquarium with a dark, hairy mole situated in the lower part of the trunk and on the thighs in the position of bathing tights. nevins hyde records two similar cases with dermatolytic growths. a sister of the peruvian boy referred to had a still larger growth, extending from the nucha all over the back. both she and her brother had hundreds of smaller hairy growths of all sizes scattered irregularly over the face, trunk, and limbs. according to crocker, a still more extraordinary case, with extensive dermatolytic growths all over the back and nevi of all sizes elsewhere, is described and engraved in "lavater's physiognomy," . baker describes an operation in which a large mole occupying half the forehead was removed by the knife. in some instances the hair and beard is of an enormous length. erasmus wilson of london saw a female of thirty-eight, whose hair measured . meters long. leonard of philadelphia speaks of a man in the interior of this country whose beard trailed on the ground when he stood upright, and measured . meters long. not long ago there appeared the famous so-called "seven sutherland sisters," whose hair touched the ground, and with whom nearly every one is familiar through a hair tonic which they extensively advertised. in nature, january , , is an account of a percheron horse whose mane measured feet and whose tail measured almost ten feet, probably the greatest example of excessive mane development on record. figure represents miss owens, an exhibitionist, whose hair measured eight feet three inches. in leslie's weekly, january , , there is a portrait of an old negress named nancy garrison whose woolly hair was equally as long. the ephemerides contains the account of a woman who had hair from the mons veneris which hung to the knees; it was affected with plica polonica, as was also the other hair of the body. rayer saw a piedmontese of twenty-eight, with an athletic build, who had but little beard or hair on the trunk, but whose scalp was covered with a most extraordinary crop. it was extremely fine and silky, was artificially frizzled, dark brown in color, and formed a mass nearly five feet in circumference. certain pathologic conditions may give rise to accidental growths of hair. boyer was accustomed to quote in his lectures the case of a man who, having an inflamed tumor in the thigh, perceived this part becoming covered in a short time with numerous long hairs. rayer speaks of several instances of this kind. in one the part affected by a blister in a child of two became covered with hair. another instance was that of a student of medicine, who after bathing in the sea for a length of time, and exposing himself to the hot sun, became affected with coppery patches, from which there sprang a growth of hair. bricheteau, quoted by the same authority, speaks of a woman of twenty-four, having white skin and hair of deep black, who after a long illness occasioned by an affection analogous to marasmus became covered, especially on the back, breast, and abdomen, with a multitude of small elevations similar to those which appear on exposure to cold. these little elevations became brownish at the end of a few days, and short, fair, silky hair was observed on the summit of each, which grew so rapidly that the whole surface of the body with the exception of the hands and face became velvety. the hair thus evolved was afterward thrown out spontaneously and was not afterward reproduced. anomalies of the color of the hair.--new-born infants sometimes have tufts of hair on their heads which are perfectly white in color. schenck speaks of a young man whose beard from its first appearance grew white. young men from eighteen to twenty occasionally become gray; and according to rayer, paroxysms of rage, unexpected and unwelcome news, diseases of the scalp such as favus, wounds of the head, habitual headache, over-indulgence of the sexual appetite, mercurial courses too frequently repeated, too great anxiety, etc., have been known to blanch the hair prematurely. the well-accepted fact of the sudden changing of the color of the hair from violent emotions or other causes has always excited great interest, and many ingenious explanations have been devised to account for it. there is a record in the time of charles v of a young man who was committed to prison in for seducing his girl companion, and while there was in great fear and grief, expecting a death-sentence from the emperor the next day. when brought before his judge, his face was wan and pale and his hair and beard gray, the change having taken place in the night. his beard was filthy with drivel, and the emperor, moved by his pitiful condition, pardoned him. there was a clergyman of nottingham whose daughter at the age of thirteen experienced a change from jet-blackness of the hair to white in a single night, but this was confined to a spot on the back of the head / inches in length. her hair soon became striped, and in seven years was totally white. the same article speaks of a girl in bedfordshire, maria seeley, aged eight, whose face was swarthy, and whose hair was long and dark on one side and light and short on the other. one side of her body was also brown, while the other side was light and fair. she was seen by the faculty in london, but no cause could be established. voigtel mentions the occurrence of canities almost suddenly. bichat had a personal acquaintance whose hair became almost entirely gray in consequence of some distressing news that reached him. cassan records a similar case. according to rayer, a woman by the name of perat, summoned before the chamber of peers to give evidence in the trial of the assassin louvel, was so much affected that her hair became entirely white in a single night byron makes mention of this peculiar anomaly in the opening stanzas of the "prisoner of chillon:"-- "my hair is gray, but not with years, nor grew it white in a single night. as men's have grown from sudden fears." the commentators say that byron had reference to ludovico sforza and others. the fact of the change is asserted of marie antoinette, the wife of louis xvi, though in not quite so short a period, grief and not fear being the cause. ziemssen cites landois' case of a compositor of thirty-four who was admitted to a hospital july th with symptoms of delirium tremens; until improvement began to set in (july th) he was continually tormented by terrifying pictures of the imagination. in the night preceding the day last mentioned the hair of the head and beard of the patient, formerly blond, became gray. accurate examination by landois showed the pigment contents of the hair to be unchanged, and led him to believe that the white color was solely due to the excessive development of air-bubbles in the hair shaft. popular belief brings the premature and especially the sudden whitening into connection with depressing mental emotions. we might quote the german expression--"sich graue haare etwas wachsen lassen" ("to worry one's self gray"). brown-sequard observed on several occasions in his own dark beard hairs which had turned white in a night and which he epileptoid. he closes his brief communication on the subject with the belief that it is quite possible for black hair to turn white in one night or even in a less time, although hebra and kaposi discredit sudden canities (duhring). raymond and vulpian observed a lady of neurotic type whose hair during a severe paroxysm of neuralgia following a mental strain changed color in five hours over the entire scalp except on the back and sides; most of the hair changed from black to red, but some to quite white, and in two days all the red hair became white and a quantity fell off. the patient recovered her general health, but with almost total loss of hair, only a few red, white, and black hairs remaining on the occipital and temporal regions. crocker cites the case of a spanish cock which was nearly killed by some pigs. the morning after the adventure the feathers of the head had become completely white, and about half of those on the back of the neck were also changed. dewees reports a case of puerperal convulsions in a patient under his care which was attended with sudden canities. from a.m. to p.m. ounces of blood were taken. between the time of dr. dewees' visits, not more than an hour, the hair anterior to the coronal suture turned white. the next day it was less light, and in four or five days was nearly its natural color. he also mentions two cases of sudden blanching from fright. fowler mentions the case of a healthy girl of sixteen who found one morning while combing her hair, which was black, that a strip the whole length of the back hair was white, starting from a surface about two inches square around the occipital protuberance. two weeks later she had patches of ephelis over the whole body. prentiss, in science, october , , has collected numerous instances of sudden canities, several of which will be given:-- "in the canada journal of medical science, , p. , is reported a case of sudden canities due to business-worry. the microscope showed a great many air-vesicles both in the medullary substance and between the medullary and cortical substance. "in the boston medical and surgical journal, , is reported a case of a man thirty years old, whose hair 'was scared' white in a day by a grizzly bear. he was sick in a mining camp, was left alone, and fell asleep. on waking he found a grizzly bear standing over him. "a second case is that of a man of twenty-three years who was gambling in california. he placed his entire savings of $ on the turn of a card. he was under tremendous nervous excitement while the cards were being dealt. the next day his hair was perfectly white. "in the same article is the statement that the jet-black hair of the pacific islanders does not turn gray gradually, but when it does turn it is sudden, usually the result of fright or sudden emotions." d'alben, quoted by fournier, describes a young man of twenty-four, an officer in the regiment of touraine in , who spent the night in carnal dissipation with a mulatto, after which he had violent spasms, rendering flexion of the body impossible. his beard and hair on the right side of the body was found as white as snow, the left side being unchanged. he appeared before the faculte de montpelier, and though cured of his nervous symptoms his hair was still white, and no suggestion of relief was offered him. louis of bavaria, who died in , on learning of the innocence of his wife, whom he had put to death on a suspicion of her infidelity, had a change of color in his hair, which became white almost immediately. vauvilliers, the celebrated hellenist, became white-haired almost immediately after a terrible dream, and brizard, the comedian, experienced the same change after a narrow escape from drowning in the rhone. the beard and the hair of the duke of brunswick whitened in twenty-four hours after hearing that his father had been mortally wounded at the battle of auerstadt. de schweinitz speaks of a well-formed and healthy brunette of eighteen in whom the middle portion of the cilia of the right upper eyelid and a number of the hairs of the lower lid turned white in a week. both eyes were myopic, but no other cause could be assigned. another similar case is cited by hirshberg, and the authors have seen similar cases. thornton of margate records the case of a lady in whom the hair of the left eyebrow and eyelashes began to turn white after a fortnight of sudden grief, and within a week all the hair of these regions was quite white and remained so. no other part was affected nor was there any other symptom. after a traumatic ophthalmitis of the left and sympathetic inflammation of the right eye in a boy of nine, schenck observed that a group of cilia of the right upper lid and nearly all the lashes of the upper lid of the left eye, which had been enucleated, turned silvery-white in a short time. ludwig has known the eyelashes to become white after small-pox. communications are also on record of local decolorization of the eyebrows and lashes in neuralgias of isolated branches of the trigeminus, especially of the supraorbital nerve. temporary and partial canities.--of special interest are those cases in which whiteness of the hair is only temporary. thus, compagne mentions a case in which the black hair of a woman of thirty-six began to fade on the twenty-third day of a malignant fever, and on the sixth day following was perfectly white, but on the seventh day the hairs became darker again, and on the fourteenth day after the change they had become as black as they were originally. wilson records a case in which the hair lost its color in winter and regained it in summer. sir john forbes, according to crocker, had gray hair for a long time, then suddenly it all turned white, and after remaining so for a year it returned to its original gray. grayness of the hair is sometimes only partial. according to crocker an adult whose hair was generally brown had a tuft of white hair over the temple, and several like cases are on record. lorry tells us that grayness of one side only is sometimes occasioned by severe headache. hagedorn has known the beard to be black in one place and white in another. brandis mentions the hair becoming white on one side of the face while it continued of its former color on the other. rayer quotes cases of canities of the whole of one side of the body. richelot observed white mottling of hair in a girl sick with chlorosis. the whitening extended from the roots to a distance of two inches. the probable cause was a temporary alteration of the pigment-forming function. when the chlorosis was cured the natural color returned. paullini and riedlin, as well as the ephemerides, speak of different colored hair in the same head, and it is not at all rare to see individuals with an anomalously colored patch of hair on the head. the members of the ancient house of rohan were said to possess a tuft of white hair on the front of their heads. michelson of konigsberg describes a curious case in a barrister of twenty-three affected with partial canities. in the family of both parents there was stated to be congenital premature canities, and some white hairs had been observed even in childhood. in the fifteenth year, after a grave attack of scarlet fever, the hair to a great extent fell out. the succeeding growth of hair was stated to have been throughout lighter in tissue and color and fissured at the points. soon after bunches of white hair appeared on the occiput, and in the succeeding years small patches of decolored hairs were observed also on the anterior and lateral portions of the scalp. in the spring of the patient exhibited signs of infiltration of the apex of the right lung, and afterward a violent headache came on. at the time of the report the patient presented the appearance shown in figure . the complexion was delicate throughout, the eyelashes and eyelids dark brown, the moustache and whiskers blond, and in the latter were a few groups of white hair. the white patches were chiefly on the left side of the head. the hairs growing on them were unpigmented, but otherwise normal. the patient stated that his head never sweated. he was stout and exhibited no signs of internal disease, except at the apex of the right lung. anomalous color changes of the hair.--the hair is liable to undergo certain changes of color connected with some modification of that part of the bulb secreting its coloring-matter. alibert, quoted by rayer, gives us a report of the case of a young lady who, after a severe fever which followed a very difficult labor, lost a fine head of hair during a discharge of viscid fluid, which inundated the head in every part. he tells us, further, that the hair grew again of a deep black color after the recovery of the patient. the same writer tells of the case of james b--, born with brown hair, who, having lost it all during the course of a sickness, had it replaced with a crop of the brightest red. white and gray hair has also, under peculiar circumstances, been replaced by hair of the same color as the individual had in youth. we are even assured by bruley that in the white hair of a woman sixty years of age changed to black a few days before her death. the bulbs in this case were found of great size, and appeared gorged with a substance from which the hair derived its color. the white hairs that remained, on the contrary, grew from shriveled bulbs much smaller than those producing the black. this patient died of phthisis. a very singular case, published early in the century, was that of a woman whose hair, naturally fair, assumed a tawny red color as often as she was affected with a certain fever, and returned to its natural hue as soon as the symptoms abated. villerme alludes to the case of a young lady, sixteen years of age, who had never suffered except from trifling headaches, and who, in the winter of , perceived that the hair began to fall out from several parts of her head, so that before six months were over she became entirely bald. in the beginning of january, , her head became covered with a kind of black wool over those places that were first denuded, and light brown hair began to develop from the rest of the scalp. some of this fell out again when it had grown from three to four inches; the rest changed color at different distances from its end and grew of a chestnut color from the roots. the hair, half black, half chestnut, had a very singular appearance. alibert and beigel relate cases of women with blond hair which all came off after a severe fever (typhus in one case), and when it grew again it was quite black. alibert also saw a young man who lost his brown hair after an illness, and after restoration it became red. according to crocker, in an idiotic girl of epileptic type (in an asylum at edinburgh), with alternating phases of stupidity and excitement, the hair in the stupid phase was blond and in the excited condition red. the change of color took place in the course of two or three days, beginning first at the free ends, and remaining of the same tint for seven or eight days. the pale hairs had more air-spaces than the darker ones. there was much structural change in the brain and spinal cord. smyly of dublin reported a case of suppurative disease of the temporal bone, in which the hair changed from a mouse-color to a reddish-brown; and squire records a congenital case in a deaf mute, in whom the hair on the left side was in light patches of true auburn and dark patches of dark brown like a tortoise-shell cap; on the other side the hair was a dark brown. crocker mentions the changes which have occurred in rare instances after death from dark brown to red. chemic colorations of various tints occur. blue hair is seen in workers in cobalt mines and indigo works; green hair in copper smelters; deep red-brown hair in handlers of crude anilin; and the hair is dyed a purplish-brown whenever chrysarobin applications used on a scalp come in contact with an alkali, as when washed with soap. among such cases in older literature blanchard and marcellus donatus speak of green hair; rosse saw two instances of the same, for one of which he could find no cause; the other patient worked in a brass foundry. many curious causes are given for alopecia. gilibert and merlet mention sexual excess; marcellus donatus gives fear; the ephemerides speaks of baldness from fright; and leo africanus, in his description of barbary, describes endemic baldness. neyronis makes the following observation: a man of seventy-three, convalescent from a fever, one morning, about six months after recovery perceived that he had lost all his hair, even his eyelashes, eyebrows, nostril-hairs, etc. although his health continued good, the hair was never renewed. the principal anomalies of the nails observed are absence, hypertrophy, and displacement of these organs. some persons are born with finger-nails and toe-nails either very rudimentary or entirely absent; in others they are of great length and thickness. the chinese nobility allow their finger-nails to grow to a great length and spend much time in the care of these nails. some savage tribes have long and thick nails resembling the claws of beasts, and use them in the same way as the lower animals. there is a description of a person with finger-nails that resembled the horns of a goat. neuhof, in his books on tartary and china, says that many chinamen have two nails on the little toe, and other instances of double nails have been reported. the nails may be reversed or arise from anomalous positions. bartholinus speaks of nails from the inner side of the digits; in another case, in which the fingers were wanting, he found the nails implanted on the stumps. tulpius says he knew of a case in which nails came from the articulations of three digits; and many other curious arrangements of nails are to be found. rouhuot sent a description and drawing of some monstrous nails to the academie des sciences de paris. the largest of these was the left great toe-nail, which, from its extremity to its root, measured / inches; the laminae of which it consisted were placed one over the other, like the tiles on a roof, only reversed. this nail and several of the others were of unequal thickness and were variously curved, probably on account of the pressure of the shoe or the neighboring digits. rayer mentions two nails sent to him by bricheteau, physician of the hopital necker, belonging to an old woman who had lived in the salpetriere. they were very thick and spirally twisted, like the horns of a ram. saviard informs us that he saw a patient at the hotel dieu who had a horn like that of a ram, instead of a nail, on each great toe, the extremities of which were turned to the metatarsus and overlapped the whole of the other toes of each foot. the skeleton of simore, preserved in paris, is remarkable for the ankylosis of all the articulations and the considerable size of all the nails. the fingers and toes, spread out and ankylosed, ended in nails of great length and nearly of equal thickness. a woman by the name of melin, living in the last century in paris, was surnamed "the woman with nails;" according to the description given by saillant in she presented another and not less curious instance of the excessive growth of the nails. musaeus gives an account of the nails of a girl of twenty, which grew to such a size that some of those of the fingers were five inches in length. they were composed of several layers, whitish interiorly, reddish-gray on the exterior, and full of black points. these nails fell off at the end of four months and were succeeded by others. there were also horny laminae on the knees and shoulders and elbows which bore a resemblance to nails, or rather talons. they were sensitive only at the point of insertion into the skin. various other parts of the body, particularly the backs of the hands, presented these horny productions. one of them was four inches in length. this horny growth appeared after small-pox. ash, in the philosophical transactions, records a somewhat similar case in a girl of twelve. anomalies of the teeth.--pliny, colombus, van swieten, haller, marcellus donatus, baudelocque, soemmering, and gardien all cite instances in which children have come into the world with several teeth already erupted. haller has collected cases of children born with teeth. polydorus virgilus describes an infant who was born with six teeth. some celebrated men are supposed to have been born with teeth; louis xiv was accredited with having two teeth at birth. bigot, a physician and philosopher of the sixteenth century; boyd, the poet; valerian, richard iii, as well as some of the ancient greeks and romans, were reputed to have had this anomaly. the significance of the natal eruption of teeth is not always that of vigor, as many of the subjects succumb early in life. there were two cases typical of fetal dentition shown before the academie de medecine de paris. one of the subjects had two middle incisors in the lower jaw and the other had one tooth well through. levison saw a female born with two central incisors in the lower jaw. thomas mentions a case of antenatal development of nine teeth. puech, mattei, dumas, belluzi, and others report the eruption of teeth in the newborn. in dumas' case the teeth had to be extracted on account of ulceration of the tongue. instances of triple dentition late in life are quite numerous, many occurring after a hundred years. mentzelius speaks of a man of one hundred and ten who had nine new teeth. lord bacon cites the case of a countess desmond, who when over a century old had two new teeth; hufeland saw an instance of dentition at one hundred and sixteen; nitzsch speaks of one at one hundred, and the ephemerides contain an account of a triple dentition at one hundred and twenty. there is an account of a country laborer who lost all his teeth by the time he arrived at his sixtieth year of age, but about a half year afterward a new set made their appearance. bisset mentions an account of an old woman who acquired twelve molar teeth at the age of ninety-eight. carre notes a case of dental eruption in an individual of eighty-five. mazzoti speaks of a third dentition, and ysabeau writes of dentition of a molar at the age of ninety-two. there is a record of a physician of the name of slave who retained all his second teeth until the age of eighty, when they fell out; after five years another set appeared, which he retained until his death at one hundred. in the same report there is mentioned an old scotchman who died at one hundred and ten, whose teeth were renewed at an advanced age after he had lost his second teeth. one of the older journals speaks of dentition at seventy, eighty-four, ninety, and one hundred and fourteen. the philosophical transactions of london contain accounts of dentition at seventy-five and eighty-one. bassett tells of an old woman who had twelve molar teeth at the age of eighty-eight. in france there is recorded dentition at eighty-five and an account of an old man of seventy-three who had six new teeth. von helmont relates an instance of triple dentition at the same age. there is recorded in germany an account of a woman of ninety who had dentition at forty-seven and sixty-seven, each time a new set of teeth appearing; hunter and petrequin have observed similar cases. carter describes an example of third dentition. lison makes a curious observation of a sixth dentition. edentulousness.--we have already noticed the association of congenital alopecia with edentulousness, but, strange to say, magitot has remarked that "l'homme-chien," was the subject of defective dentition. borellus found atrophy of all the dental follicles in a woman of sixty who never had possessed any teeth. fanton-touvet saw a boy of nine who had never had teeth, and fox a woman who had but four in both jaws; tomes cites several similar instances. hutchinson speaks of a child who was perfectly edentulous as to temporary teeth, but who had the permanent teeth duly and fully erupted. guilford describes a man of forty-eight, who was edentulous from birth, who also totally lacked the sense of smell, and was almost without the sense of taste; the surface of his body was covered with fine hairs and he had never had visible perspiration. this is probably the same case quoted in the foregoing paragraph in regard to the anomalies of hair. otto, quoted by sedgwick, speaks of two brothers who were both totally edentulous. it might be interesting in this connection to note that oudet found in a fetus at term all the dental follicles in a process of suppuration, leaving no doubt that, if the fetus had been born viable, it would have been edentulous. giraldes mentions the absence of teeth in an infant of sixteen months. bronzet describes a child of twelve, with only half its teeth, in whom the alveolar borders receded as in age. baumes remarks that he had seen a man who never had any teeth. the anomalies of excessive dentition are of several varieties, those of simple supernumerary teeth, double or triple rows, and those in anomalous positions. ibbetson saw a child with five incisors in the inferior maxillary bone, and fanton-touvet describes a young lady who possessed five large incisors of the first dentition in the superior maxilla. rayer notes a case of dentition of four canines, which first made their appearance after pain for eight days in the jaws and associated with convulsions. in an ethiopian soemmering has seen one molar too many on each side and in each jaw. ploucquet and tesmer have seen five incisors and fanchard six. many persons have the supernumerary teeth parallel with their neighbors, anteriorly or posteriorly. costa reports a case in which there were five canine teeth in the upper jaw, two placed laterally on either side, and one on the right side behind the other two. the patient was twenty-six years of age, well formed and in good health. in some cases there is fusion of the teeth. pliny, bartholinus, and melanthon pretend to have seen the union of all the teeth, making a continuous mass. in the "musee de l'ecole dentaire de paris" there are several milk-teeth, both of the superior and inferior maxilla, which are fused together. bloch cites a case in which there were two rows of teeth in the superior maxilla. hellwig has observed three rows of teeth, and the ephemerides contain an account of a similar anomaly. extraoral dentition.--probably the most curious anomaly of teeth is that in which they are found in other than normal positions. albinus speaks of teeth in the nose and orbit; borellus, in the palate; fabricius hildanus, under the tongue; schenck, from the palate; and there are many similar modern records. heister in wrote a dissertation on extraoral teeth. the following is a recent quotation:-- "in the norsk magazin fur laegevidenskaben, january, , it is reported that dr. dave, at a meeting of the medical society in christiania, showed a tooth removed from the nose of a woman aged fifty-three. the patient had consulted him for ear-trouble, and the tooth was found accidentally during the routine examination. it was easily removed, having been situated in a small depression at the junction of the floor and external wall of the nasal cavity, mm. from the external nares. this patient had all her teeth; they were placed somewhat far from each other. the tooth resembled a milk canine; the end of the imperfect root was covered with a fold of mucous membrane, with stratified epithelium. the speaker suggested that part of the mucous membrane of the mouth with its tooth-germ had become impacted between the superior and premaxillary bones and thus cut off from the cavity of the mouth. another speaker criticised this fetal dislocation and believed it to be due to an inversion--a development in the wrong direction--by which the tooth had grown upward into the nose. the same speaker also pointed out that the stratified epithelium of the mucous membrane did not prove a connection with the cavity of the mouth, as it is known that cylindric epithelium-cells after irritative processes are replaced by flat ones." delpech saw a young man in who had an opening in the palatine vault occasioned by the extraction of a tooth. this opening communicated with the nasal fossa by a fracture of the palatine and maxillary bones; the employment of an obturator was necessary. it is not rare to see teeth, generally canine, make their eruption from the vault of the palate; and these teeth are not generally supernumerary, but examples of vice and deviation of position. fanton-touvet, however, gives an example of a supernumerary tooth implanted in the palatine arch. branch a describes a little negro boy who had two large teeth in the nose; his dentition was otherwise normal, but a portion of the nose was destroyed by ulceration. roy describes a hindoo lad of fourteen who had a tooth in the nose, supposed to have been a tumor. it was of the canine type, and was covered with enamel to the junction with the root, which was deeply imbedded in the side and upper part of the antrum. the boy had a perfect set of permanent teeth and no deformity, swelling, or cystic formation of the jaw. this was clearly a case of extrafollicular development and eruption of the tooth in an anomalous position, the peculiarity being that while in other similar cases the crown of the tooth shows itself at the floor of the nasal cavity from below upward, in this instance the dental follicle was transposed, the eruption being from above downward. hall cites an instance in which the right upper canine of a girl erupted in the nose. the subject showed marked evidence of hereditary syphilis. carver describes a child who had a tooth growing from the lower right eyelid. the number of deciduous teeth was perfect; although this tooth was canine it had a somewhat bulbulous fang. of anomalies of the head the first to be considered will be the anencephalous monsters who, strange to say, have been known to survive birth. clericus cites an example of life for five days in a child without a cerebrum. heysham records the birth of a child without a cerebrum and remarks that it was kept alive for six days. there was a child born alive in italy in without a brain or a cerebellum--in fact, no cranial cavity--and yet it lived eleven hours. a somewhat similar case is recorded in the last century. in the philosophical transactions there is mentioned a child virtually born without a head who lived four days; and le duc records a case of a child born without brain, cerebellum, or medulla oblongata, and who lived half an hour. brunet describes an anencephalous boy born at term who survived his birth. saviard delivered an anencephalous child at term which died in thirty-six hours. lawrence mentions a child with brain and cranium deficient that lived five days. putnam speaks of a female nosencephalous monster that lived twenty-nine hours. angell and elsner in march, , reported a case of anencephaly, or rather pseudencephaly, associated with double divergent strabismus and limbs in a state of constant spastic contraction. the infant lived eight days. geoffroy-saint-hilaire cites an example of anencephaly which lived a quarter of an hour. fauvel mentioned one that lived two hours, and sue describes a similar instance in which life persisted for seven hours and distinct motions were noticed. malacarne saw life in one for twelve hours, and mery has given a description of a child born without brain that lived almost a full day and took nourishment. in the hotel-dieu in paris in serres saw a monster of this type which lived three days, and was fed on milk and sugared water, as no nurse could be found who was willing to suckle it. fraser mentions a brother and sister, aged twenty and thirty, respectively, who from birth had exhibited signs of defective development of the cerebellum. they lacked power of coordination and walked with a drunken, staggering gait; they could not touch the nose with the finger when their eyes were shut, etc. the parents of these unfortunate persons were perfectly healthy, as were the rest of their family. cruveilhier cites a case of a girl of eleven who had absolutely no cerebellum, with the same symptoms which are characteristic in such cases. there is also recorded the history of a man who was deficient in the corpus callosum; at the age of sixty-two, though of feeble intelligence, he presented no signs of nervous disorder. claude bernard made an autopsy on a woman who had no trace of olfactory lobes, and after a minute inquiry into her life he found that her sense of smell had been good despite her deficiency. buhring relates the history of a case somewhat analogous to viability of anencephalous monsters. it was a bicephalous child that lived thirty-two hours after he had ligated one of its heads. {footnote} the argument that the brain is not the sole organ of the mind is in a measure substantiated by a wonderful case of a decapitated rooster, reported from michigan. a stroke of the knife bad severed the larynx and removed the whole mass of the cerebrum, leaving the inner aspect and base of the skull exposed. the cerebrum was partly removed; the external auditory meatus was preserved. immediately after the decapitation the rooster was left to its supposed death struggles, but it ran headless to the barn, where it was secured and subsequently fed by pushing corn down its esophagus, and allowing water to trickle into this tube from the spout of an oil-can. the phenomena exhibited by the rooster were quite interesting. it made all the motions of pecking, strutted about, flapped its wings, attempted to crow, but, of course, without making any sound. it exhibited no signs of incoordination, but did not seem to hear. a ludicrous exhibition was the absurd, sidelong pas seul made toward the hens. ward mentions an instance of congenital absence of the corpora callosum. paget and henry mention cases in which the corpora callosum, the fornix, and septum lucidum were imperfectly formed. maunoir reports congenital malformation of the brain, consisting of almost complete absence of the occipital lobe. the patient died at the twenty-eighth month. combettes reports the case of a girl who died at the age of eleven who had complete absence of the cerebellum in addition to other minor structural defects; this was probably the case mentioned by cruveilhier. diminution in volume of the head is called microcephaly. probably the most remarkable case on record is that mentioned by lombroso. the individual was called "l'homme-oiseau," or the human bird, and his cranial capacity was only c.c. lombroso speaks of another individual called "l'homme-lapin," or man-rabbit, whose cranium was only slightly larger than that of the other, measuring mm. in circumference. castelli alludes to endemic microcephaly among some of the peoples of asia. we also find it in the caribbean islands, and from the skulls and portraits of the ancient aztecs we are led to believe that they were also microcephalic. two creatures of celebrity were maximo and bartola, who for twenty-five years have been shown in america and in europe under the name of the "aztecs" or the "aztec children". they were male and female and very short, with heads resembling closely the bas-reliefs on the ancient aztec temples of mexico. their facial angle was about degrees, and they had jutting lips and little or no chin. they wore their hair in an enormous bunch to magnify the deformity. these curiosities were born in central america and were possibly half indian and negro. they were little better than idiots in point of intelligence. figure represents a microcephalic youth known as the "mexican wild boy," who was shown with the wallace circus. virchow exhibited a girl of fourteen whose face was no larger than that of a new-born child, and whose head was scarcely as large as a man's fist. magitot reported a case of a microcephalic woman of thirty who weighed pounds. hippocrates and strabonius both speak of head-binding as a custom inducing artificial microcephaly, and some tribes of north american indians still retain this custom. as a rule, microcephaly is attended with associate idiocy and arrested development of the rest of the body. ossification of the fontanelles in a mature infant would necessarily prevent full development of the brain. osiander and others have noticed this anomaly. there are cases on record in which the fontanelles have remained open until adulthood. augmentation of the volume of the head is called macrocephaly, and there are a number of curious examples related. benvenuti describes an individual, otherwise well formed, whose head began to enlarge at seven. at twenty-seven it measured over inches in circumference and the man's face was inches in height; no other portion of his body increased abnormally; his voice was normal and he was very intelligent. he died of apoplexy at the age of thirty. fournier speaks of a cranium in the cabinet of the natural history museum of marseilles of a man by the name of borghini, who died in . at the time he was described he was fifty years old, four feet in height; his head measured three feet in circumference and one foot in height. there was a proverb in marseilles, "apas mai de sen que borghini," meaning in the local dialect, "thou hast no more wit than borghini." this man, whose fame became known all over france, was not able, as he grew older, to maintain the weight of his head, but carried a cushion on each shoulder to prop it up. fournier also quotes the history of a man who died in the same city in at the age of sixty-seven. his head was enormous, and he never lay on a bed for thirty years, passing his nights in a chair, generally reading or writing. he only ate once in twenty-four or thirty hours, never warmed himself, and never used warm water. his knowledge was said to have been great and encyclopedic, and he pretended never to have heard the proverb of borghini. there is related the account of a moor, who was seen in tunis early in this century, thirty-one years of age, of middle height, with a head so prodigious in dimensions that crowds flocked after him in the streets. his nose was quite long, and his mouth so large that he could eat a melon as others would an apple. he was an imbecile. william thomas andrews was a dwarf seventeen years old, whose head measured in circumference inches; from one external auditory meatus to another, / inches; from the chin over the cranial summit to the suboccipital protuberance, / inches; the distance from the chin to the pubes was inches; and from the pubes to the soles of the feet, ; he was a monorchid. james cardinal, who died in guy's hospital in , and who was so celebrated for the size of his head, only measured / inches in head-circumference. the largest healthy brains on record, that is, of men of prominence, are those of cuvier, weighing / ounces; of daniel webster, weighing / ounces (the circumference of whose head was / inches); of abercrombie, weighing ounces, and of spurzheim, weighing / ounces. byron and cromwell had abnormally heavy brains, showing marked evidence of disease. a curious instance in this connection is that quoted by pigne, who gives an account of a double brain found in an infant. keen reports finding a fornix which, instead of being solid from side to side, consisted of two lateral halves with a triangular space between them. when the augmentation of the volume of the cranium is caused by an abundant quantity of serous fluid the anomaly is known as hydrocephaly. in this condition there is usually no change in the size of the brain-structure itself, but often the cranial bones are rent far asunder. minot speaks of a hydrocephalic infant whose head measured / inches in circumference; bright describes one whose head measured inches; and klein, one inches. figure represents a child of six whose head circumference was inches. figure shows a hydrocephalic adult who was exhibited through this country. there is a record of a curious monster born of healthy half-caste african parents. the deformity was caused by a deficiency of osseous material of the bones of the head. there was considerable arrest of development of the parietal, temporal, and superior maxillary bones, in consequence of which a very small amount of the cerebral substance could be protected by the membranous expansion of the cranial centers. the inferior maxilla and the frontal bone were both perfect; the ears were well developed and the tongue strong and active; the nostrils were imperforate and there was no roof to the mouth nor floor to the nares. the eyes were curiously free from eyelashes, eyelids, or brows. the cornea threatened to slough. there was double harelip on the left side; the second and third fingers of both hands were webbed for their whole length; the right foot wanted the distal phalanx of the great toe and the left foot was clubbed and drawn inward. the child swallowed when fed from a spoon, appeared to hear, but exhibited no sense of light. it died shortly after the accompanying sketch was made. occasionally a deficiency in the osseous material of the cranium or an abnormal dilatation of the fontanelles gives rise to a hernia of the meninges, which, if accompanied by cerebrospinal fluid in any quantity, causes a large and peculiarly shaped tumor called meningocele. if there is a protrusion of brain-substance itself, a condition known as hernia cerebri results. complete absence of the inferior maxilla is much rarer in man than in animals. nicolas and prenant have described a curious case of this anomaly in a sheep. gurlt has named subjects presenting the total or partial absence of the inferior maxilla, agnathes or hemiagnathes. simple atrophy of the inferior maxilla has been seen in man as well as in the lower animals, but is much less frequent than atrophy of the superior maxilla. langenbeck reports the case of a young man who had the inferior maxilla so atrophied that in infancy it was impossible for him to take milk from the breast. he had also almost complete immobility of the jaws. boullard reports a deformity of the visage, resulting in a deficiency of the condyles of the lower jaw. maurice made an observation on a vice of conformation of the lower jaw which rendered lactation impossible, probably causing the death of the infant on this account. tomes gives a description of a lower jaw the development of the left ramus of which had been arrested. canton mentions arrest of development of the left perpendicular ramus of the lower jaw combined with malformation of the external ear. exaggerated prominence of the maxillaries is called prognathism; that of the superior maxilla is seen in the north american indians. inferior prognathism is observed in man as well as in animals. the bull-dog, for example, displays this, but in this instance the deformity is really superior brachygnathism, the superior maxilla being arrested in development. congenital absence of the nose is a very rare anomaly. maisonneuve has seen an example in an individual in which, in place of the nasal appendix, there was a plane surface perforated by two small openings a little less than one mm. in diameter and three mm. apart. exaggeration in volume of the nose is quite frequent. ballonius speaks of a nose six times larger than ordinary. viewing the roman celebrities, we find that numa, to whom was given the surname pompilius, had a nose which measured six inches. plutarch, lyourgus, and solon had a similar enlargement, as had all the kings of italy except tarquin the superb. early in the last century a man, thomas wedders (or wadhouse), with a nose / inches long, was exhibited throughout yorkshire. this man expired as he had lived, in a condition of mind best described as the most abject idiocy. the accompanying illustration is taken from a reproduction of an old print and is supposed to be a true likeness of this unfortunate individual. there are curious pathologic formations about the nose which increase its volume so enormously as to interfere with respiration and even with alimentation; but these will be spoken of in another chapter. there have been some celebrities whose noses were undersized. the duc de guise, the dauphin d'auvergne, and william of orange, celebrated in the romances of chivalry, had extremely short noses. there are a few recorded cases of congenital division of the nose. bartholinus, borellus, and the ephemerides speak of duplex noses. thomas of tours has observed congenital fissure of the nose. rikere reports the case of an infant of three weeks who possessed a supernumerary nose on the right nasal bone near the inner canthus of the eye. it was pear-shaped, with its base down, and was the size of the natural nose of an infant of that age, and air passed through it. hubbell, ronaldson, and luscha speak of congenital occlusion of the posterior nares. smith and jarvis record cases of congenital occlusion of the anterior nares. anomalies in size of the mouth are not uncommon. fournier quotes the history of a man who had a mouth so large that when he opened it all his back teeth could be seen. there is a history of a boy of seventeen who had a preternaturally-sized mouth, the transverse diameter being / inches. the mother claimed that the boy was born with his foot in his mouth and to this fact attributed his deformity. the negro races are noted for their large mouths and thick lips. a negro called "black diamond," recently exhibited in philadelphia, could put both his fists in his mouth. morgan reports two cases of congenital macrostoma accompanied by malformation of the auricles and by auricular appendages. van duyse mentions congenital macrostoma with preauricular tumors and a dermoid of the eye. macrostoma is sometimes produced by lateral fissures. in other cases this malformation is unilateral and the fissure ascends, in which instance the fissure may be accompanied by a fistula of the duct of stensen. sometimes there is associated with these anomalies curious terminations of the salivary ducts, either through the cheek by means of a fistula or on the anterior part of the neck. microstoma.--there are a few cases on record in which the mouth has been so small or ill-defined as not to admit of alimentation. molliere knew an individual of forty whose mouth was the exact size of a ten-centime piece. buchnerus records a case of congenital atresia of the mouth. cayley, smith, sourrouille, and stankiewiez of warsaw discuss atresia of the mouth. cancrum oris, scarlet fever, burns, scurvy, etc., are occasional causes that have been mentioned, the atresia in these instances taking place at any time of life. anomalies of the lips.--the aboriginal tribes are particularly noted for their large and thick lips, some of which people consider enormous lips signs of adornment. elephantiasis or other pathologic hypertrophy of the labial tissues can produce revolting deformity, such as is seen in figure , representing an individual who was exhibited several years ago in philadelphia. we have in english the expression, "pulling a long lip." its origin is said to date back to a semimythical hero of king arthur's time, who, "when sad at heart and melancholic," would let one of his lips drop below his waist, while he turned the other up like a cap on his head. blot records a case of monstrous congenital hypertrophy of the superior lip in an infant of eight months. buck successfully treated by surgical operations a case of congenital hypertrophy of the under lip, and detmold mentions a similar result in a young lady with hypertrophy of the lip and lower part of the nose. murray reports an undescribed malformation of the lower lip occurring in one family. hare-lip may be unilateral or double, and may or may not include the palatine arch. in the worst cases it extends in fissures on both sides to the orbit. in other cases the minimum degree of this deformity is seen. congenital absence of the tongue does not necessarily make speech, taste, or deglutition impossible. jussieu cites the case of a girl who was born without a tongue but who spoke very distinctly. berdot describes a case in which the tongue was deficient, without apparent disturbance of any of the functions. riolan mentions speech after loss of the tongue from small-pox. boddington gives an account of margaret cutting, who spoke readily and intelligibly, although she had lost her tongue. saulquin has an observation of a girl without a tongue who spoke, sang, and swallowed normally. aurran, bartholinus, louis, parsons, tulpius, and others mention speech without the presence of a tongue. philib reports a case in which mutism, almost simulating that of one congenitally deaf, was due to congenital adhesions of the tongue to the floor of the buccal cavity. speech was established after removal of the abnormal adhesion. routier speaks of ankylosis of the tongue of seventeen years' duration. jurist records such abnormal mobility of the tongue that the patient was able to project the tongue into the nasopharynx. wherry and winslow record similar instances. there have been individuals with bifid tongues, after the normal type of serpents and saurians, and others who possessed a supernumerary tongue. rev. henry wharton, chaplain to archbishop sancroft, in his journal, written in the seventeenth century, says that he was born with two tongues and passed through life so, one, however, gradually atrophying. in the polyclinic of schnitzer in vienna in hajek observed in a lad of twelve an accessory tongue . cm. in length and eight mm. in breadth, forming a tumor at the base of the normal tongue. it was removed by scissors, and on histologic examination proved to be a true tongue with the typical tissues and constituents. borellus, ephemerides, eschenbach, mortimer, penada, and schenck speak of double tongues, and avicenna and schenck have seen fissured tongues. dolaeus records an instance of double tongue in a paper entitled "de puella bilingui," and beaudry and brothers speak of cleft tongue. braine records a case in which there was a large hypertrophied fold of membrane coming from each side of the upper lip. in some cases there is marked augmentation of the volume of the tongue. fournier has seen a juggler with a tongue so long that he could extrude it six inches from his mouth. he also refers to a woman in berlin with a long tongue, but it was thinner than that of a cat. when she laughed it hung over her teeth like a curtain, and was always extremely cold to the touch. in the same article there is a description of a man with a very long neck who could touch his tongue to his chest without reclining his head. congenital and acquired hypertrophy of the tongue will be discussed later. amatus lusitanus and portal refer to the presence of hair on the tongue, and later there was an account of a medical student who complained of dyspepsia and a sticky sensation in the mouth. on examination a considerable growth of hair was found on the surface of the tongue. the hairs would be detached in vomiting but would grow again, and when he was last seen they were one inch long. such are possibly nevoid in formation. the ordinary anomalies of the palate are the fissures, unilateral, bilateral, median, etc.: they are generally associated with hare-lip. the median fissure commencing between the middle incisors is quite rare. many curious forms of obturator or artificial palate are employed to remedy congenital defects. sercombe mentions a case in which destruction of the entire palate was successfully relieved by mechanical means. in some instances among the lower classes these obturators are simple pieces of wood, so fashioned as to fit into the palatine cleft, and not infrequently the obturator has been swallowed, causing obstruction of the air-passages or occluding the esophagus. abnormalism of the uvula.--examples of double uvula are found in the older writers, and hagendorn speaks of a man who was born without a uvula. the ephemerides and salmuth describe uvulae so defective as to be hardly noticeable. bolster, delius, hodges, mackenzie of baltimore, orr, riedel, schufeldt, and tidyman are among observers reporting bifurcated and double uvula, and they are quite common. ogle records instances of congenital absence of the uvula. anomalies of the epiglottis.--morgagni mentions a man without an epiglottis who ate and spoke without difficulty. he thought the arytenoids were so strongly developed that they replaced the functions of the missing organ. enos of brooklyn in reported absence of the epiglottis without interference with deglutition. manifold speaks of a case of bifurcated epiglottis. debloisi records an instance of congenital web of the vocal bands. mackenzie removed a congenital papillomatous web which had united the vocal cords until the age of twenty-three, thus establishing the voice. poore also recorded a case of congenital web in the larynx. elsberg and scheff mention occlusion of the rima glottidis by a membrane. instances of duplication of the epiglottis attended with a species of double voice possess great interest. french described a man of thirty, by occupation a singer and contortionist, who became possessed of an extra voice when he was sixteen. in high and falsetto tones he could run the scale from a to f in an upper and lower range. the compass of the low voice was so small that he could not reach the high notes of any song with it, and in singing he only used it to break in on the falsetto and produce a sensation. he was supposed to possess a double epiglottis. roe describes a young lady who could whistle at will with the lower part of her throat and without the aid of her lips. laryngeal examination showed that the fundamental tones were produced by vibrations of the edges of the vocal cords, and the modifications were effected by a minute adjustment of the ventricular bands, which regulated the laryngeal opening above the cord, and pressing firmly down closed the ventricle and acted as a damper preventing the vibrations of the cords except in their middle third. morgan in the same journal mentions the case of a boy of nineteen, who seemed to be affected with laryngeal catarrh, and who exhibited distinct diphthongia. he was seen to have two glottic orifices with associate bands. the treatment was directed to the catarrh and consequent paresis of the posterior bands, and he soon lost his evidences of double voice. {footnote} the following is a description of the laryngeal formation of a singer who has recently acquired considerable notice by her ability to sing notes of the highest tones and to display the greatest compass of voice. it is extracted from a cleveland, ohio, newspaper: "she has unusual development of the larynx, which enables her to throw into vibration and with different degrees of rapidity the entire length of the vocal cords or only a part thereof. but of greatest interest is her remarkable control over the muscles which regulate the division and modification of the resonant cavities, the laryngeal, pharyngeal, oral, and nasal, and upon this depends the quality of her voice. the uvula is bifurcated, and the two divisions sometimes act independently. the epiglottis during the production of the highest notes rises upward and backward against the posterior pharyngeal wall in such a way as almost entirely to separate the pharyngeal cavities, at the same time that it gives an unusual conformation to those resonant chambers." complete absence of the eyes is a very rare anomaly. wordsworth describes a baby of seven weeks, otherwise well formed and healthy, which had congenital absence of both eyes. the parents of this child were in every respect healthy. there are some cases of monstrosities with closed, adherent eyelids and absence of eyes. holmes reports a case of congenital absence of both eyes, the child otherwise being strong and perfect. the child died of cholera infantum. he also reports a case very similar in a female child of american parents. in a girl of eight, of german parents, he reports deficiency of the external walls of each orbit, in addition to great deformity of the side of the head. he also gives an instance of congenital paralysis of the levator palpebrae muscles in a child whose vision was perfect and who was otherwise perfect. holmes also reports a case of enormous congenital exophthalmos, in which the right eye protruded from the orbit and was no longer covered by the cornea. kinney has an account of a child born without eyeballs. the delivery was normal, and there was no history of any maternal impression; the child was otherwise healthy and well formed. landes reports the case of an infant in which both eyes were absent. there were six fingers on each hand and six toes on each foot. the child lived a few weeks. in some instances of supposed absence of the eyeball the eye is present but diminutive and in the posterior portion of the orbit. there are instances of a single orbit with no eyes and also a single orbit containing two eyes. again we may have two orbits with an absence of eyes but the presence of the lacrimal glands, or the eyes may be present or very imperfectly developed. mackenzie mentions cases in which the orbit was more or less completely wanting and a mass of cellular tissue in each eye. cases of living cyclopia, or individuals with one eye in the center of the forehead after the manner of the mythical cyclops, are quite rare. vallentini in reports a case of a male cyclopic infant which lived for seventy-three hours. there were median fissures of the upper lip, preauricular appendages, oral deformity, and absence of the olfactory proboscis the fetus was therefore a cyclops arrhynchus, or cyclocephalus. blok describes a new-born infant which lived for six or seven hours, having but one eye and an extremely small mouth. the "four-eyed man of cricklade" was a celebrated english monstrosity of whom little reliable information is obtainable. he was visited by w. drury, who is accredited with reporting the following-- "'so wondrous a thing, such a lusus naturae, such a scorn and spite of nature i have never seen. it was a dreadful and shocking sight.' this unfortunate had four eyes placed in pairs, 'one eye above the other and all four of a dull brown, encircled with red, the pupils enormously large.' the vision in each organ appeared to be perfect. 'he could shut any particular eye, the other three remaining open, or, indeed, as many as he chose, each several eye seeming to be controlled by his will and acting independently of the remainder. he could also revolve each eye separately in its orbit, looking backward with one and forward with another, upward with one and downward with another simultaneously.' he was of a savage, malignant disposition, delighting in ugly tricks, teasing children, torturing helpless animals, uttering profane and blasphemous words, and acting altogether like the monster, mental and physical, that he was. 'he could play the fiddle, though in a silly sort, having his notes on the left side, while closing the right pair of eyes. he also sang, but in a rough, screeching voice not to be listened to without disgust.'" there is a recent report of a child born in paris with its eyes in the top of its head. the infant seemed to be doing well and crowds of people have flocked to see it. recent reports speak of a child born in portland, oregon, which had a median rudimentary eye between two normal eyes. fournier describes an infant born with perfectly formed eyes, but with adherent eyelids and closed ocular aperture. forlenze has seen the pupils adherent to the conjunctiva, and by dissection has given sight to the subject. dubois cites an instance of supernumerary eyelid. at the external angle of the eyelid was a fold of conjunctiva which extended . cm. in front of the conjunctiva, to which it did not adhere, therefore constituting a fourth eyelid. fano presents a similar case in a child of four months, in whom no other anomaly, either of organs or of vision, was observed. on the right side, in front of the external half of the sclerotic, was observed a semilunar fold with the concavity inward, and which projected much more when the lower lid was depressed. when the eyelid rolled inward the fold rolled with the globe, but never reached so far as the circumference of the cornea and did not interfere with vision. total absence of both irides has been seen in a man of eighteen. dixon reports a case of total aniridia with excellent sight in a woman of thirty-seven. in guy's hospital there was seen a case of complete congenital absence of the iris. hentzschel speaks of a man with congenital absence of the iris who had five children, three of whom exhibited the same anomaly while the others were normal. benson, burnett, demaux, lawson, morison, reuling, samelson, and others also report congenital deficiency of the irides in both eyes. jeaffreson describes a female of thirty, living in india, who was affected with complete ossification of the iris. it was immovable and quite beautiful when seen through the transparent cornea; the sight was only slightly impaired. no cause was traceable. multiple pupils.--more than one pupil in the eye has often been noticed, and as many as six have been seen. they may be congenital or due to some pathologic disturbance after birth. marcellus donatus speaks of two pupils in one eye. beer, fritsche, and heuermann are among the older writers who have noticed supernumerary pupils. higgens in described a boy whose right iris was perforated by four pupils,--one above, one to the inner side, one below, and a fourth to the outer side. the first three were slit-shaped; the fourth was the largest and had the appearance as of the separation of the iris from its insertion. there were two pupils in the left eye, both to the outer side of the iris, one being slit-like and the other resembling the fourth pupil in the right eye. all six pupils commenced at the periphery, extended inward, and were of different sizes. the fundus could be clearly seen through all of the pupils, and there was no posterior staphyloma nor any choroidal changes. there was a rather high degree of myopia. this peculiarity was evidently congenital, and no traces of a central pupil nor marks of a past iritis could be found. clinical sketches a contains quite an extensive article on and several illustrations of congenital anomalies of the iris. double crystalline lenses are sometimes seen. fritsch and valisneri have seen this anomaly and there are modern references to it. wordsworth presented to the medical society of london six members of one family, all of whom had congenital displacement of the crystalline lens outward and upward. the family consisted of a woman of fifty, two sons, thirty-five and thirty-seven, and three grandchildren--a girl of ten and boys of five and seven. the irides were tremulous. clark reports a case of congenital dislocation of both crystalline lenses. the lenses moved freely through the pupil into the anterior chambers. the condition remained unchanged for four years, when glaucoma supervened. differences in color of the two eyes.--it is not uncommon to see people with different colored eyes. anastasius i had one black eye and the other blue, from whence he derived his name "dicore," by which this emperor of the orient was generally known. two distinct colors have been seen in an iris. berry gives a colored illustration of such a case. the varieties of strabismus are so common that they will be passed without mention. kuhn presents an exhaustive analysis of cases of congenital defects of the movements of the eyes, considered clinically and didactically. some or all of the muscles may be absent or two or more may be amalgamated, with anomalies of insertion, false, double, or degenerated, etc. the influence of heredity in the causation of congenital defects of the eye is strikingly illustrated by de beck. in three generations twelve members of one family had either coloboma iridis or irideremia. he performed two operations for the cure of cataract in two brothers. the operations were attended with difficulty in all four eyes and followed by cyclitis. the result was good in one eye of each patient, the eye most recently blind. posey had a case of coloboma in the macular region in a patient who had a supernumerary tooth. he believes the defects were inherited, as the patient's mother also had a supernumerary tooth. nunnely reports cases of congenital malformation in three children of one family. the globes of two of them (a boy and a girl) were smaller than natural, and in the boy in addition were flattened by the action of the recti muscles and were soft; the sclera were very vascular and the cornea, conical, the irides dull, thin, and tremulous; the pupils were not in the axis of vision, but were to the nasal side. the elder sister had the same congenital condition, but to a lesser degree. the other boy in the family had a total absence of irides, but he could see fairly well with the left eye. anomalies of the ears.--bilateral absence of the external ears is quite rare, although there is a species of sheep, native of china, called the "yungti," in which this anomaly is constant. bartholinus, lycosthenes, pare, schenck, and oberteuffer have remarked on deficient external ears. guys, the celebrated marseilles litterateur of the eighteenth century, was born with only one ear. chantreuil mentions obliteration of the external auditory canal in the new-born. bannofont reports a case of congenital imperforation of the left auditory canal existing near the tympanic membrane with total deafness in that ear. lloyd described a fetus showing absence of the external auditory meatus on both sides. munro reports a case of congenital absence of the external auditory meatus of the right ear; and richardson speaks of congenital malformation of the external auditory apparatus of the right side. there is an instance of absence of the auditory canal with but partial loss of hearing. mussey reports several cases of congenitally deficient or absent aural appendages. one case was that in which there was congenital absence of the external auditory meatus of both ears without much impairment of hearing. in neither ear of n. w. goddard, aged twenty-seven, of vermont, reported in , was there a vestige of an opening or passage in the external ear, and not even an indentation. the eustachian tube was closed. the integuments of the face and scalp were capable of receiving acoustic impressions and of transmitting them to the organs of hearing. the authors know of a student of a prominent new york university who is congenitally deficient in external ears, yet his hearing is acute. he hides his deformity by wearing his hair long and combed over his ears. the knowledge of anomalous auricles is lost in antiquity. figure represents the head of an aegipan in the british museum showing a supernumerary auricle. as a rule, supernumerary auricles are preauricular appendages. warner, in a report of the examination of , children, quoted by ballantyne, describes with supernumerary auricles, represented by sessile or pedunculated outgrowths in front of the tragus. they are more commonly unilateral, always congenital, and can be easily removed, giving rise to no unpleasant symptoms. they have a soft and elastic consistency, and are usually composed of a hyaline or reticular cartilaginous axis covered with connective or adipose tissue and skin bearing fine hairs; sometimes both cartilage and fat are absent. they are often associated with some form of defective audition--harelip, ocular disturbance, club-feet, congenital hernia, etc. these supernumerary members vary from one to five in number and are sometimes hereditary. reverdin describes a man having a supernumerary nipple on the right side of his chest, of whose five children three had preauricular appendages. figure represents a girl with a supernumerary auricle in the neck, described in the lancet, . a little girl under birkett's care in guy's hospital more than answered to macbeth's requisition, "had i three ears i'd hear thee!" since she possessed two superfluous ones at the sides of the neck, somewhat lower than the angle of the jaw, which were well developed as to their external contour and made up of fibrocartilage. there is mentioned the case of a boy of six months on the left side of whose neck, over the middle anterior border of the sternocleidomastoid muscle, was a nipple-like projection / inch in length; a rod of cartilage was prolonged into it from a thin plate, which was freely movable in the subcutaneous tissue, forming a striking analogue to an auricle. moxhay cites the instance of a mother who was frightened by the sight of a boy with hideous contractions in the neck, and who gave birth to a child with two perfect ears and three rudimentary auricles on the right side, and on the left side two rudimentary auricles. in some people there is an excessive development of the auricular muscles, enabling them to move their ears in a manner similar to that of the lower animals. of the celebrated instances the abbe de marolles, says vigneul-marville, bears witness in his "memoires" that the regent crassot could easily move his ears. saint augustine mentions this anomaly. double tympanitic membrane is spoken of by loeseke. there is sometimes natural perforation of the tympanum in an otherwise perfect ear, which explains how some people can blow tobacco-smoke from the ear. fournier has seen several spaniards and germans who could perform this feat, and knew one man who could smoke a whole cigar without losing any smoke, since he made it leave either by his mouth, his ears, or in both ways. fournier in the same article mentions that he has seen a woman with ears over four inches long. strange to say, there have been reports of cases in which the ossicles were deficient without causing any imperfection of hearing. caldani mentions a case with the incus and malleus deficient, and scarpa and torreau quote instances of deficient ossicles. thomka in reported a case of supernumerary tympanic ossicle, the nature of which was unknown, although it was neither an inflammatory product nor a remnant of meckel's cartilage. absence of the limbs.--those persons born without limbs are either the subjects of intrauterine amputation or of embryonic malformation. probably the most celebrated of this class was marc cazotte, otherwise known as "pepin," who died in paris in the last century at the age of sixty-two of a chronic intestinal disorder. he had no arms, legs, or scrotum, but from very jutting shoulders on each side were well-formed hands. his abdomen ended in a flattened buttock with badly-formed feet attached. he was exhibited before the public and was celebrated for his dexterity. he performed nearly all the necessary actions, exhibited skilfulness in all his movements, and was credited with the ability of coitus. he was quite intellectual, being able to write in several languages. his skeleton is preserved in the musee dupuytren. flachsland speaks of a woman who three times had borne children without arms and legs. hastings describes a living child born without any traces of arms or legs. garlick has seen a child with neither upper nor lower extremities. in place of them were short stumps three or four inches long, closely resembling the ordinary stumps after amputation. the head, chest, body, and male genitals were well formed, and the child survived. hutchinson reports the history of a child born without extremities, probably the result of intrauterine amputation. the flaps were healed at the deltoid insertion and just below the groin. pare says he saw in paris a man without arms, who by means of his head and neck could crack a whip or hold an axe. he ate by means of his feet, dealt and played cards, and threw dice with the same members, exhibiting such dexterity that finally his companions refused to play with him. he was proved to be a thief and a murderer and was finally hanged at gueldres. pare also relates having seen a woman in paris who sewed, embroidered, and did other things with her feet. jansen speaks of a man in spain, born without arms, who could use his feet as well as most people use their arms. schenck and lotichius give descriptions of armless people. hulke describes a child of four whose upper limbs were absent, a small dimple only being in their place. he had free movement of the shoulders in every direction and could grasp objects between his cheeks and his acromian process; the prehensile power of the toes was well developed, as he could pick up a coin thrown to him. a monster of the same conformation was the celebrated painter, ducornet, who was born at lille on the th of january, . he was completely deprived of arms, but the rest of the body was well formed with the exception of the feet, of which the second toe was faulty. the deformity of the feet, however, had the happiest result, as the space between the great toe and its neighbor was much larger than ordinary and the toes much more mobile. he became so skilful in his adopted profession that he finally painted a picture eleven feet in height (representing mary magdalene at the feet of christ after the resurrection), which was purchased by the government and given to the city of lille. broca describes james leedgwood, who was deprived of his arms and had only one leg. he exhibited great dexterity with his single foot, wrote, discharged a pistol, etc.; he was said to have been able to pick up a sewing-needle on a slippery surface with his eyes blindfolded. capitan described to the societe d'anthropologie de paris a young man without arms, who was said to play a violin and cornet with his feet. he was able to take a kerchief from his pocket and to blow his nose; he could make a cigarette, light it, and put it in his mouth, play cards, drink from a glass, and eat with a fork by the aid of his dexterous toes. there was a creature exhibited some time since in the principal cities of france, who was called the "l'homme tronc." he was totally deprived of all his members. curran describes a hindoo, a prostitute of forty, with congenital absence of both upper extremities. a slight fleshy protuberance depended from the cicatrix of the humerus and shoulder-joint of the left side, and until the age of ten there was one on the right side. she performed many tricks with her toes. caldani speaks of a monster without arms, davis mentions one, and smith describes a boy of four with his upper limbs entirely absent. breschet has seen a child of nine with only portions of the upper arms and deformity of lower extremities and pelvis. pare says that he saw in paris in , at the gate of st. andrew des arts, a boy of nine, a native of a small village near guise, who had no legs and whose left foot was represented by a fleshy body hanging from the trunk; he had but two fingers hanging on his right hand, and had between his legs what resembled a virile penis. pare attributes this anomaly to a default in the quantity of semen. the figure and skeleton of harvey leach, called "hervio nono," is in the museum of the university college in london. the pelvis was comparatively weak, the femurs hardly to be recognized, and the right tibia and foot defective; the left foot was better developed, although far from being in due proportion to the trunk above. he was one of the most remarkable gymnasts of his day, and notwithstanding the distortion of his lower limbs had marvelous power and agility in them. as an arena-horseman, either standing or sitting, he was scarcely excelled. he walked and even ran quite well, and his power of leaping, partly with his feet and partly with his hands, was unusual. his lower limbs were so short that, erect, he touched the floor with his fingers, but he earned his livelihood as much with his lower as with his upper limbs. in his skeleton his left lower limb, between the hip and heel, measured inches, while the right, between the same points, measured nine inches. hare mentions a boy of five and a half whose head and trunk were the same as in any other child of like age. he was / inches high, had no spinal curvature, but was absolutely devoid of lower extremities. the right arm was two inches long and the left / . each contained the head and a small adjoining portion of the humerus. the legs were represented by masses of cellular tissue and fat covered by skin which projected about an inch. he was intelligent, had a good memory, and exhibited considerable activity. he seemed to have had more than usual mobility and power of flexion of the lower lumbar region. when on his back he was unable to rise up, but resting on the lower part of the pelvis he was able to maintain himself erect. he usually picked up objects with his teeth, and could hold a coin in the axilla as he rolled from place to place. his rolling was accomplished by a peculiar twisting of the thorax and bending of the pelvis. there was no history of maternal impression during pregnancy, no injury, and no hereditary disposition to anomalous members. figure represents a boy with congenital deficiency of the lower extremities who was exhibited a few years ago in philadelphia. in figure , which represents a similar case in a girl whose photograph is deposited in the mutter museum of the college of physicians, philadelphia, we see how cleverly the congenital defect may be remedied by mechanical contrivance. with her crutches and artificial legs this girl was said to have moved about easily. parvin describes a "turtle-man" as an ectromelian, almost entering the class of phocomelians or seal-like monsters; the former term signifies abortive or imperfect formation of the members. the hands and feet were normally developed, but the arms, forearms, and legs are much shortened. the "turtle-woman" of demerara was so called because her mother when pregnant was frightened by a turtle, and also from the child's fancied resemblance to a turtle. the femur was six inches long, the woman had a foot of six bones, four being toes, viz., the first and second phalanges of the first and second toes. she had an acetabulum, capsule, and ligamentum teres, but no tibia or fibula; she also had a defective right forearm. she was never the victim of rachitis or like disease, but died of syphilis in the colonial hospital. in her twenty-second year she was delivered of a full-grown child free of deformity. there was a woman living in bavaria, under the observation of buhl, who had congenital absence of both femurs and both fibulas. almost all the muscles of the thigh existed, and the main attachment to the pelvis was by a large capsular articulation. charpentier gives the portrait of a woman in whom there was a uniform diminution in the size of the limbs. debout portrays a young man with almost complete absence of the thigh and leg, from whose right hip there depended a foot. accrell describes a peasant of twenty-six, born without a hip, thigh, or leg on the right side. the external genital organs were in their usual place, but there was only one testicle in the scrotum. the man was virile. the rectum instead of opening outward and underneath was deflected to the right. supernumerary limbs.--haller reports several cases of supernumerary extremities. plancus speaks of an infant with a complete third leg, and dumeril cites a similar instance. geoffroy-saint-hilaire presented to the academie des sciences in a child with four legs and feet who was in good health. amman saw a girl with a large thigh attached to her nates. below the thigh was a single leg made by the fusion of two legs. no patella was found and the knee was anchylosed. one of the feet of the supernumerary limb had six toes, while the other, which was merely an outgrowth, had two toes on it. according to jules guerin, the child named gustav evrard was born with a thigh ending in two legs and two imperfect feet depending from the left nates. tucker describes a baby born in the sloane maternity in new york, october , , who had a third leg hanging from a bony and fleshy union attached to the dorsal spine. the supernumerary leg was well formed and had a left foot attached to it. larkin and jones mention the removal of a meningocele and a supernumerary limb from an infant of four months. this limb contained three fingers only, one of which did not have a bony skeleton. pare says that on the day the venetians and the genevois made peace a monster was born in italy which had four legs of equal proportions, and besides had two supernumerary arms from the elbows of the normal limbs. this creature lived and was baptized. anomalies of the feet.--hatte has seen a woman who bore a child that had three feet. bull gives a description of a female infant with the left foot double or cloven. there was only one heel, but the anterior portion consisted of an anterior and a posterior part. the anterior foot presented a great toe and four smaller ones, but deformed like an example of talipes equinovarus. continuous with the outer edge of the anterior part and curving beneath it was a posterior part, looking not unlike a second foot, containing six well-formed toes situated directly beneath the other five. the eleven toes were all perfect and none of them were webbed. there is a class of monsters called "sirens" on account of their resemblance to the fabulous creatures of mythology of that name. under the influence of compression exercised in the uterus during the early period of gestation fusion of the inferior extremities is effected. the accompanying illustration shows the appearance of these monsters, which are thought to resemble the enchantresses celebrated by homer. anomalies of the hand.--blumenbach speaks of an officer who, having lost his right hand, was subsequently presented by his wife with infants of both sexes showing the same deformity. murray cites the instance of a woman of thirty-eight, well developed, healthy, and the mother of normal children, who had a double hand. the left arm was abnormal, the flexion of the elbow imperfect, and the forearm terminated in a double hand with only rudimentary thumbs. in working as a charwoman she leaned on the back of the flexed carpus. the double hand could grasp firmly, though the maximum power was not so great as that of the right hand. sensation was equally acute in all three of the hands. the middle and ring fingers of the supernumerary hand were webbed as far as the proximal joints, and the movements of this hand were stiff and imperfect. no single finger of the two hands could be extended while the other seven were flexed. giraldes saw an infant in with somewhat the same deformity, but in which the disposition of the muscles and tendons permitted the ordinary movements. absence of digits.--maygrier describes a woman of twenty-four who instead of having a hand on each arm had only one finger, and each foot had but two toes. she was delivered of two female children in and one in , each having exactly the same deformities. her mother was perfectly formed, but the father had but one toe on his foot and one finger on his left hand. kohler gives photographs of quite a remarkable case of suppression and deformity of the digits of both the fingers and toes. figure shows a man who was recently exhibited in philadelphia. he had but two fingers on each hand and two toes on each foot, and resembles kohler's case in the anomalous digital conformation. figure represents an exhibitionist with congenital suppression of four digits on each hand. tubby has seen a boy of three in whom the first, second, and third toes of each foot were suppressed, the great toe and the little toe being so overgrown that they could be opposed. in this family for four generations individuals out of presented this defect of the lower extremity. the patient's brothers and a sister had exactly the same deformity, which has been called "lobster-claw foot." falla of jedburgh speaks of an infant who was born without forearms or hands; at the elbow there was a single finger attached by a thin string of tissue. this was the sixth child, and it presented no other deformity. falla also says that instances of intrauterine digital amputation are occasionally seen. according to annandale, supernumerary digits may be classified as follows:-- ( ) a deficient organ, loosely attached by a narrow pedicle to the hand or foot (or to another digit). ( ) a more or less developed organ, free at its extremity, and articulating with the head or sides of a metacarpal, metatarsal, or phalangeal bone. ( ) a fully developed separate digit. ( ) a digit intimately united along its whole length with another digit, and having either an additional metacarpal or metatarsal bone of its own, or articulating with the head of one which is common to it and another digit. superstitions relative to supernumerary fingers have long been prevalent. in the days of the ancient chaldeans it was for those of royal birth especially that divinations relative to extra digits were cast. among the ancients we also occasionally see illustrations emblematic of wisdom in an individual with many fingers, or rather double hands, on each arm. hutchinson, in his comments on a short-limbed, polydactylous dwarf which was dissected by ruysch, the celebrated amsterdam anatomist, writes as follows.-- "this quaint figure is copied from theodore kerckring's 'spicilegium anatomicum,' published in amsterdam in . the description states that the body was that of an infant found drowned in the river on october , . it was dissected by the renowned ruysch. a detailed description of the skeleton is given. my reason for now reproducing the plate is that it offers an important item of evidence in reference to the development of short-limbed dwarfs. although we must not place too much reliance on the accuracy of the draughtsman, since he has figured some superfluous lumbar vertebrae, yet there can be no doubt that the limbs are much too short for the trunk and head. this remark especially applies to the lower limbs and pelvis. these are exactly like those of the norwich dwarf and of the skeleton in the heidelberg museum which i described in a recent number of the 'archives.' the point of extreme interest in the present case is that this dwarfing of the limbs is associated with polydactylism. both the hands have seven digits. the right foot has eight and the left nine. the conditions are not exactly symmetrical, since in some instances a metacarpal or metatarsal bone is wanting; or, to put it otherwise, two are welded together. it will be seen that the upper extremities are so short that the tips of the digits will only just touch the iliac crests. "this occurrence of short limbs with polydactylism seems to prove conclusively that the condition may be due to a modification of development of a totally different nature from rickets. it is probable that the infant was not at full term. among the points which the author has noticed in his description are that the fontanelle was double its usual size; that the orbits were somewhat deformed; that the two halves of the lower jaw were already united; and that the ribs were short and badly formed. he also, of course, draws attention to the shortness of the limbs, the stoutness of the long bones, and the supernumerary digits. i find no statement that the skeleton was deposited in any museum, but it is very possible that it is still in existence in amsterdam, and if so it is very desirable that it should be more exactly described." in figure , a represents division of thumb after guyot-daubes, shows a typical case of supernumerary fingers, and c pictures morand's case of duplication of several toes. forster gives a sketch of a hand with nine fingers and a foot with nine toes. voight records an instance of fingers on each hand and toes on each foot. saviard saw an infant at the hotel-dieu in paris in which had digits, ten on each member. annandale relates the history of a woman who had six fingers and two thumbs on each hand, and another who had eight toes on one foot. meckel tells of a case in which a man had fingers and toes, all well formed, and whose children and grandchildren inherited the deformity. mason has seen nine toes on the left foot. there is recorded the account of a child who had toes and six fingers on each hand, one fractured. braid describes talipes varus in a child of a few months who had ten toes. there is also on record a collection of cases of from seven to ten fingers on each hand and from seven to ten toes on each foot. scherer gives an illustration of a female infant, otherwise normally formed, with seven fingers on each hand, all united and bearing claw-like nails. on each foot there was a double halux and five other digits, some of which were webbed. the influence of heredity on this anomaly is well demonstrated. reaumur was one of the first to prove this, as shown by the kelleia family of malta, and there have been many corroboratory instances reported; it is shown to last for three, four, and even five generations; intermarriage with normal persons finally eradicates it. it is particularly in places where consanguineous marriages are prevalent that supernumerary digits persist in a family. the family of foldi in the tribe of hyabites living in arabia are very numerous and confine their marriages to their tribe. they all have digits, and infants born with the normal number are sacrificed as being the offspring of adultery. the inhabitants of the village of eycaux in france, at the end of the last century, had nearly all supernumerary digits either on the hands or feet. being isolated in an inaccessible and mountainous region, they had for many years intermarried and thus perpetuated the anomaly. communication being opened, they emigrated or married strangers and the sexdigitism vanished. maupertuis recalls the history of a family living in berlin whose members had digits for many generations. one of them being presented with a normal infant refused to acknowledge it. there is an instance in the western united states in which supernumerary digits have lasted through five generations. cameron speaks of two children in the same family who were polydactylic, though not having the same number of supernumerary fingers. smith and norwell report the case of a boy of fifteen both of whose hands showed webbing of the middle and ring fingers and accessory nodules of bone between the metacarpals, and six toes on each foot. the boy's father showed similar malformations, and in five generations out of individuals were thus malformed, ten females and males. the deformity was especially transmitted in the female line. instances of supernumerary thumbs are cited by panaroli, ephemerides, munconys, as well as in numerous journals since. this anomaly is not confined to man alone; apes, dogs, and other lower animals possess it. bucephalus, the celebrated horse of alexander, and the horse of caesar were said to have been cloven-hoofed. hypertrophy of the digits is the result of many different processes, and true hypertrophy or gigantism must be differentiated from acromegaly, elephantiasis, leontiasis, and arthritis deformans, for which distinction the reader is referred to an article by park. park also calls attention to the difference between acquired gigantism, particularly of the finger and toes, and another condition of congenital gigantism, in which either after or before birth there is a relatively disproportionate, sometimes enormous, overgrowth of perhaps one finger or two, perhaps of a limited portion of a hand or foot, or possibly of a part of one of the limbs. the best collection of this kind of specimens is in the college of surgeons in london. curling quotes a most peculiar instance of hypertrophy of the fingers in a sickly girl. the middle and ring fingers of the right hand were of unusual size, the middle finger measuring / inches in length four inches in circumference. on the left hand the thumb and middle fingers were hypertrophied and the index finger was as long as the middle one of the right hand. the middle finger had a lateral curvature outward, due to a displacement of the extensor tendon. this affection resembled acromegaly. curling cites similar cases, one in a spanish gentleman, governor of luzon, in the philippine islands, in , who had an extraordinary middle finger, which he concealed by carrying it in the breast of his coat. hutchinson exhibited a photograph showing the absence of the radius and thumb, with shortening of the forearm. conditions more or less approaching this had occurred in several members of the same family. in some they were associated with defects of development in the lower extremities also. the varieties of club-foot--talipes varus, valgus, equinus, equino-varus, etc.--are so well known that they will be passed with mention only of a few persons who have been noted for their activity despite their deformity. tyrtee, parini, byron, and scott are among the poets who were club-footed; some writers say that shakespeare suffered in a slight degree from this deformity. agesilas, genserie, robert ii, duke of normandy, henry ii, emperor of the west, otto ii, duke of brunswick, charles ii, king of naples, and tamerlane were victims of deformed feet. mlle. valliere, the mistress of louis xiv, was supposed to have both club-foot and hip-disease. genu valgum and genu varum are ordinary deformities and quite common in all classes. transpositions of the character of the vertebrae are sometimes seen. in man the lumbar vertebrae have sometimes assumed the character of the sacral vertebrae, the sacral vertebrae presenting the aspect of lumbar vertebrae, etc. it is quite common to see the first lumbar vertebra presenting certain characteristics of the dorsal. numerical anomalies of the vertebrae are quite common, generally in the lumbar and dorsal regions, being quite rare in the cervical, although there have been instances of six or eight cervical vertebrae. in the lower animals the vertebrae are prolonged into a tail, which, however, is sometimes absent, particularly when hereditary influence exists. it has been noticed in the class of dogs whose tails are habitually amputated to improve their appearance that the tail gradually decreases in length. some breeders deny this fact. human tails.--the prolongation of the coccyx sometimes takes the shape of a caudal extremity in man. broca and others claim that the sacrum and the coccyx represent the normal tail of man, but examples are not infrequent in which there has been a fleshy or bony tail appended to the coccygeal region. traditions of tailed men are old and widespread, and tailed races were supposed to reside in almost every country. there was at one time an ancient belief that all cornishmen had tails, and certain men of kent were said to have been afflicted with tails in retribution for their insults to thomas a becket. struys, a dutch traveler in formosa in the seventeenth century, describes a wild man caught and tied for execution who had a tail more than a foot long, which was covered with red hair like that of a cow. the niam niams of central africa are reported to have tails smooth and hairy and from two to ten inches long. hubsch of constantinople remarks that both men and women of this tribe have tails. carpus, or berengarius carpensis, as he is called, in one of his commentaries said that there were some people in hibernia with long tails, but whether they were fleshy or cartilaginous could not be known, as the people could not be approached. certain supposed tailed races which have been described by sea-captains and voyagers are really only examples of people who wear artificial appendages about the waists, such as palm-leaves and hair. a certain wesleyan missionary, george brown, in spoke of a formal breeding of a tailed race in kali, off the coast of new britain. tailless children were slain at once, as they would be exposed to public ridicule. the tailed men of borneo are people afflicted with hereditary malformation analogous to sexdigitism. a tailed race of princes have ruled rajoopootana, and are fond of their ancestral mark. there are fabulous stories told of canoes in the east indies which have holes in their benches made for the tails of the rowers. at one time in the east the presence of tails was taken as a sign of brute force. there was reported from caracas the discovery of a tribe of indians in paraguay who were provided with tails. the narrative reads somewhat after this manner: one day a number of workmen belonging to tacura tuyn while engaged in cutting grass had their mules attacked by some guayacuyan indians. the workmen pursued the indians but only succeeded in capturing a boy of eight. he was taken to the house of senor francisco galeochoa at posedas, and was there discovered to have a tail ten inches long. on interrogation the boy stated that he had a brother who had a tail as long as his own, and that all the tribe had tails. aetius, bartholinus, falk, harvey, kolping, hesse, paulinus, strauss, and wolff give descriptions of tails. blanchard says he saw a tail fully a span in length: and there is a description in of a man by the name of emanuel konig, a son of a doctor of laws who had a tail half a span long, which grew directly downward from the coccyx and was coiled on the perineum, causing much discomfort. jacob describes a pouch of skin resembling a tail which hung from the tip of the coccyx to the length of six inches. it was removed and was found to be thicker than the thumb, consisted of distinctly jointed portions with synovial capsules. gosselin saw at his clinic a caudal appendix in an infant which measured about ten cm. lissner says that in he assisted in the delivery of a young girl who had a tail consisting of a coccyx prolonged and covered with skin, and in he saw the same girl, at this time the tail measuring nearly cm. virchow received for examination a tail three inches long amputated from a boy of eight weeks. ornstein, chief physician of the greek army, describes a greek of twenty-six who had a hairless, conical tail, free only at the tip, two inches long and containing three vertebrae. he also remarks that other instances have been observed in recruits. thirk of broussa in described the tail of a kurd of twenty-two which contained four vertebrae. belinovski gives an account of a hip-joint amputation and extirpation of a fatty caudal extremity, the only one he had ever observed. before the berlin anthropological society there were presented two adult male papuans, in good health and spirits, who had been brought from new guinea; their coccygeal bones projected / inches. oliver wendell holmes in the atlantic monthly, june, , says that he saw in london a photograph of a boy with a considerable tail. the "moi boy" was a lad of twelve, who was found in cochin china, with a tail a foot long which was simply a mass of flesh. miller tells of a west point student who had an elongation of the coccyx, forming a protuberance which bulged very visibly under the skin. exercise at the riding school always gave him great distress, and the protuberance would often chafe until the skin was broken, the blood trickling into his boots. bartels presents a very complete article in which he describes persons born with tails, most of the tails being merely fleshy protuberances. darwin speaks of a person with a fleshy tail and refers to a french article on human tails. science contains a description of a negro child born near louisville, eight weeks old, with a pedunculated tail / inches long, with a base / inches in circumference. the tail resembled in shape a pig's tail and had grown / inch since birth. it showed no signs of cartilage or bone, and had its origin from a point slightly to the left of the median line and about an inch above the end of the spinal column. dickinson recently reported the birth of a child with a tail. it was a well-developed female between / and six pounds in weight. the coccyx was covered with the skin on both the anterior and posterior surfaces. it thus formed a tail of the size of the nail of the little finger, with a length of nearly / inch on the inner surface and / inch on the rear surface. this little tip could be raised from the body and it slowly sank back. in addition to the familiar caudal projection of the human fetus, dickinson mentions a group of other vestigial remains of a former state of things. briefly these are:-- ( ) the plica semilunaris as a vestige of the nictitating membrane of certain birds. ( ) the pointed ear, or the turned-down tip of the ears of many men. ( ) the atrophied muscles, such as those that move the ear, that are well developed in certain people, or that shift the scalp, resembling the action of a horse in ridding itself of flies. ( ) the supracondyloid foremen of the humerus. ( ) the vermiform appendix. ( ) the location and direction of the hair on the trunk and limbs. ( ) the dwindling wisdom-teeth. ( ) the feet of the fetus strongly deflected inward, as in the apes, and persisting in the early months of life, together with great mobility and a distinct projection of the great toe at an angle from the side of the foot. ( ) the remarkable grasping power of the hand at birth and for a few weeks thereafter, that permits young babies to suspend their whole weight on a cane for a period varying from half a minute to two minutes. horrocks ascribes to these anal tags a pathologic importance. he claims that they may be productive of fistula in ano, superficial ulcerations, fecal concretions, fissure in ano, and that they may hypertrophy and set up tenesmus and other troubles. the presence of human tails has given rise to discussion between friends and opponents of the darwinian theory. by some it is considered a reversion to the lower species, while others deny this and claim it to be simply a pathologic appendix. anomalies of the spinal canal and contents.--when there is a default in the spinal column, the vice of conformation is called spina bifida. this is of two classes: first, a simple opening in the vertebral canal, and, second, a large cleft sufficient to allow the egress of spinal membranes and substance. figure represents a large congenital sacral tumor. achard speaks of partial duplication of the central canal of the spinal cord. de cecco reports a singular case of duplication of the lumbar segment of the spinal cord. wagner speaks of duplication of a portion of the spinal cord. foot records a case of amyelia, or absence of the spinal cord, in a fetus with hernia cerebri and complete fissure of the spinal column. nicoll and arnold describe an anencephalous fetus with absence of spinal marrow; and smith also records the birth of an amyelitic fetus. in some persons there are exaggerated curvatures of the spine. the first of these curvatures is called kyphosis, in which the curvature is posterior; second, lordosis, in which the curvature is anterior; third, scoliosis, in which it is lateral, to the right or left. kyphosis is the most common of the deviations in man and is most often found in the dorsal region, although it may be in the lumbar region. congenital kyphosis is very rare in man, is generally seen in monsters, and when it does exist is usually accompanied by lordosis or spine bifida. we sometimes observe a condition of anterior curvature of the lumbar and sacral regions, which might be taken for a congenital lordosis, but this is really a deformity produced after birth by the physiologic weight of the body. figure represents a case of lordosis caused by paralysis of the spinal muscles. analogous to this is what the accoucheurs call spondylolisthesis. scoliosis may be a cervicodorsal, dorsolumbar, or lumbosacral curve, and the inclination of the vertebral column may be to the right or left. the pathologists divide scoliosis into a myopathic variety, in which the trouble is a physiologic antagonism of the muscles; or osteopathic, ordinarily associated with rachitis, which latter variety is generally accountable for congenital scoliosis. in some cases the diameter of the chest is shortened to an almost incredible degree, but may yet be compatible with life. glover speaks of an extraordinary deformity of the chest with lateral curvature of the spine, in which the diameter from the pit of the stomach to the spinal integument was only / inches. supernumerary ribs are not at all uncommon in man, nearly every medical museum having some examples. cervical ribs are not rare. gordon describes a young man of seventeen in whom there was a pair of supernumerary ribs attached to the cervical vertebrae. bernhardt mentions an instance in which cervical ribs caused motor and sensory disturbances. dumerin of lyons showed an infant of eight days which had an arrested development of the d, d, th, and th ribs. cases of deficient ribs are occasionally met. wistar in gives an account of a person in whom one side of the thorax was at rest while the other performed the movements of breathing in the usual manner. in some cases we see fissure of the sternum, caused either by deficient union or absence of one of its constituent parts. in the most exaggerated cases these fissures permit the exit of the heart, and as a general rule ectopies of the heart are thus caused. pavy has given a most remarkable case of sternal fissure in a young man of twenty-five, a native of hamburg. he exhibited himself in one medical clinic after another all over europe, and was always viewed with the greatest interest. in the median line, corresponding to the absence of sternum, was a longitudinal groove bounded on either side by a continuous hard ridge which articulated with the costal cartilages. the skin passed naturally over the chest from one side to another, but was raised at one part of the groove by a pulsatile swelling which occupied the position of the right auricle. the clavicle and the two margins of the sternum had no connections whatever, and below the groove was a hard substance corresponding to the ensiform cartilage, which, however, was very elastic, and allowed the patient, under the influence of the pectoral muscles, when the upper extremity was fixed, to open the groove to nearly the extent of three inches, which was more than twice its natural width. by approximating his arms he made the ends of his clavicles overlap. when he coughed, the right lung suddenly protruded from the chest through the groove and ascended a considerable distance above the clavicle into the neck. between the clavicles another pulsatile swelling was easily felt but hardly seen, which was doubtless the arch of the aorta, as by putting the fingers on it one could feel a double shock, synchronous with distention and recoil of a vessel or opening and closing of the semilunar valves. madden pictures (figs. and ) a swede of forty with congenital absence of osseous structure in the middle line of the sternum, leaving a fissure / x / x inches, the longest diameter being vertical. madden also mentions several analogous instances on record. groux's case was in a person of forty-five, and the fissure had the vertical length of four inches. hodgen of st. louis reports a case in which there was exstrophy of the heart through the fissure. slocum reports the occurrence of a sternal fissure x / inches in an irishman of twenty-five. madden also cites the case of abbott in an adult negress and a mother. obermeier mentions several cases. gibson and malet describe a presternal fissure uncovering the base of the heart. ziemssen, wrany, and williams also record congenital fissures of the sternum. thomson has collected cases of thoracic defects and summarizes his paper by saying that the structures deficient are generally the hair in the mammary and axillary regions, the subcutaneous fat over the muscles, nipples, and breasts, the pectorals and adjacent muscles, the costal cartilages and anterior ends of ribs, the hand and forearm; he also adds that there may be a hernia of the lung, not hereditary, but probably due to the pressure of the arm against the chest. de marque gives a curious instance in which the chin and chest were congenitally fastened together. muirhead cites an instance in which a firm, broad strip of cartilage resembling sternomastoid extended from below the left ear to the left upper corner of the sternum, being entirely separate from the jaw. some preliminary knowledge of embryology is essential to understand the formation of branchial fissures, and we refer the reader to any of the standard works on embryology for this information. dzondi was one of the first to recognize and classify congenital fistulas of the neck. the proper classification is into lateral and median fissures. in a case studied by fevrier the exploration of a lateral pharyngeal fistula produced by the introduction of the sound violent reflex phenomena, such as pallor of the face and irregular, violent beating of the heart. the rarest of the lateral class is the preauricular fissure, which has been observed by fevrier, le dentu, marchand, peyrot, and routier. the median congenital fissures of the neck are probably caused by defective union of the branchial arches, although arndt thinks that he sees in these median fistulas a persistence of the hypobranchial furrow which exists normally in the amphioxus. they are less frequent than the preceding variety. the most typical form of malformation of the esophagus is imperforation or obliteration. van cuyck of brussels in delivered a child which died on the third day from malnutrition. postmortem it was found that the inferior extremity of the esophagus to the extent of about two inches was converted into a ligamentous cord. porro describes a case of congenital obliteration of the esophagus which ended in a cecal pouch about one inch below the inferior portion of the glottidean aperture and from this point to the stomach only measured an inch; there was also tracheal communication. the child was noticed to take to the breast with avidity, but after a little suckling it would cough, become livid, and reject most of the milk through the nose, in this way almost suffocating at each paroxysm; it died on the third day. in some cases the esophagus is divided, one portion opening into the bronchial or other thoracic organs. brentano describes an infant dying ten days after birth whose esophagus was divided into two portions, one terminating in a culdesac, the other opening into the bronchi; the left kidney was also displaced downward. blasius describes an anomalous case of duplication of the esophagus. grashuys, and subsequently vicq d'azir, saw a dilatation of the esophagus resembling the crop of a bird. anomalies of the lungs.--carper describes a fetus of thirty-seven weeks in whose thorax he found a very voluminous thymus gland but no lungs. these organs were simply represented by two little oval bodies having no lobes, with the color of the tissue of the liver. the heart had only one cavity but all the other organs were perfectly formed. this case seems to be unique. tichomiroff records the case of a woman of twenty-four who died of pneumonia in whom the left lung was entirely missing. no traces of a left bronchus existed. the subject was very poorly developed physically. tichomiroff finds four other cases in literature, in all of which the left lung was absent. theremin and tyson record cases of the absence of the left lung. supplementary pulmonary lobes are occasionally seen in man and are taken by some authorities to be examples of retrogressive anomalies tending to prove that the derivation of the human race is from the quadrupeds which show analogous pulmonary malformation. eckley reports an instance of supernumerary lobe of the right lung in close connection with the vena azygos major. collins mentions a similar case. bonnet and edwards speak of instances of four lobes in the right lung. testut and marcondes report a description of a lung with six lobes. anomalies of the diaphragm.--diemerbroeck is said to have dissected a human subject in whom the diaphragm and mediastinum were apparently missing, but such cases must be very rare, although we frequently find marked deficiency of this organ. bouchand reports an instance of absence of the right half of the diaphragm in an infant born at term. lawrence mentions congenital deficiency of the muscular fibers of the left half of the diaphragm with displacement of the stomach. the patient died of double pneumonia. carruthers, mcclintock, polaillon, and van geison also record instances of congenital deficiency of part of the diaphragm. recently dittel reported unilateral defect in the diaphragm of an infant that died soon after birth. the stomach, small intestines, and part of the large omentum lay in the left pleural cavity; both the phrenic nerves were normal. many similar cases of diaphragmatic hernia have been observed. in such cases the opening may be large enough to allow a great part of the visceral constituents to pass into the thorax, sometimes seriously interfering with respiration and circulation by the pressure which ensues. alderson reports a fatal case of diaphragmatic hernia with symptoms of pneumothorax. the stomach, spleen, omentum, and transverse colon were found lying in the left pleura. berchon mentions double perforation of the diaphragm with hernia of the epiploon. the most extensive paper on this subject was contributed by bodwitch, who, besides reporting an instance in the massachusetts general hospital, gives a numerical analysis of all the cases of this affection found recorded in the writings of medical authors between the years and . hillier speaks of an instance of congenital diaphragmatic hernia in which nearly all the small intestines and two-thirds of the large passed into the right side of the thorax. macnab reports an instance in which three years after the cure of empyema the whole stomach constituted the hernia. recently joly described congenital hernia of the stomach in a man of thirty-seven, who died from collapse following lymphangitis, persistent vomiting, and diarrhea. at the postmortem there was found a defect in the diaphragm on the left side, permitting herniation of the stomach and first part of the duodenum into the left pleural cavity. there was no history of traumatism to account for strangulation. longworth cites an instance of inversion of the diaphragm in a human subject. bartholinus mentions coalition of the diaphragm and liver; and similar cases are spoken of by morgagni and the ephemerides. hoffman describes diaphragmatic junction with the lung. anomalies of the stomach.--the ephemerides contains the account of a dissection in which the stomach was found wanting, and also speaks of two instances of duplex stomach. bartholinus, heister, hufeland, morgagni, riolan, and sandifort cite examples of duplex stomach. bonet speaks of a case of vomiting which was caused by a double stomach. struthers reports two cases in which there were two cavities to the stomach. struthers also mentions that morgagni, home, monro, palmer, larry, blasius, hufeland, and walther also record instances in which there was contraction in the middle of the stomach, accounting for their instances of duplex stomach. musser reports an instance of hour-glass contraction of the stomach. hart dissected the stomach of a woman of thirty which resembled the stomach of a predaceous bird, with patches of tendon on its surface. the right extremity instead of continuously contracting ended in a culdesac one-half as large as the greater end of the stomach. the duodenum proceeded from the depression marking the lesser arch of the organ midway between the cardiac orifice and the right extremity. crooks speaks of a case in which the stomach of an infant terminated in a culdesac. hernia of the stomach is not uncommon, especially in diaphragmatic or umbilical deficiency. there are many cases on record, some terminating fatally from strangulation or exposure to traumatism. paterson reports a case of congenital hernia of the stomach into the left portion of the thoracic cavity. it was covered with fat and occupied the whole left half of the thoracic cavity. the spleen, pancreas, and transverse colon were also superior to the diaphragm. death was caused by a well-defined round perforation at the cardiac curvature the size of a sixpence. anomalies of the intestines.--the ephemerides contains the account of an example of double cecum, and alexander speaks of a double colon, and there are other cases of duplication of the bowel recorded. there is an instance of coalition of the jejunum with the liver, and treuner parallels this case. aubery, charrier poelman, and others speak of congenital division of the intestinal canal. congenital occlusion is quite frequently reported. dilatation of the colon frequently occurs as a transient affection, and by its action in pushing up the diaphragm may so seriously interfere with the action of the heart and lungs as to occasionally cause heart-failure. fenwick has mentioned an instance of this nature. according to osler there is a chronic form of dilatation of the colon in which the gut may reach an enormous size. the coats may be hypertrophied without evidence of any special organic change in the mucosa. the most remarkable instance has been reported by formad. the patient, known as the "balloon-man," aged twenty-three at the time of his death, had had a distended abdomen from infancy. postmortem the colon was found as large as that of an ox, the circumference ranging from to inches. the weight of the contents was pounds. cases are not uncommon in children. osler reports three well-marked cases under his care. chapman mentions a case in which the liver was displaced by dilatation of the sigmoid flexure. mya reports two cases of congenital dilatation and hypertrophy of the colon (megacolon congenito). hirsohsprung, genersich, faralli, walker, and griffiths all record similar instances, and in all these cases the clinical features were obstinate constipation and marked meteorismus. imperforate anus.--cases in which the anus is imperforate or the rectum ends in a blind pouch are occasionally seen. in some instances the rectum is entirely absent, the colon being the termination of the intestinal tract. there are cases on record in which the rectum communicated with the anus solely by a fibromuscular cord. anorectal atresia is the ordinary imperforation of the anus, in which the rectum terminates in the middle of the sacral cavity. the rectum may be deficient from the superior third of the sacrum, and in this position is quite inaccessible for operation. a compensatory coalition of the bowel with the bladder or urethra is sometimes present, and in these cases the feces are voided by the urinary passages. huxham mentions the fusion of the rectum and colon with the bladder, and similar instances are reported by dumas and baillie. zacutus lusitanus describes an infant with an imperforate membrane over its anus who voided feces through the urethra for three months. after puncture of the membrane, the discharge came through the natural passage and the child lived; morgagni mentions a somewhat similar case in a little girl living in bologna, and other modern instances have been reported. the rectum may terminate in the vagina. masters has seen a child who lived nine days in whom the sigmoid flexure of the colon terminated in the fundus of the bladder. guinard pictures a case in which there was communication between the rectum and the bladder. in figure a represents the rectum; b the bladder; c the point of communication; g shows the cellular tissue of the scrotum. there is a description of a girl of fourteen, otherwise well constituted and healthy, who had neither external genital organs nor anus. there was a plain dermal covering over the genital and anal region. she ate regularly, but every three days she experienced pain in the umbilicus and much intestinal irritation, followed by severe vomiting of stercoraceous matter; the pains then ceased and she cleansed her mouth with aromatic washes, remaining well until the following third day. some of the urine was evacuated by the mammae. the examiners displayed much desire to see her after puberty to note the disposition of the menstrual flow, but no further observation of her case can be found. fournier narrates that he was called by three students, who had been trying to deliver a woman for five days. he found a well-constituted woman of twenty-two in horrible agony, who they said had not had a passage of the bowels for eight days, so he prescribed an enema. the student who was directed to give the enema found to his surprise that there was no anus, but by putting his finger in the vagina he could discern the floating end of the rectum, which was full of feces. there was an opening in this suspended rectum about the size of an undistended anus. lavage was practiced by a cannula introduced through the opening, and a great number of cherry stones agglutinated with feces followed the water, and labor was soon terminated. the woman afterward confessed that she was perfectly aware of her deformity, but was ashamed to disclose it before. there was an analogue of this case found by mercurialis in a child of a jew called teutonicus. gerster reports a rare form of imperforate anus, with malposition of the left ureter, obliteration of the ostia of both ureters, with consequent hydronephrosis of a confluent kidney. there was a minute opening into the bladder, which allowed the passage of meconium through the urethra. burge mentions the case of what he calls "sexless child," in which there was an imperforate anus and no pubic arch; the ureters discharged upon a tumor the size of a teacup extending from the umbilicus to the pubes. a postmortem examination confirmed the diagnosis of sexless child. the liver.--the ephemerides, frankenau, von home, molinetti, schenok, and others speak of deficient or absent liver. zacutus lusitanus says that he once found a mass of flesh in place of the liver. lieutaud is quoted as describing a postmortem examination of an adult who had died of hydropsy, in whom the liver and spleen were entirely missing. the portal vein discharged immediately into the vena cava; this case is probably unique, as no authentic parallel could be found. laget reports an instance of supernumerary lobe in the liver. van buren describes a supernumerary liver. sometimes there is rotation, real or apparent, caused by transposition of the characteristics of the liver. handy mentions such a case. kirmisson reports a singular anomaly of the liver which he calls double displacement by interversion and rotation on the vertical axis. actual displacements of the liver as well as what is known as wandering liver are not uncommon. the operation for floating liver will be spoken of later. hawkins reports a case of congenital obliteration of the ductus communis choledochus in a male infant which died at the age of four and a half months. jaundice appeared on the eighth day and lasted through the short life. the hepatic and cystic ducts were pervious and the hepatic duct obliterated. there were signs of hepatic cirrhosis and in addition an inguinal hernia. the gall-bladder.--harle mentions the case of a man of fifty, in whom he could find no gall-bladder; patterson has seen a similar instance in a men of twenty-five. purser describes a double gall-bladder. the spleen has been found deficient or wanting by lebby, ramsay, and others, but more frequently it is seen doubled. cabrolius, morgagni, and others have found two spleens in one subject; cheselden and fallopius report three; fantoni mentions four found in one subject; guy-patin has seen five, none as large as the ordinary organ; hollerius, kerckringius, and others have remarked on multiple spleens. there is a possibility that in some of the cases of multiple spleens reported the organ is really single but divided into several lobes. albrecht mentions a case shown at a meeting of the vienna medical society of a very large number of spleens found in the mesogastrium, peritoneum, on the mesentery and transverse mesocolon, in douglas' pouch, etc. there was a spleen "the size of a walnut" in the usual position, with the splenic artery and vein in their normal position. every one of these spleens had a capsule, was covered by peritoneum, and exhibited the histologic appearance of splenic tissue. according to the review of this article, toldt explains the case by assuming that other parts of the celomic epithelium, besides that of the mesogastrium, are capable of forming splenic tissue. jameson reports a case of double spleen and kidneys. bainbrigge mentions a case of supernumerary spleen causing death from the patient being placed in the supine position in consequence of fracture of the thigh. peevor mentions an instance of second spleen. beclard and guy-patin have seen the spleen congenitally misplaced on the right side and the liver on the left; borellus and bartholinus with others have observed misplacement of the spleen. the pancreas.--lieutaud has seen the pancreas missing and speaks of a double pancreatic duct that he found in a man who died from starvation; bonet speaks of a case similar to this last. there are several cases of complete transposition of the viscera on record. this bizarre anomaly was probably observed first in by riolanus, but the most celebrated case was that of morand in , and mery described the instance later which was the subject of the following quatrain:-- "la nature, peu sage et sans douse en debauche placa le foie au cote gauche, et de meme, vice versa le coeur a le droite placa." young cites an example in a woman of eighty-five who died at hammersmith, london. she was found dead in bed, and in a postmortem examination, ordered to discover if possible the cause of death, there was seen complete transposition of the viscera. the heart lay with its base toward the left, its apex toward the right, reaching the lower border of the th rib, under the right mamma. the vena cava was on the left side and passed into the pulmonary cavity of the heart, which was also on the left side, the aorta and systemic ventricle being on the right. the left splenic vein was lying on the superior vena cava, the liver under the left ribs, and the spleen on the right side underneath the heart. the esophagus was on the right of the aorta, and the location of the two ends of the stomach was reversed; the sigmoid flexure was on the right side. davis describes a similar instance in a man. herrick mentions transposition of viscera in a man of twenty-five. barbieux cites a case of transposition of viscera in a man who was wounded in a duel. the liver was to the left and the spleen and heart to the right etc. albers, baron, beclard, boyer, bull, mackensie, hutchinson, hunt, murray, dareste, curran, duchesne, musser, sabatier, shrady, vulpian, wilson, and wehn are among others reporting instances of transposition and inversion of the viscera. congenital extroversion or eventration is the result of some congenital deficiency in the abdominal wall; instances are not uncommon, and some patients live as long as do cases of umbilical hernia proper. ramsey speaks of entire want of development of the abdominal parietes. robertson, rizzoli, tait, hamilton, brodie, denis, dickie, goyrand, and many others mention extroversion of viscera from parietal defects. the different forms of hernia will be considered in another chapter. there seem to be no authentic cases of complete absence of the kidney except in the lowest grades of monstrosities. becker, blasius, rhodius, baillie, portal, sandifort, meckel, schenck, and stoll are among the older writers who have observed the absence of one kidney. in a recent paper ballowitz has collected cases, from which the following extract has been made by the british medical journal:-- "ballowitz (virchow's archiv, august , ) has collected as far as possible all the recorded cases of congenital absence of one kidney. excluding cases of fused kidney and of partial atrophy of one kidney, he finds cases of complete absence of one kidney, upon which he bases the following conclusions: such deficiency occurs almost twice as often in males as in females, a fact, however, which may be partly accounted for by the greater frequency of necropsies on males. as to age, occurred in the fetus or newly born, most having some other congenital deformity, especially imperforate anus; the rest were about evenly distributed up to seventy years of age, after which only seven cases occurred. taking all cases together, the deficiency is more common on the left than on the right side; but while in males the left kidney is far more commonly absent than the right, in females the two sides show the defect equally. the renal vessels were generally absent, as also the ureter, on the abnormal side (the latter in all except cases); the suprarenal was missing in cases. the solitary kidney was almost always normal in shape and position, but much enlarged. microscopically the enlargement would seem to be due rather to hyperplasia than to hypertrophy. the bladder, except for absence of the opening of one ureter, was generally normal. in a large number of cases there were associated deformities of the organs of generation, especially of the female organs, and these were almost invariably on the side of the renal defect; they affected the conducting portion much more than the glandular portion--that is, uterus, vagina, and fallopian tubes in the female, and vas deferens or vesiculae seminales in the male, rather than the ovaries or testicles. finally, he points out the practical bearing of the subject--for example, the probability of calculus causing sudden suppression of urine in such cases--and also the danger of surgical interference, and suggests the possibility of diagnosing the condition by ascertaining the absence of the opening of one ureter in the bladder by means of the cystoscope, and also the likelihood of its occurring where any abnormality of the genital organs is found, especially if this be unilateral." green reports the case of a female child in which the right kidney and right fallopian tube and ovary were absent without any rudimentary structures in their place. guiteras and riesman have noted the absence of the right kidney, right ureter, and right adrenal in an old woman who had died of chronic nephritis. the left kidney although cirrhotic was very much enlarged. tompsett describes a necropsy made on a coolie child of nearly twelve months, in which it was seen that in the place of a kidney there were two left organs connected at the apices by a prolongation of the cortical substance of each; the child had died of neglected malarial fever. sandifort speaks of a case of double kidneys and double ureters, and cases of supernumerary kidney are not uncommon, generally being segmentation of one of the normal kidneys. rayer has seen three kidneys united and formed like a horseshoe. we are quite familiar with the ordinary "horseshoe kidney," in which two normal kidneys are connected. there are several forms of displacement of the kidneys, the most common being the "floating kidney," which is sometimes successfully removed or fixed; rayer has made an extensive study of this anomaly. the kidney may be displaced to the pelvis, and guinard quotes an instance in which the left kidney was situated in the pelvis, to the left of the rectum and back of the bladder. the ureter of the left side was very short. the left renal artery came from the bifurcation of the aorta and the primitive iliacs. the right kidney was situated normally, and received from the aorta two arteries, whose volume did not surpass the two arteries supplying the left suprarenal capsule, which was in its ordinary place. displacements of the kidney anteriorly are very rare. the ureters have been found multiple; griffon reports the history of a male subject in whom the ureter on the left side was double throughout its whole length; there were two vesical orifices on the left side one above the other; and morestin, in the same journal, mentions ureters double on both sides in a female subject. molinetti speaks of six ureters in one person. littre in described a case of coalition of the ureters. allen describes an elongated kidney with two ureters. coeyne mentions duplication of the ureters on both sides. lediberder reports a case in which the ureter had double origin. tyson cites an instance of four ureters in an infant. penrose mentions the absence of the upper two-thirds of the left ureter, with a small cystic kidney, and there are parallel cases on record. the ureters sometimes have anomalous terminations either in the rectum, vagina, or directly in the urethra. this latter disposition is realized normally in a number of animals and causes the incessant flow of urine, resulting in a serious inconvenience. flajani speaks of the termination of the ureters in the pelvis; nebel has seen them appear just beneath the umbilicus; and lieutaud describes a man who died at thirty-five, from another cause, whose ureters, as large as intestines, terminated in the urethral canal, causing him to urinate frequently; the bladder was absent. in the early part of this century there was a young girl examined in new york whose ureters emptied into a reddish carnosity on the mons veneris. the urine dribbled continuously, and if the child cried or made any exertion it came in jets. the genital organs participated but little in the deformity, and with the exception that the umbilicus was low and the anus more anterior than natural, the child was well formed and its health good. colzi reports a case in which the left ureter opened externally at the left side of the hymen a little below the normal meatus urinarius. there is a case described of a man who evidently suffered from a patent urachus, as the urine passed in jets as if controlled by a sphincter from his umbilicus. littre mentions a patent urachus in a boy of eighteen. congenital dilatation of the ureters is occasionally seen in the new-born. shattuck describes a male fetus showing reptilian characters in the sexual ducts. there was ectopia vesicae and prolapse of the intestine at the umbilicus; the right kidney was elongated; the right vas deferens opened into the ureter. there was persistence in a separate condition of the two mullerian ducts which opened externally inferiorly, and there were two ducts near the openings which represented anal pouches. both testicles were in the abdomen. ord describes a man in whom one of the mullerian ducts was persistent. anomalies of the bladder.--blanchard, blasius, haller, nebel, and rhodius mention cases in which the bladder has been found absent and we have already mentioned some cases, but the instances in which the bladder has been duplex are much more frequent. bourienne, oberteuffer, ruysch, bartholinus, morgagni, and franck speak of vesical duplication. there is a description of a man who had two bladders, each receiving a ureter. bussiere describes a triple bladder, and scibelli of naples mentions an instance in a subject who died at fifty-seven with symptoms of retention of urine. in the illustration, b represents the normal bladder, a and c the supplementary bladders, with d and e their respective points of entrance into b. as will be noticed, the ureters terminate in the supplementary bladders. fantoni and malgetti cite instances of quintuple bladders. the ephemerides speaks of a case of coalition of the bladder with the os pubis and another case of coalition with the omentum. prochaska mentions vesical fusion with the uterus, and we have already described union with the rectum and intestine. exstrophy of the bladder is not rare, and is often associated with hypospadias, epispadias, and other malformations of the genitourinary tract. it consists of a deficiency of the abdominal wall in the hypogastric region, in which is seen the denuded bladder. it is remedied by many different and ingenious plastic operations. in an occasional instance in which there is occlusion at the umbilicus and again at the neck of the bladder this organ becomes so distended as to produce a most curious deformity in the fetus. figure shows such a case. the heart.--absence of the heart has never been recorded in human beings except in the case of monsters, as, for example, the omphalosites, although there was a case reported and firmly believed by the ancient authors,--a roman soldier in whom telasius said he could discover no vestige of a heart. the absence of one ventricle has been recorded. schenck has seen the left ventricle deficient, and the ephemerides, behr, and kerckring speak of a single ventricle only in the heart. riolan mentions a heart in which both ventricles were absent. jurgens reported in berlin, february , , an autopsy on a child who had lived some days after birth, in which the left ventricle of the heart was found completely absent. playfair showed the heart of a child which had lived nine months in which one ventricle was absent. in king's college hospital in london there is a heart of a boy of thirteen in which the cavities consist of a single ventricle and a single auricle. duplication of the heart, notwithstanding the number of cases reported, has been admitted with the greatest reserve by geoffroy-saint-hilaire and by a number of authors. among the celebrated anatomists who describe duplex heart are littre, meckel, collomb, panum, behr, paullini, rhodins, winslow, and zacutus lusitanus. the ephemerides cites an instance of triple heart, and johnston has seen a triple heart in a goose. the phenomenon of "blue-disease," or congenital cyanosis, is due to the patency of the foremen ovale, which, instead of closing at birth, persists sometimes to adult life. perhaps the most unique collection of congenital malformations of the heart from persons who have reached the age of puberty was to be seen in london in . in this collection there was an adult heart in which the foremen ovale remained open until the age of thirty-seven; there were but two pulmonary valves; there was another heart showing a large patent foramen ovale from a man of forty-six; and there was a septum ventriculorum of an adult heart from a woman of sixty-three, who died of carcinoma of the breast, in which the foremen ovale was still open and would admit the fore-finger. this woman had shown no symptoms of the malformation. there were also hearts in which the interventricular septum was deficient, the ductus arteriosus patent, or some valvular malformation present. all these persons had reached puberty. displacements of the heart are quite numerous. deschamps of laval made an autopsy on an old soldier which justified the expression, "he had a heart in his belly." this organ was found in the left lumbar region; it had, with its vessels, traversed an anomalous opening in the diaphragm. franck observed in the hospital of colmar a woman with the heart in the epigastric region. ramel and vetter speak of the heart under the diaphragm. inversion of the heart is quite frequent, and we often find reports of cases of this anomaly. fournier describes a soldier of thirty years, of middle height, well proportioned and healthy, who was killed in a duel by receiving a wound in the abdomen; postmortem, the heart was found in the position of the right lung; the two lungs were joined and occupied the left chest. the anomalies of the vascular system are so numerous that we shall dismiss them with a slight mention. malacarne in torino in described a double aorta, and hommelius mentions an analogous case. the following case is quite an interesting anatomic anomaly: a woman since infancy had difficulty in swallowing, which was augmented at the epoch of menstruation and after exercise; bleeding relieved her momentarily, but the difficulty always returned. at last deglutition became impossible and the patient died of malnutrition. a necropsy revealed the presence of the subclavicular artery passing between the tracheal artery and the esophagus, compressing this latter tube and opposing the passage of food. anomalies of the breasts.--the first of the anomalies of the generative apparatus to be discussed, although not distinctly belonging under this head, will be those of the mammae. amazia, or complete absence of the breast, is seldom seen. pilcher describes an individual who passed for a female, but who was really a male, in whom the breasts were absolutely wanting. foerster, froriep, and ried cite instances associated with thoracic malformation. greenhow reports a case in which the mammae were absent, although there were depressed rudimentary nipples and areolae. there were no ovaries and the uterus was congenitally imperfect. there was a negress spoken of in in whom the right breast was missing, and there are cases of but one breast, mentioned by king, paull, and others. scanzoni has observed absence of the left mamma with absence of the left ovary. micromazia is not so rare, and is generally seen in females with associate genital troubles. excessive development of the mammae, generally being a pathologic phenomenon, will be mentioned in another chapter. however, among some of the indigenous negroes the female breasts are naturally very large and pendulous. this is well shown in figure , which represents a woman of the bushman tribe nursing an infant. the breasts are sufficiently pendulous and loose to be easily thrown over the shoulder. polymazia is of much more frequent occurrence than is supposed. julia, the mother of alexander severus, was surnamed "mammea" because she had supernumerary breasts. anne boleyn, the unfortunate wife of henry viii of england, was reputed to have had six toes, six fingers, and three breasts. lynceus says that in his time there existed a roman woman with four mammae, very beautiful in contour, arranged in two lines, regularly, one above the other, and all giving milk in abundance. rubens has pictured a woman with four breasts; the painting may be seen in the louvre in paris. there was a young and wealthy heiress who addressed herself to the ancient faculty at tubingen, asking, as she displayed four mammary, whether, should she marry, she would have three or four children at a birth. this was a belief with which some of her elder matron friends had inspired her, and which she held as a hindrance to marriage. leichtenstern, who has collected cases of polymazia in females and in males, thinks that accessory breasts or nipples are due to atavism, and that our most remote inferiorly organized ancestors had many breasts, but that by constantly bearing but one child, from being polymastic, females have gradually become bimastic. some of the older philosophers contended that by the presence of two breasts woman was originally intended to bear two children. hirst says: "supernumerary breasts and nipples are more common than is generally supposed. bruce found instances in persons examined ( . per cent). leichtenstern places the frequency at one in . both observers declare that men present the anomaly about twice as frequently as women. it is impossible to account for the accessory glands on the theory of reversion, as they occur with no regularity in situation, but may develop at odd places on the body. the most frequent position is on the pectoral surface below the true mammae and somewhat nearer the middle line, but an accessory gland has been observed on the left shoulder over the prominence of the deltoid, on the abdominal surface below the costal cartilages, above the umbilicus, in the axilla, in the groin, on the dorsal surface, on the labium majus, and on the outer aspect of the left thigh. ahlfeld explains the presence of mammae on odd parts of the body by the theory that portions of the embryonal material entering into the composition of the mammary gland are carried to and implanted upon any portion of the exterior of the body by means of the amnion." possibly the greatest number of accessory mammae reported is that of neugebauer in , who found ten in one person. peuch in collected cases, and since then hamy, quinqusud, whiteford, engstrom, and mitchell bruce have collected cases. polymazia must have been known in the olden times, and we still have before us the old images of diana, in which this goddess is portrayed with numerous breasts, indicating her ability to look after the growing child. figure shows an ancient oriental statue of artemisia or diana now at naples. bartholinus has observed a danish woman with three mammae, two ordinarily formed and a third forming a triangle with the others and resembling the breasts of a fat man. in the village of phullendorf in germany early in this century there was an old woman who sought alms from place to place, exhibiting to the curious four symmetrical breasts, arranged parallel. she was extremely ugly, and when on all fours, with her breasts pendulous, she resembled a beast. the authors have seen a man with six distinct nipples, arranged as regularly as those of a bitch or sow. the two lower were quite small. this man's body was covered with heavy, long hair, making him a very conspicuous object when seen naked during bathing. the hair was absent for a space of nearly an inch about the nipples. borellus speaks of a woman with three mammae, two as ordinarily, the third to the left side, which gave milk, but not the same quantity as the others. gardiner describes a mulatto woman who had four mammae, two of which were near the axillae, about four inches in circumference, with proportionate sized nipples. she became a mother at fourteen, and gave milk from all her breasts. in his "dictionnaire philosophique" voltaire gives the history of a woman with four well-formed and symmetrically arranged breasts; she also exhibited an excrescence, covered with a nap-like hair, looking like a cow-tail. percy thought the excrescence a prolongation of the coccyx, and said that similar instances were seen in savage men of borneo. percy says that among some prisoners taken in austria was found a woman of valachia, near roumania, exceedingly fatigued, and suffering intensely from the cold. it was january, and the ground was covered with three feet of snow. she had been exposed with her two infants, who had been born twenty days, to this freezing temperature, and died on the next day. an examination of her body revealed five mammae, of which four projected as ordinarily, while the fifth was about the size of that of a girl at puberty. they all had an intense dark ring about them; the fifth was situated about five inches above the umbilicus. percy injected the subject and dissected and described the mammary blood-supply. hirst mentions a negress of nineteen who had nine mammae, all told, and as many nipples. the two normal glands were very large. two accessory glands and nipples below them were small and did not excrete milk. all the other glands and nipples gave milk in large quantities. there were five nipples on the left and four on the right side. the patient's mother had an accessory mamma on the abdomen that secreted milk during the period of lactation. charpentier has observed in his clinic a woman with two supplementary axillary mammae with nipples. they gave milk as the ordinary mammae. robert saw a woman who nourished an infant by a mamma on the thigh. until the time of pregnancy this mamma was taken for an ordinary nevus, but with pregnancy it began to develop and acquired the size of a citron. figure is from an old wood-cut showing a child suckling at a supernumerary mamma on its mother's thigh while its brother is at the natural breast. jenner speaks of a breast on the outer side of the thigh four inches below the great trochanter. hare describes a woman of thirty-seven who secreted normal milk from her axillae. lee mentions a woman of thirty-five with four mammae and four nipples; she suckled with the pectoral and not the axillary breasts. mcgillicudy describes a pair of rudimentary abdominal mammae, and there is another similar case recorded. hartung mentions a woman of thirty who while suckling had a mamma on the left labium majus. it was excised, and microscopic examination showed its structure to be that of a rudimentary nipple and mammary gland. leichtenstern cites a case of a mamma on the left shoulder nearly under the insertion of the deltoid, and klob speaks of an acromial accessory mamma situated on the shoulder over the greatest prominence of the deltoid. hall reports the case of a functionally active supernumerary mamma over the costal cartilage of the th rib. jussieu speaks of a woman who had three breasts, one of which was situated on the groin and with which she occasionally suckled; her mother had three breasts, but they were all situated on the chest. saunois details an account of a female who had two supernumerary breasts on the back. bartholinus (quoted by meckel) and manget also mention mammae on the back, but geoffroy-saint-hilaire questions their existence. martin gives a very clear illustration of a woman with a supernumerary breast below the natural organ. sneddon, who has collected quite a number of cases of polymazia, quotes the case of a woman who had two swellings in each axilla in which gland-structure was made out, but with no external openings, and which had no anatomic connection with the mammary glands proper. shortly after birth they varied in size and proportion, as the breasts were full or empty, and in five weeks all traces of them were lost. her only married sister had similar enlargements at her third confinement. polymazia sometimes seems to be hereditary. robert saw a daughter whose mother was polymastic, and woodman saw a mother and eldest daughter who each had three nipples. lousier mentions a woman wanting a mamma who transmitted this vice of conformation to her daughter. handyside says he knew two brothers in both of whom breasts were wanting. supernumerary nipples alone are also seen, as many as five having been found on the same breast. neugebauer reports eight supernumerary nipples in one case. hollerus has seen a woman who had two nipples on the same breast which gave milk with the same regularity and the same abundance as the single nipple. the ephemerides contains a description of a triple nipple. barth describes "mamma erratica" on the face in front of the right ear which enlarged during menstruation. cases of deficiency of the nipples have been reported by the ephemerides, lentilius, severinus, and werckardus. cases of functional male mammae will be discussed in chapter ix. complete absence of the hymen is very rare, if we may accept the statements of devilliers, tardieu, and brouardel, as they have never seen an example in the numerous young girls they have examined from a medico-legal point of view. duplication or biperforation of the hymen is also a very rare anomaly of this membrane. in this instance the hymen generally presents two lateral orifices, more or less irregular and separated by a membranous band, which gives the appearance of duplicity. roze reported from strasburg in a case of this kind, and delens has observed two examples of biperforate hymen, which show very well that this disposition of the membrane is due to a vice of conformation. the first was in a girl of eleven, in which the membrane was of the usual size and thickness, but was duplicated on either side. in her sister of nine the hymen was normally conformed. the second case was in a girl under treatment by cornil in for vaginitis. her brother had accused a young man of eighteen of having violated her, and on examination the hymen showed a biperforate conformation; there were two oval orifices, their greatest diameter being in the vertical plane; the openings were situated on each side of the median line, about five mm. apart; the dividing band did not appear to be cicatricial, but presented the same roseate coloration as the rest of the hymen. since this report quite a number of cases have been recorded. the different varieties of the hymen will be left to the works on obstetrics. as has already been observed, labor is frequently seriously complicated by a persistent and tough hymen. deficient vulva may be caused by the persistence of a thick hymen, by congenital occlusion, or by absolute absence in vulvar structure. bartholinus, borellus, ephemerides, julius, vallisneri, and baux are among the older writers who mention this anomaly, but as it is generally associated with congenital occlusion, or complete absence of the vagina, the two will be considered together. complete absence of the vagina is quite rare. baux a reports a case of a girl of fourteen in whom "there was no trace of fundament or of genital organs." oberteuffer speaks of a case of absent vagina. vicq d'azir is accredited with having seen two females who, not having a vagina, copulated all through life by the urethra, and fournier sagely remarks that the extra large urethra may have been a special dispensation of nature. bosquet describes a young girl of twenty with a triple vice of conformation--an obliterated vulva, closure of the vagina, and absence of the uterus. menstrual hemorrhage took place from the gums. clarke has studied a similar case which was authenticated by an autopsy. o'ferral of dublin, gooch, davies, boyd, tyler smith, hancock, coste, klayskens, debrou, braid, watson, and others are quoted by churchill as having mentioned the absence of the vagina. amussat observed a german girl who did not have a trace of a vagina and who menstruated regularly. griffith describes a specimen in the museum of st. bartholomew's hospital, london, in which the ovaries lay on the surface of the pelvic peritoneum and there was neither uterus nor vagina; the pelvis had some of the characteristics of the male type. matthews duncan has observed a somewhat similar case, the vagina not measuring more than an inch in length. ferguson describes a prostitute of eighteen who had never menstruated. the labia were found well developed, but there was no vagina, uterus, or ovaries. coitus had been through the urethra, which was considerably distended, though not causing incontinence of urine. hulke reports a case of congenital atresia of the vagina in a brunette of twenty, menstruation occurring through the urethra. he also mentions the instance of congenital atresia of the vagina with hernia of both ovaries into the left groin in a servant of twenty, and the case of an imperforate vagina in a girl of nineteen with an undeveloped uterus. brodhurst reports an instance of absence of the vagina and uterus in a girl of sixteen who at four years of age showed signs of approaching puberty. at this early age the mons was covered with hair, and at ten the clitoris was three inches long and two inches in circumference. the mammae were well developed. the labia descended laterally and expanded into folds, resembling the scrotum. azema reports an instance of complete absence of the vagina and impermeability and probable absence of the col uterinus. the deficiencies were remedied by operation. berard mentions a similar deformity and operation in a girl of eighteen. gooding cites an instance of absent vagina in a married woman, the uterus discharging the functions. gosselin reports a case in which a voluminous tumor was formed by the retained menstrual fluid in a woman without a vagina. an artificial vagina was created, but the patient died from extravasation of blood into the peritoneal cavity. carter, polaillon, martin, curtis, worthington, hall, hicks, moliere, patry, dolbeau, desormeaux, and gratigny also record instances of absence of the vagina. there are some cases reported in extramedical literature which might be cited. bussy rabutin in his memoires in speaks of an instance. the celebrated madame recamier was called by the younger dumas an involuntary virgin; and in this connection could be cited the malicious and piquant sonnet-- chateaubriand et madame recamier. "juliette et rene s'aimaient d'amour si tendre que dien, sans les punir, a pu leur pardonner: il n'avait pas voulu que l'une put donner ce que l'autre ne pouvait prendre." duplex vagina has been observed by bartholinus, malacarne, asch, meckel, osiander, purcell, and other older writers. in more modern times reports of this anomaly are quite frequent. hunter reports a case of labor at the seventh month in a woman with a double vagina, and delivery through the rectum. atthill and watts speak of double vagina with single uterus. robb of johns hopkins hospital reports a case of double vagina in a patient of twenty suffering from dyspareunia. the vaginal orifice was contracted; the urethra was dilated and had evidently been used for coitus. a membrane divided the vagina into two canals, the cervix lying in the right half; the septum was also divided. both the thumbs of the patient were so short that their tips could scarcely meet those of the little fingers. double vagina is also reported by anway, moulton, freeman, frazer, haynes, lemaistre, boardman, dickson, dunoyer, and rossignol. this anomaly is usually associated with bipartite or double uterus. wilcox mentions a primipara, three months pregnant, with a double vagina and a bicornate uterus, who was safely delivered of several children. haller and borellus have seen double vagina, double uterus, and double ovarian supply; in the latter case there was also a double vulva. sanger speaks of a supernumerary vagina connecting with the other vagina by a fistulous opening, and remarks that this was not a case of patent gartner's duct. cullingworth cites two cases in which there were transverse septa of the vagina. stone reports five cases of transverse septa of the vagina. three of the patients were young women who had never borne children or suffered injury. pregnancy existed in each case. in the first the septum was about two inches from the introitus, and contained an opening about / inch in diameter which admitted the tip of the finger. the membrane was elastic and thin and showed no signs of inflammation. menstruation had always been regular up to the time of pregnancy. the second was a duplicate of the first, excepting that a few bands extended from the cervix to the membranous septum. in the third the lumen of the vagina, about two inches from the introitus, was distinctly narrowed by a ridge of tissue. there was uterine displacement and some endocervicitis, but no history of injury or operation and no tendency to contraction. the two remaining cases occurred in patients seen by dr. j. f. scott. in one the septum was about / inches from the entrance to the vagina and contained an orifice large enough to admit a uterine probe. during labor the septum resisted the advance of the head for several hours, until it was slit in several directions. in the other, menstruation had always been irregular, intermissions being followed by a profuse flow of black and tarry blood, which lasted sometimes for fifteen days and was accompanied by severe pain. the septum was / inches from the vaginal orifice and contained an opening which admitted a uterine sound. it was very dense and tight and fully / inch in thickness. mordie reported a case of congenital deficiency of the rectovaginal septum which was successfully remedied by operation. anomalous openings of the vagina.--the vagina occasionally opens abnormally into the rectum, into the bladder, the urethra, or upon the abdominal parietes. rossi reports from a hospital in turin the case of a piedmontese girl in whom there was an enormous tumor corresponding to the opening of the vaginal orifice; no traces of a vagina could be found. the tumor was incised and proved to be a living infant. the husband of the woman said that he had coitus without difficulty by the rectum, and examination showed that the vagina opened into the rectum, by which means impregnation had been accomplished. bonnain and payne have observed analogous cases of this abnormality of the vaginal opening and subsequent accouchement by the anus. payne's case was of a woman of thirty-five, well formed, who had been in labor thirty-six hours, when the physician examined and looked in vain for a vaginal opening; the finger, gliding along the perineum, came in contact with the distended anus, in which was recognized the head of the fetus. the woman from prolongation of labor was in a complete state of prostration, which caused uterine inertia. payne anesthetized the patient, applied the forceps, and extracted the fetus without further accident. the vulva of this woman five months afterward displayed all the characteristics of virginity, the vagina opened into the rectum, and menstruation had always been regular. this woman, as well as her husband, averred that they had no suspicion of the anomaly and that coitus (by the anus) had always been satisfactory. opening of the vagina upon the parietes, of which le fort has collected a number of cases, has never been observed in connection with a viable fetus. absence of the labia majora has been observed, especially by pozzi, to the exclusion of all other anomalies. it is the rule in exstrophy of the bladder. absence of the nymphae has also been observed, particularly by auvard and by perchaux, and is generally associated with imperfect development of the clitoris. constantinedes reports absence of the external organs of generation, probably also of the uterus and its appendages, in a young lady. van haartman, lefort, magee, and ogle cite cases of absence of the external female organs. riolan in the early part of the seventeenth century reported a case of defective nymphae; neubauer in offers a contrast to this case in an instance of triple nymphae. the nymphae are sometimes enormously enlarged by hypertrophy, by varicocele, or by elephantiasis, of which latter type rigal de gaillac has observed a most curious case. there is also a variety of enlargement of the clitoris which seems to be constant in some races; it may be a natural hypertrophy, or perhaps produced by artificial manipulation. the peculiar conditions under which the chinese women are obliged to live, particularly their mode of sitting, is said to have the effect of causing unusual development of the mons veneris and the labia majora. on the other hand, some of the lower african races have been distinguished by the deficiency in development of the labia majora, mons veneris, and genital hair. in this respect they present an approximation to the genitals of the anthropoid apes, among whom the orang-outang alone shows any tendency to formation of the labia majora. the labial appendages of the hottentot female have been celebrated for many years. blumenbach and others of the earlier travelers found that the apron-like appearance of the genitals of the hottentot women was due to abnormal hypertrophy of the labia and nymphae. according to john knott, the french traveler, le vaillant, said that the more coquettish among the hottentot girls are excited by extreme vanity to practice artificial elongation of the nympha and labia. they are said to pull and rub these parts, and even to stretch them by hanging weights to them. some of them are said to spend several hours a day at this process, which is considered one of the important parts of the toilet of the hottentot belle, this malformation being an attraction for the male members of the race. merensky says that in basutoland the elder women begin to practice labial manipulation on their female children shortly after infancy, and adams has found this custom to prevail in dahomey; he says that the king's seraglio includes members, the elect of his female subjects, all of whom have labia up to the standard of recognized length. cameron found an analogous practice among the women of the shores of lake tanganyika. the females of this nation manipulated the skin of the lower part of the abdomens of the female children from infancy, and at puberty these women exhibit a cutaneous curtain over the genitals which reaches half-way down the thighs. a corresponding development of the preputian clitorides, attaining the length of mm. or even more, has been observed among the females of bechuanaland. the greatest elongation measured by barrow was five inches, but it is quite probable that it was not possible for him to examine the longest, as the females so gifted generally occupied very high social positions. morgagni describes a supernumerary left nympha, and petit is accredited with seeing a case which exhibited neither nymphae, clitoris, nor urinary meatus. mauriceau performed nymphotomy on a woman whose nymphae were so long as to render coitus difficult. morand quotes a case of congenital malformation of the nymphae, to which he attributed impotency. there is sometimes coalition of the labia and nymphae, which may be so firm and extensive as to obliterate the vulva. debout has reported a case of absence of the vulva in a woman of twenty upon whom he operated, which was the result of the fusion of the labia minora, and this with an enlarged clitoris gave the external appearance of an hermaphrodite. the absence of the clitoris coincides with epispadias in the male, and in atrophy of the vulva it is common to find the clitoris rudimentary; but a more frequent anomaly is hypertrophy of the clitoris. among the older authorities quoting instances of enlarged clitorides are bartholinus, schenck, hellwig, rhodius, riolanus, and zacchias. albucasis describes an operation for enlarged clitoris, chabert ligated one, and riedlin gives an instance of an enlarged clitoris, in which there appeared a tumor synchronous with the menstrual epoch. we learn from the classics that there were certain females inhabiting the borders of the aegean sea who had a sentimental attachment for one another which was called "lesbian love," and which carried them to the highest degree of frenzy. the immortal effusions of sappho contain references to this passion. the solution of this peculiar ardor is found in the fact that some of the females had enlarged clitorides, strong voices, robust figures, and imitated men. their manner was imperative and authoritative to their sex, who worshiped them with perverted devotion. we find in martial mention of this perverted love, and in the time of the dissolute greeks and romans ridiculous jealousies for unfaithfulness between these women prevailed. aetius said that the egyptians practiced amputation of the clitoris, so that enlargement of this organ must have been a common vice of conformation along the nile. it was also said that the egyptian women practiced circumcision on their females at the age of seven or eight, the time chosen being when the nile was in flood. bertherand cites examples of enlarged clitorides in arab women; bruce testifies to this circumstance in abyssinia, and mungo park has observed it in the mandingos and the ibbos. sonnini says that the women of egypt had a natural excrescence, fleshy in consistency, quite thick and pendulous, coming from the skin of the mons veneris. sonnini says that in a girl of eight he saw one of these caruncles which was / inch long, and another on a woman of twenty which was four inches long, and remarks that they seem peculiar only to women of distinct egyptian origin. duhouset says that in circumcision the egyptian women not only remove a great part of the body of the clitoris with the prepuce, but also adjacent portions of the nymphae; gallieni found a similar operation customary on the upper banks of the niger. otto at breslau in reports seeing a negress with a clitoris / inches long and / inches in the transverse diameter; it projected from the vulva and when supine formed a complete covering for the vaginal orifice. the clitoris may at times become so large as to prevent coitus, and in france has constituted a legitimate cause for divorce. this organ is very sensitive, and it is said that in cases of supposed catalepsy a woman cannot bear titillation of the clitoris without some visible movement. columbus cites an example of a clitoris as long as a little finger; haller mentions one which measured seven inches, and there is a record of an enlarged clitoris which resembled the neck of a goose and which was inches long. bainbridge reports a case of enlarged clitoris in a woman of thirty-two who was confined with her first child. this organ was five inches in length and of about the diameter of a quiescent penis. figure shows a well-marked case of hypertrophy of the clitoris. rogers describes a woman of twenty-five in a reduced state of health with an enormous clitoris and warts about the anus; there were also manifestations of tuberculosis. on questioning her, it was found that she had formerly masturbated; later she had sexual intercourse several times with a young man, but after his death she commenced self-abuse again, which brought on the present enlargement. the clitoris was ligated and came away without leaving disfigurement. cassano and pedretti of naples reported an instance of monstrous clitoris in before the academy of medicine. in some cases ossification of the clitoris is observed fournier speaks of a public woman in venice who had an osseous clitoris; it was said that men having connection with her invariably suffered great pain, followed by inflammation of the penis. there are a few instances recorded of bifid clitoris, and arnaud cites the history of a woman who had a double clitoris. secretain speaks of a clitoris which was in a permanent state of erection. complete absence of the ovaries is seldom seen, but there are instances in which one of the ovaries is missing. hunter, vidal, and chaussier report in full cases of the absence of the ovaries, and thudicum has collected cases of this nature. morgagni, pears, and cripps have published observations in which both ovaries were said to have been absent. cripps speaks of a young girl of eighteen who had an infantile uterus and no ovaries; she neither menstruated nor had any signs of puberty. lauth cites the case of a woman whose ovaries and uterus were rudimentary, and who exhibited none of the principal physiologic characteristics of her sex; on the other hand, ruband describes a woman with only rudimentary ovaries who was very passionate and quite feminine in her aspect. at one time the existence of genuine supernumerary ovaries was vigorously disputed, and the older records contain no instances, but since the researches of beigel, puech, thudicum, winckler, de sinety, and paladino the presence of multiple ovaries is an incontestable fact. it was originally thought that supernumerary ovaries as well as supernumerary kidneys were simply segmentations of the normal organs and connected to them by portions of the proper substance; now, however, by the recent reports we are warranted in admitting these anomalous structures as distinct organs. it has even been suggested that it is the persistence of these ovaries that causes the menstruation of which we sometimes hear as taking place after ovariotomy. sippel records an instance of third ovary; mangiagalli has found a supernumerary ovary in the body of a still-born child, situated to the inner side of the normal organ. winckel discovered a large supernumerary ovary connected to the uterus by its own ovarian ligament. klebs found two ovaries on one side, both consisting of true ovarian tissue, and connected by a band / inch long. doran divides supernumerary ovaries into three classes:-- ( ) the ovarium succentauriatum of beigel. ( ) those cases in which two masses of ovarian tissue are separated by ligamentous bands. ( ) entirely separate organs, as in winckel's case. prolapsus or displacement of the ovaries into the culdesac of douglas, the vaginal wall, or into the rectum can be readily ascertained by the resulting sense of nausea, particularly in defecation or in coitus. munde, barnes, lentz, madden, and heywood smith report instances, and cloquet describes an instance of inguinal hernia of the ovary in which the uterus as well as the fallopian tube were found in the inguinal canal. debierre mentions that puech has gathered instances of inguinal hernia of the ovary and of the crural type, and also adds that otte cites the only instance in which crural ovarian hernia has been found on both sides. such a condition with other associate malformations of the genitalia might easily be mistaken for an instance of hermaphroditic testicles. the fallopian tubes are rarely absent on either side, although blasius reports an instance of deficient oviducts. blot reports a case of atrophy, or rather rudimentary state of one of the ovaries, with absence of the tube on that side, in a woman of forty. doran has an instance of multiple fallopian tubes, and richard, in , says several varieties are noticed. these tubes are often found fused or adherent to the ovary or to the uterus; but fabricius describes the symphysis of the fallopian tube with the rectum. absence of the uterus is frequently reported. lieutaud and richerand are each said to have dissected female subjects in whom neither the uterus nor its annexed organs were found. many authors are accredited with mentioning instances of defective or deficient uteri, among them bosquet, boyer, walther, le fort, calori, pozzi, munde, and strauch. balade has reported a curious absence of the uterus and vagina in a girl of eighteen. azem, bastien, bibb, bovel, warren, ward, and many others report similar instances, and in several cases all the adnexa as well as the uterus and vagina were absent, and even the kidney and bladder malformed. phillips speaks of two sisters, both married, with congenital absence of the uterus. in his masterly article on "heredity," sedgwick quotes an instance of total absence of the uterus in three out of five daughters of the same family; two of the three were twice married. double uterus is so frequently reported that an enumeration of the cases would occupy several pages. bicorn, bipartite, duplex, and double uteruses are so called according to the extent of the duplication. the varieties range all the way from slight increase to two distinct uteruses, with separate appendages and two vaginae. meckel, boehmer, and callisen are among the older writers who have observed double uterus with associate double vagina. figure represents a transverse section of a bipartite uterus with a double vagina. the so-called uterus didelphus is really a duplex uterus, or a veritable double uterus, each segment having the appearance of a complete unicorn uterus more or less joined to its neighbor. vallisneri relates the history of a woman who was poisoned by cantharides who had two uteruses, one opening into the vagina, the other into the rectum. morand, bartholinus, tiedemann, ollivier, blundell, and many others relate instances of double uterus in which impregnation had occurred, the fetus being retained until the full term. purcell of dublin says that in the summer of he opened the body of a woman who died in the ninth month of pregnancy. he found a uterus of ordinary size and form as is usual at this period of gestation, which contained a full-grown fetus, but only one ovary attached to a single fallopian tube. on the left side he found a second uterus, unimpregnated and of usual size, to which another ovary and tube were attached. both of these uteruses were distinct and almost entirely separate. pregnancy with double uterus.--hollander describes the following anomaly of the uterus which he encountered during the performance of a celiotomy:-- "there were found two uteruses, the posterior one being a normal organ with its adnexa; connected with this uterus was another one, anterior to it. the two uteruses had a common cervix; the anterior of the two organs had no adnexa, though there were lateral peritoneal ligaments; it had become pregnant." hollander explains the anomaly by stating that probably the mullerian ducts or one of them had grown excessively, leading to a folding off of a portion which developed into the anterior uterus. other cases of double uterus with pregnancy are mentioned on page . when there is simultaneous pregnancy in each portion of a double uterus a complication of circumstances arises. debierre quotes an instance of a woman who bore one child on july , , and another on october st of the same year, and both at full term. she had only had three menstrual periods between the confinements. the question as to whether a case like this would be one of superfetation in a normal uterus, or whether the uterus was double, would immediately arise. there would also be the possibility that one of the children was of protracted gestation or that the other was of premature birth. article of the civil code of france accords a minimum of one hundred and eighty and a maximum of three hundred days for the gestation of a viable child. (see protracted gestation.) voight is accredited with having seen a triple uterus, and there are several older parallels on record. thilow mentions a uterus which was divided into three small portions. of the different anomalous positions of the uterus, most of which are acquired, the only one that will be mentioned is that of complete prolapse of the uterus. in this instance the organ may hang entirely out of the body and even forbid locomotion. of cases of hernia of the uterus quoted by debierre have been observed in the inguinal region, five on the right and seven on the left side. in the case of roux in the hernia existed on both sides. the uterus has been found twice only in crural hernia and three times in umbilical hernia. there is one case recorded, according to debierre, in which the uterus was one of the constituents of an obturator hernia. sometimes its appendages are found with it. doring, ledesma, rektorzick, and scazoni have found the uterus in the sac of an inguinal hernia; leotaud, murray, and hagner in an umbilical hernia. the accompanying illustration represents a hernia of the gravid womb through the linea alba. absence of the penis is an extremely rare anomaly, although it has been noted by schenck, borellus, bouteiller, nelaton, and others. fortunatus fidelis and revolat describe a newly born child with absence of external genitals, with spina bifida and umbilical hernia. nelaton describes a child of two entirely without a penis, but both testicles were found in the scrotum; the boy urinated by the rectum. ashby and wright mention complete absence of the penis, the urethra opening at the margin of the anus outside the external sphincter; the scrotum and testicles were well developed. murphy gives the description of a well-formed infant apparently without a penis; the child passed urine through an opening in the lower part of the abdomen just above the ordinary location of the penis; the scrotum was present. incisions were made into a small swelling just below the urinary opening in the abdomen which brought into view the penis, the glans being normal but the body very small. the treatment consisted of pressing out the glans daily until the wound healed; the penis receded spontaneously. it is stated that the organ would doubtless be equal to any requirements demanded of it. demarquay quotes a somewhat similar case in an infant, but it had no urinary opening until after operation. among the older writers speaking of deficient or absent penis are bartholinus, bauhinus, cattierus, the ephemerides, frank, panaroli, van der wiel, and others. renauldin describes a man with a small penis and enormous mammae. goschler, quoted by jacobson, speaks of a well-developed man of twenty-two, with abundant hair on his chin and suprapubic region and the scrotum apparently perfect, with median rapine; a careful search failed to show any trace of a penis; on the anterior wall of the rectum four lines above the anus was an orifice which gave vent to urine; the right testicle and cord were normal, but there was an acute orchitis in the left. starting from just in front of the anal orifice was a fold of skin / inches long and / inch high continuous with the rapine, which seemed to be formed of erectile tissue and which swelled under excitement, the enlargement lasting several minutes with usually an emission from the rectum. it was possible to pass a sound through the opening in the rectum to the bladder through a urethra / inches wide; the patient had control of the bladder and urinated from every three to five hours. many instances of rudimentary development of the penis have been recorded, most of them complicated with cryptorchism or other abnormality of the sexual organs. in other instances the organ is present, but the infantile type is present all through life; sometimes the subjects are weak in intellect and in a condition similar to cretinism. kaufmann quotes a case in a weakly boy of twelve whose penis was but / inch long, about as thick as a goose-quill, and feeling as limp as a mere tube of skin; the corpora cavernosa were not entirely absent, but ran only from the ischium to the junction of the fixed portion of the penis, suddenly terminating at this point. nothing indicative of a prostate could be found. the testicles were at the entrance of the inguinal canal and the glans was only slightly developed. binet speaks of a man of fifty-three whose external genitalia were of the size of those of a boy of nine. the penis was of about the size of the little finger, and contained on each side testicles not larger than a pea. there was no hair on the pubes or the face, giving the man the aspect of an old woman. the prostate was almost exterminated and the seminal vesicles were very primitive in conformation. wilson was consulted by a gentleman of twenty-six as to his ability to perform the marital function. in size his penis and testicles hardly exceeded those of a boy of eight. he had never felt desire for sexual intercourse until he became acquainted with his intended wife, since when he had erections and nocturnal emissions. the patient married and became the father of a family; those parts which at twenty-six were so much smaller than usual had increased at twenty-eight to normal adult size. there are three cases on record in the older literature of penises extremely primitive in development. they are quoted by the ephemerides, plater, schenck, and zacchias. the result in these cases was impotency. in the army and medical museum at washington are two injected specimens of the male organ divested of skin. from the meatus to the pubis they measure / and / inches; from the extremity to the termination of either crus / and / inches, and the circumferences are / and / inches. between these two we can strike an average of the size of the normal penis. in some instances the penis is so large as to forbid coitus and even inconvenience its possessor, measuring as much as ten or even more inches in length. extraordinary cases of large penis are reported by albinus (who mentions it as a cause for sterility), bartholinus, fabricius hildanus, paullini, peyer, plater, schurig, sinibaldus, and zacchias. several cases of enormous penises in the new-born have been observed by wolff and others. the penis palme, or suture de la verge of the french, is the name given to those examples of single cutaneous envelope for both the testicles and penis; the penis is adherent to the scrotum by its inferior face; the glans only is free and erection is impossible. chretien cites an instance in a man of twenty-five, and schrumpf of wesserling describes an example of this rare anomaly. the penis and testes were inclosed in a common sac, a slight projection not over / inch long being seen from the upper part of this curious scrotum. when the child was a year old a plastic operation was performed on this anomalous member with a very satisfactory result. petit describes an instance in which the penis was slightly fused with the scrotum. there are many varieties of torsion of the penis. the glans itself may be inclined laterally, the curvature may be total, or there may be a veritable rotation, bringing the inferior face above and the superior face below. gay describes a child with epispadias whose penis had undergone such torsion on its axis that its inferior surface looked upward to the left, and the child passed urine toward the left shoulder. follin mentions a similar instance in a boy of twelve with complete epispadias, and verneuil and guerlin also record cases, both complicated with associate maldevelopment. caddy mentions a youth of eighteen who had congenital torsion of the penis with out hypospadias or epispadias. there was a complete half-turn to the left, so that the slit-like urinary meatus was reversed and the frenum was above. among the older writers who describe incurvation or torsion of the penis are arantius, the ephemerides, haenel, petit, schurig, tulpius, and zacchias. zacutus lusitans speaks of torsion of the penis from freezing. paullini mentions a case the result of masturbation, and hunter speaks of torsion of the penis associated with arthritis. ossification of the penis.--macclellann speaks of a man of fifty-two whose penis was curved and distorted in such a manner that urine could not be passed without pain and coitus was impossible. a bony mass was discovered in the septum between the corpora cavernosa; this was dissected out with much hemorrhage and the upward curvature was removed, but there resulted a slight inclination in the opposite direction. the formation of bone and cartilage in the penis is quite rare. velpeau, kauffmann, lenhoseck, and duploy are quoted by jacobson as having seen this anomaly. there is an excellent preparation in vienna figured by demarquay, but no description is given. the ephemerides and paullini describe osseous penises. the complete absence of the frenum and prepuce has been observed in animals but is very rare in man. the incomplete or irregular development is more frequent, but most common is excessive development of the prepuce, constituting phimosis, when there is abnormal adherence with the glans. instances of phimosis, being quite common, will be passed without special mention. deficient or absent prepuce has been observed by blasius, marcellus donatus, and gilibert. partial deficiency is described by petit severinus, and others. there may be imperforation or congenital occlusion of some portion of the urethra, causing enormous accumulation of urine in the bladder, but fortunately there is generally in such cases some anomalous opening of the urethra giving vent to the excretions. tulpius mentions a case of deficient urethra. in the ephemerides there is an account of a man who had a constant flow of semen from an abnormal opening in the abdomen. la peyroma describes a case of impotence due to ejaculation of the spermatic ducts into the bladder instead of into the urethra, but remarks that there was a cicatrix of a wound of the neighboring parts. there are a number of instances in which the urethra has terminated in the rectum. congenital dilatation of the urethral canal is very rare, and generally accompanied by other malformation. duplication of the urethra or the existence of two permeable canals is not accepted by all the authors, some of whom contend that one of the canals either terminates in a culdesac or is not separate in itself. verneuil has published an article clearly exposing a number of cases, showing that it is possible for the urethra to have two or more canals which are distinct and have separate functions. fabricius hildanus speaks of a double aperture to the urethra; marcellus donatus describes duplicity of the urethra, one of the apertures being in the testicle; and there is another case on record in which there was a urethral aperture in the groin. a case of double urethra in a man of twenty-five living in styria who was under treatment for gonorrhea is described, the supernumerary urethra opening above the natural one and receiving a sound to the depth of cm. there was purulent gonorrhea in both urethrae. vesalius has an account of a double urethral aperture, one of which was supposed to give spermatic fluid and the other urine. borellus, testa, and cruveilhier have reported similar instances. instances of double penis have been discussed under the head of diphallic terata, page . hypospadias and epispadias are names given to malformations of the urethra in which the wall of the canal is deficient either above or below. these anomalies are particularly interesting, as they are nearly always found in male hermaphrodites, the fissure giving the appearance of a vulva, as the scrotum is sometimes included, and even the perineum may be fissured in continuity with the other parts, thus exaggerating the deception. there seems to be an element of heredity in this malformation, and this allegation is exemplified by sedgwick, who quotes a case from heuremann in which a family of females had for generations given birth to males with hypospadias. belloc mentions a man whose urethra terminated at the base of the frenum who had four sons with the same deformity. picardat mentions a father and son, both of whom had double urethral orifices, one above the other, from one of which issued urine and from the other semen--a fact that shows the possibility of inheritance of this malformation. patients in whom the urethra opens at the root of the penis, the meatus being imperforate, are not necessarily impotent; as, for instance, fournier knew of a man whose urethra opened posteriorly who was the father of four children. fournier supposed that the semen ejaculated vigorously and followed the fissure on the back of the penis to the uterus, the membrane of the vagina supplanting the deficient wall of the urethra. the penis was short, but about as thick as ordinary. gray mentions a curious case in a man afflicted with hypospadias who, suffering with delusions, was confined in the insane asylum at utica. when he determined to get married, fully appreciating his physical defect, he resolved to imitate nature, and being of a very ingenious turn of mind, he busied himself with the construction of an artificial penis. while so engaged he had seized every opportunity to study the conformation of this organ, and finally prepared a body formed of cotton, six inches in length, and shaped like a penis, minus a prepuce. he sheathed it in pig's gut and gave it a slight vermilion hue. to the touch it felt elastic, and its shape was maintained by a piece of gutta-percha tubing, around which the cotton was firmly wound. it was fastened to the waist-band by means of straps, a central and an upper one being so arranged that the penis could be thrown into an erect position and so maintained. he had constructed a flesh-colored covering which completely concealed the straps. with this artificial member he was enabled to deceive his wife for fifteen months, and was only discovered when; she undressed him while he was in a state of intoxication. to further the deception he had told his wife immediately after their marriage that it was quite indecent for a husband to undress in the presence of his wife, and therefore she had always retired first and turned out the light. partly from fear that his virile power would be questioned and partly from ignorance, the duration of actual coitus would approach an hour. when the discovery was made, his wife hid the instrument with which he had perpetrated a most successful fraud upon her, and the patient subsequently attempted coitus by contact with unsuccessful results, although both parties had incomplete orgasms. shortly afterward evidences of mental derangement appeared and the man became the subject of exalted delusions. his wife, at the time of report, had filed application for divorce. haslam reports a case in which loss of the penis was compensated for by the use of an ivory succedaneum. parallel instances of this kind have been recorded by ammann and jonston. entire absence of the male sexual apparatus is extremely rare, but blondin and velpeau have reported cases. complete absence of the testicles, or anorchism, is a comparatively rare anomaly, and it is very difficult to distinguish between anorchism and arrest of development, or simple atrophy, which is much more common. fisher of boston describes the case of a man of forty-five, who died of pneumonia. from the age of puberty to twenty-five, and even to the day of death, his voice had never changed and his manners were decidedly effeminate. he always sang soprano in concert with females. after the age of twenty-five, however, his voice became more grave and he could not accompany females with such ease. he had no beard, had never shaved, and had never exhibited amorous propensities or desire for female society. when about twenty-one he became associated with a gay company of men and was addicted to the cup, but would never visit houses of ill-fame. on dissection no trace of testicles could be found; the scrotum was soft and flabby. the cerebellum was the exact size of that of a female child. individuals with one testicle are called monorchids, and may be divided into three varieties:-- ( ) a solitary testicle divided in the middle by a deep fissure, the two lobes being each provided with a spermatic cord on the same side as the lobe. ( ) testicles of the same origin, but with coalescence more general. ( ) a single testicle and two cords. gruber of st. petersburg held a postmortem on a man in january, , in whom the right half of the scrotum, the right testicle, epididymis, and the scrotal and inguinal parts of the right vas deferens were absent. gruber examined the literature for thirty years up to the time of his report, and found recorded postmortem examinations in which there was absence of the testicle, and in eight of these both testicles were missing. as a rule, natural eunuchs have feeble bodies, are mentally dull, and live only a short time. the penis is ordinarily defective and there is sometimes another associate malformation. they are not always disinclined toward the opposite sex. polyorchids are persons who have more than two testicles. for a long time the abnormality was not believed to exist, and some of the observers denied the proof by postmortem examination of any of the cases so diagnosed, but there is at present no doubt of the fact,--three, four, and five testicles having been found at autopsies. russell, one of the older writers on the testicle, mentions a monk who was a triorchid, and was so salacious that his indomitable passion prevented him from keeping his vows of chastity. the amorous propensities and generative faculties of polyorchids have always been supposed greater than ordinary. russell reports another case of a man with a similar peculiarity, who was prescribed a concubine as a reasonable allowance to a man thus endowed. morgagni and meckel say that they never discovered a third testicle in dissections of reputed triorchids, and though haller has collected records of a great number of triorchids, he has never been able to verify the presence of the third testicle on dissection. some authors, including haller, have demonstrated heredity in examples of polyorchism. there is an old instance in which two testicles, one above the other, were found on the right side and one on the left. macann describes a recruit of twenty, whose scrotum seemed to be much larger on the right than on the left side, although it was not pendulous. on dissection a right and left testicle were found in their normal positions, but situated on the right side between the groin and the normal testicle was a supernumerary organ, not in contact, and having a separate and short cord. prankard also describes a man with three testicles. three cases of triorchidism were found in recruits in the british army. lane reports a supernumerary testis found in the right half of the scrotum of a boy of fifteen. in a necropsy held on a man killed in battle, hohlberg discovered three fully developed testicles, two on the right side placed one above the other. the london medical record of quotes jdanoff of st. petersburg in mentioning a soldier of twenty-one who had a supernumerary testicle erroneously diagnosed as inguinal hernia. quoted by the same reference, bulatoff mentions a soldier who had a third testicle, which diagnosis was confirmed by several of his confreres. they recommended dismissal of the man from the service, as the third testicle, usually resting in some portion of the inguinal canal, caused extra exposure to traumatic influence. venette gives an instance of four testicles, and scharff, in the ephemerides, mentions five; blasius mentions more than three testicles, and, without citing proof, buffon admits the possibility of such occurrence and adds that such men are generally more vigorous. russell mentions four, five, and even six testicles in one individual; all were not verified on dissection. he cites an instance of six testicles four of which were of usual size and two smaller than ordinary. baillie, the ephemerides, and schurig mention fusion of the testicles, or synorchidism, somewhat after the manner of the normal disposition of the batrachians and also the kangaroos, in the former of which the fusion is abdominal and in the latter scrotal. kerckring has a description of an individual in whom the scrotum was absent. in those cases in which the testicles are still in the abdominal cavity the individuals are termed cryptorchids. johnson has collected the results of postmortem examinations of supposed cryptorchids. in eight of this number no testicles were found postmortem, the number found in the abdomen was uncertain, but in instances both testicles were found in the inguinal canal, and in eight only one was found in the inguinal canal, the other not appearing. the number in which the semen was examined microscopically was , and in three spermatozoa were found in the semen; one case was dubious, spermatozoa being found two weeks afterward on a boy's shirt. the number having children was ten. in one case a monorchid generated a cryptorchid child. some of the cryptorchids were effeminate, although others were manly with good evidences of a beard. the morbid, hypochondriac, the voluptuous, and the imbecile all found a place in johnson's statistics; and although there are evidences of the possession of the generative function, still, we are compelled to say that the chances are against fecundity of human cryptorchids. in this connection might be quoted the curious case mentioned by geoffroy-saint-hilaire, of a soldier who was hung for rape. it was alleged that no traces of testicles were found externally or internally yet semen containing spermatozoa was found in the seminal vesicles. spermatozoa have been found days and weeks after castration, and the individuals during this period were capable of impregnation, but in these cases the reservoirs were not empty, although the spring had ceased to flow. beigel, in virchow's archives, mentions a cryptorchid of twenty-two who had nocturnal emissions containing spermatozoa and who indulged in sexual congress. partridge describes a man of twenty-four who, notwithstanding his condition, gave evidences of virile seminal flow. in some cases there is anomalous position of the testicle. hough mentions an instance in which, from the great pain and sudden appearance, a small tumor lying against the right pubic bone was supposed to be a strangulated hernia. there were two well-developed testicles in the scrotum, and the hernia proved to be a third. mcelmail describes a soldier of twenty-nine, who two or three months before examination felt a pricking and slight burning pain near the internal aperture of the internal inguinal canal, succeeded by a swelling until the tumor passed into the scrotum. it was found in the upper part of the scrotum above the original testicle, but not in contact, and was about half the size of the normal testicle; its cord and epididymis could be distinctly felt and caused the same sensation as pressure on the other testicle did. marshall mentions a boy of sixteen in whom the right half of the scrotum was empty, although the left was of normal size and contained a testicle. on close examination another testicle was found in the perineum; the boy said that while running he fell down, four years before, and on getting up suffered great pain in the groin, and this pain recurred after exertion. this testicle was removed successfully to the scrotum. horsley collected instances of operators who made a similar attempt, annandale being the first one; his success was likely due to antisepsis, as previously the testicles had always sloughed. there is a record of a dog remarkable for its salacity who had two testicles in the scrotum and one in the abdomen; some of the older authors often indulged in playful humor on this subject. brown describes a child with a swelling in the perineum both painful and elastic to the touch. the child cried if pressure was applied to the tumor and there was every evidence that the tumor was a testicle. hutcheson, quoted by russell, has given a curious case in an english seaman who, as was the custom at that time, was impressed into service by h.m.s. druid in from a trading ship off the coast of africa. the man said he had been examined by dozens of ship-surgeons, but was invariably rejected on account of rupture in both groins. the scrotum was found to be an empty bag, and close examination showed that the testicles occupied the seats of the supposed rupture. as soon as the discovery was made the man became unnerved and agitated, and on re-examining the parts the testicles were found in the scrotum. when he found that there was no chance for escape he acknowledged that he was an impostor and gave an exhibition in which, with incredible facility, he pulled both testes up from the bottom of the scrotum to the external abdominal ring. at the word of command he could pull up one testicle, then another, and let them drop simultaneously; he performed other like feats so rapidly that the movements could not be distinguished. in this connection russell speaks of a man whose testicle was elevated every time the east wind blew, which caused him a sense of languor and relaxation; the same author describes a man whose testicles ascended into the inguinal canal every time he was in the company of women. inversion of the testicle is of several varieties and quite rare, it has been recognized by sir astley cooper, boyer, maisonneuve, royet, and other writers. the anomalies of the vas deferens and seminal vesicles are of little interest and will be passed with mention of the case of weber, who found the seminal vesicles double; a similar conformation has been seen in hermaphrodites. chapter vii. anomalies of stature, size, and development. giants.--the fables of mythology contain accounts of horrible monsters, terrible in ferocity, whose mission was the destruction of the life of the individuals unfortunate enough to come into their domains. the ogres known as the cyclops, and the fierce anthropophages, called lestrygons, of sicily, who were neighbors of the cyclops, are pictured in detail in the "odyssey" of homer. nearly all the nations of the earth have their fairy tales or superstitions of monstrous beings inhabiting some forest, mountain, or cave; and pages have been written in the heroic poems of all languages describing battles between these monsters and men with superhuman courage, in which the giant finally succumbs. the word giant is derived indirectly from the old english word "geant," which in its turn came from the french of the conquering normans. it is of greek derivation, "gigas", or the latin, "gigas." the hebrew parallel is "nophel," or plural, "nephilim." ancient giants.--we are told in the bible a that the bedstead of og, king of basham, was cubits long, which in english measure is / feet. goliath of gath, who was slain by david, stood cubits and a span tall--about feet. the body of orestes, according to the greeks, was / feet long. the mythical titans, in number, were a race of giants who warred against the gods, and their descendants were the gigantes. the height attributed to these creatures was fabulous, and they were supposed to heap up mountains to scale the sky and to help them to wage their battles. hercules, a man of incredible strength, but who is said to have been not over feet high, was dispatched against the gigantes. pliny describes gabbaras, who was brought to rome by claudius caesar from arabia and was between and feet in height, and adds that the remains of posio and secundilla, found in the reign of augustus caesar in the sallustian gardens, of which they were supposed to be the guardians, measured feet inches each. in common with augustine, pliny believed that the stature of man has degenerated, but from the remains of the ancients so far discovered it would appear that the modern stature is about the same as the ancient. the beautiful alabaster sarcophagus discovered near thebes in and now in sir john soane's museum in lincoln's inn fields in london measures feet inches long. this unique example, the finest extant, is well worth inspection by visitors in london. herodotus says the shoes of perseus measured an equivalent of about feet, english standard. josephus tells of eleazar, a jew, among the hostages sent by the king of persia to rome, who was nearly feet high. saxo, the grammarian, mentions a giant / feet high and says he had companions who were double his height. ferragus, the monster supposed to have been slain by roland, the nephew of charlemagne, was said to have been nearly feet high. it was said that there was a giant living in the twelfth century under the rule of king eugene ii of scotland who was / feet high. there are fabulous stories told of the emperor maximilian. some accounts say that he was between / and feet high, and used his wife's bracelet for a finger-ring, and that he ate pounds of flesh a day and drank six gallons of wine. he was also accredited with being a great runner, and in his earlier days was said to have conquered single-handed eight soldiers. the emperors charlemagne and jovianus were also accredited with great height and strength. in the olden times there were extraordinary stories of the giants who lived in patagonia. some say that magellan gave the name to this country because its inhabitants measured cubits. the naturalist turner says that on the river plata near the brazilian coast he saw naked savages feet high; and in his description of america, thevenot confirms this by saying that on the coast of africa he saw on a boat the skeleton of an american giant who had died in , and who was feet inches in height. he claims to have measured the bones himself. he says that the bones of the leg measured feet inches, and the skull was feet and inch, just about the size of the skull of borghini, who, however, was only of ordinary height. in his account of a voyage to the straits of magellan, jacob lemaire says that on december , , he found at port desire several graves covered with stones, and beneath the stones were skeletons of men which measured between and feet. the ancient idea of the spaniards was that the men of patagonia were so tall that the spanish soldiers could pass under their arms held out straight; yet we know that the patagonians exhibit no exaggeration of height--in fact, some of the inhabitants about terra del fuego are rather diminutive. this superstition of the voyagers was not limited to america; there were accounts of men in the neighborhood of the peak of teneriffe who had teeth in their head and bodies feet in height. discoveries of "giants' bones."--riolan, the celebrated anatomist, says that there was to be seen at one time in the suburbs of saint germain the tomb of the giant isoret, who was reputed to be feet tall; and that in , in digging ditches at rouen, near the dominicans, they found a stone tomb containing a monstrous skeleton, the skull of which would hold a bushel of corn; the shin-bone measured about feet, which, taken as a guide, would make his height over feet. on the tomb was a copper plate which said that the tomb contained the remains of "the noble and puissant lord, the chevalier ricon de vallemont." plater, the famous physician, declares that he saw at lucerne the true human bones of a subject that must have been at least feet high. valence in dauphine boasted of possessing the bones of the giant bucart, the tyrant of the vivarias, who was slain by his vassal, count de cabillon. the dominicans had the shin-bone and part of the knee-articulation, which, substantiated by the frescoes and inscriptions in their possession, showed him to be / feet high. they claimed to have an os frontis in the medical school of leyden measuring . x . x . inches, which they deduce must have belonged to a man or feet high. it is said that while digging in france in there was disinterred the body of a giant bearing the title "theutobochus rex," and that the skeleton measured feet long, feet across the shoulders, and feet from breast to back. the shin-bone was about feet long, and the teeth as large as those of oxen. this is likely another version of the finding of the remains of bucart. near mezarino in sicily in there was found the skeleton of a giant whose height was at least feet; his head was the size of a hogshead, and each tooth weighed ounces; and in and in there were others found of the height of feet. the athenians found near their city skeletons measuring and feet in height. in bohemia in it is recorded that there was found a human skeleton feet tall, and the leg-bones are still kept in a medieval castle in that country. in september, , there was the skull of a giant found in macedonia which held pounds of corn. general opinions.--all the accounts of giants originating in the finding of monstrous bones must of course be discredited, as the remains were likely those of some animal. comparative anatomy has only lately obtained a hold in the public mind, and in the middle ages little was known of it. the pretended giants' remains have been those of mastodons, elephants, and other animals. from suetonius we learn that augustus caesar pleased himself by adorning his palaces with so-called giants' bones of incredible size, preferring these to pictures or images. from their enormous size we must believe they were mastodon bones, as no contemporary animals show such measurements. bartholinus describes a large tooth for many years exhibited as the canine of a giant which proved to be nothing but a tooth of a spermaceti whale (cetus dentatus), quite a common fish. hand described an alleged giant's skeleton shown in london early in the eighteenth century, and which was composed of the bones of the fore-fin of a small whale or of a porpoise. the celebrated sir hans sloane, who treated this subject very learnedly, arrived at the conclusion that while in most instances the bones found were those of mastodons, elephants, whales, etc., in some instances accounts were given by connoisseurs who could not readily be deceived. however, modern scientists will be loath to believe that any men ever existed who measured over feet; in fact, such cases with authentic references are extremely rare quetelet considers that the tallest man whose stature is authentically recorded was the "scottish giant" of frederick the great's regiment of giants. this person was not quite feet inches tall. buffon, ordinarily a reliable authority, comes to a loose conclusion that there is no doubt that men have lived who were , , and even feet tall; but modern statisticians cannot accept this deduction from the references offered. from the original estimation of the height of adam (henrion once calculated that adam's height was feet and that of eve ) we gradually come to feet, which seemed to be about the favorite height for giants in the middle ages. approaching this century, we still have stories of men from to feet high, but no authentic cases. it was only in the latter part of the last century that we began to have absolutely authentic heights of giants, and to-day the men showing through the country as measuring feet generally exaggerate their height several inches, and exact measurement would show that but few men commonly called giants are over / feet or weigh over pounds. dana says that the number of giants figuring as public characters since is not more than , and of these about were advertised to be over feet. if we confine ourselves to those accurately and scientifically measured the list is surprisingly small. topinard measured the tallest man in the austrian army and found that he was feet / inches. the giant winckelmeyer measured feet inches in height. ranke measured marianne wehde, who was born in germany in the present century, and found that she measured feet / inches when only sixteen and a half years old. in giants, as a rule, the great stature is due to excessive growth of the lower extremities, the size of the head and that of the trunk being nearly the same as those of a man or boy of the same age. on the other hand, in a natural dwarf the proportions are fairly uniform, the head, however, being always larger in proportion to the body, just as we find in infants. indeed, the proportions of "general tom thumb" were those of an ordinary infant of from thirteen to fifteen months old. figure shows a portrait of two well-known exhibitionists of about the same age, and illustrates the possible extremes of anomalies in stature. recently, the association of acromegaly with gigantism has been noticed, and in these instances there seems to be an acquired uniform enlargement of all the bones of the body. brissaud and meige describe the case of a male of forty-seven who presented nothing unusual before the age of sixteen, when he began to grow larger, until, having reached his majority, he measured feet inches in height and weighed about pounds. he remained well and very strong until the age of thirty-seven, when he overlifted, and following this he developed an extreme deformity of the spine and trunk, the latter "telescoping into itself" until the nipples were on a level with the anterior superior spines of the ilium. for two years he suffered with debility, fatigue, bronchitis, night-sweats, headache, and great thirst. mentally he was dull; the bones of the face and extremities showed the hypertrophies characteristic of acromegaly, the soft parts not being involved. the circumference of the trunk at the nipples was inches, and over the most prominent portion of the kyphosis and pigeon-breast, inches. the authors agree with dana and others that there is an intimate relation between acromegaly and gigantism, but they go further and compare both to the growth of the body. they call attention to the striking resemblance to acromegaly of the disproportionate growth of the boy at adolescence, which corresponds so well to marie's terse description of this disease: "the disease manifests itself by preference in the bones of the extremities and in the extremities of the bones," and conclude with this rather striking and aphoristic proposition: "acromegaly is gigantism of the adult; gigantism is acromegaly of adolescence." the many theories of the cause of gigantism will not be discussed here, the reader being referred to volumes exclusively devoted to this subject. celebrated giants.--mention of some of the most famous giants will be made, together with any associate points of interest. becanus, physician to charles v, says that he saw a youth feet high and a man and a woman almost feet. ainsworth says that in the tower of london was guarded by three brothers claiming direct descent from henry viii, and surnamed og, gog, and magog, all of whom were over feet in height. in his "chronicles of holland" in hadrianus barlandus said that in the time of john, earl of holland, the giant nicholas was so large that men could stand under his arms, and his shoe held ordinary feet. among the yeoman of the guard of john frederick, duke of hanover, there was one christopher munster, / feet high, who died in in his forty-fifth year. the giant porter of the duke of wurtemberg was / feet high. "big sam," the porter at carleton palace, when george iv was prince of wales, was feet high. the porter of queen elizabeth, of whom there is a picture in hampton court, painted by zucchero, was / feet high; and walter parson, porter to james i, was about the same height. william evans, who served charles i, was nearly feet; he carried a dwarf in his pocket. in the seventeenth century, in order to gratify the empress of austria, guy-patin made a congress of all the giants and dwarfs in the germanic empire. a peculiarity of this congress was that the giants complained to the authorities that the dwarfs teased them in such a manner as to make their lives miserable. plater speaks of a girl in basle, switzerland, five years old, whose body was as large as that of a full-grown woman and who weighed when a year old as much as a bushel of wheat. he also mentions a man living in , feet high, whose hand was foot inches long. peter van den broecke speaks of a congo negro in who was feet high. daniel, the porter of cromwell, was feet inches high; he became a lunatic. frazier speaks of chilian giants feet tall. there is a chronicle which says one of the kings of norway was feet high. merula says that in he saw in france a flemish man over feet. keysler mentions seeing hans brau in tyrol in , and says that he was nearly feet high. jonston mentions a lad in holland who was feet tall. pasumot mentions a giant of feet. edmund mallone was said to have measured feet inches. wierski, a polander, presented to maximilian ii, was feet high. at the age of thirty-two there died in a clerk of the bank of england who was said to have been nearly / feet high. the daily advertiser for february , , says that there was a young colossus exhibited opposite the mansion house in london who was feet high, although but fifteen years old. in the same paper on january , , is an account of macgrath, whose skeleton is still preserved in dublin. in the reign of george i, during the time of the bartholomew fair at smithfield, there was exhibited an english man seventeen years old who was feet tall. nicephorus tells of antonius of syria, in the reign of theodosius, who died at the age of twenty-five with a height of feet inches. artacaecas, in great favor with xerxes, was the tallest persian and measured feet. john middleton, born in at hale, lancashire, humorously called the "child of hale," and whose portrait is in brasenose college, oxford, measured feet inches tall. in his "history of ripton," in devonshire, , bigsby gives an account of a discovery in of a skeleton feet long. in in a village in holland there died a fisherman named gerrit bastiaansen who was feet high and weighed pounds. during queen anne's reign there was shown in london and other parts of england a most peculiar anomaly--a german giantess without hands or feet who threaded a needle, cut gloves, etc. about there was issued an engraving of miss angelina melius, nineteen years of age and feet high, attended by her page, senor don santiago de los santos, from the island of manilla, thirty-live years old and feet inches high. "the annual register" records the death of peter tuchan at posen on june , , of dropsy of the chest. he was twenty-nine years old and feet inches in height; he began to grow at the age of seven. this monster had no beard; his voice was soft; he was a moderate eater. there was a giant exhibited in st. petersburg, june, , feet inches in height, who was very thin and emaciated. dr. adam clarke, who died in , measured a man feet inches tall. frank buckland, in his "curiosities of natural history," says that brice, the french giant, was feet inches. early in there was exhibited at parma a young man formerly in the service of the king of the netherlands who was feet inches high and weighed pounds. robert hale, the "norfolk giant," who died in yarmouth in at the age of forty-three, was feet inches high and weighed pounds. the skeleton of cornelius mcgrath, now preserved in the trinity college museum, dublin, is a striking example of gigantism. at sixteen years he measured feet inches. o'brien or byrne, the irish giant, was supposed to be feet inches in height at the time of his death in at the age of twenty-two. the story of his connection with the illustrious john hunter is quite interesting. hunter had vowed that he would have the skeleton of o'brien, and o'brien was equally averse to being boiled in the distinguished scientist's kettle. the giant was tormented all his life by the constant assertions of hunter and by his persistence in locating him. finally, when, following the usual early decline of his class of anomalies, o'brien came to his death-bed, he bribed some fishermen to take his body after his death to the middle of the irish channel and sink it with leaden weights. hunter, it is alleged, was informed of this and overbribed the prospective undertakers and thus secured the body. it has been estimated that it cost hunter nearly pounds sterling to gain possession of the skeleton of the "irish giant." the kettle in which the body was boiled, together with some interesting literature relative to the circumstances, are preserved in the museum of the royal college of surgeons in london, and were exhibited at the meeting of the british medical association in with other hunterian relics. the skeleton, which is now one of the features of the museum, is reported to measure / inches in height, and is mounted alongside that of caroline crachami, the sicilian dwarf, who was exhibited as an italian princess in london in . she did not grow after birth and died at the age of nine. patrick cotter, the successor of o'brien, and who for awhile exhibited under this name, claiming that he was a lineal descendant of the famous irish king, brian boru, who he declared was feet in height, was born in , and died in at the age of forty-five. his shoe was inches long, and he was feet inches tall at his death. in the museum of madame tussaud in london there is a wax figure of loushkin, said to be the tallest man of his time. it measures feet inches, and is dressed in the military uniform of a drum-major of the imperial preobrajensky regiment of guards. to magnify his height there is a figure of the celebrated dwarf, "general tom thumb," in the palm of his hand. figure represents a well-known american giant, ben hicks who was called "the denver steeple." buffon refers to a swedish giantess who he affirms was feet inches tall. chang, the "chinese giant," whose smiling face is familiar to nearly all the modern world, was said to be feet tall. in , at the age of nineteen, he measured feet inches. at hawick, scotland, in , there was an irishman feet inches in height, inches around the chest, and who weighed stone. figure shows an american giantess known as "leah, the giantess." at the age of nineteen she was feet inches tall and weighed pounds. on june , , there were married at saint-martins-in-the-field in london captain martin van buren bates of kentucky and miss anna swann of nova scotia, two celebrated exhibitionists, both of whom were over feet. captain bates, familiarly known as the "kentucky giant," years ago was a familiar figure in many northern cities, where he exhibited himself in company with his wife, the combined height of the two being greater than that of any couple known to history. captain bates was born in whitesburg, letcher county, ky., on november , . he enlisted in the southern army in , and though only sixteen years old was admitted to the service because of his size. at the close of the war captain bates had attained his great height of feet / inches. his body was well proportioned and his weight increased until it reached pounds. he traveled as a curiosity from to , being connected with various amusement organizations. he visited nearly all the large cities and towns in the united states, canada, great britain, france, spain, germany, switzerland, austria, and russia. while in england in the captain met miss anna h. swann, known as the "nova scotia giantess," who was two years the junior of her giant lover. miss swann was justly proud of her height, feet / inches. the two were married soon afterward. their combined height of feet inches marked them as the tallest married couple known to mankind. captain bates' parents were of medium size. his father, a native of virginia, was feet inches high and weighed pounds. his mother was feet inches tall and weighed pounds. the height of the father of mrs. anna swann bates was feet and her mother was feet and inches high, weighing but pounds. a recent newspaper dispatch says: "captain m. v. bates, whose remarkable height at one time attracted the attention of the world, has recently retired from his conspicuous position and lives in comparative obscurity on his farm in guilford, medina county, o., half a mile east of seville." in there was shown in paris joachim eleiceigui, the spanish giant, who weighed kilograms ( pounds) and whose hands were cm. ( / inches) long and of great beauty. in at the alhambra in london there was a giantess by the name of miss marian, called the "queen of the amazons," aged eighteen years, who measured . meters ( / inches). william campbell, a scotchman, died at newcastle in may . he was so large that the window of the room in which the deceased lay and the brick-work to the level of the floor had to be taken out, in order that the coffin might be lowered with block and tackle three stories to the ground. on january , , a greek, although a turkish subject, recently died of phthisis in simferopol. he was feet inches in height and slept on three beds laid close together. giants of history.--a number of persons of great height, particularly sovereigns and warriors, are well-known characters of history, viz., william of scotland, edward iii, godefroy of bouillon, philip the long, fairfax, moncey, mortier, kleber; there are others celebrated in modern times. rochester, the favorite of charles ii; pothier, the jurist; bank, the english naturalist; gall, billat-savarin, benjamin constant, the painter david, bellart, the geographer delamarche, and care, the founder of the gentleman's magazine, were all men of extraordinary stature. dwarfs.--the word "dwarf" is of saxon origin (dwerg, dweorg) and corresponds to the "pumilio" or "nanus" of the romans. the greeks believed in the pygmy people of thrace and pliny speaks of the spithamiens. in the "iliad" homer writes of the pygmies and juvenal also describes them; but the fantasies of these poets have given these creatures such diminutive stature that they have deprived the traditions of credence. herodotus relates that in the deserts of lybia there were people of extreme shortness of stature. the bible mentions that no dwarf can officiate at the altar. aristotle and philostratus speak of pygmy people descended from pygmaeus, son of dorus. in the seventeenth century van helmont supposed that there were pygmies in the canary islands, and abyssinia, brazil, and japan in the older times were repeatedly said to contain pygmy races. relics of what must have been a pygmy race have been found in the hebrides, and in this country in kentucky and tennessee. dr. schweinfurth, the distinguished african traveler, confirms the statements of homer, herodotus, and aristotle that there was a race of pygmies near the source of the nile. schweinfurth says that they live south of the country occupied by the niam-niam, and that their stature varies from feet to feet inches. these people are called the akkas, and wonderful tales are told of their agility and cunning, characteristics that seem to compensate for their small stature. in paul duchaillu speaks of the existence of an african people called the obongos, inhabiting the country of the ashangos, a little to the south of the equator, who were about . meters in height. there have been people found in the esquimaux region of very diminutive stature. battel discovered another pygmy people near the obongo who are called the dongos. kolle describes the kenkobs, who are but to feet high, and another tribe called the reebas, who vary from to feet in height. the portuguese speak of a race of dwarfs whom they call the bakka-bakka, and of the yogas, who inhabit territory as far as the loango. nubia has a tribe of dwarfs called the sukus, but little is known of them. throughout india there are stories of dwarf tribes descended from the monkey-god, or hoonuman of the mythologic poems. in the works of humboldt and burgoa there is allusion to the tradition of a race of pygmies in the unexplored region of chiapas near the isthmus of tehuantepec in central america. there is an expedition of anthropologists now on the way to discover this people. professor starr of chicago on his return from this region reported many colonies of undersized people, but did not discover any pygmy tribes answering to the older legendary descriptions. figure represents two dwarf cottas measuring feet inches in height. the african pygmies who were sent to the king of italy and shown in rome resembled the pygmy travelers of akka that schweinfurth saw at the court of king munza at monbuttu. these two pygmies at rome were found in central africa and were respectively about ten and fifteen years old. they spoke a dialect of their own and different from any known african tongue; they were partly understood by an egyptian sergeant, a native of soudan, who accompanied them as the sole survivor of the escort with which their donor, miani, penetrated monbuttu. miani, like livingstone, lost his life in african travel. these dwarfs had grown rapidly in recent years and at the time of report, measured . and . meters. in they were under the care of the royal geographical society of italy. they were intelligent in their manner, but resented being lionized too much, and were prone to scratch ladies who attempted to kiss them. the "aztec children" in , at the ages of seven and six years, another pair of alleged indigenous pygmies, measured / and / inches in height and weighed / and pounds respectively. the circumference of their heads did not equal that of an ordinary infant at birth. it is known that at one time the ancients artificially produced dwarfs by giving them an insufficient alimentation when very young. they soon became rachitic from their deprivation of lime-salts and a great number perished, but those who survived were very highly prized by the roman emperors for their grotesque appearance. there were various recipes for dwarfing children. one of the most efficient in the olden times was said to have been anointing the backbone with the grease of bats, moles, dormice, and such animals; it was also said that puppies were dwarfed by frequently washing the feet and backbone, as the consequent drying and hardening of the parts were alleged to hinder their extension. to-day the growth of boys intended to be jockeys is kept down by excessive sweating. ancient popularity of dwarfs.--at one time a dwarf was a necessary appendage of every noble family. the roman emperors all had their dwarfs. julia, the niece of augustus, had a couple of dwarfs, conopas and andromeda, each of whom was feet inches in height. it was the fashion at one time to have dwarfs noted for their wit and wisdom. philos of cos, tutor of ptolemy philadelphus, was a dwarf, as were carachus, the friend of saladin; alypius of alexandria, who was only feet high; lucinus calvus, who was only feet high, and aesop, the famous greek fabulist. later in the middle ages and even to the last century dwarfs were seen at every court. lady montagu describes the dwarfs at the viennese court as "devils bedaubed with diamonds." they had succeeded the court jester and exercised some parts of this ancient office. at this time the english ladies kept monkeys for their amusement. the court dwarfs were allowed unlimited freedom of speech, and in order to get at truths other men were afraid to utter one of the kings of denmark made one of his dwarfs prime minister. charles ix in had nine dwarfs, of which four had been given to him by king sigismund-augustus of poland and three by maximilian ii of germany. catherine de medicis had three couples of dwarfs at one time, and in she had still five pygmies, named merlin, mandricart, pelavine, rodomont, and majoski. probably the last dwarf in the court of france was balthazar simon, who died in . sometimes many dwarfs were present at great and noble gatherings. in rome in the cardinal vitelli gave a sumptuous banquet at which the table-attendants were dwarfs. peter the great of russia had a passion for dwarfs, and in gave a great celebration in honor of the marriage of his favorite, valakoff, with the dwarf of the princess prescovie theodorovna. there were dwarfs of both sexes present to form the bridal party. subsequently, on account of dangerous and difficult labor, such marriages were forbidden in russia. in england and in spain the nobles had the portraits of their dwarfs painted by the celebrated artists of the day. velasquez has represented don antonio el ingles, a dwarf of fine appearance, with a large dog, probably to bring out the dwarf's inferior height. this artist also painted a great number of other dwarfs at the court of spain, and in one of his paintings he portrays the infanta marguerite accompanied by her male and female dwarfs. reproductions of these portraits have been given by garnier. in the pictures of raphael, paul veronese, and dominiquin, and in the "triumph of caesar" by mantegna, representations of dwarfs are found, as well as in other earlier pictures representing court events. at the present time only russia and turkey seem to have popular sympathy for dwarfs, and this in a limited degree. intellectual dwarfs.--it must be remarked, however, that many of the dwarfs before the public have been men of extraordinary-intelligence, possibly augmented by comparison. in a postmortem discussed at a meeting of the natural history society at bonn in it was demonstrated by schaufhausen that in a dwarf subject the brain weighed / of the body, in contradistinction to the average proportion of adults, from to to to . the subject was a dwarf of sixty-one who died in coblentz, and was said to have grown after his thirtieth year. his height was feet inches and his weight pounds. the circumference of the head was mm. and the brain weighed . gm. and was well convoluted. this case was one of simple arrest of development, affecting all the organs of the body; he was not virile. he was a child of large parents; had two brothers and a sister of ordinary size and two brothers dwarfs, one inches higher and the other his size. several personages famous in history have been dwarfs. attila, the historian procopius, gregory of tours, pepin le bref, charles iii, king of naples, and albert the grand were dwarfs. about the middle of the seventeenth century the french episcopacy possessed among its members a dwarf renowned for his intelligence. this diminutive man, called godeau, made such a success in literature that by the grace of richelieu he was named the archbishop of grasse. he died in . the dutch painter doos, the english painter gibson (who was about feet in height and the father of nine infants by a wife of about the same height), prince eugene, and the spanish admiral gravina were dwarfs. fleury and garry, the actors. hay, a member of parliament from sussex in the last century; hussein-pasha, celebrated for his reforms under selim iii; the danish antiquarian and voyager, arendt, and baron denon were men far below the average size varro says that there were two gentlemen of rome who from their decorations must have belonged to an equestrian order, and who were but roman cubits (about feet) high. pliny also speaks of them as preserved in their coffins. it may be remarked that perhaps certain women are predisposed to give birth to dwarfs. borwilaski had a brother and a sister who were dwarfs. in the middle of the seventeenth century a woman brought forth four dwarfs, and in the eighteenth century a dwarf named hopkins had a sister as small as he was. therese souvray, the dwarf fiancee of bebe, had a dwarf sister inches high. virey has examined a german dwarf of eight who was only inches tall, i.e., about the length of a newly-born infant. the parents were of ordinary size, but had another child who was also a dwarf. there are two species of dwarfs, the first coming into the world under normal conditions, but who in their infancy become afflicted with a sudden arrest of development provoked by some malady; the second are born very small, develop little, and are really dwarfs from their birth; as a rule they are well conformed, robust, and intelligent. these two species can be distinguished by an important characteristic. the rachitic dwarfs of the first class are incapable of perpetuating their species, while those of the second category have proved more than once their virility. a certain number of dwarfs have married with women of normal height and have had several children, though this is not, it is true, an indisputable proof of their generative faculties; but we have instances in which dwarfs have married dwarfs and had a family sometimes quite numerous. robert skinner ( inches) and judith ( inches), his wife, had infants, well formed, robust, and of normal height. celebrated dwarfs.--instances of some of the most celebrated dwarfs will be cited with a short descriptive mention of points of interest in their lives:-- vladislas cubitas, who was king of poland in , was a dwarf, and was noted for his intelligence, courage, and as a good soldier. geoffrey hudson, the most celebrated english dwarf, was born at oakham in england in . at the age of eight, when not much over a foot high, he was presented to henriette marie, wife of charles i, in a pie; he afterward became her favorite. until he was thirty he was said to be not more than inches high, when he suddenly increased to about inches. in his youth he fought several duels, one with a turkey cock, which is celebrated in the verse of davenant. he became a popular and graceful courtier, and proved his bravery and allegiance to his sovereign by assuming command of a royalist company and doing good service therein. both in moral and physical capacities he showed his superiority. at one time he was sent to france to secure a midwife for the queen, who was a frenchwoman. he afterward challenged a gentleman by the name of croft to fight a duel, and would accept only deadly weapons; he shot his adversary in the chest; the quarrel grew out of his resentment of ridicule of his diminutive size. he was accused of participation in the papist plot and imprisoned by his political enemies in the gate house at westminster, where he died in at the advanced age of sixty-three. in scott's "peveril of the peak" hudson figures prominently. this author seemed fond of dwarfs. about the same epoch charles i had a page in his court named richard gibson, who was remarkable for his diminutive size and his ability as a miniature painter. this little artist espoused another of his class, anne shepherd, a dwarf of queen henriette marie, about his size ( inches). mistress gibson bore nine children, five of whom arrived at adult age and were of ordinary proportions. she died at the age of eighty; her husband afterward became the drawing master of princesses mary and anne, daughters of james ii; he died july , , aged seventy-five years. in there was born of poor fisher parents at jelst a child named wybrand lokes. he became a very skilful jeweler, and though he was of diminutive stature he married a woman of medium height, by whom he had several children. he was one of the smallest men ever exhibited, measuring but / inches in height. to support his family better, he abandoned his trade and with great success exhibited himself throughout holland and england. after having amassed a great fortune he returned to his country, where he died in , aged seventy. he was very intelligent, and proved his power of paternity, especially by one son, who at twenty-three was feet inches tall, and robust. another celebrated dwarf was nicolas ferry, otherwise known as bebe. he was born at plaine in the vosges in ; he was but cm. ( / inches) long, weighed ounces at birth, and was carried on a plate to the church for baptism. at five bebe was presented to king stanislas of poland. at fifteen he measured inches. he was of good constitution, but was almost an idiot; for example, he did not recognize his mother after fifteen days' separation. he was quite lax in his morals, and exhibited no evidences of good nature except his lively attachment for his royal master, who was himself a detestable character. he died at twenty-two in a very decrepit condition, and his skeleton is preserved in the museum of natural history in paris. shortly before his death bebe became engaged to a female dwarf named therese souvray, who at one time was exhibited in paris at the theatre conti, together with an older sister. therese lived to be seventy-three, and both she and her sister measured only inches in height. she died in . aldrovandus gives a picture of a famous dwarf of the duc de crequi who was only inches tall, though perfectly formed; he also speaks of some dwarfs who were not over feet high. there was a polish gentleman named joseph borwilaski, born in who was famed all over europe. he became quite a scholar, speaking french and german fairly well. in , at the age of twenty-two, and inches in height, he married a woman of ordinary stature, who bore him two infants well conformed. he was exhibited in many countries, and finally settled at durham, england, where he died in at the almost incredible age of ninety-eight, and is buried by the side of the falstaffian stephen kemble. mary jones of shropshire, a dwarf inches tall and much deformed, died in at the age of one hundred. these two instances are striking examples of great age in dwarfs and are therefore of much interest. borwilaski's parents were tall in stature and three of his brothers were small; three of the other children measured feet inches. diderot has written a history of this family. richeborg, a dwarf only inches in height, died in paris in aged ninety years. in childhood he had been a servant in the house of orleans and afterward became their pensioner. during the revolution he passed in and out of paris as an infant in a nurse's arms, thus carrying dispatches memorized which might have proved dangerous to carry in any other manner. at st. philip's, birmingham, there is the following inscription on a tomb: "in memory of mannetta stocker, who quitted this life on the th day of may, , at the age of thirty-nine years, the smallest woman in the kingdom, and one of the most accomplished." she was born in krauma, in the north of austria, under normal conditions. her growth stopped at the age of four, when she was inches tall. she was shown in many villages and cities over europe and great britain; she was very gay, played well on the piano, and had divers other accomplishments. in there was shown in london a dwarf by the name of robert skinner, . meters in height, and his wife, judith, who was a little larger. their exhibition was a great success and they amassed a small fortune; during twenty-three years they had robust and well-formed children. judith died in , and robert grieved so much after her that he himself expired two years later. figure shows a female dwarf with her husband and child, all of whom were exhibited some years since in the eastern united states. the likeness of the child to the mother is already noticeable. buffon speaks of dwarfs , , and inches high, and mentions one individual, aged thirty-seven, only inches tall, whom he considers the smallest person on record. virey in speaks of an english child of eight or nine who was but inches tall. it had the intelligence of a child of three or four; its dentition was delayed until it was two years old and it did not walk until four. the parents of this child were of ordinary stature. at the "cosmorama" in regent street in there was a dutch boy of ten exhibited. he was said to be the son of an apothecary and at the time of his birth weighed nine pounds. he continued to grow for six months and at the expiration of that time weighed pounds; since then, however, he had only increased four pounds. the arrest of development seemed to be connected with hydrocephalus; although the head was no larger than that of a child of two, the anterior fontanelle was widely open, indicating that there was pressure within. he was strong and muscular; grave and sedate in his manner; cheerful and affectionate; his manners were polite and engaging; he was expert in many kinds of handicraft; he possessed an ardent desire for knowledge and aptitude for education. rawdon described a boy of five and a half, at the liverpool infirmary for children, who weighed / pounds and whose height was or inches. he uttered no articulate sound, but evidently possessed the sense of hearing. his eyes were large and well formed, but he was apparently blind. he suckled, cut his teeth normally, but had tonic contractions of the spine and was an apparent idiot. hardie mentions a girl of sixteen and a half whose height was inches and weight / pounds, including her clothes. during intrauterine life her mother had good health and both her parents had always been healthy. she seemed to stop growing at her fourth year. her intellect was on a par with the rest of her body. sometimes she would talk and again she would preserve rigid silence for a long time. she had a shuffling walk with a tendency to move on her toes. her temporary teeth were shed in the usual manner and had been replaced by canines and right first molar and incisors on the right side. there was no indication of puberty except a slight development of the hips. she was almost totally imbecile, but could tell her letters and spell short words. the circumference of the head was inches, and ross pointed out that the tendon-reflexes were well marked, as well as the ankle-clonus; he diagnosed the case as one of parencephalus. figure represents a most curious case of a dwarf named carrie akers, who, though only inches tall, weighed pounds. in recent years several dwarfs have commanded the popular attention, but none so much as "general tom thumb," the celebrated dwarf of barnum's circus. charles stratton, surnamed "tom thumb," was born at bridgeport, conn., on january , ; he was above the normal weight of the new-born. he ceased growing at about five months, when his height was less than inches. barnum, hearing of this phenomenon in his city, engaged him, and he was shown all over the world under his assumed name. he was presented to queen victoria in , and in the following year he was received by the royal family in france. his success was wonderful, and even the most conservative journals described and commented on him. he gave concerts, in which he sang in a nasal voice; but his "drawing feat" was embracing the women who visited him. it is said that in england alone he kissed a million females; he prided himself on his success in this function, although his features were anything but inviting. after he had received numerous presents and had amassed a large fortune he returned to america in , bringing with him three other dwarfs, the "sisters warren" and "commodore nutt." he married one of the warrens, and by her had one child, minnie, who died some months after birth of cerebral congestion. in tom thumb and his wife, lavinia, were still living, but after that they dropped from public view and have since died. in the wife of a dwarf named morris gave birth to twins at blaenavon, north wales. morris is only inches in height and his wife is even smaller. they were married at bartholmey church and have since been traveling through england under the name of "general and mrs. small," being the smallest married couple in the world. at the latest reports the mother and her twins were doing well. the rossow brothers have been recently exhibited to the public. these brothers, franz and carl, are twenty and eighteen years respectively. franz is the eldest of children and is said to weigh pounds and measure inches in height; carl is said to weigh less than his brother but is inches tall. they give a clever gymnastic exhibition and are apparently intelligent. they advertise that they were examined and still remain under the surveillance of the faculty of gottingen. next to the success of "tom thumb" probably no like attraction has been so celebrated as the "lilliputians," whose antics and wit so many americans have in late years enjoyed. they were a troupe of singers and comedians composed entirely of dwarfs; they exhibited much talent in all their performances, which were given for several years and quite recently in all the large cities of the united states. they showed themselves to be worthy rivals for honors in the class of entertainments known as burlesques. as near as could be ascertained, partly from the fact that they all spoke german fluently and originally gave their performance entirely in german, they were collected from the german and austrian empires. the "princess topaze" was born near paris in . according to a recent report she is perfectly formed and is intelligent and vivacious. she is / inches tall and weighs pounds. her parents were of normal stature. not long since the papers recorded the death of lucia zarete, a mexican girl, whose exact proportions were never definitely known; but there is no doubt that she was the smallest midget ever exhibited in this country. her exhibitor made a fortune with her and her salary was among the highest paid to modern "freaks." miss h. moritz, an american dwarf, at the age of twenty weighed pounds and was only inches tall. precocious development is characterized by a hasty growth of the subject, who at an early period of life attains the dimensions of an adult. in some of these instances the anomaly is associated with precocious puberty, and after acquiring the adult growth at an early age there is an apparent cessation of the development. in adult life the individual shows no distinguishing characters. the first to be considered will be those cases, sometimes called "man-boys," characterized by early puberty and extraordinary development in infancy. histories of remarkable children have been transmitted from the time of vespasian. we read in the "natural history" of pliny that in salamis, euthimedes had a son who grew to roman cubits ( / feet) in three years; he was said to have little wit, a dull mind, and a slow and heavy gait; his voice was manly, and he died at three of general debility. phlegon says that craterus, the brother of king antigonus, was an infant, a young man, a mature man, an old man, and married and begot children all in the space of seven years. it is said that king louis ii of hungary was born so long before his time that he had no skin; in his second year he was crowned, in his tenth year he succeeded, in his fourteenth year he had a complete beard, in his fifteenth he was married, in his eighteenth he had gray hair, and in his twentieth he died. rhodiginus speaks of a boy who when he was ten years impregnated a female. in there was a boy born at willingham, near cambridge, who had the external marks of puberty at twelve months, and at the time of his death at five years he had the appearance of an old man. he was called "prodigium willinghamense." the ephemerides and some of the older journals record instances of penile erection immediately after birth. it was said that philip howarth, who was born at quebec mews, portman square, london, february , , lost his infantile rotundity of form and feature after the completion of his first year and became pale and extremely ugly, appearing like a growing boy. his penis and testes increased in size, his voice altered, and hair grew on the pubes. at the age of three he was feet / inches tall and weighed / pounds. the length of his penis when erect was / inches and the circumference inches; his thigh-measure was / inches, his waist-measure inches, and his biceps inches. he was reported to be clever, very strong, and muscular. an old chronicle says that in wisnang parish, village of tellurge, near tygure, in lordship kiburge, there was born on the th of may, , a boy called henry walker, who at five years was of the height of a boy of fourteen and possessed the genitals of a man. he carried burdens, did men's work, and in every way assisted his parents, who were of usual size. there is a case cited by the older authors of a child born in the jura region who at the age of four gave proof of his virility, at seven had a beard and the height of a man. the same journal also speaks of a boy of six, . meters tall, who was perfectly proportioned and had extraordinary strength. his beard and general appearance, together with the marks of puberty, gave him the appearance of a man of thirty. in dupuytren presented to the medical society in paris a child / feet high, weighing pounds, who had attained puberty. there are on record six modern cases of early puberty in boys, one of whom died at five with the signs of premature senility; at one year he had shown signs of enlargement of the sexual organs. there was another who at three was feet / inches high, weighed pounds, and had seminal discharges. one of the cases was a child who at birth resembled an ordinary infant of five months. from four to fifteen months his penis enlarged, until at the age of three it measured when erect inches. at this age he was feet inches high and weighed pounds. the last case mentioned was an infant who experienced a change of voice at twelve months and showed hair on the pubes. at three years he was feet / inches tall and weighed / pounds. smith, in brewster's journal, , records the case of a boy who at the age of four was well developed; at the age of six he was feet inches tall and weighed pounds; his lower extremities were extremely short proportionally and his genitals were as well developed as those of an adult. he had a short, dark moustache but no hair on his chin, although his pubic hair was thick, black, and curly. ruelle describes a child of three and a quarter years who was as strong and muscular as one at eight. he had full-sized male organs and long black hair on the pubes. under excitement he discharged semen four or five times a day; he had a deep male voice, and dark, short hair on the cheek and upper lip. stone gives an account of a boy of four who looked like a child of ten and exhibited the sexual organs of a man with a luxuriant growth of hair on the pubes. this child was said to have been of great beauty and a miniature model of an athlete. his height was feet / inch and weight pounds; the penis when semiflaccid was / inches long; he was intelligent and lively, and his back was covered with the acne of puberty. a peculiar fact as regards this case was the statement of the father that he himself had had sexual indulgence at eight. stone parallels this case by several others that he has collected from medical literature. breschet in reported the case of a boy born october , , who at three years and one month was feet / inches tall; his penis when flaccid measured inches and when erect / inches, but the testicles were not developed in proportion. lopez describes a mulatto boy of three years ten and a half months whose height was feet / inch and weight pounds; he measured about the chest / inches and about the waist inches; his penis at rest was inches long and had a circumference of / inches, although the testes were not descended. he had evidences of a beard and his axillae were very hairy; it is said he could with ease lift a man weighing pounds. his body was covered with acne simplex and had a strong spermatic odor, but it was not known whether he had any venereal appetite. johnson mentions a boy of seven with severe gonorrhea complicated with buboes which he had contracted from a servant girl with whom he slept. at the hopital des enfans malades children at the breast have been observed to masturbate. fournier and others assert having seen infantile masturbators, and cite a case of a girl of four who was habitually addicted to masturbation from her infancy but was not detected until her fourth year; she died shortly afterward in a frightful state of marasmus. vogel alludes to a girl of three in whom repeated attacks of epilepsy occurred after six months' onanism. van bambeke mentions three children from ten to twenty months old, two of them females, who masturbated. bidwell describes a boy of five years and two months who during the year previous had erections and seminal emissions. his voice had changed and he had a downy moustache on his upper lip and hair on the pubes; his height was feet / inches and his weight was / pounds. his penis and testicles were as well developed as those of a boy of seventeen or eighteen, but from his facial aspect one would take him to be thirteen. he avoided the company of women and would not let his sisters nurse him when he was sick. pryor speaks of a boy of three and a half who masturbated and who at five and a half had a penis of adult size, hair on the pubes, and was known to have had seminal emissions. woods describes a boy of six years and seven months who had the appearance of a youth of eighteen. he was feet inches tall and was quite muscular. he first exhibited signs of precocious growth at the beginning of his second year and when three years old he had hair on the pubes. there is an instance in which a boy of thirteen had intercourse with a young woman at least a dozen times and succeeded in impregnating her. the same journal mentions an instance in which a boy of fourteen succeeded in impregnating a girl of the same age. chevers speaks of a young boy in india who was sentenced to one year's imprisonment for raping a girl of three. douglass describes a boy of four years and three months who was feet / inches tall and weighed pounds; his features were large and coarse, and his penis and testes were of the size of those of an adult. he was unusually dull, mentally, quite obstinate, and self-willed. it is said that he masturbated on all opportunities and had vigorous erections, although no spermatozoa were found in the semen issued. he showed no fondness for the opposite sex. the history of this rapid growth says that he was not unlike other children until the third year, when after wading in a small stream several hours he was taken with a violent chill, after which his voice began to change and his sexual organs to develop. blanc quotes the case described by cozanet in of louis beran, who was born on september , , at saint-gervais, of normal size. at the age of six months his dimensions and weight increased in an extraordinary fashion. at the age of six years he was . meters high ( feet / inches) and weighed pounds. his puberty was completely manifested in every way; he eschewed the society of children and helped his parents in their labors. campbell showed a lad of fourteen who had been under his observation for ten years. when fifteen months old this prodigy had hair on his pubes and his external genitals were abnormally larger end at the age of two years they were fully developed and had not materially changed in the following years. at times he manifested great sexual excitement. between four and seven years he had seminal discharges, but it was not determined whether the semen contained spermatozoa. he had the muscular development of a man of twenty-five. he had shaved several years. the boy's education was defective from his failure to attend school. the accompanying illustration represents a boy of five years and three months of age whose height at this time was feet and his physical development far beyond that usual at this age, his external genitals resembling those of a man of twenty. his upper lip was covered by a mustache, and the hirsute growth elsewhere was similarly precocious. the inscription on the tombstone of james weir in the parish of carluke, scotland, says that when only thirteen months old he measured feet inches in height and weighed stone. he was pronounced by the faculty of edinburgh and glasgow to be the most extraordinary child of his age. linnaeus saw a boy at the amsterdam fair who at the age of three weighed pounds. in paris, about , there was shown an infant hercules of seven who was more remarkable for obesity than general development. he was feet inches high, feet inches in circumference, and weighed pounds. he had prominent eyebrows, black eyes, and his complexion resembled that of a fat cook in the heat. borellus details a description of a giant child. there is quoted from boston a the report of a boy of fifteen months weighing pounds who died at coney island. he was said to have been of phenomenal size from infancy and was exhibited in several museums during his life. desbois of paris mentions an extraordinary instance of rapid growth in a boy of eleven who grew inches in fifteen days. large and small new-born infants.--there are many accounts of new-born infants who were characterized by their diminutive size. on page we have mentioned usher's instance of twins born at the one hundred and thirty-ninth day weighing each less than ounces; barker's case of a female child at the one hundred and fifty-eighth day weighing pound; newinton's case of twins at the fifth month, one weighing pound and the other pound / ounces; and on page is an account of eikam's five-months' child, weighing ounces. of full-term children sir everard home, in his croonian oration in , speaks of one borne by a woman who was traveling with the baggage of the duke of wellington's army. at her fourth month of pregnancy this woman was attacked and bitten by a monkey, but she went to term, and a living child was delivered which weighed but a pound and was between and inches long. it was brought to england and died at the age of nine, when inches high. baker mentions a child fifty days' old that weighed pound ounces and was inches long. mursick describes a living child who at birth weighed but / pounds. in june, , a baby weighing / pounds was born at the samaritan hospital, philadelphia. scott has recorded the birth of a child weighing / pounds, and another / pounds. in the chicago inter-ocean there is a letter dated june , , which says that mrs. j. b. mccrum of kalamazoo, michigan, gave birth to a boy and girl that could be held in the palm of the hand of the nurse. their aggregate weight was pounds ounces, one weighing pound ounces, the other pound ounces. they were less than inches long and perfectly formed; they were not only alive but extremely vivacious. there is an account of female twins born in before term. one weighed / ounces, and over its arm, forearm, and hand one could easily pass a wedding-ring. the other weighed ounces. they both lived to adult life; the larger married and was the mother of two children, which she bore easily. the other did not marry, and although not a dwarf, was under-sized; she had her catamenia every third week. post describes a -pound child. on the other hand, there have been infants characterized by their enormous size at birth. among the older writers, cranz describes an infant which at birth weighed pounds; fern mentions a fetus of pounds; and mittehauser speaks of a new-born child weighing pounds. von siebold in his "lucina" has recorded a fetus which weighed / pounds. it is worthy of comment that so great is the rarity of these instances that in cases, in the rotunda hospital, dublin, only one child reached pounds. there was a child born in sussex in which weighed / pounds and measured / inches. warren delivered a woman in derbyshire of male twins, one weighing pounds ounces and the other pounds. the placenta weighed pounds, and there was an ordinary pailful of liquor amnii. both the twins were muscular and well formed; the parents were of ordinary stature, and at last reports the mother was rapidly convalescing. burgess mentions an -pound new-born child; end meadows has seen a similar instance. eddowes speaks of the birth of a child at crewe, a male, which weighed pounds ounces and was inches long. it was / inches about the chest, symmetrically developed, and likely to live. the mother, who was a schoolmistress of thirty-three, had borne two previous children, both of large size. in this instance the gestation had not been prolonged, the delivery was spontaneous, and there was no laceration of the parts. chubb says that on christmas day, , there was a child delivered weighing pounds. the labor was not severe and the other children of the family were exceptionally large. dickinson describes a woman, a tertipara, who had a most difficult labor and bore an extremely large child. she had been thirty-six hours in parturition, and by evisceration and craniotomy was delivered of a child weighing pounds. her first child weighed pounds, her second , and her third, the one described, cost her her life soon after delivery. there is a history of a swedish woman in boston who was delivered by the forceps of her first child, which weighed / pounds and which was / inches long. the circumference of the head was / inches, of the neck / , and of the thigh / inches. rice speaks of a child weighing / pounds at birth. johnston describes a male infant who was born on november , , weighing pounds, and smith another of the same weight. baldwin quotes the case of a woman who after having three miscarriages at last had a child that weighed pounds. in the delivery there was extensive laceration of the anterior wall of the vagina; the cervix and perineum, together with an inch of the rectum, were completely destroyed. beach describes a birth of a young giant weighing / pounds. its mother was mrs. bates, formerly anna swann, the giantess who married captain bates. labor was rather slow, but she was successfully delivered of a healthy child weighing / pounds and inches long. the secundines weighed ten pounds and there were nine quarts of amniotic fluid. there is a recent record of a cesarian section performed on a woman of forty in her twelfth pregnancy and one month beyond term. the fetus, which was almost exsanguinated by amputation, weighed / pounds. bumm speaks of the birth of a premature male infant weighing gm. ( / pounds) and measuring cm. long. artificial labor had been induced at the thirty-fifth week in the hope of delivering a living child, the three preceding infants having all been still-born on account of their large size. although the mother's pelvis was wide, the disposition to bear huge infants was so great as to render the woman virtually barren. congenital asymmetry and hemihypertrophy of the body are most peculiar anomalies and must not be confounded with acromegaly or myxedema, in both of which there is similar lack of symmetric development. there seems to be no satisfactory clue to the causation of these abnormalisms. most frequently the left side is the least developed, and there is a decided difference in the size of the extremities. finlayson reports a case of a child affected with congenital unilateral hypertrophy associated with patches of cutaneous congestion. logan mentions hypertrophy in the right half of the body in a child of four, first noticed shortly after birth; langlet also speaks of a case of congenital hypertrophy of the right side. broca and trelat were among the first observers to discuss this anomaly. tilanus of munich in reported a case of hemihypertrophy in a girl of ten. the whole right half of the body was much smaller and better developed than the left, resulting in a limping gait. the electric reaction and the reflexes showed no abnormality. the asymmetry was first observed when the child was three. mobius and demme report similar cases. adams reports an unusual case of hemihypertrophy in a boy of ten. there was nothing noteworthy in the family history, and the patient had suffered from none of the diseases of childhood. deformity was noticeable at birth, but not to such a degree relatively as at a later period. the increased growth affected the entire right half of the body, including the face, but was most noticeable in the leg, thigh, and buttock. numerous telangiectatic spots were scattered irregularly over the body, but most thickly on the right side, especially on the outer surface of the leg. the accompanying illustration represents the child's appearance at the time of report. jacobson reports the history of a female child of three years with nearly universal giant growth (riesenwuchs). at first this case was erroneously diagnosed as acromegaly. the hypertrophy affected the face, the genitals, the left side of the trunk, and all the limbs. milne records a case of hemihypertrophy in a female child of one year. the only deviation from uniform excess of size of the right side was shown in the forefinger and thumb, which were of the same size as on the other hand; and the left side showed no overgrowth in any of its members except a little enlargement of the second toe. while hypertrophy of one side is the usual description of such cases, the author suggests that there may be a condition of defect upon the other side, and he is inclined to think that in this case the limb, hand, and foot of the left side seemed rather below the average of the child's age. in this case, as in others previously reported, there were numerous telangiectatic spots of congestion scattered irregularly over the body. milne also reported later to the sheffield medico-chirurgical society an instance of unilateral hypertrophy in a female child of nineteen months. the right side was involved and the anomaly was believed to be due to a deficiency of growth of the left side as well as over-development of the right. there were six teeth on the right side and one on the left. obesity.--the abnormality of the adipose system, causing in consequence an augmentation of the natural volume of the subject, should be described with other anomalies of size and stature. obesity may be partial, as seen in the mammae or in the abdomen of both women and men, or it may be general; and it is of general obesity that we shall chiefly deal. lipomata, being distinctly pathologic formations, will be left for another chapter. the cases of obesity in infancy and childhood are of considerable interest, and we sometimes see cases that have been termed examples of "congenital corpulency." figure represents a baby of thirteen months that weighed pounds. figure shows another example of infantile obesity, known as "baby chambers." elliotson describes a female infant not a year old which weighed pounds. there is an instance on record of a girl of four who weighed pounds tulpius mentions a girl of five who weighed pounds and had the strength of a man. he says that the acquisition of fat did not commence until some time after birth. ebstein reports an instance given to him by fisher of moscow of a child in pomerania who at the age of six weighed pounds and was inches tall; her girth was inches and the circumference of her head was inches. she was the offspring of ordinary-sized parents, and lived in narrow and sometimes needy circumstances. the child was intelligent and had an animated expression of countenance. bartholinus mentions a girl of eleven who weighed over pounds. there is an instance recorded of a young girl in russia who weighed nearly pounds when but twelve. wulf, quoted by ebstein, describes a child which died at birth weighing ounces. it was well proportioned and looked like a child three months old, except that it had an enormous development of fatty tissue. the parents were not excessively large, and the mother stated that she had had children before of the same proportions. grisolles mentions a child who was so fat at twelve months that there was constant danger of suffocation; but, marvelous to relate, it lost all its obesity when two and a half, and later was remarkable for its slender figure. figure shows a girl born in carbon county, pa., who weighed pounds when nine years old. mcnaughton describes susanna tripp, who at six years of age weighed pounds and was feet inches tall and measured feet inches around the waist. her younger sister, deborah, weighed pounds; neither of the two weighed over pounds at birth and both began to grow at the fourth month. on october, , there died at an inn in the city of york the surprising "worcestershire girl" at the age of five. she had an exceedingly beautiful face and was quite active. she was feet in height and larger around the breast and waist; her thigh measured inches and she weighed nearly pounds. in february, , mr. s. pauton was married to the only daughter of thomas allanty of yorkshire; although she was but thirteen she was stone weight ( pounds). at seven years she had weighed stone ( pounds). williams mentions several instances of fat children. the first was a german girl who at birth weighed pounds; at six months, pounds; at four years, pounds; and at twenty years, pounds. isaac butterfield, born near leeds in , weighed pounds in and was feet inches tall. there was a child named everitt, exhibited in london in , who at eleven months was feet inches tall and measured around the loins over feet. william abernethy at the age of thirteen weighed stone ( pounds) and measured inches around the waist. he was feet inches tall. there was a girl of ten who was . meters ( feet inches) high and weighed pounds. her manners were infantile and her intellectual development was much retarded. she spoke with difficulty in a deep voice; she had a most voracious appetite. at a meeting of the physical society of vienna on december , , there was shown a girl of five and a half who weighed pounds. she was just shedding her first teeth; owing to the excess of fat on her short limbs she toddled like an infant. there was no tendency to obesity in her family. up to the eleventh month she was nursed by her mother, and subsequently fed on cabbage, milk, and vegetable soup. this child, who was of russian descent, was said never to perspire. cameron describes a child who at birth weighed pounds, at twelve months she weighed pounds, and at seventeen months pounds. she was not weaned until two years old and she then commenced to walk. the parents were not remarkably large. there is an instance of a boy of thirteen and a half who weighed pounds. kaestner speaks of a child of four who weighed pounds, and benzenberg noted a child of the same age who weighed . hildman, quoted by picat, speaks of an infant three years and ten months old who had a girth of inches. hillairet knew of a child of five which weighed pounds. botta cites several instances of preternaturally stout children. one child died at the age of three weighing pounds, another at the age of five weighed pounds, and a third at the age of two weighed pounds. figure represents miss "millie josephine" of chicago, a recent exhibitionist, who at the reputed age of thirteen was feet inches tall and weighed pounds. general remarks.--it has been chiefly in great britain and in holland that the most remarkable instances of obesity have been seen, especially in the former country colossal weights have been recorded. in some countries corpulency has been considered an adornment of the female sex. hesse-wartegg refers to the jewesses of tunis, who when scarcely ten years old are subjected to systematic treatment by confinement in narrow, dark rooms, where they are fed on farinaceous foods and the flesh of young puppies until they are almost a shapeless mass of fat. according to ebstein, the moorish women reach with astonishing rapidity the desired embonpoint on a diet of dates and a peculiar kind of meal. in some nations and families obesity is hereditary, and generations come and go without a change in the ordinary conformation of the representatives. in other people slenderness is equally persistent, and efforts to overcome this peculiarity of nature are without avail. treatment of obesity.--many persons, the most famous of whom was banting, have advanced theories to reduce corpulency and to improve slenderness; but they have been uniformly unreliable, and the whole subject of stature-development presents an almost unexplored field for investigation. recently, leichtenstein, observing in a case of myxedema treated with the thyroid gland that the subcutaneous fat disappeared with the continuance of the treatment, was led to adopt this treatment for obesity itself and reports striking results. the diet of the patient remained the same, and as the appetite was not diminished by the treatment the loss of weight was evidently due to other causes than altered alimentation. he holds that the observations in myxedema, in obesity, and psoriasis warrant the belief that the thyroid gland eliminates a material having a regulating influence upon the constitution of the panniculus adiposus and upon the nutrition of the skin in general. there were patients in all; in the effect was entirely satisfactory, the loss of weight amounting to as much as . kilos ( pounds). of the three cases in which the result was not satisfactory, one had nephritis with severe graves' disease, and the third psoriasis. charrin has used the injections of thyroid extract with decided benefit. so soon as the administration of the remedy was stopped the loss of weight ceased, but with the renewal of the remedy the loss of weight again ensued to a certain point, beyond which the extract seemed powerless to act. ewald also reports good results from this treatment of obesity. remarkable instances of obesity.--from time immemorial fat men and women have been the object of curiosity and the number who have exhibited themselves is incalculable. nearly every circus and dime museum has its example, and some of the most famous have in this way been able to accumulate fortunes. athenaeus has written quite a long discourse on persons of note who in the olden times were distinguished for their obesity. he quotes a description of denys, the tyrant of heraclea, who was so enormous that he was in constant danger of suffocation; most of the time he was in a stupor or asleep, a peculiarity of very fat people. his doctors had needles put in the back of his chairs to keep him from falling asleep when sitting up and thus incurring the danger of suffocation. in the same work athenaeus speaks of several sovereigns noted for their obesity; among others he says that ptolemy vii, son of alexander, was so fat that, according to posidonius, when he walked he had to be supported on both sides. nevertheless, when he was excited at a repast, he would mount the highest couch and execute with agility his accustomed dance. according to old chronicles the cavaliers at rome who grew fat were condemned to lose their horses and were placed in retirement. during the middle ages, according to guillaume in his "vie de suger," obesity was considered a grace of god. among the prominent people in the olden time noted for their embonpoint were agesilas, the orator licinius calvus, who several times opposed cicero, the actor lucius, and others. among men of more modern times we can mention william the conqueror; charles le gros; louis le gros; humbert ii, count of maurienne; henry i, king of navarre; henry iii, count of champagne; conan iii, duke of brittany; sancho i, king of leon; alphonse ii, king of portugal; the italian poet bruni, who died in ; vivonne, a general under louis xiv; the celebrated german botanist dillenius; haller; frederick i, king of wurtemberg, and louis xviii. probably the most famous of all the fat men was daniel lambert, born march , , in the parish of saint margaret, leicester. he did not differ from other youths until fourteen. he started to learn the trade of a die-sinker and engraver in birmingham. at about nineteen he began to believe he would be very heavy and developed great strength. he could lift pounds with ease and could kick seven feet high while standing on one leg. in he weighed pounds; at this time he became sensitive as to his appearance. in june, , he weighed stone pounds ( pounds), and measured over yards around the body and over yard around the leg. he had many visitors, and it is said that once, when the dwarf borwilaski came to see him, he asked the little man how much cloth he needed for a suit. when told about / of a yard, he replied that one of his sleeves would be ample. another famous fat man was edward bright, sometimes called "the fat man of essex." he weighed pounds. in the same journal that records bright's weight is an account of a man exhibited in holland who weighed pounds. wadd, a physician, himself an enormous man, wrote a treatise on obesity and used his own portrait for a frontispiece. he speaks of doctor beddoes, who was so uncomfortably fat that a lady of clifton called him a "walking feather bed." he mentions doctor stafford, who was so enormous that this epitaph was ascribed to him:-- "take heed, o good traveler! and do not tread hard, for here lies dr. stafford, in all this churchyard." wadd has gathered some instances, a few of which will be cited. at staunton, january , , there died samuel sugars, gent., who weighed with a single wood coffin stone ( pounds). jacob powell died in , weighing pounds. it took men to carry him to his grave. mr. baker of worcester, supposed to be larger than bright, was interred in a coffin that was larger than an ordinary hearse. in there was buried philip hayes, a professor of music, who was as heavy as bright ( pounds). mr. spooner, an eminent farmer of warwickshire, who died in , aged fifty-seven, weighed pounds and measured over feet across the shoulders. the two brothers stoneclift of halifax, yorkshire, together weighed pounds. keysler in his travels speaks of a corpulent englishman who in passing through savoy had to use chairmen; he says that the man weighed pounds. it is recorded on the tombstone of james parsons, a fat man of teddington, who died march , , that he had often eaten a whole shoulder of mutton and a peck of hasty pudding. keysler mentions a young englishman living in lincoln who was accustomed to eat pounds of meat daily. he died in at the age of twenty-eight, weighing pounds. in there died in trenaw, in cornwall, a person known as "giant chillcot." he measured at the breast feet inches and weighed pounds. one of his stockings held gallons of wheat. in there was reported to be a cambridge student who could not go out in the daytime without exciting astonishment. the fat of his legs overhung his shoes like the fat in the legs of lambert and bright. dr. short mentions a lady who died of corpulency in her twenty-fifth year weighing over stone ( pounds). catesby speaks of a man who weighed pounds, and coe mentions another who weighed pounds. fabricius and godart speak of obesity so excessive as to cause death. there is a case reported from the french of a person who weighed pounds. smetius speaks of george fredericus, an office-holder in brandenburgh, who weighed pounds. dupuytren gives the history of marie francoise-clay, who attained such celebrity for her obesity. she was born in poverty, reached puberty at thirteen, and married at twenty-five, at which age she was already the stoutest woman of her neighborhood notwithstanding her infirmity. she followed her husband, who was an old-clothes dealer, afoot from town to town. she bore six children, in whom nothing extraordinary was noticed. the last one was born when she was thirty-five years old. neither the births, her travels, nor her poverty, which sometimes forced her to beg at church doors, arrested the progress of the obesity. at the age of forty she was feet inch high and one inch greater about the waist. her head was small and her neck was entirely obliterated. her breasts were over a yard in circumference and hung as low as the umbilicus. her arms were elevated and kept from her body by the fat in her axillae. her belly was enormous and was augmented by six pregnancies. her thighs and haunches were in proportion to her general contour. at forty she ceased to menstruate and soon became afflicted with organic heart diseases. fournier quotes an instance of a woman in paris who at twenty-four, the time of her death, weighed pounds. not being able to mount any conveyance or carriage in the city, she walked from place to place, finding difficulty not in progression, but in keeping her equilibrium. roger byrne, who lived in rosenalis, queen's county, ireland, died of excessive fatness at the age of fifty-four, weighing stone. percy and laurent speak of a young german of twenty who weighed pounds. at birth he weighed pounds, at six months , and at four years pounds. he was feet inches tall and the same in circumference. william campbell, the landlord of the duke of wellington in newcastle-on-tyne, was feet inches tall and weighed pounds. he measured inches around the shoulders, inches around the waist, and inches around the calf. he was born at glasgow in , and was not quite twenty-two when last measured. to illustrate the rate of augmentation, he weighed stone at nine months and at ten years stone. he was one of a family of seven children. his appetite was not more than the average, and he was moderate as regards the use of liquors, but a great smoker notwithstanding his corpulency, he was intelligent and affable. miss conley, a member of an american traveling circus, who weighed pounds, was smothered in bed by rolling over on her face; she was unable to turn on her back without assistance. there was a girl who died at plaisance near paris in who weighed pounds or more. in an impresario undertook to exhibit her; but eight men could not move her from her room, and as she could not pass through the door the idea was abandoned. there was a colored woman who died near baltimore who weighed pounds, exceeding the great daniel lambert by pounds. the journal reporting this case quotes the medical record as saying that there was a man in north carolina, who was born in , who was feet inches tall and weighed over pounds, probably the largest man that ever lived. hutchison says that he saw in the infirmary at kensington, under porter's care, a remarkable example of obesity. the woman was only just able to walk about and presented a close resemblance to daniel lambert. obesity forced her to leave her occupation. the accumulation of fat on the abdomen, back, and thighs was enormous. according to a recent number of la liberte, a young woman of pennsylvania, although only sixteen years old, weighs pounds. her waist measures inches in circumference and her neck inches. the same paper says that on one of the quays of paris may be seen a wine-shop keeper with whom this pennsylvania girl could not compare. it is said that this curiosity of the notre-dame quarter uses three large chairs while sitting behind her specially constructed bar. there is another paris report of a man living in switzerland who weighs more than stone ( pounds) and eats five times as much as an ordinary person. when traveling he finds the greatest difficulty in entering an ordinary railway carriage, and as a rule contents himself in the luggage van. figure represents an extremely fat woman with a well-developed beard. to end this list of obese individuals, we mention an old gentleman living in san francisco who, having previously been thin, gained pounds in his seventieth year and pounds each of seven succeeding years. simulation of obesity.--general dropsy, elephantiasis, lipomata, myxedema, and various other affections in which there is a hypertrophic change of the connective tissues may be mistaken for general obesity; on the other hand, a fatty, pendulous abdomen may simulate the appearances of pregnancy or even of ovarian cyst. dercum of philadelphia has described a variety of obesity which he has called "adiposis dolorosa," in which there is an enormous growth of fat, sometimes limited, sometimes spread all over the body, this condition differing from that of general lipomatosis in its rarity, in the mental symptoms, in the headache, and the generally painful condition complained of. in some of the cases examined by dercum he found that the thyroid was indurated and infiltrated by calcareous deposits. the disease is not myxedema because there is no peculiar physiognomy, no spade-like hands nor infiltrated skin, no alteration of the speech, etc. dercum considers it a connective-tissue dystrophy--a fatty metamorphosis of various stages, possibly a neuritis. the first of dercum's cases was a widow of irish birth, who died both alcoholic and syphilitic. when forty-eight or forty-nine her arms began to enlarge. in june, , the enlargement affected the shoulders, arms, back, and sides of the chest. the parts affected were elastic, and there was no pitting. in some places the fat was lobulated, in others it appeared as though filled with bundles of worms. the skin was not thickened and the muscles were not involved. in the right arm there was unendurable pain to the touch, and this was present in a lesser degree in the left arm. cutaneous sensibility was lessened. on june th a chill was followed by herpes over the left arm and chest, and later on the back and on the front of the chest. the temperature was normal. the second case was a married englishwoman of sixty-four. the enlarged tissue was very unevenly distributed, and sensibility was the same as in the previous case. at the woman's death she weighed pounds, and the fat over the abdomen was three inches thick. the third case was a german woman in whom were seen soft, fat-like masses in various situations over either biceps, over the outer and posterior aspect of either arm, and two large masses over the belly; there was excessive prominence of the mons veneris. at the autopsy the heart weighed / ounces, and the fat below the umbilicus was seven inches thick. abnormal leanness.--in contrast to the fat men are the so-called "living skeletons," or men who have attained notice by reason of absence of the normal adipose tissue. the semimythical poet philotus was so thin that it was said that he fastened lead on his shoes to prevent his being blown away,--a condition the opposite of that of dionysius of heraclea, who, after choking to death from his fat, could hardly be moved to his grave. in march, , there died in glamorganshire of mere old age and gradual decay a little welshman, hopkin hopkins, aged seventeen years. he had been recently exhibited in london as a natural curiosity; he had never weighed over pounds, and for the last three years of his life never more than pounds. his parents still had six children left, all of whom were normal and healthy except a girl of twelve, who only weighed pounds and bore marks of old age. there was a "living skeleton" brought to england in by the name of claude seurat. he was born in and was in his twenty-seventh year. he usually ate in the course of a day a penny roll and drank a small quantity of wine. his skeleton was plainly visible, over which the skin was stretched tightly. the distance from the chest to the spine was less than inches, and internally this distance was less. the pulsations of the heart were plainly visible. he was in good health and slept well. his voice was very weak and shrill. the circumference of this man's biceps was only inches. the artist cruikshank has made several drawings of seurat. calvin edson was another living skeleton. in he was in the army at the battle of plattsburg, and had lain down in the cold and become benumbed. at this time he weighed pounds and was twenty-five years old. in he weighed but pounds, though feet inches tall. he was in perfect health and could chop a cord of wood without fatigue; he was the father of four children. salter speaks of a man in who was thirty-two years of age and only weighed pounds. he was feet inches tall: his forehead measured in circumference / inches and his chest inches. his genitals, both internal and external, were defectively developed. figure represents the well-known ohio "living skeleton," j. w. coffey, who has been exhibited all over the continent. his good health and appetite were proverbial among his acquaintances. in some instances the so-called "living skeletons" are merely cases of extreme muscular atrophy. as a prominent example of this class the exhibitionist, rosa lee plemons at the age of eighteen weighed only pounds. figure shows another case of extraordinary atrophic condition of all the tissues of the body associated with nondevelopment. these persons are always sickly and exhibit all the symptoms of progressive muscular atrophy, and cannot therefore be classed with the true examples of thinness, in which the health is but slightly affected or possibly perfect health is enjoyed. chapter viii. longevity. scope of the present article.--the limits of space in this work render impossible a scientific discussion upon the most interesting subject of longevity, and the reader is referred to some of the modern works devoted exclusively to this subject. in reviewing the examples of extreme age found in the human race it will be our object to lay before the reader the most remarkable instances of longevity that have been authentically recorded, to cite the source of the information, when possible to give explanatory details, and to report any relative points of value and interest. throughout the article occasional facts will be given to show in what degree character, habit, and temperament influence longevity, and in what state of mind and body and under what circumstances man has obtained the highest age. general opinions.--there have been many learned authorities who invariably discredit all accounts of extraordinary age, and contend that there has never been an instance of a man living beyond the century mark whose age has been substantiated by satisfactory proof. such extremists as sir g. cornewall lewis and thoms contend that since the christian era no person of royal or noble line mentioned in history whose birth was authentically recorded at its occurrence has reached one hundred years. they have taken the worst station in life in which to find longevity as their field of observation. longevity is always most common in the middle and lower classes, in which we cannot expect to find the records preserved with historical correctness. the testimony of statistics.--walford in his wonderful "encyclopedia of insurance" says that in england the "royal exchange" for a period of one hundred and thirty-five years had insured no life which survived ninety-six. the "london assurance" for the same period had no clients who lived over ninety, and the "equitable" had only one at ninety-six. in an english tontine there was in a person who died at one hundred; and in perth there lived a nominee at one hundred and twenty-two and another at one hundred and seven. on the other hand, a writer in the strand magazine points out that an insurance investigator some years ago gathered a list of centenarians of almost every social rank and many nationalities, but the majority of them britons or russians. in reviewing walford's statistics we must remember that it has only been in recent years that the middle and lower classes of people have taken insurance on their lives. formerly only the wealthy and those exposed to early demise were in the habit of insuring. dr. ogle of the english registrar-general's department gives tables of expectancy that show that males and females out of , , are alive at one hundred years. the figures are based on the death-rates of the years - . the researches of hardy in the thirteenth, fourteenth, fifteenth, and sixteenth centuries are said to indicate that three-score-and-ten was considered old age; yet many old tombstones and monuments contain inscriptions recording age far beyond this, and even the pages of ordinary biographies disprove the alleged results of hardy's research. in all statistical work of an individual type the histories of the lower classes are almost excluded; in the olden times only the lives and movements of the most prominent are thought worthy of record. the reliable parish register is too often monopolized by the gentry, inferior births not being thought worth recording. many eminent scientists say that the natural term of the life of an animal is five times the period needed for its development. taking twenty-one as the time of maturity in man, the natural term of human life would be one hundred and five. sir richard owen fixes it at one hundred and three and a few months. censuses of centenarians.--dr. farr, the celebrated english registrar-general, is credited with saying that out of every , , people in england only live to be one hundred years old, making an average of one to . french says that during a period of ten years, from to , in massachusetts, there were deaths of persons past the age of one hundred, making an average, with a population of , , of one in . of french's centenarians were between one hundred and one hundred and five; were between one hundred and five and one hundred and ten; five were between one hundred and ten and one hundred and fifteen; and one was one hundred and eighteen. of the , were females and males. there are people in iowa who are more than ninety years of age. there are who are more than one hundred years old. one person is one hundred and fifteen years old, two are one hundred and fourteen, and the remaining are from one hundred to one hundred and seven. in the british medical journal for there is an account of a report of centenarians. fifty-two cases were analyzed. one who doubts the possibility of a man reaching one hundred would find this report of interest. the paris correspondent to the london telegraph is accredited with the following:-- "a census of centenarians has been taken in france, and the results, which have been published, show that there are now alive in this country persons who are over one hundred years old. of these are women, the alleged stronger sex being thus only able to show specimens who are managing to still "husband out life's taper" after the lapse of a century. the preponderance of centenarians of the supposed weaker sex has led to the revival of some amusing theories tending to explain this phenomenon. one cause of the longevity of women is stated to be, for instance, their propensity to talk much and to gossip, perpetual prattle being highly conducive, it is said, to the active circulation of the blood, while the body remains unfatigued and undamaged. more serious theorists or statisticians, while commenting on the subject of the relative longevity of the sexes, attribute the supremacy of woman in the matter to the well-known cause, namely, that in general she leads a more calm and unimpassioned existence than a man, whose life is so often one of toil, trouble, and excitement. setting aside these theories, however, the census of french centenarians is not devoid of interest in some of its details. at rocroi an old soldier who fought under the first napoleon in russia passed the century limit last year. a wearer of the st. helena medal--a distinction awarded to survivors of the napoleonic campaigns, and who lives at grand fayt, also in the nord--is one hundred and three years old, and has been for the last sixty-eight years a sort of rural policeman in his native commune. it is a rather remarkable fact in connection with the examples of longevity cited that in almost every instance the centenarian is a person in the humblest rank of life. according to the compilers of these records, france can claim the honor of having possessed the oldest woman of modern times. this venerable dame, having attained one hundred and fifty years, died peacefully in a hamlet in the haute garonne, where she had spent her prolonged existence, subsisting during the closing decade of her life on goat's milk and cheese. the woman preserved all her mental faculties to the last, but her body became attenuated to an extraordinary degree, and her skin was like parchment." in the last ten years the st. james' gazette has kept track of centenarians, of whom were men and were women. a writer to the strand magazine tells of centenarians living in great britain within the last half-dozen years. it may be interesting to review the statistics of haller, who has collected the greatest number of instances of extreme longevity. he found:-- persons who lived from to persons who lived from to " " " " to " " " " to " " " " to person " " " to effect of class-influences, occupation, etc.--unfortunately for the sake of authenticity, all the instances of extreme age in this country have been from persons in the lower walks of life or from obscure parts of the country, where little else than hearsay could be procured to verify them. it must also be said that it is only among people of this class that we can expect to find parallels of the instances of extreme longevity of former times. the inhabitants of the higher stations of life, the population of thickly settled communities, are living in an age and under conditions almost incompatible with longevity. in fact, the strain of nervous energy made necessary by the changed conditions of business and mode of living really predisposes to premature decay. those who object to the reliability of reports of postcentenarianism seem to lose sight of these facts, and because absolute proof and parallel cannot be obtained they deny the possibility without giving the subject full thought and reason. as tending to substantiate the multitude of instances are the opinions of such authorities as hufeland, buffon, haller, and flourens. walter savage landor on being told that a man in russia was living at one hundred and thirty-two replied that he was possibly older, as people when they get on in years are prone to remain silent as to the number of their years--a statement that can hardly be denied. one of the strongest disbelievers in extreme age almost disproved in his own life the statement that there were no centenarians. it is commonly believed that in the earliest periods of the world's history the lives of the inhabitants were more youthful and perfect; that these primitive men had gigantic size, incredible strength, and most astonishing duration of life. it is to this tendency that we are indebted for the origin of many romantic tales. some have not hesitated to ascribe to our forefather adam the height of yards and the age of almost a thousand years; but according to hufeland acute theologians have shown that the chronology of the early ages was not the same as that used in the present day. according to this same authority hensler has proved that the year at the time of abraham consisted of but three months, that it was afterward extended to eight, and finally in the time of joseph to twelve. certain eastern nations, it is said, still reckon but three months to the year; this substantiates the opinion of hensler, and, as hufeland says, it would be inexplicable why the life of man should be shortened nearly one-half immediately after the flood. accepting these conclusions as correct, the highest recorded age, that of methuselah, nine hundred years, will be reduced to about two hundred, an age that can hardly be called impossible in the face of such an abundance of reports, to which some men of comparatively modern times have approached, and which such substantial authorities as buffon, hufeland, and flourens believed possible. alchemy and the "elixir of life."--the desire for long life and the acquisition of wealth have indirectly been the stimulus to medical and physical investigation, eventually evolving science as we have it now. the fundamental principles of nearly every branch of modern science were the gradual metamorphoses of the investigations of the old searchers after the "philosopher's stone" and "elixir of life." the long hours of study and experiment in the chase for this will-o'-the-wisp were of vast benefit to the coming generations; and to these deluded philosophers of the middle ages, and even of ancient times, we are doubtless indebted for much in this age of advancement. with a credulous people to work upon, many of the claimants of the discovery of the coveted secret of eternal life must be held as rank impostors claiming ridiculous ages for themselves. in the twelfth century artephius claimed that by the means of his discovery he had attained one thousand and twenty-five years. shortly after him came alan de lisle of flanders with a reputed fabulous age. in albertus magnus announced himself as the discoverer. in the celebrated doctor dee appeared on the scene and had victims by the score. then came the rosicrucians. count saint-germain claimed the secret of the "philosopher's stone" and declared to the court of louis xv that he was two thousand years old, and a precursor of the mythical "wandering jew," who has been immortalized in prose and rhyme and in whose existence a great mass of the people recently believed. the last of the charlatans who claimed possession of the secret of perpetual life was joseph balsamo, who called himself "count of cagliostro." he was born in italy in and acquired a world-wide reputation for his alleged occult powers and acquisition of the "philosopher's stone." he died in , and since then no one has generally inspired the superstitious with credence in this well-worn myth. the ill-fated ponce de leon when he discovered florida, in spite of his superior education, announced his firm belief in the land of the "fountain of perpetual youth," in the pursuit of which he had risked his fortune and life. we wish to emphasize that we by no means assume the responsibility of the authenticity of the cases to be quoted, but expressing belief in their possibility, we shall mention some of the extraordinary instances of longevity derived from an exhaustive research of the literature of all times. this venerable gallery of nestors will include those of all periods and nations, but as the modern references are more available greater attention will be given to them. turning first to the history of the earlier nations, we deduce from jewish history that abraham lived to one hundred and seventy-five; isaac, likewise a tranquil, peaceful man, to one hundred and eighty; jacob, who was crafty and cunning, to one hundred and forty-seven; ishmael, a warrior, to one hundred and thirty-seven; and joseph, to one hundred and ten. moses, a man of extraordinary vigor, which, however, he exposed to great cares and fatigues, attained the advanced age of one hundred and twenty; and the warlike and ever-active joshua lived to one hundred and ten. lejoucourt gives the following striking parallels: john glower lived to one hundred and seventy-two, and abraham to one hundred and seventy-five; susan, the wife of gower, lived to one hundred and sixty-four, and sarah, the wife of abraham, to one hundred and twenty-seven. the eldest son of the gower couple was one hundred and fifteen when last seen, and isaac, the son of abraham and sarah, lived to one hundred and eighty. however replete with fables may be the history of the kings of egypt, none attained a remarkable age, and the record of the common people is incomplete or unavailable. if we judge from the accounts of lucian we must form a high idea of the great age of the seres, or ancient chinese. lucian ascribes this longevity to their habit of drinking excessive quantities of water. among the greeks we find several instances of great age in men of prominence. hippocrates divided life into seven periods, living himself beyond the century mark. aristotle made three divisions,--the growing period, the stationary period, and the period of decline. solon made ten divisions of life, and varro made five. ovid ingeniously compares life to the four seasons. epimenides of crete is said to have lived one hundred and fifty-seven years, the last fifty-seven of which he slept in a cavern at night. gorgias, a teacher, lived to one hundred and eight; democritus, a naturalist, attained one hundred and nine; zeno, the founder of the stoics, lived to one hundred; and diogenes, the frugal and slovenly, reached ninety years. despite his life of exposure, hippocrates lived to one hundred and nine; and galen, the prince of physicians after him, who was naturally of a feeble constitution, lived past eighty, and few of the followers of his system of medicine, which stood for thirteen centuries, surpassed him in point of age. among the romans, orbilis, corvinus, fabius, and cato, the enemy of the physicians, approximated the century mark. a valuable collection relative to the duration of life in the time of the emperor vespasian has been preserved for us by pliny from the records of a census, a perfectly reliable and creditable source. in a. d. there were living in that part of italy which lies between the apennines and the po persons who had attained the age of one hundred and upward. there were of one hundred; of one hundred and ten; of one hundred and twenty-five; of one hundred and thirty; of from one hundred and thirty-five to one hundred and thirty-seven, and of one hundred and forty. in placentia there was a man of one hundred and thirty and at faventia a woman of one hundred and thirty-two. according to hufeland, the bills of mortality of ulpian agree in the most striking manner with those of our great modern cities. among hermits and ecclesiastics, as would be the natural inference from their regular lives, many instances of longevity are recorded. john was supposed to be ninety-three; paul the hermit was one hundred and thirteen; saint anthony lived to one hundred and five; james the hermit to one hundred and four; saint epithanius lived to one hundred and fifteen; simeon stylites to one hundred and twelve; saint mungo was accredited with one hundred and eighty-five years (spottiswood), and saint david attained one hundred and forty-six. saint polycarpe suffered martyrdom at over one hundred, and simon cleophas was bishop of jerusalem at one hundred and twenty. brahmin priests of india are known to attain incredible age, and one of the secrets of the adepts of the buddhist faith is doubtless the knowledge of the best means of attaining very old age. unless cut off by violence or accident the priests invariably become venerable patriarchs. influence of mental culture.--men of thought have at all times been distinguished for their age. among the venerable sages are appolonius of tyana, a follower of pythagoras, who lived to over one hundred; xenophilus, also a pythagorean, was one hundred and six; demonax, a stoic, lived past one hundred; isocrates was ninety-eight, and solon, sophocles, pindar, anacreon, and xenophon were octogenarians. in more modern times we find men of science and literature who have attained advanced age. kant, buffon, goethe, fontenelle, and newton were all over eighty. michael angelo and titian lived to eighty-nine and ninety-nine respectively. harvey, the discoverer of the circulation; hans sloane, the celebrated president of the royal society in london; plater, the swiss physician; duverney, the anatomist, as well as his confrere, tenon, lived to be octogenarians. many men have displayed activity when past four score. brougham at eighty-two and lyndhurst at eighty-eight could pour forth words of eloquence and sagacity for hours at a time. landor wrote his "imaginary conversations" when eighty-five, and somerville his "molecular science" at eighty-eight; isaac walton was active with his pen at ninety; hahnemann married at eighty and was working at ninety-one. j. b. bailey has published a biography of "modern methusalehs," which includes histories of the lives of cornaro, titian, pletho, herschell, montefiore, routh, and others. chevreul, the centenarian chemist, has only lately died. gladstone, bismarck, and von moltke exemplify vigor in age in the senate of the united states, senators edmunds, sherman, hoar, morrill, and other elderly statesmen display as much vigor as their youthful colleagues. instances of vigor in age could be cited in every profession and these few examples are only mentioned as typical. at a recent meeting of the society of english naturalists, lord kelvin announced that during the last year members had died at an average age of seventy-six and a half years; one reached the age of ninety-nine years, another ninety-seven, a third ninety-five, etc. in commenting on the perfect compatibility of activity with longevity, the national popular review says:-- "great men usually carry their full mental vigor and activity into old age. m. chevreul, m. de lesseps, gladstone, and bismarck are evidences of this anthropologic fact. pius ix, although living in tempestuous times, reached a great age in full possession of all his faculties, and the dramatist crebillon composed his last dramatic piece at ninety-four, while michael angelo was still painting his great canvases at ninety-eight, and titian at ninety still worked with all the vigor of his earlier years. the austrian general melas was still in the saddle and active at eighty-nine, and would have probably won marengo but for the inopportune arrival of desaix. the venetian doge henry dandolo, born at the beginning of the eleventh century, who lost his eyesight when a young man, was nevertheless subsequently raised to the highest office in the republic, managed successfully to conduct various wars, and at the advanced age of eighty-three, in alliance with the french, besieged and captured constantinople. fontenelle was as gay-spirited at ninety-eight as in his fortieth year, and the philosopher newton worked away at his tasks at the age of eighty-three with the same ardor that animated his middle age. cornaro was as happy at ninety as at fifty, and in far better health at the age of ninety-five than he had enjoyed at thirty. "these cases all tend to show the value and benefits to be derived from an actively cultivated brain in making a long life one of comfort and of usefulness to its owner. the brain and spirits need never grow old, even if our bodies will insist on getting rickety and in falling by the wayside. but an abstemious life will drag even the old body along to centenarian limits in a tolerable state of preservation and usefulness. the foregoing list can be lengthened out with an indefinite number of names, but it is sufficiently long to show what good spirits and an active brain will do to lighten up the weight of old age. when we contemplate the doge dandolo at eighty-three animating his troops from the deck of his galley, and the brave old blind king of bohemia falling in the thickest of the fray at crecy, it would seem as it there was no excuse for either physical, mental, or moral decrepitude short of the age of four score and ten." emperors and kings, in short, the great ones of the earth, pay the penalty of their power by associate worriment and care. in ancient history we can only find a few rulers who attained four score, and this is equally the case in modern times. in the whole catalogue of the roman and german emperors, reckoning from augustus to william i, only six have attained eighty years. gordian, valerian, anastasius, and justinian were octogenarians, tiberius was eighty-eight at his death, and augustus caesar was eighty-six. frederick the great, in spite of his turbulent life, attained a rare age for a king, seventy-six. william i seems to be the only other exception. of popes who may be counted, no more than five attained the age of eighty. their mode of life, though conducive to longevity in the minor offices of the church, seems to be overbalanced by the cares of the pontificate. personal habits.--according to hufeland and other authorities on longevity, sobriety, regular habits, labor in the open air, exercise short of fatigue, calmness of mind, moderate intellectual power, and a family life are among the chief aids to longevity. for this reason we find the extraordinary instances of longevity among those people who amidst bodily labor and in the open air lead a simple life, agreeable to nature. such are farmers, gardeners, hunters, soldiers, and sailors. in these situations man may still maintain the age of one hundred and fifty or even one hundred and sixty. possibly the most celebrated case of longevity on record is that of henry jenkins. this remarkable old man was born in yorkshire in and died in , aged one hundred and sixty-nine. he remembered the battle of flodden field in , at which time he was twelve years old. it was proved from the registers of the chancery and other courts that he had appeared in evidence one hundred and forty years before his death and had had an oath administered to him. in the office of the king's remembrancer is a record of a deposition in which he appears as a witness at one hundred and fifty-seven. when above one hundred he was able to swim a rapid stream. thomas parr (or parre), among englishmen known as "old parr," was a poor farmer's servant, born in . he remained single until eighty. his first wife lived thirty-two years, and eight years after her death, at the age of one hundred and twenty, he married again. until his one hundred and thirtieth year he performed his ordinary duties, and at this age was even accustomed to thresh. he was visited by thomas, earl of arundel and surrey, and was persuaded to visit the king in london. his intelligence and venerable demeanor impressed every one, and crowds thronged to see him and pay him homage. the journey to london, together with the excitement and change of mode of living, undoubtedly hastened his death, which occurred in less than a year. he was one hundred and fifty-two years and nine months old, and had lived under nine kings of england. harvey examined his body and at the necropsy his internal organs were found in a most perfect state. his cartilages were not even ossified, as is the case generally with the very aged. the slightest cause of death could not be discovered, and the general impression was that he died from being over-fed and too-well treated in london. his great-grandson was said to have died in this century in cork at the age of one hundred and three. parr is celebrated by a monument reared to his memory in westminster abbey. the author of the dutch dictionary entitled "het algemen historish vanderbok" says that there was a peasant in hungary named jean korin who was one hundred and seventy-two and his wife was one hundred and sixty-four; they had lived together one hundred and forty-eight years, and had a son at the time of their death who was one hundred and sixteen. setrasch czarten, or, as he is called by baily, petratsh zartan, was also born in hungary at a village four miles from teneswaer in . he lived for one hundred and eighty years in one village and died at the age of one hundred and eighty-seven, or, as another authority has it, one hundred and eighty-five. a few days before his death he had walked a mile to wait at the post-office for the arrival of travelers and to ask for succor, which, on account of his remarkable age, was rarely refused him. he had lost nearly all his teeth and his beard and hair were white. he was accustomed to eat a little cake the hungarians call kalatschen, with which he drank milk. after each repast he took a glass of eau-de-vie. his son was living at ninety-seven and his descendants to the fifth generation embellished his old age. shortly before his death count wallis had his portrait painted. comparing his age with that of others, we find that he was five years older than the patriarch isaac, ten more than abraham, thirty-seven more than nahor, sixteen more than henry jenkins, and thirty-three more than "old parr." sundry instances of great age.--in a churchyard near cardiff, glamorganshire, is the following inscription: "here lieth the body of william edwards, of cacreg, who departed this life th february, anno domini , anno aetatis suae one hundred and sixty-eight." jonas warren of balydole died in aged one hundred and sixty-seven. he was called the "father of the fishermen" in his vicinity, as he had followed the trade for ninety-five years. the journal de madrid, , contains the account of a south american negress living in spanish possessions who was one hundred and seventy-four years of age. the description is written by a witness, who declares that she told of events which confirmed her age. this is possibly the oft-quoted case that was described in the london chronicle, october , , louisa truxo, who died in south america at the age of one hundred and seventy-five. huteland speaks of joseph surrington, who died near bergen, norway, at the age of one hundred and sixty. marvelous to relate, he had one living son of one hundred and three and another of nine. there has been recently reported from vera cruz, mexico, in the town of teluca, where the registers are carefully and efficiently kept, the death of a man one hundred and ninety-two years old--almost a modern version of methuselah. buffon describes a man who lived to be one hundred and sixty-five. martin mentions a man of one hundred and eighty. there was a polish peasant who reached one hundred and fifty-seven and had constantly labored up to his one hundred and forty-fifth year, always clad lightly, even in cold weather. voigt admits the extreme age of one hundred and sixty. there was a woman living in moscow in who was said to be one hundred and sixty-eight; she had been married five times and was one hundred and twenty-one at her last wedding. d'azara records the age of one hundred and eighty, and roequefort speaks of two cases at one hundred and fifty. there are stories of an englishman who lived in the sixteenth century to be two hundred and seven, and there is a parallel case cited. van owen tabulates cases of deaths between and , between and , between and , at , and beyond this age. while not vouching for the authenticity in each case, he has always given the sources of information. quite celebrated in english history by raleigh and bacon was the venerable countess desmond, who appeared at court in , being one hundred and forty years old and in full possession of all her powers, mental and physical. there are several portraits of her at this advanced age still to be seen. lord bacon also mentions a man named marcus appenius, living in rimini, who was registered by a vespasian tax-collector as being one hundred and fifty. there are records of russians who have lived to one hundred and twenty-five, one hundred and thirty, one hundred and thirty-five, one hundred and forty-five, and one hundred and fifty. nemnich speaks of thomas newman living in bridlington at one hundred and fifty-three years. nemnich is confirmed in his account of thomas newman by his tombstone in yorkshire, dated . in the chancel of the honington church, wiltshire, is a black marble monument to the memory of g. stanley, gent., who died in , aged one hundred and fifty-one. there was a dane named draakenburg, born in , who until his ninety-first year served as a seaman in the royal navy, and had spent fifteen years of his life in turkey as a slave in the greatest misery. he was married at one hundred and ten to a woman of sixty, but outlived her a long time, in his one hundred and thirtieth year he again fell in love with a young country girl, who, as may well be supposed, rejected him. he died in in his one hundred and forty-sixth year. jean effingham died in cornwall in in his one hundred and forty-fourth year. he was born in the reign of james i and was a soldier at the battle of hochstadt; he never drank strong liquors and rarely ate meat; eight days before his death he walked three miles. bridget devine, the well-known inhabitant of olean street, manchester died at the age of one hundred and forty-seven in . on the register of the cheshire parish is a record of the death of thomas hough of frodsam in at the age of one hundred and forty-one. peter garden of auchterless died in at the age of one hundred and thirty-one. he had seen and talked with henry jenkins about the battle of flodden field, at which the latter was present when a boy of twelve. it seems almost incredible that a man could say that he had heard the story of an event which had happened two hundred and sixty-three years before related by the lips of an eye-witness to that event; nevertheless, in this case it was true. a remarkable instance of longevity in one family has recently been published in the st. thomas's hospital gazette. mrs. b., born in (five years after the accession of charles i), died march , . she was tended in her last illness by her great-granddaughter, miss jane c., born , died , and miss sarah c., born , died . a great-niece of one of these two ladies, mrs. w., who remembers one of them, was born in , and is at the present time alive and well. it will be seen from the above facts that there are three lives only to bridge over the long period between and , and that there is at present living a lady who personally knew miss c., who had nursed a relative born in . the last lady of this remarkable trio is hale and hearty, and has just successfully undergone an operation for cataract. similar to the case of the centenarian who had seen henry jenkins was that of james horrocks, who was born in and died in . his father was born in , one year before the death of the protector, and had issue in early life. he married again at eighty-four to a woman of twenty-six, of which marriage james was the offspring in . in this man could with verity say that he had a brother born during the reign of charles ii, and that his father was a citizen of the commonwealth. among the mission indians of southern california there are reported instances of longevity ranging from one hundred and twenty to one hundred and forty. lieutenant gibbons found in a village in peru one hundred inhabitants who were past the century mark, and another credible explorer in the same territory records a case of longevity of one hundred and forty. this man was very temperate and always ate his food cold, partaking of meat only in the middle of the day. in the year of in the town of banos, ecuador, died "old morales," a carpenter, vigorous to his last days. he was an elderly man and steward of the jesuits when they were expelled from their property near this location in . in the year there was a witness in a judicial trial in south america who was born on the night of the great earthquake which destroyed the town of ambato in . how much longer this man who was cradled by an earthquake lived is not as yet reported. in the state of vera cruz, mexico, as late as a man died at the age of one hundred and thirty-seven. the census of for the town of pilaguin, ecuador, lying , feet above the level of the sea and consisting of about inhabitants, gives above seventy, above ninety, five above one hundred, and one at one hundred and fifteen years. francis auge died in maryland in at the age of one hundred and thirty-four. he remembered the execution of charles i and had a son born to him after he was one hundred. there are several other instances in which men have displayed generative ability in old age. john gilley, who died in augusta, maine, in , was born in ireland in . he came to this country at the age of sixty, and continued in single blessedness until seventy-five, when he married a girl of eighteen, by whom he had eight children. his wife survived him and stated that he was virile until his one hundred and twentieth year. baron baravicino de capelis died at meran in at the age of one hundred and four, being the oldest man in tyrol. his usual food was eggs, and he rarely tasted meat. he habitually drank tea and a well-sweetened cordial of his own recipe. he was married four times during his life, taking his fourth wife when he was eighty-four. by her he had seven children and at his death she was pregnant with the eighth child. pliny mentions cases of men begetting sons when past the age of eighty and plot speaks of john best of the parish of horton, who when one hundred and four married a woman of fifty-six and begat a son. there are also records of a man in stockholm of one hundred who had several children by a wife of thirty. on august , , mary, the wife of joseph yates, at lizard common not far from london, was buried at the age of one hundred and twenty-seven. she had walked to london in , and was hearty and strong at one hundred and twenty, and had married a third husband at ninety-two. a case without parallel, of long survival of a deaf mute, is found in mrs. gray of northfleet, kent, who died in , one hundred and twenty-one years old. she was noted for her cheerful disposition, and apparently enjoyed life in spite of her infirmity, which lasted one hundred and twenty-one years. macklin the actor was born in and died in . several years before his death he played "shylock," displaying great vigor in the first act, but in the second his memory failed him, and with much grace and solemnity he advanced to the foot-lights and apologized for his inability to continue. it is worthy of remark that several instances of longevity in roman actresses have been recorded. one luceja, who came on the stage very young, performed a whole century, and even made her public appearance in her one hundred and twelfth year. copiola was said to have danced before augustus when past ninety. influence of stimulants, etc.--there have been men who have attributed their long lives to their excesses in stimulants. thomas wishart of annandale, dumfries, died in at one hundred and twenty-four. he had chewed tobacco one hundred and seventeen years, contracting the habit when a child; his father gave it to him to allay hunger while shepherding in the mountains. john de la somet of virginia died in aged one hundred and thirty. he was a great smoker, and according to eaton the habit agreed with his constitution, and was not improbably the cause of his long health and longevity. william riddell, who died at one hundred and sixteen carefully avoided water all his life and had a love for brandy. possession of faculties.--eglebert hoff was a lad driving a team in norway when the news was brought that charles i was beheaded. he died in fishkill, n.y., in at the age of one hundred and twenty-eight. he never used spectacles, read fluently, and his memory and senses were retained until his death, which was due to an accident. nicolas petours, curate of the parish of baleene and afterward canon of the cathedral of constance, died at the age of one hundred and thirty-seven; he was always a healthy, vigorous man, and celebrated mass five days before his death. mr. evans of spital street, spitalfields, london, died in aged one hundred and thirty-nine, having full possession of his mental faculties. of interest to americans is the case of david kinnison, who, when one hundred and eleven, related to lossing the historian the tale of the boston tea party, of which he had been a member. he died in good mental condition at the age of one hundred and fifteen. anthony senish, a farmer of the village of limoges, died in in his one hundred and eleventh year. he labored until two weeks before his death, had still his hair, and his sight had not failed him. his usual food was chestnuts and turkish corn; he had never been bled or used any medicine. not very long ago there was alive in tacony, near philadelphia, a shoemaker named r. glen in his one hundred and fourteenth year. he had seen king william iii, and all his faculties were perfectly retained; he enjoyed good health, walking weekly to philadelphia to church. his third wife was but thirty years old. longevity in ireland.--lord bacon said that at one time there was not a village in all ireland in which there was not a man living upward of eighty. in dunsford, a small village, there were living at one time persons above the age of four score. colonel thomas winslow was supposed to have died in ireland on august , , aged one hundred and forty-six. there was a man by the name of butler who died at kilkenny in aged one hundred and thirty-three. he rode after the hounds while yet a centenarian. mrs. eckelston, a widow in phillipstown, kings county, ireland, died in at one hundred and forty-three. there are a number of instances in which there is extraordinary renovation of the senses or even of the body in old age,--a new period of life, as it were, is begun. a remarkable instance is an old magistrate known to hufeland, who lived at rechingen and who died in aged one hundred and twenty. in , long after he had lost all his teeth, eight new ones appeared, and at the end of six months they again dropped out, but their place was supplied by other new ones, and nature, unwearied, continued this process until his death. all these teeth he had acquired and lost without pain, the whole number amounting to . alice, a slave born in philadelphia, and living in at the age of one hundred and sixteen, remembered william penn and thomas story. her faculties were well preserved, but she partially lost her eyesight at ninety-six, which, strange to say, returned in part at one hundred and two. there was a woman by the name of helen gray who died in her one hundred and fifth year, and who but a few years before her death had acquired a new set of teeth. in wilson's "healthy skin" are mentioned several instances of very old persons in whom the natural color of the hair returned after they had been gray for years. one of them was john weeks, whose hair became brown again at one hundred and fourteen. sir john sinclair a mentions a similar case in a scotchman who lived to one hundred and ten. susan edmonds when in her ninety-fifth year recovered her black hair, but previously to her death at one hundred and five again became gray. there was a dr. slave who at the age of eighty had a renewal of rich brown hair, which he maintained until his death at one hundred. there was a man in vienna, aged one hundred and five, who had black hair long after his hair had first become white this man is mentioned as a parallel to dr. slave. similar examples are mentioned in chapter vi. it is a remarkable fact that many persons who have reached an old age have lived on the smallest diet and the most frugal fare. many of the instances of longevity were in people of scotch origin who subsisted all their lives on porridges. saint anthony is said to have maintained life to one hundred and five on twelve ounces of bread daily. in in the duchy of holstein there was an industrious laborer named stender who died at one hundred and three, his food for the most part of his life having been oatmeal and buttermilk. throughout his life he had been particularly free from thirst, drinking little water and no spirits. heredity.--there are some very interesting instances of successive longevity. lister speaks of a son and a father, from a village called dent, who were witnesses before a jury at york in . the son was above one hundred and the father above one hundred and forty. john moore died in aged one hundred and seven. his father died at one hundred and five and his grandfather at one hundred and fifteen, making a total of three hundred and twenty-seven years for the three generations. recently, wynter mentions four sisters,--of one hundred, one hundred and three, one hundred and five, and one hundred and seven years respectively. on the register of bremhill , is the following remarkable entry: "buried, september th, edith goldie, grace young, and elizabeth wiltshire, their united ages making three hundred." as late as in the district of campinos there was a strong active man named joseph joachim de prado, of good family, who was one hundred and seven years old. his mother died by accident at one hundred and twelve, and his maternal grandmother died at one hundred and twenty-two. longevity in active military service.--one of the most remarkable proofs that under fickle fortune, constant danger, and the most destructive influences the life of man may be long preserved is exemplified in the case of an old soldier named mittelstedt, who died in prussia in , aged one hundred and twelve. he was born at fissalm in june, . he entered the army, served under three kings, frederick i, frederick william i, and frederick ii, and did active service in the seven years' war, in which his horse was shot under him and he was taken prisoner by the russians. in his sixty-eight years of army service he participated in general engagements, braved numerous dangers, and was wounded many times. after his turbulent life he married, and at last in , in his one hundred and tenth year, he took a third wife. until shortly before his death he walked every month to the pension office, a distance of two miles from his house. longevity in physicians.--it may be of interest to the members of our profession to learn of some instances of longevity among confreres. dr. r. baynes of rockland, maine, has been mentioned in the list of "grand old men" in medicine; following in the footsteps of hippocrates and galen, he was practicing at ninety-nine. he lives on graham's diet, which is a form of vegetarianism; he does not eat potatoes, but does eat fruit. his drink is almost entirely water, milk, and chocolate, and he condemns the use of tea, coffee, liquors, and tobacco. he has almost a perfect set of natural teeth and his sight is excellent. like most men who live to a great age, dr. baynes has a "fad," to which he attributes a chief part in prolonging his life. this is the avoidance of beds, and except when away from home he has not slept on a bed or even on a mattress for over fifty years. he has an iron reclining chair, over which he spreads a few blankets and rugs. the british medical journal speaks of dr. boisy of havre, who is one hundred and three. it is said he goes his rounds every day, his practice being chiefly among the poor. at one time he practiced in india. he has taken alcoholic beverages and smoked tobacco since his youth, although in moderation. his father, it is added, died at the age of one hundred and eight. mr. william r. salmon, living near cowbridge, glamorganshire, recently celebrated his one hundred and sixth birthday. mr. salmon was born at wickham market in , and became a member of the royal college of surgeons in , the year in which gladstone was born. he died april , . in reference to this wonderful old physician the journal of the american medical association, , page , says-- "william reynold salmon, m.r.c.s., of penllyn court, cowbridge, glamorganshire, south wales, completed his one hundred and sixth year on march th, and died on the th of the present month--at the time of his death the oldest known individual of indisputably authenticated age, the oldest physician, the oldest member of the royal college of surgeons, england, and the oldest freemason in the world. his age does not rest upon tradition or repute. he was the son of a successful and esteemed practicing physician of market wickham, suffolk, england, and there is in the possession of his two surviving relatives, who cared for his household for many years, his mother's diary, in which is inscribed in the handwriting of a lady of the eighteenth century, under the date, tuesday, march , , a prayer of thankfulness to god that she had passed her 'tryall,' and that a son was born, who she hoped 'would prosper, be a support to his parents, and make virtue his chief pursuit.' the royal college of surgeons verified this record many years ago, and it was subsequently again authenticated by the authorities of the freemasons, who thereupon enshrined his portrait in their gallery as the oldest living freemason. the salmon family moved to cowbridge in , so that the doctor had lived exactly a century in the lovely and poetic vale of glamorgan, in the very heart of which penllyn court is situated. here on his one hundred and sixth birthday--a man of over middle height, with still long, flowing hair, druidical beard and mustache, and bushy eyebrows--dr. salmon was visited by one who writes:-- "'seen a few days ago, the patriarch of penllyn court was hale and hearty. he eats well and sleeps well and was feeling better than he had felt for the last five years. on that day he rose at noon, dined at six, and retired at nine. drank two glasses of port with his dinner, but did not smoke. he abandoned his favorite weed at the age of ninety, and had to discontinue his drives over his beautiful estate in his one hundredth year. one day is much the same as another, for he gives his two relatives little trouble in attending upon his wants. dr. salmon has not discovered the elixir of life, for the shadows of life's evening are stealing slowly over him. he cannot move about, his hearing is dulled, and the light is almost shut out from the "windows of his soul." let us think of this remarkable man waiting for death uncomplainingly in his old-fashioned mansion, surrounded by the beautiful foliage and the broad expanse of green fields that he loved so much to roam when a younger man, in that sylvan sleepy hollow in the vale of glamorgan.' "eight weeks later he, who in youth had been 'the youngest surgeon in the army, died, the oldest physician in the world." dr. william hotchkiss, said to have reached the age of one hundred and forty years, died in st. louis april , . he went to st. louis forty years ago, and has always been known as the "color doctor." in his peculiar practice of medicine he termed his patients members of his "circles," and claimed to treat them by a magnetic process. dr. a. j. buck says that his masonic record has been traced back one hundred years, showing conclusively that he was one hundred and twenty-one years old. a letter received from his old home in virginia, over a year ago, says that he was born there in . it is comforting to the members of our profession, in which the average of life is usually so low, to be able to point out exceptions. it has been aptly said of physicians in general: "aliis inserviendo consumuntur; aliis medendo moriuntur," or "in serving others they are consumed; in healing others they are destroyed." recent instances of longevity.--there was a man who died in spain at the advanced age of one hundred and fifty-one, which is the most extraordinary instance from that country. it is reported that quite recently a chinese centenarian passed the examination for the highest place in the academy of mandarins. chevreul, born in , at angers, has only recently died after an active life in chemical investigation. sir moses montefiore is a recent example of an active centenarian. in the new york herald of april , , is a description and a portrait of noah raby of the piscataway poor farm of new jersey, to whom was ascribed one hundred and twenty-three years. he was discharged from active duty on the "brandywine," u.s.n., eighty-three years ago. he relates having heard george washington speak at washington and at portsmouth while his ship was in those places. the same journal also says that at wichita, kansas, there appeared at a municipal election an old negress named mrs. harriet mcmurray, who gave her age as one hundred and fifteen. she had been a slave, and asserted that once on a visit to alexandria with her master she had seen general washington. from the indian medical record we learn that lieutenant nicholas lavin of the grand armee died several years ago at the age of one hundred and twenty-five, leaving a daughter of seventy-eight. he was born in paris in , served as a hussar in several campaigns, and was taken a prisoner during the retreat from moscow. after his liberation he married and made his residence in saratoff. chapter ix. physiologic and functional anomalies. in considering the anomalies of the secretions, it must be remembered that the ingestion of certain kinds of food and the administration of peculiar drugs in medicine have a marked influence in coloring secretions. probably the most interesting of all these anomalies is the class in which, by a compensatory process, metastasis of the secretions is noticed. colored saliva.--among the older writers the ephemerides contains an account of blue saliva; huxham speaks of green saliva; marcellus donatus of yellow, and peterman relates the history of a case of yellow saliva. dickinson describes a woman of sixty whose saliva was blue; besides this nothing was definitely the matter with her. it seemed however, that the color was due to some chemic-pencil poisoning rather than to a pathologic process. a piece of this aniline pencil was caught in the false teeth. paget cites an instance of blue saliva due to staining the tongue in the same manner. most cases of anomalous coloring of this kind can be subsequently traced to artificial substances unconsciously introduced. crocker mentions a woman who on washing her hands constantly found that the water was stained blue, but this was subsequently traced to the accidental introduction of an orchid leaf. in another instance there was a woman whose linen was at every change stained brown; this, however, was found to be due to a hair-wash that she was in the habit of using. among the older writers who have mentioned abnormal modes of exit of the urine is baux, who mentions urine from the nipples; paullini and the ephemerides describe instances of urination from the eyes. blancard, the ephemerides, sorbalt, and vallisneri speak of urination by the mouth. arnold relates the history of a case of dysuria in which urine was discharged from the nose, breasts, ears, and umbilicus; the woman was twenty-seven years old, and the dysuria was caused by a prolapsed uterus. there was an instance of anomalous discharge of urine from the body reported in philadelphia many years ago which led to animated discussion. a case of dysuria in which the patient discharged urine from the stomach was reported early in this century from germany. the patient could feel the accumulation of urine by burning pain in the epigastrium. suddenly the pain would move to the soles of the feet, she would become nauseated, and large quantities of urine would soon be vomited. there was reported the case of an hysterical female who had convulsions and mania, alternating with anuria of a peculiar nature and lasting seven days. there was not a drop of urine passed during this time, but there were discharges through the mouth of alkaline waters with a strong ammoniacal odor. senter reports in a young woman a singular case of ischuria which continued for more than three years; during this time if her urine was not drawn off with the catheter she frequently voided it by vomiting; for the last twenty months she passed much gravel by the catheter; when the use of the instrument was omitted or unsuccessfully applied the vomitus contained gravel. carlisle mentions a case in which there was vomiting of a fluid containing urea and having the sensible properties of urine. curious to relate, a cure was effected after ligature of the superior thyroid arteries and sloughing of the thyroid gland. vomiting of urine is also mentioned by coley, domine, liron, malago, zeviani, and yeats. marsden reports a case in which, following secondary papular syphilis and profuse spontaneous ptyalism, there was vicarious secretion of the urinary constituents from the skin. instances of the anomalous exit of urine caused by congenital malformation or fistulous connections are mentioned in another chapter. black urine is generally caused by the ingestion of pigmented food or drugs, such as carbolic acid and the anilines. amatus lusitanus, bartholinus, and the ephemerides speak of black urine after eating grapes or damson plums. the ephemerides speaks of black urine being a precursor of death, but piso, rhodius, and schenck say it is anomalous and seldom a sign of death. white urine, commonly known as chyluria, is frequently seen, and sometimes results from purulent cystitis. though containing sediment, the urine looks as if full of milk. a case of this kind was seen in at the jefferson medical college hospital, philadelphia, in which the chyluria was due to a communication between the bladder and the thoracic duct. ackerman has spoken of metastasis of the tears, and dixon gives an instance in which crying was not attended by the visible shedding of tears. salomon reports a case of congenital deficiency of tears. blood-stained tears were frequently mentioned by the older writers. recently cross has written an article on this subject, and its analogy is seen in the next chapter under hemorrhages from the eyes through the lacrimal duct. the semen.--the older writers spoke of metastasis of the seminal flow, the issue being by the skin (perspiration) and other routes. this was especially supposed to be the case in satyriasis, in which the preternatural exit was due to superabundance of semen, which could be recognized by its odor. there is no doubt that some people have a distinct seminal odor, a fact that will be considered in the section on "human odors." the ephemerides, schurig, and hoffman report instances of what they call fetid semen (possibly a complication of urethral disease). paaw speaks of black semen in a negro, and the ephemerides and schurig mention instances of dark semen. blancard records an instance of preternatural exit of semen by the bowel. heers mentions a similar case caused by urethral fistula. ingham mentions the escape of semen through the testicle by means of a fistula. demarquay is the authority on bloody semen. andouard mentions an instance of blue bile in a woman, blue flakes being found in her vomit. there was no trace of copper to be found in this case. andouard says that the older physicians frequently spoke of this occurrence. rhodius speaks of the sweat being sweet after eating honey; the ephemerides and paullini also mention it. chromidrosis, or colored sweat, is an interesting anomaly exemplified in numerous reports. black sweat has been mentioned by bartholinus, who remarked that the secretion resembled ink; in other cases galeazzi and zacutus lusitanus said the perspiration resembled sooty water. phosphorescent sweat has been recorded. paullini and the ephemerides mention perspiration which was of a leek-green color, and borellus has observed deep green perspiration. marcard mentions green perspiration of the feet, possibly due to stains from colored foot-gear. the ephemerides and paullini speak of violet perspiration, and bartholinus has described perspiration which in taste resembled wine. sir benjamin brodie has communicated the history of a case of a young girl of fifteen on whose face was a black secretion. on attempting to remove it by washing, much pain was caused. the quantity removed by soap and water at one time was sufficient to make four basins of water as black as if with india ink. it seemed to be physiologically analogous to melanosis. the cessation of the secretion on the forehead was followed by the ejection of a similar substance from the bowel, stomach, and kidney. the secretion was more abundant during the night, and at one time in its course an erysipelas-eruption made its appearance. a complete cure ultimately followed. purdon describes an irish married woman of forty, the subject of rheumatic fever, who occasionally had a blue serous discharge or perspiration that literally flowed from her legs and body, and accompanied by a miliary eruption. it was on the posterior portions, and twelve hours previous was usually preceded by a moldy smell and a prickly sensation. on the abdomen and the back of the neck there was a yellowish secretion. in place of catamenia there was a discharge reddish-green in color. the patient denied having taken any coloring matter or chemicals to influence the color of her perspiration, and no remedy relieved her cardiac or rheumatic symptoms. the first english case of chromidrosis, or colored sweat, was published by yonge of plymouth in . in this affection the colored sweating appears symmetrically in various parts of the body, the parts commonly affected being the cheeks, forehead, side of the nose, whole face, chest, abdomen, backs of the hands, finger-tips, and the flexors, flexures at the axillae, groins, and popliteal spaces. although the color is generally black, nearly every color has been recorded. colcott fox reported a genuine case, and crocker speaks of a case at shadwell in a woman of forty-seven of naturally dark complexion. the bowels were habitually sluggish, going three or four days at least without action, and latterly the woman had suffered from articular pains. the discolored sweat came out gradually, beginning at the sides of the face, then spreading to the cheeks and forehead. when seen, the upper half of the forehead, the temporal regions, and the skin between the ear and malar eminence were of a blackish-brown color, with slight hyperemia of the adjacent parts; the woman said the color had been almost black, but she had cleaned her face some. there was evidently much fat in the secretion; there was also seborrhea of the scalp. washing with soap and water had very little effect upon it; but it was removed with ether, the skin still looking darker and redder than normal. after a week's treatment with saline purgatives the discoloration was much less, but the patient still had articular pains, for which alkalies were prescribed; she did not again attend. crocker also quotes the case of a girl of twenty, originally under mackay of brighton. her affection had lasted a year and was limited to the left cheek and eyebrow. six months before the patch appeared she had a superficial burn which did not leave a distinct scar, but the surface was slightly granular. the deposit was distinctly fatty, evidently seborrheic and of a sepia-tint. the girl suffered from obstinate constipation, the bowels acting only once a week. the left side flushed more than the right in connection with this case may be mentioned one by white of harvard, a case of unilateral yellow chromidrosis in a man. demons gives the history of a case of yellow sweat in a patient with three intestinal calculi. wilson says that cases of green, yellow, and blue perspiration have been seen, and hebra, rayer, and fuchs mention instances. conradi records a case of blue perspiration on one-half the scrotum. chojnowski records a case in which the perspiration resembled milk. hyperidrosis occurs as a symptom in many nervous diseases, organic and functional, and its presence is often difficult of explanation. the following are recent examples: kustermann reports a case of acute myelitis in which there was profuse perspiration above the level of the girdle-sensation and none at all below. sharkey reports a case of tumor of the pons varolii and left crus cerebri, in which for months there was excessive generalized perspiration; it finally disappeared without treatment. hutchinson describes the case of a woman of sixty-four who for four years had been troubled by excessive sweating on the right side of the face and scalp. at times she was also troubled by an excessive flow of saliva, but she could not say if it was unilateral. there was great irritation of the right side of the tongue, and for two years taste was totally abolished. it was normal at the time of examination. the author offered no explanation of this case, but the patient gave a decidedly neurotic history, and the symptoms seem to point with some degree of probability to hysteria. pope reports a peculiar case in which there were daily attacks of neuralgia preceded by sweating confined to a bald spot on the head. rockwell reports a case of unilateral hyperidrosis in a feeble old man which he thought due to organic affection of the cervical sympathetic. dupont has published an account of a curious case of chronic general hyperidrosis or profuse sweating which lasted upward of six years. the woman thus affected became pregnant during this time and was happily delivered of an infant, which she nursed herself. according to dupont, this hyperidrosis was independent of any other affection, and after having been combated fruitlessly by various remedies, yielded at last to fluid extract of aconitin. myrtle relates the case of a man of seventy-seven, who, after some flying pains and fever, began to sweat profusely and continued to do so until he died from exhaustion at the end of three months from the onset of the sweating. richardson records another case of the same kind. crocker quotes the case of a tailor of sixty-five in whom hyperidrosis had existed for thirty-five years. it was usually confined to the hands and feet, but when worst affected the whole body. it was absent as long as he preserved the horizontal posture, but came on directly when he rose; it was always increased in the summer months. at the height of the attack the man lost appetite and spirit, had a pricking sensation, and sometimes minute red papules appeared all over the hand. he had tried almost every variety of treatment, but sulphur did the most good, as it had kept the disease under for twelve months. latterly, even that failed. bachman reports the history of a case of hyperidrosis cured by hypnotism. unilateral and localized sweating accompanies some forms of nervous disturbance. mickle has discussed unilateral sweating in the general paralysis of the insane. ramskill reports a case of sweating on one side of the face in a patient who was subject to epileptic convulsions. takacs describes a case of unilateral sweating with proportionate nervous prostration. bartholow and bryan report unilateral sweating of the head. cason speaks of unilateral sweating of the head, face, and neck. elliotson mentions sweat from the left half of the body and the left extremities only. lewis reports a case of unilateral perspiration with an excess of temperature of . degrees f. in the axilla of the perspiring side. mills, white, dow, and duncan also cite instances of unilateral perspiration. boquis describes a case of unilateral perspiration of the skin of the head and face, and instances of complete unilateral perspiration have been frequently recorded by the older writers,--tebure, marcellus donatus, paullini, and hartmann discussing it. hyperidrosis confined to the hands and feet is quite common. instances of bloody sweat and "stigmata" have been known through the ages and are most interesting anomalies. in the olden times there were people who represented that in their own persons they realized at certain periods the agonies of gethsemane, as portrayed in medieval art, e.g., by pictures of christ wearing the crown of thorns in pilate's judgment hall. some of these instances were, perhaps, of the nature of compensatory hemorrhage, substituting the menses or periodic hemorrhoids, hemoptysis, epistaxis, etc., or possibly purpura. extreme religious frenzy or deep emotions might have been the indirect cause of a number of these bleeding zealots. there are instances on record in which fear and other similar emotions have caused a sweating of blood, the expression "sweating blood" being not uncommon. among the older writers, ballonius, marcolini, and riedlin mention bloody sweat. the ephemerides speaks of it in front of the hypochondrium. paullini observed a sailor of thirty, who, falling speechless and faint during a storm on the deck of his ship, sweated a red perspiration from his entire body and which stained his clothes. he also mentions bloody sweat following coitus. aristotle speaks of bloody sweat, and pellison describes a scar which periodically opened and sweated blood. there were many cases like this, the scars being usually in the location of christ's wounds. de thou mentions an italian officer who in , during the war between henry ii of france and emperor charles v, was threatened with public execution; he became so agitated that he sweated blood from every portion of the body. a young florentine about to be put to death by an order of pope sixtus v was so overcome with grief that he shed bloody tears and sweated blood. the ephemerides contains many instances of bloody tears and sweat occasioned by extreme fear, more especially fear of death. mezeray mentions that the detestable charles ix of france, being under constant agitation and emotion, sank under a disorder which was accompanied by an exudation of blood from every pore of his body. this was taken as an attempt of nature to cure by bleeding according to the theory of the venesectionists. fabricius hildanus mentions a child who, as a rule, never drank anything but water, but once, contrary to her habit, drank freely of white wine, and this was soon followed by hemorrhage from the gums, nose, and skin. there is a case also related of a woman of forty-five who had lost her only son. one day she fancied she beheld him beseeching her to release his soul from purgatory by prayers and fasting every friday. the following friday, which was in the month of august, and for five succeeding fridays she had a profuse bloody perspiration, the disorder disappearing on friday, march th, of the following year. pooley says that maldonato, in his "commentaries of four gospels," mentions a healthy and robust man who on hearing of his sentence of death sweated blood, and zacchias noted a similar phenomenon in a young man condemned to the flames. allusion may also be made to st. luke, who said of christ that in agony he prayed more earnestly, "and his sweat was, as it were, great drops of blood falling down to the ground." pooley quotes the case of a young woman of indolent habit who in a religious fanatical trance sweated blood. the stigmatists were often imposters who artificially opened their scars, and set the example for the really peculiar cases of bloody sweat, which among ignorant people was considered evidence of sympathy with the agony of the cross. probably the best studied case on record is that of louise lateau of bois d'haine, which, according to gray, occurred in in a village of belgium when the girl was at the age of twenty-three; her previous life had offered nothing remarkable. the account is as follows: "one friday louise lateau noticed that blood was flowing from one side of her chest, and this recurred every friday. on each thursday morning an oval surface about one inch in length on the back of each hand became pink in color and smooth, whilst a similar oval surface on the palm of each hand became of the same hue, and on the upper surface of each foot a pinkish-white square appeared. examined under a magnifying glass, the epidermis appeared at first without solution of continuity and delicate. about noon on thursday a vesicle formed on the pink surfaces containing clear serum. in the night between thursday and friday, usually between midnight and one o'clock, the flow of blood began, the vesicle first rupturing. the amount of blood lost during the so called stigmata varied, and some observers estimated it at about one and three-quarter pints. the blood itself was of a reddish color, inclining to violet, about the hue therefore, of capillary blood, coagulating in the usual way, and the white and red corpuscles being normal in character and relative proportion. the flow ceased on saturdays. during the flow of the blood the patient was in a rapt, ecstatic condition. the facial expression was one of absorption and far-off contemplation, changing often to melancholy, terror, to an attitude of prayer or contrition. the patient herself stated that at the beginning of the ecstasy she imagined herself surrounded by a brilliant light; figures then passed before her, and the successive scenes of the crucifixion were panoramically progressive. she saw christ in person--his clothing, his wounds, his crown of thorns, his cross--as well as the apostles, the holy women, and the assembled jews. during the ecstasy the circulation of the skin and heart was regular, although at times a sudden flash or pallor overspread the face, according with the play of the expression. from midday of thursdays, when she took a frugal meal, until eight o'clock on saturday mornings the girl took no nourishment, not even water, because it was said that she did not feel the want of it and could not retain anything upon her stomach. during this time the ordinary secretions were suspended." fournier mentions a statesman of forty-five who, following great cabinet labors during several years and after some worriment, found that the day after indulging in sexual indiscretions he would be in a febrile condition, with pains in the thighs, groins, legs, and penis. the veins of these parts became engorged, and subsequently blood oozed from them, the flow lasting several days. the penis was the part most affected. he was under observation for twenty months and presented the same phenomena periodically, except that during the last few months they were diminished in every respect. fournier also mentions a curious case of diapedesis in a woman injured by a cow. the animal struck her in the epigastric region, she fell unconscious, and soon after vomited great quantities of blood, and continued with convulsive efforts of expulsion to eject blood periodically from every eight to fifteen days, losing possibly a pound at each paroxysm. there was no alteration of her menses. a physician gave her astringents, which partly suppressed the vomiting, but the hemorrhage changed to the skin, and every day she sweated blood from the chest, back of the thighs, feet, and the extremities of the fingers. when the blood ceased to flow from her skin she lost her appetite, became oppressed, and was confined to her bed for some days. itching always preceded the appearance of a new flow. there was no dermal change that could be noticed. fullerton mentions a girl of thirteen who had occasional oozing of blood from her brow, face, and the skin under the eyes. sometimes a pound of clots was found about her face and pillow. the blood first appeared in a single clot, and, strange to say, lumps of fleshy substance and minute pieces of bone were discharged all day. this latter discharge became more infrequent, the bone being replaced by cartilaginous substance. there was no pain, discoloration, swelling, or soreness, and after this strange anomaly disappeared menstruation regularly commenced. van swieten mentions a young lady who from her twelfth year at her menstrual periods had hemorrhages from pustules in the skin, the pustules disappearing in the interval. schmidt's jahrbucher for gives an account of a woman who had diseased ovaries and a rectovesicovaginal fistula, and though sometimes catamenia appeared at the proper place it was generally arrested and hemorrhage appeared on the face. chambers mentions a woman of twenty-seven who suffered from bloody sweat after the manner of the stigmatists, and petrone mentions a young man of healthy antecedents, the sweat from whose axillae and pubes was red and very pungent. petrone believes it was due to a chromogenic micrococcus, and relieved the patient by the use of a five per cent solution of caustic potash. chloroform, ether, and phenol had been tried without success. hebra mentions a young man in whom the blood spurted from the hand in a spiral jet corresponding to the direction of the duct of the sweat-gland. wilson refers to five cases of bloody sweat. there is a record of a patient who once or twice a day was attacked with swelling of the scrotum, which at length acquired a deep red color and a stony hardness, at which time the blood would spring from a hundred points and flow in the finest streams until the scrotum was again empty. hill describes a boy of four who during the sweating stage of malaria sweated blood from the head and neck. two months later the skin-hemorrhages ceased and the boy died, vomiting blood and with bloody stools. postmortem sweating is described in the ephemerides and reported by hasenest and schneider. bartholinus speaks of bloody sweat in a cadaver. in considering the anomalies of lactation we shall first discuss those of color and then the extraordinary places of secretion. black milk is spoken of by the ephemerides and paullini. red milk has been observed by cramer and viger. green milk has been observed by lanzonius, riverius, and paullini. the ephemerides also contains an account of green milk. yellow milk has been mentioned in the ephemerides and its cause ascribed to eating rhubarb. it is a well-known fact that some cathartics administered to nursing mothers are taken from the breast by their infants, who, notwithstanding its indirect mode of administration, exhibit the effects of the original drug. the same is the case with some poisons, and instances of lead-poisoning and arsenic-poisoning have been seen in children who have obtained the toxic substance in the mother's milk. there is one singular case on record in which a child has been poisoned from the milk of its mother after she had been bitten by a serpent. paullini and the ephemerides give instances of milk appearing in the perspiration, and there are numerous varieties of milk-metastasis recorded dolaeus and nuck mention the appearance of milk in the saliva. autenreith mentions metastasis of milk through an abdominal abscess to the thigh, and balthazaar also mentions excretion of milk from the thigh. bourdon mentions milk from the thigh, labia, and vulva. klein speaks of the metastasis of the milk to the lochia. gardane speaks of metastasis to the lungs, and there is another case on record in which this phenomenon caused asphyxia. schenck describes excretion of milk from the bladder and uterus. jaeger in at tubingen describes the metastasis of milk to the umbilicus, haen to the back, and schurig to a wound in the foot. knackstedt has seen an abscess of the thigh which contained eight pounds of milk. hauser gives the history of a case in which the kidneys secreted milk vicariously. there is the history of a woman who suffered from metastasis of milk to the stomach, and who, with convulsive action of the chest and abdomen, vomited it daily. a peculiar instance of milk in a tumor is that of a mrs. reed, who, when pregnant with twins, developed an abdominal tumor from which pounds of milk was drawn off. there is a french report of secretion of milk in the scrotum of a man of twenty-one. the scrotum was tumefied, and to the touch gave the sensation of a human breast, and the parts were pigmented similar to an engorged breast. analysis showed the secretion to have been true human milk. cases of lactation in the new-born are not infrequent. bartholinus, baricelli, muraltus, deusingius, rhodius, schenck, and schurig mention instances of it. cardanus describes an infant of one month whose breasts were swollen and gave milk copiously. battersby cites a description of a male child three weeks old whose breasts were full of a fluid, analysis proving it to have been human milk; darby, in the same journal, mentions a child of eight days whose breasts were so engorged that the nurse had to milk it. faye gives an interesting paper in which he has collected many instances of milk in the breasts of the new-born. jonston details a description of lactation in an infant. variot mentions milk-secretion in the new-born and says that it generally takes place from the eighth to the fifteenth day and not in the first week. he also adds that probably mammary abscesses in the new-born could be avoided if the milk were squeezed out of the breasts in the first days. variot says that out of children of both sexes, aged from six to nine months, all but six showed the presence of milk in the breasts. gibb mentions copious milk-secretion in an infant, and sworder and menard have seen young babes with abundant milk-secretion. precocious lactation.--bochut says that he saw a child whose breasts were large and completely developed, offering a striking contrast to the slight development of the thorax. they were as large as a stout man's fist, pear-shaped, with a rosy areola, in the center of which was a nipple. these precocious breasts increased in size at the beginning of the menstrual epoch (which was also present) and remained enlarged while the menses lasted. the vulva was covered with thick hair and the external genitalia were well developed. the child was reticent, and with a doll was inclined to play the role of mother. baudelocque mentions a girl of eight who suckled her brother with her extraordinarily developed breasts. in this child milked her breasts in the presence of the royal academy at paris. belloc spoke of a similar case. there is another of a young negress who was able to nourish an infant; and among the older writers we read accounts of young virgins who induced lactation by applying infants to their breasts. bartholinus, benedictus, hippocrates, lentilius, salmuth, and schenck mention lactation in virgins. de la coide describes a case in which lactation was present, though menstruation had always been deficient. dix, at the derby infirmary, has observed two females in whom there was continued lactation, although they had never been pregnant. the first was a chaste female of twenty-five, who for two years had abundant and spontaneous discharge of milk that wetted the linen; and the other was in a prostitute of twenty, who had never been pregnant, but who had, nevertheless, for several months an abundant secretion of healthy milk. zoologists know that a nonpregnant bitch may secrete milk in abundance. delafond and de sinnety have cited instances. lactation in the aged has been frequently noticed. amatus lusitanus and schenck have observed lactation in old women; in recent years dunglison has collected some instances. semple relates the history of an elderly woman who took charge of an infant the mother of which had died of puerperal infection. as a means of soothing the child she allowed it to take the nipple, and, strange to say, in thirty-six hours milk appeared in her breasts, and soon she had a flow as copious as she had ever had in her early married life. the child thrived on this production of a sympathetic and spontaneous lactation. sir hans sloane mentions a lady of sixty-eight who though not having borne a child for twenty years, nursed her grandchildren one after another. montegre describes a woman in the department of charente who bore two male children in . not having enough milk for both, and being too poor to secure the assistance of a midwife, in her desperation she sought an old woman named laverge, a widow of sixty-five, whose husband had been dead twenty-nine years. this old woman gave the breast to one of the children, and in a few days an abundant flow of milk was present. for twenty-two months she nursed the infant, and it thrived as well as its brother, who was nursed by their common mother--in fact, it was even the stronger of the two. dargan tells of a case of remarkable rejuvenated lactation in a woman of sixty, who, in play, placed the child to her breast, and to her surprise after three weeks' nursing of this kind there appeared an abundant supply of milk, even exceeding in amount that of the young mother. blanchard mentions milk in the breasts of a woman of sixty, and krane cites a similar instance. in the philosophical transactions there is an instance of a woman of sixty-eight having abundant lactation. warren, boring, buzzi, stack, durston, egan, scalzi, fitzpatrick, and gillespie mention rejuvenation and renewed lactation in aged women. ford has collected several cases in which lactation was artificially induced by women who, though for some time not having been pregnant themselves, nursed for others. prolonged lactation and galactorrhea may extend through several pregnancies. green reports the case of a woman of forty-seven, the mother of four children, who after each weaning had so much milk constantly in her breasts that it had to be drawn until the next birth. at the time of report the milk was still secreting in abundance. a similar and oft-quoted case was that of gomez pamo, who described a woman in whom lactation seemed indefinitely prolonged; she married at sixteen, two years after the establishment of menstruation. she became pregnant shortly after marriage, and after delivery had continued lactation for a year without any sign of returning menstruation. again becoming pregnant, she weaned her first child and nursed the other without delay or complication. this occurrence took place fourteen times. she nursed all of her children up to the time that she found herself pregnant again, and during the pregnancies after the first the flow of milk never entirely ceased; always after the birth of an infant she was able to nurse it. the milk was of good quality and always abundant, and during the period between her first pregnancy to seven years after the birth of her last child the menses had never reappeared. she weaned her last child five years before the time of report, and since then the milk had still persisted in spite of all treatment. it was sometimes so abundant as to necessitate drawing it from the breast to relieve painful tension. kennedy describes a woman of eighty-one who persistently menstruated through lactation, and for forty-seven years had uninterruptedly nursed many children, some of which were not her own. three years of this time she was a widow. at the last reports she had a moderate but regular secretion of milk in her eighty-first year. in regard to profuse lacteal flow, remy is quoted as having seen a young woman in japan from whom was taken / pints of milk each day, which is possibly one of the most extreme instance of continued galactorrhea on record. galen refers to gynecomastia or gynecomazia; aristotle says he has seen men with mammae a which were as well developed as those of a woman, and paulus aegineta recognized the fact in the ancient greeks. subsequently albucasis discusses it in his writings. bartholinus, behr, benedictus, borellus, bonet, the ephemerides, marcellus donatus, schenck, vesalius, schacher, martineau, and buffon all discuss the anomalous presence of milk in the male breast. puech says that this condition is found in one out of , conscripts. to bedor, a marine surgeon, we owe the first scientific exposition of this subject, and a little later villeneuve published his article in the french dictionary. since then many observations have been made on this subject, and quite recently laurent has published a most exhaustive treatise upon it. robert describes an old man who suckled a child, and meyer discusses the case of a castrated man who was said to suckle children. it is said that a bishop of cork, who gave one-half crown to an old frenchman of seventy, was rewarded by an exhibition of his breasts, which were larger than the bishop had ever seen in a woman. petrequin speaks of a male breast inches long which he amputated, and laurent gives the photograph of a man whose breasts measured cm. in circumference at the base, and hung like those of a nursing woman. in some instances whole families with supernumerary breasts are seen. handyside gives two instances of quadruple breasts in brothers. blanchard speaks of a father who had a supernumerary nipple on each breast and his seven sons had the same deformities; it was not noticed in the daughters. the youngest son transmitted this anomaly to his four sons. petrequin describes a man with three mammae, two on the left side, the third being beneath the others. he had three sons with accessory mammae on the right side and two daughters with the same anomaly on the left side. savitzky reports a case of gynecomazia in a peasant of twenty-one whose father, elder brother, and a cousin were similarly endowed. the patient's breasts were cm. in circumference and cm. from the nipple to the base of the gland; they resembled normal female mammae in all respects. the penis and the other genitalia were normal, but the man had a female voice and absence of facial hair. there was an abundance of subcutaneous fat and a rather broad pelvis. wiltshire said that he knew a gynecomast in the person of a distinguished naturalist who since the age of puberty observed activity in his breasts, accompanied with secretion of milky fluid which lasted for a period of six weeks and occurred every spring. this authority also mentions that the french call husbands who have well-developed mammae "la couvade;" the germans call male supernumerary breasts "bauchwarze," or ventral nipples. hutchinson describes several cases of gynecomazia, in which the external genital organs decreased in proportion to the size of the breast and the manners became effeminate. cameron, quoted by snedden, speaks of a fellow-student who had a supernumerary nipple, and also says he saw a case in a little boy who had an extra pair of nipples much wider than the ordinary ones. ansiaux, surgeon of liege, saw a conscript of thirteen whose left mamma was well developed like that of a woman, and whose nipple was surrounded by a large areola. he said that this breast had always been larger than the other, but since puberty had grown greatly; the genital organs were well formed. morgan examined a seaman of twenty-one, admitted to the royal naval hospital at hong kong, whose right mamma, in size and conformation, had the appearance of the well developed breast of a full-grown woman. it was lobulated and had a large, brown-colored areola; the nipple, however, was of the same size as that on the left breast. the man stated that he first observed the breast to enlarge at sixteen and a half years; since that time it had steadily increased, but there was no milk at any time from the nipple; the external genital organs were well and fully developed. he complained of no pain or uneasiness except when in drilling aloft his breast came in contact with the ropes. gruger of st. petersburg divides gynecomazia into three classes:-- ( ) that in which the male generative organs are normal; ( ) in which they are deformed; ( ) in which the anomaly is spurious, the breast being a mass of fat or a new growth. the same journal quotes an instance (possibly morgan's case) in a young man of twenty-one with a deep voice, excellent health, and genitals well developed, and who cohabited with his wife regularly. when sixteen his right breast began to enlarge, a fact that he attributed to the pressure of a rope. glandular substance could be distinctly felt, but there was no milk-secretion. the left breast was normal. schuchardt has collected cases of gynecomazia. instances of men suckling infants.--these instances of gynecomazia are particularly interesting when the individuals display ability to suckle infants. hunter refers to a man of fifty who shared equally with his wife the suckling of their children. there is an instance of a sailor who, having lost his wife, took his son to his own breast to quiet him, and after three or four days was able to nourish him. humboldt describes a south american peasant of thirty-two who, when his wife fell sick immediately after delivery, sustained the child with his own milk, which came soon after the application to the breast; for five months the child took no other nourishment. in franklin's "voyages to the polar seas" he quotes the instance of an old chippewa who, on losing his wife in childbirth, had put his infant to his breast and earnestly prayed that milk might flow; he was fortunate enough to eventually produce enough milk to rear the child. the left breast, with which he nursed, afterward retained its unusual size. according to mehliss some missionaries in brazil in the sixteenth century asserted that there was a whole indian nation whose women had small and withered breasts, and whose children owed their nourishment entirely to the males. hall exhibited to his class in baltimore a negro of fifty-five who had suckled all his mistress' family. dunglison reports this case in , and says that the mammae projected seven inches from the chest, and that the external genital organs were well developed. paullini and schenck cite cases of men suckling infants, and blumenbach has described a male-goat which, on account of the engorgement of the mammae, it was necessary to milk every other day of the year. ford mentions the case of a captain who in order to soothe a child's cries put it to his breast, and who subsequently developed a full supply of milk. he also quotes an instance of a man suckling his own children, and mentions a negro boy of fourteen who secreted milk in one breast. hornor and pulido y fernandez also mention similar instances of gynecomazia. human odors.--curious as it may seem, each individual as well as each species is in life enveloped with an odor peculiarly its own, due to its exhaled breath, its excretions, and principally to its insensible perspiration. the faculty of recognizing an odor in different individuals, although more developed in savage tribes, is by no means unknown in civilized society. fournier quotes the instance of a young man who, like a dog, could smell the enemy by scent, and who by smell alone recognized his own wife from other persons. fournier also mentions a french woman, an inhabitant of naples, who had an extreme supersensitiveness of smell. the slightest odor was to her intolerable; sometimes she could not tolerate the presence of certain individuals. she could tell in a numerous circle which women were menstruating. this woman could not sleep in a bed which any one else had made, and for this reason discharged her maid, preparing her own toilet and her sleeping apartments. cadet de gassieourt witnessed this peculiar instance, and in consultation with several of the physicians of paris attributed this excessive sensitiveness to the climate. there is a tale told of a hungarian monk who affirmed that he was able to decide the chastity of females by the sense of smell alone. it is well known that some savage tribes with their large, open nostrils not only recognize their enemies but also track game the same as hounds. individual odors.--many individuals are said to have exhaled particularly strong odors, and history is full of such instances. we are told by plutarch that alexander the great exhaled an odor similar to that of violet flowers, and his undergarments always smelled of this natural perfume. it is said that cujas offered a particular analogy to this. on the contrary, there are certain persons spoken of who exhaled a sulphurous odor. martial said that thais was an example of the class of people whose odor was insupportable. schmidt has inserted in the ephemerides an account of a journeyman saddler, twenty-three years of age, of rather robust constitution, whose hands exhaled a smell of sulphur so powerful and penetrating as to rapidly fill any room in which he happened to be. rayer was once consulted by a valet-de-chambre who could never keep a place in consequence of the odor he left behind him in the rooms in which he worked. hammond is quoted with saying that when the blessed venturni of bergamons officiated at the altar people struggled to come near him in order to enjoy the odor he exhaled. it was said that st. francis de paul, after he had subjected himself to frequent disciplinary inflictions, including a fast of thirty-eight to forty days, exhaled a most sensible and delicious odor. hammond attributes the peculiar odors of the saints of earlier days to neglect of washing and, in a measure, to affections of the nervous system. it may be added that these odors were augmented by aromatics, incense, etc., artificially applied. in more modern times malherbe and haller were said to diffuse from their bodies the agreeable odor of musk. these "human flowers," to use goethe's expression, are more highly perfumed in southern latitudes. modifying causes.--according to brieude, sex, age, climate, habits, ailments, the passions, the emotions, and the occupations modify the difference in the humors exhaled, resulting in necessarily different odors. nursing infants have a peculiar sourish smell, caused by the butyric acid of the milk, while bottle-fed children smell like strong butter. after being weaned the odors of the babies become less decided. boys when they reach puberty exhibit peculiar odors which are similar to those of animals when in heat. these odors are leading symptoms of what borden calls "seminal fever" and are more strongly marked in those of a voluptuous nature. they are said to be caused by the absorption of spermatic fluid into the circulation and its subsequent elimination by the skin. this peculiar circumstance, however, is not seen in girls, in whom menstruation is sometimes to be distinguished by an odor somewhat similar to that of leather. old age produces an odor similar to that of dry leaves, and there have been persons who declared that they could tell approximately the age of individuals by the sense of smell. certain tribes and races of people have characteristic odors. negroes have a rank ammoniacal odor, unmitigated by cleanliness; according to pruner-bey it is due to a volatile oil set free by the sebaceous follicles. the esquimaux and greenlanders have the odors of their greasy and oily foods, and it is said that the cossacks, who live much with their horses, and who are principally vegetarians, will leave the atmosphere charged with odors several hours after their passage in numbers through a neighborhood. the lower race of chinamen are distinguished by a peculiar musty odor, which may be noticed in the laundry shops of this country. some people, such as the low grade of indians, have odors, not distinctive, and solely due to the filth of their persons. food and drink, as have been mentioned, markedly influence the odor of an individual, and those perpetually addicted to a special diet or drink have a particular odor. odor after coitus.--preismann in makes the statement that for six hours after coitus there is a peculiar odor noticeable in the breath, owing to a peculiar secretion of the buccal glands. he says that this odor is most perceptible in men of about thirty-five, and can be discerned at a distance of from four to six feet. he also adds that this fact would be of great medicolegal value in the early arrest of those charged with rape. in this connection the analogy of the breath immediately after coitus to the odor of chloroform has been mentioned. the same article states that after coitus naturally foul breath becomes sweet. the emotions are said to have a decided influence on the odor of an individual. gambrini, quoted by monin, mentions a young man, unfortunate in love and violently jealous, whose whole body exhaled a sickening, pernicious, and fetid odor. orteschi met a young lady who, without any possibility of fraud, exhaled the strong odor of vanilla from the commissures of her fingers. rayer speaks of a woman under his care at the hopital de la charite affected with chronic peritonitis, who some time before her death exhaled a very decided odor of musk. the smell had been noticed several days, but was thought to be due to a bag of musk put purposely into the bed to overpower other bad smells. the woman, however, gave full assurance that she had no kind of perfume about her and that her clothes had been frequently changed. the odor of musk in this case was very perceptible on the arms and other portions of the body, but did not become more powerful by friction. after continuing for about eight days it grew fainter and nearly vanished before the patient's death. speranza relates a similar case. complexion.--pare states that persons of red hair and freckled complexion have a noxious exhalation; the odor of prussic acid is said to come from dark individuals, while blondes exhale a secretion resembling musk. fat persons frequently have an oleaginous smell. the disorders of the nervous system are said to be associated with peculiar odors. fevre says the odor of the sweat of lunatics resembles that of yellow deer or mice, and knight remarks that the absence of this symptom would enable him to tell whether insanity was feigned or not. burrows declares that in the absence of further evidence he would not hesitate to pronounce a person insane if he could perceive certain associate odors. sir william gull and others are credited with asserting that they could detect syphilis by smell. weir mitchell has observed that in lesions of nerves the corresponding cutaneous area exhaled the odor of stagnant water. hammond refers to three cases under his notice in which specific odors were the results of affections of the nervous system. one of these cases was a young woman of hysterical tendencies who exhaled the odor of violets, which pervaded her apartments. this odor was given off the left half of the chest only and could be obtained concentrated by collecting the perspiration on a handkerchief, heating it with four ounces of spirit, and distilling the remaining mixture. the administration of the salicylate of soda modified in degree this violaceous odor. hammond also speaks of a young lady subject to chorea whose insensible perspiration had an odor of pineapples; a hypochondriac gentleman under his care smelled of violets. in this connection he mentions a young woman who, when suffering from intense sick headache, exhaled an odor resembling that of limburger cheese. barbier met a case of disordered innervation in a captain of infantry, the upper half of whose body was subject to such offensive perspiration that despite all treatment he had to finally resign his commission. in lethargy and catalepsy the perspiration very often has a cadaverous odor, which has probably occasionally led to a mistaken diagnosis of death. schaper and de meara speak of persons having a cadaveric odor during their entire life. various ingesta readily give evidence of themselves by their influence upon the breath. it has been remarked that the breath of individuals who have recently performed a prolonged necropsy smells for some hours of the odor of the cadaver. such things as copaiba, cubebs, sandalwood, alcohol, coffee, etc., have their recognizable fragrance. there is an instance of a young woman taking fowler's solution who had periodic offensive axillary sweats that ceased when the medicine was discontinued. henry of navarre was a victim of bromidrosis; proximity to him was insufferable to his courtiers and mistresses, who said that his odor was like that of carrion. tallemant says that when his wife, marie de medicis, approached the bridal night with him she perfumed her apartments and her person with the essences of the flowers of her country in order that she might be spared the disgusting odor of her spouse. some persons are afflicted with an excessive perspiration of the feet which often takes a disgusting odor. the inguinoscrotal and inguinovulvar perspirations have an aromatic odor like that of the genitals of either sex. during menstruation, hyperidrosis of the axillae diffuses an aromatic odor similar to that of acids or chloroform, and in suppression of menses, according to the ephemerides, the odor is as of hops. odors of disease.--the various diseases have their own peculiar odors. the "hospital odor," so well known, is essentially variable in character and chiefly due to an aggregation of cutaneous exhalations. the wards containing women and children are perfumed with butyric acid, while those containing men are influenced by the presence of alkalies like ammonia. gout, icterus, and even cholera (drasch and porker) have their own odors. older observers, confirmed by doppner, say that all the plague-patients at vetlianka diffused an odor of honey. in diabetes there is a marked odor of apples. the sweat in dysentery unmistakably bears the odor of the dejecta. behier calls the odor of typhoid that of the blood, and berard says that it attracts flies even before death. typhus has a mouse-like odor, and the following diseases have at different times been described as having peculiar odors,--measles, the smell of freshly plucked feathers; scarlatina, of bread hot from the oven; eczema and impetigo, the smell of mold; and rupia, a decidedly offensive odor. the hair has peculiar odors, differing in individuals. the hair of the chinese is known to have the odor of musk, which cannot be washed away by the strongest of chemicals. often the distinctive odor of a female is really due to the odor of great masses of hair. it is said that wig-makers simply by the sense of smell can tell whether hair has been cut from the living head or from combings, as hair loses its odor when it falls out. in the paroxysms of hysteroepilepsy the hair sometimes has a specific odor of ozone. taenia favosa gives to the scalp an odor resembling that of cat's urine. sexual influence of odors.--in this connection it may be mentioned that there is a peculiar form of sexual perversion, called by binet "fetichism," in which the subject displays a perverted taste for the odors of handkerchiefs, shoes, underclothing, and other articles of raiment worn by the opposite sex. binet maintains that these articles play the part of the "fetich" in early theology. it is said that the favors given by the ladies to the knights in the middle ages were not only tokens of remembrance and appreciation, but sexual excitants as well. in his remarkable "osphresiologie," cloquet calls attention to the sexual pleasure excited by the odors of flowers, and tells how richelieu excited his sexual functions by living in an atmosphere loaded with these perfumes. in the orient the harems are perfumed with intense extracts and flowers, in accordance with the strong belief in the aphrodisiac effect of odors. krafft-ebing quotes several interesting cases in which the connection between the olfactory and sexual functions is strikingly verified. "the case of henry iii shows that contact with a person's perspiration may be the exciting cause of passionate love. at the betrothal feast of the king of navarre and margaret of valois he accidentally dried his face with a garment of maria of cleves which was moist with her perspiration. although she was the bride of the prince of conde, henry immediately conceived such a passion for her that he could not resist it, and, as history shows, made her very unhappy. an analogous instance is related of henry iv, whose passion for the beautiful gabrielle is said to have originated at the instant when, at a ball, he wiped his brow with her handkerchief." krafft-ebing also says that "one learns from reading the work of ploss ('das weib') that attempts to attract a person of the opposite sex by means of the perspiration may be discerned in many forms in popular psychology. in reference to this a custom is remarkable which holds among the natives of the philippine islands when they become engaged. when it becomes necessary for the engaged pair to separate they exchange articles of wearing apparel, by means of which each becomes assured of faithfulness. these objects are carefully preserved, covered with kisses, and smelled." the love of perfumes by libertines and prostitutes, as well as sensual women of the higher classes, is quite marked. heschl reported a case of a man of forty-five in whom absence of the olfactory sense was associated with imperfect development of the genitals; it is also well known that olfactory hallucinations are frequently associated with psychoses of an erotic type. garnier has recently collected a number of observations of fetichism, in which he mentions individuals who have taken sexual satisfaction from the odors of shoes, night-dresses, bonnets, drawers, menstrual napkins, and other objects of the female toilet. he also mentions creatures who have gloated over the odors of the blood and excretions from the bodies of women, and gives instances of fetichism of persons who have been arrested in the streets of paris for clipping the long hair from young girls. there are also on record instances of homosexual fetichism, a type of disgusting inversion of the sexual instinct, which, however, it is not in the province of this work to discuss. among animals the influence of the olfactory perceptions on the sexual sense is unmistakable. according to krafft ebing, althaus shows that animals of opposite sexes are drawn to each other by means of olfactory perceptions, and that almost all animals at the time of rutting emit a very strong odor from their genitals. it is said that the dog is attracted in this way to the bitch several miles away. an experiment by schiff is confirmatory. he extirpated the olfactory nerves of puppies, and found that as they grew the male was unable to distinguish the female. certain animals, such as the musk-ox, civet-cat, and beaver, possess glands on their sexual organs that secrete materials having a very strong odor. musk, a substance possessing the most penetrating odor and used in therapeutics, is obtained from the preputial follicles of the musk-deer of thibet; and castor, a substance less penetrating, is obtained from the preputial sacs of the beaver. virgin moths (bombyx) carried in boxes in the pockets of entomologists will on wide commons cause the appearance of males of the same species. bulimia is excessive morbid hunger, also called canine appetite. while sometimes present in healthy people, it is most often seen in idiots and the insane, and is a symptom of diabetes mellitus. mortimer mentions a boy of twelve who, while laboring under this affliction, in six days devoured food to the extent of pounds and two ounces. he constantly vomited, but his craving for food was so insatiable that if not satisfied he would devour the flesh off his own bones. martyn, professor of botany at cambridge in the early part of the last century, tells of a boy ten years old whose appetite was enormous. he consumed in one week pounds of food and drink. his urine and stools were voided in normal quantities, the excess being vomited. a pig was fed on what he vomited, and was sold in the market. the boy continued in this condition for a year, and at last reports was fast failing. burroughs mentions a laborer at stanton, near bury, who ate an ordinary leg of veal at a meal, and fed at this extravagant rate for many days together. he would eat thistles and other similar herbs greedily. at times he would void worms as large as the shank of a clay-pipe, and then for a short period the bulimia would disappear. johnston mentions a case of bulimia in a man who devoured large quantities of raw flesh. there is an instance on record of a case of canine appetite in which nearly pounds of solid and fluid elements were taken into the body in six days and again ejected. a recovery was effected by giving very concentrated food, frequently repeated in small quantities. mason mentions a woman in st. bartholomew's hospital in london in the early part of this century who was wretched unless she was always eating. each day she consumed three quartern-loaves, three pounds of beef-steak, in addition to large quantities of vegetables, meal, etc., and water. smith describes a boy of fourteen who ate continuously fifteen hours out of the twenty-four, and who had eight bowel movements each day. one year previous his weight was pounds, but when last seen he weighed pounds and was increasing a half pound daily. despite his continuous eating, this boy constantly complained of hunger. polydipsia is an abnormal thirst; it may be seen in persons otherwise normal, or it may be associated with diseases--such as diabetes mellitus or diabetes insipidus. mackenzie quotes a case from trousseau, in which an individual afflicted with diabetes insipidus passed liters of urine daily and drank enormous quantities of water. this patient subjected himself to severe regimen for eight months,--although one day, in his agonies, he seized the chamber-pot and drank its contents at once. mackenzie also mentions an infant of three who had polydipsia from birth and drank daily nearly two pailfuls of water. at the age of twenty-two she married a cobbler, unaware of her propensity, who found that his earnings did not suffice to keep her in water alone, and he was compelled to melt ice and snow for her. she drank four pailfuls a day, the price being sous; water in the community was scarce and had to be bought. this woman bore children. at the age of forty she appeared before a scientific commission and drank in their presence quarts of water in ten hours and passed ten quarts of almost colorless urine. dickinson mentions that he has had patients in his own practice who drank their own urine. mackenzie also quotes trousseau's history of a man who drank a liter of strong french brandy in two hours, and habitually drank the same quantity daily. he stated that he was free from the effects of alcohol; on several occasions on a wager he took liters of wine, gaining his wager without visibly affecting his nervous system. there is an instance of a man of fifty-eight who could not live through the night without a pail of water, although his health was otherwise good. atkinson in reported a young man who in childhood was a dirt-eater, though at that time complaining of nothing but excessive thirst. he was active, industrious, enjoyed good health, and was not addicted to alcoholics. his daily ration of water was from eight to twelve gallons. he always placed a tub of water by his bed at night, but this sometimes proved insufficient. he had frequently driven hogs from mudholes to slake his thirst with the water. he married in and moved into western tennessee, and in he was still drinking the accustomed amount; and at this time he had grown-up children. ware mentions a young man of twenty who drank six gallons of water daily. he was tormented with thirst, and if he abstained he became weak, sick, and dizzy. throughout a long life he continued his habit, sometimes drinking a gallon at one draught; he never used spirits. there are three cases of polydipsia reported from london in . field describes a boy with bilious remittent fever who would drink until his stomach was completely distended and then call for more. emesis was followed by cries for more water. becoming frantic, he would jump from his bed and struggle for the water bucket; failing in this, he ran to the kitchen and drank soapsuds, dish-water, and any other liquid he could find. he had swallowed a mass of mackerel which he had not properly masticated, a fact proved later by ejection of the whole mass. there is a case on record a in which there was intolerable thirst after retiring, lasting for a year. there was apparently no polydipsia during the daytime. the amount of water drunk by glass-blowers in a day is almost incredible. mcelroy has made observations in the glass-factories in his neighborhood, and estimates that in the nine working hours of each day a glass-blower drinks from to pints of water. in addition to this many are addicted to the use of beer and spirits after working hours and at lunch-time. the excreta and urine never seem to be perceptibly increased. when not working these men do not drink more than three or four pints of water. occasionally a man becomes what is termed "blown-up with water;" that is, the perspiration ceases, the man becomes utterly helpless, has to be carried out, and is disabled until the sweating process is restored by vigorously applied friction. there is little deleterious change noticed in these men; in fact, they are rarely invalids. hydroadipsia is a lack of thirst or absence of the normal desire for water. in some of these cases there is a central lesion which accounts for the symptoms. mcelroy, among other cases, speaks of one in a patient who was continually dull and listless, eating little, and complaining of much pain after the least food. this, too, will be mentioned under abstinence. perverted appetites are of great variety and present many interesting as well as disgusting examples of anomalies. in some cases the tastes of people differ so that an article considered by one race as disgusting would be held as a delicacy by another class. the ancients used asafetida as a seasoning, and what we have called "stercus diaboli," the asiatics have named the "food of the gods." the inhabitants of greenland drink the oil of the whale with as much avidity as we would a delicate wine, and they eat blubber the mere smell of which nauseates an european. in some nations of the lower grade, insects, worms, serpents, etc., are considered edible. the inhabitants of the interior of africa are said to relish the flesh of serpents and eat grubs and worms. the very earliest accounts of the indians of florida and texas show that "for food, they dug roots, and that they ate spiders, ants' eggs, worms, lizards, salamanders, snakes, earth, wood, the dung of deer, and many other things." gomara, in his "historia de les indias," says this loathsome diet was particular to one tribe, the yagusces of florida. it is said that a russian peasant prefers a rotten egg to a fresh one; and there are persons who prefer game partly spoiled. bourke recalls that the drinking of human urine has often been a religious rite, and describes the urine-dance of the zunis of new mexico, in which the participants drink freely of their urine; he draws an analogy to the feast of the fools, a religious custom of pagan origin which did not disappear in europe until the time of the reformation. it is still a practice in some parts of the united states to give children fresh urine for certain diseases. it is said that the ordure of the grand lama of thibet was at one time so venerated that it was collected and worn as amulets. the disgusting habit of eating human excrement is mentioned by schurig, who gives numerous examples in epileptics, maniacs, chlorotic young women, pregnant women, children who have soiled their beds and, dreading detection, have swallowed their ejecta, and finally among men and women with abnormal appetites. the indians of north america consider a broth made from the dung of the hare and caribou a dainty dish, and according to abbe domenech, as a means of imparting a flavor, the bands near lake superior mix their rice with the excrement of rabbits. de bry mentions that the negroes of guinea ate filthy, stinking elephant-meat and buffalo-flesh infested with thousands of maggots, and says that they ravenously devoured dogs' guts raw. spencer, in his "descriptive sociology," describes a "snake savage" of australia who devoured the contents of entrails of an animal. some authors have said that within the last century the hottentots devoured the flesh and the entrails of wild beasts, uncleansed of their filth and excrement, and whether sound or rotten. in a personal letter to captain bourke, the reverend j. owen dorsey reports that while among the ponkas he saw a woman and child devour the entrails of a beef with their contents. bourke also cites instances in which human ordure was eaten by east indian fanatics. numerous authorities are quoted by bourke to prove the alleged use of ordure in food by the ancient israelites. pages of such reference are to be found in the works on scatology, and for further reference the reader is referred to books on this subject, of which prominent in english literature is that of bourke. probably the most revolting of all the perverted tastes is that for human flesh. this is called anthropophagy or cannibalism, and is a time-honored custom among some of the tribes of africa. this custom is often practised more in the spirit of vengeance than of real desire for food. prisoners of war were killed and eaten, sometimes cooked, and among some tribes raw. in their religious frenzy the aztecs ate the remains of the human beings who were sacrificed to their idols. at other times cannibalism has been a necessity. in a famine in egypt, as pictured by the arab abdullatif, the putrefying debris of animals, as well as their excrement, was used as food, and finally the human dead were used; then infants were killed and devoured, so great was the distress. in many sieges, shipwrecks, etc., cannibalism has been practiced as a last resort for sustaining life. when supplies have given out several arctic explorers have had to resort to eating the bodies of their comrades. in the famous wiertz museum in brussels is a painting by this eccentric artist in which he has graphically portrayed a woman driven to insanity by hunger, who has actually destroyed her child with a view to cannibalism. at the siege of rochelle it is related that, urged by starvation, a father and mother dug up the scarcely cold body of their daughter and ate it. at the siege of paris by henry iv the cemeteries furnished food for the starving. one mother in imitation of what occurred at the siege of jerusalem roasted the limbs of her dead child and died of grief under this revolting nourishment. st. jerome states that he saw scotchmen in the roman armies in gaul whose regular diet was human flesh, and who had "double teeth all around." cannibalism, according to a prominent new york journal, has been recently made a special study by the bureau of ethnology at washington, d.c. data on the subject have been gathered from all parts of the world, which are particularly interesting in view of discoveries pointing to the conclusion that this horrible practice is far more widespread than was imagined. stanley claims that , , cannibals dwell in the basin of the congo to-day--people who relish human flesh above all other meat. perah, the most peculiar form of cannibalism, is found in certain mountainous districts of northeast burmah, where there are tribes that follow a life in all important respects like that of wild beasts. these people eat the congealed blood of their enemies. the blood is poured into bamboo reeds, and in the course of time, being corked up, it hardens. the filled reeds are hung under the roofs of the huts, and when a person desires to treat his friends very hospitably the reeds are broken and the contents devoured. "the black natives of australia are all professed cannibals. dr. carl lumholtz, a norwegian scientist, spent many months in studying them in the wilds of the interior. he was alone among these savages, who are extremely treacherous. wearing no clothing whatever, and living in nearly every respect as monkeys do, they know no such thing as gratitude, and have no feeling that can be properly termed human. only fear of the traveler's weapons prevented them from slaying him, and more than once he had a narrow escape. one of the first of them whom he employed looked more like a brute than a man. 'when he talked,' says the doctor, 'he rubbed his belly with complacency, as if the sight of me made his mouth water.' this individual was regarded with much respect by his fellows because of his success in procuring human flesh to eat. these aborigines say that the white man's flesh is salt and occasions nausea. a chinaman they consider as good for eating as a black man, his food being chiefly vegetable. "the most horrible development of cannibalism among the australian blacks is the eating of defunct relatives. when a person dies there follows an elaborate ceremony, which terminates with the lowering of the corpse into the grave. in the grave is a man not related to the deceased, who proceeds to cut off the fat adhering to the muscles of the face, thighs, arms, and stomach, and passes it around to be swallowed by some of the near relatives. all those who have eaten of the cadaver have a black ring of charcoal powder and fat drawn around the mouth. the order in which the mourners partake of their dead relatives is duly prescribed. the mother eats of her children and the children of their mother. a man eats of his sister's husband and of his brother's wife. mothers' brothers, mothers' sisters, sisters' children, mothers' parents, and daughters' children are also eaten by those to whom the deceased person stands in such relation. but the father does not eat of his children, nor the children of their sire. "the new zealanders, up to very recent times, were probably the most anthropophagous race that ever existed. as many as prisoners have been slaughtered by them at one time after a successful battle, the bodies being baked in ovens underground. if the individual consumed had been a redoubtable enemy they dried his head as a trophy and made flutes of his thigh bones. "among the monbuttos of africa human fat is commonly employed for a variety of purposes. the explorer schweinfurth speaks of writing out in the evenings his memoranda respecting these people by the light of a little oil-lamp contrived by himself, which was supplied with some questionable-looking grease furnished by the natives. the smell of this grease, he says, could not fail to arouse one's worst suspicions against the negroes. according to his account the monbuttos are the most confirmed cannibals in africa. surrounded as they are by a number of peoples who are blacker than themselves, and who, being inferior to them in culture, are held in contempt, they carry on expeditions of war and plunder which result in the acquisition of a booty especially coveted by them--namely, human flesh. the bodies of all foes who fall in battle are distributed on the field among the victors, and are prepared by drying for transportation. the savages drive their prisoners before them, and these are reserved for killing at a later time. during schweinfurth's residence at the court of munza it was generally understood that nearly every day a little child was sacrificed to supply a meal for the ogre potentate. for centuries past the slave trade in the congo basin has been conducted largely for the purpose of furnishing human flesh to consumers. slaves are sold and bought in great numbers for market, and are fattened for slaughter. "the mundurucus of the upper amazon, who are exceedingly ferocious, have been accused of cannibalism. it is they who preserve human heads in such a remarkable way. when one of their warriors has killed an enemy he cuts off the head with his bamboo knife, removes the brain, soaks the head in a vegetable oil, takes out bones of the skull, and dries the remaining parts by putting hot pebbles inside of it. at the same time care is taken to preserve all the features and the hair intact. by repeating the process with the hot pebbles many times the head finally becomes shrunken to that of a small doll, though still retaining its human aspect, so that the effect produced is very weird and uncanny. lastly, the head is decorated with brilliant feathers, and the lips are fastened together with a string, by which the head is suspended from the rafters of the council-house." ancient customs.--according to herodotus the ancient lydians and medes, and according to plato the islanders in the atlantic, cemented friendship by drinking human blood. tacitus speaks of asian princes swearing allegiance with their own blood, which they drank. juvenal says that the scythians drank the blood of their enemies to quench their thirst. occasionally a religious ceremony has given sanction to cannibalism. it is said that in the island of chios there was a rite by way of sacrifice to dionysius in which a man was torn limb from limb, and faber tells us that the cretans had an annual festival in which they tore a living bull with their teeth. spencer quotes that among the bacchic orgies of many of the tribes of north america, at the inauguration of one of the clallum chiefs on the northwest coast of british america, the chief seized a small dog and began to devour it alive, and also bit the shoulders of bystanders. in speaking of these ceremonies, boas, quoted by bourke, says that members of the tribes practicing hamatsa ceremonies show remarkable scars produced by biting, and at certain festivals ritualistic cannibalism is practiced, it being the duty of the hamatsa to bite portions of flesh out of the arms, legs, or breast of a man. another cause of cannibalism, and the one which deserves discussion here, is genuine perversion or depravity of the appetite for human flesh among civilized persons,--the desire sometimes being so strong as to lead to actual murder. several examples of this anomaly are on record. gruner of jena speaks of a man by the name of goldschmidt, in the environs of weimar, who developed a depraved appetite for human flesh. he was married at twenty-seven, and for twenty-eight years exercised his calling as a cow-herd. nothing extraordinary was noticed in him, except his rudeness of manner and his choleric and gross disposition. in , at the age of fifty-five, he met a young traveler in the woods, and accused him of frightening his cows; a discussion arose, and subsequently a quarrel, in which goldschmidt killed his antagonist by a blow with a stick which he used. to avoid detection he dragged the body to the bushes, cut it up, and took it home in sections. he then washed, boiled, and ate each piece. subsequently, he developed a further taste for human flesh, and was finally detected in eating a child which he had enticed into his house and killed. he acknowledged his appetite before his trial. hector boetius says that a scotch brigand and his wife and children were condemned to death on proof that they killed and ate their prisoners. the extreme youth of one of the girls excused her from capital punishment; but at twelve years she was found guilty of the same crime as her father and suffered capital punishment. this child had been brought up in good surroundings, yet her inherited appetite developed. gall tells of an individual who, instigated by an irresistible desire to eat human flesh, assassinated many persons; and his daughter, though educated away from him, yielded to the same graving. at bicetre there was an individual who had a horribly depraved appetite for decaying human flesh. he would haunt the graveyards and eat the putrefying remains of the recently buried, preferring the intestines. having regaled himself in a midnight prowl, he would fill his pockets for future use. when interrogated on the subject of his depravity he said it had existed since childhood. he acknowledged the greatest desire to devour children he would meet playing; but he did not possess the courage to kill them. prochaska quotes the case of a woman of milan who attracted children to her home in order that she might slay, salt, and eat them. about , there is the record of a boy named jean granier, who had repeatedly killed and devoured several young children before he was discovered. rodericus a castro tells of a pregnant woman who so strongly desired to eat the shoulder of a baker that she killed him, salted his body, and devoured it at intervals. there is a record of a woman who in july, , was discovered in cooking an amputated leg of her little child. gorget in reported the celebrated case of leger the vine dresser, who at the age of twenty-four wandered about a forest for eight days during an attack of depression. coming across a girl of twelve, he violated her, and then mutilated her genitals, and tore out her heart, eating of it, and drinking the blood. he finally confessed his crime with calm indifference. after leger's execution esquirol found morbid adhesions between the brain and the cerebral membranes. mascha relates a similar instance in a man of fifty-five who violated and killed a young girl, eating of her genitals and mammae. at the trial he begged for execution, saying that the inner impulse that led him to his crime constantly persecuted him. a modern example of lust-murder and anthropophagy is that of menesclou, who was examined by brouardel, motet, and others, and declared to be mentally sound; he was convicted. this miscreant was arrested with the forearm of a missing child in his pocket, and in his stove were found the head and entrails in a half-burnt condition. parts of the body were found in the water-closet, but the genitals were missing; he was executed, although he made no confession, saying the deed was an accident. morbid changes were found in his brain. krafft-ebing cites the case of alton, a clerk in england, who lured a child into a thicket, and after a time returned to his office, where he made an entry in his note-book: "killed to-day a young girl; it was fine and hot." the child was missed, searched for, and found cut into pieces. many parts, and among them the genitals, could not be found. alton did not show the slightest trace of emotion, and gave no explanation of the motive or circumstances of his horrible deed; he was executed. d'amador tells of persons who went into slaughter-houses and waste-places to dispute with wolves for the most revolting carrion. it is also mentioned that patients in hospitals have been detected in drinking the blood of patients after venesections, and in other instances frequenting dead-houses and sucking the blood of the recently deceased. du saulle quotes the case of a chlorotic girl of fourteen who eagerly drank human blood. she preferred that flowing fresh from a recent wound. further examples of depraved appetites.--bijoux speaks of a porter or garcon at the jardin des plantes in paris who was a prodigious glutton. he had eaten the body of a lion that had died of disease at the menagerie. he ate with avidity the most disgusting things to satiate his depraved appetite. he showed further signs of a perverted mind by classifying the animals of the menagerie according to the form of their excrement, of which he had a collection. he died of indigestion following a meal of eight pounds of hot bread. percy saw the famous tarrare, who died at versailles, at about twenty-six years of age. at seventeen he weighed pounds. he ate a quarter of beef in twenty-four hours. he was fond of the most revolting things. he particularly relished the flesh of serpents and would quickly devour the largest. in the presence of lorenze he seized a live cat with his teeth, eventrated it, sucked its blood, and ate it, leaving the bare skeleton only. in about thirty minutes he rejected the hairs in the manner of birds of prey and carnivorous animals. he also ate dogs in the same manner. on one occasion it was said that he swallowed a living eel without chewing it; but he had first bitten off its head. he ate almost instantly a dinner that had been prepared for vigorous workmen and drank the accompanying water and took their aggregate allowance of salt at the same time. after this meal his abdomen was so swollen that it resembled a balloon. he was seen by courville, a surgeon-major in a military hospital, where he had swallowed a wooden box wrapped in plain white paper. this he passed the next day with the paper intact. the general-in-chief had seen him devour thirty pounds of raw liver and lungs. nothing seemed to diminish his appetite. he waited around butcher-shops to eat what was discarded for the dogs. he drank the bleedings of the hospital and ate the dead from the dead-houses. he was suspected of eating a child of fourteen months, but no proof could be produced of this. he was of middle height and was always heated and sweating. he died of a purulent diarrhea, all his intestines and peritoneum being in a suppurating condition. fulton mentions a girl of six who exhibited a marked taste for feeding on slugs, beetles, cockroaches, spiders, and repulsive insects. this child had been carefully brought up and was one of children, none of whom displayed any similar depravity of appetite. the child was of good disposition and slightly below the normal mental standard for her age. at the age of fourteen her appetite became normal. in the older writings many curious instances of abnormal appetite are seen. borellus speaks of individuals swallowing stones, horns, serpents, and toads. plater mentions snail-eating and eel-eating, two customs still extant. rhodius is accredited with seeing persons who swallowed spiders and scorpions. jonston says that avicenna, rufus, and gentilis relate instances of young girls who acquired a taste for poisonous animals and substances, who could ingest them with impunity. colonia agrippina was supposed to have eaten spiders with impunity. van woensel is said to have seen persons who devoured live eels. the habit of dirt eating or clay-eating, called pica, is well authenticated in many countries. the ephemerides contains mention of it; hunter speaks of the blacks who eat potters' clay; bartholinus describes dirt-eating as does also a castro. properly speaking, dirt-eating should be called geophagism; it is common in the antilles and south america, among the low classes, and is seen in the negroes and poorest classes of some portions of the southern united states. it has also been reported from java, china, japan, and is said to have been seen in spain and portugal. peat-eating or bog-eating is still seen in some parts of ireland. there were a number of people in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries who had formed the habit of eating small pebbles after each meal. they formed the habit from seeing birds swallowing gravel after eating. a number of such cases are on record. there is on record the account of a man living in wurtemberg who with much voracity had eaten a suckling pig, and sometimes devoured an entire sheep. he swallowed dirt, clay, pebbles, and glass, and was addicted to intoxication by brandy. he lived sixty years in this manner and then he became abstemious; he died at seventy-nine. his omentum was very lean, but the liver covered all his abdominal viscera. his stomach was very large and thick, but the intestines were very narrow. ely had a patient who was addicted to chalk-eating; this ha said invariably relieved his gastric irritation. in the twenty-five years of the habit he had used over / ton of chalk; but notwithstanding this he always enjoyed good health. the ephemerides contains a similar instance, and verzascha mentions a lime-eater. adams mentions a child of three who had an instinctive desire to eat mortar. this baby was rickety and had carious teeth. it would pick its preferred diet out of the wall, and if prevented would cry loudly. when deprived of the mortar it would vomit its food until this substance was given to it again. at the time of report part of the routine duties of the sisters of this boy was to supply him with mortar containing a little sand. lime-water was substituted, but he insisted so vigorously on the solid form of food that it had to be replaced in his diet. he suffered from small-pox; on waking up in the night with a fever, he always cried for a piece of mortar. the quantity consumed in twenty-four hours was about / teacupful. the child had never been weaned. arsenic eaters.--it has been frequently stated that the peasants of styria are in the habit of taking from two to five grains of arsenious acid daily for the purpose of improving the health, avoiding infection, and raising the whole tone of the body. it is a well-substantiated fact that the quantities taken habitually are quite sufficient to produce immediate death ordinarily. but the same might be easily said of those addicted to opium and chloral, a subject that will be considered later. perverted appetites during pregnancy have been discussed on pages and . glass-eaters, penknife-swallowers, and sword-swallowers, being exhibitionists and jugglers, and not individuals with perverted appetites, will be considered in chapter xii. fasting.--the length of time which a person can live with complete abstinence from food is quite variable. hippocrates admits the possibility of fasting more than six days without a fatal issue; but pliny and others allow a much longer time, and both the ancient and modern literature of medicine are replete with examples of abstinence to almost incredible lengths of time. formerly, and particularly in the middle ages when religious frenzy was at its highest pitch, prolonged abstinence was prompted by a desire to do penance and to gain the approbation of heaven. in many religions fasting has become a part of worship or religions ceremony, and from the earliest times certain sects have carried this custom to extremes. it is well known that some of the priests and anchorites of the east now subsist on the minimum amount of food, and from the earliest times before the advent of christianity we find instances of prolonged fasting associated with religious worship. the assyrians, the hebrews, the egyptians, and other eastern nations, and also the greeks and romans, as well as feasting days, had their times of fasting, and some of these were quite prolonged. at the present day religious fervor accounts for but few of our remarkable instances of abstinence, most of them being due to some form of nervous disorder, varying from hysteria and melancholia to absolute insanity. the ability seen in the middle ages to live on the holy sacrament and to resist starvation may possibly have its analogy in some of the fasting girls of the present day. in the older times these persons were said to have been nourished by angels or devils; but according to hammond many cases both of diabolical abstinence from food and of holy fasting exhibited manifest signs of hysteric symptoms. hammond, in his exhaustive treatise on the subject of "fasting girls," also remarks that some of the chronicles detail the exact symptoms of hysteria and without hesitation ascribe them to a devilish agency. for instance, he speaks of a young girl in the valley of calepino who had all her limbs twisted and contracted and had a sensation in her esophagus as if a ball was sometimes rising in her throat or falling into the stomach--a rather lay description of the characteristic hysteric "lump in the throat," a frequent sign of nervous abstinence. abstinence, or rather anorexia, is naturally associated with numerous diseases, particularly of the febrile type; but in all of these the patient is maintained by the use of nutrient enemata or by other means, and the abstinence is never complete. a peculiar type of anorexia is that striking and remarkable digestive disturbance of hysteria which sir william gull has called anorexia nervosa. in this malady there is such annihilation of the appetite that in some cases it seems impossible ever to eat again. out of it grows an antagonism to food which results at last, and in its worst forms, in spasm on the approach of food, and this in its turn gives rise to some of those remarkable cases of survival for long periods without food. as this goes on there may be an extreme degree of muscular restlessness, so that the patients wander about until exhausted. according to osler, who reports a fatal case in a girl who, at her death, only weighed pounds, nothing more pitiable is to be seen in medical practice than an advanced case of this malady. the emaciation and exhaustion are extreme, and the patient is as miserable as one with carcinoma of the esophagus, food either not being taken at all or only upon urgent compulsion. gull mentions a girl of fourteen, of healthy, plump appearance, who in the beginning of february, , without apparent cause evinced a great repugnance to food and soon afterward declined to take anything but a half cup of tea or coffee. gull saw her in april, when she was much emaciated; she persisted in walking through the streets, where she was the object of remark of passers-by. at this time her height was five feet four inches, her weight pounds, her temperature degrees f., her pulse , and her respiration from to . she had a persistent wish to be moving all the time, despite her emaciation and the exhaustion of the nutritive functions. there is another class of abstainers from food exemplified in the exhibitionists who either for notoriety or for wages demonstrate their ability to forego eating, and sometimes drinking, for long periods. some have been clever frauds, who by means of artifices have carried on skilful deceptions; others have been really interesting physiologic anomalies. older instances.--democritus in b.c. is said to have lived forty days by simply smelling honey and hot bread. hippocrates remarks that most of those who endeavored to abstain five days died within that period, and even if they were prevailed upon to eat and drink before the termination of their fast they still perished. there is a possibility that some of these cases of hippocrates were instances of pyloric carcinoma or of stenosis of the pylorus. in the older writings there are instances reported in which the period of abstinence has varied from a short time to endurance beyond the bounds of credulity. hufeland mentions total abstinence from food for seventeen days, and there is a contemporary case of abstinence for forty days in a maniac who subsisted solely on water and tobacco. bolsot speaks of abstinence for fourteen months, and consbruch mentions a girl who fasted eighteen months. muller mentions an old man of forty-five who lived six weeks on cold water. there is an instance of a person living in a cave twenty-four days without food or drink, and another of a man who survived five weeks' burial under ruins. ramazzini speaks of fasting sixty-six days; willian, sixty days (resulting in death); von wocher, thirty-seven days (associated with tetanus); lantana, sixty days; hobbes, forty days; marcardier, six months; cruikshank, two months; the ephemerides, thirteen months; gerard, sixty-nine days (resulting in death); and in there was recorded an instance of abstinence lasting twenty-five months. desbarreaux-bernard says that guillaume granie died in the prison of toulouse in , after a voluntary suicidal abstinence of sixty-three days. haller cites a number of examples of long abstinence, but most extraordinary was that of a girl of confolens, described by citois of poitiers, who published a history of the case in the beginning of the seventeenth century. this girl is said to have passed three entire years, from eleven to fourteen, without taking any kind of aliment. in the "harleian miscellanies" is a copy of a paper humbly offered to the royal society by john reynolds, containing a discourse upon prodigious abstinence, occasioned by the twelve months' fasting of a woman named martha taylor, a damsel of derbyshire. plot gives a great variety of curious anecdotes of prolonged abstinence. ames refers to "the true and admirable history of the maiden of confolens," mentioned by haller. in the annual register, vol. i., is an account of three persons who were buried five weeks in the snow; and in the same journal, in , is the history of a girl who is said to have subsisted nearly four years on water. in four miners were buried in a coal-pit in horstel, a half mile from liege, belgium, and lived twenty-four days without food, eventually making good recoveries. an analysis of the water used during their confinement showed an almost total absence of organic matter and only a slight residue of calcium salts. joanna crippen lay six days in the snow without nutriment, being overcome by the cold while on the way to her house; she recovered despite her exposure. somis, physician to the king of sardinia, gives an account of three women of piedmont, italy, who were saved from the ruins of a stable where they had been buried by an avalanche of snow, march , . thirty-seven days before. thirty houses and inhabitants were buried in this catastrophe, and these three women, together with a child of two, were sheltered in a stable over which the snow lodged feet deep. they were in a manger inches broad and upheld by a strong arch. their enforced position was with their backs to the wall and their knees to their faces. one woman had chestnuts, and, fortunately, there were two goats near by, and within reach some hay, sufficient to feed them for a short time. by milking one of the goats which had a kid, they obtained about two pints daily, upon which they subsisted for a time. they quenched their thirst with melted snow liquefied by the heat of their hands. their sufferings were greatly increased by the filth, extreme cold, and their uncomfortable positions; their clothes had rotted. when they were taken out their eyes were unable to endure the light and their stomachs at first rejected all food. while returning from cambridge, february , , elizabeth woodcock dismounted from her horse, which ran away, leaving her in a violent snowstorm. she was soon overwhelmed by an enormous drift six feet high. the sensation of hunger ceased after the first day and that of thirst predominated, which she quenched by sucking snow. she was discovered on the th of february, and although suffering from extensive gangrene of the toes, she recovered. hamilton says that at a barracks near oppido, celebrated for its earthquakes, there were rescued two girls, one sixteen and the other eleven; the former had remained under the ruins without food for eleven days. this poor creature had counted the days by a light coming through a small opening. the other girl remained six days under the ruin in a confined and distressing posture, her hands pressing her cheek until they had almost made a hole in it. two persons were buried under earthquake ruins at messina for twenty-three and twenty-two days each. thomas creaser gives the history of joseph lockier of bath, who, while going through a woods between and p.m., on the th of august, was struck insensible by a violent thunderbolt. his senses gradually returned and he felt excessively cold. his clothes were wet, and his feet so swollen that the power of the lower extremities was totally gone and that of the arms was much impaired. for a long time he was unable to articulate or to summon assistance. early in september he heard some persons in the wood and, having managed to summon them in a feeble voice, told them his story. they declared him to be an impostor and left him. on the evening of the same day his late master came to his assistance and removed him to swan inn. he affirmed that during his exposure in the woods he had nothing to eat; though distressing at first, hunger soon subsided and yielded to thirst, which he appeased by chewing grass having beads of water thereon. he slept during the warmth of the day, but the cold kept him awake at night. during his sleep he dreamt of eating and drinking. on november , , several surgeons of bath made an affidavit, in which they stated that this man was admitted to the bath city dispensary on september th, almost a month after his reputed stroke, in an extremely emaciated condition, with his legs and thighs shriveled as well as motionless. there were several livid spots on his legs and one toe was gangrenous. after some time they amputated the toe. the power in the lower extremities soon returned. in relating his travels in the levant, hasselquist mentions abyssinians who became destitute of provisions while en route to cairo, and who lived two months on gum arabic alone, arriving at their destination without any unusual sickness or mortality. dr. franklin lived on bread and water for a fortnight, at the rate of ten pounds per week, and maintained himself stout and healthy. sir john pringle knew a lady of ninety who lived on pure fat meat. glower of chelmsford had a patient who lived ten years on a pint of tea daily, only now or then chewing a half dozen raisins or almonds, but not swallowing them. once in long intervals she took a little bread. brassavolus describes a younger daughter of frederick king of naples who lived entirely without meat, and could not endure even the taste of it, as often as she put any in her mouth she fell fainting. the monks of monte santo (mount athos) never touched animal food, but lived on vegetables, olives, end cheese. in one of them at the age of one hundred and twenty was healthy. sometimes in the older writings we find records of incredible abstinence. jonston speaks of a man in who, after an unfortunate matrimonial experience, lived alone for fifteen years, taking neither food nor drink. petrus aponensis cites the instance of a girl fasting for eight years. according to jonston, hermolus lived forty years on air alone. this same author has also collected cases of abstinence lasting eleven, twenty-two, and thirty years and cites aristotle as an authority in substantiating his instances of fasting girls. wadd, the celebrated authority on corpulence, quotes pennant in mentioning a woman in rosshire who lived one and three-quarters years without meat or drink. granger had under observation a woman by the name of ann moore, fifty-eight years of age, who fasted for two years. fabricius hildanus relates of apollonia schreiera that she lived three years without meat or drink. he also tells of eva flegen, who began to fast in , and from that time on for sixteen years, lived without meat or drink. according to the rev. thos. steill, janet young fasted sixteen years and partially prolonged her abstinence for fifty years. the edinburgh medical and surgical journal, which contains a mention of the foregoing case, also describes the case of janet macleod, who fasted for four years, showing no signs of emaciation. benjamin rush speaks of a case mentioned in a letter to st. george tucker, from j. a. stuart, of a man who, after receiving no benefit from a year's treatment for hemiplegia, resolved to starve himself to death. he totally abstained from food for sixty days, living on water and chewing apples, but spitting out the pulp; at the expiration of this time he died. eccles relates the history of a beautiful young woman of sixteen, who upon the death of a most indulgent father refused food for thirty-four days, and soon afterward for fifty-four days, losing all her senses but that of touch. there is an account of a french adventurer, the chevalier de saint-lubin, who had a loathing for food and abstained from every kind of meat and drink for fifty-eight days. saint-sauver, at that time lieutenant of the bastille, put a close watch on this man and certified to the verity of the fast. the european magazine in contained an account of the calabria earthquake, at which time a girl of eighteen was buried under ruins for six days. the edge of a barrel fell on her ankle and partly separated it, the dust and mortar effectually stopping the hemorrhage. the foot dropped off and the wound healed without medical assistance, the girl making a complete recovery. there is an account taken from a document in the vatican of a man living in , in the reign of pope clement v, who fasted for two years. mcnaughton mentions rubin kelsey, a medical student afflicted with melancholia, who voluntarily fasted for fifty-three days, drinking copiously and greedily of water. for the first six weeks he walked about, and was strong to the day of his death. hammond has proved many of the reports of "fasting girls" to have been untrustworthy. the case of miss faucher of brooklyn, who was supposed to have taken no food for fourteen years, was fraudulent. he says that ann moore was fed by her daughter in several ways; when washing her mother's face she used towels wet with gravy, milk, or strong arrow-root meal. she also conveyed food to her mother by means of kisses. one of the "fasting girls," margaret weiss, although only ten years old, had such powers of deception that after being watched by the priest of the parish, dr. bucoldianus, she was considered free from juggling, and, to everybody's astonishment, she grew, walked, and talked like other children of her age, still maintaining that she used neither food nor drink. in several other cases reported all attempts to discover imposture failed. as we approach more modern times the detection is more frequent. sarah jacobs, the welsh fasting girl who attained such celebrity among the laity, was taken to guy's hospital on december , , and after being watched by eight experienced nurses for eight days she died of starvation. a postmortem examination of anna garbero of racconis, in piedmont, who died on may , , after having endured a supposed fast of two years, eight months, and eleven days, revealed remarkable intestinal changes. the serous membranes were all callous and thickened, and the canal of the sigmoid flexure was totally obliterated. the mucous membranes were all soft and friable, and presented the appearance of incipient gangrene. modern cases.--turning now to modern literature, we have cases of marvelous abstinence well substantiated by authoritative evidence. dickson describes a man of sixty-two, suffering from monomania, who refused food for four months, but made a successful recovery. richardson mentions a case, happening in , of a man of thirty-three who voluntarily fasted for fifty-five days. his reason for fasting, which it was impossible to combat, was that he had no gastric juice and that it was utterly useless for him to take any nutrition, as he had no means of digesting it. he lived on water until the day of his death. richardson gives an interesting account of the changes noticed at the necropsy. there is an account of a religious mendicant of the jain caste who as a means of penance fasted for ninety-one days. the previous year he had fasted eighty-six days. he had spent his life in strict asceticism, and during his fasting he was always engrossed in prayer. collins describes a maiden lady of eighty, always a moderate eater, who was attacked by bronchitis, during which she took food as usual. two days after her recovery, without any known cause, she refused all food and continued to do so for thirty-three days, when she died. she was delirious throughout this fast and slept daily seven or eight hours. as a rule, she drank about a wineglassful of water each day and her urine was scanty and almost of the consistency of her feces. there is a remarkable case of a girl of seventeen who, suffering with typhoid fever associated with engorgement of the abdomen and suppression of the functions of assimilation, fasted for four months without visible diminution in weight. pierce reports the history of a woman of twenty-six who fasted for three months and made an excellent recovery. grant describes the "market harborough fasting-girl," a maiden of nineteen, who abstained from food from april, , until december, , although continually using morphia. throughout her fast she had periodic convulsions, and voided no urine or feces for twelve months before her death. there was a middle-aged woman in england in who for two years lived on opium, gin, and water. her chief symptoms were almost daily sickness and epileptic fits three times a week. she was absolutely constipated, and at her death her abdomen was so distended as to present the appearance of ascites. after death, the distention of the abdomen was found to be due to a coating of fat, four inches thick, in the parietes. there was no obstruction to the intestinal canal and no fecal or other accumulation within it. christina marshall, a girl of fourteen, went fifteen and one-half months without taking solid nourishment. she slept very little, seldom spoke, but occasionally asked the time of day. she took sweets and water, with beef tea at intervals, and occasionally a small piece of orange. she died april , , after having been confined to her bed for a long while. king, a surgeon, u.s.a., gives an account of the deprivation of a squad of cavalry numbering . while scouting for indians on the plains they went for eighty-six hours without water; when relieved their mouths and throats were so dry that even brown sugar would not dissolve on their tongues. many were delirious, and all had drawn fresh blood from their horses. despite repeated vomiting, some drank their own urine. they were nearly all suffering from overpowering dyspnea, two were dead, and two were missing. the suffering was increased by the acrid atmosphere of the dry plains; the slightest exercise in this climate provoked a thirst. macloughlin, the surgeon in charge of the s.s. city of chester, speaks of a young stowaway found by the stevedores in an insensible condition after a voyage of eleven days. the man was brought on deck and revived sufficiently to be sent to st. vincent's hospital, n.y., about one and one-half hours after discovery, in an extremely emaciated, cold, and nearly pulseless condition. he gave his name as john donnelly, aged twenty, of dumbarton, scotland. on the whole voyage he had nothing to eat or drink. he had found some salt, of which he ate two handfuls, and he had in his pocket a small flask, empty. into this flask he voided his urine, and afterward drank it. until the second day he was intensely hungry, but after that time was consumed by a burning thirst; he shouted four or five hours every day, hoping that he might be heard. after this he became insensible and remembered nothing until he awakened in the hospital where, under careful treatment, he finally recovered. fodere mentions some workmen who were buried alive fourteen days in a cold, damp cavern under a ruin, and yet all lived. there is a modern instance of a person being buried thirty-two days beneath snow, without food. the lancet notes that a pig fell off dover cliff and was picked up alive one hundred and sixty days after, having been partially imbedded in debris. it was so surrounded by the chalk of the cliff that little motion was possible, and warmth was secured by the enclosing material. this animal had therefore lived on its own fat during the entire period. among the modern exhibitionists may be mentioned merlatti, the fasting italian, and succi, both of whom fasted in paris; alexander jacques, who fasted fifty days; and the american, dr. tanner, who achieved great notoriety by a fast of forty days, during which time he exhibited progressive emaciation. merlatti, who fasted in paris in , lost pounds in a month; during his fast of fifty days he drank only pure filtered water. prior to the fast his farewell meal consisted of a whole fat goose, including the bones, two pounds of roast beef, vegetables for two, and a plate of walnuts, the latter eaten whole. alexander jacques fasted fifty days and succi fasted forty days. jacques lost pounds and ounces (from pounds, ounces to pounds, ounces), while succi's loss was pounds and ounces. succi diminished in height from / to / inches, while jacques increased from / to / inches. jacques smoked cigarettes incessantly, using in the fifty days, although, by professional advice, he stopped the habit on the forty-second day. three or four times a day he took a powder made of herbs to which he naturally attributed his power of prolonging life without food. succi remained in a room in which he kept the temperature at a very high point. in speaking of succi's latest feat a recent report says: "it has come to light in his latest attempt to go for fifty days without food that he privately regaled himself on soup, beefsteak, chocolate, and eggs. it was also discovered that one of the 'committee,' who were supposed to watch and see that the experiment was conducted in a bona fide manner, 'stood in' with the faster and helped him deceive the others. the result of the vienna experiment is bound to cast suspicion on all previous fasting accomplishments of signor succi, if not upon those of his predecessors." although all these modern fasters have been accused of being jugglers and deceivers, throughout their fasts they showed constant decrease in weight, and inspection by visitors was welcomed at all times. they invariably invited medical attention, and some were under the closest surveillance; although we may not implicitly believe that the fasts were in every respect bona fide, yet we must acknowledge that these men displayed great endurance in their apparent indifference for food, the deprivation of which in a normal individual for one day only causes intense suffering. anomalies of temperature.--in reviewing the reports of the highest recorded temperatures of the human body, it must be remembered that no matter how good the evidence or how authentic the reference there is always chance for malingering. it is possible to send the index of an ordinary thermometer up to the top in ten or fifteen seconds by rubbing it between the slightly moistened thumb and the finger, exerting considerable pressure at the time. there are several other means of artificially producing enormous temperatures with little risk of detection, and as the sensitiveness of the thermometer becomes greater the easier is the deception. mackenzie reports the temperature-range of a woman of forty-two who suffered with erysipelatous inflammation of a stump of the leg. throughout a somewhat protracted illness, lasting from february to april , , the temperature many times registered between degrees and degrees f. about a year later she was again troubled with the stump, and this time the temperature reached as high as degrees. although under the circumstances, as any rational physician would, mackenzie suspected fraud, he could not detect any method of deception. finally the woman confessed that she had produced the temperature artificially by means of hot-water bottles, poultices, etc. macnab records a case of rheumatic fever in which the temperature was . degrees f. as indicated by two thermometers, one in the axilla and the other in the groin. this high degree of temperature was maintained after death. before the clinical society of london, teale reported a case in which, at different times, there were recorded temperatures from degrees to degrees f. in the mouth, rectum, and axilla. according to a comment in the lancet, there was no way that the patient could have artificially produced this temperature, and during convalescence the thermometer used registered normal as well as subnormal temperatures. caesar speaks of a girl of fifteen with enteric fever, whose temperature, on two occasions degrees f., reached the limit of the mercury in the thermometer. there have been instances mentioned in which, in order to escape duties, prisoners have artificially produced high temperatures, and the same has occasionally been observed among conscripts in the army or navy. there is an account of a habit of prisoners of introducing tobacco into the rectum, thereby reducing the pulse to an alarming degree and insuring their exemption from labor. in the adelaide hospital in dublin there was a case in which the temperature in the vagina and groin registered from degrees to degrees, and one day it reached . degrees f.; the patient recovered. ormerod mentions a nervous and hysteric woman of thirty-two, a sufferer with acute rheumatism, whose temperature rose to . degrees f. she insisted on leaving the hospital when her temperature was still degrees. wunderlich mentions a case of tetanus in which the temperature rose to . degrees c. ( . degrees f.), and before death it was as high as . degrees c. obernier mentions degrees f. in typhoid fever. kartulus speaks of a child of five, with typhoid fever, who at different times had temperatures of degrees, degrees, and . degrees f.; it finally recovered. he also quotes a case of pyemia in a boy of seven, whose temperature rose to . degrees f. he also speaks of wunderlich's case of remittent fever, in which the temperature reached . degrees f. wilson fox, in mentioning a case of rheumatic fever, says the temperature reached degrees f. philipson gives an account of a female servant of twenty-three who suffered from a neurosis which influenced the vasomotor nervous system, and caused hysteria associated with abnormal temperatures. on the evening of july th her temperature was degrees f.; on the th, it was degrees; on the th, degrees; on the th, degrees (axilla); on the th, in the left axilla it was degrees, in the right axilla, degrees, and in the mouth, degrees; on the th, it was degrees in the right axilla, degrees in the left axilla, and degrees in the mouth the patient was discharged the following september. steel of manchester speaks of a hysteric female of twenty, whose temperature was . degrees. mahomed mentions a hysteric woman of twenty-two at guy's hospital, london, with phthisis of the left lung, associated with marked hectic fevers. having registered the limit of the ordinary thermometers, the physicians procured one with a scale reaching to degrees f. she objected to using the large thermometers, saying they were "horse thermometers." on october , , however, they succeeded in obtaining a temperature of degrees f. with the large thermometer. in march of the following year she died, and the necropsy revealed nothing indicative of a cause for these enormous temperatures. she was suspected of fraud, and was closely watched in guy's hospital, but never, in the slightest way, was she detected in using artificial means to elevate the temperature record. in cases of insolation it is not at all unusual to see a patient whose temperature cannot be registered by an ordinary thermometer. any one who has been resident at a hospital in which heat-cases are received in the summer will substantiate this. at the emergency hospital in washington, during recent years, several cases have been brought in which the temperatures were above the ordinary registering point of the hospital thermometers, and one of the most extraordinary cases recovered. at a meeting of the association of american physicians in , jacobi of new york reported a case of hyperthermy reaching degrees f. this instance occurred in a profoundly hysteric fireman, who suffered a rather severe injury as the result of a fall between the revolving rods of some machinery, and was rendered unconscious for four days. thereafter he complained of various pains, bloody expectoration, and had convulsions at varying intervals, with loss of consciousness, rapid respiration, unaccelerated pulse, and excessively high temperature, the last on one occasion reaching the height of degrees f. the temperature was taken carefully in the presence of a number of persons, and all possible precautions were observed to prevent deception. the thermometer was variously placed in the mouth, anus, axilla, popliteal space, groin, urethra, and different instruments were from time to time employed. the behavior of the patient was much influenced by attention and by suggestion. for a period of five days the temperature averaged continuously between degrees and degrees f. in the discussion of the foregoing case, welch of baltimore referred to a case that had been reported in which it was said that the temperature reached as high as degrees f. these extraordinary elevations of temperature, he said, appear physically impossible when they are long continued, as they are fatal to the life of the animal cell. in the same connection shattuck of boston added that he had observed a temperature of degrees f.; every precaution had been taken to prevent fraud or deception. the patient was a hysteric young woman. jacobi closed the discussion by insisting that his observations had been made with the greatest care and precautions and under many different circumstances. he had at first viewed the case with skepticism, but he could not doubt the results of his observation. he added, that although we cannot explain anomalies of this kind, this constitutes no reason why we should deny their occurrence. duffy records one of the lowest temperatures on record in a negress of thirty-five who, after an abortion, showed only degrees f. in the mouth and axillae. she died the next day. the amount of external heat that a human being can endure is sometimes remarkable, and the range of temperature compatible with life is none the less extraordinary. the esquimaux and the inhabitants of the extreme north at times endure a temperature of-- degrees f., while some of the people living in equatorial regions are apparently healthy at a temperature as high as degrees f., and work in the sun, where the temperature is far higher. in the engine-rooms of some steamers plying in tropical waters temperatures as high as degrees f. have been registered, yet the engineers and the stokers become habituated to this heat and labor in it without apparent suffering. in turkish baths, by progressively exposing themselves to graduated temperatures, persons have been able to endure a heat considerably above the boiling point, though having to protect their persons from the furniture and floors and walls of the rooms. the hot air in these rooms is intensely dry, provoking profuse perspiration. sir joseph banks remained some time in a room the temperature of which was degrees f., and his own temperature never mounted above normal. there have been exhibitionists who claimed particular ability to endure intense heats without any visible disadvantage. these men are generally styled "human salamanders," and must not be confounded with the "fire-eaters," who, as a rule, are simply jugglers. martinez, the so-called "french salamander," was born in havana. as a baker he had exposed himself from boyhood to very high temperatures, and he subsequently gave public exhibitions of his extraordinary ability to endure heat. he remained in an oven erected in the middle of the gardens of tivoli for fourteen minutes when the temperature in the oven was degrees f. his pulse on entering was and on coming out . he often duplicated this feat before vast assemblages, though hardly ever attaining the same degree of temperature, the thermometer generally varying from degrees f. upward. chamouni was the celebrated "russian salamander," assuming the title of "the incombustible." his great feat was to enter an oven with a raw leg of mutton, not retiring until the meat was well baked. this person eventually lost his life in the performance of this feat; his ashes were conveyed to his native town, where a monument was erected over them. since the time of these two contemporaneous salamanders there have been many others, but probably none have attained the same notoriety. in this connection tillet speaks of some servant girls to a baker who for fifteen minutes supported a temperature of degrees f.; for ten minutes, degrees f.; and for several minutes, degrees f., thus surpassing martinez. in the glasgow medical journal, , there is an account of a baker's daughter who remained twelve minutes in an oven at degrees f. chantrey, the sculptor, and his workman are said to have entered with impunity a furnace of over degrees f. in some of the savage ceremonies of fire worship the degree of heat endured by the participants is really remarkable, and even if the rites are performed by skilful juggling, nevertheless, the ability to endure intense heat is worthy of comment. a recent report says:-- "the most remarkable ceremonial of fire worship that survives in this country is practiced by the navajos. they believe in purification by fire, and to this end they literally wash themselves in it. the feats they perform with it far exceed the most wonderful acts of fire-eating and fire-handling accomplished by civilized jugglers. in preparation for the festival a gigantic heap of dry wood is gathered from the desert. at the appointed moment the great pile of inflammable brush is lighted and in a few moments the whole of it is ablaze. storms of sparks fly feet or more into the air, and ashes fall about like a shower of snow. the ceremony always takes place at night and the effect of it is both weird and impressive. "just when the fire is raging at its hottest a whistle is heard from the outer darkness and a dozen warriors, lithe and lean, dressed simply in narrow white breech-cloths and moccasins and daubed with white earth so as to look like so many living statues, come bounding through the entrance to the corral that incloses the flaming heap. yelping like wolves, they move slowly toward the fire, bearing aloft slender wands tipped with balls of eagle-down. rushing around the fire, always to the left, they begin thrusting their wands toward the fire, trying to burn off the down from the tips. owing to the intensity of the heat this is difficult to accomplish. one warrior dashes wildly toward the fire and retreats; another lies as close to the ground as a frightened lizard, endeavoring to wriggle himself up to the fire; others seek to catch on their wands the sparks that fly in the air. at last one by one they all succeed in burning the downy balls from the wands. the test of endurance is very severe, the heat of the fire being so great. "the remarkable feats, however, are performed in connection with another dance that follows. this is heralded by a tremendous blowing of horns. the noise grows louder and louder until suddenly ten or more men run into the corral, each of them carrying two thick bundles of shredded cedar bark. "four times they run around the fire waving the bundles, which are then lighted. now begins a wild race around the fire, the rapid running causing the brands to throw out long streamers of flames over the hands and arms of the dancers. the latter apply the brands to their own nude bodies and to the bodies of their comrades in front. a warrior will seize the flaming mass as if it were a sponge, and, keeping close to the man he is pursuing, will rub his back with it as if bathing him. the sufferer in turn catches up with the man in front of him and bathes him in flame. from time to time the dancers sponge their own backs with the flaming brands. when a brand is so far consumed that it can no longer be held it is dropped and the dancers disappear from the corral. the spectators pick up the flaming bunches thus dropped and bathe their own hands in the fire. "no satisfactory explanation seems to be obtainable as to the means by which the dancers in this extraordinary performance are able to escape injury. apparently they do not suffer from any burns. doubtless some protection is afforded by the earth that is applied to their bodies." spontaneous combustion of the human body, although doubted by the medical men of this day, has for many years been the subject of much discussion; only a few years ago, among the writers on this subject, there were as many credulous as there were skeptics. there is, however, no reliable evidence to support the belief in the spontaneous combustion of the body. a few apochryphal cases only have been recorded. the opinion that the tissues of drunkards might be so saturated with alcohol as to render the body combustible is disproved by the simple experiment of placing flesh in spirits for a long time and then trying to burn it. liebig and others found that flesh soaked in alcohol would burn only until the alcohol was consumed. that various substances ignite spontaneously is explained by chemic phenomena, the conditions of which do not exist in the human frame. watkins in speaking of the inflammability of the human body remarks that on one occasion he tried to consume the body of a pirate given to him by a u. s. marshal. he built a rousing fire and piled wood on all night, and had not got the body consumed by the forenoon of the following day. quite a feasible reason for supposed spontaneous human combustion is to be found in several cases quoted by taylor, in which persons falling asleep, possibly near a fire, have been accidentally ignited, and becoming first stupefied by the smoke, and then suffocated, have been burned to charcoal without awaking. drunkenness or great exhaustion may also explain certain cases. in substantiation of the possibility of taylor's instances several prominent physiologists have remarked that persons have endured severe burns during sleep and have never wakened. there is an account of a man who lay down on the top of a lime kiln, which was fired during his sleep, and one leg was burned entirely off without awaking the man, a fact explained by the very slow and gradual increase of temperature. the theories advanced by the advocates of spontaneous human combustion are very ingenious and deserve mention here. an old authority has said: "our blood is of such a nature, as also our lymph and bile: all of which, when dried by art, flame like spirit of wine at the approach of the least fire and burn away to ashes." lord bacon mentions spontaneous combustion, and marcellus donatus says that in the time of godefroy of bouillon there were people of a certain locality who supposed themselves to have been burning of an invisible fire in their entrails, and he adds that some cut off a hand or a foot when the burning began, that it should go no further. what may have been the malady with which these people suffered must be a matter of conjecture. overton, in a paper on this subject, remarks that in the "memoirs of the royal society of paris," , there is related an account of a butcher who, opening a diseased beef, was burned by a flame which issued from the maw of the animal; there was first an explosion which rose to a height of five feet and continued to blaze several minutes with a highly offensive odor. morton saw a flame emanate from beneath the skin of a hog at the instant of making an incision through it. ruysch, the famous dutch physician, remarks that he introduced a hollow bougie into a woman's stomach he had just opened, and he observed a vapor issuing from the mouth of the tube, and this lit on contact with the atmosphere. this is probably an exaggeration of the properties of the hydrogen sulphid found in the stomach. there is an account of a man of forty-three, a gross feeder, who was particularly fond of fats and a victim of psoriasis palmaria, who on going to bed one night, after extinguishing the light in the room, was surprised to find himself enveloped in a phosphorescent halo; this continued for several days and recurred after further indiscretions in diet. it is well known that there are insects and other creatures of the lower animal kingdom which possess the peculiar quality of phosphorescence. there are numerous cases of spontaneous combustion of the human body reported by the older writers. bartholinus mentions an instance after the person had drunk too much wine. fouquet mentions a person ignited by lightning. schrader speaks of a person from whose mouth and fauces after a debauch issued fire. schurig tells of flames issuing from the vulva, and moscati records the same occurrence in parturition, sinibaldust, borellus, and bierling have also written on this subject, and the ephemerides contains a number of instances. in bianchini, prebendary of verona, published an account of the death of countess cornelia bandi of cesena, who in her sixty-second year was consumed by a fire kindled in her own body. in explanation bianchini said that the fire was caused in the entrails by the inflamed effluvia of the blood, by the juices and fermentation in the stomach, and, lastly, by fiery evaporations which exhaled from the spirits of wine, brandy, etc. in the gentleman's magazine, , there is recorded an account of three noblemen who, in emulation, drank great quantities of strong liquor, and two of them died scorched and suffocated by a flame forcing itself from the stomach. there is an account of a poor woman in paris in the last century who drank plentifully of spirits, for three years taking virtually nothing else. her body became so combustible that one night while lying on a straw couch she was spontaneously burned to ashes and smoke. the evident cause of this combustion is too plain to be commented on. in the lancet, , there are two cases reported in which shortly before death luminous breath has been seen to issue from the mouth. there is an instance reported of a professor of mathematics of thirty-five years of age and temperate, who, feeling a pain in his left leg, discovered a pale flame about the size of a ten-cent piece issuing therefrom. as recent as march, , in a court of assizes in darmstadt during the trial of john stauff, accused of the murder of the countess goerlitz, the counsel for the defense advanced the theory of spontaneous human combustion, and such eminent doctors as von siebold, graff, von liebig, and other prominent members of the hessian medical fraternity were called to comment on its possibility; principally on their testimony a conviction and life-imprisonment was secured. in there was a woman of thirty-seven, addicted to alcoholic liquors, who was found in her room with her viscera and part of her limbs consumed by fire, but the hair and clothes intact. according to walford, in the scientific american for , there was a case reported by flowers of louisiana of a man a hard drinker, who was sitting by a fire surrounded by his christmas guests, when suddenly flames of a bluish tint burst from his mouth and nostrils and he was soon a corpse. flowers states that the body remained extremely warm for a much longer period than usual. statistics.--from an examination of cases of spontaneous combustion, jacobs makes the following summary:-- ( ) it has always occurred in the human living body. ( ) the subjects were generally old persons. ( ) it was noticed more frequently in women than in men. ( ) all the persons were alone at the time of occurrence. ( ) they all led an idle life. ( ) they were all corpulent or intemperate. ( ) most frequently at the time of occurrence there was a light and some ignitible substance in the room. ( ) the combustion was rapid and was finished in from one to seven hours. ( ) the room where the combustion took place was generally filled with a thick vapor and the walls covered with a thick, carbonaceous substance. ( ) the trunk was usually the part most frequently destroyed; some part of the head and extremities remained. ( ) with but two exceptions, the combustion occurred in winter and in the northern regions. magnetic, phosphorescent, and electric anomalies.--there have been certain persons who have appeared before the public under such names as the "human magnet," the "electric lady," etc. there is no doubt that some persons are supercharged with magnetism and electricity. for instance, it is quite possible for many persons by drawing a rubber comb through the hair to produce a crackling noise, and even produce sparks in the dark. some exhibitionists have been genuine curiosities of this sort, while others by skilfully arranged electric apparatus are enabled to perform their feats. a curious case was reported in this country many years ago, which apparently emanates from an authoritative source. on the th of january, , a certain lady became suddenly and unconsciously charged with electricity. her newly acquired power was first exhibited when passing her hand over the face of her brother; to the astonishment of both, vivid electric sparks passed from the ends of each finger. this power continued with augmented force from the th of january to the last of february, but finally became extinct about the middle of may of the same year. schneider mentions a strong, healthy, dark-haired capuchin monk, the removal of whose head-dress always induced a number of shining, crackling sparks from his hair or scalp. bartholinus observed a similar peculiarity in gonzaga, duke of mantua. in another case luminous sparks were given out whenever the patient passed urine. marsh relates two cases of phthisis in which the heads of the patients were surrounded by phosphorescent lights. kaster mentions an instance in which light was seen in the perspiration and on the body linen after violent exertion. after exertion jurine, guyton, and driessen observed luminous urine passed by healthy persons, and nasse mentions the same phenomenon in a phthisical patient. percy and stokes have observed phosphorescence in a carcinomatous ulcer. there is a description of a zulu boy exhibited in edinburgh in whose body was so charged with electricity that he could impart a shock to any of his patrons. he was about six-and-a-half years of age, bright, happy, and spoke english thoroughly well. from infancy he had been distinguished for this faculty, variable with the state of the atmosphere. as a rule, the act of shaking hands was generally attended by a quivering sensation like that produced by an electric current, and contact with his tongue gave a still sharper shock. sir charles bell has made extensive investigation of the subject of human magnetism and is probably the best authority on the subject, but many celebrated scientists have studied it thoroughly. in the pittsburg medical review there is a description of a girl of three and a half, a blonde, and extremely womanly for her age, who possessed a wonderful magnetic power. metal spoons would adhere to her finger-tips, nose, or chin. the child, however, could not pick up a steel needle, an article generally very sensitive to the magnet; nor would a penny stick to any portion of her body. only recently there was exhibited through this country a woman named annie may abbott, who styled herself the "georgia electric lady." this person gave exhibitions of wonderful magnetic power, and invited the inspection and discussion of medical men. besides her chief accomplishment she possessed wonderful strength and was a skilled equilibrist. by placing her hands on the sides of a chair upon which a heavy man was seated, she would raise it without apparent effort. she defied the strongest person in the audience to take from her hand a stick which she had once grasped. recent reports say that miss abbott is amusing herself now with the strong men of china and japan. the japanese wrestlers, whose physical strength is celebrated the world over, were unable to raise miss abbott from the floor, while with the tips of her fingers she neutralized their most strenuous efforts to lift even light objects, such as a cane, from a table. the possibilities, in this advanced era of electric mechanism, make fraud and deception so easy that it is extremely difficult to pronounce on the genuineness of any of the modern exhibitions of human electricity. the effects of cold.--gmelin, the famous scientist and investigator of this subject, says that man has lived where the temperature falls as low as - degrees f. habit is a marked factor in this endurance. in russia men and women work with their breasts and arms uncovered in a temperature many degrees below zero and without attention to the fact. in the most rigorous winter the inhabitants of the alps work with bare breasts and the children sport about in the snow. wrapping himself in his pelisse the russian sleeps in the snow. this influence of habit is seen in the inability of intruders in northern lands to endure the cold, which has no effect on the indigenous people. on their way to besiege a norwegian stronghold in , swedes perished in the snows and cold of their neighboring country. on the retreat from prague in , the french army, under the rigorous sky of bohemia, lost men in ten days. it is needless to speak of the thousands lost in napoleon's campaign in russia in . pinel has remarked that the insane are less liable to the effects of cold than their normal fellows, and mentions the escape of a naked maniac, who, without any visible after-effect, in january, even, when the temperature was - degrees f., ran into the snow and gleefully rubbed his body with ice. in the french journals in there is the record of the rescue of a naked crazy woman who was found in the pyrenees, and who had apparently suffered none of the ordinary effects of cold. psychologic effects of cold.--lambert says that the mind acts more quickly in cold weather, and that there has been a notion advanced that the emotion of hatred is much stronger in cold weather, a theory exemplified by the assassination of paul of russia, the execution of charles of england, and that of louis of france. emotions, such as love, bravery, patriotism, etc., together with diverse forms of excitement, seem to augment the ability of the human body to endure cold. cold seems to have little effect on the generative function. in both sweden, norway, and other northern countries the families are as large, if not larger, than in other countries. cold undoubtedly imparts vigor, and, according to dethou, henry iii lost his effeminacy and love of pleasure in winter and reacquired a spirit of progress and reformation. zimmerman has remarked that in a rigorous winter the lubberly hollander is like the gayest frenchman. cold increases appetite, and plutarch says brutus experienced intense bulimia while in the mountains, barely escaping perishing. with full rations the greek soldiers under xenophon suffered intense hunger as they traversed the snow-clad mountains of armenia. beaupre remarks that those who have the misfortune to be buried under the snow perish less quickly than those who are exposed to the open air, his observations having been made during the retreat of the french army from moscow. in russia it is curious to see fish frozen stiff, which, after transportation for great distances, return to life when plunged into cold water. sudden death from cold baths and cold drinks has been known for many centuries. mauriceau mentions death from cold baptism on the head, and graseccus, scaliger, rush, schenck, and velschius mention deaths from cold drinks. aventii, fabricius hildanus, the ephemerides, and curry relate instances of a fatal issue following the ingestion of cold water by an individual in a superheated condition. cridland describes a case of sudden insensibility following the drinking of a cold fluid. it is said that alexander the great narrowly escaped death from a constrictive spasm, due to the fact that while in a copious sweat he plunged into the river cydnus. tissot gives an instance of a man dying at a fountain after a long draught on a hot day. hippocrates mentions a similar fact, and there are many modern instances. the ordinary effects of cold on the skin locally and the system generally will not be mentioned here, except to add the remark of captain wood that in greenland, among his party, could be seen ulcerations, blisters, and other painful lesions of the skin. in siberia the russian soldiers cover their noses and ears with greased paper to protect them against the cold. the laplanders and samoiedes, to avoid the dermal lesions caused by cold (possibly augmented by the friction of the wind and beating of snow), anoint their skins with rancid fish oil, and are able to endure temperatures as low as - degrees f. in the retreat of the , xenophon ordered all his soldiers to grease the parts exposed to the air. effects of working in compressed air.--according to a writer in cassier's magazine, the highest working pressures recorded have been close to pounds per square inch, but with extreme care in the selection of men, and corresponding care on the part of the men, it is very probable that this limit may be considerably exceeded. under average conditions the top limit may be placed at about pounds, the time of working, according to conditions, varying from four to six hours per shift. in the cases in which higher pressures might be used, the shifts for the men should be restricted to two of two hours each, separated by a considerable interval. as an example of heavy pressure work under favorable conditions as to ventilation, without very bad effects on the men, messrs. sooysmith & company had an experience with a work on which men were engaged in six-hour shifts, separated into two parts by half-hour intervals for lunch. this work was excavation in open, seamy rock, carried on for several weeks under about pounds pressure. the character of the material through which the caisson is being sunk or upon which it may be resting at any time bears quite largely upon the ability of the men to stand the pressure necessary to hold back the water at that point. if the material be so porous as to permit a considerable leakage of air through it, there will naturally result a continuous change of air in the working chamber, and a corresponding relief of the men from the deleterious effects which are nearly always produced by over-used air. from strasburg in bucuoy reports that during the building of a bridge at kehl laborers had to work in compressed air, and it was found that the respirations lost their regularity; there were sometimes intense pains in the ears, which after a while ceased. it required a great effort to speak at / atmospheres, and it was impossible to whistle. perspiration was very profuse. those who had to work a long time lost their appetites, became emaciated, and congestion of the lung and brain was observed. the movements of the limbs were easier than in normal air, though afterward muscular and rheumatic pains were often observed. the peculiar and extraordinary development of the remaining special senses when one of the number is lost has always been a matter of great interest. deaf people have always been remarkable for their acuteness of vision, touch, and smell. blind persons, again, almost invariably have the sense of hearing, touch, and what might be called the senses of location and temperature exquisitely developed. this substitution of the senses is but; an example of the great law of compensation which we find throughout nature. jonston quotes a case in the seventeenth century of a blind man who, it is said, could tell black from white by touch alone; several other instances are mentioned in a chapter entitled "de compensatione naturae monstris facta." it must, however, be held impossible that blind people can thus distinguish colors in any proper sense of the words. different colored yarns, for example, may have other differences of texture, etc., that would be manifest to the sense of touch. we know of one case in which the different colors were accurately distinguished by a blind girl, but only when located in customary and definite positions. le cat speaks of a blind organist, a native of holland, who still played the organ as well as ever. he could distinguish money by touch, and it is also said that he made himself familiar with colors. he was fond of playing cards, but became such a dangerous opponent, because in shuffling he could tell what cards and hands had been dealt, that he was never allowed to handle any but his own cards. it is not only in those who are congenitally deficient in any of the senses that the remarkable examples of compensation are seen, but sometimes late in life these are developed. the celebrated sculptor, daniel de volterre, became blind after he had obtained fame, and notwithstanding the deprivation of his chief sense he could, by touch alone, make a statue in clay after a model. le cat also mentions a woman, perfectly deaf, who without any instruction had learned to comprehend anything said to her by the movements of the lips alone. it was not necessary to articulate any sound, but only to give the labial movements. when tried in a foreign language she was at a loss to understand a single word. since the establishment of the modern high standard of blind asylums and deaf-and-dumb institutions, where so many ingenious methods have been developed and are practiced in the education of their inmates, feats which were formerly considered marvelous are within the reach of all those under tuition to-day, those born deaf-mutes are taught to speak and to understand by the movements of the lips alone, and the blind read, become expert workmen, musicians, and even draughtsmen. d. d. wood of philadelphia, although one of the finest organists in the country, has been totally blind for years. it is said that he acquires new compositions with almost as great facility as one not afflicted with his infirmity. "blind tom," a semi-idiot and blind negro achieved world-wide notoriety by his skill upon the piano. in some extraordinary cases in which both sight and hearing, and sometimes even taste and smell, are wanting, the individuals in a most wonderful way have developed the sense of touch to such a degree that it almost replaces the absent senses. the extent of this compensation is most beautifully illustrated in the cases of laura bridgman and helen keller. no better examples could be found of the compensatory ability of differentiated organs to replace absent or disabled ones. laura dewey bridgman was born december , , at hanover, n.h. her parents were farmers and healthy people. they were of average height, regular habits, slender build, and of rather nervous dispositions. laura inherited the physical characteristics of her mother. in her infancy she was subject to convulsions, but at twenty months had improved, and at this time had learned to speak several words. at the age of two years, in common with two of the other children of the family, she had an attack of severe scarlet fever. her sisters died, and she only recovered after both eyes and ears had suppurated; taste and smell were also markedly impaired. sight in the left eye was entirely abolished, but she had some sensation for large, bright objects in the right eye up to her eighth year; after that time she became totally blind. after her recovery it was two years before she could sit up all day, and not until she was five years old had she entirely regained her strength. hearing being lost, she naturally never developed any speech; however, she was taught to sew, knit, braid, and perform several other minor household duties. in dr. s. w. howe, the director of the massachusetts asylum for the blind, took laura in charge, and with her commenced the ordinary deaf-mute education. at this time she was seven years and ten months old. two years later she had made such wonderful progress and shown such ability to learn that, notwithstanding her infirmities, she surpassed any of the pupils of her class. her advancement was particularly noticed immediately after her realization that an idea could be expressed by a succession of raised letters. in fact, so rapid was her progress, that it was deemed advisable by the authorities to hold her back. by her peculiar sensibility to vibration she could distinguish the difference between a whole and a half note in music, and she struck the notes on the piano quite correctly. during the first years of her education she could not smell at all, but later she could locate the kitchen by this sense. taste had developed to such an extent that at this time she could distinguish the different degrees of acidity. the sense of touch, however, was exceedingly delicate and acute. as to her moral habits, cleanliness was the most marked. the slightest dirt or rent in her clothes caused her much embarrassment and shame, and her sense of order, neatness, and propriety was remarkable. she seemed quite at home and enjoyed the society of her own sex, but was uncomfortable and distant in the society of males. she quickly comprehended the intellectual capacity of those with whom she was associated, and soon showed an affiliation for the more intelligent of her friends. she was quite jealous of any extra attention shown to her fellow scholars, possibly arising from the fact that she had always been a favorite. she cried only from grief, and partially ameliorated bodily pain by jumping and by other excessive muscular movements. like most mutes, she articulated a number of noises,-- or more, all monosyllabic; she laughed heartily, and was quite noisy in her play. at this time it was thought that she had been heard to utter the words doctor, pin, ship, and others. she attached great importance to orientation, and seemed quite ill at ease in finding her way about when not absolutely sure of directions. she was always timid in the presence of animals, and by no persuasion could she be induced to caress a domestic animal. in common with most maidens, at sixteen she became more sedate, reserved and thoughtful; at twenty she had finished her education. in she was seen by g. stanley hall, who found that she located the approach and departure of people through sensation in her feet, and seemed to have substituted the cutaneous sense of vibration for that of hearing. at this time she could distinguish the odors of various fragrant flowers and had greater susceptibility to taste, particularly to sweet and salty substances. she had written a journal for ten years, and had also composed three autobiographic sketches, was the authoress of several poems, and some remarkably clever letters. she died at the perkins institute, may , , after a life of sixty years, burdened with infirmities such as few ever endure, and which, by her superior development of the remnants of the original senses left her, she had overcome in a degree nothing less than marvelous. according to a well-known observer, in speaking of her mental development, although she was eccentric she was not defective. she necessarily lacked certain data of thought, but even this feet was not very marked, and was almost counterbalanced by her exceptional power of using what remained. in the present day there is a girl as remarkable as laura bridgman, and who bids fair to attain even greater fame by her superior development. this girl, helen keller, is both deaf and blind; she has been seen in all the principal cities of the united states, has been examined by thousands of persons, and is famous for her victories over infirmities. on account of her wonderful power of comprehension special efforts have been made to educate helen keller, and for this reason her mind is far more finely developed than in most girls of her age. it is true that she has the advantage over laura bridgman in having the senses of taste and smell, both of which she has developed to a most marvelous degree of acuteness. it is said that by odor alone she is always conscious of the presence of another person, no matter how noiseless his entrance into the room in which she may be. she cannot be persuaded to take food which she dislikes, and is never deceived in the taste. it is, however, by the means of what might be called "touch-sight" that the most miraculous of her feats are performed. by placing her hands on the face of a visitor she is able to detect shades of emotion which the normal human eye fails to distinguish, or, in the words of one of her lay observers, "her sense of touch is developed to such an exquisite extent as to form a better eye for her than are yours or mine for us; and what is more, she forms judgments of character by this sight." according to a recent report of a conversation with one of the principals of the school in which her education is being completed, it is said that since the girl has been under his care he has been teaching her to sing with great success. placing the fingers of her hands on the throat of a singer, she is able to follow notes covering two octaves with her own voice, and sings synchronously with her instructor. the only difference between her voice and that of a normal person is in its resonant qualities. so acute has this sense become, that by placing her hand upon the frame of a piano she can distinguish two notes not more than half a tone apart. helen is expected to enter the preparatory school for radcliffe college in the fall of . at a meeting of the american association to promote the teaching of speech to the deaf, in philadelphia, july, , this child appeared, and in a well-chosen and distinct speech told the interesting story of her own progress. miss sarah fuller, principal of the horace mann school for the deaf, boston, is credited with the history of helen keller, as follows:-- "helen keller's home is in tuscumbia, ala. at the age of nineteen months she became deaf, dumb, and blind after convulsions lasting three days. up to the age of seven years she had received no instruction. her parents engaged miss sullivan of the perkins institute for the blind, south boston, to go to alabama as her teacher. she was familiar with methods of teaching the blind, but knew nothing about instructing deaf children. miss sullivan called upon miss fuller for some instruction on the subject. miss fuller was at that time experimenting with two little deaf girls to make them speak as hearing children do, and called miss sullivan's attention to it. miss sullivan left for her charge, and from time to time made reports to dr. anagnos the principal of the perkins school, which mentioned the remarkable mind which she found this little alabama child possessed. the following year miss sullivan brought the child, then eight years old, to boston, and mrs. keller came with her. they visited miss fuller's school. miss sullivan had taught the child the manual alphabet, and she had obtained much information by means of it. miss fuller noticed how quickly she appreciated the ideas given to her in that way. "it is interesting to note that before any attempt had been made to teach the child to speak or there had been any thought of it, her own quickness of thought had suggested it to her as she talked by hand alphabet to miss fuller. her mother, however, did not approve miss fuller's suggestion that an attempt should be made to teach her speech. she remained at the perkins school, under miss sullivan's charge, another year, when the matter was brought up again, this time by little helen herself, who said she must speak. miss sullivan brought her to miss fuller's school one day and she received her first lesson, of about two hours' length. "the child's hand was first passed over miss fuller's face, mouth, and neck, then into her mouth, touching the tongue, teeth, lips, and hard palate, to give her an idea of the organs of speech. miss fuller then arranged her mouth, tongue, and teeth for the sound of i as in it. she took the child's finger and placed it upon the windpipe so that she might feel the vibration there, put her finger between her teeth to show her how wide apart they were, and one finger in the mouth to feel the tongue, and then sounded the vowel. the child grasped the idea at once. her fingers flew to her own mouth and throat, and she produced the sound so nearly accurate that it sounded like an echo. next the sound of ah was made by dropping the jaw a little and letting the child feel that the tongue was soft and lying in the bed of the jaw with the teeth more widely separated. she in the same way arranged her own, but was not so successful as at first, but soon produced the sound perfectly." "eleven such lessons were given, at intervals of three or four days, until she had acquired all the elements of speech, miss sullivan in the meantime practicing with the child on the lessons received. the first word spoken was arm, which was at once associated with her arm; this gave her great delight. she soon learned to pronounce words by herself, combining the elements she had learned, and used them to communicate her simple wants. the first connected language she used was a description she gave miss fuller of a visit she had made to dr. oliver wendell holmes, in all over words. they were, all but two or three, pronounced correctly. she now, six years afterward, converses quite fluently with people who know nothing of the manual alphabet by placing a couple of fingers on the speaker's lips, her countenance showing great intentness and brightening as she catches the meaning. anybody can understand her answers." in a beautiful eulogy of helen keller in a recent number of harper's magazine, charles dudley warner expresses the opinion that she is the purest-minded girl of her age in the world. edith thomas, a little inmate of the perkins institute for the blind, at south boston, is not only deaf and dumb but also blind. she was a fellow-pupil with helen keller, and in a measure duplicated the rapid progress of her former playmate. in commenting on progress in learning to talk the boston herald says: "and as the teacher said the word 'kitty' once or twice she placed the finger-tips of one hand upon the teacher's lips and with the other hand clasped tightly the teacher's throat; then, guided by the muscular action of the throat and the position of the teeth, tongue, and lips, as interpreted by that marvelous and delicate touch of hers, she said the word 'kitty' over and over again distinctly in a very pretty way. she can be called dumb no longer, and before the summer vacation comes she will have mastered quite a number of words, and such is her intelligence and patience, in spite of the loss of three senses, she may yet speak quite readily. "her history is very interesting. she was born in maplewood, and up to the time of contracting diphtheria and scarlet fever, which occurred when she was four years old, had been a very healthy child of more than ordinary quickness and ability. she had attained a greater command of language than most children of her age. what a contrast between these 'other days,' as she calls them, and the days which followed, when hearing and sight were completely gone, and gradually the senses of speech and smell went, too! after the varied instruction of the blind school the little girl had advanced so far as to make the rest of her study comparatively easy. the extent of her vocabulary is not definitely known, but it numbers at least words. reading, which was once an irksome task, has become a pleasure to her. her ideas of locality and the independence of movement are remarkable, and her industry and patience are more noticeable from day to day. she has great ability, and is in every respect a very wonderful child." according to recent reports, in the vicinity of rothesay, on the clyde, there resides a lady totally deaf and dumb, who, in point of intelligence, scholarship, and skill in various ways, far excels many who have all their faculties. having been educated partly in paris, she is a good french scholar, and her general composition is really wonderful. she has a shorthand system of her own, and when writing letters, etc., she uses a peculiar machine, somewhat of the nature of a typewriter. among the deaf persons who have acquired fame in literature and the arts have been dibil alkoffay, an arabian poet of the eighth century; the tactician, folard; the german poet, engelshall; le sage; la condamine, who composed an epigram on his own infirmity; and beethoven, the famous musician. fernandez, a spanish painter of the sixteenth century, was a deaf-mute. all the world pities the blind, but despite their infirmities many have achieved the highest glory in every profession. since homer there have been numerous blind poets. milton lost none of his poetic power after he had become blind. the argovienne, louise egloff, and daniel leopold, who died in , were blind from infancy. blacklock, avisse, koslov, and la mott-houdart are among other blind poets. asconius pedianus, a grammarian of the first century; didyme, the celebrated doctor of alexandria; the florentine, bandolini, so well versed in latin poetry; the celebrated italian grammarian, pontanus; the german, griesinger, who spoke seven languages; the philologist, grassi, who died in , and many others have become blind at an age more or less advanced in their working lives. probably the most remarkable of the blind scientists was the englishman, saunderson, who in , in his first year, was deprived of sight after an attack of small-pox. in spite of his complete blindness he assiduously studied the sciences, and graduated with honor at the university of cambridge in mathematics and optics. his sense of touch was remarkable. he had a collection of old roman medals, all of which, without mistake, he could distinguish by their impressions. he also seemed to have the ability to judge distance, and was said to have known how far he had walked, and by the velocity he could even tell the distance traversed in a vehicle. among other blind mathematicians was the dutchman, borghes (died in ); the french astronomer, the count de pagan, who died in ; galileo; the astronomer, cassini, and berard, who became blind at twenty-three years, and was for a long time professor of mathematics at the college of briancon. in the seventeenth century the sculptor, jean gonnelli, born in tuscany, became blind at twenty years; but in spite of his infirmity he afterward executed what were regarded as his masterpieces. it is said that he modeled a portrait of pope urban viii, using as a guide his hand, passed from time to time over the features. lomazzo, the italian painter of the eighteenth century, is said to have continued his work after becoming blind. several men distinguished for their bravery and ability in the art of war have been blind. jean de troczow, most commonly known by the name of ziska, in lost his one remaining eye, and was afterward known as the "old blind dog," but, nevertheless, led his troops to many victories. froissart beautifully describes the glorious death of the blind king of bohemia at the battle of crecy in . louis iii, king of provence; boleslas iii, duke of bohemia; magnus iv, king of norway, and bela ii, king of hungary, were blind. nathaniel price, a librarian of norwich in the last century, lost his sight in a voyage to america, which, however, did not interfere in any degree with his duties, for his books were in as good condition and their location as directly under his knowledge, during his blindness as they were in his earlier days. at the present day in new york there is a blind billiard expert who occasionally gives exhibitions of his prowess. feats of memory.--from time to time there have been individuals, principally children, who gave wonderful exhibitions of memory, some for dates, others for names, and some for rapid mental calculation. before the anthropological society in broca exhibited a lad of eleven, a piedmontese, named jacques inaudi. this boy, with a trick monkey, had been found earning his livelihood by begging and by solving mentally in a few minutes the most difficult problems in arithmetic. a gentleman residing in marseilles had seen him while soliciting alms perform most astonishing feats of memory, and brought him to paris. in the presence of the society broca gave him verbally a task in multiplication, composed of some trillions to be multiplied by billions. in the presence of all the members he accomplished his task in less than ten minutes, and without the aid of pencil and paper, solving the whole problem mentally. although not looking intelligent, and not being able to read or write, he perhaps could surpass any one in the world in his particular feat. it was stated that he proceeded from left to right in his calculations, instead of from right to left in the usual manner. in his personal appearance the only thing indicative of his wonderful abilities was his high forehead. an infant prodigy named oscar moore was exhibited to the physicians of chicago at the central music hall in , and excited considerable comment at the time. the child was born of mulatto parents at waco, texas, on august , , and when only thirteen months old manifested remarkable mental ability and precocity. s. v. clevenger, a physician of chicago, has described the child as follows:-- "oscar was born blind and, as frequently occurs in such cases, the touch-sense compensatingly developed extraordinarily. it was observed that after touching a person once or twice with his stubby baby fingers, he could thereafter unfailingly recognize and call by name the one whose hand he again felt. the optic sense is the only one defective, for tests reveal that his hearing, taste, and smell are acute, and the tactile development surpasses in refinement. but his memory is the most remarkable peculiarity, for when his sister conned her lessons at home, baby oscar, less than two years old, would recite all he heard her read. unlike some idiot savants, in which category he is not to be included, who repeat parrot-like what they have once heard, baby oscar seems to digest what he hears, and requires at least more than one repetition of what he is trying to remember, after which he possesses the information imparted and is able to yield it at once when questioned. it is not necessary for him to commence at the beginning, as the possessors of some notable memories were compelled to do, but he skips about to any required part of his repertoire. "he sings a number of songs and counts in different languages, but it is not supposable that he understands every word he utters. if, however, his understanding develops as it promises to do, he will become a decided polyglot. he has mastered an appalling array of statistics, such as the areas in square miles of hundreds of countries, the population of the world's principal cities, the birthdays of all the presidents, the names of all the cities of the united states of over , inhabitants, and a lot of mathematical data. he is greatly attracted by music, and this leads to the expectation that when more mature he may rival blind tom. "in disposition he is very amiable, but rather grave beyond his years. he shows great affection for his father, and is as playful and as happy as the ordinary child. he sleeps soundly, has a good childish appetite, and appears to be in perfect health. his motions are quick but not nervous, and are as well coordinated as in a child of ten. in fact, he impresses one as having the intelligence of a much older child than three years (now five years), but his height, dentition, and general appearance indicate the truthfulness of the age assigned. an evidence of his symmetrical mental development appears in his extreme inquisitiveness. he wants to understand the meaning of what he is taught, and some kind of an explanation must be given him for what he learns. were his memory alone abnormally great and other faculties defective, this would hardly be the case; but if so, it cannot at present be determined. "his complexion is yellow, with african features, flat nose, thick lips but not prognathous, superciliary ridges undeveloped, causing the forehead to protrude a little. his head measures inches in circumference, on a line with the upper ear-tips, the forehead being much narrower than the occipitoparietal portion, which is noticeably very wide. the occiput protrudes backward, causing a forward sweep of the back of the neck. from the nose-root to the nucha over the head he measures / inches, and between upper ear-tips across and over the head inches, which is so close to the eight-and ten-inch standard that he may be called mesocephalic. the bulging in the vicinity of the parietal region accords remarkably with speculations upon the location of the auditory memory in that region, such as those in the american naturalist, july, , and the fact that injury of that part of the brain may cause loss of memory of the meaning of words. it may be that the premature death of the mother's children has some significance in connection with oscar's phenomenal development. there is certainly a hypernutrition of the parietal brain with atrophy of the optic tract, both of which conditions could arise from abnormal vascular causes, or the extra growth of the auditory memory region may have deprived of nutrition, by pressure, the adjacent optic centers in the occipital brain. the otherwise normal motion of the eyes indicates the nystagmus to be functional. "sudden exaltation of the memory is often the consequence of grave brain disease, and in children this symptom is most frequent. pritchard, rush, and other writers upon mental disorders record interesting instances of remarkable memory-increase before death, mainly in adults, and during fever and insanity. in simple mania the memory is often very acute. romberg tells of a young girl who lost her sight after an attack of small-pox, but acquired an extraordinary memory. he calls attention to the fact that the scrofulous and rachitic diatheses in childhood are sometimes accompanied by this disorder. winslow notes that in the incipient state of the brain disease of early life connected with fevers, disturbed conditions of the cerebral circulation and vessels, and in affections of advanced life, there is often witnessed a remarkable exaltation of the memory, which may herald death by apoplexy. "not only has the institution of intelligence in idiots dated from falls upon the head, but extra mentality has been conferred by such an event pritchard tells of three idiot brothers, one of whom, after a severe head injury, brightened up and became a barrister, while his brothers remained idiotic. 'father mabillon,' says winslow, 'is said to have been an idiot until twenty-six years of age, when he fractured his skull against a stone staircase. he was trepanned. after recovering, his intellect fully developed itself in a mind endowed with a lively imagination, an amazing memory, and a zeal for study rarely equaled.' such instances can be accounted for by the brain having previously been poorly nourished by a defective blood supply, which defect was remedied by the increased circulation afforded by the head-injury. "it is a commonly known fact that activity of the brain is attended with a greater head-circulation than when the mind is dull, within certain limits. anomalous development of the brain through blood-vessels, affording an extra nutritive supply to the mental apparatus, can readily be conceived as occurring before birth, just as aberrant nutrition elsewhere produces giants from parents of ordinary size. "there is but one sense-defect in the child oscar, his eyesight-absence, and that is atoned for by his hearing and touch-acuteness, as it generally is in the blind. spitzka and others demonstrate that in such cases other parts of the brain enlarge to compensate for the atrophic portion which is connected with the functionless nerves. this, considered with his apparently perfect, mental and physical health, leaves no reason to suppose that oscar's extravagant memory depends upon disease any more than we can suspect all giants of being sickly, though the anomaly is doubtless due to pathologic conditions. of course, there is no predicting what may develop later in his life, but in any event science will be benefited. "it is a popular idea that great vigor of memory is often associated with low-grade intelligence, and cases such as blind tom and other 'idiot savants,' who could repeat the contents of a newspaper after a single reading, justify the supposition. fearon, on 'mental vigor,' tells of a man who could remember the day that every person had been buried in the parish for thirty-five years, and could repeat with unvarying accuracy the name and age of the deceased and the mourners at the funeral. but he was a complete fool. out of the line of burials he had not one idea, could not give an intelligible reply to a single question, nor be trusted even to feed himself. while memory-development is thus apparent in some otherwise defective intellects, it has probably as often or oftener been observed to occur in connection with full or great intelligence. edmund burke, clarendon, john locke, archbishop tillotson, and dr. johnson were all distinguished for having great strength of memory. sir w. hamilton observed that grotius, pascal, leibnitz, and euler were not less celebrated for their intelligence than for their memory. ben jonson could repeat all that he had written and whole books he had read. themistocles could call by name the , citizens of athens. cyrus is said to have known the name of every soldier in his army. hortensius, a great roman orator, and seneca had also great memories. niebuhr, the danish historian, was remarkable for his acuteness of memory. sir james mackintosh, dugald stewart, and dr. gregory had similar reputations. "nor does great mental endowment entail physical enfeeblement; for, with temperance, literary men have reached extreme old age, as in the cases of klopstock, goethe, chaucer, and the average age attained by all the signers of the american declaration of independence was sixty-four years, many of them being highly gifted men intellectually. thus, in the case of the phenomenal oscar it cannot be predicted that he will not develop, as he now promises to do, equal and extraordinary powers of mind, even though it would be rare in one of his racial descent, and in the face of the fact that precocity gives no assurance of adult brightness, for it can be urged that john stuart mill read greek when four years of age. "the child is strumous, however, and may die young. his exhibitors, who are coining him into money, should seek the best medical care for him and avoid surcharging his memory with rubbish. proper cultivation of his special senses, especially the tactile, by competent teachers, will give oscar the best chance of developing intellectually and acquiring an education in the proper sense of the word." by long custom many men of letters have developed wonderful feats of memory; and among illiterate persons, by means of points of association, the power of memory has been little short of marvelous. at a large hotel in saratoga there was at one time a negro whose duty was to take charge of the hats and coats of the guests as they entered the dining-room and return to each his hat after the meal. it was said that, without checks or the assistance of the owners, he invariably returned the right articles to the right persons on request, and no matter how large the crowd, his limit of memory never seemed to be reached. many persons have seen expert players at draughts and chess who, blindfolded, could carry on numerous games with many competitors and win most of the matches. to realize what a wonderful feat of memory this performance is, one need only see the absolute exhaustion of one of these men after a match. in whist, some experts have been able to detail the succession of the play of the cards so many hands back that their competitors had long since forgotten it. there is reported to be in johnson county, missouri, a mathematical wonder by the name of rube fields. at the present day he is between forty and fifty years of age, and his external appearance indicates poverty as well as indifference. his temperament is most sluggish; he rarely speaks unless spoken to, and his replies are erratic. the boyhood of this strange character was that of an overgrown country lout with boorish manners and silly mind. he did not and would not go to school, and he asserts now that if he had done so he "would have become as big a fool as other people." a shiftless fellow, left to his own devices, he performed some wonderful feats, and among the many stories connected with this period of his life is one which describes how he actually ate up a good-sized patch of sugar cane, simply because he found it good to his taste. yet from this clouded, illiterate mind a wonderful mathematical gift shines. just when he began to assert his powers is not known; but his feats have been remembered for twenty years by his neighbors. a report says:-- "give rube fields the distance by rail between any two points, and the dimensions of a car-wheel, and almost as soon as the statement has left your lips he will tell you the number of revolutions the wheel will make in traveling over the track. call four or five or any number of columns of figures down a page, and when you have reached the bottom he will announce the sum. given the number of yards or pounds of articles and the price, and at once he will return the total cost--and this he will do all day long, without apparent effort or fatigue. "a gentleman relates an instance of fields' knowledge of figures. after having called several columns of figures for addition, he went back to the first column, saying that it was wrong, and repeating it, purposely miscalling the next to the last figure. at once fields threw up his hand, exclaiming: 'you didn't call it that way before.' "fields' answers come quick and sharp, seemingly by intuition. calculations which would require hours to perform are made in less time than it takes to state the question. the size of the computations seems to offer no bar to their rapid solution, and answers in which long lines of figures are reeled off come with perfect ease. in watching the effort put forth in reaching an answer, there would seem to be some process going on in the mind, and an incoherent mumbling is often indulged in, but it is highly probable that fields does not himself know how he derives his answers. certain it is that he is unable to explain the process, nor has any one ever been able to draw from him anything concerning it. almost the only thing he knows about the power is that he possesses it, and, while he is not altogether averse to receiving money for his work, he has steadily refused to allow himself to be exhibited." in reviewing the peculiar endowment of fields, the chicago record says:-- "how this feat is performed is as much a mystery as the process by which he solves a problem in arithmetic. he answers no questions. rapid mathematicians, men of study, who by intense application and short methods have become expert, have sought to probe these two mysteries, but without results. indeed, the man's intelligence is of so low an order as to prevent him from aiding those who seek to know. with age, too, he grows more surly. of what vast value this 'gift' might be to the world of science, if coupled with average intelligence, is readily imagined. that it will ever be understood is unlikely. as it is, the power staggers belief and makes modern psychology, with its study of brain-cells, stand aghast. as to poor fields himself, he excites only sympathy. homeless, unkempt, and uncouth, traveling aimlessly on a journey which he does not understand, he hugs to his heart a marvelous power, which he declares to be a gift from god. to his weak mind it lifts him above his fellow-men, and yet it is as useless to the world as a diamond in a dead man's hand." wolf-children.--it is interesting to know to what degree a human being will resemble a beast when deprived of the association with man. we seem to get some insight to this question in the investigation of so called cases of "wolf-children." saxo grammaticus speaks of a bear that kidnapped a child and kept it a long time in his den. the tale of the roman she-wolf is well known, and may have been something more than a myth, as there have been several apparently authentic cases reported in which a child has been rescued from its associations with a wolf who had stolen it some time previously. most of the stories of wolf-children come from india. according to oswald in ball's "jungle life in india," there is the following curious account of two children in the orphanage of sekandra, near agra, who had been discovered among wolves: "a trooper sent by a native governor of chandaur to demand payment of some revenue was passing along the bank of the river about noon when he saw a large female wolf leave her den, followed by three whelps and a little boy. the boy went on all-fours, and when the trooper tried to catch him he ran as fast as the whelps, and kept up with the old one. they all entered the den, but were dug out by the people and the boy was secured. he struggled hard to rush into every hole or gully they came near. when he saw a grown-up person he became alarmed, but tried to fly at children and bite them. he rejected cooked meat with disgust, but delighted in raw flesh and bones, putting them under his paws like a dog." the other case occurred at chupra, in the presidency of bengal. in march, , a hindoo mother went out to help her husband in the field, and while she was cutting rice her little boy was carried off by a wolf. about a year afterward a wolf, followed by several cubs and a strange, ape-like creature, was seen about ten miles from chupra. after a lively chase the nondescript was caught and recognized (by the mark of a burn on his knee) as the hindoo boy that had disappeared in the rice-field. this boy would not eat anything but raw flesh, and could never be taught to speak, but expressed his emotions in an inarticulate mutter. his elbows and the pans of his knees had become horny from going on all-fours with his foster mother. in the winter of this boy made several attempts to regain his freedom, and in the following spring he escaped for good and disappeared in the jungle-forest of bhangapore. the zoologist for march, , reproduced a remarkable pamphlet printed at plymouth in , which had been epitomized in the lancet. this interesting paper gives an account of wolves nurturing small children in their dens. six cases are given of boys who have been rescued from the maternal care of wolves. in one instance the lad was traced from the moment of his being carried off by a lurking wolf while his parents were working in the field, to the time when, after having been recovered by his mother six years later, he escaped from her into the jungle. in all these cases certain marked features reappear. in the first, the boy was very inoffensive, except when teased, and then he growled surlily. he would eat anything thrown to him, but preferred meat, which he devoured with canine voracity. he drank a pitcher of buttermilk at one gulp, and could not be induced to wear clothing even in the coldest weather. he showed the greatest fondness for bones, and gnawed them contentedly, after the manner of his adopted parents. this child had coarse features, a repulsive countenance, was filthy in his habits, and could not articulate a word. in another case the child was kidnapped at three and recovered at nine. he muttered, but could not articulate. as in the other case, he could not be enticed to wear clothes. from constantly being on all-fours the front of this child's knees and his elbows had become hardened. in the third case the father identified a son who had been carried away at the age of six, and was found four years afterward. the intellectual deterioration was not so marked. the boy understood signs, and his hearing was exceedingly acute; when directed by movements of the hands to assist the cultivators in turning out cattle, he readily comprehended what was asked of him; yet this lad, whose vulpine career was so short, could neither talk nor utter any decidedly articulate sound. the author of the pamphlet expressed some surprise that there was no case on record in which a grown man had been found in such association. this curious collection of cases of wolf-children is attributed to colonel sleeman, a well-known officer, who is known to have been greatly interested in the subject, and who for a long time resided in the forests of india. a copy, now a rarity, is in the south kensington museum. an interesting case of a wolf-child was reported many years ago in chambers' journal. in the etwah district, near the banks of the river jumna, a boy was captured from the wolves. after a time this child was restored to his parents, who, however, "found him very difficult to manage, for he was most fractious and troublesome--in fact, just a caged wild beast. often during the night for hours together he would give vent to most unearthly yells and moans, destroying the rest and irritating the tempers of his neighbors and generally making night hideous. on one occasion his people chained him by the waist to a tree on the outskirts of the village. then a rather curious incident occurred. it was a bright moonlight night, and two wolf cubs (undoubtedly those in whose companionship he had been captured), attracted by his cries while on the prowl, came to him, and were distinctly seen to gambol around him with as much familiarity and affection as if they considered him quite one of themselves. they only left him on the approach of morning, when movement and stir again arose in the village. this boy did not survive long. he never spoke, nor did a single ray of human intelligence ever shed its refining light over his debased features." recently a writer in the badmington magazine, in speaking of the authenticity of wolf-children, says:-- "a jemidar told me that when he was a lad he remembered going, with others, to see a wolf-child which had been netted. some time after this, while staying at an up-country place called shaporeooundie, in east bengal, it was my fortune to meet an anglo-indian gentleman who had been in the indian civil service for upward of thirty years, and had traveled about during most of that time; from him i learned all i wanted to know of wolf-children, for he not only knew of several cases, but had actually seen and examined, near agra, a child which had been recovered from the wolves. the story of romulus and remus, which all schoolboys and the vast majority of grown people regard as a myth, appears in a different light when one studies the question of wolf-children, and ascertains how it comes to pass that boys are found living on the very best terms with such treacherous and rapacious animals as wolves, sleeping with them in their dens, sharing the raw flesh of deer and kids which the she-wolf provides, and, in fact, leading in all essentials the actual life of a wolf. "a young she-wolf has a litter of cubs, and after a time her instinct tells her that they will require fresh food. she steals out at night in quest of prey. soon she espies a weak place in the fence (generally constructed of thatching grass and bamboos) which encloses the compound, or 'unguah,' of a poor villager. she enters, doubtless, in the hope of securing a kid; and while prowling about inside looks into a hut where a woman and infant are soundly sleeping. in a moment she has pounced on the child, and is out of reach before its cries can attract the villagers. arriving safely at her den under the rocks, she drops the little one among her cubs. at this critical time the fate of the child hangs in the balance. either it will be immediately torn to pieces and devoured, or in a most wonderful way remain in the cave unharmed. in the event of escape, the fact may be accounted for in several ways. perhaps the cubs are already gorged when the child is thrown before them, or are being supplied with solid food before their carnivorous instinct is awakened, so they amuse themselves by simply licking the sleek, oily body (hindoo mothers daily rub their boy babies with some native vegetable oil) of the infant, and thus it lies in the nest, by degrees getting the odor of the wolf cubs, after which the mother wolf will not molest it. in a little time the infant begins to feel the pangs of hunger, and hearing the cubs sucking, soon follows their example. now the adoption is complete, all fear of harm to the child from wolves has gone, and the foster-mother will guard and protect it as though it were of her own flesh and blood. "the mode of progression of these children is on all fours--not, as a rule, on the hands and feet, but on the knees and elbows. the reason the knees are used is to be accounted for by the fact that, owing to the great length of the human leg and thigh in proportion to the length of the arm, the knee would naturally be brought to the ground, and the instep and top of the toes would be used instead of the sole and heel of the almost inflexible foot. why the elbow should be employed instead of the hand is less easy to understand, but probably it is better suited to give support to the head and fore-part of the body. "some of these poor waifs have been recovered after spending ten or more years in the fellowship of wolves, and, though wild and savage at first, have in time become tractable in some degree. they are rarely seen to stand upright, unless to look around, and they gnaw bones in the manner of a dog, holding one end between the forearms and hands, while snarling and snapping at everybody who approaches too near. the wolf-child has little except his outward form to show that it is a human being with a soul. it is a fearful and terrible thing, and hard to understand, that the mere fact of a child's complete isolation from its own kind should bring it to such a state of absolute degradation. of course, they speak no language, though some, in time, have learned to make known their wants by signs. when first taken they fear the approach of adults, and, if possible, will slink out of sight; but should a child of their own size, or smaller, come near, they will growl, and even snap and bite at it. on the other hand, the close proximity of "pariah" dogs or jackals is unresented, in some cases welcomed; for i have heard of them sharing their food with these animals, and even petting and fondling them. they have in time been brought to a cooked-meat diet, but would always prefer raw flesh. some have been kept alive after being reclaimed for as long as two years, but for some reason or other they all sicken and die, generally long before that time. one would think, however, that, having undoubtedly robust constitutions, they might be saved if treated in a scientific manner and properly managed." rudyard kipling, possibly inspired by accounts of these wolf-children in india, has ingeniously constructed an interesting series of fabulous stories of a child who was brought up by the beasts of the jungles and taught their habits and their mode of communication. the ingenious way in which the author has woven the facts together and interspersed them with his intimate knowledge of animal-life commends his "jungle-book" as a legitimate source of recreation to the scientific observer. among observers mentioned in the "index catalogue" who have studied this subject are giglioli, mitra, and ornstein. the artificial manufacture of "wild men" or "wild boys" in the chinese empire is shown by recent reports. macgowan says the traders kidnap a boy and skin him alive bit by bit, transplanting on the denuded surfaces the hide of a bear or dog. this process is most tedious and is by no means complete when the hide is completely transplanted, as the subject must be rendered mute by destruction of the vocal cords, made to use all fours in walking, and submitted to such degradation as to completely blight all reason. it is said that the process is so severe that only one in five survive. a "wild boy" exhibited in kiangse had the entire skin of a dog substituted and walked on all fours. it was found that he had been kidnapped. his proprietor was decapitated on the spot. macgowan says that parasitic monsters are manufactured in china by a similar process of transplantation. he adds that the deprivation of light for several years renders the child a great curiosity, if in conjunction its growth is dwarfed by means of food and drugs, and its vocal apparatus destroyed. a certain priest subjected a kidnapped boy to this treatment and exhibited him as a sacred deity. macgowan mentions that the child looked like wax, as though continually fed on lardaceous substances. he squatted with his palms together and was a driveling idiot. the monk was discovered and escaped, but his temple was razed. equilibrists.--many individuals have cultivated their senses so acutely that by the eye and particularly by touch they are able to perform almost incredible feats of maintaining equilibrium under the most difficult circumstances professional rope-walkers have been known in all times. the greeks had a particular passion for equilibrists, and called them "neurobates," "oribates," and "staenobates." blondin would have been one of the latter. antique medals showing equilibrists making the ascent of an inclined cord have been found. the romans had walkers both of the slack-rope and tight-rope many of the fathers of the church have pronounced against the dangers of these exercises. among others, st. john chrysostom speaks of men who execute movements on inclined ropes at unheard-of heights. in the ruins of herculaneum there is still visible a picture representing an equilibrist executing several different exercises, especially one in which he dances on a rope to the tune of a double flute, played by himself. the romans particularly liked to witness ascensions on inclined ropes, and sometimes these were attached to the summits of high hills, and while mounting them the acrobats performed different pantomimes. it is said that under charles vi a genoese acrobat, on the occasion of the arrival of the queen of france, carried in each hand an illuminated torch while descending a rope stretched from the summit of the towers of notre dame to a house on the pont au change. according to guyot-daubes, a similar performance was seen in london in . in this instance the rope was attached to the highest pinnacle of st. paul's cathedral. under louis xii an acrobat named georges menustre, during a passage of the king through macon, executed several performances on a rope stretched from the grand tower of the chateau and the clock of the jacobins, at a height of feet. a similar performance was given at milan before the french ambassadors, and at venice under the doges and the senate on each st. mark's day, rope-walkers performed at high altitudes. in a man attempted to traverse the seine on a rope placed between the tour de nesles and the tour du grand-prevost. the performance, however, was interrupted by the fall of the mountebank into the seine. at subsequent fairs in france other acrobats have appeared. at the commencement of this century there was a person named madame saqui who astonished the public with her nimbleness and extraordinary skill in rope walking. her specialty was military maneuvers. on a cord meters from the ground she executed all sorts of military pantomimes without assistance, shooting off pistols, rockets, and various colored fires. napoleon awarded her the title of the first acrobat of france. she gave a performance as late as at the hippodrome of paris. in there was a woman called "la malaga," who, in the presence of the allied sovereigns at versailles, made an ascension on a rope feet above the swiss lake. in the present generation probably the most famous of all the equilibrists was blondin. this person, whose real name was emile gravelet, acquired a universal reputation; about he traversed the niagara falls on a cable at an elevation of nearly feet. blondin introduced many novelties in his performances. sometimes he would carry a man over on his shoulders; again he would eat a meal while on his wire; cook and eat an omelet, using a table and ordinary cooking utensils, all of which he kept balanced. in france blondin was almost the patron saint of the rope-walkers; and at the present day the performers imitate his feats, but never with the same grace and perfection. in an acrobat bearing the natural name of arsens blondin traversed one river after another in france on a wire stretched at high altitudes. with the aid of a balancing-rod he walked the rope blindfolded; with baskets on his feet; sometimes he wheeled persons over in a wheelbarrow. he was a man of about thirty, short, but wonderfully muscled and extremely supple. it is said that a negro equilibrist named malcom several times traversed the meuse at sedan on a wire at about a height of feet. once while attempting this feat, with his hands and feet shackled with iron chains, allowing little movement, the support on one side fell, after the cable had parted, and landed on the spectators, killing a young girl and wounding many others. malcom was precipitated into the river, but with wonderful presence of mind and remarkable strength he broke his bands and swam to the shore, none the worse for his high fall; he immediately helped in attention to his wounded spectators. a close inspection of all the exhibitionists of this class will show that they are of superior physique and calm courage. they only acquire their ability after long gymnastic exercise, as well as actual practice on the rope. most of these persons used means of balancing themselves, generally a long and heavy pole; but some used nothing but their outstretched arms. in , at the royal aquarium in london, there was an individual who slowly mounted a long wire reaching to the top of this huge structure, and, after having made the ascent, without the aid of any means of balancing but his arms, slid the whole length of the wire, landing with enormous velocity into an outstretched net. the equilibrists mentioned thus far have invariably used a tightly stretched rope or wire; but there are a number of persons who perform feats, of course not of such magnitude, on a slack wire, in which they have to defy not only the force of gravity, but the to-and-fro motion of the cable as well. it is particularly with the oriental performers that we see this exhibition. some use open parasols, which, with their chinese or japanese costumes, render the performance more picturesque; while others seem to do equally well without such adjuncts. there have been performers of this class who play with sharp daggers while maintaining themselves on thin and swinging wires. another class of equilibrists are those who maintain the upright position resting on their heads with their feet in the air. at the hippodrome in paris some years since there was a man who remained in this position seven minutes and ate a meal during the interval. there were two clowns at the cirque franconi who duplicated this feat, and the program called their dinner "un dejouner en tete-a-tete." some other persons perform wonderful feats of a similar nature on an oscillating trapeze, and many similar performances have been witnessed by the spectators of our large circuses. the "human pyramids" are interesting, combining, as they do, wonderful power of maintaining equilibrium with agility and strength. the rapidity with which they are formed and are tumbled to pieces is marvelous they sometimes include as many as persons men, women, and children. the exhibitions given by the class of persons commonly designated as "jugglers" exemplify the perfect control that by continual practice one may obtain over his various senses and muscles. the most wonderful feats of dexterity are thus reduced into mere automatic movements. either standing, sitting, mounted on a horse, or even on a wire, they are able to keep three four, five, and even six balls in continual motion in the air. they use articles of the greatest difference in specific gravity in the same manner. a juggler called "kara," appearing in london and paris in the summer of , juggled with an open umbrella, an eye-glass, and a traveling satchel, and received each after its course in the air with unerring precision. another man called "paul cinquevalli," well known in this country, does not hesitate to juggle with lighted lamps or pointed knives. the tricks of the clowns with their traditional pointed felt hats are well known. recently there appeared in philadelphia a man who received six such hats on his head, one on top of the other, thrown by his partner from the rear of the first balcony of the theater. others will place a number of rings on their fingers, and with a swift and dexterous movement toss them all in the air, catching them again all on one finger. without resorting to the fabulous method of columbus, they balance eggs on a table, and in extraordinary ways defy all the powers of gravity. in india and china we see the most marvelous of the knife-jugglers. with unerring skill they keep in motion many pointed knives, always receiving them at their fall by the handles. they throw their implements with such precision that one often sees men, who, placing their partner against a soft board, will stand at some distance and so pen him in with daggers that he cannot move until some are withdrawn, marking a silhouette of his form on the board,--yet never once does one as much as graze the skin. with these same people the foot-jugglers are most common. these persons, both made and female, will with their feet juggle substances and articles that it requires several assistants to raise. a curious trick is given by rousselet in his magnificent work entitled "l'inde des rajahs," and quoted by guyot-daubes. it is called in india the "dance of the eggs." the dancer, dressed in a rather short skirt, places on her head a large wheel made of light wood, and at regular intervals having hanging from it pieces of thread, at the ends of which are running knots kept open by beads of glass. she then brings forth a basket of eggs, and passes them around for inspection to assure her spectators of their genuineness. the monotonous music commences and the dancer sets the wheel on her head in rapid motion; then, taking an egg, with a quick movement she puts it on one of the running knots and increases the velocity of the revolution of the wheel by gyrations until the centrifugal force makes each cord stand out in an almost horizontal line with the circumference of the wheel. then one after another she places the eggs on the knots of the cord, until all are flying about her head in an almost horizontal position. at this moment the dance begins, and it is almost impossible to distinguish the features of the dancer. she continues her dance, apparently indifferent to the revolving eggs. at the velocity with which they revolve the slightest false movement would cause them to knock against one another and surely break. finally, with the same lightning-like movements, she removes them one by one, certainly the most delicate part of the trick, until they are all safely laid away in the basket from which they came, and then she suddenly brings the wheel to a stop; after this wonderful performance, lasting possibly thirty minutes, she bows herself out. a unique japanese feat is to tear pieces of paper into the form of butterflies and launch them into the air about a vase full of flowers; then with a fan to keep them in motion, making them light on the flowers, fly away, and return, after the manner of several living butterflies, without allowing one to fall to the ground. marksmen.--it would be an incomplete paper on the acute development of the senses that did not pay tribute to the men who exhibit marvelous skill with firearms. in the old frontier days in the territories, the woodsmen far eclipsed tell with his bow or robin hood's famed band by their unerring aim with their rifles. it is only lately that there disappeared in this country the last of many woodsmen, who, though standing many paces away and without the aid of the improved sights of modern guns, could by means of a rifle-ball, with marvelous precision, drive a nail "home" that had been placed partly in a board. the experts who shoot at glass balls rarely miss, and when we consider the number used each year, the proportion of inaccurate shots is surprisingly small. ira paine, doctor carver, and others have been seen in their marvelous performances by many people of the present generation. the records made by many of the competitors of the modern army-shooting matches are none the less wonderful, exemplifying as they do the degree of precision that the eye may attain and the control which may be developed over the nerves and muscles. the authors know of a countryman who successfully hunted squirrels and small game by means of pebbles thrown with his hand. physiologic wonders are to be found in all our modern sports and games. in billiards, base-ball, cricket, tennis, etc., there are experts who are really physiologic curiosities. in the trades and arts we see development of the special senses that is little less than marvelous. it is said that there are workmen in krupp's gun factory in germany who have such control over the enormous trip hammers that they can place a watch under one and let the hammer fall, stopping it with unerring precision just on the crystal. an expert tool juggler in one of the great english needle factories, in a recent test of skill, performed one of the most delicate mechanical feats imaginable. he took a common sewing needle of medium size (length / inches) and drilled a hole through its entire length from eye to point--the opening being just large enough to admit the passage of a very fine hair. another workman in a watch-factory of the united states drilled a hole through a hair of his beard and ran a fiber of silk through it. ventriloquists, or "two-voiced men," are interesting anomalies of the present day; it is common to see a person who possesses the power of speaking with a voice apparently from the epigastrium. some acquire this faculty, while with others it is due to a natural resonance, formed, according to dupont, in the space between the third and fourth ribs and their cartilaginous union and the middle of the first portion of the sternum. examination of many of these cases proves that the vibration is greatest here. it is certain that ventriloquists have existed for many centuries. it is quite possible that some of the old pagan oracles were simply the deceptions of priests by means of ventriloquism. dupont, surgeon-in-chief of the french army about a century since, examined minutely an individual professing to be a ventriloquist. with a stuffed fox on his lap near his epigastrium, he imitated a conversation with the fox. by lying on his belly, and calling to some one supposed to be below the surface of the ground, he would imitate an answer seeming to come from the depths of the earth. with his belly on the ground he not only made the illusion more complete, but in this way he smothered "the epigastric voice." he was always noticed to place the inanimate objects with which he held conversations near his umbilicus. ventriloquists must not be confounded with persons who by means of skilful mechanisms, creatures with movable fauces, etc., imitate ventriloquism. the latter class are in no sense of the word true ventriloquists, but simulate the anomaly by quickly changing the tones of their voice in rapid succession, and thus seem to make their puppets talk in many different voices. after having acquired the ability to suddenly change the tone of their voice, they practice imitations of the voices of the aged, of children, dialects, and feminine tones, and, with a set of mechanical puppets, are ready to appear as ventriloquists. by contraction of the pharyngeal and laryngeal muscles they also imitate tones from a distance. some give their performance with little labial movement, but close inspection of the ordinary performer of this class shows visible movements of his lips. the true ventriloquist pretends only to speak from the belly and needs no mechanical assistance. the wonderful powers of mimicry displayed by expert ventriloquists are marvelous; they not only imitate individuals and animals, but do not hesitate to imitate a conglomeration of familiar sounds and noises in such a manner as to deceive their listeners into believing that they hear the discussions of an assemblage of people. the following description of an imitation of a domestic riot by a chinese ventriloquist is given by the author of "the chinaman at home" and well illustrates the extent of their abilities: "the ventriloquist was seated behind a screen, where there were only a chair, a table, a fan, and a ruler. with this ruler he rapped on the table to enforce silence, and when everybody had ceased speaking there was suddenly heard the barking of a dog. then we heard the movements of a woman. she had been waked by the dog and was shaking her husband. we were just expecting to hear the man and wife talking together when a child began to cry. to pacify it the mother gave it food; we could hear it drinking and crying at the same time. the mother spoke to it soothingly and then rose to change its clothes. meanwhile another child had wakened and was beginning to make a noise. the father scolded it, while the baby continued crying. by-and-by the whole family went back to bed and fell asleep. the patter of a mouse was heard. it climbed up some vase and upset it. we heard the clatter of the vase as it fell. the woman coughed in her sleep. then cries of "fire! fire!" were heard. the mouse had upset the lamp; the bed curtains were on fire. the husband and wife waked up, shouted, and screamed, the children cried, people came running and shouting. children cried, dogs barked, squibs and crackers exploded. the fire brigade came racing up. water was pumped up in torrents and hissed in the flames. the representation was so true to life that every one rose to his feet and was starting away when a second blow of the ruler on the table commanded silence. we rushed behind the screen, but there was nothing there except the ventriloquist, his table, his chair, and his ruler." athletic feats.--the ancients called athletes those who were noted for their extraordinary agility, force, and endurance. the history of athletics is not foreign to that of medicine, but, on the contrary, the two are in many ways intimately blended. the instances of feats of agility and endurance are in every sense of the word examples of physiologic and functional anomalies, and have in all times excited the interest and investigation of capable physicians. the greeks were famous for their love of athletic pastimes; and classical study serves powerfully to strengthen the belief that no institution exercised greater influence than the public contests of greece in molding national character and producing that admirable type of personal and intellectual beauty that we see reflected in her art and literature. these contests were held at four national festivals, the olympian, the pythian, the nemean, and the isthmean games. on these occasions every one stopped labor, truce was declared between the states, and the whole country paid tribute to the contestants for the highly-prized laurels of these games. perhaps the enthusiasm shown in athletics and interest in physical development among the greeks has never been equaled by any other people. herodotus and all the greek writers to plutarch have elaborated on the glories of the greek athlete, and tell us of the honors rendered to the victors by the spectators and the vanquished, dwelling with complacency on the fact that in accepting the laurel they cared for nothing but honor. the romans in "ludi publici," as they called their games, were from first to last only spectators; but in greece every eligible person was an active participant. in the regimen of diet and training the physicians from the time of hippocrates, and even before, have been the originators and professional advisers of the athlete. the change in the manner of living of athletes, if we can judge from the writings of hippocrates, was anterior to his time; for in book v of the "epidemics" we read of bias, who, "suapte nature vorax, in choleram-morbum incidit ex carnium esu, praecipueque suillarum crudarum, etc." from the time of the well-known fable of the hero who, by practicing daily from his birth, was able to lift a full-grown bull, thus gradually accustoming himself to the increased weight, physiologists and scientists have collaborated with the athlete in evolving the present ideas and system of training. in his aphorisms hippocrates bears witness to the dangers of over-exercise and superabundant training, and galen is particularly averse to an art which so preternaturally develops the constitution and nature of man; many subsequent medical authorities believed that excessive development of the human frame was necessarily followed by a compensatory shortening of life. the foot-race was the oldest of the greek institutions, and in the first of the olympiads the "dromos," a course of about yards, was the only contest; but gradually the "dialos," in which the course was double that of the dromos, was introduced, and, finally, tests of endurance as well as speed were instituted in the long-distance races and the contests of racing in heavy armor, which were so highly commended by plato as preparation for the arduous duties of a soldier. among the greeks we read of lasthenes the theban, who vanquished a horse in the course; of polymnestor, who chased and caught a hare; and philonides, the courier of alexander the great, who in nine hours traversed the distance between the greek cities sicyone and elis, a distance of over miles. we read of the famous soldier of marathon, who ran to announce the victory to the magistrates of athens and fell dead at their feet. in the olympian games at athens in this distance (about miles) was traversed in less than three hours. it is said of euchidas, who carried the fire necessary for the sacrifices which were to replace those which the persians had spoiled, that he ran a thousand stadia (about miles) and fell dead at the end of his mission. the roman historians have also recited the extraordinary feats of the couriers of their times. pliny speaks of an athlete who ran kilometers (almost miles) without once stopping. he also mentions a child who ran almost half this distance. in the middle ages the turks had couriers of almost supernatural agility and endurance. it is said that the distance some of them would traverse in twenty-four hours was miles, and that it was common for them to make the round trip from constantinople to adrianople, a distance of leagues, in two days. they were dressed very lightly, and by constant usage the soles of their feet were transformed into a leathery consistency. in the last century in the houses of the rich there were couriers who preceded the carriages and were known as "basques," who could run for a very long time without apparent fatigue. in france there is a common proverb, "courir comme un basque." rabelais says: "grand-gousier depeche le basque son laquais pour querir gargantua en toute hate." in the olden times the english nobility maintained running footmen who, living under special regimen and training, were enabled to traverse unusual distances without apparent fatigue. there is an anecdote of a nobleman living in a castle not far from edinburgh, who one evening charged his courier to carry a letter to that city. the next morning when he arose he found this valet sleeping in his antechamber. the nobleman waxed wroth, but the courier gave him a response to the letter. he had traveled miles during the night. it is said that one of the noblemen under charles ii in preparing for a great dinner perceived that one of the indispensable pieces of his service was missing. his courier was dispatched in great haste to another house in his domain, miles distant, and returned in two hours with the necessary article, having traversed a distance of over miles. it is also said that a courier carrying a letter to a london physician returned with the potion prescribed within twenty-four hours, having traversed miles. there is little doubt of the ability of these couriers to tire out any horse. the couriers who accompany the diligences in spain often fatigue the animals who draw the vehicles. at the present time in this country the indians furnish examples of marvelous feats of running. the tauri-mauri indians, who live in the heart of the sierra madre mountains, are probably the most wonderful long-distance runners in the world. their name in the language of the mountain mexicans means foot-runners; and there is little doubt that they perform athletic feats which equal the best in the days of the olympian games. they are possibly the remnants of the wonderful runners among the indian tribes in the beginning of this century. there is an account of one of the tauri-mauri who was mail carrier between guarichic and san jose de los cruces, a distance of miles of as rough, mountainous road as ever tried a mountaineer's lungs and limbs. bareheaded and barelegged, with almost no clothing, this man made this trip each day, and, carrying on his back a mail-pouch weighing pounds, moved gracefully and easily over his path, from time to time increasing his speed as though practicing, and then again more slowly to smoke a cigarette. the tauri-mauri are long-limbed and slender, giving the impression of being above the average height. there is scarcely any flesh on their puny arms, but their legs are as muscular as those of a greyhound. in short running they have the genuine professional stride, something rarely seen in other indian racers. in traversing long distances they leap and bound like deer. "deerfoot," the famous indian long-distance runner, died on the cattaraugus reservation in january, . his proper name was louis bennett, the name "deerfoot" having been given to him for his prowess in running. he was born on the reservation in . in he went to england, where he defeated the english champion runners. in april, , he ran miles in london in fifty-six minutes fifty-two seconds, and miles in one hour two minutes and two and one-half seconds, both of which have stood as world's records ever since. in japan, at the present day, the popular method of conveyance, both in cities and in rural districts, is the two-wheeled vehicle, looking like a baby-carriage, known to foreigners as the jinrickisha, and to the natives as the kuruma. in the city of tokio there is estimated to be , of these little carriages in use. they are drawn by coolies, of whose endurance remarkable stories are told. these men wear light cotton breeches and a blue cotton jacket bearing the license number, and the indispensable umbrella hat. in the course of a journey in hot weather the jinrickisha man will gradually remove most of his raiment and stuff it into the carriage. in the rural sections he is covered with only two strips of cloth, one wrapped about his head and the other about his loins. it is said that when the roadway is good, these "human horses" prefer to travel bare-footed; when working in the mud they wrap a piece of straw about each big toe, to prevent slipping and to give them a firmer grip. for any of these men a five-mile spurt on a good road without a breathing spell is a small affair. a pair of them will roll a jinrickisha along a country road at the rate of four miles an hour, and they will do this eight hours a day. the general average of the distance traversed in a day is miles. cockerill, who has recently described these men, says that the majority of them die early. the terrible physical strain brings on hypertrophy and valvular diseases of the heart, and many of them suffer from hernia. occasionally one sees a veteran jinrickisha man, and it is interesting to note how tenderly he is helped by his confreres. they give him preference as regards wages, help push his vehicle up heavy grades, and show him all manner of consideration. figure represents two japanese porters and their usual load, which is much more difficult to transport than a jinrickisha carriage. in other eastern countries, palanquins and other means of conveyance are still borne on the shoulders of couriers, and it is not so long since our ancestors made their calls in sedan-chairs borne by sturdy porters. some of the letter-carriers of india make a daily journey of miles. they carry in one hand a stick, at the extremity of which is a ring containing several little plates of iron, which, agitated during the course, produce a loud noise designed to keep off ferocious beasts and serpents. in the other hand they carry a wet cloth, with which they frequently refresh themselves by wiping the countenance. it is said that a regular hindustanee carrier, with a weight of pounds on his shoulder,--carried, of course, in two divisions, hung on his neck by a yoke,--will, if properly paid, lope along over miles in twenty-four hours--a feat which would exhaust any but the best trained runners. the "go-as-you-please" pedestrians, whose powers during the past years have been exhibited in this country and in england, have given us marvelous examples of endurance, over miles having been accomplished in a six-days' contest. hazael, the professional pedestrian, has run over miles in ninety-nine hours, and albert has traveled over miles in one hundred and ten hours. rowell, hughes, and fitzgerald have astonishingly high records for long-distance running, comparing favorably with the older, and presumably mythical, feats of this nature. in california, c. a. harriman of truckee in april, , walked twenty-six hours without once resting, traversing miles. for the purpose of comparison we give the best modern records for running:-- yards.-- / seconds, made by edward donavan, at natick, mass., september , . yards.-- / seconds, made by harry jewett, at montreal, september , . quarter-mile.-- / seconds, made by w. baker, at boston, mass., july , . half-mile.-- minute / seconds, made by c. j. kirkpatrick, at manhattan field, new york, september , . mile.-- minutes / seconds, made by w. g. george, at london, england, august , . miles.-- minutes seconds, made by j. white, in england, may , . miles.-- minutes / seconds, made by william cummings, at london, england, september , . miles.-- hours minutes seconds, made by g. a. dunning, at london, england, december , . miles.-- hours minutes / seconds, made by george cartwright, at london, england, february , . miles.-- hours minutes seconds, made by george littlewood, at london, england, november , . miles.-- hours minutes seconds, made by charles rowell at new york, february , . in instances of long-distance traversing, rapidity is only a secondary consideration, the remarkable fact being in the endurance of fatigue and the continuity of the exercise. william gale walked miles in a thousand consecutive hours, and then walked miles every twenty-four hours for six weeks on the lillie bridge cinder path. he was five feet five inches tall, forty-nine years of age, and weighed pounds, and was but little developed muscularly. he was in good health during his feat; his diet for the twenty-four hours was pounds of meat, five or six eggs, some cocoa, two quarts of milk, a quart of tea, and occasionally a glass of bitter ale, but never wine nor spirits. strange to say, he suffered from constipation, and took daily a compound rhubarb pill. he was examined at the end of his feat by gant. his pulse was , strong, regular, and his heart was normal. his temperature was . degrees f., and his hands and feet warm; respirations were deep and averaged a minute. he suffered from frontal headache and was drowsy. during the six weeks he had lost only seven pounds, and his appetite maintained its normal state. zeuner of cincinnati refers to john snyder of dunkirk, whose walking-feats were marvelous. he was not an impostor. during forty-eight hours he was watched by the students of the ohio medical college, who stated that he walked constantly; he assured them that it did not rest him to sit down, but made him uncomfortable. the celebrated weston walked miles in one hundred days, but snyder was said to have traveled , miles in five hundred days and was apparently no more tired than when he began. recently there was a person who pushed a wheelbarrow from san francisco to new york in one hundred and eighteen days. in the celebrated captain barclay wagered that he could walk miles in one thousand consecutive hours, and gained his bet with some hours to spare. in ernest mensen astonished all europe by his pedestrian exploits. he was a norwegian sailor, who wagered that he could walk from paris to moscow in fifteen days. on june , , at ten o'clock a.m., he entered the kremlin, after having traversed kilometers ( miles) in fourteen days and eighteen hours. his performances all over europe were so marvelous as to be almost incredible. in , in the service of the east india company, he was dispatched from calcutta to constantinople, across central asia. he traversed the distance in fifty-nine days, accomplishing kilometers ( miles) in one-third less time than the most rapid caravan. he died while attempting to discover the source of the nile, having reached the village of syang. a most marvelous feat of endurance is recorded in england in the first part of this century. it is said that on a wager sir andrew leith hay and lord kennedy walked two days and a night under pouring rain, over the grampian range of mountains, wading all one day in a bog. the distance traversed was from a village called banchory on the river dee to inverness. this feat was accomplished without any previous preparation, both men starting shortly after the time of the wager. riders.--the feats of endurance accomplished by the couriers who ride great distances with many changes of horses are noteworthy. according to a contemporary medical journal there is, in the friend of india, an account of the thibetan couriers who ride for three weeks with intervals of only half an hour to eat and change horses. it is the duty of the officials at the dak bungalows to see that the courier makes no delay, and even if dying he is tied to his horse and sent to the next station. the celebrated english huntsman, "squire" osbaldistone, on a wager rode miles in seven hours ten minutes and four seconds. he used horses; and as one hour twenty-two minutes and fifty-six seconds were allowed for stoppages, the whole time, changes and all, occupied in accomplishing this wonderful feat was eight hours and forty-two minutes. the race was ridden at the newmarket houghton meeting over a four-mile course. it is said that a captain horne of the madras horse artillery rode miles on arab horses in less than ten hours along the road between madras and bangalore. when we consider the slower speed of the arab horses and the roads and climate of india, this performance equals the miles in the shorter time about an english race track and on thoroughbreds. it is said that this wonderful horseman lost his life in riding a horse named "jumping jenny" miles a day for eight days. the heat was excessive, and although the horse was none the worse for the performance, the captain died from the exposure he encountered. there is a record of a mr. bacon of the bombay civil service, who rode one camel from bombay to allygur (perhaps miles) in eight days. as regards the physiology of the runners and walkers, it is quite interesting to follow the effects of training on the respiration, whereby in a measure is explained the ability of these persons to maintain their respiratory function, although excessively exercising. a curious discussion, persisted in since antiquity, is as to the supposed influence of the spleen on the ability of couriers. for ages runners have believed that the spleen was a hindrance to their vocation, and that its reduction was followed by greater agility on the course. with some, this opinion is perpetuated to the present day. in france there is a proverb, "courir comme un derate." to reduce the size of the spleen, the greek athletes used certain beverages, the composition of which was not generally known; the romans had a similar belief and habit pliny speaks of a plant called equisetum, a decoction of which taken for three days after a fast of twenty-four hours would effect absorption of the spleen. the modern pharmacopeia does not possess any substance having a similar virtue, although quinin has been noticed to diminish the size of the spleen when engorged in malarial fevers. strictly speaking, however, the facts are not analogous. hippocrates advises a moxa of mushrooms applied over the spleen for melting or dissolving it. godefroy moebius is said to have seen in the village of halberstadt a courier whose spleen had been cauterized after incision; and about the same epoch (seventeenth century) some men pretended to be able to successfully extirpate the spleen for those who desired to be couriers. this operation we know to be one of the most delicate in modern surgery, and as we are progressing with our physiologic knowledge of the spleen we see nothing to justify the old theory in regard to its relations to agility and coursing. swimming.--the instances of endurance that we see in the aquatic sports are equally as remarkable as those that we find among the runners and walkers. in the ancient days the greeks, living on their various islands and being in a mild climate, were celebrated for their prowess as swimmers. socrates relates the feats of swimming among the inhabitants of delos. the journeys of leander across the hellespont are well celebrated in verse and prose, but this feat has been easily accomplished many times since, and is hardly to be classed as extraordinary. herodotus says that the macedonians were skilful swimmers; and all the savage tribes about the borders of waterways are found possessed of remarkable dexterity and endurance in swimming. in the celebrated captain webb swam from dover to calais. on landing he felt extremely cold, but his body was as warm as when he started. he was exhausted and very sleepy, falling in deep slumber on his way to the hotel. on getting into bed his temperature was degrees f. and his pulse normal. in five hours he was feverish, his temperature rising to degrees f. during the passage he was blinded from the salt water in his eyes and the spray beating against his face. he strongly denied the newspaper reports that he was delirious, and after a good rest was apparently none the worse for the task. in he again traversed this passage with the happiest issue. in he was engaged by speculators to swim the rapids at niagara, and in attempting this was overcome by the powerful currents, and his body was not recovered for some days after. the passage from dover to calais has been duplicated. in cavill, another englishman, swam from cape griz-nez to south forland in less than thirteen hours. in webb swam and floated at scarborough for seventy-four consecutive hours--of course, having no current to contend with and no point to reach. this was merely a feat of staying in the water. in london in , beckwith, swimming ten hours a day over a -lap course for six days, traversed miles. since the time of captain webb, who was the pioneer of modern long-distance swimming, many men have attempted and some have duplicated his feats; but these foolhardy performances have in late years been diminishing, and many of the older feats are forbidden by law. jumpers and acrobatic tumblers have been popular from the earliest time. by the aid of springing boards and weights in their hands, the old jumpers covered great distances. phayllus of croton is accredited with jumping the incredible distance of feet, and we have the authority of eustache and tzetzes that this jump is genuine. in the writings of many greek and roman historians are chronicled jumps of about feet by the athletes; if they are true, the modern jumpers have greatly degenerated. a jump of over feet to-day is considered very clever, the record being feet seven inches with weights, and feet eight inches without weights, although much greater distances have been jumped with the aid of apparatus, but never an approximation to feet. the most surprising of all these athletes are the tumblers, who turn somersaults over several animals arranged in a row. such feats are not only the most amusing sights of a modern circus, but also the most interesting as well. the agility of these men is marvelous, and the force with which they throw themselves in the air apparently enables them to defy gravity. in london, paris, or new york one may see these wonderful tumblers and marvel at the capabilities of human physical development. in september, , m. f. sweeney, an american amateur, at manhattan field in new york jumped six feet / inches high in the running high jump without weights. with weights, j. h. fitzpatrick at oak island, mass., jumped six feet six inches high. the record for the running high kick is nine feet eight inches, a marvelous performance, made by c. c. lee at new haven, conn., march , . extraordinary physical development and strength has been a grand means of natural selection in the human species. as guyot-daubes remarks, in prehistoric times, when our ancestors had to battle against hunger, savage beasts, and their neighbors, and when the struggle for existence was so extremely hard, the strong man alone resisted and the weak succumbed. this natural selection has been perpetuated almost to our day; during the long succession of centuries, the chief or the master was selected on account of his being the strongest, or the most valiant in the combat. originally, the cavaliers, the members of the nobility, were those who were noted for their courage and strength, and to them were given the lands of the vanquished. even in times other than those of war, disputes of succession were settled by jousts and tourneys. this fact is seen in the present day among the lower animals, who in their natural state live in tribes; the leader is usually the strongest, the wisest, and the most courageous. the strong men of all times have excited the admiration of their fellows and have always been objects of popular interest. the bible celebrates the exploits of samson of the tribe of dan. during his youth he, single handed, strangled a lion; with the jaw-bone of an ass he is said to have killed philistines and put the rest to flight. at another time during the night he transported from the village of gaza enormous burdens and placed them on the top of a mountain. betrayed by delilah, he was delivered into the hands of his enemies and employed in the most servile labors. when old and blind he was attached to the columns of an edifice to serve as an object of public ridicule; with a violent effort he overturned the columns, destroying himself and philistines. in the greek mythology we find a great number of heroes, celebrated for their feats of strength and endurance. many of them have received the name of hercules; but the most common of these is the hero who was supposed to be the son of jupiter and alemena. he was endowed with prodigious strength by his father, and was pursued with unrelenting hatred by juno. in his infancy he killed with his hands the serpents which were sent to devour him. the legends about him are innumerable. he was said to have been armed with a massive club, which only he was able to carry. the most famous of his feats were the twelve labors, with which all readers of mythology are familiar. hercules, personified, meant to the greeks physical force as well as strength, generosity, and bravery, and was equivalent to the assyrian hercules. the gauls had a hercules-pantopage, who, in addition to the ordinary qualities attributed to hercules, had an enormous appetite. as late as the sixteenth century, and in a most amusing and picturesque manner, rabelais has given us the history of gargantua, and even to this day, in some regions, there are groups of stones which are believed by ignorant people to have been thrown about by gargantua in his play. in their citations the older authors often speak of battles, and in epic ballads of heroes with marvelous strength. in the army of charlemagne, after camerarius, and quoted by guyot-daubes (who has made an extensive collection of the literature on this subject and to whom the authors are indebted for much information), there was found a giant named oenother, a native of a village in suabia, who performed marvelous feats of strength. in his history of bavaria aventin speaks of this monster. to roland, the nephew of charlemagne, the legends attributed prodigious strength; and, dying in the valley of roncesveaux, he broke his good sword "durandal" by striking it against a rock, making a breach, which is stilled called the "breche de roland." three years before his death, on his return from palestine, christopher, duke of bavaria, was said to have lifted to his shoulders a stone which weighed more than pounds. louis de boufflers, surnamed the "robust," who lived in , was noted for his strength and agility. when he placed his feet together, one against the other, he could find no one able to disturb them. he could easily bend and break a horseshoe with his hands, and could seize an ox by the tail and drag it against its will. more than once he was said to have carried a horse on his shoulders. according to guyot-daubes there was, in the last century, a major barsaba who could seize the limb of a horse and fracture its bone. there was a tale of his lifting an iron anvil, in a blacksmith's forge, and placing it under his coat. to the emperor maximilian i was ascribed enormous strength; even in his youth, when but a simple patriot, he vanquished, at the games given by severus, of the most vigorous wrestlers, and accomplished this feat without stopping for breath. it is said that this feat was the origin of his fortune. among other celebrated persons in history endowed with uncommon strength were edmund "ironsides," king of england; the caliph mostasem-billah; baudouin, "bras-de-fer," count of flanders; william iv, called by the french "fier-a-bras," duke of aquitaine; christopher, son of albert the pious, duke of bavaria; godefroy of bouillon; the emperor charles iv; scanderbeg; leonardo da vinci; marshal saxe; and the recently deceased czar of russia, alexander iii. turning now to the authentic modern hercules, we have a man by the name of eckeberg, born in anhalt, and who traveled under the name of "samson." he was exhibited in london, and performed remarkable feats of strength. he was observed by the celebrated desaguliers (a pupil of newton) in the commencement of the last century, who at that time was interested in the physiologic experiments of strength and agility. desaguliers believed that the feats of this new samson were more due to agility than strength. one day, accompanied by two of his confreres, although a man of ordinary strength, he duplicated some of samson's feats, and followed his performance by a communication to the royal society. one of his tricks was to resist the strength of five or six men or of two horses. desaguliers claimed that this was entirely due to the position taken. this person would lift a man by one foot, and bear a heavy weight on his chest when resting with his head and two feet on two chairs. by supporting himself with his arms he could lift a piece of cannon attached to his feet. a little later desaguliers studied an individual in london named thomas topham, who used no ruse in his feats and was not the skilful equilibrist that the german samson was, his performances being merely the results of abnormal physical force. he was about thirty years old, five feet ten inches in height and well proportioned, and his muscles well developed, the strong ligaments showing under the skin. he ignored entirely the art of appearing supernaturally strong, and some of his feats were rendered difficult by disadvantageous positions. in the feat of the german--resisting the force of several men or horses--topham exhibited no knowledge of the principles of physics, like that of his predecessor, but, seated on the ground and putting his feet against two stirrups, he was able to resist the traction of a single horse; when he attempted the same feat against two horses he was severely strained and wounded about the knees. according to desaguliers, if topham had taken the advantageous positions of the german samson, he could have resisted not only two, but four horses. on another occasion, with the aid of a bridle passed about his neck, he lifted three hogsheads full of water, weighing pounds. if he had utilized the force of his limbs and his loins, like the german, he would have been able to perform far more difficult feats. with his teeth he could lift and maintain in a horizontal position a table over six feet long, at the extremity of which he would put some weight. two of the feet of the table he rested on his knees. he broke a cord five cm. in diameter, one part of which was attached to a post and the other to a strap passed under his shoulder. he was able to carry in his hands a rolling-pin weighing pounds, about twice the weight a strong man is considered able to lift. tom johnson was another strong man who lived in london in the last century, but he was not an exhibitionist, like his predecessors. he was a porter on the banks of the thames, his duty being to carry sacks of wheat and corn from the wharves to the warehouses. it was said that when one of his comrades was ill, and could not provide support for his wife and children, johnson assumed double duty, carrying twice the load. he could seize a sack of wheat, and with it execute the movements of a club-swinger, and with as great facility. he became quite a celebrated boxer, and, besides his strength, he soon demonstrated his powers of endurance, never seeming fatigued after a lively bout. the porters of paris were accustomed to lift and carry on their shoulders bags of flour weighing kilograms ( pounds) and to mount stairs with them. johnson, on hearing this, duplicated the feat with three sacks, and on one occasion attempted to carry four, and resisted this load some little time. these four sacks weighed pounds. some years since there was a female hercules who would get on her hands and knees under a carriage containing six people, and, forming an arch with her body, she would lift it off the ground, an attendant turning the wheels while in the air to prove that they were clear from the ground. guyot-daubes considers that one of the most remarkable of all the men noted for their strength was a butcher living in the mountains of margeride, known as lapiada (the extraordinary). this man, whose strength was legendary in the neighboring country, one day seized a mad bull that had escaped from his stall and held him by the horns until his attendants could bind him. for amusement he would lie on his belly and allow several men to get on his back; with this human load he would rise to the erect position. one of lapiada's great feats was to get under a cart loaded with hay and, forming an arch with his body, raise it from the ground, then little by little he would mount to his haunches, still holding the cart and hay. lapiada terminated his herculean existence in attempting a mighty effort. having charged himself alone with the task of placing a heavy tree-trunk in a cart, he seized it, his muscles stiffened, but the blood gushed from his mouth and nostrils, and he fell, overcome at last. the end of lapiada presents an analogue to that of the celebrated athlete, polydamas, who was equally the victim of too great confidence in his muscular force, and who died crushed by the force that he hoped to maintain. figures and portray the muscular development of an individual noted for his feats of strength, and who exhibited not long since. in recent years we have had sebastian miller, whose specialty was wrestling and stone-breaking; samson, a recent english exhibitionist, louis cyr, and sandow, who, in addition to his remarkable strength and control over his muscles, is a very clever gymnast. sandow gives an excellent exposition of the so-called "checkerboard" arrangement of the muscular fibers of the lower thoracic and abdominal regions, and in a brilliant light demonstrates his extraordinary power over his muscles, contracting muscles ordinarily involuntary in time with music, a feat really more remarkable than his exhibition of strength. figures and show the beautiful muscular development of this remarkable man. joseph pospischilli, a convict recently imprisoned in the austrian fortress of olen, surprised the whole empire by his wonderful feats of strength. one of his tricks was to add a fifth leg to a common table (placing the useless addition in the exact center) and then balance it with his teeth while two full-grown gipsies danced on it, the music being furnished by a violinist seated in the middle of the well-balanced platform. one day when the prison in which this hercules was confined was undergoing repairs, he picked up a large carpenter's bench with his teeth and held it balanced aloft for nearly a minute. since being released from the olen prison, pospischilli and his cousin, another local "strong man" named martenstine, have formed a combination and are now starring southern europe, performing all kinds of startling feats of strength. among other things they have had a -foot bridge made of strong timbers, which is used in one of their great muscle acts. this bridge has two living piers--pospischilli acting as one and martenstine the other. besides supporting this monstrous structure (weight, pounds) upon their shoulders, these freaks of superhuman strength allow a team of horses and a wagon loaded with a ton of cobble-stones to be driven across it. it is said that selig whitman, known as "ajax," a new york policeman, has lifted pounds with his hands and has maintained pounds with his teeth. this man is five feet / inches tall and weighs pounds. his chest measurement is inches, the biceps inches, that of his neck / inches, the forearm , the wrist / , the thigh , and the calf . one of the strongest of the "strong women" is madame elise, a frenchwoman, who performs with her husband. her greatest feat is the lifting of eight men weighing altogether about pounds. at her performances she supports across her shoulders a -pound dumb-bell, on each side of which a person is suspended. miss darnett, the "singing strong lady," extends herself upon her hands and feet, face uppermost, while a stout platform, with a semicircular groove for her neck, is fixed upon her chest, abdomen, and thighs by means of a waist-belt which passes through brass receivers on the under side of the board. an ordinary upright piano is then placed on the platform by four men; a performer mounts the platform and plays while the "strong lady" sings a love song while supporting possibly half a ton. strength of the jaws.--there are some persons who exhibit extraordinary power of the jaw. in the curious experiments of regnard and blanchard at the sorbonne, it was found that a crocodile weighing about pounds exerted a force between its jaws at a point corresponding to the insertion of the masseter muscles of pounds; a dog of pounds exerted a similar force of pounds. it is quite possible that in animals like the tiger and lion the force would equal or pounds. the anthropoid apes can easily break a cocoanut with their teeth, and guyot-daubes thinks that possibly a gorilla has a jaw-force of pounds. a human adult is said to exert a force of from to pounds between his teeth, and some individuals exceed this average as much as pounds. in buffon's experiments he once found a frenchman who could exert a force of pounds with his jaws. in several american circuses there have been seen women who hold themselves by a strap between their teeth while they are being hauled up to a trapeze some distance from the ground. a young mulatto girl by the name of "miss kerra" exhibited in the winter circus in paris; suspended from a trapeze, she supported a man at the end of a strap held between her teeth, and even permitted herself to be turned round and round. she also held a cannon in her teeth while it was fired. this feat has been done by several others. according to guyot-daubes, at epernay in , while a man named bucholtz, called "the human cannon," was performing this feat, the cannon, which was over a yard long and weighed nearly pounds, burst and wounded several of the spectators. there was another hercules in paris, who with his teeth lifted and held a heavy cask of water on which was seated a man and varying weights, according to the size of his audience, at the same time keeping his hands occupied with other weights. figure represents a well-known modern exhibitionist lifting with his teeth a cask on which are seated four men. the celebrated mlle. gauthier, an actress of the comedie-francais, had marvelous power of her hands, bending coins, rolling up silver plate, and performing divers other feats. major barsaba had enormous powers of hand and fingers. he could roll a silver plate into the shape of a goblet. being challenged by a gascon, he seized the hand of his unsuspecting adversary in the ordinary manner of salutation and crushed all the bones of the fingers, thus rendering unnecessary any further trial of strength. it is said that marshal saxe once visited a blacksmith ostensibly to have his horse shod, and seeing no shoe ready he took a bar of iron, and with his hands fashioned it into a horseshoe. there are japanese dentists who extract teeth with their wonderfully developed fingers. there are stories of a man living in the village of cantal who received the sobriquet of "la coupia" (the brutal). he would exercise his function as a butcher by strangling with his fingers the calves and sheep, instead of killing them in the ordinary manner. it is said that one day, by placing his hands on the shoulders of the strong man of a local fair, he made him faint by the pressure exerted by his fingers. manual strangulation is a well-known crime and is quite popular in some countries. the thugs of india sometimes murdered their victims in this way. often such force is exerted by the murderer's fingers as to completely fracture the cricoid cartilage. in viewing the feats of strength of the exhibitionist we must bear in consideration the numerous frauds perpetrated. a man of extraordinary strength sometimes finds peculiar stone, so stratified that he is able to break it with the force he can exert by a blow from the hand alone, although a man of ordinary strength would try in vain. in most of these instances, if one were to take a piece of the exhibitionist's stone, he would find that a slight tap of the hammer would break it. again, there are many instances in which the stone has been found already separated and fixed quite firmly together, placing it out of the power of an ordinary man to break, but which the exhibitionist finds within his ability. this has been the solution of the feats of many of the individuals who invite persons to send them marked stones to use at their performances. by skilfully arranging stout twine on the hands, it is surprising how easily it is broken, and there are many devices and tricks to deceive the public, all of which are more or less used by "strong men." the recent officially recorded feats of strength that stand unequaled in the last decade are as follows:-- weight-lifting.--hands alone / pounds, done by c. g. jefferson, an amateur, at clinton, mass december , ; with harness, pounds, by w b. curtis, at new york december ; louis cyr, at berthierville, can., october , , pushed up pounds of pig-iron with his back, arms, and legs. dumb-bells.--h. pennock, in new york, , put up a -pound dumb-bell times in four hours thirty-four minutes; by using both hands to raise it to the shoulder, and then using one hand alone, r. a. pennell, in new york, january , , managed to put up a bell weighing pounds ounces; and eugene sandow, at london, february , , surpassed this feat with a -pound bell. throwing -pound hammer.--j. s. mitchell, at travers island, n. y., october , , made a record-throw of feet / inch. putting -pound shot.--george r. gray, at chicago, september , , made the record of feet. throwing -pound weight.--j. s. mitchell, at new york, september , , made the distance record of feet inches; and at chicago, september , , made the height record of feet / inches. the class of people commonly known as contortionists by the laxity of their muscles and ligaments are able to dislocate or preternaturally bend their joints. in entertainments of an arena type and even in what are now called "variety performances" are to be seen individuals of this class. these persons can completely straddle two chairs, and do what they call "the split;" they can place their foot about their neck while maintaining the upright position; they can bend almost double at the waist in such a manner that the back of the head will touch the calves, while the legs are perpendicular with the ground; they can bring the popliteal region over their shoulders and in this position walk on their hands; they can put themselves in a narrow barrel; eat with a fork attached to a heel while standing on their hands, and perform divers other remarkable and almost incredible feats. their performances are genuine, and they are real physiologic curiosities. plate represents two well-known contortionists in their favorite feats. wentworth, the oldest living contortionist, is about seventy years of age, but seems to have lost none of his earlier sinuosity. his chief feat is to stow himself away in a box x x inches. when inside, six dozen wooden bottles of the same size and shape as those which ordinarily contain english soda water are carefully stowed away, packed in with him, and the lid slammed down. he bestows upon this act the curious and suggestive name of "packanatomicalization." another class of individuals are those who can either partially or completely dislocate the major articulations of the body. many persons exhibit this capacity in their fingers. persons vulgarly called "double jointed" are quite common. charles warren, an american contortionist, has been examined by several medical men of prominence and descriptions of him have appeared from time to time in prominent medical journals. when he was but a child he was constantly tumbling down, due to the heads of the femurs slipping from the acetabula, but reduction was always easy. when eight years old he joined a company of acrobats and strolling performers, and was called by the euphonious title of "the yankee dish-rag." his muscular system was well-developed, and, like sandow, he could make muscles act in concert or separately. he could throw into energetic single action the biceps, the supinator longus, the radial extensors, the platysma myoides, and many other muscles. when he "strings," as he called it, the sartorius, that ribbon muscle shows itself as a tight cord, extending from the front of the iliac spine to the inner side of the knee. another trick was to leave flaccid that part of the serratus magnus which is attached to the inferior angle of the scapula whilst he roused energetic contraction in the rhomboids. he could displace his muscles so that the lower angles of the scapulae projected and presented the appearance historically attributed to luxation of the scapula. warren was well informed on surgical landmarks and had evidently been a close student of sir astley cooper's classical illustrations of dislocations. he was able so to contract his abdominal muscles that the aorta could be distinctly felt with the fingers. in this feat nearly all the abdominal contents were crowded beneath the diaphragm. on the other hand, he could produce a phantom abdominal tumor by driving the coils of the intestine within a peculiar grasp of the rectus and oblique muscles. the "growth" was rounded, dull on percussion, and looked as if an exploratory incision or puncture would be advisable for diagnosis. by extraordinary muscular power and extreme laxity of his ligaments, he simulated all the dislocations about the hip joint. sometimes he produced actual dislocation, but usually he said he could so distort his muscles as to imitate in the closest degree the dislocations. he could imitate the various forms of talipes, in such a way as to deceive an expert. he dislocated nearly every joint in the body with great facility. it was said that he could contract at will both pillars of the fauces. he could contract his chest to inches and expand it to inches. warren weighed pounds, was a total abstainer, and was the father of two children, both of whom could readily dislocate their hips. in france in there was shown a man who was called "l'homme protee," or protean man. he had an exceptional power over his muscles. even those muscles ordinarily involuntary he could exercise at will. he could produce such rigidity of stature that a blow by a hammer on his body fell as though on a block of stone. by his power over his abdominal muscles he could give himself different shapes, from the portly alderman to the lean and haggard student, and he was even accredited with assuming the shape of a "living skeleton." quatrefages, the celebrated french scientist, examined him, and said that he could shut off the blood from the right side and then from the left side of the body, which feat he ascribed to unilateral muscular action. in there appeared in washington, giving exhibitions at the colleges there and at the emergency hospital, a man named fitzgerald, claiming to reside in harrisburg, pa., who made his living by exhibiting at medical colleges over the country. he simulated all the dislocations, claiming that they were complete, using manual force to produce and reduce them. he exhibited a thorough knowledge of the pathology of dislocations and of the anatomy of the articulations. he produced the different forms of talipes, as well as all the major hip-dislocations. when interrogated as to the cause of his enormous saphenous veins, which stood out like huge twisted cords under the skin and were associated with venous varicosity on the leg, he said he presumed they were caused by his constantly compressing the saphenous vein at the hip in giving his exhibitions, which in some large cities were repeated several times a day. endurance of pain.--the question of the endurance of pain is, necessarily, one of comparison. there is little doubt that in the lower classes the sensation of pain is felt in a much less degree than in those of a highly intellectual and nervous temperament. if we eliminate the element of fear, which always predominates in the lower classes, the result of general hospital observation will show this distinction. there are many circumstances which have a marked influence on pain. patriotism, enthusiasm, and general excitement, together with pride and natural obstinacy, prove the power of the mind over the body. the tortures endured by prisoners of war, religious martyrs and victims, exemplify the power of a strong will excited by deep emotion over the sensation of pain. the flagellants, persons who expiated their sins by voluntarily flaying themselves to the point of exhaustion, are modern examples of persons who in religious enthusiasm inflict pain on themselves. in the ancient times in india the frenzied zealots struggled for positions from which they could throw themselves under the car of the juggernaut, and their intense emotions turned the pains of their wounds into a pleasure. according to the reports of her majesty's surgeons, there are at the present time in india native brahmins who hang themselves on sharp hooks placed in the flesh between the scapulae, and remain in this position without the least visible show of pain. in a similar manner they pierce the lips and cheeks with long pins and bore the tongue with a hot iron. from a reliable source the authors have an account of a man in northern india who as a means of self-inflicted penance held his arm aloft for the greater part of each day, bending the fingers tightly on the palms. after a considerable time the nails had grown or been forced through the palms of the hands, making their exit on the dorsal surfaces. there are many savage rites and ceremonies calling for the severe infliction of pain on the participants which have been described from time to time by travelers. the aztecs willingly sacrificed even their lives in the worship of their sun-god. by means of singing and dancing the aissaoui, in the algerian town of constantine, throw themselves into an ecstatic state in which their bodies seem to be insensible even to severe wounds. hellwald says they run sharp-pointed irons into their heads, eyes, necks, and breasts without apparent pain or injury to themselves. some observers claim they are rendered insensible to pain by self-induced hypnotism. an account by carpenter of the algerian aissaoui contained the following lucid description of the performances of these people:-- "the center of the court was given up to the aissaoui. these were hollow-checked men, some old and some young, who sat cross-legged in an irregular semicircle on the floor. six of them had immense flat drums or tambours, which they presently began to beat noisily. in front of them a charcoal fire burned in a brazier, and into it one of them from time to time threw bits of some sort of incense, which gradually filled the place with a thin smoke and a mildly pungent odor. "for a long time--it seemed a long time--this went on with nothing to break the silence but the rhythmical beat of the drums. gradually, however, this had become quicker, and now grew wild and almost deafening, and the men began a monotonous chant which soon was increased to shouting. suddenly one of the men threw himself with a howl to the ground, when he was seized by another, who stripped him of part of his garments and led him in front of the fire. here, while the pounding of the drums and the shouts of the men became more and more frantic, he stood swaying his body backward and forward, almost touching the ground in his fearful contortions, and wagging his head until it seemed as if he must dislocate it from his shoulders. all at once he drew from the fire a red-hot bar of iron, and with a yell of horror, which sent a shiver down one's back, held it up before his eyes. more violently than ever he swayed his body and wagged his head, until he had worked himself up to a climax of excitement, when he passed the glowing iron several times over the palm of each hand and then licked it repeatedly with his tongue. he next took a burning coal from the fire, and, placing it between his teeth, fanned it by his breath into a white heat. he ended his part of the performance by treading on red-hot coals scattered on the floor after which he resumed his place with the rest. then the next performer with a yell as before, suddenly sprang to his feet and began again the same frantic contortions, in the midst of which he snatched from the fire an iron rod with a ball on one end, and after winding one of his eyelids around it until the eyeball was completely exposed, he thrust its point in behind the eye, which was forced far out on his cheek. it was held there for a moment when it was withdrawn, the eye released, and then rubbed vigorously a few times with the balled end of the rod. "the drums all the time had been beaten lustily, and the men had kept up their chant, which still went unceasingly on. again a man sprang to his feet and went through the same horrid motions. this time the performer took from the fire a sharp nail and, with a piece of the sandy limestone common to this region, proceeded with a series of blood-curdling howls to hammer it down into the top of his head, where it presently stuck upright, while he tottered dizzily around until it was pulled out with apparent effort and with a hollow snap by one of the other men. "the performance had now fairly begun, and, with short intervals and always in the same manner, the frenzied contortions first, another ate up a glass lamp-chimney, which he first broke in pieces in his hands and then crunched loudly with his teeth. he then produced from a tin box a live scorpion, which ran across the floor with tail erect, and was then allowed to attach itself to the back of his hand and his face, and was finally taken into his mouth, where it hung suspended from the inside of his cheek and was finally chewed and swallowed. a sword was next produced, and after the usual preliminaries it was drawn by the same man who had just given the scorpion such unusual opportunities several times back and forth across his throat and neck, apparently deeply imbedded in the flesh. not content with this, he bared his body at his waist, and while one man held the sword, edge upward, by the hilt and another by the point, about which a turban had been wrapped, he first stood upon it with his bare feet and then balanced himself across it on his naked stomach, while still another of the performers stood upon his back, whither he had sprung without any attempt to mollify the violence of the action. with more yells and genuflections, another now drew from the fire several iron skewers, some of which he thrust into the inner side of his cheeks and others into his throat at the larynx, where they were left for a while to hang. "the last of the actors in this singular entertainment was a stout man with a careworn face, who apparently regarded his share as a melancholy duty which he was bound to perform, and the last part of it, i have no doubt, was particularly painful. he first took a handful of hay, and, having bared the whole upper part of his body, lighted the wisp at the brazier and then passed the blazing mass across his chest and body and over his arms and face. this was but a preliminary, and presently he began to sway backward and forward until one grew dazed with watching him. the drums grew noisier and noisier and the chant louder and wilder. the man himself had become maudlin, his tongue hung from his mouth, and now and then he ejaculated a sound like the inarticulate cry of an animal. he could only totter to the fire, out of which he snatched the balled instrument already described, which he thereupon thrust with a vicious stab into the pit of his stomach, where it was left to hang. a moment after he pulled it out again, and, picking up the piece of stone used before, he drove it with a series of resounding blows into a new place, where it hung, drawing the skin downward with its weight, until a companion pulled it out and the man fell in a heap on the floor." to-day it is only through the intervention of the united states troops that some of the barbarous ceremonies of the north american indians are suppressed. the episode of the "ghost-dance" is fresh in every mind. instances of self-mutilation, although illustrating this subject, will be discussed at length in chapter xiv. malingerers often endure without flinching the most arduous tests. supraorbital pressure is generally of little avail, and pinching, pricking, and even incision are useless with these hospital impostors. it is reported that in the city hospital of st. louis a negro submitted to the ammonia-test, inhaling this vapor for several hours without showing any signs of sensibility, and made his escape the moment his guard was absent. a contemporary journal says:-- "the obstinacy of resolute impostors seems, indeed, capable of emulating the torture-proof perseverance of religious enthusiasts and such martyrs of patriotism as mueius scaevola or grand master ruediger of the teutonic knights, who refused to reveal the hiding place of his companion even when his captors belabored him with red-hot irons. "one basil rohatzek, suspected of fraudulent enlistment (bounty-jumping, as our volunteers called it), pretended to have been thrown by his horse and to have been permanently disabled by a paralysis of the lower extremities. he dragged himself along in a pitiful manner, and his knees looked somewhat bruised, but he was known to have boasted his ability to procure his discharge somehow or other. one of his tent mates had also seen him fling himself violently and repeatedly on his knees (to procure those questionable bruises), and on the whole there seemed little doubt that the fellow was shamming. all the surgeons who had examined him concurred in that view, and the case was finally referred to his commanding officer, general colloredo. the impostor was carried to a field hospital in a little bohemian border town and watched for a couple of weeks, during which he had been twice seen moving his feet in his sleep. still, the witnesses were not prepared to swear that those changes of position might not have been effected by a movement of the whole body. the suspect stuck to his assertion, and colloredo, in a fit of irritation, finally summoned a surgeon, who actually placed the feet of the professed paralytic in "aqua fortis," but even this rigorous method availed the cruel surgeon nothing, and he was compelled to advise dismissal from the service. "the martyrdom of rohatzek, however, was a mere trifle compared with the ordeal by which the tribunal of paris tried in vain to extort a confession of the would-be regicide, damiens. robert damiens, a native of arras, had been exiled as an habitual criminal, and returning in disguise made an attempt upon the life of louis xv, january , . his dagger pierced the mantle of the king, but merely grazed his neck. damiens, who had stumbled, was instantly seized and dragged to prison, where a convocation of expert torturers exhausted their ingenuity in the attempt to extort a confession implicating the jesuits, a conspiracy of huguenots, etc. but damiens refused to speak. he could have pleaded his inability to name accomplices who did not exist, but he stuck to his resolution of absolute silence. they singed off his skin by shreds, they wrenched out his teeth and finger-joints, they dragged him about at the end of a rope hitched to a team of stout horses, they sprinkled him from head to foot with acids and seething oil, but damiens never uttered a sound till his dying groan announced the conclusion of the tragedy." the apparent indifference to the pain of a major operation is sometimes marvelous, and there are many interesting instances on record. when at the battle of dresden in moreau, seated beside the emperor alexander, had both limbs shattered by a french cannon-ball, he did not utter a groan, but asked for a cigar and smoked leisurely while a surgeon amputated one of his members. in a short time his medical attendants expressed the danger and questionability of saving his other limb, and consulted him. in the calmest way the heroic general instructed them to amputate it, again remaining unmoved throughout the operation. crompton records a case in which during an amputation of the leg not a sound escaped from the patient's lips, and in three weeks, when it was found necessary to amputate the other leg, the patient endured the operation without an anesthetic, making no show of pain, and only remarking that he thought the saw did not cut well. crompton quotes another case, in which the patient held a candle with one hand while the operator amputated his other arm at the shoulder-joint. several instances of self-performed major operations are mentioned in chapter xiv. supersensitiveness to pain.--quite opposite to the foregoing instances are those cases in which such influences as expectation, naturally inherited nervousness, and genuine supersensitiveness make the slightest pain almost unendurable. in many of these instances the state of the mind and occasionally the time of day have a marked influence. men noted for their sagacity and courage have been prostrated by fear of pain. sir robert peel, a man of acknowledged superior physical and intellectual power, could not even bear the touch of brodie's finger to his fractured clavicle. the authors know of an instance of a pugilist who had elicited admiration by his ability to stand punishment and his indomitable courage in his combats, but who fainted from the puncture of a small boil on his neck. the relation of pain to shock has been noticed by many writers. before the days of anesthesia, such cases as the following, reported by sir astley cooper, seem to have been not unusual: a brewer's servant, a man of middle age and robust frame, suffered much agony for several days from a thecal abscess, occasioned by a splinter of wood beneath the thumb. a few seconds after the matter was discharged by an incision, the man raised himself by a convulsive effort from his bed and instantly expired. it is a well-known fact that powerful nerve-irritation, such as produces shock, is painless, and this accounts for the fact that wounds received during battle are not painful. leyden of berlin showed to his class at the charite hospital a number of hysteric women with a morbid desire for operation without an anesthetic. such persons do not seem to experience pain, and, on the contrary, appear to have genuine pleasure in pain. in illustration, leyden showed a young lady who during a hysteric paroxysm had suffered a serious fracture of the jaw, injuring the facial artery, and necessitating quite an extensive operation. the facial and carotid arteries had to be ligated and part of the inferior maxilla removed, but the patient insisted upon having the operations performed without an anesthetic, and afterward informed the operator that she had experienced great pleasure throughout the whole procedure. pain as a means of sexual enjoyment.--there is a form of sexual perversion in which the pervert takes delight in being subjected to degrading, humiliating, and cruel acts on the part of his or her associate. it was named masochism from sacher-masoch, an austrian novelist, whose works describe this form of perversion. the victims are said to experience peculiar pleasure at the sight of a rival who has obtained the favor of their mistress, and will even receive blows and lashes from the rival with a voluptuous mixture of pain and pleasure. masochism corresponds to the passivism of stefanowski, and is the opposite of sadism, in which the pleasure is derived from inflicting pain on the object of affection. krafft-ebing cites several instances of masochism. although the enjoyment and frenzy of flagellation are well known, its pleasures are not derived from the pain but by the undoubted stimulation offered to the sexual centers by the castigation. the delight of the heroines of flagellation, maria magdalena of pazzi and elizabeth of genton, in being whipped on the naked loins, and thus calling up sensual and lascivious fancies, clearly shows the significance of flagellation as a sexual excitant. it is said that when elizabeth of genton was being whipped she believed herself united with her ideal and would cry out in the loudest tones of the joys of love. there is undoubtedly a sympathetic communication between the ramifying nerves of the skin of the loins and the lower portion of the spinal cord which contains the sexual centers. recently, in cases of dysmenorrhea, amenorrhea dysmenorrhagia, and like sexual disorders, massage or gentle flagellation of the parts contiguous with the genitalia and pelvic viscera has been recommended. taxil is the authority for the statement that just before the sexual act rakes sometimes have themselves flagellated or pricked until the blood flows in order to stimulate their diminished sexual power. rhodiginus, bartholinus, and other older physicians mention individuals in whom severe castigation was a prerequisite of copulation. as a ritual custom flagellation is preserved to the present day by some sects. before leaving the subject of flagellation it should be stated that among the serious after-results of this practice as a disciplinary means, fatal emphysema, severe hemorrhage, and shock have been noticed. there are many cases of death from corporal punishment by flogging. ballingal records the death of a soldier from flogging; davidson has reported a similar case, and there is a death from the same cause cited in the edinburgh medical and surgical journal for . idiosyncrasy is a peculiarity of constitution whereby an individual is affected by external agents in a different manner from others. begin defines idiosyncrasy as the predominance of an organ, of a viscus, or a system of organs. this definition does not entirely grasp the subject. an idiosyncrasy is something inherent in the organization of the individual, of which we only see the manifestation when proper causes are set in action. we do not attempt to explain the susceptibility of certain persons to certain foods and certain exposures. we know that such is the fact. according to begin's idea, there is scarcely any separation between idiosyncrasy and temperament, whereas from what would appear to be sound reasoning, based on the physiology of the subject, a very material difference exists. idiosyncrasies may be congenital, hereditary, or acquired, and, if acquired, may be only temporary. some, purely of mental origin, are often readily cured. one individual may synchronously possess an idiosyncrasy of the digestive, circulatory, and nervous systems. striking examples of transitory or temporary idiosyncrasies are seen in pregnant women. there are certain so-called antipathies that in reality are idiosyncrasies, and which are due to peculiarities of the ideal and emotional centers. the organ of sense in question and the center that takes cognizance of the image brought to it are in no way disordered. in some cases the antipathy or the idiosyncrasy develops to such an extent as to be in itself a species of monomania. the fear-maladies, or "phobias," as they are called, are examples of this class, and, belonging properly under temporary mental derangements, the same as hallucinations or delusions, will be spoken of in another chapter. possibly the most satisfactory divisions under which to group the material on this subject collected from literature are into examples of idiosyncrasies in which, although the effect is a mystery, the sense is perceptible and the cause distinctly defined and known, and those in which sensibility is latent. the former class includes all the peculiar antipathies which are brought about through the special senses, while the latter groups all those strange instances in which, without the slightest antipathy on the part of the subject, a certain food or drug, after ingestion, produces an untoward effect. the first examples of idiosyncrasies to be noticed will be those manifested through the sense of smell. on the authority of spigelius, whose name still survives in the nomenclature of the anatomy of the liver, mackeuzie quotes an extraordinary case in a roman cardinal, oliver caraffa, who could not endure the smell of a rose. this is confirmed from personal observation by another writer, pierius, who adds that the cardinal was obliged every year to shut himself up during the rose season, and guards were stationed at the gates of his palace to stop any visitors who might be wearing the dreadful flower. it is, of course, possible that in this case the rose may not have caused the disturbance, and as it is distinctly stated that it was the smell to which the cardinal objected, we may fairly conclude that what annoyed him was simply a manifestation of rose-fever excited by the pollen. there is also an instance of a noble venetian who was always confined to his palace during the rose season. however, in this connection sir kenelm digby relates that so obnoxious was a rose to lady heneage, that she blistered her cheek while accidentally lying on one while she slept. ledelius records the description of a woman who fainted before a red rose, although she was accustomed to wear white ones in her hair. cremer describes a bishop who died of the smell of a rose from what might be called "aromatic pain." the organ of smell is in intimate relation with the brain and the organs of taste and sight; and its action may thus disturb that of the esophagus, the stomach, the diaphragm, the intestines, the organs of generation, etc. odorous substances have occasioned syncope, stupor, nausea, vomiting, and sometimes death. it is said that the hindoos, and some classes who eat nothing but vegetables, are intensely nauseated by the odors of european tables, and for this reason they are incapable of serving as dining-room servants. fabricius hildanus mentions a person who fainted from the odor of vinegar. the ephemerides contains an instance of a soldier who fell insensible from the odor of a peony. wagner knew a man who was made ill by the odor of bouillon of crabs. the odors of blood, meat, and fat are repugnant to herbivorous animals. it is a well-known fact that horses detest the odor of blood. schneider, the father of rhinology, mentions a woman in whom the odor of orange-flowers produced syncope. odier has known a woman who was affected with aphonia whenever exposed to the odor of musk, but who immediately recovered after taking a cold bath. dejean has mentioned a man who could not tolerate an atmosphere of cherries. highmore knew a man in whom the slightest smell of musk caused headache followed by epistaxis. lanzonius gives an account of a valiant soldier who could neither bear the sight nor smell of an ordinary pink. there is an instance on record in which the odor coming from a walnut tree excited epilepsy. it is said that one of the secretaries of francis i was forced to stop his nostrils with bread if apples were on the table. he would faint if one was held near his nose schenck says that the noble family of fystates in aquitaine had a similar peculiarity--an innate hatred of apples. bruyerinus knew a girl of sixteen who could not bear the smell of bread, the slightest particle of which she would detect by its odor. she lived almost entirely on milk. bierling mentions an antipathy to the smell of musk, and there is a case on record in which it caused convulsions. boerhaave bears witness that the odor of cheese caused nasal hemorrhage. whytt mentions an instance in which tobacco became repugnant to a woman each time she conceived, but after delivery this aversion changed to almost an appetite for tobacco fumes. panaroli mentions an instance of sickness caused by the smell of sassafras, and there is also a record of a person who fell helpless at the smell of cinnamon. wagner had a patient who detested the odor of citron. ignorant of this repugnance, he prescribed a potion in which there was water of balm-mint, of an odor resembling citron. as soon as the patient took the first dose he became greatly agitated and much nauseated, and this did not cease until wagner repressed the balm-mint. there is reported the case of a young woman, rather robust, otherwise normal, who always experienced a desire to go to stool after being subjected to any nasal irritation sufficient to excite sneezing. it has already been remarked that individuals and animals have their special odors, certain of which are very agreeable to some people and extremely unpleasant to others. many persons are not able to endure the emanations from cats, rats, mice, etc., and the mere fact of one of these animals being in their vicinity is enough to provoke distressing symptoms. mlle. contat, the celebrated french actress, was not able to endure the odor of a hare. stanislaus, king of poland and duke of lorraine, found it impossible to tolerate the smell of a cat. the ephemerides mentions the odor of a little garden-frog as causing epilepsy. ab heers mentions a similar anomaly, fainting caused by the smell of eels. habit had rendered haller insensible to the odor of putrefying cadavers, but according to zimmerman the odor of the perspiration of old people, not perceptible to others, was intolerable to him at a distance of ten or twelve paces. he also had an extreme aversion for cheese. according to dejan, gaubius knew a man who was unable to remain in a room with women, having a great repugnance to the female odor. strange as it may seem, some individuals are incapable of appreciating certain odors. blumenbach mentions an englishman whose sense of smell was otherwise very acute, but he was unable to perceive the perfume of the mignonette. the impressions which come to us through the sense of hearing cause sensations agreeable or disagreeable, but even in this sense we see marked examples of idiosyncrasies and antipathies to various sounds and tones. in some individuals the sensations in one ear differ from those of the other. everard home has cited several examples, and heidmann of vienna has treated two musicians, one of whom always perceived in the affected ear, during damp weather, tones an octave lower than in the other ear. the other musician perceived tones an octave higher in the affected ear. cheyne is quoted as mentioning a case in which, when the subject heard the noise of a drum, blood jetted from the veins with considerable force. sauvages has seen a young man in whom intense headache and febrile paroxysm were only relieved by the noise from a beaten drum. esparron has mentioned an infant in whom an ataxic fever was established by the noise of this instrument. ephemerides contains an account of a young man who became nervous and had the sense of suffocation when he heard the noise made by sweeping. zimmerman speaks of a young girl who had convulsions when she heard the rustling of oiled silk. boyle, the father of chemistry, could not conquer an aversion he had to the sound of water running through pipes. a gentleman of the court of the emperor ferdinand suffered epistaxis when he heard a cat mew. la mothe le vayer could not endure the sounds of musical instruments, although he experienced pleasurable sensations when he heard a clap of thunder. it is said that a chaplain in england always had a sensation of cold at the top of his head when he read the d chapter of isaiah and certain verses of the kings. there was an unhappy wight who could not hear his own name pronounced without being thrown into convulsions. marguerite of valois, sister of francis i, could never utter the words "mort" or "petite verole," such a horrible aversion had she to death and small-pox. according to campani, the chevalier alcantara could never say "lana," or words pertaining to woolen clothing. hippocrates says that a certain nicanor had the greatest horror of the sound of the flute at night, although it delighted him in the daytime. rousseau reports a gascon in whom incontinence of urine was produced by the sound of a bagpipe. frisch, managetta, and rousse speak of a man in whom the same effect was produced by the sound of a hurdy-gurdy. even shakespeare alludes to the effects of the sound of bagpipes. tissot mentions a case in which music caused epileptic convulsions, and forestus mentions a beggar who had convulsions at the sound of a wooden trumpet similar to those used by children in play. rousseau mentions music as causing convulsive laughter in a woman. bayle mentions a woman who fainted at the sound of a bell. paullini cites an instance of vomiting caused by music, and marcellus donatus mentions swooning from the same cause. many people are unable to bear the noise caused by the grating of a pencil on a slate, the filing of a saw, the squeak of a wheel turning about an axle, the rubbing of pieces of paper together, and certain similar sounds. some persons find the tones of music very disagreeable, and some animals, particularly dogs, are unable to endure it. in albinus the younger the slightest perceptible tones were sufficient to produce an inexplicable anxiety. there was a certain woman of fifty who was fond of the music of the clarionet and flute, but was not able to listen to the sound of a bell or tambourine. frank knew a man who ran out of church at the beginning of the sounds of an organ, not being able to tolerate them. pope could not imagine music producing any pleasure. the harmonica has been noticed to produce fainting in females. fischer says that music provokes sexual frenzy in elephants. gutfeldt speaks of a peculiar idiosyncrasy of sleep produced by hearing music. delisle mentions a young person who during a whole year passed pieces of ascarides and tenia, during which time he could not endure music. autenreith mentions the vibrations of a loud noise tickling the fauces to such an extent as to provoke vomiting. there are some emotional people who are particularly susceptible to certain expressions. the widow of jean calas always fell in a faint when she heard the words of the death-decree sounded on the street. there was a hanoverian officer in the indian war against typoo-saib, a good and brave soldier, who would feel sick if he heard the word "tiger" pronounced. it was said that he had experienced the ravages of this beast. the therapeutic value of music has long been known. for ages warriors have been led to battle to the sounds of martial strains. david charmed away saul's evil spirit with his harp. horace in his d ode book , concludes his address to the lyre:-- "o laborum dulce lenimen mihicumque calve, rite vocanti;" or, as kiessling of berlin interprets:-- "o laborum, dulce lenimen medieumque, salve, rite vocanti." --"o, of our troubles the sweet, the healing sedative, etc." homer, plutarch, theophrastus, and galen say that music cures rheumatism, the pests, and stings of reptiles, etc. diemerbroeck, bonet, baglivi, kercher, and desault mention the efficacy of melody in phthisis, gout, hydrophobia, the bites of venomous reptiles, etc. there is a case in the lancet of a patient in convulsions who was cured in the paroxysm by hearing the tones of music. before the french academy of sciences in , and again in , there was an instance of a dancing-master stricken with violent fever and in a condition of delirium, who recovered his senses and health on hearing melodious music. there is little doubt of the therapeutic value of music, but particularly do we find its value in instances of neuroses. the inspiration offered by music is well-known, and it is doubtless a stimulant to the intellectual work. bacon, milton, warburton, and alfieri needed music to stimulate them in their labors, and it is said that bourdaloue always played an air on the violin before preparing to write. according to the american medico-surgical bulletin, "professor tarchanoff of saint petersburg has been investigating the influence of music upon man and other animals. the subject is by no means a new one. in recent times dagiel and fere have investigated the effect of music upon the respirations, the pulse, and the muscular system in man. professor tarchanoff made use of the ergograph of mosso, and found that if the fingers were completely fatigued, either by voluntary efforts or by electric excitation, to the point of being incapable of making any mark except a straight line on the registering cylinder, music had the power of making the fatigue disappear, and the finger placed in the ergograph again commenced to mark lines of different heights, according to the amount of excitation. it was also found that music of a sad and lugubrious character had the opposite effect, and could check or entirely inhibit the contractions. professor tarchanoff does not profess to give any positive explanation of these facts, but he inclines to the view that 'the voluntary muscles, being furnished with excitomotor and depressant fibers, act in relation to the music similarly to the heart--that is to say, that joyful music resounds along the excitomotor fibers, and sad music along the depressant or inhibitory fibers.' experiments on dogs showed that music was capable of increasing the elimination of carbonic acid by . per cent, and of increasing the consumption of oxygen by . per cent. it was also found that music increased the functional activity of the skin. professor tarchanoff claims as the result of these experiments that music may fairly be regarded as a serious therapeutic agent, and that it exercises a genuine and considerable influence over the functions of the body. facts of this kind are in no way surprising, and are chiefly of interest as presenting some physiologic basis for phenomena that are sufficiently obvious. the influence of the war-chant upon the warrior is known even to savage tribes. we are accustomed to regard this influence simply as an ordinary case of psychic stimuli producing physiologic effects. "professor tarchanoff evidently prefers to regard the phenomena as being all upon the same plane, namely, that of physiology; and until we know the difference between mind and body, and the principles of their interaction, it is obviously impossible to controvert this view successfully. from the immediately practical point of view we should not ignore the possible value of music in some states of disease. in melancholia and hysteria it is probably capable of being used with benefit, and it is worth bearing in mind in dealing with insomnia. classical scholars will not forget that the singing of birds was tried as a remedy to overcome the insomnia of maecenas. music is certainly a good antidote to the pernicious habit of introspection and self-analysis, which is often a curse both of the hysteric and of the highly cultured. it would seem obviously preferable to have recourse to music of a lively and cheerful character." idiosyncrasies of the visual organs are generally quite rare. it is well-known that among some of the lower animals, e.g., the turkey-cocks, buffaloes, and elephants, the color red is unendurable. buchner and tissot mention a young boy who had a paroxysm if he viewed anything red. certain individuals become nauseated when they look for a long time on irregular lines or curves, as, for examples, in caricatures. many of the older examples of idiosyncrasies of color are nothing more than instances of color-blindness, which in those times was unrecognized. prochaska knew a woman who in her youth became unconscious at the sight of beet-root, although in her later years she managed to conquer this antipathy, but was never able to eat the vegetable in question. one of the most remarkable forms of idiosyncrasy on record is that of a student who was deprived of his senses by the very sight of an old woman. on one occasion he was carried out from a party in a dying state, caused, presumably, by the abhorred aspect of the chaperons the count of caylus was always horror-stricken at the sight of a capuchin friar. he cured himself by a wooden image dressed in the costume of this order placed in his room and constantly before his view. it is common to see persons who faint at the sight of blood. analogous are the individuals who feel nausea in an hospital ward. all robert boyle's philosophy could not make him endure the sight of a spider, although he had no such aversion to toads, venomous snakes, etc. pare mentions a man who fainted at the sight of an eel, and another who had convulsions at the sight of a carp. there is a record of a young lady in france who fainted on seeing a boiled lobster. millingen cites the case of a man who fell into convulsions whenever he saw a spider. a waxen one was made, which equally terrified him. when he recovered, his error was pointed out to him, and the wax figure was placed in his hand without causing dread, and henceforth the living insect no longer disturbed him. amatus lusitanus relates the case of a monk who fainted when he beheld a rose, and never quitted his cell when that flower was in bloom. scaliger, the great scholar, who had been a soldier a considerable portion of his life, confesses that he could not look on a water-cress without shuddering, and remarks: "i, who despise not only iron, but even thunderbolts, who in two sieges (in one of which i commanded) was the only one who did not complain of the food as unfit and horrible to eat, am seized with such a shuddering horror at the sight of a water-cress that i am forced to go away." one of his children was in the same plight as regards the inoffensive vegetable, cabbage. scaliger also speaks of one of his kinsmen who fainted at the sight of a lily. vaughheim, a great huntsman of hanover, would faint at the sight of a roasted pig. some individuals have been disgusted at the sight of eggs. there is an account of a sensible man who was terrified at the sight of a hedgehog, and for two years was tormented by a sensation as though one was gnawing at his bowels. according to boyle, lord barrymore, a veteran warrior and a person of strong mind, swooned at the sight of tansy. the duke d'epernon swooned on beholding a leveret, although a hare did not produce the same effect. schenck tells of a man who swooned at the sight of pork. the ephemerides contains an account of a person who lost his voice at the sight of a crab, and also cites cases of antipathy to partridges, a white hen, to a serpent, and to a toad. lehman speaks of an antipathy to horses; and in his observations lyser has noticed aversion to the color purple. it is a strange fact that the three greatest generals of recent years, wellington, napoleon, and roberts, could never tolerate the sight of a cat, and henry iii of france could not bear this animal in his room. we learn of a dane of herculean frame who had a horror of cats. he was asked to a supper at which, by way of a practical joke, a live cat was put on the table in a covered dish. the man began to sweat and shudder without knowing why, and when the cat was shown he killed his host in a paroxysm of terror. another man could not even see the hated form even in a picture without breaking into a cold sweat and feeling a sense of oppression about the heart. quercetanus and smetius mention fainting at the sight of cats. marshal d'abret was supposed to be in violent fear of a pig. as to idiosyncrasies of the sense of touch, it is well known that some people cannot handle velvet or touch the velvety skin of a peach without having disagreeable and chilly sensations come over them. prochaska knew a man who vomited the moment he touched a peach, and many people, otherwise very fond of this fruit, are unable to touch it. the ephemerides speaks of a peculiar idiosyncrasy of skin in the axilla of a certain person, which if tickled would provoke vomiting. it is occasionally stated in the older writings that some persons have an idiosyncrasy as regards the phases of the sun and moon. baillou speaks of a woman who fell unconscious at sunset and did not recover till it reappeared on the horizon. the celebrated chancellor bacon, according to mead, was very delicate, and was accustomed to fall into a state of great feebleness at every moon-set without any other imaginable cause. he never recovered from his swooning until the moon reappeared. nothing is more common than the idiosyncrasy which certain people display for certain foods. the trite proverb, "what is one man's meat is another man's poison," is a genuine truth, and is exemplified by hundreds of instances. many people are unable to eat fish without subsequent disagreeable symptoms. prominent among the causes of urticaria are oysters, crabs, and other shell fish, strawberries, raspberries, and other fruits. the abundance of literature on this subject makes an exhaustive collection of data impossible, and only a few of the prominent and striking instances can be reported. amatus lusitanus speaks of vomiting and diarrhea occurring each time a certain spaniard ate meat. haller knew a person who was purged violently by syrup of roses. the son of one of the friends of wagner would vomit immediately after the ingestion of any substance containing honey. bayle has mentioned a person so susceptible to honey that by a plaster of this substance placed upon the skin this untoward effect was produced. whytt knew a woman who was made sick by the slightest bit of nutmeg. tissot observed vomiting in one of his friends after the ingestion of the slightest amount of sugar. ritte mentions a similar instance. roose has seen vomiting produced in a woman by the slightest dose of distilled water of linden. there is also mentioned a person in whom orange-flower water produced the same effect. dejean cites a case in which honey taken internally or applied externally acted like poison. it is said that the celebrated haen would always have convulsions after eating half a dozen strawberries. earle and halifax attended a child for kidney-irritation produced by strawberries, and this was the invariable result of the ingestion of this fruit. the authors personally know of a family the male members of which for several generations could not eat strawberries without symptoms of poisoning. the female members were exempt from the idiosyncrasy. a little boy of this family was killed by eating a single berry. whytt mentions a woman of delicate constitution and great sensibility of the digestive tract in whom foods difficult of digestion provoked spasms, which were often followed by syncopes. bayle describes a man who vomited violently after taking coffee. wagner mentions a person in whom a most insignificant dose of manna had the same effect. preslin speaks of a woman who invariably had a hemorrhage after swallowing a small quantity of vinegar. according to zimmerman, some people are unable to wash their faces on account of untoward symptoms. according to ganbius, the juice of a citron applied to the skin of one of his acquaintances produced violent rigors. brasavolus says that julia, wife of frederick, king of naples, had such an aversion to meat that she could not carry it to her mouth without fainting. the anatomist gavard was not able to eat apples without convulsions and vomiting. it is said that erasmus was made ill by the ingestion of fish; but this same philosopher, who was cured of a malady by laughter, expressed his appreciation by an elegy on the folly. there is a record of a person who could not eat almonds without a scarlet rash immediately appearing upon the face. marcellus donatus knew a young man who could not eat an egg without his lips swelling and purple spots appearing on his face. smetius mentions a person in whom the ingestion of fried eggs was often followed by syncope. brunton has seen a case of violent vomiting and purging after the slightest bit of egg. on one occasion this person was induced to eat a small morsel of cake on the statement that it contained no egg, and, although fully believing the words of his host, he subsequently developed prominent symptoms, due to the trace of egg that was really in the cake. a letter from a distinguished litterateur to sir morell mackenzie gives a striking example of the idiosyncrasy to eggs transmitted through four generations. being from such a reliable source, it has been deemed advisable to quote the account in full: "my daughter tells me that you are interested in the ill-effects which the eating of eggs has upon her, upon me, and upon my father before us. i believe my grandfather, as well as my father, could not eat eggs with impunity. as to my father himself, he is nearly eighty years old; he has not touched an egg since he was a young man; he can, therefore, give no precise or reliable account of the symptoms the eating of eggs produce in him. but it was not the mere 'stomach-ache' that ensued, but much more immediate and alarming disturbances. as for me, the peculiarity was discovered when i was a spoon-fed child. on several occasions it was noticed (that is my mother's account) that i felt ill without apparent cause; afterward it was recollected that a small part of a yolk of an egg had been given to me. eclaircissement came immediately after taking a single spoonful of egg. i fell into such an alarming state that the doctor was sent for. the effect seems to have been just the same that it produces upon my daughter now,--something that suggested brain-congestion and convulsions. from time to time, as a boy and a young man, i have eaten an egg by way of trying it again, but always with the same result--a feeling that i had been poisoned; and yet all the while i liked eggs. then i never touched them for years. later i tried again, and i find the ill-effects are gradually wearing off. with my daughter it is different; she, i think, becomes more susceptible as time goes on, and the effect upon her is more violent than in my case at any time. sometimes an egg has been put with coffee unknown to her, and she has been seen immediately afterward with her face alarmingly changed--eyes swollen and wild, the face crimson, the look of apoplexy. this is her own account: 'an egg in any form causes within a few minutes great uneasiness and restlessness, the throat becomes contracted and painful, the face crimson, and the veins swollen. these symptoms have been so severe as to suggest that serious consequences might follow.' to this i may add that in her experience and my own, the newer the egg, the worse the consequences." hutchinson speaks of a member of parliament who had an idiosyncrasy as regards parsley. after the ingestion of this herb in food he always had alarming attacks of sickness and pain in the abdomen, attended by swelling of the tongue and lips and lividity of the face. this same man could not take the smallest quantity of honey, and certain kinds of fruit always poisoned him. there was a collection of instances of idiosyncrasy in the british medical journal, , which will be briefly given in the following lines: one patient could not eat rice in any shape without extreme distress. from the description given of his symptoms, spasmodic asthma seemed to be the cause of his discomfort. on one occasion when at a dinner-party he felt the symptoms of rice-poisoning come on, and, although he had partaken of no dish ostensibly containing rice, was, as usual, obliged to retire from the table. upon investigation it appeared that some white soup with which he had commenced his meal had been thickened with ground rice. as in the preceding case there was another gentleman who could not eat rice without a sense of suffocation. on one occasion he took lunch with a friend in chambers, partaking only of simple bread and cheese and bottled beer. on being seized with the usual symptoms of rice-poisoning he informed his friend of his peculiarity of constitution, and the symptoms were explained by the fact that a few grains of rice had been put into each bottle of beer for the purpose of exciting a secondary fermentation. the same author speaks of a gentleman under treatment for stricture who could not eat figs without experiencing the most unpleasant formication of the palate and fauces. the fine dust from split peas caused the same sensation, accompanied with running at the nose; it was found that the father of the patient suffered from hay-fever in certain seasons. he also says a certain young lady after eating eggs suffered from swelling of the tongue and throat, accompanied by "alarming illness," and there is recorded in the same paragraph a history of another young girl in whom the ingestion of honey, and especially honey-comb, produced swelling of the tongue, frothing of the mouth, and blueness of the fingers. the authors know of a gentleman in whom sneezing is provoked on the ingestion of chocolate in any form. there was another instance--in a member of the medical profession--who suffered from urticaria after eating veal. veal has the reputation of being particularly indigestible, and the foregoing instance of the production of urticaria from its use is doubtless not an uncommon one. overton cites a striking case of constitutional peculiarity or idiosyncrasy in which wheat flour in any form, the staff of life, an article hourly prayed for by all christian nations as the first and most indispensable of earthly blessings, proved to one unfortunate individual a prompt and dreadful poison. the patient's name was david waller, and he was born in pittsylvania county, va., about the year . he was the eighth child of his parents, and, together with all his brothers and sisters, was stout and healthy. at the time of observation waller was about fifty years of age. he had dark hair, gray eyes, dark complexion, was of bilious and irascible temperament, well formed, muscular and strong, and in all respects healthy as any man, with the single exception of his peculiar idiosyncrasy. he had been the subject of but few diseases, although he was attacked by the epidemic of . from the history of his parents and an inquiry into the health of his ancestry, nothing could be found which could establish the fact of heredity in his peculiar disposition. despite every advantage of stature, constitution, and heredity, david waller was through life, from his cradle to his grave, the victim of what is possibly a unique idiosyncrasy of constitution. in his own words he declared: "of two equal quantities of tartar and wheat flour, not more than a dose of the former, he would rather swallow the tartar than the wheat flour." if he ate flour in any form or however combined, in the smallest quantity, in two minutes or less he would have painful itching over the whole body, accompanied by severe colic and tormina in the bowels, great sickness in the stomach, and continued vomiting, which he declared was ten times as distressing as the symptoms caused by the ingestion of tartar emetic. in about ten minutes after eating the flour the itching would be greatly intensified, especially about the head, face, and eyes, but tormenting all parts of the body, and not to be appeased. these symptoms continued for two days with intolerable violence, and only declined on the third day and ceased on the tenth. in the convalescence, the lungs were affected, he coughed, and in expectoration raised great quantities of phlegm, and really resembled a phthisical patient. at this time he was confined to his room with great weakness, similar to that of a person recovering from an asthmatic attack. the mere smell of wheat produced distressing symptoms in a minor degree, and for this reason he could not, without suffering, go into a mill or house where the smallest quantity of wheat flour was kept. his condition was the same from the earliest times, and he was laid out for dead when an infant at the breast, after being fed with "pap" thickened with wheat flour. overton remarks that a case of constitutional peculiarity so little in harmony with the condition of other men could not be received upon vague or feeble evidence, and it is therefore stated that waller was known to the society in which he lived as an honest and truthful man. one of his female neighbors, not believing in his infirmity, but considering it only a whim, put a small quantity of flour in the soup which she gave him to eat at her table, stating that it contained no flour, and as a consequence of the deception he was bed-ridden for ten days with his usual symptoms. it was also stated that waller was never subjected to militia duty because it was found on full examination of his infirmity that he could not live upon the rations of a soldier, into which wheat flour enters as a necessary ingredient. in explanation of this strange departure from the condition of other men, waller himself gave a reason which was deemed equivalent in value to any of the others offered. it was as follows: his father being a man in humble circumstances in life, at the time of his birth had no wheat with which to make flour, although his mother during gestation "longed" for wheat-bread. the father, being a kind husband and responsive to the duty imposed by the condition of his wife, procured from one of his opulent neighbors a bag of wheat and sent it to the mill to be ground. the mother was given much uneasiness by an unexpected delay at the mill, and by the time the flour arrived her strong appetite for wheat-bread had in a great degree subsided. notwithstanding this, she caused some flour to be immediately baked into bread and ate it, but not so freely as she had expected the bread thus taken caused intense vomiting and made her violently and painfully ill, after which for a considerable time she loathed bread. these facts have been ascribed as the cause of the lamentable infirmity under which the man labored, as no other peculiarity or impression in her gestation was noticed. in addition it may be stated that for the purpose of avoiding the smell of flour waller was in the habit of carrying camphor in his pocket and using snuff, for if he did not smell the flour, however much might be near him, it was as harmless to him as to other men. the authors know of a case in which the eating of any raw fruit would produce in a lady symptoms of asthma; cooked fruit had no such effect. food-superstitions.--the superstitious abhorrence and antipathy to various articles of food that have been prevalent from time to time in the history of the human race are of considerable interest and well deserve some mention here. a writer in a prominent journal has studied this subject with the following result:-- "from the days of adam and eve to the present time there has been not only forbidden fruit, but forbidden meats and vegetables. for one reason or another people have resolutely refused to eat any and all kinds of flesh, fish, fowl, fruits, and plants. thus, the apple, the pear, the strawberry, the quince, the bean, the onion, the leek, the asparagus, the woodpecker, the pigeon, the goose, the deer, the bear, the turtle, and the eel--these, to name only a few eatables, have been avoided as if unwholesome or positively injurious to health and digestion. "as we all know, the jews have long had an hereditary antipathy to pork. on the other hand, swine's flesh was highly esteemed by the ancient greeks and romans. this fact is revealed by the many references to pig as a dainty bit of food. at the great festival held annually in honor of demeter, roast pig was the piece de resistance in the bill of fare, because the pig was the sacred animal of demeter. aristophanes in 'the frogs' makes one of the characters hint that some of the others 'smell of roast pig.' these people undoubtedly had been at the festival (known as the thesmophoria) and had eaten freely of roast pig, those who took part in another greek mystery or festival (known as the eleusinia) abstained from certain food, and above all from beans. "again, as we all know, mice are esteemed in china and in some parts of india. but the ancient egyptians, greeks, and jews abhorred mice and would not touch mouse-meat. rats and field-mice were sacred in old egypt, and were not to be eaten on this account. so, too, in some parts of greece, the mouse was the sacred animal of apollo, and mice were fed in his temples. the chosen people were forbidden to eat 'the weasel, and the mouse, and the tortoise after his kind.' these came under the designation of unclean animals, which were to be avoided. "but people have abstained from eating kinds of flesh which could not be called unclean. for example, the people of thebes, as herodotus tells us, abstained from sheep. then, the ancients used to abstain from certain vegetables. in his 'roman questions' plutarch asks: 'why do the latins abstain strictly from the flesh of the woodpecker?' in order to answer plutarch's question correctly it is necessary to have some idea of the peculiar custom and belief called 'totemism.' there is a stage of society in which people claim descent from and kinship with beasts, birds, vegetables, and other objects. this object, which is a 'totem,' or family mark, they religiously abstain from eating. the members of the tribe are divided into clans or stocks, each of which takes the name of some animal, plant, or object, as the bear, the buffalo, the woodpecker, the asparagus, and so forth. no member of the bear family would dare to eat bear-meat, but he has no objection to eating buffalo steak. even the marriage law is based on this belief, and no man whose family name is wolf may marry a woman whose family name is also wolf. "in a general way it may be said that almost all our food prohibitions spring from the extraordinary custom generally called totemism. mr. swan, who was missionary for many years in the congo free state, thus describes the custom: 'if i were to ask the yeke people why they do not eat zebra flesh, they would reply, 'chijila,' i.e., 'it is a thing to which we have an antipathy;' or better, 'it is one of the things which our fathers taught us not to eat.' so it seems the word 'bashilang' means 'the people who have an antipathy to the leopard;' the 'bashilamba,' 'those who have an antipathy to the dog,' and the 'bashilanzefu,' 'those who have an antipathy to the elephant.' in other words, the members of these stocks refuse to eat their totems, the zebra, the leopard, or the elephant, from which they take their names. "the survival of antipathy to certain foods was found among people as highly civilized as the egyptians, the greeks, and the romans. quite a list of animals whose flesh was forbidden might be drawn up. for example, in old egypt the sheep could not be eaten in thebes, nor the goat in mendes, nor the cat in bubastis, nor the crocodile at ombos, nor the rat, which was sacred to ra, the sun-god. however, the people of one place had no scruples about eating the forbidden food of another place. and this often led to religious disputes. "among the vegetables avoided as food by the egyptians may be mentioned the onion, the garlic, and the leek. lucian says that the inhabitants of pelusium adored the onion. according to pliny the egyptians relished the leek and the onion. juvenal exclaims: 'surely a very religious nation, and a blessed place, where every garden is overrun with gods!' the survivals of totemism among the ancient greeks are very interesting. families named after animals and plants were not uncommon. one athenian gens, the ioxidae, had for its ancestral plant the asparagus. one roman gens, the piceni, took a woodpecker for its totem, and every member of this family refused, of course, to eat the flesh of the woodpecker. in the same way as the nations of the congo free state, the latins had an antipathy to certain kinds of food. however, an animal or plant forbidden in one place was eaten without any compunction in another place. 'these local rites in roman times,' says mr. lang, 'caused civil brawls, for the customs of one town naturally seemed blasphemous to neighbors with a different sacred animal. thus when the people of dog-town were feeding on the fish called oxyrrhyncus, the citizens of the town which revered the oxyrrhyncus began to eat dogs. hence arose a riot.' the antipathy of the jews to pork has given rise to quite different explanations. the custom is probably a relic of totemistic belief. that the unclean animals--animals not to be eaten--such as the pig, the mouse, and the weasel, were originally totems of the children of israel, professor robertson smith believes is shown by various passages in the old testament. "when animals and plants ceased to be held sacred they were endowed with sundry magical or mystic properties. the apple has been supposed to possess peculiar virtues, especially in the way of health. 'the relation of the apple to health,' says mr. conway, 'is traceable to arabia. sometimes it is regarded as a bane. in hessia it is said an apple must not be eaten on new year's day, as it will produce an abscess. but generally it is curative. in pomerania it is eaten on easter morning against fevers; in westphalia (mixed with saffron) against jaundice; while in silesia an apple is scraped from top to stalk to cure diarrhea, and upward to cure costiveness.' according to an old english fancy, if any one who is suffering from a wound in the head should eat strawberries it will lead to fatal results. in the south of england the folk say that the devil puts his cloven foot upon the blackberries on michaelmas day, and hence none should be gathered or eaten after that day. on the other hand, in scotland the peasants say that the devil throws his cloak over the blackberries and makes them unwholesome after that day, while in ireland he is said to stamp on the berries. even that humble plant, the cabbage, has been invested with some mystery. it was said that the fairies were fond of its leaves, and rode to their midnight dances on cabbage-stalks. the german women used to say that 'babies come out of the cabbage-heads.' the irish peasant ties a cabbage-leaf around the neck for sore throat. according to gerarde, the spartans ate watercress with their bread, firmly believing that it increased their wit and wisdom. the old proverb is, 'eat cress to learn more wit.' "there is another phase to food-superstitions, and that is the theory that the qualities of the eaten pass into the eater. mr. tylor refers to the habit of the dyak young men in abstaining from deer-meat lest it should make them timid, while the warriors of some south american tribes eat the meat of tigers, stags, and boars for courage and speed. he mentions the story of an english gentleman at shanghai who at the time of the taeping attack met his chinese servant carrying home the heart of a rebel, which he intended to eat to make him brave. there is a certain amount of truth in the theory that the quality of food does affect the mind and body. buckle in his 'history of civilization' took this view, and tried to prove that the character of a people depends on their diet." idiosyncrasies to drugs.--in the absorption and the assimilation of drugs idiosyncrasies are often noted; in fact, they are so common that we can almost say that no one drug acts in the same degree or manner on different individuals. in some instances the untoward action assumes such a serious aspect as to render extreme caution necessary in the administration of the most inert substances. a medicine ordinarily so bland as cod-liver oil may give rise to disagreeable eruptions. christison speaks of a boy ten years old who was said to have been killed by the ingestion of two ounces of epsom salts without inducing purgation; yet this common purge is universally used without the slightest fear or caution. on the other hand, the extreme tolerance exhibited by certain individuals to certain drugs offers a new phase of this subject. there are well-authenticated cases on record in which death has been caused in children by the ingestion of a small fraction of a grain of opium. while exhibiting especial tolerance from peculiar disposition and long habit, thomas de quincey, the celebrated english litterateur, makes a statement in his "confessions" that with impunity he took as much as grains of opium a day, and was accustomed at one period of his life to call every day for "a glass of laudanum negus, warm, and without sugar," to use his own expression, after the manner a toper would call for a "hot-scotch." the individuality noted in the assimilation and the ingestion of drugs is functional as well as anatomic. numerous cases have been seen by all physicians. the severe toxic symptoms from a whiff of cocain-spray, the acute distress from the tenth of a grain of morphin, the gastric crises and profuse urticarial eruptions following a single dose of quinin,--all are proofs of it. the "personal equation" is one of the most important factors in therapeutics, reminding us of the old rule, "treat the patient, not the disease." the idiosyncrasy may be either temporary or permanent, and there are many conditions that influence it. the time and place of administration; the degree of pathologic lesion in the subject; the difference in the physiologic capability of individual organs of similar nature in the same body; the degree of human vitality influencing absorption and resistance; the peculiar epochs of life; the element of habituation, and the grade and strength of the drug, influencing its virtue,--all have an important bearing on untoward action and tolerance of poisons. it is not in the province of this work to discuss at length the explanations offered for these individual idiosyncrasies. many authors have done so, and lewin has devoted a whole volume to this subject, of which, fortunately, an english translation has been made by mulheron, and to these the interested reader is referred for further information. in the following lines examples of idiosyncrasy to the most common remedial substances will be cited, taking the drugs up alphabetically. acids.--ordinarily speaking, the effect of boric acid in medicinal doses on the human system is nil, an exceptionally large quantity causing diuresis. binswanger, according to lewin, took eight gm. in two doses within an hour, which was followed by nausea, vomiting, and a feeling of pressure and fulness of the stomach which continued several hours. molodenkow mentions two fatal cases from the external employment of boric acid as an antiseptic. in one case the pleural cavity was washed out with a five per cent solution of boric acid and was followed by distressing symptoms, vomiting, weak pulse, erythema, and death on the third day. in the second case, in a youth of sixteen, death occurred after washing out a deep abscess of the nates with the same solution. the autopsy revealed no change or signs indicative of the cause of death. hogner mentions two instances of death from the employment of / per cent solution of boric acid in washing out a dilated stomach the symptoms were quite similar to those mentioned by molodenkow. in recent years the medical profession has become well aware that in its application to wounds it is possible for carbolic acid or phenol to exercise exceedingly deleterious and even fatal consequences. in the earlier days of antisepsis, when operators and patients were exposed for some time to an atmosphere saturated with carbolic spray, toxic symptoms were occasionally noticed. von langenbeck spoke of severe carbolic-acid intoxication in a boy in whom carbolic paste had been used in the treatment of abscesses. the same author reports two instances of death following the employment of dry carbolized dressings after slight operations. kohler mentions the death of a man suffering from scabies who had applied externally a solution containing about a half ounce of phenol. rose spoke of gangrene of the finger after the application of carbolized cotton to a wound thereon. in some cases phenol acts with a rapidity equal to any poison. taylor speaks of a man who fell unconscious ten seconds after an ounce of phenol had been ingested, and in three minutes was dead. there is recorded an account of a man of sixty-four who was killed by a solution containing slightly over a dram of phenol. a half ounce has frequently caused death; smaller quantities have been followed by distressing symptoms, such as intoxication (which olshausen has noticed to follow irrigation of the uterus), delirium, singultus, nausea, rigors, cephalalgia, tinnitus aurium, and anasarca. hind mentions recovery after the ingestion of nearly six ounces of crude phenol of per cent strength. there was a case at the liverpool northern hospital in which recovery took place after the ingestion with suicidal intent of four ounces of crude carbolic acid. quoted by lewin, busch accurately describes a case which may be mentioned as characteristic of the symptoms of carbolism. a boy, suffering from abscess under the trochanter, was operated on for its relief. during the few minutes occupied by the operation he was kept under a two per cent carbolic spray, and the wound was afterward dressed with carbolic gauze. the day following the operation he was seized with vomiting, which was attributed to the chloroform used as an anesthetic. on the following morning the bandages were removed under the carbolic spray; during the day there was nausea, in the evening there was collapse, and carbolic acid was detected in the urine. the pulse became small and frequent and the temperature sank to . degrees c. the frequent vomiting made it impossible to administer remedies by the stomach, and, in spite of hypodermic injections and external application of analeptics, the boy died fifty hours after operation. recovery has followed the ingestion of an ounce of officinal hydrochloric acid. black mentions a man of thirty-nine who recovered after swallowing / ounces of commercial hydrochloric acid. johnson reports a case of poisoning from a dram of hydrochloric acid. tracheotomy was performed, but death resulted. burman mentions recovery after the ingestion of a dram of dilute hydrocyanic acid of scheele's strength ( . am. of the acid). in this instance insensibility did not ensue until two minutes after taking the poison, the retarded digestion being the means of saving life. quoting taafe, in taylor speaks of the case of a man who swallowed the greater part of a solution containing an ounce of potassium cyanid. in a few minutes the man was found insensible in the street, breathing stertorously, and in ten minutes after the ingestion of the drug the stomach-pump was applied. in two hours vomiting began, and thereafter recovery was rapid. mitscherlich speaks of erosion of the gums and tongue with hemorrhage at the slightest provocation, following the long administration of dilute nitric acid. this was possibly due to the local action. according to taylor, the smallest quantity of oxalic acid causing death is one dram. ellis describes a woman of fifty who swallowed an ounce of oxalic acid in beer. in thirty minutes she complained of a burning pain in the stomach and was rolling about in agony. chalk and water was immediately given to her and she recovered. woodman reports recovery after taking / ounce of oxalic acid. salicylic acid in medicinal doses frequently causes untoward symptoms, such as dizziness, transient delirium, diminution of vision, headache, and profuse perspiration; petechial eruptions and intense gastric symptoms have also been noticed. sulphuric acid causes death from its corrosive action, and when taken in excessive quantities it produces great gastric disturbance; however, there are persons addicted to taking oil of vitriol without any apparent untoward effect. there is mentioned a boot-maker who constantly took / ounce of the strong acid in a tumbler of water, saying that it relieved his dyspepsia and kept his bowels open. antimony.--it is recorded that / grain of tartar emetic has caused death in a child and two grains in an adult. falot reports three cases in which after small doses of tartar emetic there occurred vomiting, delirium, spasms, and such depression of vitality that only the energetic use of stimulants saved life. beau mentions death following the administration of two doses of / gr. of tartar emetic. preparations of antimony in an ointment applied locally have caused necrosis, particularly of the cranium, and hebra has long since denounced the use of tartar emetic ointment in affections of the scalp. carpenter mentions recovery after ingestion of two drams of tartar emetic. behrends describes a case of catalepsy with mania, in which a dose of gr. of tartar emetic was tolerated, and morgagni speaks of a man who swallowed two drams, immediately vomited, and recovered. instances like the last, in which an excessive amount of a poison by its sudden emetic action induces vomiting before there is absorption of a sufficient quantity to cause death, are sometimes noticed. mccreery mentions a case of accidental poisoning with half an ounce of tartar emetic successfully treated with green tea and tannin. mason reports recovery after taking gr. of tartar emetic. arsenic.--the sources of arsenical poisoning are so curious as to deserve mention. confectionery, wall-paper, dyes, and the like are examples. in other cases we note money-counting, the colored candles of a christmas tree, paper collars, ball-wreaths of artificial flowers, ball-dresses made of green tarlatan, playing cards, hat-lining, and fly-papers. bazin has reported a case in which erythematous pustules appeared after the exhibition during fifteen days of the / gr. of arsenic. macnal speaks of an eruption similar to that of measles in a patient to whom he had given but three drops of fowler's solution for the short period of three days. pareira says that in a gouty patient for whom he prescribed / gr. of potassium arseniate daily, on the third day there appeared a bright red eruption of the face, neck, upper part of the trunk and flexor surfaces of the joints, and an edematous condition of the eyelids. the symptoms were preceded by restlessness, headache, and heat of the skin, and subsided gradually after the second or third day, desquamation continuing for nearly two months. after they had subsided entirely, the exhibition of arsenic again aroused them, and this time they were accompanied by salivation. charcot and other french authors have noticed the frequent occurrence of suspension of the sexual instinct during the administration of fowler's solution. jackson speaks of recovery after the ingestion of two ounces of arsenic by the early employment of an emetic. walsh reports a case in which gr. of arsenic were taken without injury. the remarkable tolerance of arsenic eaters is well known. taylor asserts that the smallest lethal dose of arsenic has been two gr., but tardieu mentions an instance in which ten cgm. ( / gr.) has caused death. mackenzie speaks of a man who swallowed a large quantity of arsenic in lumps, and received no treatment for sixteen hours, but recovered. it is added that from two masses passed by the anus gr. of arsenic were obtained. in speaking of the tolerance of belladonna, in fuller mentioned a child of fourteen who in eighteen days took grains of atropin; a child of ten who took seven grains of extract of belladonna daily, or more than two ounces in twenty-six days; and a man who took grains of the extract of belladonna daily, and from whose urine enough atropin was extracted to kill two white mice and to narcotize two others. bader has observed grave symptoms following the employment of a vaginal suppository containing three grains of the extract of belladonna. the dermal manifestations, such as urticaria and eruptions resembling the exanthem of scarlatina, are too well known to need mention here. an enema containing grains of belladonna root has been followed in five hours by death, and taylor has mentioned recovery after the ingestion of three drams of belladonna. in chambers reported to the lancet the recovery of a child of four years who took a solution containing / grain of the alkaloid. in some cases the idiosyncrasy to belladonna is so marked that violent symptoms follow the application of the ordinary belladonna plaster. maddox describes a ease of poisoning in a music teacher by the belladonna plaster of a reputable maker. she had obscure eye-symptoms, and her color-sensations were abnormal. locomotor equilibration was also affected. golden mentions two cases in which the application of belladonna ointment to the breasts caused suppression of the secretion of milk. goodwin relates the history of a case in which an infant was poisoned by a belladonna plaster applied to its mother's breast and died within twenty-four hours after the first application of the plaster. in betancourt spoke of an instance of inherited susceptibility to belladonna, in which the external application of the ointment produced all the symptoms of belladonna poisoning. cooper mentions the symptoms of poisoning following the application of extract of belladonna to the scrotum. davison reports poisoning by the application of belladonna liniment. jenner and lyman also record belladonna poisoning from external applications. rosenthal reports a rare case of poisoning in a child eighteen months old who had swallowed about a teaspoonful of benzin. fifteen minutes later the child became unconscious. the stomach-contents, which were promptly removed, contained flakes of bloody mucus. at the end of an hour the radial pulse was scarcely perceptible, respiration was somewhat increased in frequency and accompanied with a rasping sound. the breath smelt of benzin. the child lay in quiet narcosis, occasionally throwing itself about as if in pain. the pulse gradually improved, profuse perspiration occurred, and normal sleep intervened. six hours after the poisoning the child was still stupefied. the urine was free from albumin and sugar, and the next morning the little one had perfectly recovered. there is an instance mentioned of a robust youth of twenty who by a mistake took a half ounce of cantharides. he was almost immediately seized with violent heat in the throat and stomach, pain in the head, and intense burning on urination. these symptoms progressively increased, were followed by intense sickness and almost continual vomiting. in the evening he passed great quantities of blood from the urethra with excessive pain in the urinary tract. on the third day all the symptoms were less violent and the vomiting had ceased. recovery was complete on the fifteenth day. digitalis has been frequently observed to produce dizziness, fainting, disturbances of vision, vomiting, diarrhea, weakness of the pulse, and depression of temperature. these phenomena, however, are generally noticed after continued administration in repeated doses, the result being doubtless due to cumulative action caused by abnormally slow elimination by the kidneys. traube observed the presence of skin-affection after the use of digitalis in a case of pericarditis. tardieu has seen a fluid-dram of the tincture of digitalis cause alarming symptoms in a young woman who was pregnant. he also quotes cases of death on the tenth day from ingestion of grains of the extract, and on the fifth day from grams of the infusion. kohuhorn mentions a death from what might be called chronic digitalis poisoning. there is a deleterious practice of some of the irish peasantry connected with their belief in fairies, which consists of giving a cachetic or rachitic child large doses of a preparation of fox-glove (irish--luss-more, or great herb), to drive out or kill the fairy in the child. it was supposed to kill an unhallowed child and cure a hallowed one. in the hebrides, likewise, there were many cases of similar poisoning. epidemics of ergotism have been recorded from time to time since the days of galen, and were due to poverty, wretchedness, and famine, resulting in the feeding upon ergotized bread. according to wood, gangrenous ergotism, or "ignis sacer" of the middle ages, killed , persons in southwestern france in a. d., and in - , in paris alone, , persons perished from this malady. it is described as commencing with itchings and formications in the feet, severe pain in the back, contractions in the muscles, nausea, giddiness, apathy, with abortion in pregnant women, in suckling women drying of milk, and in maidens with amenorrhea. after some time, deep, heavy aching in the limbs, intense feeling of coldness, with real coldness of the surfaces, profound apathy, and a sense of utter weariness develop; then a dark spot appears on the nose or one of the extremities, all sensibility is lost in the affected part, the skin assumes a livid red hue, and adynamic symptoms in severe cases deepen as the gangrene spreads, until finally death ensues. very generally the appetite and digestion are preserved to the last, and not rarely there is a most ferocious hunger. wood also mentions a species of ergotism characterized by epileptic paroxysms, which he calls "spasmodic ergotism." prentiss mentions a brunette of forty-two, under the influence of ergot, who exhibited a peculiar depression of spirits with hysteric phenomena, although deriving much benefit from the administration of the drug from the hemorrhage caused by uterine fibroids. after taking ergot for three days she felt like crying all the time, became irritable, and stayed in bed, being all day in tears. the natural disposition of the patient was entirely opposed to these manifestations, as she was even-tempered and exceptionally pleasant. in addition to the instance of the fatal ingestion of a dose of epsom salts already quoted, lang mentions a woman of thirty-five who took four ounces of this purge. she experienced burning pain in the stomach and bowels, together with a sense of asphyxiation. there was no purging or vomiting, but she became paralyzed and entered a state of coma, dying fifteen minutes after ingestion. iodin preparations.--the eruptions following the administration of small doses of potassium iodid are frequently noticed, and at the same time large quantities of albumin have been seen in the urine. potassium iodid, although generally spoken of as a poisonous drug, by gradually increasing the dose can be given in such enormous quantities as to be almost beyond the bounds of credence, several drams being given at a dose. on the other hand, eight grains have produced alarming symptoms. in the extensive use of iodoform as a dressing instances of untoward effects, and even fatal ones, have been noticed, the majority of them being due to careless and injudicious application. in a french journal there is mentioned the history of a man of twenty-five, suspected of urethral ulceration, who submitted to the local application of one gram of iodoform. deep narcosis and anesthesia were induced, and two hours after awakening his breath smelled strongly of iodoform. there are two similar instances recorded in england. pope mentions two fatal cases of lead-poisoning from diachylon plaster, self-administered for the purpose of producing abortion. lead water-pipes, the use of cosmetics and hair-dyes, coloring matter in confectionery and in pastry, habitual biting of silk threads, imperfectly burnt pottery, and cooking bread with painted wood have been mentioned as causes of chronic lead-poisoning. mercury.--armstrong mentions recovery after ingestion of / drams of corrosive sublimate, and lodge speaks of recovery after a dose containing grains of the salt. it is said that a man swallowed grains of mercuric chlorid in whiskey and water, and vomited violently about ten minutes afterward. a mixture of albumin and milk was given to him, and in about twenty-five minutes a bolus of gold-leaf and reduced iron; in eight days he perfectly recovered. severe and even fatal poisoning may result from the external application of mercury. meeres mentions a case in which a solution (two grains to the fluid-ounce) applied to the head of a child of nine for the relief of tinea tonsurans caused diarrhea, profuse salivation, marked prostration, and finally death. washing out the vagina with a solution of corrosive sublimate, : , has caused severe and even fatal poisoning. bonet mentions death after the inunction of a mercurial ointment, and instances of distressing salivation from such medication are quite common. there are various dermal affections which sometimes follow the exhibition of mercury and assume an erythematous type. the susceptibility of some persons to calomel, the slightest dose causing profuse salivation and painful oral symptoms, is so common that few physicians administer mercury to their patients without some knowledge of their susceptibility to this drug. blundel relates a curious case occurring in the times when mercury was given in great quantities, in which to relieve obstinate constipation a half ounce of crude mercury was administered and repeated in twelve hours. scores of globules of mercury soon appeared over a vesicated surface, the result of a previous blister applied to the epigastric region. blundel, not satisfied with the actuality of the phenomena, submitted his case to dr. lister, who, after careful examination, pronounced the globules metallic. oils.--mauvezin tells of the ingestion of three drams of croton oil by a child of six, followed by vomiting and rapid recovery. there was no diarrhea in this case. wood quotes cowan in mentioning the case of a child of four, who in two days recovered from a teaspoonful of croton oil taken on a full stomach. adams saw recovery in an adult after ingestion of the same amount. there is recorded an instance of a woman who took about an ounce, and, emesis being produced three-quarters of an hour afterward by mustard, she finally recovered. there is a record in which so small a dose as three minims is supposed to have killed a child of thirteen months. according to wood, giacomini mentions a case in which grains of the drug proved fatal in as many hours. castor oil is usually considered a harmless drug, but the castor bean, from which it is derived, contains a poisonous acrid principle, three such beans having sufficed to produce death in a man. doubtless some of the instances in which castor oil has produced symptoms similar to cholera are the results of the administration of contaminated oil. the untoward effects of opium and its derivatives are quite numerous gaubius treated an old woman in whom, after three days, a single grain of opium produced a general desquamation of the epidermis; this peculiarity was not accidental, as it was verified on several other occasions. hargens speaks of a woman in whom the slightest bit of opium in any form produced considerable salivation. gastric disturbances are quite common, severe vomiting being produced by minimum doses; not infrequently, intense mental confusion, vertigo, and headache, lasting hours and even days, sometimes referable to the frontal region and sometimes to the occipital, are seen in certain nervous individuals after a dose of from / to / gr. of opium. these symptoms were familiar to the ancient physicians, and, according to lewin, tralles reports an observation with reference to this in a man, and says regarding it in rather unclassical latin: "... per multos dies ponderosissimum caput circumgestasse." convulsions are said to be observed after medicinal doses of opium. albers states that twitching in the tendons tremors of the hands, and even paralysis, have been noticed after the ingestion of opium in even ordinary doses. the "pruritus opii," so familiar to physicians, is spoken of in the older writings. dioscorides, paulus aegineta, and nearly all the writers of the last century describe this symptom as an annoying and unbearable affection. in some instances the ingestion of opium provokes an eruption in the form of small, isolated red spots, which, in their general character, resemble roseola. rieken remarks that when these spots spread over all the body they present a scarlatiniform appearance, and he adds that even the mucous membranes of the mouth and throat may be attacked with erethematous inflammation. behrend observed an opium exanthem, which was attended by intolerable itching, after the exhibition of a quarter of a grain. it was seen on the chest, on the inner surfaces of the arms, on the flexor surfaces of the forearms and wrists, on the thighs, and posterior and inner surfaces of the legs, terminating at the ankles in a stripe-like discoloration about the breadth of three fingers. it consisted of closely disposed papules of the size of a pin-head, and several days after the disappearance of the eruption a fine, bran-like desquamation of the epidermis ensued. brand has also seen an eruption on the trunk and flexor surfaces, accompanied with fever, from the ingestion of opium. billroth mentions the case of a lady in whom appeared a feeling of anxiety, nausea, and vomiting after ingestion of a small fraction of a grain of opium; she would rather endure her intense pain than suffer the untoward action of the drug. according to lewin, brochin reported a case in which the idiosyncrasy to morphin was so great that / of a grain of the drug administered hypodermically caused irregularity of the respiration, suspension of the heart-beat, and profound narcosis. according to the same authority, wernich has called attention to paresthesia of the sense of taste after the employment of morphin, which, according to his observation, is particularly prone to supervene in patients who are much reduced and in persons otherwise healthy who have suffered from prolonged inanition. these effects are probably due to a central excitation of a similar nature to that produced by santonin. persons thus attacked complain, shortly after the injection, of an intensely sour or bitter taste, which for the most part ceases after elimination of the morphin. von graefe and sommerfrodt speak of a spasm of accommodation occurring after ingestion of medicinal doses of morphin. there are several cases on record in which death has been produced in an adult by the use of / to / grain of morphin. according to wood, the maximum doses from which recovery has occurred without emesis are grains of solid opium, and six ounces of laudanum. according to the same authority, in there was a case in which a babe one day old was killed by one minim of laudanum, and in another case a few drops of paregoric proved fatal to a child of nine months. doubtful instances of death from opium are given, one in an adult female after grains of dover's powder given in divided doses, and another after a dose of / grain of morphin. yavorski cites a rather remarkable instance of morphin-poisoning with recovery: a female took grains of acetate of morphin, and as it did not act quickly enough she took an additional dose of / ounce of laudanum. after this she slept a few hours, and awoke complaining of being ill. yavorski saw her about an hour later, and by producing emesis, and giving coffee, atropin, and tincture of musk, he saved her life. pyle describes a pugilist of twenty-two who, in a fit of despondency after a debauch (in which he had taken repeated doses of morphin sulphate), took with suicidal intent three teaspoonfuls of morphin; after rigorous treatment he revived and was discharged on the next day perfectly well. potassium permanganate was used in this case. chaffee speaks of recovery after the ingestion of grains of morphin without vomiting. in chronic opium eating the amount of this drug which can be ingested with safety assumes astounding proportions. in his "confessions" de quincey remarks: "strange as it may sound, i had a little before this time descended suddenly and without considerable effort from grains of opium ( drops of laudanum) per day to grains, or / part. instantaneously, and as if by magic, the cloud of profoundest melancholy which rested on my brain, like some black vapors that i have seen roll away from the summits of the mountains, drew off in one day,--passed off with its murky banners as simultaneously as a ship that has been stranded and is floated off by a spring-tide-- 'that moveth altogether if it move at all.' now, then, i was again happy; i took only a thousand drops of laudanum per day, and what was that? a latter spring had come to close up the season of youth; my brain performed its functions as healthily as ever before; i read kant again, and again i understood him, or fancied that i did." there have been many authors who, in condemning de quincey for unjustly throwing about the opium habit a halo of literary beauty which has tempted many to destruction, absolutely deny the truth of his statements. no one has any stable reason on which to found denial of de quincey's statements as to the magnitude of the doses he was able to take; and his frankness and truthfulness is equal to that of any of his detractors. william rosse cobbe, in a volume entitled "dr. judas, or portrayal of the opium habit," gives with great frankness of confession and considerable purity of diction a record of his own experiences with the drug. one entire chapter of mr. cobb's book and several portions of other chapters are devoted to showing that de quincey was wrong in some of his statements, but notwithstanding his criticism of de quincey, mr. cobbe seems to have experienced the same adventures in his dreams, showing, after all, that de quincey knew the effects of opium even if he seemed to idealize it. according to mr. cobbe, there are in the united states upward of two millions of victims of enslaving drugs entirely exclusive of alcohol. cobbe mentions several instances in which de quincey's dose of grains of opium daily has been surpassed. one man, a resident of southern illinois, consumed grains a day; another in the same state contented himself with grains daily; and still another is given whose daily consumption amounted to grains per day. in all cases of laudanum-takers it is probable that analysis of the commercial laudanum taken would show the amount of opium to be greatly below that of the official proportion, and little faith can be put in the records of large amounts of opium taken when the deduction has been made from the laudanum used. dealers soon begin to know opium victims, and find them ready dupes for adulteration. according to lewin, samter mentions a case of morphin-habit which was continued for three years, during which, in a period of about three, hundred and twenty-three days, upward of / ounces of morphin was taken daily. according to the same authority, eder reports still larger doses. in the case observed by him the patient took laudanum for six years in increasing doses up to one ounce per day; for eighteen months, pure opium, commencing with grains and increasing to / drams daily; and for eighteen months morphin, in commencing quantities of six grains, which were later increased to grains a day. when deprived of their accustomed dose of morphin the sufferings which these patients experience are terrific, and they pursue all sorts of deceptions to enable them to get their enslaving drug. patients have been known to conceal tubes in their mouths, and even swallow them, and the authors know of a fatal instance in which a tube of hypodermic tablets of the drug was found concealed in the rectum. the administration of such an inert substance as the infusion of orange-peel has been sufficient to invariably produce nervous excitement in a patient afflicted with carcinoma. sonnenschein refers to a case of an infant of five weeks who died from the effects of one phosphorous match head containing only / grain of phosphorus. there are certain people who by reason of a special susceptibility cannot tolerate phosphorus, and the exhibition of it causes in them nausea, oppression, and a feeling of pain in the epigastric region, tormina and tenesmus, accompanied with diarrhea, and in rare cases jaundice, sometimes lasting several months. in such persons / grain is capable of causing the foregoing symptoms. in a man was admitted to guy's hospital, london, after he had taken half of a sixpenny pot of phosphorous paste in whiskey, and was subsequently discharged completely recovered. a peculiar feature of phosphorus-poisoning is necrosis of the jaw. this affection was first noticed in , soon after the introduction of the manufacture of phosphorous matches. in late years, owing to the introduction of precautions in their manufacture, the disease has become much less common. the tipping of the match sticks is accomplished by dipping their ends in a warm solution of a composition of phosphorus, chlorate of potassium, with particles of ground flint to assist friction, some coloring agent, and irish glue. from the contents of the dipping-pans fumes constantly arise into the faces of the workmen and dippers, and in cutting the sticks and packing the matches the hands are constantly in contact with phosphorus. the region chiefly affected in this poisoning is the jaw-bone, but the inflammation may spread to the adjoining bones and involve the vomer, the zygoma, the body of the spheroid bone, and the basilar process of the occipital bone. it is supposed that conditions in which the periosteum is exposed are favorable to the progress of the disease, and, according to hirt, workmen with diseased teeth are affected three times as readily as those with healthy teeth, and are therefore carefully excluded from some of the factories in america. prentiss of washington, d.c., in reported a remarkable case of pilocarpin idiosyncrasy in a blonde of twenty-five. he was consulted by the patient for constipation. later on symptoms of cystitis developed, and an ultimate diagnosis of pyelitis of the right kidney was made. uremic symptoms were avoided by the constant use of pilocarpin. between december , , and february , , the patient had sweats from pilocarpin. the action usually lasted from two to six hours, and quite a large dose was at length necessary. the idiosyncrasy noted was found in the hair, which at first was quite light, afterward chestnut-brown, and may , , almost pure black. the growth of the hair became more vigorous and thicker than formerly, and as its color darkened it became coarser in proportion. in march, , prentiss saw his patient, and at that time her hair was dark brown, having returned to that color from black. prentiss also reported the following case a as adding another to the evidence that jaborandi will produce the effect mentioned under favorable circumstances: mrs. l., aged seventy-two years, was suffering from bright's disease (contracted kidney). her hair and eyebrows had been snow-white for twenty years. she suffered greatly from itching of the skin, due to the uremia of the kidney-disease; the skin was harsh and dry. for this symptom fluid extract of jaborandi was prescribed with the effect of relieving the itching. it was taken in doses of or drops several times a day, from october, , to february, . during the fall of it was noticed by the nurse that the eyebrows were growing darker, and that the hair of the head was darker in patches. these patches and the eyebrows continued to become darker, until at the time of her death they were quite black, the black tufts on the head presenting a very curious appearance among the silver-white hairs surrounding them. quinin being such a universally used drug, numerous instances of idiosyncrasy and intolerance have been recorded. chevalier mentions that through contact of the drug workmen in the manufacture of quinin are liable to an affection of the skin which manifests itself in a vesicular, papular, or pustular eruption on different parts of the body. vepan mentions a lady who took / grains and afterward / grains of quinin for neuralgia, and two days afterward her body was covered with purpuric spots, which disappeared in the course of nine days but reappeared after the administration of the drug was resumed. lewin says that in this case the severity of the eruption was in accordance with the size of the dose, and during its existence there was bleeding at the gums; he adds that gouchet also noticed an eruption of this kind in a lady who after taking quinin expectorated blood. the petechiae were profusely spread over the entire body, and they disappeared after the suspension of the drug. dauboeuf, garraway, hemming, skinner, and cobner mention roseola and scarlatiniform erythema after minute doses of quinin. in nearly all these cases the accompanying symptoms were different. heusinger speaks of a lady who, after taking / grain of quinin, experienced headache, nausea, intense burning, and edema, together with nodular erythema on the eyelids, cheeks, and portion of the forehead. at another time / grains of the drug gave rise to herpetic vesicles on the cheeks, followed by branny desquamation on elimination of the drug. in other patients intense itching is experienced after the ingestion of quinin. peters cites an instance of a woman of sixty-five who, after taking one grain of quinin, invariably exhibited after an hour a temperature of from degrees to degrees f., accelerated pulse, rigors, slight delirium, thirst, and all the appearances of ill-defined fever, which would pass off in from twelve to twenty-four hours. peters witnessed this idiosyncrasy several times and believed it to be permanent. the most unpleasant of the untoward symptoms of quinin exhibition are the disturbances of the organs of special sense. photophobia, and even transient amblyopia, have been observed to follow small doses. in the examination of cases of the untoward effects of quinin upon the eye, knapp of new york found the power of sight diminished in various degrees, and rarely amaurosis and immobility of the pupils. according to lewin, the perceptions of color and light are always diminished, and although the disorder may last for some time the prognosis is favorable. the varieties of the disturbances of the functions of the ear range from tinnitus aurium to congestion causing complete deafness. the gastro-intestinal and genito-urinary tracts are especially disposed to untoward action by quinin. there is a case recorded in which, after the slightest dose of quinin, tingling and burning at the meatus urinarius were experienced. according to lewin, there is mentioned in the case reported by gauchet a symptom quite unique in the literature of quinin, viz., hemoptysis. simon de ronchard first noted the occurrence of several cases of hemoptysis following the administration of doses of eight grains daily. in the persons thus attacked the lungs and heart were healthy. hemoptysis promptly ceased with the suspension of the drug. when it was renewed, blood again appeared in the sputa. taussig mentions a curious mistake, in which an ounce of quinin sulphate was administered to a patient at one dose; the only symptoms noticed were a stuporous condition and complete deafness. no antidote was given, and the patient perfectly recovered in a week. in malarious countries, and particularly in the malarial fevers of the late war, enormous quantities of quinin were frequently given. in fact, at the present day in some parts of the south quinin is constantly kept on the table as a prophylactic constituent of the diet. skinner noticed the occurrence of a scarlatiniform eruption in a woman after the dose of / grain of strychnin, which, however, disappeared with the discontinuance of the drug. there was a man in london in who died in twenty minute's after the ingestion of / grain of strychnin. wood speaks of a case in which the administration of / grain killed a child three and one-half months old. gray speaks of a man who took grains and was not seen for about an hour. he had vomited some of it immediately after taking the dose, and was successfully treated with chloral hydrate. a curious case is mentioned in which three mustard plasters, one on the throat, one on the back of the neck, and another on the left shoulder of a woman, produced symptoms similar to strychnin poisoning. they remained in position for about thirty minutes, and about thirty hours afterward a painful stinging sensation commenced in the back of the neck, followed by violent twitching of the muscles of the face, arms, and legs, which continued in regular succession through the whole of the night, but after twelve hours yielded to hot fomentations of poppy-heads applied to the back of the neck. it could not be ascertained whether any medicine containing strychnin had been taken, but surely, from the symptoms, such must have been the case. tobacco.--o'neill a gives the history of a farmer's wife, aged forty, who wounded her leg against a sewing-machine, and by lay advice applied a handful of chopped wet tobacco to it, from which procedure, strange to say, serious nicotin-poisoning ensued. the pupils were dilated, there were dimness of vision, confusion of thought, and extreme prostration. the pulse was scarcely apparent, the skin was white and wet with clammy perspiration. happily, strychnin was given in time to effect recovery, and without early medical assistance she would undoubtedly have succumbed. there are several similar cases on record. although not immediately related to the subject of idiosyncrasy, the following case may be mentioned here: ramadge speaks of a young frenchman, suffering from an obstinate case of gonorrhea, who was said to have been completely cured by living in a newly painted house in which he inhaled the odors or vapors of turpentine. white speaks of a case of exanthematous eruption similar to that of ivy-poison in mother and child, which was apparently caused by playing with and burning the toy called "pharaoh's serpent egg." the idiosyncrasies noticed in some persons during coitus are quite interesting. the ephemerides mentions a person in whom coitus habitually caused vomiting, and another in whom excessive sexual indulgence provoked singultus. sometimes exaggerated tremors or convulsions, particularly at the moment of orgasm, are noticed. females especially are subject to this phenomenon, and it is seen sometimes in birds. winn reports the case of a man who, when prompted to indulge in sexual intercourse, was immediately prior to the act seized with a fit of sneezing. even the thought of sexual pleasure with a female was sufficient to provoke this peculiar idiosyncrasy. sullivan mentions a bride of four weeks, who called at the doctor's office, saying that in coitus her partner had no difficulty until the point of culmination or orgasm, when he was seized with complete numbness and lost all pleasurable sensation in the penis. the numbness was followed by a sensation of pain, which was intensified on the slightest motion, and which was at times so excruciating as to forbid separation for upward of an hour, or until the penis had become flaccid. the woman asked for advice for her unfortunate husband's relief, and the case was reported as a means of obtaining suggestions from the physicians over the country. in response, one theory was advanced that this man had been in the habit of masturbating and had a stricture of the membranous portion of the urethra, associated with an ulcer of the prostate involving the ejaculatory ducts, or an inflammatory condition of all the tissues compressed by the ejaculatory muscles. hendrichsen quotes a case in which a spasmodic contraction of the levator ani occurred during coitus, and the penis could not be withdrawn while this condition lasted; and in support of this circumstance hendrichsen mentions that marion sims, beigel, and budin describe spasmodic contractions of the levator and, constricting the vagina; he also cites an instance under his personal observation in which this spasm was excited by both vaginal and rectal examination, although on the following day no such condition could be produced. in this connection, among the older writers, borellus gives the history of a man who before coitus rubbed his virile member with musk, and, similar to the connection of a dog and bitch, was held fast in his wife's vagina; it was only after the injection of great quantities of water to soften the parts that separation was obtained. diemerbroeck confirms this singular property of musk by an analogous observation, in which the ludicrous method of throwing cold water on the persons was practised. schurig also relates the history of a similar instance. among the peculiar effects of coitus is its deteriorating effect on the healing process of wounds. boerhaave, pare, and fabricius hildanus all speak of this untoward effect of venery, and in modern times poncet has made observations at a hospital in lyons which prove that during the process of healing wounds are unduly and harmfully influenced by coitus, and cites confirmatory instances. poncet also remarks that he found on nine occasions, by placing a thermometer in the rectum, that the temperature was about degrees f. lower just before than after coitus, and that during the act the temperature gradually rose above normal. there are many associate conditions which, under the exciting influence of coitus, provoke harmful effects and even a fatal issue. deguise mentions a man who had coitus times in ten hours with most disastrous effects. cabrolius speaks of a man who took a potion of aphrodisiac properties, in which, among other things, he put an enormous dose of cantharides. the anticipation of the effect of his dose, that is, the mental influence, in addition to the actual therapeutic effect, greatly distressed and excited him. almost beyond belief, it is said that he approached his wife eighty-seven times during the night, spilling much sperm on the sleeping-bed. cabrolius was called to see this man in the morning, and found him in a most exhausted condition, but still having the supposed consecutive ejaculations. exhaustion progressed rapidly, and death soon terminated this erotic crisis. lawson is accredited with saying that among the marquesan tribe he knew of a woman who during a single night had intercourse with men. among the older writers there are instances reported in which erection and ejaculation took place without the slightest pleasurable sensation. claudius exemplifies this fact in his report of a venetian merchant who had vigorous erections and ejaculations of thick and abundant semen without either tingling or pleasure. attila, king of the huns, and one of the most celebrated leaders of the german hosts which overran the roman empire in its decline, and whose enormous army and name inspired such terror that he was called the "scourge of god," was supposed to have died in coitus. apoplexy, organic heart disorders, aneurysms, and other like disorders are in such cases generally the direct cause of death, coitus causing the death indirectly by the excitement and exertion accompanying the act. bartholinus, benedictus, borellus, pliny, morgagni, plater, a castro, forestus, marcellus donatus, schurig, sinibaldus, schenck, the ephemerides, and many others mention death during coitus; the older writers in some cases attributed the fatal issue to excessive sexual indulgence, not considering the possibility of the associate direct cause, which most likely would have been found in case of a necropsy. suspended animation.--various opinions have been expressed as to the length of time compatible with life during which a person can stay under water. recoveries from drowning furnish interesting examples of the suspension of animation for a protracted period, but are hardly ever reliable, as the subject at short intervals almost invariably rises to the surface of the water, allowing occasional respiration. taylor mentions a child of two who recovered after ten minutes' submersion; in another case a man recovered after fourteen minutes' submersion. there is a case reported in this country of a woman who was said to have been submerged twenty minutes. guerard quotes a case happening in , in which there was submersion for an hour with subsequent recovery; but there hardly seems sufficient evidence of this. green mentions submersion for fifteen minutes; douglass, for fourteen minutes; laub, for fifteen minutes; povall gives a description of three persons who recovered after a submersion of twenty-five minutes. there is a case in french literature, apparently well authenticated, in which submersion for six minutes was followed by subsequent recovery. there have been individuals who gave exhibitions of prolonged submersion in large glass aquariums, placed in full view of the audience. taylor remarks that the person known some years ago in london as "lurline" could stay under water for three minutes. there have been several exhibitionists of this sort. some of the more enterprising seat themselves on an artificial coral, and surrounded by fishes of divers hues complacently eat a meal while thus submerged. it is said that quite recently in detroit there was a performer who accomplished the feat of remaining under water four minutes and eight seconds in full view of the audience. miss lurline swam about in her aquarium, which was brilliantly illuminated, ate, reclined, and appeared to be taking a short nap during her short immersion. in paris, some years since, there was exhibited a creature called "l'homme-poisson," who performed feats similar to lurline, including the smoking of a cigarette held entirely in his mouth. in all these exhibitions all sorts of artificial means are used to make the submersion appear long. great ceremony, music, and the counting of the seconds in a loud voice from the stage, all tend to make the time appear much longer than it really is. however, james finney in london, april , , stayed under water four minutes, twenty-nine and one-fourth seconds, and one of his feats was to pick up or gold-plated half-pennies with his mouth, his hands being securely tied behind his back, and never emerging from his tank until his feat was fully accomplished. in company with his sister he played a game of "nap" under water, using porcelain cards and turning them to the view of the audience. "professor enochs" recently stayed under water at lowell, mass., for four minutes, forty-six and one-fifth seconds. the best previous record was four minutes, thirty-five seconds, made by "professor beaumont" at melbourne on december , . for the most satisfactory examples of prolonged submersion we must look to the divers, particularly the natives who trade in coral, and the pearl fishers. diving is an ancient custom, and even legendary exploits of this nature are recorded. homer compares the fall of hector's chariot to the action of a diver; and specially trained men were employed at the siege of syracuse, their mission being to laboriously scuttle the enemy's vessels. many of the old historians mention diving, and herodotus speaks of a diver by the name of scyllias who was engaged by xerxes to recover some articles of value which had been sunk on some persian vessels in a tempest. egyptian divers are mentioned by plutarch, who says that anthony was deceived by cleopatra in a fishing contest by securing expert divers to place the fish upon the hooks. there was a historical or rather legendary character by the name of didion, who was noted for his exploits in the river meuse. he had the ability to stay under water a considerable length of time, and even to catch fish while submerged. there was a famous diver in sicily at the end of the fifteenth century whose feats are recorded in the writings of alexander ab alexandro, pontanus, and father kircher, the jesuit savant. this man's name was nicolas, born of poor parents at catania. from his infancy he showed an extraordinary power of diving and swimming, and from his compatriots soon acquired various names indicative of his capacity. he became very well known throughout sicily, and for his patron had frederick, king of naples. in the present day, the sponge-fishers and pearl-fishers in the west indies, the mediterranean, the indian seas, and the gulf of mexico invite the attention of those interested in the anomalies of suspended animation. there are many marvelous tales of their ability to remain under water for long periods. it is probable that none remain submerged over two minutes, but, what is more remarkable, they are supposed to dive to extraordinary depths, some as much as to feet. ordinarily they remain under water from a minute to one and a half minutes. remaining longer, the face becomes congested, the eyes injected; the sputum bloody, due to rupture of some of the minute vessels in the lung. it is said by those who have observed them carefully that few of these divers live to an advanced age. many of them suffer apoplectic attacks, and some of them become blind from congestion of the ocular vessels. the syrian divers are supposed to carry weights of considerable size in their hands in order to facilitate the depth and duration of submersion. it is also said that the divers of oceanica use heavy stones. according to guyot-daubes, in the philippine isles the native pearl-fishers teach their children to dive to the depth of meters. the tahitians, who excited the admiration of cook, are noted for their extraordinary diving. speaking of the inhabitants of the island of fakaraya, near tahiti, de la quesnerie says that the pearl-fishers do not hesitate to dive to the depth even of feet after their coveted prizes. on the ceylon coast the mother-of-pearl fishers are under the direction of the english government, which limits the duration and the practice of this occupation. these divers are generally cingalese, who practice the exercise from infancy. as many as small boats can be seen about the field of operation, each equipped with divers. a single diver makes about ten voyages under the water, and then rests in the bottom of the boat, when his comrade takes his place. among other native divers are the arabs of algeria and some of the inhabitants of the mexican coast. it might be well to mention here the divers who work by means of apparatus. the ancients had knowledge of contrivances whereby they could stay under water some time. aristotle speaks of an instrument by which divers could rest under water in communication with the air, and compares it with the trunk of an elephant wading a stream deeper than his height. in the presence of charles v diving bells were used by the greeks in . in some of the cannon of the sunken ships of the spanish armada were raised by divers in diving bells. since then various improvements in submarine armor have been made, gradually evolving into the present perfected diving apparatus of to-day, by which men work in the holds of vessels sunk in from to feet of water. the enormous pressure of the water at these great depths makes it necessary to have suits strong enough to resist it. lambert, a celebrated english diver, recovered l , in specie from the steamer alphonso xii, a spanish mail boat belonging to the lopez line, which sank off point gando, grand canary, in / fathoms of water. for nearly six months the salvage party, despatched by the underwriters in may, , persevered in the operations; two divers lost their lives, the golden bait being in the treasure-room beneath the three decks, but lambert finished the task successfully. deep-sea divers only acquire proficiency after long training. it is said that as a rule divers are indisposed to taking apprentices, as they are afraid of their vocation being crowded and their present ample remuneration diminished. at present there are several schools. at chatham, england, there is a school of submarine mining, in which men are trained to lay torpedoes and complete harbor defense. most of these divers can work six hours at a time in from to feet of water. divers for the royal navy are trained at sheerness. when sufficiently trained to work at the depth of feet seamen-divers are fully qualified, and are drafted to the various ships. they are connected with an air-pump in charge of trustworthy men; they signal for their tools and material, as well as air, by means of a special line for this purpose. at some distance below the water the extraordinary weight of the suits cannot be felt, and the divers work as well in armor as in ordinary laboring clothes. one famous diver says that the only unpleasant experience he ever had in his career as a diver, not excepting the occasion of his first dive, was a drumming in the ears, as a consequence of which, after remaining under water at a certain work for nine hours, he completely lost the use of one ear for three months, during which time he suffered agony with the earache. these men exhibit absolute indifference to the dangers attached to their calling, and some have been known to sleep many fathoms beneath the surface. both by means of their signal lines and by writing on a slate they keep their associates informed of the progress of their work. suspension of the pulse.--in some cases the pulse is not apparent for many days before actual death, and there have been instances in which, although the pulse ceased for an extended period, the patient made an ultimate recovery. in reviewing the older literature we find that ballonius mentions an instance in which the pulse was not apparent for fourteen days before complete asphyxia. ramazzini describes a case of cessation of the pulse four days before death. schenck details the history of a case in which the pulse ceased for three days and asphyxia was almost total, but the patient eventually recovered. there is a noteworthy observation, in which there was cessation of the pulse for nine days without a fatal issue. some persons seem to have a preternatural control over their circulatory system, apparently enabling them to produce suspension of cardiac movement at will. cheyne speaks of a colonel townshend who appeared to possess the power of dying, as it were, at will,--that is, so suspending the heart's action that no pulsation could be detected. after lying in this state of lifelessness for a short period, life would become slowly established without any consciousness or volition on the man's part. the longest period in which he remained in this death-like condition was about thirty minutes. a postmortem examination of this person was awaited with great interest; but after his death nothing was found to explain the power he possessed over his heart. saint augustin knew of a priest named rutilut who had the power of voluntarily simulating death. both the pulsation and respiration was apparently abolished when he was in his lifeless condition. burning and pricking left visible effects on the skin after his recovery, but had no apparent effect on his lethargy. chaille reports an instance of voluntary suspension of the pulse. relative to hibernation, it is well-known that mice, snakes, and some reptiles, as well as bees, sometimes seem to entirely suspend animation for an extended period, and especially in the cold weather. in russia fish are transported frozen stiff, but return to life after being plunged into cold water. a curious tale is told by harley, from sir john lubbock, of a snail brought from egypt and thought to be dead. it was placed on a card and put in position on a shelf in the british museum in march, . in march, after having been gummed to a label for five years, it was noticed to have an apparent growth on its mouth and was taken out and placed in water, when it soon showed signs of life and ate cabbage leaves offered to it. it has been said, we think with credible evidence, that cereal seeds found in the tombs with mummies have grown when planted, and harley quotes an instance of a gentleman who took some berries, possibly the remnants of pharaoh's daughter's last meal, coming as they did from her mummified stomach after lying dormant in an egyptian tomb many centuries, and planted them in his garden, where they soon grew, and he shortly had a bush as flourishing as any of those emanating from fresh seeds. human hibernation is an extremely rare anomaly. only the fakirs of india seem to have developed this power, and even the gifted ones there are seldom seen. many theories have been advanced to explain this ability of the fakirs, and many persons have discredited all the stories relative to their powers; on the other hand, all who have witnessed their exhibitions are convinced of their genuineness. furthermore, these persons are extremely scarce and are indifferent to money; none has been enticed out of his own country to give exhibitions. when one dies in a community, his place is never filled--proving that he had no accomplices who knew any fraudulent secret practices, otherwise the accomplice would soon step out to take his place. these men have undoubtedly some extraordinary mode of sending themselves into a long trance, during which the functions of life are almost entirely suspended. we can readily believe in their ability to fast during their periods of burial, as we have already related authentic instances of fasting for a great length of time, during which the individual exercised his normal functions. to the fakir, who neither visibly breathes nor shows circulatory movements, and who never moves from his place of confinement, fasting should be comparatively easy, when we consider the number of men whose minds were actively at work during their fasts, and who also exercised much physical power. harley says that the fakirs begin their performances by taking a large dose of the powerfully stupefying "bang," thus becoming narcotized. in this state they are lowered into a cool, quiet tomb, which still further favors the prolongation of the artificially induced vital lethargy; in this condition they rest for from six to eight weeks. when resurrected they are only by degrees restored to life, and present a wan, haggard, debilitated, and wasted appearance. braid is credited, on the authority of sir claude wade, with stating that a fakir was buried in an unconscious state at lahore in , and when dug up, six weeks later, he presented all the appearances of a dead person. the legs and arms were shrunken and stiff, and the head reclined on the shoulder in a manner frequently seen in a corpse. there was no pulsation of the heart or arteries of the arm or temple--in fact, no really visible signs of life. by degrees this person was restored to life. every precaution had been taken in this case to prevent the possibility of fraud, and during the period of interment the grave was guarded night and day by soldiers of the regiment stationed at lahore. honigberger, a german physician in the employ of runjeet singh, has an account of a fakir of punjaub who allowed himself to be buried in a well-secured vault for such a long time that grain sown in the soil above the vault sprouted into leaf before he was exhumed. honigberger affirms that the time of burial was over days, and that on being submitted to certain processes the man recovered and lived many years after. sir henry lawrence verified the foregoing statements. the chest in which the fakir was buried was sealed with the runjeet stamp on it, and when the man was brought up he was cold and apparently lifeless. honigberger also states that this man, whose name was haridas, was four months in a grave in the mountains; to prove the absolute suspension of animation, the chin was shaved before burial, and at exhumation this part was as smooth as on the day of interment. this latter statement naturally calls forth comment when we consider the instances that are on record of the growth of beard and hair after death. there is another account of a person of the same class who had the power of suspending animation, and who would not allow his coffin to touch the earth for fear of worms and insects, from which he is said to have suffered at a previous burial. it has been stated that the fakirs are either eunuchs or hermaphrodites, social outcasts, having nothing in common with the women or men of their neighborhood; but honigberger mentions one who disproved this ridiculous theory by eloping to the mountains with his neighbor's wife. instances of recovery after asphyxia from hanging are to be found, particularly among the older references of a time when hanging was more common than it is to-day. bartholinus, blegny, camerarius, morgagni, pechlin, schenck, stoll, and wepfer all mention recovery after hanging. forestus describes a case in which a man was rescued by provoking vomiting with vinegar, pepper, and mustard seed. there is a case on record in which a person was saved after hanging nineteen minutes. there was a case of a man brought into the hopital saint-louis asphyxiated by strangulation, having been hung for some time. his rectal temperature was only . degrees f., but six hours after it rose to . degrees f., and he subsequently recovered. taylor cites the instance of a stout woman of forty-four who recovered from hanging. when the woman was found by her husband she was hanging from the top of a door, having been driven to suicide on account of his abuse and intemperance. when first seen by taylor she was comatose, her mouth was surrounded by white froth, and the swollen tongue protruded from it. her face was bloated, her lips of a darkened hue, and her neck of a brown parchment-color. about the level of the larynx, the epidermis was distinctly abraded, indicating where the rope had been. the conjunctiva was insensible and there was no contractile response of the pupil to the light of a candle. the reflexes of the soles of the feet were tested, but were quite in abeyance. there was no respiratory movement and only slight cardiac pulsation. after vigorous measures the woman ultimately recovered. recovery is quite rare when the asphyxiation has gone so far, the patients generally succumbing shortly after being cut down or on the following day. chevers mentions a most curious case, in which cerebral congestion from the asphyxiation of strangling was accidentally relieved by an additional cut across the throat. the patient was a man who was set upon by a band of thugs in india, who, pursuant to their usual custom, strangled him and his fellow-traveler. not being satisfied that he was quite dead, one of the band returned and made several gashes across his throat. this latter action effectually relieved the congestion caused by the strangulation and undoubtedly saved his life, while his unmutilated companion was found dead. after the wounds in his throat had healed this victim of the thugs gave such a good description of the murderous band that their apprehension and execution soon followed. premature burial.--in some instances simulation of death has been so exact that it has led to premature interment. there are many such cases on record, and it is a popular superstition of the laity that all the gruesome tales are true of persons buried alive and returning to life, only to find themselves hopelessly lost in a narrow coffin many feet below the surface of the earth. among the lower classes the dread of being buried before life is extinct is quite generally felt, and for generations the medical profession have been denounced for their inability to discover an infallible sign of death. most of the instances on record, and particularly those from lay journals, are vivid exaggerations, drawn from possibly such a trivial sign as a corpse found with the fist tightly clenched or the face distorted, which are the inspiration of the horrible details of the dying struggles of the person in the coffin. in the works of fontenelle there are cases recorded of the premature interment of the living, in which apparent has been mistaken for real death. none of these cases, however, are sufficiently authentic to be reliable. moreover, in all modern methods of burial, even if life were not extinct, there could be no possibility of consciousness or of struggling. absolute asphyxiation would soon follow the closing of the coffin lid. we must admit, however, that the mistake has been made, particularly in instances of catalepsy or trance, and during epidemics of malignant fevers or plagues, in which there is an absolute necessity of hasty burial for the prevention of contagion. in a few instances on the battle-field sudden syncope, or apparent death, has possibly led to premature interment; but in the present day this is surely a very rare occurrence. there is also a danger of mistake from cases of asphyxiation, drowning, and similar sudden suspensions of the vital functions. it is said that in the eighty-fourth olympiad, empedocles restored to life a woman who was about to be buried, and that this circumstance induced the greeks, for the future protection of the supposed dead, to establish laws which enacted that no person should be interred until the sixth or seventh day. but even this extension of time did not give satisfaction, and we read that when hephestion, at whose funeral obsequies alexander the great was present, was to be buried his funeral was delayed until the tenth day. there is also a legend that when acilius aviola fell a victim to disease he was burned alive, and although he cried out, it was too late to save him, as the fire had become so widespread before life returned. while returning to his country house asclepiades, a physician denominated the "god of physic," and said to have been a descendant of aesculapius, saw during the time of pompey the great a crowd of mourners about to start a fire on a funeral pile. it is said that by his superior knowledge he perceived indications of life in the corpse and ordered the pile destroyed, subsequently restoring the supposed deceased to life. these examples and several others of a similar nature induced the romans to delay their funeral rites, and laws were enacted to prevent haste in burning, as well as in interment. it was not until the eighth day that the final rites were performed, the days immediately subsequent to death having their own special ceremonies. the turks were also fearful of premature interment and subjected the defunct to every test; among others, one was to examine the contractility of the sphincter and, which shows their keen observation of a well-known modern medical fact. according to the memoirs of amelot de la houssaye, cardinal espinola, prime minister to philip ii, put his hand to the embalmer's knife with which he was about to be opened; it is said that vesalius, sometimes called the "father of anatomy," having been sent for to perform an autopsy on a woman subject to hysteric convulsions, and who was supposed to be dead, on making the first incision perceived by her motion and cries that she was still alive. this circumstance, becoming known, rendered him so odious that he had to leave the community in which he practiced, and it is believed that he never entirely recovered from the shock it gave him. the abbe prevost, so well known by his works and the singularities of his life, was seized by apoplexy in the forest of chantilly on october , . his body was carried to the nearest village, and the officers of justice proceeded to open it, when a cry he sent forth frightened all the assistants and convinced the surgeon in charge that the abbe was not dead; but it was too late to save him, as he had already received a mortal wound. massien speaks of a woman living in cologne in who was interred living, but was not awakened from her lethargy until a grave-digger opened her grave to steal a valuable ring which she wore. this instance has been cited in nearly every language. there is another more recent instance, coming from poitiers, of the wife of a goldsmith named mernache who was buried with all her jewels. during the night a beggar attempted to steal her jewelry, and made such exertion in extracting one ring that the woman recovered and was saved. after this resurrection she is said to have had several children. this case is also often quoted. zacchias mentions an instance which, from all appearances, is authentic. it was that of a young man, pest-stricken and thought to be dead, who was placed with the other dead for burial. he exhibited signs of life, and was taken back to the pest-hospital. two days later he entered a lethargic condition simulating death, and was again on his way to the sepulcher, when he once more recovered. it is said that when the body of william, earl of pembroke, who died april , , was opened to be embalmed, the hand raised when the first incision was made. there is a story of an occurrence which happened on a return voyage from india. the wife of one of the passengers, an officer in the army, to all appearances died. they were about to resort to sea-burial, when, through the interposition of the husband, who was anxious to take her home, the ship-carpenters started to construct a coffin suitable for a long voyage, a process which took several days, during which time she lay in her berth, swathed in robes and ready for interment. when the coffin was at last ready the husband went to take his last farewell, and removed the wedding-ring, which was quite tightly on her finger. in the effort to do this she was aroused, recovered, and arrived in england perfectly well. it is said that when a daughter of henry laurens, the first president of the american congress, died of small-pox, she was laid out as dead, and the windows of the room were opened for ventilation. while left alone in this manner she recovered. this circumstance so impressed her illustrious father that he left explicit directions that in case of his death he should be burned. the same journal also contains the case of a maid-servant who recovered thrice on her way to the grave, and who, when really dead, was kept a preposterous length of time before burial. the literature on this subject is very exhaustive, volumes having been written on the uncertainty of the signs of death, with hundreds of examples cited illustrative of the danger of premature interment. the foregoing instances have been given as indicative of the general style of narration; for further information the reader is referred to the plethora of material on this subject. postmortem anomalies.--among the older writers startling movements of a corpse have given rise to much discussion, and possibly often led to suspicion of premature burial. bartholinus describes motion in a cadaver. barlow says that movements were noticed after death in the victims of asiatic cholera. the bodies were cold and expressions were death-like, but there were movements simulating natural life. the most common was flexion of the right leg, which would also be drawn up toward the body and resting on the left leg. in some cases the hand was moved, and in one or two instances a substance was grasped as if by reflex action. some observers have stated that reflex movements of the face were quite noticeable. these movements continued sometimes for upward of an hour, occurring mostly in muscular subjects who died very suddenly, and in whom the muscular irritability or nervous stimulus or both had not become exhausted at the moment of dissolution. richardson doubts the existence of postmortem movements of respiration. snow is accredited with having seen a girl in soho who, dying of scarlet fever, turned dark at the moment of death, but in a few hours presented such a life-line appearance and color as to almost denote the return of life. the center of the cheeks became colored in a natural fashion, and the rest of the body resumed the natural flesh color. the parents refused to believe that death had ensued. richardson remarks that he had seen two similar cases, and states that he believes the change is due to oxidation of the blood surcharged with carbon dioxid. the moist tissues suffuse carbonized blood, and there occurs an osmotic interchange between the carbon dioxid and the oxygen of the air resulting in an oxygenation of the blood, and modification of the color from dark venous to arterial red. a peculiar postmortem anomaly is erection of the penis. the ephemerides and morgagni discuss postmortem erection, and guyon mentions that on one occasion he saw negroes hanged, and states that at the moment of suspension erection of the penis occurred in each; in nine of these blacks traces of this erectile state were perceived an hour after death. cadaveric perspiration has been observed and described by several authors, and paullini has stated that he has seen tears flow from the eyes of a corpse. the retardation of putrefaction of the body after death sometimes presents interesting changes. petrifaction or mummification of the body are quite well known, and not being in the province of this work, will be referred to collateral books on this subject; but sometimes an unaccountable preservation takes place. in a tomb recently opened at canterbury cathedral, a for the purpose of discovering what archbishop's body it contained, the corpse was of an extremely offensive and sickening odor, unmistakably that of putrefaction. the body was that of hubert walter, who died in a.d., and the decomposition had been retarded, and was actually still in progress, several hundred years after burial. retardation of the putrefactive process has been noticed in bodies some years under water. konig of hermannstadt mentions a man who, forty years previous to the time of report, had fallen under the waters of echoschacht, and who was found in a complete state of preservation. postmortem growth of hair and nails.--the hair and beard may grow after death, and even change color. bartholinus recalls a case of a man who had short, black hair and beard at the time of interment, but who, some time after death, was found to possess long and yellowish hair. aristotle discusses postmortem growth of the hair, and garmanus cites an instance in which the beard and hair were cut several times from the cadaver. we occasionally see evidences of this in the dissecting-rooms. caldwell mentions a body buried four years, the hair from which protruded at the points where the joints of the coffin had given away. the hair of the head measured inches, that of the beard eight inches, and that on the breast from four to six inches. rosse of washington mentions an instance in which after burial the hair turned from dark brown to red, and also cites a case in a washington cemetery of a girl, twelve or thirteen years old, who when exhumed was found to have a new growth of hair all over her body. the ephemerides contains an account of hair suddenly turning gray after death. nails sometimes grow several inches after death, and there is on record the account of an idiot who had an idiosyncrasy for long nails, and after death the nails were found to have grown to such an extent that they curled up under the palms and soles. the untoward effects of the emotions on the vital functions are quite well exemplified in medical literature. there is an abundance of cases reported in which joy, fear, pride, and grief have produced a fatal issue. in history we have the old story of the lacedemonian woman who for some time had believed her son was dead, and who from the sudden joy occasioned by seeing him alive, herself fell lifeless. there is a similar instance in roman history. aristotle, pliny, livy, cicero, and others cite instances of death from sudden or excessive joy. fouquet died of excessive joy on being released from prison. a niece of the celebrated leibnitz immediately fell dead on seeing a casket of gold left to her by her deceased uncle. galen mentions death from joy, and in comment upon it he says that the emotion of joy is much more dangerous than that of anger. in discussing this subject, haller says that the blood is probably sent with such violence to the brain as to cause apoplexy. there is one case on record in which after a death from sudden joy the pericardium was found full of blood. the ephemerides, marcellus donatus, martini, and struthius all mention death from joy. death from violent laughter has been recorded, but in this instance it is very probable that death was not due to the emotion itself, but to the extreme convulsion and exertion used in the laughter. the ephemerides mentions a death from laughter, and also describes the death of a pregnant woman from violent mirth. roy, swinger, and camerarius have recorded instances of death from laughter. strange as it may seem, saint-foix says that the moravian brothers, a sect of anabaptists having great horror of bloodshed, executed their condemned brethren by tickling them to death. powerfully depressing emotions, which are called by kant "asthenic," such as great and sudden sorrow, grief, or fright, have a pronounced effect on the vital functions, at times even causing death. throughout literature and history we have examples of this anomaly. in shakespeare's "pericles," thaisa, the daughter to simonides and wife of pericles, frightened when pregnant by a threatened shipwreck, dies in premature childbirth. in scott's "guy mannering," mrs. bertram, on suddenly learning of the death of her little boy, is thrown into premature labor, followed by death. various theories are advanced in explanation of this anomaly. a very plausible one is, that the cardiac palsy is caused by energetic and persistent excitement of the inhibitory cardiac nerves. strand is accredited with saying that agony of the mind produces rupture of the heart. it is quite common to hear the expression, "died of a broken heart;" and, strange to say, in some cases postmortem examination has proved the actual truth of the saying. bartholinus, fabricius hildanus, pliny, rhodius, schenck, marcellus donatus, riedlin, and garengeot speak of death from fright and fear, and the ephemerides describes a death the direct cause of which was intense shame. deleau, a celebrated doctor of paris, while embracing his favorite daughter, who was in the last throes of consumption, was so overcome by intense grief that he fell over her corpse and died, and both were buried together. the fear of child-birth has been frequently cited as a cause of death mcclintock quotes a case from travers of a young lady, happily married; who entertained a fear of death in child-birth; although she had been safely delivered, she suddenly and without apparent cause died in six hours. every region of the body was examined with minutest care by an eminent physician, but no signs indicative of the cause of death were found. mordret cites a similar instance of death from fear of labor. morgagni mentions a woman who died from the disappointment of bearing a girl baby when she was extremely desirous of a boy. the following case, quoted from lauder brunton, shows the extent of shock which may be produced by fear: many years ago a janitor of a college had rendered himself obnoxious to the students, and they determined to punish him. accordingly they prepared a block and an axe, which they conveyed to a lonely place, and having appropriately dressed themselves, some of them prepared to act as judges, and sent others of their company to bring him before them. he first affected to treat the whole affair as a joke, but was solemnly assured by the students that they meant it in real earnest. he was told to prepare for immediate death. the trembling janitor looked all around in the vain hope of seeing some indication that nothing was really meant, but stern looks met him everywhere. he was blindfolded, and made to kneel before the block. the executioner's axe was raised, but, instead of the sharp edge, a wet towel was brought sharply down on the back of the neck. the bandage was now removed from the culprit's eyes, but to the horror and astonishment of the students they found that he was dead. such a case may be due to heart-failure from fear or excitement. it is not uncommon that death ensues from the shock alone following blows that cause no visible injury, but administered to vital parts. this is particularly true of blows about the external genital region, or epigastrium, where the solar plexus is an active factor in inhibition. ivanhoff of bulgaria in speaks of a man of forty-five who was dealt a blow on the testicle in a violent street fight, and staggering, he fell insensible. despite vigorous medical efforts he never regained consciousness and died in forty-five minutes. postmortem examination revealed everything normal, and death must have been caused by syncope following violent pain. watkins cites an instance occurring in south africa. a native shearing sheep for a farmer provoked his master's ire by calling him by some nickname. while the man was in a squatting posture the farmer struck him in the epigastrium. he followed this up by a kick in the side and a blow on the head, neither of which, however, was as severe as the first blow. the man fell unconscious and died. at the autopsy there were no signs indicative of death, which must have been due to the shock following the blow on the epigastrium. as illustrative of the sensitiveness of the epigastric region, vincent relates the following case: "a man received a blow by a stick upon the epigastrium. he had an anxious expression and suffered from oppression. irregular heart-action and shivering were symptoms that gradually disappeared during the day. in the evening his appetite returned and he felt well; during the night he died without a struggle, and at the autopsy there was absolutely nothing abnormal to be found." blows upon the neck often produce sudden collapse. prize-fighters are well aware of the effects of a blow on the jugular vein. maschka, quoted by warren, reports the case of a boy of twelve, who was struck on the anterior portion of the larynx by a stone. he fell lifeless to the ground, and at autopsy no local lesion was found nor any lesion elsewhere. the sudden death may be attributed in this case partly to shock and partly to cerebral anemia. soldiers have been seen to drop lifeless on the battle-field without apparent injury or organic derangement; in the olden times this death was attributed to fear and fright, and later was supposed to be caused by what is called "the wind of a cannon-ball." tolifree has written an article on this cause of sudden death and others have discussed it. by some it is maintained that the momentum acquired by a cannon-ball generates enough force in the neighboring air to prostrate a person in the immediate vicinity of its path of flight. chapter x. surgical anomalies of the head and neck. injuries of such a delicate organ as the eye, in which the slightest accident can produce such disastrous consequences, naturally elicit the interest of all. examples of exophthalmos, or protrusion of the eye from the orbit from bizarre causes, are of particular interest. among the older writers we find ficker and the ephemerides giving instances of exophthalmos from vomiting. fabricius hildanus mentions a similar instance. salmuth, verduc, and others mention extrusion of the eyeball from the socket, due to excessive coughing. ab heers and sennert mention instances in which after replacement the sight was uninjured. tyler relates the case of a man who, after arising in the morning, blew his nose violently, and to his horror his left eye extruded from the orbit. with the assistance of his wife it was immediately replaced and a bandage placed over it. when tyler saw him the upper lid was slightly swollen and discolored, but there was no hemorrhage. hutchinson describes extrusion of the eyeball from the orbit caused by a thrust with a stick. there was paraphymotic strangulation of the globe, entirely preventing replacement and necessitating excision. reyssie speaks of a patient who, during a fire, was struck in the right eye by a stream of water from a hose, violently thrusting the eye backward. contracting under the double influence of shock and cold, the surrounding tissues forced the eyeball from the orbit, and an hour later reyssie saw the patient with the eye hanging by the optic nerve and muscles. its reduction was easy, and after some minor treatment vision was perfectly restored in the injured organ. thirty months after the accident the patient had perfect vision, and the eye had never in the slightest way discommoded him. bodkin mentions the case of a woman of sixty who fell on the key in a door and completely avulsed her eye. in von graefe's archiv there is a record of a man of seventy-five who suffered complete avulsion of the eye by a cart-wheel passing over his head. verhaeghe records complete avulsion of the eye caused by a man falling against the ring of a sharp-worn key. hamill describes the case of a young girl whose conjunctiva was pierced by one of the rests of an ordinary gas-bracket. being hooked at one of its extremities the iron became entangled in either the inferior oblique or external rectus muscles, and completely avulsed the eyeball upon the cheek. the real damage could not be estimated, as the patient never returned after the muscle was clipped off close to its conjunctival insertion. calhoun mentions an instance of a little esquimaux dog whose head was seized between the jaws of a large newfoundland with such force as to press the left eyeball from the socket. the ball rested on the cheek, held by the taut optic nerve; the cornea was opaque. the ball was carefully and gently replaced, and sight soon returned to the eye. in former days there was an old-fashioned manner of fighting called "gouging." in this brutal contest the combatant was successful who could, with his thumb, press his opponent's eyeball out. strange to say, little serious or permanently bad results followed such inhuman treatment of the eye. von langenbeck of berlin mentions an instance of fracture of the superior maxilla, in which the eyeball was so much displaced as to lodge in the antrum of highmore. von becker of heidelberg reports the history of a case in which a blow from the horn of a cow dislocated the eye so far back in the orbit as to present the appearance of enucleation. the conjunctiva hid the organ from view, but when it was pulled aside the eyeball was exposed, and in its remote position still possessed the power of vision. in some cases in which exophthalmos has been seemingly spontaneous, extreme laxity of the lids may serve as an explanation. there is an instance on record in which a polish dew appeared in a continental hospital, saying that while turning in bed, without any apparent cause, his eyeball was completely extruded. there have been people who prided themselves on their ability to produce partial exophthalmos. rupture of the eyeball.--jessop mentions the case of a child of eight who suffered a blow on the eye from a fall against a bedpost, followed by compound rupture of the organ. the wound in the sclerotic was three or four lines in length, and the rent in the conjunctiva was so large that it required three sutures. the chief interest in this case was the rapid and complete recovery of vision. adler reports a case of fracture of the superior maxillary in which the dislocated bone-fragment of the lower orbital border, through pressure on the inferior maxillary and counter pressure on the skull, caused rupture of the conjunctiva of the left eye. serious sequelae of orbital injuries.--in some instances injuries primarily to the orbit either by extension or implication of the cerebral contents provoke the most serious issues. pointed instruments thrust into the orbital cavity may by this route reach the brain. there is a record of death caused by a wound of a cavernous sinus through the orbit by the stem of a tobacco-pipe. bower saw a woman at the gloucester infirmary who had been stabbed in the eye by the end of an umbrella. there was profuse hemorrhage from the nostrils and left eye, but no signs indicative of its origin. death shortly ensued, and at the necropsy a fracture through the roof of the orbit was revealed, the umbrella point having completely severed the optic nerve and divided the ophthalmic artery. the internal carotid artery was wounded in one-half of its circumference at its bend, just before it passes up between the anterior clinoid process and the optic nerve. the cavernous sinus was also opened. in this rare injury, although there was a considerable quantity of clotted blood at the base of the brain, there was no wound to the eyeball nor to the brain itself. pepper records a case in which a knife was thrust through the spheroidal fissure, wounding a large meningeal vein, causing death from intracranial hemorrhage. nelaton describes an instance in which the point of an umbrella wounded the cavernous sinus and internal carotid artery of the opposite side, causing the formation of an arteriovenous aneurysm which ultimately burst, and death ensued. polaillon saw a boy of eighteen who was found in a state of coma. it was stated that an umbrella stick had been thrust up through the roof of the orbit and had been withdrawn with much difficulty. the anterior lobe of the brain was evidently much wounded; an incision was made in the forehead and a portion of the frontal bone chiseled away entrance being thus effected, the aura was incised, and some blood and cerebrospinal fluid escaped. five splinters were removed and a portion of the damaged brain-substance, and a small artery was tied with catgut. the debris of the eyeball was enucleated and a drain was placed in the frontal wound, coming out through the orbit. the patient soon regained consciousness and experienced no bad symptoms afterward. the drains were gradually withdrawn, the process of healing advanced rapidly, and recovery soon ensued. annandale mentions an instance in which a knitting-needle penetrated the brain through the orbit. hewett speaks of perforation of the roof of the orbit and injury to the brain by a lead-pencil. gunshot injuries of the orbit.--barkan recites the case in which a leaden ball / inch in diameter was thrown from a sling into the left orbital cavity, penetrating between the eyeball and osseous wall of the orbit without rupturing the tunics of the eye or breaking the bony wall of the cavity. it remained lodged two weeks without causing any pain or symptoms, and subsequently worked itself forward, contained in a perfect conjunctival sac, in which it was freely movable. buchanan recites the case of a private in the army who was shot at a distance of three feet away, the ball entering the inner canthus of the right eye and lodging under the skin of the opposite side. the eye was not lost, and opacity of the lower part of the cornea alone resulted. cold water and purging constituted the treatment. it is said a that an old soldier of one of napoleon's armies had a musket-ball removed from his left orbit after twenty-four years' lodgment. he was struck in the orbit by a musket-ball, but as at the same time a companion fell dead at his side he inferred that the bullet rebounded from his orbit and killed his comrade. for twenty-four years he had suffered from cephalalgia and pains and partial exophthalmos of the left eye. after removal of the ball the eye partially atrophied. warren reports a case of a man of thirty-five whose eyeball was destroyed by the explosion of a gun, the breech-pin flying off and penetrating the head. the orbit was crushed; fourteen months afterward the man complained of soreness on the hard palate, and the whole breech-pin, with screw attached, was extracted. the removal of the pin was followed by fissure of the hard palate, which, however, was relieved by operation. the following is an extract of a report by wenyon of fatshan, south china:-- "tang shan, chinese farmer, thirty-one years of age, was injured in the face by the bursting of a shot-gun. after being for upward of two months under the treatment of native practitioners, he came to me on december , . i observed a cicatrix on the right side of his nose, and above this a sinus, still unhealed, the orifice of which involved the inner canthus of the right eye, and extended downward and inward for about a centimeter. the sight of the right eye was entirely lost, and the anterior surface of the globe was so uniformly red that the cornea could hardly be distinguished from the surrounding conjunctiva. there was no perceptible enlargement or protrusion of the eyeball, and it did not appear to have sustained any mechanical injury or loss of tissue. the ophthalmia and keratitis were possibly caused by the irritating substances applied to the wound by the chinese doctors. the sinus on the side of the nose gave exit to a continuous discharge of slightly putrid pus, and the patient complained of continuous headache and occasional dizziness, which interfered with his work. the pain was referred to the right frontal and temporal regions, and the skin on this part of the head had a slight blush, but there was no superficial tenderness. the patient had been told by his native doctors, and he believed it himself, that there was no foreign body in the wound; but on probing it i easily recognized the lower edge of a hard metallic substance at a depth of about one inch posteriorly from the orifice of the sinus. being unable to obtain any reliable information as to the probable size or shape of the object, i cautiously made several attempts to remove it through a slightly enlarged opening, but without success. i therefore continued the incision along the side of the nose to the nostril, thus laying open the right nasal cavity; then, seizing the foreign body with a pair of strong forceps, i with difficulty removed the complete breech-pin of a chinese gun. its size and shape are accurately represented by the accompanying drawing. the breech-pin measures a little over three inches in length, and weighs ounces, or . grams. it had evidently lain at the back of the orbit, inclined upward and slightly backward from its point of entrance, at an angle of about degrees. on its removal the headache was at once relieved and did not return. in ten days the wound was perfectly healed and the patient went back to his work. a somewhat similar case, but which terminated fatally, is recorded in the american journal of the medical sciences of july, ." the extent of permanent injury done by foreign bodies in the orbit is variable. in some instances the most extensive wound is followed by the happiest result, while in others vision is entirely destroyed by a minor injury. carter reports a case in which a hat-peg / inches long and about / inch in diameter (upon one end of which was a knob nearly / inch in diameter) was impacted in the orbit for from ten to twenty days, and during this time the patient was not aware of the fact. recovery followed its extraction, the vision and movements of the eye being unimpaired. according to the philosophical transactions a laborer thrust a long lath with great violence into the inner canthus of the left eye of his fellow workman, edward roberts. the lath broke off short, leaving a piece two inches long, / inch wide, and / inch thick, in situ. roberts rode about a mile to the surgery of mr. justinian morse, who extracted it with much difficulty; recovery followed, together with restoration of the sight and muscular action. the lath was supposed to have passed behind the eyeball. collette speaks of an instance in which pieces of glass were extracted from the left orbit, the whole mass weighing belgian grains. they were blown in by a gust of wind that broke a pane of glass; after extraction no affection of the brain or eye occurred. watson speaks of a case in which a chip of steel / inch long was imbedded in cellular tissue of the orbit for four days, and was removed without injury to the eye. wordsworth reports a case in which a foreign body was deeply imbedded in the orbit for six weeks, and was removed with subsequent recovery. chisholm has seen a case in which for five weeks a fly was imbedded in the culdesac between the lower lid and the eyeball. foreign bodies are sometimes contained in the eyeball for many years. there is an instance on record in which a wooden splinter, five mm. long and two mm. broad, remained in the eye forty-seven years. it was extracted, with the lens in which it was lodged, to relieve pain and other distressing symptoms. snell reports a case in which a piece of steel was imbedded and encapsulated in the ciliary process twenty-nine years without producing sympathetic irritation of its fellow, but causing such pain as to warrant enucleation of this eye. gunning speaks of a piece of thorn / inch long, imbedded in the left eyeball of an old man for six years, causing total loss of vision; he adds that, after its removal, some improvement was noticed. williams mentions a stone-cutter whose left eye was put out by a piece of stone. shortly after this his right eye was wounded by a knife, causing traumatic cataract, which was extracted by sir william wilde, giving the man good sight for twelve years, after which iritis attacked the right eye and produced a false membrane over the pupil so that the man could not work. it was in this condition that he consulted williams, fourteen years after the loss of the left eye. the eye was atrophied, and on examination a piece of stone was seen projecting from it directly between the lids. the visible portion was / inch long, and the end in the shrunken eye was evidently longer than the end protruding. the sclera was incised, and, after fourteen years' duration in the eye, the stone was removed. taylor reports the removal of a piece of bone which had remained quiescent in the eye for fourteen years; after the removal of the eye the bone was found adherent to the inner tunics. it resembled the lens in size and shape. williams mentions continual tolerance of foreign bodies in the eyeball for fifteen and twenty-two years; and chisholm reports the lodgment of a fragment of metal in the iris for twenty-three years. liebreich extracted a piece of steel from the interior of the eye where it had been lodged twenty-two years. barkar speaks of a piece of steel which penetrated through the cornea and lens, and which, five months later, was successfully removed by the extraction of the cataractous lens. critchett gives an instance of a foreign body being loose in the anterior chamber for sixteen years. rider speaks of the lodgment of a fragment of a copper percussion cap in the left eye, back of the inner ciliary margin of the iris, for thirty-five years; and bartholinus mentions a thorn in the canthus for thirty years. jacob reports a case in which a chip of iron remained in the eyeball twenty-eight years without giving indications for removal. it was clearly visible, protruding into the anterior surface of the iris, and although it was rusted by its long lodgment, sight in the eye was fairly good, and there was no sign of irritation. snell gives an instance in which a piece of steel was imbedded close to the optic disc with retention of sight. it was plainly visible by the opthalmoscope eighteen months after the accident, when as yet no diminution of sight was apparent. smyly speaks of a portion of a tobacco pipe which was successfully removed from the anterior chamber by an incision through the cornea. clark mentions a case in which molten lead in the eye caused no permanent injury; and there are several cases mentioned in confirmation of the statement that the eye seems to be remarkably free from disastrous effects after this injury. williamson mentions eyelashes in the anterior chamber of the eye, the result of a stab wound of this organ. contusion of the eyeball may cause dislocation of the lens into the anterior chamber, and several instances have been recorded. we regret our inability to give the reference or authority for a report that we have seen, stating that by one kick of a horse the lenses of both eyes of a man were synchronously knocked through the eyeballs by the calkins of the horseshoe. oliver mentions extraction of a lens by a thrust of a cow's horn. lowe speaks of rupture of the anterior capsule of the lens from violent sneezing, with subsequent absorption of the lenticular substance and restoration of vision. trioen mentions a curious case of expulsion of the crystalline lens from the eye in ophthalmia, through the formation of a corneal fissure. the authors have personal knowledge of a case of spontaneous extrusion of the lens through a corneal ulcer, in a case of ophthalmia of the new-born. injury of the eyeball by birds.--there are several instances in which birds have pierced the eyeball with their bills, completely destroying vision. not long since a prominent taxidermist winged a crane, picked it up, and started to examine it, when it made one thrust with its bill and totally destroyed his eyeball. in another instance a man was going from the railroad station to his hotel in a gale of wind, when, as he turned the corner of the street, an english sparrow was blown into his face. its bill penetrated his eyeball and completely ruined his sight. there are several instances on record in which game fowls have destroyed the eyes of their owners. in one case a game cock almost completed the enucleation of the eye of his handler by striking him with his gaff while preparing in a cock-pit. moorehead explains a rare accident to an eye as follows:-- "mr. s. b. a., while attending to his bees, was stung by one upon the right upper eyelid near its center. an employee, who was assisting in the work, immediately discovered the sting driven in the lid and cautiously extracted it, stating that he made sufficient traction to lift the lid well away from the globe. in a few hours the lid became much swollen, but the pain experienced at first had disappeared. before retiring for the night he began gentle massage of the lid, stroking it horizontally with his finger. the edematous condition was by this means much reduced in a short time. while thus engaged in stroking the lid he suddenly experienced intense pain in the eye as if it had been pierced by a sharp instrument. the suffering was very severe, and he passed a wretched night, constantly feeling 'something in his eye.' "the next morning, the trouble continuing, he came to me for relief. upon examination of the lid, no opening could be made out where the sting had penetrated, and a minute inspection of the conjunctival surface with a good glass failed to reveal any foreign substance. cleansing the lid thoroughly, and carefully inspecting with a lens under strong light, a minute dark point was made out about the center of the lid. feeling that this might be the point of the sting, i had recourse to several expedients for its removal, but without success. finally, with a fine knife, i succeeded in cutting down by the side of the body and tilting it out. examination with a / inch objective confirmed my opinion that it was the point of the bee-sting. "the barbed formation of the point explains how, under the stroking with the finger, it was forced through the dense tarsal cartilage and against the cornea of the eye." there is a story told in la medecine moderne of a seamstress of berlin who was in the habit of allowing her dog to lick her face. she was attacked with a severe inflammation of the right eye, which had to be enucleated, and was found full of tenia echinococcus, evidently derived from the dog's tongue. gabb mentions a case of epistaxis in which the blood welled up through the lacrimal ducts and suffused into the eye so that it was constantly necessary to wipe the lower eyelid, and the discharge ceased only when the nose stopped bleeding. a brief editorial note on epistaxis through the eyes, referring to a case in the medical news of november , , provoked further reports from numerous correspondents. among others, the following:-- "dr. t. l. wilson of bellwood, pa., relates the case of an old lady of seventy-eight whom he found with the blood gushing from the nostrils. after plugging the nares thoroughly with absorbent cotton dusted with tannic acid he was surprised to see the blood ooze out around the eyelids and trickle down the cheeks. this oozing continued for the greater part of an hour, being controlled by applications of ice to both sides of the nose." "dr. f. l. donlon of new york city reports the case of a married woman, about fifty years old, in whom epistaxis set in suddenly at p.m., and had continued for several hours, when the anterior nares were plugged. in a short time the woman complained that she could scarcely see, owing to the welling up of blood in the eyes and trickling down her face. the bleeding only ceased when the posterior nares also were plugged." "dr. t. g. wright of plainville, conn., narrates the case of a young man whom he found in the night, bleeding profusely, and having already lost a large amount of blood. shortly after plugging both anterior and posterior nares the blood found its way through the lacrimal ducts to the eyes and trickled down the cheeks." "dr. charles w. crumb cites the case of a man, sixty-five years old, with chronic nephritis, in whom a slight bruise of the nose was followed by epistaxis lasting twenty-four hours. when the nares were plugged blood escaped freely from the eyes. a cone-shaped bit of sponge, saturated with ferrous sulphate, was passed into each anterior naris, and another piece of sponge, similarly medicated, into either posterior naris. the patient had been taking various preparations of potassium, and it was thought that his blood contained a deficiency of fibrin. upon removal of the nasal plugs a catarrhal inflammation developed which lasted a long time and was attended with considerable purulent discharge." late restoration of sight.--there are some marvelous cases on record in which, after many years of blindness, the surgeon has been able, by operation, to restore the sight. mckeown gives the history of a blind fiddler of sixty-three, who, when one and a half years old, had lost the sight of both eyes after an attack of small-pox. iridectomy was performed, and after over sixty years of total blindness his sight was restored; color-perception was good. berncastle mentions a case of extraction of double cataract and double iridectomy for occluded pupils, which, after thirty years of blindness, resulted in the recovery of good sight. the patient was a blind beggar of sydney. to those interested in this subject, jauffret has a most interesting description of a man by the name of garin, who was born blind, who talked at eight or nine months, showed great intelligence, and who was educated at a blind asylum. at the age of twenty-four he entered the hospital of forlenze, to be operated upon by that famous oculist. garin had never seen, but could distinguish night or darkness by one eye only, and recognized orange and red when placed close to that eye. he could tell at once the sex and age of a person approximately by the voice and tread, and formed his conclusions more rapidly in regard to females than males. forlenze diagnosed cataract, and, in the presence of a distinguished gathering, operated with the happiest result. the description that follows, which is quoted by fournier and is readily accessible to any one, is well worth reading, as it contains an account of the first sensations of light, objects, distance, etc., and minor analogous thoughts, of an educated and matured mind experiencing its first sensations of sight. hansell and clark say that the perplexities of learning to see after twenty-six years of blindness from congenital disease, as described by a patient of franke, remind one of the experience of shelley's frankenstein. franke's patient was successfully operated on for congenital double cataract, at twenty-six years of age. the author describes the difficulties the patient had of recognizing by means of vision the objects he had hitherto known through his other senses, and his slowness in learning to estimate distances and the comparative size of objects. sight is popularly supposed to be occasionally restored without the aid of art, after long years of blindness. benjamin rush saw a man of forty-five who, twelve years before, became blind without ascertainable cause, and recovered his sight equally without reason. st. clair mentions marshal vivian, who at the age of one hundred regained sight that for nearly forty years had gradually been failing almost to blindness, and preserved this new sight to the time of his death. there are many superstitions prevalent among uneducated people as to "second sight," recovery of vision, etc., which render their reports of such things untrustworthy. the real explanations of such cases are too varied for discussion here. nyctalopia etymologically means night blindness, but the general usage, making the term mean night-vision, is so strongly intrenched that it is useless and confusing to attempt any reinstatement of the old significance. the condition in which one sees better by night, relatively speaking, than by day is due to some lesion of the macular region, rendering it blind. at night the pupil dilates more than in the day-time, and hence vision with the extramacular or peripheral portions of the retina is correspondingly better. it is, therefore, a symptom of serious retinal disease. all night-prowling animals have widely dilatable pupils, and in addition to this they have in the retina a special organ called the tapetum lucidum, the function of which is to reflect to a focus in front of them the relatively few rays of light that enter the widely-dilated pupil and thus enable them the better to see their way. hence the luminous appearance of the eyes of such animals in the dark. hemeralopia (etymologically day-blindness, but by common usage meaning day-vision or night-blindness) is a symptom of a peculiar degenerative disease of the retina, called retinitis pigmentosa. it also occurs in some cases of extreme denutrition, numerous cases having been reported among those who make the prolonged fasts customary in the russian church. in retinitis pigmentosa the peripheral or extramacular portions of the retina are subject to a pigmentary degeneration that renders them insensitive to light, and patients so afflicted are consequently incapable of seeing at night as well as others. they stumble and run against objects easily seen by the normal eye. snow-blindness occurs from prolonged exposure of the eyes to snow upon which the sun is shining. some years ago, some seventy laborers, who were clearing away snow-drifts in the caucasus, were seized, and thirty of them could not find their way home, so great was the photophobia, conjunctivitis, and lacrimation. graddy reports six cases, and many others are constantly occurring. other forms of retinal injury from too great or too prolonged exposure to light are "moon-blindness," due to sleeping with the eyes exposed to bright moonlight, and that due to lightning--a case, e.g., being reported by knies. silex also reports such a case and reviews the reported cases, in number, in ten of which cataract ensued. in the annual of the universal medical sciences, , there is a report of seven cases of retinal injury with central scotoma, amblyopia, etc., in japanese medical students, caused by observation of the sun in eclipse. in discussing the question of electric-light injuries of the eyes gould reviews the literature of the subject and epitomizes the cases reported up to that time. they numbered . no patient was seriously or permanently injured, and none was in a person who used the electric light in a proper manner as an illuminant. all were in scientific investigators or workmen about the light, who approached it too closely or gazed at it too long and without the colored protecting spectacles now found necessary by such workers. injuries to the ear.--the folly of the practice of boxing children's ears, and the possible disastrous results subsequent to this punishment, are well exemplified throughout medical literature. stewart quotes four cases of rupture of the tympanum from boxing the ears, and there is an instance of a boy of eight, who was boxed on the ear at school, in whom subsequent brain-disease developed early, and death followed. roosa of new york mentions the loss of hearing following a kiss on the ear. dalby, in a paper citing many different causes of rupture of the tympanic membrane, mentions the following: a blow in sparring; violent sneezing; blowing the nose; forcible dilatation of the eustachian canal; a thorn or twig of a tree accidentally thrust into the head; picking the ear with a toothpick. in time of battle soldiers sometimes have their tympanums ruptured by the concussion caused by the firing of cannon. dalby mentions an instance of an officer who was discharged for deafness acquired in this manner during the crimean war. he was standing beside a mortar which, unexpectedly to him, was fired, causing rupture of the tympanic membrane, followed by hemorrhage from the ear. similar cases were reported in the recent naval engagements between the chinese and japanese. wilson reports two cases of rupture of the membrane tympani caused by diving. roosa divides the causes into traumatic, hemorrhagic, and inflammatory, and primary lesions of the labyrinth, exemplifying each by numerous instances. under traumatic causes he mentions severe falls, blows about the head or face, constant listening to a telegraphic instrument, cannonading, and finally eight cases of boiler-makers' deafness. roosa cites a curious case of sudden and profound deafness in a young man in perfect health, while calling upon the parents of his lady-love to ask her hand in marriage. strange to say that after he had had a favorable reply he gradually recovered his hearing! in the same paper there is an instance of a case of deafness due to the sudden cessation of perspiration, and an instance of tinnitus due to the excessive use of tobacco; roosa also mentions a case of deafness due to excessive mental employment. perforation of the tympanum.--kealy relates an instance in which a pin was introduced into the left ear to relieve an intolerable itching. it perforated the tympanum, and before the expiration of twenty-four hours was coughed up from the throat with a small quantity of blood. the pin was bent at an angle of about degrees. another similar case was that of a girl of twenty-two who, while pricking her ear with a hair-pin, was jerked or struck on the arm by a child, and the pin forced into the ear; great pain and deafness followed, together with the loss of taste on the same side of the tongue; after treatment both of the disturbed senses were restored. a man of twenty was pricked in the ear by a needle entering the meatus. he uttered a cry, fell senseless, and so continued until the fourth day when he died. the whole auditory meatus was destroyed by suppuration. gamgee tells of a constable who was stabbed in the left ear, severing the middle meningeal artery, death ensuing. in this instance, after digital compression, ligature of the common carotid was practiced as a last resort. there is an account of a provision-dealer's agent who fell asleep at a public house at tottenham. in sport an attendant tickled his ear with a wooden article used as a pipe light. a quick, unconscious movement forced the wooden point through the tympanum, causing cerebral inflammation and subsequent death. there is a record of death, in a child of nine, caused by the passage of a knitting-needle into the auditory meatus. kauffmann reports a case of what he calls objective tinnitus aurium, in which the noise originating in the patient's ears was distinctly audible by others. the patient was a boy of fourteen, who had fallen on the back of his head and had remained unconscious for nearly two weeks. the noises were bilateral, but more distinct on the left than on the right side. the sounds were described as crackling, and seemed to depend on movements of the arch of the palate. kauffmann expresses the opinion that the noises were due to clonic spasm of the tensor velum palati, and states that under appropriate treatment the tinnitus gradually subsided. the introduction of foreign bodies in the ear is usually accidental, although in children we often find it as a result of sport or curiosity. there is an instance on record of a man who was accustomed to catch flies and put them in his ear, deriving from them a pleasurable sensation from the tickling which ensued. there have been cases in which children, and even adults, have held grasshoppers, crickets, or lady-birds to their ears in order to more attentively listen to the noise, and while in this position the insects have escaped and penetrated the auditory canal. insects often enter the ears of persons reposing in the fields with the ear to the ground. fabricius hildanus speaks of a cricket penetrating the ear during sleep. calhoun mentions an instance of disease of the ear which he found was due to the presence of several living maggots in the interior of the ear. the patient had been sleeping in a horse stall in which were found maggots similar to those extracted from his ear. an analogous instance was seen in a negro in the emergency hospital, washington, d.c., in the summer of ; and many others are recorded. the insects are frequently removed only after a prolonged lodgment. d'aguanno gives an account of two instances of living larvae of the musca sarcophaga in the ears of children. in one of the cases the larvae entered the drum-cavity through a rupture in the tympanic membrane. in both cases the maggots were removed by forceps. haug has observed a tic (ixodes ricinus) in the ear of a lad of seventeen. the creature was killed by a mercuric-chlorid solution, and removed with a probe. there is a common superstition that centipedes have the faculty of entering the ear and penetrating the brain, causing death. the authors have knowledge of an instance in which three small centipedes were taken from the ear of a policeman after remaining there three days; during this time they caused excruciating pain, but there was no permanent injury. the ephemerides contains instances in which, while yet living, worms, crickets, ants, and beetles have all been taken from the ear. in one case the entrance of a cricket in the auditory canal was the cause of death. martin gives an instance in which larvae were deposited in the ear. stalpart van der wiel relates an instance of the lodgment of a living spider in the ear. far more common than insects are inanimate objects as foreign bodies in the ear, and numerous examples are to be found in literature. fabricius hildanus tells of a glass ball introduced into the auditory canal of a girl of ten, followed by headache, numbness on the left side, and after four or five years epileptic seizures, and atrophy of the arm. he extracted it and the symptoms immediately ceased. sabatier speaks of an abscess of the brain caused by a ball of paper in the ear; and it is quite common for persons in the habit of using a tampon of cotton in the meatus to mistake the deep entrance of this substance for functional derangement, and many cases of temporary deafness are simply due to forgetfulness of the cause. a strange case is reported in a girl of fourteen, who lost her tympanum from a profuse otorrhea, and who substituted an artificial tympanum which was, in its turn, lost by deep penetration, causing augmentation of the symptoms, of the cause of which the patient herself seemed unaware. sometimes artificial otoliths are produced by the insufflation of various powders which become agglutinated, and are veritable foreign bodies. holman tells of a negro, aged thirty-five, whose wife poured molten pewter in his ear while asleep. it was removed, but total deafness was the result. alley mentions a new orleans wharf laborer, in whose ear was poured some molten lead; seventeen months afterward the lead was still occupying the external auditory meatus. it is quite remarkable that the lead should have remained such a length of time without causing meningeal inflammation. there was deafness and palsy of that side of the face. a fungous growth occupied the external portion of the ear; the man suffered pain and discharge from the ear, and had also great difficulty in closing his right eyelid. morrison mentions an alcoholic patient of forty who, on june , , had nitric acid poured in her right ear. there were no headache, febrile symptoms, stupor, or vertigo. debility alone was present. two weeks after the injury paralysis began on the right side, and six weeks from the injury the patient died. this case is interesting from the novel mode of death, the perfect paralysis of the arm, paralysis agitans of the body (occurring as hemorrhage from the ear came on, and subsiding with it), and extensive caries of the petrous bone, without sensation of pain or any indicative symptoms. there is an instance in a young girl in which a piece of pencil remained in the right ear for seven years. haug speaks of two beads lying in the auditory canal for twenty-eight years without causing any harm. a boy of six introduced a carob-nut kernel into each ear. on the next day incompetent persons attempted to extract the kernel from the left side, but only caused pain and hemorrhage. the nut issued spontaneously from the right side. in the afternoon the auditory canal was found excoriated and red, and deep in the meatus the kernel was found, covered with blood. the patient had been so excited and pained by the bungling attempts at extraction that the employment of instruments was impossible; prolonged employment of injections was substituted. discharge from the ear commenced, intense fever and delirium ensued, and the patient had to be chloroformed to facilitate the operation of extraction. the nut, when taken out, was found to have a consistency much larger than originally, caused by the agglutination of wax and blood. unfortunately the symptoms of meningitis increased; three days after the operation coma followed, and on the next day death ensued. in cases collected by mayer, and cited by poulet (whose work on "foreign bodies" is the most extensive in existence), death as a consequence of meningitis was found in three. fleury de clermont mentions a woman of twenty-five who consulted him for removal of a pin which was in her right ear. vain attempts by some of her lay-friends to extract the pin had only made matters worse. the pin was directed transversely, and its middle part touched the membrane tympanum. the mere touching of the pin caused the woman intense pain; even after etherization it was necessary to construct a special instrument to extract it. she suffered intense cephalalgia and other signs of meningitis; despite vigorous treatment she lost consciousness and died shortly after the operation. winterbotham reports an instance in which a cherry-stone was removed from the meatus auditorius after lodgment of upward of sixty years. marchal de calvi mentions intermittent deafness for forty years, caused by the lodgment of a small foreign body in the auditory canal. there is an instance in which a carious molar tooth has been tolerated in the same location for forty years. albucasius, fabricius hildanus, pare, and others, have mentioned the fact that seeds and beans have been frequently seen to increase in volume while lodged in the auditory canal. tulpius speaks of an infant, playing with his comrades, who put a cherry-seed in his ear which he was not able to extract. the seed increased in volume to such an extent that it was only by surgical interference that it could be extracted, and then such serious consequences followed that death resulted. albers reports an instance in which a pin introduced into the ear issued from the pharynx. confusion of diagnosis is occasionally noticed in terrified or hysteric persons. lowenberg was called to see a child of five who had introduced a button into his left ear. when he saw the child it complained of all the pain in the right ear, and he naturally examined this ear first but found nothing to indicate the presence of a foreign body. he examined the ear supposed to be healthy and there found the button lying against the tympanum. this was explained by the fact that the child was so pained and terrified by the previous explorations of the affected ear that rather than undergo them again he presented the well ear for examination. in the british medical journal for is an account of an unjustified exploration of an ear for a foreign body by an incompetent physician, who spent a half hour in exploration and manipulation, and whose efforts resulted in the extraction of several pieces of bone. the child died in one and a half hours afterward from extreme hemorrhage, and the medical bungler was compelled to appear before a coroner's jury in explanation of his ignorance. in the external ear of a child tansley observed a diamond which he removed under chloroform. the mother of the child had pushed the body further inward in her endeavors to remove it and had wounded the canal. schmiegelow reports a foreign body forced into the drum-cavity, followed by rough extraction, great irritation, tetanus, and death; and there are on record several cases of fatal meningitis, induced by rough endeavors to extract a body from the external ear. in the therapeutic gazette, august , , there is a translation of the report of a case by voss, in which a child of five pushed a dry pea in his ear. four doctors spent several days endeavoring to extract it, but only succeeded in pushing it in further. it was removed by operation on the fifth day, but suppuration of the tympanic cavity caused death on the ninth day. barclay reports a rare case of ensnared aural foreign body in a lady, aged about forty years, who, while "picking" her left ear with a so-called "invisible hair-pin" several hours before the consultation, had heard a sudden "twang" in the ear, as if the hair-pin had broken. and so, indeed, it had; for on the instant she had attempted to jerk it quickly from the ear the sharp extremity of the inner portion of its lower prong sprang away from its fellow, penetrated the soft tissues of the floor of the external auditory canal, and remained imbedded there, the separated end of this prong only coming away in her grasp. every attempt on her part to remove the hair-pin by traction on its projecting prong--she durst not force it inward for fear of wounding the drumhead--had served but to bury the point of the broken prong more deeply into the flesh of the canal, thereby increasing her suffering. advised by her family physician not to delay, she forthwith sought advice and aid. on examination, it was found that the lower prong of the "invisible hair-pin" had broken at the outer end of its wavy portion, and seemed firmly imbedded in the floor of the auditory canal, now quite inflamed, at a point about one-third of its depth from the outlet of the canal. the loop or turn of the hair-pin was about / inch from the flaccid portion of the drumhead, and, together with the unbroken prong, it lay closely against the roof of the canal. projecting from the meatus there was enough of this prong to be easily grasped between one's thumb and finger. removal of the hair-pin was effected by first inserting within the meatus a gruber speculum, encircling the unbroken projecting prong, and then raising the end of the broken one with a long-shanked aural hook, when the hair-pin was readily withdrawn. the wound of the canal-floor promptly healed. in the severest forms of scalp-injuries, such as avulsion of the scalp from the entangling of the hair in machinery, skin-grafting or replantation is of particular value. ashhurst reports a case which he considers the severest case of scalp-wound that he had ever seen, followed by recovery. the patient was a girl of fifteen, an operative in a cotton-mill, who was caught by her hair between two rollers which were revolving in opposite directions; her scalp being thus, as it were, squeezed off from her head, forming a large horseshoe flap. the linear extent of the wound was inches, the distance between the two extremities being but four inches. this large flap was thrown backward, like the lid of a box, the skull being denuded of its pericranium for the space of / by one inch in extent. the anterior temporal artery was divided and bled profusely, and when admitted to the hospital the patient was extremely depressed by shock and hemorrhage. a ligature was applied to the bleeding vessel, and after it had been gently but carefully cleansed the flap was replaced and held in place with gauze and collodion dressing. a large compress soaked in warm olive oil was then placed over the scalp, covered with oiled silk and with a recurrent bandage. a considerable portion of the wound healed by adhesions, and the patient was discharged, cured, in fifty-four days. no exfoliation of bone occurred. reverdin, a relative of the discoverer of transplantation of skin, reported the case of a girl of twenty-one whose entire scalp was detached by her hair being caught in machinery, leaving a wound measuring cm. from the root of the nose to the nape of the neck, cm. from one ear to the other, and cm. in circumference. grafts from the rabbit and dog failed, and the skin from the amputated stump of a boy was employed, and the patient was able to leave the hospital in seven months. cowley speaks of a girl of fourteen whose hair was caught in the revolving shaft of a steam-engine, which resulted in the tearing off of her whole scalp. a triangular portion of the skin was hanging over her face, the apex of the triangle containing short hair, from which the long hair had been detached. both ears were hanging down the neck, having been detached above. the right pinna was entire, and the upper half of the left pinna had disappeared. the whole of the head and back of the neck was denuded of skin. one of the temporal arteries was ligated, and the scalp cleansed and reapplied. the hanging ears and the skin of the forehead were successfully restored to their proper position. the patient had no bad symptoms and little pain, and the shock was slight. where the periosteum had sloughed the bone was granulating, and at the time of the report skin-grafting was shortly to be tried. schaeffer has presented quite an extensive article on scalp-injuries in which grafting and transplantation has been used, and besides reporting his own he mentions several other cases. one was that of a young lady of twenty-four. while at work under a revolving shaft in a laundry the wind blew her hair and it was caught in the shaft. the entire skull was laid bare from the margin of the eyelids to the neck. the nasal bones were uncovered and broken, exposing the superior nasal meatus. the skin of the eyelids was removed from within three mm. of their edges. the lower margin of the wound was traceable from the lower portion of the left external process of the frontal bone, downward and backward below the left ear (which was entirely removed), thence across the neck, five cm. below the superior curved line of the occipital bone, and forward through the lower one-third of the right auricle to the right external angular process of the frontal bone and margin of the right upper eyelid, across the lid, nose, and left eyelid, to the point of commencement. every vessel and nerve supplying the scalp was destroyed, and the pericranium was torn off in three places, one of the denuded spots measuring five by seven cm. and another five by six cm. the neck flap of the wound fell away from the muscular structures beneath it, exposing the trapezius muscle almost one-half the distance to the shoulder blade. the right ear was torn across in its lower third, and hung by the side of the neck by a piece of skin less than five mm. wide. the exposed surface of the wound measured cm. from before back, and cm. in width near the temporal portion. the cranial sutures were distinctly seen in several places, and only a few muscular fibers of the temporal were left on each side. hemorrhage was profuse from the temporal, occipital, and posterior auricular arteries, which were tied. the patient was seen three-quarters of an hour after the injury, and the mangled scalp was thoroughly washed in warm carbolized water, and stitched back in position, after the hair was cut from the outer surface. six weeks after the injury suppuration was still free, and skin-grafting was commenced. in all, grafts were used, the patient supplying at different times small grafts. her own skin invariably did better than foreign grafts. in ten months she had almost completely recovered, and sight and hearing had returned. figure shows the extent of the injury, and the ultimate results of the treatment. schaeffer also reports the case of a woman working in a button factory at union city, conn., in , who placed her head under a swiftly turning shaft to pick up a button, when her hair caught in the shaft, taking off her scalp from the nape of the neck to the eyebrows. the scalp was cleansed by her physician, dr. bartlett, and placed on her head about two hours after the accident, but it did not stay in position. then the head was covered twice by skin-grafts, but each time the grafts were lost; but the third time a successful grafting was performed and she was enabled to work after a period of two years. the same authority also quotes wilson and way of bristol, conn., in an account of a complete avulsion of the scalp, together with tearing of the eyelid and ear. the result of the skin-grafting was not given. powell of chicago gives an account of a girl of nineteen who lost her scalp while working in the elgin watch factory at elgin, illinois. the wound extended across the forehead above the eyebrows, but the ears were untouched. skin-grafting was tried in this case but with no result, and the woman afterward lost an eye by exposure, from retraction of the eyelid. in some cases extensive wounds of the scalp heal without artificial aid by simply cicatrizing over. gross mentions such a case in a young lady, who, in , lost her scalp in a factory. there is reported an account of a conductor on the union pacific railroad, who, near cheyenne, in , was scalped by sioux indians. he suffered an elliptic wound, ten by eight cm., a portion of the outer table of the cranium being removed, yet the wound healed over. cerebral injuries.--the recent advances in brain-surgery have, in a measure, diminished the interest and wonder of some of the older instances of major injuries of the cerebral contents with unimportant after-results, and in reviewing the older cases we must remember that the recoveries were made under the most unfavorable conditions, and without the slightest knowledge of all important asepsis and antisepsis. penetration or even complete transfixion of the brain is not always attended with serious symptoms. dubrisay is accredited with the description of a man of forty-four, who, with suicidal intent, drove a dagger ten cm. long and one cm. wide into his brain. he had deliberately held the dagger in his left hand, and with a mallet in his right hand struck the steel several blows. when seen two hours later he claimed that he experienced no pain, and the dagger was sticking out of his head. for half an hour efforts at extraction were made, but with no avail. he was placed on the ground and held by two persons while traction was made with carpenter's pliers. this failing, he was taken to a coppersmith's, where he was fastened by rings to the ground, and strong pinchers were placed over the dagger and attached to a chain which was fastened to a cylinder revolved by steam force. at the second turn of the cylinder the dagger came out. during all the efforts at extraction the patient remained perfectly cool and complained of no pain. a few drops of blood escaped from the wound after the removal of the dagger, and in a few minutes the man walked to a hospital where he remained a few days without fever or pain. the wound healed, and he soon returned to work. by experiments on the cadaver dubrisay found that the difficulty in extraction was due to rust on the steel, and by the serrated edges of the wound in the bone. warren describes a case of epilepsy of seven months' standing, from depression of the skull caused by a red hot poker thrown at the subject's head. striking the frontal bone just above the orbit, it entered three inches into the cerebral substance. kesteven reports the history of a boy of thirteen who, while holding a fork in his hand, fell from the top of a load of straw. one of the prongs entered the head one inch behind and on a line with the lobe of the left ear and passed upward and slightly backward to almost its entire length. with some difficulty it was withdrawn by a fellow workman; the point was bent on itself to the extent of two inches. the patient lived nine days. abel and colman have reported a case of puncture of the brain with loss of memory, of which the following extract is an epitome: "a railway-fireman, thirty-six years old, while carrying an oil-feeder in his hand, slipped and fell forward, the spout of the can being driven forcibly into his face. there was transitory loss of consciousness, followed by twitching and jerking movements of the limbs, most marked on the left side, the legs being drawn up and the body bent forward. there was no hemorrhage from mouth, nose, or ears. the metallic spout of the oil-can was firmly fixed in the base of the skull, and was only removed from the grasp of the bone by firm traction with forceps. it had passed upward and toward the middle line, with its concavity directed from the middle line. its end was firmly plugged by bone from the base of the skull. no hemorrhage followed its removal. the wound was cleansed and a simple iodoform-dressing applied. the violent jerking movements were replaced by a few occasional twitchings. it was now found that the left side of the face and the left arm were paralyzed, with inability to close the left eye completely. the man became drowsy and confused, and was unable to give replies to any but the simplest questions. the temperature rose to degrees; the pupils became contracted, the right in a greater degree than the left; both reacted to light. the left leg began to lose power. there was complete anesthesia of the right eyebrow and of both eyelids and of the right cheek for an uncertain distance below the lower eyelid. the conjunctiva of the right eye became congested, and a small ulcer formed on the right cornea, which healed without much trouble. in the course of a few days power began to return, first in the left leg and afterward, though to a much less extent, in the left arm. for two weeks there was drowsiness, and the man slept considerably. he was apathetic, and for many days passed urine in bed. he could not recognize his wife or old comrades, and had also difficulty in recognizing common objects and their uses. the most remarkable feature was the loss of all memory of his life for twenty years before the accident. as time went on, the period included in this loss of memory was reduced to five years preceding the accident. the hemiplegia persisted, although the man was able to get about. sensibility was lost to all forms of stimuli in the right upper eyelid, forehead, and anterior part of the scalp, corresponding with the distribution of the supraorbital and nasal nerves. the cornea was completely anesthetic, and the right cheek, an inch and a half external to the angle of the nose, presented a small patch of anesthesia. there was undue emotional mobility, the patient laughing or crying on slight provocation. the condition of mind-blindness remained. it is believed that the spout of the oil-can must have passed under the zygoma to the base of the skull, perforating the great wing of the spheroid bone and penetrating the centrum ovale, injuring the anterior fibers of the motor tract in the internal capsule near the genu." figures and show the outline and probable course of the spout. beaumont reports the history of an injury in a man of forty-five, who, standing but yards away, was struck in the orbit by a rocket, which penetrated through the spheroidal fissure into the middle and posterior lobes of the left hemisphere. he did not fall at the time he was struck, and fifteen minutes after the stick was removed he arose without help and walked away. apparently no extensive cerebral lesion had been caused, and the man suffered no subsequent cerebral symptoms except, three years afterward, impairment of memory. there is an account given by chelius of an extraordinary wound caused by a ramrod. the rod was accidentally discharged while being employed in loading, and struck a person a few paces away. it entered the head near the root of the zygomatic arch, about a finger's breadth from the outer corner of the right eye, passed through the head, emerging at the posterior superior angle of the parietal bone, a finger's breadth from the sagittal suture, and about the same distance above the superior angle of the occipital bone. the wounded man attempted to pull the ramrod out, but all his efforts were ineffectual. after the tolerance of this foreign body for some time, one of his companions managed to extract it, and when it was brought out it was as straight as the day it left the maker's shop. little blood was lost, and the wound healed rapidly and completely; in spite of this major injury the patient recovered. carpenter reports the curious case of an insane man who deliberately bored holes through his skull, and at different times, at a point above the ear, he inserted into his brain five pieces of no. broom wire from / to / inches in length, a fourpenny nail / inches long, and a needle / inches long. despite these desperate attempts at suicide he lived several months, finally accomplishing his purpose by taking an overdose of morphin. macqueen has given the history of a man of thirty-five, who drove one three-inch nail into his forehead, another close to his occiput, and a third into his vertex an inch in front and / inch to the left of the middle line. he had used a hammer to effect complete penetration, hoping that death would result from his injuries. he failed in this, as about five weeks later he was discharged from the princess alice hospital at eastbourne, perfectly recovered. there is a record of a man by the name of bulkley who was found, by a police officer in philadelphia, staggering along the streets, and was taken to the inebriate ward of the blockley hospital, where he subsequently sank and died, after having been transferred from ward to ward, his symptoms appearing inexplicable. a postmortem examination revealed the fact that an ordinary knife-blade had been driven into his brain on the right side, just above the ear, and was completely hidden by the skin. it had evidently become loosened from the handle when the patient was stabbed, and had remained in the brain several days. no clue to the assailant was found. thudicum mentions the case of a man who walked from strafford to newcastle, and from newcastle to london, where he died, and in his brain was found the breech-pin of a gun. neiman describes a severe gunshot wound of the frontal region, in which the iron breech-block of an old-fashioned muzzle-loading gun was driven into the substance of the brain, requiring great force for its extraction. the patient, a young man of twenty-eight, was unconscious but a short time, and happily made a good recovery. a few pieces of bone came away, and the wound healed with only a slight depression of the forehead. wilson speaks of a child who fell on an upright copper paper-file, which penetrated the right side of the occipital bone, below the external orifice of the ear, and entered the brain for more than three inches; and yet the child made a speedy recovery. baron larrey knew of a man whose head was completely transfixed by a ramrod, which extended from the middle of the forehead to the left side of the nape of the neck; despite this serious injury the man lived two days. jewett records the case of an irish drayman who, without treatment, worked for forty-seven days after receiving a penetrating wound of the skull / inch in diameter and four inches deep. recovery ensued in spite of the delay in treatment. gunshot injuries.--swain mentions a patient who stood before a looking glass, and, turning his head far around to the left, fired a pistol shot into his brain behind the right ear. the bullet passed into his mouth, and he spat it out. some bleeding occurred from both the internal and external wounds; the man soon began to suffer with a troublesome cough, with bloody expectoration; his tongue was coated and drawn to the right; he became slightly deaf in his right ear and dragged his left leg in walking. these symptoms, together with those of congestion of the lung, continued for about a week, when he died, apparently from his pulmonary trouble. ford quotes the case of a lad of fifteen who was shot in the head, / inch anterior to the summit of the right ear, the ball escaping through the left os frontis, / inch above the center of the brow. recovery ensued, with a cicatrix on the forehead, through which the pulsations of the brain could be distinctly seen. the senses were not at all deteriorated. richardson tells of a soldier who was struck by a minie ball on the left temporal bone; the missile passed out through the left frontal bone / inch to the left of the middle of the forehead. he was only stunned, and twenty-four hours later his intellect was undisturbed. there was no operation; free suppuration with discharges of fragments of skull and broken-down substance ensued for four weeks, when the wounds closed kindly, and recovery followed. angle records the case of a cowboy who was shot by a comrade in mistake. the ball entered the skull beneath the left mastoid process and passed out of the right eye. the man recovered. rice describes the case of a boy of fourteen who was shot in the head, the ball directly traversing the brain substance, some of which protruded from the wound. the boy recovered. the ball entered one inch above and in front of the right ear and made its exit through the lambdoidal suture posteriorly. hall of denver, col., in an interesting study of gunshot wounds of the brain, writes as follows:-- "it is in regard to injuries involving the brain that the question of the production of immediate unconsciousness assumes the greatest interest. we may state broadly that if the medulla or the great centers at the base of the brain are wounded by a bullet, instant unconsciousness must result; with any other wounds involving the brain-substance it will, with very great probability, result. but there is a very broad area of uncertainty. many instances have been recorded in which the entrance of a small bullet into the anterior part of the brain has not prevented the firing of a second shot on the part of the suicide. personally, i have not observed such a case, however. but, aside from the injuries by the smallest missiles in the anterior parts of the brain, we may speak with almost absolute certainty with regard to the production of unconsciousness, for the jar to the brain from the blow of the bullet upon the skull would produce such a result even if the damage to the brain were not sufficient to do so. "many injuries to the brain from bullets of moderate size and low velocity do not cause more than a temporary loss of consciousness, and the subjects are seen by the surgeon, after the lapse of half an hour or more, apparently sound of mind. these are the cases in which the ball has lost its momentum in passing through the skull, and has consequently done little damage to the brain-substance, excepting to make a passage for itself for a short distance into the brain. it is apparently well established that, in the case of the rifle-bullet of high velocity, and especially if fired from the modern military weapons using nitro-powders, and giving an enormous initial velocity to the bullet, the transmission of the force from the displaced particles of brain (and this rule applies to any other of the soft organs as well) to the adjacent parts is such as to disorganize much of the tissue surrounding the original track of the missile. under these circumstances a much slighter wound would be necessary to produce unconsciousness or death than in the case of a bullet of low velocity, especially if it were light in weight. thus i have recorded elsewhere an instance of instant death in a grizzly bear, an animal certainly as tenacious of life as any we have, from a mere furrow, less than a quarter of an inch in depth, through the cortex of the brain, without injury of the skull excepting the removal of the bone necessary for the production of this furrow. the jar to the brain from a bullet of great velocity, as in this case, was alone sufficient to injure the organ irreparably. in a similar manner i have known a deer to be killed by the impact of a heavy rifle-ball against one horn, although there was no evidence of fracture of the skull. on the other hand, game animals often escape after such injuries not directly involving the brain, although temporarily rendered unconscious, as i have observed in several instances, the diagnosis undoubtedly being concussion of the brain. "slight injury to the brain, and especially if it be unilateral, then, may not produce unconsciousness. it is not very uncommon for a missile from a heavy weapon to strike the skull, and be deflected without the production of such a state. near the town in which i formerly practiced, the town-marshal shot at a negro, who resisted arrest, at a distance of only a few feet, with a -caliber revolver, striking the culprit on the side of the head. the wound showed that the ball struck the skull and plowed along under the scalp for several inches before emerging, but it did not even knock the negro down, and no unconsciousness followed later. i once examined an express-messenger who had been shot in the occipital region by a weapon of similar size, while seated at his desk in the car. the blow was a very glancing one and did not produce unconsciousness, and probably, as in the case of the negro, because it did not strike with sufficient directness." head injuries with loss of cerebral substance.--the brain and its membranes may be severely wounded, portions of the cranium or cerebral substance destroyed or lost, and yet recovery ensue. possibly the most noted injury of this class was that reported by harlow and commonly known as "bigelow's case" or the "american crow-bar case." phineas p. gage, aged twenty-five, a foreman on the rutland and burlington railroad, was employed september , , in charging a hole with powder preparatory to blasting. a premature explosion drove a tamping-iron, three feet seven inches long, / inches in diameter, weighing / pounds, completely through the man's head. the iron was round and comparatively smooth; the pointed end entered first. the iron struck against the left side of the face, immediately anterior to the inferior maxillary and passed under the zygomatic arch, fracturing portions of the spheroid bone and the floor of the left orbit; it then passed through the left anterior lobe of the cerebrum, and, in the median line, made its exit at the junction of the coronal and sagittal sutures, lacerating the longitudinal sinus, fracturing the parietal and frontal bones, and breaking up considerable of the brain; the globe of the left eye protruded nearly one-half of its diameter. the patient was thrown backward and gave a few convulsive movements of the extremities. he was taken to a hotel / mile distant, and during the transportation seemed slightly dazed, but not at all unconscious. upon arriving at the hotel he dismounted from the conveyance, and without assistance walked up a long flight of stairs to the hall where his wound was to be dressed. harlow saw him at about six o'clock in the evening, and from his condition could hardly credit the story of his injury, although his person and his bed were drenched with blood. his scalp was shaved, the coagula and debris removed, and among other portions of bone was a piece of the anterior superior angle of each parietal bone and a semicircular piece of the frontal bone, leaving an opening / inches in diameter. at p.m. on the day of the injury gage was perfectly rational and asked about his work and after his friends. after a while delirium set in for a few days, and on the eleventh day he lost the vision in the left eye. his convalescence was rapid and uneventful. it was said that he discharged pieces of bone and cerebral substance from his mouth for a few days. the iron when found was smeared with blood and cerebral substance. as was most natural such a wonderful case of cerebral injury attracted much notice. not only was the case remarkable in the apparent innocuous loss of cerebral substance, but in the singular chance which exempted the brain from either concussion or compression, and subsequent inflammation. professor bigelow examined the patient in january, , and made a most excellent report of the case, and it is due to his efforts that the case attained world-wide notoriety. bigelow found the patient quite recovered in his faculties of body and mind, except that he had lost the sight of the injured eye. he exhibited a linear cicatrix one inch long near the angle of the ramus of the left lower jaw. his left eyelid was involuntarily closed and he had no power to overcome his ptosis. upon the head, well covered by the hair, was a large unequal depression and elevation. in order to ascertain how far it might be possible for a bar of the size causing the injury to traverse the skull in the track assigned to it, bigelow procured a common skull in which the zygomatic arches were barely visible from above, and having entered a drill near the left angle of the inferior maxilla, he passed it obliquely upward to the median line of the cranium just in front of the junction of the sagittal and coronal sutures. this aperture was then enlarged until it allowed the passage of the bar in question, and the loss of substance strikingly corresponded with the lesion said to have been received by the patient. from the coronoid process of the inferior maxilla there was removed a fragment measuring about / inch in length. this fragment, in the patient's case, might have been fractured and subsequently reunited. the iron bar, together with a cast of the patient's head, was placed in the museum of the massachusetts medical college. bigelow appends an engraving to his paper. in the illustration the parts are as follows:-- ( ) lateral view of a prepared cranium representing the iron bar traversing its cavity. ( ) front view of same. ( ) plan of the base seen from within. in these three figures the optic foramina are seen to be intact and are occupied by small white rods. ( ) cast taken from the shaved head of the patient representing the appearance of the fracture in , the anterior fragment being considerably elevated in the profile view. ( ) the iron bar with length and diameter in proportion to the size of the other figures. heaton reports a case in which, by an explosion, a tamping-iron was driven through the chin of a man into the cerebrum. although there was loss of brain-substance, the man recovered with his mental faculties unimpaired. a second case was that of a man who, during an explosion, was wounded in the skull. there was visible a triangular depression, from which, possibly, an ounce of brain-substance issued. this man also recovered. jewett mentions a case in which an injury somewhat similar to that in bigelow's case was produced by a gas-pipe. among older writers, speaking of loss of brain-substance with subsequent recovery, brasavolus saw as much brain evacuated as would fill an egg shell; the patient afterward had an impediment of speech and grew stupid. franciscus arcaeus gives the narrative of a workman who was struck on the head by a stone weighing pounds falling from a height. the skull was fractured; fragments of bone were driven into the brain. for three days the patient was unconscious and almost lifeless. after the eighth day a cranial abscess spontaneously opened, from the sinciput to the occiput, and a large quantity of "corruption" was evacuated. speech returned soon after, the eyes opened, and in twenty days the man could distinguish objects. in four months recovery was entire. bontius relates a singular accident to a sailor, whose head was crushed between a ship and a small boat; the greater part of the occipital bone was taken away in fragments, the injury extending almost to the foremen magnum. bontius asserts that the patient was perfectly cured by another surgeon and himself. galen mentions an injury to a youth in smyrna, in whom the brain was so seriously wounded that the anterior ventricles were opened; and vet the patient recovered. glandorp mentions a case of fracture of the skull out of which his father took large portions of brain and some fragments of bone. he adds that the man was afterward paralyzed an the opposite side and became singularly irritable. in his "chirurgical observations," job van meek'ren tells the story of a russian nobleman who lost part of his skull, and a dog's skull was supplied in its place. the bigoted divines of the country excommunicated the man, and would not annul his sentence until he submitted to have the bit of foreign bone removed. mendenhall reports the history of an injury to a laborer nineteen years old. while sitting on a log a few feet from a comrade who was chopping wood, the axe glanced and, slipping from the woodman's grasp, struck him just above the ear, burying the "bit" of the axe in his skull. two hours afterward he was seen almost pulseless, and his clothing drenched with blood which was still oozing from the wound with mixed brain-substance and fragments of bone. the cut was horizontal on a level with the orbit, / inches long externally, and, owing to the convex shape of the axe, a little less internally. small spicules of bone were removed, and a cloth was placed on the battered skull to receive the discharges for the inspection of the surgeon, who on his arrival saw at least two tablespoonfuls of cerebral substance on this cloth. contrary to all expectation this man recovered, but, strangely, he had a marked and peculiar change of voice, and this was permanent. from the time of the reception of the injury his whole mental and moral nature had undergone a pronounced change. before the injury, the patient was considered a quiet, unassuming, and stupid boy, but universally regarded as honest. afterward he became noisy, self-asserting, sharp, and seemingly devoid of moral sense or honesty. these new traits developed immediately, and more strikingly so soon as convalescence was established. bergtold quotes a case reported in of extreme injury to the cranium and its contents. while sleeping on the deck of a canal boat, a man at highspire was seriously injured by striking his head against a bridge. when seen by the surgeon his hair was matted and his clothes saturated with blood. there was a terrible gap in the scalp from the superciliary ridge to the occipital bone, and, though full of clots, the wound was still oozing. in a cloth on a bench opposite were rolled up a portion of the malar bone, some fragments of the os frontis, one entire right parietal bone, detached from its fellow along the sagittel suture, and from the occipital along the lambdoidal suture, perhaps taking with it some of the occipital bone together with some of the squamous portion of the temporal bone. this bone was as clean of soft parts as if it had been removed from a dead subject with a scalpel and saw. no sight of the membranes or of the substance of the brain was obtained. the piece of cranium removed was / inches in the longitudinal diameter, and / inches in the short oval diameter. the dressing occupied an hour, at the end of which the patient arose to his feet and changed his clothes as though nothing had happened. twenty-six years after the accident there was slight unsteadiness of gait, and gradual paralysis of the left leg and arm and the opposite side of the face, but otherwise the man was in good condition. in place of the parietal bone the head presented a marked deficiency as though a slice of the skull were cut out. the depressed area measured five by six inches. in the man left the hospital in buffalo with the paralysis improved, but his mental equilibrium could be easily disturbed. he became hysteric and sobbed when scolded. buchanan mentions the history of a case in a woman of twenty-one, who, while working in a mill, was struck by a bolt. her skull was fractured and driven into the brain comminuted. hanging from the wound was a bit of brain-substance, the size of a finger, composed of convolution as well as white matter. the wound healed, there was no hernia, and at the time of report the girl was conscious of no disturbance, not even a headache. there was nothing indicative of the reception of the injury except a scar near the edge of the hair on the upper part of the right side of the forehead. steele, in a school-boy of eight, mentions a case of very severe injury to the bones of the face and head, with escape of cerebral substance, and recovery. the injury was caused by falling into machinery. there was a seaman aboard of the u.s.s. "constellation," who fell through a hatchway from the masthead, landing on the vertex of the head. there was copious bleeding from the ears, to fluid-ounces of blood oozing in a few hours, mingled with small fragments of brain-tissue. the next day the discharge became watery, and in it were found small pieces of true brain-substance. in five weeks the man returned to duty complaining only of giddiness and of a "stuffed-up" head. in there is a record of a man of forty who fell from a scaffold, erected at a height of feet, striking on his head. he was at first stunned, but on admission to the hospital recovered consciousness. a small wound was found over the right eyebrow, protruding from which was a portion of brain-substance. there was slight hemorrhage from the right nostril, and some pain in the head, but the pulse and respiration were undisturbed. on the following day a fragment of the cerebral substance, about the size of a hazel-nut, together with some brood-clots, escaped from the right nostril. in this case the inner wall of the frontal sinus was broken, affording exit for the lacerated brain. cooke and laycock mention a case of intracranial injury with extensive destruction of brain-substance around the rolandic area; there was recovery but with loss of the so called muscular sense. the patient, a workman of twenty-nine, while cutting down a gum-tree, was struck by a branch as thick as a man's arm, which fell from feet overhead, inflicting a compound comminuted fracture of the cranium. the right eye was contused but the pupils equal; the vertex-wound was full of brain-substance and pieces of bone, ten of which were removed, leaving an oval opening four by three inches. the base of the skull was fractured behind the orbits; a fissure / inch wide was discernible, and the right frontal bone could be easily moved. the lacerated and contused brain-substance was removed. consciousness returned six days after the operation. the accompanying illustrations (figs. and ) show the extent of the injury. the lower half of the ascending frontal convolution, the greater half of the sigmoid gyrus, the posterior third of the lower and middle frontal convolutions, the base and posterior end of the upper convolution, and the base of the corresponding portion of the falciform lobe were involved. the sensory and motor functions of the arm were retained in a relative degree. there was power of simple movements, but complex movements were awkward. the tactile localization was almost lost. morton mentions a patient of forty-seven, who was injured in a railroad accident near phoenixville, pa.; there was a compound comminuted fracture of the skull involving the left temporal, spheroid, and superior maxillary bones. the side of the head and the ear were considerably lacerated; several teeth were broken, and besides this there was injury to the aura and cerebral substance. there was profound coma for ten days and paralysis of the st, d, d, th, th, and th cranial nerves, particularly affecting the left side of the face. there was scarcely enough blood-supply left to the orbit to maintain life in the globe. the man primarily recovered, but ninety-one days from the injury he died of cerebral abscess. there is the record of a curious brain-injury in a man of twenty-two, who was struck on the skull by a circular saw. the saw cut directly down into the brain, severing the superior longitudinal sinus, besides tearing a branch of the meningeal artery. the wound was filled with sawdust left by the saw while it was tearing through the parts. after ordinary treatment the man recovered. bird reports a compound comminuted fracture of the left temporal region, with loss of bone, together with six drams of brain-substance, which, however, was followed by recovery. tagert gives an instance of compound depressed fracture of the skull, with loss of brain-substance, in which recovery was effected without operative interference. ballou, bartlett, buckner, capon, carmichael, corban, maunder and many others, cite instances of cranial fracture and loss of brain-substance, with subsequent recovery. halsted reports the history of a boy of seventeen, who, while out fowling, had the breech-pin of a shot-gun blown out, the sharp point striking the forehead in the frontal suture, crushing the os frontis, destroying / inches of the longitudinal sinus, and causing severe hemorrhage from both the longitudinal and frontal sinuses. the pin was pulled out by the boy, who washed his own face, and lay down; he soon became semi-comatose, in which condition he remained for some days; but, after operation, he made complete recovery. loss of brain-substance from cerebral tumor.--koser is accredited with reporting results of a postmortem held on a young man of twenty who suffered from a cerebral tumor of considerable duration. it was stated that, although there was a cavity in the brain at least five inches in length, the patient, almost up to the time of death, was possessed of the senses of touch, taste, hearing, and smell, showed considerable control over his locomotor muscles, and could talk. in fact, he was practically discommoded in no other way than by loss of vision, caused by pressure on the optic centers. it was also stated that the retention of memory was remarkable, and, up to within two weeks of his death, the patient was able to memorize poems. the amount of involvement discovered postmortem in cases similar to the preceding is astonishing. at a recent pathologic display in london several remarkable specimens were shown. extensive fractures of the skull. jennings mentions an instance of extensive fracture of the skull, pieces of the cranium being found. the patient lived five weeks and two days after the injury, the immediate cause of death being edema of the lungs. his language was incoherent and full of oaths. belloste, in his "hospital surgeon," states that he had under has care a most dreadful case of a girl of eleven or twelve years, who received or cutlass wounds of the head, each so violent as to chip out pieces of bone; but, notwithstanding her severe injuries, she made recovery. at the emergency hospital in washington, d.c., there was received a negress with at least six gaping wounds of the head, in some cases denuding the periosteum and cutting the cranium. during a debauch the night before she had been engaged in a quarrel with a negro with whom she lived, and was struck by him several times on the head with an axe. she lay all night unconscious, and was discovered the next morning with her hair and clothes and the floor on which she lay drenched with blood. the ambulance was summoned to take her to the morgue, but on the arrival of the police it was seen that feeble signs of life still existed. on admission to the hospital she was semi-comatose, almost pulseless, cold, and exhibiting all the signs of extreme hemorrhage and shock. her head was cleaned up, but her condition would not permit of any other treatment than a corrosive-sublimate compress and a bandage of scultetus. she was taken to the hospital ward, where warmth and stimulants were applied, after which she completely reacted. she progressed so well that it was not deemed advisable to remove the head-bandage until the fourth day, when it was seen that the wounds had almost entirely healed and suppuration was virtually absent. the patient rapidly and completely recovered, and her neighbors, on her return home, could hardly believe that she was the same woman whom, a few days before, they were preparing to take to the morgue. a serious injury, which is not at all infrequent, is that caused by diving into shallow water, or into a bath from which water has been withdrawn. curran mentions a british officer in india who, being overheated, stopped at a station bath in which the previous night he had had a plunge, and without examining, took a violent "header" into the tank, confidently expecting to strike from eight to ten feet of water. he dashed his head against the concrete bottom feet below (the water two hours previously having been withdrawn) and crushed his brain and skull into an indistinguishable mass. there are many cases on record in which an injury, particularly a gunshot wound of the skull, though showing no external wound, has caused death by producing a fracture of the internal table of the cranium. pare gives details of the case of a nobleman whose head was guarded by a helmet and who was struck by a ball, leaving no external sign of injury, but it was subsequently found that there was an internal fracture of the cranium. tulpius and scultetus are among the older writers reporting somewhat similar instances, and there are several analogous cases reported as having occurred during the war of the rebellion. boling reports a case in which the internal table was splintered to a much greater extent than the external. fracture of the base of the skull is ordinarily spoken of as a fatal injury, reported instances of recovery being extremely rare, but battle, in a paper on this subject, has collected numerous statistics of nonfatal fracture of the base of the brain, viz.:-- male. female. anterior fossa, . . . . . . . . . . . middle fossa, . . . . . . . . . . . . posterior fossa,. . . . . . . . . . . middle and anterior fossae, . . . . . middle and posterior fossae,. . . . . anterior, middle, and posterior fossae, ------ ------ total, . in a paper on nonmortal fractures of the base of the skull, lidell gives an account of cases. maccormac reports a case of a boy of nine who was run over by a carriage drawn by a pair of horses. he suffered fracture of the base of the skull, of the bones of the face, and of the left ulna, and although suppuration at the points of fracture ensued, followed by an optic neuritis, an ultimate recovery was effected. ball, an irish surgeon, has collected several instances in which the base of the skull has been driven in and the condyle of the jaw impacted in the opening by force transmitted through the lower maxilla. the tolerance of foreign bodies in the brain is most marvelous. in the ancient chronicles of koenigsberg there is recorded the history of a man who for fourteen years carried in his head a piece of iron as large as his finger. after its long lodgment, during which the subject was little discommoded, it finally came out by the palatine arch. there is also an old record of a ball lodging near the sella turcica for over a year, the patient dying suddenly of an entirely different accident. fabricius hildanus relates the history of an injury, in which, without causing any uncomfortable symptoms, a ball rested between the skull and dura for six months. amatus lusitanus speaks of a drunken courtesan who was wounded in a fray with a long, sharp-pointed knife which was driven into the head. no apparent injury resulted, and death from fever took place eight years after the reception of the injury. on opening the head a large piece of knife was found between the skull and dura. it is said that benedictus mentions a greek who was wounded, at the siege of colchis, in the right temple by a dart and taken captive by the turks; he lived for twenty years in slavery, the wound having completely healed. obtaining his liberty, he came to sidon, and five years after, as he was washing his face, he was seized by a violent fit of sneezing, and discharged from one of his nostrils a piece of the dart having an iron point of considerable length. in about there died in the vienna hospital a bookbinder of forty-five, who had always passed as an intelligent man, but who had at irregular intervals suffered from epileptic convulsions. an iron nail covered with rust was discovered in his brain; from the history of his life and from the appearances of the nail it had evidently been lodged in the cerebrum since childhood. slee mentions a case in which, after the death of a man from septic peritonitis following a bullet-wound of the intestines, he found postmortem a knife-blade / inch in width projecting into the brain to the depth of one inch. the blade was ensheathed in a strong fibrous capsule / inch thick, and the adjacent brain-structure was apparently normal. the blade was black and corroded, and had evidently passed between the sutures during boyhood as there was no depression or displacement of the cranial bones. the weapon had broken off just on a level with the skull, and had remained in situ until the time of death without causing any indicative symptoms. slee does not state the man's age, but remarks that he was a married man and a father at the time of his death, and had enjoyed the best of health up to the time he was shot in the abdomen. callaghan, quoted in erichsen's "surgery," remarks that he knew of an officer who lived seven years with a portion of a gun-breech weighing three ounces lodged in his brain. lawson mentions the impaction of a portion of a breech of a gun in the forehead of a man for twelve years, with subsequent removal and recovery. waldon speaks of a similar case in which a fragment of the breech weighing three ounces penetrated the cranium, and was lodged in the brain for two months previous to the death of the patient. huppert tells of the lodgment of a slate-pencil three inches long in the brain during lifetime, death ultimately being caused by a slight head-injury. larry mentions a person who for some time carried a six ounce ball in the brain and ultimately recovered. peter removed a musket-ball from the frontal sinus after six years' lodgment, with successful issue. mastin has given an instance in which the blade of a pen-knife remained in the brain six months, recovery following its removal. camden reports a case in which a ball received in a gunshot wound of the brain remained in situ for thirteen years; cronyn mentions a similar case in which a bullet rested in the brain for eight years. doyle successfully removed an ounce minie ball from the brain after a fifteen years' lodgment. pipe-stems, wires, shot, and other foreign bodies, are from time to time recorded as remaining in the brain for some time. wharton has compiled elaborate statistics on this subject, commenting on cases in which foreign bodies were lodged in the brain, and furnishing all the necessary information to persons interested in this subject. injuries of the nose, with marked deformity, are in a measure combated by devices invented for restoring the missing portions of the injured member. taliacotius, the distinguished italian surgeon of the sixteenth century, devised an operation which now bears his name, and consists in fashioning a nose from the fleshy tissues of the arm. the arm is approximated to the head and held in this position by an apparatus or system of bandages for about ten days, at which time it is supposed that it can be severed, and further trimming and paring of the nose is then practiced. a column is subsequently made from the upper lip. in the olden days there was a timorous legend representing taliacotius making noses for his patients from the gluteal regions of other persons, which statement, needless to say, is not founded on fact. various modifications and improvements on the a talicotian method have been made; but in recent years the indian method, introduced by carpue into england in , is generally preferred. syme of edinburgh, wood, and ollier have devised methods of restoring the nose, which bear their names. ohmann-dumesnil reports a case of rhinophyma in a man of seventy-two, an alcoholic, who was originally affected with acne rosacea, on whom he performed a most successful operation for restoration. the accompanying illustration shows the original deformity--a growth weighing two pounds--and also pictures the appearance shortly after the operation. this case is illustrative of the possibilities of plastic surgery in the hands of a skilful and ingenious operator. about dr. j. p. parker then of kansas city, mo., restored the missing bridge of a patient's nose by laying the sunken part open in two long flaps, denuding the distal extremity of the little finger of the patient's right hand of nail, flesh, tendons, etc., and binding it into the wound of the nose until firm union had taken place. the finger was then amputated at the second joint and the plastic operation completed, with a result pleasing both to patient and operator. there is a case quoted of a young man who, when first seen by his medical attendant, had all the soft parts of the nose gone, except one-third of the left ala and a thin flap of the septum which was lying on the upper lip. the missing member was ferreted out and cleansed, and after an hour's separation sutured on. the nostrils were daily syringed with a corrosive sublimate solution, and on the tenth day the dressing was removed; the nose was found active and well, with the single exception of a triangular notch on the right side, which was too greatly bruised by the violence of the blow to recover. when we consider the varicosity of this organ we can readily believe the possibility of the foregoing facts, and there is little doubt that more precaution in suturing severed portions of the nose would render the operation of nose making a very rare one. maxwell mentions a curious case of attempted suicide in which the ball, passing through the palatine process of the superior maxillary bone, crushing the vomer to the extent of its own diameter, fell back through the right nostril into the pharynx, was swallowed, and discharged from the anus. deformities of the nose causing enormous development, or the condition called "double-nose" by bartholinus, borellus, bidault, and others, are ordinarily results of a pathologic development of the sebaceous glands. in some cases tumors develop from the root of the nose, forming what appears to be a second nose. in other cases monstrous vegetations divide the nose into many tumors. in the early portion of this century much was heard about a man who was a daily habitue of the palais-royal gardens. his nose was divided into unequally sized tumors, covering nearly his entire face. similar instances have been observed in recent years. hey mentions a case in which the tumor extended to the lower part of the under lip, which compressed the patient's mouth and nostrils to such an extent that while sleeping, in order to insure sufficient respiration, he had to insert a tin-tube into one of his nostrils. imbert de lannes is quoted as operating on a former mayor of angouleme. this gentleman's nose was divided into five lobes by sarcomatous tumors weighing two pounds, occupying the external surface of the face, adherent to the buccinator muscles to which they extended, and covering the chin. in the upright position the tumors sealed the nostrils and mouth, and the man had to bend his head before and after respiration. in eating, this unfortunate: person had to lift his tumors away from his mouth, and during sleep the monstrous growths were supported in a sling attached to his night cap. he presented such a hideous aspect that he was virtually ostracized from society the growth had been in progress for twelve years, but during twenty-two months' confinement in revolutionary prisons the enlargement had been very rapid. fournier says that the most beautiful result followed the operation which was considered quite hazardous. foreign bodies in the nose present phenomena as interesting as wounds of this organ. among the living objects which have been found in the nose may be mentioned flies, maggots, worms, leeches, centipedes, and even lizards. zacutus lusitanus tells of a person who died in two days from the effects of a leech which was inadvertently introduced into the nasal fossa, and there is a somewhat similar case of a military pharmacist, a member of the french army in spain, who drank some water from a pitcher and exhibited, about a half hour afterward, a persistent hemorrhage from the nose. emaciation progressively continued, although his appetite was normal. three doctors, called in consultation, prescribed bleeding, which, however, proved of no avail. three weeks afterward he carried in his nostril a tampon of lint, wet with an astringent solution, and, on the next day, on blowing his nose, there fell from the right nostril a body which he recognized as a leech. healey gives the history of four cases in which medicinal leeches were removed from the mouth and posterior nares of persons who had, for some days previously, been drinking turbid water. sinclair mentions the removal of a leech from the posterior nares. in some regions, more particularly tropical ones, there are certain flies that crawl into the nostrils of the inhabitants and deposit eggs, in the cavities. the larvae develop and multiply with great rapidity, and sometimes gain admission into the frontal sinus, causing intense cephalalgia, and even death. dempster reports an instance of the lodgment of numerous live maggots within the cavity of the nose, causing sloughing of the palate and other complications. nicholson mentions a case of ulceration and abscess of the nostrils and face from which maggots were discharged. jarvis gives the history of a strange and repeated hemorrhage from the nose and adjacent parts that was found to be due to maggots from the ova of a fly, which had been deposited in the nose while the patient was asleep. tomlinson gives a case in which maggots traversed the eustachian tube, some being picked out of the nostrils, while others were coughed up. packard records the accidental entrance of a centipede into the nostril. there is an account of a native who was admitted to the madras general hospital, saying that a small lizard had crawled up his nose. the urine of these animals is very irritating, blistering any surface it touches. despite vigorous treatment the patient died in consequence of the entrance of this little creature. there have been instances among the older writers in which a pea has remained in the nose for such a length of time as to present evidences of sprouting. the ephemerides renders an instance of this kind, and breschet cites the history of a young boy, who, in , introduced a pea into his nostril; in three days it had swollen to such an extent as to fill the whole passage. it could not be extracted by an instrument, so tobacco snuff was used, which excited sneezing, and the pea was ejected. vidal and the ephemerides report several instances of tolerance of foreign bodies in the nasal cavities for from twenty to twenty-five years. wiesman, in , reported a rhinolith, which was composed of a cherry-stone enveloped in chalk, that had been removed after a sojourn of sixty years, with intense ozena as a consequence of its lodgment. waring mentions the case of a housemaid who carried a rhinolith, with a cherry-stone for a nucleus, which had been introduced twenty-seven years before, and which for twenty-five years had caused no symptoms. grove describes a necrosed inferior turbinated bone, to which was attached a coffee-grain which had been retained in the nostril for twenty years., hickman gives an instance of a steel ring which for thirteen and a half years had been impacted in the nasopharyngeal fossa of a child. it was detected by the rhinoscope and was removed. parker speaks of a gunbreech bolt which was removed from the nose after five years' lodgment. major mentions the removal of a foreign body from the nose seven years after its introduction. howard removed a large thimble from the posterior nares, although it had remained in its position for some time undetected. eve reports a case in which a thimble was impacted in the right posterior nares. gazdar speaks, of a case of persistent neuralgia of one-half of the face, caused by a foreign body in the nose. the obstruction was removed after seven years' lodgment and the neuralgia disappeared. molinier has an observation on the extraction of a fragment of a knife-blade which had rested four years in the nasal fossae, where the blade had broken off during a quarrel. a peculiar habit, sometimes seen in nervous individuals, is that of "swallowing the tongue." cohen claims that in some cases of supposed laryngeal spasm the tongue is swallowed, occluding the larynx, and sometimes with fatal consequences. there are possibly a half score of cases recorded, but this anomaly is very rare, and major is possibly the only one who has to a certainty demonstrated the fact by a laryngoscopic examination. by the laryngoscope he was enabled to observe a paroxysm in a woman, in which the tongue retracted and impinged on the epiglottis, but quickly recovered its position. pettit mentions suffocation from "tongue swallowing," both with and without section of the frenum. schobinger cites a similar instance, due to loosening of the frenum. analogous to the foregoing phenomenon is the habit of "tongue sucking." morris mentions a young lady of fifteen who spontaneously dislocated her jaw, owing indirectly to this habit. morris says that from infancy the patient was addicted to this habit, which was so audible as to be heard in all parts of the room. the continued action of the pterygoid muscles had so preternaturally loosened the ligaments and muscular structures supporting the joint as to render them unable to resist the violent action of "tongue sucking" even during sleep. injuries to the tongue.--hobbs describes a man of twenty-three who, while working, had a habit of protruding his tongue. one day he was hit under the chin by the chain of a crane on a pier, his upper teeth inflicting a wound two inches deep, three inches from the tip, and dividing the entire structure of the tongue except the arteries. the edges of the wound were brought into apposition by sutures, and after the removal of the latter perfect union and complete restoration of the sensation of taste ensued. franck mentions regeneration of a severed tongue; and van wy has seen union of almost entirely severed parts of the tongue. de fuisseaux reports reunion of the tongue by suture after almost complete transverse division. there is an account of a german soldier who, may , , was wounded at the battle of gross-gorschen by a musket ball which penetrated the left cheek, carrying away the last four molars of the upper jaw and passing through the tongue, making exit on the left side, and forcing out several teeth of the left lower jaw. to his surprise, thirty years afterward, one of the teeth was removed from an abscess of the tongue. baker speaks of a boy of thirteen who was shot at three yards distance. the bullet knocked out two teeth and passed through the tongue, although it produced no wound of the pharynx, and was passed from the anus on the sixth day. stevenson mentions a case of an organist who fell forward when stooping with a pipe in his mouth, driving its stem into the roof of the pharynx. he complained of a sore throat for several days, and, after explanation, stevenson removed from the soft palate a piece of clay pipe nearly / inches long. herbert tells of a case resembling carcinoma of the tongue, which was really due to the lodgment of a piece of tooth in that organ. articulation without the tongue.--total or partial destruction of the tongue does not necessarily make articulation impossible. banon mentions a man who had nothing in his mouth representing a tongue. when he was young, he was attacked by an ulceration destroying every vestige of this member. the epiglottis, larynx, and pharynx, in fact the surrounding structures were normal, and articulation, which was at first lost, became fairly distinct, and deglutition was never interfered with. pare gives a description of a man whose tongue was completely severed, in consequence of which he lost speech for three years, but was afterward able to make himself understood by an ingenious bit of mechanism. he inserted under the stump of the tongue a small piece of wood, in a most marvelous way replacing the missing member. articulation with the absence of some constituent of the vocal apparatus has been spoken of on page . hypertrophy of the tongue.--it sometimes happens that the tongue is so large that it is rendered not only useless but a decided hindrance to the performance of the ordinary functions into which it always enters. ehrlich, ficker, klein, rodforffer, and the ephemerides, all record instances in which a large tongue was removed either by ligation or amputation. von siebold records an instance in which death was caused by the ligature of an abnormally sized tongue. there is a modern record of three cases of enormous tongues, the result of simple hypertrophy. in one case the tongue measured / inches from the angle of the mouth about the sides and tip to the opposite angle, necessitating amputation of the protruding portion. carnochan reports a case in which hypertrophy of the tongue was reduced to nearly the normal size by first tying the external carotid, and six weeks later the common carotid artery. chalk mentions partial dislocation of the lower jaw from an enlarged tongue. lyford speaks of enlargement of the tongue causing death. the above conditions are known as macroglossia, which is a congenital hypertrophy of the tongue analogous to elephantiasis. it is of slow growth, and as the organ enlarges it interferes with deglutition and speech. it may protrude over the chin and reach even as far down as the sternum. the great enlargement may cause deformities of the teeth and lower jaw, and even present itself as an enormous tumor in the neck. the protruding tongue itself may ulcerate, possibly bleed, and there is constant dribbling of saliva. the disease is probably due to congenital defect aggravated by frequent attacks of glossitis, and the treatment consists in the removal of the protruding portions by the knife, ligation, the cautery, or ecraseur. living fish in the pharynx.--probably the most interesting cases of foreign bodies are those in which living fish enter the pharynx and esophagus. chevers has collected five cases in which death was caused by living fish entering the mouth and occluding the air-passages. he has mentioned a case in which a large catfish jumped into the mouth of a madras bheestie. an operation on the esophagus was immediately commenced, but abandoned, and an attempt made to push the fish down with a probang, which was, in a measure, successful. however, the patient gave a convulsive struggle, and, to all appearances, died. the trachea was immediately opened, and respiration was restored. during the course of the night the man vomited up pieces of fish bone softened by decomposition. in white mentions that the foregoing accident is not uncommon among the natives of india, who are in the habit of swimming with their mouths open in tanks abounding with fish. there is a case in which a fisherman, having both hands engaged in drawing a net, and seeing a sole-fish about eight inches long trying to escape through the meshes of the net, seized it with his teeth. a sudden convulsive effort of the fish enabled it to enter the fisherman's throat, and he was asphyxiated before his boat reached the shore. after death the fish was found in the cardiac end of the stomach. there is another case of a man named durand, who held a mullet between his teeth while rebaiting his hook. the fish, in the convulsive struggles of death, slipped down the throat, and because of the arrangement of its scales it could be pushed down but not up; asphyxiation, however, ensued. stewart has extensively described the case of a native "puckally" of ceylon who was the victim of the most distressing symptoms from the impaction of a living fish in his throat. the native had caught the fish, and in order to extract it placed its head between his teeth, holding the body with the left hand and the hook with the right. he had hardly extracted the hook, when the fish pricked his palm with his long and sharp dorsal fin, causing him suddenly to release his grasp on the fish and voluntarily open his mouth at the same time. the fish quickly bolted into his mouth, and, although he grasped the tail with his right hand, and squeezed his pharynx with his left, besides coughing violently, the fish found its way into the esophagus. further attempts at extraction were dangerous and quite likely to fail; his symptoms were distressing, he could not hold his head erect without the most agonizing pain and he was almost prostrated from fright and asphyxia; it was thought advisable to push the fish into the stomach, and after an impaction of sixteen hours the symptoms were relieved. the fish in this instance was the anabas scandens or "walking perch" of ceylon, which derives its name from its power of locomotion on land and its ability to live out of water for some time. it is from four to five inches long and has a dorsal fin as sharp as a knife and directed toward the tail, and pectoral fins following the same direction; these would admit of entrance, but would interfere with extraction. maclauren reports the history of a young man who, after catching a fish, placed it between his teeth. the fish, three inches long, by a sudden movement, entered the pharynx. immediately ensued suffocation, nausea, vomiting, together with the expectoration of blood and mucus. there was emphysema of the face, neck, and chest. the fish could be easily felt impacted in the tissues, but, after swallowing much water and vinegar, together with other efforts at extraction, the fins were loosened--about twenty-four hours after the accident. by this time the emphysema had extended to the scrotum. there was much expectoration of muco-purulent fluid, and on the third day complete aphonia, but the symptoms gradually disappeared, and recovery was complete in eight days. dantra is accredited with describing asphyxiation, accompanied by great agony, in a man who, while swimming, had partially swallowed a live fish. the fish was about three inches in length and one in breadth, and was found lying on the dorsum of his tongue and, together with numerous clots of blood, filled his mouth. futile attempts to extract the fish by forceps were made. examination showed that the fish had firmly grasped the patient's uvula, which it was induced to relinquish when its head was seized by the forceps and pressed from side to side. after this it was easily extracted and lived for some time. there was little hemorrhage after the removal of the offending object, and the blood had evidently come from the injuries to the sides of the mouth, caused by the fins. the uvula was bitten, not torn. there is an interesting account of a native of india, who, while fishing in a stream, caught a flat eel-like fish from fifteen to sixteen inches long. after the fashion of his fellows he attempted to kill the eel by biting off its head; in the attempt the fish slipped into his gullet, and owing to its sharp fins could not be withdrawn. the man died one hour later in the greatest agony; so firmly was the eel impacted that even after death it could not be extracted, and the man was buried with it protruding from his mouth. a leech in the pharynx.--granger, a surgeon in her majesty's indian service, writes:--"several days ago i received a note from the political sirdar, asking me if i would see a man who said he had a leech in his throat which he was unable to get rid of. i was somewhat sceptical, and thought that possibly the man might be laboring under a delusion. on going outside the fort to see the case, i found an old pathan graybeard waiting for me. on seeing me, he at once spat out a large quantity of dark, half-clotted blood to assure me of the serious nature of his complaint. his history--mostly made out with the aid of interpreters--was that eleven days ago he was drinking from a rain-water tank and felt something stick in his throat, which he could not reject. he felt this thing moving, and it caused difficulty in swallowing, and occasionally vomiting. on the following day he began to spit up blood, and this continued until he saw me. he stated that he once vomited blood, and that he frequently felt that he was going to choke. "on examining his throat, a large clot of blood was found to be adherent to the posterior wall of the pharynx. on removing this clot of blood, no signs of the presence of a leech could be detected. however, on account of the symptoms complained of by the patient i introduced a polypus forceps into the lower part of the pharynx and toward the esophagus, where a body, distinctly moving, was felt. this body i seized with the forceps, and with considerable force managed to remove it. it was a leech between / and three inches in length, and with a body of the size of a lee-metford bullet. no doubt during the eleven days it had remained in the man's throat the leech had increased in size. nevertheless it must have been an animal of considerable size when the man attempted to swallow it. i send this case as a typical example of the carelessness of natives of the class from which we enlist our sepoys, as to the nature of the water they drink. this man had drunk the pea-soup like water of a tank dug in the side of the hill, rather than go a few hundred yards to a spring where the water is perfectly clear and pure. though i have not met with another case of leeches being taken with drinking water, i am assured that such cases are occasionally met with about agra and other towns in the north-west provinces. this great carelessness as to the purity or impurity of their drinking water shows the difficulty medical officers must experience in their endeavors to prevent the sepoys of a regiment from drinking water from condemned or doubtful sources during a cholera or typhoid epidemic." foreign bodies in the pharynx and esophagus.--aylesbury mentions a boy who swallowed a fish-hook while eating gooseberries. he tried to pull it up, but it was firmly fastened, and a surgeon was called. by ingeniously passing a leaden bullet along the line, the weight of the lead loosened the hook, and both bullet and hook were easily drawn up. babbit and battle report an ingenious method of removing a piece of meat occluding the esophagus--the application of trypsin. henry speaks of a german officer who accidentally swallowed a piece of beer bottle, / x / inch, which subsequently penetrated the esophagus, and in its course irritated the recurrent laryngeal and vagi, giving rise to the most serious phlegmonous inflammation and distressing respiratory symptoms. a peculiar case is that of the man who died after a fire at the eddystone lighthouse. he was endeavoring to extinguish the flames which were at a considerable distance above his head, and was looking up with his mouth open, when the lead of a melting lantern dropped down in such quantities as not only to cover his face and enter his mouth, but run over his clothes. the esophagus and tunica in the lower part of the stomach were burned, and a great piece of lead, weighing over / ounces, was taken from the stomach after death. evans relates the history of a girl of twenty-one who swallowed four artificial teeth, together with their gold plate; two years and eight days afterward she ejected them after a violent attack of retching. gauthier speaks of a young girl who, while eating soup, swallowed a fragment of bone. for a long time she had symptoms simulating phthisis, but fourteen years afterward the bone was dislodged, and, although the young woman was considered in the last stages of phthisis, she completely recovered in six weeks. gastellier has reported the case of a young man of sixteen who swallowed a crown piece, which became lodged in the middle portion of the esophagus and could not be removed. for ten months the piece of money remained in this position, during which the young man was never without acute pain and often had convulsions. he vomited material, sometimes alimentary, sometimes mucus, pus, or blood, and went into the last stage of marasmus. at last, after this long-continued suffering, following a strong convulsion and syncope, the coin descended to the stomach, and the young man expectorated great quantities of pus. after thirty-five years, the coin had not been passed by the rectum. instances of migration of foreign bodies from the esophagus are repeatedly recorded. there is an instance of a needle which was swallowed and lodged in the esophagus, but twenty-one months afterward was extracted by an incision at a point behind the right ear. kerckring speaks of a girl who swallowed a needle which was ultimately extracted from the muscles of her neck. poulet remarks that vigla has collected the most interesting of these cases of migration of foreign bodies. hevin mentions several cases of grains of wheat abstracted from abscesses of the thoracic parietes, from thirteen to fifteen days after ingestion. bonnet and helmontius have reported similar facts. volgnarius has seen a grain of wheat make its exit from the axilla, and polisius mentions an abscess of the back from which was extracted a grain of wheat three months after ingestion. bally reports a somewhat similar instance, in which, three months after ingestion, during an attack of peripneumonia, a foreign body was extracted from an abscess of the thorax, between the d and d ribs. ambrose found a needle encysted in the heart of a negress. she distinctly stated that she had swallowed it at a time calculated to have been nine years before her death. planque speaks of a small bone perforating the esophagus and extracted through the skin. abscess or ulceration, consequent upon periesophagitis, caused by the lodgment of foreign bodies in the esophagus, often leads to the most serious results. there is an instance of a soldier who swallowed a bone while eating soup, who died on the thirty-first day from the rupture internally of an esophageal abscess. grellois has reported the history of a case of a child twenty-two months old, who suffered for some time with impaction of a small bone in the esophagus. less than three months afterward the patient died with all the symptoms of marasmus, due to difficult deglutition, and at the autopsy an abscess was seen in the posterior wall of the pharynx, opposite the d cervical vertebra; extensive caries was also noticed in the bodies of the d, d, and th cervical vertebrae. guattani mentions a curious instance in which a man playing with a chestnut threw it in the air, catching it in his mouth. the chestnut became lodged in the throat and caused death on the nineteenth day. at the autopsy it was found that an abscess communicating with the trachea had been formed in the pharynx and esophagus. a peculiarly fatal accident in this connection is that in which a foreign body in the esophagus ulcerates, and penetrates one of the neighboring major vessels. colles mentions a man of fifty-six who, while eating, perceived a sensation as of a rent in the chest. the pain was augmented during deglutition, and almost immediately afterward he commenced to expectorate great quantities of blood. on the following day he vomited a bone about an inch long and died on the same day. at the autopsy it was found that there was a rent in the posterior wall of the esophagus, about / inch long, and a corresponding wound of the aorta. there was blood in the pleura, pericardium, stomach, and intestines. there is one case in which a man of forty-seven suddenly died, after vomiting blood, and at the autopsy it was demonstrated that a needle had perforated the posterior wall of the esophagus and wounded the aorta. poulet has collected cases in which ulceration caused by foreign bodies in the esophagus has resulted in perforation of the walls of some of the neighboring vessels. the order of frequency was as follows: aorta, ; carotids, four; vena cava, two; and one case each of perforation of the inferior thyroid artery, right coronary vein, demi-azygos vein, the right subclavicular artery (abnormal), and the esophageal artery. in three of the cases collected there was no autopsy and the vessel affected was not known. in a child of three years that had swallowed a half-penny, atkins reports rupture of the innominate artery. no symptoms developed, but six weeks later, the child had an attack of ulcerative stomatitis, from which it seemed to be recovering nicely, when suddenly it ejected two ounces of bright red blood in clots, and became collapsed out of proportion to the loss of blood. under treatment, it rallied somewhat, but soon afterward it ejected four ounces more of blood and died in a few minutes. at the autopsy / pint of blood was found in the stomach, and a perforation was discovered on the right side of the esophagus, leading into a cavity, in which a blackened half-penny was found. a probe passed along the aorta into the innominate protruded into the same cavity about the bifurcation of the vessel. denonvilliers has described a perforation of the esophagus and aorta by a five-franc piece. a preserved preparation of this case, showing the coin in situ, is in the musee dupuytren. blaxland relates the instance of a woman of forty-five who swallowed a fish bone, was seized with violent hematemesis, and died in eight hours. the necropsy revealed a penetration of the aorta through the thoracic portion of the esophagus. there is also in the musee dupuytren a preparation described by bousquet, in which the aorta and the esophagus were perforated by a very irregular piece of bone. mackenzie mentions an instance of death from perforation of the aorta by a fish-bone. in some cases penetration of the esophagus allows the further penetration of some neighboring membrane or organ in the same manner as the foregoing cases. dudley mentions a case in which fatal hemorrhage was caused by penetration of the esophagus and lung by a chicken-bone. buist speaks of a patient who swallowed two artificial teeth. on the following day there was pain in the epigastrium, and by the fourth day the pain extended to the vertebrae, with vomiting, delirium, and death on the fifth day. at the autopsy it was found that a foreign body, seven cm. long had perforated the pericardium, causing a suppurative pericarditis. dagron reports a unique instance of death by purulent infection arising from perforation of the esophagus by a pin. the patient was a man of forty-two, and, some six weeks before he presented himself for treatment, before swallowing had experienced a severe pain low down in the neck. five days before admission he had had a severe chill, followed by sweating and delirium. he died of a supraclavicular abscess on the fifth day; a black steel pin was found against the esophagus and trachea. in connection with foreign bodies in the esophagus, it might be interesting to remark that ashhurst has collected cases of esophagotomy for the removal of foreign bodies, resulting in recoveries and deaths. gaudolphe collected cases with recoveries. injuries of the neck are usually inflicted with suicidal intent or in battle. cornelius nepos says that while fighting against the lacedemonians, epaminondas was sensible of having received a mortal wound, and apprehending that the lance was stopping a wound in an important vessel, remarked that he would die when it was withdrawn. when he was told that the boeotians had conquered, exclaiming "i die unconquered," he drew out the lance and perished. petrus de largenta speaks of a man with an arrow in one of his carotids, who was but slightly affected before its extraction, but who died immediately after the removal of the arrow. among the remarkable recoveries from injuries of the neck is that mentioned by boerhaave, of a young man who lived nine or ten days after receiving a sword-thrust through the neck between the th and th vertebrae, dividing the vertebral artery. benedictus, bonacursius, and monroe, all mention recovery after cases of cut-throat in which the esophagus as well as the trachea was wounded, and food protruded from the external cut. warren relates the history of a case in which the vertebral artery was wounded by the discharge of a pistol loaded with pebbles. the hemorrhage was checked by compression and packing, and after the discharge of a pebble and a piece of bone from the wound, the man was seen a month afterward in perfect health. corson of norristown, pa., has reported the case of a quarryman who was stabbed in the neck with a shoemaker's knife, severing the left carotid one inch below its division. he was seen thirty minutes later in an apparently lifeless condition, but efforts at resuscitation were successfully made. the hemorrhage ceased spontaneously, and at the time of report, the man presented the symptoms of one who had had his carotid ligated (facial atrophy on one side, no pulse, etc.). baron larrey mentions a case of gunshot wound in which the carotid artery was open at its division into internal and external branches, and says that the wound was plugged by an artilleryman until ligation, and in this primitive manner the patient was saved. sale reports the case of a girl of nineteen, who fell on a china bowl that she had shattered, and wounded both the right common carotid artery and internal jugular vein. there was profuse and continuous hemorrhage for a time, and subsequently a false aneurysm developed, which ruptured in about three months, giving rise to enormous momentary hemorrhage; notwithstanding the severity of the injury and the extent of the hemorrhage, complete recovery ensued. amos relates the instance of a woman named mary green who, after complete division of all the vessels of the neck, walked yards and climbed over an ordinary bar-gate nearly four feet high. cholmeley reports the instance of a captain of the first madras fusileers, who was wounded at pegu by a musket-ball penetrating his neck. the common carotid was divided and for five minutes there was profuse hemorrhage which, however, strange to say, spontaneously ceased. the patient died in thirty-eight hours, supposedly from spinal concussion or shock. relative to ligature of the common carotid artery, ashhurst mentions the fact that the artery has been ligated in instances, with recoveries. ellis mentions ligature of both carotids in four and a half days, as a treatment for a gunshot wound, with subsequent recovery. lewtas reports a case of ligation of the innominate and carotid arteries for traumatic aneurysm (likely a hematoma due to a gunshot injury of the subclavian artery). the patient was in profound collapse, but steadily reacted and was discharged cured on the forty-fifth day, with no perceptible pulse at the wrist and only a feeble beat in the pulmonary artery. garengeot, wirth, fine, and evers, all mention perforating wounds of the trachea and esophagus with recoveries. van swieten and hiester mention cases in which part of the trachea was carried away by a ball, with recovery. monro, tulpius, bartholinus, and pare report severance of the trachea with the absence of oral breathing, in which the divided portions were sutured, with successful results. in his "theatro naturae," bodinus says that william, prince of orange, lost the sense of taste after receiving a wound of the larynx; according to an old authority, a french soldier became mute after a similar accident. davies-colley mentions a boy of eighteen who fell on a stick about the thickness of the index finger, transfixing his neck from right to left; he walked to a doctor's house, yards away, with the stick in situ. in about two weeks he was discharged completely well. during treatment he had no hemorrhage of any importance, and his voice was not affected, but for a while he had slight dysphagia. barker gives a full account of a barber who was admitted to a hospital two and a half hours after cutting his throat. he had a deep wound running transversely across the neck, from one angle of the jaw to the other, cutting open the floor of the mouth and extending from the inner border of the sternocleido-mastoid to the other, leaving the large vessels of the neck untouched. the razor had passed through the glosso-epiglottidean fold, a tip of the epiglottis, and through the pharynx down to the spinal column. there was little hemorrhage, but the man could neither swallow nor speak. the wound was sutured, tracheotomy done, and the head kept fixed on the chest by a copper splint. he was ingeniously fed by esophageal tubes and rectal enemata; in three weeks speech and deglutition were restored. shortly afterward the esophageal tube was removed and recovery was virtually complete. little mentions an extraordinary case of a woman of thirty-six who was discharged from garland's asylum, where she had been an inmate for three months. this unfortunate woman had attempted suicide by self-decapitation from behind forward. she was found, knife in hand, with a huge wound in the back of the neck and her head bobbing about in a ghastly manner. the incision had severed the skin, subcutaneous tissues and muscles, the ligaments and bone, opening the spinal canal, but not cutting the cord. the instrument used to effect this major injury was a blunt potato-peeling knife. despite this terrible wound the patient lived to the sixth day. hislop records a case of cut-throat in a man of seventy-four. he had a huge gaping wound of the neck, extending to within a half inch of the carotids on each side. the trachea was almost completely severed, the band left was not more than / inch wide. hislop tied four arteries, brought the ends of the trachea together with four strong silk sutures, and, as the operation was in the country, he washed the big cavity of the wound out with cold spring-water. he brought the superficial surfaces together with ten interrupted sutures, and, notwithstanding the patient's age, the man speedily recovered. this emphasizes the fact that the old theory of leaving wounds of this nature open was erroneous. solly reports the case of a tailor of twenty-two who attempted suicide by cutting through the larynx, entirely severing the epiglottis and three-fourths of the pharynx. no bleeding point was found, and recovery ensued. cowles describes the case of a soldier of thirty-five who, while escaping from the patrols, was shot by the officer of the day with a small bullet from a pistol. the ball entered the right shoulder, immediately over the suprascapular notch, passed superficially upward and forward into the neck, wounding the esophagus posteriorly at a point opposite the thyroid cartilage, and lodged in the left side of the neck. the patient had little hemorrhage, but had expectorated and swallowed much blood. he had a constant desire to swallow, which continued several days. the treatment was expectant; and in less than three weeks the soldier was returned to duty. from the same authority there is a condensation of five reports of gunshot wounds of the neck, from all of which the patients recovered and returned to duty. braman describes the case of a man on whom several injuries were inflicted by a drunken companion. the first wound was slight; the second a deep flesh-wound over the trapezius muscle; the third extended from the right sterno-cleido-mastoid midway upward to the middle of the jaw and down to the rapine of the trachea. the external jugular, the external thyroid, and the facial arteries were severed. braman did not find it necessary to ligate, but was able to check the hemorrhage with lint and persulphate of iron, in powder, with pressure. after fourteen hours the wound was closed; the patient recovered, and was returned to duty in a short time. thomas has reported the case of a man sixty-five years old who in an attempt at suicide with a penknife, had made a deep wound in the left side of the neck. the sternohyoid and omohyoid muscles were divided; the internal jugular vein was cut through, and its cut ends were collapsed and / inch apart; the common carotid artery was cut into, but not divided; the thyroid cartilage was notched, and the external and anterior jugular veins were severed. clamp-forceps were immediately applied to the cut vessels and one on each side the aperture in the common carotid from which a small spurt of blood, certainly not half a teaspoonful, came out. the left median basilic vein was exposed by an incision, and ounces of warm saline solution were slowly perfused, an ordinary glass syringe with a capacity of five ounces, with an india-rubber tubing attached to a canula in the vein being employed. after seven ounces of fluid had been injected, the man made a short, distinct inspiration; at ten ounces a deeper one (the radial pulse could now be felt beating feebly); at ounces the breathing became regular and deep; at ounces the man opened his eyes, but did not appear to be conscious. the clamped vessels were now tied with catgut and the wound cleansed with phenol lotion and dressed with cyanid-gauze. the man was surrounded by hot-water bottles and the foot of the bed elevated inches. in the course of an hour the patient had recovered sufficiently to answer in a squeaky voice to his name when called loudly. improvement proceeded rapidly until the twenty-second day, when violent hemorrhage occurred, preceded a few hours previously by a small trickle, easily controlled by pressure. the wound was at once opened and blood found oozing from the distal extremities of the carotid artery and jugular vein, which were promptly clamped. the common carotid artery was not sound, so that ligatures were applied to the internal and external carotids and to the internal jugular with a small branch entering into it. the patient was in great collapse, but quickly rallied, only to suffer renewed hemorrhage from the internal carotid nine days later. this was controlled by pressure with sponges, and a quart of hot water was injected into the rectum. from this time on the patient made a slow recovery, a small sinus in the lower part of the neck disappearing on the removal of the catgut ligature. adams describes the case of a woman who attempted suicide with a common table-knife, severing the thyroid, cricoid, and first three rings of the trachea, and lacerating the sternohyoid and thyroid arteries; she finally recovered. there is a curious case of suicide of a woman who, while under the effects of opium, forced the handle of a mirror into her mouth. from all appearances, the handle had broken off near the junction and she had evidently fallen forward with the remaining part in her mouth, driving it forcibly against the spine, and causing the point of the handle to run downward in front of the cervical vertebrae. on postmortem examination, a sharp piece of wood about two inches long, corresponding to the missing portion of the broken mirror handle, was found lying between the posterior wall of the esophagus and the spine. hennig mentions a case of gunshot wound of the neck in which the musket ball was lodged in the posterior portion of the neck and was subsequently discharged by the anus. injuries of the cervical vertebrae, while extremely grave, and declared by some authors to be inevitably fatal, are, however, not always followed by death or permanently bad results. barwell mentions a man of sixty-three who, in a fit of despondency, threw himself from a window, having fastened a rope to his neck and to the window-sill. he fell or feet, and in doing so suffered a subluxation of the th cervical vertebra. it slowly resumed the normal position by the elasticity of the intervertebral fibrocartilage, and there was complete recovery in ten days. lazzaretto reports the history of the case of a seaman whose atlas was dislocated by a blow from a falling sail-yard. the dislocation was reduced and held by adhesive strips, and the man made a good recovery. vanderpool of bellevue hospital, n.y., describes a fracture of the odontoid process caused by a fall on the back of the head; death, however, did not ensue until six months later. according to ashhurst, philips, the elder cline, willard parker, bayard, stephen smith, may, and several other surgeons, have recorded complete recovery after fracture of the atlas and axis. the same author also adds that statistic investigation shows that as large a proportion as per cent of injuries of the cervical vertebrae occurring in civil practice, recover. however, the chances of a fatal issue in injuries of the vertebrae vary inversely with the distance of the point of injury from the brain. keen has recorded a case in which a conoidal ball lodged in the body of the third cervical vertebra, from which it was extracted six weeks later. the paralysis, which, up to the time of extraction, had affected all four limbs, rapidly diminished. in about five weeks after the removal of the bullet nearly the entire body of the d cervical vertebra, including the anterior half of the transverse process and vertebral foremen, was spontaneously discharged. nearly eight years afterward keen saw the man still living, but with his right shoulder and arm diminished in size and partly paralyzed. doyle reports a case of dislocated neck with recovery. during a runaway the patient was thrown from his wagon, and was soon after found on the roadside apparently dead. physicians who were quickly summoned from the immediate neighborhood detected faint signs of life; they also found a deformity of the neck, which led them to suspect dislocation. an ambulance was called, and without any effort being made to relieve the deformity the man was placed in it and driven to his home about a mile distant. the jolting over the rough roads greatly aggravated his condition. when doyle saw the patient, his general appearance presented a hopeless condition, but being satisfied that a dislocation existed, doyle immediately prepared to reduce it. two men were told to grasp the feet and two more the head, and were directed to make careful but strong extension. at the same time the physician placed his right hand against the neck just over the pomum adami, and his left against the occiput, and, while extension was being made, he flexed the head forward until the chin nearly touched the breast, after which the head was returned to its normal position. the manipulation was accompanied by a clicking sensation, caused by the replacement of the dislocated vertebra. the patient immediately showed signs of relief and improved rapidly. perceptible but feeble movements were made by all the limbs except the right arm. the patient remained in a comatose condition for eight or nine days, during which he had enuresis and intestinal torpor. he suffered from severe concussion of the brain, which accounted for his prolonged coma. delirium was present, but he was carefully watched and not allowed to injure himself. his recovery was tedious and was delayed by several relapses. his first complaint after consciousness returned (on the tenth day) was of a sense of constriction about the neck, us if he were being choked. this gradually passed off, and his improvement went on without development of any serious symptoms. at the time of report he appeared in the best of health and was quite able to attend to his daily avocations. doyle appends to his report the statement that among cases embraced in ashhurst's statistics, in treatment of dislocations in the cervical region, the mortality has been nearly four times greater when constitutional or general treatment has been relied on exclusively than when attempts had been made to reduce the dislocation by extension, rotation, etc. doyle strongly advocates attempts at reduction in such cases. figure represents a photograph of barney baldwin, a switchman of the louisville and nashville railroad, who, after recovery from cervical dislocation, exhibited himself about the country, never appearing without his suspensory apparatus. acheson records a case of luxation of the cervical spine with recovery after the use of a jury-mast. the patient was a man of fifty-five, by trade a train-conductor. on july , , he fell backward in front of a train, his head striking between the ties; the brake-body caught his body, pushing it forward on his head, and turned him completely over. three trucks passed over him. when dragged from beneath the train, his upper extremities were paralyzed. at noon the next day, nineteen hours after the accident, examination revealed bruises over the body, and he suffered intense pain at the back of the neck and base of the skull. posteriorly, the neck presented a natural appearance; but anteriorly, to use the author's description, his neck resembled a combined case of mumps and goiter. the sternomastoid muscle bulged at the angle of the jaw, and was flaccid, and his "adam's apple" was on a level with the chin. sensation in the upper extremities was partially restored, and, although numb, he now had power of movement in the arms and hands, but could not rotate his neck. a diagnosis of cervical dislocation was made, and violent extension, with oscillation forward and backward, was practiced, and the abnormal appearance subsided at once. no crepitus was noticed. on the fourth day there was slight hemorrhage from the mouth, which was more severe on the fifth and sixth days. the lower jaw had been forced past the upper, until the first molar had penetrated the tissues beneath the tongue. a plaster-of-paris apparatus was applied, and in two months was exchanged for one of sole-leather. in rising from the recumbent position the man had to lift his head with his hands. fifty days after the accident he suffered excruciating pain at the change of the weather, and at the approach of a storm the joints, as well as the neck, were involved. it was believed (one hundred and seven days after the accident) that both fracture and luxation existed. his voice had become guttural, but examination of the fauces was negative. the only evidence of paralysis was in the fingers, which, when applied to anything, experienced the sensation of touching gravel. the mottling of the tissues of the neck, which appeared about the fiftieth day, had entirely disappeared. according to thorburn, hilton had a patient who lived fourteen years with paraplegia due to fracture of the th, th, and th cervical vertebrae. shaw is accredited with a case in which the patient lived fifteen months, the fracture being above the th cervical vertebra. in speaking of foreign bodies in the larynx and trachea, the first to be considered will be liquids. there is a case on record of an infant who was eating some coal, and being discovered by its mother was forced to rapidly swallow some water. in the excitement, part of the fluid swallowed fell into the trachea, and death rapidly ensued. it is hardly necessary to mention the instances in which pus or blood from ruptured abscesses entered the trachea and caused subsequent asphyxiation. a curious instance is reported by gaujot of val-de-grace of a soldier who was wounded in the franco-prussian war, and into whose wound an injection of the tincture of iodin was made. the wound was of such an extent as to communicate with a bronchus, and by this means the iodin entered the respiratory tract, causing suffocation. according to poulet, vidal de cassis mentions an inmate of the charite hospital, in paris, who, full of wine, had started to vomit; he perceived corvisart, and knew he would be questioned, therefore he quickly closed his mouth to hide the proofs of his forbidden ingestion. the materials in his mouth were forced into the larynx, and he was immediately asphyxiated. laennec, merat, and many other writers have mentioned death caused by the entrance of vomited materials into the air-passages. parrot has observed a child who died by the penetration of chyme into the air-passages. the bronchial mucous and underlying membrane were already in a process of digestion. behrend, piegu, and others cite analogous instances. the presence of a foreign body in the larynx is at all times the cause of distressing symptoms, and, sometimes, a substance of the smallest size will cause death. there is a curious accident recorded that happened to a young man of twenty-three, who was anesthetized in order to extract a tooth. a cork had been placed between the teeth to keep the mouth open. the tooth was extracted but slipped from the forceps, and, together with the cork, fell into the pharynx. the tooth was ejected in an effort at vomiting, but the cork entered the larynx, and, after violent struggles, asphyxiation caused death in an hour. the autopsy demonstrated the presence of the cork in the larynx. a somewhat analogous case, though not ending fatally, was reported by hertz of a woman of twenty-six, who was anesthetized for the extraction of the right second inferior molar. the crown broke off during the operation, and immediately after the extraction she had a fit of coughing. about fifteen days later she experienced pain in the lungs. her symptoms increased to the fifth week, when she became so feeble as to be confined to her bed. a body seemed to be moving in the trachea, synchronously with respiration. at the end of the fifth week the missing crown of the tooth was expelled after a violent fit of coughing; the symptoms immediately ameliorated, and recovery was rapid thereafter. aronsohn speaks of a child who was playing with a toy wind-instrument, and in his efforts to forcibly aspirate air through it, the child drew the detached reed into the respiratory passages, causing asphyxiation. at the autopsy the foreign body was found at the superior portion of the left bronchus. there are other cases in which, while sucking oranges or lemons, seeds have been aspirated; and there is a case in which, in a like manner, the claw of a crab was drawn into the air-passages. there are two cases mentioned in which children playing with toy balloons, which they inflated with their breath, have, by inspiration, reversed them and drawn the rubber of the balloon into the opening of the glottis, causing death. aronsohn, who has already been quoted, and whose collection of instances of this nature is probably the most extensive, speaks of a child in the street who was eating an almond; a carriage threw the child down and he suddenly inspired the nut into the air-passages, causing immediate asphyxia the same author also mentions a soldier walking in the street eating a plum, who, on being struck by a horse, suddenly started and swallowed the seed of the fruit. after the accident he had little pain or oppression, and no coughing, but twelve hours afterward he rejected the seed in coughing. a curious accident is that in which a foreign body thrown into the air and caught in the mouth has caused immediate asphyxiation. suetonius transmits the history of a young man, a son of the emperor claudius, who, in sport, threw a small pear into the air and caught it in his mouth, and, as a consequence, was suffocated. guattani cites a similar instance of a man who threw up a chestnut, which, on being received in the mouth, lodged in the air-passages; the man died on the nineteenth day. brodie reported the classic observation of the celebrated engineer, brunel, who swallowed a piece of money thrown into the air and caught in his mouth. it fell into the open larynx, was inspired, causing asphyxiation, but was removed by inversion of the man's body. sennert says that pope adrian iv died from the entrance of a fly into his respiratory passages; and remy and gautier record instances of the penetration of small fish into the trachea. there are, again, instances of leeches in this location. occasionally the impaction of artificial teeth in the neighborhood of the larynx has been unrecognized for many years. lennox browne reports the history of a woman who was supposed to have either laryngeal carcinoma or phthisis, but in whom he found, impacted in the larynx, a plate with artificial teeth attached, which had remained in this position twenty-two months unrecognized and unknown. the patient, when questioned, remembered having been awakened in the night by a violent attack of vomiting, and finding her teeth were missing assumed they were thrown away with the ejections. from that time on she had suffered pain and distress in breathing and swallowing, and became the subject of progressive emaciation. after the removal of the impacted plate and teeth she soon regained her health. paget speaks of a gentleman who for three months, unconsciously, carried at the base of the tongue and epiglottis, very closely fitted to all the surface on which it rested, a full set of lost teeth and gold palate-plate. from the symptoms and history it was suspected that he had swallowed his set of false teeth, but, in order to prevent his worrying, he was never informed of this suspicion, and he never once suspected the causes of his symptoms. wrench mentions a case illustrative of the extent to which imagination may produce symptoms simulating those ordinarily caused by the swallowing of false teeth. this man awoke one morning with his nose and throat full of blood, and noticed that his false teeth, which he seldom removed at night, were missing. he rapidly developed great pain and tumor in the larynx, together with difficulty in deglutition and speech. after a fruitless search, with instrumental and laryngoscopic aid, the missing teeth were found--in a chest of drawers; the symptoms immediately subsided when the mental illusion was relieved. there is a curious case of a man drowned near portsmouth. after the recovery of his body it was seen that his false teeth were impacted at the anterior opening of the glottis, and it was presumed that the shock caused by the plunge into the cold water had induced a violent and deep inspiration which carried the teeth to the place of impaction. perrin reports a case of an old man of eighty-two who lost his life from the impaction of a small piece of meat in the trachea and glottis. in the musee valde-grace is a prepared specimen of this case showing the foreign body in situ. in the same museum perrin has also deposited a preparation from the body of a man of sixty-two, who died from the entrance of a morsel of beef into the respiratory passages. at the postmortem a mobile mass of food about the size of a hazel-nut was found at the base of the larynx at the glossoepiglottic fossa. about the th ring of the trachea the caliber of this organ was obstructed by a cylindric alimentary bolus about six inches long, extending almost to the bronchial division. ashhurst shows a fibrinous cast, similar to that found in croup, caused by a foreign body removed by wharton, together with a shawl-pin, from a patient at the children's hospital seven hours after the performance of tracheotomy. search for the foreign body at the time of the operation was prevented by profuse hemorrhage. the ordinary instances of foreign bodies in the larynx and trachea are so common that they will not be mentioned here. their variety is innumerable and it is quite possible for more than two to be in the same location simultaneously. in his treatise on this subject gross says that he has seen two, three, and even four substances simultaneously or successively penetrate the same location. berard presented a stick of wood extracted from the vocal cords of a child of ten, and a few other similar instances are recorded. the medical press and circular finds in an indian contemporary some curious instances of misapplied ingenuity on the part of certain habitual criminals in that country. the discovery on a prisoner of a heavy leaden bullet about / inch in diameter led to an inquiry as to the object to which it was applied. it was ascertained that it served to aid in the formation of a pouch-like recess at the base of the epiglottis. the ball is allowed to slide down to the desired position, and it is retained there for about half an hour at a time. this operation is repeated many times daily until a pouch the desired size results, in which criminals contrive to secrete jewels, money, etc., in such a way as to defy the most careful search, and without interfering in any way with speech or respiration. upward of prisoners at calcutta were found to be provided with this pouch-formation. the resources of the professional malingerer are exceedingly varied, and testify to no small amount of cunning. the taking of internal irritants is very common, but would-be in-patients very frequently overshoot the mark and render recovery impossible. castor-oil seeds, croton beans, and sundry other agents are employed with this object in view, and the medical officers of indian prisons have to be continually on the lookout for artificially induced diseases that baffle diagnosis and resist treatment. army surgeons are not altogether unfamiliar with these tricks, but compared with the artful hindoos the british soldier is a mere child in such matters. excision of the larynx has found its chief indication in carcinoma, but has been employed in sarcoma, polyps, tuberculosis, enchondroma, stenosis, and necrosis. whatever the procedure chosen for the operation, preliminary tracheotomy is a prerequisite. it should be made well below the isthmus of the thyroid gland, and from three to fifteen days before the laryngectomy. this affords time for the lungs to become accustomed to the new manner of breathing, and the trachea becomes fixed to the anterior wall of the neck. powers and white have gathered cases of either total or partial extirpation of the larynx, to which the cases collected and analyzed by eugene kraus, in , have been added. the histories of six new cases are given. of the operations, , or per cent of the patients, died within the first eight weeks from shock, hemorrhage, pneumonia, septic infection, or exhaustion. the cases collected by these authors show a decrease in the death ratio in the total excision,-- per cent as against per cent in the kraus tables. the mortality in the partial operation is increased, being per cent as opposed to per cent. cases reported as free from the disease before the lapse of three years are of little value, except in that they diminish, by so much, the operative death-rate. of laryngectomies for carcinoma prior to january , , , or per cent, died as a result of the operation; of the remaining had recurrence during the first year, and , or ten per cent of the survivors, were free from relapse three or more years after operation. in cases of partial laryngectomy for cancer, , or per cent, died during the first two months; of the remaining , seven cases, or per cent, are reported as free from the disease three or more years after the operation. injuries destroying great portions of the face or jaw, but not causing death, are seldom seen, except on the battle-field, and it is to military surgery that we must look for the most striking instances of this kind. ribes mentions a man of thirty-three who, in the spanish campaign in , received an injury which carried away the entire body of the lower jaw, half of each ramus, and also mangled in a great degree the neighboring soft parts. he was transported from the field of battle, and, despite enormous hemorrhage and suppuration, in two months recovered. at the time of report the wounded man presented no trace of the inferior maxillary bone, but by carrying the finger along the side of the pharynx in the direction of the superior dental arch the coronoid apophyses could be recognized, and about six lines nearer the temporal extremity the ramus could be discovered. the tongue was missing for about one-third its length, and was thicker than natural and retracted on the hyoid bone. the sublingual glands were adherent to the under part of the tongue and were red and over-developed. the inferior parts of the cheeks were cicatrized with the lateral and superior regions of the neck, and with the base of the tongue and the hyoid bone. the tongue was free under and in front of the larynx. the patient used a gilded silver plate to fix the tongue so that deglutition could be carried on. he was not able to articulate sounds, but made himself understood through the intervention of this plate, which was fixed to a silver chin. the chin he used to maintain the tongue-plate, to diminish the deformity, and to retain the saliva, which was constantly dribbling on the neck. the same author quotes the instance of a man of fifty, who, during the siege of alexandria in , was struck in the middle of his face, obliquely, by a cannonball, from below upward and from right to left. a part of the right malar bone, the two superior maxillary bones, the nasal bones, the cartilage, the vomer, the middle lamina of the ethmoid, the left maxillary bone, a portion of the left zygomatic arch, and a great portion of the inferior maxilla were carried away, or comminuted, and all the soft parts correspondingly lacerated. several hours afterward this soldier was counted among the number of dead, but larrey, the surgeon-in-chief of the army, with his typical vigilance and humanity, remarked that the patient gave signs of life, and that, despite the magnitude of his wound, he did not despair of his recovery. those portions in which attrition was very great were removed, and the splinters of bone taken out, showing an enormous wound. three months were necessary for cicatrization, but it was not until the capitulation of marabou, at which place he was wounded, that the patient was returned to france. at this time he presented a hideous aspect. there were no signs of nose, nor cartilage separating the entrance of the nostrils, and the vault of the nasal fossa could be easily seen. there was a part of the posterior region of the right superior maxilla, but the left was entirely gone--in fact, the man presented an enormous triangular opening in the center of the face, as shown by the accompanying illustration. the tongue and larynx were severely involved, and the sight in the left eye was lost. this patient continually wore a gilded silver mask, which covered his deformity and rendered articulation a little less difficult. the saliva continually dribbled from the mouth and from the inferior internal portion of his mask, compelling him to carry some substance to receive the dribblings. whymper mentions an analogous instance of a gunner who had his whole lower jaw torn away by a shell, but who recovered and used an ingenious contrivance in the shape of a silver mask for remedying the loss of the parts. steiner mentions a wound from a cannon-ball, which carried away the left half of the inferior maxilla, stripping the soft parts as high as the malar, and on the left side of the neck to within / inches of the clavicle, laying bare the transverse processes of the d and d vertebrae, end exposing the external carotid and most of its branches. it sometimes happens that a foreign body, such as the breech of a gun, may be imbedded for some time in the face, with subsequent safe removal. keith mentions an instance of the successful removal of the breech of a fowling-piece from the face, at the root of the nose, after a lodgment of four months; and fraser cites an analogous instance in which the breech was imbedded in the bones of the face for eight years smith records an instance in which a broken piece of tobacco-pipe penetrated the cheek, remained there for seven months, but was successfully extracted. before leaving accidents to the head and neck, a most curious case, cited by o'neill, will be briefly reviewed. a boy of twelve was entrusted to carry a new iron pot to the destination of its purchaser. probably to facilitate transportation, the boy removed his hat and placed the pot obliquely on the back part of his head, but a sudden movement caused it to slip forward and downward over the head. unavailing efforts were made at the time and after he reached home, to remove the pot from his head, but in vain, and he continued all the night greatly prostrated by fright, hunger, and thirst, together with the efforts at removal. the next morning he was taken to a neighboring blacksmith, who, by greasing one of his fingers, managed to insinuate it between the head and pot. placing the other side of the pot against an anvil he struck over the location of his finger a quick, heavy tap with a hammer, and the pot fell to pieces. the little patient was much exhausted by all his treatment and want of sleep, and, in fact, could hardly have endured his situation much longer. chapter xi. surgical anomalies of the extremities. reunion of digits.--an interesting phenomenon noticed in relation to severed digits is their wonderful capacity for reunion. restitution of a severed part, particularly if one of considerable function, naturally excited the interest of the older writers. locher has cited an instance of avulsion of the finger with restitution of the avulsed portion; and brulet, van esh, farmer, ponteau, regnault, and rosenberg cite instances of reunion of a digit after amputation or severance. eve's "remarkable cases in surgery" contains many instances of reunion of both fingers and thumbs, and in more recent years several other similar cases have been reported. at the emergency hospital in washington, d.c., there was a boy brought in who had completely severed one of his digits by a sharp bread-cutter. the amputated finger was wrapped up in a piece of brown paper, and, being apparently healthy and the wound absolutely clean, it was fixed in the normal position on the stump, and covered by a bichlorid dressing. in a short time complete function was restored. in this instance no joint was involved, the amputation being in the middle of the d phalanx. staton has described a case in which the hand was severed from the arm by an accidental blow from an axe. the wound extended from the styloid process directly across to the trapezium, dividing all the muscles and blood-vessels, cutting through bones. a small portion of the skin below the articulation, with the ulna, remained intact. after an unavoidable delay of an hour, staton proceeded to replace the hand with silver sutures, adhesive plaster, and splints. on the third day pulsation was plainly felt in the hand, and on the fourteenth day the sutures were removed. after some time the patient was able to extend the fingers of the wounded member, and finally to grasp with all her wonted strength. the reproduction or accidental production of nails after the original part has been torn away by violence or destroyed by disease, is quite interesting. sometimes when the whole last phalanx has been removed, the nail regrows at the tip of the remaining stump. tulpius seems to have met with this remarkable condition. marechal de rougeres, voigtel, and ormancey have related instances of similar growths on the d phalanx after the loss of the st. for several months a woman had suffered from an ulcer of the middle finger of the right hand, in consequence of a whitlow; there was loss of the d phalanx, and the whole of the articular surface and part of the compact bony structure of the d. on examining the sore, ormangey saw a bony sequestrum which appeared to keep it open. he extracted this, and, until cicatrization was complete, he dressed the stump with saturnine cerate. some months afterward ormangey saw with astonishment that the nail had been reproduced; instead of following the ordinary direction, however, it lay directly over the face of the stump, growing from the back toward the palmer aspect of the stump digit, as if to cover and protect the stump. blandin has observed a case of the same description. a third occurred at the hopital de la charite, in a woman, who, in consequence of a whitlow, had lost the whole of the d phalanx of one of the forefingers. the soft and fleshy cushion which here covered the d phalanx was terminated by a small, blackish nail, like a grain of spur rye. it is probable that in these cases the soft parts of the d phalanx, and especially the ungual matrix, had not been wholly destroyed. in his lectures chevalier speaks of analogous cases. in some instances avulsion of a finger is effected in a peculiar manner. in anche reported to his confreres in bordeaux a rare accident of this nature that occurred to a carpenter. the man's finger was caught between a rope and the block of a pulley. by a sudden and violent movement on his part he disengaged the hand but left the d finger attached to the pulley. at first examination the wound looked like that of an ordinary amputation by the usual oval incision; from the center of the wound the proximal fragment of the st phalanx projected. polaillon has collected similar instances, in none of which, however, was the severance complete. it occasionally happens that in avulsion of the finger an entire tendon is stripped up and torn off with the detached member. vogel describes an instance of this nature, in which the long flexor of the thumb was torn off with that digit. in the surgical museum at edinburgh there is preserved a thumb and part of the flexor longus pollicis attached, which were avulsed simultaneously. nunnely has seen the little finger together with the tendon and body of the longer flexor muscle avulsed by machinery. stone details the description of the case of a boy named lowry, whose left thumb was caught between rapidly twisting strands of a rope, and the last phalanx, the neighboring soft parts, and also the entire tendon of the flexor longus pollicis were instantly torn away. there was included even the tendinous portion of that small slip of muscle taking its origin from the anterior aspect of the head and upper portion of the ulna, and which is so delicate and insignificant as to be generally overlooked by anatomists. there was great pain along the course of the tract of abstraction of the tendon. pinkerton describes a carter of thirty-one who was bitten on the thumb by a donkey. the man pulled violently in one direction, and the donkey, who had seized the thumb firmly with his teeth, pulled forcibly in the other direction until the tissues gave way and the man ran off, leaving his thumb in the donkey's mouth. the animal at once dropped the thumb, and it was picked up by a companion who accompanied the man to the hospital. on examination the detached portion was found to include the terminal phalanx of the thumb, together with the tendon of the flexor longus pollicis measuring ten inches, about half of which length had a fringe of muscular tissue hanging from the free borders, indicating the extent and the penniform arrangement of the fibers attached to it. meyer cites a case in which the index finger was torn off and the flexor muscle twisted from its origin. the authors know of an unreported case in which a man running in the street touched his hand to a hitching block he was passing; a ring on one of his fingers caught in the hook of the block, and tore off the finger with the attached tendon and muscle. there is a similar instance of a scotch gentleman who slipped, and, to prevent falling, he put out his hand to catch the railing. a ring on one of his fingers became entangled in the railing and the force of the fall tore off the soft parts of the finger together with the ring. the older writers mentioned as a curious fact that avulsion of the arm, unaccompanied by hemorrhage, had been noticed. belchier, carmichael, and clough report instances of this nature, and, in the latter case, the progress of healing was unaccompanied by any uncomfortable symptoms. in the last century hunezoysky observed complete avulsion of the arm by a cannon-ball, without the slightest hemorrhage. the ephemerides contains an account of the avulsion of the hand without any bleeding, and woolcomb has observed a huge wound of the arm from which hemorrhage was similarly absent. later observations have shown that in this accident absence of hemorrhage is the rule and not the exception. the wound is generally lacerated and contused and the mouths of the vessels do not gape, but are twisted and crushed. the skin usually separates at the highest point and the muscles protrude, appearing to be tightly embraced and almost strangulated by the skin, and also by the tendons, vessels, and nerves which, crushed and twisted with the fragments of bone, form a conical stump. cheselden reports the history of a case, which has since become classic, that he observed in st. thomas' hospital in london, in . a miller had carelessly thrown a slip-knot of rope about his wrist, which became caught in a revolving cog, drawing him from the ground and violently throwing his body against a beam. the force exerted by the cog drawing on the rope was sufficient to avulse his whole arm and shoulder-blade. there was comparatively little hemorrhage and the man was insensible to pain; being so dazed and surprised he really was unconscious of the nature of his injury until he saw his arm in the wheel. according to billroth the avulsion of an arm is usually followed by fatal shock. fischer, however, relates the case of a lion-tamer whose whole left arm was torn from the shoulder by a lion; the loss of blood being very slight and the patient so little affected by shock that he was able to walk to the hospital. mussey describes a boy of sixteen who had his left arm and shoulder-blade completely torn from his body by machinery. the patient became so involved in the bands that his body was securely fastened to a drum, while his legs hung dangling. in this position he made about revolutions around the drum before the motion of the machinery could be effectually stopped by cutting off the water to the great wheel. when he was disentangled from the bands and taken down from the drum a huge wound was seen at the shoulder, but there was not more than a pint of blood lost. the collar-bone projected from the wound about half an inch, and hanging from the wound were two large nerves (probably the median and ulnar) more than inches long. he was able to stand on his feet and actually walked a few steps; as his frock was opened, his arm, with a clot of blood, dropped to the floor. this boy made an excellent recovery. the space between the plastered ceiling and the drum in which the revolutions of the body had taken place was scarcely / inches wide. horsbeck's case was of a negro of thirty-five who, while pounding resin on a -inch leather band, had his hand caught between the wheel and band. his hand, forearm, arm, etc., were rapidly drawn in, and he was carried around until his shoulder came to a large beam, where the body was stopped by resistance against the beam, fell to the floor, and the arm and scapula were completely avulsed and carried on beyond the beam. in this case, also, the man experienced little pain, and there was comparatively little hemorrhage. maclean reports the history of an accident to a man of twenty-three who had both arms caught between a belt and the shaft while working in a woolen factory, and while the machinery was in full operation. he was carried around the shaft with great velocity until his arms were torn off at a point about four inches below the shoulder-joint on each side. the patient landed on his feet, the blood spurting from each brachial artery in a large stream. his fellow-workmen, without delay, wound a piece of rope around each bleeding member, and the man recovered after primary amputation of each stump. will gives an excellent instance of avulsion of the right arm and scapula in a girl of eighteen, who was caught in flax-spinning machinery. the axillary artery was seen lying in the wound, pulsating feebly, but had been efficiently closed by the torsion of the machinery. the girl recovered. additional cases of avulsion of the upper extremity are reported by aubinais, bleynie, charles, george, james, jones, marcano, belchier, braithwaite, and hendry. avulsion of the lower extremity.--the symptoms following avulsion of the upper extremity are seen as well in similar accidents to the leg and thigh, although the latter are possibly the more fatal. horlbeck quotes benomont's description of a small boy who had his leg torn off at the knee by a carriage in motion; the child experienced no pain, and was more concerned about the punishment he expected to receive at home for disobedience than about the loss of his leg. carter speaks of a boy of twelve who incautiously put the great toe of his left foot against a pinion wheel of a mill in motion. the toe was fastened and drawn into the mill, the leg following almost to the thigh. the whole left leg and thigh, together with the left side of the scrotum, were torn off; the boy died as a result of his injuries. ashurst reported to the pathological society of philadelphia the case of a child of nine who had its right leg caught in the spokes of a carriage wheel. the child was picked up unconscious, with its thigh entirely severed, and the bone broken off about the middle third; about three inches higher the muscles were torn from the sheaths and appeared as if cut with a knife. the great sciatic nerve was found hanging inches from the stump, having given way from its division in the popliteal space. the child died in twelve hours. one of the most interesting features of the case was the rapid cooling of the body after the accident and prolongation of the coolness with slight variations until death ensued. ashurst remarks that while the cutaneous surface of the stump was acutely sensitive to the touch, there was no manifestation of pain evinced upon handling the exposed nerve. with reference to injuries to the sciatic nerve, kuster mentions the case of a strong man of thirty, who in walking slipped and fell on his back. immediately after rising to his feet he felt severe pain in the right leg and numbness in the foot. he was unable to stand, and was carried to his house, where kuster found him suffering great pain. the diagnosis had been fracture of the neck of the femur, but as there was no crepitation and passive movements caused but little pain, kuster suspected rupture of the sciatic nerve. the subsequent history of the case confirmed this diagnosis. the patient was confined to bed six weeks, and it was five months afterward before he was able to go about, and then only with a crutch and a stick. park mentions an instance of rupture of the sciatic nerve caused by a patient giving a violent lurch during an operation at the hip-joint. the instances occasionally observed of recovery of an injured leg after extensive severance and loss of substance are most marvelous. morton mentions a boy of sixteen, who was struck by one of the blades of a reaping machine, and had his left leg cut through about / inches above the ankle-joint. the foot was hanging by the portion of skin corresponding to the posterior quarter of the circumference of the leg, together with the posterior tibial vessels and nerves. these were the only structures escaping division, although the ankle-joint itself was intact. there was comparatively little hemorrhage and no shock; a ligature was applied to the vessels, the edges of the wound were drawn together by wire sutures, and the cut surfaces of the tibia were placed in as good apposition as possible, although the lower fragment projected slightly in front of the upper. the wound was dressed and healing progressed favorably; in three months the wound had filled up to such an extent that the man was allowed to go on crutches. the patient was discharged in five months, able to walk very well, but owing to the loss of the function of the extensor tendons the toes dragged. washington reports in full the case of a boy of eleven, who, in handing a fowling piece across a ditch, was accidentally shot. the contents of the gun were discharged through the leg above the ankle, carrying away five-sixths of the structure--at the time of the explosion the muzzle of the gun was only two feet away from his leg. the portions removed were more than one inch of the tibia and fibula (irregular fractures of the ends above and below), a corresponding portion of the posterior tibial muscle, and the long flexors of the great and small toes, as well as the tissue interposed between them and the achilles tendon. the anterior tibial artery was fortunately uninjured. the remaining portions consisted of a strip of skin two inches in breadth in front of the wound, the muscles which it covered back of the wound, the achilles tendon, and another piece of skin, barely enough to cover the tendon. the wound was treated by a bran-dressing, and the limb was saved with a shortening of but / inches. there are several anomalous injuries which deserve mention. markoe observed a patient of seventy-two, who ruptured both the quadriceps tendons of each patella by slipping on a piece of ice, one tendon first giving way, and followed almost immediately by the other. there was the usual depression immediately above the upper margin of the patella, and the other distinctive signs of the accident. in three months both tendons had united to such an extent that the patient was able to walk slowly. gibney records a case in which the issue was not so successful, his patient being a man who, in a fall ten years previously, had ruptured the right quadriceps tendon, and four years later had suffered the same accident on the opposite side. as a result of his injuries, at the time gibney saw him, he had completely lost all power of extending the knee-joint. partridge mentions an instance, in a strong and healthy man, of rupture of the tendon of the left triceps cubiti, caused by a fall on the pavement. there are numerous cases in which the tendo achillis has recovered after rupture,--in fact, it is unhesitatingly severed when necessity demands it, sufficient union always being anticipated. none of these cases of rupture of the tendon are unique, parallel instances existing in medical literature in abundance. marshall had under his observation a case in which the femoral artery was ruptured by a cart wheel passing over the thigh, and death ensued although there were scarcely any external signs of contusion and positively no fracture. boerhaave cites a curious instance in which a surgeon attempted to stop hemorrhage from a wounded radial artery by the application of a caustic, but the material applied made such inroads as to destroy the median artery and thus brought about a fatal hemorrhage. spontaneous fractures are occasionally seen, but generally in advanced age, although muscular action may be the cause. there are several cases on record in which the muscular exertion in throwing a stone or ball, or in violently kicking the leg, has fractured one or both of the bones of an extremity. in old persons intracapsular fracture may be caused by such a trivial thing as turning in bed, and even a sudden twist of the ankle has been sufficient to produce this injury. in a boy of thirteen storrs has reported fracture of the femur within the acetabulum. in addition to the causes enumerated, inflammation of osseous tissue, or osteoid carcinoma, has been found at the seat of a spontaneous fracture. one of the most interesting subjects in the history of surgery is the gradual evolution of the rational treatment of dislocations. possibly no portion of the whole science was so backward as this. thirty-five centuries ago darius, son of hydaspis, suffered a simple luxation of the foot; it was not diagnosed in this land of apis and of the deified discoverer of medicine. among the wise men of egypt, then in her acme of civilization, there was not one to reduce the simple luxation which any student of the present day would easily diagnose and successfully treat. throughout the dark ages and down to the present century, the hideous and unnecessary apparatus employed, each decade bringing forth new types, is abundantly pictured in the older books on surgery; in some almost recent works there are pictures of windlasses and of individuals making superhuman efforts to pull the luxated member back--all of which were given to the student as advisable means of treatment. relative to anomalous dislocations the field is too large to be discussed here, but there are two recent ones worthy of mention. bradley relates an instance of death following a subluxation of the right humerus backward on the scapula it could not be reduced because the tendon of the biceps lay between the head of the humerus and a piece of the bone which was chipped off. baxter-tyrie reports a dislocation of the shoulder-joint, of unusual origin, in a man who was riding a horse that ran away up a steep hill. after going a few hundred yards the animal abated its speed, when the rider raised his hand to strike. catching sight of the whip, the horse sprang forward, while the man felt an acute pain and a sense of something having given way at his shoulder. he did not fall off, but rode a little further and was helped to dismount. on examination a subcoracoid dislocation of the head of the humerus was found. the explanation is that as the weight of the whip was inconsiderable (four ounces) the inertia of the arm converted it into a lever of the first order. instead of fulfilling its normal function of preventing displacement, the coraco-acromial arch acted as a fulcrum. the limb from the fingers to that point acted as the "long arm," and the head and part of the neck of the humerus served as the "short arm." the inertia of the arm, left behind as it were, supplied the power, while the ruptured capsular ligament and displacement of the head of the bone would represent the work done. congenital dislocations.--the extent and accuracy of the knowledge possessed by hippocrates on the subject of congenital dislocations have excited the admiration of modern writers, and until a comparatively recent time examples of certain of the luxations described by him had not been recorded. with regard, for instance, to congenital dislocations at the shoulder-joint, little or nothing was known save what was contained in the writings of hippocrates, till r. m. smith and guerin discussed the lesion in their works. among congenital dislocations, those of the hips are most common--in fact, per cent of all. they are sometimes not recognizable until after the lapse of months and sometimes for years, but their causes--faulty developments of the joint, paralysis, etc.--are supposed to have existed at birth. one or both joints may be involved, and according to the amount of involvement the gait is peculiar. as to the reduction of such a dislocation, the most that can be done is to diminish the deformity and functional disability by traction and palliative measures with apparatus. the normal structure of the joint does not exist, and therefore the dislocation admits of no reduction. congenital dislocations of the shoulder are also seen, owing to faulty development of the glenoid fossa; and at the knee, the leg generally being in extreme hyperextension, the foot sometimes resting on the abdomen. congenital luxation of the femora, when it appears in adult women is a prominent factor in dystocia. there is a dislocation found at birth, or occurring shortly after, due to dropsy of the joint in utero; and another form due to succeeding paralysis of groups of muscles about the joint. the interesting instances of major amputations are so numerous and so well known as to need no comment here. amputation of the hip with recovery is fast becoming an ordinary operation; at westminster hospital in london, there is preserved the right humerus and scapula, presenting an enormous bulk, which was removed by amputation at the shoulder-joint, for a large lymphosarcoma growing just above the clavicle. the patient was a man of twenty-two, and made a good recovery. another similar preparation is to be seen in london at st. bartholomew's hospital. simultaneous, synchronous, or consecutive amputations of all the limbs have been repeatedly performed. champeuois reports the case of a sumatra boy of seven, who was injured to such an extent by an explosion as to necessitate the amputation of all his extremities, and, despite his tender age and the extent of his injuries, the boy completely recovered. jackson, quoted by ashhurst, had a patient from whom he simultaneously amputated all four limbs for frost-bite. muller reports a case of amputation of all four limbs for frost-bite, with recovery. the patient, aged twenty-six, while traveling to his home in northern minnesota, was overtaken by a severe snow storm, which continued for three days; on december th he was obliged to leave the stage in a snow-drift on the prairie, about miles distant from his destination. he wandered over the prairie that day and night, and the following four days, through the storm, freezing his limbs, nose, ears, and cheeks, taking no food or water until, on december th, he was found in a dying condition by indian scouts, and taken to a station-house on the road. he did not reach the hospital at fort ridgely until the night of december th--eleven days after his first exposure. he was almost completely exhausted, and, after thawing the ice from his clothes, stockings, and boots,--which had not been removed since december th,--it was found that both hands and forearms were completely mortified up to the middle third, and both feet and legs as far as the upper third; both knees over and around the patellae, and the alae and tip of the nose all presented a dark bluish appearance and fairly circumscribed swelling. no evacuation of the bowels had taken place for over two weeks, and as the patient suffered from singultus and constant pain over the epigastric region, a light cathartic was given, which, in twenty-four hours, gave relief. the four frozen limbs were enveloped in a solution of zinc chlorid. the frozen ears and cheeks healed in due time, and the gangrenous parts of the nose separated and soon healed, with the loss of the tip and parts of the alae, leaving the septum somewhat exposed. on january th the lines of demarcation were distinct and deep on all four limbs, though the patient, seconded by his wife, at first obstinately opposed operative interference; on january th, after a little hesitancy, the man consented to an amputation of the arms. this was successfully carried out on both forearms, at the middle third, the patient losing hardly any blood and complaining of little pain. the great relief afforded by this operation so changed his aversion to being operated upon that on the next day he begged to have both legs amputated in the same manner, which was done, three days afterward, with the same favorable result. after some minor complications the patient left for his home, perfectly recovered, june , . begg of dundee successfully performed quadruple amputation on a woman, the victim of idiopathic gangrene. with artificial limbs she was able to earn a livelihood by selling fancy articles which she made herself. this woman died in , and the four limbs, mounted on a lay figure, were placed in the royal college of surgeons, in london. wallace, of rock rapids, iowa, has successfully removed both forearms, one leg, and half of the remaining foot, for frost-bite. allen describes the case of a boy of eight who was run over by a locomotive, crushing his right leg, left foot, and left forearm to such an extent as to necessitate primary triple amputation at the left elbow, left foot, and right leg, the boy recovering. ashhurst remarks that luckie, alexander, koehler, lowman, and armstrong have successfully removed both legs and one arm simultaneously for frost-bite, all the patients making excellent recoveries in spite of their mutilations; he adds that he himself has successfully resorted to synchronous amputation of the right hip-joint and left leg for a railroad injury occurring in a lad of fifteen, and has twice synchronously amputated three limbs from the same patient, one case recovering. wharton reports a case of triple major amputation on a negro of twenty-one, who was run over by a train. his right leg was crushed at the knee, and the left leg crushed and torn off in the middle third; the right forearm and hand were crushed. in order to avoid chill and exposure, he was operated on in his old clothes, and while one limb was being amputated the other was being prepared. the most injured member was removed first. recovery was uninterrupted. there are two cases of spontaneous amputation worthy of record. boerhaave mentions a peasant near leyden, whose axillary artery was divided with a knife, causing great effusion of blood, and the patient fainted. the mouth of the vessel was retracted so far as to render ligature impossible, and the poor man was abandoned to what was considered an inevitable fate by his unenlightened attendants. expecting to die every moment, he continued several days in a languid state, but the hemorrhage ceased spontaneously, and the arm decayed, shrunk, and dried into a mummified stump, which he carried about for quite a while. rooker speaks of a fracture of the forearm, near the lower part of the middle third, in a patient aged fourteen. incipient gangrene below the seat of fracture, with associate inflammation, developed; but on account of the increasing gangrene it was determined to amputate. on the fifth day the line of demarcation extended to the spine of the scapula, laying bare the bone and exposing the acromion process and involving the pectoral muscles. it was again decided to let nature continue her work. the bones exfoliated, the spine and the acromial end of the scapula came away, and a good stump was formed. figure represents the patient at the age of twenty-eight. by ingenious mechanical contrivances persons who have lost an extremity are enabled to perform the ordinary functions of the missing member with but slight deterioration. artificial arms, hands, and legs have been developed to such a degree of perfection that the modern mechanisms of this nature are very unlike the cumbersome and intricate contrivances formerly used. le progres medical contains an interesting account of a curious contest held between dismembered athletes at nogent-sur-marne, a small town in the department of the seine, in france. responding to a general invitation, no less than seven individuals who had lost either leg or thigh, competed in running races for prizes. the enterprising cripples were divided into two classes: the cuissards, or those who had lost a thigh, and jambards, or those who had lost a leg; and, contrary to what might have been expected, the grand champion came from the former class. the distance in each race was meters. m. roullin, whose thigh, in consequence of an accident, was amputated in , succeeded in traversing the course in the remarkable time of thirty seconds (about yards); whereas m. florrant, the speediest jambard, required thirty-six seconds to run the same distance; and was, moreover, defeated by two other cuissards besides the champion. the junior race was won in thirty-five seconds, and this curious day's sport was ended by a course de consolation, which was carried off in thirty-three seconds by m. mausire, but whether he was a cuissard or a jambard was not stated. on several occasions in england, cricket matches have been organized between armless and legless men. in charles dickens' paper, "all the year round," october , , there is a reference to a cricket match between a one-armed eleven and a one-legged eleven. there is a recent report from de kalb, illinois, of a boy of thirteen who had lost both legs and one arm, but who was nevertheless enabled to ride a bicycle specially constructed for him by a neighboring manufacturer. with one hand he guided the handle bar, and bars of steel attached to his stumps served as legs. he experienced no trouble in balancing the wheel; it is said that he has learned to dismount, and soon expects to be able to mount alone; although riding only three weeks, he has been able to traverse one-half a mile in two minutes and ten seconds. while the foregoing instance is an exception, it is not extraordinary in the present day to see persons with artificial limbs riding bicycles, and even in philadelphia, may , , there was a special bicycle race for one-legged contestants. the instances of interesting cases of foreign bodies in the extremities are not numerous. in some cases the foreign body is tolerated many years in this location. there are to-day many veterans who have bullets in their extremities. girdwood speaks of the removal of a foreign body after twenty-five years' presence in the forearm. pike mentions a man in india, who, at the age of twenty-two, after killing a wounded hare in the usual manner by striking it on the back of the neck with the side of the hand, noticed a slight cut on the hand which soon healed but left a lump under the skin. it gave him no trouble until two months before the time of report, when he asked to have the lump removed, thinking it was a stone. it was cut down upon and removed, and proved to be the spinous process of the vertebra of a hare. the bone was living and healthy and had formed a sort of arthrodial joint on the base of the phalanx of the little finger and had remained in this position for nearly twenty-two years. white has described a case in which a nail broken off in the foot, separated into splinters, which, after intense suffering, were successfully removed. there was a case recently reported of a man admitted to the bellevue hospital, new york, whose arm was supposed to have been fractured by an explosion, but instead of which feet of lead wire were found in it by the surgeons. the man was a machinist in the employ of the east river lead co., and had charge of a machine which converted molten lead into wire. this machine consists of a steel box into which the lead is forced, being pressed through an aperture / inch in diameter by hydraulic pressure of tons. reaching the air, the lead becomes hard and is wound on a large wheel in the form of wire. just before the accident this small aperture had become clogged, and the patient seized the projecting wire in his hand, intending to free the action of the machine, as he had previously done on many occasions, by a sharp, strong pull; but in so doing an explosion occurred, and he was hurled to the floor unconscious. while on the way to the hospital in the ambulance, he became conscious and complained of but little pain except soreness of the left arm about the elbow. the swelling, which had developed very rapidly, made it impossible for the surgeons to make an examination, but on the following day, when the inflammation had subsided sufficiently, a diagnosis of fracture of the bones of the arm was made. there was no external injury of the skin of any magnitude, and the surgeons decided to cut down on the trifling contusion, and remove what appeared to be a fragment of bone, lodged slightly above the wrist. an anesthetic was administered, and an incision made, but to the amazement of the operators, instead of bone, a piece of wire one inch in length and / inch in diameter was removed. on further exploration piece after piece of the wire was taken out until finally the total length thus removed aggregated feet, the longest piece measuring two feet and the shortest / inch. the wire was found imbedded under the muscles of the arm, and some of it had become wedged between the bones of the forearm. probably the most remarkable feature of this curious accident was the fact that there was no fracture or injury to the bone, and it was thought possible that the function of the arm would be but little impaired. tousey reports a case of foreign body in the axilla that was taken for a necrotic fragment of the clavicle. the patient was a boy of sixteen, who climbed up a lamp-post to get a light for his bicycle lamp; his feet slipped off the ornamental ledge which passed horizontally around the post about four feet from the ground, and he fell. in the fall a lead pencil in his waistcoat pocket caught on the ledge and was driven into the axilla, breaking off out of sight. this was supposed to be a piece of the clavicle, and was only discovered to be a pencil when it was removed six weeks after. there are several diseases of the bone having direct bearing on the anomalies of the extremities which should have mention here. osteomalacia is a disease of the bones in adult life, occurring most frequently in puerperal women, but also seen in women not in the puerperal state, and in men. it is characterized by a progressive softening of the bone-substance, from a gradual absorption of the lime salts, and gives rise to considerable deformity, and occasionally to spontaneous fracture. rachitis or rickets is not a disease of adult life, but of infancy and childhood, and never occurs after the age of puberty. it seldom begins before six months or after three years. there are several theories as to its causation, one being that it is due to an abnormal development of acids. there is little doubt that defective nutrition and bad hygienic surroundings are prominent factors in its production. the principal pathologic change is seen in the epiphyseal lines of long bones and beneath the periosteum. figure shows the appearance during life of a patient with the highest grade of rachitis, and it can be easily understood what a barrier to natural child-birth it would produce. in rachitis epiphyseal swellings are seen at the wrists and ankle-joints, and in superior cases at the ends of the phalanges of the fingers and toes. when the shaft of a long bone is affected, not only deformity, but even fracture may occur. under these circumstances the humerus and femur appear to be the bones most likely to break; there is an associate deformity of the head, known as "craniotabes," together with pigeon-breast and various spinal curvature. the accompanying illustration is from a drawing of a skeleton in the warren museum in boston. the subject was an indian, twenty-one years of age, one of the six nations. his mode of locomotion was by a large wooden bowl, in which he sat and moved forward by advancing first one side of the bowl and then the other, by means of his hands. the nodules or "adventitious joints" were the result of imperfect ossification, or, in other words, of motion before ossification was completed. analogous to rachitis is achondroplasia, or the so called fetal rickets--a disease in which deformity results from an arrest, absence, or perversion of the normal process of enchondral ossification. it is decidedly an intrauterine affection, and the great majority of fetuses die in utero. thomson reports three living cases of achondroplasia. the first was a child five months of age, of pale complexion, bright and intelligent, its head measuring inches in length. there was a narrow thorax showing the distinct beads of rickets; the upper and lower limbs were very short, but improved under antirachitic treatment. the child died of pneumonia. the other two cases were in adults, one thirty-nine and the other thirty-six. the men were the same height, inches, and resembled each other in all particulars. they both enjoyed good health, and, though somewhat dwarfed, were of considerable intelligence. neither had married. both the upper and; lower limbs showed exaggerations of the normal curves; the hands and feet were broad and short; the gait of both of these little men was waddling, the hunk swaying when they attempted to make any rapid progress. osteitis deformans is a hyperplasia of bone described by paget in . paget's patient was a gentleman of forty-six who had always enjoyed good health; without assignable cause he began to be subject to aching pains in the thighs and legs. the bones of the left leg began to increase in size, and a year or two later the left femur; also enlarged considerably. during a period of twenty years these changes were followed by a growth of other bones. the spine became firm and; rigid, the head increased / inches in circumference. the bones of the face were not affected. when standing, the patient had a peculiar bowed condition of the legs, with marked flexure at the knees. he finally died of osteosarcoma, originating in the left radius, paget collected eight cases, five of whom died of malignant disease. the postmortem of paget's case showed extreme thickening in the bones affected, the femur and cranium particularly showing osteoclerosis. several cases have been recorded in this country; according to warren, thieberge analyzed cases; were men, women; the disease appeared usually after forty. acromegaly is distinguished from osteitis deformans in that it is limited to hypertrophy of the hands, feet, and face, and it usually begins earlier. in gigantism the so-called "giant growth of bones" is often congenital in character, and is unaccompanied by inflammatory symptoms. the deformities of the articulations may be congenital but in most cases are acquired. when these are of extreme degree, locomotion is effected in most curious ways. ankylosis at unnatural angles and even complete reversion of the joints has been noticed. pare gives a case of reversion, and of crooked hands and feet; and barlow speaks of a child of two and three-quarter years with kyphosis, but mobility of the lumbar region, which walked on its elbows and knees. the pathology of this deformity is obscure, but there might have been malposition in utero. wilson presented a similar case before the clinical society of london, in . the "camel-boy," exhibited some years ago throughout the united states, had reversion of the joints, which resembled those of quadrupeds. he walked on all fours, the mode of progression resembling that of a camel. figure represents orloff, "the transparent man," an exhibitionist, showing curious deformity of the long bones and atrophy of the extremities. he derived his name from the remarkable transparency of his deformed members to electric light, due to porosity of the bones and deficiency of the overlying tissues. figure , taken from hutchinson's "archives of surgery," represents an extreme case of deformity of the knee-joints in a boy of seven, the result of severe osteoarthritis. the knees and elbows were completely ankylosed. infantile spinal paralysis is often the cause of distressing deformities, forbidding locomotion in the ordinary manner. in a paper on the surgical and mechanical treatment of such deformities willard mentions a boy of fourteen, the victim of infantile paralysis, who at the age of eleven had never walked, but dragged his legs along. his legs were greatly twisted, and there was flexion at right angles at the hips and knees. there was equinovarus in the left foot and equinovalgus in the right. by an operation of subcutaneous section at the hips, knees, and feet, with application of plaster-of-paris and extension, this hopeless cripple walked with crutches in two months, and with an apparatus consisting of elastic straps over the quadriceps femoris, peroneals, and weakened muscles, the valgus-foot being supported beneath the sole. in six months he was walking long distances; in one year he moved speedily on crutches. willard also mentions another case of a girl of eleven who was totally unable to support the body in the erect position, but could move on all fours, as shown in figure . there was equinovarus in the right foot and valgus in the left. the left hip was greatly distorted, not only in the direction of flexion, but there was also twisting of the femoral neck, simulating dislocation. this patient was also operated on in the same manner as the preceding one. relative to anomalous increase or hypertrophy of the bones of the extremities, fischer shows that an increase in the length of bone may follow slight injuries. he mentions a boy of twelve, who was run over by a wagon and suffered a contusion of the bones of the right leg. in the course of a year this leg became / cm. longer than the other, and the bones were also much thicker than in the other. fischer also reports several cases of abnormal growth of bone following necrosis. a case of shortening / cm., after a fracture, was reduced to one cm. by compensatory growth. elongation of the bone is also mentioned as the result of the inflammation of the joint. warren also quotes taylor's case of a lady who fell, injuring, but not fracturing, the thigh. gradual enlargement, with an outward curving of the bone, afterward took place. chapter xii. surgical anomalies of the thorax and abdomen. injuries of the lung or bronchus are always serious, but contrary to the general idea, recovery after extensive wound of the lung is quite a common occurrence. even the older writers report many instances of remarkable recoveries from lung-injuries, despite the primitive and dirty methods of treatment. a review of the literature previous to this century shows the names of arcaeus, brunner, collomb, fabricius hildanus, vogel, rhodius, petit, guerin, koler, peters, flebbe, and stalpart, as authorities for instances of this nature. in one of the journals there is a description of a man who was wounded by a broad-sword thrust in the mediastinum. after death it was found that none of the viscera were wounded, and death was attributed to the fact that the in-rush of air counterbalancing the pressure within the lungs left them to their own contractile force, with resultant collapse, obstruction to the circulation, and death. it is said that vesalius demonstrated this condition on the thorax of a pig. gooch gives an instance of a boy of thirteen who fell from the top of a barn upon the sharp prow of a plough, inflicting an oblique wound from the axilla to below the sternum, slightly above the insertion of the diaphragm. several ribs were severed, and the left thoracic cavity was wholly exposed to view, showing the lungs, diaphragm, and pericardium all in motion. the lungs soon became gangrenous, and in this horrible state the patient lived twelve days. one of the curious facts noticed by the ancient writers was the amelioration of the symptoms caused by thoracic wounds after hemorrhage from other locations; and naturally, in the treatment of such injuries, this circumstance was used in advocacy of depletion. monro speaks of a gentleman who was wounded in a duel, and who had all the symptoms of hemothorax; his condition was immediately relieved by the evacuation of a considerable quantity of bloody matter with the urine. swammerdam records a similar case, and fabricius ab aquapendente noticed a case in which the opening in the thorax showed immediate signs of improvement after the patient voided large quantities of bloody urine. glandorp also calls attention to the foregoing facts. nicolaus novocomensis narrates the details of the case of one of his friends, suffering from a penetrating wound of the thorax, who was relieved and ultimately cured by a bloody evacuation with the stool. there is an extraordinary recovery reported in a boy of fifteen who, by falling into the machinery of an elevator, was severely injured about the chest. there were six extensive lacerations, five through the skin about six inches long, and one through the chest about eight inches long. the d, th, th, and th ribs were fractured and torn apart, and about an inch of the substance of the th rib was lost. several jagged fragments were removed; a portion of the pleura, two by four inches, had been torn away, exposing the pericardium and the left lung, and showing the former to have been penetrated and the latter torn. the lung collapsed completely, and for three or four months no air seemed to enter it, but respiration gradually returned. the lacerated integument could only be closed approximately by sutures. it is worthy of remark that, although extremely pale, the patient complained of but little pain, and exhibited only slight symptoms of shock. the pleural cavity subsequently filled with a dirty serum, but even this did not interfere with the healing of the wound and the restoration of the lung; the patient recovered without lateral curvature. bartholf reports a case of rapid recovery after perforating wound of the lung. the pistol-ball entered the back / inches to the right of the spinous process of the th dorsal vertebra, and passed upward and very slightly inward toward the median line. its track could be followed only / inches. emphysema appeared fifteen minutes after the reception of the wound, and soon became pronounced throughout the front and side of the neck, a little over the edge of the lower jaw, and on the chest two inches below the sternum and one inch below the clavicle. in four hours respiration became very frequent, short, and gasping, the thoracic walls and the abdomen scarcely moving. the man continued to improve rapidly, the emphysema disappeared on the seventh day, and eighteen days after the reception of the wound he was discharged. there was slight hemorrhage from the wound at the time, but the clot dried and closed the wound, and remained there until it was removed on the morning of his discharge, leaving a small, dry, white cicatrix. loss of lung-tissue.--the old amsterdam authority, tulpius, has recorded a case in which a piece of lung of about three fingers' breadth protruded through a large wound of the lung under the left nipple. this wound received no medical attention for forty-eight hours, when the protruding portion of lung was thought to be dead, and was ligated and cut off; it weighed about three ounces. in about two weeks the wound healed with the lung adherent to it and this condition was found six years later at the necropsy of this individual. tulpius quoted celaus and hippocrates as authorities for the surgical treatment of this case. in bell gave an account of a case in which a large portion of the lung protruded and was strangulated by the edges of the thoracic wound, yet the patient made a good recovery. fabricius hildanus and ruysch record instances of recovery in which large pieces of lung have been cut off; and it is said that with general wolfe at quebec there was another officer who was shot through the thorax and who recovered after the removal of a portion of the lung. in a letter to one of his medical friends roscius says that he succeeded in cutting off part of a protruding, livid, and gangrenous lung, after a penetrating wound of the chest, with a successful result. hale reports a case of a penetrating stab-wound in which a piece of lung was removed from a man of twenty-five. tait claims that surgical treatment, as exemplified by biondi's experiment in removing portions of lung from animals, such as dogs, sheep, cats, etc., is not practical; he adds that his deductions are misleading, as the operation was done on healthy tissue and in deep and narrow-chested animals. excision of diseased portions of the lung has been practised by kronlein (three cases), ruggi of bologna (two cases), block, milton, weinlechner; one of kronlein's patients recovered and milton's survived four months, but the others promptly succumbed after the operation. tuffier is quoted as showing a patient, aged twenty-nine, upon whom, for beginning tuberculosis, he had performed pneumonectomy four years before. at the operation he had removed the diseased area at the apex of the right lung, together with sound tissue for two cm. in every direction. tuffier stated that the result of his operation had been perfectly successful and the patient had shown no suspicious symptoms since. rupture of the lung without fracture.--it is quite possible for the lung to be ruptured by external violence without fracture of the ribs; there are several such cases on record. the mechanism of this rare and fatal form of injury has been very aptly described by gosselin as due to a sudden pressure exerted on the thoracic wall at the moment of full inspiration, there being a spasm of the glottis or obstruction of the larynx, in consequence of which the lung bursts. an extravasation of air occurs, resulting in the development of emphysema, pneumothorax, etc. subsequently pleurisy, pneumonia, or even pus in the pleural cavity often result. hemoptysis is a possible, but not a marked symptom. the mechanism is identical with that of the bursting of an inflated paper bag when struck by the hand. other observers discard this theory of m. gosselin and claim that the rupture is due to direct pressure, as in the cases in which the heart is ruptured without fracture of the ribs. the theory of gosselin would not explain these cardiac ruptures from external violence on the thoracic walls, and, therefore, was rejected by some. pare, morgagni, portal, hewson smith, dupuytren, laennec, and others mention this injury. gosselin reports two cases terminating in recovery. ashurst reports having seen three cases, all of which terminated fatally before the fifth day; he has collected the histories of cases, of which recovered. otis has collected reports of cases of this form of injury from military practice exclusively. these were generally caused by a blow on the chest, by a piece of shell, or other like missile. among the cases there were recoveries. as ashhurst very justly remarks, this injury appears more fatal in civil than in military life. pyle reports a case successfully treated, as follows:-- "lewis w., ten years old, white, born in maryland, and living now in the district of columbia, was brought in by the emergency hospital ambulance, on the afternoon of november th, with a history of having been run over by a hose-cart of the district fire department. the boy was in a state of extreme shock, having a weak, almost imperceptible pulse; his respirations were shallow and rapid, and his temperature subnormal. there were no signs of external injury about his thoracic cavity and no fracture of the ribs could be detected, although carefully searched for; there was marked emphysema; the neck and side of the face were enormously swollen with the extravasated air; the tissues of the left arm were greatly infiltrated with air, which enabled us to elicit the familiar crepitus of such infiltration when an attempt at the determination of the radial pulse was made. consciousness was never lost. there were several injuries to the face and scalp; and there was hemorrhage from the nose and mouth, which was attributed to the fact that the patient had fallen on his face, striking both nose and lip. this was confirmed subsequently by the absence of any evidences of hemoptysis during the whole period of convalescence. the saliva was not even blood-streaked; therefore, it can be said with verity that there was no hemoptysis. shortly after admission the patient reacted to the stimulating treatment, his pulse became stronger, and all evidences of threatened collapse disappeared. he rested well the first night and complained of no pain, then or subsequently. the improvement was continuous. the temperature remained normal until the evening of the fifth day, when it rose to . degrees, end again, on the evening of the sixth, to . degrees. this rise was apparently without significance as the patient at no time seemed disturbed by it. on the eighth day the temperature again reached the normal and has since remained there. the boy is apparently well now, suffers no inconvenience, and has left the hospital, safe from danger and apparently free from any pulmonary embarrassment. he uses well-developed diaphragmatic breathing which is fully sufficient." pollock reports the case of a boy of seven, whose lung was ruptured by a four-wheeled cab which ran over him. he was discharged well in thirty-two days. bouilly speaks of recovery in a boy of seventeen, after a rupture of the lung without fracture. there are several other interesting cases of recovery on record. there are instances of spontaneous rupture of the lung, from severe cough. hicks speaks of a child of ten months suffering with a severe cough resembling pertussis, whose lung ruptured about two weeks after the beginning of the cough, causing death on the second day. ferrari relates a curious case of rupture of the lung from deep inspiration. complete penetration or transfixion of the thoracic cavity is not necessarily fatal, and some marvelous instances of recovery after injuries of this nature, are recorded. eve remarks that general shields was shot through the body by a discharge of a cannon at cerro gordo, and was given up as certain to die. the general himself thought it was grape-shot that traversed his chest. he showed no signs of hemoptysis, and although in great pain, was able to give commands after reception of the wound. in this case, the ball had evidently entered within the right nipple, had passed between the lungs, through the mediastinum, emerging slightly to the right of the spine. guthrie has mentioned a parallel instance of a ball traversing the thoracic cavity, the patient completely recovering after treatment. girard, weeds, meacham, bacon, fryer and others report cases of perforating gunshot wounds of the chest with recovery. sewell describes a case of transfixion of the chest in a youth of eighteen. after mowing and while carrying his scythe home, the patient accidentally fell on the blade; the point passed under the right axilla, between the d and th right ribs, horizontally through the chest, and came out through corresponding ribs of the opposite side, making a small opening. he fell to the ground and lay still until his brother came to his assistance; the latter with great forethought and caution carefully calculated the curvature of the scythe blade, and thus regulating his direction of tension, successfully withdrew the instrument. there was but little hemoptysis and the patient soon recovered. chelius records an instance of penetration of the chest by a carriage shaft, with subsequent recovery. hoyland mentions a man of twenty-five who was discharging bar-iron from the hold of a ship; in a stooping position, preparatory to hoisting a bundle on deck, he was struck by one of the bars which pinned him to the floor of the hold, penetrating the thorax, and going into the wood of the flooring to the extent of three inches, requiring the combined efforts of three men to extract it. the bar had entered posteriorly between the th and th ribs of the left side, and had traversed the thorax in an upward and outward direction, coming out anteriorly between the th and th ribs, about an inch below and slightly external to the nipple. there was little constitutional disturbance, and the man was soon discharged cured. brown records a case of impalement in a boy of fourteen. while running to a fire, he struck the point of the shaft of a carriage, which passed through his left chest, below the nipple. there was, strangely, no hemorrhage, and no symptoms of so severe an injury; the boy recovered. there is deposited in the museum of the royal college of surgeons in london, a mast-pivot, inches in length and weighing between seven and eight pounds, which had passed obliquely through the body of a sailor. the specimen is accompanied by a colored picture of the sufferer himself in two positions. the name of the sailor was taylor, and the accident occurred aboard a brig lying in the london docks. one of taylor's mates was guiding the pivot of the try-sail into the main boom, when a tackle gave way. the pivot instantly left the man's hand, shot through the air point downward striking taylor above the heart, passing out lower down posteriorly, and then imbedded itself in the deck. the unfortunate subject was carried at once to the london hospital, and notwithstanding his transfixion by so formidable an instrument, in five months taylor had recovered sufficiently to walk, and ultimately returned to his duties as a seaman. in the same museum, near to this spike, is the portion of a shaft of the carriage which passed through the body of a gentleman who happened to be standing near the vehicle when the horse plunged violently forward, with the result that the off shaft penetrated his body under the left arm, and came out from under the right arm, pinning the unfortunate man to the stable door. immediately after the accident the patient walked upstairs and got in bed; his recovery progressed uninterruptedly, and his wounds were practically healed at the end of nine weeks; he is reported to have lived eleven years after this terrible accident. in the indian medical gazette there is an account of a private of thirty-five, who was thrown forward and off his horse while endeavoring to mount. he fell on a lance which penetrated his chest and came out through the scapula. the horse ran for about yards, the man hanging on and trying to stop him. after the extraction of the lance the patient recovered. longmore gives an instance of complete transfixion by a lance of the right side of the chest and lung, the patient recovering. ruddock mentions cases of penetrating wounds of both lungs with recovery. there is a most remarkable instance of recovery after major thoracic wounds recorded by brokaw. in a brawl, a shipping clerk received a thoracic wound extending from the d rib to within an inch of the navel, / inches long, completely severing all the muscular and cartilaginous structures, including the cartilages of the ribs from the th to the th, and wounding the pleura and lung. in addition there was an abdominal wound / inches long, extending from the navel to about two inches above poupart's ligament, causing almost complete intestinal evisceration. the lung was partially collapsed. the cartilages were ligated with heavy silk, and the hemorrhage checked by ligature and by packing gauze in the inter-chondral spaces. the patient speedily recovered, and was discharged in a little over a month, the only disastrous result of his extraordinary injuries being a small ventral hernia. in wounds of the diaphragm, particularly those from stabs and gunshot injuries, death is generally due to accompanying lesions rather than to injury. hollerius, and alexander benedictus, made a favorable diagnosis of wounds made in the fleshy portions of the diaphragm, but despaired of those in the tendinous portions. bertrand, fabricius hildanus, la motte, ravaton, valentini, and glandorp, record instances of recovery from wounds of the diaphragm. there are some peculiar causes of diaphragmatic injuries on record, laughter, prolonged vomiting, excessive eating, etc., being mentioned. on the other hand, in his "essay on laughter (du ris)," joubert quotes a case in which involuntary laughter was caused by a wound of the diaphragm; the laughter mentioned in this instance was probably caused by convulsive movements of the diaphragm, due to some unknown irritation of the phrenic nerve. bremuse gives an account of a man who literally split his diaphragm in two by the ingestion of four plates of potato soup, numerous cups of tea and milk, followed by a large dose of sodium bicarbonate to aid digestion. after this meal his stomach swelled to an enormous extent and tore the diaphragm on the right side, causing immediate death. the diaphragm may be ruptured by external violence (a fall on the chest or abdomen), or by violent squeezing (railroad accidents, etc.), or according to ashhurst, by spasmodic contraction of the part itself. if the injury is unaccompanied by lesion of the abdominal or thoracic viscera, the prognosis is not so unfavorable as might be supposed. unless the laceration is extremely small, protrusion of the stomach or some other viscera into the thoracic cavity will almost invariably result, constituting the condition known as internal or diaphragmatic hernia. pare relates the case of a captain who was shot through the fleshy portion of the diaphragm, and though the wound was apparently healed, the patient complained of a colicky pain. eight months afterward the patient died in a violent paroxysm of this pain. at the postmortem by guillemeau, a man of great eminence and a pupil of pare, a part of the colon was found in the thorax, having passed through a wound in the diaphragm. gooch saw a similar case, but no history of the injury could be obtained. bausch mentions a case in which the omentum, stomach, and pancreas were found in the thoracic cavity, having protruded through an extensive opening in the diaphragm. muys, bonnet, blancard, schenck, sennert, fantoni, and godefroy record instances in which, after rupture of the diaphragm, the viscera have been found in the thorax; there are many modern cases on record. internal hernia through the diaphragm is mentioned by cooper, bowles, fothergill, monro, ballonius, derrecagiax, and schmidt. sir astley cooper mentioned a case of hernia ventriculi from external violence, wherein the diaphragm was lacerated without any fracture of the ribs. the man was aged twenty-seven, and being an outside passenger on a coach (and also intoxicated), when it broke down he was projected some distance, striking the ground with considerable force. he died on the next day, and the diagnosis was verified at the necropsy, the opening in the diaphragm causing stricture of the bowel. postempski successfully treated a wound of the diaphragm complicated with a wound of the omentum, which protruded between the external opening between the th and th ribs; he enlarged the wound, forced the ribs apart, ligated and cut off part of the omentum, returned its stump to the abdomen, and finally closed both the wound in the diaphragm and the external wound with sutures. quoted by ashhurst, hunter recorded a case of gunshot wound, in which, after penetrating the stomach, bowels, and diaphragm the ball lodged in the thoracic cavity, causing no difficulty in breathing until shortly before death, and even then the dyspnea was mechanical--from gaseous distention of the intestines. peritonitis in the thoracic cavity is a curious condition which may be brought about by a penetrating wound of the diaphragm. in sargent communicated to the boston society for medical improvement an account of a postmortem examination of a woman of thirty-seven, in whom he had observed major injuries twenty years before. at that time, while sliding down some hay from a loft, she was impaled on the handle of a pitchfork which entered the vagina, penetrated inches, and was arrested by an upper left rib, which it fractured; further penetration was possibly prevented by the woman's feet striking the floor. happily there was no injury to the bladder, uterus, or intestines. the principal symptoms were hemorrhage from the vagina and intense pain near the fractured rib, followed by emphysema. the pitchfork-handle was withdrawn, and was afterward placed in the museum of the society, the abrupt bloody stain, inches from the rounded end, being plainly shown. during twenty years the woman could never lie on her right side or on her back, and for half of this time she spent most of the night in the sitting position. her last illness attracted little attention because her life had been one of suffering. after death it was found that the cavity in the left side of the chest was entirely filled with abdominal viscera. the opening in the diaphragm was four inches in diameter, and through it had passed the stomach, transverse colon, a few inches of the descending colon, and a considerable portion of the small intestines. the heart was crowded to the right of the sternum and was perfectly healthy, as was also the right lung. the left lung was compressed to the size of a hand. there were marked signs of peritonitis, and in the absence of sufficient other symptoms, it could be said that this woman had died of peritonitis in the left thoracic cavity. extended tolerance of foreign bodies loose in the thoracic cavity has been noticed. tulpins mentions a person who had a sponge shut up in his thoracic cavity for six weeks; it was then voided by the mouth, and the man recovered. fabricius hildanus relates a similar instance in which a sponge-tent was expelled by coughing. arnot reports a case in which a piece of iron was found in a cyst in the thorax, where it had remained for fourteen years. leach gives a case in which a bullet was impacted in the chest for forty-two years. snyder speaks of a fragment of knife-blade which was lodged in the chest twelve years and finally coughed up. foreign bodies in the bronchi.--walnut kernels, coins, seeds, beans, corks, and even sponges have been removed from the bronchi. in the presence of sir morrell mackenzie, johnston of baltimore removed a toy locomotive from the subglottic cavity by tracheotomy and thyreotomy. the child had gone to sleep with the toy in his mouth and had subsequently swallowed it. eldredge presented a hopeless consumptive, who as a child of five had swallowed an umbrella ferrule while whistling through it, and who expelled it in a fit of coughing twenty-three years after. eve of nashville mentions a boy who placed a fourpenny nail in a spool to make a whistle, and, by a violent inspiration, drew the nail deep into the left bronchus. it was removed by tracheotomy. liston removed a large piece of bone from the right bronchus of a woman, and houston tells of a case in which a molar tooth was lodged in a bronchus causing death on the eleventh day. warren mentions spontaneous expulsion of a horse-shoe nail from the bronchus of a boy of two and one-half years. from dublin, in , houston reports the case of a girl of sixteen who inhaled the wooden peg of a small fiddle and in a fit of coughing three months afterward expelled it from the lungs. in solly communicated the case of a man who inhaled a pebble placed on his tongue to relieve thirst. on removal this pebble weighed grains. watson of murfreesboro removed a portion of an umbrella rib from a trachea, but as he failed to locate or remove the ferrule, the case terminated fatally. brigham mentions a child of five who was seized with a fit of coughing while she had a small brass nail in her mouth; pulmonary phthisis ensued, and in one year she died. at the postmortem examination the nail was found near the bifurcation of the right bronchus, and, although colored black, was not corroded. marcacci reported an observation of the removal of a bean from the bronchus of a child of three and a half years. the child swallowed the bean while playing, immediately cried, and became hoarse. no one having noticed the accident, a diagnosis of croup was made and four leeches were applied to the neck. the dyspnea augmented during the night, and there was a whistling sound with each respiratory movement. on the next day the medical attendants suggested the possibility of a foreign body in the larynx. tracheotomy was performed but the dyspnea continued, showing that the foreign body was lodged below the incision. the blood of one of the cut vessels entered the trachea and caused an extra paroxysm of dyspnea, but the clots of blood were removed by curved forceps. marcacci fils practised suction, and placed the child on its head, but in vain. a feather was then introduced in the wound with the hope that it would clean the trachea and provoke respiration; when the feather was withdrawn the bean followed. the child was much asphyxiated, however, and five or six minutes elapsed before the first deep inspiration. the wound was closed, the child recovered its voice, and was well four days afterward. annandale saw a little patient who had swallowed a bead of glass, which had lodged in the bronchus. he introduced the handle of a scalpel into the trachea, producing sufficient irritation to provoke a brusque expiration, and at the second attempt the foreign body was expelled. hulke records the case of a woman, the victim of a peculiar accident happening during the performance of tracheotomy, for an affection of the larynx. the internal canule of the tracheotomy-tube fell into the right bronchus, but was removed by an ingenious instrument extemporaneously devised from silver wire. a few years ago in this country there was much public excitement and newspaper discussion over the daily reports which came from the bedside of a gentleman who had swallowed a cork, and which had become lodged in a bronchus. tracheotomy was performed and a special corkscrew devised to extract it, but unfortunately the patient died of slow asphyxiation and exhaustion. herrick mentions the case of a boy of fourteen months who swallowed a shawl-pin two inches long, which remained in the lungs four years, during which time there was a constant dry and spasmodic cough, and corresponding depression and emaciation. when it was ultimately coughed up it appeared in one large piece and several smaller ones, and was so corroded as to be very brittle. after dislodgment of the pin there was subsidence of the cough and rapid recovery. lapeyre mentions an elderly gentleman who received a sudden slap on the back while smoking a cigarette, causing him to start and take a very deep inspiration. the cigarette was drawn into the right bronchus, where it remained for two months without causing symptoms or revealing its presence. it then set up a circumscribed pneumonia and cardiac dropsy which continued two months longer, at which time, during a violent fit of coughing, the cigarette was expelled enveloped in a waxy, mucus-like matter. louis relates the case of a man who carried a louis-d'or in his lung for six and a half years. there is a case on record of a man who received a gunshot wound, the ball entering behind the left clavicle and passing downward and across to the right clavicle. sometime afterward this patient expectorated two pieces of bone and a piece of gum blanket in which he was enveloped at the time of the injury. carpenter describes a case of fatal pleuritis, apparently due to the presence of four artificial teeth which had been swallowed thirteen years before. cardiac injuries.--for ages it has been the common opinion relative to injuries of the heart that they are necessarily fatal and that, as a rule, death immediately follows their reception. notwithstanding this current belief a careful examination of the literature of medicine presents an astounding number of cases in which the heart has been positively wounded, and the patients have lived days, months, and even recovered; postmortem examination, by revealing the presence of cicatrices in the heart, confirming the original diagnosis. this question is one of great interest as, in recent years, there has been constant agitation of the possibility of surgical procedures in cardiac as well as cerebral injuries. del vecchio has reported a series of experiments on dogs with the conclusion that in case of wounds in human beings suture of the heart is a possible operation. in this connection he proposes the following operative procedure: two longitudinal incisions to be made from the lower border of the d rib to the upper border of the th rib, one running along the inner margin of the sternum, the other about ten mm. inside the nipple-line. these incisions are joined by a horizontal cut made in the fourth intercostal space. the th, th, and th ribs and cartilages are divided and the outer cutaneous flaps turned up; pushing aside the pleura with the finger, expose the pericardium and incise it longitudinally; suture the heart-wound by interrupted sutures. del vecchio adds that fischer has collected records of cases of wounds of the heart with a mortality two to three minutes after the injury of per cent. death may occur from a few seconds to nine months after the accident. keen and da costa quote del vecchio, and, in comment on his observations, remark that death in cases of wound of the heart is due to pressure of effused blood in the pericardial sac, and, because this pressure is itself a cheek to further hemorrhage, there seems, as far as hemorrhage is concerned, to be rather a question whether operative interference may not be itself more harmful than beneficial. it might be added that the shock to the cardiac action might be sufficient to check it, and at present we would have no sure means of starting pulsation if once stopped. in heart-injuries, paracentesis, followed, if necessary, by incision of the pericardium, is advised by some surgeons. realizing the fatality of injuries of the heart, in consequence of which almost any chance by operation should be quickly seized by surgeons rather than trust the lives of patients to the infinitesimal chance of recovery, it would seem that the profession should carefully consider and discuss the feasibility of any procedure in this direction, no matter how hypothetic. hall states that his experience in the study of cardiac wounds, chiefly on game-animals, would lead him to the conclusion that transverse wounds the lower portions of the heart, giving rise to punctures rather than extensive lacerations, do not commonly cause cessation of life for a time varying from some considerable fraction of a minute to many minutes or even hours, and especially if the puncture be valvular in character, so as to prevent the loss of much blood. however, if the wound involve the base of the organ, with extensive laceration of the surrounding parts, death is practically instantaneous. it would seem that injury to the muscular walls of the heart is much less efficient in the production of immediate death than destruction of the cardiac nervous mechanism, serious irritation of the latter producing almost instantaneous death from shock. in addition, hall cites several of the instances on which he based his conclusions. he mentions two wild geese which flew respectively / and / of a mile after having been shot through the heart, each with a pellet of bb shot, the base in each instance being uninjured; in several instances antelope and deer ran several rods after being shot with a rifle ball in a similar manner; on the other hand, death was practically instantaneous in several of these animals in which the base of the heart was extensively lacerated. again, death may result instantaneously from wounds of the precordial region, or according to erichsen, if held directly over the heart, from the discharge of a pistol containing powder alone, a result occasionally seen after a blow on the precordial region. it is well, however, to state that in times of excitement, one may receive an injury which will shortly prove fatal, and yet not be aware of the fact for some time, perhaps even for several minutes. it would appear that the nervous system is so highly tuned at such times, that it does not respond to reflex irritations as readily as in the absence of excitement. instances of survival after cardiac injuries.--we briefly cite the principal interesting instances of cardiac injuries in which death has been delayed for some time, or from which the patient ultimately recovered. pare relates the case of a soldier who received a blow from a halberd, penetrating the left ventricle, and who walked to the surgeon's tent to have his wound dressed and then to his own tent yards away. diemerbroeck mentions two instances of long survival after cardiac injuries, in one of which the patient ran paces after receiving the wound, had complete composure of mind, and survived nine days. there is an instance in which a man ran paces after penetration of the left ventricle, and lived for five hours. morand gives an instance of survival for five days after wound of the right ventricle. saucerotte speaks of survival for three days after injury to the heart. babington speaks of a case of heart-injury, caused by transfixion by a bayonet, in which the patient survived nine hours. other older cases are as follows: l'ecluse, seven days; the ephemerides, four and six days; col de vilars, twelve days; marcucci, eighteen days; bartholinus, five days; durande, five days; boyer, five days; capelle, twenty six hours; fahner, eleven days; marigues, thirteen days; morgagni, eight days; la motte, twelve hours; rhodius, riedlin, two days; saviard, eleven days; sennert, three days; triller, fourteen days; and tulpius, two and fifteen days; and zittman, eight days. the duc de berri, heir to the french throne, who was assassinated in , lived several hours with one of his ventricles opened. his surgeon, dupuytren, was reprimanded for keeping the wound open with a probe introduced every two hours, but this procedure has its advocates at the present day. randall mentions a gunshot wound of the right ventricle which did not cause death until the sixty-seventh day. grant describes a wound in which a ball from a revolver entered a little to the right of the sternum, between the cartilages of the th and th ribs, and then entered the right ventricle about an inch from the apex. it emerged from the lower part, passed through the diaphragm, the cardiac end of the stomach, and lodged in the left kidney. the patient remained in a state of collapse fifteen hours after being shot, and with little or no nourishment lived twenty-six days. at the postmortem examination the wounds in the organs were found to be healed, but the cicatrices were quite evident. bowling gives a case of gunshot wound of the shoulder in which death resulted eleven weeks after, the bullet being found in the left ventricle of the heart. thompson has reported a bayonet wound of the heart, after the reception of which the patient lived four days. the bayonet entered the ventricle about / inches from the left apex, traversing the left wall obliquely, and making exit close to the septum ventriculorum. roberts mentions a man who ran yards and lived one hour after being shot through both lungs and the right auricle. curran mentions the case of a soldier who, in , was wounded by a bullet which entered his body to the left of the sternum, between the d and d ribs. he was insensible a half hour, and was carried aboard a fighting ship crowded with sailors. there was little hemorrhage from his wound, and he survived fourteen days. at the postmortem examination some interesting facts were revealed. it was found that the right ventricle was transversely opened for about an inch, the ball having penetrated its anterior surface, near the origin of the pulmonary artery. the ball was found loose in the pericardium, where it had fallen during the necropsy. there was a circular lacerated opening in the tricuspid valve, and the ball must have been in the right auricle during the fourteen days in which the man lived. vite mentions an example of remarkable tenacity of life after reception of a cardiac wound, the subject living four days after a knife-wound penetrating the chest into the pericardial sac and passing through the left ventricle of the heart into the opposite wall. boone speaks of a gunshot wound in which death was postponed until the thirteenth day. bullock mentions a case of gunshot wound in which the ball was found lodged in the cavity of the ventricle four days and eighteen hours after infliction of the wound. carnochan describes a penetrating wound of the heart in a subject in whom life had been protracted eleven days. after death the bullet was found buried and encysted in the heart. holly reports a case of pistol-shot wound through the right ventricle, septum, and aorta, with the ball in the left ventricle. there was apparent recovery in fourteen days and sudden death on the fifty-fifth day. hamilton gives an instance of a shoemaker sixty-three years old who, while carrying a bundle, fell with rupture of the heart and lived several minutes. on postmortem examination an opening in the heart was found large enough to admit a blowpipe. noble speaks of duration of life for five and a half days after rupture of the heart; and there are instances on record in which life has been prolonged for thirteen hours and for fifty-three hours after a similar injury. glazebrook reports the case of a colored man of thirty, of powerful physique, who was admitted to the freedmen's hospital, washington, d.c., at . a.m., on february , . upon examination by the surgeons, an incised wound was discovered one inch above the left nipple, / inches to the left of the median line, the incision being / inches in length and its direction parallel with the d rib. the man's general condition was fairly good, and the wound was examined. it was impossible to trace its depth further than the d rib, although probing was resorted to; it was therefore considered a simple wound, and dressed accordingly. twelve hours later symptoms of internal hemorrhage were noticed, and at a.m., february th, the man died after surviving his injury thirty-two hours. a necropsy was held three hours after death, and an oblique incision / inch in length was found through the cartilage-end of the d rib. a similar wound was next found in the pericardium, and upon examining the heart there was seen a clean, incised wound / inch in length, directly into the right ventricle, the endocardial wound being / inch long. both the pericardium and left pleura were distended with fresh blood and large clots. church reports a case of gunshot wound of the heart in a man of sixty-seven who survived three hours. the wound had been made by a pistol bullet ( caliber), was situated / inches below the mammary line, and slightly to the left of the center of the sternum; through it considerable blood had escaped. the postmortem examination showed that the ball had pierced the sternum just above the xiphoid cartilage, and had entered the pericardium to the right and at the lower part. the sac was filled with blood, both fresh and clotted. there was a ragged wound in the anterior wall / inch in diameter. the wound of exit was / inch in diameter. after traversing the heart the ball had penetrated the diaphragm, wounded the omentum in several places, and become lodged under the skin posteriorly between the th and th ribs. church adds that the "index catalogue of the surgeon-general's library" at washington contains cases of direct injury to the heart, all of which lived longer than his case: lived over three days; eight lived over ten days; two lived over twenty-five days; one died on the fifty-fifth day, and there were three well-authenticated recoveries. purple tabulates a list of cases of heart-injury which survived from thirty minutes to seventy days. fourteen instances of gunshot wounds of the heart have been collected from u.s. army reports, in all of which death followed very promptly, except in one instance in which the patient survived fifty hours. in another case the patient lived twenty-six hours after reception of the injury, the conical pistol-ball passing through the anterior margin of the right lobe of the lung into the pericardium, through the right auricle, and again entered the right pleural cavity, passing through the posterior margin of the lower lobe of the right lung; at the autopsy it was found in the right pleural cavity. the left lung and cavity were perfectly normal. the right lung was engorged and somewhat compressed by the blood in the pleural cavity. the pericardium was much distended and contained from six to eight ounces of partially coagulated blood. there was a fibrinous clot in the left ventricle. nonfatal cardiac injuries.--wounds of the heart are not necessarily fatal. of cases of cardiac injury collected by fischer there were as many as recoveries, the diagnosis being confirmed in instances by an autopsy in which there were found distinct signs of the cardiac injury. by a peculiar arrangement of the fibers of the heart, a wound transverse to one layer of fibers is in the direction of another layer, and to a certain extent, therefore, valvular in function; it is probably from this fact that punctured wounds of the heart are often attended with little or no bleeding. among the older writers, several instances of nonfatal injuries to the heart are recorded. before the present century scientists had observed game-animals that had been wounded in the heart in the course of their lives, and after their ultimate death such direct evidence as the presence of a bullet or an arrow in their hearts was found. rodericus a veiga tells the story of a deer that was killed in hunting, and in whose heart was fixed a piece of arrow that appeared to have been there some time. glandorp experimentally produced a nonfatal wound in the heart of a rabbit. wounds of the heart, not lethal, have been reported by benivenius, marcellus donatus, schott, stalpart van der wiel, and wolff. ollenrot reports an additional instance of recovery from heart-injury, but in his case the wound was only superficial. there is a recent case of a boy of fourteen, who was wounded in the heart by a pen-knife stab. the boy was discharged cured from the middlesex hospital, but three months after the reception of the injury he was taken ill and died. a postmortem examination showed that the right ventricle had been penetrated in a slanting direction; the cause of death was apoplexy, produced by the weakening and thinning of the heart's walls, the effect of the wound. tillaux reports the case of a man of sixty-five, the victim of general paralysis, who passed into his chest a blade cm. long and mm. broad. the wound of puncture was cm. below the nipple and cm. to the outside. the left side of the chest was emphysematous and ecchymosed. the heart-sounds were regular, and the elevation of the skin by the blade coincided with the ventricular systole. the blade was removed on the following day, and the patient gradually improved. some thirteen months after he had expectoration of blood and pus and soon died. at the necropsy it was seen that the wound had involved both lungs; the posterior wall of the ventricle and the inferior lobe of the right lung were traversed from before backward, and from left to right, but the ventricular cavity was not penetrated. strange to say, the blade had passed between the vertebral column and the esophagus, and to the right of the aorta, but had wounded neither of these organs. o'connor mentions a graduate of a british university who, with suicidal intent, transfixed his heart with a darning-needle. it was extracted by a pair of watchmaker's pliers. in five days the symptoms had all abated, and the would-be suicide was well enough to start for the continent. muhlig was consulted by a mason who, ten years before, had received a blow from a stiletto near the left side of the sternum. the cicatrix was plainly visible, but the man said he had been able to perform his daily labors, although at the present time suffering from intense dyspnea and anasarca. a loud bellows-sound could be heard, which the man said had been audible since the time of reception of the injury. this was a double bruit accompanying systole, and entirely obscuring the physical signs. from this time the man speedily failed, and after his death there were cicatricial signs found, particularly on the wall of the left ventricle, together with patency of the interventricular septum, with signs of cicatrization about this rent. at the side of the left ventricle the rent was twice as large and lined with cicutricial tissue. stelzner mentions a young student who attempted suicide by thrusting a darning-needle into his heart. he complained of pain and dyspnea; in twenty-four hours his symptoms increased to such an extent that operation was deemed advisable on account of collapse. the th rib was resected and the pleural cavity opened. when the pericardial sac was incised, a teaspoonful of turbid fluid oozed out, and the needle was felt in an oblique position in the right ventricle. by pressure of a finger passed under the heart, the eye of the needle was pressed through the anterior wall and fixed on the operator's finger-nail. an attempt to remove by the forceps failed, as the violent movements of the heart drew the needle back into the cavity. about this stage of the operation an unfortunate accident happened--the iodoform tampon, which protected the exposed pleural cavity, was drawn into this cavity during a deep inspiration, and could not be found. notwithstanding subsequent pneumothorax and extensive pleuritic effusion, the patient made a good recovery at the end of the fourth week and at the time of report it was still uncertain whether the needle remained in the heart or had wandered into the mediastinum. during the discussion which followed the report of this case, hahn showed a portion of a knitting-needle which had been removed from the heart of a girl during life. the extraction was very slow in order to allow of coagulation along the course of the wound in the heart, and to guard against hemorrhage into the pericardial sac, which is so often the cause of death in punctured wounds of this organ. hahn remarked that the pulse, which before the removal had been very rapid, sank to . marks reports the case of a stab-wound penetrating the left th intercostal space, the diaphragm, pleura, pericardium, and apex of the heart. it was necessary to enlarge the wound, and, under an anesthetic, after removing one and one-half inches of the th and th ribs, the wound was thoroughly packed with iodoform gauze and in twenty-one days the patient recovered. lavender mentions an incised wound of the heart penetrating the right ventricle, from which the patient recovered. purple gives, an account of a recovery from a wound penetrating both ventricles. the diagnosis was confirmed by a necropsy nine years thereafter. stoll records a nonfatal injury to the heart. mastin reports the case of a man of thirty-two who was shot by a -caliber winchester, from an ambush, at a distance of yards. the ball entered near the chest posteriorly on the left side just below and to the outer angle of the scapula, passed between the th and th ribs, and made its exit from the intercostal space of the th and th ribs, / inches from the nipple. a line drawn from the wound of entrance to that of exit would pass exactly through the right ventricle. after receiving the wound the man walked about twenty steps, and then, feeling very weak from profuse hemorrhage from the front of the wound, he sat down. with little or no treatment the wound closed and steady improvement set in; the patient was discharged in three weeks. as the man was still living at last reports, the exact amount of damage done in the track of the bullet is not known, although mastin's supposition is that the heart was penetrated. mellichamp speaks of a gunshot wound of the heart with recovery, and ford records an instance in which a wound of the heart by a buckshot was followed by recovery. o'connor reports a case under his observation in which a pistol-ball passed through three of the four cavities of the heart and lodged in the root of the right lung. the patient, a boy of fifteen, died of the effects of cardiac disease three years and two months later. bell mentions a case in which, six years after the receipt of a gunshot wound of the chest, a ball was found in the right ventricle. christison speaks of an instance in which a bullet was found in the heart of a soldier in bermuda, with no apparent signs of an opening to account for its entrance. there is a case on record of a boy of fourteen who was shot in the right shoulder, the bullet entering through the right upper border of the trapezius, two inches from the acromion process. those who examined him supposed the ball was lodged near the sternal end of the clavicle, four or five inches from where it entered. in about six weeks the boy was at his labors. five years later he was attacked with severe pneumonia and then first noticed tumultuous action of the heart which continued to increase after his recovery. afterward the pulsation could be heard ten or feet away. he died of another attack of pneumonia fifteen years later and the heart was found to be two or three times its natural size, soft and flabby, and, on opening the right ventricle, a bullet was discovered embedded in its walls. there was no scar of entrance discernible, though the pericardium was adherent. biffi of milan describes the case of a lunatic who died in consequence of gangrene of the tongue from a bite in a paroxysm of mania. at the necropsy a needle, six cm. in length, was found transfixing the heart, with which the relatives of the deceased said he had stabbed himself twenty-two months prior to his death. there is a collection of cases in which bullets have been lodged in the heart from twenty to thirty years. balch reports a case in which a leaden bullet remained twenty years in the walls of the heart. hamilton mentions an instance of gunshot wound of the heart, in which for twenty years a ball was embedded in the wall of the right ventricle, death ultimately being caused by pneumonia. needles have quite frequently been found in the heart after death; graves, leaming, martin, neill, piorry, ryerson, and others record such cases. callender mentions recovery of the patient after removal of a needle from the heart. garangeot mentions an aged jesuit of seventy-two, who had in the substance of his heart a bone / inches long and possibly an inch thick. this case is probably one of ossification of the cardiac muscle; in the same connection battolini says that the heart of pope urban vii contained a bone shaped like the arab t. among the older writers we frequently read of hairs, worms, and snakes being found in the cavities of the heart. the ephemerides, zacutus lusitanus, pare, swinger, riverius, and senac are among the authorities who mention this circumstance. the deception was possibly due to the presence of loose and shaggy membrane attached to the endocardial lining of the heart, or in some cases to echinococci or trichine. a strange case of foreign body in the heart was reported some time since in england. the patient had swallowed a thorn of the prunus spinosa (linn.), which had penetrated the esophagus and the pericardium and entered the heart. a postmortem examination one year afterward confirmed this, as a contracted cicatrix was plainly visible on the posterior surface of the heart about an inch above the apex, through which the thorn had penetrated the right ventricle and lodged in the tricuspid valve. the supposition was that the thorn had been swallowed while eating radishes. buck mentions a case of hydatid cysts in the wall of the left ventricle, with rupture of the cysts and sudden death. it is surprising the extent of injury to the pericardium nature will tolerate. in his "comment on the aphorisms of hippocrates," cardanus says that he witnessed the excision of a portion of the pericardium with the subsequent cure of the patient. according to galen, marulus, the son of mimographus, recovered after a similar operation. galen also adds, that upon one occasion he removed a portion of carious sternum and found the pericardium in a putrid state, leaving a portion of the heart naked. it is said that in the presence of leucatel and several theologians, francois botta opened the body of a man who died after an extended illness and found the pericardium putrefied and a great portion of the heart destroyed, but the remaining portion still slightly palpitating. in this connection young mentions a patient of sixty-five who in january, , injured his right thumb and lost the last joint by swelling and necrosis. chloroform was administered to excise a portion of the necrosed bone and death ensued. postmortem examination revealed gangrene of the heart and a remarkable tendency to gangrene elsewhere (omentum, small intestines, skin, etc.). recently, dalton records a remarkable case of stab-wound of the pericardium with division of the intercostal artery, upon which he operated. an incision eight inches long was made over the th rib, six inches of the rib were resected, the bleeding intercostal artery was ligated, the blood was turned out of the pericardial cavity, this cavity being irrigated with hot water. the wound in the pericardium, which was two inches long, was sutured and the external wound was closed. recovery followed. harris gives an instance of a man who was injured by a bar of iron falling on his shoulder, producing a compound fracture of the ribs as low as the th, and laying the heart and lungs bare without seriously injuring the pericardium. rupture of the heart from contusion of the chest is not always instantly fatal. according to ashhurst, gamgee has collected cases of rupture of this viscus, including one observed by himself. in nine of these cases there was no fracture, and either no bruise of the parietes or a very slight one. the pericardium was intact in at least half of the cases, and in in which the precise seat of lesion was noticed the right ventricle was ruptured in eight, the left in three, the left auricle in seven, the right in four. the longest period during which any patient survived the injury was fourteen hours. among the older writers who note this traumatic injury are fine, who mentions concussion rupturing the right ventricle, and ludwig, who reports a similar accident. johnson mentions rupture of the left ventricle in a paroxysm of epilepsy. there is another species of rupture of the heart which is not traumatic, in which the rupture occurs spontaneously, the predisposing cause being fatty degeneration, dilatation, or some other pathologic process in the cardiac substance. it is quite possible that the older instances of what was known as "broken-heart," which is still a by-word, were really cases in which violent emotion had produced rupture of a degenerated cardiac wall. wright gives a case of spontaneous rupture of the heart in which death did not occur for forty-eight hours. barth has collected cases of spontaneous rupture of the heart, and in every instance the seat of lesion was in the left ventricle. it was noticed that in some of these cases the rupture did not take place all at once, but by repeated minor lacerations, death not ensuing in some instances for from two to eleven days after the first manifestation of serious symptoms. a more recent analysis is given by meyer of cases reported since : meyer collects cases of rupture of the left ventricle seven of the right ventricle, and four of the right auricle. within the last year collings has reported a case of idiopathic rupture of the heart in a man of fifty-three, who had always lived a temperate life, and whose only trouble had been dyspepsia and a weak heart. there was no history of rheumatism or rheumatic fever. the man's father had died suddenly of heart disease. after feeling out of sorts for a time, the man experienced severe pain in the precordium and felt too ill to leave his bed. he gradually became worse and sick after taking food. speech became thick, the mouth was drawn to the right, and the right eye was partially closed. the left arm became paralyzed, then the right leg. the tongue deviated to the right on protrusion. the sphincters were unaffected. the heart sounds were faint and without added sounds. the man was moved to a water-bed, his body and head being kept horizontal, and great care being taken to avoid sudden movement. later, when his pelvis was raised to allow the introduction of a bed-pan, almost instantaneous death ensued. upon postmortem examination prolonged and careful search failed to reveal any microscopic change in the brain, its vessels, or the meninges. on opening the pericardium it was found to be filled with blood-clot, and on washing this away a laceration about / inches in length was found in the left ventricle; the aperture was closed by a recent clot. the cavities of the heart were dilated, the walls thin and in advanced stage of fatty degeneration. there was no valvular disease. the aorta and its main branches were atheromatous. both lungs contained calcifying tubercle; the abdomen was loaded with fat; the spleen was soft; the kidneys were engorged, but otherwise healthy. stokes gives the case of a man who was severely crushed between the arms of a water-wheel of great size and the embankment on which the axle of the wheel was supported; a peculiar factor of the injury being that his heart was displaced from left to right. at the time of report, after recovery from the injury, the patient exhibited remarkable tolerance of great doses of digitalis. when not taking digitalis, his pulse was to , regular, and never intermittent. hypertrophy of the heart.--the heart of a man of ordinary size weighs nine ounces, and that of a woman eight; in cases of hypertrophy, these weights may be doubled, although weights above ounces are rare. according to osler, beverly robinson describes a heart weighing ounces, and dulles has reported one weighing ounces. among other modern records are the following: fifty and one-half ounces, ounces, and one weighing four pounds and six ounces. the ephemerides contains an incredible account of a heart that weighed pounds. favell describes a heart that only weighed / ounces. wounds of the aorta are almost invariably fatal, although cases are recorded by pelletan, heil, legouest, and others, in which patients survived such wounds for from two months to several years. green mentions a case of stab-wound in the suprasternal fossa. the patient died one month after of another cause, and at the postmortem examination the aorta was shown to have been opened; the wound in its walls was covered with a spheric, indurated coagulum. no attempt at union had been made. zillner observed a penetrating wound of the aorta after which the patient lived sixteen days, finally dying of pericarditis. zillner attributed this circumstance to the small size of the wound, atheroma and degeneration of the aorta and slight retraction of the inner coat, together with a possible plugging of the pericardial opening. in chiari said that while dissecting the body of a man who died of phthisis, he found a false aneurysm of the ascending aorta with a transverse rupture of the vessel by the side of it, which had completely cicatrized. hill reports the case of a soldier who was stabbed with a bowie-knife nine inches long and three inches wide. the blade passed through the diaphragm, cut off a portion of the liver, and severed the descending aorta at a point about the th dorsal vertebra; the soldier lived over three hours after complete division of this important vessel. heil reports the case of a man of thirty-two, a soldier in the bavarian army, who, in a quarrel in , received a stab in the right side. the instrument used was a common table-knife, which was passed between the th and th ribs, entering the left lung, and causing copious hemorrhage. the patient recovered in four months, but suffered from amaurosis which had commenced at the time of the stab. some months afterward he contracted pneumonia and was readmitted to the hospital, dying in . at the postmortem the cicatrix in the chest was plainly visible, and in the ascending aorta there was seen a wound, directly in the track of the knife, which was of irregular border and was occupied by a firm coagulum of blood. the vessel had been completely penetrated, as, by laying it open, an internal cicatrix was found corresponding to the other. fatal hemorrhage had been avoided in this case by the formation of coagulum in the wound during the syncope immediately following the stab, possibly aided by extended exposure to cold. sundry cases.--sandifort mentions a curious case of coalescence of the esophagus and aorta, with ulceration and consequent rupture of the aorta, the hemorrhage proceeding from the stomach at the moment of rupture. heath had a case of injury to the external iliac artery from external violence, with subsequent obliteration of the vessel. when the patient was discharged no pulse could be found in the leg. dismukes reports a case in which the patient had received wounds, completely severing the subclavian artery, and, without any medical or surgical aid, survived the injury two hours. illustrative of the degree of hemorrhage which may follow an injury so slight as that of falling on a needle we cite an instance, reported by a french authority, of a child who picked up a needle, and, while running with it to its mother, stumbled and fell, the needle penetrating the th intercostal space, the broadened end of it remaining outside of the wound. the mother seized the needle between her teeth and withdrew it, but the child died, before medical aid could be summoned, from internal hemorrhage, causing pulmonary pressure and dyspnea. rupture of the esophagus is attributable to many causes. dryden mentions vomiting as a cause, and guersant reports the case of a little girl of seven, who, during an attack of fever, ruptured her esophagus by vomiting. in heyfelder reported the case of a drunkard, who, in a convulsion, ruptured his esophagus and died. williams mentions a case in which not only the gullet, but also the diaphragm, was ruptured in vomiting. in this country, bailey and fitz have recorded cases of rupture of the esophagus. brewer relates a parallel instance of rupture from vomiting. all the foregoing cases were linear ruptures, but there is a unique case given by boerhaave in , in which the rent was transverse. ziemssen and mackenzie have both translated from the latin the report of this case which is briefly as follows: the patient, baron de wassenaer, was fifty years of age, and, with the exception that he had a sense of fulness after taking moderate meals, he was in perfect health. to relieve this disagreeable feeling he was in the habit of taking a copious draught of an infusion of "blessed thistle" and ipecacuanha. one day, about . in the evening, when he had taken no supper, but had eaten a rather hearty dinner, he was bothered by a peculiar sensation in his stomach, and to relieve this he swallowed about three tumbler-fuls of his usual infusion, but to no avail. he then tried to excite vomiting by tickling the fauces, when, in retching, he suddenly felt a violent pain; he diagnosed his own case by saying that it was "the bursting of something near the pit of the stomach." he became prostrated and died in eighteen and one-half hours; at the necropsy it was seen that without any previously existing signs of disease the esophagus had been completely rent across in a transverse direction. schmidtmuller mentions separation of the esophagus from the stomach; and flint reports the history of a boy of seven who died after being treated for worms and cerebral symptoms. after death the contents of the stomach were found in the abdominal cavity, and the esophagus was completely separated from the stomach. flint believed the separation was postmortem, and was possibly due to the softening of the stomach by the action of the gastric acids. in this connection may be mentioned the case reported by hanford of a man of twenty-three who had an attack of hematemesis and melanema two years before death. a postmortem was made five hours after death, and there was so much destruction of the stomach by a process resembling digestion that only the pyloric and cardiac orifices were visible. hanford suggests that this was an instance of antemortem digestion of the stomach which physiologists claim is impossible. nearly all cases of rupture of the stomach are due to carcinoma, ulcer, or some similar condition, although there have been instances of rupture from pressure and distention. wunschheim reports the case of a man of fifty-two who for six months presented symptoms of gastric derangement, and who finally sustained spontaneous rupture of the posterior border of the stomach due to overdistention. there was a tear two inches long, beginning near the cardiac end and running parallel to the lesser curvature. the margin of the tear showed no evidence of digestion. there were obstructing esophageal neoplasms about / inches from the teeth, which prevented vomiting. in reviewing the literature wunschheim found only six cases of spontaneous rupture of the stomach. arton reports the case of a negro of fifty who suffered from tympanites. he was a hard drinker and had been aspirated several times, gas heavily laden with odors of the milk of asafetida being discharged with a violent rush. the man finally died of his malady, and at postmortem it was found that his stomach had burst, showing a slit four inches long. the gall bladder contained two quarts of inspissated bile. fulton mentions a case of rupture of the esophageal end of a stomach in a child. the colon was enormously distended and the walls thickened. when three months old it was necessary to puncture the bowel for distention. collins describes spontaneous rupture of the stomach in a woman of seventy-four, the subject of lateral curvature of the spine, who had frequent attacks of indigestion and tympanites. on the day of death there was considerable distention, and a gentle purgative and antispasmodic were given. just before death a sudden explosive sound was heard, followed by collapse. a necropsy showed a rupture two inches long and two inches from the pyloric end. lallemand mentions an instance of the rupture of the coats of the stomach by the act of vomiting. the patient was a woman who had suffered with indigestion five or six months, but had been relieved by strict regimen. after indulging her appetite to a greater extent than usual, she experienced nausea, and made violent and ineffectual efforts to discharge the contents of the stomach. while suffering great agony she experienced a sensation as if something was tearing in the lower part of her belly. the woman uttered several screams, fell unconscious, and died that night. postmortem examination showed that the anterior and middle part of the stomach were torn obliquely to the extent of five inches. the tear extended from the smaller toward the greater curvature. the edges were thin and irregular and presented no marks of disease. the cavity of the peritoneum was full of half-digested food. the records of st. bartholomew's hospital, london, contain the account of a man of thirty-four who for two years had been the subject of paroxysmal pain in the stomach. the pains usually continued for several hours and subsided with vomiting. at st. bartholomew's he had an attack of vomiting after a debauch. on the following day he was seized with vomiting accompanied by nausea and flatus, and after a sudden attack of pain at the pit of the stomach which continued for two hours, he died. a ragged opening at the esophageal orifice, on the anterior surface of the stomach was found. this tear extended from below the lesser curvature to its extremity, and was four inches long. there were no signs of gastric carcinoma or ulcer. clarke reports the case of a hindoo of twenty-two, under treatment for ague, who, without pain or vomiting, suddenly fell into collapse and died twenty-three hours later. he also mentions a case of rupture of the stomach of a woman of uncertain history, who was supposed to have died of cholera. the examination of the bodies of both cases showed true rupture of the stomach and not mere perforation. in both cases, at the time of rupture, the stomach was empty, and the gastric juice had digested off the capsules of the spleens, thus allowing the escape of blood into the abdominal cavities. the seats of rupture were on the anterior walls. in the first case the coats of the stomach were atrophied and thin. in the second the coats were healthy and not even softened. there was absence of softening, erosion, or rupture on the posterior walls. as illustrative of the amount of paralytic distention that is possible, bamberger mentions a case in which pounds of fluid filled the stomach. voluntary vomiting.--it is an interesting fact that some persons exhibit the power of contracting the stomach at will and expelling its contents without nausea. montegre mentions a distinguished member of the faculty of paris, who, by his own volition and without nausea or any violent efforts, could vomit the contents of his stomach. in his translation of "spallanzani's experiments on digestion" sennebier reports a similar instance in geneva, in which the vomiting was brought about by swallowing air. in discussing wounds and other injuries of the stomach no chapter would be complete without a description of the celebrated case of alexis st. martin, whose accident has been the means of contributing so much to the knowledge of the physiology of digestion. this man was a french canadian of good constitution, robust and healthy, and was employed as a voyageur by the american fur company. on june , , when about eighteen years of age, he was accidentally wounded by a discharge from a musket. the contents of the weapon, consisting of powder and duck-shot, entered his left side from a distance of not more than a yard off. the charge was directed obliquely forward and inward, literally blowing off the integument and muscles for a space about the size of a man's hand, carrying away the anterior half of the th rib, fracturing the th rib, lacerating the lower portion of the lowest lobe of the left lung, and perforating the diaphragm and the stomach. the whole mass of the discharge together with fragments of clothing were driven into the muscles and cavity of the chest. when first seen by dr. beaumont about a half hour after the accident, a portion of the lung, as large as a turkey's egg was found protruding through the external wound. the protruding lung was lacerated and burnt. immediately below this was another protrusion, which proved to be a portion of the stomach, lacerated through all its coats. through an orifice, large enough to admit a fore-finger, oozed the remnants of the food he had taken for breakfast. his injuries were dressed; extensive sloughing commenced, and the wound became considerably enlarged. portions of the lung, cartilages, ribs, and of the ensiform process of the sternum came away. in a year from the time of the accident, the wound, with the exception of a fistulous aperture of the stomach and side, had completely cicatrized. this aperture was about / inches in circumference, and through it food and drink constantly extruded unless prevented by a tent-compress and bandage. the man had so far recovered as to be able to walk and do light work, his digestion and appetite being normal. some months later a small fold or doubling of the stomachal coats slightly protruded until the whole aperture was filled, so as to supersede the necessity of a compress, the protruding coats acting as a valve when the stomach was filled. this valvular protrusion was easily depressed by the finger. st. martin suffered little pain except from the depression of the skin. he took his food and drink like any healthy person, and for eleven years remained under dr. beaumont's own care in the doctor's house as a servant. during this time were performed the experiments on digestion which are so well known. st. martin was at all times willing to lend himself in the interest of physiologic science. in august, , the detroit lancet contains advices that st. martin was living at that time at st. thomas, joliette county, province of quebec, canada. at the age of seventy-nine he was comparatively strong and well, and had always been a hard worker. at this time the opening in the stomach was nearly an inch in diameter, and in spite of its persistence his digestion had never failed him. spizharny relates a remarkable case of gastric fistula in the loin, and collects cases of gastric fistula, none of which opened in the loin. the patient was a girl of eighteen, who had previously had perityphlitis, followed by abscesses about the navel and lumbar region. two fistulae were found in the right loin, and were laid open into one canal, which, after partial resection of the th rib, was dilated and traced inward and upward, and found to be in connection with the stomach. food was frequently found on the dressings, but with the careful use of tampons a cure was effected. in the olden times wounds of the stomach were not always fatal. the celebrated anatomist, fallopius, successfully treated two cases in which the stomach was penetrated so that food passed through the wound. jacobus orthaeus tells us that in the city of fuldana there was a soldier who received a wound of the stomach, through which food passed immediately after being swallowed; he adds that two judicious surgeons stitched the edges of the wound to the integuments, thereby effecting a cure. there is another old record of a gastric fistula through which some aliment passed during the period of eleven years. archer tells of a man who was stabbed by a negro, the knife entering the cartilages of the th rib on the right side, and penetrating the stomach to the extent of two inches at a point about two inches below the xiphoid cartilage. the stomachal contents, consisting of bacon, cabbage, and cider, were evacuated. shortly after the reception of the injury, an old soldier sewed up the wound with an awl, needle, and wax-thread; archer did not see the patient until forty-eight hours afterward, at which time he cleansed and dressed the wound. after a somewhat protracted illness the patient recovered, notwithstanding the extent of injury and the primitive mode of treatment. travers mentions the case of a woman of fifty-three who, with suicidal intent, divided her abdominal parietes below the navel with a razor, wounding the stomach in two places. through the wound protruded the greater part of the larger curvature of the stomach; the arch of the colon and the entire greater omentum were both strangulated. a small portion of the coats of the stomach, including the wound, was nipped up, a silk ligature tied about it, and the entrails replaced. two months afterward the patient had quite recovered, though the ligature of the stomach had not been seen in the stool. clements mentions a robust german of twenty-two who was stabbed in the abdomen with a dirk, producing an incised wound of the stomach. the patient recovered and was returned to duty the following month. there are many cases on record in which injury of the stomach has been due to some mistake or accident in the juggling process of knife-swallowing or sword-swallowing. the records of injuries of this nature extend back many hundred years, and even in the earlier days the delicate operation of gastrotomy, sometimes with a successful issue, was performed upon persons who had swallowed knives. gross mentions that in florian mathias of bradenberg removed a knife nine inches long from the stomach of a man of thirty-six, followed by a successful recovery. glandorp, from whom, possibly, gross derived his information, relates this memorable case as being under the direction of florianus matthaesius of bradenburg. the patient, a native of prague, had swallowed a knife eight or nine inches long, which lay pointing at the superior portion of the stomach. after it had been lodged in this position for seven weeks and two days gastrotomy was performed, and the knife extracted; the patient recovered. in crollius reports the case of a bohemian peasant who had concealed a knife in his mouth, thinking no one would suspect he possessed the weapon; while he was excited it slipped into the stomach, from whence it subsequently penetrated through to the skin; the man recovered. there is another old case of a man at prague who swallowed a knife which some few weeks afterward made its exit from an abdominal abscess. gooch quotes the case of a man, belonging to the court of paris, who, nine months after swallowing a knife, voided it at the groin. in the sixteenth century laurentius joubert relates a similar case, the knife having remained in the body two years. de diemerbroeck mentions the fact that a knife ten inches long was extracted by gastrotomy, and placed among the rarities in the anatomic chamber of the university at leyden. the operation was done in at koenigsberg, by schwaben, who for his surgical prowess was appointed surgeon to the king of poland. the patient lived eight years after the operation. it is said that in , while playing tricks with a knife / inches long, a country lad of saxony swallowed it, point first. he came under the care of weserern, physician to the elector of brandenburgh, who successfully extracted it, two years and seven months afterward, from the pit of the lad's stomach. the horn haft of the knife was considerably digested. in hubner of rastembourg operated on a woman who had swallowed an open knife. after the incision it was found that the knife had almost pierced the stomach and had excited a slight suppuration. after the operation recovery was very prompt. bell of davenport, iowa, performed gastrotomy on a man, who, while attempting a feat of legerdemain, allowed a bar of lead, / inches long, / inches wide, and / ounces in weight, to slip into his stomach. the bar was removed and the patient recovered. gussenbauer gives an account of a juggler who turned his head to bow an acknowledgment of applause while swallowing a sword; he thus brought his upper incisors against the sword, which broke off and slipped into his stomach. to relieve suffocation the sword was pushed further down. gastrotomy was performed, and the piece of sword inches long was extracted; as there was perforation of the stomach before the operation, the patient died of peritonitis. an hour after ingestion, bernays of st. louis successfully removed a knife / inches long. by means of an army-bullet forceps the knife was extracted easily through an incision / inch long in the walls of the stomach. gross speaks of a man of thirty who was in the habit of giving exhibitions of sword-swallowing in public houses, and who injured his esophagus to such an extent as to cause abscess and death. in the journal of the american medical association, march , , there is an extensive list of gastrotomies performed for the removal of knives and other foreign bodies, from the seventeenth century to the present time. the physiologic explanation of sword-swallowing is quite interesting. we know that when we introduce the finger, a spoon, brush, etc., into the throat of a patient, we cause extremely disagreeable symptoms. there is nausea, gagging, and considerable hindrance with the function of respiration. it therefore seems remarkable that there are people whose physiologic construction is such that, without apparent difficulty, they are enabled to swallow a sword many inches long. many of the exhibitionists allow the visitors to touch the stomach and outline the point of the sabre through the skin. the sabre used is usually very blunt and of rounded edges, or if sharp, a guiding tube of thin metal is previously swallowed. the explanation of these exhibitions is as follows: the instrument enters the mouth and pharynx, then the esophagus, traverses the cardiac end of the stomach, and enters the latter as far as the antrum of the pylorus, the small culdesac of the stomach. in their normal state in the adult these organs are not in a straight line, but are so placed by the passage of the sword. in the first place the head is thrown back, so that the mouth is in the direction of the esophagus, the curves of which disappear or become less as the sword proceeds; the angle that the esophagus makes with the stomach is obliterated, and finally the stomach is distended in the vertical diameter and its internal curve disappears, thus permitting the blade to traverse the greater diameter of the stomach. according to guyot-daubes, these organs, in a straight line, extend a distance of from to cm., and consequently the performer is enabled to swallow an instrument of this length. the length is divided as follows:-- mouth and pharynx, . . . . . . . . . . . . to cm. esophagus, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . to cm. distended stomach, . . . . . . . . . . . . to cm. ------------- to cm. these acrobats with the sword have rendered important service to medicine. it was through the good offices of a sword-swallower that the scotch physician, stevens, was enabled to make his experiments on digestion. he caused this assistant to swallow small metallic tubes pierced with holes. they were filled, according to reaumur's method, with pieces of meat. after a certain length of time he would have the acrobat disgorge the tubes, and in this way he observed to what degree the process of digestion had taken place. it was also probably the sword-swallower who showed the physicians to what extent the pharynx could be habituated to contact, and from this resulted the invention of the tube of faucher, the esophageal sound, ravage of the stomach, and illumination of this organ by electric light. some of these individuals also have the faculty of swallowing several pebbles, as large even as hen's eggs, and of disgorging them one by one by simple contractions of the stomach. from time to time individuals are seen who possess the power of swallowing pebbles, knives, bits of broken glass, etc., and, in fact, there have been recent tricky exhibitionists who claimed to be able to swallow poisons, in large quantities, with impunity. henrion, called "casaandra," a celebrated example of this class, was born at metz in . early in life he taught himself to swallow pebbles, sometimes whole and sometimes after breaking them with his teeth. he passed himself off as an american savage; he swallowed as many as or large pebbles a day, demonstrating the fact by percussion on the epigastric region. with the aid of salts he would pass the pebbles and make them do duty the next day. he would also swallow live mice and crabs with their claws cut. it was said that when the mice were introduced into his mouth, they threw themselves into the pharynx where they were immediately suffocated and then swallowed. the next morning they would be passed by the rectum flayed and covered with a mucous substance. henrion continued his calling until , when, for a moderate sum, he was induced to swallow some nails and a plated iron spoon / inches long and one inch in breadth. he died seven days later. according to bonet, there was a man by the name of pichard who swallowed a razor and two knives in the presence of king charles ii of england, the king himself placing the articles into the man's mouth. in babbington and curry are accredited with citing the history of an american sailor in guy's hospital, london, who frequently swallowed penknives for the amusement of his audiences. at first he swallowed four, and three days later passed them by the anus; on another occasion he swallowed of different sizes with the same result. finally he attempted to gorge himself with penknives, but this performance was followed by horrible pains and alarming abdominal symptoms. his excrement was black from iron. after death the cadaver was opened and corroded knives were found in the stomach, some of the handles being partly digested; two were found in the pelvis and one in the abdominal cavity. pare recalls the instance of a shepherd who suffered distressing symptoms after gulping a knife six inches long. afterward the knife was abstracted from his groin. fabricius hildanus cites a somewhat similar case. early in the century there was a man known as the "yankee knife-swallower," whose name was john cummings, an american sailor, who had performed his feats in nearly all the ports of the world. one of his chief performances was swallowing a billiard ball. poland mentions a man (possibly cummings) who, in , was admitted to guy's hospital with dyspeptic symptoms which he attributed to knife-swallowing. his story was discredited at first; but after his death, in march, , there were or fragments of knives found in his stomach. one of the back-springs on a knife had transfixed the colon and rectum. in the edinburgh philosophical journal for there is an account of a juggler who swallowed a knife which remained in his stomach and caused such intense symptoms that gastrotomy was advised; the patient, however, refused operation. drake reports a curious instance of polyphagia. the person described was a man of twenty-seven who pursued the vocation of a "sword-swallower." he had swallowed a gold watch and chain with a seal and key attached; at another time he swallowed bullets and voided them by the anus. at poughkeepsie, n.y., in august, , in one day and night he swallowed pocket-knives and copper cents. this man had commenced when a lad of fifteen by swallowing marbles, and soon afterward a small penknife. after his death his esophagus was found normal, but his stomach was so distended as to reach almost to the spine of the ilium, and knives were found in the stomach weighing one pound or more. in his exhibitions he allowed his spectators to hear the click of the knives and feel them as low down as the anterior superior spine of the ilium. the present chief of the dangerous "profession" of sword-swallowing is chevalier cliquot, a french canadian by birth, whose major trick is to swallow a real bayonet sword, weighted with a cross-bar and two -pound dumbbells. he can swallow without difficulty a -inch cavalry sword; formerly, in new york, he gave exhibitions of swallowing fourteen -inch bayonet swords at once. a negro, by the name of jones, exhibiting not long since in philadelphia, gave hourly exhibitions of his ability to swallow with impunity pieces of broken glass and china. foreign bodies in the alimentary canal.--in the discussion of the foreign bodies that have been taken into the stomach and intestinal tract possibly the most interesting cases, although the least authentic, are those relating to living animals, such as fish, insects, or reptiles. it is particularly among the older writers that we find accounts of this nature. in the ephemerides we read of a man who vomited a serpent that had crept into his mouth, and of another person who ejected a beetle that had gained entrance in a similar manner. from the same authority we find instances of the vomiting of live fish, mice, toads, and also of the passage by the anus of live snails and snakes. frogs vomited are mentioned by bartholinus, dolaeus, hellwigius, lentilus, salmuth, and others. vege mentions a man who swallowed a young chicken whole. paullini speaks of a person who, after great pain, vomited a mouse which he had swallowed. borellus, bartholinus, thoner, and viridet, are among the older authorities mentioning persons who swallowed toads. hippocrates speaks of asphyxia from a serpent which had crawled into the mouth. borellus states that he knew a case of a person who vomited a salamander. plater reports the swallowing of eels and snails. rhodius mentions persons who have eaten scorpions and spiders with impunity. planchon writes of an instance in which a live spider was ejected from the bowel; and colini reports the passage of a live lizard which had been swallowed two days before, and there is another similar case on record. marcellus donatus records an instance in which a viper, which had previously crawled into the mouth, had been passed by the anus. there are also recorded instances in french literature in which persons affected with pediculosis, have, during sleep, unconsciously swallowed lice which were afterward found in the stools. there is an abundance of cases in which leeches have been accidentally swallowed. pliny, aetius, dioscorides, scribonius-largus, celsus, oribasius, paulus aegineta, and others, describe such cases. bartholinus speaks of a neapolitan prince who, while hunting, quenched his thirst in a brook, putting his mouth in the running water. in this way he swallowed a leech, which subsequently caused annoying hemorrhage from the mouth. timaeus mentions a child of five who swallowed several leeches, and who died of abdominal pains, hemorrhage, and convulsions. rhodius, riverius, and zwinger make similar observations. according to baron larrey the french soldiers in napoleon's egyptian campaign occasionally swallowed leeches. grandchamp and duval have commented on curious observations of leeches in the digestive tract. dumas and marques also speak of the swallowing of leeches. colter reports a case in which beetles were vomited. wright remarks on banon's case of fresh-water shrimps passed from the human intestine. dalton, dickman, and others, have discussed the possibility of a slug living in the stomach of man. pichells speaks of a case in which beetles were expelled from the stomach; and pigault gives an account of a living lizard expelled by vomiting. fontaine, gaspard, vetillart, ribert, macalister, and waters record cases in which living caterpillars have been swallowed. sundry cases.--the variety of foreign bodies that have been swallowed either accidentally or for exhibitional or suicidal purposes is enormous. nearly every imaginable article from the minutest to the most incredible size has been reported. to begin to epitomize the literature on this subject would in itself consume a volume, and only a few instances can be given here, chosen in such a way as to show the variety, the effects, and the possibilities of their passage through the intestinal canal. chopart says that in the belly of a ravenous galley-slave was opened, and in the stomach were found foreign bodies, including a barrel-hoop inches long, nails, pieces of pipe, spoons, buckles, seeds, glass, and a knife. in the intestines of a person agnew found a pair of suspenders, a mass of straw, and three roller-bandages, an inch in width and diameter. velpeau mentions a fork which was passed from the anus twenty months after it was swallowed. wilson mentions an instance of gastrotomy which was performed for the extraction of a fork swallowed sixteen years before. there is an interesting case in which, in a delirium of typhoid fever, a girl of twenty-two swallowed two iron forks, which were subsequently expelled through an abdominal abscess. a french woman of thirty-five, with suicidal intent, swallowed a four-pronged fork, which was removed four years afterward from the thigh. for two years she had suffered intense pain in both thighs. in the royal college of surgeons in london there is a steel button-hook / inches in length which was accidentally swallowed, and was passed three weeks later by the anus, without having given rise to any symptom. among the insane a favorite trait seems to be swallowing nails. in the philosophical transactions is an account of the contents of the stomach of an idiot who died at thirty-three. in this organ were found nine cart-wheel nails, six screws, two pairs of compasses, a key, an iron pin, a ring, a brass pommel weighing nine ounces, and many other articles. the celebrated dr. lettsom, in , spoke of an idiot who swallowed four pounds of old nails and a pair of compasses. a lunatic in england e swallowed ten ounces of screws and bits of crockery, all of which were passed by the anus. boardman gives an account of a child affected with hernia who swallowed a nail / inches long. in a few days the nail was felt in the hernia, but in due time it was passed by the rectum. blower reports an account of a nail passing safely through the alimentary canal of a baby. armstrong mentions an insane hair-dresser of twenty-three, in whose stomach after death were found or more spoon handles, nails, and other minor articles. closmadenc reported a remarkable case which was extensively quoted. the patient was an hysteric young girl, an inmate of a convent, to whom he was called to relieve a supposed fit of epilepsy. he found her half-asphyxiated, and believed that she had swallowed a foreign body. he was told that under the influence of exaggerated religious scruples this girl inflicted penance upon herself by swallowing earth and holy medals. at the first dose of the emetic, the patient made a strong effort to vomit, whereupon a cross seven cm. long appeared between her teeth. this was taken out of her mouth, and with it an enormous rosary cm. long, and having seven medals attached to it. hunt recites a case occurring in a pointer dog, which swallowed its collar and chain, only imperfectly masticating the collar. the chain and collar were immediately missed and search made for them. for several days the dog was ill and refused food. finally the gamekeeper saw the end of the chain hanging from the dog's anus, and taking hold of it, he drew out a yard of chain with links one inch long, with a cross bar at the end two inches in length; the dog soon recovered. the collar was never found, and had apparently been digested or previously passed. fear of robbery has often led to the swallowing of money or jewelry. vaillant, the celebrated doctor and antiquarian, after a captivity of four months in algiers, was pursued by tunis pirates, and swallowed medals of gold; shortly after arriving at lyons he passed them all at stool. fournier and duret published the history of a galley slave at brest in whose stomach were found pieces of money, their combined weight being one pound, / ounces. on receiving a sentence of three years' imprisonment, an englishman, to prevent them being taken from him, swallowed seven half-crowns. he suffered no bad effects, and the coins not appearing the affair was forgotten. while at stool some twenty months afterward, having taken a purgative for intense abdominal pain, the seven coins fell clattering into the chamber. hevin mentions the case of a man who, on being captured by barbary pirates, swallowed all the money he had on his person. it is said that a certain italian swallowed louis d'ors at a time. it occasionally happens that false teeth are accidentally swallowed, and even passed through the intestinal tract. easton mentions a young man who accidentally swallowed some artificial teeth the previous night, and, to further their passage through the bowel, he took a dose of castor oil. when seen he was suffering with pain in the stomach, and was advised to eat much heavy food and avoid aperients. the following day after several free movements he felt a sharp pain in the lower part of his back. a large enema was given and the teeth and plate came away. the teeth were cleansed and put back in his mouth, and the patient walked out. nine years later the same accident again happened to the man but in spite of treatment nothing was seen of the teeth for a month afterward, when a body appeared in the rectum which proved to be a gold plate with the teeth in it. in the lancet of december , , there is an account of a vulcanite tooth-plate which was swallowed and passed forty-two hours later. billroth mentions an instance of gastrotomy for the removal of swallowed artificial teeth, with recovery; and another case in which a successful esophagotomy was performed. gardiner mentions a woman of thirty-three who swallowed two false teeth while supping soup. a sharp angle of the broken plate had caught in a fold of the cardiac end of the stomach and had caused violent hematemesis. death occurred seventeen hours after the first urgent symptoms. in the museum of the royal college of surgeons in london there is an intestinal concretion weighing grains, which was passed by a woman of seventy who had suffered from constipation for many years. sixteen years before the concretion was passed she was known to have swallowed a tooth. at one side of the concretion a piece had been broken off exposing an incisor tooth which represented the nucleus of the formation. manasse recently reported the case of a man of forty-four whose stomach contained a stone weighing grams. he was a joiner and, it was supposed, habitually drank some alcoholic solution of shellac used in his trade. quite likely the shellac had been precipitated in the stomach and gave rise to the calculus. berwick mentions a child of eight months who was playing with a detached organ-handle, and put it in its mouth. seeing this the mother attempted to secure the handle, but it was pushed into the esophagus. a physician was called, but nothing was done, and the patient seemed to suffer little inconvenience. three days later the handle was expelled from the anus. teakle reports the successful passage through the alimentary canal of the handle of a music-box. hashimoto, surgeon-general of the imperial japanese army, tells of a woman of forty-nine who was in the habit of inducing vomiting by irritating her fauces and pharynx with a japanese toothbrush--a wooden instrument six or seven inches long with bristles at one end. in may, , she accidentally swallowed this brush. many minor symptoms developed, and in eleven months there appeared in the epigastric region a fluctuating swelling, which finally burst, and from it extended the end of the brush. after vainly attempting to extract the brush the attending physician contented himself with cutting off the projecting portion. the opening subsequently healed; and not until thirteen years later did the pain and swelling return. on admission to the hospital in october, , two fistulous openings were seen in the epigastric region, and the foreign body was located by probing. finally, on november , , the patient was anesthetized, one of the openings enlarged, and the brush extracted. five weeks later the openings had all healed and the patient was restored to health. garcia reports an interesting instance of foreign body in a man between forty-five and fifty. this man was afflicted with a syphilitic affection of the mouth, and he constructed a swab ten inches long with which to cleanse his fauces. while making the application alone one day, a spasmodic movement caused him to relinquish his grasp on the handle, and the swab disappeared. he was almost suffocated, and a physician was summoned; but before his arrival the swab had descended into the esophagus. two weeks later, gastro-peritoneal symptoms presented, and as the stick was located, gastrotomy was proposed; the patient, however, would not consent to an operation. on the twenty-sixth day an abscess formed on the left side below the nipple, and from it was discharged a large quantity of pus and blood. four days after this, believing himself to be better, the man began to redress the wound, and from it he saw the end of a stick protruding. a physician was called, and by traction the stick was withdrawn from between the d and th ribs; forty-nine days after the accident the wound had healed completely. two years afterward the patient had an attack of cholera, but in the fifteen subsequent years he lived an active life of labor. occasionally an enormous mass of hair has been removed from the stomach. a girl of twenty a with a large abdominal swelling was admitted to a hospital. her illness began five years previously, with frequent attacks of vomiting, and on three occasions it was noticed that she became quite bald. abdominal section was performed, the stomach opened, and from it was removed a mass of hair which weighed five pounds and three ounces. a good recovery ensued. in the museum of st. george's hospital, london, are masses of hair and string taken from the stomach and duodenum of a girl of ten. it is said that from the age of three the patient had been in the habit of eating these articles. there is a record in the last century of a boy of sixteen who ate all the hair he could find; after death his stomach and intestines were almost completely lined with hairy masses. in the journal of the american medical association, march , , there is a report of a case of hair-swallowing. foreign bodies in the intestines.--white relates the history of a case in which a silver spoon was swallowed and successfully excised from the intestinal canal. houston mentions a maniac who swallowed a rusty iron spoon inches long. fatal peritonitis ensued and the spoon was found impacted in the last acute turn of the duodenum. in , in london, there was exhibited a specimen, including the end of the ileum with the adjacent end of the colon, showing a dessert spoon which was impacted in the latter. the spoon was seven inches long, and its bowl measured / inches across. there was much ulceration of the mucous membrane. this spoon had been swallowed by a lunatic of twenty-two, who had made two previous ineffectual attempts at suicide. mason describes the case of a man of sixty-five who, after death by strangulated hernia, was opened, and two inches from the ileocecal valve was found an earthen egg-cup which he had swallowed. mason also relates the instance of a man who swallowed metal balls / inches in diameter; and the case of a frenchman who, to prevent the enemy from finding them, swallowed a box containing despatches from napoleon. he was kept prisoner until the despatches were passed from his bowels. denby discovered a large egg-cup in the ileum of a man. fillion mentions an instance of recovery following the perforation of the jejunum by a piece of horn which had been swallowed. madden tells of a person, dying of intestinal obstruction, in whose intestines were found several ounces of crude mercury and a plum-stone. the mercury had evidently been taken for purgative effect. rodenbaugh mentions a most interesting case of beans sprouting while in the bowel. harrison relates a curious case in which the swallowed lower epiphysis of the femur of a rabbit made its way from the bowel to the bladder, and was discharged thence by the urethra. in cases of appendicitis foreign bodies have been found lodged in or about the vermiform appendix so often that it is quite a common lay idea that appendicitis is invariably the result of the lodgment of some foreign body accidentally swallowed. in recent years the literature of this subject proves that a great variety of foreign bodies may be present. a few of the interesting cases will be cited in the following lines:-- in the new england medical journal, , is an account of a vermiform appendix which was taken from the body of a man of eighty-eight who had died of pneumothorax. during life there were no symptoms of disease of the appendix, and after death no adhesions were found, but this organ was remarkably long, and in it were found robin-shot. the old gentleman had been excessively fond of birds all his life, and was accustomed to bolt the meat of small birds without properly chewing it; to this fact was attributed the presence of these shot in the appendix. a somewhat similar case was that of a man who died in the hotel-dieu in . the ileum of this man contained shot and plum stones. buckler reports a case of appendicitis in a child of twelve, in which a common-sized bird-shot was found in the appendix. packard presented a case of appendicitis in which two pieces of rusty and crooked wire, one / and the other / inches long, were found in the omentum, having escaped from the appendix. howe describes a case in which a double oat, with a hard envelope, was found in the vermiform appendix of a boy of four years and one month of age. prescott reports a case of what he calls fatal colic from the lodgment of a chocolate-nut in the appendix; and noyes relates an instance of death in a man of thirty-one attributed to the presence of a raisin-seed in the vermiform appendix. needles, pins, peanuts, fruit-stones, peas, grape-seeds, and many similar objects have been found in both normal and suppurative vermiform appendices. intestinal injuries.--the degree of injury that the intestinal tract may sustain, and after recovery perform its functions as usual, is most extraordinary; and even when the injury is of such an extent as to be mortal, the persistence of life is remarkable. it is a well known fact that in bull-fights, after mortal injuries of the abdomen and bowels, horses are seen to struggle on almost until the sport is finished. fontaine reports a case of a welsh quarryman who was run over by a heavy four-horse vehicle. the stump of a glass bottle was crushed into the intestinal cavity, and the bowels protruded and were bruised by the wheels of the wagon. the grit was so firmly ground into the bowel that it was impossible to remove it; yet the man made a complete recovery. nicolls has the case of a man of sixty-nine, a workhouse maniac, who on august th attempted suicide by running a red-hot poker into his abdomen. his wound was dressed and he was recovering, but on september th he tore the cast off his abdomen, and pulled out of the wound the omentum and inches of colon, which he tore off and threw between his pallet and the wall. strange to say he did not die until eight days after this horrible injury. tardieu relates the case of a chemist who removed a large part of the mesentery with a knife, and yet recovered. delmas of montpellier reports the history of a wagoner with complete rupture of the intestines and rupture of the diaphragm, and who yet finished his journey, not dying until eighteen hours after. successful intestinal resection.--in nedham of norfolk reported the case of a boy of thirteen who was run over and eviscerated. it was found necessary to remove inches of the protruding bowel, but the boy made a subsequent recovery. koebererle of strasburg performed an operation on a woman of twenty-two for the relief of intestinal obstruction. on account of numerous strictures it was found necessary to remove over two yards of the small intestine; the patient recovered without pain or trouble of any kind. in his dissertation on "ruptures" arnaud remarks that he cut away more than seven feet of gangrenous bowel, his patient surviving. beehe reports recovery after the removal of inches of intestine. the case was one of strangulation of an umbilical hernia. sloughing of the intestine following intussusception.--lobstein mentions a peasant woman of about thirty who was suddenly seized with an attack of intussusception of the bowel, and was apparently in a moribund condition when she had a copious stool, in which she evacuated three feet of bowel with the mesentery attached. the woman recovered, but died five months later from a second attack of intussusception, the ileum rupturing and peritonitis ensuing. there is a record in this country of a woman of forty-five who discharged inches of intestine, and who survived for forty-two days. the autopsy showed the sigmoid flexure gone, and from the caput ceci to the termination the colon only measured inches. vater gives a history of a penetrating abdominal wound in which a portion of the colon hung from the wound during fourteen years, forming an artificial anus. among others mentioning considerable sloughing of intestine following intussusception, and usually with complete subsequent recovery, are bare, inches of the ileum; blackton, nine inches; bower, inches; dawson, inches; sheldon, / feet; stanley, three feet; tremaine, inches; and grossoli, cm. rupture of the intestines.--it is quite possible for the intestine to be ruptured by external violence, and cases of rupture of all parts of the bowel have been recorded. titorier gives the history of a case in which the colon was completely separated from the rectum by external violence. hinder reports the rupture of the duodenum by a violent kick. eccles, ely, and pollock also mention cases of rupture of the duodenum. zimmerman, atwell, and allan report cases of rupture of the colon. operations upon the gastrointestinal tract have been so improved in the modern era of antisepsis that at the present day they are quite common. there are so many successful cases on record that the whole subject deserves mention here. gastrostomy is an operation for establishing a fistulous opening in the stomach through the anterior wall. many operations have been devised, but the results of this maneuver in malignant disease have not thus far been very satisfactory. it is quite possible that, being an operation of a serious nature, it is never performed early enough, the patient being fatally weakened by inanition. gross and zesas have collected, respectively, and cases with surprisingly different rates of mortality: that of gross being only . per cent, while that of zesas was for cicatricial stenoses per cent, and for malignant cases per cent. it is possible that in zesas's statistics the subjects were so far advanced that death would have resulted in a short time without operation. gastrotomy we have already spoken of. pyloroplasty is an operation devised by heineke and mikulicz, and is designed to remove the mechanic obstruction in cicatricial stenoses of the pylorus, at the same time creating a new pylorus. gastroenterostomy and pylorectomy are operations devised for the relief of malignant disease of the pylorus, the diseased portions being removed and the parts resected. gastrectomy or extirpation of the stomach is considered by most surgeons entirely unjustifiable, as there is seldom hope of cure or prospect of amelioration. la tribune medicale for january , , gives an abstract of langenbuch's contribution upon total extirpation of the stomach. three patients were treated, of whom two died. in the first case, on opening the abdominal cavity the stomach was found very much contracted, presenting extensive carcinomatous infiltration on its posterior surface. after division of the epiploon section was made at the pylorus and at the cardiac extremities; the portions removed represented seven-eighths of the stomach. the pylorus was stitched to the remains of the cardiac orifice, making a cavity about the size of a hen's egg. in this case a cure was accomplished in three weeks. the second case was that of a man in whom almost the entire stomach was removed, and the pyloric and cardiac ends were stitched together in the wound of the parietes. the third case was that of a man of sixty-two with carcinoma of the pylorus. after pylorectomy, the line of suture was confined with iodoform-gauze packing. unfortunately the patient suffered with bronchitis, and coughing caused the sutures to give way; the patient died of inanition on the twenty-third day. enterostomy, or the formation of a fecal fistula above the ileocecal valve, was performed for the first time by nelaton in , but the mortality since has been so great that in most cases it is deemed inadmissible. colostomy, an operation designed to make a fistulous opening in any portion of the rectum, was first practiced by littre. in early times the mortality of inguinal colostomy was about five per cent, but has been gradually reduced until konig reports cases with only one death from peritonitis, and cripps cases with only one death. this will always retain its place in operative surgery as a palliative and life-saving operation for carcinomatous stenosis of the lower part of the colon, and in cases of carcinoma of the rectum in which operation is not feasible. intestinal anastomosis, whereby two portions of a severed or resected bowel can be intimately joined, excluding from fecal circulation the portion of bowel which has become obstructed, was originally suggested by maisonneuve, and was studied experimentally by von hacken. billroth resorted to it, and senn modified it by substituting decalcified bone-plates for sutures. since that time, abbe, matas, davis, brokaw, robinson, stamm, baracz, and dawburn, have modified the material of the plates used, substituting catgut rings, untanned leather, cartilage, raw turnips, potatoes, etc. recently murphy of chicago has invented a button, which has been extensively used all over the world, in place of sutures and rings, as a means of anastomosis. hardly any subject has had more discussion in recent literature than the merits of this ingenious contrivance. foreign bodies in the rectum.--probably the most celebrated case of foreign body introduced into the rectum is the classic one mentioned by hevin. some students introduced the frozen tail of a pig in the anus of a french prostitute. the bristles were cut short, and having prepared the passage with oil, they introduced the tail with great force into the rectum, allowing a portion to protrude. great pain and violent symptoms followed; there was distressing vomiting, obstinate constipation, and fever. despite the efforts to withdraw the tail, the arrangement of the bristles which allowed entrance, prevented removal. on the sixth day, in great agony, the woman applied to marchettis, who ingeniously adopted the simple procedure of taking a long hollow reed, and preparing one of its extremities so that it could be introduced into the rectum, he was enabled to pass the reed entirely around the tail and to withdraw both. relief was prompt, and the removal of the foreign body was followed by the issue of stercoraceous matter which had accumulated the six days it had remained in situ. tuffet is quoted as mentioning a farmer of forty-six who, in masturbation, introduced a barley-head into his urethra. it was found necessary to cut the foreign body out of the side of the glans. a year later he put in his anus a cylindric snuff-box of large size, and this had to be removed by surgical methods. finally, a drinking goblet was used, but this resulted in death, after much suffering and lay treatment. in his memoirs of the old academy of surgery in paris, morand speaks of a monk who, to cure a violent colic, introduced into his fundament a bottle of l'eau de la reine de hongrie, with a small opening in its mouth, by which the contents, drop by drop, could enter the intestine. he found he could not remove the bottle, and violent inflammation ensued. it was at last necessary to secure a boy with a small hand to extract the bottle. there is a record of a case in which a tin cup or tumbler was pushed up the rectum and then passed into the colon where it caused gangrene and death. it was found to measure / by / by two inches. there is a french case in which a preserve-pot three inches in diameter was introduced into the rectum, and had to be broken and extracted piece by piece. cloquet had a patient who put into his rectum a beer glass and a preserving pot. montanari removed from the rectum of a man a mortar pestle cm. long, and poulet mentions a pederast who accidentally killed himself by introducing a similar instrument, cm. long, which perforated his intestine. studsgaard mentions that in the pathologic collection at copenhagen there is a long, smooth stone, cm. long, weighing gm., which a peasant had introduced into his rectum to relieve prolapsus. the stone was extracted in by a surgeon named frantz dyhr. jeffreys speaks of a person who, to stop diarrhea, introduced into his rectum a piece of wood measuring seven inches. there is a remarkable case recorded of a stick in the anus of a man of sixty, the superior extremity in the right hypochondrium, the inferior in the concavity of the sacrum. the stick measured cm. in length; the man recovered. it is impossible to comprehend this extent of straightening of the intestine without great twisting of the mesocolon. tompsett mentions that he was called to see a workman of sixty-five, suffering from extreme rectal hemorrhage. he found the man very feeble, without pulse, pale, and livid. by digital examination he found a hard body in the rectum, which he was sure was not feces. this body he removed with a polyp-forceps, and found it to be a cylindric candle-box, which measured six inches in circumference, / in length, and / in diameter. the removal was followed by a veritable flood of fecal material, and the man recovered. lane reports perforation of the rectum by the introduction of two large pieces of soap; there was coincident strangulated hernia. hunter mentions a native indian, a resident of coorla, who had introduced a bullock's horn high up into his abdomen, which neither he nor his friends could extract. he was chloroformed and placed in the lithotomy position, his buttocks brought to the edge of the bed, and after dilatation of the sphincter, by traction with the fingers and tooth-forceps, the horn was extracted. it measured inches long. the young imbecile had picked it up on the road, where it had been rendered extremely rough by exposure, and this caused the difficulty in extraction. in nelson's northern lancet, , there is the record of a case of a man at stool, who slipped on a cow's horn, which entered the rectum and lodged beyond the sphincter. it was only removed with great difficulty. a convict at brest put up his rectum a box of tools. symptoms of vomiting, meteorism, etc., began, and became more violent until the seventh day, when he died. after death, there was found in the transverse colon, a cylindric or conic box, made of sheet iron, covered with skin to protect the rectum and, doubtless, to aid expulsion. it was six inches long and five inches broad and weighed ounces. it contained a piece of gunbarrel four inches long, a mother-screw steel, a screw-driver, a saw of steel for cutting wood four inches long, another saw for cutting metal, a boring syringe, a prismatic file, a half-franc piece and four one-franc pieces tied together with thread, a piece of thread, and a piece of tallow, the latter presumably for greasing the instruments. on investigation it was found that these conic cases were of common use, and were always thrust up the rectum base first. in excitement this prisoner had pushed the conic end up first, thus rendering expulsion almost impossible. ogle gives an interesting case of foreign body in the rectum of a boy of seventeen. the boy was supposed to be suffering with an abdominal tumor about the size of a pigeon's egg under the right cartilages; it had been noticed four months before. on admission to the hospital the lad was suffering with pain and jaundice; sixteen days later he passed a stick ten inches long, which he reluctantly confessed that he had introduced into the anus. during all his treatment he was conscious of the nature of his trouble, but he suffered rather than confess. studsgaard mentions a man of thirty-five who, for the purpose of stopping diarrhea, introduced into his rectum a preserve-bottle nearly seven inches long with the open end uppermost. the next morning he had violent pain in the abdomen, and the bottle could be felt through the abdominal wall. it was necessary to perform abdominal section through the linea alba, divide the sigmoid flexure, and thus remove the bottle. the intestine was sutured and the patient recovered. the bottle measured cm. long, five cm. in diameter at its lower end, and three cm. at its upper end. briggs reports a case in which a wine glass was introduced into the rectum, and although removed twenty-four hours afterward, death ensued. hockenhull extracted stones from the rectum of a boy of seven. landerer speaks of a curious case in which the absorptive power of the rectum was utilized in the murder of a boy of fifteen. in order to come into the possession of a large inheritance the murderess poisoned the boy by introducing the ends of some phosphorous matches into his rectum, causing death that night; there was intense inflammation of the rectum. the woman was speedily apprehended, and committed suicide when her crime was known. complete transfixion of the abdomen does not always have a fatal issue. in fact, two older writers, wisemann and muys, testify that it is quite possible for a person to be transfixed without having any portion of the intestines or viscera wounded. in some nations in olden times, the extremest degree of punishment was transfixion by a stake. in his voyages and travels, in describing the death of the king of demaa at the hands of his page, mendez pinto says that instead of being reserved for torture, as were his successors ravaillac, and gerard, the slayer of william the silent, the assassin was impaled alive with a long stake which was thrust in at his fundament and came out at the nape of his neck. there is a record of a man of twenty-five, a soldier in the chinese war of , who, in falling from his horse, was accidentally transfixed by a bayonet. the steel entered his back two inches to the left of the last dorsal vertebra, and reappeared two inches to the left and below the umbilicus; as there was no symptom of visceral wound there were apparently no injuries except perforation of the parietes and the peritoneum. the man recovered promptly. ross reports a case of transfixion in a young male aborigine, a native of new south wales, who had received a spear-wound in the epigastrium during a quarrel; extraction was impossible because of the sharp-pointed barbs; the spear was, therefore, sawed off, and was removed posteriorly by means of a small incision. the edges of the wound were cleansed, stitched, and a compress and bandage applied. during the night the patient escaped and joined his comrades in the camp, and on the second day was suffering with radiating pains and distention. the following day it was found that the stitches and plaster had been removed, and the anterior wound was gaping and contained an ichorous discharge. the patient was bathing the wound with a decoction of the leaves of the red-gum tree. notwithstanding that the spear measured seven inches, and the interference of treatment, the abdominal wound closed on the sixth day, and recovery was uninterrupted. gilkrist mentions an instance in which a ramrod was fired into a soldier's abdomen, its extremity lodging in the spinal column, without causing the slightest evidence of wounds of the intestines or viscera. a minute postmortem examination was held some time afterward, the soldier having died by drowning, but the results were absolutely negative as regards any injury done by the passage of the ramrod. humphreys says that a boy of eleven, while "playing soldier" with another boy, accidentally fell on a rick-stake. the stake was slightly curved at its upper part, being inches long and three inches in circumference, and sharp-pointed at its extremity. as much as / inches entered the body of the lad. the stake entered just in front of the right spermatic cord, passed beneath poupart's ligament into the cavity of the abdomen, traversed the whole cavity across to the left side; it then entered the thorax by perforating the diaphragm, displaced the heart by pushing it to the right of the sternum, and pierced the left lung. it then passed anteriorly under the muscles and integument in the axillary space, along the upper third of the humerus, which was extended beyond the head, the external skin not being ruptured. the stick remained in situ for four hours before attempts at extraction were made. on account of the displacement of the heart it was decided not to give chloroform. the boy was held down by four men, and humphreys and his assistant made all the traction in their power. after removal not more than a teaspoonful of blood followed. the heart still remained displaced, and a lump of intestine about the size of an orange protruded from the wound and was replaced. the boy made a slow and uninterrupted recovery, and in six weeks was able to sit up. the testicle sloughed, but five months later, when the boy was examined, he was free from pain and able to walk. there was a slight enlargement of the abdomen and a cicatrix of the wound in the right groin. the right testicle was absent, and the apex of the heart was displaced about an inch. woodbury reports the case of a girl of fourteen, who fell seven or eight feet directly upon an erect stake in a cart; the tuberosity was first struck, and then the stake passed into the anus, up the rectum for two inches, thence through the rectal wall, and through the body in an obliquely upward direction. striking the ribs near the left nipple it fractured three, and made its exit. the stake was three inches in circumference, and inches of its length passed into the body, six or seven inches emerging from the chest. this girl recovered so rapidly that she was able to attend school six weeks afterward. in a case reported by bailey a middle-aged woman, while sliding down a hay-stack, struck directly upon a pitchfork handle which entered the vagina; the whole weight of the woman was successfully maintained by the cellular tissue of the uterovaginal culdesac. minot speaks of the passage of one prong of a pitchfork through the body of a man of twenty-one, from the perineum to the umbilicus; the man recovered. hamilton reports a case of laceration of the perineum with penetration of the pelvic cavity to the depth of ten inches by a stick / inch thick. prowse mentions the history of a case of impalement in a man of thirty-four, who, coming down a hay-stack, alighted on the handle of a pitchfork which struck him in the middle of the scrotum, and passed up between the skin and fascia to the th rib. recovery was prompt. there are several cases on record in which extensive wounds of the abdominal parietes with protrusion and injury to the intestine have not been followed by death. injuries to the intestines themselves have already been spoken of, but there are several cases of evisceration worthy of record. doughty says that at midnight on june , , he was called to see a man who had been stabbed in a street altercation with a negro. when first seen in the street, the patient was lying on his back with his abdomen exposed, from which protruded an enormous mass of intestines, which were covered with sand and grit; the small intestine (ileum) was incised at one point and scratched at another by the passing knife. the incision, about an inch in length, was closed with a single stitch of silk thread, and after thorough cleansing the whole mass was returned to the abdominal cavity. in this hernial protrusion were recognized four or five feet of the ileum, the cecum with its appendix, part of the ascending colon with corresponding portions of the mesentery; the distribution of the superior mesentery, made more apparent by its living pulsation, was more beautifully displayed in its succession of arches than in any dissection that doughty had ever witnessed. notwithstanding the extent of his injuries the patient recovered, and at last reports was doing finely. barnes reports the history of a negro of twenty-five who was admitted to the freedmen's hospital, new orleans, may , , suffering from an incised wound of the abdomen, from which protruded eight inches of colon, all of the stomach, and nearly the whole of the small intestines. about / feet of the small intestine, having a whitish color, appeared to be filled with food and had much of the characteristic feeling of a sausage. the rest of the small intestine had a dark-brown color, and the stomach and colon, distended with gas, were leaden-colored. the viscera had been exposed to the atmosphere for over an hour. having nothing but cold mississippi water to wash them with, barnes preferred returning the intestines without any attempt at removing blood and dirt further than wiping with a cambric handkerchief and the stripping they would naturally be subjected to in being returned through the opening. in ten minutes they were returned; they were carefully examined inch by inch for any wound, but none was found. three silver sutures were passed through the skin, and a firm compress applied. the patient went to sleep shortly after his wound was dressed, and never had a single subsequent bad symptom; he was discharged on may th, the wound being entirely healed, with the exception of a cartilage of a rib which had not reunited. rogers mentions the case of a carpenter of thirty-six who was struck by a missile thrown by a circular saw, making a wound two inches above the umbilicus and to the left. through the opening a mass of intestines and a portion of the liver, attached by a pedicle, protruded. a portion of the liver was detached, and the liver, as well as the intestines, were replaced, and the man recovered. baillie, bhadoory, barker, edmundson, johnson, and others, record instances of abdominal wounds accompanied by extensive protrusion of the intestines, and recovery. shah mentions an abdominal wound with protrusion of three feet of small intestine. by treatment with ice, phenol, and opium, recovery was effected without peritonitis. among nonfatal perforating gunshot wounds of the abdomen, loring: reports the case of a private in the first artillery who recovered after a double gunshot perforation of the abdomen. one of the balls entered / inches to the left of the umbilicus, and two inches above the crest of the ilium, making its exit two inches above the crest of the ilium, on a line with and two inches from the th lumbar vertebra. the other ball entered four inches below and to the rear of the left nipple, making its exit four inches directly below the point of entrance. in their passages these balls did not wound any of the viscera, and with the exception of traumatic fever there was no disturbance of the health of the patient. schell records the case of a soldier who was wounded july , , by a conoid ball from a remington revolver of the army pattern. the ball entered on the left side of the abdomen, its lower edge grazing the center of poupart's ligament, and passing backward, inward, and slightly upward, emerged one inch to the left of the spinous process of the sacrum. on july th all the symptoms of peritonitis made their appearance. on july th there was free discharge of fecal matter from both anterior and posterior wounds. this discharge continued for three days and then ceased. by august th both wounds were entirely healed. mineer reports a case of a wound from a revolver-ball entering the abdomen, passing through the colon, and extracted just above the right ilium. under simple treatment the patient recovered and was returned to duty about ten weeks afterward. there are a number of cases on record in which a bullet entering the abdominal cavity is subsequently voided either by the bladder or by the bowel. ducachet mentions two cases at the georgetown seminary hospital during the late war in which minie balls entering the abdominal wall were voided by the anus in a much battered condition. bartlett reports the case of a young man who was accidentally shot in the abdomen with a colt's revolver. immediately after the accident he complained of constant and pressing desire to void his urine. while urinating on the evening of the third day, the ball escaped from the urethra and fell with a click into the chamber. after the discharge of the ball the intolerable symptoms improved, and in two or three weeks there was complete recovery. hoag mentions a man who was wounded by a round musket-ball weighing grains. it had evidently passed through the lung and diaphragm and entered the alimentary canal; it was voided by the rectum five days after the injury. lenox mentions the fact of a bullet entering the abdominal wall and subsequently being passed from the rectum. day and judkins report similar cases. rundle speaks of the lodgment of a bullet, and its escape, after a period of seven and one-half years, into the alimentary canal, causing internal strangulation and death. wounds of the liver often end very happily, and there are many cases on record in which such injuries have been followed by recovery, even when associated with considerable loss of liver-substance. in the older records, glandorp and scultetus mention cures after large wounds of the liver. fabricius hildanus reports a case that ended happily, in which a piece of liver was found in the wound, having been separated by a sword-thrust. there is a remarkable example of recovery after multiple visceral wounds, self-inflicted by a lunatic. this man had wounds, having penetrated the abdomen, the liver, colon, and the jejunum being injured; by frequent bleeding, strict regimen, dressing, etc., he recovered his health and senses, but relapsing a year and a half later, he again attempted suicide, which gave the opportunity for a postmortem to learn the extent of the original injuries. plater, schenck, cabrolius, the ephemerides, and nolleson mention recovery after wounds of the liver. salmuth and the ephemerides report questionable instances in which portions of the liver were ejected in violent vomiting. macpherson describes a wound of the liver occurring in a hindoo of sixty who had been struck by a spear. a portion of the liver was protruding, and a piece weighing / ounces was removed, complete recovery following. postempski mentions a case of suture of the liver after a stab-wound. six sutures of chromicized cat-gut were carefully tightened and fastened with a single loop. the patient left his bed on the sixth day and completely recovered. gann reports a case of harpoon-wound of the liver. while in a dory spearing fish in the rio nuevo, after a sudden lurch of the boat, a young man of twenty-eight fell on the sharp point of a harpoon, which penetrated his abdomen. about one inch of the harpoon was seen protruding from below the tip of the ensiform cartilage; the harpoon was seven inches long. it was found that the instrument had penetrated the right lobe of the liver; on passing the hand backward along the inferior surface of the liver, the point could be felt projecting through its posterior border. on account of two sharp barbs on the spear-point, it was necessary to push the harpoon further in to disengage the barbs, after which it was easily removed. recovery followed, and the patient was discharged in twenty-one days. romme discusses the subject of punctured wounds of the liver, as a special text using the case of the late president carnot. he says that in cases of traumatism of the liver collected by elder, were caused by cutting or sharp-pointed instruments. of this group, recovered and died. the chief causes of death were hemorrhage and peritonitis. the principal symptoms of wounds of the liver, such as traumatic shock, collapse, local and radiating pains, nausea, vomiting, and respiratory disturbances were all present in the case of president carnot. from an experience gained in the case of the president, romme strongly recommends exploratory celiotomy in all penetrating wounds of the liver. zeidler reports three cases of wound of the liver in which recovery ensued. the hemorrhage in one case was arrested by the tampon, and in the other by the pacquelin cautery. mcmillan describes a man of twenty who was kicked by a horse over the liver and rupturing that organ. a large quantity of offensive fluid was drawn off from the liver, and the man recovered. frazer reports a case of rupture of liver and kidney in a boy of thirteen who was squeezed between the tire and driving chain of a mill, but who recovered despite his serious symptoms. allen mentions recovery after an extensive incised wound of the abdomen, liver, and lung. massie cites an instance of gunshot wound of the right hypochondrium, with penetration and protrusion of the liver. the patient, a boy of seven, recovered after excision of a small part of the protruding liver. lawson tait has incised the liver to the extent of three inches, evacuated two gallons of hydatids, and obtained successful recovery in ten weeks. there are several cases of wound of the liver followed by recovery reported by surgeons of the united states army. whitehead mentions a man of twenty-two who on june , , was shot in the liver by a slug from a pistol. at the time of the injury he bled freely from the wound of entrance continuing to lose blood and bile until daylight the next morning, when the hemorrhage ceased, but the flow of bile kept on. by june th there was considerable improvement, but the wound discharged blood-clots, bile, and serum. when the patient left the hospital on july th the wound was healthy, discharging less than / ounces during the twenty-four hours, of a mixture of free bile, and bile mixed with thick material. when last heard from--july , --the patient was improving finely in flesh and strength. mckee mentions a commissary-sergeant stationed at santa fe, new mexico, who recovered after a gunshot wound of the liver. hassig reports the case of a private of twenty-six who was wounded in a fray near paducah, kentucky, by a conoid ball, which passed through the liver. the ball was cut out the same day. the patient recovered and was returned to duty in may, . patzki mentioned a private in the sixth cavalry, aged twenty-five, who recovered from a gunshot wound of the abdomen, penetrating the right lobe of the liver and the gall-bladder. resection of the liver.--it is remarkable to what extent portions of the liver may be resected by the knife, cautery, or ligature, and the patient recover. langenbuch records a case in which he successfully removed the greater portion of the left lobe of a woman of thirty. the lobe had been extensively deformed by tight lacing, and caused serious inconvenience. there was considerable hemorrhage, but the vessels were secured, and the woman made a good recovery. mcwhinnie, in the lancet, records a case of dislodgment of an enlarged liver from tight lacing. terrilon mentions an instance in which a portion of the liver was removed by ligature after celiotomy. the ligature was removed in seven days, and the sphacelated portion of the liver came off with it. a cicatrix was completed at the end of six weeks, and the patient, a woman of fifty-three, made an excellent recovery. bastianelli discusses those cases in which portions of the liver, having been constricted from the general body of the organ and remaining attached by a pedicle, give rise to movable tumors of the abdomen. he records such a case in a woman of thirty-seven who had five children. a piece of liver weighing grams was removed, and with it the gall-bladder, and the patient made an uninterrupted recovery. tricomi reports a case in which it was found necessary to remove the left lobe of the liver. an attempt had been made to remove a liver-tumor the size of a fist by constricting the base with an elastic ligature. this attempt was a failure, and cure was also unsuccessfully attempted by wire ligature and the thermocautery. the growth was cut away, bleeding was arrested by the thermocautery and by iron-solution, the wound entirely healed, and the patient recovered. valerian von meister has proved that the liver has marvelous powers of regeneration, and that in rabbits, cats, and dogs, even three-fourths of the organ may be reproduced in from forty-five to sixty-five days. this regeneration is brought about chiefly by hypertrophy of the lobules. floating liver is a rare malady in which the liver forms an abdominal prominence that may be moved about, and which changes its situation as the patient shifts the attitude. the condition usually arises from a lax abdominal wall following repeated pregnancies. the accompanying illustration exhibits a typical case verified by postmortem examination. hypertrophy of the liver.--the average weight of the normal liver is from to ounces, but as noted by powell, it may become so hypertrophic as to weigh as much as pounds. bonet describes a liver weighing pounds; and in his "medical and surgical observations," gooch speaks of a liver weighing pounds. vieussens, the celebrated anatomist, reports an instance in which the liver weighed pounds, and in his "aphorisms," vetter cites a similar instance. in kraus of germany describes a liver weighing pounds; modern instances of enlarged liver are too numerous to be quoted here. rupture of the gall-bladder, although generally followed by death, is not always fatal. in such cases bile is usually found in the abdominal cavity. fergus mentions a case in which, after this accident, the patient was considered convalescent and was walking about, when, on the seventh day, peritonitis suddenly developed and proved fatal in two days. several cases of this accident have been reported as treated successfully by incision and drainage (lane) or by inspiration (bell). in these cases large quantities of bile escaped into the abdominal cavity. peritonitis does not necessarily follow. cholecystotomy for the relief of the distention of the gall-bladder from obstruction of the common or cystic duct and for the removal of gall-stones was first performed in by bobbs of indianapolis, but it is to marion sims, in , that perfection of the operation is due. it has been gradually improved and developed, until today it is a most successful operation. tait reports cases with perfect recoveries. cholyecystectomy, or excision of the gall-bladder, was first practiced in by langenbuch of berlin, and is used in cases in which gall-stones are repeatedly forming. ashhurst's statistics show only four deaths in cases. at st. bartholomew's hospital, in london, is a preserved specimen of a gall-bladder which had formed the contents of a hernial sac, and which, near the fundus, shows a constriction caused by the femoral ring. it was taken from a woman of forty-five who was admitted into the hospital with a strangulated femoral hernia. the sac was opened and its contents were returned. the woman died in a few days from peritonitis. the gall-bladder was found close to the femoral ring, and showed a marked constriction. the liver was misshapen from tight lacing, elongated and drawn downward toward the ring. there was no evidence that any portion of intestine or other structure besides the gall-bladder had passed through the ring. the fatality of rupture of the spleen is quite high. out of cases of injury to this organ collected by elder, and quoted by maccormac, only recovered; but the mortality is less in punctured or incised wounds of this organ, the same authorities mentioning recoveries out of cases. in his "surgery" gooch says that at the battle of dettingen one of sir robert rich's dragoons was left all night on the field, weltering in his blood, his spleen hanging out of his body in a gangrenous state. the next morning he was carried to the surgeons who ligated the large vessels, and extirpated the spleen; the man recovered and was soon able to do duty. in the philosophical transactions there is a report of a man who was wounded in the spleen by a large hunting-knife. fergusson found the spleen hanging from the wound and ligated it. it separated in ten days and the patient recovered. williams reports a stab-wound of the spleen in a negro of twenty-one. the spleen protruded, and the protruding part was ligated by a silver wire, one-half of the organ sloughing off; the patient recovered. sir astley cooper mentions a curious case, in which, after vomiting, during which the spleen was torn from its attachments, this organ produced a swelling in the groin which was supposed to be a hernia. the vomiting continued, and at the end of a week the woman died; it was then found that the spleen had been turned half round on its axis, and detached from the diaphragm; it had become enlarged; the twist interrupted the return of the blood. portal speaks of a rupture of the spleen simply from engorgement. there was no history of a fall, contusion, or other injury. tait describes a case of rupture of the spleen in a woman who, in attempting to avoid her husband's kick, fell on the edge of the table. there were no signs of external violence, but she died the third day afterward. the abdomen was found full of blood, and the spleen and peritoneal covering was ruptured for three inches. splenectomy, excision of the spleen, has been performed a number of times, with varying results, but is more successful when performed for injury than when for disease. ashhurst has tabulated a total of operations, having been for traumatic causes, and all but five having terminated successfully; of operations for disease, only recovered. vulpius has collected cases of splenectomy, with a death-rate of per cent. if, however, from these cases we deduct those suffering with leukocythemia and lardaceous spleen, in which the operation should not be performed, the mortality in the remaining cases is reduced to per cent. terrier speaks of splenectomy for torsion or twisting of the pedicle, and such is mentioned by sir astley cooper, who has found records of only four such cases. conklin reports a successful case of splenectomy for malarial spleen, and in reviewing the subject he says that the records of the past decade in operations for simple hypertrophy, including malaria, show recoveries and eight deaths. he also adds that extirpation in cases of floating or displaced spleen was attended with brilliant results. zuccarelli is accredited with reporting two cases of splenectomy for malarial spleen, both of which recovered early. he gives a table of splenectomies performed in italy, in which there were nine cases of movable spleen, with two deaths; eight cases of simple hypertrophy, with three deaths; cases of malarial spleen, with three deaths; four cases of leukemia and pseudoleukemia, with two deaths. in his experiments on rabbits it was proved by tizzoni, and in his experiments on dogs, by crede, that an individual could live without a spleen; but these observations were only confirmatory of what had long been known, for, in , pean successfully removed a spleen from a woman of twenty. tricomi reports eight cases in which he had extirpated the spleen for various morbid conditions, with a fortunate issue in all but one. in one case he ligated the splenic artery. in the lancet there is an account of three recent excisions of the spleen for injury at st. thomas hospital in london, and it is added that they are among the first of this kind in great britain. abnormalities of size of the spleen.--the spleen may be extremely small. storck mentions a spleen that barely weighed an ounce; schenck speaks of one in the last century that weighed as much as pounds. frank describes a spleen that weighed pounds; there is another record of one weighing pounds. elliot mentions a spleen weighing pounds; burrows one, pounds; blasius, four pounds; osiander, nine pounds; blanchard, pounds; richardson, / pounds; and hare, ounces. the thoracic duct, although so much protected by its anatomical position, under exceptional circumstances has been ruptured or wounded. kirchner has collected cases of this nature, two of which were due to contusions of the chest, one each to a puncture, a cut, and a shot-wound, and three to erosion from suppuration. in the remaining cases the account fails to assign a definite cause. chylothorax, or chylous ascites, is generally a result of this injury. krabbel mentions a patient who was run over by an empty coal car, and who died on the fifth day from suffocation due to an effusion into the right pleural cavity. on postmortem examination it was found that the effusion was chyle, the thoracic duct being torn just opposite the th dorsal vertebra, which had been transversely fractured. in one of kirchner's cases a girl of nine had been violently pushed against a window-sill, striking the front of her chest in front of the d rib. she suffered from pleural effusion, which, on aspiration, proved to be chyle. she ultimately recovered her health. in eyer reported a case of rupture of the thoracic duct, causing death on the thirty-eighth day. the young man had been caught between a railroad car and an engine, and no bones were broken. manley reports a case of rupture of the thoracic duct in a man of thirty-five, who was struck by the pole of a brewery wagon; he was knocked down on his back, the wheel passing squarely over his abdomen. there was subsequent bulging low down in the right iliac fossa, caused by the presence of a fluid, which chemic and microscopic examination proved was chyle. from five to eight ounces a day of this fluid were discharged, until the tenth day, when the bulging was opened and drained. on the fifteenth day the wound was healed and the man left the hospital quite restored to health. keen has reported four instances of accidental injury to the thoracic duct, near its termination at the base of the left side of the neck; the wounding was in the course of removals for deep-seated growths in this region. three of the cases recovered, having sustained no detriment from the injury to the thoracic duct. one died; but the fatal influence was not specially connected with the wound of the duct. possibly the boldest operation in the history of surgery is that for ligation of the abdominal aorta for inguinal aneurysm. it was first practiced by sir astley cooper in , and has since been performed several times with a uniformly fatal result, although monteiro's patient survived until the tenth day, and there is a record in which ligature of the abdominal aorta did not cause death until the eleventh day. loreta of bologna is accredited with operating on december , , for the relief of a sailor who was suffering from an abdominal aneurysm caused by a blow. an incision was made from the ensiform cartilage to the umbilicus, the aneurysm exposed, and its cavity filled up with two meters of silver-plated wire. twenty days after no evidence of pulsation remained in the sac, and three months later the sailor was well and able to resume his duties. ligation of the common iliac artery, which, in a case of gunshot injury, was first practiced by gibson of philadelphia in , is, happily, not always fatal. of cases collected by ashhurst, terminated successfully. foreign bodies loose in the abdominal cavity are sometimes voided at stool, or may suppurate externally. fabricius hildanus gives us a history of a person wounded with a sword-thrust into the abdomen, the point breaking off. the sword remained one year in the belly and was voided at stool. erichsen mentions an instance in which a cedar lead-pencil stayed for eight months in the abdominal cavity. desgranges gives a case of a fish-spine in the abdominal cavity, and ten years afterward it ulcerated through an abscess in the abdominal wall. keetley speaks of a man who was shot when a boy; at the time of the accident the boy had a small spelling-book in his pocket. it was not until adult life that from an abscess of the groin was expelled what remained of the spelling-book that had been driven into the abdomen during boyhood. kyle speaks of the removal of a corn-straw inches in length by an incision ten inches long, at a point about equidistant from the umbilicus to the anterior spinous process of the right ilium. there are several instances on record of tolerance of foreign bodies in the skin and muscles of the back for an extended period. gay speaks of a curious case in which the point of a sheath-knife remained in the back of an individual for nine years. bush reported to sir astley cooper the history of a man who, as he supposed, received a wound in the back by canister shot while serving on a tartar privateer in . there was no ship-surgeon on board, and in about a month the wound healed without surgical assistance. the man suffered little inconvenience and performed his duties as a seaman, and was impressed into the royal navy. in august, , he complained of pain in the lumbar region. he was submitted to an examination, and a cicatrix of this region was noticed, and an extraneous body about / inch under the integument was felt. an incision was made down it, and a rusty blade of a seaman's clasp-knife extracted from near the d lumbar vertebra. the man had carried this knife for thirty years. the wound healed in a few days and there was no more inconvenience. fracture of the lower part of the spine is not always fatal, and notwithstanding the lay-idea that a broken back means certain death, patients with well-authenticated cases of vertebral fracture have recovered. warren records the case of a woman of sixty who, while carrying a clothes-basket, made a misstep and fell feet, the basket of wet clothes striking the right shoulder, chest, and neck. there was fracture of the th dorsal vertebra at the transverse processes. by seizing the spinous process it could be bent backward and forward, with the peculiar crepitus of fractured bone. the clavicle was fractured two inches from the acromial end, and the sternal end was driven high up into the muscles of the neck. the arm and hand were paralyzed, and the woman suffered great dyspnea. there was at first a grave emphysematous condition due to the laceration of several broken ribs. there was also suffusion and ecchymosis about the neck and shoulder. although complicated with tertiary syphilis, the woman made a fair recovery, and eight weeks later she walked into a doctor's office. many similar and equally wonderful injuries to the spine are on record. the results sometimes following the operation of laminectomy for fracture of the vertebrae are often marvelous. one of the most successful on record is that reported by dundore. the patient was a single man who lived in mahanoy, pa., and was admitted to the state hospital for injured persons, ashland, pa., june , , suffering from a partial dislocation of the th dorsal vertebra. the report is as follows--"he had been a laborer in the mines, and while working was injured march , , by a fall of top rock, and from this date to that of his admission had been under the care of a local physician without any sign of improvement. at the time of his admission he weighed but pounds, his weight previous to the injury being . he exhibited entire loss of motion in the lower extremities, with the exception of very slight movement in the toes of the left foot; sensation was almost nil up to the hips, above which it was normal; he had complete retention of urine, with a severe cystitis. his tongue was heavily coated, the bowels constipated, and there was marked anorexia, with considerable anemia. his temperature varied from degrees to degrees in the morning, and from degrees to degrees in the evening. the time which had elapsed since the accident precluded any attempt at reduction, and his anemic condition would not warrant a more radical method. "he was put on light, nourishing diet, iron and strychnin were given internally, and electricity was applied to the lower extremities every other day; the cystitis was treated by irrigating the bladder each day with thiersch's solution. by august his appetite and general condition were much improved, and his weight had increased to pounds, his temperature being degrees or less each morning, and seldom as high as degrees at night. the cystitis had entirely disappeared, and he was able, with some effort, to pass his urine without the aid of a catheter. sensation in both extremities had slightly improved, and he was able to slightly move the toes of the right foot. this being his condition, an operation was proposed as the only means of further and permanent improvement, and to this he eagerly consented, and, accordingly, on the th of august, the th dorsal vertebra was trephined. "the cord was found to be compressed and greatly congested, but there was no evidence of laceration. the laminae and spinous processes of the th and th dorsal vertebrae were cut away, thus relieving all pressure on the cord; the wound was drained and sutured, and a plaster-of-paris jacket applied, a hole being cut out over the wound for the purpose of changing the dressing when necessary. by september st union was perfect, and for the next month the patient remained in excellent condition, but without any sign of improvement as to sensation and motion. early in october he was able to slightly move both legs, and had full control of urination; from this time on his paralysis rapidly improved; the battery was applied daily, with massage morning and evening; and in november the plaster-of-paris jacket was removed, and he propelled himself about the ward in a rolling chair, and shortly after was able to get about slowly on crutches. he was discharged december d, and when i saw him six months later he walked very well and without effort; he carried a cane, but this seemed more from habit than from necessity. at present date he weighs pounds, and drives a huckster wagon for a living, showing very little loss of motion in his lower extremities." although few cases show such wonderful improvement as this one, statistics prove that the results of this operation are sometimes most advantageous. thorburn collects statistics of operations from to , undertaken for relief of injuries of the spinal cord. lloyd has compiled what is possibly the most extensive collection of cases of spinal surgery, his cases including operations for both disease and injury. white has collected cases of recent date; and chipault reports two cases, and collected cases. quite a tribute to the modern treatment by antisepsis is shown in the results of laminectomy. of his non-antiseptic cases lloyd reports a mortality of per cent; those surviving the operation are distributed as follows: cured, one; partially cured, seven; unknown, two; no improvement, five. of those cases operated upon under modern antiseptic principles, the mortality was per cent; those surviving were distributed as follows: cured, four; partially cured, ; no improvement, . the mortality in white's cases, which were all done under antiseptic precautions, was per cent. of those surviving, there were six complete recoveries, six with benefit, and without marked benefit. pyle collects cases of spinal disease and injury, in which laminectomy was performed. all the cases were operated upon since . of the cases there were deaths (a mortality of . per cent), recoveries with benefit, and five recoveries in which the ultimate result has not been observed. it must be mentioned that several of the fatal cases reported were those of cervical fracture, which is by far the most fatal variety. injury to the spinal cord does not necessarily cause immediate death. mills and o'hara, both of philadelphia, have recorded instances of recovery after penetrating wound of the spinal marrow. eve reports three cases of gunshot wound in which the balls lodged in the vertebral canal, two of the patients recovering. he adds some remarks on the division of the spinal cord without immediate death. ford mentions a gunshot wound of the spinal cord, the patient living ten days; after death the ball was found in the ascending aorta. henley speaks of a mulatto of twenty-four who was stabbed in the back with a knife. the blade entered the body of the th dorsal vertebra, and was so firmly embedded that the patient could be raised entirely clear of the bed by the knife alone. an ultimate recovery ensued. although the word hernia can be construed to mean the protrusion of any viscus from its natural cavity through normal or artificial openings in the surrounding structures, the usual meaning of the word is protrusion of the abdominal contents through the parietes--what is commonly spoken of as rupture. hernia may be congenital or acquired, or may be single or multiple--as many as five having been seen in one individual. more than two-thirds of cases of rupture suffer from inguinal hernia in the oblique form of inguinal hernia the abdominal contents descend along the inguinal canal to the outer side of the epigastric artery, and enter the scrotum in the male, and the labium majus in the female. in this form of hernia the size of the sac is sometimes enormous, the accompanying illustration showing extreme cases of both scrotal and labial hernia. umbilical hernia may be classed under three heads: congenital, infantile, and adult. congenital umbilical hernia occurs most frequently in children, and is brought about by the failure of the abdominal walls to close. when of large size it may contain not only the intestines, but various other organs, such as the spleen, liver, etc. in some monsters all the abdominal contents are contained in the hernia. infantile umbilical hernia is common, and appears after the separation of the umbilical cord; it is caused by the yielding of the cicatrix in this situation. it never reaches a large size, and shows a tendency to spontaneous cure. adult umbilical hernia rarely commences in infancy. it is most commonly seen in persons with pendulous bellies, and is sometimes of enormous size, in addition to the ordinary abdominal contents, containing even the stomach and uterus. a few years since there was a man in philadelphia past middle age, the victim of adult umbilical hernia so pendulous that while walking he had to support it with his arms and hands. it was said that this hernia did not enlarge until after his service as a soldier in the late war. abbott recites the case of an irish woman of thirty-five who applied to know if she was pregnant. no history of a hernia could be elicited. no pregnancy existed, but there was found a ventral hernia of the abdominal viscera through an opening which extended the entire length of the linea alba, and which was four inches wide in the middle of the abdomen. pim saw a colored woman of twenty-four who, on december , , was delivered normally of her first child, and who died in bed at a.m. on february , . the postmortem showed a tumor from the ensiform cartilage to the symphysis pubis, which contained the omentum, liver (left lobe), small intestines, and colon. it rested upon the abdominal muscles of the right side. the pelvic viscera were normally placed and there was no inguinal nor femoral hernia. hulke reports a case remarkable for the immense size of the rupture which protruded from a spot weakened by a former abscess. there was a partial absence of the peritoneal sac, and the obstruction readily yielded to a clyster and laxative. the rupture had a transverse diameter of / inches, with a vertical diameter of / inches. the opening was in the abdominal walls outside of the internal inguinal ring. the writhings of the intestines were very conspicuous through the walls of the pouch. dade reports a case of prodigious umbilical hernia. the patient was a widow of fifty-eight, a native of ireland. her family history was good, and she had never borne any children. the present dimensions of the tumor, which for fifteen years had been accompanied with pain, and had progressively increased in size, are as follows: circumference at the base, / inches; circumference at the extremity, / inches; distance of extremity from abdominal wall, / inches. inspection showed a large lobulated tumor protruding from the abdominal wall at the umbilicus. the veins covering it were prominent and distended. the circulation of the skin was defective, giving it a blue appearance. vermicular contractions of the small intestines could be seen at the distance of ten feet. the tumor was soft and velvety to the touch, and could only partially be reduced. borborygmus could be easily heard. on percussion the note over the bulk was tympanitic, and dull at the base. the distal extremity contained a portion of the small intestine instead of the colon, which wood considered the most frequent occupant. the umbilicus was completely obliterated. dade believed that this hernia was caused by the weakening of the abdominal walls from a blow, and considered that the protrusion came from an aperture near the umbilicus and not through it, in this manner differing from congenital umbilical hernia. a peculiar form of hernia is spontaneous rupture of the abdominal walls, which, however, is very rare. there is an account of such a case in a woman of seventy-two living in pittsburg, who, after a spasmodic cough, had a spontaneous rupture of the parietes. the rent was four inches in length and extended along the linea alba, and through it protruded a mass of omentum about the size of a child's head. it was successfully treated and the woman recovered. wallace reports a case of spontaneous rupture of the abdominal wall, following a fit of coughing. the skin was torn and a large coil of ileum protruded, uncovered by peritoneum. after protracted exposure of the bowel it was replaced, the rent was closed, and the patient recovered. chapter xiii. surgical anomalies of the genito-urinary system. wounds of the kidney may be very severe without causing death, and even one entire kidney may be lost without interfering with the functions of life. marvand, the surgeon-major of an algerian regiment, reports the case of a young arab woman who had been severely injured in the right lumbar region by a weapon called a "yataghan," an instrument which has only one cutting edge. on withdrawing this instrument the right kidney was extruded, became strangulated between the lips of the wound, and caused considerable hemorrhage. a ligature was put around the base of the organ, and after some weeks the mass separated. the patient continued in good health the whole time, and her urinary secretion was normal. she was discharged in two months completely recovered. price mentions the case of a groom who was kicked over the kidney by a horse, and eighteen months later died of dropsy. postmortem examination showed traces of a line of rupture through the substance of the gland; the preparation was deposited in st. george's hospital museum in london. the case is singular in that this man, with granular degeneration of the kidney, recovered from so extensive a lesion, and, moreover, that he remained in perfect health for over a year with his kidney in a state of destructive disease. borthwick mentions a dragoon of thirty who was stabbed by a sword-thrust on the left side under the short rib, the sword penetrating the pelvis and wounding the kidney. there was no hemorrhage from the external wound, nor pain in the spermatic cord or testicle. under expectant treatment the man recovered. castellanos mentions a case of recovery from punctured wound of the kidney by a knife that penetrated the tubular and cortical substance, and entered the pelvis of the organ. the case was peculiar in the absence of two symptoms, viz., the escape of urine from the wound, and retraction of the corresponding testicle. dusenbury reports the case of a corporal in the army who was wounded on april , , the bullet entering both the liver and kidney. though there was injury to both these important organs, there was no impairment of the patient's health, and he recovered. bryant reports four cases of wound of the kidney, with recovery. all of these cases were probably extraperitoneal lacerations or ruptures. cock found a curious anomaly in a necropsy on the body of a boy of eighteen, who had died after a fall from some height. there was a compound, transverse rupture of the left kidney, which was twice as large as usual, the ureter also being of abnormal size. further search showed that the right kidney was rudimentary, and had no vein or artery. ward mentions a case of ruptured kidney, caused by a fall of seven feet, the man recovering after appropriate treatment. vernon reports a case of serious injury to the kidney, resulting in recovery in nine weeks. the patient fell feet, landing on some rubbish and old iron, and received a wound measuring six inches over the right iliac crest, through which the lower end of the right kidney protruded; a piece of the kidney was lost. the case was remarkable because of the slight amount of hemorrhage. nephrorrhaphy is an operation in which a movable or floating kidney is fixed by suture through its capsule, including a portion of kidney-substance, and then through the adjacent lumbar fascia and muscles. the ultimate results of this operation have been most successful. nephrolithotomy is an operation for the removal of stone from the kidney. the operation may be a very difficult one, owing to the adhesions and thickening of all the perinephric tissues, or to the small size or remote location of the stone. there was a recent exhibition in london, in which were shown the results of a number of recent operations on the kidney. there was one-half of a kidney that had been removed on account of a rapidly-growing sarcoma from a young man of nineteen, who had known of the tumor for six months; there was a good recovery, and the man was quite well in eighteen months afterward. another specimen was a right kidney removed at st. bartholomew's hospital. it was much dilated, and only a small amount of the kidney-substance remained. a calculus blocked the ureter at its commencement. the patient was a woman of thirty-one, and made a good recovery. from the middlesex hospital was a kidney containing a uric acid calculus which was successfully removed from a man of thirty-five. from the cancer hospital at brompton there were two kidneys which had been removed from a man and a woman respectively, both of whom made a good recovery. from the king's college hospital there was a kidney with its pelvis enlarged and occupied by a large calculus, and containing little secreting substance, which was removed from a man of forty-nine, who recovered. these are only a few of the examples of this most interesting collection. large calculi of the kidney are mentioned in chapter xv. rupture of the ureter is a very rare injury. poland has collected the histories of four cases, one of which ended in recovery after the evacuation by puncture, at intervals, of about two gallons of fluid resembling urine. the other cases terminated in death during the first, fourth, and tenth weeks respectively. peritonitis was apparently not present in any of the cases, the urinary extravasation having occurred into the cellular tissue behind the peritoneum. there are a few recorded cases of uncomplicated wounds of the ureters. the only well authenticated case in which the ureter alone was divided is the historic injury of the archbishop of paris, who was wounded during the revolution of , by a ball entering the upper part of the lumbar region close to the spine. unsuccessful attempts were made to extract the ball, and as there was no urine in the bladder, but a quantity escaping from the wound, a diagnosis of divided ureter was made. the archbishop died in eighteen hours, and the autopsy showed that the ball had fractured the transverse process of the d lumbar vertebra, and divided the cauda equina just below its origin; it had then changed direction and passed up toward the left kidney, dividing the ureter near the pelvis, and finally lodged in the psoas muscle. it occasionally happens that the ureter is wounded in the removal of uterine, ovarian, or other abdominal tumors. in such event, if it is impossible to transplant to the bladder, the divided or torn end should be brought to the surface of the loin or vagina, and sutured there. in cases of malignant growth, the ureter has been purposely divided and transplanted into the bladder. penrose, assisted by baldy, has performed this operation after excision of an inch of the left ureter for carcinomatous involvement. the distal end of the ureter was ligated, and the proximal end implanted in the bladder according to van hook's method, which consists in tying the lowered end of the ureter, then making a slit into it, and invaginating the upper end into the lower through this slit. a perfect cure followed. similar cases have been reported by kelly, krug, and bache emmet. reed reports a most interesting series in which he has successfully transplanted ureters into the rectum. ureterovaginal fistulae following total extirpation of the uterus, opening of pelvic abscesses, or ulcerations from foreign bodies, are repaired by an operation termed by bazy of paris ureterocystoneostomy, and suggested by him as a substitute for nephrectomy in those cases in which the renal organs are unaffected. in the repair of such a case after a vaginal hysterectomy mayo reports a successful reimplantation of the ureter into the bladder. stricture of the ureter is also a very rare occurrence except as a result of compression of abdominal or pelvic new growths. watson has, however, reported two cases of stricture, in both of which a ureter was nearly or quite obliterated by a dense mass of connective tissue. in one case there was a history of the passage of a renal calculus years previously. in both instances the condition was associated with pyonephrosis. watson has collected the reports of four other cases from medical literature. a remarkable procedure recently developed by gynecologists, particularly by kelly of baltimore, is catheterization and sounding of the ureters. mcclellan records a case of penetration of the ureter by the careless use of a catheter. injuries of the bladder.--rupture of the bladder may result from violence without any external wound (such as a fall or kick) applied to the abdomen. jones reports a fatal case of rupture of the bladder by a horse falling on its rider. in this case there was but little extravasation of urine, as the vesical aperture was closed by omentum and bowel. assmuth reports two cases of rupture of the bladder from muscular action. morris cites the history of a case in which the bladder was twice ruptured: the first time by an injury, and the second time by the giving way of the cicatrix. the patient was a man of thirty-six who received a blow in the abdomen during a fight in a public house on june , . at the hospital his condition was diagnosed and treated expectantly, but he recovered perfectly and left the hospital july , . he was readmitted on august , , over seven years later, with symptoms of rupture of the bladder, and died on the th. the postmortem showed a cicatrix of the bladder which had given way and caused the patient's death. rupture of the bladder is only likely to happen when the organ is distended, as when empty it sinks behind the pubic arch and is thus protected from external injury. the rupture usually occurs on the posterior wall, involving the peritoneal coat and allowing extravasation of urine into the peritoneal cavity, a condition that is almost inevitably fatal unless an operation is performed. bartels collected the data of such cases, only four recovering. when the rent is confined to the anterior wall of the bladder the urine escapes into the pelvic tissues, and the prognosis is much more favorable. bartels collected such cases, terminating favorably. when celiotomy is performed for ruptured bladder, in a manner suggested by the elder gross, the mortality is much less. ashhurst collected the reports of cases thus treated, ten of which recovered--a mortality of . per cent. ashhurst remarks that he has seen an extraperitoneal rupture of the anterior wall of the bladder caused by improper use of instruments, in the case of retention of urine due to the presence of a tight urethral stricture. there are a few cases on record in which the bladder has been ruptured by distention from the accumulation of urine, but the accident is a rare one, the urethra generally giving way first. coats reports two cases of uncomplicated rupture of the bladder. in neither case was a history of injury obtainable. the first patient was a maniac; the second had been intoxicated previous to his admission to the hospital, with symptoms of acute peritonitis. the diagnosis was not made. the first patient died in five days and the second in two days after the onset of the illness. at the autopsies the rent was found to be in both instances in the posterior wall of the bladder a short distance from the fundus; the peritoneum was not inflamed, and there was absolutely no inflammatory reaction in the vesical wound. from the statistics of ferraton and rivington it seems that rupture of the bladder is more common in intoxicated persons than in others--a fact that is probably explained by a tendency to over-distention of the bladder which alcoholic liquors bring about. the liquor imbibed increases the amount of urine, and the state of blunted consciousness makes the call to empty the bladder less appreciated. the intoxicated person is also liable to falls, and is not so likely to protect himself in falling as a sober person. gunshot wounds of the bladder.--jackson relates the remarkable recovery of a private in the th tennessee regiment who was shot in the pelvis at the battle of mill springs or fishing creek, ky. he was left supposedly mortally wounded on the field, but was eventually picked up, and before receiving any treatment hauled miles, over mountainous roads in the midst of winter and in a wagon without springs. his urine and excretions passed out through the wounds for several weeks and several pieces of bone came away. the two openings eventually healed, but for twenty-two months he passed pieces of bone by the natural channels. eve records the case of a private in the fifth tennessee cavalry who was shot in the right gluteal region, the bullet penetrating the bladder and making its exit through the pubis. he rode miles, during which the urine passed through the wound. urine was afterward voided through the left pubic opening, and spicules of bone were discharged for two years afterward; ultimate recovery ensued. barkesdale relates the history of the case of a confederate soldier who was shot at fredericksburg in the median line of the body, / inches above the symphysis, the wound of exit being in the median line at the back, / inch lower down. urine escaped from both wounds and through the urethra. there were no bad symptoms, and the wounds healed in four weeks. the bladder is not always injured by penetration of the abdominal wall, but may be wounded by penetration through the anus or vagina, or even by an instrument entering the buttocks and passing through the smaller sacrosciatic notch. camper records the case of a sailor who fell from a mast and struck upon some fragments of wood, one of which entered the anus and penetrated the bladder, the result being a rectovesical fistula. about a year later the man consulted camper, who unsuccessfully attempted to extract the piece of wood; but by incising the fistula it was found that two calculi had formed about the wooden pieces, and when these were extracted the patient recovered. perrin gives the history of a man of forty who, while adjusting curtains, fell and struck an overturned chair; one of the chair-legs penetrated the anus. its extraction was followed by a gush of urine, and for several days the man suffered from incontinence of urine and feces. by the tenth day he was passing urine from the urethra, and on the twenty-fifth day there was a complete cicatrix of the parts; fifteen days later he suffered from an attack of retention of urine lasting five days; this was completely relieved after the expulsion of a small piece of trouser-cloth which had been pushed into the bladder at the time of the accident. post reports the case of a young man who, in jumping over a broomstick, was impaled upon it, the stick entering the anus without causing any external wound, and penetrating the bladder, thus allowing the escape of urine through the anus. a peculiar sequela was that the man suffered from a calculus, the nucleus of which was a piece of the seat of his pantaloons which the stick had carried in. couper reports a fatal case of stab-wound of the buttocks, in which the knife passed through the lesser sacrosciatic notch and entered the bladder close to the trigone. the patient was a man of twenty-three, a seaman, and in a quarrel had been stabbed in the buttocks with a long sailor's knife, with resultant symptoms of peritonitis which proved fatal. at the autopsy it was found that the knife had passed through the gluteal muscles and divided part of the great sacrosciatic ligament. it then passed through the small sacrosciatic notch, completely dividing the pudic artery and nerve, and one vein, each end being closed by a clot. the knife entered the bladder close to the trigone, making an opening large enough to admit the index finger. there were well-marked evidences of peritonitis and cellulitis. old-time surgeons had considerable difficulty in extracting arrow-heads from persons who had received their injuries while on horseback. conrad gesner records an ingenious device of an old surgeon who succeeded in extracting an arrow which had resisted all previous attempts, by placing the subject in the very position in which he was at the time of reception of the wound. the following noteworthy case shows that the bladder may be penetrated by an arrow or bullet entering the buttocks of a person on horseback. forwood describes the removal of a vesical calculus, the nucleus of which was an iron arrow-head, as follows: "sitimore, a wild indian, chief of the kiowas, aged forty-two, applied to me at fort sill, indian territory, august, , with symptoms of stone in the bladder. the following history was elicited: in the fall of he led a band of kiowas against the pawnee indians, and was wounded in a fight near fort larned, kansas. being mounted and leaning over his horse, a pawnee, on foot and within a few paces, drove an arrow deep into his right buttock. the stick was withdrawn by his companions, but the iron point remained in his body. he passed bloody urine immediately after the injury, but the wound soon healed, and in a few weeks he was able to hunt the buffalo without inconvenience. for more than six years he continued at the head of his band, and traveled on horseback, from camp to camp, over hundreds of miles every summer. a long time after the injury he began to feel distress in micturating, which steadily increased until he was forced to reveal this sacred secret (as it is regarded by these indians), and to apply for medical aid. his urine had often stopped for hours, at which times he had learned to obtain relief by elevating his hips, or lying in different positions. the urine was loaded with blood and mucus and with a few pus globules, and the introduction of a sound indicated a large, hard calculus in the bladder. the indians advised me approximately of the depth to which the shaft had penetrated and the direction it took, and judging from the situation of the cicatrix and all the circumstances it was apparent that the arrow-head had passed through the glutei muscles and the obturator foremen and entered the cavity of the bladder, where it remained and formed the nucleus of a stone. stone in the bladder is extremely rare among the wild indians, owing, no doubt, to their almost exclusive meat diet and the very healthy condition of their digestive organs, and this fact, in connection with the age of the patient and the unobstructed condition of his urethra, went very far to sustain this conclusion. on august d i removed the stone without difficulty by the lateral operation through the perineum. the lobe of the prostate was enlarged, which seemed to favor the extent of the incision beyond what would otherwise have been safe. the perineum was deep and the tuberosities of the ischii unnaturally approximated. the calculus of the mixed ammoniaco-magnesian variety was egg-shaped, and weighed drams. the arrow-point was completely covered and imbedded near the center of the stone. it was of iron, and had been originally about / inches long, by / inch at its widest part, somewhat reduced at the point and edges by oxidation. the removal of the stone was facilitated by the use of two pairs of forceps,--one with broad blades, by which i succeeded in bringing the small end of the stone to the opening in the prostate, while the other, long and narrow, seized and held it until the former was withdrawn. in this way the forceps did not occupy a part of the opening while the large end of the stone was passing through it. the capacity of the bladder was reduced, and its inner walls were in a state of chronic inflammation. the patient quickly recovered from the effects of the chloroform and felt great relief, both in body and mind, after the operation, and up to the eighth day did not present a single unfavorable symptom. the urine began to pass by the natural channel by the third day, and continued more or less until, on the seventh day, it had nearly ceased to flow at the wound. but the restless spirit of the patient's friends could no longer be restrained. open hostility with the whites was expected to begin at every moment, and they insisted on his removal. he needed purgative medicine on the eighth day, which they refused to allow him to take. they assumed entire charge of the case, and the following day started with him to their camps miles away. nineteen days after he is reported to have died; but his immediate relatives have since assured me that his wound was well and that no trouble arose from it. they described his symptoms as those of bilious remittent fever, a severe epidemic of which was prevailing at the time, and from which several white men and many indians died in that vicinity." the calculus was deposited in the army medical museum at washington, and is represented in the accompanying photograph, showing a cross-section of the calculus with the arrow-head in situ. as quoted by chelius, both hennen and cline relate cases in which men have been shot through the skirts of the jacket, the ball penetrating the abdomen above the tuberosity of the ischium, and entering the bladder, and the men have afterward urinated pieces of clothing, threads, etc., taken in by the ball. in similar cases the bullet itself may remain in the bladder and cause the formation of a calculus about itself as a nucleus, as in three cases mentioned by mcguire of richmond, or the remnants of cloth or spicules of bone may give rise to similar formation. mcguire mentions the case of a man of twenty-three who was wounded at the battle of mcdowell, may , . the ball struck him on the horizontal ramus of the left pubic bone, about an inch from the symphysis, passed through the bladder and rectum, and came out just below the right sacrosciatic notch, near the sacrum. the day after the battle the man was sent to the general hospital at staunton, va., where he remained under treatment for four months. during the first month urine passed freely through the wounds made by the entrance and exit of the ball, and was generally mixed with pus and blood. fecal matter was frequently discharged through the posterior wound. some time during the third week he passed several small pieces of bone by the rectum. at the end of the fifth week the wound of exit healed, and for the first time after his injury urine was discharged through the urethra. the wound of entrance gradually closed after five months, but opened again in a few weeks and continued, at varying intervals, alternately closed and open until september, . at this time, on sounding the man, it was found that he had stone; this was removed by lateral operation, and was found to weigh / ounces, having for its nucleus a piece of bone about / inch long. dougherty reports the operation of lithotomy, in which the calculus removed was formed by incrustations about an iron bullet. in cases in which there is a fistula of the bladder the subject may live for some time, in some cases passing excrement through the urethra, in others, urine by the anus. these cases seem to have been of particular interest to the older writers, and we find the literature of the last century full of examples. benivenius, borellus, the ephemerides, tulpius, zacutus lusitanus, and others speak of excrement passing through the penis; and there are many cases of vaginal anus recorded. langlet cites an instance in which the intestine terminated in the bladder. arand mentions recovery after atresia of the anus with passage of excrement from the vulva. bartholinus, the ephemerides, fothergill, de la croix, riedlin, weber, and zacutus lusitanus mention instances in which gas was passed by the penis and urethra. camper records such a case from ulcer of the neighboring or connecting intestine; frank, from cohesion and suppuration of the rectum; marcellus donatus, from penetrating ulcer of the rectum; and petit, from communication of the rectum and bladder in which a cure was effected by the continued use of the catheter for the evacuation of urine. flatus through the vagina, vulva, and from the uterus is mentioned by bartholinus, the ephemerides, meckel, mauriceau, paullini, riedlin, trnka, and many others in the older literature. dickinson mentions a burmese male child, four years old, who had an imperforate anus and urethra, but who passed feces and urine successfully through an opening at the base of the glans penis. dickinson eventually performed a successful operation on this case. modern literature has many similar instances. in the older literature it was not uncommon to find accounts of persons passing worms from the bladder, no explanations being given to account for their presence in this organ. some of these cases were doubtless instances of echinococcus, trichinae, or the result of rectovesical fistula, but riverius mentions an instance in which, after drinking water containing worms, a person passed worms in the urine. in the old journal de physique de rozier is an account of a man of forty-five who enjoyed good health, but who periodically urinated small worms from the bladder. they were described as being about / lines long, and caused no inconvenience. there is also mentioned the case of a woman who voided worms from the bladder. tupper describes a curious case of a woman of sixty-nine who complained of a severe, stinging pain that completely overcame her after micturition. an ulceration of the neck of the bladder was suspected, and the usual remedies were applied, but without effect. an examination of the urine was negative. on recommendation of her friends the patient, before going to bed, steeped and drank a decoction of knot-grass. during the night she urinated freely, and claimed that she had passed a worm about ten inches long and of the size of a knitting-needle. it exhibited motions like those of a snake, and was quite lively, living five or six days in water. the case seems quite unaccountable, but there is, of course, a possibility that the animal had already been in the chamber, or that it was passed by the bowel. a rectovaginal or vesical fistula could account for the presence of this worm had it been voided from the bowel; nevertheless the woman adhered to her statement that she had urinated the worm, and, as confirmatory evidence, never complained of pain after passing the animal. foreign bodies in the bladder, other than calculi (which will be spoken of in chapter xv), generally gain entrance through one of the natural passages, as a rule being introduced, either in curiosity or for perverted satisfaction, through the urethra. morand mentions an instance in which a long wax taper was introduced into the bladder through the urethra by a man. at the university hospital, philadelphia, white has extracted, by median cystotomy, a long wax taper which had been used in masturbation. the cystoscopic examination in this case was negative, and the man's statements were disbelieved, but the operation was performed, and the taper was found curled up and covered by mucus and folds of the bladder. it is not uncommon for needles, hair-pins, and the like to form nuclei for incrustations. gross found three caudal vertebrae of a squirrel in the center of a vesical calculus taken from the bladder of a man of thirty-five. it was afterward elicited that the patient had practiced urethral masturbation with the tail of this animal. morand relates the history of a man of sixty-two who introduced a sprig of wheat into his urethra for a supposed therapeutic purpose. it slipped into the bladder and there formed the nucleus of a cluster calculus. dayot reports a similar formation from the introduction of the stem of a plant. terrilon describes the case of a man of fifty-four who introduced a pencil into his urethra. the body rested fifteen days in this canal, and then passed into the bladder. on the twenty-eighth day he had a chill, and during two days made successive attempts to break the pencil. following each attempt he had a violent chill and intense evening fever. on the thirty-third day terrilon removed the pencil by operation. symptoms of perivesical abscess were present, and seventeen days after the operation, and fifty days after the introduction of the pencil, the patient died. caudmont mentions a man of twenty-six who introduced a pencil-case into his urethra, from whence it passed into his bladder. it rested about four years in this organ before violent symptoms developed. perforation of the bladder took place, and the patient died. poulet mentions the case of a man of seventy-eight, in whose bladder a metallic sound was broken off. the fractured piece of sound, which measured cm. in length, made its exit from the anus, and the patient recovered. wheeler reports the case of a man of twenty-one who passed a button-hook into his anus, from whence it escaped into his bladder. the hook, which was subsequently spontaneously passed, measured / inches in length and / inch in diameter. among females, whose urethrae are short and dilatable, foreign bodies are often found in the bladder, and it is quite common for smaller articles of the toilet, such as hair-pins, to be introduced into the bladder, and there form calculi. whiteside describes a case in which a foreign body introduced into the bladder was mistaken for pregnancy, and giving rise to corresponding symptoms. the patient was a young girl of seventeen who had several times missed her menstruation, and who was considered pregnant. the abdomen was more developed than usual in a young woman. the breasts were voluminous, and the nipples surrounded by a somber areola. at certain periods after the cessation of menstruation, she had incontinence of urine, and had also repeatedly vomited. the urine was of high specific gravity, albuminous, alkaline, and exhaled a disagreeable odor. in spite of the signs of pregnancy already noted, palpitation and percussion did not show any augmentation in the size of the uterus, but the introduction of a catheter into the bladder showed the existence of a large calculus. under chloroform the calculus and its nucleus were disengaged, and proved to be the handle of a tooth-brush, the exact size of which is represented in the accompanying illustration. the handle was covered with calcareous deposits, and was tightly fixed in the bladder. at first the young woman would give no explanation for its presence, but afterward explained that she had several times used this instrument for relief in retention of urine, and one day it had fallen into the bladder. a short time after the operation menstruation returned for the first time in seven months, and was afterward normal. bigelow reports the case of a woman who habitually introduced hair-pins and common pins into her bladder. she acquired this mania after an attempt at dilatation of the urethra in the relief of an obstinate case of strangury. rode reports the case of a woman who had introduced a hog's penis into her urethra. it was removed by an incision into this canal, but the patient died in five days of septicemia. there is a curious case quoted of a young domestic of fourteen who was first seen suffering with pain in the sides of the genital organs, retention of urine, and violent tenesmus. she was examined by a midwife who found nothing, but on the following day the patient felt it necessary to go to bed. her general symptoms persisted, and meanwhile the bladder became much distended. the patient had made allusion to the loss of a hair-pin, a circumstance which corresponded with the beginning of her trouble. examination showed the orifice of the urethra to be swollen and painful to the touch, and from its canal a hair-pin . cm. long was extracted. the patient was unable to urinate, and it was necessary to resort to catheterization. by evening the general symptoms had disappeared, and the next day the patient urinated as usual. there are peculiar cases of hair in the bladder, in which all history as to the method of entrance is denied, and which leave as the only explanation the possibility that the bladder was in communication with some dermoid cyst. hamelin mentions a case of this nature. it is said that all his life sir william elliot was annoyed by passing hairs in urination. they would lodge in the urethra and cause constant irritation. at his death a stone was taken from the bladder, covered with scurf and hair. hall relates the case of a woman of sixty, from whose bladder, by dilatation of the urethra, was removed a bundle of hairs two inches long, which, hall says, without a doubt had grown from the vesical walls. retention of foreign bodies in the pelvis.--it is a peculiar fact that foreign bodies which once gain entrance to the pelvis may be tolerated in this location for many years. baxter describes a man who suffered an injury from a piece of white board which entered his pelvis, and remained in position for sixteen and a half years; at this time a piece of wood / inches long was discharged at stool, and the patient recovered. jones speaks of a case in which splinters of wood were retained in the neighborhood of the rectum and vagina for sixteen years, and spontaneously discharged. barwell mentions a case in which a gum elastic catheter that had been passed into the vagina for the purpose of producing abortion became impacted in the pelvis for twenty months, and was then removed. rupture of the male urethra.--the male urethra is occasionally ruptured in violent coitus. frank and the philosophical transactions are among the older authorities mentioning this accident. in frank's case there was hemorrhage from the penis to the extent of five pounds. colles mentions a man of thirty-eight, prone to obesity, and who had been married two months, who said that in sexual congress he had hurt himself by pushing his penis against the pubic bone, and added that he had a pain that felt as though something had broken in his organ. the integuments of the penis became livid and swollen and were extremely painful. his urine had to be drawn by a catheter, and by the fifth day his condition was so bad that an incision was made into the tumor, and pus, blood, urine, and air issued. the patient suffered intense rigors, his abdomen became tympanitic, and he died. postmortem examination revealed the presence of a ruptured urethra. watson relates an instance of coitus performed en postillon by a man while drunk, with rupture of the urethra and fracture of the corpus spongiosum only. loughlin mentions a rupture of the corpus spongiosum during coitus. frank cites a curious case of hemorrhage from a fall while the penis was erect. it is not unusual to find ruptured urethrae following traumatism, and various explanations are given for it in the standard works on surgery. fracture of the penis.--a peculiar accident to the penis is fracture, which sometimes occurs in coitus. this accident consists in the laceration of the corpora cavernosa, followed by extensive extravasation of blood into the erectile tissue. it has also occurred from injury inflicted accidentally or maliciously, but always happening when the organ was erect. an annoying sequel following this accident is the tendency to curvature in erection, which is sometimes so marked as to interfere with coitus, and even render the patient permanently impotent. there is an account of a laborer of twenty-seven who, in attempting to micturate with his penis erect, pressed it downward with considerable force and fractured the corpora cavernosa. veazie relates a case of fracture of the corpora cavernosa occurring in coitus. during the act the female suddenly withdrew, and the male, following, violently struck the pubes, with the resultant injury. recovery ensued. m'clellan speaks of removing the cavernous septum from a man of fifty-two, in whom this part had become infiltrated with lime-salts and resembled a long, narrow bone. when the penis was erect it was bent in the form of a semicircular bow. the transactions of the south carolina medical association contain an account of a negro of sixty who had urethral stricture from gonorrhea and who had been treated for fifteen years by caustics. the penis was seven inches in circumference around the glans, and but little less near the scrotum. the glans was riddled with holes, and numerous fistulae existed on the inferior surface of the urethra, the meatus being impermeable. so great was the weight and hypertrophy that amputation was necessary. john hunter speaks of six strictures existing in one urethra at one time; lallemand of seven; bolot of eight; ducamp of five; boyer thought three could never exist together; leroy d'etoilles found , and rokitansky met with four. sundry injuries to the penis.--fabricius hildanus mentions a curious case of paraphimosis caused by violent coitus with a virgin who had an extremely narrow vagina. joyce relates a history of a stout man who awoke with a vigorous erection, and feeling much irritation, he scratched himself violently. he soon bled copiously, his shirt and underlying sheets and blankets being soaked through. on examination the penis was found swollen, and on drawing back the foreskin a small jet of blood spurted from a small rupture in the frenum. the authors have knowledge of a case in which hemorrhage from the frenum proved fatal. the patient, in a drunken wager, attempted to circumcise himself with a piece of tin, and bled to death before medical aid could be summoned. it sometimes happens that the virile member is amputated by an animal bite. paullini and celliez mention amputation of the penis by a dog-bite. morgan describes a boy of thirteen who was feeding a donkey which suddenly made a snap at him, unfortunately catching him by the trousers and including the penis in one of the folds. by the violence of the bite the boy was thrown to the ground, and his entire prepuce was stripped off to the root as if it had been done by a knife. there was little hemorrhage, and the prepuce was found in the trousers, looking exactly like the finger of a glove. morgan stated that this was the third case of the kind of which he had knowledge. bookey records a case in which an artilleryman was seized by the penis by an infuriated horse, and the two crura were pulled out entire. amputation of the penis is not always followed by loss of the sexual power and instinct, but sometimes has the mental effect of temporarily increasing the desire. haslam reports the case of a man who slipped on the greasy deck of a whaler, and falling forward with great violence upon a large knife used to cut blubber, completely severed his penis, beside inflicting a wound in the abdomen through which the intestines protruded. after recovery there was a distinct increase of sexual desire and frequent nocturnal emissions. in the same report there is recorded the history of a man who had entirely lost his penis, but had supplied himself with an ivory succedaneum. this fellow finally became so libidinous that it was necessary to exclude him from the workhouse, of which he was an inmate. norris gives an account of a private who received a gunshot wound of the penis while it was partly erect. the wound was acquired at the second battle of fredericksburg. the ball entered near the center of the glans penis, and taking a slightly oblique direction, it passed out of the right side of the penis / inches beyond the glans; it then entered the scrotum, and after striking the pelvis near the symphysis, glanced off around the innominate bone, and finally made its exit two inches above the anus. the after-effects of this injury were incontinence of urine, and inability to assume the erect position. bookey cites the case of six wounds from one bullet with recovery. the bullet entered the sole and emerged from the dorsum of the foot. it then went through the right buttock and came out of the groin, only to penetrate the dorsum of the penis and emerge at the upper part of the glans. rose speaks of a case in which a man had his clothes caught in machinery, drawing in the external genital organs. the testicles were found to be uninjured, but the penis was doubled out of sight and embedded in the scrotum, from whence it was restored to its natural position and the man recovered. nelaton describes a case of luxation of the penis in a lad of six who fell from a cart. nelaton found the missing member in the scrotum, where it had been for nine days. he introduced sir astley cooper's instrument for tying deeply-seated arteries through a cutaneous tube, and conducting the hook under the corporus cavernosum, seized this crosswise, and by a to-and-fro movement succeeded in replacing the organ. moldenhauer describes the case of a farmer of fifty-seven who was injured in a runaway accident, a wheel passing over his body close to the abdomen. the glans penis could not be recognized, since the penis in toto had been torn from its sheath at the corona, and had slipped or been driven into the inguinal region. this author quotes stromeyer's case, which was that of a boy of four and a half years who was kicked by a horse in the external genital region. the sheath was found empty of the penis, which had been driven into the perineum. raven mentions a case of spontaneous retraction of the penis in a man of twenty-seven. while in bed he felt a sensation of coldness in the penis, and on examination he found the organ (a normal-sized one) rapidly retracting or shrinking. he hastily summoned a physician, who found that the penis had, in fact, almost disappeared, the glans being just perceptible under the pubic arch, and the skin alone visible. the next day the normal condition was restored, but the patient was weak and nervous for several days after his fright. in a similar case, mentioned by ivanhoff, the penis of a peasant of twenty-three, a married man, bodily disappeared, and was only captured by repeated effort. the patient was six days under treatment, and he finally became so distrustful of his virile member that, to be assured of its constancy, he tied a string about it above the glans. injuries of the penis and testicles self-inflicted are grouped together and discussed in chapter xiv. as a rule, spontaneous gangrene of the penis has its origin in some intense fever. partridge describes a man of forty who had been the victim of typhus fever, and whose penis mortified and dried up, becoming black and like the empty finger of a cast-off glove; in a few days it dropped off. boyer cites a case of edema of the prepuce, noticed on the fifteenth day of the fever, and which was followed by gangrene of the penis. rostan mentions gangrene of the penis from small-pox. intermittent fever has been cited as a cause. koehler reports a fatal instance of gangrene of the penis, caused by a prostatic abscess following gonorrhea. in this case there was thrombosis of the pelvic veins. hutchinson mentions a man who, thirty years before, after six days' exposure on a raft, had lost both legs by gangrene. at the age of sixty-six he was confined to bed by subacute bronchitis, and during this period his whole penis became gangrenous and sloughed off. this is quite unusual, as gangrene is usually associated with fever; it is more than likely that the gangrene of the leg was not connected with that of the penis, but that the latter was a distinct after-result. possibly the prolonged exposure at the time he lost his legs produced permanent injury to the blood-vessels and nerves of the penis. there is a case on record in which, in a man of thirty-seven, gangrene of the penis followed delirium tremens, and was attributed to alcoholism. quoted by jacobson, troisfontaines records a case of gangrene of the skin and body of the penis in a young man, and without any apparent cause. schutz speaks of regeneration of the penis after gangrenous destruction. gangrene of the penis does not necessarily hinder the performance of marital functions. chance mentions a man whose penis sloughed off, leaving only a nipple-like remnant. however, he married four years later, and always lived in harmony with his wife. at the time of his death he was the father of a child, subsequent to whose birth his wife had miscarried, and at the time of report she was daily expecting to be again confined. willett relates the instance of a horseman of thirty-three who, after using a combination of refuse oils to protect his horse from gnats, was prompted to urinate, and, in so doing, accidentally touched his penis with the mixture. sloughing phagedena rapidly ensued, but under medical treatment he eventually recovered. priapism is sometimes seen as a curious symptom of lesion of the spinal cord. in such cases it is totally unconnected with any voluptuous sensation and is only found accompanied by motor paralysis. it may occur spontaneously immediately after accident involving the cord, and is then probably due to undue excitement of the portion of the cord below the lesion, which is deprived of the regulating influence of the brain. priapism may also develop spontaneously at a later period, and is then due to central irritation from extravasation into the substance of the cord, or to some reflex cause. it may also occur from simple concussion, as shown by a case reported by le gros clark. pressure on the cerebellum is supposed to account for cases of priapism observed in executions and suicides by hanging. there is an instance recorded of an italian "castrate" who said he provoked sexual pleasure by partially hanging himself. he accidentally ended his life in pursuance of this peculiar habit. the facts were elicited by testimony at the inquest. there are, however, in literature, records of long continued priapism in which either the cause is due to excessive stimulation of the sexual center or in which the cause is obscure or unknown. there may or may not be accompanying voluptuous feelings. the older records contain instances of continued infantile priapism caused by the constant irritation of ascarides and also records of prolonged priapism associated with intense agony and spasmodic cramps. zacutus lusitanus speaks of a viceroy of india who had a long attack of stubborn priapism without any voluptuous feeling. gross refers to prolonged priapism, and remarks that the majority of cases seem to be due to excessive coitus. moore reports a case in a man of forty who had been married fifteen years, and who suffered spasmodic contractions of the muscles of the penis after an incomplete coitus. this pseudopriapism continued for twenty-three days, during which time he had unsuccessfully resorted to the application of cold, bleeding, and other treatment; but on the twenty-sixth day, after the use of bladders filled with cold water, there was a discharge from the urethra of a glairy mucus, similar in nature to that in seminal debility. there was then complete relaxation of the organ. during all this time the man slept very little, only occasionally dozing. donne describes an athletic laborer of twenty-five who received a wound from a rifle-ball penetrating the cranial parietes immediately in the posterior superior angle of the parietal bone, and a few lines from the lambdoid suture. the ball did not make egress, but passed posteriorly downward. reaction was established on the third day, but the inflammatory symptoms influenced the genitalia. priapism began on the fifth day, at which time the patient became affected with a salacious appetite, and was rational upon every subject except that pertaining to venery. he grew worse on the sixth day, and his medical adviser was obliged to prohibit a female attendant. priapism continued, but the man went into a soporose condition, with occasional intervals of satyriasis. in this condition he survived nine days; there was not the slightest abatement of the priapism until a few moments before his death. tripe relates the history of a seaman of twenty-five, in perfect health, who, arriving from calcutta on april , , lodged with a female until the th. at this time he experienced an unusually fierce desire, with intense erection of the penis which, with pain, lasted throughout the night. though coitus was frequently resorted to, these symptoms continued. he sought aid at the london hospital, but the priapism was persistent, and when he left, on may th, the penis formed an acute angle with the pubes, and he again had free intercourse with the same female. at the time of leaving england the penis made an angle of about degrees with the pubes, and this condition, he affirmed, lasted three months. on his return to england his penis was flaccid, and his symptoms had disappeared. salzer presents an interesting paper on priapism which was quoted in the practitioner of london. salzer describes one patient of forty-six who awoke one morning with a strong erection that could not be reduced by any means. urine was voided by jerks and with difficulty, and only when the subject was placed in the knee and elbow position. despite all treatment this condition continued for seven weeks. at this time the patient's spleen was noticed to be enormously enlarged. the man died about a year after the attack, but a necropsy was unfortunately refused. salzer, in discussing the theories of priapism, mentions eight cases previously reported, and concludes, that such cases are attributable to leukemia. kremine believes that continued priapism is produced by effusion of blood into the corpora cavernosa, which is impeded on its return. he thinks it corresponds to bleeding at the nose and rectum, which often occurs in perfectly healthy persons. longuet regards the condition of the blood in leukemia as the cause of such priapism, and considers that the circulation of the blood is retarded in the smaller vessels, while, owing to the great increase in the number of white corpuscles, thrombi are formed. neidhart and matthias conclude that the origin of this condition might be sought for in the disturbance of the nerve-centers. after reviewing all these theories, salzer states that in his case the patient was previously healthy and never had suffered the slightest hemorrhage in any part, and he therefore rejects the theory of extravasation. he is inclined to suppose that the priapism was due to the stimulation of the nervi erigentes, brought about either by anatomic change in the nerves themselves, or by pressure upon them by enlarged lumbar glands, an associate condition of leukemia. burchard reports a most interesting case of prolonged priapism in an english gentleman of fifty-three. when he was called to see the man on july th he found him suffering with intense pain in the penis, and in a state of extreme exhaustion after an erection which had lasted five hours uninterruptedly, during the whole of which time the organ was in a state of violent and continuous spasm. the paroxysm was controlled by / grain morphin and / grain atropin. five hours later, after a troubled sleep, there was another erection, which was again relieved by hypodermic medication. during the day he had two other paroxysms, one lasting forty-five minutes; and another, three hours later, lasting eighteen minutes. both these were controlled by morphin. there was no loss of semen, but after the paroxysms a small quantity of glairy mucus escaped from the meatus. the rigidity was remarkable, simulating the spasms of tetanus. no language could adequately describe the suffering of the patient. burchard elicited the history that the man had suffered from nocturnal emissions and erotic dreams of the most lascivious nature, sometimes having three in one night. during the day he would have eight or ten erections, unaccompanied by any voluptuous emotions. in these there would rarely be any emission, but occasionally a small mucous discharge. this state of affairs had continued three years up to the time burchard saw him, and, chagrined by pain and his malady, the patient had become despondent. after a course of careful treatment, in which diet, sponging, application of ice-bags, and ergot were features, this unfortunate man recovered. bruce mentions the case of an irishman of fifty-five who, without apparent cause, was affected with a painful priapism which lasted six weeks, and did not subside even under chloroform. booth mentions a case of priapism in a married seaman of fifty-five, due to local inflammation about the muscles, constricting the bulb of the penis. the affection lasted five weeks, and was extremely painful. there was a similar case of priapism which lasted for three weeks, and was associated with hydrocele in a man of forty-eight. injuries of the testicle and scrotum may be productive of most serious issue. it is a well-known surgical fact that a major degree of shock accompanies a contusion of this portion of the body. in fact, chevers states that the sensitiveness of the testicles is so well known in india, that there are cases on record in which premeditated murder has been effected by cossiah women, by violently squeezing the testicles of their husbands. he also mentions another case in which, in frustrating an attempt at rape, death was caused in a similar manner. stalkartt describes the case of a young man who, after drinking to excess with his paramour, was either unable, or indifferent in gratifying her sexual desire. the woman became so enraged that she seized the scrotum and wrenched it from its attachments, exposing the testicles. the left testicle was completely denuded, and was hanging by the vas deferens and the spermatic vessels. there was little hemorrhage, and the wound was healed by granulation. avulsion of the male external genitalia is not always accompanied by serious consequences, and even in some cases the sexual power is preserved. knoll described a case in , occurring in a peasant of thirty-six who fell from a horse under the wheels of a carriage. he was first caught in the revolving wheels by his apron, which drew him up until his breeches were entangled, and finally his genitals were torn off. not feeling much pain at the time, he mounted his horse and went to his house. on examination it was found that the injury was accompanied with considerable hemorrhage. the wound extended from the superior part of the pubes almost to the anus; the canal of the urethra was torn away, and the penis up to the neck of the bladder. there was no vestige of either the right scrotum or testicle. the left testicle was hanging by its cord, enveloped in its tunica vaginalis. the cord was swollen and resembled a penis stripped of its integument. the prostate was considerably contused. after two months of suffering the patient recovered, being able to evacuate his urine through a fistulous opening that had formed. in ten weeks cicatrization was perfect. in his "memoirs of the campaign of ," larrey describes a soldier who, while standing with his legs apart, was struck from behind by a bullet. the margin of the sphincter and, the skin of the perineum, the bulbous portion of the urethra, some of the skin of the scrotum, and the right testicle were destroyed. the spermatic cord was divided close to the skin, and the skin of the penis and prepuce was torn. the soldier was left as dead on the field, but after four months' treatment he recovered. madden mentions a man of fifty who fell under the feet of a pair of horses, and suffered avulsion of the testicles through the scrotum. the organs were mangled, the spermatic cord was torn and hung over the anus, and the penis was lacerated from the frenum down. the man lost his testicles, but otherwise completely recovered. brugh reports an instance of injury to the genitalia in a boy of eighteen who was caught in a threshing-machine. the skin of the penis and scrotum, and the tissue from the pubes and inguinal region were torn from the body. cicatrization and recovery were complete. brigham cites an analogous case in a youth of seventeen who was similarly caught in threshing machinery. the skin of the penis and the scrotum was entirely torn away; both sphincters of the anus were lacerated, and the perineum was divested of its skin for a space / inches wide. recovery ensued, leaving a penis which measured, when flaccid, three inches long and / inches in diameter. there is a case reported of a man who had his testicles caught in machinery while ginning cotton. the skin of the penis was stripped off to its root, the scrotum torn off from its base, and the testicles were contused and lacerated, and yet good recovery ensued. a peculiarity of this case was the persistent erection of the penis when cold was not applied. gibbs mentions a case in which the entire scrotum and the perineum, together with an entire testicle and its cord attached, and nearly all the integument of the penis were torn off, yet the patient recovered with preservation of sexual powers. the patient was a negro of twenty-two who, while adjusting a belt, had his coat (closely buttoned) caught in the shafting, and his clothes and external genitals torn off. on examination it was found that the whole scrotum was wrenched off, and also the skin and cellular tissue, from / inches above the spine of the pubes down to the edge of the sphincter ani, including all the breadth of the perineum, together with the left testicle with five inches of its cord attached, and all the integument and cellular covering of the penis except a rim nearly half an inch wide at the extremity and continuous with the mucous membrane of the prepuce. the right testicle was hanging by its denuded cord, and was apparently covered only by the tunica vaginalis as high up as the abdominal ring, where the elastic feeling of the intestines was distinctly perceptible. there was not more than half an ounce of blood lost. the raw surface was dressed, the gap in the perineum brought together, and the patient made complete recovery, with preservation of his sexual powers. other cases of injuries to the external genital organs (self-inflicted) will be found in the next chapter. the preservation of the sexual power after injuries of this kind is not uncommon. there is a case reported of a man whose testicles were completely torn away, and the perineal urethra so much injured that micturition took place through the wound. after a tedious process the wound healed and the man was discharged, but he returned in ten days with gonorrhea, stating that he had neither lost sexual desire nor power of satisfaction. robbins mentions a man of thirty-eight who, in , had his left testicle removed. in the following year his right testicle became affected and was also removed. the patient stated that since the removal of the second gland he had regular sexual desire and coitus, apparently not differing from that in which he indulged before castration. for a few months previous to the time of report the cord on the left side, which had not been completely extirpated, became extremely painful and was also removed. atrophy of the testicle may follow venereal excess, and according to larrey, deep wounds of the neck may produce the same result, with the loss of the features of virility. guthrie mentions a case of spontaneous absorption of the testicle. according to larrey, on the return of the french army from the egyptian expedition the soldiers complained of atrophy and disappearance of the testicle, without any venereal affection. the testicle would lose its sensibility, become soft, and gradually diminish in size. one testicle at a time was attacked, and when both were involved the patient was deprived of the power of procreation, of which he was apprised by the lack of desire and laxity of the penis. in this peculiar condition the general health seemed to fail, and the subjects occasionally became mentally deranged. atrophy of the testicles has been known to follow an attack of mumps. in his description of the diseases of barbadoes hendy mentions several peculiar cases under his observation in which the scrotum sloughed, leaving the testicles denuded. alix and richter mention a singular modification of rheumatic inflammation of the testicle, in which the affection flitted from one testicle to the other, and alternated with rheumatic pains elsewhere. there is a case of retraction of the testicle reported in a young soldier of twenty-one who, when first seen, complained of a swelling in the right groin. he stated that while riding bareback his horse suddenly plunged and threw him on the withers. he at once felt a sickening pain in the groin and became so ill that he had to dismount. on inspection an oval tumor was seen in the groin, tender to the touch and showing no impulse on coughing. the left testicle was in its usual position, but the right was absent. the patient stated positively that both testicles were in situ before the accident. an attempt at reduction was made, but the pain was so severe that manipulation could not be endured. a warm bath and laudanum were ordered, but unfortunately, as the patient at stool gave a sudden bend to the left, his testicle slipped up into the abdomen and was completely lost to palpation. orchitis threatened, but the symptoms subsided; the patient was kept under observation for some weeks, and then as a tentative measure, discharged to duty. shortly afterward he returned, saying that he was ill, and that while lifting a sack of corn his testicle came partly down, causing him great pain. at the time of report his left testicle was in position, but the right could not be felt. the scrotum on that side had retracted until it had almost disappeared; the right external ring was very patent, and the finger could be passed up in the inguinal canal; there was no impulse on coughing and no tendency to hernia. a unique case of ectopia of the testicle in a man of twenty-four is given by popoff. the scrotum was normally developed, and the right testicle in situ. the left half of the scrotum was empty, and at the root of the penis there was a swelling the size of a walnut, covered with normal skin, and containing an oval body about four-fifths the size of the testicle, but softer in constituency. the patient claimed that this swelling had been present since childhood. his sexual power had been normal, but for the past six months he had been impotent. in childhood the patient had a small inguinal hernia, and popoff thought this caused the displacement of the testicle. a somewhat similar case occurred in the hotel-dieu, paris. through the agency of compression one of the testes was forced along the corpus cavernosum under the skin as far as the glans penis. it was easily reduced, and at a subsequent autopsy it was found that it had not been separated from the cord. gluiteras a cites a parallel case of dislocation of the testicle into the penis. it was the result of traumatism--a fall upon the wheel of a cart. it was reduced under anesthesia, after two incisions had been made, the adhesions broken up, and the shrunken sac enlarged by stretching. rupture of the spermatic arteries and veins has caused sudden death. schleiser is accredited with describing an instance in which a healthy man was engaged in a fray in the dark, and, suddenly crying out, fell into convulsions and died in five minutes. on examination the only injury found was the rupture of both spermatic arteries at the internal ring, produced by a violent pull on the scrotum and testicles by one of his antagonists. shock was evidently a strong factor in this case. fabricius hildanus gives a case of impotency due to lesions of the spermatic vessels following a burn. there is an old record of an aged man who, on marrying, found that he had erections but no ejaculations. he died of ague, and at the autopsy it was found that the verumontanum was hard and of the size of a walnut and that the ejaculatory ducts contained calculi about the size and shape of peas. hydrocele is a condition in which there is an abnormal quantity of fluid in the tunica vaginalis. it is generally caused by traumatism, violent muscular efforts, or straining, and is much more frequent in tropic countries than elsewhere. it sometimes attains an enormous size. leigh mentions a hydrocele weighing pounds, and there are records of hydroceles weighing and pounds. larrey speaks of a sarcocele in the coverings of the testicle which weighed pounds. mursinna describes a hydrocele which measured inches in its longest and in its transverse axis. tedford gives a curious case of separation of the ovary in a woman of twenty-eight. after suffering from invagination of the bowel and inflammation of the ovarian tissue, an ovary was discharged through an opening in the sigmoid flexure, and thence expelled from the anus. in discussing injuries of the vagina, the first to be mentioned will be a remarkable case reported by curran. the subject was an irish girl of twenty. while carrying a bundle of clothes that prevented her from seeing objects in front of her, she started to pass over a stile, just opposite to which a goat was lying. the woman wore no underclothing, and in the ascent her body was partially exposed, and, while in this enforced attitude, the goat, frightened by her approach, suddenly started up, and in so doing thrust his horn forcibly into her anus and about two or three inches up her rectum. the horn then passed through the bowel and its coverings, just above the hymen, and was then withdrawn as she flinched and fell back. the resultant wound included the lower part of the vagina and rectum, the sphincter and, the fourchet, and perineum. hemorrhage was profuse, and the wound caused excruciating pain. the subject fainted on the spot from hemorrhage and shock. her modesty forbade her summoning medical aid for three days, during which time the wound was undergoing most primitive treatment. after suturing, cicatrization followed without delay. trompert mentions a case of rupture of the vagina by the horn of a bull. there is a case recorded in the pennsylvania hospital reports of a girl of nineteen who jumped out of a second-story window. on reaching the ground, her foot turned under her as she fell. the high heel of a french boot was driven through the perineum one inch from the median line, midway between the anus and the posterior commissure of the labia majora. the wound extended into the vagina above the external opening, in which the heel, now separated from the boot, projected, and whence it was removed without difficulty. this wound was the only injury sustained by the fall. beckett records a case of impalement in a woman of forty-five who, while attempting to obtain water from a hogshead, fell with one limb inside the cistern, striking a projecting stave three inches wide and / inch thick. the external labia were divided, the left crus of the clitoris separated, the nymphae lacerated, and the vaginal wall penetrated to the extent of five inches; the patient recovered by the fourth week. homans reports recovery from extensive wounds acquired by a negress who fell from a roof, striking astride an upright barrel. there was a wound of the perineum, and penetration of the posterior wall of the vagina, with complete separation of the soft parts from the symphysis pubis, and extrusion of the bladder. howe reports a case of impalement with recovery in a girl of fifteen who slid down a hay-stack, striking a hay-hook which penetrated her perineum and passed into her body, emerging two inches below the umbilicus and one inch to the right of the median line. injuries of the vagina may be so extensive as to allow protrusion of the intestines, and some horrible cases of this nature are recorded. in the lancet for there is reported a murder or suicide of this description. the woman was found with a wound in the vagina, through which the intestines, with clean-cut ends, protruded. over / feet of the intestines had been cut off in three pieces. the cuts were all clean and carefully separated from the mesentery. the woman survived her injuries a whole week, finally succumbing to loss of blood and peritonitis. her husband was tried for murder, but was acquitted by a glasgow jury. taylor mentions similar cases of two women murdered in edinburgh some years since, the wounds having been produced by razor slashes in the vagina. taylor remarks that this crime seems to be quite common in scotland. starkey reports an instance in which the body of an old colored woman was found, with evidences of vomiting, and her clothing stained with blood that had evidently come from her vagina. a postmortem showed the abdominal cavity to be full of blood; at douglas' culdesac there was a tear large enough to admit a man's hand, through which protruded a portion of the omentum; this was at first taken for the membranes of an abortion. there were distinct signs of acute peritonitis. after investigation it was proved that a drunken glass-blower had been seen leaving her house with his hand and arm stained with blood. in his drunken frenzy this man had thrust his hand into the vagina, and through the junction of its posterior wall with the uterus, up into the abdominal cavity, and grasped the uterus, trying to drag it out. outside of obstetric practice the injury is quite a rare one. there is a case of death from a ruptured clitoris reported by gutteridge. the woman was kicked while in a stooping position and succumbed to a profuse hemorrhage, estimated to be between three and four pounds, and proceeding from a rupture of the clitoris. discharge of vaginal parietes.--longhi describes the case of a woman of twenty-seven, an epileptic, with metritis and copious catamenia twice a month. she was immoderately addicted to drink and sexual indulgence, and in february, , her menses ceased. on may th she was admitted to the hospital with a severe epileptic convulsion, and until the th remained in a febrile condition, with abdominal tenderness, etc. on the st, while straining as if to discharge the contents of the rectum, she felt a voluminous body pass through the vagina, and fancied it was the expected fetus. after washing this mass it was found to be a portion of the vaginal parietes and the fleshy body of the neck of the uterus. the woman believed she had miscarried, and still persisted in refusing medicine. cicatrization was somewhat delayed; immediately on leaving the hospital she returned to her old habits, but the pain and hemorrhage attending copulation was so great that she had finally to desist. the vagina, however, gradually yielding, ceased to interfere with the gratification of her desires. toward the end of june the menses reappeared and flowed with the greatest regularity. the portions discharged are preserved in the milan hospital. the injuries received during coitus have been classified by spaeth as follows: deep tears of the hymen with profuse hemorrhage; tears of the clitoris and of the urethra (in cases of atresia hymenis); vesicovaginal fistula; laceration of the vaginal fornices, posteriorly or laterally; laceration of the septum of a duplex vagina; injuries following coitus after perineorrhaphy. in the last century plazzoni reports a case of vaginal rupture occurring during coitus. green of boston; mann of buffalo; sinclair and munro of boston, all mention lacerations occurring during coitus. there is an instance recorded of extensive laceration of the vagina in a woman, the result of coitus with a large dog. haddon and ross both mention cases of rupture of the vagina in coitus; and martin reports a similar case resulting in a young girl's death. spaeth speaks of a woman of thirty-one who, a few days after marriage, felt violent pain in coitus, and four days later she noticed that fecal matter escaped from the vagina during stool. examination showed that the columns of the posterior wall were torn from their attachment, and that there was a rectovaginal fistula admitting the little finger. hofmokl cites an instance in which a powerful young man, in coitus with a widow of fifty-eight, caused a tear of her fornix, followed by violent hemorrhage. in another case by the same author, coitus in a sitting posture produced a rupture of the posterior fornix, involving the peritoneum; although the patient lost much blood, she finally recovered. in a third instance, a young girl, whose lover had violent connection with her while she was in an exaggerated lithotomy position, suffered a large tear of the right vaginal wall. hofmokl also describes the case of a young girl with an undeveloped vagina, absence of the uterus and adnexa, who during a forcible and unsuccessful attempt at coitus, had her left labium majus torn from the vaginal wall. the tear extended into the mons veneris and down to the rectum, and the finger could be introduced into the vaginal wound to the depth of two inches. the patient recovered in four weeks, but was still anemic from the loss of blood. crandall cites instances in which hemorrhage, immediately after coitus of the marriage-night, was so active as to almost cause death. one of his patients was married three weeks previously, and was rapidly becoming exhausted from a constant flowing which started immediately after her first coitus. examination showed this to be a case of active intrauterine hemorrhage excited by coitus soon after the menstrual flow had ceased and while the uterus and ovaries were highly congested. in another case the patient commenced flooding while at the dinner table in the metropolitan hotel in new york, and from the same cause an almost fatal hemorrhage ensued. hirst of philadelphia has remarked that brides have been found on their marital beds completely covered with blood, and that the hemorrhage may have been so profuse as to soak through the bed and fall on the floor. lacerations of the urethra from urethral coitus in instances of vaginal atresia or imperforate hymen may also excite serious hemorrhage. foreign bodies in the vagina.--the elasticity of the vagina allows the presence in this passage of the most voluminous foreign bodies. when we consider the passage of a fetal head through the vagina the ordinary foreign bodies, none of which ever approximate this size, seem quite reasonable. goblets, hair-pins, needles, bottles, beer glasses, compasses, bobbins, pessaries, and many other articles have been found in the vagina. it is quite possible for a phosphatic incrustation to be found about a foreign body tolerated in this location for some time. hubbauer speaks of a young girl of nineteen in whose vagina there was a glass fixed by incrustations which held it solidly in place. it had been there for six months and was only removed with great difficulty. holmes cites a peculiar case in which the neck of a bottle was found in the vagina of a woman. one point of the glass had penetrated the bladder and a calculus had formed on this as well as on the vaginal end. when a foreign body remains in the vagina for a long time and if it is composed of material other than glass, it becomes influenced by the corrosive action of the vaginal secretion. for instance, cloquet removed a foreign body which was incrusted in the vagina, and found the cork pessary which had formed its nucleus completely rotted. a similar instrument found by gosselin had remained in the vagina thirty-six years, and was incrustated with calcareous salts. metal is always attacked by the vaginal secretions in the most marked manner. cloquet mentions that at an autopsy of a woman who had a pewter goblet in her vagina, lead oxid was found in the gangrenous debris. long retention of pessaries, etc.--the length of time during which pessaries may remain in the vagina is sometimes astonishing. the accompanying illustration shows the phosphatic deposits and incrustations around a pessary after a long sojourn in the vagina. the specimen is in the musee dupoytren. pinet mentions a pessary that remained in situ for twenty-five years. gerould of massilon, ohio, reports a case in which a pessary had been worn by a german woman of eighty-four for more than fifty years. she had forgotten its existence until reminded of it by irritation some years before death. it was remarkable that when the pessary was removed it was found to have largely retained its original wax covering. hurxthal mentions the removal of a pessary which had been in the pelvis for forty-one years. jackson speaks of a glove-pessary remaining in the vagina thirty-five years. mackey reports the removal of a glass pessary after fifty-five years' incarceration. there is an account of a young girl addicted to onanism who died from the presence of a pewter cup in her vagina; it had been there fourteen months. shame had led her to conceal her condition for all the period during which she suffered pain in the hypogastrium, and diarrhea. she had steadily refused examination. bazzanella of innsbruck removed a drinking glass from the vagina by means of a pair of small obstetric forceps. the glass had been placed there ten years previously by the woman's husband. szigethy reports the case of a woman of seventy-five who, some thirty years before, introduced into her vagina a ball of string previously dipped in wax. the ball was effectual in relieving a prolapsed uterus, and was worn with so little discomfort that she entirely forgot it until it was forced out of place by a violent effort. the ball was seven inches in circumference, and covered with mucus, but otherwise unchanged. breisky is accredited with the report of a case of a woman suffering with dysmenorrhea, in whose vagina was found a cotton reel which had been introduced seven years before. the woman made a good recovery. pearse mentions a woman of thirty-six who had suffered menorrhagia for ten days, and was in a state of great prostration and suffering from strong colicky pains. on examination he found a silk-bobbin about an inch from the entrance, which the patient had introduced fourteen years before. she had already had attacks of peritonitis and hemorrhage, and a urethrovaginal fistula was found. the bobbin itself was black. this patient had been married twice, and had been cared for by physicians, but the existence of a body / inch long had never been noticed. poulet quotes two curious cases: in one a pregnant woman was examined by a doctor who diagnosticated carcinomatous degeneration of the neck of the uterus. capuron, who was consulted relative to the case, did not believe that the state of the woman's health warranted the diagnosis, and on further examination the growth was found to have been a sponge which had previously been introduced by the woman into the vagina. the other case, reported by guyon, exemplified another error in diagnosis. the patient was a woman who suffered from continuous vaginal hemorrhage, and had been given extensive treatment without success. finally, when the woman was in extreme exhaustion, an injection of vinegar-water was ordered, the use of which was followed by the expulsion from the vagina of a live leech of a species very abundant in the country. the hemorrhage immediately ceased and health returned. there is a record of a woman of twenty-eight who was suddenly surprised by some one entering her chamber at the moment she was introducing a cedar pencil into her vagina. with the purpose of covering up her act and dissembling the woman sat down, and the shank of the wood was pushed through the posterior wall of the vagina into the peritoneal cavity. the intestine was, without doubt, pierced in two of its curves, which was demonstrated later by an autopsy. a plastic exudation had evidently agglutinated the intestine at the points of penetration, and prevented an immediate fatal issue. erichsen practiced extraction eight months after the accident, and a pencil / inches long, having a strong fecal odor, was brought out. the patient died the fourth day after the operation, from peritonitis, and an autopsy showed the perforation and agglutination of the two intestinal curvatures. getchell relates the description of a calculus in the vagina, formed about a hair-pin as a nucleus. it is reported that a country girl came to the hotel-dieu to consult dupoytren, and stated that several years before she had been violated by some soldiers, who had introduced an unknown foreign body into her vagina, which she never could extract. dupuytren found this to be a small metallic pot, two inches in diameter, with its concavity toward the uterus. it contained a solid black substance of a most fetid odor. foreign bodies are generally introduced in the uterus either accidentally in vaginal applications, or for the purpose of producing abortion. zuhmeister describes a case of a woman who shortly after the first manifestations of pregnancy used a twig of a tree to penetrate the matrix. she thrust it so strongly into the uterus that the wall was perforated, and the twig became planted in the region of the kidneys. although six inches long and of the volume of a goose feather, this branch remained five months in the pelvis without causing any particular inconvenience, and was finally discharged by the rectum. brignatelli mentions the case of a woman who, in culpable practices, introduced the stalk of a reed into her uterus. she suffered no inconvenience until the next menstrual epoch which was accompanied by violent pains. she presented the appearance of one in the pains of labor. the matrix had augmented in volume, and the orifice of the uterine cervix was closed, but there was hypertrophy as if in the second or third month of pregnancy. after examination a piece of reed three cm. long was extracted from the uterus, its external face being incrusted with hard calcareous material. meschede of schwetz, germany, mentions death from a hair-pin in the uterine cavity. crouzit was called to see a young girl who had attempted criminal abortion by a darning-needle. when he arrived a fetus of about three months had already been expelled, and had been wounded by the instrument. it was impossible to remove the needle, and the placenta was not expelled for two days. eleven days afterward the girl commenced to have pains in the inguinal region, and by the thirty-fifth day an elevation was formed, and the pains increased in violence. on the seventy-ninth day a needle six inches long was expelled from the swelling in the groin, and the patient recovered. lisfranc extracted from the uterus of a woman who supposed herself to be pregnant at the third month, a fragment of a large gum-elastic sound which during illicit maneuvers had broken off within five cm. of its extremity, and penetrated the organ. lisfranc found there was not the slightest sign of pregnancy, despite the woman's belief that she was with child. chapter xiv. miscellaneous surgical anomalies. marvelous recoveries from multiple injuries.--there are injuries so numerous or so great in extent, and so marvelous in their recovery, that they are worthy of record in a section by themselves. they are found particularly in military surgery. in the medical and philosophical commentaries for is the report of the case of a lieutenant who was wounded through the lungs, liver, and stomach, and in whose armpit lodged a ball. it was said that when the wound in his back was injected, the fluid would immediately be coughed up from his lungs. food would pass through the wound of the stomach. the man was greatly prostrated, but after eleven months of convalescence he recovered. in the brutal capture of fort griswold, connecticut, in , in which the brave occupants were massacred by the british, lieutenant avery had an eye shot out, his skull fractured, the brain-substance scattering on the ground, was stabbed in the side, and left for dead; yet he recovered and lived to narrate the horrors of the day forty years after. a french invalid-artillery soldier, from his injuries and a peculiar mask he used to hide them, was known as "l'homme a la tete de cire." the lancet gives his history briefly as follows: during the franco-prussian war, he was horribly wounded by the bursting of a prussian shell. his whole face, including his two eyes, were literally blown away, some scanty remnants of the osseous and muscular systems, and the skull covered with hair being left. his wounds healed, giving him such a hideous and ghastly appearance that he was virtually ostracized from the sight of his fellows. for his relief a dentist by the name of delalain constructed a mask which included a false palate and a set of false teeth. this apparatus was so perfect that the functions of respiration and mastication were almost completely restored to their former condition, and the man was able to speak distinctly, and even to play the flute. his sense of smell also returned. he wore two false eyes simply to fill up the cavities of the orbits, for the parts representing the eyes were closed. the mask was so well-adapted to what remained of the real face, that it was considered by all one of the finest specimens of the prothetic art that could be devised. this soldier, whose name was moreau, was living and in perfect health at the time of the report, his bizarre face, without expression, and his sobriquet, as mentioned, making him an object of great curiosity. he wore the cross of honor, and nothing delighted him more than to talk about the war. to augment his meager pension he sold a pamphlet containing in detail an account of his injuries and a description of the skilfully devised apparatus by which his declining life was made endurable. a somewhat similar case is mentioned on page . a most remarkable case of a soldier suffering numerous and almost incredible injuries and recovering and pursuing his vocation with undampened ardor is that of jacques roellinger, company b, th new york volunteers. he appeared before a pension board in new york, june , , with the following history: in he suffered a sabre-cut across the quadriceps extensor of the left thigh, and a sabre-thrust between the bones of the forearm at the middle third. soon afterward at williamsburg, va., he was shot in the thigh, the ball passing through the middle third external to the femur. at fort wagner, , he had a sword-cut, severing the spinal muscles and overlying tissue for a distance of six inches. subsequently he was captured by guerillas in missouri and tortured by burning splinters of wood, the cicatrices of which he exhibited; he escaped to florida, where he was struck by a fragment of an exploding shell, which passed from without inward, behind the hamstring on the right leg, and remained embedded and could be plainly felt. when struck he fell and was fired on by the retiring enemy. a ball entered between the th and th ribs just beneath the apex of the heart, traversed the lungs and issued at the right th rib. he fired his revolver on reception of this shot, and was soon bayonetted by his own comrades by mistake, this wound also penetrating the body. he showed a depressed triangular cicatrix on the margin of the epigastrium. if the scars are at all indicative, the bayonet must have passed through the left lobe of the liver and border of the diaphragm. finally he was struck by a pistol-ball at the lower angle of the left lower jaw, this bullet issuing on the other side of the neck. as exemplary of the easy manner in which he bore his many injuries during a somewhat protracted convalescence, it may be added that he amused his comrades by blowing jets of water through the apertures on both sides of his neck. beside the foregoing injuries he received many minor ones, which he did not deem worthy of record or remembrance. the greatest disability he suffered at the time of applying for a pension resulted from an ankylosed knee. not satisfied with his experience in our war, he stated to the pension examiners that he was on his way to join garibaldi's army. this case is marvelous when we consider the proximity of several of the wounds to a vital part; the slightest deviation of position would surely have resulted in a fatal issue for this apparently charmed life. the following table shows the man's injuries in the order of their reception:-- ( ) sabre-cut across the quadriceps femoris of right leg, dividing the tendinous and muscular structures. ( ) sabre-thrust between the bones in the middle third of the right forearm. ( ) shot in the right thigh, the ball passing through the middle third. ( ) a sword-cut across the spinal muscles covering the lower dorsal vertebrae. ( ) tortured by guerillas in indian fashion by having burning splinters of wood applied to the surface of his right thorax. ( ) an exploded shell passed through the hamstring muscles of the right thigh and embedded itself in the ligamentous tissues of the internal condyle of the femur. ( ) shot by a ball between the th and th ribs of the left side. ( ) bayonetted through the body, the steel passing through the left lobe of the liver and penetrating the posterior border of the diaphragm. ( ) pistol-ball shot through the sternocleido muscle of one side of the neck, emerging through the corresponding muscle of the other side of the neck. ( ) sabre-thrust between the bones of the left forearm. ( ) pistol-shot through the left pectoralis major and left deltoid muscles. ( ) deep cut dividing the commissure between the left thumb and forefinger down to the carpal bones. somewhat analogous to the foregoing is a case reported in by mccosh from calcutta. the patient was a native who had been dreadfully butchered in the chooar campaign. one of his hands was cut off above the wrist. the remaining stump was nearly amputated by a second blow. a third blow penetrated the shoulder-joint. beside these and several other slashes, he had a cut across the abdomen extending from the umbilicus to the spine. this cut divided the parietes and severed one of the coats of the colon. the intestines escaped and lay by his side. he was then left on the ground as dead. on arrival at the hospital his wounds were dressed and he speedily convalesced, but the injured colon ruptured and an artificial anus was formed and part of the feces were discharged through the wound. this man was subsequently seen at midnapore healthy and lusty although his body was bent to one side in consequence of a large cicatrix; a small portion of the feces occasionally passed through the open wound. there is an account of a private soldier, aged twenty-seven, who suffered a gunshot wound of the skull, causing compound fracture of the cranium, and who also received compound fractures of both bones of the leg. he did not present himself for treatment until ten days later. at this time the head-injury caused him no inconvenience, but it was necessary to amputate the leg and remove the necrosed bones from the cranial wounds; the patient recovered. recovery after injuries by machinery, with multiple fractures, etc.--persons accidentally caught in some portions of powerful machinery usually suffer several major injuries, any one of which might have been fatal, yet there are marvelous instances of recovery after wounds of this nature. phares records the case of a boy of nine who, while playing in the saw-gate of a cotton-press, was struck by the lever in revolution, the blow fracturing both bones of the leg about the middle. at the second revolution his shoulder was crushed; the third passed over him, and the fourth, with maximum momentum struck his head, carrying away a large part of the integument, including one eyebrow, portions of the skull, membranes, and brain-substance. a piece of cranial bone was found sticking in the lever, and there were stains of brain on all the posts around the circumference of the hole. possibly from / to two ounces of cerebral substance were lost. a physician was called, but thinking the case hopeless he declined to offer surgical interference. undaunted, the father of the injured lad straightened the leg, adjusted the various fractures, and administered calomel and salts. the boy progressively recovered, and in a few weeks his shoulder and legs were well. about this time a loosened fragment of the skull was removed almost the size and shape of a dessert spoon, with the handle attached, leaving a circular opening directly over the eye as large as a mexican dollar, through which cerebral pulsation was visible. a peculiar feature of this case was that the boy never lost consciousness, and while one of his playmates ran for assistance he got out of the hole himself, and moved to a spot ten feet distant before any help arrived, and even then he declined proffered aid from a man he disliked. this boy stated that he remembered each revolution of the lever and the individual injuries that each inflicted. three years after his injury he was in every respect well. fraser mentions an instance of a boy of fifteen who was caught in the crank of a balance-wheel in a shingle-mill, and was taken up insensible. his skull was fractured at the parietal eminence and the pericranium stripped off, leaving a bloody tumor near the base of the fracture about two inches in diameter. the right humerus was fractured at the external condyle; there was a fracture of the coronoid process of the ulna, and a backward dislocation at the elbow. the annular ligament was ruptured, and the radius was separated from the ulna. on the left side there was a fracture of the anatomic neck of the humerus, and a dislocation downward. the boy was trephined, and the comminuted fragments removed; in about six weeks recovery was nearly complete. gibson reports the history of a girl of eight who was caught by her clothing in a perpendicular shaft in motion, and carried around at a rate of or times a minute until the machinery could be stopped. although she was found in a state of shock, she was anesthetized, in order that immediate attention could be given to her injuries, which were found to be as follows:-- ( ) an oblique fracture of the middle third of the right femur. ( ) a transverse fracture of the middle third of the left femur. ( ) a slightly comminuted transverse fracture of the middle third of the left tibia and fibula. ( ) a transverse fracture of the lower third of the right humerus. ( ) a fracture of the lower third of the right radius. ( ) a partial radiocarpal dislocation. ( ) considerable injuries of the soft parts at the seats of fracture, and contusions and abrasions all over the body. during convalescence the little patient suffered an attack of measles, but after careful treatment it was found by the seventy-eighth day that she had recovered without bony deformity, and that there was bony union in all the fractures. there was slight tilting upward in the left femur, in which the fracture had been transverse, but there was no perceptible shortening. hulke describes a silver-polisher of thirty-six who, while standing near a machine, had his sleeve caught by a rapidly-turning wheel, which drew him in and whirled him round and round, his legs striking against the ceiling and floor of the room. it was thought the wheel had made revolutions before the machinery was stopped. after his removal it was found that his left humerus was fractured at its lower third, and apparently comminuted. there was no pulse in the wrist in either the radial or ulnar arteries, but there was pulsation in the brachial as low as the ecchymosed swelling. those parts of the hand and fingers supplied by the median and radial nerves were insensible. the right humerus was broken at the middle, the end of the upper fragment piercing the triceps, and almost protruding through the skin. one or more of the middle ribs on the right side were broken near the angle, and there was a large transverse rent in the quadriceps extensor. despite this terrible accident the man made a perfect recovery, with the single exception of limitation of flexion in the left elbow-joint. dewey details a description of a girl of six who was carried around the upright shaft of a flour mill in which her clothes became entangled. some part of the body struck the bags or stones with each revolution. she sustained a fracture of the left humerus near the insertion of the deltoid, a fracture of the middle third of the left femur, a compound fracture of the left femur in the upper third, with protrusion of the upper fragment and considerable venous hemorrhage, and fracture of the right tibia and fibula at the upper third. when taken from the shafting the child was in a moribund state, with scarcely perceptible pulse, and all the accompanying symptoms of shock. her injuries were dressed, the fractures reduced, and starch bandages applied; in about six weeks there was perfect union, the right leg being slightly shortened. six months later she was playing about, with only a slight halt in her gait. miscellaneous multiple fractures.--westmoreland speaks of a man who was pressed between two cars, and sustained a fracture of both collar-bones and of the sternum; in addition, six or eight ribs were fractured, driven into and lacerating the lung. the heart was displaced. in spite of these terrible injuries, the man was rational when picked up, and lived nearly half a day. in comment on this case battey mentions an instance in which a mill-sawyer was run over by or logs, which produced innumerable fractures of his body, constituting him a surgical curiosity. he afterward completely recovered, and, as a consequence of his miraculous escape, became a soothsayer in his region. west reports a remarkable recovery after a compound fracture of the femur, fracture of the jaw, and of the radius, and possibly injury to the base of the skull, and injury to the spine. there is on record an account of a woman of forty-three who, by muscular action in lifting a stone, fractured her pubes, external to the spine, on the left side. not realizing her injury she continued hard work all that day, but fell exhausted on the next. she recovered in about a month, and was able to walk as well as ever. vinnedge reports recovery after concussion of the brain and extreme shock, associated with fracture of the left femur, and comminuted fractures of the left tibia and fibula. tufnell mentions recovery after compound comminuted fracture of the leg, with simple fracture of both collar-bones, and dislocation of the thumb. nankivell speaks of a remarkable recovery in an individual who suffered compound comminuted fracture of both legs, and fracture of the skull. it was found necessary to amputate the right thigh and left leg. erichsen effected recovery by rest alone, in an individual whose ribs and both clavicles were fractured by being squeezed. gilman records recovery after injuries consisting of fracture of the frontal bone near the junction with the right parietal; fracture of the right radius and ulna at the middle third and at the wrist; and compound fracture of the left radius and ulna, / inches above the wrist. boulting reports a case of an individual who suffered compound fractures of the skull and humerus, together with extensive laceration of the thigh and chest, and yet recovered. barwell mentions recovery after amputation of the shoulder-joint, in an individual who had suffered fracture of the base of the skull, fracture of the jaw, and compound fracture of the right humerus. there was high delirium followed by imbecility in this case. bonnet reports a case of fracture of both thighs, two right ribs, luxation of the clavicle, and accidental club-foot with tenotomy, with good recovery from all the complications. beach speaks of an individual who suffered fracture of both thighs, and compound comminuted fracture of the tibia, fibula, and tarsal bones into the ankle-joint, necessitating amputation of the leg. the patient not only survived the operation, but recovered with good union in both thighs. as illustrative of the numerous fractures a person may sustain at one time, the london medical gazette mentions an injury to a girl of fourteen, which resulted in fractures. remarkable falls.--in this connection it is of interest to note from how great a height a person may fall without sustaining serious injury. a remarkable fall of a miner down meters of shaft (about feet) without being killed is recorded by m. reumeaux in the bulletin de l'industrie minerale. working with his brother in a gallery which issued on the shaft, he forgot the direction in which he was pushing a truck; so it went over, and he after it, falling into some mud with about three inches of water. as stated in nature, he seems neither to have struck any of the wood debris, nor the sides of the shaft, and he showed no contusions when he was helped out by his brother after about ten minutes. he could not, however, recall any of his impressions during the fall. the velocity on reaching the bottom would be about feet, and time of fall . seconds; but it is thought he must have taken longer. it appears strange that he should have escaped simple suffocation and loss of consciousness during a time sufficient for the water to have drowned him. while intoxicated private gough of the d royal highlanders attempted to escape from the castle at edinburgh. he fell almost perpendicularly feet, fracturing the right frontal sinus, the left clavicle, tibia, and fibula. in five months he had so far recovered as to be put on duty again, and he served as an efficient soldier. there is an account of recovery after a fall of feet, from a cliff in county antrim, ireland. manzini mentions a man who fell from the dome of the invalides in paris, without sustaining any serious accident, and there is a record from madrid of a much higher fall than this without serious consequence. in a bricklayer fell from the fourth story of a high house in paris, landing with his feet on the dirt and his body on stone. he bled from the nose, and lost consciousness for about forty-five minutes; he was carried to the hotel-dieu where it was found that he had considerable difficulty in breathing; the regions about the external malleoli were contused and swollen, but by the eighth day the patient had recovered. in the recent reparation of the hotel raleigh in washington, d.c., a man fell from the top of the building, which is above the average height, fracturing several ribs and rupturing his lung. he was taken to the emergency hospital where he was put to bed, and persistent treatment for shock was pursued; little hope of the man's recovery was entertained. his friends were told of his apparently hopeless condition. there were no external signs of the injury with the exception of the emphysema following rupture of the lung. respiration was limited and thoracic movement diminished by adhesive straps and a binder; under careful treatment the man recovered. kartulus mentions an english boy of eight who, on june , , while playing on the terrace in the third story of a house in alexandria, in attempting to fly a kite in company with an arab servant, slipped and fell feet to a granite pavement below. he was picked up conscious, but both legs were fractured about the middle. he had so far recovered by the th of july that he could hobble about on crutches. on the th of november of the same year he was seen by kartulus racing across the playground with some other boys; as he came in third in the race he had evidently lost little of his agility. parrott reports the history of a man of fifty, weighing pounds, who fell feet from the steeple of a church. in his descent he broke a scaffold pole in two, and fell through the wooden roof of an engine-house below, breaking several planks and two strong joists, and landing upon some sacks of cement inside the house. when picked up he was unconscious, but regained his senses in a short time, and it was found that his injuries were not serious. the left metacarpal bones were dislocated from the carpal bones, the left tibia was fractured, and there were contusions about the back and hips. twelve days later he left for home with his leg in plaster. farber and mccassy report a case in which a man fell feet perpendicularly through an elevator shaft, fracturing the skull. pieces of bone at the superior angle of the occipital bone were removed, leaving the aura exposed for a space one by four inches. the man was unconscious for four days, but entirely recovered in eighteen days, with only a slightly subnormal hearing as an after-effect of his fall. for many years there have been persons who have given exhibitions of high jumps, either landing in a net or in the water. some of these hazardous individuals do not hesitate to dive from enormous heights, being satisfied to strike head first or to turn a somersault in their descent. nearly all the noted bridges in this country have had their "divers." the death of odlum in his attempt to jump from brooklyn bridge is well known. since then it has been claimed that the feat has been accomplished without any serious injury. it is reported that on june , , a youth of nineteen made a headlong dive from the top of the eads bridge at st. louis, mo., a distance of feet. he is said to have swum feet to a waiting tug, and was taken on board without having been hurt. probably the most interesting exhibition of this kind that was ever seen was at the royal aquarium, london, in the summer of . a part of the regular nightly performance at this hall, which is familiar on account of its immensity, was the jump of an individual from the rafters of the large arched roof into a tank of water about by feet, and from eight to ten feet deep, sunken in the floor of the hall. another performer, dressed in his ordinary street clothes, was tied up in a bag and jumped about two-thirds of this height into the same tank, breaking open the bag and undressing himself before coming to the surface. in the same performance a female acrobat made a backward dive from the topmost point of the building into a net stretched about ten feet above the floor. nearly every large acrobatic entertainment has one of these individuals who seem to experience no difficulty in duplicating their feats night after night. it is a common belief that people falling from great heights die in the act of descent. an interview with the sailor who fell from the top-gallant of an east indiaman, a height of feet, into the water, elicited the fact that during the descent in the air, sensation entirely disappeared, but returned in a slight degree when he reached the water, but he was still unable to strike out when rising to the surface. by personal observation this man stated that he believed that if he had struck a hard substance his death would have been painless, as he was sure that he was entirely insensible during the fall. a writer in the pall mall gazette, in speaking of the accidents which had happened in connection with the forth bridge, tells of a man who trusted himself to work at the height of feet above the waters of the firth, simply grasping a rope. his hands became numb with cold, his grasp relaxed, and he fell backward down into the water, but was brought out alive. in another instance a spanner fell a distance of feet, knocked off a man's cap, and broke its way through a four-inch plank. again, another spanner fell from a great height, actually tearing off a man's clothes, from his waistcoat to his ankle, but leaving him uninjured. on another occasion a staging with a number of workmen thereon gave way. two of the men were killed outright by striking some portion of the work in their descent; two others fell clear of the girders, and were rescued from the firth little worse for their great fall. resistance of children to injuries.--it is a remarkable fact that young children, whose bones, cartilages, and tissues are remarkably elastic, are sometimes able to sustain the passage over their bodies of vehicles of great weight without apparent injury. there is a record early in this century of a child of five who was run over across the epigastrium by a heavy two-wheeled cart, but recovered without any bad symptoms. the treatment in this case is quite interesting, and was as follows: venesection to faintness, castor oil in infusion of senna until there was a free evacuation of the bowels, leeches to the abdomen and spine, and a saline mixture every two hours! such depleting therapeutics would in themselves seem almost sufficient to provoke a fatal issue, and were given in good faith as the means of effecting a recovery in such a case. in a similar instances a wagon weighing pounds passed over a child of five, with no apparent injury other than a bruise near the ear made by the wheel. infant-vitality is sometimes quite remarkable, a newly-born child sometimes surviving extreme exposure and major injuries. there was a remarkable instance of this kind brought to light in the mullings vs. mullings divorce-case, recorded in the lancet. it appeared that mrs. mullings, a few hours after her confinement at torquay, packed her newly-born infant boy in a portmanteau, and started for london. she had telegraphed dr. j. s. tulloch to meet her at paddington, where he found his patient apparently in good condition, and not weak, as he expected in a woman shortly to be confined. on the way to her apartments, which had been provided by dr. tulloch, mrs. mullings remarked to the doctor that she had already borne her child. dr. tulloch was greatly surprised, and immediately inquired what she had done with the baby. she replied that it was in a box on top of the cab. when the box was opened the child was found alive. the lancet comments on the remarkable fact that, shortly after confinement, a woman can travel six or seven hours in a railroad train, and her newly-born babe conveyed the same distance in a portmanteau, without apparent injury, and without attracting attention. booth reports a remarkable case of vitality of a newly-born child which came under his observation in october, . an illegitimate child, abandoned by its mother, was left at the bottom of a cesspool vault; she claimed that ten hours before booth's visit it had been accidentally dropped during an attempt to micturate. the infant lived despite the following facts: its delivery from an ignorant, inexperienced, unattended negress; its cord not tied; its fall of feet down the pit; its ten hours' exposure in the cesspool; its smothering by foul air, also by a heavy covering of rags, paper, and straw; its pounding by three bricks which fell in directly from eight feet above (some loose bricks were accidentally dislodged from the sides of the vault, in the maneuvers to extricate the infant); its lowered temperature previous to the application of hot bottles, blankets, and the administration of cardiac stimulants. booth adds that the morning after its discovery the child appeared perfectly well, and some two months afterward was brought into court as evidence in the case. a remarkable case of infant vitality is given on page . operations in the young and old.--it might be of interest to mention that such a major operation as ovariotomy has been successfully performed in an infant. in a paper on infant ovariotomy, several instances of this nature are mentioned. roemer successfully performed ovariotomy on a child one year and eight months old; swartz, on a child of four; barker, on a child of four; knowsley thornton, on a child of seven, and spencer wells cupples, and chenoweth, on children of eight. rein performed ovariotomy on a girl of six, suffering from a multilocular cyst of the left ovary. he expresses his belief that childhood and infancy are favorable to laparotomy. kidd removed a dermoid from a child of two years and eleven months; hooks performed the same operation on a child of thirty months. chiene extirpated an ovary from a child of three; neville duplicated this operation in a child one month younger; and alcock performed ovariotomy on a child of three. successful ovariotomies are infrequent in the extremely aged. bennett mentions an instance in a woman of seventy-five, and davies records a similar instance. borsini and terrier cite instances of successful ovariotomy in patients of seventy-seven. carmichael performed the operation at seventy-four. owens mentions it at eighty; and homans at eighty-two years and four months. dewees records a successful case of ovariotomy in a woman over sixty-seven; mcnutt reports a successful instance in a patient of sixty-seven years and six months; the tumor weighed pounds, and there were extensive adhesions. maury removed a monocystic ovarian tumor from a woman of seventy-four, his patient recovering. pippingskold mentions an ovariotomy at eighty. terrier describes double ovariotomy for fibromata in a woman of seventy-seven. aron speaks of an operation for pilous dermoid of the ovary in a woman of seventy-five. shepherd reports a case of recurrent proliferous cyst in a woman of sixty-three, on whom successful ovariotomy was performed twice within nine months. wells mentions an ovarian cyst in a woman of sixty-five, from which pints of fluid were removed. hawkins describes the case of a musician, m. rochard, who at the age of one hundred and seven was successfully operated on for strangulated hernia of upward of thirty hours' duration. the wound healed by first intention, and the man was well in two weeks. fowler operated successfully for strangulated umbilical hernia on a patient of sixty-eight. repeated operations.--franzolini speaks of a woman of fifty on whom he performed six celiotomies between june, , and april, . the first operation was for fibrocystic disease of the uterus. since the last operation the woman had had remarkably good health, and there was every indication that well-merited recovery had been effected. the ephemerides contains an account of a case in which cystotomy was repeated four times, and there is another record of this operation having been done five times on a man. instances of repeated cesarean section are mentioned on page . before leaving this subject, we mention a marvelous operation performed by billroth on a married woman of twenty-nine, after her sixth pregnancy. this noted operator performed, synchronously, double ovariotomy and resections of portions of the bladder and ileum, for a large medullary carcinomatous growth of the ovary, with surrounding involvement. menstruation returned three months after the operation, and in fifteen months the patient was in good health in every way, with no apparent danger of recurrence of the disease. self-performed surgical operations.--there have been instances in which surgeons and even laymen have performed considerable operations upon themselves. on the battlefield men have amputated one of their own limbs that had been shattered. in such cases there would be little pain, and premeditation would not be brought into play in the same degree as in the case of m. clever de maldigny, a surgeon in the royal guards of france, who successfully performed a lithotomy on himself before a mirror. he says that after the operation was completed the urine flowed in abundance; he dressed the wound with lint dipped in an emollient solution, and, being perfectly relieved from pain, fell into a sound sleep. on the following day, m. maldigny says, he was as tranquil and cheerful as if he had never been a sufferer. a dutch blacksmith and a german cooper each performed lithotomy on themselves for the intense pain caused by a stone in the bladder. tulpius, walther, and the ephemerides each report an instance of self-performed cystotomy. the following case is probably the only instance in which the patient, suffering from vesical calculus, tried to crush and break the stone himself. j. b., a retired draper, born in , while a youth of seventeen, sustained a fracture of the leg, rupture of the urethra, and laceration of the perineum, by a fall down a well, landing astride an iron bar. a permanent perineal fistula was established, but the patient was averse to any operative remedial measure. in the year he became aware of the presence of a calculus, but not until did he ask for medical assistance. he explained that he had introduced a chisel through his perineal fistula to the stone, and attempted to comminute it himself and thus remove it, and by so doing had removed about an ounce of the calculus. the physician started home for his forceps, but during the interval, while walking about in great pain, the man was relieved by the stone bursting through the perineum, falling to the floor, and breaking in two. including the ounce already chiselled off, the stone weighed / ounces, and was / inches in its long circumference. b. recovered and lived to december, , still believing that he had another piece of stone in his bladder. in holden's "landmarks" we are told that the operation of dividing the achilles tendon was first performed by an unfortunate upon himself, by means of a razor. according to patterson, the late mr. symes told of a patient in north scotland who, for incipient hip-disease, had the cautery applied at the edinburgh infirmary with resultant great relief. after returning home to the country he experienced considerable pain, and despite his vigorous efforts he was unable to induce any of the men to use the cautery upon him; they termed it "barbarous treatment." in desperation and fully believing in the efficacy of this treatment as the best means of permanently alleviating his pain, the crippled scotchman heated a poker and applied the cautery himself. we have already mentioned the marvelous instances of cesarean sections self-performed, and in the literature of obstetric operations many of the minor type have been done by the patient herself. in the foregoing cases it is to be understood that the operations have been performed solely from the inability to secure surgical assistance or from the incapacity to endure the pain any longer. these operations were not the self-mutilations of maniacs, but were performed by rational persons, driven to desperation by pain. possibly the most remarkable instances of extensive loss of blood, with recoveries, are to be found in the older records of venesection. the chronicles of excessive bleeding in the olden days are well known to everybody. perhaps no similar practice was so universally indulged in. both in sickness and in health, depletion was indicated, and it is no exaggeration to say that about the hospital rooms at times the floors were covered with blood. the reckless way in which venesection was resorted to, led to its disuse, until to-day it has so vanished from medical practice that even its benefits are overlooked, and depletion is brought about in some other manner. turning to the older writers, we find burton describing a patient from whom he took ounces of blood in four days. dover speaks of the removal of and ounces; galen, of six pounds; and haen, of ounces. taylor relates the history of a case of asphyxia in which he produced a successful issue by extracting one gallon of blood from his patient during twelve hours. lucas speaks of venesections being practiced during one pregnancy. van der wiel performed venesection times during a single pregnancy. balmes mentions a case in which venesections were performed in twenty-five years. laugier mentions venesections in twenty-six months. osiander speaks of ounces of blood being taken away in thirty-five years. pechlin reports venesections in one person in sixteen years, and there is a record of repeated venesections. the loss of blood through spontaneous hemorrhage is sometimes remarkable. fabricius hildanus reports the loss of pounds of blood in a few days; and there is an older record of pounds being lost in four days. horstius, fabricius hildanus, and schenck, all record instances of death from hemorrhage of the gums. tulpius speaks of hemoptysis lasting chronically for thirty years, and there is a similar record of forty years' duration in the ephemerides. chapman gives several instances of extreme hemorrhage from epistaxis. he remarks that bartholinus has recorded the loss of pounds of blood from the nose; and rhodius, pounds in thirty-six hours. the ephemerides contains an account of epistaxis without cessation for six weeks. another writer in an old journal speaks of pounds of blood from epistaxis in ten days. chapman also mentions a case in which, by intestinal hemorrhage, eight gallons of blood were lost in a fortnight, the patient recovering. in another case a pint of blood was lost daily for fourteen days, with recovery. the loss of eight quarts in three days caused death in another case; and chapman, again, refers to the loss of three gallons of blood from the bowel in twenty-four hours. in the case of michelotti, recorded in the transactions of the royal society, a young man suffering from enlargement of the spleen vomited pounds of blood in two hours, and recovered. in hemorrhoidal hemorrhages, lieutaud speaks of six quarts being lost in two days; hoffman, of pounds in less than twenty-four hours, and panaroli, of the loss of one pint daily for two years. arrow-wounds.--according to otis the illustrious baron percy was wont to declare that military surgery had its origin in the treatment of wounds inflicted by darts and arrows; he used to quote book xi of the iliad in behalf of his belief, and to cite the cases of the patients of chiron and machaon, menelaus and philoctetes, and eurypiles, treated by patroclus; he was even tempted to believe with sextus that the name iatros, medicus, was derived from ios, which in the older times signified "sagitta," and that the earliest function of our professional ancestors was the extraction of arrows and darts. an instrument called beluleum was invented during the long peloponnesian war, over four hundred years before the christian era. it was a rude extracting-forceps, and was used by hippocrates in the many campaigns in which he served. his immediate successor, diocles, invented a complicated instrument for extracting foreign bodies, called graphiscos, which consisted of a canula with hooks. otis states that it was not until the wars of augustus that heras of cappadocia designed the famous duck-bill forceps which, with every conceivable modification, has continued in use until our time. celsus instructs that in extracting arrow-heads the entrance-wound should be dilated, the barb of the arrow-head crushed by strong pliers, or protected between the edges of a split reed, and thus withdrawn without laceration of the soft parts. according to the same authority, paulus aegineta also treated fully of wounds by arrow-heads, and described a method used in his time to remove firmly-impacted arrows. albucasius and others of the arabian school did little or nothing toward aiding our knowledge of the means of extracting foreign bodies. after the fourteenth century the attention of surgeons was directed to wounds from projectiles impelled by gunpowder. in the sixteenth century arrows were still considerably used in warfare, and we find pare a delineating the treatment of this class of injuries with the sovereign good sense that characterized his writings. as the use of firearms became prevalent the literature of wounds from arrows became meager, and the report of an instance in the present day is very rare. bill has collected statistics and thoroughly discussed this subject, remarking upon the rapidity with which american indians discharge their arrows, and states that it is exceptional to meet with only a single wound. it is commonly believed that the indian tribes make use of poisoned arrows, but from the reports of bill and others, this must be a very rare custom. ashhurst states that he was informed by dr. schell, who was stationed for some time at fort laramie, that it is the universal custom to dip the arrows in blood, which is allowed to dry on them; it is not, therefore, improbable that septic material may thus be inoculated through a wound. many savage tribes still make use of the poisonous arrow. the dyak uses a sumpitan, or blow-tube, which is about seven feet long, and having a bore of about half an inch. through this he blows his long, thin dart, anointed on the head with some vegetable poison. braidwood speaks of the physiologic action of dajaksch, an arrow-poison used in borneo. arnott has made observations relative to a substance produced near aden, which is said to be used by the somalies to poison their arrows. messer of the british navy has made inquiries into the reputed poisonous nature of the arrows of the south sea islanders. otis has collected reports of arrow-wounds from surgical cases occurring in the u. s. army. of the multiple arrow-wounds, six out of the seven cases were fatal. in five in which the cranial cavity was wounded, four patients perished. there were two remarkable instances of recovery after penetration of the pleural cavity by arrows. the great fatality of arrow-wounds of the abdomen is well known, and, according to bill, the indians always aim at the umbilicus; when fighting indians, the mexicans are accustomed to envelop the abdomen, as the most vulnerable part, in many folds of a blanket. of the arrow-wounds reported, nine were fatal, with one exception, in which the lesion implicated the soft parts only. the regions injured were the scalp, face, and neck, in three instances; the parietes of the chest in six; the long muscles of the back in two; the abdominal muscles in two; the hip or buttocks in three; the testis in one; the shoulder or arm in ; forearm or hand in six; the thigh or leg in seven. the force with which arrows are projected by indians is so great that it has been estimated that the initial velocity nearly equals that of a musket-ball. at a short distance an arrow will perforate the larger bones without comminuting them, causing a slight fissure only, and resembling the effect of a pistol-ball fired through a window-glass a few yards off. among extraordinary cases of recovery from arrow-wounds, several of the most striking will be recorded. tremaine mentions a sergeant of thirty-four who, in a fray with some hostile indians, received seven arrow-wounds: two on the anterior surface of the right arm; one in the right axilla; one on the right side of the chest near the axillary border; two on the posterior surface of the left arm near the elbow-joint, and one on the left temple. on june st he was admitted to the post hospital at fort dodge, kan. the wound on the right arm near the deltoid discharged, and there was slight exfoliation of the humerus. the patient was treated with simple dressings, and was returned to duty in july, . goddard mentions an arrow-wound by which the body was transfixed. the patient was a cutler's helper at fort rice, dakota territory. he was accidentally wounded in february, , by an arrow which entered the back three inches to the right of the th lumbar vertebra, and emerged about two inches to the right of the ensiform cartilage. during the following evening the patient lost about eight ounces of blood externally, with a small amount internally. he was confined to his bed some two weeks, suffering from circumscribed peritonitis with irritative fever. in four weeks he was walking about, and by july st was actively employed. the arrow was deposited in the army medical museum. muller gives a report of an arrow-wound of the lung which was productive of pleurisy but which was followed by recovery. kugler recites the description of the case of an arrow-wound of the thorax, complicated by frightful dyspnea and blood in the pleural cavity and in the bronchi, with recovery. smart extracted a hoop-iron arrow-head, / inches long and / inch in breadth, from the brain of a private, about a month after its entrance. about a dram of pus followed the exit of the arrow-head. after the operation the right side was observed to be paralyzed, and the man could not remember his name. he continued in a varying condition for a month, but died on may , , fifty-two days after the injury. at the postmortem it was found that the brain-tissue, to the extent of / inch around the track of the arrow as a center, was softened and disorganized. the track itself was filled with thick pus which extended into the ventricles. peabody reports a most remarkable case of recovery from multiple arrow-wounds. in a skirmish with some indians on june , , the patient had been wounded by eight distinct arrows which entered different parts of the body. they were all extracted with the exception of one, which had entered at the outer and lower margin of the right scapula, and had passed inward and upward through the upper lobe of the right lung or trachea. the hemorrhage at this time was so great that all hope was abandoned. the patient, however, rallied, but continued to experience great pain on swallowing, and occasionally spat blood. in july, , more than three years after the injury, he called on dr. peabody to undergo an examination with a view of applying for a pension, stating that his health was affected from the presence of an arrow-head. he was much emaciated, and expressed himself as tired of life. upon probing through a small fistulous opening just above the superior end of the sternum, the point of the arrow was found resting against the bone, about / inches below, the head lying against the trachea and esophagus, with the carotid artery, jugular vein, and nerves overlying. after some little difficulty the point of the arrow was raised above the sternum, and it was extracted without the loss of an ounce of blood. the edge grazed against the sheath of the innominate artery during the operation. the missile measured an inch at the base, and was four inches long. the health of the patient underwent remarkable improvement immediately after the operation. serious insect-stings.--although in this country the stings of insects are seldom productive of serious consequences, in the tropic climates death not unfrequently results from them. wounds inflicted by large spiders, centipedes, tarantulae, and scorpions have proved fatal. even in our country deaths, preceded by gangrene, have sometimes followed the bite of a mosquito or a bee, the location of the bite and the idiosyncrasy of the individual probably influencing the fatal issue. in some cases, possibly, some vegetable poison is introduced with the sting. hulse, u.s.n., reports the case of a man who was bitten on the penis by a spider, and who subsequently exhibited violent symptoms simulating spinal meningitis, but ultimately recovered. kunst mentions a man of thirty-six who received several bee-stings while taking some honey from a tree, fell from the tree unconscious, and for some time afterward exhibited signs of cerebral congestion. chaumeton mentions a young man who did not perceive a wasp in a glass of sweet wine, and swallowed the insect. he was stung in the throat, followed by such intense inflammation that the man died asphyxiated in the presence of his friends, who could do nothing to relieve him. in connection with this case there is mentioned an english agriculturist who saved the life of one of his friends who had inadvertently swallowed a wasp with a glass of beer. alarming symptoms manifested themselves at the moment of the sting. the farmer made a kind of paste from a solution of common salt in as little water as possible, which he gave to the young man, and, after several swallows of the potion, the symptoms disappeared as if by enchantment. there is a recent account from bridgeport, conn., of a woman who, while eating a pear, swallowed a hornet that had alighted on the fruit. in going down the throat the insect stung her on the tonsil. great pain and inflammation followed, and in a short time there was complete deprivation of the power of speech. mease relates the case of a corpulent farmer who, in july, , was stung upon the temple by a common bee. he walked to a fence a short distance away, thence to his house, yards distant, lay down, and expired in ten minutes. a second case, which occurred in june, , is also mentioned by mease. a vigorous man was stung in the septum of the nose by a bee. supported by a friend he walked to his house, a few steps distant, and lay down. he rose immediately to go to the well, stepped a few paces, fell, and expired. it was thirty minutes from the time of the accident to the man's death. a third case is reported by the same author from kentucky. a man of thirty-five was stung on the right superior palpebrum, and died in twenty minutes. mease reports a fourth ease from connecticut, in which a man of twenty-six was stung by a bee on the tip of the nose. he recovered after treatment with ten-grain doses of dover's powder, and persistent application of plantain leaves. a fifth case was that of a farmer in pennsylvania who was stung in the left side of the throat by a wasp which he had swallowed in drinking cider. notwithstanding medical treatment, death ensued twenty-seven hours afterward. a sixth case, which occurred in october, , is given by the same author. a middle-aged man was stung by a yellow wasp on the middle finger of the right hand, and died in less than twenty minutes after having received his wound. a seventh case was that of a new york farmer who, while hoeing, was bitten on the foot by a spider. notwithstanding medical treatment, principally bleeding, the man soon expired. desbrest mentions the sting of a bee above the eyebrow followed by death. zacutus saw a bee-sting which was followed by gangrene. delaistre mentions death from a hornet-sting in the palate. nivison relates the case of a farmer of fifty who was stung in the neck by a bee. the usual swelling and discoloration did not follow, but notwithstanding vigorous medical treatment the man died in six days. thompson relates three cases of bee-sting, in all of which death supervened within fifteen minutes,--one in a farmer of fifty-eight who was stung in the neck below the right ear; a second in an inn-keeper of fifty who was stung in the neck, and a third of a woman of sixty-four who was stung on the left brow. "chirurgus" recalls the details of a case of a wasp-sting in the middle finger of the right hand of a man of forty, depriving him of all sense and of muscular power. ten minutes after receiving it he was unconscious, his heart-beats were feeble, and his pulse only perceptible. syphilis from a flea-bite.--jonathan hutchinson, in the october, , number of his unique and valuable archives of surgery, reports a primary lesion of most unusual origin. an elderly member of the profession presented himself entirely covered with an evident syphilitic eruption, which rapidly disappeared under the use of mercury. the only interest about the case was the question as to how the disease had been acquired. the doctor was evidently anxious to give all the information in his power, but was positive that he had never been exposed to any sexual risk, and as he had retired from practice, no possibility of infection in that manner existed. he willingly stripped, and a careful examination of his entire body surface revealed no trace of lesion whatever on the genitals, or at any point, except a dusky spot on one leg, which looked like the remains of a boil. this, the doctor stated, had been due to a small sore, the dates of the appearance and duration of which were found to fit exactly with those of a primary lesion. there had also been some enlargement of the femoral glands. he had never thought of the sore in this connection, but remembered most distinctly that it followed a flea-bite in an omnibus, and had been caused, as he supposed, by his scratching the place, though he could not understand why it lasted so long. mr. hutchinson concludes that all the evidence tends to show that the disease had probably been communicated from the blood of an infected person through the bite of the insect. it thus appears that even the proverbially trivial fleabite may at times prove a serious injury. snake-bites.--a writer in an indian paper asserts that the traditional immunity of indian snake-charmers is due to the fact that having been accidentally bitten by poisonous serpents or insects more than once, and having survived the first attack, they are subsequently immune. his assertion is based on personal acquaintance with madari yogis and fakirs, and an actual experiment made with a mohammedan fakir who was immune to the bites of scorpions provided by the writer. the animals were from five to seven inches long and had lobster-like claws. each bite drew blood, but the fakir was none the worse. the venom of poisonous snakes may be considered the most typical of animal poisons, being unrivaled in the fatality and rapidity of its action. fortunately in our country there are few snake-bites, but in the tropic countries, particularly india, the mortality from this cause is frightful. not only are there numerous serpents in that country, but the natives are lightly dressed and unshod, thus being exposed to the bites of the reptiles. it is estimated by capable authorities that the deaths in india each year from snake-bites exceed , . it is stated that there were human beings killed by tigers, leopards, hyenas, and panthers in india during the year , and in the same year the same species of beasts, aided by snakes, killed , head of cattle. the number of human lives destroyed by snakes in india in was , . the number of wild beasts killed in the same year was , , and the number of snakes killed was , . yarrow of washington, who has been a close student of this subject, has found in this country no less than species of poisonous snakes, belonging to four genera. the first genus is the crotalus, or rattlesnake proper; the second is the caudisona, or ground-rattlesnake; the third is the ancistrodon, or moccasin, one of the species of which is a water-snake; and the fourth is the elaps, or harlequin snake. there is some dispute over the exact degree of the toxic qualities of the venom of the heloderma suspectum, or gila monster. in india the cobra is the most deadly snake. it grows to the length of / feet, and is most active at night. the ophiophagus, or hooded cobra, is one of the largest of venomous snakes, sometimes attaining a length of feet; it is both powerful, active, and aggressive. the common snakes of the deadly variety in the united states are the rattlesnake, the "copperhead," and the moccasin; and it is from the bites of one of these varieties that the great majority of reported deaths are caused. but in looking over medical literature one is struck with the scarcity of reports of fatal snake-bites. this is most likely attributable to the fact that, except a few army-surgeons, physicians rarely see the cases. the natural abode of the serpents is in the wild and uninhabited regions. the venom is delivered to the victim through the medium of a long fang which is connected with a gland in which the poison is stored. the supply may be readily exhausted; for a time the bite would then be harmless. contrary to the general impression, snake-venom when swallowed is a deadly poison, as proved by the experiments of fayrer, mitchell, and reichert. death is most likely caused by paralysis of the vital centers through the circulation. in this country the wounds invariably are on the extremities, while in india the cobra sometimes strikes on the shoulder or neck. if called on to describe accurately the symptoms of snake-venom poisoning, few medical men could respond correctly. in most cases the wound is painful, sometimes exaggerated by the mental condition, which is wrought up to a pitch rarely seen in other equally fatal injuries. it is often difficult to discern the exact point of puncture, so minute is it. there is swelling due to effusion of blood, active inflammation, and increasing pain. if the poison has gained full entrance into the system, in a short time the swelling extends, vesicles soon form, and the disorganization of the tissues is so rapid that gangrene is liable to intervene before the fatal issue. the patient becomes prostrated immediately after the infliction of the wound, and his condition strongly indicates the use of stimulants, even if the medical attendant were unfamiliar with the history of the snake-bite. there may be a slight delirium; the expression becomes anxious, the pulse rapid and feeble, the respiration labored, and the patient complains of a sense of suffocation. coma follows, and the respirations become slower and slower until death results. if the patient lives long enough, the discoloration of the extremity and the swelling may spread to the neck, chest and back. loss of speech after snake-bite is discussed in chapter xvii, under the head of aphasia. a peculiar complication is a distressing inflammation of the mouth of individuals that have sucked the wounds containing venom. this custom is still quite common, and is preferred by the laity to the surer and much wiser method of immediate cauterization by fire. there is a curious case reported of a young man who was bitten on the ankle by a viper; he had not sucked the wound, but he presented such an enormous swelling of the tongue as to be almost provocative of a fatal issue. in this case the lingual swelling was a local effect of the general constitutional disturbance. cases of snake-bite.--the following case illustrative of the tenacity of virulence of snake-venom was reported by mr. temple, chief justice of honduras, and quoted by a london authority. while working at some wood-cutting a man was struck on a heavy boot by a snake, which he killed with an axe. he imagined that he had been efficiently protected by the boot, and he thought little of the incident. shortly afterward he began to feel ill, sank into a stupor, and succumbed. his boots were sold after his death, as they were quite well made and a luxury in that country. in a few hours the purchaser of the boots was a corpse, and every one attributed his death to apoplexy or some similar cause. the boots were again sold, and the next unfortunate owner died in an equally short time. it was then thought wise to examine the boots, and in one of them was found, firmly embedded, the fang of the serpent. it was supposed that in pulling on the boots each of the subsequent owners had scratched himself and became fatally inoculated with the venom, which was unsuspected and not combated. the case is so strange as to appear hypothetic, but the authority seems reliable. the following are three cases of snake-bite reported by surgeons of the united states army, two followed by recovery, and the other by death: middleton mentions a private in the fourth cavalry, aged twenty-nine, who was bitten by a rattlesnake at fort concho, texas, june , . the bite opened the phalangeal joint of the left thumb, causing violent inflammation, and resulted in the destruction of the joint. three years afterward the joint swelled and became extremely painful, and it was necessary to amputate the thumb. campbell reports the case of a private of the thirteenth infantry who was bitten in the throat by a large rattlesnake. the wound was immediately sucked by a comrade, and the man reported at the post hospital, at camp cooke, montana, three hours after the accident. the only noticeable appearance was a slightly wild look about the eyes, although the man did not seem to be the least alarmed. the region of the wound was hard and somewhat painful, probably from having been bruised by the teeth of the man who sucked the wound; it remained so for about three hours. the throat was bound up in rancid olive oil (the only kind at hand) and no internal remedy was administered. there were no other bad consequences, and the patient soon returned to duty. le carpentier sends the report of a fatal case of rattlesnake-bite: a private, aged thirty-seven, remarkable for the singularity of his conduct, was known in his company as a snake-charmer, as he had many times, without injury, handled poisonous snakes. on the morning of july , , he was detailed as guard with the herd at fort cummings, new mexico, when, in the presence of the herders, he succeeded in catching a rattlesnake and proving his power as a sorcerer. the performance being over and the snake killed, he caught sight of another of the same class, and tried to duplicate his previous feat; but his dexterity failed, and he was bitten in the middle finger of the right hand. he was immediately admitted to the post hospital, complaining only of a little pain, such as might follow the sting of a bee or wasp. a ligature was applied above the wound; the two injuries made by the fangs were enlarged by a bistoury; ammonia and the actual cautery were applied; large doses of whiskey were repeated frequently, the constitution of the patient being broken and poor. vomiting soon came on but was stopped without trouble, and there were doubts from the beginning as to his recovery. the swelling of the hand and arm gradually increased, showing the particular livid and yellowish tint following the bites of poisonous snakes. a blister was applied to the bitten finger, tincture of iodin used, and two ounces of whiskey given every two hours until inebriety was induced. the pulse, which was very much reduced at first, gained gradually under the influence of stimulants; two grains of opium were given at night, the patient slept well, and on the next day complained only of numbness in the arm. the swelling had extended as far as the shoulder-joint, and the blood, which was very fluid, was incessantly running from the wound. carbolic acid and cerate were applied to the arm, with stimulants internally. on the th his condition was good, the swelling had somewhat augmented, there was not so much lividity, but the yellowish hue had increased. on the th the man complained of pain in the neck, on the side of the affected limb, but his general condition was good. examining his genitals, an iron ring / inch in diameter was discovered, imbedded in the soft tissues of the penis, constricting it to such a degree as to have produced enormous enlargement of the parts. upon inquiry it seemed that the ring had been kept on the parts very long, as a means of preservation of chastity; but under the influence of the snake's venom the swelling had increased, and the patient having much trouble in passing water was obliged to complain. the ring was filed off with some difficulty. gangrene destroyed the extremity of the bitten finger. from this date until the th the man's condition improved somewhat. the progress of the gangrene was stopped, and the injured finger was disarticulated at the metacarpal articulation. anesthesia was readily obtained, but the appearance of the second stage was hardly perceptible. le carpentier was called early on the next morning, the patient having been observed to be sinking; there was stertorous respiration, the pulse was weak and slow, and the man was only partly conscious. electricity was applied to the spine, and brandy and potassium bromid were given, but death occurred about noon. a necropsy was made one hour after death. there was general softening of the tissues, particularly on the affected side. the blood was black and very fluid,--not coagulable. the ventricles of the brain were filled with a large amount of serum; the brain was somewhat congested. the lungs were healthy, with the exception of a few crude tubercles of recent formation on the left side. the right ventricle of the heart was empty, and the left filled with dark blood, which had coagulated. the liver and kidneys were healthy, and the gall-bladder very much distended with bile. the intestines presented a few livid patches on the outside. hydrophobia.--the bite of an enraged animal is always of great danger to man, and death has followed a wound inflicted by domestic animals or even fowls; a human bite has also caused a fatal issue. rabies is frequently observed in herbivorous animals, such as the ox, cow, or sheep, but is most commonly found in the carnivore, such as the dog, wolf, fox, jackal, hyena, and cat and other members of the feline tribe. fox reports several cases of death from symptoms resembling those of hydrophobia in persons who were bitten by skunks. swine, birds, and even domestic poultry have caused hydrophobia by their bites. le cat speaks of the bite of an enraged duck causing death, and thiermeyer mentions death shortly following the bite of a goose, as well as death in three days from a chicken-bite. camerarius describes a case of epilepsy which he attributed to a horse-bite. among the older writers speaking of death following the bite of an enraged man, are van meek'ren, wolff, zacutus lusitanus, and glandorp. the ephemerides contains an account of hydrophobia caused by a human bite. jones reports a case of syphilitic inoculation from a human bite on the hand. hydrophobia may not necessarily be from a bite; a previously-existing wound may be inoculated by the saliva alone, conveyed by licking. pliny, and some subsequent writers, attributed rabies to a worm under the animal's tongue which they called "lytta." there is said to be a superstition in india that, shortly after being bitten by a mad dog, the victim conceives pups in his belly; at about three months these move rapidly up and down the patient's intestines, and being mad like their progenitor, they bite and bark incessantly, until they finally kill the unfortunate victim. the natives of nepaul firmly believe this theory. all sorts of curious remedies have been suggested for the cure of hydrophobia. crabs-claws, spanish fly, and dragon roots, given three mornings before the new or full moon, was suggested as a specific by sir robert gordon. theodore de vaux remarks that the person bitten should immediately pluck the feathers from the breech of an old cock and apply them bare to the bites. if the dog was mad the cock was supposed to swell and die. if the dog was not mad the cock would not swell; in either case the person so treated was immune. mad-stones, as well as snake-stones, are believed in by some persons at the present day. according to curran, at one time in ireland the fear of hydrophobia was so great that any person supposed to be suffering from it could be legally smothered. according to french statistics, hydrophobia is an extremely fatal disease, although the proportion of people bitten and escaping without infection is overwhelmingly greater than those who acquire the disease. the mortality of genuine hydrophobia is from to per cent, influenced by efficient and early cauterization and scientific treatment. there is little doubt that many of the cases reported as hydrophobia are merely examples of general systemic infection from a local focus of sepsis, made possible by some primitive and uncleanly treatment of the original wound. there is much superstition relative to hydrophobia; the majority of wounds seen are filled with the hair of the dog, soot, ham-fat, and also with particles of decayed food and saliva from the mouth of some person who has practiced sucking the wound. ordinarily, the period of incubation of hydrophobia in man is before the end of the second month, although rarely cases are seen as many as six months from the reception of the bite. the first symptoms of the disease are melancholia, insomnia, loss of appetite, and occasionally shooting pains, radiating from the wound. there may be severe pain at the back of the head and in the neck. difficulty in swallowing soon becomes a marked symptom. the speech assumes a sobbing tone, and occasionally the expression of the face is wild and haggard. as regards the crucial diagnostic test of a glass of water, the following account of a patient's attempt to drink is given by curtis and quoted by warren: "a glass of water was offered the patient, which he refused to take, saying that he could not stand so much as that, but would take it from a teaspoon. on taking the water from the spoon he evinced some discomfort and agitation, but continued to raise the spoon. as it came within a foot of his lips, he gagged and began to gasp violently, his features worked, and his head shook. he finally almost tossed the water into his mouth, losing the greater part of it, and staggered about the room gasping and groaning. at this moment the respirations seemed wholly costal, and were performed with great effort, the elbows being jerked upward with every inspiration. the paroxysm lasted about half a minute. the act of swallowing did not appear to cause distress, for he could go through the motions of deglutition without any trouble. the approach of liquid toward the mouth would, however, cause distress." it is to be remarked that the spasm affects the mechanism of the respiratory apparatus, the muscles of mastication and deglutition being only secondarily contracted. pasteur discovered that the virulence of the virus of rabies could be attenuated in passing it through different species of animals, and also that inoculation of this attenuated virus had a decided prophylactic effect on the disease; hence, by cutting the spinal cord of inoculated animals into fragments a few centimeters long, and drying them, an emulsion could be made containing the virus. the patients are first inoculated with a cord fourteen days old, and the inoculation is repeated for nine days, each time with a cord one day fresher. the intensive method consists in omitting the weakest cords and giving the inoculations at shorter intervals. as a curious coincidence, pliny and pasteur, the ancient and modern, both discuss the particular virulence of saliva during fasting. there is much discussion over the extent of injury a shark-bite can produce. in fact some persons deny the reliability of any of the so-called cases of shark-bites. ensor reports an interesting case occurring at port elizabeth, south africa. while bathing, an expert swimmer felt a sharp pain in the thigh, and before he could cry out, felt a horrid crunch and was dragged below the surface of the water. he struggled for a minute, was twisted about, shaken, and then set free, and by a supreme effort, reached the landing stairs of the jetty, where, to his surprise, he found that a monstrous shark had bitten his leg off. the leg had been seized obliquely, and the teeth had gone across the joints, wounding the condyles of the femur. there were three marks on the left side showing where the fish had first caught him. the amputation was completed at once, and the man recovered. macgrigor reports the case of a man at a fishery, near manaar, who was bitten by a shark. the upper jaw of the animal was fixed in the left side of the belly, forming a semicircular wound of which a point one inch to the left of the umbilicus was the upper boundary, and the lower part of the upper third of the thigh, the lower boundary. the abdominal and lumbar muscles were divided and turned up, exposing the colon in its passage across the belly. several convolutions of the small intestines were also laid bare, as were also the three lowest ribs. the gluteal muscles were lacerated and torn, the tendons about the trochanter divided, laying the bone bare, and the vastus externus and part of the rectus of the thigh were cut across. the wound was inches in length and four or five inches in breadth. when dr. kennedy first saw the patient he had been carried in a boat and then in a palanquin for over five miles, and at this time, three hours after the reception of the wound, kennedy freed the abdominal cavity of salt water and blood, thoroughly cleansed the wound of the hair and the clots, and closed it with adhesive strips. by the sixteenth day the abdominal wound had perfectly closed, the lacerations granulated healthily, and the man did well. boyle reports recovery from extensive lacerated wounds from the bite of a shark. both arms were amputated as a consequence of the injuries. fayrer mentions shark-bites in the hooghley. leprosy from a fish-bite.--ashmead records the curious case of a man that had lived many years in a leprous country, and while dressing a fish had received a wound of the thumb from the fin of the fish. swelling of the arm followed, and soon after bullae upon the chest, head, and face. in a few months the blotches left from this eruption became leprous tubercles, and other well-marked signs of the malady followed. the author asked if in this case we have to do with a latent leprosy which was evoked by the wound, or if it were a case of inoculation from the fish? cutliffe records recovery after amputation at the elbow-joint, as a consequence of an alligator-bite nine days before admission to the hospital. the patient exhibited a compound comminuted fracture of the right radius and ulna in their lower thirds, compound comminuted fractures of the bones of the carpus and metacarpus, with great laceration of the soft parts, laying bare the wrist-joint, besides several penetrating wounds of the arm and fore-arm. mourray gives some notes on a case of crocodile-bite with removal of a large portion of omentum. sircar speaks of recovery from a crocodile-bite. dudgeon reports two cases of animal-bites, both fatal, one by a bear, and the other by a camel. there is mention of a compound dislocation of the wrist-joint from a horse-bite. fayrer speaks of a wolf-bite of the forearm, followed by necrosis and hemorrhage, necessitating ligature of the brachial artery and subsequent excision of the elbow-joint. injuries from lightning.--the subject of lightning-stroke, with its diverse range of injuries, is of considerable interest, and, though not uncommon, the matter is surrounded by a veil of superstition and mystery. it is well known that instantaneous or temporary unconsciousness may result from lightning-stroke. sometimes superficial or deep burns may be the sole result, and again paralysis of the general nerves, such as those of sensation and motion, may be occasioned. for many years the therapeutic effect of a lightning-stroke has been believed to be a possibility, and numerous instances are on record. the object of this article will be to record a sufficient number of cases of lightning-stroke to enable the reader to judge of its various effects, and form his own opinion of the good or evil of the injury. it must be mentioned here that half a century ago le conte wrote a most extensive article on this subject, which, to the present time, has hardly been improved upon. the first cases to be recorded are those in which there has been complete and rapid recovery from lightning-stroke. crawford mentions a woman who, while sitting in front of her fireplace on the first floor of a two-story frame building, heard a crash about her, and realized that the house had been struck by lightning. the lightning had torn all the weather-boarding off the house, and had also followed a spouting which terminated in a wooden trough in a pig-sty, ten feet back of the house, and killed a pig. another branch of the fluid passed through the inside of the building and, running along the upper floor to directly over where mrs. f. was sitting, passed through the floor and descended upon the top of her left shoulder. her left arm was lying across her abdomen at the time, the points of the fingers resting on the crests of the ilium. there was a rent in the dress at the top of the shoulder, and a red line half an inch wide running from thence along the inside of the arm and fore-arm. in some places there was complete vesication, and on its palmer surface the hand lying on the abdomen was completely denuded. the abdomen, for a space of four inches in length and eight inches in breadth, was also blistered. the fluid then passed from the fingers to the crest of the ilium, and down the outside of the leg, bursting open the shoes, and passing then through the floor. again a red line half an inch wide could be traced from the ilium to the toes. the clothing was not scorched, but only slightly rent at the point of the shoulder and where the fingers rested. this woman was neither knocked off her chair nor stunned, and she felt no shock at the time. after ordinary treatment for her burns she made rapid and complete recovery. halton reports the history of a case of a woman of sixty-five who, about thirty-five minutes before he saw her, had been struck by lightning. while she was sitting in an outbuilding a stroke of lightning struck and shattered a tree about a foot distant. then, leaving the tree about seven feet from the ground, it penetrated the wall of the building, which was of unplastered frame, and struck mrs. p. on the back of the head, at a point where her hair was done up in a knot and fastened by two ordinary hair-pins. the hair was much scorched, and under the knot the skin of the scalp was severely burned. the fluid crossed, burning her right ear, in which was a gold ear-ring, and then passed over her throat and down the left sternum, leaving a burn three inches wide, covered by a blister. there was another burn, inches long and three inches wide, passing from just above the crest of the ilium forward and downward to the symphysis pubis. the next burn began at the patella of the right knee, extending to the bottom of the heel, upon reaching which it wound around the inner side of the leg. about four inches below the knee a sound strip of cuticle, about / inches, was left intact. the lightning passed off the heel of the foot, bursting open the heel of a strongly sewed gaiter-boot. the woman was rendered unconscious but subsequently recovered. a remarkable feature of a lightning-stroke is the fact that it very often strips the affected part of its raiment, as in the previous case in which the shoe was burst open. in a discussion before the clinical society of london, october , there were several instances mentioned in which clothes had been stripped off by lightning. in one case mentioned by sir james paget, the clothes were wet and the man's skin was reeking with perspiration. in its course the lightning traveled down the clothes, tearing them posteriorly, and completely stripping the patient. the boots were split up behind and the laces torn out. this patient, however, made a good recovery. beatson mentions an instance in which an explosion of a shell completely tore off the left leg of a sergeant instructor, midway between the knee and ankle. it was found that the foot and lower third of the leg had been completely denuded of a boot and woolen stocking, without any apparent abrasion or injury to the skin. the stocking was found in the battery and the boot struck a person some distance off. the stocking was much torn, and the boot had the heel missing, and in one part the sole was separated from the upper. the laces in the upper holes were broken but were still present in the lower holes. the explanation offered in this case is similar to that in analogous cases of lightning-stroke, that is, that the gas generated by the explosion found its way between the limb and the stocking and boot and stripped them off. there is a curious collection of relics, consisting of the clothes of a man struck by lightning, artistically hung in a glass case in the museum of the royal college of surgeons, london, and the history of the injury, of which these remnants are the result, is given by professor stewart, the curator, as follows: at half past four on june , , james orman and others were at work near snave, in romney marsh, about eight miles from ashford. the men were engaged in lopping willows, when the violence of the rain compelled them to take refuge under a hedge. three of the men entered a shed near by, but orman remained by the willow, close to the window of the shed. scarcely were the three inside when a lightning-stroke entered the door, crossed the shed, and passed out the window, which it blew before it into the field. the men noticed that the tree under which orman stood was stripped of its bark. their companion's boots stood close to the foot of the tree, while the man himself lay almost perfectly naked a few yards further on, calling for help. when they left him a few moments previously, he was completely clad in a cotton shirt, cotton jacket, flannel vest, and cotton trousers, secured at the waist with leather straps and buckles. orman also wore a pair of stout hobnail boots, and had a watch and chain. after the lightning-stroke, however, all he had on him was the left arm of his flannel vest. the field was strewn for some distance with fragments of the unfortunate man's clothing. orman was thrown down, his eyebrows burned off, and his whiskers and beard much scorched. his chest was covered with superficial burns, and he had sustained a fracture of the leg. his strong boots were torn from his feet, and his watch had a hole burned right through it, as if a soldering iron had been used. the watch-chain was almost completely destroyed, only a few links remaining. together with some fused coins, these were found close by, and are deposited in a closed box in the museum. according to orman's account of the affair, he first felt a violent blow on the chest and shoulders, and then he was involved in a blinding light and hurled into the air. he said he never lost consciousness; but when at the hospital he seemed very deaf and stupid. he was discharged perfectly cured twenty weeks after the occurrence. the scientific explanation of this amazing escape from this most eccentric vagary of the electric fluid is given,--the fact that the wet condition of the man's clothing increased its power of conduction, and in this way saved his life. it is said that the electric current passed down the side of orman's body, causing everywhere a sudden production of steam, which by its expansion tore the clothing off and hurled it away. it is a curious fact that where the flannel covered the man's skin the burns were merely superficial, whereas in those parts touched by the cotton trousers they were very much deeper. this case is also quoted and described by dr. wilks. there was a curious case of lightning-stroke reported at cole harbor, halifax. a diver, while at work far under the surface of the water, was seriously injured by the transmission of a lightning-stroke, which first struck the communicating air pump to which the diver was attached. the man was brought to the surface insensible, but he afterward recovered. permanent effect of lightning on the nervous system.--macdonald mentions a woman of seventy-eight who, some forty-two years previous, while ironing a cap with an italian iron, was stunned by an extremely vivid flash of lightning and fell back unconscious into a chair. on regaining consciousness she found that the cap which she had left on the table, remote from the iron, was reduced to cinders. her clothes were not burned nor were there any marks on the skin. after the stroke she felt a creeping sensation and numbness, particularly in the arm which was next to the table. she stated positively that in consequence of this feeling she could predict with the greatest certainty when the atmosphere was highly charged with electricity, as the numbness increased on these occasions. the woman averred that shortly before or during a thunder storm she always became nauseated. macdonald offers as a physiologic explanation of this case that probably the impression produced forty-two years before implicated the right brachial plexus and the afferent branches of the pneumogastric, and to some degree the vomiting center in the medulla; hence, when the atmosphere was highly charged with electricity the structures affected became more readily impressed. camby relates the case of a neuropathic woman of thirty-eight, two of whose children were killed by lightning in her presence. she herself was unconscious for four days, and when she recovered consciousness, she was found to be hemiplegic and hemianesthetic on the left side. she fully recovered in three weeks. two years later, during a thunder storm, when there was no evidence of a lightning-stroke, she had a second attack, and three years later a third attack under similar circumstances. there are some ocular injuries from lightning on record. in these cases the lesions have consisted of detachment of the retina, optic atrophy, cataract, hemorrhages into the retina, and rupture of the choroid, paralysis of the oculomotor muscles, and paralysis of the optic nerve. according to buller of montreal, such injuries may arise from the mechanic violence sustained by the patient rather than by the thermal or chemic action of the current. buller describes a case of lightning-stroke in which the external ocular muscles, the crystalline lens, and the optic nerve were involved. godfrey reports the case of daniel brown, a seaman on h.m.s. cambrian. while at sea on february , , he was struck both dumb and blind by a lightning-stroke. there was evidently paralysis of the optic nerve and of the oculomotor muscles; and the muscles of the glottis were also in some manner deprived of motion. that an amputation can be perfectly performed by a lightning-stroke is exemplified in the case of sycyanko of cracow, poland. the patient was a boy of twelve, whose right knee was ankylosed. while riding in a field in a violent storm, a loud peal of thunder caused the horse to run away, and the child fell stunned to the ground. on coming to his senses the boy found that his right leg was missing, the parts having been divided at the upper end of the tibia. the wound was perfectly round and the patella and femur were intact. there were other signs of burns about the body, but the boy recovered. some days after the injury the missing leg was found near the place where he was first thrown from the horse. the therapeutic effect of lightning-stroke is verified by a number of cases, a few of which will be given. tilesius mentions a peculiar case which was extensively quoted in london. two brothers, one of whom was deaf, were struck by lightning. it was found that the inner part of the right ear near the tragus and anti-helix of one of the individuals was scratched, and on the following day his hearing returned. olmstead quotes the history of a man in carteret county, n.c., who was seized with a paralytic affection of the face and eyes, and was quite unable to close his lids. while in his bedroom, he was struck senseless by lightning, and did not recover until the next day, when it was found that the paralysis had disappeared, and during the fourteen years which he afterward lived his affection never returned. there is a record of a young collier in the north of england who lost his sight by an explosion of gunpowder, utterly destroying the right eye and fracturing the frontal bone. the vision of the left eye was lost without any serious damage to the organ, and this was attributed to shock. on returning from ettingshall in a severe thunder storm, he remarked to his brother that he had seen light through his spectacles, and had immediately afterward experienced a piercing sensation which had passed through the eye to the back of the head. the pain was brief, and he was then able to see objects distinctly. from this occasion he steadily improved until he was able to walk about without a guide. le conte mentions the case of a negress who was struck by lightning august , , on a plantation in georgia. for years before the reception of the shock her health had been very bad, and she seemed to be suffering from a progressive emaciation and feebleness akin to chlorosis. the difficulty had probably followed a protracted amenorrhea, subsequent to labor and a retained placenta in the course of a week she had recovered from the effects of lightning and soon experienced complete restoration to health; and for two years had been a remarkably healthy and vigorous laborer. le conte quotes five similar cases, and mentions one in which a lightning-shock to a woman of twenty-nine produced amenorrhea, whereas she had previously suffered from profuse menstruation, and also mentions another case of a woman of seventy who was struck unconscious; the catamenial discharge which had ceased twenty years before, was now permanently reestablished, and the shrunken mammae again resumed their full contour. a peculiar feature or superstition as to lightning-stroke is its photographic properties. in this connection stricker of frankfort quotes the case of raspail of a man of twenty-two who, while climbing a tree to a bird's nest, was struck by lightning, and afterward showed upon his breast a picture of the tree, with the nest upon one of its branches. although in the majority of cases the photographs resembled trees, there was one case in which it resembled a horse-shoe; another, a cow; a third, a piece of furniture; a fourth, the whole surrounding landscape. this theory of lightning-photographs of neighboring objects on the skin has probably arisen from the resemblance of the burns due to the ramifications of the blood-vessels as conductors, or to peculiar electric movements which can be demonstrated by positive charges on lycopodium powder. a lightning-stroke does not exhaust its force on a few individuals or objects, but sometimes produces serious manifestations over a large area, or on a great number of people. it is said that a church in the village of chateauneuf, in the department of the lower alps, in france, was struck by three successive lightning strokes on july , , during the installation of a new pastor. the company were all thrown down, nine were killed and wounded. the priest, who was celebrating mass, was not affected, it is believed, on account of his silken robe acting as an insulator. bryant of charlestown, mass., has communicated the particulars of a stroke of lightning on june , , which shocked several hundred persons. the effect of this discharge was felt over an area of , square feet with nearly the same degree of intensity. happily, there was no permanent injury recorded. le conte reports that a person may be killed when some distance--even as far as miles away from the storm--by what lord mahon calls the "returning stroke." skin-grafting is a subject which has long been more or less familiar to medical men, but which has only recently been developed to a practically successful operation. the older surgeons knew that it was possible to reunite a resected nose or an amputated finger, and in hunter's time tooth-replantation was quite well known. smellie has recorded an instance in which, after avulsion of a nipple in suckling, restitution was effected. it is not alone to the skin that grafting is applicable; it is used in the cornea, nerves, muscles, bones, tendons, and teeth. wolfer has been successful in transplanting the mucous membranes of frogs, rabbits, and pigeons to a portion of mucous membrane previously occupied by cicatricial tissue, and was the first to show that on mucous surfaces, mucous membrane remains mucous membrane, but when transplanted to skin, it becomes skin. attempts have been made to transplant a button of clear cornea of a dog, rabbit, or cat to the cornea of a human being, opaque as the result of ophthalmia, and von hippel has devised a special method of doing this. recently fuchs has reported his experience in cornea-grafting in sections, as a substitute for von hippel's method, in parenchymatous keratitis and corneal staphyloma, and though not eminently successful himself, he considers the operation worthy of trial in cases that are without help, and doomed to blindness. john hunter was the first to perform the implantation of teeth; and younger the first to transplant the teeth of man in the jaws of man; the initial operation should be called replantation, as it was merely the replacement of a tooth in a socket from which it had accidentally or intentionally been removed. hunter drilled a hole in a cock's comb and inserted a tooth, and held it by a ligature. younger drilled a hole in a man's jaw and implanted a tooth, and proved that it was not necessary to use a fresh tooth. ottolengni mentions the case of a man who was struck by a ruffian and had his two central incisors knocked out. he searched for them, washed them in warm water, carefully washed the teeth-sockets, and gently placed the teeth back in their position, where they remained firmly attached. at the time of report, six years after the accident, they were still firmly in position. pettyjohn reports a successful case of tooth-replantation in his young daughter of two, who fell on the cellar stairs, completely excising the central incisors. the alveolar process of the right jaw was fractured, and the gum lacerated to the entire length of the root. the teeth were placed in a tepid normal saline solution, and the child chloroformed, narcosis being induced in sleep; the gums were cleaned antiseptically, and / hours afterward the child had the teeth firmly in place. they had been out of the mouth fully an hour. four weeks afterward they were as firm as ever. by their experiments gluck and magnus prove that there is a return of activity after transplantation of muscle. after excision of malignant tumors of muscles, helferich of munich, and lange of new york, have filled the gap left by the excision of the muscle affected by the tumor with transplanted muscles from dogs. gluck has induced reproduction of lost tendons by grafting them with cat-gut, and according to ashhurst, peyrot has filled the gaps in retracted tendons by transplanting tendons, taken in one case from a dog, and in another from a cat. nerve-grafting, as a supplementary operation to neurectomy, has been practiced, and gersung has transplanted the nerves of lower animals to the nerve stumps of man. bone-grafting is quite frequently practiced, portions from a recently amputated limb, or portions removed from living animals, or bone-chips, may be used. senn proposed decalcified bone-plates to be used to fill in the gaps. shifting of the bone has been done, e.g., by dividing a strip of the hard palate covered with its soft parts, parallel to the fissure in cleft palate, but leaving unsevered the bony attachments in front, and partially fracturing the pedicle, drawing the bony flaps together with sutures; or, when forming a new nose, by turning down with the skin and periosteum the outer table of the frontal bone, split off with a chisel, after cutting around the part to be removed. trueheart reports a case of partial excision of the clavicle, successfully followed by the grafting of periosteal and osseous material taken from a dog. robson and hayes of rochester, n.y., have successfully supplemented excision of spina bifida by the transplantation of a strip of periosteum from a rabbit. poncet hastened a cure in a case of necrosis with partial destruction of the periosteum by inserting grafts taken from the bones of a dead infant and from a kid. ricketts speaks of bone-grafting and the use of ivory, and remarks that poncet of lyons restored a tibia in nine months by grafting to the superior articular surface. recently amalgam fillings have been used in bone-cavities to supplant grafting. in destructive injuries of the skin, various materials were formerly used in grafting, none of which, however, have produced the same good effect as the use of skin by the thiersch method, which will be described later. rodgers, u.s.n., reports the case of a white man of thirty-eight who suffered from gangrene of the skin of the buttocks caused by sitting in a pan of caustic potash. when seen the man was intoxicated, and there was a gangrenous patch four by six inches on his buttocks. rodgers used grafts from the under wing of a young fowl, as suggested by redard, with good result. vanmeter of colorado describes a boy of fourteen with a severe extensive burn; a portion beneath the chin and lower jaw, and the right arm from the elbow to the fingers, formed a granulating surface which would not heal, and grafting was resorted to. the neck-grafts were supplied by the skin of the father and brother, but the arm-grafts were taken from two young puppies of the mexican hairless breed, whose soft, white, hairless skin seemed to offer itself for the purpose with good prospect of a successful result. the outcome was all that could be desired. the puppy-grafts took faster and proved themselves to be superior to the skin-grafts. there is a case reported in which the skin of a greyhound seven days old, taken from the abdominal wall and even from the tail, was used with most satisfactory results in grafting an extensive ulcer following a burn on the left leg of a boy of ten. masterman has grafted with the inner membrane of a hen's egg, and a mexican surgeon, altramirano, used the gills of a cock. fowler of brooklyn has grafted with the skin from the back and abdomen of a large frog. the patient was a colored boy of sixteen, who was extensively burned by a kerosene lamp. the burns were on the legs, thighs, buttocks, and right ankle, and the estimated area of burnt surface was . square inches. the frog skin was transferred to the left buttocks, and on the right buttocks eight long strips of white skin were transferred after the manner of thiersch. a strip of human skin was placed in one section over the frog skin, but became necrotic in four days, not being attached to the granulating surface. the man was discharged cured in six months. the frog skin was soft, pliable, and of a reddish hue, while the human white skin was firm and rapidly becoming pigmented. leale cites the successful use of common warts in a case of grafting on a man of twenty who was burned on the foot by a stream of molten metal. leale remarks that as common warts of the skin are collections of vascular papillae, admitting of separation without injury to their exceptionally thick layer of epidermis, they are probably better for the purposes of skin-grafting than ordinary skin of less vitality or vascularity. ricketts has succeeded in grafting the skin of a frog to that of a tortoise, and also grafting frog skin to human skin. ricketts remarks that the prepuce of a boy is remarkably good material for grafting. sponge-grafts are often used to hasten cicatrization of integumental wounds. there is recorded an instance in which the breast of a crow and the back of a rat were grafted together and grew fast. the crow dragged the rat along, and the two did not seem to care to part company. relative to skin-grafting proper, bartens succeeded in grafting the skin of a dead man of seventy on a boy of fourteen. symonds reports cases of skin-grafting of large flaps from amputated limbs, and says this method is particularly available in large hospitals where they have amputations and grafts on the same day. martin has shown that, after many hours of exposure in the open air at a temperature of nearly degrees f., grafts could be successfully applied, but in such temperatures as degrees f., exposure of from six to seven hours destroyed their vitality, so that if kept cool, the limb of a healthy individual amputated for some accident, may be utilized for grafting purposes. reverdin originated the procedure of epidermic grafting. small grafts the size of a pin-head doing quite as well as large ones. unfortunately but little diminution of the cicatricial contraction is effected by reverdin's method. thiersch contends that healing of a granulated surface results first from a conversion of the soft, vascular granulation-papillae, by contraction of some of their elements into young connective-tissue cells, into "dry, cicatricial papillae," actually approximating the surrounding tissues, thus diminishing the area to be covered by epidermis; and, secondly, by the covering of these papillae by epidermic cells. thiersch therefore recommends that for the prevention of cicatricial contraction, the grafting be performed with large strips of skin. harte gives illustrations of a case of extensive skin-grafting on the thigh from six inches above the great trochanter well over the median line anteriorly and over the buttock. this extent is shown in figure , taken five months after the accident, when the granulations had grown over the edge about an inch. figure shows the surface of the wound, six and one-half months after the accident and three months after the applications of numerous skin-grafts. cases of self-mutilation may be divided into three classes:--those in which the injuries are inflicted in a moment of temporary insanity from hallucinations or melancholia; with suicidal intent; and in religious frenzy or emotion. self-mutilation is seen in the lower animals, and kennedy, in mentioning the case of a hydrocephalic child who ate off its entire under lip, speaks also of a dog, of cats, and of a lioness who ate off their tails. kennedy mentions the habit in young children of biting the finger-nails as an evidence of infantile trend toward self-mutilation. in the same discussion collins states that he knew of an instance in india in which a horse lay down, deliberately exposing his anus, and allowing the crows to pick and eat his whole rectum. in temporary insanity, in fury, or in grief, the lower animals have been noticed by naturalists to mutilate themselves. self-mutilation in man is almost invariably the result of meditation over the generative function, and the great majority of cases of this nature are avulsions or amputations of some parts of the genitalia. the older records are full of such instances. benivenius, blanchard, knackstedt, and schenck cite cases. smetius mentions castration which was effected by using the finger-nails, and there is an old record in which a man avulsed his own genitals. scott mentions an instance in which a man amputated his genitals and recovered without subsequent symptoms. gockelius speaks of self-castration in a ruptured man, and golding, guyon, louis, laugier, the ephemerides, alix, marstral, and others, record instances of self-castration. in his essays montaigne mentions an instance of complete castration performed by the individual himself. thiersch mentions a case of a man who circumcised himself when eighteen. he married in , and upon being told that he was a father he slit up the hypogastrium from the symphysis pubis to the umbilicus, so that the omentum protruded; he said his object was to obtain a view of the interior. although the knife was dirty and blunt, the wound healed after the removal of the extruding omentum. a year later he laid open one side of the scrotum. the prolapsed testicle was replaced, and the wound healed without serious effect. he again laid open his abdomen in , the wound again healing notwithstanding the prolapse of the omentum. in may of the same year he removed the right testicle, and sewed the wound up himself. four days later the left was treated the same way. the spermatic cord however escaped, and a hematoma, the size of a child's head, formed on account of which he had to go to the hospital. this man acted under an uncontrollable impulse to mutilate himself, and claimed that until he castrated himself he had no peace of mind. there is a similar report in an italian journal which was quoted in london. it described a student at law, of delicate complexion, who at the age of fourteen gave himself up to masturbation. he continually studied until the age of nineteen, when he fell into a state of dulness, and complained that his head felt as if compressed by a circle of fire. he said that a voice kept muttering to him that his generative organs were abnormally deformed or the seat of disease. after that, he imagined that he heard a cry of "amputation! amputation!" driven by this hallucination, he made his first attempt at self-mutilation ten days later. he was placed in an asylum at astino where, though closely watched, he took advantage of the first opportunity and cut off two-thirds of his penis, when the delirium subsided. camp describes a stout german of thirty-five who, while suffering from delirium tremens, fancied that his enemies were trying to steal his genitals, and seizing a sharp knife he amputated his penis close to the pubes. he threw the severed organ violently at his imaginary pursuers. the hemorrhage was profuse, but ceased spontaneously by the formation of coagulum over the mouth of the divided vessels. the wound was quite healed in six weeks, and he was discharged from the hospital, rational and apparently content with his surgical feat. richards reports the case of a brahman boy of sixteen who had contracted syphilis, and convinced, no doubt, that "nocit empta dolore voluptus," he had taken effective means of avoiding injury in the future by completely amputating his penis at the root. some days after his admission to the hospital he asked to be castrated, stating that he intended to become an ascetic, and the loss of his testes as well as of his penis appeared to him to be an imperative condition to the attainment of that happy consummation. chevers mentions a somewhat similar case occurring in india. sands speaks of a single man of thirty who amputated his penis. he gave an incomplete history of syphilis. after connection with a woman he became a confirmed syphilophobe and greatly depressed. while laboring under the hallucination that he was possessed of two bodies he tied a string around the penis and amputated the organ one inch below the glans. on loosening the string, three hours afterward, to enable him to urinate, he lost three pints of blood, but he eventually recovered. in the pennsylvania hospital reports there is an account of a married man who, after drinking several weeks, developed mania a potu, and was found in his room covered with blood. his penis was completely cut off near the pubes, and the skin of the scrotum was so freely incised that the testicles were entirely denuded, but not injured. a small silver cap was made to cover the sensitive urethra on a line with the abdominal wall. there is a record of a tall, powerfully-built russian peasant of twenty-nine, of morose disposition, who on april d, while reading his favorite book, without uttering a cry, suddenly and with a single pull tore away his scrotum together with his testes. he then arose from the bank where he had been sitting, and quietly handed the avulsed parts to his mother who was sitting near by, saying to her: "take that; i do not want it any more." to all questions from his relatives he asked pardon and exemption from blame, but gave no reason for his act. this patient made a good recovery at the hospital. alexeef, another russian, speaks of a similar injury occurring during an attack of delirium tremens. black details the history of a young man of nineteen who went to his bath-room and deliberately placing his scrotum on the edge of the tub he cut it crossways down to the wood. he besought black to remove his testicle, and as the spermatic cord was cut and much injured, and hemorrhage could only be arrested by ligature, the testicle was removed. the reason assigned for this act of mutilation was that he had so frequent nocturnal emissions that he became greatly disgusted and depressed in spirit thereby. he had practiced self-abuse for two years and ascribed his emissions to this cause. although his act was that of a maniac, the man was perfectly rational. since the injury he had had normal and frequent emissions and erections. orwin mentions the case of a laborer of forty who, in a fit of remorse after being several days with a prostitute, atoned for his unfaithfulness to his wife by opening his scrotum and cutting away his left testicle with a pocket knife. the missing organ was found about six yards away covered with dirt. at the time of infliction of this injury the man was calm and perfectly rational. warrington relates the strange case of isaac brooks, an unmarried farmer of twenty-nine, who was found december , , with extensive mutilations of the scrotum; he said that he had been attacked and injured by three men. he swore to the identity of two out of the three, and these were transported to ten years' penal servitude. on february , , he was again found with mutilation of the external genitals, and again said he had been set upon by four men who had inflicted his injury, but as he wished it kept quiet he asked that there be no prosecution. just before his death on december , , he confessed that he had perjured himself, and that the mutilations were self-performed. he was not aware of any morbid ideas as to his sexual organs, and although he had an attack of gonorrhea ten years before he seemed to worry very little over it. there is an account of a scotch boy who wished to lead a "holy life," and on two occasions sought the late mr. liston's skilful aid in pursuance of this idea. he returned for a third time, having himself unsuccessfully performed castration. a case of self-mutilation by a soldier who was confined in the guard-house for drunkenness is related by beck. the man borrowed a knife from a comrade and cut off the whole external genital apparatus, remarking as he flung the parts into a corner: "any----fool can cut his throat, but it takes a soldier to cut his privates off!" under treatment he recovered, and then he regretted his action. sinclair describes an irishman of twenty-five who, maniacal from intemperance, first cut off one testicle with a wire nail, and then the second with a trouser-buckle. not satisfied with the extent of his injuries he drove a nail into his temple, first through the skin by striking it with his hand, and then by butting it against the wall,--the latter maneuver causing his death. there is on record the history of an insane medical student in dublin who extirpated both eyes and threw them on the grass. he was in a state of acute mania, and the explanation offered was that as a "grinder" before examination he had been diligently studying the surgery of the eye, and particularly that relating to enucleation. another dublin case quoted by the same authority was that of a young girl who, upon being arrested and committed to a police-cell in a state of furious drunkenness, tore out both her eyes. in such cases, as a rule, the finger-nails are the only instrument used. there is a french case also quoted of a woman of thirty-nine who had borne children in rapid succession. while suckling a child three months old she became much excited, and even fanatical, in reading the bible. coming to the passage, "if thy right eye offend thee, pluck it out, etc.," she was so impressed with the necessity of obeying the divine injunction that she enucleated her eye with a meat-hook. there is mentioned the case of a young woman who cut off her right hand and cast it into the fire, and attempted to enucleate her eyes, and also to hold her remaining hand in the fire. haslam reports the history of a female who mutilated herself by grinding glass between her teeth. channing gives an account of the case of helen miller, a german jewess of thirty, who was admitted to the asylum for insane criminals at auburn, n.y., in october, , and readmitted in june, , suffering from simulation of hematemesis. on september th she cut her left wrist and right hand; in three weeks she became again "discouraged" because she was refused opium, and again cut her arms below the elbows, cleanly severing the skin and fascia, and completely hacking the muscles in every direction. six weeks later she repeated the latter feat over the seat of the recently healed cicatrices. the right arm healed, but the left showed erysipelatous inflammation, culminating in edema, which affected the glottis to such an extent that tracheotomy was performed to save her life. five weeks after convalescence, during which her conduct was exemplary, she again cut her arms in the same place. in the following april, for the merest trifle, she again repeated the mutilation, but this time leaving pieces of glass in the wounds. six months later she inflicted a wound seven inches in length, in which she inserted pieces of glass, seven long splinters, and five shoe-nails. in june, , she cut herself for the last time. the following articles were taken from her arms and preserved: ninety-four pieces of glass, splinters, two tacks, five shoe-nails, one pin, and one needle, besides other things which were lost,--making altogether about articles. "needle-girls," etc.--a peculiar type of self-mutilation is the habit sometimes seen in hysteric persons of piercing their flesh with numerous needles or pins. herbolt of copenhagen tells of a young jewess from whose body, in the course of eighteen months, were extracted needles. sometime after more came from a tumor on the shoulder. as all the symptoms in this case were abdominal, it was supposed that during an epileptic seizure this girl had swallowed the needles; but as she was of an hysteric nature it seems more likely they had entered the body through the skin. there is an instance in which needles were extracted from a young lady's person. caen describes a woman of twenty-six, while in prison awaiting trial, succeeding in committing suicide by introducing about pins and needles in the chest region, over the heart. her method was to gently introduce them, and then to press them deeper with a prayer-book. an autopsy showed that some of the pins had reached the lungs, some were in the mediastinum, on the back part of the right auricle; the descending vena cave was perforated, the anterior portion of the left ventricle was transfixed by a needle, and several of the articles were found in the liver. andrews removed needles from the body of an insane female. the lancet records an account of a suicide by the penetration of a darning-needle in the epigastrium. there were nine punctures in this region, and in the last the needle was left in situ and fixed by worsted. in the same journal spoke of an instance in which pins were removed from the limbs of a servant girl. it was said that while hanging clothes, with her mouth full of pins, she was slapped on the shoulder, causing her to start and swallow the pins. there is another report of a woman who swallowed great numbers of pins. on her death one pound and nine ounces of pins were found in her stomach and duodenum. there are individuals known as "human pin-cushions," who publicly introduce pins and needles into their bodies for gain's sake. the wanderings of pins and needles in the body are quite well known. schenck records the finding of a swallowed pin in the liver. haller mentions one that made its way to the hand. silvy speaks of a case in which a quantity of swallowed pins escaped through the muscles, the bladder, and vagina; there is another record in which the pins escaped many years afterward from the thigh. the philosophical transactions contain a record of the escape of a pin from the skin of the arm after it had entered by the mouth. gooch, ruysch, purmann, and hoffman speak of needle-wanderings. stephenson gives an account of a pin which was finally voided by the bladder after forty-two years' sojourn in a lady's body. on november , , the celebrated dr. lettsom spoke of an old lady who sat on a needle while riding in a hackney coach; it passed from the injured leg to the other one, whence it was extracted. deckers tells of a gentleman who was wounded in the right hypochondrium, the ball being taken thirty years afterward from the knee. borellus gives an account of a thorn entering the digit and passing out of the body by the anus. strange as it may seem, a prick of a pin not entering a vital center or organ has been the indirect cause of death. augenius writes of a tailor who died in consequence of a prick of a needle between the nail and flesh of the end of the thumb. amatus lusitanus mentions a similar instance in an old woman, although, from the symptoms given, the direct cause was probably tetanus. in modern times cunninghame, boring, and hobart mention instances in which death has followed the prick of a pin: in boring's case the death occurred on the fifth day. manufacture of crippled beggars.--knowing the sympathy of the world in general for a cripple, in some countries low in the moral scale, voluntary mutilation is sometimes practiced by those who prefer begging to toiling. in the same manner artificial monstrosities have been manufactured solely for gain's sake. we quite often read of these instances in lay-journals, but it is seldom that a case comes under the immediate observation of a thoroughly scientific mind. there is, however, on record a remarkable instance accredited to jamieson of shanghai who presented to the royal college of surgeons a pair of feet with the following history: some months previously a chinese beggar had excited much pity and made a good business by showing the mutilated stumps of his legs, and the feet that had belonged to them slung about his neck. while one day scrambling out of the way of a constable who had forbidden this gruesome spectacle, he was knocked down by a carriage in the streets of shanghai, and was taken to the hospital, where he was questioned about the accident which deprived him of his feet. after selling the medical attendant his feet he admitted that he had purposely performed the amputations himself, starting about a year previously. he had fastened cords about his ankles, drawing them as tightly as he could bear them, and increasing the pressure every two or three days. for a fortnight his pain was extreme, but when the bones were bared his pains ceased. at the end of a month and a half he was able to entirely remove his feet by partly snapping and partly cutting the dry bone. such cases appear to be quite common in china, and by investigation many parallels could elsewhere be found. the chinese custom of foot-binding is a curious instance of self-mutilation. in a paper quoted in the philadelphia medical times, january , , a most minute account of the modus operandi, the duration, and the suffering attendant on this process are given. strapping of the foot by means of tight bandages requires a period of two or three years' continuance before the desired effect is produced. there is a varying degree of pain, which is most severe during the first year and gradually diminishes after the binding of all the joints is completed. during the binding the girl at night lies across the bed, putting her legs on the edge of the bed-stead in such a manner as to make pressure under the knees, thus benumbing the parts below and avoiding the major degree of pain. in this position, swinging their legs backward and forward, the poor chinese girls pass many a weary night. during this period the feet are unbound once a month only. the operation is begun by placing the end of a long, narrow bandage on the inside of the instep and carrying it over the four smaller toes, securing them under the foot. after several turns the bandage is reversed so as to compress the foot longitudinally. the young girl is then left for a month, and when the bandage is removed the foot is often found gangrenous and ulcerated, one or two toes not infrequently being lost. if the foot is thus bound for two years it becomes virtually dead and painless. by this time the calf disappears from lack of exercise, the bones are attenuated, and all the parts are dry and shrivelled. in after-life the leg frequently regains its muscles and adipose tissue, but the foot always remains small. the binding process is said to exert a markedly depressing influence upon the emotional character of the subject, which lasts through life, and is very characteristic. to show how minute some of the feet of the chinese women are, figure i of the accompanying plate, taken from a paper by kenthughes on the "feet of chinese ladies" is from a photograph of a shoe that measured only / inches anteroposteriorly. the foot which it was intended to fill must have been smaller still, for the bandage would take up a certain amount of space. figure ii is a reproduction of a photograph of a foot measuring / inches anteroposteriorly, the wrinkled appearance of the skin being due to prolonged immersion in spirit. this photograph shows well the characteristics of the chinese foot--the prominent and vertically placed heel, which is raised generally about an inch from the level of the great toe; the sharp artificial cavus, produced by the altered position of the os calcis, and the downward deflection of the foot in front of the mediotarsal joint; the straight and downward pointing great toe, and the infolding of the smaller toes underneath the great toe. in figure iii we have a photograph of the skeleton of a chinese lady's foot about five inches in anteroposterior diameter. the mesial axis of the os calcis is almost directly vertical, with a slight forward inclination, forming a right angle with the bones in front of the mediotarsal joint. the upper three-quarters of the anterior articular surface of the calcis is not in contact with the cuboid, the latter being depressed obliquely forward and downward, the lower portion of the posterior facet on the cuboid articulating with a new surface on the under portion of the bone. the general shape of the bone closely resembles that of a normal one--a marked contrast to its wasted condition and tapering extremity in paralytic calcaneus. extension and flexion at the ankle are only limited by the shortness of the ligaments; there is no opposition from the conformation of the bones. the astragalus is almost of normal shape; the trochlea is slightly prolonged anteriorly, especially on the inner side, from contact with the tibial articular surface. the cartilage on the exposed posterior portion of the trochlea seems healthy. the head of the astragalus is very prominent on the outer side, the scaphoid being depressed downward and inward away from it. the anterior articular surface is prolonged in the direction of the displaced scaphoid. the scaphoid, in addition to its displacement, is much compressed on the planter surface, being little more than one-half the width of the dorsal surface. the cuboid is displaced obliquely downward and forward, so that the upper part of the posterior articular surface is not in contact with the calcis. a professional leg-breaker is described in the weekly medical review of st. louis, april, . this person's name was e. l. landers, and he was accredited with earning his living by breaking or pretending to break his leg in order to collect damages for the supposed injury. moreover, this individual had but one leg, and was compelled to use crutches. at the time of report he had succeeded in obtaining damages in wichita, kansas, for a supposed fracture. the review quotes a newspaper account of this operation as follows.-- "according to the wichita dispatch he represented himself as a telegraph operator who was to have charge of the postal telegraph office in that city as soon as the line reached there. he remained about town for a month until he found an inviting piece of defective sidewalk, suitable for his purpose, when he stuck his crutch through the hole and fell screaming to the ground, declaring that he had broken his leg. he was carried to a hospital, and after a week's time, during which he negotiated a compromise with the city authorities and collected $ damages, a confederate, claiming to be his nephew, appeared and took the wounded man away on a stretcher, saying that he was going to st. louis. before the train was fairly out of wichita, landers was laughing and boasting over his successful scheme to beat the town. the wichita story is in exact accord with the artistic methods of a one-legged sharper who about stuck his crutch through a coal-hole here, and, falling heels over head, claimed to have sustained injuries for which he succeeded in collecting something like $ from the city. he is described as a fine-looking fellow, well dressed, and wearing a silk hat. he lost one leg in a railroad accident, and having collected a good round sum in damages for it, adopted the profession of leg-breaking in order to earn a livelihood. he probably argued that as he had made more money in that line than in any other he was especially fitted by natural talents to achieve distinction in this direction. but as it would be rather awkward to lose his remaining leg altogether he modified the idea and contents himself with collecting the smaller amounts which ordinary fractures of the hip-joint entitle such an expert 'fine worker' to receive. "he first appeared here in and succeeded, it is alleged, in beating the life association of america. after remaining for some time in the hospital he was removed on a stretcher to an illinois village, from which point the negotiations for damages were conducted by correspondence, until finally a point of agreement was reached and an agent of the company was sent to pay him the money. this being accomplished the agent returned to the depot to take the train back to st. louis when he was surprised to see the supposed sufferer stumping around on his crutches on the depot platform, laughing and jesting over the ease with which he had beaten the corporation. "he afterward fell off a wabash train at edwardsville and claimed to have sustained serious injuries, but in this case the company's attorneys beat him and proved him to be an impostor. in he stumbled into the telegraph office at the union depot here, when henry c. mahoney, the superintendent, catching sight of him, put him out, with the curt remark that he didn't want him to stick that crutch into a cuspidor and fall down, as it was too expensive a performance for the company to stand. he beat the missouri pacific and several other railroads and municipalities at different times, it is claimed, and manages to get enough at each successful venture to carry him along for a year or eighteen months, by which time the memory of his trick fades out of the public mind, when he again bobs up serenely." anomalous suicides.--the literature on suicide affords many instances of self-mutilations and ingenious modes of producing death. in the dublin medical press for there is an extraordinary case of suicide, in which the patient thrust a red-hot poker into his abdomen and subsequently pulled it out, detaching portions of the omentum and inches of the colon. another suicide in great britain swallowed a red-hot poker. in commenting on suicides, in , arntzenius speaks of an ambitious frenchman who was desirous of leaving the world in a distinguished manner, and who attached himself to a rocket of enormous size which he had built for the purpose, and setting fire to it, ended his life. on september , , according to the gaulois and the new york herald (paris edition) of that date, there was admitted to the hopital st. louis a clerk, aged twenty-five, whom family troubles had rendered desperate and who had determined to seek death as a relief from his misery. reviewing the various methods of committing suicide he found none to his taste, and resolved on something new. being familiar with the constituents of explosives, he resolved to convert his body into a bomb, load it with explosives, and thus blow himself to pieces. he procured some powdered sulphur and potassium chlorate, and placing each in a separate wafer he swallowed both with the aid of water. he then lay down on his bed, dressed in his best clothes, expecting that as soon as the two explosive materials came into contact he would burst like a bomb and his troubles would be over. instead of the anticipated result the most violent collicky pains ensued, which finally became so great that he had to summon his neighbors, who took him to the hospital, where, after vigorous application with the stomach-pump, it was hoped that his life would be saved. sankey mentions an epileptic who was found dead in his bed in the oxford county asylum; the man had accomplished his end by placing a round pebble in each nostril, and thoroughly impacting in his throat a strip of flannel done up in a roll. in his "institutes of surgery" sir charles bell remarks that his predecessor at the middlesex hospital entered into a conversation with his barber over an attempt at suicide in the neighborhood, during which the surgeon called the "would-be suicide" a fool, explaining to the barber how clumsy his attempts had been at the same time giving him an extempore lecture on the anatomic construction of the neck, and showing him how a successful suicide in this region should be performed. at the close of the conversation the unfortunate barber retired into the back area of his shop, and following minutely the surgeon's directions, cut his throat in such a manner that there was no hope of saving him. it is supposed that one could commit suicide by completely gilding or varnishing the body, thus eliminating the excretory functions of the skin. there is an old story of an infant who was gilded to appear at a papal ceremony who died shortly afterward from the suppression of the skin-function. the fact is one well established among animals, but after a full series of actual experiments, tecontjeff of st. petersburg concludes that in this respect man differs from animals. this authority states that in man no tangible risk is entailed by this process, at least for any length of time required for therapeutic purposes. "tarred and feathered" persons rarely die of the coating of tar they receive. for other instances of peculiar forms of suicide reference may be made to numerous volumes on this subject, prominent among which is that by brierre de boismont, which, though somewhat old, has always been found trustworthy, and also to the chapters on this subject written by various authors on medical jurisprudence. religious and ceremonial mutilations.--turning now to the subject of self-mutilation and self-destruction from the peculiar customs or religious beliefs of people, we find pages of information at our disposal. it is not only among the savage or uncivilized tribes that such ideas have prevailed, but from the earliest times they have had their influence upon educated minds. in the east, particularly in india, the doctrines of buddhism, that the soul should be without fear, that it could not be destroyed, and that the flesh was only its resting-place, the soul several times being reincarnated, brought about great indifference to bodily injuries and death. in the history of the brahmans there was a sect of philosophers called the gymnosophists, who had the extremest indifference to life. to them incarnation was a positive fact, and death was simply a change of residence. one of these philosophers, calanus, was burned in the presence of alexander; and, according to plutarch, three centuries later another gymnosophist named jarmenochegra, was similarly burned before augustus. since this time, according to brierre de boismont, the suicides from indifference to life in this mystic country are counted by the thousands. penetrating japan the same sentiment, according to report, made it common in the earlier history of that country to see ships on its coasts, filled with fanatics who, by voluntary dismantling, submerged the vessels little by little, the whole multitude sinking into the sea while chanting praises to their idols. the same doctrines produced the same result in china. according to brucker it is well known that among the philosophers of the college of confucius, there were many who disdained to survive the loss of their books (burned by order of the savage emperor chi-koung-ti), and throwing themselves into the sea, they disappeared under the waves. according to brierre de boismont, voluntary mutilation or death was very rare among the chaldeans, the persians, or the hebrews, their precepts being different from those mentioned. the hebrews in particular had an aversion to self-murder, and during a period in their history of years there were only eight or ten suicides recorded. josephus shows what a marked influence on suicides the invasion of the romans among the hebrews had. in africa, as in india, there were gymnosophists. in egypt sesostris, the grandest king of the country, having lost his eyesight in his old age, calmly and deliberately killed himself. about the time of mark anthony and cleopatra, particularly after the battle of actium, suicide was in great favor in egypt. in fact a great number of persons formed an academy called the synapothanoumenes, who had for their object the idea of dying together. in western europe, as shown in the ceremonies of the druids, we find among the celts a propensity for suicide and an indifference to self-torture. the gauls were similarly minded, believing in the dogma of immortality and eternal repose. they thought little of bodily cares and ills. in greece and rome there was always an apology for suicide and death in the books of the philosophers. "nil igitur mors est, ad nos neque pertinet hilum; quando quidem natura animi mortalis habetur!" cries lucretius. with the advent of christianity, condemning as it did the barbarous customs of self-mutilation and self-murder, these practices seem to disappear gradually; but stoicism and indifference to pain were exhibited in martyrdom. toward the middle ages, when fanaticism was at its height and the mental malady of demoniacal possession was prevalent, there was something of a reversion to the old customs. in the east the juggernaut procession was still in vogue, but this was suppressed by civilized authorities; outside of a few minor customs still prevalent among our own people we must to-day look to the savage tribes for the perpetuation of such practices. in an excellent article on the evolution of ceremonial institutions herbert spencer mentions the fuegians, veddahs, andamanese, dyaks, todas, gonds, santals, bodos, and dhimals, mishmis, kamchadales, and snake indians, as among people who form societies to practice simple mutilations in slight forms. mutilations in somewhat graver forms, but still in moderation, are practiced by the tasmanians, tamaese, the people of new guinea, karens, nagas, ostiaks, eskimos, chinooks, comanches, and chippewas. what might be called mixed or compound mutilations are practiced by the new zealanders, east africans, kondes, kukas, and calmucks. among those practising simple but severe mutilations are the new caledonians, the bushmen, and some indigenous australians. those tribes having for their customs the practice of compound major mutilations are the fiji islanders, sandwich islanders, tahitians, tongans, samoans, javanese, sumatrans, natives of malagasy, hottentots, damaras, bechuanas, kaffirs, the congo people, the coast negroes, inland negroes, dahomeans, ashantees, fulahs, abyssinians, arabs, and dakotas. spencer has evidently made a most extensive and comprehensive study of this subject, and his paper is a most valuable contribution to the subject. in the preparation of this section we have frequently quoted from it. the practice of self-bleeding has its origin in other mutilations, although the aztecs shed human blood in the worship of the sun. the samoiedes have a custom of drinking the blood of warm animals. those of the fijians who were cannibals drank the warm blood of their victims. among the amaponda kaffirs there are horrible accounts of kindred savage customs. spencer quotes:--"it is usual for the ruling chief on his accession to be washed in the blood of a near relative, generally a brother, who is put to death for the occasion." during a samoan marriage-ceremony the friends of the bride "took up stones and beat themselves until their heads were bruised and bleeding." in australia a novitiate at the ceremony of manhood drank a mouthful of blood from the veins of the warrior who was to be his sponsor. at the death of their kings the lacedemonians met in large numbers and tore the flesh from their foreheads with pins and needles. it is said that when odin was near his death he ordered himself to be marked with a spear; and niort, one of his successors, followed the example of his predecessor. shakespeare speaks of "such as boast and show their scars." in the olden times it was not uncommon for a noble soldier to make public exhibition of his scars with the greatest pride; in fact, on the battlefield they invited the reception of superficial disfiguring injuries, and to-day some students of the learned universities of germany seem prouder of the possession of scars received in a duel of honor than in awards for scholastic attainments. lichtenstein tells of priests among the bechuanas who made long cuts from the thigh to the knee of each warrior who slew an enemy in battle. among some tribes of the kaffirs a kindred custom was practiced; and among the damaras, for every wild animal a young man destroyed his father made four incisions on the front of his son's body. speaking of certain congo people, tuckey says that they scar themselves principally with the idea of rendering themselves agreeable to the women of their tribe. among the itzaex indians of yucatan, a race with particularly handsome features, some are marked with scarred lines, inflicted as signs of courage. cosmetic mutilations.--in modern times there have been individuals expert in removing facial deformities, and by operations of various kinds producing pleasing dimples or other artificial signs of beauty. we have seen an apparatus advertised to be worn on the nose during the night for the purpose of correcting a disagreeable contour of this organ. a medical description of the artificial manufacture of dimples is as follows:--"the modus operandi was to make a puncture in the skin where the dimple was required, which would not be noticed when healed, and, with a very delicate instrument, remove a portion of the muscle. inflammation was then excited in the skin over the subcutaneous pit, and in a few days the wound, if such it may be called, was healed, and a charming dimple was the result." it is quite possible that some of our modern operators have overstepped the bounds of necessity, and performed unjustifiable plastic operations to satisfy the vanity of their patients. dobrizhoffer says of the abipones that boys of seven pierce their little arms in imitation of their parents. among some of the indigenous australians it is quite customary for ridged and linear scars to be self-inflicted. in tanna the people produce elevated scars on the arms and chests. bancroft recites that family-marks of this nature existed among the cuebas of central america, refusal being tantamount to rebellion. schomburgk tells that among the arawaks, after a mariquawi dance, so great is their zeal for honorable scars, the blood will run down their swollen calves, and strips of skin and muscle hang from the mangled limbs. similar practices rendered it necessary for the united states government to stop some of the ceremonial dances of the indians under their surveillance. a peculiar custom among savages is the amputation of a finger as a sacrifice to a deity. in the tribe of the dakotas the relatives of a dead chief pacified his spirit by amputating a finger. in a similar way, during his initiation, the young mandan warrior, "holding up the little finger of his left hand to the great spirit," ... "expresses his willingness to give it as a sacrifice, and he lays it on the dried buffalo skull, when another chops it off near the hand with a blow of the hatchet." according to mariner the natives of tonga cut off a portion of the little finger as a sacrifice to the gods for the recovery of a superior sick relative. the australians have a custom of cutting off the last joint of the little finger of females as a token of submission to powerful beings alive and dead. a hottentot widow who marries a second time must have the distal joint of her little finger cut off; another joint is removed each time she remarries. among the mutilations submitted to on the death of a king or chief in the sandwich islands, cook mentions in his "voyages" the custom of knocking out from one to four front teeth. among the australian tribes the age of virility and the transition into manhood is celebrated by ceremonial customs, in which the novices are subjected to minor mutilations. a sharp bone is used for lancing their gums, while the throw-stick is used for knocking out a tooth. sometimes, in addition to this crude dentistry, the youth is required to submit to cruel gashes cut upon his back and shoulders, and should he flinch or utter any cry of pain he is always thereafter classed with women. haygarth writes of a semi-domesticated australian who said one day, with a look of importance, that he must go away for a few days, as he had grown to man's estate, and it was high time he had his teeth knocked out. it is an obligatory rite among various african tribes to lose two or more of their front teeth. a tradition among certain peruvians was that the conqueror huayna coapae made a law that they and their descendants should have three front teeth pulled out in each jaw. cieza speaks of another tradition requiring the extraction of the teeth of children by their fathers as a very acceptable service to their gods. the damaras knock out a wedge-shaped gap between two of their front teeth; and the natives of sierra leone file or chip their teeth after the same fashion. depilatory customs are very ancient, and although minor in extent are still to be considered under the heading of mutilations. the giving of hair to the dead as a custom, has been perpetuated through many tribes and nations. in euripides we find electra admonishing helen for sparing her locks, and thereby defrauding the dead. alexander the great shaved his locks in mourning for his friend, hephaestion, and it was supposed that his death was hastened by the sun's heat on his bare head after his hat blew off at babylon. both the dakota indians and the caribs maintain the custom of sacrificing hair to the dead. in peru the custom was varied by pulling out eyelashes and eyebrows and presenting them to the sun, the hills, etc. it is said this custom is still in continuance. when clovis was visited by the bishop of toulouse he gave him a hair from his beard and was imitated by his followers. in the arthurian legends we find "then went arthur to caerleon; and thither came messages from king ryons who said, 'even kings have done me homage, and with their beards i have trimmed a mantle. send me now thy beard, for there lacks yet one to the finishing of the mantle.'" the association between short hair and slavery arose from the custom of taking hair from the slain. it existed among the greeks and romans, and was well known among the indigenous tribes of this continent. among the shoshones he who took the most scalps gained the most glory. in speaking of the prisoners of the chicimecs bancroft says they were often scalped while yet alive, and the bloody trophies placed on the heads of their tormentors. in this manner we readily see that long hair among the indigenous tribes and various orientals, ottomans, greeks, franks, goths, etc., was considered a sign of respect and honor. the respect and preservation of the chinese queue is well known in the present day. wishing to divide their brother's kingdom, clothair and childebert consulted whether to cut off the hair of their nephews, the rightful successors, so as to reduce them to the rank of subjects, or to kill them. the gods of various people, especially the greater gods, were distinguished by their long beards and flowing locks. in all pictures thor and samson were both given long hair, and the belief in strength and honor from long hair is proverbial. hercules is always pictured with curls. according to goldzhier, long locks of hair and a long beard are mythologic attributes of the sun. the sun's rays are compared to long locks or hairs on the face of the sun. when the sun sets and leaves his place to the darkness, or when the powerful summer sun is succeeded by the weak rays of the winter sun, then samson's long locks, through which alone his strength remains, are cut off by the treachery of his deceitful concubine delilah (the languishing, according to the meaning of the name). the beaming apollo was, moreover, called the "unshaven;" and minos cannot conquer the solar hero, nisos, until the latter loses his golden hair. in arabic "shams-on" means the sun, and samson had seven locks of hair, the number of the planetary bodies. in view of the foregoing facts it seems quite possible that the majority of depilatory processes on the scalp originated in sun-worship, and through various phases and changes in religions were perpetuated to the middle ages. charles martel sent pepin, his son, to luithprand, king of the lombards, that he might cut his first locks, and by this ceremony hold for the future the place of his illustrious father. to make peace with alaric, clovis became his adopted son by offering his beard to be cut. among the caribs the hair constituted their chief pride, and it was considered unequivocal proof of the sincerity of their sorrow, when on the death of a relative they cut their hair short. among the hebrews shaving of the head was a funeral rite, and among the greeks and romans the hair was cut short in mourning, either for a relative or for a celebrated personage. according to krehl the arabs also had such customs. spencer mentions that during an eruption in hawaii, "king kamahameha cut off part of his own hair" ... "and threw it into the torrent (of lava)." the tonga regarded the pubic hairs as under the special care of the devil, and with great ceremony made haste to remove them. the female inhabitants of some portions of the coast of guinea remove the pubic hairs as fast as they appear. a curious custom of mohammedan ladies after marriage is to rid themselves of the hirsute appendages of the pubes. depilatory ointments are employed, consisting of equal parts of slaked lime and arsenic made into a paste with rose-water. it is said that this important ceremony is not essential in virgins. one of the ceremonies of assuming the toga virilis among the indigenous australians consists in submitting to having each particular hair plucked singly from the body, the candidate being required not to display evidences of pain during the operation. formerly the japanese women at marriage blackened their teeth and shaved or pulled out their eyebrows. the custom of boring the ear is very old, mention of it being made in exodus xxi., and , in which we find that if a hebrew servant served for six years, his freedom was optional, but if he plainly said that he loved his master, and his wife and children, and did not desire to leave their house, the master should bring him before the judges; and according to the passage in exodus, "he shall also bring him to the door or unto the doorpost, and his master shall bore his ear through with an awl; and he shall serve him forever." all the burmese, says sangermano, without exception, have the custom of boring their ears. the days when the operations were performed were kept as festivals. the ludicrous custom of piercing the ears for the wearing of ornaments, typical of savagery and found in all indigenous african tribes, is universally prevalent among our own people. the extremists in this custom are the botocudos, who represent the most cruel and ferocious of the brazilian tribes, and who especially cherish a love for cannibalism. they have a fondness for disfiguring themselves by inserting in the lower parts of their ears and in their under lips variously shaped pieces of wood ornaments called peleles, causing enormous protrusion of the under lip and a repulsive wide mouth, as shown in figure . tattooing is a peculiar custom originating in various ways. the materials used are vermilion, indigo, carbon, or gunpowder. at one time this custom was used in the east to indicate caste and citizenship. both sexes of the sandwich islanders have a peculiar tattooed mark indicative of their tribe or district. among the uapes, one tribe, the tucanoes, have three vertical blue lines. among other people tattooed marks indicated servility, and boyle says the kyans, pakatans, and kermowits alone, among the borneo people, practised tattooing, and adds that these races are the least esteemed for bravery. of the fijians the women alone are tattooed, possibly as a method of adornment. the tattooing of the people of otaheite, seen by cook, was surmised by him to have a religious significance, as it presented in many instances "squares, circles, crescents, and ill-designed representations of men and dogs." every one of these people was tattooed upon reaching majority. according to carl bock, among the dyaks of borneo all of the married women were tattooed on the hands and feet, and sometimes on the thighs. the decoration is one of the privileges of matrimony, and is not permitted to unmarried girls. andrew lang says of the australian tribes that the wingong or the totem of each man is indicated by a tattooed representation of it on his flesh. the celebrated american traveler, carpenter, remarks that on his visit to a great prison in burmah, which contains more than men, he saw tattooed legs. the origin of the custom he was unable to find out, but in burmah tattooing was a sign of manhood, and professional tattooers go about with books of designs, each design warding off some danger. bourke quotes that among the apaches-yumas of arizona the married women are distinguished by several blue lines running from the lower lip to the chin; and he remarks that when a young woman of this tribe is anxious to become a mother she tattoos the figure of a child on her forehead. after they marry mojave girls tattoo the chin with vertical blue lines; and when an eskimo wife has her face tattooed with lamp-black she is regarded as a matron in society. the polynesians have carried this dermal art to an extent which is unequaled by any other people, and it is universally practiced among them. quoted by burke, sullivan states that the custom of tattooing continued in england and ireland down to the seventh century. this was the tattooing with the woad. fletcher remarks that at one time, about the famous shrine of our lady of loretto, were seen professional tattooers, who for a small sum of money would produce a design commemorative of the pilgrim's visit to the shrine. a like profitable industry is pursued in jerusalem. universal tattooing in some of the eastern countries is used as a means of criminal punishment, the survival of the persecuted individual being immaterial to the torturers, as he would be branded for life and ostracized if he recovered. illustrative of this o'connell tells of a case in hebra's clinic. the patient, a man five feet nine inches in height, was completely tattooed from head to foot with all sorts of devices, such as elephants, birds, lions, etc., and across his forehead, dragons. not a square of even a quarter inch had been exempt from the process. according to his tale this man had been a leader of a band of greek robbers, organized to invade chinese tartary, and, together with an american and a spaniard, was ordered by the ruler of the invaded province to be branded in this manner as a criminal. it took three months' continuous work to carry out this sentence, during which his comrades succumbed to the terrible agonies. during the entire day for this extended period indigo was pricked in this unfortunate man's skin. accounts such as this have been appropriated by exhibitionists, who have caused themselves to be tattooed merely for mercenary purposes. the accompanying illustration represents the appearance of a "tattooed man" who exhibited himself. he claimed that his tattooing was done by electricity. the design showing on his back is a copy of a picture of the virgin mary surrounded by angels. the custom of tattooing the arms, chest, or back is quite prevalent, and particularly among sailors and soldiers. the sequences of this custom are sometimes quite serious. syphilis has been frequently contracted in this manner, and maury and dulles have collected cases of syphilis acquired in tattooing. cheinisse reports the case of a young blacksmith who had the emblems of his trade tattooed upon his right forearm. at the end of forty days small, red, scaly elevations appeared at five different points in the tattooed area. these broke down and formed ulcers. when examined these ulcers presented the peculiarities of chancres, and there was upon the body of the patient a well-marked syphilitic roseola. it was ascertained that during the tattooing the operator had moistened the ink with his own saliva. hutchinson exhibited drawings and photographs showing the condition of the arms of two boys suffering from tuberculosis of the skin, who had been inoculated in the process of tattooing. the tattooing was done by the brother of one of the lads who was in the last stages of phthisis, and who used his own saliva to mix the pigment. the cases were under the care of murray of tottenham, by whom they had been previously reported. williams has reported the case of a militiamen of seventeen who, three days after an extensive tattooing of the left forearm, complained of pain, swelling, and tenderness of the left wrist. a day later acute left-sided pneumonia developed, but rapidly subsided. the left shoulder, knee, and ankle were successively involved in the inflammation, and a cardiac bruit developed. finally chorea developed as a complication, limited for a time to the left side, but shortly spreading to the right, where rheumatic inflammation was attacking the joints. the last, however, quickly subsided, leaving a general, though mild chorea and a permanently damaged heart. infibulation of the male and female external genital organs for the prevention of sexual congress is a very ancient custom. the romans infibulated their singers to prevent coitus, and consequent change in the voice, and pursued the same practice with their actors and dancers. according to celsus, mercurialis, and others, the gladiators were infibulated to guard against the loss of vigor by sexual excesses. in an old italian work there is a figure of an infibulated musician--a little bronze statue representing a lean individual tortured or deformed by carrying an enormous ring through the end of the penis. in one of his pleasantries martial says of these infibulated singers that they sometimes break their rings and fail to place them back--"et cujus refibulavit turgidum faber peruem." heinsius considers agamemnon cautious when he left demodocus near clytemnestra, as he remarks that demodocus was infibulated. for such purposes as the foregoing infibulation offered a more humane method than castration. infibulation by a ring in the prepuce was used to prevent premature copulation, and was in time to be removed, but in some cases its function was the preservation of perpetual chastity. among some of the religious mendicants in india there were some who were condemned to a life of chastity, and, in the hotter climates, where nudity was the custom, these persons traveled about exposing an enormous preputial ring, which was looked upon with adoration by devout women. it is said these holy persons were in some places so venerated that people came on their knees, and bowing below the ring, asked forgiveness--possibly for sexual excesses. rhodius mentions the usage of infibulation in antiquity, and fabricius d'aquapendente remarks that infibulation was usually practiced in females for the preservation of chastity. no roman maiden was able to preserve her virginity during participation in the celebrations in the temples of venus, the debauches of venus and mars, etc., wherein vice was authorized by divine injunction; for this reason the lips of the vagina were closed by rings of iron, copper, or silver, so joined as to hinder coitus, but not prevent evacuation. different sized rings were used for those of different ages. although this device provided against the coitus, the maiden was not free from the assaults of the lesbians. during the middle ages, in place of infibulation, chastity-girdles were used, and in the italian girdles, such as the one exhibited in the musee cluny in paris, both the anus and vulva were protected by a steel covering perforated for the evacuations. in the orient, particularly in india and persia, according to old travelers, the labia were sewed together, allowing but a small opening for excretions. buffon and brown mention infibulation in abyssinia, the parts being separated by a bistoury at the time of marriage. in circassia the women were protected by a copper girdle or a corset of hide and skin which, according to custom, only the husband could undo. peney speaks of infibulation for the preservation of chastity, as observed by him in the soudan. among the nubians this operation was performed at about the age of eight with great ceremony, and when the time for marriage approached the vulva had to be opened by incision. sir richard buxton, a distinguished traveler, also speaks of infibulation, and, according to him, at the time of the marriage ceremony the male tries to prove his manhood by using only nature's method and weapon to consummate the marriage, but if he failed he was allowed artificial aid to effect entrance. sir samuel baker is accredited in the lancet with giving an account in latin text of the modus operandi of a practice among the nubian women of removing the clitoris and nymphae in the young girl, and abrading the adjacent walls of the external labia so that they would adhere and leave only a urethral aperture. this ancient custom of infibulation is occasionally seen at the present day in civilized countries, and some cases of infibulation from jealousy are on record. there is mentioned, as from the leicester assizes, the trial of george baggerly for execution of a villainous design on his wife. in jealousy he "had sewed up her private parts." recently, before the new york academy of medicine, collier reported a case of pregnancy in a woman presenting nympha-infibulation. the patient sought the physician's advice in the summer of , while suffering from uterine disease, and being five weeks pregnant. she was a german woman of twenty-eight, had been married several years, and was the mother of several children. collier examined her and observed two holes in the nymphae. when he asked her concerning these, she reluctantly told him that she had been compelled by her husband to wear a lock in this region. her mother, prior to their marriage, sent her over to the care of her future husband (he having left germany some months before). on her arrival he perforated the labia minora, causing her to be ill several weeks; after she had sufficiently recovered he put on a padlock, and for many years he had practiced the habit of locking her up after each intercourse. strange to relate, no physician, except collier, had ever inquired about the openings. in this connection the celebrated harvey mentions a mare with infibulated genitals, but these did not prevent successful labor. occasionally infibulation has been used as a means of preventing masturbation. de la fontaine has mentioned this fact, and there is a case in this country in which acute dementia from masturbation was cured by infibulation. in this instance the prepuce was perforated in two opposite places by a trocar, and two pewter sounds (no. ) were introduced into the wounds and twisted like rings. on the eleventh day one of the rings was removed, and a fresh one introduced in a new place. a cure was effected in eight weeks. there is recent mention made of a method of preventing masturbation by a cage fastened over the genitals by straps and locks. in cases of children the key was to be kept by the parents, but in adults to be put in some part of the house remote from the sleeping apartment, the theory being that the desire would leave before the key could be obtained. among some peoples the urethra was slit up as a means of preventing conception, making a meatus near the base of the penis. herodotus remarks that the women of a certain portion of egypt stood up while they urinated, while the men squatted. investigation has shown that the women were obliged to stand up on account of elongated nymphae and labia, while the men sought a sitting posture on account of the termination of the urethra being on the inferior side of the base of the penis, artificially formed there in order to prevent conception. in the australian medical gazette, may, , there is an account of some of the methods of the central australians of preventing conception. one was to make an opening into the male urethra just anterior to the scrotum, and another was to slit up the entire urethra so far as to make but a single canal from the scrotum to the glans penis. bourke quotes palmer in mentioning that it is a custom to split the urethra of the male of the kalkadoon tribe, near cloncurry, queensland, australia mayer of vienna describes an operation of perforation of the penis among the malays; and jagor and micklucho-maclay report similar customs among the dyaks and other natives of borneo, java, and phillipine islands. circumcision is a rite of great antiquity. the bible furnishes frequent records of this subject, and the bas-reliefs on some of the old egyptian ruins represent circumcised children. labat has found traces of circumcision and excision of nymphae in mummies. herodotus remarks that the egyptians practiced circumcision rather as a sanitary measure than as a rite. voltaire stated that the hebrews borrowed circumcision from the egyptians; but the jews claimed that the phoenicians borrowed this rite from the israelites. spencer and others say that in the early history of the christian religion, st. paul and his disciples did not believe in circumcision, while st. peter and his followers practiced it. spencer mentions that the abyssinians take a phallic trophy by circumcision from the enemy's dead body. in his "history of circumcision," remondino says that among the modern berbers it is not unusual for a warrior to exhibit virile members of persons he has slain; he also says that, according to bergman, the israelites practiced preputial mutilations; david brought prepuces of the philistines to saul. circumcision is practiced in nearly every portion of the world, and by various races, sometimes being a civil as well as a religious custom. its use in surgery is too well known to be discussed here. it might be mentioned, however, that rake of trinidad, has performed circumcision times, usually for phimosis due to leprous tuberculation of the prepuce. circumcision, as practiced on the clitoris in the female, is mentioned on page . ceremonial ovariotomy.--in the writings of strabonius and alexander ab alexandro, allusion is made to the liberties taken with the bodies of females by the ancient egyptians and lydians. knott says that ablation of the ovaries is a time-honored custom in india, and that he had the opportunity of physically examining some of the women who had been operated on in early life. at twenty-five he found them strong and muscular, their mammary glands wholly undeveloped, and the normal growth of pubic hairs absent. the pubic arch was narrow, and the vaginal orifice practically obliterated. the menses had never appeared, and there seemed to be no sexual desire. micklucho-maclay found that one of the most primitive of all existing races--the new hollanders--practiced ovariotomy for the utilitarian purpose of creating a supply of prostitutes, without the danger of burdening the population by unnecessary increase. macgillibray found a native ovariotomized female at cape york who had been subjected to the operation because, having been born dumb, she would be prevented from bearing dumb children,--a wise, though primitive, method of preventing social dependents. castration has long been practiced, either for the production of eunuchs, or castrata, through vengeance or jealousy, for excessive cupidity, as a punishment for crime, in fanaticism, in ignorance, and as a surgical therapeutic measure (recently, for the relief of hypertrophied prostate). the custom is essentially oriental in origin, and was particularly used in polygamous countries, where the mission of eunuchs was to guard the females of the harem. they were generally large, stout men, and were noted for their vigorous health. the history of eunuchism is lost in antiquity. the ancient book of job speaks of eunuchs, and they were in vogue before the time of semiramis; the king of lydia, andramytis, is said to have sanctioned castration of both male and female for social reasons. negro eunuchs were common among the romans. all the great emperors and conquerors had their eunuchs. alexander the great had his celebrated eunuch, bagoas, and nero, his sporus, etc. chevers says that the manufacture of eunuchs still takes place in the cities of delhi, lucknow, and rajpootana. so skilful are the traveling eunuch-makers that their mortality is a small fraction of one per cent. their method of operation is to encircle the external genital organs with a tight ligature, and then sweep them off at one stroke. he also remarks that those who retain their penises are of but little value or trusted. he divided the indian eunuchs into three classes: those born so, those with a penis but no testicles, and those minus both testicles and penis. curran describes the traveling eunuch-makers in central india, and remarks upon the absence of death after the operation, and invites the attention of gynecologists and operators to the successful, though crude, methods used. curran says that, except those who are degraded by practices of sexual perversions, these individuals are vigorous bodily, shrewd, and sagacious, thus proving the ancient descriptions of them. jamieson recites a description of the barbarous methods of making eunuchs in china. the operators follow a trade of eunuch-making, and keep it in their families from generation to generation; they receive the monetary equivalent of about $ . for the operation. the patient is grasped in a semi-prone position by an assistant, while two others hold the legs. after excision the wounded parts are bathed three times with a hot decoction of pepper-pods, the wound is covered with paper soaked in cold water, and bandages applied. supported by two men the patient is kept walking for two or three hours and then tied down. for three days he is allowed nothing to drink, and is not allowed to pass his urine, the urethra being filled with a pewter plug. it generally takes about one hundred days for the wound to heal, and two per cent of the cases are fatal. there is nocturnal incontinence of urine for a long time after the operation. examples of castration because of excessive cupidity, etc.,--a most unwarranted operation,--are quite rare and are usually found among ecclesiastics. the author of "faustin, or le siecle philosophique," remarked that there were more than castrated individuals among the ecclesiastics and others of italy. the virtuous pope clement xiv forbade this practice, and describes it as a terrible abuse; but in spite of the declaration of the pope the cities of italy, for some time, still continued to contain great numbers of these victims. in france an article was inserted into the penal code providing severe punishment for such mutilations. fortunately castration for the production of "castrata," or tenor singers, has almost fallen into disuse. among the ancient egyptians and persians amputation of the virile member was inflicted for certain crimes of the nature of rape. castration as a religious rite has played a considerable role. with all their might the emperors constantine and justinian opposed the delirious religion of the priests of cybele, and rendered their offence equivalent to homicide. at the annual festivals of the phrygian goddess amma (agdistis) it was the custom of young men to make eunuchs of themselves with sharp shells, and a similar rite was recorded among phoenicians. brinton names severe self-mutilators of this nature among the ancient mexican priests. some of the hottentots and indigenous australians enforced semicastration about the age of eight or nine. the skoptzies, religious castrators in russia, are possibly the most famous of the people of this description. the russian government has condemned members of this heresy to hard labor in siberia, but has been unable to extinguish the sect. pelikan, privy counsel of the government, has exhaustively considered this subject. articles have appeared in le progres medical, december. . and there is an account in the st. louis clinical record, - . the name skoptzy means "the castrated," and they call themselves the "white doves." they arose about from the khlish or flagellants. paul i caused sseliwanow, the true founder, to return from siberia, and after seeing him had him confined in an insane asylum. after an interview, alexander i transferred him to a hospital. later the councillor of state, jelansky, converted by sseliwanow, set the man free and soon the skoptzies were all through russia and even at the court. the principal argument of these people is the nonconformity of orthodox believers, especially the priests, to the doctrines professed, and they contrast the lax morals of these persons with the chaste lives, the abstinence from liquor, and the continual fasts of the "white doves." for the purpose of convincing novices of the scriptural foundation of their rites and belief they are referred to matthew xix., : "and there be eunuchs which have made themselves for the kingdom of heaven's sake," etc.; and mark ix., - ; luke xxiii., : "blessed are the barren," etc., and others of this nature. as to the operation itself, pain is represented as voluntary martyrdom, and persecution as the struggle of the spirit of darkness with that of light. they got persons to join the order by monetary offers. another method was to take into service young boys, who soon became lost to society, and lied with effrontery and obstinacy. they had secret methods of communicating with one another, and exhibited a passion for riches, a fact that possibly accounts for their extended influence. the most perfect were those "worthy of mounting the white horse," the "bearers of the imperial seal," who were deprived of the testicles, penis, and scrotum. the operation of castration among these people was performed at one stroke or at two different times, in the former case one cicatrix being left, and in the latter two. the greater number--those who had submitted to the "first purification," conferring upon them the "lesser seal"--had lost testicles and scrotum. these people are said to have lost the "keys of hell," but to retain the "key of the abyss" (female genitals). as instruments of excision the hot iron, pieces of glass, old wire, sharpened bone, and old razors are used. only nine fatal cases resulting from the operation are known. at st. petersburg liprandi knew a rich skoptzy who constantly kept girls--mostly germans--for his own gratification, soon after having entered into the "first purification." few of them were able to remain with him over a year, and they always returned to their homes with health irretrievably lost. women members of the order do not have their ovaries removed, but mutilation is practiced upon the external genitals, the mammae, and nipples. the first ablation is obtained by applying fire or caustics to the nipples, the second by amputation of the breasts, one or both, the third by diverse gashes, chiefly across the breast, and the fourth by resection of the nymphae or of the nymphae and clitoris, and the superior major labia, the cicatrices of which would deform the vulva. figure represents the appearance of the external genital organs of a male skoptzy after mutilation; figure those of a female. battey speaks of skoptzies in roumania who numbered at the time of report persons. they came from russia and practiced the same ceremonies as the heretics there. chapter xv. anomalous types and instances of disease. tumors.--in discussing tumors and similar growths no attempt will be made to describe in detail the various types. only the anomalous instances or examples, curious for their size and extent of involvement, will be mentioned. it would be a difficult matter to decide which was the largest tumor ever reported. in reviewing literature so many enormous growths are recorded that but few can be given here. some of the large cystic formations have already been mentioned; these are among the largest tumors. scrotal tumors are recorded that weighed over pounds; and a limb affected with elephantiasis may attain an astonishing size. delamater is accredited with a report of a tumor that weighed pounds, the patient only weighing pounds at death. benign tumors will be considered first. pure adenoma of the breast is a rare growth. gross was able to collect but examples; but closely allied to this condition is what is known as diffuse hypertrophy of the breast. in some parts of the world, particularly in india and africa, long, dependent breasts are signs of beauty. on the other hand we learn from juvenal and martial that, like ourselves, the greeks detested pendant and bulky breasts, the signs of beauty being elevation, smallness, and regularity of contour. in the grecian images of venus the breasts are never pictured as engorged or enlarged. the celebrated traveler chardin says that the circassian and georgian women have the most beautiful breasts in the world; in fact the georgians are so jealous of the regular contour and wide interval of separation of their breasts that they refuse to nourish their children in the natural manner. the amount of hypertrophy which is sometimes seen in the mammae is extraordinary. borellus remarks that he knew of a woman of ordinary size, each of whose mammae weighed about pounds, and she supported them in bags hung about her neck. durston reports a case of sudden onset of hypertrophy of the breast causing death. at the postmortem it was found that the left breast weighed pounds and the right pounds. boyer successfully removed two breasts at an interval of twenty-six days between the two operations. the mass excised was one-third of the total body-weight. schaeffer speaks of hypertrophied mammae in a girl of fourteen, the right breast weighing grams ( / oz.) and the right grams ( / oz.). hamilton reports a case of hypertrophied glands in a woman of thirty-two, which, within the short space of a year, reached the combined weight of pounds. they were successfully excised. velpeau, billroth, and labarracque have reported instances of the removal of enormously hypertrophied mammae. in speth of munich described a hypertrophy of the right breast which increased after every pregnancy. at the age of twenty-six the woman had been five times pregnant in the space of a little over five years, and at this time the right breast hung down to the anterior superior spine of the ilium. it weighed pounds, and its greatest circumference was inches. there was no milk in this breast, although the left was in perfect lactation. this case was one of pure hypertrophy and not an example of fibro-adenoma, as illustrated by billroth. warren figures a case of diffused hypertrophy of the breast which was operated on by porter. the right breast in its largest circumference measured inches and from the chest-wall to the nipple was inches long, the circumference at the base being inches; the largest circumference of the left breast was inches; its length from the chest-wall to the nipple was inches, and its circumference at the base inches. the skin was edematous and thickened. throughout both breasts were to be felt hardened movable masses, the size of oranges. microscopic examination showed the growth to be a diffused intracanalicular fibroma. a peculiar case was presented before the faculty at montpellier. the patient was a young girl of fifteen and a half years. after a cold bath, just as the menses were appearing, it was found that the breasts were rapidly increasing in size; she was subsequently obliged to leave service on account of their increased size, and finally the deformity was so great as to compel her to keep from the public view. the circumference of the right breast was cm. and of the left cm.; the pedicle of the former measured cm. and of the latter cm.; only the slightest vestige of a nipple remained. removal was advocated, as applications of iodin had failed; but she would not consent to operation. for eight years the hypertrophy remained constant, but, despite this fact, she found a husband. after marriage the breasts diminished, but she was unable to suckle either of her three children, the breasts becoming turgid but never lactescent. the hypertrophy diminished to such a degree that, at the age of thirty-two, when again pregnant, the circumference of the right breast was only cm. and of the left cm. even thus reduced the breasts descended almost to the navel. when the woman was not pregnant they were still less voluminous and seemed to consist of an immense mass of wrinkled, flaccid skin, traversed by enormous dilated and varicose blood-vessels, the mammary glands themselves being almost entirely absent. diffuse hypertrophy of the breast is occasionally seen in the male subject. in one case reported from the westminster hospital in london, a man of sixty, after a violent fall on the chest, suffered enormous enlargement of the mammae, and afterward atrophy of the testicle and loss of sexual desire. the names goiter, struma, and bronchocele are applied indiscriminately to all tumors of the thyroid gland; there are, however, several distinct varieties among them that are true adenoma, which, therefore, deserves a place here. according to warren, wolfler gives the following classification of thyroid tumors: . hypertrophy of the thyroid gland, which is a comparatively rare disease; . fetal adenoma, which is a formation of gland tissue from the remains of fetal structures in the gland; . gelatinous or interacinous adenoma, which consists in an enlargement of the acini by an accumulation of colloid material, and an increase in the interacinous tissue by a growth of round cells. it is this latter form in which cysts are frequently found. the accompanying illustration pictures an extreme ease of cystic goiter shown by warren. a strange feature of tumors of the thyroid is that pressure-atrophy and flattening of the trachea do not take place in proportion to the size of the tumor. a small tumor of the middle lobe of the gland, not larger that a hen's egg, will do more damage to the trachea than will a large tumor, such as that shown by senn, after bruns. when a tumor has attained this size, pressure-symptoms are often relieved by the weight of the tumor making traction away from the trachea. goiter is endemic in some countries, particularly in switzerland and austria, and appears particularly at the age of childhood or of puberty. some communities in this country using water containing an excess of calcium salt show distinct evidences of endemic goiter. extirpation of the thyroid gland has in recent years been successfully practiced. warren has extirpated one lobe of the thyroid after preliminary ligation of the common carotid on the same side. green practiced rapid removal of the tumor and ligated the bleeding vessels later. rose tied each vessel before cutting, proceeding slowly. senn remarks that in he witnessed one of rose's operations which lasted for four hours. although the operatic technic of removal of the thyroid gland for tumor has been greatly perfected by billroth, lucke, julliard, reverdin, socin, kocher, and others, the current opinion at the present day seems to be that complete extirpation of the thyroid gland, except for malignant disease, is unjustifiable. partial extirpation of the thyroid gland is still practiced; and wolfler has revived the operation of ligating the thyroid arteries in the treatment of tumors of the thyroid gland. fibromata.--one of the commonest seats of fibroma is the skin. multiple fibromata of the skin sometimes occur in enormous numbers and cover the whole surface of the body; they are often accompanied by pendulous tumors of enormous size. virchow called such tumors fibroma molluscum. figure represents a case of multiple fibromata of the skin shown by octerlony. pode mentions a somewhat similar case in a man of fifty-six, under the care of thom. the man was pale and emaciated, with anxious expression, complaining of a tumor which he described as a "wishing-mark." on examination he was found to be covered with a number of small tumors, ranging in size from that of a small orange to that of a pin's head; from the thoracic wall over the lower true ribs of the right side was situated a large pendulous tumor, which hung down as far as the upper third of the thigh. he said that it had always been as long as this, but had lately become thicker, and two months previously the skin over the lower part of the tumor had ulcerated. this large tumor was successfully removed; it consisted of fibrous tissue, with large veins running in its substance. the excised mass weighed pounds. the patient made an early recovery. keloids are fibromata of the true skin, which may develop spontaneously or in a scar. although the distinction of true and false keloid has been made, it is generally discarded. according to hebra a true typical keloid is found once in every cases of skin-disease. it is, however, particularly the false keloid, or keloid arising from cicatrices, with which we have mostly to deal. this tumor may arise from a scar in any portion of the body, and at any age. there seems to be a disposition in certain families and individuals to keloid-formations, and among negroes keloids are quite common, and often of remarkable size and conformation. the form of injury causing the cicatrix is no factor in the production of keloid, the sting of an insect, the prick of a needle, and even the wearing of ear-rings having been frequent causes of keloid-formations among the negro race. collins describes a negress of ninety, born of african parents, who exhibited multiple keloids produced by diverse injuries. at fourteen she was burned over her breasts by running against a shovelful of hot coals, and several months later small tumors appeared, which never suppurated. when a young girl a tumor was removed from the front of her neck by operation, and cicatricial tumors then spread like a band encircling one-half her neck. there were keloids over her scapulae, which followed the application of blisters. on her back, over, and following the direction of the ribs, were growths attributed to the wounds caused by a flogging. this case was quite remarkable for the predisposition shown to keloid at an early age, and the variety of factors in causation. about duhring had under his observation at the philadelphia hospital a negro whose neck was encircled by enormous keloids, which, although black, otherwise resembled tomatoes. a photograph of this remarkable case was published in philadelphia in . a lipoma is a tumor consisting of adipose tissue. when there is much fibrous tissue in the tumor it is much firmer, and is known as a fibro-lipoma. brander describes a young native of manchuria, north china, from whom he removed a fibro-lipoma weighing pounds. the growth had progressively enlarged for eleven years, and at the time of extirpation hung as an enormous mass from beneath the left scapula. in operating the tumor had to be swung on a beam. the hemorrhage was slight and the patient was discharged in five days. the true lipoma must be distinguished from diffuse accumulations of fat in different parts of the body in the same way that fibroma is distinguished from elephantiasis. circumscribed lipoma appears as a lobulated soft tumor, more or less movable, lying beneath the skin. it sometimes reaches enormous size and assumes the shape of a pendulous tumor. diffuse lipoma, occurring in the neck, often gives the patient a grotesque and peculiar appearance. it is generally found in men addicted to the use of alcohol, and occurs between thirty-five and forty-five years of age; in no case has general obesity been described. in one of madelung's cases a large lobe extended downward over the clavicle. the growth has been found between the larynx and the pharynx. black reports a remarkable case of fatty tumor in a child one year and five months old which filled the whole abdominal cavity, weighing nine pounds and two ounces. chipault mentions a case of lipoma of the parietal region, observed by rotter. this monstrous growth was three feet three inches long, descending to the knees. it had its origin in the left parietal region, and was covered by the skin of the whole left side of the face and forehead. the left ear was plainly visible in the upper third of the growth. chondroma, or enchondroma, is a cartilaginous tumor occurring principally where cartilage is normally found, but sometimes in regions containing no cartilage. enchondroma may be composed of osteoid tissue, such as is found in the ossifying callous between the bone and the periosteum, and, according to virchow, then takes the name of osteochondroma. virchow has divided chondromata into two forms--those which he calls ecchondromata, which grow from cartilage, and those that grow independently from cartilage, or the enchondromata, which latter are in the great majority. enchondroma is often found on the long bones, and very frequently upon the bones of the hands or on the metatarsal bones. figure represents an enchondroma of the thumb. multiple enchondromata are most peculiar, and may attain enormous sizes. whittaker describes a farmer of forty who exhibited peculiar tumors of the fingers, which he calls multiple osteoecchondromata. his family history was negative. he stated that at an early age he received a stroke of lightning, which rendered him unconscious for some time. he knows of nothing else that could be in possible relation with his present condition. nine months after this accident there was noticed an enlargement of the middle joint of the little finger, and about the same time an enlargement on the middle finger. gradually all the joints of the right hand became involved. the enlargement increased so that at the age of twelve they were of the size of walnuts, and at this time the patient began to notice the same process developing in the left hand. the growths continued to develop, new nodules appearing, until the fingers presented the appearance of nodulated potatoes. one of the most frequent of the fibro-cartilaginous tumors is the "mixed cartilaginous" tumor of paget, which grows in the interstitial tissues of the parotid gland, and sometimes attains enormous size. matas presented the photograph of a negress having an enormous fibroma growing from the left parotid region; and there is a photograph of a similar case in the mutter museum of the college of physicians, philadelphia. the hyaline enchondroma is of slow growth, but may at times assume immense proportions, as is shown in the accompanying illustration, given by warren, of a patient in whom the growth was in the scapula. in there is quoted the description of a peculiar growth which, though not definitely described, may be spoken of here. it was an enormous encysted tumor, springing from the clavicle of a veronese nobleman. contrary to general expectations it was successfully removed by portalupi, a surgeon of venice. it weighed pounds, being / inches long and inches in circumference. it is said this tumor followed the reception of a wound. among the benign bone tumors are exostoses--homologous outgrowths differing from hypertrophies, as they only involve a limited part of the circumference. when developmental, originating in childhood, the outgrowths may be found on any part of the skeleton, and upon many and generally symmetric parts at the same time, as is shown in figure . barwell had a case of a girl with exostoses. erichsen mentions a young man of twenty-one with groups of symmetric exostoses in various portions of the body; they were spongy or cancellous in nature. hartmann shows two cases of multiple exostoses, both in males, and universally distributed over the body. macland of the french navy describes an affection of the bones of the face known as anakhre or goundron (gros-nez). it is so common that about one per cent of the natives of certain villages on the ivory coast, west africa, are subject to it. as a rule the earliest symptoms in childhood are: more or less persistent headache, particularly frontal, sanguineous and purulent discharge from the nostrils, and the formation of symmetric swellings the size of an almond in the region of the nasal processes of the superior maxilla. the cartilage does not seem to be involved, and, although it is not so stated, the nasal duct appears to remain intact. the headache and discharge continue for a year, and the swelling continually increases through life, although the symptoms gradually disappear, the skin not becoming involved, and no pain being present. it has been noticed in young chimpanzees. the illustration represents a man of forty who suffered from the disease since puberty. pressure on the eyeball had started and the native said he expected that in two years he would lose his sight. figure shows an analogous condition, called by hutchinson symmetric osteomata of the nasal processes of the maxilla. his patient was a native of great britain. among neuromata, multiple neurofibroma is of considerable interest, chiefly for the extent of general involvement. according to senn, heusinger records the case of a sailor of twenty-three in whom all the nerves were affected by numerous nodular enlargements. not a nerve in the entire body was found normal. the enlargement was caused by increase in the connective tissue, the axis-cylinders being normal. in this case there was neither pain nor tenderness. prudden reports the case of a girl of twenty-five who, during convalescence from variola, became paraplegic, and during this time multiple neuromata appeared. at the postmortem more than a thousand tumors were found affecting not only the peripheral branches and the sympathetic, but also the cranial nerves and the pneumogastric. under the microscope these tumors showed an increase in the interfascicular as well as perivascular fibers, but the nerve-fibers were not increased in size or number. virchow collected cases of multiple neurofibromata. in one case he found , in another from to tumors. plexiform neuroma is always congenital, and is found most frequently in the temporal region, the neck, and the sides of the face, but almost any part of the body may be affected. christot reports two cases in which the tumors were located upon the cheek and the neck. czerny observed a case in which the tumor involved the lumbar plexus. quoted by senn, campbell de morgan met with a plexiform neuroma of the musculo-spiral nerve and its branches. the patient was a young lady, and the tumor, which was not painful, had undergone myxomatous degeneration. neuroma of the vulva is a pathologic curiosity. simpson reports a case in which the tumor was a painful nodule situated near the urinary meatus. kennedy mentions an instance in which the tumor appeared as extremely tender tubercles. tietze describes a woman of twenty-seven who exhibited a marked type of plexiform neurofibroma. the growth was simply excised and recovery was promptly effected. carcinomatous growths, if left to themselves, make formidable devastations of the parts which they affect. warren pictures a case of noli-me-tangere, a destructive type of epithelial carcinoma. the patient suffered no enlargement of the lymphatic glands. the same absence of glandular involvement was observed in another individual, in whom there was extensive ulceration. the disease had in this case originated in the scar of a gunshot wound received during the civil war, and had destroyed the side of the nose, the eye, the ear, the cheek, including the corresponding half of the upper and lower lips. harlan reports a most extraordinary epithelioma of the orbit in a boy of about five years. it followed enucleation, and attained the size depicted in a few months. sarcomata, if allowed full progress, may attain great size. plate shows an enormous sarcoma of the buttocks in an adult negro. fascial sarcomata are often seen of immense size. senn shows a tumor of this variety which was situated between the scapulae. schwimmer records a curious case of universal small sarcomata over the whole body of a teacher of the age of twenty-one, in the hungarian lowlands. the author called the disease sarcomata pigmentosum diffusum multiplex. the bones are a common seat of sarcomatous growths, the tumor in this instance being called osteosarcoma. it may affect any bone, but rarely involves an articulation; at times it skips the joint and goes to the neighboring bone. a case of nasal sarcoma is shown by moore. the tumor was located in the nasal septum, and caused a frightful deformity. in this case pain was absent, the sense of smell was lost, and the sight of the right eye impaired. moore attempted to remove the tumor, but in consequence of some interference of respiration the patient died on the table. tiffany reports several interesting instances of sarcoma, one in a white female of nineteen following a contusion of tibia. the growth had all the clinical history of an osteosarcoma of the tibia, and was amputated and photographed after removal. in another case, in a white male of thirty, the same author successfully performed a hip-amputation for a large sarcoma of the left femur. the removed member was sent entire to the army medical museum at washington. the fatality and incurability of malignant growths has done much to stimulate daring and marvelous operations in surgery. the utter hopelessness of the case justifies almost any means of relief, and many of the visceral operations, resections of functional organs, and extraordinary amputations that were never dreamed of in the early history of medicine are to-day not only feasible and justifiable, but even peremptorily demanded. varicose veins sometimes become so enlarged and distorted as to simulate the appearance of one varicose tumor. adams describes a curious case of congenital dilatation of the arteries and veins in the right lower limb, accompanied by an anastomosis with the interior of the os calcis. the affected thigh exceeded the other in size by one-third, all the veins being immensely swelled and distorted. the arteries were also distorted and could be felt pulsating all over the limb. the patient died at thirty from rupture of the aneurysm. abbe shows a peculiar aneurysmal varix of the finger in a boy of nine. when a babe the patient had, on the dorsum of the little finger, a small nevus, which was quiescent for many years. he received a deep cut at the base of the thumb, and immediately after this accident the nevus began to enlarge rapidly. but for the local aneurysmal thrill at the point of the scar the condition would have been diagnosed as angioma, but as a bruit could be heard over the entire mass it was called an aneurysmal varix, because it was believed there was a connection between a rather large artery and a vein close to the mass. there is a curious case reported of cirsoid tumor of the ear of a boy of thirteen. figure shows the appearance before and after operation. jessop records a remarkable case of multiple aneurysm. this case was particularly interesting as it was accompanied by a postmortem examination. pye-smith reports an extremely interesting case in which death occurred from traumatic aneurysm of an aberrant subclavian artery. the patient fell from a height of feet, lost consciousness for a few minutes, but soon recovered it. there was no evidence of any fracture, but the man suffered greatly from dyspnea, pain between the shoulders, and collapse. the breath-sounds on auscultation and the difficulty in swallowing led to the belief that one of the bronchi was blocked by the pressure of a hematoma. dyspnea continued to increase, and eighteen days after admission the man was in great distress, very little air entering the chest. he had no pulse at the right wrist, and pye-smith was unable to feel either the temporal or carotid beats on the right side, although these vessels were felt pulsating on the left side. laryngotomy was done with the hope of removing a foreign body, but the man died on the tenth day. a postmortem examination disclosed the existence of an aberrant right subclavian artery in the posterior mediastinum, and this was the seat of a traumatic aneurysm that had ruptured into the esophagus. relative to the size of an aneurysm, warren reported a case of the abdominal aorta which commenced at the origin of the celiac axis and passed on to the surfaces of the psoas and iliac muscles, descending to the middle of the thigh the total length of the aneurysm was inches, and it measured inches in circumference. a peculiar sequence of an aortic aneurysm is perforation of the sternum or rib. webb mentions an irish woman who died of aneurysm of the aorta, which had perforated the sternum, the orifice being plugged by a large clot. he quotes similar cases which he has collected as occurring from to , and notes that one of the patients lived seven weeks after the rupture of the aneurysmal sac. large uterine tumors.--before the meeting of the american medical association held in washington, d.c., , mcintyre a reported a case of great interest. the patient, a woman of thirty-eight, five feet / inches in height, coarse, with masculine features, having hair on her upper lip and chin, and weighing / pounds, was found in a poor-house in trenton, missouri, on november , , suffering from a colossal growth of the abdomen. the accompanying illustration is from a photograph which was taken at the time of the first interview. the measurements made at the time were as follows: circumference at the largest part, just below the umbilicus, inches; circumference just below the mammae, inches; from the xiphoid cartilage to the symphysis pubis, inches, not including the appendum, which is shown in the picture. percussion suggested a fluid within a sac. the uterus was drawn up to the extent of from to inches. the woman walked with great difficulty and with a waddling gait, bending far backward the better to keep "the center of gravity within the base," and to enable her to sustain the enormous weight of the abdomen. she was compelled to pass her urine while standing. attempts had been made six and two years before to tap this woman, but only a few drops of blood followed several thrusts of a large trocar. a diagnosis was made of multilocular ovarian cyst or edematous myoma of the uterus, and on the morning of december , , an operation was performed. an incision inches in length was first made in the linea alba, below the umbilicus, and afterward extended up to the xiphoid cartilage. the hemorrhage from the abdominal wall was very free, and the enormously distended vessels required the application of a large number of pressure-forceps. adhesions were found almost everywhere the most difficult to manage being those of the liver and diaphragm. the broad ligaments and fallopian tubes were ligated on either side, the tumor turned out, the thick, heavy pedicle transfixed and ligated, and the enormous growth cut away. after operation the woman was immediately placed on platform scales, and it was found that she had lost / pounds. unfortunately the patient developed symptoms of septicemia and died on the fifth day. in looking over the literature on this subject mcintyre found no mention of any solid tumor of this size having been removed. on april , , keith, late of edinburgh, now of london, successfully removed an edematous myoma, together with the uterus, which was pounds in weight. in a recent work tait remarks that the largest uterine myoma which he ever removed weighed pounds, and adds that it grew after the menopause. mcintyre believes that his tumor, weighing / pounds, is the largest yet reported. eastman reports the removal of a fibroid tumor of the uterus weighing pounds. the patient recovered from the operation. it is quite possible for a fibrocyst of the uterus to attain an enormous size, equaling the ovarian cysts. stockard describes an instance of this nature in a negress of fifty, the mother of several children. about twelve years before a cyst in the right iliac region was tapped. the woman presented the following appearance: the navel hung below her knees, and the skin near the umbilicus resembled that of an elephant. the abdomen in its largest circumference measured inches, and inches from the ensiform cartilage to the umbilicus. the umbilicus was five inches in diameter and three inches in length. eight gallons and seven pints of fluid were removed by tapping, much remaining. the whole tumor weighed pounds. death from exhaustion followed on the sixth day after the tapping. ovarian cysts, of which by far the greater number are of the glandular variety, form extremely large tumors; ovarian dropsies of enormous dimensions are recorded repeatedly throughout medical literature. among the older writers ford mentions an instance of ovarian dropsy from which, by repeated operations, pints of water were drawn. martineau describes a remarkable case of twenty-five years' duration, in which paracenteses were performed and pints of fluid were withdrawn. in one year alone pints were withdrawn. tozzetti mentions an ovarian tumor weighing pounds. morand speaks of an ovarian cyst from which, in ten months, pounds of fluid were withdrawn. there are old records of tubal cysts weighing over pounds. normand speaks of an ovary degenerating into a scirrhous mass weighing pounds. among recent operations briddon describes the removal of an ovarian cyst which weighed pounds, death resulting. helmuth mentions an ovarian cyst from which, in tappings, pounds of fluid were withdrawn. delivery was effected by instrumental aid. the tumor of pounds was removed and death followed. mcgillicuddy mentions a case of ovarian cyst containing pounds of fluid. the patient was a woman of twenty-eight whose abdomen at the umbilicus measured inches in circumference and inches from the sternum to the pubes. before the operation the great tumor hung down as far as the knees, the abdominal wall chafing the thighs. figure shows the appearance of a large ovarian cyst weighing pounds. the emaciation of the subject is particularly noticeable. reifsnyder describes a native chinese woman affected with an ovarian tumor seen at the margaret williamson hospital at shanghai. she was four feet eight inches in height, and twenty-five years of age. the tumor had been growing for six years until the circumference at the umbilicus measured five feet / inches; quarts of fluid were drawn off and the woman recovered. in the college of physicians, philadelphia, there are photographs of this case, with an inscription saying that the patient was a young chinese woman who measured but four feet eight inches in height, while her girth was increased by an ovarian cyst to five feet / inches. the tumor was removed and weighed / pounds; it contained gallons of fluid. figure shows the appearance of the woman two months after the operation, when the girth was reduced to normal. stone performed ovariotomy on a girl of fifteen, removing a tumor weighing / pounds. ranney speaks of the successful removal of a unilocular tumor weighing pounds; and wall tells of a death after removal of an ovarian tumor of the same weight. rodenstein portrays the appearance of a patient of forty-five after death from an enormous glandular ovarian cystoma. the tumor was three feet high, covered the breasts, extended to the knees, and weighed pounds. kelly speaks of a cyst weighing pounds; keith one of / pounds; gregory, pounds; boerstler, pounds; bixby, pounds; and alston a tumor of pounds removed in the second operation of ovariotomy. dayot reports the removal of an enormous ovarian cyst from a girl of seventeen. the tumor had been present three years, but the patient and her family refused an operation until the size of the tumor alarmed them. its largest circumference was five feet inches. the distance from the xiphoid to the symphysis pubis was three feet. the tumor was covered with veins the size of the little finger. the apex of the heart was pushed to the d interspace and the umbilicus had disappeared. there were quarts of a thick, brown fluid in the tumor. the patient recovered in twenty-five days. cullingworth of st. thomas hospital, london, successfully removed from a girl of sixteen an ovarian cyst weighing over pounds. the patient was admitted to the hospital april , . she gave a history of a single menstruation, which took place in march or april, , and said that in the latter month she noticed that she was growing large. she was tapped at christmas, , when a large quantity of fluid was removed, and again in february, , and a third time in may, , but without useful results. for the previous six months she had been almost entirely bedridden because of the great size of the tumor. there were no symptoms referring to the bladder and rectum. at the time she entered the hospital she was much emaciated, the eyes were sunken, and her cheeks had a livid hue. the chest was thin and the lower ribs were everted; dulness began at the lower border of the d cartilage, and the apex-beat was best felt in the third space. liver-dulness began at the th rib cartilage in the nipple line. the abdomen was enormously distended, and covered by large veins running from below upward to the thorax. about / inches above the umbilicus there was a sulcus with its convexity downward. there was dulness over the whole abdomen, except at the sides parallel with the lumbar spines, and a resonant band over the stomach. the greatest girth was / inches. by vaginal examination the cervix was found to be pulled up and obliterated; the anterior vaginal wall was bulged downward by the tumor. on may d abdominal section was performed. an incision eight inches long was made in the mid-line of the abdomen. a cystic tumor, formed of small cysts in its upper part and of somewhat larger ones in the lower part, was revealed. it was adherent to the abdominal wall, liver, spleen, and omentum. the adhesions were separated and the cyst tapped with a large trocar, and then the septa between the cysts were broken down with the fingers. the pedicle was rather small and was tied in the usual way, and the tumor was removed. its seat of origin was the left ovary. the right ovary and the uterus were healthy, but poorly developed. the tumor weighed between and pounds,--the patient having weighed pounds on the night before the operation and / pounds a week after the operation. alarming symptoms of collapse were present during the night after the operation, but the patient responded to stimulation by hypodermic injections of / grain of strychnin and of brandy, and after the first twenty-four hours the recovery was uninterrupted. cullingworth thinks that the most interesting points in the case are: the age of the patient, the enormous size of the tumor, and the advice given by the surgeon who first attended the patient (insisting that no operation should be performed). this case shows anew the uselessness of tapping ovarian cysts. in the records of enormous dropsies much material of interest is to be found, and a few of the most interesting cases on record will be cited. in the older times, when the knowledge of the etiology and pathology of dropsies was obscure, we find the records of the most extraordinary cases. before the royal society, in , glass of oxford read the report of a case of preternatural size of the abdomen, and stated that the dropsy was due to the absence of one kidney. the circumference of the abdomen was six feet four inches, and the distance from the xiphoid to the os pubis measured four feet / inch. in this remarkable case gallons of fluid were drawn off from the abdomen after death. bartholinus mentions a dropsy of pounds; and gockelius one of pounds; there is recorded an instance of a dropsy of pounds. there is an old record of a woman of fifty who had suffered from ascites for thirty years. she had been punctured times, and each time about pints were drawn off. during each of two pregnancies she was punctured three or four times; one of her children was still living. it has been said that there was a case in paris of a person who was punctured times for ascites. scott reports a case of ascites in which pints of water were drawn off in successive tappings, from february, , to may, . quoted by hufeland, van wy mentions pounds of fluid being drawn from the abdomen of a woman in five years. kaltschmid describes a case of ascites in which, in paracenteses, pounds of fluid were removed. in morand reported two cases of ascites in one of which, by the means of paracenteses, pounds of fluid were drawn off in twenty-two months. in the other case pounds of fluid issued in ten months. there is a record of pounds of "pus" being discharged during a dropsy. the philosophical transactions contain the account of a case of hydronephrosis in which there were pounds of water in the sac. there are several cases on record in which ovarian dropsies have weighed over pounds; and blanchard mentions a uterine dropsy of pounds. the ephemerides contains an account of a case of hydrocephalus in which there were pounds of fluid, and similar cases have been noted. elliotson reports what he calls the largest quantity of pus from the liver on record. his patient was a man of thirty-eight, a victim of hydatid disease of the liver, from whom he withdrew one gallon of offensive material. lieutaud cites a case, reported by blanchard, in which, in a case of hydatid disease, the stomach contained pounds of fluid. ankylosis of the articulations, a rare and curious anomaly, has been seen in the human fetus by richaud, joulin, bird, and becourt. ankylosis of all the joints, with muscular atrophy, gives rise to a condition that has been popularly termed "ossified man." a case of this nature is described, the patient being a raftsman, aged seventeen, who suffered with inflammatory symptoms of the right great toe, which were followed in the next ten years by progressive involvement of all the joints of the extremities, and of the vertebrae and temporo-maxillary articulations, with accompanying signs of acute articular rheumatism. at the age of thirty-one the pains had subsided, leaving him completely disabled. all the joints except the fingers and toes had become ankylosed, and from nonusage the muscles had atrophied. there were no dislocations, anesthesia, or bedsores, and the viscera were normal; there were apparently no gouty deposits, as an examination of the urine was negative. j. r. bass, the well-known "ossified man" of the dime museums, has been examined by many physicians, and was quite intelligent and cheerful in spite of his complete ankylosis. figure represents his appearance in . percy speaks of a man named simoore, born in , who at the age of fifteen was afflicted with ankylosis of all the joints, and at different angles he was unable to move even his jaw, and his teeth had to be extracted in order to supply him with nourishment. even his ribs were ankylosed; his chest puffed up, and the breathing was entirely abdominal. in spite of his infirmities, after his pains had ceased he lived a comparatively comfortable life. his digestion was good, and his excretory functions were sufficient. the urine always showed phosphates, and never the slightest sign of free phosphoric acid. he still retained his sexual feeling, and occasionally had erections. this man died in at the age of fifty, asphyxia being the precursor of death. his skeleton was deposited in the museum of the ecole de medecine de paris. in the same museum there was another similar skeleton, but in this subject there was motion of the head upon the first vertebra, the lower jaw was intact, and the clavicle, arms, and some of the digits of the right hand were movable. an ossified man has been recently found and exhibited to the paris academy of medicine. he is a roumanian jew of thirty who began to ossify twelve years ago, first up the right side of his back, then down the left side. he has hardened now to the nape of the neck, his head is turned to the left, and the jaws are ankylosed. he can still move his arms and legs a little with great difficulty. akin to the foregoing condition is what is known as petrifaction or ossification of portions of the living human body other than the articulations. of the older writers hellwigius, horstius, and schurig speak of petrifaction of the arm. in the philosophical transactions there was a case recorded in which the muscles and ligaments were so extensively converted into bone that all the joints were fixed, even including the vertebrae, head, and lower jaw. in a short time this man was, as it were, one single bone from his head to his knees, the only joints movable being the right wrist and knee. for over a century there has been in the trinity college at dublin the skeleton of a man who died about miles from the city of cork. the muscles about the scapula, and the dorsum of the ilium (the glutei) were converted into great masses of bone, equal to the original muscles in thickness and bulk. half of the muscles of the hips and thighs were converted into bone, and for a long time this specimen was the leading curiosity of the dublin museum. in the isle of man, some years ago, there was a case of ossification which continued progressively for many years. before death this man was reduced to almost a solid mass of bony substance. with the exception of one or two toes his entire frame was solidified. he was buried in kirk andreas churchyard, and his grave was strictly guarded against medical men by his friends, but the body was finally secured and taken to dublin by dr. mccartney. calculi.--in reviewing the statistics of vesical calculi, the strangest anomalies in their size and weight have been noticed. among the older writers the largest weights have been found. le cat speaks of a calculus weighing over three pounds, and morand is accredited with having seen a calculus which weighed six pounds. in his statistics in cross collected reports on stones, and remarked that only nine of these weighed above four ounces, and only two above six, and that with the last two the patient succumbed. of those removed successfully harmer of norwich reports one of ounces; kline, one of ounces grains; mayo of winchester, ounces two drams; cheselden, ounces; and pare in removed a calculus weighing nine ounces. sir astley cooper remarks that the largest stone he ever saw weighed four ounces, and that the patient died within four hours after its removal. before the royal society of london in birch reported an account of a calculus weighing five ounces. fabricius hildanus mentions calculi weighing and ounces; camper, ounces; foschini, ounces six drams; garmannus, ounces; greenfield, ounces; heberden, ounces; wrisberg, ounces; launai, ounces; lemery, ounces; paget, in kuhn's journal, ounces (from a woman); pauli, ounces; rudolphi, ounces; tozzetti, ounces; threpland, ounces; and there is a record of a calculus weighing over six pounds. there is preserved in trinity college, cambridge, a stone weighing ounces taken from the bladder of the wife of thomas raisin, by gutteridge, a surgeon of norwich. this stone was afterward sent to king charles ii for inspection. in his "journey to paris" dr. lister said that he saw a stone which weighed ounces; it had been taken from one of the religious brothers in june, , and placed in the hopital de la charite. it was said that the monk died after the operation. there is a record of a calculus taken from the bladder of an individual living in aberdeen. this stone weighed two pounds, three ounces, and six drams. in the hunterian museum in london there is a stone weighing ounces, and measuring inches in circumference. by suprapubic operation duguise removed a stone weighing ounces from a patient who survived six days. a belgian surgeon by the name of uytterhoeven, by the suprapubic method extracted a concretion weighing two pounds and measuring / inches long and four wide. frere come performed a high operation on a patient who died the next day after the removal of a -ounce calculus. verduc mentions a calculus weighing three pounds three ounces. it was said that a vesical calculus was seen in a dead boy at st. edmund's which was as large as the head of a new-born child. it has been remarked that thomas adams, lord mayor of london, who died at the age of eighty-two, had in his bladder at the time of his death a stone which filled the whole cavity, and which was grooved from the ureters to the urethral opening, thus allowing the passage of urine. recent records of large calculi are offered: by holmes, ounces; hunter, ounces; cayley, ounces; humphrys, ounces; eve, ounces; and janeway, ounces. kirby has collected reports ol a number of large vesical calculi. barton speaks of stone in the bladder in very young children. there is a record of a stone at one month, and another at three years. todd describes a stone in the bladder of a child of sixteen months. may removed an enormous stone from a young girl, which had its nucleus in a brass penholder over three inches long. multiple vesical calculi.--usually the bladder contains a single calculus, but in a few instances a large number of stones have been found to coexist. according to ashhurst, the most remarkable case on record is that of the aged chief justice marshal, from whose bladder dr. physick of philadelphia is said to have successfully removed by lateral lithotomy more than calculi. macgregor mentions a case in which small calculi coexisted with a large one weighing ounces. there is an old record of stones having been removed from a man of eighty-one, a native of dantzic, of which were as large as a pigeon's egg. kelly speaks of calculi in the bladder of a man of seventy-three, being removed before death. the largest weighed grains. goodrich took small stones from the bladder of a lad. among the older records of numerous calculi burnett mentions ; desault, over ; the ephemerides, ; weickman, over ; fabricius hildanus, in two years; and there is a remarkable case of , in all issuing from a young girl. greenhow mentions stones removed from the bladder. an older issue of the lancet contains an account of lithotrity performed on the same patient times. occasionally the calculi are discharged spontaneously. trioen mentions the issue of a calculus through a perineal aperture, and there are many similar cases on record. there is an old record of a stone weighing five ounces being passed by the penis. schenck mentions a calculus perforating the bladder and lodging in the groin. simmons reports a case in which a calculus passed through a fistulous sore in the loins without any concomitant passage of urine through the same passage. vosberg mentions a calculus in a patent urachus; and calculi have occasionally been known to pass from the umbilicus. gourges mentions the spontaneous excretion of a five-ounce calculus; and thompson speaks of the discharge of two calculi of enormous size. of the extravesical calculi some are true calculi, while others are simply the result of calcareous or osseous degeneration. renal and biliary calculi are too common to need mention here. there are some extraordinary calculi taken from a patient at st. bartholomew's hospital and deposited in the museum of that institution. the patient was a man of thirty-eight. in the right kidney were found a calculus weighing / ounces, about small calculi, and a quantity of calcareous dust. in the left kidney there was a calculus weighing / ounces, besides a quantity of calcareous dust. the calculi in this case consisted chiefly of phosphate of magnesium and ammonium. cordier of kansas city, mo., successfully removed a renal calculus weighing over three ounces from a woman of forty-two. the accompanying illustration shows the actual size of the calculus. at the university college hospital, london, there are exhibited gall-stones that were found postmortem in a gall-bladder. vanzetti reports the removal of a preputial calculus weighing grams. phillipe mentions the removal of a calculus weighing grams from the prepuce of an arab boy of seven. croft gives an account of some preputial calculi removed from two natives of the solomon islands by an emigrant medical officer in fiji. in one case small stones were removed, and in the other a single calculus weighing one ounce grains. congenital phimosis is said to be very common among the natives of solomon islands. in september, , bernard removed two stones from the meatus urinarius of a man, after a lodgment of twenty years. block mentions a similar case, in which the lodgment had lasted twenty-eight years. walton speaks of a urethral calculus gradually increasing in size for fifty years. ashburn shows what he considers the largest calculus ever removed from the urethra. it was / inches long, and / inches in diameter; it was white on the outside, very hard, and was shaped and looked much like a potato. its dry weight was grains. at one end was a polished surface that corresponded with a similar surface on a smaller stone that lay against it; the latter calculus was shaped like a lima bean, and weighed grains. hunt speaks of eight calculi removed from the urethra of a boy of five. herman and the ephemerides mention cases of calculi in the seminal vesicles. calcareous degeneration is seen in the ovary, and peterman speaks of a stone in the ovary. uterine calculi are described by cuevas and harlow; the latter mentions that the calculus he saw was egg-shaped. there is an old chronicle of a stone taken from the womb of a woman near trent, somersetshire, at easter, , that weighed four ounces. the ephemerides speaks of a calculus coming away with the menstrual fluid. stones in the heart are mentioned by medical writers, and it is said that two stones as large as almonds were found in the heart of the earl of balcarres. morand speaks of a calculus ejected from the mouth by a woman. an old record says that stones in the brain sometimes are the cause of convulsions. d'hericourt reports the case of a girl who died after six months' suffering, whose pineal gland was found petrified, and the incredible size of a chicken's egg. blasius, diemerbroeck, and the ephemerides, speak of stones in the location of the pineal gland. salivary calculi are well known; they may lodge in any of the buccal ducts. there is a record of the case of a man of thirty-seven who suffered great pain and profuse salivation. it was found that he had a stone as large as a pigeon's egg under his tongue. umbilical calculi are sometimes seen, and deani reports such a case. there is a french record of a case of exstrophy of the umbilicus, attended with abnormal concretions. aetius, marcellus donatus, scaliger, and schenck mention calculi of the eyelids. there are some extraordinary cases of retention and suppression of urine on record. actual retention of urine, that is, urinary secretion passed into the bladder, but retention in the latter viscus by inanition, stricture, or other obstruction, naturally cannot continue any great length of time without mechanically rupturing the vesical walls; but suppression of urine or absolute anuria may last an astonishingly extended period. of the cases of retention of urine, fereol mentions that of a man of forty-nine who suffered absolute retention of urine for eight days, caused by the obstruction of a uric acid calculus. cunyghame reports a ease of mechanic obstruction of the flow of urine for eleven days. trapenard speaks of retention of urine for seven days. among the older writers bartholinus mentions ischuria lasting fourteen days; cornarius, fourteen days; rhoclius, fifteen days; the ephemerides, ten, eleven, and twelve days. croom notes a case of retention of urine from laceration of the vagina during first coitus. foucard reports a case of retention of urine in a young girl of nineteen, due to accumulation of the menstrual fluid behind an imperforate hymen. the accumulation of urine in cases of ischuria is sometimes quite excessive. de vilde speaks of pints being drawn off. mazoni cites a case in which pounds of urine were retained; and wilson mentions pounds of urine being drawn off. frank reports instances in which both and pounds of urine were evacuated. there is a record at the beginning of this century in which it is stated that pounds of urine were evacuated in a case of ischuria. following some toxic or thermic disturbance, or in diseased kidneys, suppression of urine is quite frequently noticed. the older writers report some remarkable instances: haller mentions a case lasting twenty-two weeks; domonceau, six months; and marcellus donatus, six months. whitelaw describes a boy of eight who, after an attack of scarlet fever, did not pass a single drop of urine from december th to december th when two ounces issued, after vesication over the kidneys. on january d two ounces more were evacuated, and no more was passed until the bowel acted regularly. on january th a whole pint of urine passed; after that the kidneys acted normally and the boy recovered. it would be no exaggeration to state that this case lasted from december th to january th, for the evacuations during this period were so slight as to be hardly worthy of mention. lemery reports observation of a monk who during eight years vomited periodically instead of urinating in a natural way. five hours before vomiting he experienced a strong pain in the kidneys. the vomitus was of dark-red color, and had the odor of urine. he ate little, but drank wine copiously, and stated that the vomiting was salutary to him, as he suffered more when he missed it. bryce records a case of anuria of seventeen days' standing. butler speaks of an individual with a single kidney who suffered suppression of urine for thirteen days, caused by occlusion of the ureter by an inspissated thrombus. dubuc observed a case of anuria which continued for seventeen days before the fatal issue. fontaine reports a case of suppression of urine for twenty-five days. nunneley showed the kidneys of a woman who did not secrete any urine for a period of twelve days, and during this time she had not exhibited any of the usual symptoms of uremia. peebles mentions a case of suspension of the functions of the kidneys more than once for five weeks, the patient exhibiting neither coma, stupor, nor vomiting. oke speaks of total suppression of urine during seven days, with complete recovery; and paxon mentions a case in a child that recovered after five days' suppression. russell reports a case of complete obstructive suppression for twenty days followed by complete recovery. scott and shroff mention recovery after nine days' suppression. the most persistent constipation may exist for weeks, or even months, with fair health. the fact seemed to be a subject of much interest to the older writers. de cabalis mentions constipation lasting thirty-seven days; caldani, sixty-five days; lecheverel, thirty-four days; and pomma, eight months; sylvaticus, thirty months; baillie, fifteen weeks; blanchard, six weeks; smetius, five mouths; trioen, three months; devilliers, two years; and gignony, seven years. riverius mentions death following constipation of one month, and says that the intestines were completely filled. moosman mentions death from the same cause in sixty days. frank speaks of constipation from intestinal obstructions lasting for three weeks, and manget mentions a similar case lasting three months. early in the century revolat reported in marseilles an observation of an eminently nervous subject addicted to frequent abuse as regards diet, who had not had the slightest evacuation from the bowel for six months. a cure was effected in this case by tonics, temperance, regulation of the diet, etc. in tome xv of the commentaries of leipzig there is an account of a man who always had his stercoral evacuations on wednesdays, and who suffered no evil consequences from this abnormality. this state of affairs had existed from childhood, and, as the evacuations were abundant and connected, no morbific change or malformation seemed present. the other excretions were slightly in excess of the ordinary amount. there are many cases of constipation on record lasting longer than this, but none with the same periodicity and without change in the excrement. tommassini records the history of a man of thirty, living an ordinary life, who became each year more constipated. between the ages of twenty and twenty-four the evacuations were gradually reduced to one in eight or ten days, and at the age of twenty-six, to one every twenty-two days. his leanness increased in proportion to his constipation, and at thirty his appetite was so good that he ate as much as two men. his thirst was intense, but he secreted urine natural in quantity and quality. nothing seemed to benefit him, and purgatives only augmented his trouble. his feces came in small, hard balls. his tongue was always in good condition, the abdomen not enlarged, the pulse and temperature normal. emily plumley was born on june , , with an imperforate anus, and lived one hundred and two days without an evacuation. during the whole period there was little nausea and occasional regurgitation of the mother's milk, due to over-feeding. cripps mentions a man of forty-two with stricture of the rectum, who suffered complete intestinal obstruction for two months, during which time he vomited only once or twice. his appetite was good, but he avoided solid food. he recovered after the performance of proctotomy. fleck reports the case of a dutchman who, during the last two years, by some peculiar innervation of the intestine, had only five or six bowel movements a year. in the intervals the patient passed small quantities of hard feces once in eight or ten days, but the amount was so small that they constituted no more than the feces of one meal. two or three days before the principal evacuation began the patient became ill and felt uncomfortable in the back; after sharp attacks of colic he would pass hard and large quantities of offensive feces. he would then feel better for two or three hours, when there would be a repetition of the symptoms, and so on until he had four or five motions that day. the following day he would have a slight diarrhea and then the bowels would return to the former condition. the principal fecal accumulations were in the ascending and transverse colon and not only could be felt but seen through the abdominal wall. the patient was well nourished and had tried every remedy without success. finally he went to marienbad where he drank freely of the waters and took the baths until the bowel movements occurred once in two or three days. there is a record of a man who stated that for two years he had not passed his stool by the anus, but that at six o'clock each evening he voided feces by the mouth. his statement was corroborated by observation. at times the evacuation took place without effort, but was occasionally attended with slight pain in the esophagus and slight convulsions. several hours before the evacuation the abdomen was hard and distended, which appearance vanished in the evening. in this case there was a history of an injury in the upper iliac region. the first accurate ideas in reference to elephantiasis arabum are given by rhazes, haly-abas, and avicenna, and it is possibly on this account that the disease received the name elephantiasis arabum. the disease was afterward noticed by forestus, mercurialis, kaempfer, ludoff, and others. in prosper alpinus wrote of it in egypt, and the medical officers of the french army that invaded egypt became familiar with it; since then the disease has been well known. alard relates as a case of elephantiasis that of a lady of berlin, mentioned in the ephemerides of , who had an abdominal tumor the lower part of which reached to the knees. in this case the tumor was situated in the skin and no vestige of disease was found in the abdominal cavity and no sensible alteration had taken place in the veins. delpech quotes a similar case of elephantiasis in the walls of the abdomen in a young woman of twenty-four, born at toulouse. lymphedema, or elephantiasis arabum, is a condition in which, in the substance of a limb or a part, there is diffused dilatation of the lymphatics, with lymphostasis. such a condition results when there is obstruction of so large a number of the ducts converging to the root of the extremity or part that but little relief through collateral trunks is possible. the affected part becomes swollen and hardened, and sometimes attains an enormous size. it is neither reducible by position nor pressure. there is a corresponding dilatation and multiplication of the blood-vessels with the connective-tissue hypertrophy. the muscles waste, the skin becomes coarse and hypertrophied. the swollen limb presents immense lobulated masses, heaped up at different parts, separated from one another by deep sulci, which are especially marked at the flexures of the joints. although elephantiasis is met with in all climates, it is more common in the tropics, and its occurrence has been repeatedly demonstrated in these localities to be dependent on the presence in the lymphatics of the filaria sanguinis hominis. the accompanying illustration shows the condition of the limb of a girl of twenty-one, the subject of lymphedema, five years after the inception of the disease. the changes in the limb were as yet moderate. the photograph from which the cut was made was taken in at the present time (seventeen years later) the case presents the typical condition of the worst form of elephantiasis. repeated attacks of lymphangitis have occurred during this period, each producing an aggravation of the previous condition. the leg below the knee has become enormously deformed by the production of the elephantoid masses; the outer side of the thigh remains healthy, but the skin of the inner side has developed so as to form a very large and pendant lobulated mass. a similar condition has begun to develop in the other leg, which is row about in the condition of the first, as shown in the figure. figure represents this disease in its most aggravated form, a condition rarely observed in this country. as an example of the change in the weight of a person after the inception of this disease, we cite a case reported by griffiths. the patient was a woman of fifty-two who, five years previous, weighed pounds. the elephantoid change was below the waist, yet at the time of report the woman weighed pounds. there was little thickening of the skin. the circumference of the calf was inches; of the thigh, inches; and of the abdomen, inches; while that of the arm was only inches. the condition commonly known as "barbadoes leg" is a form of elephantiasis deriving its name from its relative frequency in barbadoes. figure represents a well-known exhibitionist who, from all appearances, is suffering from an elephantoid hypertrophy of the lower extremities, due to a lymphedema. quite a number of similar exhibitionists have been shown in recent years, the most celebrated of whom was falmy mills, one of whose feet alone was extensively involved, and was perhaps the largest foot ever seen. elephantiasis seldom attacks the upper extremities. of the older cases rayer reports four collected by alard. in one case the hard and permanent swelling of the arm occurred after the application of a blister; in another the arm increased so that it weighed more than genoese pounds, of which consisted of serum. the swellings of the arm and forearm resembled a distended bladder. the arteries, veins, and nerves had not undergone any alteration, but the lymphatics were very much dilated and loaded with lymph. the third case was from fabricius hildanus, and the fourth from hendy. figure represents a remarkable elephantoid change in the hand of an elderly german woman. unfortunately there is no medical description of the case on record, but the photograph is deemed worthy of reproduction. terry describes a french mulatto girl of eleven whose left hand was enormously increased in weight and consistency, the chief enlargement being in the middle finger, which was / inches long, and / inches about the nail, and / around the base of the finger. the index finger was two inches thick and four inches long, twisted and drawn, while the other fingers were dwarfed. the elephantiasis in this case slowly and gradually increased in size until the hand weighed / pounds. the skin of the affected finger, contrary to the general appearance of a part affected with elephantiasis, was of normal color, smooth, shiny, showed no sensibility, and the muscles had undergone fatty degeneration. it was successfully amputated in august, . the accompanying illustration shows a dorsal view of the affected hand. magalhaes of rio janeiro reports a very interesting case of elephantiasis of the scalp, representing dermatolysis, in which the fold of hypertrophied skin fell over the face like the hide of an elephant, somewhat similar in appearance to the "elephant-man." figure represents a somewhat similar hypertrophic condition of the scalp and face reported in the photographic review of medicine and surgery, . elephantiasis of the face sometimes only attacks it on one side. such a case was reported by alard, in which the elephantiasis seems to have been complicated with eczema of the ear. willier, also quoted by alard, describes a remarkable case of elephantiasis of the face. after a debauch this patient experienced violent pain in the left cheek below the zygomatic arch; this soon extended under the chin, and the submaxillary glands enlarged and became painful; the face swelled and became erythematous, and the patient experienced nausea and slight chills. at the end of six months there was another attack, after which the patient perceived that the face continued puffed. this attack was followed by several others, the face growing larger and larger. in similar cases tumefaction assumes enormous proportions, and schenck speaks of a man whose head exceeded that of an ox in size, the lower part of the face being entirely covered with the nose, which had to be raised to enable its unhappy owner to breathe. rayer cites two instances in which elephantiasis of the breast enlarged these organs to such a degree that they hung to the knees. salmuth speaks of a woman whose breasts increased to such a size that they hung down to her knees. at the same time she had in both axillae glandular tumors as large as the head of a fetus. borellus also quotes the case of a woman whose breasts became so large that it was necessary to support them by straps, which passed over the shoulders and neck. elephantiasis is occasionally seen in the genital regions of the female, but more often in the scrotum of the male, in which location it produces enormous tumors, which sometimes reach to the ground and become so heavy as to prevent locomotion. this condition is curious in the fact that these immense tumors have been successfully removed, the testicles and penis, which had long since ceased to be distinguished, saved, and their function restored. alibert mentions a patient who was operated upon by clot-bey, whose scrotum when removed weighed pounds; the man had two children after the disease had continued for thirteen years, but before it had obtained its monstrous development--a proof that the functions of the testicles had not been affected by the disease. there are several old accounts of scrotal tumors which have evidently been elephantoid in conformation. in the ephemerides in there was mentioned a tumor of the scrotum weighing pounds. in the west indies it was reported that rats have been known to feed on these enormous tumors, while the deserted subjects lay in a most helpless condition. larrey mentioned a case of elephantiasis of the scrotum in which the tumor weighed over pounds. sir astley cooper removed a tumor of pounds weight from a chinese laborer. it extended from beneath the umbilicus to the anterior border of the anus; it had begun in the prepuce ten years previously. clot-bey removed an elephantoid tumor of the scrotum weighing pounds, performing castration at the same time. alleyne reports a case of elephantiasis, in which he successfully removed a tumor of the integuments of the scrotum and penis weighing pounds. bicet mentions a curious instance of elephantiasis of the penis and scrotum which had existed for five years. the subject was in great mental misery and alarm at his unsightly condition. the parts of generation were completely buried in the huge mass. an operation was performed in which all of the diseased structures that had totally unmanned him were removed, the true organs of generation escaping inviolate. thebaud mentions a tumor of the scrotum, the result of elephantiasis, which weighed / pounds. the weight was ascertained by placing the tumor on the scales, and directing the patient to squat over them without resting any weight of the body on the scales. this man could readily feel his penis, although his surgeons could not do so. the bladder was under perfect control, the urine flowing over a channel on the exterior of the scrotum, extending inches from the meatus. despite his infirmity this patient had perfect sexual desire, and occasional erections and emissions. a very interesting operation was performed with a good recovery. partridge reports an enormous scrotal tumor which was removed from a hindoo of fifty-five, with subsequent recovery of the subject. the tumor weighed / pounds. the ingenious technic of this operation is well worth perusal by those interested. goodman successfully removed an elephantiasis of the scrotum from a native fiji of forty-five. the tumor weighed pounds, without taking into consideration the weight of the fluid which escaped in abundance during the operation and also after the operation, but before it was weighed. van buren and keyes mention a tumor of the scrotum of this nature weighing pounds. quoted by russell, hendy describes the case of a negro who had successive attacks of glandular swelling of the scrotum, until finally the scrotum was two feet long and six feet in circumference. it is mentioned that mortification of the part caused this patient's ultimate death. figure is taken from a photograph loaned to the authors by dr. james thorington. the patient was a native of fiji, and was successfully operated on, with preservation of the testes. the tumor, on removal, weighed pounds. w. r. browne, surgeon-general, reports from the madras general hospital an operation on a patient of thirty-five with elephantoid scrotum of six years' duration. the proportions of the scrotum were as follows: horizontally the circumference was six feet / inches, and vertically the circumference was six feet ten inches. the penis was wholly hidden, and the urine passed from an opening two feet / inches from the pubis. the man had complete control of his bladder, but was unable to walk. the operation for removal occupied one hour and twenty minutes, and the tumor removed weighed / pounds. little blood was lost on account of an elastic cord tied about the neck of the tumor, and secured by successful removal of a scrotal tumor weighing pounds. fenger describes a case of the foregoing nature in a german of twenty-three, a resident of chicago. the growth had commenced eight years previously, and had progressively increased. there was no pain or active inflammation, and although the patient had to have especially constructed trousers he never ceased his occupation as a driver. the scrotum was represented by a hairless tumor weighing pounds, and hanging one inch below the knees. no testicles or penis could be made out. fenger removed the tumor, and the man was greatly improved in health. there was still swelling of the inguinal glands on both sides, but otherwise the operation was very successful. the man's mental condition also greatly improved. fenger also calls especial attention to the importance of preserving the penis and testes in the operation, as although these parts may apparently be obliterated their functions are undisturbed. the statistics of this major operation show a surprisingly small mortality. fayrer operated on patients with recoveries and six deaths, one from shock and five from pyemia the same surgeon collected cases, and found the general mortality to be per cent. according to ashhurst, turner, who practiced as a medical missionary in the samoan islands, claims to have operated times with only two deaths. mcleod, fayrer's successor in india, reported cases with deaths. early in this century rayer described a case of elephantiasis in a boy of seventeen who, after several attacks of erysipelas, showed marked diminution of the elephantoid change; the fact shows the antagonism of the streptococcus erysipelatis to hypertrophic and malignant processes. acromegaly is a term introduced by marie, and signifies large extremities. it is characterized by an abnormally large development of the extremities and of the features of the face,--the bony as well as the soft parts. in a well-marked case the hands and feet are greatly enlarged, but not otherwise deformed, and the normal functions are not disturbed. the hypertrophy involves all the tissues, giving a curious spade-like appearance to the hands. the feet are similarly enlarged, although the big toe may be relatively much larger. the nails also become broad and large. the face increases in volume and becomes elongated, in consequence of the hypertrophy of the superior and inferior maxillary bones. the latter often projects beyond the upper teeth. the teeth become separated, and the soft parts increase in size. the nose is large and broad, and the skin of the eyelids and ears is enormously hypertrophied. the tongue is greatly hypertrophied. the disease is of long duration, and late in the history the bones of the spine and thorax may acquire great deformity. as we know little of the influences and sources governing nutrition, the pathology and etiology of acromegaly are obscure. marie regards the disease as a systemic dystrophy analogous to myxedema, due to a morbid condition of the pituitary body, just as myxedema is due to disease of the thyroid. in several of the cases reported the squint and optic atrophy and the amblyopia have pointed to the pituitary body as the seat of a new growth of hypertrophy. pershing shows a case of this nature. the enlargement of the face and extremities was characteristic, and the cerebral and ocular symptoms pointed to the pituitary body as the seat of the lesion. unverricht, thomas, and ransom report cases in which the ocular lesions, indicative of pituitary trouble, were quite prominent. of cases collected by tamburini showed some change in the pituitary body, and in the remaining three cases either the diagnosis was uncertain or the disease was of very short duration. linsmayer reported a case in which there was a softened adenoma in the pituitary body, and the thymus was absent. hersman reports an interesting case of progressive enlargement of the hands in a clergyman of fifty. since youth he had suffered with pains in the joints. about three years before the time of report he noticed enlargement of the phalangeal joint of the third finger of the right hand. a short time later the whole hand became gradually involved and the skin assumed a darker hue. sensation and temperature remained normal in both hands; acromegaly was excluded on account of the absence of similar changes elsewhere. hersman remarks that the change was probably due to increase in growth of the fibrous elements of the subcutaneous lesions about the tendons, caused by rheumatic poison. figure shows the palmer and dorsal surfaces of both hands. chiromegaly is a term that has been applied by charcot and brissaud to the pseudoacromegaly that sometimes occurs in syringomyelia. most of the cases that have been reported as a combination of these two diseases are now thought to be only a syringomyelia. a recent case is reported by marie. in this connection it is interesting to notice a case of what might be called acute symptomatic transitory pseudoacromegaly, reported by potovski: in an insane woman, and without ascertainable cause, there appeared an enlargement of the ankles, wrists, and shoulders, and later of the muscles, with superficial trophic disturbances that gradually disappeared. the author excludes syphilis, tuberculosis, rheumatism, gout, hemophilia, etc., and considers it to have been a trophic affection of cerebral origin. cases of pneumonia osteoarthropathy simulating acromegaly have been reported by korn and murray. megalocephaly, or as it was called by virchow, leontiasis ossea, is due to a hypertrophic process in the bones of the cranium. the cases studied by virchow were diffuse hyperostoses of the cranium. starr describes what he supposes to be a case of this disease, and proposes the title megalocephaly as preferable to virchow's term, because the soft parts are also included in the hypertrophic process. a woman of fifty-two, married but having no children, and of negative family history, six years before the time of report showed the first symptoms of the affection, which began with formication in the finger-tips. this gradually extended to the shoulders, and was attended with some uncertainty of tactile sense and clumsiness of movement, but actual anesthesia had never been demonstrated. this numbness had not invaded the trunk or lower extremities, although there was slight uncertainty in the gait. there had been a slowly progressing enlargement of the head, face, and neck, affecting the bone, skin, and subcutaneous tissues, the first to the greatest degree. the circumference of the neck was inches; the horizontal circumference of the head was inches; from ear to ear, over the vertex, inches; and from the root of the nose to the occipital protuberance, inches. the cervical vertebrae were involved, and the woman had lost five inches in height. it may be mentioned here that brissaud and meige noticed the same loss in height, only more pronounced, in a case of gigantism, the loss being more than inches. in starr's case the tongue was normal and there was no swelling of the thyroid. cretinism is an endemic disease among mountainous people who drink largely of lime water, and is characterized by a condition of physical, physiologic, and mental degeneracy and nondevelopment, and possibly goiter. the subjects of this disease seldom reach five feet in height, and usually not more than four. the word cretin is derived from the latin creatura. they are found all over the world. in switzerland it is estimated that in some cantons there is one cretin to every inhabitants. in styria, the tyrol, and along the rhine cretins are quite common, and not long since cases existed in derbyshire. these creatures have been allowed to marry and generate, and thus extend their species. in "le medicin de campagne," balzac has given a vivid picture of the awe and respect in which they were held and the way in which they were allowed to propagate. speaking of the endemic cretins, beaupre says: "i see a head of unusual form and size, a squat and bloated figure, a stupid look, bleared, hollow, and heavy eyes, thick, projecting eyelids, and a flat nose. his face is of a leaden hue, his skin dirty, flabby, covered with tetters, and his thick tongue hangs down over his moist, livid lips; his mouth, always open and full of saliva, shows teeth going to decay. his chest is narrow, his back curved, his breath asthmatic, his limbs short, misshapen, without power. the knees are thick and inclined inward, the feet flat. the large head droops listlessly on the breast; the abdomen is like a bag." the cretin is generally deaf and dumb, or only able to give a hoarse cry. he is indifferent to heat and cold, and even to the most revolting odors. the general opinion has always been that the sexual desire and genital organs are fully developed. a quotation under our observation credits colonel sykes with the following statistics of cretinism, which show how in some locations it may be a decided factor of population. in december, , in a population of , , souls (the locality not mentioned), there were , people with simple goiter. of the cretins without goiter there were . of cretins with goiter there were ; and cretins in which goiter was not stated , making a total of . of these had mere animal instincts; possessed very small intellectual faculties; were almost without any; not classified. of this number were born of healthy and sane fathers; from healthy mothers; from goitrous fathers; from goitrous mothers; from cretin fathers; from cretin mothers; from cretin fathers with goiter; from cretin mothers with goiter; fathers and mothers were not specified. sporadic cretinism, or congenital myzedema, is characterized by a congenital absence of the thyroid, diminutiveness of size, thickness of neck, shortness of arms and legs, prominence of the abdomen, large size of the face, thickness of the lips, large and protruding tongue, and imbecility or idiocy. it is popularly believed that coitus during intoxication is the cause of this condition. osler was able to collect or cases in this country. the diagnosis is all-important, as the treatment by the thyroid extract produces the most noteworthy results. there are several remarkable recoveries on record, but possibly the most wonderful is the case of j. p. west of bellaire, ohio, the portraits of which are reproduced in plate . at seventeen months the child presented the typical appearance of a sporadic cretin. the astonishing results of six months' treatment with thyroid extract are shown in the second figure. after a year's treatment the child presents the appearance of a healthy and well-nourished little girl. myxedema proper is a constitutional condition due to the loss of the function of the thyroid gland. the disease was first described by sir william gull as a cretinoid change, and later by william ord of london, who suggested the name. it is characterized clinically by a myxedematous condition of the subcutaneous tissues and mental failure, and anatomically by atrophy of the thyroid gland. the symptoms of myxedema, as given by ord, are marked increase in the general bulk of the body, a firm, inelastic swelling of the skin, which does not pit on pressure; dryness and roughness which tend, with swelling, to obliterate the lines of expression in the face; imperfect nutrition of the hair; local tumefaction of the skin and subcutaneous tissues, particularly in the supraclavicular region. the physiognomy is remarkably altered; the features are coarse and broad, the lips thick, the nostrils broad and thick, and the mouth enlarged. there is a striking slowness of thought and of movement; the memory fails, and conditions leading to incipient dementia intervene. the functions of the thoracic and abdominal organs seem to be normal, and death is generally due to some intercurrent disease, possibly tuberculosis. a condition akin to myxedema occurs after operative removal of the thyroid gland. in a most interesting lecture brissaud shows the intimate relation between myxedema, endemic cretinism, sporadic cretinism, or myxedematous idiocy, and infantilism. he considers that they are all dependent upon an inherited or acquired deficiency or disease of the thyroid gland, and he presents cases illustrating each affection. figure shows a case of myxedema, one of myxedema in a case of arrested development--a transition case between myxedema of the adult and sporadic cretinism--and a typical case of sporadic cretinism. cagots are an outcast race or clan of dwarfs in the region of the pyrenees, and formerly in brittany, whose existence has been a scientific problem since the sixteenth century, at which period they were known as cagots, gahets, gafets, agotacs, in france; agotes or gafos, in spain; and cacous, in lower brittany. cagot meant the dog of a goth; they were of supposed gothic origin by some, and of tartar origin by others. these people were formerly supposed to have been the descendants of lepers, or to have been the victims of leprosy themselves. from the descriptions there is a decided difference between the cagots and the cretins. in a recent issue of cosmos a writer describes cagots as follows:-- "they inhabit the valley of the ribas in the northwestern part of the spanish province now called gerona. they never exceed / inches in height, and have short, ill-formed legs, great bellies, small eyes, flat noses, and pale, unwholesome complexions. they are usually stupid, often to the verge of idiocy, and much subject to goiter and scrofulous affections. the chief town of the ribas valley is ribas, a place of inhabitants, about feet above sea-level. the mountains rise about the town to a height of from to feet, and command an amazingly beautiful panorama of mountain, plain, and river, with spanish cities visible upon the one side and french upon the other. the region is rich, both agriculturally and minerally, and is famous for its medicinal springs. in this paradise dwell the dwarfs, perhaps as degraded a race of men and women as may be found in any civilized community. they are almost without education, and inhabit wretched huts when they have any shelter. the most intelligent are employed as shepherds, and in summer they live for months at an elevation of more than feet without shelter. here they see no human creature save some of their own kind, often idiots, who are sent up every fifteen or twenty days with a supply of food. "it is said that formal marriage is almost unknown among them. the women in some instances are employed in the village of ribas as nurses for children, and as such are found tender and faithful. before communication throughout the region was as easy as it is now, it was thought lucky to have one of these dwarfs in a family, and the dwarfs were hired out and even sold to be used in beggary in neighboring cities. there are somewhat similar dwarfs in other valleys of the pyrenees, but the number is decreasing, and those of the ribas valley are reduced to a few individuals." hiccough is a symptom due to intermittent, sudden contraction of the diaphragm. obstinate cases are most peculiar, and sometimes exhaust the physician's skill. symes divides these cases into four groups:-- ( ) inflammatory, seen particularly in inflammatory diseases of the viscera or abdominal membranes, and in severe cases of typhoid fever. ( ) irritative, as in direct stimulus of the diaphragm in swallowing some very hot substance; local disease of the esophagus near the diaphragm, and in many conditions of gastric and intestinal disorder, more particularly those associated with flatus. ( ) specific or idiopathic, in which there are no evident causes present; it is sometimes seen in cases of nephritis and diabetes. ( ) neurotic, in which the primary cause is in the nervous system,--hysteria, epilepsy, shock, or cerebral tumors. the obstinacy of continued hiccough has long been discussed. osler calls to mind that in plato's "symposium" the physician, eryximachus, recommended to aristophanes, who had hiccough from eating too much, either to hold his breath or to gargle with a little water; but if it still continued, "tickle your nose with something and sneeze, and if you sneeze once or twice even the most violent hiccough is sure to go." the attack must have been a severe one, as it is stated subsequently that the hiccough did not disappear until aristophanes had excited the sneezing. among the older medical writers weber speaks of singultus lasting for five days; tulpius, for twelve days; eller and schenck, for three months; taranget, for eight months; and bartholinus, for four years. at the present day it is not uncommon to read in the newspapers accounts of prolonged hiccoughing. these cases are not mythical, and are paralleled by a number of instances in reliable medical literature. the cause is not always discernible, and cases sometimes resist all treatment. holston reports a case of chronic singultus of seven years' standing. it had followed an attack of whooping-cough, and was finally cured apparently by the administration of strychnin. cowan speaks of a shoemaker of twenty-two who experienced an attack of constant singultus for a week, and then intermittent attacks for six years. cowan also mentions instances of prolonged hiccough related by heberden, good, hoffman, and wartmouth. barrett is accredited with reporting a case of persistent hiccough in a man of thirty-five. rowland speaks of a man of thirty-five who hiccoughed for twelve years. the paroxysms were almost constant, and occurred once or twice a minute during the hours when the man was not sleeping. there was no noise with the cough. there is another case related in the same journal of a man who died on the fourth day of an attack of singultus, probably due to abscess of the diaphragm, which no remedy would relieve. moore records a case of a child, injured when young, who hiccoughed until about twenty years of age (the age at the time of report). foot mentions a lad of fifteen who, except when asleep, hiccoughed incessantly for twenty-two weeks, and who suffered two similar, but less severe, attacks in the summer of , and again in . the disease was supposed to be due to the habit of pressing the chest against the desk when at school. dexter reports a case of long-continued singultus in an irish girl of eighteen, ascribed to habitual masturbation. there was no intermission in the paroxysm, which increased in force until general convulsions ensued. the patient said that the paroxysm could be stopped by firm pressure on the upper part of the external genital organs. dexter applied firm pressure on her clitoris, and the convulsions subsided, and the patient fell asleep. they could be excited by firm pressure on the lower vertebrae. corson speaks of a man of fifty-seven who, after exposure to cold, suffered exhausting hiccough for nine days; and also records the case of an irish servant who suffered hiccough for four months; the cause was ascribed to fright. stevenson cites a fatal instance of hiccough in a stone-mason of forty-four who suffered continuously from may th to may th. the only remedy that seemed to have any effect in this case was castor-oil in strong purgative doses. willard speaks of a man of thirty-four who began to hiccough after an attack of pneumonia, and continued for eighty-six hours. the treatment consisted of the application of belladonna and cantharides plasters, bismuth, and lime-water, camphor, and salts of white hellebore inhaled through the nose in finest powder. two other cases are mentioned by the same author. gapper describes the case of a young man who was seized with loud and distressing hiccough that never ceased for a minute during eighty hours. two ounces of laudanum were administered in the three days without any decided effect, producing only slight languor. ranney reports the case of an unmarried woman of forty-four who suffered from paroxysms of hiccough that persisted for four years. a peculiarity of this attack was that it invariably followed movements of the upper extremities. tenderness and hyperesthesia over the spinous processes of the th, th, and th cervical vertebrae led to the application of the thermocautery, which, in conjunction with the administration of ergot and bromide, was attended with marked benefit, though not by complete cure. barlow mentions a man with a rheumatic affection of the shoulder who hiccoughed when he moved his joints. barlow also recites a case of hiccough which was caused by pressure on the cicatrix of a wound in the left hand. beilby reports a peculiar case in a girl of seventeen who suffered an anomalous affection of the respiratory muscle, producing a sound like a cough, but shriller, almost resembling a howl. it was repeated every five or six seconds during the whole of the waking moments, and subsided during sleep. under rest and free purgation the patient recovered, but the paroxysms continued during prolonged intervals, and in the last six years they only lasted from twenty-four to forty-eight hours. parker reports four rebellious cases of singultus successfully treated by dry cups applied to the abdomen. in each case it was necessary to repeat the operation after two hours, but recovery was then rapid. tatevosoff reports a brilliant cure in a patient with chronic chest trouble, by the use of common snuff, enough being given several times to induce lively sneezing. griswold records a successful treatment of one case in a man of fifty, occurring after a debauch, by the administration of glonoin, / of a grain every three hours. heidenhain records a very severe and prolonged case caused, as shown later at the operation and postmortem examination, by carcinoma of the pancreas. the spasms were greatly relieved by cocain administered by the mouth, as much as grains being given in twelve hours. laborde and lepine report the case of a young girl who was relieved of an obstinate case of hiccough lasting four days by traction on her tongue. after the tongue had been held out of the mouth for a few minutes the hiccoughs ceased. laborde referred to two cases of a similar character reported by viand. anomalous sneezing.--in the olden times sneezing was considered a good omen, and was regarded as a sacred sign by nearly all of the ancient peoples. this feeling of reverence was already ancient in the days of homer. aristotle inquired into the nature and origin of the superstition, somewhat profanely wondering why sneezing had been deified rather than coughing. the greeks traced the origin of the sacred regard for sneezing to the days of prometheus, who blessed his man of clay when he sneezed. according to seguin the rabbinical account says that only through jacob's struggle with the angel did sneezing cease to be an act fatal to man. not only in greece and rome was sneezing revered, but also by races in asia and africa, and even by the mexicans of remote times. xenophon speaks of the reverence as to sneezing, in the court of the king of persia. in mesopotamia and some of the african towns the populace rejoiced when the monarch sneezed. in the present day we frequently hear "god bless you" addressed to persons who have just sneezed, a perpetuation of a custom quite universal in the time of gregory the great, in whose time, at a certain season, the air was filled with an unwholesome vapor or malaria which so affected the people that those who sneezed were at once stricken with death-agonies. in this strait the pontiff is said to have devised a form of prayer to be uttered when the paroxysm was seen to be coming on, and which, it was hoped, would avert the stroke of the death-angel. there are some curious cases of anomalous sneezing on record, some of which are possibly due to affections akin to our present "hay fever," while others are due to causes beyond our comprehension. the ephemerides records a paroxysm of continual sneezing lasting thirty days. bonet, lancisi, fabricius hildanus, and other older observers speak of sneezing to death. morgagni mentions death from congestion of the vasa cerebri caused by sneezing. the ephemerides records an instance of prolonged sneezing which was distinctly hereditary. ellison makes an inquiry for treatment of a case of sneezing in a white child of ten. the sneezing started without apparent cause and would continue or times, or until the child was exhausted, and then stop for a half or one minute, only to relapse again. beilby speaks of a boy of thirteen who suffered constant sneezing (from one to six times a minute) for one month. only during sleep was there any relief. the patient recovered under treatment consisting of active leeching, purgation, and blisters applied behind the ear, together with the application of olive oil to the nostrils. lee reports a remarkable case of yawning followed by sneezing in a girl of fifteen who, just before, had a tooth removed without difficulty. half an hour afterward yawning began and continued for five weeks continuously. there was no pain, no illness, and she seemed amused at her condition. there was no derangement of the sexual or other organs and no account of an hysteric spasm. potassium bromid and belladonna were administered for a few days with negative results, when the attacks of yawning suddenly turned to sneezing. one paroxysm followed another with scarcely an interval for speech. she was chloroformed once and the sneezing ceased, but was more violent on recovery therefrom. ammonium bromid in half-drachm doses, with rest in bed for psychologic reasons, checked the sneezing. woakes presented a paper on what he designated "ear-sneezing," due to the caking of cerumen in one ear. irritation of the auricular branch of the vagus was produced, whence an impression was propagated to the lungs through the pulmonary branches of the vagus. yawning was caused through implication of the third division of the th nerve, sneezing following from reflex implication of the spinal nerves of respiration, the lungs being full of air at the time of yawning. woakes also speaks of "ear-giddiness" and offers a new associate symptom--superficial congestion of the hands and forearm. a case of anomalous sneezing immediately prior to sexual intercourse is mentioned on page . hemophilia is an hereditary, constitutional fault, characterized by a tendency to uncontrollable bleeding, either spontaneous or from slight wounds. it is sometimes associated with a form of arthritis (ogler). this hemorrhagic diathesis has been known for many years; and the fact that there were some persons who showed a peculiar tendency to bleed after wounds of a trifling nature is recorded in some of the earliest medical literature. only recently, however, through the writings of buel, otto, hay, coates, and others, has the hereditary nature of the malady and its curious mode of transmission through the female line been known. as a rule the mother of a hemophile is not a "bleeder" herself, but is the daughter of one. the daughters of a hemophile, though healthy and free from any tendency themselves, are almost certain to transmit the disposition to the male offspring. the condition generally appears after some slight injury in the first two years of life; but must be distinguished from the hemorrhagic affections of the new-born, which will be discussed later. the social condition of the family does not alter the predisposition; the old duke of albany was a "bleeder"; and bleeder families are numerous, healthy looking, and have fine, soft skins. the duration of this tendency, and its perpetuation in a family, is remarkable. the appleton-swain family of reading, mass., has shown examples for two centuries. osler has been advised of instances already occurring in the seventh generation. kolster has investigated hemophilia in women, and reports a case of bleeding in the daughter of a hemophilic woman. he also analyzes genealogic trees of hemophilic families, and remarks that nasse's law of transmission does not hold true. in cases the transmission was direct from the father to the child, and in cases it was direct from the mother to the infant. the hemorrhagic symptoms of bleeders may be divided into external bleedings, either spontaneous or traumatic; interstitial bleedings, petechiae, and ecchymoses; and the joint-affections. the external bleedings are seldom spontaneous, and generally follow cuts, bruises, scratches, and often result seriously. a minor operation on a hemophile may end in death; so slight an operation as drawing a tooth has been followed by the most disastrous consequences. armstrong, blagden, and roberts, have seen fatal hemorrhage after the extraction of teeth. maccormac observed five bleeders at st. thomas hospital, london, and remarks that one of these persons bled twelve days after a tooth-extraction. buchanan and clay cite similar instances. cousins mentions an individual of hemorrhagic diathesis who succumbed to extensive extravasation of blood at the base of the brain, following a slight fall during an epileptic convulsion. dunlape reports a case of hemorrhagic diathesis, following suppression of the catamenia, attended by vicarious hemorrhage from the gums, which terminated fatally. erichsenf cites an instance of extravasation of blood into the calf of the leg of an individual of hemophilic tendencies. a cavity was opened, which extended from above the knee to the heel; the clots were removed, and cautery applied to check the bleeding. there was extension of the blood-cavity to the thigh, with edema and incipient gangrene, necessitating amputation of the thigh, with a fatal termination. mackenzie reports an instance of hemophilic purpura of the retina, followed by death. harkin gives an account of vicarious bleeding from the under lip in a woman of thirty-eight. the hemorrhage occurred at every meal and lasted ten minutes. there is no evidence that the woman was of hemophilic descent. of cases of bleeding in hemophilia collected by grandidier, were from the nose, from the mouth, from the stomach, from the bowels, from the urethra, from the lungs, and a few from the skin of the head, eyelids, scrotum, navel, tongue, finger-tips, vulva, and external ear. osler remarks that professor agnew knew of a case of a bleeder who had always bled from cuts and bruises above the neck, never from those below. the joint-affections closely resemble acute rheumatism. bleeders do not necessarily die of their early bleedings, some living to old age. oliver appleton, the first reported american bleeder, died at an advanced age, owing to hemorrhage from a bed-sore and from the urethra. fortunately the functions of menstruation and parturition are not seriously interfered with in hemophilia. menstruation is never so excessive as to be fatal. grandidier states that of boy subjects died before the termination of the seventh year. hemophilia is rarely fatal in the first year. of the hemorrhagic diseases of the new-born three are worthy of note. in syphilis haemorrhagica neonatorum the child may be born healthy, or just after birth there may appear extensive cutaneous extravasations with bleeding from the mucous surfaces and from the navel; the child may become deeply jaundiced. postmortem examination shows extensive extravasations into the internal viscera, and also organic syphilitic lesions. winckel's disease, or epidemic hemoglobinuria, is a very fatal affection, sometimes epidemic in lying-in institutions; it develops about the fourth day after birth. the principal symptom is hematogenous icterus with cyanosis,--the urine contains blood and blood-coloring matter. some cases have shown in a marked degree acute fatty degeneration of the internal organs--buhl's disease. apart from the common visceral hemorrhages, the results of injuries at birth, bleeding from one or more of the surfaces is a not uncommon event in the new-born, particularly in hospital-practice. according to osler townsend reports cases in deliveries, the hemorrhage being both general and from the navel alone. bleeding also occurs from the bowels, stomach, and mouth, generally beginning in the first week, but in rare instances it is delayed to the second or third. out of cases collected by townsend died and recovered. the nature of the disease is unknown, and postmortem examination reveals no pathologic changes, although the general and not local nature of the affection, its self-limited character, the presence of fever, and the greater prevalence of the disease in hospitals, suggest an infectious origin (townsend). kent a speaks of a new-born infant dying of spontaneous hemorrhage from about the hips. infantile scurvy, or barlow's disease, has lately attracted marked attention, and is interesting for the numerous extravasations and spontaneous hemorrhages which are associated with it. a most interesting collection of specimens taken from the victims of barlow's disease were shown in london in . in an article on the successful preventive treatment of tetanus neonatorum, or the "scourge of st. kilda," of the new-born, turner says the first mention of trismus nascentium or tetanus neonatorum was made by rev. kenneth macaulay in , after a visit to the island of st. kilda in . this gentleman states that the infants of this island give up nursing on the fourth or fifth day after birth; on the seventh day their gums are so clinched together that it is impossible to get anything down their throats; soon after this they are seized with convulsive fits and die on the eighth day. so general was this trouble on the island of st. kilda that the mothers never thought of making any preparation for the coming baby, and it was wrapped in a dirty piece of blanket till the ninth or tenth day, when, if the child survived, the affection of the mother asserted itself. this lax method of caring for the infant, the neglect to dress the cord, and the unsanitary condition of the dwellings, make it extremely probable that the infection was through the umbilical cord. all cases in which treatment was properly carried out by competent nurses have survived. this treatment consisted in dressing the cord with iodoform powder and antiseptic wool, the breast-feeding of the baby from the first, and the administration of one-grain doses of potassium bromid at short intervals. the infant death-rate on the island of st. kilda has, consequently, been much reduced. the author suggests the use of a new iodin-preparation called loretin for dressing the cord. the powder is free from odor and is nonpoisonous. human parasites.--worms in the human body are of interest on account of the immense length some species attain, the anomalous symptoms which they cause, or because of their anomalous location and issue. according to modern writers the famous viennese collection of helminths contains chains of tenia saginata feet long. the older reports, according to which the taenia solium (i.e., generally the taenia saginata) grew to such lengths as , , , and even as much as yards, are generally regarded as erroneous. the observers have apparently taken the total of all the fragments of the worm or worms evacuated at any time and added them, thus obtaining results so colossal that it would be impossible for such an immense mass to be contained in any human intestine. the name solium has no relation to the latin solus, or solium. it is quite possible for a number of tapeworms to exist simultaneously in the human body. palm mentions the fact of four tapeworms existing in one person; and mongeal has made observations of a number of cases in which several teniae existed simultaneously in the stomach. david speaks of the expulsion of five teniae by the ingestion of a quantity of sweet wine. cobbold reports the case of four simultaneous tapeworms; and aguiel describes the case of a man of twenty-four who expelled a mass weighing a kilogram, . meters long, consisting of several different worms. garfinkel mentions a case which has been extensively quoted, of a peasant who voided feet of tapeworms, heads being found. laveran reports a case in which teniae were expelled in the same day. greenhow mentions the occurrence of two teniae mediocanellata. the size of a tapeworm in a small child is sometimes quite surprising. even the new-born have exhibited signs of teniae, and haussmann has discussed this subject. armor speaks of a fully-matured tapeworm being expelled from a child five days old. kennedy reports cases in which tapeworms have been expelled from infants five, and five and one-half months old. heisberg gives an account of a tapeworm eight feet in length which came from a child of two. twiggs describes a case in which a tapeworm feet long was expelled from a child of four; and fabre mentions the expulsion of eight teniae from a child. occasionally the tapeworm is expelled from the mouth. such cases are mentioned by hitch and martel. white speaks of a tapeworm which was discharged from the stomach after the use of an emetic. lile mentions the removal of a tapeworm which had been in the bowel twenty-four years. the peculiar effects of a tapeworm are exaggerated appetite and thirst, nausea, headaches, vertigo, ocular symptoms, cardiac palpitation, and mursinna has even observed a case of trismus, or lockjaw, due to taenia solium. fereol speaks of a case of vertigo, accompanied with epileptic convulsions, which was caused by teniae. on the administration of kousso three heads were expelled simultaneously. there is a record of an instance of cardiac pulsation rising to per minute, which ceased upon the expulsion of a large tapeworm. it is quite possible for the presence of a tapeworm to indirectly produce death. garroway describes a case in which death was apparently imminent from the presence of a tapeworm. kisel has recorded a fatal case of anemia, in a child of six, dependent on teniae. the number of ascarides or round-worms in one subject is sometimes enormous. victor speaks of round-worms being discharged from a child in the short space of five days. pole mentions the expulsion of lumbricoid worms in thirty-four days, and fauconneau-dufresne has reported a most remarkable case in which ascarides were discharged in less than three years, mostly by vomiting. the patient made an ultimate recovery. there are many instances in which the lumbricoid worms have pierced the intestinal tract and made their way to other viscera, sometimes leading to an anomalous exit. there are several cases on record in which the lumbricoid worms have been found in the bladder. pare speaks of a case of this kind during a long illness; and there is mention of a man who voided a worm half a yard long from his bladder after suppression of urine. the ephemerides contains a curious case in which a stone was formed in the bladder, having for its nucleus a worm. fontanelle presented to the royal academy of medicine of paris several yards of tapeworm passed from the urethra of a man of fifty-three. the following is a quotation from the british medical journal: "i have at present a patient passing in his urine a worm-like body, not unlike a tapeworm as far as the segments and general appearance are concerned, the length of each segment being about / inch, the breadth rather less; sometimes / segments are joined together. the worm is serrated on the one side, each segment having / cusps. the urine pale, faintly acid at first, within the last week became almost neutral. there was considerable vesical irritation for the first week, with abundant mucus in the urine, specific gravity was ; there were no albumin nor tube-casts nor uric acid in the urinary sediments. later there were pus-cells and abundant pus. tenderness existed behind the prostate and along the course of left ureter. temperature of patient oscillated from . degrees to . degrees f. there was no history at any time of recto-vesical fistula. can anyone suggest the name, etc., of this helminth?" other cases of worms in the bladder are mentioned in chapter xiii mitra speaks of the passage of round-worms through the umbilicus of an adult; and there is a case mentioned in which round-worms about seven inches long were voided from the navel of a young child. borgeois speaks of a lumbricoid worm found in the biliary passages, and another in the air passages. turnbull has recorded two cases of perforation of the tympanic membrane from lumbricoides. dagan speaks of the issue of a lumbricoid from the external auditory meatus. laughton reports an instance of lumbricoid in the nose. rake speaks of asphyxia from a round-worm. morland mentions the ejection of numerous lumbricoid worms from the mouth. worms have been found in the heart; and it is quite possible that in cases of trichinosis, specimens of the trichinae may be discovered anywhere in the line of cardiac or lymphatic circulation. quoted by fournier, lapeyronnie has seen worms in the pericardial sac, and also in the ventricle. there is an old record of a person dying of intestinal worms, one of which was found in the left ventricle. castro and vidal speak of worms in the aorta. rake reports a case of sudden death from round-worm; and brown has noted a similar instance. the echinococcus is a tiny cestode which is the factor in the production of the well-known hydatid cysts which may be found in any part of the body. delafield and prudden report the only instance of multilocular echinococcus seen in this country. their patient was a german who had been in this country five years. there are only about of these cases on record, most of them being in bavaria and switzerland. the filaria sanguinis hominis is a small worm of the nematode species, the adult form of which lives in the lymphatics, and either the adult or the prematurely discharged ova (manson) block the lymph-channels, producing the conditions of hematochyluria, elephantiasis, and lymph-scrotum. the dracunculus medinensis or guinea-worm is a widely-spread parasite in parts of africa and the west indies. according to osler several cases have occurred in the united states. jarvis reports a case in a post-chaplain who had lived at fortress monroe, va., for thirty years. van harlingen's patient, a man of forty-seven, had never lived out of philadelphia, so that the worm must be included among the parasites infesting this country. in february, , henry of philadelphia showed microscopic slides containing blood which was infested with numbers of living and active filaria embryos. the blood was taken from a colored woman at the woman's hospital, who developed hematochyluria after labor. henry believed that the woman had contracted the disease during her residence in the southern states. curran gives quite an exhaustive article on the disease called in olden times "eaten of worms,"--a most loathsome malady. herod the great, the emperor galerius, and philip ii of spain perished from it. in speaking of the emperor galerius, dean milman, in his "history of latin christianity," says, "a deep and fetid ulcer preyed on the lower parts of his body and ate them away into a mass of living corruption." gibbon, in his "decline and fall," also says that "his (galerius's) death was caused by a very painful and lingering disorder. his body, swelled by an intemperate course of life to an unwieldy corpulence, was covered with ulcers and devoured by immense swarms of those insects who have given their names to this most loathsome disease." it is also said that the african vandal king, the arian huneric, died of the disease. antiochus, surnamed the "madman," was also afflicted with it; and josephus makes mention of it as afflicting the body of herod the great. the so-called "king pym" died of this "morbus pedicularis," but as prejudice and passion militated against him during his life and after his death, this fact is probably more rumor than verity. a case is spoken of by curran, which was seen by an army-surgeon in a very aged woman in the remote parts of ireland, and another in a female in a dissecting-room in dublin. the tissues were permeated with lice which emerged through rents and fissures in the body. instances of the larvae of the estrus or the bot-fly in the skin are not uncommon. in this country allen removed such larvae from the skin of the neck, head, and arm of a boy of twelve. bethune, delavigne, howship, jacobs, jannuzzi and others, report similar cases. these flesh-flies are called creophilae, and the condition they produce is called myiosis. according to osler, in parts of central america, the eggs of a bot-fly, called the dermatobia, are not infrequently deposited in the skin, and produce a swelling very like the ordinary boil. matas has described a case in which the estrus larvae were found in the gluteal region. finlayson of glasgow has recently reported an interesting case in a physician who, after protracted constipation and pain in the back and sides, passed large numbers of the larvae of the flower-fly, anthomyia canicularis, and there are other instances of myiosis interna from swallowing the larvae of the common house-fly. there are forms of nasal disorder caused by larvae, which some native surgeons in india regard as a chronic and malignant ulceration of the mucous membranes of the nose and adjacent sinuses in the debilitated and the scrofulous. worms lodging in the cribriform plate of the ethmoid feed on the soft tissues of that region. eventually their ravages destroy the olfactory nerves, with subsequent loss of the sense of smell, and they finally eat away the bridge of the nose. the head of the victim droops, and he complains of crawling of worms in the interior of the nose. the eyelids swell so that the patient cannot see, and a deformity arises which exceeds that produced by syphilis. lyons says that it is one of the most loathsome diseases that comes under the observation of medical men. he describes the disease as "essentially a scrofulous inflammation of the schneiderian membrane, ... which finally attacks the bones." flies deposit their ova in the nasal discharges, and from their infection maggots eventually arise. in sanskrit peenash signifies disease of the nose, and is the indian term for the disease caused by the deposition of larvae in the nose. it is supposed to be more common in south america than in india. chapter xvi. anomalous skin-diseases. ichthyosis is a disease of the skin characterized by a morbid development of the papillae and thickening of the epidermic lamellae; according as the skin is affected over a larger or smaller area, or only the epithelial lining of the follicles, it is known as ichthyosis diffusa, or ichthyosis follicularis. the hardened masses of epithelium develop in excess, the epidermal layer loses in integrity, and the surface becomes scaled like that of a fish. ichthyosis may be congenital, and over sixty years ago steinhausen described a fetal monster in the anatomic collection in berlin, the whole surface of whose body was covered with a thick layer of epidermis, the skin being so thick as to form a covering like a coat-of-mail. according to rayer the celebrated "porcupine-man" who exhibited himself in england in was an example of a rare form of ichthyosis. this man's body, except the face, the palms of the hands, and the soles of the feet, was covered with small excrescences in the form of prickles. these appendages were of a reddish-brown color, and so hard and elastic that they rustled and made a noise when the hand was passed over their surfaces. they appeared two months after birth and fell off every winter, to reappear each summer. in other respects the man was in very good health. he had six children, all of whom were covered with excrescences like himself. the hands of one of these children has been represented by edwards in his "gleanings of natural history." a picture of the hand of the father is shown in the fifty-ninth volume of the philosophical transactions. pettigrew mentions a man with warty elongations encasing his whole body. at the parts where friction occurred the points of the elongations were worn off. this man was called "the biped armadillo." his great grandfather was found by a whaler in a wild state in davis's straits, and for four generations the male members of the family had been so encased. the females had normal skins. all the members of the well-known family of lambert had the body covered with spines. two members, brothers, aged twenty-two and fourteen, were examined by geoffroy-saint-hilaire. this thickening of the epidermis and hair was the effect of some morbid predisposition which was transmitted from father to son, the daughters not being affected. five generations could be reckoned which had been affected in the manner described. the "porcupine-man" seen by baker contracted small-pox, and his skin was temporarily freed from the squamae, but these reappeared shortly afterward. there are several older records of prickly men or porcupine-men. ascanius mentions a porcupine-man, as do buffon and schreber. autenreith speaks of a porcupine-man who was covered with innumerable verrucae. martin described a remarkable variety of ichthyosis in which the skin was covered with strong hairs like the bristles of a boar. when numerous and thick the scales sometimes assumed a greenish-black hue. an example of this condition was the individual who exhibited under the name of the "alligator-boy." figure represents an "alligator-boy" exhibited by c. t. taylor. the skin affected in this case resembled in color and consistency that of a young alligator. it was remarked that his olfactory sense was intact. the harlequin fetus, of which there are specimens in guy's hospital, london hospital, and the royal college of surgeons museum, is the result of ichthyosis congenita. according to crocker either after the removal of the vernix caseosa, which may be thick, or as the skin dries it is noticeably red, smooth, shiny, and in the more severe cases covered with actual plates. in the harlequin fetus the whole surface of the body is thickly covered with fatty epidermic plates, about / inch in thickness, which are broken up by horizontal and vertical fissures, and arranged transversely to the surface of the body like a loosely-built stone wall. after birth these fissures may extend down into the corium, and on movement produce much pain. the skin is so stiff and contracted that the eyes cannot be completely opened or shut, the lips are too stiff to permit of sucking, and are often inverted; the nose and ears are atrophied, the toes are contracted and cramped, and, if not born dead, the child soon dies from starvation and loss of heat. when the disease is less severe the child may survive some time. crocker had a patient, a male child one month old, who survived three months. hallopeau and elliot also report similar cases. contagious follicular keratosis is an extremely rare affection in which there are peculiar, spine-like outgrowths, consisting in exudations of the mouths of the sebaceous glands. leloir and vidal shorten the name to acne cornee. erasmus wilson speaks of it as ichthyosis sebacea cornea. h. g. brooke describes a case in a girl of six. the first sign had been an eruption of little black spots on the nape of the neck. these spots gradually developed into papules, and the whole skin took on a dirty yellow color. soon afterward the same appearances occurred on both shoulders, and, in the same order, spread gradually down the outer sides of the arms--first black specks, then papules, and lastly pigmentation. the black specks soon began to project, and comedo-like plugs and small, spine-like growths were produced. both the spines and plugs were very hard and firmly-rooted. they resisted firm pressure with the forceps, and when placed on sheets of paper rattled like scraps of metal. a direct history of contagion was traced from this case to others. mibelli describes an uncommon form of keratodermia (porokeratosis). the patient was a man of twenty-one, and exhibited the following changes in his skin: on the left side of the neck, beyond a few centimeters below the lobe of the ear, there were about ten small warty patches, irregularly scattered, yellowish-brown in color, irregular in outline, and varying in size from a lentil to a half-franc piece, or rather more. similar patches were seen on other portions of the face. patches of varying size and form, sharply limited by a kind of small, peripheral "dike," sinuous but uninterrupted, of a color varying from red to whitish-red, dirty white, and to a hue but little different from that of the healthy skin. similar patches were seen on the right hand, and again on the back of the right hand was a wide space, prolonged upward in the form of a broad band on the posterior surface of the forearm to just below the olecranon, where the skin was a little smoother and thinner than the surrounding skin, and altogether bare of hairs. the disease was noticed at the age of two, and gradually progressed. the patient always enjoyed the most perfect health, but had contracted syphilis three years before. a brother of the patient, aged twenty-four, for sixteen years has had the same skin-affection as this patient, on the back of the hand, and the sister and father had noticed similar lesions. diffuse symmetric scleroderma, or hide-bound disease, is quite rare, and presents itself in two phases: that of infiltration (more properly called hypertrophy) and atrophy, caused by shrinkage. the whole body may be involved, and each joint may be fixed as the skin over it becomes rigid. the muscles may be implicated independently of the skin, or simultaneously, and they give the resemblance of rigor mortis. the whole skin is so hard as to suggest the idea of a frozen corpse, without the coldness, the temperature being only slightly subnormal. the skin can neither be pitted nor pinched. as crocker has well put it, when the face is affected it is gorgonized, so to speak, both to the eye and to the touch. the mouth cannot be opened; the lids usually escape, but if involved they are half closed, and in either case immovable. the effect of the disease on the chest-walls is to seriously interfere with the respiration and to flatten and almost obliterate the breasts; as to the limbs, from the shortening of the distended skin the joints are fixed in a more or less rigid position. the mucous membranes may be affected, and the secretion of both sweat and sebum is diminished in proportion to the degree of the affection, and may be quite absent. the atrophic type of scleroderma is preceded by an edema, and from pressure-atrophy of the fat and muscles the skin of the face is strained over the bones; the lips are shortened, the gums shrink from the teeth and lead to caries, and the nostrils are compressed. the strained skin and the emotionless features (relieved only by telangiectatic striae) give the countenance a ghastly, corpse-like aspect. the etiology and pathology of this disease are quite obscure. happily the prognosis is good, as there is a tendency to spontaneous recovery, although the convalescence may be extended. although regarded by many as a disease distinct from scleroderma, morphea is best described as a circumscribed scleroderma, and presents itself in two clinical aspects: patches and bands, the patches being the more common. scleroderma neonatorum is an induration of the skin, congenital and occurring soon after birth, and is invariably fatal. a disease somewhat analogous is edema neonatorum, which is a subcutaneous edema with induration affecting the new-born. if complete it is invariably fatal, but in a few cases in which the process has been incomplete recovery has occurred. gerard reports recovery from a case of sclerema neonatorum in an infant five weeks old, which seemed in perfect health but for this skin-affection. the back presented a remarkable induration which involved the entire dorsal aspect, including the deltoid regions, the upper arms, the buttocks, and the thighs, down to and involving the popliteal spaces. the edges of the indurated skin were sharply defined, irregular, and map-like. the affected skin was stretched, but not shiny, and exhibited a pink mottling; it could not be pinched between the fingers; pressure produced no pitting, but rendered the surface pale for a time. the induration upon the buttocks had been noticed immediately after birth, and the region was at first of a deep pink color. during the first nine days the trouble had extended to the thighs, but only shortly before the examination had it attacked the arms. inunctions of codliver oil were at first used, but with little improvement. blue ointment was substituted, and improvement commenced. as the induration cleared up, outlying patches of the affected skin were left surrounded by normal integument. no pitting could be produced even after the tension of the skin had decreased during recovery. the lowest rectal temperature was degrees f. in a little more than four months the skin became normal. the treatment with mercurial ointment was stopped some time before recovery. possibly the most interesting of the examples of skin-anomaly was the "elephant-man" of london. his real name was merrick. he was born at leicester, and gave an elaborate account of shock experienced by his mother shortly before his birth, when she was knocked down by an elephant at a circus; to this circumstance he attributed his unfortunate condition. he derived his name from a proboscis-like projection of his nose and lips, together with a peculiar deformity of the forehead. he was victimized by showmen during his early life, and for a time was shown in whitechapel road, where his exhibition was stopped by the police. he was afterward shown in belgium, and was there plundered of all his savings. the gruesome spectacle he presented ostracized him from the pleasures of friendship and society, and sometimes interfered with his travels. on one occasion a steamboat captain refused to take him as a passenger. treves exhibited him twice before the pathological society of london. his affection was not elephantiasis, but a complication of congenital hypertrophy of certain bones and pachydermatocele and papilloma of the skin. from his youth he suffered from a disease of the left hip-joint. the papillary masses developed on the skin of the back, buttock, and occiput. in the right pectoral and posterior aspect of the right axillary region, and over the buttocks, the affected skin hung in heavy pendulous flaps. his left arm was free from disease. his head grew so heavy that at length he had great difficulty in holding it up. he slept in a sitting or crouching position, with his hands clasped over his legs, and his head on his knees. if he lay down flat, the heavy head showed a tendency to fall back and produce a sense of suffocation. for a long time he was an inmate of the london hospital, where special quarters were provided for him, and it was there that he was found dead, april , ; while in bed his ponderous head had fallen backward and dislocated his neck. ainhum may be defined as a pathologic process, the ultimate result of which is a spontaneous amputation of the little toe. it is confined almost exclusively to negroes, chiefly males, and of african descent. in brazil it is called "ainham" or "quigila." "ainham" literally means to saw, and is doubtless a colloquial name derived from a supposed slow, sawing process. the hindoo name for it is "sukha pakla," meaning dry suppuration. in da silva lima of bahia, at the misericordia hospital, gave the first reports of this curious disease, and for quite a period it was supposed to be confined to brazilian territory. since then, however, it has been reported from nearly every quarter of the globe. relative to its geographic distribution, pyle states that da silva lima and seixas of bahia have reported numerous cases in brazil, as have figueredo, pereira, pirovano, alpin, and guimares. toppin reports it in pernambuco. mr. milton reports a case from cairo, and dr. creswell at suez, both in slaves. e. a. g. doyle reports several cases at the fernando hospital, trinidad. digby reports its prevalence on the west coast of africa, particularly among a race of negroes called krumens. messum reports it in the south african republic, and speaks of its prevalence among the kaffirs. eyles reports it on the gold coast. it has also been seen in algiers and madagascar. through the able efforts of her majesty's surgeons in india the presence of ainhum has been shown in india, and considerable investigation made as to its etiology, pathologic histology, etc. wise at dacca, smyth and crombie at calcutta, henderson at bombay, and warden, sen, crawford, and cooper in other portions of southern india have all rendered assistance in the investigation of ainhum. in china a case has been seen, and british surgeons speak of it as occurring in ceylon. von winckler presents an admirable report of cases at georgetown, british guiana. dr. potoppidan sends a report of a case in a negress on st. thomas island. the disease has several times been observed in polynesia. dr. hornaday reports a case in a negress from north carolina, and, curious to relate, horwitz of philadelphia and shepherd of canada found cases in negroes both of north carolina antecedents. dr. james evans reports a case in a negro seventy-four years of age, at darlington, s.c. dr. r. h. days of baton rouge, la., had a case in a negress, and dr. j. l. deslates, also of louisiana, reports four cases in st. james parish. pyle has seen a case in a negress aged fifty years, at the emergency hospital in washington. so prevalent is the disease in india that crawford found a case in every surgical cases at the indian hospitals. the absence of pain or inconvenience in many instances doubtless keeps the number of cases reported few, and again we must take into consideration the fact that the class of persons afflicted with ainhum are seldom brought in contact with medical men. the disease usually affects the th phalanx at the interphalangeal joint. cases of the th and other phalanges have been reported. cooper speaks of a young brahman who lost his left great toe by this process. crombie speaks of a simultaneous amputation of both fourth toes. potoppidan reports a similar case in a negress on st. thomas island. sen reports a case in a supernumerary digit in a child, whose father, a hindoo, lost a toe by ainhum. eyles reports a case in a negro in whom the second finger was affected. mirault, at angiers, speaks of a case in which two fingers were lost in fifteen days, a fact which makes his diagnosis dubious. beranger-ferraud has seen all the toes amputated, and there is a wax model by baretta, paris, in the army medical museum at washington, in which all the toes of the right foot have been amputated, and the process is fast making progress at the middle third of the leg. ainhum is much more common in males than in females; it is, in fact, distinctly rare in the latter. of von winckler's cases all were males. it may occur at any age, but is most common between thirty and thirty-five. it has been reported in utero by guyot, and was seen to extend up to the thigh, a statement that is most likely fallacious. however, there are well-authenticated cases in infants, and again in persons over seventy years of age. in some few cases the metatarso-phalangeal joint is affected; but no case has been seen at the base of the ungual phalanx. the duration of the disease is between two and four years, but dr. evans's case had been in progress fifty years. it rarely runs its full course before a year. ainhum begins as a small furrow or crack, such as soldiers often experience, at the digito-plantar fold, seen first on the inner side. this process of furrowing never advances in soldiers, and has been given a name more expressive than elegant. in ainhum the toe will swell in a few days, and a pain, burning or shooting in nature, may be experienced in the foot and leg affected. pain, however, is not constant. there may be an erythematous eruption accompanying the swelling. the furrow increases laterally and in depth, and meets on the dorsal aspect of the toe, giving the toe the appearance of being constricted by a piece of fine cord. as the furrow deepens the distal end of the toe becomes ovoid, and soon an appearance as of a marble attached to the toe by a fibrous pedicle presents itself. by this time the swelling, if any, has subsided. the distal end of the toe bends under the foot, and becomes twisted when walking, and causes inconvenience, and, unfortunately, says eyles, it is in this last stage only that the fanti presents himself. there is in the majority of cases a small ulcer in or near the digito-plantar fold, which causes most of the pain, particularly when pressed upon. this ulcer does not occur early, and is not constant. the case under pyle's observation showed no ulceration, and was absolutely painless, the negress applying for diagnosis rather than treatment. the furrow deepens until spontaneous amputation takes place, which rarely occurs, the patient generally hastening the process by his own operation, or by seeking surgical treatment. a dry scab forms at the furrow, and when picked and repicked constantly re-forms, being composed of horny desquamation or necrosis. the histology of ainhum shows it to be a direct ingrowth of epithelium, with a corresponding depression of surface due to a rapid hyperplasia that pushes down and strangles the papillae, thus cutting off the blood supply from the epithelial cells, causing them to undergo a horny change. the disease is not usually symmetric, as formerly stated, nor is it simultaneous in different toes. there are no associated constitutional symptoms, no tendency to similar morbid changes in other parts, and no infiltration elsewhere. there is little or no edema with ainhum. in ainhum there is, first, simple hypertrophy, then active hyperplasia the papillae degenerate when deprived of blood supply, and become horny. meanwhile the pressure thus exerted on the nervi vasorum sets up vascular changes which bring about epithelial changes in more distant areas, the process advancing anteriorly, that is, in the direction of the arteries. this makes the cause, according to eyles, an inflammatory and trophic phenomenon due mainly to changes following pressure on the vasomotor nerves. etiology.--the theories of the causation of ainhum are quite numerous. the first cause is the admirable location for a furrow in the digito-plantar fold, and the excellent situation of the furrow for the entrance of sand or other particles to make the irritation constant, thus causing chronic inflammatory changes, which are followed subsequently by the changes peculiar to ainhum. the cause has been ascribed to the practice of wearing rings on the toes; but von winckler says that in his locality (british guinea) this practice is confined to the coolie women, and in not one of his cases had a ring been previously worn on the toe; in fact all of the patients were males. digby says, however, that the krumens, among whom the disease is common, have long worn brass or copper rings on the fifth toe. again the natives of india, who are among those most frequently afflicted, have no such custom. injury, such as stone-bruise, has been attributed as the initial cause, and well-authenticated cases have been reported in which traumatism is distinctly remembered; but smyth, weber, and several other observers deny that habits, accidents, or work, are a feature in causation. von during reports a curious case which he calls sclerodactylia annularis ainhumoides. the patient was a boy about twelve years old, born in erzeroum, brought for treatment for scabies, and not for the affection about to be described. a very defective history led to the belief that a similar affection had not been observed in the family. when he was six years old it began on the terminal phalanges of the middle fingers. a myxomatous swelling attacked the phalanges and effected a complete absorption of the terminal phalanx. it did not advance as far as gangrene or exfoliation of bone. at the time of report the whole ten fingers were involved; the bones seemed to be thickened, the soft parts being indurated or sclerosed. in the right index finger a completely sclerosed ring passed around the middle phalanx. the nails on the absorbed phalanges had become small and considerably thickened plates. no analogous changes were found elsewhere, and sensation was perfectly normal in the affected parts. there were no signs whatever of a multiple neuritis nor of a leprous condition. there is a rare and curious condition known as "deciduous skin" or keratolysis, in which the owners possess a skin, which, like that of a serpent, is periodically cast off, that of the limbs coming off like the finger of a glove. preston of canterbury, new zealand, mentions the case of a woman who had thus shed her skin every few weeks from the age of seven or even earlier. the woman was sixty-seven years of age; the skin in every part of the body came away in casts and cuticles which separated entire and sometimes in one unbroken piece like a glove or stocking. before each paroxysm she had an associate symptom of malaise. even the skin of the nose and ears came off complete. none of the patient's large family showed this idiosyncrasy, and she said that she had been told by a medical man that it had been due to catching cold after an attack of small-pox. frank mentions a case in which there was periodic and complete shedding of the cuticle and nails of the hands and feet, which was repeated for thirty-three consecutive years on july th of each year, and between the hours of p.m. and p.m. the patient remembered shedding for the first time while a child at play. the paroxysms always commenced abruptly, constitutional febrile symptoms were first experienced, and the skin became dry and hot. the acute symptoms subsided in three or four hours and were entirely gone in twelve hours, with the exception of the redness of the skin, which did not disappear for thirty-six hours more. the patient had been delirious during this period. the cuticle began to shed some time between the third and twelfth day, in large sheets, as pictured in the accompanying illustrations. the nails were shed in about four weeks after the acute stage. crocker had an instance of this nature in a man with tylosis palmae, in which the skin was cast off every autumn, but the process lasted two months. lang observed a case in which the fingers alone were affected. there is a case of general and habitual desquamation of the skin in the ephemerides of ; and newell records a case which recovered under the use of cheltenham water for several seasons. latham describes a man of fifty who was first seized about ten years previously with a singular kind of fever, and this returned many times afterward, even twice in the course of the same year, attended with the same symptoms and circumstances, and appearing to be brought on by obstructed perspiration, in consequence of catching cold. besides the common febrile symptoms, upon the invasion of the disease his skin universally itched, more especially at the joints, and the itching was followed by many little red spots, with a small degree of swelling. soon after this his fingers became stiff; hard, and painful at the ends, and at the roots of the nails. in about twenty-four hours the cuticle began to separate from the cutis, and in ten or twelve days this separation was general from head to foot, during which time he completely turned the cuticle off from the wrists to the fingers' ends like a glove, and in like manner on the legs to the toes, after which his nails shot gradually from their roots, at first with exquisite pain, which abated as the separation of the cuticle advanced, and the old nails were generally thrown off by new ones in about six months. the cuticle rose in the palms and soles like blisters, having, however, no fluid beneath, and when it came off it left the underlying cutis exposed for a few days. sometimes, upon catching cold, before quite free from feverish symptoms, a second separation of the cuticle from the cutis occurred, but it appeared so thin as to be like scurf, demonstrating the quick renewal of the parts. there is a similar case in the philosophical transactions in a miller of thirty-five who was exposed to great heat and clouds of dust. on the first cold a fever attacked him, and once or twice a year, chiefly in the autumn, this again occurred, attended with a loosening and detachment of the cuticle. the disorder began with violent fever, attended with pains in the head, back, limbs, retching, vomiting, dry skin, furred tongue, urgent thirst, constipation, and high-colored urine. usually the whole surface of the body then became yellow. it afterward became florid like a rash, and then great uneasiness was felt for several days, with general numbness and tingling; the urine then began to deposit a thick sediment. about the third week from the first attack the cuticle appeared elevated in many places, and in eight or ten days afterward became so loose as to admit of its easy removal in large flakes. the cuticle of the hands, from the wrists to the fingers' ends, came off like a glove. the patient was never disposed to sweat, and when it was attempted to force perspiration he grew worse; nor was he much at ease until his urine deposited a sediment, after which he felt little inconvenience but from the rigidity of the skin. the nails were not detached as in the previous case. it is quite natural that such cases as this should attract the attention of the laity, and often find report in newspapers. the following is a lay-report of a "snake-boy" in shepardstown, va.:-- "jim twyman, a colored boy living with his foster-parents ten miles from this place, is a wonder. he is popularly known as the "snake-boy." mentally he is as bright as any child of his age, and he is popular with his playmates, but his physical peculiarities are probably unparalleled. his entire skin, except the face and hands, is covered with the scales and markings of a snake. these exceptions are kept so by the constant use of castile soap, but on the balance of his body the scales grow abundantly. the child sheds his skin every year. it causes him no pain or illness. from the limbs it can be pulled in perfect shape, but off the body it comes in pieces. his feet and hands are always cold and clammy. he is an inordinate eater, sometimes spending an hour at a meal, eating voraciously all the time, if permitted to do so. after these gorgings he sometimes sleeps two days. there is a strange suggestion of a snake in his face, and he can manipulate his tongue, accompanied by hideous hisses, as viciously as a serpent." under the name of dermatitis exfoliativa neonatorum, ritter has described an eruption which he observed in the foundling asylum at prague, where nearly cases occurred in ten years. according to crocker it begins in the second or third week of life, and occasionally as late as the fifth week, with diffuse and universal scaling, which may be branny or in laminae like pityriasis rubra, and either dry or with suffusion beneath the epidermis. sometimes it presents flaccid bullae like pemphigus foliaceus, and then there are crusts as well as scales, with rhagades on the mouth, anus, etc.; there is a total absence of fever or other general symptoms. about per cent die of marasmus and loss of heat, with or without diarrhea. in those who recover the surface gradually becomes pale and the desquamation ceases. opinions differ regarding it, some considering it of septic origin, while others believe it to be nothing but pemphigus foliaceus. kaposi regards it as an aggravation of the physiologic exfoliation of the new-born. elliott of new york reports two cases with a review of the subject, but none have been reported in england. cases on the continent have been described by billard, von baer, caspary, those already mentioned, and others. the name epidemic exfoliative dermatitis has been given to an epidemic skin-disease which made its appearance in in england; cases were collected in six institutions, besides sporadic cases in private houses. in , in london, some photographs and sketches were exhibited that were taken from several of the cases which occurred in the paddington infirmary and workhouse, under the care of dr. savill, from whose negatives they were prepared. they were arranged in order to illustrate the successive stages of the disorder. the eruption starts usually with discrete papules, often in stellate groups, and generally arranged symmetrically when on the limbs. these become fused into crimson, slightly raised maculae, which in severe cases become further fused into red thickened patches, in which the papules can still be felt and sometimes seen. vesicles form, and exudation occurs in only about one-third of the cases. desquamation of the epidermis is the invariable feature of all cases, and it usually commences between the fourth and eighth days. in severe cases successive layers of the epidermis are shed, in larger or smaller scales, throughout the whole course of the malady. one-half of the epidermis shed from the hand of a patient is exhibited in this collection. of sphaceloderma, or gangrene of the skin, probably the most interesting is raynaud's disease of symmetric gangrene, a vascular disorder, which is seen in three grades of intensity: there is local syncope, producing the condition known as dead-fingers or dead-toes, and analogous to that produced by intense cold; and local asphyxia, which usually follows local syncope, or may develop independently. chilblains are the mildest manifestation of this condition. the fingers, toes, and ears, are the parts usually affected. in the most extreme degree the parts are swollen, stiff, and livid, and the capillary circulation is almost stagnant; this is local or symmetric gangrene, the mildest form of which follows asphyxia. small areas of necrosis appear on the pads of the fingers and of the toes; also at the edges of the ears and tip of the nose. occasional symmetric patches appear on the limbs and trunk, and in extensive cases terminate in gangrene. raynaud suggested that the local syncope was produced by contraction of the vessels; the asphyxia is probably caused by a dilatation of the capillaries and venules, with persistence of the spasm of the arterioles. according to osler two forms of congestion occur, which may be seen in adjacent fingers, one of which may be swollen, intensely red, and extremely hot; the other swollen, cyanotic, and intensely cold. sometimes all four extremities are involved, as in southey's case, in a girl of two and a half in whom the process began on the calves, after a slight feverish attack, and then numerous patches rapidly becoming gangrenous appeared on the backs of the legs, thighs, buttocks, and upper arms, worse where there was pressure; the child died thirty-two hours after the onset. the whole phenomenon may be unilateral, as in smith's case, quoted by crocker,--in a girl of three years in whom the left hand was cold and livid, while on the right there was lividity, progressing to gangrene of the fingers and of the thumb up to the first knuckles, where complete separation occurred. a considerable number of cases of apparently spontaneous gangrene of the skin have been recorded in medical literature as occurring generally in hysteric young women. crocker remarks that they are generally classified as erythema gangraenosum, and are always to be regarded with grave suspicion of being self-induced. ehrl records an interesting case of this nature with an accompanying illustration. the patient was a girl of eighteen whose face, left breast, anus, legs, and feet became affected every autumn since her sixth year, after an attack of measles. at first the skin became red, then water-blisters formed, the size of a grain of corn, and in three days reaching the size of a hazel-nut; these burst and healed, leaving no scars. the menses appeared at the fifteenth year, lasted eight days, with great loss of blood, but there was no subsequent menstruation, and no vicarious hemorrhage. afterward the right half of the face became red for three or four weeks, with a disturbance of the sensibility of this part, including the right half of the mucosa of the mouth and the conjunctive of the right eye. at the seventeenth year the patient began to have a left-sided headache and increased sweating of the right half of the body. in the periodically-appearing skin-affection became worse. instead of healing, the broken vessels became blackish and healed slowly, leaving ulcers, granulations, and scars, and the gangrenous tendency of the skin increased. disturbance of the sight shortly intervened, associated with aphonia. the sensibility of the whole body, with the exception of the face, was greatly impaired, and there was true gangrene of the corium. a younger sister of the patient was similarly affected with symptoms of hysteria, hemianesthesia, etc. neuroses of the skin consist in augmentation of sensibility or hyperesthesia and diminution of sensibility or anesthesia. there are some curious old cases of loss of sensation. ferdinandus mentions a case of a young man of twenty-four who, after having been seized with insensibility of the whole body with the exception of the head, was cured by purgatives and other remedies. bartholinus cites the case of a young man who lost the senses of taste and feeling; and also the case of a young girl who could permit the skin of her forehead to be pricked and the skin of her neck to be burned without experiencing any pain. in his "surgery" lamothe mentions a case of insensibility of the hands and feet in consequence of a horse-kick in the head without the infliction of any external wound. in the "memoires de l'academie des sciences" for the year , we read an account of a soldier who, after having accidentally lost all sensation in his left arm, continued to go through the whole of the manual exercise with the same facility as ever. it was also known that la condamine was able to use his hands for many years after they had lost their sensation. rayer gives a case of paralysis of the skin of the left side of the trunk without any affection of the muscles, in a man of forty-three of apoplectic constitution. the paralysis extended from the left mammary region to the haunch, and from the vertebrae to the linea alba. throughout this whole extent the skin was insensible and could be pinched or even punctured without the patient being aware that he was even touched. the parts did not present any perceptible alteration in texture or in color. the patient was free from fever and made no complaint except a slight headache. rayer quotes another case in a man of sixty who had been bitten three years previously by a dog that was not mad. he was greatly frightened by the accident and every time he saw a dog he trembled violently, and on one occasion he suffered a convulsive attack for one and a half hours. the convulsions increased in number and frequency, he lost his memory, and exhibited other signs of incipient dementia. he was admitted to the hospital with two small wounds upon the head, one above the left eyebrow and the other on the scalp, occasioned by a fall on his entrance into the hospital. for several days a great degree of insensibility of the skin of the whole body was observed without any implication of the power of voluntary motion. he was entirely cured in eighteen days. duhring reports a very rare form of disease of the skin, which may be designated neuroma cutis dolorosum, or painful neuroma of the skin. the patient was a boiler-maker of seventy who had no family history bearing on the disease. ten years previously a few cutaneous tubercles the size and shape of a split-pea were noticed on the left shoulder, attended with decided itching but not with pain. the latter symptom did not come on until three years later. in the course of a year or two the lesions increased in number, so that in four years the shoulder and arm were thickly studded with them. during the next five years no particular changes occurred either in lesions or in the degree of pain. the region affected simply looked like a solid sheet of variously-sized, closely-packed, confluent tubercles, hard and dense. the tubercles were at all times painful to the touch, and even the contact of air was sufficient to cause great suffering. during the paroxysms, which occurred usually at several short intervals every day, the skin changed color frequently and rapidly, passing through various reddish and violet tints, at times becoming purplish. as a paroxysm came on the man was in the habit of gently pressing and holding the arm closely to his body. at one time he endured the attack in a standing posture, walking the floor, but usually he seated himself very near a hot stove, in a doubled-up, cramped position, utterly unmindful of all surroundings, until the worst pain had ceased. frequently he was unable to control himself, calling out piteously and vehemently and beseeching that his life be terminated by any means. in desperation he often lay and writhed on the floor in agony. the intense suffering lasted, as a rule, for about a half hour, but he was never without pain of the neuralgic type. he was freer of pain in summer than in winter. exsection of the brachial plexus was performed, but gave only temporary relief. the man died in his eighty-fourth year of senile debility. according to osler the tubercula dolorosa or true fascicular neuroma is not always made up of nerve-fibers, but, as shown by hoggan, may be an adenomatous growth of the sweat-glands. yaws may be defined as an endemic, specific, and contagious disease, characterized by raspberry-like nodules with or without constitutional disturbance. its synonym, frambesia, is from the french, framboise, a raspberry. yaws is derived from a carib word, the meaning of which is doubtful. it is a disease confined chiefly to tropical climates, and is found on the west coast of africa for about ten degrees on each side of the equator, and also on the east coast in the central regions, but rarely in the north. it is also found in madagascar, mozambique, ceylon, hindoostan, and nearly all the tropical islands of the world. crocker believes it probable that the button-scurvy of ireland, now extinct, but described by various writers of to as a contagious disease which was prevalent in the south and in the interior of the island, was closely allied to yaws, if not identical with it. the first mention of the yaws disease is by oviedo, in , who met with it in san domingo. although sauvages at the end of the last century was the first to give an accurate description of this disease, many physicians had observed it before. frambesia or yaws was observed in brazil as early as , and in america later by lebat in . in the last century winterbottom and hume describe yaws in africa, hume calling it the african distemper. in in an essay on the "natural history of guiana," bancroft mentions yaws; and thomson speaks of it in jamaica. hillary in describes yaws in barbadoes; and bajou in domingo and cayenne in , dazille having already observed it in san domingo in . crocker takes his account of yaws from numa rat of the leeward islands, who divides the case into four stages: incubation, primary, secondary, and tertiary. the incubation stage is taken from the date of infection to the first appearance of the local lesion at the sight of inoculation. it varies from three to ten weeks. the symptoms are vague, possibly palpitation, vertigo, edema of the limbs and eyelids. the primary stage begins with the initial lesion, which consists of a papule which may be found most anywhere on the body. this papule ulcerates. the secondary stage commences about a fortnight after the papule has healed. there is intermittent fever, headache, backache, and shooting pains in the limbs and intercostal spaces, like those of dengue, with nocturnal exacerbations. an eruption of minute red spots appears first on the face, and gradually extends so that the whole body is covered at the end of three days. by the seventh day the apex of the papule is of a pale yellow color, and the black skin has the appearance of being dotted over with yellow wax. the papule then develops into nodules of cylindric shape, with a dome-shaped, thick, yellow crust. it is only with the crust off that there is any resemblance to a raspberry. during the month following the raspberry appearance the skin is covered with scabs which, falling off, leave a pale macula; in dark races the macula becomes darker than normal, but in pale races it becomes paler than the natural skin, and in neither case is it scarcely ever obliterated. intense itching is almost always present, and anemia is also a constant symptom. the disease is essentially contagious and occurs at all ages and among all sexes, to a lesser degree in whites and hybrids, and is never congenital. it seems to have a tendency to undergo spontaneous recovery. furunculus orientalis, or its synonyms, oriental boil, aleppo boil, delhi boil, biskra button, etc., is a local disease occurring chiefly on the face and other uncovered spots, endemic in limited districts in hot climates, characterized by the formation of a papule, a nodule, and a scab, and beneath the last a sharply punched-out ulcer. its different names indicate the districts in which it is common, nearly always in tropical or subtropical climates. it differs from yaws in the absence of febrile symptoms, in its unity, its occurrence often on the feet and the backs of the hands, its duration, and the deep scar which it leaves. a fatal issue is rare, but disfiguring and disabling cicatrices may be left unless great care is employed. pigmentary processes.--friction, pressure, or scratching, if long continued, may produce extensive and permanent pigmentation. this is seen in its highest degree in itching diseases like prurigo and pityriasis. greenhow has published instances of this kind under the name of "vagabond's disease," a disease simulating morbus addisonii, and particularly found in tramps and vagrants. in aged people this condition is the pityriasis nigra of willan. according to crocker in two cases reported by thibierge, the oral mucous membrane was also stained. carrington and crocker both record cases of permanent pigmentation following exposure to great cold. gautier is accredited with recording in the case of a boy of six in whom pigmented patches from sepia to almost black began to form at the age of two, and were distributed all over the body. precocious maturity of the genital organs preceded and accompanied the pigmentation, but the hair was illy developed. chloasma uterinum presents some interesting anomalies. swayne records a singular variety in a woman in whom, during the last three months of three successive pregnancies, the face, arms, hands, and legs were spotted like a leopard, and remained so until after her confinement. crocker speaks of a lady of thirty whose skin during each pregnancy became at first bronze, as if it had been exposed to a tropical sun, and then in spots almost black. kaposi knew a woman with a pigmented mole two inches square on the side of the neck, which became quite black at each pregnancy, and which was the first recognizable sign of her condition. it is quite possible that the black disease of the garo hills in assam is due to extreme and acute development of a pernicious form of malaria. in chronic malaria the skin may be yellowish, from a chestnut-brown to a black color, after long exposure to the influence of the fever. various fungi, such as tinea versicolor and the mexican "caraati," may produce discoloration on the skin. acanthosis nigricans may be defined as a general pigmentation with papillary mole-like growths. in the "international atlas of rare skin diseases" there are two cases pictured, one by politzer in a woman of sixty-two, and the other by janovsky in a man of forty-two. the regions affected were mostly of a dirty-brown color, but in patches of a bluish-gray. the disease began suddenly in the woman, but gradually in the man. crocker has reported a case somewhat similar to these two, under the head of general bronzing without constitutional symptoms, in a swedish sailor of twenty-two, with rapid onset of pigmentation. xeroderma pigmentosum, first described by kaposi in , is a very rare disease, but owing to its striking peculiarities is easily recognized. crocker saw the first three cases in england, and describes one as a type. the patient was a girl of twelve, whose general health and nutrition were good. the disease began when she was between twelve and eighteen months old, without any premonitory symptom. the disease occupied the parts habitually uncovered in childhood. the whole of these areas was more or less densely speckled with pigmented, freckle-like spots, varying in tint from a light, raw umber to a deep sepia, and in size from a pin's head to a bean, and of a roundish and irregular shape. interspersed among the pigment-spots, but not so numerous, were white atrophic spots, which in some parts coalesced, forming white, shining, cicatrix-like areas. the skin upon this was finely wrinkled, and either smooth or shiny, or covered with thin, white scales. on these white areas bright red spots were conspicuous, due to telangiectasis, and there were also some stellate vascular spots and strife interspersed among the pigment. small warts were seen springing up from some of the pigment spots. these warts ulcerated and gave rise to numerous superficial ulcerations, covered with yellow crusts, irregularly scattered over the face, mostly on the right side. the pus coming from these ulcers was apparently innocuous. the patient complained neither of itching nor of pain. archambault has collected cases, and gives a good resume to date. amiscis reports two cases of brothers, in one of whom the disease began at eight months, and in the other at a year, and concludes that it is not a lesion due to external stimuli or known parasitic elements, but must be regarded as a specific, congenital dystrophy of the skin, of unknown pathogenesis. however, observations have shown that it may occur at forty-three years (riehl), and sixty-four years (kaposi). crocker believes that the disease is an atrophic degeneration of the skin, dependent on a primary neurosis, to which there is a congenital predisposition. nigrities is a name given by the older writers to certain black blotches occurring on the skin of a white person--in other words, it is a synonym of melasma. according to rayer it is not uncommon to see the scrotum and the skin of the penis of adults almost black, so as to form a marked contrast with the pubes and the upper part of the thighs. haller met with a woman in whom the skin of the pubic region was as black as that of a negress. during nursing the nipples assume a deep black color which disappears after weaning. le cat speaks of a woman of thirty years, whose forehead assumed a dusky hue of the color of iron rust when she was pregnant about the seventh month. by degrees the whole face became black except the eyes and the edges of the lips, which retained their natural color. on some days this hue was deeper than on others; the woman being naturally of a very fair complexion had the appearance of an alabaster figure with a black marble head. her hair, which was naturally exceedingly dark, appeared coarser and blacker. she did not suffer from headache, and her appetite was good. after becoming black, the face was very tender to the touch. the black color disappeared two days after her accouchement, and following a profuse perspiration by which the sheets were stained black. her child was of a natural color. in the following pregnancy, and even in the third, the same phenomenon reappeared in the course of the seventh month; in the eighth month it disappeared, but in the ninth month this woman became the subject of convulsions, of which she had one each day. the existence of accidental nigrities rests on well-established facts which are distinctly different from the pigmentation of purpura, icterus, or that produced by metallic salts. chomel quotes the case of a very apathic old soldier, whose skin, without any appreciable cause, became as brown as that of a negro in some parts, and a yellowish-brown in others. rustin has published the case of a woman of seventy who became as black as a negress in a single night. goodwin relates the case of an old maiden lady whose complexion up to the age of twenty-one was of ordinary whiteness, but then became as black as that of an african. wells and rayer have also published accounts of cases of accidental nigrities. one of the latter cases was a sailor of sixty-three who suffered from general nigrities, and the other was in a woman of thirty, appearing after weaning and amenorrhea. mitchell bruce has described an anomalous discoloration of the skin and mucous membranes resembling that produced by silver or cyanosis. the patient, a harness-maker of forty-seven, was affected generally over the body, but particularly in the face, hands, and feet. the conjunctival, nasal, and aural mucosa were all involved. the skin felt warm, and pressure did not influence the discoloration. the pains complained of were of an intermittent, burning, shooting character, chiefly in the epigastric and left lumbar regions. the general health was good, and motion and sensation were normal. nothing abnormal was discovered in connection with the abdominal and thoracic examinations. the pains and discoloration had commenced two years before his admission, since which time the skin had been deepening in tint. he remained under observation for three months without obvious change in his symptoms. there was nothing in the patient's occupation to account for the discoloration. a year and a half previously he had taken medicine for his pains, but its nature could not be discovered. he had had syphilis. galtier mentions congenital and bronze spots of the skin. a man born in switzerland the latter part of the last century, calling himself joseph galart, attracted the attention of the curious by exhibiting himself under the name of the "living angel." he presented the following appearance: the skin of the whole posterior part of the trunk, from the nape of the neck to the loins, was of a bronze color. this color extended over the shoulders and the sides of the neck, and this part was covered with hairs of great fineness and growing very thick; the skin of the rest of the body was of the usual whiteness. those parts were the darkest which were the most covered with hair; on the back there was a space of an inch in diameter, which had preserved its whiteness, and where the hairs were fewer in number, darker at their bases, and surrounded by a very small black circle; the hair was thinner at the sides of the neck; there were a great many individual hairs surrounded by circles of coloring matter; but there were also many which presented nothing of this colored areola. in some places the general dark color of the skin blended with the areola surrounding the roots of the hair, so that one uniform black surface resulted. in many places the dark color changed into black. the irides were brown. the man was of very unstable character, extremely undecided in all his undertakings, and had a lively but silly expression of countenance. a distinct smell, as of mice, with a mixture of a garlicky odor, was emitted from those parts where the excessive secretion of the coloring matter took place. in those places the heat was also greater than natural. rayer recites the case of a young man whom he saw, whose eyelids and adjacent parts of the cheeks were of a bluish tint, similar to that which is produced on the skin by the explosion of gunpowder. billard has published an extraordinary case of blue discoloration of the skin in a young laundress of sixteen. her neck, face, and upper part of the chest showed a beautiful blue tint, principally spreading over the forehead, the alae, and the mouth. when these parts were rubbed with a white towel the blue parts of the skin were detached on the towel, coloring it, and leaving the skin white. the girl's lips were red, the pulse was regular and natural, and her strength and appetite like that of a person in health. the only morbid symptom was a dry cough, but without mucous rattle or any deficiency of the sound of the chest or alteration of the natural beat of the heart. the catamenia had never failed. she had been engaged as a laundress for the past two years. from the time she began this occupation she perceived a blueness around her eyes, which disappeared however on going into the air. the phenomenon reappeared more particularly when irons were heated by a bright charcoal fire, or when she worked in a hot and confined place. the blueness spread, and her breast and abdomen became shaded with an azure blue, which appeared deeper or paler as the circulation was accelerated or retarded. when the patient's face should have blushed, the face became blue instead of red. the changes exhibited were like the sudden transition of shades presented by the chameleon. the posterior part of the trunk, the axillae, the sclerotic coats of the eyes, the nails, and the skin of the head remained in their natural state and preserved their natural color. the linen of the patient was stained blue. chemical analysis seemed to throw no light on this case, and the patient improved on alkaline treatment. she vomited blood, which contained sufficient of the blue matter to stain the sides of the vessel. she also stated that in hemorrhage from the nose she had seen blue drops among the drops of blood. one cannot but suspect indigo as a factor in the causation of this anomalous coloration. artificial discolorations of the skin are generally produced by tattooing, by silver nitrate, mercury, bismuth, or some other metallic salt. melasma has been designated as an accidental and temporary blackish discoloration of the skin. there are several varieties: that called addison's disease, that due to uterine disease, etc. in this affection the skin assumes a dark and even black hue. leukoderma is a pathologic process, the result of which is a deficiency in the normal pigmentation of the skin, and possibly its appendages. its synonyms are leukopathia, vitiligo, achroma, leukasmus, and chloasma album. in india the disease is called sufaid-korh, meaning white leprosy. it has numerous colloquial appellations, such as chumba or phoolyree (hindoo), buras (urdu), cabbore (singalese), kuttam (taneil), dhabul (bengal). it differs from albinism in being an acquired deficiency of pigment, not universal and not affecting the eye. albinism is congenital, and the hair and eyes are affected as well as the skin. the disease is of universal distribution, but is naturally more noticeable in the dark-skinned races. it is much more common in this country among the negroes than is generally supposed. the "leopard-boy of africa," so extensively advertised by dime museums over the country, was a well-defined case of leukoderma in a young mulatto, a fitting parallel for the case of ichthyosis styled the "alligator-boy." figure represents a family of three children, all the subjects of leukoderma. leukoderma is more common among females. it is rarely seen in children, being particularly a disease of middle age. bissell reports a case in an indian ninety years of age, subsequent to an attack of rheumatism thirty years previous. it is of varying duration, nearly every case giving a different length of time. it may be associated with most any disease, and is directly attributable to none. in a number of cases collected rheumatism has been a marked feature. it has been noticed following typhoid fever and pregnancy. in white persons there are spots or blotches of pale, lustreless appearance either irregular or symmetric, scattered over the body. in the negro and other dark-skinned races a mottled appearance is seen. if the process goes to completion, the whole surface changes to white. the hair, though rarely affected, may present a mottled appearance. there seems to be no constitutional disturbances, no radical change in the skin, no pain--in fact, no disturbance worthy of note. the eye is not affected; but in a negro the sclerotic generally appears muddy. it appears first in small spots, either on the lips, nose, eyelids, soles, palms, or forehead, and increases peripherally--the several spots fusing together. the skin is peculiarly thin and easily irritated. exposure to the sun readily blisters it, and after the slightest abrasion it bleeds freely. several cases have been reported in which the specific gravity of the urine was extremely high, due to an excess of urea. wood calls attention to the wave-like course of leukoderma, receding on one side, increasing on the other. the fading is gradual, and the margins may be abrupt or diffuse. the mucous membranes are rosy. the functions of the swell-glands are unimpaired. the theory of the absence of pigment causing a loss of the olfactory sense, spoken of by wallace, is not borne out by several observations of wood and others. wilson says: "leukasma is a neurosis, the result of weakened innervation of the skin, the cause being commonly referable to the organs of assimilation or reproduction." it is not a dermatitis, as a dermatitis usually causes deposition of pigment. the rays of the sun bronze the skin; mustard, cantharides, and many like irritants cause a dermatitis, which is accompanied by a deposition of pigment. leukoderma is as common in housemaids as in field-laborers, and is in no way attributable to exposure of sun or wind. true leukodermic patches show no vascular changes, no infiltration, but a partial obliteration of the rete mucosum. it has been ascribed to syphilis; but syphilitic leukoderma is generally the result of cicatrices following syphilitic ulceration. many observers have noticed that negroes become several degrees lighter after syphilization; but no definite relation between syphilis and leukoderma has yet been demonstrated in this race. postmortem examinations of leukodermic persons show no change in the suprarenal capsule, a supposed organ of pigmentation. climate has no influence. it is seen in the indians of the isthmus of darien, the hottentots, and the icelanders. why the cells of the rete mucosum should have the function in some races of manufacturing or attracting pigment in excess of those of other races, is in itself a mystery. by his experiments on the pigment-cells of a frog lister has established the relation existing between these elements and innervation, which formerly had been supposititious. doubtless a solution of the central control of pigmentation would confirm the best theory of the cause of leukoderma--i.e., faulty innervation of the skin. at present, whether the fault is in the cell proper, the conducting media, or the central center, we are unable to say. it is certainly not due to any vascular disturbances, as the skin shows no vascular changes. white spots on the nails are quite common, especially on young people. the mechanic cause is the presence of air between the lamellae of the affected parts, but their origin is unknown. according to crocker in some cases they can be shown to be a part of trophic changes. bielschowsky records the case of a man with peripheral neuritis, in whom white spots appeared at the lower part of the finger-nails, grew rapidly, and in three weeks coalesced into a band across each nail a millimeter wide. the toes were not affected. shoemaker mentions a patient who suffered from relapsing fever and bore an additional band for each relapse. crocker quotes a case reported by morison of baltimore, in which transverse bars of white, alternating with the normal color, appeared without ascertainable cause on the finger-nails of a young lady and remained unchanged. giovannini describes a case of canities unguium in a patient of twenty-nine, following an attack of typhoid fever. on examining the hands of this patient the nails showed in their entire extent a white, opaque, almost ivory color. an abnormal quantity of air found in the interior of the nails explains in this particular case their impaired appearance. it is certain that the nails, in order to have admitted such a large quantity of air into their interior must have altered in their intimate structure; and giovannini suggests that they were subject to an abnormal process of keratinization. unna describes a similar case, which, however, he calls leukonychia. plica polonica, or, as it was known in cracow--weicselzopf, is a disease peculiar to poland, or to those of polish antecedents, characterized by the agglutination, tangling, and anomalous development of the hair, or by an alteration of the nails, which become spongy and blackish. in older days the disease was well known and occupied a prominent place in books on skin-diseases. hercules de saxonia and thomas minadous, in , speak of plica as a disease already long known. the greater number of writers fix the date of its appearance in poland at about the year , under the reign of lezekle-noir. lafontaine stated that in the provinces of cracow and sandomir plica formerly attacked the peasantry, beggars, and jews in the proportion of / in ; and the nobility and burghers in the proportion of two in or . in warsaw and surrounding districts the disease attacked the first classes in the proportion of one to ten, and in the second classes one to . in lithuania the same proportions were observed as in warsaw; but the disease has gradually grown rarer and rarer to the present day, although occasional cases are seen even in the united states. plica has always been more frequent on the banks of the vistula and borysthenes, in damp and marshy situations, than in other parts of poland. the custom formerly prevailing in poland of shaving the heads of children, neglect of cleanliness, the heat of the head-dress, and the exposure of the skin to cold seem to favor the production of this disease. plica began after an attack of acute fever, with pains like those of acute rheumatism in the head and extremities, and possibly vertigo, tinnitus aurium, ophthalmia, or coryza. sometimes a kind of redness was observed on the thighs, and there was an alteration of the nails, which became black and rough, and again, there was clammy sweat. when the scalp was affected the head was sore to the touch and excessively itchy. a clammy and agglutinating sweat then occurred over the cranium, the hair became unctuous, stuck together, and appeared distended with an adhesive matter of reddish-brown color, believed by many observers to be sanguineous. the hair was so acutely sensitive that the slightest touch occasioned severe pain at the roots. a viscid matter of a very offensive smell, like that of spoiled vinegar, or according to rayer like that of mice or garlic, exuded from the whole surface of each affected hair. this matter glued the hairs together, at first from their exit at the skin, and then along the entire length; it appeared to be secreted from the whole surface of the scalp and afterward dried into an incrustation. if there was no exudation the disease was called plica sicca. the hair was matted and stuck together in a variety of ways, so as to resemble ropes (plica multiformis). sometimes these masses united together and formed one single thick club like the tail of a horse (plica caudiformis). again, and particularly in females, the hair would become matted and glued together into one uniform intricate mass of various magnitudes. the hair of the whole body was likely to be attacked with this disease. kalschmidt of jena possessed the pubes of a woman dead of plica, the hair of which was of such length that it must have easily gone around the body. there was formerly a superstition that it was dangerous to cut the hair until the discharge diminished. lafontaine, schlegel, and hartman all assure us that the section of the affected masses before this time has been known to be followed by amaurosis, convulsions, apoplexy, epilepsy, and even death. alarmed or taught by such occurrences, the common people often went about all their lives with the plica gradually dropping off. formerly there was much theorizing and discussion regarding the etiology and pathology of plica, but since this mysterious affection has been proved to be nothing more than the product of neglect, and the matting due to the inflammatory exudation, excited by innumerable pediculi, agglutinating the hair together, the term is now scarcely mentioned in dermatologic works. crocker speaks of a rare form which he entitles neuropathic plica, and cites two cases, one reported by le page whose specimen is in the royal college of surgeons museum; and the other was in a hindoo described by pestonji. both occurred in young women, and in both it came on after washing the hair in warm water, one in a few minutes, and the other in a few hours. the hair was drawn up into a hard tangled lump, impossible to unravel, limited to the right side in le page's patient, who had very long hair, and in pestonji's case to the back of the head, where on each side was an elongated mass, very hard and firm, like a rope and about the size of the fist. there was no reason to believe that it was ascribable to imposture; the hindoo woman cut the lumps off herself and threw them away. le page found the most contracted hairs flattened. stellwagon reports a case of plica in a woman. it occupied a dollar-sized area above the nape of the neck, and in twelve years reached the length of feet. there was no history of its manner of onset. tinea nodosa is a name given by morris and cheadle to a case of nodular growth on the beard and whiskers of a young man. in a case noticed by crocker this disease affected the left side of the mustache of a medical man, who complained that the hair, if twisted up, stuck together. when disintegrated the secretion in this case seemed to be composed of fungous spores. epithelium fragments, probably portions of the internal root-sheath, sometimes adhere to the shaft of the hair as it grows up, and look like concretions. crocker states that he is informed by white of boston that this disease is common in america in association with alopecia furfuracea, and is erroneously thought to be the cause of the loss of hair, hence the popular name, "hair-eaters." thomson describes a case of mycosis fungoides in a young girl of the age of fourteen, whom he saw in brussels toward the end of october, . she was the third of a family of children of whom only five survived. of the children born subsequently to the patient, the first were either premature or died a few days after their births. the seventh was under treatment for interstitial keratitis and tuberculous ulceration of the lips and throat. the disease in the patient made its appearance about seven months previously, as a small raised spot in the middle of the back just above the buttocks. many of the patches coalesced. at the time of report the lumbar region was the seat of the disease, the affection here presenting a most peculiar appearance, looking as if an enormous butterfly had alighted on the patient's back, with its dark blue wings covered with silvery scales, widely expanded. the patient was not anemic and appeared to be in the best of health. none of the glands were affected. according to thomson there is little doubt that this disease is caused by non-pyogenic bacteria gaining access to the sweat-glands. the irritation produced by their presence gives rise to proliferation of the connective-tissue corpuscles. jamieson reports a case of mycosis in a native of aberdeenshire aged thirty-eight. there was no history of any previous illness. the disease began three years previous to his application for treatment, as a red, itching, small spot on the cheek. two years later lumps presented themselves, at first upon his shoulders. the first thing to strike an observer was the offensive odor about the patient. in the hospital wards it made all the occupants sick. the various stages of the disease were marked upon the different parts of the body. on the chest and abdomen it resembled an eczema, on the shoulders there were brown, pinkish-red areas. on the scalp the hair was scanty, the eye-brows denuded, and the eyelashes absent. the forehead was leonine in aspect. from between the various nodosities a continual discharge exuded, the nodosities being markedly irregular over the limbs. the backs of the hands, the dorsums of the feet, the wrists and ankles, had closely approximating growths upon them, while under the thick epidermis of the palms of the hands were blisters. itching was intense. the patient became emaciated and died thirteen days after his admission into the hospital. a histologic examination showed the sarcomatous nature of the various growths. the disease differed from "button-scurvy." mycosis fungoides approximates, clinically and histologically, granulomata and sarcomata. morris described an interesting case of universal dermatitis, probably a rare variety of mycosis fungoides. the patient had for many years a disease which had first appeared on the arms and legs, and which was usually regarded by the physicians who saw the case as eczema. at times the disease would entirely disappear, but it relapsed, especially during visits to india. at the time the patient came under the care of morris, his general health seemed unaffected. the skin of the whole body, except the face, the scalp, and the front of the chest, was of a mahogany color. the skin of the lips was so thickened that it could not be pinched into folds, and was of a mottled appearance, due to hemorrhagic spots. all over the thickened and reddened surface were scattered crops of vesicles and boils. the nails were deformed, and the toes beyond the nails were tense with a serous accumulation. the glands in the right axilla and the groin were much enlarged. the hair on the pubes had disappeared. the abdomen was in a condition similar to that upon the limbs, but less in degree. the front of the chest below the nipples was covered with dark papules the size of a pin's head. the back, the buttocks, the face, and the scalp presented similar lesions. the most striking lesions were three ulcers--one on the back of the right hand, one on the right temple, and the other on the left cheek. the largest was the size of a florin, and had elevated borders, somewhat infiltrated; they were covered with a brown, dry scab. the patient suffered from itching at night so that he could not sleep. he was kept under observation, and in spite of treatment the malady advanced in a periodic manner, each exacerbation being preceded by a feeling of tension in the parts, after which a crop of vesicles would appear. sometimes, especially on the feet, bullae formed. the patient finally left the hospital and died of an intercurrent attack of pneumonia. a microscopic examination revealed a condition which might be found with a number of the chronic affections of the skin, but, in addition, there were certain cell-inclusions which were thought to represent psorosperms. morris thought this case corresponded more to mycosis fungoides than any other malady. chapter xvii. anomalous nervous and mental diseases. epilepsy has been professionally recognized as a distinct type of disease since the time of hippocrates, but in earlier times, and popularly throughout later times, it was illy defined. the knowledge of the clinical symptoms has become definite only since the era of cerebral local anatomy and localization. examination of the older records of epilepsy shows curious forms recorded. the ephemerides speaks of epilepsy manifested only on the birthday. testa mentions epilepsy recurring at the festival of st. john, and bartholinus reports a case in which the convulsions corresponded with the moon's phases. paullini describes epilepsy which occurred during the blowing of wind from the south, and also speaks of epilepsy during the paroxysms of which the individual barked. fabricius and the ephemerides record dancing epilepsy. bartholinus and hagendorn mention cases during which various splendors appeared before the eyes during the paroxysm. godart portius, and salmuth speak of visions occurring before and after epileptic paroxysms. the ephemerides contains records of epilepsy in which blindness preceded the paroxysm, in which there was singing during it, and a case in which the paroxysm was attended with singultus. various older writers mention cases of epilepsy in which curious spots appeared on the face; and the kinds of aura mentioned are too numerous to transcribe. baly mentions a case of epilepsy occasioned by irritation in the socket of a tooth. webber reports a case of epilepsy due to phimosis and to irritation from a tooth. beardsley speaks of an attempt at strangulation that produced epilepsy. brown-sequard records an instance produced by injury to the sciatic nerve. doyle gives an account of the production of epilepsy from protracted bathing in a pond. duncan cites an instance of epilepsy connected with vesical calculus that was cured by lithotomy. museroft mentions an analogous case. greenhow speaks of epilepsy arising from an injury to the thumb. garmannus, early in the eighteenth century, describes epilepsy arising from fright and terror. bristowe in , and farre speak of similar instances. in farre's case the disease was temporarily cured by an attack of acute rheumatism. thorington of philadelphia has seen a paroxysm of epilepsy induced by the instillation of atropia in the eye of a child nearly cured of the malady. it was supposed that the child was terrified on awakening and finding its vision suddenly diminished, and that the convulsions were directly due to the emotional disturbance. orwin describes epilepsy from prolonged lactation, and instances of ovarian and uterine epilepsy are quite common. there is a peculiar case of running epilepsy recorded. the patient was a workman who would be suddenly seized with a paroxysm, and unconsciously run some distance at full speed. on one occasion he ran from peterborough to whittlesey, where he was stopped and brought back. once he ran into a pit containing six feet of water, from which he was rescued. yeo says that sexual intercourse occasionally induces epilepsy, and relates a case in which a severe epileptic fit terminated fatally three days after the seizure, which occurred on the nuptial night. drake reports the case of a man who was wounded in the war of , near baltimore, the ball passing along the left ear and temple so close as to graze the skin. eighteen years after the accident he suffered with pain in the left ear and temple, accompanied by epileptic fits and partial amnesia, together with an entire loss of power of remembering proper names and applying them to the objects to which they belonged. he would, for instance, invariably write kentucky for louisville. beirne records the case of a dangerous lunatic, an epileptic, who was attacked by a fellow-inmate and sustained an extensive fracture of the right parietal bone, with great hemorrhage, followed by coma. strange to say, after the accident he recovered his intellect, and was cured of his epileptic attacks, but for six years he was a paralytic from the hips down. the dancing mania.--chorea has appeared in various epidemic forms under the names of st. vitus's dance, st. guy's dance, st. anthony's dance, choromania, tanzplage, orchestromania, dance of st. modesti or st. john, the dancing mania, etc.; although these various functional phenomena of the nervous system have been called chorea, they bear very little resemblance to what, at the present day, is called by this name. the epidemic form appeared about , although hecker claims that, at that time, it was no new thing. assemblages of men and women were seen at aix-la-chapelle who, impelled by a common delusion, would form circles, hand in hand, and dance in wild delirium until they fell to the ground exhausted, somewhat after the manner of the ghost-dance or messiah-dance of our north american indians. in their bacchantic leaps they were apparently haunted by visions and hallucinations, the fancy conjuring up spirits whose names they shrieked out. some of them afterward stated that they appeared to be immersed in a stream of blood which obliged them to leap so high. others saw the heavens open and disclose the saviour enthroned with the virgin mary. the participants seemed to suffer greatly from tympanites which was generally relieved by compression or thumping on the abdomen. a few months after this dancing malady had made its appearance at aix-la-chapelle it broke out at cologne, and about the same time at metz, the streets of which were said to have been filled with dancers. this rich city became the scene of the most ruinous disorder. peasants left their plows, mechanics their shops, servants their masters, children their homes; and beggars and idle vagabonds, who understood how to imitate the convulsions, roved from place to place, inducing all sorts of crime and vice among the afflicted. strasburg was visited by the dancing plague in , and it was here that the plague assumed the name of st. vitus's dance. st. vitus was a sicilian youth who, just at the time he was about to undergo martyrdom by order of diocletian, in the year , is said to have prayed to god that he might protect all those who would solemnize the day of his commemoration and fast upon its eve. the people were taught that a voice from heaven was then heard saying, "vitus, thy prayer is accepted." paracelsus called this malady (chorus sancti viti) the lascivious dance, and says that persons stricken with it were helpless until relieved by either recovery or death. the malady spread rapidly through france and holland, and before the close of the century was introduced into england. in his "anatomy of melancholy" burton refers to it, and speaks of the idiosyncrasies of the individuals afflicted. it is said they could not abide one in red clothes, and that they loved music above all things, and also that the magistrates in germany hired musicians to give them music, and provided them with sturdy companions to dance with. their endurance was marvelous. plater speaks of a woman in basle whom he saw, that danced for a month. in strasburg many of them ate nothing for days and nights until their mania subsided. paracelsus, in the beginning of the sixteenth century, was the first to make a study of this disease. he outlined the severest treatment for it, and boasted that he cured many of the victims. hecker conjectures that probably the wild revels of st. john's day, , gave rise to this mental plague, which thenceforth visited so many thousands with incurable aberrations of mind and disgusting distortions of the body. almost simultaneous with the dance of "st. with," there appeared in italy and arabia a mania very similar in character which was called "tarantism," which was supposed to originate in the bite of the tarantula. the only effective remedy was music in some form. in the tigre country, abyssinia, this disease appeared under the name of "tigretier." the disease, fortunately, rapidly declined, and very little of it seems to have been known in the sixteenth century, but in the early part of the eighteenth century a peculiar sect called the "convulsionnaires" arose in france; and throughout england among the methodist sect, insane convulsions of this nature were witnessed; and even to the present day in some of the primitive religious meetings of our people, something not unlike this mania of the middle ages is perpetuated. paracelsus divided the sufferers of st. vitus's dance into three classes .-- ( ) those in which the affliction arose from imagination (chorea imaginativa). ( ) those which had their origin in sexual desires depending on the will. ( ) those arising from corporeal causes (chorea naturalis). this last case, according to a strange notion of his own he explained by maintaining that in certain vessels which are susceptible of an internal pruriency, and thence produced laughter, the blood is set into commotion in consequence of an alteration in the vital spirits, whereby are occasioned involuntary fits of intoxicating joy, and a propensity to dance. the great physician sydenham gave the first accurate description of what is to-day called chorea, and hence the disease has been named "sydenham's chorea." so true to life was his portrayal of the disease that it has never been surpassed by modern observers. the disease variously named palmus, the jumpers, the twitchers, lata, miryachit, or, as it is sometimes called, the emeryaki of siberia, and the tic-convulsif of la tourette, has been very well described by gray who says that the french authors had their attention directed to the subject by the descriptions of two american authors--those of beard upon "the jumpers of maine," published in , and that of hammond upon "miryachit," a similar disease of the far orient. beard found that the jumpers of maine did unhesitatingly whatever they were told to do. thus, one who was sitting in a chair was told to throw a knife that he had in his hand, and he obeyed so quickly that the weapon stuck in a house opposite; at the same time he repeated the command given him, with a cry of alarm not unlike that of hysteria or epilepsy. when he was suddenly clapped upon the shoulder he threw away his pipe, which he had been filling with tobacco. the first parts of virgil's aeneid and homer's iliad were recited to one of these illiterate jumpers, and he repeated the words as they came to him in a sharp voice, at the same time jumping or throwing whatever he had in his hand, or raising his shoulder, or making some other violent motion. it is related by o'brien, an irishman serving on an english naval vessel, that an elderly and respectable malay woman, with whom he was conversing in an entirely unsuspecting manner, suddenly began to undress herself, and showed a most ominous and determined intention of stripping herself completely, and all because a by-standing friend had suddenly taken off his coat; at the same time she manifested the most violent anger at what she deemed this outrage to her sex, calling the astonished friend an abandoned hog, and begging o'brien to kill him. o'brien, furthermore, tells of a cook who was carrying his child in his arms over the bridge of a river, while at the same time a sailor carried a log of wood in like manner; the sailor threw his log of wood on an awning, amusing himself by causing it to roll over the cloth, and finally letting it fall to the bridge; the cook repeated every motion with his little boy, and killed him on the spot. this miryachit was observed in malaysia, bengal, among the sikhs and the nubians, and in siberia, whilst beard has observed it in michigan as well as in maine. crichton speaks of a leaping ague in angusshire, scotland. gray has seen only one case of acute palmus, and records it as follows: "it was in a boy of six, whose heredity, so far as i could ascertain from the statements of his mother, was not neurotic. he had had trouble some six months before coming to me. he had been labeled with a number of interesting diagnoses, such as chorea, epilepsy, myotonia, hysteria, and neurasthenia. his palmodic movements were very curious. when standing near a table looking at something, the chin would suddenly come down with a thump that would leave a black-and-blue mark, or his head would be thrown violently to one side, perhaps coming in contact with some adjacent hard object with equal force, or, while standing quietly, his legs would give a sudden twitch, and he would be thrown violently to the ground, and this even happened several times when he was seated on the edge of a stool. the child was under my care for two weeks, and, probably because of an intercurrent attack of diarrhea, grew steadily worse during that time, in spite of the full doses of arsenic which were administered to him. he was literally covered with bruises from the sudden and violent contacts with articles of furniture, the floor, and the walls. at last, in despair at his condition, i ordered him to be undressed and put to bed, and steadily pushed the fowler's solution of arsenic until he was taking ten drops three times a day, when, to my great surprise, he began to improve rapidly, and at the end of six weeks was perfectly well. keeping him under observation for two weeks longer i finally sent him to his home in the west, and am informed that he has since remained perfectly well. it has seemed to me that many of the cases recorded as paramyoclonus multiples have been really acute palmus." gray mentions two cases of general palmus with pseudomelancholia, and describes them in the following words:-- "the muscular movements are of the usual sudden, shock-like type, and of the same extent as in what i have ventured to call the general form. with them, however, there is associated a curious pseudomelancholia, consisting of certain fixed melancholy suspicious delusions, without, however, any of the suicidal tendencies and abnormal sensations up and down the back of the head, neck, or spine, or the sleeplessness, which are characteristic of most cases of true melancholia. in both of my cases the palmus had existed for a long period, the exact limits of which, however, i could not determine, because the patient scouted the idea that he had had any trouble of the kind, but which the testimony of friends and relatives seemed to vouch for. they were both men, one thirty-six and one thirty-eight years of age. the pseudomelancholia, however, had only existed in one case for about a year, and in the other for six months. one case passed away from my observation, and i know nothing of its further course. the other case recovered in nine months' treatment, and during the three years that have since elapsed he has been an active business man, although i have not seen him myself during that period, as he took a great dislike to me because i was forced to take strong measures to keep him under treatment, so persistent were his suspicions." athetosis was first described by hammond in , who gave it the name because it was mainly characterized by an inability to retain the fingers and toes in any position in which they might be planed, as well as by their continuous motion. according to drewry "athetosis is a cerebral affection, presenting a combination of symptoms characterized chiefly by a more or less constant mobility of the extremities and an inability to retain them in any fixed position. these morbid, grotesque, involuntary movements are slow and wavy, somewhat regular and rigid, are not jerky, spasmodic, nor tremulous. the movements of the digits are quite different from those attending any other disease, impossible to imitate even by the most skilful malingerer, and, if once seen, are not likely to be forgotten. in an athetoid hand, says starr, the interossei and lumbricales, which flex the metacarpo-phalangeal and extend the phalangeal joints, are affected; rarely are the long extensors and the long flexors affected. therefore the hand is usually in the so-called interosseal position, with flexion of the proximal and extension of the middle and distal phalanges. the athetoid movements of the toes correspond to those of the fingers in point of action. in a great majority of cases the disease is confined to one side (hemiathetosis), and is a sequel of hemiplegia. the differential diagnosis of athetosis is generally easily made. the only nervous affections with which it could possibly be confounded are chorea and paralysis agitans. attention to the twitching, spasmodic, fibrillary movements, having a quick beginning and a quick ending, which is characteristic in sydenham's chorea, would at once exclude that disease. these jerky movements peculiar to st. vitus's dance may be easily detected in a few or many muscles, if moderate care and patience be exercised on the part of the examiner. this form of chorea is almost always a disease of childhood. so-called post-hemiplegic chorea is, in the opinion of both hammond and gray, simply athetosis. the silly, dancing, posturing, wiry movements, and the facial distortion observed in huntington's chorea would hardly be mistaken by a careful observer for athetosis. the two diseases, however, are somewhat alike. paralysis agitans (shaking palsy), with its coarse tremor, peculiar facies, immobility, shuffling gait, the 'bread-crumbling' attitude of the fingers, and deliberate speech, would be readily eliminated even by a novice. it is, too, a disease of advanced life, usually. charcot, gray, ringer, bernhardt, shaw, eulenberg, grassel; kinnicutt, sinkler, and others have written on this affection." the following is the report of a case by drewry, of double (or, more strictly speaking, quadruple) athetosis, associated with epilepsy and insanity: "the patient was a negro woman, twenty-six years old when she was admitted into this, the central state (va.) hospital, in april, . she had had epilepsy of the grand mal type for a number of years, was the mother of one child, and earned her living as a domestic. a careful physical examination revealed nothing of importance as an etiologic factor. following in the footsteps of many of those unfortunates afflicted with epilepsy, she degenerated into a state of almost absolute imbecility. "some degree of mental deficiency seems usually to accompany athetosis, even when uncomplicated by any other degenerating neurosis. athetoid symptoms of an aggravated character, involving both upper and both lower extremities, had developed previous to her admission into this hospital, but it was impossible to find out when and how they began. she had never had, to the knowledge of her friends, an attack of 'apoplexy,' nor of paralysis. the head was symmetric, and without scars thereon. the pedal extremities involuntarily assumed various distorted positions and were constantly in motion. the toes were usually in a state of tonic spasm,--contracted, and drawn downward or extended, pointing upward, and slightly separated. irregular alternate extension and flexion of the toes were marked. the feet were moved upon the ankles in a stiff and awkward manner. during these 'complex involuntary movements,' the muscles of the calf became hard and rigid. the act of walking was accomplished with considerable difficulty, on account of contractures, and because the feet were not exactly under the control of the will. the unnatural movements of the hands corresponded to those of the lower extremities, though they were more constant and active. the fingers, including the thumbs, were usually widely separated and extended, though they were sometimes slightly flexed. the hands were continually in slow, methodic, quasi-rhythmic motion, never remaining long in the same attitude. in grasping an object the palm of the hand was used, it being difficult to approximate the digits. the wrist-joints were also implicated, there being alternate flexion and extension. in fact these odd contortions affected the entire limb from the shoulder to the digital extremities. when standing or walking the arms were held out horizontally, as if to maintain the equilibrium of the body. the patient's general physical health was fairly good. she frequently complained of headache, and when she was exceedingly irritable and violent all the athetoid movements would be intensified. speech was jerky and disordered, which gave it a distinctive character. the special senses seemed to be unimpaired, and the pupils were normal, except when an epileptic attack came on. death occurred in january, , after an obstinate attack of status epilepticus." paramyoclonus multiplex is a condition of chronic muscular spasm affecting the trunk, occasionally the muscles of the face, abdomen, or diaphragm. the muscles affected are usually in the trunk and in the limbs, and not in the toes and hand; occasionally the movements are tonic as well as clonic; the degree of spasm varies greatly, and according to gray may sometimes be so violent as to throw the patient down or out of the chair. saltatoric spasm is an extremely rare condition, first observed by bamberger in . the calf, hip, knee, and back-muscles are affected by clonic spasm, causing springing or jumping movements when the patient attempts to stand. the disease is transient, and there are no mental symptoms. progressive muscular atrophy has been observed as far back as hippocrates, but it is only in recent times that we have had any definite knowledge of the subject. it is divided into four types, the hand type (causing the griffin-or claw-hand, or the ape-hand); the juvenile type (generally in the muscles of the shoulder and arm); the facial type; and the peroneal type. generalized progressive atrophy leads to a condition that simulates the appearance of a "living skeleton." facial hemiatrophy is an incurable disease, as yet of unknown pathology. it consists of wasting of the bones, subcutaneous tissues, and muscles of one-half of the face or head, the muscles suffering but slightly. the accompanying illustration shows a case in which there was osseous depression of the cranium and a localized alopecia. the disease is very rare, only about cases having been reported. of five cases seen by dana, three were in females and two in males; in all the cases that could be found the origin was between the tenth and twentieth years. it is a chronic affection, usually beginning in early life, increasing slowly for years, and then becoming stationary. it is distinguished from one-sided muscular atrophy by the electric reaction, which is not lost in the facial muscles in facial hemiatrophy, and there is no atrophy of other muscles of the body. burr contributes an exhaustive paper on hemiatrophy of the tongue with report of a case as follows: "l. b., female, mulatto, thirty-one years old, married, came to the medico-chirurgical hospital, philadelphia, september , , complaining that her 'tongue was crooked.' save that she had had syphilis, her personal history is negative. in february, , she began to suffer from headache, usually behind the left ear, and often preventing sleep. at times there is quite severe vertigo. several weeks after the onset, headache persisting, she awoke in the night and found the left side of the tongue swollen, black, and painless. for some hours she could neither speak nor chew, but breathing was not interfered with. after a few days all symptoms passed away except headache, and she thought no more of the matter until recently, as stated above, she noticed by accident that her tongue was deformed. she is a spare, poorly-fed, muddy-skinned mulatto girl. the left half of the tongue is only about one-half as large as the right. the upper surface is irregularly depressed and elevated. there are no scars. when protruded it turns sharply to the left. fibrillary twitching is not present. the mucous membrane is normal. common sensation and taste are preserved. the pharyngeal reflex is present. the palate moves well. there is no palsy or wasting of the face. the pupils are of normal size and react well to light and with accommodation. station and gait are normal. there is no incoordination of movement in the arms or legs. the knee-jerks are much increased. there is an attempt at, but no true, clonus; that is, passive flexion of the foot causes two or three jerky movements. there is no glandular swelling or tumor about the jaw or in the neck. touch and pain-sense are normal in the face and hands, but she complains of numbness in the hands as if she had on tight gloves. there is no trouble in speaking, chewing, or swallowing. there is no pain or rigidity in the neck muscles. examination of the pharynx reveals no disease of the bones. under specific treatment the patient improved." astasia-abasia was named by blocq, who collected cases. according to knapp, four cases have been reported in america. the disease consists in an inability to stand erect or walk normally, although there is no impairment of sensation, of muscular strength, or of the coordination of other muscles in walking than the lower extremities. in attempting to walk the legs become spasmodic; there are rapid flexions and extensions of the legs on the thighs, and of the thighs on the pelvis. the steps are short, and the feet drag; the body may make great oscillations if the patient stands, walks, or sits, and the head and arms make rhythmical movements; walking may become impossible, the patient appearing to leap up on one foot and then up on the other, the body and head oscillating as he advances; he may be able to walk cross-legged, or by raising the legs high; or to walk on his hands and feet; he may be able to walk at certain times and not at others; or to hop with both feet together; he may succeed with great strides and with the arms extended; or finally he may be able to use his legs perfectly if suspended (gray). there are various types which have been called the paralytic, the choreic, and the saltatory. a tendency to go backward or retropulsion has been observed, according to gray, as has also a tendency to go forward or propulsion. a curious phenomenon in this disease is that the patient can use the legs perfectly well lying in bed. the prognosis seems to be favorable. meniere's disease is a disease probably of the semicircular canals, characterized by nausea, vomiting, vertigo, deafness, tinnitus aurium, and various other phenomena. it is also called aural or auditory vertigo. the salient symptom is vertigo, and this varies somewhat in degree according to the portions of the ear affected. if the disease is in the labyrinth, the patient is supposed to stagger to one side, and the vertigo is paroxysmal, varying to such a degree as to cause simple reeling, or falling as if shot. gray reports the history of a patient with this sensational record: he had been a peasant in ireland, and one day crossing one of the wide moors in a dog-cart, he was suddenly, as he thought, struck a violent blow from behind, so that he believed that he lost consciousness for some time. at all events, when he was able to get up he found his horse and cart some distance off, and, of course, not a soul in sight. under the belief that he had been struck by some enemy he went quietly home and said nothing about it. some time afterward, however, in crossing another lonely place he had a similar experience, and as he came to the conclusion that nobody could have been near him, he made up his mind that it was some malevolent stroke of the devil and he consulted a priest who agreed with him in his belief, and gave him an amulet to wear. a series of similar attacks occurred and puzzled as to whether there was some diabolical agency at work, or whether he was the victim of some conspiracy, he emigrated to america; for several months he had no attacks. a new paroxysm occurring he consulted gray, who found indubitable evidence of labyrinthine disease. the paroxysms of this disease are usually accompanied by nausea and vomiting, and on account of the paleness of the face, and the cold, clammy perspiration, attacks have frequently been mistaken for apoplexy. in disease of the middle ear the attacks are continuous rather than paroxysmal. if the disease is in the middle or internal ears, loud noises are generally heard, but if the disease is in the external ear, the noises are generally absent, and the vertigo of less degree but continuous. the prognosis varies with the location of the disease, but is always serious. human rumination has been known for many years. bartholinus, paullinus, blanchard, bonet, the ephemerides, fabricius hildanus, horstius, morgagni, peyer, rhodius, vogel, salmuth, percy, laurent, and others describe it. fabricius d'aquapendente personally knew a victim of rumination, or, as it is generally called, merycism. the dissection by bartholinus of a merycol showed nothing extraordinary in the cadaver. winthier knew a swede of thirty-five, in germany, apparently healthy, but who was obliged when leaving the table to retire to some remote place where he might eject his food into his mouth again, saying that it gave him the sensation of sweetest honey. the patient related that from his infancy he had been the subject of acid eructations, and at the age of thirty he commenced rumination as a means of relief. to those who are interested in the older records of these cases percy and laurent offer the descriptions of a number of cases. in a recent discussion before the american neurological association hammond defined merycism as the functions of remastication and rumination in the human subject. he referred to several cases, among them that of the distinguished physiologist, brown-sequard, who acquired the habit as a result of experiments performed upon himself. hammond reported a case of a young man who was the subject of merycism, and whose mental condition was also impaired. no special treatment was undertaken, but the patient was trephined, with the purpose of improving his mental condition. there were no unusual features connected with the operation, but it was noticed that there were no ruminations with the meals he took until the fifth day, when a slight rumination occurred. eight days later a similar button was removed from the corresponding side of the left skull, and from that time (about six months) to the time of report, there had been no regurgitation. whether the cure of the merycism in this case was directly due to the operations on the cranium, or the result of the mental improvement, is a question for discussion. hammond added that, when acquired, merycism was almost invariably the result of over-eating and loading the esophagus, or the result of fast eating. in remarks upon hammond's paper knapp said that two cases had come to his knowledge, both in physicians, but one of them he knew of only by hearsay. the other man, now over thirty, had regurgitated his food from early childhood, and he did not know that he had anything very unusual the matter with him until he began some investigations upon the functions and diseases of the stomach. this man was not nervous, and was certainly not an idiot. he had done active work as a physician, and called himself in perfect health. he was something of an epicure, and never suffered from indigestion. after a hearty meal the regurgitation was more marked. food had been regurgitated, tasting as good as when first eaten, several hours after the eating. if he attempted to check the regurgitation he sometimes had a slight feeling of fulness in the stomach. lloyd said that these cases were forms of neuroses, and were types of hysteric vomiting. there was no gustatory satisfaction connected with any form of hysteric vomiting that he had seen. in some of these cases of hysteric vomiting the food does not appear to enter the stomach, but is rejected by a sort of spasm of the esophagus. this has been called "esophagismus," and is apparently closely allied to this neurosis, which some have called "merycism." the president of the association said that this would seem to be an affection common among physicians. a student friend of his who had been affected in this way, had written an elaborate monograph on the subject. he was disgusted with the habit, and finally overcame it by the exercise of his will-power. runge discusses three cases of hereditary rumination. these patients belonged to three generations in the male line. the author subjected the contents of the stomach of one patient to quite an extensive analysis, without finding any abnormality of secretion. wakefulness.--generally speaking, the length of time a person can go without sleep is the same as that during which he can survive without food. persons, particularly those of an hysteric nature, are prone to make statements that they have not slept for many days, or that they never sleep at all, but a careful examination and watch during the night over these patients show that they have at least been in a drowsy, somnolent condition, which is in a measure physiologically equivalent to sleep. accounts of long periods of wakefulness arise from time to time, but a careful examination would doubtless disprove them. as typical of these accounts, we quote one from anderson, indiana, december , :-- "david jones of this city, who attracted the attention of the entire medical profession two years ago by a sleepless spell of ninety-three days, and last year by another spell which extended over one hundred and thirty-one days, is beginning on another which he fears will be more serious than the preceding ones. he was put on the circuit jury three weeks ago, and counting to-day has not slept for twenty days and nights. he eats and talks as well as usual, and is full of business and activity. he does not experience any bad effects whatever from the spell, nor did he during his one hundred and thirty-one days. during that spell he attended to all of his farm business. he says now that he feels as though he never will sleep again. he does not seem to bother himself about the prospects of a long and tedious wake. he cannot attribute it to any one thing, but thinks that it was probably superinduced by his use of tobacco while young." somnambulism, or, as it has been called, noctambulation, is a curious phase of nocturnal cerebration analogous to the hypnotic state, or double consciousness occasionally observed in epileptics. both hippocrates and aristotle discuss somnambulism, and it is said that the physician galen was a victim of this habit. horstius, ab heers, and many others of the older writers recorded interesting examples of this phenomenon. schenck remarks on the particular way in which somnambulists seem to escape injury. haller, hoffmann, gassendi, caelius rhodiginus, pinel, hechler, bohn, richter,--in fact nearly all the ancient physiologists and anatomists have written on this subject. the marvelous manifestations of somnambulism are still among the more surprising phenomena with which science has to deal. that a person deeply immersed in thought should walk and talk while apparently unconscious, excites no surprise, but that anyone should when fast asleep perform a series of complicated actions which undoubtedly demand the assistance of the senses is marvelous indeed. often he will rise in the night, walk from room to room, go out on porticoes, and in some cases on steep roofs, where he would not dare to venture while awake. frequently he will wander for hours through streets and fields, returning home and to bed without knowledge of anything having transpired. the state of the eyes during somnambulism varies considerably. they are sometimes closed, sometimes half-closed, and frequently quite open; the pupil is sometimes widely dilated, sometimes contracted, sometimes natural, and for the most part insensible to light. somnambulism seems to be hereditary. willis cites an example in which the father and the children were somnambulists, and in other cases several individuals in the same family have been afflicted. horstius gives a history of three young brothers who became somnambulistic at the same epoch. a remarkable instance of somnambulism was the case of a lad of sixteen and a half years who, in an attack of somnambulism, went to the stable, saddled his horse, asked for his whip, and disputed with the toll-keeper about his fare, and when he awoke had no recollection whatever of his acts, having been altogether an hour in his trance. marville quotes the case of an italian of thirty, melancholic, and a deep thinker, who was observed one evening in his bed. it was seen that he slept with his eyes open but fixed and immovable. his hands were cold, and his pulse extremely slow. at midnight he brusquely tore the curtains of his bed aside, dressed himself, went to his stable, and mounted a horse. finding the gate of the court yard closed he opened it with the aid of a large stone. soon he dismounted, went to a billiard room, and simulated all the movements of one playing. in another room he struck with his empty hands a harpsichord, and finally returned to his bed. he appeared to be irritated when anybody made a noise, but a light placed under his nose was apparently unnoticed. he awoke if his feet were tickled, or if a horn was blown in his ear. tissot transmits to us the example of a medical student who arose in the night, pursued his studies, and returned to bed without awaking; and there is another record of an ecclesiastic who finished his sermon in his sleep. the archbishop of bordeaux attests the case of a young ecclesiastic who was in the habit of getting up during the night in a state of somnambulism, taking pen, ink, and paper, and composing and writing sermons. when he had finished a page he would read aloud what he had written and correct it. in order to ascertain whether the somnambulist made any use of his eyes the archbishop held a piece of cardboard under his chin to prevent his seeing the paper upon which he was writing. he continued to write without being in the slightest degree incommoded. in this state he also copied out pieces of music, and when it happened that the words were written in too large characters and did not stand over the corresponding notes he perceived his error, blotted them out, and wrote them over again with great exactness. negretti, a sleep-walker, sometimes carried a candle about with him as if to furnish him light in his employment, but when a bottle was substituted he carried it, fancying that he had the candle. another somnambulist, castelli, was found by dr. sloane translating italian and french and looking out words in his dictionary. his candle was purposely extinguished, whereupon he immediately began groping about, as if in the dark, and, although other lighted candles were in the room, he did not resume his occupation until he had relighted his candle at the fire. he was insensible to the light of every candle excepting the one upon which his attention was fixed. tuke tells of a school-boy who being unable to master a school-problem in geometry retired to bed still thinking of the subject; he was found late at night by his instructor on his knees pointing from spot to spot as though he were at the blackboard. he was so absorbed that he paid no attention to the light of the candle, nor to the speech addressed to him. the next morning the teacher asked him if he had finished his problem, and he replied that he had, having dreamt it and remembered the dream. there are many such stories on record. quoted by gray, mesnet speaks of a suicidal attempt made in his presence by a somnambulistic woman. she made a noose of her apron, fastened one end to a chair and the other to the top of a window. she then kneeled down in prayer, made the sign of the cross, mounted a stool, and tried to hang herself. mesnet, scientific to the utmost, allowed her to hang as long as he dared, and then stopped the performance. at another time she attempted to kill herself by violently throwing herself on the floor after having failed to fling herself out of the window. at still another time she tried poison, filling a glass with water, putting several coins into it, and hiding it after bidding farewell to her family in writing; the next night, when she was again somnambulistic, she changed her mind once more, writing to her family explaining her change of purpose. mesnet relates some interesting experiments made upon a french sergeant in a condition of somnambulism, demonstrating the excitation of ideas in the mind through the sense of touch in the extremities. this soldier touched a table, passed his hands over it, and finding nothing on it, opened the drawer, took out a pen, found paper and an inkstand, and taking a chair he sat down and wrote to his commanding officer speaking of his bravery, and asking for a medal. a thick metallic plate was then placed before his eyes so as to completely intercept vision. after a few minutes, during which he wrote a few words with a jumbled stroke, he stopped, but without any petulance. the plate was removed and he went on writing. somnambulism may assume such a serious phase as to result in the commission of murder. there is a case of a man of twenty-seven, of steady habits, who killed his child when in a state of somnambulism. he was put on trial for murder, and some of the most remarkable facts of his somnambulistic feats were elicited in the evidence. it is said that once when a boy he arose at night while asleep, dressed himself; took a pitcher and went for milk to a neighboring farm, as was his custom. at another time he worked in a lumber-yard in a rain-storm while asleep. again, when about twenty-one, he was seen in a mill-pond wading about attempting to save his sister who he imagined was drowning. the worst phase of his somnambulism was the impending fears and terrible visions to which he was subjected. sometimes he would imagine that the house was on fire and the walls about to fall upon him, or that a wild beast was attacking his wife and child; and he would fight, screaming inarticulately all the while. he would chase the imaginary beast about the room, and in fact had grasped one of his companions, apparently believing he was in a struggle with a wild beast. he had often injured himself in these struggles, and had often attacked his father, his wife, sister, fellow-lodgers, and while confined in jail he attacked one of his fellow-prisoners. his eyes would always be wide open and staring; he was always able to avoid pieces of furniture which were in his way, and he occasionally threw them at his visionary enemies. at the time of the murder of his child, in a somnambulistic attack, he imagined that he saw a wild beast rise up from the floor and fly at his child, a babe of eighteen months. he sprang at the beast and dashed it to the ground, and when awakened, to his horror and overwhelming grief he found that he had killed his beloved baby. a similar record has been reported of a student who attempted during the night to stab his teacher; the man was disarmed and locked up in another portion of the building; but he had not the slightest remembrance of the events of the night. yellowlees speaks of homicide by a somnambulist. according to a prominent new york paper, one of the most singular and at the same time sad cases of somnambulism occurred a few years ago near bakersville, n.c. a young man there named garland had been in the habit of walking in his sleep since childhood. like most other sleep-walkers when unmolested, his ramblings had been without harm to himself or others. consequently his wife paid little attention to them. but finally he began to stay away from the house longer than usual and always returned soaking wet. his wife followed him one night. leaving his home he followed the highway until he came to a rough, narrow pig-trail leading to the tow river. his wife followed with difficulty, as he picked his way through the tangled forest, over stones and fallen trees and along the sides of precipitous cliffs. for more than a mile the sleeper trudged on until he came to a large poplar tree, which had fallen with its topmost branches far out in the river. walking on the log until he came to a large limb extending over the water, he got down on his hands and knees and began crawling out on it. the frightened wife screamed, calling to him to wake up and come back. he was awakened by the cries, fell into the river, and was drowned. each night for weeks he had been taking that perilous trip, crawling out on the limb, leaping from it into the river, swimming to the shore, and returning home unconscious of anything having happened. dreams, nightmare, and night terrors form too extensive a subject and one too well known to be discussed at length here, but it might be well to mention that sometimes dreams are said to be pathognomonic or prodromal of approaching disease. cerebral hemorrhage has often been preceded by dreams of frightful calamities, and intermittent fever is often announced by persistent and terrifying dreams. hammond has collected a large number of these prodromic dreams, seeming to indicate that before the recognizable symptoms of disease present themselves a variety of morbid dreams may occur. according to dana, albers says: "frightful dreams are signs of cerebral congestion. dreams about fire are, in women, signs of impending hemorrhage. dreams about blood and red objects are signs of inflammatory conditions. dreams of distorted forms are frequently a sign of abdominal obstruction and diseases of the liver." catalepsy, trance, and lethargy, lasting for days or weeks, are really examples of spontaneously developed mesmeric sleep in hysteric patients or subjects of incipient insanity. if the phenomenon in these cases takes the form of catalepsy there is a waxy-like rigidity of the muscles which will allow the limbs to be placed in various positions, and maintain them so for minutes or even hours. in lethargy or trance-states the patient may be plunged into a deep and prolonged unconsciousness lasting from a few hours to several years. it is in this condition that the lay journals find argument for their stories of premature burial, and from the same source the fabulous "sleeping girls" of the newspapers arise. dana says that some persons are in the habit of going into a mesmeric sleep spontaneously. in these states there may be a lowering of bodily temperature, a retarding of the respiration and heart-action, and excessive sluggishness of the action of the bowels. the patients can hear and may respond to suggestions, though apparently insensible to painful impressions, and do not appear to smell, taste, or see; the eyes are closed, turned upward, and the pupils contracted as in normal sleep. this subject has been investigated by such authorities as weir mitchell and hammond, and medical literature is full of interesting cases, many differing in the physiologic phenomena exhibited; some of the most striking of these will be quoted. van kasthoven of leyden reports a strange case of a peasant of wolkwig who, it is alleged, fell asleep on june , , awakening on january , , only to fall asleep again until march th of the same year. tuke has resurrected the remarkable case reported by arnold of leicester, early in this century. the patient's name was john engelbrecht. this man passed into a condition of catalepsy in which he heard everything about him distinctly, but in his imagination he seemed to have passed away to another world, this condition coming on with a suddenness which he describes as with "far more swiftness than any arrow can fly when discharged from a cross-bow." he also lost his sensation from the head downward, and recovered it in the opposite direction. at bologna there was observed the case of a young female who after a profound grief had for forty-two successive days a state of catalepsy lasting from midday to midnight. muller of lowenburg records a case of lethargy in a young female, following a sudden fright in her fourteenth year, and abrupt suppression of menstruation. this girl was really in a sleep for four years. in the first year she was awake from one minute to six hours during the day. in the second and third years she averaged four hours wakefulness in ninety-six hours. she took very little nourishment and sometimes had no bowel-movement for sixteen days. scull reports the history of a man of twenty-seven suffering with incipient phthisis, who remained bedridden and in a state of unconsciousness for fifteen months. one day while being fed he spoke out and asked for a glass of water in his usual manner, and so frightened his sister that she ran from the room. the man had remembered nothing that had occurred during the fifteen months, and asked who was president and seemed eager for news. one curious fact was that he remembered a field of oats which was just sprouting about the time he fell in the trance. the same field was now standing in corn knee-high. after his recovery from the trance he rapidly became worse and died in eighteen months. there is a record of a man near rochester, n.y., who slept for five years, never waking for more than sixteen hours at a time, and then only at intervals of six weeks or over. when seized with his trance he weighed , but he dwindled down to pounds. he passed urine once or twice a day, and had a stool once in from six to twenty days. even such severe treatment as counter-irritation proved of no avail. gunson mentions a man of forty-four, a healthy farmer, who, after being very wet and not changing his clothes, contracted a severe cold and entered into a long and deep sleep lasting for twelve hours at a time, during which it was impossible to waken him. this attack lasted eight or nine months, but in there was a recurrence accompanied by a slight trismus which lasted over eighteen months, and again in he was subjected to periods of sleep lasting over twenty-four hours at a time. blaudet describes a young woman of eighteen who slept forty days, and again after her marriage in her twentieth year she slept for fifty days; it was necessary to draw a tooth to feed her. four years later, on easter day, , she became insensible for twelve months, with the exception of the eighth day, when she awoke and ate at the table, but fell asleep in the chair. her sleep was so deep that nothing seemed to disturb her; her pulse was slow, the respirations scarcely perceptible, and there were apparently no evacuations. weir mitchell collected cases of protracted sleep, the longest continuing uninterruptedly for six months. chilton's case lasted seventeen weeks. six of the cases passed a large part of each day in sleep, one case twenty-one hours, and another twenty-three hours. the patients were below middle life; ten were females, seven males, and one was a child whose sex was not given. eight of the recovered easily and completely, two recovered with loss of intellect, one fell a victim to apoplexy four months after awakening, one recovered with insomnia as a sequel, and four died in sleep. one recovered suddenly after six months' sleep and began to talk, resuming the train of thought where it had been interrupted by slumber. mitchell reports a case in an unmarried woman of forty-five. she was a seamstress of dark complexion and never had any previous symptoms. on july , , she became seasick in a gale of wind on the hudson, and this was followed by an occasional loss of sight and by giddiness. finally, in november she slept from wednesday night to monday at noon, and died a few days later. jones of new orleans relates the case of a girl of twenty-seven who had been asleep for the last eighteen years, only waking at certain intervals, and then remaining awake from seven to ten minutes. the sleep commenced at the age of nine, after repeated large doses of quinin and morphin. periods of consciousness were regular, waking at a.m. and every hour thereafter until noon, then at p.m., again at sunset, and at p.m., and once or twice before morning. the sleep was deep, and nothing seemed to arouse her. gairdner mentions the case of a woman who, for one hundred and sixty days, remained in a lethargic stupor, being only a mindless automaton. her life was maintained by means of the stomach tube. the revue d'hypnotisme contains the report of a young woman of twenty-five, who was completing the fourth year of an uninterrupted trance. she began may , , after a fright, and on the same day, after several convulsive attacks, she fell into a profound sleep, during which she was kept alive by small quantities of liquid food, which she swallowed automatically. the excretions were greatly diminished, and menstruation was suppressed. there is a case reported of a spanish soldier of twenty-two, confined in the military hospital of san ambrosio, cuba, who had been in a cataleptic state for fourteen months. his body would remain in any position in which it was placed; defecation and micturition were normal; he occasionally sneezed or coughed, and is reported to have uttered some words at night. the strange feature of this case was that the man was regularly nourished and increased in weight ten pounds. it was noted that, some months before, this patient was injured and had suffered extreme depression, which was attributed to nostalgia, after which he began to have intermittent and temporary attacks, which culminated as related. camuset and planes in january, , mention a man who began to have grand hallucinations in . in march, , he exhibited the first signs of sleep, and on march th it was necessary to put him to bed, where he remained, more or less continuously for three months, awakening gradually, and regaining his normal condition by the middle of june. he was fed by hand three times daily, was placed on a night-chair, and with one exception never evacuated in bed. five months afterward he showed no signs of relapse. the latest report of a "sleeping girl" is that of the young dutch maiden, maria cvetskens, of stevenswerth, who on december , , had been asleep for two hundred and twenty days. she had been visited by a number of men of good professional standing who, although differing as to the cause of her prolonged sleep, universally agreed that there was no deception in the case. her parents were of excellent repute, and it had never occurred to them to make any financial profit out of the unnatural state of their daughter. hypnotism.--the phenomenon of hypnotism was doubtless known to the oriental nations, and even to the greeks, romans, and egyptians, as well as to other nations since the downfall of the roman empire. "the fakirs of india, the musicians of persia, the oracles of greece, the seers of rome, the priests and priestesses of egypt, the monastic recluses of the middle ages, the ecstatics of the seventeenth and early part of the eighteenth century exhibited many symptoms that were, and are still, attributed by religious enthusiasts to supernatural agencies, but which are explainable by what we know of hypnotism. the hesychasts of mount athos who remained motionless for days with their gaze directed steadily to the navel; the taskodrugites who remained statuesque for a long period with the finger applied to the nose; the jogins who could hibernate at will; the dandins of india who became cataleptoid by , repetitions of the sacred word om; st. simeon stylites who, perched on a lofty pillar, preserved an attitude of saint-like withdrawal from earthly things for days; and even socrates, of whom it was said that he would stand for hours motionless and wordless--all these are probable instances of autohypnotism." (gray.) hypnotism is spoken of as a morbid mental state artificially produced, and characterized by perversion or suspension of consciousness, and abeyance of volition; a condition of suggestibility leads the patient to yield readily to commands of external sense-impressions, and there is intense concentration of the mental faculties upon some idea or feeling. there are several methods of inducing hypnosis, one of which is to give particular direction to the subject's imagination by concentrating the attention upon an arbitrary point, or by raising an image of the hypnotic state in the patient's mind. the latter is most readily induced by speech. faria formerly strained the attention of the subject as much as possible, and suddenly called out, "sleep!" this method has been used by others. physical methods consist of certain stimuli of sight, hearing, and touch. taste and smell have generally given negative results. fixation of the gaze has been the most successful, but the ticking of a watch has been used. according to moll, among uncivilized races particular instruments are used to produce similar states, for example, the magic drum's sound among the lapps, or among other races the monotony of rhythm in song, etc. instead of these continuous, monotonous, weak stimulations of the senses, we find also that sudden and violent ones are made use of--for example in the salpetriere, the field of charcot's work, the loud noise of a gong, or a sudden ray of light; however, it is more than doubtful whether these sudden, strong, physical stimuli, without any mental stimuli, can induce hypnosis. perhaps we have to do here with states not far removed from paralysis from fright. the sense of touch is also brought into play in hypnosis; richet set great value on the so-called mesmeric strokes or passes. it is often stated that touches on the forehead induce a sleepy state in many persons. hypnotism is practiced by stimulation of the muscular sense, such as cradle-rocking, used to send little children to sleep. similar states are said to be produced among uncivilized people by violent whirling or dancing movements; the movements are, however, accompanied by music and other mental excitations. hypnosis is spoken of by huc and hellwald of the buddhist convents in thibet; and sperling, who has had a particularly wide experience in the field of hypnotism, and whose opinion is of particular value, says that he has seen dervishes in constantinople who, from the expression of their eyes and their whole appearance, as well as from peculiar postures they maintain for a long time, impressed him as being in a hypnotic state. the state may have been induced by singing and uniform whirling motions. hildebrandt, jacolliot, fischer, hellwald, and other trustworthy witnesses and authors tell us strange things about the fakirs of india, which set any attempt at explanation on the basis of our present scientific knowledge at defiance--that is, if we decline to accept them as mere juggler's tricks. hypnotism seems to be the only explanation. it is a well known fact that both wild and domestic beasts can be hypnotized and the success of some of the animal-tamers is due to this fact. in hypnotism we see a probable explanation for the faith-cures which have extended over many centuries, and have their analogy in the supposed therapeutic powers of the saints. the medicolegal aspect of hypnotism may be called in to answer whether crime may be committed at suggestion. such examples have already been before the public in the recent trial of the parisian strangler, eyraud. it was claimed that his accomplice in the crime, gabrielle bompard, had been hypnotized. bernheim narrates a case of outrage effected in the hypnotic condition, which was brought to light by a trial in the south of france. as to the therapeutic value of hypnotism, with the exception of some minor benefits in hysteric cases and in insomnia, the authors must confess that its use in medicine seems very limited. african sleep-sickness is a peculiar disorder, apparently infectious in character, which occurs among the negroes of the western coast of africa. it has been transported to other regions but is endemic in africa. according to dana it begins gradually with malaise and headache. soon there is drowsiness after meals which increases until the patient is nearly all the time in a stupor. when awake he is dull and apathetic. there is no fever; the temperature may be subnormal. the pulse, too, is not rapid, the skin is dry, the tongue moist but coated, the bowels regular. the eyes become congested and prominent. the cervical glands enlarge. the disease ends in coma and death. recovery rarely occurs. sometimes the disease is more violent, and toward the end there are epileptic convulsions and muscular tremors. autopsies have revealed no pathologic changes. recently forbes contributes an interesting paper on the sleeping sickness of africa. the disease may occur in either sex and at any age, though it is most frequent from the twelfth to the twentieth years, and in the male sex. it begins with enlargement of the cervical glands, and drowsiness and sleep at unusual hours. at first the patient may be aroused, but later sinks into a heavy stupor or coma. death occurs in from three to twelve months, and is due to starvation. forbes reports fatal cases, and two that passed from observation. at the autopsy are found hyperemia of the arachnoid, and slight chronic leptomeningitis and pachymeningitis. there is also anemia of the brain-substance. in one of his cases the spleen was enlarged. he was inclined to regard the disease as a neurosis. aphasia is a disease of the faculty of language, that is, a disturbance of the processes by which we see, hear, and at the same time appreciate the meaning of symbols. it includes also the faculty of expressing our ideas to others by means of the voice, gesture, writing, etc. the trouble may be central or in the conducting media. the varieties of aphasia are:-- ( ) amnesia of speech. ( ) amnesia of speech and written language. ( ) amnesia of speech, written language, and gesture. in most cases there is no paralysis of the tongue or speech-forming organs. as a rule the intellect is unaffected, the patient has the ideas, but lacks the power to give them proper expression through words, written language, or gesture. if the patient is enable to write, the condition is known as agraphia. word-blindness, word-deafness, etc., are terms of different forms of aphasia. what was probably a case of incomplete aphasia is mentioned by pliny, that of messala corvinus who was unable to tell his own name; and many instances of persons forgetting their names are really nothing but cases of temporary or incomplete aphasia. in some cases of incomplete and in nearly all cases of complete aphasia, involuntary sentences are ejaculated. according to seguin a reverend old gentleman affected with amnesia of words was forced to utter after the sentence, "our father who art in heaven," the words "let him stay there." a lady seen by trousseau would rise on the coming of a visitor to receive him with a pleased and amiable expression of countenance, and show him to a chair, at the same time addressing to him the words, "cochon, animal, fichue bete," french words hardly allowable in drawing-room usage. she was totally aphasic but not paralyzed. women often use semi-religious expressions like "oh dear," or "oh lord." men of the lower classes retain their favorite oaths remarkably. sometimes the phrases ejaculated are meaningless, as in broca's celebrated case. aphasia may be the result of sudden strong emotions, in such cases being usually temporary; it may be traumatic; it may be the result of either primary or secondary malnutrition or degeneration. there are some cases on record in which the sudden loss and the sudden return of the voice are quite marvelous. habershon reports the case of a woman who on seeing one of her children scalded fell unconscious and motionless, and remained without food for three days. it was then found that she suffered from complete aphasia. five weeks after the incident she could articulate only in a very limited vocabulary. in the philosophical transactions archdeacon squire tells of the case of henry axford, who lost the power of articulation for four years; after a horrible dream following a debauch he immediately regained his voice, and thereafter he was able to articulate without difficulty. ball records a curious case of what he calls hysteric aphonia. the patient was a young lady who for several months could neither sing nor speak, but on hearing her sister sing a favorite song, she began to sing herself; but, although she could sing, speech did not return for several weeks. ball remarks that during sleep such patients may cry out loudly in the natural voice. wadham reports the case of a boy of eighteen who was admitted to his ward suffering with hemiplegia of the left side. aphasia developed several days after admission and continued complete for three months. the boy gradually but imperfectly recovered his speech. over six months after the original admission he was readmitted with necrosis of the jaw, for which he underwent operation, and was discharged a month later. from this time on he became progressively emaciated until his death, twelve months after wadham first saw him. a postmortem examination showed nearly total destruction of the island of reil, popularly called the speech-center. jackson mentions a hemiplegic patient with aphasia who could only utter the words "come on to me," "come on," and "yes" and "no." bristowe cites the history of a sailor of thirty-six, a patient of st. thomas hospital, london, who suffered from aphasia for nine months. his case was carefully explained to him and he nodded assent to all the explanations of the process of speech as though he understood all thoroughly. he was gradually educated to speak again by practicing the various sounds. it may be worth while to state that after restoration of speech he spoke with his original american accent. ogle quotes six cases of loss of speech after bites of venomous snakes. two of the patients recovered. according to russ this strange symptom is sometimes instantaneous and in other instances it only appears after an interval of several hours. in those who survive the effects of the venom it lasts for an indefinite period. one man seen by russ had not only lost his speech in consequence of the bite of a fer-de-lance snake, but had become, and still remained, hemiplegic. in the rest of russ's cases speech alone was abolished. russ remarks that the intelligence was altogether intact, and sensibility and power of motion were unaffected. one woman who had been thus condemned to silence, suddenly under the influence of a strong excitement recovered her speech, but when the emotion passed away speech again left her. ogle accounts for this peculiar manifestation of aphasia by supposing that the poison produces spasm of the middle cerebral arteries, and when the symptom remains a permanent defect the continuance of the aphasia is probably due to thrombosis of arteries above the temporary constriction. anosmia, or loss of smell, is the most common disorder of olfaction; it may be caused by cortical lesions, olfactory nerve-changes, congenital absence, or over-stimulation of the nerves, or it may be a symptom of hysteria. ogle, after mentioning several cases of traumatic anosmia, suggests that a blow on the occiput is generally the cause. legg reports a confirmatory case, but of six cases mentioned by notta two were caused by a blow on the crown of the head, and two on the right ear. the prognosis in traumatic anosmia is generally bad, although there is a record of a man who fell while working on a wharf, striking his head and producing anosmia with partial loss of hearing and sight, and who for several weeks neither smelt nor tasted, but gradually recovered. mitchell reports a case of a woman of forty who, after an injury to her nose from a fall, suffered persistent headache and loss of smell. two years later, at bedtime, or on going to sleep, she had a sense of horrible odors, which were fecal or animal, and most intense in nature. the case terminated in melancholia, with delirium of persecution, during which the disturbance of smell passed away. anosmia has been noticed in leukoderma and allied disturbances of pigmentation. ogle mentions a negro boy in kentucky whose sense of smell decreased as the leukoderma extended. influenza, causing adhesions of the posterior pillars of the fauces, has given rise to anosmia. occasionally overstimulation of the olfactory system may lead to anosmia. graves mentions a captain of the yeomanry corps who while investigating the report that pikes were concealed at the bottom of a cesspool in one of the city markets superintended the emptying of the cesspool, at the bottom of which the arms were found. he suffered greatly from the abominable effluvia, and for thirty-six years afterward he remained completely deprived of the sense of smell. in a discussion upon anosmia before the medico-chirurgical association of london, january , , there was an anosmic patient mentioned who was very fond of the bouquet of moselle, and carter mentioned that he knew a man who had lost both the senses of taste and smell, but who claimed that he enjoyed putrescent meat. leared spoke of a case in an epileptic affected with loss of taste and smell, and whose paroxysms were always preceded by an odor of peach-blossoms. hyperosmia is an increase in the perception of smell, which rarely occurs in persons other than the hysteric and insane. it may be cultivated as a compensatory process, as in the blind, or those engaged in particular pursuits, such as tea-tasting. parosmia is a rare condition, most often a symptom of hysteria or neurasthenia, in which everything smells of a similar, peculiar, offensive odor. hallucinations of odor are sometimes noticed in the insane. they form most obstinate cases, when the hallucination gives rise to imaginary disagreeable, personal odors. perversion of the tactile sense, or wrong reference to the sensation of pain, has occasionally been noticed. the ephemerides records a case in which there was the sense of two objects from a single touch on the hypochondrium. weir mitchell remarks that soldiers often misplace the location of pain after injuries in battle. he also mentions several cases of wrong reference of the sensation of pain. these instances cannot be called reflex disturbances, and are most interesting. in one case the patient felt the pain from a urethral injection in gonorrhea, on the top of the head. in another an individual let an omnibus-window fall on his finger, causing but brief pain in the finger, but violent pains in the face and neck of that side. mitchell also mentions a naturalist of distinction who had a small mole on one leg which, if roughly rubbed or pinched, invariably seemed to cause a sharp pain in the chin. nostalgia is the name generally given to that variety of melancholia in which there is an intense longing for home or country. this subject has apparently been overlooked in recent years, but in the olden times it was extensively discussed. swinger, harderus, tackius, guerbois, hueber, therrin, castellanau, pauquet, and others have written extensively upon this theme. it is said that the inhabitants of cold countries, such as the laplanders and the danes, are the most susceptible to this malady. for a long time many writers spoke of the frequency and intensity of nostalgia among the swiss. numerous cases of suicide from this affliction have been noticed among these hardy mountaineers, particularly on hearing the mountain-song of their homes, "ranz des vaches." this statement, which is an established fact, is possibly due to the social constitution of the swiss mountaineers, who are brought up to a solitary home life, and who universally exhibit great attachment to and dependence upon their parents and immediate family. in the european armies nostalgia has always been a factor in mortality. in the army of the moselle, and in napoleon's alpine army, the terrible ravages of suicide among the young bretons affected with nostalgia have been recorded; it is among the french people that most of the investigation on this subject has been done. moreau speaks of a young soldier in a foreign country and army who fell into a most profound melancholy when, by accident, he heard his native tongue. according to swinger and sauvages women are less subject to nostalgia than men. nostalgia has been frequently recorded in hospital wards. percy and laurent have discussed this subject very thoroughly, and cite several interesting cases among emigrants, soldiers, marines, etc. hamilton speaks of a recruit who became prostrated by longing for his home in wales. he continually raved, but recovered from his delirium when assured by the hospital authorities of his forthcoming furlough. taylor records two cases of fatal nostalgia. one of the victims was a union refugee who went to kentucky from his home in tennessee. he died talking about and pining for his home. the second patient was a member of a regiment of colored infantry; he died after repeatedly pining for his old home. animals are sometimes subject to nostalgia, and instances are on record in which purchasers have been compelled to return them to the old home on account of their literal home-sickness. oswald tells of a bear who, in the presence of food, committed suicide by starvation. hypochondria consists of a mild form of insanity in which there is a tendency to exaggerate the various sensations of the body and their importance, their exaggeration being at times so great as to amount to actual delusion. all sorts of symptoms are dwelt upon, and the doctor is pestered to the extreme by the morbid fears of the patient. morbid fears or impulses, called by the germans zwangsvorstellungen, or zwangshandlungen, and by the french, peurs maladies, have only been quite recently studied, and form most interesting cases of minor insanity. gelineau has made extensive investigations in this subject, and free reference has been made to his work in the preparation of the following material. aichmophobia is a name given by the french to the fear of the sight of any sharp-pointed instrument, such as a pin, needle, fish-spine, or naked sword. an illustrious sufferer of this 'phobia was james i of england, who could never tolerate the appearance of a drawn sword. gelineau reports an interesting case of a female who contracted this malady after the fatigue of lactation of two children. she could not tolerate knives, forks, or any pointed instruments on the table, and was apparently rendered helpless in needle-work on account of her inability to look at the pointed needle. agoraphobia is dread of an open space, and is sometimes called kenophobia. the celebrated philosopher pascal was supposed to have been affected with this fear. in agoraphobia the patient dreads to go across a street or into a field, is seized with an intense feeling of fright, and has to run to a wall or fall down, being quite unable to proceed. there is violent palpitation, and a feeling of constriction is experienced. according to suckling, pallor and profuse perspiration are usually present, but there is no vertigo, confusion of mind, or loss of consciousness. the patient is quite conscious of the foolishness of the fears, but is unable to overcome them. the will is in abeyance and is quite subservient to the violent emotional disturbances. gray mentions a patient who could not go over the brooklyn bridge or indeed over any bridge without terror. roussel speaks of a married woman who had never had any children, and who was apparently healthy, but who for the past six months had not been able to put her head out of the window or go upon a balcony. when she descended into the street she was unable to traverse the open spaces. chazarin mentions a case in a woman of fifty, without any other apparent symptom of diathesis. gelineau quotes a case of agoraphobia, secondary to rheumatism, in a woman of thirty-nine. there is a corresponding fear of high places often noticed, called acrophobia; so that many people dare not trust themselves on high buildings or other eminences. thalassophobia is the fear of the view of immense spaces or uninterrupted expanses. the emperor heraclius, at the age of fifty-nine, had an insurmountable fear of the view of the sea; and it is said that when he crossed the bosphorus a bridge of boats was formed, garnished on both sides with plants and trees, obscuring all view of the water over which the emperor peacefully traversed on horseback. the moralist nicole, was equally a thalassophobe, and always had to close his eyes at the sight of a large sheet of water, when he was seized with trembling in all his limbs. occasionally some accident in youth has led to an aversion to traversing large sheets of water, and there have been instances in which persons who have fallen into the water in childhood have all their lives had a terror of crossing bridges. claustrophobia is the antithesis of agoraphobia. raggi describes a case of such a mental condition in a patient who could not endure being within an enclosure or small space. suckling mentions a patient of fifty-six who suffered from palpitation when shut in a railway carriage or in a small room. she could only travel by rail or go into a small room so long as the doors were not locked, and on the railroad she had to bribe the guard to leave the doors unlocked. the attacks were purely mental, for the woman could be deceived into believing that the door to a railroad carriage was unlocked, and then the attack would immediately subside. suckling also mentions a young woman brought to him at queen's hospital who had a great fear of death on getting into a tram car, and was seized with palpitation and trembling on merely seeing the car. this patient had been in an asylum. the case was possibly due more to fear of an accident than to true claustrophobia. gorodoichze mentions a case of claustrophobia in a woman of thirty-eight, in whose family there was a history of hereditary insanity. ball speaks of a case in a woman who was overcome with terror half way in the ascension of the tour saint-jacques, when she believed the door below was closed. gelineau quotes the case of a brave young soldier who was believed to be afraid of nothing, but who was unable to sleep in a room of which the door was closed. astrophobia or astropaphobia is a morbid fear of being struck by lightning. it was first recognized by bruck of westphalia, who knew a priest who was always in terror when on a country road with an unobstructed view of the sky, but who was reassured when he was under the shelter of trees. he was advised by an old physician always to use an umbrella to obstruct his view of the heavens, and in this way his journeys were made tranquil. beard knew an old woman who had suffered all her life from astrophobia. her grandmother had presented the same susceptibility and the same fears. sometimes she could tell the approach of a storm by her nervous symptoms. caligula, augustus, henry iii, and other celebrated personages, were overcome with fear during a storm. mysophobia is a mild form of insanity characterized by a dread of the contact of dirt. it was named by hammond, whose patient washed her hands innumerable times a day, so great was the fear of contamination. these patients make the closest inspection of their toilet, their eating and drinking utensils, and all their lives are intensely worried by fear of dirt. hematophobia is a horror of blood, which seems to be an instinctive sentiment in civilized man, but which is unknown among savages. when the horror is aggravated to such an extent as to cause distressing symptoms or unconsciousness, it takes the name of hematophobia. there are many cases on record and nearly every physician has seen one or more, possibly among his colleagues. necrophobia and thanatophobia are allied maladies, one being the fear of dead bodies and the other the fear of death itself. anthropophobia is a symptom of mental disease consisting in fear of society. beard, mitchell, baillarger, and others have made observations on this disease. the antithesis of this disease is called monophobia. patients are not able to remain by themselves for even the shortest length of time. this morbid dread of being alone is sometimes so great that even the presence of an infant is an alleviation. gelineau cites an instance in a man of forty-five which was complicated with agoraphobia. bacillophobia is the result of abnormal pondering over bacteriology. huchard's case was in a woman of thirty-eight who, out of curiosity, had secretly read the works of pasteur, and who seemed to take particular pleasure in conning over the causes of death in the health-reports. goyard mentions an instance in a swiss veterinary surgeon. kleptophobia, examples of which have been cited by cullere, is the fear of stealing objects in view, and is often the prelude of kleptomania. the latter disease has gained notoriety in this country, and nearly every large store has agents to watch the apparently growing number of kleptomaniacs. these unfortunate persons, not seldom from the highest classes of society, are unable to combat an intense desire to purloin articles. legal proceedings have been instituted against many, and specialists have been called into court to speak on this question. relatives and friends have been known to notify the large stores of the thieving propensities of such patients. le grande du saulle has given to the disease in which there is a morbid doubt about everything done, the name folie de doute. gray mentions a case in a patient who would go out of a door, close it, and then come back, uncertain as to whether he had closed it, close it again, go off a little way, again feel uncertain as to whether he had closed it properly, go back again, and so on for many times. hammond relates the history of a case in an intelligent man who in undressing for bed would spend an hour or two determining whether he should first take off his coat or his shoes. in the morning he would sit for an hour with his stockings in his hands, unable to determine which he should put on first. syphilophobia is morbid fear of syphilis. lyssophobia is a fear of hydrophobia which sometimes assumes all the symptoms of the major disease, and even produces death. gelineau, colin, berillon, and others have studied cases. in berillon's case the patient was an artist, a woman of brunet complexion, who for six years had been tormented with the fear of becoming mad, and in whom the symptoms became so intense as to constitute pseudobydrophobia. at their subsidence she was the victim of numerous hallucinations which almost drove her to the point of suicide. spermatophobia has been noticed among the ignorant, caused or increased by inspection of sensational literature, treatises on the subject of spermatorrhea, etc. ferre mentions a woman of thirty-six, of intense religious scruples, who was married at eighteen, and lost her husband six years afterward. she had a proposition of marriage which she refused, and was prostrated by the humid touch of the proposer who had kissed her hand, imagining that the humidity was due to semen. she was several times overcome by contact with men in public conveyances, her fear of contamination being so great. zoophobia, or dread of certain animals, has been mentioned under another chapter under the head of idiosyncrasies. pantophobia is a general state of fear of everything and everybody. phobophobia, the fear of being afraid, is another coinage of the wordmakers. the minor 'phobias, such as pyrophobia, or fear of fire; stasophobia, or inability to arise and walk, the victims spending all their time in bed; toxicophobia or fear of poison, etc., will be left to the reader's inspection in special works on this subject. demonomania is a form of madness in which a person imagines himself possessed of the devil. ancient records of this disease are frequent, and in this century lapointe reports the history of demonomania in father, mother, three sons, and two daughters, the whole family, with the exception of one son, who was a soldier, being attacked. they imagined themselves poisoned by a sorceress, saw devils, and had all sorts of hallucinations, which necessitated the confinement of the whole family in an asylum for over a month. they continued free from the hallucinations for two years, when first the mother, and then gradually all the other members of the family, again became afflicted with demonomania and were again sent to the asylum, when, after a residence therein of five months, they were all sufficiently cured to return home. particular aversions may be temporary only, that is, due to an existing condition of the organism, which, though morbid, is of a transitory character. such, for instance, are those due to dentition, the commencement or cessation of the menstrual function, pregnancy, etc. these cases are frequently of a serious character, and may lead to derangement of the mind. millington relates the history of a lady who, at the beginning of her first pregnancy, acquired an overpowering aversion to a half-breed indian woman who was employed in the house as a servant. whenever this woman came near her she was at once seized with violent trembling; this ended in a few minutes with vomiting and great mental and physical prostration lasting several hours. her husband would have sent the woman away, but mrs. x insisted on her remaining, as she was a good servant, in order that she might overcome what she regarded as an unreasonable prejudice. the effort was, however, too great, for upon one occasion when the woman entered mrs. x's apartment rather unexpectedly, the latter became greatly excited, and, jumping from an open window in her fright, broke her arm, and otherwise injured herself so severely that she was confined to her bed for several weeks. during this period, and for some time afterward, she was almost constantly subject to hallucinations, in which the indian woman played a prominent part. even after her recovery the mere thought of the woman would sometimes bring on a paroxysm of trembling, and it was not till after her confinement that the antipathy disappeared. circular or periodic insanity is a rare psychosis. according to drewry reports of very few cases have appeared in the medical journals. "some systematic writers," says drewry, "regard it as a mere subdivision of periodic insanity (spitzka). a distinguished alienist and author of scotland however has given us an admirable lecture on the subject. he says: 'i have had under my care altogether about cases of typical folie circulaire.' in the asylum at morningside there were, says dr. clouston, in patients cases of this peculiar form of mental disease. dr. spitzka, who was the first american to describe it, found in cases of pauper insane four per cent to be periodic, and its sub-group, circular, insanity. dr. stearns states that less than one-fourth of one per cent of cases in the hartford (conn.) retreat classed as mania and melancholia have proved to be folie circulaire. upon examination of the annual reports of the superintendents of hospitals for the insane in this country, in only a few are references made to this as a distinct form of insanity. in the new york state hospitals there is a regular uniform classification of mental diseases in which 'circular (alternating) insanity' occupies a place. in the report of the buffalo hospital for , in statistical table no. , 'showing forms of insanity in those admitted, etc., since ,' out of cases, only one was 'alternating (circular) insanity.' in the st. lawrence hospital only one case in was credited to this special class. in the institution in philadelphia, of which dr. chapin is the superintendent, , patients have been treated, only three of whom were diagnosed cases of manie circulaire. of the cases of insanity in the state hospital at danville, pa., less than four per cent were put in this special class. there are in the central (va.) state hospital (which is exclusively for the colored insane) patients, three of whom are genuine cases of circular insanity, but they are included in 'periodic insanity.' this same custom evidently prevails in many of the other hospitals for the insane." drewry reports three cases of circular insanity, one of which was as follows:-- "william f., a negro, thirty-six years old, of fair education, steady, sober habits, was seized with gloomy depression a few weeks prior to his admission to this hospital, in september, . this condition came on after a period of fever. he was a stranger in the vicinity and scarcely any information could be obtained regarding his antecedents. when admitted he was in a state of melancholic hypochondriasis; he was the very picture of abject misery. many imaginary ills troubled his peace of mind. he spoke of committing suicide, but evidently for the purpose of attracting attention and sympathy. on one occasion he said he intended to kill himself, but when the means to do so were placed at his command, he said he would do the deed at another time. the most trivial physical disturbances were exaggerated into very serious diseases. from this state of morbid depression he slowly emerged, grew brighter, more energetic, neater in personal appearance, etc. during this period of slow transition or partial sanity he was taken out on the farm where he proved to be a careful and industrious laborer. he escaped, and when brought back to the hospital a few weeks subsequently he was in a condition of great excitement and hilarity. his expression was animated, and he was, as it were, overflowing with superabundance of spirit, very loquacious, and incessantly moving. he bore an air of great importance and self-satisfaction; said he felt perfectly well and happy, but abused the officers for keeping him 'confined unjustly in a lunatic asylum.' it was his habit almost daily, if not interfered with, to deliver a long harangue to his fellow-patients, during which he would become very excited and noisy. he showed evidences of having a remarkable memory, particularly regarding names and dates. (unusual memory is frequently observed in this type of insanity, says stearns.) he was sometimes disposed to be somewhat destructive to furniture, etc., was neat in person, but would frequently dress rather 'gorgeously,' wearing feathers and the like in his hat, etc. he was not often noisy and sleepless at night, and then only for a short time. his physical health was good. this 'mental intoxication,' as it were, lasted nearly a year. after this long exacerbation of excitement there was a short remission and then depression again set in, which lasted about fifteen months. at this time this patient is in the depressed stage or period of the third circle. so, thus the cycles have continuously repeated their weary rounds, and in all probability they will keep this up 'until the final capitation in the battle of life has taken place.'" katatonia, according to gray, is a cerebral disease of cyclic symptoms, ranging in succession from primary melancholia to mania, confusion, and dementia, one or more of these stages being occasionally absent, while convulsive and epileptoid symptoms accompany the mental changes. it is manifestly impossible to enter into the manifold forms and instances of insanity in this volume, but there is one case, seldom quoted, which may be of interest. it appeared under the title, "a modern pygmalion." it recorded a history of a man named justin, who died in the bicetre insane asylum. he had been an exhibitor of wax works at montrouge, and became deeply impressed with the beautiful proportions of the statue of a girl in his collection, and ultimately became intensely enamored with her. he would spend hours in contemplation of the inanimate object of his affections, and finally had the illusion that the figure, by movements of features, actually responded to his devotions. nemesis as usual at last arrived, and the wife of justin, irritated by his long neglect, in a fit of jealousy destroyed the wax figure, and this resulted in a murderous attack on his wife by justin who resented the demolition of his love. he was finally secured and lodged in bicetre, where he lived for five years under the influence of his lost love. an interesting condition, which has been studied more in france than elsewhere, is double consciousness, dual personality, or, as it is called by the germans, doppelwahrnehmungen. in these peculiar cases an individual at different times seems to lead absolutely different existences. the idea from a moralist's view is inculcated in stevenson's "dr. jekyl and mr. hyde." in an article on this subject weir mitchell illustrated his paper by examples, two of which will be quoted. the first was the case of mary reynolds who, when eighteen years of age, became subject to hysteric attacks, and on one occasion she continued blind and deaf for a period of five or six weeks. her hearing returned suddenly, and her sight gradually. about three months afterward she was discovered in a profound sleep. her memory had fled, and she was apparently a new-born individual. when she awoke it became apparent that she had totally forgotten her previous existence, her parents, her country, and the house where she lived. she might be compared to an immature child. it was necessary to recommence her education. she was taught to write, and wrote from right to left, as in the semitic languages. she had only five or six words at her command--mere reflexes of articulation which were to her devoid of meaning. the labor of re-education, conducted methodically, lasted from seven to eight weeks. her character had experienced as great a change as her memory; timid to excess in the first state, she became gay, unreserved, boisterous, daring, even to rashness. she strolled through the woods and the mountains, attracted by the dangers of the wild country in which she lived. then she had a fresh attack of sleep, and returned to her first condition; she recalled all the memories and again assumed a melancholy character, which seemed to be aggravated. no conscious memory of the second state existed. a new attack brought back the second state, with the phenomenon of consciousness which accompanied it the first time. the patient passed successively a great many times from one of these states to the other. these repeated changes stretched over a period of sixteen years. at the end of that time the variations ceased. the patient was then thirty-six years of age; she lived in a mixed state, but more closely resembling the second than the first; her character was neither sad nor boisterous, but more reasonable. she died at the age of sixty-five years. the second case was that of an itinerant methodist minister named bourne, living in rhode island, who one day left his home and found himself, or rather his second self, in norristown, pennsylvania. having a little money, he bought a small stock in trade, and instead of being a minister of the gospel under the methodist persuasion, he kept a candy shop under the name of a. j. brown, paid his rent regularly, and acted like other people. at last, in the middle of the night, he awoke to his former consciousness, and finding himself in a strange place, supposed he had made a mistake and might be taken for a burglar. he was found in a state of great alarm by his neighbors, to whom he stated that he was a minister, and that his home was in rhode island. his friends were sent for and recognized him, and he returned to his home after an absence of two years of absolutely foreign existence. a most careful investigation of the case was made on behalf of the london society for psychical research. an exhaustive paper on this subject, written by richard hodgson in the proceedings of the society for psychical research, states that mr. bourne had in early life shown a tendency to abnormal psychic conditions; but he had never before engaged in trade, and nothing could be remembered which would explain why he had assumed the name a. j. brown, under which he did business. he had, however, been hypnotized when young and made to assume various characters on the stage, and it is possible that the name a. j. brown was then suggested to him, the name resting in his memory, to be revived and resumed when he again went into a hypnotic trance. alfred binet describes a case somewhat similar to that of mary reynolds: "felida, a seamstress, from up to the present time (she is still living) has been under the care of a physician named azam in bordeaux. her normal, or at least her usual, disposition when he first met her was one of melancholy and disinclination to talk, conjoined with eagerness for work. nevertheless her actions and her answers to all questions were found to be perfectly rational. almost every day she passed into a second state. suddenly and without the slightest premonition save a violent pain in the temples she would fall into a profound slumber-like languor, from which she would awake in a few moments a totally different being. she was now as gay and cheery as she had formerly been morose. her imagination was over-excited. instead of being indifferent to everything, she had become alive to excess. in this state she remembered everything that had happened in the other similar states that had preceded it, and also during her normal life. but when at the end of an hour or two the languor reappeared, and she returned to her normal melancholy state, she could not recall anything that had happened in her second, or joyous, stage. one day, just after passing into the second stage, she attended the funeral of an acquaintance. returning in a cab she felt the period coming on which she calls her crisis (normal state). she dozed several seconds, without attracting the attention of the ladies who were in the cab, and awoke in the other state, absolutely at a loss to know why she was in a mourning carriage with people who, according to custom, were praising the qualities of a deceased person whose name she did not even know. accustomed to such positions, she waited; by adroit questions she managed to understand the situation, and no one suspected what had happened. once when in her abnormal condition she discovered that her husband had a mistress, and was so overcome that she sought to commit suicide. yet in her normal mind she meets the woman with perfect equilibrium and forgetfulness of any cause for quarrel. it is only in her abnormal state that the jealousy recurs. as the years went on the second state became her usual condition. that which was at first accidental and abnormal now constitutes the regular center of her psychic life. it is rather satisfactory to chronicle that as between the two egos which alternately possess her, the more cheerful has finally reached the ascendant." jackson reports the history of the case of a young dry-goods clerk who was seized with convulsions of a violent nature during which he became unconscious. in the course of twenty-four hours his convulsions abated, and about the third day he imagined himself in new york paying court to a lady, and having a rival for her favors; an imaginary quarrel and duel ensued. for a half-hour on each of three days he would start exactly where he had left off on the previous day. his eyes were open and to all appearances he was awake during this peculiar delirium. when asked what he had been doing he would assert that he had been asleep. his language assumed a refinement above his ordinary discourse. in proportion as his nervous system became composed, and his strength improved, this unnatural manifestation of consciousness disappeared, and he ultimately regained his health. a further example of this psychologic phenomenon was furnished quite meetly at a meeting of the clinical society of london, where a well known physician exhibited a girl of twelve, belonging to a family of good standing, who displayed in the most complete and indubitable form this condition of dual existence. a description of the case is as follows:-- "last year, after a severe illness which was diagnosed to be meningitis, she became subject to temporary attacks of unconsciousness, on awakening from which she appeared in an entirely different character. in her normal condition she could read and write and speak fluently, and with comparative correctness. in the altered mental condition following the attack she loses all memory for ordinary events, though she can recall things that have taken place during previous attacks. so complete is this alteration of memory, that at first she was unable to remember her own name or to identify herself or her parents. by patient training in the abnormal condition she has been enabled to give things their names, though she still preserves a baby-fashion of pronouncing. she sometimes remains in the abnormal condition for days together and the change to her real self takes place suddenly, without exciting surprise or dismay, and she forthwith resumes possession of her memory for events of her ordinary life. during the last month or two she appears to have entered on a new phase, for after a mental blank of a fortnight's duration she awakened completely oblivious of all that had happened since june, , and she alludes to events that took place just anterior to that date as though they were of recent occurrence; in fact she is living mentally in july, . these cases, though rare, are of course not infrequently met with, and they have been carefully studied, especially in france, where women appear more prone to neurotic manifestations. the hypothesis that finds most favor is that the two halves of the brain do not work in unison; in other words, that there has been some interference with the connections which in the ordinary normal being make of a wonderful composite organ like the brain one organic whole." proust tells a story of a parisian barrister of thirty-three. his father was a heavy drinker, his mother subject to nervous attacks, his younger brother mentally deficient, and the patient himself was very impressionable. it was said that a judge in a court, by fixing his gaze on him, could send him into an abnormal state. on one occasion, while looking into a mirror in a cafe, he suddenly fell into a sleep, and was taken to the charite where he was awakened. he suffered occasional loss of memory for considerable lengths of time, and underwent a change of personality during these times. though wide awake in such conditions he could remember nothing of his past life, and when returned to his original state he could remember nothing that occurred during his secondary state, having virtually two distinct memories. on september , , he quarreled with his stepfather in paris and became his second self for three weeks. he found himself in a village miles from paris, remembering nothing about his journey thereto; but on inquiry he found that he had paid a visit to the priest of the village who thought his conduct odd, and he had previously stayed with an uncle, a bishop, in whose house he had broken furniture, torn up letters, and had even had sentence passed upon him by a police court for misdemeanor. during these three weeks he had spent the equivalent of $ , but he could not recall a single item of expenditure. davies cites a remarkable case of sudden loss of memory in a man who, while on his way to australia, was found by the police in an exhausted condition and who was confined in the kent county insane asylum. he suffered absolute loss of all memory with the exception of the names of two men not close acquaintances, both of whom failed to recognize him in his changed condition in confinement. four months later his memory returned and his identity was established. in the revue philosophique for there are the details of a case of a young man who seemed able to assume six states of what might be fairly called different personalities. the memories attached to each of these states were very different, though only one was completely exclusive of the others. the handwriting varied from complete competence to complete incompetence. his character varied between childish timidity, courteous reserve, and reckless arrogance; and to four of his conditions there was a form of hysteric paralysis attached. mere suggestion would not only induce any one of these varied forms of paralysis, but also the memories, capacities, and characters habitually accompanying it. a young man named spencer, an inmate of the philadelphia hospital, was exhibited before the american neurological society in june, , as an example of dual personality. at the time of writing he is and has been in apparently perfect health, with no evidence of having been in any other condition. his faculties seem perfect, his education manifests itself in his intelligent performance of the cleric duties assigned to him at the hospital, yet the thread of continuous recollection which connects the present moment with its predecessors--consciousness and memory--has evidently been snapped at some point of time prior to march d and after january th, the last date at which he wrote to his parents, and as if in a dream, he is now living another life. the hospital staff generally believe that the man is not "shamming," as many circumstances seem to preclude that theory. his memory is perfect as to everything back to march d. the theory of hypnotism was advanced in explanation of this case. the morbid sympathy of twin brothers, illustrated in dumas's "corsican brothers," has been discussed by sedgwick, elliotson, trousseau, laycock, cagentre, and others. marshall hall relates what would seem to verify the corsican myth, the history of twin brothers nine months of age, who always became simultaneously affected with restlessness, whooping and crowing in breathing three weeks previous to simultaneous convulsions, etc. rush describes a case of twin brothers dwelling in entirely different places, who had the same impulse at the same time, and who eventually committed suicide synchronously. baunir describes a similar development of suicidal tendency in twin brothers. a peculiar case of this kind was that of the twin brothers laustand who were nurses in a hospital at bordeaux; they invariably became ill at the same time, and suffered cataract of the lens together. automatism has been noticed as a sequel to cranial injuries, and huxley quotes a remarkable case reported by mesnet. the patient was a young man whose parietal bone was partially destroyed by a ball. he exhibited signs of hemiplegia on the right side, but these soon disappeared and he became subject to periodic attacks lasting from twenty-four to forty-eight hours, during which he was a mere automaton. in these attacks he walked continually, incessantly moving his jaw, but not uttering a word. he was insensible to pain, electric shock, or pin-prick. if a pen was placed in his hand he would write a good letter, speaking sensibly about current topics. when a cigarette-paper was placed in his hand he sought his tobacco box, and adroitly rolled a cigarette and lighted it. if the light went out he procured another, but would not allow another to substitute a match. he allowed his mustache to be burned without resistance, but would not allow a light to be presented to him. if chopped charpie was put in his pocket instead of tobacco he knew no difference. while in his periods of automatism he was in the habit of stealing everything within his grasp. he had been a concert singer, and a peculiar fact was that if given white gloves he would carefully put them on and commence a pantomime of the actions of a singer, looking over his music, bowing, assuming his position, and then singing. it is particularly in hypnotic subjects that manifestations of automatism are most marked. at the suggestion of battle an imaginary struggle at once begins, or if some person present is suggested as an enemy the fight is continued, the hypnotic taking care not to strike the person in question. moll conceded that this looked like simulation, but repetition of such experiments forced him to conclude that these were real, typical hypnoses, in which, in spite of the sense-delusions, there was a dim, dreamy consciousness existing, which influenced the actions of the subject, and which prevented him from striking at a human being, although hitting at an imaginary object. many may regard this behavior of hypnotics as pure automatism; and moll adds that, as when walking in the street while reading we automatically avoid knocking passers-by, so the hypnotic avoids hitting another person, although he is dimly or not at all aware of his existence. gibbs reports a curious case of lack of integrity of the will in a man of fifty-five. when he had once started on a certain labor he seemed to have no power to stop the muscular exercise that the task called forth. if he went to the barn to throw down a forkful of hay, he would never stop until the hay was exhausted or someone came to his rescue. if sent to the wood-pile for a handful of wood, he would continue to bring in wood until the pile was exhausted or the room was full. on all occasions his automatic movements could only be stopped by force. at a meeting in breslau meschede rendered an account of a man who suffered from simple misdirection of movement without any mental derangement. if from his own desire, or by direction of others, he wanted to attempt any muscular movement, his muscles performed the exact opposite to his inclinations. if he desired to look to the right, his eyes involuntarily moved to the left. in this case the movement was not involuntary, as the muscles were quiet except when called to action by the will, and then they moved to the opposite. presentiment, or divination of approaching death, appearing to be a hypothetic allegation, has been established as a strong factor in the production of a fatal issue in many cases in which there was every hope for a recovery. in fact several physicians have mentioned with dread the peculiar obstinacy of such presentiment. hippocrates, romanus, moller, richter, jordani, and other older writers speak of it. montgomery reports a remarkable case of a woman suffering from carcinoma of the uterus. he saw her on october , , when she told him she had a strong presentiment of death on october th. she stated that she had been born on that day, her first husband had died on october th, and she had married her second husband on that day. on october th her pulse began to fail, she fell into a state of extreme prostration, and at noon on the th she died. in substantiation of the possibility of the influence of presentiment montgomery cites another case in which he was called at an early hour to visit a lady, the mother of several children. he found her apparently much agitated and distressed, and in great nervous excitement over a dream she had had, in which she saw a handsome monument erected by some children to their mother. she had awakened and became dreadfully apprehensive, she could not tell as to what. the uneasiness and depression continued, her pulse continued to grow weak, and she died at twelve that night without a struggle. andrews has made several observations on this subject, and concludes that presentiment of death is a dangerous symptom, and one which should never be overlooked. one of his cases was in a man with a fractured leg in the mercy hospital at pittsburg. the patient was in good health, but one day he became possessed of a cool, quiet, and perfectly clear impression that he was about to die. struck with his conviction, andrews examined his pulse and general condition minutely, and assured the patient there was not the slightest ground for apprehension. but he persisted, and was attacked by pneumonia three days later which brought him to the verge of the grave, although he ultimately recovered. in another instance a young man of ruddy complexion and apparent good health, after an operation for varicocele, had a very clear impression that he would die. careful examination showed no reason for apprehension. after five or six days of encouragement and assurance, he appeared to be convinced that his reasoning was foolish, and he gave up the idea of death. about the ninth day the wound presented a healthy, rosy appearance, and as the patient was cheerful he was allowed to leave his bed. after a few hours the nurse heard the noise of labored breathing, and on investigation found the patient apparently in a dying condition. he was given stimulants and regained consciousness, but again relapsed, and died in a few moments. at the necropsy the heart was found healthy, but there were two or three spots of extravasated blood in the brain, and evidences of cerebral congestion. vos remarks that he remembers a case he had when dressing for mr. holden at st. bartholomew's hospital: "a man who had been intemperate was rolling a sod of grass, and got some grit into his left palm. it inflamed; he put on hot cow-dung poultices by the advice of some country friends. he was admitted with a dreadfully swollen hand. it was opened, but the phlegmonous process spread up to the shoulder, and it was opened in many places, and at last, under chloroform, the limb was amputated below the joint. the stump sloughed, and pus pointing at the back of the neck, an opening was again made. he became in such a weak state that chloroform could not be administered, and one morning he had such a dread of more incisions that, saying to us all standing round his bed, 'i can bear it no more, i must now die,' he actually did die in a few minutes in our presence. his was the last arm that mr. holden ever amputated at st. bartholomew's." chapter xviii. historic epidemics. a short history of the principal epidemics, including as it does the description of anomalous diseases, many of which are now extinct, and the valuable knowledge which finally led to their extinction, the extraordinary mortalities which these epidemics caused, and many other associate points of interest would seem fitting to close the observations gathered in this volume. as the illustrious hecker says, in the history of every epidemic, from the earliest times, the spirit of inquiry was always aroused to learn the machinery of such stupendous engines of destruction; and even in the earliest times there was neither deficiency in courage nor in zeal for investigation. "when the glandular plague first made its appearance as a universal epidemic, whilst the more pusillanimous, haunted by visionary fears, shut themselves up in their closets, some physicians at constantinople, astonished at the phenomena opened the boils of the deceased. the like has occurred both in ancient and modern times, not without favorable results for science; nay, more mature views excited an eager desire to become acquainted with similar or still greater visitations among the ancients, but, as later ages have always been fond of referring to grecian antiquity, the learned of those times, from a partial and meagre predilection, were contented with the descriptions of thucydides, even where nature had revealed, in infinite diversity, the workings of her powers." there cannot but be a natural interest in every medical mind to-day in the few descriptions given of the awful ravages of the epidemics which, fortunately, in our enlightened sanitary era, have entirely disappeared. in the history of such epidemics the name of hecker stands out so prominently that any remarks on this subject must necessarily, in some measure, find their origin in his writings, which include exhaustive histories of the black death, the dancing mania, and the sweating sickness. few historians have considered worthy of more than a passing note an event of such magnitude as the black death, which destroyed millions of the human race in the fourteenth century and was particularly dreadful in england. hume has given but a single paragraph to it and others have been equally brief. defoe has given us a journal of the plague, but it is not written in a true scientific spirit; and caius, in , gave us a primitive treatise on the sweating sickness. it is due to the translation of hecker's "epidemics of the middle ages" by babbington, made possible through the good offices of the sydenham society, that a major part of the knowledge on this subject of the english-reading populace has been derived. the black death, or, as it has been known, the oriental plague, the bubonic plague, or in england, simply the plague, and in italy, "la mortalega" (the great mortality) derived its name from the orient; its inflammatory boils, tumors of the glands, and black spots, indicative of putrid decomposition, were such as have been seen in no other febrile disease. all the symptoms were not found in every case, and in many cases one symptom alone preceded death. although afflicted with all the manifestations of the plague, some patients recovered. according to hecker the symptoms of cephalic affliction were seen; many patients were stupefied and fell into a deep sleep, or became speechless from palsy of the tongue, while others remained sleepless and without rest. the fauces and tongue were black and as if suffused with blood; no beverage could assuage the burning thirst, so that suffering continued without alleviation until death, which many in their despair accelerated with their own hands. contagion was evident, for attendants caught the disease from their parents and friends, and many houses were emptied of their inhabitants. in the fourteenth century this affection caused still deeper sufferings, such as had not been hitherto experienced. the organs of respiration became the seats of a putrid inflammation, blood was expectorated, and the breath possessed a pestiferous odor. in the west an ardent fever, accompanied by an evacuation of blood, proved fatal in the first three days. it appears that buboes and inflammatory boils did not at first appear, but the disease in the form of carbuncular affection of the lungs (anthrax artigen) caused the fatal issue before the other symptoms developed. later on in the history of the plague the inflammatory boils and buboes in the groins and axillae were recognized at once as prognosticating a fatal issue. the history of this plague extends almost to prehistoric times. there was a pest in athens in the fifth century before christ. there was another in the second century, a.d., under the reign of marcus aurelius, and again in the third century, under the reign of the gauls; following this was the terrible epidemic of the sixth century, which, after having ravaged the territory of the gauls, extended westward. in a greek historian, procopius, born about the year , gives a good description of this plague in a work, "pestilentia gravissima," so called in the latin translation. dupouy in "le moyen age medical," says that it commenced in the village of peleuse, in egypt, and followed a double course, one branch going to alexandria and the other to palestine. it reached constantinople in the spring of , and produced the greatest devastation wherever it appeared. in the course of the succeeding half century this epidemic became pandemic and spread over all the inhabited earth. the epidemic lasted four months in constantinople, from to , people dying each day. in his "history of france," from to , gregorius speaks of a malady under the name inguinale which depopulated the province of arles. in another passage this illustrious historian of tours says that the town of narbonne was devastated by a maladie des aines. we have records of epidemics in france from to , in which bubonic symptoms were a prominent feature. about the middle of the fourteenth century the bubonic plague made another incursion from the east. in , fifteen years before the plague appeared in europe, there were terrible droughts in china followed by enormous floods in which thousands of people perished. there are traditions of a plague in tche in , following a drought, which is said to have carried off about , , people. during the fifteen years before the appearance of the plague in europe there were peculiar atmospheric phenomena all over the world, besides numerous earthquakes. from the description of the stinking atmosphere of europe itself at this time it is quite possible that part of the disease came, not from china, but originated in southern europe itself. from china the route of caravans ran to the north of the caspian sea, through asia, to tauris. here ships were ready to take the produce of the east to constantinople, the capital of commerce, and the medium of communication between europe, asia, and africa. other caravans went from europe to asia minor and touched at the cities south of the caspian sea, and lastly there were others from bagdad through arabia to egypt; the maritime communication on the red sea to arabia and egypt was also not inconsiderable. in all these directions contagion found its way, though doubtless constantinople and the harbors of asia minor were the chief foci of infection, whence it radiated to the most distant seaports and islands. as early as the mediterranean shores were visited by the plague, and in january, , it appeared in the south of france, the north of italy, and also in spain. place after place was attacked throughout the year, and after ravishing the whole of france and germany, the plague appeared in england, a period of three months elapsing before it reached london. the northern kingdoms were attacked in , but in russia it did not make its appearance before . as to the mortality of this fearful epidemic dupony considers that in the space of four years more than , , fell victims, that is, about half of the population of the countries visited. hecker estimates that from to , , , people died, or one-quarter of the total population of europe. it was reported to pope clement that throughout the east, probably with the exception of china, nearly , , people had fallen victims to the plague. thirteen millions are said to have died in china alone. constantinople lost two-thirds of its population. when the plague was at its greatest violence cairo lost daily from , to , , as many as modern plagues have carried off during their whole course. india was depopulated. tartary, mesopotamia, syria, armenia, and arabia were covered with dead bodies. in this latter country arabian historians mention that maara el nooman, schisur, and harem in some unaccountable manner remained free. the shores of the mediterranean were ravaged and ships were seen on the high seas without sailors. in "the decameron" boccaccio gives a most graphic description of the plague and states that in florence, in four months, , perished; before the calamity it was hardly supposed to contain so many inhabitants. according to hecker, venice lost , ; london, , ; paris, , ; siena, , ; avignon, , ; strasburg, , ; norwich, , . dupony says that in one month there were , victims in marseilles, and at montpellier three-quarters of the population and all the physicians were stricken with the epidemic. johanna of burgundy, wife of king philip vi of valois; johanna ii, queen of navarre, granddaughter of philippe le bel; alphonse xi of castile, and other notable persons perished. all the cities of england suffered incredible losses. germany seems to have been particularly spared; according to a probable calculation, only about , , dying. italy was most severely visited, and was said to have lost most of its inhabitants. in the north of europe two of the brothers of magnus, king of sweden, died; and in westgothland alone priests died. the plague showed no decrease in the northern climates of iceland and greenland, and caused great havoc in those countries. the moral effect of such a great pandemic plague can be readily surmised. the mental shock sustained by all nations during the prevalence of the black plague is beyond parallel and description. an awful sense of contrition and repentance seized christians of every community. they resolved to forsake their vices, and to make restitution for past offenses; hence extreme religious fanaticism held full sway throughout europe. the zeal of the penitents stopped at nothing. the so-called brotherhood of the cross, otherwise known as the order of flagellants, which had arisen in the thirteenth century, but was suppressed by the mandates and strenuous efforts of the church, was revived during the plague, and numbers of these advocates of self-chastisement roamed through the various countries on their great pilgrimages. their power increased to such an extent that the church was in considerable danger, for these religious enthusiasts gained more credit among the people, and operated more strongly on their minds than the priests from whom they so entirely withdrew that they even absolved each other. their strength grew with such rapidity, and their numbers increased to such an extent daily, that the state and the church were forced to combine for their suppression. degeneracy, however, soon crept in, crimes were committed, and they went beyond their strength in attempting the performance of miracles. one of the most fearful consequences of this frenzy was the persecution of the jews. this alien race was given up to the merciless fury and cruelty of the populace. the persecution of the jews commenced in september and october, , at chillon on lake geneva, where criminal proceedings were instituted against them on the mythic charge of poisoning the public wells. these persecuted people were summoned before sanguinary tribunals, beheaded and burned in the most fearful manner. at strasburg jews were burned alive in their own burial-ground, where a large scaffold had been erected, their wealth being divided among the people. in mayence , jews were said to have been put to a cruel death. at eslingen the whole jewish community burned themselves in their synagogue, and mothers were often seen throwing their children on the pile, to prevent them from being baptized, and then precipitating themselves into the flames. the cruel and avaricious desires of the monarchs against these thrifty and industrious people added fuel to the flames of the popular passion, and even a fanatic zeal arose among the jews to perish as martyrs to their ancient religion. when we sum up the actual effects as well as the after effects of the black death, we are appalled at the magnitude of such a calamity, the like of which the world had never seen before. in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries the plague was generally diffused throughout europe, and in the latter half of the seventeenth century a final occidental incursion of the plague took place. from to over , people perished in london from the plague, and in the mortality in that city amounted to , persons. but the great plague of london did not begin until . in this plague the patient at first became sensible of great weariness and fatigue, had slight chills, nausea, vomiting, vertigo, and pains in the loins. the mental disturbance rapidly increased, and stupor and delirium ensued. the face was alternately flushed and pallid, and a sense of constriction was experienced in the region of the heart. darting pains were felt all over the body, soon followed by the enlargement of the lymphatic glands, or by the formation of carbuncles in various parts of the body. about the third day the tongue became dry and brown, and the gums, tongue, and teeth were covered with a dark fur, and the excretions became offensive; paralysis intervened; ecchymosed patches or stripes due to extravasation appeared on the skin; finally the pulse sank, the body grew cold and clammy, delirium or coma seized the victim, and in five or six days, sometimes in two or three, the painful struggle was at an end. it was supposed that the disease originated in the orient and was brought to london from holland. in his "journal of the plague in london" defoe describes its horrors, and tells of the dead-cart which went through the streets gathering the victims. a few extracts from pepys's "diary," the evidence of an eye-witness and a contemporary, show the ghastly aspects of this terrible visitation. on august st he writes: "in the city, this week, died , and of them died of the plague. but it is found that the true number of the dead this week is nearer , ; partly from the poor who cannot be taken care of through the greatness of the number, and partly from the quakers and others that will not have any bell rung for them." according to adams, john evelyn noted in his "kalendarium":--"sept. th.--near , now died weekly; however, i went all along the city and suburbs from kent street to st. james's, a dismal passage, and dangerous to see so many coffins exposed in the streets; the streets thin of people, the shops shut up, and all in silence, no one knowing whose turn might be next." as the cold weather came on the plague diminished in intensity and the people regained their confidence and returned to the city. according to adams, in the first week of march, , deaths by the plague had decreased to ; and by the end of the month it was nearly extinct after carrying off about , victims. in our days we can hardly comprehend the filthy hygienic conditions under which the people in the cities lived, and it was probably to this fact that the growth and perpetuation of this plague was due. as to the bubonic plague recently raging in camptown, china, mary niles says that it was the same disease as the great london plague, and was characterized mainly by glandular enlargement. it had not appeared in the canton district for forty years or more, though it was endemic in yunnan. in some places it began in the winter; and as early as january she herself found the first case in canton in an infected house. in no case was direct contagiousness found to exist. the glands enlarged twelve hours after the fever began, and sometimes suppurated in nonfatal cases in a short time. kitasato has recently announced the discovery of the specific cause of the bubonic plague. sweating sickness.--according to hecker, very shortly after henry's triumphant march from bosworth field, and his entry into the capital on august , , the sweating sickness began its ravages among the people of the densely populated city. according to lord bacon the disease began about september st, and lasted to the end of october, . the physicians could do little or nothing for the people, and seemed to take no account of the clinical history of the disease,--in this respect not unlike the greek physicians who for four hundred years paid no attention to small-pox because they could find no description of it in the immortal works of galen. the causes seemed to be uncleanliness, gluttony, immoderate drinking, and also severe inundations leaving decaying vegetation. richmond's army has been considered a factor in the germination of the seeds of pestilent disorder which broke out soon after in the camps of litchfield, and on the banks of the severn. sweating sickness was an inflammatory rheumatic fever, with great disorder of the nervous system, and was characterized by a profuse and injurious perspiration. in the english epidemic the brain, meninges, and the nerves were affected in a peculiar manner. the functions of the pneumogastric nerves were violently disordered in this disease, as was shown by the oppressed respiration and extreme anxiety, with nausea and vomiting,--symptoms to which modern physicians attach much importance. the stupor and profound lethargy show that there was an injury to the brain, to which, in all probability, was added a stagnation of black blood in the torpid veins. probably decomposing blood gave rise to the offensive odor of the person. the function of the lungs was considerably impaired. the petechial fever in italy in was a form of the sweating sickness. there were visitations in and in in england. in the disease lasted full six months and reached its greatest height about six weeks after its appearance, but was apparently limited to england. meningeal symptoms were characteristic of the third visitation of the disease. in and there was a fourth visitation which resulted in the destruction of the french army before naples. it is said that in a petechial fever carried off , people in milan, and possibly this was the same disease. in the disease had spread all over europe, attended with great mortality. germany, france, and italy were visited equally. the famine in germany, at this time, is described by authorities in a tone of deep sympathy. swabia, lorraine, alsace, and provinces on the border of the lower rhine, were frightfully affected, so that the disease reached the same heights there as in france. in england henry viii endeavored to avoid the epidemic by continual traveling, until at last he grew tired of so unsettled a life and determined to await his destiny at tytynhangar. it was not the inhabitants of the land alone who were affected, but even fish and the fowls of the air sickened. according to schiller, in the neighborhood of freiburg in breisgau, dead birds were found scattered under the trees with boils as large as peas under their wings,--indicating among them a disease, and this extended far beyond the southern districts of the rhine. the disease was undoubtedly of a miasmatic infectious nature, as was proved by its rapid spread and the occasional absence of a history of contagion. it was particularly favored in its development by high temperature and humidity. the moral effect of the sweating sickness, similar to that of the black plague, was again to increase religious fanaticism and recreate the zeal of persecution. on the th of april, , there was an outbreak of the fifth and last epidemic of sweating fever in shrewsbury, on the severn. with stinking mists it gradually spread all over england, and on the th of july it reached london. the mortality was very considerable. the english residents were particularly susceptible, foreigners being comparatively exempt. the epidemic terminated about the th of september. since that time the sweating sickness has never reappeared in england; but in the beginning of the eighteenth century a disease very similar in symptoms and course broke out in picardy, in northern france. toward the end of the century it spread to the south of france, and since that time has appeared epidemically, distinct outbreaks having been observed in the course of one hundred and sixty-nine years, from to . the disease has frequently appeared in italy since , and in various parts of germany since . in belgium it has been observed in a few places within the present century (rohe). chronologic table of the principal plagues.--in december, , h. p. potter, f.r.c.s., published a chronologic table of some of the principal plagues on record. in comments on his table, potter says that he has doubtless included mention of many plagues which, although described under that name, are probably a dissimilar disease, writers having applied the terms pestilential and pestilent in a generic sense to diseases specifically different. it must also be remembered that, in some cases, death must have been due to famine, want, and privation, which are so frequently coexistent with pestilence. following the idea of hecker, the dancing manias have been included in this table. {table omitted} small-pox.--from certain chinese records it appears that small-pox, or a disease with similar symptoms, was known in china before the christian era, and it was supposed to have been known at a very early period in india. most likely it was introduced into europe in the second century by a roman army returning from asia. before the sixth century, the terrible century of the great plague, there seem to be no records of small-pox or other eruptive fevers. neither hippocrates, galen, nor the greek physicians who practiced at rome, mention small-pox, although it is now believed that the emperor marcus aurelius died of this disease. according to dupony, the first document mentioning variola was in a.d., by marius, a scholar of avenches, in switzerland. ("anno , morbus validus cum profluvio ventris, et variola, italiam galliamque valde affecit.") ten years later gregory of tours describes an epidemic with all the symptoms of small-pox in the fifth reign of king childebert ( ); it started in the region of auvergne, which was inundated by a great flood; he also describes a similar epidemic in touraine in . rhazes, or as the arabs call him, abu beer mohammed ibn zacariya ar-razi, in the latter part of the ninth century wrote a most celebrated work on small-pox and measles, which is the earliest accurate description of these diseases, although rhazes himself mentions several writers who had previously described them, and who had formulated rules for their cure. he explained these diseases by the theory of fermentation, and recommended the cooling treatment. adams remarks that although it is probable that small-pox existed for ages in hindoostan and china, being completely isolated in those countries from the european world, it was not introduced into the west until the close of the seventh century. imported into egypt by the arabians, it followed in the tracks of their conquests, and was in this way propagated over europe. the foregoing statement disagrees with dupony and others. it is well known that small-pox was prevalent in europe before rhazes's description of it, and after the crusades it spread over central and western europe, but did not extend to the northern countries until some years later. in the spaniards introduced it into san domingo, and in into mexico, where it proved a more fatal scourge than the swords of cortez and his followers, for according to robertson it swept away in mexico three millions and a half of people. in it appeared in iceland, and carried off more than one-fourth of its inhabitants; in , according to collinson, it almost depopulated greenland. the samoyeds, ostiaks, and other natives of eastern siberia, have frequently suffered from devastating epidemics. in kamchatka the disease was introduced in , and many villages were completely depopulated. according to moore, at the beginning of the eighteenth century nearly one-fourteenth of the population died from small-pox in england, and at the end of the century the number of the victims had increased to one-tenth. in the last century the statement was made in england that one person in every three was badly pock-marked. the mortality of the disease at the latter half of the eighteenth century was about three to every thousand inhabitants annually. india has always been a fertile ground for the development of small-pox, and according to rohe the mortality from small-pox has been exceedingly great for the past twenty years. from to , , persons died in the presidencies of bombay and calcutta, and several years later, from to , , died from this disease. china, japan, and the neighboring countries are frequently visited with small-pox, and nearly all the inhabitants of corea are said to bear evidences of the disease. in the marquesas islands one-fourth of the inhabitants had fallen victims to the disease since . it was first introduced into the sandwich islands in , and it then carried off eight per cent of the natives. australia, tasmania, new zealand, and the fiji archipelago have to the present day remained exempt from small-pox; although it has been carried to australia in vessels, rigorous quarantine methods have promptly checked it. on the american continent it was believed that small-pox was unknown until the conquest of mexico. it has been spread through various channels to nearly all the indian tribes of both north and south america, and among these primitive people, unprotected by inoculation or vaccination, its ravages have been frightful. that small-pox a disease so general and so fatal at one time--has, through the ingenuity of man, in civilized communities at least, become almost extinct, is one of the greatest triumphs of medicine. inoculation was known in europe about , and in the famous letter of lady montagu from adrianople was issued, containing in part the following statements:-- "the small-pox, so fatal and so general amongst us, is here entirely harmless, by the invention of ingrafting, which is the term they give it. there is a set of old women who make it their business to perform the operation every autumn in the month of september, when the great heat is abated. people send to one another to know if any of their family has a mind to have the small-pox; they make parties for this purpose, and when they are met, the old woman comes with a nut-shell full of the matter of the best sort of small-pox, and asks what vein you please to have opened. she immediately rips open that you offer her with a large needle, and puts into the vein as much matter as can lie upon the head of her needle, and after that binds up the little wound with a hollow shell, and in this manner opens four or five veins." soon after this letter lady montagu had her son inoculated in turkey, and four years later her daughter was to be the first subject inoculated in england. she made rapid progress notwithstanding the opposition of the medical profession, and the ignorance and credulity of the public. the clergy vituperated her for the impiety of seeking to control the designs of providence. preaching in , the rev. edward massey, for example, affirmed that job's distemper was confluent small-pox, and that he had been inoculated by the devil. lady montagu, however, gained many supporters among the higher classes. in mead was requested by the prince of wales to superintend the inoculation of some condemned criminals, the prince intending afterward to continue the practice in his own family; the experiment was entirely successful, and the individuals on whom it was made afterward received their liberty (adams). according to rohe, inoculation was introduced into this country in by dr. zabdiel boylston of boston, who had his attention directed to the practice by cotton mather, the eminent divine. during and persons were inoculated by boylston and others in massachusetts, and six died. these fatal results rendered the practice unpopular, and at one time the inoculation hospital in boston was closed by order of the legislature. toward the end of the century an inoculating hospital was again opened in that city. early in the eighteenth century inoculation was extensively practiced by dr. adam thomson of maryland, who was instrumental in spreading a knowledge of the practice throughout the middle states. despite inoculation, as we have already seen, during the eighteenth century the mortality from small-pox increased. the disadvantage of inoculation was that the person inoculated was affected with a mild form of small-pox, which however, was contagious, and led to a virulent form in uninoculated persons. as universal inoculation was manifestly impracticable, any half-way measure was decidedly disadvantageous, and it was not until vaccination from cow-pox was instituted that the first decided check on the ravages of small-pox was made. vaccination was almost solely due to the persistent efforts of dr. edward jenner, a pupil of the celebrated john hunter, born may , . in his comments on the life of edward jenner, adams, in "the healing art," has graphically described his first efforts to institute vaccination, as follows: "to the ravages of small-pox, and the possibility of finding some preventive jenner had long given his attention. it is likely enough that his thoughts were inclined in this direction by the remembrance of the sufferings inflicted upon himself by the process of inoculation. through six weeks that process lingered. he was bled, purged, and put on a low diet, until 'this barbarism of human veterinary practice' had reduced him to a skeleton. he was then exposed to the contagion of the small-pox. happily, he had but a mild attack; yet the disease itself and the inoculating operations, were probably the causes of the excessive sensitiveness which afflicted him through life. "when jenner was acting as a surgeon's articled pupil at sudbury, a young countrywoman applied to him for advice. in her presence some chance allusion was made to the universal disease, on which she remarked: 'i shall never take it, for i have had the cow-pox.' the remark induced him to make inquiries; and he found that a pustular eruption, derived from infection, appeared on the hands of milkers, communicated from the teats of cows similarly disordered; this eruption was regarded as a safeguard against small-pox. the subject occupied his mind so much that he frequently mentioned it to john hunter and the great surgeon occasionally alluded to it in his lectures, but never seems to have adopted jenner's idea that it might suggest some efficacious substitute for inoculation. jenner, however, continued his inquiries, and in he confided to his friend, edward gardner, his hope and prayer that it might be his work in life to extirpate smallpox by the mode of treatment now so familiar under the name of vaccination. "at the meetings of the alveston and radborough medical clubs, of both of which jenner was a member, he so frequently enlarged upon his favorite theme, and so repeatedly insisted upon the value of cow-pox as a prophylactic, that he was denounced as a nuisance, and in a jest it was even proposed that if the orator further sinned, he should then and there be expelled. nowhere could the prophet find a disciple and enforce the lesson upon the ignorant; like most benefactors of mankind he had to do his work unaided. patiently and perseveringly he pushed forward his investigations. the aim he had in view was too great for ridicule to daunt, or indifference to discourage him. when he surveyed the mental and physical agony inflicted by the disease, and the thought occurred to him that he was on the point of finding a sure and certain remedy, his benevolent heart overflowed with unselfish gladness. no feeling of personal ambition, no hope or desire of fame, sullied the purity of his noble philanthropy. 'while the vaccine discovery was progressive,' he writes, 'the joy at the prospect before me of being the instrument destined to take away from the world one of its greatest calamities, blended with the fond hope of enjoying independence, and domestic peace and happiness, were often so excessive, that, in pursuing my favorite subject among the meadows, i have sometimes found myself in a kind of reverie. it is pleasant to recollect that those reflections always ended in devout acknowledgments to that being from whom this and all other blessings flow.' at last an opportunity occurred of putting his theory to the test. on the th day of may, ,--the day marks an epoch in the healing art, and is not less worthy of being kept as a national thanksgiving than the day of waterloo--the cow-pox matter or pus was taken from the hand of one sarah holmes, who had been infected from her master's cows, and was inserted by two superficial incisions into the arms of james phipps, a healthy boy of about eight years of age. the cow-pox ran its ordinary course without any injurious effect, and the boy was afterward inoculated for the small-pox,--happily in vain. the protection was complete; and jenner thenceforward pursued his experiments with redoubled ardor. his first summary of them, after having been examined and approved by several friends, appeared under the title of 'an inquiry into the causes and effects of the variolae vaccinae,' in june, . in this important work he announced the security against the small-pox afforded by the true cow-pox, and proceeded to trace the origin of that disease in the cow to a similar affection of the horse's heel." this publication produced a great sensation in the medical world, and vaccination spread so rapidly that in the following summer jenner had the indorsement of the majority of the leading surgeons of london. vaccination was soon introduced into france, where napoleon gave another proof of his far-reaching sagacity by his immediate recognition of the importance of vaccination. it was then spread all over the continent; and in dr. benjamin waterhouse of boston introduced it into america; in , with his sons-in-law, president jefferson vaccinated in their own families and those of their friends nearly persons. quinan has shown that vaccination was introduced into maryland at least simultaneously with its introduction into massachusetts. de curco introduced vaccination into vienna, where its beneficial results were displayed on a striking scale; previously the average annual mortality had been about ; the number now fell to in , in , and in . after the introduction of vaccination in england the mortality was reduced from nearly per million inhabitants annually to per million annually. during the small-pox epidemic in london in , seaton and buchanan examined over , school children, and among every thousand without evidences of vaccination they found with the scars of small-pox, while of every thousand presenting some evidence of vaccination, only . had any such traces of small-pox to exhibit. where vaccination has been rendered compulsory, the results are surprising. in a law was established in prussia that every child that had not already had small-pox must be vaccinated in the first year of its life, and every pupil in a private or public institution must be revaccinated during the year in which his or her twelfth birthday occurs. this law virtually stamped small-pox out of existence; and according to frolich not a single death from small-pox occurred in the german army between and . notwithstanding the arguments advanced in this latter day against vaccination, the remembrance of a few important statistic facts is all that is necessary to fully appreciate the blessing which jenner conferred upon humanity. in the last century, besides the enormous mortality of small-pox (it was computed that, in the middle of the last century, , , victims perished in russia from small-pox), the marks of affliction, blindness, deafness, etc., were plain in at least one member of every family. asiatic cholera probably originated centuries ago in india, where it is now endemic and rages to such an extent as to destroy , inhabitants in the space of five years. there is questionable evidence of the existence of cholera to be found in the writings of some of the classic grecian and indian authors, almost as far back as the beginning of the christian era. in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries travelers in the east gave accounts of this disease. sonnerat, a french traveler, describes a pestilence having all the characteristics of asiatic cholera which prevailed in the neighborhood of pondicherry and the coromandel coast from to , and which, within a year, carried off , of those attacked. according to rohe, jasper correa, an officer in vasco da gama's expedition to calicut, states that zamorin, the chief of calicut, lost , troops by the disease. although cholera has frequently extended to europe and america, its ravages have never been nearly as extensive as in the oriental outbreaks. an excellent short historic sketch of the epidemics of the cholera observed beyond the borders of india has been given by rohe. in cholera crossed the boundaries of india, advancing southeasterly to ceylon, and westerly to mauritius, reaching the african coast in . in the following two years it devastated the chinese empire and invaded japan, appearing at the port of nagasaki in . it advanced into asiatic russia, and appeared as far east as st. petersburg in , from whence it spread north to finland. in it passed through germany, invading france and the western borders of europe, entering the british isles in , and crossing the atlantic ocean for the first time, appeared in canada, having been carried thence by some irish emigrants. from canada it directly made its way to the united states by way of detroit. in the same year ( ) it appeared in new york and rapidly spread along the atlantic coast. "during the winter of it appeared at new orleans, and passed thence up the mississippi valley. extending into the indian country, causing sad havoc among the aborigines, it advanced westward until its further progress was stayed by the shores of the pacific ocean. in it reappeared on the east coast of the united states, but did not gain much headway, and in the following year new orleans was again invaded by way of cuba. it was again imported into mexico in . in it appeared for the first time in south america, being restricted, however, to a mild epidemic on the guiana coast. "in the disease again advanced beyond its natural confines, reaching europe by way of turkey, in . in the autumn of this year it also appeared in great britain, belgium, the netherlands, sweden, and the united states, entering by way of new york and new orleans. in the succeeding two years the entire extent of country east of the rocky mountains was invaded. during and the disease was frequently imported by emigrants, who were annually arriving in great numbers from the various infected countries of europe. in and cholera again prevailed extensively in this country, being, however, traceable to renewed importation of infected material from abroad. in the following two years it also broke out in numerous south american states, where it prevailed at intervals until . hardly had this third great pandemic come to an end before the disease again advanced from the ganges, spreading throughout india, and extending to china, japan, and the east indian archipelago, during the years to . in the latter year it reached europe by way of malta and marseilles. it rapidly spread over the continent, and in was imported into this country by way of halifax, new york, and new orleans. this epidemic prevailed extensively in the western states, but produced only slight ravages on the atlantic coast, being kept in check by appropriate sanitary measures. in the same year ( ) the disease was also carried to south america, and invaded for the first time the states bordering on the rio de la plata and the pacific coast of the continent. "cholera never entirely disappeared in russia during the latter half of the sixth decade, and in it again broke out with violence, carrying off a quarter of a million of the inhabitants before dying out in . it spread from russia into germany and france and was imported, in , into this country, entering by way of new orleans and extending up the mississippi valley. none of the atlantic coast cities suffered from this epidemic in , and since that year the united states has been entirely free from the disease, with the exception of a few imported cases in new york harbor in " (and in ). in an epidemic of cholera raged in egypt and spread to many of the mediterranean ports, and reappeared in with renewed violence. in spain alone during this latter epidemic the total number of cases was over one-third of a million, with nearly , deaths. in cholera caused at least , deaths in japan. in the latter part of cholera was carried from genoa to buenos ayres, and crossing the andean range invaded the pacific coast for a second time. in chili alone there were over , deaths from cholera in the first six months of . since then the entire western hemisphere has been virtually free from the disease. in there was an epidemic of cholera in the orient; and in and it broke out along the shores of the mediterranean, invading all the lines of commerce of europe, hamburg in the north and marseilles in the south being especially affected. in the summer of a few cases appeared in new york bay and several in new york city, but rigorous quarantine methods prevented any further spread. typhus fever is now a rare disease, and epidemics are quite infrequent. it has long been known under the names of hospital-fever, spotted-fever, jail-fever, camp-fever, and ship-fever, and has been the regular associate of such social disturbances as overcrowding, excesses, famine, and war. for the past eight centuries epidemics of typhus have from time to time been noticed, but invariably can be traced to some social derangement. yellow fever is a disease prevailing endemically in the west indies and certain sections of what was formerly known as the spanish main. guiteras recognizes three areas of infection:-- ( ) the focal zone from which the disease is never absent, including havana, vera cruz, rio, and the other various spanish-american points. ( ) the perifocal zone, or regions of periodic epidemics, including the ports of the tropical atlantic and africa. ( ) the zone of accidental epidemics, between the parallels of degrees north and degrees south latitude. in the seventeenth century guadaloupe, dominica, martinique, and barbadoes suffered from epidemics of yellow fever. after the first half of the seventeenth century the disease was prevalent all through the west indies. it first appeared in the united states at the principal ports of boston, philadelphia, and charleston, in , and in it reappeared in philadelphia and charleston, and since that time many invasions have occurred, chiefly in the southern states. the epidemic of in philadelphia, so graphically described by matthew carey, was, according to osler, the most serious that has ever prevailed in any city of the middle states. although the population of the city was only , , during the months of august, september, october, and november the mortality, as given by carey, was , of whom died in the months of september and october. during the following ten years epidemics of a lesser degree occurred along the coast of the united states, and in the disease raged throughout the southern states, there being a mortality in new orleans alone of nearly . in the epidemic of in the southern states the mortality was nearly , . south america was invaded for the first time in , and since the disease has been endemic in brazil. peru and the argentine republic have also received severe visitations of yellow fever since . in cuba the disease is epidemic during june, july, and august, and it appears with such certainty that the revolutionists at the present time count more on the agency of yellow fever in the destruction of the unacclimated spanish soldiers than on their own efforts. leprosy is distinctly a malady of oriental origin, and existed in prehistoric times in egypt and judea. it was supposed to have been brought into europe by a roman army commanded by pompey, after an expedition into palestine. leprosy was mentioned by several authors in the christian era. france was invaded about the second century, and from that time on to the crusades the disease gradually increased. at this epoch, the number of lepers or ladres becoming so large, they were obliged to confine themselves to certain portions of the country, and they took for their patron st. lazare, and small hospitals were built and dedicated to this saint. under louis viii of these hospitals were counted, and later, according to dupony, there were , in the french kingdom. various laws and regulations were made to prevent the spread of the contagion. in it was said that there were as many as lepers in one hospital in paris. no mention is made in the hippocratic writings of elephantiasis graecorum, which was really a type of leprosy, and is now considered synonymous with it. according to rayer, some writers insist that the affection then existed under the name of the phoenician disease. before the time of celsus, the poet lucretius first speaks of elephantiasis graecorum, and assigns egypt as the country where it occurs. celsus gives the principal characteristics, and adds that the disease is scarcely known in italy, but is very common in certain other countries. galen supplies us with several particular but imperfect cases--histories of elephantiasis graecorum, with a view to demonstrate the value of the flesh of the viper, and in another review he adds that the disease is common in alexandria. aretaeus has left a very accurate picture of the symptoms of elephantiasis graecorum; and pliny recapitulates the principal features and tells us that the disease is indigenous in egypt. the opinion of the contagiousness of elephantiasis graecorum which we find announced in herodotus and galen is more strongly insisted upon by caelius aurelianus who recommends isolation of those affected. paulus aegenita discusses the disease. the arabian writers have described elephantiasis graecorum under the name of juzam, which their translators have rendered by the word lepra. later, hensler, fernel pare, vesalius, horstius, forestus, and others have discussed it. the statistics of leprosy in europe pale before the numbers affected in the east. the extent of its former ravages is unknown, but it is estimated that at the present day there are over , lepers in india, and the number in china is possibly beyond computation. according to morrow, in in the sandwich islands there were lepers in the settlement at molokai. berger states that there were cases at key west; and blanc found cases at new orleans. cases of leprosy are not infrequently found among the chinese on the pacific coast, and an occasional case is seen in the large cities of this country. at the present day in europe, where leprosy was once so well known, it is never found except in norway and the far east. possibly few diseases have caused so much misery and suffering as leprosy. the banishment from all friends and relatives, the confiscation of property and seclusion from the world, coupled with poverty and brutality of treatment,--all emphasize its physical horror a thousandfold. as to the leper himself, no more graphic description can be given than that printed in the ninteenth century, august, : "but leprosy! were i to describe it no one would follow me. more cruel than the clumsy torturing weapons of old, it distorts, and scars, and hacks, and maims, and destroys its victim inch by inch, feature by feature, member by member, joint by joint, sense by sense, leaving him to cumber the earth and tell the horrid tale of a living death, till there is nothing left of him. eyes, voice, nose, toes, fingers, feet, hands, one after the other are slowly deformed and rot away, until at the end of ten, fifteen, twenty years, it may be, the wretched leper, afflicted in every sense himself, and hateful to the sight, smell, hearing, and touch of others, dies, despised and the most abject of men." syphilis.--heretofore the best evidence has seemed to prove that syphilis had its origin in , during the siege of naples by charles viii of france; but in later days many investigators, prominent among them buret, have stated that there is distinct evidence of the existence of syphilis in prehistoric times. buret finds evidence of traces of syphilis among the chinese five thousand years ago, among the egyptians at the time of the pharaohs, among the hebrews and hindoos in biblic times, and among the greeks and romans after christ. some american writers claim to have found evidences of syphilitic disease in the skulls and other bones of the prehistoric indian mounds, thus giving further evidence to the advocates of the american origin of syphilis. the spaniards claimed that, returning from america in , columbus brought with him syphilis. friend says: "one thing is remarkable; the spaniards, upon their first expedition to america, brought home from thence this contagious disorder, and soon after carried another affection thither, the small-pox, of which the indian prince montezuma died." the first descriptions of syphilis are given under the name of morbus gallicus, while the french in return called it morbus neapolitanus or mal d'italie. the name of syphilis was said to have been first given to it by a physician of verona, in a poem describing the disease. inspired by heroic epics fracastor places before us the divinities of paganism, and supposes that a shepherd, whom he called syphilus, had addressed words offensive to apollo, and had deserted his altars. to punish him the god sent him a disease of the genitals, which the inhabitants of the country called the disease of syphilus. "syphilidemque ab eo labem dixere coloni." buret traces the origin of the word syphilis from sun, with, and filia, love, the companion of love; which means in plain language that the pox is a disease transmitted more especially by venereal relations. the first great epidemic of syphilis occurred between and , and attacked all ranks, neither the church nor the crown being spared. the ravages of this disease were increased by the treatment with mercury which soon afterward was found in proper doses to be a specific in this disease. it is possible that the terrible manifestations of syphilis of which we read in the older writers were in a great measure due to the enormous doses of mercury. at the present day syphilis is universally prevalent. in his excellent monograph sturgis estimated in new york, in , that one out of suffered from it; and white of philadelphia pronounces the opinion that "not less than , people in that city are affected with syphilis." according to rohe, on this basis gihon estimates the number of syphilitics in the united states at one time as , , . to-day no disease, except possibly tuberculosis, is a greater agency in augmenting the general mortality and furthering sickness than syphilis. its hereditary features, the numerous ways in which it may be communicated outside of the performance of the sexual act, and the careful way in which it is kept from the sanitary authorities render it a scourge which, at the present day, we seem to have no method of successfully repressing. modern mortality from infectious diseases.--as to the direct influence on the mortality of the most common infectious diseases of the present day, tuberculosis, universally prevalent, is invariably in the lead. no race or geographic situation is exempt from it. osler mentions that in the blood indian reserve of the canadian northwest territories, during six years, among a population of about there were deaths from pulmonary consumption. this enormous death-rate, it is to be remembered, occurred in a tribe occupying one of the finest climates of the world, among the foothills of the rocky mountains, a region in which consumption is extremely rare among the white population, and in which cases of tuberculosis from the eastern provinces do remarkably well. mayo-smith quotes a table illustrating the annual deaths (based on the returns from to ) from certain infectious diseases per , european inhabitants. the figures for each disease give a rough measure of its prevalence in different countries. the large figures as to small-pox show the absence in italy and "hieronymi fracastorii," veronae, . statistics and sociology, new york, . austria of vaccination; diphtheria seems to be very fatal in germany and austria; italy has a large rate for typhoid fever, and the same is true of the other fevers; france, germany, and austria show a very large rate for tuberculosis, while italy has a small rate. deaths from certain diseases per , inhabitants. small- scarlet diphtheria typhoid tuber- country. pox. measles. fever fever. culosis italy, . . . . . . . . . . . france (cities). . . . . . . england, . . . . . . . . . . ireland, . . . . . . . . . . germany (cities). . . . . . . prussia, . . . . . . . . . . austria, . . . . . . . . . . switzerland, . . . . . . . . belgium, . . . . . . . . . . holland, . . . . . . . . . . sweden, . . . . . . . . . . . based upon the tenth census reports, we figure that of every , inhabitants of the united states the number of deaths for the census year from similar diseases was as follows:-- rural. cities. measles, . . . . . . . . . scarlet fever, . . . . . . diphtheria, . . . . . . . croup, . . . . . . . . . . typhoid fever, . . . . . . tuberculosis, . . . . . . the general average of deaths from small-pox was about . . stage-land. by jerome k. jerome to that highly respectable but unnecessarily retiring individual, of whom we hear so much but see so little, "the earnest student of the drama," this (comparatively) truthful little book is lovingly dedicated. contents. the hero the villain the heroine the comic man the lawyer the adventuress the servant girl the child the comic lovers the peasants the good old man the irishman the detective the sailor stage-land. the hero. his name is george, generally speaking. "call me george!" he says to the heroine. she calls him george (in a very low voice, because she is so young and timid). then he is happy. the stage hero never has any work to do. he is always hanging about and getting into trouble. his chief aim in life is to be accused of crimes he has never committed, and if he can muddle things up with a corpse in some complicated way so as to get himself reasonably mistaken for the murderer, he feels his day has not been wasted. he has a wonderful gift of speech and a flow of language calculated to strike terror to the bravest heart. it is a grand thing to hear him bullyragging the villain. the stage hero is always entitled to "estates," chiefly remarkable for their high state of cultivation and for the eccentric ground plan of the "manor house" upon them. the house is never more than one story high, but it makes up in green stuff over the porch what it lacks in size and convenience. the chief drawback in connection with it, to our eyes, is that all the inhabitants of the neighboring village appear to live in the front garden, but the hero evidently thinks it rather nice of them, as it enables him to make speeches to them from the front doorstep--his favorite recreation. there is generally a public-house immediately opposite. this is handy. these "estates" are a great anxiety to the stage hero. he is not what you would call a business man, as far as we can judge, and his attempts to manage his own property invariably land him in ruin and distraction. his "estates," however, always get taken away from him by the villain before the first act is over, and this saves him all further trouble with regard to them until the end of the play, when he gets saddled with them once more. not but what it must be confessed that there is much excuse for the poor fellow's general bewilderment concerning his affairs and for his legal errors and confusions generally. stage "law" may not be quite the most fearful and wonderful mystery in the whole universe, but it's near it--very near it. we were under the impression at one time that we ourselves knew something--just a little--about statutory and common law, but after paying attention to the legal points of one or two plays we found that we were mere children at it. we thought we would not be beaten, and we determined to get to the bottom of stage law and to understand it; but after some six months' effort our brain (a singularly fine one) began to soften, and we abandoned the study, believing it would come cheaper in the end to offer a suitable reward, of about , pounds or , pounds, say, to any one who would explain it to us. the reward has remained unclaimed to the present day and is still open. one gentleman did come to our assistance a little while ago, but his explanations only made the matter more confusing to our minds than it was before. he was surprised at what he called our density, and said the thing was all clear and simple to him. but we discovered afterward that he was an escaped lunatic. the only points of stage "law" on which we are at all clear are as follows: that if a man dies without leaving a will, then all his property goes to the nearest villain. but if a man dies and leaves a will, then all his property goes to whoever can get possession of that will. that the accidental loss of the three-and-sixpenny copy of a marriage certificate annuls the marriage. that the evidence of one prejudiced witness of shady antecedents is quite sufficient to convict the most stainless and irreproachable gentleman of crimes for the committal of which he could have had no possible motive. but that this evidence may be rebutted years afterward, and the conviction quashed without further trial by the unsupported statement of the comic man. that if a forges b's name to a check, then the law of the land is that b shall be sentenced to ten years' penal servitude. that ten minutes' notice is all that is required to foreclose a mortgage. that all trials of criminal cases take place in the front parlor of the victim's house, the villain acting as counsel, judge, and jury rolled into one, and a couple of policemen being told off to follow his instructions. these are a few of the more salient features of stage "law" so far as we have been able to grasp it up to the present; but as fresh acts and clauses and modifications appear to be introduced for each new play, we have abandoned all hope of ever being able to really comprehend the subject. to return to our hero, the state of the law, as above sketched, naturally confuses him, and the villain, who is the only human being who does seem to understand stage legal questions, is easily able to fleece and ruin him. the simple-minded hero signs mortgages, bills of sale, deeds of gift, and such like things, under the impression that he is playing some sort of a round game; and then when he cannot pay the interest they take his wife and children away from him and turn him adrift into the world. being thrown upon his own resources, he naturally starves. he can make long speeches, he can tell you all his troubles, he can stand in the lime-light and strike attitudes, he can knock the villain down, and he can defy the police, but these requirements are not much in demand in the labor market, and as they are all he can do or cares to do, he finds earning his living a much more difficult affair than he fancied. there is a deal too much hard work about it for him. he soon gives up trying it at all, and prefers to eke out an uncertain existence by sponging upon good-natured old irish women and generous but weak-minded young artisans who have left their native village to follow him and enjoy the advantage of his company and conversation. and so he drags out his life during the middle of the piece, raving at fortune, raging at humanity, and whining about his miseries until the last act. then he gets back those "estates" of his into his possession once again, and can go back to the village and make more moral speeches and be happy. moral speeches are undoubtedly his leading article, and of these, it must be owned, he has an inexhaustible stock. he is as chock-full of noble sentiments as a bladder is of wind. they are weak and watery sentiments of the sixpenny tea-meeting order. we have a dim notion that we have heard them before. the sound of them always conjures up to our mind the vision of a dull long room, full of oppressive silence, broken only by the scratching of steel pens and an occasional whispered "give us a suck, bill. you know i always liked you;" or a louder "please, sir, speak to jimmy boggles. he's a-jogging my elbow." the stage hero, however, evidently regards these meanderings as gems of brilliant thought, fresh from the philosophic mine. the gallery greets them with enthusiastic approval. they are a warm-hearted people, galleryites, and they like to give a hearty welcome to old friends. and then, too, the sentiments are so good and a british gallery is so moral. we doubt if there could be discovered on this earth any body of human beings half so moral--so fond of goodness, even when it is slow and stupid--so hateful of meanness in word or deed--as a modern theatrical gallery. the early christian martyrs were sinful and worldly compared with an adelphi gallery. the stage hero is a very powerful man. you wouldn't think it to look at him, but you wait till the heroine cries "help! oh, george, save me!" or the police attempt to run him in. then two villains, three extra hired ruffians and four detectives are about his fighting-weight. if he knocks down less than three men with one blow, he fears that he must be ill, and wonders "why this strange weakness?" the hero has his own way of making love. he always does it from behind. the girl turns away from him when he begins (she being, as we have said, shy and timid), and he takes hold of her hands and breathes his attachment down her back. the stage hero always wears patent-leather boots, and they are always spotlessly clean. sometimes he is rich and lives in a room with seven doors to it, and at other times he is starving in a garret; but in either event he still wears brand-new patent-leather boots. he might raise at least three-and-sixpence on those boots, and when the baby is crying for food, it occurs to us that it would be better if, instead of praying to heaven, he took off those boots and pawned them; but this does not seem to occur to him. he crosses the african desert in patent-leather boots, does the stage hero. he takes a supply with him when he is wrecked on an uninhabited island. he arrives from long and trying journeys; his clothes are ragged and torn, but his boots are new and shiny. he puts on patent-leather boots to tramp through the australian bush, to fight in egypt, to discover the north pole. sometimes he is a gold-digger, sometimes a dock laborer, sometimes a soldier, sometimes a sailor, but whatever he is he wears patent-leather boots. he goes boating in patent leather boots, he plays cricket in them; he goes fishing and shooting in them. he will go to heaven in patent-leather boots or he will decline the invitation. the stage hero never talks in a simple, straightforward way, like a mere ordinary mortal. "you will write to me when you are away, dear, won't you?" says the heroine. a mere human being would reply: "why, of course i shall, ducky, every day." but the stage hero is a superior creature. he says: "dost see yonder star, sweet?" she looks up and owns that she does see yonder star; and then off he starts and drivels on about that star for full five minutes, and says he will cease to write to her when that pale star has fallen from its place amid the firmament of heaven. the result of a long course of acquaintanceship with stage heroes has been, so far as we are concerned, to create a yearning for a new kind of stage hero. what we would like for a change would be a man who wouldn't cackle and brag quite so much, but who was capable of taking care of himself for a day without getting into trouble. the villain. he wears a clean collar and smokes a cigarette; that is how we know he is a villain. in real life it is often difficult to tell a villain from an honest man, and this gives rise to mistakes; but on the stage, as we have said villains wear clean collars and smoke cigarettes, and thus all fear of blunder is avoided. it is well that the rule does not hold off the stage, or good men might be misjudged. we ourselves, for instance, wear a clean collar--sometimes. it might be very awkward for our family, especially on sundays. he has no power of repartee, has the stage villain. all the good people in the play say rude and insulting things to him, and smack at him, and score off him all through the act, but he can never answer them back--can never think of anything clever to say in return. "ha! ha! wait till monday week," is the most brilliant retort that he can make, and he has to get into a corner by himself to think of even that. the stage villain's career is always very easy and prosperous up to within a minute of the end of each act. then he gets suddenly let in, generally by the comic man. it always happens so. yet the villain is always intensely surprised each time. he never seems to learn anything from experience. a few years ago the villain used to be blessed with a hopeful and philosophical temperament, which enabled him to bear up under these constantly recurring disappointments and reverses. it was "no matter," he would say. crushed for the moment though he might be, his buoyant heart never lost courage. he had a simple, child-like faith in providence. "a time will come," he would remark, and this idea consoled him. of late, however, this trusting hopefulness of his, as expressed in the beautiful lines we have quoted, appears to have forsaken him. we are sorry for this. we always regarded it as one of the finest traits in his character. the stage villain's love for the heroine is sublime in its steadfastness. she is a woman of lugubrious and tearful disposition, added to which she is usually incumbered with a couple of priggish and highly objectionable children, and what possible attraction there is about her we ourselves can never understand; but the stage villain--well, there, he is fairly mashed on her. nothing can alter his affection. she hates him and insults him to an extent that is really unladylike. every time he tries to explain his devotion to her, the hero comes in and knocks him down in the middle of it, or the comic man catches him during one or the other of his harassing love-scenes with her, and goes off and tells the "villagers" or the "guests," and they come round and nag him (we should think that the villain must grow to positively dislike the comic man before the piece is over). notwithstanding all this he still hankers after her and swears she shall be his. he is not a bad-looking fellow, and from what we know of the market, we should say there are plenty of other girls who would jump at him; yet for the sake of settling down with this dismal young female as his wife, he is prepared to go through a laborious and exhaustive course of crime and to be bullied and insulted by every one he meets. his love sustains him under it all. he robs and forges, and cheats, and lies, and murders, and arsons. if there were any other crimes he could commit to win her affection, he would, for her sweet sake, commit them cheerfully. but he doesn't know any others--at all events, he is not well up in any others--and she still does not care for him, and what is he to do? it is very unfortunate for both of them. it is evident to the merest spectator that the lady's life would be much happier if the villain did not love her quite so much; and as for him, his career might be calmer and less criminal but for his deep devotion to her. you see, it is having met her in early life that is the cause of all the trouble. he first saw her when she was a child, and he loved her, "ay, even then." ah, and he would have worked--slaved for her, and have made her rich and happy. he might perhaps even have been a good man. she tries to soothe him. she says she loathed him with an unspeakable horror from the first moment that her eyes met his revolting form. she says she saw a hideous toad once in a nasty pond, and she says that rather would she take that noisome reptile and clasp its slimy bosom to her own than tolerate one instant's touch from his (the villain's) arms. this sweet prattle of hers, however, only charms him all the more. he says he will win her yet. nor does the villain seem much happier in his less serious love episodes. after he has indulged in a little badinage of the above character with his real lady-love, the heroine, he will occasionally try a little light flirtation passage with her maid or lady friend. the maid or friend does not waste time in simile or in metaphor. she calls him a black-hearted scoundrel and clumps him over the head. of recent years it has been attempted to cheer the stage villain's loveless life by making the village clergyman's daughter gone on him. but it is generally about ten years ago when even she loved him, and her love has turned to hate by the time the play opens; so that on the whole his lot can hardly be said to have been much improved in this direction. not but what it must be confessed that her change of feeling is, under the circumstances, only natural. he took her away from her happy, peaceful home when she was very young and brought her up to this wicked overgrown london. he did not marry her. there is no earthly reason why he should not have married her. she must have been a fine girl at that time (and she is a good-looking woman as it is, with dash and go about her), and any other man would have settled down cozily with her and have led a simple, blameless life. but the stage villain is built cussed. he ill-uses this female most shockingly--not for any cause or motive whatever; indeed, his own practical interests should prompt him to treat her well and keep friends with her--but from the natural cussedness to which we have just alluded. when he speaks to her he seizes her by the wrist and breathes what he's got to say into her ear, and it tickles and revolts her. the only thing in which he is good to her is in the matter of dress. he does not stint her in dress. the stage villain is superior to the villain of real life. the villain of real life is actuated by mere sordid and selfish motives. the stage villain does villainy, not for any personal advantage to himself, but merely from the love of the thing as an art. villainy is to him its own reward; he revels in it. "better far be poor and villainous," he says to himself, "than possess all the wealth of the indies with a clear conscience. i will be a villain," he cries. "i will, at great expense and inconvenience to myself, murder the good old man, get the hero accused of the crime, and make love to his wife while he is in prison. it will be a risky and laborious business for me from beginning to end, and can bring me no practical advantage whatever. the girl will call me insulting names when i pay her a visit, and will push me violently in the chest when i get near her; her golden-haired infant will say i am a bad man and may even refuse to kiss me. the comic man will cover me with humorous opprobrium, and the villagers will get a day off and hang about the village pub and hoot me. everybody will see through my villainy, and i shall be nabbed in the end. i always am. but it is no matter, i will be a villain--ha! ha!" on the whole, the stage villain appears to us to be a rather badly used individual. he never has any "estates" or property himself, and his only chance of getting on in the world is to sneak the hero's. he has an affectionate disposition, and never having any wife of his own he is compelled to love other people's; but his affection is ever unrequited, and everything comes wrong for him in the end. our advice to stage villains generally, after careful observation of (stage) life and (stage) human nature, is as follows: never be a stage villain at all if you can help it. the life is too harassing and the remuneration altogether disproportionate to the risks and labor. if you have run away with the clergyman's daughter and she still clings to you, do not throw her down in the center of the stage and call her names. it only irritates her, and she takes a dislike to you and goes and warns the other girl. don't have too many accomplices; and if you have got them, don't keep sneering at them and bullying them. a word from them can hang you, and yet you do all you can to rile them. treat them civilly and let them have their fair share of the swag. beware of the comic man. when you are committing a murder or robbing a safe you never look to see where the comic man is. you are so careless in that way. on the whole, it might be as well if you murdered the comic man early in the play. don't make love to the hero's wife. she doesn't like you; how can you expect her to? besides, it isn't proper. why don't you get a girl of your own? lastly, don't go down to the scenes of your crimes in the last act. you always will do this. we suppose it is some extra cheap excursion down there that attracts you. but take our advice and don't go. that is always where you get nabbed. the police know your habits from experience. they do not trouble to look for you. they go down in the last act to the old hall or the ruined mill where you did the deed and wait for you. in nine cases out of ten you would get off scot-free but for this idiotic custom of yours. do keep away from the place. go abroad or to the sea-side when the last act begins and stop there till it is over. you will be safe then. the heroine. she is always in trouble--and don't she let you know it, too! her life is undeniably a hard one. nothing goes right with her. we all have our troubles, but the stage heroine never has anything else. if she only got one afternoon a week off from trouble or had her sundays free it would be something. but no; misfortune stalks beside her from week's beginning to week's end. after her husband has been found guilty of murder, which is about the least thing that can ever happen to him, and her white-haired father has become a bankrupt and has died of a broken heart, and the home of her childhood has been sold up, then her infant goes and contracts a lingering fever. she weeps a good deal during the course of her troubles, which we suppose is only natural enough, poor woman. but it is depressing from the point of view of the audience, and we almost wish before the evening is out that she had not got quite so much trouble. it is over the child that she does most of her weeping. the child has a damp time of it altogether. we sometimes wonder that it never catches rheumatism. she is very good, is the stage heroine. the comic man expresses a belief that she is a born angel. she reproves him for this with a tearful smile (it wouldn't be her smile if it wasn't tearful). "oh, no," she says (sadly of course); "i have many, many faults." we rather wish that she would show them a little more. her excessive goodness seems somehow to pall upon us. our only consolation while watching her is that there are not many good women off the stage. life is bad enough as it is; if there were many women in real life as good as the stage heroine, it would be unbearable. the stage heroine's only pleasure in life is to go out in a snow-storm without an umbrella and with no bonnet on. she has a bonnet, we know (rather a tasteful little thing); we have seen it hanging up behind the door of her room; but when she comes out for a night stroll during a heavy snow-storm (accompanied by thunder), she is most careful to leave it at home. maybe she fears the snow will spoil it, and she is a careful girl. she always brings her child out with her on these occasions. she seems to think that it will freshen it up. the child does not appreciate the snow as much as she does. he says it's cold. one thing that must irritate the stage heroine very much on these occasions is the way in which the snow seems to lie in wait for her and follow her about. it is quite a fine night before she comes on the scene: the moment she appears it begins to snow. it snows heavily all the while she remains about, and the instant she goes it clears up again and keeps dry for the rest of the evening. the way the snow "goes" for that poor woman is most unfair. it always snows much heavier in the particular spot where she is sitting than it does anywhere else in the whole street. why, we have sometimes seen a heroine sitting in the midst of a blinding snow-storm while the other side of the road was as dry as a bone. and it never seemed to occur to her to cross over. we have even known a more than unusually malignant snow-storm to follow a heroine three times round the stage and then go off (r.) with her. of course you can't get away from a snow-storm like that! a stage snow-storm is the kind of snow-storm that would follow you upstairs and want to come into bed with you. another curious thing about these stage snow-storms is that the moon is always shining brightly through the whole of them. and it shines only on the heroine, and it follows her about just like the snow does. nobody fully understands what a wonderful work of nature the moon is except people acquainted with the stage. astronomy teaches you something about the moon, but you learn a good deal more from a few visits to a theater. you will find from the latter that the moon only shines on heroes and heroines, with perhaps an occasional beam on the comic man: it always goes out when it sees the villain coming. it is surprising, too, how quickly the moon can go out on the stage. at one moment it is riding in full radiance in the midst of a cloudless sky, and the next instant it is gone! just as though it had been turned off at a meter. it makes you quite giddy at first until you get used to it. the stage heroine is inclined to thoughtfulness rather than gayety. in her cheerful moments the stage heroine thinks she sees the spirit of her mother, or the ghost of her father, or she dreams of her dead baby. but this is only in her very merry moods. as a rule, she is too much occupied with weeping to have time for frivolous reflections. she has a great flow of language and a wonderful gift of metaphor and simile--more forcible than elegant--and this might be rather trying in a wife under ordinary circumstances. but as the hero is generally sentenced to ten years' penal servitude on his wedding-morn, he escapes for a period from a danger that might well appall a less fortunate bridegroom. sometimes the stage heroine has a brother, and if so he is sure to be mistaken for her lover. we never came across a brother and sister in real life who ever gave the most suspicious person any grounds for mistaking them for lovers; but the stage brother and sister are so affectionate that the error is excusable. and when the mistake does occur and the husband comes in suddenly and finds them kissing and raves she doesn't turn round and say: "why, you silly cuckoo, it's only my brother." that would be simple and sensible, and would not suit the stage heroine at all. no; she does all in her power to make everybody believe it is true, so that she can suffer in silence. she does so love to suffer. marriage is undoubtedly a failure in the case of the stage heroine. if the stage heroine were well advised she would remain single. her husband means well. he is decidedly affectionate. but he is unfortunate and inexperienced in worldly affairs. things come right for him at the end of the play, it is true; but we would not recommend the heroine to place too much reliance upon the continuance of this happy state of affairs. from what we have seen of her husband and his business capabilities during the five acts preceding, we are inclined to doubt the possibility of his being anything but unfortunate to the end of his career. true, he has at last got his "rights" (which he would never have lost had he had a head instead of a sentimental bladder on his shoulders), the villain is handcuffed, and he and the heroine have settled down comfortably next door to the comic man. but this heavenly existence will never last. the stage hero was built for trouble, and he will be in it again in another month, you bet. they'll get up another mortgage for him on the "estates;" and he won't know, bless you, whether he really did sign it or whether he didn't, and out he will go. and he'll slop his name about to documents without ever looking to see what he's doing, and be let in for lord knows what; and another wife will turn up for him that he had married when a boy and forgotten all about. and the next corpse that comes to the village he'll get mixed up with--sure to--and have it laid to his door, and there'll be all the old business over again. no, our advice to the stage heroine is to get rid of the hero as soon as possible, marry the villain, and go and live abroad somewhere where the comic man won't come fooling around. she will be much happier. the comic man. he follows the hero all over the world. this is rough on the hero. what makes him so gone on the hero is that when they were boys together the hero used to knock him down and kick him. the comic man remembers this with a glow of pride when he is grown up, and it makes him love the hero and determine to devote his life to him. he is a man of humble station--the comic man. the village blacksmith or a peddler. you never see a rich or aristocratic comic man on the stage. you can have your choice on the stage; you can be funny and of lowly origin, or you can be well-to-do and without any sense of humor. peers and policemen are the people most utterly devoid of humor on the stage. the chief duty of the comic man's life is to make love to servant-girls, and they slap his face; but it does not discourage him; he seems to be more smitten by them than ever. the comic man is happy under any fate, and he says funny things at funerals and when the bailiffs are in the house or the hero is waiting to be hanged. this sort of man is rather trying in real life. in real life such a man would probably be slaughtered to death and buried at an early period of his career, but on the stage they put up with him. he is very good, is the comic man. he can't bear villainy. to thwart villainy is his life's ambition, and in this noble object fortune backs him up grandly. bad people come and commit their murders and thefts right under his nose, so that he can denounce them in the last act. they never see him there, standing close beside them, while they are performing these fearful crimes. it is marvelous how short-sighted people on the stage are. we always thought that the young lady in real life was moderately good at not seeing folks she did not want to when they were standing straight in front of her, but her affliction in this direction is as nothing compared with that of her brothers and sisters on the stage. these unfortunate people come into rooms where there are crowds of people about--people that it is most important that they should see, and owing to not seeing whom they get themselves into fearful trouble, and they never notice any of them. they talk to somebody opposite, and they can't see a third person that is standing bang between the two of them. you might fancy they wore blinkers. then, again, their hearing is so terribly weak. it really ought to be seen to. people talk and chatter at the very top of their voices close behind them, and they never hear a word--don't know anybody's there, even. after it has been going on for half an hour, and the people "up stage" have made themselves hoarse with shouting, and somebody has been boisterously murdered and all the furniture upset, then the people "down stage" "think they hear a noise." the comic man always rows with his wife if he is married or with his sweetheart if he is not married. they quarrel all day long. it must be a trying life, you would think, but they appear to like it. how the comic man lives and supports his wife (she looks as if it wanted something to support her, too) and family is always a mystery to us. as we have said, he is not a rich man and he never seems to earn any money. sometimes he keeps a shop, and in the way he manages business it must be an expensive thing to keep, for he never charges anybody for anything, he is so generous. all his customers seem to be people more or less in trouble, and he can't find it in his heart to ask them to pay for their goods under such distressing circumstances. he stuffs their basket full with twice as much as they came to buy, pushes their money back into their hands, and wipes away a tear. why doesn't a comic man come and set up a grocery store in our neighborhood? when the shop does not prove sufficiently profitable (as under the above-explained method sometimes happens to be the case) the comic man's wife seeks to add to the income by taking in lodgers. this is a bad move on her part, for it always ends in the lodgers taking her in. the hero and heroine, who seem to have been waiting for something of the sort, immediately come and take possession of the whole house. of course the comic man could not think of charging for mere board and lodging the man who knocked him down when they were boys together! besides, was not the heroine (now the hero's wife) the sweetest and the blithest girl in all the village of deepdale? (they must have been a gloomy band, the others!) how can any one with a human heart beneath his bosom suggest that people like that should pay for their rest and washing? the comic man is shocked at his wife for even thinking of such a thing, and the end of it is that mr. and mrs. hero live there for the rest of the play rent free; coals, soap, candles, and hair-oil for the child being provided for them on the same terms. the hero raises vague and feeble objections to this arrangement now and again. he says he will not hear of such a thing, that he will stay no longer to be a burden upon these honest folk, but will go forth unto the roadside and there starve. the comic man has awful work with him, but wins at last and persuades the noble fellow to stop on and give the place another trial. when, a morning or so after witnessing one of these beautiful scenes, our own landlady knocks at our door and creates a disturbance over a paltry matter of three or four weeks' rent, and says she'll have her money or out we go that very day, and drifts slowly away down toward the kitchen, abusing us in a rising voice as she descends, then we think of these things and grow sad. it is the example of the people round him that makes the comic man so generous. everybody is generous on the stage. they are giving away their purses all day long; that is the regulation "tip" on the stage--one's purse. the moment you hear a tale of woe, you grab it out of your pocket, slap it in to the woe-er's palm, grip his hand, dash away a tear, and exit; you don't even leave yourself a 'bus fare home. you walk back quickly and get another purse. middle-class people and others on the stage who are short of purses have to content themselves with throwing about rolls of bank-notes and tipping servants with five-pound checks. very stingy people on the stage have been known to be so cussed mean as to give away mere sovereigns. but they are generally only villains or lords that descend to this sort of thing. respectable stage folk never offer anything less than a purse. the recipient is very grateful on receiving the purse (he never looks inside) and thinks that heaven ought to reward the donor. they get a lot of work out of heaven on the stage. heaven does all the odd jobs for them that they don't want to go to the trouble and expense of doing for themselves. heaven's chief duty on the stage is to see to the repayment of all those sums of money that are given or lent to the good people. it is generally requested to do this to the tune of a "thousand-fold"--an exorbitant rate when you come to think of it. heaven is also expected to take care that the villain gets properly cursed, and to fill up its spare time by bringing misfortune upon the local landlord. it has to avenge everybody and to help all the good people whenever they are in trouble. and they keep it going in this direction. and when the hero leaves for prison heaven has to take care of his wife and child till he comes out; and if this isn't a handful for it, we don't know what would be! heaven on the stage is always on the side of the hero and heroine and against the police. occasionally, of late years, the comic man has been a bad man, but you can't hate him for it. what if he does ruin the hero and rob the heroine and help to murder the good old man? he does it all in such a genial, light-hearted spirit that it is not in one's heart to feel angry with him. it is the way in which a thing is done that makes all the difference. besides, he can always round on his pal, the serious villain, at the end, and that makes it all right. the comic man is not a sportsman. if he goes out shooting, we know that when he returns we shall hear that he has shot the dog. if he takes his girl out on the river he upsets her (literally we mean). the comic man never goes out for a day's pleasure without coming home a wreck. if he merely goes to tea with his girl at her mother's, he swallows a muffin and chokes himself. the comic man is not happy in his married life, nor does it seem to us that he goes the right way to be so. he calls his wife "his old dutch clock," "the old geyser," and such like terms of endearment, and addresses her with such remarks as "ah, you old cat," "you ugly old nutmeg grater," "you orangamatang, you!" etc., etc. well, you know that is not the way to make things pleasant about a house. still, with all his faults we like the comic man. he is not always in trouble and he does not make long speeches. let us bless him. the lawyer. he is very old, and very long, and very thin. he has white hair. he dresses in the costume of the last generation but seven. he has bushy eyebrows and is clean shaven. his chin itches considerably, so that he has to be always scratching it. his favorite remark is "ah!" in real life we have heard of young solicitors, of foppish solicitors, of short solicitors; but on the stage they are always very thin and very old. the youngest stage solicitor we ever remember to have seen looked about sixty--the oldest about a hundred and forty-five. by the bye, it is never very safe to judge people's ages on the stage by their personal appearance. we have known old ladies who looked seventy, if they were a day, turn out to be the mothers of boys of fourteen, while the middle-aged husband of the young wife generally gives one the idea of ninety. again, what appears at first sight to be a comfortable-looking and eminently respectable elderly lady is often discovered to be, in reality, a giddy, girlish, and inexperienced young thing, the pride of the village or the darling of the regiment. so, too, an exceptionally stout and short-winded old gentleman, who looks as if he had been living too well and taking too little exercise for the last forty-five years, is not the heavy father, as you might imagine if you judged from mere external evidence, but a wild, reckless boy. you would not think so to look at him, but his only faults are that he is so young and light-headed. there is good in him, however, and he will no doubt be steady enough when he grows up. all the young men of the neighborhood worship him and the girls love him. "here he comes," they say; "dear, dear old jack--jack, the darling boy--the headstrong youth--jack, the leader of our juvenile sports--jack, whose childish innocence wins all hearts. three cheers for dancing, bright-eyed jack!" on the other hand, ladies with the complexion of eighteen are, you learn as the story progresses, quite elderly women, the mothers of middle-aged heroes. the experienced observer of stage-land never jumps to conclusions from what he sees. he waits till he is told things. the stage lawyer never has any office of his own. he transacts all his business at his clients' houses. he will travel hundreds of miles to tell them the most trivial piece of legal information. it never occurs to him how much simpler it would be to write a letter. the item for "traveling expenses" in his bill of costs must be something enormous. there are two moments in the course of his client's career that the stage lawyer particularly enjoys. the first is when the client comes unexpectedly into a fortune; the second when he unexpectedly loses it. in the former case, upon learning the good news the stage lawyer at once leaves his business and hurries off to the other end of the kingdom to bear the glad tidings. he arrives at the humble domicile of the beneficiary in question, sends up his card, and is ushered into the front parlor. he enters mysteriously and sits left--client sits right. an ordinary, common lawyer would come to the point at once, state the matter in a plain, business-like way, and trust that he might have the pleasure of representing, etc., etc.; but such simple methods are not those of the stage lawyer. he looks at the client and says: "you had a father." the client starts. how on earth did this calm, thin, keen-eyed old man in black know that he had a father? he shuffles and stammers, but the quiet, impenetrable lawyer fixes his cold, glassy eye on him, and he is helpless. subterfuge, he feels, is useless, and amazed, bewildered at the knowledge of his most private affairs possessed by his strange visitant, he admits the fact: he had a father. the lawyer smiles with a quiet smile of triumph and scratches his chin. "you had a mother, too, if i am informed correctly," he continues. it is idle attempting to escape this man's supernatural acuteness, and the client owns up to having had a mother also. from this the lawyer goes on to communicate to the client, as a great secret, the whole of his (the client's) history from his cradle upward, and also the history of his nearer relatives, and in less than half an hour from the old man's entrance, or say forty minutes at the outside, the client almost knows what the business is about. on the other occasion, when the client has lost his fortune, the stage lawyer is even still happier. he comes down himself to tell the misfortune (he would not miss the job for worlds), and he takes care to choose the most unpropitious moment possible for breaking the news. on the eldest daughter's birthday, when there is a big party on, is his favorite time. he comes in about midnight and tells them just as they are going down to supper. he has no idea of business hours, has the stage lawyer--to make the thing as unpleasant as possible seems to be his only anxiety. if he cannot work it for a birthday, then he waits till there's a wedding on, and gets up early in the morning on purpose to run down and spoil the show. to enter among a crowd of happy, joyous fellow-creatures and leave them utterly crushed and miserable is the stage lawyer's hobby. the stage lawyer is a very talkative gentleman. he regards the telling of his client's most private affairs to every stranger that he meets as part of his professional duties. a good gossip with a few chance acquaintances about the family secrets of his employers is food and drink for the stage lawyer. they all go about telling their own and their friends' secrets to perfect strangers on the stage. whenever two people have five minutes to spare on the stage they tell each other the story of their lives. "sit down and i will tell you the story of my life" is the stage equivalent for the "come and have a drink" of the outside world. the good stage lawyer has generally nursed the heroine on his knee when a baby (when she was a baby, we mean)--when she was only so high. it seems to have been a part of his professional duties. the good stage lawyer also kisses all the pretty girls in the play and is expected to chuck the housemaid under the chin. it is good to be a good stage lawyer. the good stage lawyer also wipes away a tear when sad things happen; and he turns away to do this and blows his nose, and says he thinks he has a fly in his eye. this touching trait in his character is always held in great esteem by the audience and is much applauded. the good stage lawyer is never by any chance a married man. (few good men are, so we gather from our married lady friends.) he loved in early life the heroine's mother. that "sainted woman" (tear and nose business) died and is now among the angels--the gentleman who did marry her, by the bye, is not quite so sure about this latter point, but the lawyer is fixed on the idea. in stage literature of a frivolous nature the lawyer is a very different individual. in comedy he is young, he possesses chambers, and he is married (there is no doubt about this latter fact); and his wife and his mother-in-law spend most of the day in his office and make the dull old place quite lively for him. he only has one client. she is a nice lady and affable, but her antecedents are doubtful, and she seems to be no better than she ought to be--possibly worse. but anyhow she is the sole business that the poor fellow has--is, in fact, his only source of income, and might, one would think, under such circumstances be accorded a welcome by his family. but his wife and his mother-in-law, on the contrary, take a violent dislike to her, and the lawyer has to put her in the coal-scuttle or lock her up in the safe whenever he hears either of these female relatives of his coming up the stairs. we should not care to be the client of a farcical comedy stage lawyer. legal transactions are trying to the nerves under the most favorable circumstances; conducted by a farcical stage lawyer, the business would be too exciting for us. the adventuress. she sits on a table and smokes a cigarette. a cigarette on the stage is always the badge of infamy. in real life the cigarette is usually the hall-mark of the particularly mild and harmless individual. it is the dissipation of the y.m.c.a.; the innocent joy of the pure-hearted boy long ere the demoralizing influence of our vaunted civilization has dragged him down into the depths of the short clay. but behind the cigarette on the stage lurks ever black-hearted villainy and abandoned womanhood. the adventuress is generally of foreign extraction. they do not make bad women in england--the article is entirely of continental manufacture and has to be imported. she speaks english with a charming little french accent, and she makes up for this by speaking french with a good sound english one. she seems a smart business woman, and she would probably get on very well if it were not for her friends and relations. friends and relations are a trying class of people even in real life, as we all know, but the friends and relations of the stage adventuress are a particularly irritating lot. they never leave her; never does she get a day or an hour off from them. wherever she goes, there the whole tribe goes with her. they all go with her in a body when she calls on her young man, and it is as much as she can do to persuade them to go into the next room even for five minutes, and give her a chance. when she is married they come and live with her. they know her dreadful secret and it keeps them in comfort for years. knowing somebody's secret seems, on the stage, to be one of the most profitable and least exhausting professions going. she is fond of married life, is the adventuress, and she goes in for it pretty extensively. she has husbands all over the globe, most of them in prison, but they escape and turn up in the last act and spoil all the poor girl's plans. that is so like husbands--no consideration, no thought for their poor wives. they are not a prepossessing lot, either, those early husbands of hers. what she could have seen in them to induce her to marry them is indeed a mystery. the adventuress dresses magnificently. where she gets the money from we never could understand, for she and her companions are always more or less complaining of being "stone broke." dressmakers must be a trusting people where she comes from. the adventuress is like the proverbial cat as regards the number of lives she is possessed of. you never know when she is really dead. most people like to die once and have done with it, but the adventuress, after once or twice trying it, seems to get quite to like it, and goes on giving way to it, and then it grows upon her until she can't help herself, and it becomes a sort of craving with her. this habit of hers is, however, a very trying one for her friends and husbands--it makes things so uncertain. something ought to be done to break her of it. her husbands, on hearing that she is dead, go into raptures and rush off and marry other people, and then just as they are starting off on their new honeymoon up she crops again, as fresh as paint. it is really most annoying. for ourselves, were we the husband of a stage adventuress we should never, after what we have seen of the species, feel quite justified in believing her to be dead unless we had killed and buried her ourselves; and even then we should be more easy in our minds if we could arrange to sit on her grave for a week or so afterward. these women are so artful! but it is not only the adventuress who will persist in coming to life again every time she is slaughtered. they all do it on the stage. they are all so unreliable in this respect. it must be most disheartening to the murderers. and then, again, it is something extraordinary, when you come to think of it, what a tremendous amount of killing some of them can stand and still come up smiling in the next act, not a penny the worse for it. they get stabbed, and shot, and thrown over precipices thousands of feet high and, bless you, it does them good--it is like a tonic to them. as for the young man that is coming home to see his girl, you simply can't kill him. achilles was a summer rose compared with him. nature and mankind have not sufficient materials in hand as yet to kill that man. science has but the strength of a puling babe against his invulnerability. you can waste your time on earthquakes and shipwrecks, volcanic eruptions, floods, explosions, railway accidents, and such like sort of things, if you are foolish enough to do so; but it is no good your imagining that anything of the kind can hurt him, because it can't. there will be thousands of people killed, thousands in each instance, but one human being will always escape, and that one human being will be the stage young man who is coming home to see his girl. he is forever being reported as dead, but it always turns out to be another fellow who was like him or who had on his (the young man's) hat. he is bound to be out of it, whoever else may be in. "if i had been at my post that day," he explains to his sobbing mother, "i should have been blown up, but the providence that watches over good men had ordained that i should be laying blind drunk in blogg's saloon at the time the explosion took place, and so the other engineer, who had been doing my work when it was his turn to be off, was killed along with the whole of the crew." "ah, thank heaven, thank heaven for that!" ejaculates the pious old lady, and the comic man is so overcome with devout joy that he has to relieve his overstrained heart by drawing his young woman on one side and grossly insulting her. all attempts to kill this young man ought really to be given up now. the job has been tried over and over again by villains and bad people of all kinds, but no one has ever succeeded. there has been an amount of energy and ingenuity expended in seeking to lay up that one man which, properly utilized, might have finished off ten million ordinary mortals. it is sad to think of so much wasted effort. he, the young man coming home to see his girl, need never take an insurance ticket or even buy a _tit bits_. it would be needless expenditure in his case. on the other hand, and to make matters equal, as it were, there are some stage people so delicate that it is next door to impossible to keep them alive. the inconvenient husband is a most pathetic example of this. medical science is powerless to save that man when the last act comes round; indeed, we doubt whether medical science, in its present state of development, could even tell what is the matter with him or why he dies at all. he looks healthy and robust enough and nobody touches him, yet down he drops, without a word of warning, stone-dead, in the middle of the floor--he always dies in the middle of the floor. some folks like to die in bed, but stage people don't. they like to die on the floor. we all have our different tastes. the adventuress herself is another person who dies with remarkable ease. we suppose in her case it is being so used to it that makes her so quick and clever at it. there is no lingering illness and doctors' bills and upsetting of the whole household arrangements about her method. one walk round the stage and the thing is done. all bad characters die quickly on the stage. good characters take a long time over it, and have a sofa down in the drawing-room to do it on, and have sobbing relatives and good old doctors fooling around them, and can smile and forgive everybody. bad stage characters have to do the whole job, dying speech and all, in about ten seconds, and do it with all their clothes on into the bargain, which must make it most uncomfortable. it is repentance that kills off the bad people in plays. they always repent, and the moment they repent they die. repentance on the stage seems to be one of the most dangerous things a man can be taken with. our advice to stage wicked people would undoubtedly be, "never repent. if you value your life, don't repent. it always means sudden death!" to return to our adventuress. she is by no means a bad woman. there is much good in her. this is more than proved by the fact that she learns to love the hero before she dies; for no one but a really good woman capable of extraordinary patience and gentleness could ever, we are convinced, grow to feel any other sentiment for that irritating ass, than a desire to throw bricks at him. the stage adventuress would be a much better woman, too, if it were not for the heroine. the adventuress makes the most complete arrangements for being noble and self-sacrificing--that is, for going away and never coming back, and is just about to carry them out, when the heroine, who has a perfect genius for being in the wrong place at the right time, comes in and spoils it all. no stage adventuress can be good while the heroine is about. the sight of the heroine rouses every bad feeling in her breast. we can sympathize with her in this respect. the heroine often affects ourselves in precisely the same way. there is a good deal to be said in favor of the adventuress. true, she possesses rather too much sarcasm and repartee to make things quite agreeable round the domestic hearth, and when she has got all her clothes on there is not much room left in the place for anybody else; but taken on the whole she is decidedly attractive. she has grit and go in her. she is alive. she can do something to help herself besides calling for "george." she has not got a stage child--if she ever had one, she has left it on somebody else's doorstep which, presuming there was no water handy to drown it in, seems to be about the most sensible thing she could have done with it. she is not oppressively good. she never wants to be "unhanded" or "let to pass." she is not always being shocked or insulted by people telling her that they love her; she does not seem to mind it if they do. she is not always fainting, and crying, and sobbing, and wailing, and moaning, like the good people in the play are. oh, they do have an unhappy time of it--the good people in plays! then she is the only person in the piece who can sit on the comic man. we sometimes think it would be a fortunate thing--for him--if they allowed her to marry and settle down quietly with the hero. she might make a man of him in time. the servant-girl. there are two types of servant-girl to be met with on the stage. this is an unusual allowance for one profession. there is the lodging-house slavey. she has a good heart and a smutty face and is always dressed according to the latest fashion in scarecrows. her leading occupation is the cleaning of boots. she cleans boots all over the house, at all hours of the day. she comes and sits down on the hero's breakfast-table and cleans them over the poor fellow's food. she comes into the drawing-room cleaning boots. she has her own method of cleaning them, too. she rubs off the mud, puts on the blacking, and polishes up all with the same brush. they take an enormous amount of polishing. she seems to do nothing else all day long but walk about shining one boot, and she breathes on it and rubs it till you wonder there is any leather left, yet it never seems to get any brighter, nor, indeed, can you expect it to, for when you look close you see it is a patent-leather boot that she has been throwing herself away upon all this time. somebody has been having a lark with the poor girl. the lodging-house slavey brushes her hair with the boot brush and blacks the end of her nose with it. we were acquainted with a lodging-house slavey once--a real one, we mean. she was the handmaiden at a house in bloomsbury where we once hung out. she was untidy in her dress, it is true, but she had not quite that castaway and gone-to-sleep-in-a-dust-bin appearance that we, an earnest student of the drama, felt she ought to present, and we questioned her one day on the subject. "how is it, sophronia," we said, "that you distantly resemble a human being instead of giving one the idea of an animated rag-shop? don't you ever polish your nose with the blacking-brush, or rub coal into your head, or wash your face in treacle, or put skewers into your hair, or anything of that sort, like they do on the stage?" she said: "lord love you, what should i want to go and be a bally idiot like that for?" and we have not liked to put the question elsewhere since then. the other type of servant-girl on the stage--the villa servant-girl--is a very different personage. she is a fetching little thing, dresses bewitchingly, and is always clean. her duties are to dust the legs of the chairs in the drawing-room. that is the only work she ever has to do, but it must be confessed she does that thoroughly. she never comes into the room without dusting the legs of these chairs, and she dusts them again before she goes out. if anything ought to be free from dust in a stage house, it should be the legs of the drawing-room chairs. she is going to marry the man-servant, is the stage servant-girl, as soon as they have saved up sufficient out of their wages to buy a hotel. they think they will like to keep a hotel. they don't understand a bit about the business, which we believe is a complicated one, but this does not trouble them in the least. they quarrel a good deal over their love-making, do the stage servant-girl and her young man, and they always come into the drawing-room to do it. they have got the kitchen, and there is the garden (with a fountain and mountains in the background--you can see it through the window), but no! no place in or about the house is good enough for them to quarrel in except the drawing-room. they quarrel there so vigorously that it even interferes with the dusting of the chair-legs. she ought not to be long in saving up sufficient to marry on, for the generosity of people on the stage to the servants there makes one seriously consider the advisability of ignoring the unremunerative professions of ordinary life and starting a new and more promising career as a stage servant. no one ever dreams of tipping the stage servant with less than a sovereign when they ask her if her mistress is at home or give her a letter to post, and there is quite a rush at the end of the piece to stuff five-pound notes into her hand. the good old man gives her ten. the stage servant is very impudent to her mistress, and the master--he falls in love with her and it does upset the house so. sometimes the servant-girl is good and faithful, and then she is irish. all good servant-girls on the stage are irish. all the male visitors are expected to kiss the stage servant-girl when they come into the house, and to dig her in the ribs and to say: "do you know, jane, i think you're an uncommonly nice girl--click." they always say this, and she likes it. many years ago, when we were young, we thought we would see if things were the same off the stage, and the next time we called at a certain friend's house we tried this business on. she wasn't quite so dazzlingly beautiful as they are on the stage, but we passed that. she showed us up into the drawing-room, and then said she would go and tell her mistress we were there. we felt this was the time to begin. we skipped between her and the door. we held our hat in front of us, cocked our head on one side, and said: "don't go! don't go!" the girl seemed alarmed. we began to get a little nervous ourselves, but we had begun it and we meant to go through with it. we said, "do you know, jane" (her name wasn't jane, but that wasn't our fault), "do you know, jane, i think you're an uncommonly nice girl," and we said "click," and dug her in the ribs with our elbow, and then chucked her under the chin. the whole thing seemed to fall flat. there was nobody there to laugh or applaud. we wished we hadn't done it. it seemed stupid when you came to think of it. we began to feel frightened. the business wasn't going as we expected; but we screwed up our courage and went on. we put on the customary expression of comic imbecility and beckoned the girl to us. we have never seen this fail on the stage. but this girl seemed made wrong. she got behind the sofa and screamed "help!" we have never known them to do this on the stage, and it threw us out in our plans. we did not know exactly what to do. we regretted that we had ever begun this job and heartily wished ourselves out of it. but it appeared foolish to pause then, when we were more than half-way through, and we made a rush to get it over. we chivvied the girl round the sofa and caught her near the door and kissed her. she scratched our face, yelled police, murder, and fire, and fled from the room. our friend came in almost immediately. he said: "i say, j., old man, are you drunk?" we told him no, that we were only a student of the drama. his wife then entered in a towering passion. she didn't ask us if we were drunk. she said: "how dare you come here in this state!" we endeavored unsuccessfully to induce her to believe that we were sober, and we explained that our course of conduct was what was always pursued on the stage. she said she didn't care what was done on the stage, it wasn't going to be pursued in her house; and that if her husband's friends couldn't behave as gentlemen they had better stop away. the following morning we received a letter from a firm of solicitors in lincoln's inn with reference, so they put it, to the brutal and unprovoked assault committed by us on the previous afternoon upon the person of their client, miss matilda hemmings. the letter stated that we had punched miss hemmings in the side, struck her under the chin, and afterward, seizing her as she was leaving the room, proceeded to commit a gross assault, into the particulars of which it was needless for them to enter at greater length. it added that if we were prepared to render an ample written apology and to pay pounds compensation, they would advise their client, miss matilda hemmings, to allow the matter to drop; otherwise criminal proceedings would at once be commenced against us. we took the letter to our own solicitors and explained the circumstances to them. they said it seemed to be a very sad case, but advised us to pay the pounds, and we borrowed the money and did so. since then we have lost faith, somehow, in the british drama as a guide to the conduct of life. the child. it is nice and quiet and it talks prettily. we have come across real infants now and then in the course of visits to married friends; they have been brought to us from outlying parts of the house and introduced to us for our edification; and we have found them gritty and sticky. their boots have usually been muddy, and they have wiped them up against our new trousers. and their hair has suggested the idea that they have been standing on their heads in the dust-bin. and they have talked to us--but not prettily, not at all--rather rude we should call it. but the stage child is very different. it is clean and tidy. you can touch it anywhere and nothing comes off. its face glows with soap and water. from the appearance of its hands it is evident that mud-pies and tar are joys unknown to it. as for its hair, there is something uncanny about its smoothness and respectability. even its boot-laces are done up. we have never seen anything like the stage child outside a theater excepting one--that was on the pavement in front of a tailor's shop in tottenham court road. he stood on a bit of round wood, and it was fifteen and nine, his style. we thought in our ignorance prior to this that there could not be anything in the world like the stage child, but you see we were mistaken. the stage child is affectionate to its parents and its nurse and is respectful in its demeanor toward those whom providence has placed in authority over it; and so far it is certainly much to be preferred to the real article. it speaks of its male and female progenitors as "dear, dear papa" and "dear, dear mamma," and it refers to its nurse as "darling nursey." we are connected with a youthful child ourselves--a real one--a nephew. he alludes to his father (when his father is not present) as "the old man," and always calls the nurse "old nut-crackers." why cannot they make real children who say "dear, dear mamma" and "dear, dear papa?" the stage child is much superior to the live infant in every way. the stage child does not go rampaging about a house and screeching and yelling till nobody knows whether they are on their heads or their heels. a stage child does not get up at five o'clock in the morning to practice playing on a penny whistle. a stage child never wants a bicycle and drives you mad about it. a stage child does not ask twenty complicated questions a minute about things that you don't understand, and then wind up by asking why you don't seem to know anything, and why wouldn't anybody teach you anything when you were a little boy. the stage child does not wear a hole in the seat of its knickerbockers and have to have a patch let in. the stage child comes downstairs on its feet. the stage child never brings home six other children to play at horses in the front garden, and then wants to know if they can all come in to tea. the stage child never has the wooping-cough, and the measles, and every other disease that it can lay its hands on, and be laid up with them one after the other and turn the house upside down. the stage child's department in the scheme of life is to harrow up its mother's feelings by ill-timed and uncalled-for questions about its father. it always wants to know, before a roomful of people, where "dear papa" is, and why he has left dear mamma; when, as all the guests know, the poor man is doing his two years' hard or waiting to be hanged. it makes everybody so uncomfortable. it is always harrowing up somebody--the stage child; it really ought not to be left about as it is. when it has done upsetting its mother it fishes out some broken-hearted maid, who has just been cruelly severed forever from her lover, and asks her in a high falsetto voice why she doesn't get married, and prattles to her about love, and domestic bliss, and young men, and any other subject it can think of particularly calculated to lacerate the poor girl's heart until her brain nearly gives way. after that it runs amuck up and down the whole play and makes everybody sit up all round. it asks eminently respectable old maids if they wouldn't like to have a baby; and it wants to know why bald-headed old men have left off wearing hair, and why other old gentlemen have red noses and if they were always that color. in some plays it so happens that the less said about the origin and source of the stage child the better; and in such cases nothing will appear so important to that contrary brat as to know, in the middle of an evening-party, who its father was! everybody loves the stage child. they catch it up in their bosoms every other minute and weep over it. they take it in turns to do this. nobody--on the stage, we mean--ever has enough of the stage child. nobody ever tells the stage child to "shut up" or to "get out of this." nobody ever clumps the stage child over the head. when the real child goes to the theater it must notice these things and wish it were a stage child. the stage child is much admired by the audience. its pathos makes them weep; its tragedy thrills them; its declamation--as for instance when it takes the center of the stage and says it will kill the wicked man, and the police, and everybody who hurts its mar--stirs them like a trumpet note; and its light comedy is generally held to be the most truly humorous thing in the whole range of dramatic art. but there are some people so strangely constituted that they do not appreciate the stage child; they do not comprehend its uses; they do not understand its beauties. we should not be angry with them. we should the rather pity them. we ourselves had a friend once who suffered from this misfortune. he was a married man, and providence had been very gracious, very good to him: he had been blessed with eleven children, and they were all growing up well and strong. the "baby" was eleven weeks old, and then came the twins, who were getting on for fifteen months and were cutting their double teeth nicely. the youngest girl was three; there were five boys aged seven, eight, nine, ten, and twelve respectively--good enough lads, but--well, there, boys will be boys, you know; we were just the same ourselves when we were young. the two eldest were both very pleasant girls, as their mother said; the only pity was that they would quarrel so with each other. we never knew a healthier set of boys and girls. they were so full of energy and dash. our friend was very much out of sorts one evening when we called on him. it was holiday-time and wet weather. he had been at home all day, and so had all the children. he was telling his wife when we entered the room that if the holidays were to last much longer and those twins did not hurry up and get their teeth quickly, he should have to go away and join the county council. he could not stand the racket. his wife said she could not see what he had to complain of. she was sure better-hearted children no man could have. our friend said he didn't care a straw about their hearts. it was their legs and arms and lungs that were driving him crazy. he also said that he would go out with us and get away from it for a bit, or he should go mad. he proposed a theater, and we accordingly made our way toward the strand. our friend, in closing the door behind him, said he could not tell us what a relief it was to get away from those children. he said he loved children very much indeed, but that it was a mistake to have too much of anything, however much you liked it, and that he had come to the conclusion that twenty-two hours a day of them was enough for any one. he said he did not want to see another child or hear another child until he got home. he wanted to forget that there were such things as children in the world. we got up to the strand and dropped into the first theater we came to. the curtain went up, and on the stage was a small child standing in its nightshirt and screaming for its mother. our friend looked, said one word and bolted, and we followed. we went a little further and dropped into another theater. here there were two children on the stage. some grown-up people were standing round them listening, in respectful attitudes, while the children talked. they appeared to be lecturing about something. again we fled, swearing, and made our way to a third theater. they were all children there. it was somebody or other's children's company performing an opera, or pantomime, or something of that sort. our friend said he would not venture into another theater. he said he had heard there were places called music-halls, and he begged us to take him to one of these and not to tell his wife. we inquired of a policeman and found that there really were such places, and we took him into one. the first thing we saw were two little boys doing tricks on a horizontal bar. our friend was about to repeat his customary programme of flying and cursing, but we restrained him. we assured him that he would really see a grown-up person if he waited a bit, so he sat out the boys and also their little sister on a bicycle and waited for the next item. it turned out to be an infant phenomenon who sang and danced in fourteen different costumes, and we once more fled. our friend said he could not go home in the state he was then; he felt sure he should kill the twins if he did. he pondered for awhile, and then he thought he would go and hear some music. he said he thought a little music would soothe and ennoble him--make him feel more like a christian than he did at that precise moment. we were near st. james' hall, so we went in there. the hall was densely crowded, and we had great difficulty in forcing our way to our seats. we reached them at length, and then turned our eyes toward the orchestra. "the marvelous boy pianist--only ten years old!" was giving a recital. then our friend rose and said he thought he would give it up and go home. we asked him if he would like to try any other place of amusement, but he said "no." he said that when you came to think of it, it seemed a waste of money for a man with eleven children of his own to go about to places of entertainment nowadays. the comic lovers. oh, they are funny! the comic lovers' mission in life is to serve as a sort of "relief" to the misery caused the audience by the other characters in the play; and all that is wanted now is something that will be a relief to the comic lovers. they have nothing to do with the play, but they come on immediately after anything very sad has happened and make love. this is why we watch sad scenes on the stage with such patience. we are not eager for them to be got over. maybe they are very uninteresting scenes, as well as sad ones, and they make us yawn; but we have no desire to see them hurried through. the longer they take the better pleased we are: we know that when they are finished the comic lovers will come on. they are always very rude to each other, the comic lovers. everybody is more or less rude and insulting to every body else on the stage; they call it repartee there! we tried the effect of a little stage "repartee" once upon some people in real life, and we wished we hadn't afterward. it was too subtle for them. they summoned us before a magistrate for "using language calculated to cause a breach of the peace." we were fined pounds and costs! they are more lenient to "wit and humor" on the stage, and know how to encourage the art of vituperation. but the comic lovers carry the practice almost to excess. they are more than rude--they are abusive. they insult each other from morning to night. what their married life will be like we shudder to think! in the various slanging matches and bullyragging competitions which form their courtship it is always the maiden that is most successful. against her merry flow of invective and her girlish wealth of offensive personalities the insolence and abuse of her boyish adorer cannot stand for one moment. to give an idea of how the comic lovers woo, we perhaps cannot do better than subjoin the following brief example: _scene: main thoroughfare in populous district of london. time: noon. not a soul to be seen anywhere._ _enter comic loveress r., walking in the middle of the road._ _enter comic lover l., also walking in the middle of the road._ _they neither see the other until they bump against each other in the center._ he. why, jane! who'd a' thought o' meeting you here! she. you evidently didn't--stoopid! he. halloo! got out o' bed the wrong side again? i say, jane, if you go on like that you'll never get a man to marry you. she. so i thought when i engaged myself to you. he. oh! come, jane, don't be hard. she. well, one of us must be hard. you're soft enough. he. yes, i shouldn't want to marry you if i weren't. ha! ha! ha! she. oh, you gibbering idiot! (_said archly._) he. so glad i am. we shall make a capital match (_attempts to kiss her_). she (_slipping away_). yes, and you'll find i'm a match that can strike (_fetches him a violent blow over the side if the head_). he (_holding his jaw--in a literal sense, we mean_). i can't help feeling smitten by her. she. yes, i'm a bit of a spanker, ain't i? he. spanker. i call you a regular stunner. you've nearly made me silly. she (_laughing playfully_). no, nature did that for you, joe, long ago. he. ah, well, you've made me smart enough now, you boss-eyed old cow, you! she. cow! am i? ah, i suppose that's what makes me so fond of a calf, you german sausage on legs! you-- he. go along. your mother brought you up on sour milk. she. yah! they weaned you on thistles, didn't they? and so on, with such like badinage do they hang about in the middle of that road, showering derision and contumely upon each other for full ten minutes, when, with one culminating burst of mutual abuse, they go off together fighting and the street is left once more deserted. it is very curious, by the bye, how deserted all public places become whenever a stage character is about. it would seem as though ordinary citizens sought to avoid them. we have known a couple of stage villains to have waterloo bridge, lancaster place, and a bit of the strand entirely to themselves for nearly a quarter of an hour on a summer's afternoon while they plotted a most diabolical outrage. as for trafalgar square, the hero always chooses that spot when he wants to get away from the busy crowd and commune in solitude with his own bitter thoughts; and the good old lawyer leaves his office and goes there to discuss any very delicate business over which he particularly does not wish to be disturbed. and they all make speeches there to an extent sufficient to have turned the hair of the late lamented sir charles warren white with horror. but it is all right, because there is nobody near to hear them. as far as the eye can reach, not a living thing is to be seen. northumberland avenue, the strand, and st. martin's lane are simply a wilderness. the only sign of life about is a 'bus at the top of whitehall, and it appears to be blocked. how it has managed to get blocked we cannot say. it has the whole road to itself, and is, in fact, itself the only traffic for miles round. yet there it sticks for hours. the police make no attempt to move it on and the passengers seem quite contented. the thames embankment is an even still more lonesome and desolate part. wounded (stage) spirits fly from the haunts of men and, leaving the hard, cold world far, far behind them, go and die in peace on the thames embankment. and other wanderers, finding their skeletons afterward, bury them there and put up rude crosses over the graves to mark the spot. the comic lovers are often very young, and when people on the stage are young they _are_ young. he is supposed to be about sixteen and she is fifteen. but they both talk as if they were not more than seven. in real life "boys" of sixteen know a thing or two, we have generally found. the average "boy" of sixteen nowadays usually smokes cavendish and does a little on the stock exchange or makes a book; and as for love! he has quite got over it by that age. on the stage, however, the new-born babe is not in it for innocence with the boy lover of sixteen. so, too, with the maiden. most girls of fifteen off the stage, so our experience goes, know as much as there is any actual necessity for them to know, mr. gilbert notwithstanding; but when we see a young lady of fifteen on the stage we wonder where her cradle is. the comic lovers do not have the facilities for love-making that the hero and heroine do. the hero and heroine have big rooms to make love in, with a fire and plenty of easy-chairs, so that they can sit about in picturesque attitudes and do it comfortably. or if they want to do it out of doors they have a ruined abbey, with a big stone seat in the center, and moonlight. the comic lovers, on the other hand, have to do it standing up all the time, in busy streets, or in cheerless-looking and curiously narrow rooms in which there is no furniture whatever and no fire. and there is always a tremendous row going on in the house when the comic lovers are making love. somebody always seems to be putting up pictures in the next room, and putting them up boisterously, too, so that the comic lovers have to shout at each other. the peasants. they are so clean. we have seen peasantry off the stage, and it has presented an untidy--occasionally a disreputable and unwashed--appearance; but the stage peasant seems to spend all his wages on soap and hair-oil. they are always round the corner--or rather round the two corners--and they come on in a couple of streams and meet in the center; and when they are in their proper position they smile. there is nothing like the stage peasants' smile in this world--nothing so perfectly inane, so calmly imbecile. they are so happy. they don't look it, but we know they are because they say so. if you don't believe them, they dance three steps to the right and three steps to the left back again. they can't help it. it is because they are so happy. when they are more than usually rollicking they stand in a semicircle, with their hands on each other's shoulders, and sway from side to side, trying to make themselves sick. but this is only when they are simply bursting with joy. stage peasants never have any work to do. sometimes we see them going to work, sometimes coming home from work, but nobody has ever seen them actually at work. they could not afford to work--it would spoil their clothes. they are very sympathetic, are stage peasants. they never seem to have any affairs of their own to think about, but they make up for this by taking a three-hundred-horse-power interest in things in which they have no earthly concern. what particularly rouses them is the heroine's love affairs. they could listen to them all day. they yearn to hear what she said to him and to be told what he replied to her, and they repeat it to each other. in our own love-sick days we often used to go and relate to various people all the touching conversations that took place between our lady-love and ourselves; but our friends never seemed to get excited over it. on the contrary, a casual observer might even have been led to the idea that they were bored by our recital. and they had trains to catch and men to meet before we had got a quarter through the job. ah, how often in those days have we yearned for the sympathy of a stage peasantry, who would have crowded round us, eager not to miss one word of the thrilling narrative, who would have rejoiced with us with an encouraging laugh, and have condoled with us with a grieved "oh," and who would have gone off, when we had had enough of them, singing about it. by the way, this is a very beautiful trait in the character of the stage peasantry, their prompt and unquestioning compliance with the slightest wish of any of the principals. "leave me, friends," says the heroine, beginning to make preparations for weeping, and before she can turn round they are clean gone--one lot to the right, evidently making for the back entrance of the public-house, and the other half to the left, where they visibly hide themselves behind the pump and wait till somebody else wants them. the stage peasantry do not talk much, their strong point being to listen. when they cannot get any more information about the state of the heroine's heart, they like to be told long and complicated stories about wrongs done years ago to people that they never heard of. they seem to be able to grasp and understand these stories with ease. this makes the audience envious of them. when the stage peasantry do talk, however, they soon make up for lost time. they start off all together with a suddenness that nearly knocks you over. they all talk. nobody listens. watch any two of them. they are both talking as hard as they can go. they have been listening quite enough to other people: you can't expect them to listen to each other. but the conversation under such conditions must be very trying. and then they flirt so sweetly! so idyllicly! it has been our privilege to see real peasantry flirt, and it has always struck us as a singularly solid and substantial affair--makes one think, somehow, of a steam-roller flirting with a cow--but on the stage it is so sylph-like. she has short skirts, and her stockings are so much tidier and better fitting than these things are in real peasant life, and she is arch and coy. she turns away from him and laughs--such a silvery laugh. and he is ruddy and curly haired and has on such a beautiful waistcoat! how can she help but love him? and he is so tender and devoted and holds her by the waist; and she slips round and comes up the other side. oh, it is so bewitching! the stage peasantry like to do their love-making as much in public as possible. some people fancy a place all to themselves for this sort of thing--where nobody else is about. we ourselves do. but the stage peasant is more sociably inclined. give him the village green, just outside the public-house, or the square on market-day to do his spooning in. they are very faithful, are stage peasants. no jilting, no fickleness, no breach of promise. if the gentleman in pink walks out with the lady in blue in the first act, pink and blue will be married in the end. he sticks to her all through and she sticks to him. girls in yellow may come and go, girls in green may laugh and dance--the gentleman in pink heeds them not. blue is his color, and he never leaves it. he stands beside it, he sits beside it. he drinks with her, he smiles with her, he laughs with her, he dances with her, he comes on with her, he goes off with her. when the time comes for talking he talks to her and only her, and she talks to him and only him. thus there is no jealousy, no quarreling. but we should prefer an occasional change ourselves. there are no married people in stage villages and no children (consequently, of course--happy village! oh, to discover it and spend a month there!). there are just the same number of men as there are women in all stage villages, and they are all about the same age and each young man loves some young woman. but they never marry. they talk a lot about it, but they never do it. the artful beggars! they see too much what it's like among the principals. the stage peasant is fond of drinking, and when he drinks he likes to let you know he is drinking. none of your quiet half-pint inside the bar for him. he likes to come out in the street and sing about it and do tricks with it, such as turning it topsy-turvy over his head. notwithstanding all this he is moderate, mind you. you can't say he takes too much. one small jug of ale among forty is his usual allowance. he has a keen sense of humor and is easily amused. there is something almost pathetic about the way he goes into convulsions of laughter over such very small jokes. how a man like that would enjoy a real joke! one day he will perhaps hear a real joke. who knows? it will, however, probably kill him. one grows to love the stage peasant after awhile. he is so good, so child-like, so unworldly. he realizes one's ideal of christianity. the good old man. he has lost his wife. but he knows where she is--among the angels! she isn't all gone, because the heroine has her hair. "ah, you've got your mother's hair," says the good old man, feeling the girl's head all over as she kneels beside him. then they all wipe away a tear. the people on the stage think very highly of the good old man, but they don't encourage him much after the first act. he generally dies in the first act. if he does not seem likely to die they murder him. he is a most unfortunate old gentleman. anything he is mixed up in seems bound to go wrong. if he is manager or director of a bank, smash it goes before even one act is over. his particular firm is always on the verge of bankruptcy. we have only to be told that he has put all his savings into a company--no matter how sound and promising an affair it may always have been and may still seem--to know that that company is a "goner." no power on earth can save it after once the good old man has become a shareholder. if we lived in stage-land and were asked to join any financial scheme, our first question would be: "is the good old man in it?" if so, that would decide us. when the good old man is a trustee for any one he can battle against adversity much longer. he is a plucky old fellow, and while that trust money lasts he keeps a brave heart and fights on boldly. it is not until he has spent the last penny of it that he gives way. it then flashes across the old man's mind that his motives for having lived in luxury upon that trust money for years may possibly be misunderstood. the world--the hollow, heartless world--will call it a swindle and regard him generally as a precious old fraud. this idea quite troubles the good old man. but the world really ought not to blame him. no one, we are sure, could be more ready and willing to make amends (when found out); and to put matters right he will cheerfully sacrifice his daughter's happiness and marry her to the villain. the villain, by the way, has never a penny to bless himself with, and cannot even pay his own debts, let alone helping anybody else out of a scrape. but the good old man does not think of this. our own personal theory, based upon a careful comparison of similarities, is that the good old man is in reality the stage hero grown old. there is something about the good old man's chuckle-headed simplicity, about his helpless imbecility, and his irritating damtom foolishness that is strangely suggestive of the hero. he is just the sort of old man that we should imagine the hero would develop into. we may, of course, be wrong; but that is our idea. the irishman. he says "shure" and "bedad" and in moments of exultation "beghorra." that is all the irish he knows. he is very poor, but scrupulously honest. his great ambition is to pay his rent, and he is devoted to his landlord. he is always cheerful and always good. we never knew a bad irishman on the stage. sometimes a stage irishman seems to be a bad man--such as the "agent" or the "informer"--but in these cases it invariably turns out in the end that this man was all along a scotchman, and thus what had been a mystery becomes clear and explicable. the stage irishman is always doing the most wonderful things imaginable. we do not see him do those wonderful things. he does them when nobody is by and tells us all about them afterward: that is how we know of them. we remember on one occasion, when we were young and somewhat inexperienced, planking our money down and going into a theater solely and purposely to see the stage irishman do the things he was depicted as doing on the posters outside. they were really marvelous, the things he did on that poster. in the right-hand upper corner he appeared running across country on all fours, with a red herring sticking out from his coat-tails, while far behind came hounds and horsemen hunting him. but their chance of ever catching him up was clearly hopeless. to the left he was represented as running away over one of the wildest and most rugged bits of landscape we have ever seen with a very big man on his back. six policemen stood scattered about a mile behind him. they had evidently been running after him, but had at last given up the pursuit as useless. in the center of the poster he was having a friendly fight with seventeen ladies and gentlemen. judging from the costumes, the affair appeared to be a wedding. a few of the guests had already been killed and lay dead about the floor. the survivors, however, were enjoying themselves immensely, and of all that gay group he was the gayest. at the moment chosen by the artist, he had just succeeded in cracking the bridegroom's skull. "we must see this," said we to ourselves. "this is good." and we had a bob's worth. but he did not do any of the things that we have mentioned, after all--at least, we mean we did not see him do any of them. it seems he did them "off," and then came on and told his mother all about it afterward. he told it very well, but somehow or other we were disappointed. we had so reckoned on that fight. by the bye, we have noticed, even among the characters of real life, a tendency to perform most of their wonderful feats "off." it has been our privilege since then to gaze upon many posters on which have been delineated strange and moving stage events. we have seen the hero holding the villain up high above his head, and throwing him about that carelessly that we have felt afraid he would break something with him. we have seen a heroine leaping from the roof of a house on one side of the street and being caught by the comic man standing on the roof of a house on the other side of the street and thinking nothing of it. we have seen railway trains rushing into each other at the rate of sixty miles an hour. we have seen houses blown up by dynamite two hundred feet into the air. we have seen the defeat of the spanish armada, the destruction of pompeii, and the return of the british army from egypt in one "set" each. such incidents as earthquakes, wrecks in mid-ocean, revolutions and battles we take no note of, they being commonplace and ordinary. but we do not go inside to see these things now. we have two looks at the poster instead; it is more satisfying. the irishman, to return to our friend, is very fond of whisky--the stage irishman, we mean. whisky is forever in his thoughts--and often in other places belonging to him, besides. the fashion in dress among stage irishmen is rather picturesque than neat. tailors must have a hard time of it in stage ireland. the stage irishman has also an original taste in hats. he always wears a hat without a crown; whether to keep his head cool or with any political significance we cannot say. the detective. ah! he is a cute one, he is. possibly in real life he would not be deemed anything extraordinary, but by contrast with the average of stage men and women, any one who is not a born fool naturally appears somewhat machiavellian. he is the only man in the play who does not swallow all the villain tells him and believe it, and come up with his mouth open for more. he is the only man who can see through the disguise of an overcoat and a new hat. there is something very wonderful about the disguising power of cloaks and hats upon the stage. this comes from the habit people on the stage have of recognizing their friends, not by their faces and voices, but by their cloaks and hats. a married man on the stage knows his wife, because he knows she wears a blue ulster and a red bonnet. the moment she leaves off that blue ulster and red bonnet he is lost and does not know where she is. she puts on a yellow cloak and a green hat, and coming in at another door says she is a lady from the country, and does he want a housekeeper? having lost his beloved wife, and feeling that there is no one now to keep the children quiet, he engages her. she puzzles him a good deal, this new housekeeper. there is something about her that strangely reminds him of his darling nell--maybe her boots and dress, which she has not had time to change. sadly the slow acts pass away until one day, as it is getting near closing-time, she puts on the blue ulster and the red bonnet again and comes in at the old original door. then he recognizes her and asks her where she has been all these cruel years. even the bad people, who as a rule do possess a little sense--indeed, they are the only persons in the play who ever pretend to any--are deceived by singularly thin disguises. the detective comes in to their secret councils, with his hat drawn down over his eyes, and followed by the hero speaking in a squeaky voice; and the villains mistake them for members of the band and tell them all their plans. if the villains can't get themselves found out that way, then they go into a public tea-garden and recount their crimes to one another in a loud tone of voice. they evidently think that it is only fair to give the detective a chance. the detective must not be confounded with the policeman. the stage policeman is always on the side of the villain; the detective backs virtue. the stage detective is, in fact, the earthly agent of a discerning and benevolent providence. he stands by and allows vice to be triumphant and the good people to be persecuted for awhile without interference. then when he considers that we have all had about enough of it (to which conclusion, by the bye, he arrives somewhat late) he comes forward, handcuffs the bad people, sorts out and gives back to the good people all their various estates and wives, promises the chief villain twenty years' penal servitude, and all is joy. the sailor. he does suffer so with his trousers. he has to stop and pull them up about twice every minute. one of these days, if he is not careful, there will be an accident happen to those trousers. if the stage sailor will follow our advice, he will be warned in time and will get a pair of braces. sailors in real life do not have nearly so much trouble with their trousers as sailors on the stage do. why is this? we have seen a good deal of sailors in real life, but on only one occasion, that we can remember, did we ever see a real sailor pull his trousers up. and then he did not do it a bit like they do it on the stage. the stage sailor places his right hand behind him and his left in front, leaps up into the air, kicks out his leg behind in a gay and bird-like way, and the thing is done. the real sailor that we saw began by saying a bad word. then he leaned up against a brick wall and undid his belt, pulled up his "bags" as he stood there (he never attempted to leap up into the air), tucked in his jersey, shook his legs, and walked on. it was a most unpicturesque performance to watch. the thing that the stage sailor most craves in this life is that somebody should shiver his timbers. "shiver my timbers!" is the request he makes to every one he meets. but nobody ever does it. his chief desire with regard to the other people in the play is that they should "belay there, avast!" we do not know how this is done; but the stage sailor is a good and kindly man, and we feel convinced he would not recommend the exercise if it were not conducive to piety and health. the stage sailor is good to his mother and dances the hornpipe beautifully. we have never found a real sailor who could dance a hornpipe, though we have made extensive inquiries throughout the profession. we were introduced to a ship's steward who offered to do us a cellar-flap for a pot of four-half, but that was not what we wanted. the stage sailor is gay and rollicking: the real sailors we have met have been, some of them, the most worthy and single-minded of men, but they have appeared sedate rather than gay, and they haven't rollicked much. the stage sailor seems to have an easy time of it when at sea. the hardest work we have ever seen him do then has been folding up a rope or dusting the sides of the ship. but it is only in his very busy moments that he has to work to this extent; most of his time is occupied in chatting with the captain. by the way, speaking of the sea, few things are more remarkable in their behavior than a stage sea. it must be difficult to navigate in a stage sea, the currents are so confusing. as for the waves, there is no knowing how to steer for them; they are so tricky. at one moment they are all on the larboard, the sea on the other side of the vessel being perfectly calm, and the next instant they have crossed over and are all on the starboard, and before the captain can think how to meet this new dodge, the whole ocean has slid round and got itself into a heap at the back of him. seamanship is useless against such very unprofessional conduct as this, and the vessel is wrecked. a wreck at (stage) sea is a truly awful sight. the thunder and lightning never leave off for an instant; the crew run round and round the mast and scream; the heroine, carrying the stage child in her arms and with her back hair down, rushes about and gets in everybody's way. the comic man alone is calm! the next instant the bulwarks fall down flat on the deck and the mast goes straight up into the sky and disappears, then the water reaches the powder magazine and there is a terrific explosion. this is followed by a sound as of linen sheets being ripped up, and the passengers and crew hurry downstairs into the cabin, evidently with the idea of getting out of the way of the sea, which has climbed up and is now level with the deck. the next moment the vessel separates in the middle and goes off r. and l., so as to make room for a small boat containing the heroine, the child, the comic man, and one sailor. the way small boats are managed at (stage) sea is even more wonderful than the way in which ships are sailed. to begin with, everybody sits sideways along the middle of the boat, all facing the starboard. they do not attempt to row. one man does all the work with one scull. this scull he puts down through the water till it touches the bed of the ocean, and then he shoves. "deep-sea punting" would be the technical term for the method, we presume. in this way do they toil--or rather, to speak correctly, does the one man toil--through the awful night, until with joy they see before them the light-house rocks. the light-house keeper comes out with a lantern. the boat is run in among the breakers and all are saved. and then the band plays. the end. two years in the forbidden city by the princess der ling first lady in waiting to the empress dowager to my beloved father lord yu keng foreword the author of the following narrative has peculiar qualifications for her task. she is a daughter of lord yu keng, a member of the manchu white banner corps, and one of the most advanced and progressive chinese officials of his generation. lord yu keng entered the army when very young, and served in the taiping rebellion and the formosan war with france, and as vice minister of war during the china-japan war in . later he was minister to japan, which post he quitted in to become president of the tsung-li-yamen (chinese foreign office). in he was appointed minister to france, where he remained four years. at a period when the chinese government was extremely conservative and reactionary, lord yu keng labored indefatigably for reform. he was instrumental in reorganizing china's postal service on modern lines, but failed in efforts to revise the revenue system and modernize the army and navy, from being ahead of his times. he died in . the progressive spirit of lord yu keng was shown in the education of his children. when it became known that his daughters were receiving a foreign education--then an almost unheard--of proceeding among high manchu officials-attempts were made to impeach him as pro-foreign and revolutionary, but he was not deterred. his children got their early education in missionary schools, and the daughters later attended a convent in france, where the author of this work finished her schooling and entered society. on returning to china, she became first lady-in-waiting to the empress dowager, and while serving at the court in that capacity she received the impressions which provide the subject-matter of this book. her opportunity to observe and estimate the characteristics of the remarkable woman who ruled china for so long was unique, and her narrative throws a new light on one of the most extraordinary personalities of modern times. while on leave from her duties to attend upon her father, who was fatally ill in shanghai, princess der ling took a step which terminated connexion with the chinese court. this was her engagement to mr. thaddeus c. white, an american, to whom she was married on may , . yielding to the urgent solicitation of friends, she consented to put some of her experiences into literary form, and the following chronicle, in which the most famous of chinese women, the customs and atmosphere of her court are portrayed by an intimate of the same race, is a result. thomas f. millard. shanghai, july , . contents chapter i. introductory ii. at the palace iii. a play at the court iv. a luncheon with the empress v. an audience with the empress vi. in attendance on her majesty vii. some incidents of the court viii. the court ladies ix. the emperor kwang hsu x. the young empress xi. our costumes xii. the empress and mrs. conger xiii. the empress's portrait xiv. the emperor's birthday xv. the mid-autumn festival xvi. the summer palace xvii. the audience hall xviii. the new year festivals xix. the sea palace xx. conclusion two years in the forbidden city my father and mother, lord and lady yu keng, and family, together with our suite consisting of the first secretary, second secretary, naval and military attaches, chancellors, their families, servants, etc.,--altogether fifty-five people,--arrived in shanghai on january , , on the s.s. "annam" from paris, where for four years my father had been chinese minister. our arrival was anything but pleasant, as the rain came down in torrents, and we had the greatest difficulty getting our numerous retinue landed and safely housed, not to mention the tons of baggage that had to be looked after. we had found from previous experience that none of our legation people or servants could be depended upon to do anything when travelling, in consequence of which the entire charge devolved upon my mother, who was without doubt the genius of the party in arranging matters and straightening out difficulties. when the launch from the steamer arrived at the jetty off the french bund, we were met by the shanghai taotai (the highest official in the city), the shanghai magistrate and numerous other officials, all dressed in their official robes. the taotai told my father that he had prepared the tien ho gung (temple of the queen of heaven) for us to reside in during our stay in shanghai, but my father refused the offer, saying that he had telegraphed from hong kong and made all arrangements to go to the hotel des colonies in the french concession. we had had previous experience staying in this temple while on our way to japan, where my father went as minister in , and did not care to try it a second time. the building is very old and very much out of repair. it was a beautiful place in its prime, but had been allowed to go to rack and ruin. the custom is that the magistrate has to find a place and supply the food, etc., for high officials when passing through, and it is not exactly the thing to refuse their kind offer, but my father was always very independent and politely declined all proffers of assistance. at last we did safely arrive in the hotel des colonies, where my father found awaiting him two telegrams from the imperial palace. these telegrams ordered my father to go to peking at once, but, as the river to tientsin was frozen, it was out of the question for us to go by that route, and as my father was very old and quite ill at that time, in fact constantly under the doctor's care, the only accessible way, via chinwangtao, was equally out of the question, as it was a long and most tedious journey and quite beyond his strength. in view of all these difficulties, he telegraphed that, after the ice had broken up in the peiho river, we would come by the first steamer leaving shanghai for tientsin. we left shanghai on the d of february and arrived at tientsin on the th, and, as before, were met by the customs taotai of the port and numerous other officials (the same as when we arrived at shanghai). there is a very curious custom of reverence, which must be performed by all high officials on their return from abroad. immediately upon landing on the shores of china, arrangements are made with the nearest viceroy or governor to receive their obeisance to ching sheng an (to worship the emperor of peace), a taotai being considered of too low a rank for such an honor. as soon as we arrived, yuan shih kai, who was then viceroy of chihli province at tientsin, sent an official to my father to prepare the time and place for this function, which is an extremely pretty one. when arrangements had been made, both my father and yuan shih kai dressed in their full ceremonial robes, which is the dragon long robe, with a reddish black three-quarter length coat over it, chao chu (amber beads), hat with peacock feather and red coral button, and repaired at once to the wan shou kung ( , years palace), which is especially built for functions of this kind, where they were met by a large number of officials of the lower grades. at the back centre of this temple, or palace, stands a very long narrow table on which are placed the tablets of the emperor and empress dowager, on which is written, "wan sway, wan sway, wan wan sway" ( , years times , years times , , years). the viceroy, or in this case yuan shih kai, and the other officials arrived first. yuan stood at the left side of this table and the others arranged themselves in two diminishing lines starting from the front corners of the table. soon afterward my father came and knelt directly in front of the centre of the table and said, "ah ha ching sheng an" (your servant gives you greeting). after this ceremony was over my father immediately arose and inquired after their majesties' health, and yuan replied that they were quite well. this closed the function. we stayed in tientsin for three days, arriving in peking on the twenty-ninth. my father's condition was much worse and he begged for four months' leave of absence, in which to recuperate, which was granted by her majesty, the empress dowager. as our beautiful mansion, which we had built and furnished just before leaving for paris, was burned during the boxer rising of , entailing a loss of over taels , , we rented and moved into a chinese house. our old house was not entirely new. when we bought the place there was a very fine but old chinese house, the palace of a duke, standing on the ground, and by some clever re-arrangement and building on, it was transformed into a beautiful foreign style house with all the fine hardwood carving of the old house worked into it. by using the words "foreign style," it is meant that, in so far as the chinese house could be made to look like a foreign house, without tearing it down entirely, it was changed, that is the doors and windows, passageways, furnishings, etc., were foreign, but the arrangement of the house itself and courtyard was chinese. this, like all chinese houses in peking, was built in a very rambling fashion, and with the gardens, covered about ten acres of ground. we had just finished furnishing it and moved in only four days when we left for paris; and it has always been a great sorrow to my family that we should lose this magnificent place, after having spent so much time and money in building and beautifying it. however, this is only one of the many trials that a high official in china is called upon to bear. the houses in peking are built in a very rambling fashion, covering a large amount of ground, and our former house was no exception to the rule. it had sixteen small houses, one story high, containing about rooms, arranged in quadrangles facing the courtyard, which went to make up the whole; and so placed, that without having to actually go out of doors, you could go from one to the other by verandas built along the front and enclosed in glass. my reader will wonder what possible use we could make of all of these rooms; but what with our large family, numerous secretaries, chinese writers, messengers, servants, mafoos (coachmen), and chair coolies, it was not a difficult task to use them. the gardens surrounding the houses were arranged in the chinese way, with small lakes, stocked with gold fish, and in which the beautiful lotus flower grew; crossed by bridges; large weeping willows along the banks; and many different varieties of flowers in prettily arranged flower beds, running along winding paths, which wound in and out between the lakes. at the time we left for paris, in the month of june, , the gardens were a solid mass of flowers and foliage, and much admired by all who saw them. as we now had no place of our own in peking we did not know where to go, so, while we were at tientsin, my father telegraphed to one of his friends to find him a house. after some little trouble one was secured, and it turned out to be a very famous place indeed. it was the house where li hung chang signed the treaties with the foreign powers after the boxer rising and also where he died. we were the first people to live there since the death of li hung chang, as the chinese people were very superstitious and were afraid that, if they went there to live, something dreadful would happen to them. we soon made ourselves very comfortable, and while we lived there, none of the dreadful things happened to us that all of our good friends told us would be visited upon us if we dared to take this place. however, in view of our having lost our place by fire, i am inclined to think that their fears were well founded. the loss sustained by having this house burned we never recovered, as my father, being an official of the government, it would have been very bad form to have tried to recover this money, besides a possible loss of standing, as government officials are supposed never to consider themselves or families in the service of their country, and any private losses in the service must be borne without complaint. on the first of march, , prince ching and his son, prince tsai chen, came to see us and told us that her majesty wished to see my mother, my sister, and myself at once; that we should be at the summer palace (wan shou shan) at six o'clock the following morning. my mother told prince ching that we had been wearing foreign clothes all these years, while abroad, and had no suitable manchu clothes to wear. he replied that he had told her majesty all about us and also mentioned that he had seen us in european attire and she had said that it would not be necessary for us to wear manchu costume to go to the palace, that she would be glad to have us wear foreign clothes, as it would give her an opportunity to study the foreign way of dressing. both my sister and myself had a very difficult time deciding what we should wear for this occasion; she wished to wear her pale blue velvet gown, as she thought that color suited her the best. my mother had always made us dress exactly alike, ever since we were little girls. i said that i preferred to wear my red velvet gown, as i had the idea it might please her majesty. after a long discussion i had my way. we had lovely red hats trimmed with plumes and the same color shoes, and stockings to match. my mother wore a lovely gown of sea green chiffon cloth embroidered with pale mauve iris and trimmed with mauve velvet; she wore her large black velvet hat with long white plumes. as we lived in the central part of the city and the only means of travel was by sedan chair and the distance from our house to the palace was about thirty-six chinese li (a three-hour ride), we had to start at three o'clock in the morning, in order to be there at six. as this was our first visit to the palace, prince ching's message threw us into a great state of excitement, and we were naturally anxious to look our best and to be there on time. it had been the dream of my life to go to the palace and see what it was like, and up to this time i had never had an opportunity, as most of my life had been spent out of peking,--in fact, out of china. another reason why this chance had never come before was, that my father had never registered our names (my sister and myself) in the government book for the registration of births of manchu children, in consequence of which the empress dowager did not know until we came back from paris that lord yu keng had any daughters. my father told me the reason why he did not put our names in this book was, that he wished to give us the best education obtainable, and the only way he could do it was not to let the empress dowager know. besides this, according to the manchu custom, the daughters of all manchu officials of the second rank and above, after reaching the age of fourteen years, should go to the palace, in order that the emperor may select them for secondary wives if he so desires, and my father had other plans and ambitions for us. it was in this way that the late empress dowager was selected by the emperor hsien feng. (comment: li is / mile or / km) we started at three o'clock that morning in total darkness riding in four coolie sedan chairs, one on each side of the chair. in going such a long distance it was necessary to have two relays of chair coolies. this meant twenty-four coolies for the three chairs, not counting an extra coolie for each chair who acted as a sort of head chair bearer. besides this there were three military officers on horses, one for each chair and two servants riding at the back of each chair. in addition there were three big chinese carts following behind for the chair coolies to ride in and rest. this made a cavalcade consisting of forty-five men, nine horses and three carts. i had a rather nervous feeling riding along in the chair surrounded by inky blackness, with nothing to relieve the stillness of the night but the rough voices of the chair bearers calling back and forth to each other to be careful of stones and holes in the road, which was very uneven, and the clump, clump of the horses. to my readers who have never had the experience of riding a long distance in a sedan chair i would say that it is a most uncomfortable conveyance, as you have to sit perfectly still and absolutely straight, otherwise the chair is liable to upset. this ride was a very long one and i felt quite stiff and tired by the time i reached the palace gates. chapter two--at the palace when we reached the city gates, which were about half way between our house and the summer palace, they were wide open for us to pass. this quite surprised us, as all gates are closed at seven o'clock in the evening and are not opened except on special occasions until daylight. we inquired of the guard why this was, and were told that orders had been given for the gates to be opened for us to pass. the officials who had charge were standing in a double line dressed in full official dress and saluted us as we passed. it was still quite dark when we had passed through the gate and i thought of the many experiences of my short life; but this was by far the strangest of them all. i wondered what her majesty would be like and whether she would like me or not. we were told that probably we would be asked to stay at the court, and i thought that if that came to pass, i would possibly be able to influence her majesty in favor of reform and so be of valuable assistance to china. these thoughts made me feel happy and i made up my mind then and there that i would do all i could and use any influence i might have in the future towards the advancement of china and for her welfare. while i was still dreaming of these pleasant prospects, a faint red line appeared on the horizon heralding the coming of a most perfect day, and so it proved. as the light grew brighter and i could distinguish objects, a very pretty view gradually opened to me, and as we came nearer to the palace i could see a high red wall which zigzagged from hill to hill and enclosed the palace grounds. the tops of the wall and buildings were covered with yellow and green tiles and made a most dazzling picture in the bright sunlight. pagodas of different sizes and styles were passed, and when we arrived at the village of hai tien, about four li from the palace gates, we were told by the officers we only had a short distance further to go. this was good news, as i began to think we would never get there. this village was quite a pretty country place of one-story houses built of brick, which were very neat and clean as are most of the houses in the northern part of china. the children trouped out to see the procession pass, and i heard one remark to another: "those ladies are going to the palace to become empresses," which amused me very much. soon after leaving hai tien we came to a pai lou (archway), a very beautiful piece of old chinese architecture and carved work, and from here got our first view of the palace gates, which were about yards ahead. these gates are cut into the solid wall surrounding the palace and consist of one very large gate in the center and two smaller ones on each side. the center gate is only opened when their majesties pass in and out of the palace. our chairs were set down in front of the left gate, which was open. outside of these gates, at a distance of about yards, were two buildings where the guard stayed at night. just as we arrived i saw a number of officials talking excitedly, and some of them went into the gate shouting "li la, doula" (have come, have arrived). when we got out of our chairs, we were met by two eunuchs of the fourth rank (chrystal button and feather). this feather which is worn by eunuchs of the fourth rank, comes from a bird called the magh (horse-fowl) which is found in szechuen province. they are grey and are dyed black, and are much wider than the peacock feather. these two eunuchs were accompanied by ten small eunuchs carrying yellow silk screens, which they placed around our chairs when we alighted. it appeared that her majesty had given orders that these screens (huang wai mor) should be brought to us. this is considered a great honor. they were ten feet long and twenty feet high and were held by two eunuchs. these two eunuchs of high rank were extremely polite and stood at each side of the gate and invited us to enter. passing through this gate we came into a very large paved courtyard about three hundred feet square, in which there were a great many small flower beds and old pine trees from which hung all kinds of birds in cages. on the side opposite to the gates we had entered was a red brick wall with three gates exactly like the others; on the right and left side were long rows of low buildings each containing twelve rooms, used as waiting rooms. the courtyard was full of people dressed in official robes of the different ranks, and, after the chinese fashion, all seemed to be very busy doing nothing. when they saw us they stood still and stared. the two eunuchs who were showing us the way conducted us to one of these rooms. this room was about twenty feet square, just ordinarily furnished in black wood furniture with red cloth cushions and silk curtains hanging from the three windows. we were not in this room more than five minutes when a gorgeously dressed eunuch came and said: "imperial edict says to invite yu tai tai (lady yu) and young ladies to wait in the east side palace." on his saying this, the two eunuchs who were with us knelt down and replied "jur" (yes). whenever her majesty gives an order it is considered an imperial edict or command and all servants are required to kneel when any command is transmitted to them the same as they would if in her majesty's presence, then they told us to follow them and we went through another left gate to another courtyard laid out exactly the same as the former, except that the ren shou dien (audience hall) is situated on the north side and the other buildings were a little larger. the eunuchs showed us into the east side building, which was beautifully furnished with reddish blackwood exquisitely carved, the chairs and tables covered with blue satin and the walls hung with the same material. in different parts of the room were fourteen clocks of all sizes and shapes. i know this, for i counted them. in a little while two servant girls came and waited on us and told us that her majesty was dressing and that we were to wait a little time. this little time proved to be a matter of more than two hours and a half, but as this is considered nothing in china, we did not get impatient. from time to time eunuchs came and brought milk to drink and about twenty or more dishes of various kinds of food which her majesty sent. she also sent us each a gold ring with a large pearl in the center. later the chief eunuch, li lien ying, came dressed in his official clothes. he was of the second rank and wore a red button and peacock feather and was the only eunuch that was ever allowed to wear the peacock feather. he was a very ugly man, very old and his face was full of wrinkles; but he had beautiful manners and said that her majesty would receive us in a little while, and brought us each a jade ring which she had sent us. we were very much surprised that she should give us such beautiful presents before she had even seen us, and felt most kindly disposed toward her for her generosity. soon after li lien ying had gone, two court ladies, daughters of prince ching, came in and asked the eunuchs who were attending us if we could speak chinese, which we thought a great joke. i was the first one to speak, and told them of course we could speak our own language, although we knew several others. they were very much surprised and said: "oh! how funny, they can talk the language as well as we do." we in turn were very much surprised to find such ignorant people in the imperial palace and concluded that their opportunities for acquiring knowledge were very limited. then they told us her majesty was waiting to receive us, and we went immediately. after walking through three courtyards very similar to those we had previously passed through, we came to a magnificent building just one mass of exquisite carving. large lanterns made of buffalo horns hung all over the veranda covered with red silk from which red silk tassels were hanging and from each of these tassels was suspended a beautiful piece of jade. there were two smaller buildings flanking this large one, also one mass of carvings and hung with lanterns. at the door of the large building we met a lady, dressed the same as prince ching's daughters, with the exception that she had a phoenix in the center of her headdress which distinguished her from the others. this lady came out to meet us, smiling, and shook hands with us in the most approved foreign fashion. we were told later that this was the young empress, wife of the emperor kwang hsu. she said: "her majesty has sent me to meet you," and was very sweet and polite, and had beautiful manners; but was not very pretty. then we heard a loud voice from the hall saying, "tell them to come in at once." we went into this hall immediately and saw an old lady dressed in a beautiful yellow satin gown embroidered all over with pink peonies, and wearing the same kind of headdress with flowers on each side made of pearls and jade, a pearl tassel on the left side and a beautiful phoenix in the center made of purest jade. over her gown she wore a cape, the most magnificent and costly thing i ever saw. this cape was made of about three thousand five hundred pearls the size of a canary bird's egg, all exactly alike in color and perfectly round. it was made on the fish net pattern and had a fringe of jade pendants and was joined with two pure jade clasps. in addition to this her majesty wore two pairs of pearl bracelets, one pair of jade bracelets, several jade rings and on her third and little fingers of her right hand she wore gold finger nail protectors about three inches long and on the left hand two finger nail protectors made of jade and about the same length. her shoes were trimmed with small tassels made of pearls and embroidered with tiny pieces of different colored jade. her majesty stood up when she saw us and shook hands with us. she had a most fascinating smile and was very much surprised that we knew the court etiquette so well. after she had greeted us, she said to my mother: "yu tai tai (lady yu), you are a wonder the way you have brought your daughters up. they speak chinese just as well as i do, although i know they have been abroad for so many years, and how is it that they have such beautiful manners?" "their father was always very strict with them," my mother replied; "he made them study their own language first and they had to study very hard." "i am pleased to hear their father has been so careful with them," her majesty said, "and given them such a fine education." she took my hands and looked into my face and smiled and kissed me on both cheeks and said to my mother: "i wish to have your daughters and hope they will stay with me." we were very much pleased at this and thanked her for her kindness. her majesty asked all sorts of questions about our paris gowns and said we must wear them all the time, as she had very little chance to see them at the court. she was particularly in love with our louis xv high heel shoes. while we were talking to her we saw a gentleman standing at a little distance and after a while she said, "let me introduce you to the emperor kwang hsu, but you must call him wan sway yeh (master of , years) and call me lao tsu tsung (the great ancestor)." his majesty shyly shook hands with us. he was a man about five feet, seven inches in height, very thin, but with very strong features; high nose and forehead, large, brilliant black eyes, strong mouth, very white, even teeth; altogether good looking. i noticed he had a very sad look, although he was smiling all the time we were there. at this juncture the head eunuch came, knelt down on the marble floor and announced that her majesty's chair was ready and she asked us to go with her to the audience hall, distant about two minutes' walk, where she was going to receive the heads of the different boards. it was a beautiful day and her open chair was waiting. this chair is carried by eight eunuchs all dressed in official robes, a most unusual sight. the head eunuch walked on her left side and the second eunuch on her right side, each with a steadying hand on the chair pole. four eunuchs of the fifth rank in front and twelve eunuchs of the sixth rank walked behind. each eunuch carried something in his hand, such as her majesty's clothes, shoes, handkerchiefs, combs, brushes, powder boxes, looking glasses of different sizes, perfumes, pins, black and red ink, yellow paper, cigarettes, water pipes, and the last one carried her yellow satin-covered stool. besides this there were two amahs (old women servants) and four servant girls all carrying something. this procession was most interesting to see and made one think it a lady's dressing room on legs. the emperor walked on her majesty's right and the young empress on the left, as did also the court ladies. the audience hall was about two hundred feet long by about one hundred and fifty feet wide, and at the left side was a long table covered with yellow satin. when her majesty came down from the chair she went into the hall and mounted her throne just behind this table, and his majesty mounted a smaller one at her left side, the ministers all kneeling on the floor in front of her and on the opposite side of the table. at the back of the hall was a large dais about twenty feet long by about eighteen feet wide, enclosed by a magnificently carved railing about two feet high running all the way round, open only in the front in two places just large enough for a person to pass through. these two openings were reached by a flight of six steps. at the back of this dais was a small screen and immediately in front of this, in the center, was her majesty's throne. immediately behind was an immense carved wood screen, the most beautiful thing i ever saw, twenty feet long by ten feet high. in front of her majesty's throne was a long narrow table. at the left side was a smaller throne for the emperor. the theme of the carving and furnishings of this dais was the phoenix and peony most exquisitely carved in ebony wood, in fact the theme of the entire room was the same. on each side of her majesty's throne were two upright ebony poles on the top of which were peacock feathers made into the shape of a fan the upholstery was entirely of yellow chinese velvet. just before her majesty took her seat on her throne she ordered us to go behind this screen with the young empress and the court ladies. this we did, and could hear the conversation between her majesty and the ministers very plainly, and as my readers will see later, i made good use of this. chapter three--a play at the court this day to me was a medley of brilliant impressions. i was a great novelty among these exclusive court ladies, brought up rigidly apart from foreign life and customs, and i was subjected to a rapid fire of questions. i soon found that these women were the same as others the world over in point of curiosity and love of gossip. the fourth daughter of prince ching (sze gurgur), a young widow and a strikingly handsome woman, spoke to me. "were you brought up in europe and educated?" she asked. "i am told that when people go to that country and drink the water there, they quickly forget their own country. did you really study to acquire all those languages or was it drinking the water that gave them to you?" i mentioned that i met her brother, prince tsai chen, in paris on his way to london for the coronation of king edward, and that we should have liked to have gone also, as my father had a special invitation, but were prevented from doing so by his urgent duties in paris in settling the yunnan question, to which the princess replied: "is there a king in england? i had thought that our empress dowager was queen of the world." her sister, wife of the brother of the young empress, a most intelligent, quiet and dignified lady, stood by smiling and listening to the eager questions. after numerous questions had been asked the young empress finally said: "how ignorant you are. i know that each country has its ruler and that some countries are republics. the united states is a republic and very friendly toward us, but i am sorry that such a common class of people go there, as they will think we are all the same. what i should like to see is some of our good manchu people go, as then they would see what we really are." she afterwards told me she had been reading a history of the different countries, which had been translated into chinese, and she seemed to be very well informed. after the audience was over, her majesty called us out from behind the screen and told us to go with her to see the theatre. she said, as it was such a beautiful day, she preferred to walk, so we started, walking a little behind her, as is the custom. along the way she pointed out from time to time different places and things that were her particular favorites, and as she had to keep turning around all the time, she finally told us to come and walk alongside of her. this, as i afterwards found out, was a great condescension on her part and a thing that she very seldom ever did. she, like everybody else, had her pets and hobbies, such as flowers, trees, plants, dogs, horses, etc., and there was one dog in particular that was her favorite pet. this dog was with her majesty always and followed her wherever she went, and a more homely dog i never saw. it had absolutely nothing to recommend it in any way. her majesty thought it beautiful, and called it shui ta (sea otter). a short distance from the audience hall we came to a large courtyard. on each side of this courtyard were two immense baskets fifteen feet in height, built of natural logs and literally covered with purple wisteria. they were simply gorgeous and great favorites of her majesty. she was always very proud of them when in bloom and took great delight in showing them to the people. from this courtyard we entered a sort of passageway which ran along the sides of a big hill and led directly to the theatre, where we soon arrived. this theatre is quite unlike anything that you can imagine. it is built around the four sides of an open courtyard, each side being separate and distinct. the building has five stories. it is entirely open on the front and has two stages, one above the other. the three top stories are used for holding the drops and for store rooms. the stage on the first floor is of the ordinary kind; but that on the second floor is built to represent a temple and used when playing religious plays, of which her majesty was very fond. on the two sides were long, low buildings with large verandas running their entire length, where the princes and ministers sat when invited by her majesty to witness the play. directly opposite this stage was a spacious building, containing three large rooms, which was used exclusively by her majesty. the floor was raised about ten feet above the ground, which brought it on a level with the stage. large glass windows ran along in front, so made that they could be removed in the summer and replaced with pale blue gauze screens. two of these rooms were used as sitting rooms and the third, the one on the right, she used as a bedroom, and it had a long couch running across the front, on which she used to sit or lie according to her mood. this day she invited us to go to this room with her. later i was told that she would very often come to this room, look at the play for a while and then take her siesta. she could certainly sleep soundly, for the din and noise did not disturb her in the least. if any of my readers have ever been to a chinese theatre, they can well imagine how difficult it would be to woo the god of sleep in such a pandemonium. as soon as we were in this bedroom the play commenced. it was a religious play called "the empress of heaven's party or feast to all the buddhist priests to eat her famous peaches and drink her best wine." this party or feast is given on the third day of the third moon of each year. the first act opens with a buddhist priest, dressed in a yellow coat robe with a red scarf draped over his left shoulder, descending in a cloud from heaven to invite all the priests to this party. i was very much surprised to see this actor apparently suspended in the air and actually floating on this cloud, which was made of cotton. the clever way in which they moved the scenery, etc., was most interesting, and before the play was finished i concluded that any theatre manager could well take lessons from these people; and it was all done without the slightest bit of machinery. as this buddhist priest was descending, a large pagoda began to slowly rise from the center of the stage in which was a buddha singing and holding an incense burner in front of him. then four other smaller pagodas slowly rose from the four corners of the stage, each containing a buddha the same as the first. when the first buddhist priest had descended, the five buddhas came out of the pagodas, which immediately disappeared, and walked about the stage, still singing. gradually from the wing came numbers of buddhas singing until the stage was full, and they all formed into a ring. then i saw a large lotus flower, made of pink silk, and two large green leaves appearing from the bottom of the stage, and as it rose the petals and leaves gradually opened and i saw a beautiful lady buddha (goddess of mercy) dressed all in white silk, with a white hood on her head, standing in the center of this flower. as the leaves opened i saw a girl and a boy in the center of them. when the petals of the lotus flower were wide open this lady buddha began to gradually ascend herself, and as she ascended, the petals closed until she seemed to be standing on a lotus bud. the girl standing in the leaf on the goddess' right side held a bottle made of jade and a willow branch. the legend of this is that if the goddess dips the willow branch into the jade bottle and spreads it over a dead person it will bring the person to life. the boy and the girl are the two attendants of the buddha. finally the three came down from the flower and leaves and joined the rest of the buddhas. then the empress of heaven came, a good old lady with snow-white hair, dressed from head to foot in imperial yellow, followed by many attendants, and ascended the throne, which was in the center of the stage, and said: "we will go to the banquet hall." this ended the first scene. the second scene opened with tables set for the feast to be given by the empress of heaven. these tables were loaded down with peaches and wine and four attendants guarding them. suddenly a bee came buzzing near and scattered a powder under the nostrils of the attendants, which made them sleepy. when they had fallen asleep, this bee transformed itself into a big monkey and this monkey ate all the peaches and drank all the wine. as soon as he had finished he disappeared. a blast of trumpets announced the coming of the empress of heaven and she soon arrived accompanied by all the buddhist priests and their attendants. when the empress of heaven saw all the peaches and wine had disappeared, she woke the attendants and asked them why they were asleep and where the peaches and wine had gone. they said that they did not know, that they were waiting for her to come and fell asleep. then one of the guests suggested that she should find out what had become of the feast, and attendants were sent out to the guard to find out from the soldiers if anyone had gone out of the gate recently. before the messenger had time to return, the guard of heaven came and informed the empress that a big monkey, who was very drunk and carrying a big stick, had just gone out of the gate. when she was told this, she ordered the soldiers of heaven and several buddhas to go and find him at his place. it seems that this monkey had originally been made from a piece of stone and lived in a large hole in a mountain on the earth. he was endowed with supernatural powers and could walk on the clouds. he was allowed to come to heaven and the empress of heaven gave him a position looking after the imperial orchards. when they got to his place on the earth, they found that he had taken some of the peaches with him and he, with other monkeys, was having a feast. the soldiers challenged him to come out and fight. he immediately accepted this challenge, but the soldiers could do nothing with him. he pulled the hair out of his coat and transformed each hair into a little monkey and each monkey had an iron rod in its hand. he himself had a special iron rod, which had been given to him by the king of sea dragons. this rod he could make any size he wanted from a needle to a crowbar. among the buddhas who had gone with the soldiers was one named erh lang yeh, who was the most powerful of them all and had three eyes. this buddha had a dog which was very powerful and he told the dog to bite this monkey, which he did, and the monkey fell down and they caught him and brought him up to heaven. when they got there the empress of heaven ordered that he should be handed to lao chun, an old taoist god, and that he should burn him in his incense burner. the incense burner was very large, and when they took the monkey to him he placed him inside this burner and watched him very carefully to see that he did not get out. after he had watched for a long time he thought the monkey must be dead and went out for a few minutes. the monkey, however, was not dead and as soon as lao chun went out, he escaped and stole some golden pills which lao chun kept in a gourd and went back to his hole in the mountains. these pills were very powerful and if one of them were eaten it would give eternal life, and the monkey knew this. the monkey ate one and it tasted good and he gave the little monkeys some. when lao chun came back and found both the monkey and the pills gone he went and informed the empress of heaven. this ended the second scene. the third scene opened with the buddhas and soldiers at the monkey's place in the mountains and they again asked him to come out and fight. the monkey said: "what! coming again?" and laughed at them. they started to fight again, but he was so strong they could not get the best of him. even the dog who had bit him before was powerless this time, and they finally gave it up and returned to heaven and told the empress of heaven that they could not capture him the second time, as he was too strong. then the empress of heaven called a little god about fifteen years old by the name of neur cha, who had supernatural powers, and told him to go down to earth to the monkey's place and see if he could finish him. this god was made of lotus flowers and leaves, that is, his bones were made of flowers and his flesh made of leaves and he could transform himself into anything that he wished. when neur cha got to the monkey's place and the monkey saw him, he said: "what! a little boy like you come to fight me? well, if you think you can beat me, come on," and the boy transformed himself into an immense man with three heads and six arms. when the monkey saw this, he transformed himself also into the same thing. when the little god saw that this would not do, he transformed himself into a very big man and started to take the monkey, but the monkey transformed himself into a very large sword and cut this man into two pieces. the little god again transformed himself into fire to burn the monkey, but the monkey transformed himself into water and put the fire out. again the little god transformed himself, this time into a very fierce lion, but the monkey transformed himself into a big net to catch the lion. so this little god, seeing that he could not get the best of the monkey, gave it up and went back to heaven, and told the empress of heaven that the monkey was too strong for him. the empress of heaven was in despair, so she sent for ju li, an old ancestor of the buddhas, who was the all-powerful one of them all; and kuan yin, goddess of mercy, and sent them down to the monkey's place to see if they could capture him. when they arrived at the hole in the mountain the monkey came out and looked at ju li, but did not say a word, as he knew who this god was. this god pointed a finger at him and he knelt down and submitted. ju li said: "come with me," and took the monkey and put him under another mountain and told him he would have to stay there until he promised he would be good. ju li said: "you stay here until one day i lift this mountain up for you to come out to go with a buddhist priest to the west side of heaven and demand the prayer books that are kept there. you will have to suffer a great deal on the way and face many dangers, but if you come back with this buddhist priest and the prayer books, by that time your savage temper will be gone and you will be put in a nice place in heaven and enjoy life forever afterwards." this finished the play, which was very interesting, and i enjoyed it from beginning to end. it was acted very cleverly and quite realistic, and i was very much surprised to know that the eunuchs could act so well. her majesty told us that the scenery was all painted by the eunuchs and that she had taught them about all they knew. unlike most theatres in china, it had a curtain which was closed between the acts, also wing slides and drop scenes. her majesty had never seen a foreign theatre and i could not understand where she got all her ideas from. she was very fond of reading religious books and fairy tales, and wrote them into plays and staged them herself, and was extremely proud of her achievement. her majesty sat talking, we standing, for some little time and she asked me if i understood the play, and i told her that i did and she seemed quite pleased. then she said in such a charming way: "oh! i am so interested in talking with you that i have forgotten to order my lunch. are you hungry? could you get chinese food when you were abroad, and were you homesick? i know i would be if i left my own country for so long a time; but the reason why you were abroad so long was not your fault. it was my order that sent yu keng to paris and i am not a bit sorry, for you see how much you can help me now, and i am proud of you and will show you to the foreigners that they may see our manchu ladies can speak other languages than their own." while she was talking i noticed that the eunuchs were laying three large tables with nice white table cloths, and i could see a number of other eunuchs standing in the courtyard with boxes of food. these boxes or trays are made of wood painted yellow and are large enough to hold four small and two large bowls of food. after the tables were laid ready, the eunuchs outside formed themselves into a double line from the courtyard to a little gate running into another courtyard and passed these trays from one to the other up to the entrance of the room, where they were taken by four nicely dressed eunuchs and placed on the tables. it seems that it was a habit of her majesty to take her meals wherever she happened to be, so that there was no particular place that she used as a dining room. i should also mention that these bowls were of imperial yellow with silver covers. some were ornamented with green dragons and some with the chinese character shou (long life). there were about one hundred and fifty different kinds of food, for i counted them. they were placed in long rows, one row of large bowls and one row of small plates, and then another row of small bowls, and so on. as the setting of the tables was going on, two court ladies came into the bedroom, each carrying a large yellow box. i was very much surprised to see court ladies doing this kind of work and i said to myself, if i come here will i have to do this sort of thing? although these boxes appeared to be quite heavy, they brought them in very gracefully. two small tables were placed in front of her majesty, then they opened the boxes and placed a number of very cute plates containing all sorts of sweets, lotus flower seeds, dried and cooked with sugar, watermelon seeds, walnuts cooked in different ways, and fruits of the season cut and sliced. as these plates were being placed on the tables her majesty said that she liked these dainties better than meat and gave us some and told us to make ourselves at home. we thanked her for her kindness and enjoyed them very much. i noticed that she ate quite a quantity from the different plates and wondered how she would be able to eat her lunch. when she had finished, two of the court ladies came and took the plates away and her majesty told us that she always gave what was left to the court ladies after she had finished eating. after this a eunuch came in carrying a cup of tea. this tea cup was made of pure white jade and the saucer and cover was of solid gold. then another eunuch came in carrying a silver tray on which were two jade cups similar to the others, one containing honeysuckle flowers and the other rose petals. he also brought a pair of gold chopsticks. they both knelt on the floor in front of her majesty and held the trays up so that she could reach them. she took the golden cover off of the cup containing tea and took some of the honeysuckle flowers and placed them in the tea. while she was doing this and sipping the tea, she was telling how fond she was of flowers and what a delicate flavor they gave to the tea. then she said: "i will let you taste some of my tea and see if you like it," and ordered one of the eunuchs to bring us some tea, the same as she was drinking. when it came, she put some of the honeysuckle flowers in the cup for us and watched us drink it. it was the most delicious tea i had ever tasted and the putting of flowers in it gave it an extremely delicate flavour. chapter four--a luncheon with the empress when we had finished drinking tea, she told us to go with her into the next room, where the tables had been prepared for lunch, and i wondered if she had any room for lunch, after all that she had just eaten, but i soon found out. as soon as she was inside the room, she ordered the covers to be removed and they were all taken off at one time. then she took her seat at the head of the table and told us to stand at the foot. she then said: "generally the emperor takes lunch with me when we have the theatre, but he is shy to-day, as you are all new to him. i hope he will get over it and not be so bashful. you three had better eat with me to-day." of course, we knew that this was an especial favor, and thanked her by kowtowing before we commenced to eat. this kowtowing, or bowing our heads to the ground, was very tiring at first and made us dizzy, until we got used to it. when we commenced to eat, her majesty ordered the eunuchs to place plates for us and give us silver chopsticks, spoons, etc., and said: "i am sorry you have to eat standing, but i cannot break the law of our great ancestors. even the young empress cannot sit in my presence. i am sure the foreigners must think we are barbarians to treat our court ladies in this way and i don't wish them to know anything about our customs. you will see how differently i act in their presence, so that they cannot see my true self." i was watching her while she was talking to my mother and marvelled to see how she could eat, after having eaten such a quantity of candy, walnuts, etc., while in her bedroom. beef was a thing that was tabooed within the precincts of the palace, as it was considered a great sin to kill and eat animals that were used as beasts of burden. the food consisted mostly of pork, mutton and game, fowls and vegetables. this day we had pork cooked in ten different ways, such as meat balls, sliced cold in two different ways, red and white, the red being cooked with a special kind of sauce made of beans which gives it the red color and has a delicious taste. chopped pork with chopped bamboo shoots, pork cut in cubes and cooked with cherries and pork cooked with onions and sliced thin. this last dish was her majesty's favorite and i must say it was good. then there was a sort of pancake made of eggs, pork and mushrooms chopped fine and fried, also pork cooked with cabbage and another dish cooked with turnips. the fowl and mutton was cooked in several different ways. in the center of the table was a very large bowl about two feet in diameter of the same yellow porcelain, in which there was a chicken, a duck and some shark fins in a clear soup. shark fins are considered a great delicacy in china. besides this there was roast chicken, boneless chicken and roast duck. ducks and chickens are stuffed with little pine needles to give them a fine flavor and roasted in open air ovens. there was another dish that her majesty was very fond of and that was the skin of roast pork cut into very small slices and fried until it curls up like a rasher of bacon. as a rule the manchu people seldom eat rice, but are very fond of bread and this day we had bread, made in a number of different ways, such as baked, steamed, fried, some with sugar and some with salt and pepper, cut in fancy shapes or made in fancy moulds such as dragons, butterflies, flowers, etc., and one kind was made with mincemeat inside. then we had a number of different kinds of pickles, of which her majesty was very fond. then there was beans and green peas, and peanuts made into cakes and served with sugarcane syrup. i did not eat very much, as i was too busy watching her majesty and listening to what she said, although she told us to eat all we could. in addition to all i have mentioned, we had many different kinds of porridge, some made of sweet corn and some with tiny yellow rice (like bird seed), and her majesty said that we must all eat porridge after our meat. after we had finally finished eating, her majesty rose from the table and said: "come into my bedroom and you will see the young empress and the court ladies eat; they always eat after i am finished." we went with her and i stood near the door between the two rooms and saw the young empress and court ladies come in and stand around the table eating very quietly. they were never allowed to sit down and eat their food. all this time the theatre had been going on playing some fairy tales, but they were not near as interesting as the first play that we had seen. her majesty sat on her long couch in the bedroom and the eunuch brought her some tea and she ordered some brought for us. my reader can imagine how delighted i was to be treated in this way. in china the people think their sovereign is the supreme being and that her word is law. one must never raise their eyes when talking to her. this is a sign of great respect. i thought these extreme favors must be most unusual. i had been told that her majesty had a very fierce temper, but seeing her so kind and gracious to us and talking to us in such a motherly way, i thought my informant must be wrong and that she was the sweetest woman in the world. when her majesty had rested a while, she told us that it was time we were returning to the city, as it was getting late. she gave us eight big yellow boxes of fruit and cakes to take home with us. she said to my mother: "tell yu keng (my father) to get better soon and tell him to take the medicine i am sending by you and to rest well. also give him these eight boxes of fruit and cakes." i thought my father, who had been quite ill since we returned from paris, would not be much benefited if he ate all those cakes. however, i knew he would appreciate her kind thoughtfulness even if it were detrimental to his health. as perhaps most of my readers know, it is the custom to kowtow when her majesty gives presents and we kowtowed to her when she gave us the fruit and cakes and thanked her for her kindness. just as we were leaving, her majesty said to my mother that she liked us very much and wanted us to come and be her court ladies and stay at the palace. we thought this was another great favor and again thanked her, and she asked us when we could come and told us to bring our clothes and things only, as she would fix everything for us and showed us the house we would live in when we came and told us to come back inside of two days. this house contained three very large rooms and was situated on the right side of her own or private palace. this palace ler shou tong (ever happy palace) is situated on the shores of the lake and was her majesty's favorite place and where she spent most of her time, reading and resting and when the spirit moved her she would go for a sail on the lake. in this palace she had quite a number of bedrooms and made use of them all. when she had finished showing us this house we took leave of her majesty, the young empress and the court ladies, and after a long and tiresome ride, reached home exhausted but happy, after the most eventful day of our lives. when we got into the house, we were surprised to find several eunuchs waiting our return. they had brought us each four rolls of imperial brocade from her majesty. once more we had to bend to custom in thanking her for these gifts. this time, the gift having been sent to the house, we placed the silk on a table in the center of the room and kowtowed to thank her majesty and told the eunuchs to tell her majesty how grateful we were to her for all her kindness and for the beautiful gifts. there is another thing that had to be done according to the custom, and that was to give the eunuchs a present or tip, and we had to give each of the eunuchs ten taels for their trouble. we afterwards found out that when eunuchs went anywhere to take presents for her majesty, they were required to report to her when they returned how the recipient had thanked her and what had been given them, which she allowed them to keep. she also asked them numerous questions about our house, whether we were pleased with her, etc. these people are extremely fond of talking and after we had returned to the palace again, they told us what her majesty had said about us the first day we were there. my mother felt very much worried to go to the palace and leave my father all alone owing to his being in poor health, but we could not disobey her majesty's order, so we returned to the palace three days later. our first day there was a busy one for us. when we first arrived we went and thanked her majesty for the present that she had sent us. she told us that she was very busy to-day, as she was going to receive a russian lady, madame plancon, wife of the russian minister to china, who was bringing a miniature portrait of the czar and czarina and family as a present from the czar to her, the empress dowager. she asked me if i could speak russian. i told her that i could not, but that most russians spoke french, which seemed to satisfy her. she, however, said: "why don't you tell me you speak russian, i won't know or be able to find out," and at the same time was looking at one of the court ladies. i concluded that someone must be fooling her, for she seemed to appreciate the fact that i had told her the truth. this afterwards proved to be true and one of the court ladies was dismissed for pretending she could talk foreign languages when she could not speak a word. besides this audience there was the theatre and the engagement ceremony of her majesty's nephew, ter ju. the engagement ceremony, according to the manchu custom, is performed by two of the princesses of the royal family going to the house of the prospective bride, who sits on her bed cross-legged, her eyes closed and awaits their coming. when they arrive at the house, they go to her bedroom and place a symbol called ru yee, made of pure jade about one and a half feet long, in her lap and suspend two small bags made of silk and beautifully embroidered, each containing a gold coin, from the buttons of her gown, and place two gold rings on her fingers, on which is carved the characters ta hsi (great happiness). the meaning of the symbol or sceptre ru yee is "may all joy be yours." during this entire ceremony absolute silence is maintained and immediately they have finished, they return to the palace and inform her majesty that the ceremony has been completed. chapter five--an audience with the empress no one informed us the day before that there was to be an audience to receive the russian minister's wife on that very day. we told her majesty that we must go and change our clothes in order to receive this lady. the dresses we wore that day were very simply made and short. the reason we wore this kind of costume was that there was no carpet and the bare brick floor had ruined our beautiful red velvet gowns, also the clumsy eunuchs had kept stepping on our trains all the time. we had made up our minds that short dresses for general wear every day would be more practical. her majesty said: "why must you change your clothes? i see you look much better without that tail dragging behind you on the floor. i laughed at the idea of having a tail on one's dresses. i noticed that the first day when you came to the court." before we had time to explain to her, she said: "i see, dresses with tails behind must be more dignified than short ones, am i right?" we told her it was so. then she said: "go and put on your most beautiful gowns at once." we immediately went and changed. my sister and myself wore our pink crepe de chine gowns, trimmed with brussels lace and transparent yokes of the same color chiffon. my mother wore her gray crepe de chine embroidered with black roses and a little touch of pale blue satin on her collar and belt. we dressed in a great hurry, as her majesty had sent eunuchs to see if we were ready. when she saw us she exclaimed: "here are three fairies with long tails." then she asked us: "is it very tiring to hold half of your dress in your hand when you are walking? the costume is pretty, but i do dislike the tail, there is no sense having a thing like that. i wonder what these foreigners will think of me having you dressed in their costume. i am sure they won't like the idea. my reason is this: i want them to see you in foreign clothes in order to let them understand i know something about the way they dress. i must say that no foreign ladies have yet been presented to me dressed in such lovely gowns as you three have. i don't believe foreigners are as wealthy as the chinese. i also notice they wear very little jewelry. i was told that i have more jewelry than any sovereign in the world and yet i am getting more all the time." we were very busy getting ready to receive mdme. plancon, who arrived about eleven o'clock and was received in the waiting room of the first courtyard by my sister and from there conducted to the audience hall, ren shou dien, where she was received by her majesty, who was sitting on her big throne on the raised dais. the emperor was present, sitting on her majesty's left hand and i stood on her right to interpret for her. her majesty was dressed in a yellow transparent satin brocade gown, embroidered with hollyhocks and the chinese character "shou" (long life) and trimmed with gold braid. she wore her big pearl, which is about the size and shape of an egg, suspended from the button of her dress, also numerous bracelets and rings and gold finger nail protectors. her hair was dressed in the same style as usual. when mdme. plancon entered the hall, my sister brought her to the steps of the dais and she courtesied to her majesty. i then went forward and brought her up onto the dais and her majesty shook hands with her and she presented the photograph which she had brought to her majesty. her majesty made a very pretty speech of acceptance, expressing her appreciation of the gift of their majesties, the czar and czarina. i interpreted this speech in french to mdme. plancon, as she could not speak english. after this, her majesty told me to take mdme. plancon to the emperor, which i did. he stood up when she came near and shook hands with her and asked after their majesties' health. this over, her majesty stepped down from her throne and took mdme. plancon to her own palace, the one with so many bedrooms, and when they arrived, her majesty asked her to sit down, and they talked together for about ten minutes, i interpreting for them, after which i took her to see the young empress. the manchu law is very strict as regards the mother-in-law and the daughter-in-law, and the young empress had been sitting behind the screen at the back of the throne during the audience, and it was there that i found her. from there we went to the banquet hall, where luncheon was served in manchu style. here i must explain the difference between the chinese way of eating and the manchu. the chinese place the bowls of food, one at a time, in the center of the table and everyone eats out of these bowls, sticking their chopsticks in and helping themselves to what they want. the manchus eat quite differently and are served with individual bowls and dishes, the same as in any other country. her majesty was very proud of this and said that it saved time, not to mention being cleaner. the food in the palace was always very good and clean, especially when we had foreign guests, and of course we had a variety of dishes for such occasions, such as sharkfins, birds' nest pudding, not to mention a great quantity of other things. her majesty had given me the order that morning to have the tables nicely decorated and they did look very nice when we sat down. besides the usual tableware, we had gold dragon menu holders, little peach-shaped silver saucers filled with almonds and dried watermelon seeds, and knives and forks in addition to chopsticks. her majesty and the emperor never ate with guests, so mdme. plancon was entertained by the imperial princess and the court ladies. when luncheon was half over a eunuch came and told me that her majesty wanted to see me at once. the thought flashed through my head that something had gone wrong, or that some of the eunuchs had been making false reports, a bad habit of the court; and i was much surprised to find her all smiles. she told me what a nice, polite lady mdme. plancon was, that she had seen many ladies who had come to the court, but none with manners like this one, that she was sorry to say that some of the ladies who came did not behave very well. she said: "they seem to think we are only chinese and do not know anything, and look down upon us. i notice these things very quickly and am surprised to see people who claim to be well educated and civilized acting the way they do. i think we whom they call barbarians are much more civilized and have better manners." she was always very polite to the foreign ladies, no matter how badly they behaved, but after they had gone, she would tell us who was nice and who was not. after she had finished saying this, she gave me a beautiful piece of green jade to give to madame plancon. when i gave it to her, she said she wished to thank her majesty, and i took her to the palace again. when we had finished luncheon, she told me how pleased she was with her reception and the kindness that her majesty had shown her, and took her departure, we accompanying her to the courtyard of the audience hall, where her chair was waiting. her majesty had made a rule or custom that after all guests had departed, we must go to her and report everything. i suppose she was like all women, a bit of a gossip as well as the rest; it appeared so at any rate. she wanted to know what mdme. plancon said, whether she liked the jade and whether she enjoyed her luncheon, etc. her majesty was very well pleased that i had interpreted so well for her and said: "i have never had anyone to interpret for me this way before. although i don't understand the language, i can see that you speak it fluently. how did you learn? i will never let you go away from me any more. sometimes the foreign ladies bring their own interpreters, but i can't understand their chinese and have to guess at what they are saying, especially some of the missionaries mrs. conger brings with her. i am very happy to have you and want you to stay with me as long as i live and i will arrange a marriage for you, but won't tell you just now." i felt very happy at what her majesty had said and thought i had made my debut under very favorable auspices, and was very glad that her majesty liked me; but this marriage question worried me, for nothing was farther from my mind than this. i afterwards told my mother about it and she told me not to worry, as i could always refuse when the time came. when we had told her majesty all that mdme. plancon had said, she told us we could go to our rooms, that as we had risen early that morning and had worked very hard, we must be tired and needed rest, that she would not need us any more that day. we courtesied to her according to the custom when saying good night, and retired. chapter six--in attendance on her majesty the building where we had our rooms, as i have said before, contained four large rooms and a hall, and we three, my mother, sister and myself, each took a room and gave the fourth to our maids. her majesty had ordered a eunuch to accompany us and this eunuch told us that her majesty had ordered four young eunuchs to attend on us and that if they did not behave, we should tell him. he also said his name was li, but as there were so many by this name, including the head eunuch, it was very hard to tell them apart. when we arrived, which took some time, he pointed to a building on our right and said that it was her majesty's own palace and the one which we had just left. i could not understand why it had taken us so long to come, when the palace was so near, and asked him about it. he told us that our little buildings were at the left side of the emperor's palace and that her majesty had had the entrance leading from our place to her palace closed up for certain reasons which he would not tell, but said: "you see this place ought to face east instead of towards the lake." the view on the lake was beautiful and i told him i liked it much better the way it was. he smiled and said: "you will have to learn a lot before you find out this wicked place." i was surprised at what the eunuch said, but did not like to ask him any questions. he also told us that the emperor's palace was just behind our place and was a large building similar to her majesty's palace. we looked and could see the trees of his courtyard above the roof. then he pointed to another building behind the emperor's, which was larger but lower than the emperor's palace, and also had a large courtyard, and said it was the young empress's palace. it had two buildings flanking it on each side and the eunuch told us that the one on the left was the secondary wife's bedroom. that there had been an entrance between the two palaces, but that lao fo yeh (the great old buddha), as the eunuchs called her majesty, had blocked it up so that the emperor and empress could not communicate with each other, except through her majesty's own palace. i suppose this was the way she kept watch over them and knew at all times what they were doing. this was all news to me and i did not know what to think of it. i was afraid that this eunuch li would tell me more of these curious things, so i told him i was tired and would go to my room and rest, and he went away. when i finally got inside my room and had a chance to look around, i saw that it was very prettily furnished with ebonywood furniture, which was covered with red satin cushions and the windows were hung with red silk curtains. all the bedrooms were just alike. the kong (bed) was made of brick covered with the same kind of wood and ran along the wall under the front window. it had high teaster posts with slats running across on which red curtains were hung. these kongs are very curiously built. they are made of brick and have a hole in the front center in which fire is placed to heat the brick in winter time. during the day a sort of table is placed on top of the kong and removed again at night. shortly after we had gone to our rooms, some eunuchs came and brought our dinner, which they placed on a table in the center of the hall. they told us the food had been sent by her majesty and that she had ordered them to tell us to make ourselves comfortable. we were so tired that we could not eat very much and were about to retire for the night when this eunuch li came again and told us that we must be up at five o'clock, not later, so i told my eunuch to knock on my window at five. immediately after this we went to bed, but did not sleep immediately, as we wanted to talk over the events of the day, which had been many and strange. after we did finally get to bed, it seemed as if we had just fallen asleep when i heard someone knocking on my window. i woke up with a start and asked what the matter was and a eunuch told me it was five o'clock and time to get up. i immediately got up and opened my window and looked out. the day was just dawning and the sky was a beautiful deep red which was reflected in the lake, which was perfectly calm. the scenery was lovely and in the distance i could see her majesty's peony mountain, which was literally covered with these beautiful flowers. i dressed at once and went to her majesty's palace and there met the young empress sitting on the veranda. i courtesied to her as a good morning salute. the emperor's secondary wife was there also, but we had been ordered not to courtesy to her, as she was considered not to have any standing there. there was also a number of young court ladies, many of whom i had never seen before. the young empress introduced me to them, saying that they were also court ladies. they were daughters of high manchu officials and some were very pretty and bright. the young empress told me that these ten (there were just ten there) were never allowed to go near her majesty, as they were just learning the court etiquette. they were all dressed very nicely in pretty manchu gowns, the same design as that worn by the young empress. after i had been introduced to these young ladies and talked with them a while, i went inside with the young empress and there met sze gurgur, fourth daughter of prince ching and a young widow twenty-four years of age, yuen da nai nai, widow of her majesty's nephew. both were busy getting things ready for her majesty. the young empress told us that we must go at once to her majesty's bedroom and assist her majesty to dress, so we went at once and courtesied to her and said: "lao tsu tsung chi hsiang" (old ancestor, all joy be with you). her majesty was still in bed and smiled to us and asked us if we had slept well. we told her the rooms were very comfortable, etc. i thought to myself, we had slept very well for the little time we had, but i had not had half enough. the day before had been very hard for us and we were quite unused to it and it had made us very lame and sore running around so much. she asked us if we had had any breakfast and we told her not yet. she scolded li for not having given the order for our breakfast to be brought to our rooms and said: "you must not feel like strangers, order anything you may want." then she arose and started to dress. she put on her white silk socks first, having slept in her pantaloons as is the custom, and tied them at the ankle with pretty ribbon. i must tell you here that although she always slept in her clothes, she changed them for clean ones every day. then she put on a pale pink shirt of soft material and over that a short silk gown, that was embroidered with bamboo leaves, as she always wore low heeled shoes in the morning and consequently could not wear her long gowns. after she had dressed she walked over to a window in front of which were two long tables covered with toilet articles of every kind and description. as she was washing her face and dressing her hair, she said to my mother that she could not bear to have the servant girls, eunuchs, or old women, touch her bed, that they were dirty, so the court ladies must make it. when she said this she turned to my sister and myself, we were standing a little to one side, and said: "you two must not think for a moment that the court ladies do servant's work, but you know i am an old woman and could easily be your grandmother and it will do you no harm to work a little for me. when it comes your turn, you can superintend the others and don't have to do the work with your own hands." then her majesty said to me: "der ling you are a great help to me in every way and i make you my first lady-in-waiting. you must not work too much for you will have to make all the arrangements for the audiences for foreigners and you will have to interpret for me. i also want you to look after my jewels and don't want you to do rough work at all. roon ling (my sister) can choose what she likes to do. i have two more besides you, sze gurgur and yuen da nai nai, making four altogether and you must all work together. it is not necessary to be too polite to them and if they are not nice to you, you let me know." although i was very happy at receiving this appointment, i knew that according to custom i must refuse it, so i thanked her majesty very kindly for the honor she had given me and said that i did not know enough to hold such an important position and would prefer to be just an ordinary court lady, and that i would learn as quickly as possible to be useful to her. she hardly let me finish what i was saying, when she laughed and said: "stop! don't say anything like that; you are too modest, which shows you are very clever and not a bit conceited. i am surprised to see what a perfect little manchu lady you are, knowing even such small etiquette as this, although you have spent many years outside of china." she was very fond of making fun and liked very much to tease, and said that i could try and if she saw that i could not do the work, she would scold me and put someone else in my place. after all this that she had said, i accepted the appointment and went over to her bed to see how it was made, and i found that it was very easy work to do. as this would be one of my duties, i watched while the bed was being fixed. first of all, after her majesty had risen, the bedclothes were taken out into the courtyard by the eunuchs and aired, then the bed, which was made of beautifully carved wood, was brushed off with a sort of whiskbroom, and a piece of felt placed over it. then three thick mattresses made of yellow brocade were placed over the felt. after this came the sheets made of different colored soft silk, and over the whole thing was placed a covering of plain yellow satin embroidered with gold dragons and blue clouds. she had a great many pillows, all beautifully embroidered, which were placed on the bed during the daytime; but had a particular one stuffed with tea leaves on which she slept. it is said that stuffing the pillow on which you sleep with tea leaves is good for the eyes. in addition to all these, she had another very curiously shaped pillow about twelve inches long in the middle of which was a hole about three inches square. it was stuffed with dried flowers, and the idea of the hole was that when she laid on it she could place her ear in this hole and in this way hear any and every sound. i suppose in that way no one could come on her unawares. besides this last yellow embroidered cover, there were six covers of different colors, pale mauve, blue, pink, green and violet, and were placed one on top of the other. over the top of the bed was a frame of wood handsomely carved and from this frame white crepe curtains, beautifully embroidered, hung, and numerous little gauze silk bags filled with scent were suspended from the carved work of the frame. the odor from these bags was very strong and made one feel sick until they became used to it. her majesty was also very fond of musk and used it on all occasions. it took us about fifteen minutes to make the bed, and when i had finished, i turned around and saw that her majesty was dressing her hair. i stood beside her majesty while the eunuch was dressing it and saw that as old as she was, she still had beautiful long hair which was as soft as velvet and raven black. she parted it in the center and brought it low at the back of her ears, and the back braid was brushed up on the top of her head and made it into a tight knot. when she had finished doing this, she was ready to have the gu'un dzan (manchu headdress) placed on and pinned through the knot with two large pins. her majesty always dressed her hair first and then washed her face. she was as fussy and particular as a young girl and would give it to the eunuch if he did not get it just to suit her. she had dozens of bottles of all kinds of perfume, also perfumed soap. when she had finished washing her face, she dried it on a soft towel and sprayed it with a kind of glycerine made of honey and flower petals. after that she put some kind of strong scented pink powder on her face. when she had completed her toilet, she turned to me and said: "it must seem to you quite funny to see an old lady like me taking so much care and pains in dressing and fixing up. well! i like to dress myself up and to see others dress nicely. it always gives me pleasure to see pretty girls dressed nicely; it makes you want to be young again yourself." i told her that she looked quite young and was still beautiful, and that although we were young we would never dare compare ourselves with her. this pleased her very much, as she was very fond of compliments, and i took great pains that morning to study her and to find out what she liked and what she didn't. after this her majesty took me into another room and showed me where her jewels were kept. this room was covered with shelves on three sides of the room from top to bottom, on which were placed piles of ebony boxes all containing jewels. small yellow strips were pasted on some of the boxes on which was written the contents. her majesty pointed to a row of boxes on the right side of the room and said: "here is where i keep my favorite everyday jewels, and some day you must go over them and see that they are all there. the rest are all jewels which i wear on special occasions. there are about three thousand boxes in this room and i have a lot more locked up in my safety room, which i will show you when i am not busy." then she said: "i am sorry you cannot read and write chinese, otherwise i would give you a list of these things and you could keep a check on them." i was very much surprised at this and wondered who had told her i couldn't. i was anxious to know, but did not dare to ask her, so i told her that although i was not a scholar, i had studied chinese for some time and could read and write a little, that if she would give me a list i would try and read it. she said: "that is funny, someone told me the first day you were here, i forget now who it was, that you could not read or write your own language at all." while she was saying this, she was looking all around the room and i was sure she knew who it was that had told her, but she would not tell me. then she said: "when we have time this afternoon, i will go over this list with you. bring me those five boxes on the first row of shelves." i brought the boxes to her room and placed them on the table. she opened the first one and it contained a most beautiful peony made of coral and jade and each petal trembled like a real flower. this flower was made by stringing the petals which were made of coral on very fine brass wire, also the leaves which were made of pure jade. she took this flower and placed it on the right side of her headdress. then she opened another box and took from it a magnificent jade butterfly made in the same way. this was an invention of her own and it was done by carving the coral and jade into petals and leaves and boring holes in the lower ends through which brass wire was run. the other two boxes contained bracelets and rings of different patterns. there was a pair of gold bracelets set with pearls, another pair set with jade, with a piece of jade hanging from the end of a small gold chain, etc. the last two contained chains of pearls, the like of which i never saw before, and i fell in love with them at once. her majesty took one which was made into a plum blossom string by winding a circle of five pearls around a larger one, then one single pearl, then another circle of five pearls around a large one, and so on, making quite a long chain, which she suspended from one of the buttons of her gown. at this juncture one of the court ladies came in carrying several gowns for her majesty to select from. she looked at them and said that none of them suited her, to take them back and bring more. i had a look at them and thought they were perfectly lovely, such pretty colors and so beautifully embroidered. in a short while the same court lady came back carrying more, and from these her majesty selected a sea-green one embroidered all over with white storks. she put this gown on and looked at herself in the mirror for a while, then took off her jade butterfly. she said: "you see i am very particular about little details. the jade butterfly is too green and it kills my gown. put it back in the box and bring me a pearl stork in no. box." i went back to the jewel room and fortunately found no. box and brought it to her. she opened the box and took from it a stork made entirely of pearls set in silver, the bird's bill being made of coral. the pearls making the body of the bird were so cleverly set that the silver could not be seen at all unless one looked at it very closely. it was a most magnificent piece of workmanship and the pearls were of perfect color and shape. her majesty took it and placed it in her hair and did look very graceful and pretty. then she picked out a mauve-colored short jacket, also embroidered with storks, which she put on over her gown. her handkerchief and shoes were also embroidered with storks and when she was entirely dressed she looked like the stork lady. just as she had finished dressing, the emperor kwang hsu came into the bedroom dressed in his official clothes. these clothes were exactly like other official clothes, except that he had no button on his hat and did not wear the peacock feather. he knelt down before her majesty and said: "chin baba, chi hsiang" (dear father, all joy be with you). it may seem curious that the emperor and all of us should call her majesty father, and the reason why this was done was because her majesty always wanted to be a man and compelled everyone to address her as if she were actually one. this was only one of her many peculiarities. i did not know whether to courtesy to the emperor or not, not having received any orders as to what i should do. however, i thought it better to be too polite than not enough, so i waited until either he or her majesty went out of the room, as we were not allowed to salute or courtesy to anyone in her presence. in a little while the emperor went out and i followed him out into the hall and just as i was in the act of courtesying her majesty came out. she looked at me in a very peculiar way, as if she did not approve of what i had done, but said nothing. i felt very uncomfortable and made up my mind that being too polite did not always pay after all. i then returned to the room again and saw a small eunuch placing several yellow boxes on a table at the left side of the room. her majesty seated herself in a large chair, which was called her little throne, and this eunuch opened the boxes, took a yellow envelope from each box and handed them to her majesty. she opened these envelopes with an ivory paper knife and read their contents. they were memorials from the heads of the different boards, or from the viceroys of the different provinces. the emperor had come back and was standing at the side of this table and after she had finished reading, she handed them over to him. while all this was being done i stood at the back of her chair. i watched the emperor as the different papers were handed to him and noticed that it did not take him very long to finish reading their contents. after he was finished reading the papers, they were placed back in the boxes. during all this time absolute silence was maintained. just as they had finished the head eunuch came in, knelt down and announced that her majesty's chair was ready. she immediately got up and went out of the house, we following her, and i took her arm while she was descending the steps to go to her chair. when she had entered the chair to go to the audience hall, the emperor and young empress and we all followed in our usual places, the eunuchs, amahs and servant girls carrying all the things exactly the same as was done the first day i came to the palace. when we arrived at the audience hall, we took our places behind the big screen and the audience commenced. i was very curious to find out just how the audiences were conducted and wanted to listen to what was going on, but the court ladies would not leave me alone. however, when they were all talking together with my sister, i stole away into a corner where i could sit and rest and listen to the conversation between the different ministers and her majesty. trust a woman for being inquisitive. the first part of the audience i could not hear very well, as so many people were whispering and talking at the same time, but by peeping through the carved-work of the screen, i could see a general talking to her majesty. i also saw the members of the grand council come in headed by prince ching, who was the councillor-in-chief. after the general had finished, her majesty talked with prince ching about the appointment of some minor officials, a list of whose names had been handed to her. she looked over this list and spoke about several of the people, but prince ching suggested some others, saying: "although these people whose names have been submitted to your majesty should receive appointments, those that i have suggested are better fitted for the positions." her majesty said: "all right, i leave it all to you." then i heard her majesty say to the emperor, "is that correct?" and he replied, "yes." this finished the audience for the morning and the ministers and grand councillors took their leave. we came out from behind the screen to her majesty and she said that she wanted to go for a walk to get some fresh air. the servant girls brought her a mirror, placed it on a table, and her majesty took off her heavy headdress, leaving the simple knot on the top of her head, which was quite becoming. she wanted to change some of the flower jewels and i opened a box which one of the eunuchs had brought and took out some very dainty flowers made of pearls. i handed her one which she placed at the side of this knot, then she selected a jade dragonfly which she placed on the other side. she said these small flowers were favorites of hers and she liked to wear them when she took off her heavy headdress. i was watching her very closely and wondered what i was going to do with the flowers she had taken off. i had not brought the boxes to put them in, as i did not know she was going to change again after the audience, and felt a little nervous as to what was the right thing to do, or as to what she would say. however, i saw a eunuch come in carrying these boxes and felt much relieved. i quickly placed the things in the boxes where they belonged. chapter seven--some incidents of the court my first day with her majesty was very trying as i did not know just what she wanted or how she wanted things done, and no one seemed willing to tell me; but by watching very closely i was soon able to grasp the situation. after i had finished putting the things in the boxes i did not know whether to take them back to the jewel room or not, or whether to wait until her majesty ordered me, and again i was in a quandary. i saw she was talking to my mother, so i waited a little time and finally made up my mind i would risk it and take them back, which i did. as i was returning i met her majesty in the big courtyard. she had just changed her gown again and looked much shorter as she had also changed her shoes for ones with lower heels. this gown was made of heavy sky-blue crepe with no embroidery at all, just trimmed with pale pink ribbons, and she looked very nice in it. when her majesty saw me, she asked me: "where have you been?" i told her that i had just been putting her jewels away. then she said: "has anyone told you to put them away as soon as i am finished with them? i forgot to tell you this morning, although i had meant to." i said that no one had told me anything, that i was afraid to have the eunuchs taking such valuable things here and there, that i was sure that she did not want to use them any more, so i thought it would be safer to put them away in the jewel room again. her majesty looked at me and said: "i can see that these girls don't tell you anything and i am very glad to see that you have done just the right thing. that is why i thought someone must have told you what to do. anything you want to know you can ask me, but don't talk to these mean people here." i could see from this that there must be some jealousy among them and decided that i was well able to find my own way, as i knew her majesty liked me and would help me out. her majesty walked along a little way, then laughed and said to me: "don't i look more comfortable now? i am going for a long walk and take lunch on the top of the hill. there is a nice place up there and i am sure you will like it. come, let us go." the emperor had gone back to his own palace, and the head eunuch had also disappeared. as we were walking along, her majesty was talking and smiling as if she had never a care or trouble in the world, or any important questions of state to settle. i thought from what i had seen so far that she had a very sweet disposition. she looked back and said: "just see how many people are following us." i turned and saw the same crowd that had accompanied her majesty earlier in the day to the audience hall. after passing out of the large courtyard on the west side, we came to a large, long veranda running in a zig-zag fashion along the front of the lake, and it was so long that i could not see the end of it. it was very prettily made of solid carved work from one end to the other. electric lights were hanging from the ceiling at intervals, and when they were lighted at night, made a beautiful sight. her majesty was a very fast walker and we had to step lively to keep up with her. the eunuchs and the servant girls walked on the right side and only one of the eunuchs was allowed to walk behind us, and he was the one who carried her majesty's yellow satin stool, which, like her dog, went everywhere she did. this stool she used to rest on when taking a walk. we walked for quite a long while and i began to feel tired, but her majesty, as old as she was, was still walking very fast and did not appear to be the least bit tired. she asked me if i liked the palace and whether i would be satisfied to live with her, etc. i told her that it was a great pleasure for me to serve her, that it had been my dream for years, and now that my dream had come true, i could not help but be satisfied. we finally arrived at the place where the marble boat was kept, and i was about finished. i never saw such vitality in an old woman in my life as her majesty had, and it was no wonder that she had ruled this vast empire of china so successfully for so many years. this boat was magnificent, being one mass of carved work, but the inside was all spoiled. her majesty showed us all over the boat, and whilst we were looking at the ruin, she said: "look at those colored glasses in the windows and these beautiful paintings. they were all spoiled by the foreign troops in . i don't intend to have it repaired as i don't want to forget the lesson i have learned and this is a good reminder." after we had been standing there a few minutes, a eunuch who had been carrying the famous satin stool, came forward, and her majesty sat down to rest. while we were talking i noticed two large and very fancy-looking boats approaching us, with several smaller ones coming along behind. as they came nearer i saw that they were also very beautifully made, and looked like floating pagodas of beautifully carved natural wood. the windows of the pagodas were hung with red gauze curtains and all was trimmed with silk. her majesty said: "there are the boats. we must go over to the west side of the lake and have luncheon." her majesty got up and walked to the edge of the lake, two eunuchs supporting her, one at each side. she stepped into the boat and we all followed her example. the inside of the boat was very nicely furnished with carved ebony furniture with blue satin cushions, one with many pots of flowers on both sides of the window. there were two more cabins behind this sitting room. her majesty told me to go in to see those two rooms. one little room was a dressing room full of toilet articles. the other one had two couches and several small chairs for her majesty to rest whenever she felt tired. her majesty sat on her throne and ordered us to sit on the floor. the eunuchs brought in red satin cushions for us to sit upon. to sit on the floor is all right for chinese clothes, but of course it was out of the question with paris gowns, and i felt very uncomfortable, but did not like to say so. i wanted to change into manchu clothes, for i knew they were comfortable and easy to work in, but having received no order from her majesty, i did not dare to suggest it. her majesty noticed how very uncomfortable we looked sitting on the floor. she said: "you can stand up if you want to and just watch those boats following us." i put my head out of the window and noticed the young empress and several other court ladies were in the other boat. they waved to me, and i waved back. her majesty laughed and said to me: "i give you this apple to throw to them." while saying this she took one from the big plates that stood upon the center table. i tried very hard, but the apple did not reach the other boat, but went to the bottom of the lake. her majesty laughed and told me to try again, but i failed. finally, she took one and threw it herself. it went straight to the other boat and hit one of the ladies' head. we all laughed quite heartily. then i began to enjoy myself. there were several open boats full of eunuchs, and another one of servant girls, amahs and the rest with her majesty's luncheon. the lake was beautiful and looked so green in the sun. i told her majesty that this color reminded me of the sea. she said: "you have travelled so much, and yet you have not had enough, but are still thinking of the sea. you must not go abroad any more, but stay with me. i want you to enjoy this sailing on this lake instead of the rough sea." i promised her that i would be only too happy to stay with her. i must say the truth, i did enjoy the lovely scenery, the beautiful weather, superb sunshine, with her majesty so kind to me and talking to me in such a motherly way made me love her more and more every minute i was there. i was so extremely happy there that even paris pleasures had gone out of my memory entirely. at last we arrived at another part of the lake. this was more of a stream, very narrow, just wide enough for one boat to pass. on both sides of the bank were planted drooping willow trees that reminded me of the chinese fairy tales i have read. this time i saw the servant girls, amahs, and also eunuchs carrying boxes, walking on both sides of the shore. only two boats were going then, the young empress' and ours. her majesty said: "we will arrive at the bottom of the hill in a few minutes." when we came near the shore i saw her yellow chair and several red chairs waiting. we landed and walked to the chairs. i watched her majesty get into hers and noticed this was not the same chair she used this morning. this little one was, of course, of yellow, with yellow poles, and two eunuchs carried it, with yellow rope across their shoulders, and four eunuchs supported the poles, one on each corner of the chair. they were just going to raise her chair up when she said: "yu tai tai (lady yu) i give you and your daughters special favor and give you a red chair with red cord that i have given to only a few people." the young empress looked at us, which i understood at once was meant for us to kowtow to her, which we did, and waited until the empress got into hers. then we went to search for ours. to my surprise our own eunuchs were standing waiting beside our chairs. on the poles i noticed that my name was written and i asked our eunuch the reason. he said that her majesty gave the order the night before. it was a lovely ride going to the top of the hill. i saw her majesty's chair in front, and the young empress'. they looked to me quite dangerous in ascending that way, and the men at the back of the chair had to raise the poles above their heads so as to make the chair the same level in ascending. i was quite nervous and was very much afraid that they might fall off and injure me. our eunuchs were walking beside our chairs. i said to one of them that i was afraid the chair bearers might slip. he told me to look back of my chair, which i did, and to my surprise they had the poles raised up also above their heads, and i did not feel it at all. he told me that these chair bearers practice for such purposes and that there was no danger at all. it made my heart stop beating looking back and seeing the other court ladies in their chairs way below mine, the eunuchs and servant girls walking, for fear i might fall off at any time. at last we arrived at the top of the hill. we helped her majesty to alight and followed her into the most lovely building i ever saw, the best one in the summer palace to my idea (name of this pavilion, ching fo ker). this palace had only two rooms, with windows on every side. one could see everywhere. her majesty used one large one to take her luncheon in and the other as a toilet room. i noticed that wherever we went we found her majesty's toilet room. her majesty took us around the compound and showed us the lovely flowers planted everywhere. one of the young eunuchs told me that her majesty's dainties were ready. that was my first day of real work. i went out and found two large yellow boxes of different kinds of candies and fruits, as i have before mentioned. i carried two plates at a time, and finished in nine times, placing them on a square table near her. she was talking to my mother then about flowers. i noticed that although she was talking, she was watching me at the same time. i placed the plates upon the table very carefully, and already having noticed the day before what were her favorite dishes, and placed these near her. she smiled at me and said: "you have done it very nicely. and how do you know that these are my favorites and have placed them near me? who told you?" i replied that no one had told me anything and that i had noticed the day before what lao tsu tsung liked (according to the manchu custom one must address a superior or one's parents in the third person). her majesty said: "i can see you use your heart in everything (in china people say heart instead of head) and are not like the crowd i have here; they haven't the brains of a bird." she was soon busy eating, and gave me some candies, and told me to eat right there in her presence. of course i never forgot to thank her, for i thought i had rather thank her too much than too little. she told me: "whenever i give you small things you need not kowtow. just say: 'hsieh lao tsu tsung shang' (thank the old ancestor), that is enough." after a little while she finished eating, and told me to take the dishes away. she said: "to-day is your day, so these things are yours. take them out and sit down on the veranda and enjoy yourself. you see i could not eat all. there are lots of things left. if you like you can tell your own eunuch to send them to your room." i placed the little dishes back in the boxes and took them to the veranda. there i placed them upon the table and told the young empress to eat some. i did not know whether it was right to offer them to her or not and thought i could not do her any harm, even if i tried. she said all right, that she would eat some. i took a piece of candy and had just put it into my mouth when i heard her majesty calling my name. i hurried in and found her sitting at her table ready to take her lunch. she said: "what else did mdme. plancon say yesterday? was she really pleased? do you think they, the foreigners, really like me? i don't think so; on the contrary i know they haven't forgotten the boxer rising in kwang hsu's th year. i don't mind owning up that i like our old ways the best, and i don't see any reason why we should adopt the foreign style. did any of the foreign ladies ever tell you that i am a fierce-looking old woman?" i was very much surprised that she should call me in and ask me such questions during her meal. she looked quite serious and it seemed to me she was quite annoyed. i assured her that no one ever said anything about her majesty but nice things. the foreigners told me how nice she was, and how graceful, etc. this seemed to please her, and she smiled and said: "of course they have to tell you that, just to make you feel happy by saying that your sovereign is perfect, but i know better. i can't worry too much, but i hate to see china in such a poor condition. although the people around me seem to comfort me by telling that almost every nation feels very friendly towards china, i don't think that is true. i hope we will be strong some day." while she was saying this i noticed her worried expression. i did not know what to say, but tried to comfort her by saying that that time will come, and we are all looking forward to it. i wanted to advise her on some points, but seeing that she was angry, i thought i had better not make any suggestions that day, but wait until i had another opportunity. i felt sorry for her, and would have given anything in the world to help her by telling what the general opinion of her was so as to let her know the truth, which no one dared to tell her. something told me to be silent. i kept thinking all the time she was talking to me, and finally made up my mind that the time was not yet ripe for me to make any suggestion. i had grown to love her very much, so i wanted to take care not to offend her; that would probably finish my ambition. i wanted to study her first thoroughly and then try to influence her to reform china. i stood all the time while she was eating. she got up from the table and handed me her napkin (this napkin was made of a piece of silk a yard square, woven in many colors). one corner was turned in, and a golden butterfly was fastened to it. it had a hook at the back of this butterfly so as to hook on her collar. she said: "i am sure you must be hungry. go and tell the young empress and the rest of the people to come and eat. you can eat anything you want from these tables, so eat all you can." i was very, very hungry. just imagine, i had been up since : o'clock and had only a light breakfast, and had walked a great deal. it was almost noon when her majesty sat down at her table. she ate so slowly, too. while i stood there talking to her i thought she would never finish. she ate a good meal. the young empress stood at the head of the table, and we all stood on either side. we did not like to be forward, so we stood at the other end of the table. the food was very much the same as the first day we were there. her majesty came out from the inner room, had just finished washing her face and hands, and had changed into another gown. this one was simple, but very pretty. it was woven with pink and gray raw silks, which gave it a changeable light whenever she moved. she came out and said: "i want to see you people eat; why is it that you are standing at the end of the table, the best dishes are not there? all of you come over here and eat near the young empress." so we moved from our end of the table to the other. her majesty stood near me, and pointed to a smoked fish and wanted me to try it, as it was her favorite, and said: "make yourselves at home. you know you have to fight your own battles here with this crowd. of course you can come and tell me if anyone does not treat you fair." her majesty then went out, saying that she would walk a bit. i noticed that some of the court ladies did not look pleased, seeing that her majesty paid so much attention to us. i could see they were a little jealous of me, but that did not worry me in the least. after we got through our luncheon, i followed the young empress, for it was all so new to me, and i did not know what i must do--whether to join her majesty or not. after seeing that they were jealous of me, i paid strict attention to everything, so as not to make any mistake in doing my work and let them have the satisfaction of laughing at me. i would not give them the chance. i heard her majesty talking to the eunuchs who looked after the garden, about some branches which ought to be cut down, saying they were lazy. so we went to her. she said to us: "you see i have to look after everything myself, if not, my flowers would be ruined. i can't depend on them at all. i wonder what they are good for. they ought to look around every day and cut down the dead branches and leaves. they have not been punished for several days and they are looking forward to it." she laughed and said: "i will not disappoint them, but give them all they wish to have." i thought these people must be idiots, looking forward to a whipping, and wondered who would whip them. her majesty turned to me and said: "have you ever witnessed such an operation?" i told her that i had, having seen the convicts being whipped at a magistrate's yamen when i was a little girl living at shansi (on the yangtsze). she said: "that is nothing. the convicts are not half so wicked as these eunuchs. of course they deserve a heavier punishment when they are bad." her majesty said that i should learn to play dice with her, as she never had enough people to play with, so we went back to the same room where she had taken her lunch. a square table was in the middle of this large room and a little throne of her majesty's, facing south (her favorite direction). her majesty sat on her throne and said to me: "i will show you how to play this game. do you think you know enough chinese to read this map?" i noticed a large map, the same size as the table, and laid upon it, drawn in different colors. in the center of the map was written the direction of the game. it said: "this game is called the 'eight fairies travel across the sea.' the names are lu hsien, chang hsien, li hsien, lan hsien, hang hsien, tsao hsien and hain hsien. these seven were masculine fairies. hor hsien was the only lady fairy." this map was the map of the chinese empire, and the names of the different provinces were written on the drawing. there were eight pieces of round ivory, about one inch and a half in diameter and a quarter of an inch thick. the names of these fairies were engraved upon them. this game could be played either by eight people or four people, when each person had to take two fairies' places, instead of one. a porcelain bowl was placed in the center of the map, to compare the point by throwing six dice into the bowl. for instance, four people play. one throws these six dice into the bowl and counts the points on them. the highest that one could get was , and should be thrown the fairy should go to hangehow to enjoy the beautiful scenery. this person threw dice for lu hsien and had points and placed this ivory piece of lu hsien on hangehow upon the map. the same person has to throw another time for another fairy, so each person throws twice if four people play the game, and once if played by eight. these different points count different provinces. they are counted thus:--six dice alike. one pair in six dice, to three pairs. the lowest was the double , , . if any unfortunate fairy got this he should go on exile and be left out altogether. any one of the fairies that travelled round the map to reach the imperial palace, the first, was the winner. i read this to her majesty. she seemed to be quite pleased, and said: "i had no idea that you could read so well. this game was my own invention and i taught three court ladies to play. i had a very hard time teaching them. i also taught them how to read chinese in order to play the game, but it took them so long to learn anything that i got quite discouraged before i got through with them. i am sure you know how to play it now." i was very much surprised to hear that these court ladies were as ignorant as this. i thought they must be excellent scholars, so did not dare to show my knowledge of chinese literature. we began to play the game. her majesty was lucky. the two fairies held by her were way ahead of ours. one of the court ladies said to me: "you will be surprised to see that lao tsu tsung is always the winner." her majesty smiled and said to me: "you will never be able to catch my fairies." she said: "you are the first day here to play this game and if any of your fairies beat any of mine i will give you a nice present, so hurry up." i thought i could never get ahead of her fairies, for they were so far ahead of mine, but i tried hard, as her majesty told me to call out for the points i wanted. i did, but it came out something so different that it amused her a great deal. i had no idea how long we were playing this game. we counted who came next, and that was one of my fairies, so her majesty said to me: "i was sure you could not beat me, as no one could. seeing that yours are next to mine, i will give you the present just the same." while she was saying this she told a servant girl to bring her some embroidered handkerchiefs. this girl brought several colored ones to her, and she asked me what color i preferred. she handed me a pink one and a pale blue one, all embroidered with purple wisteria, and said: "these two are the best, and i want you to take them." i was just going to thank her by bowing to the ground, but i found that my legs could not move. i tried hard and succeeded finally, with difficulty. her majesty laughed very heartily at me and said: "you see you are not accustomed to standing so long and you cannot bend your knees any more." although my legs were sore i thought i had better not show it, but smiled and told her that it was nothing, only my legs were a little stiff, that was all. she said: "you must go and sit on the veranda and rest a minute." i was only too glad to sit down, so i went to the veranda and found the young empress sitting there with several court ladies. the young empress said: "you must be tired standing so long. come and sit near me." my legs were very stiff and my back was tired. of course her majesty did not know how uncomfortable we were while she was sitting on her cozy throne. foreign attire is out of the question for the imperial palace of peking. i had hoped that her majesty would tell us to change into our manchu gowns. i noticed that she asked many questions every day about foreign costumes, and she said: "the foreign costume is not any prettier than ours and i should say they must be quite uncomfortable round one's waist. i wouldn't be squeezed that way for anything." although she was saying such things she did not suggest that we should give them up, so we had to wait patiently for her orders. the young empress took her watch out of her pocket, and said to me: "this game has lasted just two hours." i said to her that it seemed to me longer than that. while we were talking i saw our own eunuchs bringing four round boxes, made of thin board, carried at each end of bamboo poles. they put them down near where we sat, and one of them brought me a cup of tea. when my mother and sister came the same eunuch brought another two cups, and there were several court ladies talking with us. this eunuch did not give them any. i noticed at the other end of this long veranda there were another two boxes, exactly the same as these, and a big tall eunuch made tea and brought it to the young empress in a yellow porcelain cup, with a silver saucer and a silver top cover. he did not give any to the others. i was puzzled when one of the court ladies sitting next to me said: "would you mind telling wang (our head eunuch) to give me a cup of your tea, just to save me the trouble to go and get it from the small room at the end of this long veranda?" i gave her such a surprised look, for i did not know that this was our tea, but i thought i'd just tell wang to bring her a cup, and find out afterwards the reason, for i would give anything in the world rather than appear ignorant before those people. while we were talking her majesty came out. before she reached the veranda i got up and told the young empress that her majesty was coming. i saw her first because i sat facing her back hall. her majesty said to us all: "it is almost three o'clock now, and i am going to rest a while. let us leave here." we all stood in a line for her to enter her chair, and then we went to ours. it was quite a fast ride and we got out of our chairs before arriving at the courtyard of her own palace. we walked ahead of her chair and formed into another line for her to alight. she walked to her bedroom and we all followed. a eunuch brought her a cup of hot water and another brought a bowl of sugar. she took her golden spoon and took two teaspoonfuls of sugar and put it into her cup of hot water, and drank it very slowly. she said: "you know before one goes to sleep or ever lies down, sugar water will quiet one's nerves. i always take it, and find it very good indeed." she took the flowers off from her headdress and i fixed them back in their boxes at once, and placed them in the jewel-room. when i came out of this jewel-room she was in bed already, and said to us: "you all go and rest a while. i don't need you now." chapter eight--the court ladies we retired from her room, but i noticed that two of the court ladies did not come out with us. one of them said to me: "i am glad that i can rest a bit to-day, for i have been sitting three afternoons in succession." at first i did not know what she meant. then she said: "oh, your turn has not come yet. we don't know whether you received the order or not. you know two of us must stay with her majesty during her afternoon siesta, to watch the eunuchs and the servant girls." i thought that was the funniest thing i had ever heard of, and wondered how many people would be in her room. the young empress said: "we had better go at once and rest ourselves, otherwise her majesty will be up again before we get the chance." of course i had not the least idea how long she slept. so we went back to our rooms. i did not realize how tired i was until i sat down in my room. i felt finished and awfully sleepy at the same time, for i was not used to getting up at o'clock. everything was so new to me. as i sat there my thoughts wandered to paris, and i thought how strange it was that i used to go to bed at o'clock after the dances, and here i had to get up at such a time. all the surroundings seemed new to me, seeing the eunuchs running here and there waiting on us, as if they were chambermaids. i told them that i didn't need them any more. i wanted them to go out of the room so that i could lie down a bit. they brought us tea and different kinds of candies, and asked what else was wanted. i was just going to change into a comfortable dress, when the eunuch came in and informed me that "yo ker lila" (visitors have come), and two court ladies came, and another girl of about seventeen came in. i had seen her that very morning when i came to the palace, busy working, but i was not introduced to her. these two girls said: "we have come to see you and also to find out if you are comfortable." i thought they were kind to come and see me that way, but i did not like their faces. they introduced this mean-looking girl to me and told me her name was chun shou (graceful long life). she did not look as if her life would last long, being so thin and delicate. she looked sick and worn out to me. i did not know who she was. she courtesied to me and i returned to her, in a sort of half way. (i will explain about the courtesy.) (to her majesty, the emperor and the young empress, we went down and bent our knees, while we stood upright to the people of lower rank than ourselves. in this case one must always wait while the inferior courtesies first, and bend the knees a little bit in return. this was the way i returned chun shou's courtesy to me.) the two girls then said "chun shou's father is only a small official, so she has not much standing at the court. she is not exactly a court lady, but she is not a servant girl either." i almost laughed right out, to hear such a funny statement, and wondered what she must be. i saw her sitting down with the court ladies that very morning, so of course i asked her to sit down, too. these two court ladies asked me if i felt tired, and how i liked the empress dowager. i told them that her majesty was the most lovely lady i had ever seen, and that i already loved her very much, although i had only been there a few days. they looked at chun shou and exchanged smiles. they did that in such a peculiar way that it annoyed me. they asked: "do you think you would like to live in this place, and how long do you intend to stay?" i said i would love to stay long, and would do my best to wait on her majesty, and be useful to her, for she had been so kind towards us in the short time we had been there, and besides, it was my duty to serve my sovereign and country. they laughed and said: "we pity you, and are sorry for you. you must not expect any appreciation here, no matter how hard you work. if you are really going to do as you have said just now, you will be disliked by everybody." i did not know what they were talking about, or what their conversation referred to. i thought this was so strange that i had better put a stop to it, so i immediately changed the subject. i asked them who dressed their hair, and who made their shoes for them, as they had asked me. they answered my questions by saying that their maids did everything for them. chun shou said to these two girls: "tell her everything about this palace, and i am sure she will change her mind when she actually sees things for herself." i didn't like this chun shou, and her face didn't impress me. she was a little bit of a thing, tiny head with thin lips. when she laughed one could only hear the noise she made; no expression was on her face at all. i was just going to say something to them, so as not to give them the opportunity of gossiping, but found they were too cunning. they noticed that i tried every way to stop them, so they said: "now let us tell you everything. no one else will know. we like you very much and we want to give you some warning, so as to be able to protect yourself whenever you are in trouble." i told them that i would take great care to do my work and didn't think that i would ever get into trouble. they laughed and said: "that makes no difference. her majesty will find fault." i could not believe these things that they said, and intended to tell them that i refused to hear such statements, but i thought i had better listen to what they had to say first and not to offend them, for i never believed in making enemies. i then told them that it would be impossible for so sweet and kind-hearted a person like lao tsu tsung (the old ancestor) to find fault with such helpless girls as we were, for we were her people, and she could do anything she liked with us. they said: "you don't know, and have no idea how wicked this place is; such torture and suffering one could not imagine. we are sure that you think you must be happy to be with the great empress dowager, and proud to be her court lady. your day hasn't come yet, for you all are new to her. yes, she is extremely kind to you just now, but wait until she gets tired of you and then see what she will do. we have had enough, and know what the court life is. of course you must have heard that li lien ying (the head eunuch) rules this palace behind lao tsu tsung's back. we are all afraid of him. he pretends that he cannot influence lao tsu tsung, but we always know the result after a long conversation consulting how to punish anyone. if any of us do anything wrong, we always go to him and beg him to help us out. then he says he has no power to influence her majesty, and also that he dare not tell her much, for she would scold him. we hate all the eunuchs, they are such bad people. we can see very plainly they are awfully polite to you because they can see that you are in favor. to receive such rudeness from them, constantly, as we do, is unbearable. "lao tsu tsung is very changeable. she may like one person to-day, to-morrow she hates this same person worse than poison. she has moods, and has no appreciation whatsoever. even chu tzu, the young empress (chu tzu means mistress, that is to say she was mistress of us all, for the manchus were considered by the sovereign as slaves) is afraid of li lien ying, and has to be very nice to him. in fact, we all have to be polite to him." they talked so long that i thought they would never finish. about this time wang came in and brought tea for us. suddenly i heard people howling in the distance, so i asked wang what was the matter. the girls were listening also and a eunuch came flying in and told us lao fo yeh chin la (the great buddha wakes up). the girls got up and said we must all go to see her, so they went. i was not at all pleased with their visit, and wished they hadn't come, especially as they told me such horrible things. it made me quite sad to listen to the awful way they talked about her majesty. i loved her the first day i was there, and made up my mind to forget everything they had told me. i was cross also because i didn't have time to change my clothes, and had to go up to her majesty at once. i went into her bedroom, and found her sitting upon the bed cross-legged, with a small table placed on the bed in front of her. she smiled and asked: "have you had a good rest? did you sleep at all?" i said that i was not sleepy, and could not sleep in the daytime. she said: "when you are old like me, you will be able to sleep at any time. just now you are young, and fond of play. i think you must have been on the hills to gather flowers, or walked too much, for you look tired." i could only say "yes." the two court ladies who had just been talking nonsense about her majesty came in, to assist in handing her the toilet articles. i looked at them, and felt ashamed for them to face her, after having said so many disagreeable things. her majesty washed her face and combed her hair, and a servant girl brought her fresh flowers, of white jasmine and roses. her majesty stuck them in her hair and said to me: "i am always fond of fresh flowers--better than jade and pearls. i love to see the little plants grow, and i water them myself. i have been so busy ever since you came that i haven't been able to visit my plants. tell them to get the dinner ready and i will take a walk afterwards." i came out of her room and gave the eunuch the order. as usual we brought little dainties to her. by this time her majesty was dressed and was sitting in the large hall, playing solitaire with her dominoes. the eunuch laid the tables as usual, and her majesty stopped play, and commenced to eat. she asked me: "how do you like this kind of life?" i told her that i very much enjoyed being with her. she said: "what kind of a place is this wonderful paris i have heard so much about? did you enjoy yourself while you were there, and do you wish to go back again? it must be hard for you people to leave china for three or four years, and i suppose you were all pleased when you received the order to come back, after your father's term was finished." the only thing i could say was "yes," because it wouldn't be nice to tell her that i was awfully sorry to leave paris. she said: "i think we have everything in china, only the life is different. what is dancing? someone told me that two people hold hands and jump all over the room. if that is the case i don't see any pleasure in it at all. do you have to jump up and down with men? they told me that old women, with white hair, dance, too." i explained to her about the balls given by the president, and all the private dances, and also all about the masquerade balls, etc. her majesty said: "i don't like this masquerade ball because you don't know whom you are dancing with if they are wearing a mask." i explained to her how carefully the people issued their invitations, and that anyone who behaved badly could never enter into high society. her majesty said: "i would like to see how you jump, can you show me a little?" i went in search of my sister, and found her busy talking to the young empress. i told her that her majesty wished to see how people dance, and that we must show her. the young empress and all the court ladies heard this, and all said that they also wished to see. my sister said that she had noticed a large gramophone in her majesty's bedroom, and that perhaps we could find some music. i thought that was a good idea, and went to ask her for the gramophone. she said: "oh, must you jump with music?" i almost laughed when she said that, and told her it was much nicer with music, as otherwise one could not keep in time. she ordered the eunuchs to have the gramophone brought to the hall, and said: "you jump while i take my dinner." we looked over a lot of records, but they were all chinese songs, but at last we found a waltz, so we started to dance. we could see that a lot of people were looking at us, who perhaps thought that we were crazy. when we had finished we found her majesty laughing at us. she said: "i could never do that. are you not dizzy turning round and round? i suppose your legs must be very tired also. it is very pretty, and just like the girls used to do centuries ago in china. i know that it is difficult and one ought to have any amount of grace to do it, but i don't think it would look nice to see a man dancing with a girl like that. i object to the hand around the girl's waist; i like to see the girls dance together. it would never do for china for a girl to get too close to a man. i know the foreigners don't seem to think about that at all. it shows that they are broader minded than us. is it true that the foreigners don't respect their parents at all-that they could beat their parents and drive them out of the house?" i told her that it was not so, and that someone had given her wrong ideas about foreigners. then she said: "i know that perhaps sometimes one among the commonest class do that, and that people are apt to take it wrong, and conclude that all foreigners treat their parents that way. now i see just the same thing done by the common people in china." i wondered who had told her such nonsense and made her believe it. after we had taken our dinner it was just half-past five, and her majesty said she would take a walk along the long veranda, so we followed her. she showed me her flowers, and said that she had planted them herself. whenever her majesty went anywhere there was always a lot of attendants following her, exactly the same as when she went to the morning audiences. when we reached the end of this long veranda, which took us a quarter of an hour to walk, her majesty ordered her stool to be brought into one of the summer houses. these summer houses were built of nothing but bamboo, all the furniture being made of different shaped bamboo. her majesty sat down, and one of the eunuchs brought tea and honeysuckle flowers. she ordered the eunuchs to give us tea also. her majesty said: "this is my simple way of enjoying life. i love to see the country scenery. there are a great many pretty places which i will show you and i am sure that after you have seen them you will not like foreign countries any more. there is no scenery in the world which can beat the chinese. some returned ministers from abroad said to me that the trees and mountains in foreign countries looked ugly and savage. is that true?" i concluded right away that someone had wished to please her by saying things about foreigners, so i told her that i had been in almost every country, and had found lovely scenery, but of course it was different from china. while we were talking her majesty said that she felt chilly and asked: "are you cold? you see you have your own eunuchs, they are all standing around, and have nothing to do. next time tell them to carry your wraps along with you. i think that foreign clothes must be quite uncomfortable either too warm or too cold. i don't see how you can eat, having your waist squeezed that way." her majesty got up and we all went on walking slowly towards her own palace. she sat down on her favorite little throne in the hall and started to play solitaire. we came out on the veranda, and the young empress said to us: "you must be tired, for i know you are not used to doing such hard work all day long without stopping. you had better wear manchu clothes, because they are comfortable and easy to work in. look at your long train; you have to take it up in your hands while walking." i told her that i would be only too pleased to change the clothes, but that not having received an order from her majesty i could not make any suggestions. the young empress said: "no, don't ask anything, and i am sure her majesty will tell you to change by and by. just now she wishes to see your paris gowns, because she wants to know how foreign ladies dress on different occasions. she thought that some of the ladies came to the garden party dressed in woolen clothes. we thought that foreign ladies were not so extravagant as we are until we met mdme. plancon the other day. do you remember what her majesty said to you? 'that mdme. plancon was so different from many ladies she had met, and also dressed differently.'" it was a chiffon dress, with hand paintings, which mdme. plancon wore, which pleased her majesty very much. while i was talking with the young empress all the electric lights turned up, so i went to her majesty to see if she needed anything. she said: "let us play a game of dice before i go to bed." we began to play the same thing as we had done in the afternoon. her majesty won another game, this time it took only an hour to finish the game. her majesty said to me: "why can't you win once?" i knew she wanted to tease, so i said that my luck was bad. she laughed and said: "to-morrow you try to put your stocking on wrong side out; that is a sure sign of winning." i told her that i would, and i knew that pleased her. during the short time i was there i kept studying her most of the while. i could see nothing would make her happier than for me to obey her orders. her majesty said that she felt tired, and that we must bring her milk. she said to me: "i want you to burn incense sticks and bow to the ground every night to the buddha in the next room before i go to bed. i hope you are not a christian, for if you are i can never feel as if you are mine at all. do tell me that you are not." i did not expect that question at all, and i must say that it was a very difficult question to answer. for my own protection i had to say that i had nothing to do with the christians. i felt guilty at having deceived her that way, but it was absolutely necessary, and there was no other way out of it. i knew that i had to answer her question at once, because it would never do for her to see any hesitation, which would arouse her suspicions. although my face showed nothing, my heart stopped beating for a while. i felt ashamed to have fooled her. the earliest training i had was never to be ashamed to tell the truth. when her majesty heard me say that i was not a christian, she smiled and said: "i admire you; although you have had so much to do with foreigners, yet you did not adopt their religion. on the contrary, you still keep to your own. be strong and keep it as long as you live. you have no idea how glad i am now, for i suspected you must believe in the foreign god. even if you don't want to, they can make you believe it. now i am ready for bed." we helped her to undress, and i, as usual, put away her jewels, and noticed she wore only one pair of jade bracelets to sleep. she changed into her bed clothes and lay down between the silk covers and said to us: "you can go now." we courtesied to her and withdrew from her bedroom. out in the hall there was on the cold stone floor six eunuchs. they were the watchmen and must not sleep at all during the night. in her bedroom were two eunuchs, two servant girls, two old women servants and sometimes two court ladies. these people also must not sleep. the two girls massaged her legs every night, and the two women were there to watch the girls, the two eunuchs to watch the two old women, and the two court ladies to watch them all, in case they did any mischief. they all took turns, and that was the reason why sometimes two court ladies must sit overnight when it happened that the eunuchs were not reliable. her majesty trusted the court ladies the most. i was never more surprised in my life than when one of these six eunuchs told me in the hall, for i had asked what they were all doing there. later on one of the court ladies said to me that it was customary for them to take turns to attend at her majesty's bedchamber in the morning to wake her up, and that i should take my turn the next morning and my sister the following morning. while saying this she smiled in a most peculiar way. i did not understand at the time, but found out later. i asked her what i should do to wake her majesty, and she said: "there is no particular way, you will have to use your own judgment; but be careful not to make her angry. it was my turn this morning. i knew that she was very tired, having had a very trying time the day before, so i had to make a little more noise than usual when waking her. she was very angry and scolded me dreadfully when she arose, as it was rather late. this very often happens when her majesty gets up late, as she always says that we do not make enough noise to wake her. however, i don't think she will do this to you, just now, as you are new here; but wait until you have been here a few months." what this court lady said to me worried me quite considerably; but from what i had seen of her majesty so far, i could not believe that she would be angry with anyone who was doing her duty properly. chapter nine--the emperor kwang hsu the next day i arose earlier than usual and dressed in a great hurry, as i feared i might be late. when i got to her majesty's palace there were a few court ladies there sitting on the veranda. they smiled and asked me to sit down with them as it was still too early, being only five o'clock. i had been told to wake her majesty at five thirty. the young empress came up a few minutes later and we all courtesied and wished her "good morning." after talking with us a few minutes, she asked if her majesty was awake and which one of us was on duty that day. when i informed her that it was my turn, she immediately ordered me to go to her majesty's room at once. i went very quietly and found some servant girls standing about and one court lady, who was sitting on the floor. she had been on duty all night. when she saw me she got up and whispered to me, that now that i had come, she would go and change her clothes and brush up a bit, and for me not to leave the room until her majesty was awake. after this court lady had gone, i went near to the bed and said: "lao tsu tsung, it is half-past five." she was sleeping with her face toward the wall, and without looking to see who had called her, she said: "go away and leave me alone. i did not tell you to call me at half-past five. call me at six," and immediately went off to sleep again. i waited until six and called her again. she woke and said: "this is dreadful. what a nuisance you are." after she had said this, she looked around and saw me standing by the bed. "oh! it is you, is it? who told you to come and wake me?" i replied: "one of the court ladies told me that it was my turn to be on duty in lao tsu tsung's bedchamber." "that is funny. how dare they give orders without receiving instructions from me first? they know that this part of their duty is not very pleasant and have put it off on you because they know you are new here." i made no reply to this. i got along as best i could that day and found it no easy matter, as her majesty was very exacting in everything. however, the next time i managed to divert her attention to things new or interesting in order to take her mind off of what she was doing, and in this way had much less trouble getting her out of bed. my reader can't imagine how very glad we were to get back to our rooms, and it was just : p. m. i was very tired and sleepy, so i undressed and went to bed at once. i think that as soon as my head touched the pillow i was asleep. the following day there was the same thing, the usual audience in the morning, of course busy all the time, which went on for fifteen days before i realized it. i began to take great interest in the court life, and liked it better every day. her majesty was very sweet and kind to us always, and took us to see the different places in the summer palace. we went to see her majesty's farm, situated on the west side of the lake, and had to cross over a high bridge to get there. this bridge is called tu tai chiao (jade girdle bridge). her majesty often took us under this bridge in a boat, or we walked round on the border. she seemed very fond of sitting on the top of this bridge on her stool and taking her tea, in fact this was one of her favorite places. she used to go and see her farm once every four or five days, and it always pleased her if she could take some vegetables and rice or corn from her own farm. she cooked these things herself in one of the courtyards. i thought that was good fun, and also turned up my sleeves to help her cook. we brought fresh eggs also from the farm and her majesty taught us how to cook them with black tea leaves. her majesty's cooking stoves were very peculiar. they were made of brass, lined with bricks. they could be moved anywhere, for they had no chimneys. her majesty told me to boil the eggs first until they were hard, and to crack them but to keep the shells on, and add half a cup of black tea, salt and spices. her majesty said: "i like the country life. it seems more natural than the court life. i am always glad to see young people having fun, and not such grand dames when we are by ourselves. although i am not young any more, i am still very fond of play." her majesty would taste first what we had been cooking, and would give us all to taste. she asked: "do you not think this food has more flavor than that prepared by the cooks?" we all said it was fine. so we spent the long days at the court having good fun. i saw emperor kwang hsu every morning, and whenever i had the time he would always ask some words in english. i was surprised to learn that he knew quite a bit of spelling, too. i found him extremely interesting. he had very expressive eyes. he was entirely a different person when he was alone with us. he would laugh and tease, but as soon as he was in the presence of her majesty he would look serious, and as if he were worried to death. at times he looked stupid. i was told by a great many people who were presented to him at the different audiences that he did not look intelligent, and that he would never talk. i knew better, for i used to see him every day. i was at the court long enough to study him, and found him to be one of the most intelligent men in china. he was a capital diplomat and had wonderful brains, only he had no opportunities. now a great many people have asked me the same question, if our emperor kwang hsu had any courage or brains. of course outsiders have no idea how strict the law is, and the way we have to respect our parents. he was compelled to give up a great many things on account of the law. i have had many long talks with him and found him a wise man, with any amount of patience. his life was not a happy one; ever since his childhood his health was poor. he told me that he never had studied literature very much, but it came natural to him. he was a born musician and could play any instrument without studying. he loved the piano, and was always after me to teach him. there were several beautiful grand pianos at the audience hall. he had very good taste for foreign music, too. i taught him some easy waltzes and he kept the time beautifully. i found him a good companion and a good friend, and he confided in me and told me his troubles and sorrows. we talked a great deal about western civilization, and i was surprised to learn he was so well informed in everything. he used to tell me, time after time, his ambitions for the welfare of his country. he loved his people and would have done anything to help them whenever there was famine or flood. i noticed that he felt for them. i know that some eunuchs gave false reports about his character,--that he was cruel, etc. i had heard the same thing before i went to the palace. he was kind to the eunuchs, but there was always that distinction between the master and the servants. he would never allow the eunuchs to speak to him unless they were spoken to, and never listened to any kind of gossip. i lived there long enough, and i know just what kind of cruel people those eunuchs were. they had no respect for their master. they came from the lowest class of people from the country, had no education, no morals, no feeling for anything, not even between themselves. the outside world has heard so many things against his majesty, the emperor kwang hsu's character, but i assure my readers that these things were told by the eunuchs to their families, and of course they always stretched it out as far as possible in order to make the conversation interesting. the majority of the people living in peking get all kinds of information through them. i have witnessed the same thing many a time during my stay at the palace. one day during the time of her majesty's afternoon rest we heard a dreadful noise. it sounded just like the firing off of fire-crackers. such a noise was quite unusual in the palace for such things are not allowed to be brought into the palace grounds. of course her majesty woke up. in a few seconds time everyone became excited and were running to and fro as if the building was on fire. her majesty was giving orders and telling the eunuchs to be quiet, but no one listened to her and kept yelling and running around like crazy people, all talking at the same time. her majesty was furious and ordered us to bring the yellow bag to her. (i must explain about this bag. it was made of ordinary yellow cloth and contained bamboo sticks of all sorts and sizes and are made to beat the eunuchs, servant girls and old women servants with.) this bag was carried everywhere her majesty went, to be handy in case of emergency. everyone of us knew where this bag was kept. we took all the sticks from the bag and her majesty ordered us to go to the courtyard and beat the eunuchs. it was such a funny sight to see all the court ladies and servant girls each with a stick trying to separate the excited crowd. on my part i thought i was having good fun so i laughed and found the rest were laughing too. her majesty was standing on the veranda watching us but she was too far away to see well and with all that noise, we knew she could not hear us laughing. we tried our best to separate the crowd, but were laughing so much we did not have enough strength to hurt any of them. all of a sudden all the eunuchs became quiet and stopped talking, for one of them saw the head eunuch, li lien ying, followed by all his attendants coming towards them. everyone of them became frightened and stood there like statues. we stopped laughing, too, and turned back each with a stick in our hand, walking toward her majesty. li lien ying was having a nap, too, and had heard the noise and had come to enquire what the trouble was and to report it to her majesty. it seemed one of the young eunuchs caught a crow. (the eunuchs hated crows, as they are considered an unlucky bird. the people in china called eunuchs crows because they were very disagreeable. that was the reason why the eunuchs hated them so.) they always set traps to catch them and then tied a huge fire-cracker to their legs, set fire to the cracker and then set the unfortunate birds free. naturally the poor birds would be glad to fly away and by the time the powder exploded would be high up in the air and the poor bird would be blown to pieces. it seemed this was not the first time the eunuchs had played this cruel trick. i was told it always delighted them so much to see blood and torture. they always invited others to drink some wine with them to celebrate an occasion such as this. this cruel deed was always done outside of the wall of the audience hall but that day the crow flew towards her majesty's own palace while she was sleeping and the powder exploded while the bird was passing the courtyard. after the head eunuch had told her majesty what had happened, she was very angry and ordered that this young eunuch be brought in and receive punishment in her presence. i noticed one of the head eunuch's attendants push the culprit out from the crowd. the head eunuch immediately gave orders to lay this man on the ground and two eunuchs stood on each side of him and beat him on his legs with two heavy bamboo sticks one at a time. the victim never uttered a word while this was going on. the head eunuch counted until this man had received one hundred blows, then he gave orders to stop. then he knelt in front of her majesty waiting for her orders and at the same time kowtowed on the ground until his head made a noise on the stone steps, asking to be punished for his carelessness and neglect of duty. her majesty said that it was not his fault and ordered him to take the offender away. during all this time the offender was still on the ground, and did not dare to move. two eunuchs each took hold of a foot and dragged him out of the courtyard. we were all afraid even to breathe aloud for fear her majesty would say that we were pretending to be frightened at witnessing this punishment, at the same time when it was over we would go and gossip about how cruel she was. no one was surprised at what had happened, as we were accustomed to seeing it almost every day and were quite used to it. i used to pity them, but i changed my mind very soon after i had arrived. the first person i saw punished was a servant girl, she had made a mistake about her majesty's socks and had brought two which were not mates, her majesty finding that out, ordered another servant girl to slap her face ten times on each cheek. this girl did not slap hard enough, so her majesty said they were all good friends and would not obey her orders, so she told the one who had been slapped to slap the other. i thought that was too funny for anything and wanted to laugh the worst way, but of course did not dare. that night i asked those two girls how they felt slapping each other that way. the reason why i asked them was because they were laughing and joking as usual immediately they were out of her majesty's bedchamber. they told me that was nothing; that they were quite used to it and never bothered themselves about such small things. i in turn soon became used to it, and was as callous as they were. now regarding the servant girls, they are a much better class of people than the eunuchs. they are the daughters of manchu soldiers, and must stay ten years at the palace to wait upon her majesty, and then they are free to marry. one got married after my first month at the court. her majesty gave her a small sum of money, five hundred taels. this girl was so attached to her majesty that it was very hard for her to leave the court. she was an extremely clever girl. her name was chiu yuen (autumn's cloud). her majesty named her that because she was so very delicate looking and slight. i liked her very much during the short time that we were together. she told me not to listen to anyone's gossip at the court, also that her majesty had told her she was very fond of me. on the twenty-second day of the third moon she left the palace, and we were all sorry to lose her. her majesty did not realize how much she missed her until after she had gone. for a few days we had nothing but troubles. it seemed as if everything went wrong. her majesty was not at all satisfied without chiu yuen. the rest of the servant girls were scared, and tried their best to please her majesty, but they had not the ability, so we had to help and do a part of their work so as not to make her majesty nervous. unfortunately, she stopped us, and said: "you have enough to do of your own work, and i do not want you to help the servants. you don't please me a bit that way." she could see that i was not accustomed to her ways, for she had spoken severely, so she smiled and said to me: "i know you are good to help them so as not to make me angry, but these servants are very cunning. it isn't that they cannot do their work. they know very well that i always select the clever ones to wait on me in my bedroom and they don't like that, so they pretend to be stupid and make me angry so that i will send them to do the common work. the eunuchs are worse. they are all afraid to take chiu yuen's place. now i have found them out, and i will only keep the stupid ones to wait on me from now." i almost laughed when i noticed that they all looked serious for a moment. i thought these people must be really stupid, and not lazy, but i had dealings with them every day and found them out all right. the eunuchs don't seem to have any brains at all. they are such queer people and have no feelings. they have the same mood all day long--i should say they are in a cruel mood. whenever her majesty gave an order they always said "jer" (yes) and as soon as they got to our waiting room they would say to each other: "what was the order? i have forgotten all about it." then they used to come to one of us who had happened to be present when the order was given: "please tell us what the order was. i did not listen while her majesty was talking." we used to laugh and make fun of them. we knew they were afraid to ask her majesty, and of course we had to tell them. one of the eunuch writers had to keep writing down the orders that had been given during the day, for her majesty wanted to keep records of everything. there were twenty eunuchs who were educated and they were excellent scholars. these had to answer any questions which her majesty happened to ask them about chinese literature, while she had a good knowledge of it herself. i noticed that it pleased her a great deal if anyone could not answer a question, or knew less than she did. she took delight in laughing at them. her majesty was also very fond of teasing. she knew that the court ladies did not know very much about literature, so she used to try it on us. we had to say something whether it was appropriate to her questions or not, and that would make her laugh. i was told that her majesty did not like anyone to be too clever, and yet she could not bear stupid people, so i was rather nervous, and did not know how to act for the first three weeks i was there, but it did not take me very long to study her. she certainly admired clever girls, but she did not like those who would show their cleverness too much. how i won her heart was this way. whenever i was with her i used to fix my whole attention on her and watched her very closely (not staring, for she hated that) and always carried out her orders properly. i noticed another thing, and that was that whenever she wanted anything to be brought to her, such as cigarettes, handkerchief, etc., she would only look at the article and then look at anyone who happened to be there at the time. (there was always a table in the room, on which everything she needed for the day was placed.) i got so used to her habits that after a short time i knew just what she wanted by looking at her eyes, and i was very seldom mistaken. this pleased her a great deal. she was strong-minded, and would always act the way she thought was right, and had perfect confidence in herself. at times i have seen her looking very sad. she had strong emotions, but her will was stronger. she could control herself beautifully, and yet she liked people to sympathize with her--only by actions, not by words, for she did not like anyone to know her thoughts. i am sure my readers will think how hard it was to be the court lady of her majesty, the empress dowager of china, but on the contrary i enjoyed myself very much, as she was so interesting, and i found that she was not at all difficult to please. the first day of the fourth moon her majesty was worried over the lack of rain. she prayed every day after the audience for ten days, without any result. every one of us kept very quiet. her majesty did not even give any orders that day, and spoke to no one. i noticed that the eunuchs were scared, so we went without our luncheon. i worked so hard that morning, and was so hungry--in fact all the court ladies were. i felt sorry for her majesty. finally she told me i could go, as she wanted to rest a while, so we came back to our own quarters. i questioned our own eunuch wang as to why her majesty was worrying about rain, for we were having lovely weather then, day after day. he told me that lao fo yeh (old buddha) was worried for the poor farmers, as all their crops were dead without rain for so long. wang also reminded me that it had not rained once since i came to live at the palace. i did not realize that it was so long as two months and seven days, and on the other hand it seemed to me longer than that, for the life was very nice and pleasant, and her majesty was very kind to me, as if she had known me for years already. her majesty took very little food at dinner that night. there was not a sound anywhere, and everyone kept quiet. the young empress told us to eat as fast as we could, which puzzled me. when we came back to our waiting room, the young empress said to me that her majesty was very much worried for the poor farmers and that she would pray for rain, and stop eating meat for two or three days. that same night, before her majesty retired, she gave orders that no pigs were to be slaughtered within the gates of peking. the reason of this was that by sacrificing ourselves by not eating meat the gods would have pity on us and send rain. she also gave orders that everyone should bathe the body and wash out the mouth in order that we might be cleansed from all impurities and be ready to fast and pray to the gods. also that the emperor should go to the temple inside the forbidden city, to perform a ceremony of sacrifice (called chin tan). he was not to eat meat or hold converse with anyone, and to pray to the gods to be merciful and send rain to the poor farmers. his majesty, the emperor kwang hsu, wore a piece of jade tablet about three inches square, engraved "chai chieh" (the meaning being just like chin tan-not to eat meat but to pray three times a day), both in manchu and chinese, and all the eunuchs who went with the emperor wore the same kind of tablets. the idea was that this jade tablet was to remind one to be serious in performing the ceremonies. the next morning her majesty got up very early and ordered me not to bring any jewels for her. she dressed herself in great haste. her breakfast was very simple that day, just milk and steamed bread. our own breakfast was cabbage and rice cooked together, with a little salt. it was tasteless. her majesty did not talk to us at all, except when giving orders, and so, of course, we kept silent. her majesty wore a pale gray gown, made very plain, with no embroidery or trimmings of any kind. she wore gray shoes to match, not to mention her gray handkerchief. we followed her into the hall where a eunuch knelt with a large branch of willow tree. her majesty picked a little bunch of leaves and stuck it on her head. the young empress did the same, and told us to follow her example. emperor kwang hsu took a branch and stuck it on his hat. after that her majesty ordered the eunuchs and the servant girls to do the same thing. it was a funny sight, and everyone did look queer with a bunch of leaves on the head. the head eunuch came and knelt in front of her majesty and said that everything was prepared for the ceremony in the little pavilion in front of her own palace. she told us that she preferred to walk, as she was going to pray. it took us only a few minutes to cross the courtyard. when we arrived at this pavilion i noticed a large square table was placed in the center of the room. a few large sheets of yellow paper and a jade slab, containing some vermilion powder instead of ink, with two little brushes to write with. at each side of the table stood a pair of large porcelain vases, with two large branches of willow. of course no one was allowed to speak, but i was curious and wanted to find out why everyone had to wear the willow leaves on the head. her majesty's yellow satin cushion was placed in front of this table. she stood there and took a piece of sandalwood and placed it in the incense burner filled with live charcoal. the young empress whispered to me to go over and help her majesty to burn them. i placed several pieces in until she told me that was enough. then her majesty knelt on her cushion, the young empress knelt behind her, and we all knelt in a row behind the young empress, and commenced to pray. the young empress taught us that very morning how to say the prayer: "we worship the heavens, and beg all the buddhas to take pity on us and save the poor farmers from starving. we are willing to sacrifice for them. pray heaven send us rain." we repeated the same prayer three times, and bowed three times--nine times in all. after that her majesty went to her usual morning audience. it was much earlier than usual that morning for the court was returning to the forbidden city at noon. his majesty, the emperor kwang hsu, was to pray at the forbidden city and her majesty always wanted to accompany him wherever he went. it was nine o'clock in the morning when the audience was over. she ordered me not to bring any jewels for her to the forbidden city this time, for she would not need them at all. i went to the jewel-room and locked everything up, and placed the keys in a yellow envelope, sealed it, and placed the envelope among the others, and gave them to a eunuch who takes care of these things. we packed all her favorite things. her gowns were the most important things to pack, she had so many and it was impossible to take all. i noticed that the court lady who was looking after her gowns was the busiest amongst us. she had to select gowns enough to last four or five days. she told me that she had selected about fifty different ones. i told her that lao tsu tsung might stay at the forbidden city four or five days, and that she would not need so many gowns. she said it was safer to bring many, for one was not sure what would be her majesty's idea for the day. packing at the court was very simple. eunuchs brought many yellow trays, which are made of wood, painted yellow, about five feet by four feet and one foot deep. we placed a large yellow silk scarf in the tray, then the gowns, and covered them with a thick yellow cloth. everything was packed the same way. it took us about two hours to pack fifty-six trays. these things always started off first, carried by the eunuchs. his majesty, the emperor kwang hsu, the young empress and all the court ladies, had to kneel on the ground for her majesty's sedan chair to pass the palace gate, then we went in search of our own chairs. the procession as usual was pretty, soldiers marching in front of her chair, four young princes riding on horseback on each side of her, and from forty to fifty eunuchs also on horseback behind her, all dressed in their official robes. the emperor's chair and the young empress' chair were of the same color as her majesty's. the secondary wife of the emperor had a deep yellow chair. the chairs of the court ladies were red, and were carried by four chair bearers, instead of eight like their majesties. our own eunuchs also rode on horseback, behind us. we rode a long time, it seemed to me, before i noticed the emperor's chair begin to descend from the stone-paved road, and we all followed him. i could see that her majesty's chair was still going straight on, and we took a nearer route to reach wan shou si (the long life temple), to await her majesty's arrival. we alighted from our chairs and started at once to prepare her majesty's tea and her little dishes. i went to help her to alight, and supported her right arm to mount the steps. her majesty sat on her throne, and we placed a table in front of her and my sister brought her tea. (the custom was, that if she went anywhere, or during the festivals, we must bring to her everything, instead of the eunuchs.) we placed all the dainties in front of her, and then we went to rest. her majesty always stopped at this temple on the way from the summer palace to the forbidden city. chapter ten--the young empress i thought of so many things while i was riding in my chair. it was a glorious day. i felt sorry for her majesty, for she was very quiet that day. generally she was happy, and made everyone laugh with her. i thought about the branches of willow, too, but could not understand the meaning. i came out of the hall while her majesty was dining with the emperor, and found the young empress sitting in a small room on the left side of the courtyard, with several court ladies. when they saw me they made signs for me to go there. i found them all drinking tea, and the young empress said to me, "i am sure you must be tired and hungry. come and sit near me and have a cup of tea." i thanked her and sat down beside her and we talked of what we saw on the roads and how we had enjoyed our long ride. she said: "we have still an hour's ride before we reach the forbidden city." she also talked about the ceremony we had performed that morning and said that we must all pray earnestly for rain. i could not wait any longer, so i asked her what those branches of willow meant. she smiled and told me that willow could bring water, as the buddhist religion believes, and that it was an old custom of the court wearing willow leaves, when praying for rain. she also told me that we must perform the same ceremony every morning until the rain came. we heard her majesty talking in the courtyard, and knew that she had finished her luncheon, so we went in with the young empress, and ate what was left, as usual. i found the food very nice indeed, although it seemed rather funny without having meat. we came out into the courtyard and saw that her majesty was walking up and down. she said to us: "my legs are so stiff, riding in the chair. i must walk a little before we leave here. are you all tired?" we told her that we were not tired, so she ordered us to walk with her. it looked very funny to see us walking round and round, her majesty in front, and we following her. her majesty turned and smiled at us, and said: "we are just like horses taking their rounds at a stable." it reminded me of a circus. li lien ying came and knelt down, and said that it was time for her majesty to depart, in order to reach the forbidden city at the lucky hour she had selected, so we left wan shou si. all the chairs went very fast, and after an hour's ride we came near the palace gate. we followed the emperor's chair, taking a shorter route, and noticed the gate was wide open. his majesty, the emperor, and the young empress' chairs went in, but we had to alight and walk in. there were small chairs waiting for us. (as i explained before these little chairs were carried by eunuchs, with a rope across their shoulders.) we came to the courtyard of the audience hall where the emperor and the empress were waiting for us. as usual his majesty knelt in front. behind him was the young empress, and we knelt in a row behind her, waiting to welcome her majesty to her palace. she went to her room where the eunuchs had placed everything in order long before her arrival. we held the ceremony that afternoon and evening. after her majesty had retired we came back to our rooms and found that everything was in order, our eunuchs had made up our beds already. it was very nice to have them, for we could not do our own work at all. i was so tired and my limbs were stiff. i immediately went to sleep and did not realize how long i had slept until i heard someone knocking at my window. i got up and pulled the blind away. i noticed that the sky looked dull and thought it was clouded. i felt happy, and thought it might rain, and so relieve her majesty. i got dressed in great haste, but much to my disappointment i saw the sunshine on the opposite windows. the palace in the forbidden city was so old, and built in such a queer way. the courtyards were small, and the verandas very broad. all the rooms were dark. no electric light. we had to use candle light. one could not see the sky except by going into the courtyard and looking up. i found that i had risen before the sun was up, and i was not quite awake yet, and thought the sky was clouded. i went to her majesty's own palace and found the young empress already there. she was always the first and always looked so tidy i often wondered how early she had to get up. she told me that i was not late, although her majesty was awake but not up yet. i went into her bedroom and made my usual morning courtesy to her. the first thing she asked me was about the weather. i had to tell her the truth--that there was no sign of rain. her majesty got up, dressed, and had her breakfast as usual, and told us there would be no audience that morning. the emperor went to the temple, sacrificing, and there was nothing important to attend to. we prayed for three days in succession, but no rain came. i found that her majesty was truly discouraged, and ordered each of us to pray twenty times a day. we marked a spot with vermilion powder and a little water on big yellow sheets of paper each time we prayed. on the sixth day of the fourth moon the sky was clouded. i ran to her majesty's bedroom that morning to tell her the news, but found that someone had told her already. she smiled, and said to me: "you are not the first one to give me the good news. i know everyone of you wanted to be the first to tell me. i feel very tired today, and wish to lie down a little longer. you can go, and i will send for you when i am ready to get up." when i went to search for the young empress i found all the court ladies there also. they all asked me if i had noticed the rain. we came out of the waiting room and found that the courtyard was wet, and after a while it rained very fast. her majesty got up, and we prayed as usual. fortunately the rain did not stop, but came pouring down all that day. her majesty played solitaire with the dominoes, and i stood at the back of her chair watching her. i saw that the young empress and all the girls were standing on the veranda. her majesty saw them, too, and said to me: "go and tell them to wait in the waiting room. can't they see that the veranda is wet?" i went to them, but before i had the opportunity of telling them anything the young empress told me that the waiting room was wet, and that the water had gone in. as i said before, this building was very old, and there were no drains at all. her majesty's own palace was high; it had twelve steps, while our waiting room, which was on the left side of her palace, was built right on the ground, with no raised foundation at all. while i was talking on the veranda just for a few minutes, i got quite wet. her majesty knocked at her glass window and told us to go in. now i must explain that none of us, not even the young empress could enter her majesty's palace without her orders except we had work to do there, or were on duty. her majesty was very happy that day. she laughed and said that we looked as if we had just been pulled out of the lake. the young empress had on a pale blue gown, and the red tassel on her headdress was dripping red water all over her gown. she smiled and said to us: "look at those girls; their gowns are all spoiled." while we were talking, her majesty gave us orders for us to change our clothes. after they had gone, i went back to her majesty. she looked at me and said: "you are wet also, only your clothes do not show." i had on a cashmere dress which was made very plain. she touched my arm and said: "how wet you are. you had better change, and put on a thick dress. i think foreign clothes must be very uncomfortable; the waist is too small and it seems to me out of proportion to the rest of the body. i am sure that you will look much prettier in our manchu gown. i want you to change and put your parisian clothes away as souvenirs. i only wanted to know how foreign ladies dressed and now i have seen enough. the dragon boat festival will be here next month and i will make some pretty gowns for you." i thanked her by kowtowing to the ground and told her that i would be only too pleased to change into manchu clothes, but having lived so many years abroad, and having always worn foreign clothes, i had not had any made. we were planning to change into manchu gowns before coming to the court, but we had received orders that lao tsu tsung wished to see us in foreign clothes. i was very glad when i received that order as there were several reasons why i wanted to wear manchu gowns. first, the court ladies at the beginning treated us as outsiders. secondly, i knew that her majesty did not like them, and besides, we were very uncomfortable living at the palace in peking, and made up our minds that we must wear manchu clothes, which were made for it. we had so much work to do, and having to stand most of the time one absolutely needed loose garments. her majesty ordered one of the eunuchs to bring one of her dresses for me to try on, so i went back to my own room, and took off my wet clothes and changed. i tried on her gown, but it was too loose for me. the length was quite all right and so were the sleeves. her majesty told one of the eunuch writers to write down my measurements in order to have a gown made for me, and said she was sure it would fit me. she did the same thing for my mother and sister, and ordered our gowns to be made at once. i knew she was pleased, as she told me what color would suit me the best. she said that i should always wear pink and pale blue, for they suited, and were her favorite colors, too. she also talked about our headdress, and ordered some made the same as worn by the other court ladies. she said to me: "i know you can wear my shoes, for i tried yours on the first day you came, don't you remember? i must select a lucky day for you to become a manchu once more," she said this with a smile, "and no more foreign clothes after that." she took her special book for lucky days and hours, and studied it a little while, then she said the eighteenth of that month was the best. li lien ying, the head eunuch knew how to please her majesty, and said he would give orders to have everything ready for us at that time. her majesty told us the way we must have our hair dressed, and what kind of flowers we should wear, in fact she was very happy arranging to make us into manchus. a short while after she dismissed us for the day. it rained for three days without stopping. the last day the emperor came back, and all ceremonies ceased. her majesty never liked to stay in the forbidden city, and i was not a bit surprised, as i hated the place. we had to use candles to dress by, in the morning, as the rooms were in absolute darkness even in the middle of the afternoon. it rained so much that finally her majesty said she would return to the summer palace the next day, whether it was raining or not, and we were all very glad to go. we returned to the summer palace on the seventh. it was a dull day, but no rain. we packed everything in just the same way we had done when we came, and stopped at wan shou si and had our luncheon. that day we commenced to eat meat again. i noticed that her majesty enjoyed her meal very much. she asked me if i liked the food without meat, and i told her that everything was nicely done and that i enjoyed the food very much, although without meat. she told me that she could not eat that kind of food and enjoy it, and that if it were not necessary to make sacrifice she would not have abstained. the first garden party of the year was given by the empress dowager to the ladies of the diplomatic corps, in the fourth moon. this year her majesty desired to deviate a little from previous custom, and issued orders that stalls should be arranged in the garden, on a similar principal to a bazaar, on which were to be displayed curios, embroidered work, flowers, etc., etc. these were to be given as presents to the guests. the guests were: mrs. conger, wife of the american minister, mrs. williams, wife of chinese secretary of the american legation, madame and mademoiselle de carcer, wife and daughter of the spanish minister, madame uchida, wife of the japanese minister, and a few ladies of the japanese legation, madame almeida, wife of the portuguese charge d' affaires, madame cannes, wife of the secretary of the french legation, the wives of several french officers, lady susan townley, wife of the first secretary of the british legation, two ladies from the german legation, wives of german officers, and wives of a few customs officials. on this occasion her majesty selected a most beautiful gown of peacock blue, embroidered all over with phoenix. the embroidery was raised and each phoenix had a string of pearls two inches long sewed into its mouth. whenever her majesty stirred, these strings of tiny pearls moved forwards and backwards and it made a very pretty effect. of course, she wore her jade phoenix on her hair as usual and shoes and handkerchief embroidered with the same pattern. my mother wore a lavender silk gown, trimmed with silver braid, her hat was of the same shade with plumes to match. my sister and myself wore pale blue chinese silk gowns with insertion and medallions of irish crochet and trimmed with tiny velvet bands. we wore blue hats with large pink roses. all the court ladies dressed in their most picturesque gowns and it was a very pretty sight to see the procession walking to the audience hall. her majesty was in her happiest mood that morning and said to us: "i wonder how i would look in foreign clothes; my waist is very small, but wearing this kind of loose gown it would not show. i don't think i would need to squeeze myself so tight, either, but i don't think there is anything in the world prettier than our manchu gowns." first the guests were received in audience by their majesties. they were accompanied by the doyen, baron czikann, minister for austria, and an interpreter from each legation. on entering the audience hall all the guests stood in line and the doyen presented a short address to their majesties. this was translated to prince ching, who, in turn, communicated it to the emperor. the emperor made a suitable reply in chinese which was translated by the doyen's interpreter. then the doyen mounted the steps of the dais and shook hands with their majesties, the rest of the guests being presented in turn. i was standing at the right hand of the empress dowager and as each guest came forward, called out their names, and the legation which they represented. her majesty had a few words for everyone, and when she saw a new face she would ask how long they had been in china; whether they liked it, etc., etc. all these conversations i interpreted for her majesty. as the guests finished paying their respects they passed along and remained standing in the hall until everybody had been presented. the interpreters, who did not take part in this ceremony but had remained standing in the hall until it was over, were then conducted by prince ching to another part of the palace, where refreshments were provided for them. after they had gone out their majesties descended from the dais and mixed with the guests. the formal ceremony now being concluded, chairs were brought in and everybody made themselves comfortable. tea was brought in by the eunuchs and after a few minutes' conversation, we all adjourned to the refreshment room, with the exception of the empress dowager, the emperor, the young empress and the secondary wife. in the absence of her majesty, the imperial princess (the empress dowager's adopted daughter) officiated as hostess, mrs. conger sitting at her right and madame de carcer, wife of the spanish minister, on her left. the food was all chinese, but knives and forks were provided for the use of the guests. during the luncheon the imperial princess stood up and spoke a few words of welcome, which i translated into english and french. after the luncheon was over we adjourned to the garden where their majesties were awaiting us. a brass band was playing european airs. her majesty led the way around the gardens, passing the various stalls on the way, where the ladies would stop and admire the different articles, which were later presented to them as souvenirs of the occasion. on arriving at a teahouse which had been erected in the gardens, everybody rested and partook of tea. their majesties then wished everybody good-bye and the guests were then conducted to their chairs and took their departure. as usual, we reported to her majesty everything that had taken place and how the guests had enjoyed themselves. she said: "how is it that these foreign ladies have such large feet? their shoes are like boats and the funny way they walk i cannot say i admire. i haven't yet seen one foreigner with pretty hands. although they have white skins, their faces are covered with white hair. do you think they are beautiful?" i replied that i had seen some american beauties when i was abroad. her majesty said: "no matter how beautiful they are they have ugly eyes. i can't bear that blue color, they remind me of a cat." after a few more remarks, she ordered us to retire, saying that we must be tired. we were rather used up and glad of an opportunity to rest, so made our courtesies and retired. we had been at the palace more than two months, and i had had no opportunity to see my father at all, who was quite ill at that time. we did not know whether we could ask leave of absence from the court. i received letters from my father every day, telling me to have courage, and to do my duty. my mother asked the young empress if it would be correct to ask her majesty for permission to go home for a day or two. the young empress told us that it would be quite all right to do that, but she thought it would be better if we could wait until after the eighth, for there would be a feast on that day. the eighth day of the fourth moon every year is the ceremony of eating green peas. according to the buddhist religion there is a hereafter which divides or grades, according to the life that is lived on earth, that is to say, those who live good lives go to heaven when they die and those who are bad go to a bad place to suffer. on this occasion her majesty sent to the people she liked, each a plate containing eight peas, and we had to eat them. the young empress told me that if i presented a plate of peas to her majesty it would please her, which i did. this meant: "may we meet in the hereafter" (chi yuen dou). her majesty was very happy that day. we went to the west side of the lake and had our luncheon there. her majesty talked to us about the first day we came to the court, and then said to mother: "i wonder if yu keng is any better. when will he be able to come to the court? i haven't seen him since he returned from france." (my father had asked three months leave of absence from the court on account of his poor health.) my mother answered and said that he was feeling better, but that his legs were still very weak, and he could not walk much. her majesty then said to us: "oh, i have forgotten to tell you that if you wish to go home, you can ask permission. i have been so busy lately, and forgot to remind you." we thanked her and told her that we would like to go home and see how my father was, so she gave orders that we should leave the court the next day. then she asked me how long i would like to stay at home, and of course i knew the custom, and told her that i was waiting for her orders: "would two or three days be enough?" we told her that it suited us beautifully. i was so surprised when she mentioned it to us, and wondered if anyone had told her of our intentions, or if her majesty was a mind reader. when she retired that afternoon i went to see the young empress, who was always very nice and kind, and asked me to sit near her. her eunuch brought me a cup of tea. her rooms were furnished exactly the same as her majesty's, but everything looked extremely dainty, and showed very good taste. we talked about the life at the palace for a long time, and she told me that she was very fond of us, and so was her majesty. i told her that her majesty had mentioned to us about going home for two or three days and that i was surprised to see how thoughtful she was. she said that someone had reminded her majesty to let us go home, for we had been at the court for more than two months. i found out afterwards that it was the head eunuch li who had heard that we were anxious to go. the young empress said to me: "i want to teach you to be wise, that is, you are ordered to leave the court to-morrow, but her majesty did not mention any particular hour. you must not talk about it to anyone, and don't show that you are excited to go home. don't dress as if you are going out to-morrow, but be natural and do your work as if you don't care about going at all. don't you remind her, in case she forgets to tell you to go, and come back on the second day, which is the custom. it will show that you are anxious to see her majesty, so you come back one day earlier than the appointed time." i was so happy to get this information and asked her if it would be all right to bring her majesty some presents when we returned to the court. she said that was just the proper thing to do. the next day we did the same work, and went to the audience hall with her majesty, as usual. after the audience was over her majesty ordered her luncheon to be served at the country teahouse. this teahouse was built in country style, and right on top of her peony mountain, with bamboo and straw, and all the furniture was made of bamboo also. they were beautifully made, and the frames of the windows were carved into a line of characters--shou (long life), and butterflies, with pink silk curtain hangings. at the rear of this exquisite little building was a bamboo shade, with railings all around, hung with red silk lanterns. the seats were built against the railings, so that one could sit on them comfortably. this was supposed to be used by the court ladies as their waiting room. we played dice with her majesty when luncheon was over. we played a very long time, and i won the game that day. her majesty laughed and said to me: "you have luck to-day. i think you are so happy to go home that your fairies have helped you to win the game." as i mentioned before, this game was called "eight fairies going across the sea." "i think it is time for you to go now." while saying this she turned and asked one of the eunuchs what the time was, and he answered that it was half-past two. we kowtowed to her majesty, and stood waiting for more orders. then she said: "i am sorry to see you go although i know you are coming back within two or three days. i know i shall miss you." to my mother she said: "tell yu keng to take care of his health and get well soon. i have ordered four eunuchs to accompany you, and am sending some of my own rice for him." we had to kowtow again in thanking her majesty for her kindness and finally she said: "nemen tzowba" (you can go now). we withdrew, and found the young empress on the veranda. we courtesied to her, and said good-bye to the court ladies and came to our rooms to get ready to start. our eunuchs were very good, and had everything packed up ready for us. we gave ten taels to each of our eunuchs, for that was the custom, and gave four taels to each chair bearer of the palace. when we arrived at the palace gate our own chairs were waiting for us. we said good-bye to our eunuchs. strange to say they seemed attached to us and told us to come back soon. the four eunuchs ordered by her majesty to see us home were there, and as soon as we got into our chairs i saw them riding on horseback beside us. it seemed to me just like a dream the two months i had spent at the court, and i must say i felt very sorry to leave her majesty, but at the same time i wanted very much to see my father. we got home after a two hours' ride, and found him looking much better, and one can imagine how happy he was to see us. the four eunuchs came into our parlor, and placed the yellow bag of rice on the table. my father thanked her majesty by kowtowing to the ground. we gave these eunuchs each a little present, and they departed. i told my father about my life at the palace, and how very kind her majesty was to me. he asked me if i could influence her majesty to reform some day, and hoped he would live to see it. somehow or other i had the idea that i could and promised him that i would try my best. her majesty sent two eunuchs to see us the next morning, and also sent us food and fruits. they told us that her majesty missed us, and had told them to ask if we missed her. we told these eunuchs that we were returning to the court the next day. we stayed at home only two days and a great many people came to see us, and kept us busy all the time. my father suggested that we should start from the house at about : a. m., so as to get to the summer palace before her majesty was up. we left our house at : a. m. in total darkness, just like we had two months before. what a change. i thought i was the happiest girl in the world. i was told by many people, especially by the young empress, that her majesty was extremely fond of me. i had also heard that she did not care for young people at all. although i was happy, i noticed that some of the court ladies did not like me, and they made me uncomfortable on many occasions by not telling me just the way her majesty wanted the work to be done. they smiled to each other whenever her majesty was saying to my mother that she liked me, and that i was always careful in doing anything that pleased her. i knew i was going to see those people again. however, i made up my mind to fight my battles alone. i only wished to be useful to her majesty, and would not take any notice of them. it was a little after five o'clock when we reached the summer palace. our own eunuchs were very happy to see us again and told us that her majesty was not up yet and that we had time to go to our rooms, where they had some breakfast prepared for us. we went to see the young empress first, and found she was ready to go to her majesty's palace. she was also very glad to see us, and told us that our manchu costumes were all ready, and that she had seen them and they were perfectly lovely. we were very hungry, and enjoyed our breakfast immensely. after that we went to see her majesty. she was awake, so we went into her bedroom. we greeted her the same way that we did every morning, and kowtowed to her and thanked her for all the things she had sent us while we were at home. she sat up on the bed, smiled, and said: "are you glad to come back? i know everyone who comes to me and stays for a while does not like to go away from here any more. i am glad to see you (to my mother). how is yu keng?" my mother told her that my father was much better. she asked us what we did for those two days, staying at home. she also wanted to know whether we still remembered which day she had chosen for us to change into our manchu costume. we told her we knew the date, and were looking forward to it. the eunuchs brought in three large yellow trays, full of beautiful gowns, shoes, white silk socks, handkerchiefs, bags for nuts, in fact the whole set, including the gu'un dzan (manchu headdress). we kowtowed to her, and told her we were very much pleased with everything she had given us. her majesty told the eunuchs to bring everything out for us to see. she said to us: "you see i give you one full official dress, one set of chao chu (amber heads), two embroidered gowns, four ordinary gowns for everyday wear, and two gowns for chi chen wear (the anniversary of the death of an emperor or empress), one sky blue, the other mauve, with very little trimming. i also have a lot of underwear for you." i was excited and told her majesty that i would like to commence to dress up at once. she smiled, and said: "you must wait until the day comes, the lucky day i have selected for you. you must try to fix your hair first, which is the most difficult thing to do. ask the young empress to teach you." although she told me to wait, i knew she was pleased to see that i showed so much enthusiasm. she asked me the first day when we came to the court why my hair was so curly. i showed her that i curled it with paper, and she teased me ever afterwards. she also said that i could not pull my hair straight in time to wear manchu clothes, that everyone would laugh at me, and how ugly i would look. that night one court lady came over to me while i was sitting on the veranda and said: "i wonder if you will look nice in manchu dress?" i told her i only wanted to look natural. "you have lived so many years abroad we consider you are a foreigner to us." i told her that as long as her majesty considered i was one of her own, i would be satisfied and that she need not worry herself about me. i knew they were jealous of us, so i went in search of the young empress and left this girl alone. we were talking with the young empress in the waiting room, and this girl came in and sat near me, smiling to herself most of the time. one of the servant girls was fixing some fresh flowers for her majesty. she looked at her and asked her why she was smiling. the young empress saw, and asked her the same question. she would not answer, but kept on smiling all the time. at this moment a eunuch came and said that her majesty wanted me. i afterwards tried to find out what she had told the young empress but could not. several days passed very quietly. her majesty was happy, and so was i. one day the young empress reminded us that we should make all preparations in order to be able to dress ourselves properly on the eighteenth, as the time was getting short--only two days left. that night, after her majesty had retired, i went to my own room and fixed my headdress on and went to see the young empress. she said that i looked very nice, and that she was sure her majesty would like me better in manchu costume. i told her that i used to wear manchu dress when i was a little girl, before we went to europe, and of course i knew how to put it on. i also told her that i could not understand why these girls looked upon me as a foreigner. she said that they only showed their ignorance, and that they were jealous of me and i should not pay any attention to them at all. chapter eleven--our costumes the next day we got up earlier than usual and dressed ourselves in our new gowns. i could not believe my own eyes, and asked several times whether that was myself or not. i found that i looked all right, although i hadn't been wearing this sort of costume for so long. they seemed to think that we would look awkward. our own eunuchs were delighted to see us dressed that way. the young empress came in while passing our rooms on her way to the empress dowager's palace, and waited for us to go with her. when we arrived at the waiting room a lot of people came in and looked at us, and talked so much about us, that it made me feel rather shy. everyone told us that we looked much better that way than in foreign clothes, except the emperor kwang hsu. he said to me: "i think your parisian gowns are far prettier than this." i smiled and said nothing. he shook his head at me, and went into her majesty's bedroom. li lien ying came and saw us, and was very much excited and told me to go and see her majesty at once. i told him that everyone was looking at us, as if we were curios. he said: "you don't know how nice you look now, and i wish that you would not wear foreign clothes at all." her majesty laughed so loud when she saw us that it made me uncomfortable, for i was afraid we looked unnatural to her. she said: "i cannot believe you are the same girls. just look at yourselves in this looking-glass." she pointed to a large mirror in her room. "see how you have changed. i feel that you belong to me now. i must have some more gowns made for you." then li lien ying said that the twenty-fourth would be the first day of the summer. on that day everyone would begin to wear jade hairpins instead of gold, and we had none. her majesty said to li: "i am very glad you told me that. i must give them each a jade hairpin after having asked them to change into manchu dress." li went away and came back with a box of hairpins of pure green jade. her majesty took a beautiful one and handed it to my mother and told her that that pin had been worn by three empresses. she took two very nice ones, and gave one to me and one to my sister. she told us that these two were a pair, and that the other empress dowager (the east empress dowager) used to wear one, and that the other was worn by herself when she was young. i felt ashamed that her majesty had given us so many presents and i had done nothing for her in any way. however, we thanked her most sincerely, and showed our appreciation. she said: "i look upon you as my own people, and the gowns i have made for you are the very best. i have also decided to let you wear the full court dress, the same as one of the princesses. you are my court lady, so you are equally ranked here." li stood there behind her and made a sign to us to kowtow to her. i cannot remember how many times i kowtowed that day. the headdress was very heavy, and i was not quite used to it; i was afraid it might fall off. her majesty also said that she would make our rank known to the court on her seventieth birthday. i will explain this. on every decade from the time of her birth her majesty used to give special favors to anyone she liked, or to anyone who had done something for her, and had been useful to her. she could promote anyone at any time, but on these occasions it was something special. the young empress congratulated us, and said that her majesty was looking for a young prince to marry me. she was also very fond of teasing. i wrote to my father about all the favors that had been given to me. he wrote me he hoped that i deserved them all, and that i must do all i could to be useful and loyal to her majesty as long as she lived. i was very happy. life was perfectly lovely at the palace. her majesty was always nice and kind. i noticed the difference in the way she had treated us since (as she said) we had become manchus once more. one day her majesty asked me while we were sailing on the lake in the moonlight, if i wanted to go to europe any more. it was a superb night, and several boats were sailing behind us. in one boat several eunuchs were playing a kind of sweet music on the flute and an instrument very much like the mandolin, called yeuh chin (small harp, like the shape of the moon), with her majesty singing very softly to herself. i told her i was satisfied to be with her, and did not wish to go anywhere at all. she said that i must learn to sing poetry and that she would teach me every day. i told her that my father had made me study all kinds of poetry and i had composed some myself. she looked surprised and said: "why didn't you tell me that before? i love poems. you must read to me sometimes. i have many books here containing poems of different dynasties." i told her that my knowledge of chinese literature was very limited, and i dared not let her see how little i knew. i had only studied eight years. her majesty told me that the young empress and herself were the only ones who were familiar with chinese literature at the court. she told me that she tried to teach the court ladies to read and write some time ago, but having found them so lazy she gave them up. my father told me to be very careful not to show them what i could do until i was asked, so i kept it to myself. after they found this out, some of the court ladies were very disagreeable to me, and this went on day after day. except for this unpleasantness the fourth moon passed very agreeably. the first day of the fifth moon was a busy day for us all, as from the first to the fifth of the fifth moon was the festival of five poisonous insects, which i will explain later--also called the dragon boat festival. all the viceroys, governors and high officials, besides the imperial family, court ladies and eunuchs, all offer her majesty beautiful presents. i never saw such a lot of things as came into the palace during this festival. each person who sent in presents must accompany them with a sheet of yellow paper, and at the right lower corner the sender's name must be written and also the word kuai jin, meaning to present their gifts kneeling, also to write what the presents were. the eunuchs took big yellow trays to bring them in. during these five days everyone was busy, especially the eunuchs. i could not count just how many people sent presents to her majesty. the presents were of every kind, such as things for the household; silks and jewelry of all kinds and description. a large part of the presents were foreign goods of the ordinary kind. i also saw lovely carved thrones and embroideries. her majesty ordered them to be put away, and the foreign things to be kept in her palace, for those were new to her. the third day of the fifth moon was the day for just the people of the palace to make presents. it was a most beautiful sight to see. we were busy all night making preparations, and had to go and help the young empress. the next morning we placed our presents in the big courtyard in these big yellow trays. the young empress had her trays in the first row. the presents from the young empress to the empress dowager were made by her own hands. there were ten pairs of shoes, silk embroidered handkerchiefs, little bags for betel nuts, and bags for tobacco, all exquisitely done. the secondary wife of the emperor kwang hsu presented about the same to her majesty. the court ladies' presents were all different, as we could ask permission to go out shopping before the feast. we could not go out together, for one or two of us must be there at all times, and it was very exciting to tell each other what we had bought. we ourselves did not ask permission to go out of the palace, for we had our presents ready long before. everyone seemed to be talking about presents, whether her majesty would like them or not. my mother, my sister and myself had written to paris to get some lovely french brocades, one set of furniture, french empire style. we had learned her majesty's taste already during our short stay there, so including those presents we also gave her fans, perfumes, soaps and some other french novelties. her majesty always looked over everything, and noticed some of the presents were of very poor quality, and wanted to know the sender's name. the eunuchs and servant girls also made her good and useful presents. her majesty would select the articles she liked the best, and order the rest to be put away, and she might never see them again. i must say that her majesty liked and admired some foreign things very much, she especially loved the french fancy brocades, for she was making new gowns almost every day. she was also pleased with soaps and powder that would beautify the skin. she always thanked us in a very nice way and said how very thoughtful we were in selecting beautiful articles for her. her majesty would also say something nice to the eunuchs and girls, and that made everyone feel pleased. the fourth day of the fifth moon was the day that her majesty gave presents to us all, the different princes, high officials, servant girls and eunuchs. her memory was something extraordinary, for she could remember every one of the presents that had been given to her the day before, and the names of the givers also. that was a busy day for us. her majesty gave people presents according to the way they gave her. we had yellow sheets of paper and wrote out the names of those to whom she wished to give. that day her majesty was very angry with one of the wives of a certain prince because her presents were the poorest. her majesty told me to keep that tray in her room and said she would go over them and see what they were. i knew she was not pleased, for she had a telltale face. she told us to measure the silks and ribbons in that tray, and leave it in the hall. the ribbons were all of different lengths, all too short to trim a gown, and the dress materials were not of good quality. her majesty said to me: "now you look for yourself. are these good presents? i know very well all these things were given to them by other people and they of course would select the best for themselves, and give me what was left. they know they are obliged to send me something. i am surprised to see how careless they are. probably they thought as i receive so many presents i would not notice. they are mistaken, for i notice the poorest the first, in fact i can remember everything. i can see those who gave me things in order to please me, and those who gave because they were obliged to. i will return them the same way." she gave the court ladies each a beautiful embroidered gown and a few hundred taels, the same to the young empress and the secondary wife. the presents which she gave us were a little different, consisting of two embroidered gowns, several simple ones, jackets and sleeveless jackets, shoes, and flowers for the manchu headdress. she said that we had not so many gowns, and instead of giving us the money, she had things made for us. besides that, she gave me a pair of very pretty earrings, but none to my sister, for she noticed that i had a pair of ordinary gold earrings, while my sister had a pair set with pearls and jade. her majesty said to my mother: "yu tai tai. i can see you love one daughter better than the other. roonling has such pretty earrings and poor derling has none." before my mother could answer her she had turned to me while i was standing at the back of her chair: "i will have a nice pair made for you. you are mine now." my mother told her that i did not like to wear heavy earrings. her majesty laughed and said: "never mind, she is mine now, and i will give her everything she needs. you have nothing to do with her." the earrings she gave me were very heavy. her majesty said that if i would wear them every day i would get used to them, and so it proved that after some time i thought nothing of it. now about this feast. it is also called the dragon boat feast. the fifth of the fifth moon at noon was the most poisonous hour for the poisonous insects, and reptiles such as frogs, lizards, snakes, hide themselves in the mud, for that hour they are paralyzed. some medical men search for them at that hour and place them in jars, and when they are dried, sometime use them as medicine. her majesty told me this, so that day i went all over everywhere and dug into the ground, but found nothing. the usual custom was that at noon her majesty took a small cup filled with spirits of wine, and added a kind of yellow powder (something like sulphur). she took a small brush and dipped it into the cup and made a few spots of this yellow paint under our nostrils and ears. this was to prevent any insects from crawling on us during the coming summer. the reason why it was also called the dragon boat festival was because at the time of the chou dynasty the country was divided into several parts. each place had a ruler. the emperor chou had a prime minister named chi yuan, who advised him to make alliance with the other six countries, but the emperor refused, and chi yuan thought that the country would be taken by others in the near future. he could not influence the emperor, so he made up his mind to commit suicide and jumped into the river, taking a large piece of stone with him. this happened on the fifth day of the fifth moon, so the year afterwards, the emperor got into a dragon boat to worship his soul, and throw rice cakes, called tzu tsi, into the river. on that day the people have celebrated this feast ever since. at the palace the theatre played first this history, which was very interesting, and also played the insects trying to hide themselves before the most poisonous hour arrived. on that day we all wore tiger shoes, the front part of which was made of a tiger's head, with little tigers made of yellow silk to wear on the headdress. these tigers were only for the children to wear, and signified that they would be as strong as a tiger, but her majesty wanted us to wear them also. the wives of the manchu officials came to the court, and when they saw us they laughed at us. we told them it was by her majesty's orders. a register recording the birthdays of all the court ladies was kept by the head eunuch, and a few days before my own birthday came around, the tenth day of the fifth moon, he informed me that the custom of the court was to make a present to her majesty and said that the present should take the form of fruit, cakes, etc., so i ordered eight boxes of different kinds. early in the morning i put on full court dress, and made myself look as nice as possible and went to wish her majesty good morning. when she had finished dressing, the eunuchs brought in the presents and, kneeling, i presented them to her majesty, bowing to the ground nine times. she thanked me and wished me a happy birthday. she then made me a present of a pair of sandalwood bracelets, beautifully carved, also a few rolls of brocade silk. she also informed me that she had ordered some macaroni in honor of my birthday. this macaroni is called (chang shou me'en) long life macaroni. this was the custom. i again bowed and thanked her for her kindness and thoughtfulness. after bowing to the young empress and receiving in return two pairs of shoes and several embroidered neckties, i returned to my room, where i found presents from all the court ladies. altogether i had a very happy birthday. i can never forget the fifteenth day of the fifth moon as long as i live, for that was a bad day for everyone. as usual we went to her majesty's bedroom quite early that morning. she could not get up and complained that her back ached so much. we rubbed her back, in turns, and finally she got up, though a little late. she was not satisfied. the emperor came in and knelt down to wish her good morning, but she scarcely took any notice of him. i noticed that when the emperor saw that her majesty was not well, he said very little to her. the eunuch who dressed her hair every morning was ill, and had ordered another one to help her. her majesty told us to watch him very closely to see that he did not pull her hair off. she could not bear to see even one or two hairs fall out. this eunuch was not used to trickery, for instance, in case the hair was falling off, he could not hide it like the other one did. this poor man did not know what to do with any that came out. he was frightened, and her majesty, seeing him through the mirror, asked him whether he had pulled her hair out. he said that he had. this made her furious, and she told him to replace it. i almost laughed, but the eunuch was very much frightened and started to cry. her majesty ordered him to leave the room, and said she would punish him later. we helped her to fix up her hair. i must say it was not an easy job, for she had very long hair and it was difficult to comb. she went to the morning audience, as usual, and after that she told the head eunuch what had happened. this li was indeed a bad and cruel man, and said: "why not beat him to death?" immediately she ordered li to take this man to his own quarters to receive punishment. then her majesty said the food was bad, and ordered the cooks to be punished also. they told me that whenever her majesty was angry everything went wrong, so i was not surprised that so many things happened that day. her majesty said that we all looked too vain with our hair too low down at the back of the head. (this manchu headdress is placed right in the center of one's head and the back part is called the swallow's tail, and must reach the bottom part of one's collar.) we had our hair done up the same way every day, and she had previously never said a word about it. she looked at us, and said: "now i am going to the audience, and don't need you all here. go back to your rooms and fix your hair all over again. if i ever see you all like that again i am going to cut your hair off." i was never more surprised in my life when i heard her speak so sharply to us. i don't know whether i was spoken to or not, but i thought it well to be wise, and i answered i would. we were all ready to go and her majesty stood there watching us. when we were about five or six feet away we heard her scolding chun shou (the girl who was neither a court lady nor a servant). her majesty said she was pretending she was all right, and her majesty ordered her to go also. when we were walking towards our own place, some of them laughed at chun shou, which made her angry. when her majesty was angry with anyone, she would say that we were all doing something on purpose to make her angry. i must say that everyone of us was scared, and wondered who would have dared to do that. on the contrary, we tried our best to please her in every way. but that day she was furious all day and i tried to stay away from her. i noticed some of the eunuchs went to her to ask questions concerning important matters, but she would not look at them, but kept on reading her book. to tell the truth, i felt miserable that day. at the beginning i thought all the eunuchs were faithful servants, but seeing them every day, i got to know them. it did not do them any harm to be punished once in a while. the young empress told me to go in and wait on her majesty as usual. she said that probably if i would suggest playing dice with her, she might forget her troubles. at first i did not want to go, for i was afraid that she might say something to me, but seeing that the poor young empress spoke to me so nicely, i told her i would try. when i entered her majesty's sitting room i found her reading a book. she looked at me and said: "come over here, i would like to tell you something. you know these people at the palace are no good and i don't like them at all. i don't want them to poison your ears by telling you how wicked i am. don't talk to them. you must not fix your hair too low down at the back of your head. i was not angry with you this morning. i know you are different. don't let them influence you. i want you to be on my side, and do as i tell you." her majesty spoke very kindly to me, and her face changed also--not at all the same face she had that morning. of course i promised her that i would be only too happy to do all i could to please her. she spoke to me just like a good mother would speak to a dear child. i changed my opinion and thought that perhaps after all she was right, but i had often heard from the officials that one cannot be good to a eunuch, as he would do all he could to injure you without any reason whatsoever. i noticed that day they all seemed to be more careful in doing their work. i was told that when once her majesty got angry, she would never finish. on the contrary, she talked to me very nicely, just as if there had been no troubles at all. she was not difficult to wait upon, only one had to watch her moods. i thought how fascinating she was, and i had already forgotten that she had been angry. she seemed to have guessed what i was thinking, and said: "i can make people hate me worse than poison, and can also make them love me. i have that power." i thought she was right there. chapter twelve--the empress and mrs. conger on the twenty-sixth day of the fifth moon, during the morning audience, prince ching told her majesty that mrs. conger, the wife of the american minister to peking, had asked for a private audience, and would her majesty please mention a day. she told him not to give any answer until the next day, just to give her time to think it over. i was sitting behind the large screen, listening, but the other court ladies made too much noise, so her majesty ordered them not to say a word during audience. i was very glad myself, because i could listen to some of the interesting conversations between the empress dowager and her ministers. after the audience, her majesty ordered her lunch to be served on the top of the hill at pai yuen dien (spreading cloud pavilion). she said that she preferred to walk, so we followed her very slowly. to get to this place we had to mount two hundred and seventy-two steps, besides ten minutes' climbing over rough stones. she did not seem to mind the climbing part at all. it was the funniest thing to see two little eunuchs on either side, to support her arms, trying to keep pace with her. i noticed that she was very much preoccupied, and did not speak to any of us. when we arrived at our destination we were very tired and quite exhausted. her majesty, who was a good walker herself, laughed at us. she was always very much pleased when she excelled in games of skill or endurance. she said: "you see i am old, and can walk much faster than you young people. you are all no use. what is the matter with you?" her majesty was very fond of receiving compliments. i had been there long enough to know and had learned to say things which would please her. she also hated anyone to pay her compliments at the wrong moment, so one had to be very careful even in paying her compliments. this "spreading cloud" pavilion was a beautiful palace. it had an open space in front of the building, just like one of the courtyards, with pink and white oleanders all over the place. there was a porcelain table and several porcelain stools. her majesty sat on her own yellow satin stool and was drinking her tea in silence. it was very windy that day, although the sky was blue with warm sunshine. her majesty sat there just for a few minutes, and then said it was too windy and went into the building. i was more than glad to go in, too, and whispered to the young empress that i thought the wind might blow off my headdress. the eunuchs brought the luncheon and placed everything upon the table. the young empress made a sign for us to follow her, which we did. when we came to the back veranda we sat down on the window seats. i will explain about these seats. all the windows were built low at the palace, and on the veranda there was something like a bench built along the window, about a foot wide. there were no chairs to be seen excepting her majesty's thrones. the young empress asked me whether i had noticed that her majesty had something on her mind. i told her that perhaps she was thinking about the private audience which prince ching had mentioned that morning. she said that i had guessed right, and asked: "do you know anything about this audience? when will it take place?" i said that her majesty had not yet given her answer. by this time her majesty had finished eating and was walking up and down the room, watching us eating. she came over to my mother and said: "i am just wondering why mrs. conger asks for a private audience. perhaps she has something to say to me. i would like to know just what it is so i can prepare an answer." my mother said that probably mrs. conger had someone visiting her who wished to be presented to her majesty. "no, it can't be that, because they must give the list of names of those who wish to come to the palace. i don't mind the formal audiences, but i don't think that i should have private ones at all. i don't like to be questioned, as you all know. the foreigners are, of course, very nice and polite, according to their own way, but they cannot compare with us, so far as etiquette is concerned. i may be conservative in saying that i admire our custom and will not change it as long as i live. you see our people are taught to be polite from their earliest childhood, and just look back at the oldest teachings and compare them with the new. people seem to like the latter the best. i mean that the new idea is to be christians, to chop up their ancestral tablets and burn them. i know many families here who have broken up because of the missionaries, who are always influencing the young people to believe their religion. now i tell you why i feel uneasy about this audience is because we are too polite to refuse anyone who asks any favors in person. the foreigners don't seem to understand that. i'll tell you what i will do. whenever they ask me anything, i'll simply tell them that i am not my own boss, but have to consult with my ministers; that although i am the empress dowager of china, i must also obey the law. to tell the truth, i like madame uchida (wife of the japanese minister to peking) very much. she is always very nice and doesn't ask any silly questions. of course the japanese are very much like ourselves, not at all forward. last year, before you came to the court, a missionary lady came with mrs. conger, and suggested that i should establish a school for girls at the palace. i did not like to offend her, and said that i would take it into consideration. now, just imagine it for a moment. wouldn't it be foolish to have a school at the palace; besides, where am i going to get so many girls to study? i have enough to do as it is. i don't want all the children of the imperial family studying at my palace." her majesty laughed while she was telling us this, and everyone else laughed, too. she said: "i am sure you will laugh. mrs. conger is a very nice lady. america is always very friendly towards china, and i appreciate their nice behavior at the palace during the twenty-sixth year of kwang hsu ( ), but i cannot say that i love the missionaries, too. li lien ying told me that these missionaries here give the chinese a certain medicine, and that after that they wish to become christians, and then they would pretend to tell the chinese to think it over very carefully, for they would never force anyone to believe their religion against their own will. missionaries also take the poor chinese children and gouge their eyes out, and use them as a kind of medicine." i told her that that was not true; that i had met a great many missionaries, and that they were very kind-hearted and willing to do anything to help the poor chinese. i also told her what they had done for the poor orphans--given them a home, food and clothing; that sometimes they went into the interior and found the blind children who might be useless to their parents, and when they get them they have to support them. i know several cases like that. these country people offer their deformed children to the missionaries, as they are too poor to feed and take care of them. i told her about their schools, and how they helped the poor people. her majesty then laughed, and said: "of course i believe what you say, but why don't these missionaries stay in their own country and be useful to their own people?" i thought it would be of no use for me to talk too much, but at the same time i would like her to know of the dreadful times some of the missionaries had in china. some time ago, two of them were murdered at wu shuih, in june, (a little below hankow), the church being burnt down by the mob. my father was appointed by viceroy chang chih tung to investigate the matter. after much trouble he caught three of the murderers and, according to the chinese law, they were put to death by hanging in wooden cages, and the government paid an indemnity to the families of the murdered missionaries. the year after, , a catholic church was burnt down at mar cheng, on the yangtse, near ichang. the mob said they saw many blind children at the church, who were made to work after having their eyes gouged out. the prefect of ichang province said it was true that missionaries did get the chinese childrens' eyes for making medicine, so my father suggested having those blind children brought into the yamen and ask them. the prefect was a most wicked man, and was very anti-foreign also. he gave the poor children plenty of food, and taught them to say that the missionaries did gouge their eyes out, but when they were brought in the next day they said that the missionaries treated them very kindly and gave them a nice home, good food and clothing. they said they were blind long before they became catholics, and also said that the prefect had taught them to say that the missionaries were cruel to them, which was not true. the blind children begged to go back to the school and said that they were very happy there. her majesty said: "that may be all right for them to help the poor and relieve their suffering. for instance, like our great buddha ju lai, who fed the hungry birds with his own flesh. i would love them if they would leave my people alone. let us believe our own religion. do you know how the boxer rising began? why, the chinese christians were to blame. the boxers were treated badly by them, and wanted revenge. of course that is always the trouble with the low class of people. they went too far, and at the same time thought to make themselves rich by setting fire to every house in peking. it made no difference whose house. they wanted to burn so long as they could get money. these chinese christians are the worst people in china. they rob the poor country people of their land and property, and the missionaries, of course, always protect them, in order to get a share themselves. whenever a chinese christian is taken to the magistrate's yamen, he is not supposed to kneel down on the ground and obey the chinese law, as others do, and is always very rude to his own government officials. then these missionaries do the best they can to protect him, whether he is wrong or not, and believe everything he says and make the magistrate set the prisoner free. do you remember that your father established rules in the twenty-fourth year of kwang hsu, how the chinese officials should treat the bishops whenever they had dealings with each other? i know the common class of people become christians--also those who are in trouble--but i don't believe that any of the high officials are christians." her majesty looked around and whispered: "kang yue wai (the reformer in ) tried to make the emperor believe that religion. no one shall believe as long as i live. i must say that i admire the foreigners in some ways. for instance, their navies and armies, and engineers, but as regards civilization i should say that china is the first country by all means. i know that many people believe that the government had connections with the boxers, but that is not true. as soon as we found out the trouble we issued several edicts, and ordered the soldiers to drive them out, but they had gone too far already. i made up my mind not to go out of the palace at all. i am an old woman, and did not care whether i died or not, but prince tuang and duke lan suggested that we should go at once. they also suggested that we should go in disguise, which made me very angry, and i refused. after the return of the court to peking, i was told that many people believed that i did go in disguise, and said that i was dressed in one of my servant's clothes, and rode in a broken cart drawn by a mule, and that this old woman servant of mine was dressed as the empress dowager, and rode in my sedan chair. i wonder who made that story up? of course everyone believed it, and such a story would get to the foreigners in peking without any trouble. "now to come back to the question of the boxer rising. how badly i was treated by my own servants. no one seemed anxious to go with me, and a great many ran away before the court had any idea of leaving the capital at all, and those who stayed would not work, but stood around and waited to see what was going to happen. i made up my mind to ask and see how many would be willing to go, so i said to everyone: 'if you servants are willing to go with me, you can do so, and those who are not willing, can leave me.' i was very much surprised to find that there were very few standing around listening. only seventeen eunuchs, two old women servants and one servant girl, that was sho chu. those people said they would go with me, no matter what happened. i had , eunuchs, but they were nearly all gone before i had the chance of counting them. some of the wicked ones were even rude to me, and threw my valuable vases on the stone floor, and smashed them. they knew that i could not punish them at that important moment, for we were leaving. i cried very much and prayed for our great ancestors' souls to protect us. everyone knelt with me and prayed. the young empress was the only one of my family who went with me. a certain relative of mine, whom i was very fond of, and gave her everything she asked, refused to go with me. i knew that the reason she would not go was because she thought the foreign soldiers would catch up the runaway court, and kill everyone. "after we had been gone about seven days, i sent one eunuch back, to find out who was still in peking. she asked this eunuch whether there were any foreign soldiers chasing us, and whether i was killed. soon after the japanese soldiers took her palace, and drove her out. she thought she was going to die anyway, and as i was not yet assassinated, she might catch up with the court, and go with us. i could not understand how she traveled so fast. one evening we were staying at a little country house, when she came in with her husband, a nice man. she was telling me how much she had missed me, and how very anxious she had been all that time to know whether i was safe or not, and cried. i refused to listen to what she was saying and told her plainly that i did not believe a word. from that time she was finished for me. i had a very hard time, traveling in a sedan chair, from early morning, before the sun rose, until dark and in the evening had to stop at some country place. i am sure you would pity me, old as i am, that i should have had to suffer in that way. "the emperor went all the way in a cart, drawn by a mule, also the empress. i went along, and was praying to our great ancestors for protection, but the emperor was very quiet, and never opened his mouth. one day something happened. it rained so much and some of the chair carriers ran away. some of the mules died suddenly. it was very hot, and the rain was pouring down on our heads. five small eunuchs ran away also, because we were obliged to punish them the night before on account of their bad behavior to the magistrate, who did all he could to make me comfortable, but of course food was scarce. i heard these eunuchs quarreling with the magistrate, who bowed to the ground, begging them to keep quiet, and promised them everything. i was of course very angry. traveling under such circumstances one ought to be satisfied that one was provided for. "it took us more than a month before we reached shi an. i cannot tell you how fatigued i was, and was of course worrying very much, which made me quite ill for almost three months. so long as i live i cannot forget it. "we returned to peking early in the twenty-eighth year of kwang hsu and i had another dreadful feeling when i saw my own palace again. oh! it was quite changed; a great many valuable ornaments broken or stolen. all the valuable things at the sea palace had been taken away, and someone had broken the fingers of my white jade buddha, to whom i used to worship every day. several foreigners sat on my throne and had their photos taken. when i was at the shi an i was just like being sent into exile, although the viceroy's yamen was prepared for us, but the building was very old, damp and unhealthy. the emperor became ill. it would take a long time to tell you everything; i thought i had enough trouble, but this last was the worst. when i have time, i will tell you more about it. i want you to know the absolute truth. "now let us come back to the question of mrs. conger's private audience. there must be something special, but i hope that she will not ask for anything, for i hate to refuse her. can you guess what it is?" i told her majesty that there could not be anything special; besides, mrs. conger considered herself to be a person who knew chinese etiquette very well, and i didn't believe she would ask for anything at all. her majesty said: "the only objection i have is that mrs. conger always brings one of the missionaries as her interpreter, when i have your mother, your sister and yourself, which i think should be sufficient. i don't think it is right for her to do that; besides, i cannot understand their chinese very well. i like to see the ladies of the diplomatic body sometimes, but not the missionaries. i will stop that when the opportunity comes." the next morning prince ching told her majesty that the american admiral, and mrs. evans, and suite wished to be presented to her. the american minister asked two private audiences. he said he had made a mistake by telling her that mrs. conger had asked an audience for herself, the day before. after the regular morning audience was over her majesty laughed and said: "didn't i tell you yesterday that there must be a reason for asking an audience? i rather would like to meet the american admiral and his wife." turning to us she said: "be sure and fix everything up pretty, change everything in my bedroom, so as not to show them our daily life." we all said "jur" (yes), but we knew it was going to be a hard task to turn the palace upside down. it was just the night before the appointed audience. we started to work taking off the pink silk curtains from every window, and changing them for sky blue (the color she hated); then we changed the cushions on the chairs to the same color. while we were watching the eunuchs doing the work, several of them came into the room, carrying a large tray full of clocks. by this time her majesty had come into the room, and ordered us to remove all her white and green jade buddhas and take some of the jade ornaments away, for those things were sacred, and no foreigners should see them, so we replaced them with these clocks, instead. we also took away the three embroidered door curtains, and changed them for ordinary blue satin ones. i must explain that these three curtains were sacred, too. they were embroidered to represent five hundred buddhist deities, on old gold satin, and had been used by emperor tou kwang. her majesty believed that by hanging these curtains at her door they would guard against evil spirits entering her room. the order was that one of us should remember to place them back again when the audience was over. we fixed every piece of furniture in her bedroom. her toilet table was the most important thing. she would not let anyone see it-not even the wives of the officials who came in, so of course we had to put it in a safe place, and lock it up. we changed her bed from pink color into blue. all her furniture was made of sandalwood, also carvings on her bed. this sandalwood, before it was made into furniture, was placed in different temples, to be sanctified, so of course no foreigner could see it. as we could not take this carving from her bed, we covered it up with embroidered hangings. while we were working her majesty came in and told us not to hurry in her bedroom, because the audience the next day would only be for admiral robley evans and his staff, and they would not visit the private rooms. the audience for mrs. evans and the other ladies would be the day after. she said it was important to see that the audience hall was fixed up properly. she said: "place the only carpet we have here in the hall. i don't like carpets anyway, but it cannot be helped." after we had finished, her majesty started to tell us what to wear for the ladies' audience. she said to me: "you need not come to the throne to-morrow, there will only be gentlemen. i will get one of the ministers from wai-wu-pu (bureau of foreign affairs). i don't want you to talk to so many strange men. it is not the manchu custom. these people are all strangers. they might go back to america and tell everybody what you look like." at the same time her majesty gave orders for the imperial yellow gown to be brought in next day, for the gentleman's audience. she said that she must dress in her official robe for this occasion. this robe was made of yellow satin, embroidered with gold dragons. she wore a necklace composed of one hundred and eight pearls, which formed part of this official dress. she said: "i don't like to wear this official robe. it is not pretty, but i am afraid i will have to." she said to all of us: "you need not dress especially." the next morning her majesty got up early, and was busier than ever. it seemed to me that whenever we had an audience we always had so much trouble. something was sure to go wrong and make her majesty angry. she said: "i want to look nice, and be amiable, but these people always make me angry. i know the american admiral will go home and tell his people about me, and i don't want him to have a wrong impression." it took her almost two hours to dress her hair, and by that time it was too late for her usual morning audience, so she proposed holding that after the foreigners had gone away. she looked at herself in the looking-glass, with her imperial robe on, and told me that she did not like it, and asked me whether i thought the foreigners would know that it was an official robe. "i look too ugly in yellow. it makes my face look the same color as my robe," she said. i suggested that as it was only a private audience, if she wished to dress differently, it would not matter at all. she seemed delighted, and i was afraid lest i had not made a proper suggestion, but anyway i was too busy to worry. her majesty ordered that her different gowns should be brought in, and after looking them over she selected one embroidered all over with the character "shou" (long life), covered with precious stones and pearls, on pale green satin. she tried it on, and said that it was becoming to her, so she ordered me to go to the jewel-room and get flowers to match for her hair. on one side of the headdress was the character (shou) and on the other side was a bat (the bat in china is considered to be lucky). of course her shoes, handkerchiefs and everything else were embroidered in the same way. after she was dressed, she smiled and said: "i look all right now. we had better go to the audience hall and wait for them, and at the same time we can play a game of dice." then to us all she said: "all of you will stay at the back of the screen during the audience. you can see all right, but i don't wish that you should be seen." the eunuchs had laid the map down on the table and were just going to commence playing dice, when one of the high rank eunuchs came into the hall and, kneeling down, said that the american admiral had arrived at the palace gate, together with the american minister--ten or twelve people altogether. her majesty smiled and said to me: "i thought it was just going to be the american minister and the admiral, and one or two of his staff. who can the rest of the people be? however, never mind, i will receive them anyway." we helped her to mount her throne upon the dais, fixed her clothes, and handed her the paper containing the speech she was to give. then we went back of the screen, with the young empress. it was so very quiet, not a sound anywhere, that we could hear the boots of the visitors as they walked over the stones in the courtyard. we were peeping from behind the screen, and could see several of the princes mounting the steps, conducting these people to the hall. the admiral and the american minister came in, and stood in a line. they bowed three times to the empress dowager. the emperor was also on his throne, sitting at her left hand. his throne was very small, just like an ordinary chair. her majesty's speech was simply to welcome the admiral to china. they then came up to the dais and shook hands with their majesties, ascending on one side, and retiring down the other. prince ching took them into another palace building, where they had lunch, and the audience was over. it was very simple and formal. after the audience was over her majesty said that she could hear us laughing behind the screen, and that maybe the people would talk about it, and did not like it at all. i told her that it was not myself who laughed. she said: "the next time when i have men in audience you need not come into the audience hall at all. of course it is different when i have my own people at the morning audiences." her majesty did not go to her bedroom that afternoon. she said she wanted to wait until these people had gone and hear what they had to say. after a couple of hours prince ching came in and reported that they had lunched, and that they were very pleased to have seen her majesty, and had gone away. i must here explain that the admiral had entered by the left gate of the palace. the middle gate was only used for their majesties, with one exception, viz.: in the case of anyone presenting credentials. then they entered by the center gate. the admiral left by the same gate he had entered. her majesty asked prince ching whether he had showed them around the palace buildings or not (this was in the summer palace), and what they had thought about it. did they say anything, and were they pleased or not. she said to prince ching: "you can go now, and make the necessary preparations for the ladies' audience next day." that same evening her majesty said to us: "you must all dress alike to-morrow, and wear your prettiest clothes. these foreign ladies who are coming to the palace may never see us again, and if we don't show them what we have now, we will not have another opportunity." she ordered us all, including the young empress, to wear pale blue, also the secondary wife of the emperor. she said to me: "if the ladies ask who the secondary wife is, you can tell them; but if they don't ask, i don't want you to introduce her to them at all. i have to be very careful. these people at the palace here are not used to seeing so many people and they might not have nice manners, and the foreigners will laugh at them." then she said to us again: "i always give presents when ladies come to the court, but don't know whether i will give this time or not, for at the last audience i did not give anything at all." addressing me, she said: "you can prepare some pieces of jade, in case i need them. put them in a nice box and have them all ready. don't bring them to me until i ask for them." she said: "we have talked enough now, and you can all go to rest." we courtesied good night. i was only too glad to go to my own room. the next morning everything went on very nicely and there was no trouble at all. her majesty was well satisfied, for we had all taken great care in fixing ourselves up. she said to me: "you never put enough paint on your face. people might take you for a widow. you will have to paint your lips, as that is the custom. i don't need you yet, so go back and put some more paint on." so i went back to my room and painted myself just like the rest of them, but i could not help laughing at seeing myself so changed. by the time i got to her room again, she said: "now you look all right. if you think that powder is expensive, i will buy some for you." she said that with a laugh, for she always liked to tease me. by the time her majesty had finished her toilet, one of the ladies brought a number of gowns for her to select one from. she said she would wear pale blue that day. she looked over twenty or thirty gowns, but found nothing which suited her, so she gave orders for some more to be brought in. finally she chose a blue gown embroidered with one hundred butterflies, and wore a purple sleeveless jacket, which was also embroidered with butterflies. at the bottom of this gown were pearl tassels. she wore her largest pearls, one of which was almost as large as an egg, and was her favorite jewel. she only wore this on special occasions. she wore two jade butterflies on each side of her headdress. her bracelets and rings were also all designed in butterflies, in fact everything matched. among her beautiful jewels, she always wore some kind of fresh flowers. white jessamine was her favorite flower. the young empress and the court ladies were not allowed to wear fresh flowers at all unless given to them by her majesty as a special favor. we could wear pearls and jade, etc., but she said that the fresh flowers were for her, her idea being that we were too young, and might spoil fresh flowers if we wore them. after she was dressed we went into the audience hall. she ordered her cards to be brought in as she wanted to play solitaire. she talked all the time she was playing, and said that we must all be very nice and polite to the american ladies, and show them everywhere. she said: "it doesn't matter now, for we have everything changed." she said: "i want to laugh myself. what is the use of changing everything? they will imagine we are always like this. by and bye, if they question you about anything, just tell them that it is not so, and that we change everything at each audience, just to give them a bit of surprise. you must tell it some day, otherwise no one will know it at all, and the trouble would not be worth the while." it was a private audience for ladies, and her majesty did not use the big throne, but was sitting on her little throne at the left side of the audience hall, where she received her own ministers every morning; the emperor was standing. a eunuch came in, the same as the day before, and announced that the ladies had arrived at the palace gate, nine in all. her majesty sent some of the court ladies to meet them in the courtyard, and bring them to the audience hall, which they did. i was standing at the right side of her majesty's chair, and could see them mounting the steps. her majesty whispered to me, and asked: "which one is mrs. evans?" as i had never seen the lady, i answered that i could not tell, but when they got nearer i saw a lady walking with the american minister's wife, and concluded that she must be mrs. evans, and told her majesty. as they got nearer, her majesty said: "again that missionary lady with mrs. conger. i think she must like to see me. she comes every time. i will tell her i am very glad to see her always, and see if she understands what i mean." mrs. conger shook hands with her majesty and presented mrs. evans and also the wives of the american officers. i was watching her majesty and saw that she was very nice and amiable, with such a pleasant smile--so different from her everyday manner. she told them she was delighted to see them. her majesty ordered the eunuchs to have chairs brought in for the ladies, and at the same time other eunuchs brought in tea. her majesty asked mrs. evans whether she liked china; what she thought of peking; how long she had been there; how long she was going to stay, and where she was staying. i was so accustomed to her majesty's questions that i knew exactly what she would ask. mrs. conger told her interpreter to tell her majesty that she had not seen her for such a long time, and enquired about her majesty's health. her majesty said to me: "you tell mrs. conger that i am in good health and that i am delighted to see her. it is a pity that i cannot hold an audience more frequently, otherwise i could see more of her." she continued: "the imperial princess (her adopted daughter-daughter of prince kung) will accompany them to lunch." this ended the audience. lunch was served at the back of her own palace building (yang yuen hsuen--the place where the clouds gather to rest). this room was specially furnished as a banqueting room where refreshments could be served. all the court ladies went to the lunch, except her majesty, the young empress and the secondary wife. it had taken me two hours to fix the table for the luncheon. her majesty ordered that a white foreign tablecloth should be used, as it looked cleaner. the eunuch gardeners had decorated the table with fresh flowers, and her majesty gave instructions as to how the seats were to be placed. she said: "mrs. evans is the guest of honor. although mrs. conger is the wife of the american minister, she is more of a resident, so mrs. evans must have the principal seat." she also told me to arrange to seat everybody according to their respective ranks. the imperial princess and princess shun (her majesty's niece, sister of the young empress) were hostesses, and were to sit opposite each other. we placed golden menu holders and little gold plates for almonds and watermelon seeds; the rest all silver ware, including chopsticks. her majesty ordered that foreign knives and forks should be provided also. the food was served in manchu style, and was composed of twenty-four courses, besides sweetmeats--candies and fruits. her majesty instructed us that only the best champagne was to be served. she said: "i know that foreign ladies love to drink." i think i was the only one who was really happy to meet these ladies, more so than the rest of the court ladies, the reason being that her majesty lectured them too severely, telling them how to behave, so that they had grown to hate the very mention of a foreign audience. while we were eating, a eunuch came in and told me that her majesty was waiting at her private palace, and that i should bring these ladies there after the lunch was over. so when we had finished we entered her own palace and found her waiting there for us. she got up and told me to ask mrs. evans whether she had had anything to eat--that the food was not very good. (this is a custom with the chinese when entertaining, always to underrate the food.) she said that she would like to show mrs. evans her private apartments, so that she could form some idea of the way we lived, so she took mrs. evans to one of her bedrooms. she invited mrs. evans and mrs. conger to sit down, and the eunuchs brought in tea, as usual. her majesty asked mrs. evans to stay a little while in peking, and to visit the different temples. she said: "our country, although very old, has not such fine buildings as there are in america. i suppose you will find everything very strange. i am rather too old now, otherwise i would like to travel around the world. i have read much about different countries, but of course there is nothing like visiting the different places and seeing them yourself. however, one cannot tell. i may be able to go after all, by and bye, but i am afraid to leave my own country. by the time i returned i should not know the place any more, i'm afraid. here everything seems to depend on me. our emperor is quite young." she then turned and ordered us to take these ladies to visit the different buildings of the palace, also the famous temple of the king of dragons. this is on a little island in the center of the lake of the summer palace. mrs. conger said that she had something to ask her majesty, and told the missionary lady to proceed. while mrs. conger was speaking to this lady her majesty became rather impatient as she wanted to know what they were talking about, so she asked me. it was very hard for me to listen to both of the ladies and to her majesty at the same time. the only words i heard were: "the portrait," so i guessed the rest. before i had a chance to tell her majesty this missionary lady said: "mrs. conger has come with the special object of asking permission to have her majesty's portrait painted by an american lady artist, miss carl, as she is desirous of sending it to the st. louis exhibition, in order that the american people may form some idea of what a beautiful lady the empress dowager of china is." miss carl is the sister of mr. f. carl who was for so many years commissioner of customs in chefoo. her majesty looked surprised, for she had been listening very carefully whilst this lady was talking. she did not like to say that she did not quite understand, so she turned to me, as had been previously arranged,--a sign for me to interpret. i did not, however, do so immediately, so mrs. conger told her missionary friend to repeat the request in case her majesty had not quite understood it. her majesty then said to me: "i cannot quite understand what this lady says. i think perhaps you can tell me better." so i explained everything, but i knew that her majesty did not know what a portrait was like, as, up to that time she had never even had a photograph taken of herself. i must here explain that in china a portrait is only painted after death, in memorium of the deceased, in order that the following generations may worship the deceased. i noticed that her majesty was somewhat shocked when the request was made known to her. i did not want her majesty to appear ignorant before these foreign ladies, so i pulled her sleeve and told her that i would explain everything to her later. she replied: "explain a little to me now." this was spoken in the court language, which the visitors were unable to understand, it being somewhat different from the ordinary chinese language. this enabled her majesty to form some idea of the conversation, so she thanked mrs. conger for her kind thought, and promised to give her answer later. she said to me: "tell mrs. conger that i cannot decide anything alone, as she is probably aware that i have to consult with my ministers before deciding anything of an important character. tell her that i have to be very careful not to do anything which would give my people an opportunity to criticize my actions. i have to adhere to the rules and customs of my ancestors." i noticed that her majesty did not seem inclined to discuss the subject further at the moment. just then the head eunuch came in and, kneeling down, informed her majesty that the boats for the ladies were ready to take them across the lake, to see the temple. this action on the part of the eunuch was owing to his having received a signal from one of the court ladies, which implied that her majesty was getting tired of the conversation, and wished to change the subject. i must explain that on every occasion when a foreign audience was taking place, one of the court ladies was always told off to watch her majesty, and whenever she appeared to be displeased or tired of any particular subject under discussion, she, the court lady, would give the signal to the head eunuch, who would break in upon the conversation in the above manner, and thus save the situation from becoming embarrassing. so her majesty said good-bye to the ladies, as she thought it would be too late for them to have to return to say good-bye, besides which it would give them more time to see the various sights. the ladies then proceeded to the island in the empress dowager's pleasure boat known as the imperial barge, previously described, and visited the temple. this temple is built on top of a small rock, in the center of which is a natural cave, and it was generally supposed that no human being had ever been inside of this cave. the empress dowager believed the popular superstition that this hole was the home of the king of dragons--from which the temple derives its name. chapter thirteen--the empress's portrait after staying a little while at the temple, we returned to the palace, and the ladies said goodbye and took chairs to the palace gate, where their own chairs were waiting for them. i then went to report to her majesty in the usual way what had been said by the visitors; whether they had expressed themselves as being pleased with the reception they had received. her majesty said: "i like mrs. evans. i think she is a very good woman. it seems to me that her manners are quite different from those of the other american ladies whom i have met. i like to meet people who are polite." then, referring to the subject of the portrait her majesty said: "i wonder why mrs. conger has this idea. now please explain to me what painting a portrait really is." when i explained that it would be necessary for her to sit for several hours each day she was excited, and afraid she would never have the patience to see it through. she asked me what she must do during the sitting, so i explained that she would simply have to pose for the portrait, sitting in one position all the time she said: "i shall be an old woman by the time the portrait is finished." i told her that i had had my own portrait painted during my stay in paris, by the same artist mrs. conger had proposed should paint her own portrait (miss carl). she immediately told me to fetch the portrait of myself so that she could examine it and see what it was like, so i gave the order right away to a eunuch who was standing by to go to my house and bring it. her majesty said: "i do not understand why i must sit for the portrait couldn't someone else do it for me." i explained to her that as it was her own portrait, and not that of somebody else, they wished to paint, it would be necessary for her to sit herself. she then enquired whether it would be necessary for her to wear the same dress at each sitting, also the same jewels and ornaments. i replied that it would be necessary to do so on each occasion. her majesty then explained that in china it was only necessary for an artist to see his subject once, after which he could start right away and finish the portrait in a very short time, and thought that a really first-class foreign artist should be able to do the same. of course i explained the difference between foreign portrait painting and chinese, and told her that when she had seen it she would see the difference and understand the reason for so many sittings. she said: "i wonder what kind of a person this lady artist is. does she speak chinese?" i said that i knew miss carl very well, and that she was a very nice lady, but that she didn't speak chinese. she said: "if her brother has been in the customs service for so long, how is it that she doesn't speak chinese also?" i told her that miss carl had been away from china for a long time; that in fact she had only been in china for a very short time altogether, most of her work being in europe and america. her majesty said: "i am glad she doesn't understand chinese. the only objection about this portrait painting is that i have to have a foreigner at the palace all the time. with my own people gossiping they might tell her things which i don't want anyone to know." i told her that would be impossible as miss carl did not understand chinese at all, neither did any of the people at court understand english, with the exception of ourselves (my mother, sister and myself). her majesty answered: "you must not rely too much on that, as after spending a short time at the court they will soon learn to understand each other." continuing, she said: "by the way, how long will it take before this portrait is finished?" i told her that it depended entirely upon how often she sat, and how long each time. i didn't like to tell her exactly how long it would take, as i was afraid she might consider it too much bother, so i said that when the artist arrived i would tell her to get along and finish the portrait as quickly as possible. her majesty said: "i don't see how i can very well refuse mrs. conger's request. of course i told her, as you know, that i would have to consult with my ministers, just to give me time to think the matter over. if you know all about this artist lady, and think she is quite all right to come here to the palace, of course she may come, and i will tell prince ching to reply to mrs. conger to that effect. first of all we must talk over what we are going to do, for to have a foreign lady staying in the palace is out of the question altogether. as a rule i always spend the summer at my summer palace, and it is so far from the city that i don't think she will be able to go to and from the palace every day, on account of the distance. now, where can we put her? someone will have to watch her all the time. this is such a difficult matter that i hardly know what to decide upon. how would you like to look after her? do you think you could manage it in such a way that no one at the palace will have a chance to talk with her during the daytime, but who is going to stay and watch her during the night?" her majesty walked up and down the room thinking it over for quite a while. finally she smiled and said: "i have it. we can treat her as a prisoner without her knowing it, but it will all depend on your mother, your sister and yourself to act for me in this matter. each of you will have to play your part very carefully, and i mine also. i will give orders to have the palace garden of prince chung (the emperor kwang hsu's father) fixed up for miss carl during her stay here." this palace garden is quite close to her majesty's own palace, about ten minutes' drive. it is not in the palace ground, but is quite a separate palace outside the summer palace. continuing, her majesty said: "now, you will have to come with her every morning and return to stay with her every night. i think this is the safest way out of the difficulty, but be careful with regard to all correspondence which she may either receive or send away. the only thing about it is that it will give you a lot of extra work, but you know how particular i am over things of this kind, and it will save a lot of trouble in the end. there is another thing you will have to be very careful about, and that is to watch that miss carl has no chance to talk with the emperor. the reason why i say this is because, as you know, the emperor is of a shy disposition, and might say something which would offend her. i will appoint four extra eunuchs to be in attendance during the sittings for the portrait, so that they will be on hand in case anything is wanted." her majesty then said: "i noticed that mrs. conger was watching you when you pulled my sleeve. i wonder what she thought of it. you needn't care, anyway. let her think anything she likes. i understood what you meant if mrs. conger didn't, and that is all that is necessary." i told her that perhaps mrs. conger thought i wanted to advise her to refuse this request, but her majesty said: "what does that matter? if it hadn't been that you know the artist yourself i would not have consented in any case. it is not the painting of the portrait that i mind, but it might give rise to serious results." the next morning i received a letter from mrs. conger begging me not to prejudice her majesty against miss carl in any way. i translated this to her majesty, and it made her furious. she said: "no one has any right to write to you in such a way. how dare she suggest that you would say anything against miss carl? didn't i tell you she was watching you when you pulled my sleeve? when you reply to that letter tell her whatever you like, but answer in the same way she writes herself, or, better still, you write and inform her that it is not customary for any court lady to try and influence her majesty in this country, and that in addition, you are not so mean as to say anything against anybody. if you don't like to say that, just say that as miss carl is a personal friend of yours you certainly would never think of saying anything against her." i therefore replied to mrs. conger's letter in the ordinary way, making it as formal as possible. her majesty then talked of nothing but the portrait during the whole of that afternoon. by and bye she said: "i hope that mrs. conger will not send a missionary lady with miss carl to keep her company during her stay at the palace. if she does i will certainly refuse to sit." the next morning the eunuch arrived with my portrait, and everyone at the court had a good look at it before i took it to show to her majesty. some of them were of the opinion that it was very much like me, while the others thought the painting a very poor one. when i informed her majesty of the arrival of the portrait she ordered that it should be brought into her bedroom immediately. she scrutinized it very carefully for a while, even touching the painting in her curiosity. finally she burst out laughing and said: "what a funny painting this is, it looks as though it had been painted with oil." (of course it was an oil painting.) "such rough work i never saw in all my life. the picture itself is marvellously like you, and i do not hesitate to say that none of our chinese painters could get the expression which appears on this picture. what a funny dress you are wearing in this picture. why are your arms and neck all bare? i have heard that foreign ladies wear their dresses without sleeves and without collars, but i had no idea that it was so bad and ugly as the dress you are wearing here. i cannot imagine how you could do it. i should have thought you would have been ashamed to expose yourself in that manner. don't wear any more such dresses, please. it has quite shocked me. what a funny kind of civilization this is to be sure. is this dress only worn on certain occasions, or is it worn any time, even when gentlemen are present?" i explained to her that it was the usual evening dress for ladies and was worn at dinners, balls, receptions, etc. her majesty laughed and exclaimed: "this is getting worse and worse. everything seems to go backwards in foreign countries. here we don't even expose our wrists when in the company of gentlemen, but foreigners seem to have quite different ideas on the subject. the emperor is always talking about reform, but if this is a sample we had much better remain as we are. tell me, have you yet changed your opinion with regard to foreign customs? don't you think that our own customs are much nicer?" of course i was obliged to say "yes" seeing that she herself was so prejudiced. she again examined the portrait and said: "why is it that one side of your face is painted white and the other black? this is not natural--your face is not black. half of your neck is painted black, too. how is it?" i explained that it was simply the shading and was painted exactly as the artist saw me from the position in which she was sitting. her majesty then enquired: "do you think that this artist lady will paint my picture to look black also? it is going to america, and i don't want the people over there to imagine that half of my face is white and half black." i didn't like to tell her the truth, that her portrait would in all probability be painted the same as mine, so i promised her majesty that i would tell the artist exactly how she wished to be painted. she then asked me if i knew when the artist proposed commencing the portrait. i told her that the artist was still in shanghai, but that mrs. conger had already written to her to come up to peking, to make the necessary preparations. one week later i received a letter from miss carl informing me that she proposed coming up to peking at once, and that she would be delighted if her majesty would allow her to paint this portrait. i translated the letter to her majesty, who said: "i am very glad that you know this lady personally. it will make it much easier for me. you know there may be some things which i may want to tell miss carl, but which i don't want mrs. conger to know. i mean that there might be certain things which i shall have to say to miss carl, which, if mrs. conger heard of them, would give her the impression that i was very difficult to please. you understand what i mean. as this lady is a friend of yours, you will of course be able to tell her things in such a manner as not to offend her, and i may tell you again that if it were not that she is a personal friend of your own i would not have her here at all, as it is quite contrary to our custom." on the third day of the second-fifth moon prince ching informed her majesty that the artist had arrived at peking and was staying with mrs. conger and wished to know her majesty's pleasure in regard to commencing the portrait. now i must explain that the chinese year varies as to the number of moons it contains. for example, one year contains the ordinary twelve months or moons. the following year may contain thirteen moons. then the two years following that may contain twelve moons only, and thirteen moons the next year, and so on. at the time of the proposed visit of the artist the chinese year contained thirteen moons, there being two fifth moons in that year. when prince ching asked her majesty to name the day on which miss carl should commence her work, she replied: "i will give her my answer to-morrow. i must first consult my book, as i don't want to start this portrait on an unlucky day." so the next day, after her usual morning audience her majesty consulted this book for quite a time. finally she said to me: "according to my book the next lucky day will not occur for another ten days or so," and handed me the book to look myself. eventually she picked out the twentieth day of the second-fifth moon as the most lucky day for beginning the work. next she had to consult the book again in order to fix on the exact hour, finally fixing on o'clock in the evening. i was very much worried when she told me that, as by that time it would be quite dark, so i explained to her majesty as nicely as i could that it would be impossible for miss carl to work at that hour of the day. her majesty replied: "well, we have electric lights here. surely that would be sufficient light for her." then i had to explain that it would not be possible to get such good results by means of artificial light as if it were painted during the daytime. you see i was anxious to get her to change the hour, as i was sure that miss carl would refuse to paint by means of electric light. her majesty replied: "what a bother. i can paint pictures myself in any kind of light, and she ought to be able to do the same." after much discussion it was finally settled that o'clock on the morning of the twentieth day of the second-fifth moon should be the time for miss carl to commence to paint this portrait, and i can assure you that i felt very much relieved when it was all settled. when the eunuch brought in my portrait, he also brought in several photographs which i had had taken during my stay in paris, but i decided not to show them to her majesty in case she should decide to have a photograph taken instead of having this portrait painted, as it would be much quicker and save her the trouble of sitting each day. however, as her majesty was passing on the veranda in front of my bedroom the next morning she stepped into the room just to have a look around and, as she put it, to see whether i kept everything clean, and in good order. this was the first time she had visited me in my own room, and i was naturally very much embarrassed, as she very rarely visited the rooms of her court ladies. i could not keep her standing, and i could not ask her to sit down in any of my own chairs, as it is the chinese custom that the emperor and empress should only sit down in their own special chairs, which are usually carried by an attendant wherever they go. i therefore was on the point of giving an order for her own stool to be brought in, when her majesty stopped me and said that she would sit on one of the chairs in the room, and so bring me good luck. so she sat down in an easy chair. a eunuch brought in her tea, which i handed to her myself instead of letting the eunuch wait upon her. this of course was court etiquette, and was also a sign of respect after she had finished her tea, she got up and went around the room, examining everything, opening up all my bureau drawers and boxes in order to see whether i kept my things in proper order. happening to glance into one corner of the room she exclaimed: "what are those pictures on the table over there," and walked across to examine them. as soon as she picked them up, she exclaimed in much surprise: "why, they are all photographs of yourself, and are very much better than the picture you had painted. they are more like you. why didn't you show them to me before?" i hardly knew what to answer, and when she saw that i was very much embarrassed by her question, she immediately started talking about something else. she often acted in this manner when she saw that any of us were not quite prepared for any of her questions, but she would be sure to reopen the subject at some future time, when we were expected to give a direct answer. after examining the photographs for sometime, which by the way, were all taken in european dress, her majesty said: "now these are good photographs; much better than the portrait you had painted. still i have given my promise, and i suppose i shall have to keep it. however, if i do have my photograph taken, it will not interfere at all with the painting of the portrait. the only trouble is i cannot ask an ordinary professional photographer to the palace. it would hardly be the thing." my mother thereupon explained to her majesty that if she desired to have her photograph taken, one of my brothers, who had studied photography for some considerable time, would be able to do all that was necessary. i would like to explain that i had two brothers at court at that time, who held appointments under the empress dowager. one was in charge of all the electrical installation at the summer palace, and the other, her private steam launch. it was the custom for all the sons of the manchu officials to hold certain positions at the court for two or three years. they were perfectly free to walk about the grounds of the palace, and saw her majesty daily. her majesty was always very kind to these young men, and chatted with them in quite a motherly way. these young fellows had to come to the palace each morning very early, but as no man was allowed to stay all night in the palace they of course had to leave when they had finished their duties for the day. when her majesty heard what my mother said, she was very much surprised, and asked why she had never been told that my brother was learned in photography. my mother replied that she had no idea that her majesty wished to have a photograph taken, and had not dared to suggest such a thing herself. her majesty laughed, and said: "you may suggest anything you like, as i want to try anything that is new to me, especially as outsiders can know nothing about it." she gave orders to send for my brother at once. on his arrival her majesty said to him: "i hear that you are a photographer. i am going to give you something to do." my brother was kneeling, as was the custom of the court, whilst her majesty was addressing him. everybody, with the exception of the court ladies, had to kneel when she was speaking to them. even the emperor himself was no exception to this rule. of course the court ladies, being constantly in attendance, were allowed not to kneel, as her majesty was talking to us all the time, and it was her orders that we should not do so, as it would be wasting a lot of time. her majesty asked my brother when he would be able to come and take her photograph, and what kind of weather was necessary. my brother said that he would go back to peking that night, to fetch his camera, and that he could take the photograph at any time she desired, as the weather would not affect the work. so her majesty decided to have her photograph taken the next morning. she said: "i want to have one taken first of all in my chair, when going to the audience, and you can take some others afterwards." she also asked my brother how long she would have to sit, and was surprised to learn that only a few seconds would suffice. next she enquired how long it would be before it was finished, so that she could see it. my brother answered that if it were taken in the morning it could be finished late the same afternoon. her majesty said that was delightful, and expressed a wish to watch him do the work. she told my brother that he might select any room in the palace to work in, and ordered a eunuch to make the necessary preparations. the next day was a beautiful day, and at eight o'clock my brother was waiting in the courtyard with several cameras. her majesty went to the courtyard and examined each of them. she said: "how funny it is that you can take a person's picture with a thing like that." after the method of taking the photograph had been fully explained to her, she commanded one of the eunuchs to stand in front of the camera so that she might look through the focusing glass, to see what it was like. her majesty exclaimed: "why is it your head is upside down? are you standing on your head or feet?" so we explained when the photo was taken it would not look that way. she was delighted with the result of her observations, and said that it was marvellous. finally she told me to go and stand there, as she wanted to have a look at me through this glass also. she then exchanged places with me, and desired that i should look through the glass and see if i could make out what she was doing. she waved her hand in front of the camera, and on my telling her of it, she was pleased. she then entered her chair, and ordered the bearers to proceed. my brother took another photograph of her majesty in the procession as she passed the camera. after she had passed the camera she turned and asked my brother: "did you take a picture?" and on my brother answering that he had, her majesty said: "why didn't you tell me? i was looking too serious. next time when you are going to take one, let me know so that i may try and look pleasant." i knew that her majesty was very much pleased. while we were at the back of the screen during the audience, i noticed that she seemed anxious to get it over, in order to have some more photographs taken. it only took about twenty minutes to get that particular audience over, which was very rare. after the people had gone, we came from behind the screen and her majesty said: "let us go and have some more pictures taken while the weather is fine." so she walked the courtyard of the audience hall, where my brother had a camera ready, and had another photograph taken. she said that she would like to have some taken sitting on her throne, exactly as though she were holding an audience. it took us only a few minutes to have everything prepared in the courtyard. the screen was placed behind the throne, and her footstool was also placed ready for her, and she ordered one of the court ladies to go and bring several gowns for her to select from. at the same time i went and brought some of her favorite jewelry. she ordered the two gowns which she had worn at the audiences when she received admiral evans and mrs. evans, to be brought in, and also the same jewels as she had worn on those respective occasions. she had two photographs taken in these costumes, one in each dress. next she wanted one taken in a plain gown, without any embroidery. she then ordered my brother to go and finish the pictures which had already been taken, as she was anxious to see what they were like. she said to my brother: "you wait a minute, i want to go with you and see how you work on them." of course, i had not considered it necessary to explain to her majesty the process of developing the pictures, the dark room, etc., so i explained to her as well as i could the whole thing. her majesty replied: "it doesn't matter. i want to go and see the room, no matter what kind of a room it is." so we all adjourned to the dark room in order to see my brother work on the photographs. we placed a chair so that her majesty could sit down. she said to my brother: "you must forget that i am here, and go along with your work just as usual." she watched for a while, and was very pleased when she saw that the plates were developing so quickly. my brother held up the plate to the red light, to enable her to see more distinctly. her majesty said: "it is not very clear. i can see that it is myself all right, but why is it that my face and hands are dark?" we explained to her that when the picture was printed on paper, these dark spots would show white, and the white parts would be dark. she said: "well, one is never too old to learn. this is something really new to me. i am not sorry that i suggested having my photograph taken, and only hope that i shall like the portrait painting as well." she said to my brother: "don't finish these photographs until after i have had my afternoon rest. i want to see you do it." when she got up at about half-past three, it did not take her long to dress herself, as was her usual custom, and she went immediately to where my brother had the papers and everything prepared. he then showed her majesty how the printing was done. there was plenty of light, as it was summer time, and as it was only four o'clock in the afternoon, the sun was still high. her majesty watched for two hours while my brother was printing, and was delighted to see each picture come out quite plainly. she held the first one in her hands so long while examining the others, that when she came to look at it again, she found that it had turned quite black. she could not understand this at all, and exclaimed: "why has this gone black? is it bad luck?" we explained to her that it must be washed after printing, otherwise a strong light would cause the picture to fade, as this one had done. she said: "how very interesting, and what a lot of work there is." after the printing process had been finished, my brother placed the pictures in a chemical bath, as usual, finally washing them in clean water. this caused her majesty even more surprise when she saw how clear the pictures came out, and caused her to exclaim: "how extraordinary. everything is quite true to life." when they were finally completed, she took the whole of them to her own room and sat down on her little throne, and gazed at them for a long time. she even took her mirror in order to compare her reflection with the photographs just taken. all this time my brother was standing in the courtyard awaiting her majesty's further commands. suddenly she recollected this fact, and said: "why, i had forgotten all about your brother. the poor fellow must be still standing waiting to know what i want next. you go and tell him--no, i had better go and speak to him myself. he has worked so hard all the day, that i want to say something to make him feel happy." she ordered my brother to print ten copies of each of the photographs, and to leave all his cameras at the palace, in order that he could proceed with the work the next day. the following ten days it rained continually, which made her majesty very impatient, as it was impossible to take any more photographs until the weather improved. her majesty wanted to have some taken in the throne room, but this room was too dark, the upper windows being pasted over with thick paper, only the lower windows allowing the light to enter. my brother tried several times, but failed to get a good picture. during this rainy period the court was moved to the sea palace, as the emperor was to sacrifice at the temple of earth. this was a yearly ceremony and was carried out on similar lines to all other annual ceremonies. on account of the rain her majesty ordered that boats should be brought alongside the west shore of the summer palace. on entering the boats, her majesty, accompanied by the court, proceeded to the western gate of the city, and on arrival at the last bridge, disembarked. chairs were awaiting us and we rode to the gate of the sea palace. there we again entered the boats and proceeded across the lake, a distance of about a mile. while crossing the lake her majesty noticed a lot of lotus plants which were in full bloom. she said: "we are going to stay at least three days here. i hope the weather will be fine, as i should like to have some photographs taken in the open boats on the lake. i have also another; good idea, and that is, i want to have one taken as 'kuan yin' (goddess of mersy). the two chief eunuchs will be dressed as attendants. the necessary gowns were made some time ago, and i occasionally put them on. whenever i have been angry, or worried over anything, by dressing up as the goddess of mercy it helps me to calm myself, and so play the part i represent. i can assure you that it does help me a great deal, as it makes me remember that i am looked upon as being all-merciful. by having a photograph taken of myself dressed in this costume, i shall be able to see myself as i ought to be at all times." when we arrived at the private palace the rain ceased. we walked to her bedroom, although the ground was still in bad condition. one of her majesty's peculiarities was a desire to go out in the rain and walk about. she would not even use an umbrella unless it was raining very heavily. the eunuchs always carried our umbrellas, but if her majesty did not use her umbrella, of course we could not very well use ours. the same thing applied in everything. if her majesty wanted to walk, we had to walk also, and if she decided to ride in her chair, we had to get into our chairs and ride as well. the only exception to this rule was when her majesty, being tired walking, ordered her stool to rest on. we were not allowed to sit in her presence, but had to stand all the time. her majesty liked her sea palace better than her palace in the forbidden city. it was far prettier, and had the effect of making her good tempered. her majesty ordered us to retire early that day, as we were all very tired after the trip, and said that in the event of it being fine the next day, she would have the proposed photographs taken. however, much to her majesty's disappointment, it rained incessantly for the next three days, so it was decided to stay a few days longer. on the last day of our stay it cleared up sufficiently to enable the photographs to be taken, after which we all returned to the summer palace. the day after our arrival at the summer palace her majesty said that we had better prepare everything for the audience to receive the lady artist (miss carl). she told the chief eunuch to issue orders to all the other eunuchs not to speak to miss carl, but simply be polite as occasion required. we court ladies received similar orders. also, that we were not to address her majesty while miss carl was present. the emperor received similar instructions. her majesty gave orders to have the gardens of prince chung's palace ready. she then said to us: "i trust you three to look after this lady artist. i have already given orders for food to be supplied by the wai wu pu. the only thing that i have been worried about is that i have no foreign food here for miss carl." she ordered us to have our stove taken over to prince chung's palace in case miss carl desired something cooked. she said: "i know it will be very hard for you to take her to the palace each morning and return with her at night, besides having to watch her all day long, but i know you do not mind. you are doing all this for me." after a while she smiled, and said: "how selfish of me. i order you to bring all your things to this place, but what is your father going to do? the best thing will be to ask your father to come and live in the same place. the country air might benefit him." we kowtowed and thanked her majesty, as this was a special favor, no official nor anyone else having been allowed to live in prince chung's palace previously. we all were very pleased--i could now see my father every day. hitherto we had only been able to see him about once a month, and then only by asking special leave. the next day her majesty sent us to prince chung's palace to make all necessary arrangements for miss carl's stay. this palace of prince chung's was a magnificent place. all the smaller dwellings were quite separate from each other, not in one large building, as was the custom. there was a small lake in the grounds, and lovely little paths to walk along, exactly like the empress dowager's summer palace, but, of course, on a much smaller scale. we selected one of these small dwellings, or summer houses, for the use of miss carl during her stay, and had it fitted up nicely, to make her as comfortable as possible. we ourselves were to occupy the next house to miss carl, in order that we might always be on hand, and at the same time keep a good eye on her. we returned to the summer palace the same evening, and told her majesty just how everything had been arranged. she said: "i want you all to be very careful not to let this lady know that you are watching her." she seemed very anxious about this, repeating these instructions for several days prior to miss carl's arrival. i felt very much relieved when the day before the audience arrived, and everything was finally fixed to her majesty's satisfaction. she ordered us to retire early that evening, as she wanted to rest and look well the next morning. when morning came we hurried over everything, even the usual morning audience, so that we could be ready when miss carl arrived. while i was standing behind the screen, as usual, a eunuch came and told me that mrs. conger, the artist, and another lady had arrived, and that they were now in the waiting room. by that time the audience was about finished. the chief eunuch came in and told her majesty that the foreign ladies had arrived and were waiting in another room. her majesty said to us: "i think i will go to the courtyard and meet them there." of course, at all private audiences her majesty received the people in the throne room, but as miss carl was more of a guest, she did not think it necessary to go through the usual formal reception. while we were descending the steps we saw the ladies entering the gate of the courtyard. i pointed out miss carl to her majesty, and noticed that she eyed miss carl very keenly. when we arrived in the courtyard, mrs. conger came forward and greeted her majesty and then presented miss carl. her majesty's first impression of miss carl was a good one, as miss carl was smiling very pleasantly, and her majesty, who always liked to see a pleasant smile, exclaimed to me in an undertone: "she seems to be a very pleasant person," to which i replied that i was very glad she thought so, as i was very anxious about the impression miss carl would make on her majesty. her majesty watched miss carl and myself as we greeted each other, and i could see that she was satisfied. she told me afterwards that she had noticed miss carl appeared very glad to see me again, and said: "we will handle her pretty easily, i think." her majesty then went to her own private palace, and we all followed. on our arrival, miss carl told me that she had brought her own canvas. this was a piece about six feet by four feet. i had told miss carl a little previously that her majesty refused to sit for a very small portrait and that she would like a life-size one. when her majesty saw the canvas she appeared to be very much disappointed, as in her opinion even that was not large enough. we placed the tables ready for miss carl, and her majesty asked her to choose the position in which she wished to paint. i knew that miss carl would have great difficulty in choosing a good position on account of the windows being built so low, there being very little light except low down near the ground. however, miss carl finally placed the canvas near the door of the room. her majesty told mrs. conger and the rest to sit down for a while as she wanted to change into another gown. i followed her into her bedroom. the first question her majesty asked was how old i thought miss carl was, as she herself could not guess her age, her hair being extremely light, in fact almost white. i could hardly refrain from laughing outright on hearing this, and told her majesty that miss carl's hair was naturally of a light color. her majesty said that she had often seen ladies with golden hair, but never one with white hair, excepting old ladies. she said: "i think that she is very nice, however, and hope she will paint a good portrait." turning to one of the court ladies, she ordered her to fetch a yellow gown as although, as she put it, she did not like yellow, she thought it would be the best color for a portrait. she selected one from a number which the court lady brought, embroidered all over with purple wisteria. her shoes and handkerchiefs matched. she also wore a blue silk scarf, embroidered with the character "shou" (long life). each character had a pearl in the center. she wore a pair of jade bracelets and also jade nail protectors. in addition she wore jade butterflies and a tassel on one side of her headdress, and, as usual, fresh flowers on the other side. her majesty certainly did look beautiful on that occasion. by the time she came out from her room miss carl had everything prepared. when she saw how her majesty was dressed, she exclaimed: "how beautiful her majesty looks in this dress," which remark i interpreted to her majesty, and it pleased her very much. she seated herself on her throne, ready to pose for the picture. she just sat down in an ordinary easy position, placing one hand on a cushion. miss carl explained: "that is an excellent position, as it is so natural. please do not move." i told her majesty what miss carl said, and she asked me whether she looked all right, or not. if not, she would change her position. i assured her that she looked very grand in that position. however, she asked the opinion of the young empress and some of the court ladies, who all agreed that she could not look better. i could see that they never looked at her majesty at all, they were too much interested in what miss carl was doing. when miss carl commenced to make the rough sketch of her majesty everyone watched with open mouth, as they had never seen anything done so easily and so naturally. the young empress whispered to me: "although i don't know anything about portrait painting, still i can see that she is a good artist. she has never seen any of our clothes and headdresses, and she has copied them exactly. just imagine one of our chinese artists trying to paint a foreign lady, what a mess he would make of it." after the sketch was finished her majesty was delighted and thought it was wonderful for miss carl to have made it so quickly and so accurately. i explained that this was a rough sketch and that when miss carl commenced painting, she would soon see the difference. her majesty told me to ask miss carl whether she was tired and would like to rest; also to tell her that she was very busy all the day, and would only be able to give her a few minutes' sitting each day. we then took miss carl to luncheon, together with mrs. conger, and after luncheon we accompanied her majesty to the theatre. after mrs. conger had departed i took miss carl to my room to rest. as soon as we arrived there, her majesty sent a eunuch to call me to her bedroom. her majesty said: "i don't want this lady to paint during my afternoon rest. she can rest at the same time. as soon as i am up you can bring her here to paint. i am glad that it looks like turning out better than i had anticipated." i therefore told miss carl her majesty's wishes in this respect and that she could paint for a little while, if she chose to, after her majesty had had her rest. miss carl was so interested in her majesty, she told me she didn't want to rest at all, but that she would like to go on with the painting right away. of course, i did not like to tell her anything the first day, as it might upset her, and did not say that this was a command from her majesty. after a lot of maneuvering i got her to give up the idea of continuing straight off, without offending her. i took her out on the veranda as the eunuch was preparing the table for her majesty's dinner in the room we were then occupying. the young empress kept miss carl busy talking, i acting as interpreter. soon one of the eunuchs came and informed us that her majesty had finished dinner, and would we please come and take ours. on entering the room i was very much surprised to see that chairs had been placed there, as this had never been done previously, everybody, with the exception of her majesty, taking their meals standing. the young empress was also very much surprised and asked me whether i knew anything about it. i said that perhaps it was on account of miss carl being there. the young empress told me to go over and ask her majesty, as she was afraid to sit down without receiving orders to do so. her majesty whispered to me: "i don't want miss carl to think we are barbarians, and treat the young empress and the court ladies in that manner. of course, she does not understand our court etiquette and might form a wrong impression, so you can all sit down without coming over to thank me, but be natural, as though you were accustomed to sitting down to dinner every day." after her majesty had washed her hands she came over to our table. of course we all stood up. her majesty told me to ask miss carl whether she liked the food, and was pleased when miss carl answered that she liked the food better than her own kind. that relieved her majesty. after dinner was over i told miss carl to say good-bye to her majesty. we courtesied to her, also to the young empress, and said good night to the court ladies. we then took miss carl to the palace of prince chung. it took us about ten minutes' ride in the carts. we showed miss carl her bedroom, and were pleased to leave her and get to our own rooms, for a good night's rest. the next morning we took miss carl to the palace, and arrived there during the morning audience. of course miss carl, being a foreigner, could not enter the throne room, so we sat down on the back veranda of the audience hall and waited until it was over. this, of course, prevented my being in attendance each morning, as usual, and was a great disappointment to me, as i was unable to keep in touch with what was taking place. moreover, during the time i had been at court, my one object had been to endeavor to interest her majesty in western customs and civilization. i believed that to a great extent her majesty was becoming interested in these things, and would refer the subjects of our conversations to her ministers, for their opinions. for instance, i had shown her photographs taken of a naval review at which i was present in france. her majesty seemed to be impressed, and said that she would certainly like to be able to make a similar display in china. this matter she consulted with her ministers, but they gave the usual evasive answer, viz.: "there is plenty of time for that." from this you will see that her majesty was not able to introduce reforms entirely alone, even though she might desire to do so, but had to consult the ministers, who would always agree with her majesty, but would suggest that the matter be put off for a time. my experience while at the palace was that everybody seemed to be afraid to suggest anything new for fear they might get themselves into trouble. when her majesty came out from the audience hall, miss carl went up to her and kissed her majesty's hand, which caused her great surprise, although she did not show it at the time. afterwards, however, when we were alone, she asked me why miss carl had done this, as it was not a chinese custom. she naturally thought that it must be a foreign custom, and therefore said nothing about it. her majesty then proceeded on foot to her own palace, to change her dress for the portrait. it was a beautiful morning, and when she had posed for about ten minutes, she told me that she felt too tired to proceed, and asked if it would be all right to ask miss carl to postpone it. i explained that as miss carl was going to be at the palace for some time, the postponement of one day's sitting would not make much difference at that time, although i knew that miss carl would naturally be disappointed. still, i had to humor her majesty as much as possible, otherwise she might have thrown up the whole thing. miss carl said that if her majesty wished to go to rest, she could be working painting the screen and the throne, and her majesty could pose again later on if she felt like it. this pleased her majesty, and she said that she would try to sit again after taking her afternoon's rest. her majesty ordered me to give miss carl her lunch in my own room at twelve o'clock each day, my mother, my sister and myself keeping her company. dinner at the palace was usually taken about six o'clock, and it was arranged that miss carl should take dinner with the young empress and the court ladies at that hour, after her majesty had finished dining. her majesty also ordered that champagne or any other wine which miss carl preferred, should be served, as she said she knew it was the custom for all foreign ladies to take wine with their meals. where she got hold of this idea, nobody knew. i was sure that her majesty had been misinformed by somebody, but it would have been bad policy to have tried to tell her different at the moment. she disliked very much to be told that she was wrong in any of these things, and it could only be done by waiting and casually introducing the subject at some other time. after miss carl had gone to rest during the afternoon, her majesty sent for me and asked the usual question, viz.: what had miss carl been saying? etc., etc. she seemed particularly anxious to know what miss carl thought of her, and when i told her that miss carl had said that she was very beautiful and quite young looking, she said: "oh! well, of course miss carl would say that to you." however, on my assuring her that miss carl had given this opinion without being asked for it, she showed very plainly that she was not at all displeased with the compliment. suddenly her majesty said: "i have been thinking that if miss carl can paint the screen and the throne, surely she ought to be able to paint my clothes and jewels, without it being necessary for me to pose all the time." i told her that would be quite impossible, as nobody could hold the things for miss carl to get the proper effect. to my surprise she answered: "well, that is easily gotten over. you wear them in my place." i hardly knew what to say, but thought i would get out of the difficulty by telling her that perhaps miss carl would not like such an arrangement. her majesty, however, could see no possible objection on miss carl's part, as she herself could pose when the time came for painting her face. so i put the matter as nicely as possible to miss carl, and it was finally arranged that i should dress in her majesty's robes and jewels whenever her majesty felt too tired to do the posing herself. in this manner the portrait of the empress dowager was painted, and with the exception of just a few hours to enable miss carl to get her majesty's facial expression, i had to sit for two hours each morning, and for another two hours each afternoon until the portrait was finished. chapter fourteen--the emperor's birthday my father's four months' leave having expired, he was received in audience by their majesties on the first day of the sixth moon. he was much improved in health, but his rheumatism was still very troublesome. this was particularly noticeable when climbing the steps to the audience hall, and her majesty ordered two of the eunuchs to assist him. first he thanked her majesty for her kindness towards my sister and myself, and, as was the custom, took off his hat and knelt down, bowing his head until it struck the ground. this ceremony was always gone through by any official who had received special favors from their majesties. he then replaced his hat on his head and remained kneeling before the throne. her majesty then questioned him about his life in paris, from time to time complimenting him on his work. seeing that remaining in this kneeling position appeared to be making him tired, her majesty ordered one of the eunuchs to bring a cushion for him to use, which was another great honor, as this cushion was only used by the president of the grand council. her majesty told him that as he was now getting to be a very old man, she did not intend sending him away from china again, as she wanted to keep my sister and myself at the court, which she could not do if she sent him to some foreign country, as he would want to take his daughters with him. she said she was pleased, that although we had been away from china for such a long time, we were well acquainted with the manchu customs. my father replied that it had been his care that we should be brought up according to the customs of our own country. her majesty when asked the emperor if he had anything to say, and he replied by asking my father if he spoke french, and thought it very strange on learning that he did not. my father explained that he had never had the time to study it, besides which he considered himself too old to learn a foreign language. the emperor next asked what was the feeling in france towards china. my father replied that they were very friendly at that time, but that immediately after the boxer trouble the post of minister had been a very embarrassing one. her majesty said that it had been an unfortunate affair, but she was glad that everything was now settled satisfactorily. she told my father that he was to get well again as quickly as possible, and the audience came to an end. afterwards her majesty said that my father was looking very old since his return from france and that he would have to be careful and take things easy until he got stronger again. she was pleased that he had shown appreciation of her interest in my sister and myself. preparations were now commenced for celebrating the birthday of his majesty, the emperor kwang hsu, which was to take place on the th of that month. the actual date of the emperor's birthday was the th of the sixth moon, but this day, being the anniversary of the death of a previous emperor of china, we were unable to hold any festivities, and so it was always celebrated on the th day instead. the official celebration lasted for seven days, three days before and four days after the actual date. during that time the whole of the court dressed in official robes, and no business of any kind whatever was attended to. this being the emperor's nd birthday, and as the full celebrations only took place every tenth year, i. e. on his th birthday, his th birthday, and so on, the festivities were not carried out on a very grand scale. however, it was quite sufficient to interfere with all business, and the usual morning audiences did not take place during these seven days. the empress dowager herself was the only person who did not dress especially during these celebrations, and who did not take any active part in the festivities. another reason why the celebrations were not carried out on a very large scale was the fact that the empress dowager, being alive, she took precedence, according to the manchu custom, over the emperor himself, in fact she was the actual ruler of the country, the emperor being second. the emperor was quite aware of this fact, and when the empress commanded that preparations be commenced for the celebrations, the emperor would always suggest that it was not at all necessary to celebrate the occasion unless it happened to be a tenth year, and would very reluctantly agree to the festivities taking place. of course this was more out of politeness on the part of the emperor and to conform to the recognized etiquette, but the nation recognized this birthday and naturally celebrated according to the usual custom. during this period, therefore, the painting of the portrait was postponed. when the morning of the th arrived, the emperor dressed himself in his official robe-yellow gown, embroidered with gold dragons and coat of a reddish black color. of course, being the emperor, in place of the usual button on the hat he wore a large pearl. i might mention that the emperor was the only person who could wear this particular pearl in place of a button. he came as usual to wish her majesty chi hsiang and then proceeded to the temple to worship before the ancestral tablets. after this ceremony was over he returned to the empress dowager and kowtowed to her. all the chinese adopt this rule of kowtowing to their parents on their own birthdays, as a sign of reverence and respect. the emperor next proceeded to the audience hall, where all the ministers were assembled, and received their salutations and congratulations. this ceremony very often caused amusement, for to see several hundred people all bobbing their heads up and down, especially when they did not all manage to do it together, was a very funny sight. even the emperor himself had to laugh, it was such an extraordinary spectacle. the musical instruments which were used during the ceremony deserve a little description. the principal instrument is made of hard wood, and has a flat bottom about three feet in diameter, with a dome-shaped top raised about three feet from the ground. the inside is quite hollow. a long pole made of the same material is used as a drumstick, and an official, specially appointed, beats with all his might on the drum. the noise can be better imagined than described. this is used as a signal to announce when the emperor takes his seat upon the throne. in addition to the above, a full sized model of a tiger, also made of similar hard wood, and having twenty-four scales on its back, is brought into the courtyard. in this case they did not beat the instrument, but scraped along its back over the scales, which emitted a noise similar to the letting off simultaneously of innumerable crackers. this noise was kept up during the whole of the ceremony, and what with the drum and this tiger instrument it was sufficient to deafen one. during the ceremony, an official crier used to call out the different orders, such as when to kneel, bow, stand up, kowtow, etc., etc., but with the noise it was quite impossible to hear a single word of what he uttered. another instrument was composed of a frame made of wood, about eight feet high by three feet broad. across this frame were three wooden bars, from which was suspended twelve bells, made out of pure gold. when these were struck with a wooden stick the sound was not at all unlike the dulcimer, only, of course, very much louder. this was placed on the right side of the audience hall. on the left side a similar instrument was placed, with the exception that the bells were carved out of white jade. the music which could be brought out of the instrument was very sweet. when this ceremony of receiving the ministers was concluded, the emperor proceeded to his private palace, where the young empress (his wife), the secondary wife and all the court ladies were gathered, and, after kowtowing, all of the court ladies present, led by the young empress, knelt before him and presented him with a ru yee. this is a kind of sceptre. some are made out of pure jade, while others are made out of wood inlaid with jade. this ru yee is a symbol of good luck and was supposed to bring happiness and prosperity to the person to whom it was presented. the ceremony was gone through to the accompaniment of music played on string instruments, which was very sweet. next the eunuchs were received by the emperor, and they similarly congratulated him, but without the accompaniment of music. after the eunuchs came the servant girls, and the whole of the ceremony was over. the emperor next proceeded to her majesty's palace, where he knelt before her majesty and thanked her for the celebration which had been given in his honor, after which her majesty, accompanied by the whole court, went to the theatre to see the play. on arrival at the theatre we were all presented by her majesty with sweetmeats, this being the custom on these occasions, and after a little while her majesty retired for her afternoon rest. thus the celebration ended. two days after the celebration the seventh moon commenced. the seventh day of the seventh moon was the occasion of another important anniversary. the two stars, niu lang (capricorn) and chih nu (lyra) are supposed to be the patrons of agriculture and weaving and, according to tradition, were at one time man and wife. as the result of a quarrel, however, they were doomed to live apart, being separated from each other by the "milky way." but on the seventh day of the seventh moon of each year they are allowed to see each other and the magpies are supposed to build a bridge to enable them to meet. the ceremony is rather peculiar. several basins full of water were placed so that the sun's rays would fall upon them. her majesty then took several tiny needles and dropped one into each basin. these floated on the water, casting a shadow across the bottom of the basins. these shadows took different forms, according to the position of the needle, and if the shadow took certain prescribed forms, the person throwing in the needle was supposed to be very lucky and clever, while if they represented certain other forms, they were despised by the gods as being ignorant. in addition, her majesty burned incense and offered up prayers to the two gods referred to. this was always a sad moon for her majesty, it being the anniversary of the death of her husband, the emperor hsien feng, who died on the th of that month. the fifteenth of the seventh moon each year is the day of the festival for the dead, and early in the morning the court moved to the sea palace in order to sacrifice. the chinese hold that when a person dies, his soul still remains on the earth, and on these anniversaries they burn imitation money, the belief being that the soul of the departed one will benefit to the extent of the amount of money so represented. on the anniversary above referred to her majesty sent for hundreds of buddhist priests to pray for those unfortunate people who had died without leaving anyone who could sacrifice for them. on the evening of this day, her majesty and all her court ladies set out in open boats on the lake, where imitation lotus flowers were arranged as lanterns, with a candle placed in the centre, which formed a sort of floating light, the idea being to give light to the spirits of those who had departed during the year, so as to enable them to come and receive the blessings which had been prepared for them. her majesty ordered us to light the candles and place the flowers on the water ourselves, as she said it would be appreciated by the spirits of the dead. some of the eunuchs had told her majesty that they had actually seen some of these spirits, which assertion was thoroughly believed. although she had never seen them herself, she accounted for this by the fact that she was of too high a rank and the spirits were afraid of her, but she ordered all the rest of us to keep a sharp lookout and tell her if we saw anything. of course we didn't see anything, but many of the court ladies were so frightened that they closed their eyes for fear they might see something supernatural. her majesty was devoted to the late emperor hsien feng, and she was very sad and morose during this period. we all had to be very careful indeed not to upset her in any way, as she would find fault on the slightest provocation. she hardly had a word to say to any of us, and cried almost incessantly. i could hardly understand the reason for such grief, seeing that the emperor had died so many years previously. none of the court ladies were allowed to dress in light-coloured gowns during the whole of the seventh moon. we all dressed either in dark blue or pale blue, while her majesty herself dressed in black every day without exception. even her handkerchiefs were black. the theatres which were usually opened on the first and fifteenth of each month, were closed during the seventh moon. there was no music, and everything was conducted in the most solemn manner; in fact, the whole court was in deep mourning. on the morning of the seventeenth day of the seventh moon, her majesty visited the late emperor's tablet, and knelt there crying for quite a while. in order to show respect for the late emperor, none of us were allowed to eat meat for three days. this being my first year at the palace, it appeared to me very strange, after the customary gaiety and noise. of course i felt very sorry for her majesty, as i could see that it was a genuine display of grief and was not in any way put on. as i was her favorite at that time, she kept me close to her side during this sad period. the young empress said to me one day: "her majesty is very much attached to you, and i think you had better stay with her for the time being." this i did, and i was so miserable myself that when her majesty commenced crying i would cry also. when she saw that i was crying, her majesty would immediately stop and ask me not to cry. she would tell me that i was too young to cry, and that in any case i did not know what real sorrow was as yet. during the conversations we had at that time she would tell me quite a lot about herself. on one occasion she said: "you know i have had a very hard life ever since i was a young girl. i was not a bit happy when with my parents, as i was not the favorite. my sisters had everything they wanted, while i was, to a great extent, ignored altogether. when i first came to the court, a lot of the people were jealous of me because i was considered to be a beautiful woman at that time. i must say myself that i was a clever one, for i fought my own battles, and won them, too. when i arrived at court the late emperor became very much attached to me and would hardly glance at any of the other ladies. fortunately, i was lucky in giving birth to a son, as it made me the emperor's undisputed favorite; but after that i had very bad luck. during the last year of his reign the emperor was seized with a sudden illness. in addition to this the foreign soldiers burnt down the palace at yuen ming yuen, so we fled to jehol. of course everybody knows what took place at that time. i was still a young woman, with a dying husband and a young son. the east empress dowager's nephew was a bad man, who coveted the throne, which he had no right to in any event, as he was not of royal blood. i would not wish anyone to experience what i myself passed through at that time. when the emperor was in a dying condition, being practically unconscious of what was taking place around him, i took my son to his bedside and asked him what was going to be done about his successor to the throne. he made no reply to this, but, as has always been the case in emergencies, i was equal to the occasion, and i said to him: 'here is your son,' on hearing which he immediately opened his eyes and said: 'of course he will succeed to the throne.' i naturally felt relieved when this was settled once and for all. these words were practically the last he spoke, for he died immediately afterwards. although it is now so many years ago, i can see him now in that dying condition, just as though it all happened only yesterday. "i thought that i could be happy with my son as the emperor tung chi, but unfortunately he died before he was twenty years of age. since that time i have been a changed woman, as all happiness was over as far as i was concerned when he died. i had also quite a lot of trouble with the east empress dowager and found it very difficult to keep on good terms with her. however, she died five years after the death of my son. in addition to all this, when the emperor kwang hsu was brought to me as a baby three years old, he was a very sickly child, and could hardly walk, he was so thin and weak. his parents seemed to be afraid of giving him anything to eat. you know his father was prince chung, and his mother was my sister, so of course he was almost the same as my own son, in fact i adopted him as such. even now, after all my trouble on his account, he is not in perfect health. as you know, i have had plenty of other troubles beside these, but it is useless to mention them now. i am disappointed with everything, as nothing has turned out as i had expected." with this remark her majesty commenced crying afresh. continuing, she said: "people seem to think that just because i am the empress dowager that i am bound to be happy, but what i have just told you is not all. i have gone through much more than that. if ever anything went wrong, i was always the one who was blamed. the censors even dare to impeach me once in a while. however, i am philosopher enough to take things for what they are worth, otherwise i would have been in my own grave long, long ago. just imagine how small minded these people are. amongst other things they objected to my transferring my court to the summer palace during the hot weather, although i could do no harm by being there. even in the short time you have spent at court, you can see that i am unable to decide anything alone, while whenever they want anything they consult with each other and then present their petition to me, which, unless it is something of a very serious nature, i never think of refusing." after the time set apart for mourning had expired, we all went back to the summer palace, where miss carl re-commenced her work on her majesty's portrait. her majesty apparently soon got tired of this portrait painting, for one day she asked me when i thought it would be finished. she was afraid that it would not be finished by the time the cold weather came on, when we always removed the court to the forbidden city, and she said it would be a lot of trouble and inconvenience to have to continue the portrait there. i told her majesty that it could easily be arranged and that she need not worry herself. after i had been posing in her majesty's place for several days her majesty asked me whether miss carl had said anything about it, and if she did, i was to inform her that it was a command from her majesty, and that i dare not make any further suggestions in that respect. so we had no further trouble with miss carl after that. i had, however, quite a lot of trouble with the eunuchs, who, in spite of her majesty's instructions, were anything but polite to miss carl. of course miss carl herself did not know this. i tried to make them behave better by threatening to tell her majesty about them, which had a good effect for a while, but they were soon as bad as ever. at the commencement of the eighth moon, her majesty always attended to the transplanting of her chrysanthemums, which was one of her favorite flowers, so each day she would take us with her to the west side of the lake and, assisted by us, would cut the tops of the young plants and set them in flower pots. i was very much surprised at this, as there were no roots, only the stems of the flowers, but her majesty assured me that they would soon grow into very pretty plants. every day we went over to water these flowers until they began to bud. in case it rained heavily, her majesty would order some of the eunuchs to go over and cover up these chrysanthemum plants with mats, so that they would not be broken. it was characteristic of her majesty that, no matter what other business she had to attend to, her flowers had her first consideration and she would, if necessary, even go without her usual rest in order to superintend them personally. she also spent quite a time in looking after her orchard, where she had planted apple trees, pear trees, etc. another thing which i began to notice was that when the spring and summer days had passed, she got quite irritable and sad, while in the winter she was simply unbearable. she loathed cold weather. one day, during the eighth moon, her majesty was taken slightly ill, and complained of suffering from severe headaches. this was the only time i ever saw her majesty actually sick. she, however, got up as usual in the morning, and held audience, but was unable to take her luncheon, and very soon had to retire to her bed. several doctors were summoned, each of whom took her pulse. this was quite a ceremony in itself. the doctors knelt at the bedside, and her majesty stretched forth her arm, resting her hand upon a small pillow which was provided for that purpose. after this each doctor wrote out his prescription, all of which were different from each other. we handed them to her majesty, who chose the one which she thought was the nicest to take, and two attendants and the doctor himself had to take a dose in her presence before she would touch it. then she would take it all right. during this time it rained a great deal and was very hot. the climate at this time of the year is very damp, which causes the flies to make their appearance in millions. if there was one thing more than another that her majesty detested it was these flies. during the actual summer they were not so troublesome as at this particular time. of course every precaution was taken to keep them away, a eunuch being posted at each door, provided with sort of a switch made of horse hair fastened at the end of a bamboo pole. we were never troubled by mosquitoes, however; in fact i never saw a mosquito curtain in the palace during the whole of my stay there. these flies were an abomination, and in spite of all that could be done a few would find their way into the rooms. whenever they alighted on her majesty she would scream, while if by any chance one were to alight on her food she would order the whole lot to be thrown away. this would spoil her appetite for the whole day and put her into a terrible temper as well. whenever she saw one anywhere near her, she would order whoever happened to be present to go and catch it. i myself often received this order, but i detested them almost as much as her majesty did, they were so dirty, and stuck to one's hands whenever they touched them. after her illness her majesty was indisposed more or less for quite a long time, and doctors were constantly in attendance. she took so many different kinds of medicine that instead of getting better she got worse and eventually contracted a fever. her majesty was very much afraid of fevers of any kind and we had to stay with her all night and all day and had to take our meals whenever we could get away from her bedside for a few minutes. another peculiarity was her majesty's aversion for any kind of perfume near her when she was sick, while when she was feeling well she was simply smothered in it. the same applied to fresh flowers; in spite of her love for them under ordinary conditions, when she was sick she could not bear them anywhere near. her nerves became absolutely unstrung, as she was unable to sleep during the day, and consequently the time passed very slowly to her. in order to make the time pass a little less tediously, she gave instructions for one of the better educated eunuchs to read to her during the daytime. this reading generally consisted of ancient chinese history, poetry and all kinds of chinese lore, and while the eunuch was reading to her we had to stand by her bedside, one of us being told off to massage her legs, which seemed to soothe her somewhat. this same program was gone through every day until she was completely herself again--some ten days later. one day her majesty asked me: "what kind of medicine does a foreign doctor usually give in case of a fever? i have heard that they make you take all kinds of pills. this must be very dangerous, as you never know what they are made of. here in china all medicines are made from roots, and i can always find out whether i am receiving the right medicine, as i have a book which explains what each different medicine is for. another thing i have heard is that foreign doctors generally operate on you with a knife, while we cure the same sickness by means of our medicine. li lien ying told me that one of our little eunuchs had a boil on his wrist and someone advised him to go to the hospital. of course they didn't know what they would do, and the foreign doctor there opened the boil with a knife, which frightened the child very much. i was very much surprised when i heard he was all right again in a couple of days." continuing, her majesty said: "a year ago one of the foreign ladies came to the palace, and hearing me cough a lot, gave me some black pills and told me to swallow them. i did not like to offend her, so i took the pills and told her i would take them by and bye. however, i was afraid to take them and threw them away." of course i answered that i didn't know much about medicines, to which she replied that she had seen me take foreign medicines whenever i was not feeling well. she then said: "of course i know there are people in peking who do take the medicines given them by foreign doctors and even some of my own relatives patronize these foreigners also. they try not to let me know, but i do know for all that. in any case, if they choose to kill themselves by taking these things, it is none of my business; that is the reason why, when they are sick, i never send my own doctors to attend them." when her majesty had completely recovered from her illness she used to go out on the lake a great deal, sometimes in an open boat and at other times in a steam launch. she always appeared to enjoy this kind of thing. for some reason or other she always insisted on taking the west side of the lake, which was very shallow, and invariably the launch would get stuck fast in the mud, which seemed to afford her majesty great enjoyment; she simply loved to feel the launch strike the bottom. the open boats would then come alongside and we would have to get out of the launch and enter the boats and proceed to the top of the nearest hill to watch the efforts of the eunuchs trying to refloat the launch. it was a characteristic of her majesty to experience a keen sense of enjoyment at the troubles of other people. the eunuchs knew this quite well, and whenever opportunity offered, they would do something which they thought would amuse her majesty. so long as it was nothing of a serious nature her majesty would always overlook it, but in case it proved serious or was carelessness, she would always order them to be severely punished. thus it was very hard to tell just what to do in order to please her. another of her majesty's peculiarities was inquisitiveness. for example: as i have stated before, it was the custom for her majesty to have sweetmeats brought to her before every meal, and after she had finished with them, the remainder were distributed among the court ladies. whenever it happened that we were very busy, we did not bother with the sweetmeats at all, which her majesty very soon found out. one day, after she had finished dining, she came and looked through the window to see what we were doing, and saw some of the eunuchs eating the sweetmeats which she had given to us. she did not say anything, but simply ordered that the sweetmeats should be brought back again, making us believe that she wanted some more herself. i knew that there was something wrong, as she never ordered them back before. when she saw what was left of them, she asked who had been eating so many, as they were nearly all finished, but she got no reply--we were all too scared. however, after thinking it over, i came to the conclusion that it would be best to tell her the truth, for i was quite certain that she knew anyhow. so i told her that we had all been very busy and had forgotten all about the sweetmeats, and that the eunuchs had come and taken them themselves, and i added that this was not the first time they had done so. i was rather glad that she had given me this opportunity to report the eunuchs, for her majesty replied that if she intended the eunuchs to have sweetmeats, she herself could give them some, but thought it a lack of appreciation on our part not eating them ourselves after she had been so kind as to provide them for us. she turned to me, and said: "i am glad that you have told the truth, as i saw myself what was happening." she gave orders that the offending eunuchs should each have three months' wages deducted as a punishment, but of course i knew very well they didn't mind that, as they were making many times the amount of their salary in other ways. on my return to the sitting room, one of the court ladies said: "you should not have told her majesty about the eunuchs, they are sure to revenge themselves in some way." i asked how they could possibly injure me in any way, as they were only servants, but she told me that they would find some underhand way in which to get even with me, this being their general custom. of course i knew the eunuchs were a bad lot, but could not see what cause they had to be against me in any way. i knew they dare not say anything against me to her majesty, so i forgot all about the matter. i found out afterwards that one of the tricks they used to play on any of the court ladies who offended them was to try and prejudice her majesty against us. for instance, if her majesty told one of the eunuchs that a certain thing should be done, instead of telling me what her majesty wanted, the eunuch would go off to one of the other ladies and tell her. in this way her majesty would get the impression that i was too lazy to wait upon her myself, and of course the other lady would get all the credit. although her majesty was very kind to me, also the young empress, it was very hard to get along with eunuchs, and it was not good policy to offend them in any way. they regarded themselves as being exclusively the servants of her majesty, the empress dowager, and refused to take instructions from anybody else, consequently they were often very rude to the other ladies of the court, not even excepting the young empress. everything proceeded as usual until the eighth moon, when the emperor was to sacrifice at the "temple of the sun." on this occasion the emperor wore a red robe. about this time mrs. conger asked for a private audience, as she wanted to see her majesty and at the same time see how the portrait was progressing. her majesty replied that she would receive her and gave orders accordingly. at this private audience mrs. conger brought into the court two of her relatives to be presented to her majesty, besides miss campbell and a missionary lady. as it was a private audience, the guests were conducted to her majesty's private palace. they were received in the hall which was being used as studio for this lady artist, although her majesty was out of patience with the portrait painting, and talked to us a great deal about it, yet when she saw mrs. conger and the others she was extremely polite and told them that the portrait was going to be a masterpiece. she was in an unusually good humor that day and told me to give orders to the eunuchs to open all the buildings and show them to her guests. her majesty led the way from one room to another and showed them her curios in the different rooms, until she came to rest in one of the bedrooms, when she ordered chairs to be brought in for the guests. there were many chairs in this room, but they were really small thrones of her majesty's, although they looked like any ordinary chairs. the custom is that no matter what kind of a chair it may be, as soon as she uses it, it is at once called her throne and no one is allowed to sit on it thereafter unless the order is given by her. during the time the eunuchs were bringing in the chairs kept purposely for foreigners to use, one of the ladies of the party made a mistake and sat upon one of her majesty's thrones. i noticed her at once, and before i had a chance to warn her, her majesty made a sign of annoyance to me. i went to this lady at once and told her i wanted to show her something and naturally she was obliged to get up. the trouble was this, although her majesty felt that no one had the right to sit upon her throne, she expected me to get this lady off the chair and at the same time not to tell her the reason why. while i was busy interpreting for her, she said in an undertone: "there she is again, sitting on my bed. we had better leave this room." after this the ladies were conducted to the refreshment room, and when they had partaken of lunch, bade her majesty good-bye, leaving miss carl with us. as usual we reported to her that we had seen the guests safely off. she said to me: "that was a funny lady: first she sat upon my throne, and then upon my bed. perhaps she does not know what a throne is when she sees one, and yet foreigners laugh at us. i am sure that our manners are far superior to theirs. another thing--did you notice that mrs. conger handed a parcel to miss carl out in the courtyard when she came in?" i replied that i had noticed her passing something like a parcel, but could not tell what the parcel contained. she thereupon told me to go and ask miss carl what it was. at that time i had received so many peculiar orders from her majesty that i was beginning to get accustomed to them and used my own discretion in carrying out her instructions. therefore i did not ask miss carl, but set about finding out for myself. however, when i began to look around for the parcel, it had mysteriously disappeared and i could not find the thing anywhere. this naturally worried me, knowing as i did that her majesty liked her instructions carried out quickly. while i was searching, one of the eunuchs came in and told me that her majesty wanted to see me, and of course i had to go to her. before she could say anything to me, i informed her majesty that i had not been able to ask miss carl about the parcel as she was asleep, but would do so immediately she got up. her majesty said: "i don't want miss carl to think i have told you to ask what the parcel contains, otherwise she might think i am suspicious of what is going on, so you must manage to get the information somehow without mentioning the matter; you are clever enough to do that much." shortly afterwards, while i was walking along with miss carl to her majesty's palace, to proceed with the portrait, i noticed that she was carrying the parcel in question, which was a great relief to me, i can assure you. on arrival at the palace, miss carl said to me: "you need not trouble to pose at present, as it is rather dark, and i can be painting the throne; you can look through this magazine, if you like, to pass the time away." so i opened up the parcel, which proved to contain nothing more than an ordinary american monthly magazine. after glancing through the book, i made an excuse to hurry away and inform her majesty. however, she had already gone out for her usual trip on the lake, so i took my chair and followed. when i reached the lake, her majesty, who had seen me, sent a small boat and i was rowed out to the launch. before i could get a chance to speak, her majesty said with a smile: "i know all about it, it was a book and miss carl handed it to you to read." i was very much disappointed that i had had my journey for nothing. i knew that the eunuchs would report it to her majesty at the first opportunity, but i hardly expected they would have done so already. her majesty was now quite satisfied, and simply asked whether miss carl suspected that she had enquired about the matter. as i was about to return to miss carl, her majesty called me and said: "there is one thing i want to tell you and that is whenever any foreign ladies are visiting the palace, always keep close to the emperor so that in the event of their speaking to him you can interpret." i answered that so far whenever any foreigners were present i was present also and did not think that anybody had held any conversation with the emperor whatsoever. she explained that her reason for mentioning this was that she wanted me to be just as courteous to the emperor as i was to herself, and i was to place myself entirely at his disposal whenever visitors were present. of course i knew very well that this was not the true reason at all but that she wanted to take every precaution to preclude the possibility of foreigners influencing the emperor in matters of reform, etc. chapter fifteen--the mid-autumn festival on the fifteenth day of the eighth moon came the celebration of the mid-autumn festival, sometimes called the moon festival. this name is derived from the belief which the chinese hold that the moon is not permanently round when full, but that on this particular day it is a perfect circle. the ceremony which is gone through is conducted entirely by the court ladies and consists of worshiping the moon as soon as it appears in the sky. in other respects the celebrations are exactly the same as in the dragon boat festival, presents were exchanged between her majesty and the court officials. the festival concluded with a theatrical performance which describes a scene in the moon. the belief is that a beautiful maiden lives in the moon, her only companion being a white rabbit, called a jade rabbit. according to the play this rabbit escapes from the moon to the earth and becomes a young and beautiful girl. a golden rooster which lives in the sun, becoming aware of the rabbit's descent to the earth, himself descends from the sun and changes into a handsome prince. of course they very naturally meet and immediately fall in love. now, on the earth lived another rabbit--a red one, who, on finding out what was going on, changed himself into a prince also and set about making love to the beautiful maiden with the object of cutting out the rooster. however, he was seriously handicapped inasmuch as he was unable to change the color of his face, which remained red, therefore his love making met with no success and the rooster prince had it all his own way. at this point, the beautiful maiden in the moon, on discovering her loss, sent the soldiers of heaven to re-capture her rabbit, with the result that she was taken back to the moon and the rooster being left alone, had no alternative but to reluctantly return to his home in the sun. during this performance the head eunuch brought a young man into the courtyard, who kowtowed to her majesty. this was such an unusual occurrence that everybody noticed it. i could see that he was a stranger and did not belong to the court and i wondered who he could be. at the other end of the veranda i saw two or three of the court ladies whispering together and smiling. they finally came over to me and asked if i knew who he was. i told them that he was a stranger to me and they ought to know better than i did as they had been at the court much longer. anyhow i gave it as my opinion that he was decidedly ugly. that same evening her majesty asked me whether i had noticed this young man, and told me that he was the son of a very high manchu official; that his father was dead and that he had succeeded to the title and to a large amount of money. i was surprised that her majesty should give such a lengthy explanation about this young man, but i told her that i did not think him very handsome. her majesty was talking in a very serious manner but i did not think anything of the occurrence at the time but a few days later while i was posing for the portrait i heard her majesty whispering to my mother at the other end of the room. i saw that her majesty was holding a photograph in her hands which she showed to my mother, at the same time asking whether my mother considered him good looking. my mother answered "not very." on her majesty replying that beauty was not everything i began to suspect that there was something going on which directly concerned me. i began to think of some excuse in order to get out of what i could plainly see was a proposed marriage between myself and this gentleman. i knew that if her majesty had made up her mind that i was to marry him i could not help myself, but, at the same time, i made up my own mind that rather than marry anyone whom i did not like, especially one i had never seen before, i would leave the court altogether. when her majesty retired for her usual afternoon rest she told me she wanted to see me for a moment. after beating about the bush for some time, she asked me whether i would like to stay with her always or whether i would like to go away again to some foreign country. i at once answered that i was quite satisfied to stay with her as long as she cared to have me but that when she was tired of me she could then send me away. her majesty informed me that it had been her intention to marry me to this young gentleman and asked my opinion. i told her that i did not want to get married at all, especially seeing that my father was sick at this time, and leaving home to go to live apart from my family would break his heart and perhaps be the cause of his premature death. her majesty said that was no excuse as i should not have to go out of china but would be able to see my father and family any time i wished. i told her majesty that i would much rather stay with her altogether and that i did not want to marry anybody. her majesty then said: "i won't listen to any excuse. i have already explained everything to your mother, but much to my surprise she said it would be better to mention it to you first, on account of your having been brought up differently from the rest of the court ladies. had it not been for this fact i would simply have arranged everything with your mother and the matter would have been settled so far as you were concerned." i could not say anything in answer to this, so commenced to cry. i told her majesty that i was not like the rest of the court ladies who pretended they did not want to marry, when all the time they were simply looking forward to getting married, if only for the change from the monotony of court life. i promised that i would stay with her forever, and that i had no desire to go away from china again. i explained that i should not have gone away at all had it not been that my father was transferred to paris. her majesty said: "oh, well, i am very glad that you did go away as you are more useful to me than you would have been had you stayed in china all your life." after a lot more discussion her majesty said: "well, i will leave you to think the matter over. if you don't like the young man i have chosen there are plenty of others," which remark did not help me very much as i could see that she meant to marry me off anyway. however, i had managed to get out of it this time, and thought i would be able to arrange matters satisfactorily should the question come up again. nothing further was said about the matter until nearly a month later when i heard that a marriage had been arranged between this gentleman and the daughter of one of the princes. so everything ended very satisfactorily from my point of view. the twenty-sixth day of the eighth moon was the occasion of another celebration. at the time the manchu dynasty began, emperor shung chih, who had fought very hard to gain the throne, found himself on the twenty-sixth day of the eighth moon, absolutely out of provisions of every kind and it was necessary for him and his army to live on the leaves of trees, which was the only form of food obtainable at the time. thus the anniversary of this day, even up to the present time, is always celebrated by the manchu people, who deny themselves all luxuries, especially at the court. we did not eat any meat on that day, but only rice wrapped in lettuce leaves. chopsticks were also discarded and the food was conveyed to the mouth by the hands alone. even the empress dowager was no exception to this rule. this is done in order to remind the present generation of the privation suffered by their ancestors who established the manchu dynasty. towards the close of the eighth moon her majesty's gourd plants, which had been planted early in the spring, were ripening, and each day she would take us all to see what progress they were making. she would pick out those which she considered to be the most perfect in form, i. e., those with the smallest waist and tie ribbons around them so as not to lose sight of them. she pointed to one of these plants one day, and said to me: "this reminds me of yourself when dressed in foreign clothes. surely you feel more comfortable in the clothes you are now wearing." when these gourds were quite ripe they were cut down and her majesty would scrape the outer skin with a bamboo knife, afterwards wiping the fruit with a wet cloth. they were then allowed to dry and after a few days they would assume a brownish color, when they were ready for hanging as ornaments in the summer palace. in one room alone there were over , of these gourds, of different shapes. it was the duty of the court ladies to periodically wipe these gourds with a cloth, in order to give them a shiny appearance, and also to scrape any new ones which were pulled and prepare them for the palace. none of us cared very much about this work excepting her majesty. one day whilst attending to these gourds i happened to knock the top off one of the old ones which was her majesty's particular favorite. i dared not go and tell her majesty what had happened and one of the court ladies suggested throwing the thing away altogether and saying nothing about it as her majesty would not be likely to find it out, having so many of them. however, i finally decided to go and tell her majesty about it, and take punishment if necessary. for a wonder her majesty did not make much bother about it. she said: "well it was quite an old one in any case and the top was ready to drop off at any time; it so happens that you were the one to wipe it, and of course it came off. it can't be helped." i told her majesty that i was very much ashamed at being so careless, especially as i knew it was one of her favorites, and there the matter ended. all the rest of the court ladies were in the waiting room and were anxious to know how i would get out of it, and when i told them they said that had it been any of them there would have been a fine row. they laughed, and said it must be nice to be a favorite which made me feel very uncomfortable. i told the young empress exactly what had happened, and she said i was quite right to tell her majesty the truth and told me to be very careful as there was much jealousy going on. at the beginning of the ninth moon the chrysanthemums commence to bud and it was the duty of the ladies of the court to go and trim them each day by cutting away all the buds except one on each stalk. this trimming gives the flower a better chance of developing, a much larger blossom being the result. even her majesty would help with this work. she was very particular about these plants, and would not allow any of us to meddle with them if our hands were not perfectly cool, as to touch them with hot hands would cause the leaves to shrivel up. these flowers are generally in full bloom about the end of the ninth moon or beginning of the tenth moon. her majesty had a wonderful gift of being able to tell what kind of flower would bloom from each separate plant, even before the buds appeared. she would say: "this is going to be a red flower," and we would place a bamboo stick in the flower pot, with the name written on it. then another, her majesty would declare to be a white one and we would place a similar bamboo stick in the flower pot, with the description, and so on. her majesty said: "this is your first year at the palace and no doubt you are surprised at what you have just seen and heard me say, but i have never yet made a mistake. for you will see when the flowers commence to bloom." it was a fact as everything turned out exactly as she had predicted. none of us ever knew how she was able to distinguish one from the other, but she was always right. i did once ask her to explain how she was able to tell but she answered that it was a secret. all this time the portrait was proceeding very slowly and one day her majesty asked me how long i thought it would be before it was finished and what the custom in europe was as regards remuneration for such a portrait. i replied that it was customary to pay very handsomely, but she would not hear of such a suggestion, saying that in china it was not the custom and that it would be regarded as an insult to offer money for such a service. she suggested decorating miss carl as a reward for her services, which she considered would be appreciated far more than a money present. there was nothing for me to say at this time but i determined to mention the matter again when a favorable opportunity occurred. during the ninth moon a russian circus visited peking and of course everybody talked of little else. her majesty, hearing so much talk about this circus asked what it was like, and after we had explained to her, she became very interested and said that she would like to see it. my mother thought it would be a good idea to have the circus brought up to the summer palace, where they could perform, so she asked her majesty whether this might be done. her majesty was delighted with the idea, and arrangements were accordingly made for the performance. while everything was being fixed, the people belonging to the circus, and the animals, were quartered near our own house and we had to feed them at our own expense. however, we wanted to show her majesty what a circus was like so the expense did not matter. it took them two days to erect the tent and make all necessary preparations, and during this time her majesty received reports as to what was being done, and the progress they were making. the day before the performance, we noticed that her majesty, on coming from her audience, looked very angry, and on our enquiring what was the matter she informed my mother and myself that some censors had raised objections against having this circus in the palace grounds, as there had never been anything of this kind allowed before and they had begged her majesty to give up the idea. her majesty was very angry, and said: "you see how much power i have here; i cannot even have a circus without somebody raising objections. i think we had better pay them something and let them go away." of course we agreed to anything she thought best. after considering for a time her majesty jumped up and said: "they have the tent up already; they will talk just the same whether we have the circus or not; i will have it anyway." so the performance duly took place and her majesty and all the court were delighted. one item consisted of a young girl walking and dancing on a large globe. this especially pleased her majesty and she insisted on the performance being repeated several times. another item of interest was the trapeze act. of course nobody present with the exception of my mother, sister and myself had ever seen a circus performance before, and her majesty was very much afraid that the man would fall from the trapeze and kill himself. another thing which interested her majesty was the bare-back riding, which she thought simply wonderful. the only objection to the whole show which she raised was when it was suggested to bring in the lions and tigers, etc. she said it was not safe to bring wild beasts into the palace and that she would rather not see this part of the performance. the proprietor of the circus, however, brought in a small baby elephant which performed several clever tricks. this delighted her majesty more than anything else and when the proprietor saw how pleased she was he offered the elephant as a present, which she accepted. however, after the performance was over we tried to make him go through his tricks again but he would not budge an inch, so we had to give it up as a bad job and send him away to be placed along with the other elephants belonging to the palace. altogether there were three performances given by the circus, and before the final performance, the circus manager told me that he would very much like to show the lions and tigers: there was no chance of any accident and it really would be worth seeing. so after a lot of discussion her majesty finally consented to allow them to be brought in but on the distinct understanding that they should not be let out of their cages. when they were brought in the ring all the eunuchs gathered around her majesty, and after remaining in the ring for a few minutes her majesty ordered them to be taken away again. she said: "i am not afraid for myself, but they might get loose and hurt some of the people." this item finished the whole of the performance and the circus departed richer by some taels , which her majesty had ordered to be given to them. for the next couple of days we discussed the merits of the circus but afterwards, her majesty, when referring to the subject, expressed great disappointment with the whole thing. she said she had expected something entirely different and far more wonderful. this was another characteristic of her majesty; nothing pleased her for more than five minutes at a time. she said to me: "i don't see anything at all wonderful in foreign accomplishments. take for instance this portrait which this lady is painting. i don't think it is going to be at all a good picture, it seems so rough. (her majesty did not understand oil painting). then again why should she always want to have the things before her while painting them. an ordinary chinese artist could paint my dress, shoes, etc., after seeing the things once. she cannot be very much of an artist in my opinion, though you need not tell her that i said so." continuing, her majesty said: "by the way, what do you talk about when you are posing for this portrait of mine; although i don't understand what she is saying, still i can see she has a lot to say. be sure not to tell her anything connected with the court life and do not teach her any chinese. i hear that she often asks what different things are called in chinese, but don't tell her. the less she knows the better for us. i can see that she has seen nothing of our ordinary court life, as yet. i wonder what she would say if she were to see one of the eunuchs being punished, or anything like that. she would think that we were savages, i suppose. i noticed the other day, when i was angry, that you took this lady artist away. this was very wise of you; it is better that she should not see me in a temper, she might talk about it afterwards. i wish this portrait was finished. the cool weather is coming on and we have to open up the boxes and get our winter clothes ready. you girls need winter clothes i know as you have none but foreign dresses. then, again, my birthday is next month and there will be the usual celebrations. after that we return to the sea palace, and what can we do with this artist? i suppose she will have to go back and stay at the american legation and come to the sea palace each day until the work is finished. this will be a lot of trouble as it is not ten minutes' drive as at present, but nearer an hour's drive. and even if this can be satisfactorily arranged, what about the winter palace in the forbidden city? try and get to know how long she expects to be before it is finished." this gave me an opportunity to tell her majesty that miss carl was just as anxious to get the work finished as she was to have it finished, but explained that miss carl had very little time to paint as her majesty could spare very little time to give personal sittings, and again, when her majesty went to lie down each afternoon, miss carl had to stop painting as she was working in the next room to her majesty's bedroom. her majesty replied: "well, if she expects me to sit for her all day long i will give up the whole thing at once," and then added: "i think you yourself are getting tired of sitting, and want me to take it up again, but i have already had quite enough of it." of course, i told her that instead of being tired of it, i enjoyed sitting on her throne, which i regarded as a great honor. i explained to her majesty that miss carl did not like me to pose in her place, as she could not get along so quickly as if she were to sit herself; but she simply said that i was acting under her commands, and that should be sufficient for me. for the next ten days we were kept very busy selecting materials for winter clothing and also official robes for my sister and myself to be worn during the forthcoming birthday celebrations. these dresses were full winter court dresses, of red satin embroidered with golden dragons and blue clouds, and were trimmed with gold braid and lined with grey squirrel. the cuffs and collars (which were turned down) were of sable. while her majesty was giving one of the eunuchs instructions as to how these were to be made, the young empress beckoned to me, and i went out. she said: "you go and kowtow to her majesty as it is a great favor for her to give you a dress trimmed with sable. this is usually only worn by a princess." so when i returned to the room i availed myself of the first opportunity to kowtow and thank her majesty for the great favor she had granted me. she answered: "you deserve it, and i see no reason why you should not be treated as a princess anyway; many of the princesses are not of the imperial family. any title may be bestowed for special services rendered to the country and you have been of more help to me than any other court lady i have ever had, and i can see that you are faithful in the discharge of your duties. you may think i do not notice these things, but i do. you are certainly entitled to be ranked as a princess, and in fact i never treat you different from the princesses, but rather better in many ways." turning to a eunuch she said: "bring my fur cap here." this cap was made of sable, trimmed with pearls and jade and her majesty explained that our caps would be something after the same style except that the crown, instead of being yellow as in the case of her majesty's cap, would be red. i was naturally delighted. in addition to the cap and full court dress her majesty had two ordinary dresses made for everyday wear, one lined with sheepskin and the other lined with grey squirrel. then she gave us four other dresses of finer material, lined with black and white fox skin, and all trimmed with gold braid and embroidered ribbons. in addition there were two other dresses, one of a pale pink color, embroidered with one hundred butterflies and the other of a reddish color embroidered with green bamboo leaves. several short jackets, also lined with fur, were also included in her majesty's present, and several sleeveless jackets went to complete the lot. on coming out of the room, one of the court ladies remarked that i was very lucky to receive so many clothes from her majesty and said that she had never received so many during the whole time she had been at the palace--nearly ten years. i could see she was jealous. the young empress, overhearing this conversation, joined us and told her that when i arrived at the palace i had nothing but foreign clothes and how was i to manage if her majesty did not get me the proper dresses. this incident was the beginning of another unpleasant time for me with the ladies of the court. at first i took no notice until one day one of the girls attached to the palace joined in the unkind remarks. she said that before my arrival she had been her majesty's particular favorite, but i gave her to understand that she had no right to discuss me in any way whatsoever. the young empress, who was present, spoke to them about their treatment of me and said that some fine day i would be telling her majesty about it. this seemed to have a good effect for they never troubled me much afterwards with their talk. chapter sixteen--the summer palace just about the end of the ninth moon her majesty began to tire of doing nothing day after day, and said: "what is the use of waiting until the first of the month to have the theatrical performance? let us have a performance to-morrow." so she gave instructions for the eunuchs to prepare for the play, which should be staged without the assistance of any outside actors. i might here mention that certain of the eunuchs were specially trained as actors and used to study their parts every day. indeed, they were far cleverer than the professionals from outside. her majesty gave the head eunuch the list of the plays she wished to be performed, which were for the most part dramatised fairy tales, and we had a performance the next day. after her majesty had gone to rest in the afternoon, during the theatrical performance i met the emperor returning to his own palace. i was surprised to see only one eunuch in attendance. this was the emperor's own private eunuch and he trusted him implicitly. he asked me where i was going and i told him i was going to my room to rest a while. he remarked that he had not seen me for quite a long time, which made me laugh as i saw him every morning at the audience. he said: "i don't get as much chance of chatting with you as formerly since this portrait painting began. i am afraid i am not making much progress with my english as i have nobody to help me now that your time is occupied with this lady artist. you appear to enjoy her company very much. all the same i suppose it is very monotonous. has she found out yet that you are there simply to keep an eye upon her?" i told him that i was very careful not to betray myself in any way and that i did not think she suspected she was being watched. the emperor then said: "i understand there is a rumor to the effect that when this lady has finished her majesty's portrait she is going to paint mine. i should very much like to know who says so." i told him this was the first i had heard about it so could not say. i asked him whether he would like to have his portrait painted but he only answered: "that is rather a difficult question for me to answer. you know best whether i ought to have it painted or not. "i see her majesty having so many photographs taken and even the eunuchs are in the picture." i understood at once what he meant, so i asked him if he wished me to take him with my little kodak. he looked surprised and asked: "can you take pictures, too? if it is not too risky for us, we might try it some day when we have an opportunity. don't forget, but i think we must be very careful." he then changed the conversation by saying: "well, now that we have time to talk i want to ask you a question and i expect you to answer me truly. what is the general opinion amongst the foreigners regarding myself? do they consider me a man of character and do they think me clever? i am very anxious to know." before i could say anything in answer to this question he continued: "i know very well that they regard me as nothing more than a boy, and as being of no consequence at all. tell me, is not this so?" i replied that many foreigners had asked me about him--as to what kind of man he was, but that they had never expressed any opinion of their own regarding him excepting that they understood he was in the best of health. "if any wrong impression does exist regarding myself and my position at the court," continued the emperor, "it is owing to the very conservative customs of the chinese court. i am not expected to either say or do anything on my own initiative, consequently outsiders never hear much about me and i am regarded as being nothing more than a figure-head. i know this is so. whenever they ask you about me in the future just explain to them exactly what my position here is. i have plenty of ideas regarding the development of this country but you know i am not able to carry them out as i am not my own master. i don't think the empress dowager herself has sufficient power to alter the state of things existing in china at present, and even if she has, she is not willing to. i am afraid it will be a long time before anything can be done towards reform." the emperor went on to say how nice it would be if he were allowed to travel about from place to place the same as the european monarchs, but of course such a thing was out of the question for him. i told him that several princesses had expressed a wish to visit the st. louis exposition and said i thought it would be a good thing if that could be arranged as they would see for themselves the difference between their own country and customs and foreign countries and customs. the emperor expressed doubts as to this permission being granted as such a thing had never been heard of before. we talked for quite a long time, mostly about foreign customs, and the emperor remarked that he would very much like to visit europe and see for himself how things were carried on there. just then one of my eunuchs came and said that her majesty was awake, so i had to hurry off to her room. we now arrive at the tenth moon. the first day it snowed, and the head eunuch enquired of her majesty whether it was her intention to celebrate her birthday at the summer palace as usual. as previously explained the summer palace was her majesty's favorite place of abode; so she replied in the affirmative and arrangements were accordingly made for the celebration to be held there as usual. the head eunuch then brought her majesty a list giving the names and ranks of all the princesses and the names of the wives and daughters of the manchu officials, and she selected those whom she wished to be present at the celebrations. on this occasion she selected forty-five ladies, who were duly informed that she desired their presence at the palace. i was standing behind her majesty's chair all this time, and she turned and said: "usually i do not ask many people to my birthday celebrations, but on this occasion i have made an exception as i want you to see the way they dress and how ignorant they are of court etiquette." the celebrations commenced on the sixth day of the tenth moon. miss carl, having returned to the american legation in peking for the time being, my mother, my sister and myself went back to the palace again. early on the morning of the sixth, the eunuchs decorated the verandas with different colored silks and hung lanterns all over the place and amongst the trees. at about seven o'clock in the morning the visitors began to arrive and i quite agreed with what her majesty had told me about them. the eunuchs introduced them to all the court ladies, but they seemed to have very little to say, appearing very shy. they were then conducted to the waiting room, but there were so many of them that we court ladies had to stand outside on the veranda. some of them were very expensively dressed, but their colors were, for the most part, very old fashioned, and their manners very awkward. we watched them for quite a while and then went off to report to her majesty. on such occasions as this her majesty was generally in pretty good spirits. she commenced asking us a lot of questions. amongst other things she asked whether we had noticed an elderly lady among the visitors, dressed as a bride. she explained that this lady was the only manchu lady present who was married to a chinese official, and had been invited because of her previous connection with the court. her majesty said she had never seen her herself, but understood that she was a very clever woman. we had not noticed such a person, and suggested that perhaps she had not yet arrived. her majesty dressed very quickly, and as soon as she was ready she came into the hall, where the head eunuch brought in the visitors and presented them to her majesty. we court ladies were all standing in a row behind the throne. as they came in, some kowtowed; others courtesied, while others did not do anything at all, in fact nobody appeared to know what to do with herself. her majesty spoke a few words of welcome and thanked them for the presents they had sent her. i would like to say here that, contrary to the general idea which exists, her majesty always expressed her thanks for any present or service rendered, no matter how insignificant. her majesty could see plainly that everybody was embarrassed and ordered the head eunuch to show them to their respective rooms, and told them to make themselves at home and to go and take a rest. they hesitated a moment, not knowing whether to go or not, until her majesty said to us: "take them and present them to the young empress." when we arrived at the palace of the young empress they were duly presented and were not nearly so shy as before. the young empress informed them that in case they desired to know anything or to be put right on any point of court etiquette, the court ladies would be pleased to give them all necessary information and she decided that the best way would be for each court lady to have charge of so many of the visitors, as it would not be nice to have any mistakes occur during the ceremony, on the tenth. so we each were allotted so many guests and had to look after them and instruct them how to act on the different occasions. during her majesty's afternoon rest i paid a visit to the guests i was to take charge of. among them was the bride referred to by her majesty. so i went and made myself agreeable to her and found her very interesting. she had evidently received a good education, unlike the majority of manchu ladies, as i found she could read and write chinese exceptionally well. i then explained to all of them what they would have to do, and how to address her majesty, should it be necessary to do so. i don't know whether i have mentioned it previously, but whenever anybody spoke to her majesty, they always addressed her as "great ancestor," and when referring to themselves, instead of the pronoun "i," they would say "your slave." in all manchu families a similar rule is observed, the pronouns "you" and "i" being dispensed with and the titles "mother" and "father" and the son's or daughter's first name being substituted. her majesty was very particular about this rule being strictly observed. for the next four days, until the day of the ceremony, these visitors passed their time in learning the court etiquette and going to the theatre. every morning, as usual, we waited on her majesty and reported anything of interest which had occurred during the previous day. then we all preceded her majesty to the theatre, where we awaited her arrival standing in the courtyard. on her majesty appearing, we would all kneel down until she had passed into the building opposite the stage, kneeling in rows--first the emperor, behind him the young princess, next the secondary wife, then the princesses and court ladies, and last of all the visitors. the first two days everything went of all right, but on the third morning the emperor, from whom we received the signal, suddenly turned and said: "her majesty is coming." down we all went on our knees, the emperor alone remaining standing and laughing at us. of course there was no sign of her majesty and everybody joined in the laugh. he was never so happy as when he could work off a joke like this. on the evening of the ninth, none of the court ladies went to bed, as we all had to be up betimes on the morning of the tenth. the visitors were told to proceed by chair to her majesty's special audience hall on the top of the hill, where they were to await our arrival. they arrived at the audience hall at three o'clock in the morning, and we followed soon afterwards, arriving there about daybreak. by and bye her majesty arrived and the ceremony commenced. this ceremony in no way differed from the one previously described in connection with the emperor's birthday, so there is no need to give particulars, except one thing. very early on the morning of the tenth, we had to bring another present to her and each of us brought a hundred birds of various kinds. each year, on her birthday, her majesty did a very peculiar thing. she would buy , birds with her own money, from her private purse and set them free. it was a very pretty sight to see those huge cages hung in the courtyard of the audience hall. her majesty would select the most lucky hour and order the eunuchs to carry the cages and to follow her. the hour selected was four o'clock in the afternoon. her majesty took the whole court with her to the top of the hill, where there was a temple. first she burnt sandal wood and offered up prayers to the gods, then the eunuchs, each with a cage of birds, knelt in front of her majesty and she opened each cage one after another and watched the birds fly away, and prayed to the gods that these birds should not be caught again. her majesty did this very seriously and we asked each other in whispers which bird we thought was the prettiest and would like to keep it for ourselves. among this lot there were a few parrots. some were pink; others were red and green; all were chained on stands, and when the eunuchs broke the chains, the parrots would not move. her majesty said: "how funny; each year a few parrots will not go away at all and i have kept them until they died. look at them now. they won't go away." by this time the head eunuch arrived. her majesty told him what had happened and he immediately knelt down and said: "your majesty's great luck. these parrots understand your majesty's kindness and would rather stay here and serve your majesty." this ceremony is called "fang sheng." it is considered a very meritorious action and will not fail of reward in heaven. one of the court ladies asked me what i thought of the parrots that would not fly away, and i told her that it was really very strange. she said: "it is very simple and not strange at all. these eunuchs, ordered by the head one, have bought these parrots long ago and trained them. during her majesty's afternoon rest, these parrots were brought to the top of the very same hill every day to accustom them to the place. the object of this is just to please and otherwise fool her majesty, to make her feel happy and believe that she is so merciful that even such dumb things would rather stay with her." continuing, she said: "the huge joke is this: while her majesty is letting the birds free, there are a few eunuchs waiting at the rear of the hill to capture them and sell them again, and so, no matter how her majesty prays for their freedom, they will be caught at once." the celebrations were continued until the thirteenth day. nobody did any work and all was gaiety and enjoyment, the theatre being open every day. towards the close of the thirteenth day the visitors were informed that the celebrations were at an end and they made arrangements to leave early the next morning. they all bade her majesty good-bye that evening and departed early the following day. for the next few days we were all busy preparing for removing to the sea palace. her majesty consulted her book and finally selected the d as being the most favorable day for this removal. so at six o'clock on the morning of the d the whole court left the summer palace. it was snowing very heavily and the journey was only accomplished with great difficulty. of course we were all in chairs, as usual, and the eunuchs who were not employed as chair-bearers rode horseback. many of the horses fell on the slippery stones and one of her majesty's chair-bearers also slipped and brought her majesty to the ground. all of a sudden i thought something dreadful had happened, horses galloping and eunuchs howling: "stop! stop!!" i heard someone saying: "see if she is still alive." the whole procession stopped and blocked the way. this happened on the stone road just before entering the western gate. finally we saw that her majesty's chair was resting on the ground, so we all alighted and went forward to see what had happened. a great many people were talking excitedly all at the same time, and for a moment i was rather frightened (for just about that time we heard a rumor that some of the revolutionists were going to take the life of the whole court, and, although we heard that, we did not dare tell her majesty), so i immediately went to her chair and found her sitting there composedly giving orders to the chief eunuch not to punish this chair-bearer, for he was not to blame, the stones being wet and very slippery. li lien ying said that would never do, for this chair-bearer must have been careless, and how dare he carry the old buddha in this careless way. after saying this, he turned his head to the beaters (these beaters, carrying bamboo sticks, went everywhere with the court, for such occasions as this) and said: "give him eighty blows on his back." this poor victim, who was kneeling on the muddy ground, heard the order. the beaters took him about a hundred yards away from us, pushed him down and started to do their duty. it did not take very long to give the eighty blows and, much to my surprise, this man got up, after receiving the punishment, as if nothing had happened to him. he looked just as calm as could be. while we were waiting a eunuch handed me a cup of tea, which i presented to her majesty, and asked her if she was hurt. she smiled and said it was nothing, ordering us to proceed on our journey. i must explain about this tea; the eunuchs had it prepared all the time and always carried a little stove along with hot water. although this went every time when the court moved, it was seldom used. as usual, all the court ladies take a short cut to the palace, so as to be ready to receive her majesty, when she arrived. after waiting in the courtyard for quite a long time, during which we were nearly frozen, her majesty arrived, and we all knelt until she had passed, and then followed her into the palace. her majesty also complained of the cold and ordered that fires should be brought into the hall. these fires were built in brass portable stoves lined with clay, and were lighted outside and brought into the hall after the smoke had passed off somewhat. there were four stoves in all. all the windows and doors were closed, there being no ventilation of any description, and very soon i began to feel sick. however, i went on with my work getting her majesty's things in order until i must have fainted, for the next thing i remembered was waking up in a strange bed and inquiring where i was, but on hearing her majesty giving orders in the next room, i knew it was all right. one of the court ladies brought me a cup of turnip juice which her majesty said i was to drink. i drank it and felt much better. i was informed that her majesty had gone to rest, and so i went off to sleep again myself. when i awoke, her majesty was standing by my bedside. i tried to get up, but found that i was too weak, so her majesty told me to lie still and keep quiet and i would soon be all right again. she said that i had better have a room close to her bedroom, and gave instructions for the eunuchs to remove me there as soon as it was prepared. every few minutes her majesty would send to inquire how i was progressing and whether i wanted anything to eat. it was the custom to stand up whenever receiving a message from her majesty, but it was out of the question for me to do so, although i tried, with the result that i made myself worse than ever. towards evening the head eunuch came to see me and brought several plates of sweetmeats. he was very nice, and told me that i was very fortunate, as her majesty very rarely bothered herself about any of the court ladies and that evidently she had taken a fancy to me. he sat talking for some little time, and told me to eat some of the sweetmeats. of course i was not able to eat anything at all, let alone sweetmeats, so i told him to leave them and i would eat them later. before leaving he said that in case i wanted anything i was to let him know. this visit was a great surprise to me, as usually he took very little notice of any of us, but i was told afterwards that the reason he was so nice was because her majesty showed such an interest in me. the next morning i was able to get up and resume my duties. i went in to see her majesty and kowtowed to her, thanking her for her kindness during my indisposition. her majesty said that the head eunuch had told her the previous evening that i was much better and that she was glad i was up and about again. she said it was nothing serious, simply that i was unaccustomed to the fumes from the fires, which had gone to my head. as the snow had stopped falling, her majesty decided that the next day we would go and choose a place for miss carl to continue the painting. i suggested that perhaps it would be better if we waited until miss carl arrived herself, so that she could choose a suitable place for her work, but her majesty said that would not do at all, because if it were left to miss carl, doubtless she would choose some impossible place. of course there were many parts of the palace which were kept quite private and miss carl would not be allowed to go there. so the next day her majesty and myself set out to find a place. after visiting many different rooms, all of which were too dark, we finally fixed on a room on the lake side of the palace. her majesty said: "this is very convenient, as you can go to and fro either by chair or by water." i found that it took about three-quarters of an hour by chair to get to the palace gate, and rather less than that by boat. i was expecting to return to stay at the palace with her majesty, but it was finally decided that this would not do, as it would not be policy to allow miss carl, who was staying at the american legation, to go in and out of the palace gate alone, so her majesty said it would be better for me to stay at my father's place in the city and bring miss carl to the palace each morning, returning with her in the evening. this was anything but pleasant, but i had no other alternative than to obey her majesty's instructions. when miss carl arrived at the palace the next day and saw the room which had been selected for her to work in, she was not at all pleased. in the first place she said it was too dark, so her majesty ordered the paper windows to be replaced by glass. this made the room too bright, and miss carl asked for some curtains so as to focus the light on the picture. when i informed her majesty of this request, she said: "well, this is the first time i have ever changed anything in the palace except to suit myself. first i alter the windows, and she is not satisfied, but must have curtains. i think we had better take the roof off, then perhaps she may be suited." however, we fixed up the curtains to miss carl's satisfaction. when her majesty examined the portrait to see how it was progressing, she said to me: "after all the trouble we have had over this picture, i am afraid it is not going to be anything very wonderful. i notice that the pearls in my cape are painted in different colors; some look white, some pink, while others are green. you tell her about it." i tried to explain to her majesty that miss carl had simply painted the pearls as she saw them, according to the different shades of light, but her majesty could not understand that at all and asked if i could see anything green about them, or pink either. i again explained that this was simply the tints caused by the light falling on the pearls, but she replied that she could not see any shade except white. however, after a while she did not seem to trouble any further about the matter. situated in a room near her majesty's bedroom in the sea palace was a pagoda, about ten feet in height, made of carved sandalwood. this contained various images of buddha, which her majesty used to worship every morning. the ceremony consisted of her majesty burning incense before the pagoda, while a court lady was told off each day to kowtow before the images. her majesty told me that this pagoda had been in the palace for more than a hundred years. among the different images was one representing the goddess of mercy. this image was only about five inches in height and was made of pure gold. the inside was hollow and contained all the principal anatomical parts of the human body, made out of jade and pearls. this goddess of mercy was supposed to possess wonderful powers and her majesty often worshiped before it when in any trouble, and maintained that on many occasions her prayers had been answered. she said: "of course, when i pray to the image, i pray earnestly, not the same as you girls, who simply kowtow because it is your duty and then get away as quickly as possible." her majesty went on to say that she was quite aware that many of the people in china were discarding the religion of their ancestors in favor of christianity, and that she was very much grieved that this was so. her majesty was a firm believer in the old chinese superstitions connected with the sea palace, and during one of our conversations she told me i was not to be surprised at anything i saw. she said it was quite a common occurrence for a person walking beside you to suddenly disappear altogether, and explained that they were simply foxes who took human shape to suit their purpose. they had probably lived in the sea palace for thousands of years and possessed this power of changing their form at will. she said that no doubt the eunuchs would tell me they were spirits or ghosts, but that was not true: they were sacred foxes and would harm nobody. as if to confirm this superstition, one evening, a few days later, my fire having gone out, i sent my eunuch to see if any of the other court ladies were awake, and if so, to try to get me some hot water. he went out taking his lantern along with him, but he returned almost immediately with a face as white as chalk. on inquiring what was the matter, he replied: "i have seen a ghost: a woman, who came up to me, blew the light out and disappeared." i told him that perhaps it was one of the servant girls, but he said "no"; he knew all the women attached to the palace and he had never seen this one before. he stuck to it that it was a ghost. i told him that her majesty had said there were no ghosts, but that it might be a fox which had taken human shape. he replied: "it was not a fox. her majesty calls them foxes, because she is afraid to call them ghosts." he went on to tell me that many years previously the head eunuch, li lien ying, while walking in the courtyard back of her majesty's palace, saw a young servant girl sitting on the edge of the well. he went over to ask her what she was doing there, but on getting closer he found that there were several other girls there also, and on seeing him approach, they all deliberately jumped down the well. he immediately raised the alarm, and on one of the attendants coming forward with a lantern, he explained what had occurred. the attendant showed him that it was impossible for anybody to jump into the well, as it was covered with a large stone. my eunuch said that a long time before this several girls did actually commit suicide by jumping down this well, and that what li lien ying had seen were the ghosts of these girls, and nothing more. it is believed by the chinese that when a person commits suicide their spirit remains in the neighborhood until such time as they can entice somebody else to commit suicide, when they are free to go to another world, and not before. i told him that i did not believe such things and that i would very much like to see for myself. he replied: "you will only want to see it once; that will be sufficient." things went along in the usual way until the first day of the eleventh moon, when her majesty issued orders to the court that as the eleventh moon contained so many anniversaries of the deaths of previous rulers of china, the usual theatrical performance would be eliminated and the court dress would in addition be modified to suit the occasion. on the ninth day the emperor was to go and worship at the temple of heaven. so, as was customary on all these occasions, he confined himself to his own private apartments for three days before the ninth, during which time he held no communication whatsoever with anybody excepting his private eunuchs. not even the young empress, his wife, was allowed to see him during these three days. this ceremony did not differ very materially from the other sacrifices, except that pigs were killed and placed on the numerous altars of the temple, where they remained for a time, after which they were distributed among the different officials. the eating of the flesh of these pigs, which had been blessed, was believed to bring good luck and prosperity, and the officials who were presented with them considered themselves greatly favored by her majesty. another difference was that the emperor could not appoint a substitute to officiate for him; but must attend in person, no matter what the circumstances might be. the reason for this was, that according to the ancient law, the emperor signs the death warrant of every person sentenced to death, record of which is kept in the board of punishments. at the end of the year the name of each person executed is written on a piece of yellow paper and sent to the emperor. when the time for worshiping at the temple arrives, he takes this yellow paper and burns it in order that the ashes may go up to heaven and his ancestors know that he has been fearless and faithful, and has done his duty according to the law. as this ceremony of worshiping at the temple of heaven was to take place in the forbidden city, in spite of her majesty's dislike to the place, she commanded that the whole of the court be transferred there, her reason for this being that she did not wish to be away from the emperor's side even for an hour. so we all moved to the palace in the forbidden city. after the ceremony was over, the court was to return to the sea palace, but as the thirteenth day was the anniversary of the death of the emperor kang hsi, it was decided that we should remain in the forbidden city, where the ceremony was to be held. the emperor kang hsi ruled over the chinese empire for sixty-one years, the longest reign of any chinese ruler up to the present time, and her majesty told us that he was the most wonderful emperor china had ever had and that we must respect his memory accordingly. chapter seventeen--the audience hall on the fourteenth day of the eleventh moon, after the morning audience, her majesty informed us that there was a likelihood of war breaking out between russia and japan and that she was very much troubled, as although it actually had nothing whatever to do with china, she was afraid they would fight on chinese territory and that in the long run china would suffer in some way or other. of course we did not bother ourselves about it much at the moment, but the next morning the head eunuch reported to her majesty that fifty eunuchs were missing. as there was no apparent reason for this, everybody was much excited. there was no rule against any of the eunuchs going into the city after their duties were ended, providing they returned before the palace gate was closed, but when on the following morning it was reported that another hundred eunuchs had also disappeared, her majesty at once said: "i know now what the trouble is; they must have heard what i said about this war coming on and are afraid there may be a repetition of the boxer trouble, and so they have cleared out." it was the custom whenever a eunuch was missing to send out search parties and have him brought back and punished, but in the present instance her majesty gave instructions that nothing was to be done about recapturing them. one morning, however, one of her majesty's personal attendants was missing, which made her furious. she said that she had been very kind to this particular eunuch in many ways, and this was all the thanks she got; he ran away at the first sign of trouble. i myself had noticed how good she had been to this eunuch, but i was not really sorry that he had left, as he used to take advantage of every opportunity of getting some of the court ladies into trouble. these disappearances continued from day to day until her majesty decided that it would be safer for us to remain in the forbidden city until the following spring at any rate. on inquiring from my eunuch the cause of these disappearances, he said that it was just as her majesty suspected; they were afraid of getting mixed up in another such affair as the boxer trouble, and added that he was not a bit surprised at her majesty's favorite eunuch going along with the rest. he further told me that even li lien ying himself was not to be absolutely relied upon, as at the time of her majesty's leaving peking for shi an during the boxer movement, he had feigned sickness, and followed a little later, so that in the event of anything happening, he would be able to return and make his escape. while talking about li lien ying, my eunuch told me in confidence that he was responsible for the death of many innocent people, mostly eunuchs. he had unlimited power at the court, and it was very easy for him to get anybody put away who offended him or to whom, for some reason or another, he took a dislike. furthermore, the eunuch informed me that, although not generally known, li lien ying was addicted to opium-smoking, which habit he indulged in very freely. even her majesty was unaware of this, as opium-smoking was strictly forbidden in the palace. each morning there was fresh news regarding the trouble between russia and japan, and of course everybody gradually became very much excited at the palace. one day her majesty summoned the whole of the court to a special audience and there informed us that there was no need for us to get excited at all; that if any trouble did occur, it was none of our business and we should not be interfered with, as the spirits of our ancestors were watching over us, and she did not want to hear any more talk and gossip on the subject. however, she summoned all of the court ladies to her apartment and there commanded us to pray to the spirits of our ancestors to protect us, which plainly showed that she was just as much worried as we were ourselves. in spite of what she had said with reference to gossiping about this trouble, her majesty often spoke about it herself, and during one of our conversations she said she wished she could get information each day as to what was actually occurring, so i suggested that it would be very easy to get all the latest news by taking the foreign papers and also reuter's specials. her majesty jumped at the suggestion and told me to have these sent each day to my father's house in his name, and have them brought to the palace, where i could translate them for her. i told her that my father received all these papers as they were published, so i arranged that they should be brought along as directed by her majesty. each morning during the audience i translated into chinese all the war news, but the telegrams began to arrive so rapidly that it soon became quite impossible for me to write them all out in chinese, so i told her majesty that i would read and translate them into chinese as they arrived. this was much quicker and interested her majesty so much that she insisted on my not only translating the war news, but everything else of interest in the papers. especially was she interested in all news appertaining to the movements, etc., of the crowned heads of europe, and was very plainly astonished when she learned that their every movement was known. she said: "here, at any rate, it is more private, for nobody outside the palace ever knows what is going on inside, not even my own people. it would be a good thing if they did know a little more, then perhaps all these rumors about the palace would stop." of course, during our stay in the forbidden city, miss carl attended each morning to work on the portrait. we had given her a nice room, which seemed to suit her very well, and her majesty had instructed me to let her have every convenience possible to assist her, as she was getting tired of the business and would like to see it finished quickly. her majesty hardly ever went near the place herself, but when she did go, she would be most affable and, really, one would think that it was the greatest pleasure of her life to go and inspect the portrait. things went very slowly during this eleventh moon on account of the court being in mourning, so one day her majesty suggested that she should show us round the forbidden city. first we proceeded to the audience hall. this differs somewhat from the audience hall of the summer palace. to enter, one must mount some twenty odd steps of white marble, with rails on either side of the steps made of the same material. at the top of the steps a large veranda, supported by huge pillars of wood, painted red, surrounded the building. the windows along this verandah were of marvellously carved trellis-work, designed to represent the character "shou" arranged in different positions. then we entered the hall itself. the floor is of brick, and her majesty told us that all these bricks were of solid gold and had been there for centuries. they were of a peculiar black color, doubtless painted over, and were so slippery that it was most difficult to keep on one's feet. the furnishing was similar to that in the audience halls in the summer palace and in the sea palace, with the exception that the throne was made of dark brown wood inlaid with jade of different colors. the hall was only used for audience on very rare occasions, such as the birthday of the empress dowager and new year's day, and no foreigner has ever entered this building. all the usual audiences were held in a smaller building in the forbidden city. after spending some little time in the audience hall, we next visited the emperor's quarters. these were much smaller than those occupied by her majesty, but were very elaborately furnished. there were thirty-two rooms, many of which were never used, but all were furnished in the same expensive style. in the rear of this building was the palace of the young empress, which was smaller still, having about twenty-four rooms in all, and in the same building three rooms were set apart for the use of the secondary wife of the emperor. although close together, the palaces of the emperor and his wife were not connected by any entrance, but both buildings were surrounded by verandas connecting with her majesty's apartments, which were quite a distance away. there were several other buildings, which were used as waiting rooms for visitors. in addition to the above, there were several buildings which were not used at all; these were sealed and nobody seemed to know what they contained, or whether they contained anything at all. even her majesty said she had never been inside these buildings, as they had been sealed for many years. even the entrance to the enclosure containing these buildings was always closed, and this was the only occasion that any of us ever even passed through. they were quite different in appearance from any other buildings in the palace, being very dirty and evidently of great age. we were commanded not to talk about the place at all. the apartments of the court ladies were connected with those of her majesty, but the rooms were so small one could hardly turn round in them; also they were very cold in winter. the servants' quarters were at the end of our apartments, but there was no entrance and they could only be reached by passing along our veranda, while the only entrance we ourselves had to our rooms was by passing along her majesty's veranda. this was her majesty's own idea, in order that she could keep an eye on all of us and could see when we either went out or came in. her majesty now conducted us to her own palace, and pausing a little said: "i will now show you something which will be quite new to you." we entered a room adjoining her bedroom, which was connected by a narrow passage some fifteen feet in length. on either side the walls were painted and decorated very beautifully. her majesty spoke to one of the eunuch attendants, who stooped down and removed from the ground at each end of this passage two wooden plugs which were fitted into holes in the basement. i then began to realize that what i had hitherto regarded as solid walls were in reality sliding panels of wood. these panels when opened revealed a kind of grotto. there were no windows, but in the roof was a skylight. at one end of this room or grotto was a large rock, on the top of which was a seat with a yellow cushion, and beside the cushion an incense burner. everything had the appearance of being very old. the room contained no furniture of any description. one end of this room led into another passage similar to the one already described, having sliding panels, which led into another grotto, and so on; in fact the whole of the palace walls were intersected by these secret passages, each concealing an inner room. her majesty told us that during the ming dynasty these rooms had been used for various purposes, principally by the emperor when he wished to be alone. one of these secret rooms was used by her majesty as a treasure room where she kept her valuables. during the time of the boxer trouble, she hid all her valuables here before she fled. when she returned and opened this secret room she found everything intact, not one of the vandals who ransacked the palace even suspecting there was such a place. we returned to our veranda, and on looking around for the rooms we had just vacated, could see nothing excepting black stone walls, so well were they hidden. one of the principal reasons for her majesty's dislike to the forbidden city was the mysteries which it contained, many of which she did not know of herself. she said: "i don't even talk about these places at all, as people might think that they were used for all kinds of purposes." while at the palace in the forbidden city i met the three secondary wives of the previous emperor tung chi, son of the empress dowager, who, since the death of the emperor, had resided in the forbidden city and spent their time in doing needlework, etc., for her majesty. when i got to know them i found that they were highly educated, one of them, yu fai, being exceptionally clever. she could write poetry and play many musical instruments, and was considered to be the best educated lady in the empire of china. her knowledge of western countries and their customs surprised me very much; she seemed to know a little bit of everything. i asked how it was that i had never seen them before, and was informed that they never visited her majesty unless commanded by her to do so, but that when her majesty stayed in the forbidden city, of course they had to call and pay their respects each day. one day i received an invitation to visit them in their palace. this was separated from all the other buildings in the city. it was rather a small building, and very simply furnished, with just a few eunuchs and servant girls to wait upon them. they said they preferred this simple life, as they never received any visitors and had nobody to please but themselves. yu fai's room was literally packed with literature of all descriptions. she showed me several poems which she had written, but they were of a melancholy character, plainly showing the trend of her thoughts. she was in favor of establishing schools for the education of young girls, as only very few could even read or write their own language, and she suggested that i should speak to her majesty about it at the first opportunity. in spite of her desire to see western reforms introduced into china, however, she was not in favor of employing missionary teachers, as these people always taught their religion at the expense of other subjects, which she feared would set the chinese against the movement. toward the end of the eleventh moon her majesty granted an audience to the viceroy of chihli, yuan shih kai, and as this particular day was a holiday and miss carl was absent, i was able to attend. her majesty asked him for his opinion of the trouble between russia and japan. he said that although these two countries might make war against each other, china would not be implicated in any way, but that after the war was over, there was sure to be trouble over manchuria. her majesty said she was quite aware of that, as they were fighting on chinese territory, and that the best thing for china to do would be to keep absolutely neutral in the matter, as she had quite enough of war during the china-japan war. she said it would be best to issue orders to all the officials to see that the chinese did not interfere in any way, so as not to give any excuse for being brought into the trouble. she then asked his opinion as to what would be the result in the event of war--who would win. he said that it was very hard to say, but that he thought japan would win. her majesty thought that if japan were victorious, she would not have so much trouble over the matter, although she expressed doubts as to the outcome, saying that russia was a large country and had many soldiers, and that the result was far from certain. her majesty then spoke about the condition of things in china. she said that in case china were forced into war with another nation, we should be nowhere. we had nothing ready, no navy and no trained army, in fact nothing to enable us to protect ourselves. yuan shih kai, however, assured her there was no need to anticipate any trouble at present so far as china was concerned. her majesty replied that in any event it was time china began to wake up and endeavor to straighten things out in some way or other, but she did not know where to begin; that it was her ambition to see china holding a prominent position among the nations of the world and that she was constantly receiving memorials suggesting this reform and that reform, but that we never seemed to get any further. after this audience was over, her majesty held an audience with the grand council. she told them what had been said during her interview with yuan shih kai, and of course they all agreed that something should be done. several suggestions were discussed with regard to national defense, etc., but a certain prince said that although he was in perfect sympathy with reform generally, he was very much against the adoption of foreign clothing, foreign modes of living, and the doing away with the queue. her majesty quite agreed with these remarks and said that it would not be wise to change any chinese custom for one which was less civilized. as usual, nothing definite was decided upon when the audience was over. for the next few days nothing was talked of but the war, and many chinese generals were received in audience by her majesty. these audiences were sometimes very amusing, as these soldiers were quite unaccustomed to the rules of the court and did not know the mode of procedure when in the presence of her majesty. many foolish suggestions were made by these generals. during one of the conversations her majesty remarked on the inefficiency of the navy and referred to the fact that we had no trained naval officers. one of the generals replied that we had more men in china than in any other country, and as for ships, why we had dozens of river boats and china merchant boats, which could be used in case of war. her majesty ordered him to retire, saying that it was perfectly true that we had plenty of men in china, but that the majority of them were like himself, of very little use to the country. after he had retired, everybody commenced to laugh, but her majesty stopped us, saying that she did not feel at all like laughing, she was too angry to think that such men held positions as officers in the army and navy. one of the court ladies asked me why her majesty was so angry with the man for mentioning the river boats, and was very much surprised when i informed her that the whole of them would be worse than useless against a single war vessel. just about the end of the eleventh moon chang chih tung, viceroy of wuchang, arrived, and was received in audience. her majesty said to him: "now, you are one of the oldest officials in the country, and i want you to give me your unbiased opinion as to what effect this war is going to have on china. do not be afraid to give your firm opinion, as i want to be prepared for anything which is likely to happen." he answered that no matter what the result of the war might be, china would in all probability have to make certain concessions to the powers with regard to manchuria for trade purposes, but that we should not otherwise be interfered with. her majesty repeated what had been discussed at the previous audiences on this subject and also regarding reform in china. chang chih tung replied that we had plenty of time for reform, and that if we were in too great a hurry, we should not accomplish anything at all. he suggested that the matter be discussed at length before deciding upon anything definite. in his opinion it would be foolish to go to extremes in the matter of reform. he said that ten or fifteen years ago he would have been very much against any reform whatsoever, but that he now saw the need for it to a certain extent, as circumstances had changed very much. he said that we should adhere strictly to our own mode of living and not abandon the traditions of our ancestors. in other words, he simply advised the adoption of western civilization where it was an improvement on our own, and nothing more. her majesty was delighted with the interview, for chang chih tung's opinions coincided exactly with her own. during the whole of these audiences the emperor, although present each time, never opened his lips to say a word, but sat listening all the time. as a rule, her majesty would ask his opinion, just as a matter of form, but he invariably replied that he was quite in accord with what her majesty had said or decided upon. of the many religious ceremonies in connection with the buddhist religion the "la-pachow" was the most important. this was held on the th day of the twelfth moon each year. according to the common belief, on this eighth day of the twelfth moon, many centuries ago, a certain buddhist priest ju lai set out to beg for food, and after receiving a good supply of rice and beans from the people, he returned and divided it with his brother priests, giving each an equal share, and he became celebrated for his great charity. this day was therefore set apart as an anniversary to commemorate the event. the idea was that by practising self-denial on this day, one would gain favor in the sight of this buddha ju lai, therefore the only food eaten was rice, grain and beans, all mixed together in a sort of porridge, but without any salt or other flavoring. it was not at all pleasant to eat, being absolutely tasteless. chapter eighteen--the new year festivals we now reached the time set apart for cleaning the palace in preparation for the new year festivals. everything had to be taken down and thoroughly overhauled, and all the images, pictures, furniture and everything else were subjected to a thorough scrubbing. her majesty again consulted her book in order to choose a lucky day on which to commence these operations, finally choosing the twelfth day as being most favorable. as we had all received our orders previously, we commenced early on the morning of the twelfth. several of the court ladies were told off to take down and clean the images of buddha and prepare new curtains for them. the rest of the cleaning was done by the eunuchs. i asked her majesty whether i was to clean her jewelry, but she answered that as nobody but herself ever wore it, it didn't need cleaning. after everything had been cleaned to her majesty's satisfaction, she prepared a list of names of the people she desired to attend the ceremony of tzu sui. this ceremony was held on the last day of each year and was something like the midnight services usually held in europe on the last night of each old year--just a farewell ceremony to bid the old year adieu. the guests were invited about a fortnight ahead, so as to give them plenty of time to get ready. her majesty also ordered new winter clothing for the court ladies. the only difference between these new garments and those we were then wearing was that they were trimmed with the fur of the silver fox instead of the gray squirrel. the next thing was to prepare cakes, which were to be placed before the buddhas and ancestors, during the new year. it was necessary that her majesty should make the first one herself. so when her majesty decided that it was time to prepare these cakes the whole court went into a room specially prepared for the purpose and the eunuchs brought in the ingredients-ground rice, sugar and yeast. these were mixed together into a sort of dough and then steamed instead of baked, which caused it to rise just like ordinary bread, it being believed that the higher the cake rises, the better pleased are the gods and the more fortunate the maker. the first cake turned out fine and we all congratulated her majesty, who was evidently much pleased herself at the result. then she ordered each of the court ladies to make one, which we did, with disastrous results, not one turning out as it should. this being my first year, there was some excuse for my failure, but i was surprised that none of the older court ladies fared any better, and on inquiring from one of them the reason, she replied: "why, i did it purposely, of course, so as to flatter her majesty's vanity. certainly i could make them just as well as she, if not better, but it would not be good policy." after we had all finished making our cakes, the eunuchs were ordered to make the rest, and needless to say they were perfect in every way. the next thing was to prepare small plates of dates and fresh fruits of every kind. these were decorated with evergreens, etc., and placed before the images of buddha. then we prepared glass dishes of candy, which were to be offered to the god of the kitchen. on the twenty-third day of the last moon the god of the kitchen left this earth to go on a visit to the king of heaven, to whom he reported all that we had been doing during the past year, returning to earth again on the last day of the year. the idea of offering him these sweets was in order that they should stick to his mouth and prevent him from telling too much. when these candies were prepared, we all adjourned to the kitchen and placed the offering on a table specially placed for the purpose. turning to the head cook, she said: "you had better look out now; the god of the kitchen will tell how much you have stolen during the past year, and you will be punished." the following day another ceremony had to be gone through, that of writing out the new year greetings for the guests and court, so in the morning we all went with her majesty to the audience hall, where the eunuchs had prepared large sheets of yellow, red and pale green paper. her majesty took up a large brush and commenced to write. on some of these sheets she wrote the character "shou" (long life) and on others "fu" (prosperity). by and bye, when she began to feel tired, she would get either one of the court ladies or one of the official writers to finish them for her. when finished, they were distributed to the guests and different officials, the ones her majesty had written herself being reserved for her special favorites. these were given out a few days before the new year. her majesty received new year presents from all the viceroys and principal officials. she would examine each present as it was received, and if it found favor in her eyes, she would use it, but if not, she would have it locked away in one of the storerooms and probably never see it again. these presents consisted of small pieces of furniture, curios, jewelry, silks, in fact everything--even clothing. the present sent by viceroy yuan shih kai was a yellow satin robe, embroidered with different colored precious stones and pearls designed to represent the peony flower; the leaves were of green jade. it was really a magnificent thing, and must have cost a fortune. the only drawback was its weight; it was too heavy to wear comfortably. her majesty appeared delighted with this gown, and wore it the first day, after which it was discarded altogether, although i often suggested that she should wear it, as it was the most magnificent gown i ever saw. once when her majesty was granting an audience to the diplomatic corps, i suggested that she should wear this dress, but she refused, giving no reason, so nobody outside the court has ever seen this wonderful garment. another costly present was received from the viceroy of canton, and consisted of four bags of pearls, each bag containing several thousands. they were all perfect in shape and color, and would have brought fabulous prices in europe or america. however, her majesty had so many jewels, especially pearls, that she hardly paid any attention to them beyond remarking that they were very nice. the young empress and the court ladies were also expected to give presents to her majesty each new year. these were for the most part articles that we had made ourselves, such as shoes, handkerchiefs, collars, bags, etc. my mother, my sister and myself made presents of mirrors, perfumes, soaps and similar toilet accessories which we had brought with us from paris. these her majesty appreciated very much; she was very vain. the eunuchs and servant girls gave fancy cakes and other food stuffs. the presents were so numerous that they filled several rooms, but we were not allowed to remove them until her majesty gave orders to do so. the court ladies also exchanged presents among themselves, which often led to confusion and amusement. on this occasion i had received some ten or a dozen different presents, and when it came my turn to give something, i decided to use up some of the presents i had received from my companions. to my surprise, the next day i received from one of the court ladies an embroidered handkerchief which i immediately recognized as the identical handkerchief i had myself sent her as my new year's present. on mentioning the fact, this lady turned and said: "well, that is rather funny; i was just wondering what had made you return the shoes i sent you." of course everybody laughed very heartily, and still further merriment was caused when, on comparing all the presents, it was found that quite half of us had received back our own presents. in order to settle the matter, we threw them all into a heap and divided them as evenly as possible, everybody being satisfied with the result. about a week before new year's day all audiences ceased and the seals were put away until after the holidays. during this time no business was transacted by her majesty. everything was much more comfortable and we could see that her majesty also appreciated the change from bustle to quietness. we had nothing whatever to do but to take things easy until the last day of the year. early on the morning of the thirtieth her majesty went to worship before the buddhas and ancestral tablets. after this ceremony was finished, the guests began to arrive, until by midday, all the guests, numbering about fifty, were present. the principal guests were: the imperial princess (empress dowager's adopted daughter), princess chung (wife of emperor kwang hsu's brother), princesses shun and tao (wives of the emperor's younger brothers), princess hung (wife of the nephew of the imperial princess), and prince ching's family. all these ladies were frequent visitors to the court. next day many other princesses, not of the imperial family, but whose titles were honorary titles bestowed by previous rulers, came. next, the daughters of the high manchu officials and many other people whom i had never seen before. by midday all the guests had arrived, and, after being presented to her majesty, were taken to their different apartments and told to rest a while. at two o'clock in the afternoon everybody assembled in the audience hall, lined up according to their different ranks and, led by the young empress, kowtowed to her majesty. this was the ceremony tzu sui already referred to, and was simply a last goodbye to her majesty before the new year set in. when it was all over, her majesty gave each of us a small purse made of red satin embroidered with gold, containing a sum of money. this is to enable each one to commence the new year with a kind of reserve fund for a rainy day, when they would have this money to fall back upon. it is an old manchu custom and is still kept up. the evening was spent in music and enjoyment, and was carried on right through the night, none of us going to bed. at her majesty's suggestion we commenced gambling with dice, her majesty providing each of us with money, sometimes as much as $ . she told us to be serious about it, and to try and win, but of course we took good care not to win from her majesty. when her majesty began to tire, she stopped the game and said: "now, all this money i have won i am going to throw on the floor, and you girls can scramble for it." we knew that she wanted to see some fun, so we fought for it as hard as we could. at midnight the eunuchs brought into the room a large brass brazier containing live charcoal. her majesty pulled a leaf from a large evergreen tree, which had been placed there for the purpose, and threw it into the fire. we each followed her example, adding large pieces of resin, which perfumed the whole atmosphere. this ceremony was supposed to bring good luck during the coming year. the next item was making cakes or pies for new year's day. on the first of the new year, nobody is allowed to eat rice, these cakes taking its place. they were made of flour paste, with minced meat inside. while some of us were preparing these cakes, others were peeling lotus seeds for her majesty's breakfast. it was now well on into the morning hours and her majesty said that she was tired and would go and rest a while. she was not going to sleep, however, so we could carry on our noise as much as we liked. this we did for some time, and on visiting her majesty's bedroom, we found that she was fast asleep. we then all repaired to our various rooms and commenced to make ourselves tidy for the day. as soon as her majesty was awake, we all proceeded to her bedroom, taking with us plates of apples (representing "peace"), olives ("long life"), lotus seeds (blessing). she suitably acknowledged these gifts and wished us all good luck in return. she inquired whether we had been to bed and, on learning that we had been up all night, she said that was right. she herself had not meant to sleep, only to rest a little, but somehow she had not been able to keep awake, and gave as a reason that she was an old woman. we waited on her until she had finished her toilet and then wished her a happy new year. we then proceeded to pay our respects to the emperor and to the young empress. there was nothing further to be done in the way of ceremonies, and we therefore all accompanied her majesty to the theatre. the performance took place on a stage erected in the courtyard, and her majesty closed in one part of her veranda for the use of the guests and court ladies. during the performance i began to feel very drowsy, and eventually fell fast asleep leaning against one of the pillars. i awoke rather suddenly to find that something had been dropped into my mouth, but on investigation i found it was nothing worse than a piece of candy, which i immediately proceeded to eat. on approaching her majesty, she asked me how i had enjoyed the candy, and told me not to sleep, but to have a good time like the rest. i never saw her majesty in better humor. she played with us just like a young girl, and one could hardly recognize in her the severe empress dowager we knew her to be. the guests also all seemed to be enjoying themselves very much. in the evening, after the theatrical performance was over, her majesty ordered the eunuchs to bring in their instruments and give us some music. she herself sang several songs, and we all sang at intervals. then her majesty ordered the eunuchs to sing. some were trained singers, and sang very nicely, but others could not sing at all and caused quite a lot of amusement by their efforts to please her majesty. the emperor appeared to be the only one present who was not having a good time; he never smiled once. on meeting him outside, i asked him why he looked so sad, but he only answered: "a happy new year" in english, smiled once, and walked away. her majesty rose very early next morning and proceeded to the audience hall to worship the god of wealth. we all accompanied her and took part in the ceremony. during the next few days we did nothing but gamble and scramble for her majesty's winnings. this was all very nice in its way, until one day one of the court ladies began to cry, and accused me of stepping on her toes in the scramble. this made her majesty angry and she ordered the offender to go to her room and stay there for three days, saying that she did not deserve to be enjoying herself if she could not stand a little thing like that. the tenth of the first moon was the birthday of the young empress, and we asked her majesty whether we would be allowed to give presents. she gave us permission to give whatever presents we might wish to. however, we submitted all our presents to her majesty for her approval, before giving them to the young empress, and we had to be very discreet and not choose anything which her majesty might think was too good. it was very difficult to tell what to send, as her majesty might take a fancy to any of the presents herself, even though they might not be of much value intrinsically. in such a case her majesty would tell us that she would keep it, and to give the young empress something else. the celebration was very similar to that of the emperor's birthday, but not on such an elaborate scale. we presented the ru yee to the young empress and kowtowed to her. she was supposed to receive these tokens of respect sitting on her throne, but out of deference to her majesty (we were her majesty's court ladies) she stood up. she always was very polite to us under all circumstances. on this day, as on the emperor's birthday, the emperor, young empress and secondary wife dined together. these were the only two occasions when they did so, always dining separately at other times. her majesty sent two of her court ladies to wait upon the empress, i myself being one of them. i was very pleased, as i wanted to see for myself how they conducted themselves when together. i went into the young empress' room and informed her that her majesty had ordered us to wait upon them, to which she simply answered: "very well." so we went to the dining room and set the table, placing the chairs into position. the meal was much different from what i expected. instead of being stiff and serious like her majesty when dining they were quite free and easy, and we were allowed to join in the conversation and partake of some of the food and wine. a very pretty ceremony was gone through at the commencement of the meal. the emperor and young empress seated themselves, and the secondary wife filled their cups with wine and presented it to them in turn as a sign of respect, the emperor first. when the meal was over we returned to her majesty's apartment and told her that everything had passed off nicely. we knew very well that we had been sent simply to act as spies, but we had nothing interesting to tell her majesty. she asked if the emperor had been very serious and we answered "yes." the new year celebrations terminated with the festival of lanterns on the fifteenth day of the first moon. these lanterns were of different shapes, representing animals, flowers, fruits, etc., etc. they were made of white gauze, painted in different colors. one lantern representing a dragon about fifteen feet long was fastened to ten poles, and ten eunuchs were required to hold it in position. in front of this dragon a eunuch was holding a lantern representing a large pearl, which the dragon was supposed to devour. this ceremony was gone through to the accompaniment of music. after the lanterns came a firework display. these fireworks represented different scenes in the history of china, grape vines, wisteria blossoms, and many other flowers. it was a very imposing sight. portable wooden houses had been placed near the fireworks from which her majesty and the rest of the court could see them without being out in the cold air. this display lasted for several hours without a stop, and thousands of firecrackers were set off during the time. her majesty seemed to enjoy the noise very much. altogether it was a good finish to the celebrations and we all enjoyed it very much. the next morning all the guests departed from the palace and we re-commenced our everyday life. as usual after the guests had departed her majesty began to criticise their mode of dressing, their ignorance of court etiquette, etc., but added that she was rather glad, as she didn't want them to know anything about court life. as spring soon arrived it was time for the farmers to commence sowing seed for the rice crop, and of course there was another ceremony. the emperor visited the temple of agriculture where he prayed for a good harvest. then he proceeded to a small plot of ground situated in the temple and after turning the earth over with a hand plow he sowed the first seeds of the season. this was to show the farmers that their labors were not despised and that even the emperor was not ashamed to engage in this work. anybody could attend this ceremony, it being quite a public affair, and many farmers were present. about this same time the young empress went to see the silkworms and watch for the eggs to be hatched. as soon as they were out, the young empress gathered mulberry leaves for the worms to feed upon and watched them until they were big enough to commence spinning. each day a fresh supply of leaves were gathered and they were fed four or five times daily. several of the court ladies were told off to feed the worms during the night and see that they did not escape. these silkworms grow very rapidly and we could see the difference each day. of course when they became full grown they required more food and we were kept busy constantly feeding them. the young empress was able to tell by holding them up to the light when they were ready to spin. if they were transparent then they were ready, and were placed on paper and left there. when spinning the silkworm does not eat, therefore all we had to do was to watch that they did not get away. after spinning for four or five days their supply of silk becomes exhausted and they shrivel up and apparently die. these apparently dead worms were collected by the young empress and placed in a box where they were kept until they developed into moths. they were then placed on thick paper and left there to lay their eggs. if left to themselves, the silkworms when ready for spinning will spin the silk around their bodies until they are completely covered up, gradually forming a cocoon. in order to determine when they have finished spinning it was customary to take the cocoon and rattle it near the ear. if the worm was exhausted you could plainly hear the body rattle inside the cocoon. the cocoon is then placed in boiling water until it becomes soft. this, of course, kills the worm. in order to separate the silk a needle is used to pick up the end of the thread which is then wound on to a spool and is ready for weaving. a few of the cocoons were kept until the worms had turned into moths, which soon ate their way out of the cocoons when they were placed on sheets of paper and left to lay their eggs, which are taken away and kept in a cool place until the following spring, when the eggs are hatched and become worms. when the silk had all been separated we took it to her majesty for inspection and approval. on this particular occasion her majesty ordered one of the eunuchs to bring in some silk which she herself had woven when a young girl in the palace, and on comparing it with the new silk it was found to be just as good in every way although many years had passed since it was made. all this was done with the same object as the emperor sowing the seeds, viz.:--to set the people a good example and to encourage them in their work. chapter nineteen--the sea palace this year we had a very hot spring and her majesty was desirous of getting back again to the sea palace. however, as war had already been declared between russia and japan it was thought best to remain in the forbidden city until things were more settled. her majesty was very much worried over this war and spent most of her time in offering prayers to the different divinities for the welfare of china and we, of course, were expected to join her. things were very monotonous about this time and nothing particular occurred until the beginning of the second moon. by this time her majesty was quite sick of staying in the forbidden city and said that no matter what happened she would remove the court to the sea palace, where miss carl could get along and finish the portrait which had been hanging on for nearly a year. so on the sixth day of the second moon we moved back to the sea palace. everything looked fresh and green and many of the trees had commenced to blossom. her majesty took us around the lake and we were in such good spirits that her majesty remarked that we acted more like a lot of wild animals escaped from a menagerie than human beings. she was much brighter now, but said that she would be happier still to get to the summer palace. miss carl was summoned to the palace, and her majesty visited her and asked to see the portrait. she again asked me how long it would be before it was finished, and i told her that unless she gave a little more of her time to posing it might not be finished for quite a long time. after a lot of consideration her majesty finally agreed to give miss carl five minutes each day after the morning audience, but that she desired it to be distinctly understood that she did not intend to pose for anything but the face. she accordingly sat for two mornings, but on the third morning she made an excuse saying that she was not feeling well. i told her that miss carl could not proceed further unless she sat for the face, so, although she was very angry, she gave miss carl a few more sittings until the face was finished. she absolutely refused to sit again whether it was finished or not, saying that she would have nothing more to do with the portrait. i myself sat for the remainder of the portrait, viz.:--for her majesty's dress, jewels, etc., and so by degrees the portrait was completed. when her majesty learned that the portrait was nearing completion she was very much pleased, and i thought it a good opportunity to again broach the subject of payment. her majesty asked me whether i really thought it necessary to pay cash for the portrait and how much. i told her that as painting was miss carl's profession, if she had not been engaged on painting her majesty's portrait she would most probably have been engaged on other similar work for which she would have received compensation, and that therefore she would naturally expect to be paid even more handsomely in this instance. it was difficult to make her majesty understand this and she asked if i was quite certain that miss carl would not be offended by an offer of money, also mrs. conger who had presented her. i explained that in america and europe it was quite customary for ladies to earn their own living either by painting, teaching or in some other similar manner, and that it was no disgrace but rather the opposite. her majesty seemed very much surprised to learn this, and asked why miss carl's brother did not support her himself. i told her majesty that miss carl did not desire him to provide for her, besides which he was married and had a family to support. her majesty gave it as her opinion that this was a funny kind of civilization. in china when the parents were dead it was the duty of the sons to provide for their unmarried sisters until such time as they married. she also said that if chinese ladies were to work for their living it would only set people talking about them. however, she promised to speak with her ministers about paying miss carl, and i felt somewhat relieved as there seemed to be a probability of something satisfactory being arranged after all. the twelfth day of the second moon was the anniversary of another interesting ceremony, viz.:--the birthday of the flowers and trees. after the morning audience we all went into the palace grounds, where the eunuchs were waiting with huge rolls of red silk. these we all commenced to cut into narrow strips about two inches wide and three feet long. when we had cut sufficient her majesty took a strip of red silk and another of yellow silk which she tied round the stem of one of the peony trees (in china the peony is considered to be the queen of flowers). then all the court ladies, eunuchs and servant girls set to work to decorate every single tree and plant in the grounds with red silk ribbons, in the same manner as her majesty had done. this took up nearly the entire morning and it made a very pretty picture, with the bright costumes of the court ladies, green trees and beautiful flowers. we then went to a theatrical performance. this represented all the tree fairies and flower fairies celebrating their birthday. the chinese believe that all the trees and flowers have their own particular fairies, the tree fairies being men and the flower fairies being women. the costumes were very pretty and were chosen to blend with the green trees and flowers which were on the stage. one of the costumes worn by a lotus fairy was made of pink silk, worked so as to represent the petals of the flower, the skirt being of green silk to represent the lotus leaves. whenever this fairy moved about the petals would move just as though wafted by the breeze, like a natural flower. several other costumes representing different flowers were made in the same manner. the scene was a woodland dell, surrounded with huge rocks perforated with caves, out of which came innumerable small fairies bearing decanters of wine. these small fairies represented the smaller flowers, daisies, pomegranate blossoms, etc. the result can be better imagined than described. all the fairies gathered together and drank the wine, after which they commenced to sing, accompanied by stringed instruments, played very softly. the final scene was a very fitting ending to the performance. it represented a small rainbow which gradually descended until it rested on the rocks; then each fairy in turn would sit upon the rainbow which rose again and conveyed them through the clouds into heaven. this completed the celebration and we all retired to our rooms. on the fourteenth day of the second moon (march , ), i completed my first year at court. i had quite forgotten this fact until her majesty reminded me of it. she asked whether i was comfortable and happy where i was or did i long to return to paris. i answered truly that although i had enjoyed myself while in france still i preferred the life of the court, it was so interesting, besides which i was in my own native land and among all my friends and relations, and naturally i preferred that to living in a strange land. her majesty smiled and said she was afraid that sooner or later i would tire of the life in the palace and fly away again across the ocean. she said that the only way to make sure of me was to marry me off. she again asked me what was my objection to getting married; was i afraid of having a mother-in-law, or what was it? if that was all, i need not worry, for so long as she was alive there was nothing to be afraid of. her majesty said that even if i were married it would not be necessary for me to stay at home all the time, but that i would be able to spend my time in the palace as usual. continuing, she said: "last year when this marriage question came up i was willing to make allowances as you had been brought up somewhat differently from the rest of my court ladies, but do not run away with the idea that i have forgotten all about it. i am still on the lookout for a suitable husband for you." i simply answered as before--that i had absolutely no desire to marry, but that i wanted to stay where i was and live at the court so long as her majesty was willing to have me there. she made some remark about my being stubborn and said that i should probably change my mind before long. during the latter part of the second moon miss carl worked very hard to get the portrait finished and her majesty again consulted her book in order to select a lucky day on which to put the final touches to the picture. the th of april, , was chosen by her majesty as the best time, and miss carl was duly notified. miss carl most emphatically stated that it was quite impossible to finish the portrait properly by the time named, and i told her majesty what miss carl said, explaining that there were many small finishing touches to be added and i suggested it would be better to give miss carl a few days longer if possible. however, her majesty said that it must be finished by four o'clock on the th day of april, and therefore there was nothing further to be said. about a week before the time fixed for completion her majesty paid a visit to the studio to finally inspect the picture. she seemed very much pleased with it, but still objected to her face being painted dark on one side and light on the other. as i have said before, i had explained that this was the shading, but her majesty insisted on my telling miss carl to make both sides of her face alike. this led to a pretty hot discussion between miss carl and myself but she finally saw that it was no use going against her majesty's wishes in the matter, so consented to make some slight alteration. happening to catch sight of some foreign characters at the foot of the painting her majesty inquired what they were and on being informed that they were simply the artist's name, said: "well, i know foreigners do some funny things, but i think this about the funniest i ever heard of. fancy putting her own name on my picture. this will naturally convey the impression that it is a portrait of miss carl, and not a portrait of myself at all." i again had to explain the reason for this, saying that it was always customary for foreign artists to write their names at the foot of any picture they painted, whether portrait or otherwise. so her majesty said she supposed it was all right, and would have to remain, but she looked anything but satisfied with it. by working practically all night and all day, miss carl managed to get the portrait finished by the time stipulated, and her majesty arranged that mrs. conger and the other ladies of the diplomatic corps should come to the palace and see the portrait. this was quite a private audience and her majesty received them in one of the small audience halls. after the usual greetings her majesty ordered us to conduct the ladies to the studio, which we did, her majesty bidding them good-bye and remaining in her own apartments. the young empress in accordance with instructions from her majesty, accompanied us to the studio, and acted as hostess. everybody expressed great admiration for the portrait and it was voted a marvellous likeness. after inspecting the picture we all adjourned for refreshments. the young empress sat at the head of the table and asked me to sit next to her. shortly after everybody was seated a eunuch came and asked the young empress to inform these ladies that the emperor was slightly indisposed and was unable to be present. i interpreted this, and everybody appeared satisfied. as a matter of fact the emperor was quite well, but we had forgotten all about him. and so the guests departed without seeing him on this occasion. on reporting everything to her majesty as usual, she asked what they thought of the portrait, and we told her that they had admired it very much. her majesty said: "of course they did, it was painted by a foreign artist." she didn't appear to be very much interested and was quite cross about something, which caused me great disappointment after all the trouble miss carl had taken to finish the portrait. her majesty then remarked that miss carl had taken a long time to get the portrait finished, and asked why nobody had reminded her to inform the emperor about the audience, being particularly angry with the head eunuch on this occasion. her majesty said that as soon as she remembered, she immediately sent a eunuch to make excuses, as the ladies might very well think that something had happened to the emperor and it might cause talk. i told her that i explained to them that the emperor was not well and they evidently thought nothing further of his absence. by the next day the carpenters in the palace had finished the frame for the portrait and when it had been properly fitted her majesty ordered my brother to take a photograph of it. this photograph turned out so well that her majesty said it was better than the portrait itself. the picture being now quite finished, miss carl prepared to take her leave, which she did a few days later, having received a handsome present in cash from her majesty in addition to a decoration and many other presents as remuneration for her services. for quite a long time after miss carl had left the palace i felt very lonely, as during her stay i had found her a genial companion and we had many things in common to talk about. her majesty noticed that i was rather quiet, and asked me the cause. she said: "i suppose you are beginning to miss your friend, the lady artist." i did not care to admit that this was so, for fear she might think me ungrateful to herself, besides which i knew she did not like the idea of my being too friendly with foreigners. so i explained to her majesty that i always did regret losing old friends but that i would get used to the change very soon. her majesty was very nice about it and said she wished that she was a little more sentimental over such small things, but that when i got to her age i should be able to take things more philosophically. after miss carl had left the court, her majesty asked me one day: "did she ever ask you much about the boxer movement of ?" i told her that i knew very little of the boxer movement myself, as i was in paris at the time and i could not say very much. i assured her that the lady artist never mentioned the subject to me. her majesty said: "i hate to mention about that affair and i would not like to have foreigners ask my people questions on that subject. do you know, i have often thought that i am the most clever woman that ever lived and others cannot compare with me. although i have heard much about queen victoria and read a part of her life which someone has translated into chinese, still i don't think her life was half so interesting and eventful as mine. my life is not finished yet and no one knows what is going to happen in the future. i may surprise the foreigners some day with something extraordinary and do something quite contrary to anything i have yet done. england is one of great powers of the world, but this has not been brought about by queen victoria's absolute rule. she had the able men of parliament back of her at all times and of course they discussed everything until the best result was obtained, then she would sign the necessary documents and really had nothing to say about the policy of the country. now look at me. i have , , people, all dependent on my judgment. although i have the grand council to consult with, they only look after the different appointments, but anything of an important nature i must decide myself. what does the emperor know? i have been very successful so far, but i never dreamt that the boxer movement would end with such serious results for china. that is the only mistake i have made in my life. i should have issued an edict at once to stop the boxers practising their belief, but both prince tuan and duke lan told me that they firmly believed the boxers were sent by heaven to enable china to get rid of all the undesirable and hated foreigners. of course they meant mostly missionaries, and you know how i hate them and how very religious i always am, so i thought i would not say anything then but would wait and see what would happen. i felt sure they were going too far as one day prince tuan brought the boxer leader to the summer palace and summoned all the eunuchs into the courtyard of the audience hall and examined each eunuch on the head to see if there was a cross. he said, 'this cross is not visible to you, but i can identify a christian by finding a cross on the head.' prince tuan then came to my private palace and told me that the boxer leader was at the palace gate and had found two eunuchs who were christians and asked me what was to be done. i immediately became very angry and told him that he had no right to bring any boxers to the palace without my permission; but he said this leader was so powerful that he was able to kill all the foreigners and was not afraid of the foreign guns, as all the gods were protecting him. prince tuan told me that he had witnessed this himself. a boxer shot another with a revolver and the bullet hit him, but did not harm him in the least. then prince tuan suggested that i hand these two eunuchs supposed to be christians to the boxer leader, which i did. i heard afterwards that these two eunuchs were beheaded right in the country somewhere near here. this chief boxer came to the palace the next day, accompanied by prince tuan and duke lan, to make all the eunuchs burn incense sticks to prove that they were not christians. after that prince tuan also suggested that we had better let the chief boxer come every day and teach the eunuchs their belief; that nearly all of peking was studying with the boxers. the next day i was very much surprised to see all my eunuchs dressed as boxers. they wore red jackets, red turbans and yellow trousers. i was sorry to see all my attendants discard their official robes and wear a funny costume like that. duke lan presented me with a suit of boxer clothes. at that time yung lu, who was the head of the grand council, was ill and asked leave of absence for a month. while he was sick, i used to send one of the eunuchs to see him every day, and that day the eunuch returned and informed me that yung lu was quite well and would come to the palace the next day, although he still had fifteen days more leave. i was puzzled to know why he should give up the balance of his leave. however, i was very anxious to see him, as i wished to consult him about this chief boxer. yung lu looked grieved when he learned what had taken place at the palace, and said that these boxers were nothing but revolutionaries and agitators. they were trying to get the people to help them to kill the foreigners, but he was very much afraid the result would be against the government. i told him that probably he was right, and asked him what should be done. he told me that he would talk to prince tuan, but the next day prince tuan told me that he had had a fight with yung lu about the boxer question, and said that all of peking had become boxers, and if we tried to turn them, they would do all they could to kill everyone in peking, including the court; that they (the boxer party) had the day selected to kill all the foreign representatives; that tung fou hsiang, a very conservative general and one of the boxers, had promised to bring his troops out to help the boxers to fire on the legations. when i heard this i was very much worried and anticipated serious trouble, so i sent for yung lu at once and kept prince tuan with me. yung lu came, looking very much worried, and he was more so after i had told him what the boxers were going to do. he immediately suggested that i should issue an edict, saying that these boxers were a secret society and that no one should believe their teaching, and to instruct the generals of the nine gates to drive all the boxers out of the city at once. when prince tuan heard this he was very angry and told yung lu that if such an edict was issued, the boxers would come to the court and kill everybody. when prince tuan told me this, i thought i had better leave everything to him. after he left the palace, yung lu said that prince tuan was absolutely crazy and that he was sure these boxers would be the cause of a great deal of trouble. yung lu also said that prince tuan must be insane to be helping the boxers to destroy the legations; that these boxers were a very common lot, without education, and they imagined the few foreigners in china were the only ones on the earth and if they were killed it would be the end of them. they forgot how very strong these foreign countries are, and that if the foreigners in china were all killed, thousands would come to avenge their death. yung lu assured me that one foreign soldier could kill one hundred boxers without the slightest trouble, and begged me to give him instructions to order general nieh, who was afterwards killed by the boxers, to bring his troops to protect the legations. of course i gave him this instruction at once, and also told him that he must see prince tuan at once and duke lan to tell them that this was a very serious affair and that they had better not interfere with yung lu's plans. matters became worse day by day and yung lu was the only one against the boxers, but what could one man accomplish against so many? one day prince tuan and duke lan came and asked me to issue an edict ordering the boxers to kill all the legation people first and then all remaining foreigners. i was very angry and refused to issue this edict. after we had talked a very long time, prince tuan said that this must be done without delay, for the boxers were getting ready to fire on the legations and would do so the very next day. i was furious and ordered several of the eunuchs to drive him out, and he said as he was going out: 'if you refuse to issue that edict, i will do it for you whether you are willing or not,' and he did. after that you know what happened. he issued these edicts unknown to me and was responsible for a great many deaths. he found that he could not carry his plans through and heard that the foreign troops were not very far from peking. he was so frightened that he made us all leave peking." as she finished saying this, she started to cry, and i told her that i felt very sorry for her. she said: "you need not feel sorry for me for what i have gone through; but you must feel sorry that my fair name is ruined. that is the only mistake i have made in my whole life and it was done in a moment of weakness. before i was just like a piece of pure jade; everyone admired me for what i have done for my country, but the jade has a flaw in it since this boxer movement and it will remain there to the end of my life. i have regretted many, many times that i had such confidence in, and believed that wicked prince tuan; he was responsible for everything." by the end of the third moon her majesty had had enough of the sea palace and the court moved into the summer palace. this time we travelled by boat as it was very beautiful weather. on reaching the water-gates of the palace we found everything just lovely and the peach blossoms were in full bloom. her majesty plainly showed how glad she was to be back once more and for the time being seemed to have forgotten everything else, even the war. chapter twenty--conclusion my second year at the palace was very much the same as the first. we celebrated each anniversary and festival in the same way as before: the usual audience was held each morning by her majesty, after which the day was given up to enjoyment. amongst other things her majesty took great interest in her vegetable gardens, and superintended the planting of the different seeds. when vegetables were ready for pulling, from time to time, all the court ladies were supplied with a kind of small pruning fork and gathered in the crop. her majesty seemed to enjoy seeing us work in the fields, and when the fit seized her she would come along and help. in order to encourage us in this work, her majesty would give a small present to the one who showed the best results so we naturally did our best in order to please her, as much as for the reward. another hobby of her majesty's was the rearing of chickens, and a certain number of birds were allotted to each of the court ladies. we were supposed to look after these ourselves and the eggs had to be taken to her majesty every morning. i could not understand why it was that my chickens gave less eggs than any of the others until one day my eunuch informed me that he had seen one of the other eunuchs stealing the eggs from my hen house and transferring them to another, in order to help his mistress to head the list. her majesty was very particular not to encourage untidyness or extravagance among the court ladies. on one occasion she told me to open a parcel which was lying in her room. i was about to cut the string when her majesty stopped me and told me to untie it. this i managed to do after a lot of trouble, and opened the parcel. her majesty next made me fold the paper neatly and place it in a drawer along with the string so that i would know where to find it should it be wanted again. from time to time her majesty would give each of us money for our own private use and whenever we wanted to buy anything, say flowers, handkerchiefs, shoes, ribbons, etc., these could be bought from the servant girls who used to make them in the palace and we would enter each item in a small note book supplied by her majesty for the purpose. at the end of each month her majesty examined our accounts and in case she considered that we had been extravagant she would give us a good scolding, while on the other hand, if we managed to show a good balance she would compliment us on our good management. thus under her majesty's tuition we learned to be careful and tidy against such time as we might be called upon to look after homes of our own. about this time my father began to show signs of breaking down and asked for permission to withdraw from public life. however, her majesty would not hear of this and decided to give him another six months vacation instead. it was his intention to go to shanghai and see the family physician, but her majesty did not approve of this, maintaining that her own doctors were quite as good as any foreign doctor. these doctors therefore attended him for some time, prescribing all kinds of different concoctions daily. after a while he seemed to pick up a little but was still unable to get about on account of having chronic rheumatism. we therefore again suggested that it would be better for him to see his own doctor in shanghai, who understood my father thoroughly, but her majesty could not be made to see it in that light. she said that what we wanted was a little patience, that the chinese doctors might be slow, but they were sure, and she was convinced they would completely cure my father very soon. the fact of the matter was she was afraid that if my father went to stay in shanghai the rest of the family would want to be there with him, which was not in her programme at all. so we decided to remain in peking unless my father showed signs of getting worse. in due course the time arrived on which it had been arranged to hold the spring garden party for the diplomatic corps, and as usual one day was set apart for the ministers, secretaries and members of the various legations, and the following day for their wives, etc. this year very few guests attended the garden party but among those who did come were several strangers. about half a dozen ladies from the japanese legation came with madame uchida, wife of the japanese minister. her majesty was always very pleased to see this lady whom she very much admired on account of her extreme politeness. after the usual presentation we conducted the ladies to luncheon, showed them over the palace grounds, after which we wished them good-bye and they took their leave. we reported everything to her majesty, and as usual were asked many questions. among the guests there was one lady (english so far as i could make out) dressed in a heavy tweed travelling costume, having enormous pockets, into which she thrust her hands as though it were extremely cold. she wore a cap of the same material. her majesty asked if i had noticed this lady with the clothes made out of "rice bags," and wasn't it rather unusual to be presented at court in such a dress. her majesty wanted to know who she was and where she came from. i replied that she certainly did not belong to any of the legations as i was acquainted with everybody there. her majesty said that whoever she was she certainly was not accustomed to moving in decent society as she (her majesty) was quite certain that it was not the thing to appear at a european court in such a costume. "i can tell in a moment," her majesty added, "whether any of these people are desirous of showing proper respect to me, or whether they consider that i am not entitled to it. these foreigners seem to have the idea that the chinese are ignorant and that therefore they need not be so particular as in european society. i think it would be best to let it be understood for the future what dress should be worn at the different court functions, and at the same time use a certain amount of discretion in issuing invitations. in that way i can also keep the missionary element out, as well as other undesirables. i like to meet any distinguished foreigners who may be visiting in china, but i do not want any common people at my court." i suggested that the japanese custom could be followed, viz.: to issue proper invitation cards, stipulating at the foot the dress to be worn on each particular occasion. her majesty thought this would meet the case and it was decided to introduce a similar rule in china. whenever the weather permitted, her majesty would pass quite a lot of her time in the open air watching the eunuchs at work in the gardens. during the early spring the lotus plants were transplanted and she would take keen interest in this work. all the old roots had to be cut away and the new bulbs planted in fresh soil. although the lotus grew in the shallowest part of the lake (the west side) it was necessary for the eunuchs to wade into the water sometimes up to their waists in order to weed out the old plants and set the young ones. her majesty would sit for hours on her favorite bridge (the jade girdle bridge) and superintend the eunuchs at their work, suggesting from time to time as to how the bulbs were to be planted. this work generally took three or four days, and the court ladies in attendance would stand beside her majesty and pass the time making fancy tassels for her majesty's cushions, in fact doing anything so long as we did not idle. it was during the spring that yuan shih kai paid another visit to the palace, and among other subjects discussed was the russo-japan war. he told her majesty that it was developing into a very serious affair and that he feared china would be the principal sufferer in the long run. her majesty was very much upset by this news, and mentioned that she had been advised by one of the censors to make a present to the japanese of a large quantity of rice, but had decided to take no action whatever in the matter, which resolve yuan shih kai strongly supported. i was still working each day translating the various newspaper reports and telegrams relating to the war and one morning, seeing a paragraph to the effect that kang yu wei (leader of the reform movement in china in ) had arrived at singapore from batavia, i thought it might interest her majesty and so translated it along with the rest. her majesty immediately became very much excited which made me feel frightened as i did not know what could be the matter. however, she explained to me that this man had caused all kinds of trouble in china, that before meeting kang yu wei the emperor had been a zealous adherent to the traditions of his ancestors but since then had plainly shown his desire to introduce reforms and even christianity into the country. "on one occasion," continued her majesty, "he caused the emperor to issue instructions for the summer palace to be surrounded by soldiers so as to keep me prisoner until these reforms could be put into effect, but through the faithfulness of yung lu, a member of the grand council, and yuan shill kai, viceroy of chihli, i was able to frustrate the plot. i immediately proceeded to the forbidden city, where the emperor was then staying and after discussing the question with him he replied that he realized his mistake and asked me to take over the reins of government and act in his stead." (the result of this was, of course, the edict of appointing the empress dowager as regent of china.) her majesty had immediately ordered the capture of kang yu wei and his followers, but he had managed to effect his escape and she had heard nothing further about him until i translated this report in the newspaper. she seemed relieved, however, to know where he was, and seemed anxious to hear what he was doing. she suddenly became very angry again and asked why it was that the foreign governments offered protection to chinese political agitators and criminals. why couldn't they leave china to deal with her own subjects and mind their own business a little more? she gave me instructions to keep a lookout for any further news of this gentleman and report to her immediately, but i made up my mind that in any case, i would not mention anything about him again and so the matter gradually died away. during one of our visits to the sea palace her majesty drew attention to a large piece of vacant ground and said that it had formerly been the site of the audience hall which had been destroyed by fire during the boxer trouble. her majesty explained that this had been purely an accident and was not deliberately destroyed by the foreign troops. she said that it had long been an eyesore to her as it was so ugly, and that she had now determined to build another audience hall on the same site, as the present audience hall was too small to accommodate the foreign guests when they paid their respects at new year. she therefore commanded the board of works to prepare a model of the new building in accordance with her own ideas, and submit it for her approval. up to that time all the buildings in the palace grounds were typically chinese but this new audience hall was to be more or less on the foreign plan and up to date in every respect. this model was accordingly prepared and submitted to her majesty. it was only a small wooden model but was complete in every detail, even to the pattern of the windows and the carving on the ceilings and panels. however, i never knew anything to quite come up to her majesty's ideas, and this was no exception. she criticised the model from every standpoint, ordering this room to be enlarged and that room to be made smaller: this window to be moved to another place, etc., etc. so the model went back for reconstruction. when it was again brought for her majesty's inspection everybody agreed that it was an improvement on the first one, and even her majesty expressed great satisfaction. the next thing was to find a name for the new building and after serious and mature consideration it was decided to name it hai yen tang (sea coast audience hall). building operations were commenced immediately and her majesty took great interest in the progress of the work. it had already been decided that this audience hall was to be furnished throughout in foreign style, with the exception of the throne, which, of course, retained its manchu appearance. her majesty compared the different styles of furniture with the catalogues we had brought with us from france and finally decided on the louis fifteenth style, but everything was to be covered with imperial yellow, with curtains and carpets to match. when everything had been selected to her majesty's satisfaction, my mother asked permission to defray the expense herself and make a present of this furniture. this her majesty agreed to and the order was accordingly placed with a well-known paris firm from whom we had purchased furniture when in france. by the time the building was completed the furniture had arrived, and it was quickly installed. her majesty went to inspect it and, of course, had to find fault as usual. she didn't seem at all pleased with the result of the experiment and said that after all a chinese building would have been the best as it would have had a more dignified appearance. however, the thing was finished and it was no use finding fault now, as it could not be changed. during the summer months i had plenty of leisure time and devoted about an hour each day to helping the emperor with his english. he was a most intelligent man with a wonderful memory and learned very quickly. his pronunciation, however, was not good. in a very short time he was able to read short stories out of an ordinary school reader and could write from dictation fairly well. his handwriting was exceptionally fine, while in copying old english and ornamental characters, he was an expert. her majesty seemed pleased that the emperor had taken up this study, and said she thought of taking it up herself as she was quite sure she would learn it very quickly if she tried. after two lessons she lost patience, and did not mention the matter again. of course these lessons gave me plenty of opportunity to talk with his majesty, and on one occasion he ventured the remark that i didn't seem to have made much progress with her majesty in the matter of reform. i told him that many things had been accomplished since my arrival at court, and mentioned the new audience hall as an instance. he didn't appear to think that anything worth talking about, and advised me to give up the matter altogether. he said when the proper time arrived--if it ever did arrive--then i might be of use, but expressed grave doubts on the subject. he also enquired about my father and i told him that unless his health improved very soon it would be necessary for us to leave the court for a while at any rate. he replied that although he should very much regret such a necessity, he really believed that it would be for the best. he said he felt certain that i should never be able to settle down permanently to court life after spending so many years abroad, and for his part would put no obstacles in the way of my leaving the court if i desired to do so. her majesty had given me permission to visit my father twice every month, and everything appeared to be going along nicely until one day one of her majesty's servant girls told me that her majesty was trying to arrange another marriage for me. at first i did not take any notice of this, but shortly afterwards her majesty informed me that everything was arranged and that i was to be married to a certain prince whom she had chosen. i could see that her majesty was waiting for me to say something, so i told her that i was very much worried at that time about my father and begged her to allow the matter to stand over for the time being at any rate. this made her majesty very angry, and she told me that she considered me very ungrateful after all she had done for me. i didn't reply, and as her majesty did not say anything more at the time, i tried to forget about it. however, on my next visit home, i told my father all about it, and as before he was strongly opposed to such a marriage. he suggested that on my return to the palace i should lay the whole matter before li lien ying, the head eunuch, and explain my position, for if anybody could influence her majesty, he was the one. i, therefore, took the first opportunity of speaking to him. at first he appeared very reluctant to interfere in the matter, and said he thought i ought to do as her majesty wished, but on my stating that i had no desire to marry at all, but was quite willing to remain at court in my present position, he promised to do his best for me. i never heard anything further about my marriage, either from her majesty or li lien ying, and therefore concluded that he had been able to arrange the matter satisfactorily. the summer passed without anything further important occurring. during the eighth moon the bamboos were cut down and here again the court ladies were called upon to assist, our work being to carve designs and characters on the cut trees, her majesty assisting. these were afterwards made into chairs, tables and other useful articles for her majesty's teahouse. during the long autumn evenings her majesty would teach us chinese history and poetry and every tenth day would put us through an examination in order to find out how much we had learned, prizes being awarded for proficiency. the younger eunuchs also took part in these lessons and some of their answers to her majesty's questions were very amusing. if her majesty were in a good humor she would laugh with the rest of us, but sometimes she would order them to be punished for their ignorance and stupidity. however, as they were quite accustomed to being punished they did not seem to mind very much and forgot all about it the next minute. as her majesty's seventieth birthday was approaching the emperor proposed to celebrate this event on an unusually grand scale, but her majesty would not give her consent to this proposal on account of the war trouble, for fear people might comment on it. the only difference, therefore, between this birthday and former ones was that her majesty gave presents to the court, in addition to receiving them. these included the bestowal of titles, promotions and increases in salary. among the titles conferred by her majesty, my sister and myself received the title of chun chu hsien (princess). these titles, however, were confined to members of the court, and were granted specially by the empress dowager. similar promotions to outside officials were always conferred by the emperor. it was proposed to hold the celebrations in the forbidden city as it was more suited for such an important event. however, her majesty did not like this idea at all, and gave instructions that the court should not be moved until three days before the th of the tenth moon, the date of her birthday. this entailed a lot of unnecessary work as it necessitated decorating both the summer palace and the forbidden city. everything was hurry and bustle. to add to this, it snowed very heavily during the few days previous to the tenth. her majesty was in a very good mood. she was very fond of being out in the snow and expressed a wish to have some photographs taken of herself on the hillside. so my brother was commanded to bring his camera, and took several very good pictures of her majesty. on the seventh day the court moved into the forbidden city and the celebrations commenced. the decorations were beautiful; the courtyards being covered with glass roofs to keep out the snow. the theatres were in full swing each day. the actual ceremony, which took place on the tenth, did not differ in any respect from previous ones. everything passed off smoothly, and the court removed again into the sea palace. while at the sea palace we received news that my father's condition was becoming serious, and he again tendered his resignation to her majesty. she sent her eunuchs to find out exactly what the matter was, and on learning that he was really very ill, accepted his resignation. her majesty agreed that it might be better for him to go to shanghai and see if the foreign physicians could do him any good. she said she supposed it would be necessary for my mother to accompany him to shanghai, but did not consider it serious enough to send my sister and myself along also. i tried to explain that it was my duty to go along with him as he might be taken worse and die before i could get down to see him again, and i begged her majesty to allow me to go. she offered all kinds of objections but eventually, seeing that i was bent on going, she said: "well, he is your father, and i suppose you want to be with him, so you may go on the understanding that you return to court as soon as ever possible." we did not get away until the middle of the eleventh moon, as her majesty insisted on making clothes for us and other preparations for our journey. of course we could do nothing but await her majesty's pleasure. when everything was ready her majesty referred to her book to choose a suitable day for our departure, and fixed on the thirteenth as being the best. we therefore left the palace for our own house on the twelfth. we kowtowed and said good-bye to her majesty, thanking her for her many kindnesses during our stay with her. everybody cried, even her majesty. we then went to say good-bye to the emperor and young empress. the emperor simply shook hands and wished us "good luck" in english. everybody appeared sorry to see us leave. after standing about for a long time her majesty said it was no use wasting any more time and that we had better start. at the gate the head eunuch bade us good-bye and we entered our carriage and drove to my father's house, our own eunuchs accompanying us to the door. we found everything prepared for our journey, and early the next morning we took train to tientsin where we just managed to catch the last steamer of the season leaving for shanghai. as it was, the water was so shallow that we ran aground on the taku bar. on arrival in shanghai my father immediately consulted his physician who examined him and prescribed medicine. the trip itself seemed to have done him a lot of good. i very soon began to miss my life at court, and, although i had many friends in shanghai and was invited to dinner parties and dances; still i did not seem to be able to enjoy myself. everything seemed different to what i had been accustomed to in peking and i simply longed for the time when i should be able to return to her majesty. about two weeks after our arrival, her majesty sent a special messenger down to shanghai to see how we were getting along. he brought us many beautiful presents and also a lot of medicine for my father. we were very glad to see him. he informed us that we were missed very much at court and advised us to return as soon as it was possible for us to do so. as my father began to show signs of improvement he suggested that there was no further need for me to stay in shanghai, and thought it better that i should return to peking and resume my duties at court. i therefore returned early in the new year. the river was frozen and i had to travel by boat to chinwantao, from thence by rail to peking. it was a most miserable journey and i was very glad when it was over. her majesty had sent my eunuchs to the station to meet me and i at once proceeded to the palace. on meeting her majesty we both cried again by way of expressing our happiness. i informed her that my father was progressing favorably and that i hoped to be able to remain with her permanently. i resumed my previous duties, but this time i had neither my sister for a companion nor my mother to chat with and everything appeared changed. her majesty was just the same, however, and treated me most kindly. still, i was not comfortable, and heartily wished myself back again in shanghai. i stayed at the court, going through pretty much the same daily routine as before until the second moon (march ), when i received a telegram summoning me to shanghai as my father had become worse, and was in a critical condition and wished to see me. i showed her majesty the telegram and waited for her decision. she commenced by telling me that my father was a very old man, and therefore his chances of recovery were not so great as if he were younger, finally winding up by telling me that i could go to him at once. i again wished everybody good-bye, fully expecting to return very soon; but this was not to be. i found my father in a very dangerous condition, and after a lingering illness, he died on the th of december, . of course we went into mourning for one hundred days which in itself prevented my returning to the court. while in shanghai i made many new friends and acquaintances and gradually began to realize that after all, the attractions of court life had not been able to eradicate the influences which had been brought to bear upon me while in europe. at heart i was a foreigner, educated in a foreign country, and, having already met my husband the matter was soon settled and i became an american citizen. however, i often look back to the two years i spent at the court of her majesty, the empress dowager of china, the most eventful and happiest days of my girlhood. although i was not able to do much towards influencing her majesty in the matter of reform, i still hope to live to see the day when china shall wake up and take her proper place among the nations of the world. "speaking of operations--" by irvin s. cobb respectfully dedicated to two classes: those who have already been operated on those who have not yet been operated on now that the last belated bill for services professionally rendered has been properly paid and properly receipted; now that the memory of the event, like the mark of the stitches, has faded out from a vivid red to a becoming pink shade; now that i pass a display of adhesive tape in a drug-store window without flinching--i sit me down to write a little piece about a certain matter--a small thing, but mine own--to wit, that operation. for years i have noticed that persons who underwent pruning or remodeling at the hands of a duly qualified surgeon, and survived, like to talk about it afterward. in the event of their not surviving i have no doubt they still liked to talk about it, but in a different locality. of all the readily available topics for use, whether among friends or among strangers, an operation seems to be the handiest and most dependable. it beats the tariff, or roosevelt, or bryan, or when this war is going to end, if ever, if you are a man talking to other men; and it is more exciting even than the question of how mrs. vernon castle will wear her hair this season, if you are a woman talking to other women. for mixed companies a whale is one of the best and the easiest things to talk about that i know of. in regard to whales and their peculiarities you can make almost any assertion without fear of successful contradiction. nobody ever knows any more about them than you do. you are not hampered by facts. if someone mentions the blubber of the whale and you chime in and say it may be noticed for miles on a still day when the large but emotional creature has been moved to tears by some great sorrow coming into its life, everybody is bound to accept the statement. for after all how few among us really know whether a distressed whale sobs aloud or does so under its breath? who, with any certainty, can tell whether a mother whale hatches her own egg her own self or leaves it on the sheltered bosom of a fjord to be incubated by the gentle warmth of the midnight sun? the possibilities of the proposition for purposes of informal debate, pro and con, are apparent at a glance. the weather, of course, helps out amazingly when you are meeting people for the first time, because there is nearly always more or less weather going on somewhere and practically everybody has ideas about it. the human breakfast is also a wonderfully good topic to start up during one of those lulls. try it yourself the next time the conversation seems to drag. just speak up in an offhand kind of way and say that you never care much about breakfast--a slice of toast and a cup of weak tea start you off properly for doing a hard day's work. you will be surprised to note how things liven up and how eagerly all present join in. the lady on your left feels that you should know she always takes two lumps of sugar and nearly half cream, because she simply cannot abide hot milk, no matter what the doctors say. the gentleman on your right will be moved to confess he likes his eggs boiled for exactly three minutes, no more and no less. buckwheat cakes and sausage find a champion and oatmeal rarely lacks a warm defender. but after all, when all is said and done, the king of all topics is operations. sooner or later, wherever two or more are gathered together it is reasonably certain that somebody will bring up an operation. until i passed through the experience of being operated on myself, i never really realized what a precious conversational boon the subject is, and how great a part it plays in our intercourse with our fellow beings on this planet. to the teller it is enormously interesting, for he is not only the hero of the tale but the rest of the cast and the stage setting as well--the whole show, as they say; and if the listener has had a similar experience--and who is there among us in these days that has not taken a nap 'neath the shade of the old ether cone?--it acquires a doubled value. "speaking of operations--" you say, just like that, even though nobody present has spoken of them; and then you are off, with your new acquaintance sitting on the edge of his chair, or hers as the case may be and so frequently is, with hands clutched in polite but painful restraint, gills working up and down with impatience, eyes brightened with desire, tongue hung in the middle, waiting for you to pause to catch your breath, so that he or she may break in with a few personal recollections along the same line. from a mere conversation it resolves itself into a symptom symposium, and a perfectly splendid time is had by all. if an operation is such a good thing to talk about, why isn't it a good thing to write about, too? that is what i wish to know. besides, i need the money. verily, one always needs the money when one has but recently escaped from the ministering clutches of the modern hospital. therefore i write. it all dates back to the fair, bright morning when i went to call on a prominent practitioner here in new york, whom i shall denominate as doctor x. i had a pain. i had had it for days. it was not a dependable, locatable pain, such as a tummyache or a toothache is, which you can put your hand on; but an indefinite, unsettled, undecided kind of pain, which went wandering about from place to place inside of me like a strange ghost lost in cudjo's cave. i never knew until then what the personal sensations of a haunted house are. if only the measly thing could have made up its mind to settle down somewhere and start light housekeeping i think should have been better satisfied. i never had such an uneasy tenant. alongside of it a woman with the moving fever would be comparatively a fixed and stationary object. having always, therefore, enjoyed perfectly riotous and absolutely unbridled health, never feeling weak and distressed unless dinner happened to be ten or fifteen minutes late, i was green regarding physicians and the ways of physicians. but i knew doctor x slightly, having met him last summer in one of his hours of ease in the grand stand at a ball game, when he was expressing a desire to cut the umpire's throat from ear to ear, free of charge; and i remembered his name, and remembered, too, that he had impressed me at the time as being a person of character and decision and scholarly attainments. he wore whiskers. somehow in my mind whiskers are ever associated with medical skill. i presume this is a heritage of my youth, though i believe others labor under the same impression. as i look back it seems to me that in childhood's days all the doctors in our town wore whiskers. i recall one old doctor down there in kentucky who was practically lurking in ambush all the time. all he needed was a few decoys out in front of him and a pump gun to be a duck blind. he carried his calomel about with him in a fruit jar, and when there was cutting job he stropped his scalpel on his bootleg. you see, in those primitive times germs had not been invented yet, and so he did not have to take any steps to avoid them. now we know that loose, luxuriant whiskers are unsanitary, because they make such fine winter quarters for germs; so, though the doctors still wear whiskers, they do not wear them wild and waving. in the profession bosky whiskers are taboo; they must be landscaped. and since it is a recognized fact that germs abhor orderliness and straight lines they now go elsewhere to reside, and the doctor may still retain his traditional aspect and yet be practically germproof. doctor x was trimmed in accordance with the ethics of the newer school. he had trellis whiskers. so i went to see him at his offices in a fashionable district, on an expensive side street. before reaching him i passed through the hands of a maid and a nurse, each of whom spoke to me in a low, sorrowful tone of voice, which seemed to indicate that there was very little hope. i reached an inner room where doctor x was. he looked me over, while i described for him as best i could what seemed to be the matter with me, and asked me a number of intimate questions touching on the lives, works, characters and peculiarities of my ancestors; after which he made me stand up in front of him and take my coat off, and he punched me hither and yon with his forefinger. he also knocked repeatedly on my breastbone with his knuckles, and each time, on doing this, would apply his ear to my chest and listen intently for a spell, afterward shaking his head in a disappointed way. apparently there was nobody at home. for quite a time he kept on knocking, but without getting any response. he then took my temperature and fifteen dollars, and said it was an interesting case--not unusual exactly, but interesting--and that it called for an operation. from the way my heart and other organs jumped inside of me at that statement i knew at once that, no matter what he may have thought, the premises were not unoccupied. naturally i inquired how soon he meant to operate. personally i trusted there was no hurry about it. i was perfectly willing to wait for several years, if necessary. he smiled at my ignorance. "i never operate," he said; "operating is entirely out of my line. i am a diagnostician." he was, too--i give him full credit for that. he was a good, keen, close diagnostician. how did he know i had only fifteen dollars on me? you did not have to tell this man what you had, or how much. he knew without being told. i asked whether he was acquainted with doctor y--y being a person whom i had met casually at a club to which i belong. oh, yes, he said, he knew doctor y. y was a clever man, x said--very, very clever; but y specialized in the eyes, the ears, the nose and the throat. i gathered from what doctor x said that any time doctor y ventured below the thorax he was out of bounds and liable to be penalized; and that if by any chance he strayed down as far as the lungs he would call for help and back out as rapidly as possible. this was news to me. it would appear that these up-to-date practitioners just go ahead and divide you up and partition you out among themselves without saying anything to you about it. your torso belongs to one man and your legs are the exclusive property of his brother practitioner down on the next block, and so on. you may belong to as many as half a dozen specialists, most of whom, very possibly, are total strangers to you, and yet never know a thing about it yourself. it has rather the air of trespass--nay, more than that, it bears some of the aspects of unlawful entry--but i suppose it is legal. certainly, judging by what i am able to learn, the system is being carried on generally. so it must be ethical. anything doctors do in a mass is ethical. almost anything they do singly and on individual responsibility is unethical. being ethical among doctors is practically the same thing as being a democrat in texas or a presbyterian in scotland. "y will never do for you," said doctor x, when i had rallied somewhat from the shock of these disclosures. "i would suggest that you go to doctor z, at such-and-such an address. you are exactly in z's line. i'll let him know that you are coming and when, and i'll send him down my diagnosis." so that same afternoon, the appointment having been made by telephone, i went, full of quavery emotions, to doctor z's place. as soon as i was inside his outer hallway, i realized that i was nearing the presence of one highly distinguished in his profession. a pussy-footed male attendant, in a livery that made him look like a cross between a headwaiter and an undertaker's assistant, escorted me through an anteroom into a reception-room, where a considerable number of well-dressed men and women were sitting about in strained attitudes, pretending to read magazines while they waited their turns, but in reality furtively watching one another. i sat down in a convenient chair, adhering fast to my hat and my umbrella. they were the only friends i had there and i was determined not to lose them without a struggle. on the wall were many colored charts showing various portions of the human anatomy and what ailed them. directly in front of me was a very thrilling illustration, evidently copied from an oil painting, of a liver in a bad state of repair. i said to myself that if i had a liver like that one i should keep it hidden from the public eye--i would never permit it to sit for it's portrait. still, there is no accounting for tastes. i know a man who got his spleen back from the doctors and now keeps it in a bottle of alcohol on the what-not in the parlor, as one of his most treasured possessions, and sometimes shows it to visitors. he, however, is of a very saving disposition. presently a lady secretary, who sat behind a roll-top desk in a corner of the room, lifted a forefinger and silently beckoned me to her side. i moved over and sat down by her; she took down my name and my age and my weight and my height, and a number of other interesting facts that will come in very handy should anyone ever be moved to write a complete history of my early life. in common with doctor x she shared one attribute--she manifested a deep curiosity regarding my forefathers--wanted to know all about them. i felt that this was carrying the thing too far. i felt like saying to her: "miss or madam, so far as i know there is nothing the matter with my ancestors of the second and third generations back, except that they are dead. i am not here to seek medical assistance for a grandparent who succumbed to disappointment that time when samuel j. tilden got counted out, or for a great-grandparent who entered into eternal rest very unexpectedly and in a manner entirely uncalled for as a result of being an innocent bystander in one of those feuds that were so popular in my native state immediately following the mexican war. leave my ancestors alone. there is no need of your shaking my family tree in the belief that a few overripe patients will fall out. i alone--i, me, myself--am the present candidate!" however, i refrained from making this protest audibly. i judged she was only going according to the ritual; and as she had a printed card, with blanks in it ready to be filled out with details regarding the remote members of the family connection, i humored her along. when i could not remember something she wished to know concerning an ancestor i supplied her with thrilling details culled from the field of fancy. when the card was entirely filled up she sent me back to my old place to wait. i waited and waited, breeding fresh ailments all the time. i had started out with one symptom; now if i had one i had a million and a half. i could feel goose flesh sprouting out all over me. if i had been taller i might have had more, but not otherwise. such is the power of the human imagination when the surroundings are favorable to its development. time passed; to me it appeared that nearly all the time there was passed and that we were getting along toward the shank-end of the christian era mighty fast. i was afraid my turn would come next and afraid it would not. perhaps you know this sensation. you get it at the dentist's, and when you are on the list of after-dinner speakers at a large banquet, and when you are waiting for the father of the only girl in the world to make up his mind whether he is willing to try to endure you as a son-in-law. then some more time passed. one by one my companions, obeying a command, passed out through the door at the back, vanishing out of my life forever. none of them returned. i was vaguely wondering whether doctor z buried his dead on the premises or had them removed by a secret passageway in the rear, when a young woman in a nurse's costume tapped me on the shoulder from behind. i jumped. she hid a compassionate smile with her hand and told me that the doctor would see me now. as i rose to follow her--still clinging with the drowning man's grip of desperation to my hat and my umbrella--i was astonished to note by a glance at the calendar on the wall that this was still the present date. i thought it would be thursday of next week at the very least. doctor z also wore whiskers, carefully pointed up by an expert hedge trimmer. he sat at his desk, surrounded by freewill offerings from grateful patients and by glass cases containing other things he had taken away from them when they were not in a condition to object. i had expected, after all the preliminary ceremonies and delays, that we should have a long skance together. not so; not at all. the modern expert in surgery charges as much for remembering your name between visits as the family doctor used to expect for staying up all night with you, but he does not waste any time when you are in his presence. i was about to find that out. and a little later on i was to find out a lot of other things; in fact, that whole week was of immense educational value to me. i presume it was because he stood high in his profession, and was almost constantly engaged in going into the best society that doctor z did not appear to be the least bit excited over my having picked him out to look into me. in the most perfunctory manner he shook the hand that has shaken the hands of jess willard, george m. cohan and henry ford, and bade me be seated in a chair which was drawn up in a strong light, where he might gaze directly at me as we conversed and so get the full values of the composition. but if i was a treat for him to look at he concealed his feelings very effectually. he certainly had his emotions under splendid control. but then, of course, you must remember that he probably had traveled about extensively and was used to sight-seeing. from this point on everything passed off in a most businesslike manner. he reached into a filing cabinet and took out an exhibit, which i recognized as the same one his secretary had filled out in the early part of the century. so i was already in the card-index class. then briefly he looked over the manifest that doctor x had sent him. it may not have been a manifest--it may have been an invoice or a bill of lading. anyhow i was in the assignee's hands. i could only hope it would not eventually become necessary to call in a receiver. then he spoke: "yes, yes-yes," he said; "yes-yes-yes! operation required. small matter--hum, hum! let's see--this is tuesday? quite so. do it friday! friday at"--he glanced toward a scribbled pad of engagement dates at his elbow--"friday at seven a. m. no, make it seven-fifteen. have important tumor case at seven. st. germicide's hospital. you know the place--up on umpty-umph street. go' day! miss whoziz, call next visitor." and before i realized that practically the whole affair had been settled i was outside the consultation-room in a small private hall, and the secretary was telling me further details would be conveyed to me by mail. i went home in a dazed state. for the first time i was beginning to learn something about an industry in which heretofore i had never been interested. especially was i struck by the difference now revealed to me in the preliminary stages of the surgeons' business as compared with their fellow experts in the allied cutting trades--tailors, for instance, not to mention barbers. every barber, you know, used to be a surgeon, only he spelled it chirurgeon. since then the two professions have drifted far apart. even a half-witted barber--the kind who always has the first chair as you come into the shop--can easily spend ten minutes of your time thinking of things he thinks you should have and mentioning them to you one by one, whereas any good, live surgeon knows what you have almost instantly. as for the tailor--consider how wearisome are his methods when you parallel them alongside the tremendous advances in this direction made by the surgeon--how cumbersome and old-fashioned and tedious! why, an experienced surgeon has you all apart in half the time the tailor takes up in deciding whether the vest shall fasten with five buttons or six. our own domestic tailors are bad enough in this regard and the old world tailors are even worse. i remember a german tailor in aix-la-chapelle in the fall of who undertook to build for me a suit suitable for visiting the battle lines informally. he was the most literary tailor i ever met anywhere. he would drape the material over my person and then take a piece of chalk and write quite a nice long piece on me. then he would rub it out and write it all over again, but more fully. he kept this up at intervals of every other day until he had writer's cramp. after that he used pins. he would pin the seams together, uttering little soothing, clucking sounds in german whenever a pin went through the goods and into me. the german cluck is not so soothing as the cluck of the english-speaking peoples, i find. at the end of two long and trying weeks, which wore both of us down noticeably, he had the job done. it was not an unqualified success. he regarded is as a suit of clothes, but i knew better; it was a set of slip covers, and if only i had been a two-seated runabout it would have proved a perfect fit, i am sure; but i am a single-seated design and it did not answer. i wore it to the war because i had nothing else to wear that would stamp me as a regular war correspondent, except, of course, my wrist watch; but i shall not wear it to another war. war is terrible enough already; and, besides, i have parted with it. on my way home through holland i gave that suit to a couple of poor belgian refugees, and i presume they are still wearing it. so far as i have been able to observe, the surgeons and the tailors of these times share but one common instinct: if you go to a new surgeon or to a new tailor he is morally certain, after looking you over, that the last surgeon you had or the last tailor, did not do your cutting properly. there, however, is where the resemblance ends. the tailor, as i remarked in effect just now, wants an hour at least in which to decide how he may best cover up and disguise the irregularities of the human form; in much less time than that the surgeon has completely altered the form itself. with the surgeon it is very much as it is with those learned men who write those large, impressive works of reference which should be permanently in every library, and which we are forever buying from an agent because we are so passionately addicted to payments. if the thing he seeks does not appear in the contents proper he knows exactly where to look for it. "see appendix," says the historian to you in a footnote. "see appendix," says the surgeon to himself, the while humming a cheery refrain. and so he does. well, i went home. this was tuesday and the operation was not to be performed until the coming friday. by wednesday i had calmed down considerably. by thursday morning i was practically normal again as regards my nerves. you will understand that i was still in a blissful state of ignorance concerning the actual methods of the surgical profession as exemplified by its leading exponents of today. the knowledge i have touched on in the pages immediately preceding was to come to me later. likewise doctor z's manner had been deceiving. it could not be that he meant to carve me to any really noticeable extent--his attitude had been entirely too casual. at our house carving is a very serious matter. any time i take the head of the table and start in to carve it is fitting women and children get to a place of safety, and onlookers should get under the table. when we first began housekeeping and gave our first small dinner-party we had a brace of ducks cooked in honor of the company, and i, as host, undertook to carve them. i never knew until then that a duck was built like a watch--that his works were inclosed in a burglarproof case. without the use of dynamite the red leary-o'brien gang could not have broken into those ducks. i thought so then and i think so yet. years have passed since then, but i may state that even now, when there are guests for dinner, we do not have ducks. unless somebody else is going to carve, we have liver. i mention this fact in passing because it shows that i had learned to revere carving as one of the higher arts, and one not to be approached except in a spirit of due appreciation of the magnitude of the undertaking, and after proper consideration and thought and reflection, and all that sort of thing. if this were true as regards a mere duck, why not all the more so as regards the carving of a person of whom i am so very fond as i am of myself? thus i reasoned. and finally, had not doctor z spoken of the coming operation as a small matter? well then? thursday at noon i received from doctor z's secretary a note stating that arrangements had been made for my admission into st. germicide that same evening and that i was to spend the night there. this hardly seemed necessary. still, the tone of the note appeared to indicate that the hospital authorities particularly wished to have me for an overnight guest; and as i reflected that probably the poor things had few enough bright spots in their busy lives, i decided i would humor them along and gladden the occasion with my presence from dinner-time on. about eight o'clock i strolled in very jauntily. in my mind i had the whole programme mapped out. i would stay at the hospital for, say, two days following the operation--or, at most, three. then i must be up and away. i had a good deal of work to do and a number of people to see on important business, and i could not really afford to waste more than a weekend on the staff of st. germicide's. after monday they must look to their own devices for social entertainment. that was my idea. now when i look back on it i laugh, but it is a hollow laugh and there is no real merriment in it. indeed, almost from the moment of my entrance little things began to come up that were calculated to have a depressing effect on one's spirits. downstairs a serious-looking lady met me and entered in a book a number of salient facts regarding my personality which the previous investigators had somehow overlooked. there is a lot of bookkeeping about an operation. this detail attended to, a young man, dressed in white garments and wearing an expression that stamped him as one who had suffered a recent deep bereavement came and relieved me of my hand bag and escorted me upstairs. as we passed through the upper corridors i had my first introduction to the hospital smell, which is a smell compounded of iodoform, ether, gruel, and something boiling. all hospitals have it, i understand. in time you get used to it, but you never really care for it. the young man led me into a small room tastefully decorated with four walls, a floor, a ceiling, a window sill and a window, a door and a doorsill, and a bed and a chair. he told me to go to bed. i did not want to go to bed--it was not my regular bedtime--but he made a point of it, and i judged it was according to regulations; so i undressed and put on my night clothes and crawled in. he left me, taking my other clothes and my shoes with him, but i was not allowed to get lonely. a little later a ward surgeon appeared, to put a few inquiries of a pointed and personal nature. he particularly desired to know what my trouble was. i explained to him that i couldn't tell him--he would have to see doctor x or doctor z; they probably knew, but were keeping it a secret between themselves. the answer apparently satisfied him, because immediately after that he made me sign a paper in which i assumed all responsibility for what was to take place the next morning. this did not seem exactly fair. as i pointed out to him, it was the surgeon's affair, not mine; and if the surgeon made a mistake the joke would be on him and not on me, because in that case i would not be here anyhow. but i signed, as requested, on the dotted line, and he departed. after that, at intervals, the chief house surgeon dropped in, without knocking, and the head nurse came, and an interne or so, and a ward nurse, and the special nurse who was to have direct charge of me. it dawned on me that i was not having any more privacy in that hospital than a goldfish. about eleven o'clock an orderly came, and, without consulting my wishes in the matter, he undressed me until i could have passed almost anywhere for september morn's father, and gave me a clean shave, twice over, on one of my most prominent plane surfaces. i must confess i enjoyed that part of it. so far as i am able to recall, it was the only shave i have ever had where the operator did not spray me with cheap perfumery afterward and then try to sell me a bottle of hair tonic. having shaved me, the young man did me up amidships in a neat cloth parcel, took his kit under his arm and went away. it occurred to me that, considering the trivial nature of the case, a good deal of fuss was being made over me by persons who could have no personal concern in the matter whatsoever. this thought recurred to me frequently as i lay there all tied in a bundle like a week's washing. i did not feel quite so uppish as i had felt. why was everybody picking on me? anon i slept, but dreamed fitfully. i dreamed that a whole flock of surgeons came to my bedside and charted me out in sections, like one of those diagram pictures you see of a beef in the handy compendium of universal knowledge, showing the various cuts and the butcher's pet name for each cut. each man took his favorite joint and carried it away, and when they were all gone i was merely a recent site, full of reverberating echoes and nothing else. i have had happier dreams in my time; this was not the kind of dream i should have selected had the choice been left to me. when i woke the young sun was shining in at the window, and an orderly--not the orderly who had shaved me, but another one--was there in my room and my nurse was waiting outside the door. the orderly dressed me in a quaint suit of pyjamas cut on the half shell and buttoning stylishly in the back, princesse mode. then he rolled in a flat litter on wheels and stretched me on it, and covered me up with a white tablecloth, just as though i had been cold sunday-night supper, and we started for the operating-room at the top of the building; but before we started i lit a large black cigar, as gen. u. s. grant used to do when he went into battle. i wished by this to show how indifferent i was. maybe he fooled somebody, but i do not believe i possess the same powers of simulation that grant had. he must have been a very remarkable man--grant must. the orderly and the nurse trundled me out into the hall and loaded me into an elevator, which was to carry us up to the top of the hospital. several other nurses were already in the elevator. as we came aboard one of them remarked that it was a fine day. a fine day for what? she did not finish the sentence. everybody wore a serious look. inside of myself i felt pretty serious too--serious enough for ten or twelve. i had meant to fling off several very bright, spontaneous quips on the way to the table. i thought them out in advance, but now, somehow, none of them seemed appropriate. instinctively, as it were, i felt that humor was out of place here. i never knew an elevator to progress from the third floor of a building to the ninth with such celerity as this one on which we were traveling progressed. personally i was in no mood for haste. if there was anyone else in all that great hospital who was in a particular hurry to be operated on i was perfectly willing to wait. but alas, no! the mechanism of the elevator was in perfect order--entirely too perfect. no accident of any character whatsoever befell us en route, no dropping back into the basement with a low, grateful thud; no hitch; no delay of any kind. we were certainly out of luck that trip. the demon of a joyrider who operated the accursed device jerked a lever and up we soared at a distressingly high rate of speed. if i could have had my way about that youth he would have been arrested for speeding. now we were there! they rolled into a large room, all white, with a rounded ceiling like the inside of an egg. right away i knew what the feelings of a poor, lonely little yolk are when the spoon begins to chip the shell. if i had not been so busy feeling sorry for myself i think i might have developed quite an active sympathy for yolks. my impression had been that this was to be in the nature of a private affair, without invitations. i was astonished to note that quite a crowd had assembled for the opening exercises. from his attire and general deportment i judged that doctor z was going to be the master of the revels, he being attired appropriately in a white domino, with rubber gloves and a fancy cap of crash toweling. there were present, also, my diagnostic friend, doctor x, likewise in fancy-dress costume, and a surgeon i had never met. from what i could gather he was going over the course behind doctor z to replace the divots. and there was an interne in the background, playing caddy, as it were, and a head nurse, who was going to keep the score, and two other nurses, who were going to help her keep it. i only hoped that they would show no partiality, but be as fair to me as they were to doctor z, and that he would go round in par. so they placed me right where my eyes might rest on a large wall cabinet full of very shiny-looking tools; and they took my cigar away from me and folded my hands on the wide bowknot of my sash. then they put a cloth dingus over my face and a voice of authority told me to breathe. that advice, however, was superfluous and might just as well have been omitted, for such was my purpose anyhow. ever since i can recall anything at all, breathing has been a regular habit with me. so i breathed. and, at that, a bottle of highly charged sarsaparilla exploded somewhere in the immediate vicinity and most of its contents went up my nose. i started to tell them that somebody had been fooling with their ether and adulterating it, and that if they thought they could send me off to sleep with soda pop they were making the mistake of their lives, because it just naturally could not be done; but for some reason or other i decided to put off speaking about the matter for a few minutes. i breathed again--again--agai---- i was going away from there. i was in a large gas balloon, soaring up into the clouds. how pleasant!... no, by jove! i was not in a balloon--i myself was the balloon, which was not quite so pleasant. besides, doctor z was going along as a passenger; and as we traveled up and up he kept jabbing me in the midriff with the ferrule of a large umbrella which he had brought along with him in case of rain. he jabbed me harder and harder. i remonstrated with him. i told him i was a bit tender in that locality and the ferrule of his umbrella was sharp. he would not listen. he kept on jabbing me. something broke! we started back down to earth. we fell faster and faster. we fell nine miles, and after that i began to get used to it. then i saw the earth beneath and it was rising up to meet us. a town was below--a town that grew larger and larger as we neared it. i could make out the bonded indebtedness, and the carnegie library, and the moving-picture palaces, and the new dancing parlor, and other principal points of interest. at the rate we were falling we were certainly going to make an awful splatter in that town when we hit. i was sorry for the street-cleaning department. we fell another half mile or so. a spire was sticking up into the sky directly beneath us, like a spear, to impale us. by a supreme effort i twisted out of the way of that spire, only to strike squarely on top of the roof of a greenhouse back of the parsonage, next door. we crashed through it with a perfectly terrific clatter of breaking glass and landed in a bed of white flowers, all soft and downy, like feathers. and then doctor z stood up and combed the debris out of his whiskers and remarked that, taking it by and large, it had been one of the pleasantest little outings he had enjoyed in the entire course of his practice. he said that as a patient i was fair, but as a balloon i was immense. he asked me whether i had seen anything of his umbrella and began looking round for it. i tried to help him look, but i was too tired to exert myself much. i told him i believed i would take a little nap. i opened a dizzy eye part way. so this was heaven--this white expanse that swung and swam before my languid gaze? no, it could not be--it did not smell like heaven. it smelled like a hospital. it was a hospital. it was my hospital. my nurse was bending over me and i caught a faint whiff of the starch in the front of her crisp blue blouse. she was two-headed for the moment, but that was a mere detail. she settled a pillow under my head and told me to lie quiet. i meant to lie quiet; i did not have to be told. i wanted to lie quiet and hurt. i was hurty from head to toe and back again, and crosswise and cater-cornered. i hurt diagonally and lengthwise and on the bias. i had a taste in my mouth like a bird-and-animal store. and empty! it seemed to me those doctors had not left anything inside of me except the acoustics. well, there was a mite of consolation there. if the overhauling had been as thorough as i had reason to believe it was from my present sensations, i need never fear catching anything again so long as i lived, except possibly dandruff. i waved the nurse away. i craved solitude. i desired only to lie there in that bed and hurt--which i did. i had said beforehand i meant to stay in st. germicide's for two or three days only. it is when i look back on that resolution i emit the hollow laugh elsewhere referred to. for exactly four weeks i was flat on my back. i know now how excessively wearied a man can get of his own back, how tired of it, how bored with it! and after that another two weeks elapsed before my legs became the same dependable pair of legs i had known in the past. i did not want to eat at first, and when i did begin to want to they would not let me. if i felt sort of peckish they let me suck a little glass thermometer, but there is not much nourishment really in thermometers. and for entertainment, to wile the dragging hours away, i could count the cracks in the ceiling and read my temperature chart, which was a good deal like red ames' batting average for the past season--ranging from ninety-nine to one hundred and four. also, through daily conversations with my nurse and with the surgeons who dropped in from time to time to have a look at me, i learned, as i lay there, a great deal about the medical profession--that is, a great deal for a layman--and what i learned filled me with an abiding admiration for it, both as a science and as a business. this surely is one profession which ever keeps its face to the front. burying its past mistakes and forgetting them as speedily as possible, it pushes straight forward into fresh fields and fresh patients, always hopeful of what the future may bring in the way of newly discovered and highly expensive ailments. as we look backward upon the centuries we are astonished by its advancement. i did a good deal of looking backwards upon the centuries during my sojourn at st. germicide's. take the middle ages now--the period when a barber and a surgeon were one and the same. if a man made a failure as a barber he turned his talents to surgery. surgeons in those times were a husky breed. i judge they worked by the day instead of by piecework; anyhow the records show they were very fond of experiments where somebody else furnished the raw material. when there came a resounding knock at the tradesman's entrance of the moated grange, the lord of the manor, looking over the portcullis and seeing a lusty wight standing down below, in a leather apron, with his sleeves rolled up and a kit of soldering tools under his arm, didn't know until he made inquiry whether the gentle stranger had come to mend the drain or remove the cook's leg. a little later along, when gunpowder had come into general use as a humanizing factor of civilization, surgeons treated a gunshot wound by pouring boiling lard into it, which i would say was calculated to take the victim's mind off his wound and give him something else to think about--for the time being, anyhow. i assume the notion of applying a mustard plaster outside one's stomach when one has a pain inside one's stomach is based on the same principle. however, one doesn't have to go clear back to medieval times to note the radical differences in the plan of treating human ailments. a great many persons who are still living can remember when the doctors were not nearly so numerous as they are now. i, for one, would be the last to reverse the sentence and say that because the doctors were not nearly so numerous then as they are now, those persons are still living so numerously. in the spring of the year, when the sap flowed and the birds mated, the sturdy farmer felt that he was due to have something the matter with him, too. so he would ride into the country-seat and get an almanac. doubtless the reader, if country raised, has seen copies of this popular work. on the outside cover, which was dark blue in color, there was a picture of a person whose stomach was sliced four ways, like a twenty-cent pie, and then folded back neatly, thus exposing his entire interior arrangements to the gaze of the casual observer. however, this party, judging by his picture, did not appear to be suffering. he did not even seem to fear that he might catch cold from standing there in his own draught. he was gazing off into space in an absent-minded kind of way, apparently not aware that anything was wrong with him; and on all sides he was surrounded by interesting exhibits, such as a crab, and a scorpion, and a goat, and a chap with a bow and arrow--and one thing and another. such was the main design of the cover, while the contents were made up of recognized and standard varieties in the line of jokes and the line of diseases which alternated, with first a favorite joke and then a favorite disease. the author who wrote the descriptions of the diseases was one of the most convincing writers that ever lived anywhere. as a realist he had no superiors among those using our language as a vehicle for the expression of thought. he was a wonder. if a person wasn't particular about what ailed him he could read any page at random and have one specific disease. or he could read the whole book through and have them all, in their most advanced stages. then the only thing that could save him was a large dollar bottle. again, in attacks of the breakbone ague or malaria it was customary to call in a local practitioner, generally an elderly lady of the neighborhood who had none of these latter-day prejudices regarding the use of tobacco by the gentler sex. one whom i distantly recall, among childhood's happy memories, carried this liberal-mindedness to a point where she not only dipped snuff and smoked a cob pipe, but sometimes chewed a little natural leaf. this lady, on being called in, would brew up a large caldron of medicinal roots and barks and sprouts and things; and then she would deluge the interior of the sufferer with a large gourdful of this pleasing mixture at regular intervals. it was efficacious, too. the inundated person either got well or else he drowned from the inside. rocking the patient was almost as dangerous a pastime as rocking the boat. this also helps to explain, i think, why so many of our forebears had floating kidneys. there was nothing else for a kidney to do. by the time i attained to long trousers, people in our town mainly had outgrown the unlicensed expert and were depending more and more upon the old-fashioned family doctor--the one with the whisker-jungle--who drove about in a gig, accompanied by a haunting aroma of iodoform and carrying his calomel with him in bulk. he probably owned a secret calomel mine of his own. he must have; otherwise he could never have afforded to be so generous with it. he also had other medicines with him, all of them being selected on the principle that unless a drug tasted like the very dickens it couldn't possibly do you any good. at all hours of the day and night he was to be seen going to and fro, distributing nuggets from his private lode. he went to bed with his trousers and his hat on, i think, and there was a general belief that his old mare slept between the shafts of the gig, with the bridle shoved up on her forehead. it has been only a few years since the oldtime general practitioner was everywhere. just look round and see now how the system has changed! if your liver begins to misconduct itself the first thought of the modern operator is to cut it out and hide it some place where you can't find it. the oldtimer would have bombarded it with a large brunette pill about the size and color of a damson plum. or he might put you on a diet of molasses seasoned to taste with blue mass and quinine and other attractive condiments. likewise, in the spring of the year he frequently anointed the young of the species with a mixture of mutton suet and asafetida. this treatment had an effect that was distinctly depressing upon the growing boy. it militated against his popularity. it forced him to seek his pleasures outdoors, and a good distance outdoors at that. it was very hard for a boy, however naturally attractive he might be, to retain his popularity at the fireside circle when coated with mutton suet and asafetida and then taken into a warm room. he attracted attention which he did not court and which was distasteful to him. keeping quiet did not seem to help him any. even if they had been blindfolded others would still have felt his presence. a civit-cat suffers from the same drawbacks in a social way, but the advantage to the civit-cat is that as a general thing it associates only with other civit-cats. except in the country the old-time, catch-as-catch-can general practitioner appears to be dying out. in the city one finds him occasionally, playing a limit game in an office on a back street--two dollars to come in, five to call; but the tendency of the day is toward specialists. hence the expert who treats you for just one particular thing with a pain in your chest, say, you go to a chest specialist. so long as he can keep the trouble confined to your chest, all well and good. if it slips down or slides up he tries to coax it back to the reservation. if it refuses to do so, he bids it an affectionate adieu, makes a dotted mark on you to show where he left off, collects his bill and regretfully turns you over to a stomach specialist or a throat specialist, depending on the direction in which the trouble was headed when last seen. or, perhaps the specialist to whom you take your custom is an advocate of an immediate operation for such cases as yours and all others. i may be unduly sensitive on account of having recently emerged from the surgeon's hands, but it strikes me now that there are an awful lot of doctors who take one brief glance at a person who is complaining, and say to themselves that here is something that ought to be looked into right away--and immediately open a bag and start picking out the proper utensils. you go into a doctor's office and tell him you do not feel the best in the world--and he gives you a look and excuses himself, and steps into the next room and begins greasing a saw. mind you, in these casual observations as compiled by me while bedfast and here given utterance, i am not seeking to disparage possibly the noblest of professions. lately i have owed much to it. i am strictly on the doctor's side. he is with us when we come into the world and with us when we go out of it, oftentimes lending a helping hand on both occasions. anyway, our sympathies should especially go out to the medical profession at this particular time when the anti-vivisectionists are railing so loudly against the doctors. the anti-vivisection crusade has enlisted widely different classes in the community, including many lovers of our dumb-animal pets--and aren't some of them the dumbest things you ever saw!--especially chow dogs and love birds. i will admit there is something to be said on both sides of the argument. this dissecting of live subjects may have been carried to extremes on occasions. when i read in the medical journals that the eminent doctor somebody succeeded in transferring the interior department of a pelican to a pointer pup, and vice versa with such success that the pup drowned while diving for minnows, and the pelican went out in the back yard and barked himself to death baying at the moon, i am interested naturally; but, possibly because of my ignorance, i fail to see wherein the treatment of infantile paralysis has been materially advanced. on the other hand i would rather the kind and gentle belgian hare should be offered up as a sacrifice upon the operating table and leave behind him a large family of little belgian heirs and heiresses--dependent upon the charity of a cruel world--than that i should have something painful which can be avoided through making him a martyr. i would rather any white rabbit on earth should have the asiatic cholera twice than that i should have it just once. these are my sincere convictions, and i will not attempt to disguise them. thanks too, to medical science we know about germs and serums and diets and all that. our less fortunate ancestors didn't know about them. they were befogged in ignorance. as recently as the generation immediately preceding ours people were unacquainted with the simplest rules of hygiene. they didn't care whether the housefly wiped his feet before he came into the house or not. the gentleman with the drooping, cream-separator mustache was at perfect liberty to use the common drinking cup on the railroad train. the appendix lurked in its snug retreat, undisturbed by the prying fingers of curiosity. the fever-bearing skeeter buzzed and flitted, stinging where he pleased. the germ theory was unfathomed. suitable food for an invalid was anything the invalid could afford to buy. fresh air, and more especially fresh night air, was regarded as dangerous, and people hermetically sealed themselves in before retiring. not daily as at present was the world gladdened by the tidings that science had unearthed some new and particularly unpleasant disease. it never occurred to a mother that she should sterilize the slipper before spanking her offspring. babies were not reared antiseptically, but just so. nobody was aware of microbes. in short, our sires and our grandsires abode in the midst of perils. they were surrounded on all sides by things that are immediately fatal to the human system. not a single one of them had a right to pass his second birthday. in the light of what we know, we realize that by now this world should be but a barren waste dotted at frequent intervals with large graveyards and populated only by a few dispossessed and hungry bacteria, hanging over the cemetery fence singing: driven from home! in the conditions generally prevalent up to twenty-five years ago, most of us never had any license, really, to be born at all. yet look how many of us are now here. in this age of research i hesitate to attempt to account for it, except on the entirely unscientific theory that what you don't know doesn't hurt you. doubtless a physician could give you a better explanation, but his would cost you more than mine has. but we digress. let us get back to our main subject, which is myself. i shall never forget my first real meal in that hospital. there was quite a good deal of talk about it beforehand. my nurse kept telling me that on the next day the doctor had promised i might have something to eat. i could hardly wait. i had visions of a tenderloin steak smothered in fried onions, and some french-fried potatoes, and a tall table-limit stack of wheat cakes, and a few other incidental comfits and kickshaws. i could hardly wait for that meal. the next day came and she brought it to me, and i partook thereof. it was the white of an egg. for dessert i licked a stamp; but this i did clandestinely and by stealth, without saying anything about it to her. i was not supposed to have any sweets. on the occasion of the next feast the diet was varied. i had a sip of one of those fermented milk products. you probably know the sort of thing i mean. even before you've swallowed it, it tastes as though it had already disagreed with you. the nurse said this food was predigested but did not tell me by whom. nor did i ask her. i started to, but thought better of it. sometimes one is all the happier for not knowing too much. a little later on, seeing that i had not suffered an attack of indigestion from this debauch, they gave me junket. in the dictionary i have looked up the definitions of junket. i quote: junket, v. i. t. to entertain by feasting; regale. ii. i. to give or take part in an entertainment or excursion; feast in company; picnic; revel. junket, n. a merry feast or excursion; picnic. when the author of a dictionary tries to be frivolous he only succeeds in making himself appear foolish. i know not how it may be in the world at large, but in a hospital, junket is a custard that by some subtle process has been denuded of those ingredients which make a custard fascinating and exciting. it tastes as though the eggs, which form its underlying basis, had been laid in a fit of pique by a hen that was severely upset at the time. hereafter when the junket is passed round somebody else may have my share. i'll stick to the mince pie a la mode. and the first cigar of my convalescence--ah, that, too, abides as a vivid memory! dropping in one morning to replace the wrappings doctor z said i might smoke in moderation. so the nurse brought me a cigar, and i lit it and took one deep puff; but only one. i laid it aside. i said to the nurse: "a mistake has been made here. i do not want a cooking cigar, you understand. i desire a cigar for personal use. this one is full of herbs and simples, i think. it suggests a new england boiled dinner, and not a very good new england boiled dinner at that. let us try again." she brought another cigar. it was not satisfactory either. then she showed me the box--an orthodox box containing cigars of a recognized and previously dependable brand. i could only conclude that a root-and-herb doctor had bought an interest in the business and was introducing his own pet notions into the formula. but came a day--as the fancy writers say when they wish to convey the impression that a day has come, but hate to do it in a commonplace manner--came a day when my cigar tasted as a cigar should taste and food had the proper relish to it; and my appetite came back again and found the old home place not so greatly changed after all. and then shortly thereafter came another day, when i, all replete with expensive stitches, might drape the customary habiliments of civilization about my attenuated frame and go forth to mingle with my fellow beings. i have been mingling pretty steadily ever since, for now i have something to talk about--a topic good for any company; congenial, an absorbing topic. i can spot a brother member a block away. i hasten up to him and give him the grand hailing sign of the order. he opens his mouth to speak, but i beat him to it. "speaking of operations--" i say. and then i'm off. believe me, it's the life! hero tales from american history by henry cabot lodge and theodore roosevelt hence it is that the fathers of these men and ours also, and they themselves likewise, being nurtured in all freedom and well born, have shown before all men many and glorious deeds in public and private, deeming it their duty to fight for the cause of liberty and the greeks, even against greeks, and against barbarians for all the greeks."--plato: "menexenus." to e. y. r. to you we owe the suggestion of writing this book. its purpose, as you know better than any one else, is to tell in simple fashion the story of some americans who showed that they knew how to live and how to die; who proved their truth by their endeavor; and who joined to the stern and manly qualities which are essential to the well-being of a masterful race the virtues of gentleness, of patriotism, and of lofty adherence to an ideal. it is a good thing for all americans, and it is an especially good thing for young americans, to remember the men who have given their lives in war and peace to the service of their fellow-countrymen, and to keep in mind the feats of daring and personal prowess done in time past by some of the many champions of the nation in the various crises of her history. thrift, industry, obedience to law, and intellectual cultivation are essential qualities in the makeup of any successful people; but no people can be really great unless they possess also the heroic virtues which are as needful in time of peace as in time of war, and as important in civil as in military life. as a civilized people we desire peace, but the only peace worth having is obtained by instant readiness to fight when wronged--not by unwillingness or inability to fight at all. intelligent foresight in preparation and known capacity to stand well in battle are the surest safeguards against war. america will cease to be a great nation whenever her young men cease to possess energy, daring, and endurance, as well as the wish and the power to fight the nation's foes. no citizen of a free state should wrong any man; but it is not enough merely to refrain from infringing on the rights of others; he must also be able and willing to stand up for his own rights and those of his country against all comers, and he must be ready at any time to do his full share in resisting either malice domestic or foreign levy. henry cabot lodge. theodore roosevelt. washington, april , . contents george washington--h. c. lodge. daniel boone and the founding of kentucky--theodore roosevelt. george rogers clark and the conquest of the northwest--theodore roosevelt. the battle of trenton--h. c. lodge. bennington--h. c. lodge. king's mountain--theodore roosevelt. the storming of stony point--theodore roosevelt. gouverneur morris--h. c. lodge. the burning of the "philadelphia"--h. c. lodge. the cruise of the "wasp"--theodore roosevelt. the "general armstrong" privateer--theodore roosevelt. the battle of new orleans--theodore roosevelt. john quincy adams and the right of petition--h. c. lodge. francis parkman--h. c. lodge. "remember the alamo"--theodore roosevelt. hampton roads--theodore roosevelt. the flag-bearer--theodore roosevelt. the death of stonewall jack--theodore roosevelt. the charge at gettysburg--theodore roosevelt. general grant and the vicksburg campaign--h. c. lodge. robert gould shaw--h. c. lodge. charles russell lowell--h. c. lodge. sheridan at cedar creek--h. c. lodge. lieutenant cushing and the ram "albemarle"--theodore roosevelt. farragut at mobile bay--theodore roosevelt. abraham lincoln--h. c. lodge. "hor. i saw him once; he was a goodly king. ham. he was a man, take him for all in all i shall not look upon his like again."--hamlet hero tales from american history washington the brilliant historian of the english people [*] has written of washington, that "no nobler figure ever stood in the fore-front of a nation's life." in any book which undertakes to tell, no matter how slightly, the story of some of the heroic deeds of american history, that noble figure must always stand in the fore-front. but to sketch the life of washington even in the barest outline is to write the history of the events which made the united states independent and gave birth to the american nation. even to give alist of what he did, to name his battles and recount his acts as president, would be beyond the limit and the scope of this book. yet it is always possible to recall the man and to consider what he was and what he meant for us and for mankind he is worthy the study and the remembrance of all men, and to americans he is at once a great glory of their past and an inspiration and an assurance of their future. * john richard green. to understand washington at all we must first strip off all the myths which have gathered about him. we must cast aside into the dust-heaps all the wretched inventions of the cherry-tree variety, which were fastened upon him nearly seventy years after his birth. we must look at him as he looked at life and the facts about him, without any illusion or deception, and no man in history can better stand such a scrutiny. born of a distinguished family in the days when the american colonies were still ruled by an aristocracy, washington started with all that good birth and tradition could give. beyond this, however, he had little. his family was poor, his mother was left early a widow, and he was forced after a very limited education to go out into the world to fight for himself he had strong within him the adventurous spirit of his race. he became a surveyor, and in the pursuit of this profession plunged into the wilderness, where he soon grew to be an expert hunter and backwoodsman. even as a boy the gravity of his character and his mental and physical vigor commended him to those about him, and responsibility and military command were put in his hands at an age when most young men are just leaving college. as the times grew threatening on the frontier, he was sent on a perilous mission to the indians, in which, after passing through many hardships and dangers, he achieved success. when the troubles came with france it was by the soldiers under his command that the first shots were fired in the war which was to determine whether the north american continent should be french or english. in his earliest expedition he was defeated by the enemy. later he was with braddock, and it was he who tried, to rally the broken english army on the stricken field near fort duquesne. on that day of surprise and slaughter he displayed not only cool courage but the reckless daring which was one of his chief characteristics. he so exposed himself that bullets passed through his coat and hat, and the indians and the french who tried to bring him down thought he bore a charmed life. he afterwards served with distinction all through the french war, and when peace came he went back to the estate which he had inherited from his brother, the most admired man in virginia. at that time he married, and during the ensuing years he lived the life of a virginia planter, successful in his private affairs and serving the public effectively but quietly as a member of the house of burgesses. when the troubles with the mother country began to thicken he was slow to take extreme ground, but he never wavered in his belief that all attempts to oppress the colonies should be resisted, and when he once took up his position there was no shadow of turning. he was one of virginia's delegates to the first continental congress, and, although he said but little, he was regarded by all the representatives from the other colonies as the strongest man among them. there was something about him even then which commanded the respect and the confidence of every one who came in contact with him. it was from new england, far removed from his own state, that the demand came for his appointment as commander-in-chief of the american army. silently he accepted the duty, and, leaving philadelphia, took command of the army at cambridge. there is no need to trace him through the events that followed. from the time when he drew his sword under the famous elm tree, he was the embodiment of the american revolution, and without him that revolution would have failed almost at the start. how he carried it to victory through defeat and trial and every possible obstacle is known to all men. when it was all over he found himself facing a new situation. he was the idol of the country and of his soldiers. the army was unpaid, and the veteran troops, with arms in their hands, were eager to have him take control of the disordered country as cromwell had done in england a little more than a century before. with the army at his back, and supported by the great forces which, in every community, desire order before everything else, and are ready to assent to any arrangement which will bring peace and quiet, nothing would have been easier than for washington to have made himself the ruler of the new nation. but that was not his conception of duty, and he not only refused to have anything to do with such a movement himself, but he repressed, by his dominant personal influence, all such intentions on the part of the army. on the d of december, , he met the congress at annapolis, and there resigned his commission. what he then said is one of the two most memorable speeches ever made in the united states, and is also memorable for its meaning and spirit among all speeches ever made by men. he spoke as follows: "mr. president:--the great events on which my resignation depended having at length taken place, i have now the honor of offering my sincere congratulations to congress, and of presenting myself before them, to surrender into their hands the trust committed to me and to claim the indulgence of retiring from the service of my country. happy in the confirmation of our independence and sovereignity and pleased with the opportunity afforded the united states of becoming a respectable nation, i resign with satisfaction the appointment i accepted with diffidence; a diffidence in my abilities to accomplish so arduous a task, which, however, was superseded by a confidence in the rectitude of our cause, the support of the supreme power of the union, and the patronage of heaven. the successful termination of the war has verified the most sanguine expectations, and my gratitude for the interposition of providence and the assistance i have received from my countrymen increases with every review of the momentous contest. while i repeat my obligations to the army in general, i should do injustice to my own feelings not to acknowledge, in this place, the peculiar services and distinguished merits of the gentlemen who have been attached to my person during the war. it was impossible that the choice of confidential officers to compose my family should have been more fortunate. permit me, sir, to recommend in particular those who have continued in service to the present moment as worthy of the favorable notice and patronage of congress. i consider it an indispensable duty to close this last solemn act of my official life by commending the interests of our dearest country to the protection of almighty god, and those who have the superintendence of them to his holy keeping. having now finished the work assigned me, i retire from the great theatre of action, and, bidding an affectionate farewell to this august body, under whose orders i have so long acted, i here offer my commission and take my leave of all the employments of public life." the great master of english fiction, writing of this scene at annapolis, says: "which was the most splendid spectacle ever witnessed--the opening feast of prince george in london, or the resignation of washington? which is the noble character for after ages to admire--yon fribble dancing in lace and spangles, or yonder hero who sheathes his sword after a life of spotless honor, a purity unreproached, a courage indomitable and a consummate victory?" washington did not refuse the dictatorship, or, rather, the opportunity to take control of the country, because he feared heavy responsibility, but solely because, as a high-minded and patriotic man, he did not believe in meeting the situation in that way. he was, moreover, entirely devoid of personal ambition, and had no vulgar longing for personal power. after resigning his commission he returned quietly to mount vernon, but he did not hold himself aloof from public affairs. on the contrary, he watched their course with the utmost anxiety. he saw the feeble confederation breaking to pieces, and he soon realized that that form of government was an utter failure. in a time when no american statesman except hamilton had yet freed himself from the local feelings of the colonial days, washington was thoroughly national in all his views. out of the thirteen jarring colonies he meant that a nation should come, and he saw--what no one else saw--the destiny of the country to the westward. he wished a nation founded which should cross the alleghanies, and, holding the mouths of the mississippi, take possession of all that vast and then unknown region. for these reasons he stood at the head of the national movement, and to him all men turned who desired a better union and sought to bring order out of chaos. with him hamilton and madison consulted in the preliminary stages which were to lead to the formation of a new system. it was his vast personal influence which made that movement a success, and when the convention to form a constitution met at philadelphia, he presided over its deliberations, and it was his commanding will which, more than anything else, brought a constitution through difficulties and conflicting interests which more than once made any result seem well-nigh hopeless. when the constitution formed at philadelphia had been ratified by the states, all men turned to washington to stand at the head of the new government. as he had borne the burden of the revolution, so he now took up the task of bringing the government of the constitution into existence. for eight years he served as president. he came into office with a paper constitution, the heir of a bankrupt, broken-down confederation. he left the united states, when he went out of office, an effective and vigorous government. when he was inaugurated, we had nothing but the clauses of the constitution as agreed to by the convention. when he laid down the presidency, we had an organized government, an established revenue, a funded debt, a high credit, an efficient system of banking, a strong judiciary, and an army. we had a vigorous and well-defined foreign policy; we had recovered the western posts, which, in the hands of the british, had fettered our march to the west; and we had proved our power to maintain order at home, to repress insurrection, to collect the national taxes, and to enforce the laws made by congress. thus washington had shown that rare combination of the leader who could first destroy by revolution, and who, having led his country through a great civil war, was then able to build up a new and lasting fabric upon the ruins of a system which had been overthrown. at the close of his official service he returned again to mount vernon, and, after a few years of quiet retirement, died just as the century in which he had played so great a part was closing. washington stands among the greatest men of human history, and those in the same rank with him are very few. whether measured by what he did, or what he was, or by the effect of his work upon the history of mankind, in every aspect he is entitled to the place he holds among the greatest of his race. few men in all time have such a record of achievement. still fewer can show at the end of a career so crowded with high deeds and memorable victories a life so free from spot, a character so unselfish and so pure, a fame so void of doubtful points demanding either defense or explanation. eulogy of such a life is needless, but it is always important to recall and to freshly remember just what manner of man he was. in the first place he was physically a striking figure. he was very tall, powerfully made, with a strong, handsome face. he was remarkably muscular and powerful. as a boy he was a leader in all outdoor sports. no one could fling the bar further than he, and no one could ride more difficult horses. as a young man he became a woodsman and hunter. day after day he could tramp through the wilderness with his gun and his surveyor's chain, and then sleep at night beneath the stars. he feared no exposure or fatigue, and outdid the hardiest backwoodsman in following a winter trail and swimming icy streams. this habit of vigorous bodily exercise he carried through life. whenever he was at mount vernon he gave a large part of his time to fox-hunting, riding after his hounds through the most difficult country. his physical power and endurance counted for much in his success when he commanded his army, and when the heavy anxieties of general and president weighed upon his mind and heart. he was an educated, but not a learned man. he read well and remembered what he read, but his life was, from the beginning, a life of action, and the world of men was his school. he was not a military genius like hannibal, or caesar, or napoleon, of which the world has had only three or four examples. but he was a great soldier of the type which the english race has produced, like marlborough and cromwell, wellington, grant, and lee. he was patient under defeat, capable of large combinations, a stubborn and often reckless fighter, a winner of battles, but much more, a conclusive winner in a long war of varying fortunes. he was, in addition, what very few great soldiers or commanders have ever been, a great constitutional statesman, able to lead a people along the paths of free government without undertaking himself to play the part of the strong man, the usurper, or the savior of society. he was a very silent man. of no man of equal importance in the world's history have we so few sayings of a personal kind. he was ready enough to talk or to write about the public duties which he had in hand, but he hardly ever talked of himself. yet there can be no greater error than to suppose washington cold and unfeeling, because of his silence and reserve. he was by nature a man of strong desires and stormy passions. now and again he would break out, even as late as the presidency, into a gust of anger that would sweep everything before it. he was always reckless of personal danger, and had a fierce fighting spirit which nothing could check when it was once unchained. but as a rule these fiery impulses and strong passions were under the absolute control of an iron will, and they never clouded his judgment or warped his keen sense of justice. but if he was not of a cold nature, still less was he hard or unfeeling. his pity always went out to the poor, the oppressed, or the unhappy, and he was all that was kind and gentle to those immediately about him. we have to look carefully into his life to learn all these things, for the world saw only a silent, reserved man, of courteous and serious manner, who seemed to stand alone and apart, and who impressed every one who came near him with a sense of awe and reverence. one quality he had which was, perhaps, more characteristic of the man and his greatness than any other. this was his perfect veracity of mind. he was, of course, the soul of truth and honor, but he was even more than that. he never deceived himself he always looked facts squarely in the face and dealt with them as such, dreaming no dreams, cherishing no delusions, asking no impossibilities,--just to others as to himself, and thus winning alike in war and in peace. he gave dignity as well as victory to his country and his cause. he was, in truth, a "character for after ages to admire." daniel boone and the founding of kentucky ... boone lived hunting up to ninety; and, what's still stranger, left behind a name for which men vainly decimate the throng, not only famous, but of that good fame, without which glory's but a tavern song,-- simple, serene, the antipodes of shame, which hate nor envy e'er could tinge with wrong; 't is true he shrank from men, even of his nation; when they built up unto his darling trees, he moved some hundred miles off, for a station where there were fewer houses and more ease; * * * but where he met the individual man, he showed himself as kind as mortal can. * * * the freeborn forest found and kept them free, and fresh as is a torrent or a tree. and tall, and strong, and swift of foot were they, beyond the dwarfing city's pale abortions, because their thoughts had never been the prey of care or gain; the green woods were their portions * * * simple they were, not savage; and their rifles, though very true, were yet not used for trifles. * * * serene, not sullen, were the solitudes of this unsighing people of the woods. --byron. daniel boone will always occupy a unique place in our history as the archetype of the hunter and wilderness wanderer. he was a true pioneer, and stood at the head of that class of indian-fighters, game-hunters, forest-fellers, and backwoods farmers who, generation after generation, pushed westward the border of civilization from the alleghanies to the pacific. as he himself said, he was "an instrument ordained of god to settle the wilderness." born in pennsylvania, he drifted south into western north carolina, and settled on what was then the extreme frontier. there he married, built a log cabin, and hunted, chopped trees, and tilled the ground like any other frontiersman. the alleghany mountains still marked a boundary beyond which the settlers dared not go; for west of them lay immense reaches of frowning forest, uninhabited save by bands of warlike indians. occasionally some venturesome hunter or trapper penetrated this immense wilderness, and returned with strange stories of what he had seen and done. in boone, excited by these vague and wondrous tales, determined himself to cross the mountains and find out what manner of land it was that lay beyond. with a few chosen companions he set out, making his own trail through the gloomy forest. after weeks of wandering, he at last emerged into the beautiful and fertile country of kentucky, for which, in after years, the red men and the white strove with such obstinate fury that it grew to be called "the dark and bloody ground." but when boone first saw it, it was a fair and smiling land of groves and glades and running waters, where the open forest grew tall and beautiful, and where innumerable herds of game grazed, roaming ceaselessly to and fro along the trails they had trodden during countless generations. kentucky was not owned by any indian tribe, and was visited only by wandering war-parties and hunting-parties who came from among the savage nations living north of the ohio or south of the tennessee. a roving war-party stumbled upon one of boone's companions and killed him, and the others then left boone and journeyed home; but his brother came out to join him, and the two spent the winter together. self-reliant, fearless, and the frowning defiles of cumberland gap, they were attacked by indians, and driven back--two of boone's own sons being slain. in , however, he made another attempt; and this attempt was successful. the indians attacked the newcomers; but by this time the parties of would-be settlers were sufficiently numerous to hold their own. they beat back the indians, and built rough little hamlets, surrounded by log stockades, at boonesborough and harrodsburg; and the permanent settlement of kentucky had begun. the next few years were passed by boone amid unending indian conflicts. he was a leader among the settlers, both in peace and in war. at one time he represented them in the house of burgesses of virginia; at another time he was a member of the first little kentucky parliament itself; and he became a colonel of the frontier militia. he tilled the land, and he chopped the trees himself; he helped to build the cabins and stockades with his own hands, wielding the longhandled, light-headed frontier ax as skilfully as other frontiersmen. his main business was that of surveyor, for his knowledge of the country, and his ability to travel through it, in spite of the danger from indians, created much demand for his services among people who wished to lay off tracts of wild land for their own future use. but whatever he did, and wherever he went, he had to be sleeplessly on the lookout for his indian foes. when he and his fellows tilled the stump-dotted fields of corn, one or more of the party were always on guard, with weapon at the ready, for fear of lurking savages. when he went to the house of burgesses he carried his long rifle, and traversed roads not a mile of which was free from the danger of indian attack. the settlements in the early years depended exclusively upon game for their meat, and boone was the mightiest of all the hunters, so that upon him devolved the task of keeping his people supplied. he killed many buffaloes, and pickled the buffalo beef for use in winter. he killed great numbers of black bear, and made bacon of them, precisely as if they had been hogs. the common game were deer and elk. at that time none of the hunters of kentucky would waste a shot on anything so small as a prairie-chicken or wild duck; but they sometimes killed geese and swans when they came south in winter and lit on the rivers. but whenever boone went into the woods after game, he had perpetually to keep watch lest he himself might be hunted in turn. he never lay in wait at a game-lick, save with ears strained to hear the approach of some crawling red foe. he never crept up to a turkey he heard calling, without exercising the utmost care to see that it was not an indian; for one of the favorite devices of the indians was to imitate the turkey call, and thus allure within range some inexperienced hunter. besides this warfare, which went on in the midst of his usual vocations, boone frequently took the field on set expeditions against the savages. once when he and a party of other men were making salt at a lick, they were surprised and carried off by the indians. the old hunter was a prisoner with them for some months, but finally made his escape and came home through the trackless woods as straight as the wild pigeon flies. he was ever on the watch to ward off the indian inroads, and to follow the warparties, and try to rescue the prisoners. once his own daughter, and two other girls who were with her, were carried off by a band of indians. boone raised some friends and followed the trail steadily for two days and a night; then they came to where the indians had killed a buffalo calf and were camped around it. firing from a little distance, the whites shot two of the indians, and, rushing in, rescued the girls. on another occasion, when boone had gone to visit a salt-lick with his brother, the indians ambushed them and shot the latter. boone himself escaped, but the indians followed him for three miles by the aid of a tracking dog, until boone turned, shot the dog, and then eluded his pursuers. in company with simon kenton and many other noted hunters and wilderness warriors, he once and again took part in expeditions into the indian country, where they killed the braves and drove off the horses. twice bands of indians, accompanied by french, tory, and british partizans from detroit, bearing the flag of great britain, attacked boonesboroug. in each case boone and his fellow-settlers beat them off with loss. at the fatal battle of the blue licks, in which two hundred of the best riflemen of kentucky were beaten with terrible slaughter by a great force of indians from the lakes, boone commanded the left wing. leading his men, rifle in hand, he pushed back and overthrew the force against him; but meanwhile the indians destroyed the right wing and center, and got round in his rear, so that there was nothing left for boone's men except to flee with all possible speed. as kentucky became settled, boone grew restless and ill at ease. he loved the wilderness; he loved the great forests and the great prairie-like glades, and the life in the little lonely cabin, where from the door he could see the deer come out into the clearing at nightfall. the neighborhood of his own kind made him feel cramped and ill at ease. so he moved ever westward with the frontier; and as kentucky filled up he crossed the mississippi and settled on the borders of the prairie country of missouri, where the spaniards, who ruled the territory, made him an alcalde, or judge. he lived to a great age, and died out on the border, a backwoods hunter to the last. george rogers clark and the conquest of the northwest have the elder races halted? do they droop and end their lesson, wearied over there beyond the seas? we take up the task eternal, and the burden and the lesson, pioneers! o pioneers! all the past we leave behind, we debouch upon a newer, mightier world, varied world; fresh and strong the world we seize, world of labor and the march, pioneers! o pioneers! we detachments steady throwing, down the edges, through the passes, up the mountains steep, conquering, holding, daring, venturing, as we go the unknown ways, pioneers! o pioneers! * * * * * * * the sachem blowing the smoke first towards the sun and then towards the earth, the drama of the scalp dance enacted with painted faces and guttural exclamations, the setting out of the war-party, the long and stealthy march, the single file, the swinging hatchets, the surprise and slaughter of enemies. --whitman. in , when independence was declared, the united states included only the thirteen original states on the seaboard. with the exception of a few hunters there were no white men west of the alleghany mountains, and there was not even an american hunter in the great country out of which we have since made the states of illinois, indiana, ohio, michigan, and wisconsin. all this region north of the ohio river then formed apart of the province of quebec. it was a wilderness of forests and prairies, teeming with game, and inhabited by many warlike tribes of indians. here and there through it were dotted quaint little towns of french creoles, the most important being detroit, vincennes on the wabash, and kaskaskia and kahokia on the illinois. these french villages were ruled by british officers commanding small bodies of regular soldiers or tory rangers and creole partizans. the towns were completely in the power of the british government; none of the american states had actual possession of a foot of property in the northwestern territory. the northwest was acquired in the midst of the revolution only by armed conquest, and if it had not been so acquired, it would have remained a part of the british dominion of canada. the man to whom this conquest was clue was a famous backwoods leader, a mighty hunter, a noted indian-fighter, george rogers clark. he was a very strong man, with light hair and blue eyes. he was of good virginian family. early in his youth, he embarked on the adventurous career of a backwoods surveyor, exactly as washington and so many other young virginians of spirit did at that period. he traveled out to kentucky soon after it was founded by boone, and lived there for a year, either at the stations or camping by him self in the woods, surveying, hunting, and making war against the indians like any other settler; but all the time his mind was bent on vaster schemes than were dreamed of by the men around him. he had his spies out in the northwestern territory, and became convinced that with a small force of resolute backwoodsmen he could conquer it for the united states. when he went back to virginia, governor patrick henry entered heartily into clark's schemes and gave him authority to fit out a force for his purpose. in , after encountering endless difficulties and delays, he finally raised a hundred and fifty backwoods riflemen. in may they started down the ohio in flatboats to undertake the allotted task. they drifted and rowed downstream to the falls of the ohio, where clark founded a log hamlet, which has since become the great city of louisville. here he halted for some days and was joined by fifty or sixty volunteers; but a number of the men deserted, and when, after an eclipse of the sun, clark again pushed off to go down with the current, his force was but about one hundred and sixty riflemen. all, however, were men on whom he could depend--men well used to frontier warfare. they were tall, stalwart backwoodsmen, clad in the hunting-shirt and leggings that formed the national dress of their kind, and armed with the distinctive weapon of the backwoods, the long-barreled, small-bore rifle. before reaching the mississippi the little flotilla landed, and clark led his men northward against the illinois towns. in one of them, kaskaskia, dwelt the british commander of the entire district up to detroit. the small garrison and the creole militia taken together outnumbered clark's force, and they were in close alliance with the indians roundabout. clark was anxious to take the town by surprise and avoid bloodshed, as he believed he could win over the creoles to the american side. marching cautiously by night and generally hiding by day, he came to the outskirts of the little village on the evening of july , and lay in the woods near by until after nightfall. fortune favored him. that evening the officers of the garrison had given a great ball to the mirth-loving creoles, and almost the entire population of the village had gathered in the fort, where the dance was held. while the revelry was at its height, clark and his tall backwoodsmen, treading silently through the darkness, came into the town, surprised the sentries, and surrounded the fort without causing any alarm. all the british and french capable of bearing arms were gathered in the fort to take part in or look on at the merrymaking. when his men were posted clark walked boldly forward through the open door, and, leaning against the wall, looked at the dancers as they whirled around in the light of the flaring torches. for some moments no one noticed him. then an indian who had been lying with his chin on his hand, looking carefully over the gaunt figure of the stranger, sprang to his feet, and uttered the wild war-whoop. immediately the dancing ceased and the men ran to and fro in confusion; but clark, stepping forward, bade them be at their ease, but to remember that henceforth they danced under the flag of the united states, and not under that of great britain. the surprise was complete, and no resistance was attempted. for twenty-four hours the creoles were in abject terror. then clark summoned their chief men together and explained that he came as their ally, and not as their foe, and that if they would join with him they should be citizens of the american republic, and treated in all respects on an equality with their comrades. the creoles, caring little for the british, and rather fickle of nature, accepted the proposition with joy, and with the most enthusiastic loyalty toward clark. not only that, but sending messengers to their kinsmen on the wabash, they persuaded the people of vincennes likewise to cast off their allegiance to the british king, and to hoist the american flag. so far, clark had conquered with greater ease than he had dared to hope. but when the news reached the british governor, hamilton, at detroit, he at once prepared to reconquer the land. he had much greater forces at his command than clark had; and in the fall of that year he came down to vincennes by stream and portage, in a great fleet of canoes bearing five hundred fighting men-british regulars, french partizans, and indians. the vincennes creoles refused to fight against the british, and the american officer who had been sent thither by clark had no alternative but to surrender. if hamilton had then pushed on and struck clark in illinois, having more than treble clark's force, he could hardly have failed to win the victory; but the season was late and the journey so difficult that he did not believe it could be taken. accordingly he disbanded the indians and sent some of his troops back to detroit, announcing that when spring came he would march against clark in illinois. if clark in turn had awaited the blow he would have surely met defeat; but he was a greater man than his antagonist, and he did what the other deemed impossible. finding that hamilton had sent home some of his troops and dispersed all his indians, clark realized that his chance was to strike before hamilton's soldiers assembled again in the spring. accordingly he gathered together the pick of his men, together with a few creoles, one hundred and seventy all told, and set out for vincennes. at first the journey was easy enough, for they passed across the snowy illinois prairies, broken by great reaches of lofty woods. they killed elk, buffalo, and deer for food, there being no difficulty in getting all they wanted to eat; and at night they built huge fires by which to sleep, and feasted "like indian war-dancers," as clark said in his report. but when, in the middle of february, they reached the drowned lands of the wabash, where the ice had just broken up and everything was flooded, the difficulties seemed almost insuperable, and the march became painful and laborious to a degree. all day long the troops waded in the icy water, and at night they could with difficulty find some little hillock on which to sleep. only clark's indomitable courage and cheerfulness kept the party in heart and enabled them to persevere. however, persevere they did, and at last, on february , they came in sight of the town of vincennes. they captured a creole who was out shooting ducks, and from him learned that their approach was utterly unsuspected, and that there were many indians in town. clark was now in some doubt as to how to make his fight. the british regulars dwelt in a small fort at one end of the town, where they had two light guns; but clark feared lest, if he made a sudden night attack, the townspeople and indians would from sheer fright turn against him. he accordingly arranged, just before he himself marched in, to send in the captured duck-hunter, conveying a warning to the indians and the creoles that he was about to attack the town, but that his only quarrel was with the british, and that if the other inhabitants would stay in their own homes they would not be molested. sending the duck-hunter ahead, clark took up his march and entered the town just after nightfall. the news conveyed by the released hunter astounded the townspeople, and they talked it over eagerly, and were in doubt what to do. the indians, not knowing how great might be the force that would assail the town, at once took refuge in the neighboring woods, while the creoles retired to their own houses. the british knew nothing of what had happened until the americans had actually entered the streets of the little village. rushing forward, clark's men soon penned the regulars within their fort, where they kept them surrounded all night. the next day a party of indian warriors, who in the british interest had been ravaging the settlements of kentucky, arrived and entered the town, ignorant that the americans had captured it. marching boldly forward to the fort, they suddenly found it beleaguered, and before they could flee they were seized by the backwoodsmen. in their belts they carried the scalps of the slain settlers. the savages were taken redhanded, and the american frontiersmen were in no mood to show mercy. all the indians were tomahawked in sight of the fort. for some time the british defended themselves well; but at length their guns were disabled, all of the gunners being picked off by the backwoods marksmen, and finally the garrison dared not so much as appear at a port-hole, so deadly was the fire from the long rifles. under such circumstances hamilton was forced to surrender. no attempt was afterward made to molest the americans in the land they had won, and upon the conclusion of peace the northwest, which had been conquered by clark, became part of the united states. the battle of trenton and such they are--and such they will be found: not so leonidas and washington, their every battle-field is holy ground which breathes of nations saved, not worlds undone. how sweetly on the ear such echoes sound! while the mere victor's may appal or stun the servile and the vain, such names will be a watchword till the future shall be free. --byron. in december, , the american revolution was at its lowest ebb. the first burst of enthusiasm, which drove the british back from concord and met them hand to hand at bunker hill, which forced them to abandon boston and repulsed their attack at charleston, had spent its force. the undisciplined american forces called suddenly from the workshop and the farm had given way, under the strain of a prolonged contest, and had been greatly scattered, many of the soldiers returning to their homes. the power of england, on the other hand, with her disciplined army and abundant resources, had begun to tell. washington, fighting stubbornly, had been driven during the summer and autumn from long island up the hudson, and new york had passed into the hands of the british. then forts lee and washington had been lost, and finally the continental army had retreated to new jersey. on the second of december washington was at princeton with some three thousand ragged soldiers, and had escaped destruction only by the rapidity of his movements. by the middle of the month general howe felt that the american army, unable as he believed either to fight or to withstand the winter, must soon dissolve, and, posting strong detachments at various points, he took up his winter quarters in new york. the british general had under his command in his various divisions twenty-five thousand well-disciplined soldiers, and the conclusion he had reached was not an unreasonable one; everything, in fact, seemed to confirm his opinion. thousands of the colonists were coming in and accepting his amnesty. the american militia had left the field, and no more would turn out, despite washington's earnest appeals. all that remained of the american revolution was the little continental army and the man who led it. yet even in this dark hour washington did not despair. he sent in every direction for troops. nothing was forgotten. nothing that he could do was left undone. unceasingly he urged action upon congress, and at the same time with indomitable fighting spirit he planned to attack the british. it was a desperate undertaking in the face of such heavy odds, for in all his divisions he had only some six thousand men, and even these were scattered. the single hope was that by his own skill and courage he could snatch victory from a situation where victory seemed impossible. with the instinct of a great commander he saw that his only chance was to fight the british detachments suddenly, unexpectedly, and separately, and to do this not only required secrecy and perfect judgment, but also the cool, unwavering courage of which, under such circumstances, very few men have proved themselves capable. as christmas approached his plans were ready. he determined to fall upon the british detachment of hessians, under colonel rahl, at trenton, and there strike his first blow. to each division of his little army a part in the attack was assigned with careful forethought. nothing was overlooked and nothing omitted, and then, for some reason good or bad, every one of the division commanders failed to do his part. as the general plan was arranged, gates was to march from bristol with two thousand men; ewing was to cross at trenton; putnam was to come up from philadelphia; and griffin was to make a diversion against donop. when the moment came, gates, who disapproved the plan, was on his way to congress; griffin abandoned new jersey and fled before donop; putnam did not attempt to leave philadelphia; and ewing made no effort to cross at trenton. cadwalader came down from bristol, looked at the river and the floating ice, and then gave it up as desperate. nothing remained except washington himself with the main army, but he neither gave up, nor hesitated, nor stopped on account of the ice, or the river, or the perils which lay beyond. on christmas eve, when all the christian world was feasting and rejoicing, and while the british were enjoying themselves in their comfortable quarters, washington set out. with twenty-four hundred men he crossed the delaware through the floating ice, his boats managed and rowed by the sturdy fishermen of marblehead from glover's regiment. the crossing was successful, and he landed about nine miles from trenton. it was bitter cold, and the sleet and snow drove sharply in the faces of the troops. sullivan, marching by the river, sent word that the arms of his soldiers were wet. "tell your general," was washington's reply to the message, "to use the bayonet, for the town must be taken." when they reached trenton it was broad daylight. washington, at the front and on the right of the line, swept down the pennington road, and, as he drove back the hessian pickets, he heard the shout of sullivan's men as, with stark leading the van, they charged in from the river. a company of jaegers and of light dragoons slipped away. there was some fighting in the streets, but the attack was so strong and well calculated that resistance was useless. colonel rahl, the british commander, aroused from his revels, was killed as he rushed out to rally his men, and in a few moments all was over. a thousand prisoners fell into washington's hands, and this important detachment of the enemy was cut off and destroyed. the news of trenton alarmed the british, and lord cornwallis with seven thousand of the best troops started at once from new york in hot pursuit of the american army. washington, who had now rallied some five thousand men, fell back, skirmishing heavily, behind the assunpink, and when cornwallis reached the river he found the american army awaiting him on the other side of the stream. night was falling, and cornwallis, feeling sure of his prey, decided that he would not risk an assault until the next morning. many lessons had not yet taught him that it was a fatal business to give even twelve hours to the great soldier opposed to him. during the night washington, leaving his fires burning and taking a roundabout road which he had already reconnoitered, marched to princeton. there he struck another british detachment. a sharp fight ensued, the british division was broken and defeated, losing some five hundred men, and washington withdrew after this second victory to the highlands of new jersey to rest and recruit. frederick the great is reported to have said that this was the most brilliant campaign of the century. with a force very much smaller than that of the enemy, washington had succeeded in striking the british at two places with superior forces at each point of contact. at trenton he had the benefit of a surprise, but the second time he was between two hostile armies. he was ready to fight cornwallis when the latter reached the assunpink, trusting to the strength of his position to make up for his inferiority of numbers. but when cornwallis gave him the delay of a night, washington, seeing the advantage offered by his enemy's mistake, at once changed his whole plan, and, turning in his tracks, fell upon the smaller of the two forces opposed to him, wrecking and defeating it before the outgeneraled cornwallis could get up with the main army. washington had thus shown the highest form of military skill, for there is nothing that requires so much judgment and knowledge, so much certainty of movement and quick decision, as to meet a superior enemy at different points, force the fighting, and at each point to outnumber and overwhelm him. but the military part of this great campaign was not all. many great soldiers have not been statesmen, and have failed to realize the political necessities of the situation. washington presented the rare combination of a great soldier and a great statesman as well. he aimed not only to win battles, but by his operations in the field to influence the political situation and affect public opinion. the american revolution was going to pieces. unless some decisive victory could be won immediately, it would have come to an end in the winter of - . this washington knew, and it was this which nerved his arm. the results justified his forethought. the victories of trenton and princeton restored the failing spirits of the people, and, what was hardly less important, produced a deep impression in europe in favor of the colonies. the country, which had lost heart, and become supine and almost hostile, revived. the militia again took the field. outlying parties of the british were attacked and cut off, and recruits once more began to come in to the continental army. the revolution was saved. that the english colonies in north america would have broken away from the mother country sooner or later cannot be doubted, but that particular revolution of would have failed within a year, had it not been for washington. it is not, however, merely the fact that he was a great soldier and statesman which we should remember. the most memorable thing to us, and to all men, is the heroic spirit of the man, which rose in those dreary december days to its greatest height, under conditions so adverse that they had crushed the hope of every one else. let it be remembered, also, that it was not a spirit of desperation or of ignorance, a reckless daring which did not count the cost. no one knew better than washington--no one, indeed, so well--the exact state of affairs; for he, conspicuously among great men, always looked facts fearlessly in the face, and never deceived himself. he was under no illusions, and it was this high quality of mind as much as any other which enabled him to win victories. how he really felt we know from what he wrote to congress on december , when he said: "it may be thought that i am going a good deal out of the line of my duty to adopt these measures or to advise thus freely. a character to lose, an estate to forfeit, the inestimable blessing of liberty at stake, and a life devoted, must be my excuse." these were the thoughts in his mind when he was planning this masterly campaign. these same thoughts, we may readily believe, were with him when his boat was making its way through the ice of the delaware on christmas eve. it was a very solemn moment, and he was the only man in the darkness of that night who fully understood what was at stake; but then, as always, he was calm and serious, with a high courage which nothing could depress. the familiar picture of a later day depicts washington crossing the delaware at the head of his soldiers. he is standing up in the boat, looking forward in the teeth of the storm. it matters little whether the work of the painter is in exact accordance with the real scene or not. the daring courage, the high resolve, the stern look forward and onward, which the artist strove to show in the great leader, are all vitally true. for we may be sure that the man who led that well-planned but desperate assault, surrounded by darker conditions than the storms of nature which gathered about his boat, and carrying with him the fortunes of his country, was at that moment one of the most heroic figures in history. bennington we are but warriors for the working-day; our gayness and our guilt are all besmirch'd with rainy marching in the painful field; there's not a piece of feather in our host (good argument, i hope, we shall not fly), and time hath worn us into slovenry. but, by the mass, our hearts are in the trim, and my poor soldiers tell me, yet ere night they'll be in fresher robes. --henry v. the battle of saratoga is included by sir edward creasy among his fifteen decisive battles which have, by their result, affected the history of the world. it is true that the american revolution was saved by washington in the remarkable princeton and trenton campaign, but it is equally true that the surrender of burgoyne at saratoga, in the following autumn, turned the scale decisively in favor of the colonists by the impression which it made in europe. it was the destruction of burgoyne's army which determined france to aid the americans against england. hence came the french alliance, the french troops, and, what was of far more importance, a french fleet by which washington was finally able to get control of the sea, and in this way cut off cornwallis at yorktown and bring the revolution to a successful close. that which led, however, more directly than anything else to the final surrender at saratoga was the fight at bennington, by which burgoyne's army was severely crippled and weakened, and by which also, the hardy militia of the north eastern states were led to turn out in large numbers and join the army of gates. the english ministry had built great hopes upon burgoyne's expedition, and neither expense nor effort had been spared to make it successful. he was amply furnished with money and supplies as well as with english and german troops, the latter of whom were bought from their wretched little princes by the payment of generous subsidies. with an admirably equipped army of over seven thousand men, and accompanied by a large force of indian allies, burgoyne had started in may, , from canada. his plan was to make his way by the lakes to the head waters of the hudson, and thence southward along the river to new york, where he was to unite with sir william howe and the main army; in this way cutting the colonies in two, and separating new england from the rest of the country. at first all went well. the americans were pushed back from their posts on the lakes, and by the end of july burgoyne was at the head waters of the hudson. he had already sent out a force, under st. leger, to take possession of the valley of the mohawk--an expedition which finally resulted in the defeat of the british by herkimer, and the capture of fort stanwix. to aid st. leger by a diversion, and also to capture certain magazines which were reported to be at bennington, burgoyne sent another expedition to the eastward. this force consisted of about five hundred and fifty white troops, chiefly hessians, and one hundred and fifty indians, all under the command of colonel baum. they were within four miles of bennington on august , , and encamped on a hill just within the boundaries of the state of new york. the news of the advance of burgoyne had already roused the people of new york and new hampshire, and the legislature of the latter state had ordered general stark with a brigade of militia to stop the progress of the enemy on the western frontier. stark raised his standard at charlestown on the connecticut river, and the militia poured into his camp. disregarding schuyler's orders to join the main american army, which was falling back before burgoyne, stark, as soon as he heard of the expedition against bennington, marched at once to meet baum. he was within a mile of the british camp on august , and vainly endeavored to draw baum into action. on the th it rained heavily, and the british forces occupied the time in intrenching themselves strongly upon the hill which they held. baum meantime had already sent to burgoyne for reinforcements, and burgoyne had detached colonel breymann with over six hundred regular troops to go to baum's assistance. on the th the weather cleared, and stark, who had been reinforced by militia from western massachusetts, determined to attack. early in the day he sent men, under nichols and herrick, to get into the rear of baum's position. the german officer, ignorant of the country and of the nature of the warfare in which he was engaged, noticed small bodies of men in their shirtsleeves, and carrying guns without bayonets, making their way to the rear of his intrenchments. with singular stupidity he concluded that they were tory inhabitants of the country who were coming to his assistance, and made no attempt to stop them. in this way stark was enabled to mass about five hundred men in the rear of the enemy's position. distracting the attention of the british by a feint, stark also moved about two hundred men to the right, and having thus brought his forces into position he ordered a general assault, and the americans proceeded to storm the british intrenchments on every side. the fight was a very hot one, and lasted some two hours. the indians, at the beginning of the action, slipped away between the american detachments, but the british and german regulars stubbornly stood their ground. it is difficult to get at the exact numbers of the american troops, but stark seems to have had between fifteen hundred and two thousand militia. he thus outnumbered his enemy nearly three to one, but his men were merely country militia, farmers of the new england states, very imperfectly disciplined, and armed only with muskets and fowling-pieces, without bayonets or side-arms. on the other side baum had the most highly disciplined troops of england and germany under his command, well armed and equipped, and he was moreover strongly intrenched with artillery well placed behind the breastworks. the advantage in the fight should have been clearly with baum and his regulars, who merely had to hold an intrenched hill. it was not a battle in which either military strategy or a scientific management of troops was displayed. all that stark did was to place his men so that they could attack the enemy's position on every side, and then the americans went at it, firing as they pressed on. the british and germans stood their ground stubbornly, while the new england farmers rushed up to within eight yards of the cannon, and picked off the men who manned the guns. stark himself was in the midst of the fray, fighting with his soldiers, and came out of the conflict so blackened with powder and smoke that he could hardly be recognized. one desperate assault succeeded another, while the firing on both sides was so incessant as to make, in stark's own words, a "continuous roar." at the end of two hours the americans finally swarmed over the intrenchments, beating down the soldiers with their clubbed muskets. baum ordered his infantry with the bayonet and the dragoons with their sabers to force their way through, but the americans repulsed this final charge, and baum himself fell mortally wounded. all was then over, and the british forces surrendered. it was only just in time, for breymann, who had taken thirty hours to march some twenty-four miles, came up just after baum's men had laid down their arms. it seemed for a moment as if all that had been gained might be lost. the americans, attacked by this fresh foe, wavered; but stark rallied his line, and putting in warner, with one hundred and fifty vermont men who had just come on the field, stopped breymann's advance, and finally forced him to retreat with a loss of nearly one half his men. the americans lost in killed and wounded some seventy men, and the germans and british about twice as many, but the americans took about seven hundred prisoners, and completely wrecked the forces of baum and breymann. the blow was a severe one, and burgoyne's army never recovered from it. not only had he lost nearly a thousand of his best troops, besides cannon, arms, and munitions of war, but the defeat affected the spirits of his army and destroyed his hold over his indian allies, who began to desert in large numbers. bennington, in fact, was one of the most important fights of the revolution, contributing as it did so largely to the final surrender of burgoyne's whole army at saratoga, and the utter ruin of the british invasion from the north. it is also interesting as an extremely gallant bit of fighting. as has been said, there was no strategy displayed, and there were no military operations of the higher kind. there stood the enemy strongly intrenched on a hill, and stark, calling his undisciplined levies about him, went at them. he himself was a man of the highest courage and a reckless fighter. it was stark who held the railfence at bunker hill, and who led the van when sullivan's division poured into trenton from the river road. he was admirably adapted for the precise work which was necessary at bennington, and he and his men fought well their hand-to-hand fight on that hot august day, and carried the intrenchments filled with regular troops and defended by artillery. it was a daring feat of arms, as well as a battle which had an important effect upon the course of history and upon the fate of the british empire in america. king's mountain our fortress is the good greenwood, our tent the cypress tree; we know the forest round us as seamen know the sea. we know its walls of thorny vines, its glades of reedy grass, its safe and silent islands within the dark morass. --bryant. the close of the year was, in the southern states, the darkest time of the revolutionary struggle. cornwallis had just destroyed the army of gates at camden, and his two formidable lieutenants, tarlton the light horseman, and ferguson the skilled rifleman, had destroyed or scattered all the smaller bands that had been fighting for the patriot cause. the red dragoons rode hither and thither, and all through georgia and south carolina none dared lift their heads to oppose them, while north carolina lay at the feet of cornwallis, as he started through it with his army to march into virginia. there was no organized force against him, and the cause of the patriots seemed hopeless. it was at this hour that the wild backwoodsmen of the western border gathered to strike a blow for liberty. when cornwallis invaded north carolina he sent ferguson into the western part of the state to crush out any of the patriot forces that might still be lingering among the foot-hills. ferguson was a very gallant and able officer, and a man of much influence with the people wherever he went, so that he was peculiarly fitted for this scrambling border warfare. he had under him a battalion of regular troops and several other battalions of tory militia, in all eleven or twelve hundred men. he shattered and drove the small bands of whigs that were yet in arms, and finally pushed to the foot of the mountain wall, till he could see in his front the high ranges of the great smokies. here he learned for the first time that beyond the mountains there lay a few hamlets of frontiersmen, whose homes were on what were then called the western waters, that is, the waters which flowed into the mississippi. to these he sent word that if they did not prove loyal to the king, he would cross their mountains, hang their leaders, and burn their villages. beyond the, mountains, in the valleys of the holston and watauga, dwelt men who were stout of heart and mighty in battle, and when they heard the threats of ferguson they burned with a sullen flame of anger. hitherto the foes against whom they had warred had been not the british, but the indian allies of the british, creek, and cherokee, and shawnee. now that the army of the king had come to their thresholds, they turned to meet it as fiercely as they had met his indian allies. among the backwoodsmen of this region there were at that time three men of special note: sevier, who afterward became governor of tennessee; shelby, who afterward became governor of kentucky; and campbell, the virginian, who died in the revolutionary war. sevier had given a great barbecue, where oxen and deer were roasted whole, while horseraces were run, and the backwoodsmen tried their skill as marksmen and wrestlers. in the midst of the feasting shelby appeared, hot with hard riding, to tell of the approach of ferguson and the british. immediately the feasting was stopped, and the feasters made ready for war. sevier and shelby sent word to campbell to rouse the men of his own district and come without delay, and they sent messengers to and fro in their own neighborhood to summon the settlers from their log huts on the stump-dotted clearings and the hunters from their smoky cabins in the deep woods. the meeting-place was at the sycamore shoals. on the appointed day the backwoodsmen gathered sixteen hundred strong, each man carrying a long rifle, and mounted on a tough, shaggy horse. they were a wild and fierce people, accustomed to the chase and to warfare with the indians. their hunting-shirts of buckskin or homespun were girded in by bead-worked belts, and the trappings of their horses were stained red and yellow. at the gathering there was a black-frocked presbyterian preacher, and before they started he addressed the tall riflemen in words of burning zeal, urging them to stand stoutly in the battle, and to smite with the sword of the lord and of gideon. then the army started, the backwoods colonels riding in front. two or three days later, word was brought to ferguson that the back-water men had come over the mountains; that the indian-fighters of the frontier, leaving unguarded their homes on the western waters, had crossed by wooded and precipitous defiles to the help of the beaten men of the plains. ferguson at once fell back, sending out messengers for help. when he came to king's mountain, a wooded, hog-back hill on the border line between north and south carolina, he camped on its top, deeming that there he was safe, for he supposed that before the backwoodsmen could come near enough to attack him help would reach him. but the backwoods leaders felt as keenly as he the need of haste, and choosing out nine hundred picked men, the best warriors of their force, and the best mounted and armed, they made a long forced march to assail ferguson before help could come to him. all night long they rode the dim forest trails and splashed across the fords of the rushing rivers. all the next day, october , they rode, until in mid-afternoon, just as a heavy shower cleared away, they came in sight of king's mountain. the little armies were about equal in numbers. ferguson's regulars were armed with the bayonet, and so were some of his tory militia, whereas the americans had not a bayonet among them; but they were picked men, confident in their skill as riflemen, and they were so sure of victory that their aim was not only to defeat the british but to capture their whole force. the backwoods colonels, counseling together as they rode at the head of the column, decided to surround the mountain and assail it on all sides. accordingly the bands of frontiersmen split one from the other, and soon circled the craggy hill where ferguson's forces were encamped. they left their horses in the rear and immediately began the battle, swarming forward on foot, their commanders leading the attack. the march had been so quick and the attack so sudden that ferguson had barely time to marshal his men before the assault was made. most of his militia he scattered around the top of the hill to fire down at the americans as they came up, while with his regulars and with a few picked militia he charged with the bayonet in person, first down one side of the mountain and then down the other. sevier, shelby, campbell, and the other colonels of the frontiersmen, led each his force of riflemen straight toward the summit. each body in turn when charged by the regulars was forced to give way, for there were no bayonets wherewith to meet the foe; but the backwoodsmen retreated only so long as the charge lasted, and the minute that it stopped they stopped too, and came back ever closer to the ridge and ever with a deadlier fire. ferguson, blowing a silver whistle as a signal to his men, led these charges, sword in hand, on horseback. at last, just as he was once again rallying his men, the riflemen of sevier and shelby crowned the top of the ridge. the gallant british commander became a fair target for the backwoodsmen, and as for the last time he led his men against them, seven bullets entered his body and he fell dead. with his fall resistance ceased. the regulars and tories huddled together in a confused mass, while the exultant americans rushed forward. a flag of truce was hoisted, and all the british who were not dead surrendered. the victory was complete, and the backwoodsmen at once started to return to their log hamlets and rough, lonely farms. they could not stay, for they dared not leave their homes at the mercy of the indians. they had rendered a great service; for cornwallis, when he heard of the disaster to his trusted lieutenant, abandoned his march northward, and retired to south carolina. when he again resumed the offensive, he found his path barred by stubborn general greene and his troops of the continental line. the storming of stony point in their ragged regimentals stood the old continentals, yielding not, when the grenadiers were lunging, and like hail fell the plunging cannon-shot; when the files of the isles from the smoky night encampment bore the banner of the rampant unicorn, and grummer, grummer, grummer, rolled the roll of the drummer, through the morn! then with eyes to the front all, and with guns horizontal, stood our sires; and the balls whistled deadly, and in streams flashing redly blazed the fires; as the roar on the shore swept the strong battle-breakers o'er the green-sodded acres of the plain; and louder, louder, louder cracked the black gunpowder, cracked amain! --guy humphrey mcmaster. one of the heroic figures of the revolution was anthony wayne, major-general of the continental line. with the exception of washington, and perhaps greene, he was the best general the americans developed in the contest; and without exception he showed himself to be the hardest fighter produced on either side. he belongs, as regards this latter characteristic, with the men like winfield scott, phil kearney, hancock, and forrest, who reveled in the danger and the actual shock of arms. indeed, his eager love of battle, and splendid disregard of peril, have made many writers forget his really great qualities as a general. soldiers are always prompt to recognize the prime virtue of physical courage, and wayne's followers christened their daring commander "mad anthony," in loving allusion to his reckless bravery. it is perfectly true that wayne had this courage, and that he was a born fighter; otherwise, he never would have been a great commander. a man who lacks the fondness for fighting, the eager desire to punish his adversary, and the willingness to suffer punishment in return, may be a great organizer, like mcclellan, but can never become a great general or win great victories. there are, however, plenty of men who, though they possess these fine manly traits, yet lack the head to command an army; but wayne had not only the heart and the hand but the head likewise. no man could dare as greatly as he did without incurring the risk of an occasional check; but he was an able and bold tactician, a vigilant and cautious leader, well fitted to bear the terrible burden of responsibility which rests upon a commander-in-chief. of course, at times he had some rather severe lessons. quite early in his career, just after the battle of the brandywine, when he was set to watch the enemy, he was surprised at night by the british general grey, a redoubtable fighter, who attacked him with the bayonet, killed a number of his men, and forced him to fall back some distance from the field of action. this mortifying experience had no effect whatever on wayne's courage or self-reliance, but it did give him a valuable lesson in caution. he showed what he had learned by the skill with which, many years later, he conducted the famous campaign in which he overthrew the northwestern indians at the fight of the fallen timbers. wayne's favorite weapon was the bayonet, and, like scott he taught his troops, until they were able in the shock of hand-to-hand conflict to overthrow the renowned british infantry, who have always justly prided themselves on their prowess with cold steel. at the battle of germantown it was wayne's troops who, falling on with the bayonet, drove the hessians and the british light infantry, and only retreated under orders when the attack had failed elsewhere. at monmouth it was wayne and his continentals who first checked the british advance by repulsing the bayonet charge of the guards and grenadiers. washington, a true leader of men, was prompt to recognize in wayne a soldier to whom could be intrusted any especially difficult enterprise which called for the exercise alike of intelligence and of cool daring. in the summer of he was very anxious to capture the british fort at stony point, which commanded the hudson. it was impracticable to attack it by regular siege while the british frigates lay in the river, and the defenses ere so strong that open assault by daylight was equally out of the question. accordingly washington suggested to wayne that he try a night attack. wayne eagerly caught at the idea. it was exactly the kind of enterprise in which he delighted. the fort was on a rocky promontory, surrounded on three sides by water, and on the fourth by a neck of land, which was for the most part mere morass. it was across this neck of land that any attacking column had to move. the garrison was six hundred strong. to deliver the assault wayne took nine hundred men. the american army was camped about fourteen miles from stony point. one july afternoon wayne started, and led his troops in single file along the narrow rocky roads, reaching the hills on the mainland near the fort after nightfall. he divided his force into two columns, to advance one along each side of the neck, detaching two companies of north carolina troops to move in between the two columns and make a false attack. the rest of the force consisted of new englanders, pennsylvanians, and virginians. each attacking column was divided into three parts, a forlorn hope of twenty men leading, which was followed by an advance guard of one hundred and twenty, and then by the main body. at the time commanding officers still carried spontoons, and other old-time weapons, and wayne, who himself led the right column, directed its movements spear in hand. it was nearly midnight when the americans began to press along the causeways toward the fort. before they were near the walls they were discovered, and the british opened a heavy fire of great guns and musketry, to which the carolinians, who were advancing between the two columns, responded in their turn, according to orders; but the men in the columns were forbidden to fire. wayne had warned them that their work must be done with the bayonet, and their muskets were not even loaded. moreover, so strict was the discipline that no one was allowed to leave the ranks, and when one of the men did so an officer promptly ran him through the body. no sooner had the british opened fire than the charging columns broke into a run, and in a moment the forlorn hopes plunged into the abattis of fallen timber which the british had constructed just without the walls. on the left, the forlorn hope was very roughly handled, no less than seventeen of the twenty men being either killed or wounded, but as the columns came up both burst through the down timber and swarmed up the long, sloping embankments of the fort. the british fought well, cheering loudly as their volley's rang, but the americans would not be denied, and pushed silently on to end the contest with the bayonet. a bullet struck wayne in the head. he fell, but struggled to his feet and forward, two of his officers supporting him. a rumor went among the men that he was dead, but it only impelled them to charge home, more fiercely than ever. with a rush the troops swept to the top of the wall. a fierce but short fight followed in the intense darkness, which was lit only by the flashes from the british muskets. the americans did not fire, trusting solely to the bayonet. the two columns had kept almost equal pace, and they swept into the fort from opposite sides at the same moment. the three men who first got over the walls were all wounded, but one of them hauled down the british flag. the americans had the advantage which always comes from delivering an attack that is thrust home. their muskets were unloaded and they could not hesitate; so, running boldly into close quarters, they fought hand to hand with their foes and speedily overthrew them. for a moment the bayonets flashed and played; then the british lines broke as their assailants thronged against them, and the struggle was over. the americans had lost a hundred in killed and wounded. of the british sixty-three had been slain and very many wounded, every one of the dead or disabled having suffered from the bayonet. a curious coincidence was that the number of the dead happened to be exactly equal to the number of wayne's men who had been killed in the night attack by the english general, grey. there was great rejoicing among the americans over the successful issue of the attack. wayne speedily recovered from his wound, and in the joy of his victory it weighed but slightly. he had performed a most notable feat. no night attack of the kind was ever delivered with greater boldness, skill, and success. when the revolutionary war broke out the american armies were composed merely of armed yeomen, stalwart men, of good courage, and fairly proficient in the use of their weapons, but entirely without the training which alone could enable them to withstand the attack of the british regulars in the open, or to deliver an attack themselves. washington's victory at trenton was the first encounter which showed that the americans were to be feared when they took the offensive. with the exception of the battle of trenton, and perhaps of greene's fight at eutaw springs, wayne's feat was the most successful illustration of daring and victorious attack by an american army that occurred during the war; and, unlike greene, who was only able to fight a drawn battle, wayne's triumph was complete. at monmouth he had shown, as he afterward showed against cornwallis, that his troops could meet the renowned british regulars on even terms in the open. at stony point he showed that he could lead them to a triumphant assault with the bayonet against regulars who held a fortified place of strength. no american commander has ever displayed greater energy and daring, a more resolute courage, or readier resource, than the chief of the hard-fighting revolutionary generals, mad anthony wayne. gouverneur morris gouverneur morris. paris. august , . justum et tenacem propositi virum non civium ardor prava jubentium, non vultus instantis tyranni mente quatit solida, neque auster dux inquieti turbidus hadriae, nec fulminantis magna manus jovis: si fractus illabatur orbis, impavidum ferient ruinae. --hor., lib. iii. carm. iii. the th of august, , was one of the most memorable days of the french revolution. it was the day on which the french monarchy received its death-blow, and was accompanied by fighting and bloodshed which filled paris with terror. in the morning before daybreak the tocsin had sounded, and not long after the mob of paris, headed by the marseillais, "six hundred men not afraid to die," who had been summoned there by barbaroux, were marching upon the tuileries. the king, or rather the queen, had at last determined to make a stand and to defend the throne. the swiss guards were there at the palace, well posted to protect the inner court; and there, too, were the national guards, who were expected to uphold the government and guard the king. the tide of people poured on through the streets, gathering strength as they went the marseillais, the armed bands, the sections, and a vast floating mob. the crowd drew nearer and nearer, but the squadrons of the national guards, who were to check the advance, did not stir. it is not apparent, indeed, that they made any resistance, and the king and his family at eight o'clock lost heart and deserted the tuileries, to take refuge with the national convention. the multitude then passed into the court of the carrousel, unchecked by the national guards, and were face to face with the swiss. deserted by their king, the swiss knew not how to act, but still stood their ground. there was some parleying, and at last the marseillais fired a cannon. then the swiss fired. they were disciplined troops, and their fire was effective. there was a heavy slaughter and the mob recoiled, leaving their cannon, which the swiss seized. the revolutionists, however, returned to the charge, and the fight raged on both sides, the swiss holding their ground firmly. suddenly, from the legislative hall, came an order from the king to the swiss to cease firing. it was their death warrant. paralyzed by the order, they knew not what to do. the mob poured in, and most of the gallant swiss were slaughtered where they stood. others escaped from the tuileries only to meet their death in the street. the palace was sacked and the raging mob was in possession of the city. no man's life was safe, least of all those who were known to be friends of the king, who were nobles, or who had any connection with the court. some of these people whose lives were thus in peril at the hands of the bloodstained and furious mob had been the allies of the united states, and had fought under washington in the war for american independence. in their anguish and distress their thoughts recurred to the country which they had served in its hour of trial, three thousand miles away. they sought the legation of the united states and turned to the american minister for protection. such an exercise of humanity at that moment was not a duty that any man craved. in those terrible days in paris, the representatives of foreign governments were hardly safer than any one else. many of the ambassadors and ministers had already left the country, and others were even then abandoning their posts, which it seemed impossible to hold at such a time. but the american minister stood his ground. gouverneur morris was not a man to shrink from what he knew to be his duty. he had been a leading patriot in our revolution; he had served in the continental congress, and with robert morris in the difficult work of the treasury, when all our resources seemed to be at their lowest ebb. in he had gone abroad on private business, and had been much in paris, where he had witnessed the beginning of the french revolution and had been consulted by men on both sides. in , by washington's direction, he had gone to london and had consulted the ministry there as to whether they would receive an american minister. thence he had returned to paris, and at the beginning of washington appointed him minister of the united states to france. as an american, morris's sympathies had run strongly in favor of the movement to relieve france from the despotism under which she was sinking, and to give her a better and more liberal government. but, as the revolution progressed, he became outraged and disgusted by the methods employed. he felt a profound contempt for both sides. the inability of those who were conducting the revolution to carry out intelligent plans or maintain order, and the feebleness of the king and his advisers, were alike odious to the man with american conceptions of ordered liberty. he was especially revolted by the bloodshed and cruelty, constantly gathering in strength, which were displayed by the revolutionists, and he had gone to the very verge of diplomatic propriety in advising the ministers of the king in regard to the policies to be pursued, and, as he foresaw what was coming, in urging the king himself to leave france. all his efforts and all his advice, like those of other intelligent men who kept their heads during the whirl of the revolution, were alike vain. on august the gathering storm broke with full force, and the populace rose in arms to sweep away the tottering throne. then it was that these people, fleeing for their lives, came to the representative of the country for which many of them had fought, and on both public and private grounds besought the protection of the american minister. let me tell what happened in the words of an eye-witness, an american gentleman who was in paris at that time, and who published the following account of his experiences: on the ever memorable th of august, after viewing the destruction of the royal swiss guards and the dispersion of the paris militia by a band of foreign and native incendiaries, the writer thought it his duty to visit the minister, who had not been out of his hotel since the insurrection began, and, as was to be expected, would be anxious to learn what was passing without doors. he was surrounded by the old count d'estaing, and about a dozen other persons of distinction, of different sexes, who had, from their connection with the united states, been his most intimate acquaintances at paris, and who had taken refuge with him for protection from the bloodhounds which, in the forms of men and women, were prowling in the streets at the time. all was silence here, except that silence was occasionally interrupted by the crying of the women and children. as i retired, the minister took me aside, and observed: "i have no doubt, sir, but there are persons on the watch who would find fault with my conduct as minister in receiving and protecting these people, but i call on you to witness the declaration which i now make, and that is that they were not invited to my house, but came of their own accord. whether my house will be a protection to them or to me, god only knows, but i will not turn them out of it, let what will happen to me," to which he added, "you see, sir, they are all persons to whom our country is more or less indebted, and it would be inhuman to force them into the hands of the assassins, had they no such claim upon me." nothing can be added to this simple account, and no american can read it or repeat the words of mr. morris without feeling even now, a hundred years after the event, a glow of pride that such words were uttered at such a time by the man who represented the united states. after august , when matters in paris became still worse, mr. morris still stayed at his post. let me give, in his own words, what he did and his reasons for it: the different ambassadors and ministers are all taking their flight, and if i stay i shall be alone. i mean, however, to stay, unless circumstances should command me away, because, in the admitted case that my letters of credence are to the monarchy, and not to the republic of france, it becomes a matter of indifference whether i remain in this country or go to england during the time which may be needful to obtain your orders, or to produce a settlement of affairs here. going hence, however, would look like taking part against the late revolution, and i am not only unauthorized in this respect, but i am bound to suppose that if the great majority of the nation adhere to the new form, the united states will approve thereof; because, in the first place, we have no right to prescribe to this country the government they shall adopt, and next, because the basis of our own constitution is the indefeasible right of the people to establish it. among those who are leaving paris is the venetian ambassador. he was furnished with passports from the office of foreign affairs, but he was, nevertheless, stopped at the barrier, was conducted to the hotel de ville, was there questioned for hours, and his carriages examined and searched. this violation of the rights of ambassadors could not fail, as you may suppose, to make an impression. it has been broadly hinted to me that the honor of my country and my own require that i should go away. but i am of a different opinion, and rather think that those who give such hints are somewhat influenced by fear. it is true that the position is not without danger, but i presume that when the president did me the honor of naming me to this embassy, it was not for my personal pleasure or safety, but to promote the interests of my country. these, therefore, i shall continue to pursue to the best of my judgment, and as to consequences, they are in the hand of god. he remained there until his successor arrived. when all others fled, he was faithful, and such conduct should never be forgotten. mr. morris not only risked his life, but he took a heavy responsibility, and laid himself open to severe attack for having protected defenseless people against the assaults of the mob. but his courageous humanity is something which should ever be remembered, and ought always to be characteristic of the men who represent the united states in foreign countries. when we recall the french revolution, it is cheering to think of that fearless figure of the american minister, standing firm and calm in the midst of those awful scenes, with sacked palaces, slaughtered soldiers, and a bloodstained mob about him, regardless of danger to himself, determined to do his duty to his country, and to those to whom his country was indebted. the burning of the "philadelphia" and say besides, that in aleppo once, where a malignant and a turban'd turk beat a venetian and traduced the state, i took by the throat the circumcised dog and smote him, thus. --othello. it is difficult to conceive that there ever was a time when the united states paid a money tribute to anybody. it is even more difficult to imagine the united states paying blackmail to a set of small piratical tribes on the coast of africa. yet this is precisely what we once did with the barbary powers, as they were called the states of morocco, tunis, tripoli, and algiers, lying along the northern coast of africa. the only excuse to be made for such action was that we merely followed the example of christendom. the civilized people of the world were then in the habit of paying sums of money to these miserable pirates, in order to secure immunity for their merchant vessels in the mediterranean. for this purpose congress appropriated money, and treaties were made by the president and ratified by the senate. on one occasion, at least, congress actually revoked the authorization of some new ships for the navy, and appropriated more money than was required to build the men-of-war in order to buy off the barbary powers. the fund for this disgraceful purpose was known as the "mediterranean fund," and was intrusted to the secretary of state to be disbursed by him in his discretion. after we had our brush with france, however, in , and after truxtun's brilliant victory over the french frigate l'insurgente in the following year, it occurred to our government that perhaps there was a more direct as well as a more manly way of dealing with the barbary pirates than by feebly paying them tribute, and in a small squadron, under commodore dale, proceeded to the mediterranean. at the same time events occurred which showed strikingly the absurdity as well as the weakness of this policy of paying blackmail to pirates. the bashaw of tripoli, complaining that we had given more money to some of the algerian ministers than we had to him, and also that we had presented algiers with a frigate, declared war upon us, and cut down the flag-staff in front of the residence of the american consul. at the same time, and for the same reason, morocco and tunis began to grumble at the treatment which they had received. the fact was that, with nations as with individuals, when the payment of blackmail is once begun there is no end to it. the appearance, however, of our little squadron in the mediterranean showed at once the superiority of a policy of force over one of cowardly submission. morocco and tunis immediately stopped their grumbling and came to terms with the united states, and this left us free to deal with tripoli. commodore dale had sailed before the declaration of war by tripoli was known, and he was therefore hampered by his orders, which permitted him only to protect our commerce, and which forbade actual hostilities. nevertheless, even under these limited orders, the enterprise, of twelve guns, commanded by lieutenant sterrett, fought an action with the tripolitan ship tripoli, of fourteen guns. the engagement lasted three hours, when the tripoli struck, having lost her mizzenmast, and with twenty of her crew killed and thirty wounded. sterrett, having no orders to make captures, threw all the guns and ammunition of the tripoli overboard, cut away her remaining masts, and left her with only one spar and a single sail to drift back to tripoli, as a hint to the bashaw of the new american policy. in the command of our fleet in the mediterranean was taken by commodore preble, who had just succeeded in forcing satisfaction from morocco for an attack made upon our merchantmen by a vessel from tangier. he also proclaimed a blockade of tripoli and was preparing to enforce it when the news reached him that the frigate philadelphia, forty-four guns, commanded by captain bainbridge, and one of the best ships in our navy, had gone upon a reef in the harbor of tripoli, while pursuing a vessel there, and had been surrounded and captured, with all her crew, by the tripolitan gunboats, when she was entirely helpless either to fight or sail. this was a very serious blow to our navy and to our operations against tripoli. it not only weakened our forces, but it was also a great help to the enemy. the tripolitans got the philadelphia off the rocks, towed her into the harbor, and anchored her close under the guns of their forts. they also replaced her batteries, and prepared to make her ready for sea, where she would have been a most formidable danger to our shipping. under these circumstances stephen decatur, a young lieutenant in command of the enterprise, offered to commodore preble to go into the harbor and destroy the philadelphia. some delay ensued, as our squadron was driven by severe gales from the tripolitan coast; but at last, in january, , preble gave orders to decatur to undertake the work for which he had volunteered. a small vessel known as a ketch had been recently captured from the tripolitans by decatur, and this prize was now named the intrepid, and assigned to him for the work he had in hand. he took seventy men from his own ship, the enterprise, and put them on the intrepid, and then, accompanied by lieutenant stewart in the siren, who was to support him, he set sail for tripoli. he and his crew were very much cramped as well as badly fed on the little vessel which had been given to them, but they succeeded, nevertheless, in reaching tripoli in safety, accompanied by the siren. for nearly a week they were unable to approach the harbor, owing to severe gales which threatened the loss of their vessel; but on february the weather moderated and decatur determined to go in. it is well to recall, briefly, the extreme peril of the attack which he was about to make. the philadelphia, with forty guns mounted, double-shotted, and ready for firing, and manned by a full complement of men, was moored within half a gunshot of the bashaw's castle, the mole and crown batteries, and within range of ten other batteries, mounting, altogether, one hundred and fifteen guns. some tripolitan cruisers, two galleys, and nineteen gunboats also lay between the philadelphia and the shore. into the midst of this powerful armament decatur had to go with his little vessel of sixty tons, carrying four small guns and having a crew of seventy-five men. the americans, however, were entirely undismayed by the odds against them, and at seven o'clock decatur went into the harbor between the reef and shoal which formed its mouth. he steered on steadily toward the philadelphia, the breeze getting constantly lighter, and by half-past nine was within two hundred yards of the frigate. as they approached decatur stood at the helm with the pilot, only two or three men showing on deck and the rest of the crew lying hidden under the bulwarks. in this way he drifted to within nearly twenty yards of the philadelphia. the suspicions of the tripolitans, however, were not aroused, and when they hailed the intrepid, the pilot answered that they had lost their anchors in a gale, and asked that they might run a warp to the frigate and ride by her. while the talk went on the intrepid's boat shoved off with the rope, and pulling to the fore-chains of the philadelphia, made the line fast. a few of the crew then began to haul on the lines, and thus the intrepid was drawn gradually toward the frigate. the suspicions of the tripolitans were now at last awakened. they raised the cry of "americanos!" and ordered off the intrepid, but it was too late. as the vessels came in contact, decatur sprang up the main chains of the philadelphia, calling out the order to board. he was rapidly followed by his officers and men, and as they swarmed over the rails and came upon the deck, the tripolitan crew gathered, panic-stricken, in a confused mass on the forecastle. decatur waited a moment until his men were behind him, and then, placing himself at their head, drew his sword and rushed upon the tripolitans. there was a very short struggle, and the tripolitans, crowded together, terrified and surprised, were cut down or driven overboard. in five minutes the ship was cleared of the enemy. decatur would have liked to have taken the philadelphia out of the harbor, but that was impossible. he therefore gave orders to burn the ship, and his men, who had been thoroughly instructed in what they were to do, dispersed into all parts of the frigate with the combustibles which had been prepared, and in a few minutes, so well and quickly was the work done, the flames broke out in all parts of the philadelphia. as soon as this was effected the order was given to return to the intrepid. without confusion the men obeyed. it was a moment of great danger, for fire was breaking out on all sides, and the intrepid herself, filled as she was with powder and combustibles, was in great peril of sudden destruction. the rapidity of decatur's movements, however, saved everything. the cables were cut, the sweeps got out, and the intrepid drew rapidly away from the burning frigate. it was a magnificent sight as the flames burst out over the philadephia and ran rapidly and fiercely up the masts and rigging. as her guns became heated they were discharged, one battery pouring its shots into the town. finally the cables parted, and then the philadelphia, a mass of flames, drifted across the harbor, and blew up. meantime the batteries of the shipping and the castle had been turned upon the intrepid, but although the shot struck all around her, she escaped successfully with only one shot through her mainsail, and, joining the siren, bore away. this successful attack was carried through by the cool courage of decatur and the admirable discipline of his men. the hazard was very great, the odds were very heavy, and everything depended on the nerve with which the attack was made and the completeness of the surprise. nothing miscarried, and no success could have been more complete. nelson, at that time in the mediterranean, and the best judge of a naval exploit as well as the greatest naval commander who has ever lived, pronounced it "the most bold and daring act of the age." we meet no single feat exactly like it in our own naval history, brilliant as that has been, until we come to cushing's destruction of the albemarle in the war of the rebellion. in the years that have elapsed, and among the great events that have occurred since that time, decatur's burning of the philadephia has been well-nigh forgotten; but it is one of those feats of arms which illustrate the high courage of american seamen, and which ought always to be remembered. the cruise of the "wasp" a crash as when some swollen cloud cracks o'er the tangled trees! with side to side, and spar to spar, whose smoking decks are these? i know st. george's blood-red cross, thou mistress of the seas, but what is she whose streaming bars roll out before the breeze? ah, well her iron ribs are knit, whose thunders strive to quell the bellowing throats, the blazing lips, that pealed the armada's knell! the mist was cleared,--a wreath of stars rose o'er the crimsoned swell, and, wavering from its haughty peak, the cross of england fell! --holmes. in the war of the little american navy, including only a dozen frigates and sloops of war, won a series of victories against the english, the hitherto undoubted masters of the sea, that attracted an attention altogether out of proportion to the force of the combatants or the actual damage done. for one hundred and fifty years the english ships of war had failed to find fit rivals in those of any other european power, although they had been matched against each in turn; and when the unknown navy of the new nation growing up across the atlantic did what no european navy had ever been able to do, not only the english and americans, but the people of continental europe as well, regarded the feat as important out of all proportion to the material aspects of the case. the americans first proved that the english could be beaten at their own game on the sea. they did what the huge fleets of france, spain, and holland had failed to do, and the great modern writers on naval warfare in continental europe--men like jurien de la graviere--have paid the same attention to these contests of frigates and sloops that they give to whole fleet actions of other wars. among the famous ships of the americans in this war were two named the wasp. the first was an eighteen-gun ship-sloop, which at the very outset of the war captured a british brig-sloop of twenty guns, after an engagement in which the british fought with great gallantry, but were knocked to pieces, while the americans escaped comparatively unscathed. immediately afterward a british seventy-four captured the victor. in memory of her the americans gave the same name to one of the new sloops they were building. these sloops were stoutly made, speedy vessels which in strength and swiftness compared favorably with any ships of their class in any other navy of the day, for the american shipwrights were already as famous as the american gunners and seamen. the new wasp, like her sister ships, carried twenty-two guns and a crew of one hundred and seventy men, and was ship-rigged. twenty of her guns were -pound carronades, while for bow-chasers she had two "long toms." it was in the year that the wasp sailed from the united states to prey on the navy and commerce of great britain. her commander was a gallant south carolinian named captain johnson blakeley. her crew were nearly all native americans, and were an exceptionally fine set of men. instead of staying near the american coasts or of sailing the high seas, the wasp at once headed boldly for the english channel, to carry the war to the very doors of the enemy. at that time the english fleets had destroyed the navies of every other power of europe, and had obtained such complete supremacy over the french that the french fleets were kept in port. off these ports lay the great squadrons of the english ships of the line, never, in gale or in calm, relaxing their watch upon the rival war-ships of the french emperor. so close was the blockade of the french ports, and so hopeless were the french of making headway in battle with their antagonists, that not only the great french three-deckers and two-deckers, but their frigates and sloops as well, lay harmless in their harbors, and the english ships patroled the seas unchecked in every direction. a few french privateers still slipped out now and then, and the far bolder and more formidable american privateersmen drove hither and thither across the ocean in their swift schooners and brigantines, and harried the english commerce without mercy. the wasp proceeded at once to cruise in the english channel and off the coasts of england, france, and spain. here the water was traversed continually by english fleets and squadrons and single ships of war, which were sometimes covoying detachments of troops for wellington's peninsular army, sometimes guarding fleets of merchant vessels bound homeward, and sometimes merely cruising for foes. it was this spot, right in the teeth of the british naval power, that the wasp chose for her cruising ground. hither and thither she sailed through the narrow seas, capturing and destroying the merchantmen, and by the seamanship of her crew and the skill and vigilance of her commander, escaping the pursuit of frigate and ship of the line. before she had been long on the ground, one june morning, while in chase of a couple of merchant ships, she spied a sloop of war, the british brig reindeer, of eighteen guns and a hundred and twenty men. the reindeer was a weaker ship than the wasp, her guns were lighter, and her men fewer; but her commander, captain manners, was one of the most gallant men in the splendid british navy, and he promptly took up the gage of battle which the wasp threw down. the day was calm and nearly still; only a light wind stirred across the sea. at one o'clock the wasp's drum beat to quarters, and the sailors and marines gathered at their appointed posts. the drum of the reindeer responded to the challenge, and with her sails reduced to fighting trim, her guns run out, and every man ready, she came down upon the yankee ship. on her forecastle she had rigged a light carronade, and coming up from behind, she five times discharged this pointblank into the american sloop; then in the light air the latter luffed round, firing her guns as they bore, and the two ships engaged yard-arm to yard-arm. the guns leaped and thundered as the grimy gunners hurled them out to fire and back again to load, working like demons. for a few minutes the cannonade was tremendous, and the men in the tops could hardly see the decks for the wreck of flying splinters. then the vessels ground together, and through the open ports the rival gunners hewed, hacked, and thrust at one another, while the black smoke curled up from between the hulls. the english were suffering terribly. captain manners himself was wounded, and realizing that he was doomed to defeat unless by some desperate effort he could avert it, he gave the signal to board. at the call the boarders gathered, naked to the waist, black with powder and spattered with blood, cutlas and pistol in hand. but the americans were ready. their marines were drawn up on deck, the pikemen stood behind the bulwarks, and the officers watched, cool and alert, every movement of the foe. then the british sea-dogs tumbled aboard, only to perish by shot or steel. the combatants slashed and stabbed with savage fury, and the assailants were driven back. manners sprang to their head to lead them again himself, when a ball fired by one of the sailors in the american tops crashed through his skull, and he fell, sword in hand, with his face to the foe, dying as honorable a death as ever a brave man died in fighting against odds for the flag of his country. as he fell the american officers passed the word to board. with wild cheers the fighting sailormen sprang forward, sweeping the wreck of the british force before them, and in a minute the reindeer was in their possession. all of her officers, and nearly two thirds of the crew, were killed or wounded; but they had proved themselves as skilful as they were brave, and twenty-six of the americans had been killed or wounded. the wasp set fire to her prize, and after retiring to a french port to refit, came out again to cruise. for some time she met no antagonist of her own size with which to wage war, and she had to exercise the sharpest vigilance to escape capture. late one september afternoon, when she could see ships of war all around her, she selected one which was isolated from the others, and decided to run alongside her and try to sink her after nightfall. accordingly she set her sails in pursuit, and drew steadily toward her antagonist, a big eighteen-gun brig, the avon, a ship more powerful than the reindeer. the avon kept signaling to two other british war vessels which were in sight--one an eighteen-gun brig and the other a twenty-gun ship; they were so close that the wasp was afraid they would interfere before the combat could be ended. nevertheless, blakeley persevered, and made his attack with equal skill and daring. it was after dark when he ran alongside his opponent, and they began forthwith to exchange furious broadsides. as the ships plunged and wallowed in the seas, the americans could see the clusters of topmen in the rigging of their opponent, but they knew nothing of the vessel's name or of her force, save only so far as they felt it. the firing was fast and furious, but the british shot with bad aim, while the skilled american gunners hulled their opponent at almost every discharge. in a very few minutes the avon was in a sinking condition, and she struck her flag and cried for quarter, having lost forty or fifty men, while but three of the americans had fallen. before the wasp could take possession of her opponent, however, the two war vessels to which the avon had been signaling came up. one of them fired at the wasp, and as the latter could not fight two new foes, she ran off easily before the wind. neither of her new antagonists followed her, devoting themselves to picking up the crew of the sinking avon. it would be hard to find a braver feat more skilfully performed than this; for captain blakeley, with hostile foes all round him, had closed with and sunk one antagonist not greatly his inferior in force, suffering hardly any loss himself, while two of her friends were coming to her help. both before and after this the wasp cruised hither and thither making prizes. once she came across a convoy of ships bearing arms and munitions to wellington's army, under the care of a great two-decker. hovering about, the swift sloop evaded the two-decker's movements, and actually cut out and captured one of the transports she was guarding, making her escape unharmed. then she sailed for the high seas. she made several other prizes, and on october spoke a swedish brig. this was the last that was ever heard of the gallant wasp. she never again appeared, and no trace of any of those aboard her was ever found. whether she was wrecked on some desert coast, whether she foundered in some furious gale, or what befell her none ever knew. all that is certain is that she perished, and that all on board her met death in some one of the myriad forms in which it must always be faced by those who go down to the sea in ships; and when she sank there sank one of the most gallant ships of the american navy, with as brave a captain and crew as ever sailed from any port of the new world. the "general armstrong" privateer we have fought such a fight for a day and a night as may never be fought again! we have won great glory, my men! and a day less or more at sea or ashore, we die--does it matter when? --tennyson. in the revolution, and again in the war of , the seas were covered by swift-sailing american privateers, which preyed on the british trade. the hardy seamen of the new england coast, and of new york, philadelphia, and baltimore, turned readily from their adventurous careers in the whalers that followed the giants of the ocean in every sea and every clime, and from trading voyages to the uttermost parts of the earth, to go into the business of privateering, which was more remunerative, and not so very much more dangerous, than their ordinary pursuits. by the end of the war of , in particular, the american privateers had won for themselves a formidable position on the ocean. the schooners, brigs, and brigantines in which the privateersmen sailed were beautifully modeled, and were among the fastest craft afloat. they were usually armed with one heavy gun, the "long tom," as it was called, arranged on a pivot forward or amidships, and with a few lighter pieces of cannon. they carried strong crews of well-armed men, and their commanders were veteran seamen, used to brave every danger from the elements or from man. so boldly did they prey on the british commerce, that they infested even the irish sea and the british channel, and increased many times the rate of insurance on vessels passing across those waters. they also often did battle with the regular men-of-war of the british, being favorite objects for attack by cutting-out parties from the british frigates and ships of the line, and also frequently encountering in fight the smaller sloops-of-war. usually, in these contests, the privateersmen were worsted, for they had not the training which is obtained only in a regular service, and they were in no way to be compared to the little fleet of regular vessels which in this same war so gloriously upheld the honor of the american flag. nevertheless, here and there a privateer commanded by an exceptionally brave and able captain, and manned by an unusually well-trained crew, performed some feat of arms which deserves to rank with anything ever performed by the regular navy. such a feat was the defense of the brig general armstrong, in the portuguese port of fayal, of the azores, against an overwhelming british force. the general armstrong hailed from new york, and her captain was named reid. she had a crew of ninety men, and was armed with one heavy pounder and six lighter guns. in december, , she was lying in fayal, a neutral port, when four british war-vessels, a ship of the line, a frigate and two brigs, hove into sight, and anchored off the mouth of the harbor. the port was neutral, but portugal was friendly to england, and reid knew well that the british would pay no respect to the neutrality laws if they thought that at the cost of their violation they could destroy the privateer. he immediately made every preparation to resist an attack, the privateer was anchored close to the shore. the boarding-nettings were got ready, and were stretched to booms thrust outward from the brig's side, so as to check the boarders as they tried to climb over the bulwarks. the guns were loaded and cast loose, and the men went to quarters armed with muskets, boarding-pikes, and cutlases. on their side the british made ready to carry the privateer by boarding. the shoals rendered it impossible for the heavy ships to approach, and the lack of wind and the baffling currents also interfered for the moment with the movements of the sloops-of-war. accordingly recourse was had to a cutting-out party, always a favorite device with the british seamen of that age, who were accustomed to carry french frigates by boarding, and to capture in their boats the heavy privateers and armed merchantmen, as well as the lighter war-vessels of france and spain. the british first attempted to get possession of the brig by surprise, sending out but four boats. these worked down near to the brig, under pretense of sounding, trying to get close enough to make a rush and board her. the privateersmen were on their guard, and warned the boats off, and after the warning had been repeated once or twice unheeded, they fired into them, killing and wounding several men. upon this the boats promptly returned to the ships. this first check greatly irritated the british captains, and they decided to repeat the experiment that night with a force which would render resistance vain. accordingly, after it became dark, a dozen boats were sent from the liner and the frigate, manned by four hundred stalwart british seamen, and commanded by the captain of one of the brigs of war. through the night they rowed straight toward the little privateer lying dark and motionless in the gloom. as before, the privateersmen were ready for their foe, and when they came within range opened fire upon them, first with the long gun and then with the lighter cannon; but the british rowed on with steady strokes, for they were seamen accustomed to victory over every european foe, and danger had no terrors for them. with fierce hurrahs they dashed through the shot-riven smoke and grappled the brig; and the boarders rose, cutlas in hand, ready to spring over the bulwarks. a terrible struggle followed. the british hacked at the boarding-nets and strove to force their way through to the decks of the privateer, while the americans stabbed the assailants with their long pikes and slashed at them with their cutlases. the darkness was lit by the flashes of flame from the muskets and the cannon, and the air was rent by the oaths and shouts of the combatants, the heavy trampling on the decks, the groans of the wounded, the din of weapon meeting weapon, and all the savage tumult of a hand-to-hand fight. at the bow the british burst through the boarding-netting, and forced their way to the deck, killing or wounding all three of the lieutenants of the privateer; but when this had happened the boats had elsewhere been beaten back, and reid, rallying his grim sea-dogs, led them forward with a rush, and the boarding party were all killed or tumbled into the sea. this put an end to the fight. in some of the boats none but killed and wounded men were left. the others drew slowly off, like crippled wild-fowl, and disappeared in the darkness toward the british squadron. half of the attacking force had been killed or wounded, while of the americans but nine had fallen. the british commodore and all his officers were maddened with anger and shame over the repulse, and were bent upon destroying the privateer at all costs. next day, after much exertion, one of the war-brigs was warped into position to attack the american, but she first took her station at long range, so that her carronades were not as effective as the pivot gun of the privateer; and so well was the latter handled, that the british brig was repeatedly hulled, and finally was actually driven off. a second attempt was made, however, and this time the sloop-of-war got so close that she could use her heavy carronades, which put the privateer completely at her mercy. then captain reid abandoned his brig and sank her, first carrying ashore the guns, and marched inland with his men. they were not further molested; and, if they had lost their brig, they had at least made their foes pay dear for her destruction, for the british had lost twice as many men as there were in the whole hard-fighting crew of the american privateer. the battle of new orleans the heavy fog of morning still hid the plain from sight, when came a thread of scarlet marked faintly in the white. we fired a single cannon, and as its thunders rolled, the mist before us lifted in many a heavy fold. the mist before us lifted, and in their bravery fine came rushing to their ruin the fearless british line. --thomas dunn english. when, in , napoleon was overthrown and forced to retire to elba, the british troops that had followed wellington into southern france were left free for use against the americans. a great expedition was organized to attack and capture new orleans, and at its head was placed general pakenham, the brilliant commander of the column that delivered the fatal blow at salamanca. in december a fleet of british war-ships and transports, carrying thousands of victorious veterans from the peninsula, and manned by sailors who had grown old in a quarter of a century's triumphant ocean warfare, anchored off the broad lagoons of the mississippi delta. the few american gunboats were carried after a desperate hand-to-hand struggle, the troops were landed, and on december the advance-guard of two thousand men reached the banks of the mississippi, but ten miles below new orleans, and there camped for the night. it seemed as if nothing could save the creole city from foes who had shown, in the storming of many a spanish walled town, that they were as ruthless in victory as they were terrible in battle. there were no forts to protect the place, and the militia were ill armed and ill trained. but the hour found the man. on the afternoon of the very day when the british reached the banks of the river the vanguard of andrew jackson's tennesseeans marched into new orleans. clad in hunting-shirts of buckskin or homespun, wearing wolfskin and coonskin caps, and carrying their long rifles on their shoulders, the wild soldiery of the backwoods tramped into the little french town. they were tall men, with sinewy frames and piercing eyes. under "old hickory's" lead they had won the bloody battle of the horseshoe bend against the creeks; they had driven the spaniards from pensacola; and now they were eager to pit themselves against the most renowned troops of all europe. jackson acted with his usual fiery, hasty decision. it was absolutely necessary to get time in which to throw up some kind of breastworks or defenses for the city, and he at once resolved on a night attack against the british. as for the british, they had no thought of being molested. they did not dream of an assault from inferior numbers of undisciplined and ill-armed militia, who did not possess so much as bayonets to their guns. they kindled fires along the levees, ate their supper, and then, as the evening fell, noticed a big schooner drop down the river in ghostly silence and bring up opposite to them. the soldiers flocked to the shore, challenging the stranger, and finally fired one or two shots at her. then suddenly a rough voice was heard, "now give it to them, for the honor of america!" and a shower of shell and grape fell on the british, driving them off the levee. the stranger was an american man-of-war schooner. the british brought up artillery to drive her off, but before they succeeded jackson's land troops burst upon them, and a fierce, indecisive struggle followed. in the night all order was speedily lost, and the two sides fought singly or in groups in the utmost confusion. finally a fog came up and the combatants separated. jackson drew off four or five miles and camped. the british had been so roughly handled that they were unable to advance for three or four days, until the entire army came up. when they did advance, it was only to find that jackson had made good use of the time he had gained by his daring assault. he had thrown up breastworks of mud and logs from the swamp to the river. at first the british tried to batter down these breastworks with their cannon, for they had many more guns than the americans. a terrible artillery duel followed. for an hour or two the result seemed in doubt; but the american gunners showed themselves to be far more skilful than their antagonists, and gradually getting the upper hand, they finally silenced every piece of british artillery. the americans had used cotton bales in the embrasures, and the british hogsheads of sugar; but neither worked well, for the cotton caught fire and the sugar hogsheads were ripped and splintered by the roundshot, so that both were abandoned. by the use of red-hot shot the british succeeded in setting on fire the american schooner which had caused them such annoyance on the evening of the night attack; but she had served her purpose, and her destruction caused little anxiety to jackson. having failed in his effort to batter down the american breastworks, and the british artillery having been fairly worsted by the american, pakenham decided to try open assault. he had ten thousand regular troops, while jackson had under him but little over five thousand men, who were trained only as he had himself trained them in his indian campaigns. not a fourth of them carried bayonets. both pakenham and the troops under him were fresh from victories won over the most renowned marshals of napoleon, andover soldiers that had proved themselves on a hundred stricken fields the masters of all others in continental europe. at toulouse they had driven marshal soult from a position infinitely stronger than that held by jackson, and yet soult had under him a veteran army. at badajoz, ciudad rodrigo, and san sebastian they had carried by open assault fortified towns whose strength made the intrenchments of the americans seem like the mud walls built by children, though these towns were held by the best soldiers of france. with such troops to follow him, and with such victories behind him in the past, it did not seem possible to pakenham that the assault of the terrible british infantry could be successfully met by rough backwoods riflemen fighting under a general as wild and untrained as themselves. he decreed that the assault should take place on the morning of the eighth. throughout the previous night the american officers were on the alert, for they could hear the rumbling of artillery in the british camp, the muffled tread of the battalions as they were marched to their points in the line, and all the smothered din of the preparation for assault. long before dawn the riflemen were awake and drawn up behind the mud walls, where they lolled at ease, or, leaning on their long rifles, peered out through the fog toward the camp of their foes. at last the sun rose and the fog lifted, showing the scarlet array of the splendid british infantry. as soon as the air was clear pakenham gave the word, and the heavy columns of redcoated grenadiers and kilted highlanders moved steadily forward. from the american breastworks the great guns opened, but not a rifle cracked. three fourths of the distance were covered, and the eager soldiers broke into a run; then sheets of flame burst from the breastworks in their front as the wild riflemen of the backwoods rose and fired, line upon line. under the sweeping hail the head of the british advance was shattered, and the whole column stopped. then it surged forward again, almost to the foot of the breastworks; but not a man lived to reach them, and in a moment more the troops broke and ran back. mad with shame and rage, pakenham rode among them to rally and lead them forward, and the officers sprang around him, smiting the fugitives with their swords and cheering on the men who stood. for a moment the troops halted, and again came forward to the charge; but again they were met by a hail of bullets from the backwoods rifles. one shot struck pakenham himself. he reeled and fell from the saddle, and was carried off the field. the second and third in command fell also, and then all attempts at further advance were abandoned, and the british troops ran back to their lines. another assault had meanwhile been made by a column close to the river, the charging soldiers rushing to the top of the breastworks; but they were all killed or driven back. a body of troops had also been sent across the river, where they routed a small detachment of kentucky militia; but they were, of course, recalled when the main assault failed. at last the men who had conquered the conquerors of europe had themselves met defeat. andrew jackson and his rough riflemen had worsted, in fair fight, a far larger force of the best of wellington's veterans, and had accomplished what no french marshal and no french troops had been able to accomplish throughout the long war in the spanish peninsula. for a week the sullen british lay in their lines; then, abandoning their heavy artillery, they marched back to the ships and sailed for europe. john quincy adams and the right of petition he rests with the immortals; his journey has been long: for him no wail of sorrow, but a paean full and strong! so well and bravely has he done the work be found to do, to justice, freedom, duty, god, and man forever true. --whittier. the lot of ex-presidents of the united states, as a rule, has been a life of extreme retirement, but to this rule there is one marked exception. when john quincy adams left the white house in march, , it must have seemed as if public life could hold nothing more for him. he had had everything apparently that an american statesman could hope for. he had been minister to holland and prussia, to russia and england. he had been a senator of the united states, secretary of state for eight years, and finally president. yet, notwithstanding all this, the greatest part of his career, and his noblest service to his country, were still before him when he gave up the presidency. in the following year ( ) he was told that he might be elected to the house of representatives, and the gentleman who made the proposition ventured to say that he thought an ex-president, by taking such a position, "instead of degrading the individual would elevate the representative character." mr. adams replied that he had "in that respect no scruples whatever. no person can be degraded by serving the people as representative in congress, nor, in my opinion, would an ex-president of the united states be degraded by serving as a selectman of his town if elected thereto by the people." a few weeks later he was chosen to the house, and the district continued to send him every two years from that time until his death. he did much excellent work in the house, and was conspicuous in more than one memorable scene; but here it is possible to touch on only a single point, where he came forward as the champion of a great principle, and fought a battle for the right which will always be remembered among the great deeds of american public men. soon after mr. adams took his seat in congress, the movement for the abolition of slavery was begun by a few obscure agitators. it did not at first attract much attention, but as it went on it gradually exasperated the overbearing temper of the southern slaveholders. one fruit of this agitation was the appearance of petitions for the abolition of slavery in the house of representatives. a few were presented by mr. adams without attracting much notice; but as the petitions multiplied, the southern representatives became aroused. they assailed mr. adams for presenting them, and finally passed what was known as the gag rule, which prevented the reception of these petitions by the house. against this rule mr. adams protested, in the midst of the loud shouts of the southerners, as a violation of his constitutional rights. but the tyranny of slavery at that time was so complete that the rule was adopted and enforced, and the slaveholders, undertook in this way to suppress free speech in the house, just as they also undertook to prevent the transmission through the mails of any writings adverse to slavery. with the wisdom of a statesman and a man of affairs, mr. adams addressed himself to the one practical point of the contest. he did not enter upon a discussion of slavery or of its abolition, but turned his whole force toward the vindication of the right of petition. on every petition day he would offer, in constantly increasing numbers, petitions which came to him from all parts of the country for the abolition of slavery, in this way driving the southern representatives almost to madness, despite their rule which prevented the reception of such documents when offered. their hatred of mr. adams is something difficult to conceive, and they were burning to break him down, and, if possible, drive him from the house. on february , , after presenting the usual petitions, mr. adams offered one upon which he said he should like the judgment of the speaker as to its propriety, inasmuch as it was a petition from slaves. in a moment the house was in a tumult, and loud cries of "expel him!" "expel him!" rose in all directions. one resolution after another was offered looking toward his expulsion or censure, and it was not until february , three days later, that he was able to take the floor in his own defense. his speech was a masterpiece of argument, invective, and sarcasm. he showed, among other things, that he had not offered the petition, but had only asked the opinion of the speaker upon it, and that the petition itself prayed that slavery should not be abolished. when he closed his speech, which was quite as savage as any made against him, and infinitely abler, no one desired to reply, and the idea of censuring him was dropped. the greatest struggle, however, came five years later, when, on january , , mr. adams presented the petition of certain citizens of haverhill, massachusetts, praying for the dissolution of the union on account of slavery. his enemies felt that now, at last, he had delivered himself into their hands. again arose the cry for his expulsion, and again vituperation was poured out upon him, and resolutions to expel him freely introduced. when he got the floor to speak in his own defense, he faced an excited house, almost unanimously hostile to him, and possessing, as he well knew, both the will and the power to drive him from its walls. but there was no wavering in mr. adams. "if they say they will try me," he said, "they must try me. if they say they will punish me, they must punish me. but if they say that in peace and mercy they will spare me expulsion, i disdain and cast away their mercy, and i ask if they will come to such a trial and expel me. i defy them. i have constituents to go to, and they will have something to say if this house expels me, nor will it be long before the gentlemen will see me here again." the fight went on for nearly a fortnight, and on february the whole subject was finally laid on the table. the sturdy, dogged fighter, single-handed and alone, had beaten all the forces of the south and of slavery. no more memorable fight has ever been made by one man in a parliamentary body, and after this decisive struggle the tide began to turn. every year mr. adams renewed his motion to strike out the gag rule, and forced it to a vote. gradually the majority against it dwindled, until at last, on december , , his motion prevailed. freedom of speech had been vindicated in the american house of representatives, the right of petition had been won, and the first great blow against the slave power had been struck. four years later mr. adams fell, stricken with paralysis, at his place in the house, and a few hours afterward, with the words, "this is the last of earth; i am content," upon his lips, he sank into unconsciousness and died. it was a fit end to a great public career. his fight for the right of petition is one to be studied and remembered, and mr. adams made it practically alone. the slaveholders of the south and the representatives of the north were alike against him. against him, too, as his biographer, mr. morse, says, was the class in boston to which he naturally belonged by birth and education. he had to encounter the bitter resistance in his own set of the "conscienceless respectability of wealth," but the great body of the new england people were with him, as were the voters of his own district. he was an old man, with the physical infirmities of age. his eyes were weak and streaming; his hands were trembling; his voice cracked in moments of excitement; yet in that age of oratory, in the days of webster and clay, he was known as the "old man eloquent." it was what he said, more than the way he said it, which told. his vigorous mind never worked more surely and clearly than when he stood alone in the midst of an angry house, the target of their hatred and abuse. his arguments were strong, and his large knowledge and wide experience supplied him with every weapon for defense and attack. beneath the lash of his invective and his sarcasm the hottest of the slaveholders cowered away. he set his back against a great principle. he never retreated an inch, he never yielded, he never conciliated, he was always an assailant, and no man and no body of men had the power to turn him. he had his dark hours, he felt bitterly the isolation of his position, but he never swerved. he had good right to set down in his diary, when the gag rule was repealed, "blessed, forever blessed, be the name of god." francis parkman ( - ) he told the red man's story; far and wide he searched the unwritten annals of his race; he sat a listener at the sachem's side, he tracked the hunter through his wild-wood chase. high o'er his head the soaring eagle screamed; the wolfs long howl rang nightly; through the vale tramped the lone bear; the panther's eyeballs gleamed; the bison's gallop thundered on the gale. soon o'er the horizon rose the cloud of strife, two proud, strong nations battling for the prize: which swarming host should mould a nation's life; which royal banner flout the western skies. long raged the conflict; on the crimson sod native and alien joined their hosts in vain; the lilies withered where the lion trod, till peace lay panting on the ravaged plain. a nobler task was theirs who strove to win the blood-stained heathen to the christian fold; to free from satan's clutch the slaves of sin; these labors, too, with loving grace he told. halting with feeble step, or bending o'er the sweet-breathed roses which he loved so well, while through long years his burdening cross he bore, from those firm lips no coward accents fell. a brave bright memory! his the stainless shield no shame defaces and no envy mars! when our far future's record is unsealed, his name will shine among its morning stars. --holmes. the stories in this volume deal, for the most part, with single actions, generally with deeds of war and feats of arms. in this one i desire to give if possible the impression, for it can be no more than an impression, of a life which in its conflicts and its victories manifested throughout heroic qualities. such qualities can be shown in many ways, and the field of battle is only one of the fields of human endeavor where heroism can be displayed. francis parkman was born in boston on september , . he came of a well-known family, and was of a good puritan stock. he was rather a delicate boy, with an extremely active mind and of a highly sensitive, nervous organization. into everything that attracted him he threw himself with feverish energy. his first passion, when he was only about twelve years old, was for chemistry, and his eager boyish experiments in this direction were undoubtedly injurious to his health. the interest in chemistry was succeeded by a passion for the woods and the wilderness, and out of this came the longing to write the history of the men of the wilderness, and of the great struggle between france and england for the control of the north american continent. all through his college career this desire was with him, and while in secret he was reading widely to prepare himself for his task, he also spent a great deal of time in the forests and on the mountains. to quote his own words, he was "fond of hardships, and he was vain of enduring them, cherishing a sovereign scorn for every physical weakness or defect; but deceived, moreover, by the rapid development of frame and sinew, which flattered him into the belief that discipline sufficiently unsparing would harden him into an athlete, he slighted the precautions of a more reasonable woodcraft, tired old foresters with long marches, stopped neither for heat nor for rain, and slept on the earth without blankets." the result was that his intense energy carried him beyond his strength, and while his muscles strengthened and hardened, his sensitive nervous organization began to give way. it was not merely because he led an active outdoor life. he himself protests against any such conclusion, and says that "if any pale student glued to his desk here seek an apology for a way of life whose natural fruit is that pallid and emasculate scholarship, of which new england has had too many examples, it will be far better that this sketch had not been written. for the student there is, in its season, no better place than the saddle, and no better companion than the rifle or the oar." the evil that was done was due to parkman's highly irritable organism, which spurred him to excess in everything he undertook. the first special sign of the mischief he was doing to himself and his health appeared in a weakness of sight. it was essential to his plan of historical work to study not only books and records but indian life from the inside. therefore, having graduated from college and the law-school, he felt that the time had come for this investigation, which would enable him to gather material for his history and at the same time to rest his eyes. he went to the rocky mountains, and after great hardships, living in the saddle, as he said, with weakness and pain, he joined a band of ogallalla indians. with them he remained despite his physical suffering, and from them he learned, as he could not have learned in any other way, what indian life really was. the immediate result of the journey was his first book, instinct with the freshness and wildness of the mountains and the prairies, and called by him "the oregon trail." unfortunately, the book was not the only outcome. the illness incurred during his journey from fatigue and exposure was followed by other disorders. the light of the sun became insupportable, and his nervous system was entirely deranged. his sight was now so impaired that he was almost blind, and could neither read nor write. it was a terrible prospect for a brilliant and ambitious man, but parkman faced it unflinchingly. he devised a frame by which he could write with closed eyes, and books and manuscripts were read to him. in this way he began the history of "the conspiracy of pontiac," and for the first half-year the rate of composition covered about six lines a day. his courage was rewarded by an improvement in his health, and a little more quiet in nerves and brain. in two and a half years he managed to complete the book. he then entered upon his great subject of "france in the new world." the material was mostly in manuscript, and had to be examined, gathered, and selected in europe and in canada. he could not read, he could write only a very little and that with difficulty, and yet he pressed on. he slowly collected his material and digested and arranged it, using the eyes of others to do that which he could not do himself, and always on the verge of a complete breakdown of mind and body. in he had an effusion of water on the left knee, which stopped his outdoor exercise, on which he had always largely depended. all the irritability of the system then centered in the head, resulting in intense pain and in a restless and devouring activity of thought. he himself says: "the whirl, the confusion, and strange, undefined tortures attending this condition are only to be conceived by one who has felt them." the resources of surgery and medicine were exhausted in vain. the trouble in the head and eyes constantly recurred. in there came a period when for four years he was incapable of the slightest mental application, and the attacks varied in duration from four hours to as many months. when the pressure was lightened a little he went back to his work. when work was impossible, he turned to horticulture, grew roses, and wrote a book about the cultivation of those flowers which is a standard authority. as he grew older the attacks moderated, although they never departed. sleeplessness pursued him always, the slightest excitement would deprive him of the power of exertion, his sight was always sensitive, and at times he was bordering on blindness. in this hard-pressed way he fought the battle of life. he says himself that his books took four times as long to prepare and write as if he had been strong and able to use his faculties. that this should have been the case is little wonder, for those books came into being with failing sight and shattered nerves, with sleeplessness and pain, and the menace of insanity ever hanging over the brave man who, nevertheless, carried them through to an end. yet the result of those fifty years, even in amount, is a noble one, and would have been great achievement for a man who had never known a sick day. in quality, and subject, and method of narration, they leave little to be desired. there, in parkman's volumes, is told vividly, strongly, and truthfully, the history of the great struggle between france and england for the mastery of the north american continent, one of the most important events of modern times. this is not the place to give any critical estimate of mr. parkman's work. it is enough to say that it stands in the front rank. it is a great contribution to history, and a still greater gift to the literature of this country. all americans certainly should read the volumes in which parkman has told that wonderful story of hardship and adventure, of fighting and of statesmanship, which gave this great continent to the english race and the english speech. but better than the literature or the history is the heroic spirit of the man, which triumphed over pain and all other physical obstacles, and brought a work of such value to his country and his time into existence. there is a great lesson as well as a lofty example in such a career, and in the service which such a man rendered by his life and work to literature and to his country. on the tomb of the conqueror of quebec it is written: "here lies wolfe victorious." the same epitaph might with entire justice be carved above the grave of wolfe's historian. "remember the alamo" the muffled drum's sad roll has beat the soldier's last tattoo; no more on life's parade shall meet that brave and fallen few. on fame's eternal camping-ground their silent tents are spread, and glory guards with solemn round the bivouac of the dead. * * * the neighing troop, the flashing blade, the bugle's stirring blast, the charge, the dreadful cannonade, the din and shout are past; nor war's wild note, nor glory's peal shall thrill with fierce delight those breasts that never more may feel the rapture of the fight. --theodore o'hara. "thermopylae had its messengers of death, but the alamo had none." these were the words with which a united states senator referred to one of the most resolute and effective fights ever waged by brave men against overwhelming odds in the face of certain death. soon after the close of the second war with great britain, parties of american settlers began to press forward into the rich, sparsely settled territory of texas, then a portion of mexico. at first these immigrants were well received, but the mexicans speedily grew jealous of them, and oppressed them in various ways. in consequence, when the settlers felt themselves strong enough, they revolted against mexican rule, and declared texas to be an independent republic. immediately santa anna, the dictator of mexico, gathered a large army, and invaded texas. the slender forces of the settlers were unable to meet his hosts. they were pressed back by the mexicans, and dreadful atrocities were committed by santa anna and his lieutenants. in the united states there was great enthusiasm for the struggling texans, and many bold backwoodsmen and indian-fighters swarmed to their help. among them the two most famous were sam houston and david crockett. houston was the younger man, and had already led an extraordinary and varied career. when a mere lad he had run away from home and joined the cherokees, living among them for some years; then he returned home. he had fought under andrew jackson in his campaigns against the creeks, and had been severely wounded at the battle of the horse-shoe bend. he had risen to the highest political honors in his state, becoming governor of tennessee; and then suddenly, in a fit of moody longing for the life of the wilderness, he gave up his governorship, left the state, and crossed the mississippi, going to join his old comrades, the cherokees, in their new home along the waters of the arkansas. here he dressed, lived, fought, hunted, and drank precisely like any indian, becoming one of the chiefs. david crockett was born soon after the revolutionary war. he, too, had taken part under jackson in the campaigns against the creeks, and had afterward become a man of mark in tennessee, and gone to congress as a whig; but he had quarreled with jackson, and been beaten for congress, and in his disgust he left the state and decided to join the texans. he was the most famous rifle-shot in all the united states, and the most successful hunter, so that his skill was a proverb all along the border. david crockett journeyed south, by boat and horse, making his way steadily toward the distant plains where the texans were waging their life-and-death fight. texas was a wild place in those days, and the old hunter had more than one hairbreadth escape from indians, desperadoes, and savage beasts, ere he got to the neighborhood of san antonio, and joined another adventurer, a bee-hunter, bent on the same errand as himself. the two had been in ignorance of exactly what the situation in texas was; but they soon found that the mexican army was marching toward san antonio, whither they were going. near the town was an old spanish fort, the alamo, in which the hundred and fifty american defenders of the place had gathered. santa anna had four thousand troops with him. the alamo was a mere shell, utterly unable to withstand either a bombardment or a regular assault. it was evident, therefore, that those within it would be in the utmost jeopardy if the place were seriously assaulted, but old crockett and his companion never wavered. they were fearless and resolute, and masters of woodcraft, and they managed to slip through the mexican lines and join the defenders within the walls. the bravest, the hardiest, the most reckless men of the border were there; among them were colonel travis, the commander of the fort, and bowie, the inventor of the famous bowie-knife. they were a wild and ill-disciplined band, little used to restraint or control, but they were men of iron courage and great bodily powers, skilled in the use of their weapons, and ready to meet with stern and uncomplaining indifference whatever doom fate might have in store for them. soon santa anna approached with his army, took possession of the town, and besieged the fort. the defenders knew there was scarcely a chance of rescue, and that it was hopeless to expect that one hundred and fifty men, behind defenses so weak, could beat off four thousand trained soldiers, well armed and provided with heavy artillery; but they had no idea of flinching, and made a desperate defense. the days went by, and no help came, while santa anna got ready his lines, and began a furious cannonade. his gunners were unskilled, however, and he had to serve the guns from a distance; for when they were pushed nearer, the american riflemen crept forward under cover, and picked off the artillerymen. old crockett thus killed five men at one gun. but, by degrees, the bombardment told. the walls of the alamo were battered and riddled; and when they had been breached so as to afford no obstacle to the rush of his soldiers, santa anna commanded that they be stormed. the storm took place on march , . the mexican troops came on well and steadily, breaking through the outer defenses at every point, for the lines were too long to be manned by the few americans. the frontiersmen then retreated to the inner building, and a desperate hand-to-hand conflict followed, the mexicans thronging in, shooting the americans with their muskets, and thrusting at them with lance and bayonet, while the americans, after firing their long rifles, clubbed them, and fought desperately, one against many; and they also used their bowie-knives and revolvers with deadly effect. the fight reeled to and fro between the shattered walls, each american the center of a group of foes; but, for all their strength and their wild fighting courage, the defenders were too few, and the struggle could have but one end. one by one the tall riflemen succumbed, after repeated thrusts with bayonet and lance, until but three or four were left. colonel travis, the commander, was among them; and so was bowie, who was sick and weak from a wasting disease, but who rallied all his strength to die fighting, and who, in the final struggle, slew several mexicans with his revolver, and with his big knife of the kind to which he had given his name. then these fell too, and the last man stood at bay. it was old davy crockett. wounded in a dozen places, he faced his foes with his back to the wall, ringed around by the bodies of the men he had slain. so desperate was the fight he waged, that the mexicans who thronged round about him were beaten back for the moment, and no one dared to run in upon him. accordingly, while the lancers held him where he was, for, weakened by wounds and loss of blood, he could not break through them, the musketeers loaded their carbines and shot him down. santa anna declined to give him mercy. some say that when crockett fell from his wounds, he was taken alive, and was then shot by santa anna's order; but his fate cannot be told with certainty, for not a single american was left alive. at any rate, after crockett fell the fight was over. every one of the hardy men who had held the alamo lay still in death. yet they died well avenged, for four times their number fell at their hands in the battle. santa anna had but a short while in which to exult over his bloody and hard-won victory. already a rider from the rolling texas plains, going north through the indian territory, had told houston that the texans were up and were striving for their liberty. at once in houston's mind there kindled a longing to return to the men of his race at the time of their need. mounting his horse, he rode south by night and day, and was hailed by the texans as a heaven-sent leader. he took command of their forces, eleven hundred stark riflemen, and at the battle of san jacinto, he and his men charged the mexican hosts with the cry of "remember the alamo." almost immediately, the mexicans were overthrown with terrible slaughter; santa anna himself was captured, and the freedom of texas was won at a blow. hampton roads then far away to the south uprose a little feather of snow-white smoke, and we knew that the iron ship of our foes was steadily steering its course to try the force of our ribs of oak. down upon us heavily runs, silent and sullen, the floating fort; then comes a puff of smoke from her guns, and leaps the terrible death, with fiery breath, from her open port. * * * ho! brave hearts, that went down in the seas! ye are at peace in the troubled stream; ho! brave land! with hearts like these, thy flag, that is rent in twain, shall be one again, and without a seam! --longfellow the naval battles of the civil war possess an immense importance, because they mark the line of cleavage between naval warfare under the old, and naval warfare under the new, conditions. the ships with which hull and decatur and mcdonough won glory in the war of were essentially like those with which drake and hawkins and frobisher had harried the spanish armadas two centuries and a half earlier. they were wooden sailing-vessels, carrying many guns mounted in broadside, like those of de ruyter and tromp, of blake and nelson. throughout this period all the great admirals, all the famous single-ship fighters,--whose skill reached its highest expression in our own navy during the war of ,--commanded craft built and armed in a substantially similar manner, and fought with the same weapons and under much the same conditions. but in the civil war weapons and methods were introduced which caused a revolution greater even than that which divided the sailing-ship from the galley. the use of steam, the casing of ships in iron armor, and the employment of the torpedo, the ram, and the gun of high power, produced such radically new types that the old ships of the line became at one stroke as antiquated as the galleys of hamilcar or alcibiades. some of these new engines of destruction were invented, and all were for the first time tried in actual combat, during our own civil war. the first occasion on which any of the new methods were thoroughly tested was attended by incidents which made it one of the most striking of naval battles. in chesapeake bay, near hampton roads, the united states had collected a fleet of wooden ships; some of them old-style sailing-vessels, others steamers. the confederates were known to be building a great iron-clad ram, and the wooden vessels were eagerly watching for her appearance when she should come out of gosport harbor. her powers and capacity were utterly unknown. she was made out of the former united states steam-frigate merrimac, cut down so as to make her fore and aft decks nearly flat, and not much above the water, while the guns were mounted in a covered central battery, with sloping flanks. her sides, deck, and battery were coated with iron, and she was armed with formidable rifle-guns, and, most important of all, with a steel ram thrust out under water forward from her bow. she was commanded by a gallant and efficient officer, captain buchanan. it was march , , when the ram at last made her appearance within sight of the union fleet. the day was calm and very clear, so that the throngs of spectators on shore could see every feature of the battle. with the great ram came three light gunboats, all of which took part in the action, harassing the vessels which she assailed; but they were not factors of importance in the fight. on the union side the vessels nearest were the sailing-ships cumberland and congress, and the steam-frigate minnesota. the congress and cumberland were anchored not far from each other; the minnesota got aground, and was some distance off. owing to the currents and shoals and the lack of wind, no other vessel was able to get up in time to take a part in the fight. as soon as the ram appeared, out of the harbor, she turned and steamed toward the congress and the cumberland, the black smoke rising from her funnels, and the great ripples running from each side of her iron prow as she drove steadily through the still waters. on board of the congress and cumberland there was eager anticipation, but not a particle of fear. the officers in command, captain smith and lieutenant morris, were two of the most gallant men in a service where gallantry has always been too common to need special comment. the crews were composed of veterans, well trained, self-confident, and proud beyond measure of the flag whose honor they upheld. the guns were run out, and the men stood at quarters, while the officers eagerly conned the approaching ironclad. the congress was the first to open fire; and, as her volleys flew, the men on the cumberland were astounded to see the cannon-shot bound off the sloping sides of the ram as hailstones bound from a windowpane. the ram answered, and her rifle-shells tore the sides of the congress; but for her first victim she aimed at the cumberland, and, firing her bow guns, came straight as an arrow at the little sloop-of-war, which lay broadside to her. it was an absolutely hopeless struggle. the cumberland was a sailing-ship, at anchor, with wooden sides, and a battery of light guns. against the formidable steam ironclad, with her heavy rifles and steel ram, she was as powerless as if she had been a rowboat; and from the moment the men saw the cannon-shot bound from the ram's sides they knew they were doomed. but none of them flinched. once and again they fired their guns full against the approaching ram, and in response received a few shells from the great bow-rifles of the latter. then, forging ahead, the merrimac struck her antagonist with her steel prow, and the sloop-of-war reeled and shuddered, and through the great rent in her side the black water rushed. she foundered in a few minutes; but her crew fought her to the last, cheering as they ran out the guns, and sending shot after shot against the ram as the latter backed off after delivering her blow. the rush of the water soon swamped the lower decks, but the men above continued to serve their guns until the upper deck also was awash, and the vessel had not ten seconds of life left. then, with her flags flying, her men cheering, and her guns firing, the cumberland sank. it was shallow where she settled down, so that her masts remained above the water. the glorious flag for which the brave men aboard her had died flew proudly in the wind all that day, while the fight went on, and throughout the night; and next morning it was still streaming over the beautiful bay, to mark the resting-place of as gallant a vessel as ever sailed or fought on the high seas. after the cumberland sank, the ram turned her attention to the congress. finding it difficult to get to her in the shoal water, she began to knock her to pieces with her great rifle-guns. the unequal fight between the ironclad and the wooden ship lasted for perhaps half an hour. by that time the commander of the congress had been killed, and her decks looked like a slaughterhouse. she was utterly unable to make any impression on her foe, and finally she took fire and blew up. the minnesota was the third victim marked for destruction, and the merrimac began the attack upon her at once; but it was getting very late, and as the water was shoal and she could not get close, the rain finally drew back to her anchorage, to wait until next day before renewing and completing her work of destruction. all that night there was the wildest exultation among the confederates, while the gloom and panic of the union men cannot be described. it was evident that the united states ships-of-war were as helpless as cockle-shells against their iron-clad foe, and there was no question but that she could destroy the whole fleet with ease and with absolute impunity. this meant not only the breaking of the blockade; but the sweeping away at one blow of the north's naval supremacy, which was indispensable to the success of the war for the union. it is small wonder that during that night the wisest and bravest should have almost despaired. but in the hour of the nation's greatest need a champion suddenly appeared, in time to play the last scene in this great drama of sea warfare. the north, too, had been trying its hand at building ironclads. the most successful of them was the little monitor, a flat-decked, low, turreted, ironclad, armed with a couple of heavy guns. she was the first experiment of her kind, and her absolutely flat surface, nearly level with the water, her revolving turret, and her utter unlikeness to any pre-existing naval type, had made her an object of mirth among most practical seamen; but her inventor, ericsson, was not disheartened in the least by the jeers. under the command of a gallant naval officer, captain worden, she was sent south from new york, and though she almost foundered in a gale she managed to weather it, and reached the scene of the battle at hampton roads at the moment when her presence was all-important. early the following morning the merrimac, now under captain jones (for buchanan had been wounded), again steamed forth to take up the work she had so well begun and to destroy the union fleet. she steered straight for the minnesota; but when she was almost there, to her astonishment a strange-looking little craft advanced from the side of the big wooden frigate and boldly barred the merrimac's path. for a moment the confederates could hardly believe their eyes. the monitor was tiny, compared to their ship, for she was not one fifth the size, and her queer appearance made them look at their new foe with contempt; but the first shock of battle did away with this feeling. the merrimac turned on her foe her rifleguns, intending to blow her out of the water, but the shot glanced from the thick iron turret of the monitor. then the monitors guns opened fire, and as the great balls struck the sides of the ram her plates started and her timbers gave. had the monitor been such a vessel as those of her type produced later in the war, the ram would have been sunk then and there; but as it was her shot were not quite heavy enough to pierce the iron walls. around and around the two strange combatants hovered, their guns bellowing without cessation, while the men on the frigates and on shore watched the result with breathless interest. neither the merrimac nor the monitor could dispose of its antagonist. the ram's guns could not damage the turret, and the monitor was able dexterously to avoid the stroke of the formidable prow. on the other hand, the shot of the monitor could not penetrate the merrimac's tough sides. accordingly, fierce though the struggle was, and much though there was that hinged on it, it was not bloody in character. the merrimac could neither destroy nor evade the monitor. she could not sink her when she tried to, and when she abandoned her and turned to attack one of the other wooden vessels, the little turreted ship was thrown across her path, so that the fight had to be renewed. both sides grew thoroughly exhausted, and finally the battle ceased by mutual consent. nothing more could be done. the ram was badly damaged, and there was no help for her save to put back to the port whence she had come. twice afterward she came out, but neither time did she come near enough to the monitor to attack her, and the latter could not move off where she would cease to protect the wooden vessels. the ram was ultimately blown up by the confederates on the advance of the union army. tactically, the fight was a drawn battle--neither ship being able to damage the other, and both ships, being fought to a standstill; but the moral and material effects were wholly in favor of the monitor. her victory was hailed with exultant joy throughout the whole union, and exercised a correspondingly depressing effect in the confederacy; while every naval man throughout the world, who possessed eyes to see, saw that the fight in hampton roads had inaugurated a new era in ocean warfare, and that the monitor and merrimac, which had waged so gallant and so terrible a battle, were the first ships of the new era, and that as such their names would be forever famous. the flag-bearer mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the lord; he is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored; he hath loosed the fateful lightning of his terrible swift sword; his truth is marching on. i have seen him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling camps; they have builded him an altar in the evening dews and damps; i can read his righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps; his day is marching on. he has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never beat retreat; he is sifting out the hearts of men before his judgment seat; oh! be swift, my soul, to answer him! be jubilant, my feet! our god is marching on. --julia ward howe. in no war since the close of the great napoleonic struggles has the fighting been so obstinate and bloody as in the civil war. much has been said in song and story of the resolute courage of the guards at inkerman, of the charge of the light brigade, and of the terrible fighting and loss of the german armies at mars la tour and gravelotte. the praise bestowed, upon the british and germans for their valor, and for the loss that proved their valor, was well deserved; but there were over one hundred and twenty regiments, union and confederate, each of which, in some one battle of the civil war, suffered a greater loss than any english regiment at inkerman or at any other battle in the crimea, a greater loss than was suffered by any german regiment at gravelotte or at any other battle of the franco-prussian war. no european regiment in any recent struggle has suffered such losses as at gettysburg befell the st minnesota, when per cent. of the officers and men were killed and wounded; or the st pennsylvania, which lost per cent.; or the th north carolina, which lost per cent.; such as at the second battle of manassas befell the st new york, which lost per cent., and the st georgia, which lost per cent. at cold harbor the th massachusetts lost per cent., and the th tennessee at chickamauga per cent.; while at shiloh the th illinois lost per cent., and the th mississippi per cent.; and at antietam the st texas lost percent. the loss of the light brigade in killed and wounded in its famous charge at balaklava was but per cent. these figures show the terrible punishment endured by these regiments, chosen at random from the head of the list which shows the slaughter-roll of the civil war. yet the shattered remnants of each regiment preserved their organization, and many of the severest losses were incurred in the hour of triumph, and not of disaster. thus, the st minnesota, at gettysburg, suffered its appalling loss while charging a greatly superior force, which it drove before it; and the little huddle of wounded and unwounded men who survived their victorious charge actually kept both the flag they had captured and the ground from which they had driven their foes. a number of the continental regiments under washington, greene, and wayne did valiant fighting and endured heavy punishment. several of the regiments raised on the northern frontier in showed, under brown and scott, that they were able to meet the best troops of britain on equal terms in the open, and even to overmatch them in fair fight with the bayonet. the regiments which, in the mexican war, under the lead of taylor, captured monterey, and beat back santa anna at buena vista, or which, with scott as commander, stormed molino del rey and chapultepec, proved their ability to bear terrible loss, to wrest victory from overwhelming numbers, and to carry by open assault positions of formidable strength held by a veteran army. but in none of these three wars was the fighting so resolute and bloody as in the civil war. countless deeds of heroism were performed by northerner and by southerner, by officer and by private, in every year of the great struggle. the immense majority of these deeds went unrecorded, and were known to few beyond the immediate participants. of those that were noticed it would be impossible even to make a dry catalogue in ten such volumes as this. all that can be done is to choose out two or three acts of heroism, not as exceptions, but as examples of hundreds of others. the times of war are iron times, and bring out all that is best as well as all that is basest in the human heart. in a full recital of the civil war, as of every other great conflict, there would stand out in naked relief feats of wonderful daring and self-devotion, and, mixed among them, deeds of cowardice, of treachery, of barbarous brutality. sadder still, such a recital would show strange contrasts in the careers of individual men, men who at one time acted well and nobly, and at another time ill and basely. the ugly truths must not be blinked, and the lessons they teach should be set forth by every historian, and learned by every statesman and soldier; but, for our good fortune, the lessons best worth learning in the nation's past are lessons of heroism. from immemorial time the armies of every warlike people have set the highest value upon the standards they bore to battle. to guard one's own flag against capture is the pride, to capture the flag of one's enemy the ambition, of every valiant soldier. in consequence, in every war between peoples of good military record, feats of daring performed by color-bearers are honorably common. the civil war was full of such incidents. out of very many two or three may be mentioned as noteworthy. one occurred at fredericksburg on the day when half the brigades of meagher and caldwell lay on the bloody slope leading up to the confederate entrenchments. among the assaulting regiments was the th new hampshire, and it lost one hundred and eighty-six out of three hundred men who made the charge. the survivors fell sullenly back behind a fence, within easy range of the confederate rifle-pits. just before reaching it the last of the color guard was shot, and the flag fell in the open. a captain perry instantly ran out to rescue it, and as he reached it was shot through the heart; another, captain murray, made the same attempt and was also killed; and so was a third, moore. several private soldiers met a like fate. they were all killed close to the flag, and their dead bodies fell across one another. taking advantage of this breastwork, lieutenant nettleton crawled from behind the fence to the colors, seized them, and bore back the blood-won trophy. another took place at gaines' mill, where gregg's st south carolina formed part of the attacking force. the resistance was desperate, and the fury of the assault unsurpassed. at one point it fell to the lot of this regiment to bear the brunt of carrying a certain strong position. moving forward at a run, the south carolinians were swept by a fierce and searching fire. young james taylor, a lad of sixteen, was carrying the flag, and was killed after being shot down three times, twice rising and struggling onward with the colors. the third time he fell the flag was seized by george cotchet, and when he, in turn, fell, by shubrick hayne. hayne was also struck down almost immediately, and the fourth lad, for none of them were over twenty years old, grasped the colors, and fell mortally wounded across the body of his friend. the fifth, gadsden holmes, was pierced with no less than seven balls. the sixth man, dominick spellman, more fortunate, but not less brave, bore the flag throughout the rest of the battle. yet another occurred at antietam. the th maine, then under the command of major t. w. hyde, was one of the hundreds of regiments that on many hard-fought fields established a reputation for dash and unyielding endurance. toward the early part of the day at antietam it merely took its share in the charging and long-range firing, together with the new york and vermont regiments which were its immediate neighbors in the line. the fighting was very heavy. in one of the charges, the maine men passed over what had been a confederate regiment. the gray-clad soldiers were lying, both ranks, privates and officers, as they fell, for so many had been killed or disabled that it seemed as if the whole regiment was prone in death. much of the time the maine men lay on the battle-field, hugging the ground, under a heavy artillery fire, but beyond the reach of ordinary musketry. one of the privates, named knox, was a wonderful shot, and had received permission to use his own special rifle, a weapon accurately sighted for very long range. while the regiment thus lay under the storm of shot and shell, he asked leave to go to the front; and for an hour afterward his companions heard his rifle crack every few minutes. major hyde finally, from curiosity, crept forward to see what he was doing, and found that he had driven every man away from one section of a confederate battery, tumbling over gunner after gunner as they came forward to fire. one of his victims was a general officer, whose horse he killed. at the end of an hour or so, a piece of shell took off the breech of his pet rifle, and he returned disconsolate; but after a few minutes he gathered three rifles that were left by wounded men, and went back again to his work. at five o'clock in the afternoon the regiment was suddenly called upon to undertake a hopeless charge, owing to the blunder of the brigade commander, who was a gallant veteran of the mexican war, but who was also given to drink. opposite the union lines at this point were some haystacks, near a group of farm buildings. they were right in the center of the confederate position, and sharpshooters stationed among them were picking off the union gunners. the brigadier, thinking that they were held by but a few skirmishers, rode to where the th maine was lying on the ground, and said: "major hyde, take your regiment and drive the enemy from those trees and buildings." hyde saluted, and said that he had seen a large force of rebels go in among the buildings, probably two brigades in all. the brigadier answered, "are you afraid to go, sir?" and repeated the order emphatically. "give the order, so the regiment can hear it, and we are ready, sir," said hyde. this was done, and "attention" brought every man to his feet. with the regiment were two young boys who carried the marking guidons, and hyde ordered these to the rear. they pretended to go, but as soon as the regiment charged came along with it. one of them lost his arm, and the other was killed on the field. the colors were carried by the color corporal, harry campbell. hyde gave the orders to left face and forward and the maine men marched out in front of a vermont regiment which lay beside them; then, facing to the front, they crossed a sunken road, which was so filled with dead and wounded confederates that hyde's horse had to step on them to get over. once across, they stopped for a moment in the trampled corn to straighten the line, and then charged toward the right of the barns. on they went at the double-quick, fifteen skirmishers ahead under lieutenant butler, major hyde on the right on his virginia thoroughbred, and adjutant haskell to the left on a big white horse. the latter was shot down at once, as was his horse, and hyde rode round in front of the regiment just in time to see a long line of men in gray rise from behind the stone wall of the hagerstown pike, which was to their right, and pour in a volley; but it mostly went too high. he then ordered his men to left oblique. just as they were abreast a hill to the right of the barns, hyde, being some twenty feet ahead, looked over its top and saw several regiments of confederates, jammed close together and waiting at the ready; so he gave the order left flank, and, still at the double quick, took his column past the barns and buildings toward an orchard on the hither side, hoping that he could get them back before they were cut off, for they were faced by ten times their number. by going through the orchard he expected to be able to take advantage of a hollow, and partially escape the destructive flank fire on his return. to hope to keep the barns from which they had driven the sharpshooters was vain, for the single maine regiment found itself opposed to portions of no less than four confederate brigades, at least a dozen regiments all told. when the men got to the orchard fence, sergeant benson wrenched apart the tall pickets to let through hyde's horse. while he was doing this, a shot struck his haversack, and the men all laughed at the sight of the flying hardtack. going into the orchard there was a rise of ground, and the confederates fired several volleys at the maine men, and then charged them. hyde's horse was twice wounded, but was still able to go on. no sooner were the men in blue beyond the fence than they got into line and met the confederates, as they came crowding behind, with a slaughtering fire, and then charged, driving them back. the color corporal was still carrying the colors, though one of his arms had been broken; but when half way through the orchard, hyde heard him call out as he fell, and turned back to save the colors, if possible. the apple-trees were short and thick, and he could not see much, and the confederates speedily got between him and his men. immediately, with the cry of "rally, boys, to save the major," back surged the regiment, and a volley at arm's length again destroyed all the foremost of their pursuers; so they rescued both their commander and the flag, which was carried off by corporal ring. hyde then formed the regiment on the colors, sixty-eight men all told, out of two hundred and forty who had begun the charge, and they slowly marched back toward their place in the union line, while the new yorkers and vermonters rose from the ground cheering and waving their hats. next day, when the confederates had retired a little from the field, the color corporal, campbell, was found in the orchard, dead, propped up against a tree, with his half-smoked pipe beside him. the death of stonewall jackson like a servant of the lord, with his bible and his sword, our general rode along us, to form us for the fight. --macaulay. the civil war has left, as all wars of brother against brother must leave, terrible and heartrending memories; but there remains as an offset the glory which has accrued to the nation by the countless deeds of heroism performed by both sides in the struggle. the captains and the armies that, after long years of dreary campaigning and bloody, stubborn fighting, brought the war to a close, have left us more than a reunited realm. north and south, all americans, now have a common fund of glorious memories. we are the richer for each grim campaign, for each hard-fought battle. we are the richer for valor displayed alike by those who fought so valiantly for the right, and by those who, no less valiantly, fought for what they deemed the right. we have in us nobler capacities for what is great and good because of the infinite woe and suffering, and because of the splendid ultimate triumph. we hold that it was vital to the welfare, not only of our people on this continent, but of the whole human race, that the union should be preserved and slavery abolished; that one flag should fly from the great lakes to the rio grande; that we should all be free in fact as well as in name, and that the united states should stand as one nation--the greatest nation on the earth. but we recognize gladly that, south as well as north, when the fight was once on, the leaders of the armies, and the soldiers whom they led, displayed the same qualities of daring and steadfast courage, of disinterested loyalty and enthusiasm, and of high devotion to an ideal. the greatest general of the south was lee, and his greatest lieutenant was jackson. both were virginians, and both were strongly opposed to disunion. lee went so far as to deny the right of secession, while jackson insisted that the south ought to try to get its rights inside the union, and not outside. but when virginia joined the southern confederacy, and the war had actually begun, both men cast their lot with the south. it is often said that the civil war was in one sense a repetition of the old struggle between the puritan and the cavalier; but puritan and cavalier types were common to the two armies. in dash and light-hearted daring, custer and kearney stood as conspicuous as stuart and morgan; and, on the other hand, no northern general approached the roundhead type--the type of the stern, religious warriors who fought under cromwell--so closely as stonewall jackson. he was a man of intense religious conviction, who carried into every thought and deed of his daily life the precepts of the faith he cherished. he was a tender and loving husband and father, kindhearted and gentle to all with whom he was brought in contact; yet in the times that tried men's souls, he proved not only a commander of genius, but a fighter of iron will and temper, who joyed in the battle, and always showed at his best when the danger was greatest. the vein of fanaticism that ran through his character helped to render him a terrible opponent. he knew no such word as falter, and when he had once put his hand to a piece of work, he did it thoroughly and with all his heart. it was quite in keeping with his character that this gentle, high-minded, and religious man should, early in the contest, have proposed to hoist the black flag, neither take nor give quarter, and make the war one of extermination. no such policy was practical in the nineteenth century and in the american republic; but it would have seemed quite natural and proper to jackson's ancestors, the grim scotch-irish, who defended londonderry against the forces of the stuart king, or to their forefathers, the covenanters of scotland, and the puritans who in england rejoiced at the beheading of king charles i. in the first battle in which jackson took part, the confused struggle at bull run, he gained his name of stonewall from the firmness with which he kept his men to their work and repulsed the attack of the union troops. from that time until his death, less than two years afterward, his career was one of brilliant and almost uninterrupted success; whether serving with an independent command in the valley, or acting under lee as his right arm in the pitched battles with mcclellan, pope, and burnside. few generals as great as lee have ever had as great a lieutenant as jackson. he was a master of strategy and tactics, fearless of responsibility, able to instil into his men his own intense ardor in battle, and so quick in his movements, so ready to march as well as fight, that his troops were known to the rest of the army as the "foot cavalry." in the spring of hooker had command of the army of the potomac. like mcclellan, he was able to perfect the discipline of his forces and to organize them, and as a division commander he was better than mcclellan, but he failed even more signally when given a great independent command. he had under him , men when, toward the end of april, he prepared to attack lee's army, which was but half as strong. the union army lay opposite fredericksburg, looking at the fortified heights where they had received so bloody a repulse at the beginning of the winter. hooker decided to distract the attention of the confederates by letting a small portion of his force, under general sedgwick, attack fredericksburg, while he himself took the bulk of the army across the river to the right hand so as to crush lee by an assault on his flank. all went well at the beginning, and on the first of may hooker found himself at chancellorsville, face-to-face with the bulk of lee's forces; and sedgwick, crossing the river and charging with the utmost determination, had driven out of fredericksburg the confederate division of early; but when hooker found himself in front of lee he hesitated, faltered instead of pushing on, and allowed the consummate general to whom he was opposed to take the initiative. lee fully realized his danger, and saw that his only chance was, first to beat back hooker, and then to turn and overwhelm sedgwick, who was in his rear. he consulted with jackson, and jackson begged to be allowed to make one of his favorite flank attacks upon the union army; attacks which could have been successfully delivered only by a skilled and resolute general, and by troops equally able to march and to fight. lee consented, and jackson at once made off. the country was thickly covered with a forest of rather small growth, for it was a wild region, in which there was still plenty of game. shielded by the forest, jackson marched his gray columns rapidly to the left along the narrow country roads until he was square on the flank of the union right wing, which was held by the eleventh corps, under howard. the union scouts got track of the movement and reported it at headquarters, but the union generals thought the confederates were retreating; and when finally the scouts brought word to howard that he was menaced by a flank attack he paid no heed to the information, and actually let his whole corps be surprised in broad daylight. yet all the while the battle was going on elsewhere, and berdan's sharpshooters had surrounded and captured a georgia regiment, from which information was received showing definitely that jackson was not retreating, and must be preparing to strike a heavy blow. the eleventh corps had not the slightest idea that it was about to be assailed. the men were not even in line. many of them had stacked their muskets and were lounging about, some playing cards, others cooking supper, intermingled with the pack-mules and beef cattle. while they were thus utterly unprepared jackson's gray-clad veterans pushed straight through the forest and rushed fiercely to the attack. the first notice the troops of the eleventh corps received did not come from the pickets, but from the deer, rabbits and foxes which, fleeing from their coverts at the approach of the confederates, suddenly came running over and into the union lines. in another minute the frightened pickets came tumbling back, and right behind them came the long files of charging, yelling confederates; with one fierce rush jackson's men swept over the union lines, and at a blow the eleventh corps became a horde of panicstruck fugitives. some of the regiments resisted for a few moments, and then they too were carried away in the flight. for a while it seemed as if the whole army would be swept off; but hooker and his subordinates exerted every effort to restore order. it was imperative to gain time so that the untouched portions of the army could form across the line of the confederate advance. keenan's regiment of pennsylvania cavalry, but four hundred sabers strong, was accordingly sent full against the front of the ten thousand victorious confederates. keenan himself fell, pierced by bayonets, and the charge was repulsed at once; but a few priceless moments had been saved, and pleasanton had been given time to post twenty-two guns, loaded with double canister, where they would bear upon the enemy. the confederates advanced in a dense mass, yelling and cheering, and the discharge of the guns fairly blew them back across the work's they had just taken. again they charged, and again were driven back; and when the battle once more began the union reinforcements had arrived. it was about this time that jackson himself was mortally wounded. he had been leading and urging on the advance of his men, cheering them with voice and gesture, his pale face flushed with joy and excitement, while from time to time as he sat on his horse he took off his hat and, looking upward, thanked heaven for the victory it had vouchsafed him. as darkness drew near he was in the front, where friend and foe were mingled in almost inextricable confusion. he and his staff were fired at, at close range, by the union troops, and, as they turned, were fired at again, through a mistake, by the confederates behind them. jackson fell, struck in several places. he was put in a litter and carried back; but he never lost consciousness, and when one of his generals complained of the terrible effect of the union cannonade he answered: "you must hold your ground." for several days he lingered, hearing how lee beat hooker, in detail, and forced him back across the river. then the old puritan died. at the end his mind wandered, and he thought he was again commanding in battle, and his last words were. "let us cross over the river and rest in the shade." thus perished stonewall jackson, one of the ablest of soldiers and one of the most upright of men, in the last of his many triumphs. the charge at gettysburg for the lord on the whirlwind is abroad; in the earthquake he has spoken; he has smitten with his thunder the iron walls asunder, and the gates of brass are broken! --whittier with bray of the trumpet, and roll of the drum, and keen ring of bugle the cavalry come: sharp clank the steel scabbards, the bridle-chains ring, and foam from red nostrils the wild chargers fling! tramp, tramp o'er the greensward that quivers below, scarce held by the curb bit the fierce horses go! and the grim-visaged colonel, with ear-rending shout, peals forth to the squadrons the order, "trot out"! --francis a. durivage. the battle of chancellorsville marked the zenith of confederate good fortune. immediately afterward, in june, , lee led the victorious army of northern virginia into pennsylvania. the south was now the invader, not the invaded, and its heart beat proudly with hopes of success; but these hopes went down in bloody wreck on july , when word was sent to the world that the high valor of virginia had failed at last on the field of gettysburg, and that in the far west vicksburg had been taken by the army of the "silent soldier." at gettysburg lee had under him some seventy thousand men, and his opponent, meade, about ninety thousand. both armies were composed mainly of seasoned veterans, trained to the highest point by campaign after campaign and battle after battle; and there was nothing to choose between them as to the fighting power of the rank and file. the union army was the larger, yet most of the time it stood on the defensive; for the difference between the generals, lee and meade, was greater than could be bridged by twenty thousand men. for three days the battle raged. no other battle of recent time has been so obstinate and so bloody. the victorious union army lost a greater percentage in killed and wounded than the allied armies of england, germany, and the netherlands lost at waterloo. four of its seven corps suffered each a greater relative loss than befell the world-renowned british infantry on the day that saw the doom of the french emperor. the defeated confederates at gettysburg lost, relatively, as many men as the defeated french at waterloo; but whereas the french army became a mere rabble, lee withdrew his formidable soldiery with their courage unbroken, and their fighting power only diminished by their actual losses in the field. the decisive moment of the battle, and perhaps of the whole war, was in the afternoon of the third day, when lee sent forward his choicest troops in a last effort to break the middle of the union line. the center of the attacking force was pickett's division, the flower of the virginia infantry; but many other brigades took part in the assault, and the column, all told, numbered over fifteen thousand men. at the same time, the confederates attacked the union left to create a diversion. the attack was preceded by a terrific cannonade, lee gathering one hundred and fifteen guns, and opening a fire on the center of the union line. in response, hunt, the union chief of artillery, and tyler, of the artillery reserves, gathered eighty guns on the crest of the gently sloping hill, where attack was threatened. for two hours, from one till three, the cannonade lasted, and the batteries on both sides suffered severely. in both the union and confederate lines caissons were blown up by the fire, riderless horses dashed hither and thither, the dead lay in heaps, and throngs of wounded streamed to the rear. every man lay down and sought what cover he could. it was evident that the confederate cannonade was but a prelude to a great infantry attack, and at three o'clock hunt ordered the fire to stop, that the guns might cool, to be ready for the coming assault. the confederates thought that they had silenced the hostile artillery, and for a few minutes their firing continued; then, suddenly, it ceased, and there was a lull. the men on the union side who were not at the point directly menaced peered anxiously across the space between the lines to watch the next move, while the men in the divisions which it was certain were about to be assaulted, lay hugging the ground and gripping their muskets, excited, but confident and resolute. they saw the smoke clouds rise slowly from the opposite crest, where the confederate army lay, and the sunlight glinted again on the long line of brass and iron guns which had been hidden from view during the cannonade. in another moment, out of the lifting smoke there appeared, beautiful and terrible, the picked thousands of the southern army coming on to the assault. they advanced in three lines, each over a mile long, and in perfect order. pickett's virginians held the center, with on their left the north carolinians of pender and pettigrew, and on their right the alabama regiments of wilcox; and there were also georgian and tennessee regiments in the attacking force. pickett's division, however, was the only one able to press its charge home. after leaving the woods where they started, the confederates had nearly a mile and a half to go in their charge. as the virginians moved, they bent slightly to the left, so as to leave a gap between them and the alabamians on the right. the confederate lines came on magnificently. as they crossed the emmetsburg pike the eighty guns on the union crest, now cool and in good shape, opened upon them, first with shot and then with shell. great gaps were made every second in the ranks, but the gray-clad soldiers closed up to the center, and the color-bearers leaped to the front, shaking and waving the flags. the union infantry reserved their fire until the confederates were within easy range, when the musketry crashed out with a roar, and the big guns began to fire grape and canister. on came the confederates, the men falling by hundreds, the colors fluttering in front like a little forest; for as fast as a color-bearer was shot some one else seized the flag from his hand before it fell. the north carolinians were more exposed to the fire than any other portion of the attacking force, and they were broken before they reached the line. there was a gap between the virginians and the alabama troops, and this was taken advantage of by stannard's vermont brigade and a demi-brigade under gates, of the th new york, who were thrust forward into it. stannard changed front with his regiments and fell on pickett's forces in flank, and gates continued the attack. when thus struck in the flank, the virginians could not defend themselves, and they crowded off toward the center to avoid the pressure. many of them were killed or captured; many were driven back; but two of the brigades, headed by general armistead, forced their way forward to the stone wall on the crest, where the pennsylvania regiments were posted under gibbon and webb. the union guns fired to the last moment, until of the two batteries immediately in front of the charging virginians every officer but one had been struck. one of the mortally wounded officers was young cushing, a brother of the hero of the albemarle fight. he was almost cut in two, but holding his body together with one hand, with the other he fired his last gun, and fell dead, just as armistead, pressing forward at the head of his men, leaped the wall, waving his hat on his sword. immediately afterward the battle-flags of the foremost confederate regiments crowned the crest; but their strength was spent. the union troops moved forward with the bayonet, and the remnant of pickett's division, attacked on all sides, either surrendered or retreated down the hill again. armistead fell, dying, by the body of the dead cushing. both gibbon and webb were wounded. of pickett's command two thirds were killed, wounded or captured, and every brigade commander and every field officer, save one, fell. the virginians tried to rally, but were broken and driven again by gates, while stannard repeated, at the expense of the alabamians, the movement he had made against the virginians, and, reversing his front, attacked them in flank. their lines were torn by the batteries in front, and they fell back before the vermonter's attack, and stannard reaped a rich harvest of prisoners and of battle-flags. the charge was over. it was the greatest charge in any battle of modern times, and it had failed. it would be impossible to surpass the gallantry of those that made it, or the gallantry of those that withstood it. had there been in command of the union army a general like grant, it would have been followed by a counter-charge, and in all probability the war would have been shortened by nearly two years; but no countercharge was made. as the afternoon waned, a fierce cavalry fight took place on the union right. stuart, the famous confederate cavalry commander, had moved forward to turn the union right, but he was met by gregg's cavalry, and there followed a contest, at close quarters, with "the white arm." it closed with a desperate melee, in which the confederates, charged under generals wade hampton and fitz lee, were met in mid career by the union generals custer and mcintosh. all four fought, saber in hand, at the head of their troopers, and every man on each side was put into the struggle. custer, his yellow hair flowing, his face aflame with the eager joy of battle, was in the thick of the fight, rising in his stirrups as he called to his famous michigan swordsmen: "come on, you wolverines, come on!" all that the union infantry, watching eagerly from their lines, could see, was a vast dust-cloud where flakes of light shimmered as the sun shone upon the swinging sabers. at last the confederate horsemen were beaten back, and they did not come forward again or seek to renew the combat; for pickett's charge had failed, and there was no longer hope of confederate victory. when night fell, the union flags waved in triumph on the field of gettysburg; but over thirty thousand men lay dead or wounded, strewn through wood and meadow, on field and hill, where the three days' fight had surged. general grant and the vicksburg campaign what flag is this you carry along the sea and shore? the same our grandsires lifted up-- the same our fathers bore. in many a battle's tempest it shed the crimson rain-- what god has woven in his loom let no man rend in twain. to canaan, to canaan, the lord has led us forth, to plant upon the rebel towers the banners of the north. --holmes. on january , , general grant took command of the army intended to operate against vicksburg, the last place held by the rebels on the mississippi, and the only point at which they could cross the river and keep up communication with their armies and territory in the southwest. it was the first high ground below memphis, was very strongly fortified, and was held by a large army under general pemberton. the complete possession of the mississippi was absolutely essential to the national government, because the control of that great river would cut the confederacy in two, and do more, probably, than anything else, to make the overthrow of the rebellion both speedy and certain. the natural way to invest and capture so strong a place, defended and fortified as vicksburg was, would have been, if the axioms of the art of war had been adhered to, by a system of gradual approaches. a strong base should have been established at memphis, and then the army and the fleet moved gradually forward, building storehouses and taking strong positions as they went. to do this, however, it first would have been necessary to withdraw the army from the positions it then held not far above vicksburg, on the western bank of the river. but such a movement, at that time, would not have been understood by the country, and would have had a discouraging effect on the public mind, which it was most essential to avoid. the elections of had gone against the government, and there was great discouragement throughout the north. voluntary enlistments had fallen off, a draft had been ordered, and the peace party was apparently gaining rapidly in strength. general grant, looking at this grave political situation with the eye of a statesman, decided, as a soldier, that under no circumstances would he withdraw the army, but that, whatever happened, he would "press forward to a decisive victory." in this determination he never faltered, but drove straight at his object until, five months later, the great mississippi stronghold fell before him. efforts were made through the winter to reach vicksburg from the north by cutting canals, and by attempts to get in through the bayous and tributary streams of the great river. all these expedients failed, however, one after another, as grant, from the beginning, had feared that they would. he, therefore, took another and widely different line, and determined to cross the river from the western to the eastern bank below vicksburg, to the south. with the aid of the fleet, which ran the batteries successfully, he moved his army down the west bank until he reached a point beyond the possibility of attack, while a diversion by sherman at haines' bluff, above vicksburg, kept pemberton in his fortifications. on april , grant began to move his men over the river and landed them at bruinsburg. "when this was effected," he writes, "i felt a degree of relief scarcely ever equaled since. vicksburg was not yet taken, it is true, nor were its defenders demoralized by any of our previous movements. i was now in the enemy's country, with a vast river and the stronghold of vicksburg between me and my base of supplies, but i was on dry ground, on the same side of the river with the enemy." the situation was this: the enemy had about sixty thousand men at vicksburg, haines' bluff, and at jackson, mississippi, about fifty miles east of vicksburg. grant, when he started, had about thirty-three thousand men. it was absolutely necessary for success that grant, with inferior numbers, should succeed in destroying the smaller forces to the eastward, and thus prevent their union with pemberton and the main army at vicksburg. his plan, in brief; was to fight and defeat a superior enemy separately and in detail. he lost no time in putting his plan into action, and pressing forward quickly, met a detachment of the enemy at port gibson and defeated them. thence he marched to grand gulf, on the mississippi, which he took, and which he had planned to make a base of supply. when he reached grand gulf, however, he found that he would be obliged to wait a month, in order to obtain the reinforcements which he expected from general banks at port hudson. he, therefore, gave up the idea of making grand gulf a base, and sherman having now joined him with his corps, grant struck at once into the interior. he took nothing with him except ammunition, and his army was in the lightest marching order. this enabled him to move with great rapidity, but deprived him of his wagon trains, and of all munitions of war except cartridges. everything, however, in this campaign, depended on quickness, and grant's decision, as well as all his movements, marked the genius of the great soldier, which consists very largely in knowing just when to abandon the accepted military axioms. pressing forward, grant met the enemy, numbering between seven and eight thousand, at raymond, and readily defeated them. he then marched on toward jackson, fighting another action at clinton, and at jackson he struck general joseph johnston, who had arrived at that point to take command of all the rebel forces. johnston had with him, at the moment, about eleven thousand men, and stood his ground. there was a sharp fight, but grant easily defeated the enemy, and took possession of the town. this was an important point, for jackson was the capital of the state of mississippi, and was a base of military supplies. grant destroyed the factories and the munitions of war which were gathered there, and also came into possession of the line of railroad which ran from jackson to vicksburg. while he was thus engaged, an intercepted message revealed to him the fact that pemberton, in accordance with johnston's orders, had come out of vicksburg with twenty-five thousand men, and was moving eastward against him. pemberton, however, instead of holding a straight line against grant, turned at first to the south, with the view of breaking the latter's line of communication. this was not a success, for, as grant says, with grim humor, "i had no line of communication to break"; and, moreover, it delayed pemberton when delay was of value to grant in finishing johnston. after this useless turn to the southward pemberton resumed his march to the east, as he should have done in the beginning, in accordance with johnston's orders; but grant was now more than ready. he did not wait the coming of pemberton. leaving jackson as soon as he heard of the enemy's advance from vicksburg, he marched rapidly westward and struck pemberton at champion hills. the forces were at this time very nearly matched, and the severest battle of the campaign ensued, lasting four hours. grant, however, defeated pemberton completely, and came very near capturing his entire force. with a broken army, pemberton fell back on vicksburg. grant pursued without a moment's delay, and came up with the rear guard at big black river. a sharp engagement followed, and the confederates were again defeated. grant then crossed the big black and the next day was before vicksburg, with his enemy inside the works. when grant crossed the mississippi at bruinsburg and struck into the interior, he, of course, passed out of communication with washington, and he did not hear from there again until may , when, just as his troops were engaging in the battle of black river bridge, an officer appeared from port hudson with an order from general halleck to return to grand gulf and thence cooperate with banks against port hudson. grant replied that the order came too late. "the bearer of the despatch insisted that i ought to obey the order, and was giving arguments to support the position, when i heard a great cheering to the right of our line, and looking in that direction, saw lawler, in his shirt-sleeves, leading a charge on the enemy. i immediately mounted my horse and rode in the direction of the charge, and saw no more of the officer who had delivered the message; i think not even to this day." when grant reached vicksburg, there was no further talk of recalling him to grand gulf or port hudson. the authorities at washington then saw plainly enough what had been done in the interior of mississippi, far from the reach of telegraphs or mail. as soon as the national troops reached vicksburg an assault was attempted, but the place was too strong, and the attack was repulsed, with heavy loss. grant then settled down to a siege, and lincoln and halleck now sent him ample reinforcements. he no longer needed to ask for them. his campaign had explained itself, and in a short time he had seventy thousand men under his command. his lines were soon made so strong that it was impossible for the defenders of vicksburg to break through them, and although johnston had gathered troops again to the eastward, an assault from that quarter on the national army, now so largely reinforced, was practically out of the question. tighter and tighter grant drew his lines about the city, where, every day, the suffering became more intense. it is not necessary to give the details of the siege. on july , , vicksburg surrendered, the mississippi was in control of the national forces from its source to its mouth, and the confederacy was rent in twain. on the same day lee was beaten at gettysburg, and these two great victories really crushed the rebellion, although much hard fighting remained to be done before the end was reached. grant's campaign against vicksburg deserves to be compared with that of napoleon which resulted in the fall of ulm. it was the most brilliant single campaign of the war. with an inferior force, and abandoning his lines of communication, moving with a marvelous rapidity through a difficult country, grant struck the superior forces of the enemy on the line from jackson to vicksburg. he crushed johnston before pemberton could get to him, and he flung pemberton back into vicksburg before johnston could rally from the defeat which had been inflicted. with an inferior force, grant was superior at every point of contest, and he won every fight. measured by the skill displayed and the result achieved, there is no campaign in our history which better deserves study and admiration. robert gould shaw brave, good, and true, i see him stand before me now, and read again on that young brow, where every hope was new, how sweet were life! yet, by the mouth firm-set, and look made up for duty's utmost debt, i could divine he knew that death within the sulphurous hostile lines, in the mere wreck of nobly-pitched designs, plucks hearts-ease, and not rue. right in the van, on the red ramparts slippery swell, with heart that beat a charge, he fell, foeward, as fits a man; but the high soul burns on to light men's feet where death for noble ends makes dying sweet; his life her crescent's span orbs full with share in their undarkening days who ever climbed the battailous steeps of praise since valor's praise began. we bide our chance, unhappy, and make terms with fate a little more to let us wait; he leads for aye the advance, hope's forlorn-hopes that plant the desperate good for nobler earths and days of manlier mood; our wall of circumstance cleared at a bound, he flashes o'er the fight, a saintly shape of fame, to cheer the right and steel each wavering glance. i write of one, while with dim eyes i think of three; who weeps not others fair and brave as he? ah, when the fight is won, dear land, whom triflers now make bold to scorn (thee from whose forehead earth awaits her morn), how nobler shall the sun flame in thy sky, how braver breathe thy air, that thou bred'st children who for thee could dare and die as thine have done. --lowell. robert gould shaw was born in boston on october , , the son of francis and sarah sturgis shaw. when he was about nine years old, his parents moved to staten island, and he was educated there, and at school in the neighborhood of new york, until he went to europe in , where he remained traveling and studying for the next three years. he entered harvard college in , and left at the end of his third year, in order to accept an advantageous business offer in new york. even as a boy he took much interest in politics, and especially in the question of slavery. he voted for lincoln in , and at that time enlisted as a private in the new york th regiment, feeling that there was likelihood of trouble, and that there would be a demand for soldiers to defend the country. his foresight was justified only too soon, and on april , , he marched with his regiment to washington. the call for the th regiment was only for thirty days, and at the expiration of that service he applied for and obtained a commission as second lieutenant in the d massachusetts, and left with that regiment for virginia in july, . he threw himself eagerly into his new duties, and soon gained a good position in the regiment. at cedar mountain he was an aid on general gordon's staff, and was greatly exposed in the performance of his duties during the action. he was also with his regiment at antietam, and was in the midst of the heavy fighting of that great battle. early in , the government determined to form negro regiments, and governor andrew offered shaw, who had now risen to the rank of captain, the colonelcy of one to be raised in massachusetts, the first black regiment recruited under state authority. it was a great compliment to receive this offer, but shaw hesitated as to his capacity for such a responsible post. he first wrote a letter declining, on the ground that he did not feel that he had ability enough for the undertaking, and then changed his mind, and telegraphed governor andrew that he would accept. it is not easy to realize it now, but his action then in accepting this command required high moral courage, of a kind quite different from that which he had displayed already on the field of battle. the prejudice against the blacks was still strong even in the north. there was a great deal of feeling among certain classes against enlisting black regiments at all, and the officers who undertook to recruit and lead negroes were. exposed to much attack and criticism. shaw felt, however, that this very opposition made it all the more incumbent on him to undertake the duty. he wrote on february : after i have undertaken this work, i shall feel that what i have to do is to prove that the negro can be made a good soldier... . i am inclined to think that the undertaking will not meet with so much opposition as was at first supposed. all sensible men in the army, of all parties, after a little thought, say that it is the best thing that can be done, and surely those at home who are not brave or patriotic enough to enlist should not ridicule or throw obstacles in the way of men who are going to fight for them. there is a great prejudice against it, but now that it has become a government matter, that will probably wear away. at any rate i sha'n't be frightened out of it by its unpopularity. i feel convinced i shall never regret having taken this step, as far as i myself am concerned; for while i was undecided, i felt ashamed of myself as if i were cowardly. colonel shaw went at once to boston, after accepting his new duty, and began the work of raising and drilling the th regiment. he met with great success, for he and his officers labored heart and soul, and the regiment repaid their efforts. on march , he wrote: "the mustering officer who was here to-day is a virginian, and has always thought it was a great joke to try to make soldiers of 'niggers,' but he tells me now that he has never mustered in so fine a set of men, though about twenty thousand had passed through his hands since september." on may , colonel shaw left boston, and his march through the city was a triumph. the appearance of his regiment made a profound impression, and was one of the events of the war which those who saw it never forgot. the regiment was ordered to south carolina, and when they were off cape hatteras, colonel shaw wrote: the more i think of the passage of the th through boston, the more wonderful it seems to me just remember our own doubts and fears, and other people's sneering and pitying remarks when we began last winter, and then look at the perfect triumph of last thursday. we have gone quietly along, forming the first regiment, and at last left boston amidst greater enthusiasm than has been seen since the first three months' troops left for the war. truly, i ought to be thankful for all my happiness and my success in life so far; and if the raising of colored troops prove such a benefit to the country and to the blacks as many people think it will, i shall thank god a thousand times that i was led to take my share in it. he had, indeed, taken his share in striking one of the most fatal blows to the barbarism of slavery which had yet been struck. the formation of the black regiments did more for the emancipation of the negro and the recognition of his rights, than almost anything else. it was impossible, after that, to say that men who fought and gave their lives for the union and for their own freedom were not entitled to be free. the acceptance of the command of a black regiment by such men as shaw and his fellow-officers was the great act which made all this possible. after reaching south carolina, colonel shaw was with his regiment at port royal and on the islands of that coast for rather more than a month, and on july he was offered the post of honor in an assault upon fort wagner, which was ordered for that night. he had proved that the negroes could be made into a good regiment, and now the second great opportunity had come, to prove their fighting quality. he wanted to demonstrate that his men could fight side by side with white soldiers, and show to somebody beside their officers what stuff they were made of. he, therefore, accepted the dangerous duty with gladness. late in the day the troops were marched across folly and morris islands and formed in line of battle within six hundred yards of fort wagner. at half-past seven the order for the charge was given, and the regiment advanced. when they were within a hundred yards of the fort, the rebel fire opened with such effect that the first battalion hesitated and wavered. colonel shaw sprang to the front, and waving his sword, shouted: "forward, th!" with another cheer, the men rushed through the ditch, and gained a parapet on the right. colonel shaw was one of the first to scale the walls. as he stood erect, a noble figure, ordering his men forward and shouting to them to press on, he was shot dead and fell into the fort. after his fall, the assault was repulsed. general haywood, commanding the rebel forces, said to a union prisoner: "i knew colonel shaw before the war, and then esteemed him. had he been in command of white troops, i should have given him an honorable burial. as it is, i shall bury him in the common trench, with the negroes that fell with him." he little knew that he was giving the dead soldier the most honorable burial that man could have devised, for the savage words told unmistakably that robert shaw's work had not been in vain. the order to bury him with his "niggers," which ran through the north and remained fixed in our history, showed, in a flash of light, the hideous barbarism of a system which made such things and such feelings possible. it also showed that slavery was wounded to the death, and that the brutal phrase was the angry snarl of a dying tiger. such words rank with the action of charles stuart, when he had the bones of oliver cromwell and robert blake torn from their graves and flung on dunghills or fixed on temple bar. robert shaw fell in battle at the head of his men, giving his life to his country, as did many another gallant man during those four years of conflict. but he did something more than this. he faced prejudice and hostility in the north, and confronted the blind and savage rage of the south, in order to demonstrate to the world that the human beings who were held in bondage could vindicate their right to freedom by fighting and dying for it. he helped mightily in the great task of destroying human slavery, and in uplifting an oppressed and down-trodden race. he brought to this work the qualities which were particularly essential for his success. he had all that birth and wealth, breeding, education, and tradition could give. he offered up, in full measure, all those things which make life most worth living. he was handsome and beloved. he had a serene and beautiful nature, and was at once brave and simple. above all things, he was fitted for the task which he performed and for the sacrifice which he made. the call of the country and of the time came to him, and he was ready. he has been singled out for remembrance from among many others of equal sacrifice, and a monument is rising to his memory in boston, because it was his peculiar fortune to live and die for a great principle of humanity, and to stand forth as an ideal and beautiful figure in a struggle where the onward march of civilization was at stake. he lived in those few and crowded years a heroic life, and he met a heroic death. when he fell, sword in hand, on the parapet of wagner, leading his black troops in a desperate assault, we can only say of him as bunyan said of "valiant for truth": "and then he passed over, and all the trumpets sounded for him on the other side." charles russell lowell wut's wurds to them whose faith an' truth on war's red techstone rang true metal, who ventered life an' love an, youth for the gret prize o' death in battle? to him who, deadly hurt, agen flashed on afore the charge's thunder, tippin' with fire the bolt of men thet rived the rebel line asunder? --lowell. charles russell lowell was born in boston, january , . he was the eldest son of charles russell and anna cabot (jackson) lowell, and the nephew of james russell lowell. he bore the name, distinguished in many branches, of a family which was of the best new england stock. educated in the boston public schools, he entered harvard college in . although one of the youngest members of his class, he went rapidly to the front, and graduated not only the first scholar of his year, but the foremost man of his class. he was, however, much more than a fine scholar, for even then he showed unusual intellectual qualities. he read widely and loved letters. he was a student of philosophy and religion, a thinker, and, best of all, a man of ideals--"the glory of youth," as he called them in his valedictory oration. but he was something still better and finer than a mere idealist; he was a man of action, eager to put his ideals into practice and bring them to the test of daily life. with his mind full of plans for raising the condition of workingmen while he made his own career, he entered the iron mills of the ames company, at chicopee. here he remained as a workingman for six months, and then received an important post in the trenton iron works of new jersey. there his health broke down. consumption threatened him, and all his bright hopes and ambitions were overcast and checked. he was obliged to leave his business and go to europe, where he traveled for two years, fighting the dread disease that was upon him. in he returned, and took a position on a western railroad. although the work was new to him, he manifested the same capacity that he had always shown, and more especially his power over other men and his ability in organization. in two years his health was reestablished, and in he took charge of the mount savage iron works, at cumberland, maryland. he was there when news came of the attack made by the mob upon the th massachusetts regiment, in baltimore. two days later he had made his way to washington, one of the first comers from the north, and at once applied for a commission in the regular army. while he was waiting, he employed himself in looking after the massachusetts troops, and also, it is understood, as a scout for the government, dangerous work which suited his bold and adventurous nature. in may he received his commission as captain in the united states cavalry. employed at first in recruiting and then in drill, he gave himself up to the study of tactics and the science of war. the career above all others to which he was suited had come to him. the field, at last, lay open before him, where all his great qualities of mind and heart, his high courage, his power of leadership and of organization, and his intellectual powers could find full play. he moved rapidly forward, just as he had already done in college and in business. his regiment, in , was under stoneman in the peninsula, and was engaged in many actions, where lowell's cool bravery made him constantly conspicuous. at the close of the campaign he was brevetted major, for distinguished services at williamsburg and slatersville. in july, lowell was detailed for duty as an aid to general mcclellan. at malvern hill and south mountain his gallantry and efficiency were strongly shown, but it was at antietam that he distinguished himself most. sent with orders to general sedgwick's division, he found it retreating in confusion, under a hot fire. he did not stop to think of orders, but rode rapidly from point to point of the line, rallying company after company by the mere force and power of his word and look, checking the rout, while the storm of bullets swept all round him. his horse was shot under him, a ball passed through his coat, another broke his sword-hilt, but he came off unscathed, and his service was recognized by his being sent to washington with the captured flags of the enemy. the following winter he was ordered to boston, to recruit a regiment of cavalry, of which he was appointed colonel. while the recruiting was going on, a serious mutiny broke out, but the man who, like cromwell's soldiers, "rejoiced greatly" in the day of battle was entirely capable of meeting this different trial. he shot the ringleader dead, and by the force of his own strong will quelled the outbreak completely and at once. in may, he went to virginia with his regiment, where he was engaged in resisting and following mosby, and the following summer he was opposed to general early in the neighborhood of washington. on july , when on a reconnoissance his advance guard was surprised, and he met them retreating in wild confusion, with the enemy at their heels. riding into the midst of the fugitives, lowell shouted, "dismount!" the sharp word of command, the presence of the man himself, and the magic of discipline prevailed. the men sprang down, drew up in line, received the enemy, with a heavy fire, and as the assailants wavered, lowell advanced at once, and saved the day. in july, he was put in command of the "provisional brigade," and joined the army of the shenandoah, of which in august general sheridan took command. he was so struck with lowell's work during the next month that in september he put him in command of the "reserved brigade," a very fine body of cavalry and artillery. in the fierce and continuous fighting that ensued lowell was everywhere conspicuous, and in thirteen weeks he had as many horses shot under him. but he now had scope to show more than the dashing gallantry which distinguished him always and everywhere. his genuine military ability, which surely would have led him to the front rank of soldiers had his life been spared, his knowledge, vigilance, and nerve all now became apparent. one brilliant action succeeded another, but the end was drawing near. it came at last on the famous day of cedar creek, when sheridan rode down from winchester and saved the battle. lowell had advanced early in the morning on the right, and his attack prevented the disaster on that wing which fell upon the surprised army. he then moved to cover the retreat, and around to the extreme left, where he held his position near middletown against repeated assaults. early in the day his last horse was shot under him, and a little later, in a charge at one o'clock, he was struck in the right breast by a spent ball, which embedded itself in the muscles of the chest. voice and strength left him. "it is only my poor lung," he announced, as they urged him to go to the rear; "you would not have me leave the field without having shed blood." as a matter of fact, the "poor" lung had collapsed, and there was an internal hemorrhage. he lay thus, under a rude shelter, for an hour and a half, and then came the order to advance along the whole line, the victorious advance of sheridan and the rallied army. lowell was helped to his saddle. "i feel well now," he whispered, and, giving his orders through one of his staff, had his brigade ready first. leading the great charge, he dashed forward, and, just when the fight was hottest, a sudden cry went up: "the colonel is hit!" he fell from the saddle, struck in the neck by a ball which severed the spine, and was borne by his officers to a house in the village, where, clear in mind and calm in spirit, he died a few hours afterward. "i do not think there was a quality," said general sheridan, "which i could have added to lowell. he was the perfection of a man and a soldier." on october , the very day on which he fell, his commission was signed to be a brigadier-general. this was a noble life and a noble death, worthy of much thought and admiration from all men. yet this is not all. it is well for us to see how such a man looked upon what he was doing, and what it meant to him. lowell was one of the silent heroes so much commended by carlyle. he never wrote of himself or his own exploits. as some one well said, he had "the impersonality of genius." but in a few remarkable passages in his private letters, we can see how the meaning of life and of that great time unrolled itself before his inner eyes. in june, , he wrote: i cannot say i take any great pleasure in the contemplation of the future. i fancy you feel much as i do about the profitableness of a soldier's life, and would not think of trying it, were it not for a muddled and twisted idea that somehow or other this fight was going to be one in which decent men ought to engage for the sake of humanity,--i use the word in its ordinary sense. it seems to me that within a year the slavery question will again take a prominent place, and that many cases will arise in which we may get fearfully in the wrong if we put our cause wholly in the hands of fighting men and foreign legions. in june, , he wrote: i wonder whether my theories about self-culture, etc., would ever have been modified so much, whether i should ever have seen what a necessary failure they lead to, had it not been for this war. now i feel every day, more and more, that a man has no right to himself at all; that, indeed, he can do nothing useful unless he recognizes this clearly. here again, on july , is a sentence which it is well to take to heart, and for all men to remember when their ears are deafened with the cry that war, no matter what the cause, is the worst thing possible, because it interferes with comfort, trade, and money-making: "wars are bad," lowell writes, "but there are many things far worse. anything immediately comfortable in our affairs i don't see; but comfortable times are not the ones t hat make a nation great." on july , he says: many nations fail, that one may become great; ours will fail, unless we gird up our loins and do humble and honest days' work, without trying to do the thing by the job, or to get a great nation made by a patent process. it is not safe to say that we shall not have victories till we are ready for them. we shall have victories, and whether or no we are ready for them depends upon ourselves; if we are not ready, we shall fail,--voila tout. if you ask, what if we do fail? i have nothing to say; i shouldn't cry over a nation or two, more or less, gone under. finally, on september , a little more than a month before his death, he wrote to a disabled officer: i hope that you are going to live like a plain republican, mindful of the beauty and of the duty of simplicity. nothing fancy now, sir, if you please; it's disreputable to spend money when the government is so hard up, and when there are so many poor officers. i hope that you have outgrown all foolish ambitions, and are now content to become a "useful citizen." don't grow rich; if you once begin, you will find it much more difficult to be a useful citizen. don't seek office, but don't "disremember" that the "useful citizen" always holds his time, his trouble, his money, and his life ready at the hint of his country. the useful citizen is a mighty, unpretending hero; but we are not going to have any country very long, unless such heroism is developed. there, what a stale sermon i'm preaching. but, being a soldier, it does seem to me that i should like nothing so well as being a useful citizen. well, trying to be one, i mean. i shall stay in the service, of course, till the war is over, or till i'm disabled; but then i look forward to a pleasanter career. i believe i have lost all my ambitions. i don't think i would turn my hand to be a distinguished chemist or a famous mathematician. all i now care about is to be a useful citizen, with money enough to buy bread and firewood, and to teach my children to ride on horseback, and look strangers in the face, especially southern strangers. there are profound and lofty lessons of patriotism and conduct in these passages, and a very noble philosophy of life and duty both as a man and as a citizen of a great republic. they throw a flood of light on the great underlying forces which enabled the american people to save themselves in that time of storm and stress. they are the utterances of a very young man, not thirty years old when he died in battle, but much beyond thirty in head and heart, tried and taught as he had been in a great war. what precisely such young men thought they were fighting for is put strikingly by lowell's younger brother james, who was killed at glendale, july , . in , james lowell wrote to his classmates, who had given him a sword: those who died for the cause, not of the constitution and the laws,--a superficial cause, the rebels have now the same,--but of civilization and law, and the self-restrained freedom which is their result. as the greeks at marathon and salamis, charles martel and the franks at tours, and the germans at the danube, saved europe from asiatic barbarism, so we, at places to be famous in future times, shall have saved america from a similar tide of barbarism; and we may hope to be purified and strengthened ourselves by the struggle. this is a remarkable passage and a deep thought. coming from a young fellow of twenty-four, it is amazing. but the fiery trial of the times taught fiercely and fast, and james lowell, just out of college, could see in the red light around him that not merely the freedom of a race and the saving of a nation were at stake, but that behind all this was the forward movement of civilization, brought once again to the arbitrament of the sword. slavery was barbarous and barbarizing. it had dragged down the civilization of the south to a level from which it would take generations to rise up again. was this barbarous force now to prevail in the united states in the nineteenth century? was it to destroy a great nation, and fetter human progress in the new world? that was the great question back of, beyond and above all. should this force of barbarism sweep conquering over the land, wrecking an empire in its onward march, or should it be flung back as miltiades flung back asia at marathon, and charles martel stayed the coming of islam at tours? the brilliant career, the shining courage, best seen always where the dead were lying thickest, the heroic death of charles lowell, are good for us all to know and to remember. yet this imperfect story of his life has not been placed here for these things alone. many thousand others, officers and soldiers alike, in the great civil war gave their lives as freely as he, and brought to the service of their country the best that was in them. he was a fine example of many who, like him, offered up all they had for their country. but lowell was also something more than this. he was a high type of a class, and a proof of certain very important things, and this is a point worthy of much consideration. the name of john hampden stands out in the history of the english-speaking people, admired and unquestioned. he was neither a great statesman, nor a great soldier; he was not a brilliant orator, nor a famous writer. he fell bravely in an unimportant skirmish at chalgrove field, fighting for freedom and what he believed to be right. yet he fills a great place in the past, both for what he did and what he was, and the reason for this is of high importance. john hampden was a gentleman, with all the advantages that the accidents of birth could give. he was rich, educated, well born, of high traditions. english civilization of that day could produce nothing better. the memorable fact is that, when the time came for the test, he did not fail. he was a type of what was best among the english people, and when the call sounded, he was ready. he was brave, honest, high-minded, and he gave all, even his life, to his country. in the hour of need, the representative of what was best and most fortunate in england was put to the touch, and proved to be current gold. all men knew what that meant, and hampden's memory is one of the glories of the english-speaking people. charles lowell has the same meaning for us when rightly understood. he had all that birth, breeding, education, and tradition could give. the resources of our american life and civilization could produce nothing better. how would he and such men as he stand the great ordeal when it came? if wealth, education, and breeding were to result in a class who could only carp and criticize, accumulate money, give way to self-indulgence, and cherish low foreign ideals, then would it have appeared that there was a radical unsoundness in our society, refinement would have been proved to be weakness, and the highest education would have been shown to be a curse, rather than a blessing. but charles lowell, and hundreds of others like him, in greater or less degree, all over the land, met the great test and emerged triumphant. the harvard men may be taken as fairly representing the colleges and universities of america. harvard had, in , living graduates, and students, presumably over eighteen years old. probably of her students and graduates were of military age, and not physically disqualified for military service. of this number, entered the union army or navy. one hundred and fifty-six died in service, and were killed in action. many did not go who might have gone, unquestionably, but the record is a noble one. nearly one man of every two harvard men came forward to serve his country when war was at our gates, and this proportion holds true, no doubt, of the other universities of the north. it is well for the country, well for learning, well for our civilization, that such a record was made at such a time. charles lowell, and those like him, showed, once for all, that the men to whom fortune had been kindest were capable of the noblest patriotism, and shrank from no sacrifices. they taught the lesson which can never be heard too often--that the man to whom the accidents of birth and fortune have given most is the man who owes most to his country. if patriotism should exist anywhere, it should be strongest with such men as these, and their service should be ever ready. how nobly charles lowell in this spirit answered the great question, his life and death, alike victorious, show to all men. sheridan at cedar creek inspired repulsed battalions to engage, and taught the doubtful battle where to rage. --addison. general sheridan took command of the army of the shenandoah in august, . his coming was the signal for aggressive fighting, and for a series of brilliant victories over the rebel army. he defeated early at winchester and again at fisher's hill, while general torbert whipped rosser in a subsequent action, where the rout of the rebels was so complete that the fight was known as the "woodstock races." sheridan's plan after this was to terminate his campaign north of staunton, and, returning thence, to desolate the valley, so as to make it untenable for the confederates, as well as useless as a granary or storehouse, and then move the bulk of his army through washington, and unite them with general grant in front of petersburg. grant, however, and the authorities at washington, were in favor of sheridan's driving early into eastern virginia, and following up that line, which sheri dan himself believed to be a false move. this important matter was in debate until october , when sheridan, having left the main body of his army at cedar creek under general wright, determined to go to washington, and discuss the question personally with general halleck and the secretary of war. he reached washington on the morning of the th about eight o'clock, left there at twelve; and got back to martinsburg the same night about dark. at martinsburg he spent the night, and the next day, with his escort, rode to winchester, reaching that point between three and four o'clock in the afternoon of the th. he there heard that all was quiet at cedar creek and along the front, and went to bed, expecting to reach his headquarters and join the army the next day. about six o'clock, on the morning of the th, it was reported to him that artillery firing could be heard in the direction of cedar creek, but as the sound was stated to be irregular and fitful, he thought it only a skirmish. he, nevertheless, arose at once, and had just finished dressing when another officer came in, and reported that the firing was still going on in the same direction, but that it did not sound like a general battle. still sheridan was uneasy, and, after breakfasting, mounted his horse between eight and nine o'clock, and rode slowly through winchester. when he reached the edge of the town he halted a moment, and then heard the firing of artillery in an unceasing roar. he now felt confident that a general battle was in progress, and, as he rode forward, he was convinced, from the rapid increase of the sound, that his army was failing back. after he had crossed mill creek, just outside winchester, and made the crest of the rise beyond the stream, there burst upon his view the spectacle of a panic-stricken army. hundreds of slightly wounded men, with hundreds more unhurt, but demoralized, together with baggage wagons and trains, were all pressing to the rear, in hopeless confusion. there was no doubt now that a disaster had occurred at the front. a fugitive told sheridan that the army was broken and in full retreat, and that all was lost. sheridan at once sent word to colonel edwards, commanding a brigade at winchester, to stretch his troops across the valley, and stop all fugitives. his first idea was to make a stand there, but, as he rode along, a different plan flashed into his mind. he believed that his troops had great confidence in him, and he determined to try to restore their broken ranks, and, instead of merely holding the ground at winchester, to rally his army, and lead them forward again to cedar creek. he had hardly made up his mind to this course, when news was brought to him that his headquarters at cedar creek were captured, and the troops dispersed. he started at once, with about twenty men as an escort, and rode rapidly to the front. as he passed along, the unhurt men, who thickly lined the road, recognized him, and, as they did so, threw up their hats, shouldered their muskets, and followed him as fast as they could on foot. his officers rode out on either side to tell the stragglers that the general had returned, and, as the news spread the retreating men in every direction rallied, and turned their faces toward the battle-field they had left. in his memoirs, sheridan says, in speaking of his ride through the retreating troops: "i said nothing, except to remark, as i rode among them 'if i had been with you this morning, this disaster would not have happened. we must face the other way. we will go back and recover our camp.'" thus he galloped on over the twenty miles, with the men rallying behind him, and following him in ever increasing numbers. as he went by, the panic of retreat was replaced by the ardor of battle. sheridan had not overestimate the power of enthusiasm or his own ability to rouse it to fighting pitch. he pressed steadily on to the front, until at last he came up to getty's division of the th corps, which, with the cavalry, were the only troops who held their line and were resisting the enemy. getty's division was about a mile north of middletown on some slightly rising ground, and were skirmishing with the enemy's pickets. jumping a rail fence, sheridan rode to the crest of the hill, and, as he took off his hat, the men rose up from behind the barricades with cheers of recognition. it is impossible to follow in detail sheridan's actions from that moment, but he first brought up the th corps and the two divisions of wright to the front. he then communicated with colonel lowell, who was fighting near middletown with his men dismounted, and asked him if he could hold on where he was, to which lowell replied in the affirmative. all this and many similar quickly-given orders consumed a great deal of time, but still the men were getting into line, and at last, seeing that the enemy were about to renew the attack, sheridan rode along the line so that the men could all see him. he was received with the wildest enthusiasm as he rode by, and the spirit of the army was restored. the rebel attack was made shortly after noon, and was repulsed by general emory. this done, sheridan again set to work to getting his line completely restored, while general merritt charged and drove off an exposed battery of the confederates. by halfpast three sheridan was ready to attack. the fugitives of the morning, whom he had rallied as he rode from winchester, were again in their places, and the different divisions were all disposed in their proper positions. with the order to advance, the whole line pressed forward. the confederates at first resisted stubbornly, and then began to retreat. on they went past cedar creek, and there, where the pike made a sharp turn to the west toward fisher's hill, merritt and custer fell on the flank of the retreating columns, and the rebel army fell back, routed and broken, up the valley. the day had begun in route and defeat; it ended in a great victory for the union army. how near we had been to a terrible disaster can be realized by recalling what had happened before the general galloped down from winchester. in sheridan's absence, early, soon after dawn, had made an unexpected attack on our army at cedar creek. surprised by the assault, the national troops had given way in all directions, and a panic had set in. getty's division with lowell's cavalry held on at middletown, but, with this exception, the rout was complete. when sheridan rode out of winchester, he met an already beaten army. his first thought was the natural one to make a stand at winchester and rally his troops about him there. his second thought was the inspiration of the great commander. he believed his men would rally as soon as they saw him. he believed that enthusiasm was one of the great weapons of war, and that this was the moment of all others when it might be used with decisive advantage. with this thought in his mind he abandoned the idea of forming his men at winchester, and rode bareheaded through the fugitives, swinging his hat, straight for the front, and calling on his men as he passed to follow him. as the soldiers saw him, they turned and rushed after him. he had not calculated in vain upon the power of personal enthusiasm, but, at the same time, he did not rely upon any wild rush to save the day. the moment he reached the field of battle, he set to work with the coolness of a great soldier to make all the dispositions, first, to repel the enemy, and then to deliver an attack which could not be resisted. one division after another was rapidly brought into line and placed in position, the thin ranks filling fast with the soldiers who had recovered from their panic, and followed sheridan and the black horse all the way down from winchester. he had been already two hours on the field when, at noon, he rode along the line, again formed for battle. most of the officers and men then thought he had just come, while in reality it was his own rapid work which had put them in the line along which he was riding. once on the field of battle, the rush and hurry of the desperate ride from winchester came to an end. first the line was reformed, then the enemy's assault was repulsed, and it was made impossible for them to again take the offensive. but sheridan, undazzled by his brilliant success up to this point, did not mar his work by overhaste. two hours more passed before he was ready, and then, when all was prepared, with his ranks established and his army ranged in position, he moved his whole line forward, and won one of the most brilliant battles of the war, having, by his personal power over his troops, and his genius in action, snatched a victory from a day which began in surprise, disaster, and defeat. lieutenant cushing and the ram "albemarle" god give us peace! not such as lulls to sleep, but sword on thigh, and brow with purpose knit! and let our ship of state to harbor sweep, her ports all up, her battle-lanterns lit, and her leashed thunders gathering for their leap! --lowell. the great civil war was remarkable in many ways, but in no way more remarkable than for the extraordinary mixture of inventive mechanical genius and of resolute daring shown by the combatants. after the first year, when the contestants had settled down to real fighting, and the preliminary mob work was over, the battles were marked by their extraordinary obstinacy and heavy loss. in no european conflict since the close of the napoleonic wars has the fighting been anything like as obstinate and as bloody as was the fighting in our own civil war. in addition to this fierce and dogged courage, this splendid fighting capacity, the contest also brought out the skilled inventive power of engineer and mechanician in a way that few other contests have ever done. this was especially true of the navy. the fighting under and against farragut and his fellow-admirals revolutionized naval warfare. the civil war marks the break between the old style and the new. terrible encounters took place when the terrible new engines of war were brought into action for the first time; and one of these encounters has given an example which, for heroic daring combined with cool intelligence, is unsurpassed in all time. the confederates showed the same skill and energy in building their great ironclad rams as the men of the union did in building the monitors which were so often pitted against them. both sides, but especially the confederates, also used stationary torpedoes, and, on a number of occasions, torpedo-boats likewise. these torpedo-boats were sometimes built to go under the water. one such, after repeated failures, was employed by the confederates, with equal gallantry and success, in sinking a union sloop of war off charleston harbor, the torpedo-boat itself going down to the bottom with its victim, all on board being drowned. the other type of torpedo-boat was simply a swift, ordinary steam-launch, operated above water. it was this last type of boat which lieutenant w. b. cushing brought down to albemarle sound to use against the great confederate ram albemarle. the ram had been built for the purpose of destroying the union blockading forces. steaming down river, she had twice attacked the federal gunboats, and in each case had sunk or disabled one or more of them, with little injury to herself. she had retired up the river again to lie at her wharf and refit. the gunboats had suffered so severely as to make it a certainty that when she came out again, thoroughly fitted to renew the attack, the wooden vessels would be destroyed; and while she was in existence, the union vessels could not reduce the forts and coast towns. just at this time cushing came down from the north with his swift little torpedo-boat, an open launch, with a spar-rigged out in front, the torpedo being placed at the end. the crew of the launch consisted of fifteen men, cushing being in command. he not only guided his craft, but himself handled the torpedo by means of two small ropes, one of which put it in place, while the other exploded it. the action of the torpedo was complicated, and it could not have been operated in a time of tremendous excitement save by a man of the utmost nerve and self-command; but cushing had both. he possessed precisely that combination of reckless courage, presence of mind, and high mental capacity necessary to the man who leads a forlorn hope under peculiarly difficult circumstances. on the night of october , , cushing slipped away from the blockading fleet, and steamed up river toward the wharf, a dozen miles distant, where the great ram lay. the confederates were watchful to guard against surprise, for they feared lest their foes should try to destroy the ram before she got a chance to come down and attack them again in the sound. she lay under the guns of a fort, with a regiment of troops ready at a moment's notice to turn out and defend her. her own guns were kept always clear for action, and she was protected by a great boom of logs thrown out roundabout; of which last defense the northerners knew nothing. cushing went up-stream with the utmost caution, and by good luck passed, unnoticed, a confederate lookout below the ram. about midnight he made his assault. steaming quietly on through the black water, and feeling his way cautiously toward where he knew the town to be, he finally made out the loom of the albemarle through the night, and at once drove at her. he was almost upon her before he was discovered; then the crew and the soldiers on the wharf opened fire, and, at the same moment, he was brought-to by the boom, the existence of which he had not known. the rifle balls were singing round him as he stood erect, guiding his launch, and he heard the bustle of the men aboard the ram, and the noise of the great guns as they were got ready. backing off, he again went all steam ahead, and actually surged over the slippery logs of the boom. meanwhile, on the albemarle the sailors were running to quarters, and the soldiers were swarming down to aid in her defense; and the droning bullets came always thicker through the dark night. cushing still stood upright in his little craft, guiding and controlling her by voice and signal, while in his hands he kept the ropes which led to the torpedo. as the boat slid forward over the boom, he brought the torpedo full against the somber side of the huge ram, and instantly exploded it, almost at the same time that the pivot-gun of the ram, loaded with grape, was fired point-blank at him not ten yards off. at once the ram settled, the launch sinking at the same moment, while cushing and his men swam for their lives. most of them sank or were captured, but cushing reached mid-stream. hearing something splashing in the darkness, he swam toward it, and found that it was one of his crew. he went to his rescue, and they kept together for some time, but the sailor's strength gave out, and he finally sank. in the pitch darkness cushing could form no idea where he was; and when, chilled through, and too exhausted to rise to his feet, he finally reached shore, shortly before dawn, he found that he had swum back and landed but a few hundred feet below the sunken ram. all that day he remained within easy musket-shot of where his foes were swarming about the fort and the great drowned ironclad. he hardly dared move, and until the afternoon he lay without food, and without protection from the heat or venomous insects. then he managed to slip unobserved into the dense swamp, and began to make his way to the fleet. toward evening he came out on a small stream, near a camp of confederate soldiers. they had moored to the bank a skiff, and, with equal stealth and daring, he managed to steal this and to paddle down-stream. hour after hour he paddled on through the fading light, and then through the darkness. at last, utterly worn out, he found the squadron, and was picked up. at once the ships weighed; and they speedily captured every coast town and fort, for their dreaded enemy was no longer in the way. the fame of cushing's deed went all over the north, and his name will stand forever among the brightest on the honor-roll of the american navy. farragut at mobile bay ha, old ship, do they thrill, the brave two hundred scars you got in the river wars? that were leeched with clamorous skill (surgery savage and hard), at the brooklyn navy yard. * * * * how the guns, as with cheer and shout, our tackle-men hurled them out, brought up in the waterways... as we fired, at the flash 't was lightning and black eclipse with a bellowing sound and crash. * * * * the dahlgrens are dumb, dumb are the mortars; never more shall the drum beat to colors and quarters-- the great guns are silent. --henry howard brownell during the civil war our navy produced, as it has always produced in every war, scores of capable officers, of brilliant single-ship commanders, of men whose daring courage made them fit leaders in any hazardous enterprise. in this respect the union seamen in the civil war merely lived up to the traditions of their service. in a service with such glorious memories it was a difficult thing to establish a new record in feats of personal courage or warlike address. biddle, in the revolutionary war, fighting his little frigate against a ship of the line until she blew up with all on board, after inflicting severe loss on her huge adversary; decatur, heading the rush of the boarders in the night attack when they swept the wild moorish pirates from the decks of their anchored prize; lawrence, dying with the words on his lips, "don't give up the ship"; and perry, triumphantly steering his bloody sloop-of-war to victory with the same words blazoned on his banner--men like these, and like their fellows, who won glory in desperate conflicts with the regular warships and heavy privateers of england and france, or with the corsairs of the barbary states, left behind a reputation which was hardly to be dimmed, though it might be emulated, by later feats of mere daring. but vital though daring is, indispensable though desperate personal prowess and readiness to take chances are to the make-up of a fighting navy, other qualities are needed in addition to fit a man for a place among the great sea-captains of all time. it was the good fortune of the navy in the civil war to produce one admiral of renown, one peer of all the mighty men who have ever waged war on the ocean. farragut was not only the greatest admiral since nelson, but, with the sole exception of nelson, he was as great an admiral as ever sailed the broad or the narrow seas. david glasgow farragut was born in tennessee. he was appointed to the navy while living in louisiana, but when the war came he remained loyal to the union flag. this puts him in the category of those men who deserved best of their country in the civil war; the men who were southern by birth, but who stood loyally by the union; the men like general thomas of virginia, and like farragut's own flag-captain at the battle of mobile bay, drayton of south carolina. it was an easy thing in the north to support the union, and it was a double disgrace to be, like vallandigham and the copperheads, against it; and in the south there were a great multitude of men, as honorable as they were brave, who, from the best of motives, went with their states when they seceded, or even advocated secession. but the highest and loftiest patriots, those who deserved best of the whole country, we re the men from the south who possessed such heroic courage, and such lofty fealty to the high ideal of the union, that they stood by the flag when their fellows deserted it, and unswervingly followed a career devoted to the cause of the whole nation and of the whole people. among all those who fought in this, the greatest struggle for righteousness which the present century has seen, these men stand preeminent; and among them farragut stands first. it was his good fortune that by his life he offered an example, not only of patriotism, but of supreme skill and daring in his profession. he belongs to that class of commanders who possess in the highest degree the qualities of courage and daring, of readiness to assume responsibility, and of willingness to run great risks; the qualities without which no commander, however cautious and able, can ever become really great. he possessed also the unwearied capacity for taking thought in advance, which enabled him to prepare for victory before the day of battle came; and he added to this an inexhaustible fertility of resource and presence of mind under no matter what strain. his whole career should be taught every american schoolboy, for when that schoolboy becomes a voter he should have learned the lesson that the united states, while it ought not to become an overgrown military power, should always have a first-class navy, formidable from the number of its ships, and formidable still more from the excellence of the individual ships and the high character of the officers and men. farragut saw the war of , in which, though our few frigates and sloops fought some glorious actions, our coasts were blockaded and insulted, and the capitol at washington burned, because our statesmen and our people had been too short-sighted to build a big fighting navy; and farragut was able to perform his great feats on the gulf coast because, when the civil war broke out, we had a navy which, though too small in point of numbers, was composed of ships as good as any afloat. another lesson to be learned by a study of his career is that no man in a profession so highly technical as that of the navy can win a great success unless he has been brought up in and specially trained for that profession, and has devoted his life to the work. this fact was made plainly evident in the desperate hurly-burly of the night battle with the confederate flotilla below new orleans--the incidents of this hurly-burly being, perhaps, best described by the officer who, in his report of his own share in it, remarked that "all sorts of things happened." of the confederate rams there were two, commanded by trained officers formerly in the united states navy, lieutenants kennon and warley. both of these men handled their little vessels with remarkable courage, skill, and success, fighting them to the last, and inflicting serious and heavy damage upon the union fleet. the other vessels of the flotilla were commanded by men who had not been in the regular navy, who were merely mississippi river captains, and the like. these men were, doubtless, naturally as brave as any of the regular officers; but, with one or two exceptions, they failed ignobly in the time of trial, and showed a fairly startling contrast with the regular naval officers beside or against whom they fought. this is a fact which may well be pondered by the ignorant or unpatriotic people who believe that the united states does not need a navy, or that it can improvise one, and improvise officers to handle it, whenever the moment of need arises. when a boy, farragut had sailed as a midshipman on the essex in her famous cruise to the south pacific, and lived through the murderous fight in which, after losing three fifths of her crew, she was captured by two british vessels. step by step he rose in his profession, but never had an opportunity of distinguishing himself until, when he was sixty years old, the civil war broke out. he was then made flag officer of the gulf squadron; and the first success which the union forces met with in the southwest was scored by him, when one night he burst the iron chains which the confederates had stretched across the mississippi, and, stemming the swollen flood with his splendidly-handled steam-frigates, swept past the forts, sank the rams and gunboats that sought to bar his path, and captured the city of new orleans. after further exciting service on the mississippi, service in which he turned a new chapter in the history of naval warfare by showing the possibilities of heavy seagoing vessels when used on great rivers, he again went back to the gulf, and, in the last year of the war, was allotted the task of attempting the capture of mobile, the only important port still left open to the confederates. in august, , farragut was lying with his fleet off mobile bay. for months he had been eating out his heart while undergoing the wearing strain of the blockade; sympathizing, too, with every detail of the doubtful struggle on land. "i get right sick, every now and then, at the bad news," he once wrote home; and then again, "the victory of the kearsarge over the alabama raised me up; i would sooner have fought that fight than any ever fought on the ocean." as for himself, all he wished was a chance to fight, for he had the fighting temperament, and he knew that, in the long run, an enemy can only be beaten by being out-fought, as well as out-manoeuvered. he possessed a splendid self-confidence, and scornfully threw aside any idea that he would be defeated, while he utterly refused to be daunted by the rumors of the formidable nature of the defenses against which he was to act. "i mean to be whipped or to whip my enemy, and not to be scared to death," he remarked in speaking of these rumors. the confederates who held mobile used all their skill in preparing for defense, and all their courage in making that defense good. the mouth of the bay was protected by two fine forts, heavily armed, morgan and gaines. the winding channels were filled with torpedoes, and, in addition, there was a flotilla consisting of three gunboats, and, above all, a big ironclad ram, the tennessee, one of the most formidable vessels then afloat. she was not fast, but she carried six high-power rifled guns, and her armor was very powerful, while, being of light draft, she could take a position where farragut's deep-sea ships could not get at her. farragut made his attack with four monitors,--two of them, the tecumseh and manhattan, of large size, carrying -inch guns, and the other two, the winnebago and chickasaw, smaller and lighter, with -inch guns,--and the wooden vessels, fourteen in number. seven of these were big sloops-of-war, of the general type of farragut's own flagship, the hartford. she was a screw steamer, but was a full-rigged ship likewise, with twenty-two -inch shell guns, arranged in broadside, and carrying a crew of three hundred men. the other seven were light gunboats. when farragut prepared for the assault, he arranged to make the attack with his wooden ships in double column. the seven most powerful were formed on the right, in line ahead, to engage fort morgan, the heaviest of the two forts, which had to be passed close inshore to the right. the light vessels were lashed each to the left of one of the heavier ones. by this arrangement each pair of ships was given a double chance to escape, if rendered helpless by a shot in the boiler or other vital part of the machinery. the heaviest ships led in the fighting column, the first place being taken by the brooklyn and her gunboat consort, while the second position was held by farragut himself in the hartford, with the little metacomet lashed alongside. he waited to deliver the attack until the tide and the wind should be favorable, and made all his preparations with the utmost care and thoughtfulness. preeminently a man who could inspire affection in others, both the officers and men of the fleet regarded him with fervent loyalty and absolute trust. the attack was made early on the morning of august . soon after midnight the weather became hot and calm, and at three the admiral learned that a light breeze had sprung up from the quarter he wished, and he at once announced, "then we will go in this morning." at daybreak he was at breakfast when the word was brought that the ships were all lashed in couples. turning quietly to his captain, he said, "well, drayton, we might as well get under way;" and at half-past six the monitors stood down to their stations, while the column of wooden ships was formed, all with the united states flag hoisted, not only at the peak, but also at every masthead. the four monitors, trusting in their iron sides, steamed in between the wooden ships and the fort. every man in every craft was thrilling with the fierce excitement of battle; but in the minds of most there lurked a vague feeling of unrest over one danger. for their foes who fought in sight, for the forts, the gunboats, and, the great ironclad ram, they cared nothing; but all, save the very boldest, were at times awed, and rendered uneasy by the fear of the hidden and the unknown. danger which is great and real, but which is shrouded in mystery, is always very awful; and the ocean veterans dreaded the torpedoes--the mines of death--which lay, they knew not where, thickly scattered through the channels along which they were to thread their way. the tall ships were in fighting trim, with spars housed, and canvas furled. the decks were strewn with sawdust; every man was in his place; the guns were ready, and except for the song of the sounding-lead there was silence in the ships as they moved forward through the glorious morning. it was seven o'clock when the battle began, as the tecumseh, the leading monitor, fired two shots at the fort. in a few minutes fort morgan was ablaze with the flash of her guns, and the leading wooden vessels were sending back broadside after broadside. farragut stood in the port main-rigging, and as the smoke increased he gradually climbed higher, until he was close by the maintop, where the pilot was stationed for the sake of clearer vision. the captain, fearing lest by one of the accidents of battle the great admiral should lose his footing, sent aloft a man with a lasher, and had a turn or two taken around his body in the shrouds, so that he might not fall if wounded; for the shots were flying thick. at first the ships used only their bow guns, and the confederate ram, with her great steel rifles, and her three consorts, taking station where they could rake the advancing fleet, caused much loss. in twenty minutes after the opening of the fight the ships of the van were fairly abreast of the fort, their guns leaping and thundering; and under the weight of their terrific fire that of the fort visibly slackened. all was now uproar and slaughter, the smoke drifting off in clouds. the decks were reddened and ghastly with blood, and the wreck of flying splinters drove across them at each discharge. the monitor tecumseh alone was silent. after firing the first two shots, her commander, captain craven, had loaded his two big guns with steel shot, and, thus prepared, reserved himself for the confederate ironclad, which he had set his heart upon taking or destroying single-handed. the two columns of monitors and the wooden ships lashed in pairs were now approaching the narrowest part of the channel, where the torpedoes lay thickest; and the guns of the vessels fairly overbore and quelled the fire from the fort. all was well, provided only the two columns could push straight on without hesitation; but just at this moment a terrible calamity befell the leader of the monitors. the tecumseh, standing straight for the tennessee, was within two hundred yards of her foe, when a torpedo suddenly exploded beneath her. the monitor was about five hundred yards from the hartford, and from the maintop farragut, looking at her, saw her reel violently from side to side, lurch heavily over, and go down headforemost, her screw revolving wildly in the air as she disappeared. captain craven, one of the gentlest and bravest of men, was in the pilot-house with the pilot at the time. as she sank, both rushed to the narrow door, but there was time for only one to get out. craven was ahead, but drew to one side, saying, "after you, pilot." as the pilot leaped through, the water rushed in, and craven and all his crew, save two men, settled to the bottom in their iron coffin. none of the monitors were awed or daunted by the fate of their consort, but drew steadily onward. in the bigger monitors the captains, like the crews, had remained within the iron walls; but on the two light crafts the commanders had found themselves so harassed by their cramped quarters, that they both stayed outside on the deck. as these two steamed steadily ahead, the men on the flagship saw captain stevens, of the winnebago, pacing calmly, from turret to turret, on his unwieldy iron craft, under the full fire of the fort. the captain of the chickasaw, perkins, was the youngest commander in the fleet, and as he passed the hartford, he stood on top of the turret, waving his hat and dancing about in wildest excitement and delight. but, for a moment, the nerve of the commander of the brooklyn failed him. the awful fate of the tecumseh and the sight of a number of objects in the channel ahead, which seemed to be torpedoes, caused him to hesitate. he stopped his ship, and then backed water, making sternway to the hartford, so as to stop her also. it was the crisis of the fight and the crisis of farragut's career. the column was halted in a narrow channel, right under the fire of the forts. a few moments' delay and confusion, and the golden chance would have been past, and the only question remaining would have been as to the magnitude of the disaster. ahead lay terrible danger, but ahead lay also triumph. it might be that the first ship to go through would be sacrificed to the torpedoes; it might be that others would be sacrificed; but go through the fleet must. farragut signaled to the brooklyn to go ahead, but she still hesitated. immediately, the admiral himself resolved to take the lead. backing hard he got clear of the brooklyn, twisted his ship's prow short round, and then, going ahead fast, he dashed close under the brooklyn's stern, straight at the line of buoys in the channel. as he thus went by the brooklyn, a warning cry came from her that there were torpedoes ahead. "damn the torpedoes!" shouted the admiral; "go ahead, full speed;" and the hartford and her consort steamed forward. as they passed between the buoys, the cases of the torpedoes were heard knocking against the bottom of the ship; but for some reason they failed to explode, and the hartford went safely through the gates of mobile bay, passing the forts. farragut's last and hardest battle was virtually won. after a delay which allowed the flagship to lead nearly a mile, the brooklyn got her head round, and came in, closely followed by all the other ships. the tennessee strove to interfere with the wooden craft as they went in, but they passed, exchanging shots, and one of them striving to ram her, but inflicting only a glancing blow. the ship on the fighting side of the rear couple had been completely disabled by a shot through her boiler. as farragut got into the bay he gave orders to slip the gunboats, which were lashed to each of the union ships of war, against the confederate gunboats, one of which he had already disabled by his fire, so that she was run ashore and burnt. jouett, the captain of the metacomet, had been eagerly waiting this order, and had his men already standing at the hawsers, hatchet in hand. when the signal for the gunboats to chase was hoisted, the order to jouett was given by word of mouth, and as his hearty "aye, aye, sir," came in answer, the hatchets fell, the hawsers parted, and the metacomet leaped forward in pursuit. a thick rainsquall came up, and rendered it impossible for the rear gunboats to know whither the confederate flotilla had fled. when it cleared away, the watchers on the fleet saw that one of the two which were uninjured had slipped off to fort morgan, while the other, the selma, was under the guns of the metacomet, and was promptly carried by the latter. meanwhile the ships anchored in the bay, about four miles from fort morgan, and the crews were piped to breakfast; but almost as soon as it was begun, the lookouts reported that the great confederate ironclad was steaming down, to do battle, single-handed, with the union fleet. she was commanded by buchanan, a very gallant and able officer, who had been on the merrimac, and who trusted implicitly in his invulnerable sides, his heavy rifle guns, and his formidable iron beak. as the ram came on, with splendid courage, the ships got under way, while farragut sent word to the monitors to attack the tennessee at once. the fleet surgeon, palmer, delivered these orders. in his diary he writes: "i came to the chickasaw; happy as my friend perkins habitually is, i thought he would turn a somerset with joy, when i told him, 'the admiral wants you to go at once and fight the tennessee.'" at the same time, the admiral directed the wooden vessels to charge the ram, bow on, at full speed, as well as to attack her with their guns. the monitors were very slow, and the wooden vessels began the attack. the first to reach the hostile ironclad was the monongahela, which struck her square amidships; and five minutes later the lackawanna, going at full speed, delivered another heavy blow. both the union vessels fired such guns as would bear as they swung round, but the shots glanced harmlessly from the armor, and the blows of the ship produced no serious injury to the ram, although their own stems were crushed in several feet above and below the water line. the hartford then struck the tennessee, which met her bows on. the two antagonists scraped by, their port sides touching. as they rasped past, the hartford's guns were discharged against the ram, their muzzles only half a dozen feet distant from her iron-clad sides; but the shot made no impression. while the three ships were circling to repeat the charge, the lackawanna ran square into the flagship, cutting the vessel down to within two feet of the water. for a moment the ship's company thought the vessel sinking, and almost as one man they cried: "save the admiral! get the admiral on board the lackawanna." but farragut, leaping actively into the chains, saw that the ship was in no present danger, and ordered her again to be headed for the tennessee. meanwhile, the monitors had come up, and the battle raged between them and the great ram, like the rest of the union fleet, they carried smooth-bores, and their shot could not break through her iron plates; but by sustained and continuous hammering, her frame could be jarred and her timbers displaced. two of the monitors had been more or less disabled already, but the third, the chickasaw, was in fine trim, and perkins got her into position under the stern of the tennessee, just after the latter was struck by the hartford; and there he stuck to the end, never over fifty yards distant, and keeping up a steady rapping of -inch shot upon the iron walls, which they could not penetrate, but which they racked and shattered. the chickasaw fired fifty-two times at her antagonist, shooting away the exposed rudder-chains and the smokestack, while the commander of the ram, buchanan, was wounded by an iron splinter which broke his leg. under the hammering, the tennessee became helpless. she could not be steered, and was unable to bring a gun to bear, while many of the shutters of the ports were jammed. for twenty minutes she had not fired a shot. the wooden vessels were again bearing down to ram her; and she hoisted the white flag. thus ended the battle of mobile bay, farragut's crowning victory. less than three hours elapsed from the time that fort morgan fired its first gun to the moment when the tennessee hauled down her flag. three hundred and thirty-five men had been killed or wounded in the fleet, and one vessel, the tecumseh, had gone down; but the confederate flotilla was destroyed, the bay had been entered, and the forts around it were helpless to do anything further. one by one they surrendered, and the port of mobile was thus sealed against blockade runners, so that the last source of communication between the confederacy and the outside world was destroyed. farragut had added to the annals of the union the page which tells of the greatest sea-fight in our history. lincoln o captain. my captain. our fearful trip is done; the ship has weathered every rack, the prize we sought is won; the port is near, the bells i hear, the people all exulting, while follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring: but o heart! heart! heart! leave you not the little spot, where on the deck my captain lies, fallen cold and dead. o captain. my captain. rise up and hear the bells; rise up--for you the flag is flung--for you the bugle trills; for you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths--for you the shores a-crowding; for you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning; o captain. dear father. this arm i push beneath you; it is some dream that on the deck, you've fallen cold and dead. my captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still; my father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor win: but the ship, the ship is anchor'd safe, its voyage closed and done; from fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won: exult o shores, and ring, o bells. but i with silent tread, walk the spot the captain lies, fallen cold and dead. --walt whitman. as washington stands to the revolution and the establishment of the government, so lincoln stands as the hero of the mightier struggle by which our union was saved. he was born in , ten years after washington, his work done had been laid to rest at mount vernon. no great man ever came from beginnings which seemed to promise so little. lincoln's family, for more than one generation, had been sinking, instead of rising, in the social scale. his father was one of those men who were found on the frontier in the early days of the western movement, always changing from one place to another, and dropping a little lower at each remove. abraham lincoln was born into a family who were not only poor, but shiftless, and his early days were days of ignorance, and poverty, and hard work. out of such inauspicious surroundings, he slowly and painfully lifted himself. he gave himself an education, he took part in an indian war, he worked in the fields, he kept a country store, he read and studied, and, at last, he became a lawyer. then he entered into the rough politics of the newly-settled state. he grew to be a leader in his county, and went to the legislature. the road was very rough, the struggle was very hard and very bitter, but the movement was always upward. at last he was elected to congress, and served one term in washington as a whig with credit, but without distinction. then he went back to his law and his politics in illinois. he had, at last, made his position. all that was now needed was an opportunity, and that came to him in the great anti-slavery struggle. lincoln was not an early abolitionist. his training had been that of a regular party man, and as a member of a great political organization, but he was a lover of freedom and justice. slavery, in its essence, was hateful to him, and when the conflict between slavery and freedom was fairly joined, his path was clear before him. he took up the antislavery cause in his own state and made himself its champion against douglas, the great leader of the northern democrats. he stumped illinois in opposition to douglas, as a candidate for the senate, debating the question which divided the country in every part of the state. he was beaten at the election, but, by the power and brilliancy of his speeches, his own reputation was made. fighting the anti-slavery battle within constitutional lines, concentrating his whole force against the single point of the extension of slavery to the territories, he had made it clear that a new leader had arisen in the cause of freedom. from illinois his reputation spread to the east, and soon after his great debate he delivered a speech in new york which attracted wide attention. at the republican convention of , his name was one of those proposed for vice-president. when came, he was a candidate for the first place on the national ticket. the leading candidate was william h. seward, of new york, the most conspicuous man of the country on the republican side, but the convention, after a sharp struggle, selected lincoln, and then the great political battle came at the polls. the republicans were victorious, and, as soon as the result of the voting was known, the south set to work to dissolve the union. in february lincoln made his way to washington, at the end coming secretly from harrisburg to escape a threatened attempt at assassination, and on march , assumed the presidency. no public man, no great popular leader, ever faced a more terrible situation. the union was breaking, the southern states were seceding, treason was rampant in washington, and the government was bankrupt. the country knew that lincoln was a man of great capacity in debate, devoted to the cause of antislavery and to the maintenance of the union. but what his ability was to deal with the awful conditions by which he was surrounded, no one knew. to follow him through the four years of civil war which ensued is, of course, impossible here. suffice it to say that no greater, no more difficult, task has ever been faced by any man in modern times, and no one ever met a fierce trial and conflict more successfully. lincoln put to the front the question of the union, and let the question of slavery drop, at first, into the background. he used every exertion to hold the border states by moderate measures, and, in this way, prevented the spread of the rebellion. for this moderation, the antislavery extremists in the north assailed him, but nothing shows more his far-sighted wisdom and strength of purpose than his action at this time. by his policy at the beginning of his administration, he held the border states, and united the people of the north in defense of the union. as the war went on, he went on, too. he had never faltered in his feelings about slavery. he knew, better than any one, that the successful dissolution of the union by the slave power meant, not only the destruction of an empire, but the victory of the forces of barbarism. but he also saw, what very few others at the moment could see, that, if he was to win, he must carry his people with him, step by step. so when he had rallied them to the defense of the union, and checked the spread of secession in the border states, in the autumn of he announced that he would issue a proclamation freeing the slaves. the extremists had doubted him in the beginning, the conservative and the timid doubted him now, but when the emancipation proclamation was issued, on january , , it was found that the people were with him in that, as they had been with him when he staked everything upon the maintenance of the union. the war went on to victory, and in the people showed at the polls that they were with the president, and reelected him by overwhelming majorities. victories in the field went hand in hand with success at the ballot-box, and, in the spring of , all was over. on april , , lee surrendered at appomattox, and five days later, on april , a miserable assassin crept into the box at the theater where the president was listening to a play, and shot him. the blow to the country was terrible beyond words, for then men saw, in one bright flash, how great a man had fallen. lincoln died a martyr to the cause to which he had given his life, and both life and death were heroic. the qualities which enabled him to do his great work are very clear now to all men. his courage and his wisdom, his keen perception and his almost prophetic foresight, enabled him to deal with all the problems of that distracted time as they arose around him. but he had some qualities, apart from those of the intellect, which were of equal importance to his people and to the work he had to do. his character, at once strong and gentle, gave confidence to every one, and dignity to his cause. he had an infinite patience, and a humor that enabled him to turn aside many difficulties which could have been met in no other way. but most important of all was the fact that he personified a great sentiment, which ennobled and uplifted his people, and made them capable of the patriotism which fought the war and saved the union. he carried his people with him, because he knew instinctively, how they felt and what they wanted. he embodied, in his own person, all their highest ideals, and he never erred in his judgment. he is not only a great and commanding figure among the great statesmen and leaders of history, but he personifies, also, all the sadness and the pathos of the war, as well as its triumphs and its glories. no words that any one can use about lincoln can, however, do him such justice as his own, and i will close this volume with two of lincoln's speeches, which show what the war and all the great deeds of that time meant to him, and through which shines, the great soul of the man himself. on november , , he spoke as follows at the dedication of the national cemetery on the battle-field of gettysburg: fourscore and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal. now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. we are met on a great battle-field of that war. we have come to dedicate a portion of that field as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. it is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this. but in a larger sense, we cannot dedicate--we cannot consecrate--we cannot hallow--this ground. the brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it far above our poor power to add or detract. the world will little note or long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. it is for us, the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who have fought here, have thus far so nobly advanced. it is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us--that from the honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion; that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain; that this nation, under god, shall have a new birth of freedom; and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth. on march , , when he was inaugurated the second time, he made the following address: fellow-countrymen: at this second appearing to take the oath of presidential office, there is less occasion for an extended address than there was at the first. then a statement, somewhat in detail, of a course to be pursued, seemed proper. now, at the expiration of four years, during which public declarations have been constantly called forth on every point and phase of the great contest which still absorbs the attention and engrosses the energies of the nation, little that is new could be presented. the progress of our arms, upon which all else chiefly depends, is as well known to the public as to myself; and it is, i trust, reasonably satisfactory and encouraging to all. with high hope for the future, no prediction in regard to it is ventured. on the occasion corresponding to this four years ago, all thoughts were anxiously directed to an impending civil war. all dreaded it--all sought to avert it. while the inaugural address was being delivered from this place, devoted altogether to saving the union without war, insurgent agents were in the city seeking to destroy it without war--seeking to dissolve the union, and divide effects, by negotiation. both parties deprecated war; but one of them would make war rather than let it perish. and the war came. one eighth of the whole population were colored slaves, not distributed generally over the union, but localized in the southern part of it. these slaves constituted a peculiar and powerful interest. all knew that this interest was, somehow, the cause of the war. to strengthen, perpetuate, and extend this interest was the object for which the insurgents would rend the union, even by war; while the government claimed no right to do more than to restrict the territorial enlargement of it. neither party expected for the war the magnitude or the duration which it has already attained. neither anticipated that the cause of the conflict might cease with, or even before, the conflict itself should cease. each looked for an easier triumph, and a result less fundamental and astounding. both read the same bible, and pray to the same god; and each invokes his aid against the other. it may seem strange that any man should dare to ask a just god's assistance in wringing their bread from the sweat of other men's faces; but let us judge not, that we be not judged. the prayers of both could not be answered that of neither has been answered fully. the almighty has his own purposes. "woe unto the world because of offenses, for it must needs be that offenses come; but woe to that man by whom the offense cometh." if we shall suppose that american slavery is one of those offenses which, in the providence of god, must needs come, but which, having continued through his appointed time, he now wills to remove, and that he gives to both north and south this terrible war, as the woe due to those by whom the offenses come, shall we discern therein any departure from those divine attributes which the believers in a living god always ascribe to him? fondly do we hope-fervently do we pray--that this mighty scourge of war may speedily pass away. yet, if god wills that it continue until all the wealth piled by the bondman's two hundred and fifty years of unrequited toil shall be sunk, and until every drop of blood drawn with the lash shall be paid by another drawn with the sword, as was said three thousand years ago, so still it must be said, "the judgments of the lord are true and righteous altogether." with malice toward none; with charity for all; with firmness in the right, as god gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in; to bind up the nation's wounds; to care for him who shall have borne the battle, and for his widow, and his orphan-to do all which may achieve and cherish a just, a lasting, peace among ourselves and with all nations. curiosities of literature. by isaac disraeli. a new edition, edited, with memoir and notes, by his son, the earl of beaconsfield. in three volumes. vol. iii. [illustration] london: frederick warne and co. and new york contents of volume iii. page local descriptions masques of des maizeaux, and the secret history of anthony collins's manuscripts history of new words the philosophy of proverbs confusion of words political nicknames the domestic life of a poet--shenstone vindicated secret history of the building of blenheim secret history of sir walter rawleigh an authentic narrative of the last hours of sir walter rawleigh literary unions of a biography painted cause and pretext political forgeries and fictions expression of suppressed opinion autographs the history of writing-masters the italian historians of palaces built by ministers "taxation no tyranny" the book of death history of the skeleton of death the rival biographers of heylin of lenglet du fresnoy the dictionary of trevoux quadrio's account of english poetry "political religionism" toleration apology for the parisian massacre prediction dreams at the dawn of philosophy on puck the commentator literary forgeries of literary filchers of lord bacon at home secret history of the death of queen elizabeth james the first as a father and a husband the man of one book a bibliognoste secret history of an elective monarchy buildings in the metropolis, and residence in the country royal proclamations true sources of secret history literary residences whether allowable to ruin oneself? discoveries of secluded men sentimental biography literary parallels the pearl bibles, and six thousand errata view of a particular period of the state of religion in our civil wars buckingham's political coquetry with the puritans sir edward coke's exceptions against the high sheriff's oath secret history of charles the first and his first parliaments the rump life and habits of a literary antiquary--oldys and his manuscripts index curiosities of literature. local descriptions. nothing is more idle, and, what is less to be forgiven in a writer, more tedious, than minute and lengthened descriptions of localities; where it is very doubtful whether the writers themselves had formed any tolerable notion of the place they describe,--it is certain their readers never can! these descriptive passages, in which writers of imagination so frequently indulge, are usually a glittering confusion of unconnected things; circumstances recollected from others, or observed by themselves at different times; the finest are thrust in together. if a scene from nature, it is possible that all the seasons of the year may be jumbled together; or if a castle or an apartment, its magnitude or its minuteness may equally bewilder. yet we find, even in works of celebrity, whole pages of these general or these particular descriptive sketches, which leave nothing behind but noun substantives propped up by random epithets. the old writers were quite delighted to fill up their voluminous pages with what was a great saving of sense and thinking. in the _alaric_ of scudery sixteen pages, containing nearly five hundred verses, describe a palace, commencing at the _façade_, and at length finishing with the garden; but his description, we may say, was much better described by boileau, whose good taste felt the absurdity of this "abondance stérile," in overloading a work with useless details, un auteur, quelquefois, trop plein de son objet, jamais sans l'épuiser n'abandonne un sujet. s'il rencontre un palais il m'en dépeint la face, il me promène après de terrasae en terrasse. ici s'offre un perron, là règne un corridor; là ce balcon s'enferme en un balustre d'or; il compte les plafonds, les ronds, et les ovales-- je saute vingt feuillets pour en trouver la fin; et je me sauve à peine au travers du jardin! and then he adds so excellent a canon of criticism, that we must not neglect it:-- tout ce qu'on dit de trop est fade et rébutant; l'esprit rassasié le rejette à l'instant, qui ne sait se borner, ne sut jamais écrire. we have a memorable instance of the inefficiency of local descriptions in a very remarkable one by a writer of fine genius, composing with an extreme fondness of his subject, and curiously anxious to send down to posterity the most elaborate display of his own villa--this was the _laurentinum_ of pliny. we cannot read his letter to gallus, which the english reader may in melmoth's elegant version,[ ] without somewhat participating in the delight of the writer in many of its details; but we cannot with the writer form the slightest conception of his villa, while he is leading us over from apartment to apartment, and pointing to us the opposite wing, with a "beyond this," and a "not far from thence," and "to this apartment another of the same sort," &c. yet, still, as we were in great want of a correct knowledge of a roman villa, and as this must be the most so possible, architects have frequently studied, and the learned translated with extraordinary care, pliny's _description of his laurentinum_. it became so favourite an object, that eminent architects have attempted to raise up this edifice once more, by giving its plan and elevation; and this extraordinary fact is the result--that not one of them but has given a representation different from the other! montfaucon, a more faithful antiquary, in his close translation of the description of this villa, in comparing it with felibien's plan of the villa itself, observes, "that the architect accommodated his edifice to his translation, but that their notions are not the same; unquestionably," he adds, "if ten skilful translators were to perform their task separately, there would not be one who agreed with another!" if, then, on this subject of local descriptions, we find that it is impossible to convey exact notions of a real existing scene, what must we think of those which, in truth, describe scenes which have no other existence than the confused makings-up of an author's invention; where the more he details the more he confuses; and where the more particular he wishes to be, the more indistinct the whole appears? local descriptions, after a few striking circumstances have been selected, admit of no further detail. it is not their length, but their happiness, which enters into our comprehension; the imagination can only take in and keep together a very few parts of a picture. the pen must not intrude on the province of the pencil, any more than the pencil must attempt to perform what cannot in any shape be submitted to the eye, though fully to the mind. the great art, perhaps, of local description, is rather a general than a particular view; the details must be left to the imagination; it is suggestion rather than description. there is an old italian sonnet of this kind which i have often read with delight; and though i may not communicate the same pleasure to the reader, yet the story of the writer is most interesting, and the lady (for such she was) has the highest claim to be ranked, like the lady of evelyn, among _literary wives_. _francesca turina bufalini di citta di castello_, of noble extraction, and devoted to literature, had a collection of her poems published in . she frequently interspersed little domestic incidents of her female friend, her husband, her son, her grandchildren; and in one of these sonnets she has delineated _her palace of san giustino_, whose localities she appears to have enjoyed with intense delight in the company of "her lord," whom she tenderly associates with the scene. there is a freshness and simplicity in the description, which will perhaps convey a clearer notion of the spot than even pliny could do in the voluminous description of his _villa_. she tells us what she found when brought to the house of her husband:-- ampie salle, ampie loggie, ampio cortile e stanze ornate con gentil pitture, trovai giungendo, e nobili sculture di marmo fatte, da scalpel non vile. nobil giardin con un perpetuo aprile di varij fior, di frutti, e di verdure, ombre soavi, acque a temprar l'arsure e strade di beltà non dissimile; e non men forte estel, che per fortezza ha il ponte, e i fianchi, e lo circonda intorno fosso profundo e di real larghezza. qui fei col mio signore dolce soggiorno con santo amor, con somma contentezza onde ne benedico il mese e il giorno! wide halls, wide galleries, and an ample court, chambers adorn'd by pictures' soothing charm, i found together blended; noble sculpture in marble, polish'd by no chisel vile; a noble garden, where a lasting april all-various flowers and fruits and verdure showers; soft shades, and waters tempering the hot air; and undulating paths in equal beauty! nor less the castled glory stands in force, and bridged and flanked. and round its circuit winds the deepened moat, showing a regal size. here with my lord i cast my sweet sojourn, with holy love, and with supreme content; and hence i bless the month, and bless the day! footnotes: [ ] book ii. lett. . masques. it sometimes happens, in the history of national amusements, that a name survives while the thing itself is forgotten. this has been remarkably the case with our court masques, respecting which our most eminent writers long ventured on so many false opinions, with a perfect ignorance of the nature of these compositions, which combined all that was exquisite in the imitative arts of poetry, painting, music, song, dancing, and machinery, at a period when our public theatre was in its rude infancy. convinced of the miserable state of our represented drama, and not then possessing that more curious knowledge of their domestic history which we delight to explore, they were led into erroneous notions of one of the most gorgeous, the most fascinating, and the most poetical of dramatic amusements. our present theatrical exhibitions are, indeed, on a scale to which the twopenny audiences of the barn playhouses of shakspeare could never have strained their sight; and our picturesque and learned _costume_, with the brilliant changes of our scenery, would have maddened the "property-men" and the "tire-women" of the globe or the red bull.[ ] shakspeare himself never beheld the true magical illusions of his own dramas, with "enter the red coat," and "exit hat and cloak," helped out with "painted cloths;" or, as a bard of charles the second's time chants-- look back and see the strange vicissitudes of poetrie; your aged fathers came to plays for wit, and sat knee-deep in nut-shells in the pit. but while the public theatre continued long in this contracted state, without scenes, without dresses, without an orchestra, the court displayed scenical and dramatic exhibitions with such costly magnificence, such inventive fancy, and such miraculous art, that we may doubt if the combined genius of ben jonson, inigo jones, and lawes, or ferobosco, at an era most favourable to the arts of imagination, has been equalled by the modern _spectacle_ of the opera. but this circumstance had entirely escaped the knowledge of our critics. the critic of a masque must not only have read it, but he must also have heard and have viewed it. the only witnesses in this case are those letter-writers of the day, who were then accustomed to communicate such domestic intelligence to their absent friends: from such ample correspondence i have often drawn some curious and sometimes important information. it is amusing to notice the opinions of some great critics, how from an original mis-statement they have drawn an illegitimate opinion, and how one inherits from the other the error which he propagates. warburton said on masques, that "shakspeare was an enemy to these _fooleries_, as appears by his writing none." this opinion was among the many which that singular critic threw out as they arose at the moment; for warburton forgot that shakspeare characteristically introduces one in the _tempest's_ most fanciful scene.[ ] granger, who had not much time to study the manners of the age whose personages he was so well acquainted with, in a note on milton's masque, said that "these compositions were trifling and perplexed allegories, the persons of which are fantastical to the last degree. ben jonson, in his 'masque of christmas,' has introduced 'minced pie,' and 'baby cake,' who act their parts in the drama.[ ] but the most _wretched performances_ of this kind could please by the help of music, machinery, and dancing." granger blunders, describing by two farcical characters a species of composition of which farce was not the characteristic. such personages as he notices would enter into the anti-masque, which was a humorous parody of the more solemn masque, and sometimes relieved it. malone, whose fancy was not vivid, condemns masques and the age of masques, in which, he says, echoing granger's epithet, "the _wretched taste_ of the times found amusement." and lastly comes mr. todd, whom the splendid fragment of the "arcades," and the entire masque, which we have by heart, could not warm; while his neutralising criticism fixes him at the freezing point of the thermometer. "this dramatic entertainment, performed not without prodigious expense in machinery and decoration, to _which humour_ we certainly owe the entertainment of 'arcades,' and the inimitable mask of 'comus.'" _comus_, however, is only a fine dramatic poem, retaining scarcely any features of the masque. the only modern critic who had written with some research on this departed elegance of the english drama was warton, whose fancy responded to the fascination of the fairy-like magnificence and lyrical spirit of the masque. warton had the taste to give a specimen from "the inner temple mask by william browne," the pastoral poet, whose address to sleep, he observed, "reminds us of some favourite touches in milton's _comus_, to which it perhaps gave birth." yet even warton was deficient in that sort of research which only can discover the true nature of these singular dramas. such was the state in which, some years ago, i found all our knowledge of this once favourite amusement of our court, our nobility, and our learned bodies of the four inns of court. some extensive researches, pursued among contemporary manuscripts, cast a new light over this obscure child of fancy and magnificence. i could not think lightly of what ben jonson has called "the eloquence of masques;" entertainments on which from three to five thousand pounds were expended, and on more public occasions ten and twenty thousand. to the aid of the poetry, composed by the finest poets, came the most skilful musicians and the most elaborate machinists; ben jonson, and inigo jones,[ ] and lawes blended into one piece their respective genius; and lord bacon, and whitelocke, and selden, who sat in committees for the last grand masque presented to charles the first, invented the devices; composed the procession of the masquers and the anti-masquers; while one took the care of the dancing or the brawlers, and whitelocke the music--the sage whitelocke! who has chronicled his self-complacency on this occasion, by claiming the invention of a _coranto_, which for thirty years afterwards was the delight of the nation, and was blessed by the name of "whitelocke's coranto," and which was always called for, two or three times over, whenever that great statesman "came to see a play!"[ ] so much personal honour was considered to be involved in the conduct of a masque, that even this committee of illustrious men was on the point of being broken up by too serious a discussion concerning precedence; and the masque had nearly not taken place, till they hit on the expedient of throwing dice to decide on their rank in the procession! on this jealousy of honour in the composition of a masque, i discovered, what hitherto had escaped the knowledge, although not the curiosity, of literary inquirers--the occasion of the memorable enmity between ben jonson and inigo jones, who had hitherto acted together with brotherly affection; "a circumstance," says gifford, to whom i communicated it, "not a little important in the history of our calumniated poet." the trivial cause, but not so in its consequences, was the poet prefixing his own name before that of the architect on the title-page of a masque, which hitherto had only been annexed;[ ] so jealous was the great architect of his _part_ of the masque, and so predominant his power and name at court, that he considered his rights invaded by the _inferior_ claims of the poet! jonson has poured out the whole bitterness of his soul in two short satires: still more unfortunately for the subject of these satires, they provoked inigo to sharpen his pen on rhyme; but it is edgeless, and the blunt composition still lies in its manuscript state. while these researches had engaged my attention, appeared gifford's memoirs of ben jonson. the characteristics of masques are there, for the first time, elaborately opened with the clear and penetrating spirit of that ablest of our dramatic critics. i feel it like presumption to add to what has received the finishing hand of a master; but his jewel is locked up in a chest, which i fear is too rarely opened, and he will allow me to borrow something from its splendour. "the masque, as it attained its highest degree of excellence, admitted of dialogue, singing, and dancing; these were not independent of one another, but combined, by the introduction of some ingenious fable, into an harmonious whole. when the plan was formed, the aid of the sister-arts was called in; for the essence of the masque was pomp and glory. moveable scenery of the most costly and splendid kind was lavished on the masque; the most celebrated masters were employed on the songs and dances; and all that the kingdom afforded of vocal and instrumental excellence was employed to embellish the exhibition.[ ] thus magnificently constructed, the masque was not committed to ordinary performers. it was composed, as lord bacon says, for princes, and by princes it was played.[ ] of these masques, the skill with which their ornaments were designed, and the inexpressible grace with which they were executed, appear to have left a vivid impression on the mind of jonson. his genius awakes at once, and all his faculties attune to sprightliness and pleasure. he makes his appearance, like his own delight, 'accompanied with grace, love, harmony, revel, sport, and laughter.' "in curious knot and mazes so the spring at first was taught to go; and zephyr, when he came to woo his flora, had his _motions_[ ] too; and thus did venus learn to lead the idalian brawls, and so to tread, as if the wind, not she, did walk, nor press'd a flower, nor bow'd a stalk. "but in what," says gifford, "was the taste of the times _wretched_? in poetry, painting, architecture, they have not since been equalled; and it ill becomes us to arraign the taste of a period which possessed a cluster of writers of whom the meanest would now be esteemed a prodigy." malone did not live to read this denouncement of his objection to these masques, as "bungling shows;" and which warburton treats as "fooleries;" granger as "wretched performances;" while mr. todd regards them merely as "the humour of the times!" masques were often the private theatricals of the families of our nobility, performed by the ladies and gentlemen at their seats; and were splendidly got up on certain occasions: such as the celebration of a nuptial, or in compliment to some great visitor. the masque of comus was composed by milton to celebrate the creation of charles the first as prince of wales; a scene in this masque presented both the castle and the town of ludlow, which proves, that although our small public theatres had not yet displayed any of the scenical illusions which long afterwards davenant introduced, these scenical effects existed in great perfection in the masques. the minute descriptions introduced by thomas campion, in his "memorable masque," as it is called, will convince us that the scenery must have been exquisite and fanciful, and that the poet was always a watchful and anxious partner with the machinist, with whom sometimes, however, he had a quarrel. the subject of this very rare masque was "the night and the hours." it would be tedious to describe the first scene with the fondness with which the poet has dwelt on it. it was a double valley; one side, with dark clouds hanging before it; on the other, a green vale, with trees, and nine golden ones of fifteen feet high; from which grove, towards "the state," or the seat of the king, was a broad descent to the dancing-place: the bower of flora was on the right, the house of night on the left; between them a hill, hanging like a cliff over the grove. the bower of flora was spacious, garnished with flowers and flowery branches, with lights among them; the house of night ample and stately, with black columns studded with golden stars; within, nothing but clouds and twinkling stars; while about it were placed, on wire, artificial bats and owls, continually moving. as soon as the king entered the great hall, the hautboys, out of the wood on the top of the hill, entertained the time, till flora and zephyr were seen busily gathering flowers from the bower, throwing them into baskets which two silvans held, attired in changeable taffeta. the song is light as their fingers, but the burden is charming:-- now hath flora robb'd her bowers to befriend this place with flowers; strow about! strow about! divers, divers flowers affect for some private dear respect; strow about! strow about! but he's none of flora's friend that will not the rose commend; strow about! strow about! i cannot quit this masque, of which, collectors know the rarity, without preserving one of those doric delicacies, of which, perhaps, we have outlived the taste! it is a playful dialogue between a silvan and an hour, while night appears in her house, with her long black hair spangled with gold, amidst her hours; their faces black, and each bearing a lighted black torch. silvan. tell me, gentle hour of night, wherein dost thou most delight? hour. not in sleep! silvan. wherein then? hour. in the frolic view of men! silvan. lov'st thou music? hour. oh! 'tis sweet! silvan. what's dancing? hour. e'en the mirth of feet. silvan. joy you in fairies and in elves? hour. we are of that sort ourselves! but, silvan! say, why do you love only to frequent the grove? silvan. life is fullest of content when delight is innocent. hour. pleasure must vary, not be long! come then, let's close, and end the song! that the moveable scenery of these masques formed as perfect a scenical illusion as any that our own age, with all its perfection of decoration, has attained to, will not be denied by those who have read the few masques which have been printed. they usually contrived a double division of the scene; one part was for some time concealed from the spectator, which produced surprise and variety. thus in the lord's masque, at the marriage of the palatine, the scene was divided into two parts, from the roof to the floor; the lower part being first discovered, there appeared a wood in perspective, the innermost part being of "releeve or whole round," the rest painted. on the left a cave, and on the right a thicket, from which issued orpheus. at the back part of the scene, at the sudden fall of a curtain, the upper part broke on the spectators, a heaven of clouds of all hues; the stars suddenly vanished, the clouds dispersed; an element of artificial fire played about the house of prometheus--a bright and transparent cloud, reaching from the heavens to the earth, whence the eight masquers descending with the music of a full song; and at the end of their descent the cloud broke in twain, and one part of it, as with a wind, was blown athwart the scene. while this cloud was vanishing, the wood, being the under part of the scene, was insensibly changing; a perspective view opened, with porticoes on each side, and female statues of silver, accompanied with ornaments of architecture, filling the end of the house of prometheus, and seemed all of goldsmiths' work. the women of prometheus descended from their niches, till the anger of jupiter turned them again into statues. it is evident, too, that the size of the proscenium, or stage, accorded with the magnificence of the scene; for i find choruses described, "and changeable conveyances of the song," in manner of an echo, performed by more than forty different voices and instruments in various parts of the scene. the architectural decorations were the pride of inigo jones; such could not be trivial. "i suppose," says the writer of this masque, "few have ever seen more neat artifice than master inigo jones showed in contriving their motion; who, as all the rest of the workmanship which belonged to the whole invention, showed extraordinary industry and skill, which if it be not as lively expressed in writing as it appeared in view, rob not him of his due, but lay the blame on my want of right apprehending his instructions, for the _adoring_ of his art." whether this strong expression should be only _adorning_ does not appear in any errata; but the feeling of admiration was fervent among the spectators of that day, who were at least as much astonished as they were delighted. ben jonson's prose descriptions of scenes in his own exquisite masques, as gifford observes, "are singularly bold and beautiful." in a letter which i discovered, the writer of which had been present at one of these masques, and which gifford has preserved,[ ] the reader may see the great poet anxiously united with inigo jones in working the machinery. jonson, before "a sacrifice could be performed, turned the globe of the earth, standing behind the altar." in this globe "the sea was expressed heightened with silver waves, which stood, or rather hung (for no axle was seen to support it), and _turning softly_, discovered the first masque,"[ ] &c. this "turning softly" producing a very magical effect, the great poet would trust to no other hand but his own! it seems, however, that as no masque-writer equalled jonson, so no machinist rivalled inigo jones. i have sometimes caught a groan from some unfortunate poet, whose beautiful fancies were spoilt by the bungling machinist. one says, "the _order of this scene_ was carefully and ingeniously disposed, and as happily put in act (for the _motions_) by the king's master carpenter;" but he adds, "the _painters_, i must needs say (not to belie them), lent small colour to any, to attribute much of the spirit of these things to their pencil." campion, in one of his masques, describing where the trees were gently to sink, &c., by an engine placed under the stage, and in sinking were to open, and the masquers appear out at their tops, &c., adds this vindictive marginal note: "either by the _simplicity_, _negligence_, or _conspiracy_ of the _painter_, the passing away of the trees was somewhat hazarded, though the same day they had been shown with much admiration, and were left together to the same night;" that is, they were worked right at the rehearsal, and failed in the representation, which must have perplexed the nine masquers on the tops of these nine trees. but such accidents were only vexations crossing the fancies of the poet: they did not essentially injure the magnificence, the pomp, and the fairy world opened to the spectators. so little was the character of these masques known, that all our critics seemed to have fallen into repeated blunders, and used the masques as campion suspected his painters to have done, "either by simplicity, negligence, or conspiracy." hurd, a cold systematic critic, thought he might safely prefer the masque in the _tempest_, as "putting to shame all the masques of jonson, not only in its _construction_, but in the _splendour_ of its show;"--"which," adds gifford, "was danced and sung by the ordinary performers to a couple of fiddles, perhaps in the balcony of the stage." such is the fate of criticism without knowledge! and now, to close our masques, let me apply the forcible style of ben jonson himself: "the glory of all these solemnities had perished like a blaze, and gone out in the beholder's eyes; so short-lived are the bodies of all things in comparison of their souls!"[ ] footnotes: [ ] sir philip sidney, in his "defence of poesy," , alludes to the custom of writing the supposed locality of each scene over the stage, and asks, "what child is there that coming to a play, and seeing _thebes_ written in great letters on an old door, doth believe that it is thebes." as late as the production of davenant's _siege of rhodes_ (_circa_ ), this custom was continued, and is thus described in the printed edition of the play:--"in the middle of the frieze was a compartment wherein was written _rhodes_." in many instances the spectator was left to infer the locality of the scene from the dialogue.--"now," says sidney, "you shall have three ladies walke to gather flowers, and then we must believe the stage to be a garden. by and by we heare newes of shipwracke in the same place; then we are to blame if we accept it not for a rock." in middleton's _chaste maid_, , when the scene changes to a bed-room, "a bed is thrust out upon the stage, alwit's wife in it;" which simple process was effected by pushing it through the curtains that hung across the entrance to the stage, which at that time projected into the pit. [ ] the play of _pyramus and thisbe_, performed by the clowns in shakspeare's _midsummer night's dream_, is certainly constructed in burlesque of characters in court masques, which sometimes were as difficult to be made comprehensible to an audience as "the clowns of athens" found _wall_ and _moonshine_ to be. [ ] it is due to a great poet like ben jonson, that, without troubling the reader to turn to his works, we should give his own description of these characters, to show that they were not the "perplexed allegories" they are asserted to be by granger; nor inappropriate to the _masque of christmas_, for which they were designed. minced-pie was habited "like a fine cook's wife, drest neat, her man carrying a pie, dish, and spoon." baby-cake was "drest like a boy, in a fine long coat, biggin-bib, muckender (or handkerchief), and a little dagger; his usher bearing a great cake, with a bean and a pease;" the latter being indicative of those generally inserted in a christmas cake, which, when cut into slices and distributed, indicated by the presence of the bean the person who should be king; the slice with the pea doing the same for the queen. neither of these characters speak, but make part of the show to be described by father christmas. jonson's inventive talent was never more conspicuous than in the concoction of court masques. [ ] the first employment of these two great men was upon _the masque of blackness_, performed at whitehall on twelfth-night, ; and which cost nearly , _l._, of our present money. [ ] the music of whitelocke's _coranto_ is preserved in hawkins's "history of music." might it be restored for the ladies as a waltz? [ ] this was _chloridia_, a masque performed by the queen and her ladies at court, on shrovetide, ; upon the title-page of which is printed "the inventors--ben jonson, inigo jones." jonson was, by reason of the influence of inigo, deprived of employ at court ever after, supplanted by other poets named by the architect, and among them heywood, shirley, and davenant. [ ] george chapman's _memorable maske_, performed at whitehall, , by the gentlemen of the middle temple and lincoln's inn, cost the latter society nearly _l._ for their share of the expenses. [ ] ben jonson records the names of the noble ladies and gentlemen who enacted his inventions at court. [ ] the figures and actions of dancers in masques were called motions. [ ] memoirs of jonson, p. . [ ] see gifford's jonson, vol. vii. p. . this performance was in the _masque of hymen_, enacted at court in , on the occasion of the marriage of the earl of essex to the daughter of the earl of suffolk. [ ] splendour ultimately ruined these works; they ended in gaudy dresses and expensive machinery, but poetry was not associated with them. the youthful days of louis xiv. raised them to a height of costly luxuriance to sink them ever after in oblivion. of des maizeaux, and the secret history of anthony collins's manuscripts. des maizeaux was an active literary man of his day, whose connexions with bayle, st. evremond, locke, and toland, and his name being set off by an f.r.s., have occasioned the dictionary-biographers to place him prominently among their "hommes illustres." of his private history nothing seems known. having something important to communicate respecting one of his friends, a far greater character, with whose fate he stands connected, even des maizeaux becomes an object of our inquiry. he was one of those french refugees whom political madness or despair of intolerance had driven to our shores. the proscription of louis xiv., which supplied us with our skilful workers in silk, also produced a race of the unemployed, who proved not to be as exquisite in the handicraft of book-making; such were _motteux_, _la coste_, _ozell_, _durand_, and others. our author had come over in that tender state of youth, just in time to become half an englishman: and he was so ambidextrous in the languages of the two great literary nations of europe, that whenever he took up his pen, it is evident by his manuscripts, which i have examined, that it was mere accident which determined him to write in french or in english. composing without genius, or even taste, without vivacity or force, the simplicity and fluency of his style were sufficient for the purposes of a ready dealer in all the _minutiæ literariæ_; literary anecdotes, curious quotations, notices of obscure books, and all that _supellex_ which must enter into the history of literature, without forming a history. these little things, which did so well of themselves, without any connexion with anything else, became trivial when they assumed the form of voluminous minuteness; and des maizeaux at length imagined that nothing but anecdotes were necessary to compose the lives of men of genius! with this sort of talent he produced a copious life of bayle, in which he told everything he possibly could; and nothing can be more tedious, and more curious: for though it be a grievous fault to omit nothing, and marks the writer to be deficient in the development of character, and that sympathy which throws inspiration over the vivifying page of biography, yet, to admit everything, has this merit--that we are sure to find what we want! warburton poignantly describes our des maizeaux, in one of those letters to dr. birch which he wrote in the fervid age of study, and with the impatient vivacity of his genius, "almost all the life-writers we have had before toland and des maizeaux are indeed strange, insipid creatures; and yet i had rather read the worst of them, than be obliged to go through with this of milton's, or the other's life of boileau; where there is such a dull, heavy succession of long quotations of uninteresting passages, that it makes their method quite nauseous. but the verbose, tasteless frenchman seems to lay it down as a principle, that every life must be a book,--and, what is worse, it seems a book without a life; for what do we know of boileau after all his tedious stuff?" des maizeaux was much in the employ of the dutch booksellers, then the great monopolisers in the literary mart of europe. he supplied their "nouvelles littéraires" from england; but the work-sheet price was very mean in those days. i have seen annual accounts of des maizeaux settled to a line for four or five pounds; and yet he sent the "novelties" as fresh as the post could carry them! he held a confidential correspondence with these great dutch booksellers, who consulted him in their distresses; and he seems rather to have relieved them than himself. but if he got only a few florins at rotterdam, the same "nouvelles littéraires" sometimes secured him valuable friends at london; for in those days, which perhaps are returning on us, an english author would often appeal to a foreign journal for the commendation he might fail in obtaining at home; and i have discovered, in more cases than one, that, like other smuggled commodities, the foreign article was often of home manufactory! i give one of these curious bibliopolical distresses. sauzet, a bookseller at rotterdam, who judged too critically for the repose of his authors, seems to have been always fond of projecting a new "journal;" tormented by the ideal excellence which he had conceived of such a work, it vexed him that he could never find the workmen! once disappointed of the assistance he expected from a writer of talents, he was fain to put up with one he was ashamed of; but warily stipulated on very singular terms. he confided this precious literary secret to des maizeaux. i translate from his manuscript letter. "i send you, my dear sir, four sheets of the continuation of my journal, and i hope this second part will turn out better than the former. the author thinks himself a very able person; but i must tell you frankly, that he is a man without erudition, and without any critical discrimination; he writes pretty well, and turns passably what he says; but that is all! monsieur van effen having failed in his promises to realise my hopes on this occasion, necessity compelled me to have recourse to him; but for _six months only_, and on condition that he should not, on any account whatever, _allow any one to know that he is the author of the journal_; for his _name_ alone would be sufficient to make even a passable book discreditable. as you are among my friends, i will confide to you in secrecy the name of this author; it is mons. _de limiers_.[ ] you see how much my interest is concerned that the author should not be known!" this anecdote is gratuitously presented to the editors of certain reviews, as a serviceable hint to enter into the same engagement with some of their own writers: for it is usually the _de limiers_ who expend their last puff in blowing their own name about the town. in england, des maizeaux, as a literary man, made himself very useful to other men of letters, and particularly to persons of rank: and he found patronage and a pension,--like his talents, very moderate! a friend to literary men, he lived amongst them, from "orator" henley, up to addison, lord halifax, and anthony collins. i find a curious character of our des maizeaux in the handwriting of edward, earl of oxford, to whose father (pope's earl of oxford) and himself the nation owes the harleian treasures. his lordship is a critic with high tory principles, and high-church notions. "this des maizeaux is a great man with those who are pleased to be called _freethinkers_, particularly with mr. anthony collins, collects passages out of books for their writings. his life of chillingworth is wrote to please that set of men." the secret history i am to unfold relates to anthony collins and des maizeaux. some curious book-lovers will be interested in the personal history of an author they are well acquainted with, yet which has hitherto remained unknown. he tells his own story in a sort of epistolary petition he addressed to a noble friend, characteristic of an author, who cannot be deemed unpatronised, yet whose name, after all his painful labours, might be inserted in my "calamities of authors." in this letter he announces his intention of publishing a dictionary like bayle; having written the life of bayle, the next step was to become himself a bayle; so short is the passage of literary delusion! he had published, as a specimen, the lives of hales and chillingworth. he complains that his circumstances have not allowed him to forward that work, nor digest the materials he had collected. a work of that nature requires a steady application, free from the cares and avocations incident to all persons obliged to seek for their maintenance. i have had the misfortune to be in the case of those persons, and am now reduced to a pension on the irish establishment, which, deducting the tax of four shillings in the pound, and other charges, brings me in about _l._ a year of our english money.[ ] this pension was granted to me in , and i owe it chiefly to the friendship of mr. addison, who was then secretary to the earl of wharton, lord-lieutenant of ireland. in , , and , i was appointed one of the commissioners of the lottery by the interest of lord halifax. and this is all i ever received from the government, though i had some claim to the royal favour; for in , when the enemies to our constitution were contriving its ruin, i wrote a pamphlet entitled "lethe," which was published in holland, and afterwards translated into english, and twice printed in london; and being reprinted in dublin, proved so offensive to the ministry in ireland, that it was burnt by the hands of the hangman. but so it is, that after having showed on all occasions my zeal for the royal family, and endeavoured to make myself serviceable to the public by several books published; after forty years' stay in england, and in an advanced age, i find myself and family destitute of a sufficient livelihood, and suffering from complaints in the head and impaired sight by constant application to my studies. i am confident, my lord, he adds, that if the queen, to whom i was made known on occasion of thuanus's french translation, were acquainted with my present distress, she would be pleased to afford me some relief.[ ] among the confidential literary friends of des maizeaux, he had the honour of ranking anthony collins, a great lover of literature, and a man of fine genius, and who, in a continued correspondence with our des maizeaux, treated him as his friend, and employed him as his agent in his literary concerns. these, in the formation of an extensive library, were in a state of perpetual activity, and collins was such a true lover of his books, that he drew up the catalogue with his own pen.[ ] anthony collins wrote several well-known works without prefixing his name; but having pushed too far his curious inquiries on some obscure and polemical points, he incurred the odium of a _freethinker_,--a term which then began to be in vogue, and which the french adopted by translating it, in their way, _a strong thinker_, or _esprit fort_. whatever tendency to "liberalise" the mind from _dogmas_ and _creeds_ prevails in these works, the talents and learning of collins were of the first class. his morals were immaculate, and his personal character independent; but the _odium theologicum_ of those days contrived every means to stab in the dark, till the taste became hereditary with some. i shall mention a fact of this cruel bigotry, which occurred within my own observation, on one of the most polished men of the age. the late mr. cumberland, in the romance entitled his "life," gave this extraordinary fact, that dr. bentley, who so ably replied by his "remarks," under the name of phileleutherus lipsiensis, to collins's "discourse on free-thinking," when, many years after, he discovered him fallen into great distress, conceiving that by having ruined collins's character as a writer for ever, he had been the occasion of his personal misery, he liberally contributed to his maintenance. in vain i mentioned to that elegant writer, who was not curious about facts, that this person could never have been _anthony_ collins, who had always a plentiful fortune; and when it was suggested to him that this "a. collins," as he printed it, must have been _arthur_ collins, the historical compiler, who was often in pecuniary difficulties, still he persisted in sending the lie down to posterity, _totidem verbis_, without alteration in his second edition, observing to a friend of mine, that "the story, while it told well, might serve as a striking instance of his great relative's generosity; and that _it should stand_, because it could do no harm to any but to _anthony_ collins, whom he considered as little short of an atheist." so much for this pious fraud! but be it recollected that this anthony collins was the confidential friend of locke, of whom locke said, on his dying bed, that "collins was a man whom he valued in the first rank of those that he left behind him." and the last words of collins on his own death-bed were, that "he was persuaded he was going to that place which god had designed for them that love him." the cause of true religion will never be assisted by using such leaky vessels as _cumberland's_ wilful calumnies, which in the end must run out, and be found, like the present, mere empty fictions! an extraordinary circumstance occurred on the death of anthony collins. he left behind him a considerable number of his own manuscripts, there was one collection formed into eight octavo volumes; and that they might be secured from the common fate of manuscripts, he bequeathed them all, and confided them to the care of our des maizeaux. the choice of collins reflects honour on the character of des maizeaux, yet he proved unworthy of it! he suffered himself to betray his trust, practised on by the earnest desire of the widow, and perhaps by the arts of a mr. tomlinson, who appears to have been introduced into the family by the recommendation of dean sykes, whom at length he supplanted, and whom the widow, to save her reputation, was afterwards obliged to discard.[ ] in an unguarded moment he relinquished this precious _legacy of the manuscripts_, and accepted _fifty guineas as a present_. but if des maizeaux lost his honour in this transaction, he was at heart an honest man, who had swerved for a single moment; his conscience was soon awakened, and he experienced the most violent compunctions. it was in a paroxysm of this nature that he addressed the following letter to a mutual friend of the late anthony collins and himself. sir, _january , ._ i am very glad to hear you are come to town, and as you are my best friend, now i have lost mr. collins, give me leave to open my heart to you, and to beg your assistance in an affair which highly concerns both mr. collins's (your friend) and my own honour and reputation. the case, in few words, stands thus:--mr. collins by his last will and testament left me his manuscripts. mr. tomlinson, who first acquainted me with it, told me that mrs. collins should be glad to have them, and i made them over to her; whereupon she was pleased to present me with fifty guineas. i desired her at the same time to take care they should be kept safe and unhurt, which she promised to do. this was done the th of last month. mr. tomlinson, who managed all this affair, was present. now, having further considered that matter, i find that i have done a most wicked thing. i am persuaded that i have betrayed the trust of a person who, for twenty-six years, had given me continual instances of his friendship and confidence. i am convinced that i have acted contrary to the will and intention of my dear deceased friend; showed a disregard to the particular mark of esteem he gave me on that occasion; in short, that i have forfeited what is dearer to me than my own life--honour and reputation. these melancholy thoughts have made so great an impression upon me, that i protest to you i can enjoy no rest; they haunt me everywhere, day and night. i earnestly beseech you, sir, to represent my unhappy case to mrs. collins. i acted with all the simplicity and uprightness of my heart; i considered that the mss. would be as safe in mrs. collins's hands as in mine; that she was no less obliged to preserve them than myself; and that, as the library was left to her, they might naturally go along with it. besides, i thought i could not too much comply with the desire of a lady to whom i have so many obligations. but i see now clearly that this is not fulfilling mr. collins's will, and that the duties of our conscience are superior to all other regards. but it is in her power to forgive and mend what i have done imprudently, but with a good intention. her high sense of virtue and generosity will not, i am sure, let her take any advantage of my weakness; and the tender regard she has for the memory of the best of men, and the tenderest of husbands, will not suffer that his intentions should be frustrated, and that she should be the instrument of violating what is most sacred. if our late friend had designed that his mss. should remain in her hands, he would certainly have left them to her by his last will and testament; his acting otherwise is an evident proof that it was not his intention. all this i proposed to represent to her in the most respectful manner; but you will do it infinitely better than i can in this present distraction of mind; and i flatter myself that the mutual esteem and friendship which has continued so many years between mr. collins and you, will make you readily embrace whatever tends to honour his memory. i send you the fifty guineas i received, which i do now look upon as the wages of iniquity; and i desire you to return them to mrs. collins, who, as i hope it of her justice, equity, and regard to mr. collins's intentions, will be pleased to cancel my paper. i am, &c., p. des maizeaux. the manuscripts were never returned to des maizeaux; for seven years afterwards mrs. collins, who appears to have been a very spirited lady, addressed to him the following letter on the subject of a report, that she had permitted transcripts of these very manuscripts to get abroad. this occasioned an animated correspondence from both sides. sir, _march , - _. i have thus long waited in expectation that you would ere this have called on dean sykes, as sir b. lucy said you intended, that i might have had some satisfaction in relation to a very unjust reproach--viz., that i, or somebody that i had trusted, had _betrayed_ some of the transcripts, or mss., of mr. collins into the bishop of london's hands. i cannot, therefore, since you have not been with the dean as was desired, but call on you in this manner, to know what authority you had for such a reflection; or on what grounds you went for saying that these transcripts are in the bishop of london's hands. i am determined to trace out the grounds of such a report; and you can be no friend of mine, no friend of mr. collins, no friend to common justice, if you refuse to acquaint me, what foundation you had for such a charge. i desire a very speedy answer to this, who am, sir, your servant, eliz. collins. _to mr. des maizeaux, at his lodgings next door to the quakers' burying-ground, hanover-street, out of long-acre._ to mrs. collins. _march , ._ i had the honour of your letter of the th inst., and as i find that something has been misapprehended, i beg leave to set this matter right. being lately with some honourable persons, i told them it had been reported that some of mr. c.'s mss. were fallen into the hands of strangers, and that i should be glad to receive from you such information as might enable me to disprove that report. what occasioned this surmise, or what particular mss. were meant, i was not able to discover; so i was left to my own conjectures, which, upon a serious consideration, induced me to believe that it might relate to the mss. in eight volumes in vo, of which there is a transcript. but as the original and the transcript are in your possession, if you please, madam, to compare them together, you may easily see whether they be both entire and perfect, or whether there be anything wanting in either of them. by this means you will assure yourself, and satisfy your friends, that several important pieces are safe in your hands, and that the report is false and groundless. all this i take the liberty to offer out of the singular respect i always professed for you, and for the memory of mr. collins, to whom i have endeavoured to do justice on all occasions, and particularly in the memoirs that have been made use of in the general dictionary; and i hope my tender concern for his reputation will further appear when i publish his life. sir, _april , _. my ill state of health has hindered me from acknowledging sooner the receipt of yours, from which i hoped for some satisfaction in relation to your charge, in which i cannot but think myself very deeply concerned. you tell me now, that you was left to your own conjectures what particular mss. were reported to have fallen into the hands of strangers, and that upon a serious consideration you was induced to believe that it might relate to the mss. in eight vols. vo, of which there was a transcript. i must beg of you to satisfy me very explicitly who were the persons that reported this to you, and from whom did you receive this information? you know that mr. collins left several mss. behind him; what grounds had you for your conjecture that it related to the mss. in eight vols., rather than to any other mss. of which there was a transcript? i beg that you will be very plain, and tell me what strangers were named to you; and why you said the bishop of london, if your informer said stranger to you. i am so much concerned in this, that i must repeat it, if you have the singular respect for mr. collins which you profess, that you would help me to trace out this reproach, which is so abusive to, sir, your servant, eliz. collins. to mrs. collins. i flattered myself that my last letter would have satisfied you, but i have the mortification to see that my hopes were vain. therefore i beg leave once more to set this matter right. when i told you what had been reported, i acted, as i thought, the part of a true friend, by acquainting you that some of your mss. had been purloined, in order that you might examine a fact which to me appeared of the last consequence; and i verily believe that everybody in my case would have expected thanks for such a friendly information. but instead of that i find myself represented as an enemy, and challenged to produce proofs and witnesses of a thing dropt in conversation, a hearsay, as if in those cases people kept a register of what they hear, and entered the names of the persons who spoke, the time, place, &c., and had with them persons ready to witness the whole, &c. i did own i never thought of such a thing, and whenever i happened to hear that some of my friends had some loss, i thought it my duty to acquaint them with such report, that they might inquire into the matter, and see whether there was any ground for it. but i never troubled myself with the names of the persons who spoke, as being a thing entirely needless and unprofitable. give me leave further to observe, that you are in no ways _concerned_ in the matter, as you seem to be apprehensive you are. suppose some mss. have been taken out of your library, who will say you ought to bear the guilt of it? what man in his senses, who has the honour to know you, will say you gave your consent to such thing--that you was privy to it? how can you then take upon yourself an action to which you was neither privy and consenting? do not such things happen every day, and do the losers think themselves injured or _abused_ when they are talked of? is it impossible to be betrayed by a person we confided in? you call what i told you was a report, a surmise; you call it, i say, an _information_, and speak of _informers_ as if there was a plot laid wherein i received the information: i thought i had the honour to be better known to you. mr. collins loved me and esteemed me for my integrity and sincerity, of which he had several proofs; how i have been drawn in to injure him, to forfeit the good opinion he had of me, and which, were he now alive, would deservedly expose me to his utmost contempt, is a grief which i shall carry to the grave. it would be a sort of comfort to me, if those who have consented i should be drawn in were in some measure sensible of the guilt towards so good, kind, and generous a man. thus we find that, _seven years_ after des maizeaux had inconsiderately betrayed his sacred trust, his remorse was still awake; and the sincerity of his grief is attested by the affecting style which describes it: the spirit of his departed friend seemed to be hovering about him, and, in his imagination, would haunt him to the grave. the nature of these manuscripts; the cause of the earnest desire of retaining them by the widow; the evident unfriendliness of her conduct to des maizeaux; and whether these manuscripts, consisting of eight octavo volumes with their transcripts, were destroyed, or are still existing, are all circumstances which my researches have hitherto not ascertained. footnotes: [ ] _van effen_ was a dutch writer of some merit, and one of a literary knot of ingenious men, consisting of sallengre, st. hyacinthe, prosper marchand, &c., who carried on a smart review for those days, published at the hague under the title of "journal littéraire." they all composed in french; and van effen gave the first translations of our "guardian," "robinson crusoe," and the "tale of a tub," &c. he did something more, but not better; he attempted to imitate the "spectator," in his "le misanthrope," , which exhibits a picture of the uninteresting manners of a nation whom he could not make very lively. _de limiers_ has had his name slipped into our biographical dictionaries. an author cannot escape the fatality of the alphabet; his numerous misdeeds are registered. it is said, that if he had not been so hungry, he would have given proofs of possessing some talent. [ ] i find that the nominal pension was _s._ _d._ per diem on the irish civil list, which amounts to above _l._ per annum. if a pension be granted for reward, it seems a mockery that the income should be so grievously reduced, which cruel custom still prevails. [ ] this letter, or petition, was written in . in he procured his pension to be placed on his wife's life, and he died in . he was sworn in as gentleman of his majesty's privy chamber in --_sloane mss._ . [ ] there is a printed catalogue of his library. [ ] this information is from a note found among des maizeaux's papers; but its truth i have no means to ascertain. history of new words. neology, or the novelty of words and phrases, is an innovation, which, with the opulence of our present language, the english philologer is most jealous to allow; but we have puritans or precisians of english, superstitiously nice! the fantastic coinage of affectation or caprice will cease to circulate from its own alloy; but shall we reject the ore of fine workmanship and solid weight? there is no government mint of words, and it is no statutable offence to invent a felicitous or daring expression unauthorised by mr. todd! when a man of genius, in the heat of his pursuits or his feelings, has thrown out a peculiar word, it probably conveyed more precision or energy than any other established word, otherwise he is but an ignorant pretender! julius cæsar, who, unlike other great captains, is authority on words as well as about blows, wrote a large treatise on "analogy," in which that fine genius counselled to "avoid every unusual word as a rock!"[ ] the cautious quintilian, as might be expected, opposes all innovation in language. "if the new word is well received, small is the glory; if rejected, it raises laughter."[ ] this only marks the penury of his feelings in this species of adventure. the great legislator of words, who lived when his own language was at its acmé, seems undecided, yet pleaded for this liberty. "shall that which the romans allowed to cæcilius and to plautus be refused to virgil and varius?" the answer to the question might not be favourable to the inquirer. while a language is forming, writers are applauded for extending its limits; when established, for restricting themselves to them. but this is to imagine that a perfect language can exist! the good sense and observation of horace perceived that there may be occasions where necessity must become the mother of invented words:-- ----si forte necesse est indiciis monstrare recentibus abdita rerum. if you write of things abstruse or new, some of your own inventing may be used, so it be seldom and discreetly done. roscommon. but horace's canon for deciding on the legality of the new invention, or the standard by which it is to be tried, will not serve to assist the inventor of words:-- ----licuit, semperque licebit, signatum præsente nota procudere nummum.[ ] this _præsens nota_, or public stamp, can never be affixed to any new coinage of words: for many received at a season have perished with it.[ ] the privilege of stamping words is reserved for their greatest enemy--time itself! and the inventor of a new word must never flatter himself that he has secured the public adoption, for he must lie in his grave before he can enter the dictionary. in willes' address to the reader, prefixed to the collection of voyages published in , he finds fault with eden's translation from peter martyr, for using words that "smelt too much of the latine." we should scarcely have expected to find among them _ponderouse_, _portentouse_, _despicable_, _obsequious_, _homicide_, _imbibed_, _destructive_, _prodigious_. the only words he quotes, not thoroughly naturalised, are _dominators_, _ditionaries_, (subjects), _solicitute_ (careful). the tatler, no. , introduces several polysyllables introduced by military narrations, "which (he says), if they attack us too frequently, we shall certainly put them to flight, and cut off the rear;" every one of them still keep their ground. half the french words used affectedly by melantha, in dryden's _marriage à-la-mode_, as innovations in our language, are now in common use, _naïveté_, _foible_, _chagrin_, _grimace_, _embarras_, _double entendre_, _equivoque_, _eclaircissement_, _ridicule_, all these words, which she learns by heart to use occasionally, are now in common use. a dr. russel called psalm-singers _ballad-singers_, having found the song of solomon in an old translation, the _ballad of ballads_, for which he is reproached by his antagonist for not knowing that the signification of words alters with time; should i call him _knave_, he ought not to be concerned at it, for the apostle paul is also called a _knave of jesus christ_.[ ] unquestionably, neology opens a wide door to innovation; scarcely has a century passed since our language was patched up with gallic idioms, as in the preceding century it was piebald with spanish, and with italian, and even with dutch. the political intercourse of islanders with their neighbours has ever influenced their language. in elizabeth's reign italian phrases[ ] and netherland words were imported; in james and charles the spanish framed the style of courtesy; in charles the second the nation and the language were equally frenchified. yet such are the sources from whence we have often derived some of the wealth of our language! there are three foul corruptors of a language: caprice, affectation, and ignorance! such fashionable cant terms as "theatricals," and "musicals," invented by the flippant topham, still survive among his confraternity of frivolity. a lady eminent for the elegance of her taste, and of whom one of the best judges, the celebrated miss edgeworth, observed to me, that she spoke the purest and most idiomatic english she had ever heard, threw out an observation which might be extended to a great deal of our present fashionable vocabulary. she is now old enough, she said, to have lived to hear the vulgarisms of her youth adopted in drawing-room circles.[ ] to _lunch_, now so familiar from the fairest lips, in her youth was only known in the servants' hall. an expression very rife of late among our young ladies, _a nice man_, whatever it may mean, whether that the man resemble a pudding or something more nice, conveys the offensive notion that they are ready to eat him up! when i was a boy, it was an age of _bon ton_; this _good tone_ mysteriously conveyed a sublime idea of fashion; the term, imported late in the eighteenth century, closed with it. _twaddle_ for a while succeeded _bore_; but _bore_ has recovered the supremacy. we want another swift to give a new edition of his "polite conversation." a dictionary of barbarisms too might be collected from some wretched neologists, whose pens are now at work! lord chesterfield, in his exhortations to conform to johnson's dictionary, was desirous, however, that the great lexicographer should add as an appendix, "_a neological dictionary_, containing those polite, though perhaps not strictly grammatical, words and phrases commonly used, and sometimes understood by the _beau-monde_."[ ] this last phrase was doubtless a contribution! such a dictionary had already appeared in the french language, drawn up by two caustic critics, who in the _dictionnaire néologique à l'usage des beaux esprits du siècle_ collected together the numerous unlucky inventions of affectation, with their modern authorities! a collection of the fine words and phrases, culled from some very modern poetry, might show the real amount of the favours bestowed on us. the attempts of neologists are, however, not necessarily to be condemned; and we may join with the commentators of aulus gellius, who have lamented the loss of a chapter of which the title only has descended to us. that chapter would have demonstrated what happens to all languages, that some neologisms, which at first are considered forced or inelegant, become sanctioned by use, and in time are quoted as authority in the very language which, in their early stage, they were imagined to have debased. the true history of men's minds is found in their actions; their wants are indicated by their contrivances; and certain it is that in highly cultivated ages we discover the most refined intellects attempting neologisms.[ ] it would be a subject of great curiosity to trace the origin of many happy expressions, when, and by whom created. plato substituted the term _providence_ for _fate_; and a new system of human affairs arose from a single word. cicero invented several; to this philosopher we owe the term of _moral_ philosophy, which before his time was called the philosophy of _manners_. but on this subject we are perhaps more interested by the modern than by the ancient languages. richardson, the painter of the human heart, has coined some expressions to indicate its little secret movements, which are admirable: that great genius merited a higher education and more literary leisure than the life of a printer could afford. montaigne created some bold expressions, many of which have not survived him; his _incuriosité_, so opposite to curiosity, well describes that state of negligence where we will not learn that of which we are ignorant. with us the word _incurious_ was described by heylin, , as an unusual word; it has been appropriately adopted by our best writers, although we still want _incuriosity_. charron invented _étrangeté_ unsuccessfully, but which, says a french critic, would be the true substantive of the word _étrange_; our locke is the solitary instance produced for "foreignness" for "remoteness or want of relation to something." malherbe borrowed from the latin, _insidieux_, _sécurité_, which have been received; but a bolder word, _dévouloir_, by which he proposed to express _cesser de vouloir_, has not. a term, however, expressive and precise. corneille happily introduced _invaincu_ in a verse in the cid, vous êtes _invaincu_, mais non pas _invincible_. yet this created word by their great poet has not sanctioned this fine distinction among the french, for we are told that it is almost a solitary instance. balzac was a great inventor of neologisms. _urbanité_ and _féliciter_ were struck in his mint. "si le mot _féliciter_ n'est pas française, il le sera l'année qui vient;" so confidently proud was the neologist, and it prospered as well as _urbanité_, of which he says, "quand l'usage aura muri parmi nous un mot de si mauvais gout, et corrigé _l'amertume de la nouveauté_ qui s'y peut trouver, nous nous y accoutumerons comme aux autres que nous avons emprunté de la même langue." balzac was, however, too sanguine in some other words; for his _délecter_, his _sériosité_, &c. still retain their "bitterness of novelty." menage invented a term of which an equivalent is wanting in our language; "j'ai fait _prosateur_ à l'imitation de l'italien _prosatore_, pour dire un homme qui écrit en prose." to distinguish a prose from a verse writer, we _once_ had "a proser." drayton uses it; but this useful distinction has unluckily degenerated, and the current sense is so daily urgent, that the purer sense is irrecoverable. when d'albancourt was translating lucian, he invented in french the words _indolence_ and _indolent_, to describe a momentary languor, rather than that habitual indolence in which sense they are now accepted; and in translating tacitus, he created the word _turbulemment_; but it did not prosper any more than that of _temporisement_. segrais invented the word _impardonnable_, which, after having been rejected, was revived, and is equivalent to our expressive _unpardonable_. molière ridiculed some neologisms of the _précieuses_ of his day; but we are too apt to ridicule that which is new, and which we often adopt when it becomes old. molière laughed at the term _s'encanailler_, to describe one who assumed the manners of a blackguard; the expressive word has remained in the language. the meaning is disputed as well as the origin is lost of some novel terms. this has happened to a word in daily use--_fudge_! it is a cant term not in grose, and only traced by todd not higher than to goldsmith. it is, however, no invention of his. in a pamphlet, entitled "remarks upon the navy," , the term is declared to have been the name of a certain nautical personage who had lived in the lifetime of the writer. "there was, sir, in our time, one _captain fudge_, commander of a merchantman, who upon his return from a voyage, how ill-fraught soever his ship was, always brought home his owners a good cargo of lies; so much that now, aboard ship, the sailors, when they hear a great lie told, cry out, 'you _fudge_ it!'" it is singular that such an obscure byword among sailors should have become one of the most popular in our familiar style; and not less, that recently at the bar, in a court of law, its precise meaning perplexed plaintiff and defendant and their counsel. i think it does not signify mere lies, but bouncing lies, or rhodomontades. there are two remarkable french words created by the abbé de saint pierre, who passed his meritorious life in the contemplation of political morality and universal benevolence--_bienfaisance_ and _gloriole_. he invented _gloriole_ as a contemptuous diminutive of _glorie_; to describe that vanity of some egotists, so proud of the small talents which they may have received from nature or from accident. _bienfaisance_ first appeared in this sentence: "l'esprit de la vraie religion et le principal but de l'evangile c'est _la bienfaisance_, c'est-à-dire la pratique de la charité envers le prochain." this word was so new, that in the moment of its creation this good man explained its necessity and origin. complaining that "the word 'charity' is abused by all sorts of christians in the persecution of their enemies, and even heretics affirm that they are practising christian charity in persecuting other heretics, i have sought for a term which might convey to us a precise idea of doing good to our neighbours, and i can form none more proper to make myself understood than the term of _bienfaisance_, good-doing. let those who like, use it; i would only be understood, and it is not equivocal." the happy word was at first criticised, but at length every kind heart found it responded to its own feeling. some verses from voltaire, alluding to the political reveries of the good abbé, notice the critical opposition; yet the new word answered to the great rule of horace. certain législateur, dont la plume féconde fit tant de vains projets pour le bien du monde, et qui depuis trente ans écrit pour des ingrats, vient de créer un mot qui manque à vaugelas: ce mot est bienfaisance; il me plaît, il rassemble si le coeur en est cru, bien des vertus ensemble. petits grammairiens, grands précepteurs de sots, qui pesez la parole et mesurez les mots, pareille expression vous semble hazardée, mais l'univers entier doit en cherir l'idée! the french revolutionists, in their rage for innovation, almost barbarised the pure french of the augustan age of their literature, as they did many things which never before occurred; and sometimes experienced feelings as transitory as they were strange. their nomenclature was copious; but the revolutionary jargon often shows the danger and the necessity of neologisms. they form an appendix to the academy dictionary. our plain english has served to enrich this odd mixture of philology and politics: _club_, _clubiste_, _comité_, _jure_, _juge de paix_, blend with their _terrorisme_, _lanterner_, a verb active, _lévee en masse_, _noyades_, and the other verb active, _septembriser_, &c. the barbarous term _demoralisation_ is said to have been the invention of the horrid capuchin chabot; and the remarkable expression of _arrière pensée_ belonged exclusively in its birth to the jesuitic astuteness of the abbé sieyes, that political actor, who, in changing sides, never required prompting in his new part! a new word, the result of much consideration with its author, or a term which, though unknown to the language, conveys a collective assemblage of ideas by a fortunate designation, is a precious contribution of genius; new words should convey new ideas. swift, living amidst a civil war of pamphlets, when certain writers were regularly employed by one party to draw up replies to the other, created a term not to be found in our dictionaries, but which, by a single stroke, characterises these hirelings; he called them _answer-jobbers_. we have not dropped the fortunate expression from any want of its use, but of perception in our lexicographers. the celebrated marquis of lansdowne introduced a useful word, which has of late been warmly adopted in france as well as in england--_to liberalise_; the noun has been drawn out of the verb--for in the marquis's time that was only an abstract conception which is now a sect; and to _liberalise_ was theoretically introduced before the _liberals_ arose.[ ] it is curious to observe that as an adjective it had formerly in our language a very opposite meaning to its recent one. it was synonymous with "libertine or licentious;" we have "a _liberal_ villain" and "a most profane and _liberal_ counsellor;" we find one declaring "i have spoken _too liberally_." this is unlucky for the _liberals_, who will not-- give allowance to our _liberal_ jests upon their persons-- beaumont and fletcher. dr. priestley employed a forcible, but not an elegant term, to mark the general information which had begun in his day; this he frequently calls "the _spread_ of knowledge." burke attempted to brand with a new name that set of pert, petulant, sophistical sciolists, whose philosophy the french, since their revolutionary period, have distinguished as _philosophism_, and the philosophers themselves as _philosophistes_. he would have designated them as _literators_, but few exotic words will circulate; new words must be the coinage of our own language to blend with the vernacular idiom. many new words are still wanted. we have no word by which we could translate the _otium_ of the latins, the _dillettante_ of the italians, the _alembiqué_ of the french, as an epithet to describe that sublimated ingenuity which exhausts the mind, till, like the fusion of the diamond, the intellect itself disappears. a philosopher, in an extensive view of a subject in all its bearings, may convey to us the result of his last considerations by the coinage of a novel and significant expression, as this of professor dugald stewart--_political religionism_. let me claim the honour of one pure neologism. i ventured to introduce the term of father-land to describe our _natale solum_; i have lived to see it adopted by lord byron and by mr. southey, and the word is now common. a lady has even composed both the words and the air of a song on "father-land." this energetic expression may therefore be considered as authenticated; and patriotism may stamp it with its glory and its affection. father-land is congenial with the language in which we find that other fine expression mother-tongue. the patriotic neologism originated with me in holland, when, in early life, it was my daily pursuit to turn over the glorious history of its independence under the title of _vaderlandsche historie_--the history of father-land! if we acknowledge that the creation of some neologisms may sometimes produce the beautiful, the revival of the dead is the more authentic miracle; for a new word must long remain doubtful, but an ancient word happily recovered rests on a basis of permanent strength; it has both novelty and authority. a collection of _picturesque words_, found among our ancient writers, would constitute a precious supplement to the history of our language. far more expressive than our term of _executioner_ is their solemn one of the _deathsman_; than our _vagabond_, their _scatterling_; than our _idiot_ or _lunatic_, their _moonling_,--a word which, mr. gifford observes, should not have been suffered to grow obsolete. herrick finely describes by the term _pittering_ the peculiar shrill and short cry of the grasshopper: the cry of the grasshopper is pit! pit! pit! quickly repeated. envy "_dusking_ the lustre" of genius is a verb lost for us, but which gives a more precise expression to the feeling than any other words which we could use. the late dr. boucher, in the prospectus of his proposed dictionary, did me the honour, then a young writer, to quote an opinion i had formed early in life of the purest source of neology, which is in the _revival of old words_. words that wise bacon or brave rawleigh spake! we have lost many exquisite and picturesque expressions through the dulness of our lexicographers, or by the deficiency in that profounder study of our writers which their labours require far more than they themselves know. the natural graces of our language have been impoverished. the genius that throws its prophetic eye over the language, and the taste that must come from heaven, no lexicographer imagines are required to accompany him amidst a library of old books! footnotes: [ ] aulus gellius, lib. i. c. . [ ] instit. lib. i. c. . [ ] this verse was corrected by bentley _procudere nummum_, instead of _producere nomen_, which the critics agree is one of his happy conjectures. [ ] henry cockeram's curious little "english dictionarie, or an interpretation of hard english words", mo, , professes to give in its first book "the choicest words themselves now in use, wherewith our language is inriched and become so copious." many have not survived, such as the following:-- acyrologicall an improper speech. adacted driven in by force. blandiloquy flattering speech. compaginate to set together that which is broken. concessation loytering. delitigate to scold, or chide vehemently. depalmate to give one a box on the ear. esuriate to hunger. strenuitie activity. curiously enough, this author notes some words as those "now out of use, and onely used of some ancient writers," but which we now commonly use. such are the following:-- abandon to forsake or cast off. abate to make lesse, diminish, or take from. [ ] a most striking instance of the change of meaning in a word is in the old law-term _let_--"without _let_ or hindrance;" meaning void of all opposition. hence, "i will _let_ you," meant "i will hinder you;" and not as we should now think, "i will give you free leave." [ ] shakspeare makes "ancient pistol" use a new-coined italian word, when he speaks of being "better accommodated;" to the great delight of justice shallow, who exclaims, "it comes from _accommodo_--a good phrase!" and ben jonson, in his "tale of a tub," ridicules inigo jones's love of two words he often used:-- ----if it _conduce_ to the design, whate'er is _feasible_, i can express. [ ] the term _pluck_, once only known to the prize-ring, has now got into use in general conversation, and also into literature, as a term indicative of ready courage. [ ] such terms as "_patent_ to the public"--"_normal_ condition"--"_crass_ behaviour," are the inventions of the last few years. [ ] shakspeare has a powerfully-composed line in the speech of the duke of burgundy, (_henry v._ act v. sc. ), when, describing the fields overgrown with weeds, he exclaims-- ----the coulter rusts, that should _deracinate_ such _savagery_. [ ] the "quarterly review" recently marked the word _liberalise_ in italics as a strange word, undoubtedly not aware of its origin. it has been lately used by mr. dugald stewart, "to _liberalise_ the views."--dissert. nd part, p. . the philosophy of proverbs. in antique furniture we sometimes discover a convenience which long disuse had made us unacquainted with, and are surprised by the aptness which we did not suspect was concealed in its solid forms. we have found the labour of the workmen to have been as admirable as the material itself, which is still resisting the mouldering touch of time among those modern inventions, elegant and unsubstantial, which, often put together with unseasoned wood, are apt to warp and fly into pieces when brought into use. we have found how strength consists in the selection of materials, and that, whenever the substitute is not better than the original, we are losing something in that test of experience, which all things derive from duration. be this as it may! i shall not unreasonably await for the artists of our novelties to retrograde into massive greatness, although i cannot avoid reminding them how often they revive the forgotten things of past times! it is well known that many of our novelties were in use by our ancestors! in the history of the human mind there is, indeed, a sort of antique furniture which i collect, not merely for their antiquity, but for the sound condition in which i still find them, and the compactness which they still show. centuries have not worm-eaten their solidity! and the utility and delightfulness which they still afford make them look as fresh and as ingenious as any of our patent inventions. by the title of the present article the reader has anticipated the nature of the old furniture to which i allude. i propose to give what, in the style of our times, may be called the philosophy of proverbs--a topic which seems virgin. the art of reading proverbs has not, indeed, always been acquired even by some of their admirers; but my observations, like their subject, must be versatile and unconnected; and i must bespeak indulgence for an attempt to illustrate a very curious branch of literature, rather not understood than quite forgotten. proverbs have long been in disuse. "a man of fashion," observes lord chesterfield, "never has recourse to proverbs and vulgar aphorisms;" and, since the time his lordship so solemnly interdicted their use, they appear to have withered away under the ban of his anathema. his lordship was little conversant with the history of proverbs, and would unquestionably have smiled on those "men of fashion" of another stamp, who, in the days of elizabeth, james, and charles, were great collectors of them; would appeal to them in their conversations, and enforce them in their learned or their statesmanlike correspondence. few, perhaps, even now, suspect that these neglected fragments of wisdom, which exist among all nations, still offer many interesting objects for the studies of the philosopher and the historian; and for men of the world still open an extensive school of human life and manners. the home-spun adages, and the rusty "sayed-saws," which remain in the mouths of the people, are adapted to their capacities and their humours. easily remembered, and readily applied, these are the philosophy of the vulgar, and often more sound than that of their masters! whoever would learn what the people think, and how they feel, must not reject even these as insignificant. the proverbs of the street and of the market, true to nature, and lasting only because they are true, are records that the populace at athens and at rome were the same people as at paris and at london, and as they had before been in the city of jerusalem! proverbs existed before books. the spaniards date the origin of their _refranes que dicen las viejas tras el fuego_, "sayings of old wives by their firesides," before the existence of any writings in their language, from the circumstance that these are in the old romance or rudest vulgar idiom. the most ancient poem in the edda, "the sublime speech of odin," abounds with ancient proverbs, strikingly descriptive of the ancient scandinavians. undoubtedly proverbs in the earliest ages long served as the unwritten language of morality, and even of the useful arts; like the oral traditions of the jews, they floated down from age to age on the lips of successive generations. the name of the first sage who sanctioned the saying would in time be forgotten, while the opinion, the metaphor, or the expression, remained, consecrated into a proverb! such was the origin of those memorable sentences by which men learnt to think and to speak appositely; they were precepts which no man could contradict, at a time when authority was valued more than opinion, and experience preferred to novelty. the proverbs of a father became the inheritance of a son; the mistress of a family perpetuated hers through her household; the workman condensed some traditional secret of his craft into a proverbial expression. when countries are not yet populous, and property has not yet produced great inequalities in its ranks, every day will show them how "the drunkard and the glutton come to poverty, and drowsiness clothes a man with rags." at such a period he who gave counsel gave wealth. it might therefore have been decided, _à priori_, that the most homely proverbs would abound in the most ancient writers--and such we find in hesiod; a poet whose learning was not drawn from books. it could only have been in the agricultural state that this venerable bard could have indicated a state of repose by this rustic proverb:-- [greek: pêdalion men uper kapnou katadeio] hang your plough-beam o'er the hearth! the envy of rival workmen is as justly described by a reference to the humble manufacturers of earthenware as by the elevated jealousies of the literati and the artists of a more polished age. the famous proverbial verse in hesiod's works and days-- [greek: kai kerameus keramei koteei], is literally, "the potter is hostile to the potter!" the admonition of the poet to his brother, to prefer a friendly accommodation to a litigious lawsuit, has fixed a paradoxical proverb often applied,-- [greek: pleon êmisu pantos], the half is better than the whole! in the progress of time, the stock of popular proverbs received accessions from the highest sources of human intelligence; as the philosophers of antiquity formed their collections, they increased in "weight and number." erasmus has pointed out some of these sources, in the responses of oracles; the allegorical symbols of pythagoras; the verses of the poets; allusions to historical incidents; mythology and apologue; and other recondite origins. such dissimilar matters, coming from all quarters, were melted down into this vast body of aphoristic knowledge. those "words of the wise and their dark sayings," as they are distinguished in that large collection which bears the name of the great hebrew monarch, at length seem to have required commentaries; for what else can we infer of the enigmatic wisdom of the sages, when the royal paroemiographer classes among their studies, that of "_understanding a proverb and the interpretation_?" this elevated notion of "the dark sayings of the wise" accords with the bold conjecture of their origin which the stagyrite has thrown out, who considered them as the wrecks of an ancient philosophy which had been lost to mankind by the fatal revolutions of all human things, and that those had been saved from the general ruin by their pithy elegance and their diminutive form; like those marine shells found on the tops of mountains, the relics of the deluge! even at a later period, the sage of cheronea prized them among the most solemn mysteries; and plutarch has described them in a manner which proverbs may even still merit: "under the veil of these curious sentences are hid those germs of morals which the masters of philosophy have afterwards developed into so many volumes." at the highest period of grecian genius, the tragic and the comic poets introduced into their dramas the proverbial style. st. paul quotes a line which still remains among the first exercises of our school-pens:-- evil communications corrupt good manners. it is a verse found in a fragment of menander the comic poet: [greek: phtheirousin hêthê chrêsth' homiliai kakai]. as this verse is a proverb, and the apostle, and indeed the highest authority, jesus himself, consecrates the use of proverbs by their occasional application, it is uncertain whether st. paul quotes the grecian poet, or only repeats some popular adage. proverbs were bright shafts in the greek and latin quivers; and when bentley, by a league of superficial wits, was accused of pedantry for his use of some ancient proverbs, the sturdy critic vindicated his taste by showing that cicero constantly introduced greek proverbs into his writings,--that scaliger and erasmus loved them, and had formed collections drawn from the stores of antiquity. some difficulty has occurred in the definition. proverbs must be distinguished from proverbial phrases, and from sententious maxims; but as proverbs have many faces, from their miscellaneous nature, the class itself scarcely admits of any definition. when johnson defined a proverb to be "a short sentence frequently repeated by the people," this definition would not include the most curious ones, which have not always circulated among the populace, nor even belong to them; nor does it designate the vital qualities of a proverb. the pithy quaintness of old howell has admirably described the ingredients of an exquisite proverb to be _sense, shortness, and salt_. a proverb is distinguished from a maxim or an apophthegm by that brevity which condenses a thought or a metaphor, where one thing is said and another is to be applied. this often produces wit, and that quick pungency which excites surprise, but strikes with conviction; this gives it an epigrammatic turn. george herbert entitled the small collection which he formed "jacula prudentium," darts or javelins! something hurled and striking deeply; a characteristic of a proverb which possibly herbert may have borrowed from a remarkable passage in plato's dialogue of "protagoras or the sophists." the influence of proverbs over the minds and conversations of a whole people is strikingly illustrated by this philosopher's explanation of the term _to laconise_,--the mode of speech peculiar to the lacedæmonians. this people affected to appear _unlearned_, and seemed only emulous to excel the rest of the greeks in fortitude and in military skill. according to plato's notion, this was really a political artifice, with a view to conceal their pre-eminent wisdom. with the jealousy of a petty state, they attempted to confine their renowned sagacity within themselves, and under their military to hide their contemplative character! the philosopher assures those who in other cities imagined they _laconised_, merely by imitating the severe exercises and the other warlike manners of the lacedæmonians, that they were grossly deceived; and thus curiously describes the sort of wisdom which this singular people practised. "if any one wish to converse with the meanest of the lacedæmonians, he will at first find him, for the most part, apparently despicable in conversation; but afterwards, when a proper opportunity presents itself, this same mean person, like a _skilful jaculator, will hurl a sentence_, worthy of attention, _short and contorted_; so that he who converses with him will appear to be in no respect superior to a boy! that _to laconise_, therefore, consists much more in philosophising than in the love of exercise, is understood by some of the present age, and was known to the ancients, they being persuaded that the ability of _uttering such sentences_ as these is the province of a man perfectly learned. the seven sages were emulators, lovers, and disciples of the _lacedæmonian erudition_. their wisdom was a thing of this kind, viz. _short sentences uttered by each, and worthy to be remembered_. these men, assembling together, consecrated to apollo the first fruits of their wisdom; writing in the temple of apollo, at delphi, those sentences which are celebrated by all men, viz. _know thyself!_ and _nothing too much!_ but on what account do i mention these things? to show that _the mode of philosophy among the ancients was a certain laconic diction_."[ ] the "laconisms" of the lacedæmonians evidently partook of the proverbial style: they were, no doubt, often proverbs themselves. the very instances which plato supplies of this "laconising" are two most venerable proverbs. all this elevates the science of proverbs, and indicates that these abridgments of knowledge convey great results, with a parsimony of words prodigal of sense. they have, therefore, preserved many "a short sentence, not repeated by the people." it is evident, however, that the earliest writings of every people are marked by their most homely, or domestic proverbs; for these were more directly addressed to their wants. franklin, who may be considered as the founder of a people who were suddenly placed in a stage of civil society which as yet could afford no literature, discovered the philosophical cast of his genius, when he filled his almanacs with proverbs, by the ingenious contrivance of framing them into a connected discourse, delivered by an old man attending an auction. "these proverbs," he tells us, "which contained the wisdom of many ages and nations, when their scattered counsels were brought together, made a great impression. they were reprinted in britain, in a large sheet of paper, and stuck up in houses: and were twice translated in france, and distributed among their poor parishioners." the same occurrence had happened with us ere we became a reading people. sir thomas elyot, in the reign of henry the eighth, describing the ornaments of a nobleman's house, among his hangings, and plate, and pictures, notices the engraving of proverbs "on his plate and vessels, which served the guests with a most opportune counsel and comments." later even than the reign of elizabeth our ancestors had proverbs always before them, on everything that had room for a piece of advice on it; they had them painted in their tapestries, stamped on the most ordinary utensils, on the blades of their knives,[ ] the borders of their plates,[ ] and "conned them out of goldsmiths' rings."[ ] the usurer, in robert greene's "groat's worth of wit," compressed all his philosophy into the circle of his ring, having learned sufficient latin to understand the proverbial motto of "tu tibi cura!" the husband was reminded of his lordly authority when he only looked into his trencher, one of its learned aphorisms having descended to us,-- the calmest husbands make the stormiest wives. the english proverbs of the populace, most of which are still in circulation, were collected by old john heywood.[ ] they are arranged by tusser for "the parlour--the guest's chamber--the hall--table-lessons," &c. not a small portion of our ancient proverbs were adapted to rural life, when our ancestors lived more than ourselves amidst the works of god, and less among those of men.[ ] at this time, one of our old statesmen, in commending the art of compressing a tedious discourse into a few significant phrases, suggested the use of proverbs in diplomatic intercourse, convinced of the great benefit which would result to the negotiators themselves, as well as to others! i give a literary curiosity of this kind. a member of the house of commons, in the reign of elizabeth, made a speech entirely composed of the most homely proverbs. the subject was a bill against double payments of book-debts. knavish tradesmen were then in the habit of swelling out their book-debts with those who took credit, particularly to their younger customers. one of the members who began to speak "for very fear shook," and stood silent. the nervous orator was followed by a blunt and true representative of the famed governor of barataria, delivering himself thus--"it is now my chance to speak something, and that without humming or hawing. i think this law is a good law. even reckoning makes long friends. as far goes the penny as the penny's master. _vigilantibus non dormientibus jura subveniunt._ pay the reckoning overnight and ye shall not be troubled in the morning. if ready money be _mensura publica_, let every one cut his coat according to his cloth. when his old suit is in the wane, let him stay till that his money bring a new suit in the increase."[ ] another instance of the use of proverbs among our statesmen occurs in a manuscript letter of sir dudley carlton, written in , on the impeachment of lord middlesex, who, he says, is "this day to plead his own cause in the exchequer-chamber, about an account of four-score thousand pounds laid to his charge. how his lordship sped i know not, but do remember well the french proverb, _qui mange de l'oy du roy chiera une plume quarante ans après_. 'who eats of the king's goose, will void a feather forty years after!'" this was the era of proverbs with us; for then they were _spoken_ by all ranks of society. the free use of trivial proverbs got them into disrepute; and as the abuse of a thing raises a just opposition to its practice, a slender wit affecting "a cross humour," published a little volume of "crossing of proverbs, cross-answers, and cross-humours." he pretends to contradict the most popular ones; but he has not always the genius to strike at amusing paradoxes.[ ] proverbs were long the favourites of our neighbours; in the splendid and refined court of louis the fourteenth they gave rise to an odd invention. they plotted comedies and even fantastical ballets from their subjects. in these curiosities of literature i cannot pass by such eccentric inventions unnoticed. a comedy _of proverbs_ is described by the duke de la vallière, which was performed in with prodigious success. he considers that this comedy ought to be ranked among farces; but it is gay, well-written, and curious for containing the best proverbs, which are happily introduced in the dialogue. a more extraordinary attempt was a ballet _of proverbs_. before the opera was established in france, the ancient ballets formed the chief amusement of the court, and louis the fourteenth himself joined with the performers. the singular attempt of forming a pantomimical dance out of proverbs is quite french; we have a "ballet des proverbes, dansé par le roi, in ." at every proverb the scene changed, and adapted itself to the subject. i shall give two or three of the _entrées_ that we may form some notion of these _capriccios_. the proverb was--- _tel menace qui a grand peur._ he threatens who is afraid. the scene was composed of swaggering scaramouches and some honest cits, who at length beat them off. at another _entrée_ the proverb was-- _l'occasion fait le larron._ opportunity makes the thief. opportunity was acted by le sieur beaubrun, but it is difficult to conceive how the real could personify the abstract personage. the thieves were the duke d'amville and monsieur de la chesnaye. another _entrée_ was the proverb of-- _ce qui vient de la flute s'en va au tambour._ what comes by the pipe goes by the tabor. a loose dissipated officer was performed by le sieur l'anglois; the _pipe_ by st. aignan, and the _tabor_ by le sieur le comte! in this manner every proverb was _spoken in action_, the whole connected by dialogue. more must have depended on the actors than the poet.[ ] the french long retained this fondness for proverbs; for they still have dramatic compositions entitled _proverbes_, on a more refined plan. their invention is so recent, that the term is not in their great dictionary of trevoux. these _proverbes_ are dramas of a single act, invented by carmontel, who possessed a peculiar vein of humour, but who designed them only for private theatricals. each _proverb_ furnished a subject for a few scenes, and created a situation powerfully comic: it is a dramatic amusement which does not appear to have reached us, but one which the celebrated catherine of russia delighted to compose for her own society. among the middle classes of society to this day, we may observe that certain family proverbs are traditionally preserved: the favourite saying of a father is repeated by the sons; and frequently the conduct of a whole generation has been influenced by such domestic proverbs. this may be perceived in many of the mottos of our old nobility, which seem to have originated in some habitual proverb of the founder of the family. in ages when proverbs were most prevalent, such pithy sentences would admirably serve in the ordinary business of life, and lead on to decision, even in its greater exigencies. orators, by some lucky proverb, without wearying their auditors, would bring conviction home to their bosoms: and great characters would appeal to a proverb, or deliver that which in time by its aptitude became one. when nero was reproached for the ardour with which he gave himself up to the study of music, he replied to his censurers by the greek proverb, "an artist lives everywhere." the emperor answered in the spirit of rousseau's system, that every child should be taught some trade. when cæsar, after anxious deliberation, decided on the passage of the rubicon (which very event has given rise to a proverb), rousing himself with a start of courage, he committed himself to fortune, with that proverbial expression on his lips, used by gamesters in desperate play: having passed the rubicon, he exclaimed, "the die is cast!" the answer of paulus Æmilius to the relations of his wife, who had remonstrated with him on his determination to separate himself from her against whom no fault could be alleged, has become one of our most familiar proverbs. this hero acknowledged the excellences of his lady; but, requesting them to look on his shoe, which appeared to be well made, he observed, "none of you know where the shoe pinches!" he either used a proverbial phrase, or by its aptness it has become one of the most popular. there are, indeed, proverbs connected with the characters of eminent men. they were either their favourite ones, or have originated with themselves. such a collection would form a historical curiosity. to the celebrated bayard are the french indebted for a military proverb, which some of them still repeat, "_ce que le gantelet gagne le gorgerin le mange_"--"what the gauntlet gets, the gorget consumes." that reflecting soldier well calculated the profits of a military life, which consumes, in the pomp and waste which are necessary for its maintenance, the slender pay it receives, and even what its rapacity sometimes acquires. the favourite proverb of erasmus was _festina lente_!--"hasten slowly!"[ ] he wished it be inscribed wherever it could meet our eyes, on public buildings, and on our rings and seals. one of our own statesmen used a favourite sentence, which has enlarged our stock of national proverbs. sir amias pawlet, when he perceived too much hurry in any business, was accustomed to say, "stay awhile, to make an end the sooner." oliver cromwell's coarse but descriptive proverb conveys the contempt he felt for some of his mean and troublesome coadjutors: "nits will be lice!" the italians have a proverb, which has been occasionally applied to certain political personages:-- _egli e quello che dio vuole; e sarà quello che dio vorrà!_ he is what god pleases; he shall be what god wills! ere this was a proverb, it had served as an embroidered motto on the mystical mantle of castruccio castracani. that military genius, who sought to revolutionise italy, and aspired to its sovereignty, lived long enough to repent the wild romantic ambition which provoked all italy to confederate against him; the mysterious motto he assumed entered into the proverbs of his country! the border proverb of the douglases, "it were better to hear the lark sing than the mouse cheep," was adopted by every border chief, to express, as sir walter scott observes, what the great bruce had pointed out, that the woods and hills of their country were their safest bulwarks, instead of the fortified places which the english surpassed their neighbours in the arts of assaulting or defending. these illustrations indicate one of the sources of proverbs; they have often resulted from the spontaneous emotions or the profound reflections of some extraordinary individual, whose energetic expression was caught by a faithful ear, never to perish! the poets have been very busy with proverbs in all the languages of europe: some appear to have been the favourite lines of some ancient poem: even in more refined times, many of the pointed verses of boileau and pope have become proverbial. many trivial and laconic proverbs bear the jingle of alliteration or rhyme, which assisted their circulation, and were probably struck off extempore; a manner which swift practised, who was a ready coiner of such rhyming and ludicrous proverbs: delighting to startle a collector by his facetious or sarcastic humour, in the shape of an "old saying and true." some of these rhyming proverbs are, however, terse and elegant: we have little strokes fell great oaks. the italian-- _chi duo lepri caccia uno perde, e l'altro lascia._ who hunts two hares, loses one and leaves the other. the haughty spaniard-- _el dar es honor, y el pedir dolor._ to give is honour, to ask is grief. and the french-- _ami de table est variable._ the friend of the table is very variable. the composers of these short proverbs were a numerous race of poets, who, probably, among the dreams of their immortality never suspected that they were to descend to posterity, themselves and their works unknown, while their extempore thoughts would be repeated by their own nation. proverbs were at length consigned to the people, when books were addressed to scholars; but the people did not find themselves so destitute of practical wisdom, by preserving their national proverbs, as some of those closet students who had ceased to repeat them. the various humours of mankind, in the mutability of human affairs, had given birth to every species; and men were wise, or merry, or satirical, and mourned or rejoiced in proverbs. nations held an universal intercourse of proverbs, from the eastern to the western world; for we discover among those which appear strictly national, many which are common to them all. of our own familiar ones several may be tracked among the snows of the latins and the greeks, and have sometimes been drawn from "the mines of the east:" like decayed families which remain in obscurity, they may boast of a high lineal descent whenever they recover their lost title-deeds. the vulgar proverb, "to carry coals to newcastle," local and idiomatic as it appears, however, has been borrowed and applied by ourselves; it may be found among the persians: in the "bustan" of sadi we have _infers piper in hindostan_; "to carry pepper to hindostan;" among the hebrews, "to carry oil to the city of olives;" a similar proverb occurs in greek; and in galland's "maxims of the east" we may discover how many of the most common proverbs among us, as well as some of joe miller's jests, are of oriental origin. the resemblance of certain proverbs in different nations, must, however, be often ascribed to the identity of human nature; similar situations and similar objects have unquestionably made men think and act and express themselves alike. all nations are parallels of each other! hence all paroemiographers, or collectors of proverbs, complain of the difficulty of separating their own national proverbs from those which have crept into the language from others, particularly when nations have held much intercourse together. we have a copious collection of scottish proverbs by kelly, but this learned man was mortified at discovering that many which he had long believed to have been genuine scottish, were not only english, but french, italian, spanish, latin, and greek ones; many of his scottish proverbs are almost literally expressed among the fragments of remote antiquity. it would have surprised him further had he been aware that his greek originals were themselves but copies, and might have been found in d'herbelot, erpenius, and golius, and in many asiatic works, which have been more recently introduced to the enlarged knowledge of the european student, who formerly found his most extended researches limited by hellenistic lore. perhaps it was owing to an accidental circumstance that the proverbs of the european nations have been preserved in the permanent form of volumes. erasmus is usually considered as the first modern collector, but he appears to have been preceded by polydore vergil, who bitterly reproaches erasmus with envy and plagiarism, for passing by his collection without even a poor compliment for the inventor! polydore was a vain, superficial writer, who prided himself in leading the way on more topics than the present. erasmus, with his usual pleasantry, provokingly excuses himself, by acknowledging that he had forgotten his friend's book! few sympathise with the quarrels of authors; and since erasmus has written a far better book than polydore vergil's, the original "_adagia_" is left only to be commemorated in literary history as one of its curiosities.[ ] the "adagia" of erasmus contains a collection of about five thousand proverbs, gradually gathered from a constant study of the ancients. erasmus, blest with the genius which could enliven a folio, delighted himself and all europe by the continued accessions he made to a volume which even now may be the companion of literary men for a winter day's fireside. the successful example of erasmus commanded the imitation of the learned in europe, and drew their attention to their own national proverbs. some of the most learned men, and some not sufficiently so, were now occupied in this new study. in spain, fernandez nunes, a greek professor, and the marquis of santellana, a grandee, published collections of their _refranes_, or proverbs, a term derived a referendo, because it is often repeated. the "refranes o proverbios castellanos," par cæsar oudin, , translated into french, is a valuable compilation. in cervantes and quevedo, the best practical illustrators, they are sown with no sparing hand. there is an ample collection of italian proverbs, by florio, who was an englishman, of italian origin, and who published "il giardino di ricreatione" at london, so early as in , exceeding six thousand proverbs; but they are unexplained, and are often obscure. another italian in england, torriano, in , published an interesting collection in the diminutive form of a twenty-fours. it was subsequent to these publications in england, that in italy, angelus monozini, in , published his collection; and julius varini, in , produced his _scuola del vulgo_. in france, oudin, after others had preceded him, published a collection of french proverbs, under the title of _curiosités françoises_. fleury de bellingen's _explication de proverbes françois_, on comparing it with _les illustres proverbes historiques_, a subsequent publication, i discovered to be the same work. it is the first attempt to render the study of proverbs somewhat amusing. the plan consists of a dialogue between a philosopher and a sancho pança, who blurts out his proverbs with more delight than understanding. the philosopher takes that opportunity of explaining them by the events in which they originated, which, however, are not always to be depended on. a work of high merit on french proverbs is the unfinished one of the abbé tuet, sensible and learned. a collection of danish proverbs, accompanied by a french translation, was printed at copenhagen, in a quarto volume, . england may boast of no inferior paroemiographers. the grave and judicious camden, the religious herbert, the entertaining howell, the facetious fuller, and the laborious ray, with others, have preserved our national sayings. the scottish have been largely collected and explained by the learned kelly. an excellent anonymous collection, not uncommon, in various languages, ; the collector and translator was dr. j. mapletoft. it must be acknowledged, that although no nation exceeds our own in sterling sense, we rarely rival the delicacy, the wit, and the felicity of expression of the spanish and the italian, and the poignancy of some of the french proverbs. the interest we may derive from the study of proverbs is not confined to their universal truths, nor to their poignant pleasantry; a philosophical mind will discover in proverbs a great variety of the most curious knowledge. the manners of a people are painted after life in their domestic proverbs; and it would not be advancing too much to assert, that the genius of the age might be often detected in its prevalent ones. the learned selden tells us, that the proverbs of several nations were much studied by bishop andrews: the reason assigned was, because "by them he knew the minds of several nations, which," said he, "is a brave thing, as we count him wise who knows the minds and the insides of men, which is done by knowing what is habitual to them." lord bacon condensed a wide circuit of philosophical thought, when he observed that "the genius, wit, and spirit of a nation are discovered by their proverbs." proverbs peculiarly national, while they convey to us the modes of thinking, will consequently indicate the modes of acting among a people. the romans had a proverbial expression for their last stake in play, _rem ad triarios venisse_, "the reserve are engaged!" a proverbial expression, from which the military habits of the people might be inferred; the _triarii_ being their reserve. a proverb has preserved a curious custom of ancient coxcombry, which originally came from the greeks. to men of effeminate manners in their dress, they applied the proverb of _unico digitulo scalpit caput_. scratching the head with a single finger was, it seems, done by the critically nice youths in rome, that they might not discompose the economy of their hair. the arab, whose unsettled existence makes him miserable and interested, says, "vinegar given is better than honey bought." everything of high esteem with him who is so often parched in the desert is described as _milk_--"how large his flow of milk!" is a proverbial expression with the arab to distinguish the most copious eloquence. to express a state of perfect repose, the arabian proverb is, "i throw the rein over my back;" an allusion to the loosening of the cords of the camels, which are thrown over their backs when they are sent to pasture. we discover the rustic manners of our ancient britons in the cambrian proverbs; many relate to the _hedge_. "the cleanly briton is seen in the _hedge_: the horse looks not on the _hedge_ but the corn: the bad husband's _hedge_ is full of gaps." the state of an agricultural people appears in such proverbs as "you must not count your yearlings till may-day:" and their proverbial sentence for old age is, "an old man's end is to keep sheep?" turn from the vagrant arab and the agricultural briton to a nation existing in a high state of artificial civilization: the chinese proverbs frequently allude to magnificent buildings. affecting a more solemn exterior than all other nations, a favourite proverb with them is, "a grave and majestic outside is, as it were, the _palace_ of the soul." their notion of a government is quite architectural. they say, "a sovereign may be compared to a _hall_; his officers to the steps that lead to it; the people to the ground on which they stand." what should we think of a people who had a proverb, that "he who gives blows is a master, he who gives none is a dog?" we should instantly decide on the mean and servile spirit of those who could repeat it; and such we find to have been that of the bengalese, to whom the degrading proverb belongs, derived from the treatment they were used to receive from their mogul rulers, who answered the claims of their creditors by a vigorous application of the whip! in some of the hebrew proverbs we are struck by the frequent allusions of that fugitive people to their own history. the cruel oppression exercised by the ruling power, and the confidence in their hope of change in the day of retribution, was delivered in this hebrew proverb--"when the tale of bricks is doubled, moses comes!" the fond idolatry of their devotion to their ceremonial law, and to everything connected with their sublime theocracy, in their magnificent temple, is finely expressed by this proverb--"none ever took a stone out of the temple, but the dust did fly into his eyes." the hebrew proverb that "a fast for a dream, is as fire for stubble," which it kindles, could only have been invented by a people whose superstitions attached a holy mystery to fasts and dreams. they imagined that a religious fast was propitious to a religious dream; or to obtain the interpretation of one which had troubled their imagination. peyssonel, who long resided among the turks, observes that their proverbs are full of sense, ingenuity, and elegance, the surest test of the intellectual abilities of any nation. he said this to correct the volatile opinion of de tott, who, to convey an idea of their stupid pride, quotes one of their favourite adages, of which the truth and candour are admirable; "riches in the indies, wit in europe, and pomp among the ottomans." the spaniards may appeal to their proverbs to show that they were a high-minded and independent race. a whiggish jealousy of the monarchical power stamped itself on this ancient one, _va el rey hasta do peude, y no hasta do quiere_: "the king goes as far as he is able, not as far as he desires." it must have been at a later period, when the national genius became more subdued, and every spaniard dreaded to find under his own roof a spy or an informer, that another proverb arose, _con el rey y la inquisicion, chiton!_ "with the king and the inquisition, hush!" the gravity and taciturnity of the nation have been ascribed to the effects of this proverb. their popular but suppressed feelings on taxation, and on a variety of dues exacted by their clergy, were murmured in proverbs--_lo que no lleva christo lleva el fisco!_ "what christ takes not, the exchequer carries away!" they have a number of sarcastic proverbs on the tenacious gripe of the "abad avariento," the avaricious priest, who, "having eaten the olio offered, claims the dish!" a striking mixture of chivalric habits, domestic decency, and epicurean comfort, appears in the spanish proverb, _la muger y la salsa a la mano de la lança_: "the wife and the sauce by the hand of the lance;" to honour the dame, and to have the sauce near. the italian proverbs have taken a tinge from their deep and politic genius, and their wisdom seems wholly concentrated in their personal interests. i think every tenth proverb, in an italian collection, is some cynical or some selfish maxim: a book of the world for worldlings! the venetian proverb, _pria veneziana, poi christiane_: "first venetian, and then christian!" condenses the whole spirit of their ancient republic into the smallest space possible. their political proverbs no doubt arose from the extraordinary state of a people sometimes distracted among republics, and sometimes servile in petty courts. the italian says, _i popoli s'ammazzano, ed i principi s'abbracciano_: "the people murder one another, and princes embrace one another." _chi prattica co' grandi, l'ultimo a tavola, e'l primo a strapazzi_: "who dangles after the great is the last at table, and the first at blows." _chi non sa adulare, non sa regnare_: "who knows not to flatter, knows not to reign." _chi serve in corte muore sul' pagliato_: "who serves at court, dies on straw." wary cunning in domestic life is perpetually impressed. an italian proverb, which is immortalised in our language, for it enters into the history of milton, was that by which the elegant wotton counselled the young poetic traveller to have--_il viso sciolto, ed i pensieri stretti_, "an open countenance, but close thoughts." in the same spirit, _chi parla semina, chi tace raccoglie_: "the talker sows, the silent reaps;" as well as, _fatti di miele, e ti mangieran le mosche_: "make yourself all honey, and the flies will devour you." there are some which display a deep knowledge of human nature: _a lucca ti vidi, à pisa ti connobbi!_ "i saw you at lucca, i knew you at pisa!" _guardati d'aceto di vin dolce_: "beware of vinegar made of sweet wine;" provoke not the rage of a patient man! among a people who had often witnessed their fine country devastated by petty warfare, their notion of the military character was not usually heroic. _il soldato per far male è ben pagato_: "the soldier is well paid for doing mischief." _soldato, acqua, e fuoco, presto si fan luoco_: "a soldier, fire, and water soon make room for themselves." but in a poetical people, endowed with great sensibility, their proverbs would sometimes be tender and fanciful. they paint the activity of friendship, _chi ha l'amor nel petto, ha lo sprone à i fianchi_: "who feels love in the breast, feels a spur in his limbs:" or its generous passion, _gli amici legono la borsa con un filo di ragnatelo_: "friends tie their purse with a cobweb's thread." they characterised the universal lover by an elegant proverb--_appicare il maio ad ogn' uscio_: "to hang every door with may;" alluding to the bough which in the nights of may the country people are accustomed to plant before the door of their mistress. if we turn to the french, we discover that the military genius of france dictated the proverb _maille à maille se fait le haubergeon_: "link by link is made the coat of mail;" and, _tel coup de langue est pire qu'un coup de lance_; "the tongue strikes deeper than the lance;" and _ce qui vient du tambour s'en retourne à la flute_; "what comes by the tabor goes back with the pipe." _point d'argent point de suisse_ has become proverbial, observes an edinburgh reviewer; a striking expression, which, while french or austrian gold predominated, was justly used to characterise the illiberal and selfish policy of the cantonal and federal governments of switzerland, when it began to degenerate from its moral patriotism. the ancient, perhaps the extinct, spirit of englishmen was once expressed by our proverb, "better be the head of a dog than the tail of a lion;" _i.e._, the first of the yeomanry rather than the last of the gentry. a foreign philosopher might have discovered our own ancient skill in archery among our proverbs; for none but true toxophilites could have had such a proverb as, "i will either make a shaft or a bolt of it!" signifying, says the author of _ivanhoe_, a determination to make one use or other of the thing spoken of: the bolt was the arrow peculiarly fitted to the cross-bow, as that of the long-bow was called a shaft. these instances sufficiently demonstrate that the characteristic circumstances and feelings of a people are discovered in their popular notions, and stamped on their familiar proverbs. it is also evident that the peculiar, and often idiomatic, humour of a people is best preserved in their proverbs. there is a shrewdness, although deficient in delicacy, in the scottish proverbs; they are idiomatic, facetious, and strike home. kelly, who has collected three thousand, informs us, that, in , the scotch were a great proverbial nation; for that few among the better sort will converse any considerable time, but will confirm every assertion and observation with a scottish proverb. the speculative scotch of our own times have probably degenerated in prudential lore, and deem themselves much wiser than their proverbs. they may reply by a scotch proverb on proverbs, made by a great man in scotland, who, having given a splendid entertainment, was harshly told, that "fools make feasts, and wise men eat them;" but he readily answered, "wise men make proverbs, and fools repeat them!" national humour, frequently local and idiomatical, depends on the artificial habits of mankind, so opposite to each other; but there is a natural vein, which the populace, always true to nature, preserve, even among the gravest people. the arabian proverb, "the barber learns his art on the orphan's face;" the chinese, "in a field of melons do not pull up your shoe; under a plum-tree do not adjust your cap;"--to impress caution in our conduct under circumstances of suspicion;--and the hebrew one, "he that hath had one of his family hanged may not say to his neighbour, _hang_ up this fish!" are all instances of this sort of humour. the spaniards are a grave people, but no nation has equalled them in their peculiar humour. the genius of cervantes partook largely of that of his country; that mantle of gravity, which almost conceals its latent facetiousness, and with which he has imbued his style and manner with such untranslatable idiomatic raciness, may be traced to the proverbial erudition of his nation. "to steal a sheep, and give away the trotters for god's sake!" is cervantic nature! to one who is seeking an opportunity to quarrel with another, their proverb runs, _si quieres dar palos a sur muger pidele al sol a bever_, "hast thou a mind to quarrel with thy wife, bid her bring water to thee in the sunshine!"--a very fair quarrel may be picked up about the motes in the clearest water! on the judges in gallicia, who, like our former justices of peace, "for half a dozen chickens would dispense with a dozen of penal statutes," _a juezes gallicianos, con los pies en las manos_: "to the judges of gallicia go with feet in hand;" a droll allusion to a present of poultry, usually held by the legs. to describe persons who live high without visible means, _los que cabritos venden, y cabras no tienen, de donde los vienen?_ "they that sell kids, and have no goats, how came they by them?" _el vino no trae bragas_, "wine wears no breeches;" for men in wine expose their most secret thoughts. _vino di un oreja_, "wine of one ear!" is good wine; for at bad, shaking our heads, both our ears are visible; but at good the spaniard, by a natural gesticulation lowering on one side, shows a single ear. proverbs abounding in sarcastic humour, and found among every people, are those which are pointed at rival countries. among ourselves, hardly has a county escaped from some popular quip; even neighbouring towns have their sarcasms, usually pickled in some unlucky rhyme. the egotism of man eagerly seizes on whatever serves to depreciate or to ridicule his neighbour: nations proverb each other; counties flout counties; obscure towns sharpen their wits on towns as obscure as themselves--the same evil principle lurking in poor human nature, if it cannot always assume predominance, will meanly gratify itself by insult or contempt. they expose some prevalent folly, or allude to some disgrace which the natives have incurred. in france, the burgundians have a proverb, _mieux vaut bon repas que bel habit_; "better a good dinner than a fine coat." these good people are great gormandizers, but shabby dressers; they are commonly said to have "bowels of silk and velvet;" this is, all their silk and velvet goes for their bowels! thus picardy is famous for "hot heads;" and the norman for _son dit et son dédit_, "his saying and his unsaying!" in italy the numerous rival cities pelt one another with proverbs: _chi ha a fare con tosco non convien esser losco_, "he who deals with a tuscan must not have his eyes shut." _a venetia chi vi nasce mal vi si pasce_, "whom venice breeds, she poorly feeds." there is another source of national characteristics, frequently producing strange or whimsical combinations; a people, from a very natural circumstance, have drawn their proverbs from local objects, or from allusions to peculiar customs. the influence of manners and customs over the ideas and language of a people would form a subject of extensive and curious research. there is a japanese proverb, that "a fog cannot be dispelled with a fan!" had we not known the origin of this proverb, it would be evident that it could only have occurred to a people who had constantly before them fogs and fans; and the fact appears that fogs are frequent on the coast of japan, and that from the age of five years both sexes of the japanese carry fans. the spaniards have an odd proverb to describe those who tease and vex a person before they do him the very benefit which they are about to confer--acting kindly, but speaking roughly; _mostrar primero la horca que le lugar_, "to show the gallows before they show the town;" a circumstance alluding to their small towns, which have a gallows placed on an eminence, so that the gallows breaks on the eye of the traveller before he gets a view of the town itself. the cheshire proverb on marriage, "better wed over the mixon than over the moor," that is, at home or in its vicinity; mixon alludes to the dung, &c., in the farm-yard, while the road from chester to london is over the moorland in staffordshire: this local proverb is a curious instance of provincial pride, perhaps of wisdom, to induce the gentry of that county to form intermarriages; to prolong their own ancient families, and perpetuate ancient friendships between them. in the isle of man a proverbial expression forcibly indicates the object constantly occupying the minds of the inhabitants. the two deemsters or judges, when appointed to the chair of judgment, declare they will render justice between man and man "as equally as the herring bone lies between the two sides:" an image which could not have occurred to any people unaccustomed to the herring-fishery. there is a cornish proverb, "those who will not be ruled by the rudder must be ruled by the rock"--the strands of cornwall, so often covered with wrecks, could not fail to impress on the imaginations of its inhabitants the two objects from whence they drew this salutary proverb against obstinate wrongheads. when scotland, in the last century, felt its allegiance to england doubtful, and when the french sent an expedition to the land of cakes, a local proverb was revived, to show the identity of interests which affected both nations: if skiddaw hath a cap, scruffel wots full well of that. these are two high hills, one in scotland and one in england; so near, that what happens to the one will not be long ere it reach the other. if a fog lodges on the one, it is sure to rain on the other; the mutual sympathies of the two countries were hence deduced in a copious dissertation, by oswald dyke, on what was called "the union-proverb," which _local proverbs_ of our country fuller has interspersed in his "worthies," and ray and grose have collected separately. i was amused lately by a curious financial revelation which i found in an opposition paper, where it appears that "ministers pretend to make their load of taxes more portable, by shifting the burden, or altering the pressure, without, however, diminishing the weight; according to the italian proverb, _accommodare le bisaccie nella strada_, 'to fit the load on the journey:'" it is taken from a custom of the mule-drivers, who, placing their packages at first but awkwardly on the backs of their poor beasts, and seeing them ready to sink, cry out, "never mind! we must fit them better on the road!" i was gratified to discover, by the present and some other modern instances, that the taste for proverbs was reviving, and that we were returning to those sober times, when the aptitude of a simple proverb would be preferred to the verbosity of politicians, tories, whigs, or radicals! there are domestic proverbs which originate in incidents known only to the natives of their province. italian literature is particularly rich in these stores. the lively proverbial taste of that vivacious people was transferred to their own authors; and when these allusions were obscured by time, learned italians, in their zeal for their national literature, and in their national love of story-telling, have written grave commentaries even on ludicrous, but popular tales, in which the proverbs are said to have originated. they resemble the old facetious _contes_, whose simplicity and humour still live in the pages of boccaccio, and are not forgotten in those of the queen of navarre. the italians apply a proverb to a person who while he is beaten, takes the blows quietly:-- _per beato ch' elle non furon pesche!_ luckily they were not peaches! and to threaten to give a man-- _una pesca in un occhio._ a peach in the eye, means to give him a thrashing. this proverb, it is said, originated in the close of a certain droll adventure. the community of the castle poggibonsi, probably from some jocular tenure observed on st. bernard's day, pay a tribute of peaches to the court of tuscany, which are usually shared among the ladies in waiting, and the pages of the court. it happened one season, in a great scarcity of peaches, that the good people of poggibonsi, finding them rather dear, sent, instead of the customary tribute, a quantity of fine juicy figs, which was so much disapproved of by the pages, that as soon as they got hold of them, they began in rage to empty the baskets on the heads of the ambassadors of the poggibonsi, who, in attempting to fly as well as they could from the pulpy shower, half-blinded, and recollecting that peaches would have had stones in them, cried out-- _per beato ch' elle non furon pesche!_ luckily they were not peaches! _fare le scalée di sant' ambrogio_; "to mount the stairs of saint ambrose," a proverb allusive to the business of the school of scandal. varchi explains it by a circumstance so common in provincial cities. on summer evenings, for fresh air and gossip, the loungers met on the steps and landing-places of the church of st. ambrose: whoever left the party, "they read in his book," as our commentator expresses it; and not a leaf was passed over! all liked to join a party so well informed of one another's concerns, and every one tried to be the very last to quit it,--not "to leave his character behind!" it became a proverbial phrase with those who left a company, and were too tender of their backs, to request they would not "mount the stairs of st. ambrose." jonson has well described such a company: you are so truly fear'd, but not beloved one of another, as no one dares break company from the rest, lest they should fall upon him absent. there are legends and histories which belong to proverbs; and some of the most ancient refer to incidents which have not always been commemorated. two greek proverbs have accidentally been explained by pausanias: "he is a man of tenedos!" to describe a person of unquestionable veracity; and "to cut with the tenedian axe;" to express an absolute and irrevocable refusal. the first originated in a king of tenedos, who decreed that there should always stand behind the judge a man holding an axe, ready to execute justice on any one convicted of falsehood. the other arose from the same king, whose father having reached his island, to supplicate the son's forgiveness for the injury inflicted on him by the arts of a step-mother, was preparing to land; already the ship was fastened by its cable to a rock; when the son came down, and sternly cutting the cable with an axe, sent the ship adrift to the mercy of the waves: hence, "to cut with the tenedian axe," became proverbial to express an absolute refusal. "business to-morrow!" is another greek proverb, applied to a person ruined by his own neglect. the fate of an eminent person perpetuated the expression which he casually employed on the occasion. one of the theban polemarchs, in the midst of a convivial party, received despatches relating to a conspiracy: flushed with wine, although pressed by the courier to open them immediately, he smiled, and in gaiety laying the letter under the pillow of his couch, observed, "business to-morrow!" plutarch records that he fell a victim to the twenty-four hours he had lost, and became the author of a proverb which was still circulated among the greeks. the philosophical antiquary may often discover how many a proverb commemorates an event which has escaped from the more solemn monuments of history, and is often the solitary authority of its existence. a national event in spanish history is preserved by a proverb. _y vengar quiniento sueldos_; "and revenge five hundred pounds!" an odd expression to denote a person being a gentleman! but the proverb is historical. the spaniards of old castile were compelled to pay an annual tribute of five hundred maidens to their masters, the moors; after several battles, the spaniards succeeded in compromising the shameful tribute, by as many pieces of coin: at length the day arrived when they entirely emancipated themselves from this odious imposition. the heroic action was performed by men of distinction, and the event perpetuated in the recollections of the spaniards by this singular expression, which alludes to the dishonourable tribute, was applied to characterise all men of high honour, and devoted lovers of their country. pasquier, in his _récherches sur la france_, reviewing the periodical changes of ancient families in feudal times, observes, that a proverb among the common people conveys the result of all his inquiries; for those noble houses, which in a single age declined from nobility and wealth to poverty and meanness, gave rise to the proverb, _cent ans bannières et cent ans civières!_ "one hundred years a banner and one hundred years a barrow!" the italian proverb, _con l'evangilio si diventa heretico_, "with the gospel we become heretics,"--reflects the policy of the court of rome; and must be dated at the time of the reformation, when a translation of the scriptures into the vulgar tongue encountered such an invincible opposition. the scotch proverb, _he that invented the maiden first hanselled it_; that is, got the first of it! the maiden is that well-known beheading engine, revived by the french surgeon guillotine. this proverb may be applied to one who falls a victim to his own ingenuity; the artificer of his own destruction! the inventor was james, earl of morton, who for some years governed scotland, and afterwards, it is said, very unjustly suffered by his own invention. it is a striking coincidence, that the same fate was shared by the french reviver; both alike sad examples of disturbed times! among our own proverbs a remarkable incident has been commemorated; _hand over head, as the men took the covenant!_ this preserves the manner in which the scotch covenant, so famous in our history, was violently taken by above sixty thousand persons about edinburgh, in ; a circumstance at that time novel in our own revolutionary history, and afterwards paralleled by the french in voting by "acclamation." an ancient english proverb preserves a curious fact concerning our coinage. _testers are gone to oxford, to study at brazennose._ when henry the eighth debased the silver coin, called _testers_, from their having a head stamped on one side; the brass, breaking out in red pimples on their silver faces, provoked the ill-humour of the people to vent itself in this punning proverb, which has preserved for the historical antiquary the popular feeling which lasted about fifty years, till elizabeth reformed the state of the coinage. a northern proverb among us has preserved the remarkable idea which seems to have once been prevalent, that the metropolis of england was to be the city of york; _lincoln was, london is, york shall be!_ whether at the time of the union of the crowns, under james the first, when england and scotland became great britain, this city, from its centrical situation, was considered as the best adapted for the seat of government, or for some other cause which i have not discovered, this notion must have been prevalent to have entered into a proverb. the chief magistrate of york is the only provincial one who is allowed the title of lord mayor; a circumstance which seems connected with this proverb. the italian history of its own small principalities, whose well-being so much depended on their prudence and sagacity, affords many instances of the timely use of a proverb. many an intricate negotiation has been contracted through a good-humoured proverb,--many a sarcastic one has silenced an adversary; and sometimes they have been applied on more solemn, and even tragical occasions. when rinaldo degli albizzi was banished by the vigorous conduct of cosmo de' medici, machiavel tells us the expelled man sent cosmo a menace, in a proverb, _la gallina covava!_ "the hen is brooding!" said of one meditating vengeance. the undaunted cosmo replied by another, that "there was no brooding out of the nest!" i give an example of peculiar interest; for it is perpetuated by dante, and is connected with the character of milton. when the families of the amadei and the uberti felt their honour wounded in the affront the younger buondelmonte had put upon them, in breaking off his match with a young lady of their family, by marrying another, a council was held, and the death of the young cavalier was proposed as the sole atonement for their injured honour. but the consequences which they anticipated, and which afterwards proved so fatal to the florentines, long suspended their decision. at length moscha lamberti suddenly rising, exclaimed, in two proverbs, "that those who considered everything would never conclude on anything!" closing with an ancient proverbial saying--_cosa fatta capo ha!_ "a deed done has an end!" the proverb sealed the fatal determination, and was long held in mournful remembrance by the tuscans; for, according to villani, it was the cause and beginning of the accursed factions of the guelphs and the ghibellines. dante has thus immortalised the energetic expression in a scene of the "inferno." ed un, ch' avea l'una e l'altra man mozza, levando i moncherin per l'aura fosca, si che 'l sangue facea la faccia sozza, gridò:--"ricorderati anche del mosca, che dissi, lasso: _capo ha cosa fatta_, che fu 'l mal seme della gente tosca." ----then one maim'd of each hand, uplifted in the gloom the bleeding stumps, that they with gory spots sullied his face, and cried--"remember thee of mosca too--i who, alas! exclaim'd 'the deed once done, there is an end'--that proved a seed of sorrow to the tuscan race." cary's _dante_. this italian proverb was adopted by milton; for when deeply engaged in writing "the defence of the people," and warned that it might terminate in his blindness, he resolvedly concluded his work, exclaiming with great magnanimity, although the fatal prognostication had been accomplished, _cosa fatta capo ha!_ did this proverb also influence his awful decision on that great national event, when the most honest-minded fluctuated between doubts and fears? of a person treacherously used, the italian proverb says that he has eaten of _le frutte di fratre alberigo._ the fruit of brother alberigo. landino, on the following passage of dante, preserves the tragic story:-- ------io son fratre alberigo, io son quel dalle frutta del mal orto che qui reprendo, &c. canto xxxiii. "the friar alberigo," answered he, "am i, who from the evil garden pluck'd its fruitage, and am here repaid the date more luscious for my fig." cary's _dante_. this was manfred, the lord of fuenza, who, after many cruelties, turned friar. reconciling himself to those whom he had so often opposed, to celebrate the renewal of their friendship he invited them to a magnificent entertainment. at the end of the dinner the horn blew to announce the dessert--but it was the signal of this dissimulating conspirator!--and the fruits which that day were served to his guests were armed men, who, rushing in, immolated their victims. among these historical proverbs none are more entertaining than those which perpetuate national events, connected with those of another people. when a frenchman would let us understand that he has settled with his creditors, the proverb is _j'ai payé tous mes anglois_: "i have paid all my english." this proverb originated when john, the french king, was taken prisoner by our black prince. levies of money were made for the king's ransom, and for many french lords; and the french people have thus perpetuated the military glory of our nation, and their own idea of it, by making the _english_ and their _creditors_ synonymous terms. another relates to the same event--_le pape est devenu françois, et jesus christ anglais_: "now the pope is become french and jesus christ english;" a proverb which arose when the pope, exiled from rome, held his court at avignon in france; and the english prospered so well, that they possessed more than half the kingdom. the spanish proverb concerning england is well known-- _con todo el mondo guerra, y paz con inglaterra!_ war with the world, and peace with england! whether this proverb was one of the results of their memorable armada, and was only coined after their conviction of the splendid folly which they had committed, i cannot ascertain. england must always have been a desirable ally to spain against her potent rival and neighbour. the italians have a proverb, which formerly, at least, was strongly indicative of the travelled englishmen in their country, _inglese italianato è un diavolo incarnato_; "the italianised englishman is a devil incarnate." formerly there existed a closer intercourse between our country and italy than with france. before and during the reigns of elizabeth and james the first that land of the elegant arts modelled our taste and manners: and more italians travelled into england, and were more constant residents, from commercial concerns, than afterwards when france assumed a higher rank in europe by her political superiority. this cause will sufficiently account for the number of italian proverbs relating to england, which show an intimacy with our manners that could not else have occurred. it was probably some sarcastic italian, and, perhaps, horologer, who, to describe the disagreement of persons, proverbed our nation--"they agree like the clocks of london!" we were once better famed for merry christmases and their pies; and it must have been the italians who had been domiciliated with us who gave currency to the proverb--_ha piu da fare che i forni di natale in inghilterra_: "he has more business than english ovens at christmas." our pie-loving gentry were notorious, and shakspeare's folio was usually laid open in the great halls of our nobility to entertain their attendants, who devoured at once shakspeare and their pasty. some of those volumes have come down to us, not only with the stains, but inclosing even the identical piecrusts of the elizabethan age. i have thus attempted to develope the art of reading proverbs; but have done little more than indicate the theory, and must leave the skilful student to the delicacy of the practice. i am anxious to rescue from prevailing prejudices these neglected stores of curious amusement, and of deep insight into the ways of man, and to point out the bold and concealed truths which are scattered in these collections. there seems to be no occurrence in human affairs to which some proverb may not be applied. all knowledge was long aphoristical and traditional, pithily contracting the discoveries which were to be instantly comprehended and easily retained. whatever be the revolutionary state of man, similar principles and like occurrences are returning on us; and antiquity, whenever it is justly applicable to our times, loses its denomination, and becomes the truth of our own age. a proverb will often cut the knot which others in vain are attempting to untie. johnson, palled with the redundant elegancies of modern composition, once said, "i fancy mankind may come in time to write all aphoristically, except in narrative; grow weary of preparation, and connexion, and illustration, and all those arts by which a big book is made." many a volume indeed has often been written to demonstrate what a lover of proverbs could show had long been ascertained by a single one in his favourite collections. an insurmountable difficulty, which every paræmiographer has encountered, is that of forming an apt, a ready, and a systematic classification: the moral linnæus of such a "systema naturæ" has not yet appeared. each discovered his predecessor's mode imperfect, but each was doomed to meet the same fate.[ ] the arrangement of proverbs has baffled the ingenuity of every one of their collectors. our ray, after long premeditation, has chosen a system with the appearance of an alphabetical order; but, as it turns out, his system is no system, and his alphabet is no alphabet. after ten years' labour, the good man could only arrange his proverbs by commonplaces--by complete sentences--by phrases or forms of speech--by proverbial similes--and so on. all these are pursued in alphabetical order, "by the first letter of the most 'material word,' or if there be more words '_equally material_,' by that which usually stands foremost." the most patient examiner will usually find that he wants the sagacity of the collector to discover that word which is "the most material," or, "the words equally material." we have to search through all that multiplicity of divisions, or conjuring boxes, in which this juggler of proverbs pretends to hide the ball.[ ] a still more formidable objection against a collection of proverbs, for the impatient reader, is their unreadableness. taking in succession a multitude of insulated proverbs, their slippery nature resists all hope of retaining one in a hundred; the study of proverbs must be a frequent recurrence to a gradual collection of favourite ones, which we ourselves must form. the experience of life will throw a perpetual freshness over these short and simple texts; every day may furnish a new commentary; and we may grow old, and find novelty in proverbs by their perpetual application. there are, perhaps, about twenty thousand proverbs among the nations of europe: many of these have spread in their common intercourse; many are borrowed from the ancients, chiefly the greeks, who themselves largely took them from the eastern nations. our own proverbs are too often deficient in that elegance and ingenuity which are often found in the spanish and the italian. proverbs frequently enliven conversation, or enter into the business of life in those countries, without any feeling of vulgarity being associated with them: they are too numerous, too witty, and too wise to cease to please by their poignancy and their aptitude. i have heard them fall from the lips of men of letters and of statesmen. when recently the disorderly state of the manufacturers of manchester menaced an insurrection, a profound italian politician observed to me, that it was not of a nature to alarm a great nation; for that the remedy was at hand, in the proverb of the lazzaroni of naples, _metà consiglio, metà esempio, metà denaro!_ "half advice, half example, half money!" the result confirmed the truth of the proverb, which, had it been known at the time, might have quieted the honest fears of a great part of the nation. proverbs have ceased to be studied or employed in conversation since the time we have derived our knowledge from books; but in a philosophical age they appear to offer infinite subjects for speculative curiosity. originating in various eras, these memorials of manners, of events, and of modes of thinking, for historical as well as for moral purposes, still retain a strong hold on our attention. the collected knowledge of successive ages, and of different people, must always enter into some part of our own! truth and nature can never be obsolete. proverbs embrace the wide sphere of human existence, they take all the colours of life, they are often exquisite strokes of genius, they delight by their airy sarcasm or their caustic satire, the luxuriance of their humour, the playfulness of their turn, and even by the elegance of their imagery, and the tenderness of their sentiment. they give a deep insight into domestic life, and open for us the heart of man, in all the various states which he may occupy--a frequent review of proverbs should enter into our readings; and although they are no longer the ornaments of conversation, they have not ceased to be the treasuries of thought! footnotes: [ ] taylor's translation of plato's works, vol v. p. . [ ] shakspeare satirically alludes to the quality of such rhymes in his _merchant of venice_, act v. sc. . speaking of one "------ whose poesy was for all the world like cutler's poetry upon a knife, _love me, and leave me not_." [ ] one of the _fruit trenchers_, for such these roundels are called in the _gent. mag._ for , p. , is engraved there, and the inscriptions of an entire set given.--see also the supplement to that volume, p. . the author of the "art of english poesie," , tells us they never contained above one verse, or two at the most, but the shorter the better. two specimens may suffice the reader. one, under the symbol of a skull, thus morally discourses:-- "content thyself with thine estate, and send no poor wight from thy gate; for why, this counsel i you give, to learne to die, and die to live." on another, decorated with pictures of fruit, are these satirical lines:-- "feed and be fat: hear's pears and plums, will never hurt your teeth or spoil your gums. and i wish those girls that painted are, no other food than such fine painted fare." [ ] this constant custom of engraving "posies," as they were termed, on rings, is noted by many authors of the elizabethan era. lilly, in his "euphues," addresses the ladies for a favourable judgment on his work, hoping it will be recorded "as you do the posies in your rings, which are always next to the finger not to be seene of him that holdeth you by the hand, and yet knowne by you that weare them on your hands." they were always engraved withinside of the ring. a ms. of the time of charles i. furnishes us with a single posy, of one line, to this effect--"this hath alloy; my love is pure." from the same source we have the two following rhyming, or "double posies"-- "constancy and heaven are round, and in this the emblem's found." "weare me out, love shall not waste; love beyond tyme still is placed." [ ] heywood's "dialogue, conteyninge the number in effecte of all the proverbes in the english tunge, ." there are more editions of this little volume than warton has noticed. there is some humour in his narrative, but his metre and his ribaldry are heavy taxes on our curiosity. [ ] the whole of tusser's "five hundred pointes of good husbandrie," , was composed in quaint couplets, long remembered by the peasantry for their homely worldly wisdom. one, constructed for the bakehouse, runs thus:-- "new bread is a drivell (waste); much crust is as evil." another for the dairymaid assures her-- "good dairie doth pleasure; ill dairie spends treasure." another might rival any lesson of thrift:-- "where nothing will last, spare such as thou hast." [ ] townshend's historical collections, p. . [ ] it was published in : the writer only catches at some verbal expressions--as, for instance:-- the vulgar proverb runs, "the more the merrier." the cross,--"not so! one hand is enough in a purse." the proverb, "it is a great way to the bottom of the sea." the cross,--"not so! it is but a stone's cast." the proverb, "the pride of the rich makes the labours of the poor." the cross,--"not so! the labours of the poor make the pride of the rich." the proverb, "he runs far who never turns." the cross,--"not so! he may break his neck in a short course." [ ] it has been suggested that this whimsical amusement has been lately revived, to a certain degree, in the _acting of charades_ among juvenile parties. [ ] now the punning motto of a noble family. [ ] at the royal institution there is a fine copy of polydore vergil's "adagia," with his other work, curious in its day, _de inventoribus rerum_, printed by frobenius, in . the _wood-cuts_ of this edition seem to me to be executed with inimitable delicacy, resembling a pencilling which raphael might have envied. [ ] since the appearance of the present article, several collections of proverbs have been attempted. a little unpretending volume, entitled "select proverbs of all nations, with _notes_ and _comments_, by thomas fielding, ," is not ill arranged; an excellent book for popular reading. the editor of a recent miscellaneous compilation, "the treasury of knowledge," has whimsically bordered the four sides of the pages of a dictionary with as many proverbs. the plan was ingenious, but the proverbs are not. triteness and triviality are fatal to a proverb. [ ] a new edition of ray's book, with large additions, was published by bohn, in , under the title of "a handbook of proverbs." it is a vast collection of "wise saws" of all ages and countries. confusion of words. "there is nothing more common," says the lively voltaire, "than to read and to converse to no purpose. in history, in morals, in law, in physic, and in divinity, be careful of equivocal terms." one of the ancients wrote a book to prove that there was no word which did not convey an ambiguous and uncertain meaning. if we possessed this lost book, our ingenious dictionaries of "synonyms" would not probably prove its uselessness. whenever _the same word_ is associated by the parties with _different ideas_, they may converse, or controverse, till "the crack of doom!" this with a little obstinacy and some agility in shifting his ground, makes the fortune of an opponent. while one party is worried in disentangling a meaning, and the other is winding and unwinding about him with another, a word of the kind we have mentioned, carelessly or perversely slipped into an argument, may prolong it for a century or two--as it has happened! vaugelas, who passed his whole life in the study of words, would not allow that the _sense_ was to determine the meaning of _words_; for, says he, it is the business of _words_ to explain the _sense_. kant for a long while discovered in this way a facility of arguing without end, as at this moment do our political economists. "i beseech you," exclaims a poetical critic, in the agony of a confusion of words, on the pope controversy, "not to ask whether i mean _this_ or _that_!" our critic, positive that he has made himself understood, has shown how a few vague terms may admit of volumes of vindication. throw out a word, capable of fifty senses, and you raise fifty parties! should some friend of peace enable the fifty to repose on one sense, that innocent word, no longer ringing the _tocsin_ of a party, would lie in forgetfulness in the dictionary. still more provoking when an identity of meaning is only disguised by different modes of expression, and when the term has been closely sifted, to their mutual astonishment both parties discover the same thing lying under the bran and chaff after this heated operation. plato and aristotle probably agreed much better than the opposite parties they raised up imagined; their difference was in the manner of expression, rather than in the points discussed. the nominalists and the realists, who once filled the world with their brawls, and who from irregular words came to regular blows, could never comprehend their alternate nonsense; "whether in employing general terms we use _words_ or _names_ only, or whether there is _in nature anything_ corresponding to what we mean by a _general idea_?" the nominalists only denied what no one in his senses would affirm; and the realists only contended for what no one in his senses would deny; a hair's breadth might have joined what the spirit of party had sundered! do we flatter ourselves that the logomachies of the nominalists and the realists terminated with these scolding schoolmen? modern nonsense, weighed against the obsolete, may make the scales tremble for awhile, but it will lose its agreeable quality of freshness, and subside into an equipoise. we find their spirit still lurking among our own metaphysicians! "lo! the nominalists and the realists again!" exclaimed my learned friend, sharon turner, alluding to our modern doctrines on _abstract ideas_, on which there is still a doubt whether they are anything more than _generalising terms_.[ ] leibnitz confused his philosophy by the term _sufficient reason_: for every existence, for every event, and for every truth there must be a _sufficient reason_. this vagueness of language produced a perpetual misconception, and leibnitz was proud of his equivocal triumphs in always affording a new interpretation! it is conjectured that he only employed his term of _sufficient reason_ for the plain simple word of _cause_. even locke, who has himself so admirably noticed the "abuse of words," has been charged with using vague and indefinite ones; he has sometimes employed the words _reflection_, _mind_, and _spirit_ in so indefinite a way, that they have confused his philosophy: thus by some ambiguous expressions, our great metaphysician has been made to establish doctrines fatal to the immutability of moral distinctions. even the eagle-eye of the intellectual newton grew dim in the obscurity of the language of locke. we are astonished to discover that two such intellects should not comprehend the same ideas; for newton wrote to locke, "i beg your pardon for representing that you struck at the root of morality in a principle laid down in your book of ideas--and that i took you for a hobbist!"[ ] the difference of opinion between locke and reid is in consequence of an ambiguity in the word _principle_, as employed by reid. the removal of a solitary word may cast a luminous ray over a whole body of philosophy: "if we had called the _infinite_ the _indefinite_," says condillac, in his _traité des sensations_, "by this small change of a word we should have avoided the error of imagining that we have a positive idea of _infinity_, from whence so many false reasonings have been carried on, not only by metaphysicians, but even by geometricians." the word _reason_ has been used with different meanings by different writers; _reasoning_ and _reason_ have been often confounded; a man may have an endless capacity for _reasoning_, without being much influenced by _reason_, and to be _reasonable_, perhaps differs from both! so moliere tells us, raisonner est l'emploi de toute ma maison; et le raisonnement en bannit la raison! in this research on "confusion of words," might enter the voluminous history of the founders of sects, who have usually employed terms which had no meaning attached to them, or were so ambiguous that their real notions have never been comprehended; hence the most chimerical opinions have been imputed to founders of sects. we may instance that of the _antinomians_, whose remarkable denomination explains their doctrine, expressing that they were "against law!" their founder was john agricola, a follower of luther, who, while he lived, had kept agricola's follies from exploding, which they did when he asserted that there was no such thing as sin, our salvation depending on faith, and not on works; and when he declaimed against the _law of god_. to what length some of his sect pushed this verbal doctrine is known; but the real notions of this agricola probably never will be! bayle considered him as a harmless dreamer in theology, who had confused his head by paul's controversies with the jews; but mosheim, who bestows on this early reformer the epithets of _ventosus_ and _versipellis_, windy and crafty! or, as his translator has it, charges him with "vanity, presumption, and artifice," tells us by the term "law," agricola only meant the ten commandments of moses, which he considered were abrogated by the gospel, being designed for the jews and not for the christians. agricola then, by the words the "law of god," and "that there was no such thing as sin," must have said one thing and meant another! this appears to have been the case with most of the divines of the sixteenth century; for even mosheim complains of "their want of precision and consistency in expressing _their sentiments_, hence their real sentiments have been misunderstood." there evidently prevailed a great "confusion of words" among them! the _grace suffisante_ and the _grace efficace_ of the jansenists and the jesuits show the shifts and stratagems by which nonsense may be dignified. "whether all men received from god _sufficient grace_ for their conversion!" was an inquiry some unhappy metaphysical theologist set afloat: the jesuits, according to their worldly system of making men's consciences easy, affirmed it; but the jansenists insisted, that this _sufficient grace_ would never be _efficacious_, unless accompanied by _special grace_. "then the _sufficient grace_, which is not _efficacious_, is a contradiction in terms, and worse, a heresy!" triumphantly cried the jesuits, exulting over their adversaries. this "confusion of words" thickened, till the jesuits introduced in this logomachy with the jansenists papal bulls, royal edicts, and a regiment of dragoons! the jansenists, in despair, appealed to miracles and prodigies, which they got up for public representation; but, above all, to their pascal, whose immortal satire the jesuits really felt was at once "sufficient and efficacious," though the dragoons, in settling a "confusion of words," did not boast of inferior success to pascal's. former ages had, indeed, witnessed even a more melancholy logomachy, in the _homoousion_ and the _homoiousion_! an event which boileau has immortalised by some fine verses, which, in his famous satire on _l'equivoque_, for reasons best known to the sorbonne, were struck out of the text. d'une _syllabe_ impie un saint _mot_ augmenté remplit tous les esprits d'aigreurs si meurtrières-- tu fis, dans une guerre et si triste et si longue, périr tant de chrétiens, _martyrs d'une diphthongue_! whether the son was similar to the substance of the father, or of the same substance, depended on the diphthong _oi_, which was alternately rejected and received. had they earlier discovered, what at length they agreed on, that the words denoted what was incomprehensible, it would have saved thousands, as a witness describes, "from tearing one another to pieces." the great controversy between abelard and st. bernard, when the saint accused the scholastic of maintaining heretical notions of the trinity, long agitated the world; yet, now that these confusers of words can no longer inflame our passions, we wonder how these parties could themselves differ about words to which we can attach no meaning whatever. there have been few councils or synods where the omission or addition of a word or a phrase might not have terminated an interminable logomachy! at the council of basle, for the convenience of the disputants, john de secubia drew up a treatise of _undeclined words_, chiefly to determine the signification of the particles _from_, _by_, _but_, and _except_, which it seems were perpetually occasioning fresh disputes among the hussites and the bohemians. had jerome of prague known, like our shakspeare, the virtue of an if, or agreed with hobbes, that he should not have been so positive in the use of the verb is, he might have been spared from the flames. the philosopher of malmsbury has declared that "perhaps _judgment_ was nothing else but the composition or joining of _two names of things, or modes_, by the verb is." in modern times the popes have more skilfully freed the church from this "confusion of words." his holiness, on one occasion, standing in equal terror of the court of france, who protected the jesuits, and of the court of spain, who maintained the cause of the dominicans, contrived a phrase, where a comma or a full stop, placed at the beginning or the end, purported that his holiness tolerated the opinions which he condemned; and when the rival parties despatched deputations to the court of rome to plead for the period, or advocate the comma, his holiness, in this "confusion of words," flung an unpunctuated copy to the parties; nor was it his fault, but that of the spirit of party, if the rage of the one could not subside into a comma, nor that of the other close by a full period! in jurisprudence much confusion has occurred in the uses of the term _rights_; yet the social union and human happiness are involved in the precision of the expression. when montesquieu laid down, as the active principle of a republic, _virtue_, it seemed to infer that a republic was the best of governments. in the defence of his great work he was obliged to define the term; and it seems that by _virtue_ he only meant _political virtue_, the love of the country. in politics, what evils have resulted from abstract terms to which no ideas are affixed,--such as, "the equality of man--the sovereignty or the majesty of the people--loyalty--reform--even liberty herself!--public opinion--public interest;" and other abstract notions, which have excited the hatred or the ridicule of the vulgar. abstract ideas, as _sounds_, have been used as watchwords. the combatants will usually be found willing to fight for words to which, perhaps, not one of them has attached any settled signification. this is admirably touched on by locke, in his chapter of "abuse of words." "wisdom, glory, grace, &c., are words frequent enough in every man's mouth; but if a great many of those who use them should be asked what they mean by them, they would be at a stand, and know not what to answer--a plain proof that though they have learned those _sounds_, and have them ready at their tongue's end, yet there are no determined _ideas_ laid up in their minds which are to be expressed to others by them." when the american exclaimed that he was not represented in the house of commons, because he was not an elector, he was told that a very small part of the people of england were electors. as they could not call this an _actual representation_, they invented a new name for it, and called it a _virtual one_. it imposed on the english nation, who could not object that others should be taxed rather than themselves; but with the americans it was a sophism! and this _virtual_ representation, instead of an _actual_ one, terminated in our separation; "which," says mr. flood, "at the time appeared to have swept away most of our glory and our territory; forty thousand lives, and one hundred millions of treasure!" that fatal expression which rousseau had introduced, _l'egalité des hommes_, which finally involved the happiness of a whole people, had he lived he had probably shown how ill his country had understood. he could only have referred in his mind to _political equality_, but not an equality of possessions, of property, of authority, destructive of social order and of moral duties, which must exist among every people. "liberty," "equality," and "reform" (innocent words!) sadly ferment the brains of those who cannot affix any definite notions to them; they are like those chimerical fictions in law, which declare the "sovereign immortal, proclaim his ubiquity in various places," and irritate the feelings of the populace, by assuming that "the king can never do wrong!" in the time of james the second "it is curious," says lord russell, "to read the conference between the houses on the meaning of the words 'deserted' and 'abdicated,' and the debates in the lords whether or no there is an original contract between king and people." the people would necessarily decide that "kings derived their power from them;" but kings were once maintained by a "right divine," a "confusion of words," derived from two opposite theories, and both only relatively true. when we listen so frequently to such abstract terms as "the majesty of the people," "the sovereignty of the people," whence the inference that "all power is derived from the people," we can form no definite notions: it is "a confusion of words," contradicting all the political experience which our studies or our observations furnish; for sovereignty is established to rule, to conduct, and to settle the vacillations and quick passions of the multitude. _public opinion_ expresses too often the ideas of one party in place; and _public interest_ those of another party out! political axioms, from the circumstance of having the notions attached to them unsettled, are applied to the most opposite ends! "in the time of the french directory," observes an italian philosopher of profound views, "in the revolution of naples, the democratic faction pronounced that 'every act of a tyrannical government is in its origin illegal;' a proposition which at first sight seems self-evident, but which went to render all existing laws impracticable." the doctrine of the illegality of the acts of a tyrant was proclaimed by brutus and cicero, in the name of the senate, _against the populace_, who had favoured cæsar's perpetual dictatorship; and the populace of paris availed themselves of it, _against the national assembly_. this "confusion of words," in time-serving politics, has too often confounded right and wrong; and artful men, driven into a corner, and intent only on its possession, have found no difficulty in solving doubts, and reconciling contradictions. our own history in revolutionary times abounds with dangerous examples from all parties; of specious hypotheses for compliance with the government of the day or the passions of parliament. here is an instance in which the subtle confuser of words pretended to substitute two consciences, by utterly depriving a man of any! when the unhappy charles the first pleaded that to pass the bill of attainder against the earl of strafford was against his conscience, that remarkable character of "boldness and impiety," as clarendon characterizes williams, archbishop of york, on this argument of _conscience_ (a simple word enough), demonstrated "that there were _two sorts of conscience_, public and private; that his public conscience as a king might dispense with his private conscience as a man!" such was the ignominious argument which decided the fate of that great victim of state! it was an impudent "confusion of words" when prynne (in order to quiet the consciences of those who were uneasy at warring with the king) observed that the statute of twenty-fifth edward the third ran in the singular number--"if a man shall levy war against _the king_, and therefore could not be extended to _the houses_, who are many and public _persons_." later, we find sherlock blest with the spirit of williams, the archbishop of york, whom we have just left. when some did not know how to charge and to discharge themselves of the oaths to james the second and to william the third, this confounder of words discovered that there were _two rights_, as the other had that there were _two consciences_; one was a providential right, and the other a legal right; one person might very righteously claim and take a thing, and another as righteously hold and keep it; but that _whoever got the better_ had the _providential_ right by possession; and since all authority comes from god, the people were obliged to transfer their allegiance to him as a king of god's making; so that he who had the providential right necessarily had the legal one! a very simple discovery, which must, however, have cost him some pains; for this confounder of words was himself confounded by twelve answers by non-jurors! a french politician of this stamp recently was suspended from his lectureship for asserting that _the possession of the soil_ was a right; by which principle, _any king_ reigning over a country, whether by treachery, crime, and usurpation, was a _legitimate sovereign_. for this convenient principle the lecturer was tried, and declared not guilty--by persons who have lately found their advantage in a confusion of words. in treaties between nations, a "confusion of words" has been more particularly studied; and that negotiator has conceived himself most dexterous who, by this abuse of words, has retained an _arrière-pensée_ which may fasten or loosen the ambiguous expression he had so cautiously and so finely inlaid in his mosaic of treachery. a scene of this nature i draw out of "mesnager's negociation with the court of england." when that secret agent of louis the fourteenth was negotiating a peace, an insuperable difficulty arose respecting the acknowledgment of the hanoverian succession. it was absolutely necessary, on this delicate point, to quiet the anxiety of the english public and our allies; but though the french king was willing to recognise anne's title to the throne, yet the settlement in the house of hanover was incompatible with french interests and french honour. mesnager told lord bolingbroke that "the king, his master, would consent to any such article, _looking the other way, as might disengage him from the obligation of that agreement_, as the occasion should present." this ambiguous language was probably understood by lord bolingbroke: at the next conference his lordship informed the secret agent "that the queen could not admit of any _explanations, whatever her intentions might be_; that the _succession_ was settled by act of parliament; that as to the private sentiments of the queen, or of any about her, he could say nothing." "all this was said with such an air, as to let me understand that he gave a _secret assent_ to what i had proposed, &c.; but he desired me to drop the discourse." thus two great negotiators, both equally urgent to conclude the treaty, found an insuperable obstacle occur, which neither could control. two honest men would have parted; but the "skilful confounder of words," the french diplomatist, hit on an expedient; he wrote the words which afterwards appeared in the preliminaries, "that louis the fourteenth will acknowledge the queen of great britain in that quality, as also _the succession of the crown according to the_ present settlement." "the english agent," adds the frenchman, "would have had me add--_on the house of hanover_, but this i entreated him not to desire of me." the term present settlement, then, was that article which was looking the other way, _to disengage his master from the obligation of that agreement_, as occasion should present! that is, that louis the fourteenth chose to understand by the present settlement the _old one_, by which the british crown was to be restored to the pretender! anne and the english nation were to understand it in their own sense--as the _new one_, which transferred it to the house of hanover! when politicians cannot rely upon each other's interpretation of _one of the commonest words_ in our language, how can they possibly act together? the bishop of winchester has proved this observation, by the remarkable anecdote of the duke of portland and mr. pitt, who, with a view to unite parties, were to hold a conference _on_ fair _and_ equal _terms_. his grace did not object to the word fair, but the word equal was more specific and limited; and for a necessary preliminary, he requested mr. pitt to inform him what he _understood_ by the word equal? whether pitt was puzzled by the question, or would not deliver up an _arrière-pensée_, he put off the explanation to the conference. but the duke would not meet mr. pitt till the _word_ was explained; and this important negotiation was broken off by not explaining a simple word which appeared to require no explanation. there is nothing more fatal in language than to wander from the popular acceptation of words; and yet this popular sense cannot always accord with precision of ideas, for it is itself subject to great changes. another source, therefore, of the abuse of words, is that mutability to which, in the course of time, the verbal edifice, as well as more substantial ones, is doomed. a familiar instance presents itself in the titles of _tyrant_, _parasite_, and _sophist_, originally honourable distinctions. the abuses of dominion made the appropriate title of kings odious; the title of a magistrate, who had the care of the public granaries of corn, at length was applied to a wretched flatterer for a dinner; and absurd philosophers occasioned a mere denomination to become a by-name. to employ such terms in their primitive sense would now confuse all ideas; yet there is an affectation of erudition which has frequently revived terms sanctioned by antiquity. bishop watson entitled his vindication of the bible "an _apology_:" this word, in its primitive sense, had long been lost for the multitude, whom he particularly addressed in this work, and who could only understand it in the sense they are accustomed to. unquestionably, many of its readers have imagined that the bishop was offering an _excuse_ for a belief in the bible, instead of a _vindication_ of its truth. the word _impertinent_, by the ancient jurisconsults, or law-counsellors, who gave their opinion on cases, was used merely in opposition to _pertinent_--_ratio pertinens_ is a pertinent reason, that is, a reason _pertaining_ to the cause in question, and a _ratio impertinens_, an impertinent reason, is an argument _not pertaining_ to the subject.[ ] _impertinent_ then originally meant neither absurdity nor rude intrusion, as it does in our present popular sense. the learned arnauld having characterised a reply of one of his adversaries by the epithet _impertinent_, when blamed for the freedom of his language, explained his meaning by giving this history of the word, which applies to our own language. thus also with us the word _indifferent_ has entirely changed: an historian, whose work was _indifferently_ written, would formerly have claimed our attention. in the liturgy it is prayed that "magistrates may _indifferently_ minister justice." _indifferently_ originally meant _impartially_. the word _extravagant_, in its primitive signification, only signified to digress from the subject. the decretals, or those letters from the popes deciding on points of ecclesiastical discipline, were at length incorporated with the canon law, and were called _extravagant_ by _wandering out_ of the body of the canon law, being confusedly dispersed through that collection. when luther had the decretals publicly burnt at wittemberg, the insult was designed for the pope, rather than as a condemnation of the canon law itself. suppose, in the present case, two persons of opposite opinions. the catholic, who had said that the decretals were _extravagant_, might not have intended to depreciate them, or make any concession to the lutheran. what confusion of words has the _common sense_ of the scotch metaphysicians introduced into philosophy! there are no words, perhaps, in the language which may be so differently interpreted; and professor dugald stewart has collected, in a curious note in the second volume of his "philosophy of the human mind," a singular variety of its opposite significations. the latin phrase, _sensus communis_, may, in various passages of cicero, be translated by our phrase _common sense_; but, on other occasions, it means something different; the _sensus communis_ of the schoolmen is quite another thing, and is synonymous with _conception_, and referred to the seat of intellect; with sir john davies, in his curious metaphysical poem, _common sense_ is used as _imagination_. it created a controversy with beattie and reid; and reid, who introduced this vague ambiguous phrase in philosophical language, often understood the term in its ordinary acceptation. this change of the meaning of words, which is constantly recurring in metaphysical disputes, has made that curious but obscure science liable to this objection of hobbes, "with many words making nothing understood!" controversies have been keenly agitated about the principles of morals, which resolve entirely into _verbal disputes_, or at most into questions of arrangement and classification, of little comparative moment to the points at issue. this observation of mr. dugald stewart's might be illustrated by the fate of the numerous inventors of systems of thinking or morals, who have only employed very different and even opposite terms in appearance to express the same thing. some, by their mode of philosophising, have strangely unsettled the words _self-interest_ and _self-love_; and their misconceptions have sadly misled the votaries of these systems of morals; as others also by such vague terms as "utility, fitness," &c. when epicurus asserted that the sovereign good consisted in _pleasure_, opposing the unfeeling austerity of the stoics by the softness of pleasurable emotions, his principle was soon disregarded; while his _word_, perhaps chosen in the spirit of paradox, was warmly adopted by the sensualist. epicurus, of whom seneca has drawn so beautiful a domestic scene, in whose garden a loaf, a cytheridean cheese, and a draught which did not inflame thirst,[ ] was the sole banquet, would have started indignantly at the fattest hog in epicurus' sty! such are the facts which illustrate that principle in "the abuse of words," which locke calls "an affected obscurity arising from applying _old words to new, or unusual significations_." it was the same "confusion of words" which gave rise to the famous sect of the sadducees. the master of its founder sadoc, in his moral purity, was desirous of a disinterested worship of the deity; he would not have men like slaves, obedient from the hope of reward or the fear of punishment. sadoc drew a quite contrary inference from the intention of his master, concluding that there were neither rewards nor punishments in a future state. the result is a parallel to the fate of epicurus. the morality of the master of sadoc was of the most pure and elevated kind, but in the "confusion of words," the libertines adopted them for their own purposes--and having once assumed that neither rewards nor punishments existed in the after-state, they proceeded to the erroneous consequence that man perished with his own dust! the plainest words, by accidental associations, may suggest the most erroneous conceptions, and have been productive of the grossest errors. in the famous bangorian controversy, one of the writers excites a smile by a complaint, arising from his views of the signification of a plain word, whose meaning he thinks had been changed by the contending parties. he says, "the word _country_, like a great many others, such as _church_ and kingdom, is, by the bishop of bangor's leave, become to signify a _collection of ideas_ very different from its _original meaning_; with some it implies _party_, with others _private opinion_, and with most _interest_, and perhaps, in time, may signify _some other country_. when this good innocent word has been tossed backwards and forwards a little longer, some new reformer of language may arise to reduce it to its primitive signification--_the real interest of great britain!_" the antagonist of this controversialist probably retorted on him his own term of _the real interest_, which might be a very opposite one, according to their notions! it has been said, with what truth i know not, that it was by a mere confusion of words that burke was enabled to alarm the great whig families, by showing them their fate in that of the french _noblesse_; they were misled by the _similitude of names_. the french _noblesse_ had as little resemblance to our nobility as they have to the mandarins of china. however it may be in this case, certain it is that the same terms misapplied have often raised those delusive notions termed false analogies. it was long imagined in this country, that the _parliaments_ of france were somewhat akin to our own; but these assemblies were very differently constituted, consisting only of lawyers in courts of law. a misnomer confuses all argument. there is a trick which consists in bestowing good names on bad things. vices, thus veiled, are introduced to us as virtues, according to an old poet, as drunkenness, good-fellowship we call? sir thomas wiat. or the reverse, when loyalty may be ridiculed, as the right divine of kings--to govern wrong! the most innocent recreations, such as the drama, dancing, dress, have been anathematised by puritans, while philosophers have written elaborate treatises in their defence--the enigma is solved, when we discover that these words suggested a set of opposite notions to each. but the nominalists and the realists, and the _doctores fundatissimi_, _resolutissimi_, _refulgentes_, _profundi_, and _extatici_, have left this heirloom of logomachy to a race as subtle and irrefragable! an extraordinary scene has recently been performed by a new company of actors, in the modern comedy of political economy; and the whole dialogue has been carried on in an inimitable "confusion of words!" this reasoning and unreasoning fraternity never use a term as a term, but for an explanation, and which employed by them all, signifies opposite things, but never the plainest! is it not, therefore, strange that they cannot yet tell us what are _riches_? what is _rent_? what is _value_? monsieur say, the most sparkling of them all, assures us that the english writers are obscure, by their confounding, like smith, the denomination of _labour_. the vivacious gaul cries out to the grave briton, mr. malthus, "if i consent to employ your word _labour_, you must understand me," so and so! mr. malthus says, "commodities are not exchanged for commodities only; they are also exchanged for _labour_;" and when the hypochondriac englishman, with dismay, foresees "the glut of markets," and concludes that we may produce more than we can consume, the paradoxical monsieur say discovers that "commodities" is a _wrong word_, for it gives a wrong idea; it should be "productions;" for his axiom is, that "productions can only be purchased with productions." money, it seems, according to dictionary ideas, has no existence in his vocabulary; for monsieur say has formed a sort of berkleian conception of wealth being immaterial, while we confine our views to its materiality. hence ensues from this "confusion of words," this most brilliant paradox,--that "a glutted market is not a proof that we produce _too much_ but that we produce _too little_! for in that case there is not enough produced to exchange with what is produced!" as frenchmen excel in politeness and impudence, monsieur say adds, "i revere adam smith; he is my master; but this first of political economists did not understand all the phenomena of production and consumption." we, who remain uninitiated in this mystery of explaining the operations of trade by metaphysical ideas, and raising up theories to conduct those who never theorise, can only start at the "confusion of words," and leave this blessed inheritance to our sons, if ever the science survive the logomachy. caramuel, a famous spanish bishop, was a grand architect of words. ingenious in theory, his errors were confined to his practice: he said a great deal and meant nothing; and by an exact dimension of his intellect, taken at the time, it appeared that "he had genius in the eighth degree, eloquence in the fifth, but judgment only in the second!" this great man would not read the ancients; for he had a notion that the moderns must have acquired all they possessed, with a good deal of their own "into the bargain." two hundred and sixty-two works, differing in breadth and length, besides his manuscripts, attest, that if the world would read his writings, they could need no other; for which purpose his last work always referred to the preceding ones, and could never be comprehended till his readers possessed those which were to follow. as he had the good sense to perceive that metaphysicians abound in obscure and equivocal terms, to avoid this "confusion of words," he invented a jargon of his own; and to make "confusion worse confounded," projected grammars and vocabularies by which we were to learn it; but it is supposed that he was the only man who understood himself. he put every author in despair by the works which he announced. this famous architect of words, however, built more labyrinths than he could always get out of, notwithstanding his "_cabalistical_ grammar," and his "_audacious_ grammar."[ ] yet this great caramuel, the critics have agreed, was nothing but a puffy giant, with legs too weak for his bulk, and only to be accounted as a hero amidst a "confusion of words." let us dread the fate of caramuel! and before we enter into discussion with the metaphysician, first settle what he means by the nature of _ideas_; with the politician, his notion of _liberty_ and _equality_; with the divine, what he deems _orthodox_; with the political economist, what he considers to be _value_ and _rent_! by this means we may avoid, what is perpetually recurring, that extreme laxity or vagueness of words, which makes every writer, or speaker, complain of his predecessor, and attempt sometimes, not in the best temper, to define and to settle the signification of what the witty south calls "those rabble-charming words, which carry so much wildfire wrapt up in them." footnotes: [ ] turner's "history of england," i. [ ] we owe this curious unpublished letter to the zeal and care of professor dugald stewart, in his excellent "dissertations." [ ] it is still a chancery word. an answer in chancery, &c., is referred for _impertinence_, reported _impertinent_--and the _impertinence_ ordered to be struck out, meaning only what is immaterial or superfluous, tending to unnecessary expense. i am indebted for this explanation to my friend, mr. merivale; and to another learned friend, formerly in that court, who describes its meaning as "an excess of words or matter in the pleadings," and who has received many an official fee for "expunging impertinence," leaving, however, he acknowledges, a sufficient quantity to make the lawyers ashamed of their verbosity. [ ] sen. epist. . [ ] baillet gives the dates and plans of these grammars. the _cabalistic_ was published in bruxelles, , in mo. the _audacious_ was in folio, printed at frankfort, .--jugemens des savans. tome ii. me partie. political nicknames. political calumny is said to have been reduced into an art, like that of logic, by the jesuits. this itself may be a political calumny! a powerful body, who themselves had practised the artifices of calumniators, may, in their turn, often have been calumniated. the passage in question was drawn out of one of the classical authors used in their colleges. busembaum, a german jesuit, had composed, in duodecimo, a "medulla theologiæ moralis," where, among other casuistical propositions, there was found lurking in this old jesuit's "marrow" one which favoured regicide and assassination! fifty editions of the book had passed unnoticed; till a new one appearing at the critical moment of damien's attempt, the duodecimo of the old scholastic jesuit, which had now been amplified by its commentators into two folios, was considered not merely ridiculous, but dangerous. it was burnt at toulouse, in , by order of the parliament, and condemned at paris. an italian jesuit published an "apology" for this theory of assassination, and the same flames devoured it! whether busembaum deserved the honour bestowed on his ingenuity, the reader may judge by the passage itself. "whoever would ruin a person, or a government, must begin this operation by spreading calumnies, to defame the person or the government; for unquestionably the calumniator will always find a great number of persons inclined to believe him, or to side with him; it therefore follows, that whenever the object of such calumnies is once lowered in credit by such means, he will soon lose the reputation and power founded on that credit, and sink under the permanent and vindictive attacks of the calumniator." this is the politics of satan--the evil principle which regulates so many things in this world. the enemies of the jesuits have formed a list of great names who had become the victims of such atrocious machiavelism.[ ] this has been one of the arts practised by all political parties. their first weak invention is to attach to a new faction a contemptible or an opprobrious nickname. in the history of the revolutions of europe, whenever a new party has at length established its independence, the original denomination which had been fixed on them, marked by the passions of the party which bestowed it, strangely contrasts with the state of the party finally established! the first revolutionists of holland incurred the contemptuous name of "les gueux," or the beggars. the duchess of parma inquiring about them, the count of barlamont scornfully described them to be of this class; and it was flattery of the great which gave the name currency. the hollanders accepted the name as much in defiance as with indignation, and acted up to it. instead of brooches in their hats, they wore little wooden platters, such as beggars used, and foxes' tails instead of feathers. on the targets of some of these _gueux_ they inscribed "rather turkish than popish!" and had the print of a cock crowing, out of whose mouth was a label, _vive les gueux par tout le monde!_ which was everywhere set up, and was the favourite sign of their inns. the protestants in france, after a variety of nicknames to render them contemptible--such as _christodins_, because they would only talk about christ, similar to our puritans; and _parpaillots_, or _parpirolles_, a small base coin, which was odiously applied to them--at length settled in the well-known term of _huguenots_, which probably was derived, as the dictionnaire de trévoux suggests, from their hiding themselves in secret places, and appearing at night, like king hugon, the great hobgoblin of france. it appears that the term has been preserved by an earthen vessel without feet, used in cookery, which served the _huguenots_ on meagre days to dress their meat, and to avoid observation; a curious instance, where a thing still in use proves the obscure circumstance of its origin. the atrocious insurrection, called _la jacquerie_, was a term which originated in cruel derision. when john of france was a prisoner in england, his kingdom appears to have been desolated by its wretched nobles, who, in the indulgence of their passions, set no limits to their luxury and their extortion. they despoiled their peasantry without mercy, and when these complained, and even reproached this tyrannical nobility with having forsaken their sovereign, they were told that _jacque bon homme_ must pay for all. but _jack good-man_ came forward in person--a leader appeared under this fatal name, and the peasants revolting in madness, and being joined by all the cut-throats and thieves of paris, at once pronounced condemnation on every gentleman in france! froissart has the horrid narrative; twelve thousand of these _jacques bon hommes_ expiated their crimes; but the _jacquerie_, who had received their first appellation in derision, assumed it as their _nom de guerre_. in the spirited memoirs of the duke of guise, written by himself, of his enterprise against the kingdom of naples, we find a curious account of this political art of marking people by odious nicknames. "gennaro and vicenzo," says the duke, "cherished underhand that aversion the rascality had for the better sort of citizens and civiller people, who, by the insolencies they suffered from these, not unjustly hated them. the better class inhabiting the suburbs of the virgin were called _black cloaks_, and the ordinary sort of people took the name of _lazars_, both in french and english an old word for leprous beggar, and hence the _lazaroni_ of naples." we can easily conceive the evil eye of a _lazar_ when he encountered a _black cloak_! the duke adds--"just as, at the beginning of the revolution, the revolters in flanders formerly took that of _beggars_; those of guienne, that of _eaters_; those of normandy that of _bare-feet_; and of beausse and soulogne, of _wooden-pattens_." in the late french revolution, we observed the extremes indulged by both parties chiefly concerned in revolution--the wealthy and the poor! the rich, who, in derision, called their humble fellow-citizens by the contemptuous term of _sans-culottes_, provoked a reacting injustice from the populace, who, as a dreadful return for only a slight, rendered the innocent term of _aristocrate_ a signal for plunder or slaughter! it is a curious fact that the french verb _fronder_, as well the noun _frondeur_, are used to describe those who condemn the measures of government; and more extensively, designates any hyperbolical and malignant criticism, or any sort of condemnation. these words have only been introduced into the language since the intrigues of cardinal de retz succeeded in raising a faction against cardinal mazarin, known in french history by the nickname of the _frondeurs_, or the slingers. it originated in pleasantry, although it became the password for insurrection in france, and the odious name of a faction. a wit observed, that the parliament were like those school-boys, who fling their stones in the pits of paris, and as soon as they see the _lieutenant civil_, run away; but are sure to collect again directly he disappears. the comparison was lively, and formed the burthen of songs; and afterwards, when affairs were settled between the king and the parliament, it was more particularly applied to the faction of cardinal de retz, who still held out. "we encouraged the application," says de retz; "for we observed that the distinction of a name heated the minds of people; and one evening we resolved to wear hat-strings in the form of slings. a hatter, who might be trusted with the secret, made a great number as a new fashion, and which were worn by many who did not understand the joke; we ourselves were the last to adopt them, that the invention might not appear to have come from us. the effect of this trifle was immense; every fashionable article was now to assume the shape of a sling; bread, hats, gloves, handkerchiefs, fans, &c.; and we ourselves became more in fashion by this folly, than by what was essential." this revolutionary term was never forgotten by the french, a circumstance which might have been considered as prognostic of that after-revolution, which de retz had the imagination to project, but not the daring to establish. we see, however, this great politician, confessing the advantages his party derived by encouraging the application of a by-name, which served "to heat the minds of people." it is a curious circumstance that i should have to recount in this chapter on "political nicknames" a familiar term with all lovers of art, that of _silhouette_! this is well understood as a _black profile_; but it is more extraordinary that a term so universally adopted should not be found in any dictionary, either in that of _l'académie_, or in todd's, and has not even been preserved, where it is quite indispensable, in millin's _dictionnaire des beaux-arts_! it is little suspected that this innocent term originated in a political nickname! _silhouette_ was a minister of state in france in ; that period was a critical one; the treasury was in an exhausted condition, and silhouette, a very honest man, who would hold no intercourse with financiers or loan-mongers, could contrive no other expedient to prevent a national bankruptcy, than excessive economy and interminable reform! paris was not the metropolis, any more than london, where a plato or a zeno could long be minister of state without incurring all the ridicule of the wretched wits! at first they pretended to take his advice, merely to laugh at him:--they cut their coats shorter, and wore them without sleeves; they turned their gold snuff-boxes into rough wooden ones; and the new-fashioned portraits were now only profiles of a face, traced by a black pencil on the shadow cast by a candle on white paper! all the fashions assumed an air of niggardly economy, till poor silhouette was driven into retirement, with all his projects of savings and reforms; but he left his name to describe the most economical sort of portrait, and one as melancholy as his own fate! this political artifice of appropriating cant terms, or odious nicknames, could not fail to flourish among a people so perpetually divided by contending interests as ourselves; every party with us have had their watchword, which has served either to congregate themselves, or to set on the ban-dogs of one faction to worry and tear those of another. we practised it early, and we find it still prospering! the _puritan_ of elizabeth's reign survives to this hour; the trying difficulties which that wise sovereign had to overcome in settling the national religion, found no sympathy in either of the great divisions of her people; she retained as much of the catholic rites as might be decorous in the new religion, and sought to unite, and not to separate, her children. john knox, in the spirit of charity, declared, that "she was neither gude protestant, nor yet resolute papist; let the world judge quilk is the third." a jealous party arose, who were for reforming the reformation. in their attempt at more than human purity, they obtained the nickname of _puritans_; and from their fastidiousness about very small matters, _precisians_; these drayton characterises as persons that for a painted glass window would pull down the whole church. at that early period these nicknames were soon used in an odious sense; for warner, a poet in the reign of elizabeth, says,-- if hypocrites why _puritaines_ we term be asked, in breese, 'tis but an _ironised terme_; good-fellow so spels theese! honest fuller, who knew that many good men were among these _puritans_, wished to decline the term altogether, under the less offensive one of _non-conformists_. but the fierce and the fiery of this party, in charles the first's time had been too obtrusive not to fully merit the ironical appellative; and the peaceful expedient of our moderator dropped away with the page in which it was written. the people have frequently expressed their own notions of different parliaments by some apt nickname. in richard the second's time, to express their dislike of the extraordinary and irregular proceedings of the lords against the sovereign, as well as their sanguinary measures, they called it "the _wonder-working_ and the _unmerciful_ parliament." in edward the third's reign, when the black prince was yet living, the parliament, for having pursued with severity the party of the duke of lancaster, was so popular, that the people distinguished it as the _good_ parliament. in henry the third's time, the parliament opposing the king, was called "_parliamentum insanum_," the mad parliament, because the lords came armed to insist on the confirmation of the great charter. a scottish parliament, from its perpetual shiftings from place to place was ludicrously nicknamed the _running_ parliament; in the same spirit we had our _long_ parliament. the nickname of _pensioner_ parliament stuck to the house of commons which sate nearly eighteen years without dissolution, under charles the second; and others have borne satirical or laudatory epithets. so true it is, as old holingshed observed, "the common people will manie times give such _bie names_ as seemeth _best liking to themselves_." it would be a curious speculation to discover the sources of the popular feeling; influenced by delusion, or impelled by good sense! the exterminating political nickname of _malignant_ darkened the nation through the civil wars: it was a proscription--and a list of _good_ and _bad_ lords was read by the leaders of the first tumults. of all these inventions, this diabolical one was most adapted to exasperate the animosities of the people, so often duped by names. i have never detected the active man of faction who first hit on this odious brand for persons, but the period when the word changed its ordinary meaning was early; charles, in , retorts on the parliamentarians the opprobrious distinction, as "the _true malignant party_ which has contrived and countenanced those barbarous tumults." and the royalists pleaded for themselves, that the hateful designation was ill applied to them: "for by _malignity_ you denote," said they, "activity in doing evil, whereas we have always been on the suffering side in our persons, credits, and estates;" but the parliamentarians, "grinning a ghastly smile," would reply, that "the royalists would have been _malignant_ had they proved successful." the truth is, that _malignancy_ meant with both parties any opposition of opinion. at the same period the offensive distinctions of _roundheads_ and _cavaliers_ supplied the people with party names, who were already provided with so many religious as well as civil causes of quarrel; the cropt heads of the sullen sectaries and the people, were the origin of the derisory nickname; the splendid elegance and the romantic spirit of the royalists long awed the rabble, who in their mockery could brand them by no other appellation than one in which their bearers gloried. in the distracted times of early revolution, any nickname, however vague, will fully answer a purpose, although neither those who are blackened by the odium, nor those who cast it, can define the hateful appellative. when the term of _delinquents_ came into vogue, it expressed a degree and species of guilt, says hume, not exactly known or ascertained. it served, however, the end of those revolutionists who had coined it, by involving any person in, or colouring any action by, _delinquency_; and many of the nobility and gentry were, without any questions being asked, suddenly discovered to have committed the crime of _delinquency_! whether honest fuller be facetious or grave on this period of nicknaming parties i will not decide; but, when he tells us that there was another word which was introduced into our nation at this time, i think at least that the whole passage is an admirable commentary on this party vocabulary. "contemporary with _malignants_ is the word _plunder_, which some make of latin original, from _planum dare_, to _level_, to _plane_ all to nothing! others of dutch extraction, as if it were to _plume_, or pluck the feathers of a bird to the bare skin.[ ] sure i am we first heard of it in the swedish wars; and if the name and thing be sent back from whence it came few english eyes would weep thereat." all england had wept at the introduction of the word. the _rump_ was the filthy nickname of an odious faction--the history of this famous appellation, which was at first one of horror, till it afterwards became one of derision and contempt, must be referred to another place. the _rump_ became a perpetual whetstone for the loyal wits,[ ] till at length its former admirers, the rabble themselves, in town and country, vied with each other in "_burning rumps_" of beef, which were hung by chains on a gallows with a bonfire underneath, and proved how the people, like children, come at length to make a plaything of that which was once their bugbear. charles the second, during the short holiday of the restoration--all holidays seem short!--and when he and the people were in good humour, granted anything to every one,--the mode of "petitions" got at length very inconvenient, and the king in council declared that this petitioning was "a method set on foot by ill men to promote discontents among the people," and enjoined his loving subjects not to subscribe them. the petitioners, however, persisted--when a new party rose to express their abhorrence of petitioning; both parties nicknamed each other the _petitioners_ and the _abhorrers_! their day was short, but fierce; the _petitioners_, however weak in their cognomen, were far the bolder of the two, for the commons were with them, and the _abhorrers_ had expressed by their term rather the strength of their inclinations than of their numbers. charles the second said to a _petitioner_ from taunton, "how _dare_ you deliver me such a paper?" "sir," replied the petitioner from taunton, "my name is dare!" a saucy reply, for which he was tried, fined, and imprisoned; when lo! the commons petitioned again to release the _petitioner_! "the very name," says hume, "by which each party denominated its antagonists discovers the virulence and rancour which prevailed; for besides _petitioner_ and _abhorrer_, this year is remarkable for being the epoch of the well-known epithets of _whig_ and _tory_." these silly terms of reproach, whig and tory, are still preserved among us, as if the palladium of british liberty was guarded by these exotic names, for they are not english, which the parties so invidiously bestow on each other. they are ludicrous enough in their origin. the friends of the court and the advocates of lineal succession were, by the republican party, branded with the title of _tories_, which was the name of certain irish robbers;[ ] while the court party in return could find no other revenge than by appropriating to the covenanters and the republicans of that class the name of the scotch beverage of sour milk, whose virtue they considered so expressive of their dispositions, and which is called _whigg_. so ridiculous in their origin were these pernicious nicknames, which long excited feuds and quarrels in domestic life, and may still be said to divide into two great parties this land of political freedom. but nothing becomes obsolete in political factions, and the meaner and more scandalous the name affixed by one party to another the more it becomes not only their rallying cry or their password, but even constitutes their glory. thus the hollanders long prided themselves on the humiliating nickname of "les gueux:" the protestants of france on the scornful one of the _huguenots_; the non-conformists in england on the mockery of the _puritan_; and all parties have perpetuated their anger by their inglorious names. swift was well aware of this truth in political history: "each party," says that sagacious observer, "grows proud of that appellation which their adversaries at first intended as a reproach; of this sort were the _guelphs_ and the _ghibellines_, _huguenots_ and _cavaliers_." nor has it been only by nicknaming each other by derisory or opprobrious terms that parties have been marked, but they have also worn a livery, and practised distinctive manners. what sufferings did not italy endure for a long series of years under those fatal party-names of the _guelphs_ and the _ghibellines_; alternately the victors and the vanquished, the beautiful land of italy drank the blood of her children. italy, like greece, opens a moving picture of the hatreds and jealousies of small republics; her _bianchi_ and her _neri_, her _guelphs_ and her _ghibellines_! in bologna, two great families once shook that city with their divisions; the _pepoli_ adopted the french interests; the _maluezzi_ the spanish. it was incurring some danger to walk the streets of bologna, for the _pepoli_ wore their feathers on the right side of their caps, and the _maluezzi_ on the left. such was the party-hatred of the two great italian factions, that they carried their rancour even into their domestic habits; at table the _guelphs_ placed their knives and spoons longwise, and the _ghibellines_ across; the one cut their bread across, the other longwise. even in cutting an orange they could not agree; for the _guelph_ cut his orange horizontally, and the _ghibelline_ downwards. children were taught these artifices of faction--their hatreds became traditional, and thus the italians perpetuated the full benefits of their party-spirit from generation to generation.[ ] men in private life go down to their graves with some unlucky name, not received in baptism, but more descriptive and picturesque; and even ministers of state have winced at a political christening. malagrida the jesuit and jemmy twitcher were nicknames which made one of our ministers odious, and another contemptible.[ ] the earl of godolphin caught such fire at that of volpone, that it drove him into the opposite party, for the vindictive purpose of obtaining the impolitical prosecution of sacheverell, who, in his famous sermon, had first applied it to the earl, and unluckily it had stuck to him. "faction," says lord orford, "is as capricious as fortune; wrongs, oppression, the zeal of real patriots, or the genius of false ones, may sometimes be employed for years in kindling substantial opposition to authority; in other seasons the impulse of a moment, a _ballad_, a _nickname_, a _fashion_ can throw a city into a tumult, and shake the foundations of a state." such is a slight history of the human passions in politics! we might despair in thus discovering that wisdom and patriotism so frequently originate in this turbid source of party; but we are consoled when we reflect that the most important political principles are immutable: and that they are those which even the spirit of party must learn to reverence. footnotes: [ ] see recueil chronologique et analytique de tout ce qui a fait en portugal la société de jesus. vol. ii. sect. . [ ] _plunder_, observed mr. douce, is pure dutch or flemish--_plunderen_, from _plunder_, which means _property_ of any kind. may tells us it was brought by those officers who had returned from the wars of the netherlands. [ ] one of the best collections of political songs written during the great civil war, is entitled "the rump," and has a curious frontispiece representing the mob burning rumps as described above. [ ] the "history of the tories and rapparees" was a popular irish chapbook a few years ago, and devoted to the daring acts of these marauders. [ ] these curious particulars i found in a manuscript. [ ] lord shelburne was named "malagrida," and lord sandwich was "jemmy twitcher;" a name derived from the chief of macheath's gang in the _beggar's opera_. the domestic life of a poet.--shenstone vindicated. the dogmatism of johnson, and the fastidiousness of gray, the critic who passed his days amidst "the busy hum of men," and the poet who mused in cloistered solitude, have fatally injured a fine natural genius in shenstone. mr. campbell, with a brother's feeling, has (since the present article was composed) sympathised with the endowments and the pursuits of this poet; but the facts i had collected seemed to me to open a more important view. i am aware how lightly the poetical character of shenstone is held by some great contemporaries--although this very poet has left us at least one poem of unrivalled originality. mr. campbell has regretted that shenstone not only "affected that arcadianism" which "gives a certain air of masquerade in his pastoral character," adopted by our earlier poets, but also has "rather incongruously blended together the rural swain with the disciple of virtù." all this requires some explanation. it is not only as a poet, possessing the characteristics of poetry, but as a creator in another way, for which i claim the attention of the reader. i have formed a picture of the domestic life of a poet, and the pursuits of a votary of taste, both equally contracted in their endeavours, from the habits, the emotions, and the events which occurred to shenstone. four material circumstances influenced his character, and were productive of all his unhappiness. the neglect he incurred in those poetical studies to which he had devoted his hopes; his secret sorrows in not having formed a domestic union, from prudential motives, with one whom he loved; the ruinous state of his domestic affairs, arising from a seducing passion for creating a new taste in landscape gardening and an ornamented farm; and finally, his disappointment of that promised patronage, which might have induced him to have become a political writer; for which his inclinations, and, it is said, his talents in early life, were alike adapted: with these points in view, we may trace the different states of his mind, show what he did, and what he was earnestly intent to have done. why have the "elegies" of shenstone, which forty years ago formed for many of us the favourite poems of our youth, ceased to delight us in mature life? it is perhaps that these elegies, planned with peculiar felicity, have little in their execution. they form a series of poetical truths, devoid of poetical expression; truths,--for notwithstanding the pastoral romance in which the poet has enveloped himself, the subjects are real, and the feelings could not, therefore, be fictitious. in a preface, remarkable for its graceful simplicity, our poet tells us, that "he entered on his subjects occasionally, as particular _incidents in life_ suggested, or _dispositions of mind_ recommended them to his choice." he shows that "he drew his pictures from the spot, and, he felt very sensibly the affections he communicates." he avers that all those attendants on rural scenery, and all those allusions to rural life, were not the counterfeited scenes of a town poet, any more than the sentiments, which were inspired by nature. shenstone's friend graves, who knew him in early life, and to his last days, informs us that these elegies were written when he had taken the leasowes into his own hands;[ ] and though his _ferme ornée_ engaged his thoughts, he occasionally wrote them, "partly," said shenstone, "to divert my present impatience, and partly, as it will be a picture of most that passes in my own mind; a portrait which friends may value." this, then, is the secret charm which acts so forcibly on the first emotions of our youth, at a moment when, not too difficult to be pleased, the reflected delineations of the habits and the affections, the hopes and the delights, with all the domestic associations of this poet, always true to nature, reflect back that picture of ourselves which we instantly recognise. it is only as we advance in life that we lose the relish of our early simplicity, and that we discover that shenstone was not endowed with high imagination. these elegies, with some other poems, may be read with a new interest when we discover them to form the true memoirs of shenstone. records of querulous but delightful feelings! whose subjects spontaneously offered themselves from passing incidents; they still perpetuate emotions which will interest the young poet and the young lover of taste. elegy iv., the first which shenstone composed, is entitled "ophelia's urn," and it was no unreal one! it was erected by graves in mickleton church, to the memory of an extraordinary young woman, utrecia smith, the literary daughter of a learned but poor clergyman. utrecia had formed so fine a taste for literature, and composed with such elegance in verse and prose, that an excellent judge declared that "he did not like to form his opinion of any author till he previously knew hers." graves had been long attached to her, but from motives of prudence broke off an intercourse with this interesting woman, who sunk under this severe disappointment. when her prudent lover, graves, inscribed the urn, her friend shenstone, perhaps more feelingly, commemorated her virtues and her tastes. such, indeed, was the friendly intercourse between shenstone and utrecia, that in elegy xviii., written long after her death, she still lingered in his reminiscences. composing this elegy on the calamitous close of somerville's life, a brother bard, and victim to narrow circumstances, and which he probably contemplated as an image of his own, shenstone tenderly recollects that he used to read somerville's poems to utrecia:-- oh, lost ophelia; smoothly flow'd the day to feel his music with my flames agree; to taste the beauties of his melting lay, to taste, and fancy it was dear to thee! how true is the feeling! how mean the poetical expression! the seventh elegy describes a vision, where the shadow of wolsey breaks upon the author: a graceful form appear'd, white were his locks, with awful scarlet crown'd. even this fanciful subject was not chosen capriciously, but sprung from an incident. once, on his way to cheltenham, shenstone missed his road, and wandered till late at night among the cotswold hills on this occasion he appears to have made a moral reflection, which we find in his "essays." "how melancholy is it to travel late upon any ambitious project on a winter's night, and observe the light of cottages, where all the unambitious people are warm and happy, or at rest in their beds." while the benighted poet, lost among the lonely hills, was meditating on "ambitious projects," the character of wolsey arose before him; the visionary cardinal crossed his path, and busied his imagination. "thou," exclaims the poet, like a meteor's fire, shot'st blazing forth, disdaining dull degrees. _elegy_ vii. and the bard, after discovering all the miseries of unhappy grandeur, and murmuring at this delay to the house of his friend, exclaims-- oh if these ills the price of power advance, check not my speed where social joys invite! the silent departure of the poetical spectre is fine: the troubled vision cast a mournful glance, and sighing, vanish'd in the shades of night. and to prove that the subject of this elegy thus arose to the poet's fancy, he has himself commemorated the incident that gave occasion to it, in the opening:-- on distant heaths, beneath autumnal skies, pensive i saw the circling shades descend; weary and faint, i heard the storm arise, while the sun vanish'd like a faithless friend. _elegy_ vii. the fifteenth elegy, composed "in memory of a private family in worcestershire," is on the extinction of the ancient family of the penns in the male line.[ ] shenstone's mother was a penn; and the poet was now the inhabitant of their ancient mansion, an old timber-built house of the age of elizabeth. the local description was a real scene--"the shaded pool"--"the group of ancient elms"--"the flocking rooks," and the picture of the simple manners of his own ancestors, were realities; the emotions they excited were therefore genuine, and not one of those "mockeries" of amplification from the crowd of verse-writers. the tenth elegy, "to fortune, suggesting his motive for repining at her dispensations," with his celebrated "pastoral ballad, in four parts." were alike produced by what one of the great minstrels of our own times has so finely indicated when he sung-- the secret woes the world has never known; while on the weary night dawn'd wearier day, and bitterer was the grief devour'd alone. in this elegy shenstone repines at the dispensations of fortune, not for having denied him her higher gifts, nor that she compels him to check the fond love of art that fired my veins; nor that some "dull dotard with boundless wealth" finds his "grating reed" preferred to the bard's, but that the "tawdry shepherdess" of this dull dotard, by her "pride," makes "the rural thane" despise the poet's delia. must delia's softness, elegance, and ease, submit to marian's dress? to marian's gold? must marian's robe from distant india please? the simple fleece my delia's limbs infold! ah! what is native worth esteemed of clowns? 'tis thy false glare, o fortune! thine they see; tis for my delia's sake i dread thy frowns, and my last gasp shall curses breathe on thee! the delia of our poet was not an "iris en air." shenstone was early in life captivated by a young lady, whom graves describes with all those mild and serene graces of pensive melancholy, touched by plaintive love-songs and elegies of woe, adapted not only to be the muse but the mistress of a poet. the sensibility of this passion took entire possession of his heart for some years, and it was in parting from her that he first sketched his exquisite "pastoral ballad." as he retreated more and more into solitude, his passion felt no diminution. dr. nash informs us that shenstone acknowledged that it was his own fault that he did not accept the hand of the lady whom he so tenderly loved; but his spirit could not endure to be a perpetual witness of her degradation in the rank of society, by an inconsiderate union with poetry and poverty. that such was his motive, we may infer from a passage in one of his letters. "love, as it regularly tends to matrimony, requires certain favours from fortune and circumstances to render it proper to be indulged in." there are perpetual allusions to these "secret woes" in his correspondence; for, although he had the fortitude to refuse marriage, he had not the stoicism to contract his own heart in cold and sullen celibacy. he thus alludes to this subject, which so often excited far other emotions than those of humour:--"it is long since i have considered myself as _undone_. the world will not, perhaps, consider me in that light entirely till i have married my maid!" it is probable that our poet had an intention of marrying his maid. i discovered a pleasing anecdote among the late mr. bindley's collections, which i transcribed from the original. on the back of a picture of shenstone himself, of which dodsley published a print in , the following energetic inscription was written by the poet on his new-year's gift:-- "this picture belongs to mary cutler, given her by her master, william shenstone, january st, , in acknowledgment of her native genius, her magnanimity, her tenderness, and her fidelity. "w. s." "the progress of taste; or the fate of delicacy," is a poem on the temper and studies of the author; and "economy; a rhapsody addressed to young poets," abounds with self-touches. if shenstone created little from the imagination, he was at least perpetually under the influence of real emotions. this is the reason why his truths so strongly operate on the juvenile mind, not yet matured: and thus we have sufficiently ascertained the fact, as the poet himself has expressed it, "that he drew his pictures from the spot, and he felt very sensibly the affections he communicates." all the anxieties of a poetical life were early experienced by shenstone. he first published some juvenile productions, under a very odd title, indicative of modesty, perhaps too of pride.[ ] and his motto of _contentus paucis lectoribus_, even horace himself might have smiled at, for it only conceals the desire of every poet who pants to deserve many! but when he tried at a more elaborate poetical labour, "the judgment of hercules," it failed to attract notice. he hastened to town, and he beat about literary coffee-houses; and returned to the country from the chase of fame, wearied without having started it. a breath revived him--but a breath o'erthrew. even "the judgment of hercules" between indolence and industry, or pleasure and virtue, was a picture of his own feelings; an argument drawn from his own reasonings; indicating the uncertainty of the poet's dubious disposition; who finally by siding with indolence, lost that triumph which his hero obtained by a directly opposite course. in the following year begins that melancholy strain in his correspondence which marks the disappointment of the man who had staked too great a quantity of his happiness on the poetical die. this is the critical moment of life when our character is formed by habit, and our fate is decided by choice. was shenstone to become an active or contemplative being? he yielded to nature![ ] it was now that he entered into another species of poetry, working with too costly materials, in the magical composition of plants, water, and earth; with these he created those emotions which his more strictly poetical ones failed to excite. he planned a paradise amidst his solitude. when we consider that shenstone, in developing his fine pastoral ideas in the leasowes, educated the nation into that taste for landscape-gardening, which has become the model of all europe, this itself constitutes a claim on the gratitude of posterity.[ ] thus the private pleasures of a man of genius may become at length those of a whole people. the creator of this new taste appears to have received far less notice than he merited. the name of shenstone does not appear in the essay on gardening by lord orford: even the supercilious gray only bestowed a ludicrous image on these pastoral scenes, which, however, his friend mason has celebrated; and the genius of johnson, incapacitated by nature to touch on objects of rural fancy, after describing some of the offices of the landscape designer, adds, that "he will not inquire whether they demand any great powers of mind." johnson, however, conveys to us his own feelings, when he immediately expresses them under the character of a "sullen and surly speculator." the anxious life of shenstone would, indeed, have been remunerated, could he have read the enchanting eulogium of wheatley on the leasowes; which, said he, "is a perfect picture of his mind--simple, elegant, and amiable; and will always suggest a doubt whether the spot inspired his verse, or whether in the scenes which he formed, he only realized the pastoral images which abound in his songs." yes! shenstone would have been delighted, could he have heard that montesquieu, on his return home, adorned his "château gothique, mais orné de bois charmans, dont j'ai pris l'idée en angleterre;" and shenstone, even with his modest and timid nature, had been proud to have witnessed a noble foreigner, amidst memorials dedicated to theocritus and virgil, to thomson and gesner, raising in his grounds an inscription, in bad english, but in pure taste, to shenstone himself for having displayed in his writings "a mind natural," and in his leasowes "laid arcadian greens rural." recently pindemonte has traced the taste of english gardening to shenstone. a man of genius sometimes receives from foreigners, who are placed out of the prejudices of his compatriots, the tribute of posterity! amidst these rural elegancies which shenstone was raising about him, his muse has pathetically sung his melancholy feelings-- but did the muses haunt his cell, or in his dome did venus dwell?-- when all the structures shone complete, ah, me! 'twas damon's own confession, came poverty, and took possession. _the progress of taste._ the poet observes, that the wants of philosophy are contracted, satisfied with "cheap contentment," but taste alone requires entire profusion! days and nights, and hours thy voice, hydropic fancy! calls aloud for costly draughts.---- _economy._ an original image illustrates that fatal want of economy which conceals itself amidst the beautiful appearances of taste:-- some graceless mark, some symptom ill-conceal'd, shall soon or late burst like a pimple from the vicious tide of acid blood, proclaiming want's disease amidst the bloom of show. _economy._ he paints himself:-- observe florelio's mien; why treads my friend with melancholy step that beauteous lawn? why pensive strays his eye o'er statues, grottos, urns, by critic art proportion'd fair? or from his lofty dome returns his eye unpleased, disconsolate? the cause is, "criminal expense," and he exclaims-- sweet interchange of river, valley, mountain, woods, and plains, how gladsome once he ranged your native turf, your simple scenes how raptured! ere expense had lavish'd thousand ornaments, and taught convenience to perplex him, art to pall, pomp to deject, and beauty to displease. _economy._ while shenstone was rearing hazels and hawthorns, opening vistas, and winding waters; and having shown them where to stray, threw little pebbles in their way; while he was pulling down hovels and cowhouses, to compose mottos and inscriptions for garden-seats and urns; while he had so finely obscured with a tender gloom the grove of virgil, and thrown over, "in the midst of a plantation of yew, a bridge of one arch, built of a dusty-coloured stone, and simple even to rudeness,"[ ] and invoked oberon in some arcadian scene, where in cool grot and mossy cell the tripping fauns and fairies dwell; the solitary magician, who had raised all these wonders, was, in reality, an unfortunate poet, the tenant of a dilapidated farm-house, where the winds passed through, and the rains lodged, often taking refuge in his own kitchen-- far from all resort of mirth, save the cricket on the hearth! in a letter[ ] of the disconsolate founder of landscape gardening, our author paints his situation with all its misery--lamenting that his house is not fit to receive "polite friends, were they so disposed;" and resolved to banish all others, he proceeds: "but i make it a certain rule, 'arcere profanum vulgus.' persons who will despise you for the want of a good set of chairs, or an uncouth fire-shovel, at the same time that they can't taste any excellence in a mind that overlooks those things; with whom it is in vain that your mind is furnished, if the walls are naked; indeed one loses much of one's acquisitions in virtue by an hour's converse with such as judge of merit by money--yet i am now and then impelled by the social passion to sit half an hour in my kitchen." but the solicitude of friends and the fate of somerville, a neighbour and a poet, often compelled shenstone to start amidst his reveries; and thus he has preserved his feelings and his irresolutions. reflecting on the death of somerville, he writes-- "to be forced to drink himself into pains of the body, in order to get rid of the pains of the mind, is a misery which i can well conceive, because i may, without vanity, esteem myself his equal in point of economy, and consequently ought to have an eye on his misfortunes--(as you kindly hinted to me about twelve o'clock, at the feathers.)--i should retrench--i will--but you shall not see me--i will not let you know that i took it in good part--i will do it at solitary times as i may." such were the calamities of "great taste" with "little fortune;" but in the case of shenstone, these were combined with the other calamity of "mediocrity of genius." here, then, at the leasowes, with occasional trips to town in pursuit of fame, which perpetually eluded his grasp; in the correspondence of a few delicate minds, whose admiration was substituted for more genuine celebrity; composing diatribes against economy and taste, while his income was diminishing every year; our neglected author grew daily more indolent and sedentary, and withdrawing himself entirely into his own hermitage, moaned and despaired in an arcadian solitude.[ ] the cries and the "secret sorrows" of shenstone have come down to us--those of his brothers have not always! and shall dull men, because they have minds cold and obscure, like a lapland year which has no summer, be permitted to exult over this class of men of sensibility and taste, but of moderate genius and without fortune? the passions and emotions of the heart are facts and dates only to those who possess them. to what a melancholy state was our author reduced, when he thus addressed his friend:-- "i suppose you have been informed that my fever was in a great measure hypochondriacal, and left my nerves so extremely sensible, that even on no very interesting subjects, i could readily _think myself into a vertigo_; i had almost said an _epilepsy_; for surely i was oftentimes near it." the features of this sad portrait are more particularly made out in another place. "now i am come home from a visit, every little uneasiness is sufficient to introduce my whole train of melancholy considerations, and to make me utterly dissatisfied with the life i now lead, and the life which i foresee i shall lead. i am angry and envious, and dejected and frantic, and disregard all present things, just as becomes a madman to do. i am infinitely pleased (though it is a gloomy joy) with the application of dr. swift's complaint, 'that he is forced to die in a rage, like a poisoned rat in a hole.' my soul is no more fitted to the figure i make, than a cable rope to a cambric needle; i cannot bear to see the advantages alienated, which i think i could deserve and relish so much more than those that have them." there are other testimonies in his entire correspondence. whenever forsaken by his company he describes the horrors around him, delivered up "to winter, silence, and reflection;" ever foreseeing himself "returning to the same series of melancholy hours." his frame shattered by the whole train of hypochondriacal symptoms, there was nothing to cheer the querulous author, who with half the consciousness of genius, lived neglected and unpatronised. his elegant mind had not the force, by his productions, to draw the celebrity he sighed after, to his hermitage. shenstone was so anxious for his literary character, that he contemplated on the posthumous fame which he might derive from the publication of his letters: see letter lxxix., _on hearing his letters to mr. whistler were destroyed_; the act of a merchant, his brother, who being a _very sensible_ man, as graves describes, yet with the _stupidity_ of a goth, destroyed _the whole correspondence of shenstone, for "its sentimental intercourse_."--shenstone bitterly regrets the loss, and says, "i would have given more money for the letters than it is allowable for me to mention with decency. i look upon my letters as some of my _chefs-d'oeuvre_--they are the history of my mind for these twenty years past." this, with the loss of cowley's correspondence, should have been preserved in the article, "of suppressors and dilapidators of manuscripts." towards the close of life, when his spirits were exhausted, and "the silly clue of hopes and expectations," as he termed them, was undone, the notice of some persons of rank began to reach him. shenstone, however, deeply colours the variable state of his own mind--"recovering from a nervous fever, as i have since discovered by many concurrent symptoms, i seem to anticipate a little of that 'vernal delight' which milton mentions and thinks ----able to chase all sadness but despair-- at least i begin to resume my silly clue of hopes and expectations." in a former letter he had, however, given them up: "i begin to wean myself from all hopes and expectations whatever. i feed my wild-ducks, and i water my carnations. happy enough if i could extinguish my ambition quite, to indulge the desire of being something more beneficial in my sphere.--perhaps some few other circumstances would want also to be adjusted." what were these "hopes and expectations," from which sometimes he weans himself, and which are perpetually revived, and are attributed to "an ambition he cannot extinguish"? this article has been written in vain, if the reader has not already perceived, that they had haunted him in early life; sickening his spirit after the possession of a poetical celebrity, unattainable by his genius; some expectations too he might have cherished from the talent he possessed for political studies, in which graves confidently says, that "he would have made no inconsiderable figure, if he had had a sufficient motive for applying his mind to them." shenstone has left several proofs of this talent.[ ] but his master-passion for literary fame had produced little more than anxieties and disappointments; and when he indulged his pastoral fancy in a beautiful creation on his grounds, it consumed the estate which it adorned. johnson forcibly expressed his situation: "his death was probably hastened by his anxieties. he was a lamp that spent its oil in blazing. it is said, that if he had lived a little longer, he would have been assisted by a pension." footnotes: [ ] this once-celebrated abode of the poet is situated at hales-owen, shropshire. [ ] this we learn from dr. nash's history of worcestershire. [ ] while at college he printed, without his name, a small volume of verses, with this title, "poems upon various occasions, written for the entertainment of the author, and printed for the amusement of a few friends, prejudiced in his favour." oxford, . mo.--nash's "history of worcestershire," vol. i. p. . i find this notice of it in w. lowndes's catalogue; shenstone (w.) poems, _l._ _s._ _d._--(shenstone took uncommon pains to suppress this book, by collecting and destroying copies wherever he met with them.)--in, longman's bibliotheca anglo-poetica, it is valued at _l. oxf_. . mr. harris informs me, that about the year , fletcher, the bookseller, at oxford, had many copies of this first edition, which he sold at _eighteen pence_ each. these prices are amusing! the prices of books are connected with their history. [ ] on this subject graves makes a very useful observation. "in this decision the happiness of mr. shenstone was materially concerned. whether he determined wisely or not, people of taste and people of worldly prudence will probably be of very different opinions. i somewhat suspect, that 'people of worldly prudence' are not half the fools that 'people of taste' insist they are." [ ] shenstone's farm was surrounded by winding walks, decorated with vases and statues, varied by wood and water, and occasionally embracing fine views over frankley and clent hills, and the country about cradley, dudley, rawley, and the intermediate places. some of his vases were inscribed to the memory of relatives and friends. one had a latin inscription to his cousin maria, another was dedicated to somerville his poet-friend. in different parts of his domain he constructed buildings at once useful and ornamental, destined to serve farm-purposes, but to be also grateful to the eye. a chinese bridge led to a temple beside a lake, and near was a seat inscribed with the popular shropshire toast to "all friends round the wrekin," the spot commanding a distant view of the hill so named. a wild path through a small wood led to an ingeniously constructed root-house, beside which a rivulet ran which helped to form the lake already mentioned; on its banks was a dedicatory urn to the _genio loci_. the general effect of the whole place was highly praised in the poet's time. it was neglected at his death; and its description is now but a record of the past. [ ] wheatley, on "modern gardening," p. . edition th. [ ] in "hull's collection," vol. ii. letter ii. [ ] graves was supposed to have glanced at his friend shenstone in his novel of "_columella_; or, the distressed anchoret." the aim of this work is to convey all the moral instruction i could wish to offer here to youthful genius. it is written to show the consequence of a person of education and talents retiring to solitude and indolence in the vigour of youth. nichols's "literary anecdotes," vol. iii. p. . nash's "history of worcestershire," vol. i. p. . [ ] see his "letters" xl. and xli., and more particularly xlii. and xliii., with a new theory of political principles. secret history of the building of blenheim. the secret history of this national edifice derives importance from its nature, and the remarkable characters involved in the unparalleled transaction. the great architect, when obstructed in the progress of his work by the irregular payments of the workmen, appears to have practised one of his own comic plots to put the debts on the hero himself; while the duke, who had it much at heart to inhabit the palace of his fame, but tutored into wariness under the vigilant and fierce eye of atossa,[ ] would neither approve nor disapprove, silently looked on in hope and in grief, from year to year, as the work proceeded, or as it was left at a stand. at length we find this _comédie larmoyante_ wound up by the duchess herself, in an attempt utterly to ruin the enraged and insulted architect![ ] perhaps this was the first time that it had ever been resolved in parliament to raise a public monument of glory and gratitude--to an individual! the novelty of the attempt may serve as the only excuse for the loose arrangements which followed after parliament had approved of the design, without voting any specific supply for the purpose! the queen always issued the orders at her own expense, and commanded expedition; and while anne lived, the expenses of the building were included in her majesty's debts, as belonging to the civil list sanctioned by parliament.[ ] when george the first came to the throne, the parliament declared the debt to be the debt of the queen, and the king granted a privy seal as for other debts. the crown and the parliament had hitherto proceeded in perfect union respecting this national edifice. however, i find that the workmen were greatly in arrears; for when george the first ascended the throne, they gladly accepted a _third_ part of their several debts! the great architect found himself amidst inextricable difficulties. with the fertile invention which amuses in his comedies, he contrived an extraordinary scheme, by which he proposed to make the duke himself responsible for the building of blenheim! however much the duke longed to see the magnificent edifice concluded, he showed the same calm intrepidity in the building of blenheim as he had in its field of action. aware that if he himself gave any order, or suggested any alteration, he might be involved in the expense of the building, he was never to be circumvented--never to be surprised into a spontaneous emotion of pleasure or disapprobation; on no occasion, he declares, had he even entered into conversation with the architect (though his friend) or with any one acting under his orders, about blenheim house! such impenetrable prudence on all sides had often blunted the subdolous ingenuity of the architect and plotter of comedies! in the absence of the duke, when abroad in , sir john contrived to obtain from lord godolphin, the friend and relative of the duke of marlborough, and probably his agent in some of his concerns, a warrant, constituting vanbrugh _surveyor, with power of contracting on the behalf of the duke of marlborough_. how he prevailed on lord godolphin to get this appointment does not appear--his lordship probably conceived it was useful, and might assist in expediting the great work, the favourite object of the hero. this warrant, however, vanbrugh kept entirely to himself; he never mentioned to the duke that he was in possession of any such power; nor, on his return, did he claim to have it renewed. the building proceeded with the same delays, and the payments with the same irregularity; the veteran now foresaw what happened, that he should never be the inhabitant of his own house! the public money issued from the treasury was never to be depended on; and after , the duke took the building upon himself, for the purpose of accommodating the workmen. they had hitherto received what was called "crown pay," which was high wages and uncertain payment--and they now gladly abated a third of their prices. but though the duke had undertaken to pay the workmen, this could make no alteration in the claims on the treasury. blenheim was to be built _for_ marlborough, not _by_ him; it was a monument raised by the nation to their hero, not a palace to be built by their mutual contributions. whether marlborough found that his own million might be slowly injured while the treasury remained still obdurate, or that the architect was still more and more involved, i cannot tell; but in , the workmen appear to have struck, and the old delays and stand-still again renewed. it was then sir john, for the first time, produced the warrant he had extracted from lord godolphin, to lay before the treasury; adding, however, a memorandum, to prevent any misconception, that the duke was to be considered as the paymaster, the debts incurred devolving on the crown. this part of our secret history requires more development than i am enabled to afford: as my information is drawn from "the case" of the duke of marlborough in reply to sir john's depositions, it is possible vanbrugh may suffer more than he ought in this narration; which, however, incidentally notices his own statements. a new scene opens! vanbrugh not obtaining his claims from the treasury, and the workmen becoming more clamorous, the architect suddenly turns round on the duke, at once to charge him with the whole debt. the pitiable history of this magnificent monument of public gratitude, from its beginnings, is given by vanbrugh in his deposition. the great architect represents himself as being comptroller of her majesty's works; and as such was appointed to prepare a model, which model of blenheim house her majesty kept in her palace, and gave her commands to issue money according to the direction of mr. travers, the queen's surveyor-general; that the lord treasurer appointed her majesty's own officers to supervise these works; that it was upon defect of money from the treasury that the workmen grew uneasy; that the work was stopped, till further orders of money from the treasury; that the queen then ordered enough to secure it from winter weather; that afterwards she ordered more for payment of the workmen; that they were paid in part; and upon sir john's telling them the queen's resolution to grant them a further supply (_after a stop put to it by the duchess's order_), they went on and incurred the present debt; that this was afterwards brought into the house of commons as the debt of the crown, not owing from the queen to the duke of marlborough, but to the workmen, and this by the queen's officers. during the uncertain progress of the building, and while the workmen were often in deep arrears, it would seem that the architect often designed to involve the marlboroughs in its fate and his own; he probably thought that some of their round million might bear to be chipped, to finish his great work, with which, too, their glory was so intimately connected. the famous duchess had evidently put the duke on the defensive; but once, perhaps, was the duke on the point of indulging some generous architectural fancy, when lo! atossa stepped forwards and "put a stop to the building." when vanbrugh at length produced the warrant of lord godolphin, empowering him to contract for the duke, this instrument was utterly disclaimed by marlborough; the duke declares it existed without his knowledge; and that if such an instrument for a moment was to be held valid, no man would be safe, but might be ruined by the act of another! vanbrugh seems to have involved the intricacy of his plot, till it fell into some contradictions. the queen he had not found difficult to manage; but after her death, when the treasury failed in its golden source, he seems to have sat down to contrive how to make the duke the great debtor. vanbrugh swears that "he himself looked upon the crown, as engaged to the duke of marlborough for the expense; but that he believes the workmen always looked upon the duke as their paymaster." he advances so far, as to swear that he made a contract with particular workmen, which contract was not unknown to the duke. this was not denied; but the duke in his reply observes, that "he knew not that the workmen were employed for _his_ account, or by _his_ own agent:"--never having heard till sir john produced the warrant from lord godolphin, that sir john was "his surveyor!" which he disclaims. our architect, however opposite his depositions appear, contrived to become a witness to such facts as tended to conclude the duke to be the debtor for the building; and "in his depositions has taken as much care to have the guilt of perjury without the punishment of it, as any man could do." he so managed, though he has not sworn to contradictions, that the natural tendency of one part of his evidence presses one way, and the natural tendency of another part presses the direct contrary way. in his former memorial, the main design was to disengage the duke from the debt; in his depositions, the main design was to charge the duke with the debt. vanbrugh, it must be confessed, exerted not less of his dramatic than his architectural genius in the building of blenheim! "the case" concludes with an eloquent reflection, where vanbrugh is distinguished as the man of genius, though not, in this predicament, the man of honour. "if at last the charge run into by order of the crown must be upon the duke, yet the infamy of it must go upon another, who was perhaps the only architect in the world capable of building such a house; and the only friend in the world capable of contriving to lay the debt upon one to whom he was so highly obliged." there is a curious fact in the depositions of vanbrugh, by which we might infer that the idea of blenheim house might have originated with the duke himself; he swears that "in , the duke met him, and told him _he_ designed to build a house, and must consult him about a model, &c.; but it was the queen who ordered the present house to be built with all expedition." the whole conduct of this national edifice was unworthy of the nation, if in truth the nation ever entered heartily into it. no specific sum had been voted in parliament for so great an undertaking; which afterwards was the occasion of involving all the parties concerned in trouble and litigation; threatened the ruin of the architect; and i think we shall see, by vanbrugh's letters, was finished at the sole charge, and even under the superintendence, of the duchess herself! it may be a question, whether this magnificent monument of glory did not rather originate in the spirit of party, in the urgent desire of the queen to allay the pride and jealousies of the marlboroughs. from the circumstance to which vanbrugh has sworn, that the duke had designed to have a house built by vanbrugh, before blenheim had been resolved on, we may suppose that this intention of the duke's afforded the queen a suggestion of a national edifice. archdeacon coxe, in his life of marlborough, has obscurely alluded to the circumstances attending the building of blenheim. "the illness of the duke, and the tedious litigation which ensued, caused such delays, that little progress was made in the work at the time of his decease. in the interim a serious misunderstanding arose between the duchess and the architect, which forms the subject of a voluminous correspondence. vanbrugh was in consequence removed, and the direction of the building confided to other hands, under her own immediate superintendence." this "voluminous correspondence" would probably afford "words that burn" of the lofty insolence of atossa, and "thoughts that breathe" of the comic wit; it might too relate, in many curious points, to the stupendous fabric itself. if her grace condescended to criticise its parts with the frank roughness she is known to have done to the architect himself, his own defence and explanations might serve to let us into the bewildering fancies of his magical architecture. of that self-creation for which he was so much abused in his own day as to have lost his real avocation as an architect, and stands condemned for posterity in the volatile bitterness of lord orford, nothing is left for us but our own convictions--to behold, and to be for ever astonished!--but "this voluminous correspondence?" alas! the historian of war and politics overlooks with contempt the little secret histories of art and of human nature!--and "a voluminous correspondence" which indicates so much, and on which not a solitary idea is bestowed, has only served to petrify our curiosity! of this quarrel between the famous duchess and vanbrugh i have only recovered several vivacious extracts from confidential letters of vanbrugh's to jacob tonson. there was an equality of the genius of _invention_, as well as rancour, in her grace and the wit: whether atossa, like vanbrugh, could have had the patience to have composed a comedy of five acts i will not determine; but unquestionably she could have dictated many scenes with equal spirit. we have seen vanbrugh attempting to turn the debts incurred by the building of blenheim on the duke; we now learn, for the first time, that the duchess, with equal aptitude, contrived a counterplot to turn the debts on vanbrugh! "i have the misfortune of losing, for i now see little hopes of ever getting it, near _l._ due to me for many years' service, plague, and trouble, at blenheim, which that wicked woman of 'marlborough' is so far from paying me, that the duke being sued by some of the workmen for work done there, she has tried to turn the debt due to them upon me, for which i think she ought to be hanged." in , on occasion of the duke's death, vanbrugh gives an account to tonson of the great wealth of the marlboroughs, with a caustic touch at his illustrious victims. "the duke of marlborough's treasure exceeds the most extravagant guess. the grand settlement, which it was suspected her grace had broken to pieces, stands good, and hands an immense wealth to lord godolphin and his successors. a round million has been moving about in loans on the land-tax, &c. this the treasury knew before he died, and this was exclusive of his 'land;' his _l._ a year upon the post-office; his mortgages upon a distressed estate; his south-sea stock; his annuities, and which were not subscribed in, and besides what is in foreign banks; and yet this man could neither pay his workmen their bills, nor his architect his salary. "he has given his widow (may a scottish ensign get her!) , _l._ a year _to spoil blenheim her own way_; , _l._ a year to keep herself clean and go to law; _l._ a year to lord rialton for present maintenance; and lord godolphin only _l._ a year jointure, if he outlives my lady: this last is a wretched article. the rest of the heap, for these are but snippings, goes to lord godolphin, and so on. she will have , _l._ a year in present." atossa, as the quarrel heated and the plot thickened, with the maliciousness of puck, and the haughtiness of an empress of blenheim, invented the most cruel insult that ever architect endured!--one perfectly characteristic of that extraordinary woman. vanbrugh went to blenheim with his lady, in a company from castle howard, another magnificent monument of his singular genius. "we staid two nights in woodstock; but there was an order to the servants, _under her grace's own hand, not to let me enter blenheim_! and lest that should not mortify me enough, she having somehow learned that my _wife_ was of the company, _sent an express the night before we came there_, with orders that if _she_ came with the castle howard ladies, the servants should not suffer her to see either house, gardens, or even to enter the park: so she was forced to sit all day long and keep me company at the inn!" this was a _coup-de-théâtre_ in this joint comedy of atossa and vanbrugh! the architect of blenheim, lifting his eyes towards his own massive grandeur, exiled to a dull inn, and imprisoned with one who required rather to be consoled, than capable of consoling the enraged architect! in , atossa still pursuing her hunted prey, had driven it to a spot which she flattered herself would enclose it with the security of a preserve. this produced the following explosion! "i have been forced into chancery by that b. b. b. the duchess of marlborough, where she has got an injunction upon me by her friend the late good chancellor (earl of macclesfield), who declared that i was never employed by the duke, and therefore had no demand upon his estate for my services at blenheim. since my hands were thus tied up from trying by law to recover my arrear, i have prevailed with sir robert walpole _to help me in a scheme which i proposed to him, by which i got my money in spite of the hussy's teeth. my carrying this point enrages her much_, and the more because it is of considerable weight in my small fortune, which she has heartily endeavoured so to destroy as to throw me into an english bastile, there to finish my days, as _i began them, in a french one_." plot for plot! and the superior claims of one of practised invention are vindicated! the writer, long accustomed to comedy-writing, has excelled the self-taught genius of atossa. the "scheme" by which vanbrugh's fertile invention, aided by sir robert walpole, finally circumvented the avaricious, the haughty, and the capricious atossa, remains untold, unless it is alluded to by the passage in lord orford's "anecdotes of painting," where he informs us that the "duchess quarrelled with sir john, and went to law with him; but though he _proved to be in the right_, or rather _because_ he proved to be in the right, she employed sir christopher wren to build the house in st. james's park." i have to add a curious discovery respecting vanbrugh himself, which explains a circumstance in his life not hitherto understood. in all the biographies of vanbrugh, from the time of cibber's lives of the poets, the early part of the life of this man of genius remains unknown. it is said he descended from an ancient family in _cheshire_, which came originally from _france_, though by the name, which properly written would be _van brugh_, he would appear to be of _dutch_ extraction. a tale is universally repeated that sir john once visiting france in the prosecution of his architectural studies, while taking a survey of some fortifications, excited alarm, and was carried to the bastile: where, to deepen the interest of the story, he sketched a variety of comedies, which he must have communicated to the governor, who, whispering it doubtless as an affair of state to several of the noblesse, these admirers of "sketches of comedies"--english ones no doubt--procured the release of this english molière. this tale is further confirmed by a very odd circumstance. sir john built at greenwich, on a spot still called "van brugh's fields," two whimsical houses; one on the side of greenwich park is still called "the bastile-house," built on its model, to commemorate this imprisonment. not a word of this detailed story is probably true! that the _bastile_ was an object which sometimes occupied the imagination of our architect, is probable; for by the letter we have just quoted, we discover from himself the singular incident of vanbrugh's having been _born in the bastile_.[ ] desirous, probably, of concealing his alien origin, this circumstance cast his early days into obscurity. he felt that he was a briton in all respects but that of his singular birth. the father of vanbrugh married sir dudley carleton's daughter. we are told he had "political connexions;" and one of his "political" tours had probably occasioned his confinement in that state-dungeon, where his lady was delivered of her burden of love. this odd fancy of building a "bastile-house" at greenwich, a fortified prison! suggested to his first life-writer the fine romance; which must now be thrown aside among those literary fictions the french distinguish by the softening and yet impudent term of "_anecdotes hasardées!_" with which formerly varillas and his imitators furnished their pages; lies which looked like facts! footnotes: [ ] the name by which pope ruthlessly satirized sarah duchess of marlborough. [ ] i draw the materials of this secret history from an unpublished "case of the duke of marlborough and sir john vanbrugh," as also from some confidential correspondence of vanbrugh with jacob tonson, his friend and publisher. [ ] parliament voted , _l._ for the building, which was insufficient. the queen added thereto the honour of woodstock, an appanage of the crown, on the simple condition of rendering at windsor castle every year on the anniversary of the victory of blenheim, a flag adorned with three fleur-de-lys, "as acquittance for all manner of rents, suits and services due to the crown." [ ] cunningham, in his "lives of the british architects," does not incline to the conclusions above drawn. he says, "i suspect that vanbrugh, in saying he began his days in the bastile, meant only that he was its tenant in early life--at the commencement of his manhood." the same author tells us that vanbrugh's grandfather fled from ghent, his native city, to avoid the persecutions of the duke of alva, and established himself as a merchant in walbrook, where his son lived after him, and where john vanbrugh (afterwards the great architect) was born in the year . his father was at this time comptroller of the treasury chamber. cunningham thinks the cheshire part of the genealogy "unlikely to be true." secret history of sir walter rawleigh.[ ] rawleigh exercised in perfection incompatible talents, and his character connects the opposite extremes of our nature! his "book of life," with its incidents of prosperity and adversity, of glory and humiliation, was as chequered as the novelist would desire for a tale of fiction. yet in this mighty genius there lies an unsuspected disposition, which requires to be demonstrated, before it is possible to conceive its reality. from his earliest days, probably by his early reading of the romantic incidents of the first spanish adventurers in the new world, he himself betrayed the genius of an _adventurer_, which prevailed in his character to the latest; and it often involved him in the practice of mean artifices and petty deceptions; which appear like folly in the wisdom of a sage; like ineptitude in the profound views of a politician; like cowardice in the magnanimity of a hero; and degrade by their littleness the grandeur of a character which was closed by a splendid death, worthy the life of the wisest and the greatest of mankind! the sunshine of his days was in the reign of elizabeth. from a boy, always dreaming of romantic conquests (for he was born in an age of heroism), and formed by nature for the chivalric gallantry of the court of a maiden queen, from the moment he with such infinite art cast his rich mantle over the miry spot, his life was a progress of glory. all about rawleigh was as splendid as the dress he wore: his female sovereign, whose eyes loved to dwell on men who might have been fit subjects for "the faerie queene" of spenser, penurious of reward, only recompensed her favourites by suffering them to make their own fortunes on sea and land; and elizabeth listened to the glowing projects of her hero, indulging that spirit which could have conquered the world, to have laid the toy at the feet of the sovereign! this man, this extraordinary being, who was prodigal of his life and fortune on the spanish main, in the idleness of peace could equally direct his invention to supply the domestic wants of every-day life, in his project of "an office for address." nothing was too high for his ambition, nor too humble for his genius. pre-eminent as a military and a naval commander, as a statesman and a student, rawleigh was as intent on forming the character of prince henry, as that prince was studious of moulding his own aspiring qualities by the genius of the friend whom he contemplated. yet the active life of rawleigh is not more remarkable than his contemplative one. he may well rank among the founders of our literature; for composing on a subject exciting little interest, his fine genius has sealed his unfinished volume with immortality. for magnificence of eloquence, and massiveness of thought, we must still dwell on his pages.[ ] such was the man who was the adored patron of spenser; whom ben jonson, proud of calling other favourites "his sons," honoured by the title of "his father;" and who left political instructions which milton deigned to edit. but how has it happened that, of so elevated a character, gibbon has pronounced that it was "ambiguous," while it is described by hume as "a great but ill-regulated mind!" there was a peculiarity in the character of this eminent man; he practised the cunning of an _adventurer_--a cunning most humiliating in the narrative! the great difficulty to overcome in this discovery is, how to account for a sage and a hero acting folly and cowardice, and attempting to obtain by circuitous deception what it may be supposed so magnanimous a spirit would only deign to possess himself of by direct and open methods. since the present article was written, a letter, hitherto unpublished, appears in the recent edition of shakspeare which curiously and minutely records one of those artifices of the kind which i am about to narrate at length. when, under elizabeth, rawleigh was once in confinement, it appears that seeing the queen passing by, he was suddenly seized with a strange resolution of combating with the governor and his people, declaring that the mere _sight_ of the queen had made him desperate, as a confined lover would feel at the sight of his mistress. the letter gives a minute narrative of sir walter's astonishing conduct, and carefully repeats the warm romantic style in which he talked of his royal mistress, and his formal resolution to die rather than exist out of her presence.[ ] this extravagant scene, with all its cunning, has been most elaborately penned by the ingenious letter-writer, with a hint to the person whom he addresses, to suffer it to meet the eye of their royal mistress, who could not fail of admiring our new "orlando furioso," and soon after released this tender prisoner! to me it is evident that the whole scene was got up and concerted for the occasion, and was the invention of rawleigh himself; the romantic incident he well knew was perfectly adapted to the queen's taste. another similar incident, in which i have been anticipated in the disclosure of the fact, though not of its nature, was what sir toby matthews obscurely alludes to in his letters, of "the guilty blow he gave himself in the tower;" a passage which had long excited my attention, till i discovered the curious incident in some manuscript letters of lord cecil. rawleigh was then confined in the tower for the cobham conspiracy; a plot so absurd and obscure that one historian has called it a "state-riddle," but for which, so many years after, rawleigh so cruelly lost his life. lord cecil gives an account of the examination of the prisoners involved in this conspiracy. "one afternoon, whilst divers of us were in the tower examining some of these prisoners, sir walter _attempted to murder himself_; whereof, when we were advertised, we came to him, and found him in some agony to be unable to endure his misfortunes, and protesting innocency, with carelessness of life; and in that humour _he had wounded himself under the right pap, but no way mortally, being in truth rather a_ cut _than a_ stab, and now very well cured both in body and mind."[ ] this feeble attempt at suicide, this "cut rather than stab," i must place among those scenes in the life of rawleigh so incomprehensible with the genius of the man. if it were nothing but one of those fears of the brave! we must now open another of the follies of the wise! rawleigh returned from the wild and desperate voyage of guiana, with misery in every shape about him.[ ] his son had perished; his devoted keymis would not survive his reproach; and rawleigh, without fortune and without hope, in sickness and in sorrow, brooded over the sad thought, that in the hatred of the spaniard, and in the political pusillanimity of james, he was arriving only to meet inevitable death. with this presentiment, he had even wished to give up his ship to the crew, had they consented to land him in france; but he was probably irresolute in this decision at sea, as he was afterwards at land, where he wished to escape, and refused to fly: the clearest intellect was darkened, and magnanimity itself became humiliated, floating between the sense of honour and of life. rawleigh landed in his native county of devon: his arrival was the common topic of conversation, and he was the object of censure or of commiseration: but his person was not molested, till the fears of james became more urgent than his pity. the cervantic gondomar, whose "quips and quiddities" had concealed the cares of state, one day rushed into the presence of james, breathlessly calling out for "audience!" and compressing his "ear-piercing" message into the laconic abruptness of "piratas! piratas! piratas!" there was agony as well as politics in this cry of gondomar, whose brother, the spanish governor, had been massacred in this predatory expedition.[ ] the timid monarch, terrified at this tragical appearance of his facetious friend, saw at once the demands of the whole spanish cabinet, and vented his palliative in a gentle proclamation. rawleigh having settled his affairs in the west, set off for london to appear before the king, in consequence of the proclamation. a few miles from plymouth he was met by sir lewis stucley, vice-admiral of devon, a kinsman and a friend, who, in communication with government, had accepted a sort of _surveillance_ over sir walter. it is said (and will be credited, when we hear the story of stucley), that he had set his heart on the _ship_, as a probable good purchase; and on the _person_, against whom, to colour his natural treachery, he professed an old hatred. he first seized on rawleigh more like the kinsman than the vice-admiral, and proposed travelling together to london, and baiting at the houses of the friends of rawleigh. the warrant which stucley in the meanwhile had desired was instantly despatched, and the bearer was one manoury, a french empiric, who was evidently sent to act the part he did--a part played at all times, and the last title, in french politics, that so often had recourse to this instrument of state, is a _mouton_! rawleigh still, however, was not placed under any harsh restraint: his confidential associate, captain king, accompanied him; and it is probable, that if rawleigh had effectuated his escape, he would have conferred a great favour on the government. they could not save him at london. it is certain that he might have escaped; for captain king had hired a vessel, and rawleigh had stolen out by night, and might have reached it, but irresolutely returned home; another night, the same vessel was ready, but rawleigh never came! the loss of his honour appeared the greater calamity. as he advanced in this eventful journey, everything assumed a more formidable aspect. his friends communicated fearful advices; a pursuivant, or king's messenger, gave a more menacing appearance; and suggestions arose in his own mind, that he was reserved to become a victim of state. when letters of commission from the privy council were brought to sir lewis stucley, rawleigh was observed to change countenance, exclaiming with an oath, "is it possible my fortune should return upon me thus again?" he lamented, before captain king, that he had neglected the opportunity of escape; and which, every day he advanced inland, removed him the more from any chance. rawleigh at first suspected that manoury was one of those instruments of state who are sometimes employed when open measures are not to be pursued, or when the cabinet have not yet determined on the fate of a person implicated in a state crime; in a word, rawleigh thought that manoury was a spy over him, and probably over stucley too. the first impression in these matters is usually the right one; but when rawleigh found himself caught in the toils, he imagined that such corrupt agents were to be corrupted. the french empiric was sounded, and found very compliant; rawleigh was desirous by his aid to counterfeit sickness, and for this purpose invented a series of the most humiliating stratagems. he imagined that a constant appearance of sickness might produce delay, and procrastination, in the chapter of accidents, might end in pardon. he procured vomits from the frenchman, and, whenever he chose, produced every appearance of sickness; with dimness of sight, dizziness in his head, he reeled about, and once struck himself with such violence against a pillar in the gallery, that there was no doubt of his malady. rawleigh's servant one morning entering stucley's chamber, declared that his master was out of his senses, for that he had just left him in his shirt upon all fours, gnawing the rushes upon the floor. on stucley's entrance, rawleigh was raving, and reeling in strong convulsions. stucley ordered him to be chafed and fomented, and rawleigh afterwards laughed at this scene with manoury, observing that he had made stucley a perfect physician. but rawleigh found it required some more visible and alarming disease than such ridiculous scenes had exhibited. the vomits worked so slowly, that manoury was fearful to repeat the doses. rawleigh inquired whether the empiric knew of any preparation which could make him look ghastly, without injuring his health. the frenchman offered a harmless ointment to act on the surface of the skin, which would give him the appearance of a leper. "that will do!" said rawleigh, "for the lords will be afraid to approach me, and besides it will move their pity." applying the ointment to his brows, his arms, and his breast, the blisters rose, the skin inflamed, and was covered with purple spots. stucley concluded that rawleigh had the plague. physicians were now to be called in; rawleigh took the black silk ribbon from his poniard, and manoury tightened it strongly about his arm, to disorder his pulse; but his pulse beat too strong and regular. he appeared to take no food, while manoury secretly provided him. to perplex the learned doctors still more, rawleigh had the urinal coloured by a drug of a strong scent. the physicians pronounced the disease mortal, and that the patient could not be removed into the air without immediate danger. awhile after, being in his bed-chamber undressed, and no one present but manoury, sir walter held a looking-glass in his hand to admire his spotted face,[ ] and observed in merriment to his new confidant, "how they should one day laugh for having thus cozened the king, council, physicians, spaniards, and all." the excuse rawleigh offered for this course of poor stratagems, so unworthy of his genius, was to obtain time and seclusion for writing his apology, or vindication of his voyage, which has come down to us in his "remains." "the prophet david did make himself a fool, and suffered spittle to fall upon his beard, to escape from the hands of his enemies," said rawleigh in his last speech. brutus, too, was another example. but his discernment often prevailed over this mockery of his spirit. the king licensed him to reside at his own house on his arrival in london; on which manoury observed that the king showed by this indulgence that his majesty was favourably inclined towards him; but rawleigh replied, "they used all these kinds of flatteries to the duke of biron, to draw him fairly into prison, and then they cut off his head. i know they have concluded among them that it is expedient that a man should die, to re-assure the traffick which i have broke with spain." and manoury adds, from whose narrative we have all these particulars, that sir walter broke out into this rant: "if he could but save himself for this time, he would plot such plots as should make the king think himself happy to send for him again, and restore him to his estate, and would force the king of spain to write into england in his favour." rawleigh at length proposed a flight to france with manoury, who declares it was then he revealed to stucley what he had hitherto concealed, that stucley might double his vigilance. rawleigh now perceived that he had two rogues to bribe instead of one, and that they were playing into one another's hands. proposals are now made to stucley through manoury, who is as compliant as his brother-knave. rawleigh presented stucley with a "jewel made in the fashion of hail powdered with diamonds, with a ruby in the midst." but stucley observing to his kinsman and friend, that he must lose his office of vice-admiral, which had cost him six hundred pounds, in case he suffered rawleigh to escape; rawleigh solemnly assured him that he should be no loser, and that his lady should give him one thousand pounds when they got into france or holland. about this time the french quack took his leave: the part he had to act was performed: the juggle was complete: and two wretches had triumphed over the sagacity and magnanimity of a sage and a hero, whom misfortune had levelled to folly; and who, in violating the dignity of his own character, had only equalled himself with vulgar knaves; men who exulted that the circumventer was circumvented; or, as they expressed it, "the great cozener was cozened." but our story does not here conclude, for the treacheries of stucley were more intricate. this perfect villain had obtained a warrant of indemnity to authorise his compliance with any offer to assist rawleigh in his escape; this wretch was the confidant and the executioner of rawleigh; he carried about him a license to betray him, and was making his profit of the victim before he delivered him to the sacrifice. rawleigh was still plotting his escape; at salisbury he had despatched his confidential friend captain king to london, to secure a boat at tilbury; he had also a secret interview with the french agent. rawleigh's servant mentioned to captain king, that his boatswain had a ketch[ ] of his own, and was ready at his service for "thirty pieces of silver;" the boatswain and rawleigh's servant acted judas, and betrayed the plot to mr. william herbert, cousin to stucley, and thus the treachery was kept among themselves as a family concern. the night for flight was now fixed, but he could not part without his friend stucley, who had promised never to quit him; and who indeed, informed by his cousin herbert, had suddenly surprised rawleigh putting on a false beard. the party met at the appointed place; sir lewis stucley with his son, and rawleigh disguised. stucley, in saluting king, asked whether he had not shown himself an honest man? king hoped he would continue so. they had not rowed twenty strokes, before the watermen observed, that mr. herbert had lately taken boat, and made towards the bridge, but had returned down the river after them. rawleigh instantly expressed his apprehensions, and wished to return home; he consulted king--the watermen took fright--stucley acted his part well; damning his ill-fortune to have a friend whom he would save, so full of doubts and fears, and threatening to pistol the watermen if they did not proceed. even king was overcome by the earnest conduct of stucley, and a new spirit was infused into the rowers. as they drew near greenwich a wherry crossed them. rawleigh declared it came to discover them. king tried to allay his fears, and assured him that if once they reached gravesend, he would hazard his life to get to tilbury. but in these delays and discussions, the tide was failing; the watermen declared they could not reach gravesend before morning; rawleigh would have landed at purfleet, and the boatswain encouraged him; for there it was thought he could procure horses for tilbury. sir lewis stucley too was zealous; and declared he was content to carry the cloak-bag on his own shoulders, for half-a-mile, but king declared that it was useless, they could not at that hour get horses to go by land. they rowed a mile beyond woolwich, approaching two or three ketches, when the boatswain doubted whether any of these were the one he had provided to furnish them. "we are betrayed!" cried rawleigh, and ordered the watermen to row back: he strictly examined the boatswain; alas! his ingenuity was baffled by a shuffling villain, whose real answer appeared when a wherry hailed the boat: rawleigh observed that it contained herbert's crew. he saw that all was now discovered. he took stucley aside; his ingenious mind still suggesting projects for himself to return home in safety, or how stucley might plead that he had only pretended to go with rawleigh, to seize on his private papers. they whispered together, and rawleigh took some things from his pocket, and handed them to stucley; probably more "rubies powdered with diamonds."--some effect was instantaneously produced; for the tender heart of his friend stucley relented, and he not only repeatedly embraced him with extraordinary warmth of affection, but was voluble in effusions of friendship and fidelity. stucley persuaded rawleigh to land at gravesend, the strange wherry which had dogged them landing at the same time; these were people belonging to mr. herbert and sir william st. john, who, it seems, had formerly shared in the spoils of this unhappy hero. on greenwich bridge, stucley advised captain king that it would be advantageous to sir walter, that king should confess that he had joined with stucley to betray his master; and rawleigh lent himself to the suggestion of stucley, of whose treachery he might still be uncertain; but king, a rough and honest seaman, declared that he would not share in the odium. at the moment he refused, stucley arrested the captain in the king's name, committing him to the charge of herbert's men. they then proceeded to a tavern, but rawleigh, who now viewed the monster in his true shape, observed, "sir lewis, these actions will not turn out to your credit;" and on the following day, when they passed through the tower-gate, rawleigh, turning to king, observed, "stucley and my servant cotterell have betrayed me. you need be in no fear of danger, but as for me, it is i who am the mark that is shot at." thus concludes the narrative of captain king. the fate of rawleigh soon verified the prediction. this long narrative of treachery will not, however, be complete, unless we wind it up with the fate of the infamous stucley. fiction gives perfection to its narratives, by the privilege it enjoys of disposing of its criminals in the most exemplary manner; but the labours of the historian are not always refreshed by this moral pleasure. retribution is not always discovered in the present stage of human existence, yet history is perhaps equally delightful as fiction, whenever its perfect catastrophes resemble those of romantic invention. the present is a splendid example. i have discovered the secret history of sir lewis stucley, in several manuscript letters of the times. rawleigh, in his admirable address from the scaffold, where he seemed to be rather one of the spectators than the sufferer, declared he forgave sir lewis, for he had forgiven all men; but he was bound in charity to caution all men against him, and such as he is! rawleigh's last and solemn notice of the treachery of his "kinsman and friend" was irrevocably fatal to this wretch. the hearts of the people were open to the deepest impressions of sympathy, melting into tears at the pathetic address of the magnanimous spirit who had touched them; in one moment sir lewis stucley became an object of execration throughout the nation; he soon obtained a new title, that of "sir judas," and was shunned by every man. to remove the cain-like mark, which god and men had fixed on him, he published an apology for his conduct; a performance which, at least for its ability, might raise him in our consideration; but i have since discovered, in one of the manuscript letter-writers, that it was written by dr. sharpe, who had been a chaplain to henry prince of wales. the writer pleads in stucley's justification, that he was a state-agent; that it was lawful to lie for the discovery of treason; that he had a personal hatred towards rawleigh, for having abridged his father of his share of some prize-money; and then enters more into rawleigh's character, who "being desperate of any fortune here, agreeable to the height of his mind, would have made up his fortune elsewhere, upon any terms against his sovereign and his country. is it not marvel," continues the personifier of stucley, "that he was angry with me at his death for bringing him back? besides, being a man of so great a wit, it was no small grief that a man of mean wit as i should be thought to go beyond him. no? _sic ars deluditur arte. neque enim lex justior ulla est quam necis artifices arte perire suâ._ [this apt latinity betrays dr. sharpe.] but why did you not execute your commission bravely [openly]?--why? my commission was to the contrary, to discover his pretensions, and to seize his secret papers," &c.[ ] but the doctor, though no unskilful writer, here wrote in vain; for what ingenuity can veil the turpitude of long and practised treachery? to keep up appearances, sir judas resorted more than usually to court; where, however, he was perpetually enduring rebuffs, or avoided, as one infected with the plague of treachery. he offered the king, in his own justification, to take the sacrament, that whatever he had laid to rawleigh's charge was true, and would produce two unexceptionable witnesses to do the like. "why, then," replied his majesty, "the more malicious was sir walter to utter these speeches at his death." sir thomas badger, who stood by, observed, "let the king take off stucley's head, as stucley has done sir walter's, and let him at his death take the sacrament and his oath upon it, and i'll believe him; but till stucley loses his head, i shall credit sir walter rawleigh's bare affirmative before a thousand of stucley's oaths." when stucley, on pretence of giving an account of his office, placed himself in the audience chamber of the lord admiral, and his lordship passed him without any notice, sir judas attempted to address the earl; but with a bitter look his lordship exclaimed--"base fellow! darest thou, who art the scorn and contempt of men, offer thyself in my presence? were it not in my own house, i would cudgel thee with my staff for presuming on this sauciness." this annihilating affront stucley hastened to convey to the king; his majesty answered him--"what wouldst thou have me do? wouldst thou have me hang him? of my soul, if i should hang all that speak ill of thee, all the trees of the country would not suffice, so great is the number!" one of the frequent crimes of that age, ere the forgery of bank-notes existed, was the clipping of gold; and this was one of the private amusements suitable to the character of our sir judas. treachery and forgery are the same crime in a different form. stucley received out of the exchequer five hundred pounds, as the reward of his _espionnage_ and perfidy. it was the price of blood, and was hardly in his hands ere it was turned into the fraudulent coin of "the cheater!" he was seized on in the palace of whitehall, for diminishing the gold coin. "the manner of the discovery," says the manuscript-writer, "was strange, if my occasions would suffer me to relate the particulars." on his examination he attempted to shift the crime to his own son, who had fled; and on his man, who, being taken, in the words of the letter-writer, was "willing to set the saddle upon the right horse, and accused his master." manoury, too, the french empiric, was arrested at plymouth for the same crime, and accused his worthy friend. but such was the interest of stucley with government, bought, probably, with his last shilling, and, as one says, with his last shirt, that he obtained his own and his son's pardon, for a crime that ought to have finally concluded the history of this blessed family.[ ] a more solemn and tragical catastrophe was reserved for the perfidious stucley. he was deprived of his place of vice-admiral, and left destitute in the world. abandoned by all human beings, and most probably by the son whom he had tutored in the arts of villany, he appears to have wandered about, an infamous and distracted beggar. it is possible that even so seared a conscience may have retained some remaining touch of sensibility. all are men, condemned alike to groan; the tender for another's pain, the unfeeling for his own. and camden has recorded, among his historical notes on james the first, that in august, , "lewis stucley, who betrayed sir walter rawleigh, died in a manner mad." such is the catastrophe of one of the most perfect domestic tales; an historical example, not easily paralleled, of moral retribution. the secret practices of the "sir judas" of the court of james the first, which i have discovered, throw light on an old tradition which still exists in the neighbourhood of affeton, once the residence of this wretched man. the country people have long entertained a notion that a hidden treasure lies at the bottom of a well in his grounds, guarded by some supernatural power: a tradition no doubt originating in this man's history, and an obscure allusion to the gold which stucley received for his bribe, or the other gold which he clipped, and might have there concealed. this is a striking instance of the many historical facts which, though entirely unknown or forgotten, may be often discovered to lie hid, or disguised, in popular traditions. footnotes: [ ] rawleigh, as was much practised to a much later period, wrote his name various ways. i have discovered at least how it was pronounced in his time--thus, _rawly_. this may be additionally confirmed by the scottish poet drummond, who spells it (in his conversations with ben jonson) _raughley_. the translation of ortelius' "epitome of the worlde," , is dedicated to sir walter _rawleigh_. see vol. ii. p. , art. "orthography of proper names." it was also written _rawly_ by his contemporaries. he sometimes wrote it _ralegh_, the last syllable probably pronounced _ly_, or _lay_. _ralegh_ appears on his official seal. [ ] i shall give in the article "literary unions" a curious account how "rawleigh's history of the world" was composed, which has hitherto escaped discovery. [ ] it is narrated in a letter to sir robert cecil from mr. (afterwards sir) arthur gorges, and runs as follows:--"upon a report of her majesty's being at sir george carew's, sir w. ralegh having gazed and sighed a long time at his study window, from whence he might discern the barges and boats about the blackfriars stairs, suddenly brake out into a great distemper, and sware that his enemies had on purpose brought her majesty thither to break his gall in sunder with tantalus's torments, that when she went away he might see death before his eyes; with many such like conceits. and, as a man transported with passion, he sware to sir george carew that he would disguise himself, and get into a pair of oars to ease his mind but with a sight of the queen, or else he protested his heart would break." this of course the gaoler refused, and so they fell to fighting, "scrambling and brawling like madmen," until parted by gorges. sir walter followed up his absurdity by another letter to cecil, couched in the language of romance, in which he declares that, while the queen "was yet near at hand, that i might hear of her once in two or three days my sorrows were the less, but now my heart is cast into the depth of all misery." [ ] these letters were written by lord cecil to sir thomas parry, our ambassador in france, and were transcribed from the copy-book of sir thomas parry's correspondence which is preserved in the pepysian library at cambridge. [ ] he had undertaken the expedition immediately upon his release from the tower in . the king had never pardoned him, and his release was effected by bribing powerful court favourites, who worked upon the avarice of james i. by leading him to hope for the possession of guiana, which, though discovered by the spaniards, had never been conquered by them; and which rawleigh promised to colonise. [ ] this occurred during the attack on the town of st. thomas; a settlement of the spaniards near the gold mines. it ended disastrously to rawleigh: his ships mutinied; and he never recovered his ill-fortune; but sailed to newfoundland, and thence, after a second mutiny, returned to plymouth. [ ] a friend informs me, that he saw recently at a print-dealer's a _painted portrait of sir walter rawleigh, with the face thus spotted_. it is extraordinary that any artist should have chosen such a subject for his pencil; but should this be a portrait of the times, it shows that this strange stratagem had excited public attention. [ ] a small coasting-vessel, made round at stem and stern like the dutch boats. the word is still used in some english counties to denote a _tub_. [ ] stucley's humble petition, touching the bringing up sir w. rawleigh, to. ; republished in somers' tracts, vol. iii. . [ ] the anecdotes respecting stucley i have derived from manuscript letters, and they were considered to be of so dangerous a nature, that the writer recommends secrecy, and requests, after reading, that "they may be burnt." with such injunctions i have generally found that the letters were the more carefully preserved. an authentic narrative of the last hours of sir walter rawleigh. the close of the life of sir walter rawleigh was as extraordinary as many parts of his varied history; the promptitude and sprightliness of his genius, his carelessness of life, and the equanimity of this great spirit in quitting the world, can only be paralleled by a few other heroes and sages. rawleigh was both! but it is not simply his dignified yet active conduct on the scaffold, nor his admirable speech on that occasion, circumstances by which many great men are judged, when their energies are excited for a moment to act so great a part, before the eyes of the world assembled at their feet; it is not these only which claim our notice. we may pause with admiration on the real grandeur of rawleigh's character, not from a single circumstance, however great, but from a tissue of continued little incidents, which occurred from the moment of his condemnation till he laid his head on the block. rawleigh was a man of such mark, that he deeply engaged the attention of his contemporaries; and to this we owe the preservation of several interesting particulars of what he did and what he said, which have entered into his life; but all has not been told in the published narratives. contemporary writers in their letters have set down every fresh incident, and eagerly caught up his sense, his wit, and, what is more delightful, those marks of the natural cheerfulness of his invariable presence of mind: nor could these have arisen from any affectation or parade, for we shall see that they served him even in his last tender farewell to his lady, and on many unpremeditated occasions. i have drawn together into a short compass all the facts which my researches have furnished, not omitting those which are known, concerning the feelings and conduct of rawleigh at these solemn moments of his life; to have preserved only the new would have been to mutilate the statue, and to injure the whole by an imperfect view. rawleigh one morning was taken out of his bed, in a fit of fever, and unexpectedly hurried, not to his trial, but to a sentence of death. the story is well known.--yet pleading with "a voice grown weak by sickness and an ague he had at that instant on him," he used every means to avert his fate: he did, therefore, value the life he could so easily part with. his judges, there, at least, respected their state criminal, and they addressed him in a tone far different from that which he had fifteen years before listened to from coke. yelverton, the attorney-general, said--"sir walter rawleigh hath been as a star at which the world have gazed; but stars may fall, nay, they must fall, when they trouble the sphere where they abide." and the lord chief-justice noticed rawleigh's great work:--"i know that you have been valiant and wise, and i doubt not but you retain both these virtues, for now you shall have occasion to use them. your book is an admirable work; i would give you counsel, but i know you can apply unto yourself far better than i am able to give you." but the judge ended with saying, "execution is granted." it was stifling rawleigh with roses! the heroic sage felt as if listening to fame from the voice of death. he declared that now being old, sickly, and in disgrace, and "certain were he allowed to live, to go to it again, life was wearisome to him, and all he entreated was to have leave to speak freely at his farewell, to satisfy the world that he was ever loyal to the king, and a true lover of the commonwealth; for this he would seal with his blood." rawleigh, on his return to his prison, while some were deploring his fate, observed that "the world itself is but a larger prison, out of which some are daily selected for execution." that last night of his existence was occupied by writing what the letter-writer calls "a remembrancer to be left with his lady, to acquaint the world with his sentiments, should he be denied their delivery from the scaffold, as he had been at the bar of the king's bench." his lady visited him that night, and amidst her tears acquainted him that she had obtained the favour of disposing of his body; to which he answered smiling, "it is well, bess, that thou mayst dispose of that, dead, thou hadst not always the disposing of when it was alive." at midnight he entreated her to leave him. it must have been then, that, with unshaken fortitude, rawleigh sat down to compose those verses on his death, which being short, the most appropriate may be repeated. even such is time, that takes on trust our youth, our joys, our all we have, and pays us but with age and dust; who in the dark and silent grave, when we have wandered all our ways, shuts up the story of our days! he has added two other lines expressive of his trust in his resurrection. their authenticity is confirmed by the writer of the present letter, as well as another writer, enclosing "half a dozen verses, which sir walter made the night before his death, to take his farewell of poetry, wherein he had been a scribbler even from his youth." the enclosure is not now with the letter. chamberlain, the writer, was an intelligent man of the world, but not imbued with any deep tincture of literature. on the same night rawleigh wrote this distich on the candle burning dimly:-- cowards fear to die; but courage stout, rather than live in snuff, will be put out. at this solemn moment, before he lay down to rest, and at the instant of parting from his lady, with all his domestic affections still warm, to express his feelings in verse was with him a natural effusion, and one to which he had long been used. it is peculiar in the fate of rawleigh, that having before suffered a long imprisonment with an expectation of a public death, his mind had been accustomed to its contemplation, and had often dwelt on the event which was now passing. the soul, in its sudden departure, and its future state, is often the subject of his few poems; that most original one of "the farewell," go, soul! the body's guest, upon a thankless errand, &c. is attributed to rawleigh, though on uncertain evidence. but another, entitled "the pilgrimage," has this beautiful passage:-- give me my scallop-shell of quiet, my staff of truth to walk upon, my scrip of joy immortal diet; my bottle of salvation; my gown of glory, hope's true gage, and thus i'll take my pilgrimage-- whilst my soul, like a quiet palmer, travelleth towards the land of heaven-- rawleigh's cheerfulness was so remarkable, and his fearlessness of death so marked, that the dean of westminster, who attended him, at first wondering at the hero, reprehended the lightness of his manner, but rawleigh gave god thanks that he had never feared death, for it was but an opinion and an imagination; and as for the manner of death, he would rather die so than of a burning fever; and that some might have made shows outwardly, but he felt the joy within. the dean says, that he made no more of his death than if he had been to take a journey: "not," said he, "but that i am a great sinner, for i have been a soldier, a seaman, and a courtier." the writer of a manuscript letter tells us, that the dean declared he died not only religiously, but he found him to be a man as ready and as able to give as to take instruction. on the morning of his death he smoked, as usual, his favourite tobacco, and when they brought him a cup of excellent sack, being asked how he liked it, rawleigh answered--"as the fellow, that, drinking of st. giles's bowl, as he went to tyburn, said, 'that was good drink if a man might tarry by it.'"[ ] the day before, in passing from westminster hall to the gate-house, his eye had caught sir hugh beeston in the throng, and calling on him, rawleigh requested that he would see him die to-morrow. sir hugh, to secure himself a seat on the scaffold, had provided himself with a letter to the sheriff, which was not read at the time, and sir walter found his friend thrust by, lamenting that he could not get there. "farewell!" exclaimed rawleigh, "i know not what shift you will make, but i am sure to have a place." in going from the prison to the scaffold, among others who were pressing hard to see him, one old man, whose head was bald, came very forward, insomuch that rawleigh noticed him, and asked "whether he would have aught of him?" the old man answered--"nothing but to see him, and to pray god for him." rawleigh replied--"i thank thee, good friend, and i am sorry i have no better thing to return thee for thy good will." observing his bald head, he continued, "but take this night-cap (which was a very rich wrought one that he wore), for thou hast more need of it now than i." his dress, as was usual with him, was elegant, if not rich.[ ] oldys describes it, but mentions, that "he had a wrought nightcap under his hat;" this we have otherwise disposed of; he wore a ruff-band, a black wrought velvet night-gown over a hare-coloured satin doublet, and a black wrought waistcoat; black cut taffety breeches, and ash-coloured silk stockings. he ascended the scaffold with the same cheerfulness as he had passed to it; and observing the lords seated at a distance, some at windows, he requested they would approach him, as he wished that they should all witness what he had to say. the request was complied with by several. his speech is well known; but some copies contain matters not in others. when he finished, he requested lord arundel that the king would not suffer any libels to defame him after death.--"and now i have a long journey to go, and must take my leave." "he embraced all the lords and other friends with such courtly compliments, as if he had met them at some feast," says a letter-writer. having taken off his gown, he called to the headsman to show him the axe, which not being instantly done, he repeated, "i prithee let me see it, dost thou think that i am afraid of it?" he passed the edge lightly over his finger, and smiling, observed to the sheriff, "this is a sharp medicine, but a sound cure for all diseases," and kissing it laid it down. another writer has, "this is that that will cure all sorrows." after this he went to three several corners of the scaffold, and kneeling down, desired all the people to pray for him, and recited a long prayer to himself. when he began to fit himself for the block, he first laid himself down to try how the block fitted him; after rising up, the executioner kneeled down to ask his forgiveness, which rawleigh with an embrace gave, but entreated him not to strike till he gave a token by lifting up his hand, "_and then, fear not, but strike home!_" when he laid his head down to receive the stroke, the executioner desired him to lay his face towards the east. "it was no great matter which way a man's head stood, so that the heart lay right," said rawleigh; but these were not his last words. he was once more to speak in this world with the same intrepidity he had lived in it--for, having lain some minutes on the block in prayer, he gave the signal; but the executioner, either unmindful, or in fear, failed to strike, and rawleigh, after once or twice putting forth his hands, was compelled to ask him, "why dost thou not strike? strike! man!" in two blows he was beheaded; but from the first his body never shrunk from the spot by any discomposure of his posture, which, like his mind, was immovable. "in all the time he was upon the scaffold, and before," says one of the manuscript letter-writers, "there appeared not the least alteration in him, either in his voice or countenance; but he seemed as free from all manner of apprehension as if he had been come thither rather to be a spectator than a sufferer; nay, the beholders seemed much more sensible than did he, so that he hath purchased here in the opinion of men such honour and reputation, as it is thought his greatest enemies are they that are most sorrowful for his death, which they see is like to turn so much to his advantage." the people were deeply affected at the sight, and so much, that one said that "we had not such another head to cut off;" and another "wished the head and brains to be upon secretary naunton's shoulders." the observer suffered for this; he was a wealthy citizen, and great newsmonger, and one who haunted paul's walk. complaint was made, and the citizen was summoned to the privy council. he pleaded that he intended no disrespect to mr. secretary, but only spoke in reference to the old proverb, that "two heads were better than one!" his excuse was allowed at the moment; but when afterwards called on for a contribution to st. paul's cathedral, and having subscribed a hundred pounds, the secretary observed to him, that "two are better than one, mr. wiemark!" either from fear or charity, the witty citizen doubled his subscription.[ ] thus died this glorious and gallant cavalier, of whom osborne says, "his death was managed by him with so high and religious a resolution, as if a roman had acted a christian, or rather a christian a roman."[ ] after having read the preceding article, we are astonished at the greatness, and the variable nature of this extraordinary man and this happy genius. with gibbon, who once meditated to write his life, we may pause, and pronounce "his character ambiguous;" but we shall not hesitate to decide that rawleigh knew better how to die than to live. "his glorious hours," says a contemporary, "were his arraignment and execution;" but never will be forgotten the intermediate years of his lettered imprisonment; the imprisonment of the learned may sometimes be their happiest leisure. footnotes: [ ] in the old time, when prisoners were conveyed from newgate to tyburn, they stopped about midway at the "old hospital," at st. giles's-in-the-fields, "and," says stow, "were presented with a great bowl of ale, thereof to drink at their pleasure, as to be their last refreshment in this life." [ ] rawleigh's love of dress is conspicuous in the early portraits of him we possess, and particularly so in the one engraved by lodge. [ ] the general impression was so much in disfavour of this judicial murder, that james thought it politic to publish an vo pamphlet, in , entitled, "a declaration of the demeanor and cariage of sir walter raleigh, knight, as well in his voyage, as in and sithence his returne: and of the true motives and inducements which occasioned his maiestie to proceed in doing justice upon him, as hath beene done." it takes the whole question apologetically of the licence given him to guiana, "as his majestie's honour was in a manner engaged, not to deny unto his people the adventure and hope of such great riches" as the mines of that island might yield. it afterwards details his proceedings there, which are declared criminal, dangerous to his majesty's allies, and an abuse of his commission. it ends by defending his execution, "because he could not by law be judicially called in question, for that his former attainder of treason is the highest and last worke of the law (whereby hee was _civiliter mortuus_) his maiestie was enforced (except attainders should become priviledges for all subsequent offences) to resolve to have him executed upon his former attainder." [ ] the chief particulars in this narrative are drawn from two manuscript letters of the day, in the sloane collection, under their respective dates, nov. , , larkin to sir thos. pickering; oct. , , chamberlain's letters. literary unions. secret history of rawleigh's history of the world, and vasari's lives. a union of talents, differing in their qualities, might carry some important works to a more extended perfection. in a work of great enterprise, the aid of a friendly hand may be absolutely necessary to complete the labours of the projector, who may have neither the courage, the leisure, nor all necessary acquisitions for performing the favourite task which he has otherwise matured. many great works, commenced by a master-genius, have remained unfinished, or have been deficient for want of this friendly succour. the public would have been grateful to johnson, had he united in his dictionary the labours of some learned etymologist. speed's chronicle owes most of its value, as it does its ornaments, to the hand of sir robert cotton, and other curious researchers, who contributed entire portions. goguet's esteemed work of the "origin of the arts and sciences" was greatly indebted to the fraternal zeal of a devoted friend. the still valued books of the port royal society were all formed by this happy union. the secret history of many eminent works would show the advantages which may be derived from that combination of talents, differing in their nature. cumberland's masterly versions of the fragments of the greek dramatic poets would never have been given to the poetical world, had he not accidentally possessed the manuscript notes of his relative, the learned bentley. this treasure supplied that research in the most obscure works, which the volatile studies of cumberland could never have explored; a circumstance which he concealed from the world, proud of the greek erudition which he thus cheaply possessed. yet by this literary union, bentley's vast erudition made those researches which cumberland could not; and cumberland gave the nation a copy of the domestic drama of greece, of which bentley was incapable. there is a large work, which is still celebrated, of which the composition has excited the astonishment even of the philosophic hume, but whose secret history remains yet to be disclosed. this extraordinary volume is "the history of the world by rawleigh." i shall transcribe hume's observations, that the reader may observe the literary phenomenon. "they were struck with the extensive genius of the man, who being educated amidst naval and military enterprises, _had surpassed in the pursuits of literature, even those of the most recluse and sedentary lives_; and they admired his unbroken magnanimity, which at his age, and under his circumstances, could engage him to undertake and execute so great a work, as his history of the world." now when the truth is known, the wonderful in this literary mystery will disappear, except in the eloquent, the grand, and the pathetic passages interspersed in that venerable volume. we may, indeed, pardon the astonishment of our calm philosopher, when we consider the recondite matter contained in this work, and recollect the little time which this adventurous spirit, whose life was passed in fabricating his own fortune, and in perpetual enterprise, could allow to such erudite pursuits. where could rawleigh obtain that familiar acquaintance with the rabbins, of whose language he was probably entirely ignorant? his numerous publications, the effusions of a most active mind, though excellent in their kind, were evidently composed by one who was not abstracted in curious and remote inquiries, but full of the daily business and the wisdom of human life. his confinement in the tower, which lasted several years, was indeed sufficient for the composition of this folio volume, and of a second which appears to have occupied him. but in that imprisonment it singularly happened that he lived among literary characters with most intimate friendship. there he joined the earl of northumberland, the patron of the philosophers of his age, and with whom rawleigh pursued his chemical studies; and serjeant hoskins, a poet and a wit, and the poetical "father" of ben jonson, who acknowledged that "it was hoskins who had polished him;" and that rawleigh often consulted hoskins on his literary works, i learn from a manuscript. but however literary the atmosphere of the tower proved to rawleigh, no particle of hebrew, and perhaps little of grecian lore, floated from a chemist and a poet. the truth is, that the collection of the materials of this history was the labour of several persons, who have not all been discovered. it has been ascertained that ben jonson was a considerable contributor; and there was an english philosopher from whom descartes, it is said even by his own countrymen, borrowed largely--thomas hariot, whom anthony wood charges with infusing into rawleigh's volume philosophical notions, while rawleigh was composing his history of the world. but if rawleigh's _pursuits surpassed even those of the most recluse and sedentary lives_, as hume observes, we must attribute this to a "dr. robert burrel, rector of northwald, in the county of norfolk, who was a great favourite of sir walter rawleigh, and had been his chaplain. all, or the greatest part of the drudgery of sir walter's history for criticisms, chronology, and reading greek and hebrew authors, was performed by him for sir walter."[ ] thus a simple fact, when discovered, clears up the whole mystery; and we learn how that knowledge was acquired, which, as hume sagaciously detected, required "a recluse and sedentary life," such as the studies and the habits of a country clergyman would have been in a learned age. the secret history of another work, still more celebrated than the history of the world, by sir walter rawleigh, will doubtless surprise its numerous admirers. without the aid of a friendly hand, we should probably have been deprived of the delightful history of artists by vasari: although a mere painter and goldsmith, and not a literary man, vasari was blessed with the nice discernment of one deeply conversant with art, and saw rightly what was to be done, when the idea of the work was suggested by the celebrated paulus jovius as a supplement to his own work of the "eulogiums of illustrious men." vasari approved of the project; but on that occasion judiciously observed, not blinded by the celebrity of the literary man who projected it, that "it would require the assistance of an artist to collect the materials, and arrange them in their proper order; for although jovius displayed great knowledge in his observations, yet he had not been equally accurate in the arrangement of his facts in his book of eulogiums." afterwards, when vasari began to collect his information, and consulted paulus jovius on the plan, although that author highly approved of what he saw, he alleged his own want of leisure and ability to complete such an enterprise; and this was fortunate: we should otherwise have had, instead of the rambling spirit which charms us in the volumes of vasari, the verbose babble of a declaimer. vasari, however, looked round for the assistance he wanted; a circumstance which tiraboschi has not noticed: like hogarth, he required a literary man for his scribe. i have discovered the name of the chief writer of the lives of the painters, who wrote under the direction of vasari, and probably often used his own natural style, and conveyed to us those reflections which surely come from their source. i shall give the passage, as a curious instance where the secret history of books is often detected in the most obscure corners of research. who could have imagined that in a collection of the lives _de' santi e beati dell' ordine de' predicatori_, we are to look for the writer of vasari's lives? don serafini razzi, the author of this ecclesiastical biography, has this reference: "who would see more of this may turn to the lives of the painters, sculptors, and architects, _written for the greater part by don silvano razzi_, my brother, for the signor cavaliere m. giorgio vasari, his great friend."[ ] the discovery that vasari's volumes were not entirely written by himself, though probably under his dictation, and unquestionably, with his communications, as we know that dr. morell wrote the "analysis of beauty" for hogarth, will perhaps serve to clear up some unaccountable mistakes or omissions which appear in that series of volumes, written at long intervals, and by different hands. mr. fuseli has alluded to them in utter astonishment; and cannot account for vasari's "incredible dereliction of reminiscence, which prompted him to transfer what he had rightly ascribed to giorgione in one edition to the elder parma in the subsequent ones." again: "vasari's memory was either so treacherous, or his rapidity in writing so inconsiderate, that his account of the capella sistina, and the stanze of raffaello, is a mere heap of errors and unpardonable confusion." even bottari, his learned editor, is at a loss how to account for his mistakes. mr. fuseli finely observes--"he has been called the herodotus of our art; and if the main simplicity of his narrative, and the desire of heaping anecdote on anecdote, entitle him in some degree to that appellation, we ought not to forget that the information of every day adds something to the authenticity of the greek historian, whilst every day furnishes matter to question the credibility of the tuscan." all this strongly confirms the suspicion that vasari employed different hands at different times to write out his work. such mistakes would occur to a new writer, not always conversant with the subject he was composing on, and the disjointed materials of which were often found in a disordered state. it is, however, strange that neither bottari nor tiraboschi appears to have been aware that vasari employed others to write for him; we see that from the first suggestion of the work he had originally proposed that paulus jovius should hold the pen for him. the principle illustrated in this article might be pursued; but the secret history of two great works so well known is as sufficient as twenty others of writings less celebrated. the literary phenomenon which had puzzled the calm inquiring hume to cry out "a miracle!" has been solved by the discovery of a little fact on literary unions, which derives importance from this circumstance.[ ] footnotes: [ ] i draw my information from a very singular manuscript in the lansdowne collection, which i think has been mistaken for a boy's ciphering book, of which it has much the appearance, no. , fo. , as it stands in the auctioneer's catalogue. it appears to be a collection closely written, extracted out of anthony wood's papers; and as i have discovered in the manuscript numerous notices not elsewhere preserved, i am inclined to think that the transcriber copied them from that mass of anthony wood's papers, of which more than one sackful was burnt at his desire before him when dying. if it be so, this ms. is the only register of many curious facts. ben jonson has been too freely censured for his own free censures, and particularly for one he made on sir walter rawleigh, who, he told drummond, "esteemed more fame than conscience. _the best wits in england were employed in making his history_; ben himself had written a piece to him of the punic war, which he altered and set in his book." jonson's powerful advocate, mr. gifford, has not alleged a word in the defence of our great bard's free conversational strictures; the secret history of rawleigh's great work had never been discovered; on this occasion, however, jonson only spoke what he knew to be true--and there may have been other truths, in those conversations which were set down at random by drummond, who may have chiefly recollected the satirical touches. [ ] i find this quotation in a sort of polemical work of natural philosophy, entitled "saggio di storia litteraria fiorentina del secolo xvii. da giovanne clemente nelli," lucca, , p. . nelli also refers to what he had said on this subject in his _piante ad alzati di s.m. del fiore_, p. vi. e vii.; a work on architecture. see brunet; and haym, _bib. ital. de libri rari_. [ ] mr. patrick fraser tytler, in his recent biography of sir walter rawleigh, a work of vigorous research and elegant composition, has dedicated to me a supernumerary article in his appendix, entitled _mr. d'israeli's errors_! he has inferred from the present article, that i denied that rawleigh was the writer of his own great work!--because i have shown how great works may be advantageously pursued by the aid of "literary union." it is a monstrous inference! the chimera which plays before his eyes is his own contrivance; he starts at his own phantasmagoria, and leaves me, after all, to fight with his shadow. mr. tytler _has not contradicted a single statement of mine_. i have carefully read his article and my own, and i have made no alteration. i may be allowed to add that there is much redundant matter in the article of mr. tytler; and, to use the legal style, there is much "impertinence," which, with a little candour and more philosophy, he would strike his pen through, as sound lawyers do on these occasions. of a biography painted. there are objects connected with literary curiosity, whose very history, though they may never gratify our sight, is literary; and the originality of their invention, should they excite imitation, may serve to constitute a class. i notice a book-curiosity of this nature. this extraordinary volume may be said to have contained the travels and adventures of charles magius, a noble venetian; and this volume, so precious, consisted only of eighteen pages, composed of a series of highly-finished miniature paintings on vellum, some executed by the hand of paul veronese. each page, however, may be said to contain many chapters; for, generally, it is composed of a large centre-piece, surrounded by ten small ones, with many apt inscriptions, allegories, and allusions; the whole exhibiting romantic incidents in the life of this venetian nobleman. but it is not merely as a beautiful production of art that we are to consider it; it becomes associated with a more elevated feeling in the occasion which produced it. the author, who is himself the hero, after having been long calumniated, resolved to set before the eyes of his accusers the sufferings and adventures he could perhaps have but indifferently described: and instead of composing a tedious volume for his justification, invented this new species of pictorial biography. the author minutely described the remarkable situations in which fortune had placed him; and the artists, in embellishing the facts he furnished them with to record, emulated each other in giving life to their truth, and putting into action, before the spectator, incidents which the pen had less impressively exhibited. this unique production may be considered as a model to represent the actions of those who may succeed more fortunately by this new mode of perpetuating their history; discovering, by the aid of the pencil, rather than by their pen, the forms and colours of an extraordinary life. it was when the ottomans (about ) attacked the isle of cyprus, that this venetian nobleman was charged by his republic to review and repair the fortifications. he was afterwards sent to the pope to negociate an alliance: he returned to the senate to give an account of his commission. invested with the chief command, at the head of his troops, magius threw himself into the island of cyprus, and after a skilful defence, which could not prevent its fall, at famagusta he was taken prisoner by the turks, and made a slave. his age and infirmities induced his master, at length, to sell him to some christian merchants; and after an absence of several years from his beloved venice, he suddenly appeared, to the astonishment and mortification of a party who had never ceased to calumniate him; while his own noble family were compelled to preserve an indignant silence, having had no communications with their lost and enslaved relative. magius now returned to vindicate his honour, to reinstate himself in the favour of the senate, and to be restored to a venerable parent amidst his family; to whom he introduced a fresh branch, in a youth of seven years old, the child of his misfortunes, who, born in trouble, and a stranger to domestic endearments, was at one moment united to a beloved circle of relations. i shall give a rapid view of some of the pictures of this venetian nobleman's life. the whole series has been elaborately drawn up by the duke de la vallière, the celebrated book-collector, who dwells on the detail with the curiosity of an amateur.[ ] in a rich frontispiece, a christ is expiring on the cross; religion, leaning on a column, contemplates the divinity, and hope is not distant from her. the genealogical tree of the house of magius, with an allegorical representation of venice, its nobility, power, and riches: the arms of magius, in which is inserted a view of the holy sepulchre of jerusalem, of which he was made a knight; his portrait, with a latin inscription: "i have passed through arms and the enemy, amidst fire and water, and the lord conducted me to a safe asylum, in the year of grace ." the portrait of his son, aged seven years, finished with the greatest beauty, and supposed to have come from the hand of paul veronese; it bears this inscription: "overcome by violence and artifice, almost dead before his birth, his mother was at length delivered of him, full of life, with all the loveliness of infancy; under the divine protection, his birth was happy, and his life with greater happiness shall be closed with good fortune." a plan of the isle of cyprus, where magius commanded, and his first misfortune happened, his slavery by the turks.--the painter has expressed this by an emblem of a tree shaken by the winds and scathed by the lightning; but from the trunk issues a beautiful green branch shining in a brilliant sun, with this device--"from this fallen trunk springs a branch full of vigour." the missions of magius to raise troops in the province of la puglia.--in one of these magius is seen returning to venice; his final departure,--a thunderbolt is viewed falling on his vessel--his passage by corfu and zante, and his arrival at candia. his travels to egypt.--the centre figure represents this province raising its right hand extended towards a palm-tree, and the left leaning on a pyramid, inscribed "celebrated throughout the world for her wonders." the smaller pictures are the entrance of magius into the port of alexandria; rosetta, with a caravan of turks and different nations; the city of grand cairo, exterior and interior, with views of other places; and finally, his return to venice. his journey to rome.--the centre figure an armed pallas seated on trophies, the tyber beneath her feet, a globe in her hands, inscribed _quod rerum victrix ac domina_,--"because she is the conqueress and mistress of the world." the ten small pictures are views of the cities in the pope's dominion. his first audience at the conclave forms a pleasing and fine composition. his travels into syria.--the principal figure is a female, emblematical of that fine country; she is seated in the midst of a gay orchard, and embraces a bundle of roses, inscribed _mundi deliciæ_--"the delight of the universe." the small compartments are views of towns and ports, and the spot where magius collected his fleet. his pilgrimage to jerusalem, where he was made a knight of the holy sepulchre.--the principal figure represents devotion, inscribed _ducit_--"it is she who conducts me." the compartments exhibit a variety of objects, with a correctness of drawing which is described as belonging to the class, and partaking of the charms of the pencil of claude lorraine. his vessel is first viewed in the roadstead at venice beat by a storm; arrives at zante to refresh; enters the port of simiso; there having landed, he and his companions are proceeding to the town on asses, for christians were not permitted to travel in turkey on horses. in the church at jerusalem the bishop, in his pontifical habit, receives him as a knight of the holy sepulchre, arraying him in the armour of godfrey of bouillon, and placing his sword in the hands of magius. his arrival at bethlehem, to see the cradle of the lord--and his return by jaffa with his companions, in the dress of pilgrims; the groups are finely contrasted with the turks mingling amongst them. the taking of the city of famagusta, and his slavery.--the middle figure, with a dog at its feet, represents fidelity, the character of magius, who ever preferred it to his life or his freedom, inscribed _captivat_--"she has reduced me to slavery." six smaller pictures exhibit the different points of the island of cyprus where the turks effected their descents. magius retreating to famagusta, which he long defended, and where his cousin, a skilful engineer, was killed. the turks compelled to raise the siege, but return with greater forces--the sacking of the town and the palace, where magius was taken.--one picture exhibits him brought before a bashaw, who has him stripped, to judge of his strength and fix his price, when, after examination, he is sent among other slaves. he is seen bound and tied up among his companions in misfortune--again he is forced to labour, and carries a cask of water on his shoulders.--in another picture, his master, finding him weak of body, conducts him to a slave-merchant to sell him. in another we see him leading an ass loaded with packages; his new master, finding him loitering on his way, showers his blows on him, while a soldier is seen purloining one of the packages from the ass. another exhibits magius sinking with fatigue on the sands, while his master would raise him up by an unsparing use of the bastinado. the varied details of these little paintings are pleasingly executed. the close of his slavery.--the middle figure kneeling to heaven, and a light breaking from it, inscribed, "he breaks my chains," to express the confidence of magius. the turks are seen landing with their pillage and their slaves.--in one of the pictures are seen two ships on fire; a young lady of cyprus preferring death to the loss of her honour and the miseries of slavery, determined to set fire to the vessel in which she was carried; she succeeded, and the flames communicated to another. his return to venice.--the painter for his principal figure has chosen a pallas, with a helmet on her head, the ægis on one arm, and her lance in the other, to describe the courage with which magius had supported his misfortunes, inscribed _reducit_--"she brings me back." in the last of the compartments he is seen at the custom-house at venice; he enters the house of his father; the old man hastens to meet him, and embraces him. one page is filled by a single picture, which represents the senate of venice, with the doge on his throne; magius presents an account of his different employments, and holds in his hand a scroll, on which is written, _quod commisisti perfeci; quod restat agendum, pare fide complectar_--"i have done what you committed to my care; and i will perform with the same fidelity what remains to be done." he is received by the senate with the most distinguished honours, and is not only justified, but praised and honoured. the most magnificent of these paintings is the one attributed to paul veronese. it is described by the duke de la vallière as almost unparalleled for its richness, its elegance, and its brilliancy. it is inscribed _pater meus et fratres mei dereliquerunt me; dominus autem assumpsit me!_--"my father and my brothers abandoned me; but the lord took me under his protection." this is an allusion to the accusation raised against him in the open senate when the turks took the isle of cyprus, and his family wanted either the confidence or the courage to defend magius. in the front of this large picture, magius leading his son by the hand, conducts him to be reconciled with his brothers and sisters-in-law, who are on the opposite side; his hand holds this scroll, _vos cogitastis de me malum; sed deus convertit illud in bonum_--"you thought ill of me; but the lord has turned it to good." in this he alludes to the satisfaction he had given the senate, and to the honours they had decreed him. another scene is introduced, where magius appears in a magnificent hall at a table in the midst of all his family, with whom a general reconciliation has taken place: on his left hand are gardens opening with an enchanting effect, and magnificently ornamented, with the villa of his father, on which flowers and wreaths seem dropping on the roof, as if from heaven. in the perspective, the landscape probably represents the rural neighbourhood of magius's early days. such are the most interesting incidents which i have selected from the copious description of the duke de la vallière. the idea of this production is new: an autobiography in a series of remarkable scenes, painted under the eye of the describer of them, in which, too, he has preserved all the fulness of his feelings and his minutest recollections; but the novelty becomes interesting from the character of the noble magius, and the romantic fancy which inspired this elaborate and costly curiosity. it was not, indeed, without some trouble that i have drawn up this little account; but while thus employed, i seemed to be composing a very uncommon romance. footnote: [ ] the duke's description is not to be found, as might be expected, in his own valued catalogue, but was a contribution to gaignat's, ii. , where it occupies fourteen pages. this singular work sold at gaignat's sale for livres. it was then the golden age of literary curiosity, when the rarest things were not ruinous; and that price was even then considered extraordinary, though the work was an unique. it must consist of about subjects, by italian artists. cause and pretext. it is an important principle in morals and in politics, not to mistake the cause for the pretext, nor the pretext for the cause, and by this means to distinguish between the concealed and the ostensible motive. on this principle, history might be recomposed in a new manner; it would not often describe _circumstances_ and _characters_ as they usually appear. when we mistake the characters of men, we mistake the nature of their actions; and we shall find in the study of secret history, that some of the most important events in modern history were produced from very different motives than their ostensible ones. polybius, the most philosophical writer of the ancients, has marked out this useful distinction of _cause_ and _pretext_, and aptly illustrates the observation by the facts which he explains. amilcar, for instance, was the first author and contriver of the second punic war, though he died ten years before the commencement of it. "a statesman," says the wise and grave historian, "who knows not how to trace the origin of events, and discern the different sources from whence they take their rise, may be compared to a physician who neglects to inform himself of the causes of those distempers which he is called in to cure. our pains can never be better employed than in searching out the causes of events; for the most trifling incidents give birth to matters of the greatest moment and importance." the latter part of this remark of polybius points out another principle which has been often verified by history, and which furnished the materials of the little book of "grands evénemens par les petites causes." our present inquiry concerns "cause and pretext." leo x. projected an alliance of the sovereigns of christendom against the turks. the avowed object was to oppose the progress of the ottomans against the mamelukes of egypt, who were more friendly to the christians; but the concealed motive with his holiness was to enrich himself and his family with the spoils of christendom, and to aggrandise the papal throne by war; and such, indeed, the policy of these pontiffs had always been in those mad crusades which they excited against the east. the reformation, excellent as its results have proved in the cause of genuine freedom, originated in no purer source than human passions and selfish motives: it was the progeny of avarice in germany, of novelty in france, and of love in england. the latter is elegantly alluded to by gray-- and gospel-light first beam'd from bullen's eyes. the reformation is considered by the duke of nevers, in a work printed in , as it had been by francis i., in his apology in , as a _coup-d'état_ of charles v. towards universal monarchy. the duke says, that the emperor silently permitted luther to establish his principles in germany, that they might split the confederacy of the elective princes, and by this division facilitate their more easy conquest, and play them off one against another, and by these means to secure the imperial crown hereditary in the house of austria. had charles v. not been the mere creature of his politics, and had he felt any zeal for the catholic cause, which he pretended to fight for, never would he have allowed the new doctrines to spread for more than twenty years without the least opposition. the famous league in france was raised for "religion and the relief of public grievances;" such was the pretext! after the princes and the people had alike become its victims, this "league" was discovered to have been formed by the pride and the ambition of the guises, aided by the machinations of the jesuits against the attempts of the prince of condé to dislodge them from their "seat of power." while the huguenots pillaged, burnt, and massacred, declaring in their manifestoes that they were only fighting to _release the king_, whom they asserted was a prisoner of the guises, the catholics repaid them with the same persecution and the same manifestoes, declaring that they only wished _to liberate the prince of condé_, who was the prisoner of the huguenots. the people were led on by the cry of "religion;" but this civil war was not in reality so much catholic against huguenot, as guise against condé. a parallel event occurred between our charles i. and the scotch covenanters; and the king expressly declared, in "a large declaration, concerning the late tumults in scotland," that "religion is only _pretended_, and used by them as a cloak to palliate their _intended rebellion_," which he demonstrated by the facts he alleged. there was a revolutionary party in france, which, taking the name of _frondeurs_, shook that kingdom under the administration of cardinal mazarin, and held out for their pretext the public freedom. but that faction, composed of some of the discontented french princes and the mob, was entirely organized by cardinal de retz, who held them in hand, to check or to spur them as the occasion required, from a mere personal pique against mazarin, who had not treated that vivacious genius with all the deference he exacted. this appears from his own memoirs. we have smiled at james i. threatening the states-general by the english ambassador, about vorstius, a dutch professor, who had espoused the doctrines of arminius against those of the contra-remonstrants, or calvinists; the ostensible subject was religious, or rather metaphysical-religious doctrines, but the concealed one was a struggle for predominance between the pensionary barnevelt, assisted by the french interest, and the prince of orange, supported by the english. "these were the real sources," says lord hardwicke, a statesman and a man of letters, deeply conversant with secret and public history, and a far more able judge than diodati the swiss divine, and brandt the ecclesiastical historian, who in the synod of dort could see nothing but what appeared in it, and gravely narrated the idle squabbles on phrases concerning predestination or grace. hales, of eaton, who was secretary to the english ambassador at this synod, perfectly accords with the account of lord hardwicke. "our synod," writes that judicious observer, "goes on like a watch; the main wheels upon which the whole business turns are least in sight; for all things of moment are acted in private sessions; _what is done in public is only for show and entertainment_." the _cause_ of the persecution of the jansenists was the jealousy of the jesuits; the _pretext_ was _la grace suffisante_. the learned la croze observes, that the same circumstance occurred in the affair of nestorius and the church of alexandria; the pretext was orthodoxy, the cause was the jealousy of the church of alexandria, or rather the fiery and turbulent cyril, who personally hated nestorius. the opinions of nestorius, and the council which condemned them, were the same in effect. i only produce this remote fact to prove that ancient times do not alter the truth of our principle. when james ii. was so strenuous an advocate for _toleration_ and _liberty of conscience_ in removing the test act, this enlightened principle of government was only a _pretext_ with that monk-ridden monarch; it is well known that the _cause_ was to introduce and make the catholics predominant in his councils and government. the result, which that eager and blind politician hurried on too fast, and which therefore did not take place, would have been that "liberty of conscience" would soon have become an "overt act of treason" before an inquisition of his jesuits! in all political affairs drop the _pretexts_ and strike at the _causes_; we may thus understand what the heads of parties may choose to conceal. political forgeries and fictions. a writer, whose learning gives value to his eloquence, in his bampton lectures has censured, with that liberal spirit so friendly to the cause of truth, the calumnies and rumours of parties, which are still industriously retailed, though they have been often confuted. forged documents are still referred to, or tales unsupported by evidence are confidently quoted. mr. heber's subject confined his inquiries to theological history; he has told us that "augustin is not ashamed, in his dispute with faustus, to take advantage of the popular slanders against the followers of manes, though his own experience (for he had himself been of that sect) was sufficient to detect this falsehood." the romanists, in spite of satisfactory answers, have continued to urge against the english protestant the romance of parker's consecration;[ ] while the protestant persists in falsely imputing to the catholic public formularies the systematic omission of the second commandment. "the calumnies of rimius and stinstra against the moravian brethren are cases in point," continues mr. heber. "no one now believes them, yet they once could deceive even warburton!" we may also add the obsolete calumny of jews crucifying boys--of which a monument raised to hugh of lincoln perpetuates the memory, and which a modern historian records without any scruple of doubt; several authorities, which are cited on this occasion, amount only to the single one of matthew paris, who gives it as a popular rumour. such accusations usually happened when the jews were too rich and the king was too poor![ ] the falsehoods and forgeries raised by parties are overwhelming! it startles a philosopher, in the calm of his study, when he discovers how writers, who, we may presume, are searchers after truth, should, in fact, turn out to be searchers after the grossest fictions. this alters the habits of the literary man: it is an unnatural depravity of his pursuits--and it proves that the personal is too apt to predominate over the literary character. i have already touched on the main point of the present article in the one on "political nicknames." i have there shown how political calumny appears to have been reduced into an art; one of its branches would be that of converting forgeries and fictions into historical authorities. when one nation is at war with another, there is no doubt that the two governments connive at, and often encourage, the most atrocious libels on each other, to madden the people to preserve their independence, and contribute cheerfully to the expenses of the war. france and england formerly complained of holland--the athenians employed the same policy against the macedonians and persians. such is the origin of a vast number of supposititious papers and volumes, which sometimes, at a remote date, confound the labours of the honest historian, and too often serve the purposes of the dishonest, with whom they become authorities. the crude and suspicious libels which were drawn out of their obscurity in cromwell's time against james the first have overloaded the character of that monarch, yet are now eagerly referred to by party writers, though in their own days they were obsolete and doubtful. during the civil wars of charles the first such spurious documents exist in the forms of speeches which were never spoken; of letters never written by the names subscribed; printed declarations never declared; battles never fought, and victories never obtained! such is the language of rushworth, who complains of this evil spirit of party forgeries, while he is himself suspected of having rescinded or suppressed whatever was not agreeable to his patron cromwell. a curious, and perhaps a necessary list might be drawn up of political forgeries of our own, which have been sometimes referred to as genuine, but which are the inventions of wits and satirists! bayle ingeniously observes, that at the close of every century such productions should be branded by a skilful discriminator, to save the future inquirer from errors he can hardly avoid. "how many are still kept in error by the satires of the sixteenth century! those of the present age will be no less active in future ages, for they will still be preserved in public libraries." the art and skill with which some have fabricated a forged narrative render its detection almost hopeless. when young maitland, the brother to the secretary, in order to palliate the crime of the assassination of the regent murray, was employed to draw up a pretended conference between him, knox, and others, to stigmatise them by the odium of advising to dethrone the young monarch, and to substitute the regent for their sovereign, maitland produced so dramatic a performance, by giving to each person his peculiar mode of expression, that this circumstance long baffled the incredulity of those who could not in consequence deny the truth of a narrative apparently so correct in its particulars! "the fiction of the warming-pan enclosing the young pretender brought more adherents to the cause of the whigs than the bill of rights," observes lord john russell. among such party narratives, the horrid tale of the bloody colonel kirk has been worked up by hume with all his eloquence and pathos; and, from its interest, no suspicion has arisen of its truth. yet, so far as it concerns kirk, or the reign of james the second, or even english history, it is, as ritson too honestly expresses it, "an impudent and a bare-faced lie!" the simple fact is told by kennet in a few words: he probably was aware of the nature of this political fiction. hume was not, indeed, himself the fabricator of the tale; but he had not any historical authority. the origin of this fable was probably a pious fraud of the whig party, to whom kirk had rendered himself odious; at that moment stories still more terrifying were greedily swallowed, and which, ritson insinuates, have become a part of the history of england. the original story, related more circumstantially, though not more affectingly, nor perhaps more truly, may be found in wanley's "wonders of the little world,"[ ] which i give, relieving it from the tediousness of old wanley. a governor of zealand, under the bold duke of burgundy, had in vain sought to seduce the affections of the beautiful wife of a citizen. the governor imprisons the husband on an accusation of treason; and when the wife appeared as the suppliant, the governor, after no brief eloquence, succeeded as a lover, on the plea that her husband's life could only be spared by her compliance. the woman, in tears and in aversion, and not without a hope of vengeance only delayed, lost her honour! pointing to the prison, the governor told her, "if you seek your husband, enter there, and take him along with you!" the wife, in the bitterness of her thoughts, yet not without the consolation that she had snatched her husband from the grave, passed into the prison; there in a cell, to her astonishment and horror, she beheld the corpse of her husband laid out in a coffin, ready for burial! mourning over it, she at length returned to the governor, fiercely exclaiming, "you have kept your word! you have restored to me my husband! and be assured the favour shall be repaid!" the inhuman villain, terrified in the presence of his intrepid victim, attempted to appease her vengeance, and more, to win her to his wishes. returning home, she assembled her friends, revealed her whole story, and under their protection she appealed to charles the bold, a strict lover of justice, and who now awarded a singular but an exemplary catastrophe. the duke first commanded that the criminal governor should instantly marry the woman whom he had made a widow, and at the same time sign his will, with a clause importing that should he die before his lady he constituted her his heiress. all this was concealed from both sides, rather to satisfy the duke than the parties themselves. this done, the unhappy woman was dismissed alone! the governor was conducted to the prison to suffer the same death he had inflicted on the husband of his wife; and when this lady was desired once more to enter the prison, she beheld her second husband headless in his coffin as she had her first! such extraordinary incidents in so short a period overpowered the feeble frame of the sufferer; she died--leaving a son, who inherited the rich accession of fortune so fatally obtained by his injured and suffering mother. such is the tale of which the party story of kirk appeared to ritson to have been a _rifacimento_; but it is rather the foundation than the superstructure. this critic was right in the general, but not in the particular. it was not necessary to point out the present source, when so many others of a parallel nature exist. this tale, universally told, mr. douce considers as the origin of _measure for measure_, and was probably some traditional event; for it appears sometimes with a change of names and places, without any of incident. it always turns on a soldier, a brother or a husband, executed; and a wife, a sister, a deceived victim, to save them from death. it was, therefore, easily transferred to kirk, and pomfret's poem of "cruelty and lust" long made the story popular. it could only have been in this form that it reached the historian, who, it must be observed, introduces it as a "story _commonly told_ of him;" but popular tragic romances should not enter into the dusty documents of a history of england, and much less be particularly specified in the index! belleforest, in his old version of the tale, has even the circumstance of the "captain, who having seduced the wife under the promise to save her husband's life, exhibited him soon afterwards _through the window of her apartment suspended on a gibbet_." this forms the horrid incident in the history of "the bloody colonel," and served the purpose of a party, who wished to bury him in odium. kirk was a soldier of fortune, and a loose liver, and a great blusterer, who would sometimes threaten to decimate his own regiment, but is said to have forgotten the menace the next day. hateful as such military men will always be, in the present instance colonel kirk has been shamefully calumniated by poets and historians, who suffer themselves to be duped by the forgeries of political parties![ ] while we are detecting a source of error into which the party feelings of modern historians may lead them, let us confess that they are far more valuable than the ancient; for to us at least the ancients have written history without producing authorities! modern historians must furnish their readers with the truest means to become their critics, by providing them with their authorities; and it is only by judiciously appreciating these that we may confidently accept their discoveries. unquestionably the ancients have often introduced into their histories many tales similar to the story of kirk--popular or party forgeries! the mellifluous copiousness of livy conceals many a tale of wonder; the graver of tacitus etches many a fatal stroke; and the secret history of suetonius too often raises a suspicion of those whispers, _quid rex in aurem reginæ dixerit, quid juno fabulata sit cum jove_. it is certain that plutarch has often told, and varied too in the telling, the same story, which he has applied to different persons. a critic in the ritsonian style has said of the grave plutarch, _mendax ille plutarchus qui vitas oratorum, dolis et erroribus consutas, olim conscribillavit_.[ ] "that lying plutarch, who formerly scribbled the lives of the orators, made up of falsities and blunders!" there is in italian a scarce book, of a better design than execution, of the abbate lancellotti, _farfalloni degli antichi historici_.--"flim-flams of the ancients." modern historians have to dispute their passage to immortality step by step; and however fervid be their eloquence, their real test as to value must be brought to the humble references in their margin. yet these must not terminate our inquiries; for in tracing a story to its original source we shall find that fictions have been sometimes grafted on truths or hearsays, and to separate them as they appeared in their first stage is the pride and glory of learned criticism. footnotes: [ ] absurdly reported to have taken place at a meeting in the nag's-head tavern, cheapside. [ ] m. michel published in paris, in , a collection of poems and ballads concerning hugh of lincoln, which were all very popular at home and abroad in the middle ages. one of these, preserved in an anglo-norman ms. in the bibliothèque royale at paris, was evidently constructed to be sung by the people soon after the event, which is stated to have happened in the reign of our henry iii.; but there are many ballads comparatively modern which show how carefully the story was kept before the populace; and may be seen in the collections of bishop percy, jameson, motherwell, &c. [ ] book iii. ch. , sec. . [ ] a story still more absurd was connected with the name of colonel lunsford, a soldier who consistently defended charles i., and was killed in . it is related by echard as reported of him, that he would kill and eat the children of the opposite party. this horridly grotesque imputation has been preserved in the political ballads and poetry of the day. cleveland ridicules it in one of his poems, where he makes a roundhead declare-- "he swore he saw, when lunsford fell, a child's arm in his pocket." [ ] taylor, annot. ad lysiam. expression of suppressed opinion. a people denied the freedom of speech or of writing have usually left some memorials of their feelings in that silent language which addresses itself to the eye. many ingenious inventions have been contrived to give vent to their suppressed indignation. the voluminous grievance which they could not trust to the voice or the pen they have carved in wood, or sculptured on stone; and have sometimes even facetiously concealed their satire among the playful ornaments designed to amuse those of whom they so fruitlessly complained! such monuments of the suppressed feelings of the multitude are not often inspected by the historian--their minuteness escapes all eyes but those of the philosophical antiquary; nor are these satirical appearances always considered as grave authorities, which unquestionably they will be found to be by a close observer of human nature. an entertaining history of the modes of thinking, or the discontents of a people, drawn from such dispersed efforts in every æra, would cast a new light of secret history over many dark intervals. did we possess a secret history of the saturnalia, it would doubtless have afforded some materials for the present article. in those revels of venerable radicalism, when the senate was closed, and the _pileus_, or cap of liberty, was triumphantly worn, all things assumed an appearance contrary to what they were; and human nature, as well as human laws, might be said to have been _parodied_. among so many whimsical regulations in favour of the licentious rabble, there was one which forbad the circulation of money; if any one offered the coin of the state, it was to be condemned as an act of madness, and the man was brought to his senses by a penitential fast for that day. an ingenious french antiquary seems to have discovered a class of wretched medals, cast in lead or copper, which formed the circulating medium of these mob lords, who, to ridicule the idea of _money_, used the basest metals, stamping them with grotesque figures, or odd devices--such as a sow; a chimerical bird; an imperator in his car, with a monkey behind him; or an old woman's head, _acca laurentia_, either the traditional old nurse of romulus, or an old courtesan of the same name, who bequeathed the fruits of her labours to the roman people! as all things were done in mockery, this base metal is stamped with s. c., to ridicule the _senatûs consulto_, which our antiquary happily explains,[ ] in the true spirit of this government of mockery, _saturnalium consulto_, agreeing with the legend of the reverse, inscribed in the midst of four _tali_, or bones, which they used as dice, _qui ludit arram det, quod satis sit_--"let them who play give a pledge, which will be sufficient." this mock-money served not only as an expression of the native irony of the radical gentry of rome during their festival, but, had they spoken their mind out, meant a ridicule of money itself; for these citizens of equality have always imagined that society might proceed without this contrivance of a medium which served to represent property in which they themselves must so little participate. a period so glorious for exhibiting the suppressed sentiments of the populace as were these _saturnalia_, had been nearly lost for us, had not some notions been preserved by lucian; for we glean but sparingly from the solemn pages of the historian, except in the remarkable instance which suetonius has preserved of the arch-mime who followed the body of the emperor vespasian at his funeral. this officer, as well as a similar one who accompanied the general to whom they granted a triumph, and who was allowed the unrestrained licentiousness of his tongue, were both the organs of popular feeling, and studied to gratify the rabble, who were their real masters. on this occasion the arch-mime, representing both the exterior personage and the character of vespasian, according to custom, inquired the expense of the funeral? he was answered, "ten millions of sesterces!" in allusion to the love of money which characterised the emperor, his mock representative exclaimed, "give me the money, and, if you will, throw my body into the tiber!" all these mock offices and festivals among the ancients i consider as organs of the suppressed opinions and feelings of the populace, who were allowed no other, and had not the means of the printing ages to leave any permanent records. at a later period, before the discovery of the art which multiplies with such facility libels or panegyrics, when the people could not speak freely against those rapacious clergy who sheared the fleece and cared not for the sheep, many a secret of popular indignation was confided not to books (for they could not read), but to pictures and sculptures, which are books which the people can always read. the sculptors and illuminators of those times no doubt shared in common the popular feelings, and boldly trusted to the paintings or the carvings which met the eyes of their luxurious and indolent masters their satirical inventions. as far back as in , we find in wolfius[ ] the description of a picture of this kind, in a ms. of Æsop's fables found in the abbey of fulda, among other emblems of the corrupt lives of the churchmen. the present was a wolf, large as life, wearing a monkish cowl, with a shaven crown, preaching to a flock of sheep, with these words of the apostle in a label from his mouth--"god is my witness how i long for you all in my bowels!" and underneath was inscribed--"this hooded wolf is the hypocrite of whom is said in the gospel, 'beware of false prophets!'" such exhibitions were often introduced into articles of furniture. a cushion was found in an old abbey, in which was worked a fox preaching to geese, each goose holding in his bill his praying beads! in the stone wall, and on the columns of the great church at strasburg, was once viewed a number of wolves, bears, foxes, and other mischievous animals, carrying holy water, crucifixes, and tapers; and others more indelicate. these, probably as old as the year , were engraven in by a protestant; and were not destroyed till , by the pious rage of the catholics, who seemed at length to have rightly construed these silent lampoons; and in their turn broke to pieces the protestant images, as the others had done the papistical dolls. the carved seats and stalls in our own cathedrals exhibit subjects not only strange and satirical, but even indecent.[ ] at the time they built churches they satirised the ministers; a curious instance how the feelings of the people struggle to find a vent. it is conjectured that rival orders satirised each other, and that some of the carvings are caricatures of certain monks. the margins of illuminated manuscripts frequently contain ingenious caricatures, or satirical allegories. in a magnificent chronicle of froissart i observed several. a wolf, as usual, in a monk's frock and cowl, stretching his paw to bless a cock, bending its head submissively to the wolf: or a fox with a crosier, dropping beads, which a cock is picking up; to satirise the blind devotion of the bigots; perhaps the figure of the cock alluded to our gallic neighbours. a cat in the habit of a nun, holding a platter in its paws to a mouse approaching to lick it; alluding to the allurements of the abbesses to draw young women into their convents; while sometimes i have seen a sow in an abbess's veil, mounted on stilts: the sex marked by the sow's dugs. a pope sometimes appears to be thrust by devils into a cauldron; and cardinals are seen roasting on spits! these _ornaments_ must have been generally executed by the monks themselves; but these more ingenious members of the ecclesiastical order appear to have sympathised with the people, like the curates in our church, and envied the pampered abbot and the purple bishop. churchmen were the usual objects of the suppressed indignation of the people in those days; but the knights and feudal lords have not always escaped from the "curses not loud, but deep," of their satirical pencils. as the reformation, or rather the revolution, was hastening, this custom became so general, that in one of the dialogues of erasmus, where two franciscans are entertained by their host, it appears that such satirical exhibitions were hung up as common furniture in the apartments of inns. the facetious genius of erasmus either invents or describes one which he had seen of an ape in the habit of a franciscan sitting by a sick man's bed, dispensing ghostly counsel, holding up a crucifix in one hand, while with the other he is filching a purse out of the sick man's pocket. such are "the straws" by which we may always observe from what corner the wind rises! mr. dibdin has recently informed us, that geyler, whom he calls "the herald of the reformation," preceding luther by twelve years, had a stone chair or pulpit in the cathedral at strasburg, from which he delivered his lectures, or rather rolled the thunders of his anathemas against the monks. this stone pulpit was constructed under his own superintendence, and is covered with very indecent figures of monks and nuns, expressly designed by him to expose their profligate manners. we see geyler doing what for centuries had been done! in the curious folios of sauval, the stowe of france, there is a copious chapter, entitled "_hérétiques, leurs attentats_." in this enumeration of their attempts to give vent to their suppressed indignation, it is very remarkable that, _preceding the time of luther_, the minds of many were perfectly _lutheran_ respecting the idolatrous worship of the roman church; and what i now notice would have rightly entered into that significant _historia reformationis ante reformationem_, which was formerly projected by continental writers. luther did not consign the pope's decretals to the flames till --this was the first open act of reformation and insurrection, for hitherto he had submitted to the court of rome. yet in , thirty years preceding this great event, i find a priest burnt for having snatched the host in derision from the hands of another celebrating mass. twelve years afterwards, , a student repeated the same deed, trampling on it; and in , the resolute death of anne de bourg, a counsellor in the parliament of paris, to use the expression of sauval, "corrupted the world." it is evident that the huguenots were fast on the increase. from that period i find continued accounts which prove that the huguenots of france, like the puritans of england, were most resolute iconoclasts. they struck off the heads of virgins and little jesuses, or blunted their daggers by chipping the wooden saints, which were then fixed at the corners of streets. every morning discovered the scandalous treatment they had undergone in the night. then their images were painted on the walls, but these were heretically scratched and disfigured: and, since the saints could not defend themselves, a royal edict was published in their favour, commanding that all holy paintings in the streets should not be allowed short of ten feet from the ground! they entered churches at night, tearing up or breaking down the _prians_, the _bénitoires_, the crucifixes, the colossal _ecce-homos_, which they did not always succeed in dislodging for want of time or tools. amidst these battles with wooden adversaries, we may smile at the frequent solemn processions instituted to ward off the vengeance of the parish saint; the wooden was expiated by a silver image, secured by iron bars and attended by the king and the nobility, carrying the new saint, with prayers that he would protect himself from the heretics! in an early period of the reformation, an instance occurs of the art of concealing what we wish only the few should comprehend, at the same time that we are addressing the public. curious collectors are acquainted with "the olivetan bible;" this was the first translation published by the protestants, and there seems no doubt that calvin was the chief, if not the only translator; but at that moment not choosing to become responsible for this new version, he made use of the name of an obscure relative, robert pierre olivetan. calvin, however, prefixed a latin preface, remarkable for delivering positions very opposite to those tremendous doctrines of absolute predestination which, in his theological despotism, he afterwards assumed. de bure describes this first protestant bible not only as rare, but, when found, as usually imperfect, much soiled and dog-eared, as the well-read first edition of shakspeare, by the perpetual use of the multitude. but a curious fact has escaped the detection both of de bure and beloe; at the end of the volume are found _ten verses_, which, in a concealed manner, authenticate the translation; and which no one, unless initiated into the secret, could possibly suspect. the verses are not poetical, but i give the first sentence:-- lecteur entends, si vérité adresse viens donc ouyr instament sa promesse et vif parler----&c. _the first letters of every word_ of these _ten verses_ form a perfect distich, containing information important to those to whom the olivetan bible was addressed. les vaudois, peuple évangélique, ont mis ce thrésor en publique. an anagram would have been too inartificial a contrivance to have answered the purpose of concealing from the world at large this secret. there is an adroitness in the invention of the initial letters of all the words through these ten verses. they contained a communication necessary to authenticate the version, but which, at the same time, could not be suspected by any person not intrusted with the secret. when the art of medal-engraving was revived in europe, the spirit we are now noticing took possession of those less perishable and more circulating vehicles. satiric medals were almost unknown to the ancient mint, notwithstanding those of the saturnalia, and a few which bear miserable puns on the unlucky names of some consuls. medals illustrate history, and history reflects light on medals; but we should not place such unreserved confidence on medals as their advocates, who are warm in their favourite study. it has been asserted that medals are more authentic memorials than history itself; but a medal is not less susceptible of the bad passions than a pamphlet or an epigram. ambition has its vanity, and engraves a dubious victory; and flattery will practise its art, and deceive us in gold! a calumny or a fiction on metal may be more durable than on a fugitive page; and a libel has a better chance of being preserved when the artist is skilful, than simple truths when miserably executed. medals of this class are numerous, and were the precursors of those political satires exhibited in caricature prints.[ ] there is a large collection of wooden cuts about the time of calvin, where the romish religion is represented by the most grotesque forms which the ridicule of the early reformers could invent. more than a thousand figures attest the exuberant satire of the designers. this work is equally rare and costly.[ ] satires of this species commenced in the freedom of the reformation; for we find a medal of luther in a monk's habit, satirically bearing for its reverse catherine de bora, the nun whom this monk married; the first step of his personal reformation! nor can we be certain that catherine was not more concerned in that great revolution than appears in the voluminous lives we have of the great reformer. however, the reformers were as great sticklers for medals as the "papelins." of pope john viii., an effeminate voluptuary, we have a medal with his portrait, inscribed _pope joan!_ and another of innocent x., dressed as a woman holding a spindle; the reverse, his famous mistress, donna olympia, dressed as a pope, with the tiara on her head, and the keys of st. peter in her hands![ ] when, in the reign of mary, england was groaning under spanish influence, and no remonstrance could reach the throne, the queen's person and government were made ridiculous to the people's eyes by prints or pictures "representing her majesty naked, meagre, withered, and wrinkled, with every aggravated circumstance of deformity that could disgrace a female figure, seated in a regal chair; a crown on her head, surrounded with m. r. and a. in capitals, accompanied by small letters; _maria regina angliæ!_ a number of spaniards were sucking her to skin and bone, and a specification was added of the money, rings, jewels, and other presents with which she had secretly gratified her husband philip."[ ] it is said that the queen suspected some of her own council of this invention, who alone were privy to these transactions. it is, however, in this manner that the voice which is suppressed by authority comes at length in another shape to the eye. the age of elizabeth, when the roman pontiff and all his adherents were odious to the people, produced a remarkable caricature, and ingenious invention--a gorgon's head! a church bell forms the helmet; the ornaments, instead of the feathers, are a wolf's head in a mitre devouring a lamb, an ass's head with spectacles reading, a goose holding a rosary: the face is made out with a fish for the nose, a chalice and water for the eye, and other priestly ornaments for the shoulder and breast, on which rolls of parchment pardons hang.[ ] a famous bishop of munster, bernard de galen, who, in his charitable violence for converting protestants, got himself into such celebrity that he appears to have served as an excellent _sign-post_ to the inns in germany, was the true church militant: and his figure was exhibited according to the popular fancy. his head was half mitre and half helmet; a crosier in one hand and a sabre in the other; half a rochet and half a cuirass: he was made performing mass as a dragoon on horseback, and giving out the charge when he ought the _ite, missa est!_ he was called the _converter!_ and the "bishop of munster" became popular as a sign-post in german towns; for the people like fighting men, though they should even fight against themselves. it is rather curious to observe of this new species of satire, so easily distributed among the people, and so directly addressed to their understandings, that it was made the vehicle of national feeling. ministers of state condescended to invent the devices. lord orford says that _caricatures on cards_ were the invention of george townshend in the affair of byng, which was soon followed by a pack. i am informed of an ancient pack of cards which has caricatures of all the parliamentarian generals, which might be not unusefully shuffled by a writer of secret history.[ ] we may be surprised to find the grave sully practising this artifice on several occasions. in the civil wars of france the duke of savoy had taken by surprise saluces, and struck a medal; on the reverse a centaur appears shooting with a bow and arrow, with the legend _opportune!_ but when henry the fourth had reconquered the town, he published another, on which hercules appears killing the centaur, with the word _opportunius_. the great minister was the author of this retort![ ] a medal of the dutch ambassador at the court of france, van beuninghen, whom the french represent as a haughty burgomaster, but who had the vivacity of a frenchman and the haughtiness of a spaniard, as voltaire characterises him, is said to have been the occasion of the dutch war in ; but wars will be hardly made for an idle medal. medals may, however, indicate a preparatory war. louis the fourteenth was so often compared to the sun at its meridian, that some of his creatures may have imagined that, like the sun, he could dart into any part of europe as he willed, and be as cheerfully received.[ ] the dutch minister, whose christian name was _joshua_, however, had a medal struck of joshua stopping the sun in his course, inferring that this miracle was operated by his little republic. the medal itself is engraven in van loon's voluminous _histoire médallique du pays bas_, and in marchand's _dictionnaire historique_, who labours to prove against twenty authors that the dutch ambassador was not the inventor; it was not, however, unworthy of him, and it conveyed to the world the high feeling of her power which holland had then assumed. two years after the noise about this medal the republic paid dear for the device; but thirty years afterwards this very burgomaster concluded a glorious peace, and france and spain were compelled to receive the mediation of the dutch joshua with the french sun.[ ] in these vehicles of national satire, it is odd that the phlegmatic dutch, more than any other nation, and from the earliest period of their republic, should have indulged freely, if not licentiously. it was a republican humour. their taste was usually gross. we owe to them, even in the reign of elizabeth, a severe medal on leicester, who, having retired in disgust from the government of their provinces, struck a medal with his bust, reverse a dog and sheep, _non gregem, sed ingratos invitus desero_; on which the angry juvenile states struck another, representing an ape and young ones; reverse, leicester near a fire, _fugiens fumum, incidit in ignem._ another medal, with an excellent portrait of cromwell, was struck by the dutch. the protector, crowned with laurels, is on his knees, laying his head in the lap of the commonwealth, but loosely exhibiting himself to the french and spanish ambassadors with gross indecency: the frenchman, covered with _fleur de lis_, is pushing aside the grave don, and disputes with him the precedence--_retire-toy; l'honneur appartient au roy mon maitre, louis le grand_. van loon is very right in denouncing this same medal, so grossly flattering to the english, as most detestable and indelicate! but why does van loon envy us this lumpish invention? why does the dutchman quarrel with his own cheese? the honour of the medal we claim, but the invention belongs to his country. the dutch went on commenting in this manner on english affairs from reign to reign. charles the second declared war against them in for a malicious medal, though the states-general offered to break the die, by purchasing it of the workman for one thousand ducats; but it served for a pretext for a dutch war, which charles cared more about than the _mala bestia_ of his exergue. charles also complained of a scandalous picture which the brothers de witt had in their house, representing a naval battle with the english. charles the second seems to have been more sensible to this sort of national satire than we might have expected in a professed wit; a race, however, who are not the most patient in having their own sauce returned to their lips. the king employed evelyn to write a history of the dutch war, and "enjoined him _to make it a little keen_, for the hollanders had very unhandsomely abused him in their pictures, books, and libels." the dutch continued their career of conveying their national feeling on english affairs more triumphantly when their stadtholder ascended an english throne. the birth of the pretender is represented by the chest which minerva gave to the daughters of cecrops to keep, and which, opened, discovered an infant with a serpent's tail: _infantemque vident apporrectumque draconem_; the chest perhaps alluding to the removes of the warming-pan; and, in another, james and a jesuit flying in terror, the king throwing away a crown and sceptre, and the jesuit carrying a child; _ite missa est_, the words applied from the mass.[ ] but in these contests of national feeling, while the grandeur of louis the fourteenth did not allow of these ludicrous and satirical exhibitions, and while the political idolatry which his forty academicians paid to him exhausted itself in the splendid fictions of a series of famous medals, amounting to nearly four hundred, it appears that we were not without our reprisals; for i find prosper marchand, who writes as a hollander, censuring his own country for having at length adulated the grand monarque by a complimentary medal. he says--"the english cannot be reproached with a similar _debonaireté_." after the famous victories of marlborough, they indeed inserted in a medal the head of the french monarch and the english queen, with this inscription, _ludovicus magnus, anna major_. long ere this one of our queens had been exhibited by ourselves with considerable energy. on the defeat of the armada, elizabeth, pinkerton tells us, struck a medal representing the english and spanish fleets, _hesperidum regem devicit virgo_. philip had medals dispersed in england of the same impression, with this addition, _negatur. est meretrix vulgi._ these the queen suppressed, but published another medal, with this legend:-- hesperidum regem devicit virgo; negatur, est meretrix vulgi; res eo deterior. an age fertile in satirical prints was the eventful æra of charles the first: they were showered from all parties, and a large collection of them would admit of a critical historical commentary, which might become a vehicle of the most curious secret history. most of them are in a bad style, for they are allegorical; yet that these satirical exhibitions influenced the eyes and minds of the people is evident from an extraordinary circumstance. two grave collections of historical documents adopted them. we are surprised to find prefixed to rushworth's and nalson's historical collections two such political prints! nalson's was an act of retributive justice; but he seems to have been aware that satire in the shape of pictures is a language very attractive to the multitude, for he has introduced a caricature print in the solemn folio of the trial of charles the first.[ ] of the happiest of these political prints is one by taylor the water-poet, not included in his folio, but prefixed to his "mad fashions, odd fashions, or the emblems of these distracted times." it is the figure of a man whose eyes have left their sockets, and whose legs have usurped the place of his arms; a horse on his hind legs is drawing a cart; a church is inverted; fish fly in the air; a candle burns with the flame downwards; and the mouse and rabbit are pursuing the cat and the fox! the animosities of national hatred have been a fertile source of these vehicles of popular feeling--which discover themselves in severe or grotesque caricatures. the french and the spaniards mutually exhibit one another under the most extravagant figures. the political caricatures of the french in the seventeenth century are numerous. the _badauds_ of paris amused themselves for their losses by giving an emetic to a spaniard, to make him render up all the towns his victories had obtained: seven or eight spaniards are seen seated around a large turnip, with their frizzled mustachios, their hats _en pot-à-beurre_; their long rapiers, with their pummels down to their feet, and their points up to their shoulders; their ruffs stiffened by many rows, and pieces of garlick stuck in their girdles. the dutch were exhibited in as great variety as the uniformity of frogs would allow. we have largely participated in the vindictive spirit which these grotesque emblems keep up among the people; they mark the secret feelings of national pride. the greeks despised foreigners, and considered them only as fit to be slaves;[ ] the ancient jews, inflated with a false idea of their small territory, would be masters of the world: the italians placed a line of demarcation for genius and taste, and marked it by their mountains. the spaniards once imagined that the conferences of god with moses on mount sinai were in the spanish language. if a japanese become the friend of a foreigner, he is considered as committing treason to his emperor, and rejected as a false brother in a country which, we are told, is figuratively called _tenka_, or the kingdom under the heavens. john bullism is not peculiar to englishmen; and patriotism is a noble virtue when it secures our independence without depriving us of our humanity. the civil wars of the league in france, and those in england under charles the first, bear the most striking resemblance; and in examining the revolutionary scenes exhibited by the graver in the famous _satire ménippée_, we discover the foreign artist revelling in the _caricature_ of his ludicrous and severe exhibition; and in that other revolutionary period of _la fronde_, there was a mania for _political songs_; the curious have formed them into collections; and we not only have "the rump songs" of charles the first's times, but have repeated this kind of evidence of the public feeling at many subsequent periods.[ ] _caricatures_ and _political songs_ might with us furnish a new sort of history; and perhaps would preserve some truths, and describe some particular events not to be found in more grave authorities. footnotes: [ ] baudelot de dairval, _de l'utilité des voyages_, ii. . there is a work, by ficoroni, on these lead _coins_ or _tickets_. they are found in the cabinets of the curious medallist. pinkerton, in referring to this entertaining work, regrets that "such curious remains have almost escaped the notice of medallists, and have not yet been arranged in one class, or named. a special work on them would be highly acceptable." the time has perhaps arrived when antiquaries may begin to be philosophers, and philosophers antiquaries! the unhappy separation of erudition from philosophy, and of philosophy from erudition, has hitherto thrown impediments in the progress of the human mind and the history of man. [ ] lect. mem. i. ad. an. . [ ] many specimens may be seen in carter's curious volumes on "ancient architecture and painting." [ ] the series published during the wars in the low countries are the most remarkable, and may be seen in the volumes by van loon. [ ] mr. douce possessed a portion of this very curious collection: for a complete one de bure asked about twenty pounds. [ ] the roman satirists also invented a tale to ridicule what they dared not openly condemn, in which it was asserted that a play called _the marriage of the pope_ was enacted before cromwell, in which the donna having obtained the key of paradise from innocent, insists on that of purgatory also, that she may not be sent there when he is wearied of her. "the wedding" is then kept by a ball of monks and nuns, delighted to think they may one day marry also. such was the means the romans took to notify their sense of the degradation of the pope. [ ] warton's "life of sir thomas pope," p. . [ ] this ancient caricature, so descriptive of the popular feelings, is tolerably given in malcolm's history of "caricaturing," plate ii. fig. . [ ] this pack was probably executed in holland in the time of charles the second. there are other sets of political cards of the same reign, particularly one connected with the so-called "popish plots," and the murder of sir edmundbury godfrey. the south-sea bubble was made the subject of a similar pack, after it had exploded. [ ] the royal house of navarre was fancifully derived by the old heraldic writers from hispalus, the son of hercules; and the pageant provided by the citizens of avignon to greet his entrance there in , was entirely composed in reference thereto, and henry indicated in its title, _l'hercule gaulois triumphant_. [ ] he took for a device and motto on his shield on the occasion of tilting-matches and court festivities, a representation of the sun in splendour, and the words, _nec pluribus impar_. [ ] the history of this medal is useful in more than one respect; and may be found in prosper marchand. [ ] another represents the young prince holding the symbol of the romish faith in his right hand, and crowning himself with the left; truth opens a door below and discovers father petre, as the guiding influence of all. [ ] it represents cromwell as an armed monster, carrying the three kingdoms captive at his feet in a triumphal car driven by the devil over the body of liberty, and the decapitated charles i. the state of the people is emblematized by a bird flying from its cage to be devoured by a hawk; and sheep breaking from the fold to be set on by ravening wolves. [ ] a passage may be found in aristotle's politics, vol. i. c. - ; where aristotle advises alexander to govern the greeks like his _subjects_, and the barbarians like _slaves_; for that the one he was to consider as companions, and the other as creatures of an inferior race. [ ] the following may be mentioned as the most important of these collections:-- "rome rhymed to death." . "a collection of the newest and most ingenious poems, songs, catches, &c, against popery." . "poems on affairs of state." - . "whig and tory; or, wit on both sides." . "political merriment; or, truths told to some tune." . autographs.[ ] the art of judging of the characters of persons by their handwriting can only have any reality when the pen, acting without restraint, becomes an instrument guided by, and indicative of, the natural dispositions. but regulated as the pen is now too often by a mechanical process, which the present race of writing-masters seem to have contrived for their own convenience, a whole school exhibits a similar handwriting; the pupils are forced in their automatic motions, as if acted on by the pressure of a steam-engine; a bevy of beauties will now write such fac-similes of each other, that in a heap of letters presented to the most sharp-sighted lover to select that of his mistress--though, like bassanio among the caskets, his happiness should be risked on the choice--he would despair of fixing on the right one, all appearing to have come from the same rolling-press. even brothers of different tempers have been taught by the same master to give the same form to their letters, the same regularity to their line, and have made our handwritings as monotonous as are our characters in the present habits of society. the true physiognomy of writing will be lost among our rising generation: it is no longer a face that we are looking on, but a beautiful mask of a single pattern; and the fashionable handwriting of our young ladies is like the former tight-lacing of their mothers' youthful days, when every one alike had what was supposed to be a fine shape! assuredly nature would prompt every individual to have a distinct sort of writing, as she has given a peculiar countenance--a voice--and a manner. the flexibility of the muscles differs with every individual, and the hand will follow the direction of the thoughts and the emotions and the habits of the writers. the phlegmatic will portray his words, while the playful haste of the volatile will scarcely sketch them; the slovenly will blot and efface and scrawl, while the neat and orderly-minded will view themselves in the paper before their eyes. the merchant's clerk will not write like the lawyer or the poet. even nations are distinguished by their writing; the vivacity and variableness of the frenchman, and the delicacy and suppleness of the italian, are perceptibly distinct from the slowness and strength of pen discoverable in the phlegmatic german, dane, and swede. when we are in grief, we do not write as we should in joy. the elegant and correct mind, which has acquired the fortunate habit of a fixity of attention, will write with scarcely an erasure on the page, as fenelon, and gray, and gibbon; while we find in pope's manuscripts the perpetual struggles of correction, and the eager and rapid interlineations struck off in heat. lavater's notion of handwriting is by no means chimerical; nor was general paoli fanciful, when he told mr. northcote that he had decided on the character and dispositions of a man from his letters, and the handwriting. long before the days of lavater, shenstone in one of his letters said, "i want to see mrs. jago's handwriting, that i may judge of her temper." one great truth must however be conceded to the opponents of _the physiognomy of writing_; general rules only can be laid down. yet the vital principle must be true that the handwriting bears an analogy to the character of the writer, as all voluntary actions are characteristic of the individual. but many causes operate to counteract or obstruct this result. i am intimately acquainted with the handwritings of five of our great poets. the first in early life acquired among scottish advocates a handwriting which cannot be distinguished from that of his ordinary brothers; the second, educated in public schools, where writing is shamefully neglected, composes his sublime or sportive verses in a school-boy's ragged scrawl, as if he had never finished his tasks with the writing-master; the third writes his highly-wrought poetry in the common hand of a merchant's clerk, from early commercial avocations; the fourth has all that finished neatness which polishes his verses; while the fifth is a specimen of a full mind, not in the habit of correction or alteration; so that he appears to be printing down his thoughts, without a solitary erasure. the handwriting of the _first_ and _third_ poets, not indicative of their character, we have accounted for; the others are admirable specimens of characteristic autographs.[ ] oldys, in one of his curious notes, was struck by the distinctness of character in the handwritings of several of our kings. he observed nothing further than the mere fact, and did not extend his idea to the art of judging of the natural character by the writing. oldys has described these handwritings with the utmost correctness, as i have often verified. i shall add a few comments. "henry the eighth wrote a strong hand, but as if he had seldom a good pen."--the vehemence of his character conveyed itself into his writing; bold, hasty, and commanding, i have no doubt the assertor of the pope's supremacy and its triumphant destroyer split many a good quill. "edward the sixth wrote a fair legible hand."--we have this promising young prince's diary, written by his own hand; in all respects he was an assiduous pupil, and he had scarcely learnt to write and to reign when we lost him. "queen elizabeth writ an upright hand, like the bastard italian." she was indeed a most elegant caligrapher, whom roger ascham[ ] had taught all the elegancies of the pen. the french editor of the little autographical work i have noticed has given the autograph of her name, which she usually wrote in a very large tall character, and painfully elaborate. he accompanies it with one of the scottish mary, who at times wrote elegantly, though usually in uneven lines; when in haste and distress of mind, in several letters during her imprisonment which i have read, much the contrary. the french editor makes this observation: "who could believe that these writings are of the same epoch? the first denotes asperity and ostentation; the second indicates simplicity, softness, and nobleness. the one is that of elizabeth, queen of england; the other that of her cousin, mary stuart. the difference of these two handwritings answers most evidently to that of their characters." "james the first writ a poor ungainly character, all awry, and not in a straight line." james certainly wrote a slovenly scrawl, strongly indicative of that personal negligence which he carried into all the little things of life; and buchanan, who had made him an excellent scholar, may receive the disgrace of his pupil's ugly scribble, which sprawls about his careless and inelegant letters. "charles the first wrote a fair open italian hand, and more correctly perhaps than any prince we ever had." charles was the first of our monarchs who intended to have domiciliated taste in the kingdom, and it might have been conjectured from this unfortunate prince, who so finely discriminated the manners of the different painters, which are in fact their handwritings, that he would not have been insensible to the elegancies of the pen. "charles the second wrote a little fair running hand, as if wrote in haste, or uneasy till he had done." such was the writing to have been expected from this illustrious vagabond, who had much to write, often in odd situations, and could never get rid of his natural restlessness and vivacity. "james the second writ a large fair hand." it is characterised by his phlegmatic temper, as an exact detailer of occurrences, and the matter-of-business genius of the writer. "queen anne wrote a fair round hand;" that is the writing she had been taught by her master, probably without any alteration of manner naturally suggested by herself; the copying hand of a common character.[ ] the subject of autographs associates itself with what has been dignified by its professors as caligraphy, or the art of beautiful writing. as i have something curious to communicate on that subject considered professionally, it shall form our following article. footnotes: [ ] a small volume which i met with at paris, entitled "l'art de juger du caractère des hommes sur leurs ecritures," is curious for its illustrations, consisting of _twenty-four plates, exhibiting fac-similes of the writing of eminent and other persons_, correctly taken from the original autographs. since this period both france and germany have produced many books devoted to the use of the curious in autographs. in our own country j.t. smith published a curious collection of fac-similes of letters, chiefly from literary characters. [ ] it will be of interest to the reader to note the names of these poets in the consecutive order they are alluded to. they are scott, byron, rogers, moore, and campbell. [ ] he was also the tutor of lady jane grey, and the author of one of our earliest and best works on education. [ ] since this article was written, nichols has published a cleverly-executed series of autographs of royal, noble, and illustrious persons of great britain, in which the reader may study the accuracy of the criticism above given. the history of writing-masters. there is a very apt letter from james the first to prince henry when very young, on the neatness and fairness of his handwriting. the royal father suspecting that the prince's tutor, mr., afterwards sir adam, newton, had helped out the young prince in the composition, and that in this specimen of caligraphy he had relied also on the pains of mr. peter bales, the great writing-master, for touching up his letters, his majesty shows a laudable anxiety that the prince should be impressed with the higher importance of the one over the other. james shall himself speak. "i confess i long to receive a letter from you that may be wholly yours, as well matter as form; as well formed by your mind as drawn by your fingers; for ye may remember, that in my book to you i warn you to beware with (of) that kind of wit that may fly out at the end of your fingers; not that i commend not a fair handwriting; _sed hoc facito, illud non omittito_: and the other is _multo magis præcipuum_." prince henry, indeed, wrote with that elegance which he borrowed from his own mind; and in an age when such minute elegance was not universal among the crowned heads of europe. henry iv., on receiving a letter from prince henry, immediately opened it, a custom not usual with him, and comparing the writing with the signature, to decide whether it were of one hand, sir george carew, observing the french king's hesitation, called mr. douglas to testify to the fact; on which henry the great, admiring an art in which he had little skill, and looking on the neat elegance of the writing before him, politely observed, "i see that in writing fair, as in other things, the elder must yield to the younger." had this anecdote of neat writing reached the professors of caligraphy, who in this country have put forth such painful panegyrics on the art, these royal names had unquestionably blazoned their pages. not indeed that these penmen require any fresh inflation; for never has there been a race of professors in any art who have exceeded in solemnity and pretensions the practitioners in this simple and mechanical craft. i must leave to more ingenious investigators of human nature to reveal the occult cause which has operated such powerful delusions on these "vive la plume!" men, who have been generally observed to possess least intellectual ability in proportion to the excellence they have obtained in their own art. i suspect this maniacal vanity is peculiar to the writing-masters of england; and i can only attribute the immense importance which they have conceived of their art to the perfection to which they have carried the art of short-hand writing; an art which was always better understood, and more skilfully practised, in england than in any other country. it will surprise some when they learn that the artists in verse and colours, poets and painters, have not raised loftier pretensions to the admiration of mankind. writing-masters, or caligraphers, have had their engraved "effigies," with a fame in flourishes, a pen in one hand and a trumpet in the other; and fine verses inscribed, and their very lives written! they have compared the nimbly-turning of their silver quill to the beautiful in art and the sublime in invention; nor is this wonderful, since they discover the art of writing, like the invention of language, in a divine original; and from the tablets of stone which the deity himself delivered, they trace their german broad text, or their fine running-hand. one, for "the bold striking of those words, _vive la plume_," was so sensible of the reputation that this last piece of command of hand would give the book which he thus adorned, and which his biographer acknowledges was the product of about a minute,--(but then how many years of flourishing had that single minute cost him!)--that he claims the glory of an artist; observing,-- we seldom find the _man of business_ with the _artist_ join'd. another was flattered that his _writing_ could impart immortality to the most wretched compositions!-- and any lines prove pleasing, when you write. sometimes the caligrapher is a sort of hero:-- to you, you rare commander of the quill, whose wit and worth, deep learning, and high skill, speak you the honour of great tower hill! the last line became traditionally adopted by those who were so lucky as to live in the neighbourhood of this parnassus. but the reader must form some notion of that charm of caligraphy which has so bewitched its professors, when, soft, bold, and free, your manuscripts still please. how justly bold in snell's improving hand the pen at once joins freedom with command! with softness strong, with ornaments not vain, loose with proportion, and with neatness plain; not swell'd, not full, complete in every part, and artful most, when not affecting art. and these describe those pencilled knots and flourishes, "the angels, the men, the birds, and the beasts," which, as one of them observed, he could command even by the _gentle motion of his hand_, all the _speciosa miracula_ of caligraphy; thy _tender strokes_, inimitably fine, crown with perfection every _flowing line_; and to each _grand performance_ add a grace, as _curling hair_ adorns a beauteous face: in every page _new fancies_ give delight, and _sporting round the margin_ charm the sight. one massey, a writing-master, published in , "the origin and progress of letters." the great singularity of this volume is "a new species of biography never attempted before in english." this consists of the lives of "english penmen," otherwise writing-masters! if some have foolishly enough imagined that the sedentary lives of authors are void of interest from deficient incident and interesting catastrophe, what must they think of the barren labours of those who, in the degree they become eminent, to use their own style, in the art of "dish, dash, long-tail fly," the less they become interesting to the public; for what can the most skilful writing-master do but wear away his life in leaning over his pupil's copy, or sometimes snatch a pen to decorate the margin, though he cannot compose the page? montaigne has a very original notion on writing-masters: he says that some of those caligraphers who had obtained promotion by their excellence in the art, afterwards _affected to write carelessly, lest their promotion should be suspected to have been owing to such an ordinary acquisition_! massey is an enthusiast, fortunately for his subject. he considers that there are _schools of writing_, as well as of painting or sculpture; and expatiates with the eye of fraternal feeling on "a natural genius, a tender stroke, a grand performance, a bold striking freedom, and a liveliness in the sprigged letters, and pencilled knots and flourishes;" while this vasari of writing-masters relates the controversies and the libels of many a rival pen-nibber. "george shelley, one of the most celebrated worthies who have made a shining figure in the commonwealth of english caligraphy, born i suppose of obscure parents, because brought up in christ's hospital, yet under the humble blue-coat he laid the foundation of his caligraphic excellence and lasting fame, for he was elected writing-master to the hospital." shelley published his "natural writing;" but, alas! snell, another blue-coat, transcended the other. he was a genius who would "bear no brother near the throne."--"i have been informed that there were jealous heart-burnings, if not bickerings, between him and col. ayres, another of our _great reformers_ in the writing commonweal, both eminent men, yet, _like_ our most celebrated poets _pope and addison_, or, to carry the comparison still higher, like _cæsar and pompey_, one could bear no superior, and the other no equal." indeed, the great snell practised a little stratagem against mr. shelley, for which, if writing-masters held courts-martial, this hero ought to have appeared before his brothers. in one of his works he procured a number of friends to write letters, in which massey confesses "are some satyrical strokes upon shelley," as if he had arrogated too much to himself in his book of "natural writing." they find great fault with pencilled knots and sprigged letters. shelley, who was an advocate for ornaments in fine penmanship, which snell utterly rejected, had parodied a well-known line of herbert's in favour of his favourite decorations:-- a _knot_ may take him who from _letters_ flies, and turn _delight_ into an _exercise_. these reflections created ill-blood, and even an open difference amongst several of the _superior artists in writing_. the commanding genius of snell had a more terrific contest when he published his "standard rules," pretending to have _demonstrated_ them as euclid would. "this proved a bone of contention, and occasioned a terrific quarrel between mr. snell and mr. clark. this quarrel about 'standard rules' ran so high between them, that they could scarce forbear _scurrilous language_ therein, and a treatment of each other unbecoming _gentlemen_! both sides in this dispute had their abettors; and to say which had the most truth and reason, _non nostrum est tantas componere lites_; perhaps _both parties might be too fond of their own schemes_. they should have left them to people to choose which they liked best." a candid politician is our massey, and a philosophical historian too; for he winds up the whole story of this civil war by describing its result, which happened as all such great controversies have ever closed. "who now-a-days takes those _standard rules_, either one or the other, for their _guide_ in writing?" this is the finest lesson ever offered to the furious heads of parties, and to all their men; let them meditate on the nothingness of their "standard rules," by the fate of mr. snell. it was to be expected, when once these writing-masters imagined that they were artists, that they would be infected with those plague-spots of genius--envy, detraction, and all the _jalousie du métier_. and such to this hour we find them! an extraordinary scene of this nature has long been exhibited in my neighbourhood, where two doughty champions of the quill have been posting up libels in their windows respecting the inventor of _a new art of writing_, the carstairian, or the lewisian? when the great german philosopher asserted that he had discovered the method of fluxions before sir isaac, and when the dispute grew so violent that even the calm newton sent a formal defiance in set terms, and got even george the second to try to arbitrate (who would rather have undertaken a campaign), the method of fluxions was no more cleared up than the present affair between our two heroes of the quill. a recent instance of one of these egregious caligraphers may be told of the late tomkins. this vainest of writing-masters dreamed through life that penmanship was one of the fine arts, and that a writing-master should be seated with his peers in the academy! he bequeathed to the british museum his _opus magnum_--a copy of macklin's bible, profusely embellished with the most beautiful and varied decorations of his pen; and as he conceived that both the workman and the work would alike be darling objects with posterity, he left something immortal with the legacy, his fine bust, by chantrey, unaccompanied by which they were not to receive the unparalleled gift! when tomkins applied to have his bust, our great sculptor abated the usual price, and, courteously kind to the feelings of the man, said that he considered tomkins as an artist! it was the proudest day of the life of our writing-master! but an eminent artist and wit now living, once looking on this fine bust of tomkins, declared, that "this man had died for want of a dinner!"--a fate, however, not so lamentable as it appeared! our penman had long felt that he stood degraded in the scale of genius by not being received at the academy, at least among the class of _engravers_; the next approach to academic honour he conceived would be that of appearing as a _guest_ at their annual dinner. these invitations are as limited as they are select, and all the academy persisted in considering tomkins _as a writing-master_! many a year passed, every intrigue was practised, every remonstrance was urged, every stratagem of courtesy was tried; but never ceasing to deplore the failure of his hopes, it preyed on his spirits, and the luckless caligrapher went down to his grave--without dining at the academy! this authentic anecdote has been considered as "satire improperly directed"--by some friend of mr. tomkins--but the criticism is much too grave! the foible of mr. tomkins as a writing-master presents a striking illustration of the class of men here delineated. i am a mere historian--and am only responsible for the veracity of this fact. that "mr. tomkins lived in familiar intercourse with the royal academicians of his day, and was a frequent guest at their private tables," and moreover was a most worthy man, i believe--but is it less true that he was ridiculously mortified by being never invited to the academic dinner, on account of his caligraphy? he had some reason to consider that his art was of the exalted class to which he aspired to raise it, when this friend concludes his eulogy of this writing-master thus--"mr. tomkins, as an artist, stood foremost in his own profession, and his name will be handed down to posterity with the _heroes_ and _statesmen_, whose excellences his _penmanship_ has contributed to illustrate and to commemorate." i always give the _pour_ and the _contre_! such men about such things have produced public contests, _combats a l'outrance_, where much ink was spilled by the knights in a joust of goose-quills; these solemn trials have often occurred in the history of writing-masters, which is enlivened by public defiances, proclamations, and judicial trials by umpires! the prize was usually a golden pen of some value. one as late as in the reign of anne took place between mr. german and mr. more. german having courteously insisted that mr. more should set the copy, he thus set it, ingeniously quaint! as more, and more, our understanding clears, so more and more our ignorance appears. the result of this pen-combat was really lamentable; they displayed such an equality of excellence that the umpires refused to decide, till one of them espied that mr. german had omitted the tittle of an i! but mr. more was evidently a man of genius, not only by his couplet, but in his "essay on the invention of writing," where occurs this noble passage: "art with me is of no party. a noble emulation i would cherish, while it proceeded neither from, nor to malevolence. bales had his johnson, norman his mason, ayres his matlock and his shelley; yet art the while was no sufferer. the busybody who officiously employs himself in creating misunderstandings between artists, may be compared to a turn-stile, which stands in every man's way, yet hinders nobody; and he is the slanderer who gives ear to the slander."[ ] among these knights of the "plume volante," whose chivalric exploits astounded the beholders, must be distinguished peter bales in his joust with david johnson. in this tilting-match the guerdon of caligraphy was won by the greatest of caligraphers; its _arms_ were assumed by the victor, _azure, a pen or_; while the "golden pen," carried away in triumph, was painted with a hand over the door of the caligrapher. the history of this renowned encounter was only traditionally known, till with my own eyes i pondered on this whole trial of skill in the precious manuscript of the champion himself; who, like cæsar, not only knew how to win victories, but also to record them. peter bales was a hero of such transcendent eminence, that his name has entered into our history. holinshed chronicles one of his curiosities of microscopic writing at a time when the taste prevailed for admiring writing which no eye could read! in the compass of a silver penny this caligrapher put more things than would fill several of these pages. he presented queen elizabeth with the manuscript set in a ring of gold covered with a crystal; he had also contrived a magnifying glass of such power, that, to her delight and wonder, her majesty read the whole volume, which she held on her thumb-nail, and "commended the same to the lords of the council and the ambassadors;" and frequently, as peter often heard, did her majesty vouchsafe to wear this caligraphic ring.[ ] "some will think i labour on a cobweb"--modestly exclaimed bales in his narrative, and his present historian much fears for himself! the reader's gratitude will not be proportioned to my pains, in condensing such copious pages into the size of a "silver penny," but without its worth! for a whole year had david johnson affixed a challenge "to any one who should take exceptions to this my writing and teaching." he was a young friend of bales, daring and longing for an encounter; yet bales was magnanimously silent, till he discovered that he was "doing much less in writing and teaching" since this public challenge was proclaimed! he then set up his counter-challenge, and in one hour afterwards johnson arrogantly accepted it, "in a most despiteful and disgraceful manner." bales's challenge was delivered "in good terms." "to all englishmen and strangers." it was to write for a gold pen of twenty pounds value in all kinds of hands, "best, straightest, and fastest," and most kind of ways; "a full, a mean, a small, with line, and without line; in a slow set hand, a mean facile hand, and a fast running hand;" and further, "to write truest and speediest, most secretary and clerk-like, from a man's mouth, reading or pronouncing, either english or latin." young johnson had the hardihood now of turning the tables on his great antagonist, accusing the veteran bales of arrogance. such an absolute challenge, says he, was never witnessed by man, "without exception of any in the world!" and a few days after meeting bales, "of set purpose to affront and disgrace him what he could, showed bales a piece of writing of secretary's hand, which he had very much laboured in fine abortive parchment,"[ ] uttering to the challenger these words: "mr. bales, give me one shilling out of your purse, and if within six months you better, or equal this piece of writing, i will give you forty pounds for it." this legal deposit of the shilling was made, and the challenger, or appellant, was thereby bound by law to the performance. the day before the trial a printed declaration was affixed throughout the city, taunting bales's "proud poverty," and his pecuniary motives, as "a thing ungentle, base, and mercenary, and not answerable to the dignity of the golden pen!" johnson declares he would maintain his challenge for a thousand pounds more, but for the respondent's inability to perform a thousand groats. bales retorts on the libel; declares it as a sign of his rival's weakness, "yet who so bold as blind bayard, that hath not a word of latin to cast at a dog, or say bo! to a goose!" on michaelmas day, , the trial opened before five judges: the appellant and the respondent appeared at the appointed place, and an ancient gentleman was intrusted with "the golden pen." in the first trial, for the manner of teaching scholars, after johnson had taught his pupil a fortnight, he would not bring him forward! this was awarded in favour of bales. the second, for secretary and clerk-like writing, dictating to them both in english and in latin, bales performed best, being first done; written straightest without line, with true orthography: the challenger himself confessing that he wanted the latin tongue, and was no clerk! the third and last trial for fair writing in sundry kinds of hands, the challenger prevailed for the beauty and most "authentic proportion," and for the superior variety of the roman hand. in the court hand the respondent exceeded the appellant, and likewise in the set text; and in bastard secretary was also somewhat perfecter. at length bales, perhaps perceiving an equilibrium in the judicial decision, to overwhelm his antagonist presented what he distinguishes as his "masterpiece," composed of secretary and roman hand four ways varied, and offering the defendant to let pass all his previous advantages if he could better this specimen of caligraphy! the challenger was silent! at this moment some of the judges perceiving that the decision must go in favour of bales, in consideration of the youth of the challenger, lest he might be disgraced to the world, requested the other judges not to pass judgment in public. bales assures us, that he in vain remonstrated; for by these means the winning of the golden pen might not be so famously spread as otherwise it would have been. to bales the prize was awarded. but our history has a more interesting close; the subtle machiavelism of the first challenger! when the great trial had closed, and bales, carrying off the golden pen, exultingly had it painted and set up for his sign, the baffled challenger went about reporting that _he_ had _won_ the golden pen, but that the defendant had obtained the same by "plots and shifts, and other base and cunning practices." bales vindicated his claim, and offered to show the world his "masterpiece" which had acquired it. johnson issued an "appeal to all impartial penmen," which he spread in great numbers through the city for ten days, a libel against the judges and the victorious defendant! he declared that there had been a subtle combination with one of the judges concerning the place of trial; which he expected to have been "before penmen," but not before a multitude like a stage-play, and shouts and tumults, with which the challenger had hitherto been unacquainted. the judges were intended to be twelve; but of the five, four were the challenger's friends, honest gentlemen, but unskilled in judging of most hands; and he offered again forty pounds to be allowed in six months to equal bales's masterpiece. and he closes his "appeal" by declaring that bales had lost in several parts of the trial, neither did the judges deny that bales possessed himself of the golden pen by a trick! before judgment was awarded, alleging the sickness of his wife to be extreme, he desired she might have _a sight of the golden pen to comfort her_! the ancient gentleman who was the holder, taking the defendant's word, allowed the golden pen to be carried to the sick wife; and bales immediately pawned it, and afterwards, to make sure work, sold it at a great loss, so that when the judges met for their definite sentence, nor pen nor pennyworth was to be had! the judges being ashamed of their own conduct, were compelled to give such a verdict as suited the occasion. bales rejoins: he publishes to the universe the day and the hour when the judges brought the golden pen to his house, and while he checks the insolence of this bobadil, to show himself no recreant, assumes the golden pen for his sign. such is the shortest history i could contrive of this chivalry of the pen; something mysteriously clouds over the fate of the defendant; bales's history, like cæsar's, is but an _ex-parte_ evidence. who can tell whether he has not slurred over his defeats, and only dwelt on his victories? there is a strange phrase connected with the art of the caligrapher, which i think may be found in most, if not in all modern languages, _to write like an angel_! ladies have been frequently compared with angels; they are _beautiful_ as angels, and _sing_ and _dance_ like angels; but, however intelligible these are, we do not so easily connect penmanship with the other celestial accomplishments. this fanciful phrase, however, has a very human origin. among those learned greeks who emigrated to italy, and afterwards into france, in the reign of francis i., was one angelo _vergecio_, whose beautiful caligraphy excited the admiration of the learned. the french monarch had a greek fount cast, modelled by his writing. the learned henry stephens, who, like our porson for correctness and delicacy, was one of the most elegant writers of greek, had learnt the practice from our _angelo_. his name became synonymous for beautiful writing, and gave birth to the vulgar proverb or familiar phrase _to write like an angel_! footnotes: [ ] i have not met with more's book, and am obliged to transcribe this from the biog. brit. [ ] howes, in his chronicle under date , has thus narrated the story:--"a strange piece of work, and almost incredible, was brought to pass by an englishman from within the city of london, and a clerk of the chancery, named peter bales, who by his industry and practice of his pen contrived and writ, within the compass of a penny, the lord's prayer, the creed, the ten commandments, a prayer to god, a prayer for the queen, his posy, his name, the day of the month, the year of our lord, and the reign of the queen: and at hampton court he presented the same to the queen's majesty." [ ] this was written in the reign of elizabeth. holyoke notices "virgin-perchment made of an _abortive skin; membrana virgo_." peacham, on "drawing," calls parchment simply _an abortive_. the italian historians. it is remarkable that the country which has long lost its political independence may be considered as the true parent of modern history. the greater part of their historians have abstained from the applause of their contemporaries, while they have not the less elaborately composed their posthumous folios, consecrated solely to truth and posterity! the true principles of national glory are opened by the grandeur of the minds of these assertors of political freedom. it was their indignant spirit, seeking to console its injuries by confiding them to their secret manuscripts, which raised up this singular phenomenon in the literary world. of the various causes which produced such a lofty race of patriots, one is prominent. the proud recollections of their roman fathers often troubled the dreams of the sons. the petty rival republics, and the petty despotic principalities, which had started up from some great families, who at first came forward as the protectors of the people from their exterior enemies or their interior factions, at length settled into a corruption of power; a power which had been conferred on them to preserve liberty itself! these factions often shook, by their jealousies, their fears, and their hatreds, that divided land, which groaned whenever they witnessed the "ultramontanes" descending from their alps and their apennines. petrarch, in a noble invective, warmed by livy and ancient rome, impatiently beheld the french and the germans passing the mounts. "enemies," he cries, "so often conquered prepare to strike with swords which formerly served us to raise our trophies: shall the mistress of the world bear chains forged by hands which she has so often bound to their backs?" machiavel, in his "exhortations to free italy from the barbarians," rouses his country against their changeable masters, the germans, the french, and the spaniards; closing with the verse of petrarch, that short shall be the battle for which virtue arms to show the world-- che l' antico valore ne gl' italici cuor non è ancor morto. nor has this sublime patriotism declined even in more recent times; i cannot resist from preserving in this place a sonnet by filicaja, which i could never read without participating in the agitation of the writer for the ancient glory of his degenerated country! the energetic personification of the close perhaps surpasses even his more celebrated sonnet, preserved in lord byron's notes to the fourth canto of "childe harold." dov' è italia, il tuo braccio? e a che ti servi tu dell' altrui? non è s' io scorgo il vero, di chi t' offende il defensor men fero: ambe nemici sono, ambo fur servi. così dunque l' onor, così conservi gli avanzi tu del glorioso impero? cosi al valor, cosi al valor primiero che a te fede giurò, la fede osservi? or va; repudia il valor prisco, e sposa l' ozio, e fra il sangue, i gemiti, e le strida nel periglio maggior dormi e riposa! dormi, adultera vil! fin che omicida spada ultrice ti svegli, e sonnacchiosa, e nuda in braccio al tuo fedel t'uccida! oh, italy! where is thine arm? what purpose serves so to be helped by others? deem i right, among offenders thy defender stands? both _are_ thy enemies--both _were_ thy servants! thus dost thou honour--thus dost thou preserve the mighty boundaries of the glorious empire? and thus to valour, to thy pristine valour that swore its faith to thee, thy faith thou keep'st? go! and divorce thyself from thy old valiance, and marry idleness: and midst the blood, the heavy groans and cries of agony, in thy last danger sleep, and seek repose! sleep, vile adulteress! the homicidal sword vengeful shall waken thee! and lull'd to slumber, while naked in thy minion's arms, shall strike! among the domestic contests of italy the true principles of political freedom were developed; and in that country we may find the origin of that philosophical history which includes so many important views and so many new results unknown to the ancients. machiavel seems to have been the first writer who discovered the secret of what may be called _comparative history_. he it was who first sought in ancient history for the materials which were to illustrate the events of his own times, by fixing on analogous facts, similar personages, and parallel periods. this was enlarging the field of history, and opening a new combination for philosophical speculation. his profound genius advanced still further; he not only explained modern by ancient history, but he deduced those results or principles founded on this new sort of evidence which guided him in forming his opinions. history had hitherto been, if we except tacitus, but a story well told; and by writers of limited capacity, the detail and number of facts had too often been considered as the only valuable portion of history. an erudition of facts is not the philosophy of history; an historian unskilful in the art of applying his facts amasses impure ore, which he cannot strike into coin. the chancellor d'aguesseau, in his instructions to his son on the study of history, has admirably touched on this distinction. "minds which are purely historical mistake a fact for an argument; they are so accustomed to satisfy themselves by repeating a great number of facts and enriching their memory, that they become incapable of reasoning on principles. it often happens that the result of their knowledge breeds confusion and universal indecision; for their facts, often contradictory, only raise up doubts. the superfluous and the frivolous occupy the place of what is essential and solid, or at least so overload and darken it that we must sail with them in a sea of trifles to get to firm land. those who only value the philosophical part of history fall into an opposite extreme; they judge of what has been done by that which should be done; while the others always decide on what should be done by that which has been: the first are the dupes of their reasoning, the second of the facts which they mistake for reasoning. we should not separate two things which ought always to go in concert, and mutually lend an aid, _reason and example_! avoid equally the contempt of some philosophers for the science of facts, and the distaste or the incapacity which those who confine themselves to facts often contract for whatever depends on pure reasoning. true and solid philosophy should direct us in the study of history, and the study of history should give perfection to philosophy." such was the enlightened opinion, as far back as at the beginning of the seventeenth century, of the studious chancellor of france, before the more recent designation of _philosophical history_ was so generally received, and so familiar on our title-pages. from the moment that the florentine secretary conceived the idea that the history of the roman people, opening such varied spectacles of human nature, served as a point of comparison to which he might perpetually recur to try the analogous facts of other nations and the events passing under his own eye, a new light broke out and ran through the vast extents of history. the maturity of experience seemed to have been obtained by the historian in his solitary meditation. livy in the grandeur of rome, and tacitus in its fated decline, exhibited for machiavel a moving picture of his own republics--the march of destiny in all human governments! the text of livy and tacitus revealed to him many an imperfect secret--the fuller truth he drew from the depth of his own observations on his own times. in machiavel's "discourses on livy" we may discover the foundations of our _philosophical history_. the example of machiavel, like that of all creative genius, influenced the character of his age, and his history of florence produced an emulative spirit among a new dynasty of historians. the italian historians have proved themselves to be an extraordinary race, for they devoted their days to the composition of historical works which they were certain could not see the light during their lives! they nobly determined that their works should be posthumous, rather than be compelled to mutilate them for the press. these historians were rather the saints than the martyrs of history; they did not always personally suffer for truth, but during their protracted labour they sustained their spirit by anticipating their glorified after-state. among these italian historians must be placed the illustrious guicciardini, the friend of machiavel. no perfect edition of this historian existed till recent times. the history itself was posthumous; nor did his nephew venture to publish it till twenty years after the historian's death. he only gave the first sixteen books, and these castrated. the obnoxious passages consisted of some statements relating to the papal court, then so important in the affairs of europe; some account of the origin and progress of the papal power; some eloquent pictures of the abuses and disorders of that corrupt court; and some free caricatures on the government of florence. the precious fragments were fortunately preserved in manuscript, and the protestants procured transcripts which they published separately, but which were long very rare.[ ] all the italian editions continued to be reprinted in the same truncated condition, and appear only to have been reinstated in the immortal history so late as in ! thus, it required two centuries before an editor could venture to give the world the pure and complete text of the manuscript of the lieutenant-general of the papal army, who had been so close and so indignant an observer of the roman cabinet. adriani, whom his son entitles _gentiluomo fiorentino_, the writer of the pleasing dissertation "on the ancient painters noticed by pliny," prefixed to his friend vasari's biographies, wrote as a continuation of guicciardini, a history of his own times in twenty-two books, of which denina gives the highest character for its moderate spirit, and from which de thou has largely drawn, and commends for its authenticity. our author, however, did not venture to publish his history during his lifetime: it was after his death that his son became the editor. nardi, of a noble family and high in office, famed for a translation of livy which rivals its original in the pleasure it affords, in his retirement from public affairs wrote a history of florence, which closes with the loss of the liberty of his country in . it was not published till fifty years after his death; even then the editors suppressed many passages which are found in manuscript in the libraries of florence and venice, with other historical documents of this noble and patriotic historian. about the same time the senator philip nerli was writing his "_commentarj de' fatti civili_," which had occurred in florence. he gave them with his dying hand to his nephew, who presented the mss. to the grand duke; yet, although this work is rather an apology than a crimination of the medici family for their ambitious views and their overgrown power, probably some state-reason interfered to prevent the publication, which did not take place till years after the death of the historian! bernardo segni composed a history of florence still more valuable, which shared the same fate as that of nerli. it was only after his death that his relatives accidentally discovered this history of florence, which the author had carefully concealed during his lifetime. he had abstained from communicating to any one the existence of such a work while he lived, that he might not be induced to check the freedom of his pen, nor compromise the cause and the interests of truth. his heirs presented it to one of the medici family, who threw it aside. another copy had been more carefully preserved, from which it was printed in , about years after it had been written. it appears to have excited great curiosity, for lenglet du fresnoy observes that the scarcity of this history is owing to the circumstance "of the grand duke having bought up the copies." du fresnoy, indeed, has noticed more than once this sort of address of the grand duke; for he observes on the florentine history of bruto that the work was not common, the grand duke having bought up the copies to suppress them. the author was even obliged to fly from italy for having delivered his opinions too freely on the house of the medici. this honest historian thus expresses himself at the close of his work:--"my design has but one end--that our posterity may learn by these notices the root and the causes of so many troubles which we have suffered, while they expose the malignity of those men who have raised them up or prolonged them, as well as the goodness of those who did all which they could to turn them away." it was the same motive, the fear of offending the great personages or their families, of whom these historians had so freely written, which deterred benedetto varchi from publishing his well-known "storie fiorentine," which was not given to the world till , a period which appears to have roused the slumbers of the literary men of italy to recur to their native historians. varchi, who wrote with so much zeal the history of his fatherland, is noticed by nardi as one who never took an active part in the events he records; never having combined with any party, and living merely as a spectator. this historian closes the narrative of a horrid crime of peter lewis farnese with this admirable reflection: "i know well this story, with many others which i have freely exposed, may hereafter prevent the reading of my history; but also i know, that besides what tacitus has said on this subject, the great duty of an historian is not to be more careful of the reputation of persons than is suitable with truth, which is to be preferred to all things, however detrimental it may be to the writer."[ ] such was that free manner of thinking and of writing which prevailed in these italian historians, who, often living in the midst of the ruins of popular freedom, poured forth their injured feelings in their secret pages; without the hope, and perhaps without the wish, of seeing them published in their lifetime: a glorious example of self-denial and lofty patriotism! had it been inquired of these writers why they did not publish their histories, they might have answered, in nearly the words of an ancient sage, "because i am not permitted to write as i would; and i would not write as i am permitted." we cannot imagine that these great men were in the least insensible to the applause they denied themselves; they were not of tempers to be turned aside; and it was the highest motive which can inspire an historian, a stern devotion to truth, which reduced them to silence, but not to inactivity! these florentine and venetian historians, ardent with truth, and profound in political sagacity, were writing these legacies of history solely for their countrymen, hopeless of their gratitude! if a frenchman[ ] wrote the english history, that labour was the aliment of his own glory; if hume and robertson devoted their pens to history, the motive of the task was less glorious than their work; but here we discover a race of historians, whose patriotism alone instigated their secret labour, and who substituted for fame and fortune that mightier spirit, which, amidst their conflicting passions, has developed the truest principles, and even the errors, of political freedom! none of these historians, we have seen, published their works in their lifetime. i have called them the saints of history, rather than the martyrs. one, however, had the intrepidity to risk this awful responsibility, and he stands forth among the most illustrious and ill-fated examples of historical martyrdom! this great historian is giannone, whose civil history of the kingdom of naples is remarkable for its profound inquiries concerning the civil and ecclesiastical constitution, the laws and customs of that kingdom. with some interruptions from his professional avocations at the bar, twenty years were consumed in writing this history. researches on ecclesiastical usurpations, and severe strictures on the clergy, are the chief subjects of his bold and unreserved pen. these passages, curious, grave, and indignant, were afterwards extracted from the history by vernet, and published in a small volume, under the title of "anecdotes ecclésiastiques," . when giannone consulted with a friend on the propriety of publishing his history, his critic, in admiring the work, predicted the fate of the author. "you have," said he, "placed on your head a crown of thorns, and of very sharp ones." the historian set at nought his own personal repose, and in this elaborate history saw the light. from that moment the historian never enjoyed a day of quiet! rome attempted at first to extinguish the author with his work; all the books were seized on; and copies of the first edition are of extreme rarity. to escape the fangs of inquisitorial power, the historian of naples flew from naples on the publication of his immortal work. the fugitive and excommunicated author sought an asylum at vienna, where, though he found no friend in the emperor, prince eugene and other nobles became his patrons. forced to quit vienna, he retired to venice, when a new persecution arose from the jealousy of the state-inquisitors, who one night landed him on the borders of the pope's dominions. escaping unexpectedly with his life to geneva, he was preparing a supplemental volume to his celebrated history, when, enticed by a treacherous friend to a catholic village, giannone was arrested by an order of the king of sardinia; his manuscripts were sent to rome, and the historian imprisoned in a fort. it is curious that the imprisoned giannone wrote a vindication of the rights of the king of sardinia, against the claims of the court of rome. this powerful appeal to the feelings of this sovereign was at first favourably received; but, under the secret influence of rome, the sardinian monarch, on the extraordinary plea that he kept giannone as a prisoner of state that he might preserve him from the papal power, ordered that the vindicator of his rights should be more closely confined than before; and, for this purpose, transferred his state-prisoner to the citadel of turin, where, after twelve years of persecution and of agitation, our great historian closed his life! such was the fate of this historical martyr, whose work the catholic haym describes as _opera scritta con molto fuoco e troppa libertà_. he hints that this history is only paralleled by de thou's great work. this italian history will ever be ranked among the most philosophical. but, profound as was the masculine genius of giannone, such was his love of fame, that he wanted the intrepidity requisite to deny himself the delight of giving his history to the world, though some of his great predecessors had set him a noble and dignified example. one more observation on these italian historians. all of them represent man in his darkest colours; their drama is terrific; the actors are monsters of perfidy, of inhumanity, and inventors of crimes which seem to want a name! they were all "princes of darkness;" and the age seemed to afford a triumph of manicheism! the worst passions were called into play by all parties. but if something is to be ascribed to the manners of the times, much more may be traced to that science of politics, which sought for mastery in an undefinable struggle of ungovernable political power; in the remorseless ambition of the despots, and the hatreds and jealousies of the republics. these italian historians have formed a perpetual satire on the contemptible simulation and dissimulation, and the inexpiable crimes of that system of politics, which has derived a name from one of themselves--the great, may we add, the calumniated, machiavel? footnotes: [ ] they were printed at basle in --at london in --in amsterdam, . how many attempts to echo the voice of suppressed truth--_haym's bib. ital._ . [ ] my friend, mr. merivale, whose critical research is only equalled by the elegance of his taste, has supplied me with a note which proves but too well that even writers who compose uninfluenced by party feelings, may not, however, be sufficiently scrupulous in weighing the evidence of the facts which they collect. mr. merivale observes, "the strange and improbable narrative with which varchi has the misfortune of closing his history, should not have been even hinted at without adding, that it is denounced by other writers as a most impudent forgery, invented years after the occurrence is supposed to have happened, by the 'apostate' bishop petrus paulus vergerius." see its refutation in amiani, "hist. di fano," ii. , et seq. . "varchi's character as an historian cannot but suffer greatly from his having given it insertion on such authority. the responsibility of an author for the truth of what he relates should render us very cautious of giving credit to the writers of memoirs not intended to see the light till a distant period. the credibility of vergerius, as an acknowledged libeller of pope paul iii. and his family, appears still more conclusively from his article in bayle, note k." it must be added, that the calumny of vergerius may be found in wolfius's lect. mem. ii. , in a tract _de idolo lauretano_, published . varchi is more particular in his details of this monstrous tale. vergerius's libels, universally read at the time though they were collected afterwards, are now not to be met with, even in public libraries. whether there was any truth in the story of peter lewis farnese i know not; but crimes of as monstrous a dye occur in the authentic guicciardini. the story is not yet forgotten, since in the last edition of haym's _biblioteca italiana_, the best edition is marked as that which at p. contains "_la sceleratezza di pier lewis farnese_." i am of opinion that varchi believed the story, by the solemnity of his proposition. whatever be its truth, the historian's feeling was elevated and intrepid. [ ] rapin. of palaces built by ministers. our ministers and court favourites, as well as those on the continent, practised a very impolitical custom, and one likely to be repeated, although it has never failed to cast a popular odium on their names, exciting even the envy of their equals--in the erection of palaces for themselves, which outvied those of their sovereign; and which, to the eyes of the populace, appeared as a perpetual and insolent exhibition of what they deemed the ill-earned wages of peculation, oppression, and court-favour. we discover the seduction of this passion for ostentation, this haughty sense of their power, and this self-idolatry, even among the most prudent and the wisest of our ministers; and not one but lived to lament over this vain act of imprudence. to these ministers the noble simplicity of pitt will ever form an admirable contrast; while his personal character, as a statesman, descends to posterity unstained by calumny. the houses of cardinal wolsey appear to have exceeded the palaces of the sovereign in magnificence; and potent as he was in all the pride of pomp, the "great cardinal" found rabid envy pursuing him so close at his heels, that he relinquished one palace after the other, and gave up as gifts to the monarch what, in all his overgrown greatness, he trembled to retain for himself. the state satire of that day was often pointed at this very circumstance, as appears in skelton's "why come ye not to court?" and roy's "rede me, and be not wrothe."[ ] skelton's railing rhymes leave their bitter teeth in his purple pride; and the style of both these satirists, if we use our own orthography, shows how little the language of the common people has varied during three centuries. set up a wretch on high in a throne triumphantly; make him a great state and he will play check-mate with royal majesty---- the king's court should have the excellence, but hampton court hath the pre-eminence; and yorke place[ ] with my lord's grace, to whose magnificence is all the confluence, suits, and supplications; embassies of all nations. roy, in contemplating the palace, is maliciously reminded of the butcher's lad, and only gives plain sense in plain words. hath the cardinal any gay mansion? great palaces without comparison, most glorious of outward sight, and within decked point-device,[ ] more like unto a paradise than an earthly habitation. he cometh then of some noble stock? his father could match a bullock, a butcher by his occupation. whatever we may now think of the structure, and the low apartments of wolsey's palace, it is described not only in his own times, but much later, as of unparalleled magnificence; and indeed cavendish's narrative of the cardinal's entertainment of the french ambassadors gives an idea of the ministerial prelate's imperial establishment very puzzling to the comprehension of a modern inspector. six hundred persons, i think, were banqueted and slept in an abode which appears to us so mean, but which stowe calls "so stately a palace." to avoid the odium of living in this splendid edifice, wolsey presented it to the king, who, in recompense, suffered the cardinal occasionally to inhabit this wonder of england, in the character of keeper of the king's palace;[ ] so that wolsey only dared to live in his own palace by a subterfuge! this perhaps was a tribute which ministerial haughtiness paid to popular feeling, or to the jealousy of a royal master. i have elsewhere shown the extraordinary elegance and prodigality of expenditure of buckingham's residences; they were such as to have extorted the wonder even of bassompierre, and unquestionably excited the indignation of those who lived in a poor court, while our gay and thoughtless minister alone could indulge in the wanton profusion. but wolsey and buckingham were ambitious and adventurous; they rose and shone the comets of the political horizon of europe. the roman tiara still haunted the imagination of the cardinal: and the egotistic pride of having out-rivalled richelieu and olivarez, the nominal ministers but the real sovereigns of europe, kindled the buoyant spirits of the gay, the gallant, and the splendid villiers. but what "folly of the wise" must account for the conduct of the profound clarendon, and the sensible sir robert walpole, who, like the other two ministers, equally became the victims of this imprudent passion for the ostentatious pomp of a palace. this magnificence looked like the vaunt of insolence in the eyes of the people, and covered the ministers with a popular odium. clarendon house is now only to be viewed in a print; but its story remains to be told. it was built on the site of grafton-street; and when afterwards purchased by monk, the duke of albemarle, he left his title to that well-known street. it was an edifice of considerable extent and grandeur. clarendon reproaches himself in his life for "his weakness and vanity" in the vast expense incurred in this building, which he acknowledges had "more contributed to that gust of envy that had so violently shaken him, than any misdemeanour that he was thought to have been guilty of." it ruined his estate; but he had been encouraged to it by the royal grant of the land, by that passion for building to which he owns "he was naturally too much inclined," and perhaps by other circumstances, among which was the opportunity of purchasing the stones which had been designed for the rebuilding of st. paul's; but the envy it drew on him, and the excess of the architect's proposed expense, had made his life "very uneasy, and near insupportable." the truth is, that when this palace was finished, it was imputed to him as a state-crime; all the evils in the nation, which were then numerous, pestilence, conflagration, war, and defeats, were discovered to be in some way connected with clarendon house, or, as it was popularly called, either dunkirk house, or tangier hall, from a notion that it had been erected with the golden bribery which the chancellor had received for the sale of dunkirk and tangiers.[ ] he was reproached with having profaned the sacred stones dedicated to the use of the church. the great but unfortunate master of this palace, who, from a private lawyer, had raised himself by alliance even to royalty, the father-in-law of the duke of york, it was maliciously suggested, had persuaded charles the second to marry the infanta of portugal, knowing (but how clarendon obtained the knowledge his enemies have not revealed) that the portuguese princess was not likely to raise any obstacle to the inheritance of his own daughter to the throne. at the restoration, among other enemies, clarendon found that the royalists were none of the least active; he was reproached by them for preferring those who had been the cause of their late troubles. the same reproach was incurred on the restoration of the bourbons. it is perhaps more political to maintain active men, who have obtained power, than to reinstate inferior talents, who at least have not their popularity. this is one of the parallel cases which so frequently strike us in exploring political history; and the _ultras_ of louis the eighteenth were only the _royalists_ of charles the second. there was a strong popular delusion carried on by the wits and the _misses_ who formed the court of charles the second, that the government was as much shared by the hydes as the stuarts. we have in the state-poems, an unsparing lampoon, entitled "clarendon's house-warming;" but a satire yielding nothing to it in severity i have discovered in manuscript; and it is also remarkable for turning chiefly on a pun of the family name of the earl of clarendon. the witty and malicious rhymer, after making charles the second demand the great seal, and resolve to be his own chancellor, proceeds, reflecting on the great political victim: lo! his whole ambition already divides the sceptre between the stuarts and the hydes. behold in the depth of our plague and wars, he built him a palace out-braves the stars; which house (we dunkirk, he clarendon, names) looks down with shame upon st. james; but 'tis not his golden globe that will save him, being less than the custom-house farmers gave him; his chapel for consecration calls, whose sacrilege plundered the stones from paul's. when queen dido landed she bought as much ground as the _hyde_ of a lusty fat bull would surround; but when the said _hyde_ was cut into thongs, a city and kingdom to _hyde_ belongs; so here in court, church, and country, far and wide, here's nought to be seen but _hyde! hyde! hyde!_ of old, and where law the kingdom divides, 'twas our hydes of land, 'tis now land of hydes! clarendon house was a palace, which had been raised with at least as much fondness as pride; and evelyn tells us that the garden was planned by himself and his lordship; but the cost, as usual, trebled the calculation, and the noble master grieved in silence amidst this splendid pile of architecture.[ ] even when in his exile the sale was proposed to pay his debts, and secure some provision for his younger children, he honestly tells us that "he remained so infatuated with the delight he had enjoyed, that though he was deprived of it, he hearkened very unwillingly to the advice." in clarendon house met its fate, and was abandoned to the brokers, who had purchased it for its materials. an affecting circumstance is recorded by evelyn on this occasion. in returning to town with the earl of clarendon, the son of the great earl, "in passing by the glorious palace his father built but a few years before, which they were now demolishing, being sold to certain undertakers,[ ] i turned my head the contrary way till the coach was gone past by, lest i might minister occasion of speaking of it, which must needs have grieved him, that in so short a time this pomp was fallen." a feeling of infinite delicacy, so perfectly characteristic of evelyn! and now to bring down this subject to times still nearer. we find that sir robert walpole had placed himself exactly in the situation of the great minister we have noticed; we have his confession to his brother lord walpole, and to his friend sir john hynde cotton. the historian of this minister observes, that his magnificent building at houghton drew on him great obloquy. on seeing his brother's house at wolterton, sir robert expressed his wishes that he had contented himself with a similar structure. in the reign of anne, sir robert, sitting by sir john hynde cotton, alluding to a sumptuous house which was then building by harley, observed, that to construct a great house was a high act of imprudence in any minister! it was a long time after, when he had become prime minister, that he forgot the whole result of the present article, and pulled down his family mansion at houghton to build its magnificent edifice; it was then sir john hynde cotton reminded him of the reflection which he had made some years ago: the reply of sir robert is remarkable--"your recollection is too late; i wish you had reminded me of it before i began building, for then it might have been of service to me!" the statesman and politician then are susceptible of all the seduction of ostentation and the pride of pomp! who would have credited it? but bewildered with power, in the magnificence and magnitude of the edifices which their colossal greatness inhabits, they seem to contemplate on its image! sir francis walsingham died and left nothing to pay his debts, as appears by a curious fact noticed in the anonymous life of sir philip sidney prefixed to the _arcadia_, and evidently written by one acquainted with the family history of his friend and hero. the chivalric sidney, though sought after by court beauties, solicited the hand of the daughter of walsingham, although, as it appears, she could have had no other portion than her own virtues and her father's name. "and herein," observes our anonymous biographer, "he was exemplary to all gentlemen not to carry their love in their purses." on this he notices this secret history of walsingham: "this is that sir francis who impoverished himself to enrich the state, and indeed made england his heir; and was so far from building up of fortune by the benefit of his place, that he demolished that fine estate left him by his ancestors to purchase dear intelligence from all parts of christendom. he had a key to unlock the pope's cabinet; and, as if master of some invisible whispering-place, all the secrets of christian princes met at his closet. wonder not then if he bequeathed no great wealth to his daughter, being _privately interred_ in the choir of paul's, as _much indebted to his creditors_ though not so much as our nation is indebted to his memory." some curious inquirer may afford us a catalogue of great ministers of state who have voluntarily declined the augmentation of their private fortune, while they devoted their days to the noble pursuits of patriotic glory! the labour of this research will be great, and the volume small! footnotes: [ ] skelton's satire is accessible to the reader in the rev. alexander dyce's edition of the poet's works. roy's poem was printed abroad about , and is of extreme rarity, as the cardinal spared no labour and expense to purchase and destroy all the copies. a second edition was printed at wesel in . its author, who had been a friar, was ultimately burned in portugal for heresy. [ ] the palace of wolsey, as archbishop of york, which he had furnished in the most sumptuous manner; after his disgrace it became a royal residence under the name of whitehall.--note in dyce's ed. of skelton's works. [ ] _point-device_, a term explained by mr. douce. he thinks that it is borrowed from the labours of the needle, as we have _point-lace_, so _point-device_, i.e., _point_, a stitch, and _devise_, devised or invented; applied to describe anything uncommonly exact, or worked with the nicety and precision of _stitches made or devised by the needle_.--_illustrations of shakspeare_, i. . but mr. gifford has since observed that the origin of the expression is, perhaps, yet to be sought for: he derives it from a mathematical phrase, _à point devisé_, or _a given point_, and hence exact, correct, &c.--_ben jonson_, vol. iv. . see, for various examples, mr. nares's glossary, art. _point-devise_. [ ] lyson's "environs," v. [ ] burnet says, "others called it _holland house_, because he was believed to be no friend to the war: so it was given out that he had money from the dutch." [ ] at the gateway of the three kings inn, near dover-street, in piccadilly, are two pilasters with corinthian capitals, which belonged to clarendon house, and are perhaps the only remains of that edifice. [ ] an old term for _contractors_. evelyn tells us they were "certain rich bankers and mechanics, who gave for it, and the ground about it, , _l_." they built streets and houses on the site to their great profit, the ground comprising twenty-four acres of land. "taxation no tyranny!" such was the title of a famous political tract, which was issued at a moment when a people, in a state of insurrection, put forth a declaration that taxation was tyranny! it was not against an insignificant tax they protested, but against taxation itself! and in the temper of the moment this abstract proposition appeared an insolent paradox. it was instantly run down by that everlasting party which, so far back as in the laws of our henry the first, are designated by the odd descriptive term of _acephali, a people without heads!_[ ] the strange equality of levellers! these political monsters in all times have had an association of ideas of _taxation_ and _tyranny_, and with them one name instantly suggests the other! this happened to one gigli of sienna, who published the first part of a dictionary of the tuscan language,[ ] of which only leaves amused the florentines; these having had the honour of being consigned to the flames by the hands of the hangman for certain popular errors; such as, for instance, under the word _gran duca_ we find _vedi gabelli!_ (see taxes!) and the word _gabella_ was explained by a reference to _gran duca_! _grand-duke_ and _taxes_ were synonymes, according to this mordacious lexicographer! such grievances, and the modes of expressing them, are equally ancient. a roman consul, by levying a tax on _salt_ during the punic war, was nicknamed _salinator_, and condemned by "the majesty" of the people! he had formerly done his duty to the country, but the _salter_ was now his reward! he retired from rome, let his beard grow, and by his sordid dress and melancholy air evinced his acute sensibility. the romans at length wanted the _salter_ to command the army--as an injured man, he refused--but he was told that he should bear the caprice of the roman people with the tenderness of a son for the humours of a parent! he had lost his reputation by a productive tax on salt, though this tax had provided an army and obtained a victory! certain it is that gigli and his numerous adherents are wrong: for were they freed from all restraints as much as if they slept in forests and not in houses; were they inhabitants of wilds and not of cities, so that every man should be his own lawgiver, with a perpetual immunity from all taxation, we could not necessarily infer their political happiness. there are nations where taxation is hardly known, for the people exist in such utter wretchedness, that they are too poor to be taxed; of which the chinese, among others, exhibit remarkable instances. when nero would have abolished all taxes, in his excessive passion for popularity, the senate thanked him for his good will to the people, but assured him that this was a certain means not of repairing, but of ruining the commonwealth. bodin, in his curious work "the republic," has noticed a class of politicians who are in too great favour with the people. "many seditious citizens, and desirous of innovations, did of late years promise immunity of taxes and subsidies to our people; but neither could they do it, or if they could have done it, they would not; or if it were done, should we have any commonweal, being the ground and foundation of one."[ ] the undisguised and naked term of "taxation" is, however, so odious to the people, that it may be curious to observe the arts practised by governments, and even by the people themselves, to veil it under some mitigating term. in the first breaking out of the american troubles, they probably would have yielded to the mother-country _the right of_ _taxation_, modified by the term _regulation_ (of their trade); this i infer from a letter of dr. robertson, who observes, that "the distinction between _taxation_ and _regulation_ is mere folly!" even despotic governments have condescended to disguise the contributions forcibly levied, by some appellative which should partly conceal its real nature. terms have often influenced circumstances, as names do things; and conquest or oppression, which we may allow to be synonymes, apes benevolence whenever it claims as a gift what it exacts as a tribute. a sort of philosophical history of taxation appears in the narrative of wood, in his "inquiry on homer." he tells us that "the presents (a term of extensive signification in the east) which are distributed annually by the bashaw of damascus to the several arab princes through whose territory he conducts the caravan of pilgrims to mecca, are, at constantinople, called a free gift, and considered as an act of the sultan's generosity towards his indigent subjects; while, on the other hand, the arab sheikhs deny even a right of passage through the districts of their command, and exact those sums as a tax due for the permission of going through their country. in the frequent bloody contests which the adjustment of these fees produces, the turks complain of robbery, and the arabs of invasion."[ ] here we trace _taxation_ through all its shifting forms, accommodating itself to the feelings of the different people; the same principle regulated the alternate terms proposed by the buccaneers, when they _asked_ what the weaker party was sure to _give_, or when they _levied_ what the others paid only as a common _toll_. when louis the eleventh of france beheld his country exhausted by the predatory wars of england, he bought a peace of our edward the fourth by an annual sum of fifty thousand crowns, to be paid at london, and likewise granted _pensions_ to the english ministers. holinshed and all our historians call this a yearly _tribute_; but comines, the french memoir-writer, with a national spirit, denies that these _gifts_ were either _pensions_ or _tributes_. "yet," says bodin, a frenchman also, but affecting a more philosophical indifference, "it must be either the one or the other; though i confess, that those who receive a pension to obtain peace, commonly boast of it _as if it were a tribute_!"[ ] such are the shades of our feelings in this history of taxation and tribute. but there is another artifice of applying soft names to hard things, by veiling a tyrannical act by a term which presents no disagreeable idea to the imagination. when it was formerly thought desirable, in the relaxation of morals which prevailed in venice, to institute the office of _censor_, three magistrates were elected bearing this title; but it seemed so harsh and austere in that dissipated city, that these reformers of manners were compelled to change their title; when they were no longer called _censors_, but _i signori sopra il bon vivere della città_, all agreed on the propriety of the office under the softened term. father joseph, the secret agent of cardinal richelieu, was the inventor of _lettres de cachet_, disguising that instrument of despotism by the amusing term of _a sealed letter_. expatriation would have been merciful compared with the result of that _billet-doux_, a sealed letter from his majesty! burke reflects with profound truth--"abstract liberty, like other mere abstractions, is not to be found. liberty inheres in some sensible object; and every nation has formed to itself some favourite point, which, by way of eminence, becomes the criterion of their happiness. it happened that the great contests for freedom in this country were from the earliest times chiefly upon the question of _taxing_. most of the contests in the ancient commonwealths turned primarily on the right of election of magistrates, or on the balance among the several orders of the state. the question of _money_ was not with them so immediate. but in england it was otherwise. on this point of taxes the ablest pens and most eloquent tongues have been exercised; the greatest spirits have acted and suffered."[ ] one party clamorously asserts that taxation is their grievance, while another demonstrates that the annihilation of taxes would be their ruin! the interests of a great nation, among themselves, are often contrary to each other, and each seems alternately to predominate and to decline. "the sting of taxation," observes mr. hallam, "is wastefulness; but it is difficult to name a limit beyond which taxes will not be borne without impatience when _faithfully applied_." in plainer words, this only signifies, we presume, that mr. hallam's party would tax us without "wastefulness!" ministerial or opposition, whatever be the administration, it follows that "taxation is no tyranny;" dr. johnson then was terribly abused in his day for a _vox et præterea nihil_! still shall the innocent word be hateful, and the people will turn even on their best friend, who in administration inflicts a new impost; as we have shown by the fate of the roman _salinator_! among ourselves, our government, in its constitution, if not always in its practice, long had a consideration towards the feelings of the people, and often contrived to hide the nature of its exactions by a name of blandishment. an enormous grievance was long the office of purveyance. a purveyor was an officer who was to furnish every sort of provision for the royal house, and sometimes for great lords, during their progresses or journeys. his oppressive office, by arbitrarily fixing the market prices, and compelling the countrymen to bring their articles to market, would enter into the history of the arts of grinding the labouring class of society; a remnant of feudal tyranny! the very title of this officer became odious; and by a statute of edward iii. the hateful name of _purveyor_ was ordered to be changed into _acheteur_ or buyer![ ] a change of name, it was imagined, would conceal its nature! the term often devised, strangely contrasted with the thing itself. levies of money were long raised under the pathetic appeal of _benevolences_. when edward iv. was passing over to france, he obtained, under this gentle demand, money towards "the great journey," and afterwards having "rode about the more part of the lands, and used the people in such fair manner, that they were liberal in their gifts;" old fabian adds, "the which way of the levying of this money was after-named a benevolence." edward iv. was courteous in this newly-invented style, and was besides the handsomest tax-gatherer in his kingdom! his royal presence was very dangerous to the purses of his loyal subjects, particularly to those of the females. in his progress, having kissed a widow for having contributed a larger sum than was expected from her estate, she was so overjoyed at the singular honour and delight, that she doubled her _benevolence_, and a second kiss had ruined her! in the succeeding reign of richard iii. the term had already lost the freshness of its innocence. in the speech which the duke of buckingham delivered from the hustings in guildhall, he explained the term to the satisfaction of his auditors, who even then were as cross-humoured as the livery of this day, in their notions of what now we gently call "supplies." "under the plausible name of _benevolence_, as it was held in the time of edward iv., your goods were taken from you much against your will, as if by that name was understood that every man should pay, not what he pleased, but what the king would have him;" or, as a marginal note in buck's life of richard iii. more pointedly has it, that "the name of _benevolence_ signified that every man should pay, not what he of his own good will list, but what the king of his good will list to take."[ ] richard iii., whose business, like that of all usurpers, was to be popular, in a statute even condemns this "benevolence" as "a new imposition," and enacts that "none shall be charged with it in future; many families having been ruined under these pretended gifts." his successor, however, found means to levy "a benevolence;" but when henry viii. demanded one, the citizens of london appealed to the act of richard iii. cardinal wolsey insisted that the law of a murderous usurper should not be enforced. one of the common council courageously replied, that "king richard, conjointly with parliament, had enacted many good statutes." even then the citizen seems to have comprehended the spirit of our constitution--that taxes should not be raised without the consent of parliament! charles the first, amidst his urgent wants, at first had hoped, by the pathetic appeal to _benevolences_, that he should have touched the hearts of his unfriendly commoners; but the term of _benevolence_ proved unlucky. the resisters of _taxation_ took full advantage of a significant meaning, which had long been lost in the custom: asserting by this very term that all levies of money were not compulsory, but the voluntary gifts of the people. in that political crisis, when in the fulness of time all the national grievances which had hitherto been kept down started up with one voice, the courteous term strangely contrasted with the rough demand. lord digby said "the granting of _subsidies_, under so preposterous a name as of a _benevolence_, was a _malevolence_." and mr. grimstone observed, that "they have granted a benevolence, but the nature of the _thing_ agrees not with the _name_." the nature indeed had so entirely changed from the name, that when james i. had tried to warm the hearts of his "benevolent" people, he got "little money, and lost a great deal of love." "subsidies," that is grants made by parliament, observes arthur wilson, a dispassionate historian, "get more of the people's money, but exactions enslave the mind." when _benevolences_ had become a grievance, to diminish the odium they invented more inviting phrases. the subject was cautiously informed that the sums demanded were only _loans_; or he was honoured by a letter under the _privy seal_; a bond which the king engaged to repay at a definite period; but privy seals at length got to be hawked about to persons coming out of church. "privy seals," says a manuscript letter, "are flying thick and threefold in sight of all the world, which might surely have been better performed in delivering them to every man privately at home." the _general loan_, which in fact was a forced loan, was one of the most crying grievances under charles i. ingenious in the destruction of his own popularity, the king contrived a new mode of "_secret instructions to commissioners_."[ ] they were to find out persons who could bear the largest rates. how the commissioners were to acquire this secret and inquisitorial knowledge appears in the bungling contrivance. it is one of their orders that after a number of inquiries have been put to a person, concerning others who had spoken against loan-money, and what arguments they had used, this person was to be charged in his majesty's name, and upon his allegiance, not to disclose to any other the answer he had given. a striking instance of that fatuity of the human mind, when a weak government is trying to do what it knows not how to perform: it was seeking to obtain a secret purpose by the most open and general means: a self-destroying principle! our ancestors were children in finance; their simplicity has been too often described as tyranny! but from my soul do i believe, on this obscure subject of taxation, that old burleigh's advice to elizabeth includes more than all the squabbling pamphlets of our political economists,--"win hearts, and you have their hands and purses!" footnotes: [ ] cowel's "interpreter," art. _acephali_. this by-name we unexpectedly find in a grave antiquarian law-dictionary! probably derived from pliny's description of a people whom some travellers had reported to have found in this predicament, in their fright and haste in attempting to land on a hostile shore among savages. to account for this fabulous people, it has been conjectured they wore such high coverings, that their heads did not appear above their shoulders, while their eyes seemed to be placed in their breasts. how this name came to be introduced into the laws of henry the first remains to be told by some profound antiquary; but the allusion was common in the middle ages. cowel says, "those are called _acephali_ who were the _levellers_ of that age, and acknowledged _no head_ or superior." [ ] _vocabulario di santa caterina e della lingua sanese_, . this pungent lexicon was prohibited at rome by desire of the court of florence. the history of this suppressed work may be found in _il giornale de' letterati d' italia_, tomo xxix. . in the last edition of haym's "biblioteca italiana," , it is said to be reprinted at _manilla, nell' isole fillippine_!--for the book-licensers it is a great way to go for it. [ ] bodin's "six books of a commonwealth," translated by richard knolles, . a work replete with the _practical_ knowledge of politics, and of which mr. dugald stewart has delivered a high opinion. yet this great politician wrote a volume to anathematise those who doubted the existence of sorcerers and witches, &c., whom he condemns to the flames! see his "demonomanie des sorciers," . [ ] wood's "inquiry on homer," p. . [ ] bodin's "commonweal," translated by r. knolles, p. . . [ ] burke's works, vol. i. . [ ] the modern word _cheater_ is traced by some authors to this term, which soon became odious to the populace. [ ] daines barrington, in "observations on the statutes," gives the marginal _note_ of buck as the _words_ of the duke; they certainly served his purpose to amuse, better than the veracious ones; but we expect from a grave antiquary inviolable authenticity. the duke is made by barrington a sort of wit, but the pithy quaintness is buck's. [ ] these "private instructions to the commissioners for the general loan" may be found in rushworth, i. . the book of death. montaigne was fond of reading minute accounts of the deaths of remarkable persons; and, in the simplicity of his heart, old montaigne wished to be learned enough to form a collection of these deaths, to observe "their words, their actions, and what sort of countenance they put upon it." he seems to have been a little over curious about deaths, in reference, no doubt, to his own, in which he was certainly deceived; for we are told that he did not die as he had promised himself,--expiring in the adoration of the mass; or, as his preceptor buchanan would have called it, in "the act of rank idolatry." i have been told of a privately printed volume, under the singular title of "the book of death," where an _amateur_ has compiled the pious memorials of many of our eminent men in their last moments: and it may form a companion-piece to the little volume on "les grands hommes qui sont morts en plaisantant." this work, i fear, must be monotonous; the deaths of the righteous must resemble each other; the learned and the eloquent can only receive in silence that hope which awaits "the covenant of the grave." but this volume will not establish any decisive principle, since the just and the religious have not always encountered death with indifference, nor even in a fit composure of mind. the functions of the mind are connected with those of the body. on a death-bed a fortnight's disease may reduce the firmest to a most wretched state; while, on the contrary, the soul struggles, as it were in torture, in a robust frame. nani, the venetian historian, has curiously described the death of innocent the tenth, who was a character unblemished by vices, and who died at an advanced age, with too robust a constitution. _dopo lunga e terribile agonia, con dolore e con pena, seperandosi l'anima da quel corpo robusto, egli spiro ai sette di genuaro, nel ottantesimo primo de suoi anno._ "after a long and terrible agony, with great bodily pain and difficulty, his soul separated itself from that robust frame, and expired in his eighty-first year." some have composed sermons on death, while they passed many years of anxiety, approaching to madness, in contemplating their own. the certainty of an immediate separation from all our human sympathies may, even on a death-bed suddenly disorder the imagination. the great physician of our times told me of a general, who had often faced the cannon's mouth, dropping down in terror, when informed by him that his disease was rapid and fatal. some have died of the strong imagination of death. there is a print of a knight brought on the scaffold to suffer; he viewed the headsman; he was blinded, and knelt down to receive the stroke. having passed through the whole ceremony of a criminal execution, accompanied by all its disgrace, it was ordered that his life should be spared. instead of the stroke from the sword, they poured cold water over his neck. after this operation the knight remained motionless; they discovered that he had expired in the very imagination of death! such are among the many causes which may affect the mind in the hour of its last trial. the habitual associations of the natural character are most likely to prevail, though not always. the intrepid marshal biron disgraced his exit by womanish tears and raging imbecility; the virtuous erasmus, with miserable groans, was heard crying out, _domine! domine! fac finem! fac finem!_ bayle having prepared his proof for the printer, pointed to where it lay, when dying. the last words which lord chesterfield was heard to speak were, when the valet, opening the curtains of the bed, announced mr. dayroles, "give dayroles a chair!" "this good breeding," observed the late dr. warren, his physician, "only quits him with his life." the last words of nelson were, "tell collingwood to bring the fleet to an anchor." the tranquil grandeur which cast a new majesty over charles the first on the scaffold, appeared when he declared, "i fear not death! death is not terrible to me!" and the characteristic pleasantry of sir thomas more exhilarated his last moments, when, observing the weakness of the scaffold, he said, in mounting it, "i pray you, see me up safe, and for my coming down, let me shift for myself!" sir walter rawleigh passed a similar jest when going to the scaffold.[ ] my ingenious friend dr. sherwen has furnished me with the following anecdotes of death:--in one of the bloody battles fought by the duke d'enghien, two french noblemen were left wounded among the dead on the field of battle. one complained loudly of his pains; the other, after long silence, thus offered him consolation: "my friend, whoever you are, remember that our god died on the cross, our king on the scaffold; and if you have strength to look at him who now speaks to you, you will see that both his legs are shot away." at the murder of the duke d'enghien, the royal victim looking at the soldiers, who had pointed their fusees, said, "grenadiers! lower your arms, otherwise you will miss, or only wound me!" to two of them who proposed to tie a handkerchief over his eyes, he said, "a loyal soldier who has been so often exposed to fire and sword can see the approach of death with naked eyes and without fear." after a similar caution on the part of sir george lisle, or sir charles lucas, when murdered in nearly the same manner at colchester, by the soldiers of fairfax, the loyal hero, in answer to their assertions and assurances that they would take care not to miss him, nobly replied, "you have often missed me when i have been nearer to you in the field of battle." when the governor of cadiz, the marquis de solano, was murdered by the enraged and mistaken citizens, to one of his murderers, who had run a pike through his back, he calmly turned round and said, "coward, to strike there! come round--if you dare face--and destroy me!" abernethy, in his physiological lectures, has ingeniously observed that "shakspeare has represented mercutio continuing to jest, though conscious that he was mortally wounded; the expiring hotspur thinking of nothing but honour; and the dying falstaff still cracking his jests upon bardolph's nose. if such facts were duly attended to, they would prompt us to make a more liberal allowance for each other's conduct, under certain circumstances, than we are accustomed to do." the truth seems to be, that whenever the functions of the mind are not disturbed by "the nervous functions of the digestive organs," the personal character predominates even in death, and its habitual associations exist to its last moments. many religious persons may have died without showing in their last moments any of those exterior acts, or employing those fervent expressions, which the collector of "the book of death" would only deign to chronicle; their hope is not gathered in their last hour. yet many have delighted to taste of death long before they have died, and have placed before their eyes all the furniture of mortality. the horrors of a charnel-house is the scene of their pleasure. the "midnight meditations" of quarles preceded young's "night thoughts" by a century, and both these poets loved preternatural terror. if i must die, i'll snatch at everything that may but mind me of my latest breath; death's-heads, graves, knells, blacks,[ ] tombs, all these shall bring into my soul such _useful thoughts of death_, that this sable king of fears shall not catch me unawares.--quarles. but it may be doubtful whether the _thoughts of death are useful_, whenever they put a man out of the possession of his faculties. young pursued the scheme of quarles: he raised about him an artificial emotion of death: he darkened his sepulchral study, placing a skull on his table by lamp-light; as dr. donne had his portrait taken, first winding a sheet over his head and closing his eyes; keeping this melancholy picture by his bed-side as long as he lived, to remind him of his mortality[ ]. young, even in his garden, had his conceits of death: at the end of an avenue was viewed a seat of an admirable chiaro-oscuro, which, when approached, presented only a painted surface, with an inscription, alluding to the deception of the things of this world. to be looking at "the mirror which flatters not;" to discover ourselves only as a skeleton with the horrid life of corruption about us, has been among those penitential inventions, which have often ended in shaking the innocent by the pangs which are only natural to the damned.[ ] without adverting to those numerous testimonies, the diaries of fanatics, i shall offer a picture of an accomplished and innocent lady, in a curious and unaffected transcript she has left of a mind of great sensibility, where the preternatural terror of death might perhaps have hastened the premature one she suffered. from the "reliquiæ gethinianæ,"[ ] i quote some of lady gethin's ideas on "death."--"the very thoughts of death disturb one's reason; and though a man may have many excellent qualities, yet he may have the weakness of not commanding his sentiments. nothing is worse for one's health than to be in fear of death. there are some so wise as neither to hate nor fear it; but for my part i have an aversion for it; and with reason; for it is a rash inconsiderate thing, that always comes before it is looked for; always comes unseasonably, parts friends, ruins beauty, laughs at youth, and draws a dark veil over all the pleasures of life.--this dreadful evil is but the evil of a moment, and what we cannot by any means avoid; and it is that which makes it so terrible to me; for were it uncertain, hope might diminish some part of the fear; but when i think i must die, and that i may die every moment, and that too a thousand several ways, i am in such a fright as you cannot imagine. i see dangers where, perhaps, there never were any. i am persuaded 'tis happy to be somewhat dull of apprehension in this case; and yet the best way to cure the pensiveness of the thoughts of death is to think of it as little as possible." she proceeds by enumerating the terrors of the fearful, who "cannot enjoy themselves in the pleasantest places, and although they are neither on sea, river, or creek, but in good health in their chamber, yet are they so well instructed with the _fear of dying_, that they do not measure it only by the _present_ dangers that wait on us.--then is it not best to submit to god? but some people cannot do it as they would; and though they are not destitute of reason, but perceive they are to blame, yet at the same time that their reason condemns them their imagination makes their hearts feel what it pleases." such is the picture of an ingenious and a religious mind, drawn by an amiable woman, who, it is evident, lived always in the fear of death. the gothic skeleton was ever haunting her imagination. in dr. johnson the same horror was suggested by the thoughts of death. when boswell once in conversation persecuted johnson on this subject, whether we might not fortify our minds for the approach of death; he answered in a passion, "no, sir! let it alone! it matters not how a man dies, but how he lives! the art of dying is not of importance, it lasts so short a time!" but when boswell persisted in the conversation, johnson was thrown into such a state of agitation, that he thundered out "give us no more of this!" and, further, sternly told the trembling and too curious philosopher, "don't let us meet to-morrow!" it may be a question whether those who by their preparatory conduct have appeared to show the greatest indifference for death, have not rather betrayed the most curious art to disguise its terrors. some have invented a mode of escaping from life in the midst of convivial enjoyment. a mortuary preparation of this kind has been recorded of an amiable man, moncriff, the author of "histoire des chats" and "l'art de plaire," by his literary friend la place, who was an actor in, as well as the historian of, the singular narrative. one morning la place received a note from moncriff, requesting that "he would immediately select for him a dozen volumes most likely to amuse, and of a nature to withdraw the reader from being occupied by melancholy thoughts." la place was startled at the unusual request, and flew to his old friend, whom he found deeply engaged in being measured for a new peruke, and a taffety robe-de-chambre, earnestly enjoining the utmost expedition. "shut the door!" said moncriff, observing the surprise of his friend. "and now that we are alone, i confide my secret: on rising this morning, my valet in dressing me showed me on this leg this dark spot--from that moment i knew i was 'condemned to death;' but i had presence of mind enough not to betray myself." "can a head so well organised as yours imagine that such a trifle is a sentence of death?"--"don't speak so loud, my friend! or rather deign to listen a moment. at my age it is fatal! the system from which i have derived the felicity of a long life has been, that whenever any evil, moral or physical, happens to us, if there is a remedy, all must be sacrificed to deliver us from it--but in a contrary case, i do not choose to wrestle with destiny and to begin complaints, endless as useless! all that i request of you, my friend, is to assist me to pass away the few days which remain for me, free from all cares, of which otherwise they might be too susceptible. but do not think," he added with warmth, "that i mean to elude the religious duties of a citizen, which so many of late affect to contemn. the good and virtuous curate of my parish is coming here under the pretext of an annual contribution, and i have even ordered my physician, on whose confidence i can rely. here is a list of ten or twelve persons, friends beloved! who are mostly known to you. i shall write to them this evening, to tell them of my condemnation; but if they wish me to live, they will do me the favour to assemble here at five in the evening, where they may be certain of finding all those objects of amusement, which i shall study to discover suitable to their tastes. and you, my old friend, with my doctor, are two on whom i most depend." la place was strongly affected by this appeal--neither socrates, nor cato, nor seneca looked more serenely on the approach of death. "familiarise yourself early with death!" said the good old man with a smile--"it is only dreadful for those who dread it!" during ten days after this singular conversation, the whole of moncriff's remaining life, his apartment was open to his friends, of whom several were ladies; all kinds of games were played till nine o'clock; and that the sorrows of the host might not disturb his guests, he played the _chouette_ at his favourite game of _picquet_; a supper, seasoned by the wit of the master, concluded at eleven. on the tenth night, in taking leave of his friend, moncriff whispered to him, "adieu, my friend! to-morrow morning i shall return your books!" he died, as he foresaw, the following day. i have sometimes thought that we might form a history of this _fear of death_, by tracing the first appearances of the skeleton which haunts our funereal imagination. in the modern history of mankind we might discover some very strong contrasts in the notion of death entertained by men at various epochs. the following article will supply a sketch of this kind. footnotes: [ ] to these may be added queen anne boleyn. kingston, the lieutenant of the tower, in a letter to cromwell, records that she remarked of her own execution, "'i heard say the executioner was very good, and i have a little neck;' and she put her hands about it, laughing heartily. truly, this lady has much joy and pleasure in death." [ ] _blacks_ was the term for mourning in james the first and charles the first's time. [ ] it was from this picture his stone effigy was constructed for his tomb in old st. paul's. this mutilated figure, which withstood the great fire of london, is still preserved in the crypt of the present cathedral. [ ] a still more curious _fashion_ in this taste for mortuary memorials originated at the court of henry ii. of france; whose mistress, diana of poitiers, being a widow; mourning colours of black and white became the fashion at court. watches in the form of skulls were worn; jewels and pendants in the shape of coffins; and rings decorated with skulls and skeletons. [ ] my discovery of the nature of this rare volume, of what is original and what collected, will be found in volume ii. of this work. history of the skeleton of death. _euthanasia! euthanasia_! an easy death! was the exclamation of augustus; it was what antoninus pius enjoyed; and it is that for which every wise man will pray, said lord orrery, when perhaps he was contemplating the close of swift's life. the ancients contemplated death without terror, and met it with indifference. it was the only divinity to which they never sacrificed, convinced that no human being could turn aside its stroke. they raised altars to fever, to misfortune, to all the evils of life; for these might change! but though they did not court the presence of death in any shape, they acknowledged its tranquillity; and in the beautiful fables of their allegorical religion, death was the daughter of night, and the sister of sleep; and ever the friend of the unhappy! to the eternal sleep of death they dedicated their sepulchral monuments--_Æternali somno!_[ ] if the full light of revelation had not yet broken on them, it can hardly be denied that they had some glimpses and a dawn of the life to come, from the many allegorical inventions which describe the transmigration of the soul. a butterfly on the extremity of an extinguished lamp, held up by the messenger of the gods intently gazing above, implied a dedication of that soul; love, with a melancholy air, his legs crossed, leaning on an inverted torch, the flame thus naturally extinguishing itself, elegantly denoted the cessation of human life; a rose sculptured on a sarcophagus, or the emblems of epicurean life traced on it, in a skull wreathed by a chaplet of flowers, such as they wore at their convivial meetings, a flask of wine, a patera, and the small bones used as dice: all these symbols were indirect allusions to death, veiling its painful recollections. they did not pollute their imagination with the contents of a charnel-house. the sarcophagi of the ancients rather recall to us the remembrance of the activity of life; for they are sculptured with battles or games, in basso relievo; a sort of tender homage paid to the dead, observes mad. de staël, with her peculiar refinement of thinking. it would seem that the romans had even an aversion to mention death in express terms, for they disguised its very name by some periphrasis, such as _discessit e vita_, "he has departed from life;" and they did not say that their friend had _died_, but that he had _lived_; _vixit_! in the old latin chronicles, and even in the _foedera_ and other documents of the middle ages, we find the same delicacy about using the fatal word _death_, especially when applied to kings and great people. "_transire à sæculo--vitam suam mutare--si quid de eo humanitùs contigerit, &c._" i am indebted to mr. merivale for this remark. even among a people less refined, the obtrusive idea of death has been studiously avoided: we are told that when the emperor of morocco inquires after any one who has recently died, it is against etiquette to mention the word "death;" the answer is "his destiny is closed!" but this tenderness is only reserved for "the elect" of the mussulmen. a jew's death is at once plainly expressed: "he is dead, sir! asking your pardon for mentioning such a contemptible wretch!" _i.e._ a jew! a christian's is described by "the infidel is dead!" or, "the cuckold is dead." the ancient artists have so rarely attempted to personify death, that we have not discovered a single revolting image of this nature in all the works of antiquity.[ ]--to conceal its deformity to the eye, as well as to elude its suggestion to the mind, seems to have been an universal feeling, and it accorded with a fundamental principle of ancient art; that of never permitting violent passion to produce in its representation distortion of form. this may be observed in the laocoon, where the mouth only opens sufficiently to indicate the suppressed agony of superior humanity, without expressing the loud cry of vulgar suffering. pausanias considered as a personification of death a female figure, whose teeth and nails, long and crooked, were engraven on a coffin of cedar, which enclosed the body of cypselus; this female was unquestionably only one of the _parcæ_, or the fates, "watchful to cut the thread of life." hesiod describes atropos indeed as having sharp teeth and long nails, waiting to tear and devour the dead; but this image was of a barbarous era. catullus ventured to personify the sister destinies as three crones; "but in general," winkelmann observes, "they are portrayed as beautiful virgins, with winged heads, one of whom is always in the attitude of writing on a scroll." death was a nonentity to the ancient artist. could he exhibit what represents nothing? could he animate into action what lies in a state of eternal tranquillity? elegant images of repose and tender sorrow were all he could invent to indicate the state of death. even the terms which different nations have bestowed on a burial-place are not associated with emotions of horror. the greeks called a burying-ground by the soothing term of _coemeterion_, or "the sleeping-place;" the jews, who had no horrors of the grave, by _beth-haim_, or, "the house of the living;" the germans, with religious simplicity, "god's-field." the scriptures had only noticed that celestial being "the angel of death,"--graceful, solemn, and sacred! whence, then, originated that stalking skeleton, suggesting so many false and sepulchral ideas, and which for us has so long served as the image of death? when the christian religion spread over europe, the world changed! the certainty of a future state of existence, by the artifices of wicked worldly men, terrified instead of consoling human nature; and in the resurrection the ignorant multitude seemed rather to have dreaded retribution, than to have hoped for remuneration. the founder of christianity everywhere breathes the blessedness of social feelings. it is "our father!" whom he addresses. the horrors with which christianity was afterwards disguised arose in the corruptions of christianity among those insane ascetics who, misinterpreting "the word of life," trampled on nature; and imagined that to secure an existence in the other world it was necessary not to exist in the one in which god had placed them. the dominion of mankind fell into the usurping hands of those imperious monks whose artifices trafficed with the terrors of ignorant and hypochondriac "kaisers and kings." the scene was darkened by penances and by pilgrimages, by midnight vigils, by miraculous shrines, and bloody flagellations; spectres started up amidst their _ténèbres_; millions of masses increased their supernatural influence. amidst this general gloom of europe, their troubled imaginations were frequently predicting the end of the world. it was at this period that they first beheld the grave yawn, and death, in the gothic form of a gaunt anatomy, parading through the universe! the people were frightened as they viewed, everywhere hung before their eyes, in the twilight of their cathedrals, and their "pale cloisters," the most revolting emblems of death. they startled the traveller on the bridge; they stared on the sinner in the carvings of his table and chair; the spectre moved in the hangings of the apartment; it stood in the niche, and was the picture of their sitting-room; it was worn in their rings, while the illuminator shaded the bony phantom in the margins of their "horæ," their primers, and their breviaries. their barbarous taste perceived no absurdity in giving action to a heap of dry bones, which could only keep together in a state of immovability and repose; nor that it was burlesquing the awful idea of the resurrection, by exhibiting the incorruptible spirit under the unnatural and ludicrous figure of mortality drawn out of the corruption of the grave. an anecdote of these monkish times has been preserved by old gerard leigh; and as old stories are best set off by old words, gerard speaketh! "the great maximilian the emperor came to a monastery in high almaine (germany), the monks whereof had caused to be curiously painted the charnel of a man, which they termed--death! when that well-learned emperor had beholden it awhile, he called unto him his painter, commanding to blot the skeleton out, and to paint therein the image of--a fool. wherewith the abbot, humbly beseeching him to the contrary, said 'it was a good remembrance!'--'nay,' quoth the emperor, 'as vermin that annoyeth man's body cometh unlooked for, so doth death, which here is but a fained image, and life is a certain thing, if we know to deserve it.'"[ ] the original mind of maximilian the great is characterized by this curious story of converting our emblem of death into a parti-coloured fool; and such satirical allusions to the folly of those who persisted in their notion of the skeleton were not unusual with the artists of those times; we find the figure of a fool sitting with some drollery between the legs of one of these skeletons.[ ] this story is associated with an important fact. after they had successfully terrified the people with their charnel-house figure, a reaction in the public feelings occurred, for the skeleton was now employed as a medium to convey the most facetious, satirical, and burlesque notions of human life. death, which had so long harassed their imaginations, suddenly changed into a theme fertile in coarse humour. the italians were too long accustomed to the study of the beautiful to allow their pencil to sport with deformity; but the gothic taste of the german artists, who could only copy their own homely nature, delighted to give human passions to the hideous physiognomy of a noseless skull; to put an eye of mockery or malignity into its hollow socket, and to stretch out the gaunt anatomy into the postures of a hogarth; and that the ludicrous might be carried to its extreme, this imaginary being, taken from the bone-house, was viewed in the action of _dancing_! this blending of the grotesque with the most disgusting image of mortality, is the more singular part of this history of the skeleton, and indeed of human nature itself! "the dance of death," erroneously considered as holbein's, with other similar dances, however differently treated, have one common subject which was painted in the arcades of burying-grounds, or on town-halls, and in market-places. the subject is usually "the skeleton" in the act of leading all ranks and conditions to the grave, personated after nature, and in the strict costume of the times. this invention opened a new field for genius; and when we can for a moment forget their luckless choice of their bony and bloodless hero, who to amuse us by a variety of action becomes a sort of horrid harlequin in these pantomimical scenes, we may be delighted by the numerous human characters, which are so vividly presented to us. the origin of this extraordinary invention is supposed to be a favourite pageant, or religious mummery, invented by the clergy, who in these ages of barbarous christianity always found it necessary to amuse, as well as to frighten the populace; a circumstance well known to have occurred in so many other grotesque and licentious festivals they allowed the people. the practice of dancing in churches and church-yards was interdicted by several councils; but it was found convenient in those rude times. it seems probable that the clergy contrived the present dance, as more decorous and not without moral and religious emotions. this pageant was performed in churches, in which the chief characters in society were supported in a sort of masquerade, mixing together in a general dance, in the course of which every one in his turn vanished from the scene, to show how one after the other died off. the subject was at once poetical and ethical; and the poets and painters of germany adopting the skeleton, sent forth this chimerical ulysses of another world to roam among the men and manners of their own. a popular poem was composed, said to be by one macaber, which name seems to be a corruption of st. macaire; the old gaulish version, reformed, is still printed at troyes, in france, with the ancient blocks of woodcuts, under the title of "la grande danse macabre des hommes et des femmes." merian's "todten tanz," or the "dance of the dead," is a curious set of prints of a dance of death from an ancient painting, i think not entirely defaced, in a cemetery at basle, in switzerland. it was ordered to be painted by a council held there during many years, to commemorate the mortality occasioned by a plague in . the prevailing character of all these works is unquestionably grotesque and ludicrous; not, however, that genius, however barbarous, could refrain in this large subject of human life from inventing scenes often imagined with great delicacy of conception, and even great pathos. such is the new-married couple, whom death is leading, beating a drum; and in the rapture of the hour, the bride seems, with a melancholy look, not insensible of his presence; or death is seen issuing from the cottage of the poor widow with her youngest child, who waves his hand sorrowfully, while the mother and the sister vainly answer; or the old man, to whom death is playing on a psaltery, seems anxious that his withered fingers should once more touch the strings, while he is carried off in calm tranquillity. the greater part of these subjects of death are, however, ludicrous; and it may be a question, whether the spectators of these dances of death did not find their mirth more excited than their religious emotions. ignorant and terrified as the people were at the view of the skeleton, even the grossest simplicity could not fail to laugh at some of those domestic scenes and familiar persons drawn from among themselves. the skeleton, skeleton as it is, in the creation of genius, gesticulates and mimics, while even its hideous skull is made to express every diversified character, and the result is hard to describe; for we are at once amused and disgusted with so much genius founded on so much barbarism.[ ] when the artist succeeded in conveying to the eye the most ludicrous notions of death, the poets also discovered in it a fertile source of the burlesque. the curious collector is acquainted with many volumes where the most extraordinary topics have been combined with this subject. they made the body and the soul debate together, and ridicule the complaints of a damned soul! the greater part of the poets of the time were always composing on the subject of death in their humorous pieces.[ ] such historical records of the public mind, historians, intent on political events, have rarely noticed. of a work of this nature, a popular favourite was long the one entitled "_le faut mourir, et les excuses inutiles qu'on apporte à cette necessité; le tout en vers burlesques, _." jacques jacques, a canon of ambrun, was the writer, who humorously says of himself that he gives his thoughts just as they lie on his heart, without dissimulation--"for i have nothing double about me except my name! i tell thee some of the most important truths in laughing; it is for thee _d'y penser tout à bon_." this little volume was procured for me with some difficulty in france; and it is considered as one of the happiest of this class of death-poems, of which i know not of any in our literature. our canon of ambrun, in facetious rhymes, and with the _naïveté_ of expression which belongs to his age, and an idiomatic turn fatal to a translator, excels in pleasantry; his haughty hero condescends to hold very amusing dialogues with all classes of society, and delights to confound their "excuses inutiles." the most miserable of men, the galley-slave, the mendicant, alike would escape when he appears to them. "were i not absolute over them," death exclaims, "they would confound me with their long speeches; but i have business, and must gallop on!" his geographical rhymes are droll. ce que j'ai fait dans l'afrique je le fais bien dans l'amérique; on l'appelle monde nouveau mais ce sont des brides à veau; nulle terre à moy n'est nouvelle je vay partout sans qu'on m'appelle; mon bras de tout temps commanda dans le pays du canada; j'ai tenu de tout temps en bride la virginie et la floride, et j'ai bien donné sur le bec aux français du fort de kebec. lorsque je veux je fais la nique aux incas, aux rois de mexique; et montre aux nouveaux grénadins qu'ils sont des foux et des badins. chacun sait bien comme je matte ceux du brésil et de la plate, ainsi que les taupinembous-- en un mot, je fais voir à tout que ce que naît dans la nature, doit prendre de moy tablature![ ] the perpetual employments of death display copious invention with a facility of humour. egalement je vay rangeant, le conseiller et le serjent, le gentilhomme et le berger, le bourgeois et le boulanger, et la maistresse et la servante et la nièce comme la tante; monsieur l'abbé, monsieur son moine, le petit clerc et le chanoine; sans choix je mets dans mon butin maistre claude, maistre martin, dame luce, dame perrete, &c. j'en prends un dans le temps qu'il pleure a quelque autre, au contraire à l'heure qui démésurément il rit; je donne le coup qui le frit. j'en prends un, pendant qu'il se lève; en se couchant l'autre j'enlève. je prends le malade et le sain l'un aujourd'hui, l'autre le demain. j'en surprends un dedans son lit, l'autre à l'estude quand il lit. j'en surprends un le ventre plein je mène l'autre par la faim. j'attrape l'un pendant qu'il prie, et l'autre pendant qu'il renie; j'en saisis un au cabaret entre le blanc et le clairet, l'autre qui dans son oratoire a son dieu rend honneur et gloire: j'en surprends un lorsqu'il se psame le jour qu'il èpouse sa femme, l'autre le jour que plein de deuil la sieune il voit dans le cercueil; un à pied et l'autre à cheval, dans le jeu l'un, et l'autre au bal; un qui mange et l'autre qui boit, un qui paye et l'autre qui doit, l'un en été lorsqu'il moissonne, l'autre eu vendanges dans l'automne, l'un criant almanachs nouveaux-- un qui demande son aumosne l'autre dans le temps qu'il la donne, je prends le bon maistre clément, au temps qu'il prend un lavement, et prends la dame catherine le jour qu'elle prend médecine. this veil of gaiety in the old canon of ambrun covers deeper and more philosophical thoughts than the singular mode of treating so solemn a theme. he has introduced many scenes of human life which still interest, and he addresses the "teste à triple couronne," as well as the "forçat de galère," who exclaims, "laissez-moi vivre dans mes fers," "le gueux," the "bourgeois," the "chanoine," the "pauvre soldat," the "médecin;" in a word, all ranks in life are exhibited, as in all the "dances of death." but our object in noticing these burlesque paintings and poems is to show that after the monkish goths had opened one general scene of melancholy and tribulation over europe, and given birth to that dismal _skeleton of death_, which still terrifies the imagination of many, a reaction of feeling was experienced by the populace, who at length came to laugh at the gloomy spectre which had so long terrified them! footnotes: [ ] montfaucon, "l'antiquité expliquée," i. . [ ] a representation of death by a skeleton appears among the egyptians: a custom more singular than barbarous prevailed, of enclosing a skeleton of beautiful workmanship in a small coffin, which the bearer carried round at their entertainments; observing, "after death you will resemble this figure: drink, then! and be happy." a symbol of death in a convivial party was not designed to excite terrific or gloomy ideas, but a recollection of the brevity of human life. [ ] "the accidence of armorie," p. . [ ] a woodcut preserved in mr. dibdin's bibliographical decameron, i. . [ ] my greatly-lamented friend, the late mr. douce, has poured forth the most curious knowledge on this singular subject, of "the dance of death." this learned investigator has reduced _macaber_ to a nonentity, but not "the macaber dance," which has been frequently painted. mr. douce's edition is accompanied by a set of woodcuts, which have not unsuccessfully copied the exquisite originals of the lyons wood-cutter. [ ] goujet, "bib. françoise," vol. x. . [ ] _tablature d'un luth_, cotgrave says, is the belly of a lute, meaning "all in nature must dance to my music!" the rival biographers of heylin. peter heylin was one of the popular writers of his times, like fuller and howell, who, devoting their amusing pens to subjects which deeply interested their own busy age, will not be slighted by the curious.[ ] we have nearly outlived their divinity, but not their politics. metaphysical absurdities are luxuriant weeds which must be cut down by the scythe of time; but the great passions branching from the tree of life are still "growing with our growth." there are two biographies of our heylin, which led to a literary quarrel of an extraordinary nature; and, in the progress of its secret history, all the feelings of rival authorship were called out. heylin died in . dr. barnard, his son-in-law, and a scholar, communicated a sketch of the author's life to be prefixed to a posthumous folio, of which heylin's son was the editor. this life was given by the son, but anonymously, which may not have gratified the author, the son-in-law.[ ] twenty years had elapsed when, in , appeared "the life of dr. peter heylin, by george vernon." the writer, alluding to the prior life prefixed to the posthumous folio, asserts that, in borrowing something from barnard, barnard had also "excerpted passages out of _my papers_, the very words as well as matter, when he had them in his custody, as any reader may discern who will be at the pains of comparing the life now published with what is extant before the _keimalea ecclesiastica_;" the quaint, pedantic title, after the fashion of the day, of the posthumous folio. this strong accusation seemed countenanced by a dedication to the son and the nephew of heylin. roused now into action, the indignant barnard soon produced a more complete life, to which he prefixed "a necessary vindication." this is an unsparing castigation of vernon, the literary pet whom the heylins had fondled in preference to their learned relative.[ ] the long-smothered family grudge, the suppressed mortifications of literary pride, after the subterraneous grumblings of twenty years, now burst out, and the volcanic particles flew about in caustic pleasantries and sharp invectives; all the lava of an author's vengeance, mortified by the choice of an inferior rival. it appears that vernon had been selected by the son of heylin, in preference to his brother-in-law, dr. barnard, from some family disagreement. barnard tells us, in describing vernon, that "no man, except himself, who was totally ignorant of the doctor, and all the circumstances of his life, would have engaged in such a work, which was never primarily laid out for him, but by reason of some unhappy differences, as usually fall out in families; and he, who loves to put his oar in troubled waters, instead of closing them up, hath made them wider." barnard tells his story plainly. heylin the son, intending to have a more elaborate life of his father prefixed to his works, dr. barnard, from the high reverence in which he held the memory of his father-in-law, offered to contribute it. many conferences were held, and the son entrusted him with several papers. but suddenly his caprice, more than his judgment, fancied that george vernon was worth john barnard. the doctor affects to describe his rejection with the most stoical indifference. he tells us--"i was satisfied, and did patiently expect the coming forth of the work, not only term after term, but year after year--a very considerable time for such a tract. but at last, instead of the life, came a letter to me from a bookseller in london, who lived at the sign of the black boy, in fleet-street."[ ] now, it seems that he who lived at the black boy had combined with another who lived at the fleur de luce, and that the fleur de luce had assured the black boy that dr. barnard was concerned in writing the life of heylin--this was a strong recommendation. but lo! it appeared that "one mr. vernon, of gloucester," was to be the man! a gentle, thin-skinned authorling, who bleated like a lamb, and was so fearful to trip out of its shelter, that it allows the black boy and the fleur de luce to communicate its papers to any one they choose, and erase or add at their pleasure.[ ] it occurred to the black boy, on this proposed arithmetical criticism, that the work required addition, subtraction, and division; that the fittest critic, on whose name, indeed, he had originally engaged in the work, was our dr. barnard; and he sent the package to the doctor, who resided near lincoln. the doctor, it appears, had no appetite for a dish dressed by another, while he himself was in the very act of the cookery; and it was suffered to lie cold for three weeks at the carrier's. but entreated and overcome, the good doctor at length sent to the carrier's for the life of his father-in-law. "i found it, according to the bookseller's description, most lame and imperfect; ill begun, worse carried on, and abruptly concluded." the learned doctor exercised that plenitude of power with which the black boy had invested him--he very obligingly showed the author in what a confused state his materials lay together, and how to put them in order-- nec facundia deseret hunc, nec lucidus ordo. if his rejections were copious, to show his good-will as well as his severity, his additions were generous, though he used the precaution of carefully distinguishing by "distinct paragraphs" his own insertions amidst vernon's mass, with a gentle hint that "he knew more of heylin than any man now living, and ought therefore to have been the biographer." he returned the ms. to the gentleman with great civility, but none he received back! when vernon pretended to ask for improvements, he did not imagine that the work was to be improved by being nearly destroyed; and when he asked for correction, he probably expected all might end in a compliment. the narrative may now proceed in dr. barnard's details of his doleful mortifications, in being "altered and mangled" by mr. vernon. "instead of thanks from him (vernon), and the return of common civility, he disfigured my papers, that no sooner came into his hands, but he fell upon them as a lion rampant, or the cat upon the poor cock in the fable, saying, _tu hodie mihi discerperis_--so my papers came home miserably clawed, blotted, and blurred; whole sentences dismembered, and pages scratched out; several leaves omitted which ought to be printed,--shamefully he used my copy; so that before it was carried to the press, he swooped away the second part of the life wholly from it--in the room of which he shuffled in a preposterous conclusion at the last page, which he printed in a different character, yet could not keep himself honest, as the poet saith, _dicitque tua pagina, fur es._ martial. for he took out of my copy dr. heylin's dream, his sickness, his last words before his death, and left out the burning of his surplice. he so mangled and metamorphosed the whole life i composed, that i may say as sosia did, _egomet mihi non credo, ille alter sosia me malis mulcavit modis_--plaut." dr. barnard would have "patiently endured these wrongs;" but the accusation vernon ventured on, that barnard was the plagiary, required the doctor "to return the poisoned chalice to his own lips," that "himself was the plagiary both of words and matter." the fact is, that this reciprocal accusation was owing to barnard having had a prior perusal of heylin's papers, which afterwards came into the hands of vernon: they both drew their water from the same source. these papers heylin himself had left for "a rule to guide the writer of his life." barnard keenly retorts on vernon for his surreptitious use of whole pages from heylin's works, which he has appropriated to himself without any marks of quotation. "i am no such excerptor (as he calls me); he is of the humour of the man who took all the ships in the attic haven for his own, and yet was himself not master of any one vessel." again:-- "but all this while i misunderstand him, for possibly he meaneth his own dear words i have excerpted. why doth he not speak in plain, downright english, that the world may see my faults? for every one doth not know what is _excerpting_. if i have been so bold to pick or snap a word from him, i hope i may have the benefit of the clergy. what words have i robbed him of?--and how have i become the richer for them? i was never so taken with him as to be once tempted to break the commandments, because i love plain speaking, plain writing, and plain dealing, which he does not: i hate the word _excerpted_, and the action imported in it. however, he is a fanciful man, and thinks there is no elegancy nor wit but in his own way of talking. i must say as tully did, _malim equidem indisertam prudentiam quam stultam loquacitatem_." in his turn he accuses vernon of being a perpetual transcriber, and for the malone minuteness of his history. "but how have i excerpted _his_ matter? then i am sure to rob the spittle-house; for he is so poor and put to hard shifts, that he has much ado to compose a tolerable story, which he hath been hammering and conceiving in his mind for four years together, before he could bring forth his _foetus_ of intolerable transcriptions to molest the reader's patience and memory. how doth he run himself out of breath, sometimes for twenty pages and more, at other times fifteen, ordinarily nine and ten, collected out of dr. heylin's old books, before he can take his wind again to return to his story! i never met with such a transcriber in all my days; for want of matter to fill up a _vacuum_, of which his book was in much danger, he hath set down the story of westminster, as long as the ploughman's tale in chaucer, which to the reader would have been more pertinent and pleasant. i wonder he did not transcribe bills of chancery, especially about a tedious suit my father had for several years about a lease at norton." in his raillery of vernon's affected metaphors and comparisons, "his similitudes and dissimilitudes strangely hooked in, and fetched as far as the antipodes," barnard observes, "the man hath also a strange opinion of himself that he is dr. heylin; and because he writes his life, that he hath his natural parts, if not acquired. the soul of st. augustin (say the schools) was pythagorically transfused into the corpse of aquinas; so the soul of dr. heylin into a narrow soul. i know there is a question in philosophy, _an animæ sint oequales?_--whether souls be alike? but there's a difference between the spirits of elijah and elisha: so small a prophet with so great a one!" dr. barnard concludes by regretting that good counsel came now unseasonably, else he would have advised the writer to have transmitted his task to one who had been an ancient friend of dr. heylin, rather than ambitiously have assumed it, who was a professed stranger to him, by reason of which no better account could be expected from him than what he has given. he hits off the character of this piece of biography--"a life to the half; an imperfect creature, that is not only lame (as the honest bookseller said), but wanteth legs, and all other integral parts of a man; nay, the very soul that should animate a body like dr. heylin. so that i must say of him, as plutarch does of tib. gracchus, 'that he is a bold undertaker and rash talker of those matters he does not understand.' and so i have done with him, unless he creates to himself and me a future trouble!" vernon appears to have slunk away from the duel. the son of heylin stood corrected by the superior life produced by their relative; the learned and vivacious barnard probably never again ventured to _alter and improve the works of an author_ kneeling and praying for corrections. these bleating lambs, it seems, often turn out roaring lions![ ] footnotes: [ ] dr. heylin's principal work, "_ecclesia restaurata_; or, the history of the reformation of the church of england," was reprinted at the cambridge university press, for "the ecclesiastical history society," in vols. vo, , under the able editorship of j. c. robertson, m.a., vicar of bekesbourne, kent. the introductory account of heylin has enabled us to correct the present article in some particulars, and add a few useful notes. [ ] dr. john barnard married the daughter of heylin, when he lived at abingdon, near oxford. he afterwards became rector of the rich living of waddington, near lincoln, of which he purchased the perpetual advowson, holding also the sinecure of gedney, in the same county. he was ultimately made prebendary of asgarby, in the church of lincoln, and died at newark, on a journey, in august, . his rich and indolent life would naturally hold out few inducements for literary labour. [ ] mr. george vernon, according to wood (athen. oxon. iv. ), was made chaplain of all souls' college, afterwards rector of sarsden, near churchill, in oxfordshire, of bourton-on-the-water, in gloucestershire, and of st. john and st. michael, in the city of gloucester. wood enumerates several works by him, so that he was evidently more of a "literary man" than barnard, who enjoyed "learned ease" to a great degree, and was evidently only to be aroused by something flagitious. [ ] this was harper, a bookseller, who had undertaken a republication of the _ecclesia vindicata_, and other tracts by heylin, to which the life was to be prefixed. [ ] the author had "desired mr. harper to communicate the papers to whom he pleases, and cross out or add what is thought convenient." a leave very few literary men would give! [ ] the most curious part of the story remains yet to be told. dr. barnard was mistaken in his imputations, and vernon was not the really blamable party. we tell the tale in mr. robertson's words in the work already alluded to.--"who was the party guilty of these outrages? barnard assumed that it could be no other than vernon; but the truth seems to be that the rector of bourton had nothing whatever to do with the matter. the publisher had called in a more important adviser--dr. barlow, bishop of lincoln (ath. oxon. iii. ; iv. ); the mutilations of barnard's ms. were really the work, not of the obscure gloucestershire clergyman, but of the indignant author's own diocesan; and we need not hesitate to ascribe the abruptness of the conclusion, and the smallness of the type in which it is printed, to mr. harper's economical desire to save the expense of an additional sheet." thus "bishop barlow and the bookseller had made the mischief between the parties, who, instead of attempting a private explanation, attacked each other in print." of lenglet du fresnoy. the "_méthode pour étudier l' histoire_," by the abbé lenglet du fresnoy, is a master-key to all the locked-up treasures of ancient and modern history, and to the more secret stores of the obscurer memorialists of every nation. the history of this work and its author are equally remarkable. the man was a sort of curiosity in human nature, as his works are in literature. lenglet du fresnoy is not a writer merely laborious; without genius, he still has a hardy originality in his manner of writing and of thinking; and his vast and restless curiosity fermenting his immense book-knowledge, with a freedom verging on cynical causticity, led to the pursuit of uncommon topics. even the prefaces to the works which he edited are singularly curious, and he has usually added _bibliothèques_, or critical catalogues of authors, which we may still consult for notices on the writers of romances--of those on literary subjects--on alchymy, or the hermetic philosophy; of those who have written on apparitions, visions, &c.; an historical treatise on the secret of confession, &c.; besides those "pièces justificatives," which constitute some of the most extraordinary documents in the philosophy of history. his manner of writing secured him readers even among the unlearned; his mordacity, his sarcasm, his derision, his pregnant interjections, his unguarded frankness, and often his strange opinions, contribute to his reader's amusement more than comports with his graver tasks; but his peculiarities cannot alter the value of his knowledge, whatever they may sometimes detract from his opinions; and we may safely admire the ingenuity, without quarrelling with the sincerity of the writer, who having composed a work on _l'usage des romans_, in which he gaily impugned the authenticity of all history, to prove himself not to have been the author, ambidexterously published another of _l'histoire justifiée contre les romans_; and perhaps it was not his fault that the attack was spirited, and the justification dull. this "méthode" and his "tablettes chronologiques," of nearly forty other publications are the only ones which have outlived their writer; volumes, merely curious, are exiled to the shelf of the collector; the very name of an author merely curious--that shadow of a shade--is not always even preserved by a dictionary-compiler in the universal charity of his alphabetical mortuary. the history of this work is a striking instance of those imperfect beginnings, which have often closed in the most important labours. this admirable "méthode" made its first meagre appearance in two volumes in . it was soon reprinted at home and abroad, and translated into various languages. in it assumed the dignity of four quartos; but at this stage it encountered the vigilance of government, and the lacerating hand of a celebrated _censeur_, gros de boze. it is said, that from a personal dislike of the author, he cancelled one hundred and fifty pages from the printed copy submitted to his censorship. he had formerly approved of the work, and had quietly passed over some of these obnoxious passages: it is certain that gros de boze, in a dissertation on the janus of the ancients in this work, actually erased a high commendation of himself,[ ] which lenglet had, with unusual courtesy, bestowed on gros de boze; for as a critic he is most penurious of panegyric, and there is always a caustic flavour even in his drops of honey. this _censeur_ either affected to disdain the commendation, or availed himself of it as a trick of policy. this was a trying situation for an author, now proud of a great work, and who himself partook more of the bull than of the lamb. he who winced at the scratch of an epithet, beheld his perfect limbs bruised by erasures and mutilated by cancels. this sort of troubles indeed was not unusual with lenglet. he had occupied his old apartment in the bastile so often, that at the sight of the officer who was in the habit of conducting him there, lenglet would call for his nightcap and snuff; and finish the work he had then in hand at the bastile, where, he told jordan, that he made his edition of marot. he often silently restituted an epithet or a sentence which had been condemned by the _censeur_, at the risk of returning once more; but in the present desperate affair he took his revenge by collecting the castrations into a quarto volume, which was sold clandestinely. i find, by jordan, in his _voyage littéraire_, who visited him, that it was his pride to read these cancels to his friends, who generally, but secretly, were of opinion that the decision of the _censeur_ was not so wrong as the hardihood of lenglet insisted on. all this increased the public rumour, and raised the price of the cancels. the craft and mystery of authorship was practised by lenglet to perfection; and he often exulted, not only in the subterfuges by which he parried his _censeurs_, but in his bargains with his booksellers, who were equally desirous to possess, while they half feared to enjoy, his uncertain or his perilous copyrights. when the _unique_ copy of the _méthode_, in its pristine state, before it had suffered any dilapidations, made its appearance at the sale of the curious library of the _censeur_ gros de boze, it provoked a roxburgh competition, where the collectors, eagerly outbidding each other, the price of this uncastrated copy reached to livres; and even more extraordinary in the history of french bibliography, than in our own. the curious may now find all these cancel sheets, or _castrations_, preserved in one of those works of literary history, to which the germans have contributed more largely than other european nations, and i have discovered that even the erasures, or _bruises_, are amply furnished in another bibliographical record.[ ] this _méthode_, after several later editions, was still enlarging itself by fresh supplements; and having been translated by men of letters in europe, by coleti in italy, by mencken in germany, and by dr. rawlinson in england, these translators have enriched their own editions by more copious articles, designed for their respective nations. the sagacity of the original writer now renovated his work by the infusions of his translators; like old Æson, it had its veins filled with green juices; and thus his old work was always undergoing the magic process of rejuvenescence.[ ] the personal character of our author was as singular as many of the uncommon topics which engaged his inquiries; these we might conclude had originated in mere eccentricity, or were chosen at random. but lenglet has shown no deficiency of judgment in several works of acknowledged utility; and his critical opinions, his last editor has shown, have, for the greater part, been sanctioned by the public voice. it is curious to observe how the first direction which the mind of a hardy inquirer may take, will often account for that variety of uncommon topics he delights in, and which, on a closer examination, may be found to bear an invisible connexion with some preceding inquiry. as there is an association of ideas, so in literary history there is an association of research; and a very judicious writer may thus be impelled to compose on subjects which may be deemed strange or injudicious. this observation may be illustrated by the literary history of lenglet du fresnoy. he opened his career by addressing a letter and a tract to the sorbonne, on the extraordinary affair of maria d'agreda, abbess of the nunnery of the immaculate conception in spain, whose mystical life of the virgin, published on the decease of the abbess, and which was received with such rapture in spain, had just appeared at paris, where it excited the murmurs of the pious, and the inquiries of the curious. this mystical life was declared to be founded on apparitions and revelations experienced by the abbess. lenglet proved, or asserted, that the abbess was not the writer of this pretended life, though the manuscript existed in her handwriting; and secondly, that the apparitions and revelations recorded were against all the rules of apparitions and revelations which he had painfully discovered. the affair was of a delicate nature. the writer was young and incredulous; a grey-beard, more deeply versed in theology, replied, and the sorbonnists silenced our philosopher in embryo. lenglet confined these researches to his portfolio; and so long a period as fifty-five years had elapsed before they saw the light. it was when calmet published his dissertations on apparitions, that the subject provoked lenglet to return to his forsaken researches. he now published all he had formerly composed on the affair of maria d'agreda, and two other works; the one, "_traité historique et dogmatique sur les apparitions, les visions, et les révélations particulières_," in two volumes; and "_recueil de dissertations anciennes et nouvelles, sur les apparitions, &c._," with a catalogue of authors on this subject, in four volumes. when he edited the _roman de la rose_, in compiling the glossary of this ancient poem, it led him to reprint many of the earliest french poets; to give an enlarged edition of the _arrêts d'amour_, that work of love and chivalry, in which his fancy was now so deeply embedded; while the subject of romance itself naturally led to the taste of romantic productions which appeared in "_l'usage des romans_," and its accompanying copious nomenclature of all romances and romance-writers, ancient and modern. our vivacious abbé had been bewildered by his delight in the works of a chemical philosopher; and though he did not believe in the existence of apparitions, and certainly was more than a sceptic in history, yet it is certain that the "grande oeuvre" was an article in his creed; it would have ruined him in experiments, if he had been rich enough to have been ruined. it altered his health; and the most important result of his chemical studies appears to have been the invention of a syrup, in which he had great confidence; but its trial blew him up into a tympany, from which he was only relieved by having recourse to a drug, also of his own discovery, which, in counteracting the syrup, reduced him to an alarming state of atrophy. but the mischances of the historian do not enter into his history: and our curiosity must be still eager to open lenglet's "histoire de la philosophie hermétique," accompanied by a catalogue of the writers in this mysterious science, in two volumes: as well as his enlarged edition of the works of a great paracelsian, nicholas le fevre. this philosopher was appointed by charles the second superintendent over the royal laboratory at st. james's: he was also a member of the royal society, and the friend of boyle, to whom he communicated the secret of infusing young blood into old veins, with a notion that he could renovate that which admits of no second creation.[ ] such was the origin of du fresnoy's active curiosity on a variety of singular topics, the germs of which may be traced to three or four of our author's principal works. our abbé promised to write his own life, and his pugnacious vivacity, and hardy frankness, would have seasoned a piece of autobiography; an amateur has, however, written it in the style which amateurs like, with all the truth he could discover, enlivened by some secret history, writing the life of lenglet with the very spirit of lenglet: it is a mask taken from the very features of the man, not the insipid wax-work of an hyperbolical éloge-maker.[ ] although lenglet du fresnoy commenced in early life his career as a man of letters, he was at first engaged in the great chase of political adventure; and some striking facts are recorded, which show his successful activity. michault describes his occupations by a paraphrastical delicacy of language, which an englishman might not have so happily composed. the minister for foreign affairs, the marquis de torcy, sent lenglet to lille, where the court of the elector of cologne was then held: "he had particular orders to _watch_ that the two ministers of the elector should do nothing prejudicial to the king's affairs." he seems, however, to have _watched_ many other persons, and detected many other things. he discovered a captain, who agreed to open the gates of mons to marlborough, for , piastres; the captain was arrested on the parade, the letter of marlborough was found in his pocket, and the traitor was broken on the wheel. lenglet denounced a foreign general in the french service, and the event warranted the prediction. his most important discovery was that of the famous conspiracy of prince cellamar, one of the chimerical plots of alberoni; to the honour of lenglet, he would not engage in its detection unless the minister promised that no blood should be shed. these successful incidents in the life of an honourable spy were rewarded with a moderate pension.--lenglet must have been no vulgar intriguer; he was not only perpetually confined by his very patrons when he resided at home, for the freedom of his pen, but i find him early imprisoned in the citadel of strasburgh for six months: it is said for purloining some curious books from the library of the abbé bignon, of which he had the care. it is certain that he knew the value of the scarcest works, and was one of those lovers of bibliography who trade at times in costly rarities. at vienna he became intimately acquainted with the poet rousseau, and prince eugene. the prince, however, who suspected the character of our author, long avoided him. lenglet insinuated himself into the favour of the prince's librarian; and such was his bibliographical skill, that this acquaintance ended in prince eugene laying aside his political dread, and preferring the advice of lenglet to his librarian's, to enrich his magnificent library. when the motive of lenglet's residence at vienna became more and more suspected, rousseau was employed to _watch_ him; and not yet having quarrelled with his brother spy, he could only report that the abbé lenglet was every morning occupied in working on his "tablettes chronologiques," a work not worthy of alarming the government; that he spent his evenings at a violin-player's married to a frenchwoman, and returned home at eleven. as soon as our historian had discovered that the poet was a brother spy and newsmonger on the side of prince eugene, their reciprocal civilities cooled. lenglet now imagined that he owed his six months' retirement in the citadel of strasburgh to the secret officiousness of rousseau: each grew suspicious of the other's fidelity; and spies are like lovers, for their mutual jealousies settled into the most inveterate hatred. one of the most defamatory libels is lenglet's intended dedication of his edition of marot to rousseau, which being forced to suppress in holland, by order of the states-general; at brussels, by the intervention of the duke of aremberg; and by every means the friends of the unfortunate rousseau could contrive; was, however, many years afterwards at length subjoined by lenglet to the first volume of his work on romances; where an ordinary reader may wonder at its appearance unconnected with any part of the work. in this dedication, or "Éloge historique," he often addresses "mon cher rousseau," but the irony is not delicate, and the calumny is heavy. rousseau lay too open to the unlicensed causticity of his accuser. the poet was then expatriated from france for a false accusation against saurin, in attempting to fix on him those criminal couplets, which so long disturbed the peace of the literary world in france, and of which rousseau was generally supposed to be the writer; but of which on his death-bed he solemnly protested that he was guiltless. the _coup-de-grace_ is given to the poet, stretched on this rack of invective, by just accusations on account of those infamous epigrams, which appear in some editions of that poet's works; a lesson for a poet, if poets would be lessoned, who indulge their imagination at the cost of their happiness, and seem to invent crimes, as if they themselves were criminals. but to return to our lenglet. had he composed his own life, it would have offered a sketch of political servitude and political adventure, in a man too intractable for the one, and too literary for the other. yet to the honour of his capacity, we must observe that he might have chosen his patrons, would he have submitted to patronage. prince eugene at vienna; cardinal passionei at rome; or mons. le blanc, the french minister, would have held him on his own terms. but "liberty and my books!" was the secret ejaculation of lenglet; and from that moment all things in life were sacrificed to a jealous spirit of independence, which broke out in his actions as well as in his writings; and a passion for study for ever crushed the worm of ambition. he was as singular in his conversation, which, says jordan, was extremely agreeable to a foreigner, for he delivered himself without reserve on all things, and on all persons, seasoned with secret and literary anecdotes. he refused all the conveniences offered by an opulent sister, that he might not endure the restraint of a settled dinner-hour. he lived to his eightieth year, still busied, and then died by one of those grievous chances, to which aged men of letters are liable: our caustic critic slumbered over some modern work, and, falling into the fire was burnt to death. many characteristic anecdotes of the abbé lenglet have been preserved in the _dictionnaire historique_, but i shall not repeat what is of easy recurrence. footnotes: [ ] this fact appears in the account of the minuter erasures. [ ] the _castrations_ are in _beyeri memoriæ historico-criticæ librorum rariorum_, p. . the _bruises_ are carefully noted in the _catalogue of the duke de la valière_, . those who are curious in such singularities will be gratified by the extraordinary opinions and results in beyer; and which after all were purloined from a manuscript "abridgment of universal history," which was drawn up by count de boulainvilliers, and more adroitly than delicately inserted by lenglet in his own work. the original manuscript exists in various copies, which were afterwards discovered. the minuter corrections, in the duke de la valière's catalogue, furnish a most enlivening article in the dryness of bibliography. [ ] the last edition, enlarged by drouet, is in fifteen volumes, but is not later than . it is still an inestimable manual for the historical student, as well as his _tablettes chronologiques_. [ ] the "dictionnaire historique," , in their article nich. le fevre, notices the third edition of his "course of chemistry," that of , in two volumes; but the present one of lenglet du fresnoy's is more recent, , enlarged into five volumes, two of which contain his own additions. i have never met with this edition, and it is wanting at the british museum. le fevre published a tract on the great cordial of sir walter rawleigh, which may be curious. [ ] this anonymous work of "mémoires de monsieur l'abbé lenglet du fresnoy," although the dedication is signed g. p., is written by michault, of dijon, as a presentation copy to count de vienne in my possession proves. michault is the writer of two volumes of agreeable "mélanges historiques et philologiques;" and the present is a very curious piece of literary history. the "dictionnaire historique" has compiled the article of lenglet entirely from this work; but the _journal des sçavans_ was too ascetic in this opinion. _etoit-ce la peine de faire un livre pour apprendre au public qu'un homme de lettres fut espion, escroc, bizarre, fougueux, cynique, incapable d'amitié, de soumission aux loix? &c._ yet they do not pretend that the bibliography of lenglet du fresnoy is at all deficient in curiosity. the dictionary of trevoux. a learned friend, in his very agreeable "trimestre, or a three months' journey in france and switzerland," could not pass through the small town of trevoux without a literary association of ideas which should accompany every man of letters in his tours, abroad or at home. a mind well-informed cannot travel without discovering that there are objects constantly presenting themselves, which _suggest_ literary, historical, and moral facts. my friend writes, "as you proceed nearer to lyons you stop to dine at trevoux, on the left bank of the saone. on a sloping hill, down to the water-side, rises an amphitheatre, crowned with an ancient gothic castle, in venerable ruin; under it is the small town of trevoux, well known for its journal and dictionary, which latter is almost an encyclopædia, as _there are few things of which something is not said in that most valuable compilation_, and the whole was printed at trevoux. the knowledge of this circumstance greatly enhances the delight of any visitor who has consulted the book, and is acquainted with its merit; and must add much to his local pleasures." a work from which every man of letters may be continually deriving such varied knowledge, and which is little known but to the most curious readers, claims a place in these volumes; nor is the history of the work itself without interest. eight large folios, each consisting of a thousand closely printed pages, stand like a vast mountain, of which, before we climb, we may be anxious to learn the security of the passage. the history of dictionaries is the most mutable of all histories; it is a picture of the inconstancy of the knowledge of man; the learning of one generation passes away with another; and a dictionary of this kind is always to be repaired, to be rescinded, and to be enlarged. the small town of trevoux gave its name to an excellent literary journal, long conducted by the jesuits, and to this dictionary--as edinburgh has to its critical review and annual register, &c. it first came to be distinguished as a literary town from the duc du maine, as prince sovereign of dombes,[ ] transferring to this little town of trevoux not only his parliament and other public institutions, but also establishing a magnificent printing-house, in the beginning of the last century. the duke, probably to keep his printers in constant employ, instituted the "_journal de trévoux_;" and this perhaps greatly tended to bring the printing-house into notice, so that it became a favourite with many good writers, who appear to have had no other connexion with the place; and this dictionary borrowed its first title, which it always preserved, merely from the place where it was printed. both the journal and the dictionary were, however, consigned to the care of some learned jesuits; and perhaps the place always indicated the principles of the writers, of whom none were more eminent for elegant literature than the jesuits.[ ] the first edition of this dictionary sprung from the spirit of rivalry, occasioned by a french dictionary published in holland, by the protestant basnage de beauval. the duke set his jesuits hastily to work; who, after a pompous announcement that this dictionary was formed on a plan suggested by their patron, did little more than pillage furetière, and rummage basnage, and produced three new folios without any novelties; they pleased the duc du maine, and no one else. this was in . twenty years after, it was republished and improved; and editions increasing, the volumes succeeded each other, till it reached to its present magnitude and value in eight large folios, in , the only edition now esteemed. many of the names of the contributors to this excellent collection of words and things, the industry of monsieur barbier has revealed in his "dictionnaire des anonymes," art. . the work, in the progress of a century, evidently became a favourite receptacle with men of letters in france, who eagerly contributed the smallest or largest articles with a zeal honourable to literature and most useful to the public. they made this dictionary their commonplace book for all their curious acquisitions; every one competent to write a short article, preserving an important fact, did not aspire to compile the dictionary, or even an entire article in it; but it was a treasury in which such mites collected together formed its wealth; and all the literati may be said to have engaged in perfecting these volumes during a century. in this manner, from the humble beginnings of three volumes, in which the plagiary much more than the contributor was visible, eight were at length built up with more durable materials, and which claim the attention and the gratitude of the student. the work, it appears, interested the government itself, as a national concern, from the tenor of the following anecdotes. most of the minor contributors to this great collection were satisfied to remain anonymous; but as might be expected among such a number, sometimes a contributor was anxious to be known to his circle; and did not like this penitential abstinence of fame. an anecdote recorded of one of this class will amuse: a monsieur lautour du chatel, avocat au parlement de normandie, voluntarily devoted his studious hours to improve this work, and furnished nearly three thousand articles to the supplement of the edition of . this ardent scholar had had a lively quarrel thirty years before with the first authors of the dictionary. he had sent them one thousand three hundred articles, on condition that the donor should be handsomely thanked in the preface of the new edition, and further receive a copy _en grand papier_. they were accepted. the conductors of the new edition, in , forgot all the promises--nor thanks, nor copy! our learned avocat, who was a little irritable, as his nephew who wrote his life acknowledges, as soon as the great work appeared, astonished, like dennis, that "they were rattling his own thunder," without saying a word, quits his country town, and ventures, half dead with sickness and indignation, on an expedition to paris, to make his complaint to the chancellor; and the work was deemed of that importance in the eye of government, and so zealous a contributor was considered to have such an honourable claim, that the chancellor ordered, first, that a copy on large paper should be immediately delivered to monsieur lautour, richly bound and free of carriage; and secondly, as a reparation of the unperformed promise, and an acknowledgment of gratitude, the omission of thanks should be inserted and explained in the three great literary journals of france; a curious instance, among others, of the french government often mediating, when difficulties occurred in great literary undertakings, and considering not lightly the claims and the honours of men of letters. another proof, indeed, of the same kind, concerning the present work, occurred after the edition of . one jamet l'aîné, who had with others been usefully employed on this edition, addressed a proposal to government for an improved one, dated from the bastile. he proposed that the government should choose a learned person, accustomed to the labour of the researches such a work requires; and he calculated, that if supplied with three amanuenses, such an editor would accomplish his task in about ten or twelve years, the produce of the edition would soon repay all the expenses and capital advanced. this literary projector did not wish to remain idle in the bastile. fifteen years afterwards the last improved edition appeared, published by the associated booksellers of paris. as for the work itself, it partakes of the character of our encyclopædias; but in this respect it cannot be safely consulted, for widely has science enlarged its domains and corrected its errors since . but it is precious as a vast collection of ancient and modern learning, particularly in that sort of knowledge which we usually term antiquarian and philological. it is not merely a grammatical, scientific, and technical dictionary, but it is replete with divinity, law, moral philosophy, critical and historical learning, and abounds with innumerable miscellaneous curiosities. it would be difficult, whatever may be the subject of inquiry, to open it, without the gratification of some knowledge neither obvious nor trivial. i heard a man of great learning declare, that whenever he could not recollect his knowledge he opened hoffman's _lexicon universale historicum_, where he was sure to find what he had lost. the works are similar; and valuable as are the german's four folios, the eight of the frenchman may safely be recommended as their substitute, or their supplement. as a dictionary of the french language it bears a peculiar feature, which has been presumptuously dropped in the dictionnaire de l'académie; the last invents phrases to explain words, which therefore have no other authority than the writer himself! this of trevoux is furnished, not only with mere authorities, but also with quotations from the classical french writers--an improvement which was probably suggested by the english dictionary of johnson. one nation improves by another. footnotes: [ ] it was always acknowledged as an independent state by the french kings from the time of philip augustus. it had its own parliament, and the privilege also of coining its own money. [ ] the house in which the jesuits resided, having the shield of arms of their order over its portal, still remains at trevoux. quadrio's account of english poetry. it is, perhaps, somewhat mortifying in our literary researches to discover that our own literature has been only known to the other nations of europe comparatively within recent times. we have at length triumphed over our continental rivals in the noble struggles of genius, and our authors now see their works printed even at foreign presses, while we are furnishing with our gratuitous labours nearly the whole literature of a new empire; yet so late as in the reign of anne, our poets were only known by the latin versifiers of the "musæ anglicanæ;" and when boileau was told of the public funeral of dryden, he was pleased with the national honours bestowed on genius, but he declared that he never heard of his name before. this great legislator of parnassus has never alluded to one of our own poets, so insular then was our literary glory! the most remarkable fact, or perhaps assertion, i have met with, of the little knowledge which the continent had of our writers, is a french translation of bishop hall's "characters of virtues and vices." it is a duodecimo, printed at paris, of pages, , with this title _charactères de vertus et de vices; tirés de l'anglois de m. josef hall_. in a dedication to the earl of salisbury, the translator informs his lordship that "_ce livre est la_ première traduction de l'anglois _jamais_ imprimée en aucun vulgaire"--the first translation from the english ever printed in any modern language! whether the translator is a bold liar, or an ignorant blunderer, remains to be ascertained; at all events it is a humiliating demonstration of the small progress which our home literature had made abroad in ! i come now to notice a contemporary writer, professedly writing the history of our poetry, of which his knowledge will open to us as we proceed with our enlightened and amateur historian. father quadrio's _della storia e dell' ragione d' ogni poesia_,--is a gigantic work, which could only have been projected and persevered in by some hypochondriac monk, who, to get rid of the _ennui_ of life, could discover no pleasanter way than to bury himself alive in seven monstrous closely-printed quartos, and every day be compiling something on a subject which he did not understand. fortunately for father quadrio, without taste to feel, and discernment to decide, nothing occurred in this progress of literary history and criticism to abridge his volumes and his amusements; and with diligence and erudition unparalleled, he has here built up a receptacle for his immense, curious, and trifling knowledge on the poetry of every nation. quadrio is among that class of authors whom we receive with more gratitude than pleasure, fly to sometimes to quote, but never linger to read; and fix on our shelves, but seldom have in our hands. i have been much mortified, in looking over this voluminous compiler, to discover, although he wrote so late as about , how little the history of english poetry was known to foreigners. it is assuredly our own fault. we have too long neglected the bibliography and the literary history of our own country. italy, spain, and france have enjoyed eminent bibliographers--we have none to rival them. italy may justly glory in her tiraboschi and her mazzuchelli; spain in the bibliothecas of nicholas antonio; and france, so rich in bibliographical treasures, affords models to every literary nation of every species of literary history. with us, the partial labour of the hermit anthony for the oxford writers, compiled before philosophical criticism existed in the nation; and warton's history of poetry, which was left unfinished at its most critical period, when that delightful antiquary of taste had just touched the threshold of his paradise--these are the sole great labours to which foreigners might resort, but these will not be found of much use to them. the neglect of our own literary history has, therefore, occasioned the errors, sometimes very ridiculous ones, of foreign writers respecting our authors. even the lively chaudon, in his "dictionnaire historique," gives the most extraordinary accounts of most of the english writers. without an english guide to attend such weary travellers, they have too often been deceived by the _mirages_ of our literature. they have given blundering accounts of works which do exist, and chronicled others which never did exist; and have often made up the personal history of our authors, by confounding two or three into one. chaudon, mentioning dryden's tragedies, observes, that atterbury translated two into latin verse, entitled _achitophel_ and _absalom_![ ] of all these foreign authors, none has more egregiously failed than this good father quadrio. in this universal history of poetry, i was curious to observe what sort of figure we made, and whether the fertile genius of our original poets had struck the foreign critic with admiration or with critical censure. but little was our english poetry known to its universal historian. in the chapter on those who have cultivated "la melica poesia in propria lingua tra, tedeschi, fiamminghi e inglesi,"[ ] we find the following list of english poets. "of john gower; whose rhymes and verses are preserved in manuscript in the college of the most holy trinity, in cambridge. "arthur kelton, flourished in , a skilful english poet: he composed various poems in english; also he lauds the cambrians and their genealogy. "the works of william wycherly, in english prose and verse." these were the only english poets whom quadrio at first could muster together! in his subsequent additions he caught the name of sir philip sidney with an adventurous criticism, "le sue poesie assai buone." he then was lucky enough to pick up the title--not the volume, surely--which was one of the rarest; "fiori poetici de a. cowley," which he calls "poesie amorose:" this must mean that early volume of cowley's, published in his thirteenth year, under the title of "poetical blossoms." further he laid hold of "john donne" by the skirt, and "thomas creech," at whom he made a full pause, informing his italians that "his poems are reputed by his nation as 'assai buone.'" he has also "le opere di guglielmo;" but to this christian name, as it would appear, he had not ventured to add the surname. at length, in his progress of inquiry, in his fourth volume (for they were published at different periods), he suddenly discovers a host of english poets--in waller, duke of buckingham, lord roscommon, and others, among whom is dr. swift; but he acknowledges their works have not reached him. shakspeare at length appears on the scene; but quadrio's notions are derived from voltaire, whom, perhaps, he boldly translates. instead of improving our drama, he conducted it _a totale rovina nelle sue farse monstruose, che si chiaman tragedie; alcune scene vi abbia luminose e belle e alcuni tratti si trovono terribili e grandi_. otway is said to have composed a tragic drama on the subject of "venezia salvata;" he adds with surprise, "ma affatto regolare." regularity is the essence of genius with such critics as quadrio. dryden is also mentioned; but the only drama specified is "king arthur." addison is the first englishman who produced a classical tragedy; but though quadrio writes much about the life of addison, he never alludes to the spectator. we come now to a more curious point. whether quadrio had read our _comedies_ may be doubtful; but he distinguishes them by very high commendation. our comedy, he says, represents human life, the manners of citizens and the people, much better than the french and spanish comedies, in which all the business of life is mixed up with love affairs. the spaniards had their gallantry from the moors, and their manners from chivalry; to which they added their tumid african taste, differing from that of other nations. i shall translate what he now adds of english comedy. "the english, more skilfully even than the french, have approximated to the true idea of comic subjects, choosing for the argument of their invention the customary and natural objects of the citizens and the populace. and when religion and decorum were more respected in their theatres, they were more advanced in this species of poetry, and merited not a little praise, above their neighbouring nations. but more than the english and the french (to speak according to pure and bare truth) have the italians signalised themselves." a sly, insinuating criticism! but, as on the whole, for reasons which i cannot account for, father quadrio seems to have relished our english comedy, we must value his candour. he praises our comedy; "per il bello ed il buono;" but, as he is a methodical aristotelian, he will not allow us that liberty in the theatre which we are supposed to possess in parliament--by delivering whatever we conceive to the purpose. his criticism is a specimen of the irrefragable. "we must not abandon legitimate rules _to give mere pleasure thereby_; because pleasure is produced by, and flows from, the _beautiful_; and the beautiful is chiefly drawn from the good order and unity in which it consists!" quadrio succeeded in discovering the name of one of our greatest comic geniuses; for, alluding to our diversity of action in comedy, he mentions in his fifth volume, page ,--"il celebre _benjanson_, nella sua commedia intitolato _bartolommeo foicere_, e in quella altra commedia intitolato _ipsum veetz_." the reader may decipher the poet's name with his _fair_; but it required the critical sagacity of mr. douce to discover that by _ipsum veetz_ we are to understand shadwell's comedy of _epsom wells_. the italian critic had transcribed what he and his italian printer could not spell. we have further discovered the source of his intelligence in st. evremond, who had classed shadwell's comedy with ben jonson's. to such shifts is the writer of an universal history _d' ogni poesia_ miserably reduced! towards the close of the fifth volume we at last find the sacred muse of milton,--but, unluckily, he was a man "di pochissima religione," and spoke of christ like an arian. quadrio quotes ramsay for milton's vomiting forth abuse on the roman church. his figures are said to be often mean, unworthy of the majesty of his subject; but in a later place, excepting his religion, our poet, it is decided on, is worthy "di molti laudi." thus much for the information the curious may obtain on english poetry from its universal history. quadrio unquestionably writes with more ignorance than prejudice against us: he has not only highly distinguished the comic genius of our writers, and raised it above that of our neighbours, but he has also advanced another discovery, which ranks us still higher for original invention, and which, i am confident, will be as new as it is extraordinary to the english reader. quadrio, who, among other erudite accessories to his work, has exhausted the most copious researches on the origin of punch and harlequin, has also written, with equal curiosity and value, the history of puppet-shows. but whom has he lauded? whom has he placed paramount, above all other people, for their genius of invention in improving this art!--the english! and the glory which has hitherto been universally conceded to the italian nation themselves, appears to belong to us! for we, it appears, while others were dandling and pulling their little representatives of human nature into such awkward and unnatural motions, first invented pulleys, or wires, and gave a fine and natural action to the artificial life of these gesticulating machines! we seem to know little of ourselves as connected with the history of puppet-shows; but in an article in the curious dictionary of trevoux, i find that john brioché, to whom had been attributed the invention of _marionnettes_, is only to be considered as an improver; in his time (but the learned writers supply no date) _an englishman_ discovered the secret of moving them by springs, and without strings; but the marionnettes of brioché were preferred for the pleasantries which he made them deliver. the erudite quadrio appears to have more successfully substantiated our claims to the pulleys or wires, or springs of the puppets, than any of our own antiquaries; and perhaps the uncommemorated name of this englishman was that powell, whose solomon and sheba were celebrated in the days of addison and steele; the former of whom has composed a classical and sportive latin poem on this very subject. but quadrio might well rest satisfied that the nation which could boast of its _fantoccini_, surpassed, and must ever surpass the puny efforts of a doll-loving people! footnotes: [ ] even recently, il cavaliere onofrio boni, in his eloge of lanzi, in naming the three augustan periods of modern literature, fixes them, for the italians, under leo the tenth; for the french, under louis the fourteenth, or the great; and for the english, under charles the second! [ ] quadrio, vol. ii. p. . "political religionism." in professor dugald stewart's first dissertation on the progress of philosophy, i find this singular and significant term. it has occasioned me to reflect on those contests for religion, in which a particular faith has been made the ostensible pretext, while the secret motive was usually political. the historians, who view in religious wars only religion itself, have written large volumes, in which we may never discover that they have either been a struggle to obtain predominance, or an expedient to secure it. the hatreds of ambitious men have disguised their own purposes, while christianity has borne the odium of loosening a destroying spirit among mankind; which, had christianity never existed, would have equally prevailed in human affairs. of a moral malady, it is not only necessary to know the nature, but to designate it by a right name, that we may not err in our mode of treatment. if we call that _religious_ which we shall find for the greater part is _political_, we are likely to be mistaken in the regimen and the cure. fox, in his "acts and monuments," writes the martyrology of the _protestants_ in three mighty folios; where, in the third, "the tender mercies" of the catholics are "cut in wood" for those who might not otherwise be enabled to read or spell them. such pictures are abridgments of long narratives, but they leave in the mind a fulness of horror. fox made more than one generation shudder; and his volume, particularly this third, chained to a reading-desk in the halls of the great, and in the aisles of churches, often detained the loiterer, as it furnished some new scene of papistical horrors to paint forth on returning to his fireside. the protestants were then the martyrs, because, under mary, the protestants had been thrown out of power. dodd has opposed to fox three curious folios, which he calls "the church history of england," exhibiting a most abundant martyrology of the _catholics_, inflicted by the hands of the protestants; who in the succeeding reign of elizabeth, after long trepidations and balancings, were confirmed into power. he grieves over the delusion and seduction of the black-letter romance of honest john fox, which he says, "has obtained a place in protestant churches next to the bible, while john fox himself is esteemed little less than an evangelist."[ ] dodd's narratives are not less pathetic: for the situation of the catholic, who had to secrete himself, as well as to suffer, was more adapted for romantic adventures, than even the melancholy but monotonous story of the protestants tortured in the cell, or bound to the stake. these catholics, however, were attempting all sorts of intrigues; and the saints and martyrs of dodd, to the parliament of england, were only traitors and conspirators! heylin, in his history of the _puritans_ and the _presbyterians_, blackens them for political devils. he is the spagnolet of history, delighting himself with horrors at which the painter himself must have started. he tells of their "oppositions" to monarchical and episcopal government; their "innovations" in the church; and their "embroilments" of the kingdoms. the sword rages in their hands; treason, sacrilege, plunder; while "more of the blood of englishmen had poured like water within the space of four years, than had been shed in the civil wars of york and lancaster in four centuries!" neal opposes a more elaborate history; where these "great and good men," the puritans and the presbyterians, "are placed among the _reformers_;" while their fame is blanched into angelic purity. neal and his party opined that the protestant had not sufficiently protested, and that the reformation itself needed to be reformed. they wearied the impatient elizabeth and her ardent churchmen; and disputed with the learned james, and his courtly bishops, about such ceremonial trifles, that the historian may blush or smile who has to record them. and when the _puritan_ was thrown out of preferment, and seceded into separation, he turned into a _presbyter_. nonconformity was their darling sin, and their sullen triumph. calamy, in four painful volumes, chronicles the bloodless martyrology of the two thousand silenced and ejected ministers. their history is not glorious, and their heroes are obscure; but it is a domestic tale. when the second charles was restored, the _presbyterians_, like every other faction, were to be amused, if not courted. some of the king's chaplains were selected from among them, and preached once. their hopes were raised that they should, by some agreement, be enabled to share in that ecclesiastical establishment which they had so often opposed; and the bishops met the presbyters in a convocation at the savoy. a conference was held between the _high church_, resuming the seat of power, and the _low church_, now prostrate; that is, between the _old clergy_ who had recently been mercilessly ejected by the _new_, who in their turn were awaiting their fate. the conference was closed with arguments by the weaker, and votes by the stronger. many curious anecdotes of this conference have come down to us. the presbyterians, in their last struggle, petitioned for _indulgence_; but oppressors who had become petitioners, only showed that they possessed no longer the means of resistance. this conference was followed up by the _act of uniformity_, which took place on bartholomew day, august , : an act which ejected calamy's two thousand ministers from the bosom of the established church. bartholomew day with this party was long paralleled, and perhaps is still, with the dreadful french massacre of that fatal saint's day. the calamity was rather, however, of a private than of a public nature. the two thousand ejected ministers were indeed deprived of their livings; but this was, however, a happier fate than what has often occurred in these contests for the security of political power. this _ejection_ was not like the expulsion of the moriscoes, the best and most useful subjects of spain, which was a human sacrifice of half a million of men, and the proscription of many jews from that land of catholicism; or the massacre of thousands of huguenots, and the expulsion of more than a hundred thousand by louis the fourteenth from france. the presbyterian divines were not driven from their fatherland, and compelled to learn another language than their mother-tongue. destitute as divines, they were suffered to remain as citizens; and the result was remarkable. these divines could not disrobe themselves of their learning and their piety, while several of them were compelled to become tradesmen: among these the learned samuel chandler, whose literary productions are numerous, kept a bookseller's shop in the poultry. hard as this event proved in its result, it was, however, pleaded, that "it was but like for like." and that the history of "the like" might not be curtailed in the telling, opposed to calamy's chronicle of the two thousand ejected ministers stands another, in folio magnitude, of the same sort of chronicle of the clergy of the church of england, with a title by no means less pathetic. this is walker's "attempt towards recovering an account of the clergy of the church of england who were sequestered, harassed, &c., in the late times." walker is himself astonished at the size of his volume, the number of his sufferers, and the variety of the sufferings. "shall the church," says he, "not have the liberty to preserve the history of her sufferings, as well as the _separation_ to set forth an account of theirs? can dr. calamy be acquitted for publishing the history of the _bartholomew sufferers_, if i am condemned for writing that of the _sequestered loyalists_?" he allows that "the number of the ejected amounts to two thousand," and there were no less than "seven or eight thousand of the episcopal clergy imprisoned, banished, and sent a starving," &c. &c. whether the reformed were martyred by the catholics, or the catholics executed by the reformed; whether the puritans expelled those of the established church, or the established church ejected the puritans, all seems reducible to two classes, conformists and non-conformists, or, in the political style, the administration and the opposition. when we discover that the heads of all parties are of the same hot temperament, and observe the same evil conduct in similar situations; when we view honest old latimer with his own hands hanging a mendicant friar on a tree, and, the government changing, the friars binding latimer to the stake; when we see the french catholics cutting out the tongues of the protestants, that they might no longer protest; the haughty luther writing submissive apologies to leo the tenth and henry the eighth for the scurrility with which he had treated them in his writings, and finding that his apologies were received with contempt, then retracting his retractations; when we find that haughtiest of the haughty, john knox, when elizabeth first ascended the throne, crouching and repenting of having written his famous excommunication against all female sovereignty; or pulling down the monasteries, from the axiom that when the rookery was destroyed, the rooks would never return; when we find his recent apologist admiring, while he apologises for, some extraordinary proofs of machiavelian politics, an impenetrable mystery seems to hang over the conduct of men who profess to be guided by the bloodless code of jesus. but try them by a human standard, and treat them as _politicians_, and the motives once discovered, the actions are understood! two edicts of charles the fifth, in , condemned to death the reformed of the low countries, even should they return to the catholic faith, with this exception, however, in favour of the latter, that they shall not be burnt alive, but that the men shall be beheaded, and the women buried alive! _religion_ could not, then, be the real motive of the spanish cabinet, for in returning to the ancient faith that point was obtained; but the truth is, that the spanish government considered the reformed as _rebels_, whom it was not safe to re-admit to the rights of citizenship. the undisguised fact appears in the codicil to the will of the emperor, when he solemnly declares that he had written to the inquisition "to burn and extirpate the heretics," _after trying to make christians of them_, because he is convinced that they never can become sincere catholics; and he acknowledges that he had committed a great fault in permitting luther to return free on the faith of his safe-conduct, as the emperor was not bound to keep a promise with a heretic. "it is because that i destroyed him not, that heresy has now become strong, which i am convinced might have been stifled with him in its birth."[ ] the whole conduct of charles the fifth in this mighty revolution was, from its beginning, censured by contemporaries as purely _political_. francis the first observed that the emperor, under the colour of religion, was placing himself at the head of a league to make his way to a predominant monarchy. "the pretext of religion is no new thing," writes the duke of nevers. "charles the fifth had never undertaken a war against the protestant princes but with the design of rendering the imperial crown hereditary in the house of austria; and he has only attacked the electoral princes to ruin them, and to abolish their right of election. had it been zeal for the catholic religion, would he have delayed from to to arm? that he might have extinguished the lutheran heresy, which he could easily have done in , but he considered that this novelty would serve to divide the german princes, and he patiently waited till the effect was realised."[ ] good men of both parties, mistaking the nature of these religious wars, have drawn horrid inferences! the "dragonnades" of louis xiv. excited the admiration of bruyère; and anquetil, in his "esprit de la ligue," compares the revocation of the edict of nantes to a salutary amputation. the massacre of st. bartholomew in its own day, and even recently, has found advocates; a greek professor at the time asserted that there were _two classes_ of protestants in france--political and religious; and that "the late ebullition of public vengeance was solely directed against the former." dr. m'crie, cursing the catholic with a catholic's curse, execrates "the stale sophistry of this calumniator." but should we allow that the greek professor who advocated their national crime was the wretch the calvinistic doctor describes, yet the nature of things cannot be altered by the equal violence of peter charpentier and dr. m'crie. this subject of "political religionism" is indeed as nice as it is curious; _politics_ have been so cunningly worked into the cause of _religion_, that the parties themselves will never be able to separate them; and to this moment the most opposite opinions are formed concerning the same events and the same persons. when public disturbances broke out at nismes on the first restoration of the bourbons, the protestants, who there are numerous, declared that they were persecuted for religion, and their cry, echoed by their brethren the dissenters, resounded in this country. we have not forgotten the ferment it raised here; much was said, and something was done. our minister, however, persisted in declaring that it was a mere _political_ affair. it is clear that our government was right on the _cause_, and those zealous complainants wrong, who only observed the _effect_; for as soon as the bourbonists had triumphed over the bonapartists, we heard no more of those sanguinary persecutions of the protestants of nismes, of which a dissenter has just published a large history. it is a curious fact, that when two writers at the same time were occupied in a life of cardinal ximenes, flechier converted the cardinal into a saint, and every incident in his administration was made to connect itself with his religious character; marsollier, a writer very inferior to flechier, shows the cardinal merely as a politician. the elegances of flechier were soon neglected by the public, and the deep interests of truth soon acquired, and still retain, for the less elegant writer the attention of the statesman. a modern historian has observed that "the affairs of religion were the grand fomenters and promoters of the _thirty years' war_, which first brought down the powers of the north to mix in the politics of the southern states." the fact is indisputable, but the cause is not so apparent. gustavus adolphus, the vast military genius of his age, had designed, and was successfully attempting, to oppose the overgrown power of the imperial house of austria, which had long aimed at an universal monarchy in europe; a circumstance which philip iv. weakly hinted at to the world when he placed this motto under his arms--"_sine ipso factum est nihil_;" an expression applied to jesus christ by st. john! footnotes: [ ] "fox's martyrs," as the book was popularly called, was often chained to a reading-desk in churches; one is still thus affixed at cirencester; it thus received equal honour with the bible. [ ] llorente's "critical history of the inquisition." [ ] naudé, "considérations politiques," p. . see a curious note in hart's "life of gustavus adolphus," ii. . toleration. an enlightened toleration is a blessing of the last age--it would seem to have been practised by the romans, when they did not mistake the primitive christians for seditious members of society; and was inculcated even by mahomet, in a passage in the koran, but scarcely practised by his followers. in modern history it was condemned when religion was turned into a political contest under the aspiring house of austria--and in spain--and in france. it required a long time before its nature was comprehended--and to this moment it is far from being clear, either to the tolerators or the tolerated. it does not appear that the precepts or the practice of jesus and the apostles inculcate the _compelling_ of any to be christians;[ ] yet an expression employed in the nuptial parable of the great supper, when the hospitable lord commanded the servant, finding that he had still room to accommodate more guests, to go out in the highways and hedges, and "_compel them to come in, that my house may be filled_," was alleged as an authority by those catholics who called themselves "the converters," for using religious force, which, still alluding to the hospitable lord, they called "a charitable and salutary violence." it was this circumstance which produced bayle's "commentaire philosophique sur ces paroles de jesus christ," published under the supposititious name of an _englishman_, as printed at canterbury in , but really at amsterdam. it is curious that locke published his first letter on "toleration" in latin at gouda, in --the second in --and the third in . bayle opened the mind of locke, and some time after quotes locke's latin letter with high commendation.[ ] the caution of both writers in publishing in foreign places, however, indicates the prudence which it was deemed necessary to observe in writing in favour of toleration. these were the first _philosophical_ attempts; but the earliest advocates for toleration may be found among the religious controversialists of a preceding period; it was probably started among the fugitive sects who had found an asylum in holland. it was a blessing which they had gone far to find, and the miserable, reduced to humane feelings, are compassionate to one another. with us the sect called "the independents" had, early in our revolution under charles the first, pleaded for the doctrine of religious liberty, and long maintained it against the presbyterians. both proved persecutors when they possessed power. the first of our respectable divines who advocated this cause were jeremy taylor, in his "discourse on the liberty of prophesying," , and bishop hall, who had pleaded the cause of _moderation_ in a discourse about the same period.[ ] locke had no doubt examined all these writers. the history of opinions is among the most curious of histories; and i suspect that bayle was well acquainted with the pamphlets of our sectarists, who, in their flight to holland, conveyed those curiosities of theology, which had cost them their happiness and their estates: i think he indicates this hidden source of his ideas by the extraordinary ascription of his book to _an englishman_, and fixing the place of its publication at _canterbury_! toleration has been a vast engine in the hands of modern politicians. it was established in the united provinces of holland, and our numerous non-conformists took refuge in that asylum for disturbed consciences; it attracted a valuable community of french refugees; it conducted a colony of hebrew fugitives from portugal; conventicles of brownists, quakers' meetings, french churches, and jewish synagogues, and (had it been required) mahometan mosques, in amsterdam, were the precursors of its mart, and its exchange; the moment they could preserve their consciences sacred to themselves, they lived without mutual persecution, and mixed together as good dutchmen. the excommunicated part of europe seemed to be the most enlightened, and it was then considered as a proof of the admirable progress of the human mind, that locke and clarke and newton corresponded with leibnitz, and others of the learned in france and italy. some were astonished that philosophers who differed in their _religious opinions_ should communicate among themselves with so much toleration.[ ] it is not, however, clear that had any one of these sects at amsterdam obtained predominance, which was sometimes attempted, they would have granted to others the toleration they participated in common. the infancy of a party is accompanied by a political weakness which disables it from weakening others. the catholic in this country pleads for toleration; in his own he refuses to grant it. here, the presbyterian, who had complained of persecution, once fixed in the seat of power, abrogated every kind of independence among others. when the flames consumed servetus at geneva, the controversy began, whether the civil magistrate might punish heretics, which beza, the associate of calvin, maintained; he triumphed in the small predestinating city of geneva; but the book he wrote was fatal to the protestants a few leagues distant, among a majority of catholics. whenever the protestants complained of the persecutions they suffered, the catholics, for authority and sanction, never failed to appeal to the volume of their own beza. m. necker de saussure has recently observed on "what trivial circumstances the change or the preservation of the established religion in different districts of europe has depended!" when the reformation penetrated into switzerland, the government of the principality of neufchatel, wishing to allow liberty of conscience to all their subjects, invited each parish to vote "for or against the adoption of the new worship; and in all the parishes, except two, the majority of suffrages declared in favour of the protestant communion." the inhabitants of the small village of cressier had also assembled; and forming an even number, there happened to be an equality of votes for and against the change of religion. a shepherd being absent, tending the flocks on the hills, they summoned him to appear and decide this important question: when, having no liking to innovation, he gave his voice in favour of the existing form of worship; and this parish remained catholic, and is so at this day, in the heart of the protestant cantons. i proceed to some facts which i have arranged for the history of toleration. in the memoirs of james the second, when that monarch published "the declaration for liberty of conscience," the catholic reasons and liberalises like a modern philosopher: he accuses "the jealousy of our clergy, who had degraded themselves into intriguers; and like mechanics in a trade, who are afraid of nothing so much as interlopers--they had therefore induced indifferent persons to imagine that their earnest contest was not about their faith, but about their temporal possessions. it was incongruous that a church, which does not pretend to be infallible, should constrain persons, under heavy penalties and punishments, to believe as she does: they delighted, he asserted, to hold an iron rod over dissenters and catholics; so sweet was dominion, that the very thought of others participating in their freedom made them deny the very doctrine they preached." the chief argument the catholic urged on this occasion was "the reasonableness of repealing laws which made men liable to the greatest punishments for that it was not in their power to remedy, for that no man could force himself to believe what he really did not believe."[ ] such was the rational language of the most bigoted of zealots!--the fox can bleat like the lamb. at the very moment james the second was uttering this mild expostulation, in his own heart he had anathematised the nation; for i have seen some of the king's private papers, which still exist; they consist of communications, chiefly by the most bigoted priests, with the wildest projects, and most infatuated prophecies and dreams, of restoring the true catholic faith in england! had the jesuit-led monarch retained the english throne, the language he now addressed to the nation would have been no longer used; and in that case it would have served his protestant subjects. he asked for toleration, to become intolerant! he devoted himself, not to the hundredth part of the english nation; and yet he was surprised that he was left one morning without an army! when the catholic monarch issued this declaration for "liberty of conscience," the jekyll of his day observed, that "it was but scaffolding: they intend to build another house, and when that house (popery) is built, they will take down the scaffold."[ ] when presbytery was our lord, they who had endured the tortures of persecution, and raised such sharp outcries for freedom, of all men were the most intolerant: hardly had they tasted of the circean cup of dominion, ere they were transformed into the most hideous or the most grotesque monsters of political power. to their eyes toleration was an hydra, and the dethroned bishops had never so vehemently declaimed against what, in ludicrous rage, one of the high-flying presbyterians called "a cursed intolerable toleration!" they advocated the rights of persecution; and "shallow edwards," as milton calls the author of "the gangræna," published a treatise _against toleration_. they who had so long complained of "the licensers," now sent all the books they condemned to penal fires. prynne now vindicated the very doctrines under which he himself had so severely suffered; assuming the highest possible power of civil government, even to the infliction of death on its opponents. prynne lost all feeling for the ears of others! the idea of toleration was not intelligible for too long a period in the annals of europe: no parties probably could conceive the idea of toleration in the struggle for predominance. treaties are not proffered when conquest is the concealed object. men were immolated! a massacre was a sacrifice! medals were struck to commemorate these holy persecutions![ ] the destroying angel, holding in one hand a cross, and in the other a sword, with these words--_vgonottorum strages_, --"the massacre of the huguenots"--proves that toleration will not agree with that date.[ ] castelnau, a statesman and a humane man, was at a loss how to decide on a point of the utmost importance to france. in they first began to burn the lutherans or calvinists, and to cut out the tongues of all protestants, "that they might no longer protest." according to father paul, fifty thousand persons had perished in the netherlands, by different tortures, for religion. but a change in the religion of the state, castelnau considered, would occasion one in the government: he wondered how it happened, that the more they punished with death, it only increased the number of the victims: martyrs produced proselytes. as a statesman, he looked round the great field of human actions in the history of the past; there he discovered that the romans were more enlightened in their actions than ourselves; that trajan commanded pliny the younger not to molest the christians for their _religion_, but should their conduct endanger the state, to put down _illegal assemblies_; that julian the apostate expressly forbad the _execution_ of the christians, who then imagined that they were securing their salvation by martyrdom; but he ordered all their goods to be _confiscated_--a severe punishment--by which julian prevented more than he could have done by persecutions. "all this," he adds, "we read in ecclesiastical history."[ ] such were the sentiments of castelnau, in . amidst perplexities of state necessity, and of our common humanity, the notion of _toleration_ had not entered into the views of the statesman. it was also at this time that de sainctes, a great controversial writer, declared, that had the fires lighted for the destruction of calvinism not been extinguished, the sect had not spread! about half a century subsequent to this period, thuanus was, perhaps, the first great mind who appears to have insinuated to the french monarch and his nation, that they might live at peace with heretics; by which avowal he called down on himself the haughty indignation of rome, and a declaration that the man who spoke in favour of heretics must necessarily be one of the first class. hear the afflicted historian: "have men no compassion, after forty years passed full of continual miseries? have they no fear after the loss of the netherlands, occasioned by the frantic obstinacy which marked the times? i grieve that such sentiments should have occasioned my book to have been examined with a rigour that amounts to calumny." such was the language of thuanus, in a letter written in ;[ ] which indicates an approximation to _toleration_, but which term was not probably yet found in any dictionary. we may consider, as so many attempts at toleration, the great national synod of dort, whose history is amply written by brandt; and the mitigating protestantism of laud, to approximate to the ceremonies of the roman church; but the synod, after holding about two hundred sessions, closed, dividing men into universalists and semi-universalists, supralapsarians and sublapsarians! the _reformed_ themselves produced the _remonstrants_; and laud's ceremonies ended in placing the altar eastward, and in raising the scaffold for the monarchy and the hierarchy. error is circuitous when it will do what it has not yet learnt. they were pressing for conformity to do that which, a century afterwards, they found could only be done by _toleration_. the _secret history of toleration_ among certain parties has been disclosed to us by a curious document, from that religious machiavel, the fierce ascetic republican john knox, a calvinistical pope. "while the posterity of abraham," says that mighty and artful reformer, "were _few in number_, and while they sojourned in _different countries_, they were merely required to avoid all participation in the idolatrous rites of the heathen; but _as soon as they prospered into a kingdom_, and had obtained _possession of canaan_, they were strictly charged to suppress idolatry, and to destroy all the monuments and incentives. the same duty was _now_ incumbent on the professors of the true religion in scotland. formerly, when not more than _ten persons in a county_ were enlightened, it would have been _foolishness_ to have demanded of the nobility the suppression of idolatry. but _now_, when knowledge had been increased," &c.[ ] such are the men who cry out for toleration during their state of political weakness, but who cancel the bond by which they hold their tenure whenever they "obtain possession of canaan." the only commentary on this piece of the secret history of _toleration_ is the acute remark of swift:--"we are fully convinced that we shall always tolerate them, but not that they will tolerate us." the truth is that toleration was allowed by none of the parties! and i will now show the dilemmas into which each party thrust itself. when the kings of england would forcibly have established episcopacy in scotland, the presbyters passed an act _against the toleration of dissenters from presbyterian doctrines and discipline_; and thus, as guthrie observes, they were committing the same violence on the consciences of their brethren which they opposed in the king. the presbyterians contrived their famous _covenant_ to dispossess the royalists of their livings; and the independents, who assumed the principle of toleration in their very name, shortly after enforced what they called the _engagement_, to eject the presbyterians! in england, where the dissenters were ejected, their great advocate calamy complains that the dissenters were only making use of the same arguments which the most eminent reformers had done in their noble defence of the reformation against the papists; while the arguments of the established church against the dissenters were the same which were urged by the papists against the protestant reformation![ ] when the presbyterians were our masters, and preached up the doctrine of passive obedience in spiritual matters to the civil power, it was unquestionably passing a self-condemnation on their own recent opposition and detraction of the former episcopacy. whenever men act from a secret motive entirely contrary to their ostensible one, such monstrous results will happen; and as extremes will join, however opposite they appear in their beginnings, john knox and father petre, in office, would have equally served james the second as confessor and prime minister! a fact relating to the famous justus lipsius proves the difficulty of forming a clear notion of toleration. this learned man, after having been ruined by the religious wars of the netherlands, found an honourable retreat in a professor's chair at leyden, and without difficulty abjured papacy. he published some political works: and adopted as his great principle, that only _one religion_ should be allowed to a people, and that no clemency should be granted to non-conformists, who, he declares, should be pursued by sword and fire: in this manner a single member would be cut off to preserve the body sound. _ure, seca_--are his words. strange notions these in a protestant republic; and, in fact, in holland it was approving of all the horrors of their oppressors, the duke d'alva and philip the second, from which they had hardly recovered.[ ] it was a principle by which we must inevitably infer, says bayle, that in holland no other mode of religious belief but one sect should be permitted; and that those pagans who had hanged the missionaries of the gospel had done what they ought. lipsius found himself sadly embarrassed when refuted by theodore cornhert,[ ] the firm advocate of political and religious freedom, and at length lipsius, that protestant with a catholic heart, was forced to eat his words, like pistol his onion, declaring that the two objectionable words, _ure_, _seca_, were borrowed from medicine, meaning not literally _fire_ and _sword_, but a strong efficacious remedy, one of those powerful medicines to expel poison. jean de serres, a warm huguenot, carried the principle of toleration so far in his "inventaire générale de l'histoire de france," as to blame charles martel for compelling the frisans, whom he had conquered, to adopt christianity! "a pardonable zeal," he observes, "in a warrior; but in fact the minds of men cannot be gained over by arms, nor that religion forced upon them, which must be introduced into the hearts of men by reason." it is curious to see a protestant, in his zeal for toleration, blaming a king for forcing idolaters to become christians; and to have found an opportunity to express his opinions in the dark history of the eighth century, is an instance how historians incorporate their passions in their works, and view ancient facts with modern eyes. the protestant cannot grant toleration to the catholic, unless the catholic ceases to be a papist; and the arminian church, which opened its wide bosom to receive every denomination of christians, nevertheless were forced to exclude the papists, for their passive obedience to the supremacy of the roman pontiff. the catholic has curiously told us, on this word _toleration_, that _ce mot devient fort en usage à mesure que le nombre des tolérans augmente_.[ ] it was a word which seemed of recent introduction, though the book is modern! the protestants have disputed much how far they might tolerate, or whether they should tolerate at all; "a difficulty," triumphantly exclaims the catholic, "which they are not likely ever to settle, while they maintain their principles of pretended reformation; the consequences which naturally follow excite horror to the christian. it is the weak who raise such outcries for toleration; the strong find authority legitimate." a religion which admits not of _toleration_ cannot be safely tolerated, if there is any chance of its obtaining a political ascendancy. when priscillian and six of his followers were condemned to torture and execution for asserting that the three persons of the trinity were to be considered as three different _acceptions_ of the same being, saint ambrose and saint martin asserted the cause of offended humanity, and refused to communicate with the bishops who had called out for the blood of the priscillianists; but cardinal baronius, the annalist of the church, was greatly embarrassed to explain how men of real purity could abstain from _applauding_ the ardent zeal of the _persecution_: he preferred to give up the saints rather than to allow of toleration--for he acknowledges that the toleration which these saints would have allowed was not exempt from sin.[ ] in the preceding article, "political religionism," we have shown how to provide against the possible evil of the _tolerated_ becoming the _tolerators_! toleration has been suspected of indifference to religion itself; but with sound minds, it is only an indifference to the logomachies of theology--things "not of god, but of man," that have perished, and that are perishing around us! footnotes: [ ] bishop barlow's "several miscellaneous and weighty cases of conscience resolved," . his "case of a toleration in matters of religion," addressed to robert boyle, p. . this volume was not intended to have been given to the world, a circumstance which does not make it the less curious. [ ] in the article _sancterius_. note f. [ ] recent writers among our sectarists assert that dr. owen was the _first_ who wrote in favour of toleration, in ! another claims the honour for john goodwin, the chaplain of oliver cromwell, who published one of his obscure polemical tracts in , among a number of other persons who, at that crisis, did not venture to prefix their names to pleas in favour of toleration, so delicate and so obscure did this subject then appear! in , they translated the liberal treatise of grotius, _de imperio summarum potestatum circa sacra_, under the title of "the authority of the highest powers about sacred things." london, vo, . to the honour of grotius, the first of philosophical reformers, be it recorded, that he displeased both parties! [ ] j. p. rabaut, "sur la revolution française," p. . [ ] "life of james the second, from his own papers," ii . [ ] this was a baron wallop. from dr. h. sampson's manuscript diary. [ ] it is curious to observe that the catholics were afterwards ashamed of these indiscretions; they were unwilling to own that there were any medals which commemorate massacres. thuanus, in his rd book, has minutely described them. the medals, however, have become excessively scarce; but copies inferior to the originals have been sold. they had also pictures on similar subjects, accompanied by insulting inscriptions, which latter they have effaced, sometimes very imperfectly. see hollis's "memoirs," p. - . this enthusiast advertised in the papers to request travellers to procure them. [ ] the _sala regia_ of the vatican has still upon its walls a painting by vasari of this massacre, among the other important events in the history of the popes similarly commemorated. [ ] "mémoires de michel de castelnau," liv. i. c. . [ ] "life of thuanus, by the rev. j. collinson," p. . [ ] dr. m'crie's "life of john knox," ii. . [ ] i quote from an unpublished letter, written so late as in , addressed to the author of "the free and candid disquisition," by the rev. thomas allen, rector of kettering, northamptonshire. however extravagant his doctrine appears to us, i suspect that it exhibits the concealed sentiments of even some protestant churchmen! this rector of kettering attributes the growth of schism to the _negligence_ of the clergy, and seems to have persecuted both the archbishops, "to his detriment," as he tells us, with singular plans of reform borrowed from monastic institutions. he wished to revive the practice inculcated by a canon of the counsel of laodicea of having prayers _ad horam nonam et ad vesperam_--prayers twice a day in the churches. but his grand project take in his own words:-- "i let the archbishop know that i had composed an _irenicon_, wherein i prove the necessity of an ecclesiastical _power over consciences_ in matters of religion, which utterly silences their arguments who _plead so hard for toleration_. i took my scheme from 'a discourse of ecclesiastical polity,' wherein the authority of the civil magistrate over the consciences of subjects in matters of external religion is asserted; _the mischiefs and inconveniences of toleration_ are represented, and all pretences pleaded in behalf of _liberty of conscience_ are fully answered. if this book were reprinted and considered, the king would know his power and the people their duty." the rector of kettering seems not to have known that the author of this "discourse on ecclesiastical polity" was the notorious parker, immortalised by the satire of marvell. this political apostate, from a republican and presbyterian, became a furious advocate for _arbitrary government_ in church and state! he easily won the favour of james the second, who made him bishop of oxford! his principles were so violent that father petre, the confessor of james, made sure of him! this letter of the rector of kettering, in adopting the system of such a _catholic_ bishop, confirms my suspicion that _toleration_ is condemned as an evil among some protestants! [ ] the cruelties practised by the protestant against the catholic party are pictured and described in arnoudt van geluwe's book, "over de ontledinghe van dry verscheyden niew-ghereformeerde martelaers boecken," published at antwerp in . [ ] cornhert was one of the fathers of dutch literature, and even of their arts. he was the composer of the great national air of william of orange; he was too a famous engraver, the master of goltzius. on his death-bed he was still writing against the _persecution of heretics_. [ ] "dictionnaire de trevoux," _ad vocem_ tolerance. printed in . [ ] sismondi, "hist. des français," i. . the character of the _first person_ who introduced _civil_ persecution into the christian church has been described by sulpicius severus. see dr. maclaine's note in his translation of mosheim's "ecclesiastical history," vol. i. . apology for the parisian massacre. an original document now lying before me, the autograph letter of charles the ninth, will prove, that the unparalleled massacre, called by the world _religious_, was, in the french cabinet, considered merely as _political_; one of those revolting state expedients which a pretended instant necessity has too often inflicted on that part of a nation which, like the undercurrent, subterraneously works its way, and runs counter to the great stream, till the critical moment arrives when one or the other must cease. the massacre began on st. bartholomew day, in august, , lasted in france during seven days: that awful event interrupted the correspondence of our court with that of france. a long silence ensued; the one did not dare to tell the tale which the other could not listen to. but sovereigns know how to convert a mere domestic event into a political expedient. charles the ninth, on the birth of a daughter, sent over an ambassador extraordinary to request elizabeth to stand as sponsor: by this the french monarch obtained a double purpose; it served to renew his interrupted intercourse with the silent queen, and alarmed the french protestants by abating their hopes, which long rested on the aid of the english queen. the following letter, dated th february, , is addressed by the king to la motte fénélon, his resident ambassador at london. the king in this letter minutely details a confidential intercourse with his mother, catharine of medicis, who, perhaps, may have dictated this letter to the secretary, although signed by the king with his own hand.[ ] such minute particulars could only have been known to herself. the earl of _wolchester_ (worcester) was now taking his departure, having come to paris on the baptism of the princess; and accompanied by walsingham, our resident ambassador, after taking leave of charles, had the following interview with catharine de medicis. an interview with the young monarch was usually concluded by a separate audience with his mother, who probably was still the directress of his councils. the french court now renewed their favourite project of marrying the duke d'alençon with elizabeth. they had long wished to settle this turbulent spirit, and the negotiation with elizabeth had been broken off in consequence of the massacre at paris. they were somewhat uneasy lest he should share the fate of his brother, the duke of anjou, who had not long before been expedited on the same fruitless errand; and elizabeth had already objected to the disparity of their ages, the duke of alençon, being only seventeen, and the maiden queen six-and-thirty; but catharine observed that alençon was only one year younger than his brother, against whom this objection had not occurred to elizabeth, for he had been sent back upon another pretext--some difficulty which the queen had contrived about his performing mass in his own house. after catharine de medicis had assured the earl of worcester of her great affection for the queen of england, and her and the king's strict intention to preserve it, and that they were therefore desirous of this proposed marriage taking place, she took this opportunity of inquiring of the earl of worcester the cause of the queen his mistress's marked _coolness toward them_. the narrative becomes now dramatic. "on this walsingham, who kept always close by the side of the count, here took on himself to answer, acknowledging that the said count had indeed been charged to speak on this head; and he then addressed some words in english to worcester. and afterwards the count gave to my lady and mother to understand, that the queen his mistress had been waiting for an answer on two articles; the one concerning religion, and the other for an interview. my lady and mother instantly replied, that she had never heard any articles mentioned, on which she would not have immediately satisfied the sieur walsingham, who then took up the word; first observing that the count was not accustomed to business of this nature, but that he himself knew for certain that the cause of this negotiation for marriage not being more advanced, was really these two unsettled points: that his mistress still wished that the point of religion should be cleared up; for that they concluded in england that this business was designed only to amuse and never to be completed (as happened in that of my brother the duke of anjou); and the other point concerned the interview between my brother the duke of alençon; because some letters which may have been written between the parties[ ] in such sort of matters, could not have the same force which the sight and presence of both the persons would undoubtedly have. but, he added, _another thing, which had also greatly retarded this business, was what had happened lately in this kingdom_; and during such troubles, proceeding from religion, it could not have been well timed to have spoken with them concerning the said marriage; and that himself and those of his nation had been in great fear in this kingdom, thinking that we intended to extirpate all those of the said religion. on this, my lady and mother answered him instantly and in order: that she was certain that the queen his mistress could never like nor value a prince who had not his religion at heart; and whoever would desire to have this otherwise, would be depriving him of what we hold dearest in this world; that he might recollect that my brother had always insisted on the freedom of religion, and that it was from the difficulty of its public exercise, which he always insisted on, which had broken off this negotiation: the duke d'alençon will be satisfied when this point is agreed on, and will hasten over to the queen, persuaded that she will not occasion him the pain and the shame of passing over the seas without happily terminating this affair. in regard to _what has occurred these latter days_, that he must have seen how it happened by the fault of the chiefs of those who remained here; for when the late admiral was treacherously wounded at nôtre dame, he knew the affliction it threw us into (fearful that it might have occasioned great troubles in this kingdom), and the diligence we used to verify judicially whence it proceeded; and the verification was nearly finished, when they were so forgetful, as to raise a conspiracy, to attempt the lives of myself, my lady and mother, and my brothers, and endanger the whole state; which was the cause, that to avoid this, i was compelled, to my very great regret, to permit what had happened in this city; but as he had witnessed, i gave orders to stop, as soon as possible, this fury of the people, and place every one in repose. on this, the sieur walsingham replied to my lady and mother, that the exercise of the said religion had been interdicted in this kingdom. to which she also answered, that this had not been done but for a good and holy purpose; namely, that the fury of the catholic people might the sooner be allayed, who else had been reminded of the past calamities, and would again have been let loose against those of the said religion, had they continued to preach in this kingdom. also should these once more fix on any chiefs, which i will prevent as much as possible, giving him clearly and pointedly to understand, that what is done here is much the same as what has been done, and is now practised by the queen his mistress in her kingdom. for she permits the exercise but of one religion, although there are many of her people who are of another; and having also, during her reign, punished those of her subjects whom she found seditious and rebellious. it is true this has been done by the laws, but i indeed could not act in the same manner; for finding myself in such imminent peril, and the conspiracy raised against me and mine, and my kingdom, ready to be executed, i had no time to arraign and try in open justice as much as i wished, but was constrained, to my very great regret, to strike the blow (lascher le main) in what has been done in this city." this letter of charles the ninth, however, does not here conclude. "my lady and mother" plainly acquaints the earl of worcester and sir francis walsingham, that her son had never interfered between their mistress and her subjects, and in return expects the same favour; although, by accounts they had received from england, many ships were arming to assist their rebels at rochelle. "my lady and mother" advances another step, and declares that elizabeth by treaty is bound to assist her son against his rebellious subjects; and they expect, at least, that elizabeth will not only stop these armaments in all her ports, but exemplarily punish the offenders. i resume the letter. "and on hearing this, the said walsingham changed colour, and appeared somewhat astonished, as my lady and mother well perceived by his face; and on this he requested the count of worcester to mention the order which he knew the queen his mistress had issued to prevent these people from assisting those of la rochelle; but that in england, so numerous were the seamen and others who gained their livelihood by maritime affairs, and who would starve without the entire freedom of the seas, that it was impossible to interdict them." charles the ninth encloses the copy of a letter he had received from london, in part agreeing with an account the ambassador had sent to the king, of an english expedition nearly ready to sail for la rochelle, to assist his rebellious subjects. he is still further alarmed, that elizabeth foments the _wartegeux_, and assists underhand the discontented. he urges the ambassador to hasten to the queen, to impart these complaints in the most friendly way, as he knows the ambassador can well do, and as, no doubt, walsingham will have already prepared her to receive. charles entreats elizabeth to prove her good faith by deeds and not by words; to act openly on a point which admits of no dissimulation. the best proof of her friendship will be the marriage; and the ambassador, after opening this business to her chief ministers, who the king thinks are desirous of this projected marriage, is then "to acquaint the queen with what has passed between her ambassadors and myself." such is the first letter on english affairs which charles the ninth despatched to his ambassador, after an awful silence of six months, during which time la motte fénélon was not admitted into the presence of elizabeth. the apology for the massacre of st. bartholomew comes from the king himself, and contains several remarkable expressions, which are at least divested of that style of bigotry and exultation we might have expected: on the contrary, this sanguinary and inconsiderate young monarch, as he is represented, writes in a subdued and sorrowing tone, lamenting his hard necessity, regretting he could not have recourse to the laws, and appealing to others for his efforts to check the fury of the people, which he himself had let loose. catharine de medicis, who had governed him from the tender age of eleven years, when he ascended the throne, might unquestionably have persuaded him that a conspiracy was on the point of explosion. charles the ninth died young, and his character is unfavourably viewed by the historians. in the voluminous correspondence which i have examined, could we judge by state letters of the character of him who subscribes them, we must form a very different notion; they are so prolix, and so earnest, that one might conceive they were dictated by the young monarch himself! footnotes: [ ] all the numerous letters which i have seen of charles the ninth, now in the possession of mr. murray, are carefully signed by himself, and i have also observed _postscripts_ written with his own hand: they are always countersigned by his secretary. i mention this circumstance, because, in the _dictionnaire historique_, it is said that charles, who died young, was so given up to the amusements of his age, that he would not even sign his despatches, and introduced the custom of secretaries subscribing for the king. this voluminous correspondence shows the falsity of this statement. history is too often composed of popular tales of this stamp. [ ] these _love-letters_ of alençon to our elizabeth are noticed by camden, who observes, that the queen became wearied by receiving so many; and to put an end to this trouble, she consented that the young duke should come over, conditionally, that he should not be offended if her suitor should return home suitless. prediction. in a curious treatise on "divination," or the knowledge of future events, cicero has preserved a complete account of the state-contrivances which were practised by the roman government to instil among the people those hopes and fears by which they regulated public opinion. the pagan creed, now become obsolete and ridiculous, has occasioned this treatise to be rarely consulted; it remains, however, as a chapter in the history of man! to these two books of cicero on "divination," perhaps a third might be added, on political and moral prediction. the principles which may even raise it into a science are self-evident; they are drawn from the heart of man, and they depend on the nature and connexion of human events! we presume we shall demonstrate the positive existence of such a faculty; a faculty which lord bacon describes of "making things future and remote as present." the aruspex, the augur, and the astrologer have vanished with their own superstitions; but the moral and the political predictor, proceeding on principles authorised by nature and experience, has become more skilful in his observations on the phenomena of human history; and it has often happened that a tolerable philosopher has not made an indifferent prophet. no great political or moral revolution has occurred which has not been accompanied by its _prognostic_; and men of a philosophic cast of mind in their retirement, freed from the delusions of parties and of sects, at once intelligent in the _quicquid agunt homines_, while they are withdrawn from their conflicting interests, have rarely been confounded by the astonishment which overwhelms those who, absorbed in active life, are the mere creatures of sensation, agitated by the shadows of truth, the unsubstantial appearances of things! intellectual nations are advancing in an eternal circle of events and passions which succeed each other, and the last is necessarily connected with its antecedent; the solitary force of some fortuitous incident only can interrupt this concatenated progress of human affairs. that every great event has been accompanied by a presage or prognostic, has been observed by lord bacon. "the shepherds of the people should understand the _prognostics of state tempests_; hollow blasts of wind seemingly at a distance, and secret swellings of the sea, often precede a storm." such were the prognostics discerned by the politic bishop williams in charles the first's time, who clearly foresaw and predicted the final success of the puritanic party in our country: attentive to his own security, he abandoned the government and sided with the rising opposition, at the moment when such a change in public affairs was by no means apparent.[ ] in this spirit of foresight our contemplative antiquary dugdale must have anticipated the scene which was approaching in , in the destruction of our ancient monuments in cathedral churches. he hurried on his itinerant labours of taking draughts and transcribing inscriptions, as he says, "to preserve them for future and better times." posterity owes to the prescient spirit of dugdale the ancient monuments of england, which bear the marks of the haste, as well as the zeal, which have perpetuated them. continental writers formerly employed a fortunate expression, when they wished to have an _historia reformationis ante reformationem_: this history of the reformation would have commenced at least a century before the reformation itself! a letter from cardinal julian to pope eugenius the fourth, written a century before luther appeared, clearly predicts the reformation and its consequences. he observed that the minds of men were ripe for something tragical; he felt the axe striking at the root, and the tree beginning to bend, and that his party, instead of propping it, were hastening its fall.[ ] in england, sir thomas more was not less prescient in his views; for when his son roper was observing to him that the catholic religion, under "the defender of the faith," was in a most flourishing state, the answer of more was an evidence of political foresight--"truth, it is, son roper! and yet i pray god that we may not live to see the day that we would gladly be at league and composition with heretics, to let them have their churches quietly to themselves, so that they would be contented to let us have ours quietly to ourselves." whether our great chancellor predicted from a more intimate knowledge of the king's character, or from some private circumstances which may not have been recorded for our information, of which i have an obscure suspicion, remains to be ascertained. the minds of men of great political sagacity were unquestionably at that moment full of obscure indications of the approaching change; erasmus, when at canterbury before the tomb of becket, observing it loaded with a vast profusion of jewels, wished that those had been distributed among the poor, and that the shrine had been only adorned with boughs and flowers; "for," said he, "those who have heaped up all this mass of treasure will one day be plundered, and fall a prey to those who are in power;"--a prediction literally fulfilled about twenty years after it was made. the unknown author of the visions of piers ploughman, who wrote in the reign of edward the third,[ ] surprised the world by a famous prediction of _the fall of the religious houses from the hand of a king_.[ ] the event was realised, two hundred years afterwards, by our henry the eighth. the protestant writers have not scrupled to declare that in this instance he was _divino numine afflatus_. but moral and political prediction is not inspiration; the one may be wrought out by man, the other descends from god. the same principle which led erasmus to predict that those who were "in power" would destroy the rich shrines, because no other class of men in society could mate with so mighty a body as the monks, conducted the author of piers ploughman to the same conclusion; and since power only could accomplish that great purpose, he fixed on the highest as the most likely; and thus the wise prediction was, so long after, literally accomplished! sir walter rawleigh foresaw the future consequences of the separatists and the sectaries in the national church, and the very scene his imagination raised in has been exhibited, to the letter of his description, two centuries after the prediction! his memorable words are--"time will even bring it to pass, if it were not resisted, that god would be _turned out of churches_ into _barns_, and from thence again into the _fields_ and _mountains_, and under _hedges_--all order of discipline and church government left to _newness of opinion_ and men's fancies, and _as many kinds of religion_ spring up as there are parish churches within england." we are struck by the profound genius of tacitus, who clearly foresaw the calamities which so long ravaged europe on the fall of the roman empire, in a work written five hundred years before the event! in that sublime anticipation of the future, he observed--"when the romans shall be hunted out from those countries which they have conquered, what will then happen? the revolted people, freed from their master oppressor, will not be able to subsist without destroying their neighbours, and the most cruel wars will exist among all these nations." we are told that solon at athens, contemplating on the port and citadel of munychia, suddenly exclaimed, "how blind is man to futurity! could the athenians foresee what mischief this will do their city, they would even eat it with their own teeth to get rid of it!"--a prediction verified more than two hundred years afterwards! thales desired to be buried in an obscure quarter of milesia, observing that that very spot would in time be the forum. charlemagne, in his old age, observing from the window of a castle a norman descent on his coast, tears started in the eyes of the aged monarch. he predicted that since they dared to threaten his dominions while he was yet living, what would they do when he should be no more!--a melancholy prediction, says de foix, of their subsequent incursions, and of the protracted calamities of the french nation during a whole century! there seems to be something in minds which take in extensive views of human nature which serves them as a kind of divination, and the consciousness of this faculty has even been asserted by some. cicero appeals to atticus how he had always judged of the affairs of the republic as a good diviner; and that its overthrow had happened as he had foreseen fourteen years before.[ ] cicero had not only predicted what happened in his own times, but also what occurred long after, according to the testimony of cornelius nepos. the philosopher, indeed, affects no secret revelation, nor visionary second-sight; he honestly tells us that this art had been acquired merely by study and the administration of public affairs, while he reminds his friend of several remarkable instances of his successful predictions. "i do not divine human events by the arts practised by the augurs, but i use other signs." cicero then expresses himself with the guarded obscurity of a philosopher who could not openly ridicule the prevailing superstitions; but we perfectly comprehend the nature of his "signs" when, in the great pending event of the rival conflicts of pompey and of cæsar, he shows the means he used for his purpose. "on one side i consider the humour and genius of cæsar, and on the other the condition and the manner of civil wars."[ ] in a word, the political diviner foretold events by their dependence on general causes, while the moral diviner, by his experience of the personal character, anticipated the actions of the individual. others, too, have asserted the possession of this faculty. du vair, a famous chancellor of france, imagined the faculty was intuitive with him: by his own experience he had observed the results of this curious and obscure faculty, and at a time when the history of the human mind was so imperfectly comprehended, it is easy to account for the apparent egotism of this grave and dignified character. "born," says he, "with constitutional infirmity, a mind and body but ill adapted to be laborious, with a most treacherous memory, enjoying no gift of nature, yet able at all times to exercise a sagacity so great that i do not know, since i have reached manhood, that anything of importance has happened to the state, to the public, or to myself in particular, which i had not foreseen."[ ] this faculty seems to be described by a remarkable expression employed by thucydides in his character of themistocles, of which the following is given as a close translation: "by a species of sagacity peculiarly his own, for which he was in no degree indebted either to early education or after study, he was supereminently happy in forming a prompt judgment in matters that admitted but little time for deliberation; at the same time that he far surpassed all in his _deductions of the future from the_ past, or was the best _guesser of the future_ from the past."[ ] should this faculty of moral and political prediction be ever considered as a science, we can even furnish it with a denomination; for the writer of the life of sir thomas browne prefixed to his works, in claiming the honour of it for that philosopher, calls it "the stochastic," a term derived from the greek and from archery, meaning "to shoot at a mark." this eminent genius, it seems, often "hit the white." our biographer declares, that "though he were no prophet, yet in that faculty which comes nearest to it, he excelled, _i.e._, _the stochastic_, wherein he was seldom mistaken as to _future events_, as well public as private." we are not, indeed, inculcating the fanciful elements of an occult art. we know whence its principles may be drawn; and we may observe how it was practised by the wisest among the ancients. aristotle, who collected all the curious knowledge of his times, has preserved some remarkable opinions on the art of _divination_. in detailing the various subterfuges practised by the pretended diviners of his day, he reveals the _secret principle_ by which one of them regulated his predictions. he frankly declared that the future being always very obscure, while the past was easy to know, _his predictions had never the future in view_; for he decided from the past as it appeared in human affairs, which, however, lie concealed from the multitude.[ ] such is the true principle by which a philosophical historian may become a skilful diviner. human affairs make themselves; they grow out of one another, with slight variations; and thus it is that they usually happen as they have happened. the necessary dependence of effects on causes, and the similarity of human interests and human passions, are confirmed by comparative parallels with the past. the philosophic sage of holy writ truly deduced the important principle, that "the thing that hath been is that which shall be." the vital facts of history, deadened by the touch of chronological antiquarianism, are restored to animation when we comprehend the principles which necessarily terminate in certain results, and discover the characters among mankind who are the usual actors in these scenes. the heart of man beats on the same eternal springs; and whether he advances or retrogrades, he cannot escape out of the march of human thought. hence, in the most extraordinary revolutions we discover that the time and the place only have changed; for even when events are not strictly parallel, we detect the same conducting principles. scipio ammirato, one of the great italian historians, in his curious discourses on tacitus, intermingles ancient examples with the modern; that, he says, all may see how the truth of things is not altered by the changes and diversities of time. machiavel drew his illustrations of modern history from the ancient. when the french revolution recalled our attention to a similar eventful period in our own history, the neglected volumes which preserved the public and private history of our charles the first and cromwell were collected with eager curiosity. often the scene existing before us, even the very personages themselves, opened on us in these forgotten pages. but as the annals of human nature did not commence with those of charles the first, we took a still more retrograde step, and it was discovered in this wider range, that in the various governments of greece and rome, the events of those times had been only reproduced. among them the same principles had terminated in the same results, and the same personages had figured in the same drama. this strikingly appeared in a little curious volume, entitled, "essai sur l'histoire de la révolution françoise, par une société d'auteurs latins," published at paris in . this "society of latin authors," who have written so inimitably the history of the _french_ revolution, consist of the _roman historians_ themselves! by extracts ingeniously applied, the events of that melancholy period are so appositely described, indeed so minutely narrated, that they will not fail to surprise those who are not accustomed to detect the perpetual parallels which we meet with in philosophical history. many of these crises in history are close resemblances of each other. compare the history of "the league" in france with that of our own civil wars. we are struck by the similar occurrences performed by the same political characters who played their part on both those great theatres of human action. a satirical royalist of those times has commemorated the motives, the incidents, and the personages in the "satire ménippée de la vertu du catholicon d'espagne;" and this famous "satire ménippée" is a perfect hudibras in prose! the writer discovers all the bitter ridicule of butler in his ludicrous and severe exhibition of the "etats de paris," while the artist who designed the satirical prints becomes no contemptible hogàrth. so much are these public events alike in their general spirit and termination, that they have afforded the subject of a printed but unpublished volume, entitled "essai sur les revolutions."[ ] the whole work was modelled on this principle. "it would be possible," says the eloquent writer, "to frame a table or chart in which all the given imaginable events of the history of a people would be reduced to a mathematical exactness." the conception is fanciful, but its foundation lies deep in truth. a remarkable illustration of the secret principle divulged by aristotle, and described by thucydides, appears in the recent confession of a man of genius among ourselves. when mr. coleridge was a political writer in the _morning post_ and _courier_, at a period of darkness and utter confusion, that writer was then conducted by a tract of light, not revealed to ordinary journalists, on the napoleonic empire. "of that despotism in masquerade" he decided by "the state of rome under the first cæsars;" and of the spanish american revolution, by taking the war of the united provinces with philip the second as the groundwork of the comparison. "on every great occurrence," he says, "i endeavoured to discover, in past history the event that most nearly resembled it. i procured the contemporary historians, memorialists, and pamphleteers. then fairly subtracting the points of _difference_ from those of _likeness_, as the balance favoured the former or the latter, i conjectured that the result would be the same or different. in the essays 'on the probable final restoration of the bourbons,' i feel myself authorised to affirm, by the effect produced on many intelligent men, that were the dates wanting, it might have been suspected that the essays had been written within the last twelve months."[ ] in moral predictions on individuals, many have discovered the future character. the revolutionary character of cardinal de retz, even in his youth, was detected by the sagacity of mazarin. he then wrote the history of the conspiracy of fiesco, with such vehement admiration of his hero, that the italian politician, after its perusal, predicted that the young author would be one of the most turbulent spirits of the age! the father of marshal biron, even amid the glory of his son, discovered the cloud which, invisible to others, was to obscure it. the father, indeed, well knew the fiery passions of his son. "biron," said the domestic seer, "i advise thee, when peace takes place, to go and plant cabbages in thy garden, otherwise i warn thee, thou wilt lose thy head on the scaffold!" lorenzo de' medici had studied the temper of his son piero; for guicciardini informs us that he had often complained to his most intimate friends that "he foresaw the imprudence and arrogance of his son would occasion the ruin of his family." there is a remarkable prediction of james the first of the evils likely to ensue from laud's violence, in a conversation given by hacket, which the king held with archbishop williams. when the king was hard pressed to promote laud, he gave his reasons why he intended to "keep laud back from all place of rule and authority, because i find he hath a restless spirit, and cannot see when matters are well, but loves to toss and change, and to bring things to a pitch of reformation floating in his own brain, which endangers the steadfastness of that which is in a good pass. i speak not at random; he hath made himself known to me to be such an one." james then gives the circumstances to which he alludes; and at length, when, still pursued by the archbishop, then the organ of buckingham, as usual, this king's good nature too easily yielded; he did not, however, without closing with this prediction: "then take him to you!--but, on my soul, you will repent it!" the future character of cromwell was apparent to two of our great politicians. "this coarse unpromising man," said lord falkland, pointing to cromwell, "will be the first person in the kingdom, if the nation comes to blows!" and archbishop williams told charles the first confidentially, "there was _that_ in cromwell which foreboded something dangerous, and wished his majesty would either win him over to him, or get him taken off." the marquis of wellesley's incomparable character of bonaparte predicted his fall when highest in his glory; that great statesman then poured forth the sublime language of philosophical prophecy. "his eagerness of power is so inordinate; his jealousy of independence so fierce; his keenness of appetite so feverish in all that touches his ambition, even in the most trifling things, that he must plunge into dreadful difficulties. he is one of an order of minds that by nature make for themselves great reverses." lord mansfield was once asked, after the commencement of the french revolution, when it would end? his lordship replied, "it is an event _without precedent_, and therefore _without prognostic_." the truth, however, is, that it had both. our own history had furnished a precedent in the times of charles the first. and the prognostics were so redundant, that a volume might be collected of passages from various writers who had predicted it. however ingenious might be a history of the reformation before it occurred, the evidence could not be more authentic and positive than that of the great moral and political revolution which we have witnessed in our own days. a prediction which bishop butler threw out in a sermon before the house of lords, in , does honour to his political sagacity, as well as to his knowledge of human nature; he calculated that the irreligious spirit would produce, some time or other, political disorders similar to those which, in the seventeenth century, had arisen from religious fanaticism. "is there no danger," he observed, "that all this may raise somewhat like _that levelling spirit_, upon atheistical principles, which in the last age prevailed upon enthusiastic ones? not to speak of the possibility that _different sorts of people_ may _unite_ in it upon these _contrary principles_!" all this literally has been accomplished! leibnitz, indeed, foresaw the results of those selfish, and at length demoralizing, opinions, which began to prevail through europe in his day. these disorganizing principles, conducted by a political sect, who tried "to be worse than they could be," as old montaigne expresses it; a sort of men who have been audaciously congratulated as "having a _taste_ for evil;" exhibited to the astonished world the dismal catastrophe the philosopher predicted. i shall give this remarkable passage. "i find that certain opinions approaching those of epicurus and spinoza, are, little by little, insinuating themselves into the minds of the great rulers of public affairs, who serve as the guides of others, and on whom all matters depend; besides, these opinions are also sliding into fashionable books, and thus _they are preparing all things to that_ general revolution _which menaces europe_; destroying those generous sentiments of the ancients, greek and roman, which preferred the love of country and public good, and the cares of posterity, to fortune and even to life. our _public spirits_,[ ] as the english call them, excessively diminish, and are no more in fashion, and will be still less while the least vicious of these men preserve only one principle, which they call _honour_; a principle which only keeps them from not doing what they deem a low action, while they openly laugh at the love of country--ridicule those who are zealous for public ends--and when a well-intentioned man asks what will become of their posterity, they reply 'then, as now!' _but it may happen to these persons themselves to have to endure those evils which they believe are reserved for others._ if this epidemical and intellectual disorder could be corrected, _whose bad effects are already visible_, those evils might still be prevented; but if it proceeds in its growth, _providence will correct man by the very revolution which must spring from it_. whatever may happen indeed, all must turn out as usual for the best in general, at the end of the account, although _this cannot happen without the punishment of those who contribute even to general good by their evil actions_." the most superficial reader will hardly require a commentary on this very remarkable passage; he must instantly perceive how leibnitz, in the seventeenth century, foresaw what has occurred in the eighteenth; and the prediction has been verified in the history of the actors in the late revolution, while the result, which we have not perhaps yet had, according to leibnitz's own exhilarating system of optimism, is an eduction of good from evil. a great genius, who was oppressed by malignant rivals in his own times, has been noticed by madame de staël, as having left behind him an actual prophecy of the french revolution: this was guibert, who, in his commentary on folard's polybius, published in , declared that "a conspiracy is actually forming in europe, by means at once so subtle and efficacious, that i am sorry not to have come into the world _thirty years later_ to witness its result. it must be confessed that the sovereigns of europe wear very bad spectacles. the proofs of it are mathematical, if such proofs ever were, of a conspiracy." guibert unquestionably foresaw the anti-monarchical spirit gathering up its mighty wings, and rising over the universe! but could not judge of the nature of the impulse which he predicted; prophesying from the ideas in his luminous intellect, he seems to have been far more curious about, than certain of, the consequences. rousseau even circumstantially predicted the convulsions of modern europe. he stood on the crisis of the french revolution, which he vividly foresaw, for he seriously advised the higher classes of society to have their children taught some useful trade; a notion highly ridiculed on the first appearance of the emile: but at its hour the awful truth struck! he, too, foresaw the horrors of that revolution; for he announced that emile designed to emigrate, because, from the moral state of the people, a virtuous revolution had become impossible.[ ] the eloquence of burke was often oracular; and a speech of pitt, in , painted the state of europe as it was only realised fifteen years afterwards. but many remarkable predictions have turned out to be false. whenever the facts on which the prediction is raised are altered in their situation, what was relatively true ceases to operate as a general principle. for instance, to that striking anticipation which rousseau formed of the french revolution, he added, by way of note, as remarkable a prediction on monarchy. _je tiens pour impossible que les grandes monarchies de l'europe aient encore long tems à durer; toutes ont brillé et tout état qui brille est sur son declin._ the predominant anti-monarchical spirit among our rising generation seems to hasten on the accomplishment of the prophecy; but if an important alteration has occurred in the nature of things, we may question the result. if by looking into the past, rousseau found facts which sufficiently proved that nations in the height of their splendour and corruption had closed their career by falling an easy conquest to barbarous invaders, who annihilated the most polished people at a single blow; we now find that no such power any longer exists in the great family of europe: the state of the question is therefore changed. it is _now_ how corrupt nations will act against corrupt nations equally enlightened? but if the citizen of geneva drew his prediction of the extinction of monarchy in europe from that predilection for democracy which assumes that a republic must necessarily produce more happiness to the people than a monarchy, then we say that the fatal experiment was again repeated since the prediction, and the fact proved not true! the excess of democracy inevitably terminates in a monarchical state; and were all the monarchies in europe at present republics, a philosopher might safely predict the restoration of monarchy! if a prediction be raised on facts which our own prejudices induce us to infer will exist, it must be chimerical. we have an universal chronicle of the monk carion, printed in , in which he announces that the world was about ending,[ ] as well as his chronicle of it; that the turkish empire would not last many years; that after the death of charles the fifth the empire of germany would be torn to pieces by the germans themselves. this monk will no longer pass for a prophet; he belongs to that class of historians who write to humour their own prejudices, like a certain lady-prophetess, who, in , predicted that grass was to grow in cheapside about this time![ ] the monk carion, like others of greater name, had miscalculated the weeks of daniel, and wished more ill to the mahometans than suit the christian cabinets of europe to inflict on them; and, lastly, the monastic historian had no notion that it would please providence to prosper the heresy of luther! sir james mackintosh once observed, "i am sensible that in the field of _political prediction_ veteran sagacity has often been deceived." sir james alluded to the memorable example of harrington, who published a demonstration of the impossibility of re-establishing monarchy in england six months before the restoration of charles the second! but the author of the oceana was a political fanatic, who ventured to predict an event, not by other similar events, but by a theoretical principle which he had formed, that "the balance of power depends on that of property." harrington, in his contracted view of human nature, had dropped out of his calculation all the stirring passions of ambition and party, and the vacillations of the multitude. a similar error of a great genius occurs in de foe. "child," says mr. george chalmers, "foreseeing from experience that men's _conduct_ must finally be decided by their _principles_, foretold _the colonial revolt_. de foe, allowing his prejudices to obscure his sagacity, reprobated that suggestion, because he deemed _interest_ a more strenuous prompter than _enthusiasm_." the predictions of harrington and de foe are precisely such as we might expect from a petty calculator, a political economist, who can see nothing farther than immediate results; but the true philosophical predictor was child, who had read the _past_. it is probable that the american emancipation from the mother country of england was foreseen twenty or thirty years before it occurred, though not perhaps by the administration. lord orford, writing in , under the ministry of the duke of newcastle, blames "the instructions to the governor of new york, which seemed better calculated for the latitude of mexico, and for a spanish tribunal, than for a free british settlement, and in such opulence and such haughtiness, that _suspicions had long been conceived of their meditating to throw off the dependence on their mother-country_." if this was written at the time, as the author asserts, it is a very remarkable passage, observes the noble editor of his memoirs. the prognostics or presages of this revolution it may now be difficult to recover; but it is evident that child, before the time when lord orford wrote this passage, predicted the separation on true and philosophical principles. even when the event does not always justify the prediction, the predictor may not have been the less correct in his principles of divination. the catastrophe of human life, and the turn of great events, often prove accidental. marshal biron, whom we have noticed, might have ascended the throne instead of the scaffold; cromwell and de retz might have become only the favourite general or the minister of their sovereigns. fortuitous events are not comprehended in the reach of human prescience; such must be consigned to those vulgar superstitions which presume to discover the issue of human events, without pretending to any human knowledge. there is nothing supernatural in the prescience of the philosopher. sometimes predictions have been condemned as false ones, which, when scrutinised, we can scarcely deem to have failed: they may have been accomplished, and they may again revolve on us. in dr. hartley published his "observations on man," and predicted the fall of the existing governments and hierarchies in two simple propositions; among others-- prop. . it is probable that all the civil governments will be overturned. prop. . it is probable that the present forms of church-government will be dissolved. many were alarmed at these predicted falls of church and state. lady charlotte wentworth asked hartley when these terrible things would happen. the answer of the predictor was not less awful: "i am an old man, and shall not live to see them; but you are a young woman, and probably will see them." in the subsequent revolutions of america and of france, and perhaps now of spain, we can hardly deny that these predictions had failed. a fortuitous event has once more thrown back europe into its old corners: but we still revolve in a circle, and what is now dark and remote may again come round, when time has performed its great cycle. there was a prophetical passage in hooker's ecclesiastical polity regarding the church which long occupied the speculations of its expounders. hooker indeed seemed to have done what no predictor of events should do; he fixed on the period of its accomplishment. in he declared that it would "peradventure fall out to be threescore and ten years, or if strength do awe, into fourscore." those who had outlived the revolution in , when the long parliament pulled down the ecclesiastical establishment, and sold the church-lands--a circumstance which hooker had contemplated--and were afterwards returned to their places on the restoration, imagined that the prediction had not yet been completed, and were looking with great anxiety towards the year , for the close of this extraordinary prediction! when bishop barlow, in , was consulted on it, he endeavoured to dissipate the panic, by referring to an old historian, who had reproached our nation for their proneness to prophecies![ ] the prediction of the venerable hooker in truth had been fully accomplished, and the event had occurred without bishop barlow having recurred to it; so easy it seems to forget what we dislike to remember! the period of time was too literally taken, and seems to have been only the figurative expression of man's age in scriptural language which hooker had employed; but no one will now deny that this prescient sage had profoundly foreseen the results of that rising party, whose designs on church and state were clearly depicted in his own luminous view. the philosophical predictor, in foretelling a crisis from the appearance of things, will not rashly assign the period of time; for the crisis which he anticipates is calculated on by that inevitable march of events which generate each other in human affairs; but the period is always dubious, being either retarded or accelerated by circumstances of a nature incapable of entering into this moral arithmetic. it is probable that a revolution similar to that of france would have occurred in this country, had it not been counteracted by the genius of pitt. in it was easy to foretell by the political prognostic that a mighty war throughout europe must necessarily occur. at that moment, observes bayle, the house of austria aimed at a universal monarchy; the consequent domineering spirit of the ministers of the emperor and the king of spain, combined with their determination to exterminate the new religion, excited a reaction to this imperial despotism; public opinion had been suppressed, till every people grew impatient; while their sovereigns, influenced by national feeling, were combining against austria. but austria was a vast military power, and her generals were the first of their class. the efforts of europe would then be often repulsed! this state of affairs prognosticated a long war!--and when at length it broke out it lasted thirty years! the approach and the duration of the war might have been predicted; but the period of its termination could not have been foreseen. there is, however, a spirit of political vaticination which presumes to pass beyond the boundaries of human prescience; it has been often ascribed to the highest source of inspiration by enthusiasts; but since "the language of prophecy" has ceased, such pretensions are not less impious than they are unphilosophical. knox the reformer possessed an extraordinary portion of this awful prophetic confidence: he appears to have predicted several remarkable events, and the fates of some persons. we are told that, condemned to a galley at rochelle, he predicted that "within two or three years he should preach the gospel at saint giles's in edinburgh;" an improbable event, which happened. of mary and darnley, he pronounced that, "as the king, for the queen's pleasure, had gone to mass, the lord, in his justice, would make her the instrument of his overthrow." other striking predictions of the deaths of thomas maitland, and of kirkaldy of grange, and the warning he solemnly gave to the regent murray not to go to linlithgow, where he was assassinated, occasioned a barbarous people to imagine that the prophet knox had received an immediate communication from heaven. a spanish friar and almanac-maker predicted, in clear and precise words, the death of henry the fourth of france; and pieresc, though he had no faith in the vain science of astrology, yet, alarmed at whatever menaced the life of a beloved monarch, consulted with some of the king's friends, and had the spanish almanac laid before his majesty. that high-spirited monarch thanked them for their solicitude, but utterly slighted the prediction: the event occurred, and in the following year the spanish friar spread his own fame in a new almanac. i have been occasionally struck at the jeremiads of honest george withers, the vaticinating poet of our civil wars: some of his works afford many solemn predictions. we may account for many predictions of this class without the intervention of any supernatural agency. among the busy spirits of a revolutionary age, the heads of a party, such as knox, have frequently secret communications with spies or with friends. in a constant source of concealed information, a shrewd, confident, and enthusiastic temper will find ample matter for mysterious prescience. knox exercised that deep sagacity which took in the most enlarged views of the future, as appears by his machiavelian foresight on the barbarous destruction of the monasteries and the cathedrals--"the best way to keep the _rooks_ from returning, is to pull down their _nests_." in the case of the prediction of the death of henry the fourth, by the spanish friar, it resulted either from his being acquainted with the plot, or from his being made an instrument for their purpose by those who were. it appears that rumours of henry's assassination were rife in spain and italy before the event occurred. such vaticinators as george withers will always rise in those disturbed times which his own prosaic metre has forcibly depicted:-- it may be on that darkness, which they find within their hearts, a sudden light hath shin'd, making reflections of some things to come, which leave within them musings troublesome to their weak spirits; or too intricate for them to put in order, and relate. they act as men in ecstasies have done-- striving their cloudy visions to declare-- and i, perhaps, among these may be one that was let loose for service to be done: i blunder out what worldly-prudent men count madnesse.--p. .[ ] separating human prediction from inspired prophecy, we only ascribe to the faculties of man that acquired prescience which we have demonstrated that some great minds have unquestionably exercised. we have discovered its principles in the necessary dependence of effects on general causes, and we have shown that, impelled by the same motives, and circumscribed by the same passions, all human affairs revolve in a circle; and we have opened the true source of this yet imperfect science of moral and political prediction, in an intimate but a discriminative knowledge of the past. authority is sacred, when experience affords parallels and analogies. if much which may overwhelm when it shall happen can be foreseen, the prescient statesman and moralist may provide defensive measures to break the waters, whose streams they cannot always direct; and the venerable hooker has profoundly observed, that "the best things have been overthrown, not so much by puissance and might of adversaries, as through defect of council in those that should have upheld and defended the same."[ ] the philosophy of history blends the past with the present, and combines the present with the future: each is but a portion of the other! the actual state of a thing is necessarily determined by its antecedent, and thus progressively through the chain of human existence; while "the present is always full of the future," as leibnitz has happily expressed the idea. a new and beautiful light is thus thrown over the annals of mankind, by the analogies and the parallels of different ages in succession. how the seventeenth century has influenced the eighteenth; and the results of the nineteenth as they shall appear in the twentieth, might open a source of predictions, to which, however difficult it might be to affix their dates, there would be none in exploring into causes, and tracing their inevitable effects. the multitude live only among the shadows of things in the appearances of the present; the learned, busied with the past, can only trace whence and how all comes; but he who is one of the people, and one of the learned, the true philosopher, views the natural tendency and terminations which are preparing for the future! footnotes: [ ] see rushworth, vol. i. p. . his language was decisive. [ ] this letter is in the works of Æneas sylvius; a copious extract is given by bossuet, in his "variations." see also mosheim, cent. xiii. part ii. chap. , note _m_. [ ] though it cannot be positively asserted it is generally believed that the author was robert longlande, a monk of malvern. see introduction to wright's edition of "the vision." the latter part of the year is believed to be the time of its composition. [ ] the passage is so remarkable as to be worth giving here, for the immediate reference of such readers as may not have ready access to the original. we modernize the spelling from mr. wright's edition:-- but there shall come a king, and confess you religious, and award you as the bible telleth for breaking of your rule. * * * * * and then shall the abbot of abingdon and all his issue for ever, have a knock of a king, and incurable the wound. [ ] ep. ad att. lib. x. ep. . [ ] ep. ad att. lib. vi. ep. . [ ] this remarkable confession i find in menage's "observations sur la langue françoise," part ii. p. . [ ] [greek: okeia gar xunesei, kai oute promathôn es autên ouden, out epimathôn tôn te parachrêma di elachistês boulês kratistos gnômôn, kai tôn mellontôn epipleiston tou genêsomenou aristos eikastês].--thucydides, lib. i. [ ] arist. rhet. lib. vii. c. . [ ] this work was printed in london as a _first_ volume, but remained unpublished. this singularly curious production was suppressed, but reprinted at paris. it has suffered the most cruel mutilations. i read with surprise and instruction the single copy which i was assured was the only one saved from the havoc of the entire edition. the writer was the celebrated chateaubriand. [ ] "biographia literaria; or, biographical sketches of my literary life and opinions." by s.t. coleridge, esq. . vol. i. p. . [ ] _public spirit_, and _public spirits_, were about the year household words with us. leibnitz was struck by their significance, but it might now puzzle us to find synonyms, or even to explain the very terms themselves. [ ] this extraordinary passage is at the close of the third book of _emile_, to which i must refer the reader. it is curious, however, to observe, that in rousseau poured forth the following awful predictions, which were considered quite absurd:--"vous vous fiez à l'ordre actuel de la société, sans songer que cet ordre est sujet à des _révolutions inévitables_--le grand devient petit, le riche devient pauvre, le monarque devient sujet--_nous approchons l'état de crise et du siècle des révolutions_. que fera donc dans la bassesse ce satrape que vous n'aurez élevé que pour la grandeur? que fera dans la pauvreté, ce publicain qui ne sçait vivre que d'or? que fera, dépourvu de tout, ce fastueux imbecille qui ne sait point user de lui-même?" &c. &c. [ ] this prediction of the end of the world is one of the most popular hallucinations, warmly received by many whenever it is promulgated. it had the most marked effect when the cycle of a thousand years after the birth of christ was approaching completion; and the world was assured that was the limit of its present state. numerous acts of piety were performed. churches were built, religious houses founded, and asceticism became the order of the day, until the dreaded year was completed without the accompaniment of the supernatural horrors so generally feared; the world soon relapsed into forgetfulness, and went on as before. very many prophecies have since been promulgated; and in defiance of such repeated failures are still occasionally indulged in by persons from whom better things might be expected. richard brothers, in the last century, and more than one reverend gentleman in the present one, have been bold enough to fix an exact time for the event: but it has passed as quietly as the thousandth anniversary noted above. [ ] one of the most effective prophecies against london, and which frightened for the time a very large number of its inhabitants, was that given out in the spring of , after a slight shock of an earthquake was felt in london, and it was prophesied that another should occur which would destroy the town and all its inhabitants. all the roads were thronged with persons flying to the country a day or two before the threatened event; and they were all unmercifully ridiculed when the day passed over quietly. walpole in one of his amusing letters speaks of a party who went "to an inn ten miles out of town, where they are to play at brag till five in the morning, and then come back--i suppose, to look for the bones of their husbands and families under the rubbish!" jokers who were out late amused themselves by bawling in the watchmen's voice, "past four o'clock, and a dreadful earthquake!" a pamphlet purporting to be "a full and true account" of this earthquake which never happened, was "printed for tim tremor, in fleet-street, ," and made the vehicle for much personal satire. thus it is stated that the "commissioners of westminster-bridge have ordered this calamity to be entered in their books, as a glorious excuse for the next sinking pier;" and that the town received some comfort upon hearing that "the inns of court were all sunk, and several orders were given that no one should assist in bringing any one lawyer above ground." [ ] an eye-witness of the great fire of london has noted the difficulty of obtaining effective assistance in endeavouring to stay its progress, owing to the superstition which seized many persons, because a prophecy of mother shipton's was quoted to show that london was doomed to hopeless and entire destruction. [ ] "a dark lantherne, offering a dim discovery, intermixed with remembrances, predictions, &c. ." [ ] hooker wrote this about , and he wrote before the _siècle des révolutions_ had begun, even among ourselves! he penetrated into this important principle merely by the force of his own meditation. _at this moment_, after more practical experience in political revolutions, a very intelligent french writer, in a pamphlet, entitled "m. da villèle," says, "experience proclaims a great truth--namely, that revolutions themselves cannot succeed, except when they are favoured by a portion of the government." he illustrates the axiom by the different revolutions which have occurred in his nation within these thirty years. it is the same truth, traced to its source by another road. dreams at the dawn of philosophy. modern philosophy, theoretical or experimental, only amuses while the action of discovery is suspended or advances; the interest ceases with the inquirer when the catastrophe is ascertained, as in the romance whose _dénouement_ turns on a mysterious incident, which, once unfolded, all future agitation ceases. but in the true infancy of science, philosophers were as imaginative a race as poets: marvels and portents, undemonstrable and undefinable, with occult fancies, perpetually beginning and never ending, were delightful as the shifting cantos of ariosto. then science entranced the eye by its thaumaturgy; when they looked through an optic tube, they believed they were looking into futurity; or, starting at some shadow darkening the glassy globe, beheld the absent person; while the mechanical inventions of art were toys and tricks, with sometimes an automaton, which frightened them with life. the earlier votaries of modern philosophy only witnessed, as gaffarel calls his collection, "unheard-of curiosities." this state of the marvellous, of which we are now for ever deprived, prevailed among the philosophers and the _virtuosi_ in europe, and with ourselves, long after the establishment of the royal society. philosophy then depended mainly on authority--a single one, however, was sufficient: so that when this had been repeated by fifty others, they had the authority of fifty honest men--whoever the first man might have been! they were then a blissful race of children, rambling here and there in a golden age of innocence and ignorance, where at every step each gifted discoverer whispered to the few, some half-concealed secret of nature, or played with some toy of art; some invention which with great difficulty performed what, without it, might have been done with great ease. the cabinets of the lovers of mechanical arts formed enchanted apartments, where the admirers feared to stir or look about them; while the philosophers themselves half imagined they were the very thaumaturgi, for which the world gave them too much credit, at least for their quiet! would we run after the shadows in this gleaming land of moonshine, or sport with these children in the fresh morning of science, ere aurora had scarcely peeped on the hills, we must enter into their feelings, view with their eyes, and believe all they confide to us; and out of these bundles of dreams sometimes pick out one or two for our own dreaming. they are the fairy tales and the arabian nights' entertainments of science. but if the reader is stubbornly mathematical and logical, he will only be holding up a great torch against the muslin curtain, upon which the fantastic shadows playing upon it must vanish at the instant. it is an amusement which can only take place by carefully keeping himself in the dark.[ ] what a subject, were i to enter on it, would be the narratives of magical writers! these precious volumes have been so constantly wasted by the profane, that now a book of real magic requires some to find it, as well as a great magician to use it. albertus magnus, or albert the great, as he is erroneously styled--for this sage only derived this enviable epithet from his surname _de groot_, as did hugo grotius--this sage, in his "admirable secrets," delivers his opinion that these books of magic should be most preciously preserved; for, he prophetically added, the time is arriving when they would be understood! it seems they were not intelligible in the thirteenth century; but if albertus has not miscalculated, in the present day they may be! magical terms with talismanic figures may yet conceal many a secret; gunpowder came down to us in a sort of anagram, and the kaleidoscope, with all its interminable multiplications of forms, lay at hand for two centuries in baptista porta's "natural magic." the abbot trithemius, in a confidential letter, happened to call himself a magician, perhaps at the moment he thought himself one, and sent three or four leaves stuffed with the names of devils and with their evocations. at the death of his friend these leaves fell into the unworthy hands of the prior, who was so frightened on the first glance at the diabolical nomenclature, that he raised the country against the abbot, and trithemius was nearly a lost man! yet, after all, this evocation of devils has reached us in his "steganographia," and proves to be only one of this ingenious abbot's polygraphic attempts at _secret writing_; for he had flattered himself that he had invented a mode of concealing his thoughts from all the world, while he communicated them to a friend. roger bacon promised to raise thunder and lightning, and disperse clouds by dissolving them into rain. the first magical process has been obtained by franklin; and the other, of far more use to our agriculturists, may perchance be found lurking in some corner which has been overlooked in the "opus majus" of our "doctor mirabilis." do we laugh at their magical works of art? are we ourselves such indifferent artists? cornelius agrippa, before he wrote his "vanity of the arts and sciences," intended to reduce into a system and method the secret of communicating with spirits and demons.[ ] on good authority, that of porphyrius, psellus, plotinus, jamblichus--and on better, were it necessary to allege it--he was well assured that the upper regions of the air swarmed with what the greeks called _dæmones_, just as our lower atmosphere is full of birds, our waters of fish, and our earth of insects. yet this occult philosopher, who knew perfectly eight languages, and married two wives, with whom he had never exchanged a harsh word in any of them, was everywhere avoided as having by his side, for his companion, a personage no less than a demon! this was a great black dog, whom he suffered to stretch himself out among his magical manuscripts, or lie on his bed, often kissing and patting him, and feeding him on choice morsels. yet for this would paulus jovius and all the world have had him put to the ordeal of fire and fagot! the truth was afterwards boldly asserted by wierus, his learned domestic, who believed that his master's dog was really nothing more than what he appeared! "i believe," says he, "that he was a real natural dog; he was indeed black, but of a moderate size, and i have often led him by a string, and called him by the french name agrippa had given him, monsieur! and he had a female who was called mademoiselle! i wonder how authors of such great character should write so absurdly on his vanishing at his death, nobody knows how!" but as it is probable that monsieur and mademoiselle must have generated some puppy demons, wierus ought to have been more circumstantial. albertus magnus, for thirty years, had never ceased working at a man of brass, and had cast together the qualities of his materials under certain constellations, which threw such a spirit into his man of brass, that it was reported his growth was visible; his feet, legs, thighs, shoulders, neck, and head, expanded, and made the city of cologne uneasy at possessing one citizen too mighty for them all. this man of brass, when he reached his maturity, was so loquacious, that albert's master, the great scholastic thomas aquinas, one day, tired of his babble, and declaring it was a devil, or devilish, with his staff knocked the head off; and, what was extraordinary, this brazen man, like any human being thus effectually silenced, "word never spake more." this incident is equally historical and authentic; though whether heads of brass can speak, and even prophesy, was indeed a subject of profound inquiry even at a later period.[ ] naudé, who never questioned their vocal powers, and yet was puzzled concerning the nature of this new species of animal, has no doubt most judiciously stated the question, whether these speaking brazen heads had a sensitive and reasoning nature, or whether demons spoke in them? but brass has not the faculty of providing its own nourishment, as we see in plants, and therefore they were not sensitive; and as for the act of reasoning, these brazen heads presumed to know nothing but the future: with the past and the present they seemed totally unacquainted, so that their memory and their observation were very limited; and as for the future, that is always doubtful and obscure--even to heads of brass! this learned man then infers that "these brazen heads could have no reasoning faculties, for nothing altered their nature; they said what they had to say, which no one could contradict; and having said their say, you might have broken the head for anything more that you could have got out of it. had they had any life in them, would they not have moved as well as spoken? life itself is but motion, but they had no lungs, no spleen; and, in fact, though they spoke, they had no tongue. was a devil in them? i think not. yet why should men have taken all this trouble to make, not a man, but a trumpet?" our profound philosopher was right not to agitate the question whether these brazen heads had ever spoken. why should not a man of brass speak, since a doll can whisper, a statue play chess,[ ] and brass ducks have performed the whole process of digestion?[ ] another magical invention has been ridiculed with equal reason. a magician was annoyed, as philosophers still are, by passengers in the street; and he, particularly so, by having horses led to drink under his window. he made a magical horse of wood, according to one of the books of hermes, which perfectly answered its purpose, by frightening away the horses, or rather the grooms! the wooden horse, no doubt, gave some palpable kick. the same magical story might have been told of dr. franklin, who finding that under his window the passengers had discovered a spot which they made too convenient for themselves, he charged it with his newly-discovered electrical fire. after a few remarkable incidents had occurred, which at a former period would have lodged the great discoverer of electricity in the inquisition, the modern magician succeeded just as well as the ancient, who had the advantage of conning over the books of hermes. instead of ridiculing these works of magic, let us rather become magicians ourselves! the works of the ancient alchemists have afforded numberless discoveries to modern chemists: nor is even their grand operation despaired of. if they have of late not been so renowned, this has arisen from a want of what ashmole calls "apertness;" a qualification early inculcated among these illuminated sages. we find authentic accounts of some who have lived three centuries, with tolerable complexions, possessed of nothing but a crucible and a bellows! but they were so unnecessarily mysterious, that whenever such a person was discovered, he was sure in an instant to disappear, and was never afterwards heard of. in the "liber patris sapientiæ" this selfish cautiousness is all along impressed on the student for the accomplishment of the great mystery. in the commentary on this precious work of the alchemist norton, who counsels, be thou in a place secret, by thyself alone, that no man see or hear what thou shalt say or done. trust not thy friend too much wheresoe'er thou go, for he thou trustest best, sometyme may be thy foe; ashmole observes, that "norton gives exceeding good advice to the student in this science where he bids him be secret in the carrying on of his studies and operations, and not to let any one know of his undertakings but his good angel and himself:" and such a close and retired breast had norton's master, who, when men disputed _of colours of the rose_, he would not speak, but kept himself full close! we regret that by each leaving all his knowledge to "his good angel and himself," it has happened that "the good angels" have kept it all to themselves! it cannot, however, be denied, that if they could not always extract gold out of lead, they sometimes succeeded in washing away the pimples on ladies' faces, notwithstanding that sir kenelm digby poisoned his most beautiful lady, because, as sancho would have said, he was one of those who would "have his bread whiter than the finest wheaten." van helmont, who could not succeed in discovering the true elixir of life, however hit on the spirit of hartshorn, which for a good while he considered was the wonderful elixir itself, restoring to life persons who seemed to have lost it. and though this delightful enthusiast could not raise a ghost, yet he thought he had; for he raised something aerial from spa-water, which mistaking for a ghost, he gave it that very name; a name which we still retain in _gas_, from the german _geist_, or ghost! paracelsus carried the tiny spirits about him in the hilt of his great sword! having first discovered the qualities of laudanum, this illustrious quack made use of it as an universal remedy, and distributed it in the form of pills, which he carried in the basket-hilt of his sword; the operations he performed were as rapid as they seemed magical. doubtless we have lost some inconceivable secrets by some unexpected occurrences, which the secret itself it would seem ought to have prevented taking place. when a philosopher had discovered the art of prolonging life to an indefinite period, it is most provoking to find that he should have allowed himself to die at an early age! we have a very authentic history from sir kenelm digby himself, that when he went in disguise to visit descartes at his retirement at egmond, lamenting the brevity of life, which hindered philosophers getting on in their studies, the french philosopher assured him that "he had considered that matter; to render a man immortal was what he could not promise, but that he was very sure it was possible to lengthen out his life to the period of the patriarchs." and when his death was announced to the world, the abbé picot, an ardent disciple, for a long time would not believe it possible; and at length insisted, that if it had occurred, it must have been owing to some mistake of the philosopher's. the late holcroft, loutherbourg, and cosway, imagined that they should escape the vulgar era of scriptural life by reorganizing their old bones, and moistening their dry marrow; their new principles of vitality were supposed by them to be found in the powers of the mind; this seemed more reasonable, but proved to be as little efficacious as those other philosophers, who imagine they have detected the hidden principle of life in the eels frisking in vinegar, and allude to "the bookbinder who creates the book-worm!" paracelsus has revealed to us one of the grandest secrets of nature. when the world began to dispute on the very existence of the elementary folk, it was then that he boldly offered to give birth to a fairy, and has sent down to posterity the recipe. he describes the impurity which is to be transmuted into such purity, the gross elements of a delicate fairy, which, fixed in a phial, placed in fuming dung, will in due time settle into a full-grown fairy, bursting through its vitreous prison--on the vivifying principle by which the ancient egyptians hatched their eggs in ovens. i recollect, at dr. farmer's sale, the leaf which preserved this recipe for making a fairy, forcibly folded down by the learned commentator; from which we must infer the credit he gave to the experiment. there was a greatness of mind in paracelsus, who, having furnished a recipe to make a fairy, had the delicacy to refrain from its formation. even baptista porta, one of the most enlightened philosophers, does not deny the possibility of engendering creatures which, "at their full growth, shall not exceed the size of a mouse;" but he adds, "they are only pretty little dogs to play with." were these akin to the fairies of paracelsus?[ ] they were well convinced of the existence of such elemental beings; frequent accidents in mines showed the potency of the metallic spirits, which so tormented the workmen in some of the german mines by blindness, giddiness, and sudden sickness, that they have been obliged to abandon mines well known to be rich in silver. a metallic spirit at one sweep annihilated twelve miners, who were all found dead together. the fact was unquestionable; and the safety-lamp was undiscovered. never was a philosophical imagination more beautiful than that exquisite _palingenesis_, as it has been termed from the greek, or a regeneration: or rather the apparitions of animals and plants. schott, kircher, gaffarel, borelli, digby, and the whole of that admirable school, discovered in the ashes of plants their primitive forms, which were again raised up by the force of heat. nothing, they say, perishes in nature; all is but a continuation, or a revival. the semina of resurrection are concealed in extinct bodies, as in the blood of man; the ashes of roses will again revive into roses, though smaller and paler than if they had been planted; unsubstantial and unodoriferous, they are not roses which grow on rose-trees, but their delicate apparitions; and, like apparitions, they are seen but for a moment! the process of the _palingenesis_, this picture of immortality, is described. these philosophers having burnt a flower, by calcination disengaged the salts from its ashes, and deposited them in a glass phial; a chemical mixture acted on it, till in the fermentation they assumed a bluish and a spectral hue. this dust, thus excited by heat, shoots upwards into its primitive forms; by sympathy the parts unite, and while each is returning to its destined place, we see distinctly the stalk, the leaves, and the flower arise; it is the pale spectre of a flower coming slowly forth from its ashes. the heat passes away, the magical scene declines, till the whole matter again precipitates itself into the chaos at the bottom. this vegetable phoenix lies thus concealed in its cold ashes till the presence of heat produces this resurrection--in its absence it returns to its death. thus the dead naturally revive; and a corpse may give out its shadowy re-animation when not too deeply buried in the earth. bodies corrupted in their graves have risen, particularly the murdered; for murderers are apt to bury their victims in a slight and hasty manner. their salts, exhaled in vapour by means of their fermentation, have arranged themselves on the surface of the earth, and formed those phantoms, which at night have often terrified the passing spectator, as authentic history witnesses. they have opened the graves of the phantom, and discovered the bleeding corpse beneath; hence it is astonishing how many ghosts may be seen at night, after a recent battle, standing over their corpses! on the same principle, my old philosopher gaffarel conjectures on the raining of frogs; but these frogs, we must conceive, can only be the ghosts of frogs; and gaffarel himself has modestly opened this fact by a "peradventure." a more satisfactory origin of ghosts modern philosophy has not afforded. and who does not believe in the existence of ghosts? for, as dr. more forcibly says--"that there should be so universal a _fame_ and _fear_ of that which never was, nor is, nor can be ever in the world, is to me the greatest miracle of all. if there had not been, at some time or other, true miracles, it had not been so easy to impose on the people by false. the alchemist would never go about to sophisticate metals to pass them off for true gold and silver, unless that such a thing was acknowledged as true gold and silver in the world." the pharmacopoeia of those times combined more of morals with medicine than our own. they discovered that the agate rendered a man eloquent and even witty; a laurel leaf placed on the centre of the skull fortified the memory; the brains of fowls and birds of swift wing wonderfully helped the imagination. all such specifics have now disappeared, and have greatly reduced the chances of an invalid recovering that which perhaps he never possessed. lentils and rape-seed were a certain cure for the small-pox, and very obviously--their grains resembling the spots of this disease. they discovered that those who lived on "fair" plants became fair, those on fruitful ones were never barren: on the principle that hercules acquired his mighty strength by feeding on the marrow of lions. but their talismans, provided they were genuine, seem to have been wonderfully operative; and had we the same confidence, and melted down the guineas we give physicians, engraving on them talismanic figures, i would answer for the good effects of the experiment. naudé, indeed, has utterly ridiculed the occult virtues of talismans, in his defence of virgil, accused of being a magician: the poet, it seems, cast into a well a talisman of a horse-leech, graven on a plate of gold, to drive away the great number of horse-leeches which infested naples. naudé positively denies that talismans ever possessed any such occult virtues: gaffarel regrets that so judicious a man as naudé should have gone this length, giving the lie to so many authentic authors; and naudé's paradox is indeed as strange as his denial; he suspects the thing is not true because it is so generally told! "it leads one to suspect," says he, "as animals are said to have been driven away from so many places by these talismans, whether they were ever driven from any one place." gaffarel, suppressing by his good temper his indignant feelings at such reasoning, turns the paradox on its maker:--"as if, because of the great number of battles that hannibal is reported to have fought with the romans, we might not, by the same reason, doubt whether he fought any one with them." the reader must be aware that the strength of the argument lies entirely with the firm believer in talismans. gaffarel, indeed, who passed his days in collecting "curiosités inouïes," is a most authentic historian of unparalleled events, even in his own times! such as that heavy rain in poitou, which showered down "petites bestioles," little creatures like bishops with their mitres, and monks with their capuchins over their heads; it is true, afterwards they all turned into butterflies! the museums, the cabinets, and the inventions of our early virtuosi were the baby-houses of philosophers. baptista porta, bishop wilkins, and old ashmole, were they now living, had been enrolled among the quiet members of "the society of arts," instead of flying in the air, collecting "a wing of the phoenix, as tradition goes;" or catching the disjointed syllables of an old doting astrologer. but these early dilettanti had not derived the same pleasure from the useful inventions of the aforesaid "society of arts" as they received from what cornelius agrippa, in a fit of spleen, calls "things vain and superfluous, invented to no other end but for pomp and idle pleasure." baptista porta was more skilful in the mysteries of art and nature than any man in his day. having founded the academy _degli oziosi_, he held an inferior association in his own house, called _di secreti_, where none was admitted but those elect who had communicated some _secret_; for, in the early period of modern art and science, the slightest novelty became a secret, not to be confided to the uninitiated. porta was unquestionably a fine genius, as his works still show; but it was his misfortune that he attributed his own penetrating sagacity to his skill in the art of divination. he considered himself a prognosticator; and, what was more unfortunate, some eminent persons really thought he was. predictions and secrets are harmless, provided they are not believed: but his holiness finding porta's were, warned him that magical sciences were great hindrances to the study of the bible, and paid him the compliment to forbid his prophesying. porta's genius was now limited to astonish, and sometimes to terrify, the more ingenious part of _i secreti_. on entering his cabinet, some phantom of an attendant was sure to be hovering in the air, moving as he who entered moved; or he observed in some mirror that his face was twisted on the wrong side of his shoulders, and did not quite think that all was right when he clapped his hand on it; or passing through a darkened apartment a magical landscape burst on him, with human beings in motion, the boughs of trees bending, and the very clouds passing over the sun; or sometimes banquets, battles, and hunting-parties were in the same apartment. "all these spectacles my friends have witnessed!" exclaims the self-delighted baptista porta. when his friends drank wine out of the same cup which he had used, they were mortified with wonder; for he drank wine, and they only water! or on a summer's day, when all complained of the sirocco, he would freeze his guests with cold air in the room; or, on a sudden, let off a flying dragon to sail along with a cracker in its tail, and a cat tied on his back; shrill was the sound, and awful was the concussion; so that it required strong nerves, in an age of apparitions and devils, to meet this great philosopher when in his best humour. albertus magnus entertained the earl of holland, as that earl passed through cologne, in a severe winter, with a warm summer scene, luxuriant in fruits and flowers. the fact is related by trithemius--and this magical scene connected with his vocal head, and his books _de secretis mulierum_, and _de mirabilibus_, confirmed the accusations they raised against the great albert for being a magician. his apologist, theophilus raynaud, is driven so hard to defend albertus, that he at once asserts the winter changed to summer and the speaking head to be two infamous flams! he will not believe these authenticated facts, although he credits a miracle which proves the sanctity of albertus,--after three centuries, the body of albert the great remained as sweet as ever! "whether such enchauntments," as old mandeville cautiously observeth, two centuries preceding the days of porta, were "by craft or by nygromancye, i wot nere." but that they were not unknown to chaucer, appears in his "frankelein's tale," where, minutely describing them, he communicates the same pleasure he must himself have received from the ocular illusions of "the tregetoure," or "jogelour." chaucer ascribes the miracle to a "naturall magique!" in which, however, it was as unsettled whether the "prince of darkness" was a party concerned. for i am siker that there be sciences by which men maken divers apparences swiche as thise subtil tregetoures play. for oft at festes have i wel herd say that tregetoures, within an halle large, have made come in a water and a barge, and in the halle rowen up and doun. sometime hath semed come a grim leoun, and sometime floures spring as in a mede, sometime a vine and grapes white and rede, sometime a castel al of lime and ston, and whan hem liketh voideth it anon: thus semeth it to every mannes sight. bishop wilkins's museum was visited by evelyn, who describes the sort of curiosities which occupied and amused the children of science. "here, too, there was a hollow statue, which gave a voice, and uttered words by a long concealed pipe that went to its mouth, whilst one speaks through it at a good distance:" a circumstance which, perhaps, they were not then aware revealed the whole mystery of the ancient oracles, which they attributed to demons rather than to tubes, pulleys, and wheels. the learned charles patin, in his scientific travels, records, among other valuable productions of art, a cherry-stone, on which were engraven about a dozen and a half of portraits! even the greatest of human geniuses, leonardo da vinci, to attract the royal patronage, created a lion which ran before the french monarch, dropping _fleurs de lis_ from its shaggy breast. and another philosopher who had a spinnet which played and stopped at command, might have made a revolution in the arts and sciences, had the half-stifled child that was concealed in it not been forced, unluckily, to crawl into daylight, and thus it was proved that a philosopher might be an impostor! the arts, as well as the sciences, at the first institution of the royal society, were of the most amusing class. the famous sir samuel moreland had turned his house into an enchanted palace. everything was full of devices, which showed art and mechanism in perfection: his coach carried a travelling kitchen; for it had a fire-place and grate, with which he could make a soup, broil cutlets, and roast an egg; and he dressed his meat by clock-work. another of these virtuosi, who is described as "a gentleman of superior order, and whose house was a knickknackatory," valued himself on his multifarious inventions, but most in "sowing salads in the morning, to be cut for dinner." the house of winstanley, who afterwards raised the first eddystone lighthouse, must have been the wonder of the age. if you kicked aside an old slipper, purposely lying in your way, up started a ghost before you; or if you sat down in a certain chair, a couple of gigantic arms would immediately clasp you in. there was an arbour in the garden, by the side of a canal; you had scarcely seated yourself when you were sent out afloat to the middle of the canal--from whence you could not escape till this man of art and science wound you up to the arbour. what was passing at the "royal society" was also occurring at the "académie des sciences" at paris. a great and gouty member of that philosophical body, on the departure of a stranger, would point to his legs, to show the impossibility of conducting him to the door; yet the astonished visitor never failed finding the virtuoso waiting for him on the outside, to make his final bow! while the visitor was going down stairs, this inventive genius was descending with great velocity in a machine from the window: so that he proved, that if a man of science cannot force nature to walk down stairs, he may drive her out at the window! if they travelled at home, they set off to note down prodigies. dr. plott, in a magnificent project of journeying through england, for the advantage of "learning and trade," and the discovery of "antiquities and other curiosities," for which he solicited the royal aid which leland enjoyed, among other notable designs, discriminates a class thus: "next i shall inquire of animals; and first of strange people."--"strange accidents that attend corporations or families, as that the deans of rochester ever since the foundation by turns have died deans and bishops; the bird with a white breast that haunts the family of oxenham near exeter just before the death of any of that family; the bodies of trees that are seen to swim in a pool near brereton in cheshire, a certain warning to the heir of that honourable family to prepare for the next world." and such remarkables as "number of children, such as the lady temple, who before she died saw seven hundred descended from her."[ ] this fellow of the royal society, who lived nearly to , was requested to give an edition of pliny: we have lost the benefit of a most copious commentary! bishop hall went to "the spa." the wood about that place was haunted not only by "freebooters, but by wolves and witches; although these last are ofttimes but one." they were called _loups-garoux_; and the greeks, it seems, knew them by the name of [greek: lukanthrôpoi], men-wolves: witches that have put on the shapes of those cruel beasts. "we sawe a boy there, whose half-face was devoured by one of them near the village; yet so, as that the eare was rather cut than bitten off." rumour had spread that the boy had had half his face devoured; when it was examined, it turned out that his ear had only been scratched! however, there can be no doubt of the existence of "witch-wolves;" for hall saw at limburgh "one of those miscreants executed, who confessed on the wheel to have devoured two-and-forty children in that form." they would probably have found it difficult to have summoned the mothers who had lost the children. but observe our philosopher's reasoning: "it would aske a large volume to scan this problem of _lycanthropy_." he had laboriously collected all the evidence, and had added his arguments: the result offers a curious instance of acute reasoning on a wrong principle.[ ] men of science and art then passed their days in a bustle of the marvellous. i will furnish a specimen of philosophical correspondence in a letter to old john aubrey. the writer betrays the versatility of his curiosity by very opposite discoveries. "my hands are so full of work that i have no time to transcribe for dr. henry more an account of the barnstable apparition--lord keeper north would take it kindly from you--give a sight of this letter from barnstable to dr. whitchcot." he had lately heard of a scotchman who had been carried by fairies into france; but the purpose of his present letter is to communicate other sort of apparitions than the ghost of barnstable. he had gone to glastonbury, "to pick up a few berries from the holy thorn which flowered every christmas day."[ ] the original thorn had been cut down by a military saint in the civil wars; but the trade of the place was not damaged, for they had contrived not to have a single holy thorn, but several, "by grafting and inoculation."[ ] he promises to send these "berries;" but requests aubrey to inform "that person of quality who had rather have a _bush_, that it was impossible to get one for him. i am told," he adds, "that there is a person about glastonbury who hath a nursery of them, which he sells for a crown a piece," but they are supposed not to be "of the right kind." the main object of this letter is the writer's "suspicion of gold in this country;" for which he offers three reasons. tacitus says there was gold in england, and that agrippa came to a spot where he had a prospect of ireland--from which place he writes; secondly, that "an honest man" had in this spot found stones from which he had extracted good gold, and that he himself "had seen in the broken stones a clear appearance of gold;" and thirdly, "there is a story which goes by tradition in that part of the country, that in the hill alluded to there was a door into a hole, that when any wanted money they used to go and knock there, that a woman used to appear, and give to such as came.[ ] at a time one by greediness or otherwise gave her offence, she flung to the door, and delivered this old saying, still remembered in the country: 'when all _the daws_ be gone and dead, then.... hill shall shine gold red.' my fancy is, that this relates to an ancient family of this name, of which there is now but one man left, and he not likely to have any issue." these are his three reasons; and some mines have perhaps been opened with no better ones! but let us not imagine that this great naturalist was credulous; for he tells aubrey that "he thought it was but a monkish tale forged in the abbey so famous in former time; but as i have learned not to despise our forefathers, i question whether this may not refer to some rich mine in the hill, formerly in use, but now lost. i shall shortly request you to discourse with my lord about it, to have advice, &c. in the mean time it will be best to _keep all private_ for his majesty's service, his lordship's, and perhaps some private person's benefit." but he has also positive evidence: "a mason not long ago coming to the renter of the abbey for a freestone, and sawing it, out came divers pieces of gold of £ _s._ value apiece, of ancient _coins_. the stone belonged to some chimney-work; the gold was hidden in it, perhaps, when the dissolution was near." this last incident of finding coins in a chimney-piece, which he had accounted for very rationally, serves only to confirm his dream, that they were coined out of the gold of the mine in the hill; and he becomes more urgent for "a private search into these mines, which i have, i think, a way to." in the postscript he adds an account of a well, which by washing, wrought a cure on a person deep in the king's evil. "i hope you don't forget your promise to communicate whatever thing you have relating to your idea." this promised _idea_ of aubrey may be found in his mss., under the title of "the idea of universal education." however whimsical, one would like to see it. aubrey's life might furnish a volume of these philosophical dreams: he was a person who from his incessant bustle and insatiable curiosity was called "the carrier of conceptions of the royal society." many pleasant nights were "privately" enjoyed by aubrey and his correspondent about the "mine in the hill;" ashmole's manuscripts at oxford contain a collection of many secrets of the rosicrucians; one of the completest inventions is "a recipe how to walk invisible." such were the fancies which rocked the children of science in their cradles! and so feeble were the steps of our curious infancy!--but i start in my dreams! dreading the reader may also have fallen asleep! "measure is most excellent," says one of the oracles; "to which also we being in like manner persuaded, o most friendly and pious asclepiades, here finish"--the dreams at the dawn of philosophy! footnotes: [ ] godwin's amusing _lives of the necromancers_ abound in marvellous stories of the supernatural feats of these old students. [ ] agrippa was the most fortunate and honoured of occult philosophers. he was lodged at courts, and favoured by all his contemporaries. scholars like erasmus spoke of him with admiration; and royalty constantly sought his powers of divination. but in advanced life he was accused of sorcery, and died poor in . [ ] one of the most popular of our old english prose romances, "the historie of fryer bacon," narrates how he had intended to "wall england about with brass," by means of such a brazen head, had not the stupidity of a servant prevented him. the tale may be read in thoms' "collection of early english prose romances." [ ] the allusion here is to the automaton chess-player, first exhibited by kempelen (its inventor) in england about . the figure was habited as a turk, and placed behind a chest, this was opened by the exhibitor to display the machinery, which seemed to give the figure motion, while playing intricate games of chess with any of the spectators. but it has been fully demonstrated that this chest could conceal a full-grown man, who could place his arm down that of the figure, and direct its movements in the game; the machinery being really constructed to hide him, and disarm suspicion. as the whole trick has been demonstrated by diagrams, the marvellous nature of the machinery is exploded. [ ] this brass duck was the work of a very ingenious mechanist, m. vaucanson; it is reported to have uttered its natural voice, moved its wings, drank water, and ate corn. in , he delighted the parisians by a figure of a shepherd which played on a pipe and beat a tabor; and a flute-player who performed twelve tunes. [ ] this great charlatan, after many successful impositions, ended his life in poverty in the hospital at saltzbourg, in . [ ] similar popular fallacies may be seen carefully noted in r. burton's "admirable curiosities, rarities, and wonders in england, scotland, and ireland," . it is one of those curious volumes of "folk-lore" sent out by nat. crouch the bookseller, under a fictitious name. [ ] hall's postulate is, that god's work could not admit of any substantial change, which is above the reach of all infernal powers; but "herein the divell plays the double sophister; the sorcerer with sorcerers. hee both deludes the witch's conceit and the beholder's eyes." in a word, hall believes in what he cannot understand! yet hall will not believe one of the catholic miracles of "the virgin of louvain," though lipsius had written a book to commemorate "the goddess," as hall sarcastically calls her. hall was told, with great indignation, in the shop of the bookseller of lipsius, that when james the first had just looked over this work, he flung it down, vociferating "damnation to him that made it, and to him that believes it!" [ ] thousands flocked to see this "miracle" in the middle ages, and their presence brought great wealth to the abbey. it was believed to have grown miraculously from the staff used by st. joseph. it appears to have been brought from palestine, and merely to have flowered in accordance with its natural season, though differing with ours. [ ] taylor, the water poet, in his "wonders of the west," , says that a slip was preserved by a vintner dwelling at glastonbury, when the soldiers cut down the tree; that he set it in his garden, "and he with others did tell me that the same doth likewise bloom on the th day of december, yearly." [ ] many of these tales of treasures in hills, are now reduced to the simple facts of discoveries being made of coins and personal ornaments, in tumuli of roman and saxon settlers in england. in the british museum is a gold breastplate found in a grave at mold, in flintshire. the grave-hills of bohemia have furnished the museum at vienna with a large number of gold objects of great size and value. in russia the dead have been found placed between large plates of pure gold in the centre of such tumuli; and in ireland very large and valuable gold personal ornaments have been frequently found in grave-hills. on puck the commentator. literary forgeries recently have been frequently indulged in, and it is urged that they are of an innocent nature; but impostures more easily practised than detected leave their mischief behind, to take effect at a distant period; and as i shall show, may entrap even the judicious! it may require no high exertion of genius to draw up a grave account of an ancient play-wright whose name has never reached us, or to give an extract from a volume inaccessible to our inquiries and, as dulness is no proof of spuriousness, forgeries, in time, mix with authentic documents.[ ] we have ourselves witnessed versions of spanish and portuguese poets, which are passed on their unsuspicious readers without difficulty, but in which no parts of the pretended originals can be traced; and to the present hour, whatever antiquaries may affirm, the poems of chatterton[ ] and ossian[ ] are veiled in mystery! if we possessed the secret history of the literary life of george steevens, it would display an unparalleled series of arch deception and malicious ingenuity. he has been happily characterised by gifford as "the puck of commentators!" steevens is a creature so spotted over with literary forgeries and adulterations, that any remarkable one about the time he flourished may be attributed to him. they were the habits of a depraved mind, and there was a darkness in his character many shades deeper than belonged to puck; even in the playfulness of his invention there was usually a turn of personal malignity, and the real object was not so much to raise a laugh, as to "grin horribly a ghastly smile," on the individual. it is more than rumoured that he carried his ingenious malignity into the privacies of domestic life; and it is to be regretted that mr. nichols, who might have furnished much secret history of this extraordinary literary forger, has, from delicacy, mutilated his collective vigour. george steevens usually commenced his operations by opening some pretended discovery in the evening papers, which were then of a more literary cast than they are at present; the _st. james's chronicle_, the _general evening post_, or the _whitehall_, were they not dead in body and in spirit, would now bear witness to his successful efforts. the late mr. boswell told me, that steevens frequently wrote notes on shakspeare, purposely to mislead or entrap malone, and obtain for himself an easy triumph in the next edition! steevens loved to assist the credulous in getting up for them some strange new thing, dancing them about with a will-o'-the-wisp--now alarming them by a shriek of laughter! and now like a grinning pigwigging sinking them chin-deep into a quagmire! once he presented them with a fictitious portrait of shakspeare, and when the brotherhood were sufficiently divided in their opinions, he pounced upon them with a demonstration, that every portrait of shakspeare partook of the same doubtful authority! steevens usually assumed a _nom de guerre_ of collins, a pseudo-commentator, and sometimes of amner, who was discovered to be an obscure puritanic minister who never read text or notes of a play-wright, whenever he explored into a "thousand notable secrets" with which he has polluted the pages of shakspeare! the marvellous narrative of the upas-tree of java, which darwin adopted in his plan of "enlisting imagination under the banner of science," appears to have been another forgery which amused our "puck." it was first given in the _london magazine_, as an extract from a dutch traveller, but the extract was never discovered in the original author, and "the effluvia of this noxious tree, which through a district of twelve or fourteen miles had killed all vegetation, and had spread the skeletons of men and animals, affording a scene of melancholy beyond what poets have described, or painters delineated," is perfectly chimerical. a splendid flim-flam! when dr. berkenhout was busied in writing, without much knowledge or skill, a history of our english authors, steevens allowed the good man to insert a choice letter by george peele, giving an account of a "merry meeting at the globe," wherein shakspeare said ben jonson and ned alleyne are admirably made to perform their respective parts. as the nature of the "biographia literaria" required authorities, steevens ingeniously added, "whence i copied this letter i do not recollect." however, he well knew it came from the "theatrical mirror," where he had first deposited the precious original, to which he had unguardedly ventured to affix the date of ; unluckily, peele was discovered to have died two years before he wrote his own letter! the _date_ is adroitly dropped in berkenhout! steevens did not wish to refer to his original, which i have often seen quoted as authority. one of these numerous forgeries of our puck appears in an article in isaac reed's catalogue, art. . "the boke of the soldan, conteyninge strange matters touchynge his lyfe and deathe, and the ways of his course, in two partes, mo," with this marginal note by reed--"the foregoing was written by george steevens, esq., from whom i received it. it was composed merely to impose on 'a literary friend,' and had its effect; for he was so far deceived as to its authenticity, that he gave implicit credit to it, and put down the person's name in whose possession the original books were supposed to be." one of the sort of inventions which i attribute to steevens has been got up with a deal of romantic effect, to embellish the poetical life of milton; and unquestionably must have sadly perplexed his last matter-of-fact editor, who is not a man to comprehend a flim-flam!--for he has sanctioned the whole fiction, by preserving it in his biographical narrative! the first impulse of milton to travel in italy is ascribed to the circumstance of his having been found asleep at the foot of a tree in the vicinity of cambridge, when two foreign ladies, attracted by the loveliness of the youthful poet, alighted from their carriage, and having admired him for some time as they imagined unperceived, the youngest, who was very beautiful, drew a pencil from her pocket, and having written some lines, put the paper with her trembling hand into his own! but it seems,--for something was to account how the sleeping youth could have been aware of these minute particulars, unless he had been dreaming them,--that the ladies had been observed at a distance by some friends of milton, and they explained to him the whole silent adventure. milton on opening the paper read _four verses_ from guarini, addressed to those "human stars," his own eyes! on this romantic adventure, milton set off for italy, to discover the fair "incognita," to which undiscovered lady we are told we stand indebted for the most impassioned touches in the paradise lost! we know how milton passed his time in italy, with dati, and gaddi, and frescobaldi, and other literary friends, amidst its academies, and often busied in book-collecting. had milton's tour in italy been an adventure of knight-errantry, to discover a lady whom he had never seen, at least he had not the merit of going out of the direct road to florence and rome, nor of having once alluded to this _dame de ses pensées_, in his letters or inquiries among his friends, who would have thought themselves fortunate to have introduced so poetical an adventure in the numerous _canzoni_ they showered on our youthful poet. this _historiette_, scarcely fitted for a novel, first appeared where generally steevens's literary amusements were carried on, in the _general evening post_, or the _st. james's chronicle_: and mr. todd, in the improved edition of milton's life, obtained this spurious original, where the reader may find it; but the more curious part of the story remains to be told. mr. todd proceeds, "the preceding highly-coloured relation, however, is _not singular_; my friend, mr. walker, points out to me a counterpart in the extract from the preface to _poésies de marguerite-eleanore clotilde, depuis madame de surville, poète françois du xv. siècle. paris, _." and true enough we find among "the family traditions" of the same clotilde, that justine de levis, great-grandmother of this unknown poetess of the fifteenth century, walking in a forest, witnessed the same beautiful _spectacle_ which the italian unknown had at cambridge; never was such an impression to be effaced, and she could not avoid leaving her tablets by the side of the beautiful sleeper, declaring her passion in her tablets by _four italian verses_! the very number our milton had meted to him! oh! these _four_ verses! they are as fatal in their _number_ as the _date_ of peele's letter proved to george steevens! something still escapes in the most ingenious fabrication which serves to decompose the materials. it is well our veracious historian dropped all mention of guarini--else that would have given that _coup de grace_--a fatal anachronism! however, his invention supplied him with more originality than the adoption of this story and the _four_ verses would lead us to infer. he tells us how petrarch was jealous of the genius of his clotilde's grandmother, and has even pointed out a sonnet which, "among the traditions of the family," was addressed to her! he narrates, that the gentleman, when he fairly awoke, and had read the "four verses," set off for italy, which he run over till he found justine, and justine found him, at a tournament at modena! this parallel adventure disconcerted our two grave english critics--they find a tale which they wisely judge improbable, and because they discover the tale copied, they conclude that "it is not singular!" this knot of perplexity is, however, easily cut through, if we substitute, which we are fully justified in, for "poète du xv. siècle"--"du xix. siècle." the "poésies" of clotilde are as genuine a fabrication as chatterton's; subject to the same objections, having many ideas and expressions which were unknown in the language at the time they are pretended to have been composed, and exhibiting many imitations of voltaire and other poets. the present story of the four _italian verses_, and the beautiful _sleeper_, would be quite sufficient evidence of the authenticity of "the family traditions" of _clotilde, depuis madame de surville_, and also of monsieur de surville himself; a pretended editor, who is said to have found by mere accident the precious manuscript, and while he was copying from the press, in , these pretty poems, for such they are, of his _grande tante_, was shot in the reign of terror, and so completely expired, that no one could ever trace his existence! the real editor, who we must presume to be the poet, published them in . such, then, is the history of a literary forgery! a puck composes a short romantic adventure, which is quietly thrown out to the world in a newspaper or a magazine; some collector, such as the late mr. bindley, who procured for mr. todd his original, as idle at least as he is curious, houses the forlorn fiction--and it enters into literary history! a french chatterton picks up the obscure tale, and behold, astonishes the literary inquirers of the very country whence the imposture sprung! but the four _italian verses_, and the _sleeping youth_! oh! monsieur vanderbourg! for that gentleman is the ostensible editor of clotilde's poesies of the fifteenth century, some ingenious persons are unlucky in this world! perhaps one day we may yet discover that this "romantic adventure" of _milton_ and _justine de levis_ is not so original as it seems--it may lie hid in the _astrée_ of d'urfé, or some of the long romances of the scuderies, whence the english and the french chattertons may have drawn it. to such literary inventors we say with swift:-- ----such are your tricks; but since you hatch, pray own your chicks! will it be credited that for the enjoyment of a temporary piece of malice, steevens would even risk his own reputation as a poetical critic? yet this he ventured, by throwing out of his edition the poems of shakspeare, with a remarkable hyper-criticism, that "the strongest act of parliament that could be framed would fail to compel readers into their service." not only he denounced the sonnets of shakspeare, but the sonnet itself, with an absurd question, "what has truth or nature to do with sonnets?" the secret history of this unwarrantable mutilation of a great author by his editor was, as i was informed by the late mr. boswell, merely done to spite his rival commentator malone, who had taken extraordinary pains in their elucidation. steevens himself had formerly reprinted them, but when malone from these sonnets claimed for himself one ivy leaf of a commentator's pride, behold, steevens in a rage would annihilate even shakspeare himself, that he might gain a triumph over malone! in the same spirit, but with more caustic pleasantry, he opened a controversy with malone respecting shakspeare's wife! it seems that the poet had forgotten to mention his wife in his copious will; and his recollection of mrs. shakspeare seems to mark the slightness of his regard, for he only introduced by an interlineation, a legacy to her of his "second best bed with the furniture"--and nothing more! malone naturally inferred that the poet had forgot her, and so recollected her as more strongly to mark how little he esteemed her. he had already, as it is vulgarly expressed, "cut her off, not indeed with a shilling, but with an old bed!"[ ] all this seems judicious, till steevens asserts the conjugal affection of the bard, tells us, that the poet having, when in health, provided for her by settlement, or knowing that her father had already done so (circumstances entirely conjectural), he bequeathed to her at his death not _merely an old piece of furniture, but_, perhaps, _as a mark of peculiar tenderness_, the very bed that on his bridal night received him to the arms of belvidera! steevens' severity of satire marked the deep malevolence of his heart; and murphy has strongly pourtrayed him in his address to the _malevoli_. such another puck was horace walpole! the king of prussia's "letter" to rousseau, and "the memorial" pretended to have been signed by noblemen and gentlemen, were fabrications, as he confesses, only to make mischief. it well became him, whose happier invention, the castle of otranto, was brought forward in the guise of forgery, so unfeelingly to have reprobated the innocent inventions of a chatterton. we have pucks busied among our contemporaries: whoever shall discover their history will find it copious though intricate; the malignity at least will exceed tenfold the merriment. footnotes: [ ] a remarkable instance is afforded in the present work; see the note to the article on _newspapers_, in vol. i., detailing one which has spread falsity to an enormous extent throughout our general literature. [ ] the pretended "antique manuscripts" preserved among the chatterton papers in the british museum, as well as the fac-simile of the "yellow roll," published in the cambridge edition of chatterton's works, are, however, so totally unlike the writing of the era to which they purport to belong, that no doubt need be entertained as to their falsity. [ ] they are, however, so far determined by the fragments of gaelic originals, since published by scottish antiquaries, that the amplifications of macpherson can be detected. [ ] mr. charles knight, in his edition of shakspeare, first clearly pointed out the true nature of the bequest. the great poet's estates, with the exception of a copyhold tenement, expressly mentioned in the will, were freehold. _his wife was entitled to dower_, or a life interest of one-third of the proceeds arising from lands or tenements the property of shakspeare, and which were of considerable value, she was thus amply provided for by the clear and undeniable operation of the law of england. mr. halliwell has further proved that such bequests were the constant modes of showing regard to such relatives as were well provided for by the usual legal course of events; and he adds, "so far from this bequest being one of slight importance, and exhibiting small esteem, it was the usual mode of expressing a mark of great affection." literary forgeries. the preceding article has reminded me of a subject by no means incurious to the lovers of literature. a large volume might be composed on literary impostors; their modes of deception, however, were frequently repetitions; particularly those at the restoration of letters, when there prevailed a _mania_ for burying spurious antiquities, that they might afterwards be brought to light to confound their contemporaries. they even perplex us at the present day. more sinister forgeries have been performed by scotchmen, of whom archibald bower, lauder, and macpherson, are well known. even harmless impostures by some unexpected accident have driven an unwary inquirer out of the course. george steevens must again make his appearance for a memorable trick played on the antiquary gough. this was the famous tombstone on which was engraved the drinking-horn of hardyknute, to indicate his last fatal carouse; for this royal dane died drunk! to prevent any doubt, the name, in saxon characters, was sufficiently legible. steeped in pickle to hasten a precocious antiquity, it was then consigned to the corner of a broker's shop, where the antiquarian eye of gough often pored on the venerable odds and ends; it perfectly succeeded on the "director of the antiquarian society." he purchased the relic for a trifle, and dissertations of a due size were preparing for the archæologia![ ] gough never forgave himself nor steevens for this flagrant act of ineptitude. on every occasion in the _gentleman's magazine_, when compelled to notice this illustrious imposition, he always struck out his own name, and muffled himself up under his titular office of "the director!" gough never knew that this "modern antique" was only a piece of retaliation. in reviewing masters's life of baker he found two heads, one scratched down from painted glass by george steevens, who would have passed it off for a portrait of one of our kings. gough, on the watch to have a fling at george steevens, attacked his graphic performance, and reprobated a portrait which had nothing human in it! steevens vowed, that wretched as gough deemed his pencil to be, it should make "the director" ashamed of his own eyes, and be fairly taken in by something scratched much worse. such was the origin of his adoption of this fragment of a chimney-slab, which i have seen, and with a better judge wondered at the injudicious antiquary, who could have been duped by the slight and ill-formed scratches, and even with a false spelling of the name, which, however, succeeded in being passed off as a genuine saxon inscription: but he had counted on his man.[ ] the trick is not so original as it seems. one de grassis had engraved on marble the epitaph of a mule, which he buried in his vineyard: some time after, having ordered a new plantation on the spot, the diggers could not fail of disinterring what lay ready for them. the inscription imported that one publius grassus had raised this monument to his mule! de grassis gave it out as an odd coincidence of names, and a prophecy about his own mule! it was a simple joke! the marble was thrown by, and no more thought of. several years after it rose into celebrity, for with the erudite it then passed for an ancient inscription, and the antiquary poracchi inserted the epitaph in his work on "burials." thus de grassis and his mule, equally respectable, would have come down to posterity, had not the story by some means got wind! an incident of this nature is recorded in portuguese history, contrived with the intention to keep up the national spirit, and diffuse hopes of the new enterprise of vasco de gama, who had just sailed on a voyage of discovery to the indies. three stones were discovered near cintra, bearing in ancient characters a latin inscription; a sibylline oracle addressed prophetically "to the inhabitants of the west!" stating that when these three stones shall be found, the ganges, the indus, and the tagus should exchange their commodities! this was the pious fraud of a portuguese poet, sanctioned by the approbation of the king. when the stones had lain a sufficient time in the damp earth, so as to become apparently antique, our poet invited a numerous party to a dinner at his country-house; in the midst of the entertainment a peasant rushed in, announcing the sudden discovery of this treasure! the inscription was placed among the royal collections as a sacred curiosity! the prophecy was accomplished, and the oracle was long considered genuine! in such cases no mischief resulted; the annals of mankind were not confused by spurious dynasties and fabulous chronologies; but when literary forgeries are published by those whose character hardly admits of a suspicion that they are themselves the impostors, the difficulty of assigning a motive only increases that of forming a decision; to adopt or reject them may be equally dangerous. in this class we must place annius of viterbo,[ ] who published a pretended collection of historians of the remotest antiquity, some of whose _names_ had descended to us in the works of ancient writers, while their works themselves had been lost. afterwards he subjoined commentaries to confirm their authority by passages from known authors. these at first were eagerly accepted by the learned; the blunders of the presumed editor, one of which was his mistaking the right name of the historian he forged, were gradually detected, till at length the imposture was apparent! the pretended originals were more remarkable for their number than their volume; for the whole collection does not exceed pages, which lessened the difficulty of the forgery; while the commentaries which were afterwards published must have been manufactured at the same time as the text. in favour of annius, the high rank he occupied at the roman court, his irreproachable conduct, and his declaration that he had recovered some of these fragments at mantua, and that others had come from armenia, induced many to credit these pseudo-historians. a literary war soon kindled; niceron has discriminated between four parties engaged in this conflict. one party decried the whole of the collection as gross forgeries; another obstinately supported their authenticity; a third decided that they were forgeries before annius possessed them, who was only credulous; while a fourth party considered them as partly authentic, and ascribed their blunders to the interpolations of the editor, to increase their importance. such as they were, they scattered confusion over the whole face of history. the false berosus opens his history before the deluge, when, according to him, the chaldeans through preceding ages had faithfully preserved their historical evidences! annius hints, in his commentary, at the archives and public libraries of the babylonians: the days of noah comparatively seemed modern history with this dreaming editor. some of the fanciful writers of italy were duped: sansovino, to delight the florentine nobility, accommodated them with a new title of antiquity in their ancestor noah, _imperatore e monarcha delle genti, visse e morì in quelle parti._ the spaniards complained that in forging these fabulous origins of different nations, a new series of kings from the ark of noah had been introduced by some of their rhodomontade historians to pollute the sources of their history. bodin's otherwise valuable works are considerably injured by annius's supposititious discoveries. one historian died of grief, for having raised his elaborate speculations on these fabulous originals; and their credit was at length so much reduced, that pignori and maffei both announced to their readers that they had not referred in their works to the pretended writers of annius! yet, to the present hour, these presumed forgeries are not always given up. the problem remains unsolved--and the silence of the respectable annius, in regard to the forgery, as well as what he affirmed when alive, leave us in doubt whether he really intended to laugh at the world by these fairy tales of the giants of antiquity. sanchoniathon, as preserved by eusebius, may be classed among these ancient writings or forgeries, and has been equally rejected and defended. another literary forgery, supposed to have been grafted on those of annius, involved the inghirami family. it was by digging in their grounds that they discovered a number of etruscan antiquities, consisting of inscriptions, and also fragments of a chronicle, pretended to have been composed sixty years before the vulgar era. the characters on the marbles were the ancient etruscan, and the historical work tended to confirm the pretended discoveries of annius. they were collected and enshrined in a magnificent folio by curtius inghirami, who, a few years after, published a quarto volume exceeding one thousand pages to support their authenticity. notwithstanding the erudition of the forger, these monuments of antiquity betrayed their modern condiment.[ ] there were uncial letters which no one knew; but these were said to be undiscovered ancient etruscan characters; it was more difficult to defend the small italic letters, for they were not used in the age assigned to them; besides that, there were dots on the letter _i_, a custom not practised till the eleventh century. the style was copied from the latin of the psalms and the breviary; but inghirami discovered that there had been an intercourse between the etruscans and the hebrews, and that david had imitated the writings of noah and his descendants! of noah the chronicle details speeches and anecdotes! the romans, who have preserved so much of the etruscans, had not, however, noticed a single fact recorded in these etruscan antiquities. inghirami replied that the manuscript was the work of the secretary of the college of the etrurian augurs, who alone was permitted to draw his materials from the archives, and who, it would seem, was the only scribe who has favoured posterity with so much secret history. it was urged in favour of the authenticity of these etruscan monuments, that inghirami was so young an antiquary at the time of the discovery, that he could not even explain them; and that when fresh researches were made on the spot, other similar monuments were also disinterred, where evidently they had long lain; the whole affair, however contrived, was confined to the _inghirami family_. one of them, half a century before, had been the librarian of the vatican, and to him is ascribed the honour of the forgeries which he buried where he was sure they would be found. this, however, is a mere conjecture! inghirami, who published and defended their authenticity, was not concerned in their fabrication; the design was probably merely to raise the antiquity of volaterra, the family estate of the inghirami; and for this purpose one of its learned branches had bequeathed his posterity a collection of spurious historical monuments, which tended to overturn all received ideas on the first ages of history.[ ] it was probably such impostures, and those of _false decretals of_ isidore, which were forged for the maintenance of the papal supremacy, and for eight hundred years formed the fundamental basis of the canon law, the discipline of the church, and even the faith of christianity, which led to the monstrous pyrrhonism of father hardouin, who, with immense erudition, had persuaded himself that, excepting the bible and homer, herodotus, plautus, pliny the elder, with fragments of cicero, virgil, and horace, all the remains of classical literature were forgeries of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries! in two dissertations he imagined that he had proved that the Æneid was not written by virgil, nor the odes of horace by that poet. hardouin was one of those wrong-headed men who, once having fallen into a delusion, whatever afterwards occurs to them on their favourite subject only tends to strengthen it. he died in his own faith! he seems not to have been aware that by ascribing such prodigal inventions as plutarch, thucydides, livy, tacitus, and other historians, to the men he did, he was raising up an unparalleled age of learning and genius when monks could only write meagre chronicles, while learning and genius themselves lay in an enchanted slumber with a suspension of all their vital powers. there are numerous instances of the forgeries of smaller documents. the prayer-book of columbus, presented to him by the pope, which the great discoverer of a new world bequeathed to the genoese republic, has a codicil in his own writing, as one of the leaves testifies, but as volumes composed against its authenticity deny. the famous description in petrarch's virgil, so often quoted, of his first _rencontre_ with laura in the church of st. clair on a good friday, th april, , it has been recently attempted to be shown is a forgery. by calculation, it appears that the th april, , fell on a monday! the good friday seems to have been a blunder of the manufacturer of the note. he was entrapped by reading the second sonnet, as it appears in the _printed_ editions! era il giorno ch' al sol _si scolorana_ _per la_ pietà del suo fattore i rai. "it was on the day when the rays of the sun were obscured by compassion for his maker." the forger imagined this description alluded to good friday and the eclipse at the crucifixion. but how stands the passage in the ms. in the imperial library of vienna, which abbé costaing has found? era il giorno ch' al sol _di color raro_ _parve_ la pietà da suo fattore, _ai rai_ quand io fu preso; e non mi guardai che ben vostri occhi dentro mi legaro. "it was on the day that i was captivated, devotion for its maker appeared in the rays of a brilliant sun, and i did not well consider that it was your eyes that enchained me!" the first meeting, according to the abbé costaing, was not in a _church_, but in a _meadow_--as appears by the ninety-first sonnet. the laura of sade was _not_ the laura of petrarch, but laura de baux, unmarried, and who died young, residing in the vicinity of vaucluse. petrarch had often viewed her from his own window, and often enjoyed her society amidst her family.[ ] if the abbé costaing's discovery be confirmed, the good name of petrarch is freed from the idle romantic passion for a married woman. it would be curious if the famous story of the first meeting with laura in the church of st. clair originated in the blunder of the forger's misconception of a passage which was incorrectly printed, as appears by existing manuscripts! literary forgeries have been introduced into bibliography; dates have been altered; fictitious titles affixed; and books have been reprinted, either to leave out or to interpolate whole passages! i forbear entering minutely into this part of the history of literary forgery, for this article has already grown voluminous. when we discover, however, that one of the most magnificent of _amateurs_, and one of the most critical of bibliographers, were concerned in a forgery of this nature, it may be useful to spread an alarm among collectors. the duke de la vallière, and the abbé de st. leger once concerted together to supply the eager purchaser of literary rarities with a copy of _de tribus impostoribus_, a book, by the date, pretended to have been printed in , though probably a modern forgery of . the title of such a work had long existed by rumour, but never was a copy seen by man! works printed with this title have all been proved to be modern fabrications. a copy, however, of the _introuvable_ original was sold at the duke de la vallière's sale! the history of this volume is curious. the duke and the abbé having manufactured a text, had it printed in the old gothic character, under the title, _de tribus impostoribus_. they proposed to put the great bibliopolist, de bure, in good humour, whose agency would sanction the imposture. they were afterwards to dole out copies at twenty-five louis each, which would have been a reasonable price for a book which no one ever saw! they invited de bure to dinner, flattered and cajoled him, and, as they imagined, at a moment they had wound him up to their pitch, they exhibited their manufacture; the keen-eyed glance of the renowned cataloguer of the "bibliographie instructive" instantly shot like lightning over it, and, like lightning, destroyed the whole edition. he not only discovered the forgery, but reprobated it! he refused his sanction; and the forging duke and abbé, in confusion, suppressed the _livre introuvable_; but they owed a grudge to the honest bibliographer, and attempted to write down the work whence the de bures derive their fame. among the extraordinary literary impostors of our age--if we except lauder, who, detected by the ithuriel pen of bishop douglas, lived to make his public recantation of his audacious forgeries, and chatterton, who has buried his inexplicable story in his own grave, a tale, which seems but half told--we must place a man well known in the literary world under the assumed name of george psalmanazar. he composed his autobiography as the penance of contrition, not to be published till he was no more, when all human motives have ceased which might cause his veracity to be suspected. the life is tedious; but i have curiously traced the progress of the mind in an ingenious imposture, which is worth preservation. the present literary forgery consisted of personating a converted islander of formosa: a place then little known but by the reports of the jesuits, and constructing a language and a history of a new people and a new religion, entirely of his own invention! this man was evidently a native of the south of france; educated in some provincial college of the jesuits, where he had heard much of their discoveries of japan; he had looked over their maps, and listened to their comments. he forgot the manner in which the japanese wrote; but supposed, like orientalists, they wrote from the right to the left, which he found difficult to manage. he set about excogitating an alphabet; but actually forgot to give names to his letters, which afterwards baffled him before literary men. he fell into gross blunders; having inadvertently affirmed that the formosans sacrificed eighteen thousand male infants annually, he persisted in not lessening the number. it was proved to be an impossibility in so small an island, without occasioning a depopulation. he had made it a principle in this imposture never to vary when he had once said a thing. all this was projected in haste, fearful of detection by those about him. he was himself surprised at his facility of invention, and the progress of his forgery. he had formed an alphabet, a considerable portion of a new language, a grammar, a new division of the year into twenty months, and a new religion! he had accustomed himself to write his language; but being an inexpert writer with the unusual way of writing backwards, he found this so difficult, that he was compelled to change the complicated forms of some of his letters. he now finally quitted his home, assuming the character of a formosan convert, who had been educated by the jesuits. he was then in his fifteenth or sixteenth year. to support his new character, he practised some religious mummeries; he was seen worshipping the rising and setting sun. he made a prayer-book with rude drawings of the sun, moon, and stars, to which he added some gibberish prose and verse, written in his invented character, muttering or chanting it, as the humour took him. his custom of eating raw flesh seemed to assist his deception more than the sun and moon.[ ] in a garrison at sluys he found a scotch regiment in the dutch pay; the commander had the curiosity to invite our formosan to confer with innes, the chaplain to his regiment. this innes was probably the chief cause of the imposture being carried to the extent it afterwards reached. innes was a clergyman, but a disgrace to his cloth. as soon as he fixed his eye on our formosan, he hit on a project; it was nothing less than to make psalmanazar the ladder of his own ambition, and the stepping-place for him to climb up to a good living! innes was a worthless character; as afterwards appeared, when by an audacious imposition innes practised on the bishop of london, he avowed himself to be the author of an anonymous work, entitled "a modest inquiry after moral virtue;" for this he obtained a good living in essex: the real author, a poor scotch clergyman, obliged him afterwards to disclaim the work in print, and to pay him the profit of the edition which innes had made! he lost his character, and retired to the solitude of his living; if not penitent, at least mortified. such a character was exactly adapted to become the foster-father of imposture. innes courted the formosan, and easily won on the adventurer, who had hitherto in vain sought for a patron. meanwhile no time was lost by innes to inform the unsuspicious and generous bishop of london of the prize he possessed--to convert the formosan was his ostensible pretext; to procure preferment his concealed motive. it is curious enough to observe, that the ardour of conversion died away in innes, and the most marked neglect of his convert prevailed, while the answer of the bishop was protracted or doubtful. he had at first proposed to our formosan impostor to procure his discharge, and convey him to england; this was eagerly consented to by our pliant adventurer. a few dutch schellings, and fair words, kept him in good humour; but no letter coming from the bishop, there were fewer words, and not a stiver! this threw a new light over the character of innes to the inexperienced youth. psalmanazar sagaciously now turned all his attention to some dutch ministers; innes grew jealous lest they should pluck the bird which he had already in his net. he resolved to baptize the impostor--which only the more convinced psalmanazar that innes was one himself; for before this time innes had practised a stratagem on him which had clearly shown what sort of a man his formosan was. this stratagem was this: he made him translate a passage in cicero, of some length, into his pretended language, and give it him in writing; this was easily done, by psalmanazar's facility of inventing characters. after innes had made him construe it, he desired to have another version of it on another paper. the proposal, and the arch manner of making it, threw our impostor into the most visible confusion. he had had but a short time to invent the first paper, less to recollect it; so that in the second transcript not above half the words were to be found which existed in the first. innes assumed a solemn air, and psalmanazar was on the point of throwing himself on his mercy, but innes did not wish to unmask the impostor; he was rather desirous of fitting the mask closer to his face. psalmanazar, in this hard trial, had given evidence of uncommon facility, combined with a singular memory. innes cleared his brow, smiled with a friendly look, and only hinted in a distant manner that he ought to be careful to be better provided for the future! an advice which psalmanazar afterwards bore in mind, and at length produced the forgery of an entire new language; and which, he remarkably observes, "by what i have tried since i came into england, i cannot say but i could have compassed it with less difficulty than can be conceived had i applied closely to it." when a version of the catechism was made into the pretended formosan language, which was submitted to the judgment of the first scholars, it appeared to them grammatical, and was pronounced to be a real language, from the circumstance that it resembled no other! and they could not conceive that a stripling could be the inventor of a language. if the reader is curious to examine this extraordinary imposture, i refer him to that literary curiosity, "an historical and geographical description of formosa, with accounts of the religion, customs and manners of the inhabitants, by george psalmanazar, a native of the said isle," ; with numerous plates, wretched inventions! of their dress! religious ceremonies! their tabernacle and altars to the sun, the moon, and the ten stars! their architecture! the viceroy's castle! a temple! a city house! a countryman's house! and the formosan alphabet! in his conferences before the royal society with a jesuit just returned from china, the jesuit had certain strong suspicions that our hero was an impostor. the good father remained obstinate in his own conviction, but could not satisfactorily communicate it to others; and psalmanazar, after politely asking pardon for the expression, complains of the jesuit that "he _lied most impudently," mentitur impudentissime!_ dr. mead absurdly insisted psalmanazar was a dutchman or a german; some thought him a jesuit in disguise, a tool of the non-jurors; the catholics thought him bribed by the protestants to expose their church; the presbyterians that he was paid to explode their doctrine, and cry up episcopacy! this fabulous history of formosa seems to have been projected by his artful prompter innes, who put varenius into psalmanazar's hands to assist him; trumpeted forth in the domestic and foreign papers an account of this converted formosan; maddened the booksellers to hurry the author, who was scarcely allowed two months to produce this extraordinary volume; and as the former accounts which the public possessed of this island were full of monstrous absurdities and contradictions, these assisted the present imposture. our forger resolved not to describe new and surprising things as they had done, but rather studied to clash with them, probably that he might have an opportunity of pretending to correct them. the first edition was immediately sold; the world was more divided than ever in opinion; in a second edition he prefixed a vindication!--the unhappy forger got about twenty guineas for an imposture, whose delusion spread far and wide! some years afterwards psalmanazar was engaged in a minor imposture; one man had persuaded him to father a white composition called the _formosan japan!_ which was to be sold at a high price! it was curious for its whiteness, but it had its faults. the project failed, and psalmanazar considered the miscarriage of the _white formosan japan_ as a providential warning to repent of all his impostures of formosa! among these literary forgeries may be classed several ingenious ones fabricated for a _political_ purpose. we had certainly numerous ones during our civil wars in the reign of charles the first. this is not the place to continue the controversy respecting the mysterious _eikon basiliké_, which has been ranked among them, from the ambiguous claim of gauden.[ ] a recent writer who would probably incline not to leave the monarch, were he living, not only his head but the little fame he might obtain by the "verses" said to be written by him at carisbrook castle, would deprive him also of these. henderson's death-bed recantation is also reckoned among them; and we have a large collection of "letters of sir henry martin to his lady of delight," which were the satirical effusions of a wit of that day, but by the price they have obtained, are probably considered as genuine ones, and exhibit an amusing picture of his loose rambling life.[ ] there is a ludicrous speech of the strange earl of pembroke, which was forged by the inimitable butler. sir john birkenhead, a great humourist and wit, had a busy pen in these spurious letters and speeches.[ ] footnotes: [ ] i have since been informed that this famous invention was originally a flim-flam of a mr. thomas white, a noted collector and dealer in antiquities. but it was steevens who placed it in the broker's shop, where he was certain of _catching_ the antiquary. when the late mr. pegge, a profound brother, was preparing to write a dissertation on it, the first inventor of the flam stepped forward to save any further tragical termination; the wicked wit had already succeeded too well. [ ] the stone may be found in the british museum. hardcnvt is the reading on the _harthacnut_ stone; but the true orthography of the name is harÐacnvt. it was reported to have been discovered in kennington-lane, where the palace of the monarch was said to have been located, and the inscription carefully made in anglo-saxon characters, was to the effect that "here hardcnut drank a wine horn dry, stared about him, and died." sylvanus urban, my once excellent and old friend, seems a trifle uncourteous on this grave occasion.--he tells us, however, that "the history of this wanton trick, with a _fac-simile_ of schnebbelie's drawing, may be seen in his volume lx. p. ." he says that this wicked contrivance of george steevens was to entrap this famous draughtsman! does sylvanus then deny that "the director" was not also "entrapped?" and that he always struck out his own _name_ in the proof-sheets of the magazine, substituting his official designation, by which the whole society itself seemed to screen "the director!" [ ] he was a dominican monk, his real name being giovanni nanni, which he latinized in conformity with the custom of his era. he was born , and died . his great work, _antiquitatem rariorum_, professes to contain the works of manetho, berosus, and other authors of equal antiquity. [ ] a forgery of a similar character has been recently effected in the _débris_ of the chapelle st. eloi (département de l'eure, france), where many inscriptions connected with the early history of france were exhumed, which a deputation of antiquaries, convened to examine their authenticity, have since pronounced to be forgeries! [ ] the volume of these pretended antiquities is entitled _etruscarum antiquitatum fragmenta, fo. franc._ . that which inghirami published to defend their authenticity is in italian, _discorso sopra l'opposizioni fatte all' antichita toscane_, to, _firenze_, . [ ] i draw this information from a little "new year's gift," which my learned friend, the rev. s. weston, presented to his friends in , entitled "a visit to vaucluse," accompanied by a supplement. he derives his account apparently from a curious publication of l'abbé costaing de pusigner d'avignon, which i with other inquirers have not been able to procure, but which it is absolutely necessary to examine, before we can decide on the very curious but unsatisfactory accounts we have hitherto possessed of the laura of petrarch. [ ] for some further notices of psalmanazar and his literary labours, we may refer the reader to vol. i. p. , note. [ ] the question has been discussed with great critical acumen by dr. wordsworth. [ ] since this was published i have discovered that harry martin's letters are not forgeries, but i cannot immediately recover my authority. [ ] one of the most amusing of these tricks was perpetrated on william prynne, the well-known puritanic hater of the stage, by some witty cavalier. prynne's great work, "histriomastix, the player's scourge; or, actor's tragedy," an immense quarto, of pages, was a complete condemnation of all theatrical amusements; but in appeared a tract of four leaves, entitled "mr. william prynne, his defence of stage playes; or, a retractation of a former book of his called histriomastix." it must have astonished many readers in his own day, and would have passed for his work in more modern times, but for the accidental preservation of a single copy of a handbill prynne published disclaiming the whole thing. his style is most amusingly imitated throughout, and his great love for quoting authorities in his margin. he is made to complain that "this wicked and tyrannical army did lately in a most inhumane, cruell, rough, and barbarous manner, take away the poor players from their houses, being met there to discharge the duty of their callings: as if this army were fully bent, and most trayterously and maliciously set, to put down and depresse all the king's friends, not only in the parliament but in the very theatres; they have no care of covenant or any thing else." and he is further made to declare, in spite of "what the malicious, clamorous, and obstreperous people" may object, that he once wrote against stage-plays,--that it was "when i had not so clear a light as now i have." we can fancy the amusement this pamphlet must have been to many readers during the great civil war. of literary filchers. an honest historian at times will have to inflict severe stroke on his favourites. this has fallen to my lot, for in the course of my researches, i have to record that we have both forgers and purloiners, as well as other more obvious impostors, in the republic of letters! the present article descends to relate anecdotes of some contrivances to possess our literary curiosities by other means than by purchase; and the only apology which can be alleged for the _splendida peccata_, as st. austin calls the virtues of the heathen, of the present innocent criminals, is their excessive passion for literature, and otherwise the respectability of their names. according to grose's "classical dictionary of the vulgar tongue," we have had celebrated _collectors_, both in the learned and vulgar idioms. but one of them, who had some reasons too to be tender on this point, distinguished this mode of completing his collections, not by _book-stealing_, but by _book-coveting_. on some occasions, in mercy, we must allow of softening names. were not the spartans allowed to steal from one another, and the bunglers only punished? it is said that pinelli made occasional additions to his literary treasures sometimes by his skill in an art which lay much more in the hand than in the head: however, as pinelli never stirred out of his native city but once in his lifetime, when the plague drove him from home, his field of action was so restricted, that we can hardly conclude that he could have been so great an enterpriser in this way. no one can have lost their character by this sort of exercise in a confined circle, and be allowed to prosper! a light-fingered mercury would hardly haunt the same spot: however, this is as it may be! it is probable that we owe to this species of accumulation many precious manuscripts in the cottonian collection. it appears by the manuscript note-book of sir nicholas hyde, chief justice of the king's bench from the second to the seventh year of charles the first, that sir robert cotton had in his library, records, evidences, ledger-books, original letters, and other state papers, belonging to the king; for the attorney-general of that time, to prove this, showed a copy of the _pardon_ which sir robert had obtained from king james for _embezzling records_, &c.[ ] gough has more than insinuated that rawlinson and his friend umfreville "lie under very strong suspicions;" and he asserts that the collector of the wilton treasures made as free as dr. willis with his friend's coins.[ ] but he has also put forth a declaration relating to bishop more, the famous collector, that "the bishop collected his library by _plundering_ those of the clergy in his diocese; some he paid with sermons or more modern books; others, less civilly, only with a _quid illiterati cum libris?_" this _plundering_ then consisted rather of _cajoling_ others out of what they knew not how to value; and this is an advantage which every skilful lover of books must enjoy over those whose apprenticeship has not expired. i have myself been plundered by a very dear friend of some such literary curiosities, in the days of my innocence and of his precocity of knowledge. however, it does appear that bishop more did actually lay violent hands in a snug corner on some irresistible little charmer; which we gather from a precaution adopted by a friend of the bishop, who one day was found busy in _hiding his rarest books_, and locking up as many as he could. on being asked the reason of this odd occupation, the bibliopolist ingenuously replied, "the bishop of ely dines with me to-day." this fact is quite clear, and here is another as indisputable. sir robert saville writing to sir robert cotton, appointing an interview with the founder of the bodleian library, cautions sir robert, that "if he held any book so dear as that he would be loath to lose it, he should _not let sir thomas out of his sight_, but set 'the boke' aside beforehand." a surprise and detection of this nature has been revealed in a piece of secret history by amelot de la houssaie, which terminated in very important political consequences. he assures us that the personal dislike which pope innocent x. bore to the french had originated in his youth, when cardinal, from having been detected in the library of an eminent french collector, of having purloined a most rare volume. the delirium of a collector's rage overcame even french politesse; the frenchman not only openly accused his illustrious culprit, but was resolved that he should not quit the library without replacing the precious volume--from accusation and denial both resolved to try their strength: but in this literary wrestling-match the book dropped out of the cardinal's robes!--and from that day he hated the french--at least their more curious collectors! even an author on his dying bed, at those awful moments, should a collector be by his side, may not be considered secure from his too curious hands. sir william dugdale possessed the minutes of king james's life, written by camden, till within a fortnight of his death; as also camden's own life, which he had from hacket, the author of the folio life of bishop williams: who, adds aubrey, "did _filch_ it from mr. camden, as he lay a dying!" he afterwards corrects his information, by the name of dr. thorndyke, which, however, equally answers our purpose, to prove that even dying authors may dread such collectors! the medalists have, i suspect, been more predatory than these subtractors of our literary treasures; not only from the facility of their conveyance, but from a peculiar contrivance which of all those things which admit of being secretly purloined, can only be practised in this department--for they can steal and no human hand can search them with any possibility of detection; they can pick a cabinet and swallow the curious things, and transport them with perfect safety, to be digested at their leisure. an adventure of this kind happened to baron stosch, the famous antiquary. it was in looking over the gems of the royal cabinet of medals, that the keeper perceived the loss of one; his place, his pension, and his reputation were at stake: and he insisted that baron stosch should be most minutely examined; in this dilemma, forced to confession, this erudite collector assured the keeper of the royal cabinet, that the strictest search would not avail: "alas, sir! i have it here within," he said, pointing to his breast--an emetic was suggested by the learned practitioner himself, probably from some former experiment. this was not the first time that such a natural cabinet had been invented; the antiquary vaillant, when attacked at sea by an algerine, zealously swallowed a whole series of syrian kings; when he landed at lyons, groaning with his concealed treasure, he hastened to his friend, his physician, and his brother antiquary dufour,--who at first was only anxious to inquire of his patient, whether the medals were of the higher empire? vaillant showed two or three, of which nature had kindly relieved him. a collection of medals was left to the city of exeter, and the donor accompanied the bequest by a clause in his will, that should a certain antiquary, his old friend and rival, be desirous of examining the coins, he should be watched by two persons, one on each side. la croze informs us in his life, that the learned charles patin, who has written a work on medals, was one of the present race of collectors: patin offered the curators of the public library at basle to draw up a catalogue of the cabinet of amberback there preserved, containing a good number of medals; but they would have been more numerous, had the catalogue-writer not diminished both them and his labour, by sequestrating some of the most rare, which was not discovered till this plunderer of antiquity was far out of their reach. when gough touched on this odd subject in the first edition of his "british topography," "an academic" in the _gentleman's magazine_ for august , insinuated that this charge of literary pilfering was only a jocular one; on which gough, in his second edition, observed that this was not the case, and that "one might point out enough _light-fingered antiquaries_ in the present age, to render such a charge extremely probable against earlier ones." the most extraordinary part of this slight history is, that our public denouncer some time after proved himself to be one of these "light-fingered antiquaries:" the deed itself, however, was more singular than disgraceful. at the disinterment of the remains of edward the first, around which thirty years ago assembled our most erudite antiquaries, gough was observed, as steevens used to relate, in a wrapping great-coat of unusual dimensions; that witty and malicious "puck," so capable himself of inventing mischief, easily suspected others, and divided his glance as much on the living piece of antiquity as on the elder. in the act of closing up the relics of royalty, there was found wanting an entire fore-finger of edward the first; and as the body was perfect when opened, a murmur of dissatisfaction was spreading, when "puck" directed their attention to the great antiquary in the watchman's great-coat--from whence--too surely was extracted edward the first's great fore-finger!--so that "the light-fingered antiquary" was recognised ten years after he denounced the race, when he came to "try his hand."[ ] footnotes: [ ] lansdowne mss. , in the former printed catalogue, art. . [ ] coins are the most dangerous things which can be exhibited to a professed _collector_. one of the fraternity, who died but a few years since, absolutely kept a record of his pilferings; he succeeded in improving his collection by attending sales also, and changing his own coins for others in better preservation. [ ] it is probable that this story of gough's pocketing the fore-finger of edward the first, was one of the malicious inventions of george steevens, after he discovered that the antiquary was among the few admitted to the untombing of the royal corpse; steevens himself was not there! sylvanus urban (the late respected john nichols), who must know much more than he cares to record of "puck,"--has, however, given the following "secret history" of what he calls "ungentlemanly and unwarrantable attacks" on gough by steevens. it seems that steevens was a collector of the works of hogarth, and while engaged in forming his collection, wrote an abrupt letter to gough to obtain from him some early impressions, by purchase or exchange. gough resented the manner of his address by a rough refusal, for it is admitted to have been "a peremptory one." thus arose the implacable vengeance of steevens, who used to boast that all the mischievous tricks he played on the grave antiquary, who was rarely over-kind to any one, was but a pleasant kind of revenge. of lord bacon at home. the history of lord bacon would be that of the intellectual faculties, and a theme so worthy of the philosophical biographer remains yet to be written. the personal narrative of this master-genius or inventor must for ever be separated from the _scala intellectûs_ he was perpetually ascending: and the domestic history of this creative mind must be consigned to the most humiliating chapter in the volume of human life; a chapter already sufficiently enlarged, and which has irrefutably proved how the greatest minds are not freed from the infirmities of the most vulgar. the parent of our philosophy is now to be considered in a new light, one which others do not appear to have observed. my researches into contemporary notices of bacon have often convinced me that his philosophical works, in his own days and among his own countrymen, were not only not comprehended, but often ridiculed, and sometimes reprobated; that they were the occasion of many slights and mortifications which this depreciated man endured; but that from a very early period in his life, to that last record of his feelings which appears in his will, this "servant of posterity," as he prophetically called himself, sustained his mighty spirit with the confidence of his own posthumous greatness. bacon cast his views through the maturity of ages, and perhaps amidst the sceptics and the rejectors of his plans, may have felt at times all that idolatry of fame, which has now consecrated his philosophical works. at college, bacon discovered how "that scrap of grecian knowledge, the peripatetic philosophy," and the scholastic babble, could not serve the ends and purposes of knowledge; that syllogisms were not things, and that a new logic might teach us to invent and judge by induction. he found that theories were to be built upon experiments. when a young man, abroad, he began to make those observations on nature, which afterwards led on to the foundations of the new philosophy. at sixteen, he philosophised; at twenty-six, he had framed his system into some form; and after forty years of continued labours, unfinished to his last hour, he left behind him sufficient to found the great philosophical reformation. on his entrance into active life, study was not however his prime object. with his fortune to make, his court connexions and his father's example opened a path for ambition. he chose the practice of common law as his means, while his inclinations were looking upwards to political affairs as his end. a passion for study, however, had strongly marked him; he had read much more than was required in his professional character, and this circumstance excited the mean jealousies of the minister cecil, and the attorney-general coke. both were mere practical men of business, whose narrow conceptions and whose stubborn habits assume that whenever a man acquires much knowledge foreign to his profession, he will know less of professional knowledge than he ought. these men of strong minds, yet limited capacities, hold in contempt all studies alien to their habits. bacon early aspired to the situation of solicitor-general; the court of elizabeth was divided into factions; bacon adopted the interests of the generous essex, which were inimical to the party of cecil. the queen, from his boyhood, was delighted by conversing with her "young lord-keeper," as she early distinguished the precocious gravity and the ingenious turn of mind of the future philosopher. it was unquestionably to attract her favour, that bacon presented to the queen his "maxims and elements of the common law," not published till after his death. elizabeth suffered her minister to form her opinions on the legal character of bacon. it was alleged that bacon was addicted to more general pursuits than law, and the miscellaneous books which he was known to have read confirmed the accusation. this was urged as a reason why the post of solicitor-general should not be conferred on a man of speculation, more likely to distract than to direct her affairs. elizabeth, in the height of that political prudence which marked her character, was swayed by the vulgar notion of cecil, and believed that bacon, who afterwards filled the situation both of solicitor-general and lord chancellor, was "a man rather of show than of depth." we have recently been told by a great lawyer that "bacon was a master." on the accession of james the first, when bacon still found the same party obstructing his political advancement, he appears, in some momentary fit of disgust, to have meditated on a retreat into a foreign country; a circumstance which has happened to several of our men of genius, during a fever of solitary indignation. he was for some time thrown out of the sunshine of life, but he found its shade more fitted for contemplation; and, unquestionably, philosophy was benefited by his solitude at gray's inn. his hand was always on his work, and better thoughts will find an easy entrance into the mind of those who feed on their thoughts, and live amidst their reveries. in a letter on this occasion, he writes, "my ambition now i shall only put upon my pen, whereby i shall be able to maintain memory and merit, of the times succeeding." and many years after, when he had finally quitted public life, he told the king, "i would live to study, and not study to live: yet i am prepared for _date obolum belisario_; and, i that have borne a bag, can bear a wallet." ever were the times succeeding in his mind. in that delightful latin letter to father fulgentio, where, with the simplicity of true grandeur, he takes a view of all his works, and in which he describes himself as "one who served posterity," in communicating his past and his future designs, he adds that "they require some ages for the ripening of them." there, while he despairs of finishing what was intended for the sixth part of his instauration, how nobly he despairs! "of the perfecting this i have cast away all hopes; but in future ages, perhaps, the design may bud again." and he concludes by avowing, that the zeal and constancy of his mind in the great design, after so many years, had never become cold and indifferent. he remembers how, forty years ago, he had composed a juvenile work about those things, which with confidence, but with too pompous a title, he had called _temporis partus maximus_; the great birth of time! besides the public dedication of his _novum organum_ to james the first, he accompanied it with a private letter. he wishes the king's favour to the work, which he accounts as much as a hundred years' time; for he adds, "i am persuaded _the work will gain upon men's minds in_ ages." in his last will appears his remarkable legacy of fame. "my name and memory i leave to foreign nations, and to mine own countrymen, after some time be past over." time seemed always personated in the imagination of our philosopher, and with time he wrestled with a consciousness of triumph. i shall now bring forward sufficient evidence to prove how little bacon was understood, and how much he was even despised, in his philosophical character. in those prescient views by which the genius of verulam has often anticipated the institutions and the discoveries of succeeding times, there was one important object which even his foresight does not appear to have contemplated. lord bacon did not foresee that the english language would one day be capable of embalming all that philosophy can discover, or poetry can invent; that his country would at length possess a national literature of its own, and that it would exult in classical compositions which might be appreciated with the finest models of antiquity. his taste was far unequal to his invention. so little did he esteem the language of his country, that his favourite works are composed in latin; and he was anxious to have what he had written in english preserved in that "universal language which may last as long as books last." it would have surprised bacon to have been told, that the most learned men in europe have studied english authors to learn to think and to write. our philosopher was surely somewhat mortified, when in his dedication of the essays he observed, that "of all my other works my essays have been most current; for that, _as it seems_, they come home to men's business and bosoms." it is too much to hope to find in a vast and profound inventor a writer also who bestows immortality on his language. the english language is the only object in his great survey of art and of nature, which owes nothing of its excellence to the genius of bacon. he had reason indeed to be mortified at the reception of his philosophical works; and dr. rawley, even some years after the death of his illustrious master, had occasion to observe, that "his fame is greater and sounds louder in foreign parts abroad than at home in his own nation"; thereby verifying that divine sentence, a prophet is not without honour, save in his own country and in his own house. even the men of genius, who ought to have comprehended this new source of knowledge thus opened to them, reluctantly entered into it; so repugnant are we suddenly to give up ancient errors which time and habit have made a part of ourselves. harvey, who himself experienced the sluggish obstinacy of the learned, which repelled a great but a novel discovery, could, however, in his turn deride the amazing novelty of bacon's _novum organum_. harvey said to aubrey, that "bacon was no great philosopher; he writes philosophy like a lord chancellor." it has been suggested to me that bacon's philosophical writings have been much overrated.--his experimental philosophy from the era in which they were produced must be necessarily defective: the time he gave to them could only have been had at spare hours; but like the great prophet on the mount, bacon was doomed to view the land afar, which he himself could never enter. bacon found but small encouragement for his _new learning_ among the most eminent scholars, to whom he submitted his early discoveries. a very copious letter by sir thomas bodley on bacon's desiring him to return the manuscript of the _cogitata et visa_, some portion of the _novum organum_, has come down to us; it is replete with objections to the new philosophy. "i am one of that crew," says sir thomas, "that say we possess a far greater holdfast of certainty in the sciences than you will seem to acknowledge." he gives a hint too that solomon complained "of the infinite making of books in his time;" that all bacon delivers is only "by averment without other force of argument, to disclaim all our axioms, maxims, &c., left by tradition from our elders unto us, which have passed all probations of the sharpest wits that ever were;" and he concludes that the end of all bacon's philosophy, by "a fresh creating new principles of sciences, would be to be dispossessed of the learning we have;" and he fears that it would require as many ages as have marched before us that knowledge should be perfectly achieved. bodley truly compares himself to "the carrier's horse which cannot blanch the beaten way in which i was trained."[ ] bacon did not lose heart by the timidity of the "carrier's horse:" a smart vivacious note in return shows his quick apprehension. "as i am going to my house in the country, i shall want my papers, which i beg you therefore to return. you are slothful, and you help me nothing, so that i am half in conceit you affect not the argument; for myself i know well you love and affect. i can say no more, but _non canimus surdis, respondent omnia sylvæ_. if you be not _of the lodgings chalked up_, whereof i speak in my preface, i am but to pass by your door. but if i had you a fortnight at gorhambury, i would make you tell another tale; or else i would add a cogitation _against libraries_, and be revenged on you that way." a keen but playful retort of a great author too conscious of his own views to be angry with his critic! the singular phrase of the _lodgings chalked up_ is a sarcasm explained by this passage in "the advancement of learning." "as alexander borgia was wont to say of the expedition of the french for naples, that they came with chalk in their hands to mark up their lodgings, and not with weapons to fight; so i like better that entry of truth that cometh peaceably with chalk to mark up those minds which are capable to lodge and harbour it, than that which cometh with pugnacity and contention."[ ] the threatened agitation _against libraries_ must have caused bodley's cheek to tingle. let us now turn from the scholastic to the men of the world, and we shall see what sort of notion these critics entertained of the philosophy of bacon. chamberlain writes, "this week the lord chancellor hath set forth his new work, called _instauratio magna_, or a kind of _novum organum_ of all philosophy. in sending it to the king, he wrote that he wished his majesty might be so long in reading it as he hath been in composing and polishing it, which is well near thirty years. i have read no more than the bare title, and am not greatly encouraged by mr. cuffe's judgment,[ ] who having long since perused it, gave this censure, that a fool could not have written such a work, and a wise man would not." a month or two afterwards we find that "the king cannot forbear sometimes in reading the lord chancellor's last book to say, that it is like _the peace of god, that surpasseth all understanding_." two years afterwards the same letter-writer proceeds with another literary paragraph about bacon. "this lord busies himself altogether about _books_, and hath set out two lately, _historia ventorum_ and _de vitâ et morte_, with promise of more. i have yet seen neither of them, because i have not leisure; but if the life of henry the eighth (the seventh), which they say he is about, might _come out after his own manner_ (meaning his moral essays), i should find time and means enough to read it." when this history made its appearance, the same writer observes, "my lord verulam's history of henry the seventh is come forth; i have not read much of it, but they say it is a very pretty book."[ ] bacon, in his vast survey of human knowledge, included even its humbler provinces, and condescended to form a collection of apophthegms: his lordship regretted the loss of a collection made by julius cæsar, while plutarch indiscriminately drew much of the dregs. the wits, who could not always comprehend his plans, ridiculed the sage. i shall now quote a contemporary poet, whose works, for by their size they may assume that distinction, were never published. a dr. andrews wasted a sportive pen on fugitive events; but though not always deficient in humour and wit, such is the freedom of his writings, that they will not often admit of quotation. the following is indeed but a strange pun on bacon's title, derived from the town of st. albans and his collection of apophthegms:-- on lord bacon publishing apophthegms when learned bacon wrote essays, he did deserve and hath the praise; but now he writes his _apophthegms_, surely he dozes or he dreams; one said, _st. albans_ now is grown unable, and is in the high-road way--_to dunstable_ [i.e., _dunce-table_.] to the close of his days were lord bacon's philosophical pursuits still disregarded and depreciated by ignorance and envy, in the forms of friendship or rivality. i shall now give a remarkable example. sir edward coke was a mere great lawyer, and, like all such, had a mind so walled in by law-knowledge, that in its bounded views it shut out the horizon of the intellectual faculties, and the whole of his philosophy lay in the statutes. in the library at holkham there will be found a presentation copy of lord bacon's _novum organum_, the _instauratio magna_, . it was given to coke, for it bears the following note on the title-page, in the writing of coke:-- edw. coke, _ex dono authoris, auctori consilium instaurare paras veterum documenta sophorum instaura leges, justitiamque prius_. the verses not only reprove bacon for going out of his profession, but must have alluded to his character as a prerogative lawyer, and his corrupt administration of the chancery. the book was published in october, , a few months before his impeachment. and so far one may easily excuse the causticity of coke; but how he really valued the philosophy of bacon appears by this: in this first edition there is a device of a ship passing between hercules's pillars; the _plus ultra_, the proud exultation of our philosopher. over this device coke has written a miserable distich in english, which marks his utter contempt of the philosophical pursuits of his illustrious rival. this ship passing beyond the columns of hercules he sarcastically conceits as "the ship of fools," the famous satire of the german sebastian brandt, translated by alexander barclay. _it deserveth not to be read in schools, but to be freighted in the ship of fools._ such then was the fate of lord bacon; a history not written by his biographers, but which may serve as a comment on that obscure passage dropped from the pen of his chaplain, and already quoted, that he was more valued abroad than at home. footnotes: [ ] this letter may be found in _reliquiæ bodleianæ_, p. . [ ] i have been favoured with this apt illustration by an anonymous communicator, who dates from the "london university." i request him to accept my grateful acknowledgments. [ ] henry cuffe, secretary to robert, earl of essex, and executed, being concerned in his treason. a man noted for his classical acquirements and his genius, who perished early in life. [ ] chamberlain adds the price of this moderate-sized folio, which was six shillings. it would be worth the while of some literary student to note the prices of our earlier books, which are often found written upon them by their original possessor. a rare tract first purchased for twopence has often realized four guineas or more in modern days. secret history of the death of queen elizabeth. it is an extraordinary circumstance in our history, that the succession to the english dominion, in two remarkable cases, was never settled by the possessors of the throne themselves during their lifetime; and that there is every reason to believe that this mighty transfer of three kingdoms became the sole act of their ministers, who considered the succession merely as a state expedient. two of our most able sovereigns found themselves in this predicament: queen elizabeth and the protector cromwell! cromwell probably had his reasons not to name his successor; his positive election would have dissatisfied the opposite parties of his government, whom he only ruled while he was able to cajole them. he must have been aware that latterly he had need of conciliating all parties to his usurpation, and was probably as doubtful on his death-bed whom to appoint his successor as at any other period of his reign. ludlow suspects that cromwell was "so discomposed in body or mind, that he could not attend to that matter; and whether he named any one is to me uncertain." all that we know is the report of the secretary thurlow and his chaplains, who, when the protector lay in his last agonies, suggested to him the propriety of choosing his eldest son, and they tell us that he agreed to this choice. had cromwell been in his senses, he would have probably fixed on _henry_, the lord-lieutenant of ireland, rather than on _richard_, or possibly had not chosen either of his sons! elizabeth, from womanish infirmity, or from state-reasons, could not endure the thoughts of her successor; and long threw into jeopardy the politics of all the cabinets of europe, each of which had its favourite candidate to support. the legitimate heir to the throne of england was to be the creature of her breath, yet elizabeth would not speak him into existence! this had, however, often raised the discontents of the nation, and we shall see how it harassed the queen in her dying hours. it is even suspected that the queen still retained so much of the woman, that she could never overcome her perverse dislike to name a successor; so that, according to this opinion, she died and left the crown to the mercy of a party! this would have been acting unworthy of the magnanimity of her great character--and as it is ascertained that the queen was very sensible that she lay in a dying state several days before the natural catastrophe occurred, it is difficult to believe that she totally disregarded so important a circumstance. it is therefore, reasoning _à priori_, most natural to conclude that the choice of a successor must have occupied her thoughts, as well as the anxieties of her ministers; and that she would not have left the throne in the same unsettled state at her death as she had persevered in during her whole life. how did she express herself when bequeathing the crown to james the first, or did she bequeath it at all? in the popular pages of her female historian miss aikin, it is observed that "the closing scene of the long and eventful life of queen elizabeth was marked by that peculiarity of character and destiny which attended her from the cradle, and pursued her to the grave." the last days of elizabeth were indeed most melancholy--she died a victim of the higher passions, and perhaps as much of grief as of age, refusing all remedies and even nourishment. but in all the published accounts, i can nowhere discover how she conducted herself respecting the circumstance of our present inquiry. the most detailed narrative, or as gray the poet calls it, "the earl of monmouth's _odd account_ of queen elizabeth's death," is the one most deserving notice; and there we find the circumstance of this inquiry introduced. the queen at that moment was reduced to so sad a state, that it is doubtful whether her majesty was at all sensible of the inquiries put to her by her ministers respecting the succession. the earl of monmouth says, "on wednesday, the rd of march, she grew speechless. that afternoon, by signs, she called for her council, and by putting her hand to her head when the king of scots was named to succeed her, they all knew he was the man she desired should reign after her." such a sign as that of a dying woman putting her hand to her head was, to say the least, a very ambiguous acknowledgment of the right of the scottish monarch to the english throne. the "odd" but very _naïve_ account of robert cary, afterwards earl of monmouth, is not furnished with dates, nor with the exactness of a diary. something might have occurred on a preceding day which had not reached him. camden describes the death-bed scene of elizabeth; by this authentic writer it appears that she had confided her state-secret of the succession to the lord admiral (the earl of nottingham); and when the earl found the queen almost at her extremity, _he communicated her majesty's secret to the council_, who commissioned the lord admiral, the lord keeper, and the secretary, to wait on her majesty, and acquaint her that they came in the name of the rest to learn her pleasure in reference to _the succession_. the queen was then very weak, and answered them with a faint voice, that she had already declared, that as she held a regal sceptre, so she desired no other than a royal successor. when the secretary requested her to explain herself, the queen said, "i would have a king succeed me; and who should that he but my nearest kinsman, the king of scots?" here this state conversation was put an end to by the interference of the archbishop advising her majesty to turn her thoughts to god. "never," she replied, "has my mind wandered from him." an historian of camden's high integrity would hardly have forged a fiction to please the new monarch: yet camden has not been referred to on this occasion by the exact birch, who draws his information from the letters of the french ambassador, villeroy; information which it appears the english ministers had confided to this ambassador; nor do we get any distinct ideas from elizabeth's more recent popular historian, who could only transcribe the account of cary. he had told us a fact which he could not be mistaken in, that the queen fell speechless on wednesday, rd of march, on which day, however, she called her council, and made that sign with her hand, which, as the lords choose to understand, for ever united the two kingdoms. but the noble editor of cary's memoirs (the earl of cork and orrery) has observed that "the speeches made for elizabeth on her death-bed are all forged." echard, rapin, and a long string of historians, make her say faintly (so faintly indeed that it could not possibly be heard), "i will that a king succeed me, and who should that be but my nearest kinsman, the king of scots?" a different account of this matter will be found in the following memoirs. "she was speechless, and almost expiring, when the chief councillors of state were called into her bedchamber. as soon as they were perfectly convinced that she could not utter an articulate word, and scarce could hear or understand one, they named the king of scots to her, _a liberty they dared not to have taken if she had been able to speak_; she put her hand to her head, which was probably at that time in agonising pain. _the lords, who interpreted her signs just as they pleased_, were immediately convinced that the _motion of her hand to her head was a declaration of james the sixth as her successor_. what was this but the unanimous interpretation of persons who were adoring the rising sun?" this is lively and plausible; but the noble editor did not recollect that "the speeches made by elizabeth on her death-bed," which he deems "forgeries," in consequence of the circumstance he had found in cary's memoirs, originate with camden, and were only repeated by rapin and echard, &c. i am now to confirm the narrative of the elder historian, as well as the circumstance related by cary, describing the sign of the queen a little differently, which happened on wednesday, rd. a hitherto unnoticed document pretends to give a fuller and more circumstantial account of this affair, which commenced on _the preceding day_, when the queen retained the power of speech; and it will be confessed that the language here used has all that loftiness and brevity which was the natural style of this queen. i have discovered a curious document in a manuscript volume formerly in the possession of petyt, and seemingly in his own handwriting. i do not doubt its authenticity, and it could only have come from some of the illustrious personages who were the actors in that solemn scene, probably from cecil. this memorandum is entitled "account of the last words of queen elizabeth about her successor. "on the tuesday before her death, being the twenty-third of march, the admiral being on the right side of her bed, the lord keeper on the left, and mr. secretary cecil (afterwards earl of salisbury) at the bed's feet, all standing, the lord admiral put her in mind of her speech concerning the succession had at whitehall, and that they, in the name of all the rest of her council, came unto her to know her pleasure who should succeed; whereunto she thus replied: "_i told you my seat had been the seat of kings, and i will have no rascal to succeed me. and who should succeed me but a king?_ "the lords not understanding this dark speech, and looking one on the other; at length mr. secretary boldly asked her what she meant by those words, that _no rascal should succeed her_. whereto she replied, that _her meaning was, that a king should succeed: and who_, quoth she, _should, that be but our cousin of scotland_? "they asked her whether that were her absolute resolution? whereto she answered, _i pray you trouble me no more; for i will have none but him_. with which answer they departed. "notwithstanding, after again, about four o'clock in the afternoon the next day, being wednesday, after the archbishop of canterbury and other divines had been with her, and left her in a manner speechless, the three lords aforesaid repaired unto her again, asking her if she remained in her former resolution, and who should succeed her? but not being able to speak, was asked by mr. secretary in this sort, 'we beseech your majesty, if you remain in your former resolution, and that you would have the king of scots to succeed you in your kingdom, show some sign unto us: whereat, _suddenly heaving herself upwards in her bed, and putting her arms out of bed, she held her hands jointly over her head in manner of a crown_; whence as they guessed, she signified that she did not only wish him the kingdom, but desire continuance of his estate: after which they departed, and the next morning she died. immediately after her death, all the lords, as well of the council as other noblemen that were at the court, came from richmond to whitehall by six o'clock in the morning, where other noblemen that were in london met them. touching the succession, after some speeches of divers competitors and matters of state, at length the admiral rehearsed all the aforesaid premises which the late queen had spoken to him, and to the lord keeper, and mr. secretary (cecil), with the manner thereof; which they, being asked, did affirm to be true upon their honour." such is this singular document of secret history. i cannot but value it as authentic, because the one part is evidently alluded to by camden, and the other is fully confirmed by cary; and besides this, the remarkable expression of "rascal" is found in the letter of the french ambassador. there were two interviews with the queen, and cary appears only to have noticed the last on wednesday, when the queen lay speechless. elizabeth all her life had persevered in an obstinate mysteriousness respecting the succession, and it harassed her latest moments. the second interview of her ministers may seem to us quite supernumerary; but cary's "putting her hand to her head," too meanly describes the "joining her hands in manner of a crown." james the first as a father and a husband. calumnies and sarcasms have reduced the character of james the first to contempt among general readers; while the narrative of historians, who have related facts in spite of themselves, is in perpetual contradiction with their own opinions. perhaps no sovereign has suffered more by that art, which is described by an old irish proverb, of "killing a man by lies." the surmises and the insinuations of one party, dissatisfied with the established government in church and state; the misconceptions of more modern writers, who have not possessed the requisite knowledge; and the anonymous libels, sent forth at a particular period to vilify the stuarts; all these cannot be treasured up by the philosopher as the authorities of history. it is at least more honourable to resist popular prejudice than to yield to it a passive obedience; and what we can ascertain it would be a dereliction of truth to conceal. much can be substantiated in favour of the domestic affections and habits of this pacific monarch; and those who are more intimately acquainted with the secret history of the times will perceive how erroneously the personal character of this sovereign is exhibited in our popular historians, and often even among the few who, with better information, have re-echoed their preconceived opinions. confining myself here to his domestic character, i shall not touch on the many admirable public projects of this monarch, which have extorted the praise, and even the admiration, of some who have not spared their pens in his disparagement. james the first has been taxed with pusillanimity and foolishness; this monarch cannot, however, be reproached with having engendered them! all his children, in whose education their father was so deeply concerned, sustained through life a dignified character and a high spirit. the short life of henry was passed in a school of prowess, and amidst an academy of literature. of the king's paternal solicitude, even to the hand and the letter-writing of prince henry when young, i have preserved a proof in the article of "the history of writing-masters." charles the first, in his youth more particularly designed for a studious life, with a serious character, was, however, never deficient in active bravery and magnanimous fortitude. of elizabeth, the queen of bohemia, tried as she was by such vicissitudes of fortune, it is much to be regretted that the interesting story remains untold; her buoyant spirits rose always above the perpetual changes of a princely to a private state--a queen to an exile! the father of such children derives some distinction for capacity, in having reared such a noble offspring; and the king's marked attention to the formation of his children's minds was such as to have been pointed out by ben jonson, who, in his "gipsies metamorphosed," rightly said of james, using his native term-- you are an honest, good man, and have care of your bearns (bairns). among the flouts and gibes so freely bespattering the personal character of james the first, is one of his coldness and neglect of his queen. it would, however, be difficult to prove by any known fact that james was not as indulgent a husband as he was a father. yet even a writer so well informed as daines barrington, who, as a lawyer, could not refrain from lauding the royal sage during his visit to denmark, on his marriage, for having borrowed three statutes from the danish code, found the king's name so provocative of sarcasm, that he could not forbear observing, that james "spent more time in those courts of judicature than in _attending upon his destined consort_."--"men of all sorts have taken a pride to gird at me," might this monarch have exclaimed. but everything has two handles, saith the ancient adage. had an austere puritan chosen to observe that james the first, when abroad, had lived jovially; and had this historian then dropped silently the interesting circumstance of the king's "spending his time in the danish courts of judicature," the fact would have borne him out in his reproof; and francis osborne, indeed, has censured james for giving marks of his _uxoriousness_! there was no deficient gallantry in the conduct of james the first to his queen; the very circumstance, that when the princess of denmark was driven by a storm back to norway, the king resolved to hasten to her, and consummate his marriage in denmark, was itself as romantic an expedition as afterwards was that of his son's into spain, and betrays no mark of that tame pusillanimity with which he stands overcharged. the character of the queen of james the first is somewhat obscure in our public history, for in it she makes no prominent figure; while in secret history she is more apparent. anne of denmark was a spirited and enterprising woman; and it appears from a passage in sully, whose authority should weigh with us, although we ought to recollect that it is the french minister who writes, that she seems to have raised a court faction against james, and inclined to favour the spanish and catholic interests; yet it may be alleged as a strong proof of james's political wisdom, that the queen was never suffered to head a formidable party, though she latterly might have engaged prince henry in that court opposition. the _bonhommie_ of the king, on this subject, expressed with a simplicity of style which, though it may not be royal, is something better, appears in a letter to the queen, which has been preserved in the appendix to sir david dalrymple's collections. it is without date, but written when in scotland, to quiet the queen's suspicions, that the earl of mar, who had the care of prince henry, and whom she wished to take out of his hands, had insinuated to the king that her majesty was strongly disposed to any "popish or spanish course." this letter confirms the representation of sully; but the extract is remarkable for the manly simplicity of style which the king used. "i say over again, leave these froward womanly apprehensions, for i thank god i carry that love and respect unto you which, by the law of god and nature, i ought to do to my wife, and mother of my children; but not for that ye are a king's daughter; for whether ye were a king's daughter, or a cook's daughter, ye must be all alike to me since my wife. for the respect of your honourable birth and descent i married you; but the love and respect i now bear you is because that ye are my married wife, and so partaker of my honour, as of my other fortunes. i beseech you excuse my plainness in this, for casting up of your birth is a needless impertinent (that is, not pertinent) argument to me. god is my witness, i ever preferred you to my bairns, much more than to a subject." in an ingenious historical dissertation, but one perfectly theoretical, respecting that mysterious transaction the gowrie conspiracy, pinkerton has attempted to show that anne of denmark was a lady somewhat inclined to intrigue, and that "the king had cause to be jealous." he confesses that "he cannot discover any positive charge of adultery against anne of denmark, but merely of coquetry."[ ] to what these accusations amount it would be difficult to say. the progeny of james the first sufficiently bespeak their family resemblance. if it be true, that "the king had ever reason to be jealous," and yet that no single criminal act of the queen's has been recorded, it must be confessed that one or both of the parties were singularly discreet and decent; for the king never complained, and the queen was never accused, if we except this burthen of an old scottish ballad, o the bonny earl of murray, he was the queen's love. whatever may have happened in scotland, in england the queen appears to have lived occupied chiefly by the amusements of the court, and not to have interfered with the _arcana_ of state. she appears to have indulged a passion for the elegancies and splendours of the age, as they were shown in those gorgeous court masques with which the taste of james harmonized, either from his gallantry for the queen, or his own poetic sympathy. but this taste for court masques could not escape the slur and scandal of the puritanic, and these "high-flying fancies" are thus recorded by honest arthur wilson, whom we summon into court as an indubitable witness of the mutual cordiality of this royal couple. in the spirit of his party, and like milton, he censures the taste, but likes it. he says, "the court being a continued _maskarado_, where she (the queen) and her ladies, like so many sea-nymphs or nereides, appeared often in various dresses, to the ravishment of the beholders; the king himself not being a little delighted with such fluent elegancies as made the night more glorious than the day."[ ] this is a direct proof that james was by no means cold or negligent in his attentions to his queen; and the letter which has been given is the picture of his mind. that james the first was fondly indulgent to his queen, and could perform an act of chivalric gallantry with all the generosity of passion, and the ingenuity of an elegant mind, a pleasing anecdote which i have discovered in an unpublished letter of the day will show. i give it in the words of the writer. "_august, ._ "at their last being at theobalds, about a fortnight ago, the queen, shooting at a deer, mistook her mark, and killed _jewel_, the king's most principal and special hound; at which he stormed exceedingly awhile; but after he knew who did it, he was soon pacified, and with much kindness wished her not to be troubled with it, for he should love her never the worse: and the next day sent her a diamond worth two thousand pounds as _a legacy from his dead dog_. love and kindness increased daily between them." such is the history of a contemporary living at court, very opposite to that representation of coldness and neglect with which the king's temper has been so freely aspersed; and such too is the true portrait of james the first in domestic life. his first sensations were thoughtless and impetuous; and he would ungracefully thunder out an oath, which a puritan would set down in his "tables," while he omitted to note that this king's forgiveness and forgetfulness of personal injuries were sure to follow the feeling they had excited. footnotes: [ ] the historical dissertation is appended to the first volume of mr. malcolm laing's "history of scotland," who thinks that "it has placed that obscure transaction in its genuine light." [ ] see the article on _court masques_ in the early pages of the present volume for notices of the elaborate splendour and costliness of these favourite displays. the man of one book. mr. maurice, in his animated memoirs, has recently acquainted us with a fact which may be deemed important in the life of a literary man. he tells us, "we have been just informed that sir william jones _invariably_ read through every year the works of cicero, whose life indeed was the great exemplar of his own." the same passion for the works of cicero has been participated by others. when the best means of forming a good style were inquired of the learned arnauld, he advised the daily study of cicero; but it was observed that the object was not to form a latin, but a french style: "in that case," replied arnauld, "you must still read cicero." a predilection for some great author, among the vast number which must transiently occupy our attention, seems to be the happiest preservative for our taste: accustomed to that excellent author whom we have chosen for our favourite, we may in this intimacy possibly resemble him. it is to be feared that, if we do not form such a permanent attachment, we may be acquiring knowledge, while our enervated taste becomes less and less lively. taste embalms the knowledge which otherwise cannot preserve itself. he who has long been intimate with one great author will always be found to be a formidable antagonist; he has saturated his mind with the excellences of genius; he has shaped his faculties insensibly to himself by his model, and he is like a man who ever sleeps in armour, ready at a moment! the old latin proverb reminds us of this fact, _cave ab homine unius libri_: be cautious of the man of one book! pliny and seneca give very safe advice on reading: that we should read much, but not many books--but they had no "monthly list of new publications!" since their days others have favoured us with "methods of study," and "catalogues of books to be read." vain attempts to circumscribe that invisible circle of human knowledge which is perpetually enlarging itself! the multiplicity of books is an evil for the many; for we now find an _helluo librorum_ not only among the learned, but, with their pardon, among the unlearned; for those who, even to the prejudice of their health, persist only in reading the incessant book-novelties of our own time, will after many years acquire a sort of learned ignorance. we are now in want of an art to teach how books are to be read, rather than not to read them: such an art is practicable. but amidst this vast multitude still let us be "the man of one book," and preserve an uninterrupted intercourse with that great author with whose mode of thinking we sympathise, and whose charms of composition we can habitually retain. it is remarkable that every great writer appears to have a predilection for some favourite author; and, with alexander, had they possessed a golden casket, would have enshrined the works they so constantly turned over. demosthenes felt such delight in the history of thucydides, that, to obtain a familiar and perfect mastery of his style, he re-copied his history eight times; while brutus not only was constantly perusing polybius, even amidst the most busy periods of his life, but was abridging a copy of that author on the last awful night of his existence, when on the following day he was to try his fate against antony and octavius. selim the second had the commentaries of cæsar translated for his use; and it is recorded that his military ardour was heightened by the perusal. we are told that scipio africanus was made a hero by the writings of xenophon. when clarendon was employed in writing his history, he was in a constant study of livy and tacitus, to acquire the full and flowing style of the one, and the portrait-painting of the other: he records this circumstance in a letter. voltaire had usually on his table the _athalie_ of racine, and the _petit carême_ of massillon; the tragedies of the one were the finest model of french verse, the sermons of the other of french prose. "were i obliged to sell my library," exclaimed diderot, "i would keep back moses, homer, and richardson;" and, by the _éloge_ which this enthusiastic writer composed on our english novelist, it is doubtful, had the frenchman been obliged to have lost two of them, whether richardson had not been the elected favourite. monsieur thomas, a french writer, who at times displays high eloquence and profound thinking, herault de sechelles tells us, studied chiefly one author, but that author was cicero; and never went into the country unaccompanied by some of his works. fénélon was constantly employed on his homer; he left a translation of the greater part of the odyssey, without any design of publication, but merely as an exercise for style. montesquieu was a constant student of tacitus, of whom he must be considered a forcible imitator. he has, in the manner of tacitus, characterised tacitus: "that historian," he says, "who abridged everything, because he saw everything." the famous bourdaloue re-perused every year saint paul, saint chrysostom, and cicero. "these," says a french critic, "were the sources of his masculine and solid eloquence." grotius had such a taste for lucan, that he always carried a pocket edition about him, and has been seen to kiss his hand-book with the rapture of a true votary. if this anecdote be true, the elevated sentiments of the stern roman were probably the attraction with the batavian republican. the diversified reading of leibnitz is well known; but he still attached himself to one or two favourites: virgil was always in his hand when at leisure, and leibnitz had read virgil so often, that even in his old age he could repeat whole books by heart; barclay's argenis was his model for prose; when he was found dead in his chair, the argenis had fallen from his hands. rabelais and marot were the perpetual favourites of la fontaine; from one he borrowed his humour, and from the other his style. quevedo was so passionately fond of the don quixote of cervantes, that often in reading that unrivalled work he felt an impulse to burn his own inferior compositions: to be a sincere admirer and a hopeless rival is a case of authorship the hardest imaginable. few writers can venture to anticipate the award of posterity; yet perhaps quevedo had not even been what he was without the perpetual excitement he received from his great master. horace was the friend of his heart to malherbe; he laid the roman poet on his pillow, took him in the fields, and called his horace his breviary. plutarch, montaigne, and locke, were the three authors constantly in the hands of rousseau, and he has drawn from them the groundwork of his ideas in his emile. the favourite author of the great earl of chatham was barrow; and on his style he had formed his eloquence, and had read his great master so constantly, as to be able to repeat his elaborate sermons from memory. the great lord burleigh always carried tully's offices in his pocket; charles v. and buonaparte had machiavel frequently in their hands; and davila was the perpetual study of hampden: he seemed to have discovered in that historian of civil wars those which he anticipated in the land of his fathers. these facts sufficiently illustrate the recorded circumstance of sir william jones's invariable habit of reading his cicero through every year, and exemplify the happy result for him, who, amidst the multiplicity of his authors, still continues in this way to be "the man of one book." a bibliognoste. a startling literary prophecy, recently sent forth from our oracular literature, threatens the annihilation of public libraries, which are one day to moulder away! listen to the vaticinator! "as conservatories of mental treasures, their value in times of darkness and barbarity was incalculable; and even in these happier days, when men are incited to explore new regions of thought, they command respect as depots of methodical and well-ordered references for the researches of the curious. but what in one state of society is invaluable, may at another be worthless; and the progress which the world has made within a very few centuries has considerably reduced the estimation which is due to such establishments. we will say more--"[ ] but enough! this idea of striking into dust "the god of his idolatry," the dagon of his devotion, is sufficient to terrify the bibliographer, who views only a blind samson pulling down the pillars of his temple! this future universal inundation of books, this superfluity of knowledge, in billions and trillions, overwhelms the imaginnation! it is now about four hundred years since the art of multiplying books has been discovered; and an arithmetician has attempted to calculate the incalculable of these four ages of typography, which he discovers have actually produced , , works! taking each work at three volumes, and reckoning only each impression to consist of three hundred copies, which is too little, the actual amount from the presses of europe will give to , , , , volumes! each of which being an inch thick, if placed on a line, would cover leagues! leibnitz facetiously maintained that such would be the increase of literature, that future generations would find whole cities insufficient to contain their libraries. we are, however, indebted to the patriotic endeavours of our grocers and trunkmakers, alchemists of literature! they annihilate the gross bodies without injuring the finer spirits. we are still more indebted to that neglected race, the bibliographers! the science of books, for so bibliography is sometimes dignified, may deserve the gratitude of a public, who are yet insensible of the useful zeal of those book-practitioners, the nature of whose labours is yet so imperfectly comprehended. who is this vaticinator of the uselessness of public libraries? is he a _bibliognoste_, or a _bibliographe_, or a _bibliomane_, or a _bibliophile_, or a _bibliotaphe_? a _bibliothecaire_, or a _bibliopole_, the prophet cannot be; for the _bibliothecaire_ is too delightfully busied among his shelves, and the _bibliopole_ is too profitably concerned in furnishing perpetual additions to admit of this hyperbolical terror of annihilation![ ] unawares, we have dropped into that professional jargon which was chiefly forged by one who, though seated in the "scorner's chair," was the thaumaturgus of books and manuscripts. the abbé rive had acquired a singular taste and curiosity, not without a fermenting dash of singular _charlatanerie_, in bibliography: the little volumes he occasionally put forth are things which but few hands have touched. he knew well, that for some books to be noised about, they should not be read: this was one of those recondite mysteries of his, which we may have occasion farther to reveal. this bibliographical hero was librarian to the most magnificent of book-collectors, the duke de la vallière. the abbé rive was a strong but ungovernable brute, rabid, surly, but _très-mordant_. his master, whom i have discovered to have been the partner of the cur's tricks, would often pat him; and when the _bibliognostes_, and the _bibliomanes_ were in the heat of contest, let his "bull-dog" loose among them, as the duke affectionately called his librarian. the "bull-dog" of bibliography appears, too, to have had the taste and appetite of the tiger of politics, but he hardly lived to join the festival of the guillotine. i judge of this by an expression he used to one complaining of his parish priest, whom he advised to give "une messe dans son ventre!" he had tried to exhaust his genius in _la chasse aux bibliographes et aux antiquaires mal avisés_, and acted cain with his brothers! all europe was to receive from him new ideas concerning books and manuscripts. yet all his mighty promises fumed away in projects; and though he appeared for ever correcting the blunders of others, this french ritson left enough of his own to afford them a choice of revenge. his style of criticism was perfectly _ritsonian_. he describes one of his rivals as _l'insolent et très-insensé auteur de l'almanach de gotha_, on the simple subject of the origin of playing-cards! the abbé rive was one of those men of letters, of whom there are not a few who pass all their lives in preparations. dr. dibdin, since the above was written, has witnessed the confusion of the mind and the gigantic industry of our _bibliognoste_, which consisted of many trunks full of _memoranda_. the description will show the reader to what hard hunting these book-hunters voluntarily doom themselves, with little hope of obtaining fame! "in one trunk were about _six thousand_ notices of mss. of all ages. in another were wedged about _twelve thousand_ descriptions of books in all languages, except those of french and italian; sometimes with critical notes. in a third trunk was a bundle of papers relating to the _history of the troubadours_. in a fourth was a collection of memoranda and literary sketches connected with the invention of arts and sciences, with pieces exclusively bibliographical. a fifth trunk contained between _two_ and _three thousand_ cards, written upon each side, respecting a collection of prints. in a sixth trunk were contained his papers respecting earthquakes, volcanoes, and geographical subjects."[ ] this _ajax flagellifer_ of the bibliographical tribe, who was, as dr. dibdin observes, "the terror of his acquaintance, and the pride of his patron," is said to have been in private a very different man from his public character; all which may be true, without altering a shade of that public character. the french revolution showed how men, mild and even kind in domestic life, were sanguinary and ferocious in their public. the rabid abbé rive gloried in terrifying, without enlightening his rivals; he exulted that he was devoting to "the rods of criticism and the laughter of europe the _bibliopoles_," or dealers in books, who would not get by heart his "catechism" of a thousand and one questions and answers: it broke the slumbers of honest de bure, who had found life was already too short for his own "bibliographie instructive." the abbé rive had contrived to catch the shades of the appellatives necessary to discriminate book amateurs; and of the first term he is acknowledged to be the inventor. a _bibliognoste_, from the greek, is one knowing in title-pages and colophons, and in editions; the place and year when printed; the presses whence issued; and all the _minutiæ_ of a book. a _bibliographe_ is a describer of books and other literary arrangements. a _bibliomane_ is an indiscriminate accumulator, who blunders faster than he buys, cock-brained, and purse-heavy! a _bibliophile_, the lover of books, is the only one in the class who appears to read them for his own pleasure. a _bibliotaphe_ buries his books, by keeping them under lock, or framing them in glass cases. i shall catch our _bibliognoste_ in the hour of book-rapture! it will produce a collection of bibliographical writers, and show to the second-sighted edinburgher what human contrivances have been raised by the art of more painful writers than himself--either to postpone the day of universal annihilation, or to preserve for our posterity, three centuries hence, the knowledge which now so busily occupies us, and transmit to them something more than what bacon calls "inventories" of our literary treasures. "histories, and literary _bibliothèques_ (or bibliothecas), will always present to us," says la rive, "an immense harvest of errors, till the authors of such catalogues shall be fully impressed by the importance of their art; and, as it were, reading in the most distant ages of the future the literary good and evil which they may produce, force a triumph from the pure devotion to truth, in spite of all the disgusts which their professional tasks involve; still patiently enduring the heavy chains which bind down those who give themselves up to this pursuit, with a passion which resembles heroism. "the catalogues of _bibliothèques fixes_ (or critical, historical, and classified accounts of writers) have engendered that enormous swarm of bibliographical errors, which have spread their roots, in greater or less quantities, in all our bibliographers." he has here furnished a long list, which i shall preserve in the note.[ ] the list, though curious, is by no means complete. such are the men of whom the abbé rive speaks with more respect than his accustomed courtesy. "if such," says he, "cannot escape from errors, who shall? i have only marked them out to prove the importance of bibliographical history. a writer of this sort must occupy himself with more regard for his reputation than his own profit, and yield himself up entirely to the study of books." the mere knowledge of books, which has been called an erudition of title-pages, may be sufficient to occupy the life of some; and while the wits and "the million" are ridiculing these hunters of editions, who force their passage through secluded spots, as well as course in the open fields, it will be found that this art of book-knowledge may turn out to be a very philosophical pursuit, and that men of great name have devoted themselves to labours more frequently contemned than comprehended. apostolo zeno, a poet, a critic, and a true man of letters, considered it as no small portion of his glory to have annotated fontanini, who, himself an eminent prelate, had passed his life in forming his _bibliotheca italiana_. zeno did not consider that to correct errors and to enrich by information this catalogue of italian writers was a mean task. the enthusiasm of the abbé rive considered bibliography as a sublime pursuit, exclaiming on zeno's commentary on fontanini--"he chained together the knowledge of whole generations for posterity, and he read in future ages." there are few things by which we can so well trace the history of the human mind as by a classed catalogue, with dates of the first publication of books; even the relative prices of books at different periods, their decline and then their rise, and again their fall, form a chapter in this history of the human mind; we become critics even by this literary chronology, and this appraisement of auctioneers. the favourite book of every age is a certain picture of the people. the gradual depreciation of a great author marks a change in knowledge or in taste. but it is imagined that we are not interested in the history of indifferent writers, and scarcely in that of the secondary ones. if none but great originals should claim our attention, in the course of two thousand years we should not count twenty authors! every book, whatever be its character, may be considered as a new experiment made by the human understanding; and as a book is a sort of individual representation, not a solitary volume exists but may be personified, and described as a human being. hints start discoveries: they are usually found in very different authors who could go no further; and the historian of obscure books is often preserving for men of genius indications of knowledge, which without his intervention we should not possess! many secrets we discover in bibliography. great writers, unskilled in this science of books, have frequently used defective editions, as hume did the castrated whitelocke; or, like robertson, they are ignorant of even the sources of the knowledge they would give the public; or they compose on a subject which too late they discover had been anticipated. bibliography will show what has been done, and suggest to our invention what is wanted. many have often protracted their journey in a road which had already been worn out by the wheels which had traversed it: bibliography unrolls the whole map of the country we purpose travelling over--the post-roads and the by-paths. every half-century, indeed, the obstructions multiply; and the edinburgh prediction, should it approximate to the event it has foreseen, may more reasonably terrify a far distant posterity. mazzuchelli declared, after his laborious researches in italian literature, that one of his more recent predecessors, who had commenced a similar work, had collected notices of forty thousand writers--and yet, he adds, my work must increase that number to ten thousand more! mazzuchelli said this in ; and the amount of nearly a century must now be added, for the presses of italy have not been inactive. but the literature of germany, of france, and of england has exceeded the multiplicity of the productions of italy, and an appalling population of authors swarm before the imagination.[ ] hail then the peaceful spirit of the literary historian, which sitting amidst the night of time, by the monuments of genius, trims the sepulchral lamps of the human mind! hail to the literary reaumur, who by the clearness of his glasses makes even the minute interesting, and reveals to us the world of insects! these are guardian spirits who, at the close of every century standing on its ascent, trace out the old roads we had pursued, and with a lighter line indicate the new ones which are opening, from the imperfect attempts, and even the errors of our predecessors! footnotes: [ ] "edinburgh review," vol. xxxiv, . [ ] will this writer pardon me for ranking him, for a moment, among those "generalisers" of the age who excel in what a critical friend has happily discriminated as _ambitious writing_? that is, writing on any topic, and not least strikingly on that of which they know least; men otherwise of fine taste, and who excel in every charm of composition. [ ] the late wm. upcott possessed, in a large degree, a similar taste for miscellaneous collections. he never threw an old hat away, but used it as a receptacle for certain "cuttings" from books and periodicals on some peculiar subjects. he had filled a room with hats and trunks thus crammed; but they were sacrificed at his death for want of necessary arrangement. [ ] gessner--simler--bellarmin--l'abbé--mabillon--montfaucon--moreri-- bayle--baillet--niceron--dupin--cave--warton--casimir oudin--le long--goujet--wolfius--john albert fabricius--argelati--tiraboschi-- nicholas antonio--walchius--struvius--brucker--scheuchzer--linnæus-- seguier--haller--adamson--manget--kestner--eloy--douglas--weidler-- hailbronner--montucla--lalande--bailly--quadrio--morhoff--stollius-- funccius--schelhorn--engles--beyer--gerdesius--vogts--freytag--david clement--chevillier--maittaire--orlandi--prosper marchand--schoeplin-- de boze--abbé sallier--and de saint leger. [ ] the british museum library now numbers more than , volumes. the catalogue alone forms a small library. secret history of an elective monarchy. a political sketch. poland, once a potent and magnificent kingdom, when it sunk into an elective monarchy, became "venal thrice an age." that country must have exhibited many a diplomatic scene of intricate intrigue, which although they could not appear in its public, have no doubt been often consigned to its secret, history. with us the corruption of a rotten borough has sometimes exposed the guarded proffer of one party, and the dexterous chaffering of the other: but a masterpiece of diplomatic finesse and political invention, electioneering viewed on the most magnificent scale, with a kingdom to be canvassed, and a crown to be won and lost, or lost and won in the course of a single day, exhibits a political drama, which, for the honour and happiness of mankind, is of rare and strange occurrence. there was one scene in this drama which might appear somewhat too large for an ordinary theatre; the actors apparently were not less than fifty to a hundred thousand; twelve vast tents were raised on an extensive plain, a hundred thousand horses were in the environs--and palatines and castellans, the ecclesiastical orders, with the ambassadors of the royal competitors, all agitated by the ceaseless motion of different factions during the six weeks of the election, and of many preceding months of preconcerted measures and vacillating opinions, now were all solemnly assembled at the diet.--once the poet, amidst his gigantic conception of a scene, resolved to leave it out: so vast a throng the stage can ne'er contain-- then build a new, or _act it in a plain_! exclaimed "la mancha's knight," kindling at a scene so novel and so vast! such an electioneering negotiation, the only one i am acquainted with, is opened in the "discours" of choisin, the secretary of montluc, bishop of valence, the confidential agent of catharine de' medici, and who was sent to intrigue at the polish diet, to obtain the crown of poland for her son the duke of anjou, afterwards henry the third. this bold enterprise at first seemed hopeless, and in its progress encountered growing obstructions; but montluc was one of the most finished diplomatists that the genius of the gallic cabinet ever sent forth. he was nicknamed in all the courts of europe, from the circumstance of his limping, "le boiteux;" our political bishop was in cabinet intrigues the talleyrand of his age, and sixteen embassies to italy, germany, england, scotland, and turkey, had made this "connoisseur en hommes" an extraordinary politician! catharine de' medici was infatuated with the dreams of judicial astrology; her pensioned oracles had declared that she should live to see each of her sons crowned, by which prediction probably they had only purposed to flatter her pride and her love of dominion. they, however, ended in terrifying the credulous queen; and she, dreading to witness a throne in france, disputed perhaps by fratricides, anxiously sought a separate crown for each of her three sons. she had been trifled with in her earnest negotiations with our elizabeth; twice had she seen herself baffled in her views in the dukes of alençon and of anjou. catharine then projected a new empire for anjou, by incorporating into one kingdom algiers, corsica, and sardinia; but the other despot, he of constantinople, selim the second, dissipated the brilliant speculation of our female machiavel. charles the ninth was sickly, jealous, and desirous of removing from the court the duke of anjou, whom two victories had made popular, though he afterwards sunk into a sardanapalus. montluc penetrated into the secret wishes of catharine and charles, and suggested to them the possibility of encircling the brows of anjou with the diadem of poland, the polish monarch then being in a state of visible decline. the project was approved; and, like a profound politician, the bishop prepared for an event which might be remote, and always problematical, by sending into poland a natural son of his, balagny, as a disguised agent; his youth, his humble rank, and his love of pleasure, would not create any alarm among the neighbouring powers, who were alike on the watch to snatch the expected spoil; but as it was necessary to have a more dexterous politician behind the curtain, he recommended his secretary, choisnin, as a travelling tutor to a youth who appeared to want one. balagny proceeded to poland, where, under the veil of dissipation, and in the midst of splendid festivities, with his trusty adjutant, this hair-brained boy of revelry began to weave those intrigues which were afterwards to be knotted, or untied, by montluc himself. he had contrived to be so little suspected, that the agent of the emperor had often disclosed important secrets to his young and amiable friend. on the death of sigismond augustus, balagny, leaving choisnin behind to trumpet forth the virtues of anjou, hastened to paris to give an account of all which he had seen or heard. but poor choisnin found himself in a dilemma among those who had so long listened to his panegyrics on the humanity and meek character of the duke of anjou; for the news of st. bartholomew's massacre had travelled faster than the post; and choisnin complains that he was now treated as an impudent liar, and the french prince as a monster. in vain he assured them that the whole was an exaggerated account, a mere insurrection of the people, or the effects of a few private enmities, praying the indignant poles to suspend their decision till the bishop came: "attendez le boiteux!" cried he, in agony. meanwhile, at paris, the choice of a proper person for this embassy had been difficult to settle. it was a business of intrigue more than of form, and required an orator to make speeches and addresses in a sort of popular assembly; for though the people, indeed, had no concern in the diet, yet the greater and the lesser nobles and gentlemen, all electors, were reckoned at one hundred thousand. it was supposed that a lawyer who could negotiate in good latin, and one, as the french proverb runs, who could _aller et parler_, would more effectually puzzle their heads, and satisfy their consciences to vote for his client. catharine at last fixed on montluc himself, from the superstitious prejudice, which, however, in this case accorded with philosophical experience, that "montluc had ever been _lucky_ in his negotiations." montluc hastened his departure from paris; and it appears that our political bishop had, by his skilful penetration into the french cabinet, foreseen the horrible catastrophe which occurred very shortly after he had left it; for he had warned the count de rochefoucault to absent himself; but this lord, like so many others, had no suspicions of the perfidious projects of catharine and her cabinet. montluc, however, had not long been on his journey ere the news reached him, and it occasioned innumerable obstacles in his progress, which even his sagacity had not calculated on. at strasburgh he had appointed to meet some able coadjutors, among whom was the famous joseph scaliger; but they were so terrified by _les matinées parisiennes_, that scaliger flew to geneva, and would not budge out of that safe corner: and the others ran home, not imagining that montluc would venture to pass through germany, where the protestant indignation had made the roads too hot for a catholic bishop. but montluc had set his cast on the die. he had already passed through several hair-breadth escapes from the stratagems of the guise faction, who more than once attempted to hang or drown the bishop, who, they cried out, was a calvinist; the fears and jealousies of the guises had been roused by this political mission. among all these troubles and delays, montluc was most affected by the rumour that the election was on the point of being made, and that the plague was universal throughout poland, so that he must have felt that he might be too late for the one, and too early for the other. at last montluc arrived, and found that the whole weight of this negotiation was to fall on his single shoulders; and further, that he was to sleep every night on a pillow of thorns. our bishop had not only to allay the ferment of the popular spirit of the evangelicals, as the protestants were then called, but even of the more rational catholics of poland. he had also to face those haughty and feudal lords, of whom each considered himself the equal of the sovereign whom he created, and whose avowed principle was, and many were incorrupt, that their choice of a sovereign should be regulated solely by the public interest; and it was hardly to be expected that the emperor, the czar, and the king of sweden would prove unsuccessful rivals to the cruel, and voluptuous, and bigoted duke of anjou, whose political interests were too remote and novel to have raised any faction among these independent poles. the crafty politician had the art of dressing himself up in all the winning charms of candour and loyalty; a sweet flow of honeyed words melted on his lips, while his heart, cold and immovable as a rock, stood unchanged amidst the most unforeseen difficulties. the emperor had set to work the abbé cyre in a sort of ambiguous character, an envoy for the nonce, to be acknowledged or disavowed as was convenient; and by his activity he obtained considerable influence among the lithuanians, the wallachians, and nearly all prussia, in favour of the archduke ernest. two bohemians, who had the advantage of speaking the polish language, had arrived with a state and magnificence becoming kings rather than ambassadors. the muscovite had written letters full of golden promises to the nobility, and was supported by a palatine of high character; a perpetual peace between two such great neighbours was too inviting a project not to find advocates; and this party, choisnin observes, appeared at first the most to be feared. the king of sweden was a close neighbour, who had married the sister of their late sovereign, and his son urged his family claims as superior to those of foreigners. among these parties was a patriotic one, who were desirous of a pole for their monarch; a king of their fatherland, speaking their mother-tongue, one who would not strike at the independence of his country, but preserve its integrity from the stranger. this popular party was even agreeable to several of the foreign powers themselves, who did not like to see a rival power strengthening itself by so strict a union with poland; but in this choice of a sovereign from among themselves, there were at least thirty lords who equally thought that they were the proper wood of which kings should be carved out. the poles therefore could not agree on the pole who deserved to be a _piaste_; an endearing title for a native monarch, which originated in the name of the family of the _piastis_, who had reigned happily over the polish people for the space of five centuries! the remembrance of their virtues existed in the minds of the honest poles in this affectionate title, and their party were called the _piastis_. montluc had been deprived of the assistance he had depended on from many able persons, whom the massacre of st. bartholomew had frightened away from every french political connexion. he found that he had himself only to depend on. we are told that he was not provided with the usual means which are considered most efficient in elections, nor possessed the interest nor the splendour of his powerful competitors: he was to derive all his resources from diplomatic finesse. the various ambassadors had fixed and distant residences, that they might not hold too close an intercourse with the polish nobles. of all things, he was desirous to obtain an easy access to these chiefs, that he might observe, and that they might listen. he who would seduce by his own ingenuity must come in contact with the object he would corrupt. yet montluc persisted in not approaching them without being sought after, which answered his purpose in the end. one favourite argument which our talleyrand had set afloat, was to show that all the benefits which the different competitors had promised to the poles were accompanied by other circumstances which could not fail to be ruinous to the country: while the offer of his master, whose interests were remote, could not be adverse to those of the polish nation: so that much good might be expected from him, without any fear of accompanying evil. montluc procured a clever frenchman to be the bearer of his first despatch, in latin, to the diet; which had hardly assembled, ere suspicions and jealousies were already breaking out. the emperor's ambassadors had offended the pride of the polish nobles by travelling about the country without leave, and resorting to the infanta; and besides, in some intercepted letters the polish nation was designated as _gens barbara et gens inepta_. "i do not think that the said letter was really written by the said ambassadors, who were statesmen too politic to employ such unguarded language," very ingeniously writes the secretary of montluc. however, it was a blow levelled at the imperial ambassadors; while the letter of the french bishop, composed "in a humble and modest style," began to melt their proud spirits, and two thousand copies of the french bishop's letter were eagerly spread. "but this good fortune did not last more than four-and twenty hours," mournfully writes our honest secretary; "for suddenly the news of the fatal day of st. bartholomew arrived, and every frenchman was detested." montluc, in this distress, published an apology for _les matinées parisiennes_, which he reduced to some excesses of the people, the result of a conspiracy plotted by the protestants; and he adroitly introduced as a personage his master anjou, declaring that "he scorned to oppress a party whom he had so often conquered with sword in hand." this pamphlet, which still exists, must have cost the good bishop some invention; but in elections the lie of the moment serves a purpose; and although montluc was in due time bitterly recriminated on, still the apology served to divide public opinion. montluc was a whole cabinet to himself: he dispersed another tract in the character of a polish gentleman, in which the french interests were urged by such arguments, that the leading chiefs never met without disputing; and montluc now found that he had succeeded in creating a french party. the austrian then employed a real polish gentleman to write for his party; but this was too genuine a production, for the writer wrote too much in earnest; and in politics we must not be in a passion. the mutual jealousies of each party assisted the views of our negotiator; they would side with him against each other. the archduke and the czar opposed the turk; the muscovite could not endure that sweden should be aggrandised by this new crown; and denmark was still more uneasy. montluc had discovered how every party had its vulnerable point, by which it could be managed. the cards had now got fairly shuffled, and he depended on his usual good play. our bishop got hold of a palatine to write for the french cause in the vernacular tongue; and appears to have held a more mysterious intercourse with another palatine, albert lasky. mutual accusations were made in the open diet: the poles accused some lithuanian lords of having contracted certain engagements with the czar; these in return accused the poles, and particularly this lasky, with being corrupted by the gold of france. another circumstance afterwards arose; the spanish ambassador had forty thousand _thalers_ sent to him, but which never passed the frontiers, as this fresh supply arrived too late for the election. "i believe," writes our secretary with great simplicity, "that this money was only designed to distribute among the trumpeters and the tabourines." the usual expedient in contested elections was now evidently introduced; our secretary acknowledging that montluc daily acquired new supporters, because he did not attempt to gain them over _merely by promises_--resting his whole cause on this argument, that the interest of the nation was concerned in the french election. still would ill fortune cross our crafty politician when everything was proceeding smoothly. the massacre was refreshed with more damning particulars; some letters were forged, and others were but too true; all parties, with rival intrepidity, were carrying on a complete scene of deception. a rumour spread that the french king disavowed his accredited agent, and apologised to the emperor for having yielded to the importunities of a political speculator, whom he was now resolved to recall. this somewhat paralysed the exertions of those palatines who had involved themselves in the intrigues of montluc, who was now forced patiently to wait for the arrival of a courier with renewed testimonials of his diplomatic character from the french court. a great odium was cast on the french in the course of this negotiation by a distribution of prints, which exposed the most inventive cruelties practised by the catholics on the reformed; such as women cleaved in half in the act of attempting to snatch their children from their butchers; while charles the ninth and the duke of anjou were hideously represented in their persons, and as spectators of such horrid tragedies, with words written in labels, complaining that the executioners were not zealous enough in this holy work. these prints, accompanied by libels and by horrid narratives, inflamed the popular indignation, and more particularly the women, who were affected to tears, as if these horrid scenes had been passing before their eyes. montluc replied to the libels as fast as they appeared, while he skilfully introduced the most elaborate panegyrics on the duke of anjou; and in return for the caricatures, he distributed two portraits of the king and the duke, to show the ladies, if not the diet, that neither of these princes had such ferocious and inhuman faces. such are the small means by which the politician condescends to work his great designs; and the very means by which his enemies thought they should ruin his cause, montluc adroitly turned to his own advantage. anything of instant occurrence serves electioneering purposes, and montluc eagerly seized this favourable occasion to exhaust his imagination on an ideal sovereign, and to hazard, with address, anecdotes, whose authenticity he could never have proved, till he perplexed even unwilling minds to be uncertain whether that intolerant and inhuman duke was not the most heroic and most merciful of princes. it is probable that the frenchman abused even the license of the french _éloge_, for a noble pole told montluc that he was always amplifying his duke with such ideal greatness, and attributing to him such immaculate purity of sentiment, that it was inferred there was no man in poland who could possibly equal him; and that his declaration, that the duke was not desirous of reigning over poland to possess the wealth and grandeur of the kingdom, and that he was solely ambitious of the honour to be the head of such a great and virtuous nobility, had offended many lords, who did not believe that the duke sought the polish crown _merely_ to be the sovereign of a virtuous people. these polish statesmen appear, indeed, to have been more enlightened than the subtle politician perhaps calculated on; for when montluc was over anxious to exculpate the duke of anjou from having been an actor in the parisian massacre, a noble pole observed, "that he need not lose his time at framing any apologies; for if he could prove that it was the interest of the country that the duke ought to be elected their king, it was all that was required. his cruelty, were it true, would be no reason to prevent his election, for we have nothing to dread from it: once in our kingdom, he will have more reason to fear us than we him, should he ever attempt our lives, our property, or our liberty." another polish lord, whose scruples were as pious as his patriotism was suspicious, however observed that, in his conferences with the french bishop, the bishop had never once mentioned god, whom all parties ought to implore to touch the hearts of the electors in the choice of god's "anointed." montluc might have felt himself unexpectedly embarrassed at the religious scruples of this lord, but the politician was never at a fault. "speaking to a man of letters, as his lordship was," replied the french bishop, "it was not for him to remind his lordship what he so well knew; but since he had touched on the subject, he would, however, say, that were a sick man desirous of having a physician, the friend who undertook to procure one would not do his duty should he say it was necessary to call in one whom god had chosen to restore his health; but another who should say that the most learned and skilful is he whom god has chosen, would be doing the best for the patient, and evince most judgment. by a parity of reason we must believe that god will not send an angel to point out the man whom he would have his anointed; sufficient for us that god has given us a knowledge of the requisites of a good king; and if the polish gentlemen choose such a sovereign, it will be him whom god has chosen." this shrewd argument delighted the polish lord, who repeated the story in different companies, to the honour of the bishop. "and in this manner," adds the secretary with great _naïveté_, "did the _sieur_, strengthened by good arguments, divulge his opinions, which were received by many, and run from hand to hand." montluc had his inferior manoeuvres. he had to equipoise the opposite interests of the catholics and the evangelists, or the reformed: it was mingling fire and water without suffering them to hiss, or to extinguish one another. when the imperial ambassadors gave _fêtes_ to the higher nobility only, they consequently offended the lesser. the frenchman gave no banquets, but his house was open to all at all times, who were equally welcome. "you will see that the _fêtes_ of the imperialists will do them more harm than good," observed montluc to his secretary. having gained over by every possible contrivance a number of the polish nobles, and showered his courtesies on those of the inferior orders, at length the critical moment approached, and the finishing hand was to be put to the work. poland, with the appearance of a popular government, was a singular aristocracy of a hundred thousand electors, consisting of the higher and the lower nobility, and the gentry; the people had no concern with the government. yet still it was to be treated by the politician as a popular government, where those who possessed the greatest influence over such large assemblies were orators, and he who delivered himself with the most fluency and the most pertinent arguments would infallibly bend every heart to the point he wished. the french bishop depended greatly on the effect which his oration was to produce when the ambassadors were respectively to be heard before the assembled diet; the great and concluding act of so many tedious and difficult negotiations--"which had cost my master," writes the ingenuous secretary, "six months' daily and nightly labours; he had never been assisted or comforted by any but his poor servants, and in the course of these six months had written ten reams of paper, a thing which for forty years he had not used himself to." every ambassador was now to deliver an oration before the assembled electors, and thirty-two copies were to be printed, to present one to each palatine, who in his turn was to communicate it to his lords. but a fresh difficulty occurred to the french negotiator; as he trusted greatly to his address influencing the multitude, and creating a popular opinion in his favour, he regretted to find that the imperial ambassador would deliver his speech in the bohemian language, so that he would be understood by the greater part of the assembly; a considerable advantage over montluc, who could only address them in latin. the inventive genius of the french bishop resolved on two things which had never before been practised: first, to have his latin translated into the vernacular idiom; and, secondly, to print an edition of fifteen hundred copies in both languages, and thus to obtain a vast advantage over the other ambassadors, with their thirty-two manuscript copies, of which each copy was used to be read to persons. the great difficulty was to get it secretly translated and printed. this fell to the management of choisnin, the secretary. he set off to the castle of the palatine, solikotski, who was deep in the french interest; solikotski despatched the version in six days. hastening with the precious ms. to cracow, choisnin flew to a trusty printer, with whom he was connected; the sheets were deposited every night at choisnin's lodgings, and at the end of a fortnight the diligent secretary conducted the copies in secret triumph to warsaw. yet this glorious labour was not ended; montluc was in no haste to deliver his wonder-working oration, on which the fate of a crown seemed to depend. when his turn came to be heard, he suddenly fell sick; the fact was, that he wished to speak last, which would give him the advantage of replying to any objection raised by his rivals, and admit also of an attack on their weak points. he contrived to obtain copies of their harangues, and discovered five points which struck at the french interest. our poor bishop had now to sit up through the night to re-write five leaves of his printed oration, and cancel five which had been printed; and worse! he had to get them by heart, and to have them translated and inserted, by employing twenty scribes day and night. "it is scarcely credible what my master went through about this time," saith the historian of his "gestes." the council or diet was held in a vast plain. twelve pavilions were raised to receive the polish nobility and the ambassadors. one of a circular form was supported by a single mast, and was large enough to contain persons, without any one approaching the mast nearer than by twenty steps, leaving this space void to preserve silence; the different orders were placed around; the archbishop and the bishops, the palatines, the castellans, each according to their rank. during the six weeks of the sittings of the diet, , horses were in the environs, yet forage and every sort of provisions abounded. there were no disturbances, not a single quarrel occurred, although there wanted not in that meeting for enmities of long standing. it was strange, and even awful, to view such a mighty assembly preserving the greatest order, and every one seriously intent on this solemn occasion. at length the elaborate oration was delivered: it lasted three hours, and choisnin assures us not a single auditor felt weary. "a cry of joy broke out from the tent, and was re-echoed through the plain, when montluc ceased: it was a public acclamation; and had the election been fixed for that moment, when all hearts were warm, surely the duke had been chosen without a dissenting voice." thus writes, in rapture, the ingenuous secretary; and in the spirit of the times communicates a delightful augury attending this speech, by which evidently was foreseen its happy termination. "those who disdain all things will take this to be a mere invention of mine," says honest choisnin: "but true it is, that while the said _sieur_ delivered his harangue, a lark was seen all the while upon the mast of the pavilion, singing and warbling, which was remarked by a great number of lords, because the lark is accustomed only to rest itself on the earth: the most impartial confessed this to be a good augury.[ ] also it was observed, that when the other ambassadors were speaking, a hare, and at another time a hog, ran through the tent; and when the swedish ambassador spoke, the great tent fell half-way down. this lark singing all the while did no little good to our cause; for many of the nobles and gentry noticed this curious particularity, because when a thing which does not commonly happen occurs in a public affair, such appearances give rise to hopes either of good or of evil." the singing of this lark in favour of the duke of anjou is not so evident as the cunning trick of the other french agent, the political bishop of valence, who now reaped the full advantage of his copies over the thirty-two of his rivals. every one had the french one in hand, or read it to his friends; while the others, in manuscript, were confined to a very narrow circle. the period from the th of april to the th of may, when they proceeded to the election, proved to be an interval of infinite perplexities, troubles, and activity; it is probable that the secret history of this period of the negotiations was never written. the other ambassadors were for protracting the election, perceiving the french interest prevalent: but delay would not serve the purpose of montluc, he not being so well provided with friends and means on the spot as the others were. the public opinion which he had succeeded in creating, by some unforeseen circumstance might change. during this interval, the bishop had to put several agents of the other parties _hors de combat_. he got rid of a formidable adversary in the cardinal commendon, an agent of the pope's, whom he proved ought not to be present at the election, and the cardinal was ordered to take his departure. a bullying colonel was set upon the french negotiator, and went about from tent to tent with a list of the debts of the duke of anjou, to show that the nation could expect nothing profitable from a ruined spendthrift. the page of a polish count flew to montluc for protection, entreating permission to accompany the bishop on his return to paris. the servants of the count pursued the page; but this young gentleman had so insinuated himself into the favour of the bishop, that he was suffered to remain. the next day the page desired montluc would grant him the full liberty of his religion, being an evangelical, that he might communicate this to his friends, and thus fix them to the french party. montluc was too penetrating for this young political agent, whom he discovered to be a spy, and the pursuit of his fellows to have been a farce; he sent the page back to his master, the evangelical count, observing that such tricks were too gross to be played on one who had managed affairs in all the courts of europe before he came into poland. another alarm was raised by a letter from the grand vizier of selim the second, addressed to the diet, in which he requested that they would either choose a king from among themselves, or elect the brother of the king of france. some zealous frenchman at the sublime porte had officiously procured this recommendation from the enemy of christianity; but an alliance with mahometanism did no service to montluc, either with the catholics or the evangelicals. the bishop was in despair, and thought that his handiwork of six months' toil and trouble was to be shook into pieces in an hour. montluc, being shown the letter, instantly insisted that it was a forgery, designed to injure his master the duke. the letter was attended by some suspicious circumstances; and the french bishop, quick at expedients, snatched at an advantage which the politician knows how to lay hold of in the chapter of accidents. "the letter was not sealed with the golden seal, nor enclosed in a silken purse or cloth of gold; and farther, if they examined the translation," he said, "they would find that it was not written on turkish paper." this was a piece of the _sieur's_ good fortune, for the letter was not forged; but owing to the circumstance that the boyar of wallachia had taken out the letter to send a translation with it, which the vizier had omitted, it arrived without its usual accompaniments; and the courier, when inquired after, was kept out of the way: so that, in a few days, nothing more was heard of the great vizier's letter. "such was our fortunate escape," says the secretary, "from the friendly but fatal interference of the sultan, than which the _sieur_ dreaded nothing so much." many secret agents of the different powers were spinning their dark intrigues; and often, when discovered or disconcerted, the creatures were again at their "dirty work." these agents were conveniently disavowed or acknowledged by their employers. the abbé cyre was an active agent of the emperor's, and though not publicly accredited, was still hovering about. in lithuania he had contrived matters so well as to have gained over that important province for the archduke; and was passing through prussia to hasten to communicate with the emperor, but "some honest men," _quelques bons personnages_, says the french secretary, and no doubt some good friends of his master, "took him by surprise, and laid him up safely in the castle of marienburgh, where truly he was a little uncivilly used by the soldiers, who rifled his portmanteau and sent us his papers, when we discovered all his foul practices." the emperor, it seems, was angry at the arrest of his secret agent; but as no one had the power of releasing the abbé cyre at that moment, what with receiving remonstrances and furnishing replies, the time passed away, and a very troublesome adversary was in safe custody during the election. the dissensions between the catholics and the evangelicals were always on the point of breaking out; but montluc succeeded in quieting these inveterate parties by terrifying their imaginations with sanguinary civil wars, and invasions of the turks and the tartars. he satisfied the catholics with the hope that time would put an end to heresy, and the evangelicals were glad to obtain a truce from persecution. the day before the election montluc found himself so confident, that he despatched a courier to the french court, and expressed himself in the true style of a speculative politician, that _des douze tables du damier nous en avons les neufs assurés_. there were preludes to the election; and the first was probably in acquiescence with a saturnalian humour prevalent in some countries, where the lower orders are only allowed to indulge their taste for the mockery of the great at stated times and on fixed occasions. a droll scene of a mock election, as well as combat, took place between the numerous polish pages, who, saith the grave secretary, are still more mischievous than our own: these elected among themselves four competitors, made a senate to burlesque the diet, and went to loggerheads. those who represented the archduke were well beaten, the swede was hunted down, and for the _piastis_, they seized on a cart belonging to a gentleman, laden with provisions, broke it to pieces, and burnt the axle-tree, which in that country is called a _piasti_, and cried out _the piasti is burnt!_ nor could the senators at the diet that day command any order or silence. the french party wore white handkerchiefs in their hats, and they were so numerous as to defeat the others. the next day, however, opened a different scene; "the nobles prepared to deliberate, and each palatine in his quarters was with his companions on their knees, and many with tears in their eyes, chanting a hymn to the holy ghost; it must be confessed that this looked like a work of god," says our secretary, who probably understood the manoeuvring of the mock combat, or the mock prayers, much better than we may. everything tells at an election, burlesque or solemnity! the election took place, and the duke of anjou was proclaimed king of poland--but the troubles of montluc did not terminate. when they presented certain articles for his signature, the bishop discovered that these had undergone material alterations from the proposals submitted to him before the proclamation; these alterations referred to a disavowal of the parisian massacre; the punishment of its authors, and toleration in religion. montluc refused to sign, and cross-examined his polish friends about the original proposals; one party agreed that some things had been changed, but that they were too trivial to lose a crown for; others declared that the alterations were necessary to allay the fears, or secure the safety, of the people. our gallic diplomatist was outwitted, and after all his intrigues and cunning, he found that the crown of poland was only to be delivered on conditional terms. in this dilemma, with a crown depending on a stroke of his pen,--remonstrating, entreating, arguing, and still delaying, like "ancient pistol" swallowing his leek, he witnessed with alarm some preparations for a new election, and his rivals on the watch with their protests. montluc, in despair, signed the conditions--"assured, however," says the secretary, who groans over this _finale_, "that when the elected monarch should arrive, the states would easily be induced to correct them, and place things in _statu quo_, as before the proclamation. i was not a witness, being then despatched to paris with the joyful news, but i heard that the _sieur evesque_ it was thought would have died in this agony, of being reduced to the hard necessity either to sign, or to lose the fruits of his labours. the conditions were afterwards for a long while disputed in france." de thou informs us, in lib. lvii. of his history, that montluc after signing these conditions wrote to his master, that he was not bound by them, because they did not concern poland in general, and that they had compelled him to sign, what at the same time he had informed them his instructions did not authorise. such was the true jesuitic conduct of a grey-haired politician, who at length found that honest plain sense could embarrass and finally entrap the creature of the cabinet, the artificial genius of diplomatic finesse. the secretary, however, views nothing but his master's glory in the issue of this most difficult negotiation; and the triumph of anjou over the youthful archduke, whom the poles might have moulded to their will, and over the king of sweden, who claimed the crown by his queen's side, and had offered to unite his part of livonia with that which the poles possessed. he labours hard to prove that the palatines and the castellans were not _pratiqués_, i.e., had their votes bought up by montluc, as was reported; from their number and their opposite interests, he confesses that the _sieur evesque_ slept little, while in poland, and that he only gained over the hearts of men by that natural gift of god which acquired him the title of the _happy ambassador_. he rather seems to regret that france was not prodigal of her purchase-money, than to affirm that all palatines were alike scrupulous of their honour. one more fact may close this political sketch; a lesson of the nature of court gratitude! the french court affected to receive choisnin with favour, but their suppressed discontent was reserved for "the happy ambassador!" affairs had changed; charles the ninth was dying, and catharine de' medici in despair for a son to whom she had sacrificed all; while anjou, already immersed in the wantonness of youth and pleasure, considered his elevation to the throne of poland as an exile which separated him from his depraved enjoyments! montluc was rewarded only by incurring disgrace; catharine de' medici and the duke of anjou now looked coldly on him, and expressed their dislike of his successful mission. "the mother of kings," as choisnin designates catharine de' medici, to whom he addresses his memoirs, with the hope of awakening her recollections of the zeal, the genius, and the success of his old master, had no longer any use for her favourite; and montluc found, as the commentator of choisnin expresses in a few words, an important truth in political morality, that "at court the interest of the moment is the measure of its affections and its hatreds."[ ] footnotes: [ ] our honest secretary reminds me of a passage in geoffrey of monmouth, who says, "at this place an _eagle spoke_ while the wall of the town was building; and indeed i should not have failed _transmitting the speech to posterity_ had i thought it _true_ as the rest of the history." [ ] i have drawn up this article, for the curiosity of its subject and its details, from the "discours au vray de tout ce qui s'est fait et passé pour l'entière négociation de l'election du roi de pologne, divisés en trois livres, par jehan choisnin du chatelleraud, naguères secrétaire de m. l'evesque de valence," . buildings in the metropolis, and residence in the country. recently more than one of our learned judges from the bench have perhaps astonished their auditors by impressing them with an old-fashioned notion of residing more on their estates than the fashionable modes of life and the _esprit de société_, now overpowering all other _esprit_, will ever admit. these opinions excited my attention to a curious circumstance in the history of our manners--the great anxiety of our government, from the days of elizabeth till much later than those of charles the second, to preserve the kingdom from the evils of an overgrown metropolis. the people themselves indeed participated in the same alarm at the growth of the city; while, however, they themselves were perpetuating the grievance which they complained of. it is amusing to observe, that although the government was frequently employing even their most forcible acts to restrict the limits of the metropolis, the suburbs were gradually incorporating with the city, and westminster at length united itself to london. since that happy marriage, their fertile progenies have so blended together, that little londons are no longer distinguishable from the ancient parent; we have succeeded in spreading the capital into a county, and have verified the prediction of james the first, "that england will shortly be london, and london england." "i think it a great object," said justice best, in delivering his sentiments in favour of the game laws, "that gentlemen should have a temptation _to reside in the country, amongst their neighbours and tenantry, whose interests must be materially advanced by such a circumstance_. the links of society are thereby better preserved, and _the mutual advantages and dependence of the higher and lower classes_ on one another are better maintained. the baneful effects of our present system we have lately seen in a neighbouring country, and an ingenious french writer has lately shown the ill consequences of it on the continent."[ ] these sentiments of a living luminary of the law afford some reason of policy for the dread which our government long entertained on account of the perpetual growth of the metropolis; the nation, like a hypochondriac, was ludicrously terrified that their head was too monstrous for their body, and that it drew all the moisture of life from the middle and the extremities. proclamations warned and exhorted; but the very interference of a royal prohibition seemed to render the crowded city more charming. in vain the statute against new buildings was passed by elizabeth; in vain during the reigns of james the first and both the charleses we find proclamations continually issuing to forbid new erections. james was apt to throw out his opinions in these frequent addresses to the people, who never attended to them: his majesty notices "those swarms of gentry, who through the instigation of their wives, or to new-model and fashion their daughters (who if they were unmarried, marred their reputations, and if married, lost them), did neglect their country hospitality, and cumber the city, a general nuisance to the kingdom."--he addressed the star chamber to regulate "the exorbitancy of the new buildings about the city, which were but a shelter for those who, when they had spent their estates in coaches, lacqueys, and fine clothes like frenchmen, lived miserably in their houses like italians; but the honour of the english nobility and gentry is to be hospitable among their tenants." once conversing on this subject, the monarch threw out that happy illustration, which has been more than once noticed, that "gentlemen resident on their estates were like ships in port; their value and magnitude were felt and acknowledged; but when at a distance, as their size seemed insignificant, so their worth and importance were not duly estimated."[ ] a manuscript writer of the times complains of the breaking up of old family establishments, all crowding to "upstart london." "every one strives to be a diogenes in his house, and an emperor in the streets; not caring if they sleep in a tub, so they may be hurried in a coach: giving that allowance to horses and mares that formerly maintained houses full of men; pinching many a belly to paint a few backs, and burying all the treasures of the kingdom into a few citizens' coffers; their woods into wardrobes, their leases into laces, and their goods and chattels into guarded coats and gaudy toys." such is the representation of an eloquent contemporary; and however contracted might have been his knowledge of the principles of political economy, and of that prosperity which a wealthy nation is said to derive from its consumption of articles of luxury, the moral effects have not altered, nor has the scene in reality greatly changed. the government not only frequently forbade new buildings within ten miles of london, but sometimes ordered them to be pulled down--after they had been erected for several years. every six or seven years proclamations were issued. in charles the first's reign, offenders were sharply prosecuted by a combined operation, not only against _houses_, but against _persons_.[ ] many of the nobility and gentry, in , were informed against for having resided in the city, contrary to the late proclamation. and the attorney-general was then fully occupied in filing bills of indictment against them, as well as ladies, for staying in town. the following curious "information" in the star chamber will serve our purpose. the attorney-general informs his majesty that both elizabeth and james, by several proclamations, had commanded that "persons of livelihood and means should reside in their counties, and not abide or sojourn in the city of london, so that counties remain unserved." these proclamations were renewed by charles the first, who had observed "a greater number of nobility and gentry, and abler sort of people, with their families, had resorted to the cities of london and westminster, residing there, contrary to the ancient usage of the english nation"--"by their abiding in their several counties where their means arise, they would not only have served his majesty according to their ranks, but by their _housekeeping in those parts the meaner sort of people formerly were guided, directed and relieved_." he accuses them of wasting their estates in the metropolis, which would employ and relieve the common people in their several counties. the loose and disorderly people that follow them, living in and about the cities, are so numerous, that they are not easily governed by the ordinary magistrates: mendicants increase in great number--the prices of all commodities are highly raised, &c. the king had formerly proclaimed that all ranks who were not connected with public offices, at the close of forty days' notice, should resort to their several counties, and with their families continue their residence there. and his majesty further warned them "not to put themselves to unnecessary charge in providing themselves to return in winter to the said cities, as it was the king's firm resolution to withstand such great and growing evil." the information concludes with a most copious list of offenders, among whom are a great number of nobility, and ladies and gentlemen, who were accused of having lived in london for several months after the given warning of forty days. it appears that most of them, to elude the grasp of the law, had contrived to make a show of quitting the metropolis, and, after a short absence, had again returned; "and thus the service of _your majesty_ and _your people_ in the several counties have been neglected and undone." such is the substance of this curious information, which enables us at least to collect the ostensible motives of this singular prohibition. proclamations had hitherto been considered little more than the news of the morning, and three days afterwards were as much read as the last week's newspapers. they were now, however, resolved to stretch forth the strong arm of law, and to terrify by an example. the constables were commanded to bring in a list of the names of strangers, and the time they proposed to fix their residence in their parishes. a remarkable victim on this occasion was a mr. palmer, a sussex gentleman, who was brought _ore tenus_ into the star chamber for disobeying the proclamation for living in the country. palmer was a squire of _l._ per annum, then a considerable income. he appears to have been some rich bachelor; for in his defence he alleged that he had never been married, never was a housekeeper, and had no house fitting for a man of his birth to reside in, as his mansion in the country had been burnt down within two years. these reasons appeared to his judges to aggravate rather than extenuate his offence; and after a long reprimand for having deserted his tenants and neighbours, they heavily fined him in one thousand pounds.[ ] the condemnation of this sussex gentleman struck a terror through a wide circle of sojourners in the metropolis. i find accounts, pathetic enough, of their "packing away on all sides for fear of the worst;" and gentlemen "grumbling that they should be confined to their houses:" and this was sometimes backed too by a second proclamation, respecting "their wives and families, and also widows," which was "_durus sermo_ to the women. it is nothing pleasing to all," says the letter-writer, "but least of all to the women." "to encourage gentlemen to live more willingly in the country," says another letter-writer, "all game-fowl, as pheasants, partridges, ducks, as also hares, are this day by proclamation forbidden to be dressed or eaten in any inn." here we find realized the argument of mr. justice best in favour of the game-laws. it is evident that this severe restriction must have produced great inconvenience to certain persons who found a residence in london necessary for their pursuits. this appears from the manuscript diary of an honest antiquary, sir symonds d'ewes; he has preserved an opinion which, no doubt, was spreading fast, that such prosecutions of the attorney-general were a violation of the liberty of the subject. "most men wondered at mr. noy, the attorney-general, being accounted a great lawyer, that so strictly _took away men's liberties at one blow, confining them to reside at their own houses_, and not permitting them freedom to live where they pleased within the king's dominions. i was myself a little startled upon the first coming out of the proclamation; but having first spoken with the lord coventry, lord keeper of the great seal, at islington, when i visited him; and afterwards with sir william jones, one of the king's justices of the bench, about my condition and residence at the said town of islington, and they both agreeing that i was not within the letter of the proclamation, nor the intention of it neither, i rested satisfied, and thought myself secure, laying in all my provisions for housekeeping for the year ensuing, and never imagined myself to be in danger, till this unexpected censure of mr. palmer passed in the star chamber; so, having advised with my friends, i resolved for a remove, being much troubled not only with my separation from recordes, but with my wife, being great with child, fearing a winter journey might be dangerous to her."[ ] he left islington and the records in the tower to return to his country-seat, to the great disturbance of his studies. it is, perhaps, difficult to assign the cause of this marked anxiety of the government for the severe restriction of the limits of the metropolis, and the prosecution of the nobility and gentry to compel a residence on their estates. whatever were the motives, they were not peculiar to the existing sovereign, but remained transmitted from cabinet to cabinet, and were even renewed under charles the second. at a time when the plague often broke out, a close and growing metropolis might have been considered to be a great evil; a terror expressed by the manuscript-writer before quoted, complaining of "this deluge of building, that we shall be all poisoned with breathing in one another's faces." the police of the metropolis was long imbecile, notwithstanding their "strong watches and guards" set at times; and bodies of the idle and the refractory often assumed some mysterious title, and were with difficulty governed. we may conceive the state of the police, when "london apprentices," growing in number and insolence, frequently made attempts on bridewell, or pulled down houses. one day the citizens, in proving some ordnance, terrified the whole court of james the first with a panic that there was "a rising in the city." it is possible that the government might have been induced to pursue this singular conduct, for i do not know that it can be paralleled, of pulling down new-built houses by some principle of political economy which remains to be explained, or ridiculed, by our modern adepts. it would hardly be supposed that the present subject may be enlivened by a poem, the elegance and freedom of which may even now be admired. it is a great literary curiosity, and its length may be excused for several remarkable points. an ode, by sir richard fanshaw, _upon occasion of his majesty's proclamation in the year , commanding the gentry to reside upon their estates in the country._ now war is all the world about, and everywhere erinnys reigns; or of the torch so late put out the stench remains. holland for many years hath been of christian tragedies the stage, yet seldom hath she played a scene of bloodier rage: and france, that was not long compos'd, with civil drums again resounds, and ere the old are fully clos'd, receives new wounds. the great gustavus in the west plucks the imperial eagle's wing, than whom the earth did ne'er invest a fiercer king. only the island which we sow, a world without the world so far, from present wounds, it cannot show an ancient scar. white peace, the beautifull'st of things, seems here her everlasting rest to fix and spread the downy wings over the nest. as when great jove, usurping reign, from the plagued world did her exile, and tied her with a golden chain to one blest isle, which in a sea of plenty swam, and turtles sang on every bough, a safe retreat to all that came, as ours is now; yet we, as if some foe were here, leave the despised fields to clowns, and come to save ourselves, as 'twere in walled towns. hither we bring wives, babes, rich clothes, and gems--till now my soveraign the growing evil doth oppose: counting in vain his care preserves us from annoy of enemies his realms to invade, unless he force us to enjoy the peace he made, to roll themselves in envied leisure; he therefore sends the landed heirs, whilst he proclaims not his own pleasure so much was theirs. the sap and blood of the land, which fled into the root, and choked the heart, are bid their quick'ning power to spread through every part. o 'twas an act, not for my muse to celebrate, nor the dull age, until the country air infuse a purer rage. and if the fields as thankful prove for benefits received, as seed, they will to 'quite so great a love a virgil breed. nor let the gentry grudge to go into those places whence they grew, but think them blest they may do so. who would pursue the smoky glory of the town, that may go till his native earth, and by the shining fire sit down of his own hearth, free from the griping scrivener's bands, and the more biting mercer's books; free from the bait of oiled hands, and painted looks? the country too even chops for rain; you that exhale it by your power, let the fat drops fall down again in a full shower. and you bright beauties of the time, that waste yourselves here in a blaze, fix to your orb and proper clime your wandering rays. let no dark corner of the land be unembellish'd with one gem, and those which here too thick do stand sprinkle on them. believe me, ladies, you will find in that sweet light more solid joys, more true contentment to the mind than all town-toys. nor cupid there less blood doth spill, but heads his shafts with chaster love, not feather'd with a sparrow's quill, but of a dove. there you shall hear the nightingale, the harmless syren of the wood, how prettily she tells a tale of rape and blood. the lyric lark, with all beside of nature's feather'd quire, and all the commonwealth of flowers in 'ts pride behold you shall. the lily queen, the royal rose, the gilly-flower, prince of the blood! the courtier tulip, gay in clothes, the regal bud; the violet purple senator, how they do mock the pomp of state, and all that at the surly door of great ones wait. plant trees you may, and see them shoot up with your children, to be served to your clean boards, and the fairest fruit to be preserved; and learn to use their several gums; 'tis innocence in the sweet blood of cherry, apricocks, and plums, to be imbrued. footnotes: [ ] _morning chronicle_, january , . [ ] a proclamation was issued in the first year of king james, "commanding gentlemen to depart the court and city," because it hinders hospitality and endangers the people near their own residences, "who had from such houses much comfort and ease toward their living." the king graciously says:--"he tooke no small contentment in the resort of gentlemen, and other our subjects coming to visit us, holding their affectionate desire to see our person to be a certaine testimonie of their inward love;" but he says he must not "give way to so great a mischiefe as the continuall resort may breed," and that therefore all that have no special cause of attendance must at once go back until the time of his coronation, when they may "returne until the solemnity be passed;" but only for that time, for if the proclamation be slighted he shall "make them an example of contempt if we shall finde any making stay here contrary to this direction." such proclamations were from time to time issued, and though sometimes evaded, were frequently enforced by fines, so that living in london was a risk and danger to country gentlemen of fortune. [ ] rushworth, vol. ii. p. . [ ] from a manuscript letter from sir george gresley to sir thomas puckering, nov. . [ ] harl. mss. . fo. . royal proclamations. the satires and the comedies of the age have been consulted by the historian of our manners, and the features of the times have been traced from those amusing records of folly. daines barrinton enlarged this field of domestic history in his very entertaining "observations on the statutes." another source, which to me seems not to have been explored, is the proclamations which have frequently issued from our sovereigns, and were produced by the exigencies of the times. these proclamations or royal edicts in our country were never armed with the force of laws--only as they enforce the execution of laws already established; and the proclamation of a british monarch may become even an illegal act, if it be in opposition to the law of the land. once, indeed, it was enacted under the arbitrary government of henry the eighth, by the sanction of a pusillanimous parliament, that the force of acts of parliament should be given to the king's proclamations; and at a much later period the chancellor, lord ellesmere, was willing to have advanced the king's proclamations into laws, on the sophistical maxim that "all precedents had a time when they began;" but this chancellor argued ill, as he was told with spirit by lord coke, in the presence of james the first,[ ] who probably did not think so ill of the chancellor's logic. blackstone, to whom on this occasion i could not fail to turn, observes, on the statute under henry the eighth, that it would have introduced the most despotic tyranny, and must have proved fatal to the liberties of this kingdom, had it not been luckily repealed in the minority of his successor, whom he elsewhere calls an amiable prince--all our young princes, we discover, were amiable! blackstone has not recorded the subsequent attempt of the lord chancellor under james the first, which tended to raise proclamations to the nature of an ukase of the autocrat of both the russias. it seems that our national freedom, notwithstanding our ancient constitution, has had several narrow escapes. royal proclamations, however, in their own nature are innocent enough; for since the manner, time, and circumstances of putting laws in execution must frequently be left to the discretion of the executive magistrate, a proclamation that is not adverse to existing laws need not create any alarm; the only danger they incur is that they seem never to have been attended to, and rather testified the wishes of the government than the compliance of the subjects. they were not laws, and were therefore considered as sermons or pamphlets, or anything forgotten in a week's time! these proclamations are frequently alluded to by the letter-writers of the times among the news of the day, but usually their royal virtue hardly kept them alive beyond the week. some on important subjects are indeed noticed in our history. many indications of the situation of affairs, the feelings of the people, and the domestic history of our nation, may be drawn from these singular records. i have never found them to exist in any collected form, and they have been probably only accidentally preserved.[ ] the proclamations of every sovereign would characterize his reign, and open to us some of the interior operations of the cabinet. the despotic will, yet vacillating conduct of henry the eighth, towards the close of his reign, may be traced in a proclamation to abolish the translations of the scriptures, and even the reading of bibles by the people; commanding all printers of english books and pamphlets to affix their names to them, and forbidding the sale of any english books printed abroad.[ ] when the people were not suffered to publish their opinions at home, all the opposition flew to foreign presses, and their writings were then smuggled into the country in which they ought to have been printed. hence, many volumes printed in a foreign type at this period are found in our collections. the king shrunk in dismay from that spirit of reformation which had only been a party business with him, and making himself a pope, decided that nothing should be learnt but what he himself deigned to teach! the antipathies and jealousies which our populace too long indulged, by their incivilities to all foreigners, are characterised by a proclamation issued by mary, commanding her subjects to behave themselves peaceably towards the strangers coming with king philip; that noblemen and gentlemen should warn their servants to refrain from "strife and contention, either by outward deeds, taunting words, unseemly countenance, by mimicking them, &c." the punishment not only "her grace's displeasure, but to be committed to prison without bail or mainprise." the proclamations of edward the sixth curiously exhibit the unsettled state of the reformation, where the rites and ceremonies of catholicism were still practised by the new religionists, while an opposite party, resolutely bent on an eternal separation from rome, were avowing doctrines which afterwards consolidated themselves into puritanism, and while others were hatching up that demoralising fanaticism which subsequently shocked the nation with those monstrous sects, the indelible, disgrace of our country! in one proclamation the king denounces to the people "those who despise the sacrament by calling it _idol_, or such other vile name." another is against such "as innovate any ceremony," and who are described as "certain private preachers and other laiemen, who rashly attempt of _their own and singular wit and mind_, not only to persuade the people from the old and accustomed rites and ceremonies, but also themselves bring in _new and strange orders according to their phantasies_. the which, as it is an evident token of pride and arrogancy, so it tendeth both to confusion and disorder." another proclamation, to press "a godly conformity throughout his realm," where we learn the following curious fact, of "divers unlearned and indiscreet priests of a devilish mind and intent, teaching that a man may forsake his wife and marry another, his first wife yet living; likewise that the wife may do the same to the husband. others, that a man may have _two wives or more_ at once, for that these things are not prohibited by god's law, but by the bishop of rome's law; so that by such evil and fantastical opinions some have not been afraid indeed to marry and keep _two wives_." here, as in the bud, we may unfold those subsequent scenes of our story which spread out in the following century; the branching out of the non-conformists into their various sects; and the indecent haste of our reformed priesthood, who, in their zeal to cast off the yoke of rome, desperately submitted to the liberty of having "two wives or more!" there is a proclamation to abstain from flesh on fridays and saturdays; exhorted on the principle, not only that "men should abstain on those days, and forbear their pleasures and the meats wherein they have more delight, to the intent to subdue their bodies to the soul and spirit, but also for _worldly policy_. to use _fish_, for the benefit of the commonwealth, and profit of many who be _fishers_ and men using that trade, unto the which this realm, in every part environed with the seas, and so plentiful of fresh waters, be increased the nourishment of the land by saving flesh." it did not seem to occur to the king in council that the butchers might have had cause to petition against this monopoly of two days in the week granted to the fishmongers; and much less, that it was better to let the people eat flesh or fish as suited their conveniency. in respect to the religious rite itself, it was evidently not considered as an essential point of faith, since the king enforces it on the principle, "for the profit and commodity of his realm." burnet has made a just observation on religious fasts.[ ] a proclamation against excess of apparel, in the reign of elizabeth, and renewed many years after, shows the luxury of dress, which was indeed excessive.[ ] there is a curious one against the _iconoclasts, or image-breakers and picture-destroyers_, for which the antiquary will hold her in high reverence. her majesty informs us, that "several persons, ignorant, malicious, or covetous, of late years, have spoiled and broken ancient monuments, erected only _to show a memory to posterity_, and not to nourish any kind of _superstition_." the queen laments that what is broken and spoiled would be now hard to recover, but advises her good people to repair them; and commands them in future to desist from committing such injuries. a more extraordinary circumstance than the proclamation itself was the manifestation of her majesty's zeal, in subscribing her name with her own hand to every proclamation dispersed throughout england. these image-breakers first appeared in elizabeth's reign; it was afterwards that they flourished in all the perfection of their handicraft, and have contrived that these monuments of art shall carry down to posterity the _memory of their_ shame _and of their age_. these image-breakers, so famous in our history, had already appeared under henry the eighth, and continued their practical zeal, in spite of proclamations and remonstrances, till they had accomplished their work. in an order was published by the commons, that they should "take away all scandalous pictures out of churches:" but more was intended than was expressed; and we are told that the people did not at first carry their barbarous practice against all art to the lengths which they afterwards did, till they were instructed by _private information!_ dowsing's journal has been published, and shows what the _order_ meant! he was their giant destroyer! such are the machiavelian secrets of revolutionary governments; they give a _public_ order in moderate _words_, but the _secret_ one, for the _deeds_, is that of extermination! it was this sort of men who discharged their prisoners by giving a secret sign to lead them to their execution! the proclamations of james the first, by their number, are said to have sunk their value with the people.[ ] he was fond of giving them gentle advice; and it is said by wilson that there was an intention to have this king's printed proclamations bound up in a volume, that better notice might be taken of the matters contained in them. there is more than one to warn the people against "speaking too freely of matters above their reach," prohibiting all "undutiful speeches." i suspect that many of these proclamations are the composition of the king's own hand; he was often his own secretary. there is an admirable one against private duels and challenges. the curious one respecting cowell's "interpreter" is a sort of royal review of some of the arcana of state: i refer to the quotation.[ ] i will preserve a passage of a proclamation "against excess of lavish and licentious speech." james was a king of words! "although the commixture of nations, confluence of ambassadors, and the relation which the affairs of our kingdoms have had towards the business and interests of foreign states have caused, during our regiment (government) a greater openness and liberty of discourse, even concerning matters of state (which are _no themes or subjects fit for vulgar persons or common meetings_), than hath been in former times used or permitted; and although in our own nature and judgment we do well allow of _convenient freedom of speech_, esteeming any over-curious or restrained hands carried in that kind rather as a weakness, or else over-much severity of government than otherwise; yet for as much as it is come to our ears, by common report, that there is at this time a more licentious passage of _lavish discourse and bold censure in matters of state_ than is fit to be suffered: we give this warning, &c., to take heed _how they intermeddle by pen or speech with causes of state and secrets of empire_, either at home or abroad, but contain themselves within that modest and reverent regard of matters above their reach and calling; nor to give any manner of applause to such discourse, without acquainting one of our privy council within the space of twenty-four hours." it seems that "the bold speakers," as certain persons were then denominated, practised an old artifice of lauding his majesty, while they severely arraigned the counsels of the cabinet; on this james observes, "neither let any man mistake us so much as to think that by giving fair and specious attributes to our person, they cover the scandals which they otherwise lay upon our government, but conceive that we make no other construction of them but as fine and artificial glosses, the better to give passage to the rest of their imputations and scandals." this was a proclamation in the eighteenth year of his reign; he repeated it in the nineteenth, and he might have proceeded to "the crack of doom" with the same effect! rushworth, in his second volume of historical collections, has preserved a considerable number of the proclamations of charles the first, of which many are remarkable; but latterly they mark the feverish state of his reign. one regulates access for cure of the king's evil--by which his majesty, it appears, "hath had good success therein;" but though ready and willing as any king or queen of this realm ever was to relieve the distresses of his good subjects, "his majesty commands to change the seasons for his 'sacred touch' from easter and whitsuntide to easter and michaelmas, as times more convenient for the temperature of the season," &c. another against "departure out of the realm without license." one to erect an office "for the suppression of cursing and swearing," to receive the forfeitures; against "libellous and seditious pamphlets and discourses from scotland," framed by factious spirits, and republished in london--this was in ; and charles, at the crisis of that great insurrection in which he was to be at once the actor and the spectator, fondly imagined that the possessors of these "scandalous" pamphlets would bring them, as he proclaimed "to one of his majesty's justices of peace, to be by him sent to one of his principal secretaries of state!" on the restoration, charles the second had to court his people by his domestic regulations. he early issued a remarkable proclamation, which one would think reflected on his favourite companions, and which strongly marks the moral disorders of those depraved and wretched times. it is against "vicious, debauched, and profane persons!" who are thus described:-- "a sort of men of whom we have heard much, and are sufficiently ashamed; who spend their time in taverns, tippling-houses and debauches; giving no _other evidence of their affection to us but in drinking our health_, and inveighing against all others who are not of their own dissolute temper; and who, in truth, have _more discredited our cause_, by the license of their manners and lives, than they could ever advance it by their affection or courage. we hope all persons of honour, or in place and authority, will so far assist us in discountenancing such men, that their discretion and shame will persuade them to reform what their conscience would not; and that the displeasure of good men towards them may supply what the laws have not, and, it may be, cannot well provide against; there being by the license and corruption of the times, and the depraved nature of man, many enormities, scandals, and impieties in practice and manners, which _laws cannot well describe, and consequently not enough provide against_, which may, by the example and severity of virtuous men, be easily discountenanced, and by degrees suppressed." surely the gravity and moral severity of clarendon dictated this proclamation! which must have afforded some mirth to the gay, debauched circle, the loose cronies of royalty! it is curious that, in , charles the second issued a long proclamation for the strict observance of lent, and alleges for it the same reason as we found in edward the sixth's proclamation, "for the good it produces in the employment of _fishermen_" no ordinaries, taverns, &c., to make any supper _on friday nights, either in lent or out of lent_. charles the second issued proclamations "to repress the excess of gilding of coaches and chariots," to restrain the waste of gold, which, as they supposed, by the excessive use of gilding, had grown scarce. against "the exportation and the buying and selling of gold and silver at higher rates than in our mint," alluding to a statute made in the ninth year of edward the third, called the statute of money. against building in and about london and westminster, in : "the inconveniences daily growing by increase of new buildings are, that the people increasing in such great numbers, are not well to be governed by the wonted officers: the prices of victuals are enhanced; the health of the subject inhabiting the cities much endangered, and many good towns and boroughs unpeopled, and in their trades much decayed--frequent fires occasioned by timber-buildings." it orders to build with brick and stone, "which would beautify, and make an uniformity in the buildings; and which are not only more durable and safe against fire, but by experience are found to be of _little more if not less charge than the building with timber_." we must infer that, by the general use of timber, it had considerably risen in price, while brick and stone not then being generally used, became as cheap as wood![ ] the most remarkable proclamations of charles the second are those which concern the regulations of coffee-houses, and one for putting them down;[ ] to restrain the spreading of false news, and licentious talking of state and government, the speakers and the hearers were made alike punishable. this was highly resented as an illegal act by the friends of civil freedom; who, however, succeeded in obtaining the freedom of the coffee-houses, under the promise of not sanctioning treasonable speeches. it was urged by the court lawyers, as the high tory, roger north, tells us, that the retailing coffee might be an innocent trade, when not used in the nature of a common assembly to discourse of matters of state news and great persons, as a means "to discontent the people." on the other side, kennet asserted that the discontents existed before they met at the coffee-houses, and that the proclamation was only intended to suppress an evil which was not to be prevented. at this day we know which of those two historians exercised the truest judgment. it was not the coffee-houses which produced political feeling, but the reverse. whenever government ascribes effects to a cause quite inadequate to produce them, they are only seeking means to hide the evil which they are too weak to suppress. footnotes: [ ] the whole story is in co. . i owe this curious fact to the author of eunomus, ii. . [ ] a quarto volume was published by barker, the king's printer, and is entitled "a booke of proclamations published since the beginning of his majestie's most happy reign over england, until this present month of feb. ." it contains in all. the society of antiquaries of london possesses at the present time the largest and most perfect collection of royal proclamations in existence, brought together since the above was written. they are on separate broadsheets, as issued. [ ] in the king had issued a proclamation for resisting and withstanding of most dampnable heresyes sowen within the realme by the discyples of luther and other "heretykes, perverters of christes relygyon." in june, , this was followed by the proclamation "for dampning (or condemning) of erronious bokes and heresies, and prohibitinge the havinge of holy scripture translated into the vulgar tonges of englishe, frenche, or dutche," he notes many bookes "printed beyonde the see" which he will not allow, "that is to say, the boke called the wicked mammona, the boke named the obedience of a christen man, the supplication of beggars, and the boke called the revelation of antichrist, the summary of scripture, and divers other bokes made in the englishe tongue," in fact all books in the vernacular not issued by native printers. "and that having respect to the malignity of this present tyme, with the inclination of people to erronious opinions, the translation of the newe testament and the old into the vulgar tonge of englysshe, shulde rather be the occasion of contynuance or increase of errours amonge the said people, than any benefit or commodite toward the weale of their soules," and he determines therefore that the scriptures shall only be expounded to the people as heretofore, and that these books "be clerely extermynate and exiled out of this realme of englande for ever." [ ] history of the reformation, vol. ii. p. , folio. [ ] in june, , the queen issued from her "manour of greenwich" this proclamation against "excesse of apparel, and the superfluitie of unnecessarye foreign wares thereto belonginge," which is declared to have "growen by sufferance to such an extremetie, that the manifest decay, not only of a great part of the wealth of the whole realme generally, is like to follow by bringing into the realme such superfluities of silkes, clothes of gold, sylver, and other most vaine devices, of so greate coste for the quantitie thereof; as of necessitie the moneyes and treasure of the realme is, and must be, yeerely conveyed out of the same." this is followed by three folio leaves minutely describing what may be worn on the dresses of every grade of persons; descending to such minutiæ as to note what classes are not to be allowed to put lace, or fringes, or borders of velvet upon their gowns and petticoats, under pain of fine or punishment, because improper for their station, and above their means. the order appears to have been evaded, for it was followed by another in february, , which recapitulates these prohibitions, and renders them more stringent. [ ] the list of a very few of those issued at the early part of his reign may illustrate this. in was published a "proclamation for the true winding or folding of wools," as well as one "for the due regulation of prices of victuals within the verge of kent." in , "against certain calumnious surmises concerning the church government of scotland." in , "a proclamation against making starch." in , "that none buy or sell any bullion of gold and silver at higher prices than is appointed to be paid for the same." another against dying silk with _slip_ or any corrupt stuff. in , for "prohibiting the untimely bringing in of wines," as well as for "prohibiting the publishing of any reports or writings of duels," and also "the importation of felt hats or caps." in , "prohibiting the making of glass with timber or wood," because "of late yeeres the waste of wood and timber hath been exceeding great and intolerable, by the glassehouses and glasseworkes of late in divers parts erected," and which his majesty fears may have the effect of depriving england of timber to construct her navy! [ ] i have noticed it in calamities of authors. [ ] lilly, the astrologer, in his memoirs, notes that thomas howard, earl of arundel (the famous collector of the arundelian marbles now at oxford), "brought over the new way of building with brick in the city, greatly to the safety of the city, and preservation of the wood of this nation." [ ] this proclamation "for the suppression of coffee-houses" bears date december , , and is stated to have been issued because "the multitude of coffee-houses, lately set up and kept within this kingdom, and the great resort of idle and dissipated persons to them, have produced very evil and dangerous effects," particularly in spreading of rumours, and inducing tradesmen to neglect their calling, tending to the danger of the commonweal, by the idle waste of time and money. it therefore orders all coffee-house keepers "that they, or any of them, do not presume from and after the tenth day of january next ensuing, to keep any publick coffee-house, or utter, or sell by retail, in his, her, or their house, or houses (to be spent or consumed within the same), any coffee, chocolate, sherbett, or tea; as they will answer it at their utmost peril." true sources of secret history. this is a subject which has been hitherto but imperfectly comprehended even by some historians themselves; and has too often incurred the satire, and even the contempt, of those volatile spirits who play about the superficies of truth, wanting the industry to view it on more than one side, and those superficial readers who imagine that every tale is told when it is written. secret history is the supplement of history itself, and is its great corrector; and the combination of secret with public history has in itself a perfection, which each taken separately has not. the popular historian composes a plausible rather than an accurate tale; researches too fully detailed would injure the just proportions, or crowd the bold design, of the elegant narrative; and facts, presented as they occurred, would not adapt themselves to those theoretical writers of history who arrange events not in a natural, but in a systematic order. but in secret history we are more busied in observing what passes than in being told of it. we are transformed into the contemporaries of the writers, while we are standing on the "vantage ground" of their posterity; and thus what to them appeared ambiguous, to us has become unquestionable; what was secret to them has been confided to us. they mark the beginnings, and we the ends. from the fulness of their accounts we recover much which had been lost to us in the general views of history, and it is by this more intimate acquaintance with persons and circumstances that we are enabled to correct the less distinct, and sometimes the fallacious appearances in the page of the popular historian. he who _only_ views things in masses will have no distinct notion of any one particular; he may be a fanciful or a passionate historian, but he is not the historian who will enlighten while he charms. but as secret history appears to deal in minute things, its connexion with great results is not usually suspected. the circumstantiality of its story, the changeable shadows of its characters, the redundance of its conversations, and the many careless superfluities which egotism or vanity may throw out, seem usually confounded with that small-talk familiarly termed _gossiping_. but the _gossiping_ of a profound politician or a vivacious observer, in one of their letters, or in their memoirs, often, by a spontaneous stroke, reveals the individual, or by a simple incident unriddles a mysterious event. we may discover the value of these pictures of human nature, with which secret history abounds, by an observation which occurred between two statesmen in office. lord raby, our ambassador, apologised to lord bolingbroke, then secretary of state, for troubling him with the minuter circumstances which occurred in his conferences; in reply, the minister requests the ambassador to continue the same manner of writing, and alleges an excellent reason: "those _minute circumstances_ give very great light to the general scope and design of the _persons_ negotiated with. and i own that nothing pleases me more in that valuable collection of the cardinal d'ossat's letters, than the _naïve_ descriptions which he gives of the looks, gestures, and even tones of voice, of the persons he conferred with." i regret to have to record the opinions of another noble author, who recently has thrown out some degrading notions of secret history, and particularly of the historians. i would have silently passed by a vulgar writer, superficial, prejudiced, and uninformed, but as so many are yet deficient in correct notions of _secret history_, it is but justice that their representative should be heard before they are condemned. his lordship says, that "of late the appetite for _remains_ of all kinds has surprisingly increased. a story repeated by the duchess of portsmouth's waiting-woman to lord rochester's valet forms the subject of investigation for a philosophical historian; and you may hear of an assembly of scholars and authors discussing the validity of a piece of scandal invented by a maid of honour more than two centuries ago, and repeated to an obscure writer by queen elizabeth's housekeeper. it is a matter of the greatest interest to see the _letters_ of every busy trifler. yet who does not laugh at such men?" this is the attack! but as if some half truths, like light through the cranny in a dark room, had just darted in a stream of atoms over this scoffer at secret history, he suddenly views his object with a very different appearance--for his lordship justly concludes that "it must be confessed, however, that knowledge of this kind is very entertaining; and here and there among the rubbish we find hints that may give the philosopher a clue to important facts, and afford to the moralist a better analysis of the human mind than a whole library of metaphysics!" the philosopher may well abhor all intercourse with wits! because the faculty of judgment is usually quiescent with them; and in their orgasm they furiously decry what in their sober senses they as eagerly laud! let me inform his lordship, that "the waiting-woman and the valet" of eminent persons are sometimes no unimportant personages in history. by the _mémoires de mons. de la porte, premier valet-de-chambre de louis xiv._, we learn what before "the valet" wrote had not been known--the shameful arts which mazarin allowed to be practised, to give a bad education to the prince, and to manage him by depraving his tastes. _madame de motteville_, in her memoirs, "the waiting lady" of our henrietta, has preserved for our own english history some facts which have been found so essential to the narrative, that they are referred to by our historians. in _gui joly_, the humble dependant of cardinal de retz, we discover an unconscious but a useful commentator on the memoirs of his master; and the most affecting personal anecdotes of charles the first have been preserved by _thomas herbert_, his gentleman in waiting; _cléry_, the valet of louis the sixteenth, with pathetic faithfulness, has shown us the man in the monarch whom he served! of secret history there are obviously two species; it is positive, or it is relative. it is _positive_, when the facts are first given to the world; a sort of knowledge which can only be drawn from our own personal experience, or from contemporary documents preserved in their manuscript state in public or in private collections; or it is _relative_, in proportion to the knowledge of those to whom it is communicated, and will be more or less valued according to the acquisitions of the reader; and this inferior species of secret history is drawn from rare and obscure books and other published authorities, often as scarce as manuscripts. some experience i have had in those literary researches, where cusiosity, ever wakeful and vigilant, discovers among contemporary manuscripts new facts; illustrations of old ones; and sometimes detects, not merely by conjecture, the concealed causes of many events; often opens a scene in which some well-known personage is exhibited in a new character; and thus penetrates beyond those generalising representations which satisfy the superficial, and often cover the page of history with delusion and fiction. it is only since the latter institution of national libraries that these immense collections of manuscripts have been formed; with us they are an undescribable variety, usually classed under the vague title of "state-papers."[ ] the instructions of ambassadors, but more particularly their own dispatches; charters and chronicles brown with antiquity, which preserve a world which had been else lost for us, like the one before the deluge; series upon series of private correspondence, among which we discover the most confidential communications, designed by the writers to have been destroyed by the hand which received them; memoirs of individuals by themselves or by their friends, such as are now published by the pomp of vanity, or the faithlessness of their possessors; and the miscellaneous collections formed by all kinds of persons, characteristic of all countries and of all eras, materials for the history of man!--records of the force or of the feebleness of the human understanding, and still the monuments of their passions. the original collectors of these dispersed manuscripts were a race of ingenious men, silent benefactors of mankind, to whom justice has not yet been fully awarded; but in their fervour of accumulation, everything in a manuscript state bore its spell; acquisition was the sole point aimed at by our early collectors, and to this these searching spirits sacrificed their fortunes, their ease, and their days; but life would have been too short to have decided on the intrinsic value of the manuscripts flowing in a stream to the collectors; and suppression, even of the disjointed reveries of madmen, or the sensible madness of projectors, might have been indulging a capricious taste, or what has proved more injurious to historical pursuits, that party-feeling which has frequently annihilated the memorials of their adversaries.[ ] these manuscript collections now assume a formidable appearance. a toilsome march over these "alps rising over alps!" a voyage in "a sea without a shore!" has turned away most historians from their severer duties; those who have grasped at early celebrity have been satisfied to have given a new form to, rather than contributed to the new matter of history. the very sight of these masses of history has terrified some modern historians. when père daniel undertook a history of france, the learned boivin, the king's librarian, opened for his inspection an immense treasure of charters, and another of royal autograph letters, and another of private correspondence; treasures reposing in fourteen hundred folios! the modern historian passed two hours impatiently looking over them, but frightened at another plunge into the gulf, this curtius of history would not immolate himself for his country! he wrote a civil letter to the librarian for his "supernumerary kindness," but insinuated that he could write a very readable history without any further aid of such _paperasses_ or "paper-rubbish." père daniel, therefore, "quietly sat down to his history," copying others--a compliment which was never returned by any one: but there was this striking novelty in his "readable history," that according to the accurate computation of count boulainvilliers, père daniel's history of france contains ten thousand blunders! the same circumstance has been told me by a living historian of the late gilbert stuart; who, on some manuscript volumes of letters being pointed out to him when composing his history of scotland, confessed that "what was already printed was more than he was able to read!" and thus much for his theoretical history, written to run counter to another theoretical history, being stuart versus robertson! they equally depend on the simplicity of their readers, and the charms of style! another historian, anquetil, the author of _l'esprit de la ligue_, has described his embarrassment at an inspection of the contemporary manuscripts of that period. after thirteen years of researches to glean whatever secret history printed books afforded, the author, residing in the country, resolved to visit the royal library at paris. monsieur melot receiving him with that kindness which is one of the official duties of the public librarian towards the studious, opened the cabinets in which were deposited the treasures of french history.--"this is what you require! come here at all times, and you shall be attended!" said the librarian to the young historian, who stood by with a sort of shudder, while he opened cabinet after cabinet. the intrepid investigator repeated his visits, looking over the mass as chance directed, attacking one side, and then flying to another. the historian, who had felt no weariness during thirteen years among printed books, discovered that he was now engaged in a task apparently always beginning, and never ending! the "esprit de la ligue" was however enriched by labours which at the moment appeared so barren. the study of these _paperasses_ is not perhaps so disgusting as the impatient père daniel imagined; there is a literary fascination in looking over the same papers which the great characters of history once held and wrote on; catching from themselves their secret sentiments; and often detecting so many of their unrecorded actions! by habit the toil becomes light; and with a keen inquisitive spirit even delightful! for what is more delightful to the curious than to make fresh discoveries every day? addison has a true and pleasing observation on such pursuits. "our employments are converted into amusements, so that even in those objects which were indifferent, or even displeasing to us, the mind not only gradually loses its aversion, but conceives a certain fondness and affection for them." addison illustrates this case by one of the greatest geniuses of the age, who by habit took incredible pleasure in searching into rolls and records, till he preferred them to virgil and cicero! the faculty of curiosity is as fervid, and even as refined in its search after truth, as that of taste in the objects of imagination; and the more it is indulged, the more exquisitely it is enjoyed! the popular historians of england and of france have, in truth, made little use of manuscript researches. life is very short for long histories; and those who rage with an avidity of fame or profit will gladly taste the fruit which they cannot mature. researches too remotely sought after, or too slowly acquired, or too fully detailed, would be so many obstructions in the smooth texture of a narrative. our theoretical historians write from some particular and preconceived result; unlike livy, and de thou, and machiavel, who describe events in their natural order, these cluster them together by the fanciful threads of some political or moral theory, by which facts are distorted, displaced, and sometimes altogether omitted! one single original document has sometimes shaken into dust their palladian edifice of history. at the moment hume was sending some sheets of his history to press, murdin's state papers appeared. and we are highly amused and instructed by a letter of our historian to his rival, robertson, who probably found himself often in the same forlorn situation. our historian discovered in that collection what compelled him to retract his preconceived system--he hurries to stop the press, and paints his confusion and his anxiety with all the ingenuous simplicity of his nature. "we are all in the wrong!" he exclaims. of hume i have heard that certain manuscripts at the state paper office had been prepared for his inspection during a fortnight, but he never could muster courage to pay his promised visit. satisfied with the common accounts, and the most obvious sources of history, when librarian at the advocates' library, where yet may be examined the books he used, marked by his hand, he spread the volumes about the sofa, from which he rarely rose to pursue obscure inquiries, or delay by fresh difficulties the page which every day was growing under his charming pen. a striking proof of his careless happiness i discovered in his never referring to the perfect edition of "whitelocke's memorials" of , but to the old truncated and faithless one of . dr. birch was a writer with no genius for composition, but one to whom british history stands more indebted than to any superior author; his incredible love of labour, in transcribing with his own hand a large library of manuscripts from originals dispersed in public and in private repositories, has enriched the british museum by thousands of the most authentic documents of genuine secret history. he once projected a collection of original historical letters, for which he had prepared a preface, where i find the following passage:--"it is a more important service to the public to contribute _something not before known_ to the general fund of history, than to give new form and colour to what we are already possessed of, by superadding refinement and ornament, which too often tend _to disguise the real state of the facts_; a fault not to be atoned for by the pomp of _style_, or even the fine _eloquence_ of the historian." this was an oblique stroke aimed at robertson, to whom birch had generously opened the stores of history, for the scotch historian had needed all his charity; but robertson's attractive inventions and highly-finished composition seduce the public taste; and we may forgive the latent spark of envy in the honest feelings of the man, who was profoundly skilled in delving in the native beds of ore, but not in fashioning it; and whose own neglected historical works, constructed on the true principles of secret history, we may often turn over to correct the erroneous, the prejudiced, and the artful accounts of those who have covered their faults by "the pomp of style, and the eloquence of the historian." the large manuscript collections of original documents, from whence may be drawn what i have called _positive secret history_, are, as i observed, comparatively of modern existence. formerly they were widely dispersed in private hands; and the nature of such sources of historic discovery but rarely occurred to our writers. even had they sought them, their access must have been partial and accidental. lord hardwicke has observed, that there are still many untouched manuscript collections within these kingdoms, which, through the ignorance or inattention of their owners, are condemned to dust and obscurity; but how valuable and essential they may be to the interests of authentic history and of sacred truth, cannot be more strikingly demonstrated than in the recent publications of the marlborough and the shrewsbury papers by archdeacon coxe.[ ] the editor was fully authorised to observe, "it is singular that those transactions should either have been passed over in silence, or imperfectly represented by most of our national historians." our modern history would have been a mere political romance, without the astonishing picture of william and his ministers, exhibited in those unquestionable documents. burnet was among the first of our modern historians who showed the world the preciousness of such materials, in his "history of the reformation," which he largely drew from the cottonian collection. our early historians only repeated a tale ten times told. milton, who wanted not for literary diligence, had no fresh stores to open for his "history of england;" while hume despatches, comparatively in a few pages, a subject which has afforded to the fervent diligence of my learned friend sharon turner volumes precious to the antiquary, the lawyer, and the philosopher. to illustrate my idea of the usefulness and of the absolute necessity of secret history, i fix first on _a public event_, and secondly on _a public character_; both remarkable in our own modern history, and both serving to expose the fallacious appearances of popular history by authorities indisputably genuine. the _event_ is the restoration of charles the second; and the _character_ is that of mary, the queen of william the third. in history the restoration of charles appears in all its splendour--the king is joyfully received at dover, and the shore is covered by his subjects on their knees--crowds of the great hurry to canterbury--the army is drawn up, in number and with a splendour that had never been equalled--his enthusiastic reception is on his birthday, for that was the lucky day fixed on for his entrance into the metropolis--in a word, all that is told in history describes a monarch the most powerful and the most happy. one of the tracts of the day, entitled "england's triumph," in the mean quaintness of the style of the times, tells us that "the soldiery, who had hitherto made _clubs_ trump, resolve now to enthrone the _king of hearts_." turn to the faithful memorialist, who so well knew the secrets of the king's heart, and who was himself an actor behind the curtain; turn to clarendon, in his own life, and we shall find that the power of the king was then as dubious as when he was an exile; and his feelings were so much racked, that he had nearly resolved on a last flight. clarendon, in noticing the temper and spirit of that time, observes, "whoever reflects upon all this composition of contradictory wishes and expectations, must confess that the king was not yet the master of the kingdom, nor his _authority_ and _security_ such as _the general noise and acclamation, the bells and the bonfires, proclaimed it to be_."--"the first mortification the king met with as soon as he arrived at canterbury, within three hours after he landed at dover." clarendon then relates how many the king found there, who, while they waited with joy to kiss his hand, also came with importunate solicitations for themselves; forced him to give them present audience, in which they reckoned up the insupportable losses undergone by themselves or their fathers; demanding some grant, or promise of such or such offices; some even for more! "pressing for two or three with such confidence and importunity, and with such tedious discourses, that the king was extremely nauseated with their suits, though his modesty knew not how to break from them; that he no sooner got into his chamber, which for some hours he was not able to do, than _he lamented the condition to which he found he must be subject_; and did, in truth, from that minute, contract such a prejudice against some of those persons." but a greater mortification was to follow, and one which had nearly thrown the king into despair. general monk had from the beginning to this instant acted very mysteriously, never corresponding with nor answering a letter of the king's, so that his majesty was frequently doubtful whether the general designed to act for himself or for the king: an ambiguous conduct which i attribute to the power his wife had over him, who was in the opposite interest. the general, in his rough way, presented him a large paper, with about seventy names for his privy council, of which not more than two were acceptable. "the king," says clarendon, "was _in more than ordinary confusion_, for he knew not well what to think of the general, in whose absolute power he was--so that at this moment his majesty was almost alarmed at the demand and appearance of things." the general afterwards undid this unfavourable appearance, by acknowledging that the list was drawn up by his wife, who had made him promise to present it; but he permitted his majesty to act as he thought proper. at that moment general monk was more king than charles. we have not yet concluded. when charles met the army at blackheath, , strong, "he knew well the ill constitution of the army, the distemper and murmuring that was in it, and how many diseases and convulsions their infant loyalty was subject to; that _how united soever their inclinations and acclamations seemed to be at blackheath_, their _affections_ were not the _same_--and _the very countenances_ there of many _officers_, as well as _soldiers_, did sufficiently manifest that they were drawn thither to a service they were not delighted in. the _old soldiers_ had little regard for their _new officers_; and it quickly appeared, by the select and affected mixtures of sullen and melancholic parties of officers and soldiers."--and then the chancellor of human nature adds, "and in this _melancholic and perplexed condition_ the king and all his hopes stood, _when he appeared most gay and exalted, and wore a pleasantness in his face_ that became him, and looked like as full an assurance of his security as was possible to put on." it is imagined that louis the eighteenth would be the ablest commentator on this piece of secret history, and add another _twin_ to pierre de saint julien's "gemelles ou pareiles," an old french treatise of histories which resemble one another: a volume so scarce, that i have never met with it. burnet informs us, that when queen mary held the administration of government during the absence of william, it was imagined by some, that as "every woman of sense loved to be meddling, they concluded that she had but a small portion of it, because she lived so abstracted from all affairs." he praises her exemplary behaviour; "regular in her devotions, much in her closet, read a great deal, was often busy at work, and seemed to employ her time and thoughts in anything rather than matters of state. her conversation was lively and obliging; everything in her was easy and natural. the king told the earl of shrewsbury, that though he could not hit on the right way of pleasing england, he was confident she would, and that we should all be very happy under her." such is the miniature of the queen which burnet offers; we see nothing but her tranquillity, her simplicity, and her carelessness, amidst the important transactions passing under her eye; but i lift the curtain from a larger picture. the distracted state amidst which the queen lived, the vexations, the secret sorrows, the agonies and the despair of mary in the absence of william, nowhere appear in history! and as we see, escaped the ken of the scotch bishop! they were reserved for the curiosity and instruction of posterity; and were found by dalrymple, in the letters of mary to her husband, in king william's cabinet. it will be well to place under the eye of the reader the suppressed cries of this afflicted queen at the time when "everything in her was so easy and natural, employing her time and thoughts in anything rather than matters of state--often busy at work!" i shall not dwell on the pangs of the queen for the fate of william--or her deadly suspicions that many were unfaithful about her; a battle lost might have been fatal; a conspiracy might have undone what even a victory had obtained; the continual terrors she endured were such, that we might be at a loss to determine who suffered most, those who had been expelled from, or those who had ascended the throne. so far was the queen from not "employing her thoughts" on "matters of state," that every letter, usually written towards evening, chronicles the conflicts of the day; she records not only events, but even dialogues and personal characteristics; hints her suspicions, and multiplies her fears; her attention was incessant--"i never write but what i think others do not;" and her terrors were as ceaseless,--"i pray god send you back quickly, for i see all breaking out into flames." the queen's difficulties were not eased by a single confidential intercourse. on one occasion she observes, "as i do not know what i ought to speak, and when not, i am as silent as can be." "i ever fear not doing well, and trust to what nobody says but you. it seems to me that every one is afraid of themselves.--i am very uneasy in one thing, which is want of somebody to speak my mind freely to, for it's a great constraint to think and be silent; and there is so much matter, that i am one of solomon's fools, who am ready to burst. i must tell you again how lord monmouth endeavours to frighten me, and indeed things have but a melancholy prospect." she had indeed reasons to fear lord monmouth, who, it appears, divulged all the secrets of the royal councils to major wildman, who was one of our old republicans; and, to spread alarm in the privy council, conveyed in lemon-juice all their secrets to france, often on the very day they had passed in council! they discovered the fact, and every one suspected the other as the traitor! lord lincoln even once assured her, that "the lord president and all in general, who are in trust, were rogues." her council was composed of factions, and the queen's suspicions were rather general than particular: for she observes on them, "till now i thought you had given me wrong characters of men; but now i see they answer my expectation of being as little of a mind as of a body."--for a final extract, take this full picture of royal misery--"i must see company on my set days; i must play twice a week; nay, i must laugh and talk, though never so much against my will: i believe i dissemble very ill to those who know me; at least, it is a great constraint to myself, yet i must endure it. all my motions are so watched, and all i do so observed, that if i eat less, or speak less, or look more grave, all is lost in the opinion of the world; so that i have this misery added to that of your absence, that i must grin when my heart is ready to break, and talk when my heart is so oppressed that i can scarce breathe. i go to kensington as often as i can for air; but then i never can be quite alone, neither can i complain--that would be some ease; but i have nobody whose humour and circumstances agree with mine enough to speak my mind freely to. besides, i must hear of business, which being a thing i am so new in, and so unfit for, does but break my brains the more, and not ease my heart." thus different from the representation of burnet was the actual state of queen mary: and i suspect that our warm and vehement bishop had but little personal knowledge of her majesty, notwithstanding the elaborate character of the queen which he has given in her funeral eulogium. he must have known that she did not always sympathise with his party-feelings: for the queen writes, "the bishop of salisbury has made a long thundering sermon this morning, which he has been with me to desire to print; which i could not refuse, though i should not have ordered it, for reasons which i told him." burnet (whom i am very far from calling what an inveterate tory, edward earl of oxford, does in one of his manuscript notes, "that lying scot") unquestionably has told many truths in his garrulous page; but the cause in which he stood so deeply engaged, coupled to his warm sanguine temper, may have sometimes dimmed his sagacity, so as to have caused him to have mistaken, as in the present case, a mask for a face, particularly at a time when almost every individual appears to have worn one! both these cases of charles the second and queen mary show the absolute necessity of researches into secret history, to correct the appearances and the fallacies which so often deceive us in public history. "the appetite for remains," as the noble author whom i have already alluded to calls it, may then be a very wholesome one, if it provide the only materials by which our popular histories can be corrected, and since it often infuses a freshness into a story which, after having been copied from book to book, inspires another to tell it for the tenth time! thus are the _sources of_ secret history unsuspected by the idler and the superficial, among those masses of untouched manuscripts--that subterraneous history!--which indeed may terrify the indolent, bewilder the inexperienced, and confound the injudicious, if they have not acquired the knowledge which not only decides on facts and opinions, but on the authorities which have furnished them. popular historians have written to their readers; each with different views, but all alike form the open documents of history; like feed advocates, they declaim, or like special pleaders, they keep only on one side of their case: they are seldom zealous to push on their cross-examination; for they come to gain their cause, and not to hazard it! time will make the present age as obsolete as the last, for our sons will cast a new light over the ambiguous scenes which distract their fathers; they will know how some things happened for which we cannot account; they will bear witness to how many characters we have mistaken; they will be told many of those secrets which our contemporaries hide from us; they will pause at the ends of our beginnings; they will read the perfect story of man, which can never be told while it is proceeding. all this is the possession of posterity, because they will judge without our passions; and all this we ourselves have been enabled to possess by the secret history _of the last two ages_![ ] footnotes: [ ] the large mass of important documents in the national state-paper office has recently been made available to the use of the historic student, with the best results, and cannot fail to have important influence on the future historic literature of the country. [ ] see what i have said of "suppressors and dilapidators of manuscripts," vol. ii. p. . [ ] the "conway papers" remain unpublished. from what i have already been favoured with the sight of, i may venture to predict that our history may receive from them some important accession. the reader may find a lively summary of the contents of these papers in horace walpole's account of his visit to ragley, in his letter to george montague, th august, . the right hon. john wilson croker, with whom the marquis of hertford had placed the disposal of the conway papers, is also in possession of the throckmorton papers, of which the reader may likewise observe a particular notice in sir henry wotton's will, in izaak walton's lives. unsunned treasures lie in the state-paper office. [ ] since this article has been sent to press i rise from reading one in the _edinburgh review_ on lord orford's and lord waldegrave's memoirs. this is one of the very rare articles which could only come from the hand of a master long exercised in the studies he criticises. the critic, or rather the historian, observes, that "of a period remarkable for the establishment of our present system of government, no authentic materials had yet appeared. events of public notoriety are to be found, though often inaccurately told, in our common histories; but the secret springs of action, the private views and motives of individuals, &c., are as little known to us as if the events to which they relate had taken place in china or japan." the clear, connected, dispassionate, and circumstantial narrative, with which he has enriched the stores of english history, is drawn from _the sources of_ secret history; from _published memoirs_ and _contemporary correspondence_. literary residences. men of genius have usually been condemned to compose their finest works, which are usually their earliest ones, under the roof of a garret; and few literary characters have lived, like pliny and voltaire, in a villa or _château_ of their own. it has not therefore often happened that a man of genius could raise local emotions by his own intellectual suggestions. ariosto, who built a palace in his verse, lodged himself in a small house, and found that stanzas and stones were not put together at the same rate: old montaigne has left a description of his library; "over the entrance of my house, where i view my court-yards, and garden, and at once survey all the operations of my family!" there is, however, a feeling among literary men of building up their own elegant fancies, and giving a permanency to their own tastes; we dwell on their favourite scenes as a sort of portraits, and we eagerly collect those few prints, which are their only vestiges. a collection might be formed of such literary residences chosen for their amenity and their retirement, and adorned by the objects of their studies; from that of the younger pliny, who called his villa of literary leisure by the endearing term of _villula_, to that of cassiodorus, the prime minister of theodoric, who has left so magnificent a description of his literary retreat, where all the elegancies of life were at hand; where the gardeners and the agriculturists laboured on scientific principles; and where, amidst gardens and parks, stood his extensive library, with scribes to multiply his manuscripts:--from tycho brahe's, who built a magnificent astronomical house on an island, which he named after the sole objects of his musings uranienburgh, or the castle of the heavens;--to that of evelyn, who first began to adorn wotton, by building "a little study," till many years after he dedicated the ancient house to contemplation, among the "delicious streams and venerable woods, the gardens, the fountains, and the groves, most tempting for a great person and a wanton purse; and indeed gave one of the first examples to that elegancy since so much in vogue."--from pope, whose little garden seemed to multiply its scenes by a glorious union of nobility and literary men conversing in groups;--down to lonely shenstone, whose "rural elegance," as he entitles one of his odes, compelled him to mourn over his hard fate, when ----expense had lavish'd thousand ornaments, and taught convenience to perplex him, art to pall, pomp to deject, and beauty to displease. we have all by heart the true and delightful reflection of johnson on local associations, when the scene we tread suggests to us the men or the deeds, which have left their celebrity to the spot. we are in the presence of their fame, and feel its influence! a literary friend, whom a hint of mine had induced to visit the old tower in the garden of buffon, where the sage retired every morning to compose, passed so long a time in that lonely apartment as to have raised some solicitude among the honest folks of montbard, who having seen the "englishman" enter, but not return, during a heavy thunder-storm which had occurred in the interval, informed the good mayor, who came in due form, to notify the ambiguous state of the stranger. my friend is, as is well known, a genius of that cast who could pass two hours in the _tower of buffon_, without being aware that he had been all that time occupied by suggestions of ideas and reveries, which in some minds such a locality may excite. he was also busied with his pencil; for he has favoured me with two drawings of the interior and the exterior of this _old tower in the garden_: the nakedness within can only be compared to the solitude without. such was the studying-room of buffon, where his eye, resting on no object, never interrupted the unity of his meditations on nature. in return for my friend's kindness, it has cost me, i think, two hours in attempting to translate the beautiful picture of this literary retreat, which vicq d'azyr has finished with all the warmth of a votary. "at montbard, in the midst of an ornamented garden, is seen an antique tower; it was there that buffon wrote the history of nature, and from that spot his fame spread through the universe. there he came at sunrise, and no one, however importunate, was suffered to trouble him. the calm of the morning hour, the first warbling of the birds, the varied aspect of the country, all at that moment which touched the senses, recalled him to his model. free, independent, he wandered in his walks; there was he seen with quickened or with slow steps, or standing wrapped in thought, sometimes with his eyes fixed on the heavens in the moment of inspiration, as if satisfied with the thought that so profoundly occupied his soul; sometimes, collected within himself, he sought what would not always be found; or at the moments of producing, he wrote, he effaced, and rewrote, to efface once more; thus he harmonised, in silence, all the parts of his composition, which he frequently repeated to himself, till, satisfied with his corrections, he seemed to repay himself for the pains of his beautiful prose, by the pleasure he found in declaiming it aloud. thus he engraved it in his memory, and would recite it to his friends, or induce some to read it to him. at those moments he was himself a severe judge, and would again re-compose it, desirous of attaining to that perfection which is denied to the impatient writer." a curious circumstance, connected with local associations, occurred to that extraordinary oriental student, fourmont. originally he belonged to a religious community, and never failed in performing his offices: but he was expelled by the superior for an irregularity of conduct not likely to have become contagious through the brotherhood--he frequently prolonged his studies far into the night, and it was possible that the house might be burnt by such superfluity of learning. fourmont retreated to the college of montaign, where he occupied the very chambers which had formerly been those of erasmus; a circumstance which contributed to excite his emulation, and to hasten his studies. he who smiles at the force of such emotions, only proves that he has not experienced what are real and substantial as the scene itself--for those who are concerned in them. pope, who had far more enthusiasm in his poetical disposition than is generally understood, was extremely susceptible of the literary associations with localities: one of the volumes of his homer was begun and finished in an old tower over the chapel of stanton harcourt;[ ] and he has perpetuated the event, if not consecrated the place, by scratching with a diamond on a pane of stained glass this inscription:-- in the year , alexander pope finished here the f.... fifth volume of homer.[ ] it was the same feeling which induced him one day, when taking his usual walk with harte in the haymarket, to desire harte to enter a little shop, where going up three pair of stairs into a small room, pope said, "in this garret addison wrote his _campaign_!" nothing less than a strong feeling impelled the poet to ascend this garret--it was a consecrated spot to his eye; and certainly a curious instance of the power of genius contrasted with its miserable locality! addison, whose mind had fought through "a campaign!" in a garret, could he have called about him "the pleasures of imagination," had probably planned a house of literary repose, where all parts would have been in harmony with his mind. such residences of men of genius have been enjoyed by some; and the vivid descriptions which they have left us convey something of the delightfulness which charmed their studious repose. the italian, paul jovius, has composed more than three hundred concise eulogies of statesmen, warriors, and literary men, of the fourteenth, fifteenth, and sixteenth centuries; but the occasion which induced him to compose them is perhaps more interesting than the compositions. jovius had a villa, situated on a peninsula, bordered by the lake of como. it was built on the ruins of the villa of pliny, and in his time the foundations were still visible. when the surrounding lake was calm, the sculptured marbles, the trunks of columns, and the fragments of those pyramids which had once adorned the residence of the friend of trajan, were still viewed in its lucid bosom. jovius was the enthusiast of literature, and the leisure which it loves. he was an historian, with the imagination of a poet, and though a christian prelate, almost a worshipper of the sweet fictions of pagan mythology; and when his pen was kept pure from satire or adulation, to which it was too much accustomed, it became a pencil. he paints with rapture his gardens bathed by the waters of the lake; the shade and freshness of his woods; his green slopes; his sparkling fountains, the deep silence and calm of his solitude! a statue was raised in his gardens to nature! in his hall stood a fine statue of apollo, and the muses around, with their attributes. his library was guarded by a mercury, and there was an apartment adorned with doric columns, and with pictures of the most pleasing subjects dedicated to the graces! such was the interior! without, the transparent lake here spread its broad mirror, and there was seen luminously winding by banks covered with olives and laurels; in the distance, towns, promontories, hills rising in an amphitheatre, blushing with vines, and the first elevation of the alps, covered with woods and pasture, and sprinkled with herds and flocks. it was in a central spot of this enchanting habitation that a cabinet or gallery was erected, where jovius had collected with prodigal cost the portraits of celebrated men; and it was to explain and to describe the characteristics of these illustrious names that he had composed his eulogies. this collection became so remarkable, that the great men his contemporaries presented our literary collector with their own portraits, among whom the renowned fernandez cortes sent jovius his before he died, and probably others who were less entitled to enlarge the collection; but it is equally probable that our caustic jovius would throw them aside. our historian had often to describe men more famous than virtuous; sovereigns, politicians, poets, and philosophers, men of all ranks, countries, and ages, formed a crowded scene of men of genius or of celebrity; sometimes a few lines compress their character, and sometimes a few pages excite his fondness. if he sometimes adulates the living, we may pardon the illusions of a contemporary; but he has the honour of satirising some by the honest freedom of a pen which occasionally broke out into premature truths. such was the inspiration of literature and leisure which had embellished the abode of jovius, and had raised in the midst of the lake of como a cabinet of portraits; a noble tribute to those who are "the salt of the earth." we possess prints of rubens's house at antwerp. that princely artist perhaps first contrived for his _studio_ the circular apartment with a dome, like the rotunda of the pantheon, where the light descending from an aperture or window at the top, sent down a single equal light,--that perfection of light which distributes its magical effects on the objects beneath.[ ] bellori describes it _una stanza rotonda con un solo occhio in cima_; the _solo occhio_ is what the french term _oeil de boeuf_; we ourselves want this _single eye_ in our technical language of art. this was his precious museum, where he had collected a vast number of books, which were intermixed with his marbles, statues, cameos, intaglios, and all that variety of the riches of art which he had drawn from rome:[ ] but the walls did not yield in value; for they were covered by pictures of his own composition, or copies by his own hand, made at venice and madrid, of titian and paul veronese. no foreigners, men of letters, or lovers of the arts, or even princes, would pass through antwerp without visiting the house of rubens, to witness the animated residence of genius, and the great man who had conceived the idea. yet, great as was his mind, and splendid as were the habits of his life, he could not resist the entreaties of the hundred thousand florins of our duke of buckingham, to dispose of this _studio_. the great artist could not, however, abandon for ever the delightful contemplations he was depriving himself of; and as substitutes for the miracles of art he had lost, he solicited and obtained leave to replace them by casts which were scrupulously deposited in the places where the originals had stood. of this feeling of the local residences of genius, the italians appear to have been not perhaps more susceptible than other people, but more energetic in their enthusiasm. florence exhibits many monuments of this sort. in the neighbourhood of _santa maria novella_, zimmerman has noticed a house of the celebrated viviani, which is a singular monument of gratitude to his illustrious master, galileo. the front is adorned with the bust of this father of science, and between the windows are engraven accounts of the discoveries of galileo; it is the most beautiful biography of genius! yet another still more eloquently excites our emotions--the house of michael angelo: his pupils, in perpetual testimony of their admiration and gratitude, have ornamented it with all the leading features of his life; the very soul of this vast genius put in action: this is more than biography!--it is living as with a contemporary! footnotes: [ ] the room is a small wainscoted apartment in the second floor, commanding a pleasant view. [ ] the above inscription is a fac-simile of that upon the glass. the word _fifth_ in the third line has been erased by pope for want of room to complete it properly. it is scratched on a small pane of red glass, and has been removed to nuneham courtney, the seat of the harcourt family, on the banks of the thames, a few miles from oxford. [ ] harrewyns published, in , a series of interesting views of the house, and some of the apartments, including this domed one. the series are upon one folio sheet, now very rare. [ ] rubens was an ardent collector, and lost no chance of increasing his stores; in the appendix to carpenter's "pictorial notices of vandyke" is printed the correspondence between himself and sir d. carleton, offering to exchange some of his own pictures for antiques in possession of the latter, who was ambassador from england to holland, and who collected also for the earl of arundel. whether allowable to ruin oneself? the political economist replies that it is! one of our old dramatic writers, who witnessed the singular extravagance of dress among the modellers of fashion, our nobility, condemns their "superfluous bravery," echoing the popular cry-- "there are a sort of men, whose coining heads are mints of all new fashions, that have done more hurt to the kingdom, by superfluous bravery, which the foolish gentry imitate, than a war or a long famine. _all the treasure by this foul excess is got into the merchants', embroiderers', silkmen's, jewellers', tailors' hands, and the third part of the land too!_ the nobility engrossing _titles only_." our poet might have been startled at the reply of our political economist. if the nobility, in follies such as these, only preserved their "titles," while their "lands" were dispersed among the industrious classes, the people were not sufferers. the silly victims ruining themselves by their excessive luxury, or their costly dress, as it appears some did, was an evil which, left to its own course, must check itself; if the rich did not spend, the poor would starve. luxury is the cure of that unavoidable evil in society--great inequality of fortune! political economists therefore tell us that any regulations would be ridiculous which, as lord bacon expresses it, should serve for "the repressing of waste and excess by _sumptuary laws_." adam smith is not only indignant at "sumptuary laws," but asserts, with a democratic insolence of style, that "it is the highest impertinence and presumption in kings and ministers to pretend to watch over the economy of private people, and to restrain their expense by sumptuary laws. they are themselves always the greatest spendthrifts in the society; let them look well after their own expense, and they may safely trust private people with theirs. if their own extravagance does not ruin the state, that of their subjects never will." we must therefore infer that governments by extravagance may ruin a state, but that individuals enjoy the remarkable privilege of ruining themselves without injuring society! adam smith afterwards distinguishes two sorts of luxury: the one exhausting itself in "durable commodities, as in buildings, furniture, books, statues, pictures," will increase "the opulence of a nation;" but of the other, wasting itself in dress and equipages, in frivolous ornaments, jewels, baubles, trinkets, &c., he acknowledges "no trace or vestige would remain; and the effects of ten or twenty years' profusion would be as completely annihilated as if they had never existed." there is, therefore, a greater and a lesser evil in this important subject of the opulent, unrestricted by any law, ruining his whole generation. where "the wealth of nations" is made the solitary standard of their prosperity, it becomes a fertile source of errors in the science of morals; and the happiness of the individual is then too frequently sacrificed to what is called the prosperity of the state. if an individual, in the pride of luxury and selfism, annihilates the fortunes of his whole generation, untouched by the laws as a criminal, he leaves behind him a race of the discontented and the seditious, who, having sunk in the scale of society, have to reascend from their degradation by industry and by humiliation; but for the work of industry their habits have made them inexpert; and to humiliation their very rank presents a perpetual obstacle. sumptuary laws, so often enacted and so often repealed, and always eluded, were the perpetual, but ineffectual, attempts of all governments to restrain what, perhaps, cannot be restrained--criminal folly! and to punish a man for having ruined himself would usually be to punish a most contrite penitent. it is not surprising that before "private vices were considered as public benefits," the governors of nations instituted sumptuary laws--for the passion for pageantry and an incredible prodigality in dress were continually impoverishing great families--more equality of wealth has now rather subdued the form of private ruin than laid this evil domestic spirit. the incalculable expenditure and the blaze of splendour of our ancestors may startle the incredulity of our _élégantes_. we find men of rank exhausting their wealth and pawning their castles, and then desperately issuing from them, heroes for a crusade, or brigands for their neighbourhood!--and this frequently from the simple circumstance of having for a short time maintained some gorgeous chivalric festival on their own estates, or from having melted thousands of acres into cloth of gold; their sons were left to beg their bread on the estates which they were to have inherited. it was when chivalry still charmed the world by the remains of its seductive splendours, towards the close of the fifteenth century, that i find an instance of this kind occurring in the _pas de sandricourt_, which was held in the neighbourhood of the sieur of that name. it is a memorable affair, not only for us curious inquirers after manners and morals, but for the whole family of the sandricourts; for though the said sieur is now receiving the immortality we bestow on him, and _la dame_ who presided in that magnificent piece of chivalry was infinitely gratified, yet for ever after was the lord of sandricourt ruined--and all for a short, romantic three months! this story of the chivalric period may amuse. a _pas d'armes_, though consisting of military exercises and deeds of gallantry, was a sort of festival distinct from a tournament. it signified a _pas_ or passage to be contested by one or more knights against all comers. it was necessary that the road should be such that it could not be passed without encountering some guardian knight. the _chevaliers_ who disputed the _pas_ hung their blazoned shields on trees, pales, or posts raised for this purpose. the aspirants after chivalric honours would strike with their lance one of these shields, and when it rung, it instantly summoned the owner to the challenge. a bridge or a road would sometimes serve for this military sport, for such it was intended to be, whenever the heat of the rivals proved not too earnest. the sieur of sandricourt was a fine dreamer of feats of chivalry, and in the neighbourhood of his castle he fancied that he saw a very spot adapted for every game; there was one admirably fitted for the barrier of a tilting-match; another embellished by a solitary pine-tree; another which was called the meadow of the thorn; there was a _carrefour_, where, in four roads, four knights might meet; and, above all, there was a forest called _devoyable_, having no path, so favourable for errant knights who might there enter for strange adventures, and, as chance directed, encounter others as bewildered as themselves. our chivalric sandricourt found nine young _seigneurs_ of the court of charles the eighth of france, who answered all his wishes. to sanction this glorious feat it was necessary to obtain leave from the king, and a herald of the duke of orleans to distribute the _cartel_ or challenge all over france, announcing that from such a day ten young lords would stand ready to combat, in those different places, in the neighbourhood of sandricourt's _château_. the names of this flower of chivalry have been faithfully registered, and they were such as instantly to throw a spark into the heart of every lover of arms! the world of fashion, that is, the chivalric world, were set in motion. four bodies of assailants soon collected, each consisting of ten combatants. the herald of orleans having examined the arms of these gentlemen, and satisfied himself of their ancient lineage and their military renown, admitted their claims to the proffered honour. sandricourt now saw with rapture the numerous shields of the assailants placed on the sides of his portals, and corresponding with those of the challengers which hung above them. ancient lords were elected judges of the feats of the knights, accompanied by the ladies, for whose honour only the combatants declared they engaged. the herald of orleans tells the history in no very intelligible verse; but the burthen of his stanza is still _du pas d'armes du chasteau sandricourt._ he sings, or says, oncques, depuis le tempts du roi artus, ne furent tant les armes exaulcées-- maint chevaliers et preux entreprenans-- princes plusieurs ont terres déplacées pour y venir donner coups et poussées qui out été lá tenus si de court que par force n'ont prises et passées les barriers, entrées, et passées du pas des armes du chasteau sandricourt. doubtless there many a roland met with his oliver, and could not pass the barriers. cased as they were in steel, _de pied en cap_, we presume that they could not materially injure themselves; yet, when on foot, the ancient judges discovered such symptoms of peril, that on the following day they advised our knights to satisfy themselves by fighting on horseback. against this prudential counsel for some time they protested, as an inferior sort of glory. however, on the next day, the horse combat was appointed in the _carrefour_, by the pine-tree. on the following day they tried their lances in the meadow of the thorn; but, though on horseback, the judges deemed their attacks were so fierce that this assault was likewise not without peril; for some horses were killed, and some knights were thrown, and lay bruised by their own mail; but the barbed horses, wearing only _des chamfreins_, head-pieces magnificently caparisoned, found no protection in their ornaments. the last days were passed in combats of two to two, or in a single encounter, a-foot, in the _forêt devoyable_. these jousts passed without any accident, and the prizes were awarded in a manner equally gratifying to the claimants. the last day of the festival was concluded with a most sumptuous banquet. two noble knights had undertaken the humble office of _maîtres-d'hôtel_; and while the knights were parading in the _forêt devoyable_ seeking adventures, a hundred servants were seen at all points, carrying white and red hypocras, and juleps, and _sirop de violars_, sweetmeats, and other spiceries, to comfort these wanderers, who, on returning to the _chasteau_, found a grand and plenteous banquet. the tables were crowded in the court apartment, where some held one hundred and twelve gentlemen, not including the _dames_ and the _demoiselles_. in the halls, and outside of the _chasteau_, were other tables. at that festival more than two thousand persons were magnificently entertained free of every expense; their attendants, their armourers, their _plumassiers_, and others, were also present. _la dame de sandricourt_, "fût moult aise d'avoir donné dans son chasteau si belle, si magnifique, et gorgiasse fête." historians are apt to describe their personages as they appear, not as they are: if the lady of the sieur sandricourt really was "moult aise" during these gorgeous days, one cannot but sympathise with the lady, when her loyal knight and spouse confessed to her, after the departure of the mob of two thousand visitors, neighbours, soldiers, and courtiers,--the knights challengers, and the knights assailants, and the fine scenes at the pine-tree; the barrier in the meadow of the thorn; and the horse-combat at the _carrefour_; and the jousts in the _forêt devoyable_; the carousals in the castle halls; the jollity of the banquet tables; the morescoes danced till they were reminded "how the waning night grew old!"--in a word, when the costly dream had vanished,--that he was a ruined man for ever, by immortalising his name in one grand chivalric festival! the sieur de sandricourt, like a great torch, had consumed himself in his own brightness; and the very land on which the famous _pas de sandricourt_ was held--had passed away with it! thus one man sinks generations by that wastefulness, which a political economist would assure us was committing no injury to society! the moral evil goes for nothing in financial statements. similar instances of ruinous luxury we may find in the prodigal costliness of dress through the reigns of elizabeth, james the first, and charles the first. not only in their massy grandeur they outweighed us, but the accumulation and variety of their wardrobe displayed such a gaiety of fancy in their colours and their ornaments, that the drawing-room in those days must have blazed at their presence, and changed colours as the crowd moved. but if we may trust to royal proclamations, the ruin was general among some classes. elizabeth issued more than one proclamation against "the excess of apparel!" and among other evils which the government imagined this passion for dress occasioned, it notices "the wasting and undoing of a great number of young gentlemen, otherwise serviceable; and that others, seeking by show of apparel to be esteemed as gentlemen, and allured by the vain show of these things, not only consume their goods and lands, but also run into such debts and shifts, as they cannot live out of danger of laws without attempting of unlawful acts." the queen bids her own household "to look unto it for good example to the realm; and all noblemen, archbishops and bishops, all mayors, justices of peace, &c., should see them executed in their private households." the greatest difficulty which occurred to regulate the wear of apparel was ascertaining the incomes of persons, or in the words of the proclamation, "finding that it is very hard for any man's state of living and value to be truly understood by other persons." they were to be regulated as they appear "sessed in the subsidy books." but if persons chose to be more magnificent in their dress, they were allowed to justify their means: in that case, if allowed, her majesty would not be the loser; for they were to be rated in the subsidy books according to such values as they themselves offered as a qualification for the splendour of their dress! in my researches among manuscript letters of the times, i have had frequent occasion to discover how persons of considerable rank appear to have carried their acres on their backs, and with their ruinous and fantastical luxuries sadly pinched their hospitality. it was this which so frequently cast them into the nets of the "goldsmiths," and other trading usurers. at the coronation of james the first, i find a simple knight whose cloak cost him five hundred pounds; but this was not uncommon.[ ] at the marriage of elizabeth, the daughter of james the first, "lady wotton had a gown of which the embroidery cost fifty pounds a yard. the lady arabella made four gowns, one of which cost _l._ the lord montacute (montague) bestowed _l._ in apparel for his two daughters. one lady, under the rank of baroness, was furnished with jewels exceeding one hundred thousand pounds; "and the lady arabella goes beyond her," says the letter-writer. "all this extreme costs and riches makes us all poor," as he imagined![ ] i have been amused in observing grave writers of state-dispatches jocular on any mischance or mortification to which persons are liable whose happiness entirely depends on their dress. sir dudley carleton, our minister at venice, communicates, as an article worth transmitting, the great disappointment incurred by sir thomas glover, "who was just come hither, and had appeared one day like a comet, all in crimson velvet and beaten gold, but had all his expectations marred on a sudden by the news of prince henry's death." a similar mischance, from a different cause, was the lot of lord hay, who made great preparations for his embassy to france, which, however, were chiefly confined to his dress. he was to remain there twenty days; and the letter-writer maliciously observes, that "he goes with twenty special suits of apparel for so many days' abode, besides his travelling robes; but news is very lately come that the french have lately altered their fashion, whereby he must needs be out of countenance, if he be not set out after the last edition!" to find himself out of fashion, with twenty suits for twenty days, was a mischance his lordship had no right to count on! "the glass of fashion" was unquestionably held up by two very eminent characters, rawleigh and buckingham; and the authentic facts recorded of their dress will sufficiently account for the frequent "proclamations" to control that servile herd of imitators--the smaller gentry! there is a remarkable picture of sir walter, which will at least serve to convey an idea of the gaiety and splendour of his dress. it is a white satin pinked vest, close sleeved to the wrist; over the body a brown doublet, finely flowered and embroidered with pearl. in the feather of his hat a large ruby and pearl drop at the bottom of the sprig, in place of a button; his trunk or breeches, with his stockings and riband garters, fringed at the end, all white, and buff shoes with white riband. oldys, who saw this picture, has thus described the dress of rawleigh. but i have some important additions; for i find that rawleigh's shoes on great court days were so gorgeously covered with precious stones, as to have exceeded the value of six thousand six hundred pounds: and that he had a suit of armour of solid silver, with sword and belt blazing with diamonds, rubies, and pearls, whose value was not so easily calculated. rawleigh had no patrimonial inheritance; at this moment he had on his back a good portion of a spanish galleon, and the profits of a monopoly of trade he was carrying on with the newly discovered virginia. probably he placed all his hopes in his dress! the virgin queen, when she issued proclamations against "the excess of apparel," pardoned, by her looks, that promise of a mine which blazed in rawleigh's; and, parsimonious as she was, forgot the three thousand changes of dresses which she herself left in the royal wardrobe. buckingham could afford to have his diamonds tacked so loosely on, that when he chose to shake a few off on the ground, he obtained all the fame he desired from the pickers-up, who were generally _les dames de la cour_; for our duke never condescended to accept what he himself had dropped. his cloaks were trimmed with great diamond buttons, and diamond hatbands, cockades, and ear-rings yoked with great ropes and knots of pearls. this was, however, but for ordinary dances. "he had twenty-seven suits of clothes made, the richest that embroidery, lace, silk, velvet, silver, gold, and gems could contribute; one of which was a white uncut velvet, set all over, both suit and cloak, with diamonds valued at fourscore thousand pounds, besides a great feather stuck all over with diamonds, as were also his sword, girdle, hat, and spurs."[ ] in the masques and banquets with which buckingham entertained the court, he usually expended, for the evening, from one to five thousand pounds. to others i leave to calculate the value of money: the sums of this gorgeous wastefulness, it must be recollected, occurred before this million age of ours. if, to provide the means for such enormous expenditure, buckingham multiplied the grievances of monopolies; if he pillaged the treasury for his eighty thousand pounds' coat; if rawleigh was at length driven to his last desperate enterprise to relieve himself of his creditors for a pair of six thousand pounds' shoes--in both these cases, as in that of the chivalric sandricourt, the political economist may perhaps acknowledge that _there is a sort of luxury highly criminal_. all the arguments he may urge, all the statistical accounts he may calculate, and the healthful state of his circulating medium among "the merchants, embroiderers, silkmen, and jewellers"--will not alter such a moral evil, which leaves an eternal taint on "the wealth of nations!" it is the principle that "private vices are public benefits," and that men may be allowed to ruin their generations without committing any injury to society. footnotes: [ ] the famous puritanic writer, philip stubbes, who published his "anatomie of abuses" in , declares that he "has heard of shirtes that have cost some ten shillings, some twentie, some fortie, some five pound, some twentie nobles, and (which is horrible to heare) some tenne pounde a peece." his book is filled with similar denunciations of abuses; in which he is followed by other satirists. they appear to have produced little effect in the way of reformation; for in the days of james i, john taylor, the water poet, similarly laments the wastefulness of those who-- wear a farm in shoe-strings edged with gold, and spangled garters worth a copyhold; a hose and doublet which a lordship cost; a gaudy cloak, three manors' price almost; a beaver band and feather for the head priced at the church's tythe, the poor man's bread. [ ] it is not unusual to find in inventories of this era, the household effects rated at much less than the wearing apparel, of the person whose property is thus valued. [ ] the jesuit drexelius, in one of his religious dialogues, notices the fact; but i am referring to an harleian manuscript, which confirms the information of the jesuit. discoveries of secluded men. those who are unaccustomed to the labours of the closet are unacquainted with the secret and silent triumphs obtained in the pursuits of studious men. that aptitude, which in poetry is sometimes called _inspiration_, in knowledge we may call _sagacity_; and it is probable that the vehemence of the one does not excite more pleasure than the still tranquillity of the other: they are both, according to the strict signification of the latin term from whence we have borrowed ours of _invention_, a finding out, the result of a combination which no other has formed but ourselves. i will produce several remarkable instances of the felicity of this aptitude of the learned in making discoveries which could only have been effectuated by an uninterrupted intercourse with the objects of their studies, making things remote and dispersed familiar and present.[ ] one of ancient date is better known to the reader than those i am preparing for him. when the magistrates of syracuse were showing to cicero the curiosities of the place, he desired to visit the tomb of archimedes; but, to his surprise, they acknowledged that they knew nothing of any such tomb, and denied that it ever existed. the learned cicero, convinced by the authorities of ancient writers, by the verses of the inscription which he remembered, and the circumstance of a sphere with a cylinder being engraven on it, requested them to assist him in the search. they conducted the illustrious but obstinate stranger to their most ancient burying-ground: amidst the number of sepulchres, they observed a small column overhung with brambles--cicero, looking on while they were clearing away the rubbish, suddenly exclaimed, "here is the thing we are looking for!" his eye had caught the geometrical figures on the tomb, and the inscription soon confirmed his conjecture. cicero long after exulted in the triumph of this discovery. "thus!" he says, "one of the noblest cities of greece, and once the most learned, had known nothing of the monument of its most deserving and ingenious citizen, had it not been discovered to them by a native of arpinum!" the great french antiquary, peiresc, exhibited a singular combination of learning, patient thought, and luminous sagacity, which could restore an "airy nothing" to "a local habitation and a name." there was found on an amethyst, and the same afterwards occurred on the front of an ancient temple, a number of _marks_, or indents, which had long perplexed inquirers, more particularly as similar marks or indents were frequently observed in ancient monuments. it was agreed on, as no one could understand them, and all would be satisfied, that they were secret hieroglyphics. it occurred to peiresc that these marks were nothing more than holes for small nails, which had formerly fastened little _laminæ_, which represented so many greek letters. this hint of his own suggested to him to draw lines from one hole to another; and he beheld the amethyst reveal the name of the sculptor, and the frieze of the temple the name of the god! this curious discovery has been since frequently applied; but it appears to have originated with this great antiquary, who by his learning and sagacity explained a supposed hieroglyphic, which had been locked up in the silence of seventeen centuries.[ ] learned men, confined to their study, have often rectified the errors of travellers; they have done more, they have found out paths for them to explore, or opened seas for them to navigate. the situation of the vale of tempe had been mistaken by modern travellers; and it is singular, observes the quarterly reviewer, yet not so singular as it appears to that elegant critic, that the only good directions for finding it had been given by a person who was never in greece. arthur browne, a man of letters of trinity college, dublin--it is gratifying to quote an irish philosopher and man of letters, from the extreme rarity of the character--was the first to detect the inconsistencies of pococke and busching, and to send future travellers to look for tempe in its real situation, the defiles between ossa and olympus; a discovery subsequently realised. when dr. clarke discovered an inscription purporting that the pass of tempe had been fortified by cassius longinus, mr. walpole, with equal felicity, detected, in cæsar's "history of the civil war," the name and the mission of this very person. a living geographer, to whom the world stands deeply indebted, does not read herodotus in the original; yet, by the exercise of his extraordinary aptitude, it is well known that he has often corrected the greek historian, explained obscurities in a text which he never read, by his own happy conjectures, and confirmed his own discoveries by the subsequent knowledge which modern travellers have afforded. gray's perseverance in studying the geography of india and of persia, at a time when our country had no immediate interests with those ancient empires, would have been placed by a cynical observer among the curious idleness of a mere man of letters. these studies were indeed prosecuted, as mr. mathias observes, "on the disinterested principles of liberal investigation, not on those of policy, nor of the regulation of trade, nor of the extension of empire, nor of permanent establishments, but simply and solely on the grand view of what is, and of what is past. they were the researches of a solitary scholar in academical retirement." since the time of gray, these very pursuits have been carried on by two consummate geographers, major rennel and dr. vincent, who have opened to the classical and the political reader all he wished to learn, at a time when india and persia had become objects interesting and important to us. the fruits of gray's learning, long after their author was no more, became valuable! the studies of the "solitary scholar" are always useful to the world, although they may not always be timed to its present wants; with him, indeed, they are not merely designed for this purpose. gray discovered india for himself; but the solitary pursuits of a great student, shaped to a particular end, will never fail being useful to the world; though it may happen that a century may elapse between the periods of the discovery and its practical utility. halley's version of an arabic ms. on a mathematical subject offers an instance of the extraordinary sagacity i am alluding to; it may also serve as a demonstration of the peculiar and supereminent advantages possessed by mathematicians, observes mr. dugald stewart, in their fixed relations, which form the objects of their science, and the correspondent precision in their language and reasoning:--as matter of literary history it is highly curious. dr. bernard accidentally discovered in the bodleian library an arabic version of apollonius _de sectione rationis_, which he determined to translate in latin, but only finished about a tenth part. halley, extremely interested by the subject, but with an entire ignorance of the arabic language, resolved to complete the imperfect version! assisted only by the manuscript which bernard had left, it served him as a key for investigating the sense of the original; he first made _a list of those words_ wherever they occurred, with the _train of reasoning_ in which they were involved, to decipher, by these very slow degrees, the import of the context; till at last halley succeeded in mastering the whole work, and in bringing the translation, without the aid of any one, to the form in which he gave it to the public; so that we have here a difficult work translated from the arabic, by one who was in no manner conversant with the language, merely by the exertion of his sagacity! i give the memorable account, as boyle has delivered it, of the circumstances which led harvey to the discovery of the circulation of the blood. "i remember that when i asked our famous harvey, in the only discourse i had with him, which was but a little while before he died, what were the things which induced him to think of a circulation of the blood, he answered me, that when he took notice that the valves in the veins of so many parts of the body were so placed that they gave free passage to the blood towards the heart, but opposed the passage of the venal blood the contrary way, he was invited to think that so provident a cause as nature had not placed so many valves without design; and no design seemed more probable than that, since the blood could not well, because of the interposing valves, be sent by the veins to the limbs, it should be sent through the arteries and return through the veins, whose valves did not oppose its course that way." the reason here ascribed to harvey seems now so very natural and obvious, that some have been disposed to question his claim to the high rank commonly assigned to him among the improvers of science! dr. william hunter has said that after the discovery of the valves in the veins, which harvey learned while in italy from his master, fabricius ab aquapendente, the remaining step might easily have been made by any person of common abilities. "this discovery," he observes, "set harvey to work upon the _use_ of the heart and vascular system in animals; and in the _course of some years_, he was so happy as to discover, and to prove beyond all possibility of doubt, the circulation of the blood." he afterwards expresses his astonishment that this discovery should have been left for harvey, though he acknowledges it occupied "a course of years;" adding that "providence meant to reserve it for _him_, and would not let men _see what was before them, nor understand what they read_." it is remarkable that when great discoveries are effected, their simplicity always seems to detract from their originality: on these occasions we are reminded of the egg of columbus! it is said that a recent discovery, which ascertains that the niger empties itself into the atlantic ocean, was really anticipated by the geographical acumen of a student at glasgow, who arrived at the same conclusion by a most persevering investigation of the works of travellers and geographers, ancient and modern, and by an examination of african captives; and had actually constructed, for the inspection of government, a map of africa, on which he had traced the entire course of the niger from the interior. franklin _conjectured_ the identity of lightning and of electricity, before he had _realised_ it by decisive experiment. the kite being raised, a considerable time elapsed before there was any appearance of its being electrified. one very promising cloud had passed over it without any effect. just as he was beginning to despair of his contrivance, he observed some loose threads of the hempen string to stand erect, and to avoid one another, just as if they had been suspended on a common conductor. struck with this promising appearance, he immediately presented his knuckle to the key! and let the reader judge of the exquisite pleasure he must have felt at that moment when _the discovery was complete_! we owe to priestley this admirable narrative; the strong sensation of delight which franklin experienced as his knuckle touched the key, and at the moment when he felt that a new world was opening, might have been equalled, but it was probably not surpassed, when the same hand signed the long-disputed independence of his country! when leibnitz was occupied in his philosophical reasonings on his _law of continuity_, his singular sagacity enabled him to predict a discovery which afterwards was realised--he _imagined_ the necessary existence of the polypus! it has been remarked of newton, that several of his slight hints, some in the modest form of queries, have been ascertained to be predictions, and among others that of the inflammability of the diamond; and many have been eagerly seized upon as indisputable axioms. a hint at the close of his optics, that "if natural philosophy should be continued to be improved in its various branches, the bounds of moral philosophy would be enlarged also," is perhaps among the most important of human discoveries--it gave rise to hartley's _physiological theory of the mind_. the queries, the hints, the conjectures of newton, display the most creative sagacity; and demonstrate in what manner the discoveries of retired men, while they bequeath their legacies to the world, afford to themselves a frequent source of secret and silent triumphs. footnotes: [ ] the remarkable clue to the reading of the hieroglyphic language of ancient egypt perfected in our own times is a striking instance of this; as well as the investigations now proceeding in babylonian inscriptions, which promise to enable us to comprehend a language that was once considered as hopelessly lost. [ ] the curious reader may view the marks, and the manner in which the greek characters were made out, in the preface to hearne's "curious discourses." the amethyst proved more difficult than the frieze, from the circumstance, that in engraving on the stone the letters must be reversed. sentimental biography. a periodical critic, probably one of the juniors, has thrown out a startling observation. "there is," says this literary senator, "something melancholy in the study of biography, because it is--a history of the dead!" a truism and a falsity mixed up together is the temptation with some modern critics to commit that darling sin of theirs--novelty and originality! but we really cannot condole with the readers of plutarch for their deep melancholy; we who feel our spirits refreshed, amidst the mediocrity of society, when we are recalled back to the men and the women who were! illustrious in every glory! biography with us is a re-union with human existence in its most excellent state! and we find nothing dead in the past, while we retain the sympathies which only require to be awakened. it would have been more reasonable had the critic discovered that our country has not yet had her plutarch, and that our biography remains still little more than a mass of compilation. in this study of biography there is a species which has not yet been distinguished--biographies composed by some domestic friend, or by some enthusiast who works with love. a term is unquestionably wanted for this distinct class. the germans seem to have invented a platonic one, drawn from the greek, _psyche_, or the soul; for they call this the _psychological life_. another attempt has been made, by giving it the scientific term of _idiosyncrasy_, to denote a peculiarity of disposition. i would call it _sentimental biography_! it is distinct from a _chronological_ biography, for it searches for the individual's feelings amidst the ascertained facts of his life; so that facts, which occurred remotely from each other, are here brought at once together. the detail of events which completes the chronological biography, contains many which are not connected with the peculiarity of the character itself. the _sentimental_ is also distinct from the _autobiography_, however it may seem a part of it. whether a man be entitled to lavish his panegyric on himself, i will not decide; but it is certain that he risks everything by appealing to a solitary and suspected witness. we have two lives of dante, one by boccaccio and the other by leonardo aretino, both interesting: but boccaccio's is the _sentimental life_! aretino, indeed, finds fault, but with all the tenderness possible, with boccaccio's affectionate sketch, _origine, vita, studi e costumi del clarissimo dante_, &c. "origin, life, studies and manners, of the illustrious dante," &c. "it seems to me," he says, "that our boccaccio, _dolcissimo e suavissimo uomo_, sweet and delightful man! has written the life and manners of this sublime poet as if he had been composing the _filocolo_, the _filostrato_, or the _fiametta_," the romances of boccaccio--"for all breathes of love and sighs, and is covered with warm tears, as if a man were born in this world only to live among the enamoured ladies and the gallant youths of the ten amorous days of his hundred novels." aretino, who wanted not all the feeling requisite for the delightful "costumi e studi" of boccaccio's dante, modestly requires that his own life of dante should be considered as a supplement to, not as a substitute for, boccaccio's. pathetic with all the sorrows, and eloquent with all the remonstrances of a fellow-citizen, boccaccio, while he wept, hung with anger over his country's shame in its apathy for the honour of its long-injured exile. catching inspiration from the breathing pages of boccaccio, it inclines one to wish that we possessed two biographies of an illustrious favourite character; the one strictly and fully historical, the other fraught with those very feelings of the departed, which we may have to seek in vain for in the circumstantial and chronological biographer. boccaccio, indeed, was overcome by his feelings. he either knew not, or he omits the substantial incidents of dante's life; while his imagination throws a romantic tinge on occurrences raised on slight, perhaps on no foundation. boccaccio narrates a dream of the mother of dante so fancifully poetical, that probably boccaccio forgot that none but a dreamer could have told it. seated under a high laurel-tree, by the side of a vast fountain, the mother dreamt that she gave birth to her son; she saw him nourished by its fruit, and refreshed by the clear waters; she soon beheld him a shepherd; approaching to pluck the boughs, she saw him fall! when he rose he had ceased to be a man, and was transformed into a peacock! disturbed by her admiration, she suddenly awoke; but when the father found that he really had a son, in allusion to the dream he called him dante--or _given! e meritamente_; _perocché ottimamente, siccome si vedra procedendo, segui al nome l'effetto_: "and deservedly! for greatly, as we shall see, the effect followed the name!" at nine years of age, on a may-day, whose joyous festival boccaccio beautifully describes, when the softness of the heavens, re-adorning the earth with its mingled flowers, waved the green boughs, and made all things smile, dante mixed with the boys and girls in the house of the good citizen who on that day gave the feast, beheld little bricè, as she was familiarly called, but named beatrice. the little dante might have seen her before, but he loved her then, and from that day never ceased to love; and thus dante _nella pargoletta età fatto d'amore ferventissimo servidore_; so fervent a servant to love in an age of childhood! boccaccio appeals to dante's own account of his long passion, and his constant sighs, in the _vita nuova_. no look, no word, no sign, sullied the purity of his passion; but in her twenty-fourth year died "la bellissima beatrice." dante is then described as more than inconsolable; his eyes were long two abundant fountains of tears; careless of life, he let his beard grow wildly, and to others appeared a savage meagre man, whose aspect was so changed, that while this weeping life lasted, he was hardly recognised by his friends; all looked on a man so entirely transformed with deep compassion. dante, won over by those who could console the inconsolable, was at length solicited by his relations to marry a lady of his own condition in life; and it was suggested that as the departed lady had occasioned him such heavy griefs, the new one might open a source of delight. the relations and friends of dante gave him a wife that his tears for beatrice might cease. it is supposed that this marriage proved unhappy. boccaccio, like a pathetic lover rather than biographer, exclaims, _oh menti cicche! oh tenebrosi intelletti! oh argomenti vani di molti mortali, quante sono le ruiscite in assai cose contrarie a' nostri avvisi!_ &c. "oh blind men! oh dark minds! oh vain arguments of most mortals, how often are the results contrary to our advice! frequently it is like leading one who breathes the soft air of italy to refresh himself in the eternal shades of the rhodopean mountains. what physician would expel a burning fever with fire, or put in the shivering marrow of the bones snow and ice? so certainly shall it fare with him who, with a new love, thinks to mitigate the old. those who believe this know not the nature of love, nor how much a second passion adds to the first. in vain would we assist or advise this forceful passion, if it has struck its root near the heart of him who long has loved." boccaccio has beguiled my pen for half-an-hour with all the loves and fancies which sprung out of his own affectionate and romantic heart. what airy stuff has he woven into the "vita" of dante! this _sentimental biography_! whether he knew but little of the personal history of the great man whom he idolised, or whether the dream of the mother--the may-day interview with the little bricè, and the rest of the children--and the effusion on dante's marriage, were grounded on tradition, one would not harshly reject such tender incidents.[ ] but let it not be imagined that the heart of boccaccio was only susceptible to amorous impressions--bursts of enthusiasm and eloquence, which only a man of genius is worthy of receiving, and only a man of genius is capable of bestowing--kindle the masculine patriotism of his bold, indignant spirit! half a century had elapsed since the death of dante, and still the florentines showed no sign of repentance for their ancient hatred of their persecuted patriot, nor any sense of the memory of the creator of their language, whose immortality had become a portion of their own glory. boccaccio, impassioned by all his generous nature, though he regrets he could not raise a statue to dante, has sent down to posterity more than marble, in the "life." i venture to give the lofty and bold apostrophe to his fellow-citizens; but i feel that even the genius of our language is tame by the side of the harmonised eloquence of the great votary of dante! "ungrateful country! what madness urged thee, when thy dearest citizen, thy chief benefactor, thy only poet, with unaccustomed cruelty was driven to flight! if this had happened in the general terror of that time, coming from evil counsels, thou mightest stand excused; but when the passion ceased, didst thou repent? didst thou recall him? bear with me, nor deem it irksome from me, who am thy son, that thus i collect what just indignation prompts me to speak, as a man more desirous of witnessing your amendment, than of beholding you punished! seems it to you glorious, proud of so many titles and of such men, that the one whose like no neighbouring city can show, you have chosen to chase from among you? with what triumphs, with what valorous citizens, are you splendid? your wealth is a removable and uncertain thing; your fragile beauty will grow old; your delicacy is shameful and feminine; but these make you noticed by the false judgments of the populace! do you glory in your merchants and your artists? i speak imprudently; but the one are tenaciously avaricious in their servile trade; and art, which once was so noble, and became a second nature, struck by the same avarice, is now as corrupted, and nothing worth! do you glory in the baseness and the listlessness of those idlers, who, because their ancestors are remembered, attempt to raise up among you a nobility to govern you, ever by robbery, by treachery, by falsehood! ah! miserable mother! open thine eyes; cast them with some remorse on what thou hast done, and blush, at least, reputed wise as thou art, to have had in your errors so fatal a choice! why not rather imitate the acts of those cities who so keenly disputed merely for the honour of the birth-place of the divine homer? mantua, our neighbour, counts as the greatest fame which remains for her, that virgil was a mantuan! and holds his very name in such reverence, that not only in public places, but in the most private, we see his sculptured image! you only, while you were made famous by illustrious men, you only have shown no care for your great poet. your dante alighieri died in exile, to which you unjustly, envious of his greatness, destined him! a crime not to be remembered, that the mother should bear an envious malignity to the virtues of a son! now cease to be unjust! he cannot do you that, now dead, which living he never did do to you! he lies under another sky than yours, and you never can see him again, but on that day, when all your citizens shall view him, and the great remunerator shall examine, and shall punish! if anger, hatred, and enmity are buried with a man, as it is believed, begin then to return to yourself; begin to be ashamed to have acted against your ancient humanity; begin, then, to wish to appear a mother, and not a cold negligent step-dame. yield your tears to your son; yield your maternal piety to him whom once you repulsed, and, living, cast away from you! at least think of possessing him dead, and restore your citizenship, your award, and your grace, to his memory. he was a son who held you in reverence, and though long an exile, he always called himself, and would be called a florentine! he held you ever above all others; ever he loved you! what will you then do? will you remain obstinate in iniquity? will you practise less humanity than the barbarians? you wish that the world should believe that you are the sister of famous troy, and the daughter of rome; assuredly the children should resemble their fathers and their ancestors. priam, in his misery, bought the corpse of hector with gold; and rome would possess the bones of the first scipio, and removed them from linternum, those bones, which, dying, so justly he had denied her. seek then to be the true guardian of your dante, claim him! show this humane feeling, claim him! you may securely do this: i am certain he will not be returned to you; but thus at once you may betray some mark of compassion, and, not having him again, still enjoy your ancient cruelty! alas! what comfort am i bringing you! i almost believe, that if the dead could feel, the body of dante would not rise to return to you, for he is lying in ravenna, whose hallowed soil is everywhere covered with the ashes of saints. would dante quit this blessed company to mingle with the remains of those hatreds and iniquities which gave him no rest in life? the relics of dante, even among the bodies of emperors and of martyrs, and of their illustrious ancestors, is prized as a treasure, for there his works are looked on with admiration; those works of which you have not yet known to make yourselves worthy. his birthplace, his origin remains for you, spite of your ingratitude! and this ravenna envies you, while she glories in your honours which she has snatched from you through ages yet to come!" such was the deep emotion which opened boccaccio's heart in this sentimental biography, and which awoke even shame and confusion in the minds of the florentines; they blushed for their old hatreds, and, with awakened sympathies, they hastened to honour the memory of their great bard. by order of the city, the _divina commedia_ was publicly read and explained to the people. boccaccio, then sinking under the infirmities of age, roused his departing genius: still was there marrow in the bones of the aged lion, and he engaged in the task of composing his celebrated commentaries on the _divina commedia_. in this class of _sentimental biography_ i would place a species which the historian carte noticed in his literary travels on the continent, in pursuit of his historical design. he found, preserved among several ancient families of france, their domestic annals. "with a warm, patriotic spirit, worthy of imitation, they have often carefully preserved in their families the acts of their ancestors." this delight and pride of the modern gauls in the great and good deeds of their ancestors, preserved in domestic archives, will be ascribed to their folly or their vanity; yet in that folly there may be so much wisdom, and in that vanity there may be so much greatness, that the one will amply redeem the other. this custom has been rarely adopted among ourselves; we have, however, a few separate histories of some ancient families, as those of mordaunt, and of warren. one of the most remarkable is "a genealogical history of the house of yvery, in its different branches of yvery, luvel, perceval, and gournay." two large volumes, closely printed,[ ] expatiating on the characters and events of a single family with the grave pomp of a herald, but more particularly the idolatry of the writer for ancient nobility, and his contempt for that growing rank in society whom he designates as "new men," provoked the ridicule at least of the aspersed.[ ] this extraordinary work, notwithstanding its absurdities in its general result, has left behind a deep impression. drawn from the authentic family records, it is not without interest that we toil through its copious pages; we trace with a romantic sympathy the fortunes of the descendants of the house of yvery, from that not-forgotten hero _le vaillant perceval chevalier de la table ronde_, to the norman baron asselin, surnamed the wolf, for his bravery or his ferocity; thence to the cavalier of charles the first, sir philip perceval, who, having gloriously defended his castle, was at length deprived of his lordly possessions, but never of his loyalty, and died obscurely in the metropolis of a broken heart, till we reach the polished nobleman, the lord egmont of the georges. the nation has lost many a noble example of men and women acting a great part on great occasions, and then retreating to the shade of privacy; and we may be confident that many a name has not been inscribed on the roll of national glory only from wanting a few drops of ink! such domestic annals may yet be viewed in the family records at appleby castle! anne, countess of pembroke, was a glorious woman, the descendant of two potent northern families, the veteriponts and the cliffords.--she lived in a state of regal magnificence and independence, inhabiting five or seven castles; yet though her magnificent spirit poured itself out in her extended charities, and though her independence mated that of monarchs, yet she herself, in her domestic habits, lived as a hermit in her own castles; and though only acquainted with her native language, she had cultivated her mind in many parts of learning; and as donne, in his way, observes, "she knew how to converse of everything, from predestination to slea-silk." her favourite design was to have materials collected for the history of those two potent northern families to whom she was allied; and at a considerable expense she employed learned persons to make collections for this purpose from the records in the tower, the rolls, and other depositories of manuscripts: gilpin had seen three large volumes fairly transcribed. anecdotes of a great variety of characters, who had exerted themselves on very important occasions, compose these family records--and induce one to wish that the public were in possession of such annals of the domestic life of heroes and of sages, who have only failed in obtaining an historian![ ] a biographical monument of this nature, which has passed through the press, will sufficiently prove the utility of this class of _sentimental biography_. it is the life of robert price, a welsh lawyer, and an ancestor of the gentleman whose ingenuity, in our days, has refined the principles of the picturesque in art. this life is announced as "printed by the appointment of the family;" but it must not be considered merely as a tribute of private affection; and how we are at this day interested in the actions of a welsh lawyer in the reign of william the third, whose name has probably never been consigned to the page of history, remains to be told. robert price, after having served charles the second, lived latterly in the eventful times of william the third--he was probably of tory principles, for on the arrival of the dutch prince he was removed from the attorney-generalship of glamorgan. the new monarch has been accused of favouritism, and of an eagerness in showering exorbitant grants on some of his foreigners, which soon raised a formidable opposition in the jealous spirit of englishmen. the grand favourite, william bentinck, after being raised to the earldom of portland, had a grant bestowed on him of three lordships in the county of denbigh. the patriot of his native country--a title which the welsh had already conferred on robert price--then rose to assert the rights of his fatherland, and his speeches are as admirable for their knowledge as their spirit. "the submitting of freeholders to the will of a dutch lord was," as he sarcastically declared, "putting them in a worse posture than their former estate, when under william the conqueror and his norman lords. england must not be tributary to strangers--we must, like patriots, stand by our country--otherwise, when god shall send us a prince of wales, he may have such a present of a crown made him as a pope did to king john, who was surnamed _sans-terre_, and was by his father made lord of ireland, which grant was confirmed by the pope, who sent him a crown of peacocks' feathers, in derogation of his power, and the poverty of his country." robert price asserted that the king could not, by the bill of rights, alien or give away the inheritance of a prince of wales without the consent of parliament. he concluded a copious and patriotic speech, by proposing that an address be presented to the king, to put an immediate stop to the grant now passing to the earl of portland for the lordships, &c. this speech produced such an effect, that the address was carried unanimously; and the king, though he highly resented the speech of robert price, sent a civil message to the commons, declaring that he should not have given lord portland those lands, had he imagined the house of commons could have been concerned; "i will therefore recall the grant!" on receiving the royal message, robert price drew up a resolution to which the house assented, that "to procure or pass exorbitant grants by any member of the privy council, &c. was a high crime and misdemeanour." the speech of robert price contained truths too numerous and too bold to suffer the light during that reign; but this speech against foreigners was printed the year after king william's death, with this title, "_gloria cambriæ_, or the speech of a bold briton in parliament, against a dutch prince of wales," with this motto, _opposuit et vicit_. such was the great character of robert price, that he was made a welsh judge by the very sovereign whose favourite plans he had so patriotically thwarted. another marked event in the life of this english patriot was a second noble stand he made against the royal authority, when in opposition to the public good. the secret history of a quarrel between george the first and the prince of wales, afterwards george the second, on the birth of a son, appears in this life; and when the prince in disgrace left the palace, his royal highness proposed taking his children and the princess with him; but the king detained the children, claiming the care of the royal offspring as a royal prerogative. it now became a legal point to ascertain "whether the education of his majesty's grandchildren, and the care of their marriages, &c., belonged of right to his majesty as king of this realm, or not?" ten of the judges obsequiously allowed of the prerogative to the full. robert price and another judge decided that the education, &c., was the right of the father, although the marriages was that of his majesty as king of this realm, yet not exclusive of the prince, their father. he assured the king, that the ten obsequious judges had no authority to support their precipitate opinion; all the books and precedents cannot form a prerogative for the king of this realm to have the care and education of his grandchildren during the life and without the consent of their father--a prerogative unknown to the laws of england! he pleads for the rights of a father, with the spirit of one who feels them, as well as with legal science and historical knowledge. such were the two great incidents in the life of this welsh judge! yet, had the family not found one to commemorate these memorable events in the life of their ancestor, we had lost the noble picture of a constitutional interpreter of the laws, an independent country gentleman, and an englishman jealous of the excessive predominance of ministerial or royal influence. cicero, and others, have informed us that the ancient history of rome itself was composed out of such accounts of private families, to which, indeed, we must add those annals or registers of public events which unquestionably were preserved in the archives of the temples by the priests. but the history of the individual may involve public interest, whenever the skill of the writer combines with the importance of the event. messala, the orator, gloried in having composed many volumes of the genealogies of the nobility of rome; and atticus wrote the genealogy of brutus, to prove him descended from junius brutus, the expulser of the tarquins, and founder of the republic, near five hundred years before. another class of this _sentimental biography_ was projected by the late elizabeth hamilton. this was to have consisted of a series of what she called _comparative biography_, and an ancient character was to have been paralleled by a modern one. occupied by her historical romance with the character of _agrippina_, she sought in modern history for a partner of her own sex, and "one who, like her, had experienced vicissitudes of fortune;" and she found no one better qualified than the princess palatine, _elizabeth, the daughter of james the first_. her next life was to have been that of _seneca_, with "the scenes and persons of which her life of agrippina had familiarised her;" and the contrast or the parallel was to have been _locke_; which, well managed, she thought would have been sufficiently striking. it seems to me that it would rather have afforded an evidence of her invention! such a biographical project reminds one of plutarch's parallels, and might incur the danger of displaying more ingenuity than truth. the sage of cheronea must often have racked his invention to help out his parallels, bending together, to make them similar, the most unconnected events and the most distinct feelings; and, to keep his parallels in two straight lines, he probably made a free use of augmentatives and diminutives to help out his pair, who might have been equal, and yet not alike! our fatherland is prodigal of immortal names, or names which might be made immortal; gibbon once contemplated with complacency, the very ideal of sentimental biography, and we may regret that he has only left the project! "i have long revolved in my mind a volume of biographical writing; the lives or rather the characters of the most eminent persons in arts and arms, in church and state, who have flourished in britain from the reign of henry the eighth to the present age. the subject would afford a rich display of human nature and domestic history, and powerfully address itself to the feelings of every englishman." footnotes: [ ] "a comment on the divine comedy of dante," in english, printed in italy, has just reached me. i am delighted to find that this biography of love, however romantic, is true! in his _ninth year_, dante was a lover and a poet! the tender sonnet, free from all obscurity, which he composed on beatrice, is preserved in the above singular volume. there can be no longer any doubt of the story of beatrice; but the sonnet and the passion must be "classed among curious natural phenomena," or how far apocryphal, remains for future inquiry. [ ] this work was published in , and the scarcity of these volumes was felt in granger's day, for they obtained then the considerable price of four guineas; some time ago a fine copy was sold for thirty at a sale, and a cheap copy was offered to me at twelve guineas. these volumes should contain seventeen portraits. the first was written by mr. anderson, who, dying before the second appeared, lord egmont, from the materials anderson had left, concluded his family history--_con amore_. [ ] mr. anderson, the writer of the first volume, was a feudal enthusiast; he has thrown out an odd notion that the commercial, or the wealthy class, had intruded on the dignity of the ancient nobility; but as wealth has raised such high prices for labour, commodities, &c., it had reached its _ne plus ultra_, and commerce could be carried on no longer! he has ventured on this amusing prediction, "as it is therefore evident that new men _will never rise again in any age with such advantages of wealth_, at least in considerable numbers, their _party_ will gradually decrease." [ ] much curious matter about the old countess of westmoreland and her seven castles may be found in whitaker's history of craven, and in pennant. literary parallels. an opinion on this subject in the preceding article has led me to a further investigation. it may be right to acknowledge that so attractive is this critical and moral amusement of comparing great characters with one another, that, among others, bishop hurd once proposed to write _a book of parallels_, and has furnished a specimen in that of petrarch and rousseau, and intended for another that of erasmus with cicero. it is amusing to observe how a lively and subtle mind can strike out resemblances, and make contraries accord, and at the same time it may show the pinching difficulties through which a parallel is pushed, till it ends in a paradox. hurd says of petrarch and rousseau--"both were impelled by an equal enthusiasm, though directed towards different objects: petrarch's towards the glory of the roman name, rousseau's towards his idol of a state of nature; the one religious, the other _un esprit fort_; but may not petrarch's spite to babylon be considered, in his time, as a species of free-thinking"--and concludes, that "both were mad, but of a different nature." unquestionably there were features much alike, and almost peculiar to these two literary characters; but i doubt if hurd has comprehended them in the parallel. i now give a specimen of those parallels which have done so much mischief in the literary world, when drawn by a hand which covertly leans on one side. an elaborate one of this sort was composed by longolius or longuel, between budæus and erasmus.[ ] this man, though of dutch origin, affected to pass for a frenchman, and, to pay his court to his chosen people, gives the preference obliquely to the french budæus; though, to make a show of impartiality, he acknowledges that francis the first had awarded it to erasmus; but probably he did not infer that kings were the most able reviewers! this parallel was sent forth during the lifetime of both these great scholars, who had long been correspondents, but the publication of the parallel interrupted their friendly intercourse. erasmus returned his compliments and thanks to longolius, but at the same time insinuates a gentle hint that he was not overpleased. "what pleases me most," erasmus writes, "is the just preference you have given budæus over me; i confess you are even too economical in your praise of him, as you are too prodigal in mine. i thank you for informing me what it is the learned desire to find in me; my self-love suggests many little excuses, with which, you observe, i am apt _to favour my defects_. if i am careless, it arises partly from my ignorance, and more from my indolence; i am so constituted, that i cannot conquer my nature; i precipitate rather than compose, and it is far more irksome for me to revise than to write." this parallel between erasmus and budæus, though the parallel itself was not of a malignant nature, yet disturbed the quiet, and interrupted the friendship of both. when longolius discovered that the parisian surpassed the hollander in greek literature and the knowledge of the civil law, and worked more learnedly and laboriously, how did this detract from the finer genius and the varied erudition of the more delightful writer? the parallelist compares erasmus to "a river swelling its waters, and often overflowing its banks; budæus rolled on like a majestic stream, ever restraining its waves within its bed. the frenchman has more nerve, and blood, and life, and the hollander more fulness, freshness, and colour." the taste for _biographical parallels_ must have reached us from plutarch; and there is something malicious in our nature which inclines us to form _comparative estimates_, usually with a view to elevate one great man at the cost of another, whom we would secretly depreciate. our political parties at home have often indulged in these fallacious parallels, and pitt and fox once balanced the scales, not by the standard weights and measures which ought to have been used, but by the adroitness of the hand that pressed down the scale. in literature, these comparative estimates have proved most prejudicial. a finer model exists not than the _parallel of dryden and pope_, by johnson; for, without designing any undue preference, his vigorous judgment has analysed them by his contrasts, and has rather shown their distinctness than their similarity. but literary _parallels_ usually end in producing _parties_; and, as i have elsewhere observed, often originate in undervaluing one man of genius, for his deficiency in some eminent quality possessed by the other man of genius; they not unfrequently proceed from adverse tastes, and are formed with the concealed design of establishing some favourite one. the world of literature has been deeply infected with this folly. virgil probably was often vexed in his days by a parallel with homer, and the _homerians_ combated with the _virgilians_. modern italy was long divided into such literary sects: a perpetual skirmishing is carried on between the _ariostoists_ and the _tassoists_; and feuds as dire as those between two highland clans were raised concerning the _petrarchists_, and the _chiabrerists_. old _corneille_ lived to bow his venerable genius before a parallel with _racine_; and no one has suffered more unjustly by such arbitrary criticisms than _pope_, for a strange unnatural civil war has often been renewed between the _drydenists_ and the _popeists_. two men of great genius should never be depreciated by the misapplied ingenuity of a parallel; on such occasions we ought to conclude _magis pares quam similes_. footnote: [ ] it is noticed by jortin in his life of erasmus, vol. i. p. . the pearl bibles and six thousand errata. as a literary curiosity, i notice a subject which might rather enter into the history of religion. it relates to the extraordinary state of our english bibles, which were for some time suffered to be so corrupted that no books ever yet swarmed with such innumerable errata! these errata unquestionably were in great part voluntary commissions, passages interpolated, and meanings forged for certain purposes; sometimes to sanction the new creed of a half-hatched sect, and sometimes with an intention to destroy all scriptural authority by a confusion, or an omission of texts--the whole was left open to the option or the malignity of the editors, who, probably, like certain ingenious wine-merchants, contrived to accommodate "the waters of life" to their customers' peculiar taste. they had also a project of printing bibles as cheaply and in a form as contracted as they possibly could for the common people; and they proceeded till it nearly ended with having no bible at all: and, as fuller, in his "mixt contemplations on better times," alluding to this circumstance, with not one of his lucky quibbles, observes, "the _small price_ of the bible has caused the _small prizing_ of the bible." this extraordinary attempt on the english bible began even before charles the first's dethronement, and probably arose from an unusual demand for bibles, as the sectarian fanaticism was increasing. printing of english bibles was an article of open trade; every one printed at the lowest price, and as fast as their presses would allow. even those who were dignified as "his majesty's printers" were among these manufacturers; for we have an account of a scandalous omission by them of the important negative in the seventh commandment! the printers were summoned before the court of high commission, and this _not_ served to bind them in a fine of three thousand pounds! a prior circumstance, indeed, had occurred, which induced the government to be more vigilant on the biblical press. the learned usher, one day hastening to preach at paul's cross, entered the shop of one of the stationers, as booksellers were then called, and inquiring for a bible of the london edition, when he came to look for his text, to his astonishment and horror he discovered that the verse was omitted in the bible! this gave the first occasion of complaint to the king of the insufferable negligence and incapacity of the london press: and, says the manuscript writer of this anecdote, first bred that great contest which followed, between the university of cambridge and the london stationers, about the right of printing bibles.[ ] the secret bibliographical history of these times would show the extraordinary state of the press in this new trade of bibles. the writer of a curious pamphlet exposes the combination of those called the king's printers, with their contrivances to keep up the prices of bibles; their correspondence with the booksellers of scotland and dublin, by which means they retained the privilege in their own hands: the king's _london_ printers got bibles printed cheaper at edinburgh. in , when folio bibles were wanted, the cambridge printers sold them at ten shillings in quires; on this the londoners set six printing-houses at work, and, to annihilate the cambridgians, printed a similar _folio_ bible, but sold with it five hundred _quarto_ roman bibles, and five hundred _quarto_ english, at five shillings a book; which proved the ruin of the folio bibles, by keeping them down under the cost price. another competition arose among those who printed english bibles in holland, in _duodecimo_, with an english colophon, for half the price even of the lowest in london. twelve thousand of these _duodecimo_ bibles, with notes, fabricated in holland, usually by our fugitive sectarians, were seized by the king's printers, as contrary to the statute.[ ] such was this shameful war of bibles--folios, quartos, and duodecimos, even in the days of charles the first. the public spirit of the rising sects was the real occasion of these increased demands for bibles. during the civil wars they carried on the same open trade and competition, besides the private ventures of the smuggled bibles. a large impression of these dutch english bibles were burnt by order of the assembly of divines, for these _three errors_:-- gen. xxxvi. .--this is that _ass_ that found rulers in the wilderness--for _mule_. ruth iv. .--the lord gave her _corruption_--for _conception_. luke xxi. .--look up, and lift up your hands, for your _condemnation_ draweth nigh--for _redemption_. these errata were none of the printer's; but, as a writer of the times expresses it, "egregious blasphemies, and damnable errata" of some sectarian, or some bellamy editor of that day! the printing of bibles at length was a privilege conceded to one william bentley; but he was opposed by hills and field; and a paper war arose, in which they mutually recriminated on each other, with equal truth. field printed, in , what was called the pearl bible; alluding, i suppose, to that diminutive type in printing, for it could not derive its name from its worth. it is in twenty-fours;[ ] but to contract the mighty book into this dwarfishness, all the original hebrew text prefixed to the psalms, explaining the occasion and the subject of their composition, is wholly expunged. this pearl bible, which may be inspected among the great collection of our english bibles at the british museum, is set off by many notable _errata_, of which these are noticed:-- romans vi. .--neither yield ye your members as instruments of _righteousness_ unto sin--for _unrighteousness_. first corinthians vi. .--know ye not that the unrighteous _shall inherit_ the kingdom of god?--for _shall not inherit_. this _erratum_ served as the foundation of a dangerous doctrine; for many libertines urged the text from this corrupt bible against the reproofs of a divine. this field was a great forger; and it is said that he received a present of _l._ from the _independents_ to corrupt a text in acts vi. , to sanction the right of the people to appoint their own pastors.[ ] the corruption was the easiest possible; it was only to put a _ye_ instead of a _we_; so that the right in field's bible emanated from the people, not from the apostles. the only account i recollect of this extraordinary state of our bibles is a happy allusion in a line of butler:-- religion spawn'd a various rout, of petulant, capricious sects, the maggots of corrupted texts. in other bibles by hills and field we may find such abundant errata, reducing the text to nonsense or to blasphemy, making the scriptures contemptible to the multitude, who came to pray, and not to scoff. it is affirmed, in the manuscript account already referred to, that one bible swarmed with _six thousand faults_! indeed, from another source we discover that "sterne, a solid scholar, was the first who summed up the _three thousand and six hundred_ faults that were in our printed bibles of london."[ ] if one book can be made to contain near four thousand errors, little ingenuity was required to reach to six thousand; but perhaps this is the first time so remarkable an incident in the history of literature has ever been chronicled. and that famous edition of the vulgate, by pope sixtus the fifth, a memorable book of blunders, which commands such high prices, ought now to fall in value, before the pearl bible, in twenty-fours, of messrs. hills and field! mr. field and his worthy coadjutor seem to have carried the favour of the reigning powers over their opponents; for i find a piece of their secret history. they engaged to pay _l._ per annum to some, "whose names i forbear to mention," warily observes the manuscript writer; and above _l._ per annum to mr. _marchmont needham and his wife_, out of the profits of the sales of their bibles; deriding, insulting, and triumphing over others, out of their confidence in their great friends and purse, as if they were lawless and free, both from offence and punishment.[ ] this marchmont needham is sufficiently notorious, and his secret history is probably true; for in a mercurius politicus of this unprincipled cobbett of his day, i found an elaborate puff of an edition published by the annuity-granter to this worthy and his wife! not only had the bible to suffer these indignities of size and price, but the prayer-book was once printed in an illegible and worn-out type; on which the printer being complained of, he stoutly replied, that "it was as good as the price afforded; and being a book which all persons ought to have by heart, it was no matter whether it was read or not, so that it was worn out in their hands." the puritans seem not to have been so nice about the source of purity itself. these hand-bibles of the sectarists, with their six thousand errata, like the false duessa, covered their crafty deformity with a fair raiment; for when the great selden, in the assembly of divines, delighted to confute them in their own learning, he would say, as whitelock reports, when they had cited a text to prove their assertion, "perhaps in your little pocket-bible with gilt leaves," which they would often pull out and read, "the translation may be so, but the greek or the hebrew signifies this." while these transactions were occurring, it appears that the authentic translation of the bible, such as we now have it, by the learned translators in james the first's time, was suffered to lie neglected. the copies of the original manuscript were in the possession of two of the king's printers, who, from cowardice, consent, and connivance, suppressed the publication; considering that the bible full of errata, and often, probably, accommodated to the notions of certain sectarists, was more valuable than one authenticated by the hierarchy! such was the state of the english bible till ![ ] the proverbial expression of _chapter and verse_ seems peculiar to ourselves, and, i suspect, originated in the puritanic period, probably just before the civil wars under charles the first, from the frequent use of appealing to the bible on the most frivolous occasions, practised by those whom south calls "those mighty men at _chapter and verse_." with a sort of religious coquetry, they were vain of perpetually opening their gilt pocket bibles; they perked them up with such self-sufficiency and perfect ignorance of the original, that the learned selden found considerable amusement in going to their "assembly of divines," and puzzling or confuting them, as we have noticed. a ludicrous anecdote on one of these occasions is given by a contemporary, which shows how admirably that learned man amused himself with this "assembly of divines!" they were discussing the distance between jerusalem and jericho, with a perfect ignorance of sacred or of ancient geography; one said it was twenty miles, another ten, and at last it was concluded to be only seven, for this strange reason, that fish was brought from jericho to jerusalem market! selden observed, that "possibly the fish in question was salted," and silenced these acute disputants. it would probably have greatly discomposed these "chapter and verse" men to have informed them that the scriptures had neither chapter nor verse! it is by no means clear how the holy writings were anciently divided, and still less how quoted or referred to. the honour of the invention of the present arrangement of the scriptures is ascribed to robert stephens, by his son, in the preface to his concordance, a task which he performed during a journey on horseback from paris to london, in ; and whether it was done as yorick would in his shandean manner lounging on his mule, or at his intermediate baits, he has received all possible thanks for this employment of his time. two years afterwards he concluded with the bible. but that the honour of every invention may be disputed, sanctus pagninus's bible, printed at lyons in , seems to have led the way to these convenient divisions; stephens, however, improved on pagninus's mode of paragraphical marks and marginal verses; and our present "chapter and verse," more numerous and more commodiously numbered, were the project of this learned printer, to _recommend his edition of the bible_; trade and learning were once combined! whether in this arrangement any disturbance of the continuity of the text has followed, is a subject not fitted for my inquiry. footnotes: [ ] harl. ms. . [ ] "scintilla, or a light broken into darke warehouses; of some printers, sleeping stationers, and combining booksellers; in which is only a touch of their forestalling and ingrossing of books in pattents, and raysing them to excessive prises. left to the consideration of the high and honourable house of parliament, now assembled. london: nowhere to be sold, but somewhere to be given." . [ ] a technical printing-term for a sheet containing twenty-four pages. [ ] the passage is as follows, and is addressed by the apostles to "the multitude of the disciples," who desired an improved clerical rule:--"wherefore, brethren, look ye out among you seven men of honest report, full of the holy ghost and wisdom, whom _we_ may appoint over this business." [ ] g. garrard's letter to the earl of strafford, vol. i. p. . [ ] harl. ms. . [ ] see the london printers' lamentation on the press oppressed. harl. coll. iii. . view of a particular period of the state of religion in our civil wars. looking over the manuscript diary of sir symonds d'ewes, i was struck by a picture of the domestic religious life which at that period was prevalent among families. sir symonds was a sober antiquary, heated with no fanaticism, yet i discovered in his diary that he was a visionary in his constitution, macerating his body by private fasts, and spiritualising in search of _secret signs_. these ascetic penances were afterwards succeeded in the nation by an era of hypocritical sanctity; and we may trace this last stage of insanity and of immorality closing with impiety. this would be a dreadful picture of religion, if for a moment we supposed that it were _religion_; that consolatory power which has its source in our feelings, and according to the derivation of its expressive term, _binds men together_. with us it was sectarism, whose origin and causes we shall not now touch on, which broke out into so many monstrous shapes, when every pretended reformer was guided by his own peculiar fancies: we have lived to prove that folly and wickedness are rarely obsolete. the age of sir symonds d'ewes, who lived through the times of charles the first, was religious; for the character of this monarch had all the seriousness and piety not found in the _bonhomie_ and careless indecorums of his father, whose manners of the scottish court were moulded on the gaieties of the french, from the ancient intercourse of the french and scottish governments. but this religious age of charles the first presents a strange contrast with the licentiousness which subsequently prevailed among the people: there seems to be a secret connexion between a religious and an irreligious period: the levity of popular feeling is driven to and fro by its reaction; when man has been once taught to contemn his mere humanity, his abstract fancies open a secret bye-path to his presumed salvation; he wanders till he is lost--he trembles till he dotes in melancholy--he raves till truth itself is no longer immutable. the transition to a very opposite state is equally rapid and vehement. such is the history of man when his religion is founded on misdirected feelings; and such, too, is the reaction so constantly operating in all human affairs. the writer of this diary did not belong to those nonconformists who arranged themselves in hostility to the established religion and political government of our country. a private gentleman and a phlegmatic antiquary, sir symonds withal was a zealous church of england protestant. yet amidst the mystical allusions of an age of religious controversies, we see these close in the scenes we are about to open, and find this quiet gentleman tormenting himself and his lady by watching for "certain _evident marks_ and _signs of an assurance_ for a better life," with i know not how many distinct sorts of "graces." i give an extract from the manuscript diary:-- "i spent this day chiefly in _private fasting_, prayer, and other religious exercises. this was the first time that i ever practised this duty, having always before declined it, by reason of the papists' superstitious abuses of it. i had partaken formerly of _public fasts_, but never knew the use and benefit of the same duty performed alone in secret, or with others of mine own family in private. in these particulars, i had my knowledge much enlarged by the religious converse i enjoyed at albury lodge, for there also i shortly after entered upon _framing an evidence of marks and signs for my assurance of a better life_. "i found much benefit of my _secret fasting_, from a learned discourse on fasting by mr. henry mason, and observed his rule, that christians ought to sit sometimes apart for their ordinary humiliation and fasting, and so intend to continue the same course as long as my health will permit me. yet did i vary the times and duration of my fasting. at first, before i had finished _the marks and signs of my assurance of a better life, which scrutiny and search cost me some three-score days of fasting_, i performed it sometimes twice in the space of five weeks, then once each month, or a little sooner or later, and then also i sometimes ended the duties of the day, and took some little food about three of the clock in the afternoon. but for divers years last past, i constantly abstained from all food the whole day. i fasted till supper-time, about six in the evening, and spent ordinarily about eight or nine hours in the performance of religious duties; one part of which was _prayer and confession of sins_, to which end i wrote down _a catalogue of all my known sins_, orderly. these were all sins of _infirmity_; for, through god's grace, i was so far from allowing myself in the practice and commission of any _actual_ sin, as i durst not take upon me any _controversial sins_, as usury, carding, dicing, mixt dancing, and the like, because i was in mine own judgment persuaded they were unlawful. till i had finished my _assurance_ first in english and afterwards in latin, with a large and an elaborate preface in latin also to it; i spent a great part of the day at that work, &c. "saturday, december , , i devoted to my usual course of _secret fasting_, and drew divers _signs of my assurance of a better life_ from the _grace_ of repentance, having before gone through the _graces_ of knowledge, faith, hope, love, zeal, patience, humility, and joy; and drawing several marks from them on like days of humiliation for the greater part. my dear wife beginning also to draw _most certain signs_ of her own future happiness after death from _several graces_. "january , .--saturday i spent in secret humiliation and fastings, and finished _my whole assurance to a better life_, consisting of three score and four signs, or marks drawn from _several graces_. i made some small alterations in the signs afterwards; and when i turned them into the latin tongue, i enriched the margent with further _proofs and authorities_. i found much comfort and reposedness of spirit from them, which shows the devilish sophisms of the papists, anabaptists, and pseudo-lutherans, and profane atheistical men, who say that _assurance_ brings forth presumption, and a careless wicked life. true, when men pretend to the end, and not use the means. "my wife joined with me in a private day of _fasting_, and drew _several signs and marks by_ my _help and assistance, for her assurance to a better life_." this was an era of religious diaries, particularly among the nonconformists; but they were, as we see, used by others. of the countess of warwick, who died in , we are told that "she kept a diary, and took counsel with two persons, whom she called her _soul's friends_." she called prayers _heart's ease_, for such she found them. "her own lord, knowing her _hours of prayers_, once conveyed a godly minister into _a secret place_ within hearing, who, being a man very able to judge, much admired her humble fervency; for in praying she prayed aloud; but when she did not with an audible voice, her sighs and groans might be heard at a good distance from the closet." we are not surprised to discover this practice of religious diaries among the more puritanic sort: what they were we may gather from this description of one. mr. john janeway "kept a diary, in which he wrote down _every evening_ what the _frame of his spirit_ had been _all that day_; he took notice what _incomes_ he had, what _profit_ he received in his spiritual traffic: what _returns_ came from that far country; what _answers_ of prayer, what deadness and flatness of spirit," &c. and so we find of mr. john carter, that "he kept a _day-book_ and _cast up his accounts_ with god every day."[ ] to such worldly notions had they humiliated the spirit of religion; and this style, and this mode of religion, has long been continued among us even among men of superior acquisitions: as witness the "spiritual diary and soliloquies" of a learned physician within our own times, dr. rutty, which is a great curiosity of the kind. such was the domestic state of many well-meaning families: they were rejecting with the utmost abhorrence every resemblance to what they called the idolatry of rome, while, in fact, the gloom of the monastic cell was settling over the houses of these melancholy puritans. private fasts were more than ever practised; and a lady, said to be eminent for her genius and learning, who outlived this era, declared that she had nearly lost her life through a prevalent notion that _no fat person could get to heaven_; and thus spoiled and wasted her body through excessive fastings. a quaker, to prove the text that "man shall not live _by bread alone_, but by the word of god," persisted in refusing his meals. the literal text proved for him a dead letter, and this practical commentator died by a metaphor. this quaker, however, was not the only victim to the letter of the text; for the famous origen, by interpreting in too literal a way the th verse of the th of st. matthew, which alludes to those persons who become eunuchs for the kingdom of heaven, with his own hands armed himself against himself, as is sufficiently known. "_retournons à nos moutons!_" the parliament afterwards had both periodical and occasional fasts; and charles the first opposed "the hypocritical fast of every wednesday in the month, by appointing one for the second friday;" the two unhappy parties, who were hungering and thirsting for each other's blood, were fasting in spite one against the other! without inquiring into the causes, even if we thought that we could ascertain them, of that frightful dissolution of religion which so long prevailed in our country, and of which the very corruption it has left behind still breeds in monstrous shapes, it will be sufficient to observe that the destruction of the monarchy and the ecclesiastical order was a moral earthquake, overturning all minds, and opening all changes. a theological logomachy was substituted by the sullen and proud ascetics who ascended into power. these, without wearying themselves, wearied all others, and triumphed over each other by their mutual obscurity. the two great giants in this theological war were the famous richard baxter and dr. owen. they both wrote a library of books; but the endless controversy between them was the extraordinary and incomprehensible subject, whether the death of christ was _solutio ejusdem_, or only _tantundem_; that is, whether it was a payment of the very thing, which by law we ought to have paid, or of something held by god to be equivalent. such was the point on which this debate between owen and baxter lasted without end. yet these metaphysical absurdities were harmless, compared to what was passing among the more hot fanatics, who were for acting the wild fancies which their melancholy brains engendered; men, who from the places into which they had thrust themselves, might now be called "the higher orders of society!" these two parties alike sent forth an evil spirit to walk among the multitude. every one would become his own law-maker, and even his own prophet; the meanest aspired to give his name to his sect. all things were to be put in motion according to the st. vitus's dance of the last new saint. "away with the law! which cuts off a man's legs and then bids him walk!" cried one from his pulpit. "let believers sin as fast as they will, they have a fountain open to wash them;" declared another teacher. we had the _brownists_, from robert brown, the _vaneists_, from sir harry vane, then we sink down to mr. traske, mr. wilkinson, mr. robinson, and h. n., or henry nicholas, of the family of love, besides mrs. hutchinson, and the grindletonian family, who preferred "motions to motives," and conveniently assumed that "their spirit is not to be tried by the scripture, but the scripture by their spirit." edwards, the author of "gangræna," the adversary of milton, whose work may still be preserved for its curiosity, though immortalised by the scourge of genius, has furnished a list of about two hundred of such sects in these times. a divine of the church of england observed to a great sectary, "you talk of the idolatry of rome: but each of you, whenever you have made and set up a calf, will dance about it."[ ] this confusion of religions, if, indeed, these pretended modes of faith could be classed among religions, disturbed the consciences of good men, who read themselves in and out of their vacillating creed. it made, at least, even one of the puritans themselves, who had formerly complained that they had not enjoyed sufficient freedom under the bishops, cry out against "this cursed intolerable toleration." and the fact is, that when the presbyterians had fixed themselves into the government, they published several treatises against toleration! the parallel between these wild notions of reform, and those of another character, run closely together. about this time, well-meaning persons, who were neither enthusiasts from the ambition of founding sects, nor of covering their immorality by their impiety, were infected by the _religiosa insania_. one case may stand for many. a mr. greswold, a gentleman of warwickshire, whom a brownist had by degrees enticed from his parish church, was afterwards persuaded to return to it--but he returned with a troubled mind, and lost in the prevalent theological contests. a horror of his future existence shut him out, as it were, from his present one: retiring into his own house, with his children, he ceased to communicate with the living world. he had his food put in at the window; and when his children lay sick, he admitted no one for their relief. his house at length was forced open, and they found two children dead, and the father confined to his bed. he had mangled his bible, and cut out the titles, contents, and everything but the very text itself; for it seems that he thought that everything human was sinful, and he conceived that the titles of the books and the contents of the chapters were to be cut out of the sacred scriptures, as having been composed by men.[ ] more terrible it was when the insanity, which had hitherto been more confined to the better classes, burst forth among the common people. were we to dwell minutely on this period, we should start from the picture with horror: we might, perhaps, console ourselves with a disbelief of its truth; but the drug, though bitter in the mouth, we must sometimes digest. to observe the extent to which the populace can proceed, disfranchised of law and religion, will always leave a memorable recollection. what occurred in the french revolution had happened here--an age of impiety! society itself seemed dissolved, for every tie of private affection and of public duty was unloosened. even nature was strangely violated! from the first opposition to the decorous ceremonies of the national church, by the simple puritans, the next stage was that of ridicule, and the last of obloquy. they began by calling the surplice a linen rag on the back; baptism a christ's cross on a baby's face; and the organ was likened to the bellow, the grunt, and the barking of the respective animals. they actually baptized horses in churches at the fonts; and the jest of that day was, that the reformation was now a thorough one in england, since our horses went to church.[ ] st. paul's cathedral was turned into a market, and the aisles, the communion-table, and the altar, served for the foulest purposes.[ ] the liberty which every one now assumed of delivering his own opinions, led to acts so execrable, that i can find no parallel for them except in the mad times of the french revolution. some maintained that there existed no distinction between moral good and moral evil; and that every man's actions were prompted by the creator. prostitution was professed as a religious act; a glazier was declared to be a prophet, and the woman he cohabited with was said to be ready to lie in of the messiah. a man married his father's wife. murders of the most extraordinary nature were occurring; one woman crucified her mother; another, in imitation of abraham, sacrificed her child; we hear, too, of parricides. amidst the slaughters of civil wars, spoil and blood had accustomed the people to contemplate the most horrible scenes. one madman of the many, we find drinking a health on his knees, in the midst of a town, "to the devil! that it might be said that his family should not be extinct without doing some infamous act." a scotchman, one alexander agnew, commonly called "jock of broad scotland," whom one cannot call an atheist, for he does not seem to deny the existence of the creator, nor a future state, had a shrewdness of local humour in his strange notions. omitting some offensive things, others as strange may exhibit the state to which the reaction of an hypocritical system of religion had driven the common people. "jock of broad scotland" said he was nothing in god's common, for god had given him nothing; he was no more obliged to god than to the devil; for god was very greedy. neither god nor the devil gave the fruits of the ground; the wives of the country gave him his meat. when asked wherein he believed, he answered, "he believed in white meal, water, and salt. christ was not god; for he came into the world after it was made, and died as other men." he declared that "he did not know whether god or the devil had the greatest power; but he thought the devil was the greatest. when i die, let god and the devil strive for my soul, and let him that is strongest take it." he no doubt had been taught by the presbytery to mock religious rites; and when desired to give god thanks for his meat, he said, "take a sackful of prayers to the mill and grind them, and take your breakfast of them." to others he said, "i will give you a two-pence, to pray until a boll of meal, and one stone of butter, fall from heaven through the house rigging (roof) to you." when bread and cheese were laid on the ground by him, he said, "if i leave this, i will long cry to god before he give it me again." to others he said, "take a bannock, and break it in two, and lay down one half thereof, and you will long pray to god before he will put the other half to it again!" he seems to have been an anti-trinitarian. he said he received everything from nature, which had ever reigned and ever would. he would not conform to any religious system, nor name the three persons,--"at all these things i have long shaken my cap," he said. "jock of broad scotland" seems to have been one of those who imagine that god should have furnished them with bannocks ready baked. the extravagant fervour then working in the minds of the people is marked by the story told by clement walker of the soldier who entered a church with a lantern and a candle burning in it, and in the other hand four candles not lighted. he said he came to deliver his message from god, and show it by these types of candles. driven into the churchyard, and the wind blowing strong, he could not kindle his candles, and the new prophet was awkwardly compelled to conclude his five denouncements, abolishing the sabbath, tithes, ministers, magistrates, and, at last, the bible itself, without putting out each candle, as he could not kindle them; observing, however, each time--"and here i should put out the first light, but the wind is so high that i cannot kindle it." a perfect scene of the effects which the state of irreligious society produced among the lower orders i am enabled to give from the manuscript life of john shaw, vicar of rotherham; with a little tediousness, but with infinite _naïveté_, he relates what happened to himself. this honest divine was puritanically inclined, but there can be no exaggeration in these unvarnished facts. he tells a remarkable story of the state of religious knowledge in lancashire, at a place called cartmel: some of the people appeared desirous of religious instruction, declaring that they were without any minister, and had entirely neglected every religious rite, and therefore pressed him to quit his situation at lymm for a short period. he may now tell his own story. "i found a very large spacious church, scarce any seats in it; a people very ignorant, and yet willing to learn; so as i had frequently some thousands of hearers, i catechised in season and out of season. the churches were so thronged at nine in the morning, that i had much ado to get to the pulpit. one day, an old man about sixty, sensible enough in other things, and living in the parish of cartmel, coming to me on some business, i told him that he belonged to my care and charge, and i desired to be informed of his knowledge in religion. i asked him how many gods there were? he said he knew not. i informing him, asked again how he thought to be saved? he answered he could not tell. yet thought that was a harder question than the other. i told him that the way to salvation was by jesus christ, god-man, who as he was man shed his blood for us on the cross, &c. oh, sir, said he, i think i heard of that man you speak of once in a play at kendall, called corpus-christ's play,[ ] where there was a man on a tree and blood run down, &c. and afterwards he professed he could not remember that he ever heard of salvation by jesus, but in that play." the scenes passing in the metropolis, as well as in the country, are opened to us in one of the chronicling poems of george withers. our sensible rhymer wrote in november, , "a darke lanthorne" on the present subject. after noticing that god, to mortify us, had sent preachers from the "shop-board and the plough," ----such as we seem justly to contemn, as making truths abhorred, which come from them; he seems, however, inclined to think that these self-taught "teachers and prophets" in their darkness might hold a certain light within them: ----children, fools, women, and madmen, we do often meet preaching, and threatening judgments in the street, yea by strange actions, postures, tones, and cries, themselves they offer to our ears and eyes as signs unto this nation.---- they act as men in ecstacies have done---- striving their cloudy visions to declare, till they have lost the notions which they had, and want but few degrees of being mad.[ ] such is the picture of the folly and of the wickedness, which, after having been preceded by the piety of a religious age, were succeeded by a dominion of hypocritical sanctity, and then closed in all the horrors of immorality and impiety. the parliament at length issued one of their ordinances for "punishing blasphemous and execrable opinions," and this was enforced with greater power than the slighted proclamations of james and charles; but the curious wording is a comment on our present subject. the preamble notices that "men and women had lately discovered _monstrous opinions_, even such as tended to _the dissolution of human society, and have abused, and turned into licentiousness, the liberty given in matters of religion_." it punishes any person not distempered in his brains, who shall maintain any mere creature to be god; or that all acts of unrighteousness are not forbidden in the scriptures; or that god approves of them; or that there is no real difference between moral good and evil, &c. to this disordered state was the public mind reduced, for this proclamation was only describing what was passing among the people! the view of this subject embraces more than one point, which i leave for the meditation of the politician, as well as the religionist. footnotes: [ ] "the lives of sundry eminent persons in this later age;" by samuel clarke. folio, . a rare volume, with curious portraits. [ ] alexander ross's laborious "view of all religions" may also be consulted with advantage by those who would study this subject. [ ] "the hypocrite discovered and cured," by sam. torshall, to. . [ ] there is a pamphlet which records a strange fact. "news from powles: or the new reformation of the army, with a true relation of a colt that was foaled in the cathedral church of st. paul, in london, and how it was publiquely baptised, and the name (because a bald colt) was called baal-rex!" . the water they sprinkled from the soldier's helmet on this occasion is described. the same occurred elsewhere. see foulis's history of the plots, &c., of our pretended saints. these men, who baptized horses and pigs in the name of the trinity, sang psalms when they marched. one cannot easily comprehend the nature of fanaticism, except when we learn that they refused to pay rents! [ ] that curious compilation by bruno ryves, published in , with the title "mercurius rusticus, or the countrie's complaint of the barbarous outrages committed by the sectaries of this late flourishing kingdom," furnishes a fearful detail of "sacrileges, profanations, and plunderings committed in the cathedrall churches." [ ] the festival of corpus christi, held on the first thursday after trinity sunday, was the period chosen in old times for the performances of miracle-plays by the clergy, or the guilds of various towns; for an account of them see vol. i. p. - . [ ] there is a little "treatise of humilitie, published by e.d.--parson, sequestered"-- ; in which, while enforcing the virtue which his book defends, he with much _naïveté_ gives a strong opinion of his oppressors. "we acknowledge the justice and mercy of the lord in punishing us, so we take notice of his wisdom in choosing such instruments to punish us, _men of mean and low rank, and of common parts and abilities_. by these he doth admonish all the honourable, valiant, learned, and wise men of this nation; and as it were write our sin, in the character of our punishment; and in _the low condition_ of these instruments of his anger and displeasure, the rod of his wrath, he would abate and punish our great pride." buckingham's political coquetry with the puritans. buckingham, observes hume, "in order to fortify himself against the resentment of james"--on the conduct of the duke in the spanish match, when james was latterly hearing every day buckingham against bristol, and bristol against buckingham--"had affected popularity, and entered into the cabals of the puritans; but afterwards, being secure of the confidence of charles, he had since abandoned this party; and on that account was the more exposed to their hatred and resentment." the political coquetry of a minister coalescing with an opposition party, when he was on the point of being disgraced, would doubtless open an involved scene of intrigue; and what one exacted, and the other was content to yield, towards the mutual accommodation, might add one more example to the large chapter of political infirmity. both workmen attempting to convert each other into tools, by first trying their respective malleability on the anvil, are liable to be disconcerted by even a slight accident, whenever that proves, to perfect conviction, how little they can depend on each other, and that each party comes to cheat, and not to be cheated! this piece of secret history is in part recoverable from good authority. the two great actors were the duke of buckingham and dr. preston, the master of emmanual college, and the head of the puritan party. dr. preston was an eminent character, who from his youth was not without ambition. his scholastic learning, the subtilty of his genius, and his more elegant accomplishments, had attracted the notice of james, at whose table he was perhaps more than once honoured as a guest; a suspicion of his puritanic principles was perhaps the only obstacle to his court preferment; yet preston unquestionably designed to play a political part. he retained the favour of james by the king's hope of withdrawing the doctor from the opposition party, and commanded the favour of buckingham by the fears of that minister; when, to employ the quaint style of hacket, the duke foresaw that "he might come to be tried in the furnace of the next sessions of parliament, and he had need to make the refiners his friends:" most of these "refiners" were the puritanic or opposition party. appointed one of the chaplains of prince charles, dr. preston had the advantage of being in frequent attendance; and as hacket tells us, "this politic man felt the pulse of the court, and wanted not the intelligence of all dark mysteries through the scotch in his highness's bed-chamber." a close communication took place between the duke and preston, who, as hacket describes, was "a good crow to smell carrion." he obtained an easy admission to the duke's closet at least thrice a week, and their notable conferences buckingham appears to have communicated to his confidential friends. preston, intent on carrying all his points, skilfully commenced with the smaller ones. he winded the duke circuitously,--he worked at him subterraneously. this wary politician was too sagacious to propose what he had at heart--the extirpation of the hierarchy! the thunder of james's voice, "no bishop! no king!" in the conference at hampton court, still echoed in the ear of the puritan. he assured the duke that the love of the people was his only anchor, which could only be secured by the most popular measures. a new sort of reformation was easy to execute. cathedrals and collegiate churches maintained by vast wealth, and the lands of the chapter, only fed "fat, lazy, and unprofitable drones." the dissolution of the foundations of deans and chapters would open an ample source to pay the king's debts, and scatter the streams of patronage. "you would then become the darling of the commonwealth;" i give the words as i find them in hacket. "if a crumb stick in the throat of any considerable man that attempts an opposition, it will be easy to wash it down with manors, woods, royalties, tythes, &c." it would be furnishing the wants of a number of gentlemen; and he quoted a greek proverb, "that when a great oak falls, every neighbour may scuffle for a faggot." dr. preston was willing to perform the part which knox had acted in scotland! he might have been certain of a party to maintain this national violation of property; for he who calls out "plunder!" will ever find a gang. these acts of national injustice, so much desired by revolutionists, are never beneficial to the people; they never partake of the spoliation, and the whole terminates in the gratification of private rapacity. it was not, however, easy to obtain such perpetual access to the minister, and at the same time escape from the watchful. archbishop williams, the lord keeper, got sufficient hints from the king; and in a tedious conference with the duke, he wished to convince him that preston had only offered him "flitten milk, out of which he should churn nothing!" the duke was, however, smitten by the new project, and made a remarkable answer: "you lose yourself in generalities: make it out to me, in particular, if you can, that the motion you pick at will find repulse, and be baffled in the house of commons. i know not how you bishops may struggle, but i am much deluded if a great part of the knights and burgesses would not be glad to see this alteration." we are told on this, that archbishop williams took out a list of the members of the house of commons, and convinced the minister that an overwhelming majority would oppose this projected revolution, and that in consequence the duke gave it up. but this anterior decision of the duke may be doubtful, since preston still retained the high favour of the minister, after the death of james. when james died at theobalds, where dr. preston happened to be in attendance, he had the honour of returning to town in the new king's coach with the duke of buckingham. the doctor's servile adulation of the minister gave even great offence to the over-zealous puritans. that he was at length discarded is certain; but this was owing not to any deficient subserviency on the side of our politician, but to one of those unlucky circumstances which have often put an end to temporary political connexions, by enabling one party to discover what the other thinks of him. i draw this curious fact from a manuscript narrative in the handwriting of the learned william wotton. when the puritanic party foolishly became jealous of the man who seemed to be working at root and branch for their purposes, they addressed a letter to preston, remonstrating with him for his servile attachment to the minister; on which he confidently returned an answer, assuring them that he was as fully convinced of the vileness and profligacy of the duke of buckingham's character as any man could be, but that there was no way to come at him but by the lowest flattery, and that it was necessary for the glory of god that such instruments should be made use of as could be had; and for that reason, and that alone, he showed that respect to the reigning favourite, and not for any real honour that he had for him. this letter proved fatal; some officious hand conveyed it to the duke! when preston came, as usual, the duke took his opportunity of asking him what he had ever done to disoblige him, that he should describe him in such black characters to his own party? preston, in amazement, denied the fact, and poured forth professions of honour and gratitude. the duke showed him his own letter. dr. preston instantaneously felt a political apoplexy; the labours of some years were lost in a single morning. the baffled politician was turned out of wallingford house, never more to see the enraged minister! and from that moment buckingham wholly abandoned the puritans, and cultivated the friendship of laud. this happened soon after james the first's death. wotton adds, "this story i had from one who was extremely well versed in the secret history of the time."[ ] footnote: [ ] wotton delivered this memorandum to the literary antiquary, thomas baker; and kennet transcribed it in his manuscript collections. lansdowne mss. no. - . the life of dr. preston, in chalmers's biographical dictionary, may be consulted with advantage. sir edward coke's exceptions against the high sheriff's oath. a curious fact will show the revolutionary nature of human events, and the necessity of correcting our ancient statutes, which so frequently hold out punishments and penalties for objects which have long ceased to be criminal; as well as for persons against whom it would be barbarous to allow some unrepealed statute to operate. when a political stratagem was practised by charles the first to keep certain members out of the house of commons, by pricking them down as sheriffs in their different counties, among them was the celebrated sir edward coke, whom the government had made high sheriff for bucks. it was necessary, perhaps, to be a learned and practised lawyer to discover the means he took, in the height of his resentment, to elude the insult. this great lawyer, who himself, perhaps, had often administered the oath to the sheriffs, which had, century after century, been usual for them to take, to the surprise of all persons drew up exceptions against the sheriff's oath, declaring that no one could take it. coke sent his exceptions to the attorney-general, who, by an immediate order in council, submitted them to "all the judges of england." our legal luminary had condescended only to some ingenious cavilling in three of his exceptions; but the fourth was of a nature which could not be overcome. all the judges of england assented, and declared, that there was one part of this ancient oath which was perfectly irreligious, and must ever hereafter be left out! this article was, "that you shall do all your pain and diligence to destroy and make to cease all manner of heresies, commonly called _lollaries_, within your bailiwick, &c."[ ] the lollards were the most ancient of protestants, and had practised luther's sentiments; it was, in fact, condemning the established religion of the country! an order was issued from hampton court, for the abrogation of this part of the oath; and at present all high sheriffs owe this obligation to the resentment of sir edward coke, for having been pricked down as sheriff of bucks, to be kept out of parliament! the merit of having the oath changed, _instanter_, he was allowed; but he was not excused taking it, after it was accommodated to the conscientious and lynx-eyed detection of our enraged lawyer. footnote: [ ] rushworth's historical collections, vol. i. p. . secret history of charles the first and his first parliaments. the reign of charles the first, succeeded by the commonwealth of england, forms a period unparalleled by any preceding one in the annals of mankind. it was for the english nation the great result of all former attempts to ascertain and to secure the just freedom of the subject. the prerogative of the sovereign and the rights of the people were often imagined to be mutual encroachments, and were long involved in contradiction, in an age of unsettled opinions and disputed principles. at length the conflicting parties of monarchy and democracy, in the weakness of their passions, discovered how much each required the other for its protector. this age offers the finest speculations in human nature; it opens a protracted scene of glory and of infamy; all that elevates, and all that humiliates our kind, wrestling together, and expiring in a career of glorious deeds, of revolting crimes, and even of ludicrous infirmities! the french revolution is the commentary of the english; and a commentary at times more important than the text which it elucidates. it has thrown a freshness over the antiquity of our own history; and, on returning to it, we seem to possess the feelings, and to be agitated by the interests, of contemporaries. the circumstances and the persons which so many imagine had passed away, have been reproduced under our own eyes. in other histories we accept the knowledge of the characters and the incidents on the evidence of the historian; but here we may take them from our own conviction, since to extinct names and to past events we can apply the reality which we ourselves have witnessed. charles the first had scarcely ascended the throne ere he discovered that in his new parliament he was married to a sullen bride: the youthful monarch, with the impatience of a lover, warm with hope and glory, was ungraciously repulsed even in the first favours! the prediction of his father remained, like the handwriting on the wall; but, seated on the throne, hope was more congenial to youth than prophecy. as soon as charles the first could assemble a parliament, he addressed them with an earnestness, in which the simplicity of words and thoughts strongly contrasted with the oratorical harangues of the late monarch. it cannot be alleged against charles the first, that he preceded the parliament in the war of words. he courted their affections; and even in this manner of reception, amidst the dignity of the regal office, studiously showed his exterior respect by the marked solemnity of their first meeting. as yet uncrowned, on the day on which he first addressed the lords and commons, he wore his crown, and vailed it at the opening, and on the close of his speech; a circumstance to which the parliament had not been accustomed. another ceremony gave still greater solemnity to the meeting; the king would not enter into business till they had united in prayer. he commanded the doors to be closed, and a bishop to perform the office. the suddenness of this unexpected command disconcerted the catholic lords, of whom the less rigid knelt, and the moderate stood: there was one startled papist who did nothing but cross himself![ ] the speech may be found in rushworth; the friendly tone must be shown here. i hope that you do remember that you were pleased to employ me to advise my father to break off the treaties (with spain). i came into this business willingly and freely, like a young man, and consequently rashly; but it was by your interest--your engagement. i pray you to remember, that this being my _first action_, and begun by _your advice and entreaty_, what a great dishonour it were to you and me that it should fail for that assistance you are able to give me! this effusion excited no sympathy in the house. they voted not a seventh part of the expenditure necessary to proceed with a war, into which, as a popular measure, they themselves had forced the king. at oxford the king again reminded them that he was engaged in a war "from their desires and advice." he expresses his disappointment at their insufficient grant, "far short to set forth the navy now preparing." the speech preserves the same simplicity. still no echo of kindness responded in the house. it was, however, asserted, in a vague and quibbling manner, that "though a former parliament did engage the king in a war, yet, (if things were managed by a contrary design, and the treasure misemployed) _this parliament is not bound by another parliament_:" and they added a cruel mockery, "that the king should help the cause of the palatinate with _his own_ _money_!"--this foolish war, which james and charles had so long borne their reproaches for having avoided as hopeless, but which the puritanic party, as well as others, had continually urged as necessary for the maintenance of the protestant cause in europe. still no supplies! but protestations of duty, and petitions about grievances, which it had been difficult to specify. in their "declaration" they style his majesty "our dear and dread sovereign," and themselves "his poor commons:" but they concede no point--they offer no aid! the king was not yet disposed to quarrel, though he had in vain pressed for dispatch of business, lest the season should be lost for the navy; again reminding them, that "it was the _first request_ that he ever made unto them!" on the pretence of the plague at oxford, charles prorogued parliament, with a promise to reassemble in the winter. there were a few whose hearts had still a pulse to vibrate with the distresses of a youthful monarch, perplexed by a war which they themselves had raised. but others, of a more republican complexion, rejected "_necessity_, as a dangerous counsellor, which would be always furnishing arguments for supplies. if the king was in danger and necessity, those ought to answer for it who have put both king and kingdom into this peril: and if the state of things would not admit a redress of grievances, there cannot be so much _necessity for money_." the first parliament abandoned the king! charles now had no other means to despatch the army and fleet, in a bad season, but by borrowing money on privy seals: these were letters, where the loan exacted was as small as the style was humble. they specified, "that this loan, without inconvenience to any, is only intended for the service of the public. such private helps for public services which cannot be deferred," the king premises, had been often resorted to; but this "being the _first time_ that we have required anything in this kind, we require but _that sum which few men would deny a friend_." as far as i can discover, the highest sum assessed from great personages was twenty pounds! the king was willing to suffer any mortification, even that of a charitable solicitation, rather than endure the obdurate insults of parliament! all donations were received, from ten pounds to five shillings: this was the mockery of an alms-basket! yet with contributions and savings so trivial, and exacted with such a warm appeal to their feelings, was the king to send out a fleet with ten thousand men--to take cadiz! this expedition, like so many similar attempts from the days of charles the first to those of the great lord chatham, and to our own--concluded in a nullity! charles, disappointed in this predatory attempt, in despair called his _second_ parliament--as he says, "in the midst of his necessities--and to learn from them how he was to frame his course and counsels." the commons, as duteously as ever, profess that "no king was ever dearer to his people, and that they really intend to assist his majesty in such a way as may make him safe at home and feared abroad"--but it was to be on condition that he would be graciously pleased to accept "the information and advice of parliament in discovering the causes of the great evils, and redress their grievances." the king accepted this "as a satisfactory answer;" but charles comprehended their drift--"you specially aim at the duke of buckingham; what he hath done to change your minds i wot not." the style of the king now first betrays angered feelings; the secret cause of the uncomplying conduct of the commons was hatred of the favourite--but the king saw that they designed to control the executive government, and he could ascribe their antipathy to buckingham but to the capriciousness of popular favour; for not long ago he had heard buckingham hailed as "their saviour." in the zeal and firmness of his affections, charles always considered that he himself was aimed at in the person of his confidant, his companion, and his minister! some of "the bold speakers," as the heads of the opposition are frequently designated in the manuscript letters, have now risen into notice. sir john eliot, dr. turner, sir dudley digges, mr. clement coke, poured themselves forth in a vehement, not to say seditious style, with invectives more daring than had ever before thundered in the house of commons! the king now told them--"i come to show your errors, and, as i may call it, _unparliamentary proceedings of parliament_." the lord keeper then assured them, that "when the irregular humours of _some particular persons_ were settled, the king would hear and answer all just grievances; but the king would have them also to know that he was equally jealous to the contempt of his royal rights, which his majesty would not suffer to be violated by any pretended course of parliamentary liberty. the king considered the parliament as his council; but there was a difference between councilling and controlling, and between liberty and the abuse of liberty." he finished by noticing their extraordinary proceedings in their impeachment of buckingham. the king, resuming his speech, remarkably reproached the parliament-- now that you have all things according to your wishes, and that _i am so far engaged that you think there is no retreat, now you begin to set the dice, and make your own game_. but i pray you be not deceived; it is not a parliamentary way, nor is it a way to deal with a king. mr. clement coke told you, "it was better to be eaten up by a foreign enemy than to be destroyed at home!" indeed, i think it more honour for a king to be invaded and almost destroyed by a foreign enemy than to _be despised by his own subjects_. the king concluded by asserting his privilege to call or to forbid parliaments. the style of "the bold speakers" appeared at least as early as in april; i trace their spirit in letters of the times, which furnish facts and expressions that do not appear in our printed documents. among the earliest of our patriots, and finally the great victim of his exertions, was sir john eliot, vice-admiral of devonshire. he, in a tone which "rolled back to jove his own bolts," and startled even the writer, who was himself biassed to the popular party, "made a resolute, i doubt whether a timely, speech." he adds eliot asserted that "they came not thither either to do what the king should command them, nor to abstain when he forbade them; they came to continue constant, and to maintain their privileges. they would not give their posterity a cause to curse them for losing their privileges by restraint, which their forefathers had left them."[ ] on the th of may the impeachment of the duke was opened by sir dudley digges, who compared the duke to a meteor exhaled out of putrid matter. he was followed by glanville, selden, and others. on this first day the duke sat out-facing his accusers and out-braving their accusations, which the more highly exasperated the house.[ ] on the following day the duke was absent, when the epilogue to this mighty piece was elaborately delivered by sir john eliot, with a force of declamation and a boldness of personal allusion which have not been surpassed in the invectives of the modern junius. eliot, after expatiating on the favourite's ambition in procuring and getting into his hands the greatest offices of strength and power in the kingdom, and the means by which he had obtained them, drew a picture of "the inward character of the duke's mind." the duke's plurality of offices reminded him "of a chimerical beast called by the ancients _stellionatus_, so blurred, so spotted, so full of foul lines that they knew not what to make of it! in setting up himself he hath set upon the kingdom's revenues, the fountain of supply, and the nerves of the land. he intercepts, consumes, and exhausts the revenues of the crown; and, by emptying the veins the blood should run in, he hath cast the kingdom into a high consumption." he descends to criminate the duke's magnificent tastes; he who had something of a congenial nature; for eliot was a man of fine literature. "infinite sums of money, and mass of land exceeding the value of money, contributions in parliament have been heaped upon him; and how have they been employed? upon costly furniture, sumptuous feasting, and magnificent building, _the visible evidence of the express exhausting of the state_!" eliot eloquently closes-- your lordships have an _idea_ of the man, what he is in himself, what in his affections! you have seen his power, and some, i fear, have felt it. you have known his practice, and have heard the effects. being such, what is he in reference to king and state; how compatible or incompatible with either? in reference to the king, he must be styled the canker in his treasure; in reference to the state the moth of all goodness. i can hardly find him a parallel; but none were so like him as sejanus, who is described by tacitus, _audax; sui obtegens, in alios criminator; juxta adulatio et superbia_. sejanus's pride was so excessive, as tacitus saith, that he neglected all councils, mixed his business and service with the prince, seeming to confound their actions, and was often styled _imperatoris laborum socius_. doth not this man the like? ask england, scotland, and ireland--and they will tell you! how lately and how often hath this man commixed his actions in discourses with actions of the king's! my lords! i have done--you see the man! the parallel of the duke with sejanus electrified the house; and, as we shall see, touched charles on a convulsive nerve. the king's conduct on this speech was the beginning of his troubles, and the first of his more open attempts to crush the popular party. in the house of lords the king defended the duke, and informed them, "i have thought fit to take order for the _punishing some insolent speeches_ lately spoken." i find a piece of secret history enclosed in a letter, with a solemn injunction that it might be burnt. "the king this morning complained of sir john eliot for comparing the duke to _sejanus_, in which he said implicitly he must intend _me_ for _tiberius_!" on that day the prologue and the epilogue orators--sir dudley digges, who had opened the impeachment against the duke, and sir john eliot, who had closed it--were called out of the house by two messengers, who showed their warrants for committing them to the tower.[ ] on this memorable day a philosophical politician might have presciently marked the seed-plots of events, which not many years afterwards were apparent to all men. the passions of kings are often expatiated on; but, in the present anti-monarchical period, the passions of parliaments are not imaginable! the democratic party in our constitution, from the meanest of motives, from their egotism, their vanity, and their audacity, hate kings; they would have an abstract being, a chimerical sovereign on the throne--like a statue, the mere ornament of the place it fills,--and insensible, like a statue, to the invectives they would heap on its pedestal! the commons, with a fierce spirit of reaction for the king's "punishing some insolent speeches," at once sent up to the lords for the commitment of the duke![ ] but when they learnt the fate of the patriots, they instantaneously broke up! in the afternoon they assembled in westminster-hall, to interchange their private sentiments on the fate of the two imprisoned members, in sadness and indignation.[ ] the following day the commons met in their own house. when the speaker reminded them of the usual business, they all cried out, "sit down! sit down!" they would touch on no business till they were "righted in their liberties!"[ ] an open committee of the whole house was formed, and no member suffered to quit the house; but either they were at a loss how to commence this solemn conference, or expressed their indignation by a sullen silence. to soothe and subdue "the bold speakers" was the unfortunate attempt of the vice-chamberlain, sir dudley carleton, who had long been one of our foreign ambassadors; and who, having witnessed the despotic governments on the continent, imagined that there was no deficiency of liberty at home. "i find," said the vice-chamberlain, "by the great silence in this house, that it is a fit time to be heard, if you will grant me the patience." alluding to one of the king's messages, where it was hinted that, if there was "no correspondency between him and the parliament, he should be forced to _use new counsels_," "i pray you consider what these new counsels are, and may be: i fear to declare those i conceive!" however, sir dudley plainly hinted at them, when he went on observing, that "when monarchs began to know their own strength, and saw the turbulent spirit of their _parliaments_, they had overthrown them in all europe, except here only with us." our old ambassador drew an amusing picture of the effects of despotic governments, in that of france--"if you knew the subjects in foreign countries as well as myself, to see them look, not like our nation, with store of flesh on their backs, but like so many ghosts and not men, being nothing but skin and bones, with some thin cover to their nakedness, and wearing only wooden shoes on their feet, so that they cannot eat meat, or wear good clothes, but they must pay the king for it; this is a misery beyond expression, and that which we are yet free from!" a long residence abroad had deprived sir dudley carleton of any sympathy with the high tone of freedom, and the proud jealousy of their privileges, which, though yet unascertained, undefined, and still often contested, was breaking forth among the commons of england. it was fated that the celestial spirit of our national freedom should not descend among us in the form of the mystical dove! hume observes on this speech, that "these imprudent suggestions rather gave warning than struck terror." it was evident that the event, which implied "new counsels," meant what subsequently was practised--the king governing without a parliament! as for "the ghosts who wore wooden shoes," to which the house was congratulated that they had not _yet_ been reduced, they would infer that it was the more necessary to provide against the possibility of such strange apparitions! hume truly observes, "the king reaped no further benefit from this attempt than to exasperate the house still further." some words, which the duke persisted in asserting had dropped from digges, were explained away, digges declaring that they had not been used by him; and it seems probable that he was suffered to eat his words. eliot was made of "sterner stuff;" he abated not a jot of whatever he had spoken of "that man," as he affected to call buckingham. the commons, whatever might be their patriotism, seem at first to have been chiefly moved by a personal hatred of the favourite;[ ] and their real charges against him amounted to little more than pretences and aggravations. the king, whose personal affections were always strong, considered his friend innocent; and there was a warm, romantic feature in the character of the youthful monarch, which scorned to sacrifice his faithful companion to his own interests, and to immolate the minister to the clamours of the commons. subsequently, when the king did this in the memorable case of the guiltless strafford, it was the only circumstance which weighed on his mind at the hour of his own sacrifice! sir robert cotton told a friend, on the day on which the king went down to the house of lords, and committed the two patriots, that "he had of late been often sent for to the king and duke, and that the king's affection towards him was very admirable, and no whit lessened. certainly," he added, "the king will never yield to the duke's fall, being a young man, resolute, magnanimous, and tenderly and firmly affectionate where he takes."[ ] this authentic character of charles the first, by that intelligent and learned man, to whom the nation owes the treasures of its antiquities, is remarkable. sir robert cotton, though holding no rank at court, and in no respect of the duke's party, was often consulted by the king, and much in his secrets. how the king valued the judgment of this acute and able adviser, acting on it in direct contradiction and to the mortification of the favourite, i shall probably have occasion to show. the commons did not decline in the subtle spirit with which they had begun; they covertly aimed at once to subjugate the sovereign, and to expel the minister! a remonstrance was prepared against the levying of tonnage and poundage, which constituted half of the crown revenues; and a petition, "equivalent to a command," for removing buckingham from his majesty's person and councils.[ ] the remonstrance is wrought up with a high spirit of invective against "the unbridled ambition of the duke," whom they class "among those vipers and pests to their king and commonwealth, as so expressly styled by your most royal father." they request that "he would be pleased to remove this person from access to his sacred presence, and that he would not balance this one man with all these things, and with the affairs of the christian world." the king hastily dissolved this _second_ parliament; and when the lords petitioned for its continuance, he warmly and angrily exclaimed, "not a moment longer!" it was dissolved in june, . the patriots abandoned their sovereign to his fate, and retreated home sullen, indignant, and ready to conspire among themselves for the assumption of their disputed or their defrauded liberties. they industriously dispersed their remonstrance, and the king replied by a declaration; but an attack is always more vigorous than a defence. the declaration is spiritless, and evidently composed under suppressed feelings, which, perhaps, knew not how to shape themselves. the "remonstrance" was commanded everywhere to be burnt; and the effect which it produced on the people we shall shortly witness. the king was left amidst the most pressing exigencies. at the dissolution of the first parliament he had been compelled to practise a humiliating economy. hume has alluded to the numerous wants of the young monarch; but he certainly was not acquainted with the king's extreme necessities. his coronation seemed rather a private than a public ceremony. to save the expenses of the procession from the tower through the city to whitehall, that customary pomp was omitted; and the reason alleged was "to save the charge for more noble undertakings!" that is, for means to carry on the spanish war without supplies! but now the most extraordinary changes appeared at court. the king mortgaged his lands in cornwall to the aldermen and companies of london. a rumour spread that the small pension list must be revoked; and the royal distress was carried so far, that all the tables at court were laid down, and the courtiers put on board-wages! i have seen a letter which gives an account of "the funeral supper at whitehall, whereat twenty-three tables were buried, being from henceforth converted to board-wages;" and there i learn, that "since this dissolving of house-keeping, his majesty is but slenderly attended." another writer, who describes himself to be only a looker-on, regrets, that while the men of the law spent ten thousand pounds on a single masque, they did not rather make the king rich; and adds, "i see a rich commonwealth, a rich people, and the crown poor!" this strange poverty of the court of charles seems to have escaped the notice of our general historians. charles was now to victual his fleet with the savings of the board-wages! for this "surplusage" was taken into account! the fatal descent on the isle of rhé sent home buckingham discomfited, and spread dismay through the nation. the best blood had been shed from the wanton bravery of an unskilful and romantic commander, who, forced to retreat, would march, but not fly, and was the very last man to quit the ground which he could not occupy. in the eagerness of his hopes, buckingham had once dropped, as i learn, that "before midsummer he should be more honoured and beloved by the commons than ever was the earl of essex:" and thus he rocked his own and his master's imagination in cradling fancies. this volatile hero, who had felt the capriciousness of popularity, thought that it was as easily regained as it was easily lost; and that a chivalric adventure would return to him that favour which at this moment might have been denied to all the wisdom, the policy, and the arts of an experienced statesman. the king was now involved in more intricate and desperate measures; and the nation was thrown into a state of agitation, of which the page of popular history yields but a faint impression. the spirit of insurrection was stalking forth in the metropolis and in the country. the scenes which i am about to describe occurred at the close of : an inattentive reader might easily mistake them for the revolutionary scenes of . it was an unarmed rebellion. an army and a navy had returned unpaid, and sore with defeat. the town was scoured by mutinous seamen and soldiers, roving even into the palace of the sovereign. soldiers without pay form a society without laws. a band of captains rushed into the duke's apartment as he sat at dinner; and when reminded by the duke of a late proclamation, forbidding all soldiers coming to court in troops, on pain of hanging, they replied, that "whole companies were ready to be hanged with them! that the king might do as he pleased with their lives; for that their reputation was lost, and their honour forfeited, for want of their salary to pay their debts." when a petition was once presented, and it was inquired who was the composer of it, a vast body tremendously shouted "all! all!" a multitude, composed of seamen, met at tower-hill, and set a lad on a scaffold, who, with an "o yes!" proclaimed that king charles had promised their pay, or the duke had been on the scaffold himself! these, at least, were grievances more apparent to the sovereign than those vague ones so perpetually repeated by his unfaithful commons. but what remained to be done? it was only a choice of difficulties between the disorder and the remedy. at the moment, the duke got up what he called "the council of the sea;" was punctual at its first meeting, and appointed three days in a week to sit--but broke his appointment the second day--they found him always otherwise engaged; and "the council of the sea" turned out to be one of those shadowy expedients which only lasts while it acts on the imagination. it is said that thirty thousand pounds would have quieted these disorganised troops; but the exchequer could not supply so mean a sum. buckingham in despair, and profuse of life, was planning a fresh expedition for the siege of rochelle; a new army was required. he swore, "if there was money in the kingdom it should be had!" now began that series of contrivances, and artifices, and persecutions to levy money. forced loans, or pretended free-gifts, kindled a resisting spirit. it was urged by the court party, that the sums required were, in fact, much less in amount than the usual grants of subsidies; but the cry, in return for "a subsidy," was always "a parliament!" many were heavily fined for declaring that "they knew no law, besides that of parliament, to compel men to give away their own goods." the king ordered that those who would not subscribe to the loans should not be forced; but it seems there were orders in council to specify those householders' names who would not subscribe; and it further appears that those who would not pay in purse should in person. those who were pressed were sent to the _dépôt_; but either the soldiers would not receive these good citizens, or they found easy means to return. every mode which the government invented seems to have been easily frustrated, either by the intrepidity of the parties themselves, or by that general understanding which enabled the people to play into one another's hands. when the common council had consented that an imposition should be laid, the citizens called the guildhall the _yield-all_! and whenever they levied a distress, in consequence of a refusal to pay it, nothing was to be found but "old ends, such as nobody cared for." or if a severer officer seized on commodities, it was in vain to offer pennyworths where no customer was to be had. a wealthy merchant, who had formerly been a cheesemonger, was summoned to appear before the privy council, and required to lend the king two hundred pounds, or else to go himself to the army, and serve it with cheese. it was not supposed that a merchant, so aged and wealthy, would submit to resume his former mean trade; but the old man, in the spirit of the times, preferred the hard alternative, and balked the new project of finance, by shipping himself with his cheese. at hicks's hall the duke and the earl of dorset sat to receive the loans; but the duke threatened, and the earl affected to treat with levity, men who came before them with all the suppressed feelings of popular indignation. the earl of dorset asking a fellow who pleaded inability to lend money, of what trade he was, and being answered "a tailor," said: "put down your name for such a sum; one snip will make amends for all!" the tailor quoted scripture abundantly, and shook the bench with laughter or with rage by his anathemas, till he was put fast into a messenger's hands. this was one ball, renowned through the parish of st. clement's; and not only a tailor, but a prophet. twenty years after, tailors and prophets employed messengers themselves![ ] these are instances drawn from the inferior classes of society; but the same spirit actuated the country gentlemen: one instance represents many. george gatesby, of northamptonshire, being committed to prison as a loan-recusant, alleged, among other reasons for his non-compliance, that "he considered that this loan might become a precedent; and that every precedent, he was told by the lord president, was a flower of the prerogative." the lord president told him that "he lied!" gatesby shook his head, observing, "i come not here to contend with your lordship, but to suffer!" lord suffolk then interposing, entreated the lord president would not too far urge his kinsman, mr. gatesby. this country gentleman waived any kindness he might owe to kindred, declaring, that "he would remain master of his own purse." the prisons were crowded with these loan-recusants, as well as with those who had sinned in the freedom of their opinions. the country gentlemen insured their popularity by their committals; and many stout resistors of the loans were returned in the following parliament against their own wishes.[ ] the friends of these knights and country gentlemen flocked to their prisons; and when they petitioned for more liberty and air during the summer, it was policy to grant their request. but it was also policy that they should not reside in their own counties: this relaxation was only granted to those who, living in the south, consented to sojourn in the north; while the dwellers in the north were to be lodged in the south! in the country the disturbed scenes assumed even a more alarming appearance than in london. they not only would not provide money, but when money was offered by government, the men refused to serve; a conscription was not then known: and it became a question, long debated in the privy council, whether those who would not accept press-money should not be tried by martial law. i preserve in the note a curious piece of secret information.[ ] the great novelty and symptom of the times was the scattering of letters. sealed letters, addressed to the leading men of the country, were found hanging on bushes; anonymous letters were dropped in shops and streets, which gave notice that the day was fast approaching when "such a work was to be wrought in england as never was the like, which will be for our good." addresses multiplied "to all true-hearted englishmen!" a groom detected in spreading such seditious papers, and brought into the inexorable star-chamber, was fined three thousand pounds! the leniency of the punishment was rather regretted by two bishops; if it was ever carried into execution, the unhappy man must have remained a groom who never after crossed a horse! there is one difficult duty of an historian, which is too often passed over by the party-writer; it is to pause whenever he feels himself warming with the passions of the multitude, or becoming the blind apologist of arbitrary power. an historian must transform himself into the characters which he is representing, and throw himself back into the times which he is opening; possessing himself of their feelings and tracing their actions, he may then at least hope to discover truths which may equally interest the honourable men of all parties. this reflection has occurred from the very difficulty into which i am now brought. shall we at once condemn the king for these arbitrary measures? it is, however, very possible that they were never in his contemplation! involved in inextricable difficulties, according to his feelings, he was betrayed by parliament; and he scorned to barter their favour by that vulgar traffic of treachery--the immolation of the single victim who had long attached his personal affections; a man at least as much envied as hated! that hard lesson had not yet been inculcated on a british sovereign, that his bosom must be a blank for all private affection; and had that lesson been taught, the character of charles was destitute of all aptitude for it. to reign without a refractory parliament, and to find among the people themselves subjects more loyal than their representatives, was an experiment--and a fatal one! under charles, the liberty of the subject, when the necessities of the state pressed on the sovereign, was matter of discussion, disputed as often as assumed; the divines were proclaiming as rebellious those who refused their contributions to aid the government;[ ] and the law-sages alleged precedents for raising supplies in the manner which charles had adopted. selden, whose learned industry was as vast as the amplitude of his mind, had to seek for the freedom of the subject in the dust of the records of the tower--and the omnipotence of parliaments, if any human assembly may be invested with such supernatural greatness, had not yet awakened the hoar antiquity of popular liberty. a general spirit of insurrection, rather than insurrection itself, had suddenly raised some strange appearances through the kingdom. "the remonstrance" of parliament had unquestionably quickened the feelings of the people; but yet the lovers of peace and the reverencers of royalty were not a few; money and men were procured to send out the army and the fleet. more concealed causes may be suspected to have been at work. many of the heads of the opposition were pursuing some secret machinations; about this time i find many mysterious stories--indications of secret societies--and other evidences of the intrigues of the popular party. little matters, sometimes more important than they appear, are suitable to our minute sort of history. in november, , a rumour spread that the king was to be visited by an ambassador from "the president of the society of the rosycross." he was indeed an heteroclite ambassador, for he is described "as a youth with never a hair on his face;" in fact, a child who was to conceal the mysterious personage which he was for a moment to represent. he appointed sunday afternoon to come to court, attended by thirteen coaches. he was to proffer to his majesty, provided the king accepted his advice, three millions to put into his coffers; and by his secret councils he was to unfold matters of moment and secrecy. a latin letter was delivered to "david ramsey of the clock," to hand over to the king: a copy of it has been preserved in a letter of the times; but it is so unmeaning, that it could have had no effect on the king, who, however, declared that he would not admit him to an audience, and that if he could tell where "the president of the rosycross" was to be found, unless he made good his offer, he would hang him at the court-gates. this served the town and country for talk till the appointed sunday had passed over, and no ambassador was visible! some considered this as the plotting of crazy brains, but others imagined it to be an attempt to speak with the king in private, on matters respecting the duke. there was also discovered, by letters received from rome, "a whole parliament of jesuits sitting" in "a fair-hanged vault" in clerkenwell.[ ] sir john cooke would have alarmed the parliament, that on st. joseph's day these were to have occupied their places; ministers are supposed sometimes to have conspirators for "the nonce;" sir dudley digges, in the opposition, as usual, would not believe in any such political necromancers; but such a party were discovered; cooke would have insinuated that the french ambassador had persuaded louis that the divisions between charles and his people had been raised by his ingenuity, and was rewarded for the intelligence; this is not unlikely. after all, the parliament of jesuits might have been a secret college of the order; for, among other things seized on, was a considerable library. when the parliament was sitting, a sealed letter was thrown under the door, with this superscription, _cursed be the man that finds this letter, and delivers it not to the house of commons_. the serjeant-at-arms delivered it to the speaker, who would not open it till the house had chosen a committee of twelve members to inform them whether it was fit to be read. sir edward coke, after having read two or three lines, stopped, and according to my authority, "durst read no further, but immediately sealing it, the committee thought fit to send it to the king, who they say, on reading it through, cast it into the fire, and sent the house of commons thanks for their wisdom in not publishing it, and for the discretion of the committee in so far tendering his honour, as not to read it out, when they once perceived that it touched his majesty."[ ] others, besides the freedom of speech, introduced another form, "a speech without doors," which was distributed to the members of the house. it is in all respects a remarkable one, occupying ten folio pages in the first volume of rushworth. some in office appear to have employed extraordinary proceedings of a similar nature. an intercepted letter written from the archduchess to the king of spain, was delivered by sir h. martyn at the council-board on new year's-day, who found in it some papers relating to the navy. the duke immediately said he would show it to the king; and, accompanied by several lords, went into his majesty's closet. the letter was written in french; it advised the spanish court to make a sudden war with england, for several reasons; his majesty's want of skill to govern of himself; the weakness of his council in not daring to acquaint him with the truth; want of money; disunion of the subjects' hearts from their prince, &c. the king only observed, that the writer forgot that the archduchess writes to the king of spain in spanish, and sends her letters overland. i have to add an important fact. i find certain evidence that the heads of the opposition were busily active in thwarting the measures of government. dr. samuel turner, the member for shrewsbury, called on sir john cage, and desired to speak to him privately; his errand was to entreat him to resist the loan, and to use his power with others to obtain this purpose. the following information comes from sir john cage himself. dr. turner "being desired to stay, he would not a minute, but instantly took horse, saying he had more places to go to, and time pressed; _that there was a company of them had divided themselves into all parts, every one having had a quarter assigned to him, to perform this service for the commonwealth_." this was written in november, . this unquestionably amounts to a secret confederacy watching out of parliament as well as in; and those strange appearances of popular defection exhibited in the country, which i have described, were in great part the consequences of the machinations and active intrigues of the popular party.[ ] the king was not disposed to try a _third_ parliament. the favourite, perhaps to regain that popular favour which his greatness had lost him, is said in private letters to have been twice on his knees to intercede for a new one. the elections, however, foreboded no good; and a letter-writer connected with the court, in giving an account of them, prophetically declared, "we are without question undone!" the king's speech opens with the spirit which he himself felt, but which he could not communicate:-- "the times are for action: wherefore, for example's sake, i mean not to spend much time in words! if you, which god forbid, should not do your duties in contributing what the state at this time needs, i must, in discharge of my conscience, _use those other means_ which god hath put into my hands, to save that, which the follies of some particular men may otherwise hazard to lose." he added, with the loftiness of ideal majesty--"take not this as a threatening, for i scorn to threaten any but my equals; but as an admonition from him, that, both out of nature and duty, hath most care of your preservations and prosperities:" and in a more friendly tone he requested them "to remember a thing to the end that we may forget it. you may imagine that i come here with a doubt of success, remembering the distractions of the last meeting; but i assure you that i shall very easily forget and forgive what is past." a most crowded house now met, composed of the wealthiest men; for a lord, who probably considered that property was the true balance of power, estimated that they were able to buy the upper-house, his majesty only excepted! the aristocracy of wealth had already begun to be felt. some ill omens of the parliament appeared. sir robert philips moved for a general fast: "we had one for the plague which it pleased god to deliver us from, and we have now so many plagues of the commonwealth about his majesty's person, that we have need of such, an act of humiliation." sir edward coke held it most necessary, "because there are, i fear, some devils that will not be cast out but by fasting and prayer." many of the speeches in "this great council of the kingdom" are as admirable pieces of composition as exist in the language. even the court-party were moderate, extenuating rather than pleading for the late necessities. but the evil spirit of party, however veiled, was walking amidst them all: a letter-writer represents the natural state of feelings: "some of the parliament talk desperately; while others, of as high a course to enforce money if they yield not!" such is the perpetual action and reaction of public opinion; when one side will give too little, the other is sure to desire too much! the parliament granted subsidies.--sir john cooke having brought up the report to the king, charles expressed great satisfaction, and declared that he felt now more happy than any of his predecessors. inquiring of sir john by how many voices he had carried it? cooke replied, "but by one!"--at which his majesty seemed appalled, and asked how many were against him? cooke answered, "none! the unanimity of the house made all but _one voice_!" at which his majesty wept![ ] if charles shed tears, or as cooke himself expresses it, in his report to the house, "was much affected," the emotion was profound: for on all sudden emergencies charles displayed an almost unparalleled command over the exterior violence of his feelings. the favourite himself sympathised with the tender joy of his royal master; and, before the king, voluntarily offered himself as a peace-sacrifice. in his speech at the council-table, he entreats the king that he, who had the honour to be his majesty's favourite, might now give up that title to them.--a warm genuine feeling probably prompted these words:-- "to open my heart, please to pardon me a word more; i must confess i have long lived in pain, sleep hath given me no rest, favours and fortune no content; such have been my secret sorrows, to be thought the man of separation, and that divided the king from his people, and them from him; but i hope it shall appear they were some mistaken minds that would have made me the evil spirit that walketh between a good master and a loyal people."[ ] buckingham added, that for the good of his country he was willing to sacrifice his honours; and since his plurality of offices had been so strongly excepted against,[ ] that he was content to give up the master of the horse to marquess hamilton, and the warden of the cinque ports to the earl of carlisle; and was willing that the parliament should appoint another admiral for all services at sea. it is as certain as human evidence can authenticate, that on the king's side all was grateful affection; and that on buckingham's there was a most earnest desire to win the favours of parliament; and what are stronger than all human evidence, those unerring principles in human nature itself, which are the secret springs of the heart, were working in the breasts of the king and his minister; for neither were tyrannical. the king undoubtedly sighed to meet parliament with the love which he had at first professed; he declared that "he should now rejoice to meet with his people often." charles had no innate tyranny in his constitutional character; and buckingham at times was susceptible of misery amidst his greatness, as i have elsewhere shown.[ ] it could not have been imagined that the luckless favourite, on the present occasion, should have served as a pretext to set again in motion the chaos of evil! can any candid mind suppose that the king or the duke meditated the slightest insult on the patriotic party, or would in the least have disturbed the apparent reconciliation! yet it so happened! secretary cooke, at the close of his report of the king's acceptance of the subsidies, mentioned that the duke had fervently beseeched the king to grant the house all their desires! perhaps the mention of the duke's name was designed to ingratiate him into their toleration. sir john eliot caught fire at the very name of the duke, and vehemently checked the secretary for having dared to introduce it; declaring, that "they knew of no other distinction but of king and subjects. by intermingling a subject's speech with the king's message, he seemed to derogate from the honour and majesty of a king. nor would it become any subject to bear himself in such a fashion, as if no grace ought to descend from the king to the people, nor any loyalty ascend from the people to the king, but through him only." this speech was received by many with acclamations; some cried out, "well spoken, sir john eliot!"[ ] it marks the heated state of the political atmosphere, where even the lightest coruscation of a hated name made it burst into flames! i have often suspected that sir john eliot, by his vehement personality, must have borne a personal antipathy to buckingham. i have never been enabled to ascertain the fact; but i find that he has left in manuscript a collection of satires, or verses, being chiefly invectives against the duke of buckingham, to whom he bore a bitter and most inveterate enmity. could we sometimes discover the motives of those who first head political revolutions, we should find how greatly personal hatreds have actuated them in deeds which have come down to us in the form of patriotism, and how often the revolutionary spirit disguises its private passions by its public conduct.[ ] but the supplies, which had raised tears from the fervent gratitude of charles, though voted, were yet withheld. they resolved that grievances and supplies go hand in hand. the commons entered deeply into constitutional points of the highest magnitude. the curious erudition of selden and coke was combined with the ardour of patriots who merit no inferior celebrity, though not having consecrated their names by their laborious literature, we only discover them in the obscure annals of parliament. to our history, composed by writers of different principles, i refer the reader for the arguments of lawyers, and the spirit of the commons. my secret history is only its supplement. the king's prerogative, and the subject's liberty, were points hard to distinguish, and were established but by contest. sometimes the king imagined that "the house pressed not upon the abuses of power, but only upon power itself." sometimes the commons doubted whether they had anything of their own to give; while their property and their persons seemed equally insecure. despotism seemed to stand on one side, and faction on the other--liberty trembled! the conference of the commons before the lords, on the freedom and person of the subject, was admirably conducted by selden and by coke. when the king's attorney affected to slight the learned arguments and precedents, pretending to consider them as mutilated out of the records, and as proving rather against the commons than for them, sir edward coke rose, affirming to the house, upon his skill in the law, that "it lay not under mr. attorney's cap to answer any one of their arguments." selden declared that he had written out all the records from the tower, the exchequer, and the king's bench, with his own hand; and "would engage his head, mr. attorney should not find in all these archives a single precedent omitted." mr. littleton said, that he had examined every one _syllabatim_, and whoever said they were mutilated spoke false! of so ambiguous and delicate a nature was then the liberty of the subject, that it seems they considered it to depend on precedents! a startling message, on the th of april, was sent by the king for despatch of business. the house, struck with astonishment, desired to have it repeated. they remained sad and silent. no one cared to open the debate. a whimsical politician, sir francis nethersole,[ ] suddenly started up, entreating leave to tell his last night's dream. some laughing at him, he observed, that "kingdoms had been saved by dreams!" allowed to proceed, he said, "he saw two good pastures; a flock of sheep was in the one, and a bell-wether alone in the other; a great ditch was between them, and a narrow bridge over the ditch." he was interrupted by the speaker, who told him that it stood not with the gravity of the house to listen to dreams; but the house was inclined to hear him out. "the sheep would sometimes go over to the bell-wether, or the bell-wether to the sheep. once both met on the narrow bridge, and the question was who should go back, since both could not go on without danger. one sheep gave counsel that the sheep on the bridge should lie on their bellies, and let the bell-wether go over their backs. the application of this dilemma he left to the house."[ ] it must be confessed that the bearing of the point was more ambiguous than some of the important ones that formed the matters of their debates. _davus sum, non oedipus!_ it is probable that this fantastical politician did not vote with the opposition; for eliot, wentworth, and coke, protested against the interpretation of dreams in the house! when the attorney-general moved that the liberties of the subject might be moderated, to reconcile the differences between themselves and the sovereign, sir edward coke observed, that "the true mother would never consent to the dividing of her child." on this, buckingham swore that coke intimated that the king, his master, was the prostitute of the state. coke protested against the misinterpretation. the dream of nethersole, and the metaphor of coke, were alike dangerous in parliamentary discussion. in a manuscript letter it is said that the house of commons sat four days without speaking or doing anything. on the first of may, secretary cooke delivered a message, asking whether they would rely upon the _king's word_? this question was followed by a long silence. several speeches are reported in the letters of the times, which are not in rushworth. sir nathaniel rich observed that, "confident as he was of the royal word, what did any indefinite word ascertain?" pym said, "we have his majesty's coronation oath to maintain the laws of england; what need we then take his word?" he proposed to move "whether we should take the king's word or no." this was resisted by secretary cooke; "what would they say in foreign parts, if the people of england would not trust their king?" he desired the house to call pym to order; on which pym replied, "truly, mr. speaker, i am just of the same opinion i was; viz., that the king's oath was as powerful as his word." sir john eliot moved that it be put to the question, "because they that would have it, do urge us to that point." sir edward coke on this occasion made a memorable speech, of which the following passage is not given in rushworth:-- "we sit now in parliament, and therefore must take his _majesty's word no otherwise than in a parliamentary way_; that is, of a matter agreed on by both houses--his majesty sitting on his throne in his robes, with his crown on his head, and sceptre in his hand, and in full parliament; and his royal assent being entered upon record, _in perpetuam rei memoriam_. this was _the royal word of a king in parliament_, and not a word delivered in a chamber, and out of the mouth of a secretary at the second hand; therefore i motion, that the house of commons, _more majorum_, should draw up a petition, _de droict_, to his majesty; which, being confirmed by both houses, and assented unto by his majesty, will be as firm an act as any. not that i distrust the king, but that i cannot take his trust but in a parliamentary way."[ ] in this speech of sir edward coke we find the first mention, in the legal style, of the ever-memorable "petition of right," which two days after was finished. the reader must pursue its history among the writers of opposite parties. on tuesday, june , a royal message announced that on the th the present sessions would close. this utterly disconcerted the commons. religious men considered it as a judicial visitation for the sins of the people; others raged with suppressed feelings; they counted up all the disasters which had of late occurred, all which were charged to one man: they knew not, at a moment so urgent, when all their liberties seemed at stake, whether the commons should fly to the lords, or to the king. sir john eliot said, that as they intended to furnish his majesty with money, it was proper that he should give them time to supply him with counsel: he was renewing his old attacks on the duke, when he was suddenly interrupted by the speaker, who, starting from the chair, declared that he was commanded not to suffer him to proceed; eliot sat down in sullen silence. on wednesday, sir edward coke broke the ice of debate. "that man," said he of the duke, "is the grievance of grievances! as for going to the lords," he added, "that is not _via regia_; our liberties are impeached--it is our concern!" on thursday, the vehement cry of coke against buckingham was followed up; as, says a letter-writer, when one good hound recovers the scent, the rest come in with a full cry.[ ] a sudden message from the king absolutely forbade them to asperse any of his majesty's ministers, otherwise his majesty would instantly dissolve them. this fell like a thunderbolt; it struck terror and alarm; and at the instant the house of commons was changed into a scene of tragical melancholy! all the opposite passions of human nature--all the national evils which were one day to burst on the country seemed, on a sudden, concentrated in this single spot! some were seen weeping, some were expostulating, and some, in awful prophecy, were contemplating the future ruin of the kingdom; while others, of more ardent daring, were reproaching the timid, quieting the terrified, and infusing resolution into the despairing. many attempted to speak, but were so strongly affected that their very utterance failed them. the venerable coke, overcome by his feelings when he rose to speak, found his learned eloquence falter on his tongue; he sat down, and tears were seen on his aged cheeks. the name of the public enemy of the kingdom was repeated, till the speaker, with tears covering his face, declared he could no longer witness such a spectacle of woe in the commons of england, and requested leave of absence for half an hour. the speaker hastened to the king to inform him of the state of the house. they were preparing a vote against the duke, for being an arch-traitor and arch-enemy to king and kingdom, and were busied on their "remonstrance," when the speaker, on his return, after an absence of two hours, delivered his majesty's message, that they should adjourn till the next day. this was an awful interval of time; many trembled for the issue of the next morning: one letter-writer calls it "that black and doleful thursday!" and another, writing before the house met, observes, "what we shall expect this morning, god of heaven knows; we shall meet timely."[ ] charles probably had been greatly affected by the report of the speaker, on the extraordinary state into which the whole house had been thrown; for on friday the royal message imported that the king had never any intention of "barring them from their right, but only to avoid scandal, that his ministers should not be accused for their counsel to him; and still he hoped that all christendom might notice a sweet parting between him and his people." this message quieted the house, but did not suspend their preparations for a "remonstrance," which they had begun on the day they were threatened with a dissolution. on saturday, while they were still occupied on the "remonstrance," unexpectedly, at four o'clock, the king came to parliament, and the commons were called up. charles spontaneously came to reconcile himself to parliament. the king now gave his second answer to the "petition of right." he said--"my maxim is, that the people's liberties strengthen the king's prerogative; and the king's prerogative is to defend the people's liberties. read your petition, and you shall have an answer that i am sure will please you."[ ] they desired to have the ancient form of their ancestors, "soit droit fait come il est desyré," and not as the king had before given it, with any observation on it. charles now granted this; declaring that his second answer to the petition in nowise differed from his first; "but you now see how ready i have shown myself to satisfy your demands; i have done my part; wherefore, if this parliament have not a happy conclusion, the sin is yours,--i am free from it!" popular gratitude is at least as vociferous as it is sudden. both houses returned the king acclamations of joy; everyone seemed to exult at the happy change which a few days had effected in the fate of the kingdom. everywhere the bells rung, bonfires were kindled, an universal holiday was kept through the town, and spread to the country: but an ominous circumstance has been registered by a letter-writer; the common people, who had caught the contagious happiness, imagined that all this public joy was occasioned by the king's consenting to commit the duke to the tower! charles has been censured, even by hume, for his "evasions and delays" in granting his assent to the "petition of right;" but now, either the parliament had conquered the royal unwillingness, or the king was zealously inclined on reconciliation. yet the joy of the commons did not outlast the bonfires in the streets; they resumed their debates as if they had never before touched on the subjects: they did not account for the feelings of the man whom they addressed as the sovereign. they sent up a "remonstrance" against the duke,[ ] and introduced his mother into it, as a patroness of popery. charles declared, that after having granted the famous "petition," he had not expected such a return as this "remonstrance." "how acceptable it is," he afterwards said, "every man may judge; no wise man can justify it." after the reading of the remonstrance, the duke fell on his knees, desiring to answer for himself; but charles no way relaxed in showing his personal favour.[ ] the duke was often charged with actions and with expressions of which, unquestionably, he was not always guilty; and we can more fairly decide on some points relating to charles and the favourite, for we have a clearer notion of them than his contemporaries. the active spirits in the commons were resolved to hunt down the game to the death: for they now struck at, as the king calls it, "one of the chief maintenances of my crown," in tonnage and poundage, the levying of which, they now declared, was a violation of the liberties of the people. this subject again involved legal discussions, and another "remonstrance." they were in the act of reading it, when the king suddenly came down to the house, sent for the speaker, and prorogued the parliament. "i am forced to end this session," said charles, "some few hours before i meant, being not willing to receive any more remonstrances, to which i must give a harsh answer." there was at least as much of sorrow as of anger in this closing speech. buckingham once more was to offer his life for the honour of his master--and to court popularity! it is well known with what exterior fortitude charles received the news of the duke's assassination; this imperturbable majesty of his mind--insensibility it was not--never deserted him on many similar occasions. there was no indecision--no feebleness in his conduct; and that extraordinary event was not suffered to delay the expedition. the king's personal industry astonished all the men in office. one writes that the king had done more in six weeks than in the duke's time had been done in six months. the death of buckingham caused no change; the king left every man to his own charge, but took the general direction into his own hands.[ ] in private, charles deeply mourned the loss of buckingham; he gave no encouragement to his enemies: the king called him "his martyr," and declared "the world was greatly mistaken in him; for it was thought that the favourite had ruled his majesty, but it was far otherwise; for that the duke had been to him a faithful and an obedient servant."[ ] such were the feelings and ideas of the unfortunate charles the first, which it is necessary to become acquainted with to judge of; few have possessed the leisure or the disposition to perform this historical duty, involved as it is in the history of our passions. if ever the man shall be viewed, as well as the monarch, the private history of charles the first will form one of the most pathetic of biographies.[ ] all the foreign expeditions of charles the first were alike disastrous: the vast genius of richelieu, at its meridian, had paled our ineffectual star! the dreadful surrender of rochelle had sent back our army and navy baffled and disgraced; and buckingham had timely perished, to save one more reproach, one more political crime, attached to his name. such failures did not improve the temper of the times; but the most brilliant victory would not have changed the fate of charles, nor allayed the fiery spirits in the commons, who, as charles said, "not satisfied in hearing complainers, had erected themselves into inquisitors after complaints." parliament met. the king's speech was conciliatory. he acknowledged that the exaction of the duties of the customs was not a right which he derived from his hereditary prerogative, but one which he enjoyed as the gift of his people. these duties as yet had not indeed been formally confirmed by parliament, but they had never been refused to the sovereign. the king closed with a fervent ejaculation that the session, begun with confidence, might end with a mutual good understanding.[ ] the shade of buckingham was no longer cast between charles the first and the commons. and yet we find that "their dread and dear sovereign" was not allowed any repose on the throne. a new demon of national discord, religion, in a metaphysical garb, reared its distracted head. this evil spirit had been raised by the conduct of the court divines, whose political sermons, with their attempts to return to the more solemn ceremonies of the romish church, alarmed some tender consciences; it served as a masked battery for the patriotic party to change their ground at will, without slackening their fire. when the king urged for the duties of his customs, he found that he was addressing a committee sitting for religion. sir john eliot threw out a singular expression. alluding to some of the bishops, whom he called "masters of ceremonies," he confessed that some ceremonies were commendable, such as "that we should stand up at the repetition of the creed, to testify the resolution of our hearts to defend the religion we profess, and in some churches they did not only stand upright, but _with their swords drawn_." his speech was a spark that fell into a well-laid train; scarcely can we conceive the enthusiastic temper of the house of commons at that moment, when, after some debate, they entered into _a vow_ to preserve "the articles of religion established by parliament in the _thirteenth year of our late queen elizabeth_!" and this _vow_ was immediately followed up by a petition to the king for _a fast_ for the increasing miseries of the reformed churches abroad. parliaments are liable to have their passions! some of these enthusiasts were struck by a panic, not perhaps warranted by the danger, of "jesuits and armenians." the king answered them in good-humour; observing, however, on the state of the reformed abroad; "that fighting would do them more good than fasting." he granted them their fast, but they would now grant no return; for now they presented "a declaration" to the king, that tonnage and poundage must give precedency to religion! the king's answer still betrays no ill temper. he confessed that he did not think that "religion was in so much danger as they affirmed." he reminds them of tonnage and poundage; "i do not so much desire it out of greediness of the thing, as out of a desire to put an end to those questions that arise between me and some of my subjects." never had the king been more moderate in his claims, or more tender in his style; and never had the commons been more fierce, and never, in truth, so utterly inexorable! often kings are tyrannical, and sometimes are parliaments! a body corporate, with the infection of passion, may perform acts of injustice equally with the individual who abuses the power with which he is invested. it was insisted that charles should give up the receivers of the customs, who were denounced as capital enemies to the king and kingdom; while those who submitted to the duties were declared guilty as accessories. when sir john eliot was pouring forth invectives against some courtiers--however they may have merited the blast of his eloquence--he was sometimes interrupted and sometimes cheered, for the stinging personalities. the timid speaker, refusing to put the question, suffered a severe reprimand from selden: "if you will not put it, we must sit still, and thus we shall never be able to do anything!" the house adjourned in great heat; the dark prognostic of their next meeting, which sir symonds d'ewes has remarked in his diary as "the most gloomy, sad, and dismal day for england that happened for five hundred years!" on this fatal day,[ ] the speaker still refusing to put the question, and announcing the king's command for an adjournment, sir john eliot stood up! the speaker attempted to leave the chair, but two members, who had placed themselves on each side, forcibly kept him down--eliot, who had prepared "a short declaration," flung down a paper on the floor, crying out that it might be read! his party vociferated for the reading--others that it should not. a sudden tumult broke out; coriton, a fervent patriot, struck another member, and many laid their hands on their swords.[ ] "shall we," said one, "be sent home as we were last sessions, turned off like scattered sheep?" the weeping, trembling speaker, still persisting in what he held to be his duty, was dragged to and fro by opposite parties; but neither he nor the clerk would read the paper, though the speaker was bitterly reproached by his kinsman, sir peter hayman, "as the disgrace of his country, and a blot to a noble family." eliot, finding the house so strongly divided, undauntedly snatching up the paper, said, "i shall then express that by my tongue which this paper should have done." denzil holles assumed the character of speaker, putting the question: it was returned by the acclamations of the party. the doors were locked and the keys laid on the table. the king sent for the serjeant and mace, but the messenger could obtain no admittance--the usher of the black rod met no more regard. the king then ordered out his guard--in the meanwhile the protest was completed. the door was flung open, the rush of the members was so impetuous that the crowd carried away among them the serjeant and the usher in the confusion and riot. many of the members were struck by horror amidst this conflict, it was a sad image of the future! several of the patriots were committed to the tower. the king on dissolving this parliament, which was the last till the memorable "long parliament," gives us, at least, his idea of it:--"it is far from me to judge all the house alike guilty, for there are there as dutiful subjects as any in the world; it being but some few vipers among them that did cast this mist of undutifulness over most of their eyes."[ ] thus have i traced, step by step, the secret history of charles the first and his early parliaments. i have entered into their feelings, while i have supplied new facts, to make everything as present and as true as my faithful diligence could repeat the tale. it was necessary that i should sometimes judge of the first race of our patriots as some of their contemporaries did; but it was impossible to avoid correcting these notions by the more enlarged views of their posterity. this is the privilege of an historian and the philosophy of his art. there is no apology for the king, nor any declamation for the subject. were we only to decide by the final results of this great conflict, of which what we have here narrated is but the faint beginning, we should confess that sir john eliot and his party were the first fathers of our political existence; and we should not withhold from them the inexpressible gratitude of a nation's freedom! but human infirmity mortifies us in the noblest pursuits of man; and we must be taught this penitential and chastising wisdom. the story of our patriots is involved; charles appears to have been lowering those high notions of his prerogative, which were not peculiar to him, and was throwing himself on the bosom of his people. the severe and unrelenting conduct of sir john eliot, his prompt eloquence and bold invective, well fitted him for the leader of a party. he was the lodestone, drawing together the looser particles of iron. never sparing, in the monarch, the errors of the man, never relinquishing his royal prey, which he had fastened on, eliot, with dr. turner and some others, contributed to make charles disgusted with all parliaments. without any dangerous concessions, there was more than one moment when they might have reconciled the sovereign to themselves, and not have driven him to the fatal resource of attempting to reign without a parliament![ ] footnotes: [ ] from manuscript letters of the times. [ ] sloane mss. . letter . [ ] the king had said in his speech to parliament, "i must let you know i will not allow any of my servants to be questioned among you, much less such as are of eminent place, and near unto me;" hence the security of buckingham, who showed the most perfect contempt for the speakers who thus violently attacked him. [ ] our printed historical documents, kennett, frankland, &c., are confused in their details, and facts seem misplaced for want of dates. they all equally copy rushworth, the only source of our history of this period. even hume is involved in the obscurity. the king's speech was on the _eleventh_ of may. as rushworth has not furnished dates, it would seem that the two orators had been sent to the tower _before the king's speech_ to the lords. [ ] the king attended the house of lords to explain his intentions verbally, taking the minister with him, though under impeachment. "touching the matters against him," said the king, "i myself can be a witness to clear him in every one of them." [ ] they decided on stopping all business till satisfaction was given them, which ended in the release of digges and eliot in a few days. [ ] frankland, an inveterate royalist, in copying rushworth, inserts "their _pretended_ liberties;" exactly the style of catholic writers when they mention protestantism by "la religion _prétendue reformée_." all party writers use the same style! [ ] the strength of the popular hatred may be seen in the articles on buckingham and felton in vol. ii. satires in manuscript abounded, and by their broad-spoken pungency rendered the duke a perfect _bête noir_ to the people. [ ] manuscript letter. [ ] rushworth, i. . hume, vi. , who enters widely into the views and feelings of charles. [ ] the radicals of that day differed from ours in the means, though not in the end. they at least referred to their bibles, and rather more than was required; but superstition is as mad as atheism! many of the puritans confused their brains with the study of the revelations; believing prince henry to be prefigured in the apocalypse, some prophesied that he should overthrow "the beast." ball, our tailor, was this very prophet; and was so honest as to believe in his own prophecy. osborn tells, that ball put out money on adventure; _i.e._, to receive it back double or treble, when king james should be elected pope! so that though he had no money for a loan, he had to spare for a prophecy. this ball has been confounded with a more ancient radical, ball, a priest, and a principal mover in wat tyler's insurrection. our ball must have been very notorious, for jonson has noticed his "admired discourses." mr. gifford, without any knowledge of my account of this tailor-prophet, by his active sagacity has rightly indicated him.--see jonson's works, vol. v. p. . [ ] it is curious to observe that the westminster elections, in the fourth year of charles's reign, were exactly of the same turbulent character as those which we witness in our days. the duke had counted by his interest to bring in sir robert pye. the contest was severe, but accompanied by some of those ludicrous electioneering scenes which still amuse the mob. whenever sir robert pye's party cried--"a pye! a pye! a pye!" the adverse party would cry--"a pudding! a pudding! a pudding!" and others--"a lie! a lie! a lie!" this westminster election of two hundred years ago ended as we have seen some others; they rejected all who had urged the payment of the loans; and, passing by such men as sir robert cotton, and their last representative, they fixed on a brewer and a grocer for the two members for westminster. [ ] extract from a manuscript letter:--"on friday last i hear, but as a secret, that it was debated at the council-table whether our essex men, who refused to take press-money, should not be punished by martial-law, and hanged up on the next tree to their dwellings, for an example of terror to others. my lord keeper, who had been long silent, when, in conclusion, it came to his course to speak, told the lords, that as far as he understood the law, _none were liable to martial law but martial men_. if these had taken press-money, and afterwards run from their colours, they might then be punished in that manner; but yet they were no soldiers, and refused to be. secondly, he thought a subsidy, new by law, could not be pressed against his will for a foreign service; it being supposed, in law, the service of his purse excused that of his person, unless his own country were in danger; and he appealed to my lord treasurer, and my lord president, whether it was not so, who both assented it was so, though some of them faintly, as unwilling to have been urged to such an answer. so it is thought that proposition is dashed; and it will be tried what may be done in the star-chamber against these refractories." [ ] a member of the house, in james the first's time, called this race of divines "spaniels to the court and wolves to the people." dr. mainwaring, dr. sibthorpe, and dean bargrave were seeking for ancient precedents to maintain absolute monarchy, and to inculcate passive obedience. bargrave had this passage in his sermon: "it was the speech of a man renowned for wisdom in our age, that if he were _commanded_ to put forth to sea in a ship that had neither mast nor tackling, he would do it:" and being asked what wisdom that were, replied, "the wisdom must be in him that hath power to command, not in him that conscience binds to obey." sibthorpe, after he published his sermon, immediately had his house burnt down. dr. mainwaring, says a manuscript letter-writer, "sent the other day to a friend of mine, to help him to all the ancient precedents he could find, to strengthen his opinion (for absolute monarchy), who answered him he could help him in nothing but only to hang him, and that if he lived till a parliament, or, &c., he should be sure of a halter." mainwaring afterwards submitted to parliament; but after the dissolution got a free pardon. the panic of popery was a great evil. the divines, under laud, appeared to approach to catholicism; but it was probably only a project of reconciliation between the two churches, which elizabeth, james, and charles equally wished. mr. cosins, a letter-writer, is censured for "superstition" in this bitter style: "mr. cosins has impudently made three editions of his prayer-book, and one which he gives away in private, different from the published ones. an audacious fellow, whom my lord of durham greatly admireth. i doubt if he be a sound protestant: he was so blind at even-song on candlemas-day, that he could not see to read prayers in the minster with less than three hundred and forty candles, whereof sixty he caused to be placed about the high altar; besides he caused the picture of our saviour, supported by two angels, to be set in the choir. the committee is very hot against him, and no matter if they trounce him." this was cosins, who survived the revolution, and returning with charles the second, was raised to the see of durham: the charitable institutions he has left are most munificent. [ ] rushworth's collections, i. . [ ] i deliver this fact as i find it in a private letter; but it is noticed in the journals of the house of commons, junii, º. caroli regis. "sir edward coke reporteth that they find that, enclosed in the letter, to be unfit for any subject's ear to hear. read but one line and a half of it, and could not endure to read more of it. it was ordered to be sealed and delivered into the king's hands by eight members, and to acquaint his majesty with the place and time of finding it; particularly that upon the reading of one line and a half at most, they would read no more, but sealed it up, and brought it to the house." [ ] i have since discovered, by a manuscript letter, that this _dr. turner_ was held in contempt by the king; that he was ridiculed at court, which he haunted, for his want of veracity; in a word, that he was a disappointed courtier! [ ] this circumstance is mentioned in a manuscript letter; what cooke declared to the house is in rushworth, vol. i. p. . [ ] i refer the critical student of our history to the duke's speech at the council-table as it appears in rushworth, i. : but what i add respecting his personal sacrifices is from manuscript letters. sloane mss. . letter , &c. [ ] on this subject, see note to the brief article on buckingham in vol. i. [ ] curiosities of literature, first series, vol. iii. p. , ed. ; vol. v. p. , ed. ; vol. iii. p. , ed. ; vol. iv. p. ed. ; p. , ed. , or vol. ii. p. , of this edition. [ ] i find this speech, and an account of its reception, in manuscript letters; the fragment in rushworth contains no part of it. i. . sloane mss. . letter , &c. [ ] modern history would afford more instances than perhaps some of us suspect. i cannot pass over an illustration of my principle, which i shall take from two very notorious politicians--wat tyler and sir william walworth! wat, when in servitude, had been beaten by his master, richard lyons, a great merchant of wines, and a sheriff of london. this chastisement, working on an evil disposition, appears never to have been forgiven; and when this radical assumed his short-lived dominion, he had his old master beheaded, and his head carried before him on the point of a spear! so grafton tells us, to the eternal obloquy of this arch-jacobin, who "was a crafty fellow, and of an excellent wit, but wanting grace." i would not sully the patriotic blow which ended the rebellion with the rebel; yet there are secrets in history! sir william walworth, "the ever famous mayor of london," as stowe designates him, has left the immortality of his name to one of our suburbs; but having discovered in stowe's "survey," that walworth was the landlord of the stews on the bank-side, which he farmed out to the dutch _vrows_, and which wat had pulled down, i am inclined to suspect that private feeling first knocked down the saucy ribald, and then thrust him through and through with his dagger; and that there was as much of personal vengeance as patriotism, which crushed the demolisher of so much valuable property! [ ] i have formed my idea of sir francis nethersole from some strange incidents in his _political_ conduct, which i have read in some contemporary letters. he was, however, a man of some eminence, had been orator for the university of cambridge, agent for james i. with the princes of the union in germany, and also secretary to the queen of bohemia. he founded and endowed a free-school at polesworth in warwickshire. [ ] manuscript letter. [ ] these speeches are entirely drawn from those manuscript letters to which i have frequently referred. coke's may be substantially found in rushworth, but without a single expression as here given. [ ] the popular opinion is well expressed in the following lines preserved in sloane ms. :-- when only one doth rule and guide the ship, who neither card nor compass knew before, the master pilot and the rest asleep, the stately ship is split upon the shore; but they awaking start up, stare, and cry, "who did this fault?"--"not i,"--"nor i,"--"nor i." so fares it with a great and wealthy state not govern'd by the master, but his mate. [ ] this last letter is printed in rushworth, vol. i. p. . [ ] the king's answer is in rushworth, vol. i. p. . [ ] this eloquent state paper is in rushworth, vol. i. p. . [ ] this interview is taken from manuscript letters. [ ] manuscript letters: lord dorset to the earl of carlisle.--sloane mss. . letter . [ ] manuscript letter. [ ] i have given (vol. ii. p. ) the "secret history of charles the first and his queen," where i have traced the firmness and independence of his character. in another article will be found as much of the "secret history of the duke of buckingham" as i have been enabled to acquire. [ ] "to conclude," said the king; "let us not be jealous one of the other's actions." [ ] monday, nd of march, . [ ] it was imagined out of doors that swords had been drawn; for a welsh page running in great haste, when he heard the noise, to the door, cried out, "i pray you let hur in! let hur in! to give hur master his sword!"--_manuscript letter._ [ ] at the time many undoubtedly considered that it was a mere faction in the house. sir symonds d'ewes was certainly no politician--but, unquestionably, his ideas were not peculiar to himself. of the last third parliament he delivers this opinion in his diary: "i cannot deem but the greater part of the house were morally honest men; but these were the least guilty of the fatal breach, being only misled by _some other machiavelian politics, who seemed zealous for the liberty of the commonwealth_, and by that means, _in the moving of their outward freedom_, drew the votes of those good men to their side." [ ] since the publication of the present article, i have composed my "commentaries on the life and reign of charles the first," in five volumes. the rump. text and commentary! the french revolution abounds with wonderful "explanatory notes" on the english. it has cleared up many obscure passages--and in the political history of man, both pages must be read together. the opprobrious and ludicrous nickname of "the rump," stigmatised a faction which played the same part in the english revolution as the "montagne" of the jacobins did in the french. it has been imagined that our english jacobins were impelled by a principle different from that of their modern rivals; but the madness of avowed atheism, and the frenzy of hypocritical sanctity, in the circle of crimes meet at the same point. their history forms one of those useful parallels where, with truth as unerring as mathematical demonstration, we discover the identity of human nature. similarity of situation, and certain principles, producing similar personages and similar events, finally settle in the same results. the rump, as long as human nature exists, can be nothing but the rump, however it may be thrown uppermost. the origin of this political by-name has often been inquired into; and it is somewhat curious, that, though all parties consent to reprobate it, each assigns for it a different allusion. in the history of political factions there is always a mixture of the ludicrous with the tragic; but, except their modern brothers, no faction like the present ever excited such a combination of extreme contempt and extreme horror. among the rival parties in , the loyalists and the presbyterians acted as we may suppose the tories and the whigs would in the same predicament; a secret reconciliation had taken place, to bury in oblivion their former jealousies, that they might unite to rid themselves from that tyranny of tyrannies, a hydra-headed government; or, as hume observes, that "all efforts should be used for the overthrow of the rump; so they called the parliament, in allusion to that part of the animal body." the sarcasm of the allusion seemed obvious to our polished historian; yet, looking more narrowly for its origin, we shall find how indistinct were the notions of this nickname among those who lived nearer to the times. evelyn says that "the rump parliament was so called as containing some few rotten members of the other." roger coke describes it thus: "you must now be content with a piece of the commons called 'the rump.'" and carte calls the rump, "the carcass of a house," and seems not precisely aware of the contemptuous allusion. but how do "rotten members" and "a carcass" agree with the notion of "a rump?" recently the editor of the life of colonel hutchinson has conveyed a novel origin. "the number of the members of the long parliament having been by seclusion, death, &c., very much reduced,"--a remarkable &c. this! by which our editor seems adroitly to throw a veil over the forcible transportation by the rumpers of two hundred members at one swoop,--"the remainder was compared to the _rump of a fowl which was left_, all the rest being eaten." our editor even considers this to be "a coarse emblem;" yet "the rump of a fowl" could hardly offend even a lady's delicacy! our editor, probably, was somewhat anxious not to degrade _too lowly_ the anti-monarchical party, designated by this opprobrious term. perhaps it is pardonable in mrs. macaulay, an historical lady, and a "rumper," for she calls the "levellers" a "brave and virtuous party," to have passed over in _her_ history any mention of the offensive term at all, as well as the ridiculous catastrophe which they underwent in the political revolution, which, however, we must beg leave not to pass by. this party-coinage has been ascribed to clement walker, their bitter antagonist; who, having sacrificed no inconsiderable fortune to the cause of what he considered constitutional liberty, was one of the violent ejected members of the long parliament, and perished in prison, a victim to honest, unbending principles. his "history of independency" is a rich legacy bequeathed to posterity, of all their great misdoings, and their petty villanies, and, above all, of their secret history. one likes to know of what blocks the idols of the people are sometimes carved out. clement walker notices "the votes and acts of this _fag end_; this rump of a parliament, with corrupt maggots in it."[ ] this hideous, but descriptive image of "the rump" had, however, got forward before, for the collector of "the rump songs"[ ] tells us, "if you ask who named it _rump_, know 'twas so styled in an honest sheet of prayer, called 'the bloody rump,' written _before the trial_ of our late sovereign; but the word obtained not _universal notice_, till it flew from the mouth of major-general brown, at a public assembly in the days of richard cromwell." thus it happens that a stinging nickname has been frequently applied to render a faction eternally odious; and the chance expression of a wit, when adopted on some public occasion, circulates among a whole people. the present nickname originated in derision on the expulsion of the majority of the long parliament by the usurping minority. it probably slept; for who would have stirred it through the protectorate? and finally awakened at richard's restored, but fleeting "rump," to witness its own ridiculous extinction. our rump passed through three stages in its political progress. preparatory to the trial of the sovereign, the anti-monarchical party constituted the minority in "the _long_ parliament:" the very name by which this parliament is recognised seemed a grievance to an impatient people, vacillating with chimerical projects of government, and now accustomed, from a wild indefinite notion of political equality, to pull down all existing institutions. such was the temper of the times, that an act of the most violent injustice, openly performed, served only as the jest of the day, a jest which has passed into history. the forcible expulsion of two hundred of their brother members, by those who afterwards were saluted as "the rump," was called "pride's purge," from the activity of a colonel of that name, a military adventurer, who was only the blind and brutal instrument of his party; for when he stood at the door of the commons, holding a paper with the names of the members, he did not personally know one! and his "purge" might have operated a quite opposite effect, administered by his own unskilful hand, had not lord grey of groby, and the door-keeper,--worthy dispersers of the british senate!--pointed out the obnoxious members, on whom our colonel laid his hand, and sent off by his men to be detained, if a bold member, or to be deterred from sitting in the house, if a frightened one. this colonel had been a drayman; and the contemptible knot of the commons, reduced to fifty or sixty confederates, which assembled after his "purge," were called "colonel pride's dray-horses." it was this rump which voted the death of the sovereign, and abolished the regal office, and the house of peers--as "unnecessary, burdensome, and dangerous!" every office in parliament seemed "dangerous," but that of the "custodes libertatis angliæ," the keepers of the liberties of england! or rather "the gaolers!" "the legislative half-quarter of the house of commons!" indignantly exclaims clement walker--the "montagne" of the french revolutionists! the "red-coats" as the military were nicknamed, soon taught their masters, "the rumpers," silence and obedience: the latter having raised one colossal man for their own purpose, were annihilated by him at a single blow. cromwell, five years after, turned them out of their house, and put the keys into his pocket. their last public appearance was in the fleeting days of richard cromwell, when the comi-tragedy of "the rump" concluded by a catastrophe as ludicrous as that of tom thumb's tragedy! how such a faction used their instruments to gather in the common spoil, and how their instruments at length converted the hands which held them into instruments themselves, appears in their history. when "the long parliament" opposed the designs of cromwell and ireton, these chiefs cried up "the liberty of the people," and denied "the authority of parliament:" but when they had effectuated their famous "purge," and formed a house of commons of themselves, they abolished the house of lords, crying up the supreme authority of the house of commons, and crying down the liberty of the people. such is the history of political factions, as well as of statesmen! charles the fifth alternately made use of the pope's authority to subdue the rising spirit of the protestants of germany, or raised an army of protestants to imprison the pope! who branded his german allies by the novel and odious name of lutherans. a chain of similar facts may be framed out of modern history. the "rump," as they were called by every one but their own party, became a whetstone for the wits to sharpen themselves on; and we have two large collections of "rump songs," curious chronicles of popular feeling![ ] without this evidence we should not have been so well informed respecting the phases of this portentous phenomenon. "the rump" was celebrated in verse, till at length it became "the rump of a rump of a rump!" as foulis traces them to their dwindled and grotesque appearance. it is pourtrayed by a wit of the times-- the rump's an old story, if well understood, 'tis a thing dress'd up in a parliament's hood, and like it--but the tail stands where the head shou'd! 'twould make a man scratch where it does not itch! they say 'tis good luck when a body rises with the rump upwards; but he that advises to live in that posture, is none of the wisest. cromwell's hunting them out of the house by military force is alluded to-- our politic doctors do us teach, that a blood-sucking red-coat's as good as a leech to relieve the head, if applied to the breech. in the opening scene of the restoration, mrs. hutchinson, an honest republican, paints with dismay a scene otherwise very ludicrous. "when the town of nottingham, as almost all the rest of the island, began to grow mad, and declared themselves in their desires of the king;" or, as another of the opposite party writes, "when the soldiery, who had hitherto made _clubs trumps_, resolved now to turn up the _king of hearts_ in their affections," the rabble in town and country vied with each other in burning the "rump;" and the literal emblem was hung by chains on gallowses, with a bonfire underneath, while the cries of "let us burn the rump! let us roast the rump!" were echoed everywhere. the suddenness of this universal change, which was said to have maddened the wise, and to have sobered the mad, must be ascribed to the joy at escaping from the yoke of a military despotism; perhaps, too, it marked the rapid transition of hope to a restoration which might be supposed to have implanted gratitude even in a royal breast! the feelings of the people expected to find an echo from the throne! "the rump," besides their general resemblance to the french anarchists, had also some minuter features of ugliness, which englishmen have often exulted have not marked an english revolution--sanguinary proscriptions![ ] we had thought that we had no revolutionary tribunals! no septembrisers! no noyades! no moveable guillotines awaiting for carts loaded with human victims! no infuriated republican urging, in a committee of public safety, the necessity of a salutary massacre! but if it be true that the same motives and the same principles were at work in both nations, and that the like characters were performing in england the parts which they did afterwards in france, by an argument _à priori_ we might be sure that the same revolting crimes and chimerical projects were alike suggested at london as at paris. human nature, even in transactions which appear unparalleled, will be found to preserve a regularity of resemblance not always suspected. the first great tragic act was closely copied by the french: and if the popular page of our history appears unstained by their revolutionary axe, this depended only on a slight accident; for it became a question of "yea" and "nay!" and was only carried in the negative by _two voices_ in the council! it was debated among "the bloody rump," as it was hideously designated, "whether to massacre and to put to the sword _all the king's party_!"[ ] cromwell himself listened to the suggestion; and it was only put down by the coolness of political calculation--the dread that the massacre would be _too general_! some of the rump not obtaining the blessedness of a massacre, still clung to the happiness of an immolation; and many petitions were presented, that "_two or three principal gentlemen_ of the royal party in each county might be sacrificed to justice, whereby the land might be saved from _blood-guiltiness_!" sir arthur haslerigg, whose "passionate fondness of liberty" has been commended,[ ] was one of the committee of safety in --i too would commend "a passionate lover of liberty," whenever i do not discover that this lover is much more intent on the dower than on the bride. haslerigg, "an absurd, bold man," as clarendon, at a single stroke, reveals his character, was resolved not to be troubled with king or bishop, or with any power in the state superior to "the rump's." we may safely suspect the patriot who can cool his vehemence in spoliation. haslerigg would have no bishops, but this was not from any want of reverence for church lands, for he heaped for himself such wealth as to have been nicknamed "the bishop of durham!" he is here noticed for a political crime different from that of plunder. when, in , this venerable radical found the parliament resisting his views, he declared that "some heads must fly off!" adding, "the parliament cannot save england; we must look another way;"--threatening, what afterwards was done, to bring in the army! it was this "passionate lover of liberty" who, when dorislaus, the parliamentary agent, was assassinated by some scotchmen in holland, moved in the house, that "six royalists of the best quality" should be immediately executed! when some northern counties petitioned the commons for relief against a famine in the land, our maratist observed, that "this _want of food_ would best defend those counties from scottish invasion!"[ ] the slaughter of drogheda by cromwell, and his frightening all london by what walker calls "a butchery of apprentices," when he cried out to his soldiers, "to kill man, woman, and child, and fire the city!"[ ] may be placed among those crimes which are committed to open a reign of terror--but hugh peters's solemn thanksgiving to heaven that "none were spared!" was the true expression of the true feeling of these political demoniacs. cromwell was cruel from politics, others from constitution. some were willing to be cruel without "blood-guiltiness." one alexander rigby, a radical lawyer, twice moved in the long parliament, that those _lords and gentlemen_ who were "malignants," should be _sold as slaves to the dey of algiers_, or sent off to the new plantations in the west indies. he had all things prepared; for it is added that he had contracted with two merchants to ship them off.[ ] there was a most bloody-minded "maker of washing-balls," as one john durant is described, appointed a lecturer by the house of commons, who always left out of the lord's prayer, "as we forgive them that trespass against us," and substituted, "lord, since thou hast now drawn out thy sword, let it not be sheathed again till it be glutted in the blood of the malignants." i find too many enormities of this kind. "cursed be he that doeth the work of the lord negligently, and keepeth back his sword from blood!" was the cry of the wretch, who, when a celebrated actor and royalist sued for quarter, gave no other reply than that of "fitting the action to the word."[ ] their treatment of the irish may possibly be admired by a true machiavelist: "they permitted forty thousand of the irish to enlist in the service of the kings of spain and france"--in other words, they expelled them at once, which, considering that our rumpers affected such an abhorrence of tyranny, may be considered as an act of mercy! satisfying themselves only with dividing the forfeited lands of the aforesaid forty thousand among their own party, by lot and other means. an universal confiscation, after all, is a bloodless massacre. they used the scotch soldiers, after the battles of dunbar and worcester, a little differently--but equally efficaciously--for they sold their scotch prisoners for slaves to the american planters.[ ] the robespierres and the marats were as extraordinary beings, and in some respects the frenchmen were working on a more enlarged scheme. these discovered that "the generation which had witnessed the preceding one would always regret it; and for the security of the revolution, it was necessary that every person who was thirty years old in should perish on the scaffold!" the anarchists were intent on reducing the french people to eight millions, and on destroying the great cities of france.[ ] such monstrous persons and events are not credible--but this is no proof that they have not occurred. many incredible things will happen! another disorganising feature in the english _rumpers_ was also observed in the french _sans-culottes_--their hatred of literature and the arts. hebert was one day directing his satellites towards the _bibliothèque nationale_, to put an end to all that human knowledge had collected for centuries on centuries--in one day! alleging, of course, some good reason. this hero was only diverted from the enterprise by being persuaded to postpone it for a day or two, when luckily the guillotine intervened; the same circumstance occurred here. the burning of the records in the tower was certainly proposed; a speech of selden's, which i cannot immediately turn to, put a stop to these incendiaries. it was debated in the rump parliament, when cromwell was general, whether they should _dissolve the universities_? they concluded that no university was necessary; that there were no ancient examples of such education, and that scholars in other countries did study at _their own cost and charges_, and therefore they looked on them as unnecessary, and thought them fitting _to be taken away for the public use_!--how these venerable asylums escaped from being sold with the king's pictures, as stone and timber, and why their rich endowments were not shared among such inveterate ignorance and remorseless spoliation, might claim some inquiry. the abbé morellet, a great political economist, imagined that the source of all the crimes of the french revolution was their violation of the sacred rights of property. the perpetual invectives of the _sans-culottes_ of france _against proprietors and against property_ proceeded from demoralised beings who formed panegyrics on all crimes; crimes, to explain whose revolutionary terms, a new dictionary was required. but even these anarchists, in their mad expressions against property, and in their wildest notions of their "égalité," have not gone beyond the daring of our own "rumpers!" of those revolutionary journals of the parliament of , which in spirit so strongly resemble the diurnal or hebdomadal effusions of the redoubtable french hebert, marat, and others of that stamp, one of the most remarkable is, "the moderate, impartially communicating martial affairs to the _kingdom_ of england;" the monarchical title our commonwealth men had not yet had time enough to obliterate from their colloquial style. this writer called himself, in his barbarous english, _the moderate_! it would be hard to conceive the meanness and illiteracy to which the english language was reduced under the pens of the rabble-writers of these days, had we not witnessed in the present time a parallel to their compositions. "the moderate!" was a title assumed on the principle on which marat denominated himself "l'ami du peuple." it is curious that the most ferocious politicians usually assert their moderation. robespierre, in his justification, declares that marat "m'a souvent accusé de _modérantisme_." the same actors, playing the same parts, may be always paralleled in their language and their deeds. this "moderate" steadily pursued one great principle--the overthrow of all property. assuming that _property_ was the original cause of _sin_! an exhortation to the people for this purpose is the subject of the present paper:[ ] the illustration of his principle is as striking as the principle itself. it is an apology for, or rather a defence of, robbery! some moss-troopers had been condemned to be hanged for practising their venerable custom of gratuitously supplying themselves from the flocks and herds of their weaker neighbours: our "moderate" ingeniously discovers that the loss of these men's lives is to be attributed to nothing but _property_. they are necessitated to offend the laws in order to obtain a livelihood! on this he descants; and the extract is a political curiosity in the french style! "_property_ is the original cause of any _sin_ between party and party as to civil transactions. and since the _tyrant_ is taken off, and the government altered _in nomine_, so ought it really to redound to the good of the people _in specie_; which, though they cannot expect it in few years, by reason of _the multiplicity of the gentlemen in authority_, command, &c. who drive on all designs for support of the old government, and consequently their own interest and the _people's slavery_, yet they doubt not but _in time_ the people will herein discern their own blindness and folly." in september, he advanced with more depth of thought. "_wars_ have ever been clothed with the most gracious pretences--viz., reformation of religion, the laws of the land, the liberty of the subject, &c.; though the effects thereof have proved most destructive to every nation; making the sword, and not _the people_, the original of all authorities for many hundred years together, taking away _each man's birthright_, and _settling upon a few_ a cursed propriety; the ground of all civil offences, and the greatest cause of most sins against the heavenly deity. _this tyranny and oppression_ running through the veins of many of our predecessors, and being too long maintained by the sword upon a royal foundation, at last became so customary, as _to the vulgar it seemed most natural_--the only reason why the _people_ of this time are so _ignorant of their birthright_, their only freedom," &c. "the birthright" of citoyen _egalité_ to "_a cursed propriety settled on a few_," was not, even among the french jacobins, urged with more amazing force. had things proceeded according to our "moderate's" plan, "the people's slavery" had been something worse. in a short time the nation would have had more proprietors than property. we have a curious list of the spoliations of those members of the house of commons, who, after their famous _self-denying ordinances_, appropriated among themselves sums of money, offices, and lands, for services "done or to be done." the most innocent of this new government of "the majesty of the people," were those whose talents had been limited by nature to peddle and purloin; puny mechanics, who had suddenly dropped their needles, their hammers, and their lasts, and slunk out from behind their shop-counters; those who had never aspired beyond the constable of the parish, were now seated in the council of state; where, as milton describes them, "they fell to huckster the commonwealth:" there they met a more rabid race of obscure lawyers, and discontented men of family, of blasted reputations; adventurers, who were to command the militia and navy of england,--governors of the three kingdoms! whose votes and ordinances resounded with nothing else but new impositions, new taxes, excises, yearly, monthly, weekly sequestrations, compositions, and universal robbery! baxter vents one deep groan of indignation, and presciently announces one future consequence of _reform_! "in all this appeared the severity of god, the mutability of worldly things, and the fruits of error, pride, and selfishness, _to be charged hereafter upon reformation and religion_." as a statesman, the sagacity of this honest prophet was narrowed by the horizon of his religious views; for he ascribes the whole as "prepared by satan to the injury of the protestant cause, and the advantage of the papists!" but dropping his particular application to the devil and the papists, honest richard baxter is perfectly right in his general principle concerning "rumpers,"--"sans-culottes," and "radicals." footnotes: [ ] history of independency, part ii. p. . [ ] first collected and published in , and afterwards reprinted in two small vols. . [ ] the first collection ever formed of these political satires was printed in , with the quaint title of "ratts rhimed to death; or, the rump-parliament hang'd up in the shambles." [ ] in one of the popular political songs of the day, "the rump" is aptly compared to "the foxes of samson, that carried a brand in their tails, to destroy and to burn up the land." [ ] clement walker's history of independency, part ii. p. . confirmed by barwick in his life, p. . [ ] the rev. mark noble's memoirs of the protectoral house of cromwell, i. . [ ] clement walker's history of independency, part ii. . [ ] ib., part i. . [ ] mercurius rusticus, xii. . barwick's life, p. . [ ] this actor was a comedian named robinson, of the blackfriars theatre; the performers there being termed "the king's servants." in the civil wars most of the young actors, deprived of living by their profession, all theatres being closed by order of the parliament, went into the king's army. robinson was fighting at the siege of basing house, in hampshire, october, , when after an obstinate defence his party was defeated, he laid down his arms, suing for quarter, but was shot through the head by colonel harrison, as he repeated the words quoted above. [ ] the following account is drawn from sir william dugdale's interleaved pocket-book for .--"aug. . the scotch army, under the command of duke hamilton, defeated at preston in lancashire. th. the moorlanders rose upon the scots and stript some of them. the scotch prisoners miserably used; exposed to eat cabbage-leaves in ridgley (staffordshire), and carrot-tops in coleshill (warwickshire). the soldiers who guarded them sold the victuals which were brought in for them from the country." [ ] desodoard's histoire philosophique de la révolution de france, iv. . when lyons was captured in , the revolutionary army nearly reduced this fine city to a heap of ruins, in obedience to the decree of the montagne, who had ordered its name to be effaced, that it should henceforth be termed, "commune affranchie," and upon its ruins a column erected and inscribed, "lyon fit la guerre à la liberté; lyon n'est plus." [ ] the _moderate_, from tuesday, july , to august , . life and habits of a literary antiquary.--oldys and his manuscripts. such a picture may be furnished by some unexpected materials which my inquiries have obtained of oldys. this is a sort of personage little known to the wits, who write more than they read, and to their volatile votaries, who only read what the wits write. it is time to vindicate the honours of the few whose laborious days enrich the stores of national literature, not by the duplicates but the supplements of knowledge. a literary antiquary is that idler whose life is passed in a perpetual _voyage autour de ma chambre_; fervent in sagacious diligence, instinct with the enthusiasm of curious inquiry, critical as well as erudite; he has to arbitrate between contending opinions, to resolve the doubtful, to clear up the obscure, and to grasp at the remote; so busied with other times, and so interested for other persons than those about him, that he becomes the inhabitant of the visionary world of books. he counts only his days by his acquisitions, and may be said by his original discoveries to be the creator of facts; often exciting the gratitude of the literary world, while the very name of the benefactor has not always descended with the inestimable labours. such is the man whom we often find leaving, when he dies, his favourite volumes only an incomplete project! and few of this class of literary men have escaped the fate reserved for most of their brothers. voluminous works have been usually left unfinished by the death of the authors; and it is with them as with the planting of trees, of which johnson has forcibly observed, "there is a frightful interval between the seed and timber." and he admirably remarks, what i cannot forbear applying to the labours i am now to describe: "he that calculates the growth of trees has the remembrance of the shortness of life driven hard upon him. he knows that he is doing what will never benefit himself; and where he rejoices to see the stem rise, is disposed to repine that another shall cut it down." the days of the patriotic count mazzuchelli were freely given to his national literature; and six invaluable folios attest the gigantic force of his immense erudition; yet these only carry us through the letters a and b: and though mazzuchelli had finished for the press other volumes, the torpor of his descendants has defrauded europe of her claims.[ ] the abbé goujet, who had designed a classified history of his national literature, in the eighteen volumes we possess, could only conclude that of the translators, and commence that of the poets; two other volumes in manuscript have perished. that great enterprise of the benedictines, the "histoire litéraire de la france," now consists of twelve large quartos, and the industry of its successive writers has only been able to carry it to the twelfth century. david clement designed the most extensive bibliography which had ever appeared; but the diligent life of the writer could only proceed as far as h. the alphabetical order, which so many writers of this class have adopted, has proved a mortifying memento of human life! tiraboschi was so fortunate as to complete his great national history of italian literature. but, unhappily for us, thomas warton, after feeling his way through the darker ages of our poetry, in planning the map of the beautiful land, of which he had only a pisgah-sight, expired amidst his volumes. the most precious portion of warton's history is but the fragment of a fragment. oldys, among this brotherhood, has met perhaps with a harder fate; his published works, and the numerous ones to which he contributed, are now highly appreciated by the lovers of books; but the larger portion of his literary labours have met with the sad fortune of dispersed, and probably of wasted manuscripts. oldys's manuscripts, or o. m. as they are sometimes designated, are constantly referred to by every distinguished writer on our literary history. i believe that not one of them could have given us any positive account of the manuscripts themselves! they have indeed long served as the solitary sources of information--but like the well at the wayside, too many have drawn their waters in silence. oldys is chiefly known by the caricature of the facetious grose; a great humourist, both with pencil and with pen: it is in a posthumous scrap-book, where grose deposited his odds and ends, and where there is perhaps not a single story which is not satirical. our lively antiquary, who cared more for rusty armour than for rusty volumes, would turn over these flams and quips to some confidential friend, to enjoy together a secret laugh at their literary intimates. his eager executor, who happened to be his bookseller, served up the poignant hash to the public as "grose's olio!"[ ] the delineation of oldys is sufficiently overcharged for "the nonce." one prevalent infirmity of honest oldys, his love of companionship over too social a glass, sends him down to posterity in a grotesque attitude; and mr. alexander chalmers, who has given us the fullest account of oldys, has inflicted on him something like a sermon, on "a state of intoxication." alas! oldys was an outcast of fortune,[ ] and the utter simplicity of his heart was guileless as a child's--ever open to the designing. the noble spirit of a duke of norfolk once rescued the long-lost historian of rawleigh from the confinement of the fleet, where he had existed, probably forgotten by the world, for six years. it was by an act of grace that the duke safely placed oldys in the heralds' college as norroy king of arms.[ ] but oldys, like all shy and retired men, had contracted peculiar habits and close attachments for a few; both these he could indulge at no distance. he liked his old associates in the purlieus of the fleet, whom he facetiously dignified as "his rulers," and there, as i have heard, with the grotesque whim of a herald, established "the dragon club." companionship yields the poor man unpurchased pleasures. oldys, busied every morning among the departed wits and the learned of our country, reflected some image from them of their wit and learning to his companions: a secret history as yet untold, and ancient wit, which, cleared of the rust, seemed to him brilliant as the modern! it is hard, however, for a literary antiquary to be caricatured, and for a herald to be ridiculed about an "unseemly reeling with the coronet of the princess caroline, which looked unsteady on the cushion, to the great scandal of his brethren,"--a circumstance which could never have occurred at the burial of a prince or princess, as the coronet is carried by clarencieux, and not by norroy. oldys's deep potations of ale, however, give me an opportunity of bestowing on him the honour of being the author of a popular anacreontic song. mr. taylor informs me that "oldys always asserted that he was the author of the well-known song-- busy, curious, thirsty fly! and as he was a rigid lover of truth, i doubt not that he wrote it." my own researches confirm it: i have traced this popular song through a dozen of collections since the year , the first in which i find it. in the later collections an original inscription has been dropped, which the accurate ritson has restored, without, however, being able to discover the writer. in it is said to have been "made extempore by a gentleman, occasioned by a _fly_ drinking out of his _cup of ale_;"--the accustomed potion of poor oldys![ ] grose, however, though a great joker on the peculiarities of oldys, was far from insensible to the extraordinary acquisitions of the man. "his knowledge of english books has hardly been exceeded." grose, too, was struck by the delicacy of honour, and the unswerving veracity which so strongly characterised oldys, of which he gives a remarkable instance.[ ] we are concerned in ascertaining the moral integrity of the writer, whose main business is with history. at a time when our literary history, excepting in the solitary labour of anthony wood, was a forest, with neither road nor pathway, oldys, fortunately placed in the library of the earl of oxford, yielded up his entire days to researches concerning the books and the men of the preceding age. his labours were then valueless, their very nature not yet ascertained, and when he opened the treasures of our ancient lore in "the british librarian," it was closed for want of public encouragement. our writers, then struggling to create an age of genius of their own, forgot that they had had any progenitors; or while they were acquiring new modes of excellence, that they were losing others, to which their posterity or the national genius might return. (to know, and to admire only, the literature and the tastes of our own age, is a species of elegant barbarism.)[ ] spenser was considered nearly as obsolete as chaucer; milton was veiled by oblivion, and shakspeare's dramas were so imperfectly known, that in looking over the play-bills of , and much later, i find that whenever it chanced that they were acted, they were always announced to have been "written by shakspeare." massinger was unknown; and jonson, though called "immortal" in the old play-bills, lay entombed in his two folios. the poetical era of elizabeth, the eloquent age of james the first, and the age of wit of charles the second, were blanks in our literary history. bysshe, compiling an art of poetry in , passed by in his collection "_spenser and the poets of his age_, because their language is now become so obsolete that most readers of our age have no ear for them, and therefore _shakspeare_ himself is so _rarely cited_ in my collection." the _best_ english poets were considered to be the _modern_; a taste which is always obstinate! all this was nothing to oldys; his literary curiosity anticipated by half a century the fervour of the present day. this energetic direction of all his thoughts was sustained by that life of discovery which in literary researches is starting novelties among old and unremembered things; contemplating some ancient tract as precious as a manuscript, or revelling in the volume of a poet whose passport of fame was yet delayed in its way; or disinterring the treasure of some secluded manuscript, whence he drew a virgin extract; or raising up a sort of domestic intimacy with the eminent in arms, in politics, and in literature in this visionary life, life itself with oldys was insensibly gliding away--its cares almost unfelt! the life of a literary antiquary partakes of the nature of those who, having no concerns of their own, busy themselves with those of others. oldys lived in the back ages of england; he had crept among the dark passages of time, till, like an old gentleman usher, he seemed to be reporting the secret history of the courts which he had lived in. he had been charmed among their masques and revels, had eyed with astonishment their cumbrous magnificence, when knights and ladies carried on their mantles and their cloth of gold ten thousand pounds' worth of ropes of pearls, and buttons of diamonds; or, descending to the gay court of the second charles, he tattled merry tales, as in that of the first he had painfully watched, like a patriot or a loyalist, a distempered era. he had lived so constantly with these people of another age, and had so deeply interested himself in their affairs, and so loved the wit and the learning which are often bright under the rust of antiquity, that his own uncourtly style is embrowned with the tint of a century old. but it was this taste and curiosity which alone could have produced the extraordinary volume of sir walter rawleigh's life--a work richly inlaid with the most curious facts and the juxtaposition of the most remote knowledge; to judge by its fulness of narrative, it would seem rather to have been the work of a contemporary.[ ] it was an advantage in this primæval era of literary curiosity, that those volumes which are now not even to be found in our national library, where certainly they are perpetually wanted, and which are now so excessively appreciated, were exposed on stalls, through the reigns of anne and the two georges.[ ] oldys encountered no competitor, cased in the invulnerable mail of his purse, to dispute his possession of the rarest volume. on the other hand, our early collector did not possess our advantages; he could not fly for instant aid to a "biographia britannica," he had no history of our poetry, nor even of our drama. oldys could tread in no man's path, for every soil about him was unbroken ground. he had to create everything for his own purposes. we gather fruit from trees which others have planted, and too often we but "pluck and eat." _nulla dies sine linea_, was his sole hope while he was accumulating masses of notes; and as oldys never used his pen from the weak passion of scribbling, but from the urgency of preserving some substantial knowledge, or planning some future inquiry, he amassed nothing but what he wished to remember. even the minuter pleasures of settling a date, or classifying a title-page, were enjoyments to his incessant pen. everything was acquisition. this never-ending business of research appears to have absorbed his powers, and sometimes to have dulled his conceptions. no one more aptly exercised the _tact_ of discovery; he knew where to feel in the dark: but he was not of the race--that race indeed had not yet appeared among us--who could melt into their corinthian brass the mingled treasures of research, imagination, and philosophy! we may be curious to inquire where our literary antiquary deposited the discoveries and curiosities which he was so incessantly acquiring. they were dispersed, on many a fly-leaf, in occasional memorandum-books; in ample marginal notes on his authors--they were sometimes thrown into what he calls his "parchment budgets," or "bags of biography--of botany--of obituary"--of "books relative to london," and other titles and bags, which he was every day filling.[ ] sometimes his collections seem to have been intended for a series of volumes, for he refers to "my first volume of tables of the eminent persons celebrated by english poets"--to another of "poetical characteristics." among those manuscripts which i have seen, i find one mentioned, apparently of a wide circuit, under the reference of "my biographical institutions. part third; containing a catalogue of all the english lives, with historical and critical observations on them." but will our curious or our whimsical collectors of the present day endure without impatience the loss of a quarto manuscript, which bears this rich condiment for its title--"of london libraries; with anecdotes of collectors of books; remarks on booksellers; and on the first publishers of catalogues?" oldys left ample annotations on "fuller's worthies," and "winstanley's lives of the poets," and on "langbaine's dramatic poets." the late mr. boswell showed me a _fuller_ in the malone collection, with steevens's transcriptions of _oldys's notes_, which malone purchased for _l._ at steevens's sale; but where is the original copy of oldys? the "winstanley," i think, also reposes in the same collection. the "langbaine" is far-famed, and is preserved in the british museum, the gift of dr. birch; it has been considered so precious, that several of our eminent writers have cheerfully passed through the labour of a minute transcription of its numberless notes. in the history of the fate and fortune of books, that of oldys's _langbaine_ is too curious to omit. oldys may tell his own story, which i find in the museum copy, p. , and which copy appears to be a _second_ attempt; for of the _first_ langbaine we have this account:-- when i left london in , to reside in _yorkshire_, i left in the care of the rev. mr. burridge's family, with whom i had several years lodged, among many other books, goods, &c., a copy of this "langbaine," in which i had wrote several notes and references to further knowledge of these poets. when i returned to london, , i understood my books had been dispersed; and afterwards becoming acquainted with mr. t. coxeter, i found that he had bought my "langbaine" of a bookseller who was a great collector of plays and poetical books: this must have been of service to him, and he has kept it so carefully from my sight, that i never could have the opportunity of transcribing into this i am now writing in the notes i had collected in that.[ ] this _first_ langbaine, with additions by coxeter, was bought, at the sale of his books, by theophilus cibber: on the strength of these notes he prefixed his name to the first collection of the "lives of our poets," which appeared in weekly numbers, and now form five volumes, written chiefly by shiels, an amanuensis of dr. johnson. shiels has been recently castigated by mr. gifford. these literary jobbers nowhere distinguished coxeter's and oldys's curious matter from their own. such was the fate of the _first_ copy of langbaine, with _oldys's notes_; but the _second_ is more important. at an auction of some of oldys's books and manuscripts, of which i have seen a printed catalogue, dr. birch purchased this invaluable copy for three shillings and sixpence.[ ] such was the value attached to these original researches concerning our poets, and of which, to obtain only a transcript, very large sums have since been cheerfully given. the museum copy of langbaine is in oldys's handwriting, not interleaved, but overflowing with notes, written in a very small hand about the margins, and inserted between the lines; nor may the transcriber pass negligently even its corners, otherwise he is here assured that he will lose some useful date, or the hint of some curious reference. the enthusiasm and diligence of oldys, in undertaking a repetition of his first lost labour, proved to be infinitely greater than the sense of his unrequited labours. such is the history of the escapes, the changes, and the fate of a volume which forms the groundwork of the most curious information concerning our elder poets, and to which we must still frequently refer. in this variety of literary arrangements, which we must consider as single works in a progressive state, or as portions of one great work on our modern literary history, it may, perhaps, be justly suspected that oldys, in the delight of perpetual acquisition, impeded the happier labour of unity of design and completeness of purpose. he was not a tiraboschi--nor even a niceron! he was sometimes chilled by neglect, and by "vanity and vexation of spirit," else we should not now have to count over a barren list of manuscript works; masses of literary history, of which the existence is even doubtful. in kippis's biographia britannica we find frequent references to o. m., oldys's manuscripts. mr. john taylor, the son of the friend and executor of oldys, has greatly obliged me with all his recollections of this man of letters; whose pursuits, however, were in no manner analogous to his, and whom he could only have known in youth. by him i learn, that on the death of oldys, dr. kippis, editor of the biographia britannica, looked over these manuscripts at mr. taylor's house. he had been directed to this discovery by the late bishop of dromore, whose active zeal was very remarkable in every enterprise to enlarge our literary history. kippis was one who, in some degree, might have estimated their literary value; but, employed by commercial men, and negotiating with persons who neither comprehended their nature, nor affixed any value to them, the editor of the biographia found oldys's manuscripts an easy purchase for his employer, the late mr. cadell; and the twenty guineas, perhaps, served to bury their writer! mr. taylor says--"the manuscripts of oldys were not so many as might be expected from so indefatigable a writer. they consisted chiefly of short extracts from books, and minutes of dates, and were _thought worth purchasing_ by the doctor. i remember the manuscripts well; though oldys was not the author, but rather recorder." such is the statement and the opinion of a writer whose effusions are of a gayer sort. but the researches of oldys must not be estimated by this standard; with him a single line was the result of many a day of research, and a leaf of scattered hints would supply more _original knowledge_ than some octavos fashioned out by the hasty gilders and varnishers of modern literature. these _discoveries_ occupy small space to the eye; but large works are composed out of them. this very lot of oldys's manuscripts was, indeed, so considerable in the judgment of kippis, that he has described them as "_a large and useful body of biographical materials, left by mr. oldys_." were these the "biographical institutes" oldys refers to among his manuscripts? "the late mr. malone," continues mr. taylor, "told me that he had seen _all oldys's manuscripts_; so i presume they are in the hands of cadell and davies." have they met with the fate of sucked oranges?--and how much of malone may we owe to oldys? this information enabled me to trace the manuscripts of oldys to dr. kippis; but it cast me among the booksellers, who do not value manuscripts which no one can print. i discovered, by the late mr. davies, that the direction of that hapless work in our literary history, with its whole treasure of manuscripts, had been consigned by mr. cadell to the late george robinson, and that the successor of dr. kippis had been the late dr. george gregory. again i repeat, the history of voluminous works is a melancholy office; every one concerned with them no longer can be found! the esteemed relict of dr. gregory, with a friendly promptitude, gratified my anxious inquiries, and informed me, that "she perfectly recollects a mass of papers, such as i described, being returned, on the death of dr. gregory, to the house of wilkie and robinson, in the early part of the year ." i applied to this house, who, after some time, referred me to mr. john robinson, the representative of his late father, and with whom all the papers of the former partnership were deposited. but mr. john robinson has terminated my inquiries, by his civility in promising to comply with them, and his pertinacity in not doing so. he may have injured his own interest in not trading with my curiosity.[ ] it was fortunate for the nation that george vertue's mass of manuscripts escaped the fate of oldys's; had the possessor proved as indolent, horace walpole would not have been the writer of his most valuable work, and we should have lost the "anecdotes of painting," of which vertue had collected the materials. of a life consumed in such literary activity we should have known more had the _diaries_ of oldys escaped destruction. "one habit of my father's old friend, william oldys," says mr. taylor, "was that of keeping a diary, and recording in it every day all the events that occurred, and all his engagements, and the employment of his time. i have seen piles of these books, but know not what became of them." the existence of such _diaries_ is confirmed by a sale catalogue of thomas davies, the literary bookseller, who sold many of the books and _some manuscripts of oldys_, which appear to have been dispersed in various libraries. i find lot " , mr. oldys's diary, containing several observations relating to books, characters, &c.;" a single volume, which appears to have separated from the "piles" which mr. taylor once witnessed. the literary diary of oldys could have exhibited the mode of his pursuits, and the results of his discoveries. one of these volumes i have fortunately discovered, and a singularity in this writer's feelings throws a new interest over such diurnal records. oldys was apt to give utterance with his pen to his most secret emotions. querulous or indignant, his honest simplicity confided to the paper before him such extemporaneous soliloquies, and i have found him hiding in the very corners of his manuscripts his "secret sorrows." a few of these slight memorials of his feelings will exhibit a sort of _silhouette_ likeness traced by his own hand, when at times the pensive man seems to have contemplated his own shadow. oldys would throw down in verses, whose humility or quaintness indicates their origin, or by some pithy adage, or apt quotation, or recording anecdote, his self-advice, or his self-regrets! oppressed by a sense of tasks so unprofitable to himself, while his days were often passed in trouble and in prison, he breathes a self-reproach in one of these profound reflections of melancholy which so often startle the man of study, who truly discovers that life is too limited to acquire real knowledge, with the ambition of dispensing it to the world:-- i say, who too long in these cobwebs lurks, is always whetting tools, but never works. in one of the corners of his note-books i find this curious but sad reflection:-- alas! this is but the apron of a fig-leaf--but the curtain of a cobweb. sometimes he seems to have anticipated the fate of that obscure diligence which was pursuing discoveries reserved for others to use:-- he heapeth up riches, and knoweth not who shall gather them. fond treasurer of these stores, behold thy fate in psalm the thirty-ninth, , , and . sometimes he checks the eager ardour of his pen, and reminds himself of its repose, in latin, italian, and english. ----non vi, sed sæpe cadendo. assai presto si fa quel che si fa bene. some respite best recovers what we need, discreetly baiting gives the journey speed. there was a thoughtless kindness in honest oldys; and his simplicity of character, as i have observed, was practised on by the artful or the ungenerous. we regret to find the following entry concerning the famous collector, james west:-- i gave above threescore letters of dr. davenant to his son, who was envoy at frankfort in to , to mr. james west,[ ] with one hundred and fifty more, about christmas, : but the same fate they found as grain that is sown in barren ground. such is the plaintive record by which oldys relieved himself of a groan! we may smile at the simplicity of the following narrative, where poor oldys received manuscripts in lieu of money:-- old counsellor fane, of colchester, who, _in formâ pauperis_, deceived me of a good sum of money which he owed me, and not long after set up his chariot, gave me a parcel of manuscripts, and promised me others, which he never gave me, nor anything else, besides a barrel of oysters, and a manuscript copy of randolph's poems, an original, as he said, with many additions, being devolved to him as the author's relation. there was no end to his aids and contributions to every author or bookseller who applied to him; yet he had reason to complain of both while they were using his invaluable but not valued knowledge. here is one of these diurnal entries:-- i lent the tragical lives and deaths of the famous pirates, ward and dansiker, to, london, , by robt. daborn, alias dabourne, to mr. t. lediard, when he was writing his naval history, and he never returned it. see howell's letters of them. in another, when his friend t. hayward was collecting, for his "british muse," the most exquisite commonplaces of our old english dramatists, a compilation which must not be confounded with ordinary ones, oldys not only assisted in the labour, but drew up a curious introduction with a knowledge and love of the subject which none but himself possessed. but so little were these researches then understood, that we find oldys, in a moment of vexatious recollection, and in a corner of one of the margins of his langbaine, accidentally preserving an extraordinary circumstance attending this curious dissertation. oldys having completed this elaborate introduction, "the penurious publisher insisted on leaving out one third part, which happened to be the best matter in it, because he would have it contracted into _one sheet_!" poor oldys never could forget the fate of this elaborate dissertation on all the collections of english poetry; i am confident that i have seen some volume which was formerly oldys's, and afterwards thomas warton's, in the possession of my intelligent friend mr. douce, in the fly-leaf of which oldys has expressed himself in these words:--"in my historical and critical review of all the collections of this kind, it would have made a sheet and a half or two sheets; but they for sordid gain, and to save a little expense in print and paper, got mr. john campbell _to cross it and cramp it, and play the devil with it, till they squeezed it into less compass than a sheet_." this is a loss which we may never recover. the curious book-knowledge of this singular man of letters, those stores of which he was the fond treasurer, as he says with such tenderness for his pursuits, were always ready to be cast into the forms of a dissertation or an introduction; and when morgan published his collection of rare tracts, the friendly hand of oldys furnished "a dissertation upon pamphlets, in a letter to a nobleman;" probably the earl of oxford, a great literary curiosity; and in the harleian collection he has given a _catalogue raisonné_ of six hundred. when mrs. cooper attempted "the muse's library," the first essay which influenced the national taste to return to our deserted poets in our most poetical age, it was oldys who only could have enabled this lady to perform that task so well.[ ] when curll, the publisher, to help out one of his hasty compilations, a "history of the stage," repaired, like all the world, to oldys, whose kindness could not resist the importunity of this busy publisher, he gave him a life of nell gwynn; while at the same moment oldys could not avoid noticing, in one of his usual entries, an intended work on the stage, which we seem never to have had, "_dick leveridge's history of the stage and actors in his own time_, for these forty or fifty years past, as he told me he had composed, is likely to prove, whenever it shall appear, a more perfect work." i might proceed with many similar gratuitous contributions with which he assisted his contemporaries. oldys should have been constituted the reader for the nation. his _comptes rendus_ of books and manuscripts are still held precious; but his useful and curious talent had sought the public patronage in vain! from one of his "diaries," which has escaped destruction, i transcribe some interesting passages _ad verbum_. the reader is here presented with a minute picture of those invisible occupations which pass in the study of a man of letters. there are those who may be surprised, as well as amused, in discovering how all the business, even to the very disappointments and pleasures of active life, can be transferred to the silent chamber of a recluse student; but there are others who will not read without emotion the secret thoughts of him who, loving literature with its purest passion, scarcely repines at being defrauded of his just fame, and leaves his stores for the after-age of his more gifted heirs. thus we open one of oldys's literary days:-- i was informed that day by mr. tho. odell's daughter, that her father, who was deputy-inspector and licenser of the plays, died may, , at his house in chappel-street, westminster, aged years. he was writing a history of the characters he had observed, and conferences he had had with many eminent persons he knew in his time. he was a great observator of everything curious in the conversations of his acquaintance, and his own conversation was a living chronicle of the remarkable intrigues, adventures, sayings, stories, writings, &c., of many of the quality, poets, and other authors, players, booksellers, &c., who flourished especially in the present century. he had been a popular man at elections, and sometime master of the playhouse in goodman's fields, but latterly was forced to live reserved and retired by reason of his debts. he published two or three dramatic pieces, one was the _patron_, on the story of lord romney. q. of his da. to restore me eustace budgell's papers, and to get a sight of her father's. have got the one, and seen the other. july .--was at mrs. odell's; she returned me mr. budgell's papers. saw some of her husband's papers, mostly poems in favour of the ministry, and against mr. pope. one of them, printed by the late sir robert walpole's encouragement, who gave him ten guineas for writing and as much for the expense of printing it; but through his advice it was never published, because it might hurt his interest with lord chesterfield, and some other noblemen who favoured mr. pope for his fine genius. the tract i liked best of his writings was the history of his playhouse in goodman's fields. (remember that which was published against that playhouse, which i have entered in my london catalogue. letter to sir ric. brocas, lord mayor, &c., vo, .) saw nothing of the history of his conversations with ingenious men; his characters, tales, jests, and intrigues of them, of which no man was better furnished with them. she thinks she has some papers of these, and promises to look them out, and also to inquire after mr. griffin, of the lord chamberlain's office, that i may get a search made about _spenser_. so intent was oldys on these literary researches that we see, by the last words of this entry, how in hunting after one sort of game, his undivided zeal kept his eye on another. one of his favourite subjects was the realising of original discoveries respecting spenser and shakspeare; of whom, perhaps, to our shame, as it is to our vexation, it may be said that two of our master-poets are those of whom we know the least! oldys once flattered himself that he should be able to have given the world a life of shakspeare. mr. john taylor informs me, that "oldys had contracted to supply ten years of the life of shakspeare _unknown to the biographers_, with one walker, a bookseller in the strand; and as oldys did not live to fulfil the engagement, my father was obliged to return to walker twenty guineas which he had advanced on the work." _that interesting narrative is now hopeless for us._ yet, by the solemn contract into which oldys had entered, and from his strict integrity, it might induce one to suspect that he had made positive discoveries which are now irrecoverable. we may observe the manner of his anxious inquiries about _spenser_:-- ask sir peter thompson if it were improper to try if lord effingham howard would procure the pedigrees in the herald's office, to be seen for edmund spenser's parentage or family? or how he was related to sir john spenser of althorpe, in northamptonshire? to three of whose daughters, who all married nobility, spenser dedicates three of his poems. of mr. vertue, to examine stowe's memorandum-book. look more carefully for the year when spenser's monument was raised, or between which years the entry stands-- and . sir clement cottrell's book about spenser. captain power, to know if he has heard from capt. spenser about my letter of inquiries relating to edward spenser. of whiston, to examine if my remarks on spenser are complete as to the press--yes. remember, when i see mr. w. thompson, to inquire whether he has printed in any of his works any other character of our old poets than those of spenser and shakspeare;[ ] and to get the liberty of a visit at kentish town, to see his _collection of robert greene's works_, in about _four large volumes quarto_. he commonly published a pamphlet every term, as his acquaintance tom nash informs us. two or three other memorials may excite a smile at his peculiar habits of study, and unceasing vigilance to draw from original sources of information. _dryden's dream_, at lord exeter's, at burleigh, while he was translating virgil, as signior verrio, then painting there, related it to the yorkshire painter, of whom i had it, lies in _the parchment book in quarto_, designed for his life. at a subsequent period oldys inserts, "now entered therein." malone quotes this very memorandum, which he discovered in _oldys's langbaine_, to show dryden had some confidence in oneirocriticism, and supposed that future events were sometimes prognosticated by dreams. malone adds, "where either the _loose_ prophetic _leaf_ or the _parchment book_ now is, i know not."[ ] unquestionably we have incurred a great loss in oldys's collections for dryden's life, which are very extensive; such a mass of literary history cannot have perished unless by accident; and i suspect that many of _oldys's manuscripts_ are in the possession of individuals who are not acquainted with his hand-writing, which may be easily verified. to search the old papers in one of my large deal boxes for dryden's letter of thanks to my father, for some communication relating to plutarch, while they and others were publishing a translation of plutarch's lives, in five volumes vo. . it is copied in _the yellow book for dryden's life_, in which there are about transcriptions, in prose and verse, relating to the life, character, and writings of dryden.--is england's remembrancer extracted out of my _obit._ (obituary) into my remarks on him in the _poetical bag_? my extracts in the _parchment budget_ about denham's seat and family in surrey. my _white vellum pocket-book_, bordered with gold, for the extract from "groans of great britain" about butler. see my account of the great yews in tankersley's park, while sir r. fanshaw was prisoner in the lodge there; especially talbot's yew, which a man on horseback might turn about in, in my _botanical budget_. this donald lupton i have mentioned in my _catalogue_ of all the books and pamphlets relative to london in folio, begun anno , and in which i have now, , entered between and articles, besides remarks, &c. now, in june, , between and articles. now, in october, , six hundred and thirty-six.[ ] there remains to be told an anecdote which shows that pope greatly regarded our literary antiquary. "oldys," says my friend, "was one of the librarians of the earl of oxford, and he used to tell a story of the credit which he obtained as a scholar, by setting pope right in a latin quotation which he made at the earl's table. he did not, however, as i remember, boast of having been admitted as a guest at the table, but as happening to be in the room." why might not oldys, however, have been seated, at least below the salt? it would do no honour to either party to suppose that oldys stood among the menials. the truth is, there appears to have existed a confidential intercourse between pope and oldys; of this i shall give a remarkable proof. in those fragments of oldys, preserved as "additional anecdotes of shakspeare," in steevens's and malone's editions, oldys mentions a story of davenant, which, he adds, "mr. pope told me at the earl of oxford's table!" and further relates a conversation which passed between them. nor is this all; for in oldys's langbaine he put down this memorandum in the article of _shakspeare_--"remember what i observed to my lord oxford for mr. pope's use out of cowley's preface." malone appears to have discovered this observation of cowley's, which is curious enough, and very ungrateful to that commentator's ideas: it is "to prune and lop away the old withered branches" in the new editions of shakspeare and other ancient poets! "pope adopted," says malone, "this very unwarrantable idea; oldys was the person who suggested to pope the singular course he pursued in his edition of shakspeare." without touching on the felicity or the danger of this new system of republishing shakspeare, one may say that if many passages were struck out, shakspeare would not be injured, for many of them were never composed by that great bard! there not only existed a literary intimacy between oldys and pope, but our poet adopting his suggestions on so important an occasion, evinces how highly he esteemed his judgment; and unquestionably pope had often been delighted by oldys with the history of his predecessors, and the curiosities of english poetry. i have now introduced the reader to oldys sitting amidst his "poetical bags," his "parchment biographical budgets," his "catalogues," and his "diaries," often venting a solitary groan, or active in some fresh inquiry. such is the _silhouette_ of this prodigy of literary curiosity! the very existence of oldys's manuscripts continues to be of an ambiguous nature; referred to, quoted, and transcribed, we can but seldom turn to the originals. these masses of curious knowledge, dispersed or lost, have enriched an after-race, who have often picked up the spoil and claimed the victory, but it was oldys who had fought the battle! oldys affords one more example how life is often closed amidst discoveries and acquisitions. the literary antiquary, when he has attempted to embody his multiplied inquiries, and to finish his scattered designs, has found that the labor absque labore, "the labour void of labour," as the inscription on the library of florence finely describes the researches of literature, has dissolved his days in the voluptuousness of his curiosity; and that too often, like the hunter in the heat of the chase, while he disdained the prey which lay before him, he was still stretching onwards to catch the fugitive! _transvolat in medio posita, et fugientia captat._ at the close of every century, in this growing world of books, may an oldys be the reader for the nation! should he be endowed with a philosophical spirit, and combine the genius of his own times with that of the preceding, he will hold in his hand the chain of human thoughts, and, like another bayle, become the historian of the human mind! footnotes: [ ] his intention was to publish a general classified biography of all the italian authors. [ ] he says in his advertisement, "it will be difficult to ascertain whether he meant to give them to the public, or only to reserve them for his own amusement and the entertainment of his friends." many of these anecdotes are evidently mere loose scandal. [ ] grose narrates his early history thus:--"his parents dying when he was very young, he soon squandered away his small patrimony, when he became, at first an attendant in lord oxford's library, and afterwards librarian; at whose death he was obliged to write for the booksellers for a subsistence." [ ] mr. john taylor, the son of oldys's intimate friend, has furnished me with this interesting anecdote. "oldys, as my father informed me, was many years in quiet obscurity in the fleet prison, but at last was spirited up to make his situation known to the duke of norfolk of that time, who received oldys's letter while he was at dinner with some friends. the duke immediately communicated the contents to the company, observing that he had long been anxious to know what had become of an old, though an humble friend, and was happy by that letter to find that he was alive. he then called for his _gentleman_ (a kind of humble friend whom noblemen used to retain under that name in those days), and desired him to go immediately to the fleet, to take money for the immediate need of oldys, to procure an account of his debts, and discharge them. oldys was soon after, either by the duke's gift or interest, appointed norroy king of arms; and i remember that his official regalia came into my father's hands at his death." in the "life of oldys," by mr. a. chalmers, the date of this promotion is not found. my accomplished friend, the rev. j. dallaway, has obligingly examined the records of the college, by which it appears that oldys had been _norfolk herald extraordinary_, but not belonging to the college, was appointed _per saltum_ norroy king of arms by patent, may th, . grose says--"the patronage of the duke occasioned a suspicion of his being a papist, though i think really without reason; this for a while retarded his appointment: it was underhand propagated by the heralds, who were vexed at having a stranger put in upon them." [ ] the beautiful simplicity of this anacreontic has met the unusual fate of entirely losing its character, by an additional and incongruous stanza in the modern editions, by a gentleman who has put into practice the unallowable liberty of _altering_ the poetical and dramatic compositions of acknowledged genius to his own notion of what he deems "morality;" but in works of genius whatever is dull ceases to be moral. "the fly" of oldys may stand by "the fly" of gray for melancholy tenderness of thought; it consisted only of these two stanzas: busy, curious, thirsty fly! drink with me, and drink as i! freely welcome to my cup, couldst thou sip and sip it up: make the most of life you may; life is short and wears away! both alike are mine and thine, hastening quick to their decline! thine's a summer, mine no more, though repeated to threescore! threescore summers when they're gone, will appear as short as one! [ ] this anecdote should be given in justice to both parties, and in grose's words, who says:--"he was a man of great good-nature, honour, and integrity, particularly in his character of an historian. nothing, i firmly believe, would ever have biassed him to insert any fact in his writings he did not believe, or to suppress any he did. of this delicacy he gave an instance at a time when he was in great distress. after his publication of the 'life of sir walter raleigh,' some booksellers thinking his name would sell a piece they were publishing, offered him a considerable sum to father it, which he rejected with the greatest indignation." [ ] we have been taught to enjoy the two ages of genius and of taste. the literary public are deeply indebted to the editorial care, the taste, and the enthusiasm of mr. singer, for exquisite reprints of some valuable writers. [ ] gibbon once meditated a life of rawleigh, and for that purpose began some researches in that "memorable era of our english annals." after reading oldys's, he relinquished his design, from a conviction that "he could add nothing new to the subject, except the uncertain merit of style and sentiment." [ ] the british museum is extremely deficient in our national literature. the gift of george the third's library has, however, probably supplied many deficiencies. [the recent bequest of the grenville collection, and the constant search made of late years for these relics of early literature by the officers of our great national library, has greatly altered the state of the collection since the above was written _s--ed_.] [ ] grose says--"his mode of composing was somewhat singular: he had a number of small parchment bags, inscribed with the names of the persons whose lives he intended to write; into these bags he put every circumstance and anecdote he could collect, and from thence drew up his history." [ ] at the bodleian library, i learnt by a letter with which i am favoured by the rev. dr. bliss, that there is an interleaved "gildon's lives and characters of the dramatic poets," with corrections, which once belonged to coxeter, who appears to have intended a new edition. whether coxeter transcribed into his gildon the notes of oldys's _first_ "langbaine," is worth inquiry. coxeter's conduct, though he had purchased oldys's first "langbaine," was that of an ungenerous miser, who will quarrel with a brother rather than share in any acquisition he can get into his own hands. to coxeter we also owe much; he suggested dodsley's collection of old plays, and the first tolerable edition of massinger. oldys could not have been employed in lord oxford's library, as mr. chalmers conjectures, about ; for here he mentions that he was in _yorkshire_ from to . this period is a remarkable blank in oldys's life. my learned friend, the rev. joseph hunter, has supplied me with a note in the copy of fuller in the malone collection preserved at the bodleian. those years were passed apparently in the household of the first earl of malton, who built wentworth house. there all the collections of the antiquary gascoigne, with "seven great chests of manuscripts," some as ancient as the time of the conquest, were condemned in one solemn sacrifice to vulcan; the ruthless earl being impenetrable to the prayers and remonstrances of our votary to english history. oldys left the earl with little satisfaction, as appears by some severe strictures from his gentle pen. [ ] this copy was lent by dr. birch to the late bishop of dromore, who with his own hand carefully transcribed the notes into an interleaved copy of "langbaine," divided into four volumes, which, as i am informed, narrowly escaped the flames, and was injured by the water, at a fire at northumberland house. his lordship, when he went to ireland, left this copy with mr. nichols, for the use of the projected editions of the _tatler_, the _spectator_, and the _guardian_, with notes and illustrations; of which i think the _tatler_ only has appeared, and to which his lordship contributed some valuable communications. [ ] i know that not only this lot of _oldys's manuscripts_, but a great quantity of _original contributions_ of whole lives, intended for the "biographia britannica," must lie together, unless they have been destroyed as waste paper. these biographical and literary curiosities were often supplied by the families or friends of eminent persons. some may, perhaps, have been reclaimed by their owners. i am informed there was among them an interesting collection of the correspondence of locke; and i could mention several lives which were prepared. [ ] this collection, and probably the other letters, have come down to us, no doubt, with the manuscripts of this collector, purchased for the british museum. the correspondence of dr. davenant, the political writer, with his son, the envoy, turns on one perpetual topic, his son's and his own advancement in the state. [ ] it is a stout octavo volume of pages, containing a good selection of specimens from the earliest era, concluding with sam. daniel, in the reign of james i. mrs. elizabeth cooper was the wife of an auctioneer, who had been a chum of oldys's in the fleet prison, where he died a debtor; and it was to aid his widow that oldys edited this book. [ ] william thompson, the poet of "sickness," and other poems; a warm lover of our elder bards, and no vulgar imitator of spenser. he was the revivor of bishop hall's satires, in , by an edition which had been more fortunate if conducted by his friend oldys, for the text is unfaithful, though the edition followed was one borrowed from lord oxford's library, probably by the aid of oldys. [ ] malone's life of dryden, p. . [ ] this is one of _oldys's manuscripts_; a thick folio of titles, which has been made to do its duty, with small thanks from those who did not care to praise the service which they derived from it. it passed from dr. berkenhout to george steevens, who lent it to gough. it was sold for five guineas. the useful work of ten years of attention given to it! the antiquary gough alludes to it with his usual discernment. "among these titles of books and pamphlets about london are many _purely historical_, and many of _too low a kind_ to rank under the head of topography and history." thus the design of oldys, in forming this elaborate collection, is condemned by trying it by the limited object of the topographer's view. this catalogue remains a desideratum, were it printed entire as collected by oldys, not merely for the topography of the metropolis, but for its relation to its manners, domestic annals, events, and persons connected with its history. index. abelard, ranks among the heretics, i. ; book condemned as his written by another, ib.; absolution granted to, ; wrote and _sung_ finely, ; raises the school of the paraclete, ib. abram-men, ii. , and note, ib. abridgers, objections to, and recommendations of, i. ; bayle's advice to, ; now slightly regarded, ; instructions to, quoted from the book of maccabees, ib. absence of mind, anecdotes of, i. . absolute monarchy, search for precedents to maintain, iii. , note. abstraction of mind, instances of, amongst great men, ii. - ; sonnet on, by metastasio, . academy, the french, some account of, i. - ; visit of christina queen of sweden to, ; of literature, designed in the reign of queen anne, ii. ; abortive attempts to establish various, ib.; disadvantages of, ib.; arguments of the advocates for, ib.; should be designed by individuals, ; french origin of, - ; origin of the royal society, - ; ridiculous titles of italian, ; some account of the arcadian, and its service to literature, ; derivation of its title, ib.; of the colombaria, ; indications of, in england, ; early rise of among the italians, ; establishment of the "academy," ; suppressed, and its members persecuted, ib.; of the "oziosi," ; suppression of many, at florence and sienna, ib.; considerations of the reason of the italian fantastical titles of, &c., . acajou and zirphile, a whimsical fairy tale, ii. - . accademia of bologna originated with lodovico caracci, ii. . accident, instances of the pursuits of great men directed by, i. . acephali, iii. , and note, ib. aches, formerly a dissyllable; examples from swift, hudibras, and shakespeare; john kemble's use of the word, i. , note. acrostics, i. - . actors, tragic, i. ; who have died martyrs to their tragic characters, ; should be nursed in the laps of queens, ; anecdotes of, - . addison, silent among strangers, i. . adriani, his continuation of guicciardini's history, iii. . advice, good, of a literary sinner, i. . agates, presenting representations of natural forms, i. . agobard, archbishop of lyons, i. , and note. agreda, maria, wrote the life of the virgin mary, i. . alberico, vision of, ii. . albertus magnus, his opinion concerning books of magic, iii. ; his brazen man, ; his entertainment of the earl of holland, . alchymists, results of their operations, iii. ; their cautious secresy, ; discoveries by, ib. alchymy, anecdotes of professors of, i. - ; henry vi. endeavoured to recruit his coffers by, ; professors of, called multipliers, ; books of, pious frauds, ib.; elias ashmole rather the historian of, than an adept in, ; opinions of modern chemists on, . alexandria, library of, i. ; demetrius phalereus, its industrious and skilful librarian, ib.; original manuscripts of Æschylus, sophocles, and euripides procured for, ib.: destruction of, - . ambassadors, anecdotes of frivolous points of etiquette insisted on by, ii. - . amicable ceremonies in various nations, ii. . amilcar, the author of the second punic war, iii. . amphigouries, i. . amusement, periodical, during study, a standing rule among the jesuits, i. ; various, practised by different celebrated men, - . anagrams, i. , ii. ; are classed among the hebrews with the cabalistic sciences, ; platonic notions of, ib.; specimens of greek, ib.; several examples of curious, - ; amusing anecdotes concerning, . ancillon and his library, i. , and note. andreini, an actor and author of irregular italian comedies, ii. ; a drama of his gave the first idea to milton of his "paradise lost," ib. anecdotes of european manners, ii. - ; of abstraction of mind, - ; literary, their importance, ; dr. johnson's defence of, ; the absurdity of many transmitted by biographers, ib.; general remarks on, . anglesea, earl of, his mss. suppressed, ii. . animals, influence of music on, i. - . annius of viterbo published seventeen books of pretended antiquities, iii. ; and afterwards a commentary, ib.; caused a literary war, . antediluvian researches, i. - . anti, a favourite prefix to books of controversy, i. . antiquaries, society of, inquiry into its origin and progress, ii. - . antony, marc, anecdote of, ii. . apparel, excess in, proclamation against, by elizabeth, iii. . apples grafted on mulberry stocks, ii. , note. archestratus, a celebrated culinary philosopher, ii. . arguments, invented by a machine, ii. . ariosto, his merits disputed in italy, i. ; public preference given to, by the accademia della crusca, ; his verses sung by the gondoliers, . aristocrat, a nick-name, iii. . aristotle, account of criticisms on, i. ; fate of his library, ; arabic commentaries on, ; rage for, ib.; his opinions on sneezing, ; letter of philip of macedon to, ; description of the person and manners of, ib.; will of, ; studied under plato, ib.; parallel between him and plato, by rapin, ib.; anecdote concerning him and plato, ; raises a school, ib.; attacked by xenocrates, ib.; his mode of pointing out a successor, ; writers against and for, ; bon-mot on his precepts, . armstrong, archibald, jester to charles i., ii. , note. arnauld, one of the most illustrious members of the port royal society, i. ; anecdotes of, ; was still the great arnauld at the age of eighty-two, . ashmole, elias, his theatrum chemicum britannicum, i. ; his diary, ii. ; his superstition, ib., note. astrÆa, d'urfé's romance of the, i. ; sketch of, - . astrologers, faith in, by celebrated characters, i. ; lilly consulted by charles i., ib.; nostrodamus, by catherine de medici, ; several have suffered death to verify their skill, ib.; shifts and impostures of, - . astrology, greatly flourished in the time of the civil wars, i. ; attacks on and defences of, - . atellanÆ fabulæ, atellan farces, ii. , and note, . atticus, employed to collect for cicero, ii. ; traded in books and gladiators, . aubrey, john, extract from his correspondence, iii. ; his search after gold, ib.; his idea of universal education, . audley, a lawyer and usurer, ii. ; his commencement of life, and means of rising in, ; anecdote of him and a draper, ; his maxims of political economy, ; his reply to a borrowing lord, ib.; his manners and opinions, - ; his death and general character, . autographs, indications of character, iii. ; of english sovereigns, - . babington's conspiracy, some account of its progress, and of the noble youths concerned in it, ii. ; trial and defences of the conspirators, ; their execution, - . bacchus, ancient descriptions of, and modern translations of them, ii. . bacon, lord, sketch of his life as a philosopher, iii. - ; more valued abroad than at home, . baker, sir richard, author of the "chronicle," died in the fleet, ii. ; his papers burnt, ib. bales, peter, a celebrated caligrapher, i. ; iii. - . ballard, the jesuit, concerned in babington's conspiracy, ii. ; expression of his on his trial, . baptista porta, founded the accademie of the oziosi and segreti, iii. ; considered himself a prognosticator, ib.; his magical devices, ib. barbier, louis, anecdote relating to, ii. ; his superstitious observances, ib., note. barnard, dr., his "life of heylin," iii. - . barthius, gaspar, a voluminous author, ii. ; an infant prodigy, ib.; published a long list of unprinted works, ; its fate, ib. basnage, his dictionary, iii. . bayle, publishes his _nouvelles de la république des lettres_, i. ; account of his death, ; his conduct to his friend, ; read much by his fingers, ib.; amusements of, ib.; anecdotes relating to, ; his "critical dictionary," remarks on its character, ii. - ; gibbon's remarks on, ; publication of, ib.; his originality, how obtained, ; his errors, ; his personal traits, ; his characteristics, - ; changes his religion twice, ; extract from his diary, ib.; his methods of study, ; appointed to a professorship, ib.; deprived of it, ib.; laments his want of books, ; anecdotes of the effects of his works, ; a model of a literary character, . beam in the eye of the pharisee, literally represented in early art, i. , and note. beards, various fashions in, i. . beaussol, m. peyraud de, his preface to his condemned tragedy, ii. - . ben jonson, masques by, iii. ; assisted rawleigh in his history of the world, , and note. benevolences, iii. , . bentley, notice of his criticisms on milton, i. - . bethlehem hospital, its original foundation, ii. , and note. betterton, anecdote of, i. . beza, theodore, an imitator of calvin in abuse, i. ; effect of his work against toleration, iii. . bible, the prohibition of, ii. ; various versions of, - ; a _family_ one, ; the olivetan, iii. ; corrupt state of the english, formerly, ; printing of, an article of open trade, ; shameful practices in the printing of, - , and note; privilege of printing granted to one bentley, ; field's pearl bible contained faults, ; division of, into chapter and verse, . bibliomane, iii. . bibliomania, i. . bibliognoste, iii. . bibliographe, iii. . bibliography, remarks on its importance, iii. . bibliophile, iii. . bibliotaphe, iii. . biographical parallels, iii. ; a book of, proposed by hurd, ib.; between budæus and erasmus, ; instances of several, . biography, painted, a, iii. - ; remarks on, ; sentimental, distinguished from chronological, ib.; of dante, by boccacio and aretino, - ; domestic, - ; customary among the romans, ; comparative, a series of, projected by elizabeth hamilton, ib. birch, dr., his great services to history, iii. . birkenhead, sir john, a newspaper writer and pamphleteer during the great rebellion, i. . black cloaks, a political nickname for a party in naples, iii. . blenheim, secret history of the building of, iii. - ; drawn from mss., , note. bonaventure de perriers, specimen of his stories, i. . book of sports, effect of, ii. . books, collections of, see libraries; collectors of, see collectors; reviews of, and criticisms on, see literary journals and sketches of criticism; destruction of, see title; lost, i. - ; prices of, in early times, ; treatise on the art of reading printed, ; curious advertisements of, ; titles of, ; various opinions as to the size of, ; difficulties encountered in publishing many books of merit, ; works of another description better remunerated, ; leaves of, origin of their name, ii. , note; table-books, ; derivation of the name "book," ; description of the form and condition of ancient, ib.; censors and licensers of, ; catalogue of, condemned at the council of trent, ib.; inquisitors of, ib.; see index; burning of, anecdote of its good effect in promoting their sale, ; mutilations caused by the censors in camden's works, lord herbert's history of henry viii., and the poems of lord brooke, ; anecdotes of purloiners of, iii. - ; predilection of celebrated men to particular, iii. - ; calculations as to their present number, ; different terms for amateurs of, ; which have been designed but not completed, , . booksellers, two ruined by one author, ii. . borrowers, destructive to collections of books, i. . botanic garden, darwin's remarks on, i. . bourdaloue, i. . bourgeois, père, one of the chinese missionaries, account of his attempt at preaching in chinese, i. . bouts rimes, i. . brandt, ship of fools, i. . bridgewater, late duke of, destroyed many family mss., ii. . buckingham, duke of, his familiarity and coarseness with james i., i. , note; his conduct in spain, ii. ; equally a favourite with james i. and charles i., ; hume's character of, ib. and ; anecdote of him and the queen of france, ; his audacity and "english familiarity," ib.; anecdote of him and prince charles, ; his rise, ; his magnificent entertainment of charles i. and the french ambassador, ; his character, - , and notes; his fears of being supplanted, , note; contrast between him and richelieu, ; secret history of his expedition to spain with prince charles, ; prognostics of his death, ; portrait of, , note; determined to succour rochelle, ; his death, ; satires on, , ; possessed the esteem of charles i., ib.; his extravagance in dress, iii. ; intrigued with the puritans, ; his intercourse with dr. preston, a puritan, ; discovers preston's insincerity, and abandons the puritans, ; his impeachment, ; his failure at the isle of rhé, ; offers to resign his offices, ; hatred of, by the parliament, - . buffon, vicq d'azyr's description of his study, iii. . buildings in the metropolis, opposition to, from the days of elizabeth to those of charles ii., iii. ; statutes against, ; proclamations against, . burnet, his book against varillas, i. , and note. burying grounds, iii. . butler, the author of "hudibras," vindicated, ii. - . cadiz, expedition to, in the time of charles i., ii. ; satirical lines on, . calamy, his "history of the ejected ministers," iii. . calumny, political advantages of, iii. . calvin, less tolerant than luther in controversy, i. . camus, his "médecine de l'esprit," ii. . caracci, family of the, ii. ; lodovico, character of, ib.; the school of the, , note; agostino and annibale, their opposite characters, ; the three opened a school in their own house, ; agostino's eminence there, ib.; his sonnet, comprising the laws of painting, ; domenichino, albano, guido, guercino, their pupils, ; disputes between annibale and agostino, ib.; their separation, . cardinal richelieu, anecdotes of, and considerations on his character, i. - . carleton, sir dudley, vice-chamberlain of charles i., his speech to the commons on the imprisonment of two of their members for their impeachment of buckingham, iii. . cartoons of raphael, now at hampton court, offered for sale, and bought by cromwell, ii. ; nearly sold to france by charles ii., ib., note; the gallery for their reception built by william iii., ib. catherine de' medici, her belief in astrology, iii. ; employs montluc to intrigue to secure the election of the duke of anjou to the crown of poland, . catharinot, a voluminous writer, ii. ; his singular mode of publishing his unsaleable works, . cause and pretext, distinction between, to be observed by historians, iii. ; anecdotal illustrations, - . caxton, the printer, his earliest works, i. , note. cayet, dr., his "chronologie novenaire," ii. . censers used to sweeten houses in the reign of elizabeth, ii. , note. censors of books, designed to counteract the press, ii. ; originated with the inquisition, ib.; appointed with the title of inquisitors of books, ib.; disagreement among these inquisitors, ; in spain, ; their treatment of commentators on the "lusiad," ib.; instances of the injury done to english literature by the appointment of, ; never recognised by english law, ; regularly established under charles i., ; office of, maintained by the puritans, ib.; treatment of milton by, ib.; the office lay dormant under cromwell, ; revived and continued under charles ii. and james ii., ib.; anecdotes relative to, - . centos, i. . ceremonies, different, among various nations, ii. - . cervantes, remark of i. ; taken prisoner at the battle of lepanto, ib. chamillart, minister of france, his rise, ii, . charades, i. . charles martel, his combat with, and defeat of, the mahometans, ii. . charles the bald of france, his remarkable vision, ii. . charles the first, account of his expedition into spain, ii. - ; anecdote of him and buckingham, ; history of his diamond seal, ; his love of the fine arts, ; the magnificence and taste of his court entertainments, ; anecdote of, ; catalogue of his effects, - ; an artist and a poet, , , and note; influence of his wife on, doubted, ; his dismissal of his wife's french establishment, ; reply to the french ambassador's remonstrances, ; his conduct on the death of buckingham, ; secret history of him and his first parliaments, iii. ; the latter a sullen bride, ib.; his address to his first parliament, and their ungracious conduct, ; they abandoned the king, ; raises money on privy seals, ib.; on the failure of the expedition to cadiz he called his second parliament, ; communications between him and his parliament, ib.; his address to them, noticing the impeachment of buckingham, ; his conduct on that occasion the beginning of his troubles, ; on the commons' further remonstrance against buckingham, he dissolves his second parliament, ; his distress for money, ib.; his fresh distresses on the failure of the expedition to the isle of rhé, and his expedients to raise money, , ; their ill success, , ; reflections on his situation, ; rejects the proffered advice of the president of the rosy-cross, ; anonymous letter sent to the commons, and by them forwarded to the king without perusing, ; secret measures used by the opposition, ; speech of the king to parliament, ; his emotion on being informed that the parliament had granted subsidies ; debates on the king's message, ; eliot's speech thereon, ; coke's memorable speech, ; the king grants his assent to the petition of right, ; popular rejoicings, ; presentation of the remonstrance, ib.; the king's conduct after the assassination of buckingham, ; vow of the parliament to maintain the articles of religion of the th eliz., ; tumult in the house, and dissolution of the parliament, . charles the fifth, his edicts against the reformed religion, iii. ; his conduct influenced by political, not religious motives, . charles the ninth, account of the death of, ii. - ; his apology for the massacre of st. bartholomew, iii. - ; his character, . cherries, introduction of, into great britain, ii. ; loss and reintroduction of, in the reign of henry viii., ib. chess, clergymen prohibited from playing, ii. ; kempelen's mechanical chess-player, iii. , note. chinese language, i. ; difficulties of, experienced by p. bourgeois, . chocolate, brought from mexico by the spaniards, ii. ; treatise against the use of, ib.; chocolate-houses in london, ib. christmas prince at the universities, ii. ; account of one at oxford, , ib., note. christodins, iii. . chronograms, i. . churchill abhorred the correction of his mss., ii. . cicero a punster, i. ; a manufacturer of prefaces, ; a collector, ii. ; his projected library, ib.; employs atticus to procure books and statues, ; discovered the tomb of archimedes, iii. . cities, free, shook off the yoke of feudal tyranny, i. . clairon, mademoiselle, anecdote of, i. . clarendon house, history of its erection, iii. - ; popularly called dunkirk house, or tangier hall, ; satire on the building of, ; existing remains of, , note. classical learning, ii. . clovis, his reasons for adopting christianity, ii. , , and note. coaches, introduction of, into england, ii. ; use of, in france, ib. cockeram, h., his english dictionary and its new words, iii. . cock-fighting in ceylon, i. . coffee, introduction of, into europe, ii, ; made fashionable at paris by the turkish ambassador, ; invectives and poetical satires against, - ; advantages of its use, . coffee-houses, the first opened at paris, ii. ; improvements in, ib.; the first in england, ; shut up by proclamation, ib.; and iii. , note. coke, or cook, sir edward, his most pleasing book, his manual, or _vade mecum_, ii. ; his mss. seized on his death, ib.; yet to be recovered, ib., note; his character, ; his matrimonial alliances, ib.; his disgrace, ; disputes between him and his wife, lady hatton, concerning the marriage of his daughter, ; curious letter of advice to lady hatton, for her defence before the council, ; his daughter married to lord villiers, and coke reinstated, ; his daughter's bad conduct, ib.; his death, ; his vituperative style, ib.; his conduct to rawleigh, ; his abjectness in disgrace, ; pricked as sheriff, to exclude him from parliament, iii. ; eludes the appointment by excepting to the oath, . coke, mr. clement, a violent opposition leader in the second parliament of charles i., iii. , . coleridge, method pursued by him in his remarkable political predictions, iii. . collections of books, see libraries; of engravings, see engravings. collector of books, i. - ; defence of himself, as one of the body, by ancillon, ; aristotle first saluted as a, . collectors, their propensity to plunder, iii. - . collins, anthony, a great lover of books, iii. ; a free-thinker, ib.; the friend of locke, ; fate of his mss., - . comedies, extemporal, ii. ; opinion of northern critics on, ; the amusement of italy, ib.; practised by the romans, ib.; salvator rosa's prologue to one, ; opinions and descriptions of, by riccoboni and gherardi, , ; anecdote of the excellence of, ; when first introduced in england, . comfits universally used under henry iii. of france, i. . comines, notice of, i. . composition, various modes of literary, ii. ; correction in, necessary, ib.; but by some authors impossible, ib.; illustrative anecdotes, ; use of models in, ; various modes of, used by celebrated authors, - ; passion for, exhibited by some authors, - . conde, great prince of, expert in physiognomy, i. . confreres de la passion, i. . confusion of words by writers, iii. ; by the nominalists and realists, ; in modern philosophy, ib.; between the antinomians and their opposers, and the jansenists and jesuits, ; between abelard and st. bernard, ib; other instances, ; in jurisprudence and politics, ; historical instances, - ; arising from a change of meaning in the course of time, ; serious consequences of, ; among political economists, ; illustrative anecdote of caramuel, a spanish bishop, . constantine, motives of his acknowledgment of christianity, ii. . controversial writings, acrimony infused into by scholars, i. , and . controversy, literary, that of the nominalists and realists, i. ; between benedetto aletino and constantino grimaldi, ; abuse lavished on each other by learned men in, - ; challenges sent on occasion of, . cookery and cooks of the ancients, ii. ; epic composed in praise of, ; illustrative translations from athenæus, - ; the dexterity of the cooks, ; writers on, ; anecdotes, . corneille, peter, died in poverty, i. ; deficient in conversation, ; sketch of his life, - . corneille, thomas, impromptu written under his portrait, i. . cornelius agrippa, accused of magic, i. ; his dog supposed to be a demon, ; his belief in demons, iii. . cornhert, theodore, a great advocate for toleration, iii. , and note. corpus christi plays at chester, i. ; at kendal, iii. , and note. cosmetics, use of, by the ladies of the elizabethan age, i. . cotton, sir robert, his manuscript collections, iii. ; his character of charles i., , . country gentlemen, their former habits commended, ii. ; lord clarendon's mention of his grandfather's conduct as one of the body, ib.; their conduct created a national character, ib. country residence, opinion of justice best upon, iii. ; james i. recommendation of, ; proclamations to compel a, ib.; and proceedings in the star chamber against the disobedient, - ; ode upon, by sir richard fanshaw, . court of wards and liveries, ii. , note. cranmer, jansenist character of, i. . creation of the world, precise date of, i. . crebillon, his creditors attached the proceeds of his tragedy of catiline, i. ; decree of louis xv. thereupon, . critics may possess the art of judging without the power of execution, i. ; abbé d'aubignac and chapelaine quoted as instances, ib. criticism, periodical, see literary journals, i. - ; sketches of amongst the ancients, - ; effect of, upon authors, . cromwell, his great political error, ii. ; prediction of his future eminence, iii. ; reasons for his delay in naming a successor, , . cruikshank, george, curious error concerning, i. , note. cyre, the abbé, an envoy of the emperor's in poland, iii. ; seized and imprisoned, . d'aguesseau, the chancellor, his advice to his son on the study of history, iii. . dance of death, iii. - . dante, origin of his inferno, disputes on, ii. ; the entire work gothic, ib.; vision of alberico supposed to be borrowed, ; and probably read by dante, ib.; his originality vindicated, ; the true origin of the inferno, , and note. day-fatality, i. ; lucky and unlucky days, ib., note. death, anecdotes relating to the death of many distinguished persons, i. - ; book containing the accounts of the deaths of remarkable persons, compiled by montaigne, iii. ; reflections on death, ib.; anecdotes of the death of some celebrated persons, , ; effect of the continual consideration of, ; lady gethin's ideas on, ; conversations of johnson and boswell on, ib.; singular preparations for, by moncriff, ; opinions of the ancients on, ; personifications of, among the ancients, , and note; gothic representations of, . dedications, curious anecdotes concerning, i. - ; price for the dedication of a play, ; one to himself, composed by a patron, ib.; practice of elkanah settle with regard to, ; of the polyglot bible to cromwell, ib.; altered at the restoration, ib.; to cardinal richelieu, ; dryden's, ib.; ingenious one by sir simon degge, . de foe, his honour questioned as to the publication of robinson crusoe, ii. ; probably struck by steele's observations on selkirk's narration, ; wrote robinson crusoe in comparative solitude, ib.; vindication of his character, ib. de la chambre, secret correspondence of, with louis xiv. on physiognomy, i. . deliquents, a convenient revolutionary phrase, iii. . descares, persecuted for his opinions, i. ; silent in mixed company, ; his description of his life in amsterdam, . descriptions, local, when prolonged tedious, iii. ; boileau's criticisms on, , ; inefficiency of, instanced by a passage from pliny, ; example of elegant, in a sonnet by francesca de castello, . descriptive poems, general remarks on, i. ; race of, confined to one object, ib.; titles of, and notices on several of these, , . des maizeaux, a french refugee, iii. ; his life of bayle, ; notices of his literary life, - ; anthony collins bequeaths his mss. to, ; relinquishes them to collins's widow, ; correspondence concerning, - . desmarets, his comedy of the "visionnaires," ii. . de serres, introduced the cultivation of the mulberry tree and silk-worm into france, ii. ; opposition to his schemes, ib.; supported by henry iv., ib.; medal struck in honour of his memory, . destruction of books and mss. by the monks, i. , ; account of, at constantinople, by the christians, suppressed, ; burning of talmuds, ; of irish and mexican, ib.; anecdotes regarding, ; of korans, ib.; of the classics, ; of bohemian, ib.; in england under henry viii., ; at stationers' hall in , ; of many of lady mary wortley montague's letters, ; of anglo-saxon mss., ; anecdotes concerning the, ib., note; by fire and shipwreck, , . d'ewes, sir symonds, a sober antiquary, but a visionary, iii. ; extracts from his diary, , . diary, of a master of the ceremonies, ii. - ; shaftesbury's definition of a, ib.; colonel harwood's, ; kept by titus, ib.; alfred's, ; prince henry's, ib.; edward vi.'s, ib.; kept by james ii., ; usually kept by heads of families, ; kept by swift and horace walpole, ib.; recommended by sir thomas bodley to sir francis bacon, ib.; coke's, ib.; camden's, ; of sir symonds d'ewes, ib.; baxter's, ; the thoughtful disposition giving rise to the keeping of a diary, partaken even by women, ib.; whitelocke's, ; laud's, ; lord clarendon's, ; practice of keeping one recommended, . diaries, religious, iii. . dictionary of trevoux, account of its origin and progress, iii. ; of basnage, ; of dr. johnson, . digges, sir dudley, a violent opposition leader in charles i.'s second parliament, iii. ; opened the impeachment of buckingham, ; committed to the tower, . dilapidations of mss.--see manuscripts. dinner hour, variations of, in different times, ii. , . dinner parties, roman limitation of the number of guests at, ii. . discoveries in literature and science, aptitude in, obtained by studious men, iii. ; illustrative anecdotes, - . divinity, scholastic, i. , ; curious accounts and specimens of, - . dodd's church history of england, iii. . dragons, origin of the old stories of, ii. . drama, anecdotes of the early, ii. - ; mexican, ib.; account of a curious drama, entitled technotamia, or the marriage of the arts, - ; account of one written by a madman, . dramatic works made the vehicle of political feeling, ii. ; by the catholics at the reformation, ib.; such conduct caused a proclamation by edward vi. against english interludes, &c., ib.; those on the side of the reformation allowed, and specimens of one, - ; proceedings against in the star chamber, ib. dramatic annals.--see dramatic works. suppression of the drama during the civil wars of charles i., ii. ; opposite conduct of actors at that time, and at the period of the french revolution, ; writers against the stage, ; custom of boys personating females, ; introduction of actresses, ; histriomastix, ib.; all theatres suppressed in , ib.; ordinance against theatres, ; plays enacted secretly during their suppression, ib.; cox's "drolleries," ; petitions against the drama, ; the player's petition in favour of, ib.; secretly acted at holland house, ; the suppression of the drama caused the publication of many ms. plays, ib. dress, costliness of, in the reigns of elizabeth, james i., and charles i., iii. - . drinking, hard, a borrowed custom among the english, ii. ; learnt by them in the netherlands, ib.; statutes against, ib., note; terms of, , note, - ; anecdotes of, . drunkards, their different characteristics, ii. ; "a delicate diet for," ib., note; toasts of, , and note. du clos, origin of his fairy tale of acajou and zirphile, and account of his satirical preface to it, ii. - . dutch literature, remarks and strictures on, i. - ; satirical medals, iii. - . echo verses, specimen of, ii. . eclectic school of art founded by the caracci, ii. , note. edward the fourth, to what he owed his crown, i. . eglishaw, dr., his political libels, ii. , note; is murdered in holland, ib. elizabeth, queen, i. ; her amours, ; wished to be thought beautiful by all the world, ib.; her habits studious, but not of the gentlest kind, ; her writing, ; her education severely classical, ib.; various anecdotes concerning, - ; her able management of her parliaments, ii. - ; her conduct regarding the succession, iii. ; her treatment of james i., ; her proclamation against excess in apparel, . eliot, sir john, a violent opposition leader in charles i.'s second parliament, iii. ; his speech on the impeachment of buckingham, ; committed to the tower, ; violent against buckingham in parliament, - ; his collection of satires against him, ib.; a leader in the last parliament of charles i., - . eloisa, solicited and obtained abelard's absolution, i. ; buried with abelard, ib.; a fine lady, ; pope's reprehensible lines found in original letters of, . enchanters, origin of the old stories of, ii. . english poetry, scarcely known in france in , iii. ; ignorance of, displayed by quadrio in his history of poetry published in , . engraving, early origin among the egyptians, i. , note. engravings, first collection of, under louis xiv., by colbert, i. ; collecting of engraved portraits originated the work of granger, . epitaph on cardinal richelieu, by his protégé, benserade, i. ; by celebrated persons on themselves, ; on philip i., ; on butler, the author of hudibras, ii. . errata, remarkable anecdotes concerning, i, - . erroneous proper names, given in foreign authors, i. , and note. etiquette, court, reflections on its rise and progress, ii. ; forms of, observed between the english ambassadors and cardinal richelieu, ; creation of a master of the ceremonies, ; absurd punctilios of, illustrated from the diary of sir john finett, - . evelyn, his mode of composition, ii. ; praise due to him for his sylva, ; his design for arms of royal society, , and note. events which have not happened, ii. - . excommunication, by the popes, dreadful consequences of, ii. . fairfax papers, curious discovery of, i. , note. fairfax, sir thomas, anecdotes of him and his family, ii. - . fame, contemned, . familiar spirits, intercourse with, believed, i. , , . fanshaw, sir richard, his ode on the king's commanding the gentry to reside on their estates, iii. - . farces, ancient, reprehensible, but their pleasantry and humour not contemptible, i. ; customary among the romans after a serious piece, ii. . fashions.--see literary fashions. anecdotes of their origin, changes and extravagances, i. - ; introduction of french, , ; chronicled by stowe, ; french, prevailed in the reign of charles ii., ; notice of modern, ; lines condemning the acts of, ; expensive in the reigns of henry vii. and viii., ii. . feast of fools, ii. . feast of asses, ii. . felton, john, the assassin of the duke of buckingham, his motives for the act, ii. ; his passage to london in triumph, ; anagram on his name, ; his remorse, ib.; his character, ; his family, ib., and note; propositions found in his trunk, ; history of the remarkable written paper found in his hat, ib., note; answer to a threat of torture, ; poem addressed to, . female beauty and ornaments, opinions and practices of various nations concerning, i. . fenelon, jansenist character of, i. ; his admiration of homer, iii. . feudal customs and rights, the barbarous, the first attempts at organizing society, i. ; servitude of the land, ; maiden rights, ib.; wardship, ; german lords privileged to rob on the highway, ib.; anecdote of geoffrey, lord of coventry, ib.; anecdotes of the abuse of feudal rights and power, , . filbert, origin of the name, ii. , and note. filchers, literary, iii. - . filicaja, a sonnet of, iii. , translated, ib. finett, sir john, master of the ceremonies to charles i.--see etiquette. fire, in primæval ages, a signal of respect, ii. ; worshipped as a divinity, ib.; a symbol of majesty, ib.; ancient observances regarding, ib. fire-works, not known to antiquity, ii. ; their epoch, ; originated with the florentines and siennese, ib.; their use passes to rome, ib.; exhibition of at paris, . flap-dragons, ii. . flea, collection of poems on, i. . floral gifts, withheld by the capitouls of toulouse from maynard, a french poet, i. . flogging, a discussion on, occasioned roger ascham to write his schoolmaster, i. . flowers and fruits, praise of the introducers of exotic, ii. ; peirese and evelyn, ib.; hartlib, ; enthusiasm evinced by the transplanters of, ib.; notice of many introduced by particular persons, ; origin of, distinguished by their names, ; worthy pride of introducers of, , . forgeries and fictions, political and religious, iii. ; historical instances, - ; literary, iii. - . formosa, psalmanazar's pretended history of, i. , note. foscolo, ugo, his opinion on the titles of italian academies, ii. . fourmont, the oriental scholar, anecdote of, iii. . fox's acts and monuments, iii. . friendships of literary men, interesting anecdotes of, ii. - . franklin, dr., experiments with lightning, ii. . french revolution a commentary on the english, iii. . frondeurs, organized by cardinal de retz, iii. . fuggers, a wealthy family of merchants, i. , and note. funeral honours paid to their kings by the goths and huns, i. . galileo, condemned to disavow his own opinions, i. ; his annotations on tasso, ii. . gamesters, memoirs of celebrated, i. . gaming, a universal passion, i. ; treatises on, ib.; among the nations of the east, , ; the ancients, ib.; picture of a gambling-house in , ib. gardens, mediæval, ii. , note; gradual introduction of fruits and flowers, - . gas, origin of the word, iii. . gayton, edmund, his pleasant notes upon don quixote and other works, i. , note. gemara.--see talmud. genius, inequalities of, i. ; men of, deficient in conversation, ; modern persecution of, . gerbier, sir balthazar, a confidential agent of the duke of buckingham, ii. ; notices of his memoirs, - ; his account of the preparations for the siege of rochelle, . gestures significant, used by the ancients and by modern neapolitans, ii. , note. gethin, lady grace, her statue in westminster abbey, ii. ; her papers collected and published, under the title of reliquiæ gethinianæ, ; character of the book, ib.; congreve's laudatory lines on, ib.; its authenticity doubted, ; her considerations on the choice of a husband, . ghosts, theory of, iii. , . giannone, his history of naples, iii. ; threatened by the inquisition, ; died in the citadel of turin, ib. gibbon, his mode of study useful to students, ii. . gill, alexander, committed by the star chamber, ii. . gloves, supposed to be mentioned in the th psalm, i. ; account of, by xenophon, ib.; mentioned by several ancient writers, ib.; use of, universal in the th century, ; regulations concerning, ib.; employed on great and solemn occasions, such as investitures, ib.; abbots forbidden to use, ib.; blessing of, ; deprivation of, a mark of degradation, ib.; challenging by, ib.; used for secret correspondence, ib., note; use of, in carrying the hawk, ; formerly forbidden to judges, ib.; singular anecdote concerning, ib.; ancient, in the denny family, . glove-money, i. . goff, thomas, a tragic poet, specimens of his works, ii. . gondoliers of venice, description of their chanting the verses of tasso and ariosto, i. . gough, the antiquary, anecdote of, iii. . gray, loss of his mss., ii. . grotius, account of his life and studies, i. , . grub-street journal, extract from, ii. ; its authors, ib., note. guelphs and ghibellines, iii. . gueux, iii. . guibert, foretold the french revolution, iii. . guicciardini, his history posthumous, iii. ; first editions of his works castrated, ib.; continuation of his history by adriani, ib. guilt, trials and modes of proof of, in superstitious ages, i. - . gulliver's travels, account of the first edition, i. , note. hair, early taste in the colour of, ii. , and note. halifax, marquis of, his ms. memoirs suppressed, ii. . hall, bishop, his belief in witches, iii. , and note. halley, anecdote of his perseverance and sagacity, iii. . hamilton, elizabeth, her projected series of comparative biography, iii. . hans carvel, origin of prior's story of, i. . hardi, a french tragic author, ii. . harlequin, his italian origin, ii. ; turned into a magician by the english, ib.; the character essentially italian, ; treatises written on it, ; a roman mime, ib. and note; his classical origin, , note; his degeneration, ; his renovation under the hand of goldoni, ib.; improved into a wit in france, ib. hartlibb, samuel, a collector and publisher of manuscripts on horticulture and agriculture, ii. . harvey, his discovery of the circulation of the blood, iii. . hazlerigg, sir arthur, "an absurd bold man," a violent leader of the rump parliament, iii. . heart of a lover, story of, i. , . heavy hours of literary men, i. . hell, purgatory, and heaven, topographical descriptions of, i. ; treatises on, , . hemon de la fosse, a modern polytheist, executed in , i. . henrietta, queen of charles i., her character, ii. ; anecdote illustrative of, ib.; after the restoration, ; various descriptions of her person, ib.; her contract with the pope, ; account of her journey to england on her marriage, ; her french establishment, ; anecdote of her confessor's conduct, ; the dismissal of her french attendants, ; the amount of her supposed influence over her husband, . henry the seventh, anecdote of, ii. . henry the eighth, anecdote of, ii. ; his proclamation against reading the bible in english, iii. , note. henry, prince, son of james i., anecdote of, iii. - . henry, the english historian, loose and general in his references, ii. . heretics, a classification of, i. . hermippus redivivus, a curious jeu-d'-esprit, i. . heylin, a popular writer, died in , iii. ; his rival biographers, - ; his history of the puritans and presbyterians, . high sheriff's oath, exceptions taken to, by sir edward coke, iii. . history, of events which have not happened, a good title for a curious book, ii. ; speculative history of the battle of worcester, had it terminated differently, ; a history of this kind in livy, ib.; subjects for, - . history of new words.--see neology. of suppressed opinion, iii. - ; of writing masters, - . historians, remarks on the infidelities of, i. ; italian, commended, iii. ; notices of the most celebrated, - ; wrote for posterity, , ; fate of giannone, who published in his life-time, ; observations on, . holyday, barton, author of the comedy "the marriage of the arts," ii. . home, the author of the tragedy of "douglas," persecuted for composing it, i. . homer, notice of his detractors, i. ; profound knowledge of history, geography, arts, sciences, and surgery ascribed to, . hudibras, attacks upon butler, the author of, ii. ; various accounts of the original of the character, ; indecency avoided in, ; epitaph on the author of, ib.; attacks on butler's character, ; and vindication of, . hugh of lincoln, legend of, iii. , note. huguenot, origin of the term, iii. . hume, his carelessness in research, iii. . humphrey, duke, origin of the phrase "dining with," ii. , note. hurd, bishop, his proposed book of parallels, iii. . hymns set to popular tunes, ii. , note. idleness punished among the ancients, i. , . ikon basilike; its probable effects had it appeared a week sooner, ii. . iliad, in a nut-shell, i. . image-breakers, proclamation by elizabeth against, iii. , . imitators, masterly, i. , . imitations, of cicero, i. ; le brun's religious virgil and ovid, ib.; sannazarius's poem _de partu virginis_, ; arruntius an ancient imitator of sallust, ib.; modern, ib.; arabian anecdote, . imitations and similarities, poetical, various and curious instances of, ii. - . independents, their intolerance, iii. . index, of prohibited books, ii. ; expurgatory, ib.; congregation of the, ib.; reprinted by the heretics with annotations, ; effect of, in raising the sale of books, . indexes, fuller's observations on, i. . influence of a name, ii. - . inghirami, and forged etruscan antiques, iii. . inigo jones, his excellent machinery for exhibiting masques, iii. , . ink, inferiority of modern, ii. ; various kinds anciently used, . inquisition, establishment of, at toulouse, i. ; in spain, ; first proceeding of, ib.; taciturnity of the spaniards attributed to, ib.; anecdotes concerning, - ; history of, by orobio, . intemperance in study, i. . introducers of exotic flowers, fruits, &c., ii. , . ireland, w. h., his shakesperian forgeries, i. , note. isabella-colour, origin of term, i. . italians, their national genius dramatic, ii. . italian historians, iii. - . italic letter, introduction of, i. ; formerly called the aldine, . jacquerie, iii. . james the first gave credit to physiognomy, i. ; injustice done to his character for wit, ; distinguished as queen james, ; his ambassador's speech, ; _cleanliness_ of his court, ib.; his effeminacy, ib.; his general character, ib.; his imbecility in his amusements, ; his pedantry, ; account of his death, ; results of the author's further inquiry into the character of, ; his conduct regarding his son's expedition into spain, ii. ; his objections to laud's promotion, iii. ; his character vilified, ; his attention to the education of his children, ib.; his conduct towards his wife, - . james the second, kept a diary, ii. . jamet l'aÎnÉ, proposes to edit a new edition of the dictionary of trevoux, iii. . jansenists, the methodists of france, i. ; cause a biographical dictionary to be compiled, devoted to their cause, in opposition to that of l'avocat, ib.; specimens of this dictionary, , ; their curses never "lapsed legacies," . jerusalem, arabic chronicle of, only valuable from the time of mahomet, i. ; several portions translated by longuerue, ib. jesuits, a senate of, sent by sigismund, king of sweden, to represent him at stockholm, destroyed by stratagem, i. - . jesuit's snuff poisoned, ii. , note. jews of york, history of their self-destruction, ii. - . jocular preachers, i. - . jodelle, etienne, the first author of french tragedy, ii. . johnson, dr., his original memorandum of hints for the life of pope, ii. - . jonson, ben, fuller's character of, i. ; his arrogance, ; his ode on the ill reception of his play of "the new inn" quoted, ; owen feltham's ode in reply, ; randolph's consolatory ode to, ; his poem on translation, ii. ; employed on court masques, iii. - , . joseph vella, pretended to have recovered seventeen of the lost books of livy, i. ; patronized by the king of naples, ib.; discovered and imprisoned, . journals.--see literary journals. journalist, public, indispensable acquirements of a, i. . judicial combats, anecdotes of, i. , . kings, remark of st. chrysostom on, i. ; willing to be aided, but not surpassed, ; anecdotes of, ib.; observations of the duke of alva and of dr. johnson on, ; divine honours bestowed on, ; dethroned, ; anecdotes of, and their families, in misfortune, , ; descendants of, found among the dregs of the populace in conquered countries, ; funeral honours paid to, by the goths and huns, . kirk, colonel, original of the horrid tale of, related by hume, iii. . kissing hands, customary among the ancients as an act of adoration, ii. ; used by the primeval bishops, ib.; declined with paganism, ib.; prevailed at rome, ; an essential duty under the emperors, ib.; practised in every known country, ib. knox, john, his machiavelian politics, iii. ; his opinions on toleration, ; his predictions, , . lambe, dr., a magician, murdered in the streets of london, ii. ; fine and assessment on city companies in consequence, ib., note. la mothe le vayer, a great quoter, ii. . lamps, perpetual, i. ; possibility of, ib.; rosicrucians, ib. la rue, i. . latimer, bishop, curious sermons by, i. , and note; his youthful history, ii. , note. latour du chatel, a neglected contributor to the dictionary of trevoux, procures the mediation of the french government, iii. . lauder, william, pretended discovery of plagiarisms of milton, i. , and note. laureats, sketch of the history of, i. ; ancient, ib.; petrarch the first modern, ib.; degrees granted to, ib.; formula employed in granting the degree of, ; their honours disgraced in italy, ib.; querno crowned in a joke, ib.; honours lavished on, by maximilian i., ; honours still conferred on, in germany, ib.; unknown among the french, ib.; appointment of, in spain, ib.; in england never solemnly crowned, ; salary of, in england, ib. lazzaroni, iii. . lazzi, dramatic side-play, ii. . league, the, its pretext and its cause, iii. , . learned men, persecution of, i. ; poverty of, ; imprisonment of, ; amusements of, . le clerc, antagonist of bayle, and author of three bibliothèques, the universelle et historique, choisie, and ancienne et moderne, i. . le fevre, nicholas, edition of his works by lenglet du fresnoy, iii. , and note. legends, origin of, i. ; golden, ; of the seven sleepers, ; account of several, , ; golden, abounds in religious indecencies, ; of st. mary the egyptian, ib. leibnetz, his admiration of barclay's argenis, iii. ; anecdote of, iii. . lenglet du fresnoy, his "méthode pour étudier l'histoire," iii. ; his peculiar character, ib.; history of his méthode, , , and note, ib.; his literary history, ; a believer in alchymy, ; his political adventures, . le kain, anecdote of, i. . leo the tenth, motive of his projected alliance against the turks, iii. . l'estrange, sir roger, a strong party writer for charles ii., i. ; his Æsop's fables, . lettres de cachet, invented by father joseph, confessor to richelieu, iii. . libel, singular means used to discover the author of a, ii. . libels on the duke of buckingham, ii. - . liberty of the press, restrictions on, ii. - ; its freedom did not commence till , ; reflections on, .--see censors. libraries, i. ; celebrated egyptian and roman, - ; public, in italy and england, , ; in france and germany, , ; use of lights in, ; that of the palatine apollo destroyed by pope gregory viii., ; in bohemia, destroyed by the jesuits, ib.; destruction of, under henry viii. ib.; astronomical, in the ark of noah, ; irish, before the flood, ib.; adams's, ib.; modern opinion on their utility, iii. . licensers of the press.--see censors. lights, in public libraries, ordered in france by charles v., i. ; objection to, . lilly, the astrologer, notices of, i. - ; his great work, ; an exquisite rogue, ib. lipogrammatic works, i. . lipsius, justus, his opinions on toleration, iii. . literary blunders, a pair of lexicographical, i. ; instances of curious, - . literary composition, ii. - . literary controversy, specimens of luther's mode of managing, i. ; calvin's conduct of, ; beza imitates calvin's style in, ; opinion of bishop bedell on, ib.; conduct of the fathers in, ib.; grossness used in, ; of the nominalists and realists, . literary fashions, ii. ; applause given to a work supposed to be written by a celebrated man, ib.; notices of various, ib.; love all the fashion, ; spenser's faerie queen became one, ib.; the translation of greek tragedies, a, ib.; of the seventeenth century, ; of the time of charles i., ib.; of charles ii., and of more modern times, ib. literary follies, instances of various in the fantastical composition of verses, i. - ; strange researches made in antediluvian times to be classed with, - ; anecdote of a malicious one, ib.; various anecdotes concerning, - . literary forgeries, by dr. berkenhout, a letter from peele to marlow, i. ; by george steevens, iii. ; history of one, , ; by horace walpole, ; anecdote of steevens and gough, , , and notes; by de grassis, ib.; by annius of viterbo, , and mischievous consequences of, ib.; sanchoniathon, ; of etruscan antiquities, ib.; the false decretals of isidore, ; in the prayer-book of columbus, ib.; in the virgil of petrarch, ib.; by the duke de la vallière, ; by lauder, ; by psalmanazar, . literary friendships, ii. - . literary impositions, curious anecdotes of, i. , . literary impostures, i. ; by varillas, the french historian, ib.; supposed by gemelli carreri, but afterwards discovered to be fact, ib.; du halde's account of china compiled, ; damberger's travels, ib.; titles of works announced by the historiographer paschal, his works at his death amounting to six pages, ib.; by gregorio leti, ib.; forgeries of testaments politiques, ib.; pretended translations, ; travels of rabbi benjamin, ib.; by annius viterbo, ib.; by joseph vella, who pretended to have recovered seventeen of the lost books of livy, ; by medina condé, ; by george psalmanazar, ib.; lauder's, ; ireland's, ib.; by a learned hindu, ib.; anecdotes concerning, . literary journals, i. ; originated with the journal de sçavans, by denis de sallo, counsellor in the parliament of paris, ; nouvelles de la république des lettres, published by bayle in --continued by bernard, and afterwards by basnage in his histoire des ouvrages de sçavans, ; le clerc's bibliothèques universelle et historique, choisie, and ancienne et moderne, ib.; apostolo zeno's giornale de litterati d'italia, ib.; bibliothèque germanique, ; bibliothèque britannique, ib.; journal britannique by dr. maty, ib.; review conducted by maty, jun., ; mémoire des trévoux, ib.; journal littéraire, ib.; memoirs of literature and present state of the republic of letters, the best early english, ib.; monthly, ib. lollards, oath against them enforced upon sheriffs until reign of charles i., iii. ; repealed by the political feeling of coke, ib. longolius, or longueil, composed a biographical parallel between budæus and erasmus, iii. . lorenzo de' medici, effect of his death, ii. . louis the eighth, singular anecdote of the cause of his death, ii. . louis the eleventh, anecdote of, ii. , . louis the twelfth, cause of his death, ii. . louis the fourteenth, chose his courtiers by the rules of physiognomy, i. ; some remarks on his real character, ii, ; passages suppressed in his instruction to the dauphin, . louis l'abÉ, the aspasia of lyons, i. ; wrote the morality of "love and folly," ib. loups-garoux, iii. . lucullus, description of the library of, i. . luke, sir samuel, the true prototype of hudibras, ii. , and note. lunsford, colonel, imputed a cannibal, iii. , note. luther, martin, remarks on, and extracts from, his controversial writings, i. , ; caricatures on, , note; jansenist character of, ; anecdote of, from guicciardini, ii. , ; his political conduct, iii. . luynes, duc de, his origin, ii. . luxury, in dress, an old dramatist's opinion on, iii. ; doctrines of political economy concerning, ; excessive amongst our ancestors, ib.; the pas de sandricourt, - ; ruinous in the reigns of elizabeth, james i., and charles i., . mabbe, james, translator of "guzman" and "celestina," spanish plays, ii. ; ben jonson's verses in praise of, ib. machiavel discovered the secret of comparative history, iii. . mackenzie, sir george, notice of his treatise on solitude, ii. . mad-song, specimen of an ancient, ii. . magic, instances of many learned men accused of, i. - ; solomon accounted an adept in, . magius, charles, a noble venetian, iii. ; his travels and adventures contained in a volume of paintings, ib.; detailed description of, - . magliabechi, anthony, celebrated for his great knowledge of books, i. ; description of him and his mode of life, - . maii, the discoverer of cicero's treatise _de republica_, i. , and note. maillard, oliver, a famous cordelier and preacher, i. . maine, duc de, instituted the journal de trévoux, iii. ; and the dictionary of trévoux, ib. maintenon, madame de, marries scarron, i. ; corrects his style, ib. malherbe, his love of horace, iii. . malignants, iii. . man of one book, iii. - . mandrake, i. . manners, anecdotes of european, ii. - ; domestic, among the english, - . manuscripts, more valued by the romans than vases of gold, i. ; two thousand collected by trithemius, abbot of spanheim, who died , ; recovery of, - ; of the classics, disregarded and mutilated by the monks, ; researches for, at the restoration of letters, ; great numbers imported from asia, ; of quintilian discovered by poggio under a heap of rubbish, ib.; of tacitus found in a westphalian monastery, ib.; of justinian's code found in a city of calabria, ib.; loss of, ib.; unfair use made of by learned men, ; anecdotes concerning, - ; of galileo, partly destroyed by his wife's confessor, ; ancient, frequently adorned with portraits of the authors, ; destruction of, at the reformation, ; of lord mansfield destroyed in the riots of , and of dr. priestley by the mob at birmingham, ; loss of many of lady mary wortley montagu's letters, ; loss of letters addressed to peiresc, ib.; of leonardo da vinci, ib.; anecdotes of manuscripts of several celebrated works, - ; description of the ancient adornments of, ii. ; of pope's versions of the iliad and odyssey, ; of sir matthew hale, bequeathed to lincoln's inn, to avoid their mutilation by the licensers of the press, ; slaves employed to copy, ; of the vision of alberico, preserved in the king's library at paris, : of galileo's annotations on tasso, ; destruction of hugh broughton's, by speed, ; destruction of leland's, by polydore vergil, ib.; dilapidation of the harleian, ; suppression of one relating to sixtus iv. by fabroni, ib.; of the marquis of halifax suppressed, ; earl of pulteney's and earl of anglesea's ms. memoirs suppressed, ib.; anecdotes of the suppression of various, - ; mutilators of, ; of oldys's, iii. . marana, john paul, author of the turkish spy, i. - . marbles, presenting representations of natural forms, i. - . mare clausum, written by selden in answer to the mare liberum of grotius, ii. ; copies preserved in the chest of the exchequer and in the court of admiralty, ib. marionettes, improved by the english, iii. . marlborough, the great duke of (see blenheim), account of his wealth, iii. . marolles, abbé de, a most egregious scribbler, i. ; wrote his own memoirs, ; good advice in the postscript to the epistle dedicatory of that work, ib.; his memoirs, ii. ; anecdote of him and de l'etang, a critic, ; notices of his voluminous works, ib.; his magnificent collection of prints, . marot, clement, his character, ii. ; his translation of the psalms, ib.; sung to the airs of popular ballads, ; his psalms the fashion, ; edition published by theodore beza, set to music, ib.; his psalms declared lutheran, and himself forced to fly to geneva, ib. mar-prelate, the book suppressed, ii. . masks, worn by italian actors, ii. . massinger a student of the italian drama, ii. . masques, notices of magnificent, in the time of charles i., ii. ; the farewell masque of the duke of buckingham, ; mistaken notions of commentators regarding, iii. ; their real nature, , , ; description of the masque of night and the hours, ; their ultimate ruin, by their splendour, at the court of louis xiv., , note. massillon, i. . master of the ceremonies, created by james the first, ii. . masterly imitators, i. - . matrimony, its suitableness to learned men considered, i. - ; opinions of sir thomas browne upon, ; not borne out by his practice, ib. maximilian the first, founds a poetical college at vienna, i. . meals, hours of, ii. . medal, struck by the catholics to commemorate the massacre of the huguenots, iii. . medals, satiric, used as money in the saturnalia, iii. ; modern applications of, - . medicine and morals, considerations on their connection, ii. - ; connection of the mind with the body, . medina conde, forges deeds and inscriptions to benefit the church, i. ; sold a bracelet to the morocco ambassador, as part of the treasure of the last moorish king, yet in fact fabricated by himself, ib. memoirs, remarks on their interest as compared with history, i. . mendelssohn, anecdote of, i. . mendicity, punished among the jews and nations of antiquity, i. , ; first made a trade of by liberated christian slaves, ; punishment of in china, . menot, michael, a celebrated preacher, specimen of his sermons, i. . mental disorders, singular mode of cure of, ii. ; remarkable anecdotes of, - . metempsychosis, doctrines of, advocated in the present age, i. ; notion long extant in greece before the time of pythagoras, ib.; taught by the egyptians, ib.; entertained by many eastern nations and by the druids, ib.; welsh system of, explained by sharon turner, ; believed in mexico, ; plutarch's description of, ib. michael angelo, anecdote of, i. . mignard, a celebrated painter, curious anecdote concerning, i. , . milton, his controversy with salmasius and morus conducted with mutual revilings, i. , ; absurdly criticised by bentley, - ; indebted to andreini for the first idea of paradise lost, ii. ; his works suffered at the hands of both royalist and republican licensers, ; his areopagitica, ; a passage in his history of england suppressed, but preserved in a pamphlet, ; his comus escaped the destruction of the bridgewater papers, ; the story of him and the italian lady, probably an invention of george steevens, iii. ; copied from a french story purporting to be of the th century, . milliners'bills, ancient and modern, ii. . mimes, arch-mime followed the body of vespasian at his funeral, iii. . mimi, an impudent race of buffoons, ii. ; harlequin, a roman mime, , and note. ministers, origin of the term as applied to the pastors of christian churches, i. ; palaces built by, notices of several, iii. - ; sir robert walpole's remarks on the imprudence of their erecting such, ; yet builds one himself, ib. minstrels, ancient and modern, pickpockets, ii. , note. mishna, see talmud. missals, gross adornments of, i. . modern stories and plots, many derived from the east, i. , . modes of salutation in various nations, ii. . monk, general, anecdote of him and his wife, i. ; his conduct towards charles ii. at his landing, iii. . montagu, lady mary wortley, suppression of her mss., ii. . montfleury, a french actor, death of, i. . montluc, bishop of valence, his negotiations for the election of the duke of anjou as king of poland, iii. - . moraliities, see mysteries and moralities. morality of "every man," referred by percy to the class of tragedy, ii. . more, doctor, his extravagant platonic opinions, i. . morus, controversy of salmasius with milton, continued by, with mutual abuse, i. . music, use of, in discovering indispositions by the voice, i. ; influence of, in the cure of diseases, - ; effect of, on animals, - . mutilations commonly practised in the middle ages, ii. . mysteries, ancient, bibliographical note of such as are printed, i. , note; one still performed in bavaria, i. , note. mysteries and moralities introduced by pilgrims, i. ; subsequently distinguished characters actors in, ; performed in open plains, ib.; indulgence granted to frequenters of, ib.; at chester, ib.; singular anecdotes concerning a mystery, ; specimens from french mysteries, ; observations of bayle and warton on, ; distinguished from each other, ib.; specimen of a morality, ; moralities allegorical dramas, ib.; passion of rené d'anjou for, ; triple stage used for representation of, ; anecdote relating to an english mystery, ib.; morality of "love and folly," ; at kendal, yorkshire, iii. ; usually performed in the festival of corpus christi, ib., note. names, anecdotes relating to, and to their effect on mankind, ii. - ; orthography of proper, ii. - ; names of our streets, - . names, significance of roman, ii. , note. nardi, his history of florence, iii. . natural productions resembling artificial compositions, i. - . neal, his account of the nonconformists, iii. . needham, marchmont, the great patriarch of newspaper writers, i. ; short account of, ib. neology, or the novelty of new words and phrases, remarks on, iii. ; neological dictionary proposed by lord chesterfield, ; not always to be condemned, ; examples of the introduction of various new words in french and english, - ; the term "fatherland" introduced by the author, ; picturesque words, . nerli, philip, his "_commentarj de fatti civili_," iii. . newcastle, margaret, duchess of, celebrated among literary wives, i. - ; her account of her husband's mode of life, ii. , . newspapers, forged, and used unsuspectingly by historians, i. , note. newspapers, originated in italy, i. ; called gazettas, ib.; first a venetian, published monthly, ib.; circulated in manuscript, ib.; prohibited by gregory xiii., ib.; first english, ; much used by the english during the civil wars of cromwell, and notices of these, - ; origin of, in france, ; first daily one after the restoration, ib.; only one daily, in the reign of queen anne, ib.; union between them and literary periodicals, opinions expressed on, ib. newton, remarks on, iii. . niccoli, nicholas, founded the first public library in italy, i. . nicknames, use of, practised by political parties, iii. ; instances of many, - ; serve to heat the minds of the people, ; of various parliaments, ; effect of, on ministers, . nobility, conduct of kings towards, ii. , . noblemen turned critics, pair of anecdotes concerning, i. . nominalists and realists, i. . nostrodamus, consulted by catherine de' medici, i. . novels, the successors of romances, i. ; adam smith's favourable opinion of, ib. numerical figures, of indian origin, i. ; introduction of arabic, ; roman, ib.; origin of roman, ib.; falsification of arabic, . obscurity, in style, taught by a professor, i. ; lycophron possessed this taste, ; defence of, by thomas anglus, ib.; gravina's observations on, ib. old age, progress of, in new studies, i. ; remark of adam smith, on resumption of former studies in, ib. oldys, a literary antiquary, iii. ; caricature of, by grose, ; released from the fleet by the duke of norfolk, and made norroy king at arms, ib., and note; author of the anacreontic, "busy, curious, thirsty fly," ; placed in the library of the earl of oxford, ; his integrity, ib., and note; his literary labours, - ; his life of rawleigh, ; history of his two annotated copies of langbaine, ; fate of his mss., ; his diaries, ; his readiness to aid others with his knowledge, ; his dissertation on english poetry curtailed by the bookseller, ; extracts from his diaries, - ; his intended life of shakspeare, ; anecdote of him and pope, . olivetan bible, iii. . opinions, suppressed, modes of expressing them in ancient and modern times, iii. ; in the saturnalia, ib.; by carvings and illuminations, ; preceding the reformation, ; instance of the olivetan bible, ; by medals and prints, . orchis, bee and fly, i. . ordeals, i. - . ordinaries, the "hells" of the th century, ii. ; description of the arts practised at, - . orobio, his description of his imprisonment in the inquisition, i. . orthography of proper names, ii. ; of the name of shakespeare, ii. , note; of sir walter raleigh, iii. . osman, sultan, promotes his gardener, ii. . oxford, edward vere, earl of, his secret history, ii. - . palaces built by ministers, iii. - . palingenesis.--see regeneration. palmer, the actor, his death, i. . pamphlets, sketch of myles davis's history of, i. ; origin and rise of, ; one pretended to have been composed by jesus christ, ib.; alexander pope denounced as a plotter in a, ; etymologies of the word, - . pantomime, french verses in praise of, and translation of, ii. ; cervantes and bayle's delight in, , ; harlequin, ; of the lower italians in their gestures, ib.; treatises on, ; transmitted from the romans, ; improvement of, by ruzzante, ; the history of a people traced in, ; description of the various characters in italian, . pantomimi, tragic actors usually mute, ii. ; seneca's taste for, ib.; their influence over the roman people, . pantomimical characters. see pantomime; massinger and molière indebted to, ii. ; remarks on shakspeare's "pantaloon," . paper, among the ancients, ii. , ; introduction into england, ; various sorts of modern, ib. paracelsus, his receipt for making a fairy, iii. , . paradise lost, prose and verse versions of, i. . parisian massacre, apology for, iii. - , . park, mungo, his book interpolated and altered by his editor, bryan edwards, ii. . parker, bishop of oxford, iii. , note. parodies, anecdote relating to, ii. ; resembles mimicry, ; not made in derision, ib.; practised by the ancients, ; ancient, of homer, ib.; modern, ; dramatic, anecdotes of modern, - ; legitimate use of, ib. parpaillots, or parpirolles, iii. . particular providence, various opinions on, ii. - ; the granting a free-conduct to luther, by charles v., possibly one, . pasquin and marforio, account of, i. . pasquinades, origin of, and instances of several, i. . patrons, their treatment of authors, i. ; anecdotes regarding, , ; opinion of dr. johnson upon, . paulus jovius, description of the country-house and collections of statues, books, and portraits belonging to, i. ; description of the villa built by, iii. . pazzi, cavaliero, founder of the accademia colombaria, ii. . peg-tankards, ii. , and note. peiresc, a man of incessant literary occupations, and an enthusiast in the importation of exotic plants, ii. ; anecdotes of, iii. . pembroke, anne, countess of, designed a history of her family, iii. . perfumery and costly washes, introduced into england by the earl of oxford, i. . petitions, to parliament against the drama, ii. ; mock, ib. petitioners and abhorrers, iii. . petrach, formula used at his coronation with the laurel crown, i. ; his passion for literary composition, ii. ; his laura, iii. . pictorial biography.--see magius. pisistratus, the first projector amongst the greeks of a collection of the works of the learned, i. . philip the first of spain, i. ; his marriage with mary of england, ib.; sought queen elizabeth in marriage, ; offered himself to three different sisters-in-law, ib.; his advice to his son, ib.; his death-bed, ib.; his epitaph, . philosophy, dreams at the dawn of, iii. - ; mechanical fancies, , ; inquiries after prodigies, ; further anecdotes of, - . physiognomy, credited by louis xiv. and james i., i. , . picart, his _impostures innocentes_, i. . pictures belonging to charles i., ii. , . pinamonti, his book on the eternal punishments, i. , note. pinelli, his great library, and its partial destruction, i. , and note. plagiarism, in printed sermons, i. ; a professor of, ib. plants, presenting representations of natural forms, i. . plantyn the printer, and his office at antwerp, i. , note. platina, his account of his persecution and tortures, for having been a member of the "academy" at rome, ii. . plato, aristotle studied under, i. ; parallel between him and aristotle, ib.; contest between him and aristotle, ; the model of the moderns who profess to be anti-poetical, ; a true poet himself, ib. platonism, modern, originated among the italians, i. ; system of, by gemisthus pletho, ib.; professed by a mr. thomas taylor, ; by a scholar in the reign of louis xii., ; by dr. more, ib. pletho, or gemisthus, a remarkable modern professor of platonism, i. . platts or plots, theatrical discovery of curious ones at dulwich college, and remarks upon, ii. - ; see scenario. plott, dr., his project of a tour, iii. . plunder, etymology of, iii. , and note. poets, plato's description of the feelings of, in the phædon, i. ; opinions of various learned men on the works of, ; remarks on the habits of, , ; behaviour of frederic king of prussia (father of the great frederic) to, ; different conduct of other kings towards, ; honours paid to, in the early stage of poetry, ib.; anecdote of margaret of scotland and alain the poet, ; opinions of the pious on the works of, ib.; too frequently merely poets, ; hints to young, ; to veteran, ib.; mistresses of, ; change their opinions of their productions, ib.; antiquity of the custom of crowning, ; abolished in the reign of theodosius, ib.; regal, ; condemned, ii. - ; laureat, see laureats. poetical garland, i. . poetical imitations and similarities, ii. - . point-device, etymology of, iii. , and note. poland, history of the election of the duke of anjou as king of, iii. - . polichinello.--see punch. politian, angelo, a polished italian writer of the th century, i. ; his dedicatory epistle, prefixed to his epistles, . political nicknames, iii. - . political reports, false maxim on the efficacy of, ii. ; ancient instances, ib.; of the battle of lutzen, ; on the battle of the boyne, ib.; other anecdotes, modern and ancient, of the effect of, - . political religionism, illustrations of its effects, iii. - . political prognostics.--see predictions. dugdale hastened his labours in anticipation of the disorders of the rebellion, iii. . political parallels, iii. . polydore vergil, a destroyer of mss., ii. . pomponius lÆtus, in the th century raised altars to romulus, ii. ; chief of the "academy" at rome, . pope, his manuscripts, ii. ; passage from, with the various alterations, , ; dr. johnson's memorandum of hints for the life of, ; anecdote of, iii. . pope, project of the, for placing a cardinal on the throne of england, ii. ; favoured by henry iv., ib. popes, their early humility and subsequent arrogance, ii. ; celestine kicks off the crown of the emperor henry the sixth, ib.; their infallibility first asserted, ib.; protest of the university of vienna against, ; their excommunications, ib. porta, john baptiste and john vincent, found the academy "degli oziosi," ii. ; baptiste's mechanical genius, iii. . portraits, of authors, of celebrated men, i. - ; of the fugger family, ; commonly prefixed to ancient manuscripts, ; collections of, amongst the ancients, ; query upon the mode of their transmission and their correctness, ib.; use of, ib.; anecdotes relative to the effect of, ; objections of ingenious men to sit for, reprobated, ; granger's illustrations of, ; perrault's "eloges" confined to french, ib.; collection by paulus jovius, ib.; doubts as to authenticity of several, ib.; literary, of himself, by st. evremond, ; in minute writing, . port royal society, the, i. ; their logic, or the art of thinking, an admirable work, ib.; account of its rise and progress, ; many families of rank erected houses there, ib.; persecuted and destroyed by the jesuits, ; their writings fixed the french language, ib. posies on rings, iii. , note. poverty, abridgment of history of, by morin, i. ; regulations regarding, among the jews, ib.; among the greeks, romans, and egyptians, ; uncommon among the ancients, ; introduction of hospitals for the relief of, ib. prayer-books, gross illustrations of, i. . preachers, jocular, i. - . prediction, political and moral, determined by certain prognostics, iii. ; of the reformation by cardinal julian, sir thomas more, and erasmus, ; by sir walter rawleigh, ; of tacitus, ib.; of solon, ; of charlemagne, ib.; cicero's art of, ib.; faculty of, possessed by du vair, ; principles of, revealed by aristotle, ; by mr. coleridge, ; of the french revolution, , ; frequently false, ; anecdotes, ; of the end of the world, ib., note; of the destruction of london in , ib., note; of american independence, ; sometimes condemned as false when really verified, ; caution to be observed in, ; instances of, by knox, ; of the death of henry iv., ib.; reflections on, , . prefaces, frequently superior to the work, i. ; a volume of, always kept ready by cicero, ib.; ought to be dated, ; anecdote of du clos' to a fairy tale, ii. . preferment, anecdotes of, ii. . presbyterians, their conduct under charles ii., iii. ; their intolerance, . press-money, proposition that those who refused it should be tried by martial law, iii. , and note. price, robert, a welsh lawyer, incidents in his life, iii. . primero, a game at cards described, ii. , note. prince henry, son of james i., resembled henry v. in his features, ii. ; dr. birch's life of, ; anecdotes concerning, - ; his diary, . printing, art of, possessed by the romans without being aware of it, i. , and note; probably originated in china, ib., and note; general account of early, - . printers, mention of early, i. . prints, satiric, iii. . proclamations, against long swords and deep ruffs, i. ; royal, against buildings in london, iii. ; to enforce a country residence, ; never possessed the force of laws, ; of henry viii., ; of mary, ; of edward vi., ; of elizabeth, ; of james i., ; of charles i., ; of charles ii. against vicious, debauched, and profane persons, ib.; others by charles ii., . profession, the choice of one and its influence on the mind, with some illustrative anecdotes, ii. - . proper names, orthography of, the uncertainty of, ii. ; anecdotes and instances of, - . protestantism, once existed in spain, ii. . proverbs, use of, derided by lord chesterfield, iii. ; records of the populace, ; existed before books, ib.; abound in the most ancient writers, ib.; "the dark sayings of the wise," ; introduced into the greek drama, ; definition of, ; influence of, over a whole people, ib.; collection of, by franklin, ib.; inscribed on furniture, ib.; english, collected by heywood, ; a speech of, ; an era of, amongst the english, ; long favourites in france, ib.; comedy of, ib.; family, ; ancient examples of the use of, ; some, connected with the characters of eminent men, ; use of, by poets, ib.; eastern origin of many, ; collection of, by polydore vergil and erasmus, of spanish by fernandez nunes, of italian and french, english and scotch, , ; study of, ; illustrative of national character, - ; anecdotes of the origin of certain, - ; historical, ; remarks on the arrangement of collections of, . prynne, his method of composition, ii. ; his extraordinary perseverance, ib.; title of the catalogue of his writings, ; copy of his works bequeathed to sion college, ib.; the pretended retractation of his histriomastix, iii. , note. psalm-singing, remarks on, ii. ; first introduction of, ib.; t. warton's criticism of, ; history of, - ; practised at lord mayor's feasts, . psalmanazar, his extraordinary literary forgery, i. , note; iii. ; some account of, - . puck, the commentator.--see steevens. pulteney, earl of bath, ms. memoirs of, suppressed, ii. . punch, his ancient origin, ii. , and note; origin of his name, ib., note. punchinello.--see punch. punning, in a dictionary, i. . puns, cicero's, i. . puppet-shows in england, iii. . purgatory, cardinal bellarmin's treatise on, i. . puritans, turn bacchanalian songs into spiritual ones, ii. . puritans and precisians, party nicknames at the reformation, iii. , . pyrotechnics.--see fireworks. quadrio, his universal history of poetry, iii. ; his ignorance of english poetry, - ; his opinion of english comedy, ; praises our puppet-shows, . queen mary the first, her marriage with philip of spain, i. ; her letter of instructions, ib. queen elizabeth, letter of, to her brother, edward vi., i. ; her exhibition of youthfulness to the ambassador of the scottish king, ; remarkable period in her annals, ii. ; her maiden state, ib.; real cause of her repugnance to change it, ib., and note; her artifices to conceal her resolution, ; debates of the commons on the succession to, ; address to, by the duke of norfolk, and her answer, ib.; despatch of the french ambassador on this occasion, - ; her judicious conduct, ib.; her conduct towards printers and authors, , ; her dislike to the appointment of a successor, iii. ; account of her death-bed, , . queen anne bullen, anecdote relative to her execution, i. . querno, made laureat for the joke's sake, i. . quevedo, his love for don quixote, iii. . quince, origin of, ii. , note. quodlibets, or scholastic disquisitions, i. . quotation, remarks on the use of, ii. ; selden's precept for, violated by himself, ; bayle's remarks on the use of, ; when used by an eminent author often appropriated by an inferior, ; value of the proper application of, . rabbinical stories, specimens of, i. - ; scripture quoted to support, . rantzau, founder of the great library at copenhagen, stanzas by, i. . ranz des vaches, effect of, i. . rawleigh, sir walter, composed his history of the world in prison, i. ; assisted in that work by several eminent persons, ib.; variations in orthography of his name, iii. , note; author's account of his character, ; gibbon's and hume's observations on, ; cunning practised by, ib.; anecdotes of, ; account of his return from guiana, , ; his attempt to escape, ; betrayed by sir lewis stucley, ; narrative of his last hours, - ; his history of the world, the labour of several persons, ; note on mr. tytler's remarks on the author's account of, , note; his extravagance in dress, ; notice of oldys's life of, . raynaud, theophilus, his works fill twenty folios, and ruined his bookseller, ; notice of, ; his curious treatises, ib. realists, a sect of scholars, i. . reformation, origin of, iii. . refutation, a catholic's, i. . regeneration of material bodies, iii. , . relics of saints, bought, sold, and stolen, i, ; treatise on, by gilbert de nogent, ib.; of st. lewin, ib.; of st. indalece, ; of st. majean, ib.; of st. augustin's arm, ib.; flogging of, ib.; miracles performed by, ib.; miraculously multiplied, ; anecdote of a box of, presented by the pope to prince radzivil, ib.; frederick the wise, a great collector of, ; phial of the blood of christ sent to henry iii., ib.; fall in price of, ib.; deceptive, . religion, state of, during the civil wars, iii. ; illustrative anecdotes of, - ; contest between owen and baxter on, ; confusion of, ib.; a colt baptised in st. paul's cathedral, , and note; anecdotes, - ; noticed by george wither the poet, ; ordinance of the parliament to rectify the disorders in, . religionism distinguished from religion, iii. . religious nouvellettes, a class of very singular works, i. ; account of one, ; notice of one discussing three thousand questions concerning the virgin mary, ; life of the virgin, ; jesuits usual authors of, ; one describing what passes in paradise, ib.; the spiritual kalendar, ib. representation, right of, not fixed in the th century, i. . residences of literary men, notices of several, iii. - . reviews.--see literary journals. revolutions, maxim on, iii. . rhymes inscribed on _knives_, and alluded to by shakespeare, iii. , note; on _fruit trenchers_, ib.; on _rings_, , note. riccoboni, a celebrated actor, his remarks on the italian extempore comedy, ii. ; anecdote of, ; his inscription on the curtain of his theatre, ib. rich, a celebrated harlequin, ii. , and note. richardson, the author of _sir charles grandison_, remarks on him and his works, ii. - . richelieu, cardinal de, his general character, ii. ; his death-bed, ib.; anecdotes of the sinister means practised by, ; his confessor, father joseph, - ; projects of assassination of, , and note; drives father caussin, the king's confessor, into exile, . rive, abbé de, librarian of the duke de la vallière, iii. ; his style of criticism, ; his collections for works never begun, ib.; his observations on the cause of the errors of literary history, . robinson crusoe, remarks on, ii. ; history of, traced, ; written by defoe, after illness, and in comparative solitude, ; not published till seven years after selkirk's adventures, . roc, the, of arabian tales, a creature of rabbinical fancy, i. . rochefoucault de la, remarks on him and his maxims, i. . rochelle, expedition to, ii. ; preparations for, ib.; frustrated by the death of buckingham, . romances, the offspring of fiction and love, i. ; early, ib.; that of heliodorus denounced in the synod, ; forbidden in the koran, ib.; of the troubadours, ; modern poets indebted to, ib.; le roman de perceforest, ; of chivalry, examples of, ; italian, ; use made of by poets, ; french, ib.; went out of fashion with square cocked hats, ; modern novels, ib.; histories of, ; d'urfé's astræa, ib. romney the painter, his belief in alchymy, i. , and note. ronsard, the french bard, and his bacchanalia, ii. . rosy-cross, the president of, proffers his advice to charles i., iii. . rousseau, his prediction of the french revolution, iii. , , and note; his favourite authors, iii. . royal autographs, iii. . royal promotions, ii. . royal society, origin of, ii. - . royal society of literature, ii. , note. rubens, his house at antwerp, iii. ; his love for collections of art, , and note. ruffs, extravagances in, i. - . rump, the origin of the term, iii. , ; three stages in its political progress, ; songs upon, ; debate of the, whether to massacre all the king's party, ; parallel between their course of conduct and that of the leaders in the french revolution, - . sainte ampoule, ii. , note. salmasius, his controversy with and abuse of milton, i. - . salvator rosa, fond of acting in extemporal comedy, ii. . sandricourt, the sieur de, ruined himself by one fête, iii. - . sans culottes, iii. . st. ambrose, writes a treatise on virgins, i. ; and another on the perpetual virginity of the mother of god, ib.; his chastisement of an erring nun, ib. st. bartholomew, apology for the massacre of, iii. - . st. evremond, literary portrait of, by himself, i. . st. ursula and the eleven thousand virgins all created out of a blunder, i. . st. viar, created by an error, i, . satirical medals, iii. - . satirists may dread the cane of the satirised, i. . saturnalia, institution of among the romans, derived by macrobius from the grecians, ii. ; dedicated to saturn, ib.; latterly prolonged for a week, ; description of, ib.; crept into the christian church, , and note; practised in the middle ages, ; feast of asses, ib.; "december liberties," ; the boy-bishop, ; lord of misrule, ib.; abbot of unreason, ; description of a grand christmas held at the inns of courts, - , and note; the last memorable, of the lords of misrule of the inns of court, ; anecdote of a lord of misrule, ; the mayor of garratt, ; regiment de la calotte, ib., and note, ; republic of baboonery, ib.; medals used for money in, iii. , . sauntering, i. . savages, various usages of at meals, i. - . scaliger, julius, his singular manner of composition, ii. . scaramouches.--see pantomime. punch and zany, prints of, ii. ; character of, invented by tiberio fiurilli, ; power of a celebrated, ib. scaron, account of his life and works, i. - . scenery of the old english stage, iii. , and note. scenarie, the plots of extemporal comedies, ii. ; description of, note; some discovered at dulwich college, , , and note. scribleraid, the, a poetical jest on pseudo-science, by r. o. cambridge, i. , and note. scripture story treated like mediæval romance, i. , and note. scudery, mademoiselle, composed ninety romances, i. ; panegyrics on, ib.; her "great cyrus and map of tenderness," . scudery, george, famous for composing romances, i. ; a votary of vanity, ib.; author of sixteen plays, . secret history, of authors who have ruined their booksellers, ii. - ; of an elective monarchy, iii. - ; the supplement of history itself, iii. ; reply to an attack on the writers of, ; two species of, positive and relative, ib.; the true sources of to be found in ms collections, ; neglect of by historians, ; its utility, ; of the restoration, ; of mary, the queen of william iii., - . sedan chairs, introduced into england by the duke of buckingham, ii. . segni, bernardo, his history of florence, iii. . sentimental biography, iii. - . serassi, writes the life of tasso, ii. ; finds galileo's ms. annotations, copies them, and suppresses the original, ib. sermons, printed, bayle's saying on, i. . seymour, william, his family and character, ii. ; enters into a treaty of marriage with the lady arabella stuart, ib.; summoned before the privy council, ib.; his marriage, ; imprisoned in the tower, ib.; his wife's letter to him, ; his escape, ; is permitted to return, . shakespeare, fuller's character of, i. ; orthography of his name, ii. , and note; introduces a masque in his "tempest," and burlesques the characters in court masques, iii. , and note; bequest to his wife, . shenstone, the object of his poem of the schoolmistress misunderstood, ii. ; his ludicrous index to, ; his character, his life, and his works, iii. - . shoeing-horns, ii. , note. silhouette, a term not to be found in any dictionary, iii. ; originated in a political nickname, ib. silk stockings, pair of, presented to queen elizabeth, i. . silli, ancient parodies, ii. . skelton, his satire on wolsey, iii. . sneezing, the custom of saluting after, i. ; attributed to st. gregory, ib.; rabbinical account of, ib.; anecdotes concerning, . snuff-boxes, the rage, in the reign of queen anne, i. ; the jesuits', reported to be poisoned, ii. . solitude, treatise on, by sir george mackenzie, ii. ; necessary for the pursuits of genius, ; discomforts of , . solomon, accounted an adept in necromancy, i. ; story of him and the queen of sheba, . songs among the grecians, ii. ; sayings of fletcher of saltoun, and dr. clerk on, ib.; greek songs of the trades, ; of the weavers among the english, ib.; harvest and oar-songs in the highlands, ib.; of the gondoliers, ib.; dibdin's, ; old english, ; swiss, ; italian, composed at florence, under the medici, ib.; french "chansons de' vendange," ; parodied, by puritans, ; slang or flash, known to the greeks, and specimens from athenæus, ; ancient practices in, connected with old english customs, ; political, iii. , . sonnah, the, i. . sotades travestied the iliad, ii. . sotties, more farcical than farce, i. ; specimen of one, - . sovereignty of the seas, ii. - . spanish etiquette, instances of its absurdity, i. . spanish poetry, i. ; remarks on and illustrative quotations of, ; translation of a madrigal found in a newspaper, . speed, the historian, suspicions of his originality, ii. . spenser, fuller's character of, i. . spiders, influence of music on, i. ; admired as food, ii. , note. stanzas to laura, i. . starching, origin of, i. . steevens, george, the puck of commentators, iii. ; account of his literary forgeries, , ; the story of milton and the italian lady attributed to, ; his motives for omitting the poems from his edition of shakespeare, ; his trick on the antiquary gough, , . stephens, robert, the printer, his family and their works, i. , note; divided the bible into chapter and verse, iii. . sternhold and hopkins, their version of the psalms, ii. . stones, presenting representations of natural forms, i. , . stosch, baron, his dishonest collecting, iii. . streets of london, origin of many of their names, ii. - . stuart, arabella, mistakes of historians regarding, ii. ; her history, - . stucley, sir lewis, vice-admiral of devon, accepted a surveillance over his kinsman, sir walter rawleigh, iii. ; his base treachery, ; universally shunned in consequence, ; convicted of clipping gold, ib.; his miserable death, . student in the metropolis, the, description of, by gibbon, rogers, and descartes, i. . study, plans of historical, ii. - . stukeley, dr., his imaginary history of the empress oriuna, i. , note. style, remarks on, in the composition of works of science, i. ; strictures on the, of theological writers, ii. , ; on that of lancelot addison, . sugar-loaf-court, origin of the name, ii. . suppression of mss.--see manuscripts. sydenham, f., his melancholy death occasions the foundation of the literary fund, i. , and note. tablets, and table-books, ii. . talmud, many copies of, burnt, i. ; a collection of jewish traditions orally preserved, ; comprises _mishna_, which is the text of the _gemara_, its commentary, ib.; general account of, ib.; believed apocryphal, even by a few among the jews, ib.; time of the first appearance of its traditions uncertain, ib.; compiled by jewish doctors to oppose the christians, ib.; analysis of, by w. wotton, ; two talmuds, ib.; committed to writing, and arranged by r. juda, prince of the rabbins, forming the mishna, ib.; disputes and opinions of the rabbins on the form of the mishna, ib.; god's study of, ib.; curious, from its antiquity, ; specimens of, from the mishnic titles, - ; and from the gemara, . tasso, various opinions on the respective merits of him and ariosto, i. ; boileau's criticism on, ; his errors national, ib.; his verses sung by the gondoliers, ib. taxation, remarks on the popular feeling on, in ancient and modern times, iii. ; associated with the idea of tyranny, ib.; illustrative anecdotes, ; efficacy of using a mitigated term for, ; gifts, tribute, benevolences, and loans, - ; burleigh's advice on, . taylor, thomas, a modern professor of platonism, i. . tea, opposition to the introduction of, ii. ; present of, declined by the russian ambassador, ; dutch bargain for, ; introduction into europe, ib.; shop-bill of the first vendor of, . tenures, curious ancient, i. , note. thomas aquinas, some account of the works of, i. - . timon of philius, his parodies of homer, ii. . tichbourne, chidiock, concerned in babington's conspiracy, ii. ; his address to the populace at his execution, ; his letter to his wife, ; verses composed by him the night before his execution, . titles, origins of, and anecdotes concerning, i. ; book of, published in spain, ib.; selden's _titles of honour_, ib.; of books, - . toleration, practised by the romans, and inculcated by mahomet, iii. ; caution used in publishing works on, ib.; early english advocates of, , and note; in holland, ib.; facts illustrative of the history of, , ; condemned by all parties, - ; opinions of an english clergyman on, . tom o' bedlams, account of, ii. - , and notes; songs of, - . torture, felton threatened with, ii. ; its frequent use in england, ib. torquemada, first spanish inquisitor, in fourteen years persecuted , individuals, i. . townley, zouch, his poem on felton, ii. ; collection of antique marbles formed by his descendant charles townley, purchased for the british museum, ib., note. traitors, barbarous mode of execution of, in queen elizabeth's time, ii. , and note. treasures in hills, iii. , note. trevoux.--see dictionary. troubadors, their poems and their loves, i. . trusler, doctor, first vendor of printed sermons imitating manuscript, i. . turner, doctor, a violent opposition leader in the second parliament of charles i., iii. ; an agent of the opposition in parliament against the measures of charles i., ; a disappointed courtier, , note. turkish spy, the, i. ; john paul marana, the author of, . urban the eighth, instances of his poetic sensibility, i. . usurers of the th century, notice of the practices of, ii. - . usury, contrary opinions on, ii. , . utopia, sir thomas more's, missionaries proposed to be sent to, i. . vaccination, strange dread of, ii. . vallancey's collectanea, curious error in, i. , note. vanbrugh, the architect of blenheim, got a power from lord godolphin to contract in the duke of marlborough's name, iii. ; produces the power, ; his depositions, ib.; attempt of the duchess of marlborough to charge the debts of blenheim on, ; conduct of the duchess towards, ; discovery of his origin, , . varchi, benedetto, his "storie florentine," iii. ; remarks of mr. merivale on, ib., note. varillas, his fictitious work on the reformation, i. , note. vasari's history of artists, not entirely written by himself, iii. . vatican, library of, i. . vaucanson, his mechanical figures, iii. , note. vaudevilles, origin of the name, ii. . verses, follies in the fantastical forms of, i. - ; reciprocal, ib. vicar of bray, story of the, i. ; dr. kitchen, bishop of llandaff, acted the same part, ; type of, ii. . vida, jerome, from the humblest obscurity attained to the episcopacy, i. . vision of alberico, ii. ; of charles the bald, . virgin mary, images of, frequently portraits of mistresses and queens, i. ; miraculous letter of, ; louis ii. conveys boulogne to, ib.; life of, by maria agreda, ib.; worship paid to, in spain, ; system of, in seven folio vols., . virginity, st. ambrose's treatise on, i. . walker, his account of the clergy of the church of england who were sequestered, &c., iii. . walpole, sir robert, his magnificent building at houghton, iii. . walsingham, sir francis, died in debt, iii. . walworth, sir william, his private motive for killing wat tyler, iii. , note. warburton, j., by neglect causes the destruction of old manuscript plays, i. , note. wat tyler, anecdote of, iii. , note. westminster elections always turbulent from the days of charles the first, iii. , note. whig and tory, origin of the terms, iii. . whistlecraft's poem on king arthur, ii. , note; imitated by byron in his beppo, ib. whitelocke, his memorials, ii. ; his remembrances, a work addressed to his family, lost or concealed, ib.; preface to the remembrances preserved, ib.; omissions in first edition of his memorials, ii. . wife, literary, i. ; of budæus, ; of evelyn, who designed the frontispiece to his translation of lucretius, ib.; of baron haller, ib.; calphurnia, wife of pliny, ib.; margaret, duchess of newcastle, ; extract from her epistle to her husband, ib.; notices of the wives of various celebrated men, - . wigs, custom of using, i. - ; steele's, . wilkins, bishop, his museum, iii. . winkelmann, the plan on which he composed his works, ii. . wolsey, cardinal, his magnificent houses, iii. . women, actors, first introduced on the italian stage, ii. ; on the english, ; kynaston a favourite actor of female characters, , note. woodcuts, ancient, in the british museum, i. , note. words, introduction of new.--see neology. wood, anthony, when dying, caused his papers to be destroyed, ii. ; some, however, preserved, ib.; secret history of the earl of oxford drawn from, ib.; compelled to disavow the translation of his book, ; gibbon's opinion of his dulness opposed, , note. writing, minute, i. ; ancient modes of, ii. - ; materials used for, - . writing-masters, iii. ; massey's lives of, ; anecdote of tomkins, ; peter bales, a celebrated, ; account of his contest with david johnson, - . xenocrates, pupil of plato, attacked aristotle, i. . yvery, notice of the history of the house of, iii. , and note. zany, etymology of the word, ii. ; and notes. the end. transcriber's note: the following typographical errors have been corrected: in page : "y l pedir dolor." amended to "y el pedir dolor." in page : "the plan consists of a dialogue betwen a philosopher and a sancho pança..." 'betwen' amended to 'between'. in page : added double quotes at the begining of: "lo! the nominalists and the realists again!" in page : added double quotes at the end of: "he is dead, sir! asking your pardon for mentioning such a contemptible wretch!" in page : "journal and dictionary, which latter is almost an enclycopædia as there are few things..." 'enclycopædia' amended to 'encyclopædia'. in page : "duc de maine" amended to "duc du maine". in page : "which of all those things which admit of being secretly purlioned, can only be practised in this department..." 'purlioned' amended to 'purloined'. in page : "cadell to the late geroge robinson, and that the successor of dr. kippis." 'geroge' amended to 'george'. in footnote : "the introductory account of heylin has enabled us to correct the present article in some particulars, and add a few usefu notes." 'usefu' corrected to 'useful'. in footnote : added double quotes at the begining of: "heretykes, perverters of christes relygyon." in the index: discoveries in literature and science, aptitude in, obtained hy studious men, iii. 'hy' corrected to 'by'. wild animals i have known by ernest thompson seton books by ernest thompson seton biography of a grizzly lives of the hunted wild animals at home wild animal ways stories in this book lobo, the king of currumpaw silverspot, the story of a crow raggylug, the story of a cottontail rabbit bingo, the story of my dog the springfield fox the pacing mustang wully, the story of a yaller dog redruff, the story of the don valley partridge these stories are true. although i have left the strict line of historical truth in many places, the animals in this book were all real characters. they lived the lives i have depicted, and showed the stamp of heroism and personality more strongly by far than it has been in the power of my pen to tell. i believe that natural history has lost much by the vague general treatment that is so common. what satisfaction would be derived from a ten-page sketch of the habits and customs of man? how much more profitable it would be to devote that space to the life of some one great man. this is the principle i have endeavored to apply to my animals. the real personality of the individual, and his view of life are my theme, rather than the ways of the race in general, as viewed by a casual and hostile human eye. this may sound inconsistent in view of my having pieced together some of the characters, but that was made necessary by the fragmentary nature of the records. there is, however, almost no deviation from the truth in lobo, bingo, and the mustang. lobo lived his wild romantic life from to in the currumpaw region, as the ranchmen know too well, and died, precisely as related, on january , . bingo was my dog from to , in spite of interruptions, caused by lengthy visits to new york, as my manitoban friends will remember. and my old friend, the owner of tan, will learn from these pages how his dog really died. the mustang lived not far from lobo in the early nineties. the story is given strictly as it occurred, excepting that there is a dispute as to the manner of his death. according to some testimony he broke his neck in the corral that he was first taken to. old turkeytrack is where he cannot be consulted to settle it. wully is, in a sense, a compound of two dogs; both were mongrels, of some collie blood, and were raised as sheep-dogs. the first part of wully is given as it happened, after that it was known only that he became a savage, treacherous sheep-killer. the details of the second part belong really to another, a similar yaller dog, who long lived the double-life---a faithful sheep-dog by day, and a bloodthirsty, treacherous monster by night. such things are less rare than is supposed, and since writing these stories i have heard of another double-lived sheep-dog that added to its night amusements the crowning barbarity of murdering the smaller dogs of the neighborhood. he had killed twenty, and hidden them in a sandpit, when discovered by his master. he died just as wully did. all told, i now have information of six of these jekyll-hyde dogs. in each case it happened to be a collie. redruff really lived in the don valley north of toronto, and many of my companions will remember him. he was killed in , between the sugar loaf and castle frank, by a creature whose name i have withheld, as it is the species, rather than the individual, that i wish to expose. silverspot, raggylug, and vixen are founded on real characters. though i have ascribed to them the adventures of more than one of their kind, every incident in their biographies is from life. the fact that these stories are true is the reason why all are tragic. the life of a wild animal always has a tragic end. such a collection of histories naturally suggests a common thought--a moral it would have been called in the last century. no doubt each different mind will find a moral to its taste, but i hope some will herein find emphasized a moral as old as scripture--we and the beasts are kin. man has nothing that the animals have not at least a vestige of, the animals have nothing that man does not in some degree share. since, then, the animals are creatures with wants and feelings differing in degree only from our own, they surely have their rights. this fact, now beginning to be recognized by the caucasian world, was first proclaimed by moses and was emphasized by the buddhist over , years ago. ernest thompson seton lobo, the king of currumpaw i currumpaw is a vast cattle range in northern new mexico. it is a land of rich pastures and teeming flocks and herds, a land of rolling mesas and precious running waters that at length unite in the currumpaw river, from which the whole region is named. and the king whose despotic power was felt over its entire extent was an old gray wolf. old lobo, or the king, as the mexicans called him, was the gigantic leader of a remarkable pack of gray wolves, that had ravaged the currumpaw valley for a number of years. all the shepherds and ranchmen knew him well, and, wherever he appeared with his trusty band, terror reigned supreme among the cattle, and wrath and despair among their owners. old lobo was a giant among wolves, and was cunning and strong in proportion to his size. his voice at night was well-known and easily distinguished from that of any of his fellows. an ordinary wolf might howl half the night about the herdsman's bivouac without attracting more than a passing notice, but when the deep roar of the old king came booming down the canon, the watcher bestirred himself and prepared to learn in the morning that fresh and serious inroads had been made among the herds. old lobo's band was but a small one. this i never quite understood, for usually, when a wolf rises to the position and power that he had, he attracts a numerous following. it may be that he had as many as he desired, or perhaps his ferocious temper prevented the increase of his pack. certain is it that lobo had only five followers during the latter part of his reign. each of these, however, was a wolf of renown, most of them were above the ordinary size, one in particular, the second in command, was a veritable giant, but even he was far below the leader in size and prowess. several of the band, besides the two leaders, were especially noted. one of those was a beautiful white wolf, that the mexicans called blanca; this was supposed to be a female, possibly lobo's mate. another was a yellow wolf of remarkable swiftness, which, according to current stories had, on several occasions, captured an antelope for the pack. it will be seen, then, that these wolves were thoroughly well-known to the cowboys and shepherds. they were frequently seen and oftener heard, and their lives were intimately associated with those of the cattlemen, who would so gladly have destroyed them. there was not a stockman on the currumpaw who would not readily have given the value of many steers for the scalp of any one of lobo's band, but they seemed to possess charmed lives, and defied all manner of devices to kill them. they scorned all hunters, derided all poisons, and continued, for at least five years, to exact their tribute from the currumpaw ranchers to the extent, many said, of a cow each day. according to this estimate, therefore, the band had killed more than two thousand of the finest stock, for, as was only too well-known, they selected the best in every instance. the old idea that a wolf was constantly in a starving state, and therefore ready to eat anything, was as far as possible from the truth in this case, for these freebooters were always sleek and well-conditioned, and were in fact most fastidious about what they ate. any animal that had died from natural causes, or that was diseased or tainted, they would not touch, and they even rejected anything that had been killed by the stockmen. their choice and daily food was the tenderer part of a freshly killed yearling heifer. an old bull or cow they disdained, and though they occasionally took a young calf or colt, it was quite clear that veal or horseflesh was not their favorite diet. it was also known that they were not fond of mutton, although they often amused themselves by killing sheep. one night in november, , blanca and the yellow wolf killed two hundred and fifty sheep, apparently for the fun of it, and did not eat an ounce of their flesh. these are examples of many stories which i might repeat, to show the ravages of this destructive band. many new devices for their extinction were tried each year, but still they lived and throve in spite of all the efforts of their foes. a great price was set on lobo's head, and in consequence poison in a score of subtle forms was put out for him, but he never failed to detect and avoid it. one thing only he feared--that was firearms, and knowing full well that all men in this region carried them, he never was known to attack or face a human being. indeed, the set policy of his band was to take refuge in flight whenever, in the daytime, a man was descried, no matter at what distance. lobo's habit of permitting the pack to eat only that which they themselves had killed, was in numerous cases their salvation, and the keenness of his scent to detect the taint of human hands or the poison itself, completed their immunity. on one occasion, one of the cowboys heard the too familiar rallying-cry of old lobo, and, stealthily approaching, he found the currumpaw pack in a hollow, where they had 'rounded' up a small herd of cattle. lobo sat apart on a knoll, while blanca with the rest was endeavoring to 'cut out' a young cow, which they had selected; but the cattle were standing in a compact mass with their heads outward, and presented to the foe a line of horns, unbroken save when some cow, frightened by a fresh onset of the wolves, tried to retreat into the middle of the herd. it was only by taking advantage of these breaks that the wolves had succeeded at all in wounding the selected cow, but she was far from being disabled, and it seemed that lobo at length lost patience with his followers, for he left his position on the hill, and, uttering a deep roar, dashed toward the herd. the terrified rank broke at his charge, and he sprang in among them. then the cattle scattered like the pieces of a bursting bomb. away went the chosen victim, but ere she had gone twenty-five yards lobo was upon her. seizing her by the neck, he suddenly held back with all his force and so threw her heavily to the ground. the shock must have been tremendous, for the heifer was thrown heels over head. lobo also turned a somersault, but immediately recovered himself, and his followers falling on the poor cow, killed her in a few seconds. lobo took no part in the killing--after having thrown the victim, he seemed to say, "now, why could not some of you have done that at once without wasting so much time?" the man now rode up shouting, the wolves as usual retired, and he, having a bottle of strychnine, quickly poisoned the carcass in three places, then went away, knowing they would return to feed, as they had killed the animal themselves. but next morning, on going to look for his expected victims, he found that, although the wolves had eaten the heifer, they had carefully cut out and thrown aside all those parts that had been poisoned. the dread of this great wolf spread yearly among the ranchmen, and each year a larger price was set on his head, until at last it reached $ , , an unparalleled wolf-bounty, surely; many a good man has been hunted down for less, tempted by the promised reward, a texan ranger named tannerey came one day galloping up the canyon of the currumpaw. he had a superb outfit for wolf-hunting--the best of guns and horses, and a pack of enormous wolf-hounds. far out on the plains of the panhandle, he and his dogs had killed many a wolf, and now he never doubted that, within a few days, old lobo's scalp would dangle at his saddlebow. away they went bravely on their hunt in the gray dawn of a summer morning, and soon the great dogs gave joyous tongue to say that they were already on the track of their quarry. within two miles, the grizzly band of currumpaw leaped into view, and the chase grew fast and furious. the part of the wolf-hounds was merely to hold the wolves at bay till the hunter could ride up and shoot them, and this usually was easy on the open plains of texas; but here a new feature of the country came into play, and showed how well lobo had chosen his range; for the rocky canyons of the currumpaw and its tributaries intersect the prairies in every direction. the old wolf at once made for the nearest of these and by crossing it got rid of the horseman. his band then scattered and thereby scattered the dogs, and when they reunited at a distant point of course all of the dogs did not turn up, and the wolves, no longer outnumbered, turned on their pursuers and killed or desperately wounded them all. that night when tannerey mustered his dogs, only six of them returned, and of these, two were terribly lacerated. this hunter made two other attempts to capture the royal scalp, but neither of them was more successful than the first, and on the last occasion his best horse met its death by a fall; so he gave up the chase in disgust and went back to texas, leaving lobo more than ever the despot of the region. next year, two other hunters appeared, determined to win the promised bounty. each believed he could destroy this noted wolf, the first by means of a newly devised poison, which was to be laid out in an entirely new manner; the other a french canadian, by poison assisted with certain spells and charms, for he firmly believed that lobo was a veritable "loup-garou," and could not be killed by ordinary means. but cunningly compounded poisons, charms, and incantations were all of no avail against this grizzly devastator. he made his weekly rounds and daily banquets as aforetime, and before many weeks had passed, calone and laloche gave up in despair and went elsewhere to hunt. in the spring of , after his unsuccessful attempt to capture lobo, joe calone had a humiliating experience, which seems to show that the big wolf simply scorned his enemies, and had absolute confidence in himself. calone's farm was on a small tributary of the currumpaw, in a picturesque canyon, and among the rocks of this very canyon, within a thousand yards of the house, old lobo and his mate selected their den and raised their family that season. there they lived all summer and killed joe's cattle, sheep, and dogs, but laughed at all his poisons and traps and rested securely among the recesses of the cavernous cliffs, while joe vainly racked his brain for some method of smoking them out, or of reaching them with dynamite. but they escaped entirely unscathed, and continued their ravages as before. "there's where he lived all last summer," said joe, pointing to the face of the cliff, "and i couldn't do a thing with him. i was like a fool to him." ii this history, gathered so far from the cowboys, i found hard to believe until, in the fall of , i made the acquaintance of the wily marauder, and at length came to know him more thoroughly than anyone else. some years before, in the bingo days, i had been a wolf-hunter, but my occupations since then had been of another sort, chaining me to stool and desk. i was much in need of a change, and when a friend, who was also a ranch-owner on the currumpaw, asked me to come to new mexico and try if i could do anything with this predatory pack, i accepted the invitation and, eager to make the acquaintance of its king, was as soon as possible among the mesas of that region. i spent some time riding about to learn the country, and at intervals my guide would point to the skeleton of a cow to which the hide still adhered, and remark, "that's some of his work." it became quite clear to me that, in this rough country, it was useless to think of pursuing lobo with hounds and horses, so that poison or traps were the only available expedients. at present we had no traps large enough, so i set to work with poison. i need not enter into the details of a hundred devices that i employed to circumvent this 'loup-garou'; there was no combination of strychnine, arsenic, cyanide, or prussic acid, that i did not essay; there was no manner of flesh that i did not try as bait; but morning after morning, as i rode forth to learn the result, i found that all my efforts had been useless. the old king was too cunning for me. a single instance will show his wonderful sagacity. acting on the hint of an old trapper, i melted some cheese together with the kidney fat of a freshly killed heifer, stewing it in a china dish, and cutting it with a bone knife to avoid the taint of metal. when the mixture was cool, i cut it into lumps, and making a hole in one side of each lump, i inserted a large dose of strychnine and cyanide, contained, in a capsule that was impermeable by any odor; finally i sealed the holes up with pieces of the cheese itself. during the whole process, i wore a pair of gloves steeped in the hot blood of the heifer, and even avoided breathing on the baits. when all was ready, i put them in a raw-hide bag rubbed all over with blood, and rode forth dragging the liver and kidneys of the beef at the end of a rope. with this i made a ten-mile circuit, dropping a bait at each quarter of a mile, and taking the utmost care, always, not to touch any with my hands. lobo, generally, came into this part of the range in the early part of each week, and passed the latter part, it was supposed, around the base of sierra grande. this was monday, and that same evening, as we were about to retire, i heard the deep bass howl of his majesty. on hearing it one of the boys briefly remarked, "there he is, we'll see." the next morning i went forth, eager to know the result. i soon came on the fresh trail of the robbers, with lobo in the lead--his track was always easily distinguished. an ordinary wolf's forefoot is / inches long, that of a large wolf / inches, but lobo's, as measured a number of times, was / inches from claw to heel; i afterward found that his other proportions were commensurate, for he stood three feet high at the shoulder, and weighed pounds. his trail, therefore, though obscured by those of his followers, was never difficult to trace. the pack had soon found the track of my drag, and as usual followed it. i could see that lobo had come to the first bait, sniffed about it, and finally had picked it up. then i could not conceal my delight. "i've got him at last," i exclaimed; "i shall find him stark within a mile," and i galloped on with eager eyes fixed on the great broad track in the dust. it led me to the second bait and that also was gone. how i exulted--i surely have him now and perhaps several of his band. but there was the broad pawmark still on the drag; and though i stood in the stirrup and scanned the plain i saw nothing that looked like a dead wolf. again i followed--to find now that the third bait was gone--and the king-wolf's track led on to the fourth, there to learn that he had not really taken a bait at all, but had merely carried them in his mouth, then having piled the three on the fourth, he scattered filth over them to express his utter contempt for my devices. after this he left my drag and went about his business with the pack he guarded so effectively. this is only one of many similar experiences which convinced me that poison would never avail to destroy this robber, and though i continued to use it while awaiting the arrival of the traps, it was only because it was meanwhile a sure means of killing many prairie wolves and other destructive vermin. about this time there came under my observation an incident that will illustrate lobo's diabolic cunning. these wolves had at least one pursuit which was merely an amusement; it was stampeding and killing sheep, though they rarely ate them. the sheep are usually kept in flocks of from one thousand to three thousand under one or more shepherds. at night they are gathered in the most sheltered place available, and a herdsman sleeps on each side of the flock to give additional protection. sheep are such senseless creatures that they are liable to be stampeded by the veriest trifle, but they have deeply ingrained in their nature one, and perhaps only one, strong weakness, namely, to follow their leader. and this the shepherds turn to good account by putting half a dozen goats in the flock of sheep. the latter recognize the superior intelligence of their bearded cousins, and when a night alarm occurs they crowd around them, and usually are thus saved from a stampede and are easily protected. but it was not always so. one night late in last november, two perico shepherds were aroused by an onset of wolves. their flocks huddled around the goats, which, being neither fools nor cowards, stood their ground and were bravely defiant; but alas for them, no common wolf was heading this attack. old lobo, the werewolf, knew as well as the shepherds that the goats were the moral force of the flock, so, hastily running over the backs of the densely packed sheep, he fell on these leaders, slew them all in a few minutes, and soon had the luckless sheep stampeding in a thousand different directions. for weeks afterward i was almost daily accosted by some anxious shepherd, who asked, "have you seen any stray oto sheep lately?" and usually i was obliged to say i had; one day it was, "yes, i came on some five or six carcasses by diamond springs;" or another, it was to the effect that i had seen a small "bunch" running on the malpai mesa; or again, "no, but juan meira saw about twenty, freshly killed, on the cedra monte two days ago." at length the wolf traps arrived, and with two men i worked a whole week to get them properly set out. we spared no labor or pains, i adopted every device i could think of that might help to insure success. the second day after the traps arrived, i rode around to inspect, and soon came upon lobo's trail running from trap to trap. in the dust i could read the whole story of his doings that night. he had trotted along in the darkness, and although the traps were so carefully concealed, he had instantly detected the first one. stopping the onward march of the pack, he had cautiously scratched around it until he had disclosed the trap, the chain, and the log, then left them wholly exposed to view with the trap still unsprung, and passing on he treated over a dozen traps in the same fashion. very soon i noticed that he stopped and turned aside as soon as he detected suspicious signs on the trail, and a new plan to outwit him at once suggested itself. i set the traps in the form of an h; that is, with a row of traps on each side of the trail, and one on the trail for the cross-bar of the h. before long, i had an opportunity to count another failure. lobo came trotting along the trail, and was fairly between the parallel lines before he detected the single trap in the trail, but he stopped in time, and why or how he knew enough i cannot tell, the angel of the wild things must have been with him, but without turning an inch to the right or left, he slowly and cautiously backed on his own tracks, putting each paw exactly in its old track until he was off the dangerous ground. then returning at one side he scratched clods and stones with his hind feet till he had sprung every trap. this he did on many other occasions, and although i varied my methods and redoubled my precautions, he was never deceived, his sagacity seemed never at fault, and he might have been pursuing his career of rapine to-day, but for an unfortunate alliance that proved his ruin and added his name to the long list of heroes who, unassailable when alone, have fallen through the indiscretion of a trusted ally. iii once or twice, i had found indications that everything was not quite right in the currumpaw pack. there were signs of irregularity, i thought; for instance there was clearly the trail of a smaller wolf running ahead of the leader, at times, and this i could not understand until a cowboy made a remark which explained the matter. "i saw them to-day," he said, "and the wild one that breaks away is blanca." then the truth dawned upon me, and i added, "now, i know that blanca is a she-wolf, because were a he-wolf to act thus, lobo would kill him at once." this suggested a new plan. i killed a heifer, and set one or two rather obvious traps about the carcass. then cutting off the head, which is considered useless offal, and quite beneath the notice of a wolf, i set it a little apart and around it placed six powerful steel traps properly deodorized and concealed with the utmost care. during my operations i kept my hands, boots, and implements smeared with fresh blood, and afterward sprinkled the ground with the same, as though it had flowed from the head; and when the traps were buried in the dust i brushed the place over with the skin of a coyote, and with a foot of the same animal made a number of tracks over the traps. the head was so placed that there was a narrow passage between it and some tussocks, and in this passage i buried two of my best traps, fastening them to the head itself. wolves have a habit of approaching every carcass they get the wind of, in order to examine it, even when they have no intention of eating it, and i hoped that this habit would bring the currumpaw pack within reach of my latest stratagem. i did not doubt that lobo would detect my handiwork about the meat, and prevent the pack approaching it, but i did build some hopes on the head, for it looked as though it had been thrown aside as useless. next morning, i sallied forth to inspect the traps, and there, oh, joy! were the tracks of the pack, and the place where the beef-head and its traps had been was empty. a hasty study of the trail showed that lobo had kept the pack from approaching the meat, but one, a small wolf, had evidently gone on to examine the head as it lay apart and had walked right into one of the traps. we set out on the trail, and within a mile discovered that the hapless wolf was blanca. away she went, however, at a gallop, and although encumbered by the beef-head, which weighed over fifty pounds, she speedily distanced my companion, who was on foot. but we overtook her when she reached the rocks, for the horns of the cow's head became caught and held her fast. she was the handsomest wolf i had ever seen. her coat was in perfect condition and nearly white. she turned to fight, and, raising her voice in the rallying cry of her race, sent a long howl rolling over the canyon. from far away upon the mesa came a deep response, the cry of old lobo. that was her last call, for now we had closed in on her, and all her energy and breath were devoted to combat. then followed the inevitable tragedy, the idea of which i shrank from afterward more than at the time. we each threw a lasso over the neck of the doomed wolf, and strained our horses in opposite directions until the blood burst from her mouth, her eyes glazed, her limbs stiffened and then fell limp. homeward then we rode, carrying the dead wolf, and exulting over this, the first death-blow we had been able to inflict on the currumpaw pack. at intervals during the tragedy, and afterward as we rode homeward, we heard the roar of lobo as he wandered about on the distant mesas, where he seemed to be searching for blanca. he had never really deserted her, but, knowing that he could not save her, his deep-rooted dread of firearms had been too much for him when he saw us approaching. all that day we heard him wailing as he roamed in his quest, and i remarked at length to one of the boys, "now, indeed, i truly know that blanca was his mate." as evening fell he seemed to be coming toward the home canyon, for his voice sounded continually nearer. there was an unmistakable note of sorrow in it now. it was no longer the loud, defiant howl, but a long, plaintive wail; "blanca! blanca!" he seemed to call. and as night came down, i noticed that he was not far from the place where we had overtaken her. at length he seemed to find the trail, and when he came to the spot where we had killed her, his heartbroken wailing was piteous to hear. it was sadder than i could possibly have believed. even the stolid cowboys noticed it, and said they had "never heard a wolf carry on like that before." he seemed to know exactly what had taken place, for her blood had stained the place of her death. then he took up the trail of the horses and followed it to the ranch-house. whether in hopes of finding her there, or in quest of revenge, i know not, but the latter was what he found, for he surprised our unfortunate watchdog outside and tore him to little bits within fifty yards of the door. he evidently came alone this time, for i found but one trail next morning, and he had galloped about in a reckless manner that was very unusual with him. i had half expected this, and had set a number of additional traps about the pasture. afterward i found that he had indeed fallen into one of these, but, such was his strength, he had torn himself loose and cast it aside. i believed that he would continue in the neighborhood until he found her body at least, so i concentrated all my energies on this one enterprise of catching him before he left the region, and while yet in this reckless mood. then i realized what a mistake i had made in killing blanca, for by using her as a decoy i might have secured him the next night. i gathered in all the traps i could command, one hundred and thirty strong steel wolf-traps, and set them in fours in every trail that led into the canyon; each trap was separately fastened to a log, and each log was separately buried. in burying them, i carefully removed the sod and every particle of earth that was lifted we put in blankets, so that after the sod was replaced and all was finished the eye could detect no trace of human handiwork. when the traps were concealed i trailed the body of poor blanca over each place, and made of it a drag that circled all about the ranch, and finally i took off one of her paws and made with it a line of tracks over each trap. every precaution and device known to me i used, and retired at a late hour to await the result. once during the night i thought i heard old lobo, but was not sure of it. next day i rode around, but darkness came on before i completed the circuit of the north canon, and i had nothing to report. at supper one of the cowboys said, "there was a great row among the cattle in the north canyon this morning, maybe there is something in the traps there." it was afternoon of the next day before i got to the place referred to, and as i drew near a great grizzly form arose from the ground, vainly endeavoring to escape, and there revealed before me stood lobo, king of the currumpaw, firmly held in the traps. poor old hero, he had never ceased to search for his darling, and when he found the trail her body had made he followed it recklessly, and so fell into the snare prepared for him. there he lay in the iron grasp of all four traps, perfectly helpless, and all around him were numerous tracks showing how the cattle had gathered about him to insult the fallen despot, without daring to approach within his reach. for two days and two nights he had lain there, and now was worn out with struggling. yet, when i went near him, he rose up with bristling mane and raised his voice, and for the last time made the canyon reverberate with his deep bass roar, a call for help, the muster call of his band. but there was none to answer him, and, left alone in his extremity, he whirled about with all his strength and made a desperate effort to get at me. all in vain, each trap was a dead drag of over three hundred pounds, and in their relentless fourfold grasp, with great steel jaws on every foot, and the heavy logs and chains all entangled together, he was absolutely powerless. how his huge ivory tusks did grind on those cruel chains, and when i ventured to touch him with my rifle-barrel he left grooves on it which are there to this day. his eyes glared green with hate and fury, and his jaws snapped with a hollow 'chop,' as he vainly endeavored to reach me and my trembling horse. but he was worn out with hunger and struggling and loss of blood, and he soon sank exhausted to the ground. something like compunction came over me, as i prepared to deal out to him that which so many had suffered at his hands. "grand old outlaw, hero of a thousand lawless raids, in a few minutes you will be but a great load of carrion. it cannot be otherwise." then i swung my lasso and sent it whistling over his head. but not so fast; he was yet far from being subdued, and before the supple coils had fallen on his neck he seized the noose and, with one fierce chop, cut through its hard thick strands, and dropped it in two pieces at his feet. of course i had my rifle as a last resource, but i did not wish to spoil his royal hide, so i galloped back to the camp and returned with a cowboy and a fresh lasso. we threw to our victim a stick of wood which he seized in his teeth, and before he could relinquish it our lassoes whistled through the air and tightened on his neck. yet before the light had died from his fierce eyes, i cried, "stay, we will not kill him; let us take him alive to the camp." he was so completely powerless now that it was easy to put a stout stick through his mouth, behind his tusks, and then lash his jaws with a heavy cord which was also fastened to the stick. the stick kept the cord in, and the cord kept the stick in so he was harmless. as soon as he felt his jaws were tied he made no further resistance, and uttered no sound, but looked calmly at us and seemed to say, "well, you have got me at last, do as you please with me." and from that time he took no more notice of us. we tied his feet securely, but he never groaned, nor growled, nor turned his head. then with our united strength we were just able to put him on my horse. his breath came evenly as though sleeping, and his eyes were bright and clear again, but did not rest on us. afar on the great rolling mesas they were fixed, his passing kingdom, where his famous band was now scattered. and he gazed till the pony descended the pathway into the canyon, and the rocks cut off the view. by travelling slowly we reached the ranch in safety, and after securing him with a collar and a strong chain, we staked him out in the pasture and removed the cords. then for the first time i could examine him closely, and proved how unreliable is vulgar report when a living hero or tyrant is concerned. he had not a collar of gold about his neck, nor was there on his shoulders an inverted cross to denote that he had leagued himself with satan. but i did find on one haunch a great broad scar, that tradition says was the fang-mark of juno, the leader of tannerey's wolf-hounds--a mark which she gave him the moment before he stretched her lifeless on the sand of the canyon. i set meat and water beside him, but he paid no heed. he lay calmly on his breast, and gazed with those steadfast yellow eyes away past me down through the gateway of the canyon, over the open plains--his plains--nor moved a muscle when i touched him. when the sun went down he was still gazing fixedly across the prairie. i expected he would call up his band when night came, and prepared for them, but he had called once in his extremity, and none had come; he would never call again. a lion shorn of his strength, an eagle robbed of his freedom, or a dove bereft of his mate, all die, it is said, of a broken heart; and who will aver that this grim bandit could bear the three-fold brunt, heart-whole? this only i know, that when the morning dawned, he was lying there still in his position of calm repose, his body unwounded, but his spirit was gone--the old kingwolf was dead. i took the chain from his neck, a cowboy helped me to carry him to the shed where lay the remains of blanca, and as we laid him beside her, the cattle-man exclaimed: "there, you would come to her, now you are together again." silverspot, the story of a crow i how many of us have ever got to know a wild animal? i do not mean merely to meet with one once or twice, or to have one in a cage, but to really know it for a long time while it is wild, and to get an insight into its life and history. the trouble usually is to know one creature from his fellow. one fox or crow is so much like another that we cannot be sure that it really is the same next time we meet. but once in awhile there arises an animal who is stronger or wiser than his fellow, who becomes a great leader, who is, as we would say, a genius, and if he is bigger, or has some mark by which men can know him, he soon becomes famous in his country, and shows us that the life of a wild animal may be far more interesting and exciting than that of many human beings. of this class were courtant, the bob-tailed wolf that terrorized the whole city of paris for about ten years in the beginning of the fourteenth century; clubfoot, the lame grizzly bear that left such a terrific record in the san joaquin valley of california; lobo, the king-wolf of new mexico, that killed a cow every day for five years, and the seonee panther that in less than two years killed nearly three hundred human beings--and such also was silverspot, whose history, so far as i could learn it, i shall now briefly tell. silverspot was simply a wise old crow; his name was given because of the silvery white spot that was like a nickel, stuck on his right side, between the eye and the bill, and it was owing to this spot that i was able to know him from the other crows, and put together the parts of his history that came to my knowledge. crows are, as you must know, our most intelligent birds.--'wise as an old crow' did not become a saying without good reason. crows know the value of organization, and are as well drilled as soldiers--very much better than some soldiers, in fact, for crows are always on duty, always at war, and always dependent on each other for life and safety. their leaders not only are the oldest and wisest of the band, but also the strongest and bravest, for they must be ready at any time with sheer force to put down an upstart or a rebel. the rank and file are the youngsters and the crows without special gifts. old silverspot was the leader of a large band of crows that made their headquarters near toronto, canada, in castle frank, which is a pine-clad hill on the northeast edge of the city. this band numbered about two hundred, and for reasons that i never understood did not increase. in mild winters they stayed along the niagara river; in cold winters they went much farther south. but each year in the last week of february, old silverspot would muster his followers and boldly cross the forty miles of open water that lies between toronto and niagara; not, however, in a straight line would he go, but always in a curve to the west, whereby he kept in sight of the familiar landmark of dundas mountain, until the pine-clad hill itself came in view. each year he came with his troop, and for about six weeks took up his abode on the hill. each morning thereafter the crows set out in three bands to forage. one band went southeast to ashbridge's bay. one went north up the don, and one, the largest, went northwestward up the ravine. the last, silverspot led in person. who led the others i never found out. on calm mornings they flew high and straight away. but when it was windy the band flew low, and followed the ravine for shelter. my windows overlooked the ravine, and it was thus that in i first noticed this old crow. i was a newcomer in the neighborhood, but an old resident said to me then "that there old crow has been a-flying up and down this ravine for more than twenty years." my chances to watch were in the ravine, and silverspot doggedly clinging to the old route, though now it was edged with houses and spanned by bridges, became a very familiar acquaintance. twice each day in march and part of april, then again in the late summer and the fall, he passed and repassed, and gave me chances to see his movements, and hear his orders to his bands, and so, little by little, opened my eyes to the fact that the crows, though a little people, are of great wit, a race of birds with a language and a social system that is wonderfully human in many of its chief points, and in some is better carried out than our own. one windy day i stood on the high bridge across the ravine, as the old crow, heading his long, straggling troop, came flying down homeward. half a mile away i could hear the contented 'all's well, come right along!' as we should say, or as he put it, and as also his lieutenant echoed it at the rear of the band. they were flying very low to be out of the wind, and would have to rise a little to clear the bridge on which i was. silverspot saw me standing there, and as i was closely watching him he didn't like it. he checked his flight and called out, 'be on your guard,' and rose much higher in the air. then seeing that i was not armed he flew over my head about twenty feet, and his followers in turn did the same, dipping again to the old level when past the bridge. next day i was at the same place, and as the crows came near i raised my walking stick and pointed it at them. the old fellow at once cried out 'danger,' and rose fifty feet higher than before. seeing that it was not a gun, he ventured to fly over. but on the third day i took with me a gun, and at once he cried out, 'great danger--a gun.' his lieutenant repeated the cry, and every crow in the troop began to tower and scatter from the rest, till they were far above gun shot, and so passed safely over, coming down again to the shelter of the valley when well beyond reach. another time, as the long, straggling troop came down the valley, a red-tailed hawk alighted on a tree close by their intended route. the leader cried out, 'hawk, hawk,' and stayed his flight, as did each crow on nearing him, until all were massed in a solid body. then, no longer fearing the hawk, they passed on. but a quarter of a mile farther on a man with a gun appeared below, and the cry, 'great danger--a gun, a--gun; scatter fur your lives,' at once caused them to scatter widely and tower till far beyond range. many others of his words of command i learned in the course of my long acquaintance, and found that sometimes a very little difference in the sound makes a very great difference in meaning. thus while no. means hawk, or any large, dangerous bird, this means 'wheel around,' evidently a combination of no. , whose root idea is danger, and of no. , whose root idea is retreat, and this again is a mere 'good day,' to a far away comrade. this is usually addressed to the ranks and means 'attention.' early in april there began to be great doings among the crows. some new cause of excitement seemed to have come on them. they spent half the day among the pines, instead of foraging from dawn till dark. pairs and trios might be seen chasing each other, and from time to time they showed off in various feats of flight. a favorite sport was to dart down suddenly from a great height toward some perching crow, and just before touching it to turn at a hairbreadth and rebound in the air so fast that the wings of the swooper whirred with a sound like distant thunder. sometimes one crow would lower his head, raise every feather, and coming close to another would gurgle out a long note like. what did it all mean? i soon learned. they were making love and pairing off. the males were showing off their wing powers and their voices to the lady crows. and they must have been highly appreciated, for by the middle of april all had mated and had scattered over the country for their honeymoon, leaving the sombre old pines of castle frank deserted and silent. ii the sugar loaf hill stands alone in the don valley. it is still covered with woods that join with those of castle frank, a quarter of a mile off in the woods, between the two hills, is a pine-tree in whose top is a deserted hawk's nest. every toronto school-boy knows the nest, and, excepting that i had once shot a black squirrel on its edge, no one had ever seen a sign of life about it. there it was year after year, ragged and old, and falling to pieces. yet, strange to tell, in all that time it never did drop to pieces, like other old nests. one morning in may i was out at gray dawn, and stealing gently through the woods, whose dead leaves were so wet that no rustle was made. i chanced to pass under the old nest, and was surprised to see a black tail sticking over the edge. i struck the tree a smart blow, off flew a crow, and the secret was out. i had long suspected that a pair of crows nested each year about the pines, but now i realized that it was silverspot and his wife. the old nest was theirs, and they were too wise to give it an air of spring-cleaning and housekeeping each year. here they had nested for long, though guns in the hands of men and boys hungry to shoot crows were carried under their home every day. i never surprised the old fellow again, though i several times saw him through my telescope. one day while watching i saw a crow crossing the don valley with something white in his beak. he flew to the mouth of the rosedale brook, then took a short flight to the beaver elm. there he dropped the white object, and looking about gave me a chance to recognize my old friend silverspot. after a minute he picked up the white thing--a shell--and walked over past the spring, and here, among the docks and the skunk-cabbages, he unearthed a pile of shells and other white, shiny things. he spread them out in the sun, turned them over, turned them one by one in his beak, dropped them, nestled on them as though they were eggs, toyed with them and gloated over them like a miser. this was his hobby, his weakness. he could not have explained why he enjoyed them, any more than a boy can explain why he collects postage-stamps, or a girl why she prefers pearls to rubies; but his pleasure in them was very real, and after half an hour he covered them all, including the new one, with earth and leaves, and flew off. i went at once to the spot and examined the hoard; there was about a hatfull in all, chiefly white pebbles, clam-shells, and some bits of tin, but there was also the handle of a china cup, which must have been the gem of the collection. that was the last time i saw them. silverspot knew that i had found his treasures, and he removed them at once; where, i never knew. during the space that i watched him so closely he had many little adventures and escapes. he was once severely handled by a sparrowhawk, and often he was chased and worried by kingbirds. not that these did him much harm, but they were such noisy pests that he avoided their company as quickly as possible, just as a grown man avoids a conflict with a noisy and impudent small boy. he had some cruel tricks, too. he had a way of going the round of the small birds' nests each morning to eat the new laid eggs, as regularly as a doctor visiting his patients. but we must not judge him for that, as it is just what we ourselves do to the hens in the barnyard. his quickness of wit was often shown. one day i saw him flying down the ravine with a large piece of bread in his bill. the stream below him was at this time being bricked over as a sewer. there was one part of two hundred yards quite finished, and, as he flew over the open water just above this, the bread fell from his bill, and was swept by the current out of sight into the tunnel. he flew down and peered vainly into the dark cavern, then, acting upon a happy thought, he flew to the downstream end of the tunnel, and awaiting the reappearance of the floating bread, as it was swept onward by the current, he seized and bore it off in triumph. silverspot was a crow of the world. he was truly a successful crow. he lived in a region that, though full of dangers, abounded with food. in the old, unrepaired nest he raised a brood each year with his wife, whom, by the way, i never could distinguish, and when the crows again gathered together he was their acknowledged chief. the reassembling takes place about the end of june--the young crows with their bob-tails, soft wings, and falsetto voices are brought by their parents, whom they nearly equal in size, and introduced to society at the old pine woods, a woods that is at once their fortress and college. here they find security in numbers and in lofty yet sheltered perches, and here they begin their schooling and are taught all the secrets of success in crow life, and in crow life the least failure does not simply mean begin again. it means death. the first week or two after their arrival is spent by the young ones in getting acquainted, for each crow must know personally all the others in the band. their parents meanwhile have time to rest a little after the work of raising them, for now the youngsters are able to feed themselves and roost on a branch in a row, just like big folks. in a week or two the moulting season comes. at this time the old crows are usually irritable and nervous, but it does not stop them from beginning to drill the youngsters, who, of course, do not much enjoy the punishment and nagging they get so soon after they have been mamma's own darlings. but it is all for their good, as the old lady said when she skinned the eels, and old silverspot is an excellent teacher. sometimes he seems to make a speech to them. what he says i cannot guess, but judging by the way they receive it, it must be extremely witty. each morning there is a company drill, for the young ones naturally drop into two or three squads according to their age and strength. the rest of the day they forage with their parents. when at length september comes we find a great change. the rabble of silly little crows have begun to learn sense. the delicate blue iris of their eyes, the sign of a fool-crow, has given place to the dark brown eye of the old stager. they know their drill now and have learned sentry duty. they have been taught guns and traps and taken a special course in wireworms and green-corn. they know that a fat old farmer's wife is much less dangerous, though so much larger, than her fifteen-year-old son, and they can tell the boy from his sister. they know that an umbrella is not a gun, and they can count up to six, which is fair for young crows, though silverspot can go up nearly to thirty. they know the smell of gunpowder and the south side of a hemlock-tree, and begin to plume themselves upon being crows of the world. they always fold their wings three times after alighting, to be sure that it is neatly done. they know how to worry a fox into giving up half his dinner, and also that when the kingbird or the purple martin assails them they must dash into a bush, for it is as impossible to fight the little pests as it is for the fat apple-woman to catch the small boys who have raided her basket. all these things do the young crows know; but they have taken no lessons in egg-hunting yet, for it is not the season. they are unacquainted with clams, and have never tasted horses' eyes, or seen sprouted corn, and they don't know a thing about travel, the greatest educator of all. they did not think of that two months ago, and since then they have thought of it, but have learned to wait till their betters are ready. september sees a great change in the old crows, too, their moulting is over. they are now in full feather again and proud of their handsome coats. their health is again good, and with it their tempers are improved. even old silverspot, the strict teacher, becomes quite jolly, and the youngsters, who have long ago learned to respect him, begin really to love him. he has hammered away at drill, teaching them all the signals and words of command in use, and now it is a pleasure to see them in the early morning. 'company i!' the old chieftain would cry in crow, and company i would answer with a great clamor. 'fly!' and himself leading them, they would all fly straight forward. 'mount!' and straight upward they turned in a moment. 'bunch!' and they all massed into a dense black flock. 'scatter!' and they spread out like leaves before the wind. 'form line!' and they strung out into the long line of ordinary flight. 'descend!' and they all dropped nearly to the ground. 'forage!' and they alighted and scattered about to feed, while two of the permanent sentries mounted duty--one on a tree to the right, the other on a mound to the far left. a minute or two later silverspot would cry out, 'a man with a gun!' the sentries repeated the cry and the company flew at once in open order as quickly as possible toward the trees. once behind these, they formed line again in safety and returned to the home pines. sentry duty is not taken in turn by all the crows, but a certain number whose watchfulness has been often proved are the perpetual sentries, and are expected to watch and forage at the same time. rather hard on them it seems to us, but it works well and the crow organization is admitted by all birds to be the very best in existence. finally, each november sees the troop sail away southward to learn new modes of life, new landmarks and new kinds of food, under the guidance of the everwise silverspot. iii there is only one time when a crow is a fool, and that is at night. there is only one bird that terrifies the crow, and that is the owl. when, therefore, these come together it is a woeful thing for the sable birds. the distant hoot of an owl after dark is enough to make them withdraw their heads from under their wings, and sit trembling and miserable till morning. in very cold weather the exposure of their faces thus has often resulted in a crow having one or both of his eyes frozen, so that blindness followed and therefore death. there are no hospitals for sick crows. but with the morning their courage comes again, and arousing themselves they ransack the woods for a mile around till they find that owl, and if they do not kill him they at least worry him half to death and drive him twenty miles away. in the crows had come as usual to castle frank. i was walking in these woods a few days afterward when i chanced upon the track of a rabbit that had been running at full speed over the snow and dodging about among the trees as though pursued. strange to tell, i could see no track of the pursuer. i followed the trail and presently saw a drop of blood on the snow, and a little farther on found the partly devoured remains of a little brown bunny. what had killed him was a mystery until a careful search showed in the snow a great double-toed track and a beautifully pencilled brown feather. then all was clear--a horned owl. half an hour later, in passing again by the place, there, in a tree, within ten feet of the bones of his victim, was the fierce-eyed owl himself. the murderer still hung about the scene of his crime. for once circumstantial evidence had not lied. at my approach he gave a guttural 'grrr-oo' and flew off with low flagging flight to haunt the distant sombre woods. two days afterward, at dawn, there was a great uproar among the crows. i went out early to see, and found some black feathers drifting over the snow. i followed up the wind in the direction from which they came and soon saw the bloody remains of a crow and the great double-toed track which again told me that the murderer was the owl. all around were signs of the struggle, but the fell destroyer was too strong. the poor crow had been dragged from his perch at night, when the darkness bad put him at a hopeless disadvantage. i turned over the remains, and by chance unburied the head--then started with an exclamation of sorrow. alas! it was the head of old silverspot. his long life of usefulness to his tribe was over--slain at last by the owl that he had taught so many hundreds of young crows to beware of. the old nest on the sugar loaf is abandoned now. the crows still come in spring-time to castle frank, but without their famous leader their numbers are dwindling, and soon they will be seen no more about the old pine-grove in which they and their forefathers had lived and learned for ages. raggylug, the story of a cottontail rabbit raggylug, or rag, was the name of a young cottontail rabbit. it was given him from his torn and ragged ear, a life-mark that he got in his first adventure. he lived with his mother in olifant's swamp, where i made their acquaintance and gathered, in a hundred different ways, the little bits of proof and scraps of truth that at length enabled me to write this history. those who do not know the animals well may think i have humanized them, but those who have lived so near them as to know somewhat of their ways and their minds will not think so. truly rabbits have no speech as we understand it, but they have a way of conveying ideas by a system of sounds, signs, scents, whisker-touches, movements, and example that answers the purpose of speech; and it must be remembered that though in telling this story i freely translate from rabbit into english, i repeat nothing that they did not say. i the rank swamp grass bent over and concealed the snug nest where raggylug's mother had hidden him. she had partly covered him with some of the bedding, and, as always, her last warning was to lie low and say nothing, whatever happens. though tucked in bed, he was wide awake and his bright eyes were taking in that part of his little green world that was straight above. a bluejay and a red-squirrel, two notorious thieves, were loudly berating each other for stealing, and at one time rag's home bush was the centre of their fight; a yellow warbler caught a blue butterfly but six inches from his nose, and a scarlet and black ladybug, serenely waving her knobbed feelers, took a long walk up one grass-blade, down another, and across the nest and over rag's face--and yet he never moved nor even winked. after a while he heard a strange rustling of the leaves in the near thicket. it was an odd, continuous sound, and though it went this way and that way and came ever nearer, there was no patter of feet with it. rag had lived his whole life in the swamp (he was three weeks old) and yet had never heard anything like this. of course his curiosity was greatly aroused. his mother had cautioned him to lie low, but that was understood to be in case of danger, and this strange sound without footfalls could not be anything to fear. the low rasping went past close at hand, then to the right, then back, and seemed going away. rag felt he knew what he was about; he wasn't a baby; it was his duty to learn what it was. he slowly raised his rolypoly body on his short fluffy legs, lifted his little round head above the covering of his nest and peeped out into the woods. the sound had ceased as soon as he moved. he saw nothing, so took one step forward to a clear view, and instantly found himself face to face with an enormous black serpent. "mammy," he screamed in mortal terror as the monster darted at him. with all the strength of his tiny limbs he tried to run. but in a flash the snake had him by one ear and whipped around him with his coils to gloat over the helpless little baby bunny he had secured for dinner. "mam-my--mam-my," gasped poor little raggylug as the cruel monster began slowly choking him to death. very soon the little one's cry would have ceased, but bounding through the woods straight as an arrow came mammy. no longer a shy, helpless little molly cottontail, ready to fly from a shadow: the mother's love was strong in her. the cry of her baby had filled her with the courage of a hero, and--hop, she went over that horrible reptile. whack, she struck down at him with her sharp hind claws as she passed, giving him such a stinging blow that he squirmed with pain and hissed with anger. "m-a-m-my," came feebly from the little one. and mammy came leaping again and again and struck harder and fiercer until the loathsome reptile let go the little one's ear and tried to bite the old one as she leaped over. but all he got was a mouthful of wool each time, and molly's fierce blows began to tell, as long bloody rips were torn in the black snake's scaly armor. things were now looking bad for the snake; and bracing himself for the next charge, he lost his tight hold on baby bunny, who at once wriggled out of the coils and away into the underbrush, breathless and terribly frightened, but unhurt save that his left ear was much torn by the teeth of that dreadful serpent. molly now had gained all she wanted. she had no notion of fighting for glory or revenge. away she went into the woods and the little one followed the shining beacon of her snow-white tail until she led him to a safe corner of the swamp. ii old olifant's swamp was a rough, brambly tract of second-growth woods, with a marshy pond and a stream through the middle. a few ragged remnants of the old forest still stood in it and a few of the still older trunks were lying about as dead logs in the brushwood. the land about the pond was of that willow-grown sedgy kind that cats and horses avoid, but that cattle do not fear. the drier zones were overgrown with briars and young trees. the outermost belt of all, that next the fields, was of thrifty, gummy-trunked young pines whose living needles in air and dead ones on earth offer so delicious an odor to the nostrils of the passer-by, and so deadly a breath to those seedlings that would compete with them for the worthless waste they grow on. all around for a long way were smooth fields, and the only wild tracks that ever crossed these fields were those of a thoroughly bad and unscrupulous fox that lived only too near. the chief indwellers of the swamp were molly and rag. their nearest neighbors were far away, and their nearest kin were dead. this was their home, and here they lived together, and here rag received the training that made his success in life. molly was a good little mother and gave him a careful bringing up. the first thing he learned was to lie low and say nothing. his adventure with the snake taught him the wisdom of this. rag never forgot that lesson; afterward he did as he was told, and it made the other things come more easily. the second lesson he learned was 'freeze.' it grows out of the first, and rag was taught it as soon as he could run. 'freezing' is simply doing nothing, turning into a statue. as soon as he finds a foe near, no matter what he is doing, a well-trained cottontail keeps just as he is and stops all movement, for the creatures of the woods are of the same color as the things in the woods and catch the eye only while moving. so when enemies chance together, the one who first sees the other can keep himself unseen by 'freezing' and thus have all the advantage of choosing the time for attack or escape. only those who live in the woods know the importance of this; every wild creature and every hunter must learn it; all learn to do it well, but not one of them can beat molly cottontail in the doing. rag's mother taught him this trick by example. when the white cotton cushion that she always carried to sit on went bobbing away through the woods, of course rag ran his hardest to keep up. but when molly stopped and 'froze,' the natural wish to copy made him do the same. but the best lesson of all that rag learned from his mother was the secret of the brierbrush. it is a very old secret now, and to make it plain you must first hear why the brierbrush quarrelled with the beasts. long ago the roses used to grow on bushes that had no thorns. but the squirrels and mice used to climb after them, the cattle used to knock them off with their horns, the possum would twitch them off with his long tail, and the deer, with his sharp hoofs, would break them down. so the brierbrush armed itself with spikes to protect its roses and declared eternal war on all creatures that climbed trees, or had horns, or hoofs, or long tails. this left the brierbrush at peace with none but molly cottontail, who could not climb, was hornless, hoofless, and had scarcely any tail at all. in truth the cottontail had never harmed a brierrose, and having now so many enemies the rose took the rabbit into especial friendship, and when dangers are threatening poor bunny he flies to the nearest brierbrush, certain that it is ready with a million keen and poisoned daggers to defend him. so the secret that rag learned from his mother was, "the brierbrush is your best friend." much of the time that season was spent in learning the lay of the land, and the bramble and brier mazes. and rag learned them so well that he could go all around the swamp by two different ways and never leave the friendly briers at any place for more than five hops. it is not long since the foes of the cottontails were disgusted to find that man had brought a new kind of bramble and planted it in long lines throughout the country. it was so strong that no creatures could break it down, and so sharp that the toughest skin was torn by it. each year there was more of it and each year it became a more serious matter to the wild creatures. but molly cottontail had no fear of it. she was not brought up in the briers for nothing. dogs and foxes, cattle and sheep, and even man himself might be torn by those fearful spikes: but molly understands it and lives and thrives under it. and the further it spreads the more safe country there is for the cottontail. and the name of this new and dreaded bramble is--the barbed-wire fence. iii molly had no other children to look after now, so rag had all her care. he was unusually quick and bright as well as strong, and he had uncommonly good chances; so he got on remarkably well. all the season she kept him busy learning the tricks of the trail, and what to eat and drink and what not to touch. day by day she worked to train him; little by little she taught him, putting into his mind hundreds of ideas that her own life or early training had stored in hers, and so equipped him with the knowledge that makes life possible to their kind. close by her side in the clover-field or the thicket he would sit and copy her when she wobbled her nose 'to keep her smeller clear,' and pull the bite from her mouth or taste her lips to make sure he was getting the same kind of fodder. still copying her, he learned to comb his ears with his claws and to dress his coat and to bite the burrs out of his vest and socks. he learned, too, that nothing but clear dewdrops from the briers were fit for a rabbit to drink, as water which has once touched the earth must surely bear some taint. thus he began the study of woodcraft, the oldest of all sciences. as soon as rag was big enough to go out alone, his mother taught him the signal code. rabbits telegraph each other by thumping on the ground with their hind feet. along the ground sound carries far; a thump that at six feet from the earth is not heard at twenty yards will, near the ground, be heard at least one hundred yards. rabbits have very keen hearing, and so might hear this same thump at two hundred yards, and that would reach from end to end of olifant's swamp. a single thump means 'look out' or 'freeze.' a slow thump thump means 'come.' a fast thump thump means 'danger'; and a very fast thump thump thump means 'run for dear life.' at another time, when the weather was fine and the bluejays were quarrelling among themselves, a sure sign that no dangerous foe was about, rag began a new study. molly, by flattening her ears, gave the sign to squat. then she ran far away in the thicket and gave the thumping signal for 'come.' rag set out at a run to the place but could not find molly. he thumped, but got no reply. setting carefully about his search he found her foot-scent and, following this strange guide, that the beasts all know so well and man does not know at all, he worked out the trail and found her where she was hidden. thus he got his first lesson in trailing, and thus it was that the games of hide and seek they played became the schooling for the serious chase of which there was so much in his after life. before that first season of schooling was over he had learnt all the principal tricks by which a rabbit lives and in not a few problems showed himself a veritable genius. he was an adept at 'tree,' 'dodge,' and 'squat,' he could play 'log-lump,' with 'wind' and 'baulk' with 'back-track' so well that he scarcely needed any other tricks. he had not yet tried it, but he knew just how to play 'barb-wire,' which is a new trick of the brilliant order; he had made a special study of 'sand,' which burns up all scent, and was deeply versed in 'change-off,' 'fence,' and 'double' as well as 'hole-up,' which is a trick requiring longer notice, and yet he never forgot that 'lie-low' is the beginning of all wisdom and 'brierbrush' the only trick that is always safe. he was taught the signs by which to know all his foes and then the way to baffle them. for hawks, owls, foxes, hounds, curs, minks, weasels, cats, skunks, coons, and--men, each have a different plan of pursuit, and for each and all of these evils he was taught a remedy. and for knowledge of the enemy's approach he learnt to depend first on himself and his mother, and then on the bluejay. "never neglect the bluejay's warning," said molly; "he is a mischief-maker, a marplot, and a thief all the time, but nothing escapes him. he wouldn't mind harming us, but he cannot, thanks to the briers, and his enemies are ours, so it is well to heed him. if the woodpecker cries a warning you can trust him, he is honest; but he is a fool beside the bluejay, and though the bluejay often tells lies for mischief you are safe to believe him when he brings ill news." the barb-wire trick takes a deal of nerve and the best of legs. it was long before rag ventured to play it, but as he came to his full powers it became one of his favorites. "it's fine play for those who can do it," said molly. "first you lead off your dog on a straightaway and warm him up a bit by nearly letting him catch you. then keeping just one hop ahead, you lead him at a long slant full tilt into a breast-high barb-wire. i've seen many a dog and fox crippled, and one big hound killed outright this way. but i've also seen more than one rabbit lose his life in trying it." rag early learnt what some rabbits never learn at all, that 'hole-up' is not such a fine ruse as it seems; it may be the certain safety of a wise rabbit, but soon or late is a sure death-trap to a fool. a young rabbit always thinks of it first, an old rabbit never tries it till all others fail. it means escape from a man or dog, a fox or a bird of prey, but it means sudden death if the foe is a ferret, mink, skunk, or weasel. there were but two ground-holes in the swamp. one on the sunning bank, which was a dry sheltered knoll in the south-end. it was open and sloping to the sun, and here on fine days the cottontails took their sun-baths. they stretched out among the fragrant pine needles and winter-green in odd cat-like positions, and turned slowly over as though roasting and wishing all sides well done. and they blinked and panted, and squirmed as if in dreadful pain; yet this was one of the keenest enjoyments they knew. just over the brow of the knoll was a large pine stump. its grotesque roots wriggled out above the yellow sand-bank like dragons, and under their protecting claws a sulky old woodchuck had digged a den long ago. he became more sour and ill-tempered as weeks went by, and one day waited to quarrel with olifant's dog instead of going in so that molly cottontail was able to take possession of the den an hour later. this, the pine-root hole, was afterward very coolly taken by a self-sufficient young skunk who with less valor might have enjoyed greater longevity, for he imagined--that even man with a gun would fly from him. instead of keeping molly from the den for good, therefore, his reign, like that of a certain hebrew king, was over in seven days. the other, the fern-hole, was in a fern thicket next the clover field. it was small and damp, and useless except as a last retreat. it also was the work of a woodchuck, a well-meaning friendly neighbor, but a harebrained youngster whose skin in the form of a whiplash was now developing higher horse-power in the olifant working team. "simple justice," said the old man, "for that hide was raised on stolen feed that the team would a' turned into horse-power anyway." the cottontails were now sole owners of the holes, and did not go near them when they could help it, lest anything like a path should be made that might betray these last retreats to an enemy. there was also the hollow hickory, which, though nearly fallen, was still green, and had the great advantage of being open at both ends. this had long been the residence of one lotor, a solitary old coon whose ostensible calling was frog-hunting, and who, like the monks of old, was supposed to abstain from all flesh food. but it was shrewdly suspected that he needed but a chance to indulge in a diet of rabbit. when at last one dark night he was killed while raiding olifant's henhouse, molly, so far from feeling a pang of regret, took possession of his cosy nest with a sense of unbounded relief. iv bright august sunlight was flooding the swamp in the morning. everything seemed soaking in the warm radiance. a little brown swamp-sparrow was teetering on a long rush in the pond. beneath him there were open spaces of dirty water that brought down a few scraps of the blue sky, and worked it and the yellow duck-weed into an exquisite mosaic, with a little wrong-side picture of the bird in the middle. on the bank behind was a great vigorous growth of golden green skunk-cabbage, that cast dense shadow over the brown swamp tussocks. the eyes of the swamp-sparrow were not trained to take in the color glories, but he saw what we might have missed; that two of the numberless leafy brown bumps under the broad cabbage-leaves were furry living things, with noses that never ceased to move up and down, whatever else was still. it was molly and rag. they were stretched under the skunk-cabbage, not because they liked its rank smell, but because the winged ticks could not stand it at all and so left them in peace. rabbits have no set time for lessons, they are always learning; but what the lesson is depends on the present stress, and that must arrive before it is known. they went to this place for a quiet rest, but had not been long there when suddenly a warning note from the ever-watchful bluejay caused molly's nose and ears to go up and her tail to tighten to her back. away across the swamp was olifant's big black and white dog, coming straight toward them. "now," said molly, "squat while i go and keep that fool out of mischief." away she went to meet him and she fearlessly dashed across the dog's path. "bow-ow-ow," he fairly yelled as he bounded after molly, but she kept just beyond his reach and led him where the million daggers struck fast and deep, till his tender ears were scratched raw, and guided him at last plump into a hidden barbed-wire fence, where he got such a gashing that he went homeward howling with pain. after making a short double, a loop and a baulk in case the dog should come back, molly returned to find that rag in his eagerness was standing bolt upright and craning his neck to see the sport. this disobedience made her so angry that she struck him with her hind foot and knocked him over in the mud. one day as they fed on the near clover field a red-tailed hawk came swooping after them. molly kicked up her hind legs to make fun of him and skipped into the briers along one of their old pathways, where of course the hawk could not follow. it was the main path from the creekside thicket to the stove-pipe brushpile. several creepers had grown across it, and molly, keeping one eye on the hawk, set to work and cut the creepers off. rag watched her, then ran on ahead, and cut some more that were across the path. "that's right," said molly, "always keep the runways clear, you will need them often enough. not wide, but clear. cut everything like a creeper across them and some day you will find you have cut a snare." "a what?" asked rag, as he scratched his right ear with his left hind foot. "a snare is something that looks like a creeper, but it doesn't grow and it's worse than all the hawks in the world," said molly, glancing at the now far-away red-tail, "for there it hides night and day in the runway till the chance to catch you comes." "i don't believe it could catch me," said rag, with the pride of youth as he rose on his heels to rub his chin and whiskers high up on a smooth sapling. rag did not know he was doing this, but his mother saw and knew it was a sign, like the changing of a boy's voice, that her little one was no longer a baby but would soon be a grown-up cottontail. v there is magic in running water. who does not know it and feel it? the railroad builder fearlessly throws his bank across the wide bog or lake, or the sea itself, but the tiniest ril of running water he treats with great respect, studies its wish and its way and gives it all it seems to ask. the thirst-parched traveller in the poisonous alkali deserts holds back in deadly fear from the sedgy ponds till he finds one down whose centre is a thin, clear line, and a faint flow, the sign of running, living water, and joyfully he drinks. there is magic in running water, no evil spell can cross it. tam o'shanter proved its potency in time of sorest need. the wild-wood creature with its deadly foe following tireless on the trail scent, realizes its nearing doom and feels an awful spell. its strength is spent, its every trick is tried in vain till the good angel leads it to the water, the running, living water, and dashing in it follows the cooling stream, and then with force renewed--takes to the woods again. there is magic in running water. the hounds come to the very spot and halt and cast about; and halt and cast in vain. their spell is broken by the merry stream, and the wild thing lives its life. and this was one of the great secrets that raggylug learned from his mother--"after the brierrose, the water is your friend." one hot, muggy night in august, molly led rag through the woods. the cotton-white cushion she wore under her tail twinkled ahead and was his guiding lantern, though it went out as soon as she stopped and sat on it. after a few runs and stops to listen, they came to the edge of the pond. the hylas in the trees above them were singing 'sleep, sleep,' and away out on a sunken log in the deep water, up to his chin in the cooling bath, a bloated bullfrog was singing the praises of a 'jug o' rum.' "follow me still," said molly, in rabbit, and 'flop' she went into the pond and struck out for the sunken log in the middle. rag flinched but plunged with a little 'ouch,' gasping and wobbling his nose very fast but still copying his mother. the same movements as on land sent him through the water, and thus he found he could swim, on he went till he reached the sunken log and scrambled up by his dripping mother on the high dry end, with a rushy screen around them and the water that tells no tales. after this on warm black nights when that old fox from springfield came prowling through the swamp, rag would note the place of the bullfrog's voice, for in case of direst need it might be a guide to safety. and thenceforth the words of the song that the bullfrog sang were 'come, come, in danger come.' this was the latest study that rag took up with his mother--it was really a post-graduate course, for many little rabbits never learn it at all. vi no wild animal dies of old age. its life has soon or late a tragic end. it is only a question of how long it can hold out against its foes. but rag's life was proof that once a rabbit passes out of his youth he is likely to outlive his prime and be killed only in the last third of life, the downhill third we call old age. the cottontails had enemies on every side. their daily life was a series of escapes. for dogs, foxes, cats, skunks, coons, weasels, minks, snakes, hawks, owls, and men, and even insects were all plotting to kill them. they had hundreds of adventures, and at least once a day they had to fly for their lives and save themselves by their legs and wits. more than once that hateful fox from springfield drove them to taking refuge under the wreck of a barbedwire hog-pen by the spring. but once there they could look calmly at him while he spiked his legs in vain attempts to reach them. once or twice rag when hunted had played off the hound against a skunk that had seemed likely to be quite as dangerous as the dog. once he was caught alive by a hunter who had a hound and a ferret to help him. but rag had the luck to escape next day, with a yet deeper distrust of ground holes. he was several times run into the water by the cat, and many times was chased by hawks and owls, but for each kind of danger there was a safeguard. his mother taught him the principal dodges, and he improved on them and made many new ones as he grew older. and the older and wiser he grew the less he trusted to his legs, and the more to his wits for safety. ranger was the name of a young hound in the neighborhood. to train him his master used to put him on the trail of one of the cottontails. it was nearly always rag that they ran, for the young buck enjoyed the runs as much as they did, the spice of danger in them being just enough for zest. he would say: "oh, mother! here comes the dog again, i must have a run to-day." "you are too bold, raggy, my son!" she might reply. "i fear you will run once too often." "but, mother, it is such glorious fun to tease that fool dog, and it's all good training. i'll thump if i am too hard pressed, then you can come and change off while i get my second wind." on he would come, and ranger would take the trail and follow till rag got tired of it. then he either sent a thumping telegram for help, which brought molly to take charge of the dog, or he got rid of the dog by some clever trick. a description of one of these shows how well rag had learned the arts of the woods. he knew that his scent lay best near the ground, and was strongest when he was warm. so if he could get off the ground, and be left in peace for half an hour to cool off, and for the trail to stale, he knew he would be safe. when, therefore, he tired of the chase, he made for the creekside brier-patch, where he 'wound'--that is, zig-zagged--till he left a course so crooked that the dog was sure to be greatly delayed in working it out. he then went straight to d in the woods, passing one hop to windward of the high log e. stopping at d, he followed his back trail to f; here he leaped aside and ran toward g. then, returning on his trail to j, he waited till the hound passed on his trail at i. rag then got back on his old trail at h, and followed it to e, where, with a scentbaulk or great leap aside, he reached the high log, and running to its higher end, he sat like a bump. ranger lost much time in the bramble maze, and the scent was very poor when he got it straightened out, and came to d. here he began to circle to pick it up, and after losing much time, struck the trail which ended suddenly at g. again he was at fault, and had to circle to find the trail. wider and wider circles, until at last, he passed right under the log rag was on. but a cold scent, on a cold day, does not go downward much. rag never budged nor winked, and the hound passed. again the dog came round. this time he crossed the low part of the log, and stopped to smell it. 'yes, clearly it was rabbity,' but it was a stale scent now; still he mounted the log. it was a trying moment for rag, as the great hound came sniff-sniffing along the log. but his nerve did not forsake him; the wind was right; he had his mind made up to bolt as soon as ranger came half way up. but he didn't come. a yellow cur would have seen the rabbit sitting there, but the hound did not, and the scent seemed stale, so he leaped off the log, and rag had won. vii rag had never seen any other rabbit than his mother. indeed he had scarcely thought about there being any other. he was more and more away from her now, and yet he never felt lonely, for rabbits do not hanker for company. but one day in december, while he was among the red dogwood brush, cutting a new path to the great creekside thicket, he saw all at once against the sky over the sunning bank the head and ears of a strange rabbit. the newcomer had the air of a well-pleased discoverer and soon came hopping rag's way along one of his paths into his swamp. a new feeling rushed over him, that boiling mixture of anger and hatred called jealousy. the stranger stopped at one of rag's rubbing-trees--that is, a tree against which he used to stand on his heels and rub his chin as far up as he could reach. he thought he did this simply because he liked it; but all buckrabbits do so, and several ends are served. it makes the tree rabbity, so that other rabbits know that this swamp already belongs to a rabbit family and is not open for settlement. it also lets the next one know by the scent if the last caller was an acquaintance, and the height from the ground of the rubbing-places shows how tall the rabbit is. now to his disgust rag noticed that the new-comer was a head taller than himself, and a big, stout buck at that. this was a wholly new experience and filled rag with a wholly new feeling. the spirit of murder entered his heart; he chewed very hard at nothing in his mouth, and hopping forward onto a smooth piece of hard ground he struck slowly: 'thump--thump--thump,' which is a rabbit telegram for 'get out of my swamp, or fight.' the new-comer made a big v with his ears, sat upright for a few seconds, then, dropping on his fore-feet, sent along the ground a louder, stronger, 'thump--thump--thump.' and so war was declared. they came together by short runs side-wise, each one trying to get the wind of the other and watching for a chance advantage. the stranger was a big, heavy buck with plenty of muscle, but one or two trifles such as treading on a turnover and failing to close when rag was on low ground showed that he had not much cunning and counted on winning his battles by his weight. on he came at last and rag met him like a little fury. as they came together they leaped up and struck out with their hind feet. thud, thud they came, and down went poor little rag. in a moment the stranger was on him with his teeth and rag was bitten, and lost several tufts of hair before he could get up. but he was swift of foot and got out of reach. again he charged and again he was knocked down and bitten severely. he was no match for his foe, and it soon became a question of saving his own life. hurt as he was, he sprang away, with the stranger in full chase, and bound to kill him as well as to oust him from the swamp where he was born. rag's legs were good and so was his wind. the stranger was big and so heavy that he soon gave up the chase, and it was well for poor rag that he did, for he was getting stiff from his wounds as well as tired. from that day began a reign of terror for rag. his training had been against owls, dogs, weasels, men, and so on, but what to do when chased by another rabbit, he did not know. all he knew was to lie low till he was found, then run. poor little molly was completely terrorized; she could not help rag and sought only to hide. but the big buck soon found her out. she tried to run from him, but she was not now so swift as rag. the stranger made no attempt to kill her, but he made love to her, and because she hated him and tried to get away, he treated her shamefully. day after day he worried her by following her about, and often, furious at her lasting hatred, he would knock her down and tear out mouthfuls of her soft fur till his rage cooled somewhat, when he would let her go for a while. but his fixed purpose was to kill rag, whose escape seemed hopeless. there was no other swamp he could go to, and whenever he took a nap now he had to be ready at any moment to dash for his life. a dozen times a day the big stranger came creeping up to where he slept, but each time the watchful rag awoke in time to escape. to escape yet not to escape. he saved his life indeed, but oh! what a miserable life it had become. how maddening to be thus helpless, to see his little mother daily beaten and torn, as well as to see all his favorite feeding-grounds, the cosy nooks, and the pathways he had made with so much labor, forced from him by this hateful brute. unhappy rag realized that to the victor belong the spoils, and he hated him more than ever he did fox or ferret. how was it to end? he was wearing out with running and watching and bad food, and little molly's strength and spirit were breaking down under the long persecution. the stranger was ready to go to all lengths to destroy poor rag, and at last stooped to the worst crime known among rabbits. however much they may hate each other, all good rabbits forget their feuds when their common enemy appears. yet one day when a great goshawk came swooping over the swamp, the stranger, keeping well under cover himself, tried again and again to drive rag into the open. once or twice the hawk nearly had him, but still the briers saved him, and it was only when the big buck himself came near being caught that he gave it up. and again rag escaped, but-was no better off. he made up his mind to leave, with his mother, if possible, next night and go into the world in quest of some new home when he heard old thunder, the hound, sniffing and searching about the outskirts of the swamp, and he resolved on playing a desperate game. he deliberately crossed the hound's view, and the chase that then began was fast and furious. thrice around the swamp they went till rag had made sure that his mother was hidden safely and that his hated foe was in his usual nest. then right into that nest and plump over him he jumped, giving him a rap with one hind foot as he passed over his head. "you miserable fool, i'll kill you yet," cried the stranger, and up he jumped only to find himself between rag and the dog and heir to all the peril of the chase. on came the hound baying hotly on the straight-away scent. the buck's weight and size were great advantages in a rabbit fight, but now they were fatal. he did not know many tricks. just the simple ones like 'double,' 'wind,' and 'hole-up,' that every baby bunny knows. but the chase was too close for doubling and winding, and he didn't know where the holes were. it was a straight race. the brierrose, kind to all rabbits alike, did its best, but it was no use. the baying of the hound was fast and steady. the crashing of the brush and the yelping of the hound each time the briers tore his tender ears were borne to the two rabbits where they crouched in hiding. but suddenly these sounds stopped, there was a scuffle, then loud and terrible screaming. rag knew what it meant and it sent a shiver through him, but he soon forgot that when all was over and rejoiced to be once more the master of the dear old swamp. viii old olifant had doubtless a right to burn all those brush-piles in the east and south of the swamp and to clear up the wreck of the old barbed-wire hog-pen just below the spring. but it was none the less hard on rag and his mother. the first were their various residences and outposts, and the second their grand fastness and safe retreat. they had so long held the swamp and felt it to be their very own in every part and suburb--including olifant's grounds and buildings--that they would have resented the appearance of another rabbit even about the adjoining barnyard. their claim, that of long, successful occupancy, was exactly the same as that by which most nations hold their land, and it would be hard to find a better right. during the time of the january thaw the olifants had cut the rest of the large wood about the pond and curtailed the cottontails' domain on all sides. but they still clung to the dwindling swamp, for it was their home and they were loath to move to foreign parts. their life of daily perils went on, but they were still fleet of foot, long of wind, and bright of wit. of late they had been somewhat troubled by a mink that had wandered upstream to their quiet nook. a little judicious guidance had transferred the uncomfortable visitor to olifant's hen-house. but they were not yet quite sure that he had been properly looked after. so for the present they gave up using the ground-holes, which were, of course, dangerous blind-alleys, and stuck closer than ever to the briers and the brush-piles that were left. that first snow had quite gone and the weather was bright and warm until now. molly, feeling a touch of rheumatism, was somewhere in the lower thicket seeking a teaberry tonic. rag was sitting in the weak sunlight on a bank in the east side. the smoke from the familiar gable chimney of olifant's house came fitfully drifting a pale blue haze through the underwoods and showing as a dull brown against the brightness of the sky. the sun-gilt gable was cut off midway by the banks of brier brush, that, purple in shadow, shone like rods of blazing crimson and gold in the light. beyond the house the barn with its gable and roof, new gift at the house, stood up like a noah's ark. the sounds that came from it, and yet more the delicious smell that mingled with the smoke, told rag that the animals were being fed cabbage in the yard. rag's mouth watered at the idea of the feast. he blinked and blinked as he snuffed its odorous promises, for he loved cabbage dearly. but then he had been to the barnyard the night before after a few paltry clover-tops, and no wise rabbit would go two nights running to the same place. therefore he did the wise thing. he moved across where he could not smell the cabbage and made his supper of a bundle of hay that had been blown from the stack. later, when about to settle for the night, he was joined by molly, who had taken her teaberry and then eaten her frugal meal of sweet birch near the sunning bank. meanwhile the sun had gone about his business elsewhere, taking all his gold and glory with him. off in the east a big black shutter came pushing up and rising higher and higher; it spread over the whole sky, shut out all light and left the world a very gloomy place indeed. then another mischief-maker, the wind, taking advantage of the sun's absence, came on the scene and set about brewing trouble. the weather turned colder and colder; it seemed worse than when the ground had been covered with snow. "isn't this terribly cold? how i wish we had our stove-pipe brush-pile," said rag. "a good night for the pine-root hole," replied molly, "but we have not yet seen the pelt of that mink on the end of the barn, and it is not safe till we do." the hollow hickory was gone--in fact at this very moment its trunk, lying in the wood-yard, was harboring the mink they feared. so the cottontails hopped to the south side of the pond and, choosing a brush-pile, they crept under and snuggled down for the night, facing the wind but with their noses in different directions so as to go out different ways in case of alarm. the wind blew harder and colder as the hours went by, and about midnight a fine icy snow came ticking down on the dead leaves and hissing through the brush-heap. it might seem a poor night for hunting, but that old fox from springfield was out. he came pointing up the wind in the shelter of the swamp and chanced in the lee of the brush-pile, where he scented the sleeping cotton-tails. he halted for a moment, then came stealthily sneaking up toward the brush under which his nose told him the rabbits were crouching. the noise of the wind and the sleet enabled him to come quite close before molly heard the faint crunch of a dry leaf under his paw. she touched rag's whiskers, and both were fully awake just as the fox sprang on them; but they always slept with their legs ready for a jump. molly darted out into the blinding storm. the fox missed his spring but followed like a racer, while rag dashed off to one side. there was only one road for molly; that was straight up the wind, and bounding for her life she gained a little over the unfrozen mud that would not carry the fox, till she reached the margin of the pond. no chance to turn now, on she must go. splash! splash! through the weeds she went, then plunge into the deep water. and plunge went the fox close behind. but it was too much for reynard on such a night. he turned back, and molly, seeing only one course, struggled through the reeds into the deep water and struck out for the other shore. but there was a strong headwind. the little waves, icy cold, broke over her head as she swam, and the water was full of snow that blocked her way like soft ice, or floating mud. the dark line of the other shore seemed far, far away, with perhaps the fox waiting for her there. but she laid her ears flat to be out of the gale, and bravely put forth all her strength with wind and tide against her. after a long, weary swim in the cold water, she had nearly reached the farther reeds when a great mass of floating snow barred her road; then the wind on the bank made strange, fox-like sounds that robbed her of all force, and she was drifted far backward before she could get free from the floating bar. again she struck out, but slowly--oh so slowly now. and when at last she reached the lee of the tall reeds, her limbs were numbed, her strength spent, her brave little heart was sinking, and she cared no more whether the fox were there or not. through the reeds she did indeed pass, but once in the weeds her course wavered and slowed, her feeble strokes no longer sent her landward, the ice forming around her stopped her altogether. in a little while the cold, weak limbs ceased to move, the furry nose-tip of the little mother cottontail wobbled no more, and the soft brown eyes were closed in death. but there was no fox waiting to tear her with ravenous jaws. rag had escaped the first onset of the foe, and as soon as he regained his wits he came running back to change-off and so help his mother. he met the old fox going round the pond to meet molly and led him far and away, then dismissed him with a barbed-wire gash on his head, and came to the bank and sought about and trailed and thumped, but all his searching was in vain; he could not find his little mother. he never saw her again, and he never knew whither she went, for she slept her never-waking sleep in the ice-arms of her friend the water that tells no tales. poor little molly cottontail! she was a true heroine, yet only one of unnumbered millions that without a thought of heroism have lived and done their best in their little world, and died. she fought a good fight in the battle of life. she was good stuff; the stuff that never dies. for flesh of her flesh and brain of her brain was rag. she lives in him, and through him transmits a finer fibre to her race. and rag still lives in the swamp. old olifant died that winter, and the unthrifty sons ceased to clear the swamp or mend the wire fences. within a single year it was a wilder place than ever; fresh trees and brambles grew, and falling wires made many cottontail castles and last retreats that dogs and foxes dared not storm. and there to this day lives rag. he is a big strong buck now and fears no rivals. he has a large family of his own, and a pretty brown wife that he got i know not where. there, no doubt, he and his children's children will flourish for many years to come, and there you may see them any sunny evening if you have learnt their signal code, and, choosing a good spot on the ground, know just how and when to thump it. bingo "ye franckelyn's dogge leaped over a style, and yey yclept him lyttel bingo, b-i-n-g-o, and yey yclept him lyttel bingo. ye franchelyn's wyfe brewed nutte-brown ayle, and he yclept ytte rare-goode stingo, s-t-i-n-g-o, and he yclept ytte rare goode stingo. now ys not this a prettye rhyme, i thynke ytte ys bye jingo, j-i-n-g-o, i thynke ytte ys bye jingo." bingo, the story of my dog i it was early in november, , and the manitoba winter had just set in. i was tilting back in my chair for a few lazy moments after breakfast, idly alternating my gaze from the one window-pane of our shanty, through which was framed a bit of the prairie and the end of our cowshed, to the old rhyme of the 'franckelyn's dogge' pinned on the logs near by. but the dreamy mixture of rhyme and view was quickly dispelled by the sight of a large gray animal dashing across the prairie into the cowshed, with a smaller black and white animal in hot pursuit. "a wolf," i exclaimed, and seizing a rifle dashed out to help the dog. but before i could get there they had left the stable, and after a short run over the snow the wolf again turned at bay, and the dog, our neighbor's collie, circled about watching his chance to snap. i fired a couple of long shots, which had the effect only of setting them off again over the prairie. after another run this matchless dog closed and seized the wolf by the haunch, but again retreated to avoid the fierce return chop. then there was another stand at bay, and again a race over the snow. every few hundred yards this scene was repeated, the dog managing so that each fresh rush should be toward the settlement, while the wolf vainly tried to break back toward the dark belt of trees in the east. at last after a mile of this fighting and running i overtook them, and the dog, seeing that he now had good backing, closed in for the finish. after a few seconds the whirl of struggling animals resolved itself into a wolf, on his back, with a bleeding collie gripping his throat, and it was now easy for me to step up and end the fight by putting a ball through the wolf's head. then, when this dog of marvellous wind saw that his foe was dead, he gave him no second glance, but set out at a lope for a farm four miles across the snow where he had left his master when first the wolf was started. he was a wonderful dog, and even if i had not come he undoubtedly would have killed the wolf alone, as i learned he had already done with others of the kind, in spite of the fact that the wolf, though of the smaller or prairie race, was much larger than himself. i was filled with admiration for the dog's prowess and at once sought to buy him at any price. the scornful reply of his owner was, "why don't you try to buy one of the children?" since frank was not in the market i was obliged to content myself with the next best thing, one of his alleged progeny. that is, a son of his wife. this probable offspring of an illustrious sire was a roly-poly ball of black fur that looked more like a long-tailed bearcub than a puppy. but he had some tan markings like those on frank's coat, that were, i hoped, guarantees of future greatness, and also a very characteristic ring of white that he always wore on his muzzle. having got possession of his person, the next thing was to find him a name. surely this puzzle was already solved. the rhyme of the 'franckelyn's dogge' was in-built with the foundation of our acquaintance, so with adequate pomp 'we yclept him little bingo.' ii the rest of that winter bingo spent in our shanty, living the life of a blubbery, fat, well-meaning, ill-doing puppy; gorging himself with food and growing bigger and clumsier each day. even sad experience failed to teach him that he must keep his nose out of the rat trap. his most friendly overtures to the cat were wholly misunderstood and resulted only in an armed neutrality that varied by occasional reigns of terror, continued to the end; which came when bingo, who early showed a mind of his own, got a notion for sleeping at the barn and avoiding the shanty altogether. when the spring came i set about his serious education. after much pains on my behalf and many pains on his, he learned to go at the word in quest of our old yellow cow, that pastured at will on the unfenced prairie. once he had learned his business, he became very fond of it and nothing pleased him more than an order to go and fetch the cow. away he would dash, barking with pleasure and leaping high in the air that he might better scan the plain for his victim. in a short time he would return driving her at full gallop before him, and gave her no peace until, puffing and blowing, she was safely driven into the farthest corner of her stable. less energy on his part would have been more satisfactory, but we bore with him until he grew so fond of this semi-daily hunt that he began to bring 'old dunne' without being told. and at length not once or twice but a dozen times a day this energetic cowherd would sally forth on his own responsibility and drive the cow home to the stable. at last things came to such a pass that whenever he felt like taking a little exercise, or had a few minutes of spare time, or even happened to think of it, bingo would sally forth at racing speed over the plain and a few minutes later return, driving the unhappy yellow cow at full gallop before him. at first this did not seem very bad, as it kept the cow from straying too far; but soon it was seen that it hindered her feeding. she became thin and gave less milk; it seemed to weigh on her mind too, as she was always watching nervously for that hateful dog, and in the mornings would hang around the stable as though afraid to venture off and subject herself at once to an onset. this was going too far. all attempts to make bingo more moderate in his pleasure were failures, so he was compelled to give it up altogether. after this, though he dared not bring her home, he continued to show his interest by lying at her stable door while she was being milked. as the summer came on the mosquitoes became a dreadful plague, and the consequent vicious switching of dunne's tail at milking-time was even more annoying than the mosquitoes. fred, the brother who did the milking, was of an inventive as well as an impatient turn of mind, and he devised a simple plan to stop the switching. he fastened a brick to the cow's tail, then set blithely about his work assured of unusual comfort while the rest of us looked on in doubt. suddenly through the mist of mosquitoes came a dull whack and an outburst of 'language.' the cow went on placidly chewing till fred got on his feet and furiously attacked her with the milking-stool. it was bad enough to be whacked on the ear with a brick by a stupid old cow, but the uproarious enjoyment and ridicule of the bystanders made it unendurable. bingo, hearing the uproar, and divining that he was needed, rushed in and attacked dunne on the other side. before the affair quieted down the milk was spilt, the pail and stool were broken, and the cow and the dog severely beaten. poor bingo could not understand it at all. he had long ago learned to despise that cow, and now in utter disgust he decided to forsake even her stable door, and from that time be attached himself exclusively to the horses and their stable. the cattle were mine, the horses were my brother's, and in transferring his allegiance from the cow-stable to the horse-stable bingo seemed to give me up too, and anything like daily companionship ceased, and yet, whenever any emergency arose bingo turned to me and i to him, and both seemed to feel that the bond between man and dog is one that lasts as long as life. the only other occasion on which bingo acted as cowherd was in the autumn of the same year at the annual carberry fair. among the dazzling inducements to enter one's stock there was, in addition to a prospect of glory, a cash prize of 'two dollars' for the 'best collie in training'. misled by a false friend, i entered bingo, and early on the day fixed, the cow was driven to the prairie just outside of the village. when the time came she was pointed out to bingo and the word given--'go fetch the cow.' it was the intention, of course, that he should bring her to me at the judge's stand. but the animals knew better. they hadn't rehearsed all summer for nothing. when dunne saw bingo's careering form she knew that her only hope for safety was to get into her stable, and bingo was equally sure that his sole mission in life was to quicken her pace in that direction. so off they raced over the prairie, like a wolf after a deer, and heading straight toward their home two miles way, they disappeared from view. that was the last that judge or jury ever saw of dog or cow. the prize was awarded to the only other entry. iii bingo's loyalty to the horses was quite remarkable; by day he trotted beside them, and by night he slept at the stable door. where the team went bingo went, and nothing kept him away from them. this interesting assumption of ownership lent the greater significance to the following circumstance. i was not superstitious, and up to this time had had no faith in omens, but was now deeply impressed by a strange occurrence in which bingo took a leading part. there were but two of us now living on the de winton farm. one morning my brother set out for boggy creek for a load of hay. it was a long day's journey there and back, and he made an early start. strange to tell, bingo for once in his life did not follow the team. my brother called to him, but still he stood at a safe distance, and eyeing the team askance, refused to stir. suddenly he raised his nose in the air and gave vent to a long, melancholy howl. he watched the wagon out of sight, and even followed for a hundred yards or so, raising his voice from time to time in the most doleful howlings. all that day he stayed about the barn, the only time that he was willingly separated from the horses, and at intervals howled a very death dirge. i was alone, and the dog's behavior inspired me with an awful foreboding of calamity, that weighed upon us more and more as the hours passed away. about six o'clock bingo's howlings became unbearable, so that for lack of a better thought i threw something at him, and ordered him away. but oh, the feeling of horror that filled me! why did i let my brother go away alone? should i ever again see him alive? i might have known from the dog's actions that something dreadful was about to happen. at length the hour for his return arrived, and there was john on his load. i took charge of the horses, vastly relieved, and with an air of assumed unconcern, asked, "all right?" "right," was the laconic answer. who now can say that there is nothing in omens? and yet when, long afterward, i told this to one skilled in the occult, he looked grave, and said, "bingo always turned to you in a crisis?" "yes." "then do not smile. it was you that were in danger that day; he stayed and saved your life, though you never knew from what." iv early in the spring i had begun bingo's education. very shortly afterward he began mine. midway on the two-mile stretch of prairie that lay between our shanty and the village of carberry, was the corner-stake of the farm; it was a stout post in a low mound of earth, and was visible from afar. i soon noticed that bingo never passed without minutely examining this mysterious post. next i learned that it was also visited by the prairie wolves as well as by all the dogs in the neighborhood, and at length, with the aid of a telescope, i made a number of observations that helped me to an understanding of the matter and enabled me to enter more fully into bingo's private life. the post was by common agreement a registry of the canine tribes. their exquisite sense of smell enabled each individual to tell at once by the track and trace what other had recently been at the post. when the snow came much more was revealed. i then discovered that this post was but one of a system that covered the country; that, in short, the entire region was laid out in signal stations at convenient intervals. these were marked by any conspicuous post, stone, buffalo skull, or other object that chanced to be in the desired locality, and extensive observation showed that it was a very complete system for getting and giving the news. each dog or wolf makes a point of calling at those stations that are near his line of travel to learn who has recently been there, just as a man calls at his club on returning to town and looks up the register. i have seen bingo approach the post, sniff, examine the ground about, then growl, and with bristling mane and glowing eyes, scratch fiercely and contemptuously with his hind feet, finally walking off very stiffly, glancing back from time to time. all of which, being interpreted, said: "grrrh! woof! there's that dirty cur of mccarthy's. woof! i'll 'tend to him tonight. woof! woof!" on another occasion, after the preliminaries, he became keenly interested and studied a coyote's track that came and went, saying to himself, as i afterward learned: "a coyote track coming from the north, smelling of dead cow. indeed? pollworth's old brindle must be dead at last. this is worth looking into." at other times he would wag his tail, trot about the vicinity and come again and again to make his own visit more evident, perhaps for the benefit of his brother bill just back from brandon! so that it was not by chance that one night bill turned up at bingo's home and was taken to the hills, where a delicious dead horse afforded a chance to suitably celebrate the reunion. at other times he would be suddenly aroused by the news, take up the trail, and race to the next station for later information. sometimes his inspection produced only an air of grave attention, as though he said to himself, "dear me, who the deuce is this?" or "it seems to me i met that fellow at the portage last summer." one morning on approaching the post bingo's every hair stood on end, his tail dropped and quivered, and he gave proof that he was suddenly sick at the stomach, sure signs of terror. he showed no desire to follow up or know more of the matter, but returned to the house, and half an hour afterward his mane was still bristling and his expression one of hate or fear. i studied the dreaded track and learned that in bingo's language the half-terrified, deep-gurgled 'grr-wff' means 'timber wolf.' these were among the things that bingo taught me. and in the after time when i might chance to see him arouse from his frosty nest by the stable door, and after stretching himself and shaking the snow from his shaggy coat, disappear into the gloom at a steady trot, trot, trot, i used to think: "ahh! old dog, i know where you are off to, and why you eschew the shelter of the shanty. now i know why your nightly trips over the country are so well timed, and how you know just where to go for what you want, and when and how to seek it." v in the autumn of , the shanty at de winton farm was closed and bingo changed his home to the establishment--that is, to the stable, not the house--of gordon wright, our most intimate neighbor. since the winter of his puppyhood he had declined to enter a house at any time excepting during a thunderstorm. of thunder and guns he had a deep dread--no doubt the fear of the first originated in the second, and that arose from some unpleasant shot-gun experiences, the cause of which will be seen. his nightly couch was outside the stable, even during the coldest weather, and it was easy to see he enjoyed to the full the complete nocturnal liberty entailed. bingo's midnight wanderings extended across the plains for miles. there was plenty of proof of this. some farmers at very remote points sent word to old gordon that if he did not keep his dog home nights, they would use the shot-gun, and bingo's terror of firearms would indicate that the threats were not idle. a man living as far away as petrel said he saw a large black wolf kill a coyote on the snow one winter evening, but afterward he changed his opinion and 'reckoned it must 'a' been wright's dog.' whenever the body of a winter-killed ox or horse was exposed, bingo was sure to repair to it nightly, and driving away the prairie wolves, feast to repletion. sometimes the object of a night foray was merely to maul some distant neighbor's dog, and notwithstanding vengeful threats, there seemed no reason to fear that the bingo breed would die out. one man even avowed that he had seen a prairie wolf accompanied by three young ones which resembled the mother, excepting that they were very large and black and had a ring of white around the muzzle. true or not as that may be, i know that late in march, while we were out in the sleigh with bingo trotting behind, a prairie wolf was started from a hollow. away it went with bingo in full chase, but the wolf did not greatly exert itself to escape, and within a short distance bingo was close up, yet strange to tell, there was no grappling, no fight! bingo trotted amiably alongside and licked the wolf's nose. we were astounded, and shouted to urge bingo on. our shouting and approach several times started the wolf off at speed and bingo again pursued until he had overtaken it, but his gentleness was too obvious. "it is a she-wolf, he won't harm her," i exclaimed as the truth dawned on me. and gordon said: "well, i be darned." so we called our unwilling dog and drove on. for weeks after this we were annoyed by the depredations of a prairie wolf who killed our chickens, stole pieces of pork from the end of the house, and several times terrified the children by looking into the window of the shanty while the men were away. against this animal bingo seemed to be no safeguard. at length the wolf, a female, was killed, and then bingo plainly showed his hand by his lasting enmity toward oliver, the man who did the deed. vi it is wonderful and beautiful how a man and his dog will stick to one another, through thick and thin. butler tells of an undivided indian tribe, in the far north which was all but exterminated by an internecine feud over a dog that belonged to one man and was killed by his neighbor; and among ourselves we have lawsuits, fights, and deadly feuds, all pointing the same old moral, 'love me, love my dog.' one of our neighbors had a very fine hound that he thought the best and dearest dog in the world. i loved him, so i loved his dog, and when one day poor tan crawled home terribly mangled and died by the door, i joined my threats of vengeance with those of his master and thenceforth lost no opportunity of tracing the miscreant, both by offering rewards and by collecting scraps of evidence. at length it was clear that one of three men to the southward had had a hand in the cruel affair. the scent was warming up, and soon we should have been in a position to exact rigorous justice, at least, from the wretch who had murdered poor old tan. then something took place which at once changed my mind and led me to believe that the mangling of the old hound was not by any means an unpardonable crime, but indeed on second thoughts was rather commendable than otherwise. gordon wright's farm lay to the south of us, and while there one day, gordon jr., knowing that i was tracking the murderer, took me aside and looking about furtively, he whispered, in tragic tones: "it was bing done it." and the matter dropped right there. for i confess that from that moment i did all in my power to baffle the justice i had previously striven so hard to further. i had given bingo away long before, but the feeling of ownership did not die; and of this indissoluble fellowship of dog and man he was soon to take part in another important illustration. old gordon and oliver were close neighbors and friends; they joined in a contract to cut wood, and worked together harmoniously till late on in winter. then oliver's old horse died, and he, determining to profit as far as possible, dragged it out on the plain and laid poison baits for wolves around it. alas for poor bingo! he would lead a wolfish life, though again and again it brought him into wolfish misfortunes. he was as fond of dead horse as any of his wild kindred. that very night, with wright's own dog curley, he visited the carcass. it seemed as though bing had busied himself chiefly keeping off the wolves, but curley feasted immoderately. the tracks in the snow told the story of the banquet; the interruption as the poison began to work, and of the dreadful spasms of pain during the erratic course back home where curley, falling in convulsions at gordon's feet, died in the greatest agony. 'love me, love my dog,' no explanations or apology were acceptable; it was useless to urge that it was accidental; the long-standing feud between bingo and oliver was now remembered as an important sidelight. the wood-contract was thrown up, all friendly relations ceased, and to this day there is no county big enough to hold the rival factions which were called at once into existence and to arms by curley's dying yell. it was months before bingo really recovered from the poison. we believed indeed that he never again would be the sturdy old-time bingo. but when the spring came he began to gain strength, and bettering as the grass grew, he was within a few weeks once more in full health and vigor to be a pride to his friends and a nuisance to his neighbors. vii changes took me far away from manitoba, and on my return in bingo was still a member of wright's household. i thought he would have forgotten me after two years' absence, but not so. one day early in the winter, after having been lost for forty-eight hours, he crawled home to wright's with a wolf-trap and a heavy log fast to one foot, and the foot frozen to stony hardness. no one had been able to approach to help him, he was so savage, when i, the stranger now, stooped down and laid hold of the trap with one hand and his leg with the other. instantly he seized my wrist in his teeth. without stirring i said, "bing, don't you know me?" he had not broken the skin and at once released his hold and offered no further resistance, although he whined a good deal during the removal of the trap. he still acknowledged me his master in spite of his change of residence and my long absence, and notwithstanding my surrender of ownership i still felt that he was my dog. bing was carried into the house much against his will and his frozen foot thawed out. during the rest of the winter he went lame and two of his toes eventually dropped off. but before the return of warm weather his health and strength were fully restored, and to a casual glance he bore no mark of his dreadful experience in the steel trap. viii during that same winter i caught many wolves and foxes who did not have bingo's good luck in escaping the traps, which i kept out right into the spring, for bounties are good even when fur is not. kennedy's plain was always a good trapping ground because it was unfrequented by man and yet lay between the heavy woods and the settlement. i had been fortunate with the fur here, and late in april rode in on one of my regular rounds. the wolf-traps are made of heavy steel and have two springs, each of one hundred pounds power. they are set in fours around a buried bait, and after being strongly fastened to concealed logs are carefully covered in cotton and in fine sand so as to be quite invisible. a prairie wolf was caught in one of these. i killed him with a club and throwing him aside proceeded to reset the trap as i had done so many hundred times before. all was quickly done. i threw the trap-wrench over toward the pony, and seeing some fine sand nearby, i reached out for a handful of it to add a good finish to the setting. oh, unlucky thought! oh, mad heedlessness born of long immunity! that fine sand was on the next wolftrap and in an instant i was a prisoner. although not wounded, for the traps have no teeth, and my thick trapping gloves deadened the snap, i was firmly caught across the hand above the knuckles. not greatly alarmed at this, i tried to reach the trap-wrench with my right foot. stretching out at full length, face downward, i worked myself toward it, making my imprisoned arm as long and straight as possible. i could not see and reach at the same time, but counted on my toe telling me when i touched the little iron key to my fetters. my first effort was a failure; strain as i might at the chain my toe struck no metal. i swung slowly around my anchor, but still failed. then a painfully taken observation showed i was much too far to the west. i set about working around, tapping blindly with my toe to discover the key. thus wildly groping with my right foot i forgot about the other till there was a sharp 'clank' and the iron jaws of trap no. closed tight on my left foot. the terrors of the situation did not, at first, impress me, but i soon found that all my struggles were in vain. i could not get free from either trap or move the traps together, and there i lay stretched out and firmly staked to the ground. what would become of me now? there was not much danger of freezing for the cold weather was over, but kennedy's plain was never visited by the winter wood-cutters. no one knew where i had gone, and unless i could manage to free myself there was no prospect ahead but to be devoured by wolves, or else die of cold and starvation. as i lay there the red sun went down over the spruce swamp west of the plain, and a shorelark on a gopher mound a few yards off twittered his evening song, just as one had done the night before at our shanty door, and though the numb pains were creeping up my arm, and a deadly chill possessed me, i noticed how long his little ear-tufts were. then my thoughts went to the comfortable supper-table at wright's shanty, and i thought, now they are frying the pork for supper, or just sitting down. my pony still stood as i left him with his bridle on the ground patiently waiting to take me home. he did not understand the long delay, and when i called, he ceased nibbling the grass and looked at me in dumb, helpless inquiry. if he would only go home the empty saddle might tell the tale and bring help. but his very faithfulness kept him waiting hour after hour while i was perishing of cold and hunger. then i remembered how old girou the trapper had been lost, and in the following spring his comrades found his skeleton held by the leg in a bear-trap. i wondered which part of my clothing would show my identity. then a new thought came to me. this is how a wolf feels when he is trapped. oh! what misery have i been responsible for! now i'm to pay for it. night came slowly on. a prairie wolf howled, the pony pricked up his ears and, walking nearer to me, stood with his head down. then another prairie wolf howled and another, and i could make out that they were gathering in the neighborhood. there i lay prone and helpless, wondering if it would not be strictly just that they should come and tear me to pieces. i heard them calling for a long time before i realized that dim, shadowy forms were sneaking near. the horse saw them first, and his terrified snort drove them back at first, but they came nearer next time and sat around me on the prairie. soon one bolder than the others crawled up and tugged at the body of his dead relative. i shouted and he retreated growling. the pony ran to a distance in terror. presently the wolf returned, and after after two or three of these retreats and returns, the body was dragged off and devoured by the rest in a few minutes. after this they gathered nearer and sat on their haunches to look at me, and the boldest one smelt the rifle and scratched dirt on it. he retreated when i kicked at him with my free foot and shouted, but growing bolder as i grew weaker he came and snarled right in my face. at this several others snarled and came up closer, and i realized that i was to be devoured by the foe that i most despised; when suddenly out of the gloom with a guttural roar sprang a great black wolf. the prairie wolves scattered like chaff except the bold one, which, seized by the black new-comer, was in a few moments a draggled corpse, and then, oh horrors! this mighty brute bounded at me and--bingo--noble bingo, rubbed his shaggy, panting sides against me and licked my cold face. "bingo--bing--old--boy--fetch me the trap wrench!" away he went and returned dragging the rifle, for he knew only that i wanted something. "no--bing--the trap-wrench." this time it was my sash, but at last he brought the wrench and wagged his tail in joy that it was right. reaching out with my free hand, after much difficulty i unscrewed the pillar-nut. the trap fell apart and my hand was released, and a minute later i was free. bing brought the pony up, and after slowly walking to restore the circulation i was able to mount. then slowly at first but soon at a gallop, with bingo as herald careering and barking ahead, we set out for home, there to learn that the night before, though never taken on the trapping rounds, the brave dog had acted strangely, whimpering and watching the timber-trail; and at last when night came on, in spite of attempts to detain him he had set out in the gloom and guided by a knowledge that is beyond us had reached the spot in time to avenge me as well as set me free. staunch old bing--he was a strange dog. though his heart was with me, he passed me next day with scarcely a look, but responded with alacrity when little gordon called him to a gopher-hunt. and it was so to the end; and to the end also he lived the wolfish life that he loved, and never failed to seek the winter-killed horses and found one again with a poisoned bait, and wolfishly bolted that; then feeling the pang, set out, not for wright's but to find me, and reached the door of my shanty where i should have been. next day on returning i found him dead in the snow with his head on the sill of the door--the door of his puppyhood's days; my dog to the last in his heart of hearts--it was my help he sought, and vainly sought, in the hour of his bitter extremity. the springfield fox i the hens had been mysteriously disappearing for over a month; and when i came home to springfield for the summer holidays it was my duty to find the cause. this was soon done. the fowls were carried away bodily one at a time, before going to roost or else after leaving, which put tramps and neighbors out of court; they were not taken from the high perches, which cleared all coons and owls; or left partly eaten, so that weasels, skunks, or minks were not the guilty ones, and the blame, therefore, was surely left at reynard's door. the great pine wood of erindale was on the other bank of the river, and on looking carefully about the lower ford i saw a few fox-tracks and a barred feather from one of our plymouth rock chickens. on climbing the farther bank in search of more clews, i heard a great outcry of crows behind me, and turning, saw a number of these birds darting down at something in the ford. a better view showed that it was the old story, thief catch thief, for there in the middle of the ford was a fox with something in his jaws--he was returning from our barnyard with another hen. the crows, though shameless robbers themselves, are ever first to cry 'stop thief,' and yet more than ready to take 'hush-money' in the form of a share in the plunder. and this was their game now. the fox to get back home must cross the river, where he was exposed to the full brunt of the crow mob. he made a dash for it, and would doubtless have gotten across with his booty had i not joined in the attack, whereupon he dropped the hen, scarce dead, and disappeared in the woods. this large and regular levy of provisions wholly carried off could mean but one thing, a family of little foxes at home; and to find them i now was bound. that evening i went with ranger, my hound, across the river into the erindale woods. as soon as the hound began to circle, we heard the short, sharp bark of a fox from a thickly wooded ravine close by. ranger dashed in at once, struck a hot scent and went off on a lively straight-away till his voice was lost in the distance away over the upland. after nearly an hour he came back, panting and warm, for it was baking august weather, and lay down at my feet. but almost immediately the same foxy 'yap yurrr' was heard close at hand and off dashed the dog on another chase. away he went in the darkness, baying like a foghorn, straight away to the north. and the loud 'boo, boo,' became a low 'oo, oo,' and that a feeble 'o-o' and then was lost. they must have gone some miles away, for even with ear to the ground i heard nothing of them though a mile was easy distance for ranger's brazen voice. as i waited in the black woods i heard a sweet sound of dripping water: 'tink tank tenk tink, ta tink tank tenk tonk.' i did not know of any spring so near, and in the hot night it was a glad find. but the sound led me to the bough of a oak-tree, where i found its source. such a soft sweet song; full of delightful suggestion on such a night: tonk tank tenk tink ta tink a tonk a tank a tink a ta ta tink tank ta ta tonk tink drink a tank a drink a drunk. it was the 'water-dripping' song of the saw-whet owl. but suddenly a deep raucous breathing and a rustle of leaves showed that ranger was back. he was completely fagged out. his tongue hung almost to the ground and was dripping with foam, his flanks were heaving and spume-flecks dribbled from his breast and sides. he stopped panting a moment to give my hand a dutiful lick, then flung himself flop on the leaves to drown all other sounds with his noisy panting. but again that tantilizing 'yap yurrr' was heard a few feet away, and the meaning of it all dawned on me. we were close to the den where the little foxes were, and the old ones were taking turns in trying to lead us away. it was late night now, so we went home feeling sure that the problem was nearly solved. ii it was well known that there was an old fox with his family living in the neighborhood, but no one supposed them so near. this fox had been called 'scarface,' because of a scar reaching from his eye through and back of his ear; this was supposed to have been given him by a barbed-wire fence during a rabbit hunt, and as the hair came in white after it healed it was always a strong mark. the winter before i had met with him and had had a sample of his craftiness. i was out shooting, after a fall of snow, and had crossed the open fields to the edge of the brushy hollow back of the old mill. as my head rose to a view of the hollow i caught sight of a fox trotting at long range down the other side, in line to cross my course. instantly i held motionless, and did not even lower or turn my head lest i should catch his eye by moving, until he went on out of sight in the thick cover at the bottom. as soon as he was hidden i bobbed down and ran to head him off where he should leave the cover on the other side, and was there in good time awaiting, but no fox came forth. a careful look showed the fresh track of a fox that had bounded from the cover, and following it with my eye i saw old scarface himself far out of range behind me, sitting on his haunches and grinning as though much amused. a study of the trail made all clear. he had seen me at the moment i saw him, but he, also like a true hunter, had concealed the fact, putting on an air of unconcern till out of sight, when he had run for his life around behind me and amused himself by watching my still-born trick. in the springtime i had yet another instance of scarface's cunning. i was walking with a friend along the road over the high pasture. we passed within thirty feet of a ridge on which were several gray and brown boulders. when at the nearest point my friend said: "stone number three looks to me very much like a fox curled up." but i could not see it, and we passed. we had not gone many yards farther when the wind blew on this boulder as on fur. my friend said, "i am sure that is a fox, lying asleep." "we'll soon settle that," i replied, and turned back, but as soon as i had taken one step from the road, up jumped scarface, for it was he, and ran. a fire had swept the middle of the pasture, leaving a broad belt of black; over this he scurried till he came to the unburnt yellow grass again, where he squatted down and was lost to view. he had been watching us all the time, and would not have moved had we kept to the road. the wonderful part of this is, not that he resembled the round stones and dry grass, but that he knew he did, and was ready to profit by it. we soon found that it was scarface and his wife vixen that had made our woods their home and our barnyard their base of supplies. next morning a search in the pines showed a great bank of earth that had been scratched up within a few months. it must have come from a hole, and yet there was none to be seen. it is well known that a really cute fox, on digging a new den, brings all the earth out at the first hole made, but carries on a tunnel into some distant thicket. then closing up for good the first made and too well-marked door, uses only the entrance hidden in the thicket. so after a little search at the other side of a knoll, i found the real entry and good proof that there was a nest of little foxes inside. rising above the brush on the hillside was a great hollow basswood. it leaned a good deal and had a large hole at the bottom, and a smaller one at top. we boys had often used this tree in playing swiss family robinson, and by cutting steps in its soft punky walls had made it easy to go up and down in the hollow. now it came in handy, for next day when the sun was warm i went there to watch, and from this perch on the roof, i soon saw the interesting family that lived in the cellar near by. there were four little foxes; they looked curiously like little lambs, with their woolly coats, their long thick legs and innocent expressions, and yet a second glance at their broad, sharp-nosed, sharp-eyed visages showed that each of these innocents was the makings of a crafty old fox. they played about, basking in the sun, or wrestling with each other till a slight sound made them scurry under ground. but their alarm was needless, for the cause of it was their mother; she stepped from the bushes bringing another hen--number seventeen as i remember. a low call from her and the little fellows came tumbling out. then began a scene that i thought charming, but which my uncle would not have enjoyed at all. they rushed on the hen, and tussled and fought with it, and each other, while the mother, keeping a sharp eye for enemies, looked on with fond delight. the expression on her face was remarkable. it was first a grinning of delight, but her usual look of wildness and cunning was there, nor were cruelty and nervousness lacking, but over all was the unmistakable look of the mother's pride and love. the base of my tree was hidden in bushes and much lower than the knoll where the den was, so i could come and go at will without scaring the foxes. for many days i went there and saw much of the training of the young ones. they early learned to turn to statuettes sound, and then on hearing it again or finding other cause for fear, to run for shelter. some animals have so much mother-love that it overflows and benefits outsiders. not so old vixen it would seem. her pleasure in the cubs led to most refined cruelty. for she often brought home to them mice and birds alive, and with diabolic gentleness would avoid doing them serious hurt so that the cubs might have larger scope to torment them. there was a woodchuck that lived over in the hill orchard. he was neither handsome nor interesting, but he knew how to take care of himself. he had dug a den between the roots of an old pine stump, so that the foxes could not follow him by digging. but hard work was not their way of life; wits they believed worth more then elbowgrease. this woodchuck usually sunned himself on the stump each morning. if he saw a fox near he went down in the door of his den, or if the enemy was very near he went inside and stayed long enough for the danger to pass. one morning vixen and her mate seemed to decide that it was time the children knew something about the broad subject of woodchucks, and further that this orchard woodchuck would serve nicely for an object-lesson. so they went together to the orchard-fence unseen by old chuckie on his stump. scarface then showed himself in the orchard and quietly walked in a line so as to pass by the stump at a distance, but never once turned his head or allowed the ever-watchful woodchuck to think himself seen. when the fox entered the field the woodchuck quietly dropped down to the mouth of his den: here he waited as the fox passed, but concluding that after all wisdom is the better part, went into his hole. this was what the foxes wanted. vixen had kept out of sight, but now ran swiftly to the stump and hid behind it. scarface had kept straight on, going very slowly. the woodchuck had not been frightened, so before long his head popped up between the roots and he looked around. there was that fox still going on, farther and farther away. the woodchuck grew bold as the fox went, and came out farther, and then seeing the coast clear, he scrambled onto the stump, and with one spring vixen had him and shook him till he lay senseless. scarface had watched out of the corner of his eye and now came running back. but vixen took the chuck in her jaws and made for the den, so he saw he wasn't needed. back to the den came vix, and carried the chuck so carefully that he was able to struggle a little when she got there. a low 'woof' at the den brought the little fellows out like schoolboys to play. she threw the wounded animal to them and they set on him like four little furies, uttering little growls and biting little bites with all the strength of their baby jaws, but the woodchuck fought for his life and beating them off slowly hobbled to the shelter of a thicket. the little ones pursued like a pack of hounds and dragged at his tail and flanks, but could not hold him back. so vixen overtook him with a couple of bounds and dragged him again into the open for the children to worry. again and again this rough sport went on till one of the little ones was badly bitten, and his squeal of pain roused vix to end the woodchuck's misery and serve him up at once. not far from the den was a hollow overgrown with coarse grass, the playground of a colony of field-mice. the earliest lesson in woodcraft that the little ones took, away from the den, was in this hollow. here they had their first course of mice, the easiest of all game. in teaching, the main thing was example, aided by a deep-set instinct. the old fox, also, had one or two signs meaning "lie still and watch," "come, do as i do," and so on, that were much used. so the merry lot went to this hollow one calm evening and mother fox made them lie still in the grass. presently a faint squeak showed that the game was astir. vix rose up and went on tiptoe into the grass--not crouching but as high as she could stand, sometimes on her hind legs so as to get a better view. the runs that the mice follow are hidden under the grass tangle, and the only way to know the whereabouts of a mouse is by seeing the slight shaking of the grass, which is the reason why mice are hunted only on calm days. and the trick is to locate the mouse and seize him first and see him afterward. vix soon made a spring, and in the middle of the bunch of dead grass that she grabbed was a field-mouse squeaking his last squeak. he was soon gobbled, and the four awkward little foxes tried to do the same as their mother, and when at length the eldest for the first time in his life caught game, he quivered with excitement and ground his pearly little milk-teeth into the mouse with a rush of inborn savageness that must have surprised even himself. another home lesson was on the red-squirrel. one of these noisy, vulgar creatures, lived close by and used to waste part of each day scolding the foxes from some safe perch. the cubs made many vain attempts to catch him as he ran across their glade from one tree to an other, or spluttered and scolded at them a foot or so out of reach. but old vixen was up in natural history--she knew squirrel nature and took the case in hand when the proper time came. she hid the children and lay down flat in the middle of the open glade. the saucy low-minded squirrel came and scolded as usual. but she moved no hair. he came nearer and at last right over head to chatter: "you brute you, you brute you." but vix lay as dead. this was very perplexing, so the squirrel came down the trunk and peeping about made a nervous dash across the grass, to another tree, again to scold from a safe perch. "you brute you, you useless brute, scarrr-scarrrr." but flat and lifeless on the grass lay vix. this was most tantilizing to the squirrel. he was naturally curious and disposed to be venturesome, so again he came to the ground and scurried across the glade nearer than before. still as death lay vix, "surely she was dead." and the little foxes began to wonder if their mother wasn't asleep. but the squirrel was working himself into a little craze of foolhardy curiosity. he had dropped a piece of bark on vix's head, he had used up his list of bad words and he had done it all over again, without getting a sign of life. so after a couple more dashes across the glade he ventured within a few feet of the really watchful vix, who sprang to her feet and pinned him in a twinkling. "and the little ones picked the bones e-oh." thus the rudiments of their education were laid, and afterward as they grew stronger they were taken farther afield to begin the higher branches of trailing and scenting. for each kind of prey they were taught a way to hunt, for every animal has some great strength or it could not live, and some great weakness or the others could not live. the squirrel's weakness was foolish curiosity; the fox's that he can't climb a tree. and the training of the little foxes was all shaped to take advantage of the weakness of the other creatures and to make up for their own by defter play where they are strong. from their parents they learned the chief axioms of the fox world. how, is not easy to say. but that they learned this in company with their parents was clear. here are some that foxes taught me, without saying a word:-- never sleep on your straight track. your nose is before your eyes, then trust it first. a fool runs down the wind. running rills cure many ills. never take the open if you can keep the cover. never leave a straight trail if a crooked one will do. if it's strange, it's hostile. dust and water burn the scent. never hunt mice in a rabbit-woods, or rabbits in a henyard. keep off the grass. inklings of the meanings of these were already entering the little ones' minds--thus, 'never follow what you can't smell,' was wise, they could see, because if you can't smell it, then the wind is so that it must smell you. one by one they learned the birds and beasts of their home woods, and then as they were able to go abroad with their parents they learned new animals. they were beginning to think they knew the scent of everything that moved. but one night the mother took them to a field where there was a strange black flat thing on the ground. she brought them on purpose to smell it, but at the first whiff their every hair stood on end, they trembled, they knew not why--it seemed to tingle through their blood and fill them with instinctive hate and fear. and when she saw its full effect she told them-- "that is man-scent." iii meanwhile the hens continued to disappear. i had not betrayed the den of cubs. indeed, i thought a good deal more of the little rascals than i did of the hens; but uncle was dreadfully wrought up and made most disparaging remarks about my woodcraft. to please him i one day took the hound across to the woods and seating myself on a stump on the open hillside, i bade the dog go on. within three minutes he sang out in the tongue all hunters know so well, "fox! fox! fox! straight away down the valley." after awhile i heard them coming back. there i saw the fox--scarface--loping lightly across the river-bottom to the stream. in he went and trotted along in the shallow water near the margin for two hundred yards, then came out straight toward me. though in full view, he saw me not but came up the hill watching over his shoulder for the hound. within ten feet of me he turned and sat with his back to me while he craned his neck and showed an eager interest in the doings of the hound. ranger came bawling along the trail till he came to the running water, the killer of scent, and here he was puzzled; but there was only one thing to do; that was by going up and down both banks find where the fox had left the river. the fox before me shifted his position a little to get a better view and watched with a most human interest all the circling of the hound. he was so close that i saw the hair of his shoulder bristle a little when the dog came in sight. i could see the jumping of his heart on his ribs, and the gleam of his yellow eye. when the dog was wholly baulked by the water trick, it was comical to see:--he could not sit still, but rocked up and down in glee, and reared on his hind feet to get a better view of the slow-plodding hound. with mouth opened nearly to his ears, though not at all winded, he panted noisily for a moment, or rather he laughed gleefully, just as a dog laughs by grinning and panting. old scarface wriggled in huge enjoyment as the hound puzzled over the trail so long that when he did find it, it was so stale he could barely follow it, and did not feel justified in tonguing on it at all. as soon as the hound was working up the hill, the fox quietly went into the woods. i had been sitting in plain view only ten feet away, but i had the wind and kept still and the fox never knew that his life had for twenty minutes been in the power of the foe he most feared. ranger also would have passed me as near as the fox, but i spoke to him, and with a little nervous start he quit the trail and looking sheepish lay down by my feet. this little comedy was played with variations for several days, but it was all in plain view from the house across the river. my uncle, impatient at the daily loss of hens, went out himself, sat on the open knoll, and when old scarface trotted to his lookout to watch the dull hound on the river flat below, my uncle remorselessly shot him in the back, at the very moment when he was grinning over a new triumph. iv but still the hens were disappearing. my uncle was wrathy. he determined to conduct the war himself, and sowed the woods with poison baits, trusting to luck that our own dogs would not get them. he indulged in contemptuous remarks on my by-gone woodcraft, and went out evenings with a gun and the two dogs, to see what he could destroy. vix knew right well what a poisoned bait was; she passed them by or else treated them with active contempt, but one she dropped down the hole of an old enemy, a skunk, who was never afterward seen. formerly old scarface was always ready to take charge of the dogs, and keep them out of mischief. but now that vix had the whole burden of the brood, she could no longer spend time in breaking every track to the den, and was not always at hand to meet and mislead the foes that might be coming too near. the end is easily foreseen. ranger followed a hot trail to the den, and spot, the fox-terrier, announced that the family was at home, and then did his best to go in after them. the whole secret was now out, and the whole family doomed. the hired man came around with pick and shovel to dig them out, while we and the dogs stood by. old vix soon showed herself in the near woods, and led the dogs away off down the river, where she shook them off when she thought proper, by the simple device of springing on a sheep's back. the frightened animal ran for several hundred yards, then vix got off, knowing that there was now a hopeless gap in the scent, and returned to the den. but the dogs, baffled by the break in the trail, soon did the same, to find vix hanging about in despair, vainly trying to decoy us away from her treasures. meanwhile paddy plied both pick and shovel with vigor and effect. the yellow, gravelly sand was heaping on both sides, and the shoulders of the sturdy digger were sinking below the level. after an hour's digging, enlivened by frantic rushes of the dogs after the old fox, who hovered near in the woods, pat called: "here they are, sot!" it was the den at the end of the burrow, and cowering as far back as they could, were the four little woolly cubs. before i could interfere, a murderous blow from the shovel, and a sudden rush for the fierce little terrier, ended the lives of three. the fourth and smallest was barely saved by holding him by his tail high out of reach of the excited dogs. he gave one short squeal, and his poor mother came at the cry, and circled so near that she would have been shot but for the accidental protection of the dogs, who somehow always seemed to get between, and whom she once more led away on a fruitless chase. the little one saved alive was dropped into a bag, where he lay quite still. his unfortunate brothers were thrown back into their nursery bed, and buried under a few shovelfuls of earth. we guilty ones then went back into the house, and the little fox was soon chained in the yard. no one knew just why he was kept alive, but in all a change of feeling had set in, and the idea of killing him was without a supporter. he was a pretty little fellow, like a cross between a fox and a lamb. his woolly visage and form were strangely lamb-like and innocent, but one could find in his yellow eyes a gleam of cunning and savageness as unlamb-like as it possibly could be. as long as anyone was near he crouched sullen and cowed in his shelter-box, and it was a full hour after being left alone before he ventured to look out. my window now took the place of the hollow bass wood. a number of hens of the breed he knew so well were about the cub in the yard. late that afternoon as they strayed near the captive there was a sudden rattle of the chain, and the youngster dashed at the nearest one and would have caught him but for the chain which brought him up with a jerk. he got on his feet and slunk back to his box, and though he afterward made several rushes he so gauged his leap as to win or fail within the length of the chain and never again was brought up by its cruel jerk. as night came down the little fellow became very uneasy, sneaking out of his box, but going back at each slight alarm, tugging at his chain, or at times biting it in fury while he held it down with his fore paws. suddenly he paused as though listening, then raising his little black nose he poured out a short quavering cry. once or twice this was repeated, the time between being occupied in worrying the chain and running about. then an answer came. the far-away yap-yurrr of the old fox. a few minutes later a shadowy form appeared on the wood-pile. the little one slunk into his box, but at once returned and ran to meet his mother with all the gladness that a fox could show. quick as a flash she seized him and turned to bear him away by the road she came. but the moment the end of the chain was reached the cub was rudely jerked from the old one's mouth, and she, scared by the opening of a window, fled over the wood-pile. an hour afterward the cub had ceased to run about or cry. i peeped out, and by the light of the moon saw the form of the mother at full length on the ground by the little one, gnawing at something--the clank of iron told what, it was that cruel chain. and tip, the little one, meanwhile was helping himself to a warm drink. on my going out she fled into the dark woods, but there by the shelter-box were two little mice, bloody and still warm, food for the cub brought by the devoted mother. and in the morning i found the chain was very bright for a foot or two next the little one's collar. on walking across the woods to the ruined den, i again found signs of vixen. the poor heart-broken mother had come and dug out the bedraggled bodies of her little ones. there lay the three little baby foxes all licked smooth now, and by them were two of our hens fresh killed. the newly heaved earth was printed all over with telltale signs--signs that told me that here by the side of her dead she had watched like rizpah. here she had brought their usual meal, the spoil of her nightly hunt. here she had stretched herself beside them and vainly offered them their natural drink and yearned to feed and warm them as of old, but only stiff little bodies under their soft wool she found, and little cold noses still and unresponsive. a deep impress of elbows, breasts, and hocks showed where she had laid in silent grief and watched them for long and mourned as a wild mother can mourn for its young. but from that time she came no more to the ruined den, for now she surely knew that her little ones were dead. tip the captive, the weakling of the brood, was now the heir to all her love. the dogs were loosed to guard the hens. the hired man had orders to shoot the old fox on sight--so had i but was resolved never to see her. chicken-heads, that a fox loves and a dog will not touch, had been poisoned and scattered through the woods; and the only way to the yard where tip was tied, was by climbing the wood-pile after braving all other dangers. and yet each night old vix was there to nurse her baby and bring it fresh-killed hens and game. again and again i saw her, although she came now without awaiting the querulous cry of the captive. the second night of the captivity i heard the rattle of the chain, and then made out that the old fox was there, hard at work digging a hole by the little one's kennel. when it was deep enough to half bury her, she gathered into it all the slack of the chain, and filled it again with earth. then in triumph thinking she had gotten rid of the chain, she seized little tip by the neck and turned to dash off up the wood-pile, but alas! only to have him jerked roughly from her grasp. poor little fellow, he whimpered sadly as he crawled into his box. after half an hour there was a great out cry among the dogs, and by their straight-away tonguing through the far wood i knew they were chasing vix. away up north they went in the direction of the railway and their noise faded from hearing. next morning the hound had not come back. we soon knew why. foxes long ago learned what a railroad is; they soon devised several ways of turning it to account. one way is when hunted to walk the rails for a long distance just before a train comes. the scent, always poor on iron, is destroyed by the train and there is always a chance of hounds being killed by the engine. but another way more sure, but harder to play, is to lead the hounds straight to a high trestle just ahead of the train, so that the engine overtakes them on it and they are surely dashed to destruction. this trick was skilfully played, and down below we found the mangled remains of old ranger and learned that vix was already wreaking her revenge. that same night she returned to the yard before spot's weary limbs could bring him back and killed another hen and brought it to tip, and stretched her panting length beside him that he might quench his thirst. for she seemed to think he had no food but what she brought. it was that hen that betrayed to my uncle the nightly visits. my own sympathies were all turning to vix, and i would have no hand in planning further murders. next night my uncle himself watched, gun in hand, for an hour. then when it became cold and the moon clouded over he remembered other important business elsewhere, and left paddy in his place. but paddy was "onaisy" as the stillness and anxiety of watching worked on his nerves. and the loud bang! bang! an hour later left us sure only that powder had been burned. in the morning we found vix had not failed her young one. again next night found my uncle on guard for another hen had been taken. soon after dark a single shot was heard, but vix dropped the game she was bringing and escaped. another attempt made that night called forth another gunshot. yet next day it was seen by the brightness of the chain that she had come again and vainly tried for hours to cut that hateful bond. such courage and stanch fidelity were bound to win respect, if not toleration. at any rate, there was no gunner in wait next night, when all was still. could it be of any use? driven off thrice with gunshots, would she make another try to feed or free her captive young one? would she? hers was a mother's love. there was but one to watch them this time, the fourth night, when the quavering whine of the little one was followed by that shadowy form above the wood pile. but carrying no fowl or food that could be seen. had the keen huntress failed at last? had she no head of game for this her only charge, or had she learned to trust his captors for his food? no, far from all this. the wild-wood mother's heart and hate were true. her only thought had been to set him free. all means she knew she tried, and every danger braved to tend him well and help him to be free. but all had failed. like a shadow she came and in a moment was gone, and tip seized on something dropped, and crunched and chewed with relish what she brought. but even as he ate, a knife-like pang shot through and a scream of pain escaped him. then there was a momentary struggle and the little fox was dead. the mother's love was strong in vix, but a higher thought was stronger. she knew right well the poison's power; she knew the poison bait, and would have taught him had he lived to know and shun it too. but now at last when she must choose for him a wretched prisoner's life or sudden death, she quenched the mother in her breast and freed him by the one remaining door. it is when the snow is on the ground that we take the census of the woods, and when the winter came it told me that vix no longer roamed the woods of erindale. where she went it never told, but only this, that she was gone. gone, perhaps, to some other far-off haunt to leave behind the sad remembrance of her murdered little ones and mate. or gone, may be, deliberately, from the scene of a sorrowful life, as many a wild-wood mother has gone, by the means that she herself had used to free her young one, the last of all her brood. the pacing mustang i jo calone threw down his saddle on the dusty ground, turned his horses loose, and went clanking into the ranchhouse. "nigh about chuck time?" he asked. "seventeen minutes," said the cook glancing at the waterbury, with the air of a train starter, though this show of precision had never yet been justified by events. "how's things on the perico?" said jo's pard. "hotter'n hinges," said jo. "cattle seem o.k.; lots of calves." "i seen that bunch o' mustangs that waters at antelope springs; couple o' colts along; one little dark one, a fair dandy; a born pacer. i run them a mile or two, and he led the bunch, an' never broke his pace. cut loose, an' pushed them jest for fun, an' darned if i could make him break." "you didn't have no reefreshments along?" said scarth, incredulously. "that's all right, scarth. you had to crawl on our last bet, an' you'll get another chance soon as you're man enough." "chuck," shouted the cook, and the subject was dropped. next day the scene of the roundup was changed, and the mustangs were forgotten. a year later the same corner of new mexico was worked over by the roundup, and again the mustang bunch was seen. the dark colt was now a black yearling, with thin, clean legs and glossy flanks; and more than one of the boys saw with his own eyes this oddity--the mustang was a born pacer. jo was along, and the idea now struck him that that colt was worth having. to an easterner this thought may not seem startling or original, but in the west, where an unbroken horse is worth $ , and where an ordinary saddlehorse is worth $ or $ , the idea of a wild mustang being desirable property does not occur to the average cowboy, for mustangs are hard to catch, and when caught are merely wild animal prisoners, perfectly useless and untamable to the last. not a few of the cattle-owners make a point of shooting all mustangs at sight, they are not only useless cumberers of the feeding-grounds, but commonly lead away domestic horses, which soon take to wild life and are thenceforth lost. wild jo calone knew a 'bronk right down to subsoil.' "i never seen a white that wasn't soft, nor a chestnut that wasn't nervous, nor a bay that wasn't good if broke right, nor a black that wasn't hard as nails, an' full of the old harry. all a black bronk wants is claws to be wus'n daniel's hull outfit of lions." since, then, a mustang is worthless vermin, and a black mustang ten times worse than worthless, jo's pard "didn't see no sense in jo's wantin' to corral the yearling," as he now seemed intent on doing. but jo got no chance to try that year. he was only a cow-puncher on $ a month, and tied to hours. like most of the boys, he always looked forward to having a ranch and an outfit of his own. his brand, the hogpen, of sinister suggestion, was already registered at santa fe, but of horned stock it was borne by a single old cow, so as to give him a legal right to put his brand on any maverick (or unbranded animal) he might chance to find. yet each fall, when paid off, jo could not resist the temptation to go to town with the boys and have a good time 'while the stuff held out.' so that his property consisted of little more than his saddle, his bed, and his old cow. he kept on hoping to make a strike that would leave him well fixed with a fair start, and when the thought came that the black mustang was his mascot, he only needed a chance to 'make the try.' the roundup circled down to the canadian river, and back in the fall by the don carlos hills, and jo saw no more of the pacer, though he heard of him from many quarters, for the colt, now a vigorous, young horse, rising three, was beginning to be talked of. antelope springs is in the middle of a great level plain. when the water is high it spreads into a small lake with a belt of sedge around it; when it is low there is a wide flat of black mud, glistening white with alkali in places, and the spring a water-hole in the middle. it has no flow or outlet and is fairly good water, the only drinking-place for many miles. this flat, or prairie as it would be called farther north, was the favorite feeding-ground of the black stallion, but it was also the pasture of many herds of range horses and cattle. chiefly interested was the 'l cross f' outfit. foster, the manager and part owner, was a man of enterprise. he believed it would pay to handle a better class of cattle and horses on the range, and one of his ventures was ten half-blooded mares, tall, clean-limbed, deer-eyed creatures that made the scrub cow-ponies look like pitiful starvelings of some degenerate and quite different species. one of these was kept stabled for use, but the nine, after the weaning of their colts, managed to get away and wandered off on the range. a horse has a fine instinct for the road to the best feed, and the nine mares drifted, of course, to the prairie of antelope springs, twenty miles to the southward. and when, later that summer foster went to round them up, he found the nine indeed, but with them and guarding them with an air of more than mere comradeship was a coal-black stallion, prancing around and rounding up the bunch like an expert, his jet-black coat a vivid contrast to the golden hides of his harem. the mares were gentle, and would have been easily driven homeward but for a new and unexpected thing. the black stallion became greatly aroused. he seemed to inspire them too with his wildness, and flying this way and that way drove the whole band at full gallop where he would. away they went, and the little cow-ponies that carried the men were easily left behind. this was maddening, and both men at last drew their guns and sought a chance to drop that 'blasted stallion.' but no chance came that was not to of dropping one of the mares. a long day of manoeuvring made no change. the pacer, for it was he, kept his family together and disappeared among the southern sand-hills. the cattlemen on their jaded ponies set out for home with the poor satisfaction of vowing vengeance for their failure on the superb cause of it. one of the most aggravating parts of it was that one or two experiences like this would surely make the mares as wild as the mustang, and there seemed to be no way of saving them from it. scientists differ on the power of beauty and prowess to attract female admiration among the lower animals, but whether it is admiration or the prowess itself, it is certain that a wild animal of uncommon gifts soon wins a large following from the harems of his rivals. and the great black horse, with his inky mane and tail and his green-lighted eyes, ranged through all that region and added to his following from many bands till not less than a score of mares were in his 'bunch.' most were merely humble cow-ponies turned out to range, but the nine great mares were there, a striking group by themselves. according to all reports, this bunch was always kept rounded up and guarded with such energy and jealously that a mare, once in it, was a lost animal so far as man was concerned, and the ranchmen realized soon that they had gotten on the range a mustang that was doing them more harm than all other sources of loss put together. ii it was december, . i was new in the country, and was setting out from the ranch-house on the pinavetitos, to go with a wagon to the canadian river. as i was leaving, foster finished his remark by: "and if you get a chance to draw a bead on that accursed mustang, don't fail to drop him in his tracks." this was the first i had heard of him, and as i rode along i gathered from burns, my guide, the history that has been given. i was full of curiosity to see the famous three-year-old, and was not a little disappointed on the second day when we came to the prairie on antelope springs and saw no sign of the pacer or his band. but on the next day, as we crossed the alamosa arroyo, and were rising to the rolling prairie again, jack burns, who was riding on ahead, suddenly dropped flat on the neck of his horse, and swung back to me in the wagon, saying: "get out your rifle, here's that--stallion." i seized my rifle, and hurried forward to a view over the prairie ridge. in the hollow below was a band of horses, and there at one end was the great black mustang. he had heard some sound of our approach, and was not unsuspicious of danger. there he stood with head and tail erect, and nostrils wide, an image of horse perfection and beauty, as noble an animal as ever ranged the plains, and the mere notion of turning that magnificent creature into a mass of carrion was horrible. in spite of jack's exhortation to 'shoot quick,' i delayed, and threw open the breach, whereupon he, always hot and hasty, swore at my slowness, growled, 'gi' me that gun,' and as he seized it i turned the muzzle up, and accidentally the gun went off. instantly the herd below was all alarm, the great black leader snorted and neighed and dashed about. and the mares bunched, and away all went in a rumble of hoofs, and a cloud of dust. the stallion careered now on this side, now on that, and kept his eye on all and led and drove them far away. as long as i could see i watched, and never once did he break his pace. jack made western remarks about me and my gun, as well as that mustang, but i rejoiced in the pacer's strength and beauty, and not for all the mares in the bunch would i have harmed his glossy hide. iii there are several ways of capturing wild horses. one is by creasing--that is, grazing the animal's nape with a rifle-ball so that he is stunned long enough for hobbling. "yes! i seen about a hundred necks broke trying it, but i never seen a mustang creased yet," was wild jo's critical remark. sometimes, if the shape of the country abets it, the herd can be driven into a corral; sometimes with extra fine mounts they can be run down, but by far the commonest way, paradoxical as it may seem, is to walk them down. the fame of the stallion that never was known to gallop was spreading. extraordinary stories were told of his gait, his speed, and his wind, and when old montgomery of the 'triangle-bar' outfit came out plump at well's hotel in clayton, and in presence of witnesses said he'd give one thousand dollars cash for him safe in a box-car, providing the stories were true, a dozen young cow-punchers were eager to cut loose and win the purse, as soon as present engagements were up. but wild jo had had his eye on this very deal for quite a while; there was no time to lose, so ignoring present contracts he rustled all night to raise the necessary equipment for the game. by straining his already overstrained credit, and taxing the already overtaxed generosity of his friends, he got together an expedition consisting of twenty good saddle-horses, a mess-wagon, and a fortnight's stuff for three men--himself, his 'pard,' charley, and the cook. then they set out from clayton, with the avowed intention of walking down the wonderfully swift wild horse. the third day they arrived at antelope springs, and as it was about noon they were not surprised to see the black pacer marching down to drink with all his band behind him. jo kept out of sight until the wild horses each and all had drunk their fill, for a thirsty animal always travels better than one laden with water. jo then rode quietly forward. the pacer took alarm at half a mile, and led his band away out of sight on the soapweed mesa to the southeast. jo followed at a gallop till he once more sighted them, then came back and instructed the cook, who was also teamster, to make for alamosa arroyo in the south. then away to the southeast he went after the mustangs. after a mile or two he once more sighted them, and walked his horse quietly till so near that they again took alarm and circled away to the south. an hour's trot, not on the trail, but cutting across to where they ought to go, brought jo again in close sight. again he walked quietly toward the herd, and again there was the alarm and fright. and so they passed the afternoon, but circled ever more and more to the south, so that when the sun was low they were, as jo had expected, not far from alamosa arroyo. the band was again close at hand, and jo, after starting them off, rode to the wagon, while his pard, who had been taking it easy, took up the slow chase on a fresh horse. after supper the wagon moved on to the upper ford of the alamosa, as arranged, and there camped for the night. meanwhile, charley followed the herd. they had not run so far as at first, for their pursuer made no sign of attack, and they were getting used to his company. they were more easily found, as the shadows fell, on account of a snow-white mare that was in the bunch. a young moon in the sky now gave some help, and relying on his horse to choose the path, charley kept him quietly walking after the herd, represented by that ghost-white mare, till they were lost in the night. he then got off, unsaddled and picketed his horse, and in his blanket quickly went to sleep. at the first streak of dawn he was up, and within a short half-mile, thanks to the snowy mare, he found the band. at his approach, the shrill neigh of the pacer bugled his troop into a flying squad. but on the first mesa they stopped, and faced about to see what this persistent follower was, and what he wanted. for a moment or so they stood against the sky to gaze, and then deciding that he knew him as well as he wished to, that black meteor flung his mane on the wind, and led off at his tireless, even swing, while the mares came streaming after. away they went, circling now to the west, and after several repetitions of this same play, flying, following, and overtaking, and flying again, they passed, near noon, the old apache look-out, buffalo bluff. and here, on watch, was jo. a long thin column of smoke told charley to come to camp, and with a flashing pocket-mirror he made response. jo, freshly mounted, rode across, and again took up the chase, and back came charley to camp to eat and rest, and then move on up stream. all that day jo followed, and managed, when it was needed, that the herd should keep the great circle, of which the wagon cut a small chord. at sundown he came to verde crossing, and there was charley with a fresh horse and food, and jo went on in the same calm, dogged way. all the evening he followed, and far into the night, for the wild herd was now getting somewhat used to the presence of the harmless strangers, and were more easily followed; moreover, they were tiring out with perpetual traveling. they were no longer in the good grass country, they were not grain-fed like the horses on their track, and above all, the slight but continuous nervous tension was surely telling. it spoiled their appetites, but made them very thirsty. they were allowed, and as far as possible encouraged, to drink deeply at every chance. the effect of large quantities of water on a running animal is well known; it tends to stiffen the limbs and spoil the wind. jo carefully guarded his own horse against such excess, and both he and his horse were fresh when they camped that night on the trail of the jaded mustangs. at dawn he found them easily close at hand, and though they ran at first they did not go far before they dropped into a walk. the battle seemed nearly won now, for the chief difficulty in the 'walk-down' is to keep track of the herd the first two or three days when they are fresh. all that morning jo kept in sight, generally in close sight, of the band. about ten o'clock, charley relieved him near jos. peak and that day the mustangs walked only a quarter of a mile ahead with much less spirit than the day before and circled now more north again. at night charley was supplied with a fresh horse and followed as before. next day the mustangs walked with heads held low, and in spite of the efforts of the black pacer at times they were less than a hundred yards ahead of their pursuer. the fourth and fifth days passed the same way, and now the herd was nearly back to antelope springs. so far all had come out as expected. the chase had been in a great circle with the wagon following a lesser circle. the wild herd was back to its starting-point, worn out; and the hunters were back, fresh and on fresh horses. the herd was kept from drinking till late in the afternoon and then driven to the springs to swell themselves with a perfect water gorge. now was the chance for the skilful ropers on the grain-fed horses to close in, for the sudden heavy drink was ruination, almost paralysis, of wind and limb, and it would be easy to rope and hobble them one by one. there was only one weak spot in the programme, the black stallion, the cause of the hunt, seemed made of iron, that ceaseless swinging pace seemed as swift and vigorous now as on the morning when the chase began. up and down he went rounding up the herd and urging them on by voice and example to escape. but they were played out. the old white mare that had been such help in sighting them at night, had dropped out hours ago, dead beat. the half-bloods seemed to be losing all fear of the horsemen, the band was clearly in jo's power. but the one who was the prize of all the hunt seemed just as far as ever out of reach. here was a puzzle. jo's comrades knew him well and would not have been surprised to see him in a sudden rage attempt to shoot the stallion down. but jo had no such mind. during that long week of following he had watched the horse all day at speed and never once had he seen him gallop. the horseman's adoration of a noble horse had grown and grown, till now he would as soon have thought of shooting his best mount as firing on that splendid beast. jo even asked himself whether he would take the handsome sum that was offered for the prize. such an animal would be a fortune in himself to sire a race of pacers for the track. but the prize was still at large--the time had come to finish up the hunt. jo's finest mount was caught. she was a mare of eastern blood, but raised on the plains. she never would have come into jo's possession but for a curious weakness. the loco is a poisonous weed that grows in these regions. most stock will not touch it; but sometimes an animal tries it and becomes addicted to it. it acts somewhat like morphine, but the animal, though sane for long intervals, has always a passion for the herb and finally dies mad. a beast with the craze is said to be locoed. and jo's best mount had a wild gleam in her eye that to an expert told the tale. but she was swift and strong and jo chose her for the grand finish of the chase. it would have been an easy matter now to rope the mares, but was no longer necessary. they could be separated from their black leader and driven home to the corral. but that leader still had the look of untamed strength. jo, rejoicing in a worthy foe, went bounding forth to try the odds. the lasso was flung on the ground and trailed to take out every kink, and gathered as he rode into neatest coils across his left palm. then putting on the spur the first time in that chase he rode straight for the stallion a quarter of a mile beyond. away he went, and away went jo, each at his best, while the fagged-out mares scattered right and left and let them pass. straight across the open plain the fresh horse went at its hardest gallop, and the stallion, leading off, still kept his start and kept his famous swing. it was incredible, and jo put on more spur and shouted to his horse, which fairly flew, but shortened up the space between by not a single inch. for the black one whirled across the flat and up and passed a soap-weed mesa and down across a sandy treacherous plain, then over a grassy stretch where prairie dogs barked, then hid below, and on came jo, but there to see, could he believe his eyes, the stallion's start grown longer still, and jo began to curse his luck, and urge and spur his horse until the poor uncertain brute got into such a state of nervous fright, her eyes began to roll, she wildly shook her head from side to side, no longer picked her ground--a badger-hole received her foot and down she went, and jo went flying to the earth. though badly bruised, he gained his feet and tried to mount his crazy beast. but she, poor brute, was done for--her off fore-leg hung loose. there was but one thing to do. jo loosed the cinch, put lightfoot out of pain, and carried back the saddle to the camp. while the pacer steamed away till lost to view. this was not quite defeat, for all the mares were manageable now, and jo and charley drove them carefully to the 'l cross f' corral and claimed a good reward. but jo was more than ever bound to own the stallion. he had seen what stuff he was made of, he prized him more and more, and only sought to strike some better plan to catch him. iv the cook on that trip was bates--mr. thomas bates, he called himself at the post-office where he regularly went for the letters and remittance which never came. old tom turkeytrack, the boys called him, from his cattle-brand, which he said was on record at denver, and which, according to his story, was also borne by countless beef and saddle stock on the plains of the unknown north. when asked to join the trip as a partner, bates made some sarcastic remarks about horses not fetching $ a dozen, which had been literally true within the year, and he preferred to go on a very meagre salary. but no one who once saw the pacer going had failed to catch the craze. turkeytrack experienced the usual change of heart. he now wanted to own that mustang. how this was to be brought about he did not clearly see till one day there called at the ranch that had 'secured his services,' as he put it, one, bill smith, more usually known as horseshoe billy, from his cattle-brand. while the excellent fresh beef and bread and the vile coffee, dried peaches and molasses were being consumed, he of the horseshoe remarked, in tones which percolated through a huge stop-gap of bread: "wall, i seen that thar pacer to-day, nigh enough to put a plait in his tail." "what, you didn't shoot?" "no, but i come mighty near it." "don't you be led into no sich foolishness," said a 'double-bar h' cow-puncher at the other end of the table. "i calc'late that maverick 'ill carry my brand before the moon changes." "you'll have to be pretty spry or you'll find a 'triangle dot' on his weather side when you get there." "where did you run across him?" "wail, it was like this; i was riding the flat by antelope springs and i sees a lump on the dry mud inside the rush belt. i knowed i never seen that before, so i rides up, thinking it might be some of our stock, an' seen it was a horse lying plumb flat. the wind was blowing like--from him to me, so i rides up close and seen it was the pacer, dead as a mackerel. still, he didn't look swelled or cut, and there wa'n't no smell, an' i didn't know what to think till i seen his ear twitch off a fly and then i knowed he was sleeping. i gits down me rope and coils it, and seen it was old and pretty shaky in spots, and me saddle a single cinch, an' me pony about again a , lbs. stallion, an' i sez to meself, sez i: 'tain't no use, i'll only break me cinch and git throwed an' lose me saddle.' so i hits the saddle-horn a crack with the hondu, and i wish't you'd a seen that mustang. he lept six foot in the air an' snorted like he was shunting cars. his eyes fairly bugged out an' he lighted out lickety split for california, and he orter be there about now if he kep' on like he started--and i swear he never made a break the hull trip." the story was not quite so consecutive as given here. it was much punctuated by present engrossments, and from first to last was more or less infiltrated through the necessaries of life, for bill was a healthy young man without a trace of false shame. but the account was complete and everyone believed it, for billy was known to be reliable. of all those who heard, old turkeytrack talked the least and probably thought the most, for it gave him a new idea. during his after-dinner pipe he studied it out and deciding that he could not go it alone, he took horseshoe billy into his council and the result was a partnership in a new venture to capture the pacer; that is, the $ , that was now said to be the offer for him safe in a box-car. antelope springs was still the usual watering-place of the pacer. the water being low left a broad belt of dry black mud between the sedge and the spring. at two places this belt was broken by a well-marked trail made by the animals coming to drink. horses and wild animals usually kept to these trails, though the horned cattle had no hesitation in taking a short cut through the sedge. in the most used of these trails the two men set to work with shovels and dug a pit feet long, feet wide and feet deep. it was a hard twenty hours work for them as it had to be completed between the mustang's drinks, and it began to be very damp work before it was finished. with poles, brush, and earth it was then cleverly covered over and concealed. and the men went to a distance and hid in pits made for the purpose. about noon the pacer came, alone now since the capture of his band. the trail on the opposite side of the mud belt was little used, and old tom, by throwing some fresh rushes across it, expected to make sure that the stallion would enter by the other, if indeed he should by any caprice try to come by the unusual path. what sleepless angel is it watches over and cares for the wild animals? in spite of all reasons to take the usual path, the pacer came along the other. the suspicious-looking rushes did not stop him; he walked calmly to the water and drank. there was only one way now to prevent utter failure; when he lowered his head for the second draft which horses always take, bates and smith quit their holes and ran swiftly toward the trail behind him, and when he raised his proud head smith sent a revolver shot into the ground behind him. away went the pacer at his famous gait straight to the trap. another second and he would be into it. already he is on the trail, and already they feel they have him, but the angel of the wild things is with him, that incomprehensible warning comes, and with one mighty bound he clears the fifteen feet of treacherous ground and spurns the earth as he fades away unharmed, never again to visit antelope springs by either of the beaten paths. v wild jo never lacked energy. he meant to catch that mustang, and when he learned that others were bestirring themselves for the same purpose he at once set about trying the best untried plan he knew--the plan by which the coyote catches the fleeter jackrabbit, and the mounted indian the far swifter antelope--the old plan of the relay chase. the canadian river on the south, its affluent, the pinavetitos arroyo, on the northeast, and the don carlos hills with the ute creek canyon on the west, formed a sixty-mile triangle that was the range of the pacer. it was believed that he never went outside this, and at all times antelope springs was his headquarters. jo knew this country well, all the water-holes and canon crossings as well as the ways of the pacer. if he could have gotten fifty good horses he could have posted them to advantage so as to cover all points, but twenty mounts and five good riders were all that proved available. the horses, grain-fed for two weeks before, were sent on ahead; each man was instructed how to play his part and sent to his post the day before the race. on the day of the start jo with his wagon drove to the plain of antelope springs and, camping far off in a little draw, waited. at last he came, that coal-black horse, out from the sand-hills at the south, alone as always now, and walked calmly down to the springs and circled quite around it to sniff for any hidden foe. then he approached where there was no trail at all and drank. jo watched and wished that he would drink a hogs-head. but the moment that he turned and sought the grass jo spurred his steed. the pacer heard the hoofs, then saw the running horse, and did not want a nearer view but led away. across the flat he went down to the south, and kept the famous swinging gait that made his start grow longer. now through the sandy dunes he went, and steadying to an even pace he gained considerably and jo's too-laden horse plunged through the sand and sinking fetlock deep, he lost at every bound. then came a level stretch where the runner seemed to gain, and then a long decline where jo's horse dared not run his best, so lost again at every step. but on they went, and jo spared neither spur nor quirt. a mile--a mile--and another mile, and the far-off rock at arriba loomed up ahead. and there jo knew fresh mounts were held, and on they dashed. but the night-black mane out level on the breeze ahead was gaining more and more. arriba canon reached at last, the watcher stood aside, for it was not wished to turn the race, and the stallion passed--dashed down, across and up the slope, with that unbroken pace, the only one he knew. and jo came bounding on his foaming steed, and on the waiting mount, then urged him down the slope and up upon the track, and on the upland once more drove in the spurs, and raced and raced, and raced, but not a single inch he gained. ga-lump, ga-lump, ga-lump, with measured beat he went--an hour--an hour, and another hour--arroyo alamosa just ahead with fresh relays, and jo yelled at his horse and pushed him on and on. straight for the place the black one made, but on the last two miles some strange foreboding turned him to the left, and jo foresaw escape in this, and pushed his jaded mount at any cost to head him off, and hard as they had raced this was the hardest race of all, with gasps for breath and leather squeaks at every straining bound. then cutting right across, jo seemed to gain, and drawing his gun he fired shot after shot to toss the dust, and so turned the stallion's head and forced him back to take the crossing to the right. down they went. the stallion crossed and jo sprang to the ground. his horse was done, for thirty miles had passed in the last stretch, and jo himself was worn out. his eyes were burnt with flying alkali dust. he was half blind so he motioned to his 'pard' to "go ahead and keep him straight for alamosa ford." out shot the rider on a strong, fresh steed, and away they went--up and down on the rolling plain--the black horse flecked with snowy foam. his heaving ribs and noisy breath showed what he felt--but on and on he went. and tom on ginger seemed to gain, then lose and lose, when in an hour the long decline of alamosa came. and there a freshly mounted lad took up the chase and turned it west, and on they went past towns of prairie dogs, through soapweed tracts and cactus brakes by scores, and pricked and wrenched rode on. with dust and sweat the black was now a dappled brown, but still he stepped the same. young carrington, who followed, bad hurt his steed by pushing at the very start, and spurred and urged him now to cut across a gulch at which the pacer shied. just one misstep and down they went. the boy escaped, but the pony lies there yet, and the wild black horse kept on. this was close to old gallego's ranch where jo himself had cut across refreshed to push the chase. within thirty minutes he was again scorching the pacer's trail. far in the west the carlos hills were seen, and there jo knew fresh men and mounts were waiting, and that way the indomitable rider tried to turn, the race, but by a sudden whim, of the inner warning born perhaps--the pacer turned. sharp to the north he went, and jo, the skilful wrangler, rode and rode and yelled and tossed the dust with shots, but down on a gulch the wild black meteor streamed and jo could only follow. then came the hardest race of all; jo, cruel to the mustang, was crueller to his mount and to himself. the sun was hot, the scorching plain was dim in shimmering heat, his eyes and lips were burnt with sand and salt, and yet the chase sped on. the only chance to win would be if he could drive the mustang back to the big arroyo crossing. now almost for the first time he saw signs of weakening in the black. his mane and tail were not just quite so high, and his short half mile of start was down by more than half, but still he stayed ahead and paced and paced and paced. an hour and another hour, and still they went the same. but they turned again, and night was near when big arroyo ford was reached--fully twenty miles. but jo was game, he seized the waiting horse. the one he left went gasping to the stream and gorged himself with water till he died. then jo held back in hopes the foaming black would drink. but he was wise; he gulped a single gulp, splashed through the stream and then passed on with jo at speed behind him. and when they last were seen the black was on ahead just out of reach and jo's horse bounding on. it was morning when jo came to camp on foot. his tale was briefly told:--eight horses dead--five men worn out--the matchless pacer safe and free. "tain't possible; it can't be done. sorry i didn't bore his hellish carcass through when i had the chance," said jo, and gave it up. vi old turkeytrack was cook on this trip. he had watched the chase with as much interest as anyone, and when it failed he grinned into the pot and said: "that mustang's mine unless i'm a darned fool." then falling back on scripture for a precedent, as was his habit, he still addressed the pot: "reckon the philistines tried to run samson down and they got done up, an' would a stayed don ony for a nat'ral weakness on his part. an' adam would a loafed in eden yit it ony for a leetle failing, which we all onder stand. an' it aint $ , i'll take for him nuther." much persecution had made the pacer wilder than ever. but it did not drive him away from antelope springs. that was the only drinking-place with absolutely no shelter for a mile on every side to hide an enemy. here he came almost every day about noon, and after thoroughly spying the land approached to drink. his had been a lonely life all winter since the capture of his harem, and of this old turkeytrack was fully aware. the old cook's chum had a nice little brown mare which he judged would serve his ends, and taking a pair of the strongest hobbles, a spade, a spare lasso, and a stout post he mounted the mare and rode away to the famous springs. a few antelope skimmed over the plain before him in the early freshness of the day. cattle were lying about in groups, and the loud, sweet song of the prairie lark was' heard on every side. for the bright snowless winter of the mesas was gone and the springtime was at hand. the grass was greening and all nature seemed turning to thoughts of love. it was in the air, and when the little brown mare was picketed out to graze she raised her nose from time to time to pour forth a long shrill whinny that surely was her song, if song she had, of love. old turkeytrack studied the wind and the lay of the land. there was the pit he had labored at, now opened and filled with water that was rank with drowned prairie dogs and mice. here was the new trail the animals were forced to make by the pit. he selected a sedgy clump near some smooth, grassy ground, and first firmly sunk the post, then dug a hole large enough to hide in, and spread his blanket in it. he shortened up the little mare's tether, till she could scarcely move; then on the ground between he spread his open lasso, tying the long end to the post, then covered the rope with dust and grass, and went into his hiding-place. about noon, after long waiting, the amorous whinny of the mare was answered from the high ground, away to the west, and there, black against the sky, was the famous mustang. down he came at that long swinging gait, but grown crafty with much pursuit, he often stopped to gaze and whinny, and got answer that surely touched his heart. nearer he came again to call, then took alarm, and paced all around in a great circle to try the wind for his foes, and seemed in doubt. the angel whispered "don't go." but the brown mare called again. he circled nearer still, and neighed once more, and got reply that seemed to quell all fears, and set his heart aglow. nearer still he pranced, till he touched solly's nose with his own, and finding her as responsive as he well could wish, thrust aside all thoughts of danger, and abandoned himself to the delight of conquest, until, as he pranced around, his hind legs for a moment stood within the evil circle of the rope. one deft sharp twitch, the noose flew tight, and he was caught. a snort of terror and a bound in the air gave tom the chance to add the double hitch. the loop flashed up the line, and snake-like bound those mighty hoofs. terror lent speed and double strength for a moment, but the end of the rope was reached, and down he went a captive, a hopeless prisoner at last. old tom's ugly, little crooked form sprang from the pit to complete the mastering of the great glorious creature whose mighty strength had proved as nothing when matched with the wits of a little old man. with snorts and desperate bounds of awful force the great beast dashed and struggled to be free; but all in vain. the rope was strong. the second lasso was deftly swung, and the forefeet caught, and then with a skilful move the feet were drawn together, and down went the raging pacer to lie a moment later 'hog-tied' and helpless on the ground. there he struggled till worn out, sobbing great convulsive sobs while tears ran down his cheeks. tom stood by and watched, but a strange revulsion of feeling came over the old cow-puncher. he trembled nervously from head to foot, as he had not done since he roped his first steer, and for a while could do nothing but gaze on his tremendous prisoner. but the feeling soon passed away. he saddled delilah, and taking the second lasso, roped the great horse about the neck, and left the mare to hold the stallion's head, while he put on the hobbles. this was soon done, and sure of him now old bates was about to loose the ropes, but on a sudden thought he stopped. he had quite forgotten, and had come unprepared for something of importance. in western law the mustang was the property of the first man to mark him with his brand; how was this to be done with the nearest branding-iron twenty miles away? old tom went to his mare, took up her hoofs one at a time, and examined each shoe. yes! one was a little loose; he pushed and pried it with the spade, and got it off. buffalo chips and kindred fuel were plentiful about the plain, so a fire was quickly made, and he soon had one arm of the horse-shoe red hot, then holding the other wrapped in his sock he rudely sketched on the left shoulder of the helpless mustang a turkeytrack, his brand, the first time really that it had ever been used. the pacer shuddered as the hot iron seared his flesh, but it was quickly done, and the famous mustang stallion was a maverick no more. now all there was to do was to take him home. the ropes were loosed, the mustang felt himself freed, thought he was free, and sprang to his feet only to fall as soon as he tried to take a stride. his forefeet were strongly tied together, his only possible gait a shuffling walk, or else a desperate labored bounding with feet so unnaturally held that within a few yards he was inevitably thrown each time he tired to break away. tom on the light pony headed him off again and again, and by dint of driving, threatening, and maneuvering, contrived to force his foaming, crazy captive northward toward the pinavetitos canyon. but the wild horse would not drive, would not give in. with snorts of terror or of rage and maddest bounds, he tried and tried to get away. it was one long cruel fight; his glossy sides were thick with dark foam, and the foam was stained with blood. countless hard falls and exhaustion that a long day's chase was powerless to produce were telling on him; his straining bounds first this way and then that, were not now quite so strong, and the spray he snorted as he gasped was half a spray of blood. but his captor, relentless, masterful and cool, still forced him on. down the slope toward the canyon they had come, every yard a fight, and now they were at the head of the draw that took the trail down to the only crossing of the canon, the northmost limit of the pacer's ancient range. from this the first corral and ranch-house were in sight. the man rejoiced, but the mustang gathered his remaining strength for one more desperate dash. up, up the grassy slope from the trail he went, defied the swinging, slashing rope and the gunshot fired in air, in vain attempt to turn his frenzied course. up, up and on, above the sheerest cliff he dashed then sprang away into the vacant air, down--down--two hundred downward feet to fall, and land upon the rocks below, a lifeless wreck--but free. wully, the story of a yaller dog wully was a little yaller dog. a yaller dog, be it understood, is not necessarily the same as a yellow dog. he is not simply a canine whose capillary covering is highly charged with yellow pigment. he is the mongrelest mixture of all mongrels, the least common multiple of all dogs, the breedless union of all breeds, and though of no breed at all, he is yet of older, better breed than any of his aristocratic relations, for he is nature's attempt to restore the ancestral jackal, the parent stock of all dogs. indeed, the scientific name of the jackal (canis aureus) means simply 'yellow dog,' and not a few of that animal's characteristics are seen in his domesticated representative. for the plebeian cur is shrewd, active, and hardy, and far better equipped for the real struggle of life than any of his 'thoroughbred' kinsmen. if we were to abandon a yaller dog, a greyhound, and a bulldog on a desert island, which of them after six months would be alive and well? unquestionably it would be the despised yellow cur. he has not the speed of the greyhound, but neither does he bear the seeds of lung and skin diseases. he has not the strength or reckless courage of the bulldog, but he has something a thousand times better, he has common sense. health and wit are no mean equipment for the life struggle, and when the dog-world is not 'managed' by man, they have never yet failed to bring out the yellow mongrel as the sole and triumphant survivor. once in a while the reversion to the jackal type is more complete, and the yaller dog has pricked and pointed ears. beware of him then. he is cunning and plucky and can bite like a wolf. there is a strange, wild streak in his nature too, that under cruelty or long adversity may develop into deadliest treachery in spite of the better traits that are the foundation of man's love for the dog. i away up in the cheviots little wully was born. he and one other of the litter were kept; his brother because he resembled the best dog in the vicinity, and himself because he was a little yellow beauty. his early life was that of a sheep-dog, in company with an experienced collie who trained him, and an old shepherd who was scarcely inferior to them in intelligence. by the time he was two years old wully was full grown and had taken a thorough course in sheep. he knew them from ram-horn to lamb-hoof, and old robin, his master, at length had such confidence in his sagacity that he would frequently stay at the tavern all night while wully guarded the woolly idiots in the hills. his education had been wisely bestowed and in most ways he was a very bright little dog with a future before him, yet he never learned to despise that addle-pated robin. the old shepherd, with all his faults, his continual striving after his ideal state--intoxication--and his mind-shrivelling life in general was rarely brutal to wully, and wully repaid him with an exaggerated worship that the greatest and wisest in the land would have aspired to in vain. wully could not have imagined any greater being than robin, and yet for the sum of five shillings a week all robin's vital energy and mental force were pledged to the service of a not very great cattle and sheep dealer, the real proprietor of wully's charge, and when this man, really less great than the neighboring laird, ordered robin to drive his flock by stages to the yorkshire moors and markets, of all the mentalities concerned, wully's was the most interested and interesting. the journey through northumberland was uneventful. at the river tyne the sheep were driven on to the ferry and landed safely in smoky south shields. the great factory chimneys were just starting up for the day and belching out fogbanks and thunder-rollers of opaque leaden smoke that darkened the air and hung low like a storm-cloud over the streets. the sheep thought that they recognized the fuming dun of an unusually heavy cheviot storm. they became alarmed, and in spite of their keepers stampeded through the town in different directions. robin was vexed to the inmost recesses of his tiny soul. he stared stupidly after the sheep for half a minute, then gave the order, "wully, fetch them in." after this mental effort he sat down, lit his pipe, and taking out his knitting began work on a half-finished sock. to wully the voice of robin was the voice of god. away he ran in different directions, and headed off and rounded up the different wanderers, and brought them back to the ferry-house before robin, who was stolidly watching the process, had toed off his sock. finally wully--not robin--gave the sign that all were in. the old shepherd proceeded to count them-- , , , . "wully," he said reproachfully, "thar no' a' here. thur's anither." and wully, stung with shame, bounded off to scour the whole city for the missing one. he was not long gone when a small boy pointed out to robin that the sheep were all there, the whole . now robin was in a quandary. his order was to hasten on to yorkshire, and yet he knew that wully's pride would prevent his coming back without another sheep, even if he had to steal it. such things had happened before, and resulted in embarrassing complications. what should he do? there was five shillings a week at stake. wully was a good dog, it was a pity to lose him, but then, his orders from the master; and again, if wully stole an extra sheep to make up the number, then what--in a foreign land too? he decided to abandon wully, and push on alone with the sheep. and how he fared no one knows or cares. meanwhile, wully careered through miles of streets hunting in vain for his lost sheep. all day he searched, and at night, famished and worn out, he sneaked shamefacedly back to the ferry, only to find that master and sheep had gone. his sorrow was pitiful to see. he ran about whimpering, then took the ferryboat across to the other side, and searched everywhere for robin. he returned to south shields and searched there, and spent the rest of the night seeking for his wretched idol. the next day he continued his search, he crossed and recrossed the river many times. he watched and smelt everyone that came over, and with significant shrewdness he sought unceasingly in the neighboring taverns for his master. the next day he set to work systematically to smell everyone that might cross the ferry. the ferry makes fifty trips a day, with an average of one hundred persons a trip, yet never once did wully fail to be on the gang-plank and smell every pair of legs that crossed-- , pairs, , legs that day did wully examine after his own fashion. and the next day, and the next, and all the week he kept his post, and seemed indifferent to feeding himself. soon starvation and worry began to tell on him. he grew thin and ill-tempered. no one could touch him, and any attempt to interfere with his daily occupation of leg-smelling roused him to desperation. day after day, week after week wully watched and waited for his master, who never came. the ferry men learned to respect wully's fidelity. at first he scorned their proffered food and shelter, and lived no one knew how, but starved to it at last, he accepted the gifts and learned to tolerate the givers. although embittered against the world, his heart was true to his worthless master. fourteen months afterward i made his acquaintance. he was still on rigid duty at his post. he had regained his good looks. his bright, keen face set off by his white ruff and pricked ears made a dog to catch the eye anywhere. but he gave me no second glance, once he found my legs were not those he sought, and in spite of my friendly overtures during the ten months following that he continued his watch. i got no farther into his confidence than any other stranger. for two whole years did this devoted creature attend that ferry. there was only one thing to prevent him going home to the hills, not the distance nor the chance of getting lost, but the conviction that robin, the godlike robin, wished him to stay by the ferry; and he stayed. but he crossed the water as often as he felt it would serve his purpose. the fare for a dog was one penny, and it was calculated that wully owed the company hundreds of pounds before he gave up his quest. he never failed to sense every pair of nethers that crossed the gangplank-- , , legs by computation had been pronounced upon by this expert. but all to no purpose. his unswerving fidelity never faltered, though his temper was obviously souring under the long strain. we had never heard what became of robin, but one day a sturdy drover strode down the ferry-slip and wully mechanically assaying the new personality, suddenly started, his mane bristled, he trembled, a low growl escaped him, and he fixed his every sense on the drover. one of the ferry hands not understanding, called to the stranger, "hoot mon, ye maunna hort oor dawg." "whaes hortin 'im, ye fule; he is mair like to hort me." but further explanation was not necessary. wully's manner had wholly changed. he fawned on the drover, and his tail was wagging violently for the first time in years. a few words made it all clear. dorley, the drover, had known robin very well, and the mittens and comforter he wore were of robin's own make and had once been part of his wardrobe. wully recognized the traces of his master, and despairing of any nearer approach to his lost idol, he abandoned his post at the ferry and plainly announced his intention of sticking to the owner of the mittens, and dorley was well pleased to take wully along to his home among the hills of derbyshire, where he became once more a sheep-dog in charge of a flock. ii monsaldale is one of the best-known valleys in derbyshire. the pig and whistle is its single but celebrated inn, and jo greatorex, the landlord, is a shrewd and sturdy yorkshireman. nature meant him for a frontiersman, but circumstances made him an innkeeper and his inborn tastes made him a--well, never mind; there was a great deal of poaching done in that country. wully's new home was on the upland east of the valley above jo's inn, and that fact was not without weight in bringing me to monsaldale. his master, dorley, farmed in a small way on the lowland, and on the moors had a large number of sheep. these wully guarded with his old-time sagacity, watching them while they fed and bringing them to the fold at night. he was reserved and preoccupied for a dog, and rather too ready to show his teeth to strangers, but he was so unremitting in his attention to his flock that dorley did not lose a lamb that year, although the neighboring farmers paid the usual tribute to eagles and to foxes. the dales are poor fox-hunting country at best. the rocky ridges, high stone walls, and precipices are too numerous to please the riders, and the final retreats in the rocks are so plentiful that it was a marvel the foxes did not overrun monsaldale. but they didn't. there had been but little reason for complaint until the year , when a sly old fox quartered himself on the fat parish, like a mouse inside a cheese, and laughed equally at the hounds of the huntsmen and the lurchers of the farmers. he was several times run by the peak hounds, and escaped by making for the devil's hole. once in this gorge, where the cracks in the rocks extend unknown distances, he was safe. the country folk began to see something more than chance in the fact that he always escaped at the devil's hole, and when one of the hounds who nearly caught this devil's fox soon after went mad, it removed all doubt as to the spiritual paternity of said fox. he continued his career of rapine, making audacious raids and hair-breadth escapes, and finally began, as do many old foxes, to kill from a mania for slaughter. thus it was that digby lost ten lambs in one night. carroll lost seven the next night. later, the vicarage duck-pond was wholly devastated, and scarcely a night passed but someone in the region had to report a carnage of poultry, lambs or sheep, and, finally even calves. of course all the slaughter was attributed to this one fox of the devil's hole. it was known only that he was a very large fox, at least one that made a very large track. he never was clearly seen, even by the huntsmen. and it was noticed that thunder and bell, the stanchest hounds in the pack, had refused to tongue or even to follow the trail when he was hunted. his reputation for madness sufficed to make the master of the peak hounds avoid the neighborhood. the farmers in monsaldale, led by jo, agreed among themselves that if it would only come on a snow, they would assemble and beat the whole country, and in defiance of all rules of the hunt, get rid of the 'daft' fox in any way they could. but the snow did not come, and the red-haired gentleman lived his life. notwithstanding his madness, he did not lack method. he never came two successive nights to the same farm. he never ate where he killed, and he never left a track that betrayed his re-treat. he usually finished up his night's trail on the turf, or on a public highway. once i saw him. i was walking to monsaldale from bakewell late one night during a heavy storm, and as i turned the corner of stead's sheep-fold there was a vivid flash of lightning. by its light, there was fixed on my retina a picture that made me start. sitting on his haunches by the roadside, twenty yards away, was a very large fox gazing at me with malignant eyes, and licking his muzzle in a suggestive manner. all this i saw, but no more, and might have forgotten it, or thought myself mistaken, but the next morning, in that very fold, were found the bodies of twenty-three lambs and sheep, and the unmistakable signs that brought home the crime to the well-known marauder. there was only one man who escaped, and that was dorley. this was the more remarkable because he lived in the centre of the region raided, and within one mile of the devil's hole. faithful wully proved himself worth all the dogs in the neighborhood. night after night he brought in the sheep, and never one was missing. the mad fox might prowl about the dorley homestead if he wished, but wully, shrewd, brave, active wully was more than a match for him, and not only saved his master's flock, but himself escaped with a whole skin. everyone entertained a profound respect for him, and he might have been a popular pet but for his temper which, never genial, became more and more crabbed. he seemed to like dorley, and huldah, dorley's eldest daughter, a shrewd, handsome, young woman, who, in the capacity of general manager of the house, was wully's special guardian. the other members of dorley's family wully learned to tolerate, but the rest of the world, men and dogs, he seemed to hate. his uncanny disposition was well shown in the last meeting i had with him. i was walking on a pathway across the moor behind dorley's house. wully was lying on the doorstep. as i drew near he arose, and without appearing to see me trotted toward my pathway and placed himself across it about ten yards ahead of me. there he stood silently and intently regarding the distant moor, his slightly bristling mane the only sign that he had not been suddenly turned to stone. he did not stir as i came up, and not wishing to quarrel, i stepped around past his nose and walked on. wully at once left his position and in the same eerie silence trotted on some twenty feet and again stood across the pathway. once more i came up and, stepping into the grass, brushed past his nose. instantly, but without a sound, he seized my left heel. i kicked out with the other foot, but he escaped. not having a stick, i flung a large stone at him. he leaped forward and the stone struck him in the ham, bowling him over into a ditch. he gasped out a savage growl as he fell, but scrambled out of the ditch and limped away in silence. yet sullen and ferocious as wully was to the world, he was always gentle with dorley's sheep. many were the tales of rescues told of him. many a poor lamb that had fallen into a pond or hole would have perished but for his timely and sagacious aid, many a far-weltered ewe did he turn right side up; while his keen eye discerned and his fierce courage baffled every eagle that had appeared on the moor in his time. iii the monsaldale farmers were still paying their nightly tribute to the mad fox, when the snow came, late in december. poor widow cot lost her entire flock of twenty sheep, and the fiery cross went forth early in the morning. with guns unconcealed the burly farmers set out to follow to the finish the tell-tale tracks in the snow, those of a very large fox, undoubtedly the multo-murderous villain. for a while the trail was clear enough, then it came to the river and the habitual cunning of the animal was shown. he reached the water at a long angle pointing down stream and jumped into the shallow, unfrozen current. but at the other side there was no track leading out, and it was only after long searching that, a quarter of a mile higher up the stream, they found where he had come out. the track then ran to the top of henley's high stone wall, where there was no snow left to tell tales. but the patient hunters persevered. when it crossed the smooth snow from the wall to the high road there was a difference of opinion. some claimed that the track went up, others down the road. but jo settled it, and after another long search they found where apparently the same trail, though some said a larger one, had left the road to enter a sheep-fold, and leaving this without harming the occupants, the track-maker had stepped in the footmarks of a countryman, thereby getting to the moor road, along which he had trotted straight to dorley's farm. that day the sheep were kept in on account of the snow and wully, without his usual occupation, was lying on some planks in the sun. as the hunters drew near the house, he growled savagely and sneaked around to where the sheep were. jo greatorex walked up to where wully had crossed the fresh snow, gave a glance, looked dumbfounded, then pointing to the retreating sheep-dog, he said, with emphasis: "lads, we're off the track of the fox. but there's the killer of the widder's yowes." some agreed with jo, others recalled the doubt in the trail and were for going back to make a fresh follow. at this juncture, dorley himself came out of the house. "tom," said jo, "that dog o' thine 'as killed twenty of widder gelt's sheep, last night. an' ah fur one don't believe as its 'is first killin'." "why, mon, thou art crazy," said tom. "ah never 'ad a better sheep-dog--'e fair loves the sheep." "aye! we's seen summat o' that in las' night's work," replied jo. in vain the company related the history of the morning. tom swore that it was nothing but a jealous conspiracy to rob him of wully. "wully sleeps i' the kitchen every night. never is oot till he's let to bide wi' the yowes. why, mon, he's wi' oor sheep the year round, and never a hoof have ah lost." tom became much excited over this abominable attempt against wully's reputation and life. jo and his partisans got equally angry, and it was a wise suggestion of huldah's that quieted them. "feyther," said she, "ah'll sleep i' the kitchen the night. if wully 'as ae way of gettin' oot ah'll see it, an' if he's no oot an' sheep's killed on the country-side, we'll ha' proof it's na wully." that night huldah stretched herself on the settee and wully slept as usual underneath the table. as night wore on the dog became restless. he turned on his bed and once or twice got up, stretched, looked at huldah and lay down again. about two o'clock he seemed no longer able to resist some strange impulse. he arose quietly, looked toward the low window, then at the motionless girl. huldah lay still and breathed as though sleeping. wully slowly came near and sniffed and breathed his doggy breath in her face. she made no move. he nudged her gently with his nose. then, with his sharp ears forward and his head on one side he studied her calm face. still no sign. he walked quietly to the window, mounted the table without noise, placed his nose under the sash-bar and raised the light frame until he could put one paw underneath. then changing, he put his nose under the sash and raised it high enough to slip out, easing down the frame finally on his rump and tail with an adroitness that told of long practice. then he disappeared into the darkness. from her couch huldah watched in amazement. after waiting for some time to make sure that he was gone, she arose, intending to call her father at once, but on second thought she decided to await more conclusive proof. she peered into the darkness, but no sign of wully was to be seen. she put more wood on the fire, and lay down again. for over an hour she lay wide awake listening to the kitchen clock, and starting at each trifling sound, and wondering what the dog was doing. could it be possible that he had really killed the widow's sheep? then the recollection of his gentleness to their own sheep came, and completed her perplexity. another hour slowly tick-tocked. she heard a slight sound at the window that made her heart jump. the scratching sound was soon followed by the lifting of the sash, and in a short time wully was back in the kitchen with the window closed behind him. by the flickering fire-light huldah could see a strange, wild gleam in his eye, and his jaws and snowy breast were dashed with fresh blood. the dog ceased his slight panting as he scrutinized the girl. then, as she did not move, he lay down, and began to lick his paws and muzzle, growling lowly once or twice as though at the remembrance of some recent occurrence. huldah had seen enough. there could no longer be any doubt that jo was right and more--a new thought flashed into her quick brain, she realized that the weird fox of monsal was before her. raising herself, she looked straight at wully, and exclaimed: "wully! wully! so it's a' true--oh, wully, ye terrible brute." her voice was fiercely reproachful, it rang in the quiet kitchen, and wully recoiled as though shot. he gave a desperate glance toward the closed window. his eye gleamed, and his mane bristled. but he cowered under her gaze, and grovelled on the floor as though begging for mercy. slowly he crawled nearer and nearer, as if to lick her feet, until quite close, then, with the fury of a tiger, but without a sound, he sprang for her throat. the girl was taken unawares, but she threw up her arm in time, and wully's long, gleaming tusks sank into her flesh, and grated on the bone. "help! help! feyther! feyther!" she shrieked. wully was a light weight, and for a moment she flung him off. but there could be no mistaking his purpose. the game was up, it was his life or hers now. "feyther! feyther!" she screamed, as the yellow fury, striving to kill her, bit and tore the unprotected hands that had so often fed him. in vain she fought to hold him off, he would soon have had her by the throat, when in rushed dorley. straight at him, now in the same horrid silence sprang wully, and savagely tore him again and again before a deadly blow from the fagot-hook disabled him, dashing him, gasping and writhing, on the stone floor, desperate, and done for, but game and defiant to the last. another quick blow scattered his brains on the hearthstone, where so long he had been a faithful and honored retainer--and wully, bright, fierce, trusty, treacherous wully, quivered a moment, then straightened out, and lay forever still. redruff, the story of the don valley partridge i down the wooded slope of taylor's hill the mother partridge led her brood; down toward the crystal brook that by some strange whim was called mud creek. her little ones were one day old but already quick on foot, and she was taking them for the first time to drink. she walked slowly, crouching low as she went, for the woods were full of enemies. she was uttering a soft little cluck in her throat, a call to the little balls of mottled down that on their tiny pink legs came toddling after, and peeping softly and plaintively if left even a few inches behind, and seeming so fragile they made the very chickadees look big and coarse. there were twelve of them, but mother grouse watched them all, and she watched every bush and tree and thicket, and the whole woods and the sky itself. always for enemies she seemed seeking--friends were too scarce to be looked for--and an enemy she found. away across the level beaver meadow was a great brute of a fox. he was coming their way, and in a few moments would surely wind them or strike their trail. there was no time to lose. 'krrr! krrr!' (hide!! hide!) cried the mother in a low firm voice, and the little bits of things, scarcely bigger than acorns and but a day old, scattered far (a few inches) apart to hide. one dived under a leaf, another between two roots, a third crawled into a curl of birchbark, a fourth into a hole, and so on, till all were hidden but one who could find no cover, so squatted on a broad yellow chip and lay very flat, and closed his eyes very tight, sure that now he was safe from being seen. they ceased their frightened peeping and all was still. mother partridge flew straight toward the dreaded beast, alighted fearlessly a few yards to one side of him, and then flung herself on the ground, flopping as though winged and lame--oh, so dreadfully lame--and whining like a distressed puppy. was she begging for mercy--mercy from a bloodthirsty, cruel fox? oh, dear no! she was no fool. one often hears of the cunning of the fox. wait and see what a fool he is compared with a mother-partridge. elated at the prize so suddenly within his reach, the fox turned with a dash and caught--at least, no, he didn't quite catch the bird; she flopped by chance just a foot out of reach. he followed with another jump and would have seized her this time surely, but somehow a sapling came just between, and the partridge dragged herself awkwardly away and under a log, but the great brute snapped his jaws and hounded over the log, while she, seeming a trifle less lame, made another clumsy forward spring and tumbled down a bank, and reynard, keenly following, almost caught her tail, but, oddly enough, fast as he went and leaped, she still seemed just a trifle faster. it was most extraordinary. a winged partridge and he, reynard, the swift-foot, had not caught her in five minutes' racing. it was really shameful. but the partridge seemed to gain strength as the fox put forth his, and after a quarter of a mile race, racing that was somehow all away from taylor's hill, the bird got unaccountably quite well, and, rising with a derisive whirr, flew off through the woods leaving the fox utterly dumfounded to realize that he had been made a fool of, and, worst of all, he now remembered that this was not the first time he had been served this very trick, though he never knew the reason for it. meanwhile mother partridge skimmed in a great circle and came by a roundabout way back to the little fuzz-balls she had left hidden in the woods. with a wild bird's keen memory for places, she went to the very grass-blade she last trod on, and stood for a moment fondly to admire the perfect stillness of her children. even at her step not one had stirred, and the little fellow on the chip, not so very badly concealed after all, had not budged, nor did he now; he only closed his eyes a tiny little bit harder, till the mother said: 'k-reet!' (come, children) and instantly like a fairy story, every hole gave up its little baby-partridge, and the wee fellow on the chip, the biggest of them all really, opened his big-little eyes and ran to the shelter of her broad tail, with a sweet little 'peep peep' which an enemy could not have heard three feet away, but which his mother could not have missed thrice as far, and all the other thimblefuls of down joined in, and no doubt thought themselves dreadfully noisy, and were proportionately happy. the sun was hot now. there was an open space to cross on the road to the water, and, after a careful lookout for enemies, the mother gathered the little things under the shadow of her spread fantail and kept off all danger of sunstroke until they reached the brier thicket by the stream. here a cottontail rabbit leaped out and gave them a great scare. but the flag of truce he carried behind was enough. he was an old friend; and among other things the little ones learned that day that bunny always sails under a flag of truce, and lives up to it too. and then came the drink, the purest of living water, though silly men had called it mud creek. at first the little fellows didn't know how to drink, but they copied their mother, and soon learned to drink like her and give thanks after every sip. there they stood in a row along the edge, twelve little brown and golden balls on twenty-four little pink-toed, in-turned feet, with twelve sweet little golden heads gravely bowing, drinking and giving thanks like their mother. then she led them by short stages, keeping the cover, to the far side of the beaver-meadow, where was a great grassy dome. the mother had made a note of this dome some time before. it takes a number of such domes to raise a brood of partridges. for this was an ant's nest. the old one stepped on top, looked about a moment, then gave half a dozen vigorous rakes with her claws, the friable ant-hill was broken open, and the earthen galleries scattered in ruins down the slope. the ants swarmed out and quarreled with each other for lack of a better plan. some ran around the hill with vast energy and little purpose, while a few of the more sensible began to carry away fat white eggs. but the old partridge, coming to the little ones, picked up one of these juicy-looking bags and clucked and dropped it, and picked it up again and again and clucked, then swallowed it. the young ones stood around, then one little yellow fellow, the one that sat on the chip, picked up an ant-egg, dropped it a few times, then yielding to a sudden impulse, swallowed it, and so had learned to eat. within twenty minutes even the runt had learned, and a merry time they had scrambling after the delicious eggs as their mother broke open more ant-galleries, and sent them and their contents rolling down the bank, till every little partridge had so crammed his little crop that he was positively misshapen and could eat no more. then all went cautiously up the stream, and on a sandy bank, well screened by brambles, they lay for all that afternoon, and learned how pleasant it was to feel the cool powdery dust running between their hot little toes. with their strong bent for copying, they lay on their sides like their mother and scratched with their tiny feet and flopped with their wings, though they had no wings to flop with, only a little tag among the down on each side, to show where the wings would come. that night she took them to a dry thicket near by, and there among the crisp, dead leaves that would prevent an enemy's silent approach on foot, and under the interlacing briers that kept off all foes of the air, she cradled them in their feather-shingled nursery and rejoiced in the fulness of a mother's joy over the wee cuddling things that peeped in their sleep and snuggled so trustfully against her warm body. ii the third day the chicks were much stronger on their feet. they no longer had to go around an acorn; they could even scramble over pine-cones, and on the little tags that marked the places for their wings, were now to be seen blue rows of fat blood-quills. their start in life was a good mother, good legs, a few reliable instincts, and a germ of reason. it was instinct, that is, inherited habit, which taught them to hide at the word from their mother; it was instinct that taught them to follow her, but it was reason which made them keep under the shadow of her tail when the sun was smiting down, and from that day reason entered more and more into their expanding lives. next day the blood-quills had sprouted the tips of feathers. on the next, the feathers were well out, and a week later the whole family of down-clad babies were strong on the wing. and yet not all--poor little runtie had been sickly from the first. he bore his half-shell on his back for hours after he came out; he ran less and cheeped more than his brothers, and when one evening at the onset of a skunk the mother gave the word 'kwit, kwit' (fly, fly), runtie was left behind, and when she gathered her brood on the piney hill he was missing, and they saw him no more. meanwhile, their training had gone on. they knew that the finest grasshoppers abounded in the long grass by the brook; they knew that the currant-bushes dropped fatness in the form of smooth, green worms; they knew that the dome of an ant-hill rising against the distant woods stood for a garner of plenty; they knew that strawberries, though not really insects, were almost as delicious; they knew that the huge danaid butterflies were good, safe game, if they could only catch them, and that a slab of bark dropping from the side of a rotten log was sure to abound in good things of many different kinds; and they had learned, also, that yellow-jackets, mud-wasps, woolly worms, and hundred-leggers were better let alone. it was now july, the moon of berries. the chicks had grown and flourished amazingly during this last month, and were now so large that in her efforts to cover them the mother was kept standing all night. they took their daily dust-bath, but of late had changed to another higher on the hill. it was one in use by many different birds, and at first the mother disliked the idea of such a second-hand bath. but the dust was of such a fine, agreeable quality, and the children led the way with such enthusiasm, that she forgot her mistrust. after a fortnight the little ones began to droop and she herself did not feel very well. they were always hungry, and though they ate enormously, they one and all grew thinner and thinner. the mother was the last to be affected. but when it came, it came as hard on her--a ravenous hunger, a feverish headache, and a wasting weakness. she never knew the cause. she could not know that the dust of the much-used dust-bath, that her true instinct taught her to mistrust at first, and now again to shun, was sown with parasitic worms, and that all of the family were infested. no natural impulse is without a purpose. the mother-bird's knowledge of healing was only to follow natural impulse. the eager, feverish craving for something, she knew not what, led her to eat, or try, everything that looked eatable and to seek the coolest woods. and there she found a deadly sumac laden with its poison fruit. a month ago she would have passed it by, but now she tried the unattractive berries. the acrid burning juice seemed to answer some strange demand of her body; she ate and ate, and all her family joined in the strange feast of physic. no human doctor could have hit it better; it proved a biting, drastic purge, the dreadful secret foe was downed, the danger passed. but not for all--nature, the old nurse, had come too late for two of them. the weakest, by inexorable law, dropped out. enfeebled by the disease, the remedy was too severe for them. they drank and drank by the stream, and next morning did not move when the others followed the mother. strange vengeance was theirs now, for a skunk, the same that could have told where runtie went, found and devoured their bodies and died of the poison they had eaten. seven little partridges now obeyed the mother's call. their individual characters were early shown and now developed fast. the weaklings were gone, but there were still a fool and a lazy one. the mother could not help caring for some more than for others, and her favorite was the biggest, he who once sat on the yellow chip for concealment. he was not only the biggest, strongest, and handsomest of the brood, but best of all, the most obedient. his mother's warning 'rrrrr' (danger) did not always keep the others from a risky path or a doubtful food, but obedience seemed natural to him, and he never failed to respond to her soft 'k-reet' (come), and of this obedience he reaped the reward, for his days were longest in the land. august, the molting moon, went by; the young ones were now three parts grown. they knew just enough to think themselves wonderfully wise. when they were small it was necessary to sleep on the ground so their mother could shelter them, but now they were too big to need that, and the mother began to introduce grownup ways of life. it was time to roost in the trees. the young weasels, foxes, skunks, and minks were beginning to run. the ground grew more dangerous each night, so at sundown mother partridge called 'k-reet,' and flew into a thick, low tree. the little ones followed, except one, an obstinate little fool who persisted in sleeping on the ground as heretofore. it was all right that time, but the next night his brothers were awakened by his cries. there was a slight scuffle, then stillness, broken only by a horrid sound of crunching bones and a smacking of lips. they peered down into the terrible darkness below, where the glint of two close-set eyes and a peculiar musty smell told them that a mink was the killer of their fool brother. six little partridges now sat in a row at night, with their mother in the middle, though it was not unusual for some little one with cold feet to perch on her back. their education went on, and about this time they were taught 'whirring.' a partridge can rise on the wing silently if it wishes, but whirring is so important at times that all are taught how and when to rise on thundering wings. many ends are gained by the whirr. it warns all other partridges near that danger is at hand, it unnerves the gunner, or it fixes the foe's attention on the whirrer, while the others sneak off in silence, or by squatting, escape notice. a partridge adage might well be 'foes and food for every moon.' september came, with seeds and grain in place of berries and ant-eggs, and gunners in place of skunks and minks. the partridges knew well what a fox was, but had scarcely seen a dog. a fox they knew they could easily baffle by taking to a tree, but when in the gunner moon old cuddy came prowling through the ravine with his bob-tailed yellow cur, the mother spied the dog and cried out, 'kwit! kwit!' (fly, fly). two of the brood thought it a pity their mother should lose her wits so easily over a fox, and were pleased to show their superior nerve by springing into a tree in spite of her earnestly repeated 'kwit! kwit!' and her example of speeding away on silent wings. meanwhile, the strange bob-tailed fox came under the tree and yapped and yapped at them. they were much amused at him and at their mother and brothers, so much that they never noticed a rustling in the bushes till there was a loud bang! bang! and down fell two bloody, flopping partridges, to be seized and mangled by the yellow cur until the gunner ran from the bushes and rescued the remains. iii cuddy lived in a wretched shanty near the don, north of toronto. his was what greek philosophy would have demonstrated to be an ideal existence. he had no wealth, no taxes, no social pretensions, and no property to speak of. his life was made up of a very little work and a great deal of play, with as much outdoor life as he chose. he considered himself a true sportsman because he was 'fond o' huntin',' and 'took a sight o' comfort out of seein' the critters hit the mud, when his gun was fired. the neighbors called him a squatter, and looked on him merely as an anchored tramp. he shot and trapped the year round, and varied his game somewhat with the season perforce, but had been heard to remark he could tell the month by the 'taste o' the partridges,' if he didn't happen to know by the almanac. this, no doubt, showed keen observation, but was also unfortunate proof of something not so creditable. the lawful season for murdering partridges began september th, but there was nothing surprising in cuddy's being out a fortnight ahead of time. yet he managed to escape punishment year after year, and even contrived to pose in a newspaper interview as an interesting character. he rarely shot on the wing, preferring to pot his birds, which was not easy to do when the leaves were on, and accounted for the brood in the third ravine going so long unharmed; but the near prospect of other gunners finding them now, had stirred him to go after 'a mess o' birds.' he had heard no roar of wings when the mother-bird led off her four survivors, so pocketed the two he had killed and returned to the shanty. the little grouse thus learned that a dog is not a fox, and must be differently played; and an old lesson was yet more deeply graven--'obedience is long life.' the rest of september was passed in keeping quietly out of the way of gunners as well as some old enemies. they still roosted on the long thin branches of the hardwood trees among the thickest leaves, which protected them from foes in the air; the height saved them from foes on the ground, and left them nothing to fear but coons, whose slow, heavy tread on the timber boughs never failed to give them timely warning. but the leaves were falling now--every month its foes and its food. this was nut time, and it was owl time, too. barred owls coming down from the north doubled or trebled the owl population. the nights were getting frosty and the coons less dangerous, so the mother changed the place of roosting to the thickest foliage of a hemlock-tree. only one of the brood disregarded the warning 'kreet, kreet.' he stuck to his swinging elm-bough, now nearly naked, and a great yellow-eyed owl bore him off before morning. mother and three young ones now were left, but they were as big as she was; indeed one, the eldest, he of the chip, was bigger. their ruffs had begun to show. just the tips, to tell what they would be like when grown, and not a little proud they were of them. the ruff is to the partridge what the train is to the peacock--his chief beauty and his pride. a hen's ruff is black with a slight green gloss. a cock's is much larger and blacker and is glossed with more vivid bottle-green. once in a while a partridge is born of unusual size and vigor, whose ruff is not only larger, but by a peculiar kind of intensification is of a deep coppery red, iridescent with violet, green, and gold. such a bird is sure to be a wonder to all who know him, and the little one who had squatted on the chip, and had always done what he was told, developed before the acorn moon had changed, into all the glory of a gold and copper ruff--for this was redruff, the famous partridge of the don valley. iv one day late in the acorn moon, that is, about mid-october, as the grouse family were basking with full crops near a great pine log on the sunlit edge of the beaver-meadow, they heard the far-away bang of a gun, and redruff, acting on some impulse from within, leaped on the log, strutted up and down a couple of times, then, yielding to the elation of the bright, clear, bracing air, he whirred his wings in loud defiance. then, giving fuller vent to this expression of vigor, just as a colt frisks to show how well he feels, he whirred yet more loudly, until, unwittingly, he found himself drumming, and tickled with the discovery of his new power, thumped the air again and again till he filled the near woods with the loud tattoo of the fully grown cock-partridge. his brother and sister heard and looked on with admiration and surprise, so did his mother, but from that time she began to be a little afraid of him. in early november comes the moon of a weird foe. by a strange law of nature, not wholly without parallel among mankind, all partridges go crazy in the november moon of their first year. they become possessed of a mad hankering to get away somewhere, it does not matter much where. and the wisest of them do all sorts of foolish things at this period. they go drifting, perhaps, at speed over the country by night and are cut in two by wires, or dash into lighthouses, or locomotive headlights. daylight finds them in all sorts of absurd places, in buildings, in open marshes, perched on telephone wires in a great city, or even on board of coasting vessels. the craze seems to be a relic of a bygone habit of migration, and it has at least one good effect, it breaks up the families and prevents the constant intermarrying, which would surely be fatal to their race. it always takes the young badly their first year, and they may have it again the second fall, for it is very catching; but in the third season it is practically unknown. redruff's mother knew it was coming as soon as she saw the frost grapes blackening, and the maples shedding their crimson and gold. there was nothing to do but care for their health and keep them in the quietest part of the woods. the first sign of it came when a flock of wild geese went honking southward overhead. the young ones had never before seen such long-necked hawks, and were afraid of them. but seeing that their mother had no fear, they took courage, and watched them with intense interest. was it the wild, clanging cry that moved them, or was it solely the inner prompting then come to the surface? a strange longing to follow took possession of each of the young ones. they watched those arrowy trumpeters fading away to the south, and sought out higher perches to watch them farther yet, and from that time things were no more the same. the november moon was waxing, and when it was full, the november madness came. the least vigorous of the flock were most affected. the little family was scattered. redruff himself flew on several long erratic night journeys. the impulse took him southward, but there lay the boundless stretch of lake ontario, so he turned again, and the waning of the mad moon found him once more in the mud creek glen, but absolutely alone. v food grew scarce as winter wore on. redruff clung to the old ravine and the piney sides of taylor's hill, but every month brought its food and its foes. the mad moon brought madness, solitude, and grapes; the snow moon came with rosehips; and the stormy moon brought browse of birch and silver storms that sheathed the woods in ice, and made it hard to keep one's perch while pulling off the frozen buds. redruff's beak grew terribly worn with the work, so that even when closed there was still an opening through behind the hook. but nature had prepared him for the slippery footing; his toes, so slim and trim in september, had sprouted rows of sharp, horny points, and these grew with the growing cold, till the first snow had found him fully equipped with snow-shoes and icecreepers. the cold weather had driven away most of the hawks and owls, and made it impossible for his four-footed enemies to approach unseen, so that things were nearly balanced. his flight in search of food had daily led him farther on, till he had discovered and explored the rosedale creek, with its banks of silver-birch, and castle frank, with its grapes and rowan berries, as well as chester woods, where amelanchier and virginia-creeper swung their fruit-bunches, and checkerberries glowed beneath the snow. he soon found out that for some strange reason men with guns did not go within the high fence of castle frank. so among these scenes he lived his life, learning new places, new foods, and grew wiser and more beautiful every day. he was quite alone so far as kindred were concerned, but that scarcely seemed a hardship. wherever he went he could see the jolly chickadees scrambling merrily about, and he remembered the time when they had seemed such big, important creatures. they were the most absurdly cheerful things in the woods. before the autumn was fairly over they had begun to sing their famous refrain, 'spring soon,' and kept it up with good heart more or less all through the winter's direst storms, till at length the waning of the hunger moon, our february, seemed really to lend some point to the ditty, and they redoubled their optimistic announcement to the world in an 'i-told-you-so' mood. soon good support was found, for the sun gained strength and melted the snow from the southern slope of castle frank hill, and exposed great banks of fragrant wintergreen, whose berries were a bounteous feast for redruff, and, ending the hard work of pulling frozen browse, gave his bill the needed chance to grow into its proper shape again. very soon the first bluebird came flying over and warbled as he flew 'the spring is coming.' the sun kept gaining, and early one day in the dark of the wakening moon of march there was a loud 'caw, caw,' and old silver-spot, the king-crow, came swinging along from the south at the head of his troops and officially announced, 'the spring has come' all nature seemed to respond to this, the opening of the birds' new year, and yet it was something within that chiefly seemed to move them. the chickadees went simply wild; they sang their 'spring now, spring now now--spring now now,' so persistently that one wondered how they found time to get a living. and redruff felt it thrill him through and through. he sprang with joyous vigor on a stump and sent rolling down the little valley, again and again, a thundering 'thump, thump, thump, thunderrrrrrrrr,' that wakened dull echoes as it rolled, and voiced his gladness in the coming of the spring. away down the valley was cuddy's shanty. he heard the drum-call on the still morning air and 'reckoned there was a cock patridge to git,' and came sneaking up the ravine with his gun. but redruff skimmed away in silence, nor rested till once more in mud creek glen. and there he mounted the very log where first he had drummed and rolled his loud tattoo again and again, till a small boy who had taken a short cut to the mill through the woods, ran home, badly scared, to tell his mother he was sure the indians were on the war-path, for he heard their war-drums beating in the glen. why does a happy boy holla? why does a lonesome youth sigh? they don't know any more than redruff knew why every day now he mounted some dead log and thumped and thundered to the woods; then strutted and admired his gorgeous blazing ruffs as they flashed their jewels in the sunlight, and then thundered out again. whence now came the strange wish for someone else to admire the plumes? and why had such a notion never come till the pussywillow moon? 'thump, thump, thunder-r-r-r-r-r-rrrr' 'thump, thump, thunder-r-r-r-r-r-rrrr' he rumbled again and again. day after day he sought the favorite log, and a new beauty, a rose-red comb, grew out above each clear, keen eye, and the clumsy snowshoes were wholly shed from his feet. his ruff grew finer, his eye brighter, and his whole appearance splendid to behold, as he strutted and flashed in the sun. but--oh! he was so lonesome now. yet what could he do but blindly vent his hankering in this daily drum-parade, till on a day early in loveliest may, when the trilliums had fringed his log with silver stars, and he had drummed and longed, then drummed again, his keen ear caught a sound, a gentle footfall in the brush. he turned to a statue and watched; he knew he had been watched. could it be possible? yes! there it was--a form--another--a shy little lady grouse, now bashfully seeking to hide. in a moment he was by her side. his whole nature swamped by a new feeling--burnt up with thirst--a cooling spring in sight. and how he spread and flashed his proud array! how came he to know that that would please? he puffed his plumes and contrived to stand just right to catch the sun, and he strutted and uttered a low, soft chuckle that must have been as good as the 'sweet nothings' of another race, for clearly now her heart was won. won, really, days ago, if only he had known. for full three days she had come at the loud tattoo and coyly admired him from afar, and felt a little piqued that he had not yet found out her, so close at hand. so it was not quite all mischance, perhaps, that little stamp that caught his ear. but now she meekly bowed her head with sweet, submissive grace--the desert passed, the parch-burnt wanderer found the spring at last. oh, those were bright, glad days in the lovely glen of the unlovely name. the sun was never so bright, and the piney air was balmier sweet than dreams. and that great noble bird came daily on his log, sometimes with her and sometimes quite alone, and drummed for very joy of being alive. but why sometimes alone? why not forever with his brownie bride? why should she stay to feast and play with him for hours, then take some stealthy chance to slip away and see him no more for hours or till next day, when his martial music from the log announced him restless for her quick return? there was a woodland mystery here he could not clear. why should her stay with him grow daily less till it was down to minutes, and one day at last she never came at all. nor the next, nor the next, and redruff, wild, careered on lightning wing and drummed on the old log, then away up-stream on another log, and skimmed the hill to another ravine to drum and drum. but on the fourth day, when he came and loudly called her, as of old, at their earliest tryst, he heard a sound in the bushes, as at first, and there was his missing brownie bride with ten little peeping partridges following after. redruff skimmed to her side, terribly frightening the bright-eyed downlings, and was just a little dashed to find the brood with claims far stronger than his own. but he soon accepted the change, and thenceforth joined himself to the brood, caring for them as his father never had for him. vi good fathers are rare in the grouse world. the mother-grouse builds her nest and hatches out her young without help. she even hides the place of the nest from the father and meets him only at the drum-log and the feeding-ground, or perhaps the dusting-place, which is the club-house of the grouse kind. when brownie's little ones came out they had filled her every thought, even to the forgetting of their splendid father. but on the third day, when they were strong enough, she had taken them with her at the father's call. some fathers take no interest in their little ones, but redruff joined at once to help brownie in the task of rearing the brood. they had learned to eat and drink just as their father had learned long ago, and could toddle along, with their mother leading the way, while the father ranged near by or followed far behind. the very next day, as they went from the hill-side down toward the creek in a somewhat drawn-out string, like beads with a big one at each end, a red squirrel, peeping around a pine-trunk, watched the procession of downlings with the runtie straggling far in the rear. redruff, yards behind, preening his feathers on a high log, had escaped the eye of the squirrel, whose strange perverted thirst for birdling blood was roused at what seemed so fair a chance. with murderous intent to cut off the hindmost straggler, he made a dash. brownie could not have seen him until too late, but redruff did. he flew for that red-haired cutthroat; his weapons were his fists, that is, the knob-joints of the wings, and what a blow he could strike! at the first onset he struck the squirrel square on the end of the nose, his weakest spot, and sent him reeling; he staggered and wriggled into a brush-pile, where he had expected to carry the little grouse, and there lay gasping with red drops trickling down his wicked snout. the partridges left him lying there, and what became of him they never knew, but he troubled them no more. the family went on toward the water, but a cow had left deep tracks in the sandy loam, and into one of these fell one of the chicks and peeped in dire distress when he found he could not get out. this was a fix. neither old one seemed to know what to do, but as they trampled vainly round the edge, the sandy bank caved in, and, running down, formed a long slope, up which the young one ran and rejoined his brothers under the broad veranda of their mother's tail. brownie was a bright little mother, of small stature, but keen of wit and sense, and was, night and day, alert to care for her darling chicks. how proudly she stepped and clucked through the arching woods with her dainty brood behind her; how she strained her little brown tail almost to a half-circle to give them a broader shade, and never flinched at sight of any foe, but held ready to fight or fly, whichever seemed the best for her little ones. before the chicks could fly they had a meeting with old cuddy; though it was june, he was out with his gun. up the third ravine he went, and tike, his dog, ranging ahead, came so dangerously near the brownie brood that redruff ran to meet him, and by the old but never failing trick led him on a foolish chase away back down the valley of the don. but cuddy, as it chanced, came right along, straight for the brood, and brownie, giving the signal to the children, 'krrr, krrr' (hide, hide), ran to lead the man away just as her mate had led the dog. full of a mother's devoted love, and skilled in the learning of the woods, she ran in silence till quite near, then sprang with a roar of wings right in his face, and tumbling on the leaves she shammed a lameness that for a moment deceived the poacher. but when she dragged one wing and whined about his feet, then slowly crawled away, he knew just what it meant--that it was all a trick to lead him from her brood, and he struck at her a savage blow; but little brownie was quick, she avoided the blow and limped behind a sapling, there to beat herself upon the leaves again in sore distress, and seem so lame that cuddy made another try to strike her down with a stick. but she moved in time to balk him, and bravely, steadfast still to lead him from her helpless little ones, she flung herself before him and beat her gentle breast upon the ground, and moaned as though begging for mercy. and cuddy, failing again to strike her, raised his gun and firing charge enough to kill a bear, he blew poor brave, devoted brownie into quivering, bloody rags. this gunner brute knew the young must be hiding near, so looked about to find them. but no one moved or peeped. he saw not one, but as he tramped about with heedless, hateful feet, he crossed and crossed again their hiding-ground, and more than one of the silent little sufferers he trampled to death, and neither knew nor cared. redruff had taken the yellow brute away off downstream, and now returned to where he left his mate. the murderer had gone, taking her remains, to be thrown to the dog. redruff sought about and found the bloody spot with feathers, brownie's feathers, scattered around, and now he knew the meaning of that shot. who can tell what his horror and his mourning were? the outward signs were few, some minutes dumbly gazing at the place with downcast, draggled look, and then a change at the thought of their helpless brood. back to the hiding-place he went, and called the well-known 'kreet, kreet.' did every grave give up its little inmate at the magic word? no, barely more than half; six little balls of down unveiled their lustrous eyes, and, rising, ran to meet him, but four feathered little bodies had found their graves indeed. redruff called again and again, till he was sure that all who could respond had come, and led them from that dreadful place, far, far away up-stream, where barb-wire fences and bramble thickets were found to offer a less grateful, but more reliable, shelter. here the brood grew and were trained by their father just as his mother had trained him; though wider knowledge and experience gave him many advantages. he knew so well the country round and all the feeding-grounds, and how to meet the ills that harass partridge-life, that the summer passed and not a chick was lost. they grew and flourished, and when the gunner moon arrived they were a fine family of six grown-up grouse with redruff, splendid in his gleaming copper feathers, at their head. he had ceased to drum during the summer after the loss of brownie, but drumming is to the partridge what singing is to the lark; while it is his lovesong, it is also an expression of exuberance born of health, and when the molt was over and september food and weather had renewed his splendid plumes and braced himself up again, his spirits revived, and finding himself one day near the old log he mounted impulsively, and drummed again and again. from that time he often drummed, while his children sat around, or one who showed his father's blood would mount some nearby stump or stone, and beat the air in the loud tattoo. the black grapes and the mad moon now came on. but redruff's brood were of a vigorous stock; their robust health meant robust wits, and though they got the craze, it passed within a week, and only three had flown away for good. redruff, with his remaining three, was living in the glen when the snow came. it was light, flaky snow, and as the weather was not very cold, the family squatted for the night under the low, flat boughs of a cedar-tree. but next day the storm continued, it grew colder, and the drifts piled up all day. at night, the snow-fall ceased, but the frost grew harder still, so redruff, leading the family to a birch-tree above a deep drift, dived into the snow, and the others did the same. then into the holes the wind blew the loose snow--their pure white bed-clothes, and thus tucked in they slept in comfort, for the snow is a warm wrap, and the air passes through it easily enough for breathing. next morning each partridge found a solid wall of ice before him from his frozen breath, but easily turned to one side and rose on the wing at redruff's morning 'kreet, kreet, kwit,' (come children, come children, fly.) this was the first night for them in a snow-drift, though it was an old story to redruff, and next night they merrily dived again into bed, and the north wind tucked them in as before. but a change of weather was brewing. the night wind veered to the east. a fall of heavy flakes gave place to sleet, and that to silver rain. the whole wide world was sheathed in ice, and when the grouse awoke to quit their beds, they found themselves sealed in with a great cruel sheet of edgeless ice. the deeper snow was still quite soft, and redruff bored his way to the top, but there the hard, white sheet defied his strength. hammer and struggle as he might he could make no impression, and only bruised his wings and head. his life had been made up of keen joys and dull hardships, with frequent sudden desperate straits, but this seemed the hardest brunt of all, as the slow hours wore on and found him weakening with his struggles, but no nearer to freedom. he could hear the struggling of his family, too, or sometimes heard them calling to him for help with their long-drawn plaintive 'p-e-e-e-e-e-t-e, p-e-e-e-e-e-t-e.' they were hidden from many of their enemies, but not from the pangs of hunger, and when the night came down the weary prisoners, worn out with hunger and useless toil, grew quiet in despair. at first they had been afraid the fox would come and find them imprisoned there at his mercy, but as the second night went slowly by they no longer cared, and even wished he would come and break the crusted snow, and so give them at least a fighting chance for life. but when the fox really did come padding over the frozen drift, the deep-laid love of life revived, and they crouched in utter stillness till he passed. the second day was one of driving storm. the north wind sent his snow-horses, hissing and careering over the white earth, tossing and curling their white manes and kicking up more snow as they dashed on. the long, hard grinding of the granular snow seemed to be thinning the snow-crust, for though far from dark below, it kept on growing lighter. redruff had pecked and pecked at the under side all day, till his head ached and his bill was wearing blunt, but when the sun went down he seemed as far as ever from escape. the night passed like the others, except no fox went trotting overhead. in the morning he renewed his pecking, though now with scarcely any force, and the voices or struggles of the others were no more heard. as the daylight grew stronger he could see that his long efforts had made a brighter spot above him in the snow, and he continued feebly pecking. outside, the storm-horses kept on trampling all day, the crust was really growing thin under their heels, and late that afternoon his bill went through into the open air. new life came with this gain, and he pecked away, till just before the sun went down he had made a hole that his head, his neck, and his ever-beautiful ruffs could pass. his great broad shoulders were too large, but he could now strike downward, which gave him fourfold force; the snow-crust crumbled quickly, and in a little while he sprang from his icy prison once more free. but the young ones! redruff flew to the nearest bank, hastily gathered a few red hips to stay his gnawing hunger, then returned to the prison-drift and clucked and stamped. he got only one reply, a feeble 'peete, peete,' and scratching with his sharp claws on the thinned granular sheet he soon broke through, and graytail feebly crawled out of the hole. but that was all; the others, scattered he could not tell where in the drift, made no reply, gave no sign of life, and he was forced to leave them. when the snow melted in the spring their bodies came to view, skin, bones, and feathers--nothing more. vii it was long before redruff and graytail fully recovered, but food and rest in plenty are sure cure-alls, and a bright clear day in midwinter had the usual effect of setting the vigorous redruff to drumming on the log. was it the drumming, or the tell-tale tracks of their snow-shoes on the omnipresent snow, that betrayed them to cuddy? he came prowling again and again up the ravine, with dog and gun, intent to hunt the partridges down. they knew him of old, and he was coming now to know them well. that great copper-ruffed cock was becoming famous up and down the valley. during the gunner moon many a one had tried to end his splendid life, just as a worthless wretch of old sought fame by burning the ephesian wonder of the world. but redruff was deep in woodcraft. he knew just where to hide, and when to rise on silent wing, and when to squat till overstepped, then rise on thunder wing within a yard to shield himself at once behind some mighty tree-trunk and speed away. but cuddy never ceased to follow with his gun that red-ruffed cock; many a long snapshot he tried, but somehow always found a tree, a bank, or some safe shield between, and redruff lived and throve and drummed. when the snow moon came he moved with graytail to the castle frank woods, where food was plenty as well as grand old trees. there was in particular, on the east slope among the creeping hemlocks, a splendid pine. it was six feet through, and its first branches began at the tops of the other trees. its top in summer-time was a famous resort for the bluejay and his bride. here, far beyond the reach of shot, in warm spring days the jay would sing and dance before his mate, spread his bright blue plumes and warble the sweetest fairyland music, so sweet and soft that few hear it but the one for whom it is meant, and books know nothing at all about it. this great pine had an especial interest for redruff, now living near with his remaining young one, but its base, not its far-away crown, concerned him. all around were low, creeping hemlocks, and among them the partridge-vine and the wintergreen grew, and the sweet black acorns could be scratched from under the snow. there was no better feeding-ground, for when that insatiable gunner came on them there it was easy to run low among the hemlocks to the great pine, then rise with a derisive whirr behind its bulk, and keeping the huge trunk in line with the deadly gun, skim off in safety. a dozen times at least the pine had saved them during the lawful murder season, and here it was that cuddy, knowing their feeding habits, laid a new trap. under the bank he sneaked and watched in ambush while an accomplice went around the sugar loaf to drive the birds. he came trampling through the low thicket where redruff and graytail were feeding, and long before the gunner was dangerously near redruff gave a low warning 'rrrrr' (danger) and walked quickly toward the great pine in case they had to rise. graytail was some distance up the hill, and suddenly caught sight of a new foe close at hand, the yellow cur, coming right on. redruff, much farther off, could not see him for the bushes, and graytail became greatly alarmed. 'kwit, kwit' (fly, fly), she cried, running down the hill for a start. 'kreet, k-r-r-r' (this way, hide), cried the cooler redruff, for he saw that now the man with the gun was getting in range. he gained the great trunk, and behind it, as he paused a moment to call earnestly to graytail, 'this way, this way,' he heard a slight noise under the bank before him that betrayed the ambush, then there was a terrified cry from graytail as the dog sprang at her, she rose in air and skimmed behind the shielding trunk, away from the gunner in the open, right into the power of the miserable wretch under the bank. whirr, and up she went, a beautiful, sentient, noble being. bang, and down she fell--battered and bleeding, to gasp her life out and to lie, mere carrion in the snow. it was a perilous place for redruff. there was no chance for a safe rise, so he squatted low. the dog came within ten feet of him, and the stranger, coming across to cuddy, passed at five feet, but he never moved till a chance came to slip behind the great trunk away from both. then he safely rose and flew to the lonely glen by taylor's hill. one by one the deadly cruel gun had stricken his near ones down, till now, once more, he was alone. the snow moon slowly passed with many a narrow escape, and redruff, now known to be the only survivor of his kind, was relentlessly pursued, and grew wilder every day. it seemed, at length, a waste of time to follow him with a gun, so when the snow was deepest, and food scarcest, cuddy hatched a new plot. right across the feeding-ground, almost the only good one now in the stormy moon, he set a row of snares. a cottontail rabbit, an old friend, cut several of these with his sharp teeth, but some remained, and redruff, watching a far-off speck that might turn out a hawk, trod right in one of them, and in an instant was jerked into the air to dangle by one foot. have the wild things no moral or legal rights? what right has man to inflict such long and fearful agony on a fellow-creature, simply because that creature does not speak his language? all that day, with growing, racking pains, poor redruff hung and beat his great, strong wings in helpless struggles to be free. all day, all night, with growing torture, until he only longed for death. but no one came. the morning broke, the day wore on, and still he hung there, slowly dying; his very strength a curse. the second night crawled slowly down, and when, in the dawdling hours of darkness, a great horned owl, drawn by the feeble flutter of a dying wing, cut short the pain, the deed was wholly kind. the wind blew down the valley from the north. the snow-horses went racing over the wrinkled ice, over the don flats, and over the marsh toward the lake, white, for they were driven snow, but on them, scattered dark, were riding plumy fragments of partridge ruffs--the famous rainbow ruffs. and they rode on the winter wind that night, away and away to the south, over the dark and boisterous lake, as they rode in the gloom of his mad moon flight, riding and riding on till they were engulfed, the last trace of the last of the don valley race. for now no partridge comes to castle frank. its wood-birds miss the martial spring salute, and in mud creek ravine the old pine drumlog, since unused, has rotted in silence away. northern trails book i by william j. long _wood folk series book vi_ preface in the original preface to "northern trails" the author stated that, with the solitary exception of the salmon's life in the sea after he vanishes from human sight, every incident recorded here is founded squarely upon personal and accurate observation of animal life and habits. i now repeat and emphasize that statement. even when the observations are, for the reader's sake, put into the form of a connected story, there is not one trait or habit mentioned which is not true to animal life. such a statement ought to be enough, especially as i have repeatedly furnished evidence from reliable eye-witnesses to support every observation that the critics have challenged; but of late a strenuous public attack has been made upon the wolf story in this volume by two men claiming to speak with authority. they take radical exception to my record of a big white wolf killing a young caribou by snapping at the chest and heart. they declared this method of killing to be "a mathematical impossibility" and, by inference, a gross falsehood, utterly ruinous to true ideas of wolves and of natural history. as no facts or proofs are given to support this charge, the first thing which a sensible man naturally does is to examine the fitness of the critics, in order to ascertain upon what knowledge or experience they base their dogmatic statements. one of these critics is a man who has no personal knowledge of wolves or caribou, who asserts that the animal has no possibility of reason or intelligence, and who has for years publicly denied the observations of other men which tend to disprove his ancient theory. it seems hardly worth while to argue about either wolves or men with such a naturalist, or to point out that descartes' idea of animals, as purely mechanical or automatic creatures, has long since been laid aside and was never considered seriously by any man who had lived close to either wild or domestic animals. the second critic's knowledge of wolves consists almost entirely of what he has happened to see when chasing the creatures with dogs and hunters. judging by his own nature books, with their barbaric records of slaughter, his experience of wild animals was gained while killing them. such a man will undoubtedly discover some things about animals, how they fight and hide and escape their human enemies; but it hardly needs any argument to show that the man who goes into the woods with dogs and rifles and the desire to kill can never understand any living animal. if you examine now any of the little books which he condemns, you will find a totally different story: no record of chasing and killing, but only of patient watching, of creeping near to wild animals and winning their confidence whenever it is possible, of following them day and night with no motive but the pure love of the thing and no object but to see exactly what each animal is doing and to understand, so far as a man can, the mystery of its dumb life. naturally a man in this attitude will see many traits of animal life which are hidden from the game-killer as well as from the scientific collector of skins. for instance, practically all wild animals are shy and timid and run away at man's approach. this is the general experience not only of hunters but of casual observers in the woods. yet my own experience has many times shown me exactly the opposite trait: that when these same shy animals find me unexpectedly close at hand, more than half the time they show no fear whatever but only an eager curiosity to know who and what the creature is that sits so quietly near them. sometimes, indeed, they seem almost to understand the mental attitude which has no thought of harm but only of sympathy and friendly interest. once i was followed for hours by a young wolf which acted precisely like a lost dog, too timid to approach and too curious or lonely to run away. he even wagged his tail when i called to him softly. had i shot him on sight, i would probably have foolishly believed that he intended to attack me when he came trotting along my trail. three separate times i have touched a wild deer with my hand; once i touched a moose, once an eagle, once a bear; and a score of times at least i have had to frighten these big animals or get out of their way, when their curiosity brought them too near for perfect comfort. so much for the personal element, for the general attitude and fitness of the observer and his critics. but the question is not chiefly a personal one; it is simply a matter of truth and observation, and the only honest or scientific method is, first, to go straight to nature and find out the facts; and then--lest your own eyesight or judgment be at fault--to consult other observers to find if, perchance, they also have seen the facts exemplified. this is not so easy as to dogmatize or to write animal stories; but it is the only safe method, and one which the nature writer as well as the scientist must follow if his work is to endure. following this good method, when the critics had proclaimed that my record of a big wolf killing a young caribou by biting into the chest and heart was an impossibility, i went straight to the big woods and, as soon as the law allowed, secured photographs and exact measurements of the first full-grown deer that crossed my trail. these photographs and measurements show beyond any possibility of honest doubt the following facts: ( ) the lower chest of a deer, between and just behind the forelegs, is thin and wedge-shaped, exactly as i stated, and the point of the heart is well down in this narrow wedge. the distance through the chest and point of the heart from side to side was, in this case, exactly four and one-half inches. a man's hand, as shown in the photograph, can easily grasp the whole lower chest of a deer, placing thumb and forefinger over the heart on opposite sides. ( ) the heart of a deer, and indeed of all ruminant animals, lies close against the chest walls and is easily reached and wounded. the chest cartilage, except in an old deer, is soft; the ribs are thin and easily crushed, and the spaces between the ribs are wide enough to admit a man's finger, to say nothing of a wolf's fang. in this case the point of the heart, as the deer lay on his side, was barely five eights of an inch from the surface. ( ) any dog or wolf, therefore, having a spread of jaws of four and one-half inches, and fangs three quarters of an inch long, could easily grasp the chest of this deer from beneath and reach the heart from either side. as the jaws of the big northern wolf spread from six to eight inches and his fangs are over an inch long, to kill a deer in this way would require but a slight effort. the chest of a caribou is anatomically exactly like that of other deer; only the caribou fawn and yearling of "northern trails" have smaller chests than the animals i measured. so much for the facts and the possibilities. as for specific instances, years ago i found a deer just killed in the snow and beside him the fresh tracks of a big wolf, which had probably been frightened away at my approach. the deer was bitten just behind and beneath the left shoulder, and one long fang had entered the heart. there was not another scratch on the body, so far as i could discover. i thought this very exceptional at the time; but years afterwards my indian guide in the interior of newfoundland assured me that it was a common habit of killing caribou among the big white wolves with which he was familiar. to show that the peculiar habit is not confined to any one section, i quote here from the sworn statements of three other eyewitnesses. the first is superintendent of the algonquin national park, a man who has spent a lifetime in the north woods and who has at present an excellent opportunity for observing wild-animal habits; the second is an educated sioux indian; the third is a geologist and mining engineer, now practicing his profession in philadelphia. algonquin park, ontario, august , . this certifies that during the past thirty years spent in our canadian wilds, i have seen several animals killed by our large timber wolves. in the winter of i saw two deer thus killed on smoke lake, nipissing, ontario. one deer was bitten through the front chest, the other just behind the foreleg. in each case there was no other wound on the body. [signed] g.w. bartlett, _superintendent_. i certify that i lived for twenty years in northern nebraska and dakota, in a region where timber wolves were abundant.... i saw one horse that had just been killed by a wolf. the front of his chest was torn open to the heart. there was no other wound on the body. i once watched a wolf kill a stray horse on the open prairie. he kept nipping at the hind legs, making the horse turn rapidly till he grew dizzy and fell down. then the wolf snapped or bit into his chest.... the horse died in a few moments. [signed] stephen jones (hepidan). i certify that in november, , while surveying in wyoming, my party saw two wolves chase a two-year-old colt over a cliff some fifteen or sixteen feet high. i was on the spot with two others immediately after the incident occurred. the only injuries to the colt, aside from a broken leg, were deep lacerations made by wolf fangs in the chest behind the foreshoulder. in addition to this personal observation i have frequently heard from hunters, herders, and cowboys that big wolves frequently kill deer and other animals by snapping at the chest. [signed] f.s. pusey. i have more evidence of the same kind from the region which i described in "northern trails"; but i give these three simply to show that what one man discovers as a surprising trait of some individual wolf or deer may be common enough when we open our eyes to see. the fact that wolves do not always or often kill in this way has nothing to do with the question. i know one small region where old wolves generally hunt in pairs and, so far as i can discover, one wolf always trips or throws the game, while the other invariably does the killing at the throat. in another region, including a part of algonquin park, in ontario, i have the records of several deer killed by wolves in a single winter; and in every case the wolf slipped up behind his game and cut the femoral artery, or the inner side of the hind leg, and then drew back quietly, allowing the deer to bleed to death. the point is, that because a thing is unusual or interesting it is not necessarily false, as my dogmatic critics would have you believe. i have studied animals, not as species but as individuals, and have recorded some things which other and better naturalists have overlooked; but i have sought for facts, first of all, as zealously as any biologist, and have recorded only what i have every reason to believe is true. that these facts are unusual means simply that we have at last found natural history to be interesting, just as the discovery of unusual men and incidents gives charm and meaning to the records of our humanity. there may be honest errors or mistakes in these books--and no one tries half so hard as the author to find and correct them--but meanwhile the fact remains that, though six volumes of the wood folk books have already been published, only three slight errors have thus far been pointed out, and these were promptly and gratefully acknowledged. the simple truth is that these observations of mine, though they are all true, do not tell more than a small fraction of the interesting things that wild animals do continually in their native state, when they are not frightened by dogs and hunters, or when we are not blinded by our preconceived notions in watching them. i have no doubt that romancing is rife just now on the part of men who study animals in a library; but personally, with my note-books full of incidents which i have never yet recorded, i find the truth more interesting, and i cannot understand why a man should deliberately choose romance when he can have the greater joy of going into the wilderness to see with his own eyes and to understand with his own heart just how the animals live. one thing seems to me to be more and more certain: that we are only just beginning to understand wild animals, and it is chiefly our own barbarism, our lust of killing, our stupid stuffed specimens, and especially our prejudices which stand in the way of greater knowledge. meanwhile the critic who asserts dogmatically what a wild animal will or will not do under certain conditions only proves how carelessly he has watched them and how little he has learned of nature's infinite variety. william j. long stamford, connecticut contents wayeeses the strong one the old wolf's challenge where the trail begins noel and mooka the way of the wolf the white wolf's hunting trails that cross in the snow glossary of indian names full-page illustrations "a quick snap where the heart lay" "the terrible howl of a great white wolf" "watching her growing youngsters" "as the mother's long jaws closed over the small of the back" "the silent, appalling death-watch began" wayeeses the strong one _the old wolf's challenge_ we were beating up the straits to the labrador when a great gale swooped down on us and drove us like a scared wild duck into a cleft in the mountains, where the breakers roared and the seals barked on the black rocks and the reefs bared their teeth on either side, like the long jaws of a wolf, to snap at us as we passed. in our flight we had picked up a fisherman--snatched him out of his helpless punt as we luffed in a smother of spray, and dragged him aboard, like an enormous frog, at the end of the jib sheet--and it was he who now stood at the wheel of our little schooner and took her careening in through the tickle of harbor woe. there, in a desolate, rock-bound refuge on the newfoundland coast, the _wild duck_ swung to her anchor, veering nervously in the tide rip, tugging impatiently and clanking her chains as if eager to be out again in the turmoil. at sunset the gale blew itself out, and presently the moon wheeled full and clear over the dark mountains. noel, my big indian, was curled up asleep in a caribou skin by the foremast; and the crew were all below asleep, every man glad in his heart to be once more safe in a snug harbor. all about us stretched the desolate wastes of sea and mountains, over which silence and darkness brooded, as over the first great chaos. near at hand were the black rocks, eternally wet and smoking with the fog and gale; beyond towered the icebergs, pale, cold, glittering like spires of silver in the moonlight; far away, like a vague shadow, a handful of little gray houses clung like barnacles to the base of a great bare hill whose foot was in the sea and whose head wavered among the clouds of heaven. not a light shone, not a sound or a sign of life came from these little houses, whose shells close daily at twilight over the life within, weary with the day's work. only the dogs were restless--those strange creatures that shelter in our houses and share our bread, yet live in another world, a dumb, silent, lonely world shut out from ours by impassable barriers. for hours these uncanny dogs had puzzled me, a score of vicious, hungry brutes that drew the sledges in winter and that picked up a vagabond living in the idle summer by hunting rabbits and raiding the fishermen's flakes and pig-pens and by catching flounders in the sea as the tide ebbed. venture among them with fear in your heart and they would fly at your legs and throat like wild beasts; but twirl a big stick jauntily, or better still go quietly on your way without concern, and they would skulk aside and watch you hungrily out of the corners of their surly eyes, whose lids were red and bloodshot as a mastiff's. when the moon rose i noticed them flitting about like witches on the lonely shore, miles away from the hamlet; now sitting on their tails in a solemn circle; now howling all together as if demented, and anon listening intently in the vast silence, as if they heard or smelled or perhaps just felt the presence of some unknown thing that was hidden from human senses. and when i paddled ashore to watch them one ran swiftly past without heeding me, his nose outstretched, his eyes green as foxfire in the moonlight, while the others vanished like shadows among the black rocks, each intent on his unknown quest. that is why i had come up from my warm bunk at midnight to sit alone on the taffrail, listening in the keen air to the howling that made me shiver, spite of myself, and watching in the vague moonlight to understand if possible what the brutes felt amid the primal silence and desolation. a long interval of profound stillness had passed, and i could just make out the circle of dogs sitting on their tails on the open shore, when suddenly, faint and far away, an unearthly howl came rolling down the mountains, _ooooooo-ow-wow-wow!_ a long wailing crescendo beginning softly, like a sound in a dream, and swelling into a roar that waked the sleeping echoes and set them jumping like startled goats from crag to crag. instantly the huskies answered, every clog breaking out into indescribable frenzied wailings, as a collie responds in agony to certain chords of music that stir all the old wolf nature sleeping within him. for five minutes the uproar was appalling; then it ceased abruptly and the huskies ran wildly here and there among the rocks. from far away an answer, an echo perhaps of their wailing, or, it may be, the cry of the dogs of st. margaret's, came ululating over the deep. then silence again, vast and unnatural, settling over the gloomy land like a winding-sheet. as the unknown howl trembled faintly in the air noel, who had slept undisturbed through all the clamor of the dogs, stirred uneasily by the foremast. as it deepened and swelled into a roar that filled all the night he threw off the caribou skin and came aft to where i was watching alone. "das wayeeses. i know dat hwulf; he follow me one time, oh, long, long while ago," he whispered. and taking my marine glasses he stood beside me watching intently. [illustration: "the terrible howl of the great white wolf"] there was another long period of waiting; our eyes grew weary, filled as they were with shadows and uncertainties in the moonlight, and we turned our ears to the hills, waiting with strained, silent expectancy for the challenge. suddenly noel pointed upward and my eye caught something moving swiftly on the crest of the mountain. a shadow with the slinking trot of a wolf glided along the ridge between us and the moon. just in front of us it stopped, leaped upon a big rock, turned a pointed nose up to the sky, sharp and clear as a fir top in the moonlight, and--_ooooooo-ow-wow-wow!_ the terrible howl of a great white wolf tumbled down on the husky dogs and set them howling as if possessed. no doubt now of their queer actions which had puzzled me for hours past. the wild wolf had called and the tame wolves waked to answer. before my dull ears had heard a rumor of it they were crazy with the excitement. now every chord in their wild hearts was twanging its thrilling answer to the leader's summons, and my own heart awoke and thrilled as it never did before to the call of a wild beast. for an hour or more the old wolf sat there, challenging his degenerate mates in every silence, calling the tame to be wild, the bound to be free again, and listening gravely to the wailing answer of the dogs, which refused with groanings, as if dragging themselves away from overmastering temptation. then the shadow vanished from the big rock on the mountain, the huskies fled away wildly from the shore, and only the sob of the breakers broke the stillness. that was my first (and noel's last) shadowy glimpse of wayeeses, the huge white wolf which i had come a thousand miles over land and sea to study. all over the long range of the northern peninsula i followed him, guided sometimes by a rumor--a hunter's story or a postman's fright, caught far inland in winter and huddling close by his fire with his dogs through the long winter night--and again by a track on the shore of some lonely, unnamed pond, or the sight of a herd of caribou flying wildly from some unseen danger. here is the white wolf's story, learned partly from much watching and following his tracks alone, but more from noel the indian hunter, in endless tramps over the hills and caribou marshes and in long quiet talks in the firelight beside the salmon rivers. _where the trail begins_ from a cave in the rocks, on the unnamed mountains that tower over harbor weal on the north and east, a huge mother wolf appeared, stealthily, as all wolves come out of their dens. a pair of green eyes glowed steadily like coals deep within the dark entrance; a massive gray head rested unseen against the lichens of a gray rock; then the whole gaunt body glided like a passing cloud shadow into the june sunshine and was lost in a cleft of the rocks. there, in the deep shadow where no eye might notice the movement, the old wolf shook off the delicious sleepiness that still lingered in all her big muscles. first she spread her slender fore paws, working the toes till they were all wide-awake, and bent her body at the shoulders till her deep chest touched the earth. next a hind leg stretched out straight and tense as a bar, and was taken back again in nervous little jerks. at the same time she yawned mightily, wrinkling her nose and showing her red gums with the black fringes and the long white fangs that could reach a deer's heart in a single snap. then she leaped upon a great rock and sat up straight, with her bushy tail curled close about her fore paws, a savage, powerful, noble-looking beast, peering down gravely over the green mountains to the shining sea. a moment before the hillside had appeared utterly lifeless, so still and rugged and desolate that one must notice and welcome the stir of a mouse or ground squirrel in the moss, speaking of life that is glad and free and vigorous even in the deepest solitudes; yet now, so quietly did the old wolf appear, so perfectly did her rough gray coat blend with the rough gray rocks, that the hillside seemed just as tenantless as before. a stray wind seemed to move the mosses, that was all. only where the mountains once slept now they seemed wide-awake. keen eyes saw every moving thing, from the bees in the bluebells to the slow fishing-boats far out at sea; sharp ears that were cocked like a collie's heard every chirp and trill and rustle, and a nose that understood everything was holding up every vagrant breeze and searching it for its message. for the cubs were coming out for the first time to play in the big world, and no wild mother ever lets that happen without first taking infinite precautions that her little ones be not molested nor made afraid. a faint breeze from the west strayed over the mountains and instantly the old wolf turned her sensitive nose to question it. there on her right, and just across a deep ravine where a torrent went leaping down to the sea in hundred-foot jumps, a great stag caribou was standing, still as a stone, on a lofty pinnacle, looking down over the marvelous panorama spread wide beneath his feet. every day megaleep came there to look, and the old wolf in her daily hunts often crossed the deep path which he had worn through the moss from the wide table-lands over the ridge to this sightly place where he could look down curiously at the comings and goings of men on the sea. but at this season when small game was abundant--and indeed at all seasons when not hunger-driven--the wolf was peaceable and the caribou were not molested. indeed the big stag knew well where the old wolf denned. every east wind brought her message to his nostrils; but secure in his own strength and in the general peace which prevails in the summer-time among all large animals of the north, he came daily to look down on the harbor and wag his ears at the fishing-boats, which he could never understand. strange neighbors these, the grim, savage mother wolf of the mountains, hiding her young in dens of the rocks, and the wary, magnificent wanderer of the broad caribou barrens; but they understood each other, and neither wolf nor caribou had any fear or hostile intent one for the other. and this is not strange at all, as might be supposed by those who think animals are governed by fear on one hand and savage cruelty on the other, but is one of the commonest things to be found by those who follow faithfully the northern trails. wayeeses had chosen her den well, on the edge of the untrodden solitudes--sixty miles as the crow flies--that stretch northward from harbor weal to harbor woe. it was just under the ridge, in a sunny hollow among the rocks, on the southern slope of the great mountains. the earliest sunshine found the place and warmed it, bringing forth the bluebells for a carpet, while in every dark hollow the snow lingered all summer long, making dazzling white patches on the mountain; and under the high waterfalls, that looked from the harbor like bits of silver ribbon stretched over the green woods, the ice clung to the rocks in fantastic knobs and gargoyles, making cold, deep pools for the trout to play in. so it was both cool and warm there, and whatever the weather the gaunt old mother wolf could always find just the right spot to sleep away the afternoon. best of all it was perfectly safe; for though from the door of her den she could look down on the old indian's cabin, like a pebble on the shore, so steep were the billowing hills and so impassable the ravines that no human foot ever trod the place, not even in autumn when the fishermen left their boats at anchor in harbor weal and camped inland on the paths of the big caribou herds. whether or not the father wolf ever knew where his cubs were hidden only he himself could tell. he was an enormous brute, powerful and cunning beyond measure, that haunted the lonely thickets and ponds bordering the great caribou barrens over the ridge, and that kept a silent watch, within howling distance, over the den which he never saw. sometimes the mother wolf met him on her wanderings and they hunted together. often he brought the game he had caught, a fox or a young goose; and sometimes when she had hunted in vain he met her, as if he had understood her need from a distance, and led her to where he had buried two or three of the rabbits that swarmed in the thickets. but spite of the attention and the indifferent watch which he kept, he never ventured near the den, which he could have found easily enough by following the mother's track. the old she-wolf would have flown at his throat like a fury had he showed his head over the top of the ridge. the reason for this was simple enough to the savage old mother, though there are some things about it that men do not yet understand. wolves, like cats and foxes, and indeed like most wild male animals, have an atrocious way of killing their own young when they find them unprotected; so the mother animal searches out a den by herself and rarely allows the male to come near it. spite of this beastly habit it must be said honestly of the old he-wolf that he shows a marvelous gentleness towards his mate. he runs at the slightest show of teeth from a mother wolf half his size, and will stand meekly a snap of the jaws or a cruel gash of the terrible fangs in his flank without defending himself. even our hounds seem to have inherited something of this primitive wolf trait, for there are seasons when, unless urged on by men, they will not trouble a mother wolf or fox. many times, in the early spring, when foxes are mating, and again later when they are heavy with young and incapable of a hard run, i have caught my hounds trotting meekly after a mother fox, sniffing her trail indifferently and sitting down with heads turned aside when she stops for a moment to watch and yap at them disdainfully. and when you call them they come shamefaced; though in winter-time, when running the same fox to death, they pay no more heed to your call than to the crows clamoring over them. but we must return to wayeeses, sitting over her den on a great gray rock, trying every breeze, searching every movement, harking to every chirp and rustle before bringing her cubs out into the world. satisfied at last with her silent investigation she turned her head towards the den. there was no sound, only one of those silent, unknown communications that pass between animals. instantly there was a scratching, scurrying, whining, and three cubs tumbled out of the dark hole in the rocks, with fuzzy yellow fur and bright eyes and sharp ears and noses, like collies, all blinking and wondering and suddenly silent at the big bright world which they had never seen before, so different from the dark den under the rocks. indeed it was a marvelous world that the little cubs looked upon when they came out to blink and wonder in the june sunshine. contrasts everywhere, that made the world seem too big for one little glance to comprehend it all. here the sunlight streamed and danced and quivered on the warm rocks; there deep purple cloud shadows rested for hours, as if asleep, or swept over the mountain side in an endless game of fox-and-geese with the sunbeams. here the birds trilled, the bees hummed in the bluebells, the brook roared and sang on its way to the sea; while over all the harmony of the world brooded a silence too great to be disturbed. sunlight and shadow, snow and ice, gloomy ravines and dazzling mountain tops, mayflowers and singing birds and rustling winds filled all the earth with color and movement and melody. from under their very feet great masses of rock, tossed and tumbled as by a giant's play, stretched downwards to where the green woods began and rolled in vast billows to the harbor, which shone and sparkled in the sun, yet seemed no bigger than their mother's paw. fishing-boats with shining sails hovered over it, like dragon-flies, going and coming from the little houses that sheltered together under the opposite mountain, like a cluster of gray toadstools by a towering pine stump. most wonderful, most interesting of all was the little gray hut on the shore, almost under their feet, where little noel and the indian children played with the tide like fiddler crabs, or pushed bravely out to meet the fishermen in a bobbing nutshell. for wolf cubs are like collies in this, that they seem to have a natural interest, perhaps a natural kinship with man, and next to their own kind nothing arouses their interest like a group of children playing. so the little cubs took their first glimpse of the big world, of mountains and sea and sunshine, and children playing on the shore, and the world was altogether too wonderful for little heads to comprehend. nevertheless one plain impression remained, the same that you see in the ears and nose and stumbling feet and wagging tail of every puppy-dog you meet on the streets, that this bright world is a famous place, just made a-purpose for little ones to play in. sitting on their tails in a solemn row the wolf cubs bent their heads and pointed their noses gravely at the sea. there it was, all silver and blue and boundless, with tiny white sails dancing over it, winking and flashing like entangled bits of sunshine; and since the eyes of a cub, like those of a little child, cannot judge distances, one stretched a paw at the nearest sail, miles away, to turn it over and make it go the other way. they turned up their heads sidewise and blinked at the sky, all blue and calm and infinite, with white clouds sailing over it like swans on a limpid lake; and one stood up on his hind legs and reached up both paws, like a kitten, to pull down a cloud to play with. then the wind stirred a feather near them, the white feather of a ptarmigan which they had eaten yesterday, and forgetting the big world and the sail and the cloud, the cubs took to playing with the feather, chasing and worrying and tumbling over each other, while the gaunt old mother wolf looked down from her rock and watched and was satisfied. _noel and mooka_ down on the shore, that same bright june afternoon, little noel and his sister mooka were going on wonderful sledge journeys, meeting wolves and polar bears and caribou and all sorts of adventures, more wonderful by far than any that ever came to imagination astride of a rocking-horse. they had a rare team of dogs, caesar and wolf and grouch and the rest,--five or six uneasy crabs which they had caught and harnessed to a tiny sledge made from a curved root and a shingle tied together with a bit of sea-kelp. and when the crabs scurried away over the hard sand, waving their claws wildly, noel and mooka would caper alongside, cracking a little whip and crying "hi, hi, caesar! hiya, wolf! hi, hiya, hiya, yeeee!"--and then shrieking with laughter as the sledge overturned and the crabs took to fighting and scratching in the tangled harness, just like the husky dogs in winter. mooka was trying to untangle them, dancing about to keep her bare toes and fingers away from the nipping claws, when she jumped up with a yell, the biggest crab hanging to the end of her finger. "owee! oweeeee! caesar bit me," she wailed. then she stopped, with finger in her mouth, while caesar scrambled headlong into the tide; for noel was standing on the beach pointing at a brown sail far down in the deep bay, where southeast brook came singing from the green wilderness. "ohé, mooka! there's father and old tomah come back from salmon fishing." "let's go meet um, little brother," said mooka, her black eyes dancing; and in a wink crabs and sledges were forgotten. the old punt was off in a shake, the tattered sail up, skipper noel lounging in the stern, like an old salt, with the steering oar, while the crew, forgetting her nipped finger, tugged valiantly at the main-sheet. they were scooting away gloriously, rising and pounding the waves, when mooka, who did not have to steer and whose restless glance was roving over every bay and hillside, jumped up, her eyes round as lynx's. "look, noel, look! there's megaleep again watching us." and noel, following her finger, saw far up on the mountain a stag caribou, small and fine and clear as a cameo against the blue sky, where they had so often noticed him with wonder watching them as they came shouting home with the tide. instantly noel threw himself against the steering oar; the punt came up floundering and shaking in the wind. "come on, little sister; we can go up fox brook. tomah showed me trail." and forgetting the salmon, as they had a moment before forgotten the crabs and sledges, these two children of the wild, following every breeze and bird call and blossoming bluebell and shining star alike, tumbled ashore and went hurrying up the brook, splashing through the shallows, darting like kingfishers over the points, and jumping like wild goats from rock to rock. in an hour they were far up the mountain, lying side by side on a great flat rock, looking across a deep impassable valley and over two rounded hilltops, where the scrub spruces looked like pins on a cushion, to the bare, rugged hillside where megaleep stood out like a watchman against the blue sky. "does he see us, little brother?" whispered mooka, quivering with excitement and panting from the rapid climb. "see us? sartin, little sister; but that only make him want peek um some more," said the little hunter. and raised carelessly on his elbows he was telling mooka how megaleep the caribou trusted only his nose, and how he watched and played peekaboo with anything which he could not smell, and how in a snowstorm-- noel was off now like a brook, babbling a deal of caribou lore which he had learned from old tomah the hunter, when mooka, whose restless black eyes were always wandering, seized his arm. "hush, brother, and look, oh, look! there on the big rock!" noel's eyes had already caught the indian trick of seeing only what they look for, and so of separating an animal instantly from his surroundings, however well he hides. that is why the whole hillside seemed suddenly to vanish, spruces and harebells, snow-fields and drifting white clouds all grouping themselves, like the unnoticed frame of a picture, around a great gray rock with a huge shaggy she-wolf keeping watch over it, silent, alert, motionless. something stirred in the shadow of the old wolf's watch-tower, tossing and eddying and growing suddenly quiet, as if the wind were playing among dead oak leaves. the keen young eyes saw it instantly, dilating with surprise and excitement. the next instant they had clutched each other's arms. "ooooo!" from mooka. "cubs; keep still!" from noel. and shrinking close to the rock under a friendly dwarf spruce they lay still as two rabbits, watching with round eyes, eager but unafraid, the antics of three brown wolf cubs that were chasing the flies and tumbling over some invisible plaything before the door of the den. hardly had they made the discovery when the old wolf slipped down from the rock and stood for an instant over her little ones. why the play should stop now, while the breeze was still their comrade and the sunshine was brighter than ever, or why they should steal away into the dark den more silently than they had come, none of the cubs could tell. they felt the order and they obeyed instantly--and that is always the wonder of watching little wild things at play. the old mother wolf vanished among the rocks and appeared again higher on the ridge, turning her head uneasily to try every breeze and rustle and moving shadow. then she went questing into the spruce woods, feeling but not understanding some subtle excitement in the air that was not there before, and only the two indian children were left keeping watch over the great wild hillside. for over an hour they lay there expectantly, but nothing stirred near the den; then they too slipped away, silently as the little wild things, and made their slow way down the brook, hand in hand in the deepening shadows. scarcely had they gone when the bushes stirred and the old she-wolf, that had been ranging every ridge and valley since she disappeared at the unknown alarm, glided over the spot where a moment before mooka and noel had been watching. swiftly, silently she followed their steps; found the old trails coming up and the fresh trails returning; then, sure at last that no danger threatened her own little ones, she loped away up the hill and over the topmost ridge to the caribou barrens and the thickets where young rabbits were already stirring about in the twilight. that night, in the cabin under the cliffs, old tomah had to rehearse again all the wolf lore learned in sixty years of hunting: how, fortunately for the deer, these enormous wolves had never been abundant and were now very rare, a few having been shot, and more poisoned in the starving times, and the rest having vanished, mysteriously as wolves do, for some unknown reason. bears, which are easily trapped and shot and whose skins are worth each a month's wages to the fishermen, still hold their own and even increase on the great island; while the wolves, once more numerous, are slowly vanishing, though they are never hunted, and not even old tomah himself could set a trap cunningly enough to catch one. the old hunter told, while mooka and noel held their breaths and drew closer to the light, how once, when he made his camp alone under a cliff on the lake shore, seven huge wolves, white as the snow, came racing swift and silent over the ice straight at the fire which he had barely time to kindle; how he shot two, and the others, seizing the fish he had just caught through the ice for his own supper, vanished over the bank; and he could not say even now whether they meant him harm or no. again, as he talked and the grim old face lighted up at the memory, they saw him crouched with his sledge-dogs by a blazing fire all the long winter night, and around him in the darkness blazing points of light, the eyes of wolves flashing back the firelight, and gaunt white forms flitting about like shadows, drawing nearer and nearer with ever-growing boldness till they seized his largest dog--though the brute lay so near the fire that his hair singed--and whisked it away with an appalling outcry. and still again, when tomah was lost three days in the interior, they saw him wandering with his pack over endless barrens and through gloomy spruce woods, and near him all the time a young wolf that followed his steps quietly, with half-friendly interest, and came no nearer day or night. all these things and many more the children heard from old tomah, and among all his hunting experiences and the stories and legends which he told them there was not one to make them afraid. for the horrible story of red riding hood is not known among the indians, who know well how untrue the tale is to wolf nature, and how foolish it is to frighten children with false stories of wolves and bears, misrepresenting them as savage and bloodthirsty brutes, when in truth they are but shy, peace-loving animals, whose only motive toward man, except when crazed by wounds or hunger, is one of childish curiosity. all these ferocious animal stories have their origin in other centuries and in distant lands, where they may possibly have been true, but more probably are just as false to animal nature; for they seem to reflect not the shy animal that men glimpsed in the woods, but rather the boastings of some hunter, who always magnifies his own praise by increasing the ferocity of the game he has killed, or else the pure imagination of some ancient nurse who tried to increase her scant authority by frightening her children with terrible tales. here certainly the indian attitude of kinship, gained by long centuries of living near to the animals and watching them closely, comes nearer to the truth of things. that is why little mooka and noel could listen for hours to old tomah's animal stories and then go away to bed and happy dreams, longing for the light so that they might be off again to watch at the wolf's den. one thing only disturbed them for a moment. even these children had wolf memories and vied with old tomah in eagerness of telling. they remembered one fearful winter, years ago, when most of the families of the little fishing village on the east harbor had moved far inland to sheltered cabins in the deep woods to escape the cold and the fearful blizzards of the coast. one still moonlit night, when the snow lay deep and the cold was intense and all the trees were cracking like pistols in the frost, a mournful howling rose all around their little cabin. light footfalls sounded on the crust; there were scratchings at the very door and hoarse breathings at every crack; while the dogs, with hackles up straight and stiff on their necks, fled howling under beds and tables. and when mooka and noel went fearfully with their mother to the little window--for the men were far away on a caribou hunt--there were gaunt white wolves, five or six of them, flitting restlessly about in the moonlight, scratching at the cracks and even raising themselves on their hind legs to look in at the little windows. mooka shivered a bit when she remembered the uncanny scene, and felt again the strong pressure of her mother's arms holding her close; but old tomah brushed away her fears with a smile and a word, as he had always done when, as little children, they had showed fear at the thunder or the gale or the cry of a wild beast in the night, till they had grown to look upon all nature's phenomena as hiding a smile as kindly as that of old tomah himself, who had a face wrinkled and terribly grim, to be sure, but who could smile and tell a story so that every child trusted him. the wolves were hungry, starving hungry, he said, and wanted only a dog, or one of the pigs. and mooka remembered with a bright laugh the two unruly pigs that had been taken inland as a hostage to famine, and that must be carefully guarded from the teeth of hungry prowlers, for they would soon be needed to keep the children themselves from starving. every night at early sunset, when the trees began to groan and the keen winds from the mountains came whispering through the woods, the two pigs were taken into the snug kitchen, where with the dogs they slept so close to the stove that she could always smell pork a-frying. not a husky dog there but would have killed and eaten one of these little pigs if he could have caught him around the corner of the house after nightfall, though you would never have suspected it if you had seen them so close together, keeping each other warm after the fire went out. and besides the dogs and the wolves there were lynxes--big, round-headed, savage-looking creatures--that came prowling out of the deep woods every night, hungry for a taste of the little pigs; and now and then an enormous polar bear, that had landed from an iceberg, would shuffle swiftly and fearlessly among the handful of little cabins, leaving his great footprints in every yard and tearing to pieces, as if made of straw, the heavy log pens to which some of the fishermen had foolishly confided their pigs or sheep. he even entered the woodsheds and rummaged about after a stray fishbone or an old sealskin boot, making a great rowdydow in the still night; and only the smell of man, or the report of an old gun fired at him by some brave woman out of the half-open window, kept him from pushing his enormous weight against the very doors of the cabins. thinking of all these things, mooka forgot her fears of the white wolves, remembering with a kind of sympathy how hungry all these shy prowlers must be to leave their own haunts, whence the rabbits and seals had vanished, and venture boldly into the yards of men. as for noel, he remembered with regret that he was too small at the time to use the long bow which he now carried on his rabbit and goose hunts; and as he took it from the wall, thrumming its chord of caribou sinew and fingering the sharp edge of a long arrow, he was hoping for just such another winter, longing to try his skill and strength on some of these midnight prowlers--a lynx, perhaps, not to begin too largely on a polar bear. so there was no fear at all, but only an eager wonder, when they followed up the brook next day to watch at the wolf's den. and even when noel found a track, a light oval track, larger but more slender than a dog's, in some moist sand close beside their own footprints and evidently following them, they remembered only the young wolf that had followed tomah and pressed on the more eagerly. day after day they returned to their watch-tower on the flat rock, under the dwarf spruce at the head of the brook, and lying there side by side they watched the play of the young wolf cubs. every day they grew more interested as the spirit of play entered into themselves, understanding the gladness of the wild rough-and-tumble when one of the cubs lay in wait for another and leaped upon him from ambush; understanding also something of the feeling of the gaunt old she-wolf as she looked down gravely from her gray rock watching her growing youngsters. once they brought an old spyglass which they had borrowed from a fisherman, and through its sea-dimmed lenses they made out that one of the cubs was larger than the other two, with a droop at the tip of his right ear, like a pointed leaf that has been creased sharply between the fingers. mooka claimed that wolf instantly for her own, as if they were watching the husky puppies, and by his broken ear said she should know him again when he grew to be a big wolf, if he should ever follow her, as his father perhaps had followed old tomah; but noel, thinking of his bow and his long arrow with the sharp point, thought of the winter night long ago and hoped that his two wolves would know enough to keep away when the pack came again, for he did not see any way to recognize and spare them, especially in the moonlight. so they lay there making plans and dreaming dreams, gentle or savage, for the little cubs that played with the feathers and grasshoppers and cloud shadows, all unconscious that any eyes but their mother's saw or cared for their wild, free playing. [illustration: "watching her growing youngsters"] something bothered the old she-wolf in these days of watching. the den was still secure, for no human foot had crossed the deep ravine or ventured nearer than the opposite hilltop. her nose told her that unmistakably; but still she was uneasy, and whenever the cubs were playing she felt, without knowing why, that she was being watched. when she trailed over all the ridges in the twilight, seeking to know if enemies had been near, she found always the scent of two human beings on a flat rock under the dwarf spruces; and there were always the two trails coming up and going down the brook. she followed once close behind the two children, seeing them plainly all the way, till they came in sight of the little cabin under the cliff, and from the door her enemy man came out to meet them. for these two little ones, whose trail she knew, the old she-wolf, like most mother animals in the presence of children, felt no fear nor enmity whatever. but they watched her den and her own little ones, that was sure enough; and why should any one watch a den except to enter some time and destroy? that is a question which no mother wolf could ever answer; for the wild animals, unlike dogs and blue jays and men, mind strictly their own business and pay no attention to other animals. they hate also to be watched; for the thought of watching always suggests to their minds that which follows,--the hunt, the rush, the wild break-away, and the run for life. had she not herself watched a hundred times at the rabbit's form, the fox's runway, the deer path, the wild-goose nest? what could she expect for her own little ones, therefore, when the man cubs, beings of larger reach and unknown power, came daily to watch at her den? all this unanswered puzzle must have passed through the old wolf's head as she trotted up the brook away from the indian cabin in the twilight. when in doubt trust your fears,--that is wolf wisdom in a nutshell; and that marks the difference between a wolf and a caribou, for instance, which in doubt trusts his nose or his curiosity. so the old wolf took counsel of her fears for her little ones, and that night carried them one by one in her mouth, as a cat carries her kittens, miles away over rocks and ravines and spruce thickets, to another den where no human eye ever looked upon their play. "shall we see them again, little brother?" said mooka wistfully, when they had climbed to their watch-tower for the third time and seen nothing. and noel made confident answer: "oh, yes, we see um again, lil sister. wayeeses got um wandering foot; go 'way off long ways; bimeby come back on same trail. he jus' like injun, like um old camp best. oh, yes, sartin we see um again." but noel's eyes looked far away as he spoke, and in his heart he was thinking of his bow and his long arrow with the sharp point, and of a moonlit night with white shapes flitting noiselessly over the snow and scratching at the door of the little cabin. _the way of the wolf_ a new experience had come to the little wolf cubs in a single night,--the experience of fear. for weeks they had lain hid in the dark den, or played fearlessly in the bright sunshine, guarded and kept at every moment, day or night, by the gaunt old mother wolf that was their only law, their only companion. at times they lay for hours hungry and restless, longing to go out into the bright world, yet obeying a stronger will than their own, even at a distance. for, once a wild mother in her own dumb way has bidden her little ones lie still, they rarely stir from the spot, refusing even to be dragged away from the nest or den, knowing well the punishment in store if she return and find them absent. moreover, it is useless to dissimulate, to go out and play and then to be sleeping innocently with the cubs when the old wolf's shadow darkens the entrance. no concealment is possible from wolf's nose; before she enters the den the mother knows perfectly all that has happened since she went away. so the days glided by peacefully between sleep and play, the cubs trusting absolutely in the strength and tenderness that watched over them, the mother building the cubs' future on the foundation of the two instincts which are strong in every wild creature born into a world of danger,--the instinct to lie still and let nature's coloring hide all defenseless little ones, and the instinct to obey instantly a stronger will than their own. there was no fear as yet, only instinctive wariness; for fear comes largely from others' example, from alarms and excitement and cries of danger, which only the grown animals understand. the old wolf had been undisturbed; no dog or hunter had chased her; no trap or pitfall had entangled her swift feet. moreover, she had chosen her den well, where no man had ever stood, and where only the eyes of two children had seen her at a distance. so the little ones grew and played in the sunshine, and had yet to learn what fear meant. one day at dusk the mother entered swiftly and, without giving them food as she had always done, seized a cub and disappeared. for the little one, which had never before ventured beyond sight of the den, it was a long journey indeed that followed,--miles and miles beside roaring brooks and mist-filled ravines, through gloomy woods where no light entered, and over bare ridges where the big stars sparkled just over his ears as he hung, limp as a rabbit skin, from his mother's great jaws. an owl hooted dismally, _whoo-hooo!_ and though he knew the sound well in his peaceful nights, it brought now a certain shiver. the wind went sniffing suspiciously among the spruce branches; a startled bird chirped and whirred away out of their path; the brook roared among the rocks; a big salmon jumped and tumbled back with resounding splash, and jumped again as if the otter were after him. there was a sudden sharp cry, the first and last voice of a hare when the weasel rises up in front of him; then silence, and the fitful rustle of his mother's pads moving steadily, swiftly over dry leaves. and all these sounds of the wilderness night spoke to the little cub of some new thing, of swift feet that follow and of something unknown and terrible that waits for all unwary wild things. so fear was born. the long journey ended at last before a dark hole in the hillside; and the smell of his mother, the only familiar thing in his first strange pilgrimage, greeted the cub from the rocks on either side as he passed in out of the starlight. he was dropped without a sound in a larger den, on some fresh-gathered leaves and dead grass, and lay there all alone, very still, with the new feeling trembling all over him. a long hour passed; a second cub was laid beside him, and the mother vanished as before; another hour, and the wolf cubs were all together again with the mother feeding them. nor did any of them know where they were, nor why they had come, nor the long, long way that led back to where the trail began. next day when they were called out to play they saw a different and more gloomy landscape, a chaos of granite rocks, a forest of evergreen, the white plunge and rolling mist of a mountain torrent; but no silver sea with fishing-boats drifting over it, like clouds in the sea over their heads, and no gray hut with children running about like ants on the distant shore. and as they played they began for the first time to imitate the old mother keeping guard over them, sitting up often to watch and listen and sift the winds, trying to understand what fear was, and why they had been taken away from the sunny hillside where the world was so much bigger and brighter than here. but home is where mother is,--that, fortunately, is also true of the little wood folk, who understand it in their own savage way for a season,--and in their wonder at their new surroundings the memory of the old home gradually faded away. they never knew with what endless care the new den had been chosen; how the mother, in the days when she knew she was watched, had searched it out and watched over it and put her nose to every ridge and ravine and brook-side, day after day, till she was sure that no foot save that of the wild things had touched the soil within miles of the place. they felt only a greater wildness, a deeper solitude; and they never forgot, though they were unmolested, the strange feeling that was born in them on that first terrifying night journey in their mother's jaws. * * * * * soon the food that was brought home at dawn--the rabbit or grouse, or the bunch of rats hanging by their tails, with which the mother supplemented their midday drink of milk--became altogether too scant to satisfy their clamorous appetites; and in the bright afternoons and the long summer twilights the mother led them forth on short journeys to hunt for themselves. no big caribou or cunning fox cub, as one might suppose, but "rats and mice and such small deer" were the limit of the mother's ambition for her little ones. they began on stupid grubs that one could find asleep under stones and roots, and then on beetles that scrambled away briskly at the first alarm, and then, when the sunshine was brightest, on grasshoppers,--lively, wary fellows that zipped and buzzed away just when you were sure you had them, and that generally landed from an astounding jump facing in a different direction, like a flea, so as to be ready for your next move. it was astonishing how quickly the cubs learned that game is not to be picked up tamely, like huckleberries, and changed their style of hunting,--creeping, instead of trotting openly so that even a porcupine must notice them, hiding behind rocks and bushes and tufts of grass till the precise moment came, and then leaping with the swoop of a goshawk on a ptarmigan. a wolf that cannot catch a grasshopper has no business hunting rabbits--this seemed to be the unconscious motive that led the old mother, every sunny afternoon, to ignore the thickets where game was hiding plentifully and take her cubs to the dry, sunny plains on the edge of the caribou barrens. there for hours at a time they hunted elusive grasshoppers, rushing helter-skelter over the dry moss, leaping up to strike at the flying game with their paws like a kitten, or snapping wildly to catch it in their mouths and coming down with a back-breaking wriggle to keep themselves from tumbling over on their heads. then on again, with a droll expression and noses sharpened like exclamation points, to find another grasshopper. small business indeed and often ludicrous, this playing at grasshopper hunting. so it seems to us; so also, perhaps, to the wise old mother, which knew all the ways of game, from crickets to caribou and from ground sparrows to wild geese. but play is the first great educator,--that is as true of animals as of men,--and to the cubs their rough helter-skelter after hoppers was as exciting as a stag hunt to the pack, as full of surprises as the wild chase through the soft snow after a litter of lynx kittens. and though they knew it not, they were learning things every hour of the sunny, playful afternoons that they would remember and find useful all the days of their life. so the funny little hunt went on, the mother watching gravely under a bush where she was inconspicuous, and the cubs, full of zest and inexperience, missing the flying tidbits more often than they swallowed them, until they learned at last to locate all game accurately before chasing or alarming it; and that is the rule, learned from hunting grasshoppers, which a wolf follows ever afterward. even after they knew just where the grasshopper was hiding, watching them after a jump, and leaped upon him swiftly from a distance, he often got away when they lifted their paws to eat him. for the grasshopper was not dead under the light paw, as they supposed, but only pressed into the moss waiting for his chance to jump. then the cubs learned another lesson: to hold their game down with both paws pressed closely together, inserting their noses like a wedge and keeping every crack of escape shut tight until they had the slippery morsel safe under their back teeth. and even then it was deliciously funny to watch their expression as they chewed, opening their jaws wide as if swallowing a rabbit, snapping them shut again as the grasshopper wiggled; and always with a doubt in their close-set eyes, a questioning twist of head and ears, as if they were not quite sure whether or not they were really eating him. another suggestive thing came out in these hunts, which you must notice whether you watch wolves or coyotes or a den of fox cubs. though no sound came from the watchful old mother, the cubs seemed at every instant under absolute control. one would rush away pell-mell after a hopper, miss him and tumble away again, till he was some distance from the busy group on the edge of the big lonely barren. in the midst of his chase the mother would raise her head and watch the cub intently. no sound was uttered that human ears could hear; but the chase ended right there, on the instant, and the cub came trotting back like a well-broken setter at the whistle. it was marvelous beyond comprehension, this absolute authority and this silent command that brought a wolf back instantly from the wildest chase, and that kept the cubs all together under the watchful eyes that followed every movement. no wonder wolves are intelligent in avoiding every trap and in hunting together to outwit some fleet-footed quarry with unbelievable cunning. here on the edge of the vast, untrodden barren, far from human eyes, in an ordinary family of wolf cubs playing wild and free, eager, headstrong, hungry, yet always under control and instantly subject to a wiser head and a stronger will than their own, was the explanation of it all. later, in the bitter, hungry winter, when a big caribou was afoot and the pack hot on his trail, the cubs would remember the lesson, and every free wolf would curb his hunger, obeying the silent signal to ease the game and follow slowly while the leader raced unseen through the woods to head the game and lie in ambush by the distant runway. from grasshoppers the cubs took to hunting the wood-mice that nested in the dry moss and swarmed on the edges of every thicket. this was keener hunting; for the wood-mouse moves like a ray of light, and always makes at least one false start to mislead any that may be watching for him. the cubs soon learned that when tookhees appeared and dodged back again, as if frightened, it was not because he had seen them, but just because he always appears that way. so they crouched and hid, like a cat, and when a gray streak shot over the gray moss and vanished in a tuft of grass they leaped for the spot--and always found it vacant. for tookhees always doubles on his trail, or burrows for a distance under the moss, and never hides where he disappears. it took the cubs a long while to find that out; and then they would creep and watch and listen till they could locate the game by a stir under the moss, and pounce upon it and nose it out from between their paws, just as they had done with the grasshoppers. and when they crunched it at last like a ripe plum under their teeth it was a delicious tidbit, worth all the trouble they had taken to get it. for your wolf, unlike the ferocious, grandmother-eating creature of the nursery, is at heart a peaceable fellow, most at home and most happy when mouse hunting. there was another kind of this mouse chasing which furnished better sport and more juicy mouthfuls to the young cubs. here and there on the newfoundland mountains the snow lingers all summer long. in every northern hollow of the hills you see, from a distance, white patches no bigger than your hat sparkling in the sun; but when you climb there, after bear or caribou, you find great snow-fields, acres in extent and from ten to a hundred feet deep, packed close and hard with the pressure of a thousand winters. often when it rains in the valleys, and raises the salmon rivers to meet your expectations, a thin covering of new snow covers these white fields; and then, if you go there, you will find the new page written all over with the feet of birds and beasts. the mice especially love these snow-fields for some unknown reason. all along the edges you find the delicate, lacelike tracery which shows where little feet have gone on busy errands or played together in the moonlight; and if you watch there awhile you will surely see tookhees come out of the moss and scamper across a bit of snow and dive back to cover under the moss again, as if he enjoyed the feeling of the cold snow under his feet in the summer sunshine. he has tunnels there, too, going down to solid ice, where he hides things to keep which would spoil if left in the heat of his den under the mossy stone, and when food is scarce he draws upon these cold-storage rooms; but most of his summer snow journeys, if one may judge from watching him and from following his tracks, are taken for play or comfort, just as the bull caribou comes up to lie in the snow, with the strong sea wind in his face, to escape the flies which swarm in the thickets below. owl and hawk, fox and weasel and wildcat,--all the prowlers of the day and night have long since discovered these good hunting-grounds and leave the prints of wing and claw over the records of the wood-mice; but still tookhees returns, led by his love of the snow-fields, and thrives and multiplies spite of all his enemies. one moonlit night the old wolf took her cubs to the edge of one of these snow-fields, where the eager eyes soon noticed dark streaks shooting hither and yon over the bare white surface. at first they chased them wildly; but one might as well try to catch a moonbeam, which has not so many places to hide as a wood-mouse. then, remembering the grasshoppers, they crouched and crept and so caught a few. meanwhile old mother wolf lay still in hiding, contenting herself with snapping up the game that came to her, instead of chasing it wildly all over the snow-field. the example was not lost; for imitation is strong among intelligent animals, and most of what they learn is due simply to following the mother. soon the cubs were still, one lying here under shadow of a bush, another there by a gray rock that lifted its head out of the snow. as a dark streak moved nervously by one of these hiding-places there would be a rush, a snap, the _pchap pchap_ of jaws crunching a delicious morsel; then all quiet again, with only gray, innocent-looking shadows resting softly on the snow. so they moved gradually along the edges of the great white field; and next morning the tracks were all there, plain as daylight, telling their silent story of good hunting. to vary their diet the mother now took them down to the shore to hunt among the rocks for ducks' eggs. they were there by the hundreds, scattered along the lonely bays just above high-water line, where the eiders had their nests. at first old mother wolf showed them where to look, and when she had found a clutch of eggs would divide them fairly, keeping the hungry cubs in order at a little distance and bringing each one his share, which he ate without interference. then when they understood the thing they scattered nimbly to hunt for themselves, and the real fun began. now a cub, poking his nose industriously into every cranny and under every thick bush, would find a great roll of down plucked from the mother bird's breast, and scraping the top off carefully with his paw, would find five or six large pale-green eggs, which he gobbled down, shells, ducklings and all, before another cub should smell the good find and caper up to share it. again he would be startled out of his wits as a large brown bird whirred and fluttered away from under his very nose. sitting on his tail he would watch her with comical regret and longing till she tumbled into the tide and drifted swiftly away out of danger; then, remembering what he came for, he would turn and follow her trail back to the nest out of which she had stolen at his approach, and find the eggs all warm for his breakfast. and when he had eaten all he wanted he would take an egg in his mouth and run about uneasily here and there, like a dog with a bone when he thinks he is watched, till he had made a sad crisscross of his trail and found a spot where none could see him. there he would dig a hole and bury his egg and go back for more; and on his way would meet another cub running about with an egg in his mouth, looking for a spot where no one would notice him. from mice and eggs the young cubs turned to rabbits and hares; and these were their staple food ever afterward when other game was scarce and the wood-mice were hidden deep under the winter snows, safe at last for a little season from all their enemies. here for the first time the father wolf appeared, coming in quietly one late afternoon, as if he knew, as he probably did, just when he was needed. beyond a glance he paid no attention whatever to the cubs, only taking his place opposite the mother as the wolves started abreast in a long line to beat the thicket. by night the cubs had already caught several rabbits, snapping them up as they played heedlessly in the moonlight, just as they had done with the wood-mice. by day, however, the hunting was entirely different. then the hares and rabbits are resting in their hidden forms under the ferns, or in a hollow between the roots of a brown stump. like game birds, whether on the nest or sitting quiet in hiding, the rabbits give out far less scent at such times than when they are active; and the cubs, stealing through the dense cover like shadows in imitation of the old wolves, and always hunting upwind, would use their keen noses to locate moktaques before alarming him. if a cub succeeded, and snapped up a rabbit before the surprised creature had time to gather headway, he dropped behind with his catch, while the rest went slowly, carefully, on through the cover. if he failed, as was generally the case at first, a curious bit of wolf intelligence and wolf training came out at once. as the wolves advanced the father and mother would steal gradually ahead at either end of the line, rarely hunting themselves, but drawing the nearest cub's attention to any game they had discovered, and then moving silently to one side and a little ahead to watch the result. when the cub rushed and missed, and the startled rabbit went flying away, whirling to left or right as rabbits always do, there would be a lightning change at the end of the line. a terrific rush, a snap of the long jaws like a steel trap,--then the old wolf would toss back the rabbit with a broken back, for the cub to finish him. not till the cubs first, and then the mother, had satisfied their hunger would the old he-wolf hunt for himself. then he would disappear, and they would not see him for days at a time, until food was scarce and they needed him once more. one day, when the cubs were hungry and food scarce because of their persistent hunting near the den, the mother brought them to the edge of a dense thicket where rabbits were plentiful enough, but where the cover was so thick that they could not follow the frightened game for an instant. the old he-wolf had appeared at a distance and then vanished; and the cubs, trotting along behind the mother, knew nothing of what was coming or what was expected of them. they lay in hiding on the lee side of the thicket, each one crouching under a bush or root, with the mother off at one side perfectly hidden as usual. presently a rabbit appeared, hopping along in a crazy way, and ran plump into the jaws of a wolf cub, which leaped up as if out of the ground, and pulled down his game from the very top of the high jump which moktaques always gives when he is suddenly startled. another and another rabbit appeared mysteriously, and doubled back into the cover before they could be caught. the cubs were filled with wonder. such hunting was never seen before; for rabbits stirred abroad by day, and ran right into the hungry mouths instead of running away. then, slinking along like a shadow and stopping to look back and sniff the wind, appeared a big red fox that had been sleeping away the afternoon on top of a stump in the center of the thicket. the old mother's eyes began to blaze as eleemos drew near. there was a rush, swift and sudden as the swoop of an eagle; a sharp call to follow as the mother's long jaws closed over the small of the back, just as the fox turned to leap away. then she flung the paralyzed animal back like a flash; the young wolves tumbled in upon him; and before he knew what had happened eleemos the sly one was stretched out straight, with one cub at his tail and another at his throat, tugging and worrying and grumbling deep in their chests as the lust of their first fighting swept over them. then in vague, vanishing glimpses the old he-wolf appeared, quartering swiftly, silently, back and forth through the thicket, driving every living thing down-wind to where the cubs and the mother were waiting to receive it. [illustration: "as the mother's long jaws closed over the small of the back"] that one lesson was enough for the cubs, though years would pass before they could learn all the fine points of this beating the bush: to know almost at a glance where the game, whether grouse or hare or fox or lucivee, was hiding in the cover, and then for one wolf to drive it, slowly or swiftly as the case might require, while the other hid beside the most likely path of escape. a family of grouse must be coaxed along and never see what is driving them, else they will flit into a tree and be lost; while a cat must be startled out of her wits by a swift rush, and sent flying away before she can make up her stupid mind what the row is all about. a fox, almost as cunning as wayeeses himself, must be made to think that some dog enemy is slowly puzzling out his cold trail; while a musquash searching for bake-apples, or a beaver going inland to cut wood for his winter supplies of bark, must not be driven, but be followed up swiftly by the path or canal by which he has ventured away from the friendly water. all these and many more things must be learned slowly at the expense of many failures, especially when the cubs took to hunting alone and the old wolves were not there to show them how; but they never forgot the principle taught in that first rabbit drive,--that two hunters are better than one to outwit any game when they hunt intelligently together. that is why you so often find wolves going in pairs; and when you study them or follow their tracks you discover that they play continually into each other's hands. they seem to share the spoil as intelligently as they catch it, the wolf that lies beside the runway and pulls down the game giving up a portion gladly to the companion that beats the bush, and rarely indeed is there any trace of quarreling between them. like the eagles--which have long since learned the advantage of hunting in pairs and of scouting for game in single file--the wolves, when hunting deer on the open barrens where it is difficult to conceal their advance, always travel in files, one following close behind the other; so that, seen from in front where the game is watching, two or three wolves will appear like a lone animal trotting across the plain. that alarms the game far less at first; and not until the deer starts away does the second wolf appear, shooting out from behind the leader. the sight of another wolf appearing suddenly on his flank throws a young deer into a panic, in which he is apt to lose his head and be caught by the cunning hunters. curiously enough, the plains indians, who travel in the same way when hunting or scouting for enemies, first learned the trick--so an old chief told me, and it is one of the traditions of his people--from watching the timber wolves in their stealthy advance over the open places. the wolves were stealing through the woods all together, one late summer afternoon, having beaten a cover without taking anything, when the puzzled cubs suddenly found themselves alone. a moment before they had been trotting along with the old wolves, nosing every cranny and knot hole for mice and grubs, and stopping often for a roll and frolic, as young cubs do in the gladness of life; now they pressed close together, looking, listening, while a subtle excitement filled all the woods. for the old wolves had disappeared, shooting ahead in great, silent bounds, while the cubs waited with ears cocked and noses quivering, as if a silent command had been understood. the silence was intense; not a sound, not a stir in the quiet woods, which seemed to be listening with the cubs and to be filled with the same thrilling expectation. suddenly the silence was broken by heavy plunges far ahead, _crash! bump! bump!_ and there broke forth such an uproar of yaps and howls as the cubs had never heard before. instantly they broke away on the trail, joining their shrill yelpings to the clamor, so different from the ordinary stealthy wolf hunt, and filled with a nameless excitement which they did not at all understand till the reek of caribou poured into their hungry nostrils; whereupon they yelped louder than ever. but they did not begin to understand the matter till they caught glimpses of gray backs bounding hither and yon in the underbrush, while the two great wolves raced easily on either side, yapping sharply to increase the excitement, and guiding the startled, foolish deer as surely, as intelligently, as a pair of collies herd a flock of frightened sheep. when the cubs broke out of the dense cover at last they found the two old wolves sitting quietly on their tails before a rugged wall of rocks that stretched away on either hand at the base of a great bare hill. in front of them was a young cow caribou, threatening savagely with horns and hoofs, while behind her cowered two half-grown fawns crowded into a crevice of the rocks. anger, rather than fear, blazed out in the mother's mild eyes. now she turned swiftly to press her excited young ones back against the sheltering wall; now she whirled with a savage grunt and charged headlong at the wolves, which merely leaped aside and sat down silently again to watch the game, till the cubs raced out and hovered uneasily about with a thousand questions in every eye and ear and twitching nostril. the reason for the hunt was now plain enough. up to this time the caribou had been let severely alone, though they were very numerous, scattered through the dense coverts in every valley and on every hillside. for wayeeses is no wanton killer, as he is so often represented to be, but sticks to small game whenever he can find it, and leaves the deer unmolested. as for his motive in the matter, who shall say, since no one understands the half of what a wolf does every day? perhaps it is a mere matter of taste, a preference for the smaller and more juicy tidbits; more likely it is a combination of instinct and judgment, with a possible outlook for the future unusual with beasts of prey. the moment the young wolves take to harrying the deer--as they invariably do if the mother wolf be not with them--the caribou leave the country. the herds become, moreover, so wild and suspicious after a very little wolf hunting that they are exceedingly difficult of approach; and there is no living thing on earth, not even a white wolf or a trained greyhound, that can tire or overtake a startled caribou. the swinging rack of these big white wanderers looks easy enough when you see it; but when the fleet staghounds are slipped, as has been more than once tested in newfoundland, try as hard as they will they cannot keep within sight of the deer for a single quarter-mile, and no limit has ever yet been found, either by dog or wolf, to megaleep's tirelessness. so the old wolves, relying possibly upon past experience, keep the cubs and hold themselves strictly to small game as long as it can possibly be found. then when the bitter days of late winter come, with their scarcity of small game and their unbearable hunger, the wolves turn to the caribou as a last resort, killing a few here by stealth, rather than speed, and then, when the game grows wild, going far off to another range where the deer have not been disturbed and so can be approached more easily. on this afternoon, however, the old mother wolf had run plump upon the caribou and her fawns in the midst of a thicket, and had leaped forward promptly to round them up for her hungry cubs. it would have been the easiest matter in the world for an old wolf to hamstring one of the slow fawns, or the mother caribou herself as she hovered in the rear to defend her young; but there were other thoughts in the shaggy gray head that had seen so much hunting. so the mother wolf drove the deer slowly, puzzling them more and more, as a collie distracts the herd by his yapping, out into the open where her cubs might join in the hunting. the wolves now drew back, all save the mother, which advanced hesitatingly to where the caribou stood with lowered head, watching every move. suddenly the cow charged, so swiftly, furiously, that the old wolf seemed almost caught, and tumbled away with the broad hoofs striking savagely at her flanks. farther and farther the caribou drove her enemy, roused now to frenzy at the wolf's nearness and apparent cowardice. then she whirled in a panic and rushed back to her little ones, only to find that all the other wolves, as if frightened by her furious charge, had drawn farther back from the cranny in the rocks. again the old she-wolf approached cautiously, and again the caribou plunged at her and followed her lame retreat with headlong fury. an electric shock seemed suddenly to touch the huge he-wolf. like a flash he leaped in on the fawns. one quick snap of the long jaws with the terrible fangs; then, as if the whole thing were a bit of play, he loped away easily with the cubs, circling to join the mother wolf, which strangely enough did not return to the attack as the caribou charged back, driving the cubs and the old he-wolf away like a flock of sheep. the coast was now clear, not an enemy in the way; and the mother caribou, with a triumphant bleat to her fawns to follow, plunged back into the woods whence she had come. one fawn only followed her. the other took a step or two, sank to his knees, and rolled over on his side. when the wolves drew near quietly, without a trace of the ferocity or the howling clamor with which such scenes are usually pictured, the game was quite dead, one quick snap of the old wolf's teeth just behind the fore legs having pierced the heart more surely than a hunter's bullet. and the mother caribou, plunging wildly away through the brush with the startled fawn jumping at her heels, could not know that her mad flight was needless; that the terrible enemy which had spared her and let her go free had no need nor desire to follow. * * * * * the fat autumn had now come with its abundant fare, and the caribou were not again molested. flocks of grouse and ptarmigan came out of the thick coverts, in which they had been hiding all summer, and began to pluck the berries of the open plains, where they could easily be waylaid and caught by the growing wolf cubs. plover came in hordes, sweeping over the straits from the labrador; and when the wolves surrounded a flock of the queer birds and hitched nearer and nearer, sinking their gray bodies in the yielding gray moss till they looked like weather-worn logs, the hunting was full of tense excitement, though the juicy mouthfuls were few and far between. fox cubs roamed abroad away from their mothers, self-willed and reveling in the abundance; and it was now easy for two of the young wolves to drive a fox out of his daytime cover and catch him as he stole away. after the plover came the ducks in myriads, filling the ponds and flashets of the vast barrens with tumultuous quacking; and the young wolves learned, like the foxes, to decoy the silly birds by rousing their curiosity. they would hide in the grass, while one played and rolled about on the open shore, till the ducks saw him and began to stretch their necks and gabble their amazement at the strange thing, which they had never seen before. shy and wild as he naturally is, a duck, like a caribou or a turkey, must take a peek at every new thing. now silent, now gabbling all together, the flock would veer and scatter and draw together again, and finally swing in toward the shore, every neck drawn straight as a string the better to see what was going on. nearer and nearer they would come, till a swift rush out of the grass sent them off headlong, splashing and quacking with crazy clamor. but one or two always stayed behind with the wolves to pay the price of curiosity. then there were the young geese, which gathered in immense flocks in the shallow bays, preparing and drilling for the autumn flight. late in the afternoon the old mother wolf with her cubs would steal down through the woods, hiding and watching the flocks, and following them stealthily as they moved along the shore. at night the great flock would approach a sandbar, well out of the way of rocks and brush and everything that might hide an enemy, and go to sleep in close little family groups on the open shore. as the night darkened four shadows would lengthen out from the nearest bank of shadows, creeping onward to the sand-bar with the slow patience of the hours. a rush, a startled _honk!_ a terrific clamor of wings and throats and smitten water. then the four shadows would rise up from the sand and trot back to the woods, each with a burden on its shoulders and a sparkle in the close-set eyes over the pointed jaws, which were closed on the neck of a goose, holding it tight lest any outcry escape to tell the startled flock what had happened. besides this abundant game there were other good things to eat, and the cubs rarely dined of the same dish twice in succession. salmon and big sea-trout swarmed now in every shallow of the clear brooks, and, after spawning, these fish were much weakened and could easily be caught by a little cunning. every day and night the tide ebbed and flowed, and every tide left its contribution in windrows of dead herring and caplin, with scattered crabs and mussels for a relish, like plums in a pudding. a wolf had only to trot for a mile or two along the tide line of a lonely beach, picking up the good things which the sea had brought him, and then go back to sleep or play satisfied. and if wayeeses wanted game to try his mettle and cunning, there were the big fat seals barking on the black rocks, and he had only to cut between them and the sea and throw himself upon the largest seal as the herd floundered ponderously back to safety. a wolf rarely grips and holds an enemy; he snaps and lets go, and snaps again at every swift chance; but here he must either hold fast or lose his big game; and what between holding and letting go, as the seals whirled with bared teeth and snapped viciously in turn, as they scrambled away to the sea, the wolves had a lively time of it. often indeed, spite of three or four wolves, a big seal would tumble into the tide, where the sharks followed his bloody trail and soon finished him. now for the first time the wolves, led by the rich abundance, began to kill more than they needed for food and to hide it away, like the squirrels, in anticipation of the coming winter. like the blue and the arctic foxes, a strange instinct to store things seems to stir dimly at times within them. occasionally, instead of eating and sleeping after a kill, the cubs, led by the mother wolf, would hunt half of the day and night and carry all they caught to the snow-fields. there each one would search out a cranny in the rocks and hide his game, covering it over deeply with snow to kill the scent of it from the prowling foxes. then for days at a time they would forget the coming winter, and play as heedlessly as if the woods would always be as full of game as now; and again the mood would be upon them strongly, and they would kill all they could find and hide it in another place. but the instinct--if indeed it were instinct, and not the natural result of the mother's own experience--was weak at best; and the first time the cubs were hungry or lazy they would trail off to the hidden store. long before the spring with its bitter need was upon them they had eaten everything, and had returned to the empty storehouse at least a dozen times, as a dog goes again and again to the place where he once hid a bone, and nosed it all over regretfully to be quite sure that they had overlooked nothing. more interesting to the wolves in these glad days than the game or the storehouse, or the piles of caplin which they cached under the sand on the shore, were the wandering herds of caribou,--splendid old stags with massive antlers, and long-legged, inquisitive fawns trotting after the sleek cows, whose heads carried small pointed horns, more deadly by far than the stags' cumbersome antlers. wherever the wolves went they crossed the trails of these wanderers swarming out of the thickets, sometimes by twos and threes, and again in straggling, endless lines converging upon the vast open barrens where the caribou gathered to select their mates for another year. where they all came from was a mystery that filled the cubs' heads with constant wonder. during the summer you see little of them,--here a cow with her fawn hiding deep in the cover, there a big stag standing out like a watchman on the mountain top; but when the early autumn comes they are everywhere, crossing rivers and lakes at regular points, and following deep paths which their ancestors have followed for countless generations. the cows and fawns seemed gentle and harmless enough, though their very numbers filled the young wolves with a certain awe. after their first lesson it would have been easy enough for the cubs to have killed all they wanted and to grow fat and lazy as the bears, which were now stuffing themselves before going off to sleep for the winter; but the old mother wolf held them firmly in check, for with plenty of small game everywhere, all wolves are minded to go quietly about their own business and let the caribou follow their own ways. when october came it brought the big stags into the open,--splendid, imposing beasts, with swollen necks and fierce red eyes and long white manes tossing in the wind. then the wolves had to stand aside; for the stags roamed over all the land, pawing the moss in fury, bellowing their hoarse challenge, and charging like a whirlwind upon every living thing that crossed their paths. when the mother wolf, with her cubs at heel, saw one of these big furies at a distance she would circle prudently to avoid him. again, as the cubs hunted rabbits, they would hear a crash of brush and a furious challenge as some quarrelsome stag winded them; and the mother with her cubs gathered close about her would watch alertly for his headlong rush. as he charged out the wolves would scatter and leap nimbly aside, then sit down on their tails in a solemn circle and watch as if studying the strange beast. again and again he would rush upon them, only to find that he was fighting the wind. mad as a hornet, he would single out a cub and follow him headlong through brush and brake till some subtle warning thrilled through his madness, telling him to heed his flank; then as he whirled he would find the savage old mother close at his heels, her white fangs bared and a dangerous flash in her eyes as she saw the hamstring so near, so easy to reach. one spring and a snap, and the ramping, masterful stag would have been helpless as a rabbit, his tendons cut cleanly at the hock; another snap and he must come down, spite of his great power, and be food for the growing cubs that sat on their tails watching him, unterrified now by his fierce challenge. but megaleep's time had not yet come; besides, he was too tough. so the wolves studied him awhile, amused perhaps at the rough play; then, as if at a silent command, they vanished like shadows into the nearest cover, leaving the big stag in his rage to think himself master of all the world. sometimes as the old he-wolf ranged alone, a silent, powerful, noble-looking brute, he would meet the caribou, and there would be a fascinating bit of animal play. he rarely turned aside, knowing his own power, and the cows and fawns after one look would bound aside and rack away at a marvelous pace over the barrens. in a moment or two, finding that they were not molested, they would turn and watch the wolf curiously till he disappeared, trying perhaps to puzzle it out why the ferocious enemy of the deep snows and the bitter cold should now be harmless as the passing birds. again a young bull with his keen, polished spike-horns, more active and dangerous but less confident than the over-antlered stags, would stand in the old wolf's path, disputing with lowered front the right of way. here the right of way meant a good deal, for in many places on the high plains the scrub spruces grow so thickly that a man can easily walk over the tops of them on his snow-shoes, and the only possible passage in summer-time is by means of the numerous paths worn through the scrub by the passing of animals for untold ages. so one or the other of the two splendid brutes that now approached each other in the narrow way must turn aside or be beaten down underfoot. quietly, steadily, the old wolf would come on till almost within springing distance, when he would stop and lift his great head, wrinkling his chops to show the long white fangs, and rumbling a warning deep in his massive chest. then the caribou would lose his nerve; he would stamp and fidget and bluster, and at last begin to circle nervously, crashing his way into the scrub as if for a chance to take his enemy in the flank. whereupon the old wolf would trot quietly along the path, paying no more heed to the interruption; while the young bull would stand wondering, his body hidden in the scrub and his head thrust into the narrow path to look after his strange adversary. another time, as the old wolf ranged along the edges of the barrens where the caribou herds were gathering, he would hear the challenge of a huge stag and the warning crack of twigs and the thunder of hoofs as the brute charged. still the wolf trotted quietly along, watching from the corners of his eyes till the stag was upon him, when he sprang lightly aside and let the rush go harmlessly by. sitting on his tail he would watch the caribou closely--and who could tell what was passing behind those cunning eyes that glowed steadily like coals, unruffled as yet by the passing winds, but ready at a rough breath to break out in flames of fire? again and again the stag would charge, growing more furious at every failure; and every time the wolf leaped aside he left a terrible gash in his enemy's neck or side, punishing him cruelly for his bullying attack, yet strangely refusing to kill, as he might have done, or to close on the hamstring with one swift snap that would have put the big brute out of the fight forever. at last, knowing perhaps from past experience the uselessness of punishing or of disputing with this madman that felt no wounds in his rage, the wolf would lope away to cover, followed by a victorious bugle-cry that rang over the wide barren and echoed back from the mountain side. then the wolf would circle back stealthily and put his nose down into the stag's hoof-marks for a long, deep sniff, and go quietly on his way again. a wolf's nose never forgets. when he finds that trail wandering with a score of others over the snow, in the bitter days to come when the pack are starving, wayeeses will know whom he is following. besides the caribou there were other things to rouse the cubs' curiosity and give them something pleasant to do besides eating and sleeping. when the hunter's moon rose full and clear over the woods, filling all animals with strange unrest, the pack would circle the great harbor, trotting silently along, nose to tail in single file, keeping on the high ridge of mountains and looking like a distant train of husky dogs against the moonlight. when over the fishing village they would sit down, each one on the loftiest rock he could find, raise their muzzles to the stars, and join in the long howl, _ooooooo-wow-ow-ow!_ a terrible, wailing cry that seemed to drive every dog within hearing stark crazy. out of the village lanes far below they rushed headlong, and sitting on the beach in a wide circle, heads all in and tails out, they raised their noses to the distant, wolf-topped pinnacles and joined in the wailing answer. then the wolves would sit very still, listening with cocked ears to the cry of their captive kinsmen, till the dismal howling died away into silence, when they would start the clamor into life again by giving the wolf's challenge. why they did it, what they felt there in the strange unreality of the moonlight, and what hushed their profound enmity, none can tell. ordinarily the wolf hates both fox and dog, and kills them whenever they cross his path; but to-night the foxes were yapping an answer all around them, and sometimes a few adventurous dogs would scale the mountains silently to sit on the rocks and join in the wild wolf chorus, and not a wolf stirred to molest them. all were more or less lunatic, and knew not what they were doing. for hours the uncanny comedy would drag itself on into the tense midnight silence, the wailing cry growing more demented and heartrending as the spell of ancient days fell again upon the degenerate huskies. up on the lonely mountain tops the moon looked down, still and cold, and saw upon every pinnacle a dog or a wolf, each with his head turned up at the sky, howling his heart out. down in the hamlet, scattered for miles along deep arm and the harbor shore, sleepers stirred uneasily at the clamor, the women clutching their babies close, the men cursing the crazy brutes and vowing all sorts of vengeance on the morrow. then the wolves would slip away like shadows into the vast upland barrens, and the dogs, restless as witches with some unknown excitement, would run back to whine and scratch at the doors of their masters' cabins. soon the big snowflakes were whirling in the air, busily weaving a soft white winding-sheet for the autumn which was passing away. and truly it had been a good time for the wolf cubs, as for most wild animals; and they had grown large and strong with their fat feeding, and wise with their many experiences. the ducks and geese vanished, driving southward ahead of the fierce autumn gales, and only the late broods of hardy eiders were left for a little season. herring and caplin had long since drifted away into unknown depths, where the tides flowed endlessly over them and brought never a one ashore. hares and ptarmigans turned white to hide on the snow, so that wolf and fox would pass close by without seeing them. wood-mice pushed their winding tunnels and made their vaulted play rooms deep under the drifts, where none might molest nor make them afraid; and all game grew wary and wild, learning from experience, as it always does, that only the keen can survive the fall hunting. so the long winter, with its snow and ice and its bitter cold and its grim threat of famine, settled heavily over harbor weal and the long range where wayeeses must find his living. _the white wolf's hunting_ threatening as the northern winter was, with its stern order to the birds to depart, and to the beasts to put on their thick furs, and to the little folk of the snow to hide themselves in white coats, and to all living things to watch well the ways that they took, it could bring no terror to wayeeses and her powerful young cubs. the gladness of life was upon them, with none of its pains or anxieties or fears, as we know them; and they rolled and tumbled about in the first deep snow with the abandon of young foxes, filled with wonder at the strange blanket that covered the rough places of earth so softly and made their light footsteps more noiseless than before. for to be noiseless and inconspicuous, and so in harmony with his surroundings, is the first desire of every creature of the vast solitudes. meeting the wolves now, as they roamed wild and free over the great range, one would hardly have recognized the little brown creatures that he saw playing about the den where the trail began. the cubs were already noble-looking brutes, larger than the largest husky dog; and the parents were taller, with longer legs and more massive heads and powerful jaws, than any great timber-wolf. a tremendous vitality thrilled in them from nose to paw tips. their great bodies, as they lay quiet in the snow with heads raised and hind legs bent under them, were like powerful engines, tranquil under enormous pressure; and when they rose the movement was like the quick snap of a steel spring. indeed, half the ordinary movements of wayeeses are so quick that the eye cannot follow them. one instant a wolf would be lying flat on his side, his long legs outstretched on the moss, his eyes closed in the sleepy sunshine, his body limp as a hound's after a fox chase; the next instant, like the click and blink of a camera shutter, he would be standing alert on all four feet, questioning the passing breeze or looking intently into your eyes; and you could not imagine, much less follow, the recoil of twenty big electric muscles that at some subtle warning had snapped him automatically from one position to the other. they were all snow-white, with long thick hair and a heavy mane that added enormously to their imposing appearance; and they carried their bushy tails almost straight out as they trotted along, with a slight crook near the body,--the true wolf sign that still reappears in many collies to tell a degenerate race of a noble ancestry. after the first deep snows the family separated, led by their growing hunger and by the difficulty of finding enough game in one cover to supply all their needs. the mother and the smallest cub remained together; the two larger cubs ranged on the other side of the mountain, beating the bush and hunting into each other's mouth, as they had been trained to do; while the big he-wolf hunted successfully by himself, as he had done for years. scattered as they were, they still kept track of each other faithfully, and in a casual way looked after one another's needs. wherever he was, a wolf seemed to know by instinct where his fellows were hunting many miles away. when in doubt he had only to mount the highest hill and give the rallying cry, which carried an enormous distance in the still cold air, to bring the pack swiftly and silently about him. at times, when the cubs were hungry after a two-days fast, they would hear, faint and far away, the food cry, _yap-yap-yooo! yap-yap-yoooooo!_ quivering under the stars in the tense early-morning air, and would dart away to find game freshly killed by one of the old wolves awaiting them. again, at nightfall, a cub's hunting cry, _ooooo, ow-ow! ooooo, ow-ow!_ a deep, almost musical hoot with two short barks at the end, would come singing down from the uplands; and the wolves, leaving instantly the game they were following, would hasten up to find the two cubs herding a caribou in a cleft of the rocks,--a young caribou that had lost his mother at the hands of the hunters, and that did not know how to take care of himself. and one of the cubs would hold him there, sitting on his tail in front of the caribou to prevent his escape, while the other cub called the wolves away from their own hunting to come and join the feast. whether this were a conscious attempt to spare the game, or to alarm it as little as need be, it is impossible to say. certainly the wolves know, better apparently than men, that persistent hunting destroys its own object, and that caribou especially, when much alarmed by dogs or wolves or men, will take the alarm quickly, and the scattered herds, moved by a common impulse of danger, will trail far away to other ranges. that is why the wolf, unlike the less intelligent dog, hunts always in a silent, stealthy, unobtrusive way; and why he stops hunting and goes away the instant his own hunger is satisfied or another wolf kills enough for all. and that is also the probable reason why he lets the deer alone as long as he can find any other game. this same intelligent provision was shown in another curious way. when a wolf in his wide ranging found a good hunting-ground where small game was plentiful, he would snap up a rabbit silently in the twilight and then go far away, perhaps to join the other cubs in a gambol, or to follow them to the cliffs over a fishing village and set all the dogs to howling. by day he would lie close in some thick cover, miles away from his hunting-ground. at twilight he would steal back and hunt quietly, just long enough to get his game, and then trot away again, leaving the cover as unharried as if there were not a wolf in the whole neighborhood. such a good hunting-ground cannot long remain hidden from other prowlers in the wilderness; and wayeeses, who was keeping his discovery to himself, would soon cross the trail of a certain old fox returning day after day to the same good covers. no two foxes, nor mice, nor men, nor any other two animals for that matter, ever leave the same scent,--any old hound, which will hold steadily to one fox though a dozen others cross or cover his trail, will show you that plainly in a day's hunting,--and the wolf would soon know surely that the same fox was poaching every night on his own preserves while he was away. to a casual, wandering hunter he paid no attention; but this cunning poacher must be laid by the heels, else there would not be a single rabbit left in the cover. so wayeeses, instead of hunting himself at twilight when the rabbits are stirring, would wait till midday, when the sun is warm and foxes are sleepy, and then come back to find the poacher's trail and follow it to where eleemos was resting for the day in a sunny opening in the scrub. there wayeeses would steal upon him from behind and put an end to his poaching; or else, if the fox used the same nest daily, as is often the case when he is not disturbed, the wolf would circle the scrub warily to find the path by which eleemos usually came out on his night's hunting. when he found that out wayeeses would dart away in the long, rolling gallop that carries a wolf swiftly over the roughest country without fatigue. in an hour or two he would be back again with another wolf. then eleemos, dozing away in the winter sunshine, would hear an unusual racket in the scrub behind him,--some heavy animal brushing about heedlessly and sniffing loudly at a cold trail. no wolf certainly, for a wolf makes no noise. so eleemos would get down from his warm rock and slip away, stopping to look back and listen jauntily to the clumsy brute behind him, till he ran plump into the jaws of the other wolf that was watching alert and silent beside the runway. when the snows were deep and soft the wolves took to hunting the lynxes,--big, savage, long-clawed fighters that swarm in the interior of newfoundland and play havoc with the small game. for a single lynx the wolves hunted in pairs, trailing the big prowler stealthily and rushing upon him from behind with a fierce uproar to startle the wits out of his stupid head and send him off headlong, as cats go, before he knew what was after him. away he would go in mighty jumps, sinking shoulder deep, often indeed up to his tufted ears, at every plunge. after him raced the wolves, running lightly and taking advantage of the holes he had made in the soft snow, till a swift snap in his flank brought upweekis up with a ferocious snarl to tear in pieces his pursuers. then began as savage a bit of fighting as the woods ever witness, teeth against talons, wolf cunning against cat ferocity. crouched in the snow, spitting and snarling, his teeth bared and round eyes blazing and long claws aching to close in a death grip, upweekis waited impatient as a fury for the rush. he is an ugly fighter; but he must always get close, gripping his enemy with teeth and fore claws while the hind claws get in their deadly work, kicking downward in powerful spasmodic blows and ripping everything before them. a dog would rush in now and be torn to pieces; but not so the wolves. dancing lightly about the big lynx they would watch their chance to leap and snap, sometimes avoiding the blow of the swift paw with its terrible claws, and sometimes catching it on their heavy manes; but always a long red mark showed on the lynx's silver fur as the wolves' teeth clicked with the voice of a steel trap and they leaped aside without serious injury. as the big cat grew blind in his fury they would seize their chance like a flash and leap together; one pair of long jaws would close hard on the spine behind the tufted ears; another pair would grip a hind leg, while the wolves sprang apart and braced to hold. then the fight was all over; and the moose birds, in pairs, came flitting in silently to see if there were not a few unconsidered trifles of the feast for them to dispose of. occasionally, at nightfall, the wolves' hunting cry would ring out of the woods as one of the cubs discovered three or four of the lynxes growling horribly over some game they had pulled down together. for upweekis too, though generally a solitary fellow, often roams with a savage band of freebooters to hunt the larger animals in the bitter winter weather. no young wolf would ever run into one of these bands alone; but when the pack rolled in upon them like a tempest the lynxes would leap squalling away in a blind rush; and the two big wolves, cutting in from the ends of the charging line, would turn a lynx kit deftly aside for the cubs to hold. then another for themselves, and the hunt was over,--all but the feast at the end of it. when a big and cunning lynx took to a tree at the first alarm the wolves would go aside to leeward, where upweekis could not see them, but where their noses told them perfectly all that he was doing. then began the long game of patience, the wolves waiting for the game to come down, and the lynx waiting for the wolves to go away. upweekis was at a disadvantage, for he could not see when he had won; and he generally came down in an hour or two, only to find the wolves hot on his trail before he had taken a dozen jumps. whereupon he took to another tree and the game began again. [illustration: "the silent, appalling death-watch began."] when the night was exceeding cold--and one who has not felt it can hardly imagine the bitter, killing intensity of a northern midnight in february--the wolves, instead of going away, would wait under the tree in which the lynx had taken refuge, and the silent, appalling death-watch began. a lynx, though heavily furred, cannot long remain exposed in the intense cold without moving. moreover he must grip the branch on which he sits more or less firmly with his claws, to keep from falling; and the tense muscles, which flex the long claws to drive them into the wood, soon grow weary and numb in the bitter frost. the wolves meanwhile trot about to keep warm; while the stupid cat sits in one spot slowly perishing, and never thinks of running up and down the tree to keep himself alive. the feet grow benumbed at last, powerless to hold on any longer, and the lynx tumbles off into the wolves' jaws; or else, knowing the danger, he leaps for the nearest wolf and dies fighting. spite of the killing cold, the problem of keeping warm was to the wolves always a simple one. moving along through the winter night, always on a swift, silent trot, they picked up what game came in their way, and scarcely felt the eager cold that nipped at their ears, or the wind, keen as an icicle, that strove to penetrate the shaggy white coats that covered them. when their hunger was satisfied, or when the late day came and found them still hunting hopefully, they would push their way into the thick scrub from one of the numerous paths and lie down on a nest of leaves, which even in midwinter were dry as if no snow or rain had ever fallen. there, where no wind or gale however strong could penetrate, and with the snow filling the low branches overhead and piled over them in a soft, warm blanket three feet thick, they would push their sensitive noses into their own thick fur to keep them warm, and sleep comfortably till the early twilight came and called them out again to the hunting. at times, when not near the scrub, they would burrow deep into a great drift of snow and sleep in the warmest kind of a nest,--a trick that the husky dogs, which are but wolves of yesterday, still remember. like all wild animals, they felt the coming of a storm long before the first white flakes began to whirl in the air; and when a great storm threatened they would lie down to sleep in a cave, or a cranny of the rocks, and let the drifts pile soft and warm over them. however long the storm, they never stirred abroad; partly for their own comfort, partly because all game lies hid at such times and it is practically impossible, even for a wolf, to find it. when a wolf has fed full he can go a week without eating and suffer no great discomfort. so wayeeses would lie close and warm while the snow piled deep around him and the gale raged over the sea and mountains, but passed unfelt and unheeded over his head. then, when the storm was over, he pawed his way up through the drift and came out in a new, bright world, where the game, with appetites sharpened by the long fast, was already stirring briskly in every covert. when march came, the bitterest month of all for the wood folk, even wayeeses was often hard pressed to find a living. small game grew scarce and very wild; the caribou had wandered far away to other ranges; and the cubs would dig for hours after a mouse, or stalk a snowbird, or wait with endless patience for a red squirrel to stop his chatter and come down to search under the snow for a fir cone that he had hidden there in the good autumn days. and once, when the hunger within was more nipping than the eager cold without, one of the cubs found a bear sleeping in his winter den among the rocks. with a sharp hunting cry, that sang like a bullet over the frozen wastes, he called the whole pack about him. while the rest lay in hiding the old he-wolf approached warily and scratched mooween out of his den, and then ran away to entice the big brute into the open ground, where the pack rolled in upon him and killed him in a terrible fight before he had fairly shaken the sleep out of his eyes. old tomah, the trapper, was abroad now, taking advantage of the spring hunger. the wolves often crossed his snow-shoe trail, or followed it swiftly to see whither it led. for a wolf, like a farm dog, is never satisfied till he knows the ways of every living thing that crosses his range. following the broad trail wayeeses would find here a trapped animal, struggling desperately with the clog and the cruel gripping teeth, there the flayed carcass of a lynx or an otter, and yonder the leg of a dog or a piece of caribou meat hung by a cord over a runway, with the snow disturbed beneath it where the deadly trap was hidden. one glance, or a sniff at a distance, was enough for the wolf. lynxes do not go about the range without their skins, and meat does not naturally hang on trees; so wayeeses, knowing all the ways of the woods, would ignore these baits absolutely. nevertheless he followed the snow-shoe trails until he knew where every unnatural thing lay hidden; and no matter how hungry he was, or how cunningly the old indian hid his devices, or however deep the new snow covered all traces of man's work, wayeeses passed by on the other side and kept his dainty feet out of every snare and pitfall. once, when the two cubs that hunted together were hard pinched with hunger, they found old tomah in the twilight and followed him stealthily. the old indian was swinging along, silent as a shadow of the woods, his gun on his shoulder and some skins on his back, heading swiftly for the little hut under the cliff, where he burrowed for the night as snug as a bear in his den. an old wolf would have known instantly the danger, for man alone bites at a distance; but the lop-eared cub, which was larger than his brother and therefore the leader, raised his head for the hunting cry. the first yap had hardly left his throat when the thunder roared, and something seared the wolf's side like a hot iron. the cubs vanished like the smoke from the old gun. then the indian came swiftly back on the trail, peering about with hawk eyes to see the effect of his shot. "by cosh! miss um dat time. mus' be powder no good." then, as he read the plain record in the snow, "one,--by cosh! two hwulf, lil fool hwulf, follow my footin'. mus' be more, come soon pretty quick now; else he don' howl dat way. guess mebbe ol' injun better stay in house nights." and he trailed warily back to hide himself behind a rock and watch till dark in front of his little _commoosie_. old tomah's sleep was sound as usual that night; so he could not see the five shadows that stole out of the woods, nor hear the light footfalls that circled his camp, nor feel the breath, soft as an eddy of wind in a spruce top, that whiffed at the crack under his door and drifted away again. next morning he saw the tracks and understood them; and as he trailed away through the still woods he was wondering, in his silent indian way, why an old wolf should always bring malsunsis, the cub, for a good look and a sniff at anything that he is to avoid ever after. when all else fails follow the caribou,--that is the law which governs the wolf in the hungry days; but before they crossed the mountains and followed the long valleys to the far southern ranges the wolves went back to the hills, where the trail began, for a more exciting and dangerous kind of hunting. the pack had held closer together of late; for the old wolves must often share even a scant fox or rabbit with the hungry and inexperienced youngsters. now, when famine drove them to the very doors of the one enemy to be feared, only the wisest and wariest old wolf was fit to lead the foray. the little fishing village was buried under drifts and almost deserted. a few men lingered to watch the boats and houses; but the families had all gone inland to the winter tilts for wood and shelter. by night the wolves would come stealthily to prowl among the deserted lanes; and the fishermen, asleep in their clothes under caribou skins, or sitting close by the stove behind barred doors, would know nothing of the huge, gaunt forms that flitted noiselessly past the frosted windows. if a pig were left in his pen a sudden terrible squealing would break out on the still night; and when the fisherman rushed out the pen would be empty, with nothing whatever to account for piggie's disappearance. for to their untrained eyes even the tracks of the wolves were covered up by those of the numerous big huskies. if a cat prowled abroad, or an uneasy dog scratched to be let out, there would be a squall, a yelp,--and the cat would not come back, and the dog would never scratch at the door to be let in again. only when nothing stirred in the village, when the dogs and cats had been spirited away, and when not even a rat stole from under the houses to gnaw at a fishbone, would the fishermen know of their big silent visitors. then the wolves would gather on a snow-drift just outside the village and raise a howl, a frightful wail of famine and disappointment, that made the air shudder. from within the houses the dogs answered with mad clamor. a door would open to show first a long seal gun, then a fisherman, then a fool dog that darted between the fisherman's legs and capered away, ki-yi-ing a challenge to the universe. a silence, tense as a bowstring; a sudden yelp--_hui-hui_, as the fisherman whistled to the dog that was being whisked away over the snow with a grip on his throat that prevented any answer; then the fisherman would wait and call in vain, and shiver, and go back to the fire again. almost every pleasant day a train of dogs would leave the village and go far back on the hills to haul fire-wood, or poles for the new fish-flakes. the wolves, watching from their old den, would follow at a distance to pick up a careless dog that ventured away from the fire to hunt rabbits when his harness was taken off. occasionally a solitary wood-chopper would start with sudden alarm as a big white form glided into sight, and the alarm would be followed by genuine terror as he found himself surrounded by five huge wolves that sat on their tails watching him curiously. gripping his ax he would hurry back to call his companions and harness the dogs and hurry back to the village before the early darkness should fall upon them. as the komatik went careering over the snow, the dogs yelping and straining at the harness, the men running alongside shouting _hi-hi_ and cracking their whips, they could still see, over their shoulders, the wolves following lightly close behind; but when they rushed breathless into their houses, and grabbed their guns, and ran back on the trail, there was nothing to be seen. for the wolves, quick as light to feel the presence of danger, were already far away, trotting swiftly up the frozen arm of the harbor, following another sledge trail which came down that morning from the wilderness. that same night the wolves appeared silently in the little lodge, far up the southeast brook, where in a sheltered hollow of the hills the fishermen's families were sleeping away the bitter winter. here for one long night they watched and waited in vain; for every living thing was safe in the tilts behind barred doors. in the morning little noel's eyes kindled as he saw the wolves' tracks; and when they came back again the tilts were watching. as the lop-eared cub darted after a cat that shot like a ray of moonlight under a cabin, a window opened noiselessly, and _zing!_ a bowstring twanged its sharp warning in the tense silence. with a yelp the wolf tore the arrow from his shoulder. the warm blood followed the barb, and he lapped it eagerly in his hunger. then, as the danger swept over him, he gave the trail cry and darted away. doors banged open here and there; dogs barked to crack their throats; seal guns roared out and sent their heavy echoes crashing like thunder among the hills. silence fell again over the lodge; and there were left only a few frightened dogs whose noses had already told them everything, a few fishermen who watched and listened, and one indian boy with a long bow in his hand and an arrow ready on the string, who trailed away with a little girl at his side trying to puzzle out the track of one wolf that left a drop of blood here and there on the snow in the scant moonlight. far up on the hillside in a little opening of the woods the scattered pack came together again. at the first uproar, so unbearable to a silence-loving animal, they had vanished in five different directions; yet so subtle, so perfect is the instinct which holds a wolf family together that the old mother had scarcely entered the glade alone and sat down to wait and listen when the other wolves joined her silently. malsunsis, the big cub, scarcely felt his wound at first, for the arrow had but glanced through the thick skin and flesh, and he had torn it out without difficulty; but the old he-wolf limped painfully and held up one fore leg, pierced by a seal shot, as he loped away over the snow. it was their first rough experience with men, and probably the one feeling in every shaggy head was of puzzled wonder as to how and why it had all happened. hitherto they had avoided men with a certain awe, or watched them curiously at a distance, trying to understand their superior ways; and never a hostile feeling for the masters of the woods had found place in a wolf's breast. now man had spoken at last; his voice was a brutal command to be gone, and curiously enough these powerful big brutes, any one of which could have pulled down a man more easily than a caribou, never thought of questioning the order. it was certainly time to follow the caribou--that was probably the one definite purpose that came upon the wolves, sitting in a silent, questioning circle in the moonlight, with only the deep snows and the empty woods around them. for a week they had not touched food; for thrice that time they had not fed full, and a few days more would leave them unable to cope with the big caribou, which are always full fed and strong, thanks to nature's abundance of deer moss on the barrens. so they started as by a single impulse, and the mother wolf led them swiftly southward, hour after hour at a tireless pace, till the great he-wolf weakened and turned aside to nurse his wounded fore leg. the lop-eared cub drew out of the race at the same time. his own wound now required the soft massage of his tongue to allay the fever; and besides, the fear that was born in him, one night long ago, and that had slept ever since, was now awake again, and for the first time he was afraid to face the famine and the wilderness alone. so the pack swept on, as if their feet would never tire, and the two wounded wolves crept into the scrub and lay down together. a strange, terrible feeling stole swiftly over the covert, which had always hitherto been a place of rest and quiet content. the cub was licking his wound softly when he looked up in sudden alarm, and there was the great he-wolf looking at him hungrily, with a frightful flare in his green eyes. the cub moved away startled and tried to soothe his wound again; but the uncanny feeling was strong upon him still, and when he turned his head there was the big wolf, which had crept forward till he could see the cub behind a twisted spruce root, watching him steadily with the same horrible stare in his unblinking eyes. the hackles rose up on the cub's neck and a growl rumbled in his deep chest, for he knew now what it all meant. the smell of blood was in the air, and the old he-wolf, that had so often shared his kill to save the cubs, was now going crazy in his awful hunger. another moment and there would have been a terrible duel in the scrub; but as the wolves sprang to their feet and faced each other some deep, unknown feeling stirred within them and they turned aside. the old wolf threw himself down heavily, facing away from the temptation, and the cub slipped aside to find another den, out of sight and smell of the huge leader, lest the scent of blood should overcome them again and cause them to fly at each other's throats in uncontrollable fury. next morning a queer thing happened, but not uncommon under the circumstances among wolves and huskies. the cub was lying motionless, his head on his paws, his eyes wide open, when something stirred near him. a red squirrel came scampering through the scrub branches just under the thick coating of snow that filled all their tops. slowly, carefully the young wolf gathered his feet under him, tense as a bowstring. as the squirrel whisked overhead the wolf leaped like a flash, caught him, and crushed him with a single grip. then with the squirrel in his mouth he made his way back to where the big leader was lying, his head on his paws, his eyes turned aside. slowly, warily the cub approached, with a friendly twist of his ears and head, till he laid the squirrel at the big wolf's very nose, then drew back a step and lay with paws extended and tail thumping the leaves, watching till the tidbit was seized ravenously and crushed and bolted in a single mouthful. next instant both wolves sprang to their feet and made their way out of the scrub together. they took up the trail of the pack where they had left it, and followed it ten hours, the cub at a swift trot, the old wolf loping along on three legs. then a rest, and forward again, slower and slower, night after day in ever-failing strength, till on the edge of a great barren they stopped as if struck, trembling all over as the reek of game poured into their starving nostrils. too weak now to kill or to follow the fleet caribou, they lay down in the snow waiting, their ears cocked, their noses questioning every breeze for its good news. left to themselves the trail must end here, for they could go no farther; but somewhere ahead in the vast silent barren the cubs were trailing, and somewhere beyond them the old mother wolf was laying her ambush.--hark! from a spur of the valley, far below on their left, rang out the food cry, singing its way in the frosty air over woods and plains, and hurrying back over the trail to tell those who had fallen by the way that they were not forgotten. and when they leaped up, as at an electric shock, and raced for the cry, there were the cubs and the mother wolf, their hunger already satisfied, and there in the snow a young bull caribou to save them. so the long, hard winter passed away, and spring came again with its abundance. grouse drummed a welcome in the woods; the _honk_ of wild geese filled the air with a joyous clangor, and in every open pool the ducks were quacking. no need now to cling like shadows to the herds of caribou, and no further need for the pack to hold together. the ties that held them melted like snows in the sunny hollows. first the old wolves, then the cubs, one by one drifted away whither the game or their new mates were calling them. when the summer came there was another den on the high hill overlooking the harbor, where the little brown cubs could look down with wonder at the shining sea and the slow fishing-boats and the children playing on the shore; but the wolves whose trail began there were far away over the mountains, following their own ways, waiting for the crisp hunting cry that should bring them again together. _trails that cross in the snow_ "are we lost, little brother?" said mooka, shivering. no need of the question, startling and terrible as it was from the lips of a child astray in the vast solitudes; for a great gale had swooped down from the arctic, blotting out in clouds of whirling snow the world of plain and mountain and forest that, a moment before, had stretched wide and still before the little hunters' eyes. for an hour or more, running like startled deer, they had tried to follow their own snow-shoe trail back over the wide barrens into the friendly woods; but already the snow had filled it brim full, and whatever faint trace was left of the long raquettes was caught up by the gale and whirled away with a howl of exultation. before them as they ran every trail of wolf and caribou and snow-shoe, and every distant landmark, had vanished; the world was but a chaos of mad rolling snow clouds; and behind them--their stout little hearts trembled as they saw not a vestige of the trail they had just made. with the great world itself, their own little tracks, as fast as they made them, were swept and blotted out of existence. like two sparrows that had dropped blinded and bewildered on the vast plain out of the snow cloud, they huddled together without one friendly sign to tell them whence they had come or whither they were going. worst of all, the instinct of direction, which often guides an indian through the still fog or the darkest night, seemed benumbed by the cold and the tumult; and not even old tomah himself could have told north or south in the blinding storm. still they ran on bravely, bending to the fierce blasts, heading the wind as best they could, till mooka, tripping a second time in a little hollow where a brook ran deep under the snow, and knowing now that they were but wandering in an endless circle, seized noel's arm and repeated her question: "are we lost, little brother?" and noel, lost and bewildered, but gripping his bow in his fur mitten and peering here and there, like an old hunter, through the whirling flakes and rolling gusts to catch some landmark, some lofty crag or low tree-line that held steady in the mad dance of the world, still made confident indian answer: "noel not lost; noel right here. camp lost, little sister." "can we find um, little brother?" "oh, yes, we find um. find um bimeby, pretty soon quick now, after storm." "but storm last all night, and it's soon dark. can we rest and not freeze? mooka tired and--and frightened, little brother." "sartin we rest; build um _commoosie_ and sleep jus' like bear in his den. oh, yes, sartin we rest good," said noel cheerfully. "and the wolves, little brother?" whispered mooka, looking back timidly into the wild waste out of which they had come. "never mind hwolves; nothing hunts in storm, little sister. come on, we must find um woods now." for one brief moment the little hunter stood with upturned face, while mooka bowed her head silently, and the great storm rolled unheeded over them. still holding his long bow he stretched both hands to the sky in the mute appeal that _keesuolukh_, the great mystery whom we call god, would understand better than all words. then turning their backs to the gale they drifted swiftly away before it, like two wind-blown leaves, running to keep from freezing, and holding each other's hands tight lest they separate and be lost by the way. the second winter had come, sealing up the gloomy land till it rang like iron at the touch, then covering it deep with snow and polishing its mute white face with hoar-frost and hail driven onward by the fierce arctic gales. an appalling silence rested on plains and mountains. not a chirp, not a rustle broke the intense, unnatural stillness. one might travel all day long without a sight or sound of life; and when the early twilight came and life stirred shyly from its coverts and snow caves, the wood folk stole out into the bare white world on noiseless, hesitating feet, as if in presence of the dead. when the moon of famine came, the silence was rudely broken. before daylight one morning, when the air was so tense and still that a whisper set it tinkling like silver bells, the rallying cry of the wolves rolled down from a mountain top; and the three cubs, that had waited long for the signal, left their separate trails far away and hurried to join the old leader. when the sun rose that morning one who stood on the high ridge of the top gallants, far to the eastward of harbor weal, would have seen seven trails winding down among the rocks and thickets. it needed only a glance to show that the seven trails, each one as clear-cut and delicate as that of a prowling fox, were the records of wolves' cautious feet; and that they were no longer beating the thickets for grouse and rabbits, but moving swiftly all together for the edges of the vast barrens where the caribou herds were feeding. another glance--but here we must have the cunning eyes of old tomah the hunter--would have told that two of the trails were those of enormous wolves which led the pack; two others were plainly cubs that had not yet lost the cub trick of frolicking in the soft snow; while three others were just wolves, big and powerful brutes that moved as if on steel springs, and that still held to the old pack because the time had not yet come for them to scatter finally to their separate ways and head new packs of their own in the great solitudes. out from the woods on the other side of the barren came two snow-shoe trails, which advanced with short steps and rested lightly on the snow, as if the makers of the trails were little people whose weight on the snow-shoes made hardly more impression than the broad pads of moktaques the rabbit. they followed stealthily the winding records of a score of caribou that had wandered like an eddying wind all over the barren, stopping here and there to paw great holes in the snow for the caribou moss that covered all the earth beneath. out at the end of the trail two indian children, a girl and a boy, stole along with noiseless steps, scanning the wide wastes for a cloud of mist--the frozen breath that hovers over a herd of caribou--or peering keenly into the edges of the woods for vague white shapes moving like shadows among the trees. so they moved on swiftly, silently, till the boy stopped with a startled exclamation, whipped out a long arrow with a barbed steel point, and laid it ready across his bow. for at his feet was another light trail, the trail of a wolf pack, that crossed his own, moving straight and swift across the barren toward the unseen caribou. just in front, as the boy stopped, a slight motion broke the even white surface that stretched away silent and lifeless on every side,--a motion so faint and natural that noel's keen eyes, sweeping the plain and the edges of the distant woods, never noticed it. a vagrant wind, which had been wandering and moaning all morning as if lost, seemed to stir the snow and settle to rest again. but now, where the plain seemed most empty and lifeless, seven great white wolves crouched down in the snow in a little hollow, their paws extended, their hind legs bent like powerful springs beneath them, their heads raised cautiously so that only their ears and eyes showed above the rim of the little hollow where they hid. so they lay, tense, alert, ready, watching with eager, inquisitive eyes the two children drawing steadily nearer, the only sign of life in the whole wide, desolate landscape. * * * * * follow the back trail of the snow-shoes now, while the wolves are waiting, and it leads you over the great barren into the gloomy spruce woods; beyond that it crosses two more barrens and stretches of intervening forest; then up a great hill and down into a valley, where the lodge lay hidden, buried deep under newfoundland snows. here the fishermen lived, sleeping away the bitter winter. in the late autumn they had left the fishing village at harbor weal, driven out like the wild ducks by the fierce gales that raged over the whole coast. with their abundant families and scant provisions they had followed the trail up the southwest brook till it doubled around the mountain and led into a great silent wood, sheltered on every side by the encircling hills. here the tilts were built with double walls, filled in between with leaves and moss, to help the little stoves that struggled bravely with the terrible cold; and the roofs were covered over with poles and bark, or with the brown sails that had once driven the fishing-boats out and in on the wings of the gale. the high mountains on the west stood between them and the icy winds that swept down over the sea from the labrador and the arctic wastes; wood in abundance was at their doors, and the trout-stream that sang all day long under its bridges of snow and ice was always ready to brim their kettles out of its abundance. so the new life began pleasantly enough; but as the winter wore away and provisions grew scarce and game vanished from the coverts, they all felt the fearful pinch of famine. every morning now a confused circle of tracks in the snow showed where the wild prowlers of the woods had come and sniffed at the very doors of the tilts in their ravening hunger. noel's father and old tomah were far away, trapping, in the interior; and to noel with his snares and his bow and arrows fell the pleasant task of supplying the family's need when the stock of dried fish melted away. on this march morning he had started with mooka at daylight to cross the mountains to some great barrens where he had found tracks and knew that a few herds of caribou were still feeding. the sun was dimmed as it rose, and the sun-dogs gave mute warning of the coming storm; but the cupboard was empty at home, and even a little hunter thinks first of the game he is following and lets the storm take care of itself. so they hurried on unheeding,--noel with his bow and arrows, mooka with a little bag containing a loaf and a few dried caplin,--peering under every brush pile for the shining eyes of a rabbit, and picking up one big grouse and a few ptarmigan among the bowlders of a great bare hillside. on the edges of the great barren under the top gallants they found the fresh tracks of feeding caribou, and were following eagerly when they ran plump into the wolf trail. now by every law of the chase the game belonged to these earlier hunters; and by every power in their gaunt, famished bodies the wolves meant to have it. so said the trail. every stealthy advance in single file across, the open, every swift rush over the hollows that might hide them from eyes watching back from the distant woods, showed the wolves' purpose clear as daylight; and had noel been wiser he would have read a warning from the snow and turned aside. but he only drew his longest, keenest arrow and pressed on more eagerly than before. the two trails had crossed each other at last. beginning near together, one on the mountains, the other by the sea, they had followed their separate devious ways, now far apart in the glad bright summer, now drawing together in the moonlight of the winter's night. at times the makers of the trails had watched each other in secret, shyly, inquisitively, at a distance; but always fear or cunning had kept them apart, the boy with his keen hunter's interest baffled and whetted by the brutes' wariness, and the wolves drawn to the superior being by that subtle instinct that once made glad hunting-dogs and collies of the wild rangers of the plains, and that still leads a wolf to follow and watch the doings of men with intense curiosity. now the trails had met fairly in the snow, and a few steps more would bring the boy and the wolf face to face. * * * * * noel was stealing along warily, his arrow ready on the string. mooka beside him was watching a faint cloud of mist, the breath of caribou, that blurred at times the dark tree-line in the distance, when one of those mysterious warnings that befall the hunter in the far north rested upon them suddenly like a heavy hand. i know not what it is,--what lesser pressure of air, to which we respond like a barometer; or what unknown chords there are within us that sleep for years in the midst of society and that waken and answer, like an animal's, to the subtle influence of nature,--but one can never be watched by an unseen wild animal without feeling it vaguely; and one can never be so keen on the trail that the storm, before it breaks, will not whisper a warning to turn back to shelter before it is too late. to noel and mooka, alone on the barrens, the sun was no dimmer than before; the heavy gray bank of clouds still held sullenly to its place on the horizon; and no eyes, however keen, would have noticed the tiny dark spots that centered and glowed upon them over the rim of the little hollow where the wolves were watching. nevertheless, a sudden chill fell upon them both. they stopped abruptly, shivering a bit, drawing closer together and scanning the waste keenly to know what it all meant. "_mitcheegeesookh_, the storm!" said noel sharply; and without another word they turned and hurried back on their own trail. in a short half hour the world would be swallowed up in chaos. to be caught out on the barrens meant to be lost; and to be lost here without fire and shelter meant death, swift and sure. so they ran on, hoping to strike the woods before the blizzard burst upon them. they were scarcely half-way to shelter when the white flakes began to whirl around them. with startling, terrible swiftness the familiar world vanished; the guiding trail was blotted out, and nothing but a wolf's instinct could have held a straight course in the blinding fury of the storm. still they held on bravely, trying in vain to keep their direction by the eddying winds, till mooka stumbled twice at the same hollow over a hidden brook, and they knew they were running blindly in a circle of death. frightened at the discovery they turned, as the caribou do, keeping their backs steadily to the winds, and drifted slowly away down the long barren. hour after hour they struggled on, hand in hand, without a thought of where they were going. twice mooka fell and lay still, but was dragged to her feet and hurried onward again. the little hunter's own strength was almost gone, when a low moan rose steadily above the howl and hiss of the gale. it was the spruce woods, bending their tops to the blast and groaning at the strain. with a wild whoop noel plunged forward, and the next instant they were safe within the woods. all around them the flakes sifted steadily, silently down into the thick covert, while the storm passed with a great roar over their heads. in the lee of a low-branched spruce they stopped again, as though by a common impulse, while noel lifted his hands. "thanks, thanks, _keesuolukh_; we can take care of ourselves now," the brave little heart was singing under the upstretched arms. then they tumbled into the snow and lay for a moment utterly relaxed, like two tired animals, in that brief, delicious rest which follows a terrible struggle with the storm and cold. first they ate a little of their bread and fish to keep up their spirits; then--for the storm that was upon them might last for days--they set about preparing a shelter. with a little search, whooping to each other lest they stray away, they found a big dry stub that some gale had snapped off a few feet above the snow. while mooka scurried about, collecting birch bark and armfuls of dry branches, noel took off his snow-shoes and began with one of them to shovel away the snow in a semicircle around the base of the stub. in a short half-hour he had a deep hole there, with the snow banked up around it to the height of his head. next with his knife he cut a lot of light poles and scrub spruces and, sticking the butts in his snowbank, laid the tops, like the sticks of a wigwam, firmly against the big stub. a few armfuls of spruce boughs shingled over this roof, and a few minutes' work shoveling snow thickly upon them to hold them in place and to make a warm covering; then a doorway, or rather a narrow tunnel, just beyond the stub on the straight side of the semicircle, and their _commoosie_ was all ready. let the storm roar and the snow sift down! the thicker it fell the warmer would be their shelter. they laughed and shouted now as they scurried out and in, bringing boughs for a bed and the fire-wood which mooka had gathered. against the base of the dry stub they built their fire,--a wee, sociable little fire such as an indian always builds, which is far better than a big one, for it draws you near and welcomes you cheerily, instead of driving you away by its smoke and great heat. soon the big stub itself began to burn, glowing steadily with a heat that filled the snug little _commoosie_, while the smoke found its way out of the hole in the roof which noel had left for that purpose. later the stub burned through to its hollow center, and then they had a famous chimney, which soon grew hot and glowing inside, and added its mite to the children's comfort. noel and mooka were drowsy now; but before the long night closed in upon them they had gathered more wood, and laid aside some wisps of birch bark to use when they should wake, cold and shivering, and find their little fire gone out and the big stub losing its cheery glow. then they lay down to rest, and the night and the storm rolled on unheeded. towards morning they fell into a heavy sleep; for the big stub began to burn more freely as the wind changed, and they need not stir every half hour to feed their little fire and keep from freezing. it was broad daylight, the storm had ceased, and a woodpecker was hammering loudly on a hollow shell over their heads when they started up, wondering vaguely where they were. then while noel broke out of the _commoosie_, which was fairly buried under the snow, to find out where he was, mooka rebuilt the fire and plucked a ptarmigan and set it to toasting with the last of their bread over the coals. noel came back soon with a cheery whoop to tell the little cook that they had drifted before the storm down the whole length of the great barren, and were camped now on the opposite side, just under the highest ridge of the top gallants. there was not a track on the barrens, he said; not a sign of wolf or caribou, which had probably wandered deeper into the woods for shelter. so they ate their bread to the last crumb and their bird to the last bone, and, giving up all thought of hunting, started up the big barren, heading for the distant lodge, where they had long since been given up for lost. they had crossed the barren and a mile of thick woods beyond when they ran into the fresh trail of a dozen caribou. following it swiftly they came to the edge of a much smaller barren that they had crossed yesterday, and saw at a glance that the trail stretched straight across it. not a caribou was in sight; but they might nevertheless be feeding, or resting in the woods just beyond; and for the little hunters to show themselves now in the open would mean that they would become instantly the target for every keen eye that was watching the back trail. so they started warily to circle the barren, keeping just within the fringe of woods out of sight. they had gone scarcely a hundred steps when noel whipped out a long arrow and pointed silently across the open. from the woods on the other side the caribou had broken out of a dozen tunnels under the spruces, and came trotting back in their old trails, straight downwind to where the little hunters were hiding. the deer were acting queerly,--now plunging away with the high, awkward jumps that caribou use when startled; now swinging off on their swift, tireless rack, and before they had settled to their stride halting suddenly to look back and wag their ears at the trail. for megaleep is full of curiosity as a wild turkey, and always stops to get a little entertainment out of every new thing that does not threaten him with instant death. then out of the woods behind them trotted five white wolves,--not hunting, certainly! for whenever the caribou stopped to look the wolves sat down on their tails and yawned. one lay down and rolled over and over in the soft snow; another chased and capered after his own brush, whirling round and round like a little whirlwind, and the shrill _ki-yi_ of a cub wolf playing came faintly across the barren. it was a strange scene, yet one often witnessed on the lonely plains of the far north: the caribou halting, running away, and halting again to look back and watch the queer antics of their big enemies, which seemed now so playful and harmless; the cunning wolves playing on the game's curiosity at every turn, knowing well that if once frightened the deer would break away at a pace which would make pursuit hopeless. so they followed rather than drove the foolish deer across the barren, holding them with monkey tricks and kitten's capers, and restraining with an iron grip their own fearful hunger and the blind impulse to rush in headlong and have it all quickly over. kneeling behind a big spruce, noel was trying nervously the spring and temper of his long bow, divided in desire between the caribou, which they needed sadly at home, and one of the great wolves whose death would give him a place among the mighty hunters, when mooka clutched his arm, her eyes snapping with excitement, her finger pointing silently back on their own trail. a vague shadow glided swiftly among the trees. an enormous white wolf appeared, vanished, came near them again, and crouched down under a low spruce branch waiting. again the two trails had crossed in the snow. the big wolf as he appeared had thrust his nose into the snow-shoe tracks, and a sniff or two told him everything,--who had passed, and how long ago, and what they were doing, and how far ahead they were now waiting. but the caribou were coming, coaxed along marvelously by the cubs and the old mother; and the great silent wolf, that had left the pack playing with the game while he circled the barren at top speed, now turned to the business in hand with no thought nor fear of harm from the two children whom he had watched but yesterday. not so noel. the fire blazed out in his eyes; the long bow swung to the wolf, bending like a steel spring, and the feathered shaft of an arrow lay close against the boy's cheek. but mooka caught his arm-- "look, noel, his ear! _malsunsis_, my little wolf cub," she breathed excitedly. and noel, with a great wonder in his eyes, slacked his bow, while his thoughts jumped far away to the den on the mountains where the trail began, and to three little cubs playing like kittens with the grasshoppers and the cloud shadows; for the great wolf that lay so still near them, his eyes fixed in a steady glow upon the coming caribou, had one ear bent sharply forward, like a leaf that has been creased between the fingers. again mooka broke the tense silence in a low whisper. "how many wolf trails you see yesterday, little brother?" "seven," said noel, whose eyes already had the cunning of old tomah's to understand everything. "then where tother wolf? only six here," breathed mooka, looking timidly all around, fearing to find the steady glare of green eyes fixed upon them from the shadow of every thicket. noel stirred uneasily. somewhere close at hand another huge wolf was waiting; and a wholesome fear fell upon him, with a shiver at the thought of how near he had come in his excitement to bringing the whole savage pack snarling about his ears. a snort of alarm cut short his thinking. there at the edge of the wood, not twenty feet away, stood a caribou, pointing his ears at the children whom he had almost stumbled over as he ran, thinking only of the wolves behind. the long bow sprang back of itself; an arrow buzzed like a wasp and buried itself deep in the white chest. like a flash a second arrow followed as the stag turned away, and with a jump or two he sank to his knees, as if to rest awhile in the snow. but mooka scarcely saw these things. her eyes were fastened on the great white wolf which she had claimed for her own when he was a toddling cub. he lay still as a stone under the tip of a bending spruce branch, his eyes following every motion of a young bull caribou which three of the wolves had singled out of the herd and were now guiding surely straight to his hiding-place. the snort and plunge of the smitten animal startled this young stag and he turned aside from his course. like a shadow the big wolf that mooka was watching changed his place so as to head the game, while two of the pack on the open barrens slipped around the caribou and turned him back again to the woods. at the edge of the cover the stag stopped for a last look, pointing his ears first at noel's caribou, which now lay very still in the snow, then at the wolves, which with quick instinct had singled him out of the herd, knowing in some subtle way he was watched from beyond, and which gathered about him in a circle, sitting on their tails and yawning. slowly, silently mooka's wolf crept forward, pushing his great body through the snow. a terrific rush, a quick snap under the stag's chest just behind the fore legs, where the heart lay; then the big wolf leaped aside and sat down quietly again to watch. it was soon finished. the stag plunged away, settled into his long rack, slowed down to a swaying, weakening trot. after him at a distance glided the big wolf, lapping eagerly at the crimson trail, but holding himself with tremendous will power from rushing in headlong and driving the game, which might run for miles if too hard pressed. the stag sank to his knees; a sharp yelp rang like a pistol-shot through the still woods; then the pack rolled in like a whirlwind, and it was all over. creeping near on the trail the little hunters crouched under a low spruce, watching as if fascinated the wild feast of the wolves. noel's bow was ready in his hand; but luckily the sight of these huge, powerful brutes overwhelmed him and drove all thoughts of killing out of his head. mooka plucked him by the sleeve at last, and pointed silently homewards. it was surely time to go, for the biggest wolf had already stretched himself and was licking his paws, while the two cubs with full stomachs were rolling over and over and biting each other playfully in the snow. silently they stole away, stopping only to tie a rag to a pointed stick, which they thrust between their own caribou's ribs to make the wolves suspicious and keep them from tearing the game and eating the tidbits while the little hunters hurried away to bring the men with their guns and dog sledges. they had almost crossed the second barren when mooka, looking back uneasily from the edge of the woods, saw a single big wolf emerge across the barren and follow swiftly on their trail. startled at the sight, they turned swiftly to run; for that terrible feeling which sweeps over a hunter, when for the first time he finds himself hunted in his turn, had clutched their little hearts and crushed all their confidence. a sudden panic seized them; they rushed away for the woods, running side by side till they broke into the fringe of evergreen that surrounded the barren. there they dropped breathless under a low fir and turned to look. "it was wrong to run, little brother," whispered mooka. "why?" said noel. "cause wayeeses see it, and think we 'fraid." "but i was 'fraid out there, little sister," confessed noel bravely. "here we can climb tree; good chance shoot um with my arrows." like two frightened rabbits they crouched under the fir, staring back with wild round eyes over the trail, fearing every instant to see the savage pack break out of the woods and come howling after them. but only the single big wolf appeared, trotting quietly along in their footsteps. within bowshot he stopped with head raised, looking, listening intently. then, as if he had seen them in their hiding, he turned aside, circled widely to the left, and entered the woods far below. again the two little hunters hurried on through the silent, snow-filled woods, a strange disquietude settling upon them as they felt they were followed by unseen feet. soon the feeling grew too strong to resist. noel with his bow ready, and a strange chill trickling like cold water along his spine, was hiding behind a tree watching the back trail, when a low exclamation from mooka made him turn. there behind them, not ten steps away, a huge white wolf was sitting quietly on his tail, watching them with absorbed, silent intentness. fear and wonder, and swift memories of old tomah and the wolf that had followed him when he was lost, swept over noel in a flood. he rose swiftly, the long bow bent, and again a deadly arrow cuddled softly against his cheek; but there were doubts and fears in his eye till mooka caught his arm with a glad little laugh-- "my cub, little brother. see his ear, and oh, his tail! watch um tail, little brother." for at the first move the big wolf sprang alertly to his feet, looked deep into mooka's eyes with that intense, penetrating light which serves a wild animal to read your very thoughts, and instantly his great bushy tail was waving its friendly greeting. it was indeed malsunsis, the cub. before the great storm broke he had crouched with the pack in the hollow just in front of the little hunters; and although the wolves were hungry, it was with feelings of curiosity only that they watched the children, who seemed to the powerful brutes hardly more to be feared than a couple of snowbirds hopping across the vast barren. but they were children of men--that was enough for the white-wolf packs, which for untold years had never been known to molest a man. this morning malsunsis had again crossed their trail. he had seen them lying in wait for the caribou that his own pack were driving; had seen noel smite the bull, and was filled with wonder; but his own business kept him still in hiding. now, well fed and good-natured, but more curious than ever, he had followed the trail of these little folk to learn something about them. mooka as she watched him was brim full of an eagerness which swept away all fear. "tomah says, wolf and injun hunt just alike; keep ver' still; don't trouble game 'cept when he hungry," she whispered. "says too, _keesuolukh_ made us friends 'fore white man come, spoil um everything. das what malsunsis say now wid hees tail and eyes; only way he can talk um, little brother. no, no,"--for noel's bow was still strongly bent,--"you must not shoot. malsunsis think we friends." and trusting her own brave little heart she stepped in front of the deadly arrow and walked straight to the big wolf, which moved aside timidly and sat down again at a distance, with the friendly expression of a lost collie in eyes and ears and wagging tail tip. cheerfully enough noel slacked his long bow, for the wonder of the woods was strong upon him, and the hunting-spirit, which leads one forth to frighten and kill and to break the blessed peace, had vanished in the better sense of comradeship which steals over one when he watches the wood folk alone and friendly in the midst of the solitudes. as they went on their way again the big wolf trotted after them, keeping close to their trail but never crossing it, and occasionally ranging up alongside, as if to keep them in the right way. where the woods were thickest noel, with no trail to guide him, swung uncertainly to left and right, peering through the trees for some landmark on the distant hills. twice the big wolf trotted out to one side, returned and trotted out again in the same direction; and noel, taking the subtle hint, as an indian always does, bore steadily to the right till the great ridge, beyond which the lodge was hidden, loomed over the tree-tops. and to this day he believes--and it is impossible, for i have tried, to dissuade him--that the wolf knew where they were going and tried in his own way to show them. so they climbed the long ridge to the summit, and from the deep valley beyond the smoke of the lodge rose up to guide them. there the wolf stopped; and though noel whistled and mooka called cheerily, as they would to one of their own huskies that they had learned to love, malsunsis would go no farther. he sat there on the ridge, his tail sweeping a circle in the snow behind him, his ears cocked to the friendly call and his eyes following every step of the little hunters, till they vanished in the woods below. then he turned to follow his own way in the wilderness. glossary of indian names cheokhes, _chê-ok-h[)e]s'_, the mink. cheplahgan, _chep-lâh'gan_, the bald eagle. ch'geegee-lokh-sis, _ch`gee-gee'lock-sis_, the chickadee. chigwooltz, _chig-wooltz'_, the bullfrog. clóte scarpe, a legendary hero, like hiawatha, of the northern indians. pronounced variously, clote scarpe, groscap, gluscap, etc. commoosie, _com-moo-sie'_, a little shelter, or hut, of boughs and bark. deedeeaskh, _dee-dee'ask_, the blue jay. eleemos, _el-ee'mos_, the fox. hawahak, _hâ-wâ-h[)a]k'_, the hawk. hetokh, _h[)e]t'[=o]kh_, the deer. hukweem, _huk-weem'_, the great northern diver, or loon. ismaques, _iss-mâ-ques'_, the fish-hawk. kagax, _k[)a]g'[)a]x_, the weasel. kakagos, _kâ-kâ-g[)o]s'_, the raven. k'dunk, _k'dunk'_, the toad. keeokuskh, _kee-o-kusk'_, the muskrat. keeonekh, _kee'o-nek_, the otter. keesuolukh, _kee-su-[=o]'luk_, the great mystery, i.e. god. killooleet, _kil'loo-leet_, the white-throated sparrow. kookooskoos, _koo-koo-skoos'_, the great horned owl. kopseep, _kop'seep_, the salmon. koskomenos, _k[)o]s'k[)o]m-e-n[)o]s'_, the kingfisher. kupkawis, _cup-ka'wis_, the barred owl. kwaseekho, _kwâ-seek'ho_, the sheldrake. lhoks, _locks_, the panther. malsun, _m[)a]l'sun_, the wolf. malsunsis, _m[)a]l-sun'sis_, the little wolf cub. matwock, _m[)a]t'wok_, the white bear. meeko, _meek'[=o]_, the red squirrel. megaleep, _meg'â-leep_, the caribou. milicete, _mil'[)i]-cete_, the name of an indian tribe; written also malicete. mitchegeesookh, _mitch-ë-gee'sook_, the snowstorm. mitches, _mit'ch[)e]s_, the birch partridge, or ruffed grouse. moktaques, _mok-tâ'ques_, the hare. mooween, _moo-ween'_, the black bear. mooweesuk, _moo-wee'suk_, the coon. musquash, _mus'quâsh_, the muskrat. nemox, _n[)e]m'ox_, the fisher. pekompf, _pe-kompf'_, the wildcat. pekquam, _pek-w[)a]m'_, the fisher. queokh, _qu[=e]'ok_, the sea-gull. quoskh, _quoskh_, the blue heron. seksagadagee, _sek'sâ-gä-dâ'gee_, the canada grouse, or spruce partridge. skooktum, _skook'tum_, the trout. tookhees, _tôk'hees_, the wood-mouse. umquenawis, _um-que-nâ'wis_, the moose. unk wunk, _unk'wunk_, the porcupine. upweekis, _up-week'iss_, the canada lynx. waptonk, _w[)a]p-tonk'_, the wild goose. wayeesis, _way-ee'sis_, the white wolf, the strong one. whitooweek, _whit-oo-week'_, the woodcock. the white road to verdun by kathleen burke knight of st. sava, serbia officier de l'instruction publique, france this little book is respectfully and affectionately dedicated to madame jusserand, ambassadrice de france in washington, and to monsieur gaston liebert, consul general de france dr. c. o. mailloux and to all my good friends in the united states and canada, whose sympathy and encouragement have helped me so much in my work. vive la france contents chapter i the true philosophers ii the bridge at meaux iii recruiting rat-catchers iv a gun carriage an altar v life behind the lines vi devotion to animals vii hunting for generals viii an instance of quick wit ix at the headquarters of general petain x a meeting with "forain" xi value of women's work xii the "movies" under fire xiii a subterranean cut xiv poilu and tommy xv abbreviated french xvi the brown and black sons of france xvii at general nivelle's headquarters xviii rheims xix at the headquarters of the generalissimo xx to the glory of the women of france the true philosophers we left paris determined to undertake the journey to the front in the true spirit of the french poilu, and, no matter what happened, "de ne pas s'en faire." this famous "motto" of the french army is probably derived from one of two slang sentences, de ne pas se faire des cheveux ("to keep one's hair on,") or de ne pas se faire de la bile, or, in other words, not to upset one's digestion by unnecessary worrying. the phrase is typical of the mentality of the poilu, who accepts anything and everything that may happen, whether it be merely slight physical discomfort, or intense suffering, as part of the willing sacrifice which he made on the day that, leaving his homestead and his daily occupation, he took up arms "offering his body as a shield to defend the heart of france." everything might be worse than it is, says the poilu, and so he has composed a litany. every regiment has a different version, but always with the same basis. "of two things one is certain: either you're mobilised or you're not mobilised. if you're not mobilised, there is no need to worry; if you are mobilised, of two things one is certain: either you're behind the lines or you're on the front. if you're behind the lines there is no need to worry; if you're on the front, of two things one is certain: either you're resting in a safe place or you're exposed to danger. if you're resting in a safe place there is no need to worry; if you're exposed to danger, of two things one is certain: either you're wounded or you're not wounded. if you're not wounded, there is no need to worry; if you are wounded, of two things one is certain: either you're wounded seriously or you're wounded slightly. if you're wounded slightly there is no need to worry; if you're wounded seriously, of two things one is certain: either you recover or you die. if you recover there is no need to worry; if you die you can't worry." when once past the "wall of china," as the french authorities call the difficult approaches to the war zone, meaux was the first town of importance at which we stopped. we had an opportunity to sample the army bread, as the driver of a passing bread wagon flung a large round loaf into our motor. according to all accounts received from the french soldiers who are in the prison camps of germany, one of the greatest hardships is the lack of white bread, and they have employed various subterfuges in the endeavour to let their relatives know that they wish to have bread sent to them. some of the bretons writing home nickname bread "monsieur barras," and when there was a very great shortage they would write to their families: "ce pauvre monsieur barras ne se porte pas tres bien a present." (m. barras is not very well at present.) finally the germans discovered the real significance of m. barras and they added to one of the letters: "si m. barras ne se porte pas tres bien a present c'est bien la faute de vos amis les anglais." (if m. barras is not well at present, it is the fault of your friends the english.) and from then all the letters referring to m. barras were strictly suppressed. while the german press may not be above admitting a shortage of food in germany, it seriously annoys the army that the french prisoners or the french in the invaded regions should hear of it. i heard one story of the wife of a french officer in lille, who was obliged to offer unwilling hospitality to a german captain, who, in a somewhat clumsy endeavour to be amiable, offered to try to get news of her husband and to convey it to her. appreciating the seeming friendliness, of the captain, she confided to him that she had means of communicating with her husband who was on the french front. the captain informed against her and the next day she was sent for by the kommandantur, who imposed a fine of fifty francs upon her for having received a letter from the enemy lines. taking a one hundred franc note from her bag she placed it on the desk, saying, "m. le kommandantur, here is the fifty francs fine, and also another fifty francs which i am glad to subscribe for the starving women and children in berlin." "no one starves in berlin," replied the kommandantur. "oh, yes, they do," replied madame x., "i know because the captain who so kindly informed you that i had received a letter from my husband showed me a letter the other day from his wife in which she spoke of the sad condition of the women and children of germany, who, whilst not starving, were far from happy." thus she not only had the pleasure of seriously annoying the kommandantur, but also had a chance to get even with the captain who had informed against her, and who is no longer in soft quarters in lille, but paying the penalty of his indiscretion by a sojourn on the yser. the bridge at meaux the bridge at meaux, destroyed in the course of the german retreat, has not yet been entirely repaired. beneath it rushes the marne and the river sings in triumph, as it passes, that it is carrying away the soil that has been desecrated by the steps of the invader, and that day by day it is washing clean the land of france. in the fields where the corn is standing, the tiny crosses marking the last resting places of the men are entirely hidden, but where the grain has been gathered the graves, stand out distinctly marked not only by a cross, but also by the tall bunches of corn which have been left growing on these small patches of holy ground. it has always been said that france has two harvests each year. certainly in the fields of the marne there is not only the harvest of bread; there is also springing up the harvest of security and peace. the peasants as they point out the graves always add: "we of the people know that those men sacrificed their lives that our children might live. those who have died in vain for an unjust cause may well envy the men of france who have poured out their blood for the benefit of humanity." looking on the crosses on the battlefield of the marne, i realised to the fullest extent the sacrifices, borne with such bravery, of the women of france. i thought of the picture i had seen in paris of a group of mothers standing at the foot of calvary, looking out over the fields of small black crosses, lifting their hands to heaven, with the words: "we also, god, have given our sons for the peace of the world." at montmirail the real activity of the war zone first became apparent. we drew the car to the side of the road and waited whilst a long procession of empty munition wagons passed on the way back from the munition parks near the fighting line. there was a smile on the face of every one of the drivers. each of them had the satisfaction of knowing that there was no chance of his returning with an empty wagon, as there is no lack of provisions to feed the hungriest of the " 's" or any of her larger sisters. the fact that it is known that there is an ample supply of munitions plays an important part in the "morale" of the troops. the average poilu has no sympathy with the man who grumbles at the number of hours he may have to spend in the factory. we heard the tale of a munition worker who was complaining in a cafe at having to work so hard. a poilu who was en permission, and who was sitting at the next table, turned to him saying: "you have no right to grumble. you receive ten to twelve francs a day for making shells and we poor devils get five sous a day for stopping them!" recruiting rat-catchers we lunched in the small but hospitable village of sezannes in company with a most charming invalided officer, who informed us that he was the principal in that district of the s.d.r. r.d. (service de recherche des rattiers) (the principal recruiting officer for rat-catchers). in other words, he is spending his time endeavouring to persuade suitable bow-wows to enlist in the service of their country. likely dogs are trained until they do not bark, and become entirely accustomed to the sound of firing; they are then pronounced "aptes a faire campagne" or "fit for service," receive their livret militaire, or certificates--for not every chance dog is allowed in the trenches--and are despatched to the trenches on a rat-hunting campaign. at the commencement of the .war, dogs were not utilized to the extent they are at present. a large number are now with the french army and the wonderful training they have received, aided by their natural sagacity, renders them a holy terror to prowling bodies and spies. those employed in carrying messages or tobacco to the soldiers in dangerous trenches now wear gas masks, as many of these high trained animals have been lost in consequence of too closely investigating the strange odour caused by this hun war method. from sezannes we proceeded direct to the new camp for german prisoners at connantre. the prisoners were mostly men who had been taken in the recent fighting on the somme or around verdun. the camp was already excellently installed and the prisoners were busy in groups gardening, making bread, or sitting before great heaps of potatoes preparing them for the evening meal. in one corner the inevitable german band was preparing for an evening concert. the german sense of order was everywhere in evidence. in the long barracks where the men slept the beds were tidy, and above each bed was a small shelf, each shelf arranged in exactly the same order, the principal ornaments being a mug, fork and spoon; and just as each bed resembled each other bed, so the fork and spoon were placed in their respective mugs at exactly the same angle. there were small partitioned apartments for the non- commissioned officers. the french commander of the camp told us that the german love of holding some form of office was everywhere apparent. the french made no attempt to command the prisoners themselves, but always chose men from amongst the prisoners who were placed in authority over their comrades. the prisoners rejoiced exceedingly and promptly increased in self-importance and, alas, decreased in manners, if they were given the smallest position which raised them above the level of the rest of the men. in the barrack where they were cutting up bread for the prisoners, we asked the men if they deeply regretted their captivity. they replied unanimously that they were "rather glad to be well fed," which seemed an answer in itself. they did not, however, appreciate the white bread, and stated that they preferred their own black bread. the french officers commanding the camp treat the prisoners as naughty children who must be "kept in the corner" and punished for their own good. in all my travels through france i have never seen any bitterness shown towards the prisoners. i remember once at nevers we passed a group of german prisoners, and amongst them was a wounded man who was lying in a small cart. a hand bag had fallen across his leg, and none of his comrades attempted to remove it. a french woman pushing her way between the guards, lifted it off and gave it to one of the germans to carry. when the guards tried to remonstrate she replied simply: "j'ai un fils prisonnier la bas, faut esperer qu'une allemande ferait autant pour lui." ("i have a son who is a prisoner in their land; let us hope that some german woman would do as much for him.") on the battlefields the kindness of the french medical men to the german wounded has always been conspicuous. one of my neutral friends passing through germany heard from one of the prominent german surgeons that they were well aware of this fact, and knew that their wounded received every attention. there is a story known throughout france of a french doctor who was attending a wounded german on the battlefield. the man, who was probably half delirious, snatched at a revolver which was lying near by and attempted to shoot the doctor. the doctor took the revolver from him, patted him on the head, and said: "voyons, voyons, ne faites pas l'enfant" ("now then, now then, don't be childish") and went on dressing his wounds. everywhere you hear accounts of brotherly love and religious tolerance. i remember kneeling once by the side of a dying french soldier who was tenderly supported in the arms of a famous young mohammedan surgeon, an egyptian who had taken his degree in edinburgh and was now attached to the french red cross. the man's mind was wandering, and seeing a woman beside him he commenced to talk to me as to his betrothed. "this war cannot last always, little one, and when it is over we will buy a pig and a cow and we will go to the cure, won't we, beloved?" then in a lucid moment he realised that he was dying, and he commenced to pray, "ave maria, ave maria," but the poor tired brain could remember nothing more. he turned to me to continue, but i could no longer trust myself to speak, and it was the mohammedan who took up the prayer and continued it whilst the soldier followed with his lips until his soul passed away into the valley of shadows. i think this story is only equalled in its broad tolerance by that of the rabbi bloch of lyons, who was shot at the battle of the aisne whilst holding a crucifix to the lips of a dying christian soldier. the soldier priests of france have earned the love and respect of even the most irreligious of the poilus. they never hesitate to risk their lives, and have displayed sublime courage and devotion to their duty as priests and as soldiers. behind the first line of trenches a soldier priest called suddenly to attend a dying comrade, took a small dog he was nursing and handing it to one of the men simply remarked, "take care of the little beast for me, i am going to a dangerous corner and i do not want it killed." a gun carriage an altar i have seen the mass celebrated on a gun carriage. vases made of shell cases were filled with flowers that the men had risked their lives to gather in order to deck the improvised altar. a red cross ambulance drove up and stopped near by. the wounded begged to be taken out on their stretchers and laid at the foot of the altar in order that "they might receive the blessing of the good god" before starting on the long journey to the hospital behind the lines. outside the prison camp of cannantre stood a circle of french soldiers learning the bugle calls for the french army. i wondered how the germans cared to listen to the martial music of the men of france, one and all so sure of the ultimate victory of their country. half a kilometre further on, a series of mock trenches had been made where the men were practising the throwing of hand grenades. every available inch of space behind the french lines is made to serve some useful purpose. i never see a hand grenade without thinking how difficult it is just now to be a hero in france. every man is really a hero, and the men who have medals are almost ashamed since they know that nearly all their comrades merit them. it is especially difficult to be a hero in one's own family. one of the men in our hospital at royaumont had been in the trenches during an attack. a grenade thrown by one of the french soldiers struck the parapet and rebounded amongst the men. with that rapidity of thought which is part of the french character, jules sat on the grenade and extinguished it. for this act of bravery he was decorated by the french government and wrote home to tell his wife. i found him sitting up in bed, gloomily reading her reply, and i enquired why he looked so glum. "well, mademoiselle," he replied, "i wrote to my wife to tell her of my new honour and see what she says: 'my dear jules, we are not surprised you got a medal for sitting on a hand grenade; we have never known you to do anything else but sit down at home!!!'" it was at fere champenoise that we passed through the first village which had been entirely destroyed by the retreating germans. only half the church was standing, but services are still held there every sunday. very little attempt has been made to rebuild the ruined houses. were i one of the villagers i would prefer to raze to the ground all that remained of the desecrated homesteads and build afresh new dwellings; happy in the knowledge that with the victory of the allies would start a period of absolute security, prosperity and peace. life behind the lines soon after leaving mailly we had the privilege of beholding some of the four hundred centimetre guns of france, all prepared and ready to travel at a minute's notice along the railway lines to the section where they might be needed. some idea of their size may be obtained from the fact that there were ten axles to the base on which they travel. they were all disguised by the system of camouflage employed by the french army, and at a very short distance they blend with the landscape and become almost invisible. each gun bears a different name, "alsace," "lorraine," etc., and with that strange irony and cynical wit of the french trooper, at the request of the men of one battery, one huge gun has been christened "mosquito," "because it stings." the french often use a bitter and biting humour in speaking of the enemy. for instance, amongst the many pets of the men, the strangest i saw was a small hawk sitting on the wrist of a soldier who had trained him. the bird was the personification of evil. if any one approached he snapped at them and endeavoured to bite them. i asked the man why he kept him, and he replied that they had quite good sport in the trenches when they allowed the hawk to hunt small birds and field mice. then his expression changing from jovial good humour to grimness, he added, "you know, i call him 'zepp,' because he kills the little ones," (parcequ'il tue les tous petits.) devotion to animals in one small cantonment where two hundred poilus sang, shouted, ate, drank and danced together to the strain of a wheezy gramophone, or in one word were "resting," i started to investigate the various kinds of pets owned by the troopers. cats, dogs and monkeys were common, whilst one poilu was the proud possessor of a parrot which he had purchased from a refugee obliged to fly from his home. he hastened to assure us that the bird had learned his "vocabulary" from his former proprietor. a study in black and white was a group of three or four white mice, nestling against the neck of a senegalais. the english tommy is quite as devoted to animals as is his french brother. i remember crossing one bitter february day from boulogne to folkestone. alongside the boat, on the quay at boulogne, were lined up the men who had been granted leave. arrayed in their shaggy fur coats they resembled little the smart british soldier of peace times. it was really wonderful how much the men managed to conceal under those fur coats, or else the eye of the officer inspecting them was intentionally not too keen. up the gangway trooped the men, and i noticed that two of them walked slowly and cautiously. the boat safely out of harbour, one of them produced from his chest a large tabby cat, whilst the other placed a fine cock on the deck. it was a cock with the true gallic spirit, before the cat had time to consider the situation it had sprung on its back. the cat beat a hasty retreat into the arms of its protector who replaced it under his coat. once in safety it stuck out its head and swore at the cock, which, perched on a coil of rope, crowed victoriously. both had been the companions of the men in the trenches, and they were bringing them home. a soldier standing near me began to grumble because he had not been able to bring his pet with him. i enquired why he had left it behind since the others had brought theirs away with them, and elicited the information that his pet was "a cow, and therefore somewhat difficult to transport." he seemed rather hurt that i should laugh, and assured me it was "a noble animal, brown with white spots, and had given himself and his comrades two quarts of milk a day." he looked disdainfully at the cock and cat. "they could have left them behind and no one would have pinched them, whereas i know i'll never see 'sarah' again, she was far too useful." entering vitry-le-francois we had a splendid example of the typical "motto" of the french trooper, "ii ne faut pas s'en faire" one of the motor cars had broken down, and the officer-occupants, who were evidently not on an urgent mission, had gone to sleep on the banks by the side of the road whilst the chauffeur was making the necessary repairs. we offered him assistance, but he was progressing quite well alone. later on another officer related to me his experience when his car broke down at midnight some twelve miles from a village. the chauffeur was making slow headway with the repairs. the officer enquired whether he really understood the job, and received the reply, "yes, mon lieutenant, i think i do, but i am rather a novice, as before the war i was a lion-tamer!" apparently the gallant son of gaul found it easier to tame lions than to repair motors. hunting for generals we left vitry-le-francois at six o'clock next morning, and started "the hunt for generals." it is by no means easy to discover where the actual headquarters of the general of any particular sector is situated. we were not yet really on the "white road" to verdun, and there was still much to be seen that delighted the eyes. in one yellow cornfield there appeared to be enormous poppies. on approaching we discovered a detachment of tirailleurs from algiers, sitting in groups, and the "poppies" were the red fezes of the men--a gorgeous blending of crimson and gold. we threw a large box of cigarettes to them and were greeted with shouts of joy and thanks. the tirailleurs are the enfants terribles of the french army. one noble son of africa who was being treated in one of the hospitals once presented me with an aluminium ring made from a piece of german shell. i asked him to make one for one of my comrades who was working at home, and he informed me that nothing would have given greater pleasure, but unfortunately he had no more aluminium. later in the day, passing through the ward, i saw him surrounded by five or six parisian ladies who were showering sweets, cigarettes and flowers on him, whilst he was responding by presenting each of them with an aluminium ring. when they had left i went to him and told him "mahmud, that was not kind. i asked you for a ring and you said you had not got any more aluminium." he smiled and his nurse, who was passing, added, "no, he had not got any more aluminium, but when he is better he will get forty-eight hours' punishment; he has been into the kitchen, stolen one of our best aluminium saucepans, and has been making souvenirs for the ladies." he made no attempt to justify his action beyond stating: "moi, pas si mauvais, toi pas faux souvenir" ("i am not so bad, i did not try to give you a fake souvenir"). another of our chocolate coloured patients found in the grounds of the hospital an old umbrella. its ribs stuck out and it was full of holes, but it gave him the idea of royalty and daily he sat up in bed in the ward with the umbrella unfurled whilst he laid down the law to his comrades. the nurses endeavoured to persuade him to hand it over at night. he obstinately refused, insisting that "he knew his comrades," and he feared that one of them would certainly steal the treasure, so he preferred to keep it in the bed with him. at villers-le-sec we came upon the headquarters of the cooks for that section of the front. the cook is one of the most important men in a french regiment; he serves many ends. when carrying the food through the communicating trenches to the front line trenches he is always supposed to bring to the men the latest news, the latest tale which is going the round of the camp, and anything that may happen to interest them. if he has not got any news he must manufacture and produce some kind of story. it is really necessary for him to be not only a cook but also an author. there is a tale going the round of the french army how one section of the cooks, although unarmed, managed to take some twenty german prisoners. as they went on their way, they saw the germans in the distance approaching them; the head cook quietly drew the field kitchens behind a clump of trees and bushes, placed his men in a row, each with a cooking utensil in his hand, and as the germans passed shouted to them to surrender. the sun fell on the handles of the saucepans, causing them to shine like bayonets, and the germans, taken unawares, laid down their arms. the head cook then stepped out and one by one took the rifles from the enemy and handed them to his men. it was only when he had disarmed the germans and armed his comrades that he gave the signal for them to step out, and the germans saw that they had been taken by a ruse. one can imagine the joy of the french troops in the next village when, with a soup ladle in his hand, his assistants armed with german rifles, followed by the soup kitchen and twenty prisoners--he marched in to report. an instance of quick wit it is curious how near humour is to tragedy in war, how quick wit may serve a useful purpose, and even save life. a young french medical student told me that he owed his life to the quick wit of the women of a village and the sense of humour of a saxon officer. whilst passing from one hospital to another he was captured by a small german patrol, and in spite of his papers proving that he was attached to the red cross service, he was tried as a spy and condemned to be shot. at the opening of his trial the women had been interested spectators, towards the end all of them had vanished. he was placed against a barn door, the firing squad lined up, when from behind the hedge bordering a wood, the women began to bombard the soldiers with eggs. the aim was excellent, not one man escaped; the german officer laughed at the plight of his men and, in the brief respite accorded, the young man dashed towards the hedge and vanished in the undergrowth. the germans fired a few shots but there was no organised attempt to follow him, probably because their own position was not too secure. he was loth to leave the women to face the music, but they insisted that it was pour la patrie and that they were quite capable of taking care of themselves. later he again visited the village and the women told him that beyond obliging them to clean the soldiers' clothes thoroughly, the german officer had inflicted no other punishment upon them. a certain number of inhabitants are still living in the village of revigny. you see everywhere placards announcing "caves pour ," "caves pour ," and each person knows to which cellar he is to go if a taube should start bombing the village. i saw one cellar marked " persons, specially safe, reserved for the children." children are one of the most valuable assets of france, and a good old territorial "pe-pere" (daddy), as they are nicknamed, told me that it was his special but difficult duty to muster the children directly a taube was signalled and chase them down into the cellar. mopping his brow he assured me that it was not easy to catch the little beggars, who hid in the ruins, behind the army wagons, anywhere to escape the "parental" eye, even standing in rain barrels up to their necks in water. it is needless to add they consider it a grave infringement of their personal liberty and think that they should be allowed to remain in the open and see all that goes on, just as the little londoners beg and coax to be allowed to stay up "to see the zepps." passing the railway station we stopped to make some enquiries, and promptly ascertained all we wished to know from the chef de gare. in the days of peace there is in france no one more officious than the station master of a small but prosperous village. now he is the meekest of men. braided cap in hand he goes along the train from carriage door to carriage door humbly requesting newspapers for the wounded in the local hospitals: "nous avons cent vingt cinq blesses ici, cela les fait tant de plaisir d'avoir des nouvelles." (we have wounded here and they love to hear the news.) in addition to levying a toll on printed matter, he casts a covetous and meaning glance on any fruit or chocolate that may be visible. before the train is out of the station, you can see the once busy, and in his own opinion, all-important railway official, vanishing down the road to carry his spoils to his suffering comrades. railway travelling is indeed expensive in france. no matter what time of day or night, wet or fine, the trains are met at each station by devoted women who extract contributions for the red cross funds from the pockets of willing givers. it is only fair to state, however, that in most instances the station master gets there first. at the headquarters of general petain from the time we left revigny until we had passed into the champagne country, upon the return journey from verdun, we no longer saw a green tree or a blade of green grass; we were now indeed upon the "white road which leads unto verdun." owing to an exceptionally trying and dry summer the roads are thick with white dust. the continual passing of the camions, the splendid transport wagons of the french army, carrying either food, munitions, or troops, has stirred up the dust and coated the fields, trees and hedges with a thick layer of white. it is almost as painful to the eyes as the snow-fields of the alps. i saw one horse that looked exactly like a plaster statuette. his master had scrubbed him down, but before he dried the white dust had settled on him everywhere. naturally humans do not escape. by the time our party reached the headquarters of general petain we had joined the white brigade. i excused myself to the general, who smilingly replied: "why complain, mademoiselle, you are charming; your hair is powdered like that of a marquise." the contrast with what had been a black fur cap on what was now perfectly white hair justified his compliment. i have never been renowned in my life for fear of any individual, but i must admit that i passed into the presence of general petain with a great deal of respect amounting almost to awe. the defence of verdun through the bitter months of february and march by general petain, a defence which is now under the immediate control of his able lieutenants general nivelle and general dubois, has earned the respect and admiration of the whole world. it is impossible not to feel the deepest admiration for these men who have earned such undying glory, not only for themselves, but for their motherland. no one could have been more gracious and kind than general petain, and in his presence one realised the strength and power of france. throughout all the french headquarters one is impressed by the perfect calm; no excitement; everything perfectly organised. general petain asked me at once to tell him what i desired. i asked his permission to go to rheims. he at once took up a paper which permitted me to enter the war zone and endorsed it with the request to general debeney in rheims to allow me to penetrate with my companions into the city. he then turned to me again and asked me, with a knowing smile, if that was all i required--for his headquarters were hardly on the direct road to rheims! i hesitated to express my real wish, when my good counsellor and friend, with whom i was making the journey, the commandant jean de pulligny, answered for me: "i feel sure it would be a great happiness and honour if you would allow us, general, to go to verdun." general petain appeared slightly surprised, and turning to me asked: "do you thoroughly realise the danger? you have crossed the atlantic and faced submarines, but you will risk more in five minutes in verdun than in crossing the atlantic a thousand times." however, seeing that i was really anxious to go, and that it might be of great service to me in my future work to have seen personally the defence of verdun, he added smilingly: "well then, you can go if you wish at your own risk and peril." he then telephoned to general nivelle the necessary permission for us to enter verdun. i doubt whether general petain realises the respect in which he is held in all the civilised countries of the world. probably he does not yet understand that people would come thousands of miles to have five minutes' audience with him, for he enquired if we were in any hurry to continue our journey, and added with charming simplicity--"because if not, and you do not mind waiting an hour, i shall be glad if you will lunch with me." a meeting with "forain" we lunched with general petain and his etat major. a charming and most interesting addition to the party was m. forain, the famous french caricaturist, and now one of the chief instructors of the french army in the art of camouflage--the art of making a thing look like anything in the world except what it is! he has established a series of schools all along the french front, where the poilus learn to bedeck their guns and thoroughly disguise them under delicate shades of green and yellow, with odd pink spots, in order to relieve the monotony. certainly the appearance of the guns of the present time would rejoice the heart and soul of the "futurists." it was most interesting to hear him describe the work in detail and the rapidity with which his pupils learned the new art. for one real battery there are probably three or four false ones, beautiful wooden guns, etc., etc., and he told us of the poilus' new version of the song "rien n'est plus beau que notre patrie" ("nothing is more beautiful than our country"). they now sing "rien n'est plus faux que notre batterie" ("nothing is more false than our battery"). it was m. forain who coined the famous phrase "that there was no fear for the ultimate success of the allies, if only the civilians held out!" i was much amused at m. forain's statement that he had already heard that a company had been formed for erecting, after the war, wooden hotels on the battlefields of france for the accommodation of sightseers. not only was it certain that these hotels were to be built, but the rooms were already booked in advance. value of women's work it was strange to find there, within the sound of the guns-- sometimes the glasses on the table danced to the music although no one took any notice of that--surrounded by men directing the operations of the war and of one of the greatest battles in history, how little war was mentioned. science, philosophy and the work of women were discussed. the men of france are taking deep interest in the splendid manner in which the women of all the different nations are responding to the call to service. i described to general petain the work of the scottish women's hospitals. these magnificent hospitals are organised and staffed entirely by women and started, in the first instance, by the scottish branch of the national union of women's suffrage. he was deeply interested to learn that what had been before the war a political society had, with that splendid spirit of patriotism which had from the first day of the war animated every man, woman and child of great britain, drawn upon its funds and founded the hospital units. i explained to him that it was no longer a question of politics, but simply a case of serving humanity and serving it to the best possible advantage. the national union had realised that this was a time for organised effort on the part of all women for the benefit of the human race and the alleviation of suffering. i spoke of the bravery of our girls in serbia; how many of them had laid down their lives during the typhus epidemic; how cheerfully they had borne hardships, our doctors writing home that their tent hospitals were like "great white birds spreading their wings under the trees," whereas really they had often been up all night hanging on to the tent poles to prevent the tents collapsing over their patients. a member of the etat major asked how we overcame the language difficulty. i pointed out that to diagnose typhus and watch the progress of the patient it was not necessary to speak to him, and that by the magic language of sympathy we managed to establish some form of "understanding" between the patients, the doctors, and the nurses. the members of our staff were chosen as far as possible with a knowledge of french or german, and it was possible to find many serbians speaking either one of these languages. we also found interpreters amongst the austrian prisoner orderlies. these prisoner orderlies had really proved useful and had done their best to help us. naturally they had their faults. one of our lady doctors had as orderly a viennese professor, willing but somewhat absent-minded. one morning she sent for him and asked him: "herr karl, can you tell me what was wrong with my bath water this morning?" "i really don't know, fraulein, but i will endeavour to find out." ten minutes later he returned, looking decidedly guilty and stammered out, "i do not know how to tell you what happened to that bath water." "nonsense, it can't be very terrible," replied doctor x. "what was wrong?" "well, fraulein, when i went into the camp kitchen this morning there were two cauldrons there, one was your bath water, and the other was the camp soup. to you, fraulein, i brought the camp soup." we who had worked with the serbians had learned to respect and admire them for their patriotism, courage and patient endurance. we felt that their outstanding characteristic was their imagination, which, turned into the proper channels and given a chance to develop, should produce for the world not only famous painters and poets but also great inventors. this vivid imagination is found in the highest and lowest of the land. to illustrate it, i told my neighbour at table a tale related to me by my good friend dr. popovic. "two weary, ragged serbian soldiers were sitting huddled together waiting to be ordered forward to fight. one asked the other, 'do you know how this war started, milan? you don't. well then i'll tell you. the sultan of turkey sent our king peter a sack of rice. king peter looked at the sack, smiled, then took a very small bag and went into his garden and filled it with red pepper. he sent the bag of red pepper to the sultan of turkey. now, milan, you can see what that meant. the sultan of turkey said to our peter, 'my army is as numerous as the grains of rice in this sack,' and by sending a small bag of red pepper to the sultan our peter replied, 'my army is not very numerous, but it is mighty hot stuff.'" many members of the units of the scottish women's hospitals who had been driven out of serbia at the time of the great invasion had asked to be allowed to return to work for the serbians, and we were now equipping fresh units, entirely staffed by women, to serve with the serbian army, besides having at the present time the medical care of six thousand serbian refugees on the island of corsica. general petain said smiling that before the war he had sometimes thought of women "as those who inspired the most beautiful ideas in men and prevented them from carrying them out," but the war, he added, had certainly proved conclusively the value of women's work. m. forain expressed the desire to visit the chief french hospital of the scottish women at the abbaye de royaumont. the general laughingly told him, "you do not realise how stern and devoted to duty those ladies are. i wonder if you would be permitted to visit them?" i consoled m. forain by pointing out that surely as chief camoufler (disguiser) of the french army, he could disguise himself as a model of virtue (de se camoufler en bon garcon). certainly this son of france, who has turned his brilliant intellect and his art to the saving of men's lives, would be welcome anywhere and everywhere. i hastened to assure him that i was only teasing him, and added that i only teased the people i admired and liked. general petain immediately turned to the commandant de pulligny--"please remark that she has not yet teased me." "probably because she fears to do it, and has too much respect for you," replied the commandant. "fears! i do not think we need talk of that just now, when she dares to go to verdun." whilst at coffee after lunch the news came of the continued advance of the british troops. general petain turned to me and said, "you must indeed be proud in england of your new army. please tell your english people of our admiration of the magnificent effort of england. the raising and equipping of your giant army in such a short time was indeed a colossal task. how well it was carried out all the world now knows and we are reaping the harvest." the general's chief of staff added: "lord kitchener was right when he said the war would last three years"--"the first year preparation, the second year defence, and the third year cela sera rigolo (it will be huge sport)." he quoted the phrase as lord kitchener's own. before we left the general signed for me the menu of the lunch, pointing out to me, however, that if i were at any time to show the menu to the village policeman i must assure him that the hare which figured thereon had been run over at night by a motor car and lost its life owing to an accident, otherwise he might, he feared, be fined for killing game out of season! i shall always remember the picture of general petain seeing us into our car with his parting words, "you are about to do the most dangerous thing you have ever done or will ever do in your life. as for verdun, tell them in england that i am smiling and i am sure that when you see general nivelle you will find him smiling too. that is the best answer i can give you as to how things are going with us at verdun." then with a friendly wave of his hand we passed on our way. after leaving the headquarters of general petain we were held up for some time at a level crossing and watched the busy little train puffing along, carrying towards verdun stores, munitions and men. this level crossing had been the scene of active fighting; on each side were numerous graves, and the sentinels off duty were passing from one to the other picking a dead leaf or drawing a branch of trailing vine over the resting places of their comrades. above our heads circled "les guipes" the wasps of the french army. they had been aroused by the appearance of a taube and were preparing to sting had the taube waited or made any further attempt to proceed over the french lines. however, deciding that discretion was the better part of valour, it turned and fled. it is unwise, however, to stir up the "wasps of france"; they followed it, and later in the day we heard that it had been brought down near verdun. we were now in the centre of activity of the army defending verdun. on every hand we saw artillery parks, ammunition parks, and regiments resting, whilst along the road a long line of camions passed unceasingly. during the whole length of my stay on the french front i only saw one regiment marching. everywhere the men are conveyed in the camions, and are thus spared the fatigue which would otherwise be caused by the intense heat and the white dust. there are perhaps only two things that can in any way upset the perfect indifference to difficulties of the french trooper: he hates to walk, and he refuses to be deprived of his "pinard." the men of the french army have named their red wine "pinard," just as they call water "la flotte," always, however, being careful to add that "la flotte" is excellent "for washing one's feet." as we passed through the headquarters of general nivelle, he sent down word to us not to wait to call on him then, but to proceed at once to verdun as later the passage would become more difficult. he kindly sent down to us one of the officers of his staff to act as escort. the officer sat by our chauffeur, warning him of the' dangerous spots in the road which the germans had the habit of "watering" from time to time with "marmites," and ordering him to put on extra speed. our speed along the road into verdun averaged well over a mile a minute. the "movies" under fire within range of the german guns, probably not more than four or five kilometres from verdun, we came on a line of men waiting their turn to go into the cinema. after all there was no reason "de s'en faire," and if they were alive they decided they might as well be happy and amused. just before entering the gate of verdun we passed a number of ambulances, some of them driven by the american volunteers. these young americans have displayed splendid heroism in bringing in the wounded under difficult conditions. many of them have been mentioned in despatches, and have received from france the croix de guerre. i also saw an ambulance marked "lloyds." it would be useless to pretend that one entered verdun without emotion,--verdun, sorely stricken, yet living, kept alive by the indomitable soul of the soldiers of france, whilst her wounds are daily treated and healed by the skill of her generals. a white city of desolation, scorched and battered, yet the brightest jewel in the crown of france's glory; a shining example to the world of the triumph of human resistance and the courage of men. a city of strange and cruel sounds. the short, sharp bark of the 's, the boom of the death-dealing enemy guns, the shrieks of the shells and the fall of masonry parting from houses to which it had been attached for centuries, whilst from the shattered window frames the familiar sprite of the household looked ever for the children who came no longer across the thresholds of the homes. verdun is no longer a refuge for all that is good and beautiful and tender, and so the sounds of the voices of children and of birds are heard no more. both have flown; the children were evacuated with the civilians in the bitter months of february and march, and the birds, realising that there is no secure place in which to nest, have deserted not only verdun but the whole of the surrounding district. we proceeded to a terrace overlooking the lower part of the town and witnessed a duel between the french and german artillery. the germans were bombarding the barracks of chevert, and from all around the french guns were replying. it was certainly a joy to note that for one boom of a german cannon there were certainly ten answers from the french guns. the french soldiers off duty should have been resting in the caves and dug-outs which have been prepared for them, but most of them were out on the terraces in different parts of the city, smoking and casually watching the effect of the german or of their own fire. i enquired of one poilu whether he would be glad to leave verdun, and he laughingly replied: "one might be worse off than here. this is the time of year that in peace times i should have been staying in the country with my mother-in-law." there is no talk of peace in verdun. i asked one of the men when he thought the war would end. "perfectly simple to reply to that, mademoiselle; the war will end the day that hostilities cease." i believe that the germans would not be sorry to abandon the siege of verdun. in one of the french newspapers i saw the following verse: boches, a l'univers votre zele importun fait des "communiques" dont personne n'est dupe. vous dites: "nos soldats occuperont verdun. jusqu'ici c'est plutot verdun qui les occupe." (you say that you soon will hold verdun, whilst really verdun holds you.) we left the car and climbed through the ruined streets to the top of the citadel. no attempt has been made to remove any of the furniture or effects from the demolished houses. in those houses from which only the front had been blown away the spoons and forks were in some instances still on the table, set ready for the meal that had been interrupted. from windows lace curtains and draperies hung out over the fronts of the houses. everywhere shattered doors, broken cupboards, drawers thrown open where the inhabitants had thought to try to save some of their cherished belongings, but had finally fled leaving all to the care of the soldiers, who protect the property of the inhabitants as carefully as if it were their own. it would be difficult to find finer custodians. i was told that at bobigny, pres bourget, there is on one of the houses the following inscription worthy of classical times: "the proprietor of this house has gone to the war. he leaves this dwelling to the care of the french. long live france." and he left the key in the lock. the soldiers billeted in the house read the inscription, which met with their approval, and so far each regiment in passing had cleaned out the little dwelling and left it in perfect order. from the citadel we went down into the trenches which led to the lines at thiaumont. the heat in the city was excessive but in the trenches it was delightfully cool, perhaps a little too cool. we heard the men make no complaints except that at times the life was a little "monotonous"! one man told me that he was once in a trench that was occupied at the same time by the french and the germans. there was nothing between them but sand bags and a thick wall of clay, and day and night the french watched that wall. one day a slight scratching was heard. the men prepared to face the crumbling of the barrier when through a small hole popped out the head of a brown rabbit. down into the trench hopped mrs. bunny, followed by two small bunnies, and although rabbit for lunch would have improved the menu the men had not the heart to kill her. on the contrary they fed her on their rations and at night- fall she departed, followed by her progeny. from all the dug-outs heads popped out and the first movement of surprise at seeing a woman in the trenches turned to a smile of delight, since the poilu is at all times a chivalrous gentleman. one man was telling me of the magnificent work that had been accomplished by his "compagnie." i congratulated him and told him he must be happy to be in such a company. he swept off his iron casque, bowed almost to the ground, and answered: "certainly i am happy in my company, mademoiselle, but i am far happier in yours." the principal grief of the poilus appeared to be that a shell two or three days before had destroyed the store of the great "dragee" (sugared almond) manufactory of verdun. before leaving the manufacturer had bequeathed his stock to the army and they were all regretting that they had not been greedier and eaten up the "dragees" quicker. in the trenches near verdun, as in the trenches in flanders, you find the men talking little of war, but much of their homes and their families. i came once upon a group of bretons. they had opened some tins of sardines and sitting around a bucket of blazing coals they were toasting the fish on the ends of small twigs. i asked them why they were wasting their energies since the fish were ready to be eaten straight from the tins. "we know," they replied, "but it smells like home." i suppose with the odour of the cooking fish, in the blue haze of the smoke, they saw visions of their cottages and the white-coiffed bretonnes frying the fresh sardines that they had caught. the dusk was now falling and, entering the car, we proceeded towards the lower part of the town at a snail's pace in order not to draw the german fire. we were told that at the present time approximately one hundred shells a day still fall on verdun, but at the time of the great attack the number was as high as eight hundred, whilst as many as two hundred thousand shells fell daily in and around verdun. just before we reached the entrance to the citadel the enemy began to shell the city and one of the shells exploded within two hundred feet of the car. we knew that we were near the entrance to the vaults of the citadel and could take refuge, so we left the car and proceeded on foot. without thinking we walked in the centre of the road, and the sentinel at the door of the citadel began in somewhat emphatic french to recommend us to "longer les murs" (to hug the walls tightly). the germans are well aware of the entrance to the citadel and daily shell the spot. if one meets a shell in the centre of the road it is obviously no use to argue, whilst in hugging the side of the wall there is a possibility of only receiving the fragments of the bursting shell. a subterranean city the subterranean galleries of the citadel of verdun were constructed by vauban, and are now a hive of activity--barbers' shops, sweet shops, boot shops, hospitals, anything and. everything which goes to make up a small city. one of the young officers placed his "cell" at our disposal. the long galleries are all equipped with central heating and electric light and some of them have been divided off by wooden partitions or curtains like the dormitories in a large school. in the "cell" allocated to us we could see the loving touch of a woman's hand. around the pillow on the small camp bed was a beautiful edging of irish lace, and on the dressing-table a large bottle of eau-de-cologne. there is no reason to be too uncomfortable in verdun when one has a good little wife to think of one and to send presents from time to time. emerging from the galleries we met general dubois, a great soldier and a kindly man, one who shares the daily perils of his men. the general invited us to remain and dine with him. he had that day received from general nivelle his "cravate" as commander of the legion of honour, and his officers were giving him a dinner-party to celebrate the event. "see how kind fate is to me," he added; "only one thing was missing from the feast--the presence of the ladies--and here you are." it would need the brush of rembrandt to paint the dining-hall in the citadel of verdun. at one long table in the dimly lighted vault sat between eighty and ninety officers, who all rose, saluted, and cheered as we entered. the general sat at the head of the table surrounded by his staff, and behind him the faces of the cooks were lit up by the fires of the stoves. some short distance behind us was an air-shaft. it appears that about a week or a fortnight before our arrival a german shell, striking the top part of the citadel, dislodged some dust and gravel which fell down the air-shaft onto the general's head. he simply called the attendants to him and asked for his table to be moved forward a yard, as he did not feel inclined to sit at table with his helmet on. an excellent dinner--soup, roast mutton, fresh beans, salade russe, frangipane, dessert--and even champagne to celebrate the general's cravate--quite reassured us that people may die in verdun of shells but not of hunger. we drank toasts to france, the allies, and, silently, to the men of france who had died that we might live. i was asked to propose the health of the general and did it in english, knowing that he spoke english well. i told him that the defenders of verdun would live in our hearts and memories; that on behalf of the whole british race i felt i might convey to him congratulations on the honour paid to him by france. i assured him that we had but one idea and one hope, the speedy victory of the allied arms, and that personally my present desire was that every one of those present at table might live to see the flag of france waving over the whole of alsace-lorraine. they asked me to repeat a description of the flag of france which i gave first in ottawa, so there, in the citadel of verdun with a small french flag before me, i went back in spirit to ottawa and remembered how i had spoken of the triumph of the flag of france: "the red, white and blue--the red of the flag of france a little deeper hue than in time of peace since it was dyed with the blood of her sons, the blood in which a new history of france is being written, volume on volume, page on page, of deeds of heroism, some pages completed and signed, others where the pen has dropped from the faltering hands and which posterity must needs finish. the white of the flag of france, not quite so white as in time of peace since thousands of her sons had taken it in their hands and pressed it to their lips before they went forward to die for it, yet without stain, since in all the record of the war there is no blot on the escutcheon of france. and the blue of the flag of france, true blue, torn and tattered with the marks of the bullets and the shrapnel, yet unfurling proudly in the breeze whilst the very holes were patched by the blue of the sky, since surely heaven stands behind the flag of france." the men of verdun were full of admiration for the glorious commander of the fort de vaux. they told me that the fort was held, or rather the ruins of the fort, until the germans were actually on the top and firing on the french beneath. i discussed with my neighbour the fact that the germans had more hatred for us than for the french. he said the whole world would ridicule the germans for the manner in which they had exploited the phrase "gott strafe england," writing it even on the walls anywhere and everywhere. he added laughingly that it should not worry the english comrades. "when they read 'gott strafe england' all they needed to reply was 'ypres, ypres, hurrah!'" poilu and tommy he informed me that he had been stationed for some time with his regiment near the english troops, and there had been loud lamentations among the poilus because they had been obliged to say good-bye to their english comrades. he added that the affection was not entirely disinterested. the english comrades had excellent marmalade and jam and other good things which they shared with their french brothers, who, whilst excellently fed, do not indulge in these luxuries. he told me a delightful tale of a french cook who, seeing an english soldier standing by, began to question him as to his particular branch of the service, informing him that he himself had had an exceedingly busy morning peeling potatoes and cleaning up the pots and pans. after considerable conversation he inquired of the english comrade what he did for his living. "oh," replied the englishman, "i get my living fairly easily; nothing half so strenuous as peeling potatoes. i am just a colonel."!! the clean-shaven tommy is the beloved of all france. i remember seeing one gallant khaki knight carrying the market basket of a french maiden and repaying himself out of her store of apples. i regret to say his pockets bulged suspiciously. whilst at a level crossing near by, the old lady in charge of the gate had an escort of "tommies" who urged her to let the train "rip." this was somewhat ironical in view of the fact that the top speed in that part of the war zone was probably never more than ten miles an hour. tommy is never alone the children have learned that he loves their company and he is always surrounded by an escort of youthful admirers. the children like to rummage in his pockets for souvenirs: he must spend quite a good deal of his pay purchasing sweets so that they may not be disappointed and that there may be something for his little friends to find. i remember seeing one tommy, sitting in the dusty road with a large pot of marmalade between his legs, dealing out spoonfuls with perfect justice and impartiality to a circle of youngsters. he speaks to them of his own little "nippers" at home and they in turn tell him of their father who is fighting, of their mother who now works in the fields, and of baby who is fearfully ignorant, does not know the difference between the french and the "engleesch" and who insisted on calling the great english general who had stayed at their farm "papa." it matters little that they cannot understand each other, and it does not in the least prevent them from holding lengthy conversations. i told my companion at table that whilst visiting one of the hospitals in france i had heard how one englishman had been sent into a far hospital in provence by mistake. he was not seriously injured and promptly constituted himself king of the ward. on arrival he insisted on being shaved. as no shaving brush was available the "piou-piou" in the next bed lathered him with his tooth brush. the french cooking did not appeal to him, and he grumbled continuously. the directress of the hospital sent her own cook from her chateau to cater for mr. atkins. an elaborate menu was prepared. tommy glanced through it, ordered everything to be removed, and commanded tea and toast. toast-making is not a french art and the chateau chef was obliged to remain at the hospital and spend his time carefully preparing the toast and seeing that it was served in good condition. when mr. atkins felt so disposed he would summon a piou-piou to give him a french lesson or else request the various inmates of the ward to sing to him. he would in turn render that plaintive ditty, "down by the old bull and bush." a nurse who spoke a little english translated his song to the french soldiers! whilst not desiring to criticise the rendez-vous selected by their "camerade anglais," they did not consider that "pres d'un vieux taureau" (near an old bull) was a safe or desirable meeting-place. when i explained to the nurse that "the bull and bush" was a kind of cabaret she hastened from ward to ward to tell the men that after all the englishman might have selected a worse spot to entertain his girl. he was at once the joy and the despair of the whole hospital and the nurse had much trouble in consoling the patients when "our english" was removed. abbreviated french when tommy indulges in the use of the french language he abbreviates it as much as possible. one hot summer's day driving from boulogne to fort mahon, half way down a steep hill we came upon two tommies endeavouring to extract a motor cycle and a side-car from a somewhat difficult position. they had side-slipped and run into a small tree. the cycle was on one side and the side-car on the other, and a steel rod between had been rammed right into the wood through the force of the collision. my three companions and myself endeavoured to help the men to pull out the rod, but the united efforts of the six of us proved unavailing. we hailed a passing cart and tied the reins around the motor-cycle, but immediately the horse commenced to pull the leather of the reins snapped. behind the cart walked a peasant. only one adjective can possibly describe him: he was decidedly "beer-y." he made no attempt to help but passed from one tommy to the other, patting them on their backs, assuring them "that with a little good-will all would be well." there was a dangerous glint in the youngest tommy's eye, but in the presence of ladies he refrained from putting his thoughts into words. finally, his patience evaporating, he suddenly turned on the peasant and shouted at him, "ong! ong!" it took me some time to grasp that this was tommy's abbreviated version of "allez vous en" (clear out). in any event it proved quite useless, as he continued to pat the tommies affectionately and to bombard them with impracticable suggestions. we were joined later by three villagers, two gendarmes and a postman, and, all pulling together, we managed to extract the rod from the tree. a large lorry was passing and on to it we heaved the wreckage. up clambered the tommies, followed by their unwelcome friend, who managed to sit on the only unbroken portion of the side-car. this was too much for messrs. atkins' equanimity. limp with laughter, we watched them pass from sight amidst a chorus of "ong! ong!" followed by flights of oratory in the english tongue which do not bear repeating, but which were received by the peasant as expressions of deep esteem and to which he replied by endeavouring to kiss the tommies and shouting, "vive l'angleterre! all right! hoorah!" our guiding officer began to show some signs of anxiety to have us leave before ten o'clock, but the good-byes took some time. presents were showered upon us, german dragees (shell heads and pieces of shrapnel), and the real french dragees, the famous sweet of verdun. we crept out of the city, but unfortunately at one of the dangerous crossroads our chauffeur mistook the route. a heavy bombardment was taking place and the french were replying. we were lucky enough to get on to the route and into safety before any shell fell near us. it appears that the germans systematically bombard the roads at night, hoping to destroy the camions bringing up the food for the city, fresh munitions and men. we slept that night at bar-le-duc, and next morning saw the various ambulances and hospitals which the service de sante had particularly requested me to visit. i was impressed by the splendid organisation of the red cross even quite close to the firing line. the brown and black sons of france passing through one tent hospital an algerian called out to me: "ohe, la blonde, viens ici! j'ai quelque chose de beau a te montrer." (come here, fair girl, i have something pretty to show you.) he was sitting up in bed, and, as i approached, unbuttoned his bed-jacket and insisted on my examining the tag of his vest on which was written, "leader, london." the vest had come in a parcel of goods from the london committee of the french red cross, and i only wished that the angel of goodness and tenderness, who is the presidente of the croix rouge, mme. de la panouse, and that mr. d. h. illingworth, mr. philip wilkins, and all her able lieutenants, could have seen the pleasure on the face of this swarthy defender of france. in the next bed was a senegalais who endeavoured to attract my attention by keeping up a running compliment to my compatriots, my king, and myself. he must have chanted fifty times: "vive les english, georges, et toil" he continued even after i had rewarded him with some cigarettes. the senegalais and the algerians are really great children, especially when they are wounded. i have seen convalescent senegalais and algerians in paris spend hours in the champs elysees watching the entertainment at the open-air marionette theatre. the antics of the dolls kept them amused. they are admitted to the enclosure free, and there is no longer any room for the children who frequented the show in happier days. these latter form a disconsolate circle on the outside, whilst the younger ones, who do not suffer from colour prejudice, scramble onto the knees of the black soldiers. the sister in charge was a true daughter of the "lady of the lamp." provided they are really ill, she sympathises with all the grumblers, but scolds them if they have reached the convalescent stage. she carries a small book in which she enters imaginary good points to those who have the tables by their beds tidy, and she pinned an invisible medal on the chest of a convalescent who was helping to carry trays of food to his comrades. she is indeed a general, saving men for france. not a man escaped her attention, and as we passed through the tents she gave to each of her "chers enfants," black or white, a cheering smile or a kindly word. she did, however, whilst talking to us, omit to salute a senegalais. before she passed out of the tent he commenced to call after her, "toi pas gentille aujourd'hui, moi battre toi." (you are not good to me to-day; me beat you.) this, it appears, is his little joke--he will never beat any one again, since he lost both his arms when his trench was blown up by a land mine. it was at triancourt that i first saw in operation the motor-cars that had been sent out fitted with bath tubs for the troops, and also a very fine car fitted up by the london committee of the french red cross as a moving dental hospital. i regret to add that a "poilu" near by disrespectfully referred to it as "another of the horrors of war," adding that in times of peace there was some kind of personal liberty, whereas now "a man could not have toothache without being forced to have it ended, and that there was no possibility of escaping a dentist who hunted you down by motor." it was suggested that as i had had a touch of toothache the night before, i might take my place in the chair and give an example of british pluck to the assembled "poilus." i hastened to impress on the surgeon that i hated notoriety and would prefer to remain modestly in the background. i even pushed aside with scorn the proffered bribe of six "boche," buttons, assuring the man that "i would keep my toothache as a souvenir." at one of the hospitals beside the bed of a dying man sat a little old man writing letters. they told me that before the war he had owned the most flourishing wine shop in the village. he had fled before the approach of the german troops, but later returned to his village and installed himself in the hospital as scribe. he wrote from morning until night, and, watching him stretching his lean old hands, i asked him if he suffered much pain from writers' cramp. he looked at me almost reproachfully before answering, "mademoiselle, it is the least i can do for my country; besides my pain is so slight and that of the comrades so great. i am proud, indeed proud, that at sixty-seven years of age i am not useless." i was shown a copy of the last letter dictated by a young french officer, and i asked to be allowed to copy it--it was indeed a letter of a "chic" type. chers parrain et marraine, je vous ecris a vous pour ne pas tuer maman qu'un pareil coup surprendrait trop. j'ai ete blesse le ... devant ... j'ai deux blessures hideuses et je n'en aurai pas pour bien longtemps. les majors ne me le cachent meme pas. je pars sans regret avec la conscience d'avoir fait mon devoir. prevenez done mes parents le mieux que vous pourrez; qu'ils ne cherchent pas a venir, ils n'en auraient pas le temps. adieu vous tous que j'aimais. vive la france! dear godfather and godmother, i am writing to you so as not to kill mother, whom such a shock would surprise too much. i was wounded on the ... at ... i have two terrible wounds and i cannot last long. the surgeons do not even attempt to conceal this from me. i go without regret, with the consciousness of having done my duty. kindly break the news to my parents the best way you can; they should not attempt to come because they would not have time to reach me before the end. farewell to all you whom i have loved. long live france! whilst loving his relatives tenderly, the last thought of the dying frenchman is for his country. each one dies as a hero, yet not one realises it. it would be impossible to show greater simplicity; they salute the flag for the last time and that is all. at general nivelle's headquarters from triancourt we went straight to the headquarters of general nivelle. they had just brought him the maps rectified to mark the french advance. the advance had been made whilst we were standing on the terrace at verdun the night before. we had seen the rockets sent up, requesting a "tir de barrage" (curtain of fire). the 's had replied at once and the french had been able to carry out the operation. good news had also come in from the somme, and general nivelle did not hesitate to express his admiration for the british soldiers. he said that there was no need to praise the first troops sent by britain to france, every one knew their value, but it should be a great satisfaction to britain to find that the new army was living up to the traditions of the old army. he added: "we can describe the new army of britain in two words: ca mord--it bites." the father of his own men, it is not surprising that general nivelle finds a warm corner in his heart for the british tommy, since his mother was an englishwoman. at lunch general nivelle and the members of his staff asked many questions as to the work of the scottish women's hospitals. i told them that what appealed to us most in our french patients was the perfect discipline and the gratitude of the men. we are all women in the hospitals, and the men might take advantage of this fact to show want of discipline, but we never had to complain of lack of obedience. these soldiers of france may some of them before the war have been just rough peasants, eating, drinking, and sleeping; even having thoughts not akin to knighthood, but now, through the ordeal of blood and fire, each one of them has won his spurs and come out a chivalrous knight, and they bring their chivalry right into the hospitals with them. we had also learned to love them for their kindness to one another. when new wounded are brought in and the lights are low in the hospital wards, cautiously watching if the nurse is looking (luckily nurses have a way of not seeing everything), one of the convalescents will creep from his bed to the side of the new arrival and ask the inevitable question: "d'ou viens-tu?" (where do you come from?) "i come from toulouse," replies the man. "ah," says the enquirer, "my wife's grandmother had a cousin who lived near toulouse." that is quite a sufficient basis for a friendship. the convalescent sits by the bedside of his new comrade, holding the man's hand, whilst his wounds are being dressed, telling him he knows of the pain, that he, too, has suffered, and that soon all will be well. lions to fight, ever ready to answer to the call of the defence of their country, yet these men of france are tender and gentle. in one hospital through which i passed there was a baby. it was a military hospital, and no civilian had any right there, but the medical officers who inspected the hospital were remarkably blind --none of them could ever see the baby. one of the soldiers passing through a bombarded village saw a little body lying in the mud, and although he believed the child to be dead he stooped down and picked it up. at the evacuating station the baby and the soldier were sent to the hospital together; the doctors operated upon the baby and took a piece of shrapnel from its back, and, once well and strong, it constituted itself lord and master and king of all it surveyed. when it woke in the morning it would call "papa" and twenty fathers answered to its call. all the pent-up love of the men for their own little ones from whom they had been parted for so long they lavished on the tiny stranger, but all his affection and his whole heart belonged to the rough miner soldier who had brought him in. as the shadows fell one saw the man walking up and down the ward with the child in his arms, crooning the "marseillaise" until the tired little eyes closed. he had obtained permission from the authorities to adopt the child as the parents could not be found, and remarked humorously: "mademoiselle, it is so convenient to have a family without the trouble of being married!" what we must remember is that the rough soldier, himself blinded with blood and mud, uncertain whether he could ever reach a point of safety, yet had time to stoop and pick that little flower of france and save it from being crushed beneath the cannon wheels. i told general nivelle that the hospital staff intended to keep the child for the soldier until the end of the war, and we all hoped that he might grow up to the glory of france and to the eternal honour of the tender-hearted fighter who had rescued him. after lunch we stood for some time watching the unending stream of camions proceeding into verdun. i believe it has been stated that on the average one passed through the village every fifteen seconds, and that there are something like twelve thousand motor vehicles used in the defence of verdun. the splendid condition of the roads and the absence of all confusion in the handling of this immense volume of traffic are a great tribute to the organising genius of the chiefs of the french army. we left general nivelle as general petain predicted we should find him--smiling. rheims we slept that night at epernay, in the heart of the champagne district. the soil of france is doing its best to keep the vines in perfect condition and to provide a good vintage to be drunk later to celebrate the victory of france and her allies. the keeping of the roads in good condition is necessary for the rapid carrying out of operations on the front, and a "marmite" hole is promptly filled if by a lucky shot the german batteries happen to tear up the roadway. we were proceeding casually along one road when a young officer rode up to us and told us to put on speed because we were under fire from a german battery which daily landed one or two shells in that particular portion of the roadway. it is wonderful how obedient one becomes at times! we promptly proceeded to hasten! after visiting general debeney and obtaining from him the necessary authorisation and an officer escort, we entered rheims. the cathedral is now the home of pigeons, and as they fly in and out of the blackened window-frames small pieces of the stained glass tinkle down on to the floor. the custodian of the cathedral told us that during the night of terror the german wounded, lying in the cathedral, not realising the strength and beauty of the french character under adversity, feared, seeing the cathedral in flames, that the populace might wreak vengeance on them, and that it was exceedingly difficult to get them to leave the cathedral. many of the prisoners fled into corners and hid, and some of them even penetrated into the palace of the archbishop, which was in flames. all the world knows and admires the bravery of the cure of the cathedral, m. landrieux, who took upon himself the defence of the prisoners, for fear insults might be hurled at them. he knowingly risked his life, but when, next day, some of his confreres endeavoured to praise him he replied: "my friends, i never before realised how easy it was to die." one of the churches in the city was heavily draped in black, and i asked the sacristan if they had prepared for the funeral of a prominent citizen. he told me that they were that day bringing home the body of a young man of high birth of the neighbourhood, but that it was not for him that the church was decked in mourning. the draperies had hung there since august, --"since every son of rheims who is brought home is as noble as the one who comes to-day, and alas! nearly every day brings us one of our children." we lunched in the hotel before the cathedral, where each shell hole has an ordinary white label stuck beside it with the date. the landlord remarked: "if you sit here long enough, and have the good luck to be in some safe part of the building, you may be able to go and stick a label on a hole yourself." after lunch we went out to the chateau polignac. to a stranger it would appear to be almost entirely destroyed, but when m. de polignac visited it recently he simply remarked that it was "less spoilt than he had imagined." this was just one other example of the thousands one meets daily of the spirit of noble and peasant, "de ne pas s'en faire" but to keep only before them the one idea, victory for france, no matter what may be the cost. we went later to call on the " ," chez elle. madame was in a particularly comfortable home which had been prepared for her and where she was safe from the inquisitive eyes of the taubes. the men of the battery were sitting round their guns, singing a somewhat lengthy ditty, each verse ending with a declamation and a description of the beauty of "la belle suzanne." i asked them to whom suzanne belonged and where the fair damsel resided. "oh," they replied, "we have no time to think of damsels called 'suzanne' now. this is our suzanne," and the speaker affectionately gave an extra rub with his coat sleeve to the barrel of the " ." by a wonderful system of trench work it is possible for the gunners, in case of necessity, to take refuge in the champagne vaults in the surrounding district, and it is in the champagne vaults that the children go daily to school, with their little gas masks hanging in bags on their arms. it appears that at first the tiny ones were frightened of the masks, but they soon asked, like their elders, to be also given a sack, and now one and all have learnt at the least alarm to put on their masks. there is no need to tell the children to hurry home. they realise that it is not wise to loiter in the streets for fear of the whistling shells. they are remarkably plucky, these small men and women of france. during one furious bombardment the children were safe in the vaults, but one small citizen began to cry bitterly. he was reproached by his comrades for cowardice, but he replied indignantly: "i fear nothing for myself. i am safe here, but there is no cellar to our house, and oh, what will happen to the little mother?" the teacher reassured him by telling him that his mother would certainly take refuge in somebody's else cellar. on leaving rheims we passed through various small hamlets where the houses had been entirely destroyed, and which now had the appearance of native villages, as the soldiers had managed to place thatched roofs on any place which had any semblance of walls standing. at villars coterets the guard champetre sounded the "gare a vous!" four taubes were passing overhead, so we took refuge in the hotel for tea. the enemy did no damage in that particular village, but in the next village of crepy-en-valois a bomb killed one child and injured five women. at the headquarters of the generalissimo at his headquarters next morning i had the honour of being received by generalissimo joffre and telling him of the admiration and respect which we felt for him and for the magnificent fighting spirit of the troops under his able command. he replied modestly by speaking of the british army. he referred to the offensive on the somme, and said, "you may well be proud of your young soldiers; they are excellent soldiers, much superior to the germans in every way, a most admirable infantry; they attack the germans hand to hand with grenades or with the bayonet and push them back everywhere; the germans have been absolutely stupefied to find such troops before them." the general then paid a tribute to the canadian and australian troops and told me that that day the australians had taken new territory, adding, "and not only have they taken it, but, like their british and canadian brothers, what they take they will hold." i explained to general joffre that, whilst i was not collecting autographs, i had with me the menu of the dinner in the citadel at verdun and that it would give me great pleasure to have his name added to the signatures already on that menu. all the signatures were on one side, so i turned the menu over in order to offer him a clear space, but he turned it back again, saying, "please let me sign on this side. i find myself in good company with the defenders of verdun." at departing he said to me, "we may all be happy now since certainly we are on the right side of the hill." ("nous sommes sur la bonne pente.") in case this little story should fall into the hands of any woman who has spent her time working for the men at the front, i would like to tell her the great pleasure it is to them to receive parcels, no matter what they contain. fraternity and equality reign supreme in the trenches, and the man counts himself happy who receives a little more than the others, since he has the joy and the pleasure of sharing his store of good things with his comrades. there is seldom a request made to the french behind the lines that they do not attempt to fulfil. i remember last winter, passing through a town in the provinces, i noticed that the elderly men appeared to be scantily clad in spite of the bitterness of the weather. it appeared that the call had gone forth for fur coats for the troops, and all the worthy citizens of the town forwarded to the trenches their caracul coats. only those who are well acquainted with french provincial life can know what it means to them to part with these signs of opulence and commercial success. it is perhaps in the post offices that you find yourself nearest to the heart of "france behind the lines." one morning i endeavoured to send a parcel to a french soldier. i took my place in a long line of waiting women bound on the same errand. a white-haired woman before me gave the post office clerk infinite trouble. they are not renowned for their patience and i marvelled at his gentleness until he explained. "her son died five weeks ago, but she still continues to send him parcels." to another old lady he pointed out that she had written two numbers on the parcel. "you don't want two numbers, mother. which is your boy's number? tell me and i will strike out the other." "leave them both," she answered. "who knows whether my dear lad will be there to receive the parcel. if he is not, i want it to go to some other mother's son." affection means much to these men who are suffering, and they respond at once to any sympathy shown to them. one man informed us with pride that when he left his native village he was "decked like an altar of the blessed virgin on the first of may." in other words, covered with flowers. there are but few lonely soldiers now, since those who have no families to write to them receive letters and parcels from the godmothers who have adopted them. the men anxiously await the news of their adopted relatives and spend hours writing replies. they love to receive letters, but, needless to say, a parcel is even more welcome. i remember seeing one man writing page after page. i suggested to him that he must have a particularly charming godmother. "mademoiselle," he replied, "i have no time for a godmother since i myself am a godfather." he then explained that far away in his village there was a young assistant in his shop, "and god knows the boy loves france, but both his lungs are touched, so they won't take him, but i write and tell him that the good god has given me strength for two, that i fight for him and for myself, and that we are both doing well for france." i went back in imagination to the village. i could see the glint in the boy's eyes, realised how the blood pulsed quicker through his veins at the sight of, not the personal pronoun "i" in the singular, but the plural "we are doing well for france." for one glorious moment he was part of the hosts of france and in spirit serving his motherland. it is that spirit of the french nation that their enemies will never understand. on one occasion a young german officer, covered with mud from head to foot, was brought before one of the french generals. he had been taken fighting cleanly, and the general was anxious to show him kindness. he asked him if he would not prefer to cleanse himself before examination. the young german drew himself up and replied: "look at me, general. i am covered from head to foot with mud, and that mud is the soil of france--you will never possess as much soil in germany." the general turned to him with that gentle courtesy which marks the higher commands in france and answered: "monsieur, we may never possess as much soil in germany, but there is something that you will never possess, and, until you conquer it, you cannot vanquish france, and that is the spirit of the french people." the french find it difficult to understand the arrogance which appears ingrained in the german character and which existed before the war. i read once that in the guests' book of a french hotel a teutonic visitor wrote: "l'ailemagne est la premiere nation du monde." the next french visitor merely added: "yes, 'allemagne is the first country of the world' if we take them in alphabetical order." to the glory of the women of france i left the war zone with an increased respect, if this were possible, for the men of france. they have altered their uniforms, but the spirit is unchanged. they are no longer in the red and blue of the old days, but in shades of green, grey and blue, colours blending to form one mighty ocean--wave on wave of patriotism--beating against and wearing down the rocks of military preparedness of forty years, and as no man has yet been able to say to the ocean stop, so no man shall cry "halt" to the armies of france. i have spoken much of the men of france, but the women have also earned our respect--those splendid peasant women, who even in times of peace worked, and now carry a double burden on their shoulders--the middle-class women, endeavouring to keep together the little business built up by the man with years of toil, stinting themselves to save five francs to send a parcel to the man at the front that he may not suspect that there is not still every comfort in the little homestead--the noble women of france, who in past years could not be seen before noon, since my lady was at her toilette, and who can be seen now, their hands scratched and bleeding, kneeling on the floors of the hospitals scrubbing, proud and happy to take their part in national service. the men owe much of their courage to the attitude of the women who stand behind them, turning their tears to smiles to urge their men to even greater deeds of heroism. in one of our hospitals was a young lad of seventeen who had managed to enlist as an "engage volontaire" by lying as to his age. his old mother came to visit him, and she told me he was the last of her three sons; the two elder ones had died the first week of the war at pont mousson, and her little home had been burned to the ground. the boy had spent his time inventing new and terrible methods of dealing with the enemy, but with his mother he became a child again and tenderly patted the old face. seeing the lad in his mother's arms, and forgetting for one moment the spirit of the french nation, i asked her if she would not be glad if her boy was so wounded that she might take him home. she was only an old peasant woman, but her eyes flashed, her cheeks flushed with anger and turning to me she said, "mademoiselle, how dare you say such a thing to me? if all the mothers, wives and sweethearts thought as you, what would happen to the country? gustave has only one thing to do, get well quickly and fight for mother france." because these women of france have sent their men forth to die, eyes dry, with stiff lips and head erect, do not think that they do not mourn for them. when night casts her kindly mantle of darkness over all, when they are hidden from the eyes of the world, it is then that the proud heads droop and are bent upon their arms, as the women cry out in the bitterness of their souls for the men who have gone from them. yet they realise that behind them stands the greatest mother of all, mother france, who sees coming towards her, from her frontiers, line on line of ambulances with their burden of suffering humanity, yet watches along other routes her sons going forth in thousands, laughter in their eyes, songs on their lips, ready and willing to die for her. france draws around her her tattered and bloodstained robe, yet what matters the outer raiment? behind it shines forth her glorious, exultant soul, and she lifts up her head rejoicing and proclaims to the world that when she appealed man, woman, and child--the whole of the french nation-- answered to her call. a book about lawyers. by john cordy jeaffreson, barrister-at-law author of "a book about doctors," etc., etc. reprinted from the london edition. two volumes in one. new york: _carleton, publisher, madison square._ london: s. low, son & co., m dccc lxxv. entered, according to act of congress, in the year , by g.w. carleton & co., in the clerk's office of the district court of the united states for the southern district of new york. john f. trow & son, printers, - east th st., new york. contents. part i. houses and householders. chapter page i. ladies in law colleges ii. the last of the ladies iii. york house and powis house iv. lincoln's inn fields v. the old law quarter part ii. loves of the lawyers. vi. a lottery vii. good queen bess viii. rejected addresses ix. "cicero" upon his trial x. brothers in trouble xi. early marriages part iii. money. xii. fees to counsel xiii. retainers, general and special xiv. judicial corruption xv. gifts and sales xvi. a rod pickled by william cole xvii. chief justice popham xviii. judicial salaries part iv. costume and toilet. xix. bright and sad xx. millinery xxi. wigs xxii. bands and collars xxiii. bags and gowns xxiv. hats part v. music. xxv. the piano in chambers xxvi. the battle of the organs xxvii. the thickness in the throat part vi. amateur theatricals. xxviii. actors at the bar xxix. "the play's the thing" xxx. the river and the strand by torchlight xxxi. anti-prynne xxxii. an empty grate part vii. legal education xxxiii. inns of court and inns of chancery xxxiv. lawyers and gentlemen xxxv. law-french and law-latin xxxvi. student life in old time xxxvii. readers and mootmen xxxviii. pupils in chambers part viii. mirth. xxxix. wit of lawyers xl. humorous stories xli. wits in 'silk' and punsters in 'ermine' xlii. witnesses xliii. circuiteers xliv. lawyers and saints part ix. at home: in court: and in society. xlv. lawyers at their own tables xlvi. wine xlvii. law and literature part i. houses and householders. chapter i. ladies in law colleges. a law-student of the present day finds it difficult to realize the brightness and domestic decency which characterized the inns of court in the sixteenth, seventeenth, and eighteenth centuries. under existing circumstances, women of character and social position avoid the gardens and terraces of gray's inn and the temple. attended by men, or protected by circumstances that guard them from impertinence and scandal, gentlewomen can without discomfort pass and repass the walls of our legal colleges; but in most cases a lady enters them under conditions that announce even to casual passers the object of her visit. in her carriage, during the later hours of the day, a barrister's wife may drive down the middle temple lane, or through the gate of lincoln's inn, and wait in king's bench walk or new square, until her husband, putting aside clients and papers, joins her for the homeward drive. but even thus placed, sitting in her carriage and guarded by servants, she usually prefers to fence off inquisitive eyes by a bonnet-veil, or the blinds of her carriage-windows. on sunday, the wives and daughters of gentle families brighten the dingy passages of the temple, and the sombre courts of lincoln's inn: for the musical services of the grand church and little chapel, are amongst the religious entertainments of the town. to those choral celebrations ladies go, just as they are accustomed to enter any metropolitan church; and after service they can take a turn in the gardens of either society, without drawing upon themselves unpleasant attention. so also, unattended by men, ladies are permitted to inspect the floral exhibitions with which mr. broome, the temple gardener, annually entertains london sightseers. but, save on these and a few similar occasions and conditions, gentlewomen avoid an inn of court as they would a barrack-yard, unless they have secured the special attendance of at least one member of the society. the escort of a barrister or student, alters the case. what barrister, young or old, cannot recall mirthful eyes that, with quick shyness, have turned away from his momentary notice, as in answer to the rustling of silk, or stirred by sympathetic consciousness of women's noiseless presence, he has raised his face from a volume of reports, and seen two or three timorous girls peering through the golden haze of a london morning, into the library of his inn? what man, thus drawn away for thirty seconds from prosaic toil, has not in that half minute remembered the faces of happy rural homes,--has not recalled old days when his young pulses beat cordial welcome to similar intruders upon the stillness of the bodleian, or the tranquil seclusion of trinity library? what occupant of dreary chambers in the temple, reading this page, cannot look back to a bright day, when young, beautiful, and pure as sanctity, lilian, or kate, or olive, entered his room radiant with smiles, delicate in attire, and musical with gleesome gossip about country neighbors, and the life of a joyous home? seldom does a templar of the present generation receive so fair and innocent a visitor. to him the presence of a gentlewoman in his court, is an occasion for ingenious conjecture; encountered on his staircase she is a cause of lively astonishment. his guests are men, more or less addicted to tobacco; his business callers are solicitors and their clerks; in his vestibule the masculine emissaries of tradesmen may sometimes be found--head-waiters from neighboring taverns, pot-boys from the 'cock' and the 'rainbow.' a printer's devil may from time to time knock at his door. but of women--such women as he would care to mention to his mother and sisters--he sees literally nothing in his dusty, ill-ordered, but not comfortless rooms. he has a laundress, one of a class on whom contemporary satire has been rather too severe. feminine life of another sort lurks in the hidden places of the law colleges, shunning the gaze of strangers by daylight; and even when it creeps about under cover of night, trembling with a sense of its own incurable shame. but of this sad life, the bare thought of which sends a shivering through the frame of every man whom god has blessed with a peaceful home and wholesome associations, nothing shall be said in this page. in past time the life of law-colleges was very different in this respect. when they ceased to be ecclesiastics, and fixed themselves in the hospices which soon after the reception of the gowned tenants, were styled inns of courts; our lawyers took unto themselves wives, who were both fair and discreet. and having so made women flesh of their flesh and bone of their bone, they brought them to homes within the immediate vicinity of their collegiate walls, and sometimes within the walls themselves. those who would appreciate the life of the inns in past centuries, and indeed in times within the memory of living men, should bear this in mind. when he was not on circuit, many a counsellor learned in the law, found the pleasures not less than the business of his existence within the bounds of his 'honorable society.' in the fullest sense of the words, he took his ease in his inn; besides being his workshop, where clients flocked to him for advice, it was his club, his place of pastime, and the shrine of his domestic affections. in this generation a successful chancery barrister, or equity draftsman, looks upon lincoln's inn merely as a place of business, where at a prodigious rent he holds a set of rooms in which he labors over cases, and satisfies the demands of clients and pupils. a century or two centuries since the case was often widely different. the rising barrister brought his bride in triumph to his 'chambers,' and in them she received the friends who hurried to congratulate her on her new honors. in those rooms she dispensed graceful hospitality, and watched her husband's toils. the elder of her children first saw the light in those narrow quarters; and frequently the lawyer, over his papers, was disturbed by the uproar of his heir in an adjoining room. young wives, the mistresses of roomy houses in the western quarters of town, shudder as they imagine the discomforts which these young wives of other days must have endured. "what! live in chambers?" they exclaim with astonishment and horror, recalling the smallness and cheerless aspect of their husbands' business chambers. but past usages must not be hastily condemned,--allowance must be made for the fact that our ancestors set no very high price on the luxuries of elbow-room and breathing-room. families in opulent circumstances were wont to dwell happily, and receive whole regiments of jovial visitors in little houses nigh the strand and fleet street, ludgate hill and cheapside;--houses hidden in narrow passages and sombre courts--houses, compared with which the lowliest residences in a "genteel suburb" of our own time would appear capacious mansions. moreover, it must be borne in mind that the married barrister, living a century since with his wife in chambers--either within or hard-by an inn or court--was, at a comparatively low rent, the occupant of far more ample quarters than those for which a working barrister now-a-days pays a preposterous sum. such a man was tenant of a 'set of rooms' (several rooms, although called 'a chamber') which, under the present system, accommodates a small colony of industrious 'juniors' with one office and a clerk's room attached. married ladies, who have lived in paris or vienna, in the 'old town' of edinburgh, or victoria street, westminster, need no assurance that life 'on a flat' is not an altogether deplorable state of existence. the young couple in chambers had six rooms at their disposal,--a chamber for business, a parlor, not unfrequently a drawing-room, and a trim, compact little kitchen. sometimes they had two 'sets of rooms,' one above another; in which case the young wife could have her bridesmaids to stay with her, or could offer a bed to a friend from the country. occasionally during the last fifty years of the last century, they were so fortunate as to get possession of a small detached house, originally built by a nervous bencher, who disliked the sound of footsteps on the stairs outside his door. time was when the inns comprised numerous detached houses, some of them snug dwellings, and others imposing mansions, wherein great dignitaries lived with proper ostentation. most of them have bean pulled down, and their sites covered with collegiate 'buildings;' but a few of them still remain, the grand piles having long since been partitioned off into chambers, and the little houses striking the eye as quaint, misplaced, insignificant blocks of human habitation. under the trees of gray's inn gardens may be seen two modest tenements, each of them comprising some six or eight rooms and a vestibule. at the present time they are occupied as offices by legal practitioners, and many a day has passed since womanly taste decorated their windows with flowers and muslin curtains; but a certain venerable gentleman, to whom the writer of this page is indebted for much information about the lawyers of the last century, can remember when each of those cottages was inhabited by a barrister, his young wife, and three or four lovely children. into some such a house near lincoln's inn, a young lawyer who was destined to hold the seals for many years, and be also the father of a lord chancellor, married in the year of our lord, . his name was philip yorke: and though he was of humble birth, he had made such a figure in his profession that great men's doors, were open to him. he was asked to dinner by learned judges, and invited to balls by their ladies. in chancery lane, at the house of sir joseph jekyll, master of the rolls, he met mrs. lygon, a beauteous and wealthy widow, whose father was a country squire, and whose mother was the sister of the great lord somers. in fact, she was a lady of such birth, position, and jointure, that the young lawyer--rising man though he was--seemed a poor match for her. the lady's family thought so; and if sir joseph jekyll had not cordially supported the suitor with a letter of recommendation, her father would have rejected him as a man too humble in rank and fortune. having won the lady and married her, mr. philip yorke brought her home to a 'very small house' near lincoln's inn; and in that lowly dwelling, the ground-floor of which was the barrister's office, they spent the first years of their wedded life. what would be said of the rising barrister who, now-a-days, on his marriage with a rich squire's rich daughter and a peer's niece, should propose to set up his household gods in a tiny crip just outside lincoln's inn gate, and to use the parlor of the 'very small house' for professional purposes? far from being guilty of unseemly parsimony in this arrangement, philip yorke paid proper consideration to his wife's social advantages, in taking her to a separate house. his contemporaries amongst the junior bar would have felt no astonishment if he had fitted up a set of chambers for his wealthy and well-descended bride. not merely in his day, but for long years afterward, lawyers of gentle birth and comfortable means, who married women scarcely if at all inferior to mrs. yorke in social condition, lived upon the flats of lincoln's inn and the temple. chapter ii. the last of the ladies. whatever its drawbacks, the system which encouraged the young barrister to marry on a modest income, and make his wife 'happy in chambers,' must have had special advantages. in their inn the husband was near every source of diversion for which he greatly cared, and the wife was surrounded by the friends of either sex in whose society she took most pleasure--friends who, like herself, 'lived in the inn,' or in one of the immediately adjacent streets. in 'hall' he dined and drank wine with his professional compeers and the wits of the bar: the 'library' supplied him not only with law books, but with poems and dramas, with merry trifles written for the stage, and satires fresh from the row; 'the chapel'--or if he were a templer, 'the church'--was his habitual place of worship, where there were sittings for his wife and children as well as for himself; on the walks and under the shady trees of 'the garden' he sauntered with his own, or, better still, a friend's wife, criticising the passers, describing the new comedy, or talking over the last ball given by a judge's lady. at times those gardens were pervaded by the calm of collegiate seclusion, but on 'open days' they were brisk with life. the women and children of the legal colony walked in them daily; the ladies attired in their newest fashions, and the children running with musical riot over lawns and paths. nor were the grounds mere places of resort for lawyers and their families. taking rank amongst the pleasant places of the metropolis, they attracted, on 'open days,' crowds from every quarter of the town--ladies and gallants from soho square and st. james's street, from whitehall and westminster; sightseers from the country and gorgeous alderwomic dowagers from cheapside. from the days of elizabeth till the middle, indeed till the close, of the eighteenth century the ornamental grounds of the four great inns were places of fashionable promenade, where the rank and talent and beauty of the town assembled for display and exercise, even as in our own time they assemble (less universally) in hyde park and kensington gardens. when ladies and children had withdrawn, the quietude of the gardens lured from their chambers scholars and poets, who under murmuring branches pondered the results of past study, or planned new works. ben jonson was accustomed to saunter beneath the elms of lincoln's inn; and steele--alike on 'open' and 'close' days--used to frequent the gardens of the same society. "i went," he writes in may, , "into lincoln's inn walks, and having taking a round or two, i sat down, according to the allowed familiarity of these places, on a bench." in the following november he alludes to the privilege that he enjoyed of walking there as "a favor that is indulged me by several of the benchers, who are very intimate friends, and grown in the neighborhood." but though on certain days, and under fixed regulations, the outside public were admitted to the college gardens, the assemblages were always pervaded by the tone and humor of the law. the courtiers and grand ladies from 'the west' felt themselves the guests of the lawyers; and the humbler folk, who by special grant had acquired the privilege of entry, or whose decent attire and aspect satisfied the janitors of their respectability, moved about with watchfulness and gravity, surveying the counsellors and their ladies with admiring eyes, and extolling the benchers whose benevolence permitted simple tradespeople to take the air side by side with 'the quality.' in , james ralph, in his 'new critical review of the publick buildings,' wrote about the square and gardens of lincoln's inn in a manner which testifies to the respectful gratitude of the public for the liberality which permitted all outwardly decent persons to walk in the grounds. "i may safely add," he says, "that no area anywhere is kept in better order, either for cleanliness and beauty by day, or illumination by night; the fountain in the middle is a very pretty decoration, and if it was still kept playing, as it was some years ago, 'twould preserve its name with more propriety." in his remarks on the chapel the guide observes, "the raising this chapel on pillars affords a pleasing, melancholy walk underneath, and by night, particularly, when illuminated by the lamps, it has an effect that may be felt, but not described." of the gardens mr. ralph could not speak in high praise, for they were ill-arranged and not so carefully kept as the square; but he observes, "they are convenient; and considering their situation cannot be esteemed to much. there is something hospitable in laying them open to public use; and while we share in their pleasures, we have no title to arraign their taste." the chief attraction of lincoln's inn gardens, apart from its beautiful trees, was for many years the terrace overlooking 'the fields,' which was made _temp._ car. ii. at the cost of nearly £ . dugdale, speaking of the recent improvements of the inn, says, "and the last was the enlargement of their garden, beautifying with a large tarras walk on the west side thereof, and raising the wall higher towards lincoln's inne fields, which was done in an. ( car. ii.), the charge thereof amounting to a little less than a thousand pounds, by reason that the levelling of most part of the ground, and raising the tarras, required such great labor." a portion of this terrace, and some of the old trees, were destroyed to make room for the new dining-hall. the old system supplied the barrister with other sources of recreation. within a stone's throw of his residence was the hotel where his club had its weekly meeting. either in hall, or with his family, or at a tavern near 'the courts,' it was his use, until a comparatively recent date, to dine in the middle of the day, and work again after the meal. courts sat after dinner as well as before; and it was observable that counsellors spoke far better when they were full of wine and venison than when they stated the case in the earlier part of the day. but in the evening the system told especially in the barrister's favor. all his many friends lying within a small circle, he had an abundance of congenial society. brother-circuiteers came to his wife's drawing-room for tea and chat, coffee and cards. there was a substantial supper at half-past eight or nine for such guests (supper cooked in my lady's little kitchen, or supplied by the 'society's cook'); and the smoking dishes were accompanied by foaming tankards of ale or porter, and followed by superb and richly aromatic bowls of punch. on occasions when the learned man worked hard and shut out visitors by sporting his oak, he enjoyed privacy as unbroken and complete as that of any library in kensington or tyburnia. if friends stayed away, and he wished for diversion, he could run into the chambers of old college-chums, or with his wife's gracious permission could spend an hour at chatelin's or nando's, or any other coffeehouse in vogue with members of his profession. during festive seasons, when the judges' and leaders' ladies gave their grand balls, the young couple needed no carriage for visiting purposes. from gray's inn to the temple they walked--if the weather was fine. when it rained they hailed a hackney-coach, or my lady was popped into a sedan and carried by running bearers to the frolic of the hour. of course the notes of the preceding paragraphs of this chapter are but suggestions as to the mode in which the artistic reader must call up the life of the old lawyers. encouraging him to realize the manners and usages of several centuries, not of a single generation, they do not attempt to entertain the student with details. it is needless to say that the young couple did not use hackney-coaches in times prior to the introduction of those serviceable vehicles, and that until sedans were invented my lady never used them. it is possible, indeed it is certain, that married ladies living in chambers occasionally had for neighbors on the same staircase women whom they regarded with abhorrence. sometimes it happened that a dissolute barrister introduced to his rooms a woman more beautiful than virtuous, whom he had not married, though he called her his wife. people can no more choose their neighbors in a house broken up into sets of chambers, than they can choose them in the street. but the cases where ladies were daily liable to meet an offensive neighbor on their common staircase were comparatively rare; and when the annoyance actually occurred, the discipline of the inn afforded a remedy. uncleanness too often lurked within the camp, but it veiled its face; and though in rare cases the error and sin of a powerful lawyer may have been notorious, the preccant man was careful to surround himself with such an appearance of respectability that society should easily feign ignorance of his offence. an elizabethan distich--familiar to all barristers, but too rudely worded for insertion in this page--informs us that in the sixteenth century gray's inn had an unenviable notoriety amongst legal hospices for the shamelessness of its female inmates. but the pungent lines must be regarded as a satire aimed at certain exceptional members, rather than as a vivacious picture of the general tone of morals in the society. anyhow the fact that gray's inn[ ] was alone designated as a home for infamy--whilst the inner temple was pointed to as the hospice most popular with rich men, the middle temple as the society frequented by templars of narrow means, and lincoln's inn as the abode of gentlemen--is, of itself, a proof that the pervading manners of the last three institutions were outwardly decorous. under the least favorable circumstances, a barrister's wife living in chambers, within or near lincoln's inn, or the temple, during charles ii.'s reign, fared as well in this respect as she would have done had fortune made her a lady-in-waiting at whitehall. a good story is told of certain visits paid to william murray's chambers at no. , king's bench walk temple, in the year . born in , murray was still a young man when in he made his brilliant speech in behalf of colonel sloper, against whom colley cibber's rascally son had brought an action for _crim. con._ with his wife--the lovely actress who was the rival of mrs. clive. amongst the many clients who were drawn to murray by that speech, sarah, duchess of marlborough, was neither the least powerful nor the least distinguished. her grace began by sending the rising advocate a general retainer, with a fee of a thousand guineas; of which sum he accepted only the two-hundredth part, explaining to the astonished duchess that "the professional fee, with a general retainer, could neither be less nor more than five guineas." if murray had accepted the whole sum he would not have been overpaid for his trouble; for her grace persecuted him with calls at most unseasonable hours. on one occasion, returning to his chambers after "drinking champagne with the wits," he found the duchess's carriage and attendants on king's bench walk. a numerous crowd of footmen and link-bearers surrounded the coach; and when the barrister entered his chambers he encountered the mistress of that army of lackeys. "young man," exclaimed the grand lady, eying the future lord mansfield with a look of warm displeasure, "if you mean to rise in the world, you must not sup out." on a subsequent night sarah of marlborough called without appointment at the same chambers, and waited till past midnight in the hope that she would see the lawyer ere she went to bed. but murray being at an unusually late supper-party, did not return till her grace had departed in an over-powering rage. "i could not make out, sir, who she was," said murray's clerk, describing her grace's appearance and manner, "for she would not tell me her name; _but she swore so dreadfully that i am sure she must be a lady of quality_." perhaps the inns of court may still shelter a few married ladies, who either from love of old-world ways, or from stern necessity, consent to dwell in their husbands' chambers. if such ladies can at the present time be found, the writer of this page would look for them in gray's inn--that straggling caravansary for the reception of money-lenders, bohemians, and eccentric gentlemen--rather than in the other three inns of court, which have undoubtedly quite lost their old population of lady-residents. but from those three hospices the last of the ladies must have retreated at a comparatively recent date. fifteen years since, when the writer of this book was a beardless undergraduate, he had the honor of knowing some married ladies, of good family and unblemished repute, who lived with their husbands in the middle temple. one of those ladies--the daughter of a country magistrate, the sister of a distinguished classic scholar--was the wife of a common law barrister who now holds a judicial appointment in one of our colonies. the women of her old home circle occasionally called on this young wife: but as they could not reach her quarters in sycamore court without attracting much unpleasant observation, their visits were not frequent. living in a barrack of unwed men, that charming girl was surrounded by honest fellows who would have resented as an insult to themselves an impertinence offered to her. still her life was abnormal, unnatural, deleterious; it was felt by all who cared for her that she ought not to be where she was; and when an appointment with a good income in a healthy and thriving colony was offered to her husband, all who knew her, and many who had never spoken to her, rejoiced at the intelligence. at the present time, in the far distant country which looks up to her as a personage of importance, this lady--not less exemplary as wife and mother than brilliant as a woman of society--takes pleasure in recalling the days when she was a prisoner in the temple. one of the last cases of married life in the temple, that came before the public notice, was that of a barrister and his wife who incurred obloquy and punishment for their brutal conduct to a poor servant girl. no one would thank the writer for re-publishing the details of that nauseous illustration of the degradation to which it is possible for a gentleman and scholar to sink. but, however revolting, the case is not without interest for the reader who is curious about the social life of the temple. the portion of the temple in which the old-world family life of the inns held out the longest, is a clump of commodious houses lying between the middle temple garden and essex street, strand. having their entrance-doors in essex street, these houses are, in fact, as private as the residences of any london quarter. the noise of the strand reaches them, but their occupants are as secure from the impertinent gaze or unwelcome familiarities of law-students and barristers' clerks, as they would be if they lived at st. john's wood. in essex street, on the eastern side, the legal families maintained their ground almost till yesterday. fifteen years since the writer of this page used to be invited to dinners and dances in that street--dinners and dances which were attended by prosperous gentlefolk from the west end of the town. at that time he often waltzed in a drawing-room, the windows of which looked upon the spray of the fountain--at which ruth pinch loved to gaze when its jet resembled a wagoner's whip. how all old and precious things pass away! the dear old 'wagoner's whip' has been replaced by a pert, perky squirt that will never stir the heart or brain of a future ruth. [ ] the scandalous state of gray's inn at this period is shown by the following passage in dugdale's 'origines:'--"in eliz. ( jan.) there was an order made that no laundress, nor women called victuallers, should thenceforth come into the gentlemen's chambers of this society, until they were full forty years of age, and not send their maid-servants, of what age soever, in the said gentlemen's chambers, upon penalty, for the first offence of him that should admit of any such, to be put out of commons: and for the second, to be expelled the house." the stringency and severity of this order show a determination on the part of the authorities to cure the evil. chapter iii. york house and powis house. whilst the great body of lawyers dwelt in or hard by the inns, the dignitaries of the judicial bench, and the more eminent members of the bar, had suitable palaces or mansions at greater or less distances from the legal hostelries. the ecclesiastical chancellors usually enjoyed episcopal or archiepiscopal rank, and lived in the london palaces attached to their sees or provinces. during his tenure of the seals, morton, bishop of ely, years before he succeeded to the archbishopric of canterbury, and received the honors of the cardinalate, grew strawberries in his garden on holborn hill, and lived in the palace surrounded by that garden. as archbishop of canterbury, chancellor warham maintained at lambeth palace the imposing state commemorated by erasmus. when wolsey made his first progress to the court of chancery in westminster hall, a progress already alluded to in these pages, he started from the archiepiscopal palace, york house or place--an official residence sold by the cardinal to henry viii. some years later; and when the same superb ecclesiastic, towards the close of his career, went on the memorable embassy to france, he set out from his palace at westminster, "passing through all london over london bridge, having before him of gentlemen a great number, three in rank in black velvet livery coats, and the most of them with great chains of gold about their necks." at later dates gardyner, whilst he held the seals, kept his numerous household at winchester house in southwark; and williams, the last clerical lord keeper, lived at the deanery, westminster. the lay chancellors also maintained costly and pompous establishments, apart from the inns of court. sir thomas more's house stood in the country, flanked by a garden and farm, in the cultivation of which ground the chancellor found one of his chief sources of amusement. in aldgate, lord chancellor audley built his town mansion, on the site of the priory of the canons of the holy trinity of christ church. wriothesley dwelt in holborn at the height of his unsteady fortunes, and at the time of his death. the infamous but singularly lucky rich lived in great st. bartholomew's, and from his mansion there wrote to the duke of northumberland, imploring that messengers might be sent to him to relieve him of the perilous trust of the great seal. christopher hatton wrested from the see of ely the site of holborn, whereon he built his magnificent palace. the reluctance with which the bishop of ely surrendered the ground, and the imperious letter by which elizabeth compelled the prelate to comply with the wish of her favorite courtier, form one of the humorous episodes of that queen's reign. hatton house rose over the soil which had yielded strawberries to morton; and of that house--where the dancing chancellor received elizabeth as a visitor, and in which he died of "diabetes _and_ grief of mind"--the memory is preserved by hatton garden, the name of the street where some of our wealthiest jewelers and gold assayers have places of business. public convenience had long suggested the expediency of establishing a permanent residence for the chancellors of england, when either by successive expressions of the royal will, or by the individual choice of several successive holders of the _clavis regni_, a noble palace on the northern bank of the thames came to be regarded as the proper domicile for the great seal. york house, memorable as the birthplace of francis bacon, and the scene of his brightest social splendor, demands a brief notice. wolsey's 'york house' or whitehall having passed from the province of york to the crown, nicholas heath, archbishop of york, established himself in another york house on a site lying between the strand and the river. in this palace (formerly leased to the see of norwich as a bishop's inn, and subsequently conferred on charles brandon by henry viii.) heath resided during his chancellorship; and when, in consequence of his refusal to take the oath of supremacy, elizabeth deprived him of his archbishopric, york house passed into the hands of her new lord keeper, sir nicholas bacon. on succeeding to the honors of the marble chair, hatton did not move from holborn to the strand; but otherwise all the holders of the great seal, from heath to francis bacon inclusive, seem to have occupied york house; heath, of course, using it by right as archbishop of york, and the others holding it under leases granted by successive archbishops of the northern province. so little is known of bromley, apart from the course which he took towards mary of scotland, that the memory of old york house gains nothing of interest from him. indeed it has been questioned whether he was one of its tenants. puckering, egerton, and francis bacon certainly inhabited it in succession. on bacon's fall it was granted to buckingham, whose desire to possess the picturesque palace was one of the motives which impelled him to blacken the great lawyer's reputation. seized by the long parliament, it was granted to lord fairfax. in the following generation it passed into the hands of the second duke of buckingham, who sold house and precinct for building-ground. the bad memory of the man who thus for gold surrendered a spot of earth sacred to every scholarly englishman is preserved in the names of _george_ street, _duke_ street, _villiers_ street, _buckingham_ street. the engravings commonly sold as pictures of the york house, in which lord bacon kept the seals, are likenesses of the building after it was pulled about, diminished, and modernized, and in no way whatever represent the architecture of the original edifice. amongst the art-treasures of the university of oxford, mr. hepworth dixon fortunately found a rough sketch of the real house, from which sketch mr. e.m. ward drew the vignette that embellishes the title-page of 'the story of lord bacon's life.' after the expulsion of the great seal from old york house, it wandered from house to house, manifesting, however, in its selections of london quarters, a preference for the grand line of thoroughfare between charing cross and the foot of ludgate hill. escaping from the westminster deanery, where williams kept it in a box, the _clavis regni_ inhabited durham house, strand, whilst under lord keeper coventry's care. lord keeper littleton, until he made his famous ride from london to york, lived in exeter house. clarendon resided in dorset house, salisbury court, fleet street, and subsequently in worcester house, strand, before he removed to the magnificent palace which aroused the indignation of the public in st. james's street. the greater and happier part of his official life was passed in worcester house. there he held councils in his bedroom when he was laid up with gout; there king charles visited him familiarly, even condescending to be present to the bedside councils; and there he was established when the great fire of london caused him, in a panic, to send his most valuable furniture to his villa at twickenham. thanet house, aldersgate street, is the residence with which shaftesbury, the politician, is most generally associated; but whilst he was lord chancellor he occupied exeter house, strand, formerly the abode of keeper littleton. lord nottingham slept with the seals under his pillow in great queen street, lincoln's inn fields, the same street in which his successor, lord guildford, had the establishment so racily described by his brother, roger north. and lord jeffreys moving westward, gave noisy dinners in duke street, westminster, where he opened a court-house that was afterwards consecrated as a place of worship, and is still known as the duke street chapel. says pennant, describing the chancellor's residence, "it is easily known by a large flight of stone steps, which his royal master permitted to be made into the park adjacent for the accommodation of his lordship. these steps terminate above in a small court, on three sides of which stands the house." the steps still remain, but their history is unknown to many of the habitual frequenters of the chapel. after jefferys' fall the spacious and imposing mansion, where the _bon-vivants_ of the bar used to drink inordinately with the wits and buffoons of the london theatres, was occupied by government; and there the lords of the admiralty had their offices until they moved to their quarters opposite scotland yard. narcissus luttrell's diary contains the following entry:--"april , . the late lord chancellor's house at westminster is taken for the lords of the admiralty to keep the admiralty office at." william iii., wishing to fix the holders of the great seal in a permanent official home, selected powis house (more generally known by the name of newcastle house), in lincoln's inn fields, as a residence for somers and future chancellors. the treasury minute books preserve an entry of september , , directing a privy seal to "discharge the process for the apprised value of the house, and to declare the king's pleasure that the lord keeper or lord chancellor for the time being should have and enjoy it for the accommodation of their offices." soon after his appointment to the seals, somers took possession of this mansion at the north-west corner of the fields; and after him lord keeper sir nathan wright, lord chancellor cowper, and lord chancellor harcourt used it as an official residence. but the arrangement was not acceptable to the legal dignitaries. they preferred to dwell in their private houses, from which they were not liable to be driven by a change of ministry or a grist of popular disfavor. in the year the mansion was therefore sold to john holles, duke of newcastle, to whom it is indebted for the name which it still bears. this large, unsightly mansion is known to every one who lives in london, and has any knowledge of the political and social life of the earlier georgian courtiers and statesmen. chapter iv. lincoln's inn fields. the annals of the legal profession show that the neighborhood of guildhall was a favorite place of residence with the ancient lawyers, who either held judicial offices within the circle of the lord mayor's jurisdiction, or whose practice lay chiefly in the civic courts. in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries there was quite a colony of jurists hard by the temple of gogmagog and cosineus--or gog and magog, as the grotesque giants are designated by the unlearned, who know not the history of the two famous effigies, which originally figured in an elizabethan pageant, stirring the wonder of the illiterate, and reminding scholars of two mythical heroes about whom the curious reader of this paragraph may learn further particulars by referring to michael drayton's 'polyolbion.' in milk street, cheapside, lived sir john more, judge in the court of king's bench; and in milk street, a.d. , was born sir john's famous son thomas, the chancellor, who was at the same time learned and simple, witty and pious, notable for gentle meekness and firm resolve, abounding with tenderness and hot with courage. richard rich--who beyond scroggs or jeffreys deserves to be remembered as the arch-scoundrel of the legal profession--was one of thomas more's playmates and boon companions for several years of their boyhood and youth. richard's father was an opulent mercer, and one of sir john's near neighbors; so the youngsters were intimate until master dick, exhibiting at an early age his vicious propensities, came to be "esteemed very light of his tongue, a great dicer and gamester, and not of any commendable fame." on marrying his first wife sir thomas more settled in a house in bucklersbury, the city being the proper quarter for his residence, as he was an under-sheriff of the city of london, in which character he both sat in the court of the lord mayor and sheriffs, and presided over a separate court on the thursday of each week. whilst living in bucklersbury he had chambers in lincoln's inn. on leaving bucklersbury he took a house in crosby place, from which he moved, in , to chelsea, in which parish he built the house that was eventually pulled down by sir hans sloane in the year . a generation later, sir nicholas bacon was living in noble street, foster lane, where he had built the mansion known as bacon house, in which he resided till, as lord keeper, he took possession of york house. chief justice bramston lived, at different parts of his career, in whitechapel; in philip lane, aldermanbury; and (after his removal from bosworth court) in warwick lane, sir john bramston (the autobiographer) married into a house in charterhouse yard, where his father, the chief justice, resided with him for a short time. but from an early date, and especially during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, the more prosperous of the working lawyers either lived within the walls of the inns, or in houses lying near the law colleges. fleet street, the strand, holborn, chancery lane, and the good streets leading into those thoroughfares, contained a numerous legal population in the times between elizabeth's death and george iii.'s first illness. rich benchers and judges wishing for more commodious quarters than they could obtain at any cost within college-walls, erected mansions in the immediate vicinity of their inns; and their example was followed by less exalted and less opulent members of the bar and judicial bench. the great lord strafford first saw the light in chancery lane, in the house of his maternal grandfather, who was a bencher of lincoln's inn. lincoln's inn fields was principally built for the accommodation of wealthy lawyers; and in charles ii.'s reign queen street, lincoln's inn fields was in high repute with legal magnates. sir edward coke lived alternately in chambers, and in hatton house, holborn, the palace that came to him by his second marriage. john kelyng's house stood in hatton garden, and there he died in . in his mansion in lincoln's inn fields, sir harbottle grimston, on june , (shortly before his appointment to the mastership of the rolls, for which place he is said to have given clarendon £ ), entertained charles ii. and a grand gathering of noble company. after his marriage francis north took his high-born bride into chambers, which they inhabited for a short time until a house in chancery lane, near serjeants' inn, was ready for their use. on nov. , ,--the year of the fire of london, in which year hyde had his town house in the strand--glyn died in his house, in portugal row, lincoln's inn fields. on june , , henry pollexfen, chief justice of common pleas, expired in his mansion in lincoln's inn fields. these addresses--taken from a list of legal addresses lying before the writer--indicate with sufficient clearness the quarter of the town in which charles ii.'s lawyers mostly resided. under charles ii. the population of the inns was such that barristers wishing to marry could not easily obtain commodious quarters within college-walls. dugdale observes "that all but the benchers go two to a chamber: a bencher hath only the privilege of a chamber to himself." he adds--"if there be any one chamber consisting of two parts, and the one part exceeds the other in value, and he who hath the best part sells the same, yet the purchaser shall enter into the worst part; for it is a certain rule that the auntient in the chamber--_viz._, he who was therein first admitted, without respect to their antiquity in the house, hath his choice of either part." this custom of sharing chambers gave rise to the word 'chumming,' an abbreviation of 'chambering.' barristers in the present time often share a chamber--_i.e._, set of rooms. in the seventeenth century an utter-barrister found the half of a set of rooms inconveniently narrow quarters for himself and wife. by arranging privately with a non-resident brother of the long robe, he sometimes obtained an entire "chamber," and had the space allotted to a bencher. when he could not make such an arrangement, he usually moved to a house outside the gate, but in the immediate vicinity of his inn, as soon as his lady presented him with children, if not sooner. of course working, as well as idle, members of the profession were found in other quarters. some still lived in the city; others preferred more fashionable districts. roger north, brother of the lord keeper and son of a peer, lived in the piazza of covent garden, in the house formerly occupied lely the painter. to this house sir dudley north moved from his costly and dark mansion in the city, and in it he shortly afterwards died, under the hands of dr. radcliffe and the prosperous apothecary, mr. st. amand. "he had removed," writes roger, "from his great house in the city, and came to that in the piazza which sir peter lely formerly used, and i had lived in alone for divers years. we were so much together, and my incumbrances so small, that so large a house might hold us both." roger was a practicing barrister and recorder of bristol. during his latter years sir john bramston (the autobiographer) kept house in greek street, soho. in the time of charles ii. the wealthy lawyers often maintained suburban villas, where they enjoyed the air and pastimes of the country. when his wife's health failed, francis north took a villa for her at hammersmith, "for the advantage of better air, which he thought beneficial for her;" and whilst his household tarried there, he never slept at his chambers in town, "but always went home to his family, and was seldom an evening without company agreeable to him." in his latter years, chief justice pemberton had a rural mansion in highgate, where his death occurred on june , , in the th year of his age. a pleasant chapter might be written on the suburban seats of our great lawyers from the restoration down to the present time. lord mansfield's 'kenwood' is dear to all who are curious in legal _ana_. charles yorke had a villa at highgate, where he entertained his political and personal friends. holland, the architect, built a villa at dulwich for lord thurlow; and in consequence of a quarrel between the chancellor and the builder, the former took such a dislike to the house, that after its completion he never slept a night in it, though he often passed his holidays in a small lodge standing in the grounds of the villa. "lord thurlow," asked a lady of him, as he was leaving the queen's drawing-room, "when are you going into your new house?" "madam," answered the surly chancellor, incensed by her curiosity, "the queen has asked me that impudent question, and i would not answer her; i will not tell you." for years loughborough and erskine had houses in hampstead. "in lord mansfield's time," erskine once said to lord campbell, "although the king's bench monopolized all the common-law business, the court often rose at one or two o'clock--the papers, special, crown, and peremptory, being cleared; and then i refreshed myself by a drive to my villa at hampstead." it was on hampstead heath that loughborough, meeting erskine in the dusk, said, "erskine, you must not take paine's brief;" and received the prompt reply, "but i have been retained, and i will take it, by g-d!" much of that which is most pleasant in erskine's career occurred at his hampstead villa. of lord kenyon's weekly trips from his mansion in lincoln's inn fields to his farm-house at richmond notice has been taken in a previous chapter. the memory of charles abbott's hendon villa is preserved in the name, style, and title of lord tenterden, of hendon, in the county of middlesex. indeed, lawyers have for many generations manifested much fondness for fresh air; the impure atmosphere of their courts in past time apparently whetting their appetites for wholesome breezes. throughout the eighteenth century lincoln's inn fields, an open though disorderly spot, was a great place for the residence of legal magnates. somers, nathan wright, cowper, harcourt, successively inhabited powis house. chief justice parker (subsequently lord chancellor macclesfield) lived there when he engaged philip yorke (then an attorney's articled clerk, but afterwards lord chancellor of england) to be his son's law tutor. on the south side of the square, lord chancellor henley kept high state in the family mansion that descended to him on the death of his elder brother, and subsequently passed into the hands of the surgeons, whose modest but convenient college stands upon its site. wedderburn and erskine had their mansions in lincoln's inn fields, as well as their suburban villas. and between the lawyers of the restoration and the judges of george iii.'s reign, a large proportion of our most eminent jurists and advocates lived in that square and the adjoining streets; such as queen street on the west, serle street, carey street, portugal street, chancery lane, on the south and south-east. the reader, let it be observed, may not infer that this quarter was confined to legal residents. the lawyers were the most conspicuous and influential occupants; but they had for neighbors people of higher quality, who, attracted to the square by its openness, or the convenience of its site, or the proximity of the law colleges, made it their place of abode in london. such names as those of the earl of lindsey and the earl of sandwich in the seventeenth, and of the duke of ancaster and the duke of newcastle in the eighteenth century, establish the patrician character of the quarter for many years. moreover, from the books of popular antiquaries, a long list might be made of wits, men of science, and minor celebrities, who, though in no way personally connected with the law, lived during the same period under the shadow of lincoln's inn. whilst lincoln's inn fields took rank amongst the most aristocratic quarters of the town, it was as disorderly a square as could be found in all london. royal suggestions, the labors of a learned committee especially appointed by james i. to decide on a proper system of architecture, and inigo jones's magnificent but abortive scheme had but a poor result. in queen anne's reign, and for twenty years later, the open space of the fields was daily crowded with beggars, mountebanks, and noisy rabble; and it was the scene of constant uproar and frequent riots. as soon as a nobleman's coach drew up before one of the surrounding mansions, a mob of half-naked rascals swarmed about the equipage, asking for alms in alternate tones of entreaty and menace. pugilistic encounters, and fights resembling the faction fights of an irish row, were of daily occurrence there; and when the rabble decided on torturing a bull with dogs, the wretched beast was tied to a stake in the centre of the wide area, and there baited in the presence of a ferocious multitude, and to the diversion of fashionable ladies, who watched the scene from their drawing-room windows. the sacheverell outrage was wildest in this chosen quarter of noblemen and blackguards; and in george ii.'s reign, when sir joseph jekyll, the master of the rolls, made himself odious to the lowest class by his act for laying an excise upon gin, a mob assailed him in the middle of the fields, threw him to the ground, kicked him over and over, and savagely trampled upon him. it was a marvel that he escaped with his life; but with characteristic good humor, he soon made a joke of his ill-usage, saying that until the mob made him their football he had never been master of _all_ the _rolls_. soon after this outbreak of popular violence, the inhabitants enclosed the middle of the area with palisades, and turned the enclosure into an ornamental garden. describing the fields in , the year in which the obnoxious act concerning gin became law, james ralph says, "several of the original houses still remain, to be a reproach to the rest; and i wish the disadvantageous comparison had been a warning to others to have avoided a like mistake.... but this is not the only quarrel i have to lincoln's inn fields. the area is capable of the highest improvement, might be made a credit to the whole city, and do honor to those who live round it; whereas at present no place can be more contemptible or forbidding; in short, it serves only as a nursery for beggars and thieves, and is a daily reflection on those who suffer it to be in its abandoned condition." during the eighteenth century, a tendency to establish themselves in the western portion of the town was discernible amongst the great law lords. for instance, lord cowper, who during his tenure of the seals resided in powis house, during his latter years occupied a mansion in great george street, westminster--once a most fashionable locality, but now a street almost entirely given up to civil engineers, who have offices there, but usually live elsewhere. in like manner, lord harcourt, moving westwards from lincoln's inn fields, established himself in cavendish square. lord henley, on retiring from the family mansion in lincoln's inn fields, settled in grosvenor square. lord camden lived in hill street, berkeley square. on being entrusted with the sole custody of the seals, lord apsley (better known as lord chancellor bathurst) made his first state-progress to westminster hall from his house in dean street, soho; but afterwards moving farther west, he built apsley house (familiar to every englishman as the late duke of wellington's town mansion) upon the site of squire western's favorite inn--the 'hercules' pillars.' chapter v. the old law quarter. fifteen years since the writer of this page used to dine with a conveyancer--a lawyer of an old and almost obsolete school--who had a numerous household, and kept a hospitable table in lincoln's inn fields; but the conveyancer was almost the last of his species. the householding legal _resident_ of the fields, like the domestic resident of the temple, has become a feature of the past. among the ordinary nocturnal population of the square called lincoln's inn fields, may be found a few solicitors who sleep by night where they work by day, and a sprinkling of young barristers and law students who have residential chambers in grand houses that less than a century since were tenanted by members of a proud and splendid aristocracy; but the gentle families have by this time altogether disappeared from the mansions. but long before this aristocratic secession, the lawyers took possession of a new quarter. the great charm of lincoln's inn fields had been the freshness of the air which played over the open space. so also the recommendation of great queen street had been the purity of its rural atmosphere. built between and , that thoroughfare--at present hemmed in by fetid courts and narrow passages--caught the keen breezes of hampstead, and long maintained a character for salubrity as well as fashion. of those fine squares and imposing streets which lie between high holborn and hampstead, not a stone had been laid when the ground covered by the present freemason's tavern was one of the most desirable sites of the metropolis. indeed, the houses between holborn and great queen street were not erected till the mansions on the south side of the latter thoroughfare--built long before the northern side--had for years commanded an unbroken view of holborn fields. notwithstanding many gloomy predictions of the evils that would necessarily follow from over-building, london steadily increased, and enterprising architects deprived lincoln's inn fields and great queen street of their rural qualities. crossing holborn, the lawyers settled on a virgin plain beyond the ugly houses which had sprung up on the north of great queen street, and on the country side of holborn. speedily a new quarter arose, extending from gray's inn on the east to southampton row on the west, and lying between holborn and the line of ormond street, red lion street, bedford row, great ormond street, little ormond street, great james street, and little james street were amongst its best thoroughfares; in its centre was red lion square, and in its northwestern corner lay queen's square. steadily enlarging its boundaries, it comprised at later dates guildford street, john's street, doughty street, mecklenburgh square, brunswick square, bloomsbury square, russell square, bedford square--indeed, all the region lying between gray's inn lane (on the east), tottenham court road (on the west), holborn (on the south), and a line running along the north of the foundling hospital and 'the squares.' of course this large residential district was more than the lawyers required for themselves. it became and long remained a favorite quarter with merchants, physicians,[ ] and surgeons; and until a recent date it comprised the mansions of many leading members of the aristocracy. but from its first commencement it was so intimately associated with the legal profession that it was often called the 'law quarter;' and the writer of this page has often heard elderly ladies and gentlemen speak of it as the 'old law quarter.' although lawyers were the earliest householders in this new quarter, its chief architect encountered at first strong opposition from a section of the legal profession. anxious to preserve the rural character of their neighborhood, the gentlemen of gray's inn were greatly displeased with the proposal to lay out holborn fields in streets and squares. under date june , , narcissus luttrell wrote in his diary--"dr. barebone, the great builder, having some time since bought the red lyon fields, near graie's inn walks, to build on, and having for that purpose employed severall workmen to goe on with the same, the gentlemen of graie's inn took notice of it, and, thinking it an injury to them, went with a considerable body of persons; upon which the workmen assaulted the gentlemen, and flung bricks at them, and the gentlemen at them again. so a sharp engagement ensued, but the gentlemen routed them at last, and brought away one or two of the workmen to graie's inn; in this skirmish one or two of the gentlemen and servants of the house were hurt, and severall of the workmen." james ralph's remarks on the principal localities of this district are interesting. "bedford row," he says, "is one of the most noble streets that london has to boast of, and yet there is not one house in it which deserves the least attention." he tells us that "ormond street is another place of pleasure, and that side of it next the fields is, beyond question, one of the most charming situations about town." this 'place of pleasure' is now given up for the most part to hospitals and other charitable institutions, and to lodging-houses of an inferior sort. passing on to bloomsbury square, and speaking of the duke of bedford's residence, which stood on the north side of the square, he says, "then behind it has the advantage of most agreeable gardens, and a view of the country, which would make a retreat from the town almost unnecessary, besides the opportunity of exhibiting another prospect of the building, which would enrich the landscape and challenge new approbation." this was written in . at that time the years of two generations were appointed to pass away ere the removal of bedford house should make way for lower bedford place, leading into russell square. so late as the opening years of george iii.'s reign, queen's square enjoyed an unbroken prospect in the direction of highgate and hampstead. 'the foreigner's guide: or a necessary and instructive companion both to the foreigner and native, in their tours through the cities of london and westminster' ( ), contains the following passage:--"queen's square, which is pleasantly situated at the extreme part of the town, has a fine open view of the country, and is handsomely built, as are likewise the neighboring streets--viz., southampton row, ormond street, &c. in this last is powis house, so named from the marquis of powis, who built the present stately structure in the year . it is now the town residence of the earl of hardwicke, late lord chancellor. the apartments are noble, and the whole edifice is commendable for its situation, and the fine prospect of the country. not far from thence is bloomsbury square. this square is commendable for its situation and largeness. on the north side is the house of the duke of bedford. this building was erected from a design of inigo jones, and is very elegant and spacious." from the duke's house in bloomsbury square and his surrounding property, the political party, of which he was the chief, obtained the nickname of the bloomsbury gang. chief justice holt died march , , at his house[ ] in bedford row. in red lion square chief justice raymond had the town mansion wherein he died on april , ; twelve years after sir john pratt, lord camden's father, died at his house in ormond street. on december , , chief justice willes died at his house in bloomsbury square. chagrin at missing the seals through his own arrogance, when they had been actually offered to him, was supposed to be a principal cause of the chief justice's death. his friends represented that he died of a broken heart; to which assertion flippant enemies responded that no man ever had a heart after living seventy-four years. murray for many years inhabited a handsome house in lincoln's inn fields; but his name is more generally associated with bloomsbury square, where stood the house which was sacked and burnt by the gordon rioters. in bloomsbury square our grandfathers used to lounge, watching the house of edward law, subsequently lord ellenborough, in the hope of seeing mrs. law, as she watered the flowers of her balcony. mrs. law's maiden name was towry, and, as a beauty, she remained for years the rage of london. even at this date there remain a few aged gentlemen whose eyes sparkle and whose checks flush when they recall the charms of the lovely creature who became the wife of ungainly edward law, after refusing him on three separate occasions. on becoming lord ellenborough and chief justice, edward law moved to a great mansion in st. james's square, the size of which he described to a friend by saying: "sir, if you let off a piece of ordnance in the hall, the report is not heard in the bedrooms." in this house the chief justice expired, on december , . speaking of lord ellenborough's residence in st. james's square, lord campbell says: "this was the first instance of a common law judge moving to the 'west end.' hitherto all the common law judges had lived within a radius of half a mile from lincoln's inn; but they are now spread over the regent's park, hyde park gardens, and kensington gore." lord harwicke and lord thurlow have been more than once mentioned as inhabitants of ormond street. eldon's residences may be noticed with advantage in this place. on leaving oxford and settling in london, he took a small house for himself and mrs. scott in cursitor street, chancery lane. about this dwelling he wrote to his brother henry:--"i have got a house barely sufficient to hold my small family, which (so great is the demand for them here) will, in rent and taxes, cost me annually six pounds." to this house he used to point in the days of his prosperity, and, in allusion to the poverty which he never experienced, he would add, "there was my first perch. many a time have i run down from cursitor street to fleet market and bought sixpenn'orth of sprats for our supper." after leaving cursitor street, he lived in carey street, lincoln's inn fields, where also, in his later years, he believed himself to have endured such want of money that he and his wife were glad to fill themselves with sprats. when he fixed this anecdote upon carey street, the old chancellor used to represent himself as buying the sprats in clare market instead of fleet market. after some successful years he moved his household from the vicinity of lincoln's inn, and took a house in the law quarter, selecting one of the roomy houses (no. ) of gower street, where he lived when as attorney general he conducted the futile prosecutions of hardy, horne tooke, and thelwall, in . on quitting gower street, eldon took the house in bedford square, which witnessed so many strange scenes during his tenure of the seals, and also during his brief exclusion from office. in bedford square he played the part of chivalric protector to the princess of wales, and chuckled over the proof-sheets of that mysterious 'book' by the publication of which the injured wife and the lawyer hoped to take vengeance on their common enemy. there the chancellor, feeling it well to protract his flirtation with the princess of wales, entertained her in the june of , with a grand banquet, from which lady eldon was compelled by indisposition to be absent. and there, four years later, when he was satisfied that her royal highness's good opinion could be of no service to him, the crafty, self-seeking minister gave a still more splendid dinner to the husband whose vices he had professed to abhor, whose meanness of spirit he had declared the object of his contempt. "however," writes lord campbell, with much satiric humor, describing this alliance between the selfish voluptuary and the equally selfish lawyer, "he was much comforted by having the honor, at the prorogation, of entertaining at dinner his royal highness the regent, with whom he was now a special favorite, and who, enjoying the splendid hospitality of bedford square, forgot that the princess of wales had sat in the same room; at the same table; on the same chair; had drunk of the same wine; out of the same cup; while the conversation had turned on her barbarous usage, and the best means of publishing to the world _her_ wrongs and _his_ misconduct." another of the prince regent's visits to bedford square is surrounded with comic circumstances and associations. in the april of , a mastership of chancery became vacant by the death of mr. morris; and forthwith the chancellor was assailed with entreaties from every direction for the vacant post. for two months eldon, pursuing that policy of which he was a consummate master, delayed to appoint; but on june , he disgusted the bar and shocked the more intelligent section of london society, by conferring the post on jekyll, the courtly _bon vivant_ and witty descendant of sir joseph jekyll, master of the rolls. amiable, popular, and brilliant, jekyll received the congratulations of his numerous personal friends; but beyond the circle of his private acquaintance the appointment created lively dissatisfaction--dissatisfaction which was heightened rather than diminished by the knowledge that the placeman's good fortune was entirely due to the personal importunity of the prince regent, who called at the chancellor's house, and having forced his way into the bedroom, to which eldon was confined by an attack of gout, refused to take his departure without a promise that his friend should have the vacant place. how this royal influence was applied to the chancellor, is told in the 'anecdote book.' fortunately jekyll was less incompetent for the post than his enemies had declared, and his friends admitted. he proved a respectable master, and held his post until age and sickness compelled him to resign it; and then, sustained in spirits by the usual retiring pension, he sauntered on right mirthfully into the valley of the shadow of death. on the day after his retirement, the jocose veteran, meeting eldon in the street, observed:--"yesterday, lord chancellor, i was your master; to-day i am my own." from bedford square, lord eldon, for once following the fashion, moved to hamilton place, piccadilly. with the purpose of annoying him the 'queen's friends,' during the height of the 'queen caroline agitation,' proposed to buy the house adjoining the chancellor's residence in hamilton place, and to fit it up for the habitation of that not altogether meritorious lady. such an arrangement would have been an humiliating as well as exasperating insult to a lawyer who, as long as the excitement about the poor woman lasted, would have been liable to affront whenever he left his house or looked through the windows facing hamilton place. the same mob that delighted in hallooing round whatever house the queen honored with her presence, would have varied their 'hurrahs' for the lady with groans for the lawyer who, after making her wrongs the stalking-horse of his ambition, had become one of her chief oppressors. eldon determined to leave hamilton place on the day which should see the queen enter it; and hearing that the lords of the treasury were about to assist her with money for the purchase of the house, he wrote to lord liverpool, protesting against an arrangement which would subject him to annoyance at home and to ridicule out of doors. "i should," he wrote, "be very unwilling to state anything offensively, but i cannot but express my confidence that government will not aid a project which must remove the chancellor from his house the next hour that it takes effect, and from his office at the same time." this decided attitude caused the government to withdraw their countenance from the project; whereupon a public subscription was opened for its accomplishment. sufficient funds were immediately proffered; and the owner of the mansion had verbally made terms with the patriots, when the chancellor, outbidding them, bought the house himself. "i had no other means," he wrote to his daughter, "of preventing the destruction of my present house as a place in which i could live, or which anybody else would take. the purchase-money is large, but i have already had such offers, that i shall not, i think, lose by it." russell square--where lord loughborough (who knows aught of the earl of rosslyn?) had his town house, after leaving lincoln's inn fields, and where charles abbott (lord tenterden) established himself on leaving the house in queen square, into which he married during the summer of --maintained a quasi-fashionable repute much later than the older and therefore more interesting parts of the 'old law quarter.' theodore hook's disdain for bloomsbury is not rightly appreciated by those who fail to bear in mind that the russell square of hook's time was tenanted by people who--though they were unknown to 'fashion,' in the sense given to the word by men of brummel's habit and tone--had undeniable status amongst the aristocracy and gentry of england. with some justice the witty writer has been charged with snobbish vulgarity because he ridiculed humble bloomsbury for being humble. his best defence is found in the fact that his extravagant scorn was not directed at helpless and altogether obscure persons so much as at an educated and well-born class who laughed at his caricatures, and gave dinners at which he was proud to be present. though it fails to clear the novelist of the special charge, this apology has a certain amount of truth; and in so far as it palliates some of his offences against good taste and gentle feeling, by all means let him have the full benefit of it. criticism can afford to be charitable to the clever, worthless man, now that no one admires or tries to respect him. again, it may be advanced, in hook's behalf, that political animosity--a less despicable, though not less hurtful passion than love of gentility--contributed to hook's dislike of the quarter on the north side of holborn. as a humorist he ridiculed, as a panderer to fashionable prejudices he sneered at, bloomsbury; but as a tory he cherished a genuine antagonism to the district of town that was associated in the public mind with the wealth and ascendency of the house of bedford. anyhow, the russell square neighborhood--although it was no longer fashionable, as belgravia and mayfair are fashionable at the present day--remained the locality of many important families, at the time when mr. theodore hook was pleased to assume that no one above the condition of a rich tradesman or second-rate attorney lived in it. of the lawyers whose names are mournfully associated with the square itself are sir samuel romilly and sir thomas noon talfourd. in , the year of his destruction by his own hand, sir samuel romilly lived there; and talfourd had a house on the east side of the square up to the time of his lamented death in . that theodore hook's ridicule of bloomsbury greatly lessened for a time the value of its houses there is abundant evidence. when he deluged the district with scornful satire, his voice was a social power, to which a considerable number of honest people paid servile respect. his clever words were repeated; and bloomsbury having become a popular by-word for contempt, aristocratic families ceased to live, and were reluctant to invest money, in its well-built mansions. but hook only accelerated a movement which had for years been steadily though silently making progress. erskine knew red lion square when every house was occupied by a lawyer of wealth and eminence, if not of titular rank; but before he quitted the stage, barristers had relinquished the ground in favor of opulent shopkeepers. when an ironmonger became the occupant of a house in red lion square on the removal of a distinguished counsel, erskine wrote the epigram-- "this house, where once a lawyer dwelt, is now a smith's,--alas! how rapidly the iron age succeeds the age of brass." these lines point to a minor change in the social arrangements of london, which began with the century, and was still in progress when erskine had for years been mouldering in his grave. in , the year of erskine's death, chief baron richards expired in his town house, in great ormond street. in the july of the following year baron wood--_i.e._, george wood, the famous special pleader--died at his house in bedford square, about seventeen months after his resignation of his seat in the court of exchequer to john hullock. at the present time the legal fraternity has deserted bloomsbury. the last of the judges to depart was chief baron pollock, who sold his great house in queen square at a quite recent date. with the disappearance of this venerable and universally respected judge, the legal history of the neighborhood may be said to have closed. some wealthy solicitors still live in russell square and the adjoining streets; a few old-fashioned barristers still linger in upper bedford place and lower bedford place. guilford street and doughty street, and the adjacent thoroughfares of the same class, still number a sprinkling of rising juniors, literary barristers, and fairly prosperous attorneys. perhaps the ancient aroma of the 'old law quarter'--mesopotamia, us it is now disrespectfully termed--is still strong and pleasant enough to attract a few lawyers who cherish a sentimental fondness for the past. a survey of the post office directory creates an impression that, compared with other neighborhoods, the district north and northeast of bloomsbury square still possesses more than an average number of legal residents; but it no longer remains the quarter of the lawyers. there still resides in mecklenburgh square a learned queen's counsel, for whose preservation the prayers of the neighborhood constantly ascend. to his more scholarly and polite neighbors this gentleman is an object of intellectual interest and anxious affection. as the last of an extinct species, as a still animate dodo, as a lordly mohican who has outlived his tribe, this isolated counselor of her gracious majesty is watched by heedful eyes whenever he crosses his threshold. in the morning, as he paces from his dwelling to chambers, his way down doughty street and john street, and through gray's inn gardens, is guarded by men anxious for his safety. shreds of orange-peel are whisked from the pavement on which he is about to tread; and when he crosses holborn he walks between those who would imperil their lives to rescue him from danger. the gatekeeper in doughty street daily makes him low obeisance, knowing the historic value and interest of his courtly presence. occasionally the inhabitants of mecklenburgh square whisper a fear that some sad morning their q.c. may flit away without giving them a warning. long may it be before the residents of the 'old law quarter' shall wail over the fulfillment of this dismal anticipation! [ ] dr. clench lived in brownlow street, holborn; and until his death, in , john abernethy occupied in bedford row the house which is still inhabited by an eminent surgeon, who was abernethy's favorite pupil. of dr. clench's death in january, - , narcissus luttrell gives the following account: "the th, last night, dr. clench, the physician, was strangled in a coach; two persons came to his house in brownlow street, holborn, in a coach, and pretended to carry him to a patient's in the city; they drove backward and forward, and after some time stopt by leadenhall, and sent the coachman to buy a couple of fowls for supper, who went accordingly; and in the meantime they slipt away, and the coachman when he returned found dr. clench with a handkerchief tyed about his neck, with a hard sea-coal twisted in it, and clapt against his windpipe; he had spirits applied to him and other means, but too late, he having been dead some time." dr. clench's murderer, one mr. harrison, a man of gentle condition, was apprehended, tried, found guilty, and hung in chains. [ ] holt's country seat was redgrave hall, formerly the home of the bacons. it was on his manor of redgrave, that sir nicholas bacon entertained queen elizabeth, when she remarked that her lord keeper's house was too small for him, and he answered--"your majesty has made me too great for my house." part ii. loves of the lawyers. chapter vi. a lottery. "i would compare the multitude of women which are to be chosen for wives unto a bag full of snakes, having among them a single eel; now if a man should put his hand into this bag, he may chance to light on the eel; but it is an hundred to one he shall be stung by a snake." these words were often heard from the lips of that honest judge, sir john more, whose son thomas stirred from brain to foot by the bright eyes, and snowy neck, and flowing locks of _cara elizabetha_ (the _cara elizabetha_ of a more recent tom more was 'bessie, my darling')--penned those warm and sweetly-flowing verses which delight scholars of the present generation, and of which the following lines are neither the least musical nor the least characteristic:-- "jam subit illa dies quæ ludentem obtulit olim inter virgineos te mibi prima choros. lactea cum flavi decuerunt colla capilli, cum gena par nivibus visa, labella rosis: cum tua perstringunt oculos duo sydera nostros perque oculos intrant in mea corda meos." the goddess of love played the poet more than one droll trick. having approached her with musical flattery, he fled from her with fear and abhorrence. for a time the highest and holiest of human affections was to his darkened mind no more than a carnal appetite; and he strove to conquer the emotions which he feared would rouse within him a riot of impious passions. with fasting and cruel discipline he would fain have killed the devil that agitated him, whenever he passed a pretty girl in the street. as a lay carthusian he wore a hair-shirt next his skin, disciplined his bare back with scourges, slept on the cold ground or a hard bench, and by a score other strong measures sought to preserve his spiritual by ruining his bodily health. but nature was too powerful for unwholesome doctrine and usage, and before he rashly took a celibatic vow, he knelt to fair jane colt--and rising, kissed her on the lips. when spiritual counsel had removed his conscientious objections to matrimony, he could not condescend to marry for love, but must, forsooth, choose his wife in obedience to considerations of compassion and mercy. loving her younger sister, he paid his addresses to jane, because he shrunk from the injustice of putting the junior above the older of the two girls. "sir thomas having determined, by the advice and direction of his ghostly father, to be a married man, there was at that time a pleasant conceited gentleman of an ancient family in essex, one mr. john colt, of new hall, that invited him into his house, being much delighted in his company, proffering unto him the choice of any of his daughters, who were young gentlewomen of very good carriage, good complexions, and very religiously inclined; whose honest and sweet conversation and virtuous education enticed sir thomas not a little; and although his affection most served him to the second, for that he thought her the fairest and best favored, yet when he thought within himself that it would be a grief and some blemish to the eldest to have the younger sister preferred before her, he, out of a kind of compassion, settled his fancy upon the eldest, and soon after married her with all his friends' good liking." the marriage was a fair happy union, but its duration was short. after giving birth to four children jane died, leaving the young husband, who had instructed her sedulously, to mourn her sincerely. that his sorrow was poignant may be easily believed; for her death deprived him of a docile pupil, as well as a dutiful wife. "virginem duxit admodum puellam," erasmus says of his friend, "claro genere natam, rudem adhuc utpote ruri inter parentes ac sorores semper habitam, quo magis illi liceret illam ad suos mores fingere. hanc et literis instruendam curavit, et omni musices genere doctam reddidit." here is another insight into the considerations which brought about the marriage. when he set out in search of a wife, he wished to capture a simple, unsophisticated, untaught country girl, whose ignorance of the world should incline her to rely on his superior knowledge, and the deficiencies of whose intellectual training should leave him an ample field for educational experiments. seeking this he naturally turned his steps toward the eastern countries; and in essex he found the young lady, who to the last learnt with intelligence and zeal the lessons which he set her. more's second choice of a wife was less fortunate than his first. wanting a woman to take care of his children and preside over his rather numerous establishment, he made an offer to a widow, named alice middleton. plain and homely in appearance and taste, mistress alice would have been invaluable to sir thomas as a superior domestic servant, but his good judgment and taste deserted him when he decided to make her a closer companion. bustling, keen, loquacious, tart, the good dame scolded servants and petty tradesmen with admirable effect; but even at this distance of time the sensitive ear is pained by her sharp, garrulous tongue, when its acerbity and virulence are turned against her pacific and scholarly husband. a smile follows the recollection that he endeavored to soften her manners and elevate her nature by a system of culture similar to that by which jane colt, 'admodum puella,' had been formed and raised into a polished gentlewoman. past forty years of age, mistress alice was required to educate herself anew. erasmus assures his readers that "though verging on old age, and not of a yielding temper," she was prevailed upon "to take lessons on the lute, the cithara, the viol, the monochord, and the flute, which she daily practised to him." it has been the fashion with biographers to speak bitterly of this poor woman, and to pity more for his cruel fate in being united to a termagant. no one has any compassion for her. sir thomas is the victim; mistress alice the shrill virago. in those days, when every historic reprobate finds an apologist, is there no one to say a word in behalf of the widow middleton, whose lot in life and death seems to this writer very pitiable? she was quick in temper, slow in brain, domineering, awkward. to rouse sympathy for such a woman is no easy task; but if wretchedness is a title to compassion, mistress alice has a right to charity and gentle usage. it _was not_ her fault that she could not sympathize with her grand husband, in his studies and tastes, his lofty life and voluntary death; it _was_ her misfortune that his steps traversed plains high above her own moral and intellectual level. by social theory they were intimate companions; in reality, no man and woman in all england were wider apart. from his elevation he looked down on her with commiseration that was heightened by curiosity and amazement; and she daily writhed under his gracious condescension and passionless urbanity; under her own consciousness of inferiority and consequent self-scorn. he could no more sympathize with her petty aims, than she with the high views and ambitions; and conjugal sympathy was far more necessary to her than to him. his studious friends and clever children afforded him an abundance of human fellowship; his public cares and intellectual pursuits gave him constant diversion. he stood in such small need of her, that if some benevolent fairy had suddenly endowed her with grace, wisdom, and understanding, the sum of his satisfaction would not have been perceptibly altered. but apart from him she had no sufficient enjoyments. his genuine companionship was requisite for her happiness; but for this society nature had endowed her with no fitness. in the case of an unhappy marriage, where the unhappiness is not caused by actual misconduct, but is solely due to incongruity of tastes and capacities, it is cruel to assume that the superior person of the ill-assorted couple has the stronger claim to sympathy. finding his wife less tractable than he wished, more withheld his confidence from her, taking the most important steps of his life, without either asking for her advice, or even announcing the course which he was about to take. his resignation of the seals was announced to her on the day _after_ his retirement from office, and in a manner which, notwithstanding its drollery, would greatly pain any woman of ordinary sensibility. the day following the date of his resignation was a holiday; and in accordance with his usage the ex-chancellor, together with his household, attended service in chelsea church. on her way to church, lady more returned the greetings of her friends with a stateliness not unseemly at that ceremonious time in one who was the lady of the lord high chancellor. at the conclusion of service, ere she left her pew, the intelligence was broken to her in a jest that she had lost her cherished dignity. "and whereas upon the holidays during his high chancellorship one of his gentlemen, when the service of the church was done, ordinarily used to come to my lady his wife's pew-door, and say unto her '_madam, my lord is gone_,' he came into my lady his wife's pew himself, and making a low courtesy, said unto her, 'madam, my lord is gone,' which she, imagining to be but one of his jests, as he used many unto her, he sadly affirmed unto her that it was true. this was the way he thought fittest to break the matter unto his wife, who was full of sorrow to hear it." equally humorous and pathetic was that memorable interview between more and his wife in the tower, when she, regarding his position by the lights with which nature had endowed her, counseled him to yield even at that late moment to the king. "what the goodyear, mr. more!" she cried, bustling up to the tranquil and courageous man. "i marvel that you, who have been hitherto always taken for a wise man, will now so play the fool as to lie here in this close, filthy prison, and be content to be shut up thus with mice and rats, when you might be abroad at your liberty, with the favor and good-will both of the king and his council, if you would but do as the bishops and best learned of his realm have done; and, seeing you have at chelsea a right fair house, your library, your books, your gallery, and all other necessaries so handsome about you, where you might, in company with me, your wife, your children, and household, be merry, i muse what, in god's name, you mean, here thus fondly to tarry." having heard her out--preserving his good-humor, he said to her, with a cheerful countenance, "i pray thee, good mrs. alice, tell me one thing!" "what is it?" saith she, "is not this house as near heaven as my own?" sir thomas more was looking towards heaven. mistress alice had her eye upon the 'right fair house' at chelsea. chapter vii. good queen bess. amongst the eminent men who are frequently mentioned as notorious suitors for the personal affection of queen elizabeth, a conspicuous place is awarded to hatton, by the scandalous memoirs of his time and the romantic traditions of later ages. historians of the present generation have accepted without suspicion the story that hatton was elizabeth's amorous courtier, that the fanciful letters of 'lydds' were fervent solicitations for response to his passion; that he won her favor and his successive promotions by timely exhibition of personal grace and steady perseverance in flattery. campbell speaks of the queen and her chancellor as 'lovers;' and the view of the historian has been upheld by novelists and dramatic writers. the writer of this page ventures to reject a story which is not consistent with truth, and casts a dark suspicion on her who was not more powerful as a queen than virtuous as a woman. for illustrations of lovers' pranks amongst the elizabethan lawyers, the reader must pass to two great judges, the inferior of whom was a far greater man than christopher hatton. rivals in law and politics, bacon and coke were also rivals in love. having wooed the same proud, lovely, capricious, violent woman, the one was blessed with failure, and the other was cursed with success. until a revolution in the popular estimate of bacon was effected by mr. hepworth dixon's vindication of that great man, it was generally believed that love was no appreciable element in his nature. delight in vain display occupied in his affections the place which should have been held by devotion to womanly beauty and goodness; he had sneered at love in an essay, and his cold heart never rebelled against the doctrine of his clever brain; he wooed his notorious cousin for the sake of power, and then married alice barnham for money. such was the theory, the most solid foundation of which was a humorous treatise,[ ] misread and misapplied. the lady's wealth, rank, and personal attractions were in truth the only facts countenancing the suggestion that francis bacon proffered suit to his fair cousin from interested motives. notwithstanding her defects of temper, no one denies that she was a woman qualified by nature to rouse the passion of man. a wit and beauty, she was mistress of the arts which heighten the powers of feminine tact and loveliness. the daughter of sir thomas cecil, the grandchild of lord burleigh, she was francis bacon's near relation; and though the cecils were not inclined to help him to fortune, he was nevertheless one of their connection, and consequently often found himself in familiar conversation with the bright and fascinating woman. doubtless she played with him, persuading herself that she merely treated him with cousinly cordiality, when she was designedly making him her lover. the marvel was that she did not give him her hand; that he sought it is no occasion for surprise--or for insinuations that he coveted her wealth. biography is by turns mischievously communicative and vexatiously silent. that bacon loved sir william hatton's widow, and induced essex to support his suit, and that rejecting him she gave herself to his enemy, we know; but history tells us nothing of the secret struggle which preceded the lady's resolution to become the wife of an unalluring, ungracious, peevish, middle-aged widower. she must have felt some tenderness for her cousin, whose comeliness spoke to every eye, whose wit was extolled by every lip. perhaps she, like many others, had misread the essay 'of love,' and felt herself bound in honor to bring the philosopher to his knees at her feet. it is credible that from the outset of their sentimental intercourse, she intended to win and then to flout him. but coquetry cannot conquer the first laws of human feeling. to be a good flirt, a woman must have nerve and a sympathetic nature; and doubtless the flirt in this instance paid for her triumph with the smart of a lasting wound. is it fanciful to argue that her subsequent violence and misconduct, her impatience of control and scandalous disrespect for her aged husband, may have been in some part due to the sacrifice of personal inclination which she made in accepting coke at the entreaty of prudent and selfish relations--and to the contrast, perpetually haunting her, between what she was as sir edward's termagant partner, and what she might have been as francis bacon's wife? she consented to a marriage with edward coke, but was so ashamed of her choice, that she insisted on a private celebration of their union, although archbishop whitgift had recently raised his voice against the scandal of clandestine weddings, and had actually forbidden them. in the face of the primate's edict the ill-assorted couple were united in wedlock, without license or publication of banns, by a country parson, who braved the displeasure of whitgift, in order that he might secure the favor of a secular patron. the wedding-day was november , , the bridegroom's first wife having been buried on the th of the previous july.[ ] on learning the violation of his orders, the archbishop was so incensed that he resolved to excommunicate the offenders, and actually instituted for that purpose legal proceedings, which were not dropped until bride and bridegroom humbly sued for pardon, pleading ignorance of law in excuse of their misbehavior. the scandalous consequences of that marriage are known to every reader who has laughed over the more pungent and comic scenes of english history. whilst lady hatton gave masques and balls in the superb palace which came into her possession through marriage with sir christopher hatton's nephew, coke lived in his chambers, working at cases and writing the books which are still carefully studied by every young man who wishes to make himself a master of our law. in private they had perpetual squabbles, and they quarrelled with equal virulence and indecency before the world. the matrimonial settlement of their only and ill-starred daughter was the occasion of an outbreak on the part of husband and wife, that not only furnished diversion for courtiers but agitated the council table. of all the comic scenes connected with that unseemly _fracas_, not the least laughable and characteristic was the grand festival of reconciliation at hatton house, when lady hatton received the king and queen in holborn, and expressly forbade her husband to presume to show himself among her guests. "the expectancy of sir edward's rising," says a writer of the period,[ ] "is much abated by reason of his lady's liberty,[ ] who was brought in great honor to exeter house by my lord of buckingham from sir william craven's, whither she had been remanded, presented by his lordship to the king, received gracious usage, reconciled to her daughter by his majesty, and her house in holborn enlightened by his presence at a dinner, where there was a royal feast; and to make it more absolutely her own, express commandment given by her ladyship, that neither sir edward coke nor any of his servants should be admitted." if tradition may be credited, the law is greatly indebted to the class of women whom it was our forefathers' barbarous wont to punish with the ducking-stool. had coke been happy in his second marriage, it is assumed that he would have spent more time in pleasure and fewer hours at his desk, that the suitors in his court would have had less careful decisions, and that posterity would have been favored with fewer reports. if the inference is just, society may point to the commentary on littleton, and be thankful for the lady's unhappy temper and sharp tongue. in like manner the wits of the following century maintained that holt's steady application to business was a consequence of domestic misery. the lady who ruled his house in bedford row, is said to have been such a virago, that the chief justice frequently retired to his chambers, in order that he might place himself beyond reach of her voice. amongst the good stories told of radcliffe, the tory physician, is the tradition of his boast, that he kept lady holt alive out of pure political animosity to the whig chief justice. another eminent lawyer, over whose troubles people have made merry in the same fashion, was jeffrey gilbert, baron of the exchequer. at his death, october , , this learned judge left behind him that mass of reports, histories, and treatises by which he is known as one of the most luminous, as well as voluminous of legal writers. none of his works passed through the press during his life, and when their number and value were discovered after his departure to another world, it was whispered that they had been composed in hours of banishment from a hearth where a _scolding wife_ made misery for all who came within the range of her querulous notes. disappointed in his suit to his beautiful and domineering cousin, bacon let some five or six years pass before he allowed his thoughts again to turn to love, and then he wooed and waited for nearly three years more, ere, on a bright may day, he met alice barnham in marylebone chapel, and made her his wife in the presence of a courtly company. in the july of , he wrote to cecil:--"for this divulged and almost prostituted title of knighthood, i could, without charge by your honor's mean, be content to have it, both because of this late disgrace, and because i have three new knights in my mess in gray's inn commons, and because i have found out an alderman's daughter, a handsome maiden, to my liking. so as if your honor will find the time, i will come to the court from gorhambury upon any warning." this expression, 'an alderman's daughter,' contributed greatly, if it did not give rise to, the misapprehension that bacon's marriage was a mercenary arrangement. in these later times the social status of an alderman is so much beneath the rank of a distinguished member of the bar, that a successful queen's counsel, who should make an offer to the daughter of a city magistrate, would be regarded as bent upon a decidedly unambitious match; and if in a significant tone he spoke of the lady as 'an alderman's daughter' his words might be reasonably construed as a hint that her fortune atoned for her want of rank. but it never occurred to bacon's contemporaries to put such a construction on the announcement. far from using the words in an apologetic manner, the lover meant them to express concisely that alice barnham was a lady of suitable condition to bear a title as well as to become his bride. cecil regarded them merely as an assurance that his relative meditated a suitable and even advantageous alliance, just as any statesman of the present day would read an announcement that a kinsman, making his way in the law-courts, intended to marry 'an admiral's daughter' or a 'bishop's daughter.' that it was the reverse of a mercenary marriage, mr. hepworth dixon has indisputably proved in his eighth chapter of 'the story of lord bacon's life,' where he contrasts lady bacon's modest fortune with her husband's personal acquisitions and prospects. [ ] to readers who have no sense of humor and irony, the essay 'of love' unquestionably gives countenance to the theory that francis bacon was cold and passionless in all that concerned woman. of the many strange constructions put upon this essay, not the least amusing and perverse is that which would make it a piece of adroit flattery to elizabeth, who never permitted love "to check with business," though she is represented to have used it as a diversion in idle moments. if sir thomas more's 'utopia' had been published a quarter of a century after (the date of its appearance), a similar construction would have been put on the passage, which urges that lovers should not be bound by an indissoluble tie of wedlock, until mutual inspection has satisfied each of the contracting parties that the other does not labor under any grave personal defect. if it were possible to regard the passage containing this proposal as an interpolation in the original romance, it might then be regarded as an attempt to palliate henry viii.'s conduct to anne of cleves. [ ] when due allowance has been made for the difference between the usages of the sixteenth century and the present time, decency was signally violated by this marriage, which followed so soon upon mrs. coke's death, and still sooner upon the death of lady hatton's famous grandfather, at whose funeral the lawyer made the first overtures for her hand. mrs. coke died june , , and was buried at huntingfield, co. suffolk, july , . lord burleigh expired on august , of the same year. coke's first marriage was not unhappy; and on the death of his wife by that union, he wrote in his note-book:--"most beloved and most excellent wife, she well and happily lived, and, as a true handmaid of the lord, fell asleep in the lord, and now lives and reigns in heaven." in after years he often wished most cordially that he could say _as much_ for his second wife. [ ] strafford's letters and despatches, i. . [ ] lady hatton never used her second husband's name either before or after his knighthood. a good case, touching the customary right of a married lady to bear the name, and take her title from the rank of a former husband, is that of sir dudley north, charles ii.'s notorious sheriff of london. the son of an english peer, he married lady gunning, the widow of a wealthy civic knight, and daughter of sir robert cann, "a morose old merchant of bristol"--the same magistrate whom judge jeffreys, in terms not less just than emphatic, upbraided for his connection with, or to speak moderately, his connivance at, the bristol kidnappers. it might be thought that the merchant's daughter, on her marriage with a peer's son, would be well content to relinquish the title of lady gunning; but roger north tells us that his brother dudley accepted knighthood, in order that he might avoid giving offence to the city, and also, in order that his wife might be called lady north, and not lady gunning.--_vide life of the hon. sir dudley north._ after sir thomas wilde (subsequently lord truro), married augusta emma d'este, the daughter of the duke of sussex and lady augusta murray, that lady, of whose legitimacy sir thomas had vainly endeavored to convince the house of lords, retained her maiden surname. in society she was generally known as the princess d'este, and the bilious satirists of the inns of court used to speak of sir thomas as 'the prince.' it was said that one of wilde's familiar associates, soon after the lawyer's marriage, called at his house and asked if the princess d'este was at home. "no, sir," replied the servant, "the princess d'este is not at home, but the prince is!" that this malicious story obtained a wide currency is not wonderful; that it is a truthful anecdote the writer of this book would not like to pledge his credit. the case of sir john campbell and lady strathedon, was a notable instance of a lawyer and his wife bearing different names. raised to the peerage, with the title of baroness stratheden, the first lord abinger's eldest daughter was indebted to her husband for an honor that made him her social inferior. many readers will remember a droll story of a misapprehension caused by her ladyship's title. during an official journey, sir john campbell and baroness stratheden slept at lodgings which he had frequently occupied as a circuiteer. on the morning after his arrival, the landlady obtained a special interview with campbell, and in the baroness's absence thus addressed him, with mingled indignation and respectfulness:--"sir john campbell, i am a lone widow, and live by my good name. it is not in my humble place to be too curious about the ladies brought to my lodgings by counsellors and judges. it is not in me to make remarks if a counsellor's lady changes the color of her eyes, and her complexion every assizes. but, sir john, a gentleman ought not to bring a lady to a lone widow's lodgings, unless so long as he 'okkipies' the apartments he makes all honorable professions that the lady is his wife, and as such gives her the use of his name." chapter viii. rejected addresses. no lawyer of the second charles's time surpassed francis north in love of money, or was more firmly resolved not to marry, without due and substantial consideration. his first proposal was for the daughter of a gray's inn money-lender. usury was not a less contemptible vocation in the seventeenth century than it is at the present time; and most young barristers of gentle descent and fair prospects would have preferred any lot to the degradation of marriage with the child of the most fortunate usurer in charles ii.'s london. but the hon. francis north was placed comfortably _beneath_ the prejudices of his order and time of life. he was of noble birth, but quite ready to marry into a plebeian family; he was young, but loved money more than aught else. so his hearing was quickened and his blood beat merrily when, one fine morning, "there came to him a recommendation of a lady, who was an only daughter of an old usurer in gray's inn, supposed to be a good fortune in present, for her father was rich; but, after his death, to become worth, nobody could tell what." one would like to know how that 'recommendation of a lady' reached the lawyer's chambers; above all, who sent it? "his lordship," continues roger north, "got a sight of the lady, and did not dislike her; thereupon he made the old man a visit, and a proposal of himself to marry his daughter." by all means let this ingenuous, high-spirited templar have a fair judgment. he would not have sold himself to just any woman. he required a _maximum_ of wealth with a _minimum_ of personal repulsiveness. he therefore 'took a sight of the lady' (it does not appear that he talked with her) before he committed himself irrevocably by a proposal. the _sight_ having been taken, as he did not dislike her (mind, he did not positively like her) he made the old man a visit. loving money, and believing in it, this 'old man' wished to secure as much of it as possible for his only child; and therefore looking keenly at the youthful admirer of a usurer's heiress, "asked him what estate his father intended to settle upon him for present maintenance, jointure, and provision for children." mildly and not unjustly roger calls this "an inauspicious question." it was so inauspicious that mr. francis north abruptly terminated the discussion by wishing the usurer good-morning. so ended love affair no. . having lost his dear companion, mr. edward palmer, son of the powerful sir geoffry palmer, mr. francis north soon regarded his friend's wife with tender longing. it was only natural that he should desire to mitigate his sorrow for the dead by possession of the woman who was "left a flourishing widow, and very rich." but the lady knew her worth, as well she might, for "never was lady more closely besieged with wooers: she had no less than five younger sons sat down before her at one time, and she kept them well in hand, as they say, giving no definite answers to any of one of them." small respect did mistress edward palmer show her late husband's most intimate friend. for weeks she tortured the wretched, knavish fellow with coquettish tricks, and having rendered him miserable in many ways, made him ludicrous by jilting him. "he was held at the long saw above a month, doing his duty as well as he might, and that was but clumsily; for he neither dressed nor danced, when his rivals were adroit at both, and the lady used to shuffle her favors amongst them affectedly, and on purpose to mortify his lordship, and at the same time be as civil to him, with like purpose to mortify them." poor mr. francis! well may his brother write indignantly, "it was very grievous to him--that had his thoughts upon his clients' concerns, which came in thick upon him--to be held in a course of bo-peep play with a crafty widow." at length, "after a clancular proceeding," this crafty widow, by marrying "a jolly knight of a good estate," set her victims free; and mr. francis was at liberty to look elsewhere for a lapful of money. roger north tells the story of the third affair so concisely and pithily that his exact words must be put before the reader:--"another proposition came to his lordship," writes the fraternal biographer, giving francis north credit for the title he subsequently won, although at the time under consideration he was plain _mister_ north, on the keen look-out for the place of solicitor general, "by a city broker, from sir john lawrence, who had many daughters, and those reputed beauties; and the fortune was to be £ . his lordship went and dined with the alderman, and liked the lady, who (as the way is) was dressed out for a muster. and coming to treat, the portion shrank to £ , and upon that his lordship parted, and was not gone far before mr. broker (following) came to him, and said sir john would give £ more at the birth of the first child; but that would not do, for his lordship hated such screwing. not long after this dispute, his lordship was made the king's solicitor general, and then the broker came again, with news that sir john would give £ , . 'no,' his lordship said, 'after such usage he would not proceed if he might have £ , .'" the intervention of the broker in this negotiation is delightfully suggestive. more should have been said about him--his name, address, and terms for doing business. was he paid for his services on all that he could save from a certain sum beyond which his employer would not advance a single gold-piece for the disposal of his child? were there, in olden time, men who avowed themselves 'heart and jointure brokers, agents for lovers of both sexes, contractors of mutual attachments, wholesale and retail dealers in reciprocal affection, and general referees, respondents, and insurers in all sentimental affairs, clandestine or otherwise?' after these mischances francis north made an eligible match under somewhat singular circumstances. as co-heiresses of thomas, earl of down, three sisters, the ladies pope, claimed under certain settlements large estates of inheritance, to which lady elizabeth lee set up a counter claim. north, acting as lady elizabeth lee's counsel, effected a compromise which secured half the property in dispute to his client, and diminished by one-half the fortunes to which each of the three suitors on the other side had maintained their right. having thus reduced the estate of lady frances pope to a fortune estimated at about £ , , the lawyer proposed for her hand, and was accepted. after his marriage, alluding to his exertions in behalf of lady elizabeth lee's very disputable claim, he used to say that "he had been counsel against himself;" but roger north frankly admits that "if this question had not come to such a composition, which diminished the ladies' fortunes, his brother had never compassed his match." it was not without reluctance that the countess of downs consented to the union of her daughter with the lawyer who had half ruined her, and who (though he was solicitor general and in fine practice) could settle only £ upon the lady. "i well remember," observes roger, "the good countess had some qualms, and complained that she knew not how she could justify what she had done (meaning the marrying her daughters with no better settlement)." to these qualms francis north, with lawyer-like coolness, answered--"madam, if you meet with any question about that, _say_ that your daughter has £ per annum jointure." the marriage was celebrated in wroxton church; and after bountiful rejoicings with certain loyalist families of oxfordshire, the happy couple went up to london and lived in chambers until they moved into a house in chancery lane. it may surprise some readers of this book to learn that george jeffreys, the odious judge of the bloody circuit, was a successful gallant. tall, well-shaped, and endowed by nature with a pleasant countenance and agreeable features, jeffreys was one of the most fascinating men of his time. a wit and a _bon-vivant_, he could hit the humor of the roystering cavaliers who surrounded the 'merry monarch;' a man of gallantry and polite accomplishments, he was acceptable to women of society. the same tongue that bullied from the bench, when witnesses were perverse or counsel unruly, could flatter with such melodious affectation of sincerity, that he was known as a most delightful companion. as a musical connoisseur he spoke with authority; as a teller of good stories he had no equal in town. even those who detested him did not venture to deny that in the discharge of his judicial offices he could at his pleasure assume a dignity and urbane composure that well became the seat of justice. in short, his talents and graces were so various and effective, that he would have risen to the bench, even if he had labored under the disadvantages of pure morality and amiable temper. women declared him irresistible. at court he had the ear of nell gwyn and the duchess of portsmouth--the protestant favorite and the catholic mistress; and before he attained the privilege of entering whitehall--at a time when his creditors were urgent, and his best clients were the inferior attorneys of the city courts--he was loved by virtuous girls. he was still poor, unknown, and struggling with difficulties, when he induced an heiress to accept his suit,--the daughter of a rural squire whose wine the barrister had drunk upon circuit. this young lady was wooed under circumstances of peculiar difficulty; and she promised to elope with him if her father refused to receive him as a son-in-law. ill-luck befell the scheme; and whilst young jeffreys was waiting in the temple for the letter which should decide his movements, an intimation reached him that elopement was impossible and union forbidden. the bearer of this bad news was a young lady--the child of a poor clergyman--who had been the confidential friend and paid companion of the squire's daughter. the case was hard for jeffreys, cruel for the fair messenger. he had lost an advantageous match, she had lost her daily bread. furious with her for having acted as the _confidante_ of the clandestine lovers, the squire had turned this poor girl out of his house; and she had come to london to seek for employment as well as to report the disaster. jeffreys saw her overpowered with trouble and shame--penniless in the great city, and disgraced by expulsion from her patron's roof. seeing that her abject plight was the consequence of amiable readiness to serve him, jeffreys pitied and consoled her. most young men would have soothed their consciences and dried the running tears with a gift of money or a letter recommending the outcast to a new employer. as she was pretty, a libertine would have tried to seduce her. in jeffreys, compassion roused a still finer sentiment: he loved the poor girl and married her. on may , , sarah neesham was married to george jeffreys of the inner temple; and her father, in proof of his complete forgiveness of her _escapade_, gave her a fortune of £ --a sum which the poor clergyman could not well afford to bestow on the newly married couple. having outlived sarah neesham, jeffreys married again--taking for his second wife a widow whose father was sir thomas bludworth, ex-lord mayor of london. whether rumor treated her unjustly it is impossible to say at this distance of time; but if reliance may be put on many broad stories current about the lady, her conduct was by no means free from fault. she was reputed to entertain many lovers. jeffreys would have created less scandal if, instead of taking her to his home, he had imitated the pious sir matthew hale, who married his maid-servant, and on being twitted by the world with the lowliness of his choice, silenced his censors with a jest. amongst the love affairs of seventeenth-century lawyers place must be made for mention of the second wife whom chief justice bramston brought home from ireland, where she had outlived two husbands (the bishop of clogher and sir john brereton), before she gave her hand to the judge who had loved her in his boyhood. "when i see her," says the chief justice's son, who describes the expedition to dublin, and the return to london, "i confess i wondered at my father's love. she was low, fatt, red-faced; her dress, too, was a hat and ruff, which tho' she never changed to death. but my father, i believe, seeing me change countenance, told me it was not beautie, but virtue, he courted. i believe she had been handsome in her youth; she had a delicate, fine hand, white and plump, and indeed proved a good wife and mother-in-law, too." on her journey to charles i.'s london, this elderly bride, in her antiquated attire, rode from holyhead to beaumaris on a pillion behind her step-son. "as she rode over the sandes," records her step-son, "behind mee, and pulling off her gloves, her wedding ringe fell off, and sunk instantly. she caused her man to alight; she sate still behind me, and kept her eye on the place, and directed her man, but he not guessing well, she leaped off, saying she would not stir without her ringe, it being the most unfortunate thinge that could befall any one to lose the wedding-ringe--made the man thrust his hand into the sands (the nature of which is not to bear any weight but passing), he pulled up sand, but not the ringe. she made him strip his arme and put it deeper into the sand, and pulled up the ringe; and this done, he and shee, and all that stood still, were sunk almost to the knees, but we were all pleased that the ringe was found." in the legal circle of charles the second's london, lady king was notable as a virago whose shrill tongue disturbed her husband's peace of mind by day, and broke his rest at night. earning a larger income than any other barrister of his time, he had little leisure for domestic society; but the few hours which he could have spent with his wife and children, he usually preferred to spend in a tavern, beyond the reach of his lady's sharp querulousness. "all his misfortune," says roger north, "lay at home, in perverse consort, who always, after his day-labor done, entertained him with all the chagrin and peevishness imaginable; so that he went home as to his prison, or worse; and when the time came, rather than go home, he chose commonly to get a friend to go and sit in a free chat at the tavern, over a single bottle, till twelve or one at night, and then to work again at five in the morning. his fatigue in business, which, as i said, was more than ordinary to him, and his no comfort, or rather, discomfort at home, and taking his refreshment by excising his sleep, soon pulled him down; so that, after a short illness, he died." on his death-bed, however, he forgave the weeping woman, who, more through physical irritability than wicked design, had caused him so much undeserved discomfort; and by his last will and testament he made liberal provision for her wants. having made his will, "he said, i am glad it is done," runs the memoir of sir john king, written by his father, "and after took leave of his wife, who was full of tears; seeing it is the will of god, let us part quietly in friendship, with submissiveness to his will, as we came together in friendship by his will." chapter ix. "cicero" upon his trial. a complete history of the loves of lawyers would notice many scandalous intrigues and disreputable alliances, and would comprise a good deal of literature for which the student would vainly look in the works of our best authors. from the days of wolsey, whose amours were notorious, and whose illegitimate son became dean of wells, down to the present time of brighter though not unimpeachable morality, the domestic lives of our eminent judges and advocates have too frequently invited satire and justified regret. in the eighteenth century judges, without any loss of _caste_ or popular regard, openly maintained establishments that in these more decorous and actually better days would cover their keepers with obloquy. attention could be directed to more than one legal family in which the descent must be traced through a succession of illegitimate births. not only did eminent lawyers live openly with women who were not their wives, and with children whom the law declined to recognize as their offspring; but these women and children moved in good society, apparently indifferent to shame that brought upon them but few inconveniences. in great ormond street, where a mistress and several illegitimate children formed his family circle, lord thurlow was visited by bishops and deans; and it is said that in , when sir james mansfield, chief justice of the common pleas, was invited to the woolsack and the peerage, he was induced to decline the offer more by consideration for his illegitimate children than by fears for the stability of the new administration. speaking of lord thurlow's undisguised intercourse with mrs. hervey, lord campbell says, "when i first knew the profession, it would not have been endured that any one in a judicial situation should have had such a domestic establishment as thurlow's; but a majority of judges had married their mistresses. the understanding then was that a man elevated to the bench, if he had a mistress, must either marry her or put her away. for many years there has been no necessity for such an alternative." either lord campbell had not the keen appetite for professional gossip, with which he is ordinarily credited, or his conscience must have pricked him when he wrote, "for many years there has been no necessity for such an alternative." to show how far his lordship erred through want of information or defect of candor is not the duty of this page; but without making any statement that can wound private feeling, the present writer may observe that 'the understanding,' to which lord campbell draws attention, has affected the fortune of ladies within the present generation. that the bright and high-minded somers was the debauchee that mrs. manley and mr. cooksey would have us believe him is incredible. it is doubtful if mackey in his 'sketch of leading characters at the english court' had sufficient reasons for clouding his sunny picture of the statesman with the assertion that he was "something of a libertine." but there are occasions when prudence counsels us to pay attention to slander. having raised himself to the office of solicitor general, somers, like francis bacon, found an alderman's daughter to his liking; and having formed a sincere attachment for her, he made his wishes known to her father. miss anne bawdon's father was a wealthy merchant, styled sir john bawdon--a man proud of his civic station and riches, and thinking lightly of lawyers and law. when somers stated his property and projects, the rental of his small landed estate and the buoyancy of his professional income, the opulent knight by no means approved the prospect offered to his child. the lawyer might die in the course of twelve months; in which case the worcestershire estate would be still a small estate, and the professional income would cease. in twelve mouths mr. solicitor might be proved a scoundrel, for at heart all lawyers were arrant rogues; in which case matters would be still worse. having regarded the question from these two points of view, sir john bawdon gave somers his dismissal and married miss anne to a rich turkey merchant. three years later, when somers had risen to the woolsack, and it was clear that the rich turkey merchant would never be anything grander than a rich turkey merchant, sir john saw that he had made a serious blunder, for which his child certainly could not thank him. a goodly list might be made of cases where papas have erred and repented in sir john bawdon's fashion. sir john lawrence would have made his daughter a lord keeper's lady and a peeress, if he and his broker had dealt more liberally with francis north. had it not been for sir joseph jekyll's counsel, mr. cocks, the worcestershire squire, would have rejected philip yorke as an ineligible suitor, in which case _plain_ mrs. lygon would never have been lady hardwicke, and worked her husband's twenty purses of state upon curtains and hangings of crimson velvet. and, if he were so inclined, this writer could point to a learned judge, who in his days of 'stuff' and 'guinea fees' was deemed an ineligible match for a country apothecary's pretty daughter. the country doctor being able to give his daughter £ , , turned away disdainfully from the unknown 'junior,' who five years later was leading his circuit, and quickly rose to the high office which he still fills to the satisfaction of his country. disappointed in his pursuit of anne bawdon, somers never again made any woman an offer of marriage; but scandalous gossip accused him of immoral intercourse with his housekeeper. this woman's name was blount; and while she resided with the chancellor, fame whispered that her husband was still living. not only was somers charged with open adultery, but it was averred that for the sake of peace he had imprisoned in a madhouse his mistress's lawful husband, who was originally a worcester tradesman. the chief authority for this startling imputation is mrs. manley, who was encouraged, if not actually paid, by swift to lampoon his political adversaries. in her 'new atalantis'--the 'cicero' of which scandalous work was understood by its readers to signify 'lord somers,'--this shameless woman entertained quid-nuncs and women of fashion by putting this abominable story in written words, the coarseness of which accorded with the repulsiveness of the accusation. at a time when honest writers on current politics were punished with fine and imprisonment, the pillory and the whip, statesmen and ecclesiastics were not ashamed to keep such libellers as mrs. manley in their pay. that the reader may fully appreciate the change which time has wrought in the tone of political literature, let him contrast the virulence and malignity of this unpleasant passage from the new atalantis, with the tone which recently characterized the public discussion of the case which is generally known by the name of 'the edmunds scandal.' notwithstanding her notorious disregard of truth, it is scarcely credible that mrs. manley's scurrilous charge was in no way countenanced by facts. at the close of the seventeenth century to keep a mistress was scarcely regarded as an offence against good morals; and living in accordance with the fashion of the time, it is probable that somers did that which lord thurlow, after an interval of a century, was able to do without rousing public disapproval. had his private life been spotless, he would doubtless have taken legal steps to silence his traducer; and unsustained by a knowledge that he dared not court inquiry into his domestic arrangements, mrs. manley would have used her pen with greater caution. but all persons competent to form an opinion on the case have agreed that the more revolting charges of the indictment were the baseless fictions of a malicious and unclean mind. chapter x. brothers in trouble. in the 'philosophical dictionary,' voltaire, laboring under misapprehension or carried away by perverse humor, made the following strange announcement:--"il est public en angleterre, et on voudroit le nier en vain, que le chancelier cowper épousa deux femmes, qui vécurent ensemble dans sa maison avec une concorde singulière qui fit honneur à tous trois. plusieurs curieux ont encore le petit livre que ce chancelier composa en faveur de la polygamie." tickled by the extravagant credulity or grotesque malice of this declaration, an english wit, improving upon the published words, represented the frenchman as maintaining that the custodian of the great seal of england was called the _lord keeper_, because, by english law, he was permitted to keep as many wives as he pleased. the reader's amusement will not be diminished by a brief statement of the facts to which we are indebted for voltaire's assertions. william cowper, the first earl of his line, began life with a reputation for dissipated tastes and habits, and by unpleasant experience he learned how difficult it is to get rid of a bad name. the son of a hertfordshire baronet, he was still a law student when he formed a reprehensible connexion with an unmarried lady of that county--miss (or, as she was called by the fashion of the day mistress) elizabeth culling, of hertingfordbury park. but little is known of this woman. her age is an affair of uncertainty, and all the minor circumstances of her intrigue with young william cowper are open to doubt and conjecture; but the few known facts justify the inference that she neither merited nor found much pity in her disgrace, and that william erred through boyish indiscretion rather than from vicious propensity. she bore him two children, and he neither married her nor was required by public opinion to marry her. the respectability of their connexions gave the affair a peculiar interest, and afforded countenance to many groundless reports. by her friends it was intimated that the boy had not triumphed over the lady's virtue until he had made her a promise of marriage; and some persons even went so far as to assert that they were privately married. it is not unlikely that at one time the boy intended to make her his wife as soon as he should be independent of his father, and free to please himself. beyond question, however, is it that they were never united in wedlock, and that will cowper joined the home circuit with the tenacious fame of a scapegrace and _roué_. that he was for any long period a man of dissolute morals is improbable; for he was only twenty-four years of age when he was called to the bar, and before his call he had married (after a year's wooing) a virtuous and exemplary young lady, with whom he lived happily for more than twenty years. a merchant's child, whose face was her fortune--judith, the daughter of sir robert booth, is extolled by biographers for reclaiming her young husband from a life of levity and culpable pleasure. that he loved her sincerely from the date of their imprudent marriage till the date of her death, which occurred just about six months before his elevation to the woolsack, there is abundant evidence. judith died april , , and in the september of the following year the lord keeper married mary clavering, the beautiful and virtuous lady of the bedchamber to caroline wilhelmina dorothea, princess of wales. this lady was the countess cowper whose diary was published by mr. murray in the spring of ; and in every relation of life she was as good and noble a creature as her predecessor in william cowper's affection. of the loving terms on which she lived with her lord, conclusive testimony is found in their published letters and her diary. frequently separated by his professional avocations and her duties of attendance upon the princess of wales, they maintained, during the periods of personal severance, a close and tender intercourse by written words; and at all other times, in sickness not less than in health, they were a fondly united couple. one pathetic entry in the countess's diary speaks eloquently of their nuptial tenderness and devotion:--"april th, . after dinner we went to sir godfrey kneller's to see a picture of my lord, which he is drawing, and is the best that was ever done for him; it is for my drawing-room, and in the same posture that he watched me so many weeks in my great illness." lord cowper's second marriage was solemnized with a secrecy for which his biographers are unable to account. the event took place september, , about two months before his father's death, but it was not announced till the end of february, , at which time luttrell entered in his diary, "the lord keeper, who not long since was privately married to mrs. clavering of the bishoprick of durham, brought her home this day." mr. foss, in his 'judges of england,' suggests that the concealment of the union "may not improbably be explained by the lord keeper's desire not to disturb the last days of his father, who might perhaps have been disappointed that the selection had not fallen on some other lady to whom he had wished his son to be united." but this conjecture, notwithstanding its probability, is only a conjecture. unless they had grave reasons for their conduct, the lord keeper and his lady had better have joined hands in the presence of the world, for the mystery of their private wedding nettled public curiosity, and gave new life to an old slander. cowper's boyish _escapade_ was not forgotten by the malicious. no sooner had he become conspicuous in his profession and in politics, than the story of his intercourse with miss culling was told in coffee-rooms with all the exaggerations that prurient fancy could devise or enmity dictate. the old tale of a secret marriage--or, still worse, of a mock marriage--was caught from the lips of some hertford scandal-monger, and conveyed to the taverns and drawing-rooms of london. in taking sir robert booth's daughter to church, he was said to have committed bigamy. even while he was in the house of commons he was known by the name of 'will bigamy;' and that _sobriquet_ clung to him ever afterwards. twenty years of wholesome domestic intercourse with his first wife did not free him from the abominable imputation, and his marriage with miss clavering revived the calumny in a new form. fools were found to believe that he had married her during judith booth's life and that their union had been concealed for several years instead of a few months. the affair with miss culling was for a time forgotten, and the charge preferred against the keeper of the queen's conscience was bigamy of a much more recent date. in various forms this ridiculous accusation enlivens the squibs of the pamphleteers of queen anne's reign. in the 'new atalantis' mrs. manley certified that the fair victim was first persuaded by his lordship's sophistries to regard polygamy as accordant with moral law. having thus poisoned her understanding, he gratified her with a form of marriage, in which his brother spencer, in clerical disguise, acted the part of a priest. it was even suggested that the bride in this mock marriage was the lawyer's ward. never squeamish about the truth, when he could gain a point by falsehood, swift endorsed the spiteful fabrication, and in the _examiner_, pointing at lord cowper, wrote--"this gentleman, knowing that marriage fees were a considerable perquisite to the clergy, found out a way of improving them cent. per cent. for the benefit of the church. his invention was to marry a second wife while the first was alive; convincing her of the lawfulness by such arguments as he did not doubt would make others follow the same example. _these he had drawn up in writing with intention to publish for the general good, and it is hoped he may now have leisure to finish them._" it is possible that the words in italics were the cause of voltaire's astounding statement: "plusieurs curieux ont encore le petit livre que ce chancelier composa en faveur de la polygamie." on this point lord campbell, confidently advancing an opinion which can scarcely command unanimous assent, says, "the fable of the '_treatise_' is evidently taken from the panegyric on 'a plurality of wives,' which mrs. manley puts into the mouth of lord cowper, in a speech supposed to be addressed by hernando to lousia." but whether voltaire accepted the 'new atalantis,' or the _examiner_, as an authority for the statements of his very laughable passage, it is scarcely credible that he believed himself to be penning the truth. the most reasonable explanation of the matter appears to be, that tickled by swift's venomous lines, the sarcastic frenchman in malice and gaiety adopted them, and added to their piquancy by the assurance that the chancellor's book was not only published, but was preserved by connoisseurs as a literary curiosity. like his elder brother, the chancellor, spencer cowper married at an early age, lived to wed a second wife, and was accused of immorality that was foreign to his nature. the offence with which the younger cowper was charged, created so wide and profound a sensation, and gave rise to such a memorable trial, that the reader will like to glance at the facts of the case. born in , spencer cowper was scarcely of age when he was called to the bar, and made comptroller of the bridge house estate. the office, which was in the gift of the corporation of london, provided him with a good income, together with a residence in the bridge house, st. olave's, southwark, and brought him in contact with men who were able to bring him briefs or recommend him to attorneys. for several years the boy-barrister was thought a singularly lucky fellow. his hospitable house was brightened by a young and lovely wife (pennington, the daughter of john goodeve), and he was so much respected in his locality that he was made a justice of the peace. in his profession he was equally fortunate: his voice was often heard at westminster and on the home circuit, the same circuit where his brother william practised and his family interest lay. he found many clients. envy is the shadow of success; and the cowpers were watched by men who longed to ruin them. from the day when they armed and rode forth to welcome the prince of orange, the lads had been notably fortunate. notwithstanding his reputation for immorality william cowper had sprung into lucrative practice, and in was returned to parliament as representative for hartford, the other seat for the borough being filled by his father, sir william cowper. in spite of their comeliness and complaisant manners, the lightness of their wit and the _prestige_ of their success, hertford heard murmurs that the young cowpers were _too_ lucky by half, and that the cowper interest was dangerously powerful in the borough. it was averred that the cowpers were making unfair capital out of liberal professions: and when the hertford whigs sent the father and son to the house of commons, the vanquished party cursed in a breath the dutch usurper and his obsequious followers. it was resolved to damage the cowpers:--by fair means or foul, to render them odious in their native town. ere long the malcontents found a good cry. scarcely less odious to the hertford tories than the cowpers themselves was an influential quaker of the town, named stout, who actively supported the cowper interest. a man of wealth and good repute, this follower of george fox exerted himself enthusiastically in the election contest of : and in acknowledgment of his services the cowpers honored him with their personal friendship. sir william cowper asked him to dine at hertford castle--the baronet's country residence; sir william's sons made calls on his wife and daughter. of course these attentions from cowpers to 'the shaker' were offensive to the tory magnates of the place: and they vented their indignation in whispers, that the young men never entered stout's house without kissing his pretty daughter. while these rumors were still young, mr. stout died leaving considerable property to his widow, and to his only child--the beauteous sarah; and after his death the intercourse between the two families became yet more close and cordial. the lawyers advised the two ladies about the management of their property: and the baronet gave them invitations to his london house in hatton garden, as well as to hertford castle. the friendship had disastrous consequences. both the brothers were very fascinating men--men, moreover, who not only excelled in the art of pleasing, but who also habitually exercised it. from custom, inclination, policy, they were very kind to the mother and daughter; probably paying the latter many compliments which they would never have uttered had they been single men. coming from an unmarried man the speech is often significant of love, which on the lips of a husband is but the language of courtesy. but, unfortunately, miss ('mistress' is her style in the report of a famous trial) sarah stout fell madly in love with spencer cowper notwithstanding the impossibility of marriage. not only did she conceive a dangerous fondness for him, but she openly expressed it--by speech and letters. she visited him in the temple, and persecuted him with her embarrassing devotion whenever he came to hertford. it was a trying position for a young man not thirty years of age, with a wife to whom he was devotedly attached, and a family whose political influence in his native town might be hurt by publication of the girl's folly. taking his elder brother into his confidence, he asked what course he ought to pursue. to withdraw totally and abruptly from the two ladies, would be cruel to the daughter, insulting to the mother; moreover, it would give rise to unpleasant suspicions and prejudicial gossip in the borough. it was decided that spencer must repress the girl's advances--must see her loss frequently--and, by a reserved and frigid manner, must compel her to assume an appearance of womanly discretion. but the plan failed. at the opening of the year she invited him to take up his quarters in her mother's house, when he came to hertford at the next spring assizes. this invitation he declined, saying that he had arranged to take his brother's customary lodgings in the house of mr. barefoot, in the market place, but with manly consideration he promised to call upon her. "i am glad," sarah wrote to him on march , , "you have not quite forgot there is such a person as i in being: but i am willing to shut my eyes and not see anything that looks like unkindness in you, and rather content myself with what excuses you are pleased to make, than be inquisitive into what i must not know: i am sure the winter has been too unpleasant for me to desire the continuance of it: and i wish you were to endure the sharpness of it but for one short hour, as i have done for many long nights and days, and then i believe it would move that rocky heart of yours that can be so thoughtless of me as you are." on monday, march , following the date of the words just quoted, spencer cowper rode into hertford, alighted at mrs. stout's house, and dined with the ladies. having left the house after dinner, in order that he might attend to some business, he returned in the evening and supped with the two women. supper over, mrs. stout retired for the night, leaving her daughter and the young barrister together. no sooner had the mother left the room, than a distressing scene ensued. unable to control or soothe her, spencer gently divided the clasp of her hands, and having freed himself from her embrace, hastened from the room and abruptly left the house. he slept at his lodgings; and the next morning he was horror-struck on hearing that sarah stout's body had been found drowned in the mill-stream behind her old home. that catastrophe had actually occurred. scarcely had the young barrister reached the market place, when the miserable girl threw herself into the stream from which her lifeless body was picked on the following morning. at the coroner's inquest which ensued, spencer cowper gave his evidence with extreme caution, withholding every fact that could be injurious to sarah's reputation; and the jury returned a verdict that the deceased gentlewoman had killed herself whilst in a state of insanity. in deep dejection spencer cowper continued the journey of the circuit. but the excitement of the public was not allayed by the inquest and subsequent funeral. it was rumored that it was no case of self-murder, but a case of murder by the barrister, who had strangled his dishonored victim, and had then thrown her into the river. anxious to save their sect from the stigma of suicide the quakers concurred with the tories in charging the young man with a hideous complication of crimes. the case against spencer was laid before chief justice holt, who at first dismissed the accusation as absurd, but was afterwards induced to commit the suspected man for trial; and in the july of the charge actually came before a jury at the hertford assizes. four prisoners--spencer cowper, two attorneys, and a law-writer--were placed in the dock on the charge of murdering sarah stout. on the present occasion there is no need to recapitulate the ridiculous evidence and absurd misconduct of the prosecution in this trial; though criminal lawyers who wish to know what unfairness and irregularities were permitted in such inquiries in the seventeenth century cannot do better than to peruse the full report of the proceedings, which may be found in every comprehensive legal library. in this place it is enough to say that though the accusation was not sustained by a shadow of legal testimony, the prejudice against the prisoners, both on the part of a certain section of the hertford residents and the presiding judge, mr. baron hatsel, was such that the verdict for acquittal was a disappointment to many who heard it proclaimed by the foreman of the jury. narcissus luttrell, indeed, says that the verdict was "to the satisfaction of the auditors;" but in this statement the diarist was unquestionably wrong, so far as the promoters of the prosecution were concerned. instead of accepting the decision without demur, they attempted to put the prisoners again on their trial by the obsolete process of "appeal of murder;" but this endeavor proving abortive, the case was disposed of, and the prisoners' minds set at rest. the barrister who was thus tried on a capital charge, and narrowly escaped a sentence that would have consigned him to an ignominious death, resumed his practice in the law courts, sat in the house of commons and rose to be a judge in the court of common pleas. it is said that he "presided on many trials for murder; ever cautious and mercifully inclined--remembering the great peril which he himself had undergone." the same writer who aspersed somers with her unchaste thoughts, and reiterated the charge of bigamy against lord chancellor cowper, did not omit to give a false and malicious version to the incidents which had acutely wounded the fine sensibilities of the younger cowper. but enough notice has been taken of the 'new atalantis' in this chapter. to that repulsive book we refer those readers who may wish to peruse mrs. manley's account of sarah stout's death. a distorted tradition of sarah stout's tragic end, and of lord cowper's imputed bigamy, was contributed to an early number of the 'european' by a clerical authority--the rev. j. hinton, rector of alderton, in northamptonshire. "mrs. sarah stout," says the writer, "whose death was charged upon spencer cowper, was strangled accidentally by drawing the steenkirk too tight upon her neck, as she, with four or five young persons, were at a game of romp upon the staircase; but it was not done by mr. cowper, though one of the company. mrs. clavering, lord chancellor cowper's second wife, whom he married during the life of his first, was there too; they were so confounded with the accident, that they foolishly resolved to throw her into the water, thinking it would pass that she had drowned herself." this charming paragraph illustrates the vitality of scandal, and at the same time shows how ludicrously rumor and tradition mistell stories in the face of evidence. spencer cowper's second son, the rev. john cowper, d.d., was the father of william cowper, the poet. chapter xi. early marriages. notwithstanding his illustrious descent, simon harcourt raised himself to the woolsack by his own exertions, and was in no degree indebted to powerful relatives for his elevation. the son of a knight, whose loyalty to the house of stuart had impoverished his estate, he spent his student-days at pembroke, oxford, and the inner temple, in resolute labor, and with few indulgences. his father could make him but a slender allowance; and when he assumed the gown of a barrister, the future chancellor, like erskine in after years, was spurred to industry by the voices of his wife and children. whilst he was still an undergraduate of the university, he fell in love with rebecca clark, daughter of a pious man, of whose vocation the modern peerages are ashamed. sir philip harcourt (the chancellor's father) in spite of his loyalty quarrelled with the established church, and joined the presbyterians: and thomas clark was his presbyterian chaplain, secretary, and confidential servant. great was sir philip's wrath on learning that his boy had not only fallen in love with rebecca clark, but had married her privately. it is probable that the event lowered the worthy knight's esteem for the presbyterian system; but as anger could not cut the nuptial bond, the father relented--gave the young people all the assistance he could, and hoped that they would live long without repenting their folly. the match turned out far better than the old knight feared. taking his humble bride to modest chambers, young harcourt applied sedulously to the study of the law; and his industry was rewarded by success, and by the gratitude of a dutiful wife. in unbroken happiness they lived together for a succession of years, and their union was fruitful of children. harcourt fared better with his love-match than sergeant hill with his heiress, miss medlycott of cottingham, northamptonshire. on the morning of his wedding the eccentric sergeant, having altogether forgotten his most important engagement for the day, received his clients in chambers after his usual practice, and remained busy with professional cares until a band of devoted friends forcibly carried him to the church, where his bride had been waiting for him more than an hour. the ceremony having been duly performed, he hastened back to his chambers, to be present at a consultation. notwithstanding her sincere affection for him, the lady proved but an indifferent wife to the black-letter lawyer. empowered by act of parliament to retain her maiden-name after marriage, she showed her disesteem for her husband's patronymic by her mode of exercising the privilege secured to her by special law; and many a time the sergeant indignantly insisted that she should use his name in her signatures. "my name is hill, madam; my father's name was hill, madam; all the hills have been named hill, madam; hill is a good name--and by ----, madam, you _shall_ use it." on other matters he was more compliant--humoring her old-maidish fancies in a most docile and conciliating manner. curiously neat and orderly, mrs. medlycott took great pride in the faultlessness of her domestic arrangements, so far as cleanliness and precise order were concerned. to maintain the whiteness of the pipe-clayed steps before the front door of her bedford square mansion was a chief object of her existence; and to gratify her in this particular, sergeant hill use daily to leave his premises by the kitchen steps. having outlived the lady, hill observed to a friend who was condoling with him on his recent bereavement, "ay, my poor wife is gone! she was a good sort of woman--in _her_ way a _very_ good sort of woman. i do honestly declare my belief that in _her_ way she had no equal. but--but--i'll tell you something in confidence. if ever i marry again, _i won't marry merely for money_." the learned sergeant died in his ninety-third year without having made a second marriage. like harcourt, john scott married under circumstances that called forth many warm expressions of censure; and like harcourt, he, in after life, reflected on his imprudent marriage as one of the most fortunate steps of his earlier career. the romance of the law contains few more pleasant episodes than the story of handsome jack scott's elopement with bessie surtees. there is no need to tell in detail how the comely oxford scholar danced with the banker's daughter at the newcastle assemblies; how his suit was at first recognised by the girl's parents, although the scotts were but rich 'fitters,' whereas aubone surtees, esquire, was a banker and gentleman of honorable descent; how, on the appearance of an aged and patrician suitor for bessie's hand, papa and mamma told jack scott not to presume on their condescension, and counseled bessie to throw her lover over and become the lady of sir william blackett; how bessie was faithful, and jack was urgent; how they had secret interviews on tyne-side and in london, meeting clandestinely on horseback and on foot, corresponding privately by letters and confidential messengers; how, eventually, the lovers, to the consternation of 'good society' in newcastle, were made husband and wife at blackshiels, north britain. who is ignorant of the story? does not every visitor to newcastle pause before an old house in sandhill, and look up at the blue pane which marks the window from which bessie descended into her lover's arms? jack and bessie were not punished with even that brief period of suffering and uncertainty which conscientious novelists are accustomed, for the sake of social morals, to assign to run-away lovers before the merciful guardian or tender parent promises forgiveness and a liberal allowance, paid in quarterly installments. in his old age eldon used to maintain that their plight was very pitiable on the third morning after their rash union. "our funds were exhausted: we had not a home to go to, and we knew not whether our friends would ever speak to us again." in this strain ran the veteran's story, which, like all other anecdotes from the same source, must be received with caution. but even the old peer, ever ready to exaggerate his early difficulties, had not enough effrontery to represent that their dejection lasted more than three days. the fathers of the bride and bridegroom soon met and came to terms, and with the beginning of the new year bessie scott was living in new inn hall, oxford, whilst her husband read vinerian lectures, and presided over that scholastic house. the position of scott at this time was very singular. he was acting as substitute for sir robert chambers, the principal of new inn hall and vinerian professor of law, who contrived to hold his university preferments, whilst he discharged the duties of a judge in india. to give an honest color to this indefensible arrangement, it was provided that the lectures read from the vinerian chair should actually be written by the professor, although they were delivered by deputy. scott, therefore, as the professor's mouth-piece, on a salary of £ a year, with free quarters in the principal's house, was merely required to read a series of treatises sent to him by the absent teacher. "the law-professor," the ex-chancellor used to relate with true eldonian humor and _fancy_--"sent me the first lecture, which i had to read immediately to the students, and which i began without knowing a single word that was in it. it was upon the statute ( and p. and m. c. ), 'of young men running away with maidens.' fancy me reading, with about boys and young men all giggling at the professor! such a tittering audience no one ever had." if this incident really occurred on the occasion of his 'first reading,' the laughter must have been inextinguishable; for, of course, jack scott's run-away marriage had made much gossip in oxford common rooms, and the singular loveliness of his girlish wife (described by an eye-witness as being "so very young as to give the impression of childhood,") stirred the heart of every undergraduate who met her in high street. there is no harm done by laughter at the old chancellor's romantic fictions about the poverty which he and his bessie encountered, hand in hand, at the outset of life; for the laughter blinds no one to the genuine affection and wholesome honesty of the young husband and wife. one has reason to wish that marriages such as theirs were more frequent amongst lawyers in these ostentatious days. at present the young barrister, who marries before he has a clear fifteen hundred a year, is charged with reckless imprudence; and unless his wife is a woman of fortune, or he is able to settle a heavy sum of money upon her, his anxious friends terrify him with pictures of want and sorrow stored up for him in the future. society will not let him live after the fashion of 'juniors' eighty or a hundred years since. he must maintain two establishments--his chambers for business, his house in the west-end of town for his wife. moreover, the lady must have a brougham and liberal pin money, or four or five domestic servants and a drawing-room well furnished with works of art and costly decorations. they must give state dinners and three or four routs every season; and in all other matters their mode of life must be, or seem to be, that of the upper ten thousand. either they must live in this style, or be pushed aside and forgotten. the choice for them lies between very expensive society or none at all--that is to say, none at all amongst the rising members of the legal profession, and the sort of people with whom young barristers, from prudential motives, wish to form acquaintance. doubtless many a fair reader of this page is already smiling at the writer's simplicity, and is saying to herself, "here is one of the advocates of marriage on three hundred a year." but this writer is not going to advocate marriage on that or any other particular sum. from personal experience he knows what comfort a married man may have for an outlay of three or four hundred per annum; and from personal observation he knows what privations and ignominious poverty are endured by unmarried men who spend twice the larger of those sums on chamber-and-club life. he knows that there are men who shiver at the bare thought of losing caste by marriage with a portionless girl, whilst they are complacently leading the life which, in nine cases out of ten, terminates in the worst form of social degradation--matrimony where the husband blushes for his wife's early history, and dares not tell his own children the date of his marriage certificate. if it were his pleasure he could speak sad truths about the bachelor of modest income, who is rich enough to keep his name on the books of two fashionable clubs, to live in a good quarter of london, and to visit annually continental capitals, but far too poor to think of incurring the responsibilities of marriage. it could be demonstrated that in a great majority of instances this wary, prudent, selfish gentleman, instead of being the social success which many simple people believe him, is a signal and most miserable failure; that instead of pursuing a career of various enjoyments and keen excitements, he is a martyr to _ennui_, bored by the monotony of an objectless existence, utterly weary of the splendid clubs, in which he is presumed by unsophisticated admirers to find an ample compensation for want of household comfort and domestic affection: that as soon as he has numbered forty years, he finds the roll of his friends and cordial acquaintances diminish, and is compelled to retire before younger men, who snatch from his grasp the prizes of social rivalry; and that, as each succeeding lustre passes, he finds the chain of his secret disappointments and embarrassments more galling and heavy. it is not a question of marriage on three hundred a year without prospects, but a marriage on five or six hundred a year with good expectations. in the inns of court there are, at the present time, scores of clever, industrious fine-hearted gentlemen who have sure incomes of three or four hundred pounds per annum. in tyburnia and kensington there is an equal number of young gentlewomen with incomes varying between £ and £ a year. these men and women see each other at balls and dinners, in the parks and at theatres; the ladies would not dislike to be wives, the men are longing to be husbands. but that hideous tyrant, social opinion, bids them avoid marriage. in lord eldon's time the case was otherwise. society saw nothing singular or reprehensible in his conduct when he brought bessie to live in the little house in cursitor street. no one sneered at the young law-student, whose home was a little den in a dingy thoroughfare. at a later date, the rising junior, whose wife lived over his business chambers in carey street, was the object of no unkind criticism because his domestic arrangements were inexpensive, and almost frugal. had his success been tardy instead of quick and decisive, and had circumstances compelled him to live under the shadow of lincoln's inn wall for thirty years on a narrow income, he would not on that account have suffered from a single disparaging criticism. amongst his neighbors in adjacent streets, and within the boundaries of his inn, he would have found society for himself and wife, and playmates for his children. good fortune coming in full strong flood, he was not compelled to greatly change his plan of existence. even in those days, when costly ostentation characterized aristocratic society--he was permitted to live modestly--and lay the foundation of that great property which he transmitted to his ennobled descendants. when satire has done its worst with the miserly propensities of the great lawyer and his wife, their long familiar intercourse exhibits a wealth of fine human affection and genuine poetry which sarcasm cannot touch. often as he had occasion to regret lady eldon's peculiarities--the stinginess which made her grudge the money paid for a fish or a basket of fruit; the nervous repugnance to society, which greatly diminished his popularity; and the taste for solitude and silence which marked her painfully towards the close of her life--the chancellor never even hinted to her his dissatisfaction. when their eldest daughter, following her mother's example, married without the permission of her parents, it was suggested to lord eldon that her ladyship ought to take better care of her younger daughter, lady frances, and entering society should play the part of a vigilant _chaperon_. the counsel was judicious; but the chancellor declined to act upon it, saying,--"when she was young and beautiful, she gave up everything for me. what she is, i have made her; and i cannot now bring myself to compel her inclinations. our marriage prevented her mixing in society when it afforded her pleasure; it appears to give pain now, and why should i interpose?" in his old age, when she was dead, he visited his estate in durham, but could not find heart to cross the tyne bridge and look at the old house from which he took her in the bloom and tenderness of her girlhood. an urgent invitation to visit newcastle drew from him the reply--"i know my fellow-townsmen complain of my not coming to see them; but _how can i pass that bridge?_" after a pause, he added, "poor bessie! if ever there was an angel on earth she was one. the only reparation which one man can make to another for running away with his daughter, is to be exemplary in his conduct towards her." in pecuniary affairs not less prudent than his brother, lord stowell in matters of sentiment was capable of indiscretion. in the long list of legal loves there are not many episodes more truly ridiculous than the story of the older scott's second marriage. on april , , the decorous sir william scott, and louisa catharine, widow of john, marquis of sligo, and daughter of admiral lord howe, were united in the bonds of holy wedlock, to the infinite amusement of the world of fashion, and to the speedy humiliation of the bridegroom. so incensed was lord eldon at his brother's folly, that he refused to appear at the wedding; and certainly the chancellor's displeasure was not without reason, for the notorious absurdity of the affair brought ridicule on the whole of the scott family connexion. the happy couple met for the first time in the old bailey, when sir william scott and lord ellenborough presided at the trial of the marchioness's son, the young marquis of sligo, who had incurred the anger of the law by luring into his yacht, in mediterranean waters, two of the king's seamen. throughout the hearing of that _cause célèbre_, the marchioness sat in the fetid court of the old bailey, in the hope that her presence might rouse amongst the jury or in the bench feelings favorable to her son. this hope was disappointed. the verdict having been given against the young peer, he was ordered to pay a fine of £ , and undergo four months' incarceration in newgate, and--worse than fine and imprisonment--was compelled to listen to a parental address from sir william scott on the duties and responsibilities of men of high station. either under the influence of sincere admiration for the judge, or impelled by desire for vengeance on the man who had presumed to lecture her son in a court of justice, the marchioness wrote a few hasty words of thanks to sir william scott for his salutary exhortation to her boy. she even went so far as to say that she wished the erring marquis could always have so wise a counsellor at his side. this communication was made upon a slip of paper, which the writer sent to the judge by an usher of the court. sir william read the note as he sat on the bench, and having looked towards the fair scribe, he received from her a glance and smile that were fruitful of much misery to him. within four months the courteous sir william scott was tied fast to a beautiful, shrill, voluble termagant, who exercised marvellous ingenuity in rendering him wretched and contemptible. reared in a stately school of old-world politeness, the unhappy man was a model of decorum and urbanity. he took reasonable pride in the perfection of his tone and manner; and the marchioness--whose malice did not lack cleverness--was never more happy than when she was gravely expostulating with him, in the presence of numerous auditors, on his lamentable want of style, tact, and gentlemanlike bearing. it is said that, like coke and holt under similar circumstances, sir william preferred the quietude of his chambers to the society of an unruly wife, and that in the cellar of his inn he sought compensation for the indignities and sufferings which he endured at home. fifty years since the crusted port of the middle temple could soothe the heart at night, without paining the head in the morning. part iii. money. chapter xii. fees to counsel. from time immemorial popular satire has been equally ready to fix the shame of avarice upon divinity physic, and law; and it cannot be denied that in this matter the sarcasms of the multitude are often sustained by the indisputable evidence of history. the greed of the clergy for tithes and dues is not more widely proverbial than the doctor's thirst for fees, or the advocate's readiness to support injustice for the sake of gain. of guyllyam of horseley, physician to charles vi. of france, froissart says, "all his dayes he was one of the greatest nygardes that ever was;" and the chronicler adds, "with this rodde lightly all physicians are beaten." in his address to the sergeants who were called soon after his elevation to the marble chair, the lord keeper puckering, directing attention to the grasping habits which too frequently disgraced the leaders of the bar, observed: "i am to exhort you also not to embrace multitude of causes, or to undertake more places of hearing causes than you are well able to consider of or perform, lest thereby you either disappoint your clients when their causes be heard, or come unprovided, or depart when their causes be in hearing. for it is all one not to come, as either to come unprovided, or depart before it be ended." notwithstanding lingard's able defence of the cardinal, scholars are still generally of opinion that beaufort--the chancellor who lent money on the king's crown, the bishop who sold the pope's soldiers for a thousand marks--is a notable instance of the union of legal covetousness and ecclesiastical greed. the many causes which affect the value of money in different ages create infinite perplexity for the antiquarian who wishes to estimate the prosperity of the bar in past times; but the few disjointed data, that can be gathered from old records, create an impression that in the fourteenth, fifteenth and sixteenth centuries the ordinary fees of eminent counsel were by no means exorbitant, although fortunate practitioners could make large incomes. dugdale's 'baronage' describes with delightful quaintness william de beauchamp's interview with his lawyers when that noble (on the death of john hastings, earl of pembroke, _temp._ richard ii., without issue), claimed the earl's estates under an entail, in opposition to edward hastings, the earl's heir-male of the half-blood. "beauchamp," says dugdale, "invited his learned counsel to his house in paternoster row, in the city of london; amongst whom were robert charlton (then a judge), william pinchbek, william branchesley, and john catesby (all learned lawyers); and after dinner, coming out of his chapel, in an angry mood, threw to each of them a piece of gold, and said, 'sirs, i desire you forthwith to tell me whether i have any right or title to hastings' lordship and lands.' whereupon pinchbek stood up (the rest being silent, fearing that he suspected them), and said, 'no man here nor in england dare say that you have any right in them, except hastings do quit his claim therein; and should he do it, being now under age, it would be of no validitie.'" had charlton, the chief justice of the common pleas, taken gold for his opinion on a case put before him in his judicial character, he would have violated his judicial oath. but in the earl's house in paternoster row he was merely a counsellor learned in the law, not a judge. manifest perils attend a system which permits a judge in his private character to give legal opinions concerning causes on which he may be required to give judgment from the bench; but notwithstanding those perils, there is no reason for thinking that charlton on this occasion either broke law or etiquette. the fair inference from the matter is, that in the closing years of the fourteenth century judges were permitted to give opinions for money to their private clients, although they were forbidden to take gold or silver from any person having "plea or process hanging before them." in the year of our lord the corporation of canterbury paid for advice regarding their civic interests _s._ _d._ to each of three sergeants, and gave the recorder of london _s._ _d._ as a retaining-fee. five years later, mr. serjeant wood received a fee of _s._ from the goldsmiths' company; and it maybe fairly assumed, that so important and wealthy a body paid the sergeant on a liberal scale. in the sixteenth century it was, and for several generations had been, customary for clients to provide food and drink for their counsel. mr. foss gives his readers the following list of items, taken from a bill of costs, made in the reign of edward iv.:-- _s._ _d._ for a breakfast at westminster spent on our counsel to another time for boat-hire in and out, and a breakfast for two days in like manner the accountant of st. margaret's, westminster, entered in the parish books, "also, paid to roger fylpott, learned in the law, for his counsel given, _s._ _d._, with _d._ for his dinner." a yet more remarkable custom was that which enabled clients to hire counsel to plead for them at certain places, for a given time, in whatever causes their eloquence might be required. there still exists the record of an agreement by which, in the reign of henry vii., sergeant yaxley bound himself to attend the assizes at york, nottingham and derby, and speak in court at each of those places, whenever his client, sir robert plumpton--"that perpetual and always unfortunate litigant," as he is called by sergeant manning--required him to do so. this interesting document runs thus--"this bill, indented at london the th day of july, the th yeare of the reigne of king henry the th, witnesseth that john yaxley, sergeant-at-law, shall be at the next assizes to be holden at york, nottin., and derb., if they be holden and kept, and there to be of council with sir robert plumpton, knight, such assizes and actions as the said sir robert shall require the said john yaxley, for the which premises, as well as for his costs and his labours, john pulan, gentleman, bindeth him by thease presents to content and pay to the said john yaxley marks sterling at the feast of the nativetie of our lady next coming, or within eight days next following, with li paid aforehand, parcell of paiment of the said marks. provided alway that if the said john yaxley have knowledg and warning only to cum to nottin. and derby, then the said john yaxley is agread by these presents to take only xv li besides the li aforesaid. provided alwaies that if the said john yaxley have knowledg and warning to take no labour in this matter, then he to reteine and hold the said li resaived for his good will and labour. in witness hereof, the said john yaxley, serjeant, to the part of this indenture remaining with the said john pulan have put his seale the day and yeare above-written. provided also that the said robert plumpton shall beare the charges of the said john yaxley, as well at york as at nottingham and derby, and also to content and pay the said money to the said john yaxley comed to the said assizes att nott., derb., and york. john yaxley." this remarkable agreement--made after richard iii. had vainly endeavored to compose by arbitration the differences between sir robert and sir robert's heir-general--certifies that sir robert plumpton engaged to provide the sergeant with suitable entertainment at the assize towns, and also throws light upon the origin of retaining-fees. it appears from the agreement that in olden time a retaining fee was merely part (surrendered in advance) of a certain sum stipulated to be paid for certain services. in principle it was identical with the payment of the shilling, still given in rural districts, to domestic servants on an agreement for service, and with the transfer of the queen's shilling given to every soldier on enlistment. there is no need to mention the classic origin of this ancient mode of giving force to a contract. from the 'household and privy purse expenses of the le stranges of hunstanton,' published in the archæologia, may be gleamed some interesting particulars relating to the payment of counsel in the reign of henry viii. in , mr. cristofer jenney received from the le stranges a half-yearly fee of ten shillings; and this general retainer was continued on the same terms till , when the fee was raised from £ per annum to a yearly payment of £ _s._ _d._ to mr. knightley was paid the sum of _s._ _d._ "for his fee, and that money yt he layde oute for suying of simon holden;" and the same lawyer also received at another time _s._ _d._ "for his fee and cost of sute for iii termes." a fee of _s._ _d._ was paid to "mr. spelman, s'jeant, for his counsell in makyng my answer in ye duchy cham.;" and the same serjeant received a fee of _s._ _d._ "for his counsell in putting in of the answer." fees of _s._ _d._ were in like manner given "for counsell" to mr. knightley and mr. whyte; and in , mr. yelverton was remunerated "for his counsell" with the unusually liberal honorarium of twenty shillings. from the household book of the earl of northumberland, it appears that order was made, in this same reign, for "every oone of my lordes counsaill to have c's. fees, if he have it in household and not by patent." after the earl's establishment was reduced to forty-two persons, it still retained "one of my lordes counsaill for annswering and riddying of causes, whenne sutors cometh to my lord." at a time when every lord was required to administer justice to his tenants and the inferior people of his territory, a counsellor learned in the law, was an important and most necessary officer in a grand seigneur's retinue. whilst sir thomas more lived in bucklersbury, he "gained, without grief, not so little as £ by the year." this income doubtless accrued from the emoluments of his judicial appointment in the city, as well as from his practice at westminster and elsewhere. in henry viii.'s time it was a very considerable income, such as was equalled by few leaders of the bar not holding high office under the crown. in elizabeth's reign, and during the time of her successor, barristers' fees show a tendency toward increase; and the lawyers who were employed as advocates for the crown, or held judicial appointments, acquired princely incomes, and in some cases amassed large fortunes. fees of _s._ were more generally paid to counsel under the virgin queen, than in the days of her father; but still half that fee was not thought too small a sum for an opinion given by her majesty's solicitor general. indeed, the ten-shilling fee was a very usual fee in elizabeth's reign; and it long continued an ordinary payment for one opinion on a case, or for one speech in a cause of no great importance and of few difficulties. 'a barrister is like balaam's ass, only speaking when he sees the angel,' was a familiar saying in the seventeenth century. in chancery, however, by an ordinance of the lords commissioners passed in , to regulate the conduct of suits and the payments to masters, counsel, and solicitors, it was arranged that on the hearing of a cause, utter-barristers should receive £ fees, whilst the lord protector's counsel and sergeants-at-law should receive £ fees, _i.e._, 'double fees.' the archives of lyme regis show that under elizabeth the usage was maintained of supplying counsel with delicacies of the table, and also of providing them with means of locomotion. here are some items in an old record of disbursements made by the corporation of lyme regis:--"a.d. paid for wine carried with us to mr. poulett--£ _s._ _d._; wine and sugar given to mr. poulett, £ _s._ _d._; horse-hire, and for the sergeant to ride to mr. walrond, of bovey, and for a loaf of sugar, and for conserves given there to mr. poppel, £ _s._ _d._; wine and sugar given to judge anderson, £ _s._ _d._ a bottle and sugar given to mr. gibbs (a lawyer)." under elizabeth, the allowance made to queen's sergeants was £ _s._ _d._ for fee, reward, and robes; and £ . for his services whenever a queen's sergeant travelled circuit as justice of assize. the fee for her solicitor general was £ . when francis bacon was created king's counsel to james i., an annual salary of forty pounds was assigned to him from the royal purse; and down to william iv.'s time, king's counsel received a stipend of £ a year, and an allowance for stationery. under the last mentioned monarch, however, the stipend and allowance were both withdrawn; and at present the status of a q.c. is purely an affair of professional precedence, to which no fixed emolument is attached. but a list of the fees, paid from the royal purse to each judge or crown lawyer under james i., would afford no indication as to the incomes enjoyed by the leading members of the bench and bar at that period. the salaries paid to those officers were merely retaining fees, and their chief remuneration consisted of a large number of smaller fees. like the judges of prior reigns, king james's judges were forbidden to accept _presents_ from actual suitors; but no suitor could obtain a hearing from any one of them, until he had paid into court certain fees, of which the fattest was a sum of money for the judge's personal use. at one time many persons labored under an erroneous impression, that as judges were forbidden to accept presents from actual suitors, the honest judge of past times had no revenue besides his specified salary and allowance. like the king's judges, the king's counsellors frequently made great incomes by fees, though their nominal salaries were invariably insignificant. at a time when francis bacon was james's attorney general, and received no more than £ _s._ _d._ for his yearly salary, he made £ per annum in his profession; and of that income--a royal income in those days--the greater portion consisted of fees paid to him for attending to the king's business. "i shall now," bacon wrote to the king, "again make oblation to your majesty,--first of my heart, then of my service; thirdly, of my place of attorney, which i think is honestly worth £ per annum; and fourthly, of my place in the star chamber, which is worth £ per annum, and with the favor and countenance of a chancellor, much more." coke had made a still larger income during his tenure of the attorney's place, the fees from his private official practice amounting to no loss a sum than seven thousand pounds in a single year. at later periods of the seventeenth century barristers made large incomes, but the fees seem to have been by no means exorbitant. junior barristers received very modest payments, and it would appear that juniors received fees from eminent counsel for opinions and other professional services. whilst he acted as treasurer of the middle temple, at an early period of his career, whitelock received a fee from attorney general noy. "upon my carrying the bill," writes whitelock, "to mr. attorney general noy for his signature, with that of the other benchers, he was pleased to advise with me about a patent the king had commanded him to draw, upon which he gave me a fee for it out of his little purse, saying, 'here, take those single pence,' which amounted to eleven groats, 'and i give you more than an attorney's fee, because you will be a better man than the attorney general. this you will find to be true.' after much other drollery, wherein he delighted and excelled, we parted, abundance of company attending to speak to him all this time." of course the payment itself was no part of the drollery to which whitelock alludes, for as a gentleman he could not have taken money proffered to him in jest, unless etiquette encouraged him to look for it, and allowed him to accept it. the incident justifies the inference that the services of junior counsel to senior barristers--services at the present time termed 'devilling'--were formerly remunerated with cash payments. toward the close of charles i.'s reign--at a time when political distractions were injuriously affecting the legal profession, especially the staunch royalists of the long robe--maynard, the parliamentary lawyer, received on one round of the western circuit, £ , "which," observes whitelock, to whom maynard communicated the fact, "i believe was more than any one of our profession got before." concerning the incomes made by eminent counsel in charles ii.'s time, many _data_ are preserved in diaries and memoirs. that a thousand a year was looked upon as a good income for a flourishing practitioner of the 'merry monarch's' chancery bar, may be gathered from a passage in 'pepys's diary,' where the writer records the compliments paid to him regarding his courageous and eloquent defence of the admiralty, before the house of commons, in march, . under the influence of half-a-pint of mulled sack and a dram of brandy, the admiralty clerk made such a spirited and successful speech in behalf of his department, that he was thought to have effectually silenced all grumblers against the management of his majesty's navy. compliments flowed in upon the orator from all directions. sir william coventry pledged his judgment that the fame of the oration would last for ever in the commons; silver-tongued sir heneage finch, in the blandest tones, averred that no other living man could have made so excellent a speech; the placemen of the admiralty vied with each other in expressions of delight and admiration; and one flatterer, whose name is not recorded, caused mr. pepys infinite pleasure by saying that the speaker who had routed the accusers of a government office, might easily earn a thousand a year at the chancery bar. that sum, however, is insignificant when it is compared with the incomes made by the most fortunate advocates of that period. eminent speakers of the common law bar made between £ and £ per annum on circuit and at westminster, without the aid of king's business; and still larger receipts were recorded in the fee-books of his majesty's attorneys and solicitors. at the chancery bar of the second charles, there was at least one lawyer, who in one year made considerably more than four times the income that was suggested to pepys's vanity and self-complacence. at stanford court, worcestershire, is preserved a fee-book kept by sir francis winnington, solicitor-general to the 'merry monarch,' from december to january , , from the entries of which record the reader may form a tolerably correct estimate of the professional revenues of successful lawyers at that time. in easter term, , sir francis pocketed £ ; in trinity term £ s.; in michaelmas term £ ; and in hilary term , £ s.; the income for the year being £ , without his earnings on the oxford circuit and during vacation. in , sir francis received £ ; in , he earned £ ;[ ] and in --_i.e._, the first year of his tenure of the solicitor's office--his professional income wars £ , of which sum £ were office fees. concerning the attorney-general's receipts about this time, we have sufficient information from roger north, who records that his brother, whilst attorney general, made nearly seven thousand pounds in one year, from private and official business. it is noteworthy that north, as attorney general, made the same income which coke realized in the same office at the commencement of the century. but under the stuarts this large income of £ --in those days a princely revenue--was earned by work so perilous and fruitful of obloquy, that even sir francis, who loved money and cared little for public esteem, was glad to resign the post of attorney and retire to the pleas with £ a year. that the fees of the chancery lawyers under charles ii. were regulated upon a liberal scale we know from roger north, and the record of sir john king's success. speaking of his brother francis, the biographer says: "after he, as king's counsel, came within the bar, he began to have calls into the court of chancery; which he liked very well, because the quantity of the business, _as well as the fees_, was greater; but his home was the king's bench, where he sat and reported like as other practitioners." and in sir john king's memoirs it is recorded that in he made £ , and that he received from £ to £ a day during the last four days of his appearance in court. dying in ,[ ] whilst his supremacy in his own court was at its height, sir john king was long spoken of as a singularly successful chancery barrister. of francis north's mode of taking and storing his fees, the 'life of lord keeper guildford' gives the following picture: "his business increased, even while he was solicitor, to be so much as to have overwhelmed one less dexterous; but when he was made attorney general, though his gains by his office were great, they were much greater by his practice; for that flowed in upon him like an orage, enough to overset one that had not an extraordinary readiness in business. his skull-caps, which he wore when he had leisure to observe his constitution, as i touched before, were now destined to lie in a drawer to receive the money that came in by fees. one had the gold, another the crowns and half-crowns, and another the smaller money. when these vessels were full, they were committed to his friend (the hon. roger north), who was constantly near him, to tell out the cash, and put it into the bags according to the contents; and so they went to his treasurers, blanchard and child, goldsmiths, temple bar."[ ] in the days of wigs, skull-caps like those which francis north used as receptacles for money, were very generally worn by men of all classes and employments. on returning to the privacy of his home, a careful citizen usually laid aside his costly wig, and replaced it with a cheap and durable skull-cap, before he sat down in his parlor. so also, men careful of their health often wore skull-caps _under_ their wigs, on occasions when they were required to endure a raw atmosphere without the protection of their beavers. in days when the law-courts were held in the open hall of westminster, and lawyers practising therein, were compelled to sit or speak for hours together, exposed to sharp currents of cold air, it was customary for wearers of the long robe to place between their wigs and natural hair closely-fitting caps, made of stout silk or soft leather. but more interesting than the money-caps, are the fees which they contained. the ringing of the gold pieces, the clink of the crowns with the half-crowns, and the rattle of the smaller money, led back the barrister to those happier and remote times, when the 'inferior order' of the profession paid the superior order with 'money down;' when, the advocate never opened his mouth till his fingers had closed upon the gold of his trustful client; when 'credit' was unknown in transactions between counsel and attorney;--that truly _golden_ age of the bar, when the barrister was less suspicious of the attorney, and the attorney held less power over the barrister. having profited by the liberal payments of chancery whilst he was an advocate, lord keeper guildford destroyed one source of profit to counsel from which francis north, the barrister, had drawn many a capful of money. saith roger, "he began to rescind all motions for speeding and delaying the hearing of causes besides the ordinary rule of court; and this lopped off a limb of the motion practice. i have heard sir john churchill, a famous chancery practitioner, say, that in his walk from lincoln's inn down to the temple hall, where, in the lord keeper bridgman's time, causes and motions out of term were heard, he had taken £ . with breviates only for motions and defences for hastening and retarding hearings. his lordship said, that the rule of the court allowed time enough for any one to proceed or defend; and if, for special reasons, he should give way to orders for timing matters, it would let in a deluge of vexatious pretenses, which, true or false, being asserted by the counsel with equal assurance, distracted the court and confounded the suitors." let due honor be rendered to one caroline, lawyer, who was remarkable for his liberality to clients, and carelessness of his own pecuniary interests. from his various biographers, many pleasant stories may be gleaned concerning hale's freedom from base love of money. in his days, and long afterward, professional etiquette permitted clients and counsel to hold intercourse without the intervention of an attorney. suitors, therefore, frequently addressed him personally and paid for his advice with their own hands, just as patients are still accustomed to fee their doctors. to these personal applicants, and also to clients who approached him by their agents, he was very liberal. "when those who came to ask his counsel gave him a piece, he used to give back the half, and to make ten shillings his fee in ordinary matters that did not require much time or study." from this it may be inferred that whilst hale was an eminent member of the bar, twenty shillings was the usual fee to a leading counsel, and an angel the customary honorarium to an ordinary practitioner. as readers have already been told, the angel[ ] was a common fee in the seventeenth century; but the story of hale's generous usage implies that his more distinguished contemporaries were wont to look for and accept a double fee. moreover, the anecdote would not be told in hale's honor, if etiquette had fixed the double fee as the minimum of remuneration for a superior barrister's opinion. he was frequently employed in arbitration cases, and as an arbitrator he steadily refused payment for his services to legal disputants, saying, in explanation of his moderation, "in these cases i am made a judge, and a judge ought to take no money." the misapprehension as to the nature of an arbitrator's functions, displayed in these words, gives an instructive insight into the mental constitution of the judge who wrote on natural science, and at the same time exerted himself to secure the conviction of witches. a more pleasant and commendable illustration of his conscientiousness in pecuniary matters, is found in the steadiness with which he refused to throw upon society the spurious coin which he had taken from his clients. in a tone of surprise that raises a smile at the average morality of our forefathers, bishop burnet tells of hale: "another remarkable instance of his justice and goodness was, that when he found ill money had been put into his hands, he would never suffer it to be vented again; for he thought it was no excuse for him to put false money in other people's hands, because some had put it into his. a great heap of this he had gathered together, for many had so abused his goodness as to mix base money among the fees that were given him." in this particular case, the judge's virtue was its own reward. his house being entered by burglars, this accumulation of bad money attracted the notice of the robbers, who selected it from a variety of goods and chattels, and carried it off under the impression that it was the lawyer's hoarded treasure. besides large sums expended on unusual acts of charity, this good man habitually distributed amongst the poor a tithe of his professional earnings. in the seventeenth century, general retainers were very common, and the counsel learned in the law, were ready to accept them from persons of low extraction and questionable repute. indeed, no upstart deemed himself properly equipped for a campaign at court, until he had recorded a fictitious pedigree at the herald's college, taken a barrister as well as a doctor into regular employment, and hired a curate to say grace daily at his table. in the summer of his vile triumph, titus oates was attended, on public occasions, by a robed counsel and a physician. [ ] in his 'survey of the state of england in ,' macauley--giving one of those misleading references with which his history abounds--says: "a thousand a year was thought a large income for a barrister. two thousand a year was hardly to be made in the court of king's bench, except by crown lawyers." whilst making the first statement, he doubtless remembered the passage in 'pepys's diary.' for the second statement, he refers to 'layton's conversation with chief justice hale.' it is fair to assume that lord macauley had never seen sir francis winnington's fee-book. [ ] in the fourth day of his fever, he being att the chancery bar, he fell so ill of the fever, that he was forced to leave the court and come to his chambers in the temple, with one of his clerks, which constantly wayted on him and carried his bags of writings for his pleadings, and there told him that he should return to every clyent his breviat and his fee, for he could serve them no longer, for he had done with this world, and thence came home to his house in salisbury court, and took his bed.... and there he sequestered himself to meditation between god and his own soul, without the least regret, and quietly and patiently contented himself with the will of god.--_vide memoir of sir john king, knt., written by his father._ [ ] the lawyers of the seventeenth century were accustomed to make a show of their fees to the clients who called upon them. hudibras's lawyer (hud., part iii. cant. ) is described as sitting in state with his books and money before him: "to this brave man the knight repairs for counsel in his law affairs, and found him mounted in his pew, with books and money placed for shew, like nest-eggs, to make clients lay, and for his false, opinion pay: to whom the knight, with comely grace, put off his hat to put his case, which he as proudly entertain'd as the other courteously strain'd; and to assure him 'twas not that he looked for, bid him put on's hat." under victoria, the needy junior is compelled, for the sake of appearances, to furnish his shelves with law books, and cover his table with counterfeit briefs. under the stuarts, he placed a bowl of spurious money amongst the sham papers that lay upon his table. [ ] in the 'serviens ad legem,' mr. sergeant manning raises question concerning the antiquity of _guineas_ and half-guineas, with the following remarks:--"should any cavil be raised against this jocular allusion, on the ground that guineas and half-guineas were unknown to sergeants who flourished in the sixteenth century, the objector might be reminded, that in antique records, instances occur in which the 'guianois d'or,' issued from the ducal mint at bordeaux, by the authority of the plantagenet sovereigns of guienne, were by the same authority, made current among their english subjects; and it might be suggested that those who have gone to the coast of africa for the origin of the modern guinea, need not have carried their researches beyond the bay of biscay. _quære_, whether the guinea coast itself may not owe its name to the 'guianois d'or' for which it furnished the raw material." chapter xiii. retainers general and special. pemberton's fees for his services in behalf of the seven bishops show that the most eminent counsel of his time were content with very modest remuneration for advice and eloquence. from the bill of an attorney employed in that famous trial, it appears that the ex-chief justice was paid a retaining-fee of five guineas, and received twenty guineas with his brief. he also pocketed three guineas for a consultation. at the present date, thirty times the sum of these paltry payments would be thought an inadequate compensation for such zeal, judgment, and ability as francis pemberton displayed in the defence of his reverend clients. but, though lawyers were paid thus moderately in the seventeenth century, the complaints concerning their avarice and extortions were loud and universal. this public discontent was due to the inordinate exactions of judges and place-holders rather than to the conduct of barristers and attorneys; but popular displeasure seldom cares to discriminate between the blameless and the culpable members of an obnoxious system, or to distinguish between the errors of ancient custom and the qualities of those persons who are required to carry out old rules. hence the really honest and useful practitioners of the law endured a full share of the obloquy caused by the misconduct of venal justices and corrupt officials. counsel, attorneys, and even scriveners came in for abuse. it was averred that they conspired to pick the public pocket; that eminent conveyancers not less than copying clerks, swelled their emoluments by knavish tricks. they would talk for the mere purpose of protracting litigation, injure their clients by vexations and bootless delays, and do their work so that they might be fed for doing it again. draughtsmen find their clerks wrote loosely and wordily, because they were paid by the folio. "a term," writes the quaint author of 'saint hillaries teares,' in , "so like a vacation; the prime court, the chancery (wherein the clerks had wont to dash their clients out of countenance with long dashes); the examiners to take the depositions in hyperboles, and roundabout _robinhood_ circumstances with _saids_ and _aforesaids_, to enlarge the number of sheets." 'hudibras' contains, amongst other pungent satires against the usages of lawyers, an allusion to this characteristic custom of legal draughtsmen, who being paid by the sheet, were wont "to make 'twixt words and lines large gaps, wide as meridians in maps; to squander paper and spare ink, or cheat men of their words some think." in the following century the abuses consequent on the objectionable system of folio-payment were noticed in a parliamentary report (bearing date november , ), which was the most important result of an ineffectual attempt to reform the superior courts of law and to lessen the expenses of litigation. more is known about the professional receipts of lawyers since the revolution of than can be discovered concerning the incomes of their precursors in westminster hall. for six years, commencing with michaelmas term, , sir john cheshire, king's sergeant, made an average annual income of _l._ being then sixty-three years of age, he limited his practice to the common pleas, and during the next six years made in that one court _l._ per annum. mr. foss, to whom the present writer is indebted for these particulars with regard to sir john cheshire's receipts, adds: "the fees of counsel's clerks form a great contrast with those that are now demanded, being only threepence on a fee of half-a-guinea, sixpence for a guinea, and one shilling for two guineas." of course the increase of clerk's fees tells more in favor of the master than the servant. at the present time the clerk of a barrister in fairly lucrative practice costs his master nothing. bountifully paid by his employer's clients, he receives no salary from the counsellor whom he serves; whereas, in old times, when his fees were fixed at the low rate just mentioned, the clerk could not live and maintain a family upon them, unless his master belonged to the most successful grade of his order. horace walpole tells his readers that charles yorke "was reported to have received , guineas in fees;" but his fee-book shows that his professional rise was by no means so rapid as those who knew him in his sunniest days generally supposed. the story of his growing fortunes is indicated in the following statement of successive incomes:-- st year of practice at the bar, _l._ nd, _l._; rd and th, between _l._ and _l._ per annum; th, _l._; th, _l._; th, _l._; th, _l._; th, _l._ whilst solicitor general he made _l._ in ; and in the following year he earned _l._ his receipts during the last year of his tenure of the attorney generalship amounted to _l._ the reader should observe that as attorney general he made but little more than coke had realized in the same office,--a fact serving to show how much better paid were crown lawyers in times when they held office like judges during the sovereign's pleasure, than in these latter days when they retire from place together with their political parties. the difference between the incomes of scotch advocates and english barristers was far greater in the eighteenth century than at the present time, although in our own day the receipts of several second-rate lawyers of the temple and lincoln's inn far surpass the revenues of the most successful advocates of the edinburgh faculty. a hundred and thirty years since a scotch barrister who earned _l._ per annum by his profession was esteemed notably successful. just as charles yorke's fee-book shows us the pecuniary position of an eminent english barrister in the middle of the last century, john scott's list of receipts displays the prosperity of a very fortunate crown lawyer in the next generation. without imputing motives the present writer, may venture to say that lord eldon's assertions with regard to his earnings at the bar, and his judicial incomes, were not in strict accordance with the evidence of his private accounts. he used to say that his first year's earnings in his profession amounted to half-a-guinea, but there is conclusive proof that he had a considerable quantity of lucrative business in the same year. "when i was called to the bar," it was his humor to say, "bessie and i thought all our troubles were over, business was to pour in, and we were to be rich almost immediately. so i made a bargain with her that during the following year all the money i should receive in the first eleven months should be mine, and whatever i should get in the twelfth month should be hers. that was our agreement, and how do you think it turned out? in the twelfth month i received half-a-guinea--eighteenpence went for charity, and bessy got nine shillings. in the other eleven months i got one shilling." john scott, be it remembered, was called to the bar on february , , and on october , of the same year, william scott wrote to his brother henry--"my brother jack seems highly pleased with his circuit business. i hope it is only the beginning of future triumphs. all appearances speak strongly in his favor." there is no need to call evidence to show that eldon's success was more than respectable from the outset of his career, and that he had not been called many years before he was in the foremost rank of his profession. his fee-book gives the following account of his receipts in thirteen successive years:-- , _l._ _s._; , _l._ _s._; , _l._ _s._; , _l._ _s._; , _l._ _s._; , , _l._ _s._ _d._; , _l._ _s._; , , _l._ _s._ _d._; , , _l._; , , _l._ _s._ _d._; , , _l._ _s._ _d._; , , _l._ _s._ _d_; , , _l._ _s._ during the last six of the above-mentioned years he was attorney general, and during the preceding four years solicitor general. although general retainers are much less general than formerly, they are by no means obsolete. noblemen could be mentioned who at the present time engage counsel with periodical payments, special fees of course being also paid for each professional service. but the custom is dying out, and it is probable that after the lapse of another hundred years it will not survive save amongst the usages of ancient corporations. notice has already been taken of murray's conduct when he returned nine hundred and ninety-five out of a thousand guineas to the duchess of marlborough, informing her that the professional fee with the general retainer was neither more nor less than five guineas. the annual salary of a queen's counsel in past times was in fact a fee with a general retainer; but this periodic payment is no longer made to wearers of silk. in his learned work on 'the judges of england,' mr. foss observes: "the custom of retaining counsel in fee lingered in form, at least in one ducal establishment. by a formal deed-poll between the proud duke of somerset and sir thomas parker, dated july , , the duke retains him as his 'standing counsell in ffee,' and gives and allows him 'the yearly ffee of four markes, to be paid by my solicitor' at michaelmas, 'to continue during my will and pleasure.'" doubtless mr. foss is aware that this custom still 'lingers in form;' but the tone of his words justifies the opinion that he underrates the frequency with which general retainers are still given. the 'standing counsel' of civic and commercial companies are counsel with general retainers, and usually their general retainers have fees attached to them. the payments of english barristers have varied much more than the remunerations of english physicians. whereas medical practitioners in every age have received a certain definite sum for each consultation, and have been forbidden by etiquette to charge more or less than the fixed rate, lawyers have been allowed much freedom in estimating the worth of their labor. this difference between the usages of the two professions is mainly due to the fact, that the amount of time and mental effort demanded by patients at each visit or consultation is very nearly the same in all cases, whereas the requirements of clients are much more various. to get up the facts of a law-case may be the work of minutes, or hours, or days, or even weeks; to observe the symptoms of a patient, and to write a prescription, can be always accomplished within the limits of a short morning call. in all times, however, the legal profession has adopted certain scales of payment--that fixed the _minimum_ of remuneration, but left the advocate free to get more, as circumstances might encourage him to raise his demands. of the many good stories told of artifices by which barristers have delicately intimated their desire for higher payment, none is better than an anecdote recorded of sergeant hill. a troublesome case being laid before this most erudite of george iii.'s sergeants, he returned it with a brief note, that he "saw more difficulty in the case than, _under all the circumstances_, he could well solve." as the fee marked upon the case was only a guinea, the attorney readily inferred that its smallness was one of the circumstances which occasioned the counsel's difficulty. the case, therefore, was returned, with a fee of two guineas. still dissatisfied, sergeant hill wrote that "he saw no reason to change his opinion." by the etiquette of the bar no barrister is permitted to take a brief on any circuit, save that on which he habitually practises, unless he has received a special retainer; and no wearer of silk can be specially retained with a less fee than three hundred guineas. erskine's first special retainer was in the dean of st. asaph's case, his first speech in which memorable cause was delivered when he had been called to the bar but little more than five years. from that time till his elevation to the bench he received on an average twelve special retainers a year, by which at the minimum of payment he made £ per annum. besides being lucrative and honorable, this special employment greatly augmented his practice in westminster hall, as it brought him in personal contact with attorneys in every part of the country, and heightened his popularity amongst all classes of his fellow-countrymen. in he entirely withdrew from ordinary circuit practice, and confined his exertions in provincial courts to the causes for which he was specially retained. no advocate since his time has received an equal number of special retainers; and if he did not originate the custom of special retainers,[ ] he was the first english barrister who ventured to reject all other briefs. there is no need to recapitulate all the circumstances of erskine's rapid rise in his profession--a rise due to his effective brilliance and fervor in political trial: but this chapter on lawyers' fees would be culpably incomplete, if it failed to notice some of its pecuniary consequences. in the eighth month after his call to the bar he thanked admiral keppel for a splendid fee of one thousand pounds. a few years later a legal gossip wrote: "everybody says that erskine will be solicitor general, and if he is, and indeed whether he is or not, he will have had the most rapid rise that has been known at the bar. it is four years and a half since he was called, and in that time he has cleared £ or £ , besides paying his debts--got a silk gown, and business of at least £ a year--a seat in parliament--and, over and above, has made his brother lord advocate." merely to mention large fees without specifying the work by which they were earned would mislead the reader. during the railway mania of , the few leaders of the parliamentary bar received prodigious fees; and in some cases the sums were paid for very little exertion. frequently it happened that a lawyer took heavy fees in causes, at no stage of which he either made a speech or read a paper in the service of his too liberal employers. during that period of mad speculation the committee-rooms of the two houses were an el dorado to certain favored lawyers, who were alternately paid for speech and _silence_ with reckless profusion. but the time was so exceptional, that the fees received and the fortunes made in it by a score of lucky advocates and solicitors cannot be fairly cited as facts illustrating the social condition of legal practitioners. as a general rule, it may be stated that large fortunes are not made at the bar by large fees. our richest lawyers have made the bulk of their wealth by accumulating sufficient but not exorbitant payments. in most cases the large fee has not been a very liberal remuneration for the work done. edward law's retainer for the defence of warren hastings brought with it £ --a sum which caused our grandfathers to raise their hands in astonishment at the nabob's munificence; but the sum was in reality the reverse of liberal. in all, warren hastings paid his leading advocate considerably less than four thousand pounds; and if law had not contrived to win the respect of solicitors by his management of the defence, the case could not be said to have paid him for his trouble. so also the eminent advocate, who in the great case of small _v._ attwood received a fee of £ , was actually underpaid. when he made up the account of the special outlay necessitated by that cause, and the value of business which the burdensome case compelled him to decline, he had small reason to congratulate himself on his remuneration. a statement of the incomes made by chamber-barristers, and of the sums realized by counsel in departments of the profession that do not invite the attention of the general public, would astonish those uninformed persons who estimate the success of a barrister by the frequency with which his name appears in the newspaper reports of trials and suits. the talkers of the bar enjoy more _éclat_ than the barristers who confine themselves to chamber practice, and their labors lead to the honors of the bench; but a young lawyer, bent only on the acquisition of wealth, is more likely to achieve his ambition by conveyancing or arbitration-business than by court-work. kenyon was never a popular or successful advocate, but he made £ a year by answering cases. charles abbott at no time of his life could speak better than a vestryman of average ability; but by drawing informations and indictments, by writing opinions on cases, he made the greater part of the eight thousand pounds which he returned as the amount of his professional receipts in . in our own time, when that popular common law advocate, mr. edwin james, was omnipotent with juries, his income never equalled the incomes of certain chamber-practitioners whose names are utterly unknown to the general body of english society. [ ] lord campbell observes: "some say that special retainers began with erskine; but i doubt the fact." it is strange that there should be uncertainty as to the time when special retainers--unquestionably a comparatively recent innovation in legal practice--came into vogue. chapter xiv. judicial corruption. to a young student making his first researches beneath the surface of english history, few facts are more painful and perplexing than the judicial corruption which prevailed in every period of our country's growth until quiet recent times--darkening the brightest pages of our annals, and disfiguring some of the greatest chieftains of our race. where he narrates the fall and punishment of de weyland towards the close of the thirteenth century, speed observes: "while the jews by their cruel usuries had in one way eaten up the people, the justiciars, like another kind of jews, had ruined them with delay in their suits, and enriched themselves with wicked convictions." of judicial corruption in the reigns of edward i. and edward ii. a vivid picture is given in a political ballad, composed in the time of one or the other of those monarchs. of this poem mr. wright, in his 'political songs,' gives a free version, a part of which runs thus:-- "judges there are whom gifts and favorites control, content to serve the devil alone and take from him a toll; if nature's law forbids the judge from selling his decree, how dread to those who finger bribes the punishment shall be. "such judges have accomplices whom frequently they send to get at those who claim some land, and whisper as a friend, ''tis i can help you with the judge, if you would wish to plead, give me but half, i'll undertake before him you'll succeed.' "the clerks who sit beneath the judge are open-mouthed as he, as if they were half-famished and gaping for a fee; of those who give no money they soon pronounce the state, however early they attend, they shall have long to wait. "if comes some noble lady, in beauty and in pride, with golden horns upon her head, her suit he'll soon decide; but she who has no charms, nor friends, and is for gifts too poor, her business all neglected, she's weeping shown the door. "but worse than all, within the court we some relators meet, who take from either side at once, and both their clients cheat; the ushers, too, to poor men say, 'you labor here in vain, unless you tip us all around, you may go back again.' "the sheriff's hard upon the poor who cannot pay for rest, drags them about to every town, on all assizes press'd compell'd to take the oath prescrib'd without objection made, for if they murmur and can't pay, upon their backs they're laid. "they enter any private house, or abbey that they choose, where meat and drink and all things else are given as their dues; and after dinner jewels too, or this were all in vain, bedels and garçons must receive, and all that form the train. "and next must gallant robes be sent as presents to their wives, or from the manor of the host some one his cattle drives; while he, poor man, is sent to gaol upon some false pretence, and pays at last at double cost, ere he gets free from thence. "i can't but laugh to see their clerks, whom once i knew in need, when to obtain a bailiwick they may at last succeed; with pride in gait and countenance and with their necks erect they lands and houses quickly buy and pleasant rents collect. "grown rich they soon the poor despise, and new-made laws display, oppress their neighbors and become the wise men of their day; unsparing of the least offence, when they can have their will, the hapless country all around with discontent they fill." in the fourteenth century judicial corruption was so general and flagrant, that cries came from every quarter for the punishment of offenders. the knights hospitallers' survey, made in the year , gives us revelations that confound the indiscreet admirers of feudal manners. from that source of information it appears that regular stipends were paid to persons "tam in curia domini regis quam justiciariis, clericis, officiariis et aliis ministris, in diversis curiis suis, ac etiam aliis familaribus magnatum tam pro terris tenementis redditbus et libertatibus hospitalis, quam templariorum, et maxime pro terris templariorum manutenendis." of pensions to the amount of £ mentioned in the account, £ were paid to judges, clerks, and minor officers of courts. robert de sadington, the chief baron, received marks annually; twice a year the knights hospitallers presented caps to one hundred and forty officers of the exchequer; and they expended marks _per annum_ on gifts that were distributed in law courts, "_pro favore habendo_, et pro placitis habendis, et expensis parliamentorum." in that age, and for centuries later, it was customary for wealthy men and great corporations to make valuable presents to the judges and chief servants the king's courts; but it was always presumed that the offerings were simple expressions of respect--not tribute rendered, "pro favore habendo." bent on purifying the moral atmosphere of his courts, edward iii. raised the salaries of his judges, and imposed upon them such oaths that none of their order could pervert justice, or even encourage venal practices, without breaking his solemn vow[ ] to the king's majesty. from the amounts of the _royal_ fees or stipends paid to edward iii.'s judges, it may be vaguely estimated how far they were dependent on gifts and _court_ fees for the means of living with appropriate state. john knyvet, chief justice of the king's bench, has £ and marks per annum. the annual fee of thomas de ingleby, the solitary puisne judge of the king's bench at that time, was at first marks; but he obtained an additional £ when the 'fees' were raised, and he received moreover £ a year as a judge of assize. the chief of the common pleas, robert de thrope, received £ per annum, payable during his tenure of office, and another annual sum of £ payable during his life. john de mowbray, william de wychingham, and william de fyncheden, the other judges of the common pleas, received marks each as official salary, and £ per annum for their services at assizes. mowbray's stipend was subsequently increased by marks, whilst wychingham and fyncheden received an additional £ par annum. to the chief baron and the other two barons of the exchequer annual fees of marks each were paid, the chief baron receiving £ per annum as justice of assize, and one of the puisne barons, almaric de shirland, getting an additional marks for certain special services. the 'issue roll of edward iii., ,' also shows that certain sergeants-at-law acted as justices of assize, receiving for their service £ per annum. throughout his reign edward iii. strenuously exerted himself to purge his law courts of abuses, and to secure his subjects from evils wrought by judicial dishonesty; and though there is reason to think that he prosecuted his reforms, and punished offending judges with more impulsiveness than consistency--with petulance rather than firmness[ ]--his action must have produced many beneficial results. but it does not seem to have occurred to him that the system adopted by his predecessors, and encouraged by the usages of his own time, was the real source of the mischief, and that so long as judges received the greater part of their remuneration from suitors, fees and the donations of the public, enactments and proclamations would be comparatively powerless to preserve the streams of justice from pollution. the fee-system poisoned the morality of the law-courts. from the highest judge to the lowest usher, every person connected with a court of justice was educated to receive small sums of money for trifling services, to be always looking out for paltry dues or gratuities, to multiply occasions for demanding, and reasons for pocketing petty coins, to invent devices for legitimate peculation. in time the system produced such complications of custom, right, privilege, claim, that no one could say definitely how much a suitor was actually bound to pay at each stage of a suit. the fees had an equally bad influence on the public. trained to approach the king's judges with costly presents, to receive them on their visits with lavish hospitality, to send them offerings at the opening of each year, the rich and the poor learnt to look on judicial decisions as things that were bought and sold. in many cases this impression was not erroneous. judges were forbidden to accept gifts from actual suitors, or to take payments _for_ judgments after their delivery; but on the judgment-seat they were often influenced by recollections of the conduct of suitors who _had been_ munificent before the commencement of proceedings, and most probably would be equally munificent six months after delivery of a judgment favorable to their claims. humorous anecdotes heightened the significance of patent facts. throughout a shire it would be told how this suitor won a judgment by a sumptuous feast; how that suitor bought the justice's favor with a flask of rare wine, a horse of excellent breed, a hound of superior sagacity. in the fifteenth century the judge whose probity did not succumb to an excellent dinner was deemed a miracle of virtue. "a lady," writes fuller of chief justice markham, who was dismissed from his place in , "would traverse a suit of law against the will of her husband, who was contented to buy his quiet by giving her her will therein, though otherwise persuaded in his judgment the cause would go against her. this lady, dwelling in the shire town, invited the judge to dinner, and (though thrifty enough herself) treated him with sumptuous entertainment. dinner being done, and the cause being called, the judge gave it against her. and when, in passion, she vowed never to invite the judge again, 'nay, wife,' said he, 'vow never to invite a _just judge_ any more.'" it may be safely affirmed that no english lady of our time ever tried to bribe sir alexander cockburn or sir frederick pollock with a dinner _à la russe_. by his eulogy of chief justice dyer, who died march , , whetstone gives proof that in elizabethan england purity was the exception rather than the rule with judges:-- "and when he spake he was in speeche reposde; his eyes did search the simple suitor's harte; to put by bribes his hands were ever closde, his processe juste, he tooke the poore man's parte. he ruld by lawe and listened not to arte, those foes to truthe--loove, hate, and private gain, which most corrupt, his conscience could not staine." there is no reason to suppose that the custom of giving and receiving presents was more general or extravagant in the time of elizabeth than in previous ages; but the fuller records of her splendid reign give greater prominence to the usage than it obtained in the chronicles of any earlier period of english history. on each new year's day her courtiers gave her costly presents--jewels, ornaments of gold or silver workmanship, hundreds of ounces of silver-gilt plate, tapestry, laces, satin dresses, embroidered petticoats. not only did she accept such costly presents from men of rank and wealth, but she graciously received the donations of tradesmen and menials. francis bacon made her majesty "a poor oblation of a garment;" charles smith, the dustman, threw upon the pile of treasure "two bottes of cambric." the fashion thus countenanced by the queen was followed in all ranks of society; all men, from high to low, receiving presents, as expressions of affection when they came from their equals, as declarations of respect when they came from their social inferiors. each of her great officers of state drew a handsome revenue from such yearly offerings. but though the burdens and abuses of this system were excessive under elizabeth, they increased in enormity and number during the reigns of the stuarts. that the salaries of the elizabethan judges were small in comparison with the sums which they received in presents and fees may be seen from the following table of stipends and allowances annually paid, towards the close of the sixteenth century:-- £ _s._ _d._ the lord cheefe justice of england:-- fee, reward and robes wyne, tunnes at £ the tunne allowance for being justice of assize the lord cheefe justice of the common pleas:-- fee, reward, and robes wyne, two tunnes allowance as justice of assize fee for keeping the assize in the augmentation court each of the three justices in these two courts:-- fee, reward and robes £ _s._ _d._ allowance as justice of assize the lord cheefe baron of the exchequer:-- fee lyvery allowance as justice of the assize each of the three barons:-- fee lyvery a peece allowance as justice of assize prior to and in the earlier part of elizabeth's reign, the sheriffs had been required to provide diet and lodging for judges travelling on circuit, each sheriff being responsible for the proper entertainment of judges within the limits of his jurisdiction. this arrangement was very burdensome upon the class from which the sheriffs were elected, as the official host had not only to furnish suitable lodging and cheer for the justices themselves, but also to supply the wants of their attendants and servants. the ostentatious and costly hospitality which law and public opinion thus compelled or encouraged them to exercise towards circuiteers of all ranks had seriously embarrassed a great number of country gentlemen; and the queen was assailed with entreaties for a reform that should free a sheriff of small estate from the necessity of either ruining himself, or incurring a reputation for stinginess. in consequence of these urgent representations, an order of council, bearing date february , , decided "the justices shall have of her majesty several sums of money out of her coffers for their daily diet." hence rose the usage of 'circuit allowances.' the sheriffs, however, were still bound to attend upon the judges, and make suitable provision for the safe conduct of the legal functionaries from assize town to assize town;--the sheriff of each county being required to furnish a body-guard for the protection of the sovereign's representatives. this responsibility lasted till the other day, when an innovation (of which mr. arcedeckne, of glevering hall, suffolk, was the most notorious, though not the first champion), substituted guards of policemen, paid by county-rates, for bands of javelin-men equipped and rewarded by the sheriffs. in some counties the javelin-men--remote descendants of the mail-clad knights and stalwart men-at-arms who formerly mustered at the summons of sheriffs--still do duty with long wands and fresh rosettes; but they are fast giving way to the wielders of short staves. amongst the bad consequences of the system of gratuities was the color which it gave to idle rumors and malicious slander against the purity of upright judges. when sir thomas more fell, charges of bribery were preferred against him before the privy council. a disappointed suitor, named parnell, declared that the chancellor had been bribed with a gift-cup to decide in favor of his (parnell's) adversary. mistress vaughan, the successful suitor's wife, had given sir thomas the cup with her own hands. the fallen chancellor admitting that "he had received the cup as a new year's gift," lord wiltshire cried, with unseemly exultation, "lo! did i not tell you, my lords, that you would find this matter true?" it seemed that more had pleaded guilty, for his oath did not permit him to receive a new year's gift from an actual suitor. "but, my lords," continued the accused man, with one of his characteristic smiles, "hear the other part of my tale. after having drunk to her of wine, with which my butler had filled the cup, and when she had pledged me, i restored it to her, and would listen to no refusal." it is possible that mistress vaughan did not act with corrupt intention, but merely in ignorance of the rule which forbade the chancellor to accept her present. as much cannot be said in behalf of mrs. croker, who, being opposed in a suit to lord arundel, sought to win sir thomas more's favor by presenting him with a pair of gloves containing forty angels. with a courteous smile he accepted the gloves, but constrained her to take back the gold. the gentleness of this rebuff is charming; but the story does not tell more in favor of sir thomas than to the disgrace of the lady and the moral tone of the society in which she lived. readers should bear in mind the part which new year's gifts and other customary gratuities played in the trumpery charges against lord bacon. adopting an old method of calumny, the conspirators against his fair fame represented that the gifts made to him, in accordance with ancient usage, were bribes. for instance reynel's ring, presented on new year's day, was so construed by the accusers; and in his comment upon the charge, bacon, who had inadvertently accepted the gift during the progress of a suit, observes, "this ring was received certainly _pendente lite_, and though it were at new year's tide, yet it was too great a value for a new year's gift, though, as i take it, nothing near the value mentioned in the articles." so also trevor's gift was a new year's present, of which bacon says, "i confess and declare that i received at new year's tide an hundred pounds from sir john trevor, and because it came as a new year's gift, i neglected to inquire whether the cause was ended or depending; but since i find that though the cause was then dismissed to a trial at law, yet the equity is reserved, so as it was in that kind _pendente lite_." bacon knew that this explanation would be read by men familiar with the history of new year's gifts, and all the circumstances of the ancient usage; and it is needless to say that no man of honor thought the less highly of bacon at that time, because his pure and guiltless acceptance of customary presents was by ingenious and unscrupulous adversaries made to assume an appearance of corrupt compliance. how far the chancellors of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries depended upon customary gratuities for their revenues may be seen from the facts which show the degree of state which they were required to maintain, and the inadequacy of the ancient fees for the maintenance of that pomp. when elizabeth pressed hatton for payment of the sums which he owed her, the chancellor lamented his inability to liquidate her just claims, and urged in excuse that the _ancient fees_ were very inadequate to the expenses of the chancellor's office. but though elizabethan chancellors could not live upon their ancient fees, they kept up palaces in town and country, fed regiments of lackeys, and surpassed the ancient nobility in the grandeur of their equipages. egerton--the needy and illegitimate son of a rural knight, a lawyer who fought up from the ranks--not only sustained the costly dignities of office, but left to his descendants a landed estate worth £ per annum. bacon's successor in the 'marble chair,' lord keeper williams, assured buckingham that in egerton's time the chancellor's lawful income was less than three thousand per annum. "the lawful revenue of the office stands thus," wrote williams, speaking from his intimate knowledge of ellesmere's affairs, "or not much above it at anytime:--in fines certain, £ per annum, or thereabouts; in fines casual, £ or thereabouts; in greater writs, £ ; for impost of wine, £ --in all, £ ; and these are all the true means of that great office." it is probable that williams under-stated the revenue, but it is certain that the income, apart from gratuities, was insufficient. the chancellor was not more dependent on customary gratuities than the chief of the three common law courts. at westminster and on circuit, whenever he was required to discharge his official functions, the english judge extended his hand for the contributions of the well-disposed. no one thought of blaming judges for their readiness to take customary benevolences. to take gifts was a usage of the profession, and had its parallel in the customs of every calling and rank of life. the clergy took dues in like manner: from the earliest days of feudal life the territorial lords had supplied their wants in the same way; amongst merchants and yeomen, petty traders and servants, the system existed in full force. these presents were made without any secrecy. the aldermen of borough towns openly voted presents to the judges; and the judges received their offerings--not as benefactions, but as legitimate perquisites. in --just a year before lord bacon's fall--the municipal council of lyme regis left it to the "mayor's discretion" to decide "what gratuity he will give to the lord chief baron and his men" at the next assizes. the system, it is needless to say, had disastrous results. empowering the chief judge of every court to receive presents not only from the public, but from subordinate judges, inferior officers, and the bar; and moreover empowering each place-holder to take gratuities from persons officially or by profession concerned in the business of the courts, it produced a complicated machinery for extortion. by presents the chief justices bought their places from the crown or a royal favorite; by presents the puisne justices, registrars, counsel bought place or favor from the chief; by presents the attorneys, sub-registrars, and outside public sought to gain their ends with the humbler place-holders. the meanest ushers of westminster hall took coins from ragged scriveners. hence every place was actually bought and sold, the sum being in most cases very high. sir james ley offered the duke of buckingham £ , for the attorney's place. at the same period the solicitor general's office was sold for £ . under charles i. matters grew still worse than they had been under his father. when sir charles cæsar consulted laud about the worth of the vacant mastership of the rolls, the archbishop frankly said, "that as things then stood, the place was not likely to go without more money than he thought any wise man would give for it." disregarding this intimation, sir charles paid the king £ , for the place, and added a loan of £ . sir thomas richardson, at the opening of the reign, gave £ , for the chiefship of the common pleas. if judges needed gifts before the days when vacant seats were put up to auction, of course they stood all the more in need of them when they bought their promotions with such large sums. it is not wonderful that the wearers of ermine repaid themselves by venal practices. the sale of judicial offices was naturally followed by the sale of judicial decisions. the judges having submitted to the extortions of the king, the public had to endure the extortions of the judges. corruption on the bench produced corruption at the bar. counsel bought the attention and compliance of 'the court,' and in some cases sold their influence with shameless rascality. they would take fees to speak from one side in a cause and fees to be silent from the other side--selling their own clients as coolly as judges sold the suitors of their courts. sympathizing with the public, and stung by personal experience of legal dishonesty, the clergy sometimes denounced from the pulpit the extortions of corrupt judges and unprincipled barristers. the assize sermons of charles i.'s reign were frequently seasoned with such animadversions. at thetford assizes, march, , the rev. mr. ramsay, in the assize-sermon, spoke indignantly of judges who "favored causes," and of "counsellors who took fees to be silent." in the summer of , at the bury assizes, "one mr. scott made a sore sermon in discovery of corruption in judges and others." at norwich, the same authority, viz., 'sir john rous's diary,' informs us--"mr. greene was more plaine, insomuch that judge harvey, in his charge, broke out thus: 'it seems by the sermon that we are corrupt, but we know that we can use conscience in our places as well as the best clergieman of all.'" in his 'life and death of sir matthew hale,' bishop burnet tells a good story of the chief's conduct with regard to a customary gift. "it is also a custom," says the biographer, "for the marshall of the king's bench to present the judges of that court with a piece of plate for a new year's gift, that for the chief justice being larger than the rest. this he intended to have refused, but the other judges told him it belonged to his office, and the refusing it would be a prejudice to his successors; so he was persuaded to take it, but he sent word to the marshall, that instead of plate he should bring him the value of it in money, and when he received it, he immediately sent it to the prisons for the relief and discharge of the poor there." [ ] a portion of the oath prescribed for judges in the 'ordinances for justices,' edward iii., will show the reader the evils which called for correction and the care taken to effect their cure. "ye shall swear," ran the injunction to which each judge was required to vow obedience, "that well and lawfully ye shall serve our lord the king and his people in the office of justice; ... and that ye take not by yourself or by other, privily or apertly, gift or reward of gold or silver, nor any other thing which may turn to your profit, unless it be meat nor drink, and that of small value, _of any man that shall have plea or process before you, as long as the same process shall be so hanging, nor after for the same cause: and that ye shall take no fee as long as ye shall be justice, nor robes of any man, great or small_, but of the king himself: and that ye give none advice or counsel to no man, great or small, in any case where the king is party; &c. &c. &c." the clause forbidding the judge to receive gifts of actual suitors was a positive recognition of his right to customary gifts rendered by persons who had no process hanging before him. it should, moreover, be observed that in the passage, "ye shall take no fee as long as ye shall be justice, nor robes of any man," the word "fee" signifies "salary," and not a single payment or gratuity. the judge was forbidden to receive from any man a fixed stipend (by the acceptance of which he would become the donor's servant), or robes (the assumption of which would be open declaration of service); but he was at liberty to accept the offerings which the public were wont to make to men of his condition, as well as the sums (or 'fees,' as they would be termed at the present day) due on different processes of his court. that the word 'fee' is thus used in the ordinance may be seen from the words "for this cause we have increased the fees (les feez) of the same our justices, in such manner as it ought reasonably to suffice them," by which language attention is drawn to the increase of judicial salaries. [ ] mr. foss observes: "in , william de thrope, chief justice of the king's bench, was convicted on his own confession of receiving bribes to stay justice; but though his property was forfeited to the crown on his condemnation, the king appears to have relented, and to have made him second baron of the exchequer in may, , unless i am mistaken in supposing the latter to have been the same person." chapter xv. gifts and sales. by degrees the public ceased to make presents to the principal judges of the kingdom; but long after the chancellor and the three chiefs had taken the last offerings of general society, they continued to receive yearly presents from the subordinate judges, placemen, and barristers of their respective courts. lord cowper deserves honor for being the holder of the seals who, by refusing to pocket these customary donations, put an end to a very objectionable system, so far as the court of chancery was concerned. on being made lord keeper, he resolved to depart from the custom of his predecessors for many generations, who on the first day of each new year had invariably entertained at breakfast the persons from whom tribute was looked for. very droll were these receptions in the old time. the repast at an end, the guests forthwith disburdened themselves of their gold--the payers approaching the holder of the seals in order of rank, and laying on his table purses of money, which the noble payee accepted with his own hands. sometimes his lordship was embarrassed by a ceremony that required him to pick gold from the fingers of men, several of whom he knew to be in indigent circumstances. in charles ii.'s time it was observed that the silver-tongued lord nottingham on such occasions always endeavored to hide his confusion under a succession of nervous smiles and exclamations--"oh, tyrant cuthtom!--oh, tyrant cuthtom!" it is noteworthy that in relinquishing the benefit of these exactions, the lord keeper feared unfriendly criticism much more than he anticipated public commendation. in his diary, under date december , cowper wrote:--"i acquainted my lord treasurer with my design to refuse new year's gifts, if he had no objection against it, as spoiling, in some measure, a place of which he had the conferring. he answered it was not expected of me, but that i might do as my predecessors had done; but if i refused, he thought nobody could blame me for it." anxious about the consequences of his innovation, the new lord keeper gave notice that on january , - , he would receive no gifts; but notwithstanding this proclamation, several officers of chancery and counsellors came to his house with tribute, and were refused admittance. "new year's gifts turned back," he wrote in his diary at the close of the eventful day, "and pray god it doth me more credit and good than hurt, by making secret enemies _in fæce romuli_." his fears were in a slight degree fulfilled. the chiefs of the three common law courts were greatly displeased with an innovation which they had no wish to adopt; and their warm expressions of dissatisfaction induced the lord keeper to cover his disinterestedness with a harmless fiction. to pacify the indignant chiefs and the many persons who sympathized with them, he pretended that though he had declined intentionally the gifts of the chancery barristers, he had not designed to exercise the same self-denial with regard to the gifts of chancery officers.[ ] the common law chiefs were slow to follow in the lord keeper's steps, and many years passed before the reform, effected in chancery by accident or design, or by a lucky combination of both, was adopted in the other great courts. in his memoir of lord cowper, campbell observes: "his example with respect to new year's gifts was not speedily followed; and it is said that till very recently the chief justice of the common pleas invited the officers of his court to a dinner at the beginning of the year, when each of them deposited under his plate a present in the shape of a bank of england note, instead of a gift of oxen roaring at his levee, as in ruder times." there is no need to remind the reader in this place of the many veracious and the many apocryphal stories concerning the basket justices of fielding's time--stories showing that in law courts of the lowest sort applicants for justice were accustomed to fee the judges with victuals and drink until a comparatively recent date. lucky would it have been for the first earl of macclesfield if the custom of selling places in chancery had been put an end to forever by the lord keeper who abolished the custom of new year's gifts; but the judge who at the sacrifice of one-fourth of his official income swept away the pernicious usage which had from time immemorial marked the opening of each year, saw no reason why he should purge chancery of another scarcely less objectionable practice. following the steps of their predecessors, the chancellors cowper, harcourt, and macclesfield sold subordinate offices in their court; and whereas all previous chancellors had been held blameless for so doing, lord macclesfield was punished with official degradation, fine, imprisonment, and obloquy. by birth as humble[ ] as any layman who before or since his time has held the seals, thomas parker raised himself to the woolsack by great talents and honorable industry. as an advocate he won the respect of society and his profession; as a judge he ranks with the first expositors of english law. although for imputed corruption he was hurled with ignominy from his high place, no one has ventured to charge him with venality on the bench. that he was a spotless character, or that his career was marked by grandeur of purpose, it would be difficult to establish; but few englishmen could at the present time be found to deny that he was in the main an upright peer, who was not wittingly neglectful of his duty to the country which had loaded him with wealth and honors. amongst the many persons ruined by the bursting of the south sea bubble were certain masters of chancery, who had thrown away on that wild speculation large sums of which they were the official guardians. lord macclesfield was one of the victims on whom the nation wreaked its wrath at a crisis when universal folly had produced universal disaster. to punish the masters for their delinquencies was not enough; greater sacrifices than a few comparatively obscure placemen were demanded by the suitors and wards whose money had been squandered by the fraudulent trustees. the lord chancellor should be made responsible for the chancery defalcations. that was the will of the country. no one pretended that lord macclesfield had originated the practice which permitted masters in chancery to speculate with funds placed under their care; attorneys and merchants were well aware that in the days of harcourt, cowper, wright, and somers, it had been usual for masters to pocket interest accruing from suitors' money; notorious also was it that, though the chancellor was theoretically the trustee of the money confided to his court, the masters were its actual custodians. had the chancellor known that the masters were trafficking in dangerous investments to the probable loss of the public, duty would have required him to examine their accounts and place all trust-moneys beyond their reach; but until the crash came, lord macclesfield knew neither the actual worthlessness of the south sea stock, nor the embarrassed circumstances of the defaulting masters, nor the peril of the persons committed to his care. the system which permitted the masters to speculate with money not their own was execrable, but the lord chancellor was not the parent of that system. infuriated by the national calamity, in which they were themselves great sufferers, the commons impeached the chancellor, charging him with high crimes and misdemeanors, of which the peers unanimously declared him guilty. in this famous trial the great fact established against his lordship was that he had sold masterships to the defaulters. it appeared that he had not only sold the places, but had stood out for very high prices; the inference being, that in consideration of these large sums he had left the purchasers without the supervision usually exercised by chancellors over such officers, and had connived at the practices which had been followed by ruinous results. to this it was replied, that if the chancellor had sold the places at higher prices than his predecessors, he had done so because the places had become much more valuable; that at the worst he had but sold them to the highest bidder, after the example of his precursors; that the inference was not supported by any direct testimony. very humorous was some of the evidence by which the sale of the masterships was proved. master elde deposed that he bought his office for guineas, the bargain being finally settled and fulfilled after a personal interview with the accused lord. master thurston, another purchaser at the high rate of guineas, paid his money to lady macclesfield. it must be owned that these sums were very large, but their magnitude does not fix fraudulent purpose upon the chancellor. that he believed himself fairly entitled to a moderate present on appointing to a mastership is certain; that he regarded £ as the gratuity which he might accept, without blushing at its publication, may be inferred from the restitution of £ which he made to one of the purchasers for £ at a time when he anticipated an inquiry into his conduct; that he felt himself acting indiscreetly if not wrongfully in pressing for such large sums is testified by the caution with which he conferred with the purchasers and the secrecy with which he accepted their money. his defence before the peers admitted the sales of the places, but maintained that the transactions were legitimate. the defence was of no avail. when the question of guilty or not guilty was put to the peers, each of the noble lords present answered, "guilty, upon my honor." sentenced to pay a fine of £ , , and undergo imprisonment until the mulct was paid, the unfortunate statesman bitterly repented the imprudence which had exposed him to the vengeance of political adversaries and to the enmity of the vulgar. whilst the passions roused by the prosecution were at their height, the fallen chancellor was treated with much harshness by parliament, and with actual brutality by the mob. ever ready to vilify lawyers, the rabble seized on so favorable an occasion for giving expression to one of their strongest prejudices. amongst the crowds who followed the earl to the tower with curses, voices were heard to exclaim that "staffordshire had produced the three greatest scoundrels of england--jack sheppard, jonathan wilde, and tom parker." jonathan wilde was executed in --the year of lord macclesfield's impeachment; and jack sheppard died on the gallows at tyburn, november , . throughout the inquiry, and after the adverse verdict, george i. persisted in showing favor to the disgraced chancellor; and when the violent emotions of the crisis had passed away it was generally admitted by enlightened critics of public events that lord macclesfield had been unfairly treated. the scape-goat of popular wrath, he suffered less for his own faults, than for the evil results of a bad system; and at the present time--when the silence of more than a hundred and thirty years rests upon his tomb--englishmen, with one voice, acknowledge the valuable qualities that raised him to eminence, and regret the proceedings which consigned him in his old age to humiliation and gloom. [ ] it should be observed that many persons are of opinion that the lord keeper's assertion on this point was not an artifice, but a simple statement of fact. to those who take this view, his lordship's position seems alike ridiculous and respectable--respectable because he actually intended to forbear from taking the barrister's money; ridiculous because, through clumsy and inadequate arrangements, he missed the other and not less precious gifts which he did not mean to decline. anyhow, the critics admit that credit is due to him for persisting in a change--wrought in the first instance partly by honorable design and partly by accident. [ ] the cases of john scott, philip yorke, and edward sugden are before the mind of the present writer, when he pens the sentence to which this note refers. the social extraction of the english bar will be considered in a later chapter of this work. chapter xvi. a rod pickled by william cole. "a proneness to take bribes may be generated from the habit of taking fees," said lord keeper williams in his inaugural address, making an ungenerous allusion to francis bacon, whilst he uttered a statement which was no calumny upon king james's bench and bar, though it is signally inapplicable to lawyers of the present day. of williams, tradition preserves a story that illustrates the prevalence of judicial corruption in the seventeenth century, and the jealousy with which that right reverend lord keeper watched for attempts to tamper with his honesty. whilst he was taking exercise in the great park of nonsuch house, his attention was caught by a church recently erected at the cost of a rich chancery suitor. having expressed satisfaction with the church, williams inquired of george minors, "has he not a suit depending in chancery?" and on receiving an answer in the affirmative, observed, "he shall not fare the worse for building of churches." these words being reported to the pious suitor, he not illogically argued that the keeper was a judge likely to be influenced in making his decisions by matters distinct from the legal merits of the case put before him. acting on this impression, the good man forthwith sent messengers to nonsuch house, bearing gifts of fruits and poultry to the holder of the seals. "nay, carry them back," cried the judge, looking with a grim smile from the presents to george minors; "nay, carry them back, george, and tell your friend that he shall not fare the better for sending of presents." rich in satire directed against law and its professors, the literature of the commonwealth affords conclusive testimony of the low esteem in which lawyers were held in the seventeenth century by the populace, and shows how universal was the belief that wearers of ermine and gentlemen of the long robe would practice any sort of fraud or extortion for the sake of personal advantage. in the pamphlets and broadsides, in the squibs and ballads of the period, may be found a wealth of quaint narrative and broad invective, setting forth the rascality of judges and attorneys, barristers and scriveners. any literary effort to throw contempt upon the law was sure of success. the light jesters, who made merry with the phraseology and costumes of westminster hall, were only a few degrees less welcome than the stronger and more indignant scribes who cried aloud against the sins and sinners of the courts. when simple folk had expended their rage in denunciations of venal eloquence and unjust judgments, they amused themselves with laughing at the antiquated verbiage of the rascals who sought to conceal their bad morality under worse latin. 'a new modell, or the conversion of the infidell terms of the law: for the better promoting of misunderstanding according to common sense,' is a publication consisting of a cover or fly-leaf and two leaves, that appeared about a year before the restoration. the wit is not brilliant; its humor is not free from uncleanness; but its comic renderings[ ] of a hundred law terms illustrate the humor of the times. more serious in aim, but not less comical in result, is william cole's 'a rod for the lawyers. london, printed in the year .' the preface of this mad treatise ends thus--"i do not altogether despair but that before i dye i may see the inns of courts, or dens of thieves, converted into hospitals, which were a rare piece of justice; that as they formerly have immured those that robbed the poor of houses, so they may at last preserve the poor themselves." another book touching on the same subject and belonging to the same period, is, 'sagrir, or doomsday drawing nigh; with thunder and lightning to lawyers, ( ) by john rogers.' violent, even for a man holding fifth-monarchy views, john rogers prefers a lengthy indictment against lawyers, for whose delinquencies and heinous offence he admits neither apology nor palliation. in his opinion all judges deserve the death of arnold and hall, whose last moments were provided for by the hangman. the wearers of the long robe are perjurers, thieves, enemies of mankind; their institutions are hateful, and their usages abominable. in olden time they were less powerful and rapacious. but prosperity soon exaggerated all their evil qualities. sketching the rise of the profession, the author observes--"these men would get sometimes parents, friends, brothers, neighbors, sometimes _others_ to be (in their absence) agents, factors, or solicitors for them at westminster, and as yet they had no stately houses or mansions to live in, as they have now (called inns of court), but they lodged like countrymen or strangers in ordinary inns. but afterwards, when the interests of lawyers began to look big (as in edward iii.'s days), they got mansions or colleges, which they called inns, and by the king's favor had an addition of honor, whence they were called inns of court."[ ] the familiar anecdotes which are told as illustrations of chief justice hale's integrity are very ridiculous, but they serve to show that the judges of his time were believed to be very accessible to corrupt influences. during his tenure of the chiefship of the exchequer, hale rode the western circuit, and met with the loyal reception usually accorded to judges on circuit in his day. amongst other attentions offered to the judges on this occasion was a present of venison from a wealthy gentleman who was concerned in a cause that was in due course called for hearing. no sooner was the call made than chief baron hale resolved to place his reputation for judicial honesty above suspicion, and the following scene occurred:-- "_lord chief baron._--'is this plaintiff the gentleman of the same name who hath sent me the venison?' _judge's servant._--'yes, please you, my lord.' _lord chief baron._--'stop a bit, then. do not yet swear the jury. i cannot allow the trial to go on till i have paid him for his buck!' _plaintiff._--'i would have your lordship to know that neither myself nor my forefathers have ever sold venison, and i have done nothing to your lordship which we have not done to every judge that has come this circuit for centuries bygone.' _magistrate of the county._--'my lord, i can confirm what the gentleman says for truth, for twenty years back.' _other magistrates._--'and we, my lord, know the same.' _lord chief baron._--'that is nothing to me. the holy scripture says, 'a gift perverteth the ways of judgment.' i will not suffer the trial to go on till the venison is paid for. let my butler count down the full value thereof.' _plaintiff._--'i will not disgrace myself and my ancestors by becoming a venison butcher. from the needless dread of _selling_ justice, your lordship _delays_ it. i withdraw my record.'" as far as good taste and dignity were concerned, the gentleman of the west country was the victor in this absurd contest: on the other hand, hale had the venison for nothing, and was relieved of the trouble of hearing the cause. in the same manner hale insisted on paying for six loaves of sugar which the dean and chapter of salisbury sent to his lodgings, in accordance with ancient usage. similar cases of the judge's readiness to construe courtesies as bribes may be found in notices of trials and books of _ana_. _a propos_ of these stories of hale's squeamishness, lord campbell tells the following good anecdote of baron graham: "the late baron graham related to me the following anecdote to show that he had more firmness than judge hale:--'there was a baronet of ancient family with whom the judges going the western circuit had always been accustomed to dine. when i went that circuit i heard that a cause, in which he was plaintiff, was coming on for trial: but the usual invitation was received, and lest the people might suppose that judges could be influenced by a dinner; i accepted it. the defendant, a neighboring squire, being dreadfully alarmed by this intelligence, said to himself, 'well, if sir john entertains the judge hospitably, i do not see why i should not do the same by the jury.' so he invited to dinner the whole of the special jury summoned to try the cause. thereupon the baronet's courage failed him, and he withdrew the record, so that the cause was not tried; and although i had my dinner, i escaped all suspicion of partiality." this story puts the present writer in mind of another story which he has heard told in various ways, the wit of it being attributed by different narrators to two judges who have left the bench for another world, and a master of chancery who is still alive. on the present occasion the master of chancery shall figure as the humorist of the anecdote. less than twenty years since, in one of england's southern counties, two neighboring landed proprietors differed concerning their respective rights over some unenclosed land, and also about certain rights of fishing in an adjacent stream. the one proprietor was the richest baronet, the other the poorest squire of the county; and they agreed to settle their dispute by arbitration. our master in chancery, slightly known to both gentlemen, was invited to act as arbitrator after inspecting the localities in dispute. the invitation was accepted and the master visited the scene of disagreement, on the understanding that he should give up two days to the matter. it was arranged that on the first day he should walk over the squire's estate, and hear the squire's uncontradicted version of the case, dining at the close of the day with both contendents at the squire's table; and that on the second day, having walked over the baronet's estate, and heard without interruption the other side of the story, he should give his award, sitting over wine after dinner at the rich man's table. at the close of the first day the squire entertained his wealthy neighbor and the arbitrator at dinner. in accordance with the host's means, the dinner was modest but sufficient. it consisted of three fried soles, a roast leg of mutton, and vegetables; three pancakes, three pieces of cheese, three small loaves of bread, ale, and a bottle of sherry. on the removal of the viands, three magnificent apples, together with a magnum of port, were placed on the table by way of dessert. at the close of the second day the trio dined at the baronet's table, when it appeared that, struck by the simplicity of the previous day's dinner, and rightly attributing the absence of luxuries to the narrowness of the host's purse, the wealthy disputant had resolved not to attempt to influence the umpire by giving him a superior repast. sitting at another table the trio dined on exactly the same fare,--three fried soles, a roast leg of mutton, and vegetables; three pancakes, three pieces of cheese, three small loaves of bread, ale, and a bottle of sherry; and for dessert three magnificent apples, together with a magnum of port. the dinner being over, the apples devoured, and the last glass of port drunk, the arbitrator (his eyes twinkling brightly as he spoke) introduced his award with the following exordium:--"gentlemen, i have with all proper attention considered your _sole_ reasons: i have taken due notice of your _joint_ reasons, and i have come to the conclusion that your _des(s)erts_ are about equal." [ ] of these renderings the subjoined may be taken as favorable specimens:--"breve originale, original sinne; capias, a catch to a sad tune; alias capias, another to the same (sad tune); habeas corpus, a trooper; capias ad satisfaciend., a hangman: latitat, bo-peep; nisi prius, first come first served; demurrer, hum and haw; scandal. magnat., down with the lords." [ ] even vacations stink in the nostrils of mr. rogers; for he maintains that they are not so much periods when lawyers cease from their odious practices, as times of repose and recreation wherein they gain fresh vigor and daring for the commission of further outrages, and allow their unhappy victims to acquire just enough wealth to render them worth the trouble of despoiling. chapter xvii. chief justice popham. one of the strangest cases of corruption amongst english judges still remains to be told on the slender authority which is the sole foundation of the weighty accusation. in comparatively recent times there have not been many eminent englishmen to whom 'tradition's simple tongue' has been more hostile than queen elizabeth's lord chief justice, popham. the younger son of a gentle family, john popham passed from oxford to the middle temple, raised himself to the honors of the ermine, secured the admiration of illustrious contemporaries, in his latter years gained abundant praise for wholesome severity towards footpads, and at his death left behind him a name--which, tradition informs us, belonged to a man who in his reckless youth, and even after his call to the bar, was a cut-purse and highwayman. in mitigation of his conduct it is urged by those who credit the charge, that young gentlemen of his date were so much addicted to the lawless excitement of the road, that when he was still a beardless stripling, an act ( ed. vi. c. , s. ) was passed, whereby any peer of the realm or lord of parliament, on a first conviction for robbery, was entitled to benefit of clergy, though he could not read. but bearing in mind the liberties which rumor is wont to take with the names of eminent persons, the readiness the multitude always display to attribute light morals to grave men, and the infrequency of the cases where a dissolute youth is the prelude to a manhood of strenuous industry and an old age of honor--the cautious reader will require conclusive testimony before he accepts popham's connection with 'the road' as one of the unassailable facts of history. the authority for this grave charge against a famous judge is john aubrey, the antiquary, who was born in , just twenty years after popham's death. "for severall yeares," this collector says of the chief justice, "he addicted himself but little to the studie of the lawes, but profligate company, and was wont to take a purse with them. his wife considered her and his condition, and at last prevailed with him to lead another life and to stick to the studie of the lawe, which, upon her importunity, he did, being then about thirtie yours old." as popham was born in , he withdrew, according to this account, from the company of gentle highwaymen about the year --more than sixty years before aubrey's birth, and more than a hundred years before the collector committed the scandalous story to writing. the worth of such testimony is not great. good stories are often fixed upon eminent men who had no part in the transactions thereby attributed to them. if this writer were to put into a private note-book a pleasant but unauthorized anecdote imputing _kleptomania_ to chief justice wiles (who died in ), and fifty years hence the note-book should be discovered in a dirty corner of a forgotten closet and published to the world--would readers in the twentieth century be justified in holding that sir john willes was an eccentric thief? but aubrey tells a still stranger story concerning popham, when he sets forth the means by which the judge made himself lord of littlecote hall in wiltshire. the case must be given in the narrator's own words. "sir richard dayrell of littlecot in com. wilts. having got his lady's waiting-woman with child, when her travell came sent a servant with a horse for a midwife, whom he was to bring hoodwinked. she was brought, and layd the woman; but as soon as the child was born, she saw the knight take the child and murther it, and burn it in the fire in the chamber. she having done her business was extraordinarily rewarded for her paines, and went blindfold away. this horrid action did much run in her mind, and she had a desire to discover it, but knew not where 'twas. she considered with herself the time she was riding, and how many miles she might have rode at that rate in that time, and that it must be some great person's house, for the roome was twelve foot high: and she should know the chamber if she sawe it. she went to a justice of peace, and search was made. the very chamber found. the knight was brought to his tryall; and, to be short, this judge had this noble house, park, and manor, and (i think) more, for a bribe to save his life. sir john popham gave sentence according to lawe, but being a great person and a favorite, he procured a _nolle prosequi_." this ghastly tale of crime following upon crime has been reproduced by later writers with various exaggerations and modifications. dramas and novels have been founded upon it; and a volume might be made of the ballads and songs to which it has given birth. in some versions the corrupt judge does not even go through the form of passing sentence, but secures an acquittal from the jury; according to one account, the mother, instead of the infant, was put to death; according to another, the erring woman was the murderer's daughter, instead of his wife's waiting-woman; another writer, assuming credit as a conscientious narrator of facts, places the crime in the eighteenth instead of the sixteenth century, and transforms the venal judge into a clever barrister. in a highly seasoned statement of the repulsive tradition communicated by lord webb seymour to walter scott, the murder is described with hideous minuteness. changing the midwife into 'a friar of orders grey,' and murdering the mother instead of the baby, sir walter scott revived the story in one of his most popular ballads. but of all the versions of the tradition that have come under this writer's notice, the one that departs most widely from aubrey's statement is given in mr. g.l. rede's 'anecdotes and biography,' ( ). chapter xviii. judicial salaries. for the last three hundred years the law has been a lucrative profession, our great judges during that period having in many instances left behind them large fortunes, earned at the bar or acquired from official emoluments. the rental of egerton's landed estates was £ , per annum--a royal income in the days of elizabeth and james. maynard left great wealth to his grand-daughters, lady hobart and mary countess of stamford. lord mansfield's favorite investment was mortgage; and towards the close of his life the income which he derived for moneys lent on sound mortgages was £ , per annum. when lord kenyon had lost his eldest son, he observed to mr. justice allan park--"how delighted george would be to take his poor brother from the earth and restore him to life, although he receives £ , by his decease." lord eldon is said to have left to his descendants £ , ; and his brother, lord stowell, to whom we are indebted for the phrase 'the elegant simplicity of the three per cents.,' also acquired property that at the time of his death yielded £ , per annum. lord stowell's personalty was sworn under £ , , and he had invested considerable sums in land. it is noteworthy that this rich lawyer did not learn to be contented with the moderate interest of the three per cents. until he had sustained losses from bad speculations. notable also is it that this rich lawyer--whose notorious satisfaction with three per cent. interest has gained for him a reputation of noble indifference to gain--was inordinately fond of money. these great fortunes were raised from fees taken in practice at the bar, from judicial salaries or pensions, and from other official gains--such as court dues, perquisites, sinecures, and allowances. since the revolution of these last named irregular or fluctuating sources of judicial income have steadily diminished, and in the present day have come to an end. eldon's receipts during his tenure of the seals cannot be definitely stated, but more is known about them and his earnings at the bar than he intended the world to discover, when he declared in parliament "that in no one year, since he had been made lord chancellor, had he received the same amount of profit which he enjoyed while at the bar." whilst he was attorney general he earned something more than £ , a year; and in returns which he himself made to the house of commons, he admits that in he received, as lord chancellor, a gross income of £ , , from which sum, after deduction of all expenses, there remained a net income of £ , per annum. he was enabled also to enrich the members of his family with presentations to offices, and reversions of places. until comparatively recent times, judges were dangerously dependent on the king's favor; for they not only held their offices during the pleasure of the crown, but on dismissal they could not claim a retiring pension. in the seventeenth century, an aged judge, worn out by toil and length of days, was deemed a notable instance of royal generosity, if he obtained a small allowance on relinquishing his place in court. chief justice hale, on his retirement, was signally favored when charles ii. graciously promised to continue his salary till the end of his life--which was manifestly near its close. under the stuarts, the judges who lost their places for courageous fidelity to law, were wont to resume practice at the bar. to provide against the consequences of ejection from office, great lawyers, before they consented to exchange the gains of advocacy for the uncertain advantages of the woolsack, used to stipulate for special allowance--over and above the ancient emoluments of place. lord nottingham had an allowance of £ per annum; and lord guildford, after a struggle for better times, was constrained, at a cost of mental serenity, to accept the seals, with a special salary of half that sum.[ ] from down to the present time, the chronicler of changes in the legal profession, has to notice a succession of alterations in the system and scale of judicial payments--all of the innovations having a tendency to raise the dignity of the bench. under william and mary, an allowance (still continued), was made to holders of the seal on their appointment, for the cost of outfit and equipages. the amount of this special aid was £ , but fees reduced it to £ _s._ mr. foss observes--"the earliest existing record of this allowance, is dated june , , when sir nathan wright was made lord keeper, which states it to be the same sum as had been allowed to his predecessor." at the same period, the salary of a puisne judge was but £ a year--a sum that would have been altogether insufficient for his expenses. a considerable part of a puisne's remuneration consisted of fees, perquisites, and presents. amongst the customary presents to judges at this time, may be mentioned the _white gloves_, which men convicted of manslaughter, presented to the judges when they pleaded the king's pardon; the _sugar loaves_, which the warden of the fleet annually sent to the judges of the common pleas; and the almanacs yearly distributed amongst the occupants of the bench by the stationers' company. from one of these almanacs, in which judge rokeby kept his accounts, it appears that in the year , the casual profits of his place amounted to £ , _s._ _d._ here is the list of his official incomes, (net) for ten years:--in , £ , _s._; in , £ , _s._ _d._; in , £ , _s._ _d._; in , £ , _s._ _d._; in , £ , _s._ _d._; in , £ , _s._ _d._; in , £ , _s._ _d._; in , £ , _s._ _d._; in , £ , _s._ _d._; in , £ , _s._ _d._ the fluctuation of the amounts in this list, is worthy of observation; as it points to one bad consequence of the system of paying judges by fees, gratuities, and uncertain perquisites. a needy judge, whose income in lucky years was over two thousand pounds, must have been sadly pinched in years when he did not receive fifteen hundred. under the heading, "the charges of my coming into my judge's place, and the taxes upon it the first yeare and halfe," judge rokeby gives the following particulars: " , may . to mr. milton, deputy clerk of the crown, as per note, for the patent and swearing privately, £ , _s._ _d._ may . to mr. english, charges of the patent at the secretary of state's office, as per note, said to be a new fee, £ , _s._ inrolling the patent in exchequer and treasury, £ , _s._ _d._ ju. . wine given as a judge, as per vintner's note, £ , _s._ ju. . cakes, given as a judge, as per vintner's note, £ , _s._ _d._ second-hand judge's robes, with some new lining, £ . charges for my part of the patent for our salarys, to aaron smith, £ , _s._, and the dormant warrant £ .--£ , _s._--£ , _s._ _d._ "taxes, £ . "the charges of my being made a serjeant-at-law, and of removing myselfe and family to london, and a new coach and paire of horses, and of my knighthood (all which were within the first halfe year of my coming from york), upon the best calculation i can make of them, were att least £ ." concerning the expenses attendant on his removal from the common pleas to the king's bench in --a removal which had an injurious result upon his income--the judge records: nov. . to mr. partridge, the crier of king's bench, claimed by him as a fee due to the criers, £ . nov. . to mr. ralph hall, in full of the clerk of the crown's bill for my patent, and swearing at the lord keeper's, and passing it through the offices, £ , _s._ _d._ dec. . to mr. carpenter, the vintner, for wine and bottles, £ , _s._ _d._ to gwin, the confectioner, for cakes, £ , _s._ _d._ to mr. mand (his clerk), which he paid att the treasury, and att the pell for my patent, allowed there, £ , _s._ tot. £ , _s._ _d._ the charges for wine and cakes were consequences of a custom which required a new judge to send biscuits and macaroons, sack and claret, to his brethren of the bench. in the reign of george i. the salaries of the common law judges were raised--the pensions of the chiefs being doubled, and the _puisnes_ receiving fifteen hundred instead of a thousand pounds. cowper's incomes during his tenure of the seals varied between something over seven and something under nine thousand per annum: but there is some reason to believe that on accepting office, he stipulated for a handsome yearly salary, in case he should be called upon to relinquish the place. evelyn, not a very reliable authority, but still a chronicler worthy of notice even on questions of fact, says:--"oct. . mr. cowper made lord keeper. observing how uncertain greate officers are of continuing long in their places, he would not accept it unless £ , a yeare were given him in reversion when he was put out, in consideration of his loss of practice. his predecessors, how little time soever they had the seal, usually got £ , , and made themselves barons." it is doubtful whether this bargain was actually made; but long after cowper's time, lawyers about to mount the woolsack, insisted on having terms that should compensate them for loss of practice. lord macclesfield had a special salary of £ per annum, during his occupancy of the marble chair, and obtained a grant of £ , from the king;--a tellership in the exchequer being also bestowed upon his eldest son. lord king obtained even better terms--a salary of £ per annum from the post office, and £ from the hanaper office; this large income being granted to him in consideration of the injury done to the chancellor's emoluments by the proceedings against lord macclesfield--whereby it was declared illegal for chancellors to sell the subordinate offices in the court of chancery. this arrangement--giving the chancellor an increased salary in _lieu_ of the sums which he could no longer raise by sales of offices--is conclusive testimony that in the opinion of the crown lord macclesfield had a right to sell the masterships. the terms made by lord northington, in , on resigning the seals and becoming president of the council, illustrate this custom. on quitting the marble chair, he obtained an immediate pension of £ per annum; and an agreement that the annual payment should be made £ per annum, as soon as he retired from the presidency: he also obtained a reversionary grant for two lives of the lucrative office of clerk of the hanaper in chancery. in lord chancellor king's time, amongst the fees and perquisites which he wished to regulate and reform were the supplies of stationery, provided by the country for the great law-officers. it may be supposed that the sum thus expended on paper, pens, and wax was an insignificant item in the national expenditure; but such was not the case--for the chief of the courts were accustomed to place their personal friends on the free-list for articles of stationery. the archbishop of dublin, a dignitary well able to pay for his own writing materials, wrote to lord king, april , : "my lord,--ever since i had the honor of being acquainted with lord chancellors, i have lived in england and ireland upon chancery paper, pens, and wax. i am not willing to lose an old advantageous custom. if your lordship hath any to spare me by my servant, you will oblige your very humble servant, "john dublin." so long as judges or subordinate officers were paid by casual perquisites and fees, paid directly to them by suitors, a taint of corruption lingered in the practice of our courts. long after judges ceased to sell injustice, they delayed justice from interested motives, and when questions concerning their perquisites were raised, they would sometimes strain a point, for the sake of their own private advantage. even lord ellenborough, whose fame is bright amongst the reputations of honorable men, could not always exercise self-control when attempts were made to lessen his customary profits, "i never," writes lord campbell, "saw this feeling at all manifest itself in lord ellenborough except once, when a question arose whether money paid into court was liable to poundage. i was counsel in the case, and threw him into a furious passion, by strenuously resisting the demand; the poundage was to go into his own pocket--being payable to the chief clerk--an office held in trust for him. if he was in any degree influenced by this consideration, i make no doubt that he was wholly unconscious of it." george iii.'s reign witnessed the introduction of changes long required, and frequently demanded in the mode and amounts of judicial payments. in , puisne judges and barons received an additional £ per annum, and the chief baron an increase of £ a year. twenty years later, stat. , geo. iii., c. , gave the master of the rolls, £ a year, the lord chief baron £ a year, and each of the puisne judges and barons, £ per annum. by the same act also, life-pensions of £ per annum were secured to retiring holders of the seal, and it was provided that after fifteen years of service, or in case of incurable infirmity, the chief justice of the king's bench could claim, on retirement, £ per annum, the master of the rolls, chief of common pleas, and chief baron £ per annum, and each minor judge of those courts or baron of the coif, £ a year. in , ( geo. iii., c. ) the lord chief baron's annual salary was raised to £ ; whilst a yearly stipend of £ was assigned to each puisne judge or baron. by geo. iii., c. , the chiefs and master of the rolls, received on retirement an additional yearly £ , and the puisnes an additional yearly £ . a still more important reform of george iii.'s reign was the creation of the first vice chancellor in march, . rank was assigned to the new functionary next after the master of the rolls, and his salary was fixed at £ per annum. until the reign of george iv. judges continued to take fees and perquisites; but by geo. iv. c. , , , it was arranged that the fees should be paid into the exchequer, and that the undernamed great officers of justice should receive the following salaries and pensions on retirement:-- an. pension an. sal. on retirement. lord chief justice of king's bench £ , £ lord chief justice of common pleas the master of the rolls the vice chancellor of england the chief baron of the exchequer each puisne baron or judge moreover by this act, the second judge of the king's bench was entitled, as in the preceding reign, to £ for giving charge to the grand jury in each term, and pronouncing judgment on malefactors. the changes with regard to judicial salaries under william iv. were comparatively unimportant. by and will. iv. c. , the salaries of puisne judges and barons were reduced to £ a year; and by and will. iv. c. , the chancellor's pension, on retirement, was raised to £ , the additional £ per annum being assigned to him in compensation of loss of patronage occasioned by the abolition of certain offices. these were the most noticeable of william's provisions with regard to the payment of his judges. the present reign, which has generously given the country two new judges, called lord justices, two additional vice chancellors, and a swarm of paid justices, in the shape of county court judges and stipendiary magistrates, has exercised economy with regard to judicial salaries. the annual stipends of the two chief justices, fixed in at £ , for the chief of the king's bench, and £ for the chief of the common pleas, have been reduced, in the former case to £ per annum, in the latter to £ per annum. the chancellor's salary for his services as speaker of the house of lords, has been made part of the £ , assigned to his legal office; so that his income is no more than ten thousand a year. the salary of the master of the rolls has been reduced from £ to £ a year; the same stipend, together with a pension on retirement of £ , being assigned to each of the lords justices. the salary of a vice chancellor is £ per annum; and after fifteen years' service, or in case of incurable sickness, rendering him unable to discharge the functions of his office, he can retire with a pension of £ . thurlow had no pension on retirement; but with much justice lord campbell observes: "although there was no parliamentary retired allowance for ex-chancellors, they were better off than at present. thurlow was a teller of the exchequer, and had given sinecures to all his relations, for one of which his nephew now receives a commutation of £ a year." lord loughborough was the first ex-chancellor who enjoyed, on retirement, a pension of £ per annum, under stat. geo. iii. c. . the next claimant for an ex-chancellor's pension was eldon, on his ejection from office in ; and the third claimant was erskine, whom the possession of the pension did not preserve from the humiliation of indigence. eldon's obstinate tenacity of office, was attended with one good result. it saved the nation much money by keeping down the number of ex-chancellors entitled to £ per annum. the frequency with which governments have been changed during the last forty years has had a contrary effect, producing such a strong bevy of lawyers--who are pensioners as well as peers--that financial reformers are loudly asking if some scheme cannot be devised for lessening the number of these costly and comparatively useless personages. at the time when this page is written, there are four ex-chancellors in receipt of pensions--lords brougham, st. leonards, cranworth, and westbury; but death has recently diminished the roll of chancellors by removing lords truro and lyndhurst. not long since the present writer read a very able, but one-sided article in a liberal newspaper that gave the sum total spent by the country since lord eldon's death in ex-chancellors' pensions; and in simple truth it must be admitted that the bill was a fearful subject for contemplation. [ ] during the commonwealth, the people, unwilling to pay their judges liberally, decided that a thousand a year was a sufficient income for a lord commissioner of the great seal. part iv. costume and toilet. chapter xix. bright and sad. from the days of the conqueror's chancellor, baldrick, who is reputed to have invented and christened the sword-belt that bears his name, lawyers have been conspicuous amongst the best dressed men of their times. for many generations clerical discipline restrained the members of the bar from garments of lavish costliness and various colors, unless high rank and personal influence placed them above the fear of censure and punishment; but as soon as the law became a lay-profession, its members--especially those who were still young--eagerly seized the newest fashions of costume, and expended so much time and money on personal decoration, that the governors of the inns deemed it expedient to make rules, with a view to check the inordinate love of gay apparel. by these enactments, foppish modes of dressing the hair was discountenanced or forbidden, not less than the use of gaudy clothes and bright arms. some of these regulations have a quaint air to readers of this generation; and as indications of manners in past times, they deserve attention. from dugdale's 'origines juridiciales,' it appears that in the earlier part of henry viii.'s reign, the students and barristers of the inns were allowed great licence in settling for themselves minor points of costume; but before that paternal monarch died, this freedom was lessened. accepting the statements of a previous chronicler, dugdale observes of the members of the middle temple under henry--"they have no order for their apparell; but every man may go as him listeth, so that his apparell pretend no lightness or wantonness in the wearer; for, even as his apparell doth shew him to be, even so he shall be esteemed among them." but at the period when this licence was permitted in respect of costume, the general discipline of the inn was scandalously lax; the very next paragraph of the 'origines' showing that the templars forbore to shut their gates at night, whereby "their chambers were oftentimes robbed, and many other misdemeanors used." but measures were taken to rectify the abuses and evil manners of the schools. in the thirty-eighth year of henry viii. an order was made "that the gentlemen of this company" (_i.e._, the inner temple) "should reform themselves in their cut or disguised apparel, and not to have long beards. and that the treasurer of this society should confer with the other treasurers of court for an uniform reformation." the authorities of lincoln's inn had already bestirred themselves to reduce the extravagances of dress and toilet which marked their younger and more frivolous fellow-members. "and for decency in apparel," writes dugdale, concerning lincoln's inn, "at a council held on the day of the nativity of st. john the baptist, hen. viii. it was ordered that for a continual rule, to be thenceforth kept in this house, no gentleman, being a fellow of this house, should wear any cut or pansid hose, or bryches; or pansid doublet, upon pain of putting out of the house." ten years later the authorities of lincoln's inn ( hen. viii.) ordered that no member of the society "being in commons, or at his repast, should wear a beard; and whoso did, to pay double commons or repasts in this house during such time as he should have any beard." by an order of maii, and philip and mary, the gentlemen of the inner temple were forbidden to wear long beards, no member of the society being permitted to wear a beard of more than three weeks' growth. every breach of this law was punished by the heavy fine of twenty shillings. in and of philip and mary it was ordered that no member of the middle temple "should thenceforth wear any great bryches in their hoses, made after the dutch, spanish, or almon fashion; or lawnde upon their capps; or cut doublets, upon pain of iiis iiiid forfaiture for the first default, and the second time to be expelled the house." at lincoln's inn, "in and philip and mary, one mr wyde, of this house, was (by special order made upon ascension day) fined at five groats, for going in his study gown in cheapside, on a sunday, about ten o'clock before noon; and in westminister hall, in the term time, in the forenoon." mr. wyde's offence was one of remissness rather than of excessive care for his personal appearance. with regard to beards in the same reign lincoln's inn exacted that such members "as had beards should pay _d._ for every meal they continued them; and every man" was required "to be shaven upon pain of putting out of commons." the orders made under elizabeth with regard to the same or similar matters are even more humorous and diverse. at the inner temple "it was ordered in elizabeth ( junii), that if any fellow in commons, or lying in the louse, did wear either hat or cloak in the temple church, hall, buttry, kitchen, or at the buttry-barr, dresser, or in the garden, he should forfeit for every such offence vis viiid. and in eliz. ( febr.) that they go not in cloaks, hatts, bootes, and spurs into the city, but when they ride out of the town." this order was most displeasing to the young men of the legal academies, who were given to swaggering amongst the brave gallants of city ordinaries, and delighted in showing their rich attire at paul's. the templar of the inner temple who ventured to wear arms (except his dagger) in hall committed a grave offence, and was fined five pounds. "no fellow of this house should come into the hall" it was enacted at the inner temple, eliz. ( dec.) "with any weapons, except his dagger, or his knife, upon pain of forfeiting the sum of five pounds." in old time the lawyers often quarrelled and drew swords in hall; and the object of this regulation doubtless was to diminish the number of scandalous affrays. the middle temple, in eliz., made six prohibitory rules with regard to apparel, enacting, " . that no ruff should be worn. . nor any white color in doublets or hoses. . nor any facing of velvet in gownes, but by such as were of the bench. . that no gentleman should walk in the streets in their cloaks, but in gownes. . that no hat, or long, or curled hair be worn. . nor any gown, but such as were of a sad color." of similar orders made at gray's inn, during elizabeth's reign, the following edict of eliz. (feb. ) may be taken as a specimen:--"that no gentleman of this society do come into the hall, to any meal, with their hats, boots, or spurs; but with their caps, decently and orderly, according to the ancient order of this house: upon pain, for every offence, to forfeit iiis d, and for the third offence expulsion. likewise, that no gentleman of this society do go into the city, or suburbs, or to walk in the fields, otherwise than in his gown, according to the ancient usage of the gentlemen of the inns of court, upon penalty of iiis iiiid for every offence; and for the third, expulsion and loss of his chamber." at lincoln's inn it was enacted, "in eliz., that if any fellow of this house, being a commoner or repaster, should within the precinct of this house wear any cloak, boots and spurs, or long hair, he should pay for every offence five shillings for a fine, and also to be put out of commons." the attempt to put down beards at lincoln's inn failed. dugdale says, in his notes on that inn, "and in eliz. it was further ordered, that no fellow of this house should wear any beard above a fortnight's growth; and that whoso transgresses therein should for the first offence forfeit _s._ d., to be paid and cast with his commons; and for the second time _s_ d., in like manner to be paid and cast with his commons; and the third time to be banished the house. but the fashion at that time of wearing beards grew then so predominant, as that the very next year following, at a council held at this house, upon the th of november, it was agreed and ordered, that all orders before that time touching beards should be void and repealed." in the same year in which the authorities of lincoln's inn forbade the wearing of beards, they ordered that no fellow of their society "should wear any sword or buckler; or cause any to be born after him into the town." this was the first of the seven orders made in eliz. for _all_ the inns of court; of which orders the sixth runs thus:--"that none should wear any velvet upper cap, neither in the house nor city. and that none after the first day of january then ensuing, should wear any furs, nor any manner of silk in their apparel, otherwise than he could justifie by the stature of apparel, made _an._ h. , under the penalty aforesaid." in the eighth year of the following reign it was ordained at lincoln's inn "that no rapier should be worn in this house by any of the society." other orders made in the reign of james i., and similar enactments passed by the inns in still more recent periods, can be readily found on reference to dugdale and later writers upon the usages of lawyers. on such matters, however, fashion is all-powerful; and however grandly the benchers of an inn might talk in their council-chamber, they could not prevail on their youngsters to eschew beards when beards were the mode, or to crop the hair of their heads when long tresses were worn by gallants at court. even in the time of elizabeth--when authority was most anxious that utter-barristers should in matters of costume maintain that reputation for 'sadness' which is the proverbial characteristic of apprentices of the law--counsellors of various degrees were conspicuous throughout the town for brave attire. if we had no other evidence bearing on the point, knowledge of human nature would make us certain that the bar imitated lord chancellor hatton's costume. at gray's inn, francis bacon was not singular in loving rich clothes, and running into debt for satin and velvet, jewels and brocade, lace and feathers. even of that contemner of frivolous men and vain pursuits, edward coke, biography assures us, "the jewel of his mind was put into a fair case, a beautiful body with comely countenance; a case which he did wipe and keep clean, delighting in good clothes, well worn; being wont to say that the outward neatness of our bodies might be a monitor of purity to our souls." the courts of james i. and his son drew some of their most splendid fops from the multitude of young men who were enjoined by the elders of their profession to adhere to a costume that was a compromise between the garb of an oxford scholar and the guise of a london 'prentice. the same was the case with charles ii.'s london. students and barristers outshone the brightest idlers at whitehall, whilst within the walls of their inns benchers still made a faint show of enforcing old restrictions upon costume. at a time when every templar in society wore hair--either natural or artificial--long and elaborately dressed, sir william dugdale wrote, "to the office of the chief butler" (_i.e._, of the middle temple) "it likewise appertaineth to take the names of those that be absent at the said solemn revells, and to present them to the bench, as also inform the bench of such as wear hats, bootes, _long hair_, or the like (for the which he is commonly out of the young gentlemen's favor)." chapter xx. millinery. saith sir william dugdale, in his chapter concerning the personal attire of judges--"that peculiar and decent vestments have, from great antiquity, been used in religious services, we have the authority of god's sacred precept to moses, '_thou shall make holy rayments for aaron and his sons, that are to minister unto me, that they may be for glory and beauty_.'" in this light and flippant age there are men irreverent enough to smile at the habiliments which our judges wear in court, for the glory of god and the seemly embellishment of their own natural beauty. like the stuff-gown of the utter-barrister, the robes of english judges are of considerable antiquity; but antiquaries labor in vain to discover all the facts relating to their origin and history. mr. foss says that at the stuart restoration english judges resumed the robes worn by their predecessors since the time of edward i.; but though the judicial robes of the present day bear a close resemblance to the vestments worn by that king's judges, the costume of the bench has undergone many variations since the twentieth year of his reign. in the eleventh year of richard ii. a distinction was made between the costumes of the chiefs of the king's bench and common pleas and their assistant justices; and at the same time the chief baron's inferiority to the chief justices was marked by costume. henry vi.'s chief justice of the king's bench, sir john fortescue, in his delightful treatise 'de laudibus legum angliæ,' describes the ceremony attending the creation of a justice, and minutely sets forth the chief items of judicial costume in the bench and common pleas during his time. "howbeit," runs robert mulcaster's rendering of the 'de laudibus,' "the habite of his rayment, hee shall from time to time forwarde, in some pointes change, but not in all the ensignments thereof. for beeing serjeaunt at lawe, hee was clothed in a long robe priestlyke, with a furred cape about his shoulders, and thereupon a hoode with two labels such as doctours of the lawes use to weare in certayne universityes, with the above described quoyfe. but being once made a justice, in steede of his hoode, hee shall weare a cloake cloased upon his righte shoulder, all the other ornaments of a serjeant still remayning; sauing that a justyce shall weare no partye coloured vesture as a serjeant may. and his cape is furred with none other than menever, whereas the serjeant's cape is ever furred with whyte lambe." judicial costume varied with the fashion of the day or the whim of the sovereign in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. subsequent generations saw the introduction of other changes; and in the time of charles i. questions relating to the attire of the common law judges were involved in so much doubt, and surrounded with so many contradictory precedents and traditions, that the judges resolved to simplify matters by conference and unanimous action. the result of their deliberation was a decree, dated june , , to which sir john bramston, chief of the king's bench, sir john finch, chief of the common pleas, sir humphrey davenport, chief of the exchequer, and all the minor judges of the three courts, gave subscription. chapter xxi. wigs. the changes effected in judicial costume during the commonwealth, like the reformation introduced at the same period into the language of the law, were all reversed in , when charles ii.'s judges resumed the attire and usages of their predecessors in the first charles's reign. when he had satisfied himself that monarchical principles were sure of an enduring triumph, and that their victory would conduce to his own advantage, great was young samuel pepys's delight at seeing the ancient customs of the lawyers restored, one after another. in october, , he had the pleasure of seeing "the lord chancellor and all the judges riding on horseback, and going to westminster hall, it being the first day of term." in the february of - his eyes were gladdened by the revival of another old practice. " th (lord's day). up and walked to st. paul's," he writes, "and, by chance, it was an extraordinary day for the readers of inns of the court and all the students to come to church, it being an old ceremony not used these twenty-five years, upon the first sunday in lent. abundance there was of students, more than there was room to seat but upon forms, and the church mighty full. one hawkins preached, an oxford man, a good sermon upon these words, 'but the wisdom from above is first pure, then peaceable.'" hawkins was no doubt a humorist, and smiled in the sleeve of his oxford gown as he told the law-students that _peace_ characterized the highest sort of _wisdom_. but, notwithstanding their zeal in reviving old customs, the lawyers of the restoration introduced certain novelties into legal life. from paris they imported the wig which still remains one of the distinctive adornments of the english barrister; and from the same centre of civilization they introduced certain refinements of cookery, which had been hitherto unknown in the taverns of fleet street and the strand. in the earlier part of the 'merry monarch's' reign, the eating-house most popular with young barristers and law-students was kept by a french cook named chattelin, who, besides entertaining his customers with delicate fare and choice wine, enriched our language with the word 'cutlet'--in his day spelt costelet. in the seventeenth century, until wigs were generally adopted, the common law judges, like their precursors for several past generations, wore in court velvet caps, coifs, and cornered caps. pictures preserve to us the appearance of justices, with their heads covered by one or two of these articles of dress, the moustache in many instances adorning the lip, and a well-trimmed beard giving point to the judicial chin. the more common head-dress was the coif and coif-cap, of which it is necessary to say a few words. the coif was a covering for the head, made of white lawn or silk, and common law judges wore it as a sign that they were members of the learned brotherhood of sergeants. speaking of the sergeants, fortescue, in his 'de laudibus,' says--"wherefore to this state and degree hath no man beene hitherto admitted, except he hath first continued by the space of sixteene years in the said generall studio of the law, and in token or signe, that all justices are thus graduat, every one of them alwaies, while he sitteth in the kinge's courts, weareth a white quoyfe of silke; which is the principal and chiefe insignment of habite, wherewith serjeants-at-lawe in their creation are decked. and neither the justice, nor yet the serjeaunt, shall ever put off the quoyfe, no not in the kinge's presence, though he bee in talke with his majestie's highnesse." at times it was no easy matter to take the coif from the head; for the white drapery was fixed to its place with strings, which in the case of one notorious rascal were not untied without difficulty. in henry iii.'s reign, when william de bossy was charged in open court with corruption and dishonesty, he claimed the benefit of clerical orders, and endeavored to remove his coif in order that he might display his tonsure; but before he could effect his purpose, an officer of the court seized him by the throat and dragged him off to prison. "voluit," says matthew paris, "ligamenta coifæ suæ solvere, ut, palam monstraret se tonsuram habere clericalem; sed non est permissus. satelles vero eum arripiens, non per coifæ ligamina sed per guttur eum apprehendens, traxit ad carcerem." from which occurrence spelman drew the untenable, and indeed, ridiculous inference, that the coif was introduced as a veil, beneath which ecclesiastics who wished to practice as judges or counsel in the secular courts, might conceal the personal mark of their order. the coif-cap is still worn in undiminished proportions by judges when they pass sentence of death, and is generally known as the 'black cap.' in old time the justice, on making ready to pronounce the awful words which consigned a fellow-creature to a horrible death, was wont to draw up the flat, square, dark cap, that sometimes hung at the nape of his neck or the upper part of his shoulder. having covered the whiteness of his coif, and partially concealed his forehead and brows with the sable cloth, he proceeded to utter the dread sentence with solemn composure and firmness. at present the black cap is assumed to strike terror into the hearts of the vulgar; formerly it was pulled over the eyes, to hide the emotion of the judge. shorn of their original size, the coif and the coif-cap may still be seen in the wigs worn by sergeants at the present day. the black blot which marks the crown of a sergeant's wig is generally spoken of as his coif, but this designation is erroneous. the black blot is the coif-cap; and those who wish to see the veritable coif must take a near view of the wig, when they will see that between the black silk and the horsehair there lies a circular piece of white lawn, which is the vestige of that pure raiment so reverentially mentioned by fortescue. on the general adoption of wigs, the sergeants, like the rest of the bar, followed in the wake of fashion: but at first they wore their old coifs and caps over their false hair. finding this plan cumbersome, they gradually diminished the size of the ancient covering, until the coif and cap became the absurd thing which resembles a bald place covered with court-plaster quite as much as the rest of the wig resembles human hair. whilst the common law judges of the seventeenth century, before the introduction of wigs, wore the undiminished coif and coif-cap, the lord chancellor, like the speaker of the house of commons, wore a hat. lord keeper williams, the last clerical holder of the seals, used to wear in the court of chancery a round, conical hat. bradshaw, sitting as president of the commissioners who tried charles i., wore a hat instead of the coif and cap which he donned at other times as a serjeant of law. kennett tells us that "mr. sergeant bradshaw, the president, was afraid of some tumult upon such new and unprecedented insolence as that of sitting judge upon his king; and therefore, beside other defence, he had a thick big-crowned beaver hat, lined with plated steel, to ward off blows." it is scarcely credible that bradshaw resorted to such means for securing his own safety, for in the case of a tumult, a hat, however strong, would have been an insignificant protection against popular fury. if conspirators had resolved to take his life, they would have tried to effect their purpose by shooting or stabbing him, not by knocking him on the head. a steel-plated hat would have been but a poor guard against a bludgeon, and a still poorer defence against poignard or pistol. it is far more probable that in laying aside the ordinary head-dress of an english common law judge, and in assuming a high-crowned hat, the usual covering of a speaker, bradshaw endeavored to mark the exceptional character of the proceeding, and to remind the public that he acted under parliamentary sanction. whatever the wearer's object, england was satisfied that he had a notable purpose, and persisted in regarding the act as significant of cowardice or of insolence, of anxiety to keep within the lines of parliamentary privilege or of readiness to set all law at defiance. at the time and long after bradshaw's death, that hat caused an abundance of discussion; it was a problem which men tried in vain to solve, an enigma that puzzled clever heads, a riddle that was interpreted as an insult, a caution, a protest, a menace, a doubt. oxford honored it with a latin inscription, and a place amongst the curiosities of the university, and its memory is preserved to englishmen of the present day in the familiar lines-- "where england's monarch once uncovered sat, and bradshaw bullied in a broad-brimmed hat." judges were by no means unanimous with regard to the adoption of wigs, some of them obstinately refusing to disfigure themselves with false tresses, and others displaying a foppish delight in the new decoration. sir matthew hale, who died in , to the last steadily refused to decorate himself with artificial locks. the likeness of the chief justice that forms the frontispiece to burnet's memoir of the lawyer, represents him in his judicial robes, wearing his ss collar, and having on his head a cap--not the coif-cap, but one of the close-fitting skull-caps worn by judges in the seventeenth century. such skull-caps, it has been observed in a prior page of this work, were worn by barristers under their wigs, and country gentlemen at home, during the last century. into such caps readers have seen sir francis north put his fees. the portrait of sir cresswell levinz (who returned to the bar on dismissal from the bench in ) shows that he wore a full-bottomed wig whilst he was a judge; whereas sir thomas street, who remained a judge till the close of james ii.'s reign, wore his own hair and a coif-cap. when shaftesbury sat in court as lord high chancellor of england he wore a hat, which roger north is charitable enough to think might have been a black hat. "his lordship," says the 'examen,' "regarded censure so little, that he did not concern himself to use a decent habit as became a judge of his station; for he sat upon the bench in an ash-colored gown silver-laced, and full-ribboned pantaloons displayed, without any black at all in his garb, unless it were his hat, which, now, i cannot positively say, though i saw him, was so." even so late as queen anne's reign, which witnessed the introduction of three-cornered hats, a lord keeper wore his own hair in court instead of a wig, until he received the sovereign's order to adopt the venerable disguise of a full-bottomed wig. lady sarah cowper recorded of her father, :--"the queen after this was persuaded to trust a whigg ministry, and in the year , octr., she made my father ld. keeper of the great seal, in the st year of his age--'tis said the youngest lord keeper that ever had been. he looked very young, and wearing his own hair made him appear yet more so, which the queen observing, obliged him to cut it off, telling him the world would say she had given the seals to a boy." the young lord keeper of course obeyed; and when he appeared for the first time at court in a wig, his aspect was so grave and reverend that the queen had to look at him twice before she recognized him. more than half a century later, george ii. experienced a similar difficulty, when lord hardwicke, after the close of his long period of official service, showed himself at court in a plain suit of black velvet, with a bag and sword. familiar with the appearance of the chancellor dressed in full-bottomed wig and robes, the king failed to detect his old friend and servant in the elderly gentleman who, in the garb of a private person of quality, advanced and rendered due obeisance. "sir, it is lord hardwicke," whispered a lord in waiting who stood near his majesty's person, and saw the cause of the cold reception given to the ex-chancellor. but unfortunately the king was not more familiar with the ex-chancellor's title than his appearance, and in a disastrous endeavor to be affable inquired, with an affectation of interest, "how long has your lordship been in town?" the peer's surprise and chagrin were great until the monarch, having received further instruction from the courtly prompter at his elbow, frankly apologized in bad english and with noisy laughter. "had lord hardwicke," says campbell, "worn such a uniform as that invented by george iv. for ex-chancellors (very much like a field marshal's), he could not have been mistaken for a common man." the judges who at the first introduction of wigs refused to adopt them were prone to express their dissatisfaction with those coxcombical contrivances when exhibited upon the heads of counsel; and for some years prudent juniors, anxious to win the favorable opinion of anti-wig justices, declined to obey the growing fashion. chief justice hale, a notable sloven, conspicuous amongst common law judges for the meanness of his attire, just as shaftesbury was conspicuous in the court of chancery for foppishness, cherished lively animosity for two sorts of legal practitioners--attorneys who wore swords, and young templars who adorned themselves with periwigs. bishop burnet says of hale: "he was a great encourager of all young persons that he saw followed their books diligently, to whom he used to give directions concerning the method of their study, with a humanity and sweetness that wrought much on all that came near him; and in a smiling, pleasant way he would admonish them, if he saw anything amiss in them; particularly if they went too fine in their clothes, he would tell them it did not become their profession. he was not pleased to see students wear long periwigs, or attorneys go with swords, so that such men as would not be persuaded to part with those vanities, when they went to him laid them aside and went as plain as they could, to avoid the reproof which they knew they might otherwise expect." in england, however, barristers almost universally wore wigs at the close of the seventeenth century; but north of the tweed advocates wore cocked hats and powdered hair so late as the middle of the eighteenth century. when alexander wedderburn joined the scotch bar in , wigs had not come into vogue with the members of his profession. many are the good stories told of judicial wigs, and amongst the best of them, is the anecdote which that malicious talker samuel rogers delighted to tell at edward law's expense. "lord ellenborough," says the 'table-talk,' "was once about to go on circuit, when lady ellenborough said that she should like to accompany him. he replied that he had no objection provided she did not encumber the carriage with bandboxes, which were his utter abhorrence. during the first day's journey lord ellenborough, happening to stretch his legs, struck his foot against something below the seat; he discovered that it was a bandbox. up went the window, and out went the bandbox. the coachman stopped, and the footman, thinking that the bandbox had tumbled out of the window by some extraordinary chance, was going to pick it up, when lord ellenborough furiously called out, 'drive on!' the bandbox, accordingly, was left by the ditch-side. having reached the county town where he was to officiate as judge, lord ellenborough proceeded to array himself for his appearance in the court-house. 'now,' said he, 'where's my wig?--where _is_ my wig?' 'my lord,' replied his attendant, 'it was thrown out of the carriage window!'" changing together with fashion, barristers ceased to wear their wigs in society as soon as the gallants and bucks of the west end began to appear with their natural tresses in theatres and ball rooms; but the conservative genius of the law has hitherto triumphed over the attempts of eminent advocates to throw the wig out of westminster hall. when lord campbell argued the great privilege case, he obtained permission to appear without a wig; but this concession to a counsel--who, on that occasion, spoke for sixteen hours--was accompanied with an intimation that "it was not to be drawn into precedent." less wise or less fortunate than the bar, the judges of england wore their wigs in society after advocates of all ranks and degrees had agreed to lay aside the professional head-gear during hours of relaxation. lady eldon's good taste and care for her husband's comfort, induced lord eldon, soon after his elevation to the pillow of the common pleas, to beg the king's permission that he might put off his judicial wig on leaving the courts, in which as chief justice he would be required to preside. the petition did not meet with a favorable reception. for a minute george iii. hesitated; whereupon eldon supported his prayer by observing, with the fervor of an old-fashioned tory, that the lawyer's wig was a detestable innovation--unknown in the days of james i. and charles the martyr, the judges of which two monarchs would have rejected as an insult any proposal that they should assume a head-dress fit only for madmen at masquerades or mummers at country wakes. "what! what!" cried the king, sharply; and then, smiling mischievously, as he suddenly saw a good answer to the plausible argument, he added--"true, my lord, charles the first's judges wore no wigs, but they wore beards. you may do the same, if you like. you may please yourself about wearing or not wearing your wig; but mind, if you please yourself by imitating the old judges, as to the head--you must please me by imitating them as to the chin. you may lay aside your wig; but if you do--you must wear a beard." had he lived in these days, when barristers occasionally wear beards in court, and judges are not less conspicuous than the junior bar for magnitude of nose and whisker, eldon would have accepted the condition. but the last year of the last century, was the very centre and core of that time which may be called the period of close shavers; and john scott, the decorous and respectable, would have endured martyrdom rather than have grown a beard, or have allowed his whiskers to exceed the limits of mutton-chop whiskers. as chief justice of the common pleas, and subsequently as chancellor, eldon wore his wig whenever he appeared in general society; but in the privacy of his own house he gratified lady eldon by laying aside the official head-gear. that this was his usage, the gossips of the law-courts knew well; and at carlton house, when the prince of wales was most indignant with the chancellor, who subsequently became his familiar friend, courtiers were wont to soothe the royal rage with diverting anecdotes of the attention which the odious lawyer lavished on the natural hair that gave his bessie so much delight. on one occasion, when eldon was firmly supporting the cause of the princess of wales, 'the first gentleman of europe' forgot common decency so far, that he made a jeering allusion to this instance of the chancellor's domestic amiability. "i am not the sort of person," growled the prince with an outbreak of peevishness, "to let my hair grow under my wig to please my wife." with becoming dignity eldon answered--"your royal highness condescends to be personal. i beg leave to withdraw;" and suiting his action to his words, the chancellor made a low bow to the angry prince, and retired. the prince sneaked out of the position by an untruth, instead of an apology. on the following day he caused a written assurance to be conveyed to the chancellor, that the offensive speech "was nothing personal, but simply a proverb--a proverbial way of saying a man was governed by his wife." it is needless to say that the expression was not proverbial, but distinctly and grossly personal. lord malmesbury's comment on this affair is "very absurd of lord eldon; but explained by his having literally done what the prince said." lord eldon's conduct absurd! what was the prince's? chapter xxii. bands and collars. bands came into fashion with englishmen many years before wigs, but like wigs they were worn in general society before they became a recognized and distinctive feature of professional costume. ladies of rank dyed their hair, and wore false tresses in elizabethan england; but their example was not extensively followed by the men of their time--although the courtiers of the period sometimes donned 'periwinkes,' to the extreme disgust of the multitude, and the less stormy disapprobation of the polite. the frequency with which bands are mentioned in elizabethan literature, affords conclusive evidence that they were much worn toward the close of the sixteenth century; and it is also matter of certainty that they were known in england at a still earlier period. henry viii. had " shirte bands of silver with ruffes to the same, whereof one was perled with golde;" and in peacham observed, "king henry viii. was the first that ever wore a band about his neck, and that very plain, without lace, and about an inch or two in depth. we may see how the case is altered, he is not a gentleman, or in the fashion, whose band of italian cutwork standeth him not at the least in three or four pounds; yea, a sempster in holborn told me there are of threescore pound price apiece." that the fops of charles i.'s reign were spending money on a fashion originally set by king henry the bluff, was the opinion also of taylor the water poet, who in wrote-- "now up alofte i mount unto the ruffe, which into foolish mortals pride doth puffe; yet ruffes' antiquity is here but small-- within this eighty years not one at all; for the eighth henry (so i understand) was the first king that ever wore a _band_; and but a _falling-band_, plaine with a hem; all other people knew no use of them. yet imitation in small time began to grow, that it the kingdom overran; the little falling-bands encreased to ruffes, ruffes (growing great) were waited on by cuffes, and though our frailties should awake our care, we make our ruffes as careless as we are." in regarding the falling-band as the germ of the ruff, the water-poet differs from those writers who, with greater appearance of reason, maintain that the ruff was the parent of the band. into this question concerning origin of species, there is no occasion to enter on the present occasion. it is enough to state that in the earlier part of the seventeenth century bands or collars--bands stiffened and standing at the backward part, and bands falling upon the shoulder and breast--were articles of costume upon which men of expensive and modish habits spent large sums. in the days of james i., when standing bands were still the fashion, and falling-bands had not come in, the inns of court men were very particular about the stiffness, cut, and texture of their collars. speaking of the inns of court men, sir thomas overbury, (who was poisoned in ), says: "he laughs at every man whose band sits not well, or that hath not a fair shoe-type, and is ashamed to be in any man's company who wears not his cloathes well." if portraits may be trusted, the falling-band of charles i.'s time, bore considerable resemblance to the falling neck-frill, which twenty years since was very generally worn by quite little boys, and is still sometimes seen on urchins who are about six years of age. the bands worn by the barristers and clergy of our own time are modifications of this antique falling-band, and like the coif cap of the modern sergeant, they bear only a faint likeness to their originals. but though bands--longer than those still worn by clergymen--have come to be a distinctive feature of legal costume, the bar was slow to adopt falling-collars--regarding them as a strange and fanciful innovation. whitelock's personal narrative furnishes pleasant testimony that the younger gentry of charles i.'s england adopted the new collar before the working lawyers. "at the quarter-sessions of oxford," says whitelock, speaking of the year , when he was only thirty years of age, "i was put into the chair in court, though i was in colored clothes, a sword by my side, and a falling-band, which was unusual for lawyers in those days, and in this garb i gave the charge to the grand jury. i took occasion to enlarge on the point of jurisdiction in the temporal courts in matters ecclesiastical, and the antiquity thereof, which i did the rather because the spiritual men began in those days to swell higher than ordinary, and to take it as an injury to the church that anything savoring of the spirituality, should be within the cognisance of ignorant laymen. the gentlemen and freeholders seemed well pleased with my charge, and the management of the business of the sessions; and said they perceived one might speak as good sense in a falling-band as in a ruff." at this time whitelock had been about seven years at the bar; but at the quarter-sessions the young templar was playing the part of country squire, and as his words show, he was dressed in a fashion that directly violated professional usage. whitelock's speech seems to have been made shortly before the bar accepted the falling-band as an article of dress admissible in courts of law. towards the close of charles's reign, such bands were very generally worn in westminster hall by the gentlemen of the long robe; and after the restoration, a barrister would as soon have thought of appearing at the king's bench without his gown as without his band. unlike the bar-bands of the present time--which are lappets of fine lawn, of simple make--the bands worn by charles ii.'s lawyers were dainty and expensive articles, such as those which peacham exclaimed against in the preceding reign. at that date the templar in prosperous circumstances had his bands made entirely of point lace, or of fine lawn edged with point lace; and as he wore them in society as well as in court, he was constantly requiring a fresh supply of them. few accidents were more likely to ruffle a templar's equanimity than a mishap to his band occurring through his own inadvertence or carelessness on the part of a servant. at table the pieces of delicate lace-work were exposed to many dangers. continually were they stained with wine or soiled with gravy, and the young lawyer was deemed a marvel of amiability who could see his point lace thus defiled and abstain from swearing. "i remember," observes roger north, when he is showing the perfect control in which his brother francis kept his temper, at his table a stupid servant spilt a glass of red wine upon his point band and clothes. "he only wiped his face and clothes with the napkin, and 'here,' said he, 'take this away;' and no more." in 'the london spy,' ned ward shows that during queen anne's reign legal practitioners of the lowest sort were particular to wear bands. describing the pettifogger, ward says, "he always talks with as great assurance as if he understood what he pretends to know; and always wears a band, in which lies his gravity and wisdom." at the same period a brisk trade was carried on in westminster hall by the sempstresses who manufactured bands and cuffs, lace ruffles, and lawn kerchiefs for the grave counsellors and young gallants of the inns of court. "from thence," says the author of 'the london spy', "we walked down by the sempstresses, who were very nicely digitising and pleating turnsovers and ruffles for the young students, and coaxing them with amorous looks, obliging cant, and inviting gestures, to give so extravagant a price for what they buy." from collars of lace and lawn, let us turn to collars of precious metal. antiquarians have unanimously rejected the fanciful legend adopted by dugdale concerning the ss collar, as well as many not less ingenious interpretations of the mystic letters; and at the present time it is almost unanimously settled that the ss collar is the old lancastrian badge, corresponding to the yorkist collar of roses and suns, and that the s is either the initial of the sentimental word 'souvenez,' or, as mr. beltz maintains, the initial letter of the sentimental motto, 'souvenez-vous de moi.' in mr. foss's valuable work, 'the judges of england,' at the commencement of the seventh volume, the curious reader may find an excellent summary of all that has been or can be said about the origin of this piece of feudal livery, which, having at one time been very generally assumed by all gentle and fairly prosperous partisans of the house of lancaster, has for many generations been the distinctive badge of a few official persons. in the second year of henry iv. an ordinance forbade knights and esquires to wear the collar, save in the king's presence; and in the reign of henry viii., the privilege of wearing the collar was taken away from simple esquires by the 'acte for reformacyon of excesse in apparayle,' henry viii. c. , which ordained "that no man oneless he be a knight ... weare any color of gold, named a color of s." gradually knights and non-official persons relinquished the decoration; and in our own day the right to bear it is restricted to the two chief justices, the chief baron, the sergeant-trumpetor, and all the officers of the heralds' college, pursuivants excepted; "unless," adds mr. foss, "the lord mayor of london is to be included, whose collar is somewhat similar, and is composed of twenty-eight ss, fourteen roses, thirteen knots; and measures sixty-four inches." chapter xxiii. bags and gowns. on the stages of the caroline theatres the lawyer is found with a green bag in his hand; the same is the case in the literature of queen anne's reign; and until a comparatively recent date green bags were generally carried in westminster hall and in provincial courts by the great body of legal practitioners. from wycherley's 'plain dealer,' it appears that in the time of charles ii. angry clients were accustomed to revile their lawyers as 'green bag-carriers.' when the litigious widow blackacre upbraids the barrister who declines to argue for her, she exclaims--"impertinent again, and ignorant to me! gadsboddikins! you puny upstart in the law, to use me so, you green-bag carrier, you murderer of unfortunate causes, the clerk's ink is scarce off of your fingers." in the same drama, making much play with the green bag, wycherley indicates the widow blackacre's quarrelsome disposition by decorating her with an enormous green reticule, and makes her son the law-student, stagger about the stage in a gown, and under a heavy burden of green bags. so also in the time of queen anne, to say that a man intended to carry a green bag, was the same as saying that he meant to adopt the law as a profession. in dr. arbuthnot's 'history of john bull,' the prevalence of the phrase is shown by the passage, "i am told, cousin diego, you are one of those that have undertaken to manage me, and that you have said you will carry a green bag yourself, rather than we shall make an end of our lawsuit. i'll teach them and you too to manage." it must, however, be borne in mind that in queen anne's time, green bags, like white bands, were as generally adopted by solicitors and attorneys, as by members of the bar. in his 'character of a pettifogger' the author of 'the london spy' observes--"his learning is commonly as little as his honesty, and his conscience much larger than his green bag." some years have elapsed since green bags altogether disappeared from our courts of law; but the exact date of their disappearance has hitherto escaped the vigilance and research of colonel landman, 'causidicus,' and other writers who in the pages of that useful and very entertaining publication, _notes and queries_, have asked for information on that point and kindred questions. evidence sets aside the suggestion that the color of the lawyer's bag was changed from green to red because the proceedings at queen caroline's trial rendered green bags odious to the public, and even dangerous to their bearers; for it is a matter of certainty that the leaders of the chancery and common law bars carried red bags at a time considerably anterior to the inquiry into the queen's conduct. in a letter addressed to the editor of _notes and queries_, a writer who signs himself 'causidicus,' observes--"when i entered the profession (about fifty years ago) no junior barrister presumed to carry a bag in the court of chancery, unless one had been presented to him by a king's counsel; who, when a junior was advancing in practice, took an opportunity of complimenting him on his increase of business, and giving him his own bag to carry home his papers. it was then a distinction to carry a bag, and a proof that a junior was rising in his profession. i do not know whether the custom prevailed in other courts." from this it appears that fifty years since the bag was an honorable distinction at the chancery bar, giving its bearer some such professional status as that which is conferred by 'silk' in these days when queen's counsel are numerous. the same professional usage seems to have prevailed at the common law bar more than eighty years ago; for in , when edward law joined the northern circuit, and forthwith received a large number of briefs, he was complimented by wallace on his success, and presented with a bag. lord campbell asserts that no case had ever before occurred where a junior won the distinction of a bag during the course of his first circuit. there is no record of the date when members of the junior bar received permission to carry bags according to their own pleasure; it is even matter of doubt whether the permission was ever expressly accorded by the leaders of the profession--or whether the old restrictive usage died a gradual and unnoticed death. the present writer, however, is assured that at the chancery bar, long after _all_ juniors were allowed to carry bags, etiquette forbade them to adopt bags of the same color as those carried by their leaders. an eminent queen's counsel, who is a member of that bar, remembers that when he first donned a stuff gown, he, like all chancery jurors, had a purple bag--whereas the wearers of silk at the same period, without exception, carried red bags. before a complete and satisfactory account can be given of the use of bags by lawyers, as badges of honor and marks of distinction, answers must be found for several questions which at present remain open to discussion. so late as queen anne's reign, lawyers of the lowest standing, whether advocates or attorneys, were permitted to carry bags;--a right which the junior bar appears to have lost when edward law joined the northern circuit. at what date between queen anne's day and (the year in which lord ellenborough made his _début_ in the north), was this change effected? was the change gradual or sudden? to what cause was it due? again, is it possible that lord campbell and causidicus wrote under a misapprehension, when they gave testimony concerning the usages of the bar with regard to bags, at the close of the last and the beginning of the present century? the memory of the distinguished queen's counsel, to whom allusion is made in the preceding paragraph, is quite clear that in his student days chancery jurors were forbidden by etiquette to carry _red_ bags, but were permitted to carry blue bags; and he is strongly of opinion that the restriction, to which lord campbell and causidicus draw attention, did not apply at any time to blue bags, but only concerned red bags, which, so late as thirty years since, unquestionably were the distinguishing marks of men in leading chancery practice. perhaps legal readers of this chapter will favor the writer with further information on this not highly important, but still not altogether uninteresting subject. the liberality which for the last five and-twenty years has marked the distribution of 'silk' to rising members of the bar, and the ease with which all fairly successful advocates may obtain the rank of queen's counsel, enable lawyers of the present generation to smile at a rule which defined a man's professional position by the color of his bag, instead of the texture of his gown; but in times when 'silk' was given to comparatively few members of the bar, and when that distinction was most unfairly withheld from the brightest ornaments of their profession, if their political opinions displeased the 'party in power,' it was natural and reasonable in the bar to institute for themselves an 'order of merit'--to which deserving candidates could obtain admission without reference to the prejudices of a chancellor or the whims of a clique. at present the sovereign's counsel learned in the law constitute a distinct order of the profession; but until the reign of william iv. they were merely a handful of court favorites. in most cases they were sound lawyers in full employment; but the immediate cause of their elevation was almost always some political consideration--and sometimes the lucky wearer of a silk gown had won the right to put k.c. or q.c. after his name by base compliance with ministerial power. that our earlier king's counsel were not created from the purest motives or for the most honorable purposes will be readily admitted by the reader who reflects that 'silk gowns' are a legal species, for which the nation is indebted to the stuarts. for all practical purposes francis bacon was a q.c. during the reign of queen elizabeth. he enjoyed peculiar and distinctive _status_ as a barrister, being consulted on legal matters by the queen, although he held no place that in familiar parlance would entitle him to rank with her crown lawyers; and his biographers have agreed to call him elizabeth's counsellor learned in the law. but a q.c. holding his office by patent--that is to say, a q.c. as that term is understood at the present time--francis bacon never was. on the accession, however, of james i., he received his formal appointment of k.c., the new monarch having seen fit to recognise the lawyer's claim to be regarded as a 'special counsel,' or 'learned counsel extraordinary.' another barrister of the same period who obtained the same distinction was sir henry montague, who, in a patent granted in to the two temples, is styled "one of our counsel learned in the law." thus planted, the institution of monarch's special counsel was for many generations a tree of slow growth. until george iii.'s reign the number of monarch's counsel, living and practising at the same time, was never large; and throughout the long period of that king's rule the fraternity of k.c. never assumed them agnitude and character of a professional order. it is uncertain what was the greatest number of contemporaneous k.c.'s during the stuart dynasty; but there is no doubt that from the arrival of james i. to the flight of james ii. there was no period when the k.c.'s at all approached the sergeants in name and influence. in rymer's 'foedera' mention is made of four barristers who were appointed counsellors to charles i., one of whom, sir john finch, in a patent of precedence is designated "king's counsel;" but it is not improbable that the royal martyr had other special counsellors whose names have not been recorded. at different times of charles ii.'s reign, there were created some seventeen k.c.'s, and seven times that number of sergeants. james ii. made ten k.c.'s; william and mary appointed eleven special counsellors; and the number of q.c.'s appointed by anne was ten. the names of george i.'s learned counsel are not recorded; the list of george ii.'s k.c.'s, together with barristers holding patents of precedence, comprise thirty names; george iii. throughout his long tenure of the crown, gave 'silk' with or without the title of k.c., to ninety-three barristers; george iv. to twenty-six; whereas the list of william iv.'s appointments comprised sixty-five names, and the present queen has conferred the rank of q.c. on about two hundred advocates--the law-list for mentioning one hundred and thirty-seven barristers who are q.c.'s, or holders of patents of precedence; and only twenty-eight sergeants-at-law, not sitting as judges in any of the supreme courts. the diminution in the numbers of the sergeants is due partly to the loss of their old monopoly of business in the common pleas, and partly--some say chiefly--to the profuseness with which silk gowns, with q.c. rank attached, have been thrown to the bar since the passing of the reform bill. under the old system when 'silk' was less bountifully bestowed, eminent barristers not only led their circuits in stuff; but, after holding office as legal advisers to the crown and wearing silk gowns whilst they so acted with their political friends, they sometimes resumed their stuff gowns and places 'outside the bar,' on descending from official eminence. when charles york in resigned the post of attorney general, he returned to his old place in court without the bar, clad in the black bombazine of an ordinary barrister, whereas during his tenure of office he had worn silk and sat within the bar. in the same manner when dunning resigned the solicitor generalship in , he reappeared in the court of king's bench, attired in stuff, and took his place without the bar; but as soon as he had made his first motion, he was addressed by lord mansfield, who with characteristic courtesy informed him that he should take precedence in that court before all members of the bar, whatever might be their standing, with the exception of king's counsel, sergeants, and the recorder of london. on joining the northern circuit in , edward law found wallace and lee leading in silk, and twenty years later he and jemmy park were the k.c.'s of the same district; of course the circuit was not without wearers of the coif, one of its learned sergeants being cockell, who, before law obtained the leading place, was known as 'the almighty of the north;' and whose success, achieved in spite of an almost total ignorance of legal science, was long quoted to show that though knowledge is power, power may be won without knowledge. from pure dislike of the thought that younger men should follow closely or at a distance in his steps to the highest eminences of legal success, lord eldon was disgracefully stingy in bestowing honors on rising barristers who belonged to his own party, but his injustice and downright oppression to brilliant advocates in the whig ranks merit the warmest expressions of disapproval and contempt. the most notorious sufferers from his rancorous intolerance were henry brougham and mr. denman, who, having worn silk gowns as queen caroline's attorney general and solicitor general, were reduced to stuff attire on that wretched lady's death. it is worthy of notice that in old time, when silk gowns were few, their wearers were sometimes very young men. from the days of francis north, who was made k.c. before he was a barrister for seven full years' standing, down to the days of eldon, who obtained silk after seven years' service in stuff, instances could be cited of the rapidity with which lucky youngsters rose to the honors of silk, whilst hard-worked veterans were to the last kept outside the bar. thurlow was called to the bar in november, , and donned silk in december, . six years had now elapsed since his call to the english bar, when alexander wedderburn was entitled to put the initials k.c. after his name, and wrote to his mother in scotland, "i can't very well explain to you the nature of my preferment, but it is what most people at the bar are very desirous of, and yet most people run a hazard of losing money by it. i can scarcely expect any advantage from it for some time equal to what i give up; and, notwithstanding, i am extremely happy, and esteem myself very fortunate in having obtained it." erskine's silk was won with even greater speed, for he was invited within the bar, but his silk gown came to him with a patent of precedence, giving him the status without the title of a king's counsel. bar mourning is no longer a feature of legal costume in england. on the death of charles ii. members of the bar donned gowns indicative of their grief for the national loss, and they continued, either universally or in a large number of cases, to wear these woful habiliments till , when chief justice holt ordered all barristers practising in his court to appear "in their proper gowns and not in mourning ones"--an order which, according to narcissus luttrell, compelled the bar to spend £ per man. from this it may be inferred that (regard being had to change in value of money) a bar-gown at the close of the seventeenth century cost about ten times as much as it does at the present time. chapter xxiv. hats. not less famous in history than bradshaw's broad-brimmed hat, nor less graceful than shaftesbury's jaunty beaver, nor less memorable than the sailor's tarpaulin, under cover of which jeffreys slunk into the red cow, wapping, nor less striking than the black cap still worn by justice in her sternest mood, nor less fanciful than the cocked hat which covered wedderburn's powdered hair when he daily paced the high street of edinburgh with his hands in a muff--was the white hat which an illustrious templar invented at an early date of the eighteenth century. beau brummel's original mind taught the human species to starch their white cravats; richard nash, having surmounted the invidious bar of plebeian birth and raised himself upon opposing circumstances to the throne of bath, produced a white hat. to which of these great men society owes the heavier debt of gratitude thoughtful historians cannot agree; but even envious detraction admits that they deserve high rank amongst the benefactors of mankind. brummel was a soldier; but law proudly claims as her own the parent of the pale and spotless _chapeau_. about lawyers' cocked hats a capital volume might be written, that should contain no better story than the one which is told of ned thurlow's discomfiture in , when he was playing a trickster's game with his friends and foes. windsor castle just then contained three distinct centres of public interest--the mad king in the hands of his keepers; on the one side of the impotent monarch the prince of wales waiting impatiently for the regency; on the other side, the queen with equal impatience longing for her husband's recovery. the prince and his mother both had apartments in the castle, her majesty's quarters being the place of meeting for the tory ministers, whilst the prince's apartments were thrown open to the select leaders of the whig expectants. of course the two coteries kept jealously apart; but thurlow, who wished to be still lord chancellor, "whatever king might reign," was in private communication with the prince's friends. with furtive steps he passed from the queen's room (where he had a minute before been assuring the ministers that he would be faithful to the king's adherents), and made clandestine way to the apartment where sheridan and payne were meditating on the advantages of a regency without restriction. on leaving the prince, the wary lawyer used to steal into the king's chamber, and seek guidance or encouragement from the madman's restless eyes. was the malady curable? if curable, how long a time would elapse before the return of reason? these were the questions which the chancellor put to himself, as he debated whether he should break with the tories and go over to the whigs. through the action of the patient's disease, the most delicate part of the lawyer's occupation was gone; and having no longer a king's conscience to keep, he did not care, by way of diversion--to keep his own. for many days ere they received clear demonstration of the chancellor's deceit, the other members of the cabinet suspected that he was acting disingenuously, and when his double-dealing was brought to their sure knowledge, their indignation was not even qualified with surprise. the story of his exposure is told in various ways; but all versions concur in attributing his detection to an accident. like the gallant of the french court, whose clandestine intercourse with a great lady was discovered because, in his hurried preparations for flight from her chamber, he appropriated one of her stockings, thurlow, according to one account, was convicted of perfidy by the prince's hat, which he bore under his arm on entering the closet where the ministers awaited his coming. another version says that thurlow had taken his seat at the council-table, when his hat was brought to him by a page, with an explanation that he had left it in the prince's private room. a third, and more probable representation of the affair, instead of laying the scene in the council-chamber, makes the exposure occur in a more public part of the castle. "when a council was to be held at windsor," said the right honorable thomas grenville, in his old age recounting the particulars of the mishap, "to determine the course which ministers should pursue, thurlow had been there some time before any of his colleagues arrived. he was to be brought back to london by one of them, and the moment of departure being come, the chancellor's hat was nowhere to be found. after a fruitless search in the apartment where the council had been held, a page came with the hat in his hand, saying aloud, and with great _naïveté_, 'my lord, i found it in the closet of his royal highness the prince of wales.' the other ministers were still in the hall, and thurlow's confusion corroborated the inference which they drew." cannot an artist be found to place upon canvas this scene, which furnishes the student of human nature with an instructive instance of "that combination strange--a lawyer and a blush?" for some days thurlow's embarrassment and chagrim were very painful. but a change in the state of the king's health caused a renewal of the lawyer's attachment to tory principles and to his sovereign. the lawyers of what may be termed the cocked hat period seldom maintained the happy mean between too little and too great care for personal appearance. for the most part they were either slovenly or foppish. from the days when as a student he used to slip into nando's in a costume that raised the supercilious astonishment of his contemporaries, thurlow to the last erred on the side of neglect. camden roused the satire of an earlier generation by the miserable condition of the tiewig which he wore on the bench of chancery, and by an undignified and provoking habit of "gartering up his stockings while counsel were the most strenuous in their eloquence." on the other hand joseph yates--the puisne judge whom mansfield's jeers and merciless oppressions drove from the king's bench to the common pleas, where he died within four months of his retreat--was the finest of fine gentlemen. before he had demonstrated his professional capacity, the habitual costliness and delicacy of his attire roused the distrust of attorneys, and on more than one occasion wrought him injury. an awkward, crusty, hard-featured attorney entered the foppish barrister's chambers with a bundle of papers, and on seeing the young man in a superb and elaborate evening dress, is said to have inquired, "can you say, sir, when mr. yates will return?" "return, my good sir!" answered the barrister, with an air of surprise, "i am mr. yates, and it will give me the greatest pleasure to talk with you about those papers." having taken a deliberate survey of the young templar, and made a mental inventory of all the fantastic articles of his apparel, the honest attorney gave an ominous grunt, replaced the papers in one of the deep pockets of his long-skirted coat, twice nodded his head with contemptuous significance, and then, without another word--walked out of the room. it was his first visit to those chambers, and his last. joseph yates lost his client, before he could even learn his name; but in no way influenced by the occurrence he maintained his reputation for faultless taste in dress, and when he had raised himself to the bench, he was amongst the judges of his day all that revell reynolds was amongst the london physicians of a later date. living in the midst of the fierce contentions which distracted ireland in the days of our grandfathers, john toler, first earl of norbury, would not have escaped odium and evil repute, had he been a merciful man and a scrupulous judge; but in consequence of failings and wicked propensities, which gave countenance to the slanders of his enemies and at the same time earned for him the distrust and aversion of his political coadjutors, he has found countless accusers and not a single vindicator. resembling george jeffreys in temper and mental capacity, he resembled him also in posthumous fame. a shrewd, selfish, overbearing man, possessing wit which was exercised with equal promptitude upon friends and foes, he alternately roused the terror and the laughter of his audiences. at the bar and in the irish house of commons he was alike notorious as jester and bully; but he was a courageous bully, and to the last was always as ready to fight with bullets as with epigrams, and though his humor was especially suited to the taste and passions of the rabble, it sometimes convulsed with merriment those who were shocked by its coarseness and brutality. having voted for the abolition of the irish parliament, the right honorable john toler was prepared to justify his conduct with hair-triggers or sarcasms. to the men who questioned his patriotism he was wont to answer, "name any hour before my court opens to-morrow," but to the patriotic irish lady who loudly charged him in a crowded drawing-room with having sold his country, he replied, with an affectation of cordial assent, "certainly, madam, i have sold my country. it was very lucky for me that i had a country to sell--i wish i had another." on the bench he spared neither counsel nor suitors, neither witnesses nor jurors. when daniel o'connell, whilst he was conducting a cause in the irish court of common pleas, observed, "pardon me, my lord, i am afraid your lordship does not apprehend me;" the chief justice (alluding to a scandalous and false report that o'connell had avoided a duel by surrendering himself to the police) retorted, "pardon me also; no one is more easily apprehended than mr. o'connell"--(a pause--and then with emphatic slowness of utterance)--"whenever he wishes to be apprehended." it is _said_ that when this same judge passed sentence of death on robert emmett, he paused when he came to the point where it is usual for a judge to add in conclusion, "and may the lord have mercy on your soul!" and regarded the brave young man with searching eyes. for a minute there was an awful silence in the court; the bar and the assembled crowd supposing that the chief justice had paused so that a few seconds of unbroken stillness might add to the solemnity of his last words. the disgust and indignation of the spectators were beyond the power of language, when they saw a smile of brutal sarcasm steal over the face of the chief justice as he rose from his seat of judgment without uttering another word. whilst the state prosecutions were going forward, lord norbury appeared on the bench in a costume that accorded ill with the gravity of his office. the weather was intensely hot; and whilst he was at his morning toilet the chief justice selected from his wardrobe the dress which was most suited to the sultriness of the air. the garb thus selected for its coolness was a dress which his lordship had worn at a masquerade ball, and consisted of a green tabinet coat decorated with huge mother-of-pearl buttons, a waistcoat of yellow relieved by black stripes, and buff breeches. when he first entered the court, and throughout all the earlier part of the proceedings against a party of rebels, his judicial robes altogether concealed this grotesque attire; but unfortunately towards the close of the sultry day's work, lord norbury--oppressed by the stifling atmosphere of the court, and forgetting all about the levity as well as the lightness of his inner raiment--threw back his judicial robe and displayed the dress which several persons then present had seen him wear at lady castlereagh's ball. ere the spectators recovered from their first surprise, lord norbury, quite unconscious of his indecorum, had begun to pass sentence of death on a gang of prisoners, speaking to them in a solemn voice that contrasted painfully with the inappropriateness of his costume. in the following bright and picturesque sentence, dr. dibdin gives a life-like portrait of erskine, whose personal vanity was only equalled by the egotism which often gave piquancy to his orations, and never lessened their effect:--"cocked hats and ruffles, with satin small-clothes and silk stockings, at this time constituted the usual evening dress. erskine, though a good deal shorter than his brethren, somehow always seemed to take the lead both in pace and in discourse, and shouts of laughter would frequently follow his dicta. among the surrounding promenaders, he and the one-armed mingay seemed to be the main objects of attraction. towards evening, it was the fashion for the leading counsel to promenade during the summer in the temple gardens, and i usually formed one in the thronging mall of loungers and spectators. i had analysed blackstone, and wished to publish it under a dedication to mr. erskine. having requested the favor of an interview, he received me graciously at breakfast before nine, attired in the smart dress of the times, a dark green coat, scarlet waistcoat, and silk breeches. he left his coffee, stood the whole time looking at the chart i had cut in copper, and appeared much gratified. on leaving him, a chariot-and-four drew up to wheel him to some provincial town on a special retainer. he was then coining money as fast as his chariot wheels rolled along." erskine's advocacy was marked by that attention to trifles which has often contributed to the success of distinguished artists. his special retainers frequently took him to parts of the country where he was a stranger, and required him to make eloquent speeches in courts which his voice had never tested. it was his custom on reaching the town where he would have to plead on the following day, to visit the court over-night, and examine its arrangements, so that when the time for action arrived he might address the jury from the most favorable spot in the chamber. he was a theatrical speaker, and omitted no pains to secure theatrical effect. it was noticed that he never appeared within the bar until the _cause célèbre_ had been called; and a buzz of excitement and anxious expectation testified the eagerness of the assembled crowd to _see_, as well as to hear, the celebrated advocate. every article of his bar costume received his especial consideration; artifice could be discerned in the modulations of his voice, the expressions of his countenance, and the movements of his entire body; but the coldest observer did not detect the artifice until it had stirred his heart. rumor unjustly asserted that he never uttered an impetuous peroration which he had not frequently rehearsed in private before a mirror. about the cut and curls of his wigs, their texture and color, he was very particular: and the hands which he extended in entreaty towards british juries were always cased in lemon-colored kid gloves. erskine was not more noticeable for the foppishness of his dress than was lord kenyon for a sordid attire. whilst he was a leading advocate within the bar, lord kenyon's ordinary costume would have disgraced a copying clerk; and during his later years, it was a question amongst barristers whether his breeches were made of velvet or leather. the wits maintained that when he kissed hands upon his elevation to the attorney's place, he went to court in a second-hand suit purchased from lord stormont's _valet_. in the letter attributed to him by a clever writer in the 'rolliad,' he is made to say--"my income has been cruelly estimated at seven, or, as some will have it, eight thousand pounds per annum. i shall save myself the mortification of denying that i am rich, and refer you to the constant habits and whole tenor of my life. the proof to my friends is easy. my tailor's bill for the last fifteen years is a record of the most indisputable authority. malicious souls may direct you, perhaps, to lord stormont's _valet de chambre_, and can vouch the anecdote that on the day when i kissed hands for my appointment to the office of attorney general, i appeared in a laced waistcoat that once belonged to his master. i bought the waistcoat, but despise the insinuation; nor is this the only instance in which i am obliged to diminish my wants and apportion them to my very limited means. lady k---- will be my witness that until my last appointment i was an utter stranger to the luxury of a pocket-handkerchief." the pocket-handkerchief which then came into his possession was supposed to have been found in the pocket of the second-hand waistcoat; and jekyll always maintained that, as it was not considered in the purchase, it remained the valet's property, and did not pass into the lawyer's rightful possession. this was the only handkerchief which lord kenyon is said to have ever possessed, and lord ellenborough alluded to it when, in a conversation that turned upon the economy which the income-tax would necessitate in all ranks of life, he observed--"lord kenyon, who is not very nice, intends to meet the crisis by laying down his handkerchief." of his lordship's way of getting through seasons of catarrh without a handkerchief, there are several stories that would scarcely please the fastidious readers of this volume. of his two wigs (one considerably less worn than the other), and of his two hats (the better of which would not have greatly disfigured an old clothesman, whilst the worse would have been of service to a professional scarecrow), lord kenyon took jealous care. the inferior wig was always worn with the better hat, and the more dilapidated hat with the superior wig; and it was noticed that when he appeared in court with the shabbier wig he never removed his _chapeau_; whereas, on the days when he sat in his more decent wig, he pushed his old cocked hat out of sight. in the privacy of his house and in his carriage, whenever he traveled beyond the limits of town, he used to lay aside wig and hat, and cover his head with an old red night-cap. concerning his great-coat, the original blackness of which had been tempered by long usage into a fuscous green, capital tales were fabricated. the wits could not spare even his shoes. "once," dr. didbin gravely narrated, "in the case of an action brought for the non-fulfillment of a contract on a large scale for shoes, the question mainly was, whether or not they were well and soundly made, and with the best materials. a number of witnesses were called, one of them, a first-rate character in the gentle craft, being closely questioned, returned contradictory answers, when the chief justice observed, pointing to his own shoes, which were regularly bestridden by the broad silver buckle of the day, 'were the shoes anything like these?' 'no, my lord,' replied the evidence, 'they were a good deal better and more genteeler.'" dr. didbin is at needless pains to assure his readers that the shoemaker's answer was followed by uproarious laughter. part v. music. chapter xxv. the piano in chambers. in the inns of court, even more often than in the colleges of oxford and cambridge, musical instruments and performances are regarded by severe students with aversion and abhorrence. mr. babbage will live in peace and charity with the organ-grinders who are continually doing him an unfriendly turn before the industrious conveyancer on the first floor will pray for the welfare of 'that fellow upstairs' who daily practises the flute or cornopean from a.m. to p.m. the 'wandering minstrels' and their achievements are often mentioned with respect in the western drawing-rooms of london; but if the gentlemen who form that distinguished _troupe_ of amateur performers wish to sacrifice their present popularity and take a leading position amongst the social nuisances of the period, they should migrate from the district which delights to honor them to chambers in old square, lincoln's inn, and give morning concerts every day of term time. working lawyers feel warmly on this subject, maintaining that no man should be permitted to be an _amateur_-barrister and an _amateur_-musician at the same time, and holding that law-students with a turn for wind-instruments should, like vermin, be hunted down and knocked on the head--without law. strange stories might be told of the discords and violent deeds to which music has given rise in the four inns. in the last century many a foolish fellow was 'put up' at ten paces, because he refused to lay down an ophicleide; even as late as george iv.'s time death has followed from an inordinate addiction to the violin; and it was but the other day that the introduction of a piano into a house in carey street led to the destruction of three close and warm friendships. so alive are lawyers to the frightful consequences of a wholesale exhibition of melodious irritants, that a natural love of order and desire for self-preservation has prompted them to raise numerous obstructions to the free development of musical science in their peculiar localities of town. in the inns of court and chancery lane professional etiquette forbids barristers and solicitors to play upon organs, harmoniums, pianos, violins, or other stringed instruments, drums, trumpets, cymbals, shawms, bassoons, triangles, castanets or any other bony devices for the production of noise, flageolets, hautboys, or any other sort of boys--between the hours of a.m. and p.m. and this rule of etiquette is supported by various special conditions introduced into the leases by which the tenants hold much of the local house property. under some landlords, a tenant forfeits his lease if he indulges in any pursuit that causes annoyance to his immediate neighbors; under others, every occupant of a set of chambers binds himself not to play any musical instrument therein, save between the hours of a.m. and p.m.; and in more than one clump of chambers, situated within a stone's throw from chancery lane, glee-singing is not permitted at any period of the four-and-twenty hours. that the pursuit of harmony is a dangerous pastime for young lawyers cannot be questioned, although a long list might be given of cases where musical barristers have gained the confidence of many clients, and eventually raised themselves to the bench. a piano is a treacherous companion for the student who can touch, it deftly--dangerous as an idle friend, whose wit is ever brilliant; fascinating as a beautiful woman, whose smile is always fresh; deceptive as the drug which seems to invigorate, whilst in reality it is stealing away the intellectual powers. every persevering worker knows how large a portion of his hard work has been done 'against the grain,' and in spite of strong inclinations to indolence--in hours when pleasant voices could have seduced him from duty, and any plausible excuse for indulgence would have been promptly accepted. in the piano these pleasant voices are constantly present, and it can always show good reason--why reluctant industry should relax its exertions. chapter xxvi. the battle of the organs. sir thomas more and lord bacon--the two most illustrious laymen who have held the great seal of england--were notable musicians; and many subsequent keepers and chancellors are scarcely less famous for love of harmonious sounds than for judicial efficiency. lord keeper guildford was a musical amateur, and notwithstanding his low esteem of literature condescended to write about melody. lord jeffreys was a good after-dinner vocalist, and was esteemed a high authority on questions concerning instrumental performance. lord camden was an operatic composer; and lord thurlow studied thorough-bass, in order that he might direct the musical exercises of his children. in moments of depression more's favorite solace was the viol; and so greatly did he value musical accomplishments in women, that he not only instructed his first and girlish wife to play on various instruments, but even prevailed on the sour mistress alice middleton "to take lessons on the lute, the cithara, the viol, the monochord, and the flute, which she daily practised to him." but more's love of music was expressed still more forcibly in the zeal with which he encouraged and took part in the choral services of chelsea church. throughout his residence at chelsea, sir thomas was a regular attendant at the church, and during his tenure of the seals he not only delighted to chant the appointed psalms, but used to don a white surplice, and take his place among the choristers. having invited the duke of norfolk to dine with him, the chancellor prepared himself for the enjoyment of that great peer's society by attending divine service, and he was still occupied with his religious exercises when his grace of norfolk entered the church, and to his inexpressible astonishment saw the keeper of the king's conscience in the flowing raiment of a chorister, and heard him give "glory to god in the highest!" as though he were a hired singer. "god's body! god's body! my lord chancellor a parish clerk?--a parish clerk?" was the duke's testy expostulation with the chancellor. whereupon more, with gentle gravity, answered, "nay; your grace may not think that the king--your master and mine--will with me, for serving his master, be offended, and thereby account his office dishonored." not only was it more's custom to sing in the church choir, but he used also to bear a cross in religious processions; and on being urged to mount horse when he followed the rood in rogation week round the parish boundaries, he answered, "it beseemeth not the servant to follow his master prancing on a cock-horse, his master going on foot." few incidents in sir thomas more's remarkable career point more forcibly to the vast difference between the social manners of the sixteenth century and those of the present day. if lord chelmsford were to recreate himself with leading the choristers in margaret street, and after service were seen walking homewards in an ecclesiastical dress, it is more than probable that public opinion would declare him a fit companion for the lunatics of whose interests he has been made the official guardian. society felt some surprise as well as gratification when sir roundell palmer recently published his 'book of praise;' but if the attorney general, instead of printing his select hymns had seen fit to exemplify their beauties with his own voice from the stall of a church-singer, the piety of his conduct would have scarcely reconciled lord palmerston to its dangerous eccentricity. amongst elizabethan lawyers, chief justice dyer was by no means singular for his love of music, though whetstone's lines have given exceptional celebrity to his melodious proficiency:-- "for publique good, when care had cloid his minde, the only joye, for to repose his sprights, was musique sweet, which showd him well inclind; for he doth in musique much delight, a conscience hath disposed to do most right: the reason is, her sound within our eare, a sympathie of heaven we thinke we heare." like james dyer, francis bacon found music a pleasant and salutary pastime, when he was fatigued by the noisy contentions of legal practice or by strenuous application to philosophic pursuits. a perfect master of the science of melody, lord bacon explained its laws with a clearness which has satisfied competent judges that he was familiar with the practice as well as the theories of harmony; but few passages of his works display more agreeably his personal delight and satisfaction in musical exercise and investigation than that section of the 'natural history,' wherein he says, "and besides i practice as i do advise; which is, after long inquiry of things immersed in matter, to interpose some subject which is immateriate or less materiate; such as this of sounds: to the end that the intellect may be rectified and become not partial." a theorist as well as performer, the lord keeper guilford enunciated his views regarding the principles of melody in 'a philosophical essay of musick, directed to a friend'--a treatise that was published without the author's name, by martin, the printer to the royal society, in the year , at which time the future keeper was chief justice of the common pleas. the merits of the tract are not great; but it displays the subtlety and whimsical quaintness of the musical lawyer, who performed on several instruments, was very vain of a feeble voice, and used to attribute much of his professional success to the constant study of music that marked every period of his life. "i have heard him say," roger records, "that if he had not enabled himself by these studies, and particular his practice of music upon his bass or lyra viol (which he used to touch lute-fashion upon his knee), to divert himself alone, he had never been a lawyer. his mind was so airy and volatile he could not have kept his chamber if he must needs be there, staked down purely to the drudgery of the law, whether in study or practice; and yet upon such a leaden proposition, so painful to brisk spirits, all the success of the profession, regularly pursued, depends." his first acquaintance with melodious art was made at cambridge, where in his undergraduate days he took lessons on the viol. at this same period he "had the opportunity of practice so much in his grandfather's and father's families, where the entertainment of music in full concert was solemn and frequent, that he outdid all his teachers, and became one of the neatest violinists of his time." scarcely in consistence with this declaration of the lord keeper's proficiency on the violin is a later passage of the biography, where roger says that his brother "attempted the violin, being ambitious of the prime part in concert, but soon found that he began such a difficult art too late." it is, however, certain that the eminent lawyer in the busiest passages of his laborious life found time for musical practice, and that besides his essay on music, he contributed to his favorite art several compositions which were performed in private concert-rooms. sharing in the musical tastes of his family, roger north, the biographer, was the _friend_ who used to touch the harpsichord that stood at the door of the lord keeper's bedchamber; and when political changes had extinguished his hopes of preferment, he found consolation in music and literature. retiring to his seat in norfolk, roger fitted up a concert-room with instruments that roused the astonishment of country squires, and an organ that was extolled by critical professors for the sweetness of its tones. in that seclusion, where he lived to extreme old age, the lettered lawyer composed the greater part of those writings which have rendered him familiar to the present generation. of his 'memoirs of musick,' readers are not accustomed to speak so gratefully as of his biographies; but the curious sketch which dr. rimbault edited and for the first time published in , is worthy of perusal, and will maintain a place on the shelves of literary collectors by the side of his brother's 'essay.' in that treatise roger alludes to a contest which in the reigns of charles ii. and james ii. agitated the musicians of london, divided the templars into two hostile parties, and for a considerable time gave rise to quarrels in every quarter of the town. all this disturbance resulted from "a competition for an organ in the temple church, for which the two competitors, the best artists in europe, smith and harris, were but just not ruined." the struggle thus mentioned in the 'memoirs of musick' is so comic an episode in the story of london life, and has been the occasion of so much error amongst writers, that it claims brief restatement in the present chapter. in february, , the benchers of the temples, wishing to obtain for their church an organ of superlative excellence, invited father smith and renatus harris to compete for the honor of supplying the instrument. the masters of the benchers pledged themselves that "if each of these excellent artists would set up an organ in one of the halls belonging to either of the societies, they would have erected in their church that which, in the greatest number of excellencies, deserved the preference." for more than twenty years father smith had been the first organ-builder in england; and the admirable qualities of his instruments testify to his singular ability. a german artist (in his native country called bernard schmidt, but in london known as father smith), he had established himself in the english capital as early as the summer of ; and gaining the cordial patronage of charles ii., he and his two grand-nephews soon became leaders of their craft. father smith built organs for westminster abbey, for the church of st. giles-in-the-fields, for st. margaret's church, westminster, for durham cathedral, and for other sacred buildings. in st. paul's cathedral he placed the organ which wren disdainfully designated a "box of whistles;" and dying in , he left his son-in-law, christopher schreider, to complete the organ which still stands in the chapel of trinity college, cambridge. but notwithstanding his greatness, father smith had rivals; his first rival being harris the elder, who died in , his second being renatus harris, or harris the younger. the elder harris never caused smith much discomfort; but his son, renatus, was a very clever fellow, and a strong party of fashionable _connoisseurs_ declared that he was greatly superior to the german. such was the position of these two rivals when the benchers made their proposal, which was eagerly accepted by the artificers, each of whom saw in it an opportunity for covering his antagonist with humiliation. the men went to work: and within fourteen months their instruments were ready for competition. smith finished work before harris, and prevailed on the benchers to let him place his organ in the temple church, well knowing that the powers of the instrument could be much more readily and effectively displayed in the church than in either of the dining-halls. the exact site where he fixed his organ is unknown, but the careful author of 'a few notes on the temple organ, ,' is of opinion that it was put up "on the screen between the round and oblong churches--the position occupied by the organ until the present organ-chamber was built, and the organ removed there during the progress of the complete restoration of the church in the year ." no sooner had harris finished his organ, than, following father smith's example, he asked leave of the benchers to erect it within the church. harris's petition to this effect bears date may , ; and soon afterwards the organ was "set up in the church on the south side of the communion table." both organs being thus stationed under the roof of the church, the committee of benchers appointed to decide on their relative merits declared themselves ready to listen. the trial began, but many months--ay, some years--elapsed ere it came to an end. on either side the credit of the manufacturer was sustained by execution of the highest order of art. father smith's organ was handled alternately by purcell and dr. blow; and draghi, the queen's organist, did his best to secure a verdict for renatus harris. of course the employment of these eminent musicians greatly increased the number of persons who felt personal interest in the contest. whilst the pupils and admirers of purcell and blow were loud in declaring that smith's organ ought to win, draghi's friends were equally sure that the organ touched by his expert fingers ought not to lose. discussion soon became violent; and in every profession, clique, coterie of the town, supporters of smith wrangled with supporters of harris. like the battle of the gauges in our time, the battle of the organs was the grand topic with every class of society, at court and on 'change, in coffee-houses and at ordinaries. again and again the organs were tested in the hearing of dense and fashionable congregations; and as often the judicial committee was unable to come to a decision. the hesitation of the judges put oil upon the fire; for smith's friends, indignant at the delay, asserted that certain members of the committee were bound to harris by corrupt considerations--an accusation that was retorted by the other side with equal warmth and want of justice. after the squabble had been protracted through many months, harris created a diversion by challenging father smith to make additional reed-stops within a given time. the challenge was accepted; and forthwith the father went to work and made vox humana, cremorne, double courtel, or double bassoon, and other stops. a day was appointed for the renewal of the contest; but party feeling ran so high, that during the night preceding the appointed day a party of hot-headed harrissians broke into the temple church, and cut smith's bellows--so that on the following morning his organ was of no more service than an old linen-press. a row ensued; and in the ardor of debate swords were drawn. in june, , the benchers of the middle temple, made a written declaration in favor of father smith, and urged that his organ should be forthwith accepted. strongly and rather discourteously worded, this declaration gave offence to the benchers of the inner temple, who regarded it as an attempt at dictation; and on june , , they recommended the appointment of another committee with powers to decide the contest. declining to adopt this suggestion, the middle temple benchers reiterated their high opinion of smith's instrument. on this the battle of the organs became a squabble between the two temples; and the outside public, laughing over the quarrel of the lawyers, expressed a hope that honest men would get their own since the rogues had fallen out. at length, when the organ-builders had well-nigh ruined each other, and the town had grown weary of the dispute, the inner temple yielded somewhere about the beginning of --at an early date of which year smith received a sum of money in part payment for his organ. on may th of the same year, mr. pigott was appointed organist. after its rejection by the temple, renatus harris divided his organ into two, and having sent the one part to the cathedral of christ's church, dublin, he set up the other part in the church of st. andrew, holborn. three years after his disappointment, renatus harris was tried at the old bailey for a political offence, the nature of which may be seen from the following entry in narcissus luttrell's diary:--"april, . the sessions have been at the old bailey, where these persons, renatus harris, john watts, william rutland, henry gandy, and thomas tysoe, were tried at the old bailey for setting up policies of insurance that dublin would be in the hands of some other king than their present majesties by christmas next: the jury found them guilty of a misdemeanor." for this offence renatus harris was fined £ , and was required to give security for his good conduct until christmas. an erroneous tradition assigns to lord jeffreys the honor of bringing the battle of the organs to a conclusion, and writers improving upon this tradition, have represented that jeffreys acted as sole umpire between the contendants. in his 'history of music,' dr. burney, to whom the prevalence of this false impression is mainly due, observes--"at length the decision was left to lord chief justice jeffries, afterwards king james the second's pliant chancellor, who was of that society (the inner temple), and he terminated the controversy in favor of father smith; so that harris's organ was taken away without loss of reputation, having so long pleased and puzzled better judges than jefferies." careful inquirers have ascertained that harris's organ did not go to wolverhampton, but to dublin and st. andrew's holborn, part of it being sent to the one, and part to the other place. it is certain that jeffrys was not chosen to act as umpire in , for the benchers did not make their original proposal to the rival builders until february, ; and years passed between that date and the termination of the squabble. when burney wrote:--"at length the decision was left to lord chief justice jefferies, _afterwards king james ii.'s pliant chancellor_," the musician was unaware that the squabble was still at white heat whilst jeffreys occupied the woolsack. on his return from the western campaign, jeffreys received the seals in september, , whereas the dispute about the organs did not terminate till the opening of , or at earliest till the close of . there is no authentic record in the archives of the temples which supports, or in any way countenances, the story that jeffreys made choice of smith's instrument; but it is highly probable that the lord chancellor exerted his influence with the inner temple (of which society he was a member), and induced the benchers, for the sake of peace, to yield to the wishes of the middle temple. it is no less probable that his fine musical taste enabled him to see that the middle temple benchers were in the right, and gave especial weight to his words when he spoke against harris's instrument. though jeffreys delighted in music, he does not seem to have held its professors in high esteem. in the time of charles ii. musical artists of the humbler grades liked to be styled 'musitioners;' and on a certain occasion, when he was sitting as recorder for the city of london, george jeffreys was greatly incensed by a witness who, in a pompous voice, called himself a musitioner. with a sneer the recorder interposed--"a musitioner! i thought you were a fiddler!" "i am a musitioner," the violinist answered, stoutly. "oh, indeed," croaked jeffreys. "that is very important--highly important--extremely important! and pray, mr. witness, what is the difference between a musitioner and a fiddler?" with fortunate readiness the man answered, "as much, sir, as there is between a pair of bag-pipes and a recorder." chapter xxvii. a thickness in the throat. the date is september, , and the room before us is a drawing-room in a pleasant house at brighton. the hot sun is beating down on cliff and terrace, beach and pier, on the downs behind the town and the sparkling sea in front. the brightness of the blue sky is softened by white vapor that here and there resembles a vast curtain of filmy gauze, but nowhere has gathered into visible masses of hanging cloud. in the distance the sea is murmuring audibly, and through the screened windows, together with the drowsy hum of the languid waves, comes a light breeze that is invigorating, notwithstanding its sensible warmth. besides ourselves there are but two people in the room: a gentlewoman who has said farewell to youth, but not to feminine grade and delicacy; and an old man, who is lying on a sofa near one of the open windows, whilst his daughter plays passages of handel's music on the piano-forte. the old man wears the dress of an obsolete school of english gentlemen; a large brown wig with three rows of curls, the lowest row resting on the curve of his shoulders; a loose grey coat, notable for the size of its cuffs and the bigness of its heavy buttons; ruffles at his wrists, and frills of fine lace below his roomy cravat. these are the most conspicuous articles of his costume, but not the most striking points of his aspect. over his huge, pallid, cadaverous, furrowed face there is an air singularly expressive of exhaustion and power, of debility and latent strength--an air that says to sensitive beholders, "this prostrate veteran was once a giant amongst giants; his fires are dying out; but the old magnificent courage and ability will never altogether leave him until the beatings of his heart shall have quite ceased: touch him with foolishness or disrespect, and his rage will be terrible." standing here we can see his prodigious bushy eyebrows, that are as white as driven snow, and under them we can see the large black eyes, beneath the angry fierceness of which hundreds of proud british peers, assembled in their council-chamber, have trembled like so many whipped schoolboys. there is no lustre in them now, and their habitual expression is one of weariness and profound indifference to the world--a look that is deeply pathetic and depressing, until some transient cause of irritation or the words of a sprightly talker rouse him into animation. but the most noticeable quality of his face is its look of extreme age. only yesterday a keen observer said of him, "lord thurlow is, i believe, only seventy-four; and from his appearance i should think him a hundred years old." so quiet is the reclining form, that the pianist thinks her father must be sleeping. turning on the music-stool to get a view of his countenance, and to satisfy herself as to his state, she makes a false note, when, quick as the blunder, the brown wig turns upon the pillow--the furrowed face is presented to her observation, and an electric brightness fills the big black eyes, as the veteran, with deep rolling tones, reproves her carelessness:--"what are you doing?--what are you doing? i had almost forgotten the world. play that piece again." twelve months more--and the lady will be playing handel's music on that same instrument; but the old man will not be a listener. from brighton, in , let readers transport themselves to canterbury in , and let them enter a barber's shop, hard by canterbury cathedral. it is a primitive shop, with the red and white pole over the door, and a modest display of wigs and puff-boxes in the window. a small shop, but, notwithstanding its smallness, the best shop of its kind in canterbury; and its lean, stiff, exceedingly respectable master is a man of good repute in the cathedral town. his hands have, ere now, powdered the archbishop's wig, and he is specially retained by the chief clergy of the city and neighborhood to keep their false hair in order, and trim the natural tresses of their children. not only have the dignitaries of the cathedral taken the worthy barber under their special protection, but they have extended to his little boy charles, a demure, prim lad, who is at this present time a pupil in the king's school, to which academy clerical interest gained him admission. the lad is in his fourteenth year; and dr. osmund beauvoir, the master of the school, gives him so good a character for industry and dutiful demeanor, that some of the cathedral ecclesiastics have resolved to make the little fellow's fortune--by placing him in the office of a chorister. there is a vacant place in the cathedral choir; and the boy who is lucky enough to receive the appointment will be provided for munificently. he will forthwith have a maintenance, and in course of time his salary will be £ per annum. during the last fortnight the barber has been in great and constant excitement--hoping that his little boy will obtain this valuable piece of preferment; persuading himself that the lad's thickness of voice, concerning which the choir-master speaks with aggravating persistence, is a matter of no real importance; fearing that the friends of another contemporary boy, who is said by the choir-master to have an exceedingly mellifluous voice, may defeat his paternal aspirations. the momentous question agitates many humble homes in canterbury; and whilst mr. abbott, the barber, is encouraged to hope the best for his son, the relatives and supporters of the contemporary boy are urging him not to despair. party spirit prevails on either side--mr. abbott's family associates maintaining that the contemporary boy's higher notes resemble those of a penny whistle; whilst the contemporary boy's father, with much satire and some justice, murmurs that "old abbott, who is the gossip-monger of the parsons, wants to push his son into a place for which there is a better candidate." to-day is the eventful day when the election will be made. even now, whilst abbott, the barber, is trimming a wig at his shop window, and listening to the hopeful talk of an intimate neighbor, his son charley is chanting the old hundredth before the whole chapter. when charley has been put through his vocal paces, the contemporary boy is requested to sing. whereupon that clear-throated competitor, sustained by justifiable self-confidence and a new-laid egg which he had sucked scarcely a minute before he made his bow to their reverences, sings out with such richness and compass that all the auditors recognize his great superiority. ere ten more minutes have passed charley abbot knows that he has lost the election; and he hastens from the cathedral with quick steps. running into the shop he gives his father a look that tells the whole story of--failure, and then the little fellow, unable to command his grief, sits down upon the floor and sobs convulsively. failure is often the first step to eminence. had the boy gained the chorister's place, he would have a cathedral servant all his days. having failed to get it, he returned to the king's school, went a poor scholar to oxford, and fought his way to honor. he became chief justice of the king's bench, and a peer of the realm. towards the close of his honorable career lord tenterden attended service in the cathedral of canterbury, accompanied by mr. justice richardson. when the ceremonial was at an end the chief justice said to his friend--"do you see that old man there amongst the choristers? in him, brother richardson, behold the only being i ever envied: when at school in this town we were candidates together for a chorister's place; he obtained it; and if i had gained my wish he might have been accompanying you as chief justice, and pointing me out as his old school-fellow, the singing man." part vi. amateur theatricals. chapter xxviii. actors at the bar. some years since the late sergeant wilkins was haranguing a crowd of enlightened electors from the hustings of a provincial borough, when a stentorian voice exclaimed, "go home, you rope-dancer!" disdaining to notice the interruption, the orator continued his speech for fifty seconds, when the same voice again cried out, "go home, you rope-dancer!" a roar of laughter followed the reiteration of the insult; and in less than two minutes thrice fifty unwashed blackguards were roaring with all the force of their lungs, "ah-h-h--go home, you rope-dancer!" not slow to see the moaning of the words, the unabashed lawyer, who in his life had been a dramatic actor, replied with his accustomed readiness and effrontery. a young man unacquainted with mobs would have descanted indignantly and with many theatrical flourishes on the dignity and usefulness of the player's vocation; an ordinary demagogue would have frankly admitted the discourteous impeachment, and pleaded in mitigation that he had always acted in leading parts and for high salaries. sergeant wilkins took neither of those courses, for he knew his audience, and was aware that his connection with the stage was an affair about which he had better say as little as possible. instead of appealing to their generosity, or boasting of his histrionic eminence, he threw himself broadly on their sense of humor. drawing himself up to his full height, the big, burly man advanced to the marge of the platform, and extending his right hand with an air of authority, requested silence by the movement of his arm. the sign was instantly obeyed; for having enjoyed their laugh, the multitude wished for the rope-dancer's explanation. as soon as the silence was complete, he drew back two paces, put himself in an oratorical _pose_, as though he were about to speak, and then, disappointing the expectations of the assembly, deliberately raised forwards and upwards the skirts of his frock-coat. having thus arranged his drapery he performed a slow gyration--presenting his huge round shoulders and unwieldy legs to the populace. when his back was turned to the crowd, he stooped and made a low obeisance to his vacant chair, thereby giving the effect of caricature to the outlines of his most protuberant and least honorable part. this pantomime lasted scarcely a minute; and before the spectators could collect themselves to resent so extraordinary an affront, the sergeant once again faced them, and in a clear, rich, jovial tone exclaimed, "_he_ called me a rope-dancer!--after what you have seen, do you believe him?" with the exception of the man who started the cry, every person in the dense multitude was convulsed with laughter; and till the end of the election no turbulent rascal ventured to repeat the allusion to the sergeant's former occupation. at a moment of embarrassment, mr. disraeli, in the course of one of his youthful candidatures, created a diversion in his favor by telling a knot of unruly politicians that he _stood on his head_. with less wit, and much less decency, but with equal good fortune, sergeant wilkins took up his position on a baser part of his frame. the electors who respected mr. wilkins because he was a successful barrister, whilst they reproached him with having been a stage-player, were unaware how close an alliance exists between the art of the actor and the art of the advocate. to lawyers of every grade and speciality the histrionic faculty is a useful power; but to the advocate who wishes to sway the minds of jurors it is a necessary endowment. comprising several distinct abilities, it not only enables the orator to rouse the passions and to play on the prejudices of his hearers, but it preserves him from the errors of judgment, tone, emphasis--in short, from manifold blunders of indiscretion and tact by which verdicts are lost quite as often as through defect of evidence and merit. like the dramatic performer, the court-speaker, especially at the common law bar, has to assume various parts. not only should he know the facts of his brief, but he should thoroughly identify himself with the client for whom his eloquence is displayed. on the theatrical stage mimetic business is cut up into specialities, men in most cases filling the parts of men, whilst actresses fill the parts of women; the young representing the characteristics of youth, whilst actors with special endowments simulate the qualities of old age; some confining themselves to light and trivial characters, whilst others are never required to strut before the scenes with hurried paces, or to speak in phrases that lack dignity and fine sentiment. but the popular advocate must in turn fill every _rôle_. if childish simplicity be his client's leading characteristic, his intonations will express pliancy and foolish confidence; or if it is desirable that the jury should appreciate his client's honesty of purpose, he speaks with a voice of blunt, bluff, manly frankness. whatever quality the advocate may wish to represent as the client's distinctive characteristic, it must be suggested to the jury by mimetic artifice of the finest sort. speaking of a famous counsel, an enthusiastic juryman once said to this writer--"in my time i have heard sir alexander in pretty nearly every part: i've heard him as an old man and a young woman; i have heard him when he has been a ship run down at sea, and when he has been an oil-factory in a state of conflagration; once, when i was foreman of a jury, i saw him poison his intimate friend, and another time he did the part of a pious bank director in a fashion that would have skinned the eyelids of exeter hall: he ain't bad as a desolate widow with nine children, of which the eldest is under eight years of age; but if ever i have to listen to him again, i should like to see him as a young lady of good connexions who has been seduced by an officer of the guards." in the days of his forensic triumphs henry brougham was remarkable for the mimetic power which enabled him to describe friend or foe by a few subtle turns of the voice. at a later period, long after he had left the bar, in compliance with a request that he would return thanks for the bridesmaids at a wedding breakfast, he observed, that "doubtless he had been selected for the task in consideration of his youth, beauty, and innocence." the laughter that followed this sally was of the sort which in poetic phraseology is called inextinguishable; and one of the wedding guests who heard the joke and the laughter, assures this writer that the storm of mirthful applause was chiefly due to the delicacy and sweetness of the intonations by which the speaker's facile voice, with its old and once familiar art, made the audience realize the charms of youth, beauty and innocence--charms which, so far as the lawyer's wrinkled visage was concerned, were conspicuous by their absence. eminent advocates have almost invariably possessed qualities that would have made them successful mimics on the stage. for his mastery of oratorical artifices alexander wedderburn was greatly indebted to sheridan, the lecturer on elocution, and to macklin, the actor, from both of whom he took lessons; and when he had dismissed his teachers and become a leader of the english bar he adhered to their rules, and daily practised before a looking-glass the facial tricks by which macklin taught him to simulate surprise or anger, indignation or triumph. erskine was a perfect master of dramatic effect, and much of his richly-deserved success was due to the theatrical artifices with which he played upon the passions of juries. at the conclusion of a long oration he was accustomed to feign utter physical prostration, so that the twelve gentlemen in the box, in their sympathy for his sufferings and their admiration for his devotion to the interests of his client, might be impelled by generous emotion to return a favorable verdict. thus when he defended hardy, hoarseness and fatigue so overpowered him towards the close of his speech, that during the last ten minutes he could not speak above a whisper, and in order that his whispers might be audible to the jury, the exhausted advocate advanced two steps nearer to their box, and then extended his pale face to their eager eyes. the effect of the artifice on the excited jury is said to have been great and enduring, although they were speedily enlightened as to the real nature of his apparent distress. no sooner had the advocate received the first plaudits of his theatre on the determination of his harangue, than the multitude outside the court, taking up the acclamations which were heard within the building, expressed their feelings with such deafening clamor, and with so many signs of riotous intention, that erskine was entreated to leave the court and soothe the passions of the mob with a few words of exhortation. in compliance with this suggestion he left the court, and forthwith addressed the dense out-door assembly in clear, ringing tones that were audible in ludgate hill, at one end of the old bailey, and to the billowy sea of human heads that surged round st. sepulchre's church at the other extremity of the dismal thoroughfare. at the subsequent trial of john horne tooke, sir john scott, unwilling that erskine should enjoy a monopoly of theatrical artifice, endeavored to create a diversion in favor of the government by a display of those lachrymose powers, which byron ridiculed in the following century. "i can endure anything but an attack on my good name," exclaimed the attorney general, in reply to a criticism directed against his mode of conducting the prosecution; "my good name is the little patrimony i have to leave to my children, and, with god's help, gentlemen of the jury, i will leave it to them unimpaired." as he uttered these words tears suffused the eyes which, at a later period of the lawyer's career, used to moisten the woolsack in the house of lords-- "because the catholics would not rise, in spite of his prayers and his prophecies." for a moment horne tooke, who persisted in regarding all the circumstances of his perilous position as farcical, smiled at the lawyer's outburst in silent amusement; but as soon as he saw a sympathetic brightness in the eyes of one of the jury, the dexterous demagogue with characteristic humor and effrontery accused sir john mitford, the solicitor general, of needless sympathy with the sentimental disturbance of his colleague. "do you know what sir john mitford is crying about?" the prisoner inquired of the jury. "he is thinking of the destitute condition of sir john scott's children, and the _little patrimony_ they are likely to divide among them." the jury and all present were not more tickled by the satire upon the attorney general than by the indignant surprise which enlivened the face of sir john mitford, who was not at all prone to tears, and had certainly manifested no pity for john scott's forlorn condition. chapter xxix. "the play's the thing." following the example set by the nobility in their castles and civic palaces, the inns of court set apart certain days of the year for feasting and revelry, and amongst the diversions with which the lawyers recreated themselves at these periods of rejoicing, the rude pre-shakespearian dramas took a prominent place. so far back as a.d. , the masters of the lincoln's inn bench restricted the number of annual revels to four--"one at the feast of all-hallown, another at the feast of st. erkenwald; the third at the feast of the purification of our lady; and the th at midsummer." the ceremonials of these holidays were various; but the brief and sometimes unintelligible notices of the chroniclers give us sufficiently vivid and minute pictures of the boisterous jollity that marked the proceedings. miracle plays and moralities, dancing and music, fantastic processions and mad pranks, spurred on the hours that were not devoted to heavy meals and deep potations. in the merriments of the different inns there was a pleasant diversity--with regard to the duration and details of the entertainments: and occasionally the members of the four societies acted with so little concert that their festivals, falling at exactly the same time, were productive of rivalry and disappointments. dugdale thinks that the christmas revels were not regularly kept in lincoln's inn during the reign of henry viii.; and draws attention to an order made by the benchers of that house on nov., h. viii., the record of which runs thus:--"it is agreed that if the two temples do kepe chrystemas, then the chrystemas to be kept here; and to know this, the steward of the house ys commanded to get knowledge, and to advertise my masters by the next day at night." but notwithstanding changes and novelties, the main features of a revel in an inn of court were always much the same. some member of the society conspicuous for rank or wit of style, or for a combination of these qualities, was elected king of the revel, and until the close of the long frolic he was despot and sole master of the position--so long as he did not disregard a few not vexatious conditions by which, the benchers limited his authority. he surrounded himself with a mock court, exacted homage from barristers and students, made proclamations to his loyal children, sat on a throne at daily banquets, and never appeared in public without a body-guard, and a numerous company of musicians, to protect his person and delight his ear. the wit and accomplishments of the younger lawyers were signally displayed in the dramatic interludes that usually enlivened these somewhat heavy and sluggish jollifications. not only did they write the pieces, and put them before the audience with cunning devices for the production of scenic effect, but they were their own actors. it was not long before their 'moralities' were seasoned with political sentiments and allusions to public affairs. for instance, when wolsey was in the fulness of his power, sergeant roo ventured to satirize the cardinal in a masque with which gray's inn entertained henry viii. and his courtiers. hall records that, "this plaie was so set furth with riche and costlie apparel; with strange diuises of maskes and morrishes, that it was highly praised of all menne saving the cardinall, whiche imagined that the plaie had been deuised of him, and in greate furie sent for the said maister roo, and toke from hym his coife, and sent him to the flete, and after he sent for the yoong gentlemen that plaied in the plaie, and them highly rebuked and threatened, and sent one of them, called thomas moyle, of kent, to the flete; but by means of friendes master roo and he wer deliuered at last." the author stoutly denied that he intended to satirize the cardinal; and the chronicler, believing the sergeant's assertions, observes, "this plaie sore displeased the cardinal, and yet it was never meant to him." that the presentation of plays was a usual feature of the festivals at gray's inn may be inferred from the passage where dugdale, in his notes on that society, says;--"in edw. vi. ( nov.), it was also ordered that henceforth there should be no comedies called _interludes_ in this house out of term time, but when the feast of the nativity of our lord is solemnly observed. and that when there shall be any such comedies, then all the society at that time in commons to bear the charge of the apparel." notwithstanding her anxiety for the maintenance of good discipline in the inns of court, queen elizabeth encouraged the societies to celebrate their feasts with costliness and liberal hospitality, and her taste for dramatic entertainments increased the splendor and frequency of theatrical diversions amongst the lawyers. christopher hatton's name is connected with the history of the english drama, by the acts which he contributed to 'the tragedie of tancred and gismunda, compiled by the gentlemen of the inner temple, and by them presented before her majestie;' and he was one of the chief actors in that ponderous and extravagant mummery with which the inner temple kept christmas in the fourth year of elizabeth's reign. the circumstances of that festival merit special notice. in the third year of elizabeth's reign the middle temple and the inner temple were at fierce war, the former society having laid claim to lyon's inn, which had been long regarded as a dependency of the inner temple. the two chief justices, sir robert catlyn and sir james dyer, were known to think well of the claimant's title, and the masters of the inner temple bench anticipated an adverse decision, when lord robert dudley (afterwards earl of leicester) came to their relief with an order from queen elizabeth enjoining the middle templars no longer to vex their neighbors in the matter. submission being the only course open to them, the lawyers of the middle temple desisted from their claim; and the masters of the inner temple bench expressed their great gratitude to lord robert dudley, "by ordering and enacting that no person or persons of their society that then were, or thereafter should be, should be retained of councell against him the said lord robert, or his heirs; and that the arms of the said lord robert should be set up and placed in some convenient place in their hall as a continual monument of his lordship's favor unto them." further honors were paid to this nobleman at the ensuing christmas, when the inner temple held a revel of unusual magnificence and made lord robert the ruler of the riot. whilst the holidays lasted the young lord's title and style were "pallaphilos, prince of sophie high constable marshal of the knights templars, and patron of the honorable order of pegasus." and he kept a stately court, having for his chief officers--mr. onslow (lord chancellor), anthony stapleton (lord treasurer), robert kelway (lord privy seal), john fuller (chief justice of the king's bench), william pole (chief justice of the common pleas), roger manwood (chief baron of the exchequer), mr. bashe (steward of the household), mr. copley (marshal of the household), mr. paten (chief butler), christopher hatton (master of the game), messieurs blaston, yorke, penston, jervise (masters of the revels), mr. parker (lieutenant of the tower), mr. kendall (carver), mr. martyn (ranger of the forests), and mr. stradling (sewer). besides these eighteen placemen, pallaphilos had many other mock officers, whose names are not recorded, and he was attended by a body-guard of fourscore members of the inn. from the pages of gerard leigh and dugdale, the reader can obtain a sufficiently minute account of the pompous ceremonials and heavy buffooneries of the season. he may learn some of the special services and contributions which prince pallaphilos required of his chief courtiers, and take note how mr. paten, as chief butler, had to provide seven dozen silver and gilt spoons, twelve dozen silver and gilt salt-cellars, twenty silver and gilt candlesticks, twenty fine large table-cloths of damask and diaper, twenty dozen white napkins, three dozen fair large towels, twenty dozen white cups and green pots, to say nothing of carving-knives, carving table, tureens, bread, beer, ale, and wine. the reader also may learn from those chroniclers how the company were placed according to degrees at different tables; how the banquets were served to the sound of drums and fifes; how the boar's head was brought in upon a silver dish; how the gentlemen in gowns, the trumpeters, and other musicians followed the boar's head in stately procession; and how, by a rule somewhat at variance with modern notions concerning old english hospitality, strangers of worth were expected to pay in cash for their entertainment, eightpence per head being the charge for dinner on the day of christmas eve, and twelve-pence being demanded from each stranger for his dinner on the following day. ladies were not excluded from all the festivities; though it may be presumed they did not share in all the riotous meals of the period. it is certain that they were invited, together with the young law-students from the inns of chancery, to see a play and a masque acted in the hall; that seats were provided for their special accommodation in the hall whilst the sports were going forward; and that at the close of the dramatic performances the gallant dames and pretty girls were entertained by pallaphilos in the library with a suitable banquet; whilst the mock lord chancellor, mr. onslow, presided at a feast in the hall, which with all possible speed had been converted from theatrical to more appropriate uses. but though the fun was rare and the array was splendid to idle folk of the sixteenth century, modern taste would deem such gaiety rude and wearisome, would call the ladies' banquet a disorderly scramble, and think the whole frolic scarce fit for schoolboys. and in many respects those revels of olden time were indecorous, noisy, comfortless affairs. there must have been a sad want of room and fresh air in the inner temple dining-hall, when all the members of the inn, the selected students from the subordinate inns of chancery, and half a hundred ladies (to say nothing of mr. gerard leigh and illustrious strangers), had crowded into the space set apart for the audience. at the dinners what wrangling and tumult must have arisen through squabbles for place, and the thousand mishaps that always attend an endeavor to entertain five hundred gentlemen at a dinner, in a room barely capacious enough for the proper accommodation of a hundred and fifty persons. unless this writer greatly errs, spoons and knives were in great request, and table linen was by no means 'fair and spotless' towards the close of the rout. superb, on that holyday, was the aspect of prince pallaphilos. wearing a complete suit of elaborately wrought and richly gilt armor, he bore above his helmet a cloud of curiously dyed feathers, and held a gilt pole-axe in his hand. by his side walked the lieutenant of the tower (mr. parker), clad in white armor, and like pallaphilos furnished with feathers and a pole-axe. on entering the hall the prince and his lieutenant of the tower were preceded by sixteen trumpeters (at full blare), four drummers (at full drum), and a company of fifers (at full whistle), and followed by four men in white armor, bearing halberds in their hands. thrice did this procession march round the fire that blazed in the centre of the hall; and when in the course of these three circuits the four halberdiers and the musicians had trodden upon everybody's toes (their own included), and when moreover they had blown themselves out of time and breath, silence was proclaimed; and prince pallaphilos, having laid aside his pole-axe and his naked sword and a few other trifles, took his seat at the urgent entreaty of the mock lord chancellor. but kit hatton's appearance and part in the proceedings were even more outrageously ridiculous. the future lord chancellor of england was then a very elegant and witty young fellow, proud of his quick humor and handsome face, but far prouder of his exquisitely proportioned legs. no sooner had prince pallaphilos taken his seat, at the lord chancellor's suggestion, than kit hatton (as master of the game) entered the hall, dressed in a complete suit of green velvet, and holding a green bow in his left hand. his quiver was supplied with green arrows, and round his neck was slung a hunting-horn. by kit's side, arrayed in exactly the same style, walked the ranger of the forests (mr. martyn); and having forced their way into the crowded chamber, the two young men blew three blasts of venery upon their horns, and then paced three times round the fire. after thus parading the hall they paused before the lord chancellor, to whom the master of game made three curtsies, and then on his knees proclaimed the desire of his heart to serve the mighty prince pallaphilos. having risen from his kneeling posture kit hatton blew his horn, and at the signal his huntsman entered the room, bringing with him a fox, a cat, and ten couples of hounds. forthwith the fox was released from the pole to which it was bound; and when the luckless creature had crept into a corner under one of the tables, the ten couples of hounds were sent in pursuit. it is a fact that english gentlemen in the sixteenth century thus amused themselves with a fox-hunt in a densely crowded dining-room. over tables and under tables, up the hall and down the hall, those score hounds went at full cry after a miserable fox, which they eventually ran into and killed in the cinder-pit, or as dugdale expresses it, "beneath the fire." that work achieved, the cat was turned off, and the hounds sent after her, with much blowing of horns, much cracking of whips, and deafening cries of excitement from the gownsmen, who tumbled over one another in their eagerness to be in at the death. chapter xxx. the river and the strand by torchlight. scarcely less out of place in the dining-hall than kit hatton's hounds, was the mule fairly mounted on which the prince pallaphilos made his appearance at the high table after supper, when he notified to his subjects in what manner they were to disport themselves till bedtime. thus also when the prince of purpoole kept his court at gray's inn, a.d. , the prince's champion rode into the dining-hall upon the back of a fiery charger which, like the rider, was clothed in a panoply of steel. in costliness and riotous excess the prince of purpoole's revel at gray's inn was not inferior to any similar festivity in the time of elizabeth. on the th of december, st. thomas's eve, the prince (one master henry holmes, a norfolk gentleman) took up his quarters in the great hall of the inn, and by the rd day of january the grandeur and comicality of his proceedings had created so much talk throughout the town that the lord treasurer burghley, the earls of cumberland, essex, shrewsbury and westmoreland, the lords buckhurst, windsor, sheffield, compton, and a magnificent array of knights and ladies visited gray's inn hall on that day and saw the masque which the revellers put upon the stage. after the masque there was a banquet, which was followed by a ball. on the following day the prince, attended by eighty gentlemen of gray's inn and the temple (each of the eighty wearing a plume on his head), dined in state with the lord mayor and aldermen of the city, at crosby place. the frolic continued for many days more; the royal purpoole on one occasion visiting blackwall with a splendid retinue, on another (twelfth night) receiving a gallant assembly of lords, ladies, and knights, at his court in gray's inn, and on a third (shrovetide) visiting the queen herself at greenwich, when her majesty warmly applauded the masque set before her by the actors who were members of the prince's court. so delighted was elizabeth with the entertainment, that she graciously allowed the masquers to kiss her right hand, and loudly extolled gray's inn "as an house she was much indebted to, for it did always study for some sports to present unto her;" whilst to the mock prince she showed her favor, by placing in his hand the jewel (set with seventeen diamonds and fourteen rubies) which he had won by valor and skill in the tournament which formed part of the shrovetide sports. numerous entries in the records of the inns testify to the importance assigned by the olden lawyers to their periodic feasts; and though in the fluctuations of public opinion with regard to the effects of dramatic amusements, certain benchers, or even all the benchers of a particular inn, may be found at times discountenancing the custom of presenting masques, the revels were usually diversified and heightened by stage plays. not only were interludes given at the high and grand holidays styled _solemn revels_, but also at the minor festivities termed post revels they were usually had recourse to for amusement. "besides those _solemn revels_, or measures aforesaid," says dugdale, concerning the old usages of the 'middle temple,' "they had wont to be entertained with post revels performed by the better sort of the young gentlemen of the society, with galliards, corrantoes, and other dances, or else with stage-plays; the first of these feasts being at the beginning, and the other at the latter end of christmas. but of late years these post revels have been disused, both here and in the other inns of court." besides producing and acting some of our best pro-shakespearian dramas, the elizabethan lawyers put upon the stage at least one of william shakespeare's plays. from the diary of a barrister (supposed to be john manningham, of the middle temple), it is learnt that the middle templar's acted shakespeare's 'twelfth night' at the readers' feast on candlemas day, - .[ ] in the following reign, the masques of the lawyers in no degree fell off with regard to splendor. seldom had the thames presented a more picturesque and exhilarating spectacle than it did on the evening of february , , when the gentlemen masquers of gray's inn and the temple, entered the king's royal barge at winchester house, at seven o'clock, and made the voyage to whitehall, attended by hundreds of barges and boats, each vessel being so brilliantly illuminated that the lights reflected upon the ripples of the river, seemed to be countless. as though the hum and huzzas of the vast multitude on the water were insufficient to announce the approach of the dazzling pageant, guns marked the progress of the revellers, and as they drew near the palace, all the attendant bands of musicians played the same stirring tune with uniform time. it is on record that the king received the amateur actors with an excess of condescension, and was delighted with the masque which master beaumont of the inner temple, and his friend, master fletcher, had written and dedicated "to the worthy sir francis bacon, his majesty's solicitor-general, and the grave and learned bench of the anciently-called houses of grayes inn and the inner temple, and the inner temple and grayes inn." the cost of this entertainment was defrayed by the members of the two inns--each reader paying £ , each ancient, £ _s._; each barrister, £ , and each student, _s._ the inner temple and gray's inn having thus testified their loyalty and dramatic taste, in the following year on shrove-monday night (feb. , ), lincoln's inn and the middle temple, with no less splendor and _éclat_, enacted at whitehall a masque written by george chapman. for this entertainment, inigo jones designed and perfected the theatrical decorations in a style worthy of an exhibition that formed part of the gaieties with which the marriage of the palsgrave with the princess elizabeth was celebrated. and though the masquers went to whitehall by land, their progress was not less pompous than the procession which had passed up the thames in the february of the preceding year. having mustered in chancery lane, at the official residence of the master of the rolls, the actors and their friends delighted the town with a gallant spectacle. mounted on richly-caparisoned and mettlesome horses, they rode from fleet street up the strand, and by charing cross to whitehall, through a tempest of enthusiasm. every house was illuminated, every window was crowded with faces, on every roof men stood in rows, from every balcony bright eyes looked down upon the gay scene, and from basement to garret, from kennel to roof-top throughout the long way, deafening cheers testified, whilst they increased the delight of the multitude. such a pageant would, even in these sober days, rouse london from her cold propriety. having thrown aside his academic robe, each masquer had donned a fantastic dress of silver cloth embroidered with gold lace, gold plate, and ostrich plumes. he wore across his breast a gold baldrick, round his neck a ruff of white feathers brightened with pearls and silver lace, and on his head a coronal of snowy plumes. before each mounted masquer rode a torch-bearer, whose right hand waved a scourge of flame, instead of a leathern thong. in a gorgeous chariot, preceded by a long train of heralds, were exhibited the dramatis personæ--honor, plutus, eunomia, phemeis, capriccio--arrayed in their appointed costumes; and it was rumored that the golden canopy of their coach had been bought for an enormous sum. two other triumphal cars conveyed the twelve chief musicians of the kingdom, and these masters of melody were guarded by torch-bearers, marching two deep before and behind, and on either side of the glittering carriages. preceding the musicians, rode a troop of ludicrous objects, who roused the derision of the mob, and made fat burghers laugh till tears ran down their cheeks. they were the mock masque, each resembling an ape, each wearing a fantastic dress that heightened the hideous absurdity of his monkey's visage, each riding upon an ass, or small pony, and each of them throwing shells upon the crowd by way of a largess. in the front of the mock masque, forming the vanguard of the entire spectacle, rode fifty gentlemen of the inns of court, reining high-bred horses, and followed by their running footmen, whose liveries added to the gorgeous magnificence of the display. besides the expenses which fell upon individuals taking part in the play, or procession, this entertainment cost the two inns £ _s._ _d._ about the same time gray's inn, at the instigation of attorney general sir francis bacon, performed 'the masque of flowers' before the lords and ladies of the court, in the banqueting-house, whitehall; and six years later thomas middleton's inner temple masque, or masque of heroes' was presented before a goodly company of grand ladies by the inner templars. [ ] the propensity of lawyers for the stage, lingered amongst barristers on circuit, to a comparatively recent date. 'old stagers' of the home and western circuits, can recall how the juniors of their briefless and bagless days used to entertain the natives of guildford and exeter with shakspearian performances. the northern circuit also was at one time famous for the histrionic ability of its bar, but toward the close of the last century, the dramatic recreations of its junior members were discountenanced by the grand court. chapter xxxi. anti-prynne. of all the masques mentioned in the records of the inns of court, the most magnificent and costly was the famous anti-prynne demonstration, by which the lawyers endeavored to show their contemptuous disapproval of a work that inveighed against the licentiousness of the stage, and preferred a charge of wanton levity against those who encouraged theatrical performances. whilst the 'histriomastix' rendered the author ridiculous to mere men of pleasure, it roused fierce animosities by the truth and fearless completeness of its assertions; but to no order of society was the famous attack on the stage more offensive than to the lawyers; and of lawyers the members of lincoln's inn were the most vehement in their displeasure. the actors writhed under the attack; the lawyers were literally furious with rage--for whilst rating them soundly for their love of theatrical amusements, prynne almost contrived to make it seem that his views were acceptable to the wisest and most reverend members of the legal profession. himself a barrister of lincoln's inn, he with equal craft and audacity complimented the benchers of that society on the firmness with which they had forbidden professional actors to take part in the periodic revels of the inn, and on their inclination to govern the society in accordance with puritanical principles. addressing his "much honored friends, the right worshipful masters of the bench of the honorable flourishing law society of lincoln's inne," the utter-barrister said: "for whereas other innes of court (i know not by what evil custom, and worse example) admit of common actors and interludes upon their two grand festivalls, to recreate themselves withall, notwithstanding the statutes of our kingdome (of which lawyers, of all others, should be most observant), have branded all professed stage-players for infamous rogues, and stage-playes for unlawful pastimes, especially on lord's-dayes and other solemn holidayes, on which these grand dayes ever fall; yet such hath been your pious tender care, not only of this societie's honor, but also of the young students' good (for the advancing of whose piety and studies you have of late erected a magnificent chapel, and since that a library), that as you have prohibited by late publicke orders, all disorderly bacchanalian grand-christmasses (more fit for pagans than christians; for the deboisest roarers than grave civill students, who should be patternes of sobriety unto others), together with all publicke dice-play in the hall (a most pernicious, infamous game; condemned in all ages, all places, not onely by councels, fathers, divines, civilians, canonists, politicians, and other christian writers; by divers pagan authors of all sorts, and by mahomet himselfe; but likewise by sundry heathen, yea, christian magistrates' edicts)." concerning the london theatres he observes that the "two old play houses" (_i.e._, the fortune and the red bull), the "new theatre" (_i.e._, whitefriars play-house), and two other established theatres, being found inadequate to the wants of the play-going public, a sixth theatre had recently been opened. "the multitude of our london play-haunters being so augmented now, that all the ancient divvel's chappels (for so the fathers style all play-houses) being five in number, are not sufficient to containe their troops, whence we see a sixth now added to them, whereas even in vitious nero his raigne there were but three standing theatres in pagan rome (though far more splendid than christian london), and those three too many." having thus enumerated some of the saddest features of his age, the author of the 'player's scourge' again commends the piety and decorum of the lincoln's inn benchers, saying, "so likewise in imitation of the ancient lacedæmonians and massilienses, or rather of primitive zealous christians, you have always from my first admission into your society, and long before, excluded all common players with their ungodly interludes, from all your solemn festivals." if the benchers of one inn winced under prynne's 'expressions of approval,' the students of all the inns of court were even more displeased with the author who, in a dedicatory letter "to the right christian, generous young gentlemen-students of the four innes of court, and especially those of lincolne's inne," urged them to "at last falsifie that ignominious censure which some english writers in their printed works have passed upon innes of court students, of whom they record:--that innes of court men were undone but for players, that they are their chiefest guests and imployment, and the sole business that makes them afternoon's men; that is one of the first things they learne as soon as they are admitted, to see stage-playes, and take smoke at a play-house, which they commonly make their studie; where they quickly learne to follow all fashions, to drinke all healths, to wear favours and good cloathes, to consort with ruffianly companions, to swear the biggest oaths, to quarrel easily, fight desperately, quarrel inordinately, to spend their patrimony ere it fall, to use gracefully some gestures of apish compliment, to talk irreligiously, to dally with a mistresse, and hunt after harlots, to prove altogether lawless in steed of lawyers, and to forget that little learning, grace, and vertue which they had before; so much that they grow at last past hopes of ever doing good, either to the church, their country, their owne or others' souls." the storm of indignation which followed the appearance of the 'histriomastix' was directed by the members of the four inns, who felt themselves bound by honor no less than by interest, to disavow all connexion with, or leaning towards, the unpopular author. on the suggestion of lincoln's inn, the four societies combined their forces, and at a cost of more than twenty thousand pounds, in addition to sums spent by individuals, entertained the court with that splendid masque which whitelock has described in his 'memoirs' with elaborate prolixity. the piece entitled 'the triumph of peace,' was written by shirley, and it was produced with a pomp and lavish expenditure that were without precedent. the organization and guidance of the undertaking were entrusted to a committee of eight barristers, two from each inn; and this select body comprised men who were alike remarkable for talents, accomplishments, and ambition, and some of whom were destined to play strangely diverse parts in the drama of their epoch. it comprised edward hyde, then in his twenty-sixth year; young bulstrode whitelock, who had not yet astonished the more decorous magnates of his country by wearing a falling-band at the oxford quarter sessions; edward herbert, the most unfortunate of cavalier lawyers; john selden, already a middle-aged man; john finch, born in the same year as selden, and already far advanced in his eager course to a not honorable notoriety. attorney general noy was also of the party, but his disastrous career was already near its close. the committee of management had their quarters at ely house, holborn; and from that historic palace the masquers started for whitehall on the eve of candlemas day, - . it was a superb procession. first marched twenty tall footmen, blazing in liveries of scarlet cloth trimmed with lace, each of them holding a baton in his right hand, and in his left a flaring torch that covered his face with light, and made the steel and silver of his sword-scabbard shine brilliantly. a company of the marshal's men marched next with firm and even steps, clearing the way for their master. a burst of deafening applause came from the multitude as the marshal rode through the gateway of ely house, and caracoled over the holborn way on the finest charger that the king's stables could furnish. a perfect horseman and the handsomest man then in town, mr. darrel of lincoln's inn, had been elected to the office of marshal in deference to his wealth, his noble aspect, his fine nature, and his perfect mastery of all manly sports. on either side of mr. darrel's horse marched a lacquey bearing a flambeau, and the marshal's page was in attendance with his master's cloak. an interval of some twenty paces, and then came the marshal's body-guard, composed of one hundred mounted gentlemen of the inns of court--twenty-five from each house; showing in their faces the signs of gentle birth and honorable nurture; and with strong hands reining mettlesome chargers that had been furnished for their use by the greatest nobles of the land. this flood of flashing chivalry was succeeded by an anti-masque of beggars and cripples, mounted on the lamest and most unsightly of rat-tailed srews and spavined ponies, and wearing dresses that threw derision on legal vestments and decorations. another anti-masque satirized the wild projects of crazy speculators and inventors; and as it moved along the spectators laughed aloud at the "fish-call, or looking-glass for fishes in the sea, very useful for fishermen to call all kinds of fish to their nets;" the newly-invented wind-mate for raising a breeze over becalmed seas, the "movable hydraulic" which should give sleep to patients suffering under fever. chariots and horsemen, torch-bearers and lacqueys, followed in order. "then came the first chariot of the grand masquers, which was not so large as those that went before, but most curiously framed, carved, and painted with exquisite art, and purposely for this service and occasion. the form of it was after that of the roman triumphant chariots. the seats in it were made of oval form in the back end of the chariot, so that there was no precedence in them, and the faces of all that sat in it might be seen together. the colors of the first chariot were silver and crimson, given by the lot to gray's inn: the chariot was drawn with four horses all abreast, and they were covered to their heels all over with cloth of tissue, of the colors of crimson and silver, huge plumes of white and red feathers on their heads; the coachman's cap and feather, his long coat, and his very whip and cushion of the same stuff and color. in this chariot sat the four grand masquers of gray's inn, their habits, doublets, trunk-hose, and caps of most rich cloth of tissue, and wrought as thick with silver spangles as they could be placed; large white stockings up to their trunk-hose, and rich sprigs in their cap, themselves proper and beautiful young gentlemen. on each side of the chariot were four footmen in liveries of the color of the chariot, carrying huge flamboys in their hands, which, with the torches, gave such a lustre to the paintings, spangles, and habits that hardly anything could be invented to appear more glorious." six musicians followed the state-chariot of gray's inn, playing as they went; and then came the triumphal cars of the middle templars, the inner templars, and the lincoln's inn men--each car being drawn by four horses and attended by torch-bearers, flambeau-bearers, and musicians. in shape these four cars were alike, but they differed in the color of their fittings. whilst gray's inn used scarlet and silver, the middle templars chose blue and silver decorations, and each of the other two houses adopted a distinctive color for the housings of their horses and the liveries of their servants. it is noteworthy that the inns (equal as to considerations of dignity) took their places in the pageant by lot; and that the four grand masquers of each inn were seated in their chariot on seats so constructed that none of the four took precedence of the others. the inns, in days when questions of precedence received much attention, were very particular in asserting their equality, whenever two or more of them acted in co-operation. to mark this equality, the masque written by beaumont and fletcher in was described "the masque of the inner temple and grayes inn; grayes inn and the inner temple:" and the dedication of the piece to francis bacon, reversing this transposition, mentions "the allied houses of grayes inn and the inner temple, and the inner temple and grayes inn," these changes being made to point the equal rank of the two fraternities. through the illuminated streets this pageant marched to the sound of trumpets and drums, cymbals and fifes, amidst the deafening acclamations of the delighted town; and when the lawyers reached whitehall, the king and queen were so delighted with the spectacle, that the procession was ordered to make the circuit of the tilt-yard for the gratification of their majesties, who would fain see the sight once again from the windows of their palace. is there need to speak of the manner in which the masque was acted, of the music and dances, of the properties and scenes, of the stately banquet after the play and the grand ball which began at a still later hour, of the king's urbanity and the graciousness of henrietta, who "did the honor to some of the masquers to dance with them herself, and to judge them as good dancers as she ever saw!" notwithstanding a few untoward broils and accidents, the entertainment passed off so satisfactorily that 'the triumph of peace' was acted for a second time in the presence of the king and queen, in the merchant taylors' hall. other diversions of the same kind followed with scarcely less _éclat_. at whitehall the king himself and some of the choicest nobles of the land turned actors, and performed a grand masque, on which occasion the templars were present as spectators in seats of honor. during the shrovetide rejoicings of , henrietta even condescended to witness the performance of davenant's 'triumphs of the prince d'amour,' in the hall of the middle temple. laying aside the garb of royalty, she went to the temple, attended by a party of lords and ladies, and fine gentlemen who, like herself, assumed for the evening dresses suitable to persons of private station. the marquis of hamilton, the countess of denbigh, the countess of holland, and lady elizabeth fielding were her companions; whilst the official attendants on her person were the earl of holland, lord goring, mr. percy, and mr. jermyn. led to her place by "mrs. basse, the law-woman," henrietta took a seat upon a scaffold fixed along the northern side of the hall, and amidst a crush of benchers' wives and daughters saw the play and heartily enjoyed it. says whitelock, at the conclusion of his account of the grand masque given by the four inns, "thus these dreams past, and these pomps vanished." scarcely had the frolic terminated when death laid a chill hand on the time-serving noy, who in the consequences of his dishonest counsels left a cruel legacy to the master and the country whom he alike betrayed. a few more years--and john finch, having lost the great seal, was an exile in a foreign land, destined to die in penury, without again setting foot on his native soil. the graceful herbert, whose smooth cheek had flushed with joy at henrietta's musical courtesies, became for a brief day the mock lord keeper of charles ii.'s mock court at paris, and then, dishonored and disowned by his capricious master, he languished in poverty and disease, until he found an obscure grave in the french capital. more fortunate than his early rival, edward hyde outlived charles stuart's days of adverse fortune, and rose to a grievous greatness; but like that early rival, he, too, died in exile in france. perhaps of all the managers of the grand masque the scholarly pedant, john selden, had the greatest share of earthly satisfaction. not the least fortunate of the party was the historian of "the pomp and glory, if not the vanity of the show," who having survived the commonwealth and witnessed the restoration, was permitted to retain his paternal estate, and in his last days could tell his numerous descendants how his old chum, edward hyde, had risen, fallen, and--passed to another world. chapter xxxii. an empty grate. with the revival of gaiety which attended and followed the restoration, revels and masques came once more into vogue at the inns of court, where, throughout the commonwealth, plays had been prohibited, and festivals had been either abolished or deprived of their ancient hilarity. the caterers of amusement for the new king were not slow to suggest that he should honor the lawyers with a visit; and in accordance with their counsel, his majesty took water on august , , and went in the royal barge from whitehall to the temple to dine at the reader's feast. heneage finch had been chosen autumn reader of that inn, and in accordance with ancient usage he demonstrated his ability to instruct young gentlemen in the principles of english law, by giving a series of costly banquets. from the days of the tudors to the rise of oliver cromwell, the reader's feasts had been amongst the most sumptuous and ostentatious entertainments of the town--the sergeant's feasts scarcely surpassing them in splendor, the inaugural dinners of lord mayors often lagging behind them in expense. but heneage finch's lavish hospitality outstripped the doings of all previous readers. his revel was protracted throughout six days, and on each of these days he received at his table the representative members of some high social order or learned body. beginning with a dinner to the nobility and privy councillors, he finished with a banquet to the king; and on the intervening days he entertained the civic authorities, the college of physicians, the civil lawyers, and the dignitaries of the church. the king's visit was attended with imposing ceremony, and wanted no circumstance that could have rendered the occasion more honorable to the host or to the society of which he was a member. all the highest officers of the court accompanied the monarch, and when he stepped from his barge at the temple stairs, he spoke with jovial urbanity to his entertainer and the lord chief justice of the common pleas, who received him with tokens of loyal deference and attachment. "on each side," says dugdale, "as his majesty passed, stood the reader's servants in scarlet cloaks and white tabba doublets; there being a way made through the wall into the temple gardens; and above them on each side the benchers, barristers, and other gentlemen of the society, all in their gowns and formalities, the loud music playing from the time of his landing till he entered the hall; where he was received with xx violins, which continued as long as his majesty stayed." fifty chosen gentlemen of the inn, wearing their academic gowns, placed dinner on the table, and waited on the feasters--no other servants being permitted to enter the hall during the progress of the banquet. on the dais at the top of the hall, under a canopy of state, the king and his brother james sat apart from men of lower degree, whilst the nobles of whitehall occupied one long table, under the presidency of the lord chancellor, and the chief personages of the inn dined at a corresponding long table, having the reader for their chairman. in the following january, charles ii. and the duke of york honored lincoln's inn with a visit, whilst the mock prince de la grange held his court within the walls of that society. nine years later--in the february of --king charles and his brother james again visited lincoln's inn, on which occasion they were entertained by sir francis goodericke, knt., the reader of the inn, who seems almost to have gone beyond heneage finch in sumptuous profusion of hospitality. of this royal visit a particular account is to be seen in the admittance book of the honorable society, from which it appears that the royal brothers were attended by the dukes of monmouth and richmond; the earls of manchester, bath, and anglesea; viscount halifax, the bishop of ely, lord newport, lord henry howard, and "divers others of great qualitie." the entertainment in most respects was a repetition of sir heneage finch's feast--the king, the duke of york, and prince rupert dining on the dais at the top of the hall, whilst the persons of inferior though high quality were regaled at two long tables, set down the hall; and the gentlemen of the inn condescending to act as menial servants. the reader himself, dropping on his knee when he performed the servile office, proffered the towel with which the king prepared himself for the repast; and barristers of ancient lineage and professional eminence contended for the honor of serving his majesty with surloin and cheesecake upon the knee, and hastened with the alacrity of well-trained lacqueys to do the bidding of "the lords att their table." having eaten and drunk to his lively satisfaction, charles called for the admittance book of the inn, and placed his name on the roll of members, thereby conferring on the society an honor for which no previous king of england had furnished a precedent. following their chief's example, the duke of york and prince rupert and other nobles forthwith joined the fraternity of lawyers; and hastily donning students' gowns, they mingled with the troop of gowned servitors, and humbly waited on their liege lord. in like manner, twenty-one years since (july , ) when queen victoria and her lamented consort visited lincoln's inn, on the opening of the new hall, they condescended to enter their names in the admission book of the inn, thereby making themselves students of the society. her majesty has not been called to the bar; but prince albert in due course became a barrister and bencher. repeating the action of charles ii.'s courtiers, the great duke of wellington and the bevy of great nobles present at the celebration became fellow-students with the queen; and on leaving the table the prince walked down the hall, wearing a student's stuff gown (by no means the most picturesque of academic robes), over his field-marshal's uniform. her majesty forbore to disarrange her toilet--which consisted of a blue bonnet with blue feathers, a dress of limerick lace, and a scarlet shawl, with a deep gold edging--by putting her arms through the sleeveless arm-holes of a bombazine frock. grateful to the lawyers for the cordiality with which they welcomed him to the country, william iii. accepted an invitation to the middle temple, and was entertained by that society with a banquet and a masque, of which notice has been taken in another chapter of this work; and in - peter the great was a guest at the christmas revels of the templars. on that occasion the czar enjoyed a favorable opportunity for gratifying his love of strong drink, and for witnessing the ease with which our ancestors drank wine by the magnum and punch by the gallon, when they were bent on enjoyment. in the greater refinement and increasing delicacy of the eighteenth century, the inns of court revels, which had for so many generations been conspicuous amongst the gaieties of the town, became less and less magnificent; and they altogether died out under the second of those georges who are thought by some persons to have corrupted public morals and lowered the tastes of society. in - , when lord chancellor talbot's elevation to the woolsack was celebrated by a revel in the inner temple hall, the dulness and disorder of the celebration convinced the lawyers that they had not acted wisely in attempting to revive usages that had fallen into desuetude because they were inconvenient to new arrangements or repugnant to modern taste. no attempt was made to prolong the festivity over a succession of days. it was a revel of one day; and no one wished to add another to the period of riot. at two o'clock on feb. , - , the new chancellor, the master of the revels, the benchers of the inns, and the guests (who were for the most part lawyers), sat down to dinner in the hall. the barristers and students had their ordinary fare, with the addition of a flask of claret to each mess; but a superior repast was served at the high table where fourteen students (of whom the chancellor's eldest son was one), served as waiters. whilst the banquet was in progress, musicians stationed in the gallery at the upper end of the hall filled the room with deafening noise, and ladies looked down upon the feasters from a large gallery which had been fitted up for their reception over the screen. after dinner, as soon as the hall could be cleared of dishes and decanters, the company were entertained with 'love for love,' and 'the devil to pay,' performed by professional actors who "all came from the haymarket in chairs, ready dressed, and (as it was said), refused any gratuity for their trouble, looking upon the honor of distinguishing themselves on this occasion as sufficient." the players having withdrawn, the judges, sergeants, benchers, and other dignitaries, danced 'round about the coal fire;' that is to say, they danced round about a stove in which there was not a single spark of fire. the congregation of many hundreds of persons, in a hall which had not comfortable room for half the number, rendered the air so oppressively hot that the master of the revels wisely resolved to lead his troop of revellers round an empty grate. the chronicler of this ridiculous mummery observes: "and all the time of the dance the ancient song, accompanied by music, was sung by one toby aston, dressed in a bar-gown, whose father had formerly been master of the plea office in the king's bench. when this was over, the ladies came down from the gallery, went into the parliament chamber, and stayed about a quarter of an hour, while the hall was being put in order. they then went into the hall and danced a few minuets. country dances began at ten, and at twelve a very fine cold collation was provided for the whole company, from which they returned to dancing, which they continued as long as they pleased, and the whole day's entertainment was generally thought to be very genteelly and liberally conducted. the prince of wales honored the performance with his company part of the time; he came into the music _incog._ about the middle of the play, and went away as soon as the farce of 'walking round the coal fire' was over." with this notable dance of lawyers round an empty grate, the old revels disappeared. in their grand days, equivalent to the gaudy days, or feast days, or audit days of the colleges at oxford and cambridge, the inns of court still retain the last vestiges of their ancient jollifications, but the uproarious riot of the obsolete festivities is but faintly echoed by the songs and laughter of the junior barristers and students who in these degenerate times gladden their hearts and loosen their tongues with an extra glass of wine after grand dinners, and then hasten back to chambers for tobacco and tea. on the discontinuance of the revels the inns of court lost their chief attractions for the courtly pleasure-seekers of the town, and many a day passed before another royal visit was paid to any one of the societies. in george iii.'s father stood amongst the musicians in the inner temple hall; and after the lapse of one century and eleven years the present queen accepted the hospitality of lincoln's inn. no record exists of a royal visit made to an inn of court between those events. only the other day, however, the prince of wales went eastwards and partook of a banquet in the hall of middle temple, of which society he is a barrister and a bencher. part vii. legal education. chapter xxxiii. inns of court and inns of chancery. schools for the study of the common law, existed within the bounds of the city of london, at the commencement of the thirteenth century. no sooner had a permanent home been assigned to the court of common pleas, than legal practitioners fixed themselves in the neighborhood of westminster, or within the walls of london. a legal society speedily grew up in the city; and some of the older and more learned professors of the common law, devoting a portion of their time and energies to the labors of instruction, opened academies for the reception of students. dugdale notices a tradition that in ancient times a law-school, called johnson's inn, stood in dowgate, that another existed in pewter lane, and that paternoster row contained a third; and it is generally thought that these three inns were amongst the academies which sprung up as soon as the common pleas obtained a permanent abode. the schools thus established in the opening years of the thirteenth century, were not allowed to flourish for any great length of time; for in the nineteenth year of his reign, henry iii. suppressed them by a mandate addressed to the mayor and sheriffs of the city. but though this king broke up the schools, the scholars persevered in their study; and if the king's mandate aimed at a complete discontinuance of legal instruction, his policy was signally defeated. successive writers have credited edward iii.'s reign with the establishment of inns of court; and it has been erroneously inferred that the study of the common law not only languished, but was altogether extinct during the period of nearly one hundred years that intervened between henry iii.'s dissolution of the city schools and edward iii.'s accession. abundant evidence, however, exists that this was not the case. edward i., in the twentieth year of his reign, ordered his judges of the common pleas to "provide and ordain, from every county, certain attorneys and lawyers" (in the original "atturnatus et _apprenticiis_") "of the best and most apt for their learning and skill, who might do service to his court and people; and those so chosen, and no other should follow his court, and transact affairs therein; the words of which order make it clear that the country contained a considerable body of persons who devoted themselves to the study and practice of the law." so also in the year-book, ed. iii., the words, "et puis une apprentise demand," show that lawyers holding legal degrees existed in the very first year of edward iii.'s reign; a fact which justifies the inference that in the previous reign england contained common law schools capable of granting the legal degree of apprentice. again dugdale remarks, "in ed. iii., in a _quod ei deforciat_ to an exception taken, it was answered by sir richard de willoughby (then a learned justice of the _common pleas_) and william skipwith, (afterwards also one of the justices of that court), that the same was no exception amongst the _apprentices in hostells or inns_." whence it is manifest that inns of court were institutions in full vigor at the time when they have been sometimes represented as originally established. but after their expulsion from the city, there is reason to think that the common lawyers made no attempt to reside in colleges within its boundaries. they preferred to establish themselves on spots where they could enjoy pure air and rural quietude, could surround themselves with trees and lawns, or refresh their eyes with the sight of the silver thames. in the earliest part of the fourteenth century, they took possession of a great palace that stood on the western outskirt of the town, and looked westwards upon green fields, whilst its eastern wall abutted on new street--a thoroughfare that was subsequently called chancellor's lane, and has for many years been known as chancery lane. this palace had been the residence of henry lacy, earl of lincoln, who conferred upon the building the name which it still bears. the earl died in , some seventeen years before edward iii.'s accession; and thynne, the antiquary, was of opinion that no considerable period intervened between henry lacy's death and the entry of the lawyers. in the same century, the lawyers took possession of the temple. the exact date of their entry is unknown; but chaucer's verse enables the student to fix, with sufficient preciseness, the period when the more noble apprentices of the law first occupied the temple as tenants of the knight's hospitallers of st. john of jerusalem, who obtained a grant of the place from edward iii.[ ] the absence of fuller particulars concerning the early history of the legal templars, is ordinarily and with good reason attributed to wat tyler's rebels, who destroyed the records of the fraternity by fire. from roof to basement, beginning with the tiles, and working downwards, the mob destroyed the principal houses of the college; and when they had burnt all the archives on which they could lay hands, they went off and expended their remaining fury on other buildings, of which the knights of st. john were proprietors. the same men who saw the lawyers take possession of the temple on the northern banks of the thames, and of the earl of lincoln's palace in new street, saw them also make a third grand settlement. the manor of portepoole, or purpoole, became the property of the grays of wilton, in the twenty-second year of edward i.; and on its green fields, lying north of holborn, a society of lawyers established a college which still retains the name of the ancient proprietors of the soil. concerning the exact date of its institution, the uncertainty is even greater than that which obscures the foundation of the temple and lincoln's inn; but antiquaries have agreed to assign the creation of gray's inn, as an hospicium for the entertainment of lawyers, to the time of edward iii. the date at which the temple lawyers split up into two separate societies, is also unknown; but assigning the division to some period posterior to wat tyler's insurrection, dugdale says, "but, notwithstanding, this spoil by the rebels, those students so increased here, that at length they divided themselves into two bodies; the one commonly known by the society of the inner temple, and the other of the middle temple, holding this mansion as tenants." but as both societies had a common origin in the migration of lawyers from thavies inn, holborn, in the time of edward iii., it is usual to speak of the two temples as instituted in that reign, and to regard all four inns of court as the work of the fourteenth century. the inns of chancery for many generations maintained towards the inns of court a position similar to that which eton school maintains towards king's at cambridge, or that which winchester school holds to new college at oxford. they were seminaries in which lads underwent preparation for the superior discipline and greater freedom of the four colleges. each inn of court had its own inns of chancery, yearly receiving from them the pupils who had qualified themselves for promotion to the status of inns-of-court men. in course of time, students after receiving the preliminary education in an inn of chancery were permitted to enter an inn of court on which their inn of chancery was not dependent; but at every inn of court higher admission fees were charged to students coming from inns of chancery over which it had no control, than to students who came from its own primary schools. if the reader bears in mind the difference in respect to age, learning, and privileges between our modern public schoolboys and university undergraduates, he will realize with sufficient nearness to truth the differences which existed between the inns of chancery students and the inns of court students in the fifteenth century; and in the students, utter-barristers, and benchers of the inns of court at the same period he may see three distinct orders of academic persons closely resembling the undergraduates, bachelors of arts, and masters of arts in our universities. in the 'de laudibus legum angliæ,'[ ] written in the latter part of the fifteenth century, sir john fortescue says--"but to the intent, most excellent prince, yee may conceive a forme and an image of this study, as i am able, i wil describe it unto you. for there be in it ten lesser houses or innes, and sometimes moe, which are called innes of the chauncerye. and to every one of them belongeth an hundred students at least, and to some of them a much greater number, though they be not ever all together in the same." in charles ii.'s time there were eight inns of chancery; and of them three were subsidiary to the inner temple--viz., clifford's inn, clement's inn, and lyon's inn. clifford's inn (originally the town residence of the barons clifford) was first inhabited by law-students in the eighteenth year of edward iii. clement's inn (taking its name from the adjacent st. clement's well) was certainly inhabited by law-students as early as the nineteenth year of edward iv. lyon's inn was an inn of chancery in the time of henry v. one alone (new inn) was attached to the middle temple. in the previous century, the middle temple had possessed another inn of chancery called strand inn; but in the third year of edward vi. this nursery was pulled down by the duke of somerset, who required the ground on which it stood for the site of somerset house. lincoln's inn had for dependent schools furnival's inn and thavies inn--the latter of which hostels was inhabited by law-students in edward iii.'s time. of furnival's inn (originally lord furnival's town mansion, and converted into a law-school in edward vi.'s reign) dugdale says: "after which time the principall and fellows of this inne have paid to the society of lincoln's inne the rent of iiil vis iiid as an yearly rent for the same, as may appear by the accompts of that house; and by speciall order there made, have had these following priviledges: first (viz. eliz.), that the utter-barristers of furnivall's inne, of a yeares continuance, and so certified and allowed by the benchers of lincoln's inne, shall pay no more than four marks apiece for their admittance into that society. next (viz. in eliz.) that every fellow of this inne, who hath been allowed an utter-barrister here, and that hath mooted here two vacations at the utter bar, shall pay no more for their admission into the society of lincoln's inne, than xiiis iiiid, though all utter-barristers of any other inne of chancery (excepting thavyes inne) should pay xxs, and that every inner-barrister of this house, who hath mooted here one vacation at the inner bar, should pay for his admission into this house but xxs, those of other houses (excepting thavyes inne) paying xxvis viiid." the subordinate seminaries of gray's inn, in dugdale's time, were staple inn and barnard's inn. originally the exchange of the london woolen merchants, staple inn was a law-school as early as henry v.'s time. it is probable that bernard's inn became an academy for law-students in the reign of henry vi. [ ] chaucer mentions the temple thus:-- "a manciple there was of the temple, of which all catours might take ensemple for to be wise in buying of vitaile; for whether he pay'd or took by taile, algate he wayted so in his ashate, that he was aye before in good estate. now is not that of god a full faire grace, that such a leude man's wit shall pace the wisdome of an heape of learned men? of masters had he more than thrice ten, that were of law expert and curious, of which there was a dozen in that house, worthy to been stewards of rent and land of any lord that is in england; to maken him live by his proper good in honour debtless, but if he were wood; or live as scarcely as him list desire, and able to helpen all a shire, in any case that might have fallen or hap, and yet the manciple set all her capp." [ ] the 'de laudibus' was written in latin; but for the convenience of readers not familiar with that classic tongue, the quotations from the treatise are given from robert mulcaster's english version. chapter xxxiv. lawyers and gentlemen. thus planted in the fourteenth century beyond the confines of the city, and within easy access of westminster hall, the inns of court and chancery formed an university, which soon became almost as powerful and famous as either oxford or cambridge. for generations they were spoken of collectively as the law-university, and though they were voluntary societies--in their nature akin to the club-houses of modern london--they adopted common rules of discipline, and an uniform system of instruction. students flocked to them in abundance; and whereas the students of oxford and cambridge were drawn from the plebeian ranks of society, the scholars of the law-university were almost invariably the sons of wealthy men and had usually sprung from gentle families. to be a law-student was to be a stripling of quality. the law university enjoyed the same patrician _prestige_ and _éclat_ that now belong to the more aristocratic houses of the old universities. noblemen sent their sons to it in order that they might acquire the style and learning and accomplishments of polite society. a proportion of the students were encouraged to devote themselves to the study of the law and to attend sedulously the sittings of judges in westminster hall; but the majority of well-descended boys who inhabited the inns of chancery were heirs to good estates, and were trained to become their wealth rather than to increase it--to perfect themselves in graceful arts, rather than to qualify themselves to hold briefs. the same was the case in the inns of court, which were so designated--not because they prepared young men to rise in courts of law, but because they taught them to shine in the palaces of kings. it is a mistake to suppose that the inns of court contain at the present time a larger proportion of idle members, who have no intention to practise at the bar, than they contained under the plantagenets and tudors. on the contrary, in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, the number of templars who merely played at being lawyers, or were lawyers only in name, was actually as well as relatively greater than the merely _nominal_ lawyers of the temple at the present time. for several generations, and for two centuries after sir john fortescue wrote the 'de laudibus,' the inns-of-court man was more busied in learning to sing than in learning to argue a law cause, more desirous to fence with a sword than to fence with logic. "notwithstanding," runs mulcaster's translation of the 'de laudibus,'[ ] "the same lawes are taught and learned, in a certaine place of publique or common studie, more convenient and apt for attayninge to the knowledge of them, than any other university. for theyr place of studie is situate nigh to the kinges courts, where the same lawes are pleaded and argued, and judgements by the same given by judges, men of gravitie, auncient in yeares, perfit and graduate in the same lawes. wherefore, euerie day in court, the students in those lawes resorte by great numbers into those courts wherein the same lawes are read and taught, as it were in common schooles. this place of studie is far betweene the place of the said courts and the cittie of london, which of all thinges necessarie is the plentifullest of all cities and townes of the realme. so that the said place of studie is not situate within the cittie, where the confluence of people might disturb the quietnes of the studentes, but somewhat severall in the suburbes of the same cittie, and nigher to the saide courts, that the studentes may dayelye at their pleasure have accesse and recourse thither without weariness." setting forth the condition and pursuits of law-students in his day, sir john fortesque continues; "for in these greater inns, there can no student bee mayntayned for lesse expenses by the yeare than twentye markes. and if hee have a servaunt to wait uppon him, as most of them have, then so much the greater will his charges bee. nowe, by reason of this charge, the children onely of noblemenne doo studye the lawes in those innes. for the poore and common sorte of the people are not able to bear so great charges for the exhibytion of theyr chyldren. and marchaunt menne can seldome finde in theyr heartes to hynder theyr merchaundise with so greate yearly expenses. and it thus falleth out that there is scant anye man founde within the realme skilfull and cunning in the lawes, except he be a gentleman borne, and come of noble stocke. wherefore they more than any other kinde of men have a speciall regarde to their nobility, and to the preservation of their honor and fame. and to speake upryghtlye, there is in these greater innes, yea, and in the lesser too, beside the studie of the lawes, as it were an university or schoole of all commendable qualities requisite for noble men. there they learn to sing, and to exercise themselves in all kinde of harmonye. there also they practice daunsing, and other noblemen's pastimes, as they use to do, which are brought up in the king's house. on the working dayes, the most of them apply themselves to the studye of the lawe, and on the holye dayes to the studye of holye scripture;[ ] and out of the tyme of divine service, to the reading of chronicles. for there indeede are vertues studied, and vices exiled. so that, for the endowment of vertue, and abandoning of vice, knights and barrons, with other states and noblemen of the realme, place their children in those innes, though they desire not to have them learned in the lawes, nor to lieue by the practice thereof, but onely uppon their father's allowance. scant at anye tyme is there heard among them any sedition, chyding, or grudging, and yet the offenders are punished with none other payne, but onely to bee amooved from the compayne of their fellowshippe. which punishment they doo more feare than other criminall offendours doo feare imprisonment and yrons: for hee that is once expelled from anye of those fellowshippes is never received to bee a felowe in any of the other fellowshippes. and so by this means there is continuall peace; and their demeanor is lyke the behaviour of such as are coupled together in perfect amytie." any person familiar with the inns of court at the present time will see how closely the law-colleges of victoria's london resemble in many important particulars the law-colleges of fortescue's period. after the fashion of four centuries since young men are still induced to enter them for the sake of honorable companionship, good society, and social prestige, rather than for the sake of legal education. after the remarks already made with regard to musical lawyers in a previous section of this work, it is needless to say that inns of court men are not remarkable for their application to vocal harmony; but the younger members are still remarkable for the zeal with which they endeavor to master the accomplishments which distinguish men of fashion and tone. if the nominal (sometimes they are called 'ornamental') barristers of the fifteenth century liked to read the holy scriptures, the young lawyers of the nineteenth century are no less disposed to read their bibles critically, and argue as to the merits of bishop colenso and his opponents. moreover, the discipline described by fortescue is still found sufficient to maintain order in the inns. writing more than a century after fortescue, sir john ferne, in his 'blazon of gentrie, the glory of generosity, and the lacy's nobility,' observes: "nobleness of blood, joyned with virtue, compteth the person as most meet to the enterprize of any public service; and for that cause it was not for nought that our antient governors in this land, did with a special foresight and wisdom provide, that none should be admitted into the houses of court, being seminaries sending forth men apt to the government of justice, except he were a gentleman of blood. and that this may seem a truth, i myself have seen a kalendar of all those which were together in the society of one of the same houses, about the last year of king henry the fifth, with the armes of their house and family marshalled by their names; and i assure you, the self same monument doth both approve them all to be gentlemen of perfect descents and also the number of them much less than now it is, being at that time in one house scarcely three score."[ ] this passage from an author who delighted to magnify the advantages of generous descent, has contributed to the very general and erroneous impression that until comparatively recent times the members of the english bar were necessarily drawn from the highest ranks of society; and several excellent writers on the antiquities of the law have laid aside their customary caution and strengthened ferne's words with inaccurate comment. thus pearce says of the author of the 'glory of generositie'--"he was one of the advocates for excluding from the inns of court all who were not 'a gentleman by blood,' according to the ancient rule mentioned by fortescue, which seems to have been disregarded in elizabeth's time." fortescue nowhere mentions any such rule, but attributes the aristocratic character of the law-colleges to the high cost of membership. far from implying that men of mean extraction were excluded by an express prohibition, his words justify the inference that no such rule existed in his time. though inns-of-court men were for many generations gentlemen by birth almost without a single exception, it yet remains to be proved that plebeian birth at any period disqualified persons for admission to the law-colleges. if such a restriction ever existed it had disappeared before the close of the fifteenth century--a period not favorable to the views of those who were most anxious to remove the barriers placed by feudal society between the gentle and the vulgar. sir john more (the father of the famous sir thomas) was a judge in the king's bench, although his parentage was obscure; and it is worthy of notice that he was a successful lawyer of fortescue's period. lord chancellor audley was not entitled to bear arms by birth, but was merely the son of a prosperous yeoman. the lowliness of his extraction cannot have been any serious impediment to him, for before the end of his thirty-sixth year he was a sergeant. in the following century the inns received a steadily increasing number of students, who either lacked generous lineage or were the offspring of shameful love. for instance, chief justice wray's birth was scandalous; and if lord ellesmere in his youth reflected with pride on the dignity of his father, sir richard egerton, he had reason to blush for his mother. ferne's lament over the loss of heraldric virtue and splendor, which the inns had sustained in his time, testifies to the presence of a considerable plebeian element amongst the members of the law-university. but that which was marked in the sixteenth was far more apparent in the seventeenth century. scroggs's enemies were wrong in stigmatizing him as a butcher's son, for the odious chief justice was born and bred a gentleman, and jeffreys could boast a decent extraction; but there is abundance of evidence that throughout the reigns of the stuarts the inns swarmed with low-born adventurers. the career of chief justice saunders, who, beginning as a "poor beggar boy," of unknown parentage, raised himself to the chiefship of the king's bench, shows how low an origin a judge might have in the seventeenth century. to mention the names of such men as parker, king, yorke, ryder, and the scotts, without placing beside them the names of such men as henley, harcourt, bathurst, talbot, murray, and erskine, would tend to create an erroneous impression that in the eighteenth century the bar ceased to comprise amongst its industrious members a large aristocratic element. the number of barristers, however, who in that period brought themselves by talent and honorable perseverance into the foremost rank of the legal profession in spite of humble birth, unquestionably shows that ambitious men from the obscure middle classes were more frequently than in any previous century found pushing their fortunes in westminster hall. lord macclesfield was the son of an attorney whose parents were of lowly origin, and whose worldly means were even lower than their ancestral condition. lord chancellor king's father was a grocer and salter who carried on a retail business at exeter; and in his youth the chancellor himself had acted as his father's apprentice--standing behind the counter and wearing the apron and sleeves of a grocer's servitor. philip yorke was the son of a country attorney who could boast neither wealth nor gentle descent. chief justice ryder was the son of a mercer whose shop stood in west smithfield, and grandson of a dissenting minister, who, though he bore the name, is not known to have inherited the blood of the yorkshire ryders. sir william blackstone was the fourth son of a silkman and citizen of london. lords stowell and eldon were the children of a provincial tradesman. the learned and good sir samuel romilly's father was peter romilly, jeweller, of frith street, soho. such were the origins of some of the men who won the prizes of the law in comparatively recent times. the present century has produced an even greater number of barristers who have achieved eminence, and are able to say with honest pride that they are the _first_ gentlemen mentioned in their pedigrees; and so thoroughly has the bar become an open profession, accessible to all persons[ ] who have the means of gentlemen, that no barrister at the present time would have the bad taste or foolish hardihood to express openly his regret that the members of a liberal profession should no longer pay a hurtful attention to illiberal distinctions. according to fortescue, the law-students belonging at the same time to the inns of court and chancery numbered _at least_ one thousand eight hundred in the fifteenth century; and it may be fairly inferred from his words that their number considerably exceeded two thousand. to each of the ten inns of chancery the author of the 'de laudibus' assigns "an hundred students at the least, and to some of them a much greater number;" and he says that the least populous of the four inns of court contained "two hundred students or thereabouts." at the present time the number of barristers--together with fellows of the college of advocates, and certificated special pleaders and conveyancers not at the bar--is shown by the law list for to be somewhat more than .[ ] even when it is borne in mind how much the legal business of the whole nation has necessarily increased with the growth of our commercial prosperity--it being at the same time remembered, upon the other hand, how many times the population of the country has doubled itself since the wars of the roses--few persons will be of opinion that the legal profession, either by the number of its practitioners or its command of employment, is a more conspicuous and prosperous power at the present time than it was in the fifteenth century. ferne was by no means the only gentleman of elizabethan london to deplore the rapid increase in the number of lawyers, and to regret the growing liberality which encouraged--or rather the national prosperity which enabled--men of inferior parentage to adopt the law as a profession. in his address on mr. clerke's elevation to the dignity of a sergeant, lord chancellor hatton, echoing the common complaint concerning the degradation of the law through the swarms of plebeian students and practitioners, observed--"let not the dignitie of the lawe be geven to men unmeete. and i do exhorte you all that are heare present not to call men to the barre or the benches that are so unmeete. i finde that there are now more at the barre in one house than there was in all the innes of court when i was a younge man." notwithstanding the chancellor's earnest statement of his personal recollection of the state of things when he was a young man, there is reason to think that he was quite in error in thinking that lawyers had increased so greatly in number. from a ms. in lord burleigh's collection, it appears that in the number of law-students, resident during term, was only --a smaller number than that which fortescue computed the entire population of the london law-students, at a time when civil war had cruelly diminished the number of men likely to join an aristocratic university. sir edward coke estimated the roll of elizabethan law-students at one thousand, half their number in fortescue's time. coke, however, confined his attention in this matter to the students of inns of court, and paid no attention to inns of chancery. either hatton greatly exaggerated the increase of the legal working profession; or in previous times the proportion of law-students who never became barristers greatly exceeded those who were ultimately called to the bar. something more than a hundred years later, the old cry against the low-born adventurers, who, to the injury of the public and the degradation of the law, were said to overwhelm counsellors and solicitors of superior tone and pedigree, was still frequently heard in the coteries of disappointed candidates for employment in westminster hall, and on the lips of men whose hopes of achieving social distinction were likely to be frustrated so long as plebeian learning and energy were permitted to have free action. in his 'history of hertfordshire' (published in ), sir henry chauncey, sergeant-at-law, exclaims: "but now these mechanicks, ambitious of rule and government, often educate their sons in these seminaries of law, whereby they overstock the profession, and so make it contemptible; whilst the gentry, not sensible of the mischief they draw upon themselves, but also upon the nation, prefer them in their business before their own children, whom they bereave of their employment, formerly designed for their support; qualifying their servants, by the profit of this profession, to purchase their estates, and by this means make them their lords and masters, whilst they lessen the trade of the kingdom, and cause a scarcity of husbandmen, workmen, artificers, and servants in the nation." that the inns of court became less and less aristocratic throughout the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries there is no reason to doubt; but it may be questioned whether it was so overstocked with competent working members, as poor sir henry chauncey imagined it. describing the state of the inns some two generations later, blackstone computed the number of law-students at about a thousand, perhaps slightly more; and he observes that in his time the merely _nominal_ law-students were comparatively few. "wherefore," he says, "few gentlemen now resort to the inns of court, but such for whom the knowledge of practice is absolutely necessary; such, i mean, as are intended for the profession; the rest of our gentry, (not to say our nobility also) having usually retired to their estates, or visited foreign kingdoms, or entered upon public life, without any instruction in the laws of the land, and indeed with hardly any opportunity of gaining instruction, unless it can be afforded to them in the universities." the folly of those who lamented that men of plebeian rank were allowed to adopt the legal profession as a means of livelihood, was however exceeded by the folly of men of another sort, who endeavored to hide the humble extractions of eminent lawyers, under the ingenious falsehoods of fictitious pedigrees. in the last century, no sooner had a lawyer of humble birth risen to distinction, than he was pestered by fabricators of false genealogies, who implored him to accept their silly romances about his ancestry. in most cases, these ridiculous applicants hoped to receive money for their dishonest representations; but not seldom it happened that they were actuated by a sincere desire to protect the heraldic honor of the law from the aspersions of those who maintained that a man might fight his way to the woolsack, although his father had been a tender of swine. sometimes these imaginative chroniclers, not content with fabricating a genealogical chart for a _parvenu_ lord chancellor, insisted that he should permit them to write their lives in such a fashion, that their earlier experiences should seem to be in harmony with their later fortunes. lord macclesfield (the son of a poor and ill-descended country attorney), was traced by officious adulators to reginald le parker, who accompanied edward i., while prince of wales, to the holy land. in like manner a manufacturer of genealogies traced lord eldon to sir michael scott of balwearie. when one of this servile school of worshippers approached lord thurlow with an assurance that he was of kin with cromwell's secretary thurloe, the chancellor, with bluff honesty, responded, "sir, as mr. secretary thurloe was, like myself, a suffolk man, you have an excuse for your mistake. in the seventeenth century two thurlows, who were in no way related to each other, flourished in suffolk. one was cromwell's secretary thurloe, the other was thurlow, the suffolk carrier. i am descended from the carrier." notwithstanding lord thurlow's frequent and consistent disavowals of pretension to any heraldic pedigree, his collateral descendants are credited in the 'peerages' with a descent from an ancient family. [ ] this charming book was written during the author's exile, which began in . [ ] this passage is one of several passages in pre-reformation english literature which certify that the bible was much more widely and carefully read by lettered and studious layman, in times prior to the rupture between england and rome, than many persons are aware, and some violent writers like to acknowledge. [ ] pathetically deploring the change wrought by time, ferne also observes of the inns of court,--"pity to see the same places, through the malignity of the times, and the negligence of those which should have had care to the same, been altered quite from their first institution." [ ] it is not unusual now-a-days to see on the screened list of students about to be called to the bar the names of gentlemen who have caused themselves to be described in the quasi-public lists as the sons of tradesmen. some few years since a gentleman who has already made his name known amongst juniors, was thus 'screened'in the four halls as the son of a petty tradesman in an obscure quarter of london; and assuming that his conduct was due to self-respect and affectionate regard for his parent, it seemed to most observers that the young lawyer, in thus frankly stating his lowly origin, acted with spirit and dignity. it may be that years hence this highly-accomplished gentleman will, like lord tenterden and lord st. leonards (both of whom were the sons of honest but humble tradesmen), see his name placed upon the roll of england's hereditary noblesse. [ ] of this number about reside in or near london and maintain some apparent connexion with the inns of court. of the remainder, some reside in scotland, some in ireland, some in the english provinces, some in the colonies; whilst some of them, although their names are still on the law list, have ceased to regard themselves as members of the legal profession. chapter xxxv. law-french and law-latin. no circumstances of the norman conquest more forcibly illustrate the humiliation of the conquered people, than the measures by which the invaders imposed their language on the public courts of the country, and endeavored to make it permanently usurp the place of the mother-tongue of the despised multitude; and no fact more signally displays our conservative temper than the general reluctance of english society to relinquish the use of the french words and phrases which still tincture the language of parliament, and the procedures of westminster hall, recalling to our minds the insolent domination of a few powerful families who occupied our country by force, and ruled our forefathers with vigorous injustice. frenchmen by birth, education, sympathy, william's barons did their utmost to make england a new france: and for several generations the descendants of the successful invaders were no less eager to abolish every usage which could remind the vanquished race of their lost supremacy. french became the language of parliament and the council-chamber. it was spoken by the judges who dispensed justice in the name of a french king, and by the lawyers who followed the royal court in the train of the french-speaking judges. in the hunting-field and the lists no gentleman entitled to bear coat-armour deigned to utter a word of english: it was the same in fives' court and at the gambling-table. schoolmasters were ordered to teach their pupils to construe from latin into french, instead of into english; and young men of anglo-saxon extraction, bent on rising in the world by native talent and norman patronage, labored to acquire the language of the ruling class and forget the accents of their ancestors. the language and usages of modern england abound with traces of the french of this period. to every act that obtained the royal assent during last session of parliament, the queen said "la reyne le veult." every bill which is sent up from the commons to the lords, an officer of the lower house endorses with "soit bailé aux seigneurs;" and no bill is ever sent down from the lords to the commons until a corresponding officer of the upper house has written on its back, "soit bailé aux communes." in like manner our parochial usages, local sports, and domestic games continually remind us of the obstinate tenacity with which the anglo-saxon race has preserved, and still preserves, the vestiges of its ancient subjection to a foreign yoke. the crier of a country town, in any of england's fertile provinces, never proclaims the loss of a yeoman's sporting-dog, the auction of a bankrupt dealer's stock-in-trade, or the impounding of a strayed cow, until he has commanded, in norman-french, the attention of the sleepy rustics. the language of the stable and the kennel is rich in traces of norman influence; and in backgammon, as played by orthodox players, we have a suggestive memorial of those norman nobles, of whom fortescue, in the 'de laudibus' observes: "neither had they delyght to hunt, and to exercise other sportes and pastimes, as dyce-play and the hand-ball, but in their own proper tongue." in behalf of the norman _noblesse_ it should be borne in mind that their policy in this matter was less intentionally vexatious and insolent than it has appeared to superficial observers. in the great majority of causes the suitors were frenchmen; and it was just as reasonable that they should like to understand the arguments of their counsel and judges, as it is reasonable for suitors in the present day to require the proceedings in westminster hall to be clothed in the language most familiar to the majority of persons seeking justice in its courts. if the use of french pleadings was hard on the one anglo-saxon suitor who demanded justice in henry i.'s time, the use of english pleadings would have been equally annoying to the nine french gentlemen who appeared for the same purpose in the king's court. it was greatly to be desired that the two races should have one common language; and common sense ordained that the tongue of the one or the other race should be adopted as the national language. which side therefore was to be at the pains to learn a new tongue? should the conquerors labor to acquire anglo-saxon? or should the conquered be required to learn french? in these days the cultivated englishmen who hold india by military force, even as the norman invaders held england, by the right of might, settle a similar question by taking upon themselves the trouble of learning as much of the asiatic dialects as is necessary for purposes of business. but the norman barons were not cultivated; and for many generations ignorance was with them an affair of pride no less than of constitutional inclination. soon ambitious englishmen acquired the new language, in order to use it as an instrument for personal advancement. the saxon stripling who could keep accounts in norman fashion, and speak french as fluently as his mother tongue, might hope to sell his knowledge in a good market. as the steward of a norman baron he might negotiate between my lord and my lord's tenants, letting my lord know as much of his tenant's wishes, and revealing to the tenants as much of their lord's intentions as suited his purpose. uniting in his own person the powers of interpreter, arbitrator, and steward, he possessed enviable opportunities and facilities for acquiring wealth. not seldom, when he had grown rich, or whilst his fortunes were in the ascendant, he assumed a french name as well as a french accent; and having persuaded himself and his younger neighbors that he was a frenchman, he in some cases bequeathed to his children an ample estate and a norman pedigree. in certain causes in the law courts the agent (by whatever title known) who was a perfect master of the three languages (french, latin, and english) had greatly the advantage over an opposing agent who could speak only french and latin. from the conquest till the latter half of the fourteenth century the pleadings in courts of justice were in norman-french; but in the ed. iii., it was ordained by the king "that all plees, which be to be pleded in any of his courts, before any of his justices; or in his other places; or before any of his other ministers; or in the courts and places of any other lords within the realm, shall be pleded, shewed, and defended, answered, debated, and judged in the english tongue, and that they be entred and enrolled in latine. and that the laws and customs of the same realm, termes, and processes, be holden and kept as they be, and have been before this time; and that by the antient termes and forms of the declarations no man be prejudiced; so that the matter of the action be fully shewed in the demonstration and in the writ." long before this wise measure of reform was obtained by the urgent wishes of the nation, the french of the law courts had become so corrupt and unlike the language of the invaders, that it was scarcely more intelligible to educated natives of france than to most englishmen of the highest rank. a jargon compounded of french and latin, none save professional lawyers could translate it with readiness or accuracy; and whilst it unquestionably kept suitors in ignorance of their own affairs, there is reason to believe that it often perplexed the most skilful of those official interpreters who were never weary of extolling his lucidity and precision. but though english lawyers were thus expressly forbidden in to plead in law-french, they persisted in using the hybrid jargon for reports and treatises so late as george ii.'s reign; and for an equal length of time they seized every occasion to introduce scraps of law-french into their speeches at the bars of the different courts. it should be observed that these antiquarian advocates were enabled thus to display their useless erudition by the provisions of king edward's act, which, while it forbade french _pleadings_, specially ordained the retention of french terms. roger north's essay 'on the study of the laws' contains amusing testimony to the affection with which the lawyers of his day regarded their law-french, and also shows how largely it was used till the close of the seventeenth century by the orators of westminster hall. "here i must stay to observe," says the author, enthusiastically, "the necessity of a student's early application to learn the old law-french, for these books, and most others of considerable authority, are delivered in it. some may think that because the law-french is no better than the old norman corrupted, and now a deformed hotch-potch of the english and latin mixed together, it is not fit for a polite spark to foul himself with; but this nicety is so desperate a mistake, that lawyer and law-french are coincident; one will not stand without the other." so enamored was he of the grace and excellence of law-reporters' french, that he regarded it as a delightful study for a man of fashion, and maintained that no barrister would do justice to the law and the interests of his clients who did not season his sentences with norman verbiage. "the law," he held, "is scarcely expressible properly in english, and when it is done, it must be _françoise_, or very uncouth." edward iii.'s measure prohibitory of french pleadings had therefore comparatively little influence on the educational course of law-students. the published reports of trials, known by the name of year-books, were composed in french, until the series terminated in the time of henry viii.; and so late as george ii.'s reign, chief baron comyn preferred such words as 'chemin,' 'dismes,' and 'baron and feme,' to such words as 'highway,' 'tithes,' 'husband and wife.' more liberal than the majority of his legal brethren, even as his enlightenment with regard to public affairs exceeded that of ordinary politicians of his time, sir edward coke wrote his commentaries in english, but when he published them, he felt it right to soothe the alarm of lawyers by assuring them that his departure from ancient usage could have no disastrous consequences. "i cannot conjecture," he apologetically observes in his preface, "that the general communicating these laws in the english tongue can work any inconvenience." some of the primary text-books of legal lore had been rendered into english, and some most valuable treatises had been written and published in the mother tongue of the country; but in the seventeenth century no inns-of-court man could acquire an adequate acquaintance with the usages and rules of our courts and the decisions of past judges, until he was able to study the year-books and read littleton in the original. to acquire this singular language--a _dead_ tongue that cannot be said to have ever lived--was the first object of the law-student. he worked at it in his chamber, and with faltering and uncertain accents essayed to speak it at the periodic mootings in which he was required to take part before he could be called to the bar, and also after he had become an utter-barrister. in his 'autobiography,' sir simonds d'ewes makes mention in several places of his law-french exercises (_temp._ james i.), and in one place of his personal story he observes, "i had twice mooted in law-french before i was called to the bar, and several times after i was made an utter-barrister, in our open hall. thrice also before i was of the bar, i argued the reader's cases at the inns of chancery publicly, and six times afterwards. and then also, being an utter-barrister, i had twice argued our middle-temple reader's case at the cupboard, and sat nine times in our hall at the bench, and argued such cases in english as had before been argued by young gentlemen or utter-barristers in law-french bareheaded." amongst the excellent changes by which the more enlightened of the commonwealth lawyers sought to lessen the public clamor of law-reform was the resolution that all legal records should be kept, and all writs composed, in the language of the country. hitherto the law records had been kept in a latin that was quite as barbarous as the french used by the reporters; and the determination to abolish a custom which served only to obscure the operations of justice and to confound the illiterate was hailed by the more intelligent purchasers of law as a notable step in the right direction. but the reform was by no means acceptable to the majority of the bar, who did not hesitate to stigmatize the measure as a dangerous innovation--which would prove injurious to learned lawyers and peace-loving citizens, although it might possibly serve the purposes of ignorant counsel and litigious 'lay gents.'[ ]the legal literature of three generations following charles i.'s execution abounds with contemptuous allusions to the 'english times' of cromwell; the old-fashioned reporters, hugging their norman-french and looking with suspicion on popular intelligence, were vehement in expressing their contempt for the prevalent misuse of the mother tongue. "i have," observes styles, in the preface to his reports, "made these reports speak english; not that i believe that they will be thereby more generally useful, for i have always been and yet am of opinion, that that part of the common law which is in the english hath only occasioned the making of unquiet spirits contentiously knowing, and more apt to offend others than to defend themselves; but i have done it in obedience to authority, and to stop the mouths of such of this english age, who, though they be confessedly different in their minds and judgments, as the builders of babel were in their language, yet do think it vain, if not impious, to speak or understand more than their own mother tongue." in like manner, whitelock's uncle bulstrode, the celebrated reporter, says of the second part of his reports, "that he had manny years since perfected the words in french, in which language he had desired it might have seen the light, being most proper for it, and most convenient for the professors of the law." the restorers who raised charles ii. to his father's throne, lost no time in recalling latin to the records and writs; and so gladly did the reporters and the practising counsel avail themselves of the reaction in favor of discarded usages, that more law-french was written and talked in westminster hall during the time of the restored king, than had been penned and spoken throughout the first fifty years of the seventeenth century. the vexatious and indescribably absurd use of law-latin in records, writs, and written pleadings, was finally put an end to by statute george ii. c. ; but this bill, which discarded for legal processes a cumbrous and harsh language, that was alike unmusical and inexact, and would have been utterly unintelligible to a roman gentleman of the augustan period, did not become law without much opposition from some of the authorities of westminster hall. lord raymond, chief justice of the king's bench, spoke in accordance with opinions that had many supporters on the bench and at the bar, when he expressed his warm disapprobation of the proposed measure, and sarcastically observed "that if the bill paused, the law might likewise be translated into welsh, since many in wales understood not english." in the same spirit sir willian blackstone and more recent authorities have lamented the loss of law-latin. lord campbell, in the 'chancellors,' records that he "heard the late lord ellenborough from the bench regret the change, on the ground that it had had the tendency to make attorneys illiterate." the sneer by which lord raymond endeavored to cast discredit on the proposal to abolish law-latin, was recalled after the lapse of many years by sergeant heywood, who forthwith acted upon it as though it originated in serious thought. whilst acting as chief justice of the carmarthen circuit, the sergeant was presiding over a trial of murder, when it was discovered that neither the prisoner, nor any member of the jury, could understand a word of english; under these circumstances it was suggested that the evidence and the charge should be explained _verbatim_, to the prisoner and his twelve triers by an interpreter. to this reasonable petition that the testimony should be presented in a welsh dress, the judge replied that, "to accede to the request would be to repeal the act of parliament, which required that all proceedings in courts of justice should be in the english tongue, and that the case of a trial in wales, in which the prisoner and jury should not understand english, was a case not provided for, although the attention of the legislature had been called to it by that great judge lord raymond." the judge having thus decided, the inquiry proceeded--without the help of an interpreter--the counsel for the prosecution favoring the jury with an eloquent harangue, no single sentence of which was intelligible to them; a series of witnesses proving to english auditors, beyond reach of doubt, that the prisoner had deliberately murdered his wife; and finally the judge instructing the jury, in language which was as insignificant to their minds as the same quantity of obsolete law-french would have been, that it was their duty to return a verdict of 'guilty.' throwing themselves into the humor of the business, the welsh jurymen, although they were quite familiar with the facts of the case, acquitted the murderer, much to the encouragement of many wretched welsh husbands anxious for a termination of their matrimonial sufferings. [ ] in the seventeenth century, lawyers usually called their clients and the non-legal public 'lay gents.' chapter xxxvi. student life in old time. from statements made in previous chapters, it may be seen that in ancient times the law university was a far more conspicuous feature of the metropolis than it has been in more modern generations. in the fifteenth century the law students of the town numbered about two thousand; in elizabethan london their number fluctuated between one thousand and two thousand; towards the close of charles ii.'s reign they were probably much less than fifteen hundred; in the middle of the eighteenth century they do not seem to have much exceeded one thousand. thus at a time when the entire population of the capital was considerably less than the population of a third-rate provincial town of modern england, the inns of court and chancery contained more undergraduates than would be found on the books of the oxford colleges at the present time. henry viii.'s london looked to the university for mirth, news, trade. during vacations there was but little stir in the taverns and shops of fleet street; haberdashers and vintners sate idle; musicians starved; and the streets of the capital were comparatively empty when the students had withdrawn to spend their holidays in the country. as soon as the gentlemen of the robe returned to town all was brisk and merry again. as the town grew in extent and population, the social influence of the university gradually decreased; but in elizabethan london the _éclat_ of the inns was at its brightest, and during the reigns of elizabeth's two nearest successors london submitted to the inns-of-court men as arbiters of all matters pertaining to taste--copying their dress, slang, amusements, and vices. the same may be said, with less emphasis, of charles ii.'s london. under the 'merry monarch' theatrical managers were especially anxious to please the inns, for they knew that no play would succeed which the lawyers had resolved to damn--that no actor could achieve popularity if the gallants of the temple combined to laugh him down--that no company of performers could retain public favor when they had lost the countenance of law-colleges. something of this power the young lawyers retained beyond the middle of the last century. fielding and addison caught with nervous eagerness the critical gossip of the temple and chancery lane, just as congreve and wycherly, dryden and cowley had caught it in previous generations. fashionable tradesmen and caterers for the amusement of the public made their engagements and speculations with reference to the opening of term. new plays, new books, new toys were never offered for the first time to london purchasers when the lawyers were away. all that the 'season' is to modern london, the 'term' was to old london, from the accession of henry viii. to the death of george ii., and many of the existing commercial and fashionable arrangements of a london 'season' maybe traced to the old-world 'term.' in olden time the influence of the law-colleges was as great upon politics as upon fashion. sheltering members of every powerful family in the country they were centres of political agitation, and places for the secret discussion of public affairs. whatever plot was in course of incubation, the inns invariably harbored persons who were cognisant of the conspiracy. when faction decided on open rebellion or hidden treason, the agents of the malcontent leaders gathered together in the inns, where, so long as they did not rouse the suspicions of the authorities and maintained the bearing of studious men, they could hire assassins, plan risings, hold interviews with fellow-conspirators, and nurse their nefarious projects into achievement. at periods of danger therefore spies were set to watch the gates of the hostels, and mark who entered them. governments took great pains to ascertain the secret life of the collegians. a succession of royal directions for the discipline of the inns under the tudors and stuarts points to the jealousy and constant apprehensions with which the sovereigns of england long regarded those convenient lurking-places for restless spirits and dangerous adversaries. just as the student-quarter of paris is still watched by a vigilant police, so the inns of court were closely watched by the agents of wolsey and thomas cromwell, of burleigh and buckingham. during the troubles and contentions of elizabeth's reign lord burleigh was regularly informed concerning the life of the inns, the number of students in and out of town, the parentage and demeanor of new members, the gossip of the halls, and the rumors of the cloisters. in proportion as the political temper and action of the lawyers were deemed matters of high importance, their political indiscretions and misdemeanors were promptly and sometimes ferociously punished. an idle joke over a pot of wine sometimes cost a witty barrister his social rank and his ears. to promote a wholesome fear of authority in the colleges, government every now and then flogged a student at the cart's tail in holborn, or pilloried a sad apprentice of the law in chancery lane, or hung an ancient on a gibbet at the entrance of his inn. the anecdote-books abound with good stories that illustrate the political excitability of the inns in past times, and the energy with which ministers were wont to repress the first manifestations of insubordination. rushworth records the adventure of four young men of lincoln's inn who throw aside prudence and sobriety in a tavern hard by their inn, and drank to "the confusion of the archbishop of canterbury." the next day, full of penitence and head-ache, the offenders were brought before the council, and called to account for their scandalous conduct; when they would have fared ill had not the earl of dorset done them good service, and privately instructed them to say in their defence, that they had not drunk confusion to the archbishop but to the archbishop's _foes_. on this ingenious representation, the council supposed that the drawer--on whose information the proceedings were taken--had failed to catch the last word of the toast; and consequently the young gentlemen were dismissed with a 'light admonition,' much to their own surprise and the informer's chagrin. of the political explosiveness of the inns in charles ii.'s time narcissus luttrell gives the following illustration in his diary, under date june and , :--"the th was a project sett on foot in grayes inn for the carrying on an addresse for thankes to his majestie for his late declaration; and was moved that day in the hall by some at dinner, and being (as is usual) sent to the barre messe to be by them recommended to the bench, but was rejected both by bench and barr; but the other side seeing they could doe no good this way, they gott about forty together and went to the tavern, and there subscribed the said addresse in the name of the truelye loyall gentlemen of grayes inn. the chief sticklers for the said addition were sir william seroggs, jun., robert fairebeard, capt. stowe, capt. radcliffe, one yalden, with others, to the number of or thereabouts; many of them sharpers about town, with clerks not out of their time, and young men newly come from the university. and some of them went the th to windsor, and presented the said addresse to his majesty: who was pleasd to give them his thanks and confer (it is said) knighthood on the said mr. fairebeard; this proves a mistake since. the th was much such another addresse carried on in the middle temple, where several templars, meeting about one or two that afternoon in the hall for that purpose, they began to debate it, but they were opposed till the hall began to fill; and then the addressers called for mr. montague to take the chaire; on which a poll was demanded, but the addressers refused it, and carried mr. montague and sett him in the chaire, and the other part pulled him out, on which high words grew, and some blows were given; but the addressers seeing they could doe no good with it in the hall, adjourned to the divill tavern, and there signed the addresse; the other party kept in the hall, and fell to protesting against such illegall and arbitrary proceedings, subscribing their names to a greater number than the addressers were, and presented the same to the bench as a grievance." like the king's head tavern, which stood in chancery lane, the devil tavern, in fleet street, was a favorite house with the caroline lawyers. its proximity to the temple secured the special patronage of the templars, whereas the king's head was more frequented by lincoln's-inn men; and in the tavern-haunting days of the seventeenth century those two places of entertainment saw many a wild and dissolute scene. unlike chattelin, who endeavored to satisfy his guests with delicate repasts and light wines, the hosts of the devil and the king's head provided the more substantial fare of old england, and laid themselves out to please roysterers who liked pots of ale in the morning, and were wont to drink brandy by the pint as the clocks struck midnight. nando's, the house where thurlow in his student-period used to hold nightly disputations with all comers of suitable social rank, was an orderly place in comparison with these more venerable hostelries; and though the mitre, cock, and rainbow have witnessed a good deal of deep drinking, it may be questioned if they, or any other ancient taverns of the legal quarter, encouraged a more boisterous and reckless revelry than that which constituted the ordinary course of business at the king's head and the devil. in his notes for jan. - , mr. narcissus luttrell observes--"the th, at night, some young gentlemen of the temple went to the king's head tavern, chancery lane, committing strange outrages there, breaking windowes, &c., which the watch hearing of came to disperse them; but they sending for severall of the watermen with halberts that attend their comptroller of the revells, were engaged in a desperate riott, in which one of the watchmen was run into the body and lies very ill; but the watchmen secured one or two of the watermen." eleven years later the diarist records: "jan. . one batsill, a young gentleman of the temple, was committed to newgate for wounding a captain at the devil tavern in fleet street on saturday last." such ebullitions of manly spirit--ebullitions pleasant enough to the humorist, but occasionally productive of very disagreeable and embarrassing consequences--were not uncommon in the neighborhood of the inns of court whilst the christmas revels were in progress. a tempestuous, hot-blooded, irascible set were these gentlemen of the law-colleges, more zealous for their own honor than careful for the feelings of their neighbors. alternately warring with sharp tongues, sharp pens, and sharp swords they went on losing their tempers, friends, and lives in the most gallant and picturesque manner imaginable. here is a nice little row which occurred in the middle temple hall during the days of good queen bess! "the records of the society," says mr. foss, "preserve an account of the expulsion of a member, which is rendered peculiarly interesting in consequence of the eminence to which the delinquent afterwards attained as a statesman, a poet, and a lawyer. whilst the masters of the bench and other members of the society were sitting quietly at dinner on february , - , john davis came into the hall with his hat on his head, and attended by two persons armed with swords, and going up to the barrister's table, where richard martin was sitting, he pulled out from under his gown a cudgel 'quem vulgariter vocant a bastinado,' and struck him over the head repeatedly, and with so much violence that the bastinado was shivered into many pieces. then retiring to the bottom of the hall, he drew one of his attendants' swords and flourished it over his head, turning his face towards martin, and then turning away down the water steps of the temple, threw himself into a boat. for this outrageous act he was immediately disbarred and expelled the house, and deprived for ever of all authority to speak or consult in law. after nearly four years' retirement he petitioned the benchers for his restoration, which they accorded on october , , upon his making a public submission in the hall, and asking pardon of mr. martin, who at once generously forgave him." both the principals in this scandalous outbreak and subsequent reconciliation became honorably known in their profession--martin rising to be a recorder of london and a member of parliament; and davies acting as attorney general of ireland and speaker of the irish parliament, and achieving such a status in politics and law that he was appointed to the chief justiceship of england, an office, however, which sudden death prevented him from filling. nor must it be imagined that gay manners and lax morals were less general amongst the veterans than amongst the youngsters of the bar. judges and sergeants were quite as prone to levity and godless riot as students about to be called; and such was the freedom permitted by professional decorum that leading advocates habitually met their clients in taverns, and having talked themselves dry at the bars of westminster hall, drank themselves speechless at the bars of strand taverns--ere they reeled again into their chambers. the same habits of uproarious self-indulgence were in vogue with the benchers of the inns, and the doctors of doctors' commons. hale's austerity was the exceptional demeanor of a pious man protesting against the wickedness of an impious age. had it not been for the shortness of time that had elapsed since algernon sidney's trial and sentence, john evelyn would have seen no reason for censuring the loud hilarity and drunkenness of jeffreys and withings at mrs. castle's wedding. in some respects, however, the social atmosphere of the inns was far more wholesome in the days of elizabeth, and for the hundred years following her reign, than it is at present. sprung in most cases from legal families, the students who were educated to be working members of the bar lived much more under the observation of their older relations, and in closer intercourse with their mothers and sisters than they do at present. now-a-days young templars, fresh from the universities, would be uneasy and irritable under strict domestic control; and as men with beards and five-and-twenty years' knowledge of the world, they would resent any attempt to draw them within the lines of domestic control. but in elizabethan and also in stuart london, law-students were considerably younger than they are under victoria. moreover, the usage of the period trained young men to submit with cheerfulness to a parental discipline that would be deemed intolerable by our own youngsters. during the first terms of their eight, seven, or at least six years of pupilage, until they could secure quarters within college walls, students frequently lodged in the houses or chambers of near relations who were established in the immediate vicinity of the inns. a judge with a house in fleet street, an eminent counsel with a family mansion in holborn, or an office-holder with commodious chambers in chancery lane, usually numbered amongst the members of his family a son, or nephew, or cousin who was keeping terms for the bar. thus placed under the immediate superintendence of an elder whom he regarded with affection and pride, and surrounded by the wholesome interests of a refined domestic circle, the raw student was preserved from much folly and ill-doing into which he would have fallen had he been thrown entirely on his own resources for amusement. the pecuniary means of inns-of-court students have not varied much throughout the last twelve generations. in days when money was scarce and very precious they of course lived on a smaller number of coins than they require in these days when gold and silver are comparatively abundant and cheap; but it is reasonable to suppose that in every period the allowances, on which the less affluent of them subsisted, represent the amounts on which young men of their respective times were just able to maintain the figure and style of independent gentlemen. the costly pageants and feasts of the inns in old days must not be taken as indicative of the pecuniary resources of the common run of students; for the splendor of those entertainments was mainly due to the munificence of those more wealthy members who by a liberal and even profuse expenditure purchased a right to control the diversions of the colleges. fortescue, speaking of his own time, says: "there can no student bee mayntayned for lesse expenses by the yeare than twentye markes. and if hee haue a seruant to waite uppon him, as most of them haue, then so much the greater will his charges bee." hence it appears that during the most patrician period of the law university, when wealthy persons were accustomed to maintain ostentatious retinues of servants, a law-student often had no private personal attendant. an ordinance shows that in elizabethan london the inns-of-court men were waited upon by laundresses or bedmakers who served and took wages from several masters at the same time. it would be interesting to ascertain the exact time when the "laundress" was first introduced into the temple. she certainly flourished in the days of queen bess; and roger north's piquant description of his brother's laundress is applicable to many of her successors who are looking after their perquisites at the present date. "the housekeeper," says roger, "had been formerly his lordship's laundress at the temple, and knew well her master's brother so early as when he was at the writing-school. she _was a phthisical old woman, and could scarce crawl upstairs once a day_." this general employment of servants who were common to several masters would alone prove that the inns-of-court men in the seventeenth century felt it convenient to husband their resources, and exercise economy. throughout that century sixty pounds was deemed a sufficient income for a temple student; and though it was a scant allowance, some young fellows managed to push on with a still more modest revenue. simonds d'ewes had £ per annum during his student course, and £ a year on becoming an utter-barrister. "it pleased god also in mercy," he writes, "after this to ease me of that continual want or short stipend i had for about five years last past groaned under; for my father, immediately on my call to the bar, enlarged my former allowance with forty pounds more annually; so as, after this plentiful annuity of one hundred pounds was duly and quarterly paid me by him, i found myself easyd of so many cares and discontents as i may well account that the th day of june foregoing the first day of my outward happiness since the decease of my dearest mother." all things considered, a bachelor in james i.'s london with a clear income of £ per annum was on the whole as well off for his time as a young barrister of the present day would be with an annual allowance of £ or £ . francis north, when a student, was allowed only £ per annum; and as soon as he was called and began to earn a little money, his parsimonious father reduced the stipend by £ ; but, adds roger north, "to do right to his good father, he paid him that fifty pounds a year as long as he lived, saying he would not discourage industry by rewarding it, when successful, with less." george jeffreys, in his student-days, smarted under a still more galling penury, for he was allowed only £ a year, £ being for his clothes, and £ for the rest of his expenditure. in the following century the nominal incomes of law-students rose in proportion as the wealth of the country increased and the currency fell in value. in george ii.'s time a young templar expected his father to allow him £ a year, and on encouragement would spend twice that amount in the same time. henry fielding's allowance from general fielding was £ per annum; but as he said, with a laugh, he had too feeling and dutiful a nature to press an affectionate father for money which he was totally unable to pay. at the present time £ per annum is about the smallest sum on which a law-student can live with outward decency; and £ per annum the lowest amount on which a chamber barrister can live with suitable dignity and comfort. if he has to maintain the expenses of a distant circuit mr. briefless requires from £ to £ more. alas! how many of mr. briefless's meritorious and most ornamental kind are compelled to shift on far less ample means! how many of them periodically repeat the jest of poor a----, who made this brief and suggestive official return to the income tax commissioners--"i am totally dependent on my father, who allows me--nothing!" chapter xxxvii. readers and mootmen. romantic eulogists of the inns of court maintain that, as an instrument of education, the law-university was nearly perfect for many generations after its consolidation. that in modern time abuses have impaired its faculties and diminished its usefulness they admit. some of them are candid enough to allow that, as a school for the systematic study of law, it is under existing circumstances a deplorably deficient machine; but they unite in declaring that there _was_ a time when the system of the combined colleges was complete and thoroughly efficacious. the more cautious of these eulogists decline to state the exact limits of the period when the actual condition of the university merited their cordial approval, but they concur in pointing to the years between the accession of henry vii. and the death of james i., as comprising the brightest days of its academical vigor and renown. it is however worthy of observation that throughout the times when the legal learning and discipline of the colleges are described to have been admirable, the system and the students by no means won the approbation of those critical authorities who were best able to see their failings and merits. wolsey was so strongly impressed by the faulty education of the barristers who practised before him, and more especially by their total ignorance of the principles of jurisprudence, that he prepared a plan for a new university which should be established in london, and should impart a liberal and exact knowledge of law. had he lived to carry out his scheme it is most probable that the inns of court and chancery would have become subsidiary and subordinate establishments to the new foundation. in this matter, sympathizing with the more enlightened minds of his age, sir nicholas bacon was no less desirous than the great cardinal that a new law university should be planted in town, and he urged on henry viii. the propriety of devoting a certain portion of the confiscated church property to the foundation and endowment of such an institution. on paper the scheme of the old exercises and degrees looks very imposing, and those who delight in painting fancy pictures may infer from them that the scholastic order of the colleges was perfect. before a young man could be called to the bar, he had under ordinary circumstances to spend seven or eight years in arguing cases at the inns of chancery, in proving his knowledge of law and law-french at moots, in sharpening his wits at case-putting, in patient study of the year-books, and in watching the trials of westminster hall. after his call he was required to spend another period in study and academic exercise before he presumed to raise his voice at the bar; and in his progress to the highest rank of his profession he was expected to labor in educating the students of his house as assistant-reader, single-reader, double-reader. the gravest lawyers of every inn were bound to aid in the task of teaching the mysteries of the law to the rising generation. the old ordinances assumed that the law-student was thirsting for a knowledge of law, and that the veterans were no less eager to impart it. during term law was talked in hall at dinner and supper, and after these meals the collegians argued points. "the cases were put" after the earlier repast, and twice or thrice a week moots were "brought in" after the later meal. the students were also encouraged to assemble towards the close of each day and practise 'case-putting' in their gardens and in the cloisters of the temple or lincoln's inn. the 'great fire' of - having destroyed the temple cloisters, some of the benchers proposed to erect chambers on the ground, to and fro upon which law-students had for generations walked whilst they wrangled aloud; but the earl of nottingham, recalling the days when young heneage finch used to put cases with his contemporary students, strangled the proposal at its birth, and sir christopher wren subsequently built the cloisters which may be seen at the present day. but there is reason to fear that at a very early period in their history the inns of court began to pay more attention to certain outward forms of instruction than to instruction itself. the unbiassed inquirer is driven to suspect that 'case-putting' soon became an idle ceremony, and 'mooting' a mere pastime. gentlemen ate heartily in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries; and it is not easy to believe that immediately after a twelve o'clock dinner benchers were in the best possible mood to teach, or students in the fittest condition for learning. it is credible that these post-prandial exercitations were often enlivened by sparkling quips and droll occurrences; but it is less easy to believe that they were characterised by severe thought and logical exactness. so also with the after-supper exercises. the six o'clock suppers of the lawyers were no light repasts, but hearty meals of meat and bread, washed down by '_green pots_' of ale and wine. when 'the horn' sounded for supper, the student was in most cases better able to see the truth of knotty points than when in compliance with etiquette he bowed to the benchers, and asked if it was their pleasure to hear a moot. it seems probable that long before 'case-puttings' and 'mootings' were altogether disused, the old benchers were wont to wink mischievously at each other when they prepared to teach the boys, and that sometimes they would turn away from the proceedings of a moot with an air of disdain or indifference. the inquirer is not induced to rate more highly the intellectual effort of such exercises because the teachers refreshed their exhausted powers with bread and beer as soon as the arguments were closed. when such men as coke and francis bacon were the readers, the students were entertained with lectures of surpassing excellence; but it was seldom that such readers could be found. it seems also that at an early period men became readers, not because they had any especial aptitude for offices of instruction, or because they had some especial fund of information--but simply because it was their turn to read. routine placed them in the pulpit for a certain number of weeks; and when they had done all that routine required of them, and had thereby qualified themselves for promotion to the rank of sergeant, they took their seats amongst the benchers and ancients with the resolution not to trouble themselves again about the intellectual progress of the boys. soon also the chief teacher of an inn of court became its chief feaster and principal entertainer; and in like manner his subordinates in office, such as assistant readers and readers elect, were required to put their hands into their pockets, and feed their pupils with venison and wine as well as with law and equity. it is amusing to observe how little dugdale has to say about the professional duties of readers--and how much about their hospitable functions and responsibilities. philip and mary ordered that no reader of the middle temple should give away more than fifteen bucks during his readings; but so greatly did the cost of readers' entertainments increase in the following century, that dugdale observes--"but the times are altered; there being few summer readers who, in half the time that heretofore a reading was wont to continue, spent so little as threescore bucks, besides red deer; some have spent fourscore, some an hundred." just as readers were required to spend more in hospitality, they were required to display less learning. sound lawyers avoided election to the readers' chairs, leaving them to be filled by rich men who could afford to feast the nobility and gentry, or at least by men who were willing to purchase social _éclat_ with a lavish outlay of money. under charles ii. the 'readings' were too often nothing better than scandalous exhibitions of mental incapacity: and having sunk into disrepute, they died out before the accession of james ii. the scandalous and beastly disorder of the grand day feasts at the middle temple, during francis north's tenure of the reader's office, was one of the causes that led to the discontinuance of reader's banquets at that house; and the other inns gladly followed the example of the middle temple in putting an end to a custom which had ceased to promote the dignity of the law. of this feast, and his brother's part in it, roger north says: "he (_i.e._ francis north) sent out the officers with white staves (for so the way was) and a long list to invite; but he went himself to wait upon the archbishop of canterbury, sheldon; for so also the ceremony required. the archbishop received him very honorably and would not part with him at the stairshead, as usually had been done; but, telling him he was no ordinary reader, went down, and did not part till he saw him past at his outward gate i cannot much commend the extravagance of the feasting used at these readings; and that of his lordship's was so terrible an example, that i think none hath ventured since to read publicly; but the exercise is turned into a revenue, and a composition is paid into the treasury of the society. therefore one may say, as was said of cleomenes, that, in this respect, his lordship was _ultimus herorum_, the last of the heroes. and the profusion of the best provisions, and wine, was to the worst of purposes--debauchery, disorder, tumult, and waste. i will give but one instance; upon the grand day, as it was called, a banquet was provided to be set upon the table, composed of pyramids, and smaller services in form. the first pyramid was at least four feet high, with stages one above another. the conveying this up to the table, through a crowd, that were in full purpose to overturn it, was no small work: but, with the friendly assistance of the gentlemen, it was set whole upon the table. but, after it was looked upon a little, all went, hand over hand, among the rout in the hall, and for the most part was trod under foot. the entertainment the nobility had out of this was, after they had tossed away the dishes, a view of the crowd in confusion, wallowing one over another, and contending for a dirty share of it." it would, however, be unfair to the ancient exercises of 'case-putting' and 'mooting' not to bear in mind that by habituating successful barristers to take personal interest in the professional capabilities of students, they helped to maintain a salutary intercourse betwixt the younger and older members of the profession. so long as 'moots' lasted, it was the fashion with eminent counsel to accost students in westminster hall, and gossip with them about legal matters. in charles ii.'s time, such eminent barristers as sir geoffrey palmer daily gave practical hints and valuable suggestions to students who courted their favor; find accurate legal scholars, such as old 'index waller,' would, under judicious treatment, exhibit their learning to boys ambitious of following in their steps. chief justice saunders, during the days of his pre-eminence at the bar, never walked through westminster hall without a train of lads at his heels. "i have seen him," says roger north, "for hours and half-hours together, before the court sat, stand at the bar, with an audience of students over against him, putting of cases, and debating so as suited their capacities, and encouraged their industry. and so in the temple, he seldom moved without a parcel of youths hanging about him, and he merry and jesting with them." long after 'moots' had fallen into disuse, their influence in this respect was visible in the readiness of wigged veterans to extend a kindly and useful patronage to students. even so late as the close of the last century, great black-letter lawyers used to accost students in westminster hall, and give them fair words, in a manner that would be misunderstood in the present day. sergeant hill--whose reputation for recondite legal erudition, resembled that of '_index_ waller,' or maynard, in the seventeenth century--once accosted john scott, as the latter, in his student days, was crossing westminster hall. "pray, young gentleman," said the black-letter lawyer, "do you think herbage and pannage rateable to the poor's rate?" "sir," answered the future lord eldon, with a courteous bow to the lawyer, whom he knew only by sight, "i cannot presume to give any opinion, inexperienced and unlearned as i am, to a person of your great knowledge, and high character in the profession." "upon my word," replied the sergeant, eyeing the young man with unaffected delight, "you are a pretty sensible young gentleman; i don't often meet with such. if i had asked mr. burgess, a young man upon our circuit, the question, he would have told me that i was an old fool. you are an extraordinary sensible young gentleman." the period when 'readings,' 'mooting,' and 'case-putting' fell into disuse or contempt, is known with sufficient accuracy. having noticed the decay of readings, sir john bramston writes, in charles ii.'s reign, "at this tyme readings are totally in all the inns of court layd aside; and to speak truth, with great reason, for it was a step at once to the dignity of a sergeant, but not soe now." marking the time when moots became farcical forms, roger north having stated that his brother francis, when a student, was "an attendant (as well as exerciser) at the ordinary moots in the middle temple and at new inn," goes on to say, "in those days, the moots were carefully performed, and it is hard to give a good reason (bad ones are prompt enough) why they are not so now." but it should be observed, that though for all practical purposes 'moots' and 'case-puttings' ceased in charles ii.'s time, they were not formally abolished. indeed, they lingered on throughout the eighteenth century, and to the present time--when vestiges of them may still be observed in the usages and discipline of the inns. before the writer of this page was called to the bar by the masters of the society of lincoln's inn, he, like all other students of his time, had to go through the form of putting a case on certain days in the hall after dinner. the ceremony appeared to him alike ludicrous and interesting. to put his case, he was conducted by the steward of the inn to the top of the senior bar table, when the steward placed an open ms. book before him, and said, "read that, sir;" whereupon this deponent read aloud something about "a femme sole," or some such thing, and was still reading the rest of the ms., kindly opened under his nose by the steward, when that worthy officer checked him suddenly, saying, "that will do, sir; you have _put_ your case--and can sign the book." the book duly signed, this deponent bowed to the assembled barristers, and walked out of the hall, smiling as he thought how, by an ingenious fiction, he was credited with having put an elaborate case to a college of profound jurists, with having argued it before an attentive audience, and with having borne away the laurels of triumph. recently this pleasant mockery of case-putting has been swept away. in roger north's 'discourse on the study of the laws,' and 'life of the lord keeper guildford,' the reader may see with clearness the course of an industrious law-student during the latter half of the seventeenth century, and it differs less from the ordinary career of an industrious temple-student in our time, than many recent writers on the subject think. under charles ii., james ii., and william iii. the law-student was compelled to muster the barbarous law-french; but the books which he was required to read were few in comparison with those of a modern inns-of-court man. roger north mentions between twenty and thirty authors, which the student should read in addition to year-books and more recent reports; and it is clear that the man who knew with any degree of familiarity such a body of legal literature was a very erudite lawyer two hundred years since. but the student was advised to read this small library again and again, "common-placing" the contents of its volumes, and also "common-placing" all new legal facts. the utility and convenience of common-place books were more apparent two centuries since, than in our time, when books of reference are always published with good tables of contents and alphabetical indexes. roger north held that no man could become a good lawyer who did not keep a common-place book. he instructs the student to buy for a common-place register "a good large paper book, as big as a church bible;" he instructs him how to classify the facts which should be entered in the work; and for a model of a lucid and thoroughly lawyer-like common-place book he refers "to lincoln's inn library, where the lord hale's common-place book is conserved, and that may be a pattern, _instar omnium_." chapter xxxviii. pupils in chambers. but the most important part of an industrious law-student's labors in olden time, was the work of watching the practice of westminster hall. in the seventeenth century, the constant succession of political trials made the king's bench court especially attractive to students who were more eager for gossip than advancement of learning; but it was always held that the student, who was desirous to learn the law rather than to catch exciting news or hear exciting speeches, ought to frequent the common pleas, in which court the common law was said to be at home. at the common pleas, a student might find a seat vacant in the students' benches so late as ten o'clock; but it was not unusual for every place devoted to the accommodation of students in the court of king's bench, to be occupied by six o'clock, a.m. by dawn, and even before the sun had begun to break, students bent on getting good seats at the hearing of an important cause would assemble, and patiently wait in court till the judges made their appearance. one prominent feature in the advocate's education must always be elocutionary practice. "talk; if you can, to the point, but anyhow talk," has been the motto of advocacy from time immemorial. heneage finch, who, like every member of his silver-tongued family, was an authority on matters pertaining to eloquence, is said to have advised a young student "to study all the morning and talk all the afternoon." sergeant maynard used to express his opinion of the importance of eloquence to a lawyer by calling law the "ars bablativa." roger north observes--"he whose trade is speaking must not, whatever comes out, fail to speak, for that is a fault in the main much worse than impertinence." and at a recent address to the students of the london university, lord brougham urged those of his auditors, who intended to adopt the profession of the bar, to habituate themselves to talk about everything. in past times law-students were proverbial for their talkativeness; and though the present writer has never seen any records of a carolinian law-debating society, it is matter of certainty that in the seventeenth century the young students and barristers formed themselves into coteries, or clubs, for the practice of elocution and for legal discussions. the continual debates on 'mootable days,' and the incessant wranglings of the temple cloisters, encouraged them to pay especial attention to such exercises. in charles ii.'s reign pool's company, was a coterie of students and young barristers, who used to meet periodically for congenial conversation and debate. "there is seldom a time," says roger north, speaking of this coterie, "but in every inn of court there is a studious, sober company that are select to each other, and keep company at meals and refreshments. such a company did mr. pool find out, whereof sergeant wild was one, and every one of them proved eminent, and most of them are now preferred in the law; and mr. pool, at the latter end of his life, took such a pride in his company that he affected to furnish his chambers with their pictures." amongst the benefits to be derived from such a club as that of which mr. pool was president, roger north mentions "aptness to speak;" adding: "for a man may be possessed of a book-case, and think he has it _ad unguem_ throughout, and when he offers at it shall find himself at a loss, and his words will not be right and proper, or perhaps too many, and his expressions confused: _when he has once talked his case over, and, his company have tossed it a little to and fro, then he shall utter it more readily, with fewer words and much more force_." these words make it clear that mr. pool's 'company' was a select 'law-debating society.' far smaller as to number of members, something more festive in its arrangements, but not less bent on furthering the professional progress of its members, it was, some two hundred years since, all that the 'hardwicke' and other similar associations are at the present.[ ] to such fraternities--of which the inns of court had several in the last century--murray and thurlow, law and erskine had recourse: and besides attending strictly professional clubs, it was usual for the students, of their respective times, to practise elocution at the coffee-houses and public spouting-rooms of the town. murray used to argue as well as 'drink champagne' with the wits; thurlow was the irrepressible talker of nando's; erskine used to carry his scarlet uniform from lincoln's inn hall, to the smoke-laden atmosphere of coachmakers' hall, at which memorable 'discussion forum' edward law is known to have spoken in the presence of a closely packed assembly of politicians, idlers upon town, shop-men, and drunkards. thither also horne tooke and dunning used to adjourn after dining with taffy kenyon at the chancery lane eating-house, where the three friends were wont to stay their hunger for sevenpence halfpenny each. "dunning and myself," horne tooke said boastfully, when he recalled these economical repasts, "were generous, for we gave the girl who waited on us a penny apiece; but kenyon, who always knew the value of money, rewarded her with a halfpenny, and sometimes with a _promise_." notwithstanding the recent revival of lectures and the institution of examinations, the actual course of the law-student has changed little since the author of the 'pleader's guide,' in , described the career of john surrebutter, esq., special pleader and barrister-at-law. the labors of 'pupils in chambers, are thus noticed by mr. surrebutter:-- "and, better to improve your taste, are by your parents' fondness plac'd amongst the blest, the chosen few (blest, if their happiness they knew), who for three hundred guineas paid to some great master of the trade, have at his rooms by _special_ favor his leave to use their best endeavor, by drawing pleas from nine till four, to earn him twice three hundred more; and after dinner may repair to 'foresaid rooms, and then and there have 'foresaid leave from five till ten, to draw th' aforesaid pleas again." continuing to describe his professional career, mr. surrebutter mentions certain facts which show that so late as the close of last century professional etiquette did not forbid special pleaders and barristers to curry favor with solicitors and solicitors' clerks by attentions which would now-a-days be deemed reprehensible. he says:-- "whoe'er has drawn a special plea has heard of old tom tewkesbury, deaf as a post, and thick as mustard, he aim'd at wit, and bawl'd and bluster'd and died a nisi prius leader-- that genius was my special pleader-- that great man's office i attended, by hawk and buzzard recommended attorneys both of wondrous skill, to pluck the goose and drive the quill. three years i sat his smoky room in, pens, paper, ink, and pounce consuming; the fourth, when epsom day begun, joyful i hailed th' auspicious sun, bade tewkesbury and clerk adieu; (purification, eighty-two) of both i wash'd my hands; and though with nothing for my cash to show, but precedents so scrawl'd and blurr'd, i scarce could read a single word, nor in my books of common-place one feature, of the law could trace, save buzzard's nose and visage thin, and hawk's deficiency of chin, which i while lolling at my ease was wont to draw instead of pleas. my chambers i equipt complete, made friends, hired books, and gave to eat; if haply to regale my friends on, my mother sent a haunch of ven'son, i most respectfully entreated the choicest company to eat it; _to wit_, old buzzard, hawk, and crow; _item_, tom thornback, shark, and co. attorneys all as keen and staunch as e'er devoured a client's haunch. and did i not their clerks invite to taste said ven'son hash'd at night? for well i knew that hopeful fry my rising merit would descry, the same litigious course pursue, and when to fish of prey they grew, by love of food and contest led, would haunt the spot where once they fed. thus having with due circumspection formed my professional connexion, my desks with precedents i strew'd, turned critic, danc'd, or penn'd an ode, suited the _ton_, became a free and easy man of gallantry; but if while capering at my glass, or toying with a favorite lass, i heard the aforesaid hawk a-coming, or buzzard on the staircase humming, at once the fair angelic maid into my coal-hole i convey'd; at once with serious look profound, mine eyes commencing with the ground, i seem'd like one estranged to sleep, 'and fixed in cogitation deep,' sat motionless, and in my hand i held my 'doctrina placitandi,' and though i never read a page in't, thanks to that shrewd, well-judging agent, my sister's husband, mr. shark, soon got six pupils and a clerk. five pupils were my stint, the other i took to compliment his mother." having fleeced pupils, and worked as a special pleader for a time, mr. surrebutter is called to the bar; after which ceremony his action towards 'the inferior branch' of the profession is not more dignified than it was whilst he practised as a special pleader. it appears that in mr. surrebutter's time (_circa_ ) it was usual for a student to spend three whole years in the same pleader's chambers, paying three hundred guineas for the course of study. not many years passed before students saw it was not to their advantage to spend so long a period with the same instructor, and by the end of the century the industrious student who could command the fees wherewith to pay for such special tuition, usually spent a year or two in a pleader's chambers, and another year or two in the chambers of an equity draughtsman, or conveyancer. lord campbell, at the opening of the present century, spent three years in the chambers of the eminent special pleader, mr. tidd, of whose learning and generosity the biographer of the chancellors makes cordial and grateful acknowledgment. finding that campbell could not afford to pay a second hundred guineas for a second year's instruction, tidd not only offered him the run of his chambers without payment, but made the young scotchman take back the £ which he had paid for the first twelve months. in his later years lord campbell delighted to trace his legal pedigree to the great pleader and 'pupillizer' of the last century, tom warren. the chart ran thus: "tom warren had for pupil sergeant runnington, who instructed in the mysteries of special pleading the learned tidd, who was the teacher of john campbell." with honest pride and pleasant vanity the literary chancellor maintained that he had given the genealogical tree another generation of forensic honor, as solicitor general dundas and vaughan williams, of the common pleas bench, were his pupils. though campbell speaks of _tom warren_ as "the greater founder of the special pleading race," and maintains that "the voluntary discipline of the special pleader's office" was unknown before the middle of the last century, it is certain that the voluntary discipline of a legal instructor's office or chambers was an affair of frequent occurrence long before warren's rise. roger north, in his 'discourse on the study of the laws,' makes no allusion to any such voluntary discipline as an ordinary feature of a law-student's career; but in his 'life of lord keeper guildford' he expressly informs us that he was a pupil in his brother's chambers. "his lordship," writes the biographer, "having taken that advanced post, and designing to benefit a relation (the honorable roger north), who was a student in the law, and kept him company, caused his clerk to put into his hands all his draughts, such as he himself had corrected, and after which conveyances had been engrossed, that, by a perusal of them, he might get some light into the formal skill of conveyancing. and that young gentleman instantly went to work, and first numbered the draughts, and then made an index of all the clauses, referring to that number and folio; so that, in this strict perusal and digestion of the various matters, he acquired, not only a formal style, but also apt precedents, and a competent notion of instruments of all kinds. and to this great condescension was owing that little progress he made, which afterwards served to prepare some matters for his lordship's own perusal and settlement." here then is a case of a pupil in a barrister's chambers in charles ii.'s reign; and it is a case that suffers nothing from the fact that the teacher took no fee. in like manner, john trevor (subsequently master of the rolls and speaker of the commons) about the same time was "bred a sort of clerk in old arthur trevor's chamber, an eminent and worthy professor of the law in the inner temple." on being asked what might be the name of the boy with such a hideous squint who sate at a clerk's desk in the outer room, arthur trevor answered, "a kinsman of mine that i have allowed to sit here, to learn the knavish part of the law." it must be observed that john trevor was not a clerk, but merely a "sort of a clerk" in his kinsman's chamber. in the latter half of the seventeenth century, and in the earlier half of the eighteenth century, students who wished to learn the practice of the law usually entered the offices of attorneys in large practice. at that period, the division between the two branches of the profession was much less wide than it subsequently became; and no rule or maxim of professional etiquette forbade inns-of-court men to act as the subordinates of attorneys and solicitors. thus philip yorke (lord hardwicke) in queen anne's reign acted as clerk in the office of mr. salkeld, an attorney residing in brook street, holborn, whilst he kept his terms at the temple; and nearly fifty years later, ned thurlow (lord thurlow), on leaving cambridge, and taking up his residence in the temple, became a pupil in the office of mr. chapman, a solicitor, whose place of business was in lincoln's inn. there is no doubt that it was customary for young men destined the bar thus to work in attorneys' offices; and they continued to do so without any sense of humiliation or thought of condescension, until the special pleaders superseded the attorneys as instructors. [ ] the mention of 'the hardwicke' brings a droll story to the writer's mind. some few years since the members of that learned fraternity assembled at their customary plate of meeting--a large room in anderton's hotel, fleet street--to discuss a knotty point of law about anent uses. the master of young men was strong; and amongst them--conspicuous for his advanced years, jovial visage, red nose, and air of perplexity--sate an old gentleman who was evidently a stranger to every lawyer present. who was he? who brought him? was there any one in the room who knew him? such were the whispers that floated about, concerning the portly old man, arrayed in blue coat and drab breeches and gaiters, who took his snuff in silence, and watched the proceedings with evident surprise and dissatisfaction. after listening to three speeches this antique, jolly stranger rose, and with much embarrassment addressed the chair. "mr. president," he said--"excuse me; but may i ask,--is this 'the convivial rabbits?'" a roar of laughter followed this enquiry from a 'convivial rabbit,' who having mistaken the evening of the week, had wandered into the room in which his convivial fellow-clubsters had held a meeting on the previous evening. on receiving the president's assurance that the learned members of a law-debating society were not 'convivial rabbits,' the elderly stranger buttoned his blue coat and beat a speedy retreat. part viii. mirth. chapter xxxix. wit of lawyers. no lawyer has given better witticisms to the jest-books than sir thomas more. like all legal wits, he enjoyed a pun, as sir thomas manners, the mushroom earl of rutland discovered, when he winced under the cutting reproof of his insolence, conveyed in the translation of 'honores mutant mores'--_honors change manners_. but though he would condescend to play with words as a child plays with shells on a sea-beach, he could at will command the laughter of his readers without having recourse to mere verbal antics. he delighted in what may be termed humorous mystification. entering bruges at a time when his leaving had gained european notoriety, he was met by the challenge of a noisy fellow who proclaimed himself ready to dispute with the whole world--or any other man--"in omni scibili et de quolibet ente." accepting the invitation, and entering the lists in the presence of all the scholastic magnates of bruges, more gravely inquired, "an averia carucæ capta in vetitonamio sint irreplegibilia?" not versed in the principles and terminology of the common law of england, the challenger could only stammer and blush--whilst more's eye twinkled maliciously, and his auditors were convulsed with laughter. much of his humor was of the sort that is ordinarily called _quiet_ humor, because its effect does not pass off in shouts of merriment. of this kind of pleasantry he gave the lieutenant of the tower a specimen, when he said, with as much courtesy as irony, "assure yourself i do not dislike my cheer; but whenever i do, then spare not to thrust me out of your doors!" of the same sort were the pleasantries with which, on the morning of his execution, he with fine consideration for others strove to divert attention from the cruelty of his doom. "i see no danger," he observed, with a smile, to his friend sir thomas pope, shaking his water-bottle as he spoke, "but that this man may live longer if it please the king." finding in the craziness of the scaffold a good pretext for leaning in friendly fashion on his gaoler's arm, he extended his hand to sir william kingston, saying, "master lieutenant, i pray you see me safe up; for my coming down let me shift for myself." even to the headsman he gave a gentle pleasantry and a smile from the block itself, as he put aside his beard so that the keen blade should not touch it. "wait, my good friend, till i have removed my beard," he said, turning his eyes upwards to the official, "for it has never offended his highness." his wit was not less ready than brilliant, and on one occasion its readiness saved him from a sudden and horrible death. sitting on the roof of his high gate-house at chelsea, he was enjoying the beauties of the thames and the sunny richness of the landscape, when his solitude was broken by the unlooked-for arrival of a wandering maniac. wearing the horn and badge of a bedlamite, the unfortunate creature showed the signs of his malady in his equipment as well as his countenance. having cast his eye downwards from the parapet to the foot of the tower, he conceived a mad desire to hurl the chancellor from the flat roof. "leap, tom! leap!" screamed the athletic fellow, laying a firm hand on more's shoulder. fixing his attention with a steady look, more said, coolly, "let us first throw my little dog down, and see what sport that will be." in a trice the dog was thrown into the air. "good!" said more, feigning delight at the experiment: "now run down, fetch the dog, and we'll throw him off again." obeying the command, the dangerous intruder left more free to secure himself by a bar, and to summon assistance with his voice. for a good end this wise and mirth-loving lawyer would play the part of a practical joker; and it is recorded that by a jest of the practical sort he gave a wholesome lesson to an old civic magistrate, who, at the sessions of the old bailey, was continually telling the victims of cut-purses that they had only themselves to thank for their losses--that purses would never be cut if their wearers took proper care to retain them in their possession. these orations always terminated with, "i never lose _my_ purse; cut-purses never take _my_ purse; no, i'faith, because i take proper care of it." to teach his worship wisdom, and cure him of his self-sufficiency, more engaged a cut-purse to relieve the magistrate of his money-bag whilst he sat upon the bench. a story is recorded of another old bailey judge who became the victim of a thief under very ridiculous circumstances. whilst he was presiding at the trial of a thief in the old bailey, sir john sylvester, recorder of london, said incidentally that he had left his watch at home. the trial ended in an acquittal, the prisoner had no sooner gained his liberty than he hastened to the recorder's house, and sent in word to lady sylvester that he was a constable and had been sent from the old bailey to fetch her husband's watch. when the recorder returned home and found he had lost his watch, it is to be feared that lady sylvester lost her usual equanimity. _apropos_ of these stories lord campbell tells--how, at the opening period of his professional career, soon after the publication of his 'nisi prius reports,' he on circuit successfully defended a prisoner charged with a criminal offence; and how, whilst the success of his advocacy was still quickening his pulses, he discovered that his late client, with whom he held a confidential conversation, had contrived to relieve him of his pocket-book, full of bank-notes. as soon as the presiding judge, lord chief baron macdonald, heard of the mishap of the reporting barrister, he exclaimed, "what! does mr. campbell think that no one is entitled to _take notes_ in court except himself?" by the urbane placidity which marked the utterance of his happiest speeches, sir nicholas bacon often recalled to his hearers the courteous easiness of more's _repartees_. keeping his own pace in society, as well as in the court of chancery, neither satire nor importunity could ruffle or confuse him. when elizabeth, looking disdainfully at his modest country mansion, told him that the place was too small, he answered with the flattery of gratitude, "not so, madam, your highness has made me too great for my house." leicester having suddenly asked him his opinion of two aspirants for court favor, he responded on the spur of the moment, "by my troth, my lord, the one is a grave councillor: the other is a proper young man, and so he will be as long as he lives." to the queen, who pressed him for his sentiments respecting the effect of monopolies--a delicate question for a subject to speak his mind upon--he answered, with conciliatory lightness, "madam, will you have me speak the truth? _licentiâ_ omnes deteriores sumus." in court he used to say, "let us stay a little, that we may have done the sooner." but notwithstanding his deliberation and the stutter that hindered his utterances, he could be quicker than the quickest, and sharper than the most acrid, as the loquacious barrister discovered who was suddenly checked in a course of pert talkativeness by this tart remark from the stammering lord keeper: "there is a difference between you and me,--for me it is a pain to s-speak, for you a pain to hold your tongue." that the familiar story of his fatal attack of cold is altogether true one cannot well believe, for it seems highly improbable that the lord keeper, in his seventieth year, would have sat down to be shaved near an open window in the month of february. but though the anecdote may not be historically exact, it may be accepted as a faithful portraiture of his more stately and severely courteous humor. "why did you suffer me to sleep thus exposed?" asked the lord keeper, waking in a fit of shivering from slumber into which his servant had allowed him to drop, as he sat to be shaved in a place where there was a sharp current of air. "sir, i durst not disturb you," answered the punctilious valet, with a lowly obeisance. having eyed him for a few seconds, sir nicholas rose and said, "by your civility i lose my life." whereupon the lord keeper retired to the bed from which he never rose. amongst elizabethan judges who aimed at sprightliness on the bench, hatton merits a place; but there is reason to think that the idlers, who crowded his court to admire the foppishness of his judicial costume, did not get one really good _mot_ from his lips to every ten bright sayings that came from the clever barristers practising before him. one of the best things attributed to him is a pun. in a case concerning the limits of certain land, the counsel on one side having remarked with explanatory emphasis, "we lie on this side, my lord;" and the counsel on the other side having interposed with equal vehemence, "we lie on this side, my lord,"--the lord chancellor leaned backwards, and dryly observed, "if you lie on both sides, whom am i to believe?" in elizabethan england the pun was as great a power in the jocularity of the law-courts as it is at present; the few surviving witticisms that are supposed to exemplify egerton's lighter mood on the bench, being for the most part feeble attempts at punning. for instance, when he was asked, during his tenure of the mastership of the rolls, to _commit_ a cause, _i.e._, to refer it to a master in chancery, he used to answer, "what has the cause done that it should be committed?" it is also recorded of him that, when he was asked for his signature to a petition of which he disapproved, he would tear it in pieces with both hands, saying, "you want my hand to this? you shall have it; aye, and both my hands, too." of egerton's student days a story is extant, which has merits, independent of its truth or want of truth. the hostess of a smithfield tavern had received a sum of money from three graziers, in trust for them, and on engagement to restore it to them on their joint demand. soon after this transfer, one of the co-depositors, fraudulently representing himself to be acting as the agent of the other two, induced the old lady to give him possession of the whole of the money--and thereupon absconded. forthwith the other two depositors brought an action against the landlady, and were on the point of gaining a decision in their favor, when young egerton, who had been taking notes of the trial, rose as _amicus curiæ_, and argued, "this money, by the contract, was to be returned to _three_, but _two_ only sue;--where is the _third_? let him appear with the others; till then the money cannot be demanded from her." nonsuit for the plaintiffs--for the young student a hum of commendation. many of the pungent sayings current in westminster hall at the present time, and attributed to eminent advocates who either are still upon the forensic stage, or have recently withdrawn from it, were common jests amongst the lawyers of the seventeenth century. what law-student now eating dinners at the temple has not heard the story of sergeant wilkins, who, on drinking a pot of stout in the middle of the day, explained that, as he was about to appear in court, he thought it right to fuddle his brain down to the intellectual standard of a british jury. this merry thought, two hundred and fifty years since, was currently attributed to sir john millicent, of cambridgeshire, of whom it is recorded--"being asked how he did conforme himselfe to the grave justices his brothers, when they met, 'why, in faithe,' sayes he, 'i have no way but to drinke myself downe to the capacitie of the bench.'" another witticism, currently attributed to various recent celebrities, but usually fathered upon richard brinsley sheridan--on whose reputation have been heaped the brilliant _mots_ of many a speaker whom he never heard, and the indiscretions of many a sinner whom he never knew--is certainly as old as shaftesbury's bright and unprincipled career. when charles ii. exclaimed, "shaftesbury, you are the most profligate man in my dominions," the reckless chancellor answered, "of a subject, sir, i believe i am." it is likely enough that shaftesbury merely repeated the witticism of a previous courtier; but it is certain that sheridan was not the first to strike out the pun. in this place let a contradiction be given to a baseless story, which exalts sir william follett's reputation for intellectual readiness and argumentative ability. the story runs, that early in the january of , whilst george stephenson, dean buckland, and sir william follett were sir robert peel's guests at drayton manor, dean buckland vanquished the engineer in a discussion on a geological question. the next morning, george stephenson was walking in the gardens of drayton manor before breakfast, when sir william follett accosted him, and sitting down in an arbor asked for the facts of the argument. having quickly 'picked up the case,' the lawyer joined sir robert peel's guests at breakfast, and amused them by leading the dean back to the dispute of the previous day, and overthrowing his fallacies by a skilful use of the same arguments which the self-taught engineer had employed with such ill effect. "what do you say, mr. stephenson?" asked sir robert peel, enjoying the dean's discomfiture. "why," returned george stephenson, "i only say this, that of all the powers above and under earth, there seems to me no power so great as the gift of the gab." this is the story. but there are facts which contradict it. the only visit paid by george stephenson to drayton manor was made in the december of , not the january of . the guests (invited for dec. , ), were lord talbot, lord aylesford, the bishop of lichfield, dr. buckland, dr. lyon playfair, professor owen, george stephenson, mr. smith of deanston, and professor wheatstone. sir william follett was not of the party, and did not set foot within drayton manor during george stephenson's visit there. of this, professor wheatstone (who furnished the present writer with these particulars), is certain. moreover, it is not to be believed that sir william follett, an overworked invalid (who died in the june of of the pulmonary disease under which he had suffered for years), would sit in an arbor before breakfast on a winter's morning to hold debate with a companion on any subject. the story is a revival of an anecdote first told long before george stephenson was born. in lists of legal _facetiæ_ the habit of punning is not more noticeable than the prevalent unamiability of the jests. advocates are intellectual gladiators, using their tongues as soldiers of fortune use their swords; and when they speak, it is to vanquish an adversary. antagonism is an unavoidable condition of their existence; and this incessant warfare gives a merciless asperity to their language, even when it does not infuse their hearts with bitterness. duty enjoins the barrister to leave no word unsaid that can help his client, and encourages him to perplex by satire, baffle by ridicule, or silence by sarcasm, all who may oppose him with statements that cannot be disproved, or arguments that cannot be upset by reason. that which duty bids him do, practice enables him to do with terrible precision and completeness; and in many a case the caustic tone, assumed at the outset as a professional weapon, becomes habitual, and, without the speaker's knowledge, gives more pain within his home than in westminster hall. some of the well-known witticisms attributed to great lawyers are so brutally personal and malignant, that no man possessing any respect for human nature can read them without endeavoring to regard them as mere biographic fabrications. it is recorded of charles yorke that, after his election to serve as member for the university of cambridge, he, in accordance with etiquette, made a round of calls on members of senate, giving them personal thanks for their votes; and that on coming to the presence of a supporter--an old 'fellow' known as the ugliest man in cambridge--he addressed him thus, after smiling 'an aside' to a knot of bystanders--"sir, i have reason to be thankful to my friends in general; but i confess myself under particular obligation to you for the very _remarkable countenance_ you have shown me on this occasion." there is no doubt that charles yorke could make himself unendurably offensive; it is just credible that without a thought of their double meaning he uttered the words attributed to him; but it is not to be believed that he--an english gentleman--thus intentionally insulted a man who had rendered him a service. a story far less offensive than the preceding anecdote, but in one point similar to it, is told of judge fortescue-aland (subsequently lord fortescue), and a counsel. sir john fortescue-aland was disfigured by a nose which was purple, and hideously misshapen by morbid growth. having checked a ready counsel with the needlessly harsh observation, "brother, brother, you are handling the case in a very lame manner," the angry advocate gave vent to his annoyance by saying, with a perfect appearance of _sang-froid_, "pardon me, my lord; have patience with me, and i will do my best to make the case as plain as--as--the nose on your lordship's face." in this case the personality was uttered in hot blood, by a man who deemed himself to be striking the enemy of his professional reputation. if they were not supported by incontrovertible testimony, the admirers of the great sir edward coke would reject as spurious many of the overbearing rejoinders which escaped his lips in courts of justice. his tone in his memorable altercation with bacon at the bar of the court of exchequer speaks ill for the courtesy of english advocates in elizabeth's reign; and to any student who can appreciate the dignified formality and punctilious politeness that characterized english gentlemen in the old time, it is matter of perplexity how a man of coke's learning, capacity, and standing, could have marked his contempt for 'cowells interpreter,' by designating the author in open court dr. cowheel. scarcely in better taste were the coarse personalities with which, as attorney general, he deluged garnet the jesuit, whom he described as "a doctor of jesuits; that is, a doctor of six d's--as dissimulation, deposing of princes, disposing of kingdoms, daunting and deterring of subjects, and destruction." in comparatively recent times few judges surpassed thurlow in overbearing insolence to the bar. to a few favorites, such as john scott and kenyon, he could be consistently indulgent, although even to them his patronage was often disagreeably contemptuous; but to those who provoked his displeasure by a perfectly independent and fearless bearing he was a malignant persecutor. for instance, in his animosity to richard pepper arden (lord alvanley), he often forgot his duty as a judge and his manners as a gentleman. john scott, on one occasion, rising in the court of chancery to address the court after arden, who was his leader in the cause, and had made an unusually able speech, lord thurlow had the indecency to say, "mr. scott, i am glad to find that you are engaged in the cause, for i now stand some chance of knowing something about the matter." to the chancellor's habitual incivility and insolence it is allowed that arden always responded with dignity and self-command, humiliating his powerful and ungenerous adversary by invariable good-breeding. once, through inadvertence, he showed disrespect to the surly chancellor, and then he instantly gave utterance to a cordial apology, which thurlow was not generous enough to accept with appropriate courtesy. in the excitement of professional altercation with counsel respecting the ages of certain persons concerned in a suit, he committed the indecorum of saying aloud, "i'll lay you a bottle of wine." ever on the alert to catch his enemy tripping, thurlow's eye brightened as his ear caught the careless words; and in another instant he assumed a look of indignant disgust. but before the irate judge could speak, arden exclaimed, "my lord, i beg your lordship's pardon; i really forgot where i was." had thurlow bowed a grave acceptance of the apology, arden would have suffered somewhat from the misadventure; but unable to keep his abusive tongue quiet, the 'great bear' growled out, in allusion to the offender's welsh judgeship, "you thought you were in your own court, i presume." more laughable, but not more courteous, was the same chancellor's speech to a solicitor who had made a series of statements in a vain endeavor to convince his lordship of a certain person's death. "really, my lord," at last the solicitor exclaimed, goaded into a fury by thurlow's repeated ejaculations of "that's no proof of the man's death;" "really, my lord, it is very hard, and it is not right that you won't believe me. i saw the man dead in his coffin. my lord, i tell you he was my client, and he is dead." "no wonder," retorted thurlow, with a grunt and a sneer, "_since he was your client_. why did you not tell me that sooner? it would kill me to have such a fellow as you for my attorney." that this great lawyer could thus address a respectable gentleman is less astonishing when it is remembered, that he once horrified a party of aristocratic visitors at a country-house by replying to a lady who pressed him to take some grapes, "grapes, madam, grapes! did not i say a minute ago that i had the _gripes_!" once this ungentle lawyer was fairly worsted in a verbal conflict by an irish pavier. on crossing the threshold of his ormond street house one morning, the chancellor was incensed at seeing a load of paving-stones placed before his door. singling out the tallest of a score of irish workmen who were repairing the thoroughfare, he poured upon him one of those torrents of curses with which his most insolent speeches were usually preluded, and then told the man to move the stones away instantly. "where shall i take them to, your honor?" the pavier inquired. from the chancellor another volley of blasphemous abuse, ending with, "you lousy scoundrel, take them to hell!--do you hear me?" "have a care, your honor," answered the workman, with quiet drollery, "don't you think now that if i took 'em to the other place your honor would be less likely to fall over them?" thurlow's incivility to the solicitor reminds us of the cruel answer given by another great lawyer to a country attorney, who, through fussy anxiety for a client's interests, committed a grave breach of professional etiquette. let this attorney be called mr. smith, and let it be known that mr. smith, having come up to london from a secluded district of a remote country, was present at a consultation of counsellors learned in the law upon his client's cause. at this interview, the leading counsel in the cause, the attorney general of the time, was present and delivered his final opinion with characteristic clearness and precision. the consultation over, the country attorney retreated to the hummums hotel, covent garden, and, instead of sleeping over the statements made at the conference, passed a wretched and wakeful night, harassed by distressing fears, and agitated by a conviction that the attorney general had overlooked the most important point of the case. early next day, mr. smith, without appointment, was at the great counsellor's chambers, and by vehement importunity, as well as a liberal donation to the clerk, succeeded in forcing his way to the advocate's presence. "well, mis-ter smith," observed the attorney general to his visitor, turning away from one of his devilling juniors, who chanced to be closeted with him at the moment of the intrusion, "what may you want to say? be quick, for i am pressed for time." notwithstanding the urgency of his engagements, he spoke with a slowness which, no less than the suspicious rattle of his voice, indicated the fervor of displeasure. "sir causticus witherett, i trust you will excuse my troubling you; but, sir, after our yesterday's interview, i went to my hotel, the hummums, in covent garden, and have spent the evening and all night turning over my client's case in my mind, and the more i turn the matter over in my mind, the more reason i see to fear that you have not given one point due consideration." a pause, during which sir causticus steadily eyed his visitor, who began to feel strangely embarrassed under the searching scrutiny: and then--"state the point, mis-ter smith, but be brief." having heard the point stated, sir causticus witherett inquired, "is that all you wish to say?" "all, sir--all," replied mr. smith; adding nervously, "and i trust you will excuse me for troubling you about the matter; but, sir, i could not sleep a wink last night; all through the night i was turning this matter over in my mind." a glimpse of silence. sir causticus rose and standing over his victim made his final speech--"mis-ter smith, if you take my advice, given with sincere commiseration for your state, you will without delay return to the tranquil village in which you habitually reside. in the quietude of your accustomed scenes you will have leisure to _turn this matter over in what you are pleased to call your mind_. and i am willing to hope that _your mind_ will recover its usual serenity. mr. smith, i wish you a very good morning." legal biography abounds with ghastly stories that illustrate the insensibility with which the hanging judges in past generations used to don the black cap jauntily, and smile at the wretched beings whom they sentenced to death. perhaps of all such anecdotes the most thoroughly sickening is that which describes the conduct of jeffreys, when, as recorder of london, he passed sentence of death on his old and familiar friend, richard langhorn, the catholic barrister--one of the victims of the popish plot phrensy. it is recorded that jeffreys, not content with consigning his friend to a traitor's doom, malignantly reminded him of their former intercourse, and with devilish ridicule admonished him to prepare his soul for the next world. the authority which gives us this story adds, that by thus insulting a wretched gentleman and personal associate, jeffreys, instead of rousing the disgust of his auditors, elicited their enthusiastic applause. in a note to a passage in one of the waverley novels, scott tells a story of an old scotch judge, who, as an enthusiastic chess-player, was much mortified by the success of an ancient friend, who invariably beat him when they tried their powers at the beloved game. after a time the humiliated chess-player had his day of triumph. his conqueror happened to commit murder, and it became the judge's not altogether painful duty to pass upon him the sentence of the law. having in due form and with suitable solemnity commended his soul to the divine mercy, he, after a brief pause, assumed his ordinary colloquial tone of voice, and nodding humorously to his old friend, observed--"and noo, jammie, i think ye'll alloo that i hae checkmated you for ance." of all the bloodthirsty wearers of the ermine, no one, since the opening of the eighteenth century, has fared worse than sir francis page--the virulence of whose tongue and the cruelty of whose nature were marks for successive satirists. in one of his imitations of horace, pope says-- "slanderer, poison dread from delia's rage, hard words or hanging, if your judge be page." in the same spirit the poet penned the lines of the 'dunciad'-- "mortality, by her false guardians drawn, chicane in furs, and casuistry in lawn, gasps, as they straighten at each end the cord, and dies, when dulness gives her----the sword." powerless to feign insensibility to the blow, sir francis openly fitted this _black_ cap to his dishonored head by sending his clerk to expostulate with the poet. the ill-chosen ambassador performed his mission by showing that, in sir francis's opinion, the whole passage would be sheer nonsense, unless 'page' were inserted in the vacant place. johnson and savage took vengeance on the judge for the judicial misconduct which branded the latter poet a murderer; and fielding, in 'tom jones,' illustrating by a current story the offensive levity of the judge's demeanor at capital trials, makes him thus retort on a horse-stealer: "ay! thou art a lucky fellow; i have traveled the circuit these forty years, and never found a horse in my life; but i'll tell thee what, friend, thou wast more lucky than thou didst know of; for thou didst not only find a horse, but a halter too, i promise thee." this scandal to his professional order was permitted to insult the humane sentiments of the nation for a long period. born in , he died in , whilst he was still occupying a judicial place; and it is said of him, that in his last year he pointed the ignominious story of his existence by a speech that soon ran the round of the courts. in answer to an inquiry for his health, the octogenarian judge observed, "my dear sir--you see how it fares with me; i just manage to keep _hanging on, hanging on_." this story is ordinarily told as though the old man did not see the unfavorable significance of his words; but it is probable that, he uttered them wittingly and with, a sneer--in the cynicism and shamelessness of old age. a man of finer stuff and of various merits, but still famous as a 'hanging judge,' was sir francis buller, who also made himself odious to the gentler sex by maintaining that husbands might flog their wives, if the chastisement were administered with a stick not thicker than the operator's thumb. but the severity to criminals, which gave him a place amongst hanging judges, was not a consequence of natural cruelty. inability to devise a satisfactory system of secondary punishments, and a genuine conviction that ninety-nine out of every hundred culprits were incorrigible, caused him to maintain that the gallows-tree was the most efficacious as well as the cheapest instrument that could be invented for protecting society against malefactors. another of his stern _dicta_ was, that previous good character was a reason for increasing rather than a reason for lessening a culprit's punishment; "for," he argued, "the longer a prisoner has enjoyed the good opinion of the world, the less are the excuses for his misdeeds, and the more injurious is his conduct to public morality." in contrast to these odious stories of hanging judges are some anecdotes of great men, who abhorred the atrocities of our penal system, long before the worst of them were swept away by reform. lord mansfield has never been credited with lively sensibilities, but his humanity was so shocked by the bare thought of killing a man for committing a trifling theft, that he on one occasion ordered a jury to find that a stolen trinket was of less value than forty shillings--in order that the thief might escape the capital sentence. the prosecutor, a dealer in jewelry, was so mortified by the judge's leniency, that he exclaimed, "what, my lord, my golden trinket not worth forty shillings? why, the fashion alone cost me twice the money!" removing his glance from the vindictive tradesman, lord mansfield turned towards the jury, and said, with solemn gravity, "as we stand in need of god's mercy, gentlemen, let us not hang a man for fashion's sake." tenderness of heart was even less notable in kenyon than in murray; but lord mansfield's successor was at least on one occasion stirred by apathetic consequence of the bloody law against persons found guilty of trivial theft. on the home circuit, having passed sentence of death on a poor woman who had stolen property to the value of forty shillings in a dwelling-house, lord kenyon saw the prisoner drop lifeless in the dock, just as he ceased to speak. instantly the chief justice sprang to his feet, and screamed in a shrill tone, "i don't mean to hang you--do you hear!--don't you hear?--good----will nobody tell her that i don't mean to hang her?" one of the humorous aspects of a repulsive subject is seen in the curiosity and fastidiousness of prisoners on trial for capital offences with regard to the professional _status_ of the judges who try them. a sheep-stealer of the old bloody days liked that sentence should be passed upon him by a chief justice; and in our own time murderers awaiting execution, sometimes grumble at the unfairness of their trials, because they have been tried by judges of inferior degree. lord campbell mentions the case of a sergeant, who, whilst acting as chief justice abbott's deputy, on the oxford circuit, was reminded that he was 'merely a temporary' by the prisoner in the dock. being asked in the usual way if he had aught to say why sentence of death should not be passed upon him, the prisoner answered--"_yes; i have been tried before a journeyman judge._" chapter xl. humorous stories. alike commendable for its subtlety and inoffensive humor was the pleasantry with which young philip yorke (afterwards lord hardwicke), answered sir lyttleton powys's banter on the western circuit. an amiable and upright, but far from brilliant judge, sir lyttleton had a few pet phrases---amongst them, "i humbly conceive," and "look, do you see"--which he sprinkled over his judgments and colloquial talk with ridiculous profuseness. surprised at yorke's sudden rise into lucrative practice, this most gentlemanlike worthy was pleased to account for the unusual success by maintaining that young mr. yorke must have written a law-book, which had brought him early into favor with the inferior branch of the profession. "mr. yorke," said the venerable justice, whilst the barristers were sitting over their wine at a 'judges' dinner,' "i cannot well account for your having so much business, considering how short a time you have been at the bar: i humbly conceive you must have published something; for look you, do you see, there is scarcely a cause in court but you are employed in it on one side or the other. i should therefore be glad to know, mr. yorke, do you see, whether this be the case." playfully denying that he possessed any celebrity as a writer on legal matters, yorke, with an assumption of candor, admitted that he had some thoughts of lightening the labors of law-students by turning coke upon littleton into verse. indeed, he confessed that he had already begun the work of versification. not seeing the nature of the reply, sir lyttleton powys treated the droll fancy as a serious project, and insisted that the author should give a specimen of the style of his contemplated work. whereupon the young barrister--not pausing to remind a company of lawyers of the words of the original. "tenant in fee simple is he which hath lands or tenements to hold to him and his heirs for ever"--recited the lines-- "he that holdeth his lands in fee need neither to quake nor quiver, _i humbly conceive: for look, do you see_ they are his and his heirs' forever." the mimicry of voice being not less perfect than the verbal imitation, yorke's hearers were convulsed with laughter, but so unconscious was sir lyttleton of the ridicule which he had incurred, that on subsequently encountering yorke in london, he asked how "that translation of coke upon littleton was getting on." sir lyttleton died in , and exactly ten years afterwards appeared the first edition of 'the reports of sir edward coke, knt., in verse'--a work which its author may have been inspired to undertake by philip yorke's proposal to versify 'coke on littleton.' had yorke's project been carried out, lawyers would have a large supply of that comic but sound literature of which sir james burrow's reports contain a specimen in the following poetical version of chief justice pratt's memorable decision with regard to a woman of english birth, who was the widow of a foreigner: "a woman having settlement married a man with none, the question was, he being dead, if what she had was gone. "quoth sir john pratt, 'the settlement suspended did remain, living the husband; but him dead it doth revive again.' (_chorus of puisne judges._) "living the husband; but him dead it doth revive again." chief justice pratt's decision on this point having been reversed by his successor, chief justice ryder's judgment was thus reported: "a woman having a settlement, married a man with none, he flies and leaves her destitute; what then is to be done? "quoth ryder, the chief justice, 'in spite of sir john pratt, you'll send her to the parish in which she was a brat. "'_suspension of a settlement_ is not to be maintained; that which she had by birth subsists until another's gained.' (_chorus of puisne judges._) "that which she had by birth subsists until another's gained." in the early months of his married life, whilst playing the part of an oxford don, lord eldon was required to decide in an important action brought by two undergraduates against the cook of university college. the plaintiffs declared that the cook had "sent to their rooms an apple-pie _that could not be eaten_." the defendant pleaded that he had a remarkably fine fillet of veal in the kitchen. having set aside this plea on grounds obvious to the legal mind, and not otherwise then manifest to unlearned laymen, mr. john scott ordered the apple-pie to be brought in court; but the messenger, dispatched to do the judge's bidding, returned with the astounding intelligence that during the progress of the litigation a party of undergraduates had actually devoured the pie--fruit and crust. nothing but the pan was left. judgment: "the charge here is, that the cook has sent up an apple-pie that cannot be eaten. now that cannot be said to have been uneatable which has been eaten; and as this apple-pie has been eaten, it was eatable. let the cook be absolved." but of all the judicial decisions on record, none was delivered with more comical effect than lord loughborough's decision not to hear a cause brought on a wager about a point in the game of 'hazard.' a constant frequenter of brookes's and white's, lord loughborough was well known by men of fashion to be fairly versed in the mysteries of gambling, though no evidence has ever been found in support of the charge that he was an habitual dicer. that he ever lost much by play is improbable; but the scandal-mongers of westminster had some plausible reasons for laughing at the virtuous indignation of the spotless alexander wedderburn, who, whilst sitting at _nisi prius_, exclaimed, "do not swear the jury in this case, but let it be struck out of the paper. i will not try it. the administration of justice is insulted by the proposal that i should try it. to my astonishment i find that the action is brought on a wager as to the mode of playing an illegal, disreputable, and mischievous game called 'hazard;' whether, allowing seven to be the main, and eleven to be a nick to seven, there are more ways than six of nicking seven on the dice? courts of justice are constituted to try rights and redress injuries, not to solve the problems of the gamesters. the gentlemen of the jury and i may have heard of 'hazard' as a mode of dicing by which sharpers live, and young men of family and fortune are ruined; but what do any of us know of 'seven being the main,' or 'eleven being the nick to seven?' do we come here to be instructed in this lore, and are the unusual crowds (drawn hither, i suppose, by the novelty of the expected entertainment) to take a lesson with us in these unholy mysteries, which they are to practice in the evening in the low gaming-houses in st. james street, pithily called by a name which should inspire a salutary terror of entering them? again, i say, let the cause be struck out of the paper. move the court, if you please, that it may be restored, and if my brethren think that i do wrong in the course that i now take, i hope that one of them will officiate for me here, and save me from the degradation of trying 'whether there be more than six ways of nicking seven on the dice, allowing seven to be the main and eleven to be a nick to seven'--a question, after all, admitting of no doubt, and capable of mathematical demonstration." with equal fervor lord kenyon inveighed against the pernicious usage of gambling, urging that the hells of st. james's should, be indicted as common nuisances. the 'legal monk,' as lord carlisle stigmatized him for his violent denunciations of an amusement countenanced by women of the highest fashion, even went so far as to exclaim--"if any such prosecutions are fairly brought before me, and the guilty parties are convicted, whatever may be their rank or station in the country, though they may be the first ladies in the land, they shall certainly exhibit themselves in the pillory." the same considerations, which decided lord loughborough not to try an action brought by a wager concerning chicken-hazard, made lord ellenborough decline to hear a cause where the plaintiff sought to recover money wagered on a cock-fight. "there is likewise," said lord ellenborough, "another principle on which i think an action on such wagers cannot be maintained. they tend to the degradation of courts of justice. it is impossible to be engaged in ludicrous inquiries of this sort consistently with that dignity which it is essential to the public welfare that a court of justice should always preserve. i will not try the plaintiff's right to recover the four guineas, which might involve questions on the weight of the cocks and the construction of their steel spurs." it has already been remarked that in all ages the wits of westminster hall have delighted in puns; and it may be here added, with the exception of some twenty happy verbal freaks, the puns of lawyers have not been remarkable for their excellence. l'estrange records that when a stone was hurled by a convict from the dock at charles i.'s chief justice richardson, and passed just over the head of the judge, who happened to be sitting at ease and lolling on his elbow, the learned man smiled, and observed to those who congratulated him on his escape, "you see now, if i had been an _upright judge_ i had been slaine." under george iii. joseph jekyll[ ] was at the same time the brightest wit and most shameless punster of westminster hall; and such pride did he take in his reputation as a punster, that after the fashion of the wits of an earlier period he was often at considerable pains to give a pun a well-wrought epigrammatic setting. bored with the long-winded speech of a prosy sergeant, he wrote on a slip of paper, which was in due course passed along the barristers' benches in the court where he was sitting-- "the sergeants are a grateful race, their dress and language show it; their purple garments come from _tyre_, their arguments go to it." when garrow, by a more skilful than successful cross-examination, was endeavoring to lure a witness (an unmarried lady of advanced years) into an acknowledgment that payment of certain money in dispute had been tendered, jekyll threw him this couplet-- "garrow, forbear; that tough old jade will never prove a _tender maid_." so also, when lord eldon and sir arthur pigott each made a stand in court for his favorite pronunciation of the word 'lien;' lord eldon calling the word _lion_ and sir arthur maintaining that it was to be pronounced like _lean_, jekyll, with an allusion to the parsimonious arrangements of the chancellor's kitchen, perpetrated the _jeu d'esprit_-- "sir arthur, sir arthur, why what do you mean by saying the chancellor's _lion_ is _lean_? d'ye think that his kitchen's so bad as all that, that nothing within it can ever get fat?" by this difference concerning the pronunciation of a word the present writer is reminded of an amicable contest that occurred in westminster hall between lord campbell and a q.c. who is still in the front rank of court-advocates. in an action brought to recover for damages done to a carriage, the learned counsel repeatedly called, the vehicle in question a broug-ham, pronouncing both syllables of the word _brougham_. whereupon, lord campbell with considerable pomposity observed, "_broom_ is the more usual pronunciation; a carriage of the kind you mean is generally and not incorrectly called a _broom_--that pronunciation is open to no grave objection, and it has the great advantage of saving the time consumed by uttering an extra syllable." half an hour later in the same trial lord campbell, alluding to a decision given in a similar action, said, "in that case the carriage which had sustained injury was an _omnibus_----" "pardon me, my lord," interposed the queen's counsel, with such promptitude that his lordship was startled into silence, "a carriage of the kind, to which you draw attention is usually termed 'bus;' that pronunciation is open to no grave objection, and it has the great advantage of saving the time consumed by uttering two extra syllables." the interruption was followed by a roar of laughter, in which lord campbell joined more heartily than any one else. one of jekyll's happy sayings was spoken at exeter, when he defended several needlemen who were charged with raising a riot for the purpose of forcing the master-tailors to give higher wages. whilst jekyll was examining a witness as to the number of tailors present at the alleged riot, lord eldon--then chief justice of the common pleas--reminded him that three persons can make that which the law regards as a riot; whereupon the witty advocate answered, "yes, my lord, hale and hawkins lay down the law as your lordship states it, and i rely on their authority; for if there must be three men to make a riot, the rioters being _tailors_, there must be nine times three present, and unless the prosecutor make out that there were twenty-seven joining in this breach of the peace, my clients are entitled to an acquittal." on lord eldon enquiring whether he relied on common-law or statute-law, the counsel for the defence answered firmly, "my lord, i rely on a well-known maxim, as old as magna charta, _nine tailors make a man_." finding themselves unable to reward a lawyer for so excellent a jest with an adverse verdict, the jury acquitted the prisoners. towards the close of his career eldon made a still better jest than this of jekyll's concerning tailors. in , when lyndhurst was occupying the woolsack for the first time, and eldon was longing to recover the seals, the latter presented a petition from the tailors' company at glasgow against catholic belief. "what!" asked lord lyndhurst from the woolsack, in a low voice, "do the _tailors_ trouble themselves about such _measures_?" whereto, with unaccustomed quickness, the old tory of the tories retorted, "no wonder; you can't suppose that _tailors_ like _turncoats_." as specimens of a kind of pleasantry becoming more scarce every year, some of sir george rose's court witticisms are excellent. when mr. beams, the reporter, defended himself against the _friction_ of passing barristers by a wooden bar, the flimsiness of which was pointed out to sir george (then mr. rose), the wit answered-- "yes--the partition is certainly thin-- yet thick enough, truly, the beams within." the same originator of happy sayings pointed to eldon's characteristic weakness in the lines-- "mr. leach made a speech, pithy, clear, and strong; mr. hart, on the other part, was prosy, dull, and long; mr. parker made that darker which was dark enough without; mr. bell spoke so well, that the chancellor said--'i doubt.'" far from being offended by this allusion to his notorious mental infirmity, lord eldon, shortly after the verses had floated into circulation, concluded one of his decisions by saying, with a significant smile, "and here _the chancellor does not doubt_." not less remarkable for precipitancy than eldon for procrastination, sir john leach, vice-chancellor, was said to have done more mischief by excessive haste in a single term than eldon in his whole life wrought through extreme caution. the holders of this opinion delighted to repeat the poor and not perspicuous lines-- "in equity's high court there are two sad extremes, 'tis clear; excessive slowness strikes us there, excessive quickness here. "their source, 'twixt good and evil, brings a difficulty nice; the first from eldon's _virtue_, springs, the latter from his _vice_." it is needless to remark that this attempt to gloss the chancellor's shortcomings is an illustration of the readiness with which censors apologize for the misdeeds of eminently fortunate offenders. whilst eldon's procrastination and leach's haste were thus put in contrast, an epigram also placed the chancellor's frailty in comparison with the tedious prolixity of the master of the rolls-- "to cause delay in lincoln's inn two diff'rent methods tend: his lordship's judgments ne'er begin, his honors never end." a mirth-loving judge, justice powell, could be as thoroughly humorous in private life as he was fearless and just upon the bench. swift describes him as a surpassingly merry old gentleman, laughing heartily at all comic things, and his own droll stories more than aught else. in court he could not always refrain from jocularity. for instance, when he tried jane wenham for witch-craft, and she assured him that she could fly, his eye twinkled as he answered, "well, then you may; there is no law against flying." when fowler, bishop of gloucester--a thorough believer in what is now-a-days called spiritualism--was persecuting his acquaintance with silly stories about ghosts, powell gave him a telling reproof for his credulity by describing a horrible apparition which was represented as having disturbed the narrator's rest on the previous night. at the hour of midnight, as the clocks were striking twelve, the judge was roused from his first slumber by a hideous sound. starting up, he saw at the foot of his uncompanioned bed a figure--dark, gloomy, terrible, holding before its grim and repulsive visage a lamp that shed an uncertain light. "may heaven have mercy on us!" tremulously ejaculated the bishop at this point of the story. the judge continued his story: "be calm, my lord bishop; be calm. the awful part of this mysterious interview has still to be told. nerving myself to fashion the words of inquiry, i addressed the nocturnal visitor thus--'strange being, why hast thou come at this still hour to perturb a sinful mortal?' you understand, my lord, i said this in hollow tones--in what i may almost term a sepulchral voice." "ay--ay," responded the bishop, with intense excitement; "go on--i implore you to go on. what did _it_ answer?" "it answered in a voice not greatly different from the voice of a human creature--'please, sir, _i am the watchman on beat, and your street-door is open_.'" readers will remember the use which barham has made of this story in the ingoldsby legends. as a justice of the king's bench, powell had in chief justice holt an associate who could not only appreciate the wit of others, but could himself say smart things. when lacy, the fanatic, forced his way into holt's house in bedford row, the chief justice was equal to the occasion. "i come to you," said lacy, "a prophet from the lord god, who has sent me to thee and would have thee grant a _nolle prosequi_ for john atkins, his servant, whom thou hast sent to prison." whereto the judge answered, with proper emphasis, "thou art a false prophet and a lying knave. if the lord god had sent thee, it would have been to the attorney general, for the lord god knows that it belongeth not to the chief justice, to grant a _nolle prosequi_; but i, as chief justice, can grant a warrant to commit thee to john atkins's company." whereupon the false prophet, sharing the fate of many a true one, was forthwith clapped in prison. now that so much has been said of thurlow's brutal sarcasms, justice demands for his memory an acknowledgment that he possessed a vein of genuine humor that could make itself felt without wounding. in his undergraduate days at cambridge he is said to have worried the tutors of caius with a series of disorderly pranks and impudent _escapades_, but on one occasion he unquestionably displayed at the university the quick wit that in after life rescued him from many an embarrassing position. "sir," observed a tutor, giving the unruly undergraduate a look of disapproval, "i never come to the window without seeing you idling in the court." "sir," replied young thurlow, imitating the don's tone, "i never come into the court without seeing you idling at the window." years later, when he had become a great man, and john scott was paying him assiduous court, thurlow said, in ridicule of the mechanical awkwardness of many successful equity draughtsmen, "jack scott, don't you think we could invent a machine to draw bills and answers in chancery?" having laughed at the suggestion when it was made, scott put away the droll thought in his memory; and when he had risen to be attorney general reminded lord thurlow of it under rather awkward circumstances. macnamara, the conveyancer, being concerned as one of the principals in a chancery suit, lord thurlow advised him to submit the answer to the bill filed against him to the attorney general. in due course the answer came under scott's notice, when he found it so wretchedly drawn, that he advised macnamara to have another answer drawn by some one who understood pleading. on the same day he was engaged at the bar of the house of lords, when lord thurlow came to him, and said, "so i understand you don't think my friend mac's answer will do?" "do!" scott replied, contemptuously. "my lord, it won't do at all! it must have been drawn by that wooden machine which you once told me might be invented to draw bills and answers." "that's very unlucky," answered thurlow, "and impudent too, if you had known--_that i drew the answer myself_." lord lyndhurst used to maintain that it was one of the chief duties of a judge to render it disagreeable to counsel to talk nonsense. jeffreys in his milder moments no doubt salved his conscience with the same doctrine, when he recalled how, after elating him with a compliment, he struck down the rising junior with "lord, sir! you must be cackling too. we told you, mr. bradbury, your objection was very ingenious; that must not make you troublesome: you cannot lay an egg, but you must be cackling over it." doubtless, also, he felt it one of the chief duties of a judge to restrain attorneys from talking nonsense when--on hearing that the solicitor from whom he received his first brief had boastfully remarked, in allusion to past services, "my lord chancellor! i _made_ him!"--he exclaimed, "well, then, i'll lay my maker by the heels," and forthwith committed his former client and patron to the fleet prison. if this bully of the bench actually, as he is said to have done, interrupted the venerable maynard by saying, "you have lost your knowledge of law; your memory, i tell you, is failing through old age," how must every hearer of the speech have exulted when maynard quietly answered, "yes, sir george, i have forgotten more law than you ever learned; but allow me to say, i have not forgotten much." on the other hand it should be remembered that maynard was a man eminently qualified to sow violent animosities, and that he was a perpetual thorn in the flesh of the political barristers, whose principles he abhorred. a subtle and tricky man, he was constantly misleading judges by citing fictitious authorities, and then smiling at their professional ignorance when they had swallowed his audacious fabrications. moreover, the manner of his speech was sometimes as offensive as its substance was dishonest. strafford spoke a bitter criticism not only with regard to maynard and glyn, but with regard to the prevailing tone of the bar, when, describing the conduct of the advocates who managed his prosecution, he said: "glynne and maynard used me _like advocates_, but palmer and whitelock _like gentlemen_; and yet the latter left out nothing against me that was material to be urged against me." as a devonshire man maynard is one of the many cases which may be cited against the smart saying of sergeant davy, who used to observe: "the further i journey toward the west, the more convinced i am that the wise men come from the east." but shrewd, observant, liberal though he was in most respects, he was on one matter so far behind the spirit of the age that, blinded and ruled by an unwise sentiment, he gave his parliamentary support to an abortive measure "to prevent further building in london and the neighborhood." in support of this measure he observed, "this building is the ruin of the gentry and ruin of religion, as leaving many good people without churches to go to. this enlarging of london makes it filled with lacqueys and pages. in st. giles's parish scarce the fifth part come to church, and we shall have no religion at last." whilst justice has suffered something in respect of dignity from the overbearing temper of judges to counsel, from collisions of the bench with the bar, and from the mutual hostility of rival advocates, she has at times sustained even greater injury from the jealousies and altercations of judges. too often wearers of the ermine, sitting on the same bench, nominally for the purpose of assisting each other, have roused the laughter of the bar, and the indignation of suitors, by their petty squabbles. "it now comes to my turn," an irish judge observed, when it devolved on him to support the decision of one or the other of two learned coadjutors, who had stated with more fervor than courtesy altogether irreconcilable opinions--"it now comes to my turn to declare my view of the case, and fortunately i can be brief. i agree with my brother a, from the irresistible force of my brother b's arguments." extravagant as this case may appear, the king's bench of westminster hall, under mansfield and kenyon, witnessed several not less scandalous and comical differences. taking thorough pleasure in his work, lord mansfield was not less industrious than impartial in the discharge of his judicial functions; so long as there was anything for him to learn with regard to a cause, he not only sought for it with pains but with a manifest pleasure similar to that delight in judicial work which caused the french advocate, cottu, to say of mr. justice bayley: "il s'amuse à juger:" but notwithstanding these good qualities, he was often culpably deficient in respect for the opinions of his subordinate coadjutors. at times a vain desire to impress on the minds of spectators that his intellect was the paramount power of the bench; at other times a personal dislike to one of his _puisnes_ caused him to derogate from the dignity of his court, in cases where he was especially careful to protect the interests of suitors. with silence more disdainful than any words could have been, he used to turn away from mr. justice willes, at the moment when the latter expected his chief to ask his opinion; and on such occasions the indignant _puisne_ seldom had the prudence and nerve to conceal his mortification. "i have not been consulted, and i will be heard!" he once shrieked forth in a paroxysm of rage caused by mansfield's contemptuous treatment; and forty years afterwards jeremy bentham, who was a witness of the insult and its effect, observed: "at this distance of time--five-and-thirty or forty years--the feminine scream issuing out of his manly frame still tingles in my ears." mansfield's overbearing demeanor to his _puisnes_ was reproduced with less dignity by his successor; but buller, the judge who wore ermine whilst he was still in his thirty-third year, and who confessed that his "idea of heaven was to sit at nisi prius all day, and to play whist all night," seized the first opportunity to give taffy kenyon a lesson in good manners by stating, with impressive self-possession and convincing logic, the reasons which induced him to think the judgment delivered by his chief to be altogether bad in law and argument. [ ] one of jekyll's best displays of brilliant impudence was perpetrated on a welsh judge, who was alike notorious for his greed of office and his want of personal cleanliness. "my dear sir," jekyll observed in his most amiable manner to this most unamiable personage, "you have asked the minister for almost everything else, why _don't_ you ask him for a piece of soap and a nail-brush?" chapter xli. wits in 'silk' and punsters in 'ermine.' whilst lord camden held the chiefship of the common pleas, he was walking with his friend lord dacre on the outskirts of an essex village, when they passed the parish stocks. "i wonder," said the chief justice, "whether a man in the stocks endures a punishment that is physically painful? i am inclined to think that, apart from the sense of humiliation and other mental anguish, the prisoner suffers nothing, unless the populace express their satisfaction at his fate by pelting him with brick-bats." "suppose you settle your doubts by putting your feet into the holes," rejoined lord dacre, carelessly. in a trice the chief justice was sitting on the ground with his feet some fifteen inches above the level of his seat, and his ankles encircled by hard wood. "now, dacre!" he exclaimed, enthusiastically, "fasten the bolts, and leave me for ten minutes." like a courteous host lord dacre complied with the whim of his guest, and having placed it beyond his power to liberate himself bade him 'farewell' for ten minutes. intending to saunter along the lane and return at the expiration of the stated period, lord dacre moved away, and falling into one of his customary fits of reverie, soon forgot all about the stocks, his friend's freak, and his friend. in the meantime the chief justice went through every torture of an agonizing punishment--acute shootings along the confined limbs, aching in the feet, angry pulsations under the toes, violent cramps in the muscles and thighs, gnawing pain at the point where his person came in immediate contact with the cold ground, pins-and-needles everywhere. amongst the various forms of his physical discomfort, faintness, fever, giddiness, and raging thirst may be mentioned. he implored a peasant to liberate him, and the fellow answered with a shout of derision; he hailed a passing clergyman, and explained that he was not a culprit, but lord camden, chief justice of the common pleas, and one of lord dacre's guests. "ah!" observed the man of cloth, not so much answering the wretched culprit as passing judgment on his case, "mad with liquor. yes, drunkenness is sadly on the increase; 'tis droll, though, for a drunkard in the stocks to imagine himself a chief justice!" and on he passed. a farmer's wife jogged by on her pillion, and hearing the wretched man exclaim that he should die of thirst, the good creature gave him a juicy apple, and hoped that his punishment would prove for the good of his soul. not ten minutes, but ten hours did the chief justice sit in the stocks, and when at length he was carried into lord dacre's house, he was in no humor to laugh at his own miserable plight. not long afterwards he presided at a trial in which a workman brought an action against a magistrate who had wrongfully placed him in the stocks. the counsel for the defence happening to laugh at the statement of the plaintiff, who maintained that he had suffered intense pain during his confinement, lord camden leaned forwards and inquired in a whisper, "brother were you ever in the stocks?" "never, my lord," answered the advocate, with a look of lively astonishment "i have been," was the whispered reply; "and let me assure you that the agony inflicted by the stocks is--_awful_!" of a different sort, but scarcely less intense, was the pain endured by lord mansfield whenever a barrister pronounced a latin word with a false quantity. "my lords," said the scotch advocate, crosby, at the bar of the house of lords, "i have the honor to appear before your lordships as counsel for the curators." "ugh!" groaned the westminster oxford law-lord, softening his reproof by an allusion to his scotch nationality, "curators, mr. crosby, curators: i wish _our_ countrymen would pay a little more attention to prosody." "my lord," replied mr. crosby, with delightful readiness and composure, "i can assure you that _our_ countrymen are very proud of your lordship as the greatest senator and orator of the present age." the barrister who made baron alderson shudder under his robes by applying for a 'nolle prosequi,' was not equally quick at self-defence, when that judge interposed, "stop, sir--consider that this is the last day of term, and don't make things unnecessarily long." it was baron alderson who, in reply to the juryman's confession that he was deaf in one ear, observed, "then leave the box before the trial begins; for it is necessary that jurymen should _hear both sides_." amongst legal wits, lord ellenborough enjoys a high place; and though in dealing out satire upon barristers and witnesses, and even on his judicial coadjutors, he was often needlessly severe, he seldom perpetrated a jest the force of which lay solely in its cruelty. perhaps the most harsh and reprehensible outburst of satiric humor recorded of him is the crushing speech by which he ruined a young man for life. "the _unfortunate_ client for whom it is my privilege to appear," said a young barrister, making his first essay in westminster hall--"the unfortunate client, my lord, for whom i appear--hem! hem!--i say, my lord, my _unfortunate client_----" leaning forwards, and speaking in a soft, cooing voice, that was all the more derisive, because it was so gentle, lord ellenborough said, "you may go on, sir--so far the court is with you." one would have liked his lordship better had he sacrificed his jest to humanity, and acted as long afterwards that true gentleman, mr. justice talfourd, acted, who, seeing a young barrister overpowered with nervousness, gave him time to recover himself by saying, in the kindest possible manner, "excuse me for interrupting you--but for a minute i am not at liberty to pay you attention." whereupon the judge took up his pen and wrote a short note to a friend. before the note was finished, the young barrister had completely recovered his self-possession, and by an admirable speech secured a verdict for his client. a highly nervous man, he might on that day have been broken for life, like ellenborough's victim, by mockery; but fortunate in appearing before a judge whose witty tongue knew not how to fashion unkind words, he triumphed over his temporary weakness, and has since achieved well deserved success in his profession. talfourd might have made a jest for the thoughtless to laugh at; but he preferred to do an act, on which those who loved him like to think. when preston, the great conveyancer, gravely informed the judges of the king's bench that "an estate in fee simple was the highest estate known to the law of england," lord ellenborough checked the great chancery lawyer, and said with politest irony, "stay, stay, mr. preston, let me take that down. an estate" (the judge writing as he spoke) "in fee simple is--the highest estate--known to--the law of england. thank you, mr. preston! the court, sir, is much indebted to you for the information." having inflicted on the court an unspeakably dreary oration, preston, towards the close of the day, asked when it would be their lordship's pleasure to hear the remainder of his argument; whereupon lord ellenborough uttered a sigh of resignation, and answered, 'we are bound to hear you, and we will endeavor to give you our undivided attention on friday next; but as for _pleasure_, that, sir, has been long out of the question.' probably mistelling an old story, and taking to himself the merit of lord ellenborough's reply to preston, sir vicary gibbs (chief of the common pleas) used to tell his friends that sergeant vaughan--the sergeant who, on being subsequently raised to the bench through the influence of his elder brother, sir henry halford, the court physician, was humorously described by the wits of westminster hall as a judge _by prescription_--once observed in a grandiose address to the judges of the common pleas, "for though our law takes cognizance of divers different estates, i may be permitted to say, without reserve or qualification of any kind, that the highest estate known to the law of england is an estate in fee simple." whereupon sir vicary, according to his own account, interrupted the sergeant with an air of incredulity and astonishment. "what is your proposition, brother vaughan? perhaps i did not hear you rightly!" flustered by the interruption, which completely effected its object, the sergeant explained, "my lord, i mean to contend that an estate in fee simple is _one of the highest estates_ known to the law of england, that is, my lord, that it may be under certain circumstances--and sometimes is so." notwithstanding his high reputation for wit, lord ellenborough would deign to use the oldest jests. thus of mr. caldecott, who over and over again, with dull verbosity, had said that certain limestone quarries, like lead and copper mines, "were not rateable, because the limestone could only be reached by boring, which was matter of science," he gravely inquired, "would you, mr. caldecott, have us believe that every kind of _boring_ is matter of science?" with finer humor he nipped in the bud one of randle jackson's flowery harangues. "my lords," said the orator, with nervous intonation, "in the book of nature it is written----" "be kind enough, mr. jackson," interposed lord ellenborough, "to mention the page from which you are about to quote." this calls to mind the ridicule which, at an earlier period of his career, he cast on sheridan for saying at the trial of warren hastings, "the treasures in the zenana of the begum are offerings laid by the hand of piety on the altar of a saint." to this not too rhetorical statement, edward law, as leading counsel for warren hastings, replied by asking, "how the lady was to be considered a saint, and how the camels were to be laid upon the altar?" with greater pungency, sheridan defended himself by saying, "this is the first time in my life that i ever heard of special pleading on a metaphor, or a bill of indictment against a trope; but such is the turn of the learned gentleman's mind, that when he attempts to be humorous no jest can be found, and when serious no fact is visible."[ ] to the last law delighted to point the absurdities of orators who in aiming at the sublime only achieved the ridiculous. "my lords," said mr. gaselee, arguing that mourning coaches at a funeral were not liable to post-horse duty, "it never could have been the intention of a christian legislature to aggravate the grief which mourners endure whilst following to the grave the remains of their dearest relatives, by compelling them at the same time to pay the horse-duty." had mr. gaselee been a humorist, lord ellenborough would have laughed; but as the advocate was well known to have no turn for raillery, the chief justice gravely observed, "mr. gaselee, you incur danger by sailing in high sentimental latitudes." to the surgeon in the witness-box who said, "i employ myself as a surgeon," lord ellenborough retorted, "but does anybody else employ you as a surgeon?" the demand to be examined _on affirmation_ being preferred by a quaker witness, whose dress was so much like the costume of an ordinary _conformist_ that the officer of the court had begun to administer the usual oath, lord ellenborough inquired of the 'friend,' "do you really mean to impose upon the court by appearing here in the disguise of a reasonable being?" very pungent was his ejaculation at a cabinet dinner when he heard that lord kenyon was about to close his penurious old age by dying. "die!--why should he die?--what would he get by that?" interposed lord ellenborough, adding to the pile of jests by which men have endeavored to keep a grim, unpleasant subject out of sight--a pile to which the latest _mot_ was added the other day by lord palmerston, who during his last attack of gout exclaimed playfully. "_die_, my dear doctor! that's the _last_ thing i think of doing." having jested about kenyon's parsimony, as the old man lay _in extremis_, ellenborough placed another joke of the same kind upon his coffin. hearing that through the blunder of an illiterate undertaker the motto on kenyon's hatchment in lincoln's inn fields had been painted '_mors janua vita_,' instead of 'mors janua vitæ,' he exclaimed, "bless you, there's no mistake; kenyon's will directed that it should be 'vita,' so that his estate might be saved the expense of _a diphthong._" capital also was his reply when erskine urged him to accept the great seal. "how can you," he asked, in a tone of solemn entreaty, "wish me to accept the office of chancellor, when you know, erskine, that i am as ignorant of its duties as you are yourself?" at the time of uttering these words, ellenborough was well aware that if he declined them erskine would take the seals. some of his puns were very poor. for instance, his exclamation, "cite to me the decisions of the judges of the land: not the judgments of the chief justice of ely, who is fit only to _rule_ a copybook." one of the best 'legal' puns on record is unanimously attributed by the gossipers of westminster hall to lord chelmsford. as sir frederick thesiger he was engaged in the conduct of a cause, and objected to the irregularity of a learned sergeant who in examining his witnesses repeatedly put leading questions. "i have a right," maintained the sergeant, doggedly, "to _deal_ with my witnesses as i please." "to that i offer no objection," retorted sir frederick; "you may _deal_ as you like, but you shan't _lead_." of the same brilliant conversationalist mr. grantley berkeley has recorded a good story in 'my life and recollections.' walking down st. james's street, lord chelmsford was accosted by a stranger, who exclaimed "mr. birch i believe?" "if you believe that, sir, you'll believe anything," replied the ex-chancellor, as he passed on. when thelwall, instead of regarding his advocate with grateful silence, insisted on interrupting him with vexatious remarks and impertinent criticisms, erskine neither threw up his brief nor lost his temper, but retorted with an innocent flash of merriment. to a slip of paper on which the prisoner had written, "i'll be hanged if i don't plead my own cause," he contented himself with returning answer, "you'll be hanged if you do." his _mots_ were often excellent, but it was the tone and joyous animation of the speaker that gave them their charm. it is said that in his later years, when his habitual loquaciousness occasionally sank into garrulity, he used to repeat his jests with imprudent frequency, shamelessly giving his companions the same pun with each course of a long dinner. there is a story that after his retirement from public life he used morning after morning to waylay visitors on their road through the garden to his house, and, pointing to his horticultural attire and the spade in his hand assure them that he was 'enjoying his otium cum _digging a tatie_.' indeed the tradition lives that before his fall from the woolsack, pert juniors used to lay bets as to the number of times he could fire off a favorite old pun in the course of a sitting in the court of chancery, and that wily leaders habitually strove to catch his favor by giving him opportunities for facetious interruptions during their arguments. if such traditions be truthful, it is no matter for surprise that erskine's court-jokes have come down to us with so many variations. for instance, it is recorded with much circumstantiality that on circuit, accosting a junior who had lost his portmanteau from the back of a post-chaise, he said, with mock gravity, "young gentlemen, henceforth imitate the elephant, the wisest of animals, who always _carries his trunk before him_;" and on equally good authority it is stated that when polito, the keeper of the exeter 'change menagerie, met with a similar accident and brought an action for damages against the proprietor of the coach from the hind-boot of which his property had disappeared, erskine, speaking for the defence, told the jury that they would not be justified in giving a verdict favorable to the man, who, though he actually possessed an elephant, had neglected to imitate its prudent example and carry his trunk before him. as a _littérateur_ erskine met with meagre success; but some of his squibs and epigrams are greatly above the ordinary level of '_vers de société_.' for instance this is his:-- "de quodam rege. "i may not do right, though i ne'er can do wrong; i never can die, though i can not live long; my jowl it is purple, my hand it is fat-- come, riddle my riddle. what is it? _what? what?_" the liveliest illustrations of erskine's proverbial egotism are the squibs of political caricaturists; and from their humorous exaggerations it is difficult to make a correct estimate of the lengths of absurdity to which his intellectual vanity and self-consciousness sometimes carried him. from what is known of his disposition it seems probable that the sarcasms aimed by public writers at his infirmity inclined him to justify their attacks rather than to disprove them by his subsequent demeanor, and that some of his most extravagant outbursts of self-assertion were designed in a spirit of bravado and reckless good-nature to increase the laughter which satirists had raised against him. however this may be, his conduct drew upon him blows that would have ruffled the composure of any less self-complacent or less amiable man. the tory prints habitually spoke of him as counsellor ego whilst he was at the bar; and when it was known that he had accepted the seals, the opposition journals announced that he would enter the house as "baron ego, of eye, in the county of suffolk." another of his nicknames was _lord clackmannan_; and cobbett published the following notice of an harangue made by the fluent advocate in the house of commons:--"mr. erskine delivered a most animated speech in the house of commons on the causes and consequences of the late war, which lasted thirteen hours, eighteen minutes, and a second, by mr. john nichol's stop-watch. mr. erskine closed his speech with a dignified climax: 'i was born free, and, by g-d, i'll remain so!'--[a loud cry of '_hear! hear_' in the gallery, in which were citizens tallien and barrère.] on monday three weeks we shall have the extreme satisfaction of laying before the public a brief analysis of the above speech, our letter-founder having entered into an engagement to furnish a fresh font of i's."[ ] from the days of wriothesley, who may be regarded as the most conspicuous and unquestionable instance of judicial incompetency in the annals of english lawyers, the multitudes have always delighted in stories that illustrate the ignorance and incapacity of men who are presumed to possess, by right of their office, an extraordinary share of knowledge and wisdom. what law-student does not rub his hands as he reads of lord st. john's trouble during term whilst he held the seals, and of the impatience with which he looked forward to the long vacation, when he would not be required to look wise and speak authoritatively about matters concerning which he was totally ignorant. delicious are the stories of francis bacon's clerical successor, who endeavored to get up a _quantum suff_. of chancery law by falling on his knees and asking enlightenment of heaven. gloomily comical are the anecdotes of chief justice fleming, whose most famous and disastrous blunder was his judgment in bates's case. great fun may be gathered from the tales that exemplify the ignorance of law which characterized the military, and also the non-military laymen, who helped to take care of the seals during the civil troubles of the seventeenth century. capital is roger north's picture of bob wright's ludicrous shiftlessness whenever the influence of his powerful relations brought the loquacious, handsome, plausible fellow a piece of business. "he was a comely fellow," says roger north, speaking of the chief justice wright's earlier days, "airy and flourishing both in his habits and way of living; and his relation wren (being a powerful man in those parts) set him in credit with the country; but withal, he was so poor a lawyer that he used to bring such cases as came to him to his friend mr. north, and he wrote the opinion on the paper, and the lawyer copied it, and signed under the case as if it had been his own. it ran so low with him that when mr. north was at london he sent up his cases to him, and had opinions returned by the post; and, in the meantime he put off his clients on pretence of taking the matter into serious consideration." perhaps some readers of this page can point to juniors of the present date whose professional incapacity closely resembles the incompetence of this gay young barrister of charles ii.'s time. laughter again rises at the thought of lord chancellor bathurst and the judicial perplexities and blunders which caused sir charles williams to class him with those who "were cursed and stigmatized by power, and rais'd to be expos'd." much more than an average or altogether desirable amount of amiability has fallen to the reader who can refrain from a malicious smile, when he is informed by reliable history that lord loughborough (no mean lawyer or inefficient judge), gave utterance to so much bad law, as chairman of quarter sessions in canny yorkshire, that when on appeal his decisions were reversed with many polite expressions of _sincere_ regret by the king's bench, all westminster hall laughed in concert at the mistakes of the sagacious chief of the common pleas. but no lawyer, brilliant or dull, has been more widely ridiculed for incompetence than erskine. sir causticus witherett, being asked some years since why a certain chancellor, unjustly accused of intellectual dimness by his political adversaries and by the uninformed public, preferred his seat amongst the barons to his official place on the woolsack, is said to have replied: "the lord chancellor usually takes his seat amongst the peers whenever he can do so with propriety, because he is a highly nervous man, and when he is on the woolsack, he is apt to be frightened at finding himself all alone--_in the dark_." as soon as erskine was mentioned as a likely person to be lord chancellor, rumors began to circulate concerning his total unfitness for the office; and no sooner had he mounted the woolsack than the wits declared him to be alone and in the dark. lord ellenborough's sarcasm was widely repeated, and gave the cue to the advocate's detractors, who had little difficulty in persuading the public that any intelligent law-clerk would make as good a chancellor as thomas erskine. with less discretion than good-humor, erskine gave countenance to the representations of his enemies by ridiculing his own unfitness for the office. during the interval between his appointment and his first appearance as judge in the court of chancery, he made a jocose pretence of 'reading up' for his new duties: and whimsically exaggerating his deficiencies, he represented himself as studying books with which raw students have some degree of familiarity. caught with 'cruise's digest' of the laws relating to real property, open in his hand, he observed to the visitor who had interrupted his studies, "you see, i am taking a little from my _cruise_ daily, without any prospect of coming to the end of it." in the autumn of two gentlemen of the united states having differed in opinion concerning his incompetence in the court of chancery--the one of them maintaining that the greater number of his decrees had been reversed, and the other maintaining that so many of his decisions had not endured reversal--the dispute gave rise to a bet of three dozen of port. with comical bad taste one of the parties to the bet--the one who believed that the chancellor's judgments had been thus frequently upset--wrote to erskine for information on the point. instead of giving the answer which his correspondent desired, erskine informed him in the following terms that he had lost his wine:-- "upper berkley street, nov. , . "sir:--i certainly was appointed chancellor under the administration in which mr. fox was secretary of state, in , and could have been chancellor under no administration in which he had not a post; nor would have accepted without him any office whatsoever. i believe the administration was said, by all the _blockheads_, to be made up of all the _talents_ in the country. "but you have certainly lost your bet on the subject of my decrees. none of them were appealed against, except one, upon a branch of mr. thellusson's will--but it was affirmed without a dissentient voice, on the motion of lord eldon, then and now lord chancellor. if you think i was no lawyer, you may continue to think so. it is plain you are no lawyer yourself; but i wish every man to retain his opinion, though at the cost of three dozen of port. "your humble servant, "erskine. "to save you from spending your money on bets which you are sure to lose, remember that no man can be a great advocate who is no lawyer. the thing is impossible." of the many good stories current about chiefs of the law who are still alive, the present writer, for obvious reasons, abstains from taking notice; but one humorous anecdote concerning a lively judge may with propriety be inserted in these pages, since it fell from his own lips when he was making a speech from the chair at a public dinner. between sixty-five and seventy years from the present time, when sir frederick pollock was a boy at st. paul's school, he drew upon himself the displeasure of dr. roberts, the somewhat irascible head-master of the school, who frankly told sir frederick's father, "sir, you'll live to see that boy of yours hanged." years afterwards, when the boy of whom this dismal prophecy was made had distinguished himself at cambridge and the bar, dr. roberts, meeting sir frederick's mother in society, overwhelmed her with congratulations upon her son's success, and fortunately oblivious of his former misunderstanding with his pupil, concluded his polite speeches by saying--"ah! madam, i always said he'd fill an _elevated_ situation." told by the venerable judge at a recent dinner of 'old paulines,' this story was not less effective than the best of those post-prandial sallies with which william st. julien arabin--the assistant judge of old bailey notoriety--used to convulse his auditors something more than thirty years since. in the 'arabiniana' it is recorded how this judge, in sentencing an unfortunate woman to a long term of transportation, concluded his address with--"you must go out of the country. you have disgraced _even_ your own sex." let this chapter close with a lawyer's testimony to the moral qualities of his brethren. in the garden of clement's inn may still be seen the statue of a negro, supporting a sun-dial, upon which a legal wit inscribed the following lines:-- "in vain, poor sable son of woe, thou seek'st the tender tear; from thee in vain with pangs they flow, for mercy dwells not here. from cannibals thou fled'st in vain; lawyers less quarter give; the _first_ won't eat you till you're _slain_, the _last_ will do't _alive_." unfortunately these lines have been obliterated. [ ] robert dallas--one of edward law's coadjutors in the defence of hastings--gave another 'manager' a more telling blow. indignant with burke for his implacable animosity to hastings, dallas (subsequently chief justice of the common pleas) wrote the stinging lines-- "oft have we wondered that on irish ground no poisonous reptile has e'er yet been found; reveal'd the secret stands of nature's work--she saved her venom to produce her burke." [ ] in the 'anti-jacobin,' canning, in the mock report of an imaginary speech, represented erskine as addressing the 'whig club' thus:--"for his part he should only say that, having been, as he had been, both a soldier and a sailor, if it had been his fortune to have stood in either of these relations to the directory--as _a_ man and a major-general he should not have scrupled to direct his artillery against the national representatives:--as a naval officer he would undoubtedly have undertaken for the removal of the exiled deputies; admitting the exigency, under all its relations, as it appeared to him to exist, and the then circumstances of the times with all their bearings and dependencies, branching out into an infinity of collateral considerations and involving in each a variety of objects, political, physical, and moral; and these, again, under their distinct and separate heads, ramifying into endless subdivisions, which it was foreign to his purpose to consider, mr. erskine concluded by recapitulating, in a strain of agonizing and impressive eloquence, the several more prominent heads of his speech; he had been a soldier and a sailor, and had a son at winchester school--he had been called by special retainers, during the summer, into many different and distant parts of the country--traveling chiefly in post-chaises. he felt himself called upon to declare that his poor faculties were at the service of his country--of the free and enlightened part of it at least. he stood there as a man--he stood in the eye, indeed, in the hand of god--to whom (in the presence of the company and the waiters), he solemnly appealed. he was of noble, perhaps royal, blood--he had a house at hampsted--was convinced of the necessity of a thorough and radical reform. his pamphlets had gone through thirty editions, skipping alternately the odd and even numbers. he loved the constitution, to which he would cling and grapple--and he was clothed with the infirmities of man's nature." chapter xlii. witnesses. in the days when mr. davenport hill, the recorder of birmingham, made a professional reputation for himself in the committee-rooms of the houses of parliament, he had many a sharp tussle with one of those venal witnesses who, during the period of excitement that terminated in the disastrous railway panic, were ready to give scientific evidence on engineering questions, with less regard to truth than to the interests of the persons who paid for their evidence. having by mendacious evidence gravely injured a cause in which mr. hill was interested as counsel, and mr. tite, the eminent architect, and present member for bath, was concerned as a projector, this witness was struck with apoplexy and died--before he could complete the mischief which he had so adroitly begun. under the circumstances, his sudden withdrawal from the world was not an occasion for universal regret. "well, hill, have you heard the news?" inquired mr. tite of the barrister, whom he encountered in middle temple lane on the morning after the engineer's death. "have you heard that ---- died yesterday of apoplexy?" "i can't say," was the rejoinder, "that i shall shed many tears for his loss. he was an arrant scoundrel." "come, come," replied the architect, charitably, "you have always been too hard on that man. he was by no means so bad a fellow as you would make him out. i do verily believe that in the whole course of his life that man never told a lie--_out of the witness-box_." strange to say, this comical testimony to character was quite justified by the fact. this man, who lied in public as a matter of business, was punctiliously honorable in private life. of the simplest method of tampering with witnesses an instance is found in a case which occurred while sir edward coke was chief justice of the king's bench. loitering about westminster hall, one of the parties in an action stumbled upon the witness whose temporary withdrawal from the ways of men he was most anxious to effect. with a perfect perception of the proper use of hospitality, he accosted this witness (a staring, open-mouthed countryman), with suitable professions of friendliness, and carrying him into an adjacent tavern, set him down before a bottle of wine. as soon as the sack had begun to quicken his guest's circulation, the crafty fellow hastened into court with the intelligence that the witness, whom he had left drinking in a room not two hundred yards distant, was in a fit and lying at death's door. the court being asked to wait, the impudent rascal protested that to wait would be useless; and the chief justice, taking his view of the case, proceeded to give judgment without hearing the most important evidence in the cause. in badgering a witness with noisy derision, no barrister of charles ii.'s time could surpass george jeffreys; but on more than one occasion that gentleman, in his most overbearing moments, met with his master in the witness whom he meant to brow-beat. "you fellow in the leathern doublet," he is said to have exclaimed to a countryman whom he was about to cross-examine, "pray, what are you paid for swearing?" "god bless you, sir, and make you an honest man," answered the farmer, looking the barrister full in the face, and speaking with a voice of hearty good-humor; "if you had no more for lying than i have for swearing, you would wear a leather doublet as well as i." sometimes erskine's treatment of witnesses was very jocular, and sometimes very unfair; but his jocoseness was usually so distinct from mere flippant derisiveness, and his unfairness was redeemed by such delicacy of wit and courtesy of manner, that his most malicious _jeux d'esprit_ seldom raised the anger of the witnesses at whom they were aimed. a religious enthusiast objecting to be sworn in the usual manner, but stating that though he would not "kiss the book," he would "hold up his hand" and swear, erskine asked him to give his reason for preferring so eccentric a way to the ordinary mode of giving testimony. "it is written in the book of revelations," answered the man, "that the angel standing on the sea _held up his hand_." "but that does not apply to your case," urged the advocate; "for in the first place, you are no angel; secondly, you cannot tell how the angel would have sworn if he had stood on dry ground, as you do." not shaken by this reply, which cannot be called unfair, and which, notwithstanding its jocoseness, was exactly the answer which the gravest divine would have made to such scruples, the witness persisted in his position; and on being permitted to give evidence in his own peculiar way, he had enough influence with the jury to induce them to give a verdict adverse to erskine's wishes. less fair but more successful was erskine's treatment of the commercial traveller, who appeared in the witness box dressed in the height of fashion, and wearing a starched white necktie folded with the 'brummel fold.' in an instant reading the character of the man, on whom he had never before set eyes, and knowing how necessary it was to put him in a state of extreme agitation and confusion, before touching on the facts concerning which he had come to give evidence, erskine rose, surveyed the coxcomb, and said, with an air of careless amusement, "you were born and bred in manchester, _i perceive_." greatly astonished at this opening remark, the man answered, nervously, that he was "a manchester man--born and bred in manchester." "exactly," observed erskine, in a conversational tone, and as though he were imparting information to a personal friend--"exactly so; i knew it from the absurd tie of your neckcloth." the roars of laughter which followed this rejoinder so completely effected the speaker's purpose that the confounded bagman could not tell his right hand from his left. equally effective was erskine's sharp question, put quickly to the witness, who, in an action for payment of a tailor's bill, swore that a certain dress-coat was badly made--one of the sleeves being longer than the other. "you will," said erskine, slowly, having risen to cross-examine, "swear--that one of the sleeves was--longer--than the other?" _witness._ "i do swear it." _erskine_, quickly, and with a flash of indignation, "then, sir, i am to understand that you positively deny that one of the sleeves was _shorter_ than the other?" startled into a self-contradiction by the suddenness and impetuosity of this thrust, the witness said, "i do deny it." _erskine_, raising his voice as the tumultuous laughter died away, "thank you, sir; i don't want to trouble you with another question." one of erskine's smartest puns referred to a question of evidence. "a case," he observed, in a speech made during his latter years, "being laid before me by my veteran friend, the duke of queensbury--better known as 'old q'--as to whether he could sue a tradesman for breach of contract about the painting of his house; and the evidence being totally insufficient to support the case, i wrote thus: 'i am of opinion that this action will not _lie_ unless the witnesses _do_.'" it is worthy of notice that this witticism was but a revival (with a modification) of a pun attributed to lord chancellor hatton in bacon's 'apophthegmes.' in this country many years have elapsed since duels have taken place betwixt gentlemen of the long robe, or between barristers and witnesses in consequence of words uttered in the heat of forensic strife; but in the last century, and in the opening years of the present, it was no very rare occurrence for a barrister to be called upon for 'satisfaction' by a person whom he had insulted in the course of his professional duty. during george ii.'s reign, young robert henley so mercilessly badgered one zephaniah reeve, whom he had occasion to cross-examine in a trial at bristol, that the infuriated witness--quaker and peace-loving merchant though he was--sent his persecutor a challenge immediately upon leaving court. rather than incur the ridicule of 'going out with a quaker,' and the sin of shooting at a man whom he had actually treated with unjustifiable freedom, henley retreated from an embarrassing position by making a handsome apology; and years afterwards, when he had risen to the woolsack, he entertained his old acquaintance, zephaniah reeve, at a fashionable dinner-party, when he assembled guests were greatly amused by the lord chancellor's account of the commencement of his acquaintance with his quaker friend. between thirty and forty years later thurlow was 'called out' by the duke of hamilton's agent, mr. andrew stewart, whom he had grievously offended by his conduct of the great douglas case. on jan. , - , thurlow and his adversary met in hyde park. on his way to the appointed place, the barrister stopped at a tavern near hyde park corner, and "ate an enormous breakfast," after which preparation for business, he hastened to the field of action. accounts agree in saying that he behaved well upon the ground. long after the bloodless _rencontre_, the scotch agent, not a little proud of his 'affair' with a future lord chancellor, said, "mr. thurlow advanced and stood up to me like an elephant." but the elephant and the mouse parted without hurting each other; the encounter being thus faithfully described in the 'scots' magazine:' "on sunday morning, january , the parties met with swords and pistols, in hyde park, one of them having for his second his brother, colonel s----, and the other having for his mr. l----, member for a city in kent. having discharged pistols, at ten yards' distance, without effect, they drew their swords, but the seconds interposed, and put an end to the affair." one of the best 'northern circuit stories' pinned upon lord eldon relates to a challenge which an indignant suitor is said to have sent to law and john scott. in a trial at york that arose from a horse-race, it was stated in evidence that one of the conditions of the race required that "each horse should be ridden by a gentleman." the race having been run, the holders refused to pay the stakes to the winner on the ground that he was not a gentleman; whereupon the equestrian whose gentility was thus called in question brought an action for the money. after a very humorous inquiry, which terminated in a verdict for the defendants, the plaintiff _was said_ to have challenged the defendants' counsel. messrs. scott and law, for maintaining that he was no gentleman; to which invitation, it also averred, reply was made that the challengees "could not think of fighting one who had been found _no gentleman_ by the solemn verdict of twelve of his countrymen." inquiry, however, has deprived this delicious story of much of its piquancy. eldon had no part in the offence; and law, who was the sole utterer of the obnoxious words, received no invitation to fight. "no message was sent," says a writer, supposed to be lord brougham, in the 'law magazine,' "and no attempt was made to provoke a breach of the peace. it is very possible lord eldon may have said, and lord ellenborough too, that they were not bound to treat one in such a predicament as a gentleman, and hence the story has arisen in the lady's mind. the fact was as well known on the northern circuit as the answer of a witness to a question, whether the party had a right by his circumstances to keep a pack of fox-hounds; 'no more right than i to keep a pack of archbishops.'" curran is said to have received a call, before he left his bed one morning, from a gentleman whom he had cross-examined with needless cruelty and unjustifiable insolence on the previous day. "sir!" said this irate man, presenting himself in curran's bedroom, and rousing the barrister from slumber to a consciousness that he was in a very awkward position, "i am the gintleman whom you insulted yesterday in his majesty's court of justice, in the presence of the whole county, and i am here to thrash you soundly!" thus speaking, the herculean intruder waved a horsewhip over the recumbent lawyer. "you don't mean to strike a man when he is lying down?" inquired curran. "no, bedad; i'll just wait till you've got out of bed and then i'll give it to you sharp and fast." curran's eye twinkled mischievously as he rejoined: "if that's the case, by ---- i'll lie here all day." so tickled was the visitor with this humorous announcement, that he dropped his horsewhip, and dismissing anger with a hearty roar of laughter, asked the counsellor to shake hands with him. in the december of , pepys was present at a trial in guildhall concerning the fraud of a merchant-adventurer, who having insured his vessel for £ when, together with her cargo, she was worth no more than £ , had endeavored to wreck her off the french coast. from pepys's record it appears that this was a novel piece of rascality at that time, and consequently created lively sensation in general society, as well as in legal and commercial coteries. "all the great counsel in the kingdom" were employed in the cause; and though maritime causes then, as now, usually involved much hard swearing, the case was notable for the prodigious amount of perjury which it elicited. for the most part the witnesses were sailors, who, besides swearing with stolid indifference to truth, caused much amusement by the incoherence of their statements and by their free use of nautical expressions, which were quite unintelligible to chief justice (sir robert) hyde. "it was," says pepys, "pleasant to see what mad sort of testimonys the seamen did give, and could not be got to speak in order; and then their terms such as the judge could not understand, and to hear how sillily the counsel and judge would speak as to the terms necessary in the matter, would make one laugh; and above all a frenchman, that was forced to speak in french, and took an english oath he did not understand, and had an interpreter sworn to tell us what he said, which was the best testimony of all." a century later lord mansfield was presiding at a trial consequent upon a collision of two ships at sea, when a common sailor, whilst giving testimony, said, "at the time i was standing abaft the binnacle;" whereupon his lordship, with a proper desire to master the facts of the case, observed, "stay, stay a minute, witness: you say that at the time in question you were _standing abaft the binnacle_; now tell me, where is abaft the binnacle?" this was too much for the gravity of 'the salt,' who immediately before climbing into the witness-box had taken a copious draught of neat rum. removing his eyes from the bench, and turning round upon the crowded court with an expression of intense amusement, he exclaimed at the top of his voice, "he's a pretty fellow for a judge! bless my jolly old eyes!--[the reader may substitute a familiar form of 'imprecation on eye-sight']--you have got a pretty sort of a land-lubber for a judge! he wants me to tell him where _abaft the binnacle is_!" not less amused than the witness, lord mansfield rejoined, "well, my friend, you must fit me for my office by telling me where _abaft the binnacle_ is; you've already shown me the meaning of _half seas over_." with less good-humor the same chief justice revenged himself on dr. brocklesby, who, whilst standing in the witness-box of the court of king's bench, incurred the chief justice's displeasure by referring to their private intercourse. some accounts say that the medical witness merely nodded to the chief justice, as he might have done with propriety had they been taking seats at a convivial table; other accounts, with less appearance of probability, maintain that in a voice audible to the bar, he reminded the chief justice of certain jolly hours which they had spent together during the previous evening. anyhow, lord mansfield was hurt, and showed his resentment in his 'summing-up' by thus addressing the jury: "the next witness is one _r_ocklesby, or _b_rocklesby--_b_rocklesby or _r_ocklesby, i am not sure which; and first, _he swears that he is a physician_." on one occasion lord mansfield covered his retreat from an untenable position with a sparkling pleasantry. an old witness named _elm_ having given his evidence with remarkable clearness, although he was more than eighty years of age, lord mansfield examined him as to his habitual mode of living, and found that he had throughout life been an early riser and a singularly temperate man. "ay," observed the chief justice, in a tone of approval, "i have always found that without temperance and early habits, longevity is never attained." the next witness, the _elder_ brother of this model of temperance, was then called, and he almost surpassed his brother as an intelligent and clear-headed utterer of evidence. "i suppose," observed lord mansfield, "that you also are an early riser." "no, my lord," answered the veteran, stoutly; "i like my bed at all hours, and special-_lie_ i like it of a morning." "ah; but, like your brother, you are a very temperate man?" quickly asked the judge, looking out anxiously for the safety of the more important part of his theory. "my lord," responded this ancient elm, disdaining to plead guilty to a charge of habitual sobriety, "i am a very old man, and my memory is as clear as a bell, but i can't remember the night when i've gone to bed without being more or less drunk." lord mansfield was silent. "ah, my lord," mr. dunning exclaimed, "this old man's case supports a theory upheld by many persons, that habitual intemperance is favorable to longevity." "no, no," replied the chief justice, with a smile, "this old man and his brother merely teach us what every carpenter knows--that elm, whether it be wet or dry, is a very tough wood." another version of this excellent story makes lord mansfield inquire of the elder elm, "then how do you account for your prolonged tenure of existence?" to which question elm is made to respond, more like a lawyer than a simple witness, "i account for it by the terms of the original lease." few stories relating to witnesses are more laughable than that which describes the arithmetical process by which mr. baron perrot arrived at the value of certain conflicting evidence. "gentlemen of the jury," this judge is reported to have said, in summing up the evidence in a trial where the witnesses had sworn with noble tenacity of purpose, "there are fifteen witnesses who swear that the watercourse used to flow in a ditch on the north side of the hedge. on the other hand, gentlemen, there are nine witnesses who swear that the watercourse used to flow on the south side of the hedge. now, gentlemen, if you subtract nine from fifteen, there remain six witnesses wholly uncontradicted; and i recommend you to give your verdict for the party who called those six witnesses." whichever of the half-dozen ways in which it is told be accepted as the right one, the following story exemplifies the difficulty which occasionally arises in courts of justice, when witnesses use provincial terms with which the judge is not familiar. mr. william russell, in past days deputy-surveyor of 'canny newcastle,' and a genuine northumbrian in dialect, brogue, and shrewdness, was giving his evidence at an important trial in the newcastle court-house, when he said--"as i was going along the quay, i saw a hubbleshew coming out of a chare-foot." not aware that on tyne-side the word 'hubbleshew' meant 'a concourse of riotous persons;' that the narrow alleys or lanes of newcastle 'old town' were called by their inhabitants 'chares;' and that the lower end of each alley, where it opened upon quay-side, was termed a 'chare-foot;' the judge, seeing only one part of the puzzle, inquired the meaning of the word 'hubbleshew.' "a crowd of disorderly persons," answered the deputy-surveyor. "and you mean to say," inquired the judge of assize, with a voice and look of surprise, "that you saw a crowd of people come out of a chair-foot?" "i do, my lord," responded the witness. "gentlemen of the jury," said his lordship, turning to the 'twelve good men' in the box, "it must be needless for me to inform you--_that this witness is insane_!" the report of a trial which occurred at newcastle assizes towards the close of the last century gives the following succession of questions and answers:--_barrister._--"what is your name?" _witness._--"adam, sir--adam thompson." _barrister._--"where do you live?" _witness._--"in paradise." _barrister_ (with facetious tone).--"and pray, mr. adam, how long have you dwelt in paradise?" _witness._--"ever since the flood." paradise is the name of a village in the immediate vicinity of newcastle; and 'the flood' referred to by the witness was the inundation (memorable in local annals) of the tyne, which in the year swept away the old tyne bridge. chapter xliii. circuiteers. exposed to some of the discomforts, if not all the dangers,[ ] of travel; required to ride over black and cheerless tracts of moor and heath: now belated in marshy districts, and now exchanging shots with gentlemen of the road; sleeping, as luck favored them, in way-side taverns, country mansions, or the superior hotels of provincial towns--the circuiteers of olden time found their advantage in cultivating social hilarity and establishing an etiquette that encouraged good-fellowship in their itinerant societies. at an early date they are found varying the monotony of cross-country rides with racing-matches and drinking bouts, cock-fights and fox-hunting; and enlivening assize towns and country houses with balls and plays, frolic and song. a prodigious amount of feasting was perpetrated on an ordinary circuit-round of the seventeenth century; and at circuit-messes, judges' dinners, and sheriffs' banquets, saucy juniors were allowed a license of speech to staid leaders and grave dignitaries that was altogether exceptional to the prevailing tone of manners. in the days when chief justice hyde, clarendon's cousin, used to ride the norfolk circuit, old sergeant earl was the leader, or, to use the slang of the period, 'cock of the round'. a keen, close-fisted, tough practitioner, this sergeant used to ride from town to town, chuckling over the knowledge that he was earning more and spending less than any other member of the circuit. one biscuit was all the refreshment which he permitted himself on the road from cambridge to norwich; although he consented to dismount at the end of every ten miles to stretch his limbs. sidling up to sergeant earl, as there was no greater man for him to toady, francis north offered himself as the old man's travelling companion from the university to the manufacturing town; and when earl with a grim smile accepted the courteous suggestion, the young man congratulated himself. on the following morning, however, he had reason to question his good fortune when the sergeant's clerk brought him a cake, and remarked, significantly, "put it in your pocket, sir; you'll want it; for my master won't draw bit till he comes to norwich." it was a hard day's work; but young frank north was rewarded for his civility to the sergeant, who condescended to instruct his apt pupil in the tricks and chicaneries of their profession. "sir," inquired north at the close of the excursion, emboldened by the rich man's affability, "by what system do you keep your accounts, which must be very complex, as you have lands, securities, and great comings-in of all kinds?" "accounts! boy," answered the grey-headed curmudgeon; "i get as much as i can, and i spend as little as i can; that's how i keep my accounts." when north had raised himself to the chiefship of the common pleas he chose the western circuit, "not for the common cause, it being a long circuit, and beneficial for the officers and servants, but because he knew the gentlemen to be loyal and conformable, and that he should have fair quarter amongst them;" and so much favor did he win amongst the loyal and conformable gentry that old bishop mew--the prelate of winchester, popularly known as bishop _patch_, because he always wore a patch of black court-plaster over the scar of a wound which he received on one of his cheeks, whilst fighting as a trooper for charles i.--used to term him the "deliciæ occidentis, or darling of the west." on one occasion this darling of the west was placed in a ludicrous position by the alacrity with which he accepted an invitation from "a busy fanatic," a devonshire gentleman, of good family, and estate, named duke. this "busy fanatic" invited the judges on circuit and their officers to dine and sleep at his mansion on their way to exeter, and subsequently scandalized his guests--all of them of course zealous defenders of the established church--by reading family-prayers before supper. "the gentleman," says the historian, "had not the manners to engage the parish minister to come and officiate with any part of the evening service before supper: but he himself got behind the table in his hall, and read a chapter, and then a long-winded prayer, after the presbyterian way." very displeased were the chief justice and the other judge of assize; and their dissatisfaction was not diminished on the following day when on entering exeter a rumor met them, that "the judges had been at a conventicle, and the grand jury intended to present them and all their retinue for it." not many years elapsed before this darling of the west was replaced, by another chief justice who asserted the power of constituted authorities with an energy that roused more fear than gratitude in the breasts of local magistrates. that grim, ghastly, hideous progress, which jeffreys made in the plenitude of civil and military power through the western counties, was not without its comic interludes; and of its less repulsive scenes none was more laughable than that which occurred in bristol courthouse when the terrible chief justice upbraided the bristol magistrates for taking part in a slave-trade of the most odious sort. the mode in which the authorities of the western port carried on their iniquitous traffic deserves commemoration, for no student can understand the history of any period until he has acquainted himself with its prevailing morality. at a time when by the wealth of her merchants and the political influence of her inhabitants bristol was the second city of england, her mayor and aldermen used daily to sit in judgment on young men and growing boys, who were brought before them and charged with trivial offences. some of the prisoners had actually broken the law: but in a large proportion of the cases the accusations were totally fictitious--the arrests having been made in accordance with the directions of the magistrates, on charges which the magistrates themselves knew to be utterly without foundation. every morning the bristol tolsey or court-house saw a crowd of those wretched captives--clerks out of employment, unruly apprentices, street boys without parents, and occasionally children of honest birth, ay, of patrician lineage, whose prompt removal from their native land was desired by brutal fathers or vindictive guardians; and every morning a mockery of judicial investigation was perpetrated in the name of justice. standing in a crowd the prisoners were informed of the offences charged against them; huddled together in the dock, like cattle in a pen, they caught stray sentences from the lips of the perjured rascals who had seized them in the public ways; and whilst they thus in a frenzy of surprise and fear listened to the statements of counsel for the prosecution, and to the fabrications of lying witnesses, agents of the court whispered to them that if they wished to save their lives they must instantly confess their guilt, and implore the justices to transport them to the plantations. ignorant, alarmed, and powerless, the miserable victims invariably acted on this perfidious counsel; and forthwith the magistrates ordered their shipment to the west indies, where they were sold as slaves--the money paid for them by west india planters in due course finding its way into the pockets of the bristol justices. it is asserted that the wealthier aldermen, through caution, or those few grains of conscience which are often found in the breasts of consummate rogues, forbore to share in the gains of this abominable traffic; but it cannot be gainsaid that the least guilty magistrates winked at the atrocious conduct of their brother-justices. vowing vengeance on the bristol kidnappers jeffreys entered their court-house, and opened proceedings by crying aloud that "he had brought a broom to sweep them with." the mayor of bristol was in those days no common mayor; in assize commissions his name was placed before the names of judges of assize; and even beyond the limits of his jurisdiction he was a man of mark and influence. great therefore was this dignitary's astonishment when jeffreys ordered him--clothed as he was in official scarlet and furs--to stand in the dock. for a few seconds the local potentate demurred; but when the chief justice poured upon him a cataract of blasphemy, and vowed to hang him instantly over the entrance to the tolsey unless he complied immediately, the humiliated chief magistrate of the ancient borough took his place at the felon's bar, and received such a rating as no thief, murderer or rebel had ever heard from george jeffrey's abusive mouth. unfortunately the affair ended with the storm. until the arrival of william of orange the guilty magistrates were kept in fear of criminal prosecution; but the matter was hushed up and covered with amnesty by the new government; so that "the fright only, which was no small one, was all the punishment which these judicial kidnappers underwent; and the gains," says roger north, "acquired by so wicked a trade, rested peacefully in their pockets." it should be remembered that the kidnapping justices whom the odious jeffreys so indignantly denounced were tolerated and courted by their respectable and prosperous neighbors; and some of the worst charges, by which the judge's fame has been rendered odious to posterity, depend upon the evidence of men who, if they were not kidnappers themselves, saw nothing peculiarly atrocious in the conduct of magistrates who systematically sold their fellow-countrymen into a most barbarous slavery. amongst old circuit stories of questionable truthfulness there is a singular anecdote recorded by the biographers of chief justice hale, who, whilst riding the western circuit, tried a half-starved lad on a charges of burglary. the prisoner had been shipwrecked upon the cornish coast, and on his way through an inhospitable district had endured the pangs of extreme hunger. in his distress, the famished wanderer broke the window of a baker's shop and stole a loaf of bread. under the circumstances, hale directed the jury to acquit the prisoner: but, less merciful than the judge, the gentlemen of the box returned a verdict of 'guilty'--a verdict which the chief justice stoutly refused to act upon. after much resistance, the jurymen were starved into submission; and the youth was set at liberty. several years elapsed; and chief justice hale was riding the northern circuit, when he was received with such costly and excessive pomp by the sheriff of a northern county, that he expostulated with his entertainer on the lavish profuseness of his conduct. "my lord," answered the sheriff, with emotion, "don't blame me for showing my gratitude to the judge who saved my life when i was an outcast. had it not been for you, i should have been hanged in cornwall for stealing a loaf, instead of living to be the richest landowner of my native county." a sketch of circuit-life in the middle of the last century may be found in 'a northern circuit, described in a letter to a friend: a poetical essay. by a gentleman of the middle temple. .'--a piece of doggrel that will meet with greater mercy from the antiquary than the poetical critic. in seeking to avoid the customary exactions of their office, the sheriffs of the present generation were only following in the steps of sheriffs who, more than a century past, exerted themselves to reduce the expenses of shrievalties, and whose economical reforms were defended by reference to the conduct of sheriffs under the last of the tudors.--in the days of elizabeth, the sheriffs demanded and obtained relief from an obligation to supply judges on circuit, with food and lodging; under victoria they have recently exclaimed against the custom which required them to furnish guards of javelin-bearers for the protection of her majesty's representatives; when george ii. was king, they grumbled against lighter burdens--for instance, the cost of white kid-gloves and payments to bell-ringers. the sheriff is still required by custom to present the judges with white gloves whenever an assize has been held without a single capital conviction; but in past times, on every _maiden_ assize, he was expected to give gloves not only to the judges, but to the entire body of circuiteers--barristers as well as officers of court.[ ] wishing to keep his official expenditure down to the lowest possible sum, a certain sheriff for cumberland--called in 'a northern circuit,' sir frigid gripus knapper--directed his under-sheriff not to give white gloves on the occasion of a maiden assize at carlisle, and also through the mouth of his subordinate, declined to pay the officers of the circuit certain customary fees. to put the innovator to shame, sir william gascoigne, the judge before whom the case was laid, observed in open court, "though i can compel an immediate payment, it being a demand of right, and not a mere gift, yet i will set him an example by gifts which i might refuse, but will not, because they are customary," and forthwith addressing the steward, added--"call the sheriff's coachman, his pages, and musicians, singing-boys, and vergers, and give them the accustomed gifts as soon as the sheriff comes." from this direction, readers may see that under the old system of presents a judge was compelled to give away with his left hand much of that which he accepted with his right. it appears that sir william gascoigne's conduct had the desired effect; for as soon as the sheriff made his appearance, he repudiated the parsimonious conduct of the under-sheriff--though it is not credible that the subordinate acted without the direction or concurrence of his superior. "i think it," observed the sheriff, in reference to the sum of the customary payments, "as much for the honor of my office, and the country in general, as it is justice to those to whom it is payable; and if any sheriff has been of a different opinion it shall never bias me." from the days when alexander wedderburn, in his new silk gown, to the scandal of all sticklers for professional etiquette, made a daring but futile attempt to seize the lead of the circuit which seventeen years later he rode as judge, 'the northern' had maintained the _prestige_ of being the most important of the english circuits. its palmiest and most famous days belong to the times of norton and wallace, jack lee and john scott, edward law and robert graham; but still amongst the wise white heads of the upper house may be seen at times the mobile features of an aged peer who, as mr. henry brougham, surpassed in eloquence and intellectual brilliance the brightest and most celebrated of his precursors on the great northern round. but of all the great men whose names illustrate the annals of the circuit, lord eldon is the person most frequently remembered in connexion with the jovial ways of circuiteers in the old time. in his later years the port-loving earl delighted to recall the times when as attorney general of the circuit grand court he used to prosecute offenders 'against the peace of our lord the junior,' devise practical jokes for the diversion of the bar, and over bowls of punch at york, lancaster, or kirkby lonsdale, argue perplexing questions about the morals of advocacy. just as john campbell, thirty years later, used to recount with glee how in the mock courts of the oxford circuit he used to officiate as crier, "holding a fire-shovel in his hand as the emblem of his office;" so did old lord eldon warm with mirth over recollections of his circuit revelries and escapades. many of his stories were apocryphal, some of them unquestionably spurious; but the least truthful of them contained an element of pleasant reality. of course jemmy boswell, a decent lawyer, though better biographer, was neither duped by the sham brief, nor induced to apply in court for the writ of 'quare adhaesit pavimento;' but it is quite credible that on the morning after his removal in a condition of vinous prostration from the lancaster flagstones, his jocose friends concocted the brief, sent it to him with a bad guinea, and proclaimed the success of their device. when the chimney-sweeper's boy met his death by falling from a high gallery to the floor of the court-house at the york assizes, whilst sir thomas davenport was speaking, it was john scott who--arguing that the orator's dullness had sent the boy to sleep, and so caused his fatal fall--prosecuted sir thomas for murder in the high court, alleging in the indictment that the death was produced by a "certain blunt instrument of _no value_, called a _long speech_." the records of the northern circuit abound with testimony to the hearty zeal with which the future chancellor took part in the proceedings of the grand court--paying fines and imposing them with equal readiness, now upholding with mock gravity the high and majestic character of the presiding judge, and at another time inveighing against the levity and indecorum of a learned brother who had maintained in conversation that "no man would be such a----fool as to go to a lawyer for advice who knew how to get on without it." the monstrous offender against religion and propriety who gave utterance to this execrable sentiment was pepper arden (subsequently master of the rolls and lord alvanley), and his punishment is thus recorded in the archives of the circuit:--"in this he was considered as doubly culpable, in the first place as having offended, against the laws of almighty god by his profane cursing; for which, however, he made a very sufficient atonement by paying a bottle of claret; and secondly, as having made use of an expression which, if it should become a prevailing opinion, might have the most alarming consequences to the profession, and was therefore deservedly considered in a far more hideous light. for the last offence he was fin'd bottles. pd." one of the most ridiculous circumstances over which the northern circuit men of the last generation delighted to laugh occurred at newcastle, when baron graham--the poor lawyer, but a singularly amiable and placid man, of whom jeckyll observed, "no one but his sempstress could ruffle him"--rode the circuit, and was immortalized as 'my lord 'size,' in mr. john shield's capital song-- "the jailor, for trial had brought up a thief, whose looks seemed a passport for botany bay; the lawyers, some with and some wanting a brief, around the green table were seated so gay; grave jurors and witnesses waiting a call; attorneys and clients, more angry than wise; with strangers and town-people, throng'd the guildhall, all watching and gaping to see my lord 'size. "oft stretch'd were their necks, oft erected their ears, still fancying they heard of the trumpets the sound, when tidings arriv'd, which dissolv'd them in tears, that my lord at the dead-house was then lying drown'd. straight left _tête-a-tête_ were the jailor and thief; the horror-struck crowd to the dead-house quick hies; ev'n the lawyers, forgetful of fee and of brief, set off helter-skelter to view my lord 'size. "and now the sandhill with the sad tidings rings, and the tubs of the taties are left to take care; fishwomen desert their crabs, lobsters, and lings, and each to the dead-house now runs like a hare; the glassmen, some naked, some clad, heard the news, and off they ran, smoking like hot mutton pies; whilst castle garth tailors, like wild kangaroos, came tail-on-end jumping to see my lord 'size. "the dead-house they reach'd, where his lordship they found, pale, stretch'd on a plank, like themselves out of breath, the coroner and jury were seated around, most gravely enquiring the cause of his death. no haste did they seem in, their task to complete, aware that from hurry mistakes often rise; or wishful, perhaps, of prolonging the treat of thus sitting in judgment upon my lord 'size. "now the mansion house butler, thus gravely deposed:-- 'my lord on the terrace seem'd studying his charge and when (as i thought) he had got it compos'd, he went down the stairs and examined the barge; first the stem he surveyed, then inspected the stern, then handled the tiller, and looked mighty wise; but he made a false step when about to return, and souse in the river straight tumbled lord 'size.' "'now his narrative ended, the butler retir'd, whilst betty watt, muttering half drunk through her teeth, declar'd 'in her breast great consarn it inspir'd, that my lord should sae cullishly come by his death;' next a keelman was called on, bold airchy by name, who the book as he kissed showed the whites of his eyes, then he cut an odd caper attention to claim, and this evidence gave them respecting lord 'size;-- "aw was settin' the keel, wi' dick slavers an' matt, an' the mansion house stairs we were just alongside, when we a' three see'd somethin', but didn't ken what, that was splashin' and labberin', aboot i' the tide. 'it's a fluiker,' ki dick; 'no,' ki matt, 'its owre big, it luik'd mair like a skyet when aw furst seed it rise;' kiv aw--for aw'd getten a gliff o' the wig-- 'ods marcy! wey, marrows, becrike, it's lord 'size. "'sae aw huik'd him, an' haul'd him suin into the keel, an' o' top o' the huddock aw rowl'd him aboot; an' his belly aw rubb'd, an' aw skelp'd his back weel, but the water he'd druck'n it wadn't run oot; so aw brought him ashore here, an' doctor's, in vain, furst this way, then that, to recover him tries; for ye see there he's lyin' as deed as a stane, an' that's a' aw can tell ye aboot my lord 'size.' "now the jury for close consultation retir'd: some '_death accidental_' were willing to find; 'god's visitation' most eager requir'd; and some were for 'fell in the river' inclin'd; but ere on their verdict they all were agreed, my lord gave a groan, and wide opened his eyes; then the coach and the trumpeters came with great speed, and back to the mansion house carried lord 'size." amongst memorable northern circuit worthies was george wood, the celebrated special pleader, in whose chambers law, erskine, abbott and a mob of eminent lawyers acquired a knowledge of their profession. it is on record that whilst he and mr. holroyde were posting the northern round, they were accosted on a lonely heath by a well-mounted horseman, who reining in his steed asked the barrister "what o'clock it was?" favorably impressed by the stranger's appearance and tone of voice, wood pulled out his valuable gold repeater, when the highwayman presenting a pistol, and putting it on the cock, said coolly, "_as you have_ a watch, be kind enough to give it me, so that i may not have occasion to trouble you again about the time." to demur was impossible; the lawyer, therefore, who had met his disaster by _going to the country_, meekly submitted to circumstances and surrendered the watch. for the loss of an excellent gold repeater he cared little, but he winced under the banter of his professional brethren, who long after the occurrence used to smile with malicious significance as they accosted him with--"what's the time, wood?" another of the memorable northern circuiteers was john hullock, who, like george wood, became a baron of the exchequer, and of whom the following story is told on good authority. in an important cause tried upon the northern circuit, he was instructed by the attorney who retained him as leader on one side not to produce a certain deed unless circumstances made him think that without its production his client would lose the suit. on perusing the deed entrusted to him with this remarkable injunction, hullock saw that it established his client's case, and wishing to dispatch the business with all possible promptitude, he produced the parchment before its exhibition was demanded by necessity. examination instantly detected the spurious character of the deed, which had been fabricated by the attorney. of course the presiding judge (sir john bayley) ordered the deed to be impounded; but before the order was carried out, mr. hullock obtained permission to inspect it again. restored to his hands, the deed was forthwith replaced in his bag. "you must surrender that deed instantly," exclaimed the judge, seeing hullock's intention to keep it. "my lord," returned the barrister, warmly, "no power on earth shall induce me to surrender it. i have incautiously put the life of a fellow-creature in peril; and though i acted to the best of my discretion, i should never be happy again were a fatal result to ensue." at a loss to decide on the proper course of action, mr. justice bayley retired from court to consult with his learned brother. on his lordship's reappearance in court, mr. hullock--who had also left the court for a brief period--told him that during his absence the forged deed had been destroyed. the attorney escaped; the barrister became a judge. [ ] lord eldon, when he was handsome jack scott of the northern circuit, was about to make a short cut over the sands from ulverstone to lancaster at the of the tide, when he was restrained from acting on his rash resolve by the representations of an hotel keeper. "danger, danger," asked scott, impatiently--"have you ever _lost_ anybody there?" mine host answered slowly, "nae, sir, nae body has been _lost_ on the sands, _the puir bodies have been found at low water_." [ ] with regard to the customary gifts of white gloves mr. foss says:--"gloves were presented to the judges on some occasions: viz., when a man, convicted for murder, or manslaughter, came and pleaded the king's pardon; and, till the act of & william and mary c. , which rendered personal appearance unnecessary, an outlawry could not be reversed, unless the defendant came into court, and with a present of gloves to the judges implored their favor to reverse it. the custom of giving the judge a pair of white gloves upon a maiden assize has continued till the present time." an interesting chapter might be written on the ancient ceremonies and usages obsolete and extant, of our courts of law. here are a few of the practices which such a chapter would properly notice:--the custom, still maintained, which forbids the lord chancellor to utter any word or make any sign, when on lord mayor's day the lord mayor of london enters the court of chancery, and by the mouth of the recorder prays his lordship to honor the guildhall banquet with his presence; the custom--extant so late as lord brougham's chancellorship--which required the holder of the seals, at the installation of a new master of chancery, to install the new master by placing a cap or hat on his head; the custom which in charles ii.'s time, on motion days at the chancellor's, compelled all barristers making motions to contribute to his lordship's 'poor's box'--barristers within the bar paying two shillings, and outer barristers one shilling--the contents of which box were periodically given to magistrates, for distribution amongst the deserving poor of london; the custom which required a newly-created judge to present his colleagues with biscuits and wine; the barbarous custom which compelled prisoners to plead their defence, standing in fetters, a custom enforced by chief justice pratt at the trial of the jacobite against christopher layer, although at the of trial of cranburne for complicity in the 'assassination plot,' holt had enunciated the merciful maxim, "when the prisoners are tried they should stand at ease;" the custom which--in days when forty persons died of gaol fever caught at the memorable black sessions (may, ) at the old bailey, when captain clark was tried for killing captain innes in a duel--strewed rue, fennel, and other herbs on the ledge of the dock, in the faith that the odor of the herbage would act as a barrier to the poisonous exhalations from prisoners sick of gaol distemper, and would protect the assembly in the body of the court from the contagion of the disease. chapter xliv. lawyers and saints. notwithstanding the close connexion which in old times existed between the church and the law, popular sentiment holds to the opinion that the ways of lawyers are far removed from the ways of holiness, and that the difficulties encountered by wealthy travellers on the road to heaven are far greater with rich lawyers than with any other class of rich men. an old proverb teaches that wearers of the long robe never reach paradise _per saltum_, but 'by slow degrees;' and an irreverent ballad supports the vulgar belief that the only attorney to be found on the celestial rolls gained admittance to the blissful abode more by artifice than desert. the ribald broadside runs in the following style:--- "professions will abuse each other; the priests won't call the lawyer brother; while _salkeld_ still beknaves the parson, and says he cants to keep the farce on. yet will i readily suppose they are not truly bitter foes, but only have their pleasant jokes, and banter, just like other folks. and thus, for so they quiz the law, once on a time th' attorney flaw, a man to tell you, as the fact is, of vast chicane, of course of practice; (but what profession can we trace where none will not the corps disgrace? seduced, perhaps, by roguish client, who tempt him to become more pliant), a notice had to quit the world, and from his desk at once was hurled. observe, i pray, the plain narration: 'twas in a hot and long vacation, when time he had but no assistance. tho' great from courts of law the distance, to reach the court of truth and justice (where i confess my only trust is); though here below the special pleader shows talents worthy of a leader, yet his own fame he must support, be sometimes witty with the court or word the passion of a jury by tender strains, or full of fury; misleads them all, tho' twelve apostles, while with the new law the judge he jostles, and makes them all give up their powers to speeches of at least three hours-- but we have left our little man, and wandered from our purpos'd plan: 'tis said (without ill-natured leaven) "if ever lawyers get to heaven, it surely is by slow degrees" (perhaps 'tis slow they take their fees). the case, then, now i fairly state: flaw reached at last to heaven's high gate; quite short he rapped, none did it neater; the gate was opened by st. peter, who looked astonished when he saw, all black, the little man of law; but charity was peter's guide. for having once himself denied his master, he would not o'erpass the penitent of any class; yet never having heard there entered a lawyer, nay, nor ever ventured within the realms of peace and love, he told him mildly to remove, and would have closed the gate of day, had not old flaw, in suppliant way, demurring to so hard a fate, begg'd but a look, tho' through the gate. st. peter, rather off his guard, unwilling to be thought too hard, opens the gate to let him peep in. what did the lawyer? did he creep in? or dash at once to take possession? oh no, he knew his own profession: he took his hat off with respect, and would no gentle means neglect; but finding it was all in vain for him admittance to obtain, thought it were best, let come what will, to gain an entry by his skill. so while st. peter stood aside, to let the door be opened wide, he skimmed his hat with all his strength within the gate to no small length. st. peter stared; the lawyer asked him "only to fetch his hat," and passed him; but when he reached the jack he'd thrown, oh, then was all the lawyer shown; he clapt it on, and arms akembo (as if he had been the gallant bembo), cry'd out--'what think you of my plan? eject me, peter, if you can.'" the celestial courts having devised no process of ejectment that could be employed in this unlooked-for emergency, st. peter hastily withdrew to take counsel's opinion; and during his absence mr. flaw firmly established himself in the realms of bliss, where he remains to this day the black sheep of the saintly family. but though a flippant humorist in these later times could deride the lawyer as a character who had better not force his way into heaven, since he would not find a single personal acquaintance amongst its inhabitants, in more remote days lawyers achieved the honors of canonization, and our forefathers sought their saintly intercession with devout fervor. our calendars still regard the th of july as a sacred day, in memory of the holy swithin, who was tutor to king ethelwulf and king alfred, and chancellor of england, and who certainly deserved his elevation to the fellowship of saints, even had his title to the honor rested solely on a remarkable act which he performed in the exercise of his judicial functions. a familiar set of nursery rhymes sets forth the utter inability of all the king's horses and men to reform the shattered humpty-dumpty, when his rotund highness had fallen from a wall; but when a wretched market-woman, whose entire basketful of new-laid eggs had been wilfully smashed by an enemy, sought in her trouble the aid of chancery, the holy chancellor swithin miraculously restored each broken shell to perfect shape, each yolk to soundness. saith william of malmesbury, recounting this marvellous achievement--"statimque porrecto crucis signo, fracturam omnium ovorum consolidat." like chancellor swithin before him, and like chancellor wolsey in a later time, chancellor becket was a royal tutor;[ ] and like swithin, who still remains the pluvious saint of humid england, and unlike wolsey, who just missed the glory of canonization, becket became a widely venerated saint. but less kind to st. thomas of canterbury than to st. swithin, the reformation degraded becket from the saintly rank by the decision which terminated the ridiculous legal proceedings instituted by henry viii. against the holy reputation of st. thomas. after the saint's counsel had replied to the attorney-general, who, of course, conducted the cause for the crown, the court declared that "thomas, sometime archbishop of canterbury, had been guilty of contumacy, treason and rebellion; that his bones should be publicly burnt, to admonish the living of their duty by the punishment of the dead; and that the offerings made at his shrine should be forfeited to the crown." after the conclusion of the suit for the saint's degradation--a suit which was an extravagant parody of the process for establishing at rome a holy man's title to the honors of canonization--proclamation was made that "forasmuch as it now clearly appeared that thomas becket had been killed in a riot excited by his own obstinacy and intemperate language, and had been afterwards canonized by the bishop of rome as the champion of his usurped authority, the king's majesty thought it expedient to declare to his loving subjects that he was no saint, but rather a rebel and traitor to his prince, and therefore strictly charged and commanded that he should not be esteemed or called a saint; that all images and pictures of him should be destroyed, the festivals in his honor be abolished, and his name and remembrance be erased out of all books, under pain of his majesty's indignation and imprisonment at his grace's pleasure." but neither st. swithin nor st. thomas of canterbury, lawyers though they were, deigned to take the legal profession under especial protection, and to mediate with particular officiousness between the long robe and st. peter. the peculiar saint of the profession was st. evona, concerning whom carr, in his 'remarks of the government of the severall parts of germanie, denmark, &c.,' has the following passage: and now because i am speaking of petty-foggers, give me leave to tell you a story i mett with when i lived in rome. goeing with a romane to see some antiquityes, he showed me a chapell dedicated to st. evona, a lawyer of brittanie, who, he said, came to rome to entreat the pope to give the lawyers of brittanie a patron, to which the pope replied, that he knew of no saint but what was disposed to other professions. at which evona was very sad, and earnestly begd of the pope to think of one for him. at last the pope proposed to st. evona that he should go round the church of st. john de latera blindfold, and after he had said so many ave marias, that the first saint he laid hold of should be his patron, which the good old lawyer willingly undertook, and at the end of his ave maryes he stopt at st. michael's altar, where he layed hold of the divell, under st. michael's feet, and cry'd out, this is our saint, let him be our patron. so being unblindfolded, and seeing what a patron he had chosen, he went to his lodgings so dejected, that a few moneths after he died, and coming to heaven's gates knockt hard. whereupon st. peter asked who it was that knockt so bouldly. he replied that he was st. evona the advocate. away, away, said st. peter, here is but one advocate in heaven; here is no room for you lawyers. o but, said st. evona, i am that honest lawyer who never tooke fees on both sides, or pleaded in a bad cause, nor did i ever set my naibours together by the ears, or lived by the sins of the people. well, then, said st. peter, come in. this newes coming down to rome, a witty poet wrote on st. evona's tomb these words:-- 'st. evona un briton, advocat non larron. hallelujah.' this story put me in mind of ben jonson goeing throw a church in surrey, seeing poore people weeping over a grave, asked one of the women why they wept. oh, said shee, we have lost our pretious lawyer, justice randall; he kept us all in peace, and always was so good as to keep us from goeing to law; the best man ever lived. well, said ben jonson, i will send you an epitaph to write upon his tomb, which was-- 'god works wonders now and then, here lies a lawyer an honest man.' an important vestige of the close relations which formerly existed between the law and the church is still found in the ecclesiastical patronage of the lord chancellor; and many are the good stories told of interviews that took place between our more recent chancellors and clergymen suing for preferment. "who sent you, sir?" thurlow asked savagely of a country curate, who had boldly forced his way into the chancellor's library in great ormond street, in the hope of winning the presentation to a vacant living. "in whose _name_ do you come, that you venture to pester me about your private affairs? i say, sir--what great lords sent you to bother me in my house?" "my lord," answered the applicant, with a happy combination of dignity and humor, "no great man supports my entreaty; but i may say with honesty, that i come to you in the name of the lord of hosts." pleased by the spirit and wit of the reply, thurlow exclaimed, "the lord of hosts! the lord of hosts! you are the first parson that ever applied to me in that lord's name; and though his title can't be found in the peerage, by ---- you shall have the living." on another occasion the same chancellor was less benign, but not less just to a clerical applicant. sustained by queen charlotte's personal favor and intercession with thurlow, the clergyman in question felt so sure of obtaining the valuable living which was the object of his ambition, that he regarded his interview with the chancellor as a purely formal affair. "i have, sir," observed lord thurlow, "received a letter from the curate of the parish to which it is my intention to prefer you, and on inquiry i find him to be a very worthy man. the father of a large family, and a priest who has labored zealously in the parish for many years, he has written to me--not asking for the living, but modestly entreating me to ask the new rector to retain him as curate. now, sir, you would oblige me by promising me to employ the poor man in that capacity." "my lord," replied queen charlotte's pastor, "it would give me great pleasure to oblige your lordship in this matter, but unfortunately i have arranged to take a personal friend for my curate." his eyes flashing angrily, thurlow answered, "sir, i cannot force you to take this worthy man for your curate, but i can make him the rector; and by ---- he shall have the living, and be in a position to offer you the curacy." of lord loughborough a reliable biographer records a pleasant and singular story. having pronounced a decision in the house of lords, which deprived an excellent clergyman of a considerable estate and reduced him to actual indigence, the chancellor, before quitting the woolsack, addressed the unfortunate suitor thus:--"as a judge i have decided against you, whose virtues are not unknown to me; and in acknowledgment of those virtues i beg you to accept from me a presentation to a living now vacant, and worth £ per annum." capital also are the best of many anecdotes concerning eldon and his ecclesiastical patronage. dating the letter from no. , charlotte street, pimlico, the chancellor's eldest son sent his father the following anonymous epistle:-- "hear, generous lawyer! hear my prayer, nor let my freedom make, you stare, in hailing you jack scott! tho' now upon the woolsack placed, with wealth, with power, with title graced, _once_ nearer was our lot. "say by what name the hapless bard may best attract your kind regard-- plain jack?--sir john?--or eldon? give from your ample store of giving, a starving priest some little living-- the world will cry out 'well done.' "in vain, without a patron's aid, i've prayed and preached, and preached and prayed-- _applauded_ but _ill-fed_. such vain _éclat_ let others share; alas, i cannot feed on air-- i ask not _praise_, but _bread_." satisfactorily hoaxed by the rhymer, the chancellor went to pimlico in search of the clerical poetaster, and found him not. prettier and less comic is the story of miss bridge's morning call upon lord eldon. the chancellor was sitting in his study over a table of papers when a young and lovely girl--slightly rustic in her attire, slightly embarrassed by the novelty of her position, but thoroughly in command of her wits--entered the room, and walked up to the lawyer's chair. "my dear," said the chancellor, rising and bowing with old-world courtesy, "who _are_ you?" "lord eldon," answered the blushing maiden, "i am bessie bridge of weobly, the daughter of the vicar of weobly, and papa has sent me to remind you of a promise which you made him when i was a little baby, and you were a guest in his house on the occasion of your first election as member of parliament for weobly." "a promise, my dear young lady?" interposed the chancellor, trying to recall how he had pledged himself. "yea, lord eldon, a promise. you were standing over my cradle when papa said to you, 'mr. scott, promise me that if ever you are lord chancellor, when my little girl is a poor clergyman's wife, you will give her husband a living;' and you answered, 'mr. bridge, my promise is not worth half-a-crown, but i give it to you, wishing it were worth more.'" enthusiastically the chancellor exclaimed, "you are quite right. i admit the obligation. i remember all about it;" and, then, after a pause, archly surveying the damsel, whose graces were the reverse of matronly, he added, "but surely the time for keeping my promise has not yet arrived? you cannot be any one's wife at present?" for a few seconds bessie hesitated for an answer, and then, with a blush and a ripple of silver laughter she replied, "no, but i do so wish to be _somebody's_ wife. i am engaged to a young clergyman; and there's a living in herefordshire near my old home that has recently fallen vacant, and if you'll give it to alfred, why then, lord eldon, we shall marry before the end of the year." is there need to say that the chancellor forthwith summoned his secretary, that the secretary forthwith made out the presentation to bessie's lover, and that having given the chancellor a kiss of gratitude, bessie made good speed back to herefordshire, hugging the precious document the whole way home? a bad but eager sportsman, lord eldon used to blaze away at his partridges and pheasants with such uniform want of success that lord stowell had truth as well as humor on his side when he observed, "my brother has done much execution this shooting season; with his gun he has _killed a great deal of time_." having ineffectually discharged two barrels at a covey of partridges, the chancellor was slowly walking to the gate of one of his encome turnip-fields when a stranger of clerical garb and aspect hailed him from a distance, asking, "where is lord eldon?" not anxious to declare himself to the witness of his ludicrously bad shot, the chancellor answered evasively, and with scant courtesy, "not far off." displeased with the tone of this curt reply, the clergyman rejoined, "i wish you'd use your tongue to better purpose than you do your gun, and tell me civily where i can find the chancellor." "well," responded the sportsman, when he had slowly approached his questioner, "here you see the chancellor--i am lord eldon." it was an untoward introduction to the chancellor for the strange clergyman who had traveled from the north of lancashire to ask for the presentation to a vacant living. partly out of humorous compassion for the applicant who had offered rudeness, if not insult to the person whom he was most anxious to propitiate; partly because on inquiry he ascertained the respectability of the applicant; and partly because he wished to seal by kindness the lips of a man who could report on the authority of his own eyes that the best lawyer was also the worst shot in all england, eldon gave the petitioner the desired preferment. "but now," the old chancellor used to add in conclusion, whenever he told the story, "see the ingratitude of mankind. it was not long before a large present of game reached me, with a letter from my new-made rector, purporting that he had sent it to me, because _from what he had seen of my shooting he_ supposed i must be badly off for game. think of turning upon me in this way, and wounding me in my tenderest point." amongst eldon's humorous answers to applications for preferment should be remembered his letter to dr. fisher of the charterhouse: on one side of a sheet of paper, "dear fisher, i cannot, to-day, give you the preferment for which you ask.--i remain your sincere friend, eldon.--_turn over_;" and on the other side, "i gave it to you yesterday." this note reminds us of erskine's reply to sir john sinclair's solicitation for a subscription to the testimonial which sir john invited the nation to present to himself. on the one side of a sheet of paper it ran, "my dear sir john, i am certain there are few in this kingdom who set a higher value on your services than myself, and i have the honor to subscribe," and on the other side it concluded, "myself your obedient faithful servant, erskine." [ ] swithin was tutor to ethelwulf and alfred. becket was tutor to henry ii.'s eldest son. wolsey--who took delight in discharging scholastic functions from the days when he birched schoolboys at magdalen college, oxford, till the time when in the plenitude of his grandeur he framed regulations for dean colet's school of st. paul's and wrote an introduction to a latin grammar for the use of children--acted as educational director to the princess mary, and superintended the studies of henry viii.'s natural son, the earl of richmond. amongst pedagogue-chancellors, by license of fancy, may be included the earl of clarendon, whose enemies used to charge him with 'playing the schoolmaster to his king,' and in their desire to bring him into disfavor at court used to announce his approach to charles ii. by saying, "here comes your schoolmaster." part ix. at home: in court: and in society. chapter xlv. lawyers at their own tables. a long list, indeed, might be made of abstemious lawyers; but their temperance is almost invariably mentioned by biographers as matter for regret and apology, and is even made an occasion for reproach in cases where it has not been palliated by habits of munificent hospitality. in the catalogue of chancellor warham's virtues and laudable usages, erasmus takes care to mention that the primate was accustomed to entertain his friends, to the number of two hundred at a time: and when the man of letters notices the archbishop's moderation with respect to wines and dishes--a moderation that caused his grace to eschew suppers, and never to sit more than an hour at dinner--he does not omit to observe that though the great man "made it a rule to abstain entirely from supper, yet if his friends were assembled at that meal he would sit down along with them and promote their conviviality." splendid in all things, wolsey astounded envious nobles by the magnificence of his banquets, and the lavish expenses of his kitchens, wherein his master-cooks wore raiment of richest materials--the _chef_ of his private kitchen daily arraying himself in a damask-satin or velvet, and wearing on his neck a chain of gold. of a far other kind were the tastes of wolsey's successor, who, in the warmest sunshine of his power, preferred a quiet dinner with erasmus to the pompous display of state banquets, and who wore a gleeful light in his countenance when, after his fall, he called his children and grandchildren about him, and said: "i have been brought up at oxford, at an inn of chancery, at lincoln's inn, and in the king's court--from the lowest degree to the highest, and yet have i in yearly revenues at this present, little left me above a hundred pounds by the year; so that now, if we wish to live together, you must be content to be contributaries together. but my counsel is that we fall not to the lowest fare first; we will not, therefore, descend to oxford fare, nor to the fare of new inn, but we will begin with lincoln's inn diet, where many right worshipful men of great account and good years do live full well; which if we find ourselves the first year not able to maintain, then will we in the next year come down to oxford fare, where many great, learned, and ancient fathers and doctors are continually conversant; which if our purses stretch not to maintain neither, then may we after, with bag and wallet, go a-begging together, hoping that for pity some good folks will give us their charity and at every man's door to sing a _salve regina_, whereby we shall keep company and be merry together." students recalling the social life of england should bear in mind the hours kept by our ancestors in the fourteenth and two following centuries. under the plantagenets noblemen used to sup at five p.m., and dine somewhere about the breakfast hour of mayfair in a modern london season. gradually hours became later; but under the tudors the ordinary dinner hour for gentlepeople was somewhere about eleven a.m., and their usual time for supping was between five p.m. and six p.m., tradesmen, merchants and farmers dining and supping at later hours than their social superiors. "with us," says hall the chronicler, "the nobility, gentry, and students, do ordinarily go to dinner at eleven before noon, and to supper at five, or between five and six, at afternoon. the merchants dine and sup seldom before twelve at noon and six at night. the husbandmen also dine at high noon as they call it, and sup at seven or eight; but out of term in our universities the scholars dine at ten." thus whilst the idlers of society made haste to eat and drink, the workers postponed the pleasures of the table until they had made a good morning's work. in the days of morning dinners and afternoon suppers, the law-courts used to be at the height of their daily business at an hour when templars of the present generation have seldom risen from bed. chancellors were accustomed to commence their daily sittings in westminster at seven a.m. in summer, and at eight a.m. in winter months. lord keeper williams, who endeavored to atone for want of law by extraordinarily assiduous attention to the duties of his office, used indeed to open his winter sittings by candlelight between six and seven o'clock. many were the costly banquets of which successive chancellors invited the nobility, the judges, and the bar, to partake at old york house; but of all the holders of the great seal who exercised pompous hospitality in that picturesque palace, francis bacon was the most liberal, gracious, and delightful entertainer. where is the student of english history who has not often endeavored to imagine the scene when ben jonson sat amongst the honored guests of "england's high chancellor, the destin'd heir, in his soft cradle, to his father's chair," and little prescient of the coming storm, spoke of his host as one "whose even thread the fates spin round and full, out of their choicest and their whitest wool." even at the present day lawyers have reason to be grateful to bacon for the promptitude with which, on taking possession of the marble chair, he revived the ancient usages of earlier holders of the seal, and set an example of courteous hospitality to the bar, which no subsequent chancellor has been able to disregard without loss of respect and _prestige_. though a short attack of gout qualified the new pleasure of his elevation--an attack attributed by the sufferer to his removal "from a field air to a thames air," _i.e._, from gray's inn to the south side of the strand--lord keeper bacon lost no time in summoning the judges and most eminent barristers to his table; and though the gravity of his indisposition, or the dignity of his office, forbade him to join in the feast, he sat and spoke pleasantly with them when the dishes had been removed. "yesterday," he wrote to buckingham, "which was my weary day, i bid all the judges to dinner, which was not used to be, and entertained them in a private withdrawing chamber with the learned counsel. when the feast was past i came amongst them and sat me down at the end of the table, and prayed them to think i was one of them, and but a foreman." nor let us, whilst recalling bacon's bounteous hospitalities, fail in justice to his great rival, sir edward coke---who, though he usually held himself aloof from frivolous amusements, and cared but little for expensive repasts, would with a liberal hand place lordly dishes before lordly guests; and of whom it is recorded in the 'apophthegmes,' that when any great visitor dropped in upon him for pot-luck without notice he was wont to say, "sir, since you sent me no notice of your coming, you must dine with me; but if i had known of it in due time i would have dined with you." from such great men as lord nottingham and lord guildford, who successively kept high state in queen street, lincoln's inn fields, to fat _puisnes_ occupying snug houses in close proximity to the inns of court, and lower downwards to leaders of the bar and juniors sleeping as well as working in chambers, the restoration lawyers were conspicuous promoters of the hilarity which was one of the most prominent and least offensive characteristics of charles ii.'s london. lord nottingham's sumptuous hospitalities were the more creditable, because he voluntarily relinquished his claim to £ per annum, which the royal bounty had assigned him as a fund to be expended in official entertainments. similar praise cannot be awarded to lord guildford; but justice compels the admission that, notwithstanding his love of money, he maintained the _prestige_ of his place, so far as a hospitable table and profuse domestic expenditure could support it. contrasting strongly with the lawyers of this period, who copied in miniature the impressive state of clarendon's princely establishments, were the jovial, catch-singing, three-bottle lawyers--who preferred drunkenness to pomp; an oaken table, surrounded by jolly fellows, to ante-rooms crowded with obsequious courtiers; a hunting song with a brave chorus to the less stormy diversion of polite conversation. of these free-living lawyers, george jeffreys was a conspicuous leader. not averse to display, and not incapable of shining in refined society, this notorious man loved good cheer and jolly companions beyond all other sources of excitement; and during his tenure of the seals, he was never more happy than when he was presiding over a company of sharp-witted men-about-town whom he had invited to indulge in wild talk and choice wine at his mansion that overlooked the lawns, the water, and the trees of st. james's park. on such occasions his lordship's most valued boon companion was mountfort, the comedian, whom he had taken from the stage and made a permanent officer of the duke street household. whether the actor was required to discharge any graver functions in the chancellor's establishment is unknown; but we have sir john reresby's testimony that the clever mimic and brilliant libertine was employed to amuse his lordship's guests by ridiculing the personal and mental peculiarities of the judges and most eminent barristers. "i dined," records sir john, "with the lord chancellor, where the lord mayor of london was a guest, and some other gentlemen. his lordship having, according to custom, drunk deep at dinner, called for one mountfort, a gentleman of his, who had been a comedian, an excellent mimic; and to divert the company, as he was pleased to term it, he made him plead before him in a feigned cause, during which he aped the judges, and all the great lawyers of the age, in tone of voice and in action and gesture of body, to the very great ridicule, not only of the lawyers, but of the law itself, which to me did not seem altogether prudent in a man in his lofty station in the law; diverting it certainly was, but prudent in the lord chancellor i shall never think it." the fun of mountfort's imitations was often heightened by the presence of the persons whom they held up to derision--some of whom would see and express natural displeasure at the affront; whilst others, quite unconscious of their own peculiarities, joined loudly in the laughter that was directed against themselves. as pet buffoon of the tories about town, mountfort was followed, at a considerable distance of time, by estcourt--an actor who united wit and fine humor with irresistible powers of mimicry; and who contrived to acquire the respect and affectionate regard of many of those famous whigs whom it was alike his pleasure and his business to render ridiculous. in the _spectator_ steele paid him a tribute of cordial admiration; and cibber, noticing the marvellous fidelity of his imitations, has recorded, "this man was so amazing and extraordinary a mimic, that no man or woman, from the coquette to the privy counsellor, ever moved or spoke before him, but he could carry their voice, look, mien, and motion instantly into another company. i have heard him make long harangues, and form various arguments, even in the manner of thinking of an eminent pleader at the bar, with every the least article and singularity of his utterance so perfectly imitated, that he was the very _alter ipse_, scarce to be distinguished from the original." with the exception of kenyon and eldon, and one or two less conspicuous instances of judicial penuriousness, the judges of the georgian period were hospitable entertainers. chief justice lee, who died in , gained credit for an adequate knowledge of law by the sumptuousness and frequency of the dinners with which he regaled his brothers of the bench and learned counsellors. chief justice mansfield's habitual temperance and comparative indifference to the pleasures of the table did not cause him to be neglectful of hospitable duties. notwithstanding the cold formality of lord hardwicke's entertainments, and the charges of niggardliness preferred against lady hardwicke's domestic system by opposition satirists, philip yorke used to entertain the chiefs of his profession with pomp, if not with affability. thurlow entertained a somewhat too limited circle of friends with english fare and a superabundance of choice port in great ormond street. throughout his public career, alexander wedderburn was a lavish and delightful host, amply atoning in the opinion of frivolous society for his political falsity by the excellence and number of his grand dinners. on entering the place of solicitor-general, he spent £ on a service of plate; and as lord loughborough he gratified the bar and dazzled the fashionable world by hospitality alike sumptuous and brilliant. several of the georgian lawyers had strong predilections for particular dishes or articles of diet. thurlow was very fanciful about his fruit; and in his later years he would give way to ludicrous irritability, if inferior grapes or faulty peaches were placed before him. at brighton, in his declining years, the ex-chancellor's indignation at a dish of defective wall-fruit was so lively that--to the inexpressible astonishment of horne tooke and other guests--he caused the whole of a very fine dessert to be thrown out of the window upon the marine parade. baron graham's weakness was for oysters, eaten as a preparatory whet to the appetite before dinner; and it is recorded of him that on a certain occasion, when he had been indulging in this favorite pre-prandial exercise, he observed with pleasant humor--"oysters taken before dinner are said to sharpen the appetite; but i have just consumed half-a-barrel of fine natives--and speaking honestly, i am bound to say that i don't feel quite as hungry as when i began." thomas manners button's peculiar _penchant_ was for salads; and in a moment of impulsive kindness he gave lady morgan the recipe for his favorite salad--a compound of rare merit and mysterious properties. bitterly did the old lawyer repent his unwise munificence when he read 'o'donnell.' warmly displeased with the political sentiments of the novel, he ordered it to be burnt in the servants' hall, and exclaimed, peevishly, to lady manners, "i wish i had not given her the secret of my salad." in no culinary product did lord ellenborough find greater delight than lobster-sauce; and he gave expression to his high regard for that soothing and delicate compound when he decided that persons engaged in lobster-fishery were exempt from legal liability to impressment. "then is not," inquired his lordship, with solemn pathos, "the lobster-fishery a fishery, and a most important fishery, of this kingdom, though carried on in shallow water? the framers of the law well knew that the produce of the deep sea, without the produce of the shallow water, would be of comparatively small value, and intended that turbot, when placed upon our tables, should be flanked by good lobster-sauce." eldon's singular passion for fried 'liver and bacon' was amongst his most notorious and least pleasant peculiarities. even the prince regent condescended to humor this remarkable taste by ordering a dish of liver and bacon to be placed on the table when the chancellor dined with him at brighton. sir john leach, master of the rolls, was however less ready to pander to a depraved appetite. lord eldon said, "it will give me great pleasure to dine with you, and since you are good enough to ask me to order a dish that shall test your new _chef's_ powers--i wish you'd tell your frenchman to fry some liver and bacon for me." "are you laughing at me or my cook?" asked sir john leach, stiffly, thinking that the chancellor was bent on ridiculing his luxurious mode of living. "at neither," answered eldon, with equal simplicity and truth; "i was only ordering the dish which i enjoy beyond all other dishes." although eldon's penuriousness was grossly exaggerated by his detractors, it cannot be questioned that either through indolence, or love of money, or some other kind of selfishness, he was very neglectful of his hospitable duties to the bench and the bar. "verily he is working off the arrears of the lord chancellor," said romilly, when sir thomas plummer, the master of the rolls, gave a succession of dinners to the bar; and such a remark would not have escaped the lips of the decorous and amiable romilly had not circumstances fully justified it. still it is unquestionable that eldon's cabinet dinners were suitably expensive; and that he never grudged his choicest port to the old attorneys and subordinate placemen who were his obsequious companions towards the close of his career. for the charges of sordid parsimony so frequently preferred against kenyon it is to be feared there were better grounds. under the steadily strengthening spell of avarice he ceased to invite even old friends to his table; and it was rumored that in course of time his domestic servants complained with reason that they were required to consume the same fare as their master deemed sufficient for himself. "in lord kenyon's house," a wit exclaimed, "all the year through it is lent in the kitchen, and passion week in the parlor." another caustic quidnunc remarked, "in his lordship's kitchen the fire is dull, but the spits are always bright;" whereupon jekyll interposed with an assumption of testiness, "spits! in the name of common sense i order you not to talk about _his_ spits, for nothing turns upon them." very different was the temper of erskine, who spent money faster than kenyon saved it, and who died in indigence after holding the great seal of england, and making for many years a finer income at the bar than any of his contemporaries not enjoying crown patronage. many are the bright pictures preserved to us of his hospitality to politicians and lawyers, wits, and people of fashion; but none of the scenes is more characteristic than the dinner described by sir samuel romilly, when that good man met at erskine's hampstead villa the chiefs of the opposition and mr. pinkney, the american minister. "among the light, trifling topics of conversation after dinner," says sir samuel romilly, "it may be worth while to mention one, as it strongly characterizes lord erskine. he has always expressed and felt a strong sympathy with animals. he has talked for years of a bill he was to bring into parliament to prevent cruelty towards them. he has always had some favorite animals to whom he has been much attached, and of whom all his acquaintance have a number of anecdotes to relate; a favorite dog which he used to bring, when he was at the bar, to all his consultations; another favorite dog, which, at the time when he was lord chancellor, he himself rescued in the street from some boys who were about to kill it under the pretence of its being mad; a favorite goose, which followed him wherever he walked about his grounds; a favorite macaw, and other dumb favorites without number. he told us now that he had got two favorite leeches. he had been blooded by them last autumn when he had been taken dangerously ill at portsmouth; they had saved his life, and he had brought them with him to town, had ever since kept them in a glass, had himself every day given them fresh water, and had formed a friendship for them. he said he was sure they both knew him and were grateful to him. he had given them different names, 'home' and 'cline' (the names of two celebrated surgeons), their dispositions being quite different. after a good deal of conversation about them, he went himself, brought them out of his library, and placed them in their glass upon the table. it is impossible, however, without the vivacity, the tones, the details, and the gestures of lord erskine, to give an adequate idea of this singular scene." amongst the listeners to erskine, whilst he spoke eloquently and with fervor of the virtues of his two leeches, were the duke of norfolk, lord grenville, lord grey, lord holland, lord ellenborough, lord lauderdale, lord henry petty, and thomas grenville. chapter xlvi. wine. from the time when francis bacon attributed a sharp attack of gout to his removal from gray's inn fields to the river side, to a time not many years distant when sir herbert jenner fust[ ] used to be brought into his court in doctors' commons and placed in the judicial seat by two liveried porters, lawyers were not remarkable for abstinence from the pleasures to which our ancestors were indebted for the joint-fixing, picturesque gout that has already become an affair of the past. throughout the long period that lies between charles ii.'s restoration and george iii.'s death, an english judge without a symptom of gout was so exceptional a character that people talked of him as an interesting social curiosity. the merry monarch made clarendon's bedroom his council-chamber when the chancellor was confined to his couch by _podagra_. lord nottingham was so disabled by gout, and what the old physicians were pleased to call a 'perversity of the humors,' that his duties in the house of lords were often discharged by francis north, then chief justice of the common pleas; and though he persevered in attending to the business of his court, a man of less resolution would have altogether succumbed to the agony of his disease and the burden of his infirmities. "i have known him," says roger north, "sit to hear petitions in great pain, and say that his servants had let him out, though he was fitter for his chamber." prudence saved lord guildford from excessive intemperance; but he lived with a freedom that would be remarkable in the present age. chief justice saunders was a confirmed sot, taking nips of brandy with his breakfast, and seldom appearing in public "without a pot of ale at his nose or near him." sir robert wright was notoriously addicted to wine; and george jeffreys drank, as he swore, like a trooper. "my lord," said king charles, in a significant tone, when he gave jeffreys the _blood-stone_ ring, "as it is a hot summer, and you are going the circuit, i desire you will not drink too much." amongst the reeling judges of the restoration, however, there moved one venerable lawyer, who, in an age when moralists hesitated to call drunkenness a vice, was remarkable for sobriety. in his youth, whilst he was indulging with natural ardor in youthful pleasures, chief justice hale was so struck with horror at seeing an intimate friend drop senseless, and apparently lifeless, at a student's drinking-bout, that he made a sudden but enduring resolution to conquer his ebrious propensities, and withdraw himself from the dangerous allurements of ungodly company. falling upon his knees he prayed the almighty to rescue his friend from the jaws of death, and also to strengthen him to keep his newly-formed resolution. he rose an altered man. but in an age when the barbarous usage of toast-drinking was in full force, he felt that he could not be an habitually sober man if he mingled in society, and obeyed a rule which required the man of delicate and excitable nerves to drink as much, bumper for bumper, as the man whose sluggish system could receive a quart of spirits at a sitting and yet scarcely experience a change of sensation. at that time it was customary with prudent men to protect themselves against a pernicious and tyrannous custom, by taking a vow to abstain from toast-drinking, or even from drinking wine at all, for a certain stated period. readers do not need to be reminded how often young pepys was under a vow not to drink; and the device by which the jovial admiralty clerk strengthened an infirm will and defended himself against temptation was frequently employed by right-minded young men of his date. in some cases, instead of _vowing_ not to drink, they _bound_ themselves not to drink within a certain period; two persons, that is to say, agreeing that they would abstain from wine and spirits for a certain period, and each _binding_ himself in case he broke the compact to pay over a certain sum of money to his partner in the bond. young hale saw that to effect a complete reformation of his life it was needful for him to abjure the practice of drinking healths. he therefore vowed _never again_ to drink a health; and he kept his vow. never again did he brim his bumper and drain it at the command of a toast-master, although his abstinence exposed him to much annoyance; and in his old age he thus urged his grandchildren to follow his example--"i will not have you begin or pledge any health, for it is become one of the greatest artifices of drinking, and occasions of quarrelling in the kingdom. if you pledge one health you oblige yourself to pledge another, and a third, and so onwards; and if you pledge as many as will be drunk, you must be debauched and drunk. if they will needs know the reason of your refusal, it is a fair answer, 'that your grandfather that brought you up, from whom, under god, you have the estate you enjoy or expect, left this in command with you, that you should never begin or pledge a health.'" jeffrey's _protégé_, john trevor, liked good wine himself, but emulated the virtuous hale in the pains which he took to place the treacherous drink beyond the reach of others--whenever they showed a desire to drink it at his expense. after his expulsion from the house of commons, sir john trevor was sitting alone over a choice bottle of claret, when his needy kinsman, roderic lloyd, was announced. "you rascal," exclaimed the master of the rolls, springing to his feet, and attacking his footman with furious language, "you have brought my cousin, roderic lloyd, esquire, prothonotary of north wales, marshal to baron price, up my back stairs. you scoundrel, hear ye, i order you to take him this instant down my _back stairs_, and bring him up my _front stairs_." sir john made such a point of showing his visitor this mark of respect, that the young barrister was forced to descend and enter the room by the state staircase; but he saw no reason to think himself honored by his cousin's punctilious courtesy, when on entering the room a second time he looked in vain for the claret bottle. on another occasion sir john trevor's official residence afforded shelter to the same poor relation when the latter was in great mental trouble. "roderic," saith the chronicler, "was returning rather elevated from his club one night, and ran against the pump in chancery lane. conceiving somebody had struck him, he drew and made a lunge at the pump. the sword entered the spout, and the pump, being crazy, fell down. roderic concluded he had killed his man, left, his sword in the pump, and retreated to his old friend's house at the rolls. there he was concealed by the servants for the night. in the morning his honor, having heard the story, came himself to deliver him from his consternation and confinement in the coal-hole." amongst the eighteenth century lawyers there was considerable difference of taste and opinion on questions relating to the use and abuse of wine. though he never, or very seldom, exceeded the limits of sobriety, somers enjoyed a bottle in congenial society; and though wine never betrayed him into reckless hilarity, it gave gentleness and comity to his habitually severe countenance and solemn deportment--if reliance may be placed on swift's couplet-- "by force of wine even scarborough is brave, hall grows more pert, and somers not so grave." a familiar quotation that alludes to murray's early intercourse with the wits warrants an inference that in opening manhood he preferred champagne to every other wine; but as lord mansfield he steadily adhered to claret, though fashion had taken into favor the fuller wine stigmatized as poison by john home's famous epigram-- "bold and erect the caledonian stood; old was his mutton, and his claret good. 'let him drink port,' an english statesman cried: he drunk the poison and his spirit died." unlike his father, who never sinned against moderation in his cups, charles yorke was a deep drinker as well as a gourmand. hardwicke's successor, lord northington, was the first of a line of port-wine-drinking judges that may at the present time be fairly said to have come to an end--although a few reverend fathers of the law yet remain, who drink with relish the methuen drink when age has deprived it of body and strength. until robert henley held the seals, chancellors continued to hold after-dinner sittings in the court of chancery on certain days of the week throughout term. hardwicke, throughout his long official career, sat on the evenings of wednesdays and fridays hearing causes, while men of pleasure were fuddling themselves with fruity vintages. lord northington, however, prevailed on george iii. to let him discontinue these evening attendances in court. "but why," asked the monarch, "do you wish for a change?" "sir," the chancellor answered, with delightful frankness, "i want the change in order that i may finish my bottle of port at my ease; and your majesty, in your parental care for the happiness of your subjects, will, i trust, think this a sufficient reason." of course the king's laughter ended in a favorable answer to the petition for reform, and from that time the chancellor's evening sittings were discontinued. but ere he died, the jovial chancellor paid the penalty which port exacts from all her fervent worshippers, and he suffered the acutest pangs of gout. it is recorded that as he limped from the woolsack to the bar of the house of lords, he once muttered to a young peer, who watched his distress with evident sympathy--"ah, my young friend, if i had known that these legs would one day carry a chancellor, i would have taken better care of them when i was at your age." unto this had come the handsome legs of young counsellor henley, who, in his dancing days, stepped minuets to the enthusiastic admiration of the _belles_ of bath. some light is thrown on the manners of lawyers in the eighteenth century by an order made by the authorities of barnard's inn, who, in november, , named two quarts as the allowance of wine to be given to each mess of four men by two gentlemen on going through the ceremony of 'initiation.' of course, this amount of wine was an 'extra' allowance, in addition to the ale and sherry assigned to members by the regular dietary of the house. even sheridan, who boasted that he could drink any _given_ quantity of wine, would have thought twice before he drank so large a given quantity, in addition to a liberal allowance of stimulant. anyhow, the quantity was fixed--a fact that would have elicited an expression of approval from chief baron thompson, who, loving port wine wisely, though too well, expressed at the same time his concurrence with the words, and his dissent from the opinion of a barrister, who observed--"i hold, my lord, that after a good dinner a certain quantity of wine does no harm." with a smile, the chief baron rejoined--"true, sir; it is the _uncertain_ quantity that does the mischief." the most temperate of the eighteenth-century chancellors was lord camden, who required no more generous beverage than sound malt liquor, as he candidly declared, in a letter to the duke of grafton, wherein he says--"i am, thank god, remarkably well, but your grace must not seduce me into my former intemperance. a plain dish and a draught of porter (which last is indispensable), are the very extent of my luxury." for porter, edward thurlow, in his student days, had high respect and keen relish; but in his mature years, as well as still older age, full-bodied port was his favorite drink, and under its influence were seen to the best advantage those colloquial powers which caused samuel johnson to exclaim--"depend upon it, sir, it is when you come close to a man in conversation that you discover what his real abilities are; to make a speech in a public assembly is a knack. now, i honor thurlow, sir; thurlow is a fine fellow: he fairly puts his mind to yours." of thurlow, when he had mounted the woolsack, johnson also observed--"i would prepare myself for no man in england but lord thurlow. when i am to meet him, i would wish to know a day before." from the many stories told of thurlow and ebriosity, one may be here taken and brought under the reader's notice--not because it has wit or humor to recommend it, but because it presents the chancellor in company with another port-loving lawyer, william pitt, from whose fame, by-the-by, lord stanhope has recently removed the old disfiguring imputations of sottishness. "returning," says sir nathaniel wraxall, a poor authority, but piquant gossip-monger, "by way of frolic, very late at night, on horseback, to wimbledon, from addiscombe, the seat of mr. jenkinson, near croydon, where the party had dined, lord thurlow, the chancellor, pitt, and dundas, found the turnpike gate, situate between tooting and streatham, thrown open. being elevated above their usual prudence, and having no servant near them, they passed through the gate at a brisk pace, without stopping to pay the toll, regardless of the remonstrances and threats of the turnpike man, who running after them, and believing them to belong to some highwaymen who had recently committed some depredation on that road, discharged the contents of his blunderbuss at their backs. happily he did no injury." throughout their long lives the brothers scott were steady, and, according to the rules of the present day, inordinate drinkers of port wine. as a young barrister, john scott could carry more port with decorum than any other man of his inn; and in the days when he is generally supposed to have lived on sprats and table-beer, he seldom passed twenty-four hours without a bottle of his favorite wine. prudence, however, made him careful to avoid intoxication, and when he found that a friendship often betrayed him into what he thought excessive drinking, he withdrew from the dangerous connexion. "i see your friend bowes very often," he wrote in may, , a time when mr. bowes was his most valuable client; "but i dare not dine with him above once in three months, as there is no getting away before midnight; and, indeed, one is sure to be in a condition in which no man would wish to be in the streets at any other season." of the quantities imbibed at these three-monthly dinners, an estimate may be formed from the following story. bringing from oxford to london that fine sense of the merits of port wine which characterized the thorough oxonion of a century since, william scott made it for some years a rule to dine with his brother john on the first day of term at a tavern hard by the temple; and on these occasions the brothers used to make away with bottle after bottle not less to the astonishment than the approval of the waiters who served them. before the decay of his faculties, lord stowell was recalling these terminal dinners to his son-in-law, lord sidmouth, when the latter observed, "you drank some wine together, i dare say?" lord stowell, modestly, "yes, we drank some wine." son-in-law, inquisitively, "two bottles?" lord stowell, quickly putting away the imputation of such abstemiousness, "more than that." son-in-law, smiling, "what, three bottles?" lord stowell, "more." son-in-law, opening his eyes with astonishment, "by jove, sir, you don't mean to say that you took four bottles?" lord stowell, beginning to feel ashamed of himself, "more; i mean to say we had more. now don't ask any more questions." whilst lord stowell, smarting under the domestic misery of which his foolish marriage with the dowager marchioness of sligo was fruitful, sought comfort and forgetfulness in the cellar of the middle temple, lord eldon drained magnums of newcastle port at his own table. populous with wealthy merchants, and surrounded by an opulent aristocracy, newcastle had used the advantages given her by a large export trade with portugal to draw to her cellars such superb port wine as could be found in no other town in the united kingdom; and to the last the tory chancellor used to get his port from the canny capital of northumbria. just three weeks before his death, the veteran lawyer, sitting in his easy-chair and recalling his early triumphs, preluded an account of the great leading case, "akroyd _v._ smithson," by saying to his listener, "come, farrer, help yourself to a glass of newcastle port, and help me to a little." but though he asked for a little, the old earl, according to his wont, drank much before he was raised from his chair and led to his sleeping-room. it is on record, and is moreover supported by unexceptionable evidence, that in his extreme old age, whilst he was completely laid upon the shelf, and almost down to the day of his death, which occurred in his eighty-seventh year, lord eldon never drank less than three pints of port daily with or after his dinner. of eminent lawyers who were steady port-wine drinkers, baron platt--the amiable and popular judge who died in , aged seventy-two years--may be regarded as one of the last. of him it is recorded that in early manhood he was so completely prostrated by severe illness that beholders judged him to be actually dead. standing over his silent body shortly before the arrival of the undertaker, two of his friends concurred in giving utterance to the sentiment: "ah, poor dear fellow, we shall never drink a glass of wine with him again;" when, to their momentary alarm and subsequent delight, the dead man interposed with a faint assumption of jocularity, "but you will though, and a good many too, i hope." when the undertaker called he was sent away a genuinely sorrowful man; and the young lawyer, who was 'not dead yet,' lived to old age and good purpose. [ ] in old sir herbert's later days it was a mere pleasantry, or bold figure of speech to say that his court had risen, for he used to be lifted from his chair and carried bodily from the chamber of justice by two brawny footmen. of course, as soon as the judge was about to be elevated by his bearers, the bar rose; and also as a matter of course the bar continued to stand until the strong porters had conveyed their weighty and venerable burden along the platform behind one of the rows of advocates and out of sight. as the _trio_ worked their laborious way along the platform, there seemed to be some danger that they might blunder and fall through one of the windows into the space behind the court; and at a time when sir herbert and dr. ---- were at open variance, that waspish advocate had on one occasion the bad taste to keep his seat at the rising of the court, and with characteristic malevolence of expression to say to the footmen, "mind, my men, and take care of that judge of yours--or, by jove, you'll pitch him out of the window." it is needless to say that this brutal speech did not raise the speaker in the opinion of the hearers. chapter xlvii. law and literature. at the present time, when three out of every five journalists attached to our chief london newspapers are inns-of-court men; when many of our able and successful advocates are known to ply their pens in organs of periodical literature as regularly as they raise their voices in courts of justice; and when the young templar, who has borne away the first honors of his university, deems himself the object of a compliment on receiving an invitation to contribute to the columns of a leading review or daily journal--it is difficult to believe that strong men are still amongst us who can remember the days when it was the fashion of the bar to disdain law-students who were suspected of 'writing for hire' and barristers who 'reported for the papers.' throughout the opening years of the present century, and even much later, it was almost universally held on the circuits and in westminster hall, that inns-of-court men lowered the dignity of their order by following those literary avocations by which some of the brightest ornaments of the law supported themselves at the outset of their professional careers. notwithstanding this prejudice, a few wearers of the long robe, daring by nature, or rendered bold by necessity, persisted in 'maintaining a connexion with the press, whilst they sought briefs on the circuit, or waited for clients in their chambers. such men as sergeant spankie and lord campbell, as master stephen and mr. justice talfourd, were reporters for the press whilst they kept terms; and no sooner had henry brougham's eloquence charmed the public, than it was whispered that for years his pen, no less ready than his tongue, had found constant employment in organs of political intelligence. but though such men were known to exist, they were regarded as the 'black sheep' of the bar by a great majority of their profession. it is not improbable that this prejudice against gownsmen on the press was palliated by circumstances that no longer exist. when political writers were very generally regarded as dangerous members of society, and when conductors of respectable newspapers were harassed with vexatious prosecutions and heavy punishments for acts of trivial inadvertence, or for purely imaginary offences, the average journalist was in many respects inferior to the average journalist working under the present more favorable circumstances. men of culture, honest purpose, and fine feeling were slow to enrol themselves members of a despised and proscribed fraternity; and in the dearth of educated gentlemen ready to accept literary employment, the task of writing for the public papers too frequently devolved upon very unscrupulous persons, who rendered their calling as odious as themselves. a shackled and persecuted press is always a licentious and venal press; and before legislation endowed english journalism with a certain measure of freedom and security, it was seldom manly and was often corrupt. it is therefore probable that our grandfathers had some show of reason for their dislike of contributors to anonymous literature. at the bar men of unquestionable amiability and enlightenment were often the loudest to express this aversion for their scribbling brethren. it was said that the scribblers were seldom gentlemen in temper; and that they never hesitated to puff themselves in their papers. these considerations so far influenced mr. justice lawrence that, though he was a model of judicial suavity to all other members of the bar, he could never bring himself to be barely civil to advocates known to be 'upon the press.' at lincoln's inn this strong feeling against journalists found vent in a resolution, framed in reference to a particular person, which would have shut out journalists from the society. it had long been understood that no student could be called to the bar _whilst_ he was acting as a reporter in the gallery of either house; but the new decision of the benchers would have destroyed the ancient connexion of the legal profession and literary calling. strange to say this illiberal measure was the work of two benchers who, notwithstanding their patrician descent and associations, were vehement asserters of liberal principles. mr. clifford--'o.p.' clifford--was its proposer and erskine was its seconder. fortunately the person who was the immediate object of its provisions petitioned the house of commons upon the subject, and the consequent debate in the lower house decided the benchers to withdraw from their false position; and since their silent retreat no attempt has been made by any of the four honorable societies to affix an undeserved stigma on the followers of a serviceable art. upon the whole the literary calling gained much from the discreditable action of lincoln's inn; for the speech in which sheridan covered with derision this attempt to brand parliamentary reporters as unfit to associate with members of the bar, and the address in which mr. stephen, with manly reference to his own early experiences, warmly censured the conduct of the society of which he was himself a member, caused many persons to form a new and juster estimate of the working members of the london press. having alluded to dr. johnson and edmund burke, who had both acted as parliamentary reporters, sheridan stated that no less than twenty-three graduates of universities were then engaged as reporters of the proceedings of the house. the close connexion which for centuries has existed between men of law and men of letters is illustrated on the one hand by a long succession of eminent lawyers who have added to the lustre of professional honors the no less bright distinctions of literary achievements or friendships, and on the other hand by the long line of able writers who either enrolled themselves amongst the students of the law, or resided in the inns of court, or cherished with assiduous care the friendly regard of famous judges. indeed, since the days of chancellor de bury, who wrote the 'philobiblon,' there have been few chancellors to whom literature is not in some way indebted; and the few keepers of the seal who neither cared for letters nor cultivated the society of students, are amongst the judges whose names most englishmen would gladly erase from the history of their country. jeffreys and macclesfield represent the unlettered chancellors; more and bacon the lettered. fortescue's 'de laudibus' is a book for every reader. to chancellor warham, erasmus--a scholar not given to distribute praise carelessly--dedicated his 'st. jerom,' with cordial eulogy. wolsey was a patron of letters. more may be said to have revived, if he did not create, the literary taste of his contemporaries, and to have transplanted the novel to english soil. equally diligent as a writer and a collector of books, gardyner spent his happiest moments at his desk, or over the folios of the magnificent library which was destroyed by wyat's insurgents. christopher hatton was a dramatic author. to one person who can describe with any approach to accuracy edward hyde's conduct in the court of chancery, there are twenty who have studied clarendon's 'rebellion.' at the present date hale's books are better known than his judgments, though his conduct towards the witches of bury st. edmunds conferred an unenviable fame on his judicial career. by timely assistance rendered to burnet, lord nottingham did something to atone for his brutality towards milton, whom, at an earlier period of his career, he had declared worthy of a felon's death, for having been cromwell's latin secretary. lord keeper north wrote upon 'music;' and to his brother roger literature is indebted for the best biographies composed by any writer of his period. in his boyhood somers was a poet; in his maturer years the friend of poets. the friend of prior and gay, arbuthnot and pope, lord chancellor harcourt, wrote verses of more than ordinary merit, and alike in periods of official triumph and in times of retirement valued the friendship of men of wit above the many successes of his public career. lord chancellor king, author of 'constitution and discipline of the primitive church,' was john locke's dutiful nephew and favorite companion. king's immediate successor was extolled by pope in the lines, o teach us, talbot! thou'rt unspoil'd by wealth, that secret rare, between the extremes to move, of mad good-nature and of mean self-love. who is it copies talbot's better part, to ease th' oppress'd, and raise the sinking heart? but talbot's fairest eulogy was penned by his son's tutor, alexander thomson--a poet who had no reason to feel gratitude to talbot's official successor. ere he thoroughly resolved to devote himself to law, the cold and formal hardwicke had cherished a feeble ambition for literary distinction; and under its influence he wrote a paper that appeared in the _spectator_. blackstone's entrance at the temple occasioned his metrical 'farewell' to his muse. in his undergraduate days at cambridge lord chancellor charles yorke was a chief contributor to the 'athenian letters,' and it would have been well for him had he in after-life given to letters a portion of the time which he sacrificed to ambition. thurlow's churlishness and overbearing temper are at this date trifling matters in comparison with his friendship for cowper and samuel johnson, and his kindly aid to george crabbe. even more than for the wisdom of his judgments mansfield is remembered for his intimacy with 'the wits,' and his close friendship with that chief of them all, who exclaimed, "how sweet an ovid, murray, was our boast," and in honor of that "sweet ovid" penned the lines, "graced as thou art, with all the power of words, so known, so honored in the house of lords"-- verses deliciously ridiculed by the parodist who wrote, "persuasion tips his tongue whene'er he talks: and he has chambers in the king's bench walks." as an atonement for many defects, alexander wedderburn had one virtue--an honest respect for letters that made him in opening manhood seek the friendship of hume, at a later date solicit a pension for dr. johnson, and after his elevation to the woolsack overwhelm gibbon with hospitable civilities. eldon was an oxford essayist in his young, the compiler of 'the anecdote book' in his old days; and though he cannot be commended for literary tastes, or sympathy with men of letters, he was one of the many great lawyers who found pleasure in the conversation of samuel johnson. unlike his brother, lord stowell clung fast to his literary friendships, as 'dr. scott of the commons' priding himself more on his membership in the literary club than on his standing in the prerogative court; and as lord stowell evincing cordial respect for the successors of reynolds and malone, even when love of money had taken firm hold of his enfeebled mind. archdeacon paley's london residence was in edward law's house in bloomsbury square. in erskine literary ambition was so strong that, not content with the fame brought to him by excellent _vers de société_, he took pen in hand when he resigned the seals, and--more to the delight of his enemies than the satisfaction of his friends--wrote a novel, which neither became, nor deserved to be, permanently successful. with similar zeal and greater ability the literary reputation of the bar has been maintained by lord denman, who was an industrious _littérateur_ whilst he was working his way up at the bar; by sir john taylor coleridge, whose services to the _quarterly review_ are an affair of literary history; by sir thomas noon talfourd, who, having reported in the gallery, lived to lake part in the debates of the house of commons, and who, from the date of his first engagement on the _times_ till the sad morning when "god's finger touched him," while he sat upon the bench, never altogether relinquished those literary pursuits, in which he earned well-merited honor; by lord macaulay, whose connexion with the legal profession is almost lost sight of in the brilliance of his literary renown; by lord campbell, who dreamt of living to wear an ss collar in westminster hall whilst he was merely john campbell the reporter; by lord brougham, who, having instructed our grandfathers with his pen, still remains upon the stage, giving their grandsons wise lessons with his tongue; and by lord romilly, whose services to english literature have won for him the gratitude of scholars. of each generation of writers between the accession of elizabeth and the present time, several of the most conspicuous names are either found on the rolls of the inns, or are closely associated in the minds of students with the life of the law-colleges. shakspeare's plays abound with testimony that he was no stranger in the legal inns, and the rich vein of legal lore and diction that runs through his writings has induced more judicious critics than lord campbell to conjecture that he may at some early time of his career have directed his mind to the study, if not the practice, of the law. amongst elizabethan writers who belonged to inns may be mentioned--george ferrars, william lambarde, sir henry spelman, and that luckless pamphleteer john stubbs, all of whom were members of lincoln's inn; thomas sackville, francis beaumont the younger, and john ferne, of the inner temple; walter raleigh, of the middle temple; francis bacon, philip sidney, george gascoyne, and francis davison, of gray's inn. sir john denham, the poet, became a lincoln's-inn student in ; and francis quarles was a member of the same learned society. john selden entered the inner temple in the second year of james i., where in due course he numbered, amongst his literary contemporaries,--william browne, croke, oulde, thomas gardiner, dynne, edward heywood, john morgan, augustus cæsar, thomas heygate, thomas may, dramatist and translator of lucan's 'pharsalia,' william rough and rymer were members of gray's inn. sir john david and sir simonds d'ewes belonged to the middle temple. massinger's dearest friends lived in the inner temple, of which society george keate, the dramatist, and butler's staunch supporter william longueville, were members. milton passed the most jocund hours of his life in gray's inn, in which college cleveland and the author of 'hudibras' held the meetings of their club. wycherley and congreve, aubrey and narcissus luttrell were inns-of-court men. in later periods we find thomas edwards, the critic; murphy, the dramatic writer; james mackintosh, francis hargrave, bentham, curran, canning, at lincoln's inn. the poet cowper was a barrister of the temple. amongst other templars of the eighteenth century, with whose names the literature of their time is inseparably associated, were henry fielding, henry brooke, oliver goldsmith, and edmund burke. samuel johnson resided both in gray's inn and the temple, and his friend boswell was an advocate of respectable ability as well as the best biographer on the roll of english writers. the foregoing are but a few taken from hundreds of names that illustrate the close union of law and literature in past times. to lengthen the list would but weary the reader; and no pains would make a perfect muster roll of all the literary lawyers and _legal littérateurs_ who either are still upon the stage, or have only lately passed away. in their youth four well-known living novelists--mr. william harrison ainsworth, mr. shirley brooks, mr. charles dickens, and mr. benjamin disraeli--passed some time in solicitors' offices. mr. john oxenford was articled to an attorney. mr. theodore martin resembles the authors of 'the rejected addresses' in being a successful practitioner in the inferior branch of the law. mr. charles henry cooper was a successful solicitor. on turning over the leaves to that useful book, 'men of the time,' the reader finds mention made of the following men of letters and law--sir archibald alison, mr. thomas chisholm anstey, mr. william edmonstone aytoun, mr. philip james bailey, mr. j.n. ball, mr. sergeant peter burke, sir j.b. burke, mr. john hill burton, mr. hans busk, mr. isaac butt, mr. george wingrove cooke, sir e.s. creasy, dr. dasent, mr. john thaddeus delane, mr. w. hepworth dixon, mr. commissioner fonblanque, mr. william forsyth, q.c., mr. edward foss, mr. william carew hazlitt, mr. thomas hughes, mr. leone levi, mr. lawrence oliphant, mr. charles reade, mr. w. stigant, mr. tom taylor, mr. mccullagh torrens, mr. m.f. tupper, dr. travers, mr. samuel warren, and mr. charles weld. some of the gentlemen in this list are not merely nominal barristers, but are practitioners with an abundance of business. amongst those to whom the editor of 'men of the time' draws attention as 'lawyers,' and who either are still rendering or have rendered good service to literature, occur the names of sir william a'beckett, mr. w. adams, dr. anster, sir joseph arnould, sir george bowyer, sir john coleridge, mr. e. w. cox, mr. wilson gray, mr. justice haliburton, mr. thomas lewin, mr. thomas e. may, mr. j.g. phillimore, mr. james fitz james stephen, mr. vernon harcourt, mr. james whiteside. some of the distinguished men mentioned in this survey have already passed to another world since the publication of the last edition of 'men of the time;' but their recorded connexion with literature as well as law no less serves to illustrate an important feature of our social life. it is almost needless to remark that the names of many of our ablest anonymous writers do not appear in 'men of the time.' creatures of the night _by the same author._ ianto the fisherman and other sketches of country life. _illustrated with photogravures. large crown vo._ _the times._--"the quality which perhaps most gives its individuality to the book is distinctive of celtic genius.... the characters ... are touched with a reality that implies genuine literary skill." _the standard._--"mr rees has taken a place which is all his own in the great succession of writers who have made nature their theme." _the guardian._--"we can remember nothing in recent books on natural history which can compare with the first part of this book ... surprising insight into the life of field, and moor, and river." _the outlook._--"this book--we speak in deliberate superlative--is the best essay in what may be called natural history biography that we have ever read." london john murray, albemarle street [illustration: "the broad river, in which she had spent her early life." (_see_ p. .) _frontispiece._] [illustration: decoration] creatures of the night a book of wild life in western britain by alfred w. rees author of "ianto the fisherman" with illustrations london john murray, albemarle street to myfanwy and morgan "all life is seed, dropped in time's yawning furrow, which, with slow sprout and shoot, in the revolving world's unfathomed morrow, will blossom and bear fruit." mathilde blind. preface. the editors of _the standard_ have kindly permitted me to republish the contents of this book, and i tender them my thanks. the original form of these studies of animal life has been extensively altered, and, in some instances, the titles have been changed. i am again greatly indebted to my brother, r. wilkins rees. his wide and accurate knowledge has been constantly at my disposal, and in the preparation of these studies he has given me much indispensable advice and assistance. similarity in the habits of some of the animals described has made a slight similarity of treatment unavoidable in certain chapters. i may also remark that, in unfrequented districts where beasts and birds of prey are not destroyed by gamekeepers, the hare is as much a creature of the night as is the badger or the fox. alfred w. rees. [transcriber's note: obvious typographical errors have been corrected, and standardized the hyphenations, otherwise the text has been left as the original] contents. the otter. i. the holt among the alders. page late fishing--a summer night--river voices--a master-fisher-- the old mansion--lingering beauty--the otters' "oven"--observant youngsters--careful motherhood--the meadow playground--falling leaves--a swollen river--dabchick's oar-like wings--mysterious proceedings--migrating salmon--hoar-fringed river-banks--an adventure with a sheep-dog--slip-shod builders--signs of spring--a change of diet--fattening trout--the capture of a "kelt"--"the otter's bite"--lone wanderings. - ii. the pool beneath the farmstead. a song of autumn--the salmon pool--angling difficulties--bullying a sportive fish--an absent-minded fisherman--at dawn and nightfall--a deserted home--practical joking--a moorhen's fate--playfulness of youth--the torrent below the fall--the garden ponds--feasting on frogs--a watcher of the night--hounds and hunters--lutra's discretion--the spell of fear - iii. the gorge of alltycafn. the hunt again--fury of despair--a "strong place"--the terrier's discomfiture--lutra's widowhood--summer drought--life at the estuary--returning to the river--scarce provender--a rare and unexpected sight--the blacksmith's baited trap--the rock of gwion--peace - the water-vole. i. our village hounds. quiet life--leisure hours--a winter pastime--a miscellaneous pack--the bobtail, and his fight with an otter--the terrier, and his friendship with fishermen--a family party--expert diving--hunt membership, and the landlord as huntsman--fast and furious fun--a rival hunt--the bobtail's death--the terrier's eccentricities--a pleasant study begins--brown rats--yellow ants--brighteye's peculiarities--evening sport - ii. the burrow in the river bank. at dusk--a picturesque home--main roads and lanes of the riverside people--a heron's alertness--a rabbit's danger signal--the reed-bed--the vole in fear--the wildest of the wild--tell-tale footprints--the significance of a blood-stain--a weasel's ferocity--maternal warnings--a rat-hunting spaniel--an invaded sanctuary--the terrier's opportunity--the water-vole chatters and sings--a gladsome life--dangers sharpen intellect - iii. wild hunting. an otter-hunt--fading afterglow--spiritual influence of night--lutra and brighteye--brighteye's song--chill waters--a beacon in the gloom--a squirrel's derision--a silvery phantom--an old, lean trout--restless salmon--change of quarters--brighteye's encounter with a "red" fish - iv. saved by an enemy. the "redd" in the gravel--in company with a water-shrew--ravenous trout--the salmon's attack--an otter appears--brighteye's bewilderment--increasing vigilance--playful minnows--a new water-entrance--the winter granary--careful harvesting--the dipper's winter carol--the robin and the wren at vespers--unsafe quarters--rats on the move--a sequestered pool--icebound haunts - v. the courage of fear. the dawn--restlessness of spring--a bold adventurer--a sharp fight--cleared pathways--differences of opinion--a tight snuggery--in defence of home--a monster rat--temporary refuge--the voles and the cannibal trout--family troubles--a winter evening in the village - the field-vole. i. hidden pathways in the grass. a pleasant wilderness--pitying nature--hedgerow sentinels--the story of the day--familiar signs--an unknown scent--the agony of fear--a change of mood--the weasel's raid--a place of slaughter--autumn preparations--a general panic--hibernation--winter sunshine--the red bank-voles--owls and hawks - ii. the valley of olwen. the last of winter's stores--renewed activity--the field-vole's food--a lively widow vole--an unequal encounter--first fond passion--ominous sounds--a clumsy rabbit--an unimportant "affair"--an elopement--nesting time--a fussy parent--a fox pays a visit--also a carrion crow--repairing damages - iii. a barren hillside. a secluded pasture--poachers and owls--an astute magpie--the vole a sire of many families--plague--nature's caprice--privation and disease--unexpected destroyers--a living skeleton--starvation and death--an owl once more - the fox. i. the last hunt. a baffled marauder--the flesh of breeding creatures tough and tasteless--an unsavoury rat--the arrival of the hunt--the fox sees his foes--the view-halloo--no respite, no mercy, no sanctuary--the last hope--a fearless vixen--defiant to the end - ii. a new home. life in an artificial "earth"--longing and despair--contentment of maternity--prisoners--a way of escape--careless infancy--a precocious cub--first lessons--an obedient family--a fox's smile--inborn passion for flesh--favourite food of fox-cubs--the huntsman's desire - iii. the cub and the polecat. patience and watchfulness--how to capture field-voles--winding trails--ill-luck--a painful surprise--a fresh line of scent--cost of a struggle--a luckless fortnight--the old hound and the "young entry"--a curiously shaped monster--pursued by a lurcher-- desertion--a vagrant bachelor - iv. a cry of the night. the hunting call--a recollection--a joyous greeting--a woodland bride--the sting of a wasp--preparation of a "breeding earth"--meddlesome jays and magpies--a rocky fastness on the wild west coast--vulp's retreat--the end of a long life--the fox's mask--memories - the brown hare. i. the upland cornfield. midsummer--the leveret's birth--first wanderings--instinct and teaching--the "creeps"--in the stubble--habits change with seasons--the "sweet joint" of the rye--lessons from a net and a lurcher--rough methods--the man-scent--on the hills above the river-mists - ii. march madness. march winds--reckless jack-hares--courtship and rivalry--motherhood--a harmless conflict--an intruding fox--the faithless lover--maternal courage--the falcon's "stoop"--the "slit-eared" hare--countryside superstitions--on the river island--patience rewarded--the hare as a swimmer--bloodless sport--habits of the hare in wet weather--the "form" in the root-field--bereavements--increasing caution-- productiveness in relation to food--a poacher's ruse - iii. the chase. the basset-hound--mirthful and dignified--a method of protecting hares--a suggestion--formidable foes--"fouling" the scent--a cry of distress--the home in the snow-drift--the renegade cat--an inoffensive life--a devastating storm - the badger. i. a woodland solitude. haunts of a naturalist--why certain animals are unmolested--means of security--fear of dogs and men--a place of interest--the "nocturnal" instinct--droll revelry--serious pastimes--teaching by reward and punishment--animals study the disposition of their young--voices of the wilderness - ii. home discipline. unwelcome attentions--an old badger's watchfulness--a clever trick--a presumptuous youngster--instructions in selfishness--harsh measures--the badger and the stoat--a long ramble - iii. fear of the trap. wisdom in nature's ways--the laggard of the family--a salutary lesson--hand-scent and foot-scent--an old welsh law--the lesson of a "double" scent--the sorrel as medicine--a wild bees' nest--"in grease" - iv. the winter "oven." the vixen and the hounds--the wounded rabbit--old inhabitants of the wood--in touch with enemies--twilight romps--brock's quarrel with his sire--a bone of contention--prompt chastisement--a mournful chorus--wild fancies of a bachelor--a big battle--the terror of the flock--unwarranted suspicion--caught in the act - v. hillside trails. the backward "drag"--loyalty tested--a spiteful spouse--spring cleaning--carrying litter to the "set"--a numerous family--an eviction--vulpicide--important news--old traditions of sport revived--a long day's toil--the secret history of a "draw"--an old burrow - the hedgehog. i. a vagabond hunter. the nest in the "trash"--quaint wildlings--neighbours and enemies--a feast--spines and talons--the gipsy boy--a vagabond's sport--the nest in the wild bees' ruined home--insects killed by frost--winter quarters of the lizard and the snail - ii. an experience in snake-killing. an iron winter--march awakening--a coat of autumn leaves--the rip van winkle of the woods--sunshine and strength--faulty eyesight--the hedgehog and the viper--worsting an enemy--the moorhen's nest--antics of weasels and snakes--the hedgehog's bleat--odd and awkward courtship - night in the woods. i. haunts of the badger and the fox. wild life at night--long watching--a "set" with numerous inhabitants--the vixen and her cubs--tolerant badgers--vigilance--a moorland episode--"chalking the mark"--fox-signs--a habit of voles and rabbits--patience, in vain--sulky badgers--the vixen's lair--foxes at play - ii. the crag of vortigern. difficulties of night watching--powers of observation in wild creatures--night wanderers dislike rain--eager helpers--a tempting invitation--cry of young owls--philip, the silent watcher--the fern-owl's rattle--the leaping places of the hare--night gossip--the meaning of the white and black markings on a badger's head--the secrets of the cave - index - full-page illustrations from drawings by florence h. laverock. "the broad river, in which she had spent her early life." see p. _frontispiece._ "an opportunity came, which, had she been poised in the air, could scarcely have been missed." _to face p._ "the big trout, in his torpedo-like rush to cut off brighteye from sure refuge." see p. " " "she was holding one of her offspring by the neck, in preparation for flight." see p. " " "he retired to a rocky fastness on the wild west coast." " " "when the early autumn moon rose over the corn." " " "he climbed from his doorway, and stood motionless, with uplifted nostrils, inhaling each breath of scent." " " "as he measured his full length against the tree." see p. " " the otter. i. the holt among the alders. i first saw lutra, the otter-cub, while i was fishing late one summer night. slow-moving clouds, breaking into fantastic shapes and spreading out great, threatening arms into the dark, ascended from the horizon and sailed northward under the moon and stars. ever and anon, low down in the sky, venus, like a clear-cut diamond suspended from one of its many twinkling points, glittered between the fringes of the clouds, or the white moon diffused soft light among the wreathing vapours that twisted and rolled athwart the heavens. in the shelter of the pines on the margin of the river, a ringdove, awakened by a bickering mate, fluttered from bough to bough; and his angry, muffled coo of defiance marred the stillness of the night. the gurgling call of a moorhen, mingling with the ripple of the stream over the ford, came from the reeds at a distant bend of the river. nearer, the river, with varying cadence, rose and fell in uneven current over a rocky shelf, and then came on to murmur around me while i waded towards the edge of a deep, forbidding pool. in the smooth back-wash beyond the black cup of the pool a mass of gathered foam gleamed weirdly in the dark; and, further away, broad tangles of river-weed, dotted with the pale petals of countless flowers, floated on the shallow trout-reach extending from the village gardens to the cornfields below the old, grey church. in one of the terraced gardens behind me a cottager was burning garden refuse; tongues of flame leaped up amid billows of smoke, and from the crackling heap a myriad sparks shot out on every side. while the cottager moved about by the fire, his shadow lengthened across the river, which, reflecting the lurid glare, became strangely suggestive of unfathomable depths. the moorhen called again from the reeds near the ford, then flew away over the fire-flushed river and disappeared into the gloom; and a water-vole dropped with a gentle plash into the pool. casting a white moth quietly over the stream, i noticed beyond the shadows a round mass rising from the centre of the current, moving against the flood, and sinking noiselessly out of sight. there could be no doubt that the shape and motion were those of an otter. to continue my sport would have been in vain with such a master-fisher in the pool, so i reeled in my line, and stood still among the ripples as they circled, muttering, around my knees. presently the dim form of the otter reappeared a little further up-stream, and i caught sight of a glistening trout in the creature's mouth. the otter swam, with head just above water, towards the alders skirting the opposite bank, and then, turning sharply, was lost to sight near the overhanging roots of a sycamore. immediately afterwards, a strange, flute-like whistle--as if some animal, having ascended from the depths of the river, had blown water through its nostrils in a violent effort to breathe--came from the whirlpool in the dense shadows of the pines: the otter's mate was hunting in the quiet water beyond the shelf of rock. then a slight, rattling sound on the pebbly beach of a little bay near the sycamore indicated that the animal had landed and was probably devouring the captured fish. the leaping flames of the cottager's fire had been succeeded by a fitful glow, but the moon glided from behind the clouds and revealed a distinct picture of the parent otter standing on the shingle, in company with lutra, her little cub. * * * * * a deserted mansion--to whose history, like the aged ivy to its crumbling walls, clung many a fateful legend--nestled under the precipitous woods in the valley. time, taking advantage of neglect, had made a wilderness of the gardens, the lawns, and the orchards, which, less than a century ago, surrounded with quiet beauty this home of a typical old country squire. a few garden flowers still lingered near the porch; but the once well tended borders were overgrown with grass, or occupied with wild blossoms brought from the fields by the hundred agents employed by nature to scatter seed. owls inhabited the outhouses, and bats the chinks beneath the eaves. a fox had his "earth" in the shrubbery beyond the moss-grown pathway leading from the door to the gate at the end of the drive. a timid wood-pigeon often flew across from the pines and walked about the steps before the long-closed door. near the warped window of the dismantled gun-room the end of a large water-pipe formed a convenient burrow for some of the rabbits that played at dusk near the margin of the shrubbery. this water-pipe led to the river's brink; and there, having been broken by landslips resulting from the ingress of the stream during flood, one of the severed parts of the tube formed, beneath the surface of the water, an outlet to a natural chamber high and dry in the bank. the upper portion of the pipe was choked with earth and leaves washed down from the fields by the winter rains. in this hollow "oven," on a heap of hay, moss, and leaves, brought hither by the parent otters through an opening they had tunnelled into the meadow, lutra was born. her nursery was shared by two other cubs. blind, helpless, murmuring little balls of fur, they were tended lovingly by the dam. soon the thin membrane between their eyelids dried and parted, and they awoke to a keen interest in their surroundings. their chamber was dimly lit by the hole above; and the cubs, directly they were able to crawl, feebly climbed to a recess behind the shaft, where they blinked at the clouds that sailed beneath the dome of june, and at the stars that peeped out when night drew on, or watched the limpid water as, flowing past the end of the pipe below, it bore along a twirling leaf or rolled a pebble down the river-bed. occasionally a salmon-pink wandered across from the shallows; for a moment or two the play of its tiny fins was seen at the edge of the pipe; and the cubs, excited by a sight of their future prey, stretched their necks and knowingly held their heads askew, so that no movement of the fish might escape their observation. among flesh-eating mammals of many kinds, the females display signs of intelligence earlier than the males. lutra being the only female among the cubs, she naturally grew to be the most keenly observant, and often identified the finny visitor before her brothers ventured to decide that it was not a moving twig. the dam spent most of the day asleep in the "holt," and most of the night fishing in the pools. inheriting the disposition of their kind, the cubs also were more particularly lively by night than by day. directly the cold dew-mist wreathed the grass at the entrance of the burrow, they commenced to sport and play, tumbling over each other, grunting and fighting in mimic anger, or pretending to startle their mother directly she entered the pipe on returning at intervals from fishing. one night, while the cubs were rougher than ever in their fun, lutra slipped off the platform and fell headlong down the pipe into the stream. but almost before she had time to be frightened she discovered that to swim was as easy as to play; and she rose to the surface with a faint, flute-like call. she splashed somewhat wildly, for her stroke was not yet perfected by practice. hearing the commotion and instantly recognising its meaning, the dam dived quietly and swiftly right beneath the cub, and bore her gently back to the platform, where the rest of the family, having missed their companion, had for the moment ceased to romp and fight. a few nights after this incident, the mother commenced in earnest to educate her young. tenderly taking each in turn, she carried the nurslings into the water, and taught them, by a method and in language known only to themselves, how to dive and swim with the least possible exertion and disturbance. henceforward, throughout the summer, and till the foliage on the trees near the pool, chilled by the rapid fall of the temperature every evening, became thinner in the breath of the early autumn wind, the otter-cubs fished, and frolicked, and slept, or were suckled by their dam. sometimes the whole family, together with the old dog-otter, adjourned to the middle of the meadow, and in the tall, dew-drenched grass skipped like kittens, though with comical clumsiness rather than with the agility they displayed in the water. like kittens, too, the cubs played with their mother, in spite of wholesome chastisement when they nipped her muzzle rather more severely than even long-suffering patience could allow. the dam was at all times loath to correct her offspring, but the sire rarely endured the familiarity of the cubs for long. directly they became unduly presumptuous he lumbered off to the river, as if he considered it much more becoming to fish than to join in the sport of his progeny. perhaps, indeed, he deemed a change of surroundings essential that he might forget the liberties taken with him by his disrespectful youngsters. when about three months old, lutra began to show promise of that grace of form and motion which in later life was to be one of her chief distinctions. her body, tail, and head gradually lengthened; and, as her movements in the water became more sinuous and easy, she tired less rapidly when fishing. autumn passed on towards winter, the nights were long, the great harvest of the leaves fell thickly on the meadow and the stream, the mountain springs were loosed in muddy torrents, and the river roared, swollen and turbid, past the "holt" under the trailing alder-twigs. the moorhens came back from the ponds where they had nested in april and may; the wild duck and the teal flew south from oversea, and in the night descended circling to the pool; a dabchick from the wild gorge down-river took up his abode in the sedges. the quick jerk of the dabchick's oar-like wings caused much wonder to lutra, when, walking on the river-bed, she looked up towards the moonlit sky, and saw the little grebe dive like a dark phantom into the deep hole beneath the rocky ledges of penpwll. once the otter-cub, acting under an irresistible impulse, swam towards the bird and tried to seize him. she managed to grip one of his feet, as they trailed behind him while he dived, but the grebe escaped, leaving in the assailant's mouth only a morsel of flesh torn from a claw. in the warm evenings of late summer and the first weeks of autumn, the angler usually visited the shingle opposite the water-pipe, and waded up-stream casting for trout. the otter-cubs, grown wiser than when the angler saw them near the sycamore, discreetly stayed at home, for they had been taught to regard this strange being, man, known by his peculiar footfall and upright walk, as a dreaded enemy scarcely less formidable than the hounds and the terriers that at intervals accompanied him for the express purpose of hunting such river-folk as otters and rats. as yet lutra had never seen the hounds, nor, till the following summer, was she to know the import of her instinctive timidity. roaming, hungry, and venturesome, she had chanced at nightfall to catch a glimpse, during an occasional gleam of moonlight, of a large trout struggling frantically on the surface of the water not far from the angler, had heard the click of the reel and the swish of the landing net, and had concluded that these mysterious proceedings gave cause for fear. the end of october drew nigh; and, when the last golden leaves began to fall from the beeches, the angler ceased to frequent the riverside. henceforward, except when a sportsman passed with his gun, the otters' haunt remained in peace. always at break of day, however, when the pigeons left their roosting places in the pines, an old, decrepit woman tottered down the steps from the cottage door to the rock at the brim of the pool, and filled her pails with water. but the creatures felt little alarm: they had become accustomed to her presence in the dawn. lonely and childless and poor, she knew more than any one else of the otters; but she kept their whereabouts a secret, for the creatures lent an interest to her cheerless, forsaken life, and recalled to her halting memory the long past days when her husband told her tales of hunting and fishing as she sat, a young and pretty girl, at her spinning wheel in the light of the flickering "tallow-dip." warm, cloudy weather continued from the late autumn through the winter--except for a few days of frost and snow in december--so that food was never scarce, and lutra thrived and grew. the great migration of salmon took place, but she was not sufficiently big and strong to grip and hold these monster fish. her own weight hardly exceeded that of the smallest of them, so she had to be content with a mixed diet of salmon-fry and trout, varied with an occasional slug or snail that she chanced to find in the meadow. for a brief period after the fall of snow in december, the frost fettered the fields, and the moon shone nightly on a white waste through which the river flowed, like a black, uneven line, between its hoar-fringed banks. then lutra, bold in the unbroken stillness of nature's perfect sleep, climbed the steps leading to a village garden, and searched the refuse heap for scraps discarded from the cottager's meagre board. she even wandered further, crossed the road, and passed under a gate into the fields near the outlying stables of the inn. here some birds had roosted in the hazels by the fence, and the cub stood watching them, like the fox beneath the desired but distant grapes. a rough, mongrel sheep-dog, having missed his master, who had been carousing in the inn that evening, chanced to be trotting homeward to the farm on the hill, and, sniffing at the gate, discovered the cub in the hedgerow. with a mad yell the dog tore through the briars at the side of the gate-post; but lutra was equally quick, and by the time her enemy was in the field she had dodged under the bars and was shuffling away, as quickly as her short legs permitted, down the garden to the river. the dog turned, crashed back through the briars, and gained rapidly on the otter. he reached her just as she gained the top of the wall that, on a level with the garden, formed a barrier against the river-floods. lutra felt a sharp nip on her flank, and was bowled over by the impetuous rush of her foe; but she regained her feet in an instant, and jumped without hesitation into the water. the river was shallow where she fell; the dog followed her; and for a moment she was in deadly peril. but before the sheep-dog recovered from his sudden plunge, lutra swam into the deep water and dived straight for home, leaving the plucky mongrel standing in the ripples, with a look of almost human disgust and astonishment on his intelligent face. he may have reasoned thus: "surely i caught that otter. but stay, i must have been dreaming. 'tis queer, though: i'm in the river instead of on the road to the farm." this, for lutra, was perhaps the only noteworthy episode of her early life. the otter-cub was about nine months old when spring came to the valley. the water-weed grew in long filaments from the gravelly shallows. the angler, who had ceased to frequent the riverside at the approach of winter, returned to the pool, but only by day, and then lutra dozed in her retreat. in the pines on the margin of the river the blue ringdoves were busy constructing the rude makeshift that was to serve the purpose of a nest. instead of seeking how to construct a perfect dwelling place, these slipshod builders spent most of their hours in courtship. sometimes, owing to the carelessness of the lackadaisical doves, a dry stick released by bill or claw would fall pattering among the branches, and drop, with a plash, into the river, where it would be borne by the current past the otter's lair. from every bush and brake along the sparkling stream the carols of joyous birds floated on the morning mists. the first green leaves of the bean peeped in the gardens; the first broods of the year's ducklings launched forth, like heartstrong adventurers, into the shallows by the cottage walls. in the sunny glades the big, fleshy buds of the chestnut and the light-green, tapering sprouts of the sycamore expanded under the influence of increasing warmth. finches and sparrows, on the lookout for flies, hovered above the ankle-deep drifts of leaf-mould in the lane below the trees, or crossed and re-crossed between the budding boughs. only a few of these many signs were observed by lutra, it is true, for she spent the day in hiding. but at dusk she heard the bleating of the lambs, and the musical note of a bell that had been slung round the neck of the patriarch of the flock in order to deter foxes from meddling with the new-born weaklings then under the big ram's care. she was made aware of the presence of spring by the "scent in the shadow and sound in the light." the hatching of countless flies in the leaf-mould was not watched by the birds only: lutra also knew that the swarms had arrived; and spring was welcome if only for this. for months she had fed on lean and tasteless trout exhausted by spawning. now, instead of lying under stones or haunting the deep basin of the pool, the trout rose to the surface and wandered abroad into the shallows. there the languid fish became fit for food again, and more capable of eluding the occasional long, stern chases of the otter. but lutra was never disconcerted by the fact that the fish were strong and active; as with all carnivorous creatures, her sporting instincts were so highly developed that she revelled in overcoming difficulties, especially because she felt her own strength growing from day to day. during winter the trout had fed on worms and "sundries." now, their best and heartiest meals were of flies. daily, at noon, swarms of ephemerals played over the water, and the trout rose from the river-bed to feed. at first they "sported" ravenously, rising quick and sure to any insect their marvellous vision might discern. afterwards they fed daintily, disabling and drowning with a flip of the tail many an insect that fluttered at the surface, and choosing from their various victims some unusually tasty morsel, such as a female "february red" about to lay her eggs. at this time, also, the plump, cream-coloured larvæ of the stone-fly in the shallows were growing within their well cemented caddis-cases and preparing for maturity. so the trout fattened on caddis-grubs and flies, and the otter-cub, in corresponding measure, became sleek, well-grown, and spirited. in the winter lutra had imperceptibly acquired the habit of swimming and diving across-stream, just as an old fox, when hunting in the woods, quarters his ground systematically across-wind, and so detects the slightest scent that may be wafted on the breeze. nature had been specially kind to her; she was fashioned perfectly, and in the river reigned supreme. her body was long, supple, and tapering; her brown fur was close and short, so that the water never penetrated to her skin and her movements were not retarded as they would have been had she possessed the loose, draggling coat of an otter-hound. she seemed to glide with extraordinary facility even against a rapid current. her skin was so tough that on one occasion when, by accident, she was carried down a raging rapid and thrown against a jagged rock, a slight bruise was the only result. her legs were short and powerful, her toes webbed, and her tail served the purpose of a rudder. nostrils, eyes, and ears--all were small and water-tight, and set so high on the skull that, when she rose to breathe, little more than a speck could be seen on the surface, unless she felt it safe to raise her head and body further for the sake of ease in plunging deep. when lutra was nine months old she caught her first salmon; and, though the fish was only a small "kelt," returning, weak from spawning, to the sea, the capture was a fair test of the cub's prowess and daring. it happened thus. she was walking up the river-bed one boisterous night, when she saw a dark form hovering close to the surface in the middle of a deep pool. her eyes, peculiarly fitted for watching objects immediately above, quickly detected the almost motionless fish. the eyes of the salmon were also formed for looking upwards, and so lutra remained unnoticed by her prey. she stole around the hovering fish, that the bubbles caused by her breathing might make no noticeable disturbance as they rose to the surface, and then, having judged to a nicety the strength of the stream, paddled with almost imperceptible motion towards the salmon. before the fish had time to flee it was caught in lutra's vice-like jaws and borne, struggling desperately and threshing the water into foam, to the bank. there the otter-cub killed her victim by severing the vertebræ immediately behind its gills. otters well nigh invariably destroy large-sized fish by attacking them in this particular part. and, according to a similar method, stoats and polecats, whenever possible, seize their victims near the base of the brain. in yet another way lutra proved her relationship to the weasel tribe: just as our miniature land-otters eat only small portions of the rabbits they kill, so the cub was content with a juicy morsel behind the salmon's head--a morsel known among sportsmen as "the otter's bite." soon after the cub had killed her first salmon she separated from her parents and brothers, travelled far down-river, and wandered alone. in the human character, development becomes especially marked directly independence of action is assumed; henceforward parental guidance counts for comparatively little. and so it was with lutra. ii. the pool beneath the farmstead. last year, in autumn mornings, when the big round clouds sailing swiftly overhead reminded me of springtide days and joyous skylarks in the heavens, but when all parent birds were silent, knowing how dark winter soon would chill the world, a thrush, that not long since had been a fledgling in his nest amid a shrubbery of box, came to the fruit-tree near my window, and, in such low tones that only i could hear them, warbled that all in earth and sky was beautiful. to lutra, lonely like the thrush, and, like the thrush, not yet aware of pain and hunger, the world seemed bright and filled with happiness. at first, like a young fox that, till he learns the fear of dogs and men, steals chickens from a coop near which an old, experienced fox would never venture, she was, perhaps, a little too indifferent to danger. in her perfect health and irresponsible freedom, she paid but slight attention to the alarm signals of other creatures of the night. up-river, at a bend below a hillside farmstead some distance from our village, is a broad, deep salmon-pool, fringed with alders and willows. right across the upper end of this pool stretches a broken ledge of rock, over which, in flood, the waters boom and crash into a seething basin whence thin lines of vapour--blue and grey when the day is dull, or gleaming with the colours of the rainbow when the sun, unclouded, shines aslant the fall--ceaselessly arise, and quiver on the waves of air that catch their movement from the restless swirls beneath. but in dry summer weather the ledge is covered with green, slippery weed, the curving fall is smooth as glass, and the rapid loses half its flood-time strength. this pool, though containing some of the finest salmon "hovers" in the river, is nowadays but seldom fished. since the old generation of village fishermen has passed away it seems to have gradually lost its popularity. the right bank of the river above and below the pool is for miles so thickly wooded that anglers prefer to pass up-country before unpacking their rods. from the left bank it is useless for any angler who has not made a study of the pool to attempt to reach the "hovers." under far more favourable conditions than these, the throw necessary to place a fly on even the nearest of the "hovers" would be almost the longest that could with accuracy be made. but the angler is baffled at the outset by the presence of a steep slope behind him. i well remember two instances when i was tricked by the self-conceit which led me to suppose that my skill in casting was of no mean order. once, while the river was bank-high after flood, i happened to be throwing an unusually long line, with careless ease, over the lower end of a pool, where, before, i had never seen a fish. i was, no doubt, thinking of something quite unconnected with fishing, otherwise i should not have wandered thus far from the spot where i generally reeled in my line. a salmon effectually aroused me by a terrific rush at my fly. i "struck" hard, and the fly, after a momentary check, flew up into the air. i am not one of those anglers who give rest to a salmon in the belief that, after rising, he requires time to recover from his disappointment at having failed to catch the lure. i believe in "sticking to" a fish, perhaps because the first i ever hooked was one i had bullied ceaselessly during the whole of a spring evening. and so i tried hard and often to tempt that sportive fish again; but after the careless, easy casting which resulted in the rise, i could not by any means throw satisfactorily over the tail of the pool. however i tried to do so, the line would double awkwardly as it reached the water, or would curl back into the rapid on the near side of the "hover," or the fly would splash in a most provoking manner as it alighted on the stream. so at last i left the riverside. henceforth, i attempted the same long cast whenever i passed the pool. i lost many flies, and never again rose a fish. but i was convinced that i had discovered a "hover" new to the village fishermen, till my old friend ianto chaffed me into the belief that the salmon i had seen was a "passenger," and, probably, a "spent kelt" in such a weak condition that for it to stay in the rough water higher up the pool was impossible. on another occasion, in early days when my ignorance of the river and of fishing sorely troubled both ianto and myself, as i was wading down-stream along the edge of a pool a grilse rose, "head and tail," about twenty yards below my fly. using my long gaff-handle as a staff, i walked slowly towards the fish, casting carefully all the way. i was so absorbed in my work that i did not know i was moving into deep water till i found that my wading stockings had filled. i then stopped, and, lengthening my line at each successive "throw," sent my fly nearer and still nearer to the grilse. how i managed the long, straight cast that presently resulted in my fly passing down the "hover," i do not know. the grilse rose sharply at the lure, but i "struck" too late. i reeled in my line, and after a few minutes began once more to cast. now, however, try as i might, i could not get the line out to the distance required; it would not fall straight and true. in desperation i endeavoured to overcome the difficulty by sheer strength. i swung my arms aloft; my old hickory rod creaked and groaned with the increasing strain, then snapped immediately the tension was released with the return of the line; and, a second afterwards, the grilse took my fly and bolted away down-stream. all caution left me; i was "into a fish"--that was enough. in haste to catch my rod-top as it slipped down the line from the butt, i made one step forward, and fell over head and ears into a deep hole beneath the shelf of rock on which i had been standing. when i recognised what had happened i was clinging to an alder-root near the bank; thence, breathless, i lifted myself till i was safe on a tree-trunk above the pool. my rod and cap were drifting rapidly away; but, after divesting myself of half my dripping garments, i recovered the rod in a backwater below the neighbouring wood. all my line had been taken out, the gut collar had been snapped, and the fly had undoubtedly been carried off by the grilse. in those old days of which i have elsewhere written,[ ] ianto and i often resorted to the wide, deep pool under the farm. sometimes, during summer, we were there before daybreak, fishing for the salmon that only then or in the dusk would deign to inspect our "dandy" fly. and there, in the summer nights, we frequently captured, with the natural minnow, the big trout that wandered from the rapids to feed in the quiet waters by the alders. ianto knew the pool so well that even in the darkest night he would wade along the slippery, weed-grown shelf near the raging fall, to troll in the shadows above him. had the old man taken one false step he would have entered on a struggle for life compared with which my own adventure after hooking the grilse would have been insignificant. for several months free, happy lutra made her daytime abode in a "holt" among the alder-roots fringing this pool. she loved in the long winter nights to hear the winnow-winnow of powerful wings as the wild ducks circled down towards the pool, the whir of the grey lag-geese far in the mysterious sky, and the whistle of the teal and the gurgle of the moorhens among the weeds close by the river's brim. crouched on a grassy mound beside the rapids, she could see each movement on the surface of the pool. the wild ducks splattered and quacked as they paddled busily hither and thither, visiting each little bay and reed-clump at the water's edge. sometimes, surrendering themselves wholly to sport and play, they formed little groups of two or three; and now one group, and then another, would race, half-swimming, half-flying, from bank to bank or from the rock to the salmon "hover" at the lower end of the pool. the otter remembered her experience with the dabchick, and believed that to capture a full-grown duck would tax her utmost strength and cause a general alarm. once, however, excited by the wild ducks' sport, she slipped quietly from the mound, dived deep, and from the river-bed shot up in the midst of the birds just as they had congregated to settle a point of difference in a recent event, and to discuss a second part of their sports' programme for the night. as the birds, panic-stricken, scattered on every side, and, following each other in two long lines that joined in the form of a wedge, flew up into the starlit sky, lutra watched them eagerly for a few moments; then, without a ripple, she sank below the surface and returned to her watch on the mound. for a while after the ducks had left the pool, nothing could be heard but the ceaseless noise of falling water. but as the night drew on, a moorhen ventured from the shelter of the alders, and, like a tiny, buoyant boat, launched out into the pool. the otter, with appetite whetted by recent sport among the ducks, again left her hiding place and silently vanished into the stream. borne by the current, she reached, with scarcely an effort, a point in the swirling depths from which she could catch a glimpse of the dim outline of the floating bird. then, rising swiftly, she gripped the moorhen from beneath, dived across to the "hover," and, having killed and skinned her prey, feasted at leisure. there were times in the second summer of her existence when lutra, like the wild ducks, seemed to abandon every thought of the possibility of danger. simply for the love of exercise and in enjoyment of the tranquil night, she played about the pool till the dawn peeped over the hills; then, tired of her frolic, she sought her secret "holt," and, curling her tail about her face and holding her hind-paws closely between her fore-paws, fell asleep. while she gambolled in the water, even her quickest movements were as graceful as those of a salmon stemming the rapids and leaping into the shallows above the rock. diving into the depths, she avoided with scarcely an effort the tangled roots and branches, that, washed thither by the floods, had long been the dread of anglers when heavy fish were hooked. ceasing all exertion as she turned into the current, she floated to the surface and was borne away down-stream. she swam at highest speed from the tail to the throat of the pool, and drifted idly back to the place from which she had started; then, changing her methods, she skirted slowly the edge of the current, and with one long, straight dive shot down from the head of the rapids to the still water near her "holt." from playing thus about the pool, the otter learned the power of the current, and how it hastened or retarded her while she pursued her prey. but most of all, during the hours of the placid night, she delighted to frolic in the torrent immediately below the rock, where, matching her strength against that of the river, she leaped and dived and tumbled through the foam, or, lying on her back amid a shower of spray, stretched wide her limbs and suffered the whirlpool to draw her, unresisting, into its vortex deep beneath the fall. lutra sometimes noticed, while she drifted with the current, that the scent of her kindred lay strong at the surface not far from her "holt." one still, moonlit night the scent indicated that several full-grown otters had at intervals come from the trout-reaches down-stream, and had landed in a reed-bed at the lower end of the pool. it led away from the river through the valley, along by a number of stagnant ponds in an old garden near the farm, and thence to a point beyond a bend where the river flowed almost parallel to its course at the pool. as the otter, inquisitively following the line of the scent, came to the ponds, she heard the croaking of countless frogs hidden in the duckweed that lay over the entire surface of the water. lutra made ample use of the opportunity for a feast--frogs were the greatest delicacies known to her, and she had never before found them to be so plentiful. dawn was breaking when, in her onward journey, she reached the river; so she drifted around the bend, dived over the fall, and returned to her home beneath the alder-roots. it happened that the otters whose "spur" (footprints) lutra had followed to the frog-ponds retraced their steps towards the pool, and in doing so suddenly discovered that the scent of a man lay strong on the trodden grass. a villager, knowing the eagerness with which otters seek for frogs, and that they often cross a narrow neck of land at the bend of a stream, had for a time kept watch at the lower end of the old farm garden. he was anxious that the hounds, which, on the previous day, had arrived at the village, should enjoy good sport during their stay in the neighbourhood. but he saw nothing of the animals he had come to watch; as soon as they detected his whereabouts they retreated hastily to the pond at the upper end of the garden, gained the river, and, like lutra, swam homewards around the bend. but, less familiar than lutra with the strength of the current, they left the water as they approached the fall, and crept through the deep shadows of the alder-roots till they reached a point at some distance beyond the pool. these events of the night were of the utmost importance to the otters as connected with the events of the morrow. during the early morning the villager paid a second visit to the garden, and examined closely the soft mud at the margin of the ponds. the remains of the otters' feast--the skins and the eyes of frogs--lay in several places, and, near the largest of the ponds, the otters' "spur" showed clearly that the animals had for some time been busy there. taking a straight course to the river above the pools, the watcher again detected the marks of the otters on the sloping bank. by the riverside below the garden, however, he failed to observe any further sign, and so concluded that the animals had probably left the water at the opposite bank. when, later, the hunt crossed the bridge on its way up-stream, the villager told his story to the master, who immediately led his hounds over the hill-top in the direction of the ponds. this unexpected movement drew the followers of the hunt away from the river; they imagined that the hounds were to be taken across country to a well known gorge where, during a previous season, good sport had been obtained. at the farm, the master, leaving the hounds to the care of the whippers-in, waited till the villagers and the farmers had congregated in the yard. he then addressed the crowd, telling them that otters had visited the garden during the night and probably were still in hiding there, and that, if good sport were desired, it would be wise for his followers to form two groups and watch the fords above and below the river-bend, while he, alone, accompanied the hounds to the garden; his chief reason, he said, for pointing out to them the advisability of leaving him was that if an otter still remained near the pond it should be given every chance of reaching the river without molestation. the crowd, recognising the wisdom of the master's remarks, moved off with the whippers-in to the fords; and, when all was in readiness, the pack was led into the garden. one, and another, and yet another of the "young entry" soon gave tongue; then, after a minute's deliberation, an old, experienced hound raised his head from the rushes, uttered a single deep, clear note, climbed the garden hedge, and galloped across the meadow towards the river. the rest of the hounds speedily found the line of the "drag," but all came to a check at the water's edge. they were taken back to the ponds, and thence to the pool by the farm, but the scent was weak above the waterfall. they again "cast" to the upper end of the garden, and onward to the river. carefully searching every hole and corner in the bank, they drew down-stream around the bend, and at last struck the scent of the otters among the reeds below the pool. lutra heard them tearing madly past, heard also the dull thud of human footsteps above her "holt," but she discreetly remained close-hidden in her sleeping chamber. for hours, in a pool beyond the trout-reach, her visitors of the previous night were hustled to and fro, and frequent cries of "gaze! gaze!" and "bubble avent!" mingled with the clamour of the hounds. then the commotion seemed suddenly to subside. after an interval the hounds splashed by once more among the alder-roots, and the thud of human footsteps resounded in the "holt." in the silence that followed, lutra, reassured, dived from her "holt," and, paddling gently to the surface, saw the last stragglers of the hunt climbing the slope towards the farm. that night no otter from the down-stream trout-reach wandered to the salmon-pool beneath the farm. the water-voles and the moorhens were unusually alert as they swam hither and thither in the little bays along the edge of the current. the fear of man and his loud-tongued hounds rested, like a spell, on the creatures of the river. even lutra felt its power; but when the scent of her foes became so faint as to be lost in the fragrance of the meadow-sweet along the river-bank, she ventured into the old garden, and, on returning to the pool, played again in the raging water by the fall. iii. the gorge of alltycafn. when lutra had attained her full size and strength she was wooed and won by a young dog-otter of her own age, and lived with him in a "holt" among the great rocks of alltycafn. now, again, the hunt arrived in the neighbourhood. it was a lovely morning in may. the sun shone brightly; the leaves were breaking from their sheaths; the birds sang blithely in the trees. suddenly the otters, resting in their "holt," were awakened by a loud commotion--the sounds of hurrying feet, reverberating in the chamber among the boulders, and then the music of the shaggy hounds, varied occasionally by the yap-yap of the terriers. the noise drew rapidly nearer. presently a man, in red stockings and vest, blue breeches and coat, and a blue hunting cap bearing an otter's "pad" mounted in silver, poked among the boulders with a steelshod pole. the dog-otter was now thoroughly alarmed. he rushed from his lair, dived straight into the stream, headed through the seething current, and rose in the adjoining pool. threatened by a hound, he dived again, walked over the gravel, and swam under the gnarled roots of an oak. the members of the hunt stood watching the bubbles, filled by his breath, as they floated up and broke. the hounds swam pell-mell in hot pursuit, and the otter was forced to turn up-stream. moving cautiously under the rocky ledges, he regained the "holt," where his terrified mate awaited his return. sorely pressed, the dog-otter hid close, hoping to baffle his relentless pursuers. but a bristling, snarling terrier soon came down the shaft from the bank. maddened, and courageous with the fury of despair, lutra seized the intruder by the muzzle, and, in the combat that ensued, sorely mangled her assailant's lips and nostrils. then, as her mate dived out once more and swam down-stream, she also left the chamber. she rose immediately among the surrounding boulders, and hid in the furthest recess. with nostrils, eyes, and ears raised slightly above the surface of the water, she stayed there, unseen and hardly daring to breathe, and, with strained senses watched closely every movement of hounds and hunters. fortunately for lutra, the arch of the boulders below was shaped so peculiarly that the scent of her breath and body was sucked into a cavity and carried down-stream, and, passing beneath the stone, mingled, at the raging cataract near the rock, with air in the bubbles formed by the tumult of the waters. these bubbles, instead of bursting, were drawn into the vortex of a little whirlpool; and the keen-nosed hounds, though suspicious, could form no definite opinion as to the presence of a second otter among the rocks. the terrier knew the secret, but he had been put out of action and sent off, post haste, to the nearest veterinary surgeon. lutra saw her tormentors--some of them of the pure otter-hound breed, some half otter-hound, half fox-hound, and others, again, fox-hounds trained for otter-hunting--rushing backwards and forwards in the water and on the bank. another terrier, led by a boy, strained at his leash near the river's brink. women, dressed, like the men, in smart scarlet and blue, and as ready to wade into the stream as the huntsman himself, stood leaning on their otter-poles not far away. at the fords above and below the "pool," the dog-otter's egress was barred by outposts of the enemy standing and splashing, in complete lines, from bank to bank. once, in despair, the otter actually tried to break through the human chain; but a hunter "tailed" him for a moment, and then dropped him into the deeper water beyond the ford. the sound of horn, the shouts of men, the deep-toned notes of great hounds, the shrill yapping of eager terriers, and the splashing and the plunging on every side, almost bewildered lutra. fearing to move from her shelter, she floated in the deep basin of the hidden pool beside the cataract, till at last the commotion gradually subsided, and hounds and hunters passed out of sight down-stream. lutra awaited her mate's return, but in vain. not till night did she venture from her hiding place. when, however, the stars appeared, she swam wearily from pool to pool, calling, calling, calling. she explored each little bay, each crevice in the rock. she walked up the dry bed of a tributary brook, and searched among the gnarled roots and the dry, brown grass fringing the gravelly watercourse. she skirted the meadows and the rocks where the hunters had beaten down the gorse and the brambles near her home; thence she returned to the pool. hitherto she had loved the placid night; to her the stillness was significant of peace. but now that stillness was full of sadness, and weariness, and monotony. the shadows were deep within the gorge; from the distant woods the hoot of an owl mocked her loneliness. she heard no glad answering cry. still calling, calling, calling, she floated through the shadows, and out into the moonlight shimmering on the placid water below the gorge; but she sought and called in vain. lutra spent the rest of that year in widowhood. in consequence of her fight with the terrier, and also because of her grief, her two little cubs were still-born. midsummer came, and the shallows were almost choked with weeds. the countryside experienced a phenomenal period of drought, and for weeks the river seemed impure and almost fetid. night after night, and steadily travelling westward, lutra took short cuts across country from pool to pool. late in july she reached the estuary of the river; and for the remaining months of summer fished in the bay, finding there a pleasant change in her surroundings. once she was chased by some men in a boat, who shot at her as she appeared for an instant to breathe. quick and watchful, she dived at the flash, and the pellets fell harmlessly overhead. again she rose, and again she dived just in time to avoid the leaden hail. then she doubled back towards the estuary, and the baffled sportsmen sailed away across the bay. as autumn came once more she returned to the river, and fed chiefly on the migrating eels that swarmed in the hollows near the bank. presently, by many a nightly journey, she gained the upper reaches, where she lived, till the following spring, close to her old home. the winter was long and severe. in january, the fields were buried in snow, the roads were as smooth and hard as glass, and the well-remembered pool beneath the pines was almost covered with a great sheet of ice. at this time another young dog-otter began to show lutra considerable attention. the village children often saw the pairing otters, for the animals, hard pressed, had perforce to fish by day instead of by night. all night the trout lay dormant under the stones in the bed of the river, and only at noon did they rise to the surface on the lookout for hardy ephemerals that, in a short half hour of warmth, were hatched at the margin of the stream. lutra and her companion followed the fish, and afforded a rare, unexpected sight as, bold with hunger, they ascended to breathe between the sheets of ice in the pool by the village gardens. at night the otters wandered over the snow, and sometimes visited the hillside farms. there, among rotting refuse-heaps, they discovered worms and insects sheltering in genial warmth. when exceptionally hungry, lutra and her mate would dig into the chambers of the mole and the field-vole in the meadows, and search ravenously for the inmates. among the roots of the spreading oaks, the otters found, also, such tit-bits as the larvæ of moths and beetles. a starved pigeon fallen from the pine-boughs; an occasional moorhen weak and almost defenceless; a wild duck that lutra had captured by darting from beneath a root while the indiscreet bird was feeding, head downwards, at the river's brink--these were among the varied items of the hungry otters' food. life was indeed hard to maintain. and, to crown the misfortunes of the ice-bound winter, lutra's matrimonial affairs were once more cruelly disturbed: her mate was caught in a steel trap that ned the blacksmith had baited and laid in the meadows near the village bridge. he had marked the otters' wanderings by their footprints in the snow, and had then matured his plans. the calamity occurred one morning, just before daybreak, as the otters were returning to the river from a visit to a hen-coop, where they had found an open door and a solitary chicken. the trap was placed on the grass by the verge of the stream. a light fall of snow had covered it, but had left exposed the entrails of a chicken which, by coincidence, formed the tempting bait. distressed and perplexed, lutra stayed by the dog-otter, trying in vain to release him from his sufferings. the trapped creature, beside himself with rage and fear and pain, attempted to gnaw through his crunched and almost severed foot; but as the dawn lightened the east, and before the limb could be freed, ned the blacksmith was to be seen hurrying to the spot. lutra dived out of sight, and, unable to interpose, watched, for a second time, a riverside tragedy. her attachment, however, had not been of so ardent a nature that bereavement left her disconsolate. before april she forgot her trapped friend, and was mated again. lutra's new spouse had his home in the tributary stream of a neighbouring valley. so, when the snows had melted and the rime no longer touched with fairy fingerprints the tracery of the leafless boughs, and when olwen the white-footed had come once more into the valley called after her name, lutra forsook the broad river in which she had spent her early life, and, with her companion and a promising family, lived contented under the frowning rock of gwion, secure in peace and solitude, at least for a season, from the shaggy otter-hounds. the water-vole. i. our village hounds. not many years ago the pleasures of life among my neighbours here in the country were simpler and truer than they are to-day. perhaps in that bygone time money was more easily made, or daily need was met with smaller expenditure. it may be, too, that family cares were then less pressing, or that a prolonged period of general prosperity had been the privilege of rich and poor alike in this green river-valley around my home. in those days, to which i often look back with regretful yearning, everybody seemed to have leisure; the ties of friendship were not severed by malicious gossip; old and young seemed to realise how good it was to have pleasant acquaintanceships and to be in the sunshine and the open air. fathers played with their children in the street: one winter morning, when, after a heavy fall of snow and a subsequent frost, the ground was as slippery as glass, i watched a white-haired shopkeeper, lying prone on a home-made toboggan, with his feet sprawling behind for rudder, steer a load of merry youngsters full tilt down a steep lane behind his house. the sight was so exhilarating that i also forgot i was not a child; and on the second journey i joined the sportive party, and came to grief because the shopkeeper kicked too quickly at a turn in the course and sent me with a double somersault into the ditch. it happened in those days that in the miscellaneous pack of mongrels our village sportsmen gathered together when they went rabbit-shooting among the dense coverts of the hillsides were two exceptionally clever dogs--a big, shaggy, bobtail kind of animal, and a little, smooth-coated beast resembling a black-and-tan terrier. the big dog, joker, lived at a farm in the village, and, during the leisure of summer, when rabbiting did not engage his attention, took to wandering by the river, joining the bathers in their sport and poking his nose inquisitively under the alder-roots along the bank. while, one sultry noon, the fun in the bathing pool was at its height, joker routed an otter from a hiding place near which the bathers were swimming with the current, and a terrific fight took place in the shallows before the _dwrgu_ made good his escape. the dog was found to have been severely worsted in the fray, and was taken home to be nursed till his wounds were healed. meanwhile, joker's fame as an otter-hound was firmly established in the village, and he was regarded as a hero. the little dog, bob, lived at the inn, and for years his droll ways endeared him to every villager, as well as to every angler who came to "the house" for salmon-fishing. he loved nothing better than a friendship with some unsuspecting fisherman whom he might afterwards use to further his own ends. the sight of a rod placed by the door in the early morning was sufficient promise of a day's continuous enjoyment; the terrier assumed possession of the rod at once, and kept all other curs at a distance. on the appearance of the sportsman, he manifested such unmistakable delight, and pleaded so hard for permission to follow, that, unless the sportsman happened to be one whose experiences led him to dislike the presence of a fussy dog by the riverside, the flattery rarely failed of its object. once past the rustic swing-bridge at the lower boundary of the waters belonging to the inn, bob left the sportsman to his own devices, and stole off into the woods to hunt rabbits. unfailingly, however, he rejoined his friend at lunch. on sundays, knowing that the report of a gun was not likely then to resound among the woods, and depressed by the quietness and disappointed by the nervous manner with which everybody well dressed for church resented his familiarities, he lingered about the street corners--as the unemployed usually do, even in our village--till the delicious smells of sunday dinners pervaded the street. the savoury odours in no way sharpened his appetite, for at the inn his fare was always of the best; but they indicated that the time was approaching when the watchmaker and the lawyer set out together for their long weekly ramble through the woods. bob knew what such a ramble meant for him. the watchmaker's dog, tip, was bob's respected sire, and tip's brother, charlie, dwelt at a house in "the square." bob, scenting the sunday dinners, went at once to call for charlie, and in his company adjourned to the lane behind the village gardens, till the watchmaker and the lawyer, with tip, were ready for their customary walk. when the water was low and anglers seldom visited the inn, bob, during the summer week-days, followed joker's course of action, and attached himself to a bathing party frequenting a pool below the ruined garden on the outskirts of the village. there, like joker, he searched beneath the alder-roots, but without success as far as an otter was concerned. however, he vastly enjoyed himself digging out the brown rats from their holes along the bank not far from a rick-yard belonging to the inn, and then hunting them about the pool with as much noise and bustle as if he were close at the tail of a rabbit in the furze. he was so fond of the water that he became a rapid, untiring swimmer; and the boys trained him, in intervals of rat-hunting, to dive to the bottom of the river and pick up a white pebble thrown from the bank. like joker, also, he gained a name for pluck and ability; and one night the village sportsmen, at an informal meeting in the "private room" of the inn, decided to hunt in the river on wednesday evenings, with bob and joker at the head of a pack including nearly every game-dog in the near neighbourhood, except certain aristocratic pointers and setters likely to be spoiled by companionship with yelping and excited curs. a merrier hunting party was never in the world. they would foregather in the meadow below the ruined garden: the landlord, whose home-brewed ale was the best and strongest on the countryside; the curate, whose stern admonitions were the terror of evil-doers; the farmer, whose skill in ferreting was greater than in ploughing; the watchmaker, whose clocks filled the village street with music when, simultaneously, they struck the hour; the draper, whose white pigeons cooed and fluttered on the bridge near his shop; the solicitor, whose law was for a time thrown to the winds; and a small crowd of boys ready to assist, if required, in "chaining" the fords. there they would "cry" the dogs across the stream till the valley echoed and re-echoed with shouts and laughter. the first hunt was started in spirited fashion; the men walked along the bank thrusting their sticks into crevices and holes; but only joker and bob entered the water, and rats and otters for a while remained discreetly out of view. near a bend of the stream, however, bob surprised a rat secreted by a stone, and, forcing it to rush to the river, followed with frantic speed. here, at last, was a chase; the other dogs all hurried to the spot, and the landlord, swinging his otter-pole, waded out to perform the duties of huntsman with the now uproarious pack. his action proved infectious--watchmaker, draper, lawyer, and curate splashed into the shallows to help in keeping the rat on the move; and fun was fast and furious till the prey, fleeing from a smart attack by bob, was captured by a spaniel swimming under a big oak-root between the curate and the bank. i hardly think i have enjoyed any sport so well as those wednesday evening hunts in the bygone years, when life was unshadowed and each sportsman of us felt within him the heart of a child. so great was our amusement that the village urchins instituted a rival hunt in the brooks on saturdays; they notched their sticks for every "kill," and boasted that they beat us hollow with the number of their trophies. we had several adventures with otters, but the creatures always, in the end, eluded us, and we soon were of opinion that smaller fry were capable of affording better fun. some seasons afterwards, when our hunt was disbanded, the shopkeepers' apprentices continued, with the youngsters, to work our mongrel hounds; but eventually joker's death from the bite of an adder put an end to their pastime, for the bobtail and the terrier were the only possible leaders of the nondescript pack. bob, the terrier, was always the most interesting of our hounds. he manifested a disposition to use the other dogs to serve his purposes, just as he used the unsuspecting fishermen if he wished to go hunting in the woods. when with me after game on the upland farms, he often seemed to forget entirely that i had taken him to hunt, not for his own amusement only, but also for mine. directly he discovered a rabbit squatting in a clump of grass or brambles, perhaps ten or a dozen yards from a hedge, he signalled his find by barking so incessantly that my spaniels hastened pell-mell to the spot. this was just as it should be--for bob. dancing with excitement, he waited between the clump and the hedge till the spaniels entered and bolted the rabbit; then he tore madly in close pursuit of the fleeing creature, and my chance of a shot was spoiled through the possibility of my hitting him instead of his quarry. by the riverside, his tricks were precisely similar. seeing a moorhen dive, he would call the dogs around him, so that they might bring the bird again to the surface and thus afford him sport. the moorhen, meanwhile, invariably escaped; yet bob failed to understand that he was the only diver in the pack. his antics were comical in the extreme if a vole eluded him by diving to the lower entrance of its burrow beneath the surface of a backwater. having missed his opportunity, but unable to comprehend how he had missed it, the terrier left the water, stood on the roots of a tree over the entrance to the vole's burrow, and furiously barked instructions to his companions swimming in the pool. disgusted at last by their inattention to his orders, he plunged headlong into the stream and vanished for a few moments; then he reappeared, proud of his superior bravery, sneezing and coughing, and with a mouthful of stones and soil torn from the bank in his desperate efforts to force his way to the spot whither the object of the chase had gone from view. bob long survived the big dog joker, and in his old days loved as well as ever the excitement of a hunt. his originality was preserved to the end; stiffened by rheumatism and almost choked by asthma, he always, when in search of rabbits, ran up-hill and walked down-hill, thus losing both energy and breath that might with advantage have been kept in reserve. with the passing of the years, many changes have occurred to sunder the friendships formed during those boylike expeditions. i smile when i think how impossible it would be, now that the veneer of town life has been thinly spread over the life of our village, for the man of law to go wading, with tucked-up trousers, after rats; how impossible, also, for him to frequent with me the bathing pool, as was sometimes his wont, and swim idly hither and thither, while the moon peered between the trees and the vague witchery of the summer night filled his spirit and my own. my youthful feelings, long preserved, have been irrevocably lost; and yet, if only for memory's sake, i would willingly hunt with him again, and, when night had fallen, swim with him once more in the dim, mysterious pool below the garden. but the old hunting party could never be complete. death makes gaps that time fails to fill. those evenings were delightful, not only because of unrestrained mirth and innocent sport, but also because we took a keen interest in our surroundings, seeing the world of small things by the river-bank with eyes such as belonged to anglers and hunters of the old-fashioned, leisurely school. they marked for me the beginning of a pleasant study of the water-voles that lived in their burrows on the brink of the river, and were sometimes hunted as persistently as were the brown rats, but far more frequently eluded our hounds than did the noxious little brutes we particularly desired to destroy. wherever they take up their quarters, about the farmstead during winter or in the open fields during summer, brown rats are an insufferable nuisance. there is no courtesy or kindness in the nature of the rat; no nesting bird is safe from his attacks, unless her home is beyond his reach in some cleft of a rock that he cannot scale or in some fork of a tree that he cannot climb. he is a cannibal--even the young and the sick of his own kind become the victims of his rapacious hunger--and he will eat almost anything, living or dead, from the refuse in a garbage heap to the dainty egg of a willow-wren in the tiny, domed nest amid the briars at the margin of the river. the water-vole is often called, wrongly, the water-rat, but it is of very different habits, and is well nigh entirely a vegetable feeder, and one of the most charming and most inoffensive creatures in britain. to the close observer of nature, differences in the character of animals--even among the members of one species--soon become apparent. i was struck with manifestations of such unlikeness when i kept small communities of ants in artificial nests between slips of glass, so as to watch their doings in my hours of leisure. one nest of yellow ants contained at first a dozen workers and a queen; and when i began to study them i used to mark with minute spots of white the bodies of the particular ants under observation. these spots would remain till the ants had time for their toilet and either licked themselves clean or were licked clean by sympathetic companions. at the outset i found that under a magnifying glass two of the dozen workers were readily distinguishable from the others because of their size and shape. gradually, by detecting little peculiarities, i could single out the ants, and so had no need to mark my tiny pets in order to follow their movements, except on occasions when they clustered round the queen, or rested, gossiping in little groups, here and there in the rooms and passages of their dwelling. one ant was greedy, and, if she was the first to find a fresh drop of honey i had placed outside the nest, would feed to repletion without ever thinking of informing her friends of her discovery. at such times she even became intoxicated, and i fancied that, when she did at last get home, eager enquiries made as to the whereabouts of the nectar met with incoherent replies, since the seekers for information generally failed to profit by what they were told, and had to cast about aimlessly for some time before finding the food. i also observed that another ant was perfectly unselfish, and not only would inform her companions directly she discovered honey, but would assiduously feed the queen before attending to her own requirements. and so my pets were separately known because of faults and failings or good qualities that often seemed quite human. a certain vole, living in the river-bank near the place where the villagers met to hunt, was not easily mistaken for one of his fellows. whereas the general colour of a water-vole's coat--except in the variety known as the black vole--is greyish brown, which takes a reddish tinge when the light glances on it between the leaves, his was uniformly of a dark russet. in keeping with this shiny russet coat, his beady black eyes seemed to glisten with unusual lustre; and so it happened that the question, "i wonder if brighteye is from home?" was often asked as we sent our hounds to search among the willows on the further bank; and later it became a custom for the hunt, before the sport of the evening was begun, to pass up-stream for a hundred yards or so in order that he might be left in peace. he was quite a baby water-vole when first i made his acquaintance, but the colour of his coat did not change with the succeeding months, and, evening after evening, when the noisy hounds were safe at home or strolling about the village street, i would quietly make my way back to his haunt, and, hidden behind a convenient tree, carefully watch him. in this way i learned many secrets of his life, noticed many traits in which he differed from his companions, and could form a fairly accurate idea of the dangers that beset him, and of the joys and the sorrows that fell to his lot during the three years when his presence was familiar as i fished in the calm summer twilight, or lay motionless in the long grass near the place where he was wont to sit, silent and alert, before dropping into the backwater and beginning the work and the play of the night. ii. the burrow in the river-bank. the first faint shadows of dusk were creeping over the river when brighteye, awakened by a movement on the part of his mother, stole from his burrow into the tall grass at the edge of the gravel-bank by the pool. his home was situated in a picturesque spot between the river and a woodland path skirting the base of a cliff-like ascent clothed with giant beeches and an under-garment of ferns and whinberry bushes. alders and willows grew along the gravel-bank, and through the moss-tangles among the roots many a twisting, close-hidden run-way led upwards to what might be called a main thoroughfare, in and out of the grass-fringes and the ivy, above high-water mark. this road, extending from the far-off tidal estuary to the river's source in the wild mountains to the north, communicated with all the dwellings of the riverside people, and had been kept clear for hundreds of years by wandering voles and water-shrews, moorhens, water-rails, and coots, and, in recent days, by those unwelcome invaders, the brown rats. here and there it merged into the wider trail of the otter. sometimes, near a hedge, it was joined by the track of rabbits, bank-voles, field-voles, weasels, and stoats, and sometimes, where brooks and rills trickled over the stones on their way to the river, by other main roads that had followed the smaller water-courses from the crests of the hills. brighteye's home might be likened to a cottage nestling among trees at the end of an embowered lane well removed from busy traffic; it contained four or five chambers wherein the members of his family dwelt; and to brighteye the tall reeds and the bramble thickets were as large as shrubs and trees are to human beings. and, like a sequestered cottager, he knew but little about the great road stretching, up-stream and down-stream, away from his haunts; he was content with his particular domain--the pool, the shallows beyond, a hundred yards of intersected lanes, and the wide main road above the pool and the shallows. for a time brighteye sat at the edge of the stream, alert for any sign of danger that might threaten his harmless existence. then playfully he dropped into the pool, dived, sought the water-entrance to his house, climbed inside his sleeping chamber, and thence to the bank, where again he sat intently listening as he sniffed the cool evening air. a quick-eyed heron was standing motionless in a tranquil backwater thirty yards up-stream; the scent of the bird was borne down by the water, and the vole caught it as it passed beneath the bank. but he showed no trace of terror; the heron was not near enough to give him any real cause for alarm. the rabbits stole down through the woods, the undergrowth crackled slightly as they passed, and one old buck "drummed" a danger signal. instantly the vole dived again, for he interpreted the sound to mean that a weasel was on the prowl; and, as he vanished, the first notes of a blackbird's rattling cry came to his ears. brighteye stayed awhile in his burrow before climbing once more to the upper entrance. then cautiously he advanced through the passage, and gained his lookout station. not the slightest taint of a weasel was noticeable on the bank; so, regaining confidence, he sat on his haunches, brushed his long, bristly whiskers with his fore-feet, and licked his russet body clean with his warm, red tongue. then he dropped once more into the pool, and swam across to a reed-bed on the further margin. there he found several of his neighbours feeding on roots of riverside plants. he, too, was hungry, so he bit off a juicy flag at the spot marking the junction of the tender stalk with the tough, fibrous stem; then, sitting upright, he took it in his fore-paws, and with his incisor teeth--shaped perfectly like an adze for such a purpose--stripped it of its outer covering, beginning at the severed edge, and laying bare the white pith, on which he greedily fed. while thus engaged, he, as usual, watched and listened. the spot was dangerous for him because of its distance from the stream, and because the water immediately beyond was so shallow that he could not, by diving, readily escape from determined pursuit. his meal was often interrupted for a few moments by some trifling incident that caused alarm. a moorhen splattered out from the willow-roots, and brighteye crouched motionless, till he recognised that the noise made by the clumsy bird was almost as familiar to him as the rustle of the reeds in a breeze. the blue heron rose heavily from the backwater, and winged his slow flight high above the trees. here, indeed, seemed reason for fear; but the great bird was not in the humour for killing voles, and soon passed out of view. now a kingfisher, then a dipper, sped like an arrow past the near corner of the pool; and the whiz of swift wings--unheard by all except little creatures living in frequent danger, and listening with beating hearts to sounds unperceived by our drowsy senses dulled by long immunity from fear--caused momentary terror to the water-vole. each trifling sight and sound contributed to that invaluable stock of experience from which he would gradually learn to distinguish without hesitation between friends and foes, and be freed from the pain of needless anxiety which, to nature's weaklings, is at times almost as bitter as death. brighteye was fated to meet with an unusual number of adventures, and consequently to know much of the agony of fear. his russet coat was more conspicuous than that of his soberly gowned companions, and he was on several occasions marked for attack when they escaped detection. but he became the wisest, shyest, most watchful vole along the wooded river-reach, and in time his neighbours and offspring were so influenced by his example and training that a strangely furtive kindred, the wildest of the wild, living in secrecy--their presence revealed to loitering anglers only by tell-tale footprints on the wet sand when the torrent dwindled after a flood--seemed to have come to haunt the river bank between the cottage gardens and the swinging bridge above the pool where brighteye dwelt. though brighteye's distinctive appearance attracted the notice of numerous enemies, his marked individuality was not wholly a misfortune, since it aroused my kindly interest, and thus caused him to be spared by the village hunting party. as he sat in the first shadows of evening among the reeds and the rushes, the kingfisher and the dipper, by which a few minutes before he had been startled, flew back from the direction of the village gardens; and he quickly decided, while watching their flight, that somehow it must be connected with the dull, but now plainly audible, thud of approaching footsteps on the meadow-path. the buck "drummed" again, then the rustling "pat, pat" of the rabbits ceased in the wood, and one by one the adult voles feeding in the reed-bed slipped silently into the shallows and disappeared. brighteye was loath to relinquish the juicy rush that he held in his fore-paws, but the signs of danger were insistent. after creeping through the reeds to the water's edge, he proceeded a little way down the bank till he came to a spot where the view of the meadow-path was uninterrupted. his sight was not nearly so keen as his scent and hearing were, but he discerned, in a blur of dim fields, and rippling water, and evening light peering through the willow-stoles, a number of unfamiliar moving objects. he heard quick, uneven footsteps, and, now and then, a voice; and was aware of an unmistakable scent, such as he had already often noticed in the shallows and amid the grass. on several occasions, at dusk, brighteye, like lutra the otter, had seen a trout splashing and twisting convulsively in terror and pain. each time the trout had been irresistibly drawn through the shallows towards a peculiar, upright object on the opposite bank, and after this object had passed into the distance the vole had found that the familiar scent of which he was now conscious was mingled, at the edge of the river-bank, with fresh blood-stains and with the strong smell of fish. to all animals, whether wild or domesticated, fresh-spilt blood has a significance that can never be disregarded. it indicates suffering and death. ever since, in far distant years, blood first welled from a stricken creature's wounds, nature has been haunted by the grim presence of fear. the hunting weasel, coming unexpectedly to a pool of blood, whence a wounded rabbit has crawled away to die in the nearest burrow, opens mouth and nostrils wide to inhale with fierce delight the pungent odour. once i caught sight of a weasel under such circumstances, and was startled by the almost demon-like look of ferocity on the creature's face. but the hunted weaklings of the fields and woods read the signs of death with consternation. when the scent of the slayer is mingled with that of the victim it is noted with care, and, if often detected in similar conditions, is committed to memory as inseparable from danger. brighteye had been repeatedly warned by his mother to avoid the presence of man, and had also learned to fear it because of his experiences with the angler and the trout. alarmed at the approach of men and hounds, he waded out, swam straight up-stream to a tiny bay, and hid beneath a willow-root to wait till the danger had passed. he strained his ears to catch each different sound as the "thud, thud" and the patter of feet came nearer. then the gravel rattled, a stone fell into the stream, and a shaggy spaniel poked his nose into a hole between the willow-roots. the dog drew a long, noisy breath, and barked so suddenly and loudly, and so close to brighteye's ear, that the vole involuntarily leaped from his resting place. in full view of the spaniel, brighteye passed deep down into the clear, unruffled pool, hurriedly using every limb, instead of only his hind-legs, and with quick strokes gained the edge of the current, where for an instant he rose to breathe before plunging deep once more and continuing his journey towards the willows on the opposite bank. as he dived for the second time, bob saw him among the ripples, and with shrill voice headed the clamouring hounds, that, "harking forward" to his cry, rushed headlong in pursuit through shallow and pool. a stout, lichen-covered branch, weighed down at the river's edge by a mass of herbage borne thither by a recent heavy flood, occupied a corner in the dense shadow of an alder; and the vole, climbing out of the water, sat on it, and was hidden completely by the darkness from the eager hounds. but his sanctuary was soon invaded; the indefatigable terrier, guided by the tiny bubbles of scent borne down by the stream, left the river, and ran, whimpering with excitement, straight to the alder. brighteye saw him approach, dived silently, and, with a wisdom he had never gained from experience, turned in a direction quite contrary to that in which the terrier expected him to flee. the vole moved slowly, right beneath the dark form of the terrier now swimming in the backwater. on, on, he went, past the stakes at the outlet of the pool into the trout-reach, and still on, by a series of dives, each following a brief interval for breath and observation among the sheltering weeds, till he arrived at the pool above the cottage gardens, where a wide fringe of brushwood formed an impenetrable thicket and he was safe from his pursuers. hardly, however, was this long journey needed. the dog was baffled at the outset; and, casting about for the lost scent, he discovered, on the pebbles, the strong smell of the weasel that had wandered thither to quench his thirst while brighteye was feeding in the reed-bed opposite. bob never by any chance neglected the opportunity of killing a stoat or a weasel; so, abandoning all thoughts of rats and voles, he dashed upward through the wood, and, almost immediately closing on his prey, destroyed a bloodthirsty little tyrant that, unknown to brighteye, had just been planning a raid on the burrow by the willow-stoles. water-voles, as a rule, are silent little creatures; unless attacked or frightened they seldom squeak as they move in and out of the lush herbage by the riverside. but brighteye was undoubtedly different from his fellows: he was almost as noisy as a shrew in the dead leaves of a tangled hedgerow, and his voice was like a shrew's, high-pitched and continuous, but louder, so that i could hear him at some distance from his favourite resort in the reeds and the rushes by the willows. he seemed to be always talking to himself or to the flowers and the river as he wandered to and fro in search of tit-bits; always debating with himself as to the chances of finding a tempting delicacy; always querulous of danger from some ravenous tyrant that might surprise him in his burrow, or pounce on him unawares from the evening sky, or rise, swift, relentless, eager, from the depths beneath him as he swam across the pool. when i got to know him well, my favourite method, in learning of his ways, was to lie in wait at a spot commanding a view of one or other of the narrow lanes joining the main road of the riverside folk, and there, my face hidden by a convenient screen of interlacing grass-stems, to listen intently for his approach. generally, for five minutes or so before he chose to reach my hiding place, i could hear his shrill piping, now faint and intercepted by a mound, or indistinct and mingled with the swirl of the water around the stakes, then full and clear as he gained the summit of a stone or ridge and came down the winding path towards me. though in his talkative moments brighteye usually reminded me of the tiny shrew, there were times when he reminded me more forcibly of an eccentric mouse that, a few years before, had taken up her quarters in the wall of my study, and each night, for more than a week, when the children's hour was over and i sat in silence by my shaded lamp, had made her presence known by a bird-like solo interrupted only when the singer stayed to pick up a crumb on her way across the room. the times when brighteye wandered, singing, singing, down the lanes and main road of the river-bank, were, however, infrequent; and the surest sign of his approach, before he came in sight, was the continuous, gossiping twitter i have already described. this habit of singing and twittering was not connected with amorous sentiments towards any sleek young female; brighteye adopted it long before he was of an age to seek a mate, and he ceased practising his solos before the first winter set in and the morning sun glanced between leafless trees on a dark flood swirling over the reed-bed where in summer was his favourite feeding place. whether or not the other voles frequenting the burrow by the willows had shown their disapproval of such a habit i was never able to discover. one fact, however, seemed significant: brighteye parted from his parents as soon as he was sufficiently alert and industrious to manage his own affairs, and, having hollowed out a plain, one-roomed dwelling, with an exit under the surface of the water and another near some primrose-roots above the level of flood, lived there for months, timid and lonely, yet withal, if his singing might be regarded as the sign of a gladsome life, the happiest vole in the shadowed pool above the village gardens. it has been supposed by certain naturalists that the song of the house-mouse is the result of a disease in its throat, and is therefore a precursor of death. the mouse that came to my study ceased her visits soon after the week had passed and was never seen again; and i was unable to determine how her end was hastened. brighteye could not, at any rate, have suffered seriously, else he would have succumbed, either to some enemy ever ready to prey on the young, the aged, the sick, and the wounded of his tribe, or to starvation, the well-nigh inevitable follower of disease in animals. he always seemed to me to be full of vitality and happiness, as if the dangers besetting his life only provided him with wholesome excitement, and sharpened his intellect far more finely than that of the rest of his tribe. iii. wild hunting. once, during the first summer of the water-vole's life, i saw as pretty a bit of wild hunting as i have ever witnessed, and my pleasure was enhanced by the fact that the quarry escaped unharmed. early in the afternoon, instead of during twilight, i, in company with the members of the village hunt and their mongrel pack, had searched the stream and its banks for rats, and had enjoyed good sport. suddenly, however, our ragamuffin hounds struck the line of nobler game: lutra, the otter, was astir in the pool. i was not surprised, for on the previous night, long after the moon had risen and sleep had descended on the village, i, with ianto the fisherman, had passed the spot on returning from an angling expedition eight or ten miles up-stream, and had stayed awhile to watch the most expert of all river-fishers, as she dived and swam from bank to bank, and sometimes, turning swiftly into the backwater, landed on the shingle close by brighteye's reed-bed, to devour at leisure a captured trout. lutra soon baffled our inexpert hounds, and gained refuge in a "strong place" well behind a fringe of alder-roots, whence bob, notwithstanding his most strenuous efforts, failed to "bolt" her. i then drew off the hounds, led them towards the throat of the pool, and for a half hour assisted them to work the "stale drag," till i reached a bend of the river where lutra's footprints were still visible on the fine, wet sand at the brink of a rapid. later, when the dogs were quietly resting at their homes, i returned, alone, to my hiding place not far from lutra's "holt." as long as daylight lasted i saw nothing of vole or otter, though several brown rats, undeterred by the disturbance of the early afternoon, came from their burrows and ran boldly hither and thither through the arched pathways of the rank grass by the edge of the bank. the afterglow faded in the western sky around the old church beyond the village gardens; and the night, though one by one the stars were lighted overhead, became so dark that i could see nothing plainly except the white froth, in large round masses, floating idly down the pool. i waited impatiently for the moon to rise, for i feared lest the faint, occasional plashes in the pool indicated that the otter had left her "holt," and would probably be fishing in a distant pool when an opportunity for observation arrived. the night was strangely impressive, as it always is to me while i roam through the woodlands or lie in hiding to watch the creatures that haunt the gloom-wrapt clearings among the oaks and the beeches. in the darkness, long intervals, during which nothing will be seen or heard, must of necessity be spent by the naturalist; and in such intervals the mind is often filled with what may, perhaps, be best described as the spiritual influence of night, when the eyes turn upward to the stars or to the lights of a lone farmstead twinkling through the trees, and imagination, wondering greatly at its own daring, links time with eternity, and the destinies of this little world with the affairs of a limitless universe. at length the rim of the full moon appeared above the crest of the hill behind the village, and gradually, as the orb ascended, the night became brighter, till the whole surface of the pool, except for a fleeting shadow, was clear and white, and a broad silver bar lay across the ripples between me and the reed-bed on the further side. for a time no sign of a living creature was visible; then a brown rat crept along the bank beneath my hiding place; a dim form, which from its size i concluded was that of lutra, the otter, crossed a spit of sand about a dozen yards above the reed-bed, where a moonbeam glanced through the alders; and a big brown owl, silhouetted against the sky, flew silently up-stream, and perched on a low, bare branch of a scotch fir beside the grass-grown path. after another uneventful interval a slight movement was observable in the reeds directly opposite. straight in the line of the silver bar a water-vole came towards me, only the head of the little swimmer being visible at the apex of a v-shaped wake lengthening rapidly behind him. more than half-way across the pool a large boulder stood out of the water, but the vole was heading towards the bank above. then, apparently without cause, he turned quickly and made straight for the stone. he had barely landed and run round to hide in a shallow depression of the stone when the water seemed to swell and heave immediately beside the boulder, and lutra's head, with wide-open jaws, shot above the current. disappointed, the otter vanished under the shining surface of the stream, came to sight once more in an eddy between the boulder and the bank, and once more disappeared. i was keenly interested, for every movement of the vole and the otter had been plainly discernible, so bright was the night, and so close were the creatures to my hiding place; and, raising myself slightly, i crawled a few inches nearer the edge of the overhanging bank. [illustration: "an opportunity came, which, had she been poised in the air, could scarcely have been missed."] for a long time the vole, not daring to move, remained in the shadow. i had almost concluded that he had dived through some crevice into the dark water on the other side of the boulder, when he cautiously lifted his head to the light, and crept into a grass-clump on the top of the stone. thence, after a little hesitation, he moved to the edge, as if contemplating a second swim. fastidious as to his toilet, even in the presence of danger, he rose on his haunches and washed his round, furry face. the action was almost fatal. the brown owl, that had doubtless seen him by the grass-clump and had therefore left her perch in the fir-tree, dropped like a bolt and hovered, with wings nearly touching the silver stream, above the spot where she had marked her prey. but she was too late--the vole had dived. yet, even while, having alighted on the boulder, the owl stood baffled by the disappearance of the vole, an opportunity came, which, had she been poised in the air, could scarcely have been missed. close to the near bank a wave rose above the surface of the eddy as lutra, having seen the vole dive from the stone, again hurried in pursuit. so fast was the otter that the momentum carried her well into the shallows. but for the third time the vole escaped. i indistinctly saw him scramble out, and run, with a shrill squeak, across a ridge of sand, offering a second chance to the listening owl; and, from his flight in the direction of the well known burrow, i concluded that the hunted creature was russet-coated little brighteye. but the bird knew that she could not rise and swoop in time; so, probably disturbed by the presence of the otter, she flew away down-stream just as lutra, since the vole was out of reach, glided from the sand and philosophically turned her attention to less evasive trout and eels. then all was motionless and silent, but for an occasional faint whistle as lutra fished in the backwater at the throat of the pool, the wailing cry of the owl from the garden on the crest of the slope behind me, and the ceaseless, gentle ripple of the river. at last, when the voices of the otter and the owl were still, and when the shadows were foreshortened as the moon gazed coldly down between the branches of the fir, brighteye, having recovered from his recent fright, left his sanctuary by the roots of the willow, and wandered, singing, singing, down the white, winding run-way and out into the main road of the riverside people, till he came to a jutting branch above the river's brim, whence he dived into the placid pool, and swam away towards the reed-bed. then the crossed shadows of the flags and hemlocks screened him from my sight. the first autumn in the water-vole's life was a season of wonderful beauty. a few successive frosts chilled the sap in the trees and the bushes near the river, but were succeeded by a long period when the air was crisp yet balmy, and not a breath of wind was noticeable except by the birds and the squirrels high among the giant beeches around the old garden, and when the murmur of summer insects was never heard by night, and only by day if a chance drone-fly or humble-bee visited a surviving clump of yellow ragweed by the run-way close to brighteye's burrow. the elms and the sycamores glowed with purple and bronze, the ash-trees and the willows paled to lemon yellow, the oaks arrayed themselves in rich and glossy olive green; while the beeches in the glade, and the brambles along the outskirts of the thickets, ruddy and golden and glittering in the brief, delicious autumn days, seemed to filter and yet stain the mellow sunshine, and to fill each nook with liquid shadow as pure and glorious as the blue and amber lights on the undulating hills. spread on the bosom of the brimming river, and broken, here and there, by creamy lines of passing foam, the reflections of this beauty seemed to well and bubble, from unfathomable deeps, around the "sly, fat fishes sailing, watching all." the water became much colder than in summer; but brighteye, protected by a warm covering of thick, soft fur through which the moisture could not penetrate, as well as by an over-garment of longer, coarser hair from which the drops were easily shaken when he left the stream, hardly noticed the change of temperature. but he well knew there were changes in the surroundings of his home. the flags in the reed-bed were not so succulent as they had been in early summer; the branches that sometimes guided him as he swam from place to place seemed strangely bare and grey; the clump of may-weed that, growing near his burrow, had served as a beacon in the gloom, was faded to a few short brown tufts; and nightly in his wanderings he was startled by the withered leaves that, like fluttering birds, descended near him on the littered run-ways or on the glassy surface of the river-reach. it was long before he became accustomed to the falling of the leaves, and up to the time when every bough was bare the rustling flight of a great chestnut plume towards him never failed to rouse the fear first wakened by the owl, and to send him on a long, breathless dive to the bottom of the pool. brighteye was a familiar figure to all the river-folk, while he, in turn, knew most of them, and had learned to distinguish between friends and foes. but occasionally he made a slight mistake. though shy, he was as curious as the squirrel that, one afternoon when brighteye was early abroad, hopped down the run-way to make his acquaintance, and frightened him into a precipitate retreat, then ran out to a branch above the stream and loudly derided the creature apparently drowning in the stream. an object of ceaseless curiosity to brighteye was a water-shrew, not more than half the size of the vole, that had come to dwell in the pool, and had tunnelled out a burrow in the bank above the reed-bed. nightly, after supper, brighteye made a circuit of the pool to find the shrew, and with his companion swam hither and thither, till, startled by some real or imagined danger, each of the playmates hurried to refuge, and was lost awhile to the other amid the darkness and the solitude of the silent hours. brighteye soon became aware of the fact that some of the habits of the shrew were entirely different from his own. while the vole was almost entirely a vegetable feeder, the shrew, diving to the bed of the river, would thrust his long snout between the stones, and pick up grubs and worms and leeches sheltering there. with brighteye's curiosity was mingled not a little wonderment, for the shrew's furry coat presented a strange contrast of black above and white beneath, and, immediately after the shrew had dived, a hundred little bubbles, adhering to the ends of his hair, caused him to appear like a silvery grey phantom, gliding gracefully, though erratically, from stone to stone, from patch to patch of water-weed, from ripple to ripple near the surface of the stream. the young brown trout, hovering harmlessly above the rocky shelves and in the sandy shallows, far from being a source of terror to brighteye, fled at his approach, and seldom returned to their haunts till he had reached the far side of the current. emboldened by the example of the shrew, that sometimes made a raid among the minnows, and desirous of keeping all intruders away from the lower entrance to his burrow, brighteye habitually chased the trout if they ventured within the little bay before his home. but there was one trout, old and lean, whose haunt was behind a weed-covered stone at the throat of the pool, and of this hook-beaked, carnivorous creature, by which he had once been chased and bitten, brighteye went in such constant fear that he avoided the rapid, and, directly he caught a glimpse of the long, dark form roving through the gloomy depths, paddled with utmost haste to his nearest landing place. since, under the care of his mother, he made his earliest visit to the reed-bed, brighteye had seen hundreds of giant salmon; the restless fish, however, did not stay long in the pool, but after a brief sojourn passed upward. often at dusk the salmon would leap clear into the air just as brighteye came to the surface after his first dive, and once so near was a sportive fish that the vole became confused for the moment by the sudden turmoil of the "rise," and rocked on the swell of the back-wash like a boat on the waves of a tossing sea. during the summer brighteye had suffered nothing, beyond this one sudden fright, from the visits of the great silvery fish to the neighbourhood of his home; and, notwithstanding his experience, he was accustomed to dive boldly into the depths of the "hovers," and even to regard without fear the approach of an unusually inquisitive salmon. late in the autumn, however, brighteye noticed, with unaccountable misgiving, a distinct change in the appearance of these passing visitors. the silvery sheen had died away from their scales, and had been succeeded by a dark, dull red; and the fish were sluggish and ill-tempered. besides, they were so numerous, especially after a heavy rainfall, that the stream seemed barely able to afford them room in their favourite "hovers," and the old trout, previously an easy master of the situation, found it almost beyond his powers to keep trespassers from his particular haunt in mid-current at the throat of the pool. so occupied was he with this duty that he seldom roamed into the little bays beneath the alder-fringes; and brighteye, so long as he avoided the rapid, was fairly safe from his attack. the reed-bed, though partly submerged, still yielded the vole sufficient food; and to reach it straight from his home he had to pass through the shallows, which extended for a considerable distance up-stream and down-stream from the gravelly stretch immediately outside the reeds. about the beginning of winter, when the migration of the salmon had become intermittent, and the sea-trout had all passed upward beyond the pool, two of the big, ugly "red fish," late arrivals at the "hover" nearest the burrow, made a close inspection of the pool; then, instead of following their kindred to the further reaches, they fell back toward the tail of the stream and there remained. after the first week of their stay, brighteye found them so ill-tempered that he dared not venture anywhere near the tail of the stream; and, as the big trout at the top of the pool showed irritation at the least disturbance, the vole was forced to wander down the bank, to a spot below the salmon, before crossing the river on his periodical journeys to the reed-bed. his kindred, still living in the burrow where he had been born, were similarly daunted; while the shrew became the object of such frequent attack--especially from the bigger of the two salmon, an old male with a sinister, pig-like countenance and a formidable array of teeth--that escape from disaster was little short of miraculous. having calculated to a nicety his chances of escape, and having decided to avoid at all times the haunts of the pugnacious fish, brighteye was seldom inconvenienced, except that he had to pass further than hitherto along the bank before taking to the water, and thus had to risk attack from weasels and owls. but soon, to his dismay, he discovered that the salmon had shifted their quarters to the shallow close by the reeds. he was swimming one night as usual into the quiet water by the reed-bed, and, indeed, had entered a narrow, lane-like opening among the stems, when he felt a quick, powerful movement in the water, and saw a mysterious form turn in pursuit of him, and glide swiftly away with a mighty effort that caused a wave to ripple through the reeds, while the outer stalks bent and recoiled as if from the force of a powerful blow. on the following night he was chased almost to the end of the opening among the reeds, and barely escaped; but this time he recognised his pursuer. afterwards, having unexpectedly met the shrew, he crept with his companion along by the water's edge as far as the ford, and spent the dark hours in a strange place, till at dawn he crossed the rough water, and sought his home by a path the further part of which he had not previously explored. iv. saved by an enemy. the days were dim and the nights long, and thick, drenching mists hung over the gloomy river. the salmon's family affairs had reached an important stage; and the "redd," furrowed in the gravel by the mated fish, contained thousands of newly deposited eggs. and, as many of the river-folk, from the big trout to the little water-shrew, continually threatened a raid on the spawn, the salmon guarded each approach to the shallows with unremitting vigilance. it happened, unfortunately for brighteye, that, while the construction of the "redd" was in progress, some of the eggs--unfertilised and therefore not heavy enough to sink to the bottom of the water--were borne slowly by the current to the ford below the pool, just as the shrew was occupied there in vain attempts to teach the vole how to hunt for insects among the pebbles. if brighteye had been at all inclined to vary his diet, he would at that moment have yielded to temptation. everywhere around him the trout were exhibiting great eagerness, snapping up the delicacies as they drew near, and then moving forward on the scent in the direction of the "redd." the shrew joined in the quest; and brighteye, full of curiosity, swam beside his playmate in the wake of the hungry trout. the vole found quite a shoal of fish collected near the reeds; and for a few moments he frolicked about the edge of the shallow. he could see nothing of the old male salmon, though he caught a glimpse of the female busy with her maternal duties at the top of the "redd." after diving up-stream and along by the line of the eager trout, he rose to breathe at the surface, when, suddenly, the river seemed alive with trout scattering in every direction, a great upheaval seemed to part the water, and he himself was gripped by one of his hind-feet and dragged violently down and across to the deep "hover" near his home. the salmon had at last outwitted the vole. the current was strong, and beneath its weight brighteye's body was bent backwards till his fore-paws rested on the salmon's head. mad with rage and fright, he clawed and bit at the neck of his captor. gradually his strength was giving way, and for want of air he was losing consciousness, when, like a living bolt, lutra, the otter, to save unwittingly a life that she had erstwhile threatened, shot from the darkness of the river-bed, and fixed her teeth in the neck of the salmon scarcely more than an inch from the spot to which the vole held fast in desperation. in the struggle that ensued, and ended only when lutra had carried her prey to shore, brighteye, half suffocated and but faintly apprehending what had taken place, was released. like a cork he rose to the surface, where he lay outstretched and gasping, while the current carried him swiftly to the ford, and thence to the pool beneath the village gardens. having recovered sufficiently to paddle feebly ashore, he sat for a time in the safe shelter of a rocky ledge, unnoticed by the brown rats as they wandered through the tall, withered grass-clumps high above his hiding place. at last he got the better of his sickness and fright; and, notwithstanding the continued pain of his scarred limbs, he brushed his furry coat and limped homeward just as the dawn was silvering the grey, silent pool where the lonely salmon guarded the "redd" and waited in vain for the return of her absent mate. brighteye took to heart his own escape from death, and for several nights moped and pined, ate little, and frequented only a part of the river-bank in proximity to his burrow. as soon, however, as the tiny scars on his leg were healed, he ventured again to the river; and for a period danger seldom threatened him. while he was unceasingly vigilant, and always ready to seek with utmost haste the safety of his home, a new desire to take precautions against the probability of attack possessed him. when, at dusk, he stole out from the upper entrance of his dwelling, he crouched on the grassy ledge at the river's brim and peered into the little bay below. if nothing stirred between the salmon "hover" and the bank, he dropped quietly into the pool, inhaled a long, deep breath, dived beneath the willow-roots, and watched, through the clear depths, each moving fish or swaying stem of river-weed within the range of his vision. but not till, after several visits to his water-entrance, he was perfectly convinced of the absence of danger, did he dare to brave the passage of the pool. the water-entrance to the vole's burrow was situated about a foot below the summer level of the river, and in a kind of buttress of gravel and soil, which, at its base, sloped abruptly inwards like an arch. this buttress jutted out at the lower corner of a little horse-shoe bay; and hereabouts, during summer, a shoal of minnows had often played, following each other in and out of every nook and cranny beneath the bank, or floating up and flashing in sun-flecked ripples faintly stirred by a breeze that wandered lightly from across the stream. ordinarily, brighteye found that the hole in the perpendicular bank served its purpose well; at the slightest disturbance he could escape thither, and, safe from pursuit, climb the irregular stairway to the hollow chamber above high-water mark. but it was different in times of flood. if he had to flee from the big trout, or from the otter, when the stream rushed madly past his open doorway, he found that an interval, which, however brief, was sufficient to imperil his life, must necessarily elapse before he could secure a foothold in his doorway and lift himself into the dark recess beyond. [illustration: "the big trout, in his torpedo-like rush to cut off brighteye from sure refuge." (_see_ p. ).] lutra had almost caught him after his adventure with the owl. he had, however, eluded the otter by diving, in the nick of time, from the stone to which he clung before the entrance, and then seeking the land. if he had been an instant later, she would have picked him off, as a bat picks a moth from a lighted window-pane, and he would never have reached the down-stream shallow. at that time the water, clearing after a summer freshet, was fairly low. brighteye's danger in some wild winter flood would, therefore, be far greater; so, timorous from his recent experiences, and sufficiently intelligent to devise and carry out plans by which he would secure greater safety, he occupied his spare time in the lengthening nights with driving a second shaft straight inward from the chamber to a roomy natural hollow among the willow-roots, and thence in devious course, to avoid embedded stones, downward to a tiny haven in the angle of the buttress far inside the archway of the bank, where the space was so confined that the otter could not possibly follow him. even the big trout, in his torpedo-like rush to cut off brighteye from sure refuge, utterly failed to turn, and then enter the narrow archway, in time to catch the artful vole. the task of digging out the second tunnel was exceedingly arduous; yet, on its completion, brighteye, taught by the changes going on around him that months of scarcity were impending, set to work again about half-way between his sleeping chamber and the upper entrance of the burrow. here he scratched out a small, semicircular "pocket," which he filled with miscellaneous supplies--seeds of many kinds, a few beech-nuts, hazel-nuts, and acorns, as well as roots of horse-tail grass and fibrous river-weed. he was careful, like his small relative the field-vole, and like the squirrel in the woods above the river-bank, to harvest only ripe, undamaged seeds and nuts; and in making his choice he was helped by his exquisite sense of smell. he found some potatoes and carrots--so small that they had been dropped as worthless by a passing labourer on the river-path--and selected the best, leaving the others to rot among the autumn leaves. as the "pocket" was inadequate to contain his various stores, the vole used the chamber also as a granary, and slept in the warm, dry hollow by the willow-roots. in the depth of winter, when the mist-wreaths on the stream were icy cold and brought death to the sleeping birds among the branches of the leafless alders, and when lutra, ravenous with hunger, chased the great grey trout from his "hover," but lost him in a crevice near the stakes, brighteye, saved from privation by his hoarded provender, seldom ventured from his home. but if the night was mild and the stars were not hidden by a cloud of mist, he would steal along his run-way to the main road of the riverside people, strip the bark from the willow-stoles, and feed contentedly on the juicy pith; while his friend, the shrew, busy in the shallows near the reed-bed, searched for salmon-spawn washed from the "redd" by the turbulent flood, or for newly hatched fry no longer guarded by the lonely parent fish long since departed on her way to the distant sea. the spirit of winter brooded over the river valley. the faint summer music of the gold-crest in the fir-tops, the sweet, flute-like solo of the meditative thrush in the darkness of the hawthorn, and the weird, continuous rattle of the goatsucker perched moveless on an oak-bough near the river-bend, were no longer heard when at dusk brighteye left his burrow and sat, watching and listening, on the little eminence above the river's brink. even the drone of the drowsy beetle, swinging over the ripples of the shadowed stream or from tuft to tuft of grass beside the woodland path, had ceased. but at times the cheery dipper still sang from the boulder whence the vole had dived to escape the big brown owl; and, when other birds had gone to sleep, the robin on the alder-spray and the wren among the willow-stoles piped their glad vespers to assure a saddened world that presently the winter's gloom would vanish before the coming of another spring. like a vision of glory, which, in the first hour of some poor wanderer's sleep, serves but to mock awhile his awakened mind with recollections of a happy past, so had the indian summer shone on nature's tired heart, and mocked, and passed away. the last red roseleaf had fluttered silently down; the last purple sloe had fallen from its sapless stem. a sharp november frost was succeeded by a depressing month of mist and drizzling rain. then the heavens opened, and for day after day, and night after night, their torrents poured down the stony water-courses of the hills. the river rose beyond the highest mark of summer freshets, till the low-lying meadow above the village was converted into a lake, and brighteye's burrow disappeared beneath the surface of a raging flood. gifted with a mysterious knowledge of nature's moods--which all wild animals in some degree possess--the vole had made ready for the sudden change. on the night preceding the storm, when in the mist even the faintest sounds seemed to gain in clearness and intensity, he had hollowed out for himself a temporary dwelling among the roots of a moss-grown tree on the steep slope of the wood behind the river-path, and had carried thither all his winter supplies from the granary where first they had been stored. brighteye was exposed to exceptional danger by his compulsory retirement from the old burrow in the river-bank. stoats and weasels were ever on the prowl; no water-entrance afforded him immediate escape from their relentless hostilities, and he was almost as liable to panic, if pursued for any considerable distance on land, as were the rabbits living on the fringe of the gravel-pit within the heart of the silent wood. if a weasel or a stoat had entered the vole's new burrow during the period when the flood was at its highest, only the most fortunate circumstances could have saved its occupant. even had he managed to flee to the river, his plight would still have been pitiful. unable to find security in his former retreat, and effectually deterred by the lingering scent of his pursuers from returning to his woodland haunts, brighteye, a homeless, hungry little vagabond, at first perplexed, then risking all in search of food and rest, would inevitably have met his fate. but neither stoat nor weasel learned of his new abode. his burrow was high and dry in the gravelly soil under the tree-trunk; and before his doorway, as far as a hollow at the river's verge, stretched a natural path of rain-washed stones on which the line of his scent could never with certainty be followed. while many of his kindred perished, brighteye survived this period of flood; and when the waters, having cleansed each riverside dwelling, abated to their ordinary winter level, he returned to his burrow in the buttress by the stakes, and once more felt the joy of living in safety among familiar scenes. since the leaves had fallen, the brown rats had become fewer and still fewer along the river, and, when the flood subsided, it might have been found that none of these creatures remained in their summer haunts. they had emigrated to the rick-yard near the village inn; many of the stoats and weasels, finding provender scarce, had followed in their footsteps; and brighteye and his kindred, with the water-shrews, the moorhens, and the coots, were unmolested in their wanderings both by night and day. the vole's favourite reed-bed was now seldom visited. besides being inundated, it was silted so completely with gravel that to cut through the submerged stems would have been an arduous and almost impossible task. luckily, in his journeys along the edge of the shallows during the flood, brighteye had found a sequestered pond, near an old hedgerow dividing the wood, where tender duckweed was plentiful, and, with delicious roots of watercress, promised him abundant food. every evening he stole through the shadows, climbed the leaf-strewn rabbit-track by the hedge, and swam across the pond from a dark spot beneath some brambles to the shelter of a gorse-bush overhanging the weeds. there he was well protected from the owl by an impenetrable prickly roof, while he could readily elude, by diving, any stray creature attacking him from land. winter dragged slowly on its course, and, just as the first prophecy of spring was breathed by the awakening woodlands, the warm west breezes ceased to blow, and the bleak north wind moaned drearily among the trees. night after night a sheet of ice spread and thickened from the shallows to the edge of the current, the wild ducks came down to the river from the frost-bound moors, and great flocks of geese, whistling loudly in the starlit sky, passed on their southward journey to the coast. for the first few nights brighteye left his chamber only when acute hunger drove him to his storehouse in the wood. directly he had fed, he returned home, and settled once more to sleep. at last his supplies were exhausted, and he was forced to subsist almost entirely on the pith beneath the bark of the willows. the pond by the hedgerow was sealed with ice, and he suffered much from the lack of his customary food. half-way between his sleeping chamber and its water-entrance, a floor of ice prevented ready access to the river; and, under this floor, a hollow, filled with air, was gradually formed as the river receded from the level it had reached on the first night of frost. brighteye's only approach to the outer world was, therefore, through the upper doorway. all along the margin of the pool, as far as the swift water beyond the stakes, the ice-shelf was now so high above the river that even to a large animal like the otter it offered no landing place. only at the stakes, where the dark, cold stream flowed rapidly between two blocks of ice, could brighteye enter or leave the river. partly because, if he should be pursued, the swiftness of the stream was likely to lessen his chances of escape, and partly because of a vague but ever-present apprehension of danger, he avoided this spot. it was fortunate that he did so; lutra, knowing well the ways of the riverside people, often lurked in hiding under the shelf of ice beyond the stakes, and, when she had gone from sight, the big, gaunt trout came slyly from his refuge by the boulder and resumed his tireless scrutiny of everything that passed his "hover." at last a thaw set in, and brighteye, awakening on the second day from his noontide sleep, heard the great ice-sheet crack, and groan, and fall into the river. when darkness came he hurried to the water's brink, and, almost reckless with delight, plunged headlong into the pool. he tucked his fore-paws beneath his chin, and, with quick, free strokes of his hind-legs, dived deep to the very bottom of the backwater. thence he made a circle of the little bay, and, floating up to the arch before his dwelling, sought the inner entrance, where, however, the ice had not yet melted. he dived once more, and gained the outer entrance in the front of the buttress, but there, also, the ice was thick and firm. he breathed the cold, damp air in the hollow beneath the ice, then glided out and swam to land. the tiny specks of dirt, which, since the frost kept him from the river, had matted his glossy fur, seemed now completely washed away, and he felt delightfully fresh and vigorous as he sat on the grass, and licked and brushed each hair into place. his toilet completed, he ran gaily up the bank to his storehouse under the tree, but only to find it empty. not in the least disheartened, he climbed the rabbit-track, rustled over the hedge-bank to the margin of the pond, and there, as in the nights before the frost, feasted eagerly on duckweed and watercress. on the following day the ice melted in the shaft below his chamber, and he was thus saved the trouble of tunnelling a third water-passage--as a ready means of escape from the otter and the big trout, as well as from a chance weasel or stoat--which, if the ice had not disappeared, he surely would have made as soon as his vigour was fully restored. v. the courage of fear. the dawn, with easy movement, comes across the eastern hills; the mists roll up from steaming hollows to a cloudless sky; the windows of a farm-house in the dingle gleam and sparkle with the light. so came the fair, unhesitating spring; so rolled the veil of winter's gloom away; so gleamed and sparkled with responsive greeting every tree and bush and flower in the awakened river valley. the springs and summers of our life are few, yet in each radiant dawn and sunrise they may, in brief, be found. filled with the restlessness of springtide life--a restlessness felt by all wild creatures, and inherited by man from far distant ages when, depending on the hunt for his sustenance, he followed the migrations of the beasts--brighteye often left his retreat much earlier in the afternoon than had been his wont, and stole along the river-paths even while the sunshine lingered on the crest of the hill and on the ripples by the stakes below the pool. prompted by an increasing feeling of loneliness and a strong desire that one of his kindred should share with him his comfortable home, he occupied much of his time in enlarging the upper chamber of the burrow till it formed a snug, commodious sleeping place ceiled by the twisted willow-roots; and, throwing the soil behind him down the shaft, he cleared the floor till it was smooth and level. then he boldly sallied forth, determined to wander far in search of a mate rather than remain a bachelor. he proceeded down-stream beside the trout-reach, and for a long time his journey was in vain. he heard a faint plash on the surface of the water, and at once his little heart beat fast with mingled hope and fear; but the sound merely indicated that the last of winter's withered oak-leaves, pushed gently aside by a swelling bud, had fallen from the bough. suddenly, from the ruined garden above him on the brow of the slope, came the dread hunting cry of his old enemy, the tawny owl. even as the first weird note struck with far-spreading resonance on the silence of the night, all longing and hope forsook the vole. realising only that he was in a strange place far from home, and exposed to many unknown dangers, he sat as moveless as the pebbles around him, till, from a repetition of the cry, he learned that the owl was departing into the heart of the wood. then, silently, he journeyed onward. further and still further--past the rocky shelf where he had landed after his escape from the salmon, and into a region honeycombed with old, deserted rat-burrows, and arched with prostrate trees and refuse borne by flood--he ventured, his fear forgotten in the strength of his desire. close beside the river's brink, as the shadows darkened, he found the fresh scent of a female vole. he followed it eagerly, through shallow and whirlpool and stream, to a spit of sand among some boulders, where he met, not the reward of his labour and longing, but a jealous admirer of the dainty lady he had sought to woo. after the manner of their kind in such affairs, the rivals ruffled with rage, kicked and squealed as if to declare their reckless bravery, and closed in desperate battle. their polished teeth cut deeply, and the sand was furrowed and pitted by their straining feet. several times they paused for breath, but only to resume the fight with renewed energy. the issue was, however, at last decided. brighteye, lying on his back, used his powerful hind-claws with such effect that, when he regained his footing, he was able, almost unresisted, to get firm hold of his tired opponent, and to thrust him, screaming with pain and baffled rage, into the pool. the female vole had watched the combat from a recess in the bank; and, when the victor returned from the river, she crept out trustfully to meet him, and licked his soiled and ruffled fur. but for the moment brighteye was not in a responsive mood. though his body thrilled at the touch of her warm, soft tongue, he recognised that his first duty was to make his conquest sure. his strength had been taxed to the utmost, and, since his rage was expended and his tiny wounds were beginning to smart, he feared a second encounter and the possible loss of his lady-love. so, with simulated anger, he drove her before him along the up-stream path and into the network of deserted run-ways by the trout-reach. there his mood entirely changed; and soon, in simple, happy comradeship, he led her to his home. brighteye was a handsome little fellow. at all times he had been careful in his toilet, but now, pardonably vain, he fastidiously occupied every moment of leisure in brushing and combing his long, fine, soft fur. both in appearance and habits he was altogether different from the garbage-loving rat. his head was rounder and blunter than the rat's, his feet were larger and softer, and his limbs and his tail were shorter. on the under side his feet were of a pale pink colour, but on the upper side they were covered, like the field-vole's, with close, stiff hair set in regular lines from the toes to the elbows of the front limbs and to the ankles of the hind-legs, where the long, fine fur of the body took its place. a slight webbing crossed the toes of his hind-feet--so slight, indeed, that it assisted him but little in swimming--and his tiny, polished claws were plum-coloured. except when he was listening intently for some sign of danger, his small, round ears were almost concealed in his thick fur. his mate was of smaller and more delicate build--this was especially noticeable when once i saw her swim with brighteye through the clear water beneath the bank--and she was clad in sombre brown and grey. household and similar duties soon began to claim attention in and around the riverside dwelling. the green grass was growing rapidly under the withered blades that arched the run-ways between the river's brink and the woodland path; and, as the voles desired to keep these run-ways clear, they assiduously cut off all encroaching stems and brushed them aside. the stems dried, and in several places formed a screen beneath which the movements of the voles were not easily discernible. selecting the best of the dry grass-stalks, the voles carried them home, and, after much labour, varied with much consultation in which small differences of opinion evidently occurred, completed, in the sleeping chamber beneath the willow-roots, a large, round nest. the magnitude of their labour could be easily inferred from the appearance of the nest: each grass-blade carried thither had been bitten into dozens of fragments, and the structure filled the entire space beyond the first of the exposed roots, though its interior, till from frequent use it changed its form, seemed hardly able to accommodate the female vole. in this tight snuggery, at a time when the corncrake's nocturnal music was first heard in the meadow by the pool, five midget water-voles, naked and blind, were born. brighteye listened intently to the faint, unmistakable family noises issuing therefrom, and then, like a thoughtful dry-nurse, went off to find for his mate a tender white root of horse-tail grass. for several nights he was assiduous in his attentions to the mother vole; and afterwards, his house-keeping duties being suspended, he became a vigilant sentinel, maintaining constant watch over the precious family within his home. when the baby voles were about a week old, a large brown rat, that on several occasions in the previous year had annoyed the youthful brighteye, returned to the pool. wandering through the run-ways, the monster chanced to discover the opening from the bank to brighteye's chamber, and, thinking that here was a place admirably suited for a summer resort, proceeded to investigate. the vole scented him immediately, and, though the weaker animal, climbed quickly out and with tooth and nail fell upon the intruder. an instant later, the mother vole appeared, and with even greater ferocity than that of her mate joined in the keen affray in order to defend her home and family to the utmost of her powers. but the rat possessed great strength and cruel teeth, and his size and weight were such that for several minutes he successfully maintained his position. with desperate efforts, the voles endeavoured to pull the rat into the water, where, as they knew, their advantage would be greater than on land. they succeeded at last in forcing him over the bank, and in the pool proceeded to punish him to such an extent--clinging to his neck by their teeth and fore-feet, while they used their hind-claws with painful effect on his body--that, dazed by their drastic methods and almost suffocated, he reluctantly gave up the struggle, and floated, gasping, down the stream. the mother vole, though she and her spouse had proved victorious, was so unsettled by the rat's incursion, that, as a cat carries her kittens, she carried each of her young in turn from their nest to a temporary refuge in a clump of brambles. still dissatisfied, she removed them thence to a shallow depression beside one of the run-ways, where, throughout the night, she nursed them tenderly. at daybreak she took them back to the warmth and the comfort of the nest. shortly afterwards, when their eyes were opened and they were following the parent voles on one of their customary night excursions, the mother found herself face to face with a far more formidable antagonist than the rat. the baby voles, like the offspring of nearly all land animals that have gradually become aquatic in their habits, were at first strangely averse from entering the water, and had to be taken by their parents into the pool. there the anxious mother, firm yet gentle in her system of education, watched their every movement, and encouraged them to follow her about the backwaters and shallows near their home. but if either of them showed the faintest sign of fatigue, the mother dived quietly and lifted the tired nursling to the surface. late one evening, while the parent voles were busy with their work of family training, the old cannibal trout suddenly appeared, rose quickly at one of the youngsters swimming near the edge of the current, but, through a slight miscalculation, failed to clutch his prize. the mother vole, ever on the alert, plunged down, and, heedless of danger, darted towards her enemy. for a second or two she manoeuvred to obtain a grip, then, as she turned to avoid attack, the jaws of the trout opened wide, and, like a steel trap, closed firmly on her tail. maddened with rage and pain, she raised herself quickly, clutched at the back of her assailant, and buried her sharp, adze-shaped teeth--that could strip a piece of willow-bark as neatly as could a highly tempered tool of steel--in the flesh behind his gills. so sure and speedy was her action, that she showed no sign of fatigue when she reached the surface of the water, and the trout, his spinal column severed just behind his gills, drifted lifelessly away. though the young voles, in the tunnelled buttress of the river-bank, lived under the care of experienced parents ever ready and resolute in their defence, and became as shy and furtive as the wood-mice dwelling in the hollows of the hedge beside the pond, they were not always favoured by fortune. the weakling of the family died of disease; another of the youngsters, foraging alone in the wood, was killed by a bloodthirsty weasel; while a third, diving to pick up a root of water-weed, was caught by the neck in the fork of a submerged branch, and drowned. during the autumn and the winter the survivors remained with their parents; the burrow was enlarged and improved by the addition of new granaries for winter supplies, new water-entrances to facilitate escape in times of panic, and a new, commodious sleeping chamber, strewn with hay and withered reeds, at the end of a long tunnel extending almost directly beneath the river-path. the supplies in the granaries were, however, hardly needed: the winter was exceptionally mild, and the voles were generally able to obtain duckweed and watercress for food. often, on my way to the ruined garden, i noticed their footprints--indistinctly outlined on the gravel, but deep and triangular where the creatures climbed through soft and yielding soil--along the path leading to the pond in the pasture near the wood. when spring came once more, and the scented primroses gleamed faintly in the gloom beside the upper entrance to the burrow, and the corncrake, babbling loudly, wandered through the growing grass at the foot of the meadow-hedge, the household of the voles was broken up. the young ones found partners, and, in homes not far from the burrow by the willow-stoles, settled down to the usual life of the vole, a life of happiness and yet of peril. for still another year brighteye's presence was familiar to me. i often watched him as he sat at the water's edge above the buttress, or on the stone in mid-stream, or on the half-submerged root of a tree washed into an angle of the pool above the stakes, and as, after his usual toilet observances, he swam thence across the reed-bed opposite the "hover" where, in autumn, the breeding salmon lurked. then, for many months, i lived far from the well loved village. but one winter evening, after a long journey, i returned. the snow, falling rapidly, blotted out the prospect of the silent hills. the village seemed asleep; the shops were closed for the weekly holiday; not a footfall could be heard, not even a dog could be seen, down the long vista of the straggling street. the white walls of the cottages, and the white snow-drifts banked beside the irregular pavements, were in complete contrast to the radiant summer scene on which my eyes had lingered when i left the village. my feeling of cheerlessness was not dispelled even by the warmth and comfort of the little inn. oppressed by the evidences of change, which in my disappointment were, no doubt, much exaggerated, i left the inn, and, heedless of the piercing cold and the driving snow, made my way towards the river. as i approached the stakes below the pool, a golden-eye duck rose from beside the bank, and on whistling wings flew swiftly into the gloom. i crouched in the shelter of a holly tree, and waited and watched till the cold became unendurable; but no other sign of life was visible; the pool was deserted. in summer i returned home to stay, and then, as of old, i often wandered by the river. evening after evening, till long after the last red glow had faded from the western hill-tops, i lingered by the pool. the owl sailed slowly past; the goatsucker hawked for moths about the oaks; the trout rose to the incautious flies; the corncrake babbled loudly in the long, lush meadow grass. a family of voles swam in and out of the shallows opposite my hiding place; but none of the little animals approached the buttress near the stakes. frequently i saw their footprints on the sandy margin, but never the footprints of brighteye. somehow, somewhere, he had met relentless fate. the field-vole. i. hidden pathways in the grass. the sun had set, the evening was calm, and a mist hung over the countryside when a field-vole appeared at the mouth of his burrow in a mossy pasture. the little grey creature was one of the most timorous of the feeble folk dwelling in the pleasant wilderness of the valley of olwen. his life, like that of brighteye, the water-vole, was beset with enemies; but nature had given to him, as to the water-vole, acute senses of sight, and smell, and hearing, and a great power of quick and intelligent action. he had lived four years, survived a hundred dangers, and reared twenty healthy families; and his wits were so finely sharpened that he was recognised by a flourishing colony, which had gradually increased around his moss-roofed home, as the wisest and most wide-awake field-vole that ever nibbled a turnip or harvested a seed. for a moment the vole sat in the mouth of the burrow, with nothing of himself visible but a blunt little snout twitching as he sniffed the air, and two beady eyes moving restlessly as he peered into the sky. suddenly he leaped out and squatted beside the nearest stone. a robin, disturbed in his roosting place by another of his kind, flew from the hedge in furious pursuit of the intruder, and passed within a few inches of the burrow. the vole, alarmed by the rush of wings, instantly vanished; but soon, convinced that no cause for fear existed, he again left his burrow and for several minutes sat motionless by the stone. he was not, however, idle--a field-vole is never idle save when he sleeps--but he was puzzled by the different sounds and scents and sights around him; they had become entangled, and while he watched and listened his mind was trying to pick out a thread of meaning here and there. what was the cause of that angry chatter, loud, prolonged, insistent, in the fir plantation at the bottom of the field? some unwelcome creature, bent on mischief--perhaps a weasel or a cat--was wandering through the undergrowth, and the blackbirds, joined by the finches, the wrens, and the tits, were endeavouring to drive it from the neighbourhood. gradually the noisy birds followed the intruder to the far end of the slope; then, returning to their roosting places, they squabbled for the choice of sheltered perches among the ivied boughs. silence fell on upland and valley; and the creatures of the night crept forth from bank and hedgerow, and the thickets of the wood, to play and feed under the friendly protection of the fast-gathering gloom. but the field-vole would not venture from his lair beside the stone. a convenient tunnel, arched with grass-bents, led thither from the burrow, the post of observation being shaped through frequent use into an oval "form." the vole, though anxious to begin his search for food, was not satisfied that the way was clear to the margin of the fir plantation, for the air was infused with many odours, some so strong and new that he could easily have followed their lines, but others so faint and old that their direction and identity were alike uncertain. from the signs that were fresh the vole learned the story of field-life for the day. horses, men, and hounds had hurried by in the early morning, and with their scent was mingled that of a fleeing fox. later, the farmer and his dog had passed along the hedge, a carrion crow had fed on a scrap of refuse not a yard from the stone, and a covey of partridges had "dusted" in the soft soil before leaving the pasture by a gap beside a clump of furze. blackbirds, thrushes, yellow-hammers, and larks had wandered by in the grass, a wood-pigeon and a squirrel had loitered among the acorns under the oak, and a hedgehog had led her young through the briars. rabbits, too, had left their trails in the clover, and a red bank-vole had strayed near the boundaries of the field-vole's colony. their signs were familiar to the vole from experience; he detected them and singled them out from the old trails with a sense even truer than that of the hounds as they galloped past in the morning's chase. there was one distinct scent, however, that baffled him. at first he believed it to be that of a weasel, but it lacked the pungent strength inseparable from the scent of a full-grown "vear." gathering courage as the darkness deepened, the field-vole rustled from his lair, ran quickly down the slope, and crept through a wattled opening into the wood. he found some fallen hawthorn berries among the hyacinth leaves that carpeted the ground, and of these he made a hasty meal, sitting on his haunches, and holding his food in his fore-paws as he gnawed the firm, succulent flesh about the kernel of the seed. then, with a swift patter of tiny feet on the leaf-mould, he ran down to a rill trickling over a gravelly bed towards the brook, stooped at the edge of a dark pool in the shadow of a stone, and lapped the cool, clear water. thence he made for the edge of the wood, to visit a colony of his tribe which in spring had migrated from the burrows in the uplands. half-way on his journey, he again suddenly crossed the line of the unknown scent, now mingled with the almost overpowering smell of a full-grown weasel. the mystery was explained: the strange trail in the upland meadow had evidently been that of a young "vear" passing by the hedge to join its parent in the wood. for a moment the vole stood petrified with terror; then he sank to the earth, and lay as still as the dead leaves beneath him. but there was no time to be lost; the "vears" were returning on their trail. in an agony of fear the mouse turned back towards his home. he ran slowly, for his limbs almost refused their office of bearing him from danger. reaching the mouth of his burrow with great difficulty, he dropped headlong down a shallow shaft leading to one of the numerous galleries. then, lo! his mood immediately changed; his reasoning powers became strong and clear; his parental instincts whispered that his family, like himself, was in peril. squeaking all the while, he raced down one tunnel, then down another, turned a sharp corner beneath an archway formed by the roots of a tree that had long ago been felled; and there, in a dry nest of hay and straw, he found his mate with her helpless little family of six blind, semi-transparent sucklings only three days old. he heard on every side the quick scamper of feet as, alarmed by his cries, the voles inhabiting the side passages of the burrow scurried hither and thither in wild efforts to remove their young to some imagined place of safety. [illustration: "she was holding one of her offspring by the neck, in preparation for flight." (_see_ p. ).] his mate, like her neighbours, had already taken alarm. at the moment of his arrival she was holding one of her offspring by the neck, in preparation for flight. the next instant an ominous hiss reverberated along the hollow passages; the mother vole, with her suckling, vanished in the darkness of the winding gallery; and the weasels descended into the labyrinth of tunnels hollowed out beneath the moss. again an almost overwhelming fear possessed the hunted vole, his limbs stiffened, his condition seemed helpless. he crawled slowly hither and thither, now passing some fellow-creature huddled in the corner of a blind alley; now lifting himself above ground to seek refuge in another part of the burrow; now pausing to listen to cries of pain which indicated how thoroughly the "vears" were fulfilling their gruesome work. it seemed that the whole colony of voles was being exterminated. bewildered, after an hour of unmitigated dread, he quitted the place of slaughter, where every nook and corner reeked of blood or of the weasels' scent, and limped through the grass towards the hedge. in a hollow among the scattered stones he stayed till terror no longer benumbed him, and he could summon courage to seek an early meal in the root-field beyond the pasture. directly the day began to dawn, he cautiously returned to his burrow. though numerous traces of the havoc of the night remained, he knew, from the staleness of the weasels' scent, that his foes had departed. at noon his mate came again to her nest, and searched for her missing offspring. but the taint of blood on the floor of the chamber told her only too well that henceforth her mothering care would be needed solely by the young mouse that she had rescued in her flight. the day passed uneventfully; the weasels did not repeat their visit. at nightfall the mother mouse, stealing into the wood, found both her enemies caught in rabbit-traps set beside the "runs" among the hawthorns. for a while peace reigned in the underground dwellings of the mossy pasture, and the young field-vole thrived amazingly; from the very outset fortune favoured him above the rest of his species. after the wholesale destruction that had taken place, little risk of overcrowding and its attendant evils remained, and, for the lucky mice surviving the raid, food was plentiful, even when later, in winter, they were awakened by some warm, bright day, and hunger, long sustained, had made them ravenous. kweek, having no brother or sister to share his birthright, was fed and trained in a manner that otherwise would have been impossible, while his parents were particularly strong and healthy. these circumstances undoubtedly combined to make him what he eventually became--quick to form an opinion and to act, and able, once he was fully grown, to meet in fight all rivals for the possession of any sleek young she-vole he happened to have chosen for his mate. soon after his eyes were open, the adult voles of the colony began to harvest their winter supplies. seeds of all kinds were stored in shallow hiding places--under stones, or under fallen branches--or in certain chambers of the burrow set apart for that especial purpose; and as each granary was filled its entrance was securely stopped by a mound of earth thrown up by the busy harvesters. the first solid food kweek tasted was the black, glossy seed of a columbine, which his mother, busily collecting provender, chanced to drop near him as she hurried to her storehouse. earlier in the night, just outside the burrow, he had watched her with great curiosity as she daintily nibbled a grain of wheat brought from a gateway where the laden waggons had passed. he had loitered near, searching among the grass-roots for some fragment he supposed his mother to have left behind, but he found only a rough, prickly husk, that stuck beneath his tongue, nearly choked him, and drove him frantic with irritation, till, after much violent shaking and twitching, and rubbing his throat and muzzle with his fore-paws, he managed to get rid of the objectionable morsel. something, however, in the taste of the husk so aroused his appetite for solid food, that when his mother dropped the columbine seed he at once picked it up in his fore-paws, and, stripping off the hard, glossy covering, devoured it with the keen relish of a new hunger that as yet he could not entirely understand. his growth, directly he learned to feed on the seeds his mother showed him, and to forage a little for himself, was more rapid than before. nature seemed in a hurry to make him strong and fat, that he might be able to endure the cold and privation of winter. by the end of november, when at night the first rime-frosts lay on the fallow, and the voles, disliking the chill mists, seldom left their burrow, kweek was already bigger than his dam. he was, in fact, the equal of his sire in bone and length, but he was loose-limbed and had not filled out to those exact proportions which, among voles as among all other wildlings of the field, make for perfect symmetry, grace, and stamina, and come only with maturity and the first love season. when about two months old, kweek, for the first time since the weasels had visited the burrow, experienced a narrow escape from death. the night was mild and bright, and the vole was busy in the littered loam of the hedgerow, where, during the afternoon, a blackbird had scratched the leaves away and left some ripe haws exposed to view. suddenly he heard a loud, mocking call, apparently coming from the direction of the moon: "whoo-hoo! whoo-hoo-o-o-o!" it was a strangely bewildering sound; so the vole squatted among the leaves and listened anxiously, every sense alert to catch the meaning of the weird, foreboding voice. "whoo-hoo! whoo-hoo-o-o-o!"--again, from directly overhead, the cry rang out into the night. a low squeak of warning, uttered by the father vole as he dived into his burrow, caused the young mice foraging in the undergrowth to bolt helter-skelter towards home. kweek, joining in the general panic, rushed across the field, and had almost disappeared underground when he felt the earth and the loose pebbles falling over him, and at the same time experienced a sharp thrill of pain. fortunately, his speed saved him--but only by an inch. the claws of the great brown owl, shutting like a vice as the bird "stooped" on her prey, laid hold of nothing but earth and grass, though one keen talon cut the vole's tail as with a knife, so that the little creature squealed lustily as he ran along the gallery to seek solace from his mother's companionship in the central chamber beyond. yet even there he was not allowed to remain in peace. maddened by the scent of a few drops of blood coming from his wound, the adult voles chased him from the burrow, and drove him out into the field. luckily for him the brown owl had meanwhile flown away with another young vole in her claws. kweek remained in safety under the hawthorns till the grey dawn flushed the south-east sky; then, his injured tail having ceased to bleed, he ventured without fear among his kindred as they lay huddled asleep in the recesses of their underground abode. the year drew to its close, the weather became colder, and an irresistible desire for long-continued rest took possession of kweek. his appetite was more easily satisfied than hitherto; hour after hour, by night as well as by day, he drowsed in the snug corner where lay the remains of the nest in which he had been born. winter, weary and monotonous to most of the wildlings of the field, passed quickly over his head. scarce-broken sleep and forgetfulness, when skies are grey and tempests rage--such are nature's gifts to the snake, the bee, and the flower, as well as to the squirrel in the wood and the vole in the burrow beneath the moss. occasionally, it is true, when at noon the sun was bright and spring seemed to have come to the valley of olwen, the snake would stir in his retreat beneath the leaves, the bee would crawl to and fro in her hidden nest, the flower would feel the stir of rising sap, the squirrel would venture forth to stretch cramped limbs by a visit to some particular storehouse--the existence of which, as one among many filled with nuts and acorns, he happened to remember--and the vole would creep to the entrance of his burrow, and sit in the welcome warmth till the sun declined and hunger sent him to his granary for a hearty meal. these brief, spring-like hours, when the golden furze blossomed in the hedge-bank near the field-vole's home, and the lark, exultant, rose from the barren stubble, were, however, full of danger to kweek if he but dared to lift his head above the opening of his burrow. on the outskirts of the wood, in a rough, ivy-grown ridge where, years ago, some trees had been felled, a flourishing colony of bank-voles--little creatures nearly akin, and almost similar in shape and size, to the field-voles--dwelt among the roots and the undergrowth. these bank-voles, probably because they lived in a sheltered place screened from the bitter wind by a wall of gorse and pines, moved abroad in the winter days far more frequently than did the field-voles. for several years a pair of kestrels had lived in the valley, and had reared their young in a nest built on a ledge of rock above the cerdyn brook and safe beyond the reach of marauding schoolboys. the hen-kestrel, when provender became scarce, would regularly at noon beat her way across the hill-top to the ridge where the red voles lived, and, watching and waiting, with keen eyes and ready talons, would remain in the air above the burrow as if poised at the end of an invisible thread. chiefly she was the terror of the bank-voles; but often, impatient of failure, she would slant her fans and drift towards the burrows in the mossy pasture, hoping to find that the grey voles had awakened for an hour from their winter sleep. once, when the breeze blew gently from the south and the sun was bright, kweek, sitting on a grassy mound, saw a shadow rapidly approaching, and heard a sharp swish of powerful wings. though drowsy and stiff from his winter sleep, he was roused for the moment by the imminence of danger, and, barely in time, scurried to his hole. a fortnight afterwards, when, again tempted out of doors by the mildness of the weather, the vole was peeping through an archway of matted grass, the hawk, with even greater rapidity than before, shot down from the sky. had it not been that the long grass screened an entrance on the outskirts of the burrow, kweek would then have met his fate. he fell, almost without knowing what was happening, straight down the shaft; and the sharp talons of the hawk touched nothing but grass and earth, and the end of a tail already scarred by the claws of the owl. next day, as, moving along the galleries to his favourite exit, the vole passed beneath the shaft, he saw, straight overhead, the shadowy wings outstretched, quivering, lifting, gliding, pausing, while beneath those spreading fans the baleful eyes gleamed yellow in the slant of the south-west sun, and the cruel claws, indrawn against the keel-shaped breast, were clenched in readiness for the deadly "stoop." fascinated, the vole stayed awhile to look at the hovering hawk. then, as the bird passed from the line of sight, he continued his way along the underground passage to the spot where he usually left his home by one of the narrow, clean-cut holes which, in a field-vole's burrow, seem to serve a somewhat similar purpose to that of the "bolts" in a rabbit's warren; and there he again looked out. the hawk still hovered in the calm winter air, so kweek did not venture that day to bask in the sun outside his door. as soon as he had fed, and shaken every speck of loose loam from his fur, and washed himself clean with his tiny red tongue, he once more sought his cosy corner and fell asleep. presently a pink and purple sunset faded in the gloom of night, and a heavy frost, beginning a month of bitter cold, lay over the fields. in continuous slumber kweek passed that dreary month, till the daisies peeped in the grass, the snowdrops and the daffodils thrust forth their sword-shaped leaves above the water-meadows, and the earliest violet unfolded its petals by the pathway in the woods. ii. the valley of olwen. eastward, the sky was covered with pale cobalt; and in the midst of the far-spreading blue hung a white and crimson cloud, like a puff of bright-stained vapour blown up above the rim of the world. westward, the sky was coloured with brilliant primrose; and on the edge of the distant moorlands lay a great bank of mist, rainbow-tinted with deep violet, and rose, and orange. for a space immediately on each side of the mist the primrose deepened into daffodil--a chaste yet intense splendour that seemed to stretch into infinite distances and overlap the sharply defined ridges of the dark horizon. the green of the upland pasture and the brown of the ploughland beyond were veiled by a shimmering twilight haze, in which the varied tints of the sky harmoniously blended, till the umber and indigo shadows of night loomed over the hills, and the daffodil flame flickered and vanished over the last red ember of the afterglow. thus the first calm day of early spring drew to its close. kweek, the little field-vole, asleep in his hidden nest beneath the moss, was roused by the promise that olwen, the white-footed, who had come to her own beautiful valley among our western hills, whispered as she passed along the slope above the mill-dam in the glen. he uncurled himself on the litter of withered grass-bents that formed his winter couch, crept towards the nearest bolt-hole of his burrow, and peeped at the fleecy clouds as they wandered idly overhead. he inhaled long, deep breaths of the fresh, warm air; then, conscious of new, increasing strength, he continued his way underground to the granary in which, some months ago, his mother had stored the columbine seeds. but the earth had been scratched away from the storehouse door, and nothing remained of the winter supplies. hungry and thirsty, yet not daring to roam abroad while the sun was high, the vole moved from chamber to chamber of his burrow, washed himself thoroughly from the tip of his nose to the tip of his tail, then, feeling lonely, awakened his parents from their heavy sleep, and spent the afternoon thinking and dreaming, till the sun sank low in the glory of the aureolin sky, and the robin's vesper trilled wistfully from the hawthorns on the fringe of the shadowed wood. becoming venturesome with the near approach of night, but still remembering the danger that had threatened him before the last period of his winter sleep, he lifted himself warily above the ground, and for a little while stayed near the mound of earth beside the door of his burrow. cramped from long disuse, every muscle in his body seemed in need of vigorous exertion, while with each succeeding breath of the cool twilight air his hunger and thirst increased. determined to find food and water, kweek started towards the copse. no beaten pathway guided his footsteps; wind and rain, frost and thaw, and the new, slow growth of the grass, had obliterated every trail. but by following the scent of the parent voles that had already stolen into the wood, he reached in safety the banks of the rill. having quenched his thirst, he scratched the soft soil from beneath a stone and satisfied his hunger with some succulent sprouts of herbage there exposed to sight. soon, tired from his unwonted exertion, and feeling great pain through having torn the pads of his feet--which, like those of all hibernating animals, had become extremely tender from want of exercise--he crept home to his burrow, and rested till the soreness had gone from his limbs, and he felt active and hungry again. for the vole, guided as he was by his appetite, the most wholesome vegetable food was a ripe, well-flavoured seed. it contained all that the plant could give; leaf and stalk were tasteless compared with it, and were accepted only as a change of diet, or as a medicine, or as a last resource. next to a seed, he loved a tender root, or a stem that had not yet thrust itself through the soil, and was therefore crisp and dainty to the taste. but the vole did not subsist entirely on vegetable food. occasionally, when the nights were warm, he surprised some little insect hiding in the moss, and pounced on his prey almost as greedily as the trout in the stream below the hill rose to a passing fly. and just as the cattle in the distant farm throve on grain and oil-cake, and the pheasant in the copse near by on wood-ants' "eggs," and the trout in the cerdyn brook on ephemerals hatched at the margin of the pool, so kweek, the field-vole, abroad in the nights of summer, grew sleek and well conditioned on good supplies of seeds and grubs. but now, worn out by long privation, he was tired and weak. gradually, from the bed of winter death, from the rotting leaf-mould and the cold, damp earth, the fresh, bright forms of spring arose. the purple and crimson trails of the periwinkle lengthened over the stones; then the spear-shaped buds, prompted by the flow of pulsing sap, lifted themselves above the glossy leaves and burst into flowers. the dandelion and the celandine peeped from the grass; the primrose garlanded each sunny mound on the margin of the wood; and the willow catkins, clothed with silver and pearly grey, waved in the moist, warm breeze as it wandered by the brook. the queen-ant, aroused by the increasing warmth, carried her offspring from the deep recess where, in her tunnelled nest, she had brooded over them while the north-east wind blew through the leafless boughs, and laid them side by side in a roomy chamber immediately beneath the stone that screened the spot to which, in the autumn dusk, the father vole resorted that he might watch and wait before the darkness deepened on the fields and woods. the bees from the hives in the farm garden, and innumerable flies from their winter retreats in the hedgerows, came eagerly to the golden blossoms of the furze near the bank-voles' colony. the bees alighted with care on the lower petals of the flowers, and thence climbed quickly to the hidden sweets; but the flies, heedless adventurers, dropped haphazard among the sprays, and were content to filch the specks of pollen dust and the tiny drops of nectar scattered by the honey-bees. a spirit of restlessness, of strife, of strange, unsatisfied desire, possessed all nature's children; it raised the primrose from amid the deep-veined leaves close-pressed on the carpet of the grass, it tuned the carols of the robin and the thrush, it caused the wild jack-hare to roam by daylight along paths which hitherto he had not followed save by night. kweek felt the subtle influence; long before dark he would venture from his home, steal through the "creeps," which had now become evident because of frequent "traffic," and visit the distant colonies of his kindred beyond the wood. of the flourishing community living in the burrow before the weasels' raid none survived but kweek and his parents. one night, however, the father vole, while foraging near the hedgerow, was snapped up and eaten by the big brown owl from the beech-wood across the valley. in the woodlands the greatest expert on the ways of voles was the brown owl. his noiseless wings never gave the slightest alarm, and never interfered with his sense of hearing--so acute that the faint rustle of a leaf or a grass-blade brought him, like a bolt, from the sky, to hover close to the earth, eager, inquisitive, merciless, till a movement on the part of his quarry sealed its doom. the mother vole, feeling lonely and more than ever afraid, wandered far away, and found another mate in a sleek, bright-eyed little creature inhabiting a roomy chamber excavated in the loose soil around a heap of stones on the crest of the hill. kweek, nevertheless, remained faithful to the place of his birth. though most of his time was spent near the colony beyond the wood, he invariably returned to sleep on the shapeless litter which was all that now remained of the neat, round nest in which he had been nursed. kweek's frequent visits to his kindred beyond the wood led to numerous adventures. every member of the colony seemed suddenly to have turned to the consideration of household affairs, and a lively widow-vole flirted so outrageously with bachelor kweek that, having at last fallen a victim to her persistent attentions, he was never happy save in her company. unfortunately a big ruffian mouse also succumbed to the widow's wiles, and kweek found himself awkwardly placed. he fought long and stubbornly against his rival, but, unequally matched and sorely scratched and bitten, was at last forced to rustle away in the direction of his burrow as quickly as his little feet could carry him. he slept off the effects of his exhaustion and the loss of a little blood and fur, then returned, stealthily, to his well-known trysting place, but found, alas! that his fickle lady-love had already regarded with favour the charms of the enemy. kweek caught a glimpse of her as she carried wisps of withered grass to a hole in the middle of the burrow, and at once recognised that his first fond passion had hopelessly ended. fortune continued to treat him unkindly: that night, while returning homewards, he was almost frightened out of his wits by the shrieks of some little creature captured by the cruel owl, and, immediately afterwards, a rabbit, alarmed by the same ominous sounds and bolting to her warren in the wood, knocked him topsy-turvy as he crouched in hiding among the leaves. these adventures taught him salutary lessons, and henceforth the confidence of youth gave place to extreme caution; he avoided the risk of lying near a rabbit's "creep," and was quick to discern the slightest sign, such as a shadowy form above the moonlit field, which might indicate the approach of the slow-winged tyrant of the night. among animals living in communities it is a frequent custom for a young male, if badly beaten in his first love episode by a rival, to elope with a new spouse, and seek a home at some distance from the scene of his defeat. kweek suffered exceedingly from his disappointment; it was a shock to him that he should be bullied and hustled at the very time when his passion was strongest and every prospect in his little life seemed fair and bright. for a time he dared not match himself against another of the older voles. but in an unimportant squabble with a mouse of his own age, he soon proved the victor, and, finding his reward in the favour of a young she-vole that had watched the quarrel from behind a grass-tuft, ran off with her at midnight to his old, deserted burrow in the pasture. after thoroughly examining the various galleries in the underground labyrinth, the fastidious little pair dug out a clean, fresh chamber at right angles to the main tunnel, and, contented, began in earnest the duties of the year. april came; and often, as he sat by his door, kweek watched the gentle showers sweep by in tall pillars of vapour through the moonbeams falling aslant from the illumined edges of an overhanging cloud, and through the shadows stretching in long, irregular lines between the fallow and the copse; and night after night the shadows near the copse grew deeper, and still deeper, as the hawthorn leaf-buds opened to the warmth of spring. the grass-spears lengthened; the moss spread in new, rain-jewelled velvet-pile over the pasture floor; the woodbine and the bramble trailed their tender shoots above the hedge; a leafy screen sheltered each woodland home; and even the narrow path from the field-voles' burrow to the corner of the copse led through a perfect bower of half-transparent greenery. the birds were everywhere busy with their nests in the thickets; sometimes, in the quiet evening, long after the moon had risen and kweek had ventured forth to feed, the robin and the thrush, perched on a bare ash-tree, sang their sweet solos to the sleepy fields; and, with the earliest peep of dawn, the clear, wild notes of the missel-thrush rang out over the valley from the beech-tree near the river. the rabbits extended their galleries and dug new "breeding earths" in their warren by the wood; and often, in the deep stillness of the night, the call-note of an awakened bird echoed, murmuring, among the rocks opposite the pines far down the slope. during the past few weeks great events had happened in the new-made chamber of the field-voles' burrow. hundreds of dry grass-bents, bleached and seasoned by the winter frosts and rains, had been collected there, with tufts of withered moss, a stray feather or two dropped from the ruined nest of a long-tailed titmouse in the furze, and a few fine, hair-like roots of polypody fern from the neighbouring thicket. and now, their nursery complete, four tiny, hairless voles, with disproportionate heads, round black eyes beneath unopened lids, wrinkled muzzles, and abbreviated tails--helpless midgets in form suggestive of diminutive bull-dog puppies--lay huddled in their tight, warm bed. it was a time of great anxiety for kweek. while his mate with maternal pride went leisurely about her duties, doing all things in order, as if she had nursed much larger families and foes were never known, he moved fussily hither and thither, visiting his offspring at frequent intervals during the night, creeping into the wood and back along his bowered path, scampering noisily down the shaft if the brown owl but happened to hoot far up in the glen, and doing a hundred things for which there was not the slightest need, and which only served to irritate and alarm the careful mother-vole. kweek inherited his timorous disposition from countless generations of voles that by their ceaseless watchfulness, had survived when others had been killed by birds and beasts of prey; and though, in his zeal for the welfare of his family, he often gave a false alarm, it was far better that he should be at all times prepared for the worst than that, in some unguarded instant, death should drop swiftly from the sky or crawl stealthily into his hidden home. during spring, more frequently than at any other season, death waited for him and his kindred--in the grass, in the air, in the trees along the hedge-banks, and on the summit of the rock that towered above the glen. vermin had become unusually numerous in the valley, partly because in the mild winter their food had been sufficient, and partly because the keeper, feeble with old age, could no longer shoot and trap them with the deadly certainty that had made him famous in his younger days. bold in the care of their young, the vermin ravaged the countryside, preying everywhere on the weak and ailing little children of nature. but fate was indulgent to kweek; though his kindred in the colony beyond the wood, and the bank-voles in the sheltered hollow near the pines, suffered greatly from all kinds of enemies, he and his mate still managed to escape unhurt. one night a fox, prowling across the pasture, caught sight of kweek as he hurried to his lair. suspicious and crafty, reynard paused at one of the entrances to the burrow, thrust his sharp nose as far as possible down the shaft, drew a long, deep breath, and commenced to dig away the soil from the mouth of the hole. suddenly changing his mind--perhaps because the scent was faint and he concluded that his labour would not be sufficiently repaid--he ceased his exertions and wandered off towards the hedge. next day a carrion crow, seeing the heap of earth that lay around the hole, and shrewdly guessing it to mean a treat in store, flew down from an oak-tree, and hopped sideways towards the spot. he peered inquisitively at the opening, waddled over to another entrance, returned, and listened eagerly. convinced that a sound of breathing came from midway between the two holes he had examined, he moved towards the spot directly above the nest, tapped it sharply with his beak, and again returned to listen near the entrance. but all his artifice was quite in vain; the voles would not bolt; they were not even inquisitive; so presently, baffled in his hopes of plunder, he moved clumsily away, stooped for an instant, and lifted himself on slow, sable pinions into the air. the mother vole, assisted in questionable fashion by meddlesome kweek, spent several hours of the following night in repairing the damage done by the fox. she drew most of the soil back into the shaft, and then, where it accumulated in the passage beneath, made the opening towards the inner chamber slightly narrower than before. soon, moistened and hardened by the constant "traffic" of tiny feet nearly always damp with dew, the mound of earth formed a barrier so artfully contrived that even a weasel might find it difficult to enter the gallery from the bottom of the shaft. iii. a barren hillside. living a secluded life in the pasture with his little mate, kweek escaped the close attention paid by the "vermin" to his kindred in the colony beyond the wood. the brown owl still remembered where he dwelt, but, loath to make a special nightly journey to the spot, seldom caused him the least anxiety. she seemed to content herself with a strict watch over the bank inhabited by the red voles, and over the fields on the far side of the copse, where the grey voles, notwithstanding that they supplied her with many a delicious supper, were becoming numerous. she awaited an almost certain increase among the "small deer" of the pasture, before commencing her raids on the grey voles there. as events proved, however, her patience was unrewarded. kweek's first experience in rearing a family ended disastrously. two of the nurslings died a few hours after birth; one, venturing from the nest too soon in the evening, was killed by a magpie; and two, while sitting out near the hedge, were trampled to death by a flock of sheep rushing, panic-stricken, at the sight of a wandering fox. by the middle of may, when another vole family of six had arrived, the number of vermin in the valley had perceptibly diminished. the old, asthmatic keeper in charge of the cerdyn valley died, and a younger and more energetic man from a neighbouring estate came to take his place. eager to gain the favour of his master by providing him good sport in the coming autumn, the new keeper ranged the woods from dawn till dusk, setting pole-traps in the trees, or baiting rabbit-traps in the "creeps" of stoat or weasel, and destroying nests, as well as shooting any furred or feathered creature of questionable character. the big brown owl from the beech-grove, the kestrel from the rock on the far side of the brook, the sparrow-hawk from the spinney up-stream, together with the weasels, the stoats, the cats, the jays, and the magpies--all in turn met their doom. a pair of barn-owls from the loft in the farm suffered next. these owls were great pets at the old homestead. for many years they had lived unmolested in their gloomy retreat under the tiles, and regularly at nightfall had flown fearlessly to and fro among the outbuildings, or perched on the ruined pigeon-cote watching for the rats to leave their holes. the farmer, less ignorant than the keeper, recognised the owls as friends, and treated them accordingly. they were his winged cats, and assisted to check the increase of a plague. like the brown owl, they knew well the habits of the voles; but their attention was diverted by the rats and the mice at the farm, and they seldom wandered far afield except for a change of diet or to stretch wings cramped by a long summer day's seclusion. the rats, however, were far from being exterminated; and so, when a little child who was all sunshine to his parents in the lonely homestead died from typhoid fever, the village doctor, fearing an epidemic, advised that the pests should be utterly destroyed. loath to use strychnine, since he knew that in a neighbouring valley some owls had died from eating poisoned rats, the farmer sought the aid of the village poachers, who, with their terriers and ferrets, thoroughly searched the stacks and the buildings. during the hunt it was noticed that about a score of rats took refuge in a narrow chamber under the eaves. the farmer, directing operations in another part of the yard, was unaware of what had occurred. the poachers, knowing nothing of the presence of the owls, pushed a terrier through the opening beneath the rafters of the loft, and blocked the hole with the rusty blade of a disused shovel. for a few moments the quick patter of tiny feet indicated that the terrier was busily engaged with his task; then cries of rage and terror came from the imprisoned dog, while with these cries were mingled the sounds of flapping wings. when at last the poachers unstopped the hole and dragged the terrier out, they found that every rat had been killed, and that the place was thickly strewn with the feathers of two dying owls. during the rest of the summer, kweek led a strangely peaceful life, having little to fear beyond an occasional visit from reynard, or from an astute old magpie that, evading with apparent ease the keeper's gun and pole-traps, lived on till the late autumn, when, before a line of beaters, he broke cover over some sportsmen waiting for their driven game. as soon as the leaves began to fall and exhausted nature longed for winter's rest, the burrow in the pasture became the scene of feverish activity. kweek was now the proud sire of five or six healthy families, and the grand-sire of many more. even the youngest voles were growing fat and strong; and, when the numerous members of the colony set about harvesting their winter stores, ripe, delicious seeds were plentiful everywhere along the margin of the wood. the winter was uniformly mild, with exception of one short period of great cold which brought a thorough, healthful sleep to the voles; and in the earliest days of spring, when the love-calls of chaffinches and tits were heard from almost every tree, kweek and his tribe resumed their work and throve amazingly. every circumstance appeared to favour their well-being. but for the fox, that sometimes crouched beside an opening to the burrow and snapped up an incautious venturer peeping above ground, a young sheep-dog, whose greatest pleasure in life seemed to be found in digging a large round hole in the centre of the burrow, and an adder, that stung a few of the weaklings to death, but found them inconveniently big for swallowing, the voles were seldom troubled. their numbers, and those of every similar colony in the neighbourhood, increased in such a fashion that, before the following autumn, both the pasture and the near ploughland were barren wastes completely honeycombed with their dwellings. every grass-root in the pasture was eaten up; every stalk in the cornfield was nibbled through so that the grain might be easily reached and devoured; and the root-crops--potatoes, turnips, and mangolds--on the far side of the cornfield were utterly spoiled; and in the hedgerows and the copse the leaves dropped from the lifeless trees, each of which was marked by a complete ring where the bark was gnawed away close to the ground. but capricious nature, as if regretting the haste with which she had brought into the world her destructive little children, and desiring, even at the cost of untold suffering and the loss of countless lives, to restore the pleasant cerdyn valley to its beauty of green fields and leafy woods, sent her twin plagues of disease and starvation among the voles, till, like the sapless leaves, they withered and died. and from far and near the hawks and the owls, the weasels, the stoats, and the foxes hastened to the scene. the keeper, at a loss to know whence they came, and not understanding the lesson he was being taught, bewailed his misfortune, but dared not stay their advent. at almost any hour of the day, five or six kestrels might be seen quartering the fields or hovering here and there among the burrows. and, long before dark, the stoats and the weasels, as if knowing that, fulfilling a special mission, they were now safe from their arch-enemy, the keeper, hunted their prey through the "trash" of the hedge-banks, or in and out of the passages underground. the farm labourers, in desperate haste, dug numerous pitfalls, wide at the bottom but narrow at the mouth, and trapped hundreds of the voles, which, maddened by hunger but unable to climb the sloping sides, attacked one another--all at last dying a miserable death. not only did the customary enemies of the voles arrive on the scene: nature called to her great task a number of unexpected destroyers--sea-gulls from the distant coast, a kite from a wooded island on a desolate, far-off mere, and a buzzard from a rocky fastness, rarely visited save by keepers and shepherds, near the up-country lakes. food had gradually become scarce even for the few hundred voles that yet remained. no longer were they to be seen at play together, in little groups, during the cool, hazy twilight, that, earlier in the year, shimmered like a wonderful afterglow on the mossy pasture-floor. now their only desire was for food and sleep. unnoticed by a passing owl, kweek, worn to a skeleton by sickness and privation, crawled from his burrow into the moonlight of a calm, clear autumn night, and lay in the shadow of the stone where the old male vole had watched and listened for the cruel "vear." a big blow-fly, attracted, with countless thousands of his kind, to the place of slaughter and decay, had gone to sleep on the side of the stone, and kweek, in a last desperate effort to obtain a little food, moved forward to secure his prize; but at that moment his strength failed him, his weary limbs relaxed, and the dull, grey film of death overspread his half-closed eyes. the owl, hearing a faint sound like the rustle of a dry grass-bent, quickly turned in her flight; then, slanting her wings, dropped to the ground, and presently, with her defenceless quarry in her talons, flew away towards the woods. the fox. i. the last hunt. a dark and wind-swept night had fallen over the countryside when reynard left the steep slope above the keeper's cottage, and stole through gorse and brambles towards the outskirts of the covert, where a narrow dingle, intersected by a noisy rill and thickly matted with brown bracken, divided the furze from some neighbouring pine-woods. for months nothing had occurred to disturb the peace of his woodland home. once, about a year ago, he had fled for his life before the hounds; and again, during the last autumn, while lying hidden in the ditch of the root-crop field above the pines, he had been surprised by two sheep-dogs that nipped him sorely before he could make good his escape. but at no other time had he been in evident peril, and so, though naturally cunning and suspicious, he had grown bolder, and better acquainted with the neighbourhood of cottage and farmstead than were certain members of his family living on the opposite side of the valley, among thickets hunted regularly, where guns and spaniels might be heard from early morning till close of day. here and there, as the fox crept stealthily among the blackthorns and the gorse-bushes, he stopped for a moment on the scent of a rabbit; but the night was not such as to induce bunny to remain outside her cosy burrow in the bank. he examined each "creep" in the tangled clumps along his way, and sometimes, resting on his haunches, sniffed the air and listened intently for any sign to indicate the presence of a feeding coney; but even the strongest taint was "stale," and no sound could be detected that might betray the whereabouts of any creature feeding in the grass. disappointed, the fox turned towards the uplands and crossed the hedgerow into the nearest stubble. louping leisurely along, he surprised and killed a sleeping lark. further on he crossed the scent of a hare, but puss was doubtless some distance away, feeding in a quiet corner of the root-crop field. reynard now instinctively made for the farmyard among the pines, trusting meanwhile that luck would befriend him. across the gap, by the side of the hedgerow, and through an open gateway, he went, seeking spoil everywhere, but finding none. with all his senses alert, he climbed the low wall around the yard, peeped into the empty cart-house, and stealthily approached an open shed. there, unluckily, the dogs were sleeping on a load of hay in the furthest corner. careful not to arouse his foes, the fox retreated, and, passing the pond at the bottom of the yard, moved silently towards another shed, in which, as he knew from a former visit, the poultry roosted. though the door was shut, an opening for the use of the fowls seemed to afford the possibility of success. with difficulty reynard managed to squeeze himself in, only, however, to no purpose. just beyond the door lay a loose coil of wire, brought home by the labourers after fencing and thrown here out of the way. the fox, fearing a trap, reluctantly abandoned his project, returned to the bank by the pond, and crept down the lane to a spot where the ducks were housed in a neat shelter built in the wall. but here he found everything securely fastened. at this moment a door of the farmstead creaked loudly, the light of a lantern flooded the yard, and the baffled marauder sprang over the wall and trotted across the field towards the wood. his pace soon slackened when he found himself free from pursuit; and before he reached the end of the meadow he had regained all his cool audacity and was busily planning a visit to the cottage at the foot of the dingle. hardly had his thoughts turned once more to hunting when fortune favoured him. a hen from the farmyard had laid her eggs in the hedgerow bordering the wood, and was brooding over them in proud anticipation of one day leading home a healthy family, thus causing an agreeable surprise to the farmer's wife. the fox almost brushed against her as he sprang over the hedge, and she paid to the utmost the penalty of indiscretion. after feasting royally on the eggs, the fox took up the dead bird, and moved slowly away through the trees towards his home. re-entering the covert, he was met by a prowling vixen that, in company with her four young cubs, inhabited an "earth" not many yards away. reckless through hunger and maddened by the scent of blood, she attacked him savagely, bullied him out of the possession of the dead fowl, and bore her prize away in triumph to her den. the fox endured his ill-treatment with the submission of a stoic--he happened to be the pugnacious vixen's mate, and the sire of her family. soon recovering from the chastisement, he set off, and skirted the covert as far as the cottage garden. finding the gate of the hen-coop closed, he sprang on the water-butt, climbed to the roof of the shed, and tried to enter the coop from above; but there, as at the farm, he feared a trap, and dared not creep beneath the loose wire netting overhanging the shed. as he jumped from the coop to the wall of the stye, he caught sight of several rats scampering to their holes. lying flat on the wall, he awaited patiently their re-appearance. at last one of them ventured out beneath the door of the cot, and was instantly killed. but, much to his chagrin, reynard found the carcass a decidedly doubtful tit-bit, and so, having conveyed it gingerly to the margin of the covert, he scratched a shallow hole among the rotting leaves, and buried his prey, that, perhaps, its flavour might improve with keeping. afterwards, till the sky lightened almost imperceptibly, and a steel-blue bar, low down beneath the clouds, first signalled the coming of day, he lay motionless among the undergrowth near a warren in the dingle. then an unsuspecting rabbit hopped out into the grass, and reynard, his watch rewarded, disappeared with his spoil into the wilderness of the gorse. dawn was breaking over the hills. blue smoke curled up into the sky from the lodge cottage at the foot of the tree-clad slope. the door of the cottage stood wide open, and the scent of the wood-fire hung on the chill, damp air filling the narrow lane. a blackbird flew into the apple-tree overlooking the thatch, shook the moisture from his wings, and cleaned his bright orange bill on a bough. then his full, reed-like music floated over the fields. the skylarks soared above the upland pastures, and a shower of song descended to the valley out of the pearl-blue haze just lifting in a cloud from the hill-top. presently the blackbird flew from the apple-tree to feed beside the hedge, and the larks dropped from the mist into the grass. but for the crackle of the cottage fire as the keeper busied himself with the preparation of his morning meal, and the rustle of a withered leaf as the blackbird moved to and fro in the ditch, not a sound disturbed the silence of the dawn. soon the haze lifted, leaving the dew thick on the grass by the ditch, and on the moss and the ivy in the hedgerow bank. the larks soared once more into the sky; a robin sang wistfully in the ash; a brown wren, with many a flick of her tiny wings and many a merry curtsy, hopped in and out among the trees, trilling loudly a gleeful carol. the tits flew hither and thither, twittering to each other as they flew. the hedge-sparrows' metallic notes sounded clear amid all the varied music, as the birds, moving among the hazels and gently flirting their wings, pursued their coy mates from bough to bough. through the raised curtain of the mist the sun--a white globe hardly too brilliant to be boldly looked at--illumined the dewy fields with its faint beams, till the cloud-streaked sky became a clear expanse, and the blue and brown countryside glowed with the splendour of a perfect morning. the wind changed and freshened, so that the call of a farm labourer to his team and the constant voice of the river were distinctly heard in the level valley below the wood. as the morning advanced, signs of unusual stir and bustle were apparent in the neighbourhood of the lodge. messengers came and went between the cottage and the mansion at the bend of the river, or between the mansion and the distant village. the keeper appeared at his door, and, after satisfying himself that the lane seemed clean and well-kept, walked off briskly in the direction of the "big house." scarlet-coated horsemen, and high-born maids and matrons, with all the medley of the hunt in their train, cantered along the winding road--a mirthful, laughter-loving company. there were the general, stout and inelegant, wont to take his fences carefully, who changed his weight-carrying mount thrice during the day, and liked a gateway better than a thorny hedge, and for the last fifteen years had never been in at the death; and his wife, the leader of fashion, but not yet the leader of the hunt; the major, an old shekarry from india, who still could ride as straight and fast as any man in the west; and his niece, the belle of the countryside, whose mettlesome hunter occasionally showed a sudden fondness for taking the bit between his teeth, and carrying his mistress, with reckless abandon, over furrow and five-barred gate and through the thickest hedgerow--anywhere, so long as he had breath and the music of the hounds allured him onward in his impetuous career. the sun glanced between the trees as they passed the cottage door. then came the magistrate's clerk, faultlessly attired, with florid face and glittering eyeglass, who, in an ambitious youth, finding his name too suggestive of plebeian blood, changed a vowel in it, and thereby gave an aristocratic flavour to the title of his partnership, and who acquired, with this new dignity, the taste for a monocle, a horse, and a good cigar. following were the members of the medley--the big butcher on his sturdy pony, the "dealer" on his black, raw-boned half-bred, the publican on his stolid old mare, farmers, drovers, after-riders, on cropped and uncropped mounts more accustomed to the slow drudgery of labour than to the rollicking, hard-going hunt; and after them the crowd on foot--village children, farm labourers, and apprentices from forge and counter. riding side by side, and earnestly conversing, were the "vet," whose horse at the last hunt bolted and left him clinging to a bough, and the shopkeeper, whose grave attire and sober mien seemed strangely out of keeping with the bright, hilarious throng. these were soon met by the main party from the meet, and hounds and hunters sped away in the direction of the hillside covert, while the onlookers adjourned to the uplands, whence an almost uninterrupted view of the valleys for miles around might be enjoyed, and the movements of the fox and his enemies followed more closely than from the hollows beneath the woods. reynard, abundantly satisfied with his supper of eggs and early breakfast of rabbit, was lying asleep in a tuft of grass at the top of the thicket when the huntsman passed down the dingle after the meet. awakened by the noise that reached him from below, he arose, stretched his limbs, and listened anxiously--the clatter of hoofs seemed to fill the valley. suddenly, from the outskirts of the wood, came the deep, sonorous note of a hound, followed by the sharp rebuke of the whipper-in; jollity, the keen-nosed puppy, was "rioting" on the cold scent near the stream. peering between the bushes, the fox could as yet see nothing moving in the covert, but a few minutes afterwards his sharp eye caught a glimpse of a hound leaping over the bank above the gorse, followed by another, and another, and yet another, till the place seemed alive with his foes. whither should he flee? the dingle was occupied; men and horses were everywhere in the lane; and the hounds were closing in above the gorse. the far side of the covert offered the only chance of escape, and thither he must hie, else the hounds, now pouring down the slope, would cut off his retreat. quickly he threaded his way through the gorse, by paths familiar only to himself and the rabbits, till he reached the bank by the willows; but, even while he ran, the full chorus of the hounds echoed from hillside to hillside, as, having "struck the line," they tore madly in pursuit. he reached the edge of the covert at a point furthest from his foes--then, as he crossed the meadow, a single red-coated horseman, standing sentinel far up the hillside, gave the "view-halloo," and over the brow of the slope streamed the main body of the hunt. it was at once evident to reynard that by skirting the margin of the covert he could not for the present escape, so he headed down-wind towards the opposite hill, hoping to find refuge in a well-known "earth" amid the thickets. to his surprise he found the entrance "stopped" with clods and prickly branches of gorse, and had perforce to continue his flight. having well out-distanced his pursuers, he stayed to rest for a while near the stream that trickled by the hedgerow; then, with the horrid music of the hounds again in his ears, he turned, by a long backward cast, in the direction of his home. but he was wholly unable to shake off his pursuers. for four long hours he was hustled from covert to covert, and hillside to hillside, finding no respite, no mercy, no sanctuary. breathless, mud-stained, footsore, and sick with fright, his draggling "brush" and lolling tongue betraying his distress, he sought at last the place he had long avoided, and, entering the mouth of the den where the vixen and her cubs were hiding, lay there, almost utterly exhausted. some minutes elapsed, during which no sound but that of his laboured breathing, and of the tiny sucklings busy by the side of the dam, disturbed the stillness. suddenly, a deep-voiced hound broke through the bushes and bayed loudly before the entrance. his fellow joined him, and their foreboding clamour reverberated in the chamber. terrified, the fox crawled slowly into the recess of the den. presently a shaggy terrier came down the tunnel, and bit him sorely on the flank. he scarcely had the courage to turn on the aggressor; but the enraged vixen, thrusting her mate aside, quickly routed the daring intruder, and followed his retreat to the very mouth of the "earth," where she turned back, threatened by the great hounds that stood without. but even the reckless courage of maternity was unavailing. soon the noise of blows and of falling earth was heard, as the passage was gradually opened by brawny farm labourers, working with spade and pick, and assisted in their task by the eager huntsman, who ever and anon thrust a long bramble-spray into the tunnel and thus ascertained the direction of its devious course. at last the tip of the fox's "brush" was seen amid the soil and pebbles that had fallen into the chamber. the huntsman had cut two stout hazel rods; these he now thrust into the hollow, one along either flank of the fox; then, grasping their ends firmly about the exposed tail, he drew poor reynard from his hiding place, and thrust him, defiant to the last, and with his teeth close-locked on one of the hazel rods, into an old sack requisitioned at the nearest farm. the vixen met a similar fate, while the sleek, furry little cubs, treated with the utmost gentleness, were wrapped together in the master's handkerchief and given to the care of an attendant. reynard's life was nearing its close. in the meadow behind the keeper's cottage the hounds were summoned by the huntsman's horn, and the bag was opened. the scene that followed marred, for some of us at least, the beauty of the bright march morning. the vixen and her cubs were carried away, and found a new home in an artificial "earth" prepared for their reception near a distant mansion. ii. a new home. when the vixen recovered from the excitement and distress consequent on her capture, she found herself in a commodious, well ventilated chamber, circular in shape and slightly above the level of two low and narrow passages leading into the covert. the sack had been opened at the entrance of one of these passages, and the vixen had crawled through the darkness till, finding further retreat impossible, she had lain down, with wildly beating heart, on the floor of her hiding place. her senses seemed to have forsaken her. had she dreamed? often, during the warm, quiet days of a bygone summer, while lying curled in a cosy litter of dry grass-bents--which she had neatly arranged by turning round and round, and with her sensitive black muzzle pressing or lifting into shape each refractory twig--she had dreamed of mouse-hunting and rabbit-catching; her body had moved, her limbs twitched, her ears pricked forward, and her nostrils quivered as the delightful incidents of past expeditions were recalled. and when, with a start, she had awakened, as some venturesome rabbit frisked by her lair, or a nervous blackbird, startled by her movements, made the woodlands ring with news of his discovery, she had retained for a moment the impressions of her vivid dreams. but never in her sleep had she been haunted by such a bewildering sense of mingled dread and anger, such an awful apprehension of the presence of men and hounds, as that which had recently possessed her. now, however, all was mysteriously tranquil; the full-toned clamour of the hounds and the sharp, snarling bark of the terriers had ceased; no longer was she confined and jostled in the stuffy, evil-smelling sack that yielded to, and yet restrained, her every frantic effort to regain liberty. her heart still beat violently, as though at any moment it might break; and she crept back towards the entrance, where she might breathe the free, fresh air. suddenly she realised, to the full, that the day's bitter experiences were not a dream--the scent of the human hand remained on her brush, her fur was damp and matted with meal-dust, and, alas! her little ones were missing from her side. she was furious now; at all risks she would venture forth on the long, straight journey back towards home; her helpless cubs might still be somewhere under the bushes--perchance in sore need of warmth and food, and whining for their dam. with every mothering instinct quickened, the vixen crept down the slanting passages in the direction of a faint moonlight glimmer beyond. reaching the end of the tunnel, she, in her impetuosity, thrust her muzzle into a mass of prickles--the "earth" had been stopped with a branch of gorse. baffled for the time, she returned to the central chamber; then cautiously, for her eyes and nostrils were smarting with pain, she tried the other outlet, but here, too, a gorse-bush baulked her exit. now, however, a faint, familiar scent seemed to fill the passage, some tiny creatures moved and whimpered, and, with almost savage joy, the vixen discovered her cubs, alive and unharmed, huddled together near the furze. quickly she carried them, one by one, into the chamber; then, lying beside the little creatures, which, though blind and helpless, eagerly recognised the presence of their mother, she gathered them between her limbs, covered them with her soft, warm brush, and, in a language used only amid the woodlands, soothed and comforted them, while they nestled once more beneath her sheltering care. when she had fed them and licked them clean from every taint of human touch, and when she had shaken herself free from dust and removed from her brush the man-scent left by the huntsman's right hand while "drawing" her, she became more collected in her mind and more contented with her strange, new situation. leaving her cubs asleep, she moved along the passage, determined, if possible, to explore the thickets in hope of finding a young rabbit or a few field-voles wherewith to satisfy her increasing hunger. the entrance was still blocked with furze, but just in the spot where she had found her cubs a couple of dead rabbits lay, and from one of these, though after much misgiving, she made a hearty meal. she endeavoured, but vainly, to dig a shallow trench in which to hide the rest of her provisions; the floor of the artificial "earth" was tiled, and only lightly covered with soil. her efforts to scratch out a tunnel around the furze-bush proved alike unavailing, so she returned to her cubs, lay down between them and the narrow opening from the chamber, and slept. that night and the following day were spent in drowsy imprisonment, till, towards the afternoon, the vixen began to feel the pangs of thirst and made fresh efforts to escape. as she was endeavouring to dislodge the tile nearest the furze, she heard the tramp of heavy feet and the sound of human voices. "they be nice cubs," said the "whip" to the huntsman; "as nice a little lot as ever i clapped eyes on. if only they can give us such a doing as the old vixen gave us twice last december, they'll pass muster. them gwyddyl valley foxes be always reg'lar fliers. their meat ain't got too easy-like; that's why, maybe, they're always in working order. any road, their flags o' distress (tongues) don't flop over their grinders without the hounds trim 'em hard on a straight, burning scent." "well, we'll give 'em a good start, whatever happens," replied the huntsman; "here's two more bunnies for the larder. if the old girl shifts her quarters, find out her new "earth," and feed her well. i shouldn't like to be near the guv'nor if the young uns turn out mangy when we hustle 'em about a bit in the autumn." the voices ceased, the furze-bushes were removed from the tunnel entrances, a cold, steady current of air filled the chamber and the passages, and the vixen knew that a way had been made for her escape. she was not, however, so foolhardy as to venture forth while the scent of her foes remained strong in the thicket; she lingered, in spite of extreme thirst, till the shadows of evening deepened perceptibly in her underground abode. when the vixen stole out into the grass, the pale moon was brightening in the southern sky, and a solitary star glimmered faintly above the tree-tops. a thrush sang his vesper from the bare branch of an oak near by, and a blackbird, startled by the sight of a strange form squatting beside the brambles, sounded his shrill alarm and dipped across the clearing towards a clump of blackthorn bushes. as soon as she heard the blackbird's warning, the vixen vanished; but, presently reappearing, she trotted across the open space and sat beneath the thorns. for some minutes she remained motionless in the dark patch of shadow, listening intently; then, passing slowly down a narrow path, she reached a trickling streamlet that fell with constant music from stone to stone between luxuriant masses of moss and lichen; and there, at a gravelly pool among the boulders, she cautiously stooped to drink. with exceeding care, she now proceeded to make a thorough inspection of the covert. the night was so calm and bright that the rabbits were feeding everywhere on the margin of the thickets, but the vixen passed them by with nothing but a casual glance; her mind, for the present, was not concerned with hunting. after skirting the covert, she turned homewards by a pathway through the trees. at the end of the path she paused, with head bent low and hackles ruffled along the spine--the scent of another vixen lay fresh on the ground. the peculiar taint told her a complete story. the strange vixen was soon to become a mother, and probably, in anticipation of the event, inhabited an "earth" close by. casting about like an experienced hound, she picked up the trail, and followed it into a great tangle of heather, brambles, and fern, where the scent led, by many a devious turn, to the spreading roots of a beech, beneath which a disused rabbit warren had been prepared for the little strangers presently to be brought into the world. the dwelling place was empty. retracing her steps as far as the spot where first she had struck the trail, then turning sharply towards the clearing, the crafty creature hastened back to the "earth," determined to remove her cubs without delay to the newly discovered abode. one by one she bore her offspring thither, holding them gently by the loose skin about their necks, and housed them all before the dispossessed tenant returned from a slow and wearisome night's hunting. the evicted vixen, seeking to enter her home, speedily recognised that in her distressed condition she was no match for her savage, active enemy, and so, reluctantly retiring, took up her quarters in the artificial "earth." henceforth, through all the careless hours of infancy, till summer ended and the nights gradually lengthened towards the time of the hunter's moon, the stillness of the woodlands was never broken by the ominous note of the horn, or by the dread, fascinating music of the hounds in full cry. three of the cubs grew stout and strong, but the fourth was a weakling--whether from injury at the hands of the huntsman or from some natural ailment was not to be determined. he died, and mysteriously disappeared, on the very day when the rest of the cubs first opened their eyes in the dim chamber among the roots of the beech. vulp was the only male member of the happy woodland family. his indulgent sisters tolerated his bouncing, familiar manners as if they were born to be his playthings--he was so serious and yet so droll, so stupidly self-assertive and yet so irresistibly affectionate! he seemed to take his pleasures sadly, wearing, if such be possible to a fox, an air of melancholy disdain; and yet his beady eyes were ever on the lookout for mischief, and for the chance of a helter-skelter romp with his sisters round and round the chamber, or to the entrance of the "earth," where the sprouts of the green grass and the flowers of the golden celandine sparkled as the sunlight of the fresh spring morning flickered between the trees. as yet, vulp was unacquainted with the wide, free world. it seemed very wonderful and awe-inspiring, as he sat by the mouth of the tunnel in the shadow of an arching spray of polypody and, for sheer lack of something better to do, half lifted himself on his hind-legs to rub his lips against the edge of a fern, or to peep, with a feeling that his whereabouts were a secret, between the drooping fronds. his mother restrained his rashness; once, when he actually thrust his head beyond the ferns, she with a stern admonition warned him of his mistake; and he promptly withdrew to her side, frightened at his own boldness, but grunting in well assumed defiance of the imagined danger from which he had fled. this, in fact, was the first lesson learned--that a certain sign from the vixen meant "no," and that disobedience was afterwards punishable according to the unwritten laws of woodland life. another sign that he learned to obey meant "come." it was a low, deep note, gentle and persuasive; and directly vulp heard it he would hasten to his mother to be not only fed but also cleansed from every particle of dirt. such toilet operations were not always welcome to the youngsters, and were sometimes vigorously resented. but the vixen had a convincing method of dealing with any refractory member of her family; she would hold the cub firmly between her fore-feet while she continued her treatment, or administered slight, well-judged chastisement by nipping her wayward offspring in some tender spot, where, however, little harm could be the result. the cubs were ten days old when they opened their eyes, but more than three weeks passed before they were allowed beyond the threshold of their home. then, one starlight night, their mother, having returned from hunting, awoke them, and, withholding their usual nourishment, gave the signal "come." the obedient little family followed her along the dark passage, and ventured, close at her heels, into the grass-patch in the middle of the briar-brake. vulp was slightly more timid than his sisters were; even at that early age he showed signs of independence and distrust. while the other cubs played "follow-my-leader" with the dam, he hung back, hesitating and afraid. even an unusual show of affection by his mother failed to reassure him. a rabbit dodged quickly across a path, and immediately he stood rigid with fright. hardly had he recovered before an owl flew slowly overhead. enough! he paused, motionless, till the awful presence had disappeared; then darted, with astonishing speed, straight towards the "earth," and vanished, with a ridiculously feeble "yap" of make-believe bravado, into the darkness of the den. confidence, however, came and increased as the days and the nights went by, till, at the close of a week's experiences, vulp was as bold in danger as either of his playmates. he learned to trust his mother implicitly, and, in her absence, became the guardian of the family when some fancied alarm brought fear. he was always last in learning his lessons; but, as if to make amends, he always profited most by the teaching. happy, indeed, were those hours of innocence--filled with sleep, and love, and play. till vulp was six weeks old, he was wholly unconscious of that ravenous hunger for flesh which was fated to make him the scourge of the woodlands. nevertheless, his instincts were slowly developing, and so, when on a second occasion the old buck rabbit that had frightened him in the thicket bolted before his eyes across the path, the little fox bristled with rage and, but for his mother's presence, would doubtless have tried to pursue the exasperating coney. invariably, when the night was fine, the cubs gambolled about the vixen on the close-cropped sward beyond the den, climbing over her body, pinching her ears, growling and grunting, tugging at each other's brushes, and in general behaving just as healthy, happy fox-cubs might be expected to behave; while the patient, careful mother looked on approvingly--save when, uniting in one strong effort, they endeavoured to disjoint her tail by pulling it over her back--and smiled, as only a fox can smile, with eyes asquint and a single out-turned fang showing white beside the half-closed lip. a great event occurred when the mother first brought home her prey that she might educate her youngsters in the matter of appetite and prepare them for an independent existence. the victim was an almost full-grown rabbit. laying it down close to the entrance of the "earth," the vixen called her cubs, and instantly they rushed from the den, tumbling over each other in their haste, till they gained the spot where she was waiting. at that moment, however, they caught sight of the strange grey object in the grass, and, leaping back, bolted round to their mother's side. then, feeling safe under her care, they cautiously advanced in a row to sniff the rabbit, and wondered, yet instinctively guessed, at the meaning of the situation. the vixen growled, and, picking up her prey, carried it to the bramble-clump. the cubs followed, making all sorts of curious noises in mimicking their dam, and evincing the utmost inquisitiveness as to the reason of her unexpected conduct. presently, having succeeded in arousing their inborn passion for flesh, the vixen resorted to a neighbouring mound, and left her offspring in possession of the dead animal, on which they immediately pounced, tooth and nail. how terribly in earnest they became, how bold and reckless in their vain attempt to demolish the subject of their wrath! vulp fastened his needle-like teeth in the throat, and each of his sisters gripped a leg, while together they jerked, strained, scolded, and threatened, till the mother, fearing lest the commotion would betray their whereabouts to some lurking foe, rated her noisy progeny and in anger drove them away. but as soon as she had gone back to her seat among the grass-bents, the youngsters returned to their work. anyhow, anywhere, they hurled themselves on the dead creature, sometimes biting each other for sheer lack of knowing exactly what else they should bite, and sometimes simply for the excitement of a family squabble. at last, their unwonted exertions began to tire them; then the careful vixen, desirous of bringing the lesson to its close, "broke up" her prey and divided it among her hungry children. they fed daintily, choosing from each portion no more than a morsel, and soon afterwards, exhausted by excitement and fatigue, and forgetful of their differences, were fast asleep, huddled together as usual in the roomy recess of the den. for a while the vixen remained to satisfy her hunger; then, having buried a few tit-bits of her provender, she also retired to rest; and silence brooded over the woodlands till the break of day set every nesting bird atune. the vixen proved to be an untiring teacher, and the education of the cubs occupied a part, at least, of every night. the young foxes were growing rapidly, and accompanied their dam in her wanderings about the thickets. she never went far afield, food being easily procured at that time of year, particularly as in a certain spot additional supplies for the larder were frequently forthcoming because of the vigilance of the huntsman, whose one desire was to fit the cubs to match his hounds in the first "runs" of the coming season. iii. the cub and the polecat. the young fox's education, varied and thorough, steadily proceeded. though the vixen-cubs were slightly quicker to learn, they were more excitable, and consequently did not benefit fully by each lesson. vulp soon began to hunt for his own sport and profit. in the meadow above the wood he would sit motionless, his eyes fixed on the ground, till the voles came from their burrows to play beneath the grass-bents; then, with a quick rush, he would secure a victim directly its presence was betrayed by a waving stalk. with the same patience he would watch near a rabbit warren, till one of the inhabitants, hopping out to the mound before her door, gave him the sure chance of a kill. but in the wheat-fields on the slope his methods were altogether different. to capture partridges required unusual cunning and skill, and such importance did the vixen attach to this branch of her field-craft, that, before initiating her youngsters into the sport of hunting these birds at night, she instructed them diligently in the methods of following by scent, training them how to pursue the winding trail left by the larks that fed at evening near their sleeping places, or by the corncrakes that wandered babbling through the green wheat. vulp's first attempt to capture a partridge chick resulted in failure. the vixen-cubs "fouled" the line he had patiently picked out in the ditch around the cornfield, and, "casting" haphazard through the herbage, alarmed the sleeping birds, and sent them away to a secure hiding place in the clover. but his second attempt was crowned with success, and he proudly carried his prey into a sequestered nook amid the gorse, where he enjoyed a quiet meal. the cub was fully six months old before he knew the precise difference between stale and fresh scent, or between the scent of one creature and that of another, and how to hunt accordingly; and several years, with many dangers and hair-breadth escapes, were destined to pass before he became expert in avoiding or baffling the numerous enemies--chiefly dogs, and men, and traps--that threatened his life. and yet, during the first few months of his existence, he gained sufficient knowledge for the needs of the moment; and when august drew on towards the close of the summer, and he was three parts grown, he had so extended his nightly rambles that the "lay of the land" was familiar for miles around the covert. his outdoor existence--for now he was wont to sleep in a lair among the gorse and the bracken, instead of in the stuffy "earth"--gave him strength in abundant measure, while his scrupulously clean habits, the care with which he removed even the slightest trace of a burr from his sleek, brown coat, and the plentiful supplies of fresh food which he was able to obtain, naturally preserved him from mange and similar ailments to which carnivorous animals are always prone. for the present, indeed, life meant nothing more to him than the sheer enjoyment of vigorous health, at home by day amid the grateful shadows of the bushes and the trees, or basking in the sun, and abroad at night in the cold, clear air of the dewy uplands. just as sportsmen occasionally meet with a run of ill-luck, when for some apparently unaccountable reason they either fail to find game, or fail to kill it, and, to intensify the annoyance, an accident occurs that leaves a bitter memory, so vulp, during one of his long rambles over the countryside, failed entirely to find sport, and gained a decidedly unpleasant experience. if only his mother had not taught him that in a season of scarcity a weasel might reasonably be considered an article of food! one summer night, as he started on his usual prowl, the covert seemed strangely silent. with the exception of a solitary rabbit that bolted to its burrow when the young fox crossed the clearing, and another that disappeared in similar fashion when nothing more than a slight crackle of a leaf betrayed vulp's whereabouts near a bramble-clump, every animal had apparently deserted the thickets. so, leaving his accustomed haunts, he crossed the furze-clad dingle, and watched near a large warren in the open. but there, again, not a rabbit could be seen. a field-vole rustled by over the leaves; the cub made a futile effort to capture it, stood for an instant listening to its movements, then thrust his nose into the herbage in another vigorous but vain attempt; the vole, like the rabbits, had sought refuge underground. an owl, that had frightened the cub about five months before when first he ventured outside his home, rose from the hedge, and flew slowly down the valley with a little squealing creature in her talons; she, at any rate, had not hunted in vain. at last vulp struck a fresh line of scent which, though particularly strong and uninviting, he took to be that of a weasel. it was mingled with the faint odour of a field-vole that, doubtless, had been pursued and carried away by its persistent enemy. the cub followed the trail, hoping to secure both hunter and victim, but it soon led him to a hole in the hedgerow, and there abruptly ceased. he was about to turn from the spot, when the eyes of the supposed weasel suddenly gleamed at the mouth of the hole, but disappeared when the presence of the cub was recognised. the fox, retreating to a convenient post of observation behind a tuft of grass, settled down to await his opportunity. a few minutes elapsed, and the pursued creature came once more in sight. it appeared like a shadow against the sky, lifted its nose inquiringly, quitted the burrow, sat bolt upright for a moment, then, reassured, proceeded towards the covert on the opposite side of the path. with a single bound, the cub cleared the grass-tuft, reached out at his prey, missed his grip, bowled the animal over, and, turning rapidly, caught it across the loins instead of by the throat. unfortunately for himself, the fox had made a slight miscalculation. with a scream of rage and pain, the polecat--for such the creature proved to be--turned on the aggressor, and instantly fastened its formidable teeth, like a steel trap, on his muzzle. vulp had been taught that his fangs, also, were a trap from which there should be no escape, and so he held on firmly, trying meanwhile to shake the life from his victim. he pressed the polecat to the ground, and frantically endeavoured to disengage its hold by thrusting his fore-paws beneath its muzzle; but every effort alike was useless. a scalding, acrid fluid emitted by the polecat caused the lips and one of the eyes of the cub to smart unbearably, and the offensive odour of the fluid grew stronger and stronger, till it became almost suffocating. at last the polecat convulsively trembled as its ribs and spine were crushed in the fox's tightening jaws, its teeth relaxed their hold, and the fight was over. sickened by the pungent smell, and with muzzle, lips, and right eye burning horribly from his wounds and the irritant poison, vulp hastily dropped his prey, and ignominiously bolted from the scene of the encounter. soon, however, he stopped; the pain in his eye seemed beyond endurance. he tried to rub away the noxious fluid with his paws, but his frantic efforts only increased the irritation by conveying the poison to his other eye and to his wounds. he rolled and sneezed and grunted in torment; he drew his muzzle and cheeks to and fro on the ground, wrestling with the great earth-mother for help in direst agony. he could not open his eyes; he stumbled blindly against a tree-trunk, and at last became entangled in the prickly undergrowth. this was nature's method of succour--she forced her wildling to remain quiet, in helpless exhaustion, till the pain subsided and life could once again be endured. panting and sick, the cub lay outstretched among the thorns, while the tears flowed from his eyes and the froth hung on his lips. presently, however, relieved by the copious discharge, he recovered his senses, and, miserably cowed, with head and brush hanging low, returned before dawn to the covert. but the vixen in fury drove the cub away; the scent still clung to him, and rendered him obnoxious even to his mother. in shame he retired to a dense "double" hedge of hawthorn, where he hid throughout the day, till he could summon sufficient courage at dusk to hunt for some dainty morsel wherewith to tempt his sickened appetite. but before taking up his position above the entrance to a rabbit warren, he drank at the brook, dipped his tainted fore-paws in the running water, and, sitting by the margin, removed from his face, as far as possible, the traces left by the previous night's conflict. repeatedly, at all hours of the day and the night, he licked his paws and with them washed his wounded muzzle and inflamed eyes; but so obstinately did the offensive odour cling to him that a fortnight elapsed before the last vestige of the nuisance disappeared. meanwhile, he narrowly escaped the mange; and, to add to the discomfort of his wounds, he experienced, now that his mother's aid was lacking, some difficulty in obtaining sufficient fresh food. at length he recovered, and new, downy hair clothed the wounds and the scratches on his muzzle and throat. sleek and strong once more, he was welcomed as a penitent prodigal by the relenting vixen, and, having in the period of his solitary wanderings learned much about the habits of the woodland folk, was doubtless able to assist his mother in the future training of the vixen-cubs. in that luckless fortnight he had acquired a taste for young pheasants, had picked up a few fat pigeon-squabs belonging to the last broods of the year, and had sampled sundry articles of diet--frogs, slugs, snails, a young hedgehog or two, and a squirrel that, overcome with inquisitiveness, descended from the tree-tops to inspect the young fox as he dozed among the bilberries carpeting the forest floor. another incident occurred, to which, at the time, the cub attached considerable importance. he had killed what seemed to be a large, heavy rabbit, which, though evidently possessed of a healthy appetite, was almost scentless, and differed in taste from any he had hitherto captured. he was not particularly hungry, so he buried the insipid flesh, and resolved never to destroy another rabbit that did not yield a full, strong scent. shortly afterwards, when, under the eye of the bright august moon, vulp and the vixen were hunting in the wheat-fields, he detected a similarly weak scent along the hedgerow, and learned from his wise mother it was that of a doe-hare about to give birth to her young, and therefore hardly worth the trouble of following. the vixen further explained that, except when other food was scarce, creatures occupied, or about to be occupied, with maternal cares--even the lark in the furrow and the willow-warbler in the hole by the brook--were far less palatable than at other times. the cub was also told how, just before he came into the world, the hounds had chased his mother from the thicket, and how old reveller, the leader of the pack, had headed the reckless puppies, and, rating them for their discourtesy, had led them away to scour another part of the covert. with the advance of autumn, a great change passed over the countryside. the young fox now found it necessary to choose his paths with care as he wandered through the darkness, lest the rabbits should be warned of his approach by the crisp rustle of his "pads" on the leaves that had fallen in showers on the grass. hitherto he had associated the presence of man with that of something good for food. an occasional dead rabbit was still to be found near the old "earth," and, strange to relate, the man-scent leading to the place was never fresher or staler than that of the rabbit. in another spot--a wood-clearing not far from the keeper's lodge--the strong scent of pheasants always seemed to indicate that the birds had ventured thither in numbers to feed, and there, too, the man-scent was strong on the grass. the tracks of innumerable little creatures intersected the clearing in all directions, and, if but for the sport of watching the pheasants, the pigeons, the sparrows, and the voles playing and quarrelling in the undergrowth or partaking of the food provided by the keeper, the fox loved to lurk in the gorse near by. he evinced little real alarm even at the sight of man, though he felt a misgiving and instinctively knew that he must hide or keep at a distance till the curiously shaped monster had gone. the vixen warned him repeatedly; and she herself, after giving the signal "hide!" would slink away, and wander for miles before returning to her family, if only the measured footfall of a poacher or a farm labourer sounded faintly through the covert. but soon the young fox learned, in a way not to be misunderstood, that the presence of man meant undoubted danger. one day in october, as he was intently watching the movements of a sportsman in the copse, a big cock pheasant rose with a great clatter from the brambles, a loud report rang through the covert, and a shaggy brown and white spaniel dashed yelping into the bushes. darting impetuously from his lair, the cub easily out-distanced the dog, and quickly found refuge in an adjoining thicket, where he remained in safety during the rest of the day. night brought him another adventure. while crossing a pasture towards a wooded belt on the hillside, he discovered, to his surprise, that a man was creeping stealthily towards him through the shadows. a moment later, a great lurcher came bounding over the field. the fox turned, made for the hedgerow, and gained the friendly shelter of the hawthorns just as the dog crashed into the ditch. the frightened creature now ran along the opposite side of the hedge in a straight line towards the wood, and for a second time narrowly escaped the lurcher's teeth; but, by keeping close to the ditch and among the prickly bushes on the top of the hedge-bank, he at last succeeded in baffling his long-legged foe and reached the wood unharmed. vulp had thus awakened to the dangers which, during winter and the earliest days of spring, were always to beset him. but the apprehensions caused by his little affair with the spaniel, and even by his narrow escape from the lurcher, were trifling compared with the dread and distress of being driven for hours before the hounds. and so full of perils was the first winter of his life that nothing but a combination of sheer luck with great endurance could then have sufficed to save him from destruction. quickly, one after the other, the young vixens were missing from the thickets; soon afterwards, three of the cubs belonging to the litter that had been reared in the artificial "earth" disappeared; and an old fox, the sire of that litter, was killed after a long, wearisome chase almost to the cliffs on the distant coast. one dark and dismal night in december, vulp, on returning to the home thickets, failed to find his dam. her trail was fresh; she had evidently escaped the day's hunt; but all his efforts to follow her met with no sort of success. nature had brought about a separation; in the company of an adult fox, whose scent lay also on the woodland path, the vixen had departed from her haunts. the fox-cub remained, however, among the woodlands where he had learned his earliest lessons, and, for another year, hunted and was hunted--a vagrant bachelor. iv. a cry of the night. one starlit night, when in early winter the snow lay thick on the ground, vulp heard the hunting call of a vixen prowling through the pines. a similar call had often reached his ears. not long after his dam deserted him, the cry had come from a furze-brake on a neighbouring hill-top, and, hastening thither, he had wandered long and wearily, recognising, though with misgiving, his mother's voice. but the exact meaning of the call, not being a matter for his mother's teaching, was unknown to him at the time. now, however, he was a strong, well fed, fully developed fox, able to hold his own against all rivals, and the cry possessed for him a strange, new significance: "the night is white; man is asleep; i hunt alone!" almost like a big brown leaf he seemed to drift across the moonlit snow, nearer and nearer to the pines. he paused for a moment to sniff the trail; then, with a joyous "yap" of greeting, he bounded over the hedge, reached the aisles of the wood, and gambolled--again like a big, wind-blown leaf--about the sleek, handsome creature whose call he had heard. the happy pair trotted off to hunt the thickets, till, just before dawn, vulp, eager to show his skill and training, surprised two young rabbits sitting beneath a snow-laden tangle of briar and gorse, and gallantly shared the spoil with his woodland bride. they feasted long and heartily, afterwards journeying to the banks of a rill, that, like a black ribbon, flowed through the glen; and there, crouching together at the margin, they lapped the water with eager, thirsty tongues. presently, happening to glance behind along the line of the trail, vulp caught sight of another fox, a rival for the vixen's affections, crouching in some bracken scarcely a dozen yards away. with a low grunt of rage, he dashed into the fern, but the watchful stranger simply moved aside, and frisked towards the vixen as she still crouched at the edge of the stream. in response to this insulting defiance, vulp hurled himself on the intruder, and bowled him over into the snow. the fight was fast and furious; now one gained the advantage, then the other. the grass beneath them became gradually bared of snow by their frantic struggles, and marked here and there by a bunch of fur or a spot of blood. at last the rival fox, his cheek torn badly beneath the eye, showed signs of exhaustion; his breath came in quick, loud gasps; and vulp, pressing the attack, forced him to flee for life to a thicket on the brow of the slope. there he dwelt and nursed his wounds, till, when the snow melted, the huntsman's "in-hoick, in-hoick, loo-loo-in-hoick!" resounded in the coverts, and he was routed from his lair for a last, half-hearted chase, that ended as melody pulled him down at a ford of the river below the woods. during the period of their comradeship--a period of privation for most of nature's wildlings--vulp taught the vixen much of the lore he had learned from his mother, while the vixen imparted to him the knowledge she herself had gained when a cub. he taught her how to steal away from the covert along the rough, rarely trodden paths between the farm-labourers' cottages--where the scent lay so badly that the hounds were unable to follow--directly the first faint notes of a horn, or the dull thud of galloping hoofs, or the excited whimper of a "rioting" puppy, indicated the approach of enemies. she taught him to baffle his foes by chasing sheep across the stubbles, and then passing through a line of strong scent where his own trail could not readily be distinguished; also that to cross the river by leaping from stone to stone in the ford was as sure a means of eluding pursuit as to swim the pools and the shallows. he taught her, when hard pressed, to leap suddenly aside from her path, run along the top rail of a fence, return sharply on her line of scent, and follow, with a wide cast, a loop-shaped trail, which, with a tangent through a ploughed field or dry fallow, was usually sufficient to check pursuit till the scent became faint and cold. and gradually each of these woodland rovers grew acquainted with the peculiar whims and habits of the other. vulp loved to follow stealthily the trail of the rabbit, and then to lie in wait till some imagined cause of alarm sent bunny back through the "creep" and almost straight into her enemy's open jaws. the vixen preferred to hide in the brambles to leeward of a burrow till an unsuspecting rabbit crept out into the open. vulp, since his adventure with the polecat, bristled with rage whenever he crossed the track of a weasel, but never dreamed of following; polecat and weasel were the same animal for aught he knew to the contrary. the vixen, however, was not daunted by the unpleasant memory of any such adventure; having chanced to see a weasel in the act of killing a vole, she had recognised a rival and acted accordingly. and so vulp's repeated warnings to his mate on this matter produced no effect beyond making her slightly more careful than she had hitherto been to obtain a proper grip when she pounced on her savage little quarry. the vixen was exceedingly fond of snails, and would eagerly thrust a fore-paw into the crannies of any old wall or bank where they hibernated; but vulp much preferred to scratch up the moss in a deserted gravel-pit, and grub in the loosened soil for the drowsy blow-flies and beetles that had chosen the spot for their winter abode. this was the reason for such different tastes: the vixen, when a cub, had often basked in the sun near a snails' favourite resort, and had there acquired a liking for the snails; while the fox, on the other hand, had times out of number amused himself, in the first summer of his life, by leaping and snapping at the flies as they buzzed among the leaves when the mid-day sun was hot, and at the beetles as they boomed along the narrow paths in the thicket near the "earth" when the moon rolled up above the hedge, and the dark, mysterious shadows of intersecting boughs foreshortened on the grass. but vulp knew well, from an unpleasant experience, the difference between a fly and a wasp. one day in august, as he lay in his outdoor lair, the brightness and heat of the sunshine were such that his eyes, blinking in the drowsiness of half-awakened slumber, appeared like mere slits of black across streaked orbs of yellow, and gave no indication of the fiery glow that lit the round, distended pupils when he peered at nightfall through the tangled undergrowth. his tongue lolled out, and he panted like a tired hound, but from thirst rather than weariness. the flies annoyed him greatly, now settling on his brush, till with a flick of his paw he drove them away, then, nothing daunted, alighting on his back, his ears, his haunches, till his fur wrinkled and straightened in numberless uneasy movements from the tormenting tickling of the little pests. presently, with a shrill bizz of rapid wings, a large, yellow-striped fly passed close to his ears. he struck down the tormenting insect with a random flip of his paws, snapped at it to complete the work of destruction, and proceeded leisurely to eat his victim. to his utter surprise, he seemed to have captured a living, angry thorn, which, despite his most violent efforts to tear it away with his paws, stuck in his lip, and produced a smarting, burning sensation that was intolerable. he rolled on the ground and rubbed his muzzle in the grass, but to no purpose. no wonder, then, that subsequently his manner towards an occasional hibernating wasp among the moss-roots in the gravel-pit was deferential in the extreme! vulp and his mate soon learned that in rabbit-hunting it was exceedingly profitable to co-operate. thus, while the vixen "lay up" near a warren, vulp skirted the copse and chased the conies home towards his waiting spouse. after considerable practice, the trick paid handsomely, and food was seldom lacking. the vixen possessed, perhaps, a slightly more delicate sense of smell than the fox. frequently she scented a rabbit in a clump of fern or gorse after vulp had passed it by; suddenly stopping, she would tell her lord of her discovery by signs he readily understood, and then, while he kept outside the tangle, would pounce on the coney in its retreat, or start it helter-skelter into his very jaws. but of all the tricks and the devices she taught him, the chief, undoubtedly, were those concerned with the capture of hens and ducks from a neighbouring farmstead. an adult fox, as a rule, does not pay frequent visits to a farmstead; but vulp, like his sire, was passionately fond of poultry, and so, in after years, the vixen's instructions caused him to become the dread of every henwife in the district. undoubtedly he would have been shot had he not been the prize most sought for by the master of the hounds, who cared little for the frequent demands made on his purse by the cottagers, so long as the fox that slaughtered the poultry gave abundant sport when running fast and straight before the pack. the months drifted by, and signs of spring became more and more abundant in the valley. about the beginning of march, vulp deserted the "earth" prepared by himself and the vixen for their prospective family, and took up his abode among the hazels and the hawthorns in a thick-set hedge bounding the woods. in preparing the "breeding earth," vulp and the vixen observed the utmost care in order that its whereabouts should not be discovered. the chosen site was a shallow depression, scratched in the soil by a fickle-minded rabbit that had ultimately fixed on another spot for her abiding place. this depression was enlarged; a long tunnel was excavated as far as the roots of an oak, and there broadened. then another long tunnel was hollowed out towards the surface, where it opened in the middle of a briar-brake. the foxes worked systematically, digging away the soil with their fore-paws, loosening an occasional stubborn stone or root with their teeth, and thrusting the rubbish behind them with their powerful hind-legs. as it accumulated, they turned and pushed it towards the mouth of the den, where at last a fair-sized mound was formed. when the burrow had been opened into the thicket, the crafty creatures securely "stopped" the original entrance, so that, when the grass sprouted and the briar sprays lengthened in the woodlands, the "earth" would escape all notice, unless a prying visitor penetrated the thicket and discovered the second opening--then, of course, the only one--leading to the den. when summer came, and the undergrowth renewed its foliage, and the grass and the corn grew so tall and thick that vulp could roam unseen through the fields, he left his haunts amid the woodlands at the first peep of dawn, and as long as daylight lasted lay quiet in a snug retreat amid the gorse. there all was silent; no patter of summer rain from leaves far overhead, no rustle of summer wind through laden boughs, prevented him hearing the approach of a soft-footed enemy; no harsh, mocking cry of jay or magpie, bent on betraying his whereabouts, gave him cause for uneasiness and fear. of all wild creatures in the fields and woods, he detested most the meddlesome jay and magpie. if he but ventured by day to cross an open spot, one of these birds would surely detect and follow him, hopping from branch to branch, or swooping with ungainly flight almost on his head, meanwhile hurling at him a thousand abuses. unless he quickly regained his refuge in the gorse, the blackbirds and the thrushes would join in the tantalising mockery, till it seemed that the whole countryside was aroused by the cry of "fox! fox!" after such an adventure, it needed the quiet and solitude of night to restore his peace of mind; and even when he had escaped the din, and lay in his couch among the bleached grass and withered leaves, his ears were continually strained in every direction to catch the least sound of dog or man. when in the winter he ran for life before the hounds, and tried by every artifice to baffle his pursuers, these "clap-cats" of the woods would jeer him on his way. once, when he ventured into the river, and headed down-stream, thinking that the current would bear his scent below the point where he would land on the opposite bank, the magpie's clatter caused him the utmost fear that his ruse might not succeed. but luckily the hounds and the huntsman were far away. the birds, however, were not the only advertisers of his presence; the squirrel, directly she caught sight of him, would hurry from her seat aloft in fir or beach, to the lowest bough, and thence--though more wary of vulp than of brighteye, the water-vole--fling at him the choicest assortment of names her varied vocabulary could supply. still, for all this irritating abuse vulp had only himself and his ancestry to blame. the fox loved--as an article of diet--a plump young fledgling that had fallen from its nest, or a tasty squirrel, with flesh daintily flavoured by many a feast of nuts, or beech-mast, or eggs. it was but natural that his sins, and those of his forefathers, should be accounted to him for punishment, and that it should become the custom, in season and out of season, when he was known to be about, for all the woodland folk to hiss and scream, and expostulate and threaten, and to compel his return to hiding with the least possible delay. thus it happened that he scarcely ventured, during the day, to attack even a young rabbit that frisked near his lair, lest, screaming to its dam for help, it should bring a very bedlam about his ears. while roaming abroad in the summer night, vulp gradually became acquainted with all sorts of vermin-traps used by the keepers. once, treading on a soft spot near a rabbit "creep," he suddenly felt a slight movement beneath his feet. springing back, he almost managed to clear the trap; but the sharp steel teeth caught him by a single claw and for a moment held him fast. he wrenched himself loose, and retired for a while to examine his damaged toe-nail. then, reassured, he again approached the trap, so that he might store up in memory the circumstances of his near escape. he learned his lesson thoroughly, and never afterwards did the smell of iron, or the slightest taint of the trapper's hand, escape him. he even walked around molehills; they reminded him too much of the soft soil about the trap. and, for the same reason, he avoided treading on freshly excavated earth before the holes of a rabbit warren. the succeeding years of vulp's eventful life were in many respects similar to the year that began with his courtship of the sleek young vixen in the white wilderness of the winter fields. his fear of men and hounds increased, while his cunning became greater with every passing day. he never slept on a straight trail, but cast about, returned on the line of his scent, and leaped aside, before retiring to sleep in his retreat amid the bracken. often he heard the wild, ominous cry of the huntsman, "eloa-in-hoick, hoick--hoick, cover--hoick!" as the hounds dashed into the furze; and the loud "tally-ho!" as he himself, or, perchance, a less fortunate neighbour, broke into sight before the loud-tongued pack. and more than once, from a safe distance, he heard the awful "whoop!" that proclaimed the death of one of his kindred. as the years wore on, vulp gradually wandered far from his old home. the countryside, for twenty or thirty miles around, was known as intimately to him as a little garden, nestling between sunny fruit-tree walls, is known to the cottager who makes it the object of his daily care. his ears were torn by thorns and fighting; his russet coat was streaked with grey along the spine. at last, when age demanded ease and comparative safety from the long, hard chase over hill and dale, he retired to a rocky fastness on the wild west coast, and there, far above the leaping waves and dashing spray, lived his free, lonely life. and there he died. [illustration: "he retired to a rocky fastness on the wild west coast."] it was a bright, hot day in july. lying among the boulders on the shore, i watched through a field-glass the antics of some birds that wheeled and soared above the cliffs, when, to my surprise, i saw vulp crawl slowly along a shelf of rock above a deep, dark cavern. his movements, somehow, appeared unnatural. instead of crouching, with legs bent under him and brush curled gracefully about his "pads," to bask, his eyelids half-closed, in the sun, he lay on his side. guided by a companion, who, with waving hand, directed my course as i climbed, i gradually mounted the steep ascent, and peeped over the edge of the rock on which the fox lay. despite my excessive caution, he was aware of my presence. slowly and drowsily he lifted his head, uttered a feeble half-grunt, half-whine of alarm, and for a moment bared his teeth defiantly. i remained absolutely still. then his head fell back, and with a tremor of pain he stretched a stiffened limb. i crawled across the ledge to a rugged path among the cliffs, and descended to the shore. next day i found him on the rock again, lying in the same position, but dead, while far up in the blue the sea-birds circled and called, and far below, at the edge of the flowing tide, the crested billows leaped and sang. his "mask" hangs above my study door. it has been placed there--not as a thing of beauty. the hard, set pose devoid of grace, the bent, dried ears once ever on the alert, the glassy, artificial eyes in sockets once tenanted by living balls of fire that glowed in the darkness of the night--all are unreal and expressionless. yet the "mask" suggests a hundred pictures, and when i turn aside and forget for a moment the unreality of this poor image of death, i wander, led by fancy, among the moonlit woods, where the red mouse rustles past, and the mournful cry of the brown owl floats through the beeches' shadowed aisles. then i hear a sudden wail, that echoes from hillside to hillside, as the vixen calls to vulp: "the night is white; man is asleep; i hunt alone!" and the fox, standing at the edge of the clearing, sends back his sharp, glad answer, "i come!" the brown hare. i. the upland cornfield. in midsummer, when the sun rises over the hillside opposite my home its first bright beams glance between the branches of a giant oak in the hedgerow of a cornfield above the wooded slope, and sparkle on my study window. and when at evening the valley is deeply shadowed, the light seems to linger in benediction on the same cornfield, where the great oak-tree, no longer silhouetted darkly against a golden dawn, shines faintly, with a radiance borrowed from the west, against the pearl-blue curtain of the waning day. except during the early morning or at dusk, the cornfield does not stand out conspicuously in the landscape. the eye is attracted by the striking picture of the woodland wall stretching across the slope from the brink of the river, or by the lower prospect of peaceful meadows and orchards through which the murmuring stream wanders towards the village bridge; but the peaceful uplands beyond rarely greet the vision. for many years i was wont to look from my window only at the woods and the meadows, and somehow i was accustomed to imagine that the line of my vision was bounded by the top of the wood. it was not till more than usual interest had been awakened in me concerning the wild life inhabiting the cornfield, that my eyes were daily turned in the direction of the uplands, where, every evening, the rooks disappear from sight on their way to the tall elms in a neighbouring valley. except during harvest, the cornfield is seldom visited by the country folk. it lies away from the main road, and the nearest approach to it is by a grass-grown lane leading from some ruined cottages to a farmstead in the middle of the estate. many years ago, it was a wilderness of furze and briar, one of the thickest coverts on the countryside, affording safe sanctuary for fox and badger. but gradually it has been reclaimed, till now only a belt of undergrowth, scarcely twenty yards wide, stretches along the horizon between the upper hedgerow and the wheat. here, one starry april night, in a snug "form" prepared by the mother hare, a leveret was born. the "form" was hardly more than a depression in the rank grass, to which, for some time past, the doe had been in the habit of resorting at dawn, that she might hide secure through the day, till the dusk brought with it renewed confidence, and tempted her away into the open meadows beyond the cornfield, where the young clover grew green and succulent. a thick gorse-bush, decked with a wealth of yellow bloom, grew by the side of the "form," and, all around, the matted grass and brambles made a labyrinth, pathless, save for the winding "run" by which the hare approached or left her home. unlike the offspring of the rabbit--born blind and naked in an underground nest lined with its parent's fur--the leveret was covered with down, and her eyes were open, from the hour of birth. nature had fitted her for an existence in the open air. at first she was suckled by day as well as by night, but as she grew older she seldom felt the want of food till dark. while light remained, she squatted motionless by her mother's side in the "form," protected by the resemblance in colour between her coat and the surrounding herbage, where the browns and greys of last autumn might still be seen among the brambles, with here and there a weather-worn stone or the fresh castings from a field-vole's burrow. in the gloaming, she followed her mother through the "creeps" amid the furze-brake, and sometimes to the edge of the thicket as far as the gap, where she learned to nibble the tastiest leaves in the grass. but soon after nightfall, she was generally alone for some hours while the doe wandered in search of food. before daybreak, the doe always returned to suckle her little one. often in the quiet night, the leveret, feeling lonely or afraid, would call in a low, tremulous voice for help. if the doe was within hearing she immediately responded; but frequently the cry, "leek, leek," did not reach the roaming hare, and the leveret, crouching in the undergrowth, had to wait till she heard her mother's welcome call. soon the little home in the thicket was deserted, and the leveret accompanied her mother on her nightly journeys till the fields and the woods for miles around became familiar. about a month after her birth, the leveret, having grown so rapidly that she was able to take care of herself, parted from her mother, and, crossing the boundary hedge of the estate, took up her quarters on the opposite side of the valley. the doe and her leveret had lived happily in the cornfield and the meadows above the wood. the mother had attended with utmost solicitude to the wants of her offspring, allowing no intruder among her kindred to trespass on her own particular haunts, and careful to select for each day's hiding place some sequestered spot where a human footstep was seldom heard, and the noise of the farmyard sounded faint and remote. the leveret had learned, partly through a wonderful instinct and partly through her mother's teaching, how to act when there was cause for alarm. immediately on detecting the presence of an intruder, she lay as still as the stone beside the ant-heap near, trusting that she would not be distinguished from her surroundings. but if flight was absolutely necessary, she sped away towards the nearest gap, and thence over pasture and cornfield, always up-hill if possible, out-distancing any probable pursuer by the marvellous power of her long hind-limbs. during the late summer and the early autumn, nothing occurred to endanger the leveret's life. the corn grew tall and slowly ripened. amid its cool shadows the leveret dwelt in solitude. her "creeps" were out of sight beneath the arching stalks. a gutter for winter drainage, dry and overgrown with grass, formed a tunnel in the hedge-bank between the corn and the root-crop field beyond; and through this gutter the leveret, when at night she grew hungry, could steal into the dense tangle of thistles and nettles fringing the turnips, thence, between the ridges under the wide-spreading leaves, to the narrow pathway dividing the rape from the root-crop, and across the field to a furrow where sweet red carrots, topped with dew-sprinkled plumes, tempted her dainty appetite. when the calm night was illumined, but not too brightly, by the moon and stars, the leveret would venture far away from her retreat to visit a cottage garden where the young lettuces were crisp and tender. her depredations among the carrots and lettuces were scarcely such as to deserve punishment. she ate only enough of the lettuces to make a slight difference in the number of seeding plants ultimately devoured by the cottager's pig, or thrown to the refuse-heap; and from the great pile of carrots, to be gathered and stored in the peat-mound by the farmstead, the few she destroyed could never by any chance be missed. on all the countryside she was the most inoffensive creature--the harmless gipsy of the animal world, having no fixed abode, her tent-roof being the dome of the sky. as autumn advanced, the reapers came to the corn. she heard them enter by the gate; and presently, along the broad path cut by the scythe around the field, the great machine clanked and whirred. all day the strange, disturbing noise continued, drawing gradually nearer the spot where the leveret lay. through the spaces between the stalks she watched the whirling arms swinging over, and the horses plodding leisurely by the edge of the standing wheat. at last, but almost too late, she leaped from her "form" as the cruel teeth cut through the stalks at her side; and, taking the direction of her "creep," rushed off towards the nearest gap and disappeared over the brow of the hill. in the middle of the night she wandered back to the wheat-field. the scene before her eyes revealed a startling change. the corn stood in "stooks" on the stubble; no winding paths led here and there through a silent sanctuary, where countless waving, nodding plumes, bent and released by a gentle-flowing wind, had shimmered in the bright radiance of the harvest moon, when, coming home late at night from the marsh across the hill, she had stayed for a while on the mound by the gate, and tiptoe, with black-fringed ears moving restlessly, had listened to some ominous sound in the farmyard. the prickly stubble felt strange to her feet, so, carefully picking her way by the ditch, she crossed to the nearest gate and ambled down the lane. but the change noticed in the wheat-field seemed to have passed over the whole countryside. it was more and more pronounced during the following week, till, in october, the late harvest had all been cleared. the habits of the hare altered with the season. having at last grown accustomed to the varied conditions of her life, she sometimes frequented the old tracks over the upland, but rarely resorted to the "forms" in which she had lain amid the summer wheat. october brought her an experience which might have proved disastrous, but which, fortunately, resulted in nothing more than a passing fright. in the stalk of the rye occurs a knot, forming a slight bulge known to the peasantry as the "sweet joint." rabbits and hares are extremely fond of this succulent morsel, and, in consequence, the rye-crop, if near a large warren, is in danger of being totally destroyed. puss one night had wandered far to a field, where, some time before, she had discovered a patch of standing rye. the few remaining stalks were hard and uninviting, but there were some delicious parsnips among the root-crops. at dawn she settled down to hide between the rows of swedes close by, and remained secreted for the day; but towards evening a sportsman came in at the gate, and, with a low word of command and a wave of the arm, "threw off" his brace of red setters to range the field. working systematically to right and left, the dogs sought eagerly for game. soon the hare was scented, and while juno, with stiffened "stern" and uplifted paw, stood almost over her, random, "backing" his companion, set towards the furrow where puss, perfectly rigid, and with ears well over her shoulders, crouched low, prepared for instant flight. step by step the sportsman, with gun in readiness, moved towards juno, cautioning her against excitement; while random, sinking on his haunches, awaited patiently the issue of events. suddenly, convinced that in flight lay her surest chance of escape, the hare leaped from her "seat," and with the utmost speed, though from the ease of her motions appearing to run slowly, made her way towards the hedgerow. there was a quick rush behind her as she started from the furrow, and then a loud, rasping exclamation from the sportsman, but nothing more; no shot was fired. she owed her life to several circumstances. the dogs were young, and in strict training; their master, knowing the natural fondness of "first season" setters for "chasing fur," had purposely refrained from killing the hare, and had turned his attention to the behaviour of his dogs. then, again, he cherished a certain fondness for puss, believing her to be the most persecuted, as well as the most innocent and interesting, of nature's wildlings in the wind-swept upland fields. henceforward, but for one other incident, the life of the hare was singularly uneventful till the early spring. that incident occurred within a week of her escape from the setters, and once more her luck was due to the humanity of him who had found her among the turnips. the farm-lands frequented by the leveret were a favourite resort of many of her kind, and when moving about in the darkness of the night she often found signs of their presence near the gaps and gateways. the sportsman, knowing well that after harvest the poaching instincts of the peasantry and of the professional village "mouchers" would receive fresh stimulus, determined to forestall his enemies, and render futile some, at least, of their endeavours. so it came about that one night a keeper, assisted by several of the guests at the "big house" in the valley, and having previously made every preparation for the event, placed a net near each gate and before each likely gap within a radius of half a mile from the heart of the estate. unless hard pressed, a hare seldom leaves a field except by certain well-known openings in the hedgerow. unlike the rabbit, she will not readily leap over any obstacle beneath which she can crawl; and whereas the "creep" of a rabbit through a gateway or a hedgerow is well-nigh invariably at right angles to the line of that gateway or hedgerow, the "creep" of a hare tends sideways and is sometimes slightly curved. to net hares successfully it is necessary to know their habits; and the keeper, having served a lifelong apprenticeship in field-craft, was prepared for every emergency. his object at this time was not to kill the hares, but simply to educate them, to warn them thoroughly once for all against the wiles of their worst enemy, the poacher. as puss was busily feeding in the dewy clover, she heard the quick, continuous gallop of a dog. this time, however, she had not to deal with juno, the setter, but with a trained lurcher, borrowed for the occasion from a keeper who had captured the animal during a poaching affray. the leveret, peeping over the grass-tops, saw the dog coming rapidly on. he was over and past her in an instant. as he turned, she started off straight towards an opening where some sheep had partly broken down the hedge. the lurcher closed in, and drove her thither at tremendous speed. she strained every nerve, and, gaining the ditch, blundered blindly through the gap, and fell, helpless and inert, entangled completely within the treacherous folds of the unseen net. her piteous cries, tremulous, wailing, heart-rending--similar to the cries of a suffering infant--were borne far and wide on the wind. the keeper soon reached the spot, and, placing his hand over her mouth to stop the cries, tenderly extricated the frightened creature from the treacherous meshes and allowed her to go free. for a few seconds, she lay in abject fright, panting and unable to move. then, hearing the cries of another hare entangled in a bag-net some distance away, she bounded to her feet, and darted off--somewhere, anywhere, so long as she might leave the awful peril behind. bewildered, but with every instinct assisting her in the desire for life, she ran along by the hedgerow, and, unexpectedly catching sight of a familiar gate, crouched and passed quickly through the "creep" beneath the lowest bar. but here, again, a net was spread; again the hare fell screaming and struggling into the meshes; and again the keeper released her. exhausted by intense excitement and fear, she crawled into the "trash" in the ditch, and kept in hiding, not daring the risk of another capture. luckily for puss, the lurcher had already hunted the field in which she was now secreted, and so the timid creature remained undisturbed beneath the fern. when her wildly throbbing heart had been quieted by rest and solitude, she stole from her hiding place to nibble the clover at the side of the path. towards dawn, she journeyed to a wide stretch of moorland on the opposite hills, and there made a new "form" on a rough bank that separated a reedy hollow from the undulating wilderness of heather and fern. the leveret's adventures were destined to effect a considerable change in her habits. she was being roughly taught that to preserve her life she must be ever cautious and vigilant. though danger threatened her by day and by night, she lived beyond the usual period of a hare's existence, partly because her early education was thorough and severe. thus taught, she would pause for an instant at every gap and gateway before she passed through, and, if she found a net in her path, would turn aside, creep along by the hedge, and seek an exit at another place. the perils to which she had been exposed created a feeling of intense restlessness, which harassed her throughout the winter months, and caused her to travel long distances, by the loneliest lanes and fields, to and from the moorland where now she had made her home. she remembered the scent of a human being since her experiences with the keeper, and, her powers of smell being wonderfully acute, was able to detect even the faintest signs which indicated that her dread enemy--man--had crossed her path. one night she smelt the touch of a hand on the grass-bents near her "form," and found also that the herbage had been moved aside. though the scent was faint--the intruder having visited the spot soon after the leveret had set out in quest of food--the cautious creature forsook her lair, and spent the day in a sheltered retreat beside a heap of dry and withered leaves near the outskirts of a copse on the slope overlooking the moor. gradually she grew big and strong, becoming unusually fat as the autumn advanced, so that she would be able, if required, to withstand the rigour and the waste of a severe winter. her coat was thick and beautifully soft, for protection against cold and damp. but while she increased in weight, she remained in hard condition because of her long journeys and frequent change of quarters. it happened, however, that her first winter was helpful to the welfare of animal life in general. the heavy rains, it is true, greatly distressed the leveret. the nights were so dark, and the constant patter of the rain so interfered with even her highly trained powers of hearing, that, while the wet weather lasted, she seldom dared to leave the neighbourhood of her favourite resort, but crouched in the grass at the margin of the copse, and tried to obtain a meal as best she could from the sodden herbage. though on certain occasions puss might have been discovered in hiding on the marsh, yet there, whenever possible, she chose a dry spot for her "seat." she loved, best of all, the undulating hills far above the river-mists, which, chilled at nightfall by an occasional frost, descended on the fields like crystal dust, and almost choked her if she chanced to pass within these wreathing drifts that brought discomfort and disease to man and beast alike. but the want of exercise so affected her, that, when again the weather was fine and she ventured from her lair, she found herself unable to cover the usual distance of her nightly rambles. as the first cold glimmer of the dawn appeared in the south-eastern sky, she started back, in alarm at her fatigue, to complete the remaining mile of her journey home. her weakness soon became apparent. then, finding herself powerless to proceed, she turned reluctantly aside, and crouched, with nature's mimicry for her protection, on the brown ploughland where the winter wheat was thrusting up its first green sprouts above the soil. but after a few days she was well and strong again. she suffered far less from the short, sharp frost that bound the countryside with its icy fetters, than from the rains. the frost scarcely interfered with her movements; indeed, it made exercise more than ever necessary. forced to seek diligently for her food, she found it in a deserted stubble; there, when the sheep lay sleeping in the bright winter moonlight, she would squat beside them, nibbling the turnips scattered over the field as provender for the flock. ii. march madness. march came in "like a lion." the wind whistled round the farmstead on the hill, and through the doorway of the great kitchen, and down the open chimney. it woke up the old, grey-haired farmer who dozed on the "skew" in the ingle-nook by the crackling wood-fire; it almost made him feel young again with the vigour of the boisterous spring. it sang in the key-hole of the door between the passage and the best parlour; the mat at the threshold flapped with a sound as of pattering feet; and the gaudy calendars on the wall flew up like banners streaming in the breeze. the old man turned, and eagerly watched the hailstones, as they dropped tinkling on the roofs of the outhouses, or, driven aslant by the wind, crashed hissing against the ground, and, rebounding, rolled across the pebbled yard. the labourers came home to the mid-day meal, and, pausing at the door, shook the hail from their garments. "lads," said the farmer, "i've been spared to hear the whisper of another spring." "god be thanked!" said the hind, "for seasonable weather at last. every man to his trencher! the broth is in the bowls." out on the marsh the reeds beat in the wind. every grass-fibre twisted and swung; the matted tussocks, drooping over stagnant pools near which the snipe, with ruffled feathers, probed the soil in search of food, were shaken and disentangled, so that the bleached blades of last year's growth fell apart, and exposed the fresh young sprouts rising from the bed of winter's death. over the wide waste the march wind drove furiously, with blessing in the guise of chastisement, while, far above, the grey-blue clouds whirled fast across a steely sky, till the ashen moon gazed coldly on the waning day, as one by one the stars flashed overhead, the clouds rolled down into the pink and silver west, and the song of the wind became only a murmur in the leafless willows by the brook. with the advent of march, a great change passed over the wild life of the uplands. the jack-hares threw aside their timidity, and wandered, reckless of danger, over the marsh, across the stubbles, and through the woods. even in broad daylight, they frisked and quarrelled, in courtship and rivalry. the leveret was now full-grown, and nature's mothering instincts were strong within her. one evening, as she louped along her accustomed trail towards the turnip-field, she discovered a suitor following in her wake. half in misgiving, half in wantonness, she turned aside and hid in the ditch. presently she felt a soft touch on her neck: the jack-hare was pushing his way through the undergrowth. for a moment she stopped to admire him as the moonlight gleamed on a white star in the centre of his forehead. then away she jumped, dodging round the bushes and hither and thither among the grassy tangles, while her admirer followed, frisking and leaping in sportive gaiety. another jack-hare now came along the hedgerow. in utter mischief, puss called "leek, leek, leek," as if pretending to be in distress and in need of help. "leek, leek," came the low response, as, quickening his pace, the second hare sprang into the fern. but his audacity was not to go unchallenged. the first suitor immediately showed himself, and, making a great pretence of reckless bravery, prepared to give the second a warm reception. the doe-leveret, apparently indifferent, but nevertheless keenly interested in the combat, crouched on a little knoll by the path, while the jack-hares, sitting on their haunches, boxed and scratched, and rolled over each other in a singularly harmless conflict, neither suffering more than the loss of a few tufts of fur. the comedy might, however, have had a tragic ending. presently one of the combatants--the hare that had come late on the scene--became slightly exhausted, and, ignominiously yielding to his rival's superior dexterity, ran back towards the distant hedge. almost at once a fox crept out from the furze at the corner of the field, and trotted away on the scent of the fleeing hare, while puss and her mate made off in the direction of a more secluded pasture. a month passed--a month of general hilarity and indiscriminate fighting among all the hares in the district--and then, within a neat, dry "form," that puss, with a mother's solicitude, had made in a carefully selected spot on a mound where the grass was tall and thick, her little leveret was "kittled." the doe-hare tended her offspring as carefully as she herself had been tended a year before. her faithless lover had gone his own way. but puss cared little for his desertion: she wished to live alone, under no monopoly as far as her affections were concerned, though for the time her leveret wholly engaged her mothering love. so strong was her strange new passion that she was ready, if needs be, to brave death in defence of her young. and, not long after the leveret's birth, the mother's courage was tested to the utmost. a peregrine falcon, from the wild, rocky coast to the west, came sailing on wide-reaching wings across the april sky. puss was resting in a clump of brambles not far from her "form," and saw the big hawk flying swiftly above. any movement on her part would have instantly attracted the attention of her foe, so she squatted motionless, while her leveret also instinctively lay still in its "form." but the keen eyes of the falcon detected the young hare, and the bird descended like a stone on his helpless victim. instantly, the doe rushed to the rescue, and, effectually warding the attack, received the full force of the "stoop" on her shoulders. as the hawk rose into the air, the doe felt a sharp pain in one of her ears--the big talons, closing in their grasp, had ripped it as with the edge of a knife. she screamed, then, grunting savagely, leaped hither and thither around the leveret, meanwhile urging it to escape into the adjacent thicket. the bird, aloft in the air, seemed perplexed, and eventually prepared to "stoop" again. in the nick of time, puss vanished with her little one beneath an impenetrable tangle of friendly thorns, while the baffled peregrine proceeded on his way. for some weeks, the hare languished under the effects of the falcon's blow. when her leveret was old enough to find food for itself, she rested, forced by the wound to live quietly in hiding, till the scar healed and life once more became enjoyable. but she always bore the marks of the talons, and so was spoken of by the country folk as "the slit-eared hare." the superstitious recalled the tales of a bygone century, and half believed the hare to be a witch in disguise, for she seemed to bear a charmed life, and, though known everywhere in the parish, successfully eluded to the end all the devices that threatened her. no matter how artfully the wire noose was set above the level of the ground in her "run," she brushed it by and never blundered into the treacherous loop. a net failed even to alarm her: it might almost be imagined that she became an experienced judge of any such contrivance, and knew every individual poacher by the method with which his toils were spread across her path. not having bred during the year in which she was born, puss had thrived, and weighed about nine pounds in the late autumn of her second season. but according to popular opinion she was much heavier. will, the cobbler, who was fond of coursing, stoutly maintained, to a group of interested listeners in the bar-parlour of the village inn, that she seemed like a donkey when she escaped from his greyhound into the wood. family cares again claimed the hare's attention in july; and, having taken to heart her experience with the peregrine, she left the uplands and made her home in the thickets of a river-island. at that time the river was low, and, on one side of the island, the bed of the stream had become a dry, pebbly hollow, save for a large pool fed by the backwater at the lower end, where the minnows played, and whither the big trout wandered from the rapids to feed during the hot summer nights. late one afternoon, when long shadows lay across the mossy bank of the river beyond the tall beeches standing at the entrance to the island thickets, puss was waiting for the dusk, and dozing meanwhile, but with wide-open eyes, beside her leveret. since there was another little mouth besides her own requiring food, she generally felt hungry long before nightfall, and so, when the afterglow began to fade in the west, was wont to steal away to the clover above the woods that fringed the long, still pool up-stream. as the day wore on, the hare heard the unmistakable tread of human feet approaching through the woods. the sounds became increasingly distinct; then a pebble rattled and splashed into the water as the intruder walked across the river-bed. he passed close to the "form," and, turning down-stream, was lost to sight amid the bushes. at intervals, the hare imagined that the faint, muffled sounds of footsteps came from the distance; but again the sounds drew near, ceasing, however, when the man was a few yards from the nest. i can complete the story. since spring i had been studying the wild life of this lonely island below the rocky gorge extending hither from the village bridge. the wood-wren, the willow-wren, and the garden-warbler had nested in the thickets, and every evening i had visited the place to pry on their doings, and to note how the flowers in glad succession blossomed and faded--their presence in this lonely sanctuary known only to myself, and to the birds, bees, and butterflies, and to the little shrews that rustled over the dry leaves beneath. but now the garden-warblers had left for the copse on the far side of the river, and the wood-wrens and the willow-wrens had retreated to the inner recesses of the thickets, where, amid the luxuriant verdure of midsummer, their movements baffled my observation. on the july evening, as i lay in the matted grass at the edge of the copse by the pebbles, watching a whitethroat among the bushes opposite, my eye happened to rest for an instant on a patch of bare mud immediately before me. there, to my surprise, i discovered the footprints of the hare. the five toes of the fore-feet, and the four toes of the hind-feet, were as clearly outlined as if each impression had been taken in plaster. and yet, when i stood up to look at the spot, the marks seemed to have wholly disappeared. on nearer examination i found that the track of the hare was in the direction of the island. from their shape, and the distance between each, the footprints indicated that the movements of the hare had not been hurried. similar footprints were visible in a straight line between the bank and the island. only one conclusion seemed possible--the hare had crossed to the island early that morning, after the heavy shower that had fallen just before dawn. it would have been contrary to her habits had she crossed later; and, had she passed the place at any time before, the rain would have washed away the marks in such an open spot, or, at any rate, would have blurred them beyond recognition. after placing a white stone by the footprints to indicate their whereabouts, i searched along the river-bed for signs that would show a track towards the bank; but not a single mark could be found pointing in that direction. it was obvious that the hare had not left the island till, at any rate, some hours after the rain. then, however, the sun would have been so high that puss would have been loath to leave her lair. faintly discernible beside a large pebble, one other footprint appeared, leading like the rest towards the island. the mark was old, and had been saved from obliteration by the sheltering stone; but it suggested that the hare had made her home not far away. taught by experience, i decided not to penetrate the copse and risk disturbing its probable tenant. i approached it only so far as to examine another bare place in a line with the footprints on the mud, where, to my delight, i found fresh footprints similar to those at the dried-up ford, together with other and much smaller marks undoubtedly made by a tiny leveret. i now re-crossed the ford and went home. but before nightfall i returned, and, hiding behind the hedgerow on the bank, watched, unseen, the approach to the island. my patience was soon rewarded. just as the dusk was deepening over the woodlands, "the slit-eared hare" left her "form" and stood in full view by the ford. there, having lazily stretched her long, supple limbs, she played awhile with her leveret, sometimes pausing to nibble a few clover-leaves as if to direct the little one's attention towards its suitable food. then she ambled leisurely across the river-bed, and, with graceful, swinging gait, passed through the meadow beyond--while her offspring disappeared within the thickets of the island. the hot weather broke up in july, and henceforth, till late september, rain descended almost every day. the shower that had revealed the whereabouts of the hare was the first sign of the change. on the following night, a thunderstorm broke over the countryside, washed down the soil from the pastures, and sent the river roaring in flood through the gorge. while on the far side of the island the main torrent raged past beneath the willows, the divided stream under the near bank formed salmon-pools and trout-reaches, where, before, the pebbles had been bare and dry. anxious to know how the flood would interfere with the movements of the hare, i came back on the following evening to my hiding place by the hedgerow. in the dusk, puss appeared at the margin of the copse, and moved down the bank to the edge of the stream. there she paused, apparently perplexed, and called to her leveret. presently the young hare joined her mother at the water's edge, and both hopped along the brink, seeking a dry place by which they might reach the field on the slope. finding none, they adjourned to the mossy bank where i had seen the leveret's footprints. then the doe went down boldly to the stream, called to her companion, waded in, and swam across. ascending into the field, she shook the water from her fur, and again called repeatedly. the young one hesitated, and ran to and fro crying piteously, "leek--leek." suddenly, in the excitement, it missed its footfall and fell into the river. bewildered, but hearing its mother's call, it swam down the pool through the still water below the little rapid, and landed on the opposite bank, where it joined its parent, and, following her example, shook the water from its downy limbs. soon both disappeared within the wood; and, satisfied with my evening's sport, i turned homewards across the fields. during the rest of the summer, the hare frequented the rough pastures skirting the ploughlands, and visited the cornfields only when the weather was dry. hares suffer little discomfort in rainy weather, if only the fine fur beneath the surface of the coat remains dry--after a shower they can easily shake off any outside moisture. but they dislike entering damp places where the vegetation is tall and their fur may get matted and soaked by the raindrops collected on the herbage. in wet weather hares may often be found in cover, especially near thick furze-brakes on a well drained hillside, but their presence in such a situation may imply that they sought shelter before the rain began to fall. in september, for the third time during the year, puss was occupied with family affairs. now, three tiny leverets were "kittled," and the nest occupied an almost bare place on the top of a ridge in the root-field where last season the succulent carrots grew. the hare had been greatly distressed by the unusually wet summer, and one of her leverets was in consequence a weakling; another leveret was killed by a prowling polecat while the mother wandered from the "form"; and only the third grew up robust and strong. the approach of winter brought puss many strange experiences, from some of which she barely emerged with her life. when the season was passed, it had become more than ever difficult to approach her; she would slip away to cover directly her keen senses detected the presence of a stranger in the field where she lay in her "form." as she grew older, her leverets sometimes numbered four or five, but as a rule she gave birth to three only, her productiveness being probably dependent on the ease with which she obtained food. one day in february, just before bringing an early little family into the world, she almost met her death. a village poacher, ferreting on the hillside, chanced to see her, as she lay not far off in a patch of clover. without waste of time, he proceeded to attempt the capture of the hare by a well-known trick. thrusting a stake into the ground, he placed his hat on it, and strolled unconcernedly away. then, as though he had changed his mind, he walked round the clump, in ever narrowing circles, gradually closing on his prey. meanwhile, the hare, her attention wholly diverted by the improvised scarecrow, remained motionless, baffled by the artifice. suddenly she felt the touch of the man's hand. the poacher had thrown himself down on the tuft, hoping to clutch the hare before she could move. but in endeavouring to look away from the spot, and, at the same time, measure the distance of his fall, he had miscalculated the hare's position. she sprang up, and with ears held low sped away towards the wood, leaving the poacher wild with rage at the failure of his ruse, and vowing vengeance on the timid creature, whose life, at such a time, would hardly, even to him, have been worth an effort. iii. the chase. of all the hounds employed in the chase of the hare, the basset promises to become the prime favourite among some true-hearted sportsmen who love sport for its own sake, and not from a desire to kill. he is a loose, lumbering little fellow--resembling his relative, the dachshund--low and long, with out-turned legs, sickle-shaped "flag," and features which, in repose, seem to suggest that he has borne the grief and the care of a hundred years, but which, when the huntsman comes to open the kennel doors, are radiant with delight. mirthfulness and dignity seem to seek expression in every movement of the quaint, old-fashioned little hound, and in every line of his face. as for his music--who would expect such a deep, bell-like note from this queer midget among hunters, standing not much higher than the second button of the huntsman's legging? withal, he is a merry, lively little fellow, with a good nose for the scent of a rabbit or a hare, and, when in fit condition, is able to follow, follow, follow, if needed, from earliest dawn till the coming of night. the chase being ended, he with his companions, harlequin and columbine, and all the stragglers of the panting pack, will surround the tired hare, and will wait, bellowing lustily, but without molesting the quarry, till the master appears and calls them to heel. if the ten to twenty sportsmen often to be found in a village would combine, each keeping a basset for the common hunt, they might derive the utmost pleasure from following their pets afield, and incidentally would assist to prevent the extermination of an innocent wildling of our fields and woodlands. for the sake of the sport shown by the basset-hounds, many of the farmers near the villages, who dearly love to hear the deep music of a pack in full cry, would protect puss from those more cunning and powerful enemies of hers, who, lurcher in leash or gun in hand, steal along the hedgerows at nightfall, so that, from a secret transaction thereafter with some local game-dealer, they may get the wherewithal for a carouse in the kitchen of the "blossom" or the "bunch of grapes." one morning in december, when the rime lay thick on the fields, and the unclouded sun, rising in the steel-blue sky, cast a radiance over the glittering countryside, our village basset-hounds found the "cold" scent of the hare in the woods above the church, where puss had sheltered beside a prostrate pine-trunk before returning to her "form" at dawn. after endeavouring in vain for some time to discover the direction of her "run," they set off, "checking" occasionally, across the stubble, through the root-crop field, and down over the fallow to the bottom of the dingle. there, near a bubbling spring, puss had hidden since daybreak. hearing the far-off music, she slipped out of the field unobserved, till, reaching the uplands, she was seen to pass leisurely by in the direction of the furze-brake. directly the bassets came to the spring, a chorus of deep sounds announced that the quarry had been tracked to her recent lair. all through the morning they continued their quest; they streamed in a long, irregular line up the hillside, their black and tan and white coats gaily conspicuous in the sunlight; they trickled over the hedgerows, and dotted the furrows of the deserted ploughlands; they moved in "open order" through the copse, and plodded along by the furze-brakes or through the undergrowth where the sharp-thorned brambles continually annoyed and impeded them; they worked as if time needed not to be taken into the slightest account. the least scent met with loud and hearty recognition; fancy ran riot with the excited puppies; the atmosphere at every turn seemed to betray the near presence of puss. but every condition of weather and fortune was against good sport. the ground was steadily thawing in the warmth of the sun, and the rising vapour, trembling in the light, seemed to carry the scent too high for accurate hunting. so the hare ambled along her line of flight--a wide, horse-shoe curve that began and ended in the fallow on the slope. when a considerable distance had been placed between herself and her pursuers, she ceased to hurry. indeed, the music of horn and hounds seemed almost to fascinate the creature, and frequently she lingered for a few moments to listen intently to the clamour of her enemies. a farm labourer, who tried to "grab" her as she passed down the grassy lane, said that she "was coming along as cool as a cucumber. sometimes she'd sit down to tickle her neck with her hind-feet. then she'd give a big jump, casual-like, to one side of the path, and sit down again, with her ears twitching and turning as if she thought there was mischief in every flutter of a leaf or creak of a bough." frightened almost out of her wits by the labourer's sudden and well-nigh successful endeavour to secure her, puss rushed back along the lane, crossed a gap, and sped over the uplands once more, leaving her usual horse-shoe line of flight, and taking a much greater curve towards the fallow. but gradually her pace slackened as she discovered she was no longer followed; and then, not far from her lair by the spring, she paused to rest. the music of the hounds was faint, distant, and intermittent; and at last it entirely ceased. somewhat exhausted towards the end of her journey, she had withheld her scent, and had thus completely outwitted her slow but patient pursuers. once, and once only, towards the end of january, she found herself chased by her more formidable foes, the beagles. at first she eluded them by stealing off without yielding the faintest scent; but she was "viewed" in crossing the meadow, and the hounds, making a long, wide cast, "picked up" as soon as a slight, increasing taint in the air was perceptible, then followed for several miles. but, ultimately, they were baffled, and puss made good her escape. it had happened that, after creeping through a gutter in the hedgerow of a stubble, she had come in sight of a flock of sheep grazing on the opposite side. like vulp, the fox, she knew how to hinder the chase by mingling her scent with that of other animals; so without hesitation she passed through the flock, and made straight for an open gateway in the far corner of the field. when the beagles, in hot pursuit, appeared on the scene, the startled sheep, rushing away, took the line of the hunted hare through the opening, and thus "fouled" the scent so thoroughly that the hunt came to a "check." after the hare had left the fields frequented by the sheep, she took the direction of a path leading over a wide bog towards the woodland. on the damp ground the scent lay so badly, that when, some time later, the beagles crossed her line, they were unable, even after repeated "casts," to follow her track. presently the impatient huntsman, with hounds at heel, moved away to the nearest road and relinquished his quest. luckily for puss, the harriers never visited her neighbourhood, and only on special occasions was coursing permitted on the estate. if at night a lurcher entered the field in which she grazed amid the clover, her knowledge of the poacher's artifices immediately prompted her to slip over the hedge and past the treacherous nets. her life, beset with hidden dangers, was preserved by a chain of wonderfully favourable circumstances, that befriended her even when the utmost caution and vigilance had been unavailing. once, so mild was the winter that the hare's first family for the year came into the world in january. a few weeks afterwards, when she was about to separate from her leverets, an incident occurred that might have been attended with fatal results. a poacher, prowling along the far side of the hedgerow, and occasionally stopping to peep through the bushes for partridges "jugging" in the grass-field, caught sight of the leverets nibbling the clover near a small blackthorn. in the feeble afterglow, he was uncertain that the objects before him were worth the risk of a shot, so he crawled towards a gap to obtain a nearer view. to his astonishment, when he reached the gap nothing was visible by the thorn-bush; the leverets had vanished in the ferns. but the poacher was artful and experienced. he hid in the undergrowth of the ditch, where, after waiting awhile, and seeing no sign of movement in the grass, he gave utterance to a shrill cry like that of a young hare in distress. five minutes passed, and the cry was repeated--tremulous, prolonged, eloquent of helpless suffering. at intervals, the same artifice was employed, but apparently without success. the poacher was about to crawl from his hiding place, when suddenly, close beside the hedgerow, the head of the doe hare came into sight. startled, in spite of expectation, by her sudden appearance, and excited as he recognised the "slit-eared hare," the poacher involuntarily moved to grasp his gun. he looked down for an instant to make sure that his gun was in readiness, but when he lifted his eyes again the hare was gone. do what he might, not another glimpse of his quarry was to be obtained, and so, half believing that he had seen a witch or that he had dreamed, he stole away into the darkening night. deceived by the poacher's cries, the doe-hare had hurried home, but had found her young alive and well. then, scenting danger, she had vanished with her offspring into the nearest bramble-clump, and in the deep shadow of the hedgerow had led them safely away. during the last year of her life, she frequented the hawthorn hedges and the furze brakes of an estate diligently "preserved" by a lover of nature as a sanctuary whither the furred and feathered denizens of the countryside might resort without fear of hounds or poachers, and where a gun was never fired except at vermin. the winter was severe; on two occasions snow lay thick on the ground for more than a week. but puss was fairly comfortable; she had her "form" on a dry, rough heap of stones, gathered from the fields and thrown into a disused quarry near the woods; and for four or five nights she remained at home, the snow covering her completely but for a breathing hole in the white walls of her tiny hut. at last, impatient of confinement, and desperately hungry, she broke through the snow-drift, and sought the nearest root-crop field, where, after scratching the snow from a turnip, she was able to make a hearty meal. while returning slowly towards the wood through the soft, yielding snow that rendered her journey difficult and tiresome, she unexpectedly discovered, near the hedge beyond the furrows, a tasty leaf or two of the rest-harrow, together with a few yellow sprouts of young grass where a stone had been kicked aside by a passing sheep--these were the tit-bits of her provender. in the early morning, the hare, too cautious to re-enter the "form," which, now that its surroundings were torn asunder, had become a conspicuous rent in the white mantle of the old quarry, crept over the hedge into the woods, and, moving leisurely beneath the snow-laden undergrowth, where her deep footprints could not easily be tracked, selected a suitable spot for a new "form" in the friendly shelter of a fallen pine. but even in this woodland sanctuary she encountered an enemy. a cat from the farm on the hill, having acquired poaching habits, had strayed, and taken up her abode among the boulders at the foot of a wooded precipice adjoining the lower pastures of the estate. in a gallery between these boulders, she had made her nest of withered grass and oak-leaves, where, at the time of which i write, she was occupied with a family of kittens. the wants of the kittens taxed the mother's utmost powers; she prowled far and wide in search of food, and was as much a creature of the night as were the fox and the polecat that also lived among the rocks. there is no greater enemy of game than the renegade cat. she is far more destructive than a fox. many animals that can evade reynard are helpless in the grip of a foe armed so completely as to seem all fangs and talons. the special method of slaughter adopted by the cat towards a victim of her own size is cruel and repulsive in the extreme. grasping it with her fore-claws and holding it with her teeth, she lies on her back and uses her hind-claws with such effect that often her prey is lacerated to death. roaming at night in the shadow, the cat came unexpectedly on the scent of the hare and traced it to the "form," but the desired victim was not at home. the cat returned to the spot before dawn, and lurked in hiding beneath the hawthorns. the hare, however, was not to be easily trapped. coming into the wood against the wind, she fortunately detected the enemy's presence quite as readily as the cat had discovered her "form" amid the grass-bents. with ears set close, and limbs and tail twitching with excitement, the cat crouched ready for the deadly leap. but the hare suddenly sprang aside from her path, climbed the hedgerow, and disappeared, outpacing with ease the cat's half-hearted attempt at pursuit. at length the "slit-eared hare" met her death, in a manner befitting the wild, free existence she had led among the hills and the valleys. her dead body was brought me by the head keeper of the woodland estate, and, as it rested on my study table, i gazed at it almost in wonder. the russet coat, turning grey with age, was eloquent of the brown earth, the sere leaf, and the colourless calm of twilight, and told me of the creature's times and seasons. the big, dark eyes, their marvellous beauty and expressiveness dimmed by death, and the long, sensitive ears, one ripped by the falcon's talon and both slightly bent at the tip with age, were suggestive of persecution, and of a haunting fear banished only with the coming of night, when, perchance, the early autumn moon rose over the corn, and the hare played with her leverets among the shadowy "creeps." my hands rested on the fine, white down that took the place of the russet coat where nature's mimicry was needed not; it was pure and stainless, like the lonely wildling's inoffensive life. [illustration: "when the early autumn moon rose over the corn."] a terrible thunderstorm had raged over the countryside all the evening and throughout the night. ben, the carter, coming home to the farm with his team, had dropped at the very threshold of the stable, blasted in a lurid furnace of sudden fire. a labourer's cottage had been wrecked; many a stately forest tree had been rent or blighted; the withering havoc had spread far and wide over the hills. on the following morning, the keeper, going his rounds, had found the dead hare beside a riven oak. the badger. i. a woodland solitude. even in our own densely peopled land, there are out of the way districts in which human footsteps are seldom heard and many rare wild creatures flourish unmolested. near such parts the naturalist delights to dwell, in touch, on one side, with subjects that deserve his patient study, and, on the other side, with kindly country folk, who, perhaps, supply him with food, and are the means of communication between him and the strenuous world. in this western county, however, the naturalist, in order to gain expert knowledge, does not need to live on the fringe of civilisation. here, among the scattered upland farms around the old village, creatures that would elsewhere be in daily danger because of their supposed attacks on game are almost entirely free from persecution. in several of our woods, polecats seem to be more numerous than stoats, and badgers are known, but only to the persistent observer, to be more common than foxes; and both polecats and badgers are seldom disturbed, though the farmers may regularly pass their burrows. the immunity of such animals from harm is, to some extent, the result of the farmer's lack of interest in their doings. he strongly resents the presence of too many rabbits on his land, "scratching" the soil, spoiling the hedges, and devouring the young crops, and, therefore, cherishes no grudge against their enemies so long as his stock is unmolested. he is no ardent protector of game, and, if a clutch of eggs disappears from the pheasant's nest he has chanced to discover in the woods, thinks little about the incident, and concludes that ned the blacksmith's broody hen has probably been requisitioned as a foster-mother, and that some day he will know more of the true state of affairs when he visits the smithy at the cross-roads. another circumstance to which the badger hereabouts is indebted for security is that terriers are not the favourite dogs of the countryside. when shooting, the sportsman prefers spaniels, particularly certain "strains" of black and brown cockers--untiring little workers with a keen, true power of scent--which for many years have been common in the neighbourhood; and the farmer's sheep-dog is unfitted for any sport except rabbiting. here and there, among the poaching fraternity, may be found a mongrel fondly imagined by its owner to be a terrier--a good rabbit "marker," and wonderfully quick in killing rats, but no more suited than the sportman's spaniel for "lying up" with a badger. undoubtedly, however, the security of some of our most interesting wild animals, and especially of the badger, is to be accounted for by their extreme shyness. they venture abroad only when the shadows of night lie over the woods. for countless years, dogs and men have been their greatest foes, and their fear of them is found to be almost as strong in remote districts as where, near towns, their existence is continually threatened. wild life in our quiet valley will be deemed of unusual interest when i say that less than six hours before writing these lines i visited a badger's "set"--a deep underground hollow with several main passages and upper galleries, where, as i have good reason to believe, a fox also dwells--an otter's "holt" beneath gnarled alder-roots fringing the river-bank, and another fox's "earth," all on the outskirts of a wooded belt not more than a mile from my home, and all showing signs of having long been inhabited. unless systematically persecuted, the fox, the otter, and the badger cling to their respective haunts with such tenacity that, season after season, they prowl along the same familiar paths through the woods or by the river, and rear their young in the same retreats. this is the case especially with the badger; from the traditions of the countryside, as well as from the careful observation of sporting landowners, it may be learned that for generations certain inaccessible "sets" have seldom, if ever, been uninhabited. always at nightfall the "little man in grey" has climbed the slanting passage from his cave-like chamber, ten or--if among the boulders of some ancient cairn--even from twenty to thirty feet below the level of the soil, and sniffed the cool evening air, and listened intently for the slightest sound of danger, before departing on his well worn trail to hunt and forage in the silent upland pastures. and with the first glimpse of light, when the hare stole past towards her "form," and the fox, a shadowy figure drifting through the haze of early dawn, returned to the dense darkness of the lonely wood, he has sought his daytime snuggery of leaves and grass industriously gathered from the littered glades. in a deep burrow at the foot of a hill, about a quarter of a mile from a farmstead built on a declivity at a bend of the broad river, brock, the badger, was born, one morning about the middle of spring. three other sucklings, like himself blind and wholly dependent on their parents' care, shared his couch of hay and leaves. day by day, the mother badger, devoted to their welfare, fed and tended her unusually numerous offspring, lying beside them on the comfortable litter, while the sire, occupying a snug corner of the ample bed, dozed the lazy hours away; and evening after evening, when twilight deepened into darkness as night descended on the woods, she arose, shook a few seed-husks from her coat, and with her mate adjourned to an upper gallery leading to the main opening of the "set," whence, assured that no danger lurked in the neighbourhood of their home, both stole out to forage in the clearings and among the thickets on the brow of the hill. just as with lutra, the little otter-cub in the "holt" above the river's brim, the first weeks of babyhood passed uneventfully, so with brock, the badger, nothing of interest occurred till his eyes gradually opened, and he could enjoy with careless freedom the real beginning of his woodland life. even thus early, what may be called the nocturnal instinct was strong within him. he was alert and playful chiefly at night, when, deep in the underground hollow, nothing could be heard of the outer world but the indistinct, monotonous wail of the wind in the upper passages of the "set." droll, indeed, were the revels of the young badgers when the parents were hunting far away. the little creatures, awakened from a heavy sleep that had followed the last fond attentions of their mother, were loath to frolic at once with each other in the lonely, silent chamber. in their parents' absence they felt unsafe; that mysterious whisper of admonition, unheard but felt, which is the voice of the all-pervading spirit of the woods forever warning the kindred of the wild, bade them be quiet till the dawn should bring the mother badger to the lair once more. so, huddled close, they were for a time satisfied with a strangely deliberate game of "king of the castle," the castle being an imaginary place in the middle of their bed. towards that spot each player pushed quietly, but vigorously, one or other gaining a slight advantage now and again by grunting an unexpected threat into the ear of a near companion, or by bestowing an unexpected nip on the flank of the cub that held for the moment the coveted position of king. withal this was a sober pastime, unless brock, the strongest and most determined member of the family, chanced to provoke his playmates beyond endurance, and caused a general, reckless scramble, in which tiny white teeth were bared and tempers were uncontrolled. as the night wore on, it almost invariably happened, however, that the "castle" game gave place to a livelier diversion akin to "puss in the corner," when, on feeble, unsteady legs, the "earth-pigs" romped in pursuit of each other, or squatted, grunting with excitement, in different spots near the wall of their nursery. but, tired at last, they ceased their gambols an hour or so before dawn, lay together in a warm, panting heap, and slept, till, on the return of their mother to the "set," they were gathered to the soft comfort of her folded limbs, and fed and fondled to their hearts' content. though brock grew as rapidly as any young badger might be expected to grow, a comparatively long time passed by before he and the other small members of the family ventured out of doors. repeatedly they were warned, in a language which soon they perfectly understood, that, except under the care of their parents, a visit to the outer world would end disastrously; so, while the old ones were abroad, the little creatures dared not move beyond the opening to the dark passage between the chamber and the gallery above. sometimes, following their dam when she climbed the steep passage to her favourite lookout corner within a mouth of the burrow, they caught a glimpse of the sky, and of the trees and the bracken around their home; but a journey along the gallery was never made before the twilight deepened. the purpose of such close confinement was, that the young badgers should be taught, thoroughly and without risk, the first principles of wood-craft, and thus be enabled to hold their own in that struggle for existence, the stress of which is known even to the strong. obedience, ever of vital importance in the training of the forest folk, was impartially exacted by the mother from her offspring. it was also taught by a system of immediate reward. the old badger invariably uttered a low but not unmusical greeting when she returned to her family at dawn. almost before their eyes were open, the sucklings learned to connect this sound with food and comfort, and at once turned to the spot from which it proceeded. later, when the same note was used as a call, they recognised that its meaning was varied; in turn it became, with subtle differences of inflection, an entreaty, a command, and a warning that it would be folly to ignore; but, whatever it might indicate, they instinctively remembered its first happy associations, and hurried to their mother's side. hardly different from the call, when it conveyed the idea of warning, was a note of definite dissent, directing the youngsters to cease from squabbling, and to become less noisy in their rough-and-tumble play. after they had learned each minute difference in the call notes, their progress in education was largely determined by that love of mimicry which always prompts the young to imitate the old; and in time they acquired the tastes, the passions, and the experiences of their watchful teachers. while prevented from wandering abroad, they nevertheless were not entirely ignorant of what was happening in the woods. they were not quickly weaned; it was necessary, before the dam denied them nature's first nourishment, that they should have ready access to the brook that trickled down the hillside hollow not far from the "set." but meanwhile, young rabbits, dug from the breeding "stops" of the does, were frequently brought to them, and the badgers were encouraged to gratify a love for solid food which nightly became stronger. in this part of the education of their young, the parent badgers adopted methods similar to those of the fox and other carnivorous animals. when first the mother badger brought a rabbit home, she placed it close beside her cubs, so that they could not fail to be attracted by its scent. for a moment, aware of something new and strange, they showed signs of timidity, and crouched together in the middle of the nest; but the presence of their mother reassured them, and they sniffed at the warm body with increasing delight. the dam seemed to know each trifling thought passing through their minds; and, observing their eager interest, she dragged the rabbit into a corner of the bed, making great show of savagery, as if guarding it from their attacks. time after time, she alternately surrendered and withdrew her victim, till the tempers of the little animals, irritated beyond control by her tantalising methods, blazed out in a free fight among themselves for possession of the prize. the mother now retired to a corner of the "set," and listened attentively to all that happened, till they had finished their quarrel, and brock, the middle figure in a group of tired youngsters, lay fast asleep with his head on the rabbit's neck. then she turned, climbed quietly to the upper galleries, and, stealing out among the shadows of the wood, came again to the breeding "stop," where she unearthed and devoured a young rabbit that had been suffocated in the loose soil thrown up during her former visit. after quenching her thirst at the brook in the hollow, she journeyed to the upland fields, crossed the scent of her mate in the gorse, and then "cast" back across the hillside, making a leisurely examination of each woodland sign, to satisfy herself that no danger lurked in the neighbourhood of her home. for the badger, as for the tiny field-vole in the rough pastures of the cerdyn valley, the various scents and sounds were full of meaning, and constituted a record of the night such as only the woodland folk have learned fully to understand. the smell of the fox lay strong on a path between the oaks; with it was mingled the scent of a bird; and a white feather, caught by a puff of wind, fluttered in the grass: young reynard, boldest of an early family in the "earth," had stolen a fowl from a neighbouring farmyard near the river, and had carried it--not slung over his shoulders, as fanciful writers declare, but with its tail almost touching the soil--into the thicket beyond the wood. rabbits had wandered in the undergrowth; and, near a large warren, the stale, peculiar odour of a stoat that had evidently prowled at dusk lingered on the dewy soil. the signs of blackbirds and pigeons among the loose leaf-mould were also faint; as soon as night had fallen, the birds had flown to roost in the branches overhead. the short, coughing bark of an old fox came from the edge of the wood; and then for some time all was quiet, till the musical cry of an otter sounded low and clear from the river beneath the steep. these familiar voices of the wilderness caused the badger no anxiety; they told her of freedom from danger; they were to her assuring signals from the watchers of the night. but the howl of a dog in a distant farmstead, and the bleat of a restless sheep in the pasture on the far side of the hill, told her a different story; they reminded her, as the smell of the fowl had done, that man, arch-enemy of the woodland people, might in any capricious moment threaten her existence, seeking to destroy her even while by day she slumbered in her chamber under the roots of the forest trees. she crossed the gap, where the river-path joined the down-stream boundary of the wood, then, with awkward, shambling stride, climbed the steep pasture, and for a few moments paused to watch and listen in the deep shadows of the hedge on the brow of the slope. a rabbit, that had lain out all night in her "seat" beneath the briars, rushed quickly from the undergrowth, and fled for safety to a burrow in the middle of the field. a small, dim form appeared for a moment by a wattled opening between the pasture and the cornfield above, then, with a rustle of dry leaves, vanished on the further side--a polecat was returning to her home in a pile of stones that occupied a hollow on the edge of the wood. day was slowly breaking. a cool wind, blowing straight from the direction of a homestead indistinctly outlined against the dawn, stirred the leaves in the ditch, and brought to the badger's nostrils the pungent scent of burning wood--the milkmaid was already at work preparing a frugal breakfast in the kitchen of a lonely farm. fearing that with the day the birds would mock her as she passed, and thus reveal her whereabouts to some inquisitive foe, the badger sought the loneliest pathway through the wood, and returned, silently but hastily, to her home. ii. home discipline. during the mother badger's absence from home, an unlooked-for event--almost the exact repetition of an incident in the training of vulp, the young fox--had happened in the education of her cubs. her mate, hunting in an upland fallow, had been surprised by a poacher, and, long before daybreak, had discreetly returned to the "set." the success he had met with had enabled him to feed to repletion, so he was not tempted by the dead rabbit carried home by the mother and left in the chamber. fearing to leave his hiding place, he wisely determined to devote the time at his disposal, before settling to sleep, to his children's instruction. with a grunt like that of the mother when she greeted her offspring, he at once aroused the slumbering youngsters, and then, heedless of their attentions, as, mistaking him for the dam, they pressed at his side, he laid hold of the rabbit and dragged it into a far corner. full of curiosity, the cubs followed, but with well assumed anger he drove them away. as if in keen anticipation of a feast, he tore the dead animal into small pieces which he placed together on the floor of the chamber. this task complete, he retired to his accustomed resting place, and listened while the cubs, overcoming their timidity, ventured nearer and nearer to the dismembered rabbit, till, suddenly smelling the fresh blood, they gave way to inborn passion, and buried their teeth in the lifeless flesh. an inevitable quarrel ensued; brock and his companions could not agree on the choice of tit-bits, and a medley of discordant grunts and squeals seemed to fill the chamber, though now and again it partly subsided, as two or three of the cubs, having fixed on the same portion of the rabbit, tugged and strained for its possession--so intent on the struggle that they dared not waste their breath in useless wrangling. the old badger, satisfied that his progeny gave excellent promise of pluck and strength, was almost dropping off contentedly to sleep, when one of the excited combatants, retreating from the fray, backed unceremoniously, and awoke him with an accidental blow on the ribs. this was more than the crusty sire could endure, and he administered such prompt and indiscriminate chastisement to the youngsters, that, in a subdued frame of mind, they forgot their differences, forgot also the toothsome remnants of their feast, and nestled together in bed, desiring much that their patient dam would come to console them for the ill-usage just received. on returning to the "set," the mother badger stayed for a few minutes at the edge of the mound before the main entrance, and, rearing herself on her hind-legs, rubbed her cheek against a tree-trunk, and sniffed the air for the scent of a lurking enemy. then, satisfied that all was safe, she entered the deep chamber, and was greeted by the little creatures that for an hour had expectantly awaited her arrival. unusually boisterous in their welcome, they instantly disregarded the presence of their sire; and such, already, was the magic effect of the meal of raw flesh on their tempers, that, with an eagerness hitherto unknown, they followed every movement of their dam, till, submitting to their importunities, she lay beside them, and fed and fondled them to sleep. almost nightly, she brought something new with which to tempt their appetites--young bank-voles dug from their burrows on the margin of the wood, weakling pigeons dropped from late nests among the leafy boughs, snakes, and lizards, and, chiefly, suckling rabbits unearthed from the shallow holes which the does had "stopped" with soil thrown back into the entrance when they left to feed amid the clover. though young rabbits, in breeding "stops" barely a foot below the level of the ground, were never safe from the badger's attack, a flourishing colony dwelt within the precincts of the "set." early in spring, when the badgers were preparing for their expected family, a doe rabbit, attracted by the great commotion caused by their efforts to remove the big heap of soil thrown up at the entrance to their dwelling, hopped quietly out of the fern, and sat for a long time watching from between the bushes the occasional showers of loam which indicated the progress of the work. judged by the standard of a rabbit, bunny was a fairly clever little creature, and the plans she formed as she hid in the undergrowth seemed to show that she possessed unusual forethought. she waited and watched for several nights, till the badgers had ceased to labour, and the mound before the "set" remained apparently untouched. then, one evening, after she had seen the badgers go off together into the heart of the wood, she entered, and moved along the gallery, pausing here and there to touch the walls with her sensitive muzzle. coming to a place where a stone was slightly loosened, she began to dig a shaft almost at right angles to the roomy gallery, and for a time continued her work undisturbed; but an hour or so before dawn she retired to sleep in a thicket, some distance beyond the plain, wide trail marking the badger's movements to and from the nearest fields. the badgers, on returning home, were sorely puzzled at the change that had taken place during their absence. to all appearance, a trick had been played on them, for, whereas their house had been left neat and tidy at dusk, there was now a pile of earth obstructing the main passage. however, they accepted the situation philosophically, and completed the rabbit's work by clearing the gallery and adding to the heap beyond the entrance. night after night, the wily rabbit watched for the badgers' departure, carried on her work, and gave them a fresh task for the early morning, till a short but winding burrow, some depth below the level of the ground, formed an antechamber where the little family to which she presently gave birth was reared in safety. though the badgers, aware that the shallow "stops" in the woods were more easily unearthed than this deeper burrow near the mouth of the "set," did not seek to disturb their neighbours, the mother rabbit, directly her family grew old enough to leave the nest, became increasingly vigilant, and, when about to lead them to or from their dwelling, was ever careful to be satisfied that all was quiet in the chambers and the galleries below. generally she ventured abroad before the badgers awoke from the day's sleep, came back during their absence, and once more stole out to feed when they had returned and were resting in their snuggery. the danger that lurked in her surroundings supplied a special excitement to life, and she never heard without fear the ominous sounds that vibrated clearly through every crack and cranny when the badgers occasionally arose from their couch, stretched their cramped limbs, shook their rough grey coats, and grunted with satisfaction at the feeling of health and strength which nearly all wild animals delight occasionally to express. the forest trees had donned their verdure; the tall bracken had lifted its fronds so far above the grass that the mother rabbit no longer found them a convenient screen through which to peer at the strange antics of the old badgers as they came from their lair and sat in the twilight on the mound by the entrance of their home; and the rill in the dingle, which, during winter and early spring, leaped, a clear, rushing torrent, on its way to the river below the steep, had dwindled to a few drops of water, collected in tiny pools among the stones, or trickling reluctantly down the dank, green water-weed. the young badger family had grown so strong and high-spirited that their dam, weakened by motherhood, and at a loss to restrain their increasing desire for outdoor air and exercise, determined to wean them, and to teach them many lessons, concerning the ways of the woodland people, which she had learned long ago from her parents, or, more recently, from her own experiences as a creature of the dark, mysterious night. brock, in particular, was the source of considerable anxiety to her. he was the leader in every scene of noisy festivity; she was repeatedly forced to punish him for following her at dusk to the mound outside the upper gallery, and for disobedience when she condescended to take part in a midnight romp in the underground nursery. he tormented the other members of the family by awakening them from sleep when he desired to play, also by appropriating, till his appetite was fully appeased, all the food his dam brought home from her hunting expeditions, and, again, by picking quarrels over such a trifling matter as the choice of a place when he and his little companions wished to rest. nature's children are wilful and selfish; and in their struggle for existence they live, if independent of their parents, only so long as they can take care of themselves. among adult animals, however, selfishness seems to become inoperative in the care they take of their offspring. but though the mother badger was unselfish towards her little ones, she spared no effort to instruct them in the ways of selfishness. the night of brock's first visit to the woods was warm and unclouded. for an hour after sunset, he played about the gallery by the door, while his mother, a vigilant sentinel, remained motionless and unseen in the darkness behind. now and again, he heard the rabbits moving in the burrow, but they, aware of his presence, stayed discreetly out of view. under his mother's guidance, or even if his playmates had been bold enough to accompany him, he would at once have been ready to explore the furthest corner of the rabbit-hole. but the old badger was too big, and the youngsters were too timid, to go with him into the mysterious antechamber; so, after repeated attempts to explore the passage as far as the bend, and finding to his discomfort that there the space became narrower, he gave up the idea of prying on the doings of his neighbours, and contented himself with droll, clumsy antics, such as those by which wild children often seek to convince indulgent parents that they are eager and fearless. as the darkness deepened, the dog-badger, after hunting near the outskirts of the wood, returned to the "set." his manner indicated that he was the bearer of an important message. he touched his mate on the shoulder; then, as she responded to his greeting, he thrust his head forward so that she could scent a drop of blood clinging to his lip; and, while she sniffed enquiringly along the fringe of his muzzle, he seemed to be assuring her that his message was of the utmost consequence. as soon as she understood his meaning, he vanished into the gallery, and for a few moments was evidently busy. faint squeals and grunts, which gradually became louder and louder, proceeded from the central chamber, and, again, from the inner passages; and presently the big badger appeared in sight, driving his family before him, and threatening them with direst punishment if they attempted to double past him and thus regain their dark retreat. wholly unable to appreciate the real position of affairs, brock, perplexed and frightened, found himself hiding among the ferns and brambles outside the "set," while the sire, standing in full view on the mound, and grunting loudly, forbade the return of his evicted family. unexpectedly, too, the mother badger, when the little ones looked to her for sympathy in their extraordinary treatment, took the part of the crusty old sire, and snapped and snarled directly they attempted to move back towards the mound. utterly bewildered and much in fear, since their dam, hitherto the object of implicit trust, had suddenly deserted their cause, the young badgers crouched together under the bushes, and watched distrustfully each movement of their parents. the sire stuck to his post on the mound, and, with hoarse grunts, varied occasionally by thin, piping squeals that did not seem in the least to accord with his wrathful demeanour, continued to keep them at a distance. soon the dam moved slowly away, climbed the track towards the top of the wood, and then called to the cubs as they sat peering after her into the darkness. released from discipline, and eagerly responsive to her cry, they lurched after her, and followed closely as she led them further and still further from home. presently, the dog-badger overtook his family. his manner, as well as the dam's, had changed; and though great caution was exercised as they journeyed along paths well trodden, and free from twigs that might snap, or leaves that might rustle, and though silence was the order of the march, the little family--proud parents and shy, inquisitive children--seemed as happy as the summer night was calm. the distant sound of a prowling creature, heard at times from the margin of the wood, caused not the slightest alarm to the cubs: the intense nervousness always apparent in young foxes was not evinced by the little badgers. in comparison with the fox-cubs, they were not easily frightened; they already gave promise of the presence of mind which, later, was often displayed when they were threatened by powerful foes. brock, nevertheless, betrayed astonishment when a dusky form bolted through the whinberry bushes close by; and several moments passed before he was able, by his undeveloped methods of reasoning, to connect the scent of the flying creature with that of the rabbits often carried home by his mother, and, therefore, with something good for food. at the top of the wood, the old badgers turned aside and led the way through a thicket, where, in obedience to their mother, the youngsters came to a halt, while their sire, proceeding a few yards in advance, sniffed the ground, like a beagle picking up the line of the hunt. having found the object of his search, he called his family to him, that they might learn the meaning of the various signs around. but the doings of the woodland folk could not yet be learnt by the little badgers, as by the experienced parents, from trifling details, such as the altered position of a leaf or twig, the ringing alarm-cry of a bird, the fresh earth-smell near an upturned stone, or the taint of a moving creature in the grass. beside them lay a small brown and white stoat, its head almost severed from its body by a quick, powerful bite, and, just beyond, the motionless form of a half-grown rabbit, unmarked, save by a small, clean-cut wound between the ears. the scent of both creatures was noticeable everywhere around, and with it, quite as strong and fresh, the scent of the big male badger. walking up the path, soon after nightfall, the badger had arrived on the scene of a woodland tragedy, and had found the stoat so engrossed with its victim that to kill the bloodthirsty little tyrant was the easy work of an instant. afterwards, mindful of the education of his progeny, he had hurried home to arrange with his mate a timely object lesson in wood-craft. the stoat was left untasted, but the rabbit was speedily devoured; and then the badger family resorted to the riverside below the "set," where the cubs were taught to lap the cool, clear water. thence, before returning home, they were taken to a clearing in the middle of the wood, and, while the sire went off alone to scout and hunt, the mother badger showed them how to find grubs and beetles under the rotting bark of the tree-butts, in the crevices among the stones, and in the soft, damp litter of the decaying leaves. iii. fear of the trap. night after night, the cubs, sometimes under the protection of both their parents, and sometimes under the protection of only the dam, roamed through the by-ways of the countryside. from each expedition they gleaned something of new and unexpected interest, till they grew wise in the ways of nature's folk that haunt the gloom--the strong, for ever seeking opportunities of attack; the weak, for ever dreading even a chance shadow on the moonlit trail. a strange performance, which, for quite a month, seemed devoid of meaning to the cubs, but which, nevertheless, brock soon learned to imitate, took place whenever the tainted flesh of a dead creature was found in the way. the old badgers at once became alert, moved with the utmost caution, smelt but did not touch the offensive morsel, and, instead of seizing it, rolled over it again and yet again, as if the scent proved irresistibly attractive. one of the cubs, that had always shown an inclination to act differently from the way in which her companions acted, and often became lazy and stupid when lesson-time arrived, was destined to pay dearly for neglecting to imitate her parents. lagging behind the rest of the family, as in single file they moved homeward after a long night's hunting in the fallow, she chanced to scent some carrion in the ditch, turned aside to taste it, and immediately was held fast in the teeth of an iron trap. hearing her cries of pain and terror, the mother hastened to the spot, and, for a moment, was so bewildered with disappointment and anger that she chastised the cub unmercifully, though the little creature was enduring extreme agony. but directly the old badger recovered from her fit of temper, she sought to make amends by petting and soothing the frightened cub, and trying to remove the trap. finally, after half an hour's continuous effort, she accidentally found that the trap was connected by a chain with a stake thrust into the ground. quickly, with all the strength of her muscular fore-paws, she dug up the soil at the end of the chain, and then, with powerful teeth, wrenched the stake from its position. dragging the cruel trap, the young badger slowly followed her dam homeward, but when she had gone about a hundred yards pain overcame her, and she rolled down a slight incline near the hedge. for a few minutes, she lay helpless; then, grunting hoarsely, she climbed the ditch, and continued her way in the direction of a gap leading into the wood. there, as she gained the top of the hedge, the trap was firmly caught in the stout fork of a thorn-bush. further progress was impossible; all her frantic struggles failed to give her freedom. the dam stayed near, vainly endeavouring to release her, till at dawn a rustle was heard in the hedge, and a labourer on his way to the farm came in sight above a hurdle in the gap. reluctantly, the old badger stole away into the wood, leaving the cub to her fate. it came--a single blow on the nostrils from a stout cudgel--and all was over. the lesson thus taught left a salutary impression on the minds of the other cubs. from it they learned that the presence of stale flesh was somehow associated with the peculiar scent of oiled and rusty iron, or with the taint of a human hand, and was fraught with the utmost danger. they somehow felt that their dam acted wisely in rolling over any decaying refuse she happened to find on her way; and later, when brock, seizing an opportunity to imitate his mother, sprang another trap, which, closing suddenly beneath his back, did no more harm than to rob him of a bunch of fur, they recognised how a menace to their safety might be easily and completely removed by the simple expedient taught them by their careful parent. though she invariably took the utmost precaution against danger from baited traps, the old she-badger was nevertheless surprised, almost as much as were the cubs, at the incidents just described. at various times she had sprung more than a dozen traps, but in each case her attention had been directed to the trap only by the scent of iron, or of the human hand. however faint that scent might be, and however mingled with the smell of newly turned earth or of sap from bruised stalks of woodland plants, she immediately detected it, rolled on the spot, and then noted the signs around--the disturbed leaf-mould, and the foot-scent of man leading back among the bilberry bushes, or down the winding paths between the oaks, where, occasionally, she also found faint traces of the hand-scent on bits of lichen, or on rotten twigs, fallen from the grasp of her enemy as he clutched the tree-trunks in his steep descent towards the riverside. but never before had she seen a baited trap. her dam had never seen one; her grand-dam had been equally ignorant; and yet both, like herself, had always rolled on any tainted flesh they chanced to come across on their many journeys. for generations, in this far county of the west, the creatures of the woods, except the fox, had never been systematically hunted. the vicissitudes of history had directly affected the welfare of wild animals. the old professional hunting and fighting classes had become unambitious tenant farmers; and, partly through the operations of an old welsh law regarding the equal division of property, the land beyond the feudal tracts of the norman marches were, in many instances, broken up into small freeholds owned by descendants of the princely families of bygone ages. but hard, incessant work was the lot of tenant and freeholder alike. when the aims and the experiences of the old fighting and sporting days had passed away, and nothing was left but ceaseless toil, these essentially combative people, to whom violent and continuous excitement was the very breath of life, became, for a while at least, knavish and immoral, sunk almost to one dead social level, and totally uninteresting because, in their new life of peaceful tillage--a life far more suited to their english law-givers than to themselves--they were apparently incapable of maintaining that complete, vigilant interest in their ordinary surroundings which makes for enlightenment and success. having lost the love of "venerie" possessed by their forefathers, the farmers cared little about any wild creatures but hares and rabbits; a badger's ham was to them an unknown article of food. the fear of a baited trap had, therefore, probably descended from one badger to another since days when the green-gowned forester came to the farm, from the lodge down-river, and sought assistance in the capture of an animal for the sport of an otherwise dull sunday afternoon in the courtyard of the nearest castle; or even since ages far remote, when a badger's flesh was esteemed a luxury by the earliest celts. unbaited traps, in the "runs" of the rabbits, had at intervals been common for centuries; but now the carefully prepared baits and the unusually strong traps seemed to indicate nothing less than an organised attack on other and more powerful night hunters. the badger's fears, however, were hardly warranted. five traps had been placed in the wood by a curious visitor staying at the village inn. in one of these, brock's sister had been caught; but the owner of the trap knew nothing beyond the fact that it had mysteriously disappeared from the spot where he had seen it fixed. another was sprung by brock; two at the far end of the wood were so completely fouled by a fox that every prowling creature carefully avoided the spot; while in the fifth was found a single blood-stained claw, left to prove the visit of a renegade cat. it may well be imagined that a large and interesting animal like the badger, keeping for many years to an underground abode so spacious that the mound at its principal entrance is often a quite conspicuous landmark for some distance in the woods, would be subject to frequent and varied attacks from man, and thus be speedily exterminated. it may also be imagined that the habits of following the same well worn paths night after night, of never ranging further than a few miles from the "set," and of living so sociably that the community sometimes numbers from half-a-dozen to a dozen members, apart from such lodgers as foxes, rabbits, and wood-mice, would all combine to render the creature an easy prey. but if the badger's ways are carefully studied, the very circumstances which at first seem unfavourable to him are found to account for much of his immunity from harm. the depth of his breeding chamber and the length of the connecting passages are, as a rule, indicated by the size of the mound before his door. the fact that he regularly pursues the same paths in his nightly excursions enables him to become familiar, like the fox, with each sight and scent and sound of the woods, so that anything strange is at once noticed, and danger avoided. his sociability is a distinct gain, because he receives therefrom co-operation in his sapping and mining while he aims to secure the impregnability of his fortress; and his tolerance of cunning and timid neighbours gains for him this advantage: sometimes in the dusk, before venturing abroad, he receives a warning that danger lurks in the thickets around his home--perhaps from a double line of scent indicating that the fox has started on a journey and then hurriedly turned back, or from numerous cross-scents at the mouth of the burrow, where the rabbits and the wood-mice have passed to and fro, deterred by fear in their frequent attempts to reach feeding places beyond the nearest briar-clumps. his methods, however, when either his neighbours or the members of his own family become too numerous, are prompt and drastic. shy, inoffensive, and, for a young creature unacquainted with the responsibilities of a family, deliberate to the point of drollery in all his movements, brock grew up beneath his parents' care; and, with an intelligence keener than that possessed by the other members of the little woodland family, learned many lessons which they failed to understand. when his mother called, he was always the first to hasten to her side. each incident of the night, if of any significance, was explained to her offspring by the mother. often brock was the only listener when she began her story, and the late arrivals heard but disconnected parts. beautiful beyond comparison were those brief summer nights, silent, starlit, fragrant, when the badgers led their young by many a devious path through close-arched bowers amid the tangled bracken, or under drooping sprays of thorn and honeysuckle in the hidden ditches, or through close tunnels, as gloomy as the passages of their underground abode, in the dense thickets of the furze. sometimes they wandered in the corn and root-crop, or in the hayfield where the sorrel, a cooling medicinal herb for many of the woodland folk, grew long and succulent; and sometimes they descended the steep cattle-path on the far side of the farm, where the big dor-beetles, as plentiful there as in the grass-clumps of the open pasture, were easily struck down while they circled, droning loudly, about the heaps of refuse near the hedge. once, late in july, when the badgers were busily catching beetles by the side of the cattle-path, brock, thrusting his snout into the grass to secure a crawling insect, chanced to hear a faint, continuous sound, as of a number of tiny creatures moving to and fro in a hollow beneath the moss-covered mound at his feet. he listened intently, his head cocked knowingly towards the spot whence the sound proceeded; then, scratching up a few roots of the moss, he sniffed enquiringly, drawing in a long, deep breath, at the mouth of a thimble-shaped hole his sharp claws had exposed. unexpectedly, and without the help of the dam, he had discovered a wild-bees' nest. his inborn love of honey was every whit as strong as a bear's, and he recognised the scent as similar to that of insects known by him to be far more tasty than beetles; so, without a moment's hesitation, he began to dig away the soil. the nest was soon unearthed, and the little badger, completely protected by his thick and wiry coat from the half-hearted assaults of the bewildered bees, greedily devoured the entire comb, together with every well-fed grub and every drop of honey the fragile cells contained. his eagerness was such that these spoils seemed hardly more than a tempting morsel sufficient to awaken a desire for the luscious sweets of the wayside storehouses. he carefully hunted the hedgerow, as far as a gate leading to a rick-yard, and at last, close to a stile, found another nest, which, also, he quickly destroyed. henceforth, till the end of august, there were few nights during which he did not find a meal of honey and grubs. the summer was fine and warm, a lavish profusion of flowers adorned the fields and the woods, and humble-bees and wasps were everywhere numerous. as if to taunt the badgers with inability to climb, a swarm of tree-wasps lived in a big nest of wood-pulp suspended from a branch ten feet or so above the "set," and, every afternoon, the badgers, as they waited near the mouth of their dwelling for the darkness to deepen, heard the shrill, long continued humming of the sentinel wasps around the big ball in the tree--surely one of the most appetising sounds that could ever reach a badger's ears. but the wasps that had built among the ferns near the river-path, and in the hollows of the hedges, were remorselessly hunted and despoiled. their stings failed to penetrate the thick coat and hide of their persistent foes, while a chance stab on the lips or between the nostrils seemed only to arouse the badgers from leisurely methods of pillage to quick and ruthless slaughter of the adult insects as well as of the immature grubs. but brock never committed the indiscretion of swallowing a full-grown wasp. with his fore-paws he dexterously struck and crippled the angry sentinels that buzzed about his ears, and, with teeth bared in order to prevent a sting on his tender muzzle, disabled the newly emerged and sluggish insects that wandered over the comb. as autumn drew on, the cubs grew strong and fat on the plentiful supplies of food, which, with their parents' help, they readily found in field and wood. brock gave promise of abnormal strength, and was already considerably heavier than his sister. they fared far better than the third cub, a little male, that, notwithstanding a temper almost as fiery as brock's, was worsted in every dispute and frequently robbed of his food, and still, never owning himself beaten, persisted in drawing attention to his success whenever he happened on something fresh and toothsome. at such times, instead of hastily and silently regaling himself, he made a great a-do, grunting with rage and defiance, like a dog that guards a marrow-bone but will not settle down to gnaw its juicy ends. brock's brother was so often deprived of his legitimate spoils, that, while his surliness was increased, his bodily growth was checked. he was small and thin for his age; and so, when a kind of fever peculiar to young badgers broke out in the woodland home, he succumbed. his grave was a shallow depression near the path below the "set," whither his parents dragged his lifeless body, and where the whispering leaves of autumn presently descended to array him in a red and golden robe of death. the other young badgers quickly recovered from their fever; and by the end of october all the animals were, as sportsmen say, "in grease," and well prepared for winter's cold and privation. the old badgers became more and more indisposed to roam abroad; and, whereas in summer they sometimes wandered four or five miles from the "set," they now seldom went further than the gorse-thicket on the fringe of the wood. iv. the winter "oven." the badger-cubs, while not so well provided against the cold as were their parents, grew lazy as winter advanced, and spent most of their time indoors on a large heap of fresh bedding, that had been collected under the oaks and carried to a special winter "oven" below the chamber generally occupied in summer. here, the sudden changes of temperature affecting the outer world were hardly noticeable; and so enervating were the warmth and indolence, that the badgers, in spite of thick furs and tough hides, rarely left their retreat when the shrill voice of the north-east wind, overhead in the mouth of the burrow, told them of frost and snow. about mid-winter, the first of two changes took place in the colour of the young badgers' coats; from silver-grey it turned to dull brownish yellow, and the contrasts in the pied markings of the cheeks became increasingly pronounced. this change happened a little later with brock than with his sister. eventually, late in the following winter, the young female, arriving at maturity, donned a gown of darker grey, and her face was striped with black and white; shortly afterwards, brock, too, assumed the livery of a full-grown badger. meanwhile, till events occurred of which the second change was only a portent, all remained fairly peaceful in the big burrow under the whins and brambles. occasionally, in the brief winter days, brock was awakened from his comfortable sleep by the music of the hounds, as they passed by on the scent of vulp, the fleetest and most cunning fox on the countryside, or by the stamp of impatient hoofs, as the huntsman's mare, tethered to a tree not far from the "set," eagerly awaited her rider's return from a "forward cast" into the dense thicket beyond the glade. one afternoon in late winter, a young vixen, that, without knowing it, had completely baffled her pursuers, crept, footsore and travel-stained, into the mouth of the "set," and lay there, panting loudly, till night descended, and she had sufficiently recovered from her distress to continue her homeward journey. now and again, the sharp report of a shotgun echoed down the wood; and once, late at night, when brock climbed up from the "oven" to sit awhile on the mound before his door, the scent of blood was strong in the passage leading to the rabbit's quarters. unfortunate bunny! next night, stiff and sore from her wounds, she crawled out into the wood, and vulp and his vixen put an end to her misery long before the badgers ventured from their lair. winter, with its long hours of sleep, passed quietly away. amid the sprouting grasses by the river-bank, the snowdrops opened to the breath of spring; soon afterwards, the early violets and primroses decked the hedgerows on the margin of the wood, and the wild hyacinths thrust their spike-shaped leaves above the mould. the hedgehogs, curled in their beds amid the wind-blown oak-leaves, were awakened by the gentle heat, and wandered through the ditches in search of slugs and snails. one evening, as the moon shone over the hill, the woodcock, that for months had dwelt by day in the oak-scrub near the "set," and had fed at night in the swampy thickets by the rill, heard the voice of a curlew descending from the heights of the sky, and rose, on quick, glad pinions, far beyond the soaring of the lark, to join a great bird-army travelling north. regularly, as the time for sleep drew nigh, the old inhabitants among the woodland birds--the thrushes, the robins, the finches, and the wrens--squabbled loudly as they settled to rest: their favourite roosting places were being invaded by aliens of their species, that, desirous of breaking for the night their northward journey, dropped, twittering, into every bush and brake on the margin of the copse. and into nature's breast swept, like an irresistible flood, a yearning for maternity. the vixen, that once had rested inside the burrow to recover from her "run" before the hounds, remembered the sanctuary, returned to it, and there in time gave birth to her young; and, though almost in touch with such enemies as the badger and the fox, a few of the rabbits that had been reared during the previous season in the antechamber of the "set" enlarged their dwelling place, and were soon engaged in tending a numerous offspring. the timid wood-mice, following suit, scooped out a dozen tiny galleries within an old back entrance of the burrow, and multiplied exceedingly. but, while all other creatures seemed bent on family affairs, brock's parents, following a not infrequent habit of their kindred, deferred such duties to another season. as spring advanced, food became far more abundant than in winter, and the badgers' appetites correspondingly increased. directly the evening shadows began to deepen, parents and cubs alike became impatient of the long day's inactivity, and adjourned together to one or other of the entrances, generally to the main opening behind the big mound. there, unseen, they could watch the rooks sail slowly overhead, and the pigeons, with a sharp hiss of swiftly beating wings, drop down into the trees, and flutter, cooing loudly, from bough to bough before they fell asleep. then, after a twilight romp in and about the mouth of the burrow, the badgers took up the business of the night, and wandered away over the countryside in search of food, sometimes extending their journeys even as far as the garden of a cottage five miles distant, where brock distinguished himself by overturning a hive and devouring every particle of a new honeycomb found therein. autumn, beautiful with pearly mists and red and golden leaves, again succeeded summer, and the woods resounded with the music of the huntsman's horn, as the hounds "harked forward" on the scent of fleeing fox-cubs, that had never heard, till then, the cries of the pursuing pack. one morning, brock lay out in the undergrowth, though the sun was high and the rest of his family slept safely in the burrow. at the time, his temper was not particularly sweet, for, on returning to the "set" an hour before dawn, he had quarrelled with his sire. among the dead leaves and hay strewn on the floor of the chamber usually inhabited by the badgers in warm weather, was an old bone, discovered by brock in the woods, and carried home as a plaything. for this bone brock had conceived a violent affection, almost like that of a child for a limbless and much disfigured doll. he would lie outstretched on his bed, for an hour at a time, with his toy between his fore-feet, vainly sucking the broken end for marrow, or sharpening his teeth by gnawing the juiceless knob, with perfect contentment written on every line of his long, solemn face. if disturbed, he would take the bone to the winter "oven" below, and there, alone, would toss it from corner to corner and pounce on it with glee, or, with a sudden change of manner, would grasp it in his fore-paws, roll on his back, and scratch, and bite, and kick it, till, tired of the fun, he dropped asleep beside his plaything; while overhead, the rabbits and the voles, at a loss to imagine what was happening in the dark hollows of the "earth," quaked with fear, or bolted helter-skelter into the bushes beyond the mound. when, just before the quarrel, brock sought for his bone, as he was wont to do on returning home, he scented it in the litter beneath a spot completely overlapped on every side by some part or other of his recumbent sire. for a few moments, he was nonplussed by the situation; then, desperate for his plaything, he suddenly began to dig, and, in a twinkling, was half buried in the hay and leaves; while to right and to left he scattered soil and bedding that fell like a shower over his mother and sister. before the old dog-badger had realised the meaning of the commotion, brock had grabbed his treasure, and, withdrawing his head from the shallow pitfall he had hurriedly fashioned, had caused his drowsy parent to roll helplessly over. this was more than a self-respecting father could possibly endure in his own home and among his own kin, so, with unexpected agility, as he turned in struggling to recover his balance, he gripped brock by the loose skin of the neck, and held him as in a vice from which there seemed no escape. brock, doubtless thinking that his right to the bone was being disputed, strove vigorously to get hold of his sire, but the grip of the trap-like jaws was inflexible, and kept him firmly down till his rage had expended itself, and he was cowed by his parent's prompt, easy show of tremendous power. when, at last, the old badger relinquished his hold, brock shook himself, and sulkily departed from the "set," followed to the door by his relentless chastiser. an hour before noon, brock heard the note of a horn--sounding far distant, but really coming only from the other side of the hill--succeeded by the eager baying of a pack of fox-hounds. then, for a while, all was silent, but soon the cries of the hounds broke out again, away beyond the farm by the river. evidently something was amiss. brock, though hardly, perhaps, alarmed, shifted uneasily in his retreat under the yellow bracken, and finally, almost fascinated, lay quiet, watching and listening. presently the ferns parted; and a fox-cub appeared in full view, treading lightly, his tongue lolling out, his jaws strained far back towards his ears, and his face wearing the look of a creature of excessive cunning, though for the time frightened nearly out of his wits. the fox-cub paused an instant, turned as if to look at something in the dark thickets by the glen, climbed the mound, and, after another hasty glance, entered his home among the outer chambers of the "set." unknown, of course, to brock, the leading hounds were running mute on the fox-cub's scent down the path by the river. they swerved, and lost the line for a moment, then, "throwing their tongues," crashed through the briars into the fern; and at once brock was surrounded. luckily, he had neither been punished too severely by his sire, nor had exhausted himself in hotly resisting the chastisement. for a few seconds, however, as the hounds pressed closely in the rough-and-tumble fray, trying to tear him limb from limb, he was disconcerted. but quickly regaining his self-possession, he began to make the fight exceedingly warm for his assailants. a hound caught him by the leg; turning, he caught the aggressor by the muzzle. his strong, sharp teeth crashed through nose and lip clean to the bone, and the discomfited hound, directly one of the pack had "created a diversion," made off at full speed, running "heel," and howling at the top of his voice. one after another, brock served two couples thus, till the wood was filled with a mournful chorus altogether different from the usual music of the hounds. little hurt, except for a bruise or two on his loose, rough hide, and feeling almost as fresh as when the attack began, brock, with his face to the few foes still remaining to threaten him hoarsely from a safe distance, retired with dignity to the mound, and disappeared in the tunnel just as reinforcements of the enemy hastened up the slope. henceforth, even in leafy summer, he seldom remained outside his dwelling during the day, and any fresh sign of a dog in the neighbourhood of his immediate haunt never failed to fill him with rage and apprehension. since the time when their silvery-grey coats had turned to brownish-yellow, the badger cubs had become more and more independent of their parents; and before long, familiar with the forest paths, they often wandered alone. yet so regular was their habit of returning home during the hour preceding dawn, that, unless something untoward happened, the last badger to reach the "earth" was rarely more than a few minutes after the first. towards the end of autumn, however, the female cub seemed to have lost this habit; on several occasions dawn was breaking when she sought her couch; and one morning she was missing from the family. her regular home-coming had given place to meeting, in a copse over the hill, a young male badger reared among the rocks of a glen up-stream; and by him she had at last been led away to a home, which, after inspecting several other likely places, he had made by enlarging a rabbit burrow in a long disused quarry. brock was in no hurry to find himself a spouse; he waited till the end of winter. meanwhile, the colour of his coat changed from yellow to full, dark grey, and simultaneously a change became apparent in his disposition. wild fancies seized him; from dusk to dawn he wandered with clumsy gait over the countryside, little heeding how noisily he lumbered through the undergrowth. the gaunt jack-hare, that, crying out in the night, hurried past him, was not a whit more crazy. at one time, brock met a young male badger in the furze, attacked him vigorously, and left him more dead than alive. at another time, he even turned his rage against his sire. the old badger was by no means unwilling to resent provocation: he, too, felt the hot, quick blood of spring in his veins. the fight was fierce and long--no other wild animal in britain can inflict or endure such punishment as the badger--and it ended in victory for brock. his size and strength were greater than his father's; he also had the advantage of youth and self-confidence; but till its close the struggle was almost equal, for the obstinate resistance of the experienced old sire was indeed hard to overcome. brock forced him at last from the corner where he stood with his head to the wall, and hustled him out of doors. then the victor hastened to the brook to quench his thirst, and, returning to the "set," sought to sleep off the effects of the fight. when he awoke, he found that the mother badger had gone to join her evicted mate. the inseparable couple prepared a disused part of the "set" for future habitation; there they collected a heap of dry bedding, and, free from further interruption, were soon engaged with the care of a second family. for nearly a week after his big battle, brock felt stiff and sore, and altogether too ill to extend his nightly rambles further than the boundaries of the wood. but with renewed health his restlessness returned, and he wandered hither and thither in search of a mate to share his dwelling. a knight-errant among badgers, he sought adventure for the sake of a lady-love whose face he had not even seen. sometimes, to make his journeys shorter than if the usual trails from wood to wood had been followed, he used the roads and by-ways leading past the farmsteads, and risked encounter with the watchful sheep-dogs. for this indiscretion, he almost paid the penalty of his life. crossing a moonlit field on the edge of a covert, he saw a flock of sheep break from the hurdles of a fold near the distant hedge, and run panic-stricken straight towards him. long before he had time to regain the cover, they swept by, separating into two groups as they came where he stood. immediately afterwards, he saw that one of the sheep was lying on her back, struggling frantically, while a big, white-ruffed collie worried her to death. the dog was so engrossed with his victim that the badger remained unnoticed. having killed the sheep, the dog sat by, panting because of his exertions, and licking the blood from his lips. suddenly, raising his head, he listened intently, his ears turned in the direction of the fold. then, growling savagely, he slunk away, with his tail between his legs, and disappeared within the wood. he had scarcely gone from sight, when the farmer and his boy climbed over the hedge near the field and hastened across the pasture. they saw the sheep lying dead, and, not far from the spot, the badger lumbering off to the covert. instantly believing that brock was the cause of their trouble, they called excitedly for help from the farm, and dashed in pursuit. as brock gained the gap by the wood, he felt a sharp, stinging blow on his ribs. on the other side of the hedge, he reached an opening in the furze, and the sticks and stones aimed at him by his pursuers, as he turned downwards through the wood, fell harmlessly against the trees and bushes. the noise he made when crashing through the thickets was, however, such a guide to his movements, that he failed to baffle the chase till he reached a well worn trail through the open glades. luckily for him, as he emerged from cover a cloud obscured the moon, and he was able to make good his escape by crossing a deep dingle to the lonely fields along his homeward route, where, in the shadows of the hedges, though now the moon again was bright, he could not easily be seen. it was fortunate for the badger, not only that the moon was hidden by a cloud as he crossed the dingle when fleeing from the wood, but also that his home was distant from the scene of the tragedy in the upland pasture near the farm. a hue-and-cry was raised, and for days the farmer's boy searched the wood around the spot where brock had disappeared, hoping there to find the earth-pig's home. other sheep were mysteriously killed on farms still further from the badger's "earth"; then watchers, armed with guns, lay out among the cold, damp fields to guard the sleeping flocks; and the collie, a beautiful creature whose character had hitherto been held above reproach, was shot almost in the act of closing on a sheep he had already wounded, close to the corner of a field where a shepherd lay in hiding. the farmer and his boy were chaffed so unmercifully--for this story of the badger was now considered a myth--that they grew to hate the very name of "earth-pig," and to believe that after all they must have chased through the wood some incarnation of satan. v. hillside trails. several times during his search for a mate, brock struck the trail of a female badger, and followed its windings through the thickets and away across the open fields towards the distant valley, only, however, to lose it near some swollen brook or on some well trodden sheep-path. the female had evidently come to a little copse on the crest of a rugged hill overlooking the river, and, after skirting a pond where wild duck sheltered among the flags, had retraced her steps. brock's most frequented tracks led close to the spot where the stranger's return trail joined the other near an opening from an almost impenetrable gorse-cover into a marshy fallow. there, late one night, he found, as he crossed the opening, that the female badger had travelled forward, but had not yet returned. revisiting the spot some minutes afterwards, he discovered that the backward "drag" was strong on the damp grass. he followed it quickly, and, in a stubble beyond the gorse, came up at last with the object of his oft-disappointed quest. she was a widow badger, older and more experienced than brock, but smaller and of lighter build. perhaps because she wished to test the loyalty of her new lover, and to find whether he would fight for her possession with any intruder, she resisted his advances, and refused to go with him to his home. so he followed her far away to her own snug dwelling on the fringe of the moorlands. thence, with the first streak of dawn in the south-eastern sky, he hurried back to his lair. early next evening, brock went forth to meet his lady-love; and throughout the long night and for nights afterwards he wandered at her side, till, concluding that no other suitor was likely to appear, she accompanied him to his home, and entered on the season's house-keeping in the central chamber of the great "set" where he had been born. there they lived happily, and without the slightest annoyance from the old badgers; and, since the time of the spring "running" was over, they wandered no further afield than in the cold winter nights. filled with the joy of the life-giving season, they often romped together in the twilight for half an hour at a time, chasing one another in and out of the entrances to the "set," or kicking up the soil as if they suddenly recollected that their claws needed to be filed and sharpened, or standing on their hind-feet and rubbing their cheeks delightedly against a favourite tree--grunting loudly in their fun the while, and in general behaving like droll, ungainly little pigs just escaped from a stye. at last, their frolic being ended, they "bumped" away into the bushes, and, meeting on the trail beyond, proceeded soberly towards the outskirts of the wood. as in the previous spring, the big burrow was soon the scene of family affairs other than those of the badgers. by the end of february, there were cubs in the vixen's den, and both the wood-mice and the rabbits were diligently preparing for important family events. brock's companion, unlike himself was not accustomed to a house inhabited by other tenants. none but members of her own family had dwelt in the "earth" near the moor; and, being somewhat exclusive in her ideas, she strongly resented the presence of the vixen in any quarter of her new abode. a little spiteful in her disposition, she lurked about the passages, and by the mound outside the entrance, intending to give her neighbour "a bit of her mind" at the first opportunity. but since she did not for the present care to enter the vixen's den, that opportunity never came till her own family arrangements claimed her undivided attention, and effectually prevented her from following the course of action she had planned. in the first week of april, the badger's spring-cleaning began in downright earnest. the old bedding of fern, and hay, and leaves was cleared entirely from the winter "oven," and, after a few windy but rainless days and nights, when the refuse of nature's woodland garden was dry, new materials for a cosy couch were carried to the lair, and arranged on the floor of the roomy chamber where brock's mother had brought him into the world. the badgers' methods of conveying the required litter were quaintly characteristic, for the animals possessed the power of moving backward almost as easily and quickly as forward. they collected a pile of leaves, and, grasping it between their fore-legs, made their way, tail first, to the mound, and thence, in the same manner, along their underground galleries, as far as the place intended for its reception, strewing everywhere in the path proofs of their presence, quite sufficient for any naturalist visiting their haunts. on a dark, wet night rather less than a fortnight after they had completed their preparations, when brock returned to his home for shelter from the driving storm, three little cubs were lying by their mother's side. the training of the badger-cubs during the first two months was left wholly to their dam; but afterwards brock shared the work with his mate, teaching the youngsters, by his example, how to procure food, and, at the same time, to detect and to avoid all kinds of danger. in so doing, he simply acted towards his cubs as his sire had acted towards him. apart from family ties, however, his life--that of a strong, deliberate animal, self-possessed in peril and in conflict, yet shy and cautious to a fault--was of extreme interest to both naturalist and sportsman. five young foxes, as well as the vixen, now dwelt in the antechamber near the main entrance of the "set," and the presence of this numerous family became, for several reasons, so objectionable to the she-badger, that, about the middle of may, the antipathy which, since her partnership with brock, she had always felt towards the vixen, was united with a fixed determination to get rid of her neighbours. she was too discreet, however, to attempt to rout them during the day, when some dreaded human being might be attracted by the noise; so she endeavoured to surprise the vixen and her cubs together at night. for a while, she was unsuccessful. she happened to frighten them by an impetuous, blustering attack in the rear, from which they easily escaped; thus her difficulties had been increased, since the objects of her aversion became loath to stay in the "earth" after nightfall. but at last, probably more through accident than set purpose, the badger out-manoeuvred the wily foxes. lying one evening in the doorway, she heard the vixen, followed by the young foxes, creeping stealthily from the den. retreating quickly, she barred their exit, thus compelling them to return to their lair; then she took up her position in the neck of the passage, and waited patiently till midnight before commencing her assault. at last, in the dense darkness, she crawled along the winding tunnel, and, directly, the den was the scene of wild confusion and uproar, as its inmates leaped and tumbled over each other in their frantic efforts to escape. for a few minutes, the advent of danger unnerved them; then, as if peculiarly fascinated by the grim, motionless enemy blocking their only outlet, they began an aimless, shuffling dance, baring their teeth and hissing as they lurched from side to side. their suspense was soon ended. the badger, emerging partly from the passage, gripped one of the cubs by a hind-leg, and dragged it backwards along the passage to the thicket outside, where, after worrying her victim unmercifully, she ended its life by crushing its skull, above the muzzle, into fragments between her teeth. once more, but this time furious with the taste of blood, she hurried to the den; and the scene of fear and violence was repeated. her third visit was futile: the vixen with the other cubs had bolted into the main gallery, and escaped thence to the wood, through an old opening, almost choked with withered leaves, at the back of the "set." they never returned, but the following spring a strange vixen from the rocks across the valley came to the burrow, gave birth to her young, and, in due course, without loss, was evicted by brock's relentless mate. [illustration: "he climbed from his doorway, and stood motionless, with uplifted nostrils, inhaling each breath of scent."] on the night after the death of the fox-cubs, when brock was led by the she-badger to the spot where her victims lay, he noticed that man's foot-scent was strong on the grass around, and also that his hand-scent lingered on the fur of the slain animal. often, during the succeeding two months, he was awakened in the day by quick, irregular footsteps overhead; and later, when he climbed from his doorway, and stood motionless, with uplifted nostrils, inhaling each breath of scent, he found that the dreaded signs of man were numerous on the trail, on the near beech-trunk, and even on the mound before the "set." once, on returning home with his family, he was greatly alarmed to discover that in the night the man had visited his haunts, and that a dog had passed down the galleries and disturbed the bed on which he slept. henceforward, he used the main opening as an exit only, and invariably entered the "set" by the opening through which the vixen had escaped from his mate, passing, on his way, the mouth of a side-gallery connected with the apartments occupied by his old sire and dam, together with their present family. eventually, through these precautions, he saved his principal earthworks from destruction. had brock been able to ascertain the meaning of man's frequent visits to the neighbourhood of his dwelling, he would have sorely lamented the killing of the young foxes by the female badger. in the eyes of the hunt, vulpicide was an unpardonable crime, whether committed by man or beast; and, when the dead fox-cubs were shown to the huntsman, he vowed vengeance on the slayer. because of a recent exchange, between the two local hunts, of certain outlying farms, it happened that this huntsman was not he who in past seasons had tethered his horse near the "set" while he "drew" the cover on foot. the new-comer soon discovered the "earth"; but after a brief examination, from which he concluded, because of the strong taint still lingering, that it was tenanted by a fox, he walked away towards the farm. fearing a reprimand from the master if the mysterious slaughter of the foxes could not be explained, he made careful enquiries of the farmers, by whom he was told of the badger and the sheep, as well as of the poacher who had seen brock's sire in the upland fields two years ago; but he laughed at the first tale, and for want of adequate information paid no heed to the second. nevertheless, when he again visited the "earth," and, stooping, saw the withered leaves and fern, and detected, not now the scent of a fox, but the scent of half a dozen badgers, his sluggish brain began to move in the right direction. stories he had heard by the lodge fireside when he was a lad, casual remarks dropped by followers of the hunt, questions asked him by an inquisitive boy-naturalist--he slowly remembered them all; and then the revealing light dawned on his mind, that no animal but a badger could with ease have broken the limbs of a fox-cub, and cracked the skull as though it were a hazel-nut. filled with a sense of self-importance, befitting the bearer of a momentous message, the huntsman rode away in the breathless summer twilight to the country house where the master lived, and presently was shown into the gun-room to wait till dinner was over. the master prided himself on his love of every kind of sport; and before the huntsman had finished a long, rambling story of the woodland tragedy he had formed his plans for the punishment of the offender and was writing a brief, urgent letter to a distant friend. as the result, a few days afterwards three little terriers, specially trained for "drawing" a badger, arrived at the master's house, and were accommodated in a vacant "loose-box" in the stables. late at night, one of these was introduced to the "set," and from the experiment the master was led to believe that, though the place, as he surmised, was empty of its usual tenants at the time, it held sure promise of sport for an "off" day, as soon as the otter-hounds, now about to hunt in the rivers of the west, had departed from the neighbourhood. meanwhile, according to his strictest orders, the little terriers were well fed, regularly exercised, and kept from quarrelling, and their coats were carefully brushed and oiled that they might be as fit as fiddles for the eventful "draw." the master was a rigid disciplinarian in all matters concerned with sport. his servants, one and all, from the old, white-haired family butler down to the little stable-boy, idolised him, but never presumed to disobey his slightest command. for many years before he came to live at the mansion, the hunt had fallen into a state of extreme neglect; the pack was one of the worst in the kingdom, the subscriptions were irregular, the kennel servants were ill-paid, the poor cottagers never received payment for losses when reynard visited their hen-coops, and even the farmers began to grumble at needless damage to their hedges, and to refuse to "walk" the puppies. but the new master had changed all this. he bore his share, but no more, of the expense caused by the reforms he at once introduced, and he reminded his proud yet stingy neighbours that the pack existed for their sport as much as for his own, that arrears were shown in his secretary's subscription-books, and that, unless the funds were augmented, he would reconsider the step he had taken in accepting the mastership. useless servants, useless hounds, and merely ornamental members of the hunt, alike disappeared; and with system and discipline came season after season of prosperity, contentment, and justice, till it seemed that the best old traditions of british sport were revived in a community of hard-working, rough-riding fox-hunters, among the isolated valleys of the west. as might be inferred from the personality of the squire, everything was in apple-pie order on the glorious summer morning when he and his huntsmen made their way down river to the wood inhabited by brock. a complete collection of tools--crowbar, earth-drill, shovels, picks, a woodman's axe, and a badger-tongs that had been used many years ago to unearth a badger in a distant county, and ever since had occupied a corner in the squire's harness-room--had already been conveyed to the scene of operations, together with a big basket of provisions and a cask of beer, it being one of the squire's axioms that hard work deserved good hire. four brawny labourers were also there; and, near by, each in leash, the three little terriers lay among the bilberries. punctually at the time appointed, the work of the day began. a terrier was led to the main entrance of the "set," but, to the dismay of the huntsman, he refused to enter. when, however, he was brought to the entrance that artful brock had lately used, he at once became keenly excited, dragged at his leash, and, on being freed, disappeared in the darkness of the burrow. the master knelt to listen; and presently, as the sound of furious growls and barks came from the depths, he arose, saying: "now, my men, we may begin with picks and shovels; our badger is at home." what followed, from that early summer morning till twilight shadows fell over the woods, and men and dogs, completely beaten, wended their way homewards along the river-path, may best be told, perhaps, in a bare, simple narrative of events as they occurred. when the terrier went "to ground," he crawled down a steep, winding passage into a hollow, from twelve to fifteen feet below the entrance. thence, guided by the scent of a badger, he climbed an equally steep passage, to a gallery about six feet below the surface. following the gallery for a yard or so, he came to a spot where it was joined by a side passage, and here, as well as in the gallery beyond, the scent was strong. he chose the side passage, crept down a slight declivity, and came where brock's sire had, a few minutes before, been lying asleep, while his mate and cubs occupied the centre of the chamber. awakened by the approach of the terrier, the she-badger and her offspring had hurried to another chamber of the "set," and the male had retreated to a blind alley recently excavated back towards the main gallery. the terrier, keeping to the line he had struck at the sleeping place, found the male badger at work there, throwing up a barrier between himself and his pursuing enemy, and at once diverted his attention by feinting an attack in the rear. for two hours, the game little dog, avoiding each clumsy charge and yet not giving the badger a moment's peace, remained close by, while the men cut further and further into the "set," till they stood in the first deep chamber through which the terrier had passed. then the terrier came out to quench his thirst, and was led away by the huntsman to the river, while the second dog was speedily despatched to earth, that the badger might be allowed no breathing space during which he could bury himself beyond the reach of further attack. the second dog, on coming to the junction of the passage and the gallery, chose the alternative line of scent in the gallery, and wandered far away into the chamber where brock, whose family had descended some time before to the winter "oven," awaited his coming. when the faint barking of the second terrier told that the badger had seemingly shifted his quarters to an almost incredible distance from the trench, the faces of the squire and his assistants evinced no little surprise. for a moment, the men were inclined to believe that the dog was "marking false," but, presently, their doubts were dispelled, and their hopes revived, as the sounds indicated that the terrier, contesting hotly every inch of the way, was retreating towards them before his enraged enemy. the labourers resumed work, though not with the confidence of the early morning, when their task seemed lighter than the experienced master would admit. hour after hour they toiled; the dogs were often changed; and at last the trench was long enough to be within a yard or so of the spot where the dog was engaged. then, to the mortification of the sportsmen, the sounds of the conflict suggested another change: brock was retiring leisurely to his chamber. the earth-drill was soon put into play, and the badger's position discovered, but directly afterwards the animal again moved, this time to the deep "oven" below. night was now rapidly closing over the woods, and the weary, disappointed men and dogs reluctantly gave up their task. the squire admitted that on this occasion, at any rate, he was fairly and squarely beaten. brock and his mate are still in possession of the old burrow beyond the farm; and brock's sire, a patriarch among badgers, lives, as the comrade of another old male, among the boulders of a rugged hillside a mile from the "set." the hedgehog. i. a vagabond hunter. at the lower end of our village, the valley is joined by a deep ravine through which a sequestered road--hidden by hawthorn hedges, and crossed by numerous water-courses where the hillside streams, dropping from rocks of shale, ripple towards a trout-brook feeding the main river--winds into the quiet country. the rugged sides of the ravine are thickly clothed with gorse and brambles, and dotted with hazels, willows, and oaks. this dense cover is inhabited by large numbers of rabbits; in a sheltered hollow half-way up the slope a badger has dug his "set"; and in the pastures above the thickets a fox may be seen prowling on almost any moonlit night. past the gorge, the glen opens out in rich, level pastures and meadows bounded on either side by the hills. the nearest farmsteads are built high among the sunny dingles overlooking the glen, and the corn and the root-crops are grown on the slope beyond the broad belts of gorse and bramble. in winter, the low-lying lands are seldom visited by the peasantry, except when the dairymaid drives the cattle to and fro, or the hedger trims the undergrowth along the ditches. though the sportsman with gun and spaniels and the huntsman with horse and hounds are frequently heard in the thickets, they never visit the "bottom," unless the partridges fly down from the stubble, or the hare, pursued by the beagles, takes a straight line from the far side of the glen to a sheep-path leading up the gorge. and in summer, except when the fisherman wanders by the brook, and the haymakers are busy in the grass, the glen is an undisturbed sanctuary, given over to nature's wildlings, where, in safety, as far as man is concerned, they tend their hidden young. in this quiet, windless place, on the day when first the haymakers came to the meadows, five little hedgehogs were born in a nest among the roots of a tree, deep in the undergrowth of a tangled hedgerow. the nest was made of dry grass and leaves, and with an entrance so arranged amid the "trash," that, when the parent hedgehogs went to or from their home, they pushed their way through a heap of dead herbage, which, falling behind them, hid the passage from inquisitive eyes. it may be asked why such a warm retreat was necessary, inasmuch as the hedgehog sucklings came into the world in the hottest time of the year. nature's reasons were, however, all-sufficient; the little creatures, feeble and blind, needed a secure hiding place, screened from the changeful wind of night and from every roving enemy. the haymakers, moving to and fro amid the swathes, knew nothing of the hedgehogs' whereabouts; but when the dews of night lay thick on the strewn wild flowers, the parent "urchins," leaving their helpless charges asleep within their nest, wondered greatly, while they hunted for snails and slugs in the ditch, at the quick change that had passed over the silent field. for a week or more, the spines sprouting from round projections on the bodies of the young hedgehogs were colourless and blunt, and so flexible that they could have offered no defence against the teeth or the claws of an enemy; while every muscle was so soft and feeble that not one of the little animals was as yet able to roll itself into the shape of a ball. the spines, however, served a useful purpose: they kept the tender skin beneath from being irritated by the chance touch of the mother hedgehog's obtrusive quills. soon the baby hedgehogs' eyes opened wide to the pale light filtering between the leaves at the entrance to the chamber, and their spines, gradually stiffening, assumed a dull grey colour. then, one still, dark night, the little creatures, with great misgiving, followed their parents from the nest, and wandered for a short distance beside the tangled hedge. presently, made tired and sleepy and hungry by exercise and fresh air, they were led back to their secret retreat, where, after being tended for a few moments by their careful mother, they fell asleep, while their parents searched diligently for food in the dense grass-clumps left by the harvesters amid the briars and the furze. henceforth, every night, they ventured, under their mother's care, to roam afield, their journeys becoming longer and still longer as their strength increased, till, familiar with the hedgerow paths, they were ready and eager to learn the rudiments of such field-craft as concerned their unpretending lives. a glorious summer, far brighter than is usual among the rainy hills of the west, brooded over the countryside. the days were calm and sunny, but with the coming of evening occasional mists drifted along the dingles and scattered pearl-drops on the after-math; and the nights were warm and starlit, filled with the silence of the wilderness, which only nature's children break. the "calling season" for the hare had long since passed, and for the fox it had not yet arrived; so the voices of the two greatest wanderers on the countryside were not at this time heard. a doe hare had made her "form" hardly twenty yards from the hedgehogs' nest, and night after night, just when the "urchins" moved down the hedge from the old tree-root, she ambled by on her way to the clover-field above the heath. once, a little before dawn, a fox, coming to drink at the brook, detected the scent of the hedgehogs near a molehill, followed it to the litter of leaves by the tree, and caused considerable alarm by making a vigorous attempt to dig out the nest; but, probably because of the dampness of the loamy soil, he failed to determine the exact whereabouts of the hedgehog family; and, after breaking a tooth in his vain efforts to cut through a tough, close-fibred root, he made his way along the hedge, and soon disappeared over the crest of the moonlit hill. but the next night, when the wind blew strong, and the rain pattered loudly on the leafy trees, he came again to the "urchins'" haunt. the doe hare had long since rustled by, and the hedgehogs were busy munching a cluster of earthworms discovered in a heap of refuse not far from the gate, when reynard stole over the fence-bank, and sniffed at the nest. not finding the family at home, he followed their scent through the ditch, and soon surprised them. to kill one of the tiny "urchins" was the work of a moment; then, made eager by the taste of blood, the fox turned on the mother hedgehog and tried to fix his fangs in the soft flesh beneath the armour of her spines. but, feeling at once his warm breath, she, with a quick contraction of the muscles, rolled herself into a prickly ball, and remained proof against his every artifice. he was a young fox, not yet learned in the wiles of nature's feebler folk, and so, when he had recovered from his astonishment, he pounced on the rigid creature, and, thoughtlessly exerting all his strength, endeavoured to rend her in pieces with his powerful jaws. he paid dearly for his temerity. the prickly ball rolled over, under the pressure of his fore-paws, the sharp points of the spines entered the bare flesh behind his pads, and as, almost falling to the ground, he bit savagely to right and left in the fit of anger which now possessed him, his mouth and nostrils dripped blood from a dozen irritating wounds. thoroughly discomfited, he leaped back into the field, where, sick with pain, he endeavoured to gain relief by rubbing his muzzle vigorously in the grass and against his aching limbs. then, sneezing violently, and with his mouth encrusted with froth and loam, he bolted from the scene of his unpleasant adventure, never pausing till he reached his "earth" on the hillside, in which, hidden from the mocking gaze of other prowlers of the night, he could leisurely salve his wounds with the moisture of his soft, warm tongue, and ponder over the lessons of his recent experience. by far the most intelligent and powerful enemy of the young hedgehogs was the farmer's dog; but, as he slept in the barn at night, and generally accompanied the labourers to the upland fields by day, they escaped, for a while, his unwelcome attentions. foes hardly less dreaded, because of their insatiable thirst for blood, were two polecats living in a hole half-way up the wall of a ruined cottage not far from the hillside farm-house. the polecats, however, were so occupied with the care of a family, that, finding young rabbits plentiful in the burrows on the heath, they seldom wandered into the open fields, till the little "urchins," ready, at the first sign of danger, to curl themselves within the proof-armour of their growing spines, were well able to resist attack. the hedgehogs were about three months old, and summer, brief and beautiful, was passing away, when an incident occurred that might have proved disastrous, though, fortunately, it resulted only in a practical joke, such as nature often plays on the children of the wilds. one calm, dark night, while they were busy in the grass, a brown owl, hunting for mice, sailed slowly by. now, the brown owl, in spite of proverbial wisdom gained during a long life in the dim seclusion of the woods, is occasionally apt to blunder. her character, indeed, seems full of quaint contradictions. as she floats through the moonlight and the shadows of the beech-aisles of dollan, she appears to be a large bird, with a philosophic contentment of mind--an ancient creature that, shunning the fellow-ships of the garish modern day and loving the leisure and the solitude of night, dreams of the past. but, beneath its loose feathery garments, her body, hardly larger than that of a ringdove, is altogether out of proportion to her long, narrow head and wide-spreading talons. visions of the past may come to her, as, blinking at the light of day, she sits in the hollow of the tree, but at night she is far too wide-awake to dream. and so great are the owl's powers of sight and hearing, and so swift is her "stoop" from the sky to the ground, that the bank-vole has little chance of escape should a single grass-stalk rustle underfoot when she is hovering near his haunt. far from being shy and retiring in her disposition, the brown owl, directly night steals over the woodlands, is so fearless that probably no animal smaller than the hare can in safety roam abroad. as the owl flew slowly past the fence, she heard the faint sound of a crackling shell--the hedgehogs were feeding on snails. she could barely distinguish a moving form in a tangle of briars, but its position discouraged attack; so she flew away and continued to hunt for mice. presently, returning to the spot, the owl was once more attracted by the sound of some creature feeding in the grass; and, detecting a slight movement beside the briars, she swooped towards the ditch, grasped one of the "urchins" in her claws, and rose into the air. her quarry, feeling the sudden grip of the sharp talons, made a desperate, convulsive movement, and the owl found, to her astonishment, that her grasp had shifted, and that she was holding, apparently, a hard bunch of thorns. nevertheless, she tightened her grasp; but an unendurable twitch of pain, as the spines entered her flesh immediately above the scales of her talons, caused her to drop the hedgehog into the leaf-mould of the ditch. immediately afterwards, she herself, eager to find out the cause of her discomfiture, dropped also to the earth, and, standing beside the hedgehog, clawed savagely at the motionless creature, seeking some defenceless point among the bristling spines. at last, her patience exhausted, the owl gave up the ineffectual assault, and glided away into the gloomy night. unhurt, but for a slight wound inflicted when first the bird descended, the hedgehog crawled back to the brambles, where the rest of her family were still busy with the snails, and joined them in their feast. autumn's sere leaves had fallen from the trees, and the hedgehogs had found such a plentiful supply of all kinds of food that they were ready for their winter sleep, when a gipsy boy, the proud possessor of a terrier trained for hunting hedgehogs, set forth in haste one evening from his tent by the wayside above the farm. the boy was smarting from cruel blows inflicted by his drunken parents, who, after unusual success in disposing of baskets and clothes-pegs, had spent much of the day's profit in a carouse at the village inn. having escaped a continuance of his parents' brutalities, and eluded their ill-conducted pursuit, the young gipsy, in the company of his only friend, soon forgot his miseries as his thoughts turned to a vagabond's rough sport in the stillness of the harvest night. thrusting a long stick here and there into the briars, he strolled along by the fence, till his dog, diligently beating in line amid the undergrowth, gave a quick yelp of delight, and, an instant later, a curled-up hedgehog rolled down into the ditch. the boy placed the animal in his ragged handkerchief, the corners of which he was proceeding to tie together when the terrier again attracted attention with unmistakable signs of a "find." for a few brief minutes sport was keenly exciting, but at last all the "urchin" family, with the exception of one member, were captured, and the boy, now thoroughly happy, his pockets and handkerchief heavy with spoil, turned homewards through the darkness. next morning, the slain hedgehogs, baked in clay among the hot ashes of a fire of rotten twigs, formed the principal item in the gipsies' bill of fare, and the terrier enjoyed the remnants of the meal. the hedgehog surviving the gipsy's raid was a young female, that, while the terrier beat the fence, remained quietly munching a large lob-worm at the foot of a mound a dozen yards away, and so knew nothing of the fate of her kindred. the last weeks of the year passed uneventfully, as far as her little life was concerned; then, as the nights grew longer and the cold increased, she set about preparing in earnest for her long, deep sleep. in a sheltered spot close to the woodlands, where, a month before, a badger had unearthed a wild bee's nest, she collected a heap of withered oak-leaves, hay, and moss, and with these simple materials made a large, snug nest, a winter house so constructed that the rain might trickle down to the absorbent soil beneath. for a little while, however, she did not enter into her unbroken rest. still, nightly, she roamed abroad, moving in and out of the dried herbage everywhere strewn in her paths among the tree-roots, till the sapless leaves impaled on the sharp points of her spines formed such a cluster that she lost all semblance of a living creature. insects were becoming rarer and still rarer as the year drew to its close, and those surviving the frosts retired to countless secret chambers at the roots of the moss and under the tough bark of the trees. the lizards sought shelter in warm hollows deep below the piles of stones left here and there by the labourers, when, every spring, they cleared the freshening fields. and the big round snails, the luscious tit-bits of the hedgehog's provender, crept into the holes of the red mice and into the chinks of walls and banks, where, protected by their shells, each being fastened to its resting place by a neat rim of hardened glue, they lived unconscious of decay and gloom. then the hedgehog, having become drowsier and still drowsier with privation and cold, ceased to wander from her nest at dark, and began that slumber which was to last till the sweet, warm breath of spring awoke her, and other wildlings of the night, to a life among the early primroses and violets. ii. an experience in snake-killing. the many changes of winter passed over the countryside; tempests raged, rain beat down in slanting sheets or enveloped the fields in mist, snow fell heavily and then vanished before the breath of a westerly breeze, black frost held the fields for days in an iron clutch, and sometimes, from late dawn to early dusk, the sun shone clearly in the southern sky. the sportsman with his spaniels wandered by the hedge, the huntsman with his beagles chased the hare across the sodden meadows, and the report of a gun or the note of a horn echoed among the surrounding hills. but in spite of changing weather and dangers from unresting foes, the hedgehog slept peacefully within her nest of withered leaves till awakened by the whisper of the warm south-western wind. it was a calm day towards the end of march when the hedgehog awoke. gradually, since the winter solstice, the shadows of noon, cast from the wooded slope across the meadows in the glen, had become shorter; and now, when the sun reached its meridian, its beams fell directly on the spot where the hedgehog rested among the littered leaves. she felt the strange and subtle influence of spring, and crawled feebly from her retreat. the light above her nest was far too brilliant for her eyes, which had been closed for three long months, and were at best only accustomed to the gloom of night, so she sought the shadow of a tree-trunk near, and there, for a while, remained quite motionless. with the leaves of last autumn still clinging thickly to her spines, she seemed an oddly fashioned creature belonging to a distant age, a little rip van winkle of the woods, with a new, quick world of unfamiliar joys and sorrows claiming her half-conscious life. extremely feeble from cold and privation, and knowing, as all nature's wildlings seem to know, that sunlight brings with it health and strength, she presently left the shadow of the tree-trunk, and, closing her eyes, basked in complete enjoyment of the balmy day. the heat and the gentle wind soon dried her armour of spines and surcoat of leaves. stealing in through the tunnel left open when the hedgehog came forth from her sleep, the wind cleansed and ventilated the nest, and soon all traces of winter's mustiness had vanished from both herself and her home. by sundown, the "urchin" had gained strength that enabled her to wander slowly into the meadow, where she found sufficient food to stay her growing hunger. during the first few nights, her appetite, though keen, was easily satisfied, for the digestive organs, unaccustomed to their work, could not retain much nutriment, and hours of slumber seemed necessary after every trifling meal. but gradually her powers were restored, till almost any kind of fresh animal matter that came in her way was greedily devoured. a spider sleeping in a folded leaf, a fly hiding beneath a stone, a snail, a slug, a worm, a frog, a weakling bird fallen from an early nest, a lizard, or a snake--all alike were welcome as she thrust her damp, blunt snout, that looked like a little fold of black rubber, here and there amid the herbage. her eyesight was faulty--she had no great need of it; her enemies were few, and she did not live the life of the hunted that fear each footfall on the grass; but, as if to balance all deficiencies, her sense of smell was singularly acute, so that she could follow with ease the trail of a beetle or of an earthworm in its windings over the soil. the eggs and young of the lark, the corncrake, the partridge, or of any other bird that built on the ground, were never safe once the hedgehog had crossed the lines of scent left by the parents around their nest. even the robin and the wren, nesting in holes along the hedge, and the field-mouse in its chamber sheltered by the moss, were at any time likely to have their family affairs most cruelly upset. the wild-bee's sting could not save her honeyed cells and helpless grubs, and the sharp-fanged adder, writhing from the hedgehog's sudden bite, would hurl itself in vain against the prickly ball that instantly confronted each counter attack. the hedgehog's first experience of snake-killing occurred late one evening, when she discovered a viper, some distance from its hole, coiled asleep on a bare patch of soil where the sunlight had lingered at the close of day. her manner instantly changed; she became eager and alert. pausing only a second to make sure of her attack, she bit the snake sharply near the neck, then, withdrawing her head and limbs into the shelter of her spines, rolled over, an inanimate ball. the viper, mad with pain, thrust back its head from its sinuous coils, rose, and struck with open jaws at its assailant. its fangs closed strongly, but failed to get a grip, and the smooth underside of its throat glanced past the hedgehog's slanting prickles with such force that the whole body of the snake was lifted from the ground, and fell, like a bent arrow, about a yard behind its foe. again the snake rose, and struck with no effect; but this time the stroke, coming from the rear, was met by the sharp points of the spines, and the adder's mouth dropped blood from a clean-cut wound on the upper edge of the palate. repeatedly, the snake, hissing loudly and fighting for its life, attacked its armoured enemy--at first dashing itself senselessly against the sharp points of the hedgehog's spines, then, with caution, swaying to and fro its bleeding head and snapping harmlessly at an apparently unguarded spot, till, from sheer exhaustion and pain, and with its store of poison almost exhausted, it retired from the unequal combat and slowly wriggled into the grass. presently, the "urchin" uncoiled, and, as soon as the inquisitive little snout discovered the whereabouts of the snake, started in pursuit. with a hard, firm bite, she luckily managed to break the backbone of the viper; then, at once, she again assumed the shape of a ball. desperate now, the snake expended all its remaining strength in wild attacks, till, limp and helpless, and utterly at the mercy of the hedgehog, it lay outstretched. then the relentless hedgehog, assured that her prey was quite defenceless, severed almost every bone in its body, tore the scales from the flesh, and fed to repletion. such a struggle often happens in the fields and the woodlands. during the first few weeks of life, the hedgehog, if its parents are absent, may be at the adder's mercy; but, later, the tables are completely turned, the once helpless creature becomes the strong aggressor, and is revenged by removing, not only an enemy, but a rival subsisting on food often similar to that which is its own. for a while after her awakening, the hedgehog fed chiefly on the big earthworms which, induced by the increasing warmth, forsook the deep recesses of their burrows, and tunnelled immediately beneath the grass-roots, coming forth at night to lie outstretched amid the undergrowth. she had, of necessity, to match their fear by her excessive cunning. they frequently detected her presence by the slight vibrations of the soil beneath her soft, slow-moving feet, and hurriedly withdrew from her path, but more often she surprised and captured them by the simple artifice of waiting and watching beside the burrows where scent was fresh, and where, notwithstanding the noises reaching her from above, she could readily distinguish the sounds of stretching, gliding bodies moving to the surface through the tortuous passages below. she soon became a wanderer, deserting her winter nest, and roaming nightly further and yet further from the valley meadows, till she reached a rough pasture at the end of the glen. in a thick hedgerow skirting a secluded pond among alders and willows, she found food unexpectedly varied and plentiful. luscious snails, with striped yellow and brown shells, were so common in the ditch beyond a certain cattle-path, that, even after a whole day's fast, her hunger was quickly appeased. april drew near, the leaves of the trees expanded, and the voice of the night wind in the branches changed from a moan to a whisper. at noon, flies came forth to bask on the stones; the furze, decked with yellow flowers, was visited by countless bees; and bronze-winged beetles crept among the thorny branches of the hawthorn and the sloe. the hedgehog knew little of the pulsing life of mid-day, but at dusk she sometimes found a tired fly, or bee, or beetle, hiding in the matted grass beneath the gorse, and so was made aware of summer's near approach. among the flags and the rushes of the pond, a pair of fussy moorhens built their nest on an islet of decayed vegetation clustered round a stone. at all hours of the day, the birds sailed gaily hither and thither, or wandered, happy and impulsive, along the margin of the pool. no care had they, and the solitude of their retreat seemed likely never to be disturbed, till, one moonlit night, the fox, that last year had killed the baby hedgehog in the glen, stole through the shadows of the alders, caught the scent of the moorhens, and approached the nest where the female was brooding over her eggs. the bird had watched the fox's movements since first he appeared on the bank beyond the trees. quietly she dropped into the pond beside the nest, dived, came up on the far side of the islet, and stayed there, with only her head above the surface of the water. she saw, with fear, the fox approach her nest, and recognised that it was hardly possible for her treasures to be saved, when, suddenly, her mate, having doubtless watched the marauder as closely as she herself had done, walked out of a reed-clump two or three yards from her hiding place, and, in full view of the fox, swam slowly to and fro, beating his wings as if in mortal pain. without the slightest hesitation, reynard, thinking to obtain an easy prize, plunged into the pond, but the bird just managed to elude him, and to flutter into another reed-clump a short distance away. completely deceived by the ruse, the fox was drawn further and further from the nest, till he reached a distant corner of the pond, when, to his astonishment, the moorhen vanished, leaving him to a vain search which at last so much annoyed him that, instead of returning along the bank towards the nest, he crossed the glen, trotted up the cattle-path, and entered the dense thicket on the slope. with most wild creatures, fear seems to be a feeling that quickly comes and quickly goes. but over some of nature's weaklings, fear seems to throw a spell that remains long after the danger has passed; as, for instance, in the case of a rabbit hunted by a stoat, or of a vole pursued by a weasel. the animal trembles with fright, cries as if in pain, and limps, half-paralysed, towards its home, some time after its pursuer may have turned aside to follow a line of scent leading in a quite opposite direction. now and then, a young rabbit is so overcome by fright, that the sly, watchful carrion crow obtains, with little trouble, an unexpected meal. the birds of the hedgerow--finches, robins, and the like--are also subject to the distressing influence of fear, directly they catch sight of a hungry weasel "performing" in the ditch. when the weasel sets itself to lure any such creatures, its movements are remarkably similar to the contortions of a snake; and the birds, fascinated as their enemy's strange actions are rapidly repeated, flutter helplessly from spray to spray, till one or other becomes a victim and the weasel ambles off with its prey. then, released from the spell, the birds proceed to mob the bloodthirsty tyrant, and, at times, with such effect that he is compelled, before making good his escape, to resort to stratagems similar to those that previously held the birds enthralled. reynard seems to have learned from the weasel's manoeuvres, for he, too, is wont to entice the rabbits towards him by extraordinary methods, twirling round, like a cat, in pursuit of his tail, and affording such a spectacle to any onlookers that they must needs, from sheer curiosity, find out the meaning of a woodland farce, which, alas! is often followed by a tragedy. it is not known that the fox ever succeeds in fascinating the moorhen; the bird, directly she caught sight of his circling form, would probably dive, and in the cool refuge of the water, her sharp eyes peeping from between the flags, would wisely conclude that such an unaccountable display meant danger. it is, however, tolerably certain that the influence of fear seldom causes a nesting bird, or a breeding mammal, to become helpless in the presence of an enemy, though when family cares are over the conditions might be entirely reversed. even such timid creatures as rabbits and hares sometimes strenuously defend their young from the attacks of weasels and stoats. as the fox trotted up the hillside path, the moorhen joined her mate in the tangle of the reeds, and, without fear, wandered over the marshy ground in the neighbourhood of her nest. then she swam out across the narrow channel, and settled down, in fancied security, to brood once more over her speckled eggs. she had just taken her accustomed position, when the hedgehog, pushing the reeds aside, became aware of the strong scent on the margin of the pond. the hungry "urchin's" intelligence, though limited, at once suggested that the scent of a mothering bird might lead to a clutch of delicious eggs, or to a brood of plump and juicy nestlings. following the trail, the hedgehog came to the marshy ground at the margin of the narrow passage where the bird had crossed, and, with head erect, sniffed the tainted wind blowing gently shorewards from the brooding moorhen. in her eagerness, she lifted herself slightly at the edge of the bank, missed her footing, and fell into the pond, not more than two or three feet from the moorhen. the bird, hearing the splash, dived instantly; her mate again came quickly to the scene and tried to lead the enemy away, but the hedgehog, heedless of every artifice, paddled slowly to the platform of dry flags, and helped herself to a repast more appetising than any she had recently enjoyed, while the birds, flapping their wings, circled angrily about the pond, and pecked vigorously, but vainly, at the marauder's prickly coat. late the next evening, the hedgehog discovered a fledgling thrush hidden in the grass beyond the alders. in response to the cry of the young bird, the mother thrush flew straight to the spot, and, with a lucky blow struck full at the hedgehog's snout, so intimidated her enemy that she curled up immediately and allowed the fledgling to escape unharmed. the tender grass was reaching up to seed, the may blossom was burdening the air with rich perfume, and summer had almost come, when, late one night, the hedgehog, hunting among the shadows of the trees, chanced to hear a low, bleating sound, like the voice of a leveret calling to the mother hare out feeding in the clover. she had never heard that sound before, but its meaning, nevertheless, was plain, and without hesitation she replied. again the sound broke the stillness, as a dim form lifted itself clumsily from the ditch and came towards her. presently she felt an inquiring touch, and, turning, found herself face to face with a male hedgehog that had followed her path through the undergrowth. nature had not been lavish in his adornment; like the female, he was a plain little creature, brown and grey, fitted to sleep unnoticed among the wind-blown leaves and twigs beside a sheltering mound. theirs was an odd and awkward courtship--its language a medley of unmusical squeals and grunts; and if a difference arose it was settled by one curling up into a ball till the other had forgotten the quarrel. but soon they became good friends, hunted together all night and slept together all day, while the year drew on to summer and then, almost imperceptibly, declined. devoting much of their attention to domestic affairs, they built a large, dry nest among the foxgloves near the stream; where, towards the end of hay harvest, three naked little "urchins" came into the world, to be reared, just as the mother hedgehog herself had been reared, till autumn merged into winter, and winter's cold induced each to go in loneliness and build a snuggery for sleep. night in the woods. i. haunts of the badger and the fox. comparatively little seems to be known of the night side of wild life in this country. night watching involves prolonged exposure, unremitting vigilance, absolute quietness; and yet, to the most alert observer, it often results in nothing but disappointment and vexation. some time ago, during the moonlit nights of several months, i kept watch, near a "set" inhabited by half-a-dozen badgers, a vixen and her cubs, a rabbit and her numerous progeny, and a solitary little buck wood-mouse, whose close acquaintanceship i made after i had captured him in a butterfly-net placed as a spring-trap above his narrow run-way in the grass. this "set"--which i have already partly described, in writing of brock, the badger--seemed to be the common lodging house of the wood. its numerous inhabitants, though not on terms of friendship, were, apparently, not at enmity. the wood-mouse and the rabbits, while entering or leaving the underground passages, and wandering through the paths in the wood, took care to avoid their powerful neighbours; the foxes, believing that out of sight is out of mind, avoided with equal care all chances of encountering the badgers; and the badgers, sluggish in movement and tolerant in disposition, refrained from evicting the foxes or digging out the rabbits. in the undergrowth, but away from the well worn tracks used by the creatures as they stole out to feed, i had chosen three hiding places, representing in their relative positions the corners of a triangle the centre of which was the main entrance to the "set." i was thus able, whatever might be the direction of the wind, to lie to leeward and obtain a clear view of the principal opening, while i incurred but slight risk of detection, unless the rabbits or the wood-mouse crept into the brambles. it was during the last week of watching that my patience received its best rewards. almost regularly then, as the shadows deepened before moonrise, the rabbits stole out, and, sometimes with no hesitation, sometimes after much cautious reconnoitring and sniffing the air and "drumming" alarm signals on the mound before their door, hopped along the paths towards the clover-fields outside the wood. soon after the rabbits appeared, the wood-mouse timidly peeped around the corner of the entrance, and, seeing nothing of his enemy, the brown owl, disappeared, with a rustle, among the dead leaves that filled a hollow where the old, disused workings of the "set" had "shrunk." on several occasions, the vixen led forth her cubs long before the badgers came in view, and while the light yet lingered on the crests of the neighbouring hills. the little family went away silently to a dense furze-brake about a hundred yards distant on the lower edge of the wood, and, till the sun had gone down, remained close-hidden in a lair that i afterwards discovered amid the long grass in the heart of the thicket. more frequently, however, i saw nothing of the vixen till nightfall, though the cubs, impatient of confinement, now and again visited the mound outside the "set," and for a few moments played together on the bare soil thrown up by the hard-working badgers, as, in spring, they enlarged their breeding chamber. but, in the first calm hour of night, when the red afterglow had faded from the hills, and the moon, ascending cloudless in the southern sky, cast long, mysterious shadows down the aisles of the wood, the fox-cubs and their dam came boldly out, and, instead of moving off towards the furze, adjourned to a rill close by, whence, after quenching their thirst, they repaired to a glade above the "set," and in this favourite playground frisked and romped, unremittingly guarded from danger by their devoted mother. my presence unsuspected, i watched them, little dim figures, flitting to and fro. when they had gone far up the winding pathway to the cornfields, and the silence was no longer broken by their low cries of dissembled rage and fear, i sometimes lingered in my hiding place; and as on the grass i lay, looking towards the stars that twinkled between the motionless leaves of the trees above me, my thoughts went back to a time long before our village had been built beside the river; before giraldus cambrensis had journeyed hence with the pilgrim band towards sant dewi's shrine; before the great crag of vortigern, across the near dingle, had resounded with the blare of the trumpets of war; before even, in the primitive hut-circle on the opposite hill, wild little children had played about the twilight fires kindled in readiness for the home-coming of the weary hunters--a time when the fox, the badger, and the tiny mouse had nightly journeyed through the woods, and the call of the gaunt wolf to his mate had weirdly echoed and re-echoed in the valley, startling the innocent hare in the open waste above the slope, and the busy beaver on the dam below in the pool at the bend of the river. the badgers--or "earth-pigs" as the country folk have named them--were the original occupants of the "set," unless, however, the earliest excavations had been made by the ancestors of the old doe-rabbit now inhabiting a side apartment. the foxes and the wood-mouse might have been looked upon as interlopers, but they often played the part of scouts and sentinels, quick to give alarm to the tolerant, easy-going badgers, in case of imminent danger from the visit of a dog or a man to the neighbourhood of their retreat. the badgers were more irregular as to the time when they left the "set" than were any of the other inhabitants. perhaps they suspected a human presence, because of some peculiar vibration in the earth through a false step of mine. perhaps, during certain conditions of the atmosphere, a taint--borne from me, on a wave rather than a current of air, to the wide archway beneath the tree-roots in front of the main entrance, and then drawn down into the draughty passages--was detected by them immediately they passed beyond the stagnant atmosphere of the blind-alley where they slept. evening after evening, one of the old badgers would appear at the mouth of the "set," and, with snout uplifted in the archway of the tree-roots, would stay as motionless, but for the restless twitching of the alert nostrils, as were the trees and the stones around his home, while i, not even daring to flick an irritating gnat from my forehead or neck, would wait and long for the philosopher in grey to make up his slow-moving mind. with regard to the badger's habit of staying for some time in the doorway of his home, it may be mentioned that years afterwards, when one night i compared my notes with those of a companion who had hidden near the main opening of the "set" while i had watched by a hole higher in the wood, i found that each entrance had, simultaneously and for long, been occupied by a vigilant badger; and, as both animals were full-grown "greys," i concluded that parent badgers not unusually took ample precautions against surprise before allowing their cubs to venture out into the night. once away from the "set," the old male badger seemed to lose suspicion of any obnoxious presence. then, lumbering after him, every member of his family would appear in full view on the mound, and, with little fits and starts of pretended rage and fright, would roll over and over each other, rush helter-skelter back to the underground dwelling and out again, and round and round the tree-trunks. a favourite trick, indulged in by young and old alike, was that of raising themselves on their hind-legs close beside a broad beech-trunk near the "set," and then, on tiptoe, stretching out their fore-claws to the fullest extent and scratching vigorously at the bark. this trick irresistibly reminded me of an incident connected with a shooting expedition to the moors, when, one evening, after much gossip in the ingle-nook, i accompanied my jolly host to the barn, and there, much to the merriment of all concerned, acted as judge, while, by the light of a lantern, the farmer measured and recorded the height of his wife, as well as of each of his six children and his servants, against the oaken door-post, and finally insisted that he himself, a veritable giant, should submit to the test, and gave orders for a chair to be fetched that "mother," a stout little woman of some sixty inches in height and, also, in circumference, might mount to the level necessary for "chalking his mark." one day a keen naturalist and sportsman, whose acquaintance i had recently formed, proposed to join me in my vigil near the badger's home. in the declining afternoon, we left the village, crossed the bridge, and made a detour of the river path. as we passed along, i showed him an otter's "holt" under a shelving bank, where, on the fine, wet sand, the prints of the creature's pads were fresh and clearly outlined. we then visited an "earth" within the wood, in which dwelt a lonely old fox i had often watched as he stole along the rabbit-tracks towards the crag of vortigern; and there i pointed out how crafty reynard, having selected a convenient rabbit burrow, had blocked up every hole--but one, in a thick clump of brambles--with soil thrown out in digging, and how the grass and the ground-ivy had luxuriantly covered the bare mounds, and so encroached on the fox's winding track through the wood and about the bramble clump, that even to an experienced visitor the only fox-sign likely to be detected was in the loose arrangement of the bents and the twigs by the arch of the run-way as it entered the thicket. rabbits, as well as water-voles and field-voles, are particularly careful to nibble off wind-blown or sprouting twigs that encroach on their tracks through the undergrowth; but foxes, otters, and badgers simply brush them aside as they pass. the sun had not yet gone down when we arrived at the "set." i had planned an early visit, so that my friend might have an opportunity of examining the much frequented track-ways, the footprints of the badgers on the soft earth of the mound, and the scratches on the tree-trunk where the badgers had sharpened their claws and incidentally measured themselves. these numerous claw-marks were especially interesting, and, on a certain tree by the "set," they formed irregular lines extending from a foot above the ground to a height of three feet or rather more. the lowest scratches had been made by the cubs seated on their haunches and facing the tree; a little higher, the marks were those of the parent animals while in a similar position; after a space in which a few abrasions occurred, the marks showed how the cubs had gradually grown till they could reach within a few inches of the clear, deep furrows scratched by the old male badger as he measured his full length against the tree. [illustration: "as he measured his full length against the tree." (_see_ p. ).] after making observations with the utmost wariness, we hurried away, so that, before dusk, our scent might evaporate, and become almost imperceptible in the vicinity of the principal entrance to the lonely burrow. after a second ramble by the riverside, we returned in the face of the wind, and at twilight began our silent watch. a robin sang plaintively from the hawthorns on the outskirts of the wood; the rooks sailed slowly above us, and then, gossiping loudly of the day's events, congregated around their nests in the great elms dimly outlined against the pearly southern sky; the wood-pigeons dropped one by one into the beech-trees near us; and a jay, uttering his harsh alarm, hopped in and out of some young hazels fringing the glade beyond the "set." presently, a brown owl, in a group of tall pines near the little rill that made faint music in the woods, began to mutter and complain, in those low, peculiar notes that are often heard before she leaves her daytime resting place. then no sound disturbed the stillness but the far-off cawing of the rooks, and the only creatures visible were some rabbits playing in the moonlit glade, and a glow-worm shining with her soft green light on a bramble spray within my reach. nearly half an hour passed by, and no sign of life came from the badgers' home. then the familiar white and black striped head, framed in the darkness beneath the gnarled tree-root, suddenly appeared, and as suddenly vanished. another half-hour went by, and yet another, but no further sign was given. my companion, unused to such a long vigil, shifted uneasily, and protested that he was tingling with cramp and longing for sleep; presently, unable to endure his discomfort, he arose, and stretched his limbs before settling down again amid the briars. our patience was in vain. once more the badger came in sight, but my companion did not see what i myself had noticed, for sleep had sealed his tired eyes, and when i nudged him he awoke with such a start that the badger instantly withdrew into the burrow. by the glow-worm's lamp, i found from my watch that midnight had long passed; and so, since the hour was towards dawn and the moon was not favourable for close observation of the "earth-pigs," even if they crossed the open glade, i whispered to my friend that the proceedings, in which his interest had manifestly waned, were over for the night. his disappointment was keen, and though to me the night seemed warm, he, accustomed to a tropical climate, chattered with the cold. he had not even noticed the first appearance of the "earth-pig," and henceforth night watching held no charm for him. my own disappointment, if only for my friend's sake, was also keen; but, on the evening following those hours of fruitless watching, i discovered the vixen's lair in the furze-brake, and learned why she resorted thither with her cubs, before the badger family had awakened from their day-dreams, or the pale glow-worm's rays had lit up the dew-besprinkled spider-webs. knowing that badgers are, as the country folk say, _pwdu_ (pouty) creatures, likely to sulk at home for several nights if they consider it unsafe to roam abroad, i carefully examined the mound of earth and the beech-trunk near the "set," that i might learn whether the animals had been out of doors since my previous visit. on the soil, fresh footprints could be seen, their outlines clearly lit and deeply shadowed as the sun sank in the west, and, in some of the scratches on the beech, the pith had barely changed its colour from creamy white to the faintest tinge of brown. i concluded, therefore, that the badgers had been out, as usual, some time before the dawn. my eyes, however, were not sufficiently trained to detect any sure evidence of the recent movements of the vixen and her cubs. walking along the tracks, i chanced to notice that the path by which the vixen sought the shelter of the furze-brake branched off at a sharp angle, and led into the thicket at a bend that was hidden from my sight while i watched near the "set." picking my way in a line straight through the tangle and parallel with this path, i came to an opening where the grass was beaten down for about six square yards--more particularly for two or three yards in the part nearest the spot at which the tunnelled run-way entered it. along the margin of this open place, i could find no second entrance; everywhere at the foot of the surrounding gorse-bushes the long grass grew in an unbroken line, except close to the mouth of the run-way. there i found a shallow depression, not unlike the "form" of a hare, but longer and broader, and i determined to keep strict watch evening after evening, till i learned the reason for the occasional visits of the vixen and her cubs to the brake. but i little imagined that the secret would quickly be disclosed, for it was my belief that, should the vixen venture to the mouth of the "set" before the gloom was deepening into night, she would cross the line of my scent, and either move away from the direction of the furze-brake or return to her underground chamber. and yet previous experiences led me to hope that, if certain atmospherical conditions should prevail, the scent would probably become so weak that she would recognise no cause for alarm. it was the work of a few minutes for me to make couch of grass and twigs behind a screen of broken furze-branches well in from the grassy opening. then, by raising with a prong-shaped stake the grass i had trodden down, and by thrusting back the bramble-trails and fern-fronds i had brushed aside, i carefully removed as far as possible all traces of my visit. i had scarcely settled down to watch and listen, when the faint snap of a twig reached my ears, and i saw that the vixen with her cubs had arrived on the scene. she walked around the enclosure, sniffing now and again in the grass, while the young foxes frisked and gambolled with each other, or trotted demurely by her side. she was at first suspicious, but for some reason she soon gained confidence; then she squatted in her lair, and surrendered herself, with patient motherhood, to be the plaything of her healthy, headstrong youngsters. for more than a half hour i watched the happy family, the little ones climbing over the mother's back, and licking or biting her ears, her pads, her brush, or racing over the grassy plot, frolicking with each other till some little temper was aroused and play degenerated into a fight. in general, they behaved like wild children without a thought of care, yet they never went beyond the grass-fringe into the thicket, and to each low note of warning or encouragement from their dam they gave immediate attention. sometimes the vixen bounded gaily about the edge of the gorse, stooping again and again to snap with pretended rage at one or another of her offspring. but for most of the time she remained in her lair, listening intently for the slightest sound of danger, and guarding the only approach through the bushes. i longed to discover what she would have done had i suddenly come upon her and cut off her retreat, but i dared not move for fear of raising alarm. it is more than likely that, finding me in the path, she, snarling and hissing, would have dashed without hesitation into any part of the furze-brake, and her young would have followed with desperate haste and vanished at her heels within the shadows. by-and-by she led her little ones back through the run-way, and when, a few minutes afterwards, i stole to the outer edge of the thicket, i saw the merry family stooping in a row beside the rill, and lapping the cool, delicious water, which refreshed them after their rough-and-tumble sport. from the rill they wandered off into the gloom beneath the beech-trees, and i, satisfied with having added to my knowledge of the life of the woods, returned homewards in the light of the rising moon. ii. the crag of vortigern. one of the chief difficulties with which the naturalist has to contend while watching at night is the frequent invisibility of wild creatures among the shadows, even when the full moon is high and unclouded. the contrasts of light and shade are far more marked by night than by day; by night everything seems severely white where the moonbeams glance between the trees, or over the fields, or on the river, and the shadows are colourless, mysterious, profound; whereas by day variety of tone and colour may be observed in both light and shade, and every hour new and unexpected charms are unfolded in bewildering succession. the wild creatures of the night often seem to be aware of their invisibility in the gloom, and of the risk they run while crossing open spaces towards trees and hedgerows where an enemy may lurk awaiting their approach. a fox is so familiar with his immediate surroundings that, till his keen senses detect signs of danger, he will roam unconcernedly hither and thither in the dark woods near his "earth," frolicking with his mate, or hunting the rabbits and the mice, or sportively chasing the wind-blown leaves, as if a hound could never disturb his peace. the fox knows the shape of each tree and bush, and of each shadow thrown on the grass; he notes the havoc of the tempest and the work of the forester. when the wind roars loudly in the branches overhead, or the raindrops patter ceaselessly on the dead herbage underfoot, or the mists blot out the vistas of the woods, he seldom wanders far from home, for at such times nature plays curious tricks with sound and scent and sight, and danger steals upon him unawares. the hunted creatures of the night so dislike the rain, that during a storm reynard would have difficulty in obtaining sufficient food; but down in the river-pools below the wood, fearless lutra, unaffected by the inclement weather, swims with her cubs from bank to bank, and learns that frogs and fish are as numerous in the time of tempest as when the moon is bright and the air is warm and still. since my earliest years of friendship with ianto the fisherman and philip the poacher, i have regarded night watching in the woods or by the riverside as a fascinating sport, in which my knowledge of nature is put to its severest test. by close, patient observation alone, can the naturalist learn the habits of the creatures of the night; and if it should be his good fortune to become the friend of such men as i have mentioned he would find their help of inestimable value. to ianto and philip i owe a debt of gratitude, of which i become increasingly conscious with the passing of the years. i could never make them an adequate return for their kindness; but i am solaced by my recollection that i was able to comfort such staunch old friends when they were passing into the darkness of death--haply to find, beyond, some fair dawn brighter than any we had together seen from the hills around my home. often, as i write, i see them sitting in the evening sunlight of my little room; often, in my garden, i see them walking up the path attended by my dogs that now are dead; often, in the river valley, whether i wander by night or by day, i see them at my side. ianto and philip were always eager to help me by every means in their power, but philip, because of the risk to my health, would never invite me to accompany him when the night was cold and stormy. one afternoon, as ianto and i were returning home from the riverside, the old fisherman remarked: "i met philip last night, sir, and he wants you and me to come along with him for a ramble to the woods above the crag. he's got something to show you; i think it's an old earth-pig that lives in the rocks. what do you say to joining me by the church as soon as you've had something to eat? then we'll go together as far as the bridge, but i'll leave you there, for i've got a little job on hand that'll keep me till sundown, i think. you'll find philip at the 'castell' (prehistoric earth-work) above the crag, and i'll wade the river and be with you again sometime 'between the lights.' keep to cover, or to the hedges and the lanes, and look about you well, most of all afore you cross a gap, and when you're going out of cover or into it. nobody must have a chance of following you to-night to the crag; so, if you meet a farm labourer sudden-like, make off to the furze by the river farm, and double back through the woods. you'll get to philip early enough. he's going to net the river after we leave him. it's a game i don't care much for--maybe because i've given it up myself--but i've promised to do something aforehand, that, if philip didn't want you particular, he'd be bound to do hisself. that's why i'm to leave you at the bridge." i was tired after a day's hard fishing, but i readily fell in with the arrangements my two old friends had made. on the way to the bridge, ianto gave me further instructions. "if, when you're nigh the crag, sir, you happen to come across a farm servant, or even if you think, from seeing a _corgi_ (sheep-dog), that a farm servant is near, get right away, and, as soon as you're sure nobody knows where you are, give that signal i taught you--four quick barks of a terrier with a howl at the end of 'em. philip'll understand. but if everything goes well till you get to the crag, make that other signal--the noise of young wood-owls waking up for the night--and philip's sure to answer with a hoot. then let him come up to you; but, mind, don't you go to him." a little mystified by ianto's last injunction, i crossed the bridge, passed through a succession of grassy lanes that for years had fallen into disuse, picked my footsteps cautiously through the woods, and arrived without adventure at the top of the crag. getting down into the oak-scrub, i stood within the deep shadows at the base of the great rock, and gave the signal--a harsh, unmusical cry, such as a hungry young owl would utter at that time of the evening. the cry had scarcely gone forth, when i was startled by a voice from some hollow quite close to my side: "i'm philip. don't move--don't speak. a man's watching you from the blackthorns at the top of the wood. he hasn't seen me. don't look his way, but walk along the path below, and when you reach the end of the wood turn up and hide in the cross-hedges, so that you can watch him if he comes out anywhere in the open. and, mind, don't let him see you then. if he goes back to the farm, give the signal again; or, if i give two hoots, one about ten seconds after the other, come to me, but don't pass this place. the fellow isn't of much account, but we must get rid of him before i can stir. he's kept me here for the last half-hour." philip ceased speaking, and i walked carelessly down the wood, pausing here and there to peep through a patch of undergrowth and to satisfy myself that the man at the top of the wood had not moved. when outside the wood, i turned rapidly up the hill and found an excellent hiding place among some brambles on a thick hedge. from this spot i could command a view of the meadows above the wood, and could easily retreat unseen if the farm labourer happened to come towards me. i watched patiently for twenty minutes or so, then heard philip's welcome signal from a fir-spinney on the far side of the crag, and hastened to his side. in reply to my question as to what had become of the man who had watched from the blackthorn thicket, he pointed to the opposite hillside, where a dim figure could be seen ascending the ploughland in the direction of a distant farmstead. "i expect to be able to show you a badger to-night," he said, "but of course i'm not sure about it. a badger's comings and goings are as uncertain as the weather. but first we'll climb further up the hill. you were asking me about the leaping places of the hares: i know of one of these leaping places, and i think i know of two hares that use them and have lately 'kittled' in snug little 'forms' not far away. we must hurry, else the does will have left the leverets and gone to feed in the clover. you go first. wait for me in the furze by the pond on the very top of the hill." when philip had rejoined me on the hill-top, he rapidly led the way to the fringe of the covert, where he pointed to a low hedge-bank between the gorse and a peat-field partly covered with water. "hide in the hedge about ten yards from this spot," he said, "so that you can see on either side of the bank, then watch the path on this side." with a smile he added: "this isn't a bad locality for a fern-owl. so, if you happen to hear the rattle of that bird, you'll know the hare has started from her 'form.'" then, turning quickly into the furze and taking a bypath through the thickest part of the tangle, philip left me, and, soon afterwards, i moved to my allotted hiding place. before i had waited long, the cry of the fern-owl reached me with astonishing clearness from an adjoining field. presently, i saw a hare emerge from the gorse and come along the path towards me. at the exact spot indicated by the poacher, she paused, and then with a single bound cleared the wide space between herself and the hedge. with another bound she landed on the marsh beyond, where she splattered away through the shallow water till a dry reed-bed was reached on a slight elevation in the marsh. there she was lost to view; the rank herbage screened her further line of flight. a minute afterwards, the fern owl's rattle once more broke on the quiet evening, now from a few fields away to my right. for some time, i closely watched the open space around the hedge-bank, but no animal moved on the path. suddenly, however, i thought i detected a slight movement in a bracken frond beside the furze. it was not repeated, and i had concluded that it signified nothing, when, to my amazement, i caught sight of a second hare squatting in the middle of the path near the bracken. how she came there i was unable to understand; for some time my eyes had been directed towards the spot, and certainly i had not seen her leave the ferns. she seemed to have risen from the earth--something intangible that had instantly assumed the shape of a living creature. she took a few strides towards my hiding place, but, exactly where the first hare had leaped, she turned sharply at right angles to the path, and with a long, easy bound sprang to the top of the hedge-bank; then with another bound she flung herself into the marshy field. making straight for the reed-bed, she, too, was soon out of sight. all that thus happened appeared to be the outcome of long experience; the adoption by the hares of a more perfect plan to mislead a single enemy pursuing by scent could hardly be conceived. a pack of hounds, "checking" on the path, would in all probability have "cast" around, and, sooner or later, would have struck the line afresh in the marshy field, but a fox or a polecat would surely have been baffled, either at the leaping places or where the hares had crossed through the shallow water. man's intelligence, united with the intelligence, the eagerness, the pace, the endurance, and the marvellous powers of scent possessed by a score of hounds, and then pitted against a single creature fleeing for its life, should well nigh inevitably attain its end. nature has not yet taught her weaklings how to match that powerful combination. and so a naturalist, in studying the artifices adopted by hunted animals, should be interested chiefly as to how such artifices would succeed against pursuers unassisted by human intelligence. i am inclined to believe that even a pack of well-trained harriers would have been unable to follow the doe-hares i have referred to, unless the scent lay unusually well on the surface of the marsh. i stayed in the covert awhile, but when the call came for me to rejoin philip i hastened to the field in which he was waiting. i told him what i had seen, and, together, we paid a visit to the doe-hares' "forms." one of the "forms" lay in a clump of fern and brambles near the corner of a fallow, the other on a slight elevation where a hedger had thrown some "trash" beside a ditch in a field of unripe wheat. while we stood in the wheat-field, philip remarked: "we mustn't stay long before going back to the crag; but i'll call the doe i sent you from this 'form,' and perhaps you'll see one of her tricks to mislead a fox as she returns home. she's very careful of her young till they're about a fortnight old, though soon afterwards she lets them 'fend' for themselves. we'll hide in the ditch, and i'll imitate a leveret's cry. but i mustn't imitate it so that she may think her little one is hurt, else she's as likely as not to come with a rush, and you won't see how she'd act under ordinary circumstances." when we were comfortably settled in the fern, the poacher twice uttered a feeble, wailing cry, and, after being silent for some minutes, repeated the quavering call. then, after a long interval, he again, though in a much lower tone, repeated the cry. no answering cry was heard, but suddenly, as she had appeared on the path by the furze, the doe-hare came in sight at the edge of the ditch a little distance away. she approached for several yards, then disappeared, with two or three long, graceful bounds, into the corn that waved about her as she leaped. she appeared once more, and squatted in the ditch on the other side of the field; hence she jumped high into the air, and alighted on the hedge; then, by a longer bound than any i had previously seen, she gained a spot well out into the field, and raced along, till, directly opposite us, she yet again leaped into the hedge, and from the hedge into the wheat-field, where she immediately lay down with her little ones in the "form." ianto, philip, and i at last settled quietly to watch for the badger's visit to the clearing. philip told in a whisper of jokes he had played on the keeper; ianto capped these stories with reminiscences of younger days and nights; and i, though hating bitterly the ruffian loiterers of the village who subsisted on the spoils of the trap, the snare, and the net, and were guilty of cowardly acts of revenge when checkmated in the very game they chose to play, felt a certain sympathy with the two old men by my side, who, as i was convinced, had fairly and squarely entered into the game, and taken their few reverses without retaliation, only becoming afterwards keener than ever to avoid all interference. in the height of my enjoyment of an unusually good story, philip, with a slight movement, drew my attention to a faint, crackling noise coming from the margin of the glade, where moonlight and shadow lay in sharp contrast at the foot of the trees; he then whispered that the old badger was standing there. ianto almost simultaneously drew my attention thither, but all that i could see at the spot indicated were small, flickering patches of light and shadow. i quietly drew close to philip, and murmured in his ear: "are you sure it's the badger?" he nodded; and i continued, "i see a movement in the leaves, but nothing else." the old man turned his head slightly, and replied, "what you see is the badger scratching his neck against a tree; the ticks are evidently tickling him." and he chuckled as he recognised his unintentional pun. for some minutes i could hardly believe he was right; then, slowly, i recognised the shape of the badger's head, and what i had taken to be flickering lights and shadows on the leaves changed to the black and white markings of the creature's face. i had never before seen a badger under similar conditions; and i had often wondered what purpose those boldly contrasted markings could serve. now, as their purpose was revealed, i was startled by the manifestation of nature's protective mimicry. even when, a little later, the animal ventured out from the oak, and stood alert for the least sight or sound or scent of danger, the moonlight and the shadow blended so harmoniously with the white and the black of his face markings, and with the soft blue-grey of his body, that he seemed completely at one with his surroundings, and likely to elude the most observant enemy. fully a half hour went by before he decided to cross the glade. then, as if irritated by a sense of his own timidity, he abandoned his excessive caution, and hastened along his run-way through the clearing; and, as he passed, i noted his queer, rolling gait, and heard his squeaks and grunts as if he were angrily complaining to himself of some recent wrong, and vowing vengeance; i heard, also, the snapping of leaves and twigs beneath his clumsy feet, and i smelt the sure and certain smell of a badger. soon, the fisherman and i turned homewards, and left the poacher to less innocent sport. as we gained the crest of the hill, the melancholy cry of the brown owl came to our ears; and ianto said, "philip is a big vagabond--bigger than me, i think. no doubt he's fetched his nets from the cave beneath the crag, and is down at the river by now. promise me, sir, as you'll never go nigh that cave when he's alive. it's his secret place, as only him and me knows anything about. he told me to ask you that favour." long after both ianto and philip were dead, i happened one day, while in the woods, to remember the incidents i have just related, and i made my way to the foot of the crag. i found no opening in the face of the rock, except one--apparently a rabbit hole--near a rent in the boulder. climbing around the rock, however, i noticed that a large, flat stone lay in a rather unexpected position on a narrow cleft. i removed it, and saw that it covered the entrance to a dark hollow. at the same moment i heard a slight rustle behind me, as some animal darted from the hole i had previously examined. i scrambled down into the chamber, and there, when my eyes had become accustomed to the darkness, i saw three tiny fox-cubs huddled on the damp, mossy ground. as i knelt to stroke them gently, and my hand rested for a moment on the floor beside them, i touched the remains of an old, rotting net. [illustration: decoration] footnotes: [ ] in "ianto the fisherman, and other sketches of country life." index. animals, wild, awakening from hibernation, ----, ----, dislike rain, ----, ----, feet made tender by hibernation, ----, ----, habit of sociable, ----, ----, keeping to old haunts, ----, ----, selfishness of, ant, habits of queen, ----, habits of yellow, , autumn, bird-migration in, badger, and fox-hounds, ----, and stoat, ----, attempt to unearth, - ----, fondness of, for honey, , , ----, food of, , - , , ----, mocked by birds when abroad in daylight, ----, persecuted for supposed sheep-killing, - ----, regular habits in returning to "set" at dawn, ----, sociability of, , ----, winter habits of, , badger-cub, and wasps, ----, caught in trap, , badger-cubs, at play, , , ----, closely confined by parents, badger-cubs, dying from distemper, ----, less nervous than fox-cubs, badgers, at play, ----, carrying bedding to "set," ----, reconnoitring before young leave "set," ----, sulking at home if suspicious of danger, ----, two families inhabiting same "set," bank-voles, and kestrel, ----, colony of, basset-hounds, described, ----, hunting with, - bell, use of, hung round ram's neck, blood, significance of fresh-spilt, bob, the black-and-tan terrier, - character, differences of, in animals of one species, ----, human, developed by independence of action, collie, sheep-killing, - dabchick, oar-like wings of, ducks, wild, at play, ----, ----, wedge-shaped flight of, "earth," fox's artificial, fear, how it affects wild creatures, field-vole, and carrion crow, ----, and fox, ----, and kestrel, , ----, and owl, , , , , ----, and weasel, , ----, avoiding rabbit's "creeps," ----, enemies of, ----, food of, , , , , ----, hibernation of, , , ----, home of, ----, limbs of, cramped by winter sleep, ----, restlessness of, in spring, field-voles, described, ----, harvesting seeds, , ----, plague of, , ----, stung to death by adder, fox, see also _vixen_ ----, and hedgehog, - ----, and moorhen, ----, and wasp, ----, avoiding traps, ----, burying rat, ----, careful not to sleep on straight trail, ----, careful not to tread on rustling leaves, ----, entering "breeding-earth" when close pressed, ----, finding hen's nest in hedgerow, ----, fight with rival, ----, hating jays and magpies, ----, knowledge of the countryside, , ----, luring rabbits, ----, methods of hunting rabbits, ----, robbed of spoil by vixen, ----, seeks mate, ----, taught by mate, fox-cub, chased by lurcher, ----, cleanly habits of, ----, described, ----, food of, , ----, killing hare, ----, killing polecat, , ----, stealing chickens, fox-cubs and partridges, ----, at play, , - ----, eagerness of, for flesh, foxes, method of preparing "breeding earth," fox-hound, "rioting" on cold scent, fox-hunt, - frogs, devoured by otters, geese, wild, gipsy, seeking hedgehogs, - hare, and renegade cat, ----, and peregrine falcon, , ----, and poacher, , , ----, bravely defends young, ----, covered with fur at birth, ----, dislikes entering damp undergrowth, ----, does not wander far in wet weather, ----, food of, , , , ----, "form" described, ----, killed by lightning, ----, "leaping places" of, ----, method of fighting among males, ----, netted by keeper, ----, productiveness of, probably influenced by food supply, ----, recklessness of, in early spring, ----, running through flock of sheep, ----, suffers from want of exercise, ----, suffers less from frost than from rain, ----, swims across river, ----, winter habits of, ----, withholds scent when hard pressed, hedgehog, and fox, - ----, and moorhens, , , - ----, and owl, ----, and terrier, ----, food of, , , , ----, haunt of, ----, killing snake, , ----, nest of, , history, vicissitudes of, affecting wild animals, hounds, miscellaneous pack, , hunt, rival, ----, village, , , huntsman, feeding fox-cubs, ianto, the fisherman, , , , - joker, the bob-tailed sheep-dog, , , - kestrel, attacking field-voles, ----, preying on bank-voles, man, dreaded by wild animals, , ----, senses dulled by immunity from fear, mange, attacking carnivorous animals, march, great changes to wild life in, minnows, playing about ledges of rock, moorhen, eluding terrier, ----, killed by otter, mouse, singing, nature, haunted by fear, ----, spirit of restlessness in, night, described, , , ----, spiritual influence of, ---- -watching, difficulties of, ---- - ----, methods of, otter, and big trout, ----, and dabchick, ----, and "red" fish, ----, and water-vole, - , ----, fighting terrier, ----, food of, , , , ----, hunting methods of, ----, inhabiting drain-pipe, ----, in winter, , ----, migrating to sea, ----, playing in heavy stream, , ----, position of, when sleeping, ----, related to weasel, ---- -cub, capturing salmon, ----, described, ----, learns to swim, ---- -cubs, at play, ---- -hounds, ---- -hunt, - , - , owl, brown, described, , ----, and fox-cub, , ----, and water-vole, , ----, attacks hedgehog, , ----, preying on field-voles, owls, as friends of farmer, owls, inhabiting farm buildings, philip, the poacher, - polecats, enemies of young hedgehogs, rabbit, burrowing in badgers' "set," , rabbits, clearing tracks, rat, brown, attacked by water-voles, ----, ----, habits of, , ---- -hunting, by riverside, - rats, migration of, "redd" of salmon, salmon, migration of, , ---- -fishing, experiences in, - ---- -pool, seldom visited, ---- -spawn, destroyers of, ---- - ----, guarded by salmon, , , sheep-dog, and otter, sorrel, as medicinal herb for wild animals, sport, winter, squirrel, harvesting only ripe seeds and nuts, ----, inquisitive, stoats, following rats in migration, stone-fly, teal, terrier, worsted by otter, thrush, autumn song of, ----, defending young against hedgehog, trick, poacher's, to capture hare, trout, an old, carnivorous, ----, habit of, in spring, viper, attacked by hedgehog, ----, enemy of young hedgehogs, vixen, dispossessing another of "breeding earth," ----, life spared by hounds, ----, routing terrier from "breeding earth," vixen-cubs, quicker to learn than fox-cubs, voles, see _bank-voles, field-voles, water-voles_ water-shrew, described, ----, food of, , , , ----, habits of, , water-vole, and otter, - ----, and owl, , ----, and trout, , ----, as singer, - , ----, constructing nest, , ----, described, ----, enemies of, ----, food of, , , ----, habits studied, ----, home of, , , , , , , ----, love episodes of, - ----, methods of fighting, , ----, winter storehouse of, , , water-voles, attacking brown rat, weasel, ferocity of, ----, food for fox-cub, weasels, following rats in migration, printed at the edinburgh press, and young street [illustration: the old state house bell] the young american's library. the old bell of independence; or, philadelphia in . by henry c. watson, author of "the camp-fires of the american revolution," "the yankee tea-party, or boston in ," etc. etc. with illustrations. entered, according to act of congress, in the year , by lindsay and blakiston, in the clerk's office of the district court of the united states for the eastern district of pennsylvania. preface. to awaken in the minds of all americans that veneration of the patriots and heroes of the war of independence, and that emulation of their noble example which is so necessary to the maintenance of our liberties, are the objects of this little work. every day's developments illustrate the importance of these objects. in the enjoyment of the freedom and prosperity of our country, we are apt to under-rate the means by which that enjoyment was secured to us, and to forget the men who worked for that end. a knowledge of the toils and sufferings of the noble-hearted fathers of the revolution is the best preventative, or curative, for this "falling off." war, clothed as it is, with horrors, is to be condemned, and the spirit which leads to it should be driven from the breasts of men. but generous devotion, strength of resolution, and far-reaching skill, are things to be commended and imitated wherever displayed. in these pages, will be found stories of the chief men of the revolution, so connected, by the manner in which they are narrated, as to give a general interest to them--"the old bell of independence" being the rallying point of the veteran story-tellers. contents. introduction story of general washington the spy's fate story of the sermon story of the prayer story of lydia darragh the dead man's lake the half-breed death of colonel lovelace murder of miss mccrea defence of shell's block-house bates's revenge story of general wayne the outlaw of the pines the tory's conversion the timely rescue the battle of germantown the battle of the kegs arnold's treason capture of general prescott jonathan riley and frank lilly massacre of wyoming story of the dauphin's birthday the old bell of independence. introduction. it was a season of unparalleled enthusiasm and rejoicing, when general lafayette, the friend and supporter of american independence, responded to the wishes of the people of the united states, and came to see their prosperity, and to hear their expressions of gratitude. the national heart beat joyfully in anticipation; and one long, loud, and free shout of welcome was heard throughout the land. arriving at new york in august, , general lafayette journeyed through the eastern states, receiving such tokens of affection as the people had extended to no other man except washington, and then returned southward. on the th of september, he entered philadelphia, the birth-place of the declaration of independence, the greater part of the population coming out to receive and welcome him. a large procession was formed, and thirteen triumphal arches erected in the principal streets through which the procession passed. after general lafayette himself, the most remarkable objects in the procession were four large open cars, resembling tents, each containing forty veterans of the struggle for independence. no one could, without emotion, behold these winter-locked patriots, whose eyes, dimmed by age, poured forth tears of joy at their unexpected happiness in once more meeting an old commander, and joining in the expressions of gratitude to him. after passing through the principal streets, general lafayette was conducted into the hall of the state-house, where the old continental congress had assembled, and where the immortal declaration of independence was signed. here the nation's guest was received formally on behalf of the citizens by the mayor, and then the people were admitted to take him by the hand. at night there was a splendid illumination; and crowds of people traversed the streets, singing and celebrating the exploits of the champion of liberty and the friend of america. on one of the days succeeding lafayette's grand entry into the city, he received, in the hall of independence, the veteran soldiers of the revolution who had come to the city, and those who were residents. one by one these feeble old men came up and took the general by the hand, and to each he had some reminiscence to recall, or some congratulation to offer. heroes of brandy wine, germantown, trenton, princeton, monmouth, and other fields, were there; some with scars to show, and all much suffering to relate. the old patriotic fire was kindled in their breasts, and beamed from their furrowed countenances, as memory flew back to the time that proved their truth and love of liberty. one had been under the command of the fiery wayne, and shared his dangers with a spirit as dauntless; another had served with the cool and skilful greene, and loved to recall some exploit in which the quaker general had displayed his genius; another had followed the lead of lafayette himself, when a mere youth, at brandywine: everything conspired to render this interview of the general and the veteran soldiers as touching and as interesting as any recorded by history, or invented by fiction. after the reception of the veterans, one of them proposed to go up into the belfry, and see the old bell which proclaimed liberty "to all the land, and to all the nations thereof." lafayette and a few others accompanied the proposal by expressing a wish to see that interesting relic. with great difficulty, some of the old men were conducted up to the belfry, and there they beheld the bell still swinging. lafayette was much gratified at the sight, as it awakened his old enthusiasm to think of the period when john adams and his bold brother patriots dared to assert the principles of civil liberty, and to proclaim the independence of their country. old john harmar, one of the veteran soldiers who had been in philadelphia when the declaration was proclaimed, and who again shook hands with his old brothers in arms, gave vent to his thoughts and feelings as he stood looking at the bell. "ah! that's the trumpet that told the britishers a tale of vengeance! my memory's not so bad but i can recollect the day that old bell was rung for independence! this city presented a very different appearance in those days. it was a small town. every body was expectin' that the king's troops would be comin' here soon, and would sack and burn the place: but the largest number of us were patriots, and knew the king was a tyrant; and so we didn't care much whether they came or not. how the people did crowd around this state-house on the day the declaration was proclaimed! bells were ringing all over town, and guns were fired; but above 'em all could be heard the heavy, deep sound of this old bell, that rang as if it meant something! ah! them was great times." as old harmar concluded these remarks, the old men standing near the bell nodded approvingly, and some echoed, "them _was_ great times!" in a tone which indicated that memory was endeavoring to conjure back the time of which they spoke. they then slowly turned to descend. lafayette had preceded them with his few friends. "stop!" said old harmar; "wilson, morton, smith, and you, higgins, my son wants you to come home with me, and take dinner at his house. come; i want to have some chat with you over old doings. i may never see you again after you leave philadelphia." the invitation, cordially given, was cordially accepted, and the party of old friends descended the stairs, and, arriving at the door, were assisted by the cheering crowd to get into their carriage, which then drove towards the residence of old harmar's son. at that place we shall consider them as having arrived, and, after much welcoming, introducing, and other preparatory ceremonies, as seated at a long, well-supplied table, set in a large and pleasant dining-hall. young harmar, his wife, and the four children, were also accommodated at the same table, and a scene of conviviality and pleasure was presented such as is not often witnessed. the old men were very communicative and good-humored; and young harmar and his family were free of questions concerning the great scenes through which they had passed. but we will let the company speak for themselves. story of general washington. "grandfather," said thomas jefferson harmar, "won't you tell us something about general washington?" "i could tell you many a thing about that man, my child," replied old harmar, "but i suppose people know everything concerning him by this time. you see, these history writers go about hunting up every incident relating to the war, now, and after a while they'll know more about it--or say they do--than the men who were actors in it." "that's not improbable," said young harmar. "these historians may not know as much of the real spirit of the people at that period, but that they should be better acquainted with the mass of facts relating to battles and to political affairs is perfectly natural." the old man demurred, however, and mumbled over, that nobody could know the real state of things who was not living among them at the time. "but the little boy wants to hear a story about washington," said wilson. "can't you tell him something about _the_ man? i think i could. any one who wants to appreciate the character of washington, and the extent of his services during the revolution, should know the history of the campaign of , when every body was desponding, and thinking of giving up the good cause. i tell you, if washington had not been superior to all other men, that cause must have sunk into darkness." "you say well," said smith. "we, who were at valley forge, know something of his character." "i remember an incident," said wilson, "that will give you some idea, mrs. harmar, of the heart george washington had in his bosom. i suppose mr. harmar has told you something of the sufferings of our men during the winter we lay at valley forge. it was a terrible season. it's hard to give a faint idea of it in words; but you may imagine a party of men, with ragged clothes and no shoes, huddled around a fire in a log hut--the snow about two feet deep on the ground, and the wind driving fierce and bitter through the chinks of the rude hovel. many of the men had their feet frost-bitten, and there were no remedies to be had, like there is now-a-days. the sentinels suffered terribly, and looked more like ghosts than men, as they paced up and down before the lines of huts." "i wonder the men didn't all desert," remarked mrs. harmar. "they must have been uncommon men." "they were uncommon men, or, at least, they suffered in an uncommon cause," replied wilson. "but about general washington. he saw how the men were situated, and, i really believe, his heart bled for them. he would write to congress of the state of affairs, and entreat that body to procure supplies; but, you see, congress hadn't the power to comply. all it could do was to call on the states, and await the action of their assemblies. "washington's head-quarters was near the camp, and he often came over to see the poor fellows, and to try to soothe and comfort them; and, i tell you, the men loved that man as if he had been their father, and would rather have died with him than have lived in luxury with the red-coat general. "i recollect a scene i beheld in the next hut to the one in which i messed. an old friend, named josiah jones, was dying. he was lying on a scant straw bed, with nothing but rags to cover him. he had been sick for several days, but wouldn't go under the doctor's hands, as he always said it was like going into battle, certain of being killed. one day, when we had no notion of anything of the kind, josiah called out to us, as we sat talking near his bed, that he was dying, and wanted us to pray for him. we were all anxious to do anything for the man, for we loved him as a brother; but as for praying, we didn't exactly know how to go about it. to get clear of the service, i ran to obtain the poor fellow a drink of water to moisten his parched lips. "while the rest were standing about, not knowing what to do, some one heard the voice of general washington in the next hut, where he was comforting some poor wretches who had their feet almost frozen off. directly, he came to our door, and one of the men went and told him the state of things. now, you see, a commander-in-chief might have been justified in being angry that the regulations for the sick had been disobeyed, and have turned away; but he was a nobler sort of man than could do that. he entered the hut, and went up to poor josiah, and asked him how he was. josiah told him that he felt as if he was dying, and wanted some one to pray for him. washington saw that a doctor could do the man no good, and he knelt on the ground by him and prayed. we all knelt down too; we couldn't help it. an old comrade was dying, away from his home and friends, and there was our general kneeling by him, with his face turned towards heaven, looking, i thought, like an angel's. well, he prayed for heaven to have mercy on the dying man's soul; to pardon his sins; and to take him to himself: and then he prayed for us all. before the prayer was concluded, josiah's spirit had fled, and his body was cold and stiff. washington felt the brow of the poor fellow, and, seeing that his life was out, gave the men directions how to dispose of the corpse, and then left us to visit the other parts of the camp." "that was, indeed, noble conduct," said young harmar. "did he ever speak to you afterwards about violating the regulations of the army?" "no," replied wilson. "he knew that strict discipline could not be, and should not have been maintained in that camp. he was satisfied if we were true to the cause amid all our sufferings." [ illustration: washington's prayer for the dying soldier.] "praying at the death-bed of a private," mused smith aloud. "well, i might have conjectured what he would do in such a case, from what i saw of him. i wonder if history ever spoke of a greater and better man?" young mr. harmar here felt inclined to launch out into an elaborate panegyric on the character of washington, but reflected that it might be out of place, and therefore contented himself with remarking, "we shall ne'er look upon his like again." "he was a dear, good man," remarked mrs. harmar. "yes," said old harmar, "general washington was the main pillar of the revolution. as a general, he was vigilant and skilful; but if he had not been anything more, we might have been defeated and crushed by the enemy. he had the love and confidence of the men, on account of his character as a man, and that enabled him to remain firm and full of hope when his countrymen saw nothing but a gloomy prospect." the spy's fate "now i'll tell you a story that i have just called to mind," said old harmar. "it's of a very different character, though, from the story of washington. it's about a spy's fate." "where was the scene of it?" inquired mrs. harmar. "out here on the schuylkill's banks, just after the british took possession of this city," replied old harmar. "there was a man named james sykes, who had a lime-kiln on the east bank of the river, and was manufacturing lime pretty extensively when the enemy came to this city. while congress was sitting here, sykes always professed to be a warm friend to the colonial cause; but there was always something suspicious about his movements, and his friends and neighbours did not put much faith in his professions. he would occasionally be out very late at night, and sometimes be gone from home for a week, and give very vague accounts of the business which had occupied him during his absence. some of his neighbours suspected that he was acting as one of sir william howe's spies, but they could never get any positive proof of their suspicions. "at length the enemy took possession of this city, and then sykes began to show that he was not such a very warm friend of the right side. he went to the head-quarters of the british general frequently, and seemed to be on the best terms with the enemy. well, it happened that one of his old neighbors, named jones, was the captain of one of the companies of our line; and he, somehow or other, obtained proof that sykes was acting as a spy for the enemy. he informed general wayne of the fact, and immediately proposed that he should be allowed to attempt his capture. wayne consented, and captain jones set about preparing for the enterprise. sykes was usually out at his lime-kiln, with some of his men, during the morning, and, as the guilty are ever suspicious, he increased the number of his assistants, to ensure himself against attack. captain jones took only twenty men from his company, and left our camp just before dark. the business was full of danger. the place where jones expected to capture the spy was within a mile of a british out-post; and the greatest secrecy and rapidity of movement was necessary to prevent surprise by the enemy's scouting parties. "about daylight, jones and his party reached the wood near sykes' lime-kiln, and halted to reconnoitre. sykes and four of his men were at work at that early hour. the lime was burning, and some of the men were engaged in loading and unloading two carts which stood near the kiln. captain jones' plan was quickly formed. he sent one half his party around to cut off the escape of sykes towards the city, and when he thought they had reached a favorable position sallied out towards the kiln. when he was about half-way to it, sykes discovered the party, and, shouting to his men to follow, ran along the bank of the river to escape; but the other party cut off retreat, and jones coming up rapidly, sykes and his men were taken. jones did not intend to detain the workmen any longer than till he got out of the reach of the british, when he would not have cared for their giving the alarm. sykes seemed to be very anxious to know why he was arrested in that manner; but jones simply told him he would know when they got him to the american camp; and that, if sykes had not thought of a reason for his arrest, he would not have attempted to run away. well, the americans hurried the prisoners towards the wood, but jones soon descried a large party of british coming over a neighboring hill, and knew that his chance was a desperate one. sykes also discovered the party of red-coats, and struggled hard to make his escape from the americans. jones wanted to bring him alive to the american camp, or he would have shot him down at once. suddenly, sykes broke away from his captors, and ran towards the lime-kiln. several muskets were discharged, but all missed him. then one of the privates, named janvers, a daring fellow, rushed after the prisoner, and caught him just as he reached the kiln. there a fierce struggle ensued; but sykes was cut in the shoulder, and, in attempting to throw his antagonist into the hot lime and fire, was hurled into it himself. then janvers hurried to the woods after his brave comrades. the british party was near enough to see the struggle at the limekiln, and came on rapidly in pursuit of our men. a few of the red-coats were ordered to examine the lime-kiln, to see if sykes was alive and concealed; and they found his body burned almost to a crisp." "horrible!" exclaimed mrs. harmar. "well," continued old harmar, "there was a long and doubtful race between the two parties; but jones succeeded in getting within the lines of the americans without losing a man, and with his four prisoners in safe custody. these fellows were examined, but no evidence of their being spies and confidants of sykes could be produced, and they were discharged with the promise of a terrible punishment if they were detected tampering with the enemy." "captain jones was a daring fellow to venture so near the british lines, and with such a small party," observed morton. "in such an attempt, a small party was preferable. its success depended upon secrecy and quickness of movements," said wilson. "it was a horrible death," remarked young harmar. "sykes, however, courted it by treachery to his countrymen." story of the sermon. "i believe this is the first time i've seen you since the disbanding of the army, morton," said wilson. "time has been rather severe on us both since that time." "oh, we can't complain," replied morton. "we can't complain. i never grumble at my age." "some men would have considered themselves fortunate to have seen what you have seen," said young harmar. "i think i could bear your years, to have your experience." "so do i," added mrs. harmar. she always agreed with her husband in whatever he asserted. "let me see," said old harmar; "where did i first meet you, higgins? oh! wasn't it just before the battle of brandywine you joined the pennsylvania line?" "no," answered smith for higgins, who, just then, was endeavoring to make up for his want of teeth by the vigorous exertions of his jaws. "he joined at the same time i did, before the battle of germantown." "yes, just before the battle of germantown," added higgins. "i was not at brandywine." "you wasn't? then you missed seeing us retreat," said old harraar. "but we did considerable fightin', howsomever. mad anthony was there, and he used to fight, you know--at least the enemy thought so. i shall never forget the night before that battle." "why?" asked higgins. "was you on the watch?" "no, not on that account; something very different. there was a sermon preached on the evenin' before that battle, such as can only be heard once." "a sermon?" enquired wilson. "yes; a sermon preached for our side by the rev. joab prout. i told my son there about it, and he wrote it into a beautiful sketch for one of the papers. he's got a knack of words, and can tell about it much better than i can. tell them about it, jackson, just as you wrote it," said old harmar. "certainly," replied young harmar. "if i can recall it." "do," said mrs. harmer; and "oh! do," added the children; and mr. jackson harmar did--as follows:--"all day long, on the tenth of september, , both armies were in the vicinity of each other, and frequent and desperate skirmishes took place between advanced parties, without bringing on a general action. at length, as the day closed, both armies encamped within sight of each other, anxiously awaiting the morrow, to decide the fate of the devoted city. "the americans lay behind chadd's ford, with the shallow waters of the brandywine between them and their opponents; the line extending two miles along that stream. "the sun was just sinking behind the dark hills of the west, gilding the fading heavens with an autumnal brightness, and shedding a lurid glare upon the already drooping and discolored foliage of the surrounding forests. it was an hour of solemn calm. the cool evening breezes stole softly through the air, as if unwilling to disturb the repose of all around. the crystal waters of the creek murmured gently in their narrow bed, and the national standard flapped lazily from the tall flag-staff on its banks. "in the american camp, interspersed between groups of tents and stacks of arms, might be seen little knots of weary soldiers seated on the ground, resting from the fatigues of the day, and talking in a low but animated tone of the coming contest. "suddenly the tattoo sounded,--not loud and shrill, as on ordinary occasions, but in a subdued and cautious manner, as if fearful of being heard by the british, whose white tents might be seen in the distance. obedient to the signal, the greater part of the soldiers assembled in front of the marquee of the commander, near the centre of the encampment. "all was hushed in expectation: soon the tall form of washington, wrapped in his military cloak, and attended by a large body of officers, was seen advancing in their midst. all present respectfully saluted them, to which they bowed courteously, and then took their seats upon camp-stools set for them by a servant. the venerable joab prout, chaplain of the pennsylvania line, then stood upon the stump of a tree, and commanded silence--for it was the hour of prayer. "here was a scene of moral grandeur unsurpassed by anything in the annals of war. there, on that still, cool evening, when the sky was darkening into night, were assembled some eight thousand men; very many of whom would never look upon the glorious sunset again. from the humble cottages in the quiet valley of the connecticut--from the statelier mansions of the sunny south--at the call of liberty, they had rushed to the tented field; and now, on the eve of battle, as brethren in heart and deed, had met together to implore the god of battles to smile upon their noble cause. "oh! it was a thrilling and an august sight! the mild and dignified washington looked around him with proud emotion, and turned enquiringly to the fair young stranger, lafayette, beside him, as if to ask, 'can such men as these be vanquished?' "the bold and fearless wayne was there; the undaunted pulaski, and the whole-hearted kosciusko; and they bowed their heads in reverence to him in whose presence they were worshipping. "never beneath the vaulted dome of the stately temple--never from the lips of the eloquent divine--was seen such a congregation, or was heard such a discourse, as on that september evening, from that humble old man, with his grey locks streaming in the wind. "with a firm, clear voice, that re-echoed to the distant hills, he announced his text:-- _'they that take the sword shall perish by the sword.'_ then, straightening himself to his full height, and his eye beaming with a holy feeling inspired by the time and place, he commenced:-- "'_they that take the sword shall perish by the sword.'_ 'soldiers and countrymen: we have met this evening perhaps for the last time. we have shared the toil of the march, the peril of the fight, the dismay of the retreat--alike we have endured cold and hunger, the contumely of the internal foe, and outrage of the foreign oppressor. we have sat, night after, night, beside the same camp-fire, shared the same rough soldiers' fare; we have together heard the roll of the reveille, which called us to duty, or the beat of the tattoo, which gave the signal for the hardy sleep of the soldier, with the earth for his bed, the knapsack for his pillow. 'and now, soldiers and brethren, we have met in a peaceful valley, on the eve of battle, while the sunlight is dying away behind yonder heights--the sunlight that, to-morrow morn, will glimmer on scenes of blood. we have met, amid the whitening tents of our encampment,--in times of terror and of gloom have we gathered together--god grant it may not be for the last time! 'it is a solemn moment. brethren, does not the solemn voice of nature seem to echo the sympathies of the hour? the flag of our country droops heavily from yonder staff; the breeze has died away along the green plain of chadd's ford--the plain that spreads before us, glistening in the sunlight; the heights of the brandywine arise gloomy and grand beyond the waters of yonder stream, and all nature holds a pause of solemn silence, on the eve of the uproar and bloodshed and strife of to-morrow.' "the propriety of this language was manifest. breathless attention was pictured upon every countenance, and the smallest whisper could be distinctly heard. pausing a moment, as if running back, in his mind's eye, over the eventful past, he again repeated his text:-- "'they that take the sword shall perish by the sword.' 'and have they not taken the sword? 'let the desolated plain, the blood-soddened valley, the burnt farm-house, blackening in the sun, the sacked village, and the ravaged town, answer; let the whitening bones of the butchered farmer, strewn along the fields of his homestead, answer; let the starving mother, with the babe clinging to the withered breast, that can afford no sustenance, let her answer; with the death-rattle mingling with the murmuring tones that mark the last struggle for life--let the dying mother and her babe answer! 'it was but a day past and our land slept in peace. war was not here--wrong was not here. fraud, and woe, and misery, and want, dwelt not among us. from the eternal solitude of the green woods arose the blue smoke of the settler's cabin, and golden fields of corn looked forth from amid the waste of the wilderness, and the glad music of human voices awoke the silence of the forest. 'now! god of mercy, behold the change! under the shadow of a pretext--under the sanctity of the name of god--invoking the redeemer to their aid, do these foreign hirelings slay our people! they throng our towns; they darken our plains; and now they encompass our posts on the lonely plain of chadd's ford. "the effect was electric. the keen eye of the in-trepid wayne flashed fire. the neighboring sentinels, who had paused to listen, quickened their pace, with a proud tread and a nervous feeling, impatient for vengeance on the vandal foe. "gathering strength once more, he checked the choking sensations his own recital had caused, and continued: "'they that take the sword shall perish by the sword.' "brethren, think me not unworthy of belief, when i tell you that the doom of the britisher is near! think me not vain, when i tell you that beyond the cloud that now enshrouds us, i see gathering, thick and fast, the darker cloud and the blacker storm of a divine retribution! 'they may conquer us on the morrow! might and wrong may prevail, and we may be driven from this field--but the hour of god's own vengeance will surely come! 'ay, if in the vast solitudes of eternal space, if in the heart of the boundless universe, there throbs the being of an awful god, quick to avenge, and sure to punish guilt, then will the man, george of brunswick, called king, feel in his brain and in his heart the vengeance of the eternal jehovah! a blight will be upon his life--a withered brain, an accurst intellect; a blight will be upon his children, and on his people. great god! how dread the punishment! 'a crowded populace, peopling the dense towns where the man of money thrives, while the labourer starves; want striding among the people in all its forms of terror; an ignorant and god-defying priesthood chuckling over the miseries of millions; a proud and merciless nobility adding wrong to wrong, and heaping insult upon robbery and fraud; royalty corrupt to the very heart; aristocracy rotten to the core; crime and want linked hand in hand, and tempting men to deeds of woe and death--these are a part of the doom and the retribution that shall come upon the english throne and the english people!' "this was pronounced with a voice of such power, that its tones might have reached almost to the briton's camp, and struck upon the ear of howe as the prophetic inspiration of one whose keen eye had read from the dark tablets of futurity. "looking around upon the officers, he perceived that washington and lafayette had half risen from their seats, and were gazing spell-bound at him, as if to drink in every word he uttered. "taking advantage of the pervading feeling, he went on:-- "'soldiers--i look around upon your familiar faces with a strange interest! to-morrow morning we will all go forth to battle--for need i tell you that your unworthy minister will march with you, invoking god's aid in the fight?--we will march forth to battle! need i exhort you to fight the good fight, to fight for your homesteads, and for your wives and children? 'my friends, i might urge you to fight, by the galling memories of british wrong! walton--i might tell you of your father butchered in the silence of midnight on the plains of trenton; i might picture his grey hairs dabbled in blood; i might ring his death-shriek in your ears. shelmire--i might tell you of a mother butchered, and a sister outraged--the lonely farm-house, the night assault, the roof in flames, the shouts of the troopers, as they despatch their victim, the cries for mercy, the pleadings of innocence for pity. i might paint this all again, in the terrible colors of the vivid reality, if i thought your courage needed such wild excitement. 'but i know you are strong in the might of the lord. you will forth to battle on the morrow with light hearts and determined spirits, though the solemn duty--the duty of avenging the dead--may rest heavy on your souls. 'and in the hour of battle, when all around is darkness, lit by the lurid cannon glare and the piercing musket flash--when the wounded strew the ground, and the dead litter your path--then remember, soldiers, that god is with you. the eternal god fights for you--he rides on the battle cloud, he sweeps onward with the march of the hurricane charge--god, the awful and the infinite, fights for you, and you will triumph.' "roused by this manly and pathetic appeal, a low murmur ran from man to man, as a heartfelt response; and the chieftains who were near the speaker, felt proud and happy in the command of such true hearts and tried blades. but darkness was enveloping all, and he hastened to conclude. "'they that take the sword shall perish by the sword.' 'you have taken the sword, but not in the spirit of wrong and ravage. you have taken the sword for your homes, for your wives, for your little ones. you have taken the sword for truth, for justice and right, and to you the promise is, be of good cheer, for your foes have taken the sword in defiance of all that man holds dear, in blasphemy of god--they shall _perish by the sword_. 'and now, brethren and soldiers, i bid you all farewell. many of us may fall in the fight of to-morrow--god rest the souls of the fallen; many of us may live to tell the story of the fight of to-morrow; and, in the memory of all, will ever rest and linger the quiet scene of this autumnal night. 'solemn twilight advances over the valley; the woods on the opposite heights fling their long shadows over the green of the meadow; around us are the tents of the continental host, the suppressed bustle of the camp, the hurried tramp of the soldiers to and fro among the tents, the stillness and silence that marks the eve of battle. 'when we meet again, may the long shadows of twilight be flung over a peaceful land. 'god in heaven grant it.' "and now the last ray of lingering light had departed, and they were left in darkness. presuming it proper to dismiss his auditors, he proposed a parting prayer, and immediately every head was uncovered and bowed in reverence, while, with outstretched hands, that sincere old man in the homespun garb thus addressed the throne of grace. "'great father, we bow before thee. we invoke thy blessing, we deprecate thy wrath, we return thee thanks for the past, we ask thy aid for the future. for we are in times of trouble, oh, lord! and sore beset by foes, merciless and unpitying; the sword gleams over our land, and the dust of the soil is dampened with the blood of our neighbors and friends. 'oh! god of mercy, we pray thy blessing on the american arms. make the man of our hearts strong in thy wisdom; bless, we beseech, with renewed life and strength, our hope and thy instrument, even george washington. shower thy counsels on the honorable, the continental congress. visit the tents of our host; comfort the soldier in his wounds and afflictions; nerve him for the hour of fight; prepare him for the hour of death. 'and in the hour of defeat, oh, god of hosts, do thou be our stay; and in the hour of triumph be thou our guide. 'teach us to be merciful. though the memory of galling wrongs be at our hearts, knocking for admittance, that they may fill us with desires for revenge, yet let us, oh, lord, spare the vanquished, though they never spared us in their hour of butchery and bloodshed. and, in the hour of death, do thou guide us into the abode prepared for the blest; so shall we return thanks unto thee, through christ, our redeemer.--god prosper the cause.--_amen_" during the recital of this interesting and thrilling incident of the revolution, the veterans--even higgins, too--laid down their knives and forks, and listened as if carried back to the memorable eve of the battle of brandywine, and filled with the hopes and fears of the period. at its conclusion, they expressed their approbation of the manner of the recital, and the beauty of the sermon. "that minister was one of the kind that i like," said wilson. "he could preach peace as long as peace was wise, and buckle on his armor and fight when it became his duty." "mr. harmer handles his pen well," remarked morton, "but such an incident would make any pen write well of itself. there's fire in it." "yes, a whole heap of fire," put in mrs. harmar, who thought she must make a remark, as she had been quieting the children while the latter part of the sermon and the remarks upon it were listened to by the others. "but the lord didn't assist us much in that next day's battle," said old harmar. "we had hard fighting, and then were compelled to retreat." "it was all for the best," said wilson. "we shouldn't have known our enemies nor ourselves without losing that battle. the harder the struggle for liberty, the more we enjoy it when won." "that's true," said young harmar, "the freedom dearest bought is highest prized, and americans have learned the value of that inestimable gem." the dinner was, by this time, pretty well disposed of, and the party adjourned to the large parlor, where they were soon comfortable seated. mrs. harmar would make one of the company, and the children would force their way in to see and hear the "sogers." the windows were up, and the gentle breeze of summer blew softly through the parlor, thus relieving the otherwise oppressive atmosphere. but we must introduce the company to the reader. old hannar was seated on one end of the sofa, with one of the small children on his knee. he was a stout, hearty-looking man of about seventy, with silvery hair, and a face much embrowned by exposure and furrowed by time. the general expression of his features was a hearty good humor, as if perfectly satisfied with things around. on the other end of the sofa sat mr. higgins, a thin, small-featured, bald-headed man, looking much older than old mr. harmar. on the opposite sofa sat mr. morton and mr. wilson. the first was a large-bodied, full-faced man, slightly bald, with a scar across his forehead, from the right eye to the left side of his head. his appearance bespoke an active life, and a strong constitution; and his eye yet beamed with intelligence. mr. wilson was evidently about seventy-five, with a long, lank face, tall figure, and head scantily covered with grey hair. mr. smith sat in an easy arm-chair. his appearance was much the same as that of mr. higgins, though his face expressed more intelligence. he had a troublesome cough, and was evidently very weak. mr. jackson harmar sat on a chair next to his father. he was about thirty-five, rather short and thin, with long brown hair, wild, blue eyes, in a "fine frenzy rolling," and a very literary appearance generally. mrs. harraar sat near her husband, with two very mischievous little boys, apparently about six and eight years of age, by her side. she had a childish face, but might have been thought pretty by a loving and indulgent husband. story of the prayer. "there is only one other scene during the struggle for our country's right," said young harmar, "which i would compare with the one i have just narrated; and that is the scene in congress--the old continental congress--during the first prayer by the rev. mr. duche." "i've heard something of that prayer," said morton, "since the revolution, but nothing that i could depend on." "an account of the scene is given by john adams, who was a chief actor in it," said young harmar. "old john adams?" enquired higgins. "he was the man! he was the washington of our politics during the war. he was the man!" and higgins rubbed his hands together. "thomas jefferson, take your foot off your brother's, and quit pinching him," interrupted mrs. harmar. "i have mr. adams' account of that first prayer and its effects," said young harmar, "and here it is." so saying, he pulled from his pocket a paper into which the account had been copied, and read:-- "'when the congress met, mr. gushing made a motion that it should be opened with prayer. it was opposed by mr. jay, of new york, and mr. rutledge, of south carolina, because we were so divided in our religious sentiments, some episcopalians, some quakers, some anabaptists, some presbyterians, and some congregationalists, that we could not join in the same act of worship. mr. samuel adams arose and said, 'that he was no bigot, and could hear a prayer from any gentleman of piety, and who was, at the same time, a friend of his country. he was a stranger in philadelphia, but had heard that mr. duche (dushay they pronounced it) deserved that character, and therefore he moved that mr. duche, an episcopal clergyman, might be desired to read prayers to the congress to-morrow morning.' the motion was seconded, and passed in the affirmative.--mr. randolph, our president, waited on mr. duche, and received for answer, that if his health would permit he certainly would. accordingly, next morning he appeared with his clerk, and, in his pontificals, read several prayers in the established form, and then read the collect for the seventh day of september, which was the thirty-fifth psalm. you must remember, this was the next morning after we had heard the rumor of the horrible cannonade of boston. _it seemed as if heaven had ordained that psalm to be read on that morning_. "'after this, mr. duche, unexpectedly to every body, struck out into an extemporary prayer which filled the bosom of every man present. i must confess i never heard a better prayer, or one so well pronounced. episcopalian as he is, dr. cooper himself never prayed with such fervor, such correctness and pathos, and in language so elegant and sublime, for america, for congress, for the province of massachusetts bay, especially the town of boston. it has had an excellent effect upon every body here. i must beg you to read that psalm. if there is any faith in the sortes virgilianæ, or sortes homericæ, or especially the sortes biblicæ, it would be thought providential.' "the thirty-fifth psalm was indeed appropriate to the news received, and the exigencies of the times. it commences:-- "'plead my cause, o lord, with them that fight against me. 'take hold of shield and buckler, and stand up for my help. 'draw out also the spear, and stop the way against them that persecute me: say unto my soul, i am thy salvation.' "what a subject for contemplation does this picture present. the forty-four members of the first congress, in their hall, all bent before the mercy-seat, and asking him that their enemies 'might be as chaff before the wind.' washington was kneeling there; and henry and randolph, and rutledge, and lee, and jay; and by their side there stood, bowed in reverence, the puritan patriots of new england, who, at that moment, had reason to believe that an armed soldiery was wasting their humble households. it was believed that boston had been bombarded and destroyed. they prayed fervently 'for america, for the congress, for the province of massachusetts bay, and especially for the town of boston;' and who can realize the emotion with which they turned imploringly to heaven for divine interposition and aid? 'it was enough to melt a heart of stone. i saw the tears gush into the eyes of the old, grave quakers of philadelphia.'" "yes," said wilson, when young harmar had concluded, "that was a scene equal, at least, to the one on the eve of brandywine: how finely old john adams speaks about it!" "that dr. duche forgot his connexion with the church of england, and only thought of his country," remarked morton. "he was a good man." "yes; and he prayed in the presence of as good a set of men as was ever assembled together," added smith. "them was men--those congressmen. they didn't get eight dollars a day for making speeches." "no," put in higgins, "but they earned a great deal more. some of 'em lost all the property they had, during the war." "the spirit which animated our countrymen at that period was the noblest which could prompt the deeds of men," said young harmar, growing quite eloquent. "from the men who emptied the tea into boston harbor, to the statesman of the continental congress, all were filled with patriotism, and that's the most unselfish of human motives." story of lydia darragh. "mrs. harmar, your sex nobly maintained their reputation for devotion and patriotism during the revolution," said wilson. "did you ever hear how a quaker lady, named lydia darragh, saved the army under washington from being surprised?" "no, never," replied mrs. harmar. "no! then, as a philadelphia lady, you should know about it," said wilson. "the superior officers of the british army were accustomed to hold their consultations on all subjects of importance at the house of william and lydia darragh, members of the society of friends, immediately opposite to the quarters of the commander-in-chief, in second street. it was in december, in the year that they occupied the city, that the adjutant-general of the army desired lydia to have an apartment prepared for himself and friends, and to order her family early to bed; adding, when ready to depart, 'notice shall be given to you to let us out, and to extinguish the fire and candles.' the manner of delivering this order, especially that part of it which commanded the early retirement of her family, strongly excited lydia's curiosity, and determined her, if possible, to discover the mystery of their meeting. approaching without shoes the room in which the conference was held, and placing her ear to the keyhole, she heard the order read for the troops to quit the city on the night of the th, to attack the american army encamped at white marsh. returning immediately to her room, she laid herself down, but, in a little while, a loud knocking at the door, which for some time she pretended not to hear, proclaimed the intention of the party to retire. having let them out, she again sought her bed, but not to sleep; the agitation of her mind prevented it. she thought only of the dangers that threatened the lives of thousands of her countrymen, and believing it to be in her power to avert the evil, determined, at all hazards, to apprize general washington of his danger. telling her husband, at early dawn, that flour was wanting for domestic purposes, and that she should go to frankford to obtain it, she repaired to headquarters, got access to general howe, and obtained permission to pass the british lines. leaving her bag at the mill, lydia now pressed forward towards the american army, and meeting captain allen m'lean, an officer, from his superior intelligence and activity, selected by general washington to gain intelligence, discovered to him the important secret, obtaining his promise not to jeopardize her safety by telling from whom he had obtained it. captain m'lean, with all speed, informed the commander-in-chief of his danger, who, of course, took every necessary step to baffle the contemplated enterprize, and to show the enemy that he was prepared to receive them. lydia returned home with her flour, secretly watched the movements of the british, and saw them depart. her anxiety during their absence was excessive, nor was it lessened when, on their return, the adjutant-general, summoning her to his apartment and locking the door with an air of mystery, demanded 'whether any of the family were up on the night that he had received company at her house?' she told him, that, without an exception, they had all retired at eight o'clock. 'you, i know, lydia, were asleep, for i knocked at your door three times before you heard me, yet, although i am at a loss to conceive who gave the information of our intended attack to general washington, it is certain we were betrayed; for, on arriving near his encampment, we found his cannon mounted, his troops under arms, and at every point so perfectly prepared to receive us, that we were compelled, like fools, to make a retrograde movement, without inflicting on our enemy any manner of injury whatever.'" "ha! ha! a neat stratagem, and a patriotic woman," exclaimed young harmar. "talking of the services of the women during the war," said higgins, "reminds me of molly macauly, or sergeant macauly, as we knew her while in the army. she was a pennsylvanian, and was so enthusiastic in her patriotism, that she donned a man's dress, and joined the army, when she became a sergeant, and fought bravely in several battles and skirmishes. nobody suspected that she was not what she seemed to be; for she was tall, stout, and rough-looking, and associated with men very freely. molly had a custom of swinging her sabre over her head, and hurraing for mad anthony, as she called general wayne. she was wounded at brandywine, and, her sex being discovered, returned home." "she was not the only woman in disguise in the army," said old harmar. "there was elizabeth canning, who was at fort washington, and, when her husband was killed, took his place at the gun, loading, priming, and firing with good effect, till she was wounded in the breast by a grape-shot. while our army lay at valley forge, several pennsylvania women were detected in disguise, enduring all kinds of want, and with less murmuring than the men themselves. oh, yes! the women were all right in those days, however they may have degenerated since." "come, no slander on the women of the present day," said mrs. harmar. "i've no doubt, take them all in all; they will not suffer in comparison with those of any age." "bravo! mrs. harmar," exclaimed wilson. "women, now, are ready enough with disguises," remarked young harmar. "to be sure!" replied his wife, "and always were." the dead man's lake. "mr. smith, can't we have a leaf from your experience in those trying times?" said old harmar. "ah! sir, i would have much to tell if i had time to collect my memory--much to tell, sir. but though i saw a great deal in the revolution, i heard much more." "tell us anything to pass time," said young harmar. "i've heard my father speak of some bold exploits up in the vicinity of new york. the history of the cowboys and skinners always interested me." "ah! i've heard many a story of them," replied smith. "i'll tell you of one old jack hanson told me--you recollect old jack, don't you, harmar? he was with us at valley forge." "that i do," replied old harmer. "he gave me a piece of his blanket, and an old shoe, when i believe i was freezing to death." "yes, he was ever a good-hearted fellow--jack hanson was. he's been dead now about ten years. well, as i was saying, he told me a story about those cowboys and skinners which will bear telling again." "it happened when the british were in possession of the city of new york. many brave men did all that could be done to destroy the power and comfort of the king's representatives, and alarm them for their personal safety; and, to the greater part of them, the neighboring county of west chester furnished both the home, and a theatre of action. their system of warfare partook of the semi-savage and partisan predatory character, and many fierce and desperate encounters took place between them and the outlawed hordes of desperadoes in the pay of the british. "the refugees, banded together for the purpose of preying upon the patriots, and then retreating behind the shelter of the royal fortifications, were composed of the vilest miscreants that could be gathered from the dregs of any community, and were generally known by the slang name of 'skinners.' "to oppose these desperadoes, and protect their lives and property from insult, many of the whigs had united in small parties, and were styled by the skinners, in derision, the 'cow-boys.' one of the most active and energetic of these bands, ever ready for any species of patriotic duty, was led by nicholas odell. nick, as he was familiarly termed, though entirely uneducated, was one of the shrewdest men to be found; for nature had gifted him where cultivation was wanting, and he became, in consequence, a most formidable and dangerous enemy in the service he had chosen. but fifty men composed his entire force, and with these he did his country much service, and the enemy no little mischief. "the line of the bronx river was the route always kept in view by nick and his men; and, at six several points, places of rendezvous were established, at which they were generally to be found when off duty, which was, indeed, seldom the case. "one of these places was on the banks of that stream, where the water was so wide and deep as to render it perilous for any but an expert and experienced swimmer to attempt its passage, and always placid, with a sort of oily surface looking like the backed waters of a mill-pond. the banks were covered with a thick undergrowth of vines, saplings, and trees in abundance, so that autumn did not, by taking away the leaves, expose the spot to the observation of the passer-by. here a rude board shanty had been knocked up in a hurry, and was used to shelter the men from the intense cold of the winter nights. this episode in the stream nick had named 'dead man's lake,' in consequence of finding on its banks the body of a man who had been murdered and mutilated by his old enemies, the skinners. "one evening, in the depth of winter, nick, who had been a long distance above white plains, hastened back to the lake in order to intercept a body of skinners, on their way from connecticut to the city, with considerable booty taken from the inhabitants in the vicinity of the sound. they numbered about eighty, under the control of a petty scotch officer named mcpherson. nick had contrived to gain intelligence of their movements and access to their party, by means of john valentine, one of his own scouts, who, by his direction, had met and joined the tories with a specious tale, and promised to lead them through the country so securely that none of the prowling rebels should encounter them. "previous to john's starting on his perilous adventure, it was agreed that nick, with all his men, should remain the whole night in question concealed at the lake, without entering the hut. john was then to bring the refugees to the spot, shelter them in the hut, and, at a favorable moment, he would sing out, 'hurrah for gin'ral washington, and down with the red-coats!' when the cow-boys were to rush in, and take them by surprise. "having reached the lake about nine o'clock in the evening, nick proceeded to devise a plan for concealment, for he expected to wait several hours. the cold was intense, and, like all the servants of congress, nick and his men were but ill prepared to resist the inclemency of the weather. "nick was in perplexity; no plan could be devised with satisfaction to the majority, and they stood in absolute danger of perishing with cold. the debate on the subject was still in progress, when heavy flakes of snow began to fall briskly, with promising appearances of a long continuance. 'good!' said nick, half in soliloquy, as he viewed the feathery element, and a new idea seemed to strike him, 'i have hit it at last. boys, no grumblin' or skulkin' now, for i won't have it. you must do as i am goin' to order, or we part company.' "so saying, he directed the whole of his men to enter a swamp meadow which was behind the shanty, and had been rendered hard and porous by the weather. here he directed them to spread their blankets, and lie down with the locks of their muskets between their knees, and the muzzle protected by a wooden stopper kept for the purpose. nick enforced this command with an explanation of its advantages: the snow being dry, and not subject to drift, would soon cover them, keeping them quite warm, and would also conceal them at their ease. the porous quality of the ground would enable them to distinguish the distant approach of the enemy, and therefore they could snatch a few moments sleep in the snow. to prevent its being fatal or injurious, he made each man, previous to lying down, drink freely of rye whiskey. four long hours elapsed, by which time the hardy patriots were completely under the snow, being covered with nearly eight inches of it. "the keenest eye, or acutest cunning, could not have detected in those undulating hillocks aught but the natural irregularities of swampy ground. "at length, about two o'clock in the morning, john arrived with his _devoted_ followers. they were right thankful for the shelter of the shanty, and mcpherson swore he would report john's generous conduct at head-quarters, and procure him a deserved reward. "'wait,' said john; '_i have not done the half that i intend to do for you_.' "nick, whose _bed_ was nearest the hovel, now arose, and placed himself against it, that he might be ready to act when john's signal was given. he first, however, awoke his men, without permitting them to rise, by the summary process of slightly pricking each one with the sharp point of a bayonet. "the tories, stowed like sheep in the little hut, soon began to drink, and, as they did so, became very valorous and boastful. mcpherson, singularly communicative to john, detailed his atrocities on the route with savage exultation. he feared no assault--not he! he was strong enough to repel any handful of half-starved, skulking outlaws. if he caught any of the cow-boys he would hang them to their own trees, and manure the soil with the blood of their women. "john had crept to the door by degrees, and now stood with his hand upon the raised latchet. he applauded the officer's remarks, and was willing, he said, to aid him in the deed he contemplated. he then proposed a toast, and, filling a tin-cup with liquor, said in a loud voice, '_hurrah for ginral washington, and down with the red-coats_!' the liquor was dashed in mcpherson's face, and john vanished from the hut. nick immediately summoned his men by a repetition of the toast, and the fifty hillocks of snow were suddenly changed, as if by magic, into as many armed and furious 'rebels.' before the skinners could recover from the momentary surprise into which this curious incident had thrown them, a volley of powder and shot had been fired into their midst. dashing like a frightened hare through the open door, mcpherson beheld his assailants. his fears magnified their numbers, and, conceiving there was no hope in _fight_, he summoned his men to follow him in _flight_. "they madly rushed after him, and forcing their way through the dry limbs of brush that stuck up on the banks of the lake, gained the frozen surface. more than one half their number had taken this course, while the rest had either fallen victims to the first fire, or taken to their heels towards the main road. suddenly a terrible crash was heard, accompanied by a splash, and a hubbub of unearthly screams. the ice had broken, and 'dead man's lake' was accomplishing a victory for the handful of american patriots who stood upon its banks. "the result was, that over twenty of the skinners were taken prisoners. only half-a-dozen were killed by fire-arms. the lake was examined at sunrise, and fifteen bodies were drawn from its remorseless bosom. the remainder, mcpherson among them, escaped." "that nick odell was nearly equal to old nick himself in stratagems," said wilson, when smith had concluded. "it's a wonder the men didn't freeze to death under the snow," said morton. "i think i should have been opposed to trying such a way of disposing of myself." "oh! there 's no doubt about its keeping you warm," said old harmar. "how can cold snow keep men warm?" enquired thomas jefferson harmar. "i suppose," answered higgins, "that it's much like blowing your warm breath on anything hot to cool it." as nobody seemed disposed to contradict this explanation, old higgins took it for granted that he was correct; and thomas jefferson was satisfied. [illustration: defeat of the skinners at deadman's lake.] [illustration: the story of the half-breed.] story of the half-breed. "now," said young harmar, who, as a literary gentleman, was anxious to collect as many incidents of the revolution as he could from these old men; "now, mr. higgins, you must oblige us by recalling something of your experience." "ah!" replied higgins, "if i could tell in words a small part of what i know of the war, i'm sure i could interest you." "we are not critical," said old harmar. "jackson may think of his bookish notions sometimes; but he knows what kind of old men we are. narrate anything that comes uppermost." "well," commenced higgins, "i'll tell you about an adventure of a friend of mine, named humphries, with a half-breed--that's horribly interesting--if i can only recollect it." and, after a short pause, to let his old memory bring up the incidents from the far past, higgins told the following story of revenge. "in the country around saratoga, when general gates lay encamped there, lived a half-breed indian, called blonay. he was well known in the neighborhood as a fierce and outlawed character, who wandered and skulked from place to place, sometimes pretending to be for the americans, and, at others, for the tories. he went anywhere, and did everything to serve his own ends; but his whole life, and all his actions, seemed centred in one darling object, and that was revenge. he had deeply and fearfully sworn never to rest until he had drawn the heart's blood of humphries, a member of morgan's corps, and his greatest enemy. they had been mortal foes from boyhood, and a blow humphries had given blonay had fixed their hatred for life. he had pursued him from place to place with untiring vigilance, and had watched, day after day, and month after month, for an opportunity to glut his revenge, but none offered. "one morning, humphries and a comrade named davis, with a negro servant belonging to marion's band, were standing on a small hill near the encampment, when a strange dog suddenly appeared through the bushes, at the sight of which humphries seized his rifle, and raised it to his eye, as if about to fire. the black was about to express his surprise at this sudden ferocity of manner, when, noticing that the dog was quiet, he lowered the weapon, and, pointing to the animal, asked davis if he knew it. 'i do; but can't say where i've seen him,' replied the other. 'and what do you say, tom?' he asked of the black, in tones that startled him. 'don't _you_ know that dog?' 'he face berry familiar, massa, but i loss to recollect.' 'that's the cur of blonay, and the bear-eyed rascal must be in the neighborhood.' 'do you think so?' inquired davis. 'think so! i know so; and why should he be here if his master was not?' 'tom,' he continued, 'hit the critter a smart blow with your stick--hard enough to scare him off, but not to hurt him; and do you move to the edge of the creek, davis, as soon as the dog runs off, for his master must be in that direction, and i want to see him.' "thus ordering, he called two of the riflemen that were near, and sent them on the path directly opposite to that taken by davis. he himself prepared to strike the creek at a point between these two. he then made a signal, and tom gave the dog a heavy blow, which sent him howling into the swamp, taking, as they had expected, the very path he came. blonay, however, was not to be caught napping. he left the point from which he was watching the camp, and running in a line for some fifty yards, turned suddenly about for the point at which he had entered the swamp. but he could not but have some doubts as to the adequacy of his concealment. he cursed the keen scent of the dog, which he feared would too quickly discover him to his pursuers. he hurried on, therefore, taking the water at every chance, to leave as small a trail as possible; but, from place to place, the cur kept after him, giving forth an occasional yelp. 'aroint the pup! there's no losin' him. if i had my hand on him, i should knife him as my best caution,' exclaimed the half-breed, as the bark of the dog, in making a new trail, showed the success with which he pursued him. exasperated, he rose upon a stump, and saw the head of humphries, who was still pressing on, led by the cries of the dog. "'i can hit him now,' muttered blonay. 'it's not two hundred yards, and i've hit a smaller mark than that at a greater distance, before now.' "he raised the rifle and brought the sight to his eye, and would have fired, but the next minute humphries was covered by a tree. the dog came on, and blonay heard the voices of his pursuers behind; and just then the dog reached him. "the faithful animal, little knowing the danger into which he had brought his master, leaped fondly upon him, testifying his joy by yelping with his greatest vocal powers. "with a hearty curse, blonay grasped the dog by the back of the neck, and, drawing the skin tightly across the throat, quickly passed the keen edge of his knife but once over it, and then thrust the body from him. sheathing the knife and seizing his rifle, he again set forward, and did not stop till he gained a small but thick under-brush. his pursuers now came up to the dead body of the dog; seeing which, they considered further pursuit hopeless. "at this moment, sounds of a trumpet came from the camp, as the signal to return. humphries told the others to obey its summons, but avowed his determination of pursuing blonay until he or the other had fallen. after they had left him, he again set forward, and walked very fast in the direction he supposed his enemy had taken, and had not proceeded far ere he saw his track in the mud, which he followed until it was lost among the leaves. darkness coming on, he gave up the chase until the next morning. that night both slept in the swamp, not more than two hundred yards apart, but unconscious of each other's locality. in the morning, humphries was the first to awake. descending from the tree where he had slept, he carefully looked around, thinking what he should do next. while he thus stood, a slight noise reached his ears, sounding like the friction of bark; a repetition of it showed where it came from. he glanced at an old cypress which stood in the water near him, and saw that its trunk was hollow, but did not look as if it would hold a man. on a sudden, something prompted him to look upward, and, in the quick glance he gave, the glare of a wild and well-known eye, peeping out upon him from its woody retreat, met his gaze. with a howl of delight, he raised his rifle, and the drop of the deadly instrument fell upon the aperture; but before he could draw the trigger the object was gone. it was blonay, who, the moment he perceived the aim of humphries' piece, sank into the body of the tree. "'come out and meet your enemy like a man!' exclaimed humphries, 'and don't crawl, like a snake, into a hollow tree, and wait for his heel. come out, you skunk! you shall have fair fight, and your own distance. it shall be the quickest fire that shall make the difference of chances between us. come out, if you're a man!' thus he raved at him; but a fiendish laugh was the only answer he got. he next tried to cut his legs with his knife, by piercing the bark; but a bend of the tree, on which blonay rested, prevented him. he then selected from some fallen limbs one of the largest, which he carried to the tree and thrust into the hollow, trying to wedge it between the inner knobs on which the feet of the half-breed evidently were placed. but blonay soon became aware of his design, and opposed it with a desperate effort. baffled for a long time by his enemy, humphries became enraged, and, seizing upon a jagged knot of light wood, he thrust it against one of the legs of blonay. using another heavy knot as a mallet, he drove the wedge forward against the yielding flesh, which became awfully torn and lacerated by the sharp edges of the wood. under the severe pain, the feet were drawn up, and humphries was suffered to proceed with his original design. the poor wretch, thus doomed to be buried alive, was now willing to come to any terms, and agreed to accept the offer to fight; but humphries refused him, exclaiming, 'no, you don't, you cowardly skunk! you shall die in your hole, like a varmint as you are; and the tree which has been your house shall be your coffin. there you shall stay, if hard chunks and solid wood can keep you, until your yellow flesh rots away from your bones. you shall stay there until the lightning rips open your coffin, or the autumn winds tumble you into the swamp.' so saying, he left him, and went back to the camp--left him to die in the old woods, where no help could ever come; and in this wild and awful manner--buried alive--perished the savage half-breed." "that was an awful death, indeed," exclaimed mrs. harmar. "that humphries must have been a very disagreeable fellow." "and why so?" enquired higgins. "the men in those parts of the country were forced to be as fierce as their foes. humphries was one of the cleverest fellows i ever knew." "a man after your own heart," remarked smith. "a warm friend and a warm foe. i know you, higgins." "you should know me, smith, or no man should," replied higgins, evidently profoundly satisfied with himself. "many a time have we messed together," added smith; "ay, and many a time have we hunted in company for the food we made a mess of." "those times are gone," said old harmar mournfully. "those times are gone." "i wonder where?" put in mrs. harmar's youngest, looking up in her face for an answer. she smoothed his hair, and shook her head. story of the death of colonel lovelace. "speaking of awful deaths," said morton, "reminds me of a scene i witnessed at saratoga, which i may as well tell you about, as young mr. harmar seems anxious to hear anything relating to the war of independence. you know there was an unconscionable number of tories up there in new york state about the time of burgoyne's invasion. some of them were honest, good sort of men, who didn't happen to think just as we did: they kept at home, and did not lift their arms against us during the war, though some of them were pretty hardly used by their whig neighbors. another set of the tories, however, acted upon the maxim that 'might makes right.' they were whigs when the royal power was weak, and tories when they found it strong. though raised in the same neighborhood with the staunch whigs, these men turned robbers and murderers, and lost all virtuous and manly feelings. colonel tom lovelace was one of this class: he was born and raised in the saratoga district, and yet his old neighbors dreaded him almost as much as if he had been one of the fierce senecas. when the war commenced, lovelace went to canada, and there confederated with five men from his own district, to come down to saratoga, and kill, rob, or betray his old neighbors and friends. there's no denying lovelace was a bold, wary, and cunning fellow, and he made the worst use of his qualities. he fixed his quarters in a large swamp, about five miles from the residence of colonel van vechten, at dovegat, and very cunningly concealed them. "soon after, the robberies and captures around that neighborhood became frequent. general schuyler's house was robbed, and an attempt was made, by lovelace and his companions, to carry off colonel van vechten. but general stark, who was in command of the barracks north of fish creek, was too wide awake for him. he got wind of the scheme, and gave the colonel a strong guard, and so lovelace was balked, and compelled to give up his design. captain dunham, who commanded a company of militia in the neighborhood, found out the tory colonel's place of concealment, and he determined to attempt his capture. accordingly, he summoned his lieutenant, ensign, orderly, and one private, to his house; and, about dusk, they started for the swamp, which was two miles distant. having separated to reconnoitre, two of them, named green and guiles, got lost; but the other three kept together, and, about dawn, discovered lovelace and his party, in a hut covered over with boughs, just drawing on their stockings. the three men crawled cautiously forward till near the hut, when they sprang up with a shout, levelled their muskets, and captain dunham sang out, 'surrender, or you are all dead men!' there was no time for parley; and the tory rascals, believing that our men were down on them in force, came out one by one, without arms, and dunham and his men marched them off to general stark's quarters. the rascals were all tried by court-martial, as spies, traitors, and robbers; and lovelace was sentenced to be hung, as he was considered too dangerous to be allowed to get loose again. he made complaint of injustice, and said he ought to be treated as a prisoner of war; but our general could not consent to look upon such a villain as an honorable soldier, and his sentence was ordered to be carried into effect three days afterwards. i was then with a company of new york volunteers, sent to reinforce general stark, and i was enabled to gratify my desire to witness the execution of a man i detested. the gallows was put up on the high bluff a few miles south of fish creek, near our barracks. when the day arrived, i found that our company was on the guard to be posted near the gallows. it was a gloomy morning, and about the time the tory colonel was marched out to the gallows, and we were placed in position at the foot of the bluff, a tremendous storm of wind and rain came on. it was an awful scene. the sky seemed as black as midnight, except when the vivid sheets of lightning glared and shot across it; and the peals of thunder were loud and long. lovelace knelt upon the scaffold, and the chaplain prayed with him. i think if there was anything could change a man's heart, it must have been the thought of dying at such a time, when god himself seemed wrathful at the deeds of men. "i expected to be delighted with seeing such a man hung; but i tell you, my friends, i felt very differently when the time came, and i saw the cruel tory kneeling on the scaffold, while the lightning seemed to be quivering over the gallows. i turned away my head a moment, and when i looked again, the body of lovelace was suspended in the air, and his spirit had gone to give its account to its god." the account of this terrible scene had deeply interested the company; and the animated manner of morton impressed even the children with a feeling of awe. "why didn't they postpone the hanging of the man until there was a clear day?" enquired mrs. harmar. "executions are never postponed on account of the weather, my dear," replied her husband. "it would be rather cruel than otherwise thus to delay them." "i've heard of that lovelace before," remarked old harmar. "i judged that he was a bold villain from some of his outrages, and i think he deserved his death." "for my part," said higgins, "i hated the very name of a tory so much, during the war, that i believe i could have killed any man who dared to speak in their defence. all that i knew or heard of were blood-thirsty scoundrels." story of the murder of miss m'crea. "if you were at saratoga, mr. morton, perhaps you know something about the murder of miss m'crea," said mrs. harmar. "oh, yes! i know the real facts of the case," replied morton. "i got them from one who was acquainted with her family. the real story is quite different from the one we find in the histories of the war, and which general gates received as true." "then set us right upon the matter," remarked young harmar. "do," added wilson. "i've heard the story through two or three twistings, and i'm only satisfied that the lady was killed." "well," commenced morton, "what i now tell you may depend on as the truest account you can receive. no one but heaven and the indians themselves witnessed the death of the young girl; and our only evidence of a positive nature is the declaration of those who were supposed to be her murderers. but to the story. "jane m'crea, or jenny m'crea, as she is more generally known, was the daughter of a scotch clergyman, who resided in jersey city, opposite new york. while living with her father, an intimacy grew up between the daughter of a mrs. m'niel and jenny. mrs. m'niel's husband dying, she went to live on an estate near fort edward. soon after, mr. m'crea died, and jenny went to live with her brother near the same place. there the intimacy of former years was renewed, and jenny spent much of her time at the house of mrs. m'niel and her daughter. near the m'niel's lived a family named jones, consisting of a widow and six sons. david jones, one of the sons, became acquainted with jenny, and at length this friendship deepened into love. when the war broke out, the jones's took the royal side of the question; and, in the fall of , david and jonathan jones went to canada, raised a company, and joined the british garrison at crown point. they both afterwards attached themselves to burgoyne's army; david being made a lieutenant in frazer's division. the brother of jenny m'crea was a whig, and, as the british army advanced, they prepared to set out for albany. mrs. m'niel was a loyalist, and, as she remained, jenny remained with her, perhaps with the hope of seeing david jones. "at length jenny's brother sent her a peremptory order to join him, and she promised to comply the next day after receiving it. on the morning of that day, (i believe it was the th of july,) a black servant boy belonging to mrs. m'niel discovered some indians approaching the house, and, giving the alarm, he ran to the fort, which was but a short distance off. mrs. m'niel, jenny, a black woman, and two children, were in the house when the alarm was given. mrs. m'niel's eldest daughter was at argyle. the black woman seized the two children, fled through the back door into the kitchen, and down into the cellar. jenny and mrs. m'niel followed; but the old woman was corpulent, and before they could descend, a powerful indian seized mrs. m'niel by the hair and dragged her up. another brought jenny out of the cellar. but the black woman and the children remained undiscovered. the indians started off with the two women on the road towards burgoyne's camp. having caught two horses that were grazing, they attempted to place their prisoners upon them. mrs. m'niel being too heavy to ride, two stout indians took her by the arms, and hurried her along, while the others, with jenny on horseback, proceeded by another path through the woods. the negro boy having alarmed the garrison at the fort, a detachment was sent out to effect a rescue. they fired several volleys at the party of indians; and the indians said that a bullet intended for them mortally wounded jenny, and she fell from her horse; and that they then stripped her of her clothing and scalped her, that they might obtain the reward offered for those things by burgoyne. "mrs. m'niel said that the indians who were hurrying her along seemed to watch the flash of the guns, and fell down upon their faces, dragging her down with them. when they got beyond the reach of the firing, the indians stript the old lady of everything except her chemise, and in that plight carried her into the british camp. there she met her kinsman, general frazer, who endeavored to make her due reparation for what she had endured. soon after, the indians who had been left to bring jenny arrived with some scalps, and mrs. m'niel immediately recognised the long bright hair of the poor girl who had been murdered. she charged the savages with the crime, but they denied it, and explained the manner of her death. mrs. m'niel was compelled to believe their story, as she knew it was more to the interest of the indians to bring in a prisoner than a scalp. "it being known in camp that lieutenant jones was betrothed to jenny, some lively imagination invented the story that he had sent the indians to bring her to camp, and that they quarrelled, and one of them scalped her. this story seemed to be confirmed by general gates' letter to burgoyne, and soon spread all over the country, making the people more exasperated against the british than ever. young jones was horror-stricken by the death of his betrothed, and immediately offered to resign his commission, but they would not allow him. he bought jenny's scalp, and then, with his brother, deserted, and fled to canada." "did you ever hear what became of him?" enquired mrs. harmar. "yes; he was living in canada the last time i heard of him," replied morton. "he never married; and, from being a lively, talkative fellow, he became silent and melancholy." "poor fellow! it was enough to make a man silent and melancholy," remarked young harmar. "i can imagine how i would have felt if deprived of her i loved, in as tragical a manner." "don't--don't mention it, my dear!" exclaimed his wife, sensibly affected at the thought of her being scalped. "it was a horrible transaction," remarked wilson; "and it had a stirring effect upon our people. i can recollect when i first heard the story with all its embellishments; i felt as if i could have eaten up all the red varmints i should chance to meet." "general gates's version of the affair answered a good purpose," said higgins. "it roused our people to great exertions to defeat the designs of a government which employed those savages." "king george's government thought it had a right to make use of every body--rascals and honest men--to effect its design of enslaving us; but we taught 'em a thing or two," added morton, with a gratified smile. story of the defence of shell's block-house. "i suppose," said young harmar, "that, while you were up in new york, you heard of many bloody affairs with the indians and tories." "many a one," replied morton. "many a one, sir. i could interest you for days in recounting all i saw and heard. the poor whigs suffered a great deal from the rascals--they did. those in tryon county, especially, were always exposed to the attacks of the savages. i recollect an affair that occurred at a settlement called shell's bush, about five miles from herkimer village. "a wealthy german, named john shell, had built a block-house of his own. it was two stories high, and built so as to let those inside fire straight down on the assailants. one afternoon in august, while the people of the settlement were generally in the fields at work, a scotchman named m'donald, with about sixty indians and tories, made an attack on shell's bush. most of the people fled to fort dayton, but shell and his family took refuge in the block-house. the father and two sons were at work in the field when the alarm was given. the sons were captured, but the father succeeded in reaching the block-house, which was then besieged. old shell had six sons with him, and his wife loaded the muskets, which were discharged with sure aim. this little garrison kept their foes at a distance. m'donald tried to burn the block-house, but did not succeed. furious at the prospect of being disappointed of his expected prey, he seized a crowbar, ran up to the door, and attempted to force it; but old shell fired and shot him in the leg, and then instantly opened the door and made him a prisoner. m'donald was well supplied with cartridges, and these he was compelled to surrender to the garrison. the battle was now hushed for a time; and shell, knowing that the enemy would not attempt to burn the house while their captain was in it, went into the second story, and began to sing the favorite hymn of martin luther, when surrounded with the perils he encountered in his controversy with the pope." "that was cool," remarked higgins. "bravely cool," added old harmar. "oh, it was necessary to be cool and brave in those times," said morton. "but to go on with my story; the respite was very short. the tories and indians were exasperated at the successful resistance of the garrison, and rushed up to the block-house. five of them thrust the muzzles of their pieces through the loop-holes; but mrs. shell seized an axe, and, with well-directed blows, ruined every musket by bending the barrels. at the same time, shell and his sons kept up a brisk fire, and drove the enemy off. about twilight, the old man went up stairs, and called out in a loud voice to his wife, that captain small was approaching from fort dayton, with succor. in a few minutes, he exclaimed, 'captain small, march your company round on this side of the house. captain getman, you had better wheel your men off to the left, and come up on that side.' this, you see, was a stratagem. the enemy were deceived, took to their heels, and fled through the woods, leaving eleven men killed and six wounded. m'donald was taken to fort dayton the next day, where his leg was amputated; but the blood flowed so freely that he died in a few hours. on his person was found a silver-mounted tomahawk, which had thirty-two scalp notches on the handle, to show how he had imitated the savages." "but what became of the two sons who were captured by the tories and indians?" inquired young harmar. "they were carried to canada," replied morton. "they afterwards asserted that nine of the wounded tories died on the way. but some of the indians were resolved to have revenge for their defeat, and they lurked in the woods near shell's house. one day they found the wished-for opportunity, and fired upon shell and his boys while they were at work in the field. one of the boys was killed, and shell so badly wounded that he died soon after, at fort dayton." "revenge seems a part of an indian's nature," remarked young harmar. "yes," said higgins, "they will pursue one who has injured them in any way until he has paid for it." "our people suffered much from them during the revolution," added higgins, "and they want no instruction in regard to their character." story of bate's bevenge. "i recollect," said old harmar, "after our line went south, under general wayne, just after the surrender of cornwallis, i met some of the men who had passed through green's campaign. they were the bitterest kind of whigs--men who had seen their houses burnt over their heads, and who could have killed and eaten all the tories they should meet. they told me many wild stories of the black doings of those traitorous rascals." "tell us one of them, won't you?" entreated mrs. harmar. "come, father, spin us one of those yarns, as the sailors say," added her husband. the children also became clamorous for 'a story,' and the old veteran was compelled to comply. "well, you shall hear. a man named joe bates told me how he had been used by the enemy, and how he had been revenged. he joined the southern army when greene first took command of it, leaving his wife and two children at his farm on the banks of the santee river. his brother, john bates, promised to take care of the family and the farm. you see, john used to help marion's band whenever he could spare the time--he was so anxious to do something for the good of his country, and he didn't know how else he could do it than by going off on an occasional expedition with marion. well, some how or other, major wernyss, the commander of the royalists in the neighborhood, got wind of john's freaks, and also of those of some other whig farmers, and he said he would put a stop to them. so he sent a detachment of about twenty-five men to burn the houses of the people who were suspected of being the friends of marion. john bates heard of their coming, and collected about ten or a dozen whigs to defend his house. he hadn't time to send the wife of joe and his children away to a safer place, or else he thought there was no better place. however it was, they remained there. the house was barred up, and everything fixed to give the red-coats a warm reception, should they attempt to carry out their intention. the time they chose for it was a moonlight night. the neighbors could see their houses burning from the upper windows of the one where they were posted, and they kept muttering curses and threats of vengeance all the time." "why didn't each man stay at home, and take care of his own house?" enquired mrs. harmar. "of what use would that have been?" returned old harmar. "by so doing, they could not have saved any house, and would have lost the chance of punishing the red-coats for their outrages. i forgot to tell you, though, that some of the farmers had brought their wives and children to bates', and these were all put up-stairs out of the way. the little garrison had made loop-holes on all sides of the house, and each man had his rifle and knife ready to guard the post at which he was stationed. john bates was the captain, because he knew most about such fightin' matters; he learned it of marion. well, at last the garrison caught sight of the britishers coming up steadily, the leader a little in advance. they didn't seem to suspect that any body was in the house, for they had found all the rest deserted. still they thought it wise to be careful. they surrounded the house at their leader's command, and were getting their things ready to set fire to it, when the garrison, who had kept still as death all the time, blazed away at them from all sides. this staggered the whole party; four or five of their number were shot dead, and as many more wounded. they rallied, however, and poured a volley into the house. the garrison, under john's command, returned the fire, and seemed to have decidedly the best of the matter. joe's wife couldn't content herself up-stairs with the women and children. she wanted to be of some use in defending her own house. she would come down and load the guns for john, while he kept a look-out on the movements of the british party. well, she had just loaded the gun, and was handing it to john, when a bullet whizzed past him, struck her in the breast, and she fell dead. john bates looked through the loop-hole, and caught sight of one of the red-coats running back from the house, and fired at him but missed. he saw the man's face, though, and remembered it. john then bore the corpse up-stairs. the women and children shrieked at the sight, and thus discovered to the cowardly foe where they were placed. a volley was sent through the upper part of the house, which killed one of joe's children and wounded the wife of a neighbor. but the enemy were losing men too fast to continue the attack. i think joe said they had lost half their party in killed and wounded, while in the house only one man was wounded. the red-coats that were left began to move off, dragging some of their wounded with them. then the farmers threw open the doors and windows, and, giving a shout of triumph, sent a volley after them that must have done some damage." "didn't they start a pursuit?" inquired higgins. "no: john thought his party was not strong enough, and that the glory of defeating such a party of regulars was enough for once. but several of the wounded red-coats were taken. some of the farmers wanted to kill them right off, but john wouldn't let them. he said there had been blood enough shed already, and set them at work to bury the dead. soon after, john went to the army, and told joe of the attack, and of the death of his wife and child. joe swore, by the most sacred oaths, to have revenge; and made john describe the appearance of the man whom he had seen running away from the house after firing the shot that had killed mrs. bates. the man had peculiar features, and could not be mistaken. "at the great battle of eutaw springs, joe was among the troops who charged with trailed arms. he came upon a man who answered the description given by john, and rushed upon him with such force that he pinned him to the ground with his bayonet, and he then drew a knife across his throat to make sure work of it. he told me that he stopped, amid a tremendous storm of grape and musketry, to take a look at the britisher, and to be sure that he had no life in him." "what bloody creatures war can make men," remarked young harmar. "that man was not sure he had killed the murderer of his wife." "it made no difference to him," replied old harmar. "he hated the whole set, and he had no mercy on any of them. joe bates was a clever fellow--as warm a friend and as quiet a companion as you would wish to meet in time of peace; but he hated like he loved--with all his heart, and would go through fire and death to get at a foe." "i believe joe bates' conduct was a fair specimen of that of the whole people of those parts, at that time," said wilson. "i've been told that the whigs and tories had no mercy on each other." "not a bit," added old harmar. "it seems to me that the fighting up here in the north was child's play in comparison with that in the south. every man on the american side that went into the battle of eutaw springs, was so full of courage and the desire of revenge that he was equal to two common men. greene had difficulty in restraining their ardor within the limits of prudence. i heard of colonel henry lee and his legion coming up with a body of tories who were assembled to march to the british camp, and his men would slaughter them without mercy, in spite of his efforts to restrain them." "it was a bloody time," remarked smith. "god grant that we may never see its like again," added morton. "up this way," said wilson, "the tories were quite peaceable and respectable; and some of them were badly treated without any reason for it. they were honest men, and differed in opinion with those who judged the declaration of independence and the assumption of arms, necessary measures." "yes," replied higgins; "its all very well for men to differ in opinion--nobody finds fault with that; its taking up arms against their own countrymen, and opposing their country's cause, that we grumble at. we should all adopt commodore decatur's motto; 'our country--right or wrong.' if she be right, our support cannot be refused; if wrong, we should endeavor to set her right, and not, by refusing our support, or by taking up arms against her, see her fall." "bravo!" cried mr. jackson harmar. "there's the true patriotic sentiment for you. allow me, mr. higgins, to shake hands with you over that sentiment." the veteran patriot extended his hand, and received the hearty shake of the patriot of another generation. story of general wayne "grandfather," said thomas jefferson harmar, "wont you tell us something about mad anthony wayne?" "who learnt you to call him mad anthony wayne?" inquired higgins. "that's what grandfather calls him," replied the boy. "yes," said old harmar; "we always called him mad anthony--he was such a dare-devil. i don't believe, if that man, when alone, had been surrounded by foes, they could really have made him afraid." "he was a bold and skilful general," remarked morton. "he was equal to arnold in those qualities, and superior to him in all others." "i think i can see him now, at morristown, in the midst of the mutineers, with his cocked pistol in his hand, attempting to enforce orders--an action that no other man would have thought of doing under such circumstances." "he did his duty," said wilson; "but the men cannot be censured for their conduct. they had received no pay for many months, were without sufficient clothing to protect them from the weather, and sometimes without food. if they had not been fighting for freedom and their country's rights, they never could have stood it out." "one of the best things wayne ever did," said smith, "was that manoeuvre of his in virginia, where the british thought they had him surely in a net." "what manoeuvre was that?" inquired mr. jackson harmar. "why, you see, general lafayette was endeavoring to avoid a general action with cornwallis, and yet to harass him. early in july, , the british army marched from williamsburg, and encamped on the banks of the james river, so as to cover a ford leading to the island of jamestown. soon after, the baggage and some of the troops passed the ford, but the main army kept its ground. lafayette then moved from his encampment, crossed the chichahominy, pushed his light troops near the british position, and advanced with the continentals to make an attempt on the british rear, after the main body had passed the river. the next day, the marquis was told that the main body of the british had crossed the ford, and that a rear-guard only remained behind. this was what the british general wanted him to believe, and he posted his troops ready to receive our men. well, general wayne, with eight hundred men, chiefly of the pennsylvania line, (including mr. harmar, mr. higgins, mr. wilson, and myself,) was ordered to advance against the enemy. now, wayne thought he had to fight a rear-guard only, and so he moved forward boldly and rapidly; but, in a short time, he found himself directly in front of the whole british army, drawn up to receive him. retreat was impracticable, as the enemy then might have had a fair chance to kill or capture the whole detachment. wayne thought that the best plan was to put on a bold face, and so he commenced the attack at once. a fierce and bloody struggle followed, and i'm not sure but we were gaining the advantage, when general lafayette discovered the mistake and ordered a retreat, and we were compelled to fall back, leaving two cannon in the hands of the enemy. by general wayne's presence of mind and courage, you see, we got off with but the loss of one hundred men. the british lost the same number." "the marquis was, of course, right in ordering a retreat," remarked young harmar. "i suppose so," replied smith. "our detachment might have made considerable havoc among the british, and, perhaps, if promptly supported, have maintained a long and doubtful battle. but general lafayette wanted to save his men until a more certain contest could be brought about. he was a very young general--younger than napoleon when he took command of the army of italy; but all his movements about that time indicated that he was as skilful and vigilant as he was brave." "americans should ever be grateful to the memory of such a man as lafayette," said old harmar. "he was a true lover of liberty, and a staunch friend to this land when it most needed friends." "and that reminds me," added young harmar, "that i've a song here, which i wrote for one of the papers, in relation to lafayette. it is arranged in the measure of the feeling melody of 'auld lang syne.'" "sing it," said mr. smith; and the request was echoed by the rest. mr. jackson harmar, therefore, after sundry excuses in the usual routine--that he had a cold, &c.--sang the following words in a very emphatic manner, with an occasional break in the high notes, and huskiness in the low ones. should auld acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind? the friend that's true, remember'd not, and days of auld lang syne? for auld lang syne, my dear, we never can forget; when dangers press'd, and foes drew near, our friend was lafayette. when first our fathers bravely drew 'gainst tyrants and their laws, on wings of generous zeal he flew to aid the holy cause. for auld lang syne, my dear, &c. he stemm'd the broad atlantic wave; he vow'd they should be free; he led the bravest of the brave to death or victory. for auld lang syne, my dear, &c. let brandywine his glory tell, and monmouth loud proclaim; let york in triumph proudly swell the measure of his fame. for auld lang syne, my dear, &c. shall sons of freedom e'er forget, till time shall cease to move, the debt they owe to lafayette of gratitude and love? for auld lang syne, my dear, &c. the song was listened to with considerable pleasure by the company, and there was an occasional attempt, on the part of the veterans, to join in the chorus, which, however, ended in a slight cough and shaking of the head, as if the attempt was hopeless. "there's good sentiment in that song," remarked smith. "it stirs the heart." "mr. harmar, did you say the piece was your own composition?" inquired morton. "it is one of my humble efforts," modestly replied mr. jackson harmar. "i'm very glad there are some young men left who can write something else besides the love trash that's so popular," said mr. higgins. old men generally have a strong aversion or lofty contempt for everything relating to the love matters of youth. "everything has its time," was the sage remark of mr. jackson harmar; "or, in the more popular phrase of mr. shakespeare, 'every dog will have his day!'" "i should like to see patriotic songs more popular," remarked morton; and it is highly probable the conversation would have continued on this subject, but mrs. harmar and the children kept up a constant clamor for more stories, and old harmar consented to amuse them and the rest of the company with a story which, he said, he had seen in several papers, and told in several different ways, none of which were correct. the true circumstances he would then relate in order that his son might make a story of it for his forthcoming work,--"legends of the times that tried men's souls." story of the outlaw of the pines. "in the fall and winter of ," began mr. harmar, "the people of new jersey experienced their full share of the miseries of civil war. during no period of the revolutionary contest did the enemy's troops act more cruelly or more unlike civilized men. as they marched through the jerseys, driving our poor 'rebel' army before them, they committed all kinds of outrages on helpless women and old men; but this conduct was destined to recoil upon the heads of the foe. the people were roused to resist the invaders, and the militia was organised throughout the state--silently but surely. our victories at trenton and princeton were received as the signals for action. as the enemy retired on brunswick, they were followed by the exasperated farmers, and harassed terribly. but, at the time when my story commences, the red-coats were in quiet possession of new jersey, from burlington to new york. general washington had come over on this side of the delaware. "it was late in december. the weather was bitter cold, and the enemy seldom stirred from their quarters to visit the interior of the state. this respite would have been refreshing to the harassed farmer, if the withdrawal of the regular troops had not left free play for the more desperate servants of king george, or others who pretended to be such. one of these pretenders was named fagan. he was the leader of about twenty ruffians as free from any particle of human feeling as himself. there was no romance about the black character of fagan; he was a perfect wretch; he robbed for gain, and murdered to conceal the robbery. the hiding-place of the band was in the pine barrens of new jersey, and they thence received the name of 'the pine robbers' from the people of the country. their violence and cruelty towards women and even children had made them the terror of all classes. the whigs charged their doings on the tories and refugees; but the robbers were against both parties. they plundered a tory in the name of the continentals, and were true to the crown when a whig chanced to be in their power. "well, i'm going to tell you about one of their exploits. not many miles from trenton, on the road to bordentown, was the farm-house of nathaniel collins, a quaker, but who was not strict enough for his sect. he was disowned by them on account of encouraging his two sons to join the continental army, and for showing a disposition to do the same himself. he was about sixty years old at the time of which i speak, but still a large, powerful man, with the glow of health on his cheek and intelligence in his eye. though disowned by the quaker sect, nathaniel collins retained their dress, manners, and habits, and always defended them from the attacks of their enemies. "one night, the old quaker, his wife hannah, cousin rachel, and daughter amy, were sitting up till a very late hour. they expected nathan's sons home from the continental army. these sons had chosen the night to cross the river, to avoid the notice of the hessians at trenton. well, the family waited till the clock struck one, but the sons did not appear, and nathan was getting impatient. at last footsteps were heard on the road. "'there they are at last!' eagerly exclaimed amy. "'let me see,' said nathan, as, with the placid manner characteristic of a friend, he moved to a window which commanded a view of the kitchen door, at which a knocking had commenced. he could distinguish six men, armed and equipped like militia, and another, whose pinioned arms proclaimed him a prisoner. his sons were not of the party; and as the persons of the strangers were unknown, and the guise of a militia-man was often assumed by fagan, our friend was not 'easy in his mind how to act.' his first idea was to feign deafness; but a second knock, loud enough to wake all but the dead, changed his intention--he raised the window and hailed the men: "'friends, what's your will?' 'a little refreshment of fire and food, if you please; we have been far on duty, and are half frozen and quite starved.' 'we don't entertain them who go to war.' 'yes; but you will not refuse a little refreshment to poor fellows like us, this cold night; that would be as much against the principles of your society as war.' 'thee's from trenton?' 'no, i thank you; nathaniel collins is too well known as a friend to the country, and an honest man, to aid a refugee--we know that.' 'soap the old fox well,' whispered one of the band. 'come, friend, make haste and let us in, we are almost perished, and have far to go before sunrise, or we may change places with our prisoner here before sunset.' 'but what does the party here, this side of the river, right under the hessians' nose, if--' 'oh, we are minute-men, sent from within by captain smallcross, to seize this deserter--don't you mean to let us in?' "nathaniel closed the window and said, 'i don't know what to make of these men. amy, call the boys; tell them to make haste and bring their guns, but keep them out of sight, where they will be handy.' "as the command was obeyed, and the three young men, laborers on the farm, appeared and placed their guns behind the inner, their master unbolted the outer door and admitted five of the armed men--the prisoner and one of his captors remaining without. nathaniel thought this unnecessary of so cold a night, and a little suspicious--'will not thy companions enter also?' "'no, thank you; he guards the prisoner.' 'but why may not the prisoner, too?' 'pshaw! he's nothing but a deserter. the cold will be good for _him_.' "'i must say,' quote nathan, 'exercised,' as he afterwards owned, past endurance, 'thy conduct neither becomes thy nature as a man, or thy calling, which should teach thee more feeling--i'll take the poor fellow something to eat myself.' "the old man had reached the door on his merciful errand, meaning it is true, to satisfy his curiosity at the same time, when he who had acted as leader of the party sprang from his chair, and, placing his hand on his host's breast, pushed him rudely back. 'stand back--back, i say, and mind your own business, if you _are_ a quaker.' "there was a momentary struggle in nathan's mind, whether to knock the fellow down, as from appearances he easily might, or to yield, in obedience to his _principles._ 'it was strongly on his mind,' he confessed, to pursue the former course, but prudence conquered, and he quietly withdrew to the upper end of the apartment, where his men lounged on a bench, apparently half asleep, and indistinctly visible in the light of the fire and one small candle, which burned near the strangers. in the interim, the old cook had been summoned, and had arranged some cold provisions on the table. 'old annie,' the cook, was the child of indian and mulatto parents, but possessed none of the features of her darker relation, except a capacious mouth and lips to match. she refused to associate with either negroes or indians, considering herself as belonging to neither, and indulging a sovereign contempt for both. her favorite term of reproach was 'injin' and 'nigger,' and when they failed _separately_ to express her feelings, she put the two together, a compliment always paid the hessians, when she had occasion to mention them. a party of these marauders had, on a visit to her master's house, stolen her fall's store of sausages; thenceforth she vowed eternal hatred to the race--a vow she never forgot to the day of her death. "the strangers ate their repast, showing anything but confidence in their entertainer, and ate, each man with his gun resting on his shoulder. during the whole meal, he who called himself their captain was uneasy and restless. for some time, he appeared to be engaged in a very close scrutiny of the household, who occupied the other end of the kitchen--a scrutiny which, owing to the darkness, could not yield him much satisfaction. he then whispered anxiously and angrily with his men, who answered in a dogged, obstinate fashion, that evidently displeased him; till, finally, rising from his seat, he bade them follow, and scarcely taking time to thank nathan for his food and fire, passed out of the door and made from the house. "'well, now, that beats me!' said elnathan, as he and his comrades looked at each other in astonishment at the abrupt departure and singular conduct of their guests. "'that are a queer lark, any how!' responded john; 'it beats all natur'.' ''the injins,' said ann. 'if that is not fagan or some of his gang, never trust me!--why did you not give them a shot, the 'tarnal thieves?' "but our household troop were too glad to get rid of their visitors to interrupt their retreat. the house was secured again, the men had thrown themselves down, and some of them were already asleep, when another knock at the same door brought them as one man to their feet. on opening the door, a laborer attached to a neighboring farm presented himself, breathless from haste, and almost dead with fear. when he so far recovered his speech as to be able to tell his story, he proved to be the man whom the pretended militia-men had brought with them as a prisoner, and his captors were found to be no less than fagan and a portion of his band. they had that night robbed five different houses before they attempted our friend's. aware that his sons were from home, they expected to find the old man unsupported, but having gained admission into the house, they were surprised at the appearance of three additional men. fagan, however, was bent upon completing his enterprise in spite of all opposition; but his followers obstinately refused. at the foot of the avenue a bitter quarrel ensued, fagan taxing his men with cowardice; but the fear of pursuit silenced them at length. the next question was, how to dispose of their prisoner, whom they had seized in one of their 'affairs,' and, for want of some means of securing him, brought with them. fagan, as the shortest way, proposed, as he had before, to cut his throat; but the proposal was overruled as unnecessary. he was unbound, and, upon his solemn promise to return without giving the alarm, one of the band returned him his silver and a little money they had abstracted from his chest. in consideration whereof he made to the nearest house and gave the alarm, impelled by instinct more than anything else. "suddenly, the man's narrative was interrupted by an explosion of fire-arms, which broke upon the clear, frosty night, and startled even nathan. another and another followed before a word was uttered. "'what can that be? it must be at trenton.' "'by jingo,' exclaimed elnathan, forgetting, in his excitement, that his master was present, 'if i don't believe our men ain't giving the hessians a salute this morning with ball _cartridges_--there it goes again!--i say, john, it's a piert scrimmage.' "in his own anxiety, nathan forgot to correct his servant's profanity. 'it must be--but how they got over through the ice without wings--' "'no matter 'zackly how, marster, it's them. i'll warrant them's hard plums for a christmas pudding. ha! ha! they get it this morning,--them tarnation hessian niggers!' "'ann, thee'll never forgive the hessians thy sausages and pork.' "'forgive--not i. all my nice sausages and buckwheat cakes, ready buttered--and all for them 'are yaller varments.' "the firing having continued some minutes, though less in volleys than at first, gradually ceased, and all was quiet, as if nothing had happened to disturb the deathlike stillness of the night. yet, in that brief hall hour, the fate of a continent was decided--the almost desperate cause of the colonies had been retrieved. the victory of trenton had been achieved. "the attention of nathan was diverted, by this first incident, from the other events of the night, but was soon recalled to the pursuit of the robbers, and the relief of their victims, who, from their late prisoner's account, had been left in an unpleasant condition. his men being dispatched to collect aid, nathan now remained with old anne; the sole efficient defender of the house. he was not doomed to wait their return undisturbed--the indistinct sound, as of many feet, was heard advancing along the road to bordentown. "'it's them hessians,' said anne. but nathan thought not--it was not the tread of regular troops, but the confused rush of a multitude. he hastened to an upper window to reconnoitre. the day had begun to break, and he easily distinguished a large body of men in hessian uniform, hurrying along the road in broken ranks. as they came nearer, he perceived many individuals half clad and imperfectly equipped. the whole consisted of about six hundred men. before their rear was lost behind a turn in the road another body appeared in rapid pursuit. they marched in closer order and more regular array. in the stillness of the morning the voice of an officer could be distinctly heard urging on the men. they bore the well-known standard of the colonies. it all flashed on nathan's mind--washington _had_ crossed the river, and was in pursuit of the routed foe. the excited old man forgot his years, as he almost sprang down stairs to the open air, proclaiming the tidings as he went. even the correct hannah, who had preserved her faith unbroken, in spite of her husband's and sons' contumacy, and the, if possible, still _more_ particular rachel, were startled from their usual composure, and gave vent to their joy. "'well, now, _does_ thee say so?' said the latter, eagerly following the others to the door. 'i hope it is not unfriendly to rejoice for such a cause.' "'i hope not, cousin rachel,' said amy; 'nor to be proud that _our_ boys had a share in the glorious deed.' "amy was left to herself, and broke loose upon this occasion from the bonds of quaker propriety; but no one observed the transgression--except old anne. "'that's right, amy collins; i like to hear you say so. how them hessians can run--the 'tarnal niggers; they steal sausages better than they stand bullets. i told 'em it would be so, when they was here beguzzlen my buckwheat cakes, in plain english; only the outlandish injins couldn't understand their mother tongue. they're got enough swallowen without chawen, this morning. i wish them nothen but jineral maxwell at their tails, tickling 'em with continental bagonets.' "'that friend speaks my mind,' said elnathan, with a half-sanctimonious, half-waggish look, and slight nasal twang. "'mine too,' as devoutly responded a companion, whom he had just brought to assist in the pursuit of the robbers. "the whole family had assembled at the door to watch the motions of the troops. the front ranks had already passed down the road, when a horseman, at full speed, galloped along the line of march to the extreme right, and commanded a halt. after a few minutes delay, two or three officers, followed by a party carrying a wounded man, emerged from the ranks and approached the house. this was too much for the composure of our late overjoyed family; all hastened to meet their wounded or dead relation, but were disappointed agreeably--the brothers were indeed of the party, but unhurt. "'charles--boys--what means--' 'nothing, father, except that we paid the hessians a friendly visit this morning. you saw them?' 'a part--where are the rest?' 'oh, we could not consent to turn them out of their comfortable quarters this cold night, so we insisted on their remaining, having first gone through the trifling ceremony of grounding their arms.' "the greeting between the young soldiers and their more peaceful relations could not have been more cordial if their hands had been unstained with blood. nathaniel proffered refreshments to the whole detachment; old anne trembled for her diminished stock of sausages, and remarked to elnathan, that it would take a ''tarnal griddle' to bake cakes for 'all that posse cotatus.' but the offer was declined by the officer in command, who only desired our friends to take charge of the wounded hessian, whom his own men had deserted in the road. [illustration: the outlaw of the pines.] "in the meanwhile, about forty men had assembled at nathan's summons to pursue the robbers, some of them having first visited those who had suffered from the previous night's depredations. in one instance, they found a farmer tied in his own stable, with his horse gear, and his wife, with the bed-cord, to some of the furniture in her own apartment. in another place, the whole household was quietly disposed down a shallow well, up to their knees in water, and half frozen. in a third, a solitary man, who was the only inmate at the time, having fled, in his fright, to the house-top, was left there by the unfeeling thieves, who secured the trap-door within. but the last party who arrived had a bloody tale to tell: they had been to the house of joseph farr, the sexton to a neighboring baptist church; a reputation for the possession of concealed gold proved fatal to him. on entering his house, the door of which stood open, the party sent to his relief stumbled over his body. after having most cruelly beaten him, in the hope of extorting the gold he was said to possess, the murderers, upon his positive denial, pierced him in twenty places with their bayonets. the old bedridden wife was still alive in her bed, though the blood had soaked through the miserable pallet and run in a stream into the fire-place. their daughter, a woman of fifty years, fled from the house as the murderers entered, and was pursued by one of them, nearly overtaken, and even wounded in the arm by his bayonet; but his foot slipped in making the thrust, and she escaped slightly hurt. "this bloody business aroused the whole country; a persevering and active pursuit was commenced. the murderers had many miles to traverse before they could reach a safe retreat, and were obliged to lighten themselves of their heavier plunder in the chase. four were shot down in the pursuit; the knapsack of a fifth was found partly concealed in a thicket, and pierced with a ball, which had also penetrated a large mass of continental money in sheets, and, by the blood on the inner covering, had done good service on the wearer. it was believed that he contrived to conceal himself in a thicket, and died there; as he was never heard of after. fagan alone escaped unhurt to the pines, and for days defied all the exertions of the whig farmers. by this time, the pursuing party had increased to nearly two hundred men. the part of the wood in which he was known to be concealed, was surrounded and fired, till the wretch was literally burnt from his den, and, in an attempt to escape from one flaming thicket to another, taken alive, although not unwounded. one of the gang, who had not participated in the deeds i have mentioned, was secured at the same time. "there appeared to be no difference of opinion about the mode of disposing of the prisoners--indeed, an opinion was scarcely asked or given. it seemed taken for granted--a thing of course; and the culprits were led in silence to the selected place of execution. there was neither judge nor jury--no delay--no prayer for mercy; a large oak then stood at the forks of two roads, one of which leads to freehold; from the body of the tree a horizontal branch extended over the latter road, to which two ropes were attached. one of them having been fixed to the minor villain's neck, _his_ sufferings were soon over; but a horrible and lingering death was reserved for fagan. the iron hoops were taken off a meat cask, and by a blacksmith in the company fitted round his ankles, knees, and arms, pinioning the latter to his body, so that, excepting his head, which was 'left free to enjoy the prospect,' he could not move a muscle. in this condition he hung for days beside his stiffened companion; dying by inches of famine and cold, which had moderated so as, without ending, to aggravate his misery. before he died, he had gnawed his shoulder from very hunger. on the fifth night, as it approached twelve o'clock, having been motionless for hours, his guards believed him to be dead, and, tired of their horrid duty, proposed to return home. in order, however, to be sure, they sent one of the party up the ladder to feel if his heart still beat. he had ascended into the tree, when a shriek, unlike anything human, broke upon the stillness of the night, and echoed from the neighboring wood with redoubled power. the poor fellow dropped from the tree like a dead man, and his companions fled in terror from the spot. when day encouraged them to return, their victim was swinging stiffly in the north wind--now lifeless as the companion of his crime and its punishment. it is believed, to this day, that no mortal power, operating upon the lungs of the dead murderer, produced that awful, unearthly, and startling scream; but that it was the voice of the evil one, warning the intrusive guard not to disturb the fiend in the possession of his lawful victim; a belief materially strengthened by a fact that could not be disputed--the limb upon which the robbers hung, after suffering double pollution from them and their master's touch, never budded again; it died from that hour; the poison gradually communicated to the remaining branches, till, from a flourishing tree, it became a sapless and blasted trunk, and so stood for years, at once an emblem and a monument of the murderers' fate. "fagan was never buried; his body hung upon its gibbet till the winds picked the flesh from off his bones, and they fell asunder by their own weight. a friend of mine has seen his horrid countenance, as it hung festering and blackening in the wind, and remembers, by way of amusement, between schools, pelting the body with stones. the old trunk has disappeared, but the spot is still haunted in the belief of the people of the neighborhood, and he is a bold man who dare risk a nocturnal encounter with the bloody fagan, instead of avoiding the direct road, at the expense of half a mile's additional walk. no persuasion or force will induce a horse _raised in the neighborhood_ to pass the fated spot at _night_, although he will express no uneasiness by daylight. the inference is, that the animals, as we know animals _do_, and balaam's certainly _did_, see more than their masters. a skeptical gentleman, near, thinks this only the force of habit, and that the innocent creatures have been so taught by the cowards who drive them, and would saddle the horses with their own folly. "i am at the close of my story, and not a lover or a tender scene in the whole tedious relation--alas! what a defect, but it is too late to mind it now; it only remains to take leave of our friends. nathan and hannah have mingled with dust, and their spirits with that society whose only business is love, and where sighing and contention can never intrude. nathan was permitted, on his expressing his sorrow that he had 'disobliged friends,' to rejoin his society, and he died an elder. rachel departed at a great age, as she had lived, a spotless maiden. the blooming, the warm-hearted, mischievous amy lives, a still comely old lady, the mother of ten sons, and the grandparent of three times as many more. she adheres strictly to all the rules of her society, and bears her testimony in the capacity of a public friend. still, she is evidently not a little proud of her father's and brothers' share in the perils and honors of the revolutionary contest, though she affects to condemn their contumacy and unfriendly conformity to the world's ways, and their violation of 'friends' testimony concerning war.' old annie died four years since, at an almost incredible age, though she was not able to name the exact number of the days of her pilgrimage. from the deep furrows on her cheeks, and the strong lines of her naturally striking countenance, which, as she advanced in years, assumed more and more the character of her indian parentage, and the leather-like appearance of her skin, she might have passed for an antediluvian. while other less important matters lost their impression on her memory, the hessian inroads upon her sausages and buckwheat cakes were neither forgotten nor _entirely_ forgiven to the last. she sent for a friend when on her death-bed, to make arrangement of her little affairs. he found her strength of body exhausted, but her powers of mind unimpaired. after disposing her stock of personalities among some of her friends, she turned to him. 'that's all, mr. charles, except the old sash you used to play with, which i sp'iled from the hessian officer, the injin--keep that to mind old anne by,' "'thank you, anne--i'll keep it carefully. but you must not bear malice _now_, anne; you must forgive even the hessians,' said charles. "'what, them hessians, the bloody thieves?' and the old woman's eyes lighted up, and she almost arose in her bed with astonishment, as she asked the question. 'yes; even _them_: you are about to need forgiveness as much as they--they _were_ your enemies and persecutors, whom you are especially enjoined to pardon, as you would expect to be pardoned.' 'so it is, mr. charles; you say the truth,--poor ignorant, sinful mortal that i am! well, then, i do--i _hope_ i _do_--forgive 'em; i'll try--the bloody _creeters_.' "there; will that do for a story, thomas jefferson?" asked the old grandfather, when he had concluded. the old man had a straight-forward, natural way of telling a story that showed he had practised it frequently. the boy seemed much gratified by the horrible narration. mrs. harmar said she was interested, but didn't like it much; her husband remarked, however, that it would make a thrilling sketch. "i suppose that nathaniel collins was very much the same sort of a quaker as general green," said morton. "they were peaceable men, as long as peace and quiet were not inconsistent with self-defence. to be peaceable when a foe is wasting your fields and slaughtering your brethren, is cowardly and against nature." "that's truth," replied higgins. "we must look upon a merciless invader in the same light as upon a cruel beast, whom it is saving life to slay." "fagan was well punished for his outrages," remarked wilson. "it was the only way for the inhabitants to ensure their safety," said smith. the tory's conversion. "by the bye," said mr. morton, "some events have just recurred to my mind, which interested me very much when i first heard of them, and which i think may strike you as being wonderful. i knew of many strange and unaccountable things that happened during the revolution, but the conversion of gil lester from toryism capped the climax." "enlighten us upon the subject, by all means," remarked mr. jackson harmar. "yes, that was a strange affair, morton; tell 'em about it," added higgins. "there's a little love stuff mixed up with the story," said morton, "but you will have to excuse that. i obtained the incidents from lester himself, and i know he was always true to his word, whether that was right or wrong. gilbert lester, vincent murray, and their ladye-loves, lived up here in pennsylvania, in the neighborhood of the lehigh. one night a harvest ball was given at the house of farmer williams. vincent murray and mary williams, the farmer's daughter, joined in the festivities, and, becoming tired of dancing in a hot room, they went out to walk along the banks of the lehigh, and, of course, to talk over love matters. "they had seated themselves on a fallen tree, and continued for a few moments to gaze in the mirrored lehigh, as if their very thoughts might be reflected on its glassy surface. visions of war and bloodshed were passing before the fancy of the excited girl, and she breathed an inward prayer to heaven to protect her lover; when, casting her eyes upward, she suddenly exclaimed with startling energy: "'vincent, look at the sky!' murray raised his head, and sprang instantly on his feet. 'tell me,' continued mary, 'am i dreaming, or am i mad! or do i actually see armies marching through the clouds?' "murray gazed steadfastly for a moment, and then exclaimed, 'it is the british, mary--i see the red coats as plainly as i see you.' "the young girl seemed transfixed to the spot, without the power of moving. 'look there,' said she, pointing her finger upward--'there are horses, with officers on them, and a whole regiment of dragoons! oh, are you not frightened?' "'no,' replied her companion--but before he had time to proceed, she again exclaimed: 'there, there, vincent! see the colors flying, and the drums, and trumpets, and cannon, i can almost hear them! what can it mean?' 'don't be so terrified, mary. it is my belief, that what we see is an intimation from god of the approaching war. the 'lord of hosts' has set his sign in the heavens. but come, let us run to the house. this is no time to dance--and they will not believe us, unless their own eyes behold the vision!' "before he had finished speaking, they were hastily retracing their steps to the scene of merriment; and in another moment the sound of the violin was hushed, and the feet of the dancers were still. with one accord, they all stood in the open air, and gazed with straining glances at the pageant in the heavens; and marked it with awe and wonder. a broad streak of light spread itself gradually over the sky, till the whole wide expanse was in one brilliant blaze of splendor. the clouds, decked in the richest and most gorgeous colors, presented a spectacle of grandeur and glory, as they continued to shape themselves into various forms of men, and horses, and armor, till a warlike and supernatural host was distinctly presented to the view. the dragoons, on their prancing horses; the riflemen and artillery, with their military ensigns and accoutrements; the infantry, and even the baggage-wagons in the rear, were all there to complete the imposing array. _it is no fiction_; many were eye-witnesses of that remarkable vision, which passed on from the east, and disappeared in the west--and, from that evening, the sound of the violin was heard no more in those places, until the end of the revolution. "mary tracy hung upon the arm of her lover, and listened anxiously to his words, as he spoke to her in a low but decided tone." "that's very strange; but you have not told us how the young tory was converted," interrupted mrs. harmar. "i am coming to that," replied morton. "vincent murray and mary williams conversed together for some time. he told her he was going to leave his friends and join the american army. he said he thought the signs in the clouds were warning to all the friends of liberty to rush to the aid of our little struggling band; and that he intended to go to new york, and then seek out the best plan for enlistment. before he bade his sweetheart farewell, he also told her he was resolved to do his best to convert gilbert lester from his tory principles. now this was no easy task, as the two young men had often argued the question of rights, and lester had shown that he was as firmly fixed to his creed as murray was to his. mary told him that she thought that the frowns or the smiles of jane hatfield alone could change his way of thinking. but, nevertheless, murray resolved to try what he could do. "the little group of dancers were all scattered in different directions. murray sought among the number for gilbert lester, and found him, at length, leaning in a thoughtful attitude against the trunk of a huge sycamore tree, whose broad shadow fell upon the waters of the lehigh. so profound was his reverie, that murray touched his arm before he stirred from his position, or was aware of approaching footsteps. "'gilbert, shall i divine your thoughts?' "'you, perhaps, think you could do so, but i doubt whether you would guess right.' "'why, there can be but one subject, i should suppose, which could occupy the mind of any one who has seen what we have seen this evening.' "'true; but there may be different interpretations put upon what is equally a mystery to us all.' "'well, i will not dispute that point with you,--but there is a _right_ and a _wrong_, notwithstanding. now, tell me, what is your opinion?' "'it will hardly coincide with yours, vincent; for i fear we shall never agree in our ideas of the propriety and expediency of taking up arms against our sovereign. as to this pantomime of the clouds, i must confess it is beyond my comprehension; so, if your understanding has been enlightened by the exhibition, i beg you will have charity to extend the benefit.' "'you are always for ridiculing my impressions, gilbert; but you cannot change my belief that our cause is a rightful one, and that it will, with the help of the almighty, ultimately prevail.' "'what, against such a host as we have just seen imaged out in the sky?' "'the lord's hand is not shortened, that it cannot save,' replied murray. "'but,' continued his friend, 'if a real army, coming over the sea to do battle for the king, has been represented by that ghostly multitude which passed before our view, you will find the number too strong for this fanciful faith of yours, in the help of an invisible arm.' "'it is a faith, however, which i am not yet disposed to yield,--the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong.' "'i will acknowledge,' said lester, interrupting him, 'that you have the advantage of me in quoting scripture--but depend upon it, the _practical_ advantages of the british over the rebel army will soon overturn your theory.' "'no such thing, gilbert. i tell you that the zeal, fortitude, undaunted courage, and invincible resolution, which encompass our little band of patriots, will prove a shield of strength that will make every single man of them equal to at least a dozen british soldiers. and having once risen up in defence of their rights, they will persevere to the last extremity before they will submit to the disgraceful terms of a despotic government. it grieves me that _you_ should be among the tories. come, i entreat you, and share in the glory of the triumph which i am persuaded will eventually be ours.' "'then you really do believe, murray, that god will work a modern miracle in favor of america! my dear friend, i wish you would abandon this vain chimera of your imagination, and let common sense and reason convince you of the folly of this mad rebellion.' "'and what then? should i sit down in cowardly inaction, while others are sacrificing their lives in the struggle? no--that shall never be said of vincent murray! my resolution is taken; i will rise or fall with my country!' "'and perhaps the next time we meet,' said lester, 'it may be on the field of battle.' "'god forbid! but should it even be the case, gilbert, i should know no friend among my country's enemies. farewell--you will think better of this subject; and remember, that no one but a _republican_ will ever win jane hatfield,' said murray. "the young men wrung each other's hands, and each went his way." "murray thought he would put in the last remark by way of strengthening the effect of the vision in the clouds, i suppose," remarked mr. jackson harmar. "yes; the promise of the hand of a lovely girl has a great influence on the opinions of a young man," replied morton. "but in this case, if you will wait till my story is through, you will see that jane hatfield had but little to do with lester's conversion. the next morning after the occurrence of the wonderful phantom in the clouds, murray left his home, and soon after enlisted in the army under general montgomery. he was in the unlucky expedition against québec. "after the death of montgomery, and the uniting of the different detachments under arnold, as their head, murray, to his marvellous astonishment, encountered his friend gilbert lester among the pennsylvania riflemen, under captain morgan. by some strange accident, and each being ignorant of the proximity of the other, they had not met before the attack on québec. great, therefore, was murray's surprise and pleasure; for, since the evening of their last conversation on the banks of the lehigh, he had no opportunity of learning whether there had been any change in the political sentiments of his friend. with the utmost fervor of delight he grasped his hand as he exclaimed: "'i rejoice to see you,--but, my dear friend, what is the meaning of this meeting? and how, in the name of wonder, came you here?' "'why, it is truly a wonder to myself, murray,' replied lester, 'that i ever got here; or that any of us, who passed through that frightful wilderness, are now alive to tell the story.' "'the wilderness! i should like to know how you contrived to get into the wilderness from the place where i last saw you?' said murray. "'i remember,' said gilbert, laughing; 'you left me looking at the clouds on the banks of the lehigh; and, perhaps, you imagine that i was taken up into them, and dropped down in that horrible place as a punishment for my _toryism!_' "'and if that was not the case, pray throw a little light on the mystery.' "'have patience, then, and let me tell my story my own way. the getting into the labyrinth was a trifle in comparison to the getting out. believe me, the tales of romance are nothing to the tremendous horrors of that march. why do you look incredulous?' "'you know your love of the marvellous, gilbert--but go on; only don't out-herod herod in your description.' "'there is no danger of that--no description can come up to the truth. i looked upon that whole army in the desert as destined to make their next general parade in the heavens--and fancied you would see our poor, unhappy apparitions gliding through the sky; and, perhaps, exclaim, 'poor gilbert; he died in the good cause at last. it seems, however, that the necessity is spared of my making so pathetic an apostrophe. you had the good fortune to escape.' 'it was little less than a miracle that we did so, i assure you,' replied gilbert. 'your preservation, then, should be a more convincing proof to your mind, that the lord is on our side, and will not forsake us in this unequal strife.' 'ah,' replied lester, 'you may beat me in _faith_, vincent, but i will contend that i have beaten you in _works_. had you waded, as we did, through those hideous bogs, which a poor irishman, whose bones we left on the way, declared, 'bate all the bogs of ireland!' you would have said the israelites in the wilderness had a happy time of it, compared to us. why, we were drowned, and starved, and frozen, till we had nearly given up all hope of the honor of being shot.' 'but you forget that i am still in ignorance of the preceding causes, which produced the revolution in your sentiments, and consequently influenced your actions after i left the farm,' said murray, interrupting him. "'you are right,' replied gilbert; 'i am before my story. my head was so completely filled with the images on the way, that i was obliged to dispose of them first, ere i could clear a passage in my memory to relate what came before. it would, however, require too much time, at this moment, to enter into all the detail of argument and persuasion that gradually undermined my first principles. my imagination was a little excited by the whole scene at our last harvest festival. the sudden interruption in the dancing by the singular phenomena in the heavens, and the termination, from that evening, of all our accustomed mirth and gaiety, made a strong impression, which led me to inquire and reflect on passing events, connected with the disturbances in the country, much more closely and anxiously than i had done before. the result was a determination, in my own mind, to follow you. knowing your admiration of general washington, i instantly jumped at the conclusion that you had proceeded to cambridge, in order to be guided in your future movements by the commander-in-chief; and so, without the least hesitation, i straightway decided on pursuing the same course. you are well aware, vincent, that i am a creature of impulse. my arrival at head-quarters happened to be at the moment when colonel arnold was fitting out his troops for this unhappy expedition; and meeting accidentally with an acquaintance among the pennsylvania riflemen, i enlisted in the same regiment, under captain morgan. a spice of romance, which i believe nature infused into my disposition, and which was increased among the mountain passes and wild fastnesses of our native scenery, induced me to look forward with a kind of adventurous pleasure, to the projected passage through the unexplored wilderness. the probable hazard and difficulty of the exploit presented only a spur to my newly awakened ardor; and thus, with my usual impetuosity of feeling, i pushed on among the most enthusiastic followers of colonel arnold. the concluding part of the history is written in the blood of our brave and gallant general; and now, in the closing scene of the drama, i find myself, by a singular freak of fortune, thrown again in your company, in a place where i had little dreamed of such a meeting.' "in the meanwhile, an interesting event happened on the banks of the lehigh. the usual business in that part of the country was suspended. the men congregated to talk over the causes and events of the war, and the signs of the times. the appearance of the army in the heavens was still fresh in the minds of all; and it was but a few weeks after the departure of murray and lester that another spectacle was seen, even more astonishing than the first. "it was on a september evening that the _aurora borealis_ was discovered in the sky. it grew brighter and brighter, and soon drew together a large number of the inhabitants of the neighborhood. the distance was short to the highest ground on the ridge of the lehigh mountains, and the whole party ascended to the summit, near the old road between easton and philadelphia. there they paused, to view the surrounding scenery in the broad, clear light. the kittating mountain, enveloped in its blue shade of mist, lay far away to the north and west; while, on the jersey side, to the east, the high musconetcong rose darkly in the distance. suddenly, a cloud appeared on the blue sky above, and immediately, quick, successive sounds, as of the firing of cannon, broke on the ear. the cloud dispersed with the noise, and flying troops were seen rushing on from the west. men and horses were mingled in one indiscriminate mass of confusion. the soldiers wore the uniform of the british; but there was no order, as in the former vision. ranks were cut up and destroyed--plumes were bent down and broken--horses fled without riders--and the fallen were trampled on by their companions. terror seemed to move in their midst, as they hurried onward. the pillar of a cloud rose again behind them. it was like a thick smoke from the fire of the enemy. it curled and wreathed itself away in the heavens, and disappeared, as with another sound of guns. then came the continental army. soldiers marching in triumph--officers mounted, and flags of victory streaming on the sky. on and on, they followed in the pursuit, till the singular phantasm melted away in the east. "the sight was hailed with joy, as an omen of success to the american cause. numerous were the spectators to that second vision--and some are yet alive in the part of the country where it was seen. "an account of this phenomenon was sent to murray and lester, and the latter became confirmed, heart and soul, in the cause to which he had attached himself. now, i know, you may look upon these things with a smile of credulity, and say it was all the result of imagination; but a mere fancy cannot mislead hundreds of people, and make them believe that their eyes are traitors. i have told you nothing but what is well attested. i don't pretend to know anything of the causes of such events, but i do know that these visions changed many a heart from toryism to patriotism." "i am very much obliged to you for your interesting story, mr. morton," said mr. jackson harmar. "i like your plain, straight-forward style, and your matter excites my wonder. it is a fact, that general washington was known to observe and mention the remarkable apparitions in the heavens, at many different periods of the revolution. they were not without their influence on his mind. i firmly believe that such things occurred; and can look for no cause but that of god's providence, to explain them." of course mrs. harmar believed the story of the apparitions to be perfectly true, and did not look for any other cause except the direct order of the almighty; but wilson said he was always suspicious of such stories. he even ventured to offer an explanation of the phenomenon, which amounted to this:--a thunder-storm came up while the people were gathered together, very much excited upon the subject of the war, and feeling very anxious for the success of the cause of the colonies; one man thought he saw an army in the clouds driven before the winds, and heard the roar of the artillery; this he communicated in an excited manner to the others, and they, disposed to believe, also thought the clouds looked "very like a whale." but morton, old harmar, mr. jackson harmar, smith, and higgins, brought their argumentative batteries to bear upon the explanation and incredulity of wilson, and silenced, if they did not convince him. he admitted that a man of general washington's strength of mind could not easily be deceived, and said, that if it was a fact that he had seen and mentioned the phenomenon, he could think it true; but no one was prepared to prove what had been asserted. mr. morton was again thanked for the manner in which he had told the story, and mr. jackson harmar said that some of the writers of the day might learn from him. "of course, murray and lester lived through the war, went home to the banks of the lehigh, and married the girls they loved," remarked wilson. "they did; and two very happy couples they made. jane hatfield had always been a republican in sentiment, and she loved lester more than ever when she heard he had dropped toryism as something that would have burnt his fingers if he had held on to it," replied morton. the timely rescue. "when mr. morton commenced his story," said old harmar, "he said there was considerable love-stuff mixed up with it, as if that was an objection to his telling it. now i can tell you a story of which love and fighting are the elements. the events occurred up here in new jersey, and are true to the time and the people that acted in it." "no matter if it was all made up of love, if it illustrated the character of the time, i should like to hear it," remarked mr. jackson harmar. "and so should i," added his wife. "is it that story about captain edwards and miss williams, that bill moore used to tell?" inquired higgins. "that's the affair; and, supposing you folks will wish to hear about it, i shall proceed. shortly after the surrender of burgoyne, two horsemen were riding along the road which leads to the town of ridgefield. one was captain edwards, and the other lieutenant brown. their conversation partook of the spirit of the period. they were discussing the relative merits of general gates and general washington. brown thought that washington was deficient in energy, while edwards thought him a model general, and gates deficient in both energy and skill. they could not agree, and so they dropped the subject. "as the colloquy ended, the horsemen spurred onward, and soon arrived in view of the residence of mrs. williams, which was situated on a gentle acclivity, accessible by a long avenue, skirted on either side with tall poplars, and entered at the extremity by a slight wooden gate. on entering this avenue, old pompey came running towards them with a brow darkened a number of shades by his agitation, and grasping the bridle of captain edward's horse, exclaimed: "'oh! for heaven's sake, good master edwards, don't go to the house!' "'what the devil's the matter?' ejaculated the captain, as he endeavored to disengage the hold of the negro. "'mistress has gone clean 'stracted,' began the african, 'because young miss caroline--' "'what of her?--speak out, in the fiend's name!' exclaimed captain edwards, evincing much greater emotion than he had hitherto betrayed. "'you stop me, sir; i must tell my story in my own way,' replied pompey. "'proceed with it, then, with a murrain to you,' said lieutenant brown, impatiently, 'or, by heaven, i'll beat it out of you with the flat of my sword.' "'well, then,' cried the negro, angrily, 'the tory captain lewis came to our house last night with some sodgers, and carried off miss caroline.' "'the unhung villain!' muttered captain edwards, from between his clenched teeth; and then, compelling himself to speak more calmly, he said, 'brown, my dear fellow, return directly to the camp, and meet me at stophel's tavern, with sergeant watkins and a dozen trusty soldiers. the scoundrel cannot escape me--i know every tory haunt between here and the hudson; i must go to the house, and console the afflicted mrs. williams.' "the subaltern struck his spurs into the flank of his steed, and hastened to execute the orders of his superior. the captain rode up the lane, and having reached the house, threw his bridle to a servant, and entered without ceremony. as he had anticipated, he found mrs. williams in an indescribable state of grief; her health was delicate, and this unexpected calamity had prostrated her. after offering a few encouraging words, which produced but a very slight effect, he remounted his horse and rode to the place of rendezvous. here he met lieutenant brown, a sergeant, corporal, and ten privates, all finely armed and equipped, and prepared to brave any danger and incur any hazard, in the service of a commander in whom they had the most unbounded confidence. he instantly placed himself at their head, and proceeded on his expedition. "it was now dark. their road lay along the margin of a small stream, bounded on the one side by half cultivated fields, and on the other by a thick gloomy forest, in which the death-like stillness of its dark bosom was only broken by the occasional howl of wild beasts. "after pursuing their course for some distance along the bank of this rivulet, now traversing the ground on its very margin, and then again carried by the windings of the path miles from the stream, they came to a sharp angle in the road, on turning which, the captain, being a short distance in advance of his troops, discovered a figure slightly defined, but yet bearing some resemblance to the human species, stealing along the side of the path, apparently wishing to avoid observation. "striking his spurs into his horse, and drawing his sword at the same time, the captain had the person completely in his power before the other had time to offer either flight or resistance. "'for whom are you?' was demanded by captain edwards, in no gentle accents. "'i'm nae just free to say,' replied the stranger, thus rudely interrogated, with the true scotch evasion. "'answer me at once,' returned the captain; 'which party do you favor?' "'ye might have the civility to give me a gentle hint which side ye belang to,' said sawney. "'no circumlocution,' rejoined the soldier, sternly. 'inform me immediately: are you a mercenary of the tyrant of england, or a friend to liberty? your life depends on your answer.' "'aweel, then,' said the scotchman firmly, 'sin ye will have it, by my saul, i won't go to heaven with a lie in my mouth--i'm whig to the back-bone, ye carline; now do your warst, and be hanged till ye!'" "he might still have been a foe," remarked wilson. "he might have seen, from edwards' language, that to be a whig was to ensure his safety." "i cannot say whether the scotchman was sincere or not," replied old harmar. "the american captain was well pleased to discover a friend, when he had every reason to expect an enemy; and, after furnishing him with a pistol, and advising him to avoid the scouting parties of the enemy, by keeping in the wood, he again proceeded on his expedition. they soon reached a fork in the road: one branch led into the recesses of the wood, and the other lay still farther along the banks of the stream. on arriving at this spot, the captain, calling lieutenant brown a little distance from the troop, said, 'a few miles' ride will carry us to an encampment of a party of these tories. i wish to reconnoitre the position of the enemy, and shall take the road which leads into the wood, for that purpose, while you with the soldiers will ride on the other road, till you will arrive within sight of the enemy, and then return to this point, which shall be our place of rendezvous. in the meantime, i wish you to avoid coming to any engagement with the tories; but, in case you hear me fire two pistol shots, you may believe me to be in danger, and hasten to my relief.' "to command was to be obeyed with captain edwards, and soon no sound was heard save the slow and regular tread of the horses of the soldiers under command of lieutenant brown "captain lewis, the partisan tory who had carried off miss williams, was an officer of some fame. of english extraction, and bred in the principles of entire acquiescence in the orders of the british ministry, he beheld the struggles of the colonists with contempt. he saw the inhabitants rising about him in various parts of the country, with feelings of bitter hatred, and he determined to crush these evidences of rebellion in the outset. he accepted a captain's commission in the english army, and fought for a time under the banners of general clinton, with success worthy of a better cause. but taking offence at some imperious order of his commander, he threw up his commission in disgust, and retired to his native village near the river hudson. here, collecting about him a few choice spirits like himself, he kept the inhabitants in a continual state of alarm by his plundering and rapacious conduct. acting, as he pretended, under the orders of the king, the tories durst not oppose him, and the whigs were too few in numbers to resist his foraging excursions with any prospect of success. "in his youth he had been a school companion of captain edwards, but their principles were widely dissimilar, and little intercourse had taken place between them. in after life they embraced different sides, and the tory disliked the whig for his virtues, and envied his good name. in one of his marauding expeditions he became acquainted with miss williams, and discovering the interest the republican had in her affections, he determined to get her into his power, for the purpose of holding a check on the whig officer, whom he equally feared and hated. a libertine in principle, and a profligate in practice, he scrupled at no means to attain his object, and a violent attack on the peaceful dwelling of a defenceless woman was as consonant with his views as robbing a hen-roost. "the dwelling of this renegade was situated on a small hill on the bank of the river hudson. his peculiar occupation, and the state of affairs in the country, had rendered it necessary for him to fortify and strengthen his house, and, at the time referred to, it resembled, what in fact it was, the rendezvous of a band of lawless desperadoes. "in the principal room of the building was the villain captain, with three of his officers, seated round a decayed table, playing cards; on one end of the table stood a dirty decanter, partly filled with apple brandy; three or four cracked, dingy tumblers were scattered over the table, and the rest of the furniture of the apartment was in keeping. in one corner of the room sat miss williams, apparently in the depth of wretchedness. she occasionally cast furtive glances at the captain, and then toward a small window, which was firmly barricaded; but seeing no prospect of escape, she relapsed again into hopeless sorrow. groups of blackguard soldiers were seated on stools in different parts of the room, many of them following the example of their officers, and others amusing themselves with burnishing their muskets and equipments. after numerous potations from his bottle, the captain started up, reeling under the influence of the liquor, and addressing a ruffian-looking officer, one of his boon companions, said: "'lieutenant jocelyn, have the drum beat to arms, and take these lazy knaves and scour the woods for a few miles around, and cut down or make prisoner every rebel rascal you meet; leave soldiers enough, however, to guard the old castle; quick--blast me, no hesitation.' "'humph!' muttered the old soldier; 'ready enough to run his comrades into the noose, but devilish careful to keep his own delicate person out of danger.' "'ha! what say you, old grumbler? you shall stay here and guard the lady, if you are so much afraid of your beautiful self; and i will take command of the men.' "the lieutenant liked this proposition still worse than the former, but seeing no alternative, obeyed in silence. in a short time, the captain, accompanied by about twenty men, including a sergeant and two corporals, left their camp and proceeded toward the wood. it was night-fall when they reached the forest, through which the road was very narrow and circuitous. they were travelling along the path in double files, when the sergeant in front ordered a halt. "'why do we stop here,' roared the captain, 'when it is as dark as egypt?' "'i hear a noise like the trampling of horses,' replied the sergeant. "'hist, then,' said captain lewis; 'draw up the men into a body, and await their arrival in silence.' "'the horse's footsteps were now distinctly heard, but it was a solitary horseman whom these worthy soldiers were to encounter. when he arrived within speaking distance, the sergeant advanced a few paces in front of the soldiers, and exclaimed: "'stand! stand! or you are a dead man!' "the horseman evinced no disposition to comply with this arbitrary requisition, but deliberately drew pistol from his holsters and endeavored to urge his horse through the ranks of his opponents. captain lewis now came to the front of his men, and ordered: "'seize the bridle, and down with the rebel!' "'let no man lay a hand on me or my horse, as he values his life,' said the horseman in a determined tone, at the same time cocking his pistol. "'the sergeant drew back a few yards, and discharged his carbine, but without effect; two soldiers grasped the horse by the head at the same instant. the horseman, seeing a struggle inevitable, literally blew out the brains of one of his assailants, and, plucking his other pistol from its holster with his left hand, he fired at and slightly wounded his second antagonist; he now threw aside his pistols, &c., and then drew his heavy broadsword, and essayed to cut his way through his opponents--but giant strength, combined with the most desperate courage, could not compete with such vast disparity of numbers; some of his enemies fastened themselves on his horse, while others thrust at him with their bayonets, and, after a protracted contest, during which the tories lost five men, the horseman was disarmed and brought to the ground. "'bind the rebel dog,' shouted the infuriated captain; 'he shall die the death of a felon, were he george washington. by heaven!' continued he, as he viewed the prostrate horseman, 'it is captain edwards! are then my dearest wishes gratified? i will be doubly revenged! bind him hand and foot, boys, and throw him across his own horse, if the beast can bear him; if not, drive a bullet through the horse's brains, and carry the soldier in your arms.' "the whig officer was firmly bound and placed on his own charger, while a soldier marched on either side of him, and another led the horse. after prosecuting their route homeward near a mile, they were startled with 'no quarter to the cowardly tories! cut them down root and branch!' followed by the discharge of near a dozen pistols, which killed four men, and wounded two or three others; and in a moment they were nearly surrounded by the dragoons under command of lieutenant brown. for a short time the contest was maintained with vigor; the bonds of captain edwards were soon cut; he attacked the tory captain, sword in hand, and, after a short conflict, succeeded in wounding him in the sword-arm and hurling him to the ground, and placing his foot on his breast, he said: "'now, you dastardly ruffian, avow your villanies, and inform me where i shall find miss howard, or, by heaven, i will send you where the tenor of your life will be hard to account for.' "the fierceness of the whig soldier's manner, and the consciousness of being wholly in his power, completely humbled the tory, and he begged his life, and promised to conduct the troops to his encampment, where they would find the lady in safety. "the tories were now effectually routed; some were killed, some wounded, others captured, and some had escaped. a few miles' travel, and captain edwards and the men under his command arrived at the habitation of the tories. a coarse slovenly soldier was pacing the ground in front of the building, and, on the advance of the continental troops, presented his musket, and ordered them to halt. captain edwards briefly informed him of the reverse that had taken place in the fortunes of his commander, and concluded by telling him that 'submission was safety--resistance death.' "the door was now burst open, and in a moment miss williams was folded in the arms of her lover. "little more remains to be told. no entreaties of captain edwards, or persuasions of her aunt, could induce miss williams to give her hand to her admirer till the close of the war. on the establishment of peace, colonel edwards, (for he had received that rank,) was made happy in the possession of his long-tried affection. lieutenant brown served under his captain during the war, and, on the promotion of captain edwards, succeeded to his command. the tory lewis, and the remainder of his guilty accomplices, were captured shortly after the occurrence of the events i have related, and executed for desertion." "the tories generally received the worst of every encounter," remarked higgins; "at least, so all our love-story tellers say." "what i have told you i know to be true--just as bill moore, who was one of captain edwards' men, used to tell it," replied old harmar. "i believe it to be a fact that the tories did get the worst of most of the encounters in which they had an equal number of our men to deal with. the reason was plain. they had not the same great motives to spur them to daring and noble effort; and the whigs fought against them with more ardor than they would against the british," said wilson. "captain edwards was a host. just think of one man daring to resist the attack of twenty men, and killing five of them before he was taken. it seems like the deed of a fabulous hero," remarked mr. jackson harmar. "the case was a desperate one, and demanded desperate conduct. a surrender would not have saved his life, and might have secured miss williams in the hands of lewis. by a bold attack, edwards won new reputation and alarmed his men, who then saved his life and the honor of his beloved," said old harmar, in defence of his hero. "i expect they would have murdered the poor man, and then lewis would have forced miss williams to become his wife--the wretch!" put in mrs. harmar. "nothing would have been too black for his heart, when he had an end in view. such men are the most dangerous foes to their fellows, and we must rejoice when a just punishment overtakes them in their headstrong career. many of those who are glorified as great men have possessed the same unscrupulous disposition. the only difference between them and lewis lies in this--they fixed their minds on greater objects," said old harmar. "what's that for?" inquired higgins, starting up as the sound of drum and fife broke on his ear. mrs. harmar went to the front window, and reported that a volunteer company of soldiers was coming down the street. the old men instantly crowded round the window, and expressed their gratification at the sight that presented itself. the volunteers were neatly uniformed and very precisely drilled. they marched with the firm and uniform tread of regulars. the "ear-piercing fife and spirit-stirring drum" discoursed the music sweetest to the ears of the old warriors, and their eyes brightened and they made an effort to straighten themselves, as if "the old time came o'er them." they lingered at the window as long as they could catch the sound, and long after the volunteers had turned the corner of the street. perhaps, if we had possessed sufficient mental insight, we might have been with those old men in the scenes that came back to their minds like a tide that had seemed to have ebbed away for ever. we might have been with them where the drum and fife were as strong drink to the warriors, firing their hearts and steeling their nerves for the bloody struggle. but we are left to conjecture what was present to their imaginations by what they express in conversation. battle of germantown. "those fellows look very neat and prim; they march well, and their muskets are polished very bright. i wonder how they would stand fire," said higgins, after the party had seated themselves. "i doubt if they would like it as well as parading the streets; but there may be some stout hearts among them," replied old harmar. "they should have been at brandywine or germantown. at either place they would have had a chance to prove their stuff. fife and drum would have been necessary, i think, to stir them up," said wilson. "i paid a visit to germantown, the other day," said mr. jackson harmar. "i passed over the chief portion of the battle-ground, and examined chew's house, where some of the british took refuge and managed to turn the fortunes of the day. the house is in a good state of preservation, and bears many marks of the conflict." "i have seen it since the day of the battle, and have also walked over the neighboring grounds," said smith "you are wrong in stating that the troops that threw themselves into that house turned the fortune of the day. our defeat was the result of many unlooked-for circumstances, which no general could have been prepared to meet." "i have always understood that the check received by our troops at chew's house gave the enemy time to rally, and thus defeated washington's plan," replied mr. jackson harmar. "if it was otherwise, i should like to be informed of the circumstances." "oh, tell us about the battle of germantown, mr. smith!" exclaimed mrs. harmar. she had some acquaintances at germantown, and she wished to astound them by the extent of her information. "father says he was not in the battle, being sick at the time. besides, if he knew, he would never condescend to tell me about it, when he could find jackson to talk to." "why, i'm sure, my child, you never seemed very anxious to know," replied old harmar; "but if you will listen to mr. smith, you will know all about it. he was present during the whole battle." "ay; and did my share of the fighting, too," added smith. "but i'll tell you how it was; and you, mr. harmar, may judge whether our defeat was owing in any degree to the exertions of the enemy. after general howe took possession of philadelphia, the main body of the british was encamped at germantown. our army lay at skippack creek, about sixteen miles from germantown. well, general washington having received all the reinforcements he expected, and knowing that the enemy had been considerably weakened by sending detachments to take possession of the city and the ports on the river, determined to attempt to surprise them in their camp. the plan was formed with all the judgment and foresight we might expect in washington. we were to march at night for germantown. wayne and sullivan were to attack the left wing of the enemy in front, whilst armstrong, with a body of militia, attacked it in the rear. greene and stephens were to attack the right wing in front, while smallwood fell upon its rear. then there was a strong reserve. of course, i was with the pennsylvania line, under wayne's command. we started on the evening of the third of october. i shall never forget that night's march. it was very dark. we could scarcely see three feet from us; and, as we wished to move on so as not to be discovered by any of those who usually gave the enemy information, we carried very few lanthorns. the road, however, was well known, and we marched rapidly and surely. as we approached germantown, we found an evidence that the enemy were aware of our vicinity, and wayne determined to attack at once. just at dawn of day, a party of sullivan's troops attacked the picket at the end of the village, and our whole division rushed on as the picket was driven in. the surprise was complete. the enemy could not make a stand. they were broken and routed, and their tents and marquees burnt. we pushed on, took some prisoners, and drove the british from behind fences and houses where they had taken shelter. "six companies of a british regiment, under their lieutenant-colonel, being hard pressed by an advancing column, threw themselves into chew's house, and, barricading the lower windows, opened a destructive fire from the cellars and upper windows. our troops, finding their musketry made no impression, were in the act of dragging up their cannon to batter the walls, when a stratagem was attempted, which, however, failed of success. an officer galloped up from the house, and cried out, 'what are you about? you will fire on your own people.' the artillery opened, but, after fifteen or twenty rounds, the pieces were found to be of too small calibre to make a serious impression, and were withdrawn. "a most daring attempt was then made to fire the building. lieutenant-colonel laurens, aid-de-camp to the commander-in-chief, with a few volunteers, rushed up to the house under cover of the smoke, and applied a burning brand to the principal door, at the same time exchanging passes with his sword with the enemy on the inside. by almost a miracle, this gallant officer escaped unharmed, although his clothes were repeatedly torn by the enemy's shot. another and equally daring attempt was made by major white, aide-de-camp to general sullivan, but without as fortunate a result. the major, while in the act of firing one of the cellar windows, was mortally wounded, and died soon after. "washington accompanied the leading division under major-general sullivan, and cheered his soldiers in their brilliant onset, as they drove the enemy from point to point. arriving in the vicinity of chew's house, the commander-in-chief halted to consult his officers as to the best course to be pursued towards this fortress that had so suddenly and unexpectedly sprung up in the way. the younger officers who were immediately attached to the person of the chief, and among the choicest spirits of the revolution, including hamilton, reed, pinckney, laurens, and lee, were for leaving chew's house to itself, or of turning the siege into a blockade, by stationing in its vicinity a body of troops to watch the movements of the garrison, and pressing on with the column in pursuit of the flying enemy. but the sages of the army, at the head of whom was major-general knox, repulsed at once the idea of leaving a fortified enemy in the rear, as contrary to the usages of war and the most approved military authorities. "at this period of the action the fog had become so dense that objects could scarcely be distinguished at a few yards' distance. we had penetrated the enemy's camp even to their second line, which was drawn up to receive us about the centre of germantown. the ammunition of the right wing, including the maryland brigades, became exhausted, the soldiers holding up their empty cartridge boxes, when their officers called on them to rally and face the enemy. the extended line of operations, which embraced nearly two miles, the unfavorable nature of the ground in the environs of germantown for the operations of the troops, a large portion of whom were undisciplined, the ground being much cut up, and intersected by stone fences and enclosures of various sorts, the delay of the left wing under greene in getting into action--all these causes, combined with an atmosphere so dense from fog and smoke as to make it impossible to distinguish friend from foe, produced a retreat in our army at the moment when victory seemed to be within its grasp. "washington was among the foremost in his endeavors to restore the fallen fortunes of the day, and, while exerting himself to rally his broken columns, the exposure of his person became so imminent, that his officers, after affectionately remonstrating with him in vain, seized the bridle of his horse. the retreat, under all circumstances, was quite as favorable as could be expected. the whole of the artillery was saved, and as many of the wounded as could be removed. the ninth virginia regiment, under colonel mathews, having penetrated so far as to be without support, after a desperate resistance, surrendered its remnant of a hundred men, including its colonel, who had received several bayonet wounds. the british pursued but two or three miles, making prisoners of the worn-out soldiers, who, after a night-march of fifteen miles and an action of three hours, were found exhausted and asleep in the fields and along the road. "i made a narrow escape from being taken by a party of dragoons. they were nearly upon a small body of us that had got separated from our division, before we perceived them. i gave the alarm, and we ran on, as we thought, toward our troops; but the fog was so thick that we mistook the way, and wandered about for some time in constant risk of being surrounded by the enemy. at length we stumbled on the main body of our line, and retreated with them. i never saw a more irritated and disappointed set of men than our officers on that day. every one had a different cause for the repulse. some said that greene did not come up in time to aid wayne and sullivan; while others said that greene had performed the most effective service during the engagement, and that the loss of the day was owing to the military prejudices of knox and some others, who would halt to attack chew's house, instead of following up the advantages already gained. then the fog was blamed for the confusion it caused. the fact was, the defeat was owing to many causes combined, some of which i have mentioned." "the attack was certainly skilfully planned and truly executed, in spite of its want of success," remarked old harmar. "your opinion of the causes of the defeat, mr. smith, is that which is now generally adopted. the halt at chew's house did not give rise to the retreat of sullivan's division. the ammunition of the troops was exhausted, and they were not aware of greene's approach until they had begun to fall back. by the way, did you hear how general nash was killed?" "he was killed by a cannon-ball, i believe," replied smith. "yes," said old harmar. "a round-shot from the british artillery striking a sign-post in germantown, glanced therefrom, and, passing through his horse, shattered the general's thigh on the opposite side. the fall of the animal hurled its unfortunate rider with considerable force to the ground. with surprising courage and presence of mind, general nash, covering his wound with both of his hands, called to his men, 'never mind me, i have had a devil of a tumble; rush on, my boys, rush on the enemy--i'll be after you presently.' he could do no more. faint from loss of blood and the intense agony of his wound, the sufferer was borne to a house hard by, and attended by dr. craik, by special order of the commander-in-chief. the doctor gave his patient but feeble hopes of recovery, even with the chances of amputation, when nash observed, 'it may be considered unmanly to complain, but my agony is too great for human nature to bear. i am aware that my days, perhaps hours, are numbered, but i do not repine at my fate. i have fallen on the field of honor, while leading my brave carolinians to the assault of the enemy. i have a last request to make of his excellency, the commander-in-chief, that he will permit you, my dear doctor, to remain with me, to protect me while i live, and my remains from insult.' dr. craik assured the general that he had nothing to fear from the enemy; it was impossible that they would harm him while living, or offer insult to his remains; that lord cornwallis was by this time in the field, and that, under his auspices, a wounded soldier would be treated with humanity and respect. the dying patriot and hero then uttered these memorable words: 'i have no favors to expect from the enemy. i have been consistent in my principles and conduct since the commencement of the troubles. from the very first dawn of the revolution i have ever been on the side of liberty and my country.' "he lingered in extreme torture between two and three days, and died admired by his enemies, admired and lamented by his companions in arms. on thursday, the ninth of october, the whole american army was paraded by order of the commander-in-chief, to perform the funeral obsequies of general nash." "i have heard those who knew him best speak of him as a brave soldier and a noble-hearted man; and your account of his death assures me of the truth of their eulogy," remarked smith. "it is said that washington, seeing that his well-arranged plan was about to be defeated, could not control his anger and disappointment," said mr. jackson harmar. "it is true. washington, like all very great men, was naturally strongly passionate. his usual self-command was the more wonderful because it had been acquired by stern practice. the battle of germantown was one of those few occasions in his life when his feelings burst through all restraint; and then, it is said by those who should know, that his wrath was fierce and terrible. the officers were compelled, by considerations of his safety, to lead his horse from the field. he did all that a man could do to rally his broken troops, and exposed himself as fearlessly as the bravest soldier. all his exertions were vain, however, and he became much irritated in consequence." "the retreat just when victory was within his grasp was enough to irritate any commander who valued his aim and plan," observed mr. jackson harmar, agreeing with smith in the remarks which he had just made. "i suppose, if washington had been completely successful at germantown, the british would have been driven from philadelphia," said higgins. "ay; and from the vicinity of philadelphia," replied smith. "they could not have recovered from such a defeat." [illustration: battle of the kegs.] battle of the kegs. "father," said mr. jackson harmar, "i have a song in my portfolio, written by francis hopkinson while the british were in philadelphia; perhaps you can tell us something about the event which is the subject of it. here it is. it is called 'the battle of the kegs.'" "the battle of the kegs! that i can, my boy. but read the song," replied old harmar. his son then read the following facetious ditty: "gallants, attend, and hear a friend trill forth harmonious ditty: strange things i'll tell, which late befell in philadelphia city. twas early day, as poets say, just when the sun was rising, a soldier stood on log of wood, and saw a sight surprising. as, in amaze, he stood to gaze,-- the truth can't be denied, sirs,-- he spied a score--of kegs, or more, come floating down the tide, sirs. a sailor, too, in jerkin blue, the strange appearance viewing, first damn'd his eyes, in great surprise, then said, 'some mischief's brewing. these kegs now hold the rebels bold, pack'd up like pickled herrings and they're come down to attack the town, in this new way of ferrying.' the soldier flew, the sailor, too, and, scared almost to death, sirs, wore out their shoes to spread the news, and ran till out of breath, sirs. now up and down, throughout the town, most frantic scenes were acted; and some ran here, and some ran there, like men almost distracted. some fire cried, which some denied, but said the earth had quakèd; and girls and boys, with hideous noise, ran through the town half-naked. sir william he, snug as a flea, lay all this time a snoring, nor dream'd of harm, as he lay warm, while all without was roaring. now, in affright, he starts upright, awaked by such a clatter: he rubs both eyes, and boldly cries, 'for god's sake, what's the matter?' at his bedside he then espied sir erskine at command, sirs; upon one foot he had one boot, and t'other in his hand, sirs. 'arise! arise!' sir erskine cries: 'the rebels--more's the pity-- without a boat, are all afloat, and ranged before the city. 'the motley crew, in vessels new, with satan for their guide, sir, pack'd up in bags, or wooden kegs, come driving down the tide, sir. 'therefore prepare for bloody war! these kegs must all be routed; or surely we despised shall be, and british courage doubted.' the royal band now ready stand, all ranged in dread array, sirs; with stomach stout, to see it out, and make a bloody day, sirs. the cannons roar from shore to shore, the small arms make a rattle; since wars began, i'm sure no man e'er saw so strange a battle. the rebel vales, the rebel dales, with rebel trees surrounded, the distant woods, the hills and floods, with rebel echoes sounded. the fish below swam to and fro, attack'd from every quarter: why, sure, thought they, the devil's to pay 'mongst folks above the water. the kegs, 'tis said, though strongly made, of rebel staves and hoops, sirs, could not oppose their powerful foes, the conquering british troops, sirs. from morn to night, these men of might display'd amazing courage; and when the sun was fairly down, retired to sup their porridge. a hundred men, with each a pen, or more--upon my word, sirs, it is most true--would be too few their valor to record, sirs. such feats did they perform that day upon these wicked kegs, sirs, that years to come, if they get home, they'll make their boasts and brags, sirs." "ha! ha! that's a good thing. the enemy used to be so fond of the word 'rebel' that they would attach it to the most trifling things, when speaking of our people. judge hopkinson ridicules that in fine style," remarked old harmar. "it ought to be sung to the tune of the 'hoosier's ghost,'" said wilson. "who is the sir erskine alluded to in the song?" inquired mrs. harmar. "sir william erskine, one of sir william howe's officers," replied old harmar. "this song created much merriment among the whigs at the time it was written, so that, however much the enemy were right, we had the laugh on our side." "but what were the circumstances which gave rise to it?" inquired mr. jackson harmar, impatiently. "i was about to tell you," replied his father. "a mr. david bushnell had invented several ingenious articles of submarine machinery, for the purpose of destroying the british vessels stationed in the delaware. among these was the american torpedo, a machine shaped like a water tortoise, and managed by a single person. it contained sufficient air to support respiration thirty minutes without being replenished, valves to admit or reject water for the purpose of rising or sinking, ballast to keep it upright, and a seat for the operator. above the rudder was a place for carrying a large powder magazine, constructed from two pieces of oak timber, and capable of carrying one hundred and fifty pounds of powder, with the apparatus for firing it. within the magazine was an apparatus constructed to run any proposed length of time under twelve hours, after which it sprung a strong lock similar to that of a gun, which gave fire to the powder. this apparatus was so secured that it could be set in motion only by the casting off of the magazine from the vessel. "with this machine a skilful operator could swim so low on the surface of the water, as to approach at night very near to a ship without being discovered. after sinking quickly, he could keep at any necessary depth, and row to a great distance in any direction, without coming to the surface. bushnell found, however, that much trial and instruction were required for a man of common ingenuity to become a skilful manager. it was first tried by his brother, who, unfortunately, was taken ill at the time when he had become an able operator. another person was procured, and the first experiment tried upon the eagle, a sixty-four, which lord howe commanded in person. he went under the ship, and attempted to fix the wooden screw into her bottom, but struck, as was supposed, a bar of iron running from the rudder-hinge. not being well skilled in the management of the machine, he lost the ship in attempting to move to another place; and, after seeking her in vain for some time, rowed a little distance and rose to the surface. daylight had now advanced so that the attempt could not be renewed, and, fearing he was discovered, he detached the magazine from his vessel and escaped. in an hour the powder exploded, throwing a vast column of water to an amazing height, and leaving the enemy to conjecture whether it was caused by a bomb, a water-spout, or an earthquake. want of resources obliged mr. bushnell to abandon his schemes for that time; but, in , he made an attempt from a whale-boat against the cerberus frigate, by drawing a machine against her side with a line. it accidentally became attached to a schooner and exploded, tearing the vessel in pieces. three men were killed, and one dangerously wounded. "in december, , mr. bushnell contrived another ingenious expedient for accomplishing his favorite object. he charged a number of kegs with powder, arranging them so as to explode on coming in contact with anything while floating along the tide. this squadron was launched at night on the delaware river, above the english shipping; but, unfortunately, the proper distance could not be well ascertained, and they were set adrift too far from the vessels, so that they became obstructed and dispersed by the floating ice. on the following day, however, one of them blew up a boat, and others exploded, occasioning the greatest consternation among the british seamen. the troops were aroused, and, with the sailors, manned the wharves and shipping at philadelphia, discharging their cannon and small-arms at everything they could see floating in the river during the ebb tide. "the scene must have been a very ridiculous one, and we cannot wonder at judge hopkinson making such comic use of it. the british must have imagined that every keg was the visible part of a torpedo, intended for their destruction." "we cannot wonder at their consternation, while in constant danger of being blown into the air," said mr. jackson harmar. "just place yourself in their position; and, knowing that several attempts had been made to blow up the ships, how would you have acted?" "i should have made quite as much noise, i suppose," replied old harmar; "but then it was so laughable. i don't think the folks aboard of those ships slept for a week after finding that there was powder in the kegs. that, i believe, was bushnell's last attempt to destroy the fleet." "for my part," remarked wilson, "i never liked such contrivances; and it is a very pregnant fact that in most cases they have failed, when, from the skill and science displayed in their construction, success was anticipated. it's my opinion, god works against such things. as much as i hated the enemy, i could not sanction such wholesale murder--for murder it would have been, to have sent hundreds of men into eternity, without giving them an inch of fair fighting ground. i would not have minded blowing up the british government--that i could have done myself without any more sting of conscience than the hangman feels; but soldiers and seamen fight fairly and openly for their country's honor and rights, as they understand those things, and they should be met in the same manner." "you're right, mr. wilson. torpedoes, catamarans, and such inventions, might be employed by both parties in war, and with destructive effect. but wars ought to be conducted in such a manner as to gain the desired end with as little loss of life as possible; besides, in the eyes of all really brave men, these things must seem cowardly," said morton. "you must permit me to differ with you, gentlemen," put in mr. jackson harmar; and, in a very dignified, congressional style, he delivered himself of the following defence of the innovations of modern warfare: "i view all such contrivances as the triumph of the genius and skill of man over mere brute force, and as tending to the great ends of the peace and happiness of mankind. they place the weak upon a level with the strong, and make it evident to every one that the best course would be to submit all questions of right to the arbitration of the mind instead of the arm and sword. suppose i, being a small, weak man, should quarrel with a man of great physical strength, and a hatred to the death should be declared between us. now, upon whichever side the bone of right lay, the strong man would have the power to destroy me; but if i set my brain to work, and contrive an 'infernal machine,' i shall be superior to him, and drive him to the same resource. now, we both see by this, that we stand an even chance of being destroyed, and reason resumes her reign. we see that the wisest and safest course for both would be to submit the question involved in the quarrel to the judgment of a mutual and impartial friend. even so these inventions operate among nations, which, by the way, should be ruled by the same general principles as individuals." "that's all very true," remarked wilson. "but if i was about to fight a duel with a man, and i stood up, pistol in hand, while he stood off beyond my reach, and with some infernal invention endeavored to kill me, i should call him a coward." "that would not settle the dispute," said mr. jackson harmar. "your wisest course would be to equal his invention, and compel him to fight fairly or make peace." arnold's treason. "many strange and many laughable public events occurred in philadelphia during the revolution," said old harmar. "i was with the army during the greater part of the time, but our family remained in the city, and kept me advised of everything that was going on. i was engaged to be married to your mother, jackson, before the war commenced, and i had to leave her in philadelphia also, until the war was over. she used to write me letters, telling me about everything that passed in the city that was interesting. i recollect in one letter she gave me an account of how the news of arnold's treason was received among the people." "with blessings on the traitor's head, of course," remarked wilson, ironically. "i could imagine how it was received," said mr. jackson harmar. "the people were indignant and cursed the traitor." "the people of philadelphia knew arnold's real character," replied old harmar. "they knew, from his residence among them, that he was capable of selling his soul for gold, glory, and pleasure; but they did not suspect him of any intention of leaving our cause entirely. they thought he would see that it was for his interest to stand by his country's rights. while in command in this city, arnold had been very intimate with several wealthy tory families, and i believe had married a lady who was connected with them. but such an intimacy was not sufficient to justify suspicions of his patriotism, if it had not been joined with other circumstances. he gave great entertainments at his house, and lived as if he was worth a mint of money. then he was always in trouble with the committees of congress about money matters, which made people generally believe that he cared more for gold than he did for principles. well, when the news of his discovered treachery reached philadelphia, the men with whom he had been wrangling about money said they knew it would turn out just so, and they never expected anything else; and the citizens generally were very indignant. they chose some laughable ways of showing the state of their feelings. an artist constructed a stuffed figure of the traitor, as large as life, and seated him in a cart, with a figure of the devil alongside of him, holding a lantern so as to show his face to the people. the words, 'benedict arnold, the traitor,' were placed on a board over the head of the first figure. an evening was appointed for the display, and the hanging and burning of the effigy. a vast procession was formed, with the cart at the head, and drums and fife playing the rogues' march. this paraded the streets of the city during the whole evening. the people groaned and hissed, and pelted the figures as they passed. at length the procession reached a common which had been selected for the purpose, and on which a gallows had been erected. there the effigy was hung, and then taken down and burnt. in the fire, the figure of old nick was arranged with one hand upon arnold's head, and the other pointing below, while he grinned as if over a triumph." "an appropriate ceremony," said wilson. "it must have been a great sight," observed mrs. harmar. "they should have caught the man himself, and burnt him instead of a stuffed figure," said higgins. "it would have saved andre," remarked smith. "the scoundrel!" exclaimed morton. "he ought to have been put to death with all the torture the indians use with their captives." these slight remarks indicated the peculiar manner in which each of these individuals viewed a subject. "the british generals expected that arnold's example would be followed by numbers of the americans; but i think they soon saw the character of the people, and the way they regarded arnold," said old harmar. "it's my opinion that arnold's going over to the enemy was a benefit to our cause," remarked smith. "such men are stains upon the character of the people with whom they associate; and if a selfish, sensual traitor was fit company for sir henry clinton and his officers, he was not for washington and the other generals of our army." "some of our people thought that he would prove a dangerous foe; but, after the attack on new london, all his activity and bravery seem to have fallen asleep. we had many men who could have met and defeated him, with anything like equal force. we did not lose much by his treachery, and the british lost andre, who would have outweighed many arnolds," said morton. "but treason found its reward," observed mr. jackson harmar. "if arnold had an atom of conscience or sensibility to shame, the curses of a whole people, whom he had turned from admiring friends to bitter foes, and the jeers and scorn of those whom he wished to make friends, must have planted many a thorn in his bosom, to rankle and poison his life." "if he had any conscience?" remarked morton, with an unbelieving smile. "the people of philadelphia showed that they had the true patriotic spirit in them, in burning that effigy of arnold," said mr. jackson harmar; "and taught the enemy that, though they might buy one man, they could not hire a people to follow wrong example." capture of general prescott. "well, leaving arnold to the execration of all patriotic and pure-souled men," remarked mr. jackson harmar, assuming the post of pilot to the conversation, "there is an exploit of the revolution which always struck me as being one of the most daring and perilous to be found in the annals of war. i mean the capture of major-general prescott by major barton. if either of you, gentlemen, know the circumstances of that affair, i would be obliged to you for your information." "i don't know as much about it as you may obtain from history," replied old harmar, speaking for himself. "our line was in another neighborhood." "i should suppose mr. morton was acquainted with the facts, as he was up in that part of the country about that time," observed wilson. "i was; and do know all that one engaged in the expedition might tell me," replied morton. "furthermore, i have no objection to communicating my information.--i would thank you for a glass of water, mrs. harmar." the water was handed to the old man, and, after a refreshing draught, he proceeded with his narrative. "you must know, that in the latter part of general charles lee was surprised and taken prisoner by a detachment of british troops. this was the result of his own carelessness. the british chuckled over his capture, saying that they had caught the american palladium, as if lee was at all necessary to the success of our cause. however, the americans considered him a valuable officer, and major william barton, of the rhode island line, resolved upon retaking him or procuring his exchange. "some months elapsed, after the capture of general lee, before an opportunity offered of effecting the object which major barton had in view. in the month following that of the capture, the enemy took possession of the islands of rhode-island, canonicut, and prudence. major barton was then stationed at tiverton, and for some months anxiously watched the motions of the enemy, with but feeble prospect of obtaining the opportunity he desired. "at length, on the th june, , a man by the name of coffin, who made his escape from the british, was seized by some of the american troops, and carried to major barton's quarters. major barton availed himself of the opportunity to inquire respecting the disposition of the british forces. coffin on examination, stated that major-general richard prescott had established his head-quarters on the west side of rhode-island, and described minutely the situation of the house in which he resided, which he said was owned by a mr. pering. his account was a few days after confirmed by a deserter from the ranks of the enemy. major barton was now confirmed in his belief of the practicability of effecting his favorite object:--but serious obstacles were first to be encountered and removed. neither his troops, nor their commander, had been long inured to service; and the intended enterprise was of a nature as novel as it was hazardous. besides, major barton was aware that the undertaking, should it prove unsuccessful, would be pronounced rash and unadvised, and, in its consequences, though his life might be preserved, be followed by degradation and disgrace. moreover, to involve in the consequences of an enterprise, devised and undertaken without previous consultation with his superiors in rank, the interest and perhaps the lives of a portion of his brave countrymen, was a subject that excited reflections calculated to damp the ardor and appall the courage of the bravest minds. still, however, upon mature reflection, aided by a consciousness that its only motive was the interest of his country, he resolved to hazard his reputation and his life in the attempt. "the regiment to which major barton was attached, was commanded by colonel stanton, a respectable and wealthy farmer in rhode-island, who, in the spirit of the times, had abandoned the culture of his farm and the care of his family, and put at hazard his property and his life in defence of his country. to this gentleman major barton communicated his plan, and solicited permission to carry it into execution. colonel stanton readily authorized him 'to attack the enemy when and where he pleased.' several officers in the confidence of major barton were then selected from the regiment for the intended expedition, on whose abilities and bravery he could rely:--these were, captain samuel phillips, lieutenant joshua babcock, ensign andrew stanton, and john wilcock. (captain adams subsequently volunteered his services, and took an active part in the enterprise.) these gentlemen were informed by major barton, that he had in contemplation an enterprise which would be attended with great personal hazard to himself and his associates; but which, if success attended it, would be productive of much advantage to the country. its particular object, he stated, would be seasonably disclosed to them. it was at their option to accept or decline his invitation to share with him in the dangers, and, as he trusted, in the glory that would attend the undertaking. the personal bravery of major barton had been previously tested; and such was the confidence and esteem which he had acquired among the officers under his command, that, without insisting upon a previous developement of his plans, his proposal was immediately accepted. major barton experienced more difficulty in obtaining the necessary number of boats, as there were but two in the vicinity. but this difficulty, though it caused a few days' delay, was at length obviated, and five whale-boats were procured and fitted for service. major barton had purposely postponed procuring the necessary number of men until the last moment, from an apprehension that their earlier selection might excite suspicion, and defeat the object of their enterprise. desirous that this little band might be composed entirely of volunteers, the whole regiment was now ordered upon parade. in a short, but animated address, major barton informed the soldiers that he projected an expedition against the enemy, which could be effected only by the heroism and bravery of those who should attend him; that he desired the voluntary assistance of about forty of their number, and directed those 'who would hazard their lives in the enterprise, to advance two paces in front.' without one exception, or a moment's hesitation, the whole regiment advanced. major barton, after bestowing upon the troops the applause they merited, and stating that he required the aid of but a small portion of their number, commenced upon the right, and, passing along the lines, selected from the regiment, to the number of thirty-six, those who united to bravery and discipline a competent knowledge of seamanship, for the management of the boats. having thus obtained an adequate number of officers and men, and everything being ready, the party, on the th of july, , embarked from tiverton for bristol. while crossing mount hope bay, there arose a severe storm of thunder and rain, which separated three boats from that of their commander. the boat containing major barton, and one other, arrived at bristol soon after midnight. major barton proceeded to the quarters of the commanding officer, where he found a deserter who had just made his escape from the enemy at rhode-island. from this man he learned that there had been no alteration for the last few days in the position of the british. on the morning of the fifth, the remaining boats having arrived, major barton, with his officers, went to hog island, not far distant from bristol, and within view of the british encampment and shipping. it was at this place that he disclosed to his officers the particular object of the enterprise, his reasons for attempting it, and the part each was to perform. upon reconnoitring the position of the enemy, it was thought impracticable, without great hazard of capture, to proceed directly from bristol to the head-quarters of the british general. it was determined, therefore, to make warwick neck, a place opposite to the british encampment, but at a greater distance than bristol, the point from which they should depart immediately for rhode-island. the closest secrecy was enjoined upon his officers by major barton, and they returned to bristol. "on the evening of the sixth, about nine o'clock, the little squadron again sailed, and crossing narragansett bay, landed on warwick neck. on the seventh, the wind changing to e.n.e. brought on a storm, and retarded their plan. on the ninth, the weather being pleasant, it was determined to embark for the island. the boats were now numbered, and the place of every officer and soldier assigned. about nine o'clock in the evening, major barton assembled his little party around him, and in a short but spirited address, in which were mingled the feelings of the soldier and the man, he disclosed to them the object of the enterprise. he did not attempt to conceal the danger and difficulties that would inevitably attend the undertaking; nor did he forget to remind them, that should their efforts be followed by success, they would be entitled to, and would receive, the grateful acknowledgments of their country. 'it is probable,' said he, 'that some of us may not survive the daring attempt; but i ask you to hazard no dangers which will not be shared with you by your commander; and i pledge to you my honor, that in every difficulty and danger i will take the lead.' he received the immediate and unanimous assurance of the whole party, that they would follow wherever their commander should lead them. major barton then, reminding them how much the success of the enterprise depended upon their strict attention to orders, directed that each individual should confine himself to his particular seat in the boat assigned him, and that not a syllable should be uttered by any one. he instructed them, as they regarded their character as patriots and soldiers, that in the hour of danger they should be firm, collected, and resolved fearlessly to encounter the dangers and difficulties that might assail them. he concluded by offering his earnest petition to the great king of armies, that he would smile upon their intended enterprise, and crown it with success. the whole party now proceeded to the shore. major barton had reason to apprehend that he might be discovered in his passage from the main to rhode-island, by some of the ships of war that lay at a small distance from shore. he therefore directed the commanding officer at warwick neck, that if he heard the report of three distinct muskets, to send boats to the north end of prudence island to his aid. the whole party now took possession of the boats in the manner directed. that which contained major barton was posted in front, with a pole about ten feet long fixed in her stern, to the end of which was attached a handkerchief, in order that his boat might be distinguished from the others, and that none might go before it. in this manner they proceeded between the islands of prudence and patience, in order that they might not be seen by the shipping of the enemy that lay off hope island. while passing the north end of prudence island, they heard from the sentinels on board the shipping of the enemy, the cry of 'all's well!' as they approached the shore of rhode-island, a noise like the running of horses was heard, which threw a momentary consternation over the minds of the whole party; but, in strict conformity to the orders issued, not a word was spoken by any one. a moment's reflection satisfied major barton of the utter impossibility that his designs could be known by the enemy, and he pushed boldly for the shore. apprehensive that, if discovered, the enemy might attempt to cut off his retreat, major barton ordered one man to remain in each boat, and be prepared to depart at a moment's warning. the remainder of the party landed without delay. the reflections of major barton at this interesting moment, were of a nature the most painful. the lapse of a few hours would place him in a situation in the highest degree gratifying to his ambition, or overwhelm him in the ruin in which his rashness would involve him. in the solemn silence of night, and on the shores of the enemy, he paused a moment to consider a plan which had been projected and matured amidst the bustle of a camp and in a place of safety. the night was excessively dark, and, a stranger to the country, his sole reliance upon a direct and rapid movement to the head-quarters of a british general, so essential to success, rested upon the imperfect information he had acquired from deserters from the enemy. should he surprise and secure general prescott, he was aware of the difficulties that would attend his conveyance to the boat; the probability of an early and fatal discovery of his design by the troops upon the island; and, even if he should succeed in reaching the boats, it was by no means improbable that the alarm might be seasonably given to the shipping, to prevent his retreat to the main. but regardless of circumstances, which even then would have afforded an apology for a hasty retreat, he resolved at all hazards to attempt the accomplishment of his designs. "to the head-quarters of general prescott, about a mile from the shore, a party in five divisions now proceeded in silence. there were doors on the south, the east and west sides of the house in which he resided. the first division was ordered to advance upon the south door, the second the west, and the third the east, the fourth to guard the road, and the fifth to act in emergencies. in their march they passed the guard-house of the enemy on their left, and on their right a house occupied by a company of cavalry, for the purpose of carrying with expedition the orders of the general to remote parts of the island. on arriving at the head-quarters of the enemy, as the gate of the front yard was opened, they were challenged by a sentinel on guard. the party was at the distance of twenty-five yards from the sentinel, but a row of trees partially concealed them from his view, and prevented him from determining their number. no reply was made to the challenge of the sentinel, and the party proceeded on in silence. the sentinel again demanded, 'who comes there?' 'friends,' replied barton. 'friends,' says the sentinel, 'advance and give the countersign.' "major barton, affecting to be angry, said to the sentinel, who was now near him, 'damn you, we have no countersign--have you seen any rascals to-night?' and, before the sentinel could determine the character of those who approached him, major barton had seized his musket, told him he was a prisoner, and threatened, in case of noise or resistance, to put him to instant death. the poor fellow was so terrified, that upon being asked whether his general was in the house, he was for some time unable to give any answer. at length, in a faltering voice, he replied that he was. by this time each division having taken its station, the south door was burst open by the direction of major barton, and the division there stationed, with their commander at their head, rushed into the head-quarters of the general. at this critical moment, one of the british soldiers effected his escape, and fled to the quarters of the main guard. this man had no article of clothing upon him but a shirt; and having given the alarm to the sentinel on duty, passed on to the quarters of the cavalry, which was more remote from the head-quarters of the general. the sentinel roused the main guard, who were instantly in arms, and demanded the cause of alarm. he stated the information which had been given him by the soldier, which appeared so incredible to the sergeant of the guard that he insisted that he had seen a ghost. the sentinel, to whom the account of the general's capture appeared quite as incredible as to his commanding officer, admitted that the messenger was clothed in white; and after submitting to the jokes of his companions, as a punishment for his credulity, he was ordered to resume his station, while the remainder of the guard retired to their quarters. it was fortunate for major barton and his brave followers, that the alarm given by the soldier was considered groundless. had the main guard proceeded without delay to the relief of their commanding general, his rescue certainly, and probably the destruction of the party, would have been the consequence. "the first room major barton entered was occupied by mr. pering, who positively denied that general prescott was in the house. he next entered the room of his son, who was equally obstinate with his father in denying that the general was there. major barton then proceeded to other apartments, but was still disappointed in the object of his search. aware that longer delay might defeat the object of his enterprise, major barton resorted to stratagem to facilitate his search. placing himself at the head of the stairway, and declaring his resolution to secure the general dead or alive, he ordered [illustration: capture of general prescott.] his soldiers to set fire to the house. the soldiers were preparing to execute his orders, when a voice, which major barton at once suspected to be the general's, demanded 'what's the matter?' major barton rushed to the apartment from whence the voice proceeded, and discovered an elderly man just rising from his bed, and clapping his hand upon his shoulder, demanded of him if he was general prescott. he answered 'yes, sir.' 'you are my prisoner, then,' said major barton. 'i acknowledge that i am,' replied the general. in a moment, general prescott found himself, half dressed, in the arms of the soldiers, who hurried him from the house. in the meantime, major barrington, the aid to general prescott, discovering that the house was attacked by the rebels, as he termed them, leaped from the window of his bed-chamber, and was immediately secured a prisoner. general prescott, supported by major barton and one of his officers, and attended by major barrington and the sentinel, proceeded, surrounded by the soldiery, to the shore. upon seeing the five little boats, general prescott, who knew the position of the british shipping, appeared much confused, and, turning to major barton, inquired if he commanded the party. on being informed that he did, he expressed a hope that no personal injury was intended him; and major barton assured the general of his protection, while he remained under his control. "the general had travelled from head-quarters to the shore in his waistcoat, small-clothes, and slippers. a moment was now allowed him to complete his dress, while the party were taking possession of the boats. the general was placed in the boat with major barton, and they proceeded for the main. "they had not got far from the island, when the discharge of cannon and three sky-rockets gave the signal of alarm. it was fortunate for the party that the enemy on board the shipping were ignorant of the cause of it, for they might easily have cut off their retreat. the signal of alarm excited the apprehensions of major barton and his brave associates, and redoubled their exertions to reach the point of their destination before they could be discovered. they succeeded, and soon after day-break landed at warwick neck, near the point of their departure, after an absence of six hours and a half. "general prescott turned towards the island, and, observing the ships of war, remarked to major barton, 'sir, you have made a bold push to-night.' 'we have been fortunate,' replied the hero. an express was immediately sent forward to major-general spencer, at providence, communicating the success which had attended the enterprise. not long afterwards, a coach arrived, which had been despatched by general spencer to convey general prescott and his aide-de-camp prisoners to providence. they were accompanied by major barton, who related to general spencer, on their arrival, the particulars of the enterprise, and received from that officer the most grateful acknowledgments for the signal services he had rendered to his country." "i suppose prescott paid for lee soon afterwards?" said young harmar. "yes; he was an officer of equal rank with lee. the enemy had refused to exchange lee for two or three officers of an inferior grade, but they were ready enough to take prescott for him," replied morton. "it was as complete an enterprise as was ever carried through," remarked old harmar. "the poor general must have been surprised to find he was a prisoner, when he thought himself safe among an army and fleet," observed mrs. harmar. "major barton was every inch a hero. see his skill and daring in planning and executing the capture, and then his modesty when prescott said he had made a bold push--'we have been fortunate.' the reply was worthy of the noblest of the athenians," remarked mr. jackson harmar. "circumstances did certainly favor the enterprise," said smith. "in fact, we may say its success turned upon chances, and if it had failed and the whole party been made prisoners, major barton would have been called a rash and inconsiderate officer. success works wonders in our estimate of deeds." "you are harsh. barton calculated the chances before he entered into the expedition--saw that they were in his favor, and then formed his plan. i am persuaded that, had he failed, his countrymen would have done him justice," said wilson. "perhaps," replied higgins. jonathan riley and frank lilly. "i say, mr. higgins," said old harmar, wishing to change the subject, "do you recollect jonathan riley and frank lilly, that were in our company?" "i do. i shall never forget the death of either of them," replied higgins. "poor frank used to be the butt of the regiment." "and why shall you always remember the death of those two men?" inquired mr. jackson harmar. "well, from peculiar circumstances connected with them," replied higgins. "however, your father knew them most intimately, and he can tell you more about them than i can." "come, father, we call on you for the story," said mrs. harmar. "you shall have what i can recollect of it, my child. my memory won't pass muster any more; but if there's one event that will never escape its grasp, it is the singular death of jonathan riley. he was a sergeant in our regiment. [illustration: riley going to the place of execution.] he had served in the old french war, and, being a man of tried courage and presence of mind, he was usually selected for dangerous and trying situations. he was at length placed on a recruiting station, and in a short period he enlisted a great number of men. among his recruits was frank lilly, a boy about sixteen years old, who was so weak and small that he would not have passed muster if the array had not been greatly in want of men. the soldiers made this boy the butt of their ridicule, and many a joke was perpetrated at his expense. yet there was a spirit in the boy beyond his years. riley was greatly attached to him; and it was reported, on good authority, that he was the fruit of one of riley's love affairs with a beautiful and unfortunate girl. "often on our long and fatiguing marches, dying almost from want, harassed incessantly by the enemy, did riley carry the boy's knapsack for miles, and many a crust for the poor wretch was saved from his scanty allowance. but frank lilly's resolution was once the cause of saving the whole detachment. the american army was encamped at elizabethtown. the soldiers stationed about four miles from the main body, near the bay that separated the continent from staten-island, forming an advance picket-guard, were chosen from a southern regiment, and were continually deserting. it was a post of some danger, as the young ambitious british officers, or experienced sergeants, often headed parties that approached the shore in silence, during the night, and attacked our outposts. once they succeeded in surprising and capturing an officer and twenty men, without the loss of a man on their part. general washington determined to relieve the forces near the bay, and our regiment was the one from which the selection was made. the arrangement of our guard, as near as i can recollect, was as follows: "a body of two hundred and fifty men was stationed a short distance inland. in advance of these were several outposts, consisting of an officer and thirty men each. the sentinels were so near as to meet in their rounds, and were relieved every two hours. it chanced one dark and windy night, that lilly and myself were sentinels on adjoining posts. all the sentinels were directed to fire on the least alarm, and retreat to the guard, where we were to make the best defence we could, until supported by the detachment in our rear. in front of me was a strip of woods, and the bay was so near that i could hear the dashing of the waves. it was near midnight, and occasionally a star was to be seen through the flying clouds. the hours passed heavily and cheerlessly away. the wind at times roared through the adjoining woods with astonishing violence. in a pause of the storm, as the wind died suddenly away, and was heard only moaning at a distance, i was startled by an unusual noise in the woods before me. again i listened attentively, and imagined that i heard the heavy tread of a body of men, and the rattling of cartridge boxes. as i met lilly, i informed him of my suspicions. all had been quiet in the rounds, but he promised to keep a good watch, and fire on the least alarm. we separated, and i had marched but a few rods, when i heard the following conversation. 'stand.' the answer was from a speaker rapidly approaching, and in a low constrained voice. 'stand yourself, and you shall not be injured. if you fire, you are a dead man. if you remain where you are, you shall not be harmed. if you move, i will run you through.' "scarcely had he spoken, when i saw the flash, and heard the report of lilly's gun. i saw a black mass rapidly advancing, at which i fired, and with all the sentinels retreated to the guard, consisting of thirty men, commanded by an ensign. an old barn had served them for a guard-house, and they barely had time to turn out, and parade in the road, as the british were getting over a fence within six rods of us, to the number of eighty, as we supposed. we fired upon them, and retreated in good order towards the detachment in the rear. the enemy, disappointed of their expected prey, pushed us hard, but we were soon reinforced, and they, in their turn, were compelled to retreat, and we followed them at their heels to the boats. we found the next morning that poor frank lilly, after discharging his musket, was followed so close by the enemy that he was unable to get over a fence, and he was run through with a bayonet. it was apparent, however, that there had been a violent struggle; for in front of his post was a british non-commissioned officer, one of the best formed men i ever saw, shot directly through the body. he died in great agonies, as the ground was torn up with his hands, and he had literally bitten the dust. we discovered long traces of blood, but never knew the extent of the enemy's loss. poor riley took lilly's death so much to heart that he never afterwards was the man he previously had been. he became indifferent, and neglected his duty. there was something remarkable in the manner of his death. he was tried for his life, and sentenced to be shot. during the trial and subsequently, he discovered an indifference truly astonishing. on the day of his execution, the fatal cap was drawn over his eyes, and he was caused to kneel in front of the whole army. twelve men were detailed for the purpose of executing him, but a pardon had been granted, unknown to riley, in consequence of his age and services; they had no cartridges. the word 'ready' was given, and the cocking of guns could be distinctly heard. at the word 'fire,' riley fell dead upon his face, when not a gun had been discharged." "that was a remarkable death; but there have been many instances of a similar kind. the dread of death has been sufficient to produce it without a mortal blow," remarked wilson. "but i cannot believe that riley ever felt a dread of death. he was always as reckless of his own life as if it was not of the value of a pin's head. no; it was not the dread of death," replied old harmar. "it may have been the belief that death was certainly about to visit him. imagination may produce effects quite as wonderful," observed mr. jackson harmar. "it's a waste of time and thought to speculate on such things," said smith. "but i'm inclined to believe, with young mr. harmar, that it was the result of imagination. a man hearing the word 'fire,' in such a case, would feel sure of death, and then his faculties would sink into the expected state." "i guess riley's heart must have been almost broken at the death of poor frank lilly," said mrs. harmar. "yes; he felt it deeper than most of us thought, and as i said, became perfectly indifferent whether his duty was performed or not," replied old harmar. "the whole story of riley and lilly, including the account of the love affair, was a sad bit of romance." the massacre of wyoming. "the people of pennsylvania," observed morton, "suffered more from the tories and indians than they did from the british. philadelphia and its vicinity were the only parts which any considerable british force visited; but look at the depredations of the tories and indians on the northern and western frontiers, and at the massacre at wyoming particularly." "ay, there were suffering and horror enough experienced in that valley alone, to match those of any other event in our history. it was a time of blood and desolation," remarked mr. jackson harmar. "i was intimately acquainted with several families residing in the valley at the time of the massacre," said morton; "and one man, who was taken prisoner after seeing his whole family slaughtered, and who afterwards escaped from the bloody band, narrated the whole affair to me." "there is considerable dispute in regard to the circumstances attending the massacre. it seems impossible to get at the precise truth," observed mrs. harmar. "it's my opinion, the horrors of the event have been greatly exaggerated," added smith. "i do not think they could be exaggerated," replied morton. "if you desire it, i will relate the circumstances as they were narrated to me. i can vouch for the strict regard to truth that has ever distinguished my friend." of course, the company signified their desire to hear the account, and thereupon morton began as follows. "wyoming, besides being a frontier settlement during the course of the revolutionary war, and therefore constantly exposed to the inroads of the savages, had furnished two full companies, and about sixty recruits more, for the main army--all which were annexed to the connecticut line, and armed at their own expense. they amounted, in the whole, to two hundred and thirty men. while thus weakened and unguarded, they were invaded by an army from niagara, in the british service, composed of regulars, tories, and indians; of which the indians composed the greater part. "the indians, in the spring of , began to be troublesome. their numbers were frequently augmented by the arrival of new parties; and it was from the cattle, hogs, and other plunder taken from the inhabitants, that they furnished themselves with provisions. some of the inhabitants were killed by them, and others captured; and they destroyed much property. at length they became very formidable. "the inhabitants had erected several small forts, but the principal one was forty fort, in kingston, on the west side of the river, a small distance above wyoming falls. to this the settlers had chiefly resorted. they had sent agents to the continental army to acquaint them with their distressed situation; in consequence of which, captain spaulding, with about sixty or seventy men, was dispatched to their assistance. this detachment was, at the time of the massacre, about forty miles distant. the garrison had been apprised of their march from lancaster, but not of their proximity. "the people in the garrison grew uneasy, under the insults of the invaders. the militia were placed under officers taken from themselves, and the whole body was commanded by colonel zebulon butler, of the continental army. colonel dennison, of the militia, was second in command. there was a fortification about three miles above forty fort, called wintermoot's fort. this was in the possession of tories. they surrendered at the approach of the enemy, without opposition, and gave them aid; some of them entering fully into their interests. wintermoot's fort instantly became the headquarters of the expedition from canada; and was commanded by colonel john butler, a british officer, and commander of a party of rangers. the second in command was colonel brandt, a natural son of sir william johnson, by an indian woman. some communications by flag had taken place between the hostile parties previous to the battle, with propositions of compromise. the canadians insisted on an unqualified submission to great britain; but this the garrison peremptorily refused, and nothing was effected. the reciprocal bearers of flags represented the army of the invaders as double the garrison in number, and still more superior in the quality of their arms. "it was debated in the garrison, whether it would be a point of prudence to hazard a sally. an officer, who had been at the enemy's camp with a flag, opposed it, as did also colonel dennison and several others, and colonel butler rather declined it; but, among others who were in favor of it, a certain captain, (who never lived to lament his temerity,) urged it with so much vehemence, that the commandant consented. a mr. ingersol, then in the garrison with a flag from the enemy, had been some time their captive, and was intimately acquainted with their strength. he did his utmost to deter them from the rash attempt, but all in vain; and, when he saw them turn out and parade, could no longer refrain from tears. "the third day of july, in the year , was the fatal day that deluged in blood the plains of wyoming! the garrison marched off in a solid column, and met with no material obstruction till they reached the enemy's camp, about three miles above forty fort. here they had the susquehanna on the right, and a thick swamp on the left; and, perceiving that the enemy extended from the one to the other, ready to receive them, they displayed column, which threw them into a similar position. colonel zebulon butler commanded the right, and was opposed by colonel john butler, on the enemy's left. colonel dennison commanded on the left, and was opposed by colonel brandt, on the enemy's right. the action commenced at about forty rods distance. the air being heavy, the smoke obstructed their sight; and, after the first discharge, they could only direct their aim by the flash of the enemy's guns. little execution was done till after several discharges. brandt marched a party into the swamp, and flanked the militia. the enemy, now firing from under cover of the thicket, greatly annoyed that wing. the militia dropped down very fast, and at length began to give way, one after another, in rapid succession, till the rout became general. the fugitives were closely pursued by the indians, who, besides their rifles and tomahawks, were provided with long spears, which they threw with great dexterity, and seldom missed their object--the practice of throwing the tomahawk and spear, and of taking aim, being the principal exercises to which an indian warrior is trained. "it was impossible for men thus flying and thus pursued to rally, nor had they a moment's time even to load their pieces, while death was close upon every man's heel. and, besides, many of them had no other weapon but a rusty musket. flight was their only hope; and the indians, being most accustomed to running, if they could not run the fastest, could, however, out-wind them. the carnage at once became general, and three-fourths of the militia were killed. "according to the account of some who were present, the number that sallied out was five hundred, and of those who escaped the scalping-knife two hundred. others assert that the sortie consisted of but three hundred, and those who escaped were less than one hundred. the probability is that, between the confusion, carnage, and panic of the day, the accounts are all incorrect. but, by every account, about three hundred able-bodied men, amounting to more than half the settlement, were slain on that dismal day. "the fugitives fled in every direction. some saved themselves by fair running; some, by hiding till the darkness covered their retreat; and many by swimming the river, &c. particular details of all individual escapes cannot be given; nor would they, perhaps, be entertaining, and i shall, therefore, pass them over. some few of the enemy were killed in the pursuit; their total loss was never ascertained, but we are to presume that it was small. "forty fort was immediately evacuated. some few of the inhabitants took british protections, and remained on their premises. the signal for a house under protection was a white cloth hung up near the door, and for a man, a white rag round the crown of his hat. "those of the militia who escaped from the battle, hastened toward the delaware, and, on their way through the swamp, met captain spaulding's detachment, who, on being informed of the strength of the enemy and deplorable condition of the settlement, judged it prudent to turn about and retire to the settlement on the delaware. "the road through the swamp was thronged with women and children, heavy-hearted and panic-struck; destitute of all the comforts of life, travelling day and night, and in continual dread of the tomahawk and scalping-knife! the whole country, and all the property in it, was abandoned to the savages, save only by the few who had taken british protections. "colonel nathan dennison, who succeeded to the command after butler escaped, seeing the impossibility of an effectual defence, went with a flag to colonel john butler, to know what terms he would grant on a surrender; to which application butler answered, with more than savage phlegm, in two short words, '_the hatchet_.' dennison, having defended the fort till most of the garrison were killed or disabled, was compelled to surrender at discretion. some of the unhappy persons in the fort were carried away alive; but the barbarous conquerors, to save the trouble of murder in detail, shut up the rest promiscuously in the houses and barracks, which they set on fire, enjoying the savage pleasure of beholding the whole consumed in one general blaze. "they then crossed the river to the only remaining fort, wilkesborough, which, in hopes of mercy, surrendered without demanding any conditions. they found about seventy continental soldiers, who had been engaged merely for the defence of the frontiers, whom they butchered with every circumstance of horrid cruelty. the remainder of the men, with the women and children, were shut up, as before, in the houses, which being set on fire, they perished altogether in the flames. "a general scene of devastation was now spread through all the townships. fire, sword, and the other different instruments of destruction, alternately triumphed. the settlements of the tories alone generally escaped, and appeared as islands in the midst of the surrounding ruin. the merciless ravagers, having destroyed the main objects of their cruelty, directed their animosity to every part of living nature belonging to them--shooting and destroying some of their cattle, and cutting out the tongues of others, leaving them still alive to prolong their agonies. "the following are a few of the more singular circumstances of the barbarity practised in the attack upon wyoming. captain bedlock, who had been taken prisoner, being stripped naked, had his body stuck full of splinters of pine-knots, and then a heap of the same piled around him; the whole was then set on fire, and his two companions, captains ranson and durgee, thrown alive into the flames and held down with pitchforks. the returned tories, who had at different times abandoned the settlement in order to join in those savage expeditions, were the most distinguished for their cruelty: in this they resembled the tories that joined the british forces. one of these wyoming tories, whose mother had married a second husband, butchered with his own hands both her, his father-in-law, his own sisters, and their infant children. another, who during his absence had sent home several threats against the life of his father, now not only realized them in person, but was himself, with his own hands, the exterminator of his whole family, mothers, brothers, and sisters, and mingled their blood in one common carnage with that of the aged husband and father. the broken parts and scattered relics of families, consisting mostly of women and children who had escaped to the woods during the different scenes of this devastation, suffered little less than their friends, who had perished in the ruins of their houses. dispersed, and wandering in the forests as chance and fear directed, without provision or covering, they had a long tract of country to traverse, and many, without doubt, perished in the woods." "such deeds make the blood curdle in my veins," observed mrs. harmar. "it is said that the cruelty of colonel john butler at wyoming has been greatly exaggerated," remarked mr. jackson harmar. "his son, walter butler, was certainly a savage, and the bloody deeds he committed have been frequently attributed to his father. but i think history should set the matter right, nor found its assertions upon the stories of the exasperated whigs." "that's well thought of you, mr. harmar, but it's my opinion that historians cannot find any evidence of the humanity of john butler. as i said before, i firmly believe the story of my friend. if john butler did not butcher the men who asked for quarter, he looked quietly on while the red men did it, and therefore he is just as criminal, in my eyes, as if he had handled the tomahawk," said morton, emphatically. "colonel zebulon butler, with his family, escaped from the fort before the massacre, i believe?" observed higgins, inquisitively. "yes; and in that i think he betrayed his trust. a commander should either conquer or die with his men," replied morton. "but when slaughter is certain, i think every man is justified in doing all that he can to save himself," said old harmar. "that is selfish. if slaughter was certain, would it not have been more honorable to remain, and make the enemy pay life for life, than it would be to steal away and leave women and children to fall without revenge?" observed wilson. "but would it be wise?" asked old harmar, interrogatively. "whatever is honorable is wise," replied wilson. story of the dauphin's birthday. "mr. mortan, what do you think was the most interesting scene you saw during the war?" enquired mr. jackson harraar. "well, that's a question it requires some thinking to answer," replied morton. "leaving battle scenes out of view, i think the celebration of the dauphin's birth-day, in may, , was one of the most interesting events i have ever witnessed." "it was a great celebration," observed higgins. "you see," began morton, "our army was then encamped on the high grounds on both sides of the hudson. the camp on the west side of the river was called new boston, because the huts had been put up by the massachusetts troops. the head-quarters of general washington were at west point. as our congress had entered into an alliance with the king of france, general washington thought it proper to seize every occasion of doing honor to our allies; and when the french were thrown into all sorts of rejoicing by the birth of an heir to the throne, he decided that we should celebrate the same event. the thirty-first of may was fixed upon for the celebration. great preparations were made for the festival. in general washington's orders, invitations were given to all the officers in the army, and they were requested to invite any friend or acquaintance they might have in the country to join them. a romantic, open plain near west point was chosen for the building of the great bower under which the company were to meet and partake of a grand feast. a french engineer, named villefranche, was employed, with one thousand men, ten days in completing it, and, when completed, it was one of the most beautiful edifices i have ever seen. it was composed entirely of the material which the trees in the neighborhood afforded, and was about six hundred feet long and thirty wide. the roof was supported by a grand colonnade of one hundred and eighteen pillars made of the trunks of trees. the roof and walls were made of the boughs and branches of trees, curiously interwoven, while the ends were left open. on the inside, every pillar was enriched with muskets and bayonets, which were arranged in a fanciful manner; and the whole interior was decorated with evergreens, french and american colors, and various emblems and mottoes. "on the day of the festival, the whole army was paraded on the hills on both side of the river, and it was a grand view. for several miles around, as far as the eye could reach, lines of men, glittering in their accoutrements, appeared. the officers were in front, or among their respective commands, and their waving plumes seemed like floating foam on the waves. at the signal--the firing of three cannon--all the regimental officers left their commands and proceeded to the building to join in the festivities there prepared by order of the commander-in-chief. "at five o'clock, dinner being on the table, an interesting procession moved from the quarters of major-general m'dougall, through a line formed by colonel grain's regiment of artillery. in front, walked the noble commander-in-chief, his countenance expressive of unusual cheerfulness, and his stately form moving with characteristic grace and dignity. he was accompanied by his lady, and his suite followed him. then came all the principal officers of the army with their ladies, governor clinton and lady, and various distinguished characters from the states of new york and new jersey. the procession moved to the vast bower, where more than five hundred guests were assembled. the banquet was magnificently prepared, and bands of music added melody to the other charms of the scene--thus feasting and satisfying the eye, the ear, and the palate. the cloth being removed, thirteen appropriate toasts were drank, each being announced by the firing of thirteen cannon and the playing of appropriate music by the bands in attendance. the company retired from the table at seven o'clock, and the regimental officers rejoined their respective commands. in the evening, the arbor was brilliantly illuminated. the numerous lights, gleaming among the boughs and leaves of the trees that composed the roof and the walls, presented the appearance of myriads of glowworms or of thousands of stars glittering in the night. when the officers had rejoined their different regiments, thirteen cannon were again fired, as a prelude to the general feu-de-joie which immediately succeeded. three times was it repeated, and the reverberations sounded among the hills with tremendous effect, darkness adding grandeur to the scene, as the flashing of the musketry of the army broke upon it like sheeted lightning. the feu-de-joie was immediately followed by three shouts of acclamation and benediction for the dauphin, given by the whole army as with one voice. at half-past eleven o'clock the celebration was concluded by an exhibition of fireworks, ingeniously constructed of various figures. there was a ball given during the evening in the arbor, at which general washington, with mrs. knox for a partner, led the dance. thus ended the general festivity." "there," remarked mrs. harmar, "that has interested me much more than all the horrible stories that have been told to-day. how i should have liked to be there!" "it was a sight such as all men are not permitted to see," said morton. "it was grand--it was sublime!" exclaimed mr. jackson harmar. "a scene worthy of any pen or any pencil!" as mr. jackson harmar seized all such opportunities for exercising his literary propensities, it was most probable that he considered that the pen alone could do justice to the scene, and that _his_ pen was destined to immortalize it. the bell now rang for tea, and the party adjourned to the tea-table, where, however, the conversation turned upon matters foreign to the revolution. mrs. harmar would introduce household concerns when her husband began to allude to the war, and the children, especially thomas jefferson harmar, would play around the old veterans, asking them trifling questions, until the meal was finished, and then morton, higgins, smith, and wilson prepared to return to their respective residences. morton lived in the interior of pennsylvania, and was stopping with a near relative during his visit to the city. the other three resided in new jersey, and were putting up at the same house--that of a friend of higgins'. old harmar shook hands with his old camp associates, wishing them many days of health and happiness to come, and trusting that they might meet again before death should claim them. the veterans kissed the children, and morton gave thomas jefferson harmar a bullet from bunker's hill, telling him to learn what his countrymen had fought and bled for, and to act like them on a like occasion, if any such should ever occur, which he earnestly hoped would never be the case. mr. jackson harmar procured a carriage, and the veterans being soon comfortably seated, he accompanied them to their respective residences. on bidding him farewell, the aged patriots thanked him for his kindness, which mr. jackson harmar returned with an elaborate panegyric on the men of the revolution, and the duty of his generation to treat them with the highest veneration and respect. the public either suffered from or were benefited by the interview between mr. jackson harmar and the veteran patriots, for the press soon teemed with stirring poetical appeals to the people to hold their liberties dearer than life, on account of the blood that they had cost. a large volume also appeared, entitled "legends of the times that tried men's souls," beginning with the history of the "old state-house bell." the end. the house in the water a book of animal stories the house in the water a book of animal stories by charles g. d. roberts author of "the kindred of the wild," "red fox," "the heart of the ancient wood," "the forge in the forest," "the heart that knows," etc. illustrated and decorated by charles livingston bull and frank vining smith the page company publishers boston copyright, , by curtis publishing company copyright, , by funk & wagnalls company copyright, , by the circle publishing company copyright, , by associated sunday magazines, incorporated copyright, , by l. c. page & company (incorporated) all rights reserved first impression, may, third impression, may, the colonial press c. h. simonds co., boston, u. s. a. contents of the book page the house in the water the white-slashed bull when the blueberries are ripe the glutton of the great snow when the truce of the wild is done the window in the shack the return of the moose from the teeth of the tide the fight at the wallow sonny and the kid a list of the full-page drawings in the book page "began to climb out upon the crest of the dam." "a foraging fish-hawk winging above." "the otter moved with unusual caution." "suddenly rearing his sleek, snaky body half out of the water." "poked his head above water." "sticky lumps, which they could hug under their chins." "twisted it across his shoulders, and let it drag behind him." "every beaver now made a mad rush for the canal." "it was no longer a log, but a big gray lynx." "he caught sight of a beaver swimming down the pond." "'or even maybe a bear.'" "he drowns jest at the place where he come in." "hunted through the silent and pallid aisles of the forest." "a sinister, dark, slow-moving beast." "he sprang with a huge bound that landed him, claws open, squarely on the wolverene's hind quarters." "it was not until the moon appeared ... that jabe began to call." "something gleamed silver down his side." "an old she-bear with two half-grown cubs." "crept slowly around the raging and snarling captive." "snapped back at him with a vicious growl." "running in the shallow water to cover his scent" "sniffed loudly along the crack of the door." "made a wild thrust at the dreadful face." "a magnificent, black, wide-antlered bull, an ungainly brown cow, and a long-legged, long-eared calf." "pulled the butt under her chest." "he 'belled' harshly several times across the dark wastes." "in a flash was up again on his haunches." "he curled down his abbreviated tail, and ran." "in his fright the kid dropped his toadstool and stared back at the gray animal." the house in the water chapter i the sound in the night upon the moonlit stillness came suddenly a far-off, muffled, crashing sound. just once it came, then once again the stillness of the wilderness night, the stillness of vast, untraversed solitude. the boy lifted his eyes and glanced across the thin reek of the camp-fire at jabe smith, who sat smoking contemplatively. answering the glance, the woodsman muttered "old tree fallin'," and resumed his passive contemplation of the sticks glowing keenly in the fire. the boy, upon whom, as soon as he entered the wilderness, the taciturnity of the woodsfolk descended as a garment, said nothing, but scanned his companion's gaunt face with a gravely incredulous smile. so wide-spread and supreme was the silence that five seconds after that single strange sound had died out it seemed, somehow, impossible to believe it had ever been. the light gurgle of the shallow and shrunken brook which ran past the open front of the travellers' "lean-to" served only to measure the stillness. both jabe and the boy, since eating their dinner, had gradually forgotten to talk. as the moon rose over the low, fir-crested hills they had sunk into reverie, watching the camp-fire die down. at last, with a sort of crisp whisper a stick, burnt through the middle, fell apart, and a flicker of red flame leaped up. the woodsman knocked out his pipe, rose slowly to his feet, stretched his gaunt length, and murmured, "reckon we might as well turn in." "that's all right for you, jabe," answered the boy, rising also, tightening his belt, and reaching for his rifle, "but i'm going off to see what i can see. night's the time to see things in the woods." jabe grunted non-committally, and began spreading his blanket in the lean-to. "don't forgit to come back for breakfast, that's all," he muttered. he regarded the boy as a phenomenally brilliant hunter and trapper spoiled by sentimental notions. to the boy, whose interest in all pertaining to woodcraft was much broader and more sympathetic than that of his companion, jabe's interpretation of the sound of the falling tree had seemed hasty and shallow. he knew that there was no better all-round woodsman in these countries than jabe smith; but he knew also that jabe's interest in the craft was limited pretty strictly to his activities as hunter, trapper and lumberman. just now he was all lumberman. he was acting as what is called a "timber-cruiser," roaming the remoter and less-known regions of the wilderness to locate the best growths of spruce and pine for the winter's lumbering operations, and for the present his keen faculties were set on the noting of tree growths, and water-courses, and the lay of the land for the getting out of a winter's cutting. on this particular cruise the boy--who, for all the disparity in their years and the divergence in their views, was his most valued comrade--had accompanied him with a special object in view. the region they were cruising was one which had never been adequately explored, and it was said to be full of little unnamed, unmapped lakes and streams, where, in former days, the indians had had great beaver hunting. when the sound of the falling tree came to his ears across the night-silence, the boy at once said to himself, "beavers, at work!" he said it to himself, not aloud, because he knew that jabe also, as a trapper, would be interested in beavers; and he had it in his mind to score a point on jabe. noiseless as a lynx in his soft-soled "larrigans," he ascended the half-empty channel of the brook, which here strained its shrunken current through rocks and slate-slabs, between steep banks. the channel curved steadily, rounding the shoulder of a low ridge. when he felt that he had travelled somewhat less than half a mile, he came out upon a bit of swampy marsh, beyond which, over the crest of a low dam, spread the waters of a tranquil pond shining like a mirror in the moonlight. the boy stopped short, his heart thumping with excitement and anticipation. here before him was what he had come so far to find. from his books and from his innumerable talks with hunter and trapper, he knew that the dam and the shining, lonely pond were the work of beavers. presently he distinguished amid the sheen of the water a tiny, grassy islet, with a low, dome-shaped, stick-covered mound at one end of it. this, plainly, was a beaver house, the first he had ever seen. his delighted eyes, observing it at this distance, at once pronounced it immeasurably superior to the finest and most pretentious muskrat-house he had ever seen--a very palace, indeed, by comparison. then, a little further up the pond, and apparently adjoining the shore, he made out another dome-shaped structure, broader and less conspicuous than the first, and more like a mere pile of sticks. the pond, which was several acres in extent, seemed to him an extremely spacious domain for the dwellers in these two houses. presently he marked a black trail, as it were, moving down in the middle of the radiance from the upper end of the pond. it was obviously the trail of some swimmer, but much too broad, it seemed, to be made by anything so small as a beaver. it puzzled him greatly. in his eagerness he pushed noiselessly forward, seeking a better view, till he was within some thirty feet of the dam. then he made out a small dark spot in the front of the trail,--evidently a beaver's head; and at last he detected that the little swimmer was carrying a bushy branch, one end held in his mouth while the rest was slung back diagonally across his shoulders. the boy crept forward like a cat, his gray eyes shining with expectancy. his purpose was to gain a point where he could crouch in ambush behind the dam, and perhaps get a view of the lake-dwellers actually at work. he was within six or eight feet of the dam, crouching low (for the dam was not more than three feet in height), when his trained and cunning ear caught a soft swirling sound in the water on the other side of the barrier. instantly he stiffened to a statue, just as he was, his mouth open so that not a pant of his quickened breath might be audible. the next moment the head of a beaver appeared over the edge of the dam, not ten feet away, and stared him straight in the face. the beaver had a stick of alder in its mouth, to be used, no doubt, in some repairing of the dam. the boy, all in gray as he was, and absolutely motionless, trusted to be mistaken for one of the gnarled, gray stumps with which the open space below the dam was studded. he had read that the beaver was very near-sighted, and on that he based his hopes, though he was so near, and the moonlight so clear, that he could see the bright eyes of the newcomer staring straight into his with insistent question. evidently, the story of that near-sightedness had not been exaggerated. he saw the doubt in the beaver's eye fade gradually into confidence, as the little animal became convinced that the strange gray figure was in reality just one of the stumps. then, the industrious dam-builder began to climb out upon the crest of the dam, dragging his huge and hairless tail, and glancing along as if to determine where the stick which he carried would do most good. at this critical moment, when the eager watcher felt that he was just about to learn the exact methods of these wonderful architects of the wild, a stick in the slowly settling mud beneath his feet broke with a soft, thick-muffled snap. [illustration: "began to climb out upon the crest of the dam."] so soft was the sound that it barely reached the boy's ears. to the marvellously sensitive ears of the beaver, however, it was a warning more than sufficient. it was a noisy proclamation of peril. swift as a wink of light, the beaver dropped his stick and dived head first into the pond. the boy straightened up just in time to see him vanish. as he vanished, his broad, flat, naked tail hit the water with a cracking slap which resounded over the pond like a pistol-shot. it was reëchoed by four or five more splashes from the upper portion of the pond. then all was silence again, and the boy realized that there would be no more chance that night for him to watch the little people of the house in the water. mounting the firm-woven face of the dam and casting his eyes all over the pond, he satisfied himself that two houses which he had first seen were all that it contained. then, resisting the impulse of his excitement, which was to explore all around the pond's borders at once, he resolutely turned his face back to camp, full of thrilling plans for the morrow. chapter ii the battle in the pond at breakfast, in the crisp of the morning, while yet the faint mists clung over the brook and the warmth of the camp-fire was attractive, the boy proclaimed his find. jabe had asked no questions, inquisitiveness being contrary to the backwoodsman's code of etiquette; but his silence had been full of interrogation. with his mouth half-full of fried trout and cornbread, the boy remarked: "that was no windfall, jabe, that noise we heard last night!" "so?" muttered the woodsman, rather indifferently. without a greater show of interest than that the boy would not divulge his secret. he helped himself to another flaky pink section of trout, and became seemingly engrossed in it. presently the woodsman spoke again. he had been thinking, and had realized that his prestige had suffered some kind of blow. "of course," drawled the woodsman sarcastically, "it wa'n't no windfall. i jest said that to git quit of bein' asked questions when i was sleepy. i knowed all the time it was beaver!" "yes, jabe," admitted the boy, "it was beavers. i've found a big beaver-pond just up the brook a ways--a pond with two big beaver-houses in it. i've found it--so i claim it as mine, and there ain't to be any trapping on that pond. those are my beavers, jabe, every one of them, and they sha'n't be shot or trapped!" "i don't know how fur yer injunction'd hold in law," said jabe dryly, as he speared a thick slab of bacon from the frying-pan to his tin plate. "but fur as i'm concerned, it'll hold. an' i reckon the boys of the camp this winter'll respect it, too, when i tell 'em as how it's your own partic'lar beaver pond." "bless your old heart, jabe!" said the boy. "that's just what i was hoping. and i imagine anyway there's lots more beaver round this region to be food for the jaws of your beastly old traps!" "yes," acknowledged jabe, rising to clear up, "i struck three likely ponds yesterday, as i was cruisin over to west'ard of the camp. i reckon we kin spare you the sixteen or twenty beaver in 'boy's pond!'" the boy grinned appreciation of the notable honour done him in the naming of the pond, and a little flush of pleasure deepened the red of his cheeks. he knew that the name would stick, and eventually go upon the maps, the lumbermen being a people tenacious of tradition and not to be swerved from their own way. "thank you, jabe!" he said simply. "but how do you know there are sixteen or twenty beaver in my pond?" "you said there was two houses," answered the woodsman. "well, we reckon always from eight to ten beaver to each house, bein' the old couple, and then three or four yearlin's not yet kicked out to set up housekeeping fer themselves, and three or four youngsters of the spring's whelping. beavers' good parents, an' the family holds together long's the youngsters needs it. now i'm off. see you here at noon, fer grub!" and picking up his axe he strode off to southwestward of the camp to investigate a valley which he had located the day before. left alone, the boy hurriedly set the camp in order, rolled up the blankets, washed the dishes, and put out the last of the fire. then, picking up his little winchester, which he always carried,--though he never used it on anything more sensitive than a bottle or a tin can,--he retraced his steps of the night before, up-stream to the beaver pond. knowing that the beavers do most of their work, or, at least, most of their above-water work, at night, he had little hope of catching any of them abroad by daylight. he approached the dam, nevertheless, with that noiseless caution which had become a habit with him in the woods, a habit which rendered the woods populous for him and teeming with interest, while to more noisy travellers they seemed quite empty of life. one thing his study of the wilderness had well taught him, which was that the wild kindreds do not by any means always do just what is expected of them, but rather seem to delight in contradicting the naturalists. when he reached the edge of the open, however, and peered out across the dam, there was absolutely nothing to break the shining morning stillness. in the clear sunlight the dam, and the two beaver-houses beyond, looked larger and more impressive than they had looked the night before. there was no sign of life anywhere about the pond, except a foraging fish-hawk winging above it, with fierce head stretched low in the search for some basking trout or chub. [illustration: "a foraging fish-hawk winging above."] following the usual custom of the wild kindreds themselves, the boy stood motionless for some minutes behind his thin screen of bushes before revealing himself frankly in the open. his patient watch being unrewarded, he was on the very verge of stepping forth, when from the tail of his eye he caught a motion in the shallow bed of the brook, and ducked himself. he was too wary to turn his head; but a moment later a little brown sinuous shape came into his field of view. it was an otter, making his way up-stream. the otter moved with unusual caution, glancing this way and that and seeming to take minute note of all he saw. at the foot of the dam he stopped, and investigated the structure with the air of one who had never seen it before. so marked was this air that the boy concluded he was a stranger to that region,--perhaps a wanderer from the head of the ottanoonsis, some fifteen miles southward, driven away by the operations of a crew of lumbermen who were building a big lumber-camp there. however that might be, it was evident that the brown traveller was a newcomer, an outsider. he had none of the confident, businesslike manner which a wild animal wears in moving about his own range. when he had stolen softly along the whole base of the dam, and back again, nosing each little rivulet of overflow, the otter seemed satisfied that this was much like all other beaver dams. then he mounted to the crest and took a prolonged survey of the stretch of water beyond. nothing unusual appearing, he dived cleanly into the pond, about the point where, as the boy guessed, there would be the greatest depth of water against the dam. he was apparently heading straight up for the inlet of the pond, on a path which would take him within about twenty-five or thirty yards of the main beaver-house on the island. as soon as he had vanished under the water the boy ran forward, mounted the crest of the dam, and peered with shaded eyes to see if he could mark the swimmer's progress. [illustration: "the otter moved with unusual caution."] for a couple of minutes, perhaps, the surface of the pond gave no indication of the otter's whereabouts. then, just opposite the main beaver-house, there was a commotion in the water, the surface curled and eddied, and the otter appeared in great excitement. he dived again immediately; and just as he did so the head of a huge beaver poked up and snatched a breath. where the two had gone under, the surface of the pond now fairly boiled; and the boy, in his excitement over this novel and mysterious contest, nearly lost his balance on the frail crest of the dam. a few moments more and both adversaries again came to the surface, now at close grips and fighting furiously. they were followed almost at once by a second beaver, smaller than the first, who fell upon the otter with insane fury. it was plain that the beavers were the aggressors. the boy's sympathies were all with the otter, who from time to time tried vainly to escape from the battle; and once he raised his rifle. but he bethought him that the otter, after all, whatever his intentions, was a trespasser; and that the beavers had surely a right to police their own pond. he remembered an old indian's having told him that there was always a blood feud between the beaver and the otter; and how was he to know how just the cause of offence, or the stake at issue? lowering his gun he stared in breathless eagerness. the otter, however, as it proved, was well able to take care of himself. suddenly rearing his sleek, snaky body half out of the water, he flashed down upon the smaller beaver and caught it firmly behind the ear with his long, deadly teeth--teeth designed to hold the convulsive and slippery writhings of the largest salmon. with mad contortions the beaver struggled to break that fatal grip. but the otter held inexorably, shaking its victim as a terrier does a rat, and paid no heed whatever to the slashing assaults of the other beaver. the water was lashed to such a turmoil that the waves spread all over the pond, washing up to the boy's feet on the crest of the dam, and swaying the bronze-green grasses about the house on the little island. though, without a doubt, all the other citizens of the pond were watching the battle even more intently than himself, the boy could not catch sight of so much as nose or ear. the rest of the spectators kept close to the covert of grass tuft and lily pad. [illustration: "suddenly rearing his sleek, snaky body half out of the water."] all at once the small beaver stiffened itself out convulsively on top of the water, turned belly up, and began to sink. at the same time the otter let go, tore free of his second and more dangerous adversary, and swam desperately for the nearest point of shore. the surviving beaver, evidently hurt, made no effort to follow up his victory, but paddled slowly to the house on the island, where he disappeared. presently the otter gained the shore and dragged himself up. his glossy brown skin was gashed and streaming with blood, but the boy gathered that his wounds were not mortal. he turned, stared fixedly at the beaver-house for several seconds as if unwilling to give in, then stole off through the trees to seek some more hospitable water. as he vanished, repulsed and maltreated, the boy realized for the first time how hostile even the unsophisticated wilderness is to a stranger. among the wild kindreds, even as among men, most things worth having are preempted. when the boy's excitement over this strange fight had calmed down, he set himself with keen interest to examining the dam. he knew that by this time every beaver in the pond was aware of his presence, and would take good care to keep out of sight; so there was no longer anything to be gained by concealment. pacing the crest, he made it to be about one hundred feet in length. at the centre, and through a great part of its length, it was a little over three feet high, its ends diminishing gradually into the natural rise of the shores. the base of the dam, as far as he could judge, seemed to be about twelve feet in thickness, its upper face constructed with a much more gradual slope than the lower. the whole structure, which was built of poles, brush, stones, and earth, appeared to be very substantial, a most sound and enduring piece of workmanship. but along the crest, which was not more than a foot and a half in width, it was built with a certain looseness and elasticity for which he was at a loss to account. presently he observed, however, that this dam had no place of overflow for letting off the water. the water stood in the pond at a height that brought it within three or four inches of the crest. at this level he saw that it was escaping, without violence, by percolating through the toughly but loosely woven tissue of sticks and twigs. the force of the overflow was thus spread out so thin that its destructive effect on the dam was almost nothing. it went filtering, with little trickling noises, down over and through the whole lower face of the structure, there to gather again into a brook and resume its sparkling journey toward the sea. the long upper slope of the dam was smoothly and thoroughly faced with clay, so that none of its framework showed through, save here and there the butt of a sapling perhaps three or four inches in diameter, which proclaimed the solidity of the foundations. the lower face, on the other hand, was all an inexplicable interlacing of sticks and poles which seemed at first glance heaped together at haphazard. on examination, however, the boy found that every piece was woven in so firmly among its fellows that it took some effort to remove it. the more he studied the structure, the more his admiration grew, and his appreciation of the reasoning intelligence of its builders; and he smiled to himself a little controversial smile, as he thought how inadequate what men call instinct would be to such a piece of work as this. but what impressed him most, as a mark of engineering skill and sound calculation on the part of the pond-people, was the direction in which the dam was laid. at either end, where the water was shoal, and comparatively dead even in time of freshet, the dam ran straight, taking the shortest way. but where it crossed the main channel of the brook, and required the greatest strength, it had a pronounced upward curve to help it resist the thrust of the current. he contemplated this strong curve for some time; then, a glance at the sun reminding him that it was near noon, he took off his cap to the low-domed house in the water and made haste back to camp for dinner. chapter iii in the under-water world meanwhile, in the dark chamber and the long, dim corridors of the house in the water there was great perturbation. the battle with the otter had been a tremendous episode in their industrious, well-ordered lives, and they were wildly excited over it. but much more important to them--to all but the big beaver who was now nursing his triumphant wounds--was the presence of man in their solitude. man had hitherto been but a tradition among them, a vague but alarming tradition. and now his appearance, yesterday and to-day, filled them with terror. that vision of the boy, standing tall and ominous on the dam, and afterwards going forward and backward over it, pulling at it, apparently seeking to destroy it, seemed to portend mysterious disasters. after he was gone, and well gone, almost every beaver in the pond, not only from the main house but also from the lodge over on the bank, swam down and made a flurried inspection of the dam, without showing his head above water, to see if the structure on which they all depended had been tampered with. one by one, each on his own responsibility, they swam down and inspected the water-face; and one by one they swam back, more or less relieved in their minds. all, of course, except the big beaver who had been in the fight. if it had not been for that vision of the boy, he would have crept out upon the dry grass of the little island and there licked and comforted his wounds in the comforting sunlight. now, however, he dared not allow himself that luxury. his strong love of cleanliness made him reluctant to take his bleeding gashes into the house; but there was nothing else to be done. he was the head of the household, however, so there was none to gainsay him. he dived into the mouth of the shorter of the two entrances, mounted the crooked and somewhat steep passage, and curled himself upon the dry grass in one corner of the dark, secluded chamber. his hurts were painful, and ugly, but none of them deadly, and he knew he would soon be all right again. there was none of that foreknowledge of death upon him which sometimes drives a sick animal to abdicate his rights and crawl away by himself for the last great contest. the room wherein the big beaver lay down to recover himself was not spacious nor particularly well ventilated, but in every other respect it was very admirably adapted to the needs of its occupants. through the somewhat porous ceiling, a three-foot thickness of turf and sticks, came a little air, but no light. this, however, did not matter to the beavers, whose ears and noses were of more significance to them than their eyes. in floor area the chamber was something like five feet by six and a half, but in height not much more than eighteen inches. the floor of this snug retreat was not five inches above the level of the water in the passages leading in to it; but so excellently was it constructed as to be altogether free from damp. it was daintily clean, moreover; and the beds of dry grass around the edges of the chamber were clean and fresh. from this room the living, sleeping, and dining room of the beaver family, ran two passageways communicating with the outside world. both of these were roofed over to a point well outside the walls of the house, and had their opening in the bottom of the pond, where the water was considerably more than three feet in depth. one of these passages was perfectly straight, about two feet in width, and built on a long, gradual slope. it was by this entrance that the house-dwellers were wont to bring in their food supplies, in the shape of sticks of green willow, birch and poplar. when these sticks were stripped clean of their bark, which was the beavers' chief nourishment, they were then dragged out again, and floated down to be used in the repair of the dam. the other passage, especially adapted to quick exit in case of danger from the way of the roof, was about as spacious as the first, but much shorter and steeper. it was crooked, moreover,--for a reason doubtless adequate to the architects, but obscure to mere human observers. the exits of both passages were always in open water, no matter how fierce the frosts of the winter, how thick the armour of ice over the surface of the pond. in the neighbourhood of the house were springs bubbling up through the bottom, and keeping the temperature of the pond fairly uniform throughout the coldest weather, so that the ice, at worst, never attained a thickness of more than a foot and a half, even though in the bigger lakes of that region it might make to a depth of three feet and over. [illustration: "poked his head above water."] while the wounded beaver lay in the chamber licking his honourable gashes, two other members of the family entered and approached him. in some simple but adequate speech it was conveyed to them that their presence was not required, and they retreated precipitately, taking different exits. one swam to the grassy edge of the islet, poked his head above water under the covert of some drooping weeds, listened motionless for some minutes, then wormed himself out among the long grasses and lay basking, hidden from all the world but the whirling hawk overhead. the other, of a more industrious mould, swam off toward the upper end of the pond where, as he knew, there was work to be done. still as was the surface of the pond, below the surface there was life and movement. every little while the surface would be softly broken, and a tiny ripple would set out in widening circles toward the shore, starting from a small dark nose thrust up for a second. the casual observer would have said that these were fish rising for flies; but in fact it was the apprehensive beavers coming up to breathe, afraid to show themselves on account of the boy. they were all sure that he had not really gone, but was in hiding somewhere, waiting to pounce upon them. it was the inhabitants of the house in the water who were moving about the pond, this retreat being occupied by their wounded and ill-humoured champion. the inhabitants of the other house, over on the shore, who had been interested but remote spectators through all the strange events of the morning, were now in comfortable seclusion, resting till it should be counted a safe time to go about their affairs. some were sleeping, or gnawing on sappy willow sticks, in the spacious chamber of their house, while others were in the deeper and more secret retreats of their two burrows high up in the bank, connecting with the main house by roomy tunnels partly filled with water. the two families were quite independent of each other, except for their common interest in keeping the great dam in repair. in work upon the dam they acted not exactly in harmony but in amicable rivalry, all being watchful and all industrious. in the under-water world of the beaver pond the light from the cloudless autumn sun was tawny gold, now still as crystal, now quivering over the bottom in sudden dancing meshes of fine shadow as some faint puff of air wrinkled the surface. when the dam was first built the pond had been of proper depth--from three to four feet--only in the channel of the stream; while all the rest was shallow, the old, marshy levels of the shore submerged to a depth of perhaps not more than twelve or fifteen inches. gradually, however, the industrious dam-builders had dug away these shallows, using the material--grass, roots, clay, and stones--for the broadening and solidifying of the dam. the tough fibred masses of grass-roots, full of clay and almost indestructible, were just such material as they loved to work with, the ancient difficulty of making bricks without straw being well known to them. over a large portion of the pond the bottom was now clean sand and mud, offering no obstacle to the transportation of cuttings to the houses or the dam. the beavers, moving hither and thither through this glimmering golden underworld, swam with their powerful hind feet only, which drove them through the water like wedges. their little forefeet, with flexible, almost handlike paws, were carried tucked up snugly under their chins, while their huge, broad, flat, hairless tails stuck straight out behind, ready to be used as a powerful screw in case of any sudden need. presently two of the swimmers, apparently by chance, came upon the body of the beaver which the journeying otter had slain. they knew that it was contrary to the laws of the clan that any dead thing should be left in the pond to poison the waters in its decay. without ceremony or sentiment they proceeded to drag their late comrade toward shore,--or rather to shove it ahead of them, only dragging when it got stuck against some stone or root. at the very edge of the pond, where the water was not more than eight or ten inches deep, they left it, to be thrust out and far up the bank after nightfall. they knew that some hungry night prowler would then take care of it for them. meanwhile an industriously inclined beaver had made his way to the very head of the pond. here he entered a little ditch or canal which led off through a wild meadow in a perfectly straight line, toward a wooded slope some fifty yards or so from the pond. this ditch, which was perhaps two feet and a half deep and about the same in width, looked as if it had been dug by the hand of man. the materials taken from it had been thrown up along the brink, but not on one side only, as the human ditch-digger does it. the beavers had thrown it out on both sides. the ditch was of some age, however, so the wild grasses and weeds had completely covered the two parallel ridges and now leaned low over the water, partly hiding it. under this screen the beaver came to the surface, and swam noiselessly with his head well up. at the edge of the slope the canal turned sharply to the left, and ran in a gradual curve, skirting the upland. here it was a piece of new work, raw and muddy, and the little ridges of fresh earth and roots along its brink were conspicuous. the beaver now went very cautiously, sniffing the air for any hint of peril. after winding along for some twenty or thirty yards, the new canal shoaled out to nothingness behind a screen of alder; and here, in a mess of mud and water, the beaver found one of his comrades hard at work. there was much of the new canal yet to do, and winter coming on. the object of this new ditch was to tap a new food supply. the food trees near enough to the pond to be felled into it or rolled down to it had long ago been used. then the straight canal across the meadow to the foot of the upland had opened up a new area, an area rich in birch and poplar. but trees can be rolled easily down-hill that cannot be dragged along an uneven side-hill; so, at last, it had become necessary to extend the canal parallel with the bottom of the slope. working in this direction, every foot of new ditch brought a lot of new supplies within reach. [illustration: "sticky lumps, which they could hug under their chins."] the extremity of the canal was dug on a slant, for greater ease in removing the material. here the two beavers toiled side by side, working independently. with their teeth they cut the tough sod as cleanly as a digger's spade could do it. with their fore paws they scraped up the soil--which was soft and easily worked--into sticky lumps, which they could hug under their chins and carry up the slope to be dumped upon the grass at the side. every minute one or the other would stop, lift his brown head over the edge, peer about, and sniff, and listen, then fall to work again furiously, as if the whole future and fortune of the pond were hanging upon his toil. after a half-hour's labour the canal was lengthened very perceptibly--fully six or eight inches--and as if by common consent the two brown excavators stopped to refresh themselves by nibbling at some succulent roots. while they were thus occupied, and apparently absorbed, from somewhere up the slope among the birch-trees came the faint sound of a snapping twig. in half a second the beavers had vanished noiselessly under water, down the canal, leaving but a swirl of muddy foam to mark their going. chapter iv night watchers when the boy came creeping down the hillside, and found the water in the canal still muddy and foaming, he realized that he had just missed a chance to see the beavers actually at work on their ditch-digging. he was disappointed. but he found ample compensation in the fact that here was one of the much-discussed and sometimes doubted canals, actually in process of construction. he knew he could outdo the beavers in their own game of wariness and watchfulness. he made up his mind he would lie out that very night, on the hillside close by--and so patiently, so unstirringly, that the beavers would never suspect the eager eyes that were upon them. all around him, on the nearer slopes, were evidences of the purpose for which the canal was designed, as well as of the diligence with which the little people of the pond were labouring to get in their winter stores. from this diligence, so early in the season, the boy argued an early and severe winter. he found trees of every size up to two feet in diameter cleanly felled, and stripped of their branches. with two or three exceptions--probably the work of young beavers unskilled in their art--the trees were felled unerringly in the direction of the water, so as to minimize the labour of dragging down the cuttings. close to the new part of the canal, he found the tree whose falling he and jabe had heard the night before. it was a tall yellow birch, fully twenty inches through at the place where it was cut, some fifteen inches from the ground. the cutting was still fresh and sappy. about half the branches had been gnawed off and trimmed, showing that the beavers, after being disturbed by the boy's visit to the dam, had returned to work later in the night. much of the smaller brush, from the top, had been cleared away and dragged down to the edge of the canal. as the boy knew, from what trappers and woodsmen had told him, this brush, and a lot more like it, would all be anchored in a huge pile in mid-channel, a little above the dam, where it would serve the double purpose of breaking the force of the floods and of supplying food through the winter. very near the newly felled birch the boy found another large tree about half cut through; and he vowed to himself that he would see the finish of that job that very night. he found the cutting done pretty evenly all around the tree, but somewhat lower and deeper on the side next to the water. in width the cut was less than that which a good axeman would make--because the teeth of a beaver are a more frugal cutting instrument than the woodsman's axe, making possible a straighter and less wasteful cut. at the foot of this tree he picked up chips fully eight inches in length, and was puzzled to imagine how the beavers imitated the effect of the axe in making the chips fly off. for a couple of hours the boy busied himself joyously, observing the work of these cunning woodsmen's teeth, noting the trails by which the remoter cuttings had been dragged down to the water, and studying the excavations on the canal. then, fearing to make the little citizens of the pond so nervous that they might not come out to business that night, he withdrew over the slope and made his way back to camp. he would sleep out the rest of the afternoon to be fresh and keen for the night's watching. at supper that evening, beside the camp-fire, when the woods looked magical under the still, white moon, jabe smith gradually got fired with the boy's enthusiasm. the boy's descriptions of the canal digging, of the structure of the dam, and, above all, of the battle between the otter and the beavers, filled him with a new eagerness to observe these wonderful little engineers with other eyes than those of the mere hunter and trapper. in the face of all the boy's exact details he grew almost deferential, quite laying aside his usual backwoods pose of indifference and half derision. he made no move to go to bed, but refilled his pipe and watched his young comrade's face with shrewd, bright eyes grown suddenly boyish. at last the boy rose and picked up his rifle. "i must hurry up and get myself hidden," said he, "or i'll see nothing to-night. good night, jabe. i'll not be back, likely, till along toward morning." the backwoodsman's usual response was not forthcoming. for some seconds he fingered his rugged chin in silence. then, straightening himself up, he spoke with an air of mingled embarrassment and carelessness. "them beaver of yourn's certainly an interestin' kind of varmint. d'ye know, blam'd if i ain't got a notion to go along with you to-night, an' watch 'em myself!" the boy, though secretly delighted at this evidence of something like conversion, eyed jabe doubtfully. he was not sure of the latter's capacity for the tireless patience and long self-effacement necessary for such an adventure as this. "well, jabe," he answered hesitatingly, "you know well how more than glad i'd be of your company. it would just about double my fun, having you along, if you were really interested, as i am, you know. and are you sure you could keep still long enough to see anything?" jabe would have resented this halting acceptance of his companionship had he not known in his heart that it was nothing more than he well deserved. but the doubt cast upon his woodcraft piqued him. "hain't i never set for hours in the wet ma'sh, never movin' a finger, waitin' for the geese?" he asked with injury in his voice. "hain't i never sneaked up on a watchin' buck, or laid so still i've fooled a bear?" the boy chuckled softly at this outbreak, so unexpected in the taciturn and altogether superior jabe. "you're all right, jabe!" said he. "i reckon you can keep still. but you must let me be captain, for to-night! this is my trick." "sartain," responded the woodsman with alacrity. "i'll eat mud if you say so! but i'll take along a hunk of cold bacon if you hain't got no objection." on the trail through the ghostly, moonlit woods, jabe followed obediently at the boy's heels. silently as shadows they moved, silently as the lynx or the moose or the weasel goes through the softly parting undergrowth. the boy led far away from the brook, and over the crest of the ridge, to avoid alarming the vigilant sentries. as they approached the head of the canal, their caution redoubled, and they went very slowly, bending low and avoiding every patch of moonlight. the light breeze, so light as to be almost imperceptible, drew upward toward them from the meadow, bringing now and then a scent of the fresh-dug soil. at last the boy lay down on his belly; and jabe religiously imitated him. for perhaps fifty yards they crept forward inch by inch, till at length they found themselves in the heart of a young fir thicket, through whose branches they could look out upon the head of the canal and the trees where the beavers had most recently been cutting. among the trees and in the water, all was still, with the mystic, crystalline stillness of the autumn moonlight. in that light everything seemed fragile and unreal, as if a movement or a breath might dissolve it. after a waiting of some ten minutes jabe had it on the tip of his tongue to whisper, derisively, "nothin' doin'!" but he remembered the boy's injunction, as well as his doubts, and checked himself. a moment later a faint, swirling gurgle of water caught his ear, and he was glad he had kept silence. an instant more, and the form of a beaver, spectral-gray in the moonlight, took shape all at once on the brink of the canal. for several minutes it stood there motionless, erect upon its hind quarters, questioning the stillness with eyes and ear and nose. then, satisfied that there was no danger near, it dropped on all fours and crept up toward the tree that was partly cut through. this pioneer of the woodcutters was followed immediately by three others, who lost no time in getting down to work. one of them went to help the leader, while the other two devoted themselves to trimming and cutting up the branches of the big birch which they had felled the night before. the boy wondered where the rest of the pond-people were, and would have liked to consult jabe about it; but he remembered the keenness of the beaver's ears, and held his tongue securely. it seemed to him probably that they were still down in the pond, working on the houses, the brush pile, or the dam. presently one more was accounted for. a renewed splashing in the canal turned the attention of the watchers from the tree-cutting, and they saw that a single wise excavator was at work, carrying forward the head of the ditch. there was no impatience or desire to fidget left in jabe smith now. as he watched the beavers at work in the moonlight, looking very mysterious in their stealthy, busy, tireless diligence, and conducting their toil with an ordered intelligence which seemed to him almost human, he understood for the first time the boy's enthusiasm for this kind of bloodless hunting. he had always known how clever the beavers were, and allowed them full credit; but till now he had never actually realized it. the two beavers engaged in cutting down the tree sat erect upon their haunches, supported by their huge tails, chiseling indefatigably. cutting two deep grooves, one about six or eight inches, perhaps, above the other, they would then wrench off the chips by main force with their teeth and forepaws, jerking their powerful necks with a kind of furious impatience. as he noted how they made the cut deeper and lower on one side than the other, that the tree might fall as they wished, he was so delighted that he came dangerously near vowing he would never trap a beaver again. he felt that it was almost like ensnaring a brother woodsman. equally exciting was the work on the other tree, which was being trimmed. the branches, according to their size, were cut into neat, manageable lengths, of from three to six or seven feet--the less the diameter the greater the length, each piece being calculated to be handled in the water by one beaver. these pieces were then rolled, shoved or dragged, as the case might require, down the smooth trails already made in hauling the brush, and dumped into the canal. other beavers presently appeared, and began towing the sticks and brush down the canal to the pond. this part of the process was hidden from the eager watchers in the thicket; but the boy guessed, from his own experience in pushing a log endwise before him while in swimming, that the beavers would handle the sticks in the same way. with the brush, however, it was different. in hauling it down the trail each beaver took a branch in his teeth, by the butt, twisted it across his shoulders, and let it drag behind him. it was obvious that in the water, too, this would be the most convenient way to handle such material. the beavers were not the kind of people to waste their strength in misdirected effort. [illustration: "twisted it across his shoulders, and let it drag behind him."] while all this cutting and hauling was going on, the big beaver down at the head of the canal was attending strictly to his task, running his lines straight, digging the turf and clay, shoving his loads up the slope and out upon the edge of the ditch. the process was all in clear, easy view of the watchers, their place of hiding being not more than eight or ten paces distant. they had grown altogether absorbed in watching the little canal-builder, when a cracking sound made them turn their eyes. the tree was toppling slowly. every beaver now made a mad rush for the canal, not caring how much noise he made--and plunged into the water. slowly, reluctantly, majestically, the tall birch swung forward straight down the slope, its top describing a great arc against the sky and gathering the air in its branches with a low but terrifying roar. the final crash was unexpectedly gentle,--or rather, would have seemed so to one unfamiliar with tree-felling. some branches snapped, some sticks flew up and dropped, there was a shuddering confusion in the crystal air for a few seconds, then the stillness fell once more. but now there was not a beaver to be seen. jabe wondered if they had been scared by the results of their own work; or if one of their sentinels had come and peered into the thicket from the rear. as minute after minute dragged by, and nothing happened, he began to realize that his muscles were aching savagely from their long restraint. he was on the point of moving, of whispering to ask the boy what it meant, when the latter, divining his unrest, stealthily laid a restraining hand upon his arm. he guessed that the beavers were on the alert, hiding, and watching to see if any of their enemies should be attracted by the noise. [illustration: "every beaver now made a mad rush for the canal."] not five seconds later, however, he forgot his aches. appearing with uncanny and inexplicable suddenness, there was the big pioneer again, sitting up by the edge of the canal. as before, he sat absolutely motionless for a minute or two, sniffing and listening. then, satisfied once more that all was well, he moved lazily up the slope to examine the tree; and in half a minute all were at work again, except that there was no more tree-felling. the great business of the hour was cutting brush. for some time longer the watchers lay motionless, noting every detail of the work, till at last the boy began to think it was time to release jabe from his long and severe restraint and break up the beaver "chopping-bee." before he had quite made up his mind, however, his eyes chanced to wander a little way up the slope, and to rest, without any conscious purpose, on a short gray bit of log. presently he began to wonder what a piece of log so short and thick--not much more than three feet long--would be doing there. no beavers would waste time cutting up a twelve-inch log into lengths like that. and there had been no lumberman in the neighbourhood. then, in a flash, his eyes cleared themselves of their illusion. the log had moved, ever so slightly. it was no longer a log, but a big gray lynx, creeping slowly, inexorably, down upon the unsuspecting people of the pond. for perhaps ten seconds the boy stared in uncertainty. then he saw the lynx gather his muscles for the final, fatal rush. without a whisper or a warning to the astonished jabe, he whipped up his rifle, and fired. the sharp report seemed to shatter the whole scene. its echoes were mixed with the scattering of the horrified beavers as they rushed for the water--with the short screech of the lynx, as it bounced into the air and fell back on its side, dead--with an exclamation of astonishment from jabe--and with a crashing of branches just behind the thicket. the boy looked around, triumphant--to see that jabe's exclamation was not at all the result of his clever shot. the woodsman was on his hands and knees, his back turned, and staring at the form of a big black bear as it lumbered off in a panic through the bushes. like the unfortunate lynx, the bear had been stalking the beavers on his own account, and had almost stepped upon the silent watchers in the thicket. [illustration: "it was no longer a log, but a big gray lynx."] chapter v dam repairing and dam building as the boy trudged triumphantly back toward camp, over the crest of the moon-bright ridge, he carried the limp, furry body of the lynx slung by its hind legs over his shoulder. he felt that his prestige had gone up incalculably in the woodsman's eyes. the woodsman was silent, however, as silent as the wilderness, till they descended the other slope and came in sight of the little solitary camp. then he said: "that was a mighty slick shot of yourn, d'ye know it? ye're quicker'n chain lightnin', an' dead on!" "just luck, jabe!" replied the boy carelessly, trying to seem properly modest. this different suggestion jabe did not take the trouble to controvert. he knew the boy did not mean it. "but i thought as how ye wouldn't kill anything?" he went on, teasingly. "had to!" retorted the boy. "that was self-defence! those beavers are my beavers. an' i've always wanted a real good excuse for getting a good lynx skin, anyway!" "i don't blame ye a mite fer standin' by them beaver!" continued jabe. "they're jest all right! it was better'n any circus; an' i don't know when i've enjoyed myself more." "then the least you can do, jabe, is promise not to trap any more beavers!" said the boy quickly. "wa'al," answered jabe, as they entered camp and began spreading their blankets, "leastwise i'll do my best to see that no harm comes to them beaver, nor to the pond." next morning, as the woodsman was starting out for the day's cruise, the boy said to him: "if you're game for another night's watching, jabe, i'll show you something altogether different up at the pond to-night." "try me!" responded the woodsman. "you'll have to be back earlier than usual, then," said the boy. "we'll have to get hidden earlier, and in a new place." "i'll come back along a couple of hours afore sundown, then," answered jabe, swinging off on his long, mooselike stride. it was contrary to his backwoods etiquette to ask what was in store for him; but his curiosity was excited, and kept him company through the solitude all day. when jabe was gone, the boy went straight up-stream to the dam, taking no special care to hide his coming. his plan was one in regard to which he felt some guilty qualms. but he consoled himself with the thought that whatever harm he might be doing to the little citizens of the pond would be more than compensated by the protection he was giving them. he was going to make a break in the dam, for the sake of seeing just how the beavers would mend it. on reaching the dam, however, it occurred to him that if he made the break now the beavers might regard the matter as too urgent to be left till nightfall. they might steal a march on him by mending the damage little by little, surreptitiously, through the day. he had no way of knowing just how they would take so serious a danger as a break in their dam. he decided, therefore, to postpone his purpose till the afternoon, so that the beavers would not come to the rescue too early. in the meantime, he would explore the stream above the pond, and see if there were other communities to study. skirting the hither side of the pond to near its head, he crossed the little meadow and the canal, and reached the brook again about fifty yards beyond. here he found it flowing swift and narrow, over a rocky bottom, between high banks; and this was its character for nearly half a mile, as he judged. then, emerging once more upon lower ground, he came upon a small dam. this structure was not much over eighteen inches in height, and the pond above it, small and shallow, showed no signs of being occupied. there was no beaver house to be seen, either in the water or on shore; and the water did not seem to be anywhere more than a foot and a half in depth. as he puzzled over this--for he did not think the beavers were likely to build a dam for nothing--he observed a second and much larger dam far away across the head of the pond. hastening to investigate this upper dam, he found it fully three feet high, and very massive. above it was a narrow but deep pond, between comparatively steep shores; and along these shores he counted three low-roofed houses. out in the middle of the pond there was not one dwelling; and he came presently to the conclusion that here, between the narrow banks, the current would be heavy in time of freshet. the lower dam, pretty obviously, was intended to reinforce the upper, by backing a foot and a half of water against it and taking off just that much of the pressure. he decided that the reason for locating the three houses along the shore was that the steep bank afforded special facilities for shore burrows. the explorer's fever being now hot upon him, the boy could not stay to examine this pond minutely. he pressed on up-stream with breathless eagerness, thrilling with expectation of what the next turn might reveal. as a matter of fact, the next turn revealed nothing--nor the next, nor yet the next. but as the stream was full of turns in this portion of its course, that was not greatly discouraging. about a quarter of a mile, however, above the head of the narrow pond, the ardent explorer came upon a level of sparse alder swamp. here he found the stream just beginning to spread over its low banks. the cause of this spreading was a partial obstruction in mid-channel--what looked, at first glance, like an accidental accumulation of brush and stones and mud. a second look, however, and his heart jumped with excitement and delight. here was the beginning of a new pond, here were the foundations of a new dam. he would be able to see what few indeed of the students of the wilderness had had the opportunity to watch--the actual process by which these wilderness engineers achieved their great work. all about the place the straightest and brushiest alders had been cut down, those usually selected being at least ten or twelve feet in height. many of them were still lying where they fell; but a number had been dragged to the stream and anchored securely, with stones and turfy clay, across the channel. the boy noted, with keenest admiration, that these were all laid with the greatest regularity parallel with the flow of the current, butts up stream, brushy tops below. in this way, the current took least hold upon them, and was obstructed gradually and as it were insidiously, without being challenged to any violent test of strength. already it was lingering in some confusion, backing up, and dividing its force, and stealing away at each side among the bushes. the boy had heard that the beavers were accustomed to begin their dams by felling a tree across the channel and piling their materials upon that as a foundation. but the systematic and thorough piece of work before him was obviously superior in permanence to any such slovenly makeshift; and moreover, further to discredit such a theory, here was a tall black ash close to the stream and fairly leaning over it, as if begging to be put to some such use. at this spot the boy stayed his explorations for the day. choosing a bit of dry thicket close by, to be a hiding-place for jabe and himself that night, a bunch of spruce and fir where he knew the beavers would not come for supplies, he hurried back to the camp for a bite of dinner, giving wide berth to all the ponds on the way. building a tiny camp-fire he fried himself a couple of slices of bacon and brewed a tin of tea for his solitary meal, then lay down in the lean-to, with the sun streaming in upon him, for an hour's nap. the night having been a tiring one for his youthful nerves and muscles, he slept heavily, and awoke with a start to find the sun a good two hours nearer the horizon. sleep was still heavy upon him, so he went down to the edge of the brook and plunged his face into the chilly current. then, picking up an axe instead of his rifle, he returned up-stream to the dam. as he drew near, he caught sight of a beaver swimming down the pond, towing a big branch over its shoulder; and his conscience smote him at the thought of the trouble and anxiety he was going to inflict upon the diligent little inhabitants. his mind was made up, however. he wanted knowledge, and the beavers would have to furnish it, at whatever cost. a few minutes of vigorous work with the axe, a few minutes of relentless tugging and jerking upon the upper framework of the dam, and he had made a break through which the water rushed foaming in a muddy torrent. soon, as he knew, the falling of the pond's level would alarm the house-dwellers, and bring them out to see what had happened. then, as soon as darkness came, there would be a gathering of both households to repair the break. [illustration: "he caught sight of a beaver swimming down the pond."] hiding in the bushes near by, he saw the water slowly go down, but for half an hour the beavers gave no sign. then, close beside the break, a big fellow crawled out upon the slope of the dam and made a careful survey of the damage. he disappeared; and presently another came, took a briefer look, and vanished. a few minutes later, far up the pond, several bushy branches came to the surface, as if they had been anchored on the bottom and released. they came, apparently floating, down toward the dam. as they reached the break, the heads of several beavers showed themselves above water, and the branches were guided across the opening, where they were secured in some way which the watcher could not see. they did not so very greatly diminish the waste, but they checked the destructive violence of it. it was evidently a temporary makeshift, this; for in the next hour nothing more was done. then the boy got tired, and went back to camp to wait for jabe and nightfall. that evening the backwoodsman, forgetting the fatigue of his day's cruising in the interest of the boy's story, was no less eager than his companion; and the two, hurrying through an early supper, were off for the pond in the first purple of twilight. when they reached the boy's hiding-place by the dam the first star was just showing itself in the pallid greenish sky, and the surface of the pond, with its vague, black reflections, was like a shadowed mirror of steel. there was not a sound on the air except the swishing rush of the divided water over the break in the dam. the boy had timed his coming none too early; for the pond had dropped nearly a foot, and the beavers were impatient to stop the break. no sooner had night fairly settled down than suddenly the water began to swirl into circles all about the lower end of the pond, and a dozen heads popped up. then more brush appeared, above the island-house, and was hurriedly towed down to the dam. the brush which had been thrust across the break was now removed and relaid longitudinally, branchy ends down stream. here it was held in place by some of the beavers while others brought masses of clayey turf from the nearest shore to secure it. meanwhile more branches were being laid in place, always parallel with the current; and in a little while the rushing noise of the overflow began to diminish very noticeably. then a number of short, heavy billets were mixed with shorter lengths of brush; and all at once the sound of rushing ceased altogether. there was not even the usual musical trickling and tinkling, for the level of the pond was too low for the water to find its customary stealthy exits. at this stage the engineers began using smaller sticks, with more clay, and a great many small stones, making a very solid-looking piece of work. at last the old level of the dam crest was reached, and there was no longer any evidence of what had happened except the lowness of the water. then, all at once, the toilers disappeared, except for one big beaver, who kept nosing over every square inch of the work for perhaps two minutes, to assure himself of its perfection. when he, at last, had slipped back into the water, both jabe and the boy got up, as if moved by one thought, and stretched their cramped legs. "i swan!" exclaimed the woodsman with fervour. "if that ain't the slickest bit o' work i ever seen! let's go over and kind of inspect the job fer 'em!" inspection revealed that the spot which had just been mended was the solidest portion of the whole structure. wherever else the water might be allowed to escape, it was plain the beavers intended it should have no more outlet here. from the mended dam the boy now led jabe away up-stream in haste, in the hope of catching some beavers at work on the new dam in the alders. having skirted the long pond at a distance, to avoid giving alarm, the travellers went with the utmost caution till they reached the swampy level. then, indifferent to the oozy, chilly mud, they crept forward like minks stealing on their prey; and at last, gaining the fir thicket without mishap, they lay prone on the dry needles to rest. as they lay, a sound of busy splashing came to their ears, which promptly made them forget their fatigue. shifting themselves very slowly and with utter silence, they found that the place of ambush had been most skilfully chosen. in perfect hiding themselves, they commanded a clear and near view of the new dam and all its approaches. there were two beavers visible, paddling busily on the foundations of the dam, while the overflowing water streamed about them, covering their feet. at this stage, most of the water flowed through the still uncompacted structure, leaving work on the top unimpeded. the two beavers were dragging into place a long birch sapling, perhaps eleven feet in length, with a thick, bushy top. when laid to the satisfaction of the architects,--the butt, of course, pointing straight up-stream,--the trunk was jammed firmly down between those already placed. then the more erect and unmanageable of the branches were gnawed off and in some way--which the observers with all their watchfulness could not make out--wattled down among the other branches so as to make a woven and coherent mass. the earth and sod and small stones which were afterwards brought and laid upon the structure did not seem necessary to hold it in place, but rather for the stoppage of the interstices. while this was going on at the dam, a rustling of branches and splashing of water turned the watchers' attention up-stream. another beaver came in sight, and then another, each partly floating and partly dragging a straight sapling like the first. it seemed that the dam-builders were not content to depend altogether on the crooked, scraggly alder-growth all about them, but demanded in their foundations a certain proportion of the straighter timbers and denser branches of the birch. it was quite evident that they knew just what they were doing, and how best to do it. while the building was going on, yet another pair of beavers appeared, and the work was pressed with a feverish energy that produced amazing results. the boy remembered a story told him by an old indian, but not confirmed by any natural history which he had come across, to the effect that when a pair of young beavers set out to establish a new pond, some of the old ones go along to lend a hand in the building of the dam. it was plain that these workers were all in a tremendous hurry; and the boy could see no reason for haste unless it was that the majority of the workers had to get back to their own affairs. with the water once fairly brought under control, and the pond deep enough to afford a refuge from enemies, the young pair could be trusted to complete it by themselves, get their house ready, and gather their supplies in for the winter. the boy concluded to his own satisfaction that what he was now watching was the analogue, in beaver life, to one of those "house-raising" bees which sometimes took place in the settlement, when the neighbours would come together to help a man get up the frame of a new house. only, as it seemed to him, the beavers were a more serious and more sober folk than the men. when this wilderness engineering had progressed for an hour under the watchers' eyes, jabe began to grow very tired. the strain of physical immobility told upon him, and he lost interest. he began to feel that he knew all about dam-building; and as there was nothing more to learn he wanted to go back to camp. he glanced anxiously at the young face beside him--but there he could see no sign of weariness. the boy was aglow with enthusiasm. he had forgotten everything but the wonderful little furry architects, their diligence, their skill, their coöperation, and the new pond there growing swiftly before his eyes. already it was more than twice as wide as when they had arrived on the scene; the dam was a good eight inches higher; and the clamour of the flowing stream was stopped. no, jabe could see no sympathy for himself in that eager face. he was ashamed to beg off. and moreover, he was loyal to his promise of obedience. the boy, here, was captain. suppressing a sigh, jabe stealthily and very gradually shifted to an easier position, so stealthily that the boy beside him did not know he had moved. then, fixing his eyes once more upon the beavers, he tried to renew his interest in them. as he stared, he began to succeed amazingly. and no wonder! the beavers all at once began to do such amazing things. there were many more of them than he had thought; and he was sure he heard them giving orders in something that sounded to him like the micmac tongue. he could not believe his ears. then he saw that they were using larger stones, instead of mud and turf, in their operations--and floating them down the pond as if they were corks. he had never heard of such a thing before, in all his wilderness experience. he was just about to compliment the boy on this unparalleled display of engineering skill, when one particularly large beaver, who was hoisting a stone as big as himself up the face of the dam, let his burden slip a little. then began a terrible struggle between the beaver and the stone. in his agonizing effort--which his companions all stopped work to watch--the unhappy beaver made a loud, gurgling, gasping noise; then, without a hint of warning, dropped the stone with a splash, turned like lightning, and grabbed jabe violently by the arm. the astonishing scene changed in a twinkling; and jabe realized that the boy was shaking him. "a nice one to watch beavers, you are!" cried the boy, angry and disappointed. "why--where've they all gone to?" demanded jabe, rubbing his eyes. "they're the most interestin' critters i ever hearn tell of!" "interesting!" retorted the boy, scornfully. "so interesting you went to sleep! and you snored so they thought it was an earthquake. not another beaver'll show a hair round here to-night. we'd better go home!" jabe grinned sheepishly, but answered never a word; and silently, in indian file, the boy leading, the two took the trail back to camp. chapter vi the peril of the traps at breakfast next morning the boy had quite recovered his good humour, and was making merry at jabe's expense. the latter, who was, of course, defenceless and abashed, was anxious to give him something new to think of. "say," he exclaimed suddenly, after the boy had prodded him with a searching jibe. "if ye'll let up on that snore, now, i'll take a day off from my cruisin', and show ye somethin' myself." "good!" said the boy. "it's a bargain. what will you show me?" "i'll take ye over to one of _my_ ponds, in next valley, an' show ye all the different ways of _trappin'_ beaver." the boy's face fell. "but what do _i_ care about _trapping_ beaver?" he cried. "you know i wouldn't trap anything. if i had to kill anything, i'd _shoot_ it, and put it out of misery as quick as i could!" "i know all that," responded jabe. "but trappin' is somethin' ye want to _understand_, all the same. ye can't be an all-round woodsman 'less ye _understand_ trappin'. an' moreover, there's some things ye learn about wild critters in tryin' to git the better of 'em that ye can't learn no other way." "i guess you're right, jabe!" answered the boy, slowly. knowledge he would have, whether he liked the means of getting it or not. but the woodsman's next words relieved him. "i'll just show ye _how_, that's all!" said jabe. "it's a leetle too airly in the season yit fur actual trappin'. an' moreover, it's agin the law. agin the law, an' agin common sense, too, fer the fur ain't no good, so to speak, fer a month yit. when the law an' common sense stand together, then i'm fer the law. come on!" picking up his axe, he struck straight back into the woods, in a direction at right angles to the brook. to uninitiated eyes there was no trail; but to jabe, and to the boy no less, the path was like a trodden highway. the pace set by the backwoodsman, with his long, slouching, loose-jointed, flat-footed stride, was a stiff one, but the boy, who was lean and hard, and used his feet straight-toed like an indian, had no fault to find with it. neither spoke a word, as they swung along single file through the high-arched and ancient forest, whose shadows, so sombre all through summer, were now shot here and there with sharp flashes of scarlet or pale gleams of aërial gold. once, rounding a great rock of white granite stained with faint pinkish and yellowish reflections from the bright leaves glowing over it, they came face to face with a tall bull moose, black and formidable-looking as some antediluvian monster. the monster, however, had no desire to hold the way against them. he eyed them doubtfully for a second, and then went crashing off through the brush in frank, undignified alarm. for a good three miles the travellers swung onward, up a slow long slope, and down a longer, slower one into the next valley. the boy noted that the region was one of numberless small brooks flowing through a comparatively level land, with old, long-deserted beaver-meadows interspersed among wooded knolls. yet for a time there were no signs of the actual living beavers. he asked the reason, and jabe said: "it's been all trapped over an' over, years back, when beaver pelts was high,--an' by injuns, likely, who just cleaned out everythin',--an' broke down the dams,--an' dug out the houses. but the little critters is comin' back. furder up the valley there's some good ponds now!" "and now they'll be cleaned out again!" exclaimed the boy, with a rush of indignant pity. "not on yer life!" answered jabe. "we don't do things that way now. we don't play low-down tricks on 'em an' clean out a whole family, but jest take so many out of each beaver house, an' then leave 'em alone two er three years to kinder recooperate!" as jabe finished they came in sight of a long, rather low dam, with a pond spread out beyond it that was almost worthy to be called a lake. it was of comparatively recent creation, as the boy's observant eye decided at once from the dead trees still rising here and there from the water. "gee!" he exclaimed, under his breath. "that's a great pond, jabe!" "there's no less'n four beaver houses in that pond!" said the woodsman, with an air of proud possession. "that makes, accordin' to my reckonin', anywheres from thirty to thirty-six beaver. bye and bye, when the time comes, i'll kinder thin 'em out a bit, that's all!" from the crest of the dam all four houses--one far out and three close to shore--were visible to the boy's initiated eye; though strangers might have taken them to be mere casual accumulations of sticks deposited by some whimsical freshet. it troubled him to think how many of the architects of these cunningly devised dwellings would soon have to yield up their harmless and interesting lives; but he felt no mission to attempt a reform of humanity's taste for furs, so he did not allow himself to become sentimental on the subject. beavers, like men, must take fate as it comes; and he turned an attentive ear to jabe's lesson. "ye know, of course," said the woodsman, "the steel trap we use. we ain't got no use fer the tricks of the injuns, though i'm goin' to tell ye all _them_, in good time. an' we ain't much on new-fangled notions, neether. but the old, smooth-jawed steel-trap, what kin _hold_ when it gits a grip, an' not tear the fur, is good enough for us." "yes, i know all your traps, of all the sizes you use, from muskrat up to bear!" interrupted the boy. "what size do you use for the beaver?" "number four," answered jabe. "jaw's got a spread of six and one-half inches or thereabouts. but it's all in the where an' the how ye set yer trap!" "and that's what i want to know about!" said the boy. "but why don't you _shoot_ the poor little beggars? that's quicker for both, and just as easy for you, ain't it?" "t'ain't no use _shootin'_ a beaver, leastways not in the water! he just sinks like a stone. no, ye've _got_ to trap him, to _git_ him. now, supposin' you was goin' to trap, where would ye set the traps?" "i'd anchor them just in the entrances to their houses," answered the boy promptly. "or along their canals, when they've got canals. or round their brush piles an' storage heaps. and when i found a tree they'd just partly cut down, i'd set a couple of traps, covered up in leaves, each side of the trunk, where they'd have to step on the pan when they stood up to gnaw." "good for you!" said jabe, with cordial approbation. "ye'd make a first-class trapper, 'cause ye've got the right notion. every one of them things is done, one time or another, by the old trapper. but here's one or two wrinkles more killin' yet. an' moreover, if ye trap a beaver on land ye're like to lose him one way or another. he's got so much _purchase_, on land, with things to git hold on to; he's jest as like as not to twist his leg clean off, an' git away. if it's one of his fore legs, which is small an' slight, ye know, he's most sure to twist it off. an' sometimes he'll do the trick even with a hind leg. i've caught lots of beaver as had lost a fore leg, an' didn't seem none the worse. the fur'd growed over it, an' they was slick an' hearty. an' i've caught them as had lost a hind leg, an' they was in good condition. a beaver'll stand a lot, i tell you. but then, supposin' you git yer beaver, caught so fast he ain't no chance whatever to git clear. then, like as not, some lynx, or wildcat, or fisher, or fox, or even maybe a bear, 'll come along an' help himself to mr. beaver without so much as a by yer leave. no, ye want to git him in the water; an' as he's just as anxious to git thar as you are to git him thar, that suits all parties to a t." [illustration: "'or even maybe a bear.'"] "good!" said the boy,--not that it really seemed to him good, but to show that he was attending. "but," continued jabe, "what would ye say would most upset the beaver and make 'em careless?" the boy thought for a moment. "breaking their dam!" he answered tentatively. "_eg_zactly!" answered the woodsman. "well, now, to ketch beaver sure, make two or three breaks in their dam, an' set the traps jest a leetle ways above the break, on the upper slope, where they're sure to step into 'em when hustlin' round to mend the damage. that gits 'em, every time. ye chain each trap to a stake, driven into three or four foot of water; an' ye drive another stake about a foot an' a half away from the first. when the beaver finds himself caught, he dives straight for deep water,--his way of gittin' clear of most of his troubles. but this time he finds it don't work. the trap keeps a holt, bitin' hard. an' in his struggle he gits the chain all tangled up 'round the two stakes, an' drowns himself. there you have him safe, where no lynx nor fox kin git at him." "then, when one of them dies so dreadfully, right there before their eyes," said the boy, "i suppose the others skin out and let the broken dam go! they must be scared to death themselves!" "not on yer life, they don't!" responded jabe. "the dam's the thing they care about. they jest keep on hustlin' round; an' they mend up that dam if it takes half the beaver in the pond to do it. oh, they're grit, all right, when it comes to standin' by the dam." "hardly seems fair to take them that way, does it?" mused the boy sympathetically. "it's a good way," asserted jabe positively, "quick an' sure! then, in winter there's another good an' sure way,--where ye don't want to clean out the whole house, which is killin' the goose what lays the golden egg, like the injuns does! ye cut a hole in the ice, near the bank. then ye git a good, big, green sapling of birch or willow, run the little end 'way out into the pond under the ice, an' ram the big end, sharpened, deep into the mud of the bank, so the beaver can't pull it out. right under this end you set yer trap. swimmin' round under the ice, beaver comes across this fresh-cut sapling an' thinks as how he's got a good thing. he set right to work to gnaw it off, close to the bank, to take it back to the house an' please the family. first thing, he steps right into the trap. an' that's the end of him. but other beaver'll come along an' take the sapling, all the same!" "you spoke of the ways the indians had, of cleaning out the whole family," suggested the boy, when jabe had come to a long pause, either because he was tired of talking or because he had no more to say. "yes, the injuns' methods was complete. they seemed to have the idee there'd always be beaver a-plenty, no matter how many they killed. one way they had was to mark down the bank holes, the burrows, an' then break open the houses. this, ye must understand, 's in the winter, when there's ice all over the pond. when they're drove from their houses, in the winter, they take straight to their burrows in the bank, where they kin be sure of gittin' their heads above water to breathe. then, the injuns jest drive stakes down in front of the holes,--an' there they have 'em, every one. they digs down into the burrows, an' knocks mr. beaver an' all the family on the head." "simple and expeditious!" remarked the boy, with sarcastic approval. "but the nestest job the injuns makes," continued jabe, "is by gittin' at the brush pile. ye know, the beaver keeps his winter supply of grub in a pile,--a pile of green poles an' saplings an' branches,--a leetle ways off from the house. the injun finds this pile, under the ice. then, cuttin' holes through the ice, he drives down a stake fence all 'round it, so close nary a beaver kin git through. then he pulls up a stake, on the side next the beaver house, an' sticks down a bit of a sliver in its place. now ye kin guess what happens. in the house, over beyant, the beavers gits hungry. one on 'em goes to git a stick from the pile an' bring it inter the house. he finds the pile all fenced off. but a stick he must have. where the sliver is, that's the only place he kin git through. injun, waitin' on the ice, sees the sliver move, an' knows mr. beaver's gone in. he claps the stake down agin, in place of the sliver. an' then, of course, there's nawthin' left fer mr. beaver to do but drown. he drowns jest at the place where he come in an' couldn't git out agin. that seems to knock him out, like, an' he jest gives up right there. injun fishes him out, dead, puts the sliver back, an' waits for another beaver. he don't have to wait long--an' nine times outer ten he gits 'em all. ye see, they _must_ git to the brush pile!" [illustration: "he drowns jest at the place where he come in."] "i'm glad _you_ don't trap them that way, jabe!" said the boy. "but tell me, why did you bring me away out here to _this_ pond, to tell me all this, when you could have done it just as well at _my_ pond?" "i jest wanted the excuse," answered jabe, "fer takin' a day off from cruisin'. now, come on, an' i'll show ye some more likely ponds." chapter vii winter under water for three days more the boy and jabe remained in the beaver country; and every hour of the time, except when he had to sleep, the boy found full of interest. in the daytime he compared the ponds and the dams minutely, making measurements and diagrams. at night he lay in hiding, beside a different pond each night, and gained a rich store of knowledge of the manners and customs of the little wilderness engineers. on one pond--his own, be it said--he made a rude raft of logs, and by its help visited and inspected the houses on the island. the measurements he obtained here made his note-book pretty complete, as far as beaver life in summer and fall was concerned. then jabe finished his cruising, having covered his territory. the packs were made up and slung; the two campers set out on their three days' tramp back to the settlements; and the solemn autumn quiet descended once more upon the placid beaver ponds, the shallow-running brooks, and the low-domed houses in the water. as the weather grew colder; and the earlier frosts began to sheathe the surface of the pond with clear, black ice, not melting out till noon; and the bitten leaves, turning from red and gold to brown, fell with ghostly whisperings through the gray branches, the little beaver colony in boy's pond grew feverishly active. some subtle prescience warned them that winter would close in early, and that they must make haste to finish their storing of supplies. the lengthening of their new canal completed, their foraging grew easier. trees fell every night, and the brush pile reached a size that guaranteed them immunity from hunger till spring. by the time the dam had been strengthened to withstand the late floods, there had been some sharp snow-flurries, and the pond was half frozen over. then, in haste, the beavers brought up a quantity of mud and grass roots, and plastered the domes of their houses thickly till they no longer looked like heaps of sticks, but rather resembled huge ant-hills. no sooner was this task done than, as if the beavers had been notified of its coming, the real cold came. in one night the pond froze to a depth of several inches; and over the roof of the house in the water was a casing of armour hard as stone. the frost continued for several days, till the stone-like roof was a good foot in thickness, as was the ice over the surface of the pond. then a thick, feather-soft, windless snow-fall, lasting twenty-four hours, served as a blanket against the further piercing of the frost; and the beavers, warm-housed, well-provisioned, and barricaded against all their enemies but man, settled themselves down to their long seclusion from the white, glittering, bitter, outside world. when the winter had tightened its grip, this outside world was full of perils. hungry lynxes, foxes, and fishers ("black cat," the woodsman called them) hunted through the silent and pallid aisles of the forest. they all would have loved a meal of warm, fat beaver-meat; and they all knew what these low, snow-covered mounds meant. in the roof of each house the cunning builders had left several tiny, crooked openings for ventilation, and the warm air steaming up through these made little chimney holes in the snow above. to these, now and then, when stung by the hunger-pangs, a lynx or fox would come, and sniff with greedy longing at the appetizing aroma. growing desperate, the prowler would dig down, through perhaps three feet of snow, till he reached the stony roof of the house. on this he would tear and scratch furiously, but in vain. nothing less than a pick-axe would break through that stony defence; and the beavers, perhaps dimly aware of the futile assault upon their walls, would go on calmly nibbling birch-sticks in their safe, warm dark. [illustration: "hunted through the silent and pallid aisles of the forest."] inside the house everything was clean and dry. all refuse from the clean repasts of the family was scrupulously removed, and even the entrances, far out in the pond, were kept free from litter. when food was needed, a beaver would slip down into the dark water of the tunnel, out into the glimmering light of the pond, and straight to the brush pile. selecting a suitable stick, he would tow it back to the house, up the main entrance, and into the dry, dark chamber. when all the tender bark was eaten off, the bare stick would be carried away and deposited on the dam. it was an easy life; and the beavers grew fat while all the rest of the wild kindreds, save the porcupine and the bear, were growing lean with famine. there was absolutely nothing to do but eat, sleep and take such exercise as they would by swimming hither and thither at terrific speed beneath the silver armour of the ice. one night, however, there came to the pond an enemy of whose powers they had never had experience. wandering down from northwestward, under the impulse of one of those migratory whims which sometimes give the lie to statistics and tradition, came a sinister, dark, slow-moving beast whose savage and crafty eyes took on a sudden flame when they detected the white mound which hid the shore beaver-house. the wolverene did not need that faint, almost invisible wisp of vapour from the air-holes to tell him there were beavers below. he knew something about beavers. his powerful forearms and mighty claws got him to the bottom of the snow in a few seconds. other hungry marauders had done the same thing before, to find themselves as far off as ever from their aim. but the wolverene was not to be balked so easily. his cunning nose found the minute openings of the air-holes; and by digging his claws into these little apertures he was able to put forth his great strength and tear up some tiny fragments of frozen mud. [illustration: "a sinister, dark, slow-moving beast."] if he had had the patience to keep on at his strenuous task unremittingly for, perhaps, twenty-four hours or more, it is conceivable that this fierce digger might have succeeded in making his way into the chamber. there was no such implacable purpose, however, in his attack. in a very little while he would have desisted from what he knew to be a vain undertaking. even had he succeeded, the beavers would have fled before he could reach them, and taken refuge in their burrows under the bank. but while he was still engrossed, perhaps only amusing himself with the thought of giving the dwellers in the house a bad quarter of an hour, it chanced that a huge lynx came stealing along through the shadows of the trees, which lay blue and spectral in the white moonlight. he saw the hind quarters of some unknown animal which was busy working out a problem which he himself had striven in vain to solve. the strange animal was plainly smaller than himself. moreover, he was in a position to be taken at a disadvantage. both these points weighed with the lynx; and he was enraged at this attempted poaching upon what he chose to regard as his preserves. creeping stealthily, stealthily forward, eyes aflame and belly to the snow, he sprang with a huge bound that landed him, claws open, squarely on the wolverene's hind quarters. instantly there arose a hideous screeching, growling, spitting and snarling, which pierced even to the ears of the beavers and sent them scurrying wildly to their burrows in the bank. under ordinary circumstances the wolverene, with his dauntless courage and tremendous strength, would have given a good account of himself with any lynx alive. but this time, caught with head down and very busy, he stood small chance with his powerful and lightning-swift assailant. in a very few minutes the lynx's eviscerating claws had fairly torn him to shreds; and thus came to a sudden close the invasion of the wolverene. but meanwhile, from far over the hills, moving up from the lowlands by the sea, approached a peril which the beavers did not dream of and could find no ingenuity to evade. two half-breed trappers, semi-outlaws from the northern peninsula, in search of fresh hunting-grounds, had come upon this rich region of ponds and dams. [illustration: "he sprang with a huge bound that landed him, claws open, squarely on the wolverene's hind quarters."] chapter viii the saving of boy's pond when, early in the winter, the lumbermen moved into these woods which jabe had cruised over, establishing their camp about two miles down-stream from the spot where the boy and the woodsman had had their lean-to, jabe came with them as boss of a gang. he had for the time grown out of the mood for trapping. furs were low, and there was a "sight" more money for him in lumbering that winter. popular with the rest of the lumbermen--who most of them knew of the boy and his "queer" notions--jabe had no difficulty in pledging them to respect the sanctity of boy's pond and its inhabitants. in fact, in the evenings around the red-hot stove, jabe told such interesting stories of what he and the boy had seen together a few months before, that the reckless, big-hearted, boisterously profane but sentimental woodsmen were more than half inclined to declare the whole series of ponds under the special protection of the camp. as for boy's pond, that should be safe at any cost. not long after christmas the boy, taking advantage of the fact that some fresh supplies were being sent out from the settlement by team, came to visit the camp. the head of the big lumber company which owned these woods was a friend of the boy's father, and the boy himself was welcome in any of the camps. his special purpose in coming now was to see how his beavers got on in winter, and to assure himself that jabe had been able to protect them. the morning after his arrival in camp he set out to visit the pond. he went on snowshoes, of course, and carried his little winchester as he always did in the woods, holding tenaciously that the true lover of peace should be ever prepared for war. the lumbermen had gone off to work with the first of dawn; and far away to his right he heard the axes ringing, faintly but crisply, on the biting morning air. for half a mile he followed a solitary snowshoe trail, which he knew to be jabe's by the peculiar broad toe and long, trailing heel which jabe affected in snowshoes; and he wondered what his friend was doing in this direction, so far from the rest of the choppers. then jabe's track swerved off to the left, crossing the brook; and the boy tramped on over the unbroken snow. the sound of the distant choppers soon died away, and he was alone in the unearthly silence. the sun, not yet risen quite clear of the hilltops, sent spectral, level, far-reaching gleams of thin pink-and-saffron light down the alleys of the sheeted trees. the low crunching of his snowshoes on the crisp snow sounded almost blatant in the boy's tensely listening ears. in spite of himself he began to tread stealthily, as if the sound of his steps might bring some ghostly enemy upon him from out of the whiteness. suddenly the sound of an axe came faintly to his ears from straight ahead, where he knew no choppers were at work. he stopped short. that axe was not striking wood. it was striking ice. it was chopping the ice of boy's pond! what could it mean? there were no fish in that pond to chop the ice for! as he realized that some one was preparing to trap his beavers his face flushed with anger, and he started forward at a run. that it was no one from the camp he knew very well. it must be some strange trapper who did not know that this pond was under protection. he thought this out as he ran on; and his anger calmed down. trappers were a decent, understanding folk; and a word of explanation would make things all right. there were plenty of other beaver ponds in that neighbourhood. pressing through the white-draped ranks of the young fir-trees, he came out suddenly upon the edge of the pond, and halted an instant in irresolution. two dark-visaged men--his quick eye knew them for half-breeds--were busy on the snow about twenty paces above the low mound which marked the main beaver house. they had a number of stakes with them; and they were cutting a series of holes in a circle. from what jabe had told him of the indian methods, he saw at once that these were not regular trappers, but poachers, who were violating the game laws and planning to annihilate the whole beaver colony by fencing in its brush pile. the boy realized now that the situation was a delicate if not a dangerous one. for an instant he thought of going back to camp for help; but one of the men was on his knees, fixing the stakes, and the other was already chopping what appeared to be the last hole. delay might mean the death of several of his precious beavers. indignation and compassion together urged him on, and his young face hardened in unaccustomed lines. walking out upon the snow a little way, he halted, at a distance of perhaps thirty paces from the poachers. at the sound of his snowshoes the two men looked up scowling and apprehensive; and the kneeling one sprang to his feet. they wanted no witnesses of their illegal work. "good morning," said the boy politely. at the sound of his soft young voice, the sight of his slender figure and youthful face, their apprehensions vanished; but not their anger at being discovered. "mornin'!" growled one, in a surly voice; while the other never opened his mouth. then they looked at each other with meaning question in their eyes. how were they going to keep this unwelcome visitor from betraying them? "i'm going to ask you," said the boy sweetly, "to be so kind as to stop trapping on this pond. of course you didn't know it, but this is my pond, and there is no trapping allowed on it. it is reserved, you know; and i don't want a single one of my beavers killed." the man with the axe scowled fiercely and said nothing. but the other, the one who had been driving the stakes, laughed in harsh derision. "you don't, hey, sonny?" he answered. "well, you just wait an' watch us. we'll show ye whose beaver they be!" and turning his back in scorn of his interlocutor's youth, he knelt down again to drive another stake. the man who had not spoken, however, stood leaning on his axe, eying the boy with an ugly expression of menace. the boy's usually quiet blood was now pounding and tingling with anger. his alert eyes had measured the whole situation, and noted that the men had no firearms but their rifles, which were leaning against a tree on the shore fully fifty yards behind them. "stop!" he cried, with so confident a tone of authority that the kneeling man looked up, though with a sneer on his face. "unless you go away from this pond at once, i'll get the men from the camp, and they'll make you go. they'll not be so polite as i am. you're just poachers, anyway. and the boys will like as not just run you clean out of the country. will you do as i ask you, or shall i go and get them?" the man with the axe spat out some french curse which the boy didn't understand very clearly. but the man at the stakes jumped up again with a dangerous grin. "you'll stay right where you are, sonny, till we're done with you," he snarled. "you understand? you're a-goin' to git hurt ef ye gits in our way any! see?" the boy was now in a white rage; but he kept his wits cool and his eyes watchful. he realized at this moment that he was in great danger; but, his mettle being sound, this only made him the more resolute. "all right. you've decided!" he said slowly. "we'll see what the boys will have to say about it." as he spoke he made a movement as if to turn, but without taking his eyes from the enemy. the movement just served to swing his little winchester into a readier position. at his first move the man with the axe took a step forward, and swung up his axe with a peculiar gesture which the boy understood. he had seen the woodsmen throw their axes. he knew well their quickness and their deadly precision. but quickness and precision with the little winchester were his own especial pride,--and, after all, he had not turned any further than was just right for a good shot. even as the axe was on the verge of leaving the poacher's hand, the rifle cracked sharply. the poacher yelled a curse, and his arm dropped. the axe flew wide, landing nowhere near its aim. on the instant both the half-breeds turned, and raced for their rifles on the shore. "stop, or i'll shoot you both!" shouted the boy, now with embarrassment added to his wrath. in their wild fury at being so balked by a boy, both men trusted to his missing his aim--or to the hope that his gun was not a repeater. they ignored his command, and rushed on. the boy was just going to shoot again, aiming at their legs; when, to his amazement and inconceivable relief, out from behind the tree where the poachers' rifles leaned, came jabe. snatching up one of the guns, he echoed the boy's command. "stop _right_ there!" he ordered curtly. "an' up with your hands, too! mebbe youse kin fling a knife slick ez ye kin an axe." the half-breeds stood like stones. one held up both hands; but the other only held up his left, his right being helpless. they knew there was nothing to say. they were fairly caught. they were poaching. the tall lumberman had seen the axe flung. their case was a black one; and any attempt to explain could do no less than make it worse. they did not even dare to look at each other, but kept their narrow, beady eyes fixed on jabe's face. the boy came swiftly to jabe's side. "neat shot!" said the woodsman; but the note of astonished admiration in his tone was the most thrilling compliment the boy had ever received. "what are you going to do with them, jabe?" he inquired, mildly. "that's fer you to say! they're yourn!" answered jabe, keeping his eyes on the prisoners. the boy looked the two culprits over carefully, with his calm, boyish gaze. he was overwhelmingly elated, but would have died rather than show it. his air was that of one who is quite used to capturing two outlaws,--and having axes hurled at his head,--and putting bullets through men's shoulders. he could not help feeling sorry for the man with the bullet through his shoulder. "well, jabe," he said presently, "we can't let them go with their guns, because they're such sneaking brutes, they'd shoot us from behind a tree. and we can't let them go without their guns, because we can't be sure they wouldn't starve before they got to their own homes. and we don't want to take them into camp, for the fellows would probably treat them as they deserve,--and i don't want them to get anything so bad as that!" "maybe it _might_ be better not to let the hands git hold of 'em!" agreed jabe. "they'd be rough!" a gleam of hope came into the prisoners' eyes. the unwounded one spoke. and he had the perspicacity to address himself to the boy rather than to jabe, thereby conciliating the boy appreciably. "let us go!" he petitioned, choking down his rage. "we'll swear to quit, right now an' fer good; an' not to try to git back at yez!" "ye'll have to leave yer guns!" said jabe sternly. "they're the only guns we got; an' they're our livin', fer the winter!" protested the half-breed, still looking at the boy. "if we take away their guns, what's the good of making them swear?" demanded the boy, stepping up and gazing into their eyes. "no, i reckon if they give their oath, they'll stick to it. where's your camp, men?" "over yonder, about three mile!" answered the spokesman, nodding toward the northeast. "if we give you back your guns," went on the boy gently, "will you both give us your oath to clear right out of this country altogether, and not trap at all this side of the line? and will you take oath, also, that you will never, in any way, try to get even with either him or me for having downed you this way?" "sartain!" responded the spokesman, with obvious sincerity. "i'll swear to all that! an' i won't never _want_ to git even, if you use us so gentlemanlike!" "and will you swear, too?" inquired the boy, turning to the silent one who had thrown the axe at him. the fellow glared at him defiantly for a moment, then glanced at his wounded arm, which hung limp at his side. at last he answered with a sullen growl: "yes, i'll swear! got to! curse you!" "good!" said the boy. "that's the best way for all of us. jabe, will you take their oaths. you know how better than i do!" "all right!" responded the latter, shrugging his shoulders in a way which said--"it's your idee, not mine!" then he proceeded to bind each man separately by an oath which left no loophole, and which was sealed by all that their souls held sacred. this done, he handed back the rifles,--and the two poachers, without a word, turned their backs and made off at a swift lope straight up the open pond. the boy and jabe watched them till they vanished among the trees. then, with a shy little laugh, the boy picked up the axe which had been hurled at his head. "i'm glad he left me this," he murmured, "to kind of remember him by!" "the sneakin' skunk!" growled jabe. "if i'd had my way, it'd be the penitentiary for the both of 'em!" that evening, when the whole story was told, the woodsmen were indignant, for a time, because the half-breeds had been let go; but at last they gave heed to jabe's representations, and acknowledged that the boy's plan had saved a "sight of bother." to guard against future difficulties, however, they took a big piece of smooth board, and painted the following sign, to be nailed up on a conspicuous tree beside the pond. notice this is boy's pond. no trapping here. if anybody wants to say, why not? lawler's camp will let him know. the white-slashed bull her back crushed beneath the massive weight of a "deadfall," the mother moose lay slowly sobbing her life out on the sweet spring air. the villainous log, weighted cunningly with rocks, had caught her just above the withers, bearing her forward so that her forelegs were doubled under her, and her neck outstretched so that she could not lift her muzzle from the wet moss. though her eyes were already glazing, and her nostrils full of a blown and blood-streaked froth, from time to time she would struggle desperately to raise her head, for she yearned to lick the sprawling, wobbling legs of the ungainly calf which stood close beside her, bewildered because she would not rise and suckle him. the dying animal lay in the middle of the trail, which was an old, half-obliterated logger's road, running straight east into the glow of the spring sunrise. the young birches and poplars, filmed with the first of the green, crowded close upon the trail, with, here and there, a rose-blooming maple, here and there, a sombre, black-green hemlock, towering over the thick second growth. the early air was fresh, but soft; fragrant with the breath of opening buds. faint mists streamed up into the sunlight along the mossy line of the trail, and the only sounds breaking the silence of the wilderness were the sweetly plaintive calls of two rain-birds, answering each other slowly over the treetops. everything in the scene--the tenderness of the colour and the air, the responses of the mating birds, the hope and the expectancy of all the waking world--seemed piteously at variance with the anguish of the stricken mother and her young, down there in the solitude of the trail. presently, in the undergrowth beside the trail, a few paces beyond the deadfall, a twig snapped sharply. admonished by that experience of a thousand ancestral generations which is instinct, the calf lifted his big awkward ears apprehensively, and with a shiver drew closer to his mother's crushed body. a moment later a gaunt black bear thrust his head and shoulders forth from the undergrowth, and surveyed the scene with savage, but shrewd, little eyes. he was hungry, and to his palate no other delicacy the spring wilderness could ever afford was equal to a young moose calf. but the situation gave him pause. the mother moose was evidently in a trap; and the bear was wary of all traps. he sank back into the undergrowth, and crept noiselessly nearer to reconnoitre. in his suspicious eyes even a calf might be dangerous to tamper with, under such unusual conditions as these. as he vanished the calf shuddered violently, and tried to climb upon his mother's mangled body. in a few seconds the bear's head appeared again, close by the base of the deadfall. with crafty nose he sniffed at the great timber which held the moose cow down. the calf was now almost within reach of the deadly sweep of his paw; but the man-smell was strong on the deadfall, and the bear was still suspicious. while he hesitated, from behind a bend in the trail came a sound of footsteps. the bear knew the sound. a man was coming. yes, certainly there was some trick about it. with a grunt of indignant disgust he shrank back again into the thicket and fled stealthily from so dangerous a neighbourhood. hungry as he was, he had no wish to try conclusions with man. the woodsman came striding down the trail hurriedly, rounded the turn, and stopped abruptly. he understood at a glance the evil work of the game poachers. with indignant pity, he stepped forward and drew a merciful knife across the throat of the suffering beast. the calf shrank away and stood staring at him anxiously, wavering between terror and trust. for a moment or two the man hesitated. of one thing he was certain: the poachers who had set the deadfall must not profit by their success. moreover, fresh moose-meat would not be unappreciated in his backwoods cabin. he turned and retraced his steps at a run, fearing lest some hungry spring marauders should arrive in his absence. and the calf, more than ever terrified by his mother's unresponsiveness, stared after him uneasily as he vanished. for half an hour nothing happened. the early chill passed from the air, a comforting warmth glowed down the trail, the two rain-birds kept whistling to each other their long, persuasive, melancholy call, and the calf stood motionless, waiting, with the patience of the wild, for he knew not what. then there came a clanking of chains, a trampling of heavy feet, and around the turn appeared the man again, with a pair of big brown horses harnessed to a drag-sled. the calf backed away as the man approached, and watched with dull wonder as the great log was rolled aside and his mother's limp, crushed form was hoisted laboriously upon the sled. this accomplished, the man turned and came to him gently, with hand outstretched. to run away would have been to run away from the shelter of his mother's presence; so, with a snort of apprehension, he submitted to being stroked and rubbed about the ears and neck and throat. the sensation was curiously comforting, and suddenly his fear vanished. with his long, mobile muzzle he began to tug appealingly at a convenient fold of the man's woollen sleeve. smiling complacently at this sign of confidence, the man left him, and started the team at a slow walk up the trail. with a hoarse bleat of alarm, thinking he was about to be deserted, the calf followed after the sled, his long legs wobbling awkwardly. from the first moment that she set eyes upon him, shambling awkwardly into the yard at her husband's heels, jabe smith's wife was inhospitable toward the ungainly youngling of the wild. she declared that he would take all the milk. and he did. for the next two months she was unable to make any butter, and her opinions on the subject were expressed without reserve. but jabe was inflexible, in his taciturn, backwoods way, and the calf, till he was old enough to pasture, got all the milk he wanted. he grew and throve so astonishingly that jabe began to wonder if there was not some mistake in the scheme of things, making cows' milk the proper nutriment for moose calves. by autumn the youngster was so big and sleek that he might almost have passed for a yearling. jabe smith, lumberman, pioneer and guide, loved all animals, even those which in the fierce joy of the hunt he loved to kill. the young moose bull, however, was his peculiar favourite--partly, perhaps, because of mrs. smith's relentless hostility to it. and the ungainly youngster repaid his love with a devotion that promised to become embarrassing. all around the farm he was for ever at his heels, like a dog; and if, by any chance, he became separated from his idol, he would make for him in a straight line, regardless of currant bushes, bean rows, cabbage patches or clothes-lines. this strenuous directness did not further endear him to mrs. smith. that good lady used to lie awake at night, angrily devising schemes for getting rid of the "ugly brute." these schemes of vengeance were such a safety-valve to her injured feelings that she would at last make up her mind to content herself with "takin' it out on the hide o' the critter" next day, with a sound hickory stick. when next day came, however, and she went out to milk, the youngster would shamble up to greet her with such amiable trust in his eyes that her wrath would be, for the moment, disarmed, and her fell purpose would fritter out in a futile "scat, you brute!" then she would condone her weakness by thinking of what she would do to the animal "some day." that "some day," as luck would have it, came rather sooner than she expected. from the first, the little moose had evinced a determination to take up his abode in the kitchen, in his dread of being separated from jabe. being a just man, jabe had conceded at once that his wife should have the choosing of her kitchen guests; and, to avoid complications, he had rigged up a hinged bar across the kitchen doorway, so that the door could safely stand open. when the little bull was not at jabe's heels, and did not know where to find him, his favourite attitude was standing in front of the kitchen door, his long nose thrust in as far as the bar would permit, his long ears waving hopefully, his eyes intently on the mysterious operations of mrs. jabe's housework. though she would not have acknowledged it for worlds, even to her inmost heart, the good woman took much satisfaction out of that awkward, patient presence in the doorway. when things went wrong with her, in that perverse way so trying to the careful housewife, she could ease her feelings wonderfully by expressing them without reserve to the young moose, who never looked amused or attempted to answer back. but one day, as it chanced, her feelings claimed a more violent easement--and got it. she was scrubbing the kitchen floor. just in the doorway stood the scrubbing-pail, full of dirty suds. on a chair close by stood a dish of eggs. the moose calf was nowhere in sight, and the bar was down. tired and hot, she got up from her aching knees and went over to the stove to see if the pot was boiling, ready to make fresh suds. at this moment the young bull, who had been searching in vain all over the farm for jabe, came up to the door with a silent, shambling rush. the bar was down. surely, then, jabe was inside! overjoyed at the opportunity he lurched his long legs over the threshold. instantly his great, loose hoofs slid on the slippery floor, and he came down sprawling, striking the pail of dirty suds as he fell. with a seething souse the slops went abroad, all over the floor. at the same time the bouncing pail struck the chair, turned it over, and sent the dish of eggs crashing in every direction. for one second mrs. jabe stared rigidly at the mess of eggs, suds and broken china, at the startled calf struggling to his feet. then, with a hysterical scream, she turned, snatched the boiling pot from the stove, and hurled it blindly at the author of all mischief. happily for the blunderer, mrs. jabe's rage was so unbridled that she really tried to hit the object of it. therefore, she missed. the pot went crashing through the leg of a table and shivered to atoms against the log wall, contributing its full share to the discouraging mess on the floor. but, as it whirled past, a great wedge of the boiling water leaped out over the rim, flew off at a tangent, and caught the floundering calf full in the side, in a long flare down from the tip of the left shoulder. the scalding fluid seemed to cling in the short, fine hair almost like an oil. with a loud bleat of pain the calf shot to his feet and went galloping around the yard. mrs. jabe rushed to the door, and stared at him wide-eyed. in a moment her senses came back to her, and she realized what a hideous thing she had done. next she remembered jabe--and what he would think of it! then, indeed, her conscience awoke in earnest, and a wholesome dread enlivened her remorse. forgetting altogether the state of her kitchen, she rushed through the slop to the flour-barrel. flour, she had always heard, was the thing for burns and scalds. the pesky calf should be treated right, if it took the whole barrel. scooping up an extravagant dishpanful of the white, powdery stuff, and recklessly spilling a lot of it to add to the mixture on the floor, she rushed out into the yard to apply her treatment, and, if possible, poultice her conscience. the young moose, anguished and bewildered, had at last taken refuge in the darkest corner of the stable. as mrs. jabe approached with her pan of flour, he stood staring and shaking, but made no effort to avoid her, which touched the over-impetuous dame to a fresh pang of penitence. she did not know that the stupid youngster had quite failed to associate her in any way with his suffering. it was only the pot--the big, black thing which had so inexplicably come bounding at him--that he blamed. from mrs. jabe's hands he expected some kind of consolation. in the gloom of the stall mrs. jabe could not see the extent of the calf's injury. "mebbe the water wasn't _quite_ bilin'!" she murmured hopefully, coaxing and dragging the youngster forth into the light. the hope, however, proved vain as brief. in a long streak down behind the shoulder the hair was already slipping off. "sarved ye right!" she grumbled remorsefully, as with gentle fingers she began sifting the flour up and down over the wound. the light stuff seemed to soothe the anguish for the moment, and the sufferer stood quite still till the scald was thoroughly covered with a tenacious white cake. then a fresh and fiercer pang seized the wound. with a bleat he tore himself away, and rushed off, tail in air, across the stump-pasture and into the woods. "mebbe he won't come back, and then jabe won't never need to know!" soliloquized mrs. jabe, returning to clean up her kitchen. the sufferer returned, however, early in the afternoon, and was in his customary attitude before the door when jabe, a little later, came back also. the long white slash down his favourite's side caught the woodsman's eye at once. he looked at it critically, touched the flour with tentative finger-tips, then turned on his wife a look of poignant interrogation. but mrs. jabe was ready for him. her nerve had recovered. the fact that her victim showed no fear of her had gradually reassured her. what jabe didn't know would never hurt him, she mused. "yes, yer pesky brat come stumblin' into the kitchen when the bar was down, a-lookin' for ye. an' he upset the bilin' water i was goin' to scrub with, an' broke the pot. an' i've got to have a new pot right off, jabe smith--mind that!" "scalded himself pretty bad!" remarked jabe. "poor little beggar!" "i done the best _i_ know'd how fer him!" said his wife with an injured air. "wasted most a quart o' good flour on his worthless hide! wish't he'd broke his neck 'stead of the only pot i got that's big enough to bile the pig's feed in!" "well, you done jest about right, i reckon, mandy," replied jabe, ashamed of his suspicions. "i'll go in to the cross roads an' git ye a new pot to-morrer, an' some tar for the scald. the tar'll be better'n flour, an' keep the flies off." "i s'pose some men _ain't_ got nothin' better to do than be doctorin' up a fool moose calf!" assented mrs. jabe promptly, with a snort of censorious resignation. whether because the flour and the tar had virtues, or because the clean flesh of the wild kindreds makes all haste to purge itself of ills, it was not long before the scald was perfectly healed. but the reminder of it remained ineffaceable--a long, white slash down across the brown hide of the young bull, from the tip of the left fore shoulder. throughout the winter the young moose contentedly occupied the cow-stable, with the two cows and the yoke of red oxen. he throve on the fare jabe provided for him--good meadow hay with armfuls of "browse" cut from the birch, poplar and cherry thickets. jabe trained him to haul a pung, finding him slower to learn than a horse, but making up for his dulness by his docility. he had to be driven with a snaffle, refusing absolutely to admit a bit between his teeth; and, with the best good-will in the world, he could never be taught to allow for the pung or sled to which he was harnessed. if left alone for a moment he would walk over fences with it, or through the most tangled thickets, if thereby seemed the most direct way to reach jabe; and once, when jabe, vaingloriously and at great speed, drove him in to the cross roads, he smashed the vehicle to kindling-wood in the amiable determination to follow his master into the cross roads store. on this occasion also he made himself respected, but unpopular, by killing, with one lightning stroke of a great fore hoof, a huge mongrel mastiff belonging to the storekeeper. the mastiff had sprung out at him wantonly, resenting his peculiar appearance. but the storekeeper had been so aggrieved that jabe had felt constrained to mollify him with a five-dollar bill. he decided, therefore, that his favourite's value was as a luxury, rather than a utility; and the young bull was put no more to the practices of a horse. jabe had driven a bull moose in harness, and all the settlement could swear to it. the glory was all his. by early summer the young bull was a tremendous, long-legged, high-shouldered beast, so big, so awkward, so friendly, and so sure of everybody's good-will that everybody but jabe was terribly afraid of him. he had no conception of the purposes of a fence; and he could not be taught that a garden was not meant for him to lie down in. as the summer advanced, and the young bull's stature with it, jabe smith began to realize that his favourite was an expensive and sometimes embarrassing luxury. nevertheless, when september brought budding spikes of horns and a strange new restlessness to the stalwart youngster, and the first full moon of october lured him one night away from the farm on a quest which he could but blindly follow, jabe was inconsolable. "he ain't no more'n a calf yet, big as he is!" fretted jabe. "he'll be gittin' himself shot, the fool. or mebbe some old bull'll be after givin' him a lickin' fer interferin', and he'll come home to us!" to which his wife retorted with calm superiority: "ye're a bigger fool'n even i took ye fer, jabe smith." but the young bull did not come back that winter, nor the following summer, nor the next year, nor the next. neither did any indian or hunter or lumberman have anything to report as to a bull moose of great stature, with a long white slash down his side. either his quest had carried him far to other and alien ranges, or some fatal mischance of the wild had overtaken his inexperience. the latter was jabe's belief, and he concluded that his ungainly favourite had too soon taken the long trail for the red men's land of ghosts. though jabe smith was primarily a lumberman and backwoods farmer, he was also a hunter's guide, so expert that his services in this direction were not to be obtained without very special inducement. at "calling" moose he was acknowledged to have no rival. when he laid his grimly-humourous lips to the long tube of birch-bark, which is the "caller's" instrument of illusion, there would come from it a strange sound, great and grotesque, harsh yet appealing, rude yet subtle, and mysterious as if the uncomprehended wilderness had itself found voice. old hunters, wise in all woodcraft, had been deceived by the sound--and much more easily the impetuous bull, waiting, high-antlered and eager, for the love-call of his mate to summon him down the shore of the still and moon-tranced lake. when a certain famous hunter, whose heart took pride in horns and heads and hides--the trophies won by his unerring rifle in all four corners of earth--found his way at last to the tumbled wilderness that lies about the headwaters of the quah davic, it was naturally one of the great new brunswick moose that he was after. nothing but the noblest antlers that new brunswick forests bred could seem to him worthy of a place on those walls of his, whence the surly front of a musk-ox of the barren grounds glared stolid defiance to the snarl of an orinoco jaguar, and the black, colossal head of a kadiak bear was eyed derisively by the monstrous and malignant mask of a two-horned rhinoceros. with such a quest upon him, the famous hunter came, and naturally sought the guidance of jabe smith, whom he lured from the tamer distractions of a "timber cruise" by double pay and the pledge of an extravagant bonus if the quest should be successful. the lake, lying low between its wooded hills, was like a glimmering mirror in the misty october twilight when jabe and the famous hunter crept stealthily down to it. in a dense covert beside the water's edge they hid themselves. beside them stretched the open ribbon of a narrow water-meadow, through which a slim brook, tinkling faintly over its pebbles, slipped out into the stillness. just beyond the mouth of the brook a low, bare spit of sand jutted forth darkly upon the pale surface of the lake. [illustration: "it was not until the moon appeared ... that jabe began to call."] it was not until the moon appeared--a red, ominous segment of a disk--over the black and rugged ridge of the hills across the lake, that jabe began to call. three times he set the hollow birch-bark to his mouth, and sent the hoarse, appealing summons echoing over the water. and the man, crouching invisible in the thick shadow beside him, felt a thrill in his nerves, a prickling in his cheeks, at that mysterious cry, which seemed to him to have something almost of menace in its lure. even so, he thought, might pan have summoned his followers, shaggy and dangerous, yet half divine, to some symbolic revel. the call evoked no answer of any kind. jabe waited till the moon, still red and distorted, had risen almost clear of the ridge. then he called again, and yet again, and again waited. from straight across the strangely-shadowed water came a sudden sharp crashing of underbrush, as if some one had fallen to beating the bushes furiously with sticks. "that's him!" whispered jabe. "an' he's a big one, sure!" the words were not yet out of his mouth when there arose a most startling commotion in the thicket close behind them, and both men swung around like lightning, jerking up their rifles. at the same instant came an elusive whiff of pungency on the chill. "pooh! only a bear!" muttered jabe, as the commotion retreated in haste. "why, he was close upon us!" remarked the visitor. "i could have poked him with my gun! had he any special business with us, do you suppose?" "took me for a cow moose, an' was jest a-goin' to swipe me!" answered jabe, rather elated at the compliment which the bear had paid to his counterfeit. the famous hunter drew a breath of profound satisfaction. "i'll be hanged," he whispered, "if your amiable new brunswick backwoods can't get up a thrill quite worthy of the african jungle!" "st!" admonished jabe. "he's a-comin'. an' mad, too! thinks that racket was another bull, gittin' ahead of 'im. don't ye _breathe_ now, no more!" and raising the long bark, he called through it again, this time more softly, more enticingly, but always with that indescribable wildness, shyness and roughness rasping strangely through the note. the hurried approach of the bull could be followed clearly around the head of the lake. it stopped, and jabe called again. in a minute or two there came a brief, explosive, grunting reply--this time from a point much nearer. the great bull had stopped his crashing progress and was slipping his vast, impetuous bulk through the underbrush as noiselessly as a weasel. the stillness was so perfect after that one echoing response that the famous hunter turned a look of interrogation upon jabe's shadowy face. the latter breathed almost inaudibly: "he's a-comin'. he's nigh here!" and the hunter clutched his rifle with that fine, final thrill of unparalleled anticipation. the moon was now well up, clear of the treetops and the discolouring mists, hanging round and honey-yellow over the hump of the ridge. the magic of the night deepened swiftly. the sandspit and the little water-meadow stood forth unshadowed in the spectral glare. far out in the shine of the lake a fish jumped, splashing sharply. then a twig snapped in the dense growth beyond the water-meadow. jabe furtively lifted the bark, and mumbled in it caressingly. the next moment--so suddenly and silently that it seemed as if he had taken instant shape in the moonlight--appeared a gigantic moose, standing in the meadow, his head held high, his nostrils sniffing arrogant inquiry. the broadly-palmated antlers crowning his mighty head were of a spread and symmetry such as jabe had never even imagined. almost imperceptibly the hunter raised his rifle--a slender shadow moving in paler shadows. the great bull, gazing about expectantly for the mate who had called, stood superb and indomitable, ghost-gray in the moonlight, a mark no tyro could miss. a cherry branch intervened, obscuring the foresight of the hunter's rifle. the hunter shifted his position furtively. his crooked finger was just about to tighten on the trigger. at this moment, when the very night hung stiller as if with a sense of crisis, the giant bull turned, exposing his left flank to the full glare of the moonlight. something gleamed silver down his side, as if it were a shining belt thrown across his shoulder. [illustration: "something gleamed silver down his side."] with a sort of hiss from between his teeth jabe shot out his long arm and knocked up the barrel of the rifle. in the same instant the hunter's finger had closed on the trigger. the report rang out, shattering the night; the bullet whined away high over the treetops, and the great bull, springing at one bound far back into the thickets, vanished like an hallucination. jabe stood forth into the open, his gaunt face working with suppressed excitement. the hunter followed, speechless for a moment between amazement, wrath and disappointment. at last he found voice, and quite forgot his wonted courtesy. "d--n you!" he stammered. "what do you mean by that? what in----" but jabe, suddenly calm, turned and eyed him with a steadying gaze. "quit all that, now!" he retorted crisply. "i knowed _jest_ what i was doin'! i knowed that bull when he were a leetle, awkward staggerer. i brung him up on a bottle; an' i loved him. he skun out four years ago. i'd most ruther 'ave seen _you_ shot than that ther' bull, i tell ye!" the famous hunter looked sour; but he was beginning to understand the situation, and his anger died down. as he considered, jabe, too, began to see the other side of the situation. "i'm right sorry to disapp'int ye so!" he went on apologetically. "we'll hev to call off this deal atween you an' me, i reckon. an' there ain't goin' to be no more shooting over _this_ range, if i kin help it--an' i guess i kin!--till i kin git that ther' white-slashed bull drove away back over on to the upsalquitch, where the hunters won't fall foul of him! but i'll git ye another guide, jest as good as me, or better, what ain't got no particular friends runnin' loose in the woods to bother 'im. an' i'll send ye 'way down on to the sevogle, where ther's as big heads to be shot as ever have been. i can't do more." "yes, you can!" declared the famous hunter, who had quite recovered his self-possession. "what is it?" asked jabe doubtfully. "you can pardon me for losing my temper and swearing at you!" answered the famous hunter, holding out his hand. "i'm glad i didn't knock over your magnificent friend. it's good for the breed that he got off. but you'll have to find me something peculiarly special now, down on that sevogle." when the blueberries are ripe the steep, rounded, rock-scarred face of bald mountain, for all its naked grimness, looked very cheerful in the last of the warm-coloured sunset. there were no trees; but every little hollow, every tiny plateau, every bit of slope that was not too steep for clinging roots to find hold, was clothed with a mat of blueberry bushes. the berries, of an opaque violet-blue tone (much more vivid and higher in key than the same berries can show when picked and brought to market) were so large and so thickly crowded as to almost hide the leaves. they gave the austere steeps of "old baldy" the effect of having been dyed with a wash of cobalt. far below, where the lonely wilderness valley was already forsaken by the sun, a flock of ducks could be seen, with long, outstretched necks rigid and short wings swiftly beating, lined out over a breadth of wild meadow. above the lake which washed the foot of the mountain,--high above the water, but below the line of shadow creeping up the mountain's face,--a single fish-hawk circled slowly, waiting for the twilight coolness to bring the big trout to the surface to feed. the smooth water glimmered pallidly, and here and there a spreading, circular ripple showed that the hungry fish were beginning to rise. up in the flood of the sunset, the blueberries basked and glowed, some looking like gems, some like blossoms, according to the fall of the light. around the shoulder of the mountain toward the east, where the direct rays of the sun could not reach, the light was yet abundant, but cool and tender,--and here the vivid berries were beginning to lose their colour, as a curved moon, just rising over the far, ragged rim of the forest, touched them with phantom silver. everywhere jutting rocks and sharp crevices broke the soft mantle of the blueberry thickets; and on the southerly slope, where sunset and moonrise mingled with intricate shadows, everything looked ghostlike and unreal. on the utmost summit of the mountain a rounded peak of white granite, smoothed by ages of storm, shone like a beacon. [illustration: "an old she-bear with two half-grown cubs."] the only berry-pickers that came to these high slopes of bald mountain were the wild kindreds, furred and feathered. of them all, none were more enthusiastic and assiduous than the bears; and just now, climbing up eagerly from the darkening woods below, came an old she-bear with two half-grown cubs. they came up by easy paths, zigzagging past boulder and crevice, through the ghostly, noiseless contention of sunlight and moonlight. now their moving shadows lay one way, now the other; and now their shadows were suddenly wiped out, as the two lights for a moment held an even balance. at length having reached a little plateau where the berries were particularly large and close-clustered, the old bear stopped, and they fell joyously to their feeding. on these open heights there were no enemies to keep watch against, and there was no reason to be wary or silent. the bears fed noisily, therefore, stripping the plump fruit cleverly by the pawful, and munching with little, greedy grunts of delight. there was no other food quite so to their taste as these berries, unless, perhaps, a well-filled honey-comb. and this was their season for eating, eating, eating, all the time, in order to lay up abundant fat against the long severity of winter. as the bushes about them were stripped of the best fruit, the shaggy feasters moved around the shoulder of the mountain from the gold of the sun into the silver of the moon. soon the sunset had faded, and the moon had it all her own way except for a broad expanse of sea-green sky in the west, deepening through violet to a narrow streak of copper on the horizon. by this time the shadows, especially on the eastern slope, were very sharp and black, and the open spaces very white and radiant, with a strange transparency borrowed from that high, pure atmosphere. it chanced that the little hollow on which the bears were just now revelling,--a hollow where the blueberries were unbelievably large and abundant--was bounded on its upper side, toward the steep, by a narrow and deep crevice. at one end of the cleft, from a rocky and shallow roothold, a gnarled birch grew slantingly. from its unusual situation, and from the fact that the bushes grew thick to its very edge, this crevice constituted nothing less than a most insidious trap. one of the cubs, born with the instinct of caution, kept far away from the dangerous brink without having more than half realized that there was any danger there whatever. the other cub was one of those blundering fellows, to be found among the wild kindreds no less than among the kindreds of men, who only get caution hammered into them by experience. he saw a narrow break, indeed, between the berry patch and the bare steep above,--but what was a little crevice in a position like this, where it could not amount to anything? had it been on the other side of the hollow, he would have feared a precipice, and would have been on his guard. but, as it was, he never gave the matter a second thought, because it did not look dangerous! he found the best berries growing very near the edge of the crevice; and in his satisfaction he turned his back to the height and settled himself solidly upon his haunches to enjoy them. as he did so the bushes gave way behind him, he pitched abruptly backwards, and vanished with a squeal of terror into the narrow cleft of darkness. the crevice was perhaps twelve feet deep, and from five to eight in width all the way to the bottom. the bottom held a layer of earth and dead leaves, which served to ease the cub's fall; but when he landed the wind was so bumped out of him that for a minute or two he could not utter a sound. as soon as he recovered his voice, however, he began to squeal and whine piteously for his mother. the old bear, at the sound of his cry as he fell, had rushed so hastily to his aid that she barely escaped falling in after him. checking herself just in time, by digging all her mighty claws into the roots of the blueberries, she crouched at the brink, thrust her head as far over as she could, and peered down with anxious cries. but when the cub's voice came back to her from the darkness she knew he was not killed, and she also knew that he was very near,--and her whinings changed at once to a guttural murmur that must have been intended for encouragement. the other cub, meanwhile, had come lumbering up with ears wisely cocked, taken a very hasty and careful glance over the edge, and returned to his blueberries with an air of disapproval. it was as if he said he always knew that blundering brother of his would get himself into trouble. for some minutes the old bear crouched where she was, straining her eyes to make out the form of her little one. becoming accustomed to the gloom at last, she could discern him. she could see that he was moving about, and standing on his hind legs, and striving valiantly to claw his way up the perpendicular surface of smooth rock. she began to reach downwards first one big forepaw and then the other, testing the rock beneath her for some ledge or crack that might give her foothold by which to climb down to his aid. finding none, she again set up her uneasy whining, and moved slowly along the brink, trying every inch of the way for some place rough enough to give her strong claws a chance to take hold. in the full, unclouded light of the white moon she was a pathetic figure, bending and crouching and straining, and reaching down longingly, then stopping to listen to the complaints of pain and terror that came up out of the dark. at last she came to the end of the crevice where grew the solitary birch tree,--the frightened captive following exactly below her and stretching up toward her against the rock. at this point, close beside the tree, some roots and tough turf overhung the edge, and the old bear's paws detected a roughness on the face of the rock just below. this was enough for her brave and devoted heart. she turned around and let her hind quarters carefully over the brink, intending to climb down backwards as bears do. but beyond the first unevenness there was absolutely nothing that her claws could take hold of. her great body was half way over, when she felt herself on the point of falling. making a sudden startled effort to recover herself, she clutched desperately at the trunk of the birch tree with one arm, at the roots of the berry-bushes with the other,--and just managed to regain the level. for herself, this mighty effort was just enough. but for the birch-tree it was just too much. the shallow earth by which it held gave way; and the next moment, with a clatter of loosened stones and a swish of leafy branches, it crashed majestically down into the crevice, closing one end of it with a mass of boughs and foliage, and once more frightening the imprisoned cub almost out of his senses. at the first sound of this cataclysm, at the first rattle of loose earth about his ears, the cub had bounced madly to the other end of the crevice, where he crouched, whimpering. the old bear, too, was daunted for some seconds; but then, seeing that the cub was not hurt, she was quick to perceive the advantage of the accident. standing at the upturned roots of the tree, she called eagerly and encouragingly to the cub, pointing out the path of escape thus offered to him. for some minutes he was too terrified to approach. at last she set her own weight on the trunk, testing it, and prepared to climb down and lead him out. at this, however, the youngster's nerve revived. with a joyful and understanding squeal, he rushed forward, sprawled and clawed his way over the tangle of branches, gained the firm trunk,--and presently found himself again beside his mother among the pleasant, moonlit berry-bushes. here he was fondled and nosed and licked and nursed by the delighted mother, till his bruised little body forgot its hurts and his shaken little heart its fears. his cautious brother, too, came up with a wise look and sniffed at him patronizingly; but went away again with his nose in the air, as if to say that here was much fuss being made over a very small matter. the glutton of the great snow i northward interminably, and beneath a whitish, desolate sky, stretched the white, empty leagues of snow, unbroken by rock or tree or hill, to the straight, menacing horizon. green-black, and splotched with snow that clung here and there upon their branches, along the southward limits of the barren crowded down the serried ranks of the ancient fir forest. endlessly baffled, but endlessly unconquered, the hosts of the firs thrust out their grim spire-topped vanguards, at intervals, into the hostile vacancy of the barren. between these dark vanguards, long, silent aisles of whiteness led back and gently upward into the heart of the forest. out across one of these pale corridors of silence came moving very deliberately a dark, squat shape with blunt muzzle close to the snow. its keen, fierce eyes and keener nostrils were scrutinizing the white surface for the scent or trail of some other forest wanderer. conscious of power, in spite of its comparatively small stature--much less than that of wolf or lynx, or even of the fox--it made no effort to conceal its movements, disguise its track or keep watch for possible enemies. stronger than any other beast of thrice its size, as cunning as the wisest of the foxes, and of a dogged, savage temper well known to all the kindred of the wild, it seemed to feel secure from ill-considered interference. less than three feet in length, but of peculiarly massive build, this dark, ominous-looking animal walked flat-footed, like a bear, and with a surly heaviness worthy of a bear's stature. its fur, coarse and long, was of a sooty gray-brown, streaked coarsely down each flank with a broad yellowish splash meeting over the hind quarters. its powerful, heavy-clawed feet were black. its short muzzle and massive jaw, and its broad face up to just above the eyes, where the fur came down thickly, were black also. the eyes themselves, peering out beneath overhanging brows, gleamed with a mixture of sullen intelligence and implacable savagery. in its slow, forbidding strength, and in its tameless reserve, which yet held the capacity for outbursts of ungovernable rage, this strange beast seemed to incarnate the very spirit of the bitter and indomitable north. its name was various, for hunters called it sometimes wolverene, sometimes carcajou, but oftener "glutton," or "injun devil." through the voiceless desolation the carcajou--it was a female--continued her leisurely way. presently, just upon the edge of the forest-growth, she came upon the fresh track of a huge lynx. the prints of the lynx's great pads were several times broader than her own, but she stopped and began to examine them without the slightest trace of apprehension. for some reason best known to herself, she at length made up her mind to pursue the stranger's back trail, concerning herself rather with what he had been doing than with what he was about to do. plunging into the gloom of the firs, where the trail led over a snow-covered chaos of boulders and tangled windfalls, she came presently to a spot where the snow was disturbed and scratched. her eyes sparkled greedily. there were spatters of blood about the place, and she realized that here the lynx had buried, for a future meal, the remnant of his kill. her keen nose speedily told her just where the treasure was hidden, and she fell to digging furiously with her short, powerful fore paws. it was a bitter and lean season, and the lynx, after eating his fill, had taken care to bury the remnant deep. the carcajou burrowed down till only the tip of her dingy tail was visible before she found the object of her search. it proved to be nothing but one hind quarter of a little blue fox. angrily she dragged it forth and bolted it in a twinkling, crunching the slim bone between her powerful jaws. it was but a morsel to such a hunger as hers. licking her chops, and passing her black paws hurriedly over her face, as a cat does, she forsook the trail of the lynx and wandered on deeper into the soundless gloom. several rabbit-tracks she crossed, and here and there the dainty trail of a ptarmigan, or the small, sequential dots of a weasel's foot. but a single glance or passing twitch of her nostril told her these were all old, and she vouchsafed them no attention. it was not till she had gone perhaps a quarter of a mile through the fir-glooms that she came upon a trail which caused her to halt. it was the one trail, this, among all the tracks that traversed the great snow, which could cause her a moment's perturbation. for the trail of the wolf-pack she had small concern--for the hungriest wolves could never climb a tree. but this was the broad snowshoe trail, which she knew was made by a creature even more crafty than herself. she glanced about keenly, peering under the trees--because one could never judge, merely by the direction of the trail, where one of those dangerous creatures was going. she stood almost erect on her haunches and sniffed the air for the slightest taint of danger. then she sniffed at the tracks. the man-smell was strong upon them, and comparatively, but not dangerously, fresh. reassured on this point, she decided to follow the man and find out what he was doing. it was only when she did not know what he was about that she so dreaded him. given the opportunity to watch him unseen, she was willing enough to pit her cunning against his, and to rob him as audaciously as she would rob any of the wilderness kindreds. hunting over a wide range as she did, the carcajou was unaware till now that a man had come upon her range that winter. to her experience a man meant a hunter--and--trapper, with emphasis distinctly upon the trapper. the man's gun she feared--but his traps she feared not at all. indeed, she regarded them rather with distinct favour, and was ready to profit by them at the first opportunity. having only strength and cunning, but no speed to rely upon, she had learned that traps could catch all kinds of swift creatures, and hold them inexorably. she had learned, too, that there was usually a succession of traps and snares set along a man's trail. it was with some exciting expectation, now, that she applied herself to following this trail. within a short distance the track brought her to a patch of trampled snow, with tiny bits of frozen fish scattered about. she knew at once that somewhere in this disturbed area a trap was hidden, close to the surface. stepping warily, in a circle, she picked up and devoured the smallest scraps. near the centre lay a fragment of tempting size; but she cunningly guessed that close beside that morsel would be the hiding-place of the trap. slowly she closed in upon it, her nose close to the snow, sniffing with cautious discrimination. suddenly she stopped short. through the snow she had detected the man-smell, and the smell of steel, mingling with the savour of the dried fish. here, but a little to one side, she began to dig, and promptly uncovered a light chain. following this she came presently to the trap itself, which she cautiously laid bare. then, without misgiving, she ate the big piece of fish. both her curiosity and her hunger, however, were still far from satisfied, so she again took up the trail. the next trap she came to was an open snare--a noose of bright wire suspended near the head of a cunningly constructed alley of fir branches, leading up to the foot of a big hemlock. just behind this noose, and hardly to be reached save through the noose, the bait had evidently been fixed. but the carcajou saw that some one little less cunning than herself had been before her. such a snare would have caught the fierce, but rather stupid, lynx; but a fox had been the first arrival. she saw his tracks. he had carefully investigated the alley of fir branches from the outside. then he had broken through it behind the noose, and safely made off with the bait. rather contemptuously the old wolverene went on. she did not understand this kind of trap, so she discreetly refrained from meddling with it. [illustration: "crept slowly around the raging and snarling captive."] fully a quarter mile she had to go before she came to another; but here she found things altogether different and more interesting. as she came softly around a great snow-draped boulder there was a snarl, a sharp rattle of steel, and a thud. she shrank back swiftly, just beyond reach of the claws of a big lynx. the lynx had been ahead of her in discovering the trap, and with the stupidity of his tribe had got caught in it. the inexorable steel jaws had him fast by the left fore leg. he had heard the almost soundless approach of the strange prowler, and, mad with pain and rage, had sprung to the attack without waiting to see the nature of his antagonist. keeping just beyond the range of his hampered leap, the carcajou now crept slowly around the raging and snarling captive, who kept pouncing at her in futile fury every other moment. though his superior in sheer strength, she was much smaller and lighter than he, and less murderously armed for combat; and she dreaded the raking, eviscerating clutch of his terrible hinder claws. in defence of her burrow and her litter, she would have tackled him without hesitation; but her sharp teeth and bulldog jaw, however efficient, would not avail, in such a combat, to save her from getting ripped almost to ribbons. she was far too sagacious to enter upon any such struggle unnecessarily. prowling slowly and tirelessly, without effort, around and around the excited prisoner, she trusted to wear him out and then take him at some deadly disadvantage. weighted with the trap, and not wise enough to refrain from wasting his strength in vain struggles, the lynx was strenuously playing his cunning antagonist's game, when a sound came floating on the still air which made them both instantly rigid. it was a long, thin, wavering cry that died off with indescribable melancholy in its cadence. the lynx crouched, with eyes dilating, and listened with terrible intentness. the carcajou, equally interested but not terrified, stood erect, ears, eyes and nose alike directed to finding out more about that ominous voice. again and again it was repeated, swiftly coming nearer; and presently it resolved itself into a chorus of voices. the lynx made several convulsive bounds, wrenching desperately to free his imprisoned limb; then, recognizing the inevitable, he crouched again, shuddering but dangerous, his tufted ears flattened upon his back, his eyes flickering green, every tooth and claw bared for the last battle. but the carcajou merely stiffened up her fur, in a rage at the prospective interruption of her hunting. she knew well that the dreadful, melancholy cry was the voice of the wolf-pack. but the wolves were not on _her_ trail, that she was sure of; and possibly they might pass at a harmless distance, and not discover her or her quarry. the listeners were not kept long in suspense. the pack, as it chanced, was on the trail of a moose which, labouring heavily in the deep snow, had passed, at a distance of some thirty or forty yards, a few minutes before the carcajou's arrival. the wolves swept into view through the tall fir trunks--five in number, and running so close that a table-cloth might have covered them. they knew by the trail that the quarry must be near, and, urged on by the fierce thrust of their hunger, they were not looking to right or left. they were almost past, and the lynx was beginning to take heart again, when, out of the tail of his eye, the pack-leader detected something unusual on the snow near the foot of the big rock. one fair look explained it all to him. with an exultant yelp he turned, and the pack swept down upon the prisoner; while the carcajou, bursting with indignation, slipped up the nearest tree. the captive was not abject, but game to the last tough fibre. all fangs and rending claws, with a screech and a bound he met the onslaught of the pack; and, for all the hideous handicap of that thing of iron on his leg, he gave a good account of himself. for a minute or two the wolves and their victim formed one yelling, yelping heap. when it disentangled itself, three of the wolves were badly torn, and one had the whole side of his face laid open. but in a few minutes there was nothing left of the unfortunate lynx but a few of the heavier bones--to which the pack might return later--and the scrap of fur and flesh that was held in the jaws of the trap. [illustration: "snapped back at him with a vicious growl."] as the carcajou saw her prospective meal disappearing, her rage became almost uncontrollable, and she crept down the tree-trunk as if she would fling herself upon the pack. the leader sprang at her, leaping as high as he could against the trunk; and she, barely out of reach of his clashing, bloody fangs, snapped back at him with a vicious growl, trying to catch the tip of his nose. failing in this, she struck at him like lightning with her powerful claws, raking his muzzle so severely that he fell back with a startled yelp. a moment later the whole pack, their famine still unsatisfied, swept off again upon the trail of the moose. the carcajou came down, sniffed angrily at the clean bones which had been cracked for their marrow, then hurried off on the track of the wolves. ii meanwhile, it had chanced that the man on snowshoes, fetching a wide circle that would bring the end of his line of traps back nearly to his cabin, had come suddenly face to face with the fleeing moose. worn out with the terror of his flight and the heart-breaking effort of floundering through the heavy snow--which was, nevertheless, hard enough, on the surface, to bear up his light-footed pursuers--the great beast was near his last gasp. at sight of the man before him, more to be dreaded even than the savage foe behind him, he snorted wildly and plunged off to one side. but the man, borne up upon his snowshoes, overtook him in a moment, and, suddenly stooping forward, drew his long hunting-knife across the gasping throat. the snow about grew crimson instantly, and the huge beast sank with a shudder. the trapper knew that a moose so driven must have had enemies on its trail, and he knew also that no enemies but wolves, or another hunter, could have driven the moose to such a flight. there was no other hunter ranging within twenty miles of him. therefore, it was wolves. he had no weapon with him but his knife and his light axe, because his rifle was apt to be a useless burden in winter, when he had always traps or pelts to carry. and it was rash for one man, without his gun, to rob a wolf-pack of its kill! but the trapper wanted fresh moose-meat. hastily and skilfully he began to cut from the carcass the choicest portions of haunch and loin. he had no more than fairly got to work when the far-off cry of the pack sounded on his expectant ears. he laboured furiously as the voices drew nearer. the interruption of the lynx he understood, in a measure, by the noises that reached him; but when the pack came hot on the trail again he knew it was time to get away. he must retreat promptly, but not be seen retreating. bearing with him such cuts as he had been able to secure, he made off in the direction of his cabin. but at a distance of about two hundred yards he stepped into a thicket at the base of a huge hemlock, and turned to see what the wolves would do when they found they had been forestalled. as he turned, the wolves appeared, and swept down upon the body of the moose. but within a couple of paces of it they stopped short, with a snarl of suspicion, and drew back hastily. the tracks and the scent of their arch-enemy, man, were all about the carcass. his handiwork--his clean cutting--was evident upon it. their first impulse was toward caution. suspecting a trap, they circled warily about the body. then, reassured, their rage blazed up. their own quarry had been killed before them, their own hunting insolently crossed. however, it was man, the ever-insolent overlord, who had done it. he had taken toll as he would, and withdrawn when he would. they did not quite dare to follow and seek vengeance. so in a few moments their wrath had simmered down; and they fell savagely upon the yet warm feast. the trapper watched them from his hiding-place, not wishing to risk attracting their attention before they had quite gorged themselves. he knew there would be plenty of good meat left, even then; and that they would at length proceed to bury it for future use. then he could dig it up again, take what remained clean and unmauled, and leave the rest to its lawful owners; and all without unnecessary trouble. as he watched the banqueting pack, he was suddenly conscious of a movement in the branches of a fir a little beyond them. then his quick eye, keener in discrimination than that of any wolf, detected the sturdy figure of a large wolverene making its way from tree to tree at a safe distance above the snow, intent upon the wolves. what one carcajou--"glutton," he called it--could hope, for all its cunning, to accomplish against five big timber-wolves, he could not imagine. hating the "glutton," as all trappers do, he wished most earnestly that it might slip on its branch and fall down before the fangs of the pack. there was no smallest danger of the wary carcajou doing anything of the sort. every faculty was on the alert to avenge herself on the wolves who had robbed her of her destined prey. most of the other creatures of the wild she despised, but the wolves she also hated, because she felt herself constrained to yield them way. she crawled carefully from tree to tree, till at last she gained one whose lower branches spread directly over the carcass of the moose. creeping out upon one of those branches, she glared down maliciously upon her foes. observing her, two of the wolves desisted long enough from their feasting to leap up at her with fiercely gnashing teeth. but finding her out of reach, and scornfully unmoved by their futile demonstrations, they gave it up and fell again to their ravenous feasting. the wolverene is a big cousin to the weasel, and also to the skunk. the ferocity of the weasel it shares, and the weasel's dauntless courage. its kinship to the skunk is attested by the possession of a gland which secretes an oil of peculiarly potent malodour. the smell of this oil is not so overpowering, so pungently strangulating, as that emitted by the skunk; but all the wild creatures find it irresistibly disgusting. no matter how pinched and racked by famine they may be, not one of them will touch a morsel of meat which a wolverene has defiled ever so slightly. the wolverene itself, however, by no means shares this general prejudice. when the carcajou had glared down upon the wolves for several minutes, she ejected the contents of her oil-gland all over the body of the moose, impartially treating her foes to a portion of the nauseating fluid. with coughing, and sneezing, and furious yelping, the wolves bounded away, and began rolling and burrowing in the snow. they could not rid themselves at once of the dreadful odour; but, presently recovering their self-possession, and resolutely ignoring the polluted meat, they ranged themselves in a circle around the tree at a safe distance, and snapped their long jaws vengefully at their adversary. they seemed prepared to stay there indefinitely, in the hope of starving out the carcajou and tearing her to pieces. perceiving this, the carcajou turned her back upon them, climbed farther up the tree to a comfortable crotch, and settled herself indifferently for a nap. for all her voracious appetite, she knew she could go hungry longer than any wolf, and quite wear out the pack in a waiting game. then the trapper, indignant at seeing so much good meat spoiled, but his sporting instincts stirred to sympathy by the triumph of one beast like the carcajou over a whole wolf-pack, turned his back upon the scene and resumed his tramp. the wolves had lost prestige in his eyes, and he now felt ready to fight them all with his single axe. iii from that day on the wolf-pack cherished a sleepless grudge against the carcajou, and wasted precious hours, from time to time, striving to catch her off her guard. the wolf's memory is a long one, and the feud lost nothing in its bitterness as the winter weeks, loud with storm or still with deadly cold, dragged by. for a time the crafty old carcajou fed fat on the flesh which none but she could touch, while all the other beasts but the bear, safe asleep in his den, and the porcupine, browsing contentedly on hemlock and spruce, went lean with famine. during this period, since she had all that even her great appetite could dispose of, the carcajou robbed neither the hunter's traps nor the scant stores of the other animals. but at last her larder was bare. then, turning her attention to the traps again, she speedily drew upon her the trapper's wrath, and found herself obliged to keep watch against two foes at once, and they the most powerful in the wilderness--namely, the man and the wolf-pack. even the magnitude of this feud, however, did not daunt her greedy but fearless spirit, and she continued to rob the traps, elude the wolves, and evade the hunter's craftiest efforts, till the approach of spring not only eased the famine of the forest but put an end to the man's trapping. when the furs of the wild kindred began to lose their gloss and vitality, the trapper loaded his pelts upon a big hand-sledge, sealed up his cabin securely, and set out for the settlements before the snow should all be gone. once assured of his absence, the carcajou devoted all her strength and cunning to making her way into the closed cabin. at last, after infinite patience and endeavour, she managed to get in, through the roof. there were supplies--flour, and bacon, and dried apples, all very much to her distinctly catholic taste--and she enjoyed herself immensely till private duties summoned her reluctantly away. spring comes late to the great snows, but when it does come it is swift and not to be denied. then summer, with much to do and little time to do it in, rushes ardently down upon the plains and the fir-forests. about three miles back from the cabin, on a dry knoll in the heart of a tangled swamp, the old wolverene dug herself a commodious and secret burrow. here she gave birth to a litter of tiny young ones, much like herself in miniature, only of a paler colour and softer, silkier fur. in her ardent, unflagging devotion to these little ones she undertook no hunting that would take her far from home, but satisfied her appetite with mice, slugs, worms and beetles. living in such seclusion as she did, her enemies the wolves lost all track of her for the time. the pack had broken up, as a formal organization, according to the custom of wolf-packs in summer. but there was still more or less cohesion, of a sort, between its scattered members; and the leader and his mate had a cave not many miles from the wolverene's retreat. as luck would have it, the gray old leader, returning to the cave one day with the body of a rabbit between his gaunt jaws, took a short cut across the swamp, and came upon the trail of his long-lost enemy. in fact, he came upon several of her trails; and he understood very well what it meant. he had no time, or inclination, to stop and look into the matter then; but his sagacious eyes gleamed with vengeful intention as he continued his journey. about this time--the time being a little past midsummer--the man came back to his cabin, bringing supplies. it was a long journey between the cabin and the settlements, and he had to make it several times during the brief summer, in order to accumulate stores enough to last through the long, merciless season of the great snows. when he reached the cabin and found that, in spite of all his precautions, the greedy carcajou had outwitted him and broken in, and pillaged his stores, his indignation knew no bounds. the carcajou had become an enemy more dangerous to him than all the other beasts of the wild together. she must be hunted down and destroyed before he could go on with his business of laying in stores for the winter. for several days the man prowled in ever-widening circles around his cabin, seeking to pick up his enemy's fresh trail. at last, late one afternoon, he found it, on the outskirts of the swamp. it was too late to follow it up then. but the next day he set out betimes with rifle, axe and spade, vowed to the extermination of the whole carcajou family, for he knew, as well as the old wolf did, why the carcajou had taken up her quarters in the swamp. it chanced that this very morning was the morning when the wolves had undertaken to settle their ancient grudge. the old leader--his mate being occupied with her cubs--had managed to get hold of two other members of the pack, with memories as long as his. the unravelling of the trails in the swamp was an easy task for their keen noses. they found the burrow on the dry, warm knoll, prowled stealthily all about it for a few minutes, then set themselves to digging it open. when the man, whose wary, moccasined feet went noiselessly as a fox's, came in eyeshot of the knoll, the sight he caught through the dark jumble of tree-trunks brought him to a stop. he slunk behind a screen of branches and peered forth with eager interest. what he saw was three big, gray wolves, starting to dig furiously. he knew they were digging at the carcajou's burrow. when the wolves fell to digging their noses told them that there were young carcajous in the burrow, but they could not be sure whether the old one was at home or not. on this point, however, they were presently informed. as the dry earth flew from beneath their furious claws, a dark, blunt snout shot forth, to be as swiftly withdrawn. its appearance was followed by a yelp of pain, and one of the younger wolves drew back, walking on three legs. one fore paw had been bitten clean through, and he lay down whining, to lick and cherish it. that paw, at least, would do no more digging for some time. the man, in his hiding-place behind the screen, saw what had happened, and felt a twinge of sympathetic admiration for his enemy, the savage little fighter in the burrow. the remaining two wolves now grew more cautious, keeping back from the entrance as well as they could, and undermining its edges. again and again the dark muzzle shot forth, but the wolves always sprang away in time to escape punishment. this went on till the wolves had made such an excavation that the man thought they must be nearing the bottom of the den. he waited breathlessly for the dénouement, which he knew would be exciting. he had not long to wait. on a sudden, as if jerked from a catapult, the old carcajou sprang clear out, snatching at the muzzle of the nearest wolf. he dodged, but not quite far enough; and she caught him fairly in the side of the throat, just behind the jaw. it was a deadly grip, and the wolf rose on his hind legs, struggling frantically to shake her off. but with her great strength and powerful, clutching claws, which she used almost as a bear might, she pulled him down on top of her, striving to use his bulk as a shield against the fangs of the other wolf; and the two rolled over and over to the foot of the knoll. it was the second young wolf, unfortunately for her, that she had fastened upon, or the victory, even against such odds, might have been hers. but the old leader was wary. he saw that his comrade was done for; so he stood watchful, biding his chance to get just the grip he wanted. at length, as he saw the younger wolf's struggles growing feebler, he darted in and slashed the carcajou frightfully across the loins. but this was not the hold that he wanted. as she dropped her victim and turned upon him valiantly, he caught her high up on the back, and held her fast between his bone-crushing jaws. it was a final and fatal grip; but she was not beaten until she was dead. with her fierce eyes already glazing she writhed about and succeeded in fixing her death-grip upon the victor's lean fore leg. with the last ounce of her strength, the last impulses of her courage and her hate, she clinched her jaws till her teeth met through flesh, sinew and the cracking bone itself. then her lifeless body went limp, and with a swing of his massive neck the old wolf flung her from him. having satisfied himself that she was quite dead, the old wolf now slunk off on three legs into the swamp, holding his maimed and bleeding limb as high as he could. then the man stepped out from his hiding-place and came forward. the wolf who had been first bitten got up and limped away with surprising agility; but the one in whose throat the old carcajou had fixed her teeth lay motionless where he had fallen, a couple of paces from his dead slayer. wolf-pelts were no good at this season, so the man thrust the body carelessly aside with his foot. but he stood for a minute or two looking down with whimsical respect on the dead form of the carcajou. "y' ain't nawthin' but a thief an' stinkin' glutton," he muttered presently, "an' the whole kit an' bilin' of ye's got to be wiped out! but, when it comes to grit, clean through, i takes off my cap to ye!" when the truce of the wild is done by day it was still high summer in the woods, with slumbrous heat at noon, and the murmur of insects under the thick foliage. but to the initiated sense there was a difference. a tang in the forest scents told the nostrils that autumn had arrived. a crispness in the feel of the air, elusive but persistent, hinted of approaching frost. the still warmth was haunted, every now and then, by a passing ghost of chill. here and there the pale green of the birches was thinly webbed with gold. here and there a maple hung out amid its rich verdure a branch prematurely turned, glowing like a banner of aërial rose. along the edges of the little wild meadows which bordered the loitering brooks the first thin blooms of the asters began to show, like a veil of blown smoke. in open patches, on the hillsides the goldenrod burned orange and the fireweed spread its washes of violet pink. somewhere in the top of a tall poplar, crowning the summit of a glaring white bluff, a locust twanged incessantly its strident string. mysteriously, imperceptibly, without sound and without warning, the change had come. hardly longer ago than yesterday, the wild creatures had been unwary and confident, showing themselves everywhere. the partridge coveys had whirred up noisily in full view of the passing woodsman, and craned their necks to watch him from the near-by branches. on every shallow mere and tranquil river-reach the flocks of wild ducks had fed boldly, suffering canoe or punt to come within easy gunshot. in the heavy grass of the wild meadows, or among the long, washing sedges of the lakeside, the red deer had pastured openly in the broad daylight, with tramplings and splashings, and had lifted large bright eyes of unterrified curiosity if a boat or canoe happened by. the security of that great truce, which men called "close season" had rested sweetly on the forest. then suddenly, when the sunrise was pink on the mists, a gunshot had sent the echoes clamouring across the still lake waters, and a flock of ducks, flapping up and fleeing with frightened cries, had left one of its members sprawling motionless among the flattened sedge, a heap of bright feathers spattered with blood. later in the morning a rifle had cracked sharply on the hillside, and a little puff of white smoke had blown across the dark front of the fir groves. the truce had come to an end. all summer long men had kept the truce with strictness, and the hunter's fierce instinct, curbed alike by law and foresight, had slumbered. but now the young coveys were full-fledged and strong of wing, well able to care for themselves. the young ducks were full grown, and no longer needed their mother's guardianship and teaching. the young deer were learning to shift for themselves, and finding, to their wonder and indignation, that their mothers grew day by day more indifferent to them, more inclined to wander off in search of new interests. the time had come when the young of the wilderness stood no longer in need of protection. then the hand of the law was lifted. instantly in the hearts of men the hunter's fever flamed up, and, with eager eyes, they went forth to kill. where they had yesterday walked openly, hardly heeding the wild creatures about them, they now crept stealthily, following the trails, or lying in ambush, waiting for the unsuspicious flock to wing past. and when they found that the game, yesterday so abundant and unwatchful, had to-day almost wholly disappeared, they were indignant, and wished that they had anticipated the season by a few hours. as a matter of fact, the time of the ending of the truce was not the same for all the wild creatures which had profited by its protection through the spring and summer. certain of the tribes, according to the law's provisions, were secure for some weeks longer yet. but this they never seemed to realize. as far as they could observe, when the truce was broken for one it was broken for all, and all took alarm together. in some unexplained way, perhaps by the mere transmission of a general fear, word went around that the time had come for invisibility and craft. all at once, therefore, as it seemed to men, the wilderness had become empty. down a green, rough wood-road, leading from the settlement to one of the wild meadows by the river, came a young man in homespun carrying a long, old-fashioned, muzzle-loading duck-gun. two days before this he had seen a fine buck, with antlers perfect and new-shining from the velvet, feeding on the edge of this meadow. the young woodsman had his gun loaded with buckshot. he wanted both venison and a pair of horns; and, knowing the fancy of the deer for certain favourite pastures, he had great hopes of finding the buck somewhere about the place where he had last seen him. with flexible "larrigans" of oiled cowhide on his feet, the hunter moved noiselessly and swiftly as a panther, his keen pale-blue eyes peering from side to side through the shadowy undergrowth. not three steps aside from the path, moveless as a stone and invisible among the spotted weeds and twigs, a crafty old cock-partridge stood with head erect and unwinking eyes and watched the dangerous intruder stride by. approaching the edge of the open, the young hunter kept himself carefully hidden behind the fringing leafage and looked forth upon the little meadow. no creature being in sight, he cut straight across the grass to the water's edge, and scanned the muddy margin for foot-prints. these he presently found in abundance, along between grass and sedge. most of the marks were old; but others were so fresh that he knew the buck must have been there and departed within the last ten minutes. into some deep hoof-prints the water was still oozing, while from others the trodden stems of sedge were slowly struggling upright. a smile of keen satisfaction passed over the young woodsman's face at these signs. he prided himself on his skill in trailing, and the primeval predatory elation thrilled his nerves. at a swift but easy lope he took up that clear trail, and followed it back through the grass toward the woods. it entered the woods not ten paces from the point where the hunter himself had emerged, ran parallel with the old wood-road for a dozen yards, and came to a plain halt in the heart of a dense thicket of hemlock. from the thicket it went off in great leaps in a direction at right angles to the path. there was not a breath of wind stirring, to carry a scent. so the hunter realized that his intended victim had been watching him from the thicket, and that it was now a case of craft against craft. he tightened his belt for a long chase, and set his lean jaws doggedly as he resumed the trail. the buck, who was wise with the wisdom of experience, and apprised by the echoes of the first gunshot of the fact that the truce was over, had indeed been watching the hunter very sagaciously. the moment he was satisfied that it was his trail the hunter was following, he had set out at top speed, anxious to get as far as possible from so dangerous a neighbourhood. at first his fear grew with his flight, so that his great, soft eyes stared wildly and his nostrils dilated as he went bounding over all obstacles. then little by little the triumphant exercise of his powers, and a realization of how far his speed surpassed that of his pursuer, reassured him somewhat. he decided to rest, and find out what his foe was doing. he doubled back parallel with his own trail for about fifty yards, then lay down in a thicket to watch the enemy go by. in an incredibly short time he did go by, at that long, steady swing which ate up the distance so amazingly. as soon as he was well past, the buck sprang up and was off again at full speed, his heart once more thumping with terror. this time, however, instead of running straight ahead, he made a wide, sweeping curve, tending back toward the river and the lakes. as before, only somewhat sooner, his alarm subsided and his confidence, along with his curiosity, returned. he repeated his former manoeuvre of doubling back a little way upon his trail, then again lay down to wait for the passing of his foe. when the hunter came to that first abrupt turn of the trail he realized that it was a cunning and experienced buck with which he had to deal. he smiled confidently, however, feeling sure of his own skill, and ran at full speed to the point where the animal had lain down to watch him pass. from this point he followed the trail just far enough to catch its curve. then he left it and ran in a straight line shrewdly calculated to form the chord to his quarry's section of a circle. his plan was to intercept and pick up the trail again about three quarters of a mile further on. in nine cases out of ten his calculation would have worked out as he wished; but in this case he had not made allowance for this particular buck's individuality. while he imagined his quarry to be yet far ahead, he ran past a leafy clump of mingled indian pear and thick spruce seedlings. half a minute later he heard a crash of underbrush behind him. as he turned he caught a tantalizing glimpse of tawny haunches vanishing through the green, and he knew that once again he had been outplayed. this time the wise buck was distinctly more terrified than before. the appearance of his enemy at this unexpected point, so speedily, and not upon the trail, struck a panic to his heart. plainly, this was no common foe, to be evaded by familiar stratagems. his curiosity and his confidence disappeared completely. [illustration: "running in the shallow water to cover his scent"] the buck set off in a straight line for the river, now perhaps a half-mile distant. reaching it, he turned down the shore, running in the shallow water to cover his scent. it never occurred to him that his enemy was trailing him by sight, not by scent; so he followed the same tactics he would have employed had the pursuer been a wolf or a dog. a hundred yards further on he rounded a sharp bend of the stream. here he took to deep water, swam swiftly to the opposite shore, and vanished into the thick woods. two or three minutes later the man came out upon the river's edge. the direction his quarry had taken was plainly visible by the splashes of water on the rocks, and he smiled grimly at the precaution which the animal had taken to cover his secret. but when he reached the point where the buck had taken to deep water the smile faded. he stopped, leaning on his gun and staring across the river, and a baffled look came over his face. realizing, after a few moments, that he was beaten in this game, he drew out his charge of buckshot, reloaded his gun with small duckshot, and hid himself in a waterside covert of young willows, in the hope that a flock of mallard or teal might presently come by. the window in the shack the attitude in which the plump baby hung limply over the woman's left arm looked most uncomfortable. the baby, however, seemed highly content. both his sticky fists clutched firmly a generous "chunk" of new maple-sugar, which he mumbled with his toothless gums, while his big eyes, widening like an owl's, stared about through the dusk with a placid intentness. from the woman's left hand dangled an old tin lantern containing a scrap of tallow candle, whose meagre gleam flickered hither and thither apprehensively among the huge shadows of the darkening wood. in her right hand the woman carried a large tin bucket, half filled with fresh-run maple-sap. by the glimmer of the ineffectual candle, she moved wearily from one great maple to another, emptying the birch-bark cups that hung from the little wooden taps driven into the trunks. the night air was raw with the chill of thawing snow, and carried no sound but the soft tinkle of the sap as it dript swiftly into the birchen cups. the faint, sweet smell of the sap seemed to cling upon the darkness. the candle flared up for an instant, revealing black, mysterious aisles among the ponderous tree-trunks, then guttered down and almost went out, the darkness seeming to swoop in upon its defeat. the woman examined it, found that it was all but done, and glanced nervously over her shoulder. then she made anxious haste to empty and replace the last of the birchen cups before she should be left in darkness to grope her way back to the cabin. the sap was running freely that spring, and the promise of a great sugar-harvest was not to be ignored. dave stone's house and farm lay about three miles distant, across the valley of the "tin kittle," from the maple-clad ridge of forest wherein he had his sugar-camp. the camp consisted of a little cabin or "shack" of rough boards and an open shed with a rude but spacious fireplace and chimney to accommodate the great iron pot in which the sap was boiled down into sugar. while the sap was running freely, the pot had to be kept boiling uniformly and the thickening sap kept skimmed clean of the creaming scum; and therefore, during the season, some one had to be always living in the camp. dave stone had built his camp at an opening in the woods, in such a position that, from its own little window in the rear, he could look out across the wide valley of the "tin kittle" to a rigid grove of firs behind which, shielded from the nor'easters, lay his low frame house, and red-doored barn, and wide, liberal sheds. the distance was only about three miles, or less, from the house to the sugar-camp. but dave stone was terribly proud of the prosperous little homestead which he had carved for himself out of the unbroken wilderness on the upper "tin kittle," and more than proud of the slim, gray-eyed wife and three sturdy youngsters to whom that homestead gave happy shelter. on the spring nights when he had to stay over at the camp, he liked to be able to see the grove that hid his home. it chanced one afternoon, just in the height of the sap-running, that dave stone was called suddenly in to the settlement on a piece of business that could not wait overnight. a note which he had endorsed for a friend had been allowed to go to protest, and dave was excited. "ther' ain't nothin' fer it, mandy," said he, "but fer ye to take the baby an' go right over to the camp fer the night, an' keep an eye on this bilin'." "but, father," protested his wife, in a doubtful voice, "how kin i leave lidy an' joe here alone?" "oh, there ain't nothin' goin' to bother _them_, an' lidy 'most ten year old!" insisted dave, who was in a hurry. "don't fret, mother. i'll be back long afore mornin'!" as the children had no objection to being left, mrs. stone suffered herself to be persuaded. in fact, she went to her new duty with a certain zest, as a break in the monotony of her days. she had lent a hand often enough at the sugar-making to be familiar with the task awaiting her, and it was with an unwonted gaiety that she set out on what appeared to her almost in the light of a little adventure. but it was later than she had intended when she actually got away, the baby crowing joyously on her arm, and the children calling gay good-byes to her from the open door. jake, the big brown retriever, tried to follow her; and when she ordered him back to stay with the children, he obeyed with a whimpering reluctance that came near rebellion. as she descended the valley, her feet sinking in the snow of the thawing trail, she wondered why the dog, which had always preferred the children, should have grown so anxious to be with her. when she reached the camp, she was already tired, but the pleasant excitement was still upon her. when she had skimmed the big, slow-bubbling pot of syrup, tested a ladleful of it in the snow, poured in some fresh sap, and replenished the sluggish fire, dusk was already stealing upon the forest. in her haste she did not notice that the candle in the old lantern was almost burned out. snatching up the lantern, which it was not yet necessary to light, and the big tin sap-bucket, and giving the baby, who had begun to fret, a lump of hard sugar to keep him quiet on her arm, she hurried off to tend the farthest trees before the darkness should close down upon the silences. * * * * * when the last birch cup had been emptied into the bucket, the candle flickered out; and for a moment or two the sudden blackness seemed to flap in her face, daunting her. she stood perfectly still till her eyes readjusted themselves. she was dead tired, the baby and the brimming bucket were heavy, and the adventurous flavour had quite gone out of her task. in part because of her fatigue, she grew suddenly timorous. her ears began to listen with terrible intentness till they imagined stealthy footsteps in the silken shrinkings of the damp snow. at last her eyes mastered the gloom till she could make out the glimmering pathway, the dim, black trunks shouldering up on either side of it, the clumps of bushes obstructing it here and there. trembling--clutching tightly at the baby, the lantern, and the sap-bucket--she started back with furtive but hurried footsteps, afraid to make any noise lest she attract the notice of some mysterious powers of the wilderness. as the woman went, her fears grew with her haste till only the difficulties of the path, with the weight of her burdens, prevented her from breaking into a run of panic. the baby, meanwhile, kept on sucking his maple-sugar and staring into the novel darkness. the woman's breath began to come too fast, her knees began to feel as if they might turn to water at any moment. at last, when within perhaps fifty paces of the shack, to her infinite relief she saw a dark, tall figure take shape just over the top of a bush, at the turn of the trail. she had room for but one thought. it was dave, back earlier than he had expected. she did not stop to wonder how or why. with a little, breathless cry, she exclaimed: "oh, dave, i'm so glad! take the baby!" and reached forward to place the little one in his arms. even as she did so, however, something in the tall, dim shape rising over the bush struck her as unfamiliar. and why didn't dave speak? she paused, she half drew back, while a chill fear made her cheeks prickle; and as she slightly changed her position, the dark form grew more definite. she saw the massive bulk of the shoulders. she caught a glint of white teeth, of fierce, wild eyes. with a screech of intolerable horror, she shrank back, clutching the baby to her bosom, swung the brimming bucket of sap full into the monster's face, and fled with the speed of a deer down another trail toward the shack. she was at the door before her appalled brain realized that the being to which she had tried to hand over the child was a huge bear. bewildered and abashed for a few seconds by the deluge of liquid and the clatter of the tin vessel in his face, the animal had not instantly pursued. but he was just out of the den after his long winter sleep and savage with hunger. moreover, he had been allowed to realize that the dreaded man-creature which he had met so unexpectedly was afraid of him! he came crashing over the bushes, and was so close at the woman's heels that she had barely time to slam the shack door in his face. as she dropped the rude wooden latch into place, the woman realized with horror how frail the door was. momentarily she expected to see it smashed in by a stroke of the monster's paw. she did not know a bear's caution, his cunning suspicion of traps, his dread of the scent of man. there was no light in the shack, except a faint red gleam from the open draft of the stove, and the gray pallor of the night sky glimmering in through the little window. the woman was so faint with fear that she dared not search for the candles, but leaned panting against the wall and staring at the window as if she expected the bear to look in at her. she was brought to her senses in a moment, however, by the baby beginning to cry. in the race for the shack, he had lost his lump of sugar, and now he realized how uncomfortable he was. the woman seated herself on the bench by the stove and began to nurse him, all the time keeping her eyes on the pale square of the window. [illustration: "sniffed loudly along the crack of the door."] when the door was slammed in his face, the bear had backed away in apprehension and paused to study the shack. but at the sound of the baby's voice he seemed to realize that here, at least, were some individuals of the dreaded man tribe who were not dangerous. he came forward and sniffed loudly along the crack of the door till the woman's heart stood still. he leaned against it, tentatively, till it creaked, but the latch and hinges held. then he prowled around the shack, examining it carefully, and doubtless expecting to find an open entrance somewhere. in his experience, all caves and dens had entrances. at last the window caught his attention. the woman heard the scratching of his claws on the rough outer boarding as he raised himself. then the window was darkened by a great black head looking in. throwing the baby into the bunk, the woman snatched from the stove a blazing stick, rushed to the window with it, and made a wild thrust at the dreadful face. with a crash the glass flew to splinters, and the black face disappeared. the bear was untouched, but the fiery weapon had taught him discretion. he drew back with an angry growl, and sat down on his haunches as if to see what the woman would do next. she, for her part, after this victory, grew terribly afraid of setting the dry shack on fire; so she hurriedly returned the snapping, sparkling brand to the stove. thereupon the bear resumed his ominous prowling, round and round the shack, sometimes testing the foundations and the door with massive but stealthy paw, sometimes sniffing loudly at the cracks; and the woman returned to the comforting of the baby. in time the little one, fed full and cherished, went to sleep. then, with nothing left to occupy her mind but the terrors of her situation, the woman found those stealthy scratchings and sniffings, and the strain of the silences that fell between, were more than she could endure. at first, she thought of getting a couple of blazing sticks, throwing open the shack door, and deliberately attacking her besieger. but this idea she dismissed as quite too desperate and futile. then she remembered that bears were fond of sweets. a table in the corner was heaped with great, round cakes of fragrant sugar, the shape of the pans in which they had been cooled. one of these she snatched up, and threw it out of the window. the bear promptly came around to see what had dropped, and fell upon the offering with such ardour that it vanished between his great jaws in half a minute. then he came straight to the window for more, and the woman served it out to him without delay. [illustration: "made a wild thrust at the dreadful face."] the beast's appetite for maple-sugar was amazing, and as the woman saw the sweet store swiftly disappearing, her fear began to be tempered with indignation. but when her outraged frugality led her to delay the dole, her tormentor came at the window so savagely that she made all haste to supply him, and fell to wondering helplessly what she should do when the sugar was all gone. as she stood at the window, watching fearfully the vague, monstrous shape of the animal as he pawed and gnawed at the last cake, suddenly, far across the shadowy valley, a red light leaped into the sky. for a moment the woman stared at it with an absent mind, absorbed in her own trouble, yet noticing how black and sharp, like giant spears upthrust in array, the tops of the firs stood out against the glow. for a moment she stood so staring. then she realized where that wild light came from. with a cry she turned, rushed to the door, and tore it open. but as the dark of the forest confronted her, she remembered! slamming and latching the door again, she rushed madly back to the window, and stood there clutching the frame with both hands, praying, and sobbing, and raving. and the bear, having finished the sugar, sat up on his haunches to gaze intently, ears cocked and jaws half open, at that far-off, fiery brightness in the sky of night. as the keen tongues of flame shot over the treetops, the woman clutched at her senses, and tried to persuade herself that it was the barn, not the house, that was burning. it was, in truth, quite impossible to discern, at that distance, which it was. it was not both; of that she was certain. she also told herself that, if it _was_ the house, it was too early for the children to be asleep; and even if they _were_ asleep, jake would wake them; and presently some neighbours, who were not more than a mile away, would come to comfort their fears and shelter them. she would not allow herself to harbour the awful thought that the fire might have caught the children in their sleep. nevertheless, do what she could to fight it away, the hideous suggestion kept clamouring at her brain, driving her to a frenzy. had she been alone in this crisis, the great beast watching and prowling outside the shack would have had no terrors for her. but the baby! she could not run fast with that burden. she could not leave him behind in the bunk, for the bear would either climb in the window or batter in the door when she was gone. yet to stand idle and watch those leaping flames--that way lay madness. again her mind reverted to the blazing brand with which she had driven the bear from the window. if she took one big enough and carried it with her, the bear would probably not dare even to follow her. she sprang eagerly to the stove, but the fire was already dying down. it was nothing but a heap of coals, and in her stress she had not noticed how cold it had grown in the shack. she looked for wood, but there was none. she had forgotten to bring in an armful from the pile over by the sugar-boiler. well, the plan had been an insane one, hopeless from the first. but, at least, it had been a plan. the failure of it seemed to leave her tortured brain a blank. but the cold--that was an impression that pierced her despair. she went to the bunk, and covered the sleeping baby with warm blankets. as she leaned over him, she heard the bear again, sniffing, sniffing along the crack at the bottom of the door. she almost laughed--that the beast should want anything more after all that sugar! then she felt herself sinking, and clutched at the edge of the bunk to save herself. she would lie down by the baby! but instead of that she sank upon the floor in a huddled heap. her swoon must have passed imperceptibly into the heavy sleep of emotional exhaustion, for she lay unstirring for some hours. the crying of the little one awoke her. stiff, half frozen, utterly dazed, she pulled herself up to the bunk, nursed the child, and soothed him again to sleep. then the accumulation of anguish which had overwhelmed her rolled back upon her understanding. she staggered to the window. the dreadful illumination across the valley had died down to a faint ruddiness, just seen through the thin tops of the firs. the fire--whether it had been the barn or the house--had burned itself out. whatever had happened, it was over. as she stood shuddering, unable to think, not daring to think, her eyes rested upon the bear, huge and formless in the gloom, staring at her, not ten feet away. she answered the stare fixedly, no longer aware of fearing him. then she saw him turn his head suddenly, as if he had heard something. and the next moment he had faded away swiftly and noiselessly into the darkness, like a startled partridge. she heard quick footsteps coming up the trail. a dog's fierce growl broke into a bark of warning. that was jake's bark! she almost threw herself at the door, and tore it open. * * * * * dave stone had got back from the settlement earlier than he expected, driving furiously the last two miles of his journey, with his eyes full of the red light of that burning, his heart gripped with intolerable fear. he had found his good barn in flames, but the children safe, the house untouched, the stock rescued. the children, prompt and resourceful as the children of the backwoods have need to be, had loosed the cattle from the stanchions and got them out in time. neighbours, hurrying up in response to the flaming summons, had found the children watching the blaze enthusiastically from the doorstep, as if it had been arranged for their amusement. seeing matters so much better than they might have been, dave was struck with a new apprehension, because mandy had not returned. it was hardly conceivable that she had failed to see the flames from the window of the shack! then why had she not come? followed by jake, he had taken the camp trail at a run to find out what was the matter. as he drew near the shack, the darkness of it chilled him with dread. no firelight gleam showed out from the window! and no red glow came from the boiling-shed! the fire had been allowed to die out under the sugar-pot! as the significance of this dawned upon him, his keen woodsman's eyes seemed to detect through the dark a shape of thicker blackness gliding past the shack and into the woods. at the same moment jake growled, barked shortly, and dashed past him, with the hair bristling along his neck. the man's blood went to ice, as he sprang to the door of the shack, crying in a terrible voice: "mandy! mandy! where are--" but before the question was out of his mouth, the door leaped open, and mandy was on his neck, shaking and sobbing. "the children?" she gasped. "why, _they're_ all right, mother!" replied the man cheerfully. "it was only the barn--an' they got the critters out all safe! but what's wrong here? an' what's kep' you? an' didn't you--" but he was not allowed to finish his questionings, for the woman was crying and laughing and strangling him with her wild clasp. "oh, dave!" she managed to exclaim. "it was the bear--as tried to git us--all night long! an' he's et up every crum of the last bilin'." the return of the moose "to the best of my knowledge, ther' ain't been no moose seen this side the river these eighteen year back." the speaker, a heavy-shouldered, long-legged backwoodsman, paused in his task of digging potatoes, leaned on the handle of his broad-tined digging fork, and bit off a liberal chew from his plug of black tobacco. his companion, digging parallel with him on the next row, paused sympathetically, felt in his trousers' pocket for his own plug of "black jack," and cast a contemplative eye up the wide brown slope of the potato-field toward the ragged and desolate line of burnt woods which crested the hill. the woods, a long array of erect, black, fire-scarred rampikes, appeared to scrawl the very significance of solitude against the lonely afternoon sky. the austerity of the scene was merely heightened by the yellow glow of a birch thicket at the further upper corner of the potato-field, and by the faint tints of violet light that flowed over the brown soil from a pallid and fading sunset. as the sky was scrawled by the gray-and-black rampikes, so the slope was scrawled by zigzag lines of gray-and-black snake fence, leading down to three log cabins, with their cluster of log barns and sheds, scattered irregularly along a terrace of the slope. a quarter of a mile further down, beyond the little gray dwellings, a sluggish river wound between alder swamps and rough wild meadows. as the second potato-digger was lifting his plug of tobacco to his mouth, his hand stopped half way, and his grizzled jaw dropped in astonishment. for a couple of seconds he stared at the ragged hill-crest. then, it being contrary to his code to show surprise, he bit off his chew, returned the tobacco to his pocket, and coolly remarked: "well, i reckon they've come back." "what do you mean?" demanded the first speaker, who had resumed his digging. "there be your moose, after these eighteen year!" said the other. standing out clear of the dead forest, and staring curiously down upon the two potato-diggers, were three moose,--a magnificent, black, wide-antlered bull, an ungainly brown cow, and a long-legged, long-eared calf. a potato-field, with men digging in it, was something far apart from their experience and manifestly filled them with interest. "keep still now, sandy," muttered the first speaker, who was wise in the ways of the wood-folk. "keep still till they git used to us. then we'll go for our guns." the men stood motionless for a couple of minutes, and the moose came further into the open in order to get a better look at them. then, leaving their potato forks standing in their furrows, the men strode quietly down the field, down the rocky pasture lane, and into the nearest house. here the man called sandy got down his gun,--an old muzzle-loading, single-barrelled musket,--and hurriedly loaded it with buckshot; while the other, who was somewhat the more experienced hunter, ran on to the next cabin and got his big snider rifle. the moose, meanwhile, having watched the men fairly indoors, turned aside and fell to browsing on the tiny poplar saplings which grew along the top of the field. [illustration: "a magnificent, black, wide-antlered bull, an ungainly brown cow, and a long-legged, long-eared calf."] saying nothing to their people in the houses, after the reticent backwoods fashion, sandy and lije strolled carelessly down the road till the potato-field was hidden from sight by a stretch of young second-growth spruce and fir. up through this cover they ran eagerly, bending low, and gained the forest of rampikes on top of the hill. here they circled widely, crouching in the coarse weeds and dodging from trunk to trunk, until they knew they were directly behind the potato-field. then they crept noiselessly outward toward the spot where they had last seen the moose. the wind was blowing softly into their faces, covering their scent; and their dull gray homespun clothes fitted the colour of the desolation around them. now it chanced that the big bull had changed his mind, and wandered back among the rampikes, leaving the cow and calf at their browsing among the poplars. the woodsmen, therefore, came upon him unexpectedly. not thirty yards distant, he stood eying them with disdainful curiosity, his splendid antlers laid back while he thrust forward his big, sensitive nose, trying to get the wind of these mysterious strangers. there was menace in his small, watchful eyes, and altogether his appearance was so formidable that the hunters were just a trifle flurried, and fired too hastily. the big bullet of lije's snider went wide, while a couple of sandy's buckshot did no more than furrow the great beast's shoulder. the sudden pain and the sudden monstrous noise filled him with rage, and, with an ugly grunting roar, he charged. "up a tree, sandy!" yelled lije, setting the example. but the bull was so close at his heels that he could not carry his rifle with him. he dropped it at the foot of the tree, and swung himself up into the dead branches just in time to escape the animal's rearing plunge. sandy, meanwhile, had found himself in serious plight, there being no suitable refuge just at hand. those trees which were big enough had had no branches spared by the fire. he had to run some distance. just as he was hesitating as to what he should do, and looking for a rock or stump behind which he might hide while he reloaded his gun, the moose caught sight of him, forgot about lije, and came charging through the weeds. sandy had no more time for hesitation. he dropped his unwieldy musket, and clambered into a blackened and branchy hackmatack, so small that he feared the rush of the bull might break it down. it did, indeed, crack ominously when the headlong bulk reared upon it; but it stood. and sandy felt as if every branch he grasped were an eggshell. seeing that the bull's attention was so well occupied, lije slipped down the further side of his tree and recaptured his snider. he had by this time entirely recovered his nerve, and now felt master of the situation. having slipped in a new cartridge he stood forth boldly and waited for the moose to offer him a fair target. as the animal moved this way and that, he at length presented his flank. the big snider roared; and he dropped with a ball through his heart, dead instantly. sandy came down from his little tree, and touched the huge dark form and mighty antlers with admiring awe. in the meantime, the noise of the firing had thrown the cow and calf into a panic. since the woods behind them were suddenly filled with such thunders, they could not flee in that direction. but far below them, down the brown slopes and past the gray cabins, they saw the river gleaming among its alder thickets. there was the shelter they craved; and down the fields they ran, with long, shambling, awkward strides that took them over the ground at a tremendous pace. at the foot of the field they blundered into the lane leading down to sandy's cabin. now, as luck would have it, sandy had that summer decided to build himself a frame house to supplant the old log cabin. as a preliminary, he had dug a spacious cellar, just at the foot of the lane. it was deep as well as wide, being intended for the storage of many potatoes. and, in order to prevent any of the cattle from falling into it, he had surrounded it with a low fence which chanced to be screened along the upper side with a rank growth of burdock and other barnyard weeds. when the moose cow reached this fence, she hardly noticed it. she was used to striding over obstacles. just now her heart was mad with panic, and her eyes full of the gleam of the river she was seeking. she cleared the fence without an effort--and went crashing to the bottom of the cellar. not three paces behind her came the calf. by this time, of course, all the little settlement was out, and the flight of the cow and calf down the field had been followed with eager eyes. everyone ran at once to the cellar. the unfortunate cow was seen to have injured herself so terribly by the plunge that, without waiting for the owner of the cellar to return, the young farmer from the third cabin jumped down and ended her suffering with a butcher knife. the calf, however, was unhurt. he stood staring stupidly at his dead mother and showed no fear of the people that came up to stroke and admire him. he seemed so absolutely docile that when sandy and lije came proudly down the hill to tell of their achievement, sandy declared that the youngster should be kept and made a pet of. "seems to me," he said to lije, "that seein' as the moose had been so long away, we hain't treated them jest right when they come back. i feel like we'd ought to make it up to the little feller." from the teeth of the tide hitherto, ever since he had been old enough to leave the den, the mother bear had been leading her fat black cub inland, among the tumbled rocks and tangled spruce and pine, teaching him to dig for tender roots and nose out grubs and beetles from the rotting stumps. to-day, feeling the need of saltier fare, she led him in the opposite direction, down through a cleft in the cliffs, and out across the great, red, glistening mud-flats left bare by the ebb of the terrific fundy tides. from the secure warmth of his den the cub had heard, faint and far off, the waves thundering along the bases of the cliffs, when the tide was high and the great winds drew heavily in from sea. the sound had always made him afraid; and to-day, though there was no wind, and the tide was so far out that it made no noise but a soft whisper, silken and persuasive, he held back with babyish timidity, till his mother brought him to his senses with an unceremonious cuff on the side of the head. with a squall of grieved surprise he picked himself up, shaking his head as if he had a bee in his ear, and then made haste to follow obediently, close at his mother's huge black heels. from the break in the cliffs, where the bears came down, ran a ledge of shelving rocks on a long, gradual slant across the flats toward the edge of low water. the tide was nearing the last of the ebb; and now, the slope of the shore being very gradual, and the difference between high and low water in these turbulent channels something between forty and fifty feet, the lapsing fringes of the ebb, yellow-tawny with silt, were a good three-quarters of a mile away from the foot of the cliffs. the vast spaces between were smooth, oily, copper-red mud, shining and treacherous in the sun with the narrow black outcrop of the ledge drawn across on so gentle a slant that before it reached the water it was running almost on a parallel with the shoreline. along the rocky ledge the old bear led the way, pausing to nose at a patch of seaweed here and there or to glance shrewdly into the shallow pools among the rocks. the cub obediently followed her example, though doubtless with no idea of what he might hope to find. but the upper stretches of the ledge, near high-water mark, offered nothing to reward their quest, having been dry for several hours, and long ago thoroughly gone over by earlier foragers. so the bears pushed on down toward the lower stretches, where the ledges were still wet, and the long, black-green weed-masses still dripping, and where the limpet-covered protuberances of rock still oozed and sparkled. with her iron-hard claws the mother bear scraped off a quantity of these limpets, and crushed them between her jaws with relish, swallowing the salty juices. the cub tried clumsily to imitate her, but the limpets defied his too tender claws, so he ran to his mother, thrust her great head aside, and greedily licked up a share of her scrapings. the sea flavour tickled his palate, but the rough, hard shells exasperated him. they hurt his gums, so that he merely rolled them over in his mouth, sucked at them a few moments, then spat them out indignantly. his mother thereupon forsook the unsatisfactory limpets, and went prowling on toward the water's edge in search of more satisfying fare. as they left the limpets, a gaunt figure in gray homespuns, carrying a rifle, appeared on the crest of the cliffs above, caught sight of them, and hurriedly took cover behind an overhanging pine. the young woodsman's first impulse was to try a long shot at the hulking black shape so conspicuous out on the ledge, against the bright water. he wanted a bearskin, even if the fur was not just then in prime condition. but more particularly he wanted the cub, to tame and play with if it should prove amenable, and to sell, ultimately, for a good amount, to some travelling show. on consideration, he decided to lie in wait among the rocks till the rising tide should drive the bears back to the upland. he exchanged his steel-nosed cartridges for the more deadly mushroom-tipped, filled his pipe, and lay back comfortably against the pine trunk, to watch, through the thin green frondage, the foraging of his intended prey. the farther they went down the long slant of the ledge, the more interested the bears became. here the crows and gulls had not had time to capture all the prizes. there were savoury blue-shelled mussels clinging under the tips of the rocks; plump, spiral whelks between the oozy tresses of the seaweed; orange starfish and bristly sea-urchins in the shallow pools. all these dainties had shells that the cub's young teeth could easily crush, and they yielded meaty morsels that made beetles and grubs seem very meagre fare. moreover, in the salty bitter of this sea-fruit there was something marvelously stimulating to the appetite. from pool to pool the old bear wandered on, lured ever by richer prizes just ahead; and the cub, stuffed till his little stomach was like a black furry ball, no longer frisked and tumbled, but waddled along beside her with eyes of shining expectancy. as long as he was not too full to walk, he was not too full to eat such delicacies as these. the fascinating quest led them on and on till at last they found themselves at the water's edge. by this time they had travelled a long way from the cleft in the cliffs by which they had come down from the uplands. a good half-mile of shining mud separated them, in a direct line, from the cliff base. and the woodsman on the height, as he watched them, muttered to himself: "ef that old b'ar don't look out, the tide's a-goin' to ketch her afore she knows what she's about! most wish i'd 'a' socked it to her afore she'd got so fur out--jiminy! she's seed her mistake now! the tide's turned." while bear and cub had their noses and paws busy in a little dry pool, on a sudden a long, shallow, muddy-crested wave had come hissing up over their feet and filled the pool to the brim with its yellow flood. lifting her head sharply, the old bear glanced at the far-off cliffs, and at the mounting tide. instantly realizing the peril, she started back at a slow, lumbering amble up the long, long path by which they had come; and the cub started too at a brave gallop--not behind her, for he was too much afraid of the hissing yellow wave, but close at her side, between her sheltering form and the shore. he felt that she could in some way ward off or subdue the cold and terrifying monster. for perhaps two minutes the cub struggled on gamely, although, owing to the fact that at this point their path was almost parallel with the water, the fugitives made no perceptible gain, and the rising wave was on their heels every instant. then the greedy feeding produced its effect. the little fellow's wind gave out completely. with a whimper of pain and fright he dropped back upon his haunches and waited for his mother to save him. the old bear turned, bounced back, and cuffed him so bruskly that he found breath enough to utter a loud squall and go stumbling forward for another score of yards. then he gave out, and sank upon his too-distended stomach, whimpering piteously. this time the mother seemed to perceive that his case was serious, and her anxious wrath subsided. she licked him assiduously for a few seconds, whining encouragement, till at last he got upon his feet again, trembling. the yellow flood was now lapping on the ledge all about them. but a rod or two farther on the rocks bulged up a couple of feet above the surrounding slope. thrusting the exhausted youngster ahead of her with nose and paws, the old bear gained this point of temporary vantage; and then, worried and frightened, sat down upon her haunches and stared all around her, as if trying to decide what should be done. the cub lay flat, with legs outstretched and mouth wide open, panting. the tide, meanwhile, was mounting so swiftly that in a few moments the rise of rocks had become almost an island. the ledge was covered before them as well as behind, and the only way still open lay straight over the glistening mud. the old bear looked at it, and whined, knowing its treacheries. and the woodsman, watching with eager interest from the cliffs, muttered: "take to it, ye old bug-eater! ther' ain't nawthin' else left fer ye to do'!" this was apparently the conclusion of the old bear herself; for now, after licking and nuzzling the cub for a few seconds till he stood up, she stepped boldly off the rock and started out over the coppery flats. the cub, having apparently recovered his wind, followed briskly--probably much heartened by the fact that his progress was in a direction away from the alarming waves. there was desperate need of haste, for when they left the rocky lift the tide was already slipping around upon the flats beyond it. nevertheless, the old bear moved with deliberation. she could not hurry the cub; and she had to choose her path. by some instinct, or else by some peculiar keenness of observation, she seemed to detect the "honey-pots," or deep pockets of slime, that lay concealed beneath the uniformly shining surface of the mud; for here she would make an aimless detour, losing many precious seconds, and there she would side-step suddenly, for several paces, and shift her course to a new parallel. outside the "honey-pots," the mud was soft and tenacious to a depth varying from a few inches to a couple of feet, but with a hard clay foundation beneath the slime. through this clinging red ooze the old bear, with her huge strength, made her way without difficulty; but the cub, in a few moments, began to find himself terribly hampered. his fur collected the mud. his little paws sank easily, but at each step it grew harder to withdraw them. at last, chancing to stagger aside from his mother's spacious tracks, he sank to his belly in the rim of a "honey-pot." panic-stricken, he floundered vainly, his nose high in the air and his eyes shut tight, while his mother, unconscious of what had happened, ploughed doggedly onward. presently he opened his eyes. his mother was now perhaps ten or a dozen feet ahead, apparently deserting him. right behind, lapping up to his very tail, was the crawling wave. a heart-broken bawl burst from his throat. at that cry the old bear came dashing back, red mud half-way up her flanks and plastered all over her shaggy chest. taking in the situation at a glance, she seized the cub by the nape of the neck with her teeth, and tried to drag him free. but he squealed so lamentably that she realized that the hide would yield before the mud would. the attempt had taken time, however; and the tide was now well up in the fur of his back. thrusting her paw down beneath his haunches, she tore him clear with a mighty wrench and a loud sucking of the baffled mud. that stroke sent him head over heels some ten feet nearer safety. by the time he had picked himself up, pawing fretfully at the mud that bedaubed his face and half blinded him, his mother was close behind him, nosing him along and lifting him forward skilfully with her fore paws. the slope of the flats was now so gradual as to be almost imperceptible; and the tide, therefore, seemed to be racing in with fiercer haste, as if in wrath at being so long balked of its prey. engrossed in her efforts to push the cub forward, the mother now lost some of her fine discrimination in regard to "honey-pots." she pushed the cub straight into one; but jerked him back unceremoniously before the mud had time to get any grip upon him. pausing for a moment to scrutinize the oozy expanse, she thrust the little animal furiously along to the left, searching for a safe passage. before she could find one, however, the tide was upon them, their feet splashing in the thin yellow wavelets. a broken soap-box, tossed overboard from some ship, came washing up, and stranded just before them. with a whimper of delight, as if he thought the box a safe refuge, the cub scrambled upon it; but his mother ruthlessly tumbled him off and hustled him onward, floundering and splashing. "ye'll hev to swim fer it, old woman!" growled the now excited watcher behind the pine-tree on the cliff. as the creeping flood by this time overspread the ooze for a couple of yards ahead of them, the mother could no longer discriminate as to what lay beneath it. she could do nothing now but dash ahead blindly. catching up the cub between her jaws, in a grip that made him squeal, she launched herself straight toward shore, hardly daring to let her feet rest an instant where they touched. fortune favoured her in this rush. she got ahead of the tide. she gained upon it, perhaps twice her body's length. then she paused, to drop the cub. but the pause was fatal. she began to sink instantly. she had come upon a "honey-pot" of stiffer consistency than the rest, which had sustained her while she was in swift motion, but now, in return for that support, clutched her in a grip the more inexorable. with all her huge strength she strained to wrench herself clear. but in vain. she had no purchase. there was nothing to put forth her strength upon. in her terror and despair she squealed aloud, with her snout high in air as if appealing to the blank, blue, empty sky. the cub, terror-stricken, strove to clamber upon her back. that harsh cry of hers, however, was but the outburst of one moment's weakness. the next moment the indomitable old bear was striving silently and systematically to release herself. she would wrench one great fore arm clear, lift it high, and feel about for a solid foundation beneath the ooze. failing in this, she would yield that paw to the enemy again, tear the other loose, and feel about for a foothold in another direction. at the same time she drew out her body to its full length, and lay flat, so that she might gain as much support as possible by distributing her weight. because of this sagacity, and because the mire at this point had more substance than in most of the other "honey-pots," she made a good fight, and almost, but not quite, held her own. by the time the tide had once more overtaken her she had sunk but a little way, and was still far from giving up the unequal struggle. yet for all the great beast's strength, and valour, and devotion, there could have been but one end to that brave battle, and mother and cub would have disappeared, in a few minutes more, under the stealthy, whispering onrush of the flood, had not the whimsical providence--or hazard--of the wild come curiously to their aid. among the jetsam of those restless fundy tides almost anything that will float may appear, from a matchbox to a barn. what appeared just now was a big spruce log, escaped from the boom on some river emptying into the bay. it came softly wallowing in, lipped by the little waves, and passed close by the nose of the old bear, where she struggled with the water up to her shoulders. [illustration: "pulled the butt under her chest."] quick as thought she flashed up a heavy paw, caught the log by one end, and pulled the butt under her chest. the purchase thus gained enabled her to free the other paw--and in a few seconds more the weight of the fore part of her body was on the end of the log, forcing it down to the mud. greedy as that mud was, it was yet incapable of engulfing a full-grown spruce timber quickly enough to defeat the bear's purpose. stretching far forward on the submerged log, she strained her muscles to their utmost, and slowly drew her hind quarters free from the deadly grip that held them. then, seizing in her jaws the cub, which was swimming and whimpering beside her, she carefully felt her way farther along the log, and sat down upon it to rest, clutching the youngster closely in one great fore arm. not till the tide had risen nearly to her neck did the mother move again. she was recovering her strength. utterly daunted by the peril of the "honey-pots," she chose rather to trust the tide itself. at last, catching the cub again by the back of the neck, she swam for the shore. the tide was now within a couple of hundred yards from the bases of the cliffs, and lapping upon solid, sun-baked clay. the strong flood helping her, she swam fast, though laboriously by reason of the burden in her teeth. soon her hinder feet struck ground--but she was afraid to trust it, and nervously drew them up beneath her. a few moments more and she felt undeniably firm footing; whereupon she plunged forward with a rush, and never paused, even to drop the squirming cub, till she was above high-water mark. when, at last, she set the little beast down, she was in such a hurry to get away from the shore and back into the secure green woods that she would not trust him to follow her, as usual, but drove him on ahead, as fast as he could move, toward the cleft in the cliffs. as they turned up the rugged trail her haste relaxed, and she went more slowly, but still driving the cub ahead of her, that she might be quite sure that the "honey-pots" would not reach up and clutch at him again. as the muddy, weary, bedraggled, pathetic-looking pair passed within tempting range of the pine-tree on the cliff-top, the woodsman instinctively threw forward his rifle. but the next moment he dropped it, with a slight flush, and gave a quick glance around him as if he feared that unseen eyes might have taken note of the gesture. "hell!" he muttered, "i'd 'a' been no better'n a _murderer_, 'f i'd 'a' gone an' plugged the old girl _now_!" the fight at the wallow i far to the northeast of ringwaak hill, just beyond that deep, far-rimmed lake which begets the torrent of the ottanoonsis, rise the bluff twin summits of old walquitch, presiding over an unbroken and almost untrodden wilderness. some way up the southeasterly flank of the loftier and more butting of the twin peaks ran a vast, open shelf, or terrace, a kind of barren, whose swampy but austere soil bore no growth but wiry bush. the green tips of this bushy growth were a favoured "browse" of the caribou, who, though no lovers of the heights, would often wander up from their shaggy and austere plains in quest of this aromatic forage. but this lofty mountainside barren had yet another attraction for the caribou. close at its edge, just where a granite buttress fell away steeply toward the lake, a tiny, almost imperceptible spring, stained with iron and pungent with salt, trickled out from among the roots of a dense, low thicket. past the bare spot made by these oozings, and round behind the thicket, led a dim trail, worn by the feet of caribou, moose, bear, deer, and other stealthy wayfarers. and to this spring, when the moon of the falling leaves brought in the season of love and war, the caribou bulls were wont to come, delighting to form their wallow in the pungent, salty mud. the bald twin peaks of old walquitch were ghostly white in the flood of the full moon, just risen, and swimming like a globe of witch's fire over the far, dark, wooded horizon. but the bushy shelf and the spring by the thicket, were still in shadow. along the trail to the spring, moving noiselessly, yet with a confident dignity, came a paler shadow, the shape of a huge, gray-white caribou bull with wide-spreading antlers. at the edge of the spring the bull stopped and began sniffing the sharp-scented mud. apparently he found no sign of a rival having passed that way before him, or of a cow having kept tryst there. lifting his splendid head he stared all about him in the shadow, and up at the bare, illuminated fronts of the twin peaks. [illustration: "he 'belled' harshly several times across the dark wastes."] as the light spread down the mountain to the edge of the shelf, and the moon rose into his view, he "belled" harshly several times across the dark wastes outspread below him. receiving no answer to his defiance, the great bull turned his attention again to the ooze around the spring. after sniffing it all over he fell to furrowing it excitedly with the two lowermost branches of his antlers,--short, broad, palmated projections thrust out low over his forehead, and called by woodsmen "the ploughs." every few seconds he would toss his head fiercely, like an ordinary bull, and throw the ooze over his shoulders. then he pawed the cool, strong-smelling stuff to what he seemed to consider a fitting consistency, sniffed it over again, and raised his head to "bell" a fresh challenge across the spacious solitudes. receiving no answer, he snorted in disgust, flung himself down on the trampled ooze, and began to wallow with a sort of slow and intense vehemence, grunting massively from time to time with volcanic emotion. the wallow was now in the full flood of the moonlight. in that mysterious illumination the caribou, encased in shining ooze, took on the grotesque and enormous aspect of some monster of the prediluvian slimes. suddenly his wallowing stopped, and his antlers, dripping mud, were lifted erect. for a few moments he was motionless as a rock, listening. he had caught the snapping of a twig, in the trail below the edge of the shelf. the sound was repeated; and he understood. blowing smartly, as if to clear the mud from about his nostrils, he lurched to his feet, stalked forth from the wallow, and stood staring arrogantly along the trail by which he had come. the next moment another pair of antlers appeared; and then another bull, tall but lean, and with long, spiky, narrow horns, mounted over the edge of the shelf, and halted to eye the apparition before him. the newcomer was of a darker hue than the lord of the wallow, and of much slimmer build,--altogether less formidable in appearance. but he looked very fit and fearless as, after a moment's supercilious survey of his rival's ooze-dripping form, he came mincing forward to the attack. the two, probably, had never seen each other before; but in rutting season all caribou bulls are enemies at sight. the white bull--no longer white now, but black and silver in the moonlight--stood for some seconds quite motionless, his head low, his broad and massive antlers thrust forward, his feet planted firmly and apart. ominous in his stillness, he waited till his light-stepping and debonair adversary was within twenty feet of him. then, with an explosive blowing through his nostrils, he launched himself forward to the attack. following the customary tactics of his kind, the second bull lowered his antlers to receive the charge. but in the last fraction of a breath before the crash, he changed his mind. leaping aside with a lightning alertness more like the action of a red buck than that of a caribou, he just evaded the shock. at the same time two of the spiky prongs of one antler ripped a long gash down his opponent's flank. amazed at this departure from the usual caribou tactics, and smarting with the anguish of that punishing stroke, the white bull whirled in his tracks, and charged again, blind with fury. the slim stranger had already turned, and awaited him again, with lowered antlers in readiness, close by the edge of the wallow. this time he seemed determined to meet the shock squarely according to the rules of the game--which apparently demand that the prowess of a caribou bull shall be determined by his pushing power. but again he avoided, leaping aside as if on springs; and again his sharp prongs furrowed his enemy's flank. with a grunt of rage the latter plunged on into the wallow, where he slipped forward upon his knees. had the newcomer been a little more resourceful he might now have taken his adversary at a terrible disadvantage, and won an easy victory. but he hesitated, being too much enamoured of his own method of fighting; and in the moment of hesitation opportunity passed him by. the white bull, recovering himself with suddenly awakened agility, was on his feet and on guard again in an instant. these two disastrous experiences, however, had added wariness and wisdom to the great bull's fighting rage. his wound, his momentary discomfiture, had opened his arrogant eyes to the fact that his antagonist was a dangerous one. he stood vigilant and considering for a few seconds, no longer with his feet planted massively for a resistless rush, but balanced, and all his forces gathered well in hand; while his elusive foe stepped lightly and tauntingly from side to side before him, threateningly. when the white bull made up his mind to attack again, instead of charging madly to swab his foe off the earth, he moved forward at a brisk stride, ready to check himself on the instant and block the enemy's side stroke. within a couple of yards of his opponent he stopped short. the latter stood motionless, antlers lowered as before, apparently quite willing to lock horns. but the white bull would not be lured into a rush. fiercely impatient he stamped the ground with a broad, clacking forehoof. just at this moment, as if in response to the challenge of the hoof, the stranger charged like lightning. but almost in the same motion he swerved aside, seeking again to catch his adversary on the flank. swift and cunning as he was, however, the white bull was this time all readiness. he whirled, head down. with a sharp, dry crash the two sets of antlers came together, and locked. that this should have happened was the irremediable mistake of the slim stranger. in that close encounter, fury against fury, force against force fairly pitted, his speed and his agility counted for nothing. for a few seconds, indeed, in sheer desperation he succeeded in withstanding his heavier and more powerful foe. with hind feet braced far back, haunches strained, flank heaving and quivering, the two held steady, staccato grunts and snorts attesting the ferocity of their efforts. then the hind foot of the younger bull slipped a little. with a convulsive wrench he recovered his footing; and again the struggle hung at poise. but it was only for a few moments. suddenly, as if he had felt his opportunity approach, the white bull threw all his strength into a mightier thrust. the legs of his adversary seemed to crumple up like paper beneath him. this would have been the end of the young bull's battlings and wooings; but as his good luck would have it, it was at the very edge of the shelf that he collapsed. disengaging his victorious antlers, the conqueror thrust viciously and evisceratingly at the victim's exposed flank. the latter was just struggling to rise, with precarious foothold on the loose-turfed brink of the steep. as he writhed away wildly from the goring points, the bushes and turf crumbled away, and he fell backwards, rolling and crashing till he brought up, battered but whole, in a sturdy thicket of young firs. regaining his feet he slunk off hurriedly into the dark of the woods. and the victor, standing on the brink in the white glare of the moonlight, "belled" his triumph hoarsely across the solemn spaces of the night. ii a sound of footfalls, hesitating but apparently making no attempt at concealment, came from the bend of the trail beyond the wallow; and the great white bull wheeled savagely to see what was approaching. as he glared, however, the angry ridge of hair cresting his neck sank amiably. a young cow, attracted by his calls and the noise of the battle, was coming around the thicket. at the edge of the thicket, not a dozen paces from the black ooze-bed of the wallow, the cow paused coyly, as if doubtful of her welcome. she murmured in her throat, a sort of rough allurement which seemed to the white bull's ears extraordinarily enticing. he answered, very softly, and stepped forward a pace or two, inviting rather than pursuing. reassured, the young cow advanced confidently and eagerly to meet him. at this moment, out from the heart of the thicket plunged a towering black form, with wide, snarling jaw's agleam in the moonlight. it seemed to launch itself through the air, as if from a height. one great, taloned paw struck the young cow full on the neck, a crashing blow, shattering the vertebrae through all their armour of muscle. with a groan the stricken cow sank down, her outstretched muzzle smothered in the ooze of the wallow; and the monstrous bulk of the bear fell upon her, tearing the warm flesh hungrily. in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, the most hot-headed and powerful bull of the caribou will shrink from trying conclusions with a full grown black bear. the duel, as a rule, is too cruelly one-sided. the bear, on the other hand, knows that a courageous bull is no easy victim; and the monster ambuscaded in the thicket had been waiting for one or both of the rivals to be disabled before making his attack. the approach of the young cow had been an unexpected favour of the powers that order the wilderness; and in clutching his opportunity he had scornfully and absolutely put the white bull out of the reckoning. but this bull was the exceptional one, the one that confounds generalizations, and confirms the final supremacy of the unexpected. he was altogether fearless, indifferent to odds, and just now flushed with overwhelming victory. moreover, he was aflame with mating ardour; and the mate of his desire had just been brutally struck down before his eyes. for a moment or two he stood bewildered, not daunted, but amazed by the terrific apparition and the appalling event. then a mad fire raged through all his veins, his great muscles swelled, the stiff hair on his neck and shoulders stood straight up, his eyes went crimson--and without a sound he charged across the wallow. when the bulls of the caribou kin fight each other, the weapons of their sole dependence are their antlers. but when they fight alien enemies they are wont to hold their heads high and strike with the battering, knife-edged weapons of their fore-hoofs. the bear, crouched upon his quivering prey, was too absorbed and too scornful to look for any assault. the bull was upon him, therefore, before he had time to guard his exposed flank. from the corner of his eye, he saw a big glistening shape which reared suddenly above him, and, clever boxer that he was, he threw up a ponderous forearm to parry the blow. but he was too late. with all the force of some seven hundred pounds of rage, avenging rage, behind him, these great hoofs, with their cutting edges, came down upon his side, smashing in several ribs, and gashing a wide wound down into his loins. the shock was so terrific that his own counter stroke, usually so swift and unerring, went wild altogether, and he was sent rolling clear of the body of his prey. instantly upon delivering his stroke, the white bull had pranced lightly aside, knowing well enough the swift and deadly effectiveness of a bear's paw. but he struck yet again, almost, it seemed, in the same breath, and just as the bear was struggling up upon his haunches. frantically, out of his astonishment, fury, and pain, the bear attempted to guard. he succeeded, indeed, in warding off those deadly hoofs from his flank; but he caught an almost disabling blow on the point of the left shoulder, putting his left forearm out of business. with a squawling grunt he swung about upon his haunches, bringing his right toward the enemy, and sat up, savagely but anxiously defensive. sore wounded though he was, the bear was not yet beaten. one fair buffet of his right paw, could he but land it in the proper place,--on nose, or neck, or leg--might yet give him the victory, and let him crawl off to nurse his hurts in some dense covert, leaving his broken foe to die in the wallow. but the white bull, though he had underrated his former antagonist, was in no danger of misprizing this one. he was now as wary as he had, in the previous case, been rash. moreover, he had had a dreadful object lesson in the power of the bear's paw. the body of the cow before him kept him from forgetting. stepping restlessly from side to side, threatening now with hoof and now with antlers, he seemed each instant upon the point of a fresh attack; and the bear, with swaying muzzle and blazing, shifting eyes, kept following his every motion. again and again he gathered his muscles for a fresh charge--but each time he checked himself with a realization that the body of the slain cow was exactly in his way, hampering his avoidance of a counter-stroke. after some minutes of this feinting, the caribou stood still, deliberating some new move. instantly the bear, also, became motionless as a stone. the sudden peace was like a shock of enchantment, a violent sorcery, and over it the blue-white, flooding shine of the moonlight seemed to take on some sinister significance. the seconds lengthened out as a nightmare, till at last the stupendous stillness was broken by the wild clamour of a loon, far down on the lake. as the distant cry shrilled up the mountainside, the white bull stirred, shook his antlers, and blew loudly through his nostril. it was a note of challenge--but in it the bear divined a growing hesitancy. perhaps, after all, this fight, which had gone so sorely against him, might not have to be fought out! he dropped, whirled about so quietly one could hardly follow the motion--and in a flash was up again on his haunches, right paw uplifted, eyes blazing vigilant defiance. but he had retreated several feet in that swift manoeuvre! his move was a confusion of defeat--but his attitude was a warning that he was dangerous in defeat. the bull followed, but only for a couple of steps, which brought him so that he bestrode the body of the cow. here he halted, still threatening; and again the two confronted each other motionlessly. this time, however, the spell was broken by the bear himself. suddenly he repeated his former manoeuvre; and again turned to face his adversary. but the bull did not follow. without a movement he stood, as if content with his victory. and after a few moments the bear, as if realizing that the fight was over, flung himself aside from the trail and went limping off painfully through the bushes, keeping a watchful eye over his shoulder till he vanished into a bunch of dense spruce against the mountainside. [illustration: "in a flash was up again on his haunches."] the white bull eyed his going proudly. then he looked down at the torn and lifeless body between his feet. he had not really taken note of it before. now he bent his head and sniffed at it with wondering interrogation. the spreading blood, still warm, smote his nostrils; and all at once, it seemed, death and the fear of death were borne in upon his arrogant heart. he tossed his head, snorting wildly, flung himself clear of the uncomprehended, dreadful thing upon the ground, bounded over the wallow as if it, too, had grown terrifying, and fled away up the trail through the merciless, unconcealing moonlight, till he reached the end of the open shelf and a black wood hid his sudden fear of the unknown. sonny and the kid the little old gray house, with its gray barn and low wagon shed, stood in the full sun at the top of a gullied and stony lane. behind it the ancient forest, spruce and fir and hemlock, came down and brooded darkly over the edge of the rough, stump-strewn pasture. the lane, leading up to the house from the main road, climbed between a sloping buckwheat field on the one hand and a buttercupped meadow on the other. on either side of the lane, cutting it off from the fields, straggled a zigzag snake fence, with milk-weed, tansy, and mullein growing raggedly in its corners. at the head of the lane, where it came out upon the untidy but homely looking yard, stood a largish black and tan dog, his head on one side, his ears cocked, his short stub of a tail sticking out straight and motionless, tense with expectation. he was staring at a wagon which came slowly along the main road, drawn by a jogging, white-faced sorrel. the expression in the dog's eyes was that of a hope so eager that nothing but absolute certainty could permit him to believe in its approaching fulfilment. his mouth was half open, as if struggling to aid his vision. he was an odd looking beast, formidable in his sturdy strength and his massiveness of jaw; and ugly beyond question, but for the alert intelligence of his eyes. a palpable mongrel, he showed none the less that he had strains of distinction in his ancestry. english bull was the blood most clearly proclaimed, in his great chest, short, crooked legs, fine coat, and square, powerful head. his pronounced black and tan seemed to betray some beagle kinship, as did his long, close-haired ears. whoever had docked his tail, in his defenceless puppyhood, had evidently been too tender-hearted to cut those silken and sensitive ears. so sonny had been obliged to face life in the incongruous garb of short tail and long ears--which is almost as unpardonable as yellow shoes with a top hat. when the wagon drew close to the foot of the lane, sonny was still uncertain. there might be other white faced sorrels than lazy old bill. the man in the wagon certainly looked like his beloved master, joe barnes; but joe barnes was always alone on the wagon-seat, while this man had a child beside him, a child with long, bright, yellow hair and a little red cap. this to sonny was a bewildering phenomenon. but when at last the wagon turned up the lane, his doubts were finally resolved. his stub of a tail jerked spasmodically, in its struggle to wag. then with two or three delirious yelps of joy he started madly down the lane. at the sound of his voice the door of the gray house opened. a tall, thin woman in a bluish homespun skirt and red calico waist came out, and moved slowly across the yard to welcome the new arrivals. when sonny, yelping and dancing, met the creaking wagon as it bumped its way upward over the gullies, his master greeted him with a "hello, sonny!" as usual; but to the dog's quick perception there was a difference in his tone, a difference that was almost an indifference. joe barnes was absorbed. at other times, he was wont to seem warmly interested in sonny's welcoming antics, and would keep up a running fire of talk with him while the old sorrel plodded up the lane. to-day, however, joe's attention was occupied by the yellow-haired child beside him; and sonny's demonstrations, he knew not why, became perceptibly less ecstatic. it was of no consequence whatever to him that the child stared at him with dancing eyes and cried delightedly, "oh, unc' joe, what a pretty doggie! oh, what a nice doggie! can i have him, unc' joe?" "all right, kid," said joe barnes, gazing down adoringly upon the little red cap; "he's yourn. his name's sonny, an' he's the best dawg ever chased a chipmunk. he'll love ye, kid, most as much as yer old unc' joe an' aunt ann does." when the yard was reached, the tall woman in the red calico waist was at the side of the wagon before the driver's "whoa!" brought the horse to a stop. the little one was snatched down from the seat and hugged vehemently to her heart. "poor lamb! precious lamb!" she murmured. "i'll be a mother to you, please god!" "i want my mummie! where's she gone to?" cried the child, suddenly reminded of a loss which he was beginning to forget. but his aunt changed the subject hastily. "ain't he the livin' image of jim?" she demanded in a voice of wondering admiration. "did ever you see the likes of it, father?" under the pretence of examining him more critically, joe took the child into his own arms, and looked at him with ardent eyes. "yes," said he, "the kid does favour jim, more'n his--" but he checked himself at the word. "an' he's a regular little man too!" he went on. "come all the way up on the cars by himself, an' wasn't a mite o' trouble, the conductor said." utterly engrossed in the little one, neither joe nor his wife gave a look or a thought to sonny, who was leaping upon them joyously. for years he had been almost the one centre of attention for the childless couple, who had treated him as a child, caressing him, spoiling him, and teaching him to feel his devotion necessary to them. now, finding himself quite ignored, he quieted down all at once and stood for a few seconds gazing reproachfully at the scene. the intimacy with joe and ann which he had so long enjoyed had developed almost a human quality in his intelligence and his feelings. plainly, now, he was forgotten. his master and mistress had withdrawn their love and were pouring it out upon this stranger child. his ears and stub tail drooping in misery, he turned away, walked sorrowfully over to the horse, and sniffed at the latter's nose as if to beg for some explanation of what had happened. but the old sorrel, pleasantly occupied in cropping at the short, sweet grass behind the well, had neither explanation nor sympathy to offer. sonny went off to his kennel, a place he scorned to notice, as a rule, because the best in the house had hitherto been held none too good for him. creeping in with a beaten air, he lay down with his nose on his paws in the doorway, and tried to understand what had come upon him. one thing only was quite clear to him. it was all the fault of the child with the yellow curls. sonny had had no experience with children. the few he had met he had regarded with that impersonal benevolence which was his attitude toward all humanity. his formidable appearance had saved him from finding out that humanity could be cruel and brutal. so now, in his unhappiness, he had no jealous anger. he simply wanted to keep away from this small being who had caused his hurt. but even this grace was not to be allowed him. by the time joe barnes and ann, both trying to hold the little one in their arms at the same time, had made their impeded way to the house, the little one had begun to find their ardour a shade embarrassing. to him there were lots of things better than being hugged and kissed. this shining green backwoods world was quite new to his city born eyes, and he wanted to find out all about it, at once, for himself. he began struggling vigorously to get down out of the imprisoning arms. "put me down, unc' joe!" he demanded. "i want to play with my doggie." "all right, kid," responded joe, complying instantly. "here sonny, sonny, come an' git acquainted with the kid!" "yes, come and see the kid, sonny!" reëchoed the woman, devouring the little yellow head with her eyes. his real name was alfred, but joe had called him "the kid," and that was to be his appellation thenceforth. hearing his name called, sonny emerged from his kennel and came forward, but not with his wonted eagerness. very soberly, but with prompt obedience he came, and thrust his massive head under joe's hand for the accustomed caress. but the caress was not forthcoming. joe simply forgot it, so absorbed was he, his gaunt, weather-beaten face glowing and melting with smiles as he gazed at the child. "here's your dawg, kid!" said he, and watched delightedly to see how the little one would go about asserting proprietorship. the woman was the more subtle of the two in her sympathies. "sonny," she said, pulling the dog forward, "here's the kid, yer little master. see you mind what he tells you, and see you take good keer o' him." sonny wagged his tail obediently, his load of misery lightening under the touch of his mistress's hand. he leaned against her knees, comforted for a moment, though his love was more for the man than for her. but he would not look at the kid. he shut his eyes with an expression of endurance as the little one's hand patted him vehemently on the face, and his stub tail stopped wagging. in a dim way he recognized that he must not be uncivil to this small stranger who had so instantaneously and completely usurped his place. but beyond this he could think of nothing but his master, who had grown indifferent. suddenly, with a burst of longing for reconciliation, he jerked abruptly away from the child's hands, wriggled in between joe's legs, and strove to climb up and lick his face. at the look of disappointment which passed over the child's face joe barnes felt a sudden rush of anger. stupidly misunderstanding, he thought that sonny was merely trying to avoid the child. he straightened up his tall figure, snatched the little one to his breast, and exclaimed in a harsh voice, "if ye can't be nice to the kid, git out!" the words "git out!" with the tone in which they were uttered, would have been comprehensible to a much meaner intelligence than sonny's. as if he had been whipped, he curled down his abbreviated tail, and ran and hid himself in his kennel. "sonny didn't mean to be ugly to the kid, father," protested ann, "he jest don't quite understand the situation yet, an' he's wonderin' why ye don't make so much of him as ye used to. i don't blame him fer feelin' a leetle mite left out in the cold." joe felt a vague suspicion that ann might be right; but it was a very vague suspicion, just enough to make him feel uneasy and put him on the defensive. being obstinate and something of a crank, this only added heat to his irritation. "i ain't got no use fer any dawg that don't know enough to take to a kid on sight!" he declared, readjusting the little red cap on the child's curls. [illustration: "he curled down his abbreviated tail, and ran."] "of course, father," acquiesced ann discreetly; "but you'll find sonny'll be all right." here the child, who had been squirming with impatience, piped up, "i want to go an' see my doggie in his little house!" he declared. "oh, no, kid, we're goin' to let sonny be fer a bit. we're goin' to see the calf, the pretty black an' white calf, round back o' the barn, now. you go along with aunty ann while i onhitch old bill. an' then we'll all go an' see the little pigs." his mind altogether diverted by the suggestion of such strange delights, the little fellow trotted off joyously with ann, while joe barnes led the old sorrel to the barn, grumbling to himself at what he chose to call sonny's "ugliness" in not making friends with the kid. * * * * * from that hour sonny's life was changed. in fact, it seemed to him no longer life at all. his master's indifference grew swiftly to an unreasoning anger against him; and as he fretted over it continually, a malicious fate seemed to delight in putting him, or leading him to put himself, ever in the wrong. absorbed in longing for his master, he hardly thought of the child at all. several times, in a blundering effort to make things right with sonny and the kid, joe seated himself on the back doorstep, took the little one on his knee, and called sonny to come and make friends. at the sound of the loved summons sonny shot out from the kennel, which had become his constant refuge, tore wildly across the yard, and strove, in a sort of ecstasy, to show his forgiveness and his joy by climbing into joe's lap. being a large dog, and the lap already filled, this meant roughly crowding out the kid, of whose very existence, at this moment, sonny was unaware. but to the obtuse man sonny's action seemed nothing more than a mean and jealous effort to supplant the kid. to the kid this proceeding of sonny's was a fine game. he would grapple with the dog, hug him, pound him gleefully with his little fists, and call him every pet name he knew. but the man would rise to his feet angrily, and cry, "if that's all ye're good fer, git! git out, i tell ye!" and sonny, heartsore and bewildered, would shrink back hopelessly to his kennel. when this, or something much like it, had happened several times, even ann, for all her finer perceptions, began to feel that sonny might be a bit nicer to the kid, and, as a consequence, to stint her kindness. but to sonny, sunk in his misery and pining only for that love which his master had so inexplicably withdrawn from him, it mattered little whether ann was neglectful or not. uneventfully day followed day on the lonely backwoods farm. to sonny, the discarded, the discredited, they were all hopeless days, dark and interminable. but to the kid they were days of wonder, every one. he loved the queer black and white pigs, which he studied intently through the cracks in the boarding of their pen. he loved the calf, and the three velvet-eyed cows, and the two big red oxen, inseparable yoke fellows. the chickens were an inexhaustible interest to him; and so were the airy throngs of buttercups afloat on the grass, and the yet more aërial troops of the butterflies flickering above them, white and brown and red and black and gold and yellow and maroon. but in the last choice he loved best of all the silent, unresponsive sonny, of whose indifference he seemed quite unaware. sonny, lying on the grass, would look at him soberly, submit to his endearments without one answering wag of the tail, and at last, after the utmost patience that courtesy could require, would slowly get up, yawn, and stroll off to his kennel or to some pretended business behind the barn. his big heart harboured no resentment against the child, whom he knew to be a child and irresponsible. his resentment was all against fate, or life, or whatever it was, the vague, implacable force which was causing joe barnes to hurt him. for joe barnes he had only sorrow and hungry devotion. little by little, however, sonny's lonely and sorrowful heart, in spite of itself, was beginning to warm toward the unconscious child. though still outwardly indifferent, he began to feel gratified rather than bored when the kid came up and gaily disturbed his slumbers by pounding him on the head with his little palm and tumbling over his sturdy back. it was a mild gratification, however, and seemed to call for no demonstrative expression. then, one noon, he chanced to be lying, heavy-hearted, some ten or a dozen paces in front of the kitchen door, while joe barnes sat on the doorstep smoking his after-dinner pipe, and ann bustled through the dish washing. at such times, in the old happy days, sonny's place had always been at joe barnes's feet; but those times seemed to have been forgotten by joe barnes, who had the kid beside him. suddenly, tired of sitting still, the little one jumped up and ran over to sonny. sonny resolutely pretended to be asleep. laughingly the child sprawled over him, pulled his ears gently, then tried to push open his eyes. a little burst of warmth gushed up in sonny's sad heart. with a swift impulse he lifted his muzzle and licked the kid, a generous, ample lick across the face. alas! as blundering fate would have it, the kid's face was closer than sonny had imagined. he not only licked it, but at the same time bumped it violently with his wet muzzle. taken by surprise and half-dazed, the kid drew back with a sharp little "oh!" his eyes grew very wide, and for an instant his mouth quivered as if he was going to cry. this was all joe barnes saw. springing to his feet, with a smothered oath, he ran, caught the kid up in his arms, and gave sonny a fierce kick in the ribs which sent him rushing back to his kennel with a howl of grief and pain. ann had come running from the house in amazement. the kid was sobbing, and struggling to get down from joe's arms. ann snatched him away anxiously. "what did sonny do to ye, the bad dawg!" she demanded. "he ain't bad. he's good. he jest kissed me too hard!" protested the little one indignantly. "he hurt the kid's face. i ain't right sure but what he snapped at him," said joe barnes. "he didn't hurt me! he didn't mean to," went on the kid. "of course he didn't," said ann with conviction. "father, ye're too hard on the dawg. ye hadn't oughter have kicked him." an obstinate look settled on joe barnes's face. "yes, i had, too. 'n' he'll be gittin' more'n that, ef he don't l'arn not to be ugly to the kid," he retorted harshly. then, with an uneasy sense that, whether right or wrong, he was in the minority, he returned to the doorstep and moodily resumed his smoking. ann called sonny many times to come out and get his dinner. but sonny, broken-hearted, and the ruins of all his life and love and trust tumbled about his ears, would not hear her. he was huddled in the back of his kennel, with his nose jammed down into the corner. * * * * * two days later it happened that both joe and ann went down together into the field in front of the house to weed the carrot patch. they left the kid asleep in his trundle bed, in the little room off the kitchen. when they were gone, sonny came out of his kennel and lay down in the middle of the yard, where he could keep a watchful eye on everything belonging to joe barnes. it was the kid's invariable custom to sleep soundly for a good two hours of the early afternoon. on this afternoon, however, he broke his custom. joe and ann had not been ten minutes away, when he appeared in the kitchen door, his yellow hair tousled, his cheeks rosy, his plump fists trying to rub the sleep out of his eyes. his face was aggrieved, because he had woke up and found himself alone. but at the sight of sonny the grievance was forgotten. he ran to the dog and began to maul him joyously. his recent bitter experience raw in his heart, sonny did not dare to respond, but lay with his nose on his paws, unstirring, while the child sprawled over him. after a few minutes this utter unresponsiveness chilled even the kid's enthusiasm. he jumped up and cast his eyes about in search of some diversion more exciting. his glance wandered out past the barn and up the pasture toward the edge of the forest. a squirrel, sitting on a black stump in the pasture, suddenly began jumping about and shrilly chattering. this was something quite new and very interesting. the kid crawled through the bars and started up the pasture as fast as his sturdy little legs could carry him. the squirrel saw him coming, but knowing very well that he was not dangerous, held his ground, bouncing up and down on the stump in vociferous excitement. when the kid was within three feet of him, he gave a wild "k-r-r-r-r!" of derision, and sprang to another stump. with eyes dancing and eager little hands outstretched, the kid followed--again and again, and yet again--till he was led to the very edge of the wood. then the mocking imp in red fur whisked up an ancient hemlock, and hid himself, in silence, in a high crotch, tired of the game. at the edge of the woods the kid stopped, peering in among the shadows with mingled curiosity and awe. the bright patches of sunlight on the brown forest floor and on the scattered underbrush allured him. presently, standing out in conspicuous isolation, a great crimson toadstool caught his eye. he wanted the beautiful thing intensely, to play with. but he was afraid. leaning his face against the old fence, he gazed through desirously. but the silence made him more and more afraid. if only the squirrel would come back and play with him, he would not be afraid. he was on the point of giving up the beautiful crimson toadstool and turning back home, when he saw a little gray bird hopping amid the lower limbs of a spruce in among the shadows. "tsic-a-dee-dee!" whistled the little gray bird, blithely and reassuringly. at once the shadows and the stillness lost their terrors. the kid squeezed boldly through the fence and started in for the glowing toadstool. just as he reached the coloured thing and stooped to seize it, a sharp "tzip, tzip!" and a rustling of stiff feathers startled him. looking up, he saw a bright-eyed brown bird running hither and thither before him, trailing one wing on the ground as if unable to fly. it was such a pretty bird! and it seemed so tame! the kid felt sure he could catch it. grabbing up the crimson toadstool, and holding it clutched to his bosom with one hand, he ran eagerly after the brown bird. the bird, a wily old hen partridge, bent on leading the intruder away from her hidden brood, kept fluttering laboriously on just beyond his reach, till she came to a dense patch of underbrush. she was just about to dive into this thicket, when she leaped into the air, instead, with a frightened squawk, and whirred up into the branches of a lofty birch near by. bitterly disappointed, the kid gazed up after her, still clutching the bright toadstool to his breast. then, by instinct rather than by reason, he dropped his eyes to the thicket, and stared in to see what had frightened away the pretty brown bird. at first he could see nothing. but to his sensitive little nerves came a feeling that something was there. gradually his eyes, accustoming themselves to the gloom, began to disentangle substance and shadow. then suddenly he detected the form of a gray crouching animal. he saw its tufted ears, its big round face, with mouth half open grinningly. its great, round, pale, yellow green eyes were staring straight at him. in his fright the kid dropped his toadstool and stared back at the gray animal. his first impulse was to turn and run; but, somehow, he was afraid to do that--afraid to turn his back on the pale-eyed, crouching shape. as he gazed, trembling, he saw that the animal looked like a huge gray cat. [illustration: "in his fright the kid dropped his toadstool and stared back at the gray animal."] at this thought he felt a trifle reassured. cats were kind, and nice to play with. a big cat wouldn't hurt him, he felt quite sure of that. but when, after a minute or two of moveless glaring, the big cat, never taking its round eyes from his face, began to creep straight toward him, stealthily, without a sound, then his terror all came back. in the extremity of his fear he burst out crying, not very loud, but softly and pitifully, as if he hardly knew what he was doing. his little hands hanging straight down at his sides, his head bent slightly forward, he stood helplessly staring at this strange, terrible cat creeping toward him through the thicket. * * * * * sonny, meanwhile, had grown uneasy the moment the kid climbed through the bars into the pasture. the kid had never gone into the pasture before. sonny got up, turned round, and lay down in such a position that he could see just what the child was doing. he knew the little one belonged to joe barnes; and he could not let anything belonging to joe barnes get lost or run away. when the kid reached the edge of the woods and stood looking through the fence, then sonny roused himself, and started up the pasture in a leisurely, indifferent way, as if it was purely his own whim that took him in that direction. he pretended not to see the kid at all. but in reality he was watching, with an anxious intentness, every move the little one made. he was determined to do his duty by joe barnes. but when at last the kid wriggled through the fence and darted into the gloom of the forest, sonny's solicitude became more personal. he knew that the forest was a place of many strange perils. it was no place for the kid. a sudden fear seized him at thought of what might happen to the kid, there in the great and silent shadows. he broke into a frantic run, scrambled through the fence, picked up the little adventurer's trail, and darted onward till he caught sight of the kid's bright curly head, apparently intent on gazing into a thicket. at the sight he stopped abruptly, then sauntered forward with a careless air, as if it was the most ordinary chance in the world that he should come across the kid, away off here alone. instinctively, under the subtle influence of the forest silence, sonny went forward softly, on his toes, though anything like stealth was altogether foreign to him. as he crept up, he wondered what it was in the thicket to keep him so still. there was something mysterious about it. the hair began to rise along sonny's back. then, a moment later, he heard the kid crying. there was no mistaking the note of terror in that hopeless, helpless little sound. sonny did not need to reason about it; his heart understood all that was necessary. something was frightening the kid. his white teeth bared themselves, and he darted forward. at this instant there came a crackling and swishing in the thicket; and the kid, as if released from a spell, turned with a scream and started to flee. he tripped on a root, however, and fell headlong on his face, his yellow curls mixing with the brown twigs and fir needles. almost in the selfsame second a big gray lynx burst from the green of the underbrush and sprang upon the little, sprawling, helpless form. but not actually upon it. those outstretching, murderous claws never actually sank into the kid's flesh. for sonny was there just as soon as the lynx was. the wild beast changed its mind, and attack, just in time to avoid being taken at a serious disadvantage. the rush of sonny's heavy body bore it backward clear of the kid. the latter scrambled to his feet, stifled his sobs, and stared open-mouthed at the sudden fury of battle which confronted him. had sonny not been endowed with intelligence as well as valour, he would have fallen victim almost at once to his adversary's terrific, raking hind claws. but fortunately, during his pugnacious puppyhood he had had several encounters with war-wise, veteran cats. to him, the lynx was obviously a huge and particularly savage cat. he knew the deadly power of its hind claws, with all the strength of those great hind quarters behind them. as he grappled with the screeching lynx, silently, after the fashion of his bull ancestors, he received a ripping slash from one of its armed fore paws, but succeeded in fixing his grip on the base of the beast's neck, not far from the throat. instantly he drew himself backward with all his weight, crouching flat, and dragging the enemy down with him. in this position, sonny, backing and pulling with all his strength, the spitting and screeching cat was unable to bring its terrible hinder claws into play. the claws of the beast's great fore paws, however, were doing cruel work on sonny's back and sides; while its long fangs, pointed like daggers, tore savagely at the one point on his shoulder which they could reach. this terrible punishment sonny took stoically, caring only to protect the tender under part of his body and his eyes. his close grip on the base of the animal's neck shielded his eyes, and, according to the custom of his tenacious breed, he never relaxed his hold for a moment, but kept chewing in, chewing in, inexorably working his way to a final, fatal grip upon the throat. and not for a moment, either, did he desist from his steady backward pull, which kept the foe from doubling upon him with its hind quarters. for several minutes the furious struggle went on, sonny, apparently, getting all the worst of it. his back and shoulders were pouring blood; while his enemy showed not a hurt. then suddenly the gray beast's screeching took on a half strangling sound. with its mouth wide open it ceased to bite, though its fore paws raked and clawed more desperately than ever. sonny's relentless hold was beginning to throttle. his mouth was now too full of long fur and loose skin for him to bite clean through the throat and finish the fight. but he felt himself already the victor. suddenly, as he continued that steady backward drag, the resistance ceased. the lynx had launched itself forward in one last convulsive struggle to free itself from those strangling teeth at its throat. for a second or two sonny felt himself overwhelmed, engulfed, in a vortex of rending claws. in a tight ball of hate and ferocity and horror the two rolled over and over in the underbrush. sonny, doubled up hard to protect his belly, heard a shrill cry of fear from the kid. at the sound he summoned into his strained nerves and muscles a strength beyond the utmost which he had yet been able to put forth. his jaws worked upward, secured a cleaner grip, ground slowly closer; and at last his teeth crunched together. a great shudder shook the body of the lynx. it straightened out, limp and harmless. for perhaps a minute sonny maintained his triumphant grip, shaking the foe savagely. satisfied, at last, that he was meeting with no more resistance, he let go, stood off, and eyed the body with searching suspicion. then he turned to the kid. the kid, careless of the blood and wounds, kissed him fervently on the nose, called him "poor sonny! dear, good sonny!" and burst into a loud wailing. knowing that the one thing now was to get the kid home again as soon as possible, sonny started, looking back, and uttering a little imperative bark. the kid understood, and followed promptly. by the time they reached the fence, however, sonny was so weak from loss of blood he could hardly climb through. the kid, with blundering but loving efforts, helped him. then he lay down. at this moment the voices of joe and ann were heard, shouting, calling wildly, from the yard. at the sound, sonny struggled to his feet and staggered on, the kid keeping close beside him. but he could manage only a few steps. then he sank down again. the man and woman came running up the pasture, calling the kid; but the latter would not leave sonny. he trotted forward a few steps, and stopped, shaking his head and looking back. when joe and ann came near enough to see that the little one's face and hair and clothes were splotched with blood, fear clutched at their hearts. "my god! what's happened to him?" gasped ann, striving to keep up with her husband's pace. but joe was too quick for her. darting ahead, he seized the little one, lifted him up, and searched his face with frantic eyes. for all the blood, the child seemed well and vigorous. "what's it mean, kid? ye ain't hurt--ye ain't hurt--tell me ye ain't hurt, kid! what's all this blood all over ye?" he demanded breathlessly. by this time ann was at his side, questioning with terrified eyes. "tain't me, unc' joe!" protested the kid. "i ain't hurted. it's poor sonny. he's hurted awful. he killed the great, big--great, big--" the kid was at a loss how to explain, "the great, big, dreadful cat, what was goin' to eat me up, sonny did." joe barnes looked at the dog, the torn sides, streaming red wounds, and bloody muzzle. woodsman that he was, he understood. "sonny!" he cried in a piercing voice. the dog raised his head, wagged his stump of a tail feebly, and made a futile effort to rise. gulping down something in his throat, joe barnes handed the child over to ann, and strode to sonny's side. bending over him, he tenderly gathered the big dog into his arms, holding him like a baby. sonny reached up and licked his chin. joe turned and hastened back to the old gray house with his burden. "come along, mother," he said, his voice a little unsteady. "you'll have to look out for the kid all by yerself for a bit now. i reckon i'm goin' to hev' about all i kin do, a-nursin' sonny." the end six star ranch another success by the author of the wonderful glad books: "pollyanna: the glad book" "pollyanna grows up: the second glad book" with frontispiece in full color from a painting by r. farrington elwell and six spirited drawings by frank j. murch. bound uniform with the pollyanna books in silk cloth, with a corresponding color jacket, net $ . ; carriage paid $ . the year we published pollyanna, the glad book, we published another book by the same author, but as it is contrary to our policy to issue two books by one writer in a year, we published the second book under the pseudonym "eleanor stuart." as we are not going to publish a new book of mrs. porter's this year, we have decided to announce the publication of six star ranch under the name of its real author. the success of her previous books is practically unparalleled in the history of american publishing, pollyanna: the glad book, having already sold , copies--an average of more than , copies for three consecutive years--and pollyanna grows up: the second glad book, having sold nearly , copies in nine months. six star ranch is a charming story, in the author's best vein, of a dear little texas girl, who plays "the glad game" made famous by pollyanna, and plays it with a charm which will put her on the same pinnacle, side by side with pollyanna. the violin lady a sequel to "the fiddling girl" and "the proving of virginia" by daisy rhodes campbell frontispiece in full color from a painting by f. w. read, and six black and white illustrations by john goss, decorative jacket, net $ . ; carriage paid $ . this new story continues the adventures of the once little fiddling girl and tells of her triumphs and hardships abroad, of her friends, her love affairs, and finally of virginia's wedding bells and return to america. the previous two books in this series have been pronounced excellent and uplift stories, but "the violin lady" is far ahead of both in interest and charm. the press has commented on the author's previous stories as follows: "a delightful story told in a charming manner. the page company does a real service indeed in the publication of so many of these excellent stories."--zion's herald, boston. "a thoroughly enjoyable tale, written in a delightful vein of sympathetic comprehension."--boston herald. the girl from the big horn country by mary ellen chase mo, cloth decorative, illustrated by r. farrington elwell, net $ . ; carriage paid $ . at the beginning of the story, virginia hunter, a bright, breezy, frank-hearted "girl of the golden west," comes out of the big horn country of wyoming to the old bay state. then "things begin," when virginia,--who feels the joyous, exhilarating call of the big horn wilderness and the outdoor life,--attempts to become acclimated and adopt good old new england "ways." few stories reveal a more attractive heroine, and the joyous spirit of youth and its happy adventures give the story an unusual charm. "the book has natural characters, fresh incidents, and a general atmosphere of sincerity and wholesome understanding of girl nature. virginia may well become as popular as 'miss billy' or irresistible anne."--new york sun. sylvia of the hill top a sequel to "sylvia's experiment, the cheerful book" by margaret r. piper mo, cloth decorative, with a frontispiece in full color, decorative jacket, net $ . ; carriage paid $ . in the cheerful book sylvia arden proved herself a messenger of joy and cheerfulness to thousands of readers. in this new story she plays the same rôle on arden hill during her summer vacation and is the same wholesome, generous, cheerful young lady who made such a success of the christmas party. she befriends sick neighbors, helps "run" a tea-room, brings together two lovers who have had differences, serves as the convenient bridesmaid here and the good samaritan there, and generally acquits herself in a manner which made of her such a popular heroine in the former story. there is, of course, a prince charming in the background. "the sylvia books should be read by all the exponents of pollyanna of the glad books," says mr. h. v. meyer of the american baptist publication society. selections from the page company's list of fiction works of eleanor h. porter pollyanna: the glad book ( , ) cloth decorative, illustrated by stockton mulford. net, $ . ; carriage paid, $ . mr. leigh mitchell hodges, the optimist, in an editorial for the philadelphia north american, says: "and when, after pollyanna has gone away, you get her letter saying she is going to take 'eight steps' to-morrow--well, i don't know just what you may do, but i know of one person who buried his face in his hands and shook with the gladdest sort of sadness and got down on his knees and thanked the giver of all gladness for pollyanna." pollyanna grows up: the second glad book cloth decorative, illustrated by h. weston taylor. net, . ; carriage paid, $ . when the story of pollyanna told in the glad book was ended a great cry of regret for the vanishing "glad girl" went up all over the country--and other countries, too. now pollyanna appears again, just as sweet and joyous-hearted, more grown up and more lovable. "take away frowns! put down the worries! stop fidgeting and disagreeing and grumbling! cheer up, everybody! pollyanna has come back!"--christian herald. the glad book calendar the pollyanna calendar (this calendar is issued annually; the calendar for the new year being ready about sept. st of the preceding year. note: in ordering please specify what year you desire.) decorated and printed in colors. net, $ . ; carriage paid, $ . "there is a message of cheer on every page, and the calendar is beautifully illustrated."--kansas city star. miss billy ( th printing) cloth decorative, with a frontispiece in full color from a painting by g. tyng $ . "there is something altogether fascinating about 'miss billy,' some inexplicable feminine characteristic that seems to demand the individual attention of the reader from the moment we open the book until we reluctantly turn the last page."--boston transcript. miss billy's decision ( th printing) cloth decorative, with a frontispiece in full color from a painting by henry w. moore. net, $ . ; carriage paid, $ . "the story is written in bright, clever style and has plenty of action and humor. miss billy is nice to know and so are her friends."--new haven times leader. "the author has succeeded admirably in repeating so delightful a character and in making her the heroine of so many interesting and amusing adventures."--the springfield union. miss billy--married ( th printing) cloth decorative, with a frontispiece in full color from a painting by w. haskell coffin. net, $ . ; carriage paid, $ . "although pollyanna is the only copyrighted glad girl, miss billy is just as glad as the younger figure and radiates just as much gladness. she disseminates joy so naturally that we wonder why all girls are not like her."--boston transcript. "no one can come within the charmed circle of miss billy's radiant personality without a vast increase of good cheer, of insistent optimism and outgoing unselfishness. she is one of the vital characters that vitalize everyone."--christian endeavor world. cross currents cloth decorative, illustrated $ . "to one who enjoys a story of life as it is to-day, with its sorrows as well as its triumphs, this volume is sure to appeal."--book news monthly. the turn of the tide cloth decorative, illustrated $ . "a very beautiful book showing the influence that went to the developing of the life of a dear little girl into a true and good woman."--herald and presbyter, cincinnati, ohio. aldarondo, charles franks and the online distributed proofreading team the lincoln story book a judicious collection of the best stories and anecdotes of the great president, many appearing here for the first time in book form compiled by henry l. williams preface. the abraham lincoln statue at chicago is accepted as the typical westerner of the forum, the rostrum, and the tribune, as he stood to be inaugurated under the war-cloud in . but there is another lincoln as dear to the common people--the lincoln of happy quotations, the speaker of household words. instead of the erect, impressive, penetrative platform orator we see a long, gaunt figure, divided between two chairs for comfort, the head bent forward, smiling broadly, the lips curved in laughter, the deep eyes irradiating their caves of wisdom; the story-telling lincoln, enjoying the enjoyment he gave to others. this talkativeness, as lincoln himself realized, was a very valuable asset. leaving home, he found, in a venture at "yankee notion-pedling," that glibness meant three hundred per cent, in disposing of flimsy wares. in the camp of the lumber-jacks and of the indian rangers he was regarded as the pride of the mess and the inspirator of the tent. from these stages he rose to be a graduate of the "college" of the yarn-spinner--the village store, where he became clerk. the store we know is the township vortex where all assemble to "swap stories" and deal out the news. lincoln, from behind the counter--his pulpit--not merely repeated items of information which he had heard, but also recited doggerel satire of his own concoction, punning and emitting sparks of wit. lincoln was hailed as the "capper" of any "good things on the rounds." even then his friends saw the germs of the statesman in the lank, homely, crack-voiced hobbledehoy. their praise emboldened him to stand forward as the spokesman at schoolhouse meetings, lectures, log-rollings, huskings auctions, fairs, and so on--the folk-meets of our people. one watching him in said foresightedly: "lincoln has touched land at last." in commencing electioneering, he cultivated the farming population and their ways and diction. he learned by their parlance and bible phrases to construct "short sentences of small words," but he had all along the idea that "the plain people are more easily influenced by a broad and humorous illustration than in any other way." it is the anglo-saxon trait, distinguishing all great preachers, actors, and authors of that breed. he acknowledged his personal defects with a frankness unique and startling; told a girl whom he was courting that he did not believe any woman could fancy him; publicly said that he could not be in looks what was rated a gentleman; carried the knife of "the homeliest man"; disparaged himself like a brutus or a pope sixtus. but the mass relished this "plain, blunt man who spoke right on." he talked himself into being the local "eminence," but did not succeed in winning the election when first presented as "the humble" candidate for the state senate. he stood upon his "imperfect education," his not belonging "to the first families, but the seconds"; and his shunning society as debarring him from the study he required. repulsed at the polls, he turned to the law as another channel, supplementing forensic failings by his artful story-telling. judges would suspend business till "that lincoln fellow got through with his yarn-spinning" or underhandedly would direct the usher to get the rich bit lincoln told, and repeat it at the recess. mrs. lincoln, the first to weigh this man justly, said proudly, that "lincoln was the great favorite everywhere." meanwhile his fellow citizens stupidly tired of this merry andrew--they "sent him elsewhere to talk other folks to death"--to the state house, where he served several terms creditably, but was mainly the fund of jollity to the lobby and the chartered jester of the lawmakers. such loquacious witchery fitted him for the congress. elected to the house, he was immediately greeted by connoisseurs of the best stamp--president martin van buren, "prince of good fellows;" webster, another intellect, saturnine in repose and mercurial in activity; the convivial senator douglas, and the like. these formed the rapt ring around lincoln in his own chair in the snug corner of the congressional chat-room. here he perceived that his rusticity and shallow skimmings placed him under the trained politicians. it was here, too, that his stereotyped prologue to his digressions--"that reminds me"--became popular, and even reached england, where a publisher so entitled a joke-book. lincoln displaced "sam slick," and opened the way to artemus ward and mark twain. the longing for elevation was fanned by the association with the notables--buchanan, to be his predecessor as president; andrew johnson, to be his vice and successor; jefferson davis and alex. h. stephens, president and vice-president of the c. s. a.; adams, winthrop, sumner, and the galaxy over whom his solitary star was to shine dazzlingly. a sound authority who knew him of old pronounced him "as good at telling an anecdote as in the ' 's." but the fluent chatterer reined in and became a good listener. he imbibed all the political ruses, and returned home with his quiver full of new and victorious arrows for the presidential campaign, for his bosom friends urged him to try to gratify that ambition, preposterous when he first felt it attack him. he had grown out of the sensitiveness that once made him beg the critics not to put him out by laughing at his appearance. he formed a boundless arsenal of images and similes; he learned the american humorist's art not to parade the joke with a discounting smile. he worked out euclid to brace his fantasies, as the steel bar in a cement fence-post makes it irresistibly firm. but he allowed his vehement fervor to carry him into such flights as left the reporters unable to accompany his sentences throughout. he was recognized as the destined national mouthpiece. he was not of the universities, but of the universe; the mississippi of eloquence, uncultivated, stupendous, enriched by sweeping into the innumerable side bayous and creeks. elected and re-elected president, he continued to be a surprise to those who shrank from levity. lincoln was their puzzle; for he had a sweet sauce for every "roast," and showed the smile of invigoration to every croaking prophet. his state papers suited the war tragedies, but still he delighted the people with those tales, tagging all the events of what may be called the lincoln era. the camp and the press echoed them though the cabinet frowned--secretaries said that they exposed the illustrious speaker to charges of "clownishness and buffoonery." but this perennial good-humor--perfectly poised by the people--alleviated the strain of withstanding that terrible avalanche threatening to dismember and obliterate the states and bury all the virtues and principles of our forefathers. even his official letters were in the same vein. regarding the one to england which meant war, he asked of secretary seward if its language would be comprehended by our minister at the victorian court, and added dryly: "will james, the coachman at the door--will he understand it?" receiving the answer, he nodded grimly and said: "then it goes!" it went, and there was no war with the bull. time has refuted the purblind purists, the chilly "wet-blankets"; and the lincoln stories, bright, penetrative, piquant, and pertinent are our classics. hand in hand with "father abraham," the president next to washington in greatness, walks "old abe, the story-teller." lincoln calendar. abraham lincoln, born february , , hardin county, kentucky. "lincoln day." --settled in perry county, indiana; father, mother, sister, and self. --october , mrs. thomas lincoln (nancy hanks) died; buried spencer county, indiana. in , a monument erected to her memory, the base being the former abraham lincoln vault. schooling, a few months, , ' and ' , about six months' school. --thomas (father of a. l.) marries again: mrs. johnson (sally bush) of kentucky. --march, lincoln family remove into illinois, near decatur. --works for himself: boatbuilding and sailing, carpentering, hog-sticking, sawmilling, blacksmithing, river-pilot, logger, etc., in menard county, indiana. --election clerk at new salem. captain and private (re-enlisted) in black hawk war. store clerk and merchant, new salem. studies for the law. --first political speech. henry clay, whig platform. defeated through strong local vote. deputy surveyor, at three dollars a day, sangamon county. --elected to state legislature as whig. (resides in springfield till . law partner with john l. stuart till .) --postmaster, new salem; appointed by president jackson. to --reelected to state legislature. --partner in law with s. t. logan. --married miss mary todd, of kentucky. of the four sons, edward died in infancy; william ("willie") at twelve at washington; thomas ("tad") at springfield, aged twenty; robert m. t., minister to great britain, presidential candidate, secretary of war to president garfield. his only grandson, abraham, died in london, march, . --proposed for congress. --law partner with w. h. herndon, for life. --elected to congress, the single whig illinois member; voted antislavery; sought abolition in the d. c.; voted wilmot proviso. declined reelection. --electioneered for general taylor. --defeated by shields for united states senator. --electioneered for general scott. --won the state over to the republicans, but by arrangement transferred his claim to the senatorship to trumbull. october, debated with douglas. declined the governorship in favor of bissell. --organized the republican party and became its chief; nominated vice-president, but was not chosen by its first convention; worked for the fremont-dayton presidential ticket. --lost in the legislature the senatorship to douglas. --placed for the presidential candidacy. made eastern tour "to get acquainted." --may , nominated for president, "shutting out" seward, chase, cameron, dayton, wade, bates, and mclean. --march , inaugurated sixteenth president; succeeds buchanan, and precedes his vice--andrew johnson, whom general grant succeeded. civil war began by firing on fort sumter, april . --september , emancipation announced. --january , emancipation proclaimed. november , gettysburg cemetery address. december , pardon to rebels proclaimed. --unanimous nomination as republican presidential candidate for re-election, june . reelected november . --march , inaugurated for the second term. april , assassinated in ford's theater, washington, by a mad actor, wilkes booth. april , body lay in state at washington. april , booth slain in resisting arrest, by sergeant boston corbett, near port royal. april to may , funeral-train through principal cities north, to springfield, illinois. --temporarily deposited in catacomb. --in catacomb, in sarcophagus. the completed monument dedicated. --to frustrate repetition of body-snatchers' attempt, reinterred deeper. --a fifth removal; the whole structure solidly rebuilt, containing the martyred president, his wife, and their three children, as well as the grandson bearing abraham's name. the lincoln story book * * * * * childish rime. in a copybook, at the age of nine or ten: abraham lincoln, his hand and pen. he will be good, but god knows when. the small "g" led a public speaker to denounce the sort of men--"sordid and ignorant"--who write "god with a small g and gold with a big one." this was a scrapbook in humble imitation of the albums in the east. another copybook motto. (a year or so later.) good boys who to their books apply will all be great men by and by. * * * * * the little hatchet did it. in abraham lincoln went briefly to crawford's school, a log house, pleasing the teacher by his attention to the simple course. the boy had read but a small library, principally "weems' life of washington," which had impressed him deeply. this is shown by the following anecdote told by andrew crawford, the spencer county pedagogue: the latter saw that a buck's head, nailed on the schoolhouse, was broken in one horn, and asked the scholars who among them broke it. "i did it," answered young lincoln promptly. "i did not mean to do it, but i hung on it"--he was very tall and reached it too easily--"and it broke!" though lean, he weighed fairly. "i wouldn't have done it if i had 'a' thought it would break." other boys of that "class" would have tried to conceal what they did and not own up until obliged to do so. his immediate friends believed that the hatchet and cherry-tree incident in washington's life traced this truthful course. * * * * * the little hatchet again turns up. in his teens abraham lincoln, while not considered a man, was able to swing an ax with full power. it was the borderer's multifarious tool and accompanied him everywhere. one time, while sauntering along gentryville, his stepsister playfully ran at him of a sudden and leaped from behind upon him. holding on to his shoulders, she dug her knees into his back--a rough trick called fun by these semi-savages--and brought him to the ground. unfortunately, she caused him to release the ax in his surprise, and it cut her ankle. the boy stopped the wound and bandaged it, while she moaned. through her cries, he reproached her, and concluded: "how could you disobey mother so?" for she had been enjoined not to follow her brother. "what are you going to tell her about getting hurt?" "tell her i did it with the ax," she replied. "that will be the truth?" she questioned, with the prevarication of her sex inborn. "yes, that's the truth, but it is not all the truth. you tell the whole truth." the mother was forgiving, and nothing more came of the casualty. * * * * * lincoln's wedding-song. abraham lincoln's own sister sarah married one aaron grigsby, a man in the settlers' line of life; and abraham, a youth under age, composed an epithalamium on the occasion. the title was "adam and eve's wedding-song," and the principal verses are given to show what roughness pervaded the home on the frontier: the woman was not taken from adam's feet, we see, so we must not abuse her, the meaning seems to be. the woman was not taken from adam's head, we know; to show she must not rule him--'tis evidently so. the woman, she was taken from under adam's arm, so she must be protected from injuries and harm. * * * * * "risk the hogs and i will risk myself!" at the age of seventeen, lincoln, the strongest and "longest" younker of the neighborhood, was let out by his father for six dollars a month and board to a james taylor, ferryman of anderson's creek and the ohio river. he was also expected to do the farmwork and other jobs, as well as the chores in and about the house. this included tending to the baby--the good wives uniting to pronounce abe the best of helps as "so handy," as mrs. toodles would say. he had attained his fixed height, exactly six feet three inches. (this is his own record.) he really did, with his unusual strength, more than any man's stint, and failing to gain full man's wages, whether it was his father or he handled it, he felt the injustice, which soured him on that point. he enraged his employer's son by sitting up late to read, so that the young man struck him to silence. but the young giant refused from retaliating in kind, whether from natural magnanimity belonging to giants, or from respect for the "young master," or from self-acknowledgment that he was in the wrong. he learned the craft of river boatman in this engagement. one day, on being asked to kill a hog, he replied like the irishman with the violin, "that he had never done it, but he would try." "if you will risk the hog," he said, "i will risk myself!" becoming hog-slaughterer added this branch occupation to the many of "the man of all work." taylor sub-let him out in this capacity for thirty cents a day, saying: "abe will do any one thing about as well as another." * * * * * the rest was vile. the lincoln homestead in indiana, in - , had at the first the primitive corn-mill in the indian fashion--a burnt-out block with a pounder rigged to a well-sweep. a water-mill being set up ten miles off, on anderson's creek, that was superseded, as improvement marched, by a horse-power one. to this lincoln, as a lad of sixteen or seventeen, would carry the corn in a bag upon an old flea-bitten gray mare. one day, on unhitching the animal and loading it, and running his arm through the head-gear loop to lead, he had no sooner struck it and cried "get up, you de----," when the beast whirled around, and, lashing out, kicked him in the forehead so that he fell to the ground insensible. the miller, hoffman, ran out and carried the youth indoors, sending for his father, as he feared the victim would not revive. he did not do so until hours after having been carried home. when conscious, his faculties, as psychologically ordained, resumed operations from the instant of suspension, and he uttered the sequel to his outcry: "----vil!" lincoln's own explanation is thus: "just before i struck the mare, my will, through the mind, had set the muscles of my tongue to utter the expression, and when her heels came in contact with my head, the whole thing stopped half-cocked, as it were, and was only fired off when mental energy or force returned." his friends interpreted the occurrence as a proof of his always finishing what he commenced. * * * * * "no heaping coals of fire on that head." the wantonly cruel experiment of testing the sensitiveness in reptiles armored, passed into a proverb out west in pioneer times. besides carving initials and dates on the shell of land tortoises, boys would fling the creatures against tree or rock to see it perish with its exposed and lacerated body, or literally place burning coals on the back. in such cases lincoln, a boy in his teens, but a redoubtable young giant, would not only interfere vocally, but with his arms, if needed. "don't terrapins have feelings?" he inquired. the torturer did not know the right answer, and, persisting in the treatment, had the shingle wrenched from his hand and the cinders stamped out, while the sufferer was allowed to go away. "well, feelings or none, he won't be burned any more while i am around!" he did not always have to resort to force in his corrections, as he obtained the title of "peacemaker" by other means, and the spell in his tongue, at that age. * * * * * stumping the stump-speaker. when lincoln became a man and, divorced from his father's grasping tyranny, set up as a field-hand, he lightened the labor in menard county by orating to his mates, and they gladly suspended their tasks to listen to him recite what he had read and invented--or, rather, adapted to their circumscribed understanding. besides mimicry of the itinerant preachers, he imitated the electioneering advocates of all parties and local politics. one day, one such educator collected the farmers and their help around him to eulogize some looming-up candidate, when a cousin and admirer of young lincoln cast a damper on him, crying out, with general approval, that abe could talk him dry! accepting the challenge, the professional spellbinder allowed his place on the stump of the cottonwood to be held by the raw demosthenes. to his astonishment the country lad did display much fluency, intelligence, and talent for the craft. frankly the stranger complimented him and wished him well in a career which he recommended him to adopt. from this cheering, lincoln proceeded to speak in public--his limited public--"talking on all subjects till the questions were worn slick, greasy, and threadbare." * * * * * making the wool, not feathers, fly. the "export trade" of the indiana farmers was with new orleans, the goods being carried on flatboats. the traffic called for a larger number of resolute, hardy, and honest men, as, besides the vicissitudes of fickle navigation, was the peril from thieves. abraham early made acquaintance with this course as he accompanied his father in such a venture down the great river. then passed apprenticeship, he built a boat for gentry--merchant of gentryville--and "sailed" it, with the storekeeper's son allen as bow-hand or first officer. he and his crew of one started from the ohio river landing and safely reached the crescent city--safely as to cargo and bodies, but not without a narrow escape. at baton rouge, a little ahead of the haven, the boat was tied up at a plantation, and the two were asleep, when they became objects of an attack from a river pest--a band of refugee negroes and similar lawless rogues. luckily their approach was heard and the two awoke. having been warned that the desperadoes would not stand on trifles, the young men armed themselves with clubs and leaped ashore, after driving the pirates off the deck. they pursued them, too, with such an uproar that their number was multiplied in the runaways' mind. both returned wounded--abraham retaining a mark over the right eye, noticeable in after life, and not to his facial improvement. they immediately unhitched the boat and stood out in the channel. "i wish we had carried weapons," sighed lincoln. "going to war without shooting-irons is not what the quakers hold it to be." "if we had been armed," returned allen, as regretfully, "we would have made the feathers fly!" it had not been too dark for the shade of the enemy to be perceived, so his skipper gave one of his earnest laughs, and replied: "you mean _wool_, i reckon!" * * * * * log-rolling to save lives. it was in the spring after the deep snow of , that three or four lumbermen, who had built a large flatboat for carrying a cargo to new orleans, were on the sangamon river, trying the rowboat, or scow, to accompany the vessel. the river was very high and on the run. two of the men leaped into the boat to get the drink for being the first in, and sent her out into the current. they were unable to stem it and row back. lincoln shouted for them to head up and try the sleeping, or dead water, along shore. but they were mastered, and paddled for a wrecked boat, which had a pole sticking up. but though the man who grabbed for it secured his hold, the boat was capsized and the other was flung into the tide. lincoln, as captain, shouted out to him: "carman, swim for that elm-tree down there! you can catch it! keep calm. lay hold of a branch." the tree was at a convenient height, and carman caught on and swung himself out; but the icy water chilled him to the bone. but he was safe for the present, seeing which the captain called out to the other to let go his pole and let himself be carried down to the tree, also. if he hung on in the open there much longer, he would become stiff and unable to swim. the man managed to reach his mate, and the two were joined at the tree. the manager of the rescue found a log and, attaching a rope, rolled it into the stream, with the help of others who had arrived on the scene. they towed it up some distance to get a good send-off, and a young daredevil got on it with the intention of being floated down to the tree, where all three would become passengers and be drawn home. but in his haste to do so, jim dorrell raised himself off his log by the branch he grasped and, along with the other unfortunates, made three men to be saved. when the riderless log was hauled up inshore, lincoln mounted it to make the next cast in person. having an extra rope with him, he lassoed the tree and soon drew the log up. cold as they were, the three men dropped down and straddled beside him. at his orders the men on the bank held the rope taut, so that the log, allowed to swing off freely, slung around with the current to the side, and the four were disembarked. this made abraham the hero of the sangamon river among the boatmen. (narrated by john rolls, of new salem, a witness.) * * * * * lincoln's first dollar. as in all farming communities, where the only movement of currency is when the crop comes in and the debts accumulating during the growth are settled and the slight surplus spent, the indiana pioneers little knew "extra" cash. to obtain it, the men used their off hours in guiding intending settlers, assisting surveyors and prospectors, felling and hewing trees, and horse-trading. another source of income out of bounds was to send a stock of produce down the river to sell or barter for the southern plantation produce. as there was talk at home of furnishing their house, abraham bethought him of this resource. his father consented readily to any notion that might result in gain, and his mother, though believing nearly two thousand miles of water travel onerous, allowed her "yes." besides, the young man, by excessive work on their place, had piled up a goodly stock of salable stuff. abraham had only to make a boat. it was small, merely to hold the "venture" and his hand-bundle of "plunder" for the trip and land cruise at new orleans. western country boys who had seen the crescent city talked of the exploit as the easterners of seeing europe. abe was maneuvering his boat on the ohio river, at rockport, when he heard the whistle announcing the approach of a steamboat. these craft were not enabled to make a landing anywhere, even with a run-out gang-plank--but took passengers and parcels aboard by lighters. lincoln's small boat seemed admirably placed to serve as a transport to a couple of gentlemen who came down to the shore to ship on the steamboat. their trunks were taken out of their carriages, and they selected lincoln's new boat among some others. in his homespun, the gawky youth looked what he was--not the owner of the craft and about to try a speculation on the river, but one of the "scrubs." the "scrubs," not from any relation with washing--quite otherwise--were those poor families on the outskirts of towns who lived in the scrub or dwarfed pines. accordingly one of them asked, indicating the flatboat: "who owns this?" the hero relates the story thus: "'i answered, somewhat modestly: 'i do!' "'will you take us and our trunks out to the steamboat?' "'certainly,' glad of the chance of earning something. i supposed that each of them would give two or three _bits_--practically the dime of nowadays." lincoln carried the passengers aboard the vessel and handed up their trunks. each of the gentlemen drew out a piece of silver and threw it on the little deck. "gentlemen, you may think it was a very little thing, and in these days it seems to me a trifle; but it was a most important incident in my life. i could scarcely believe my eyes as i picked up the two silver half-dollars. i could scarcely credit that i, a poor boy, had earned a dollar in less than a day--that by honest work, i had earned a dollar!" (lincoln's flatboatman wage was $ a month.) (related by frank b. carpenter, the portrait-painter, as given out by president lincoln to a party of friends in the white house executive chamber, secretary seward, notably, being among them.) * * * * * conviction through a thrashing. in , abraham lincoln, returning from a voyage to new orleans, paid the usual filial visit to his father, living in coles county. a famous wrestler, one needham, hearing of the newcomer's prowess in wrestling, more general than pugilism on the border, called to try their strength. as the professional was in practise, and as the other, from his amiable disposition and his forbidding appearance was not so, the latter declined the honor of a hug and the forced repose of lying on the back. nevertheless, taunted into the trial, he met the champion and defeated him in two goes. the beaten one was chagrined, and vented his vexation in this defiance: "you have thrown me twice, lincoln, but you cannot _whip_ me!" "i do not want to, and i don't want to get whipped myself," was the simple reply. "well, i 'stump' you to lick me!" went on needham, thinking he was gaining ground. "throwing a man is one thing and licking him another!" "look here, needham," said the badgered man, at last, "if you are not satisfied that i can throw you every time, and want to be convinced through a thrashing, i will do that, too, for your sake!" the man "backed out." but he was ever afterward one of the champion's warmest friends. * * * * * boating on ground "a leetle damp." in a letter of august, , the president alludes to the amphibious minor navy, which made their tracks "wherever the ground was a little damp." this is hardly an exaggeration of western shallow-water navigation. lincoln, as pilot on the sangamon river in , was engaged to run a steamboat called the _talisman_, after sir walter scott's popular romance. it was to test the point whether the sangamon river was navigable or not, an important local problem on which lincoln, later, got into the legislature. as he had "tried" the river a good deal with the flatboats, he answered, he would try and do the best he could. a large crowd flocked in from all sides to witness the experiment. lincoln guided the bark well up to the new salem dam. here a gap had been cut to let the vessel slip through. but at a place called bogue's mill, the water was rapidly lowering, and they had to wheel about and get back, or be shoaled and be held there until the spring freshets. the return trip was slow, as, though the stream was in his favor, the high prairie wind delayed the boat. the falling water had made the broken hole in the dam impracticable. but lincoln backed the _talisman_ off as soon as she stranded and stuck; and, by casting an anchor so as to act as a gigantic grapnel, to tear away some more of the dam, the opening sufficed for the boat to "coast" on the stones and get over into deep water. "i think," says an old boatman--j. r. ("row") herndon--"that the captain gave lincoln forty dollars to keep on to beardstown. i am sure i got that!" * * * * * the initiator installed. as a fruit of incessant study abraham lincoln fitted himself to accept the post of clerk at offutt's store, in new salem, in . it was a responsible position, requiring strict honesty, intelligence, glib talk, attention, and courtesy to the few dames in the population of twenty households, "with the back settlement to hear from." in fact, lincoln's gifts and cultivated acquirements made him such a favorite that the list of customers from out of town was extensive. this promotion of a newcomer nettled the bad element of the region. they were located from congeniality in a suburb termed clary's grove. like the tail which undertakes to wag the dog, this tag constituted itself the criterion and proposed "initiating" any accession to the inhabitants. to take the conceit out of the upstart who had leaped from the flatboat deck to behind the counter at the store--the acme of a bumpkin's ambition--they selected their bully. this jack armstrong was held so high by bill clary, "father" of the grove boys, that he bet with offutt, over-loud in praise of his help, that jack could beat abe, "and your abe has got to be initiated, anyway!" abraham refused under provocation to have anything to do with "rough-and-tumble" fighting--as also known as "scuffle and tussle," and "wooling and pulling"--in short, these agreeable features promise to include all brutalities save gouging, which was unfashionable so far to the north. but a man could not live quietly on the frontier without showing to such ruffians that his hands could shield his head. for the honor of the store, the clerk had to stand up to the opponent. the bout came off. in the first attack, lincoln lifted the foe, though heavier, clean off his feet, but he was unable to lay him down in the orthodox manner, consisting in placing him flat on his back, with both shoulder-blades denting the earth. the semi-victor amicably said: "let's quit, jack! you see i cannot give you the fall--and you cannot give it me." the gang shouted for a resumption of the "sport," thinking this was weakness of the competitor. they joined again, but armstrong, having his doubts, resorted to foul play--kicking or "legging," as the localism stands. indignantly, lincoln drew him up again and shook him in mid-air as a terrier does a rat. the rowdies, seeing their champion bested, shouted for him to make a _fight_ of it, and probably they would have "mixed in" and made a "fight for all" in another minute. but jack had his doubts set at rest as to the prospect of overcoming a man who could hold him out and off at arm's length; and, begging to be set down, grasped his antagonist's hand in friendship and proclaimed him the best man "who had ever broke into" that section. the two became friends, and the gang gradually dwindled by this recession from their ranks of their goliath. * * * * * the horrors for the third time! when abraham lincoln was a poor young lawyer from springfield, attending the perambulatory court down at lewiston, illinois, he found the place crowded by a methodist meeting as well as the court having an attractive case to try. he was obliged--because of exclusion from the inn--to put up at the sheriff's house. mrs. davidson herself could only offer him shares with mr. stephen a. douglas, also a rising man, and peter cartwright, the noted preacher--on the floor, but on a feather bed. at that period the wild goose flew low. it may be supposed that the student of shakespeare might quote "when shall we three meet again?" on rising between the famous border worthies in the dawn. the hospitality was so refreshing that the trio spent the next night there. they sat up by the large fireside, capping stories. the enmity of lawyers, and even of politicians, is but skin-deep, and steve and abe clashed not at all to meet the minister's reproof. lincoln rocked while story-telling in a cane-bottomed chair, taken from the steamboat celebrated in spoon river annals as its first navigator. lincoln was the more interested, as he had been boatman and pilot on his river, the sangamon. in the 's, this toy boat, the _utility_, struggled into the high water of spoon river. it is a tributary of the illinois. now, though the county is named fulton, none of the inhabitants knew anything about the inventor of steam navigation, and doubted that a steamboat existed near them. hence the snorting, puffing, and clangor of the vessel as she surged against the freshet, alarmed all the population in hearing when she ascended the virgin spoon. one sam jenkins had been on a spree for a week, and even he was roused by the tremendous sound. as he rushed from his cabin, by the terrific blaze from the high smoke-stack and the furnace burning pitch-pine, he sank onto his shaking knees and yelled: "boys, i have got 'em for the third time! it is all up with me!" * * * * * the whistle that stopped the boat. lincoln was pitted, as a lawyer, against a brother of the toga who was of fat and plethoric habit, and who puffed and blowed when most he wished to get on with his speech. the wag said: "the gentleman reminds me of a little steamboat i knew about on the spoon river. she had been equipped with a whistle disproportionate to her capacity of steam-power, and every time she blew off it stopped the boat!" * * * * * it is the deed, not the doer. by one of those unaccountable contradictions which disturb one's calculations upon women's conduct, the fair sex "took to" him with extraordinary kindness, though he always remained shy in their presence. this favor on their part was fortified by his striking honesty in little points which the close-seeing feminine eye never misses. to cap the climax he defended the purity of social order with a rarity in those quarters sufficient to single him out. not that the roughest westerner was not excessively gallant, but his restrictions in the ladies' presence did not always curb his proneness to "tall talk." once in the way, a loafer hanging about in the store, and having paid only attention to the dram counter, the necessary concomitant of the village center, became garrulous, but unfortunately more than seasoned the flow with a profanity tolerably rich in variety if not distinguished for refinement; he was of the clary's grove _genus_. as there was a crowd at the "ladies' department," that is, the dry-goods and finery, where it happened lincoln was commonly besieged, the language was resented by woman's weapons--tosses of the head, affected deafness, glances into the future, and so on, but the clerk resented it in another way. he bade him be silent. now, the fellow thought, with his kind, that he was entitled to exhale the breath which was strengthened by the strong waters vended here, and expressed himself more foully than before. he had a resentment against the clod rising to be a flower of courtesy, and here was his opportunity to satisfy the grudge, and before an audience timid and not apt to intervene. singularly, the men who most despise women are the ones who seek to have her applause. he wished to see the man who would stop him from uttering his sentiments. he was answered that his business would be attended to, as soon as the offended ladies had withdrawn. the undesired witnesses took the hint and quitted the store. thereupon the long-limbed clerk verified the taunt of "counter-jumper" by clearing it at a bound. "will you engage not to repeat that rowdy (blackguard) talk in the store while i am the master, and leave instanter?" the bully protested in a torrent of unrepeatable words. "i see," said the champion of decency, "you want a whipping, and _i_ may as well give it you as any other man." and he forthwith administered the correction; not only did he drag him outdoors, but laid him out so senseless that nothing less than the border finish of a knock-down and drag-out encounter--the rubbing the conquered man's eyes with smart-weed--revived him to beg for mercy, and a drink. the victor allowed him to rise, converted his appeal into mockery by offering plain water, which the brute applied solely to his doubly inflamed eyes, and sent him away in tears. but the shock had a reparative effect; he became a good neighbor, and a convert to temperance. (this or a similar lesson to the village bully is testified to by an eye-witness of sangamon, but resident of viroqua, wisconsin; his name is john white. he worked at chopping rails with the rail-splitter on more than one job.) * * * * * turn out or be turned out. superintendent tinker, of the w. u. t., says he heard secretary seward say to president lincoln: "mr. president, i hear that you turned out for a colored woman on a muddy crossing the other day?" "did you?" returned the other laughingly. "well, i don't remember it; but i always make it a rule, if people do not turn out for me, i will for them. if i didn't, there would be a collision." * * * * * the best thing to take. when lincoln worked in and kept a grocery-store, it was flanked by a groggery and he had to supply spirits, but from that fact he saw the evils of the saloon and early identified himself with the novel temperance movement. in , he joined the sons of temperance. while he said he was temperate on theory, it was not so--he was practically abstinent. not only did he lecture publicly, but, at one such occasion, he gave out the pledges. in decorating a boy, cleophas breckenridge, with a badge, after he took the pledge, he said: "sonny, that is the best thing you will ever _take_." * * * * * drinking and swallowing are two things. it has been stated that lincoln, after reigning at the village store, had become the idol of the settlement. a stranger to whom he was shown was not properly impressed. one of the clerk's friends, william greene, bragged that his favorite was the strongest man in the township--this was not affecting the critic--and even went on: "the strongest in the country!" "h'm! not the strongest in the state!" denied the stranger. "i know a man who can lift a barrel of flour as easily as i can a peck of potatoes." "abe, there, could lift _two_ barrels of flour if he could get a hold on them." "you can beat me telling 'raisers', but--" "taking a lift out of you or not, i am willing to bet that abe will lift a barrel of spirits and drink out of the bunghole to prove he can hold it there!" "impossible! what will you lay on the thing?" they made a wager of a new hat--the sunday hat of beaver being still costly. greene was betting unfairly--on a sure thing--as he had seen his friend do what he asserted, all but the drinking flourish. lincoln was averse to the wagering at all, but to help his friend to the hat, he consented to the feat. he passed through it, lifting the cask between his two hands and holding the spigot-hole to his lips while he imbibed a mouthful. as he was slowly lowering the barrel to the floor, the winner exclaimed jubilately: "i knew you would do it; but i never knew you to drink whisky before!" the barrel was stood on the floor, when the drinker calmly expelled the mouthful of its contents, and drolly remarked: "and i have not _drunk_ that, you see!" as a return for his action to win the hat, he asked greene not to wager any more--a resolve which he took to oblige him. * * * * * worsted in a horse-trade. until lincoln--seeing that his decisions created enemies, whichever way they fell--renounced being umpire for horse-racing and the like events, momentous on the border, he officiated in many such pastimes. before he found them "all wrong," he had a horsy acquaintance in a judge. this was at a time when he was practising law, which involved riding on circuit, as the court went round to give sittings like the ancient english justices, attending assizes. during such excursions, they played practical jokes, naturally. among their singular contests was a bet of twenty-five dollars--as forfeit if, in horse-swapping, the loser rejected the horse offered on even terms with the one he "put in." neither was to know anything of the equine paragon until simultaneously exhibited. as good sport was indicated where two such arrant jokers were in conflict, a vast throng filled the tavern-yard where the pair were to draw conclusions. at the appointed hour the court functionary dragged upon the scene a most dilapidated _simulacrum_ of man's noblest conquest--blind, spavined, lean as pharaoh's _kind_, creeking in every joint--at the same time that his fellow wagerer carried on under his long arm a carpenter's _horse_--gashed with adze and broadax, bored with the augur, trenched with saw and draw-knife--singed, paint, and tar-spotted, crazy in each leg of the three still adhering--in short, justifying lincoln to reverse his cry at viewing the real animal: "jedge (for judge), this is the first time i ever _got the worst_ of it in a hoss-trade!" * * * * * how many short breaths? in the nearest town to the lincolns lived a man called "captain" larkins. he was short and fat, and consequently "puffing." he was logically fond of "blowing." for example, if he bought any object, he would proclaim that it was the best article of its sort in the settlement. his favorite orating-ground--in fact, the only theater for displays was the front of the village store, where, among the farmers who came in to dicker and purchase stores, he would dilate. lincoln did not like the pompous little fellow whose rotund and diminutive figure was in glaring contrast to his own--a young man, but colossal, while his stature was augmented by his meagerness. "gentlemen," bawled larkins, "i have the best horse in the county! i ran him three miles in two-forty each and he never fetched a long breath!" "h'm!" interrupted lincoln, looking down at the man panting with excitement; "why don't you tell us how many short breaths _you_ drew?" * * * * * lincoln's height. one of the committee appointed to acquaint mr. lincoln formally with the decision of the chicago presidential convention of was judge kelly, a man of unusual stature. at the meeting with the nominee he eyed the latter with admiration and the jealousy the exceptional cherish for rivals. this had not escaped the curious lincoln; he asked him, as he singled him out: "what is your height?" "six feet three. what is yours?" "six feet four." [footnote: this will probably never be exactly settled now. speaker reed agreed with this statement. but miss emma gurley adams, in a position to know, published in the new york _press_: "mr. lincoln told my father that he was exactly six feet three inches." this was at the end of his life. the contrariety of the assertions simply baffles one.] "then, sir, pennsylvania bows to illinois," responded the judge. "my dear sir, for years my heart has been aching for a president i could look up to, and i have found him at last in the land where we thought there were none but _little_ giants." (stephen douglas, leader of the democratic party, was a pocket daniel webster and bearing the by-name of "the little giant.") * * * * * measures and men. the earlier audiences at the white house were inspired by ludicrous ideas, far between patriotism and interest in the "tall hoosier." the habitual attendants and guards soon discovered that the chief was an unrivaled host, adapting modes of reception to the differing kind of callers. he noticed once two young men who hung about the door, so that, sympathizing with the shy--for he had been wofully troubled by that feeling in his youth--he went over to the pair, and to make them feel at home, asked them to be seated while they looked on. but they didn't care for chairs. the shorter of the two stammered that he and his friend had a talk about the president's unusual height, and would the host kindly settle the matter, and see whether he were as tall as his excellency. lincoln had been scanning the competitor and, smiling, returned: "he is _long_ enough, certainly. let us see about that." he went for his cane [footnote: lincoln's cane. this was the cane he carried, instead of going armed. but he was forever leaving it anywhere about, so that, nine times out of ten, he went forth without it on his errant "browsing" around; and it was a wonder that this time he knew where to find it.] and, placing the ferule end to the wall, to act as a level, he bade the young man draw near and stand under. when the rod was carefully adjusted to the top of the head, mr. lincoln continued: "now, step out and hold the cane while i go under." this comparison showed that the young man stood six feet three exactly. lincoln's precise figure, too. "just my height," remarked the affable president to the herald of the match; "he guessed with admirable accuracy!" giving both a shake of the hand, he gave them the good-by warmly. he had seen that they were innocents and shrank from letting them know that they had unconsciously offended his dignity. * * * * * the prize for homeliness. in keeping with his proneness to jest at his own expense rather than lose a laugh, lincoln is credited with telling the following story upon himself: "in the days when i used to be on the circuit (law), i was accosted on the road by a stranger. he said: 'excuse me, sir, but i have an article in my possession which belongs to you.' 'how is that?' i asked, considerably astonished. "the stranger took a 'barlow' from his pocket. "'this knife,' said he, 'was placed in my hands some years ago with the injunction of the community, through its bearer, that i was to keep it until i struck a man homelier than i. i have carried it from that time till this. allow me to say, sir, that you are fairly entitled to the testimonial.'" * * * * * how long legs should be. a quipster, harping on mr. lincoln's abnormal tallness, had the mishap to draw upon himself some quizzing; the president putting the _non plus_ on him by asking: "how long, then, ought a man's legs to be?" the answer was given by the sphinx: "long enough to reach from his body to the ground." * * * * * long meter. john sherman will be remembered as originator of the politicians' "cover" for electioneering activity, "i am going home to mend my fences." he was fresh from ohio, but he included in his round of duties, on visiting the capital, an attendance of a lincoln reception. he waited in the long file for his turn to shake hands, and, while doing so, wondered how he would be received. for the informal "function" was enlivened by the most untoward incidents, due to the host's simplicity, spontaneous acts and words, and the homelike nature of the scene. truly enough, when his chance came, the meeting was eccentric. lincoln scanned him a moment, threw out his large hand, and said: "'you're a pretty tall fellow, aren't you? stand up here to me, back to back, and let's see which of us two is the taller!' "in another moment i was standing back to back with the greatest man of his age. naturally i was quite abashed by this unexpected evidence of democracy. "'you are from the west, aren't you?' inquired lincoln. "'my home is in ohio,' i replied. "'i thought so', he said; 'that's the kind of men they raise out there!'" * * * * * "hardships strengthen muscles." as in the old country, kings evade the tiresome features of receptions, after a time, by retiring and leaving the ceremony to be carried out by a deputy, so the daintier presidents before the sixteenth one eluded the handshaking when possible. but, on the contrary, "the man out of the west" continued to the last, and the latest visitor had no reason to cavil at the grip being less hearty to him than the first comer. on visiting the army hospital at city point, where upward of three thousand patients awaited his passing with enrapt respect, he insisted on no one being neglected. a surgeon inquired if he did not feel lamed in the arm by the undue exertion, whereupon he replied smilingly: "not at all. the hardships of my early life gave me strong muscles." and as there happened to be in the yard, by the doorway, a chopping-block with the ax left stuck on the top as usual, he took it out, swung, and poised it to get the unfamiliar heft, and chopped up a stick lying handy. when he paused, from no more left to do, he held out the implement straight, forming one line with his extended arm, and not a nerve quivered any more than the helve or the blade. the workers, who knew what hard work was, gazed with wonder at what they could not have done for a moment. one of them gathered up the chips and disposed of them for relics to the sightseers who welcomed such tokens of the great ruler. (an american visiting mr. gladstone's country seat, hawarden, and seeing the premier chopping a tree for health's sake, observed humorously, having also seen mr. lincoln employed as above: "your grand old man is going in at the same hole ours went out!") * * * * * he used to be "good on the chop." in the beginning of , the president was wont to pay visits to the james river, not merely to inspect the camps and the field-hospitals, but to have a peep at "the promised _land_"--that is, richmond, still held by the rapidly melting and discouraged southerners as the "last ditch." in one of his strolls he came upon a gang of lumbermen cutting up logs and putting up stockades and cabins for the wet weather. joining one group he chatted freely with the woodmen and as one of themselves. presently, he asked for the loan of an ax. the man hesitating, since his blade had just been fine-edged, he explained that he was one of the jacks and "used to be good on the chop." then seizing the arm with familiarity he attacked a big log and, using it as a broad-ax, shaped the rough-hewn sides till it was a perfect slab. he handed back the tool and stalked off amid cheers. * * * * * a man who can scratch his shins without stooping. one of the want-to-knows had the impertinence to inquire of mr. lincoln his opinion of general sheridan, not yet known, who had come out of the west early in , to take command of the cavalry under general grant as lieutenant-general. "have you not seen sheridan?" the answer was in the negative. "then i will tell you just what kind of a chap he is: one of those _long_-armed fellows, with _short_ legs, that can scratch their shins without having to stoop over to do it!" * * * * * struck by the dead hand. edwin booth, the tragedian, brother of the regicide wilkes, was at a friend's house. by the purest chance, dallying over the knickknacks, he picked up a plaster-cast of a hand. it was something more than a paper-weight, he was intuitively prompted, for he said, handling it reverently as yorick's relict: "by the way, whose is this?" before the cue could be given to hush or utter a subterfuge, some one blurted out: "abraham lincoln's! don't you know?" "the murder was out!" and the distinguished guest, who suffered a long term for a crime wholly out of his ken, was silent for the evening.--(w. d. howells.) * * * * * this clinches it. a party accompanying the president to the ground to see experiments with new ordnance in the navy yard, in , were diverted by his taking up a ship-carpenter's ax from its nick in a spar, and holding it out by the end of the handle; a feat that none of the group could imitate. he said that he had enough of the dahlgreens, columbiads, and raphael repeaters--and that this was an american institution, which, "i guess, i understand better than all other weapons!" * * * * * lincoln's first love-story. in , when abraham was just over twenty, he fell in love with anne, or annie rutledge, at new salem. her father kept the tavern where lincoln boarded. but the girl was engaged to a dry-goods merchant, named mcneil. this man, pretending to be of a high old irish family, likely to discountenance union to a publican's daughter, shilly-shallied, but finally went east to get his folks' consent. he acknowledged that he was parading under borrowed plumes, as he was a mcnamara in reality. he stayed away so long that the maid-forlorn gave him up and listened to other suitors. lincoln proposed, but waited till the apparent jilt was heard from. then they were espoused. but a block to the match came in lincoln having no position. awaiting his efforts as a law student, the wedding was postponed; but, meanwhile, death came quick where fortune lagged. she died and left her lover broken-hearted. he seems then to have been smitten with the brown study afflicting him all his life, and by some, like secretary boutwell, affirmed to be independent of the surrounding grounds for depression and grief. fears of suicide led his friends to watch him closely; and he was known to go and lie on the grave of the maid, whose name he said would dwell ever with him, while his heart was buried with her. the rival, mcnamara, returned too late to redeem his vow, but lived in the same state many years, "a prosperous gentleman." * * * * * a put-up job--or chance? the ways of the petitioner are deep and mysterious. the virginia (illinois) _enquirer_, march , , had the following: "john mcnamer (namara?) was buried last sunday, near petersburg, menard county. he was an early settler and carried on business at new salem. abe lincoln was the postmaster there and kept a store. it was here that, at the tavern, dwelt the fair annie rutledge, in whose grave lincoln wrote that his heart was buried. as the story runs, the fair and gentle annie was john's sweetheart, but abe took 'a shine' to her, and succeeded in heading off mac, and won her affections. during the war, a kentucky lady went to washington with her daughter to procure her son's pardon for being a guerrilla. the daughter was a musician. sitting at the piano while her mother was sewing, she sang 'gentle annie.' while it was being charmingly rendered, abe rose from his seat, crossed the room to a window, and gazed out for several minutes with that sad, 'far-away' look noticed as one of his particularities. when he returned to his seat he wrote a note which, as he said, was the pardon besought. the scene proves that mr. lincoln was a man of fine feelings, and that, if the occurrence was a put-up job on the lady's part, it accomplished the purpose all the same." * * * * * lincoln's marriage. in , another kentucky belle [footnote: addressing kentuckians in a speech made at cincinnati, in , lincoln said: "we mean to marry our girls when we have a chance; and i have the honor to say i once did have a chance in that way."] arrived in illinois to follow the steps of her sister, who had found a conquest there. this mrs. edwards introduced miss mary todd, and she became the belle of the sangamon bottom. lincoln was pitted against another young lawyer, afterward the eminent stephen a. douglas, but, odd as it appears, miss todd singled out the ugly duckling as the more eligible of the two. whatever the reason--strange in a man knowing how to bide his time to win--lincoln wrote to the lady, withdrawing from the contest, allowed to be hopeless by him. his friend speed would not bear the letter, but pressed him to have a face-to-face explanation. the rogue--who was in the toils himself, and was shortly wedded--believed the parley would remove the, perhaps, imaginary hindrance. but miss todd accepted the deliverance; thereupon they parted--but immediately the reconciliation took place. the nuptials were settled, but here again lincoln displayed a waywardness utterly out of keeping with his subsequent actions. he "bolted" on the wedding-day--new-year's, . searching for him, his friends--remembering the fit after the rutledge death--found him in the woods like the passionate pilgrim of ancient romance. luckily he was inspirited by them with a feeling that an irrepressible desire to live till assured that the world is "a little better for my having lived in it." seeing what ensued, one could say then "good _speed_!" to his bosom friend of that name. but this friend married in the next year, and in his cold loneliness so doubled, lincoln harked back to the flame. she ought never to have forgiven him for the slight, but it was not possible for her to repay him with poetic justice by rejoicing stephen a. douglas, as that gentleman had looked elsewhere for matrimonial recompense. lincoln and miss todd, in , renewed the old plight and never again were divided. * * * * * the burlesque duel. lincoln was plunged willy-nilly into the society he shunned at home, on entering the legislature at springfield. a newspaper there published the account--from her side--of a young lady's difference with a noted politician, general james shields. he married a sister of lincoln's wife, and there was a feud between them. shields flew to the editor to demand the name of the maligner, as he called the correspondent, or the editor must meet him with dueling weapon--or his horsewhip. in the western states the whip was snapped at literary men as the cane was flourished in england at the date, . the editor consulted with lincoln as a lawyer and a friend. with his enmity as to shields, the friend promptly advised him to say "i did it!" this was, in fact, sheer justice, for it was lincoln's wife who uttered the articles. and, by the way, their style and rustic humor were much in the vein of the "widow bedott" and the "samantha" papers of later times. mrs. lincoln was not the mere housekeeper the scribes accuse her of being. lincoln knew what was her value when he read his speeches first to her for an opinion, as molière courted his stewardess for opinions. sumner heeded her counsel. abraham championed the mysterious "aunt 'becca," who had characterized shields as "a ballroom dandy floating around without heft or substance, just like a lot of cat-fur where cats have been fighting." is not this quite lincolnian? thus put forward, lincoln received a challenge. trial by battle-personal still ruled. the politicians coupled with the necessity of going out with weapons to maintain an assertion in speech or publication were jefferson davis, jackson, the president; henry clay, the amiable; sam houston, sergeant s. prentiss, etc. shields naturally challenged the lady's champion. as the challenged party, lincoln, who had cooled in the interim, not only chose broadswords (not at all "the gentleman's arm in an affair of honor"), but, what is more, descanted on the qualities of the cutlas in such a droll manner and words that the second went off laughing. he imparted his unseemly mirth to his opponent's seconds, and all the parties concerned took the cue to soften down the irritation between two persons formerly "chums," and relatives so close. the meeting took place by the river-side out of alton, where the leaking out of the gallantry of lincoln in taking up the cudgels for the lady led to an explanation, although no such enlightenment ought to be permitted on the ground. besides, all was ludicrous--the broadswords intolerably broad. the principals shook hands. but the plotters were not content with this peaceful ending. they had determined that the outside spectators on the town side of the river should be "in at the (sham) death." they rigged up a log in a coat and sheet like a man wounded and reclining in the bottom of a boat, and pretended it was one of the duelists, badly stricken, whom they were escorting to town for surgical assistance. the explosion of laughter receiving the two principals when the hoax was revealed caused the incident to be a sore point to both lincoln and shields. * * * * * "wanting to dance the worst way." a miss mary todd had come to visit a sister married in the neighborhood of springfield. lincoln was there as a member of the legislature sitting. he had eschewed society, though he liked it, in favor of study, but now rewarded himself for achieving this fruit of application by joining the movements around him. he made the acquaintance of miss todd, vivacious, sprightly, keenly insighted so as to divine he would prove superior in fate to stephen douglas, also courting her. although unsuited by nature and his means to shine in the ballroom, lincoln followed his flame thither. using the vernacular, he asked for her hand, saying earnestly: "miss todd, i should like to dance with you _the worst way._" after he had led his partner to her seat, a friend asked how the clumsy partner had carried himself. "he kept his word. he did dance the worst way!" * * * * * "the statute fixes all that!" even lincoln's marriage was to be accompanied by a diversion of that merry imp of incongruity always with him--as shakespeare's most stately heroes are attended by a comic servant. he married miss mary todd, of kentucky, at springfield, at the age of thirty-three. it was the first wedding performed with all the ceremonial of the episcopalian sect. this was to the awe of the honorable judge tom c. brown, an old man, and friend and patron of our abraham. he watched the ecclesiastical functionary to the point of lincoln's placing the ring on his bride's finger, when the irate old stager exclaimed at the formula: "with this ring i thee endow with all my goods," etc. "grace to goshen! lincoln, the statute fixes all that!" * * * * * he did not know his own house. in abraham lincoln married miss mary todd, a kentucky lady, at springfield, where he took a house for the wedded life. previously, while qualifying for the bar, he had dwelt for study over a furniture-store. on account of his attending the traveling court, which compelled a horse, since he could not afford the gig associated with the chief lawyers' degree of respectability, he was frequently and for long spells away from home. in one of these absences his wife deemed it fit for his coming dignity of pleader to have a second story and roof of a fashionable type set upon the old foundations. under a fresh coat of paint, too, this renovation perplexed the home-comer when he drew up his horse before it. at the sound of the horse's steps he knew that some one was flying to the parlor window, but, affecting amazement, he challenged a passer-by: "neighbor, i feel like a stranger here. can you tell me where abraham lincoln lives? he used to live here!" * * * * * the only one who dared "pull wool over lincoln's eyes." while mr. lincoln was living in springfield, a judge of the city, who was one of the leading and most influential citizens of the place, had occasion to call upon him. mr. lincoln was not overparticular in his matter of dress, and was also careless in his manners. the judge was ushered into the parlor, where he found mr. lincoln sprawled out across a couple of chairs, reclining at his ease. the judge was asked to be seated, and, without changing his position in the least, mr. lincoln entered into conversation with his visitor. while the two men were talking, mrs. lincoln entered the room. she was, of course, greatly embarrassed at mr. lincoln's offhand manner of entertaining his caller, and, stepping up behind her husband, she grasped him by the hair and twitched his head about, at the same time looking at him reprovingly. mr. lincoln apparently did not notice the rebuke. he simply looked up at his wife, then across to the judge, and, without rising, said: "little mary, allow me to introduce you to my friend, judge so-and-so." it will be remembered that mrs. lincoln's maiden name was mary todd, and that she was very short in stature.--_leslie's monthly._ * * * * * the long and short of it. the contrast between the statures of the lincolns, man and wife, was palpable, but this hardly substantiates the story of the president appearing with his wife on the white house porch in response to a serenade, and his saying: "here i am, and here is mrs. lincoln. that's the long and short of it!" * * * * * "all a man wants--twenty thousand dollars!" in one of his messages to congress, the president foretold and denounced the tendency of wealth acquired in masses and rapidly by the war contractors and the like as "approaching despotism." he saw liberty attacked in "the effort to place capital on an equal footing with--if not above--labor in the structure of government." it is never to be forgotten that neither he nor his cabinet officers were ever upbraided for corruption; [footnote: it is true that lincoln's first war minister, simon cameron, was accused of smoothing the way to certain fat war contracts, a wit suggesting simony as the term, but no charges were really brought. lincoln said that if one proof were forthcoming, he would have the cameronian head--but mr. cameron died intact.] some, like secretary stanton, though handling enormous sums, died poor men comparatively. it is in accordance with this honesty of the "honest old abe" rule that he said to an old friend whom he met in new york in : "how have you fared since you left us?" the merchant gleefully replied that he had made a hundred thousand dollars in business. "and--lost it all!" with a reflection of lincoln's and the western cool humor. "how is it on your part?" "oh, very well; i have the cottage at springfield, and about eight hundred dollars. if they make me vice-president with seward, as some say they will, i hope i shall be able to increase it to twenty thousand. that is as much as any man ought to want!" * * * * * "i'll hit the thing hard!" in coffin's "lincoln," it is stated that when lincoln and offutt, boating to new orleans, attended a slave auction for the first time, the former said to his companion: "by the eternal, if ever i get a chance to hit this thing, i'll hit it hard!" the oath was general-president jackson's, and familiar as a household word at the day. the promise is premature in a youth of twenty. herndon, twenty-five years associated with lincoln, doubts, but says that lincoln did allude to some such utterance. but it is dennis hanks, cousin of lincoln, who affirms that they two saw such a sight, and that he knew by his companion's emotion that "the iron had entered into his soul." in lincoln and speed had a tedious low-water trip from louisville to st. louis. lincoln says: "there were on board ten or a dozen slaves shackled together with irons. that sight was a continual torment to me ... a _thing_ which has and continually exercises the power of making me miserable." but his acts show that he "hit the thing hard." it could not recover from the telling stroke which rent the black oak--the emancipation act. * * * * * the "lex talionis" christianized. frederick douglass, the colored men's representative, called on the president to procure a pledge that the unfair treatment of negro soldiers in the union uniform should cease by retaliatory measures on the captured confederates. but his hearer shrank, from the bare thought of hanging men in cold blood, even though the rebels should slay the negroes taken. "oh, douglass, i cannot do that! if i could get hold of the actual murderers of colored prisoners, i would retaliate; but to hang those who have no hand in the atrocities, i cannot do _that_!"--(by f. douglass, in _northwestern advocate_.) * * * * * the slave-dealer. "you have among you the class of native tyrants known as the slave-dealer. he watches your necessities, and crawls up to buy your slave at a speculating price. if you cannot help it, you sell to him; but, if you can help it, you drive him from your door. you despise him utterly; you do not recognize him for a friend, or even as an honest man. your children must not play with his; they may rolick freely with the little negroes, but not with the slave-dealer's children. if you are obliged to deal with him, you try to go through the job without so much as touching him. it is common with you to join hands with the men you meet; but with the slave-dealer you avoid the ceremony--instinctively shrinking from the snaky contact. if he grows rich and retires from business, you still remember him, and still keep up the ban of non-intercourse with him and his family." "those who deny the poor negro's natural right to himself and make mere merchandise of him deserve kickings, contempt, and death."--(speech; reply to douglas, peoria, illinois, october , .) * * * * * the negro home, or agitation! lincoln was admitted to the law practise in ; he went into partnership with john f. stuart. the latter elected to congress, he united his legal talents with s. t. logan's, a union severed in , as both the associates were aiming to be congressmen also. not being nominated, the consolation was in the courts, with judge herndon as partner. it was from this daily frequentation that the latter was enabled to write a "life of lincoln." an old colored woman came to them for legal aid. her case was a sad one. brought from kentucky, lincoln's natal state, by a planter, hinkle, he had set her and children free in indiana, not fostering the waning oppression. her son, growing up, had the rashness to venture on the steamboat down to new orleans. his position was as bad as that of an americanized foreigner returning into a despotic land. he was arrested and held for sale, having crossed a louisiana law framed for such intrusions: a free negro could be sold here as if never out of bond. there was little time to redeem him, and lincoln--whose view of the institution had not been enchanting--seized the opportunity to hit "and hit hard!" as he said in the same city on beholding a slave sale. the office was in springfield, the capital, and the state-house was over the way. while lincoln continued to question and console the poor sufferer, his partner went over to learn of the governor what he could do in the matter. but there was no constitutional or even legal right to interfere with the doings of a sovereign state. this omission as regards humanity stung lincoln, always tender on that score, and he excitedly vowed: "by virtue of freedom for all, i will have that negro back--or a twenty years' agitation in illinois, which will afford its governor a legal and constitutional right to interfere in such premises." the only way to rescue the unfortunate young man was to make up a purse and recompense a correspondent at the city below, to obtain the captive and return him to his mother. such cases, of more often fugitive-slave matters, were not uncommon in the state. lincoln was already linked with the ultras on the question, so that it was said by lawyers applied to, afraid as political aspirants: "go to that lincoln, the liberator; he will defend a fugitive-slave case!" * * * * * lincoln's vow. on the th of september, , the confederate inroad into maryland was stopped by the decisive defeat of antietam, and the raiders were sent to the retreat. lincoln called the cabinet to a special meeting, and stated that the time had come at last for the proclamation of freedom to the slaves everywhere in the united states. public sentiment would now sustain--after great vacillation, and all his friends were bent upon it. "besides, i promised my god i would do it. yea, i made a solemn vow before god that, if general lee was driven back from pennsylvania, i would crown the result by the declaration of freedom to the slave!" it was remarked that the signature appeared tremulous and uneven, but the writer affirmed that that was not "because of any uncertainty or hesitation on my part." it was done after the public reception, and "three hours' handshaking is not calculated to improve a man's chirography." he said to the painter of the "signing the emancipation act," mr. carpenter: "i believe that i am about as glad over the success of this work as you are!" the original was destroyed in the great fire at chicago, where it was under exhibition. the pen and the table concerned should be in the lincoln museum. the ink-stand was a wooden one, in private hands, and bought at public sale when lincoln relics were not at the current high price. * * * * * "den i takes to de woods!" secretary seward, as manager of the foreign relations, met much trouble from the disposition of the aristocratic realms of europe to await eagerly for a breach by which to enter into interference without quarreling. he was also a great trouble-maker, having the innate repugnance of men of letters and voice to play second fiddle--since he was nominated on the trial ballot above lincoln in the presidential convention. the black speck in the political horizon was san domingo; the abolitionists wanted to help her to attain liberty, in which case mother spain would assuredly come out openly against the united states and consequently ally with the confederacy. the statement of the dilemma--side with spain, or the black republic--reminded the president of a negro story, quite akin. a colored parson was addressing his hearers and drew a dreadful picture of the sinner in distress. he had two courses before him, however. but the exhorter asserted in a gush of novelty that: "dis narrer way leads on to destruction--and dat broad one to damnation--" feeling he was overshooting the mark by the dismay among his congregation, he paused, when an impulsive brother started up with bristling wool and staring eyes, and, making for the door, hallooed: "in dat case, dis chile he takes to de woods!" mr. president elucidated the black prospect. "i am not willing to assume any new responsibilities at this juncture. i shall, therefore, avoid going to the one place with spain or with the negro to the other--but shall take _to the woods_!" a strict and honest neutrality was therefore observed, and--san domingo is still a bone of contention, though not with spain, for it is an eye on our canal. * * * * * the unpardonable crime. the mass of examples of lincoln's leniency, mercifulness, and lack of rigor, lead one to believe he could not be inexorable. but there was one crime to which he was unforgiving--the truckling to slavery. the smuggling of slaves into the south was carried on much later than a guileless public imagine. only fifty years ago, a slave-trader languished in a massachusetts prison, in newburyport, serving out a five years' sentence, and still confined from inability to procure the thousand dollars to pay a superimposed fine. mr. alley, congressman of lynn, felt compassion, and busied himself to try to procure the wretch's release. for that he laid the unfortunate's petition before president lincoln. it acknowledged the guilt and the justice of his condemnation; he was penitent and deplored his state--all had fallen away from him after his conviction. the chief arbiter was touched by the piteous and emphatic appeal. nevertheless, he felt constrained to say to the intermediary: "my friend, this is a very touching appeal to my feelings. you know that my weakness is to be, if possible, too easily moved by appeals to mercy, and if this man were guilty of the foulest murder that the arm of man could perpetrate, i might forgive him on such an appeal. but the man who could go to africa, and rob her of her children, and sell them into interminable bondage, with no other motive than that which is furnished by dollars and cents, is so much worse than the most depraved murderer, that he can never receive pardon at my hands. no! he may rot in jail before he shall have liberty by any act of mine!" * * * * * beyond the boon. the other slave-trade case is more tragic than the above. it roused much excitement, as the conviction for slave-trading was the first under the special law in any part of the land. the object of the unique process was william gordon. sentenced to be hanged like a pirate, the most prodigious effort was made to have the penalty relaxed with a prospect that the term of imprisonment would be curtailed as soon as decent. it would seem that merchant princes were connected with the lucrative, if nefarious, traffic in which he was a captain. but the offense was so flagrant that the new york district attorney went to washington to block mistaken clemency. he was all but too late, for the president had literally under his hand the gordon reprieve. the powerful influence reached even into the executive study. lawyer delafield smith stood firmly upon the need of making an example, and mr. lincoln gave way, but in despair at having to lay aside the pen and redoom the miserable tool to the gallows, where he was executed, at new york. "mr. smith," sighed the president, "you do not know how hard it is to have a human being die when you know a stroke of your pen may save him." * * * * * vain as the pope's bull against the comet. the potency of the emancipation act was so patent to the least politician that, long before , when its announcement opened the memorable year for freedom, not only had its demonstration been implored by his friends, but some of his subordinates had tried to launch its lightning with not so impersonal a sentiment. to a religious body, pressing him to verify his title of abolitionist, he replied: "i do not want to issue a document that the whole world will see must necessarily be inoperative, like the pope's bull against the comet." * * * * * a volunteer captaincy worth two dollars. while he was a lumberer, lincoln was in the employ of one kirkpatrick, who "ran" a sawmill. in hiring the new man, the employer had promised to buy him a dog, or cant-hook, of sufficient size to suit a man of uncommon stature. but he failed in his pledge and would not give him the two dollars of its value for his working without the necessary tool. though far from a grudging disposition, lincoln cherished this in memory. when the black hawk war broke out and the governor called out volunteers, sangamon county straightway responded and raised a company of rangers. this kirkpatrick wished and strove to be elected captain, but lincoln recited his grievance to the men, and said to his friend william green (or greene): "bill, i believe i can now make even with kirkpatrick for the two dollars he owes me for the cant-hook." setting himself up for candidate, he won the post. it was a triumph of popularity which rejoiced him. as late as , he said he had not met since that success any to give him so much satisfaction. * * * * * getting the company column through "endwise." captain lincoln was drilling his men, marching the twenty or so "by the front," when he found himself before a gap in the fence through which he wanted to go. he says: "i could not for the life of me remember the proper words of command--("by the right flank--file left--march.--hardee's tactics")--for getting my company endwise so that it could get through the gateway; as we came near the passage, i shouted: "'company, halt! break ranks! you are dismissed for two minutes, when you will fall in again on the other side of the gap!'" * * * * * regular and irregular. in the black hawk war, captain lincoln came to cross-purposes with the regular army commissariat. the latter insisted on the fare and other service for the army being superior to what the bucktail rangers got; the latter, however, were empowered by the governor to forage rather freely, so that the settlers were said to fear more for their fowls through their protectors than from the indians for their scalps. once, when lincoln's corps were directed to perform some duty which he did not think accrued to them, he did it. but he went to the army officer, to whom he reported, and said plainly: "sir, you forget that we are not under the orders and regulations of the war department at washington, but are simply volunteers under those of the governor of illinois. keep in your own sphere and there will be no difficulty! but resistance will be made to your unjust orders. further, my men must be equal in all particulars to the regular army."--(william greene, who was in the rangers.) * * * * * knowing when to give in. if you will refer to the table of the presidents, you will see that lincoln's origin is set down as "english." but with the noted english love of fair play is coupled the art of not knowing when a man is beaten. this descendant of john bull differs from his ancestors on this head. during the black hawk war, the soldiers in camp entertained themselves by athletic contests. the captain of the sangamon company excelled all the others, regulars and volunteers, in bodily pastimes. this induced the men to challenge all the army, pitting lincoln against the whole field, one down t'other come up! a man of another regiment, named thompson, appeared, with whom the preliminary tussle to feel the enemy gave lincoln a belief that he had tackled more than he could pull off this time. he intimated as much to his backers, who, with true western whole-souledness, were betting not only all their money, but their "possibles" and equipment. disbelieving him, though he had never shown the white feather, the first bout did terminate disastrously for illinois. lincoln was clearly "downed." the next, or settling bout, ended the same way--only lincoln's supporters would not "see," and refused to pay up their bets. the whole company was about to lock horns on the decision, when captain lincoln spoke up: "boys, thompson threw me fair and clean, and he did the same the next time, but not so clearly." "in peace or in war," it was always the same "honest abe" of sangamon. * * * * * a fruitful speech. at the age of twenty, lincoln was studying law in off hours, and used to walk over to boonville, ten or twelve miles, the county court center, to watch how law proceedings were conducted. he was interested in one murder case, ably defended by john breckenridge; in fact, lincoln hanging around the court-room doors to see the lawyers come out, was impelled by his ingenuous admiration to hail him, and say: "that was the best speech i ever heard." the advocate was naturally surprised at this frank outburst of the simple country lad. years afterward, breckenridge, [footnote: not the ex-vice-president and confederate cabinet officer of that name.] belonging to texas, and having been an active confederate, was in the position to implore the executive's clemency. it was granted him, while the donor reminded him of the far-off incident--which he still insisted included "the best speech i ever heard!" the beneficiary might have retorted that the plea for his own pardon was, in his mind, more effective in sparing a life. * * * * * a captain challenged by his men. at the outset of the black hawk war, an outbreak of indians in illinois, the popularity of abraham lincoln induced the young men of the sangamon valley, in forming a company of mounted riflemen, to vote him as their captain. the forces were very irregular _irregulars_, did no fighting as a body, and were insubordinate to the last. once it was in an ironically amusing manner. the commander had saved a friendly indian from a beating, that being general cass' order, as well as what his humanity prompted, though at the same time there had been indian tragedy in his own family, and he had the racial indian hatred in his blood. the mutineers threatened still to shoot the captive. "not unless you shoot _me!_" rejoined the taunted commander. the men recoiled; but one voiced the general sentiment in: "this is cowardly on your part, lincoln, presuming on your rank!" "if any of you think that, let him test it here and now!" was the reply, equally as oblivious of military decorum. but they flinched, for he was larger and lustier than anybody else. "you can level up," he said, guessing their reasoning; "choose your own weapons." the more sane roared with laughter at this monstrous offer on the superior's part, and the good feeling was renewed between chief and file. * * * * * general mcclellan's opinion of lincoln as a lawyer. the whirligig of time brings about strange revenges, for a truth. general mcclellan was chosen to visit the seat of the crimean war to study the siege operations about sebastopol. returning and seeing no prospects in the air--of his professional line--he became superintendent of the illinois central railroad company. he was acting for its president in december, , when a bill was laid under his eyes. it was the demand of abraham lincoln, of the law firm of lincoln & herndon, springfield, illinois. the firm had offered in october to act for the company to defend a suit brought by mclean county. lincoln had won it. to prevent any demurrer about the fee of one thousand dollars, a fourth of that having been paid for the retainer, he had six members of the bar append their names to testify the charge was usual and just. nevertheless superintendent mcclellan refused to pay, alleging that: "this is as much as a first-class lawyer would charge!" you see, mr. lincoln was still but "the one-horse lawyer of a one-horse town." * * * * * kentuckians are clanny. senator john c. s. blackburn, of the united states supreme court, began his life as a lawyer at the age of twenty. this should have won him sympathy in his first case. it was before justice mclean. opposed to mr. blackburn was the chief of the chicago bar, i. n. arnold, afterward member of congress, and author of the first biography of abraham lincoln. blackburn was a kentuckian, but the stereotyped reputation for courage does not include audacity in a court of law. he was nervous with this first attempt and made a mull of his presentment, when a gentleman of the bar, rising, and extending a tall, ungraceful figure, intervened and laid down the case on the young kentuckian's lines so feebly offered and entangled that the hearers might be glad to be so disembarrassed of a feeling for the novice floundering. the bench sustained blackburn's demurrer. arnold was so vexed that he objected to the volunteer intervener, whereupon the befriended man learned it was one abraham lincoln, as unknown to him as he was to fame. lincoln defended himself against the senior's spite, by saying he claimed the privilege of giving a newcomer the helping hand. no doubt the fellow stateship backed his prompting. --(related by judge isaac n. arnold, member of congress.) * * * * * not to be thought of! it has been seen that creditors treated the struggling lincoln with the utmost forbearance, countering the adage that "forbearance is not acquittance." he was given the occasion to show how he was neighborly when the turn came. a client of his was long deferring settlement when the lawyer met him by chance on the courthouse steps, at springfield. he accosted him cordially, and remarked about an accident that had befallen him. cogdale had been blown up by gunpowder and lost a hand. he began to apologize for the business delay, showing that he was crippled manually as well as in his pursuits. lincoln plainly expressed his sympathy and sorrow. "i have been thinking about that note of yours," faltered the unhappy man. the lawyer drew the paper in question out of his wallet and forced it upon him. "it is not to be _thought of!_" replied he, laughing in his droll yet saturnine mode. cogdale honestly added that he did not know when he really could pay. but the donee hurried away, saying: "if you had the money, i would not take it out of your only hand!" * * * * * "skin wright and close!" in more than one event the lincolnian snappy and headlong manner was the fruit of study and deliberation. apparently holding aloof from politics after his return from washington, in , lincoln was earning a great name at the bar. his popularity was the wider as he did not disdain poor clients and often won a case without permitting any remuneration. there came to lincoln & herndon's office one day a poor widow. she was entitled to a pension of four hundred dollars, but the agent, one wright, who had drawn it for her, retained one-half as his fee. this greed so stirred mr. lincoln that he at once went to the agent to demand disgorging of the money. on refusal, a suit was instituted for the recovery. at the trial, with his buoyancy, lincoln said to his partner: "you had better stay, and hear me address the jury, as i am going to _skin_ wright and get the money back." he pleaded that there was no contract between the parties; that the man was not an authorized agent; his charge was unreasonable; he had never given the money due to the soldier's widow, but retained one-half. next he expatiated on her husband, during the revolutionary war, experiencing the hardships of the old continentals at valley forge in the winter; barefoot in the deep snows; ill-clad against the rigors; their feet, cut by ice staining the ground, and so on. the men in the box were also affected to tears, like the spectators, while the pension "shark" wriggled under the invectives. the verdict was in favor of the relict. her advocate not only remitted his costs, but paid her fare home and for her stay in springfield, so that she went off rejoicing. lincoln's partner had the curiosity to look at his brief, which concluded: "_skin wright!_ close!"--(related by mr. herndon, present at the trial.) * * * * * hooking hens is low! mr. lincoln had assisted in the prosecution of a fellow who stole some fowls. the lawyer jogged homeward in the company of the jury foreman. he eulogized the young man for his good work in the prosecution, and, when the other returned the compliment by speaking warmly of the jury's prompt and speedy deliverance of the verdict, the fereman replied: "yaas, the vagabond ought to be locked up. why, when i was young and pearter than i am now, i didn't mind packing a sheep or two off on my back--but stealing hens--faugh! it is low and shows what the country is coming to!" * * * * * "the state against mr. whisky!" when lincoln was a briefless barrister, frequenting the courts on their own peregrinations, to catch the eye of client or judge, he was at clinton, illinois, where a case came up of a very modern nature. to be sure, "the shrieking sisterhood" was then invented for the advocates of female suffrage and anti-slavery. but these twelve or fifteen young women presented themselves in custody for a novel charge. they had failed to induce a liquor dealer to restrict his license, and "smashed" his wine-parlor incontinently. although public sympathy was theirs for the act, as well as for their youth, prettiness, and sex, none of the lawyers would take up their defense on account of the influence of the brewers' and distillers' agent. in this emergency, abraham lincoln stepped into the breach and volunteered to defend the defenseless. "i would suggest, first," began he, "that there be a change in the indictment so as to have it read 'the state against mr. whisky!' instead of 'the state against these women.' this is the defense of these women. the man who has persisted in selling whisky has had no regard for their well-being or the welfare of their husbands and sons. he has had no fear of god or regard for man; neither has he any regard for the laws of the statute. no jury can fix any damages or punishment for any violation of the moral law. the course pursued by this liquor dealer has been for the demoralization of society. his groggery has been a nuisance. these women, finding all moral suasion of no avail with this fellow, oblivious to all, to all tender appeal and a like regardless of their tears and prayers, in order to protect their households and promote the welfare of the community, united to suppress the nuisance. the good of society demanded its suppression! they accomplished what otherwise could not have been done."--(_the lincoln magazine_.) * * * * * as clear as moonshine. in , lincoln was committed to the political campaign which was a passing victory, superficial, to his opponent, senator douglas, to eventuate in his accession to the presidency. so he had let legal strife fall into abeyance, during two years. he was, therefore, vexed to have an applicant for his renewing that line of business, but at once welcomed the suitor on learning her name. it was hannah armstrong. he was eager to see her. she was the wife of the bully of clary's grove, the locally noted wrestler, jack armstrong. after they had become friends, lincoln had been harbored in their cottage, in the days when poverty held him down so he scarcely could get his head above water. the good soul had repaid his doing chores about her house, such as minding the baby, getting in the firewood, and keeping the highway cows out of her cabbage-patch, after her husband died, by darning his socks, filling up a bowl with corn-mush, at the period when it was a feast to have "cheese, bologna, and crackers," in the garret where he pored over law-books. her news was painful. the baby, whose cradle lincoln had rocked, was a man now, and was in what the vernacular phrased "pretty considerable of a tight fix." it looked as though mr. lincoln would have difficulty in loosening the fix, far more to remove it. at a camp-meeting, the young men had been riotous. armstrong and a companion had been entangled in a fight for all comers, in which one man was seriously injured by some weapon. the companion, norris, was tried and convicted for manslaughter of metzgar, receiving the sentence of eight years' imprisonment. but armstrong was to be indicted for murder, as the injuries were indicated as inflicted with a blunt instrument, and a witness affirmed that they were done by a slung-shot in armstrong's hands. it was little excuse that he, like the rest implicated, was drunk at the time. nevertheless, dissolute as was the young man of two-and-twenty, lincoln did not need the woman's assurance that her son was incapable of murder so deliberate. armstrong averred that any blow he struck was done with the naked fist. furthermore, it was said that metzgar was not left insensible on the field of battle, but was going home beside a yoke of oxen when the yoke-end cracked his skull; it was this, and no slung-shot, that caused his death the following day. recognizing that the complication forebode a strenuous task, lincoln none the less accepted it and, assuring his old "aunt hannah" that he would not suffer her to talk of remuneration, he resumed the toga to contest the effort to take away armstrong's life and release norris, as convicted under error. he closeted himself with the prisoner to hear his account, and upon that concluded he was guiltless. it has been said that lincoln would never undertake a defense of a man he believed guilty. this held good in the present instance. as the statement about the slung-shot blow was made by a man who disputed the ox-yoke accident, and that the fatal hurts were received in the free fight at the camp-meeting, it was necessary that he should be explicit. he had seen the blow and distinguished the weapon by the light of the moon. lincoln was accustomed from early life to relieve his brain when toiling or distressed, by the turning to a vein utterly opposed to those moods. his chief diversion from blackstone and the statutes was his favorite author, shakespeare. hackett, the _falstaff_ delighted in by our grandfathers, pronounced the president a better student of that dramatist than he expected to meet. as the ancients drew fates, as it is called, from virgil, and the medievals from the bible, so the lawyer drew hints from his author. the process is to open at a page and read as a forecast the first line meeting the eye. the play-book opened at "midsummer night's dream." to refresh himself after his speeches in rehearsal, lincoln had been enjoying the humor of the amateur-actor clowns. so the line "leaping into sight" was on parallel lines with his thought. "does the moon shine that night?" so the text. whereupon, _nick bottom_, a weaver, cries out: "a calendar! look in the almanack! find out moonshine!" the pleader had his cue! it was not necessary to postpone the trial on the ground that the debate upon the new charge prevented a fair jury in the district. besides, the widow would grow mad in the long suspense, even if the prisoner bore it manfully, though sorrowing for her and his misspent life. the trial was indeed the event of the year at the courthouse. the witnesses for the prosecution repeated about armstrong much the same story as had convicted norris: armstrong had led a reprehensible career, and the deliberate onslaught with a weapon after the fight could hardly have been made by an intoxicated man. it was vindictiveness from being worsted by the unhappy metzgar in a fair fight. in vain was it cited that he and metzgar had been friends and that the accuser was a personal enemy of the former. the case looked so formidable--unanswerable, in short--that the state proctor's plea for condemnation might all but be taken for granted. however highly the prisoner had been elated by his father's friend, his own, having promised to deliver him before sundown, he must have lost the lift-up. for he wore the abandoned expression of one forsaken by his own hopes as by his friends. norris, in his cell, could have not been more veritably the picture of despair. lincoln rose for the final, without eliciting any emotion from him. he dilated on the evidence, which he asserted boldly was proof of a plot against an innocent youth. he called the principal witness back to the stand, and caused him definitely to repeat that he had _seen_ armstrong strike the fatal stroke, with a slung-shot undoubtedly, and by "the light of the moon." the proof that his accusation was false was in the advocate's hand--the almanac, which the usher handed into the jury, while the judge consulted one on his desk. the whole story was a fabrication to avenge a personal enmity, and the rock of the prosecution was blasted by the defense's fiery eloquence. the arbiters went out for half an hour, but the audience, waiting in breathless impatience, discounted the result. the twelve filed in to utter the alleviating "not guilty!" and the liberator was able to fulfil his pledge. it was not sunset, and the prisoner was free to comfort his mother. in vain did she talk of paying a fee, and the man supported the desire by alleging his intention to work the debt out. lincoln said in the old familiar tongue: "aunt hannah, i sha'n't charge you a _red_--i said 'without money or price!' and anything i can do for you and yours shall not cost you a cent." soon after, as she wrote to him of an attempt to deprive her of her land, he bade her force a case into the court; if adverse there, appeal to the supreme court, where his law firm would act, and he would fight it out. (regarding the rescued man, he enlisted in the war at the first call. he was still in the ranks two years later, when his mother, in her loneliness, begged for him of the president-commander-in-chief, for his release to come home. his leave was immediately written out by lincoln's own hand, and the soldier went home from kentucky. he remained a valuable citizen. it was lincoln's speech and the moonbeam of inspiration that saved him.) * * * * * "nice clothes may make a handsome man--even of you!" in , lincoln, elected to the illinois legislative chamber, found himself in one of those anguishing embarrassments besetting him in all the early stages of his unflagging ascent from the social slough of despond. unlike eels, he never got used to skinning. for the new station, however well provided mentally, he had no means to procure dress fit for the august halls of debate. he was yet standing behind the counter in offutt's general shop at new salem, when an utter stranger strolled in, asked his name, though his exceptional stature and unrivaled mien revealed his identity, and announced his own name. each had heard of the other. the newcomer was not an adonis, perhaps, but he was one compared with the awkward, leaning tower of pisa "cornstalk," who carried the jack-knife as "the homeliest man in the section." lincoln was doubly the _plainest_ speaker there and thereabouts. "mr. smoot," began the clerk, "i am disappointed in you, sir! i expected to see a scaly specimen of humanity!" "mr. lincoln, i am sorely disappointed in you, in whom i expected to see a _good-looking_ man!" after this jocular exchange of greeting, the joke cemented friendship between them. the proof of the friendship is in the usefulness of it. lincoln turned to this acquaintance in his dilemma. this future president may have divined the saying of the similarly martyred mckinley--about "the cheap clothes making a cheap man." he summed up his situation: "i must certainly have decent clothes to go there among the celebrities." no doubt, the state capital had other fashions than those prevailing at sangamon town, where even the shopkeeper's present attire, in which he had solicited suffrages, was scoffed at as below the mark. it was composed of "flax and tow-linen pantaloons (one ellis, storekeeper, describes from eye-witnessing), i thought, about five inches too short in the legs, exposing blue-yarn socks (the original of the farmers' _sox_ of our mailorder magazines); no vest or coat; and but one suspender. he wore a calico shirt, as he had in the black hawk war; coarse brogans, tan color." "as you voted for me," went on the ambitious man about to exchange the counter for the rostrum, "you must want me to make a decent appearance in the state-house?" "certainly," was the reply, as anticipated, lincoln was so sure of his wheedling ways by this time. and the friend in need supplied him with two hundred dollars currency, which, according to the budding legislator's promise, he returned out of his first pay as representative. * * * * * the abutment was dubersome. president lincoln was told that the northern and southern democrats had at last accomplished a fusion. "well, i believe you, of course," said he to the informant, "but i have my doubts of the foundation, like my friend brown. brown is a sound church member. he was member, too, of a township committee, having to receive bids for building a bridge over a deep and rapid river. the contractors did not seem to like the proposition, so brown called in an architectural acquaintance, named--we will say, jones. at the question 'can you build this bridge?' he was overbold, and replied: 'yes, sir, or any other. i could build a bridge from sodom to gomorrah with abutment below.' the committee being good and select men were shocked at the strong language, and brown was called upon to defend his protégé. "'i know jones well enough,' he rejoined, 'and he is so honest a man and good a builder, that if he states positively that he can build a bridge from sodom to gomorrah, why, i believe him! but--i feel bound to state that i am in some doubt as to the abutment on the other side!' "my friend, i reassert i have my doubts about the abutment!" * * * * * "good enough for the president." it was while at the store in new salem that lincoln made the acquaintance of richard yates, contemporarily in office with him as war governor of illinois. so proud were the citizens of the colloquial abilities of their rising young man that they used to show him to visitors as their lion. yates was introduced and stayed to hear him roar. later, lincoln asked him to join him in his noon meal at the cabin where a woman boarded him. the latter was one of those good souls who give the best in the larder, but are all the time apologizing. they had happened upon the ordinarily plain repast of bread--home-made, and of the sweetest corn--and milk from the cow. flurried by the unknown company, the auntie, in dealing out the bowls to a numerous family, somehow, between herself and lincoln, let the vessel slip, and, falling to the floor, it was smashed and the milk wasted. lincoln disputed it was her fault, as she politely averred. she continued to argue for her guiltiness. "oh, very well," said lincoln, at last, "we will not wrangle on whose was the slip, or if it does not trouble you it will not trouble _me_. anyway, what is a basin of pap?--nothing to fret about!" "mr. lincoln, you are wrong"--the woman remembered the children to whom a lesson ought to be given--"a dish of bread and milk is fit for the president of these united states." both the guests acquiesced. the cream of a story is in the application. years afterward, when the man from sangamon, the unknown, occupied the curule chair, an elderly woman from illinois called at the white house and requested an interview. it was the aunt lizzie of the above episode. her mere mention of being "home folks" won her admittance, and her recognition the best of the executive mansion lard-pantry. when she had finished the elegant collation, and intermingled the tasty morsels with reminiscences, the host slyly inquired if now in the presidential dwelling she stuck to the sentiments about the diet enunciated in her log cabin. "indeedy, i do! i still stick to it that bread and milk is a good enough dish for the president." lincoln smiled with his sad smile. he had been long--not to say a lengthy--martyr to dyspepsia, and she uttered a truism that struck him to the--the digestive apparatus! * * * * * lincoln's first political speech. in , or ' , abraham lincoln made his maiden political speech at pappsville (or richland), illinois. he was twenty-three, and timid, and the preceding speakers had "rolled the sun nearly down." the speech is, therefore, short and agreeable: "gentlemen, fellow citizens: i presume you all know who i am. i am humble abraham lincoln. i have been solicited by my friends to become a candidate for the legislature. my politics are short and sweet--like an old woman's dance! i am in favor of a national bank, the international improvement scheme, and a high protective tariff. these are my sentiments and political principles. if elected, i will be thankful. if defeated, it will be all the same!"--(springfield _republican_.) * * * * * a lightning-rod to protect a guilty conscience! one term in the illinois state legislature only whetted the predestined politician for a seat again at that table, though it was not he who won the loaves and the fishes. he was to speak at springfield, the more gloriously welcomed as he was prominent in the movement hereafter realized, of changing the capital from vandalia to this more energetic town. the meeting had foreboded ill, as a serious wrangle between two of the preceding speakers threatened to end in a challenge to a duel, still a fashionable diversion. but lincoln intervened with a speech so enthralling that the hearers forgot the dispute and heard him out with rapture. he had found the proper way to manage his voice, never musical, by controlling the nasal twang into a monotonous but audible sharpness, "carrying" to a great distance. he was followed by one george forquer (farquhar or forquier), a facing-both-ways, profit-taking politician, who had achieved his end by obtaining an office. this was the land-office register at this town. he had been a prominent whig representative in . the turncoat assailed lincoln bitterly (much as pitt was derided in his beginning) and had begun his piece by announcing that "the young man (lincoln) must be taken down." as if to live up to the lucrative berth, mr. forquer had finished a frame-house--springfield still had log houses, and not only in the environs, either!--and to cap the novelty, had that other new feature, a lightning-rod, put upon it. the object of the slur at youth had listened to the diatribe, flattering only so far as he was singled out. mr. joshua f. speed, a bosom friend of lincoln, reports the retort as follows: "the gentleman says that 'this young man must be taken down.' it is for you, not for me, to say whether i am up or down. the gentleman has alluded to my being a young man; i am older in years than in the tricks and trades of politicians. "i desire to live, and i desire place and distinction as a politician; but i would rather die now than, like the gentleman, live to see the day that i would have to erect a lightning-rod to protect a guilty conscience from an offended god!" mr. speed says that the reply was characterized by great force and dignity. the happy image of the lightning-rod for a conscience has passed into the fixed-star stage of a household word throughout the west. * * * * * firing on a flea for a squirrel. in , while serving a term in the illinois legislature, lincoln was the longest of the sangamon representatives, distinguished as the long nine. they were much hampered by an old member who tried to put a stopper upon any measure on the set ground that it was "un-con-sti-tu-tional." lincoln was selected to "spike his gun." a measure was introduced benefiting the sangamon district, so that its electee might befittingly push it, and defend it. he was warrantably its usher when the habitual interrupter bawled his stereotyped: "unconstitutional!" the "quasher" is reported as follows in the local press, if not in the journal of the house, which one need not, perhaps, consult: "mr. speaker," said the son of the sangamon vale, "the attack of the member from wabash county upon the un-con-sti-tu-tion-al-i-ty of this measure reminds me of an old friend of mine. "he k a peculiar-looking old fellow, with shaggy, overhanging eyebrows, and a pair of spectacles under them. (this description fitted the wabash member, at whom all gaze was directed.) "one morning just after the old soul got up, he imagined he saw a gray squirrel on a tree near his house. so he took down his rifle, and fired at the squirrel, as he believed, but the squirrel paid no attention to the shot. he loaded and fired again and again, until, at the thirteenth shot, he set down his gun impatiently, and said to his boy, looking on: "'boy, there's something wrong about this rifle.' "'rifle's all right--i know it is,' answered the boy; 'but where's your squirrel?' "'don't you see him, humped up about half-way up the tree?' inquired the old man, peering over his spectacles and getting mystified. "'no, i don't,' responded the boy; and then turning and looking into his father's face, he exclaimed: 'yes, i spy your squirrel! you have been firing at a flea on your own brow!'" this modern version of seeing the mote and not the beam in one's own eye smothered the member for wabash in laughter, and he _dropped_ the standard objection of "unconstitutional" as he had not his mark. * * * * * the cream of the joke. by reason of the distances and the lonesomeness, it was the pleasant habit of candidates to make their electioneering tours together. in seeking reelection in , lincoln was accompanied by mr. ewing. they stopped at one country house about dark, when the good wife was going a-milking, while her husband was still a-field. intent on securing her, as she had the repute of being "the gray mare," the two partizans accompanied her to the paddock. ewing, to show his gallantry as well as his familiarity with farm work--a main point in such communities--offered to relieve the dame of the pail and fill it, while she rested. in the meantime, lincoln chatted with her, so that ewing could hardly get a word in. at his finishing his self-chosen task, he beheld the pair deeply absorbed, for lincoln had exercised his glib tongue to such advantage as to secure her influence over her man's vote. * * * * * parallel courses. in the thirteenth congress, jefferson davis was in the senate, while lincoln and alexander stephens were in the house. * * * * * jumping jim crow! when in congress, he was a conscience whig, as opposed to the cotton ones--that is, for the anti-slavery doctrine and not "cottoning" for the south. he wrote home: "as you (at springfield) are all so anxious for me to distinguish myself, i have concluded to do so before long." he nearly ex-tinguished himself, for suddenly he went right about face--according to the popular song--quite a political if not a politic course: you wheel about and jump about, and do just so! and ebery time you jump about, you jump jim crow! he had gone against the general tide in hindering the mexican war as sure to bring texas into the union as a slave state, yet now he espoused its hero, "rough and ready" taylor. he had to excuse himself as recognizing that the general was the whigs' best candidate, and as the whig national convention agreed with him, the apparent truckling was condoned. * * * * * facts are stubborn things. "your letter on mcclellan reminds me of a story that i (a. lincoln) heard in washington, when i was here before. there was an editor in rhode island noted for his love of fun--it came to him irresistibly--and he could not help saying just what came to his mind. he was appointed postmaster by tyler. some time after tyler vetoed the bank bill, and came into disrepute with the whigs, a conundrum went the round of the papers. it was as follows: 'why is john tyler like an ass?' this editor copied the conundrum and could not resist the temptation to answer it, which he did thus: 'because he _is_ an ass!' this piece of fun cost him his head--but it was a fact!"--(_chatauque democrat_.) * * * * * the party gad. "in , general cass was for the (wilmot) proviso [footnote: wilmot proviso: that money to buy mexican land should not go toward slave-buying.] at once; in march, , he was still for it, but not just then; and in december, , he was against it altogether. when the question was raised in , he was in a blustering hurry to take ground for it. he sought to be in advance, and to avoid the uninteresting position of a mere follower; but soon he began to see a glimpse of the great democratic ox-gad waving in his face, and to hear indistinctly a voice saying: "'back, back, sir; back a little!' "he shakes his head and bats his eyes, and blunders back to his position of march, ; and still the gad waves and the voice grows more distinct and sharper still: "'back, sir! back, i say! farther back!' and back he goes to the position of december, , at which the gad is still, and the voice soothingly says: "'so! stand still at that!'"--(speech by a. lincoln, house of representatives, washington, july , .) * * * * * hard to beat! of his washington experience in , lincoln brought a pack of tales about the statesmen then prominent. he declared to have heard of daniel webster the subjoined: in school little dan had been guilty of some misdoing for which he was called up to the teacher to be caned on the hand. his hands were dirty, and to save appearance he moistened his right hand, on his way up, and wiped it on his pants. nevertheless, it looked so foul on presentation to the ferule that the teacher sharply protested: "well, this is hard to beat! if you will find another hand in this room as filthy, i will let you off!" daniel popped out his left hand, modestly kept in the background, and readily cried: "here it is, sir!" (told by lincoln before "the honorable mr. odell, and others." this is not the ex-governor, mr. odell, of new york, who pleads guilty to the editor of "being too young to have the honor of speaking with mr. lincoln." the worse luck--both would have profited by the mutual pleasure.) * * * * * "i reckon i took more than my share." lincoln confessed at the outset of life that he was going to avoid society, as its frequentation was incompatible with study. he avowed at the same time that he liked it, which enhanced the sacrifice. no doubt so, since his washington sojourn and his legal and legislative company earned him the title of the prince of good fellows. to be coupled with the genial martin van buren with the same epithet was, indeed, a compliment. at washington he had, in , made acquaintance with the fashionable world. he preferred the livelier and less strait ways of the congressional boarding-house table, the saturday parties at daniel webster's, and the motley crowd at the bowling-alley, as well as the chatterers' corner in the congressional post-office. still, as chairman of a committee, and by reason of his being a wonder from the hirsute west, he was invited to the receptions and feasts of the first families. green to the niceties of the table, he committed errors--so frankly apologized for and humorously treated that he lost no standing. at one dinner the experience was new to him of the dish of currant jelly being passed around for each guest to transfer a little to his plate. so he took it as a sweet, oddly accompanying the venison, and left but little on the general plate. but after tasting it, he perceived that the compote-dish was going the rounds, and suddenly looking pointedly at his plate and then at the hostess, with a troubled air, he said, with convincing simplicity: "it looks as though i took more than my share."--(supplied by the hostess, and collected by j. r. speed.) * * * * * lincoln was loaded for bear. an eminent man of politics has said that the similes of the learned which liken abraham lincoln to king henry iv. of france and other historical notables are far from the mark and reveal their miscomprehension of the machiavel redeemed by moral goodness. he thinks that without the hypocrisy being censurable he was more of the type of pope sixtus the fifth. this celebrity, who, like lincoln, was in the hog business at one time, pretended silliness to be elected pontiff. the die cast, he stood forth in all his native strength, keeping the friends who did not try to sway him, and becoming a rod of steel where he had been rated as lead. [footnote: greeley stamped lincoln as "the slowest piece of lead that ever crawled."] at the same time as he dispraised himself--mocked and laughed--he let out glimpses of true ambition. when his short-sighted advisers warmly crossed his ground of setting himself with freedom against the pro-slavery party, assuring him that he would thereby lose the senatorship as against douglas, he confessed: "i am after larger game. the battle of (for the chair of washington) is worth a hundred of this." * * * * * "a bounteous president--if anything is left!" "mr. speaker, we have all heard of the animal standing in doubt between two stacks of hay and starving to death; the like of that would never happen to general cass. place the stacks a thousand miles apart; he would stand stock-still, midway between them, and eat both at once; and the green grass along the line would be apt to suffer some, too, at the same time. by all means, make him president, gentlemen. he will feed you bounteously--if--if--there is anything left after he shall have helped himself."--(speech, house of representatives, july , .) * * * * * the art of being paid to eat. "i have introduced general cass' accounts here chiefly to show the wonderful physical capacities of the man. they show that he not only did the labor of several men at the same time, but that he often did it at several places many hundred miles apart, at the same time! and at eating, too, his capacities are shown to be quite as wonderful. from october, , to may, , he ate ten rations a day in michigan, ten a day here in washington, and near five dollars' worth a day besides, partly on the road between the two places. and then there is an important discovery in his example: 'the art of being paid for what one eats, instead of having to pay for it.' hereafter, if any nice man shall owe a bill which he cannot pay, he can just board it out!"--(speech, house of representatives, july , .) (a tilt at a general drawing rations for himself and staff.) * * * * * a vice not to say "no!" mr. lincoln said to general viele: "if i have got one vice, it is not being able to say 'no.' and i consider it a vice. thank god for not making me a woman! i presume if he had, he would have made me just as homely as i am, and nobody would have ever tempted me!" * * * * * the best car! from his previous sojourn in the capital, president lincoln had a fund of good stories upon his predecessors. among them was the following tale about president tyler, one of the weakest chiefs the republic has ever known, with the exception of franklin pierce. lincoln said that this president's son "bob" was sent by his father to arrange about a special train for an excursion. the railroad agent happened to be a hard-shell whig, and having no fear of the great, and wanting no favor, shrank from allowing him any. he said that the road did not run any "specials" for presidents. "stop!" interrupted bob, "did you not furnish a special for general-president harrison?" (died .) "s'pose we did," answered the superintendent; "well, if you will bring your father here in that condition, you shall have the best train on the track!" * * * * * self-made. "self-made or never made," says one of the apologists for lincoln's ruggedness of character and outward air; at an early political meeting, when asked if he were self-made and he answered in the affirmative, the rough critic remarked: "then it is a poor job," as if it were by nature's apprentice. but in , when friends reproached him for the lack of "old hickory" jackson's sternness, he replied nobly: "i am just as god made me, and cannot change." * * * * * his high mightiness. the little "court" of the white house wrangling about a fit title for the chief, that of "excellency" not being taken as sufficient, one disputant suggested that the dutch one of "high mightiness" might fit. speaker mullenberg, at the first presidency, pronounced on the question at a dinner where washington was sitting. "why, general, if we were certain the office would always be held by men as large as yourself (how cleverly he shunned the use of either "great" or "grand!") or mr. wynkopp there, it would be appropriate enough! but, if by chance a president as small as my opposite neighbor should be elected, his high mightiness would be ridiculous!" the quarrelers were hushed, thinking if douglas, the little giant, had preceded or should follow their colossus of six feet three! * * * * * lincoln's opinion at thirty. diffident, but having been twice disappointed in love-making, abraham wrote in support of a miss owen rejecting him: "i should never be satisfied with any one blockhead enough to have me." * * * * * the blank biography. lincoln had been reading from edmund burke's life, when he threw down the book with disrelish. he fell into his habit of musing, and on reviving, said to his associate, herndon: "i've wondered why book publishers do not have blank biographies on their shelves, always ready for an emergency; so that if a man happens to die, his heirs or his friends, if they wish to perpetuate his memory, can purchase one already written--but with blanks. these blanks _they_ can fill up with rosy sentences full of high-sounding praise." he sent the "dictionary of congress" his autobiography in a single paragraph of fifty words--as an example(?). * * * * * "the homeliest man under government." when general lee surrendered to general grant, one point was noticed by the spectators which, it was held, distinguished the cavalier from the puritan. grant was in his fighting clothes and his every-day sword by his side, while general lee, dressed faultlessly as a soldier should always be, carried a court sword, presented him as a honor by the southerners. so, in wars, providence does not flourish the showy weapon, but uses a strong and sharp blade without ornamental hilt. abraham lincoln was the instrument of heaven for work--ceaseless, bloody work, hard, for it was that least to his taste. from boyhood the looks of the wood-chopper and river boatman were subjects of jeering. whether the budding genius spurned such adventitious aids as graces of person in his career, or was already a philosopher who believed that handsome is that handsome does is a winning motto, we may never know. it is enough that he joined in the laugh and kept the ball rolling. on the loss of a first love, one annie rutledge--a name he said he always loved--his friends were alarmed for his health and sanity. they took away the knife every man carried in the west, and discovered it was the obligatory one presented to the ugliest man and not to be disposed of otherwise than to one still homelier. there is a record of the clerical gentleman to whom lincoln was justified in offering it, who died with it in his uncontested possession, in toronto. as is the custom, an office-holder going out of his seat calls on the president with his successor to transfer the seals and other tokens. the unlucky man enumerated the good qualities of his substitute, and was surprised that mr. lincoln should dilate upon his with excessive regrets that he was going to leave the service. this mr. addison was indeed a first-class servant, but uncommonly ill-favored. "yes, addison," said the chief, "i have no doubt that mr. price is a pearl of price, but--but nothing can compensate me for the loss of _you_, for, when you retire, i shall be the homeliest man in the government!" * * * * * better looking than expected. (related by the president to grace greenwood): "as i recall it, the story, told very simply and tersely, but with inimitable drollery, ran that a certain honest old farmer, visiting the capital for the first time, was taken by the member of congress for his 'deestrict,' to some large gathering or entertainment. he went in order to see the president. unfortunately, mr. lincoln did not appear; and the congressman, being a bit of a wag, and not liking to have his constituent disappointed, designated mr. r., of minnesota. he was a gentleman of a particularly round and rubicund countenance. the worthy agriculturist, greatly astonished, exclaimed: "is that old abe? well, i du declare! he's a better-lookin' man than i expected to see; but it do seem as how his troubles have druv him to drink!'" * * * * * lincoln and superstition. childhood's impressions are ineffaceable, though they may be for a time set aside. abraham lincoln with all his lofty mind, acquiesced in the vulgar belief when he took his son robert to have the benefit of a "madstone," at a distance from where the boy was dog-bitten. he made the pact with the divine power as to the emancipation act, with a sincerity which robbed worldly wisdom of its sting, and he had dreams and visions like a seer. * * * * * lincoln's dream. "before any great national event i have always had the same dream. i had it the other night. it is a ship sailing rapidly."--(to a friend, in april, . see "ship of state," a pet simile.) * * * * * lincoln's vision. abraham lincoln had been nominated for the presidency. the consummation of his ambition had naturally a deep impression upon him. he came home and threw himself on the lounge, expressly made to let him recline at full-length. it was opposite a bureau on which was a pivoted mirror happening to be so tilted that it reflected him as he lay. "as i reclined," he says, "my eye fell upon the glass, and i saw two images of myself, exactly alike, except that one was a little paler than the other. i arose and lay down again with the same result. it made me quite uncomfortable for a few minutes, but some friends coming in, the matter passed out of my mind. "the next day, while walking in the street, i was suddenly reminded of the circumstances, and the disagreeable sensation produced by it returned. i determined to go home and place myself in the same position--as regards the mirror--and if the same effect was produced, i would make up my mind that it was the natural result of some principle of refraction or optics, which i did not understand, and dismiss it. i tried the experiment with the same result; and as i had said to myself, accounted for it on some principle unknown to me, and it then ceased to trouble me. but the god who works through the laws of nature, might surely give a sign to me, if one of his chosen servants, even through the operation of a principle of optics." this, seeing one's simulacrum, or double, was so common, especially when looking-glasses were full of flaws, designedly cast faulty to give "magical" effects for conjurors, that old books on the black art teem with instances. lincoln was right to demonstrate that the vision was founded on fact, and no supernatural sight at all. his trying the repetition was like lord byron's quashing a similar illusion, but of a suit of clothes hung up to look like a friend whom he believed he saw in the spirit. a more widely read man would have dismissed the "fetch" like the president-elect, but with a laugh. * * * * * "it is a poor sermon that does not hit somewhere." president lincoln was wont to carry his mother's old bible about with him in the capital city. often he would be consulting it in mental plights. he said that the psalms was the part he liked best. "the psalms have something for every day in the week, and something for every poor fellow like me." * * * * * the religion of feeling. lincoln told a friend that he heard a man named glenn say at an indiana church-meeting: "when i do good, i feel good; when i do bad, i feel bad; that is my religion!" * * * * * the two prayers. in lincoln's inaugural address will be found the passage about the sad singularity of the two contendants in the fratricidal combat being christians alike: "both read the same bible, and pray to the same god." the example is forthcoming. there is plenty of evidence that the speaker always "took counsel of god." his words are: "i have been driven many times to my knees by the overwhelming conviction that i have nowhere else to go." [footnote: no longer was lincoln's piety held as hypocrisy, as in , when a campaign song sneers at how each night he seeks the closet, there, alone, to kneel and pray.] (connect with the confederate commander, robert e. lee's avowal: "i have never seen the day when i did not pray for the people of the north.") "everybody thinks better than anybody."--(lincoln.) (this is also ascribed to talleyrand. "it is only the rich who are robbed.") * * * * * "we shall see our friends in heaven!" for weeks after the death of his son willie the inconsolable father mourned in particular on that day in each week, and even the military sights at fortress monroe to court a change failed to distract him. he was studying shakespeare. calling his private secretary to him, he read several passages, and finally that of queen constance's lament over her lost child: and, father cardinal, i have heard you say that we shall see, and know, our friends in heaven. (_king john, iii., ._) "if that be true, i shall see my boy again!" he said: "colonel, did you ever dream of a lost friend, and feel that you were holding sweet communion with that friend, and yet have a sad consciousness that it was not reality? just so i dream of my boy willie!" (colonel lamon, the presidential body-guard-in-chief, was the recipient of this spiritual confidence.) * * * * * more praying and less swearing! on accompanying mrs. pomeroy, military nurse, to her hospital, the president discovered that the authorities of the house had forbidden praying to the patients, or even reading the bible to them, as it was denominational. he promptly removed the restriction, and furthered the visiting missionaries in holding prayer-meetings, read the scriptures to "his boys in blue," and pray with them as much as they pleased. "if there was more praying," he said, "and less swearing, it would be far better for our country." * * * * * gloves or no gloves. an old acquaintance of the president's visited him at washington. each man's wife insisted on the gentleman, her lord, donning gloves. for they were going as a square party out in the presidential carriage, and the washingtonians would not accept a king as such unless he dressed as a king. mr. lincoln, as a shrewd politician, and married man, put his gloves in his pocket, not to don them until there was no wriggling out of the fix; the other one had his on at the hotel where the carriage came to take that couple up. they went out and took seats in the vehicle, whereupon the newcomer, seeing that his host was ungloved, went on the rule of leaving the fence bars as you find them. he set to drawing off his kids at the same time as mr. lincoln commenced to tug at his to get them on. "no, no, no!" protested the caller, fetching away his kids, one at a time, "it is none of my doings! put up your mittens, lincoln!" and so they had their ride out without their hands being in guards. * * * * * the use of books. "books serve to show a man that those original thoughts of his aren't very new, after all."--(by an illinois clergyman, knowing lincoln in the 'fifties.) * * * * * lincoln's book criticism. "for those who like this kind of book, this is the kind of book they will like."--(new york _times book review_, july , .) * * * * * the hand-to-hand encounter. toward the evident close of the struggle an english nobleman came to washington, credited to the embassy. this was somewhat impudent and imprudent of him, too, as, in early times, he was prominent among the british aristocrats who had supported the confederate states. he had assisted in their being declared belligerents--a sore point. he had invested in the "cotton loan," and voted in sustenance of the lairds getting the rebel pirates out of the mersey. altogether, he must have attended the regular white house reception from thinking his hostility was unrecorded. but the president was clearly prepared for the _fox-paw_! he spoke to the briton smoothly enough, but when the unsuspecting hand was placed in his grasp he gave it one of those natural and not formal grips which left an impression on him forever. the balladist's line was realized for him: "it is _hard_ to give the hand where the heart can never be." * * * * * better sometimes right than all times wrong. in , when candidate for the illinois legislative chambers, lincoln said he held it "a sound maxim better only sometimes to be right than at all times wrong." * * * * * making the dagger stab the holder. upon the first debate of the lincoln-douglas series, an admirer of the former, having no doubt now "the stump speaker" would defeat the meretricious parliamentarian, said: "i believe, abe, you can beat douglas for the senate." "no, len, i can't beat him for the senate, but i'll make him beat himself for the presidency." douglas did gain the prize, but he lost his chances in the presidential race by alienating the whole southern vote.--(related by mr. leonard swett, the "len" above, to mr. augustus c. buell.) * * * * * the tail of the kite. "congress, like the poor, is always with us!"--(to general grant. "grant's memoirs.") * * * * * no day without a line. "i don't think much of a man not wiser to-day than he was yesterday."--(a. lincoln.) * * * * * truth and the people. "the people are always much nearer the truth than politicians suppose."--(a. lincoln.) * * * * * "call me 'lincoln.'" like the friends, abraham lincoln had a dislike for handles to a name, and at the first incurred criticism in fastidious washington circles by his using the last name and not the christian one to familiars. to an intimate friend he appealed: "now, call me 'lincoln,' and i'll promise not to tell of the breach of etiquette, if _you_ won't (ah, how well he knew the vanity of great men's horatios!), and i shall have a resting spell from _mister_ lincoln!" * * * * * the eloquent hand. the colonel of the famous massachusetts sixth, which fought its way through baltimore, risen in riot, b. f. watson, led fifty men to cleave their way through "the plug-uglies," vile toughs. on reporting at the capital he found commanding general scott receiving the mayor of baltimore, hastening to sue for the sacred soil not being again trodden on by the ruthless foot of the yankees. president lincoln happened in and, recognizing colonel watson, who was only second in command then, complimented him on his "saving the capital," and introduced him to the company. presuming that his quality would awe a young and amateur soldier, the unlucky mayor had the audacity to require his confirmation of his story. he said that he had dared the mob, and, to shield the soldiers, marched at their head, etc. but the officer, still warm from his baptism of fire, truly replied that he could not give a certificate of character. he related how the riff-raff had assailed the volunteers, wonderfully forbearing about not using their guns, and that the police and other officials had sworn that they should not pass alive, while the head and front, as he called himself, marched only a few yards--quitting on the pretext that it was too hot for him! "many times," said colonel watson, "have i recalled the mayor's look of intense disgust, the astonishing dignity of the commanding general, and the expression, half-sad, half-quizzical, on the face of the president at the evident infelicity of his introduction. if i did not leave that distinguished presence with my reputation for integrity unimpaired, the pressure of abraham lincoln's honest hand, as we parted, deceived me." * * * * * woman. "woman is man's best present from his maker."--(a. lincoln.) * * * * * to think and to do well. "it is more than mortal to think and to do well on all occasions and subjects."--(to senator james f. wilson.) * * * * * "set the trap again!" to fix extreme abolition upon abraham lincoln, senator douglas lent himself to assuring that his rival had taken part in a convention and helped pass a certain resolution. this was a fraud, as there was no such resolution passed, and lincoln was not present. "the main object of that forgery was to beat yates and elect harris for congress, object known to be exceedingly dear to judge douglas at the time.... the fraud having been apparently successful, both harris and douglas have more than once since then been attempting to put it to new uses. as the fisherman's wife, whose drowned husband was brought home with his body full of eels, said, when asked what was to be done with him: 'take out the eels and set him again!' [footnote: see colman's "broad grins."] so harris and douglas have shown a disposition to take the eels out of that stale fraud by which they gained harris' election, and set the fraud again, more than once."--(speech by a. lincoln, jonesboro, illinois, september , .) * * * * * "no royalty in our carriage." from august to mid-october, , lincoln and douglas warred on the platform throughout illinois, in a celebrated series of debates. as the senator was in a high position, and expected to reap yet more important honors, the central railroad corporation extended to him all graces. a special car, the pullman in embryo in reality, was at his beck, and a train for his numerous friends if he spoke. on the other hand, his rival, becoming more and more democratic in his leaning to the grotesque, gloried in traveling even in the caboose of a freight-train. he had no brass bands and no canteen for all comers; on one occasion his humble "freighter" was side-tracked to let the palace-cars sweep majestically by, a calliope playing "hail to the chief!" and laughter mingling with toasts shouted tauntingly through the open windows. the oppositionist laughed to his friends, and said: "the gentleman in that decorated car evidently smelled no royalty in our scow!" he scoffed at these "fizzlegigs and fireworks," to employ his phrase. but his keen sense of the ludicrous was not shared with his admirers. on the contrary, the women saw nothing absurd in drowning him with flowers and the men in "chairing him." henry villard relates that he saw him battling with his supporters literally, and beseeching them who bore him shoulder-high, with his long limbs gesticulating like a spider's, for them to "let me down!" in another place, after douglas had been galloped to the platform in his carriage and pair, his antagonist was hauled up in a hayrack-wagon drawn by lumbering farm-horses. * * * * * the trap to catch a douglas. in the course of the lincoln-douglas debates, the former, among his friends, announced that at the next meeting he would put a "settler" to his contestant, and "i don't care a continental which way he answers it." as he did not explain, all awaited the evening's speeches for enlightenment. in the midst of douglas' "piece," lincoln begged to be allowed a _leetle_ question. the lincolnian "leetle questions" were beginning to be rankling darts. formally, the question was: "can the people of a united states territory, in a lawful way, against the wishes of any citizen of the united states, exclude slavery from its limits, prior to the foundation of a state constitution?" in the homely way lincoln put it, it ran: "suppose, _jedge_ (for judge douglas) there was a new town or colony, just started in some western territory; and suppose there was precisely one hundred householders--voters, there--and suppose, jedge, that ninety-nine did not want slavery and the one did. what would be done about it?" this was the argument about "free soil" and "squatter sovereignty" in a nutshell. the wily politician strove to avoid the loop, but finally admitted that on american principles the majority must rule. this caused the charleston convention of to split on this point, and douglas lost all hope of the presidency. * * * * * practise before and behind "the bar." the debate between douglas and lincoln, while marked by speeches severe and stately, was interspersed with repartees and innuendoes as might be awaited from former friends and become, by double rivalry, fierce enemies. the senator did not disdain to stoop to casting back at lincoln's humble beginning, and taunted him with having kept store and waited _behind the bar_ before waiting before the bar judicial for his turn to practise law. his adversary rose amid the laughter, and rejoined: "what the jedge (judge douglas) has said, gentlemen, is true enough. i did keep a grocery, and sometimes i did sell whisky; but i remember that in those days mr. douglas was one of my best customers for the same. but the difference between us now is that i do not practise behind the bar at present, while mr. douglas keeps right on _before_ it." * * * * * connubial amity. "mr. douglas has no more thought of fighting me than fighting his wife."--(said during the lincoln-douglas debates, at a rumor that the senator would challenge him for some personality.) * * * * * the model whisky-barrel. during the douglas-lincoln series of debates, the former made a jest counting upon his being president some day. he said that his father was a cooper, yet, with prescience, had not taught him the paternal craft, but made him a _cabinet_-maker. his adherents who counted on office if he won loudly applauded. douglas was a thick-set, rotund man, whose florid gills revealed that he was a host for boon companions. lincoln was his antithesis, as tall, long-drawn, and somber as the cold-water man he was rated. he rose, and at once shot his shaft: "i was not aware that mr. douglas' father was a cooper, but i doubt it not, or that he was a good one. in fact, i am certain that he has made one of the best whisky-casks i have ever seen!" * * * * * fighting out of one coat into the other. "i remember being once much amused at seeing two partially intoxicated men engaged in a fight, with their greatcoats on, which fight, after a long and rather harmless contest, ended in each having fought himself out of his own coat and into that of the other! if the two leading parties of to-day are really identical with the two in the days of jefferson and adams, they have performed the same feat as the two drunken men."--(letter declining a jefferson banquet invitation, springfield, illinois, april , .) * * * * * the promising face! "senator douglas is of world-wide renown. all the anxious politicians of his party have been looking upon him as certainly, at no distant day, to be the president of the united states. they have seen in his round, jolly, fruitful face post-offices, land offices, marshalships and cabinet appointments, chargé-ships and foreign missions, bursting and sprouting out in wonderful exuberance, ready to be laid hold of by their greedy hands.... on the contrary, nobody has ever expected me to be president. in my poor, lean, lank face nobody has ever seen that any cabbages were sprouting out."--(speech by a. lincoln, springfield, illinois, july , .) * * * * * "a house divided cannot stand." this often-quoted passage was uttered in june, , at springfield, illinois, during lincoln's congressional campaign: "a house divided against itself cannot stand. i believe that this government cannot endure permanently, half-slave and half-free. i do not expect this house to fall: i do not expect the union to be dissolved. but i do expect it will cease to be divided. it will become one thing or the other." * * * * * the concert on "dred scott." the supreme court of the united states decided in a fugitive-slave case, one dred scott, that no negro slave could be any state citizen; that neither congress nor a territorial organization can exclude slavery; that the united states courts would not decide whether a slave in a free state becomes free, but left that to the slave-holding state courts. lincoln, in debate with senator douglas, asserted that the latter, chief justice taney, and others, were in a league to perpetuate slavery and extend it. "we cannot absolutely know, but when we see a lot of framed timbers, different portions of which we know have been gotten out at different times and places, and by different workmen--as stephen, franklin, roger, and james (douglas, president pierce, taney, buchanan), and when we see these timbers joined together, and see they exactly make the frame of a house or mill ... in such a case we find it impossible not to believe that stephen, and franklin, and roger, and james all understood one another from the beginning, and all worked upon a common plan or draft, drawn up before the first blow was struck." --(the "divided house" speech, june , , springfield, illinois.) * * * * * playing cuttlefish. "judge douglas is playing cuttlefish!--a small species of fish that has no mode of defending itself when pursued except by throwing out a black fluid which makes the water so dark the enemy cannot see it, and thus it escapes."--(lincoln in lincoln-douglas debate, illinois, .) * * * * * a voice from the dead. "fellow citizens, my friend, mr. douglas, made the startling announcement to-day that the whigs are dead. if that be so, you will now experience the novelty of hearing a speech from a dead man." with his arms waving like windmill-sails, and his frame vibrating in every one of the seventy-five inches perpendicular, he shrilled: "and i suppose you might properly say, or sing, in the language of the old hymn: 'hark, from the tombs a doleful sound!'"--(lincoln-douglas debate, .) * * * * * "if i must go down, let it be linked to truth." in , a red-letter day in american politics, the republican party was organized at bloomington, illinois, and, after his speech at the inauguration, abraham lincoln was hailed as the foremost of the league throughout the west. a civil war raged, as he had foretold, in kansas, through repeal of the missouri compromise, and douglas was forced to about face and actually vote, as senator in congress against the very measures he advocated, with the republicans. he sought reelection, and so believed he would allure them over to his side. at the republican state convention in june, however, lincoln was the unanimous representative for cook county, and he made the celebrated speech known as "the house divided against itself." this discourse had been rehearsed before his clique of friends--the men who afterward boasted that they made the president out of the "little one-horse lawyer of a little one-horse town!" they agreed that it was sound and energetic, but that it would not be politic to speak it then. the republicans were cautious, and shrank from uniting with the advanced theorists known as the abolitionists. lincoln slowly repeated the debated passage: "'a house divided against itself cannot stand.' i will deliver it as written. i would rather be defeated with this expression in the speech than be victorious without it." before the persistence the advisers again implored him to moderate the lines. "it would defeat his election--it will kill the embryo party!" and so on. but after silent reflection, he suddenly and warmly said: "friends, if it must be that i must go down because of this speech, then let me go down linked to truth--_die_ in the advocacy of what is right and just." that famous utterance of what was fermenting in the great heart of the people, and which perfect oneness with it and his own, enabled him to be the touchstone of the satan yet disguised, cleared the sky, and all saw the battle, if not the doom, of the black stain on the united states. * * * * * come one, come all! on his road to inauguration, lincoln held a reception at chicago. the autograph fiend was not prominent in the thick crowd, but still several little girls were pushed forward by their besieging mamas and, under pretense of one gift deserving a return, gave flowers, and the spokesgirl said as she waved a sheet of paper: "your name, mr. president, please!" "but here are several other little girls----" "they come with me," replied the little miss, with the intention of gaining her end alone. "oh, then, as my signature will be little among eight--more paper!" and he wrote a sentiment on each of eight sheets and affixed his sign manual. * * * * * assisting the inevitable. in , the missouri compromise bill of , made to shut out the free states from the invasion of slavery, was repealed. the author of this yielding on a vital question to the pro-slavery party was stephen a. douglas, leader of the democrats. he had been lincoln's early friend, and they were rivals for the hand of the miss todd who wedded lincoln, with spoken confidence, and woman's astonishing art of reading men and the future, that he would attain a loftier station in the national walhalla than his brilliant and more bewitching adversary. indignant at this revoke in the great game of immunity which should have been played aboveboard, the lawyer sprang forth from his family peace and studious retirement to fall or fulfil his mission in the irrepressible conflict. lincoln delivered a speech at springfield when the town was crammed by the spectators attending the state fair. it was rated the greatest oratorical effort of his career, and demolished douglas' political stand. the state, previously democratic, slid upon and crushed out douglas' kansas-nebraska bill, and a whig legislature was chosen. having "the senatorship in his eye," or even a dearer if not a nearer object, lincoln resigned the seat he won in this revolutionary house. on the other hand, a vacancy in the state senatorship at washington falling pat, he was set up as whig candidate. douglas had selected general james shields, who had married miss todd's sister, but was as antagonistic to his brother-in-law as douglas himself. the fight was made triangular, by the anti-kansas-nebraska bill party advancing lyman trumbull. although shields was not strong enough, a substitute in governor mattheson, "a dark horse," uncommitted to either side, came within an ace of election in the ballotage. * * * * * self-sacrifice. mr. lincoln had the finished art of the politician; he had also a magnanimous heart, ready to sacrifice all personal gain to the party. he proposed withdrawing, and throwing all his supporters' votes over to mattheson--anything to beat douglas! his friends resisted; he had distinguished himself sufficiently as a "retiring man" in letting baker get the seat over his head. but he was terribly bent on this stroke of victory. he gave up the reins and, in his great self-sacrifice, passionately exclaimed: "it _must_ be done!" he was said to be, then, a fatalist, and so vented this command as if he believed "what must be, must be!" unlike the doubter who said: "no! what must be, won't be!" the douglasites could not meet this change of base, and trumbull became senator by the lincolnites' coalition. lincoln publicly disavowed any such formal compact. * * * * * a fight proves nothing. stung by the repetition here in the west by horace greeley's quip upon douglas, whose trimming lost him supporters, "he is like the man's pig which did not weigh as much as he expected, and he always knew he wouldn't," a partizan of the senator's wanted to challenge lincoln. the latter declared that he would not fight judge douglas or his second. "in the first place, a fight would prove nothing in issue in this contest. if my fighting judge douglas would not prove anything, it would prove nothing for me to fight his _bottle_-holder." (it is to be borne in mind that the senator had a high reputation as a convivial host, and the toady was believed to be his familiar --"the bottle imp.") * * * * * "win the fight, or die a-trying." though douglas had his misgivings from knowing lincoln is "the ablest of the republican party," he was forced by his standing and the pressure of his less dubious followers to accept the oratorical challenge of the other. the trumpeteers at once boasted the little giant could make small feed of the animated fence-rail. lincoln said on the subject to judge beckwith, of danville, on the eve: "you have seen two men about to fight? well, one of them brags about what he means to do. the other fellow, he says not a word. he is saving his wind for the fight, and as sure as it comes off, he will win it--or die a-trying!" * * * * * pills to purge melancholy. the puritanic and classically sedate critics blamed the president for finding recreation in reading and hearing comic tales, used to illustrate grave texts. he said to a congressman who brought up the censure at a time when the country was profoundly harried: "were it not for this occasional vent, i should die!" * * * * * "down to the raisins!" it was the regular habit of president lincoln to read the day's telegrams in order in the "flimsy" triplicates. they were kept in a drawer at the white house telegraph-office. as he handled the papers almost solely, each addition would come to be placed on the last lot of the foregoing day. when this was attained, he would say with a sigh: "there, i have got down to the raisins!" it was due to the story, which amused him, of the countryman. this tourist entered a fashionable restaurant, and on viewing the long menu, and concluding that all the dishes were for the customer at the fixed price, manfully called for each in turn. when he arrived at the last line, he sighed in relief, and cried: "thanks be! i have got down to the raisins!" * * * * * giant and giant-killer. as stephen a. douglas, from his concentrated force and limited height was nicknamed "the little giant," his opponent, the elongated lincoln, was dubbed "the giant-killer." * * * * * lincoln's "sentiments" on a mooted point. the president's reply to an autograph fiend who sought his signature, appended to a sentiment, was: "dear madam: when you ask a stranger for that which is of interest only to yourself, always enclose a stamp." * * * * * chestnuts under a sycamore. the president, on his way to the department of war, perceived a gentleman under a tree, scraping among the heaped leaves with his cane. he knew him, a major johnson, of the department, an old district of columbia man who had never been out of the district. "good morning, major!" hailed the executive officer. "what in the world are you doing there?" "looking for a few horse-chestnuts." "eh? do you expect to find them under a sycamore-tree?" the president laughed freely and passed on. he ought to have removed the misguided botanist into the department of agriculture, where he might have learned something. * * * * * still of little note. on hearing that a man had been arrested in philadelphia for trying to procure $ , by a forgery of lincoln's name, he humorously said: "it is surprising that any man could get the money!" the secretary pointed out that use might have been made of a signature given to a stranger as an autograph on a blank paper, the body of which had been improperly filled up as a note. "well," answered the president, then, as to interfering, "i don't see but that he will have to sit on 'the blister-bench.'" * * * * * the tree-toad and "timotheus." in the early days when abraham lincoln went with his pioneer father to settle in wild indiana, the chief diversion of the rude inhabitants was from the preaching of the traveling pastors. they were singular devotees whose sincerity redeemed all their flaws of ignorance, illiteracy, and violence. abraham, with his inherent proneness toward imitation of oratory, used to "take them off" to the hilarity of the laboring men who formed his first audiences. out of his recollections came this tale, which he liked to act out with all the quaint tones and gestures the subject demanded. the itinerant ranters held out at a schoolhouse near lincoln's cabin; but in fine weather preferred the academy--as the platoists would say--what was left of an oak grove, only one tree being spared, making a pulpit with leafy canopy for the exhorter. this man was a hard-shell baptist, commonly imperturbable to outside sights and doings when the spirit moved him. his demeanor was rigid and his action angular and restricted. he wore the general attire, coonskin cap or beaver hat, hickory-dyed shirt, breeches loose and held up by plugs or makeshift buttons, as our ancestors attached undergarments to the upper ones by laces and points. the shirt was held by one button in the collar. this dress little mattered, as a leaf screen woven for the occasion hid the lower part of his frame and left the protruding head visible as he leaned forward, standing on a log rolled up for the platform. he gave out the text, from corinthians: "now if timotheus come, see that he may be with you without fear; for he worketh the work of the law." the following runs: "let no man despise him," etc. as he began his speech, a tree-toad that had dropped down out of the tree thought to return to its lookout to see if rain were coming. as the shortest cut it took the man as a post. scrambling over his yawning, untanned ankle jack-boots, it slipped under the equally yawning blue jeans. he commenced to scale the leg as the preacher became conscious of the invasion. so, while spooning out the text, he made a grab at the creature, which might be a centipede for all he knew; and then, as it ascended, and his voice ascended a note or two, with the words "be without fear," he slapped still higher. then, still speaking, but fearsomely animated, he clutched frantically, but always a leetle behindhand, at the unknown monster which now reached the imprisoning neckband. here he tore at the button--the divine, not the newt--and broke it free! as he finally yelled--sticking to the sermon as to the hunt, "worketh the work of the law!" an old dame in among the amazed congregation rose, and shrieked out: "well, if you represent timotheus and that is working for the law--then i'm done with the apostles!" * * * * * "if it will do the president good--" g. h. stuart, chief of the christian commission, was a bible distributer during the war. the organization had a special soldiers' bible called the cromwell one, whose mixture of warrior and preacher seemed to couple him with abraham lincoln. the soldiers usually accepted a copy without pressing, though some said they preferred a cracker. but one man, a philadelphian, like stuart himself, rejected the offer. among the colporteur's arguments, however, was one that overcame him. "i'll tell you that i commenced my tract distribution at the white house, and the first person i offered one to was abraham lincoln. he took it and promised to read it." "i'll take one," promptly cried the man; "if the president thought it would do _him_ good, it won't hurt me!" * * * * * grounds for a financial estimate. when the mercantile agencies were young, they acquired a consensus of opinion upon a business man by annoying his acquaintances with inquiries. one such house queried of lincoln about one of his neighbors. his reply was a smart burlesque on the bases on which they rated their registered "listed." "i am well acquainted with mr. x----, and know his circumstances. first of all, he has a wife and baby; together, they ought to be worth $ , to any man. secondly, he has an office in which there is a table worth $ . , and three chairs worth, say, $ . last of all, there is in one corner a large rat-hole, which will bear _looking into!_ respectfully, etc." * * * * * "i wanted to see them spread!" it is related that the ushers and secret service officials on duty at the executive mansion during the war were prone to congregate in a little anteroom and exchange reminiscences. this was directly against instructions by the president. one night the guard and ushers were gathered in the little room talking things over, when suddenly the door opened, and there stood president lincoln, his shoes in his hand. all the crowd scattered save one privileged individual, the usher pendel, of the president's own appointment, as he had been kind to the lincoln children. the intruder shook his finger at him and, with assumed ferocity, growled: "pendel, you people remind me of the boy who set a hen on forty-three eggs." "how was that, mr. president?" asked pendel. "a youngster put forty-three eggs under a hen, and then rushed in and told his mother what he had done. "'but a hen can't set on forty-three eggs,' replied the mother. "'no, i guess she can't, but i just wanted to see her spread herself.' "that's what i wanted to see you boys do when i came in," said the president, as he left for his apartments.--(by thomas pendel, still usher, in .) * * * * * the lincoln non sequitur. though a democrat, member of congress john ganson, of new york, supported the president, and he thought himself entitled to enjoy what no one had surprised or captured--the confidence of abraham's bosom, as was the current phrase. he, calling, insisted that he ought to know the true situation of things military and political, so that he might justify himself among his friends. ganson was bald as the egg and was the most clean-shaven of men. the "northern nero" eyed the presumptuous satrap fixedly, and drawled: "ganson, how clean you shave!" he had escaped another inquisition by his close shave. (told by senator c. m. depew.) * * * * * why so many common people. like another daniel, lincoln interpreted dreams. he said that he had one in this guise: he imagined he was in a great assemblage like one of his receptions multiplied. the mass described a hedge to let him pass. he thought that he heard one of them remark: "that is a common-looking fellow!" to whom lincoln replied--still in the dream: "friend, the lord loves common-looking people--that is why he made so many of them." (note.--another current saying substitutes "the poor" for "common.") * * * * * envy of a humorist. it is difficult for the present generation to perceive the streak of fun in "the petroleum v. nasby papers" which regaled our grandfathers, and mr. lincoln above others, who waited eagerly for the next letter in the press. he requested the presentation of the author, john locke, and thanked him face to face--neither, like the augurs, able to keep his _face_--for such antidotes to the blues. he said to a friend of "the postmaster at confedrit x-rodes": "if 'petroleum' would impart his talent to me, i would swap places with him!" * * * * * the stopper on journalistic "gas." having examined a model cannon devised not to allow the escape of gas, he quizzically glanced at the group of newspaper reporters, and said: "i really believe this does what it is represented to do. but do any of you know of any machine or invention for preventing the escape of _gas_ from newspaper establishments?" * * * * * salt before pepper. the cabinet being assembled in september, , to consider the first draft of the emancipation act, those not yet familiar with the chairman's habit to supply a whet before the main dish, were startled that he should preface the business by reading the new york paper--_vanity fair_--continuing the series of "artemus ward's" tour with his show. this paper was the "high-handed outrage at utica." he laughed his fill over it, while the grave signiors frowned and yet struggled to keep their countenances. if they had more experience, they would have heard him read "josh billings," particularly "on the mule," from the new york _weekly_ columns. it was as "good as a play," the stenographers said, to see the president dart a glance over his spectacle-rims at some demure counselor whose molelike machinations were more than suspected, and with mock solemnity declaim: "'i hev known a mewl to be good for six months jest ter git a chance to kick his owner!'" in allusion to those remarkable feats of arms and--legs--early's or stuart's raids and jackson's forced rapid marches, almost at horse-speed, when the men carried no rations, but ate corn-ears taken from the shucks and roasted them "at their pipes," the droll ruler would bring in that "mewl" again: "'if you want to find a mewl in a lot, you must turn him into the one next to it.'" only the rebel "fly-by-nights" were more like the irishman's flea--"when you put your hand on him, he was not there!" * * * * * "matching" stories. the president looking in at the telegraph-room in the white house, happened to find major eckert in. he saw he was counting greenbacks. so he said jokingly: "i believe you never come to business now but to handle money!" the officer pleaded that it was a mere coincidence, and instanced a story in point: "a certain tailor in mansfield, ohio, was very stylish in dress and airy in manner. passing a storekeeper's door one day, the latter puffed himself up and emitted a long blow, expressive of the inflation to oozing-point of the conceited tailor, who indignantly turned and said: 'i will teach you to blow when i am passing!' to which the storekeeper replied: 'and i'll teach you not to pass when i am blowing!'" "very good!" returned the hearer. "that is very like a story _i_ heard of a man driving about the country in an open buggy, caught at night by a pouring rain. passing a farmhouse, a man, apparently struggling with the effects of whisky, thrust his head out of a window, and shouted loudly: "'hello!' "the traveler stopped for all of his hurry for shelter and asked what was wanted. "'nothing of you!' was the blunt reply. "'well, what in the infernals are you shouting 'hello' for when people are passing?' angrily asked the traveler. "'well, what in the infernals are you passing for when people are shouting hello?'" the rival story-tellers parted "at evens." * * * * * the only discredit. a backhanded compliment of the acutest nature is credited to lincoln as a lawyer and gentleman. a major hill accused him of maligning mrs. hill, upon which lincoln denied the accusation and apologized with "whitewash" which blacked the bystander: "i entertain the highest regard for mrs. hill, and the only thing i know to her discredit is that she is major hill's wife!" * * * * * no re-lie-ance of them! mrs. secretary welles, more susceptible about press attacks on her idol--and everybody in washington officialdom's idol--the president, called attention to fresh quips and innuendoes. "pshaw! let pass; the papers are not always reliable. that is to say, mrs. welles," interposed the object of the missiles, "they lie, and then they _re-lie_!" * * * * * no vices--few virtues. some one was smoking in the presence of the president, and had complimented him on having no vices--such as drinking or smoking. "that is a doubtful compliment," said the host. "i recollect being once outside a coach in illinois, and a man sitting beside me offered me a. cigar. i told him i had no vices. he said nothing, smoked for some time, and then grunted out: "'it's my experience that folks who have no vices have plaguey few virtues.'" (mrs. general lander--miss jean davenport, of stage life, the original of dickens' "miss crummies"--must have heard this in the presidential circle, for she would say: "if a man has no petty vices, he has great ones.") a later version ascribes the reproof to a brother kentuckian, also a stage companion, variation sufficient to prove the happening. * * * * * the apples of his eye. "up in the state, out my way," says the narrator, "there was a farmer in the days when his sort were not called agriculturists; he kep' an orchard, at the same time, without being called a horticulturist. he was just another kind of 'johnny appleseed,' for he doted on apples and used to beg slips and seeds of any new variety until he had one hundred and eighty-two trees in his big orchard. i have counted them and longed for them, early, mid, and late harvest--he fit off the bug and the blight and the worm like a wizard. if there was any one thing save his orchard he doted upon it was a daughter o' his'n, her name being rose, and all that you can cram of lush and bright-red and rosy-posy nicety into that name. an' yet he hankered much on the latest addition to his garden--a new york state apple as he sent for and 'tended to at great outlay of time, anyway. 'this here daughter' and 'that there apple-tree' were his delights. you might say the rose and the baldwin, that were the brand of the fruit, were the apples of his two eyes! "well, there were two men around there, who cast sheep's eyes, not to say wolfish ones, at the fruit and the girl. they both expected to have the other by getting the one. well, one of those days the pair of young fellers lounged along and kinder propped up the old man's fence around the orchard. they was looking out of the tail of the eye more for the rose than the other thing in the garden. but they could not help spying the baldwin. it was the off year, anyhow, for apples, and this here one being first in fruiting had been spared in but one blossom, and so the old man cared for it with prodigious love. as mostly comes to pass with special fruit, this one being petted, throve--well, you have no idea how an apple tended to can thrive. it was big and red and meller! well, one of the fellers, being the cutest, he saw the other had his cane with him and was spearing a windfall every now and then, and seeing how close he could come to flipping the ears of a hog wallering down the lane, or mayhap a horse looking over the paddock fence. then a notion struck him. "'lem,' said he, for the rival's name was lem, for lemuel; 'lem,' he says, 'i bet you a dollar you can't fire at that lone apple and knock it off the stem--a dollar coin!' for they were talking in coonskins them times. so lem he takes the bet, and, sticking an apple on the switch, sends it kiting with such accuracy of aim that it plumps the baldwin, ker-chung! in the plum center, and away fly both apples. then, while he grabbed the dollar--the girl and the old soul come out, and the old soul see the pet apple rolling half-dented at his feet, and the girl ran between him and the two men. but the feller who was such a good shot, he sees a leetle too late what he had lost for a dollar and he scooted, with the old man invoking all the cusses of herod agin' him. "the other feller he opened the gate as bold as a brazen calf, and said, anticipating the old man: "'oh, _i_ don't come for apples--i want to spark your darter!'" * * * * * the whetstone story. abraham lincoln was not given to boasting, but he did pride himself on his gift of memory of faces. it included all sorts of things. among the soldiers calling at the white house was one from his section. he knew him at sight, used his name, and said: "you used to live on the danville road. i took dinner with you one time i was running for the legislature. i recollect that we stood talking together out at the barnyard gate while i sharpened my jack-knife on your whetstone." "so you did!" drawled the volunteer, delighted. "but, say, whatever did you do with that stone? i looked for it mor'n a thousand times, but i never could find it after the day you used it! we 'lowed that mebby you took it along with you." "no," replied the presumed purloiner seriously, "i sot it on the top of the gate-post--the high one." "thunder! likely enough you did! nobody else couldn't have boosted it up there! and we never thought to look there for it!" when the soldier was allowed to go home, the first thing he did was to look up to that stone. surely enough it was on the gate-post top! it had lain there fifteen years, since the electioneerer had stuck it there as easily as one might place it on a table. * * * * * "the monarch of all he surveyed." lincoln's coquetting with the science of gunter, jack of all trades that he was, empowered him to perpetrate a fine pun on the united states surveyor-general in california, general beall. this official acquired in his course so much real estate of the first quality that on a reference being made to it in the president's hearing, he observed: "yes, they say beall is 'monarch of all he _surveyed_.'" (new york _herald_.) * * * * * men have faults like horses. while riding between the court towns, menard and fulton counties, illinois, lincoln rode knee to knee with an old settler who admitted that he was going to lewiston to have some "lawing" out with a neighbor, also an old-timer. the young practitioner already preached, as a motto, that there would always be litigation enough and again exerted to throw oil on the riled water. "why, uncle tommy, this neighbor has been a tolerable neighbor to you nigh onto fifteen year and you get along in _hunk_ part of the time, don't 'ee?" the rancantankerous man admitted as much. "well, now, you see this nag of mine? he isn't as good a horse as i want to straddle and i sometimes get out of patience with him, but i know his faults as well as his p'ints. he goes fairly well as hosses go, and it might take me a long while to git used to another hoss' faults. for, like men, all hosses hev faults. you and uncle jimmy ought to put up with each other as man and his steed put up with one another; see?" "i reckon you are about right, abe!" and he went on to town, but not to "law." * * * * * lincoln's puns on proper names. though as far back as doctor johnson, punning was regarded as obsolete, it was still prevalent in the united states and so up to a late date. mr. lincoln was addicted to it. mr. frank b. carpenter was some six months at the presidential mansion engaged on the historical painting of "the president and the cabinet signing the emancipation act," when the joke passed that he had come in there a _carpenter_ and would go out a _cabinet-maker_. an usher repeated it as from the fountain-head of witticism there. at a reception, a gentleman addressed him, saying: "i presume, mr. president, you have forgotten me?" "no! your name is flood. i saw you last, twelve years ago, at ----. i am glad to see that _the flood_ still goes on." the draft riots in new york, mid-july, , had, at the bottom, not reluctance to join the army, but a belief among the democrats, notably the irish-americans, that the draws were manipulated in favor of letting off the sons of republicans. however, the irish were prominent in resistance. the president said: "general _kilpatrick_ is going to new york to put down the riots--but his name has nothing to do with it." in , lincoln was prosecuting one spencer for slander. spencer and a portuguese, dungee, had married sisters and were at odds. spencer called the dark-complexioned foreigner a nigger, and, further, said he had married a white woman--a crime in illinois at that era. on the defense were lawrence weldon and c. h. moore. lincoln was _teasled_ as the court sustained a, demurrer about his papers being deficient. so he began, his address to the jury: "my client is not a negro--though it is no crime to be a negro--no crime to be born with a black skin. but my client is not a negro. his skin may not be as white as ours, but i say he is not a negro, though he may be a _moore!"_ looking at the hostile lawyer. his speech was so winning that he recovered heavy damages. but being a family quarrel, this was arranged between the two. mr. weldon says that he feared mr. lincoln would win, as he had said with unusual vehemence: "now, by jing! i will beat you, boys!" by jing! (jingo--st. gengulphus), was "the extent of his expletives." byron found a st. gingo's shrine in his alpine travels. on paying the costs, lincoln left his fee to be fixed by the opposing pair of lawyers, saying: "don't you think i have honestly earned twenty-five dollars?" they expected a hundred, for he had attended two terms, spent two days, and the money came out of the enemy's coffer. * * * * * not so easy to get into prison. william lloyd garrison, the premier abolitionist, was imprisoned in baltimore for his extreme utterances when a stronghold of the pro-slavery party. after the war, he visited the regenerated city, and, for curiosity, sought unavailingly the jail where he had been confined. on hearing the fruitlessness of his quest, the president said: "well, mr. garrison, when you first went to baltimore, you could not get out of prison--but this second time you could not get in!" * * * * * "them three fellers agin!" the gamut of possible atrocities in connection with fulfilment of the threats of secession being run through the rumors became stale and flat. lincoln, receiving one deputation of alarmists with considerable calm, no doubt thought to excuse it by saying: "that reminds me of the story of the schoolboy. he found great difficulty in pronouncing the names of the three children in the fiery furnace. yet his teacher had drilled him thoroughly in 'shadrach, meshach, and abednego,' so that, one day, he purposely took the same lesson in bible reading, and managed to have the boy read the passages containing these names again. as the dull pupil came to them he stopped, looked up, and said: "'teacher, there's them three fellers ag'in!'" * * * * * lincoln the great and lincoln the little. in , the new republican party tested its strength by offering a ticket: general fremont, popular through his invasion of california and rocky mountain exploration, was selected as the presidential nominee, with dayton as vice. but during the balloting, lincoln was opposed to the latter, and received over a hundred votes. this news was despatched to illinois as a compliment to her "favorite son." but on going to congratulate "our lincoln," the deputation found him easy and incredulous on the felicitation. "you are barking up the wrong tree, neighbors," he said gravely; "that must be the great lincoln--of massachusetts." there was a levi lincoln, to whom he had been introduced as a form and as a kinsman of the massachusetts lincolns. so the namesake's mistake in modesty was pardonable in one who studied the train of politics most thoroughly since he had said he would be president of these united states. it was in his teens, but the saying is common property of young america, and it is more notable that before he left indiana, and early in his new and unalterable one in illinois, his astounded admirers prophesied the same goal; it is a fact that his own hand proves; that in , he says, "i have really got it into my head to be united states senator." [footnote: nevertheless, a friend, speed or herndon, says, a year or two later, that lincoln had no more founded idea that he would be president than emperor of china. it may be permitted to believe that no man is a confidant to his valet or friend.]--(letter to joseph gillespie, preserved in missouri historical society library.) * * * * * "go, thou, and do likewise." lord lyons was the british ambassador at washington when the prince of wales--now king edward--was betrothed to the princess alexandra, of denmark, since queen regent of england. he used the most stilted, ornate, and diplomatic language to carry the simple fact. the president replied offhand with trenchant advice to the bearer, who was unmarried: "'go, thou, and do likewise!'" this did not alter the amity existing between the two, for lincoln so won upon the envoy that he notified his premier, lord russell, at a critical instant when england and france were expected to combine to raise the southern blockade, that it was wrong to prepare the american government for recognition of the confederacy. as for the russian alliance with the powers, that was a fable, since the czar had sent a fleet to new york, where the admiral had sealed orders to report to president lincoln in case the european allies' declared war. in consequence of lord lyons opposing the english move, he had to resign.--(a later account in malet's "shifting scenes.") * * * * * "is the world going to follow that comet off?" two gentlemen going by stage-coach from terre haute to indianapolis, in , found one part of the vehicle occupied fully by a tall, countrified person, in a cheap hat and without coat or vest, but a farm roundabout. they had to wake him up, but he was civil and polite enough in his unkempt way. they thought he would be a good butt for play, as educated folk were uncommon out there in , and considered the untaught as their legitimate prey. so they bombarded the poor bumpkin with "wordy pyrotechnics," at which the stranger bewilderingly added his laugh and finally was emboldened to ask what would be the upshot of "this here comet business?" the comet was the talk, especially in the evening, of the world, as it was taken to forerun disasters. if the editor remembers aright it was sword-shaped. that portends war. the intelligent jesters answered him to confuse still more, and left him at indianapolis. one of the two travelers was judge abram hammond, and his companion, who tells the story, thomas h. nelson, of terre haute. the latter, coming down after preening up, found a brilliant group of lights of the law in the main room. they were judges and luminaries of the bar--but who should be the center of the galaxy but the uncouth fellow traveler! all were so interested in a story he was telling that mr. nelson could, unnoticed, inquire of the laughing landlord as to the entertainer of these wits. "abraham lincoln, of sangamonvale, our m. c.!" he was so stupefied that, on recovery, he hurried upstairs and got hammond to levant with him. but he was not to remain unpunished. years after, when hammond was governor of the state, and he to become minister to chile, nelson, was at the same hotel-browning's--at the capital, when looking over the party welcoming and accompanying the president-elect to washington, he saw a long arm reached out to his shoulder; a shrill voice pierced his ear: "hello, nelson! do you think, after all, the whole world is going to follow that darned comet [footnote: donati's comet.] off?" the words were nelson's own in reply to the supposed reuben's question in the stage-coach twelve years before! no joke of a memory, that--for a joke! * * * * * a good listener. the invidious who would themselves get a word in, accused lincoln of monopolizing the conversation where he wished to reign supreme. this is contradicted in several instances. rather his confraternity describe their meetings as "swapping stories," the flow circulating. mr. bowen pictures lincoln as getting up half-dressed, after a speech at hartford, in his hotel bedroom at mr. trumbull, of stonington, rapping at the door. trumbull had just thought of "another story i want to tell you!" and the tired guest sat up till three in the morning "exchanging stories." this does not resemble monopoly. a clerk, littlefield, in the lincoln-herndon office, prepared a speech, and said to his senior employer: "it is important that i get this speech correct, because i think you are going to be the presidential candidate. i told him i would like to read it to him. he consented, sitting down in one corner of the room, with his feet on a chair in front of him. "'now,' said he, in his hearty way, 'fire away, john! i think i can stand it.' as i proceeded, he became quite enthusiastic, exclaiming: 'you are hitting the nail on the head.' he broke out several times in this way, finally saying: 'that is going to go.'" it did go, as the fellow clerk, ellsworth, of chicago zouaves fame, borrowed it, and it disappeared--wads for his revolver, perhaps. * * * * * carried the post-matter in his hat. it is to abraham lincoln is fastened the joke that as postmaster he carried the mail in his hat. this was at new salem, postmaster of which he was appointed by president jackson, as he was the best qualified of any of the burgesses. indeed, he often had to read letters to their ignorant receivers, and habitually acted as town clerk in reading out newspapers for the general good, on the stoop. * * * * * president lincoln dubbed them the "wide-awakes." in looking over the illustrated newspapers of the war, one may find drawn the processions anterior to election of the various political parties. gradually the lines, at first only uniform in certain organizations, became regular as a body. the republicans at rich hartford, having funds for the purpose, formed a corps of three or four hundred young men. they drilled to march creditably, assumed a kind of uniform: a cape to shed sparks and oil from the torches, and swinging lamps carried; and a hat, proof also to fire, water, and missiles! in march, , mr. lincoln paid a visit to the college city to speak at the old city hall. he was introduced as one who had "done _yeoman_ service for the young party (the republican)." the word yeoman was under stood in the old english sense of the small independent farmers. old tom lincoln's boy came into this class. he assented to it and even lowered the level by presenting himself as a hard worker in the cause--"a dirty shirt" of the body. after the meeting, the marchers surrounded the speaker's "public carriage" to escort him to the mayor's house. his introducer was sill, later lieutenant-governor of the state. to him the guest observed on the ride: "those boys are wide-awake! suppose (they were seeking a name) we call them, the wide-awakes?" the name was enthusiastically adopted. the wide felt hat, with one flap turned up, was called the wide-awake, but the election marchers did not wear them at all. lincoln had added a new word to the language. * * * * * trust to the old blue sock. several incidents in lincoln's early career earned him the title of "honest," confirmed by his uncommon conduct as a lawyer; [footnote: the honest lawyer. it is said that he was amused by the conjunction, which he observed, to an adviser who turned him into the legal field, was rather a novelty. he thought of the story of the countryman who saw a stranger by the god's acre, staring at a gravestone, without however any emotion on his face to betray he was a mourner. on the contrary, the man wore a puzzled smile, which piqued him to inquire the cause. "relative of yours?" asked the native. "no, not at all, except through adam. but," reading the epitaph, "'x., an honest man, and a lawyer.' why, how did they come to bury those _two_ men in one grave?'"] but a principal event was in connection with his postmastership. it was in . after renouncing the position, he removed to springfield to take up the study of the law. an agent from the post-office department called on him to settle his accounts; through some oversight he had been left undisturbed for some years. he was living with a mr. henry, who kept a store, anterior to his lodging in mr. speed's double-bedded room. as he was poverty-stricken and had been so since quitting home. mr. henry, hearing that a matter of fifteen or twenty dollars was due the government, was about to loan it, when lincoln, not at all disquieted, excused himself to the man from headquarters to go over to his boarding-house. usually when a debtor thus eclipses himself the official expects to learn he is a defaulter and has "taken french leave," as was said on the border. but the ex-postmaster immediately came over, and, producing an old blue woolen sock, such as field-hands wore, poured out coin, copper and silver, to the exact amount of the debit. much as the poor adventurer needed cash in the interval, the temptation had not even struck him to use the trust--the government funds. he said to partner herndon he had promised his mother never to use another's money. * * * * * if all failed, he could go back to the old trade! the illinois republican state convention of met at decatur, in a _wigwam_ built for the purpose, a type of that noted in the lincoln annals as at chicago. a special welcome was given to abraham lincoln as a "distinguished citizen of illinois, and one she will ever be delighted to honor." the session was suddenly interrupted by the chairman saying: "there is an old democrat outside who has something to present to the convention." the present was two old fence-rails, carried on the shoulder of an elderly man, recognized by lincoln as his cousin john hanks, and by the sangamon folks as an old settler in the bottoms. the rails were explained by a banner reading: "two rails from a lot made by abraham lincoln and john hanks, in the sangamon bottom, in the year ." thunderous cheers for "the rail-splitter" resounded, for this slur on the statesman had recoiled on aspersers and was used as a title of honor. the call for confirmation of the assertion led lincoln to rise, and blushing--so recorded--said: "gentlemen: i suppose you want to know something about those things. well, the truth is, john and i did make rails in the sangamon bottom." he eyed the wood with the knowingness of an authority on "stumpage," and added: "i don't know whether we made those rails or not; the fact is, i don't think they are a credit to the makers!" it was john hanks' turn to blush. "but i do know this: i made rails then, and, i think, i could make better ones now!" whereupon, by acclamation, abraham lincoln was declared to be "first choice of the republican party in illinois for the presidency." riding a man in on a rail became of different and honorable meaning from that out. this incident was a prepared theatrical effect. governor oglesby arranged with lincoln's stepbrother, john d. johnston, to provide two rails, and, with lincoln's mother's cousin, dennis hanks, for the latter to bring in the rails at the telling juncture. lincoln's guarded manner about identifying the rails and sly slap at his ability to make better ones show that he was in the scheme through recognizing that the dodge was of value politically. (confirmed by several present, notably by missouri congressman john davis, who was taking notes, and by the present speaker, joseph cannon, also "a gentleman from illinois." he was at this meeting and saw lincoln standing on the platform, between the rails he split. he thought then that the orator's years of hard work and close study told on him and that serious illness impended. it may be added, as a link with the past, that on hearing; lincoln and douglas in their debates, his courage and hopes as to advance through public speaking fell; yet he was state attorney.) * * * * * as a light porter. one morning when lawyer lincoln was walking from his house to the state-house, at springfield, he spied a child weeping at a gate. the girl had been promised a trip by the railroad-cars for the first time; all was arranged for her to meet another little companion and travel with her, but she was detained from getting out for the station, as no one was about to carry her trunk. she drew the conclusion that she must lose her train, and she burst into fresh tears. the box in question was a toy casket proportionate to her size. lincoln smiled, and that almost dismissed her tears if not her fears. they were immediately dispelled, however, by his cheerily crying out: "is that all? pooh-pooh! dry your eyes and step out." he reached over the fence and lifted clear across to him the trunk. he raised it on his shoulder with the other hand, crossing as a corn-bag is carried. he grabbed her by the hand just as the tooting of the train whistle was heard in the mid-distance. so half-lugging her, the pair hurried along to the depot, reaching it as the cars rolled in and pulled up. he put her on the car, kissed her, and cheered her off with: "now, have a real good time with your auntie!" always wanting to relieve somebody of a burden, you see! * * * * * whiskered, to please the ladies and get votes. as mr. lincoln was utterly unknown in the east, the "engineers" of his campaign for president planned to have him make himself liked by a tour of the middle and northern states. to lessen the impression from one unprepossessing in aspect, "some fixing up" was compulsory. the journalist, stephen fiske, recites that on arriving at new york, mrs. lincoln, a sort of valet for the trip, had hand-bag of toilet essentials, and that she "brushed his hair, and arranged that snaky black necktie of his--which would twist up and play the shoe-string in five minutes after adjustment. but it was not she, as thought, who coaxed him into making the lower part of his features become cavernous as strong feeling surged upon him. he revealed the source of the improvement. "two young ladies in buffalo wrote me that they wanted their fathers and sweethearts to vote for me, but i was so homely-looking that the men refused! the ladies said that if i would only grow whiskers (what were called "weepers," or the lord dundreary mode, was popular) it would improve my appearance, and i would get four more votes! i grew the whiskers!" (in the lincoln iconology, his pictures before and after the whiskers is a distinction.) * * * * * after votes. lincoln had become the readiest of public speakers by his long experience. so it was matter for surprise that he, famed for rapid repartee, should have refrained from taking any notice of an interrupter whose shout could have been turned on him; so thought a friend on the platform. "why don't you answer him?" "i am after votes and that man's is as good as any other man's!" replied mr. lincoln. (the honorable mr. palmer says of above: "mr. lincoln told me this.") * * * * * the highwayman's non sequitur. "but you will not abide the election of a republican president? in that supposed event, you say you will destroy the union; and then, you say, the great crime of having destroyed it will be upon us! that is cool! a highwayman holds a pistol to my ear, and mutters through his teeth: 'stand and deliver, or i shall kill you--and then you will be a murderer!'"--(speech, new york city, february , .) * * * * * "how to get men to vote!" "let them go on with their howling! (political opponents.) they will succeed when, by slandering women, you get them to love you, or by slandering men you get them to vote for you!" * * * * * beginning at the head with clothing. upon mr. lincoln's nomination in , a hatter sent him a silk hat for the advertisement and send-off. he put it on before the glass, and said to his wife: "well, mary, we are going to have some new clothes out of this job, anyway!" * * * * * "luce a jug--the handle all one side." lincoln's intimates thought it remarkable that he should keep his finger on the political pulse and show himself as fully cognizant of the trend of popular feeling. oddly enough the professional politicians themselves would not own that he was a king among them, though douglas affirmed him to be in his time the most able man in the republican party. on clashing returns coming in, he humorously remarked on two reports: "if that is the way doubtful districts are coming in, i will not stop to hear from the certain ones." he observed to alexander h. rice, then up for congress in massachusetts: "your district is a good deal like a jug--the handle is all one side!" * * * * * "such a sucker as me, president!" when lincoln's wife, at his prospect of being united states senator was on the verge of realization, reminded him of her prophecy, away back in the fifties, that he would attain the highest niche--the inevitable feminine "i told you so!" he clasped his knees in keen enjoyment, and, laughing a roar, cried out: "think of such a _sucker_ as me as president!" but presently, he said with his dry smile: "but i do not pretend i do not want to go _to the senate_!"--(henry villard, then newspaper reporter.) * * * * * one happy day. to his friend bowen, lincoln avowed during the electioneering-time that he was sure "from the word go," to become president, though the split of the opposition into three parties was materially helpful: douglas, bell, and breckenridge. he thought the reward due him as having gone "his whole length" for the republican party, almost his creation. so he frankly said on his success: "i cannot conceal the fact that i am a very happy man. who could help being so under such circumstances?"--(to h. c. bowen, of the new york _independent._) * * * * * old abe will look better when his hair is combed. "did i ever tell you the joke the chicago newsboys had on me? (to the war department telegraph manager, a. b. chandler.) a short time before my nomination (for president), i was at chicago attending to a lawsuit. a photographer asked me to sit for a picture, and i did so. this coarse, rough hair of mine was in particularly bad tousle at the time, and the picture presented me in all its fright. after my nomination, this being about the only picture of me there was, copies were struck off to show those who had never seen me how i looked. the newsboys carried them around to sell, and had for their cry: "'here's your "old abe"--he will look better when he gets his hair combed!'" he laughed heartily, says mr. chandler. note.--mrs. lincoln seems to have perceived this bar to her husband's facial beauty. for the journalist, fiske, relating the arrival of the lincolns in new york for the eastern tour in , speaks thus of the toilet to befit him for the reception by mayor fernando wood: "the train stopped, and mrs. lincoln opened her handbag, and said: "'abraham, i must fix you up a bit for these city folks.' "mr. lincoln gently lifted her upon the seat before him. (she was an undersized, stout woman.) she parted, combed, and brushed his hair. "'do i look nice, now, mother?' he affectionately asked. "'well, you'll do, abraham,' replied mrs. lincoln critically." * * * * * a curious combination. when the names of lincoln and hamlin were painted large on the street banners, it was immediately noticed that a singular effect appeared, as * * * * * abraham lincoln. one of the anagrams upon the president had, at least, peculiar signification: abraham lincoln: _o ba! an iii. charm_. it was hamlin who proposed at the lincoln club, of new york, that a day should be set aside as "the lincoln day." * * * * * the snake simile. "if i saw a venomous snake crawling in the road, any man would say i might seize the nearest stick and kill it. but if i found that snake in bed with my children, that would be another question. i might hurt the children more than the snake, and it might bite them. much more if i found it abed with my neighbor's children, and i had bound myself by a solemn contract not to meddle with his children under any circumstances, it would become me to let that particular mode of getting rid of the gentleman alone. but--if there was a bed newly made up, to which the children were to be taken, and it was proposed to take a batch of young snakes and put them there with them, i take it no man would say there was any question how i ought to decide." --(speech by abraham lincoln at new york cooper institute, and repeated through connecticut, .) * * * * * what's in a name? the reverend doctor moore, of richmond, derived lincoln from two words, meaning: "on the precipice verge," and davis as interpretable as "god with us." * * * * * paying for whisky he did not drink. in , mr. lincoln was campaigning in ohio, and staying in cincinnati at the burnett house, it was the meeting-place of the party of which he was the looming light. some of the younger republicans (says murat halstead, there as a newspaper man) had refreshments in his rooms, and from some stupid oversight, allowed the whisky and cigars to be included in his bill. this raised a hot correspondence between them and the guest, ticklish about his lifelong abstinence principles. mr. halstead said that the episode rankled in the blunderers after they had elected their pride president. he must have felt like the gentleman at the inn dining-room who, falling asleep at his meal, had the fowl consumed by some merry wags; then greasing his lips with the drumstick, they left him before the carcass so that the host naturally charged him with the feast. * * * * * "the highest merit to the soldier." "this extraordinary war in which we are engaged falls heavily upon all classes of people, but the most heavily upon the soldier. for it has been said, 'all that a man hath he will give for his life;' and, while all contribute of their substance, the soldier puts his life at stake, and often yields it up in his country's cause. the highest merit, then, is due to the soldier." * * * * * "how sleep the brave?" if lincoln did not possess a wide range of reading, he had the habit of committing to memory entire pages of the text he delighted in. the consequence was his invariable ability to not only utter apt quotations at length, but to cap them, if need be. joining a group of visitors to washington, at the soldiers' home, during the war, he suddenly, but in an undertone, murmured: how sleep the brave who sink to rest by all their country's wishes blest? the women were affected to tears by their susceptible nature, the surroundings of the cemetery with its graves, the evening dusk, and the touching voice with its apposite lines. an effect he redoubled by concluding: and women o'er the graves shall weep, where nameless heroes calmly sleep! * * * * * the stokers as brave as any. the first troops arriving by way of the potomac river were the volunteers of the first call, ninety-day men; the steamship _daylight_--name of good omen! it was torrential rain, but the president and secretary seward came out to welcome them on the wharf. as he would give a reception then and there, four sailors held a tarpaulin over his head like a canopy, and he shook hands all around, including the firemen and stokers out of the coal-hole. grasping their smutty hands, he declared that they were as brave as any one! --(by general viele, present.) * * * * * try and go as far as you can! on the president, indefatigable in visiting the soldiers anywhere to see "how the boys are getting on," telling the head surgeon at city point hospital that he had come to shake hands with _all_ the inmates, the medical authority demurred. there were several thousands in the wards, and any man would be tired before he had gone the grand rounds. "i think," protested lincoln, with his set smile and dogged determination to have his own way, "i am quite equal to the task. at any rate, i can try, and go as far as i can!" it was on this, at another time--there were many of them, alas!--that it being found that the patients in one ward were clamoring because they had been passed over, he insisted on shaking off the fag and going to pay them respect also. "the brave boys must not be disappointed in their 'father abraham!'" * * * * * argument of "the stub-tailed cow." the president had the knack of illustrating a false syllogism by a story from the front. soldiers stole a cow from a farmyard. it had but the stump of a tail, and foreseeing that there might be a requisition by the owner, who passed for a union sympathizer, they disguised the creature by attaching a long switch from a dead bovine. sure enough the man came to headquarters, and from his patriotic plea of having lost much by adhering to the old cause, his demand was accorded. if he could find his lost animal, he was entitled to it and the offenders would be punished. it had not been obtained by the regular forage, that he swore. well, he was brought by the officer seeing him round to the pen where the beeves were secured which the commissariat duly furnished. here the rival suppliers had stabled the creature, and she was lashing off the flies with the substitute for the detached tail with supreme felicity in the lost enjoyment. the farmer scanned her with more than a merely suspicious eye, so that the lookers-on grew anxious, and the sub-officer with him, and who thought of his own plate of beef, hastened to say: "well, you don't see anything here anywheres like your beastie, do you, old father?" "i dunno. thar suttinly is one cow the pictur' of mine--but my lilywhite was a stump--had a stub-tail, you know!" "hum!" said the corporal firmly, "but this here cow has a long tail!--ain't it?" "true--and mine were a stub--let us seek farther, officer!" * * * * * pegged or sewed? shoemaking machinery not having attained the present development which pastes imitation-leather uppers upon paper soles, the soldiers of the first union army had to trudge in the boots made with wooden pegs to hold the portions together; in wet weather the pegs swelled and held tolerably, but in dryness the assimilation failed and the upper crust yawned off the base like a crab-shell divided. as for the supposed sewed ones, they went to the sub-officers, but the thread was so poor that parting was as thorough as sudden. mr. lincoln _wonted_, as walt whitman says, to repeat this tale when the army contractors were swarming in his room for a bidding: "a soldier of the army of the potomac was being carried to the rear among the other wounded, when he spied one of the women following the army to vend delicacies. in her basket, no doubt, were the cookies to his fancy--the tarts and pies--open or covered. so he hailed her: 'old lady, are them pies sewed or pegged?'" * * * * * soldiering apart from politics. in , a soldier at work on the baltimore defenses, an outbreak of southern sympathizers being apprehended, attended a democratic meeting and made a speech there in favor of its principles and general mcclellan as the standard-bearer. secretary of war stanton, fierce like all apostates, turned on this democrat, and his disgrace as to the army was threatened. captain andrews went to the fountain-head with his remonstrance. he was right, for lincoln said: "andrews has as good a right to hold onto his democracy, if he chooses, as stanton had to throw his overboard. no; when the military duties of a soldier are fully and faithfully performed, he can manage his politics his own way!" * * * * * a time that tried the soul. it was the pennsylvania governor, curtin, who brought the bad news from fredericksburg battle-field, where burnside was repulsed in december, . "it was a terrible slaughter--the scene a veritable slaughter-pen." this blunt trope stirred up lincoln, who had been a pig-slaughterer in his day, remember. he groaned, wrung his hands, and "took on" with terrible agony of spirit. "i remember his saying over and over again," says the governor: "'what has god put me in this place for?'" * * * * * "cabinet" talk. like all persons whose early life was passed in seclusion from the exhibitions common in society eager for anything to animate jaded nerves, mr. lincoln at washington sought distractions in his brief intervals for them. one of the _shows_ he tolerated--he called all sights so--was the séances of charles e. shockle--"phoebus! what a name!" this medium came to the capital in , under eminent auspices, and the president and his wife, members of the cabinet, and other first citizens were induced to patronize the illusions. the spirits were irreverent, "pinching stanton's and plucking welles' beard." as for the president, a rapping at his feet announced an indian eager "to communicate." "well, sir," said the president, "happy to hear what his indian majesty has to say. we have recently had a deputation of the red indians, and it was the only deputation, black, white, or red, which did not volunteer advice about the conduct of the war!" the writing-under-cover trick was played. a paper covered with mr. stanton's handkerchief was found before the president, scrawled with marks interpreted as advice for action, by henry knox--no one knew him--but the lecturer said he was the first secretary of war in the revolution. the recipient said it was not indian talk! he transferred it to mr. stanton as concerning his province. he asked for general knox's forecast as to when the rebellion would be put down. the reply was a jumble of wild truisms purporting to be from great spirits, from washington to wilberforce. "well," exclaimed the president, "opinions differ as much among the saints as among the--ahem--sinners!" he glanced at the _cabinet_ whence the materialized specters were to emerge if called upon, and added: "the celestials' talk and advice sound very much like the talk of _my_ cabinet!" he called for stephen a. douglas, as his dearest friend, [footnote: stephen arnold douglas was so patriotic at the rebellion's outbreak that lincoln forgave him all the politically, hostile past. douglas held his new silk hat--lincoln's abhorrence--at the first inauguration. douglas left the field for home, where he assisted in raising the first volunteer levy by his eloquence.] to speak, if not appear. the reporter affirms that a voice like the lamented "little giant's" was heard and if others thought they recognized it the president must have been more affected than he allowed. but the eloquent statesman also breathed platitudes in which the illustrious auditor said he believed, "whether it comes from spirit or human." here mr. shockle became prostrated, and mrs. lincoln compassionately suggested an adjournment. the spiritualists did not see the sarcasm in mr. lincoln's remarks, and claim that he was not only a convert, but that he was himself a medium. [footnote: there is serious evidence for this fact; he was, at all events, a spiritualist. see _was lincoln a spiritualist?_ by mrs. nettie colburn maynard ( ).] * * * * * on the blister-bench. at the taking of elizabeth city, north carolina, , the steamer _valley city_ was saved from blowing up by a gunner's-mate. this john davis coolly sat on a powder-keg from which the top had been shot off, and was so found by an officer, who hastily censured him for his loafing--"bumming" during recess. but, on the reason for his taking his seat being pointed out, davis was recommended for promotion. in countersigning the papers entitling him to the rank of gunner, at a thousand a year for life, the president mock-solemnly observed: "metaphorically, we occupy the same position; _we_ are sitting on the powder under fire!" * * * * * "abe, a thundering old glory!" ex-registrar chittenden tells the following incident. it was the th of april, . captain robert lincoln, on general grant's staff, had brought the details of the victory of appomattox, and the gratified chief had passed the day with the cabinet revolving those plans of reconstruction which amazed all the world by their exclusion of all bitterness and retaliation. he was coming down the white house stairway to take his accustomed ride in the carriage when he heard a soldier in the waiting crowd say: "i would almost give my other hand (he was one-armed) if i could shake abe lincoln's hand!" lincoln confronted him. "you shall do that, and it shall cost you nothing!" interrupted the revivified president, grasping the lone hand, and, while he held it, he asked the man's name, regiment, etc. the happy soldier, in telling of this meeting, would end: "i tell you, boys, abe lincoln is a thundering old glory!" * * * * * perfect retaliation. the more apparent it was that inconsistency reigned ins the lincolnian cabinet, the more earnestly the marplots strove to incite them individually against one another and their head. a speculator who had induced the latter to oblige him with a permit to trade in cotton reported with zest how secretary stanton had no sooner seen the paper than, instead of countersigning, he tore up the leaf without respect even for the august signature. stanton was famous for irascibility. and he did not forbear to manifest it toward all, even to the president. but, as the latter observed, hot or cold, stanton is generally right. this time he was not sorry at heart for the reproof as to his allowing a signal favor which might work harm. but, affecting rage, he blurted out: "oh, he tore my paper, did he? go and tell stanton that i will tear up a dozen of _his_ papers before saturday night!" * * * * * let down the bars a leetle. one of the mischief-makers abounding in washington, and doing more harm than all the rebel calumniators, hastened to repeat to the president that the secretary of war had plainly called him a "d---d fool!" "you don't say so? this wants looking into. for, if stanton called me that, it must be true!--for he is nearly every time right!" he took his seat, and excused himself, jerking out as he stalked forth, glad to be quit of the pest: "i will step over and see him!" he was going to have the bars let down "a leetle." * * * * * "the administration can stand it if the times can." mrs. hugh mcculloch and mrs. dole (indian commissioner) went to mrs. lincoln's reception. the host expressed constant gladness to see the ladies, as "they asked no offices." mrs. mcculloch protested that she did want something. "i want you to suppress the chicago _times_ because it does nothing but abuse the administration." mcculloch was in the treasury. "oh, tut, tut! we must not abridge the liberties of: the press or the people! [footnote: the suspension of the habeas corpus act, , was sorely against the president's sentiments, fond of liberty himself and fixed on constitutional rule--but he bowed to the inevitable. nevertheless, he softened the rod, and many imprisoned under the edict were never brought to trial.] but never mind the chicago _times_! the administration can stand it, if the _times_ can." * * * * * bottling that wasp. it was confidently forethought by the numerous admirers of governor seward--who escaped being the president by a political combination and not want of supreme merit--that he would in the cabinet, whatever nominally his post, be the ruling spirit. not a man suspected that the plain man of the prairie could develop into the lord of the manor, and put and keep not only the able and cultured seward, but the turbulent stanton and the obstreperous chase, in their places. the pettifogger of the west simply expanded, like its sunflower, in the fierce white light around the chair, and was the lion, among the lesser creatures. seward raised his hand early. within a month he had the impertinent fatuity to lay before his superior a paper suggesting the policy, and moving that the president might commit to him, the secretary, the carrying out of that policy! with gentle courtesy--says general viele--lincoln took the paper from the author and popped it into his portfolio. he had no policy, and did not want another's. he had bottled his wasp. seward was obedient as the spaniel. his powers were recognized by the villains who comprised him in the detestable plot. * * * * * that king lost his head. in the president and his state secretary received as peace commissioners alexander stephens, hunter, and campbell. they wanted recognition of their president, davis, as head of the confederated states--an entity. without stultification, this was impossible. in the course of the discussion, reference was made to king charles i. of england and his parliament negotiating--so might the established washington government treat with the rebel davis. on lincoln's features stole that grim smile foretelling his shaft ready to shoot, and he interjected: "upon questions of history i must refer you to mr. seward, for he is posted on such things, and i do not profess to be; but my only distinct recollection of that matter is that charles i. lost his head!" * * * * * swearing like a churchwarden. to convey the president from general hooker's camp to the review of general reynolds' corps, a ride had to be taken in a six-mule ambulance. either not knowing the rank of his passenger, or being a teamster, which in our army replaces the french sapper for rudeness, the driver showered as many oaths of the largest caliber--fire and fury signifying nothing--as snaps of the long cowhide. lincoln, who had known the genus in the clay of the west, kept his eye on him while leaning out of the window. in an interval when the vociferator had to take breath, he asked quietly: "excuse me, my friend, are you an episcopalian?" "n-no, mr. president," stammered the astonished jehu, "i am a methodist." "well, i thought you must be an episcopalian, for you swear like secretary seward, a warden of that church." (seward was the great man of the republican party, next to lincoln only in some essentials for political success. while a church member, he was man of the world enough to give a backing to this jest of the president.) * * * * * "my speeches have originality as their merit." instead of believing that lincoln's extraordinary experiences in the multifarious west produced a factotum, his revilers asserted that he looked to one minister for financial instructions, to another for military guidance, etc. but it is true that by tradition, as the premier in fact, the secretary of state is supposed to write the first drafts at least of the presidential speeches to foreign ministers, and, as the secretary was seward, a man of letters preeminently, he had lincoln's addresses, even to home delegations, fathered upon him. the president was chatting in his own study when a messenger ran in with a paper, explaining his haste with the words: "compliments of the secretary with the speech your excellency is to make to the swiss minister." anybody else would have been abashed by the seeming exposure, but the executive merely cried aloud as if to publish the facts to the auditory: "oh, this is a speech mr. seward has written for me. i guess i will try it before these gentlemen, and see how it goes." he read it in the burlesque manner with which he parodied circuit preachers in his boyhood and public speakers in his prime, and added at the close: "there, i like that. it has the merit of originality!" * * * * * righting wrong hurts, but does good. in may, , all looked with anxiety to the letter by which the united states of america should reply to great britain furnishing the confederated states with its first encouragement, the rights of belligerents. without them their privateers were useless, as they could have gone into no ports and sold their prizes nowhere. mr. seward was in touch with the new england school. it clamored for war with any friend to the revolting states. but lincoln corrected what was provocative in the original advice to our minister, adams, at st. james'. the english were no longer held to have issued a proclamation without due grounds in usage or the law of nations. it became by the modification no more a proceeding about which we could warrantably go to war. for instance, the president changed the words "wrongful" into "hurtful." according to webster, wrongful means unjust, injurious, dishonest; while hurtful implies that the course will cause injury. the original has vanished in that odd but certain way in which state documents disappear when casting odium on public men; they are mayhap "filed away"--in the stove! * * * * * stanton's service was worth his sauce. among the president's minor worries was the assiduity with which his generosity was cultivated by his relatives--not only those by his marriage, but by his father's second marriage. he was like the eldest son of the family to whom all looked for sustenance. there came to the seat of government that dennis hanks, his cousin, who stood to reach for boons on the platform of rails which they had cut long ago in cohort. dennis was seeking the pardon of some "copperheads"--that is, southern sympathizers of the north, veiled in their enmity, but dangerous. the secretary of war had pronounced against any leniency toward what were dubbed glaring traitors. all the chief could do--for he bared his head like _lear_ to let the stanton tempest blow upon him and so spare others--was to say he would look at the cases the next day. hanks was muttering. "why, dennis, what would you do were you president?" he asked the raw backwoodsman, turning badly into suppliant. "do? why, abe, if i were as big and 'ugly'--aggressively combative--as you are, i would take your mr. stanton over my knee and spank him!" this caused a laugh, but the other replied severely: "no. stanton is an able and valuable man for this nation in his station, and i am glad to have his _service_ in spite of his _sauce_." * * * * * a secret of the interior. lincoln, the junior, "tad," had the run of the executive mansion, and, like all spoiled children, abused the license. he burst into the heart of a company listening to his father's talk with the exclamation: "ma says, come to supper!" it was impossible for the most diplomatic to pretend that he had not heard, and all looked from the intruder to the host. never at a loss, mr. lincoln rose from the sofa, and blandly said as to "married folks together": "you have heard, gentlemen, the announcement concerning the seductive state of things in the dining-room. i had intended to train up this young man in his father's footsteps, but, if i am elected, i must forego any intention of making him a member of my cabinet, as he manifestly cannot be trusted with secrets of the interior!" * * * * * all staff and no army. many of the volunteer officers developed a liking for the new profession, and to secure a permanency obtained entrance into the established army. among these was one lieutenant ben tappan. secretary stanton being his uncle, no difficulty offered but this autocrat ought to remove, but unfortunately stanton was a stickler for forms, and the relationship looked like nepotism to the world. tappan particularly wished to stay on the staff on account of the privileges. his stepfather, frank wright, induced their congressman, judge shellabarger, to accompany him to the presidential mansion to obtain the boon. lincoln was lukewarm, and told a story about the army being all staff and no strength, saying that, if one rolled a stone in front of willard's hotel, the military rendezvous for those officers off duty and on (dress) parade, it must knock over a brigadier or two, but suddenly wrote a paper to this novel effect: "lieutenant ben tappan, of ---, etc., desires transfer to --- regiment, regular service, and is assigned to staff duty with present rank. if the only objection to this transfer is lieutenant tappan's relationship to the secretary of war, that objection is hereby overruled. "a. lincoln." this threw the responsibility upon the secretary. * * * * * no man is indispensable. one of the cabinet ministers disagreed with the majority on a vital question, and rose with a threat to resign. one of his friends advised the chairman to do anything to recover his aid, whereupon he sagely said: "our secretary a national necessity?--how mistaken you are! yet it is not strange--i used to have similar notions. no, if we should all be turned out to-morrow, and could come back here in a week, we should find our places filled by a lot of fellows doing just as well as we did, and in many instances better! it was truth that the irishman uttered when he answered the speaker: 'is not one man as good as another?' with 'he is, sure, and a deal betther!' no, sir, this government does not depend on the life of any man!" * * * * * sleeping on post cancels a commission. nobody who met secretary stanton--the carnot of the war--would give him credit for joking, but mr. lincoln's example that way was infectious. the eldest son, robert, was at college, but a captaincy was awaiting him when he could enter the army. so the war secretary for a pleasantry issued a mock commission to tad, ranking him as a regular lieutenant. as long as he confined his supposed duties to arming the under servants and drilling the more or less fantastically, as well as he remembered, evolutions on the parade-grounds, where he accompanied his father, all was amusing. but he terminated his first steps in the school of "hardee's tactics," the standard text-book of the period, by bringing his awkward squad from the servants' hall, and, relieving the sentries, replaced the genuine with these tyros. for the sake of the vacation they, the regulars, bowed to the commission with its potent stanton and lincoln, and united states army seal. his brother, startled, intervened, but the cadet vowed he would put him in "the black hole," presumably the coal-shed. the president laughed, and when he went to check the usurpation he found the little lieutenant, overpowered by his brief authority, asleep. so he removed him from the service, put aside his commission, and, when he woke to the situation, made it plain that, being a real soldier and officer, he had forfeited his title by falling asleep on post! he went then and formally discharged the sham sentinels placed by the boy's orders and replaced them by the "simon pures." * * * * * my question! a recent volume has undertaken the superfluous vindication of president lincoln from being the mere ornamental figurehead of the republic during the civil war. in fact, there are many instances of his incurring the reproach of interfering with the chiefs of departments, but it is testified to by a leading minister that he paid much less attention to details than was popularly supposed and invidiously asserted in the capital. he "brought up with a round turn," to use river language, both general fremont and other military commanders who tried to steal the finishing weapon he kept in store: to wit, the emancipation of the southern slaves. senator cameron, as war secretary, advised in a report that the slaves should be armed to enable them successfully to rise against their masters. the president scratched out this recommendation, which would have spiked his gun, and perverted a great statesmanlike act into a fostered insurrection, saying: "this will never do! _secretary_ cameron must take no such responsibility. this question belongs exclusively to me!" * * * * * "if good, he's got it! if t'aint good, he ain't got it!" a revenue cutter conveyed a presidential party from washington to fortress monroe, consisting of the chief, his secretaries of war and of the treasury, and general egbert l. viele--who preserved this tale. on the way secretary stanton stated that he had telegraphed to general mitchell in alabama "all right--go ahead!" though he did not know what emergency was thus to meet. he wished the executive to take the responsibility in case his ignorance erred. "i will have to get you to countermand the order." so he hinted. "well," exclaimed the good-humored superior, "that is very much like a certain horse-sale in kentucky when i was a boy (lincoln was only eight when leaving kentucky for indiana). a particularly fine horse was to be sold, and the people gathered together. they had a small boy to ride the horse up and down while the spectators examined it for points. at last, one man whispered to the boy as he went by: "'look here, boy, ain't that hoss got the splints?' "the boy replied: 'master, i don't know what the splints is; but, if it is good for him, he has got it! if it ain't good for him, he ain't got it!' now," finished the adviser, "if this was good for mitchell, it was all right; but, if it was not, i have to countermand, eh?"--(noted by general viele.) * * * * * lincoln guessed the first time. postmaster-general james reflects a dialogue between lincoln and one of his cabinet officers, evincing how the iron hand in the velvet glove squeezed persons into his own mold. "mr. president"--secretary stanton speaking--"i cannot carry out that order! it is improper, and i don't believe it is right." "well, i reckon, mr. secretary"--very gently--"that you will _hev_ to carry it out." "but i won't do it--it's all wrong!" "i guess you will hev to do it!" he guessed right, the first time. * * * * * a phantom chase. despite chase's political enmity to him, president lincoln said of salmon portland chase: "i consider him one of the best, ablest, and most reliable men in the country." but he had to "let him slide" off upon the supreme court bench to have "knee-room" at the council-table. he explained: "he wants to be president, and, if he does not give that up, it will be a great injury to him and a great injury to me. he can never be president."--(ex-secretary boutwell, the authority.) * * * * * the word flies, but the writ remains. mr. chase bemoaning that in leaving home he had in the hurry forgot to write a letter, lincoln sagely consoled: "chase, never regret what you don't write--it is what you do write that you are often called upon to feel sorry for!"--(heard by general viele.) * * * * * the war-lord. lincoln states that the community among whom he was brought up would have hailed him as a wizard who spoke the dead tongues; and, granting his legal studies made him familiar with latin as lawyers use it, he carefully avoided those hurdles of the classic orator, latin quotations. nevertheless, we have an exception to what would have pleased lord byron--the poet thought we have had enough of the classics. the president, spying secretary stanton, of the war department, inadvertently striking an imposing attitude in the doorway of the telegraph-office in the executive house, without knowing the president was here, at the desk, suddenly was aroused by hearing the jocose hail: "good evening, _mars_!"--(certified by mr. a. b. chandler, manager of the postal telegraph, war department.) * * * * * file it away! stanton, as secretary of war, was bombarded with complaints and bickerings of the officers under him; they seemed to revel in annoying one famed for being of the irritable genus. once he showed his principal a letter written in answer to a general who had abused him and accused him of favoritism. lincoln listened with his quizzing air, and exclaimed rapturously: "that's first-rate, stanton! you've scored him well! just right!" as the pleased writer folded up the paper for its envelope, he quickly inquired: "why, what are you going to do with it now?" it was to be despatched. "no, no, that would spoil all. file it away! that is the kind of filing which keeps it sharp--and don't wound the other fellow! file it away." * * * * * "what we have, we will give you." it being rumored that the paper notes, "the greenbacks," should bear a motto as the coin had, "in god we trust," it was suggested to quote from the apostles: "silver and gold we have not, but what we have we will give." it was ascribed to mr. lincoln from his familiarity with the scriptures and prevalent quoting from them. * * * * * more "shinplasters" to heal the sore. in president lincoln went out to condole with the beaten unionists, whom general hooker had led fatally against lee at chancellorsville. lincoln took his little son "tad" with him. amid the cheering one of the soldiers plainly voiced a terrible grievance--just when the sufferers were mostly in need of necessaries, the pay was behindhand. so one cried: "send along more 'greenbacks,' father abraham!" the boy was puzzled, but his companion explained that the soldiers wanted their money due. the hearer thought this over for a moment, and then pertly said: "why don't 'governor' chase print some more?" * * * * * "there is much in an 'if' and a 'but.'" mr. tinkler, telegraph-operator of the cipher telegrams at washington, in the executive residence, took the despatch announcing the nomination of andrew jackson, of tennessee, to the vice-presidency with lincoln for the second term. the latter read it carefully, and _thought aloud:_ "well, i thought possibly that he might be the man; but--" he passed out of the office, leaving the hearer impressed. indeed, it was a prophecy of the future--poor, inebriate andy--not the handy andy, but the merry andrew of the fag-end of the lamentably sundered second term. charles a. dana, editing the new york _sun_, printed this drop-line, and said it was a proof that lincoln had no hand in his vice being proposed or nominated. * * * * * don't waste the plug, but use it! treasurer chase conducted the financial course of the war on the principle of each day taking care of itself; but still he resisted plans for relief not of his own conception. so he threw cold water on the walker suggestion that the currency should bear interest with a view that holders would hoard it. walker's aid, taylor, of ohio, ran to the president for a higher hearing. but, though the president now espoused the scheme, the secretary still was counter on the ground that the constitution was against it. "taylor," said lincoln, with his frankness, which resembled impiety now, "go back and tell chase not to bother about the constitution--i have that sacred instrument here, and am guarding it with great care!" but a personal discussion with chase was compulsory, during which the granite man stood on the constitution. "chase," finally said the decisive factor, "this reminds me of a little sea yarn. "a little coaster on the mediterranean was in stress of storm. the italian seamen have their own ideas of behavior under disaster, and fell on their knees to invoke the interposition of the usual stronghold--the madonna--of which there was a statue in wood. but, many and genuine as were the invocations, all were unanswered. the gale continued, and more and more damage was done the upper works. whereupon in a rage the skipper ordered the image to be hurled overboard. strange to say, almost instanter the tempest lulled, and in a short time the bark rode steadily on the pacific waters. come to examine the leak in the side, they found the wooden effigy thrown over, sucked into it, and so plugged up the cavity. the ship was saved by the castaway notion. "now, we are all aboard to save the ship, by any plug [footnote: plug, in western speech: any substitute, worthless otherwise; an old horse; a leaden counter, a makeshift; the plug hat, however, comes from the shape--a cylinder of tobacco being so called.] that is offered, since prayers don't seem to do it. let us try friend amasa walker's proposition." * * * * * the running fever. "there is a malady of vulnerable heels--a species of running fever--which operates on sound-headed and honest-hearted creatures very much like the cork leg in the song did on its owner. when he had once got started on it, the more he tried to stop it, the more it would run away. a witty irish soldier always boasting of his bravery when no danger was nigh, but who invariably retreated without orders at the first charge of the engagement, being asked by his captain why he did so, replied: "'captain, i have as brave a heart as julius caesar ever had; but, somehow or other, whenever danger approaches, my _cowardly_ legs will run away with me.'"--(debate, lincoln: springfield, illinois, december, .) * * * * * "one and a half times bigger than other men!" most conspicuous among the host of seeming friends consistently and constantly plotting against their chief to replace him if not actually displace him, was salmon p. chase. his whole career was that of the office-seeker incarnate. school-teacher, lawyer, governor of his state of adoption, ohio--for he was a new hampshire man--he tried from all parties to nominate him for the presidency, at all openings. his inability to inspire trust forbade his having a personal following of any strength. lincoln easily saw through him, but he had a fellow-feeling for an indubitably honest treasurer. to think of the countless opportunities he had to enrich himself out of the public coffers! like another incorruptible statesman, he might have said: "i wonder at my qualms when i had but to stretch out my hand to pocket thousands!" but he truthfully said, when a hack impudently hinted that he could have the nomination dearest to his heart if he would but use to his private ends the vast patronage at his command: "i should despise myself if capable of appointing or removing a man for the sake of the presidency." in february, , the peace congress (massachusetts) delegation called on the president to recommend salmon p. chase for the treasury department. lincoln was already favorable, for he said: "from what i know and hear, i think mr. chase is about a hundred and fifty to any other man's hundred for that place." this is why lincoln, when compelled to remove the underminer, solaced him with the bed to fall upon of the supreme court judgeship. he said of him: "chase is about one and a half times bigger than any one i ever knew." * * * * * so slow, a hearse ran over him! by treachery of those in charge of our navy-yards, arsenals, and treasury, the south began the bloody strife better provided than the simple north. but adverse fate seemed bent on keeping the disparity for long in favor of the weaker contestant. by one of those wicked dispensations tripping up our early march, the secretary of the navy was selected in gideon welles, an estimable gentleman in person, but wofully unsuited to the berth, if from age alone. patriarchal in appearance, with a long face and longer beard, white and sere, it became proverbial without appearing much of a far-fetched joke that he was the naval constructor to noah of ark-aic fame. unfortunately his "set" were antiques as well. yet lincoln clung to him--or he clung to the president like the old man of the sea--under which aspect he was presented by the caricaturists. one day, however, said the gossips of the white house, mr. lincoln dropped the newspaper in reading, and exclaimed: "listen!" said he to his secretary, "a man has been _run over by a hearse_! as i saw welles not so long ago, it must be one of _gideon's_ band!" a song entitled "gideon's band," introduced by the negro minstrels in new york, was popular on the streets and in the camps. * * * * * blood-shedding remits sins. judge kellogg, having an application for condoning a death sentence against a soldier, urged that he had served well hitherto, having been badly wounded under fire. "kellogg," remarked lincoln quickly, "is there not something in the bible about the shedding of blood for the remission of sins?" as the judge was not familiar with ecclesiastical law, he merely bowed. in fact, the blood-offerings of the ancients was of animals, and it was deemed profane to offer one's own. still, the offering of blood is dedication to a friend or the country. lincoln had _the idea_ correctly. "that's a good point," he brightly said, "and there is no going behind it!" so saying, he wrote the pardon, which kellogg transmitted to the gladdened father of the culprit. mr. lincoln had no need to go back to scripture for his defense. it is martial law, unwritten but valid, that if a delinquent soldier, fugitive from justice, or breaking prison, reaches the battle-field and takes his place gallantly, no more would be said about the hanging charge, even though it were literally a hanging one. * * * * * his "leg cases." the judge advocate-general, holt, as well as the military chiefs, were in despair at their superior trifling with the laws of war by suspending mortal decrees, and, in short, in hunting up excuses for delaying the blow of justice. once the judge brought to the president a case so flagrant that he did not doubt that, for a rarity, the chief would sign without any cavil and hesitation. a soldier had demoralized his regiment in the nick of a battle by dashing down his rifle and hiding behind a tree. he had not a friend or relative to sue for him. despite all this, the executive laid down the pen quivering between his long fingers, and said: "holt, i think i must, after all, file this away with my 'leg cases.'" and thrust the paper in one of a series of pigeonholes already crammed with the like. the judge was taken off his guard by the inconsistent levity, and demanded the meaning of the term with acerbity. "holt, were you ever in battle?" he counter queried. the man of law was a man of peace; he had seen lead, but in seals, not bullets. secretary of war stanton was spurring the military justice on, as often before. "did stanton ever march in the first line, to be shot at like this man?" holt answered for his colleague in the negative. "well, i tried it in the black hawk war!" proceeded the illinoisian, "and i remember one time i grew awful weak in the legs when i heard the bullets whistle around me and saw the enemy in front of me. how my legs carried me forward i cannot now tell, for i thought every minute that i should sink to the ground. i am opposed to having soldiers shot for not facing danger when it is not known that their legs would carry them into danger! well, judge, you see the papers crowded in there? you call them cases of 'cowardice in the face of the enemy,' a long title, but i call them my 'leg cases,' for short!--and i put it to you, holt, and leave it to you to decide for yourself, if almighty god gives a man a _cowardly pair of legs,_ how can he help them running away with him?" * * * * * how the delinquent soldier paid his debt. there is a great similarity in the many stories of lincoln's leniency to soldiers incurring the death-penalty according to the code of war, and no wonder, when they were so numerous that he often had four-and-twenty sentences to sign or ignore in a day. a member of a vermont regiment was so sentenced for sleeping at his post. the more than usual intercession made for him induced lincoln to visit the culprit in his cell. he found him a simple country lad, impressing him as a reminder of himself at that age. in the like plain and rustic vein he discoursed with him. "i have been put to a deal of bother on your account, scott," he said paternally. "what i want to know is how are you going to pay _my_ bill?" from a lawyer turned sword of the state, this was reasonable enough; so the young man responded: "i hope i am as grateful to you, mr. lincoln, as any man can be for his life. but this came so sudden that i did not lay out for it. but i have my bounty-money in the savings-bank, and i guess we could raise some money by a mortgage on the farm; and, if we wait till pay-day for the regiment, i guess the boys will help some, and we can make it up--if it isn't more nor five or six hundred, eh?" with the same gravity, the intermediator reckoned the cost would be more. "my son," said he, "the bill is a large one. your friends cannot pay it--nor your comrades, nor the farm, nor the pay! if from this day william scott does his duty so that, if i were there when he came to die, he could look me in the face as now and say: 'i have kept my promise and have done my duty as a soldier,' then _my_ debt will be paid." the boy made the promise, and was immediately restored to the regiment. he earned promotion, but refused it. at lee's mills, on the warwick river, he was wounded while distinguishing himself in a grand assault. mortally wounded in saving three lives, he was enabled with his dying breath to send a message to the president to the effect that he had redeemed his pledge. on his breast was found one of the likenesses of lincoln with the motto, "god bless our president!" which the grand army men were given. he thanked the benefactor for having let him fall like a soldier, in battle, and not like a coward, by his comrades' rifles. * * * * * "the swearing had to be done then, or not at all!" an old man came from tennessee to beg the life of his son, death-doomed under the military code. general fiske procured him admittance to the president, who took the petition and promised to attend to the matter. but the applicant, in anguish, insisted that a life was at stake--that to-morrow would not do, and that the decision must be made on the instant. lincoln assumed his mollifying air, and in a soothing tone brought out his universal soothing-sirup, the little story: "it was general fiske, who introduced you, who told me this. the general began his career as a colonel, and raised his regiment in missouri. having good principles, he made the boys promise then not to be profane, but let him do all the swearing for the regiment. for months no violation of the agreement was reported. but one day a teamster, with the foul tongue associated with their calling and mule-driving, as he drove his team through a longer and deeper series of mud-puddles than ever before, unable to restrain himself, turned himself inside out as a vocal vesuvius. it happened, too, that this torrent was heard surging by the colonel, who called him to account. "'well, yes, colonel,' he acknowledged, 'i did vow to let you do all the swearing of the regiment; but the cold fact is, that the swearing _had_ to be done thar and then, or not at all, to do the 'casion justice--and you were not thar!' "now," summed up mr. lincoln to the engrossed and semiconsoled parent, "i may not be there, so do you take this and do the swearing him off!" he furnished him with the release autograph, and sent another mourner on his way rejoicing. * * * * * displace the thistles by flowers. two ladies called upon the president at the end of , one the wife, the other the mother of western pennsylvanians imprisoned for resisting the military draft. a number of other men were fellows in their durance on precisely the same grounds. finding it meet to grant this dual relief sought, lincoln directed the whole to be liberated, and signed the paper with one signature to cover the entire act of humanity. his old friend, speed, was witness of this scene, and, knowing only too well the sensitive nature of the president, he spoke his wonder that such ordeals were not killing. lincoln mused, and agreed that such scenes were not to be wantonly undergone. "but they do not hurt me. that is the only thing today to make me forget my condition, or give me any pleasure"--he was unwell, then; his feet and hands were always cold, and often when about he ought to have been abed. "i have in that order made two persons happy, and alleviated the distress of many a poor soul whom i never expect to see. it is more than one can often say that, in doing right, one has made two happy in one day. speed, die when i may, i want it said of me by those who know me best, that i always plucked a thistle and planted a flower when i thought a flower would grow."--(vouched for by joshua r. speed, the first to be friend to lincoln when he set out to become a lawyer, at springfield, in .) * * * * * "you have one, and i have one--that is right!" an elderly woman was among the suitors of the president, when the commander-in-chief by virtue of office was besought to release her eldest son of three, her husband and two younger sons having been slain in action. "certainly," returned the chief, "if you have given us all, and your prop has been taken away, you are justly entitled to one of your boys." the woman took the discharge, and gratefully went away. but she was compelled to return more grieved than before, as she had found the son she sought dying in a hospital at the front. the surgeon made a note of the fatality, with which, unable to speak, she presented herself to the president. he knew what she wished this time, and proceeded to write out the release of the second son. on handing her the paper, he said--a new judgment of a kinder judge than solomon: "now, you have one, and i the other of the two left; that is no more than right!" * * * * * "shooting a man does him no good!" judge kellogg, of new york, begged off the son of a voter in his district, condemned for military infraction; in fact, the judge did not know much of the case, but his insistence prevailed over the rectifier of the law and articles of war. lincoln dryly remarked, as he appended his signature to the pardon: "i do not believe that shooting a man does him any good!" * * * * * benevolence is beautiful. thaddeus stevens accompanied a lady of his constituents to beg a pardon of the president, her son being under death sentence of a court-martial. the senator backing up the petition, it was granted. the grateful woman was choking, and was led away by her escort, without speaking in thankfulness. but at the exit she found her voice, and burst forth feelingly: "mr. stevens, they told me that the president was homely looking! it is a lie! he is the handsomest man i ever saw!" * * * * * "it was the baby that did it." a young mother came to washington to sue for the life of her husband, a deserter, condemned to die. such was the crowd of besiegers for grace, offices, and simple greeting by the host of the white house that she was kept out in the hall. but one day, the master passing through the corridor "to hold the show," heard a baby's pitiful wail. he halted, listened again to make sure, and on entering his reception-parlor asked his favorite usher if he had not heard that odd thing--there--an infant's cry. the attendant promptly related that a woman with a babe was without, who had been losing her time three days. "go at once, and send her to me," he ordered, expressing regret that she should have been overlooked. as there were several extenuating points in her plea, or the benign official leaned that way, he wrote his pardon and gave it to the woman, whose still plaintive smile shone through tears of gratitude. "take that, my poor woman, and it will bring you back your husband," he said, going so far as to direct her to what authority to apply for the action. in showing her forth, the old usher, who knew his employer's tender heart where children were concerned, whispered: "it was the baby that did it!"--(told by "old dan'el," the good-natured irish usher.) * * * * * "it rests me to save a life!" schuyler colfax, then speaker of the house, pleaded with lincoln for the life of an elector's son, sentenced to be shot. though he intruded on the arbiter very late after a long spell of official duties, lincoln accorded the boon. "colfax," explained he, "it makes me rested after a hard day's work, if i can find some good excuse for saving a man's life, and i go to bed happy as i think how joyous the signing of my name will make him, and his family, and his friends." * * * * * "a family man wants to see his family." superintendent tinker, of the western union telegraph company, vouches for the following: a woman came to the honorable francis kernan, member of congress, with a pitiful tale, with which he went to the president. her husband was a soldier who had been away from home a year. he deserted in order to have a glance at the family, and was captured on his way back to the front. but the rules of war are imperative, and without compassion. the president was interested, as in all such cases where a deserving life and a sorrowing woman were at stake. he said: "of course, this man wanted to see his family! they ought not to shoot him for that!" he telegraphed for action in the matter to cease, and finally pardoned the deserter. "a fellow-feeling"--for all his thoughts reverted to _his_ family life at springfield. * * * * * a rule without exception. lincoln's amnesty proclamation, issued in december, , exemplifies the perpetual attempt to infuse mercy into that intestine warfare, which always grows more fierce by oil thrown on the flames, and only once, in our case, terminated in the brothers becoming brothers again. he replied thus to a public criticizer of the document: "when a man is sincerely penitent for his misdeeds, and gives satisfactory evidence of the same, he can safely be pardoned, and there is no exception to the rule." * * * * * even rebels might be saved. a mr. shrigley, of philadelphia, having been appointed hospital chaplain, the president sent in his name to the senate, and his confirmation was imminent. a deputation came on to protest on the grounds that he was a universalist, a large-minded man, who did not believe in endless punishment. logically, he believed that "even the rebels will be saved," concluded the opposition, horrified. "well, gentlemen," determined the president gravely, "if that be so, and there is any way under heaven whereby the rebels can be saved, then, for god's sake and for their sakes, let the man be appointed." * * * * * whipping around the stump. on new-year's morning, , president lincoln entered the war department building. his sensitive nature, more than ever strained to the utmost tension, was irritated by hearing a woman wailing over a child in her arms at an office door. major eckert requested to ascertain the cause of the grief brought back the painful but not unexampled explanation. a soldier's wife had come to washington with her babe, expecting to have no difficulty in going on under pass to the camp where her husband was under the colors. but she learned, to her dismay, that, while an officer's wife has few obstacles to meet in communing with her husband under like circumstances, the private's is dissimilarly situated. this poor soul, with little money anyway, was perplexed how to wait in the expensive city till her wish was granted. "come, eckert," blurted out the chief in his frank manner, "let's send the woman down there!" it was recited that the war office had strengthened the orders against women in camp. "h'm!" coughed the other in his dry way, ominous of an alternative, "let us whip the devil around the stump since he will not step right over! send the woman's husband leave of absence to report _here_--to see his wife and baby!" so the officer on duty wrote the order, and the couple were happily reunited.--(by a. b. chandler, manager of postal telegraphs, attached to the war department in the war.) * * * * * "life too precious to be lost." benjamin owen, a young vermont volunteer, was sentenced to the extremity for being asleep on post. lincoln was especially lenient in these cases, as he held that a farm-boy, used to going to bed early, was apt to maintain the habit in later life. it came out that the youth had taken the place of a comrade the night before, as extra duty, and this overwork had fatigued him so that his succumbing was at least explicable. this clue being in a letter he wrote home, his sister journeyed to the capital with it and showed it to the president. "oh, that fatal sleep!" he exclaimed, "thousands of lives might have been lost through that fatal sleep!" he wrote out the pardon, and said to the girl: "go home, my child, and tell that father of yours, who could approve his country's sentence, even when it took the life of a youth like that, that abraham lincoln thinks the life too precious to be lost." he went in his carriage to deliver the pardon to the proper authorities for its execution--and not the soldier's. then, making out a furlough for the released volunteer, he saw him and the sister off on the homeward journey, pinning a badge on the former's arm with the words: "the shoulder which should bear a comrade's burden, and die for it so uncomplainingly, must wear that strap!" * * * * * mercy has precedence over the rigid. on the th of april, , lee accepted grant's easy conditions, and practically everything was completed but the formal signing of the capitulation. the wide rejoicing covered the earth, the eye-witnesses may say, with one smile of relief and gladness. washington looked gay with bunting, like new york city on the day of "show your flag!" above all, the president, whose words at springfield, in , to the illinois school superintendent, newton bateman, were justified: "i may not see the end, but it will come, and i shall be vindicated (in condemning slavery)." it was, therefore, in a receptive mood that he was found by senator j. b. henderson, of missouri. this gentleman came for the third time on an errand of pity. at the close of the war, one colonel green, brother to united states senator james s. green, crossed into mississippi with his friend and brother in arms, george e. vaughan. he gave vaughan letters for home and started him to carry news to his family. captured within the federal lines, he was held as a spy. mr. henderson succeeded in getting a retrial, and even a third hearing, but still the man was under sentence of death. on the afternoon of april , he called at the white house, and insisted that the pardon should be granted now if ever, "in the interest of peace and consideration." the gladsome chief agreed with him, and directed him to go to secretary stanton and have the prisoner released. but the inflexible official, on whom the general glee had no softening, refused, and the man had but two days to live. when the intermediary hurried back to the executive mansion, the president was dressed to go to ford's theater, with his wife, his son, and a young couple of friends. nevertheless, he stopped, went into the study, and wrote an unconditional release and pardon for vaughan, saying: "i think this will have precedence over stanton!" it was his last official act--one of mercy and forgiveness. * * * * * taken from rebellion and given to loyalty. a lady out of tennessee, which was early to join secession, came to washington in search of her son, a youth enlisted in the confederate army. she found him in the fort henry hospital, where, allowed to see him, as she was loyal, in spite of regulations about prisoners of war, she learned that he would recover. she induced him to recant and offer his parole if he were allowed freedom. she called on secretary stanton, but he was in one of his boorish moods--was he ever out of them?--and repulsed her with rudeness. she finally appealed to the president, who seemed very often balm to stanton, "a fretful corrosive applied to a deathly wound," and he gave her an order to receive the young man if he swore off his pledge to the wrong side. "to take the young man from the ranks of the rebellion," he said to her, "and give him to a loyal mother is a better investment to this government than to give him up to its deadly enemies." the young man was enabled to resume his studies, but in a northern college! * * * * * suspension is not execution. among those generals--amateurs, like the president, themselves--who disapproved of any leniency in discipline, was major-general benjamin f. butler. he wrote to his commander-in-chief so impudent an epistle as the annexed: "mr. president: i pray you not to interfere with the court-martial of this army. (_his_, of course--his skill was discoursed upon by general grant, who said that butler had "corked himself up.") you will destroy all discipline among the soldiers." but in the teeth of this embargo, moved by the entreaties of an old father whose son was under death sentence by this despot, he said: "butler or no butler, here goes!" and, seizing his pen, wrote that the soldier in prison was not to be shot until further orders. the affected parent eagerly took the precious paper, but his jaw fell on seeing the text: he had looked for a full pardon. but the comforter hastened to explain: "well, my old friend, i see that you are not very well acquainted with me. if your son never looks upon death till further orders from me to shoot him, he will live to be a great deal older than methuselah." * * * * * "the discontented ... about four hundred--" in , mr. lincoln had figured prominently in the fremont-dayton presidential campaign, and ever since he had been partial to the "pathfinder," though he clearly saw that he would be a rival for the chair at washington--his long-cherished ambition. he gave, at the outset of the war, the most important military command, that of the mountain, or western department, to fremont. the latter attempted to "steal his thunder" by issuing a forerunner of the emancipation act, and was removed; but lincoln reinstated him till he had to repeat the removal. he was repaid by the incorrigible marplot setting up as candidate for the chief magistracy after it was settled that the retiring officer should be reelected. nevertheless, the competitor's party was so small that, in allusion to it, lincoln read from "samuel," book i: "and every one who was in distress, and every one that was in debt, and every one who was discontented, gathered themselves unto him, and he became captain over them, and there were with him about four hundred men!" * * * * * "not much of a head, but his only one!" although the life of a soldier sleeping on post was at stake, the pleader wished to forbear on finding that the supreme decider, the president, meant to make a personal matter of it. he suspended the execution while looking into it. but it was objected that this was a burden not intended to impose. "never mind," lincoln answered. "this soldier's life is as valuable to him as any person's in the land. it reminds me of the old scotch woman's saying about her laird going to be beheaded for participation in a jacobite rebellion: "'it waur na mickle of a head, but it is the only head the puir body ha' got.'"--(assured, in substance, by l. e. chittenden.) * * * * * "gi'e us a good conceit!" a place-hunter hastened to his old acquaintance, lincoln, when he was seated, of course, to secure a trough. but he aimed high--in contrast to lincoln's adage that a novice should aim low! the least he named was the berth of master of the mint. "good gracious!" ejaculated the chief. "why did he not ask to be secretary of the treasury and have done with it?" reflecting, he observed: "well, now, i never thought that lank had anything more than average ability when we were youngsters together. but, then, i suppose, he thought the same thing about me, and yet--here i am!" * * * * * they went away sicker still. a party were pressing the claims of a solicitor for a consulship; his particular plea that his health would be benefited by residence on these fortunate islands. the lord bountiful terminated the interview by lightly saying: "gentlemen, i am sorry to say that there are eight other applicants for the place--and all of them are sicker than your client!" * * * * * of twenty applicants, nineteen are made enemies. hampered, harassed, and hounded by office-seekers, the president once opened his confidence on this irritating point to a conscientious public officer. he wished the senators and others would start and stimulate public sentiment toward changes in public offices being made on good and sufficient cause--that is, plainly, never on party considerations. the ideal civil service, in a word. nine-tenths of his vexations were due to seekers of sinecures. "it seems to me that such visitors dart at me and, with finger and thumb, carry off a portion of my vitality," was his saying. his hearer laughed at the image, but the other pursued earnestly: "i have made up my mind to make very few changes in the offices in my gift for my second term. i think, now, that i shall not move a single man, except for delinquency. to remove a man is very easy, but when i go to fill his place, there are twenty applicants, and of these i must make nineteen enemies."--(authenticated by senator clark, of new hampshire, to whom the confidence was imparted.) [footnote: secretary blaine, out of his similar experience, reiterated the sentiment thus: "when i choose one out of ten applicants to fill an office, i find that nine have become my enemies and one is an ingrate."] * * * * * rid of an office-seeker. "there was an ignorant man," said a senator, "who once applied to lincoln for the post of doorkeeper to the house. this man had no right to ask lincoln for anything. it was necessary to repulse him. but lincoln repulsed him gently and whimsically without hurting his feelings, in this way: "'so you want to be doorkeeper to the house, eh?' "'yes, mr. president.' "'well, have you ever been a doorkeeper? have you ever had any experience of doorkeeping?' "'well, no--no actual experience, sir.' "'any theoretical experience? any instructions in the duties and ethics of doorkeeping?' "'umh--no.' "'have you ever attended lectures on doorkeeping?' "'no, sir.' '"have you read any text-book on the subject?' "'no.' "'have you conversed with any one who has read such a book?' "'no, sir. i'm afraid not, sir.' "'well, then, my friend, don't you see that you haven't a single qualification for this important post?' said lincoln, in a reproachful tone. "'yes, i do,' said the applicant, and he took leave humbly, almost gratefully."--(chicago _record-herald_.) * * * * * not good offices, but a good story. when washington and its chief guardians were more sorely besieged by office-seekers than by the confederates, a politician locally important and generally importunate was sent as a "committee of one" to headquarters to secure the loaves and fishes for his congeries. but in about a fortnight this forager came home, full of emptiness. asked if he had not seen the president--accounted commonly as only too accessible--and why he did not get the places, he replied glumly, yet with a tinge of brightening: "yes, i saw the old man. he heard me state my errand, the president did. he heard me patiently all right enough; and then he said: 'i am sorry not to have any good offices for you, but--i can give you something--a good story!' "and he went on with-- "'once there was a certain king who kept an astrologer to forewarn him of coming events, and especially to tell him whether it was going to rain when he wished to go on hunting expeditions. one day he had started for the forest with his train of lords and ladies, when he met a farmer. "'"good morning, farmer," said the king. "'"good morning, king," said the farmer; "where are you folks going?" "'"hunting," said the king. "'"hunting! you'll all get wet," said the farmer. "'the king trusted his astrologer and kept on, but at midday there came up a tremendous rain that drenched the king and all his party. "'on getting back to the palace the king had the astrologer decapitated, and sent for the farmer to take his place. "'"law's sakes!" said the farmer, when he arrived, "it ain't me that knows when it's going to rain, it's my donkey. when it's going to be fair weather, he always carries his ears forward, so. when it's going to rain, he puts 'em backward, so." "'"make the donkey the court astrologer!" shouted the king. "'it was done; but the king always declared that that appointment was the greatest mistake he ever made in his life.' "mr. lincoln stopped there," said the office-seeker. "'why did he call it a mistake?" we asked him. 'didn't the donkey do his duty?' "'yes,' said the president, 'but after that every donkey in the country wanted an office.'" * * * * * encourage longing for work. in , the badgered president had so novel an application that he wrote the annexed note to facilitate its harvest: "to major ramsey: the lady--bearer of this--says she has two sons who want to work. set them at it, if possible. wanting to work is so rare a merit that it should be encouraged." * * * * * "but aaron got his commission!" to animadversion on the president appointing to a post one who had zealously opposed his reelection, he replied: "well, i allow that judge e----, having been disappointed before, did behave pretty 'ugly,' but that would not make him any less fit for the place; and i think i have scriptural authority for appointing him. you remember when the lord was on mount sinai getting out a commission for aaron, said aaron was at the foot of the mountain, making a false god for the people to worship? yet aaron got his commission, you know." * * * * * something lincolnian all could take. when the president had an attack of spotted fever, and was told he must be immured, as it was catching, he smiled and said: "it is a pity to shut the public off--as while every act of mine is not taken to, _now_ i have something everybody might take!" * * * * * "not many such boys outside of sunday-schools!" a boston business house was deceived in an errand boy. fresh from the country he succumbed to temptation and robbed the mails. his father tried to get him off the penalty as the united states government took up the case. he went to washington and prevailed on his representative, alexander h. rice, to intercede for him. rice and the president were on familiar terms. as soon as the pleader presented himself, mr. lincoln assumed an easy attitude, legs stretched, leaning back, and read the petition. "well," said he, "did you meet a man going out as you came in? his errand was to get a man out of the penitentiary, and now you come to get a boy out of jail. i am bothered to death about these pardon cases; but i am a little encouraged by _your_ visit. they are after me on the men, but appear to be roping _you_ in on the boys. what shall we do? the trouble appears to come from the courts. let us abolish the courts, and i think that will end the difficulty. and it seems to me that the courts ought to be abolished, anyway, for they appear to pick out the very best men in the community and send them to the penitentiary, and now they are after the same kind of boys. i don't know much about boys in massachusetts, but according to this petition, there are not many such boys as this one outside the sunday-schools in other parts!" it was settled that if a majority of the massachusetts delegates signed the paper, a pardon would be given.--(testified to by honorable alexander h. rice, former governor of massachusetts.) * * * * * the good boy gets on. according to white house etiquette, as a congressman and a senator, wilson and rice, called together on the president, they were admitted in company. as they were readmitted from the anteroom a boy of about twelve, on the lookout, slipped in with them. after the salutations the host became absorbed in the intruder, as he was always interested in the young. but the two gentlemen were unable to answer the natural question: "who is this little boy?" but the boy could speak for himself, and instantly said that he was "a good boy," come to washington in the hope of becoming a page in the house of representatives. the president began to say that captain goodenow, head doorkeeper there, was the proper person to make that application to, as he had nothing to do with such appointments. but the good little boy pulled out his credentials, from his folks, the squire, and the parson and schoolmaster, and they stated not only that he was good, but good to his widow mother, and wanted to help the needy family. the president called the boy up to him, studied him, and wrote on his petition: "if captain goodenow can give this good boy a place, it will oblige a. lincoln." (vouched for by alexander h. rice, member of congress, and ex-governor of massachusetts.) * * * * * how mcculloch was constrained to serve. for two arduous years hugh mcculloch, banker of indianapolis, served in organizing the currency control. he was looking forward to release and repose at the second administration, when the renewed incumbent begged him to become secretary of the treasury. he remonstrated. "but i could not help myself," he confessed to janet jennings. "mr. lincoln looked at me with his sad, weary eyes, and throwing his arm over my shoulder, said: "'you must; the country needs you!'" that was a gesture worth all the elegant tones in the elocution-books. * * * * * all mouth and no hands' class. "i hold if the almighty had ever made a set of men that should do all the eating, and none of the work, he would have made them with mouths only and no hands, and if he had ever made another class that he had intended should do all the work and none of the eating, he would have made them without mouths and with all hands."--(a. lincoln.) * * * * * hot and cold the same breath. underlaying the innate frankness, there was a deep shrewdness in president lincoln, which fitted him to cope with the most expert politicians, albeit their vanity would not let them always or promptly acknowledge it. when chief justice taney died, the president had already planned to fill up the vacancy and at the same time shelve that thorn in his side, salmon p. chase. but always keeping his own counsel, he was mute on that head, when an important deputation attended to recommend chase. after hearing the address, the president asked for the engrossed memorial to be left with him. "i want it, in order, if i appoint mr. chase, i may show the friends of the other persons for whom the office is solicited, by how powerful an influence and what strong recommendations i was obliged to disregard in appointing him." this was heard with great satisfaction, and the committee were about to depart, thinking their man sure of the mark, when they perceived that the chief had not finished all he had to say. "and," he continued, "i want the paper, also, in order that, if i should appoint any other person, i may show _his_ friends how powerful an influence and what strong recommendations i was obliged to disregard in appointing _him_." the committee departed mystified. * * * * * wanted the jail earnings. a western senator bothered the president about a client of his for back pay of a dubious nature. lincoln responded with one of his evasive answers--that is, "a little story": "years ago, when imprisonment for debt was legal, a poor fellow was sent to jail by his creditor, and compelled to serve out his debt at the rate of a dollar and a half a day. "when the sentence had expired, he informed the jailer of the fact and asked to be released. the jailer insisted on keeping him four days longer. upon making up his statement, however, he found that the man was right. the prisoner then demanded not only a receipt in full for his debt, but also payment for four days' extra service, amounting to six dollars, which he declared the county owed him. now," concluded lincoln, "i think that county would be about as likely to pay this man's claim as this government will be to pay your friend's claim for back pay."--(told before colonel noteware, of colorado, a western senator, and a congressman.) * * * * * a title no hindrance. a german noble and military officer wished to serve as volunteer under our colors. after being welcome, he thought it expedient to unfold his family roll, so to say, but the ultra-democratic ruler gently interpolated as if he saw an apology in the recital, and soothingly observed: "oh, never mind that! you will find _that_ no hindrance to your advance. you will be treated as fairly in spite of that!" * * * * * a talker with nothing to say. a reverend gentleman of prominence, m. f., of ----, was presented to the president, who resignedly had a chair placed for him, and with patient awaiting said: "my dear sir, i am now ready to hear what you have to say." "why, bless you, mr. president," stammered the other, with more apprehension than his host, "i have nothing to say. i only came to pay my respects." "is that all?" exclaimed the escaped victim, springing up to take the minister's two hands with gladness. "it is a relief to find a clergyman--or any other man, [footnote: any other man. from this frequent expression of mr. lincoln's, a true comedian, the "negro entertainer," unsworth, conceived a burlesque lecture, "or any other man," with which he went around the world. the editor, passing through london, remembers his attention being called to mr. gladstone and other cabinet ministers, who came to the oxford music-hall nightly between parliament business, to hear unsworth, who, on such chances, introduced personal and pat allusions to the subjects debated that night.] for that matter--who has nothing to say. i thought you had come to preach to me." * * * * * stick to your business. among the bores who assailed the president was a western stranger who had another plan to end the war. lincoln listened to him all the way, and then obliged him and the crowd with a story: "you may have heard of mr. bounce, of chicago? no; well, he was a gentleman of so much leisure that he had no time to do anything! this superb loafer went to a capitalist at the time of a wheat flurry, when speculators reckoned to make fortunes, and he informed mr. blank check how his project would make them both terribly rich. the reply came sharp as a bear-trap: 'my advice is that you stick to your business!' "'but i have no business--i am a gentleman.' "'whatever that is, i advise you to stick to that!' "and now, my friend," proceeded the president, "i mean nothing offensive, for i know you mean well--but i think you had better stick to your business and leave the war-threshing to those who have the responsibility." * * * * * marrying a man without his consent. major hoxsey, excelsior (n. y.) brigade, wounded in the fighting joe hooker division, could not accept a commission in the army, but wished to be put upon the staff of the volunteers, as he could not walk. he was upheld in his desire by adjutant-general hamlin, who accompanied him to the president. they were both asked to sit while the authority consulted the congressional laws. staff appointments could not be heard by the president unless the general commanding the desired rank was approving. "i have no more power to appoint you without that request," said the president, "than i would have to marry a woman to any man she might desire for a husband without his consent!"--(by general charles hamlin.) * * * * * "a luxury to see one who wants nothing." senator depew was secretary of new york state in , under governor seymour. he had to wait upon president lincoln, reelected, to harmonize the calls for men, as his state was split on the accusation that the draft favored one party above the other. his official business finished, secretary depew called to bid farewell. lincoln was not holding a reception, but sitting in that study accessible to the public, that never was a public man's sanctum before--or after. he was intruded upon all the time, as he let the door remain wide open. (old new yorkers may recall p. t. barnum, the showman's, similar habit.) every now and then some petitioners would make a desperate rush in and, on seeing they were not repelled by order or by the ushers' own initiative, others would be emboldened to do the same. the new yorker no sooner took this cue than the besieged man perceived him. "hello, depew! what do you want?" was his hail. "nothing, mr. president, save to pay my respects to you, as i am going home." "stay! it is such a luxury to see any one who does not want anything!" he had the room cleared and discussed the war, interspersing the dialogue with apposite stories.--(told by senator c. m. depew.) * * * * * "accuse not a servant----" as the possibilities of rapid advancement were redoubled during the war, the president, in his first term of office, was stormed by the office-seekers, who thought it the best plan to have occupiers of posts ousted to give them an opening; so they maligned and even accused chief officials with a freedom unknown in other countries where the bureaucracy is a sacred institution--as within a generation it has become here. lincoln rebuked one of these covetous vexers by saying gravely to him: "friend, go home and attentively read 'proverbs,' chapter thirteen, verse ten." the rebuffed applicant found at that page in the book: "accuse not a servant to his master, lest he curse thee, and thou be found guilty!"--(attested by schuyler colfax.) * * * * * a wolf in a trap must sacrifice his "tail" to be free. the presidential private secretary, stoddard, maintains that his chief sorely astonished and baffled the tribe of acquaintances who flocked in upon him as soon as he was elevated and went back home, with empty haversacks, wondering that he ignored them with heartless ingratitude. "he did not make even his own father a brigadier nor invite cousin dennis hanks to a seat in his cabinet!" * * * * * somewhat of a newsman. innately attached to letters, and precocious, abraham lincoln soon learned his letters and drank in all the learning that his few books could supply. hence at an early age he became the oracle on the rude frontier, where even a smattering made him handy and valuable to the illiterate backwoodsmen. besides, as working at any place and at any work, he rarely abided long in any one spot, and had not what might be called a home in his teens. dennis hanks, his cousin, said of abraham, at fourteen to eighteen: "abe was a good talker, a good reader, and a kind of newsboy." hence he was a sort of volunteer colporteur distributing gossip, as a notion pedler, before he was a store clerk where centered all the local news. it was on this experience that he would mingle with the newspaper reporters and telegraph men fraternally, saying with his winning smile and undeniable "push": "let me in, boys, for i am somewhat of a news-gatherer myself." and then he would fix his footing by one of his stories, always--well, often--uttered with a view to publication. * * * * * "a little more light and a little less noise." as the president was a diligent devourer of the newspaper in the vexatious times (as at all others), he met many a torrent of criticism, incitement, and counsels which left him stunned rather than alleviated. to a special correspondent who hampered him, he said: "your papers remind me of a little story. there was a gentleman traveling on horseback in the west where the roads were few and bad and no settlements. he lost his way. to make matters worse, as night came on, a terrible thunder-storm arose; lightning dazzled the eye or thunder shook the earth. frightened, he got off and led his horse, seeking to guide himself by the spasmodic and flickering electric light. all of a sudden, a tremendous crash brought the man in terror to his knees, when he stammered: "'oh, lord! if it be the same to thee, give us a little more light and a little less noise!'" * * * * * "my part of the ship is anchored." among the first men called out was a young massachusetts man, burrage, who went as a private. grievously wounded, he was sent into the hospital and then to his home. recuperated, he joined his old regiment at the front. he was unaware that strict orders were out against the soldiers exchanging newspapers, and so performed the daily courtesy of giving a paper to the rebels; they had two, and he promised to give them the one due next time. this was held as keeping up correspondence with the johnnies, and the authorities reduced him to the ranks, as he was then a captain. worse and worse, the enemy seized him when he went out to redeem his promise about the news, and he was imprisoned on their side. this regalled his wounds and he was a great sufferer. the massachusetts member of congress, alexander rice, pleaded with the president for his native citizen. the complication was that burrage was a captain when captured, but a private again soon after, and the rebels would probably hold him at the higher rate if an exchange was allowed, while the union war department stood for his being but a common soldier. "if general wadsworth raises that point," replied the president, who had allowed this pathetic case to break his rule to deal with classes and not individual offenses, "tell him if he could take care of the exchange part, i guess i can take care of the rank part!" it is clear that the president saw in this punctilio about a humane act, whose "offense was _ranker_." it reminded one of the story of the new england skipper who, with his mate--and crew of a small fisher--owned the vessel. they having quarreled and the captain bidding the other mind his part of the ship, the latter did so, and presently came to the stern to report: "captain, i have anchored my part of the ship! take care of your own." * * * * * angels swearing make no difference. on the president being urged to answer some virulent newspaper assault, his reply was: "oh, no; if i were to try to read, much less answer, all the attacks made on me, this shop might as well be closed for any other business, i do the very best i know how--the very best i can; and i mean to keep doing so, until the end. if the end brings me out all right, what is said against me won't amount to anything; if the end brings me out wrong, ten angels swearing i was right would make no difference." * * * * * washington's difficult task. shortly after lincoln's inauguration, a senator said to him: "you have as difficult a task as washington's, when he took command of the american army, and as little to do it with." "that is true, but i have larger resources." (the three thousand millions spent on the war vividly contrasts with the colonies fighting rich england with an empty treasury and barefoot, ragged soldiers.) * * * * * steel and steal. president lincoln asked a friend, a senator, immediately on his taking office, upon an embarrassed condition of affairs: "have you seen that prophecy about my administration in the papers? a prophet foretells that my rule will be one of steel! to which the wags retort: 'well, buchanan's was one of _steal_.'" the georgian slave-holder, late secretary of the treasury, was accused of "diverting" some millions to the south, as that for the war office similarly "diverted" ordnance and munitions to the same quarter; the head of the navy, with what "looked" like collusion, had scattered the war-vessels so as to be long delayed in concentrating. * * * * * "that's what's the matter." in a spiritualist performance at the white house, which seemed to have been "edited" by the president himself--as often royalty revises plays--for his special entertainment, the cabinet being invited, after a rigmarole of stilted phrases purporting to be by washington, franklin, napoleon, and other past celebrities, mr. welles, secretary of the navy, remarked: "i will think this matter over, and see what conclusion to arrive at!" (his set phrase.) there was a smile at this, as the aged minister's prolonged meditations were the laughing-stock of the country, he being the clog on the wheels of the car of state. instantly raps were heard in the spirit-cabinet, and, the alphabet being consulted, the result was spelled out as: "that's what's the matter!" this hit at mr. welles' stereotyped fault aroused more mirth, and the crowd at the back of the room, domestics, petty officials, and sub-officers, laughed prodigiously, while the secretary stroked his long white beard musingly. to this cant term hangs a tale apropos of the president. its origin was low, but humorous. a benevolent gentleman pierced a crowd to its center to see there, on the pavement under a lamp-post, a poor woman, curled in a heap, with a satisfied grin on her flushed face, breathing brokenly. "what's the matter?" eagerly inquired the compassionate man. a bystander removed his pipe from his mouth, and with it pointed to a flattened pocket-flask sticking out of her smashed reticule, half-under her, and sententiously explained: "that's what's the matter with hannah!" the sentence took growth and spread all over the union. it has settled down, as we know, to a fixed form at political meetings, where the audience beguile the waiting time with demanding "what is the matter?" with this or that favorite demagogue. in the sixties, it patly answered any problem. at the presidential election-time of lincoln's success, a negro minstrel, unsworth, was a "star" at " " broadway, dressing up the daily news drolly under this title--that is, ending each paragraph with that line. on the d of february, , abraham lincoln, scheduled to pass on from harrisburg, where he made a speech as arranged, instead of waiting to depart by the morning train, sped to philadelphia and thence by a special train detained for "a military messenger with a parcel," to washington, by the regular midnight train. the news of his arrival at the capital by this unexpected and clandestine route, and in disguise--this was denied--of a scotch cap and plaid shawl, startled everybody. rumors of an attempt to make mischief, as he called it, were rife. but the public still took things as quake-proof, and mr. lincoln assured his audiences, as he spoke at every city on his way, that "the crisis was artificial." on the evening of the twenty-third, the writer dropped into the broadway negro minstrel hall. newspaper men knew that unsworth introduced the latest skimming of the press into his burlesque lecture and liked to hear his funny versions and perversions. the comic sheet of the metropolis, _vanity fair_, enframing the witty scintillations of "artemus ward," george arnold, and a brilliant band, complained that this "nigger comedian" used or anticipated their best effusions. on the whole the public saw in the surreptitious flight of the ruler into his due seat only a farce, in keeping with his jesting humor--he was regarded as a don quixote in figure, but a sancho panza, for his philosophic proverbs, widely retailed and considered opportune. so the indignation proper toward the forced escapade was absent; everybody still mocked at the "terrible plots," as so much stale quail, and when the blackened-face orator, coming to a pause after enunciation of his "that's what's the matter" looked around wistfully, the audience were agog. suddenly out of the wing an attendant darted with alarmed manner and face. he carried on his arm a shawl, gray and travel-stained, and in one shaking hand a scotch bonnet. unsworth snatched them in hot haste and fright, clapped on the cap, and, draping himself in the plaid, rushed off at the side, forgetting his own high silk hat. this, with the black suit, the orthodox lecturer's, now gave him a resemblance to mr. lincoln, not previously perceived, for they were men of opposite shapes. the eclipse brought home to the spectators the ludicrousness of the president entering his capital in secret, but, i repeat, no one felt any shame, and the audience went forth to relate the excellent finish to the parody, at home or in the saloons, to hearers as obtuse as themselves, to the seriousness of the episode. somehow, so far, the elect from illinois was ever the western buffoon. but when, in his inaugural address, lincoln thundered the new keynote, the veil fell: "in your hands, my dissatisfied fellow countrymen, is the momentous issue of the civil war." war! the crisis was no longer "artificial"--he admitted that! what impended, what had fallen? jest and earnest were still coupled, but earnest took the lead from that hour. said the chief magistrate, in his first official speech: "physically speaking, we cannot separate--that's what's the matter." * * * * * "the ship of state" simile. on the morning of lincoln's arrival in washington, general logan and mr. lovejoy called on him at willard's hotel, to urge a firm and vigorous policy. he replied: "as the country has placed me at the helm of the ship, i'll try to steer her through." the sangamon river pilot spoke there. "i understand the ship to be made for the carrying and the preservation of the cargo, and so long as the ship can be saved with the cargo, it should never be abandoned, unless it fails in the probability of its preservation, and shall cease to exist, except at the risk of throwing overboard both freight and passengers."--(speech, new york reception, .) "i trust that i may have the assistance of the members of this legislature in piloting the ship of state through this voyage, surrounded by perils as it is; for, if it should suffer shipwreck now, there will be no pilot ever needed for another voyage."--(speech, trenton, new jersey, .) * * * * * a pill for the public printer. in lincoln's first message to congress, special session, july , , is seen this passage: "with rebellion thus _sugar-coated_, they have been drugging the public mind," etc. mr. defrees, public printer, with the proofreader's sublime spurning of plain speech, objected to this sweet word, and said: "mr. president, you are using an undignified expression! i would alter the construction if i were you!" "defrees," was the crushing reply, "that word expresses precisely _my_ idea, and i am not going to change it. the time will never come in this country when the people won't know exactly what 'sugar-coated' means!" "'i jinks! i can beat you both!" one day the public printer wanted to correct a lincolnism in one of the presidential documents. "go home, defrees, and see if you can better it." the next day, defrees took him his amendment. it happened that secretary seward had spied the same fault as the printer, and lincoln confronted the two improvements. "'i jinks! (by jingo!) seward has been rewriting the same paragraph. i believe you have beat seward, but i think i can beat you both!" and he wrote with his firm hand "_stet!_ so let it stand!" on the proof-sheet. * * * * * "let the grass grow where it may!" up to the dread day when the news of the flag of our union being fired upon, in charleston harbor, the country resembled the sea in one of those calms preceding a storm. when the placidity betrays hidden and mighty currents, and overhead, in the clear sky, one divines the coursers of the tempest gathering to race in strife like that beneath. up to lincoln's arrival in washington, the nest of sedition, the pro-slavery, peace-at-any-price party slackened in no efforts to retain the _statu quo_, or worse, a new state of the southern states branching off as suckers strike from the main stem. william e. dodge had the courage to face the wrought-up chief magistrate, chafed with his narrow escape from the assassins of the railroad journey from baltimore. said mr. dodge: "it is for you, mr. president, to say whether the whole nation shall be plunged into bankruptcy (the slaves were valued as property at two thousand million dollars!); whether the grass shall grow in the streets of our commercial cities." (the balance of trade against the south to the manufacturing and supplying north was stupendous.) "then, i say, it shall not," replied lincoln; "if it depends upon me, the grass will not grow anywhere, save in the fields and meadows." mr. dodge persisted in his sordid and businesslike errand. "then you will not go to war on account of slavery?" "i do not know what my acts may be in the future, beyond this: the constitution will not be preserved and defended until it is enforced and obeyed in every part of every one of the united states. it must be so respected, obeyed, enforced, and defended--let the grass grow where it will!" * * * * * the peace-at-any-price party. "if there were a class of men who, having no choice of sides in the contest, were anxious to have only quiet and comfort for themselves while it rages, and to fall in with the victorious side at the end of it, without loss to themselves, their advice as to the mode of conducting the contest would be precisely such as his."--(_his_--mr. thomas durant, who, in , wrote a letter on behalf of the conservatives, asking to be let alone.) "he speaks of no duty--apparently thinks of none--resting upon union men. he even thinks it injurious to the union cause that they should be restrained in trade and passage without taking sides. they are to touch neither a sail nor a pump--live merely as passengers (deadheads, at that!)--to be carried snug and dry through the storm, and safely landed right side up! nay, more--even a mutineer is to go untouched lest these sacred passengers receive an accidental wound."--(letter to c. bullitt, july , .) * * * * * things were topsy-turvy aloft, too. one evening, when mr. hall, astronomer, was working in the naval observatory, washington, on the great equatorial telescope, he was startled to have his sanctum invaded by the gaunt, extenuated figure of the president. he was made welcome, of course, and the varied mechanism explained to him. as the crowning "treat," he was given a peer through the celebrated instrument. it was leveled at the moon, or, rather, arranged to have that orb in its focus at the time. the visitor was appalled, as well as wondering at the view, and slowly withdrew by the trap-door. but when the astronomer resumed his observations and calculations he was interrupted by the same sedate and absorbed caller. he returned, perplexed, as, on glancing up at the moon with unhindered vision, he saw it in another position to that presented in the spy-glass. mr. hall made it clear to him that, as the telescope was pointed, not at the satellite but at its image in a mirror, he saw its reflection and consequently the reverse of the face we observe. the president went away with the satisfaction of a man wanting every novelty demonstrated. * * * * * hitching to the moon. lincoln came to washington, to view the situation; and found the world all upside down, a rumpus in the nation. (_topical song,_ .) * * * * * a red flag to him. a most remarkable prelude to the war was the performance through the northern states of the chicago zouaves. the name came from the irregular regiment in the french algerian service, composed of men worthy of being drummed out of the regular corps; they dressed like the arabs in the small bolero jacket and baggy red, trousers familiar since. they drilled gymnastically, not to say theatrically. ellsworth, a clerk in the lincoln & herndon law office, had a martial turn, and hearing daily in that quasi-political vortex of the impending crisis, determined to be forearmed in case of the differences coming to blows. he raised, uniformed _à la zou-zou_, a score of young men like himself and proceeded to give exhibitions at home and then in the east. the writer retains a vivid memory of the odd and fantastic show, which, however, was regarded as "not war, though magnificent." but captain ellsworth was in earnest. mustered in with his company, he started the zouave movement which led to two or more regiments being formed. his being the first volunteers at the fore, he claimed the right of the reconnoitering force sent out in may, against alexandria, to break up railroads held by the rebels. seeing a rebel flag on a hotel top, he entered the building, and was shot by the landlord in coming down from cutting it away. he was slain instantly, and the like fate befell the murderer, the host, from ellsworth's guard. apart from four men killed at sumter and two in the baltimore riots, the chicago zouave was the first victim of the rebellion. but the position was regained by the secessionists, and the rebel flag replaced the removed one, to the grief of president lincoln. he could see it from his residence, and murat halstead, without knowing the melancholy association of the young officer, being a familiar in his office, reports seeing him dwell with spyglass bent on the flag, for hours. elmer ellsworth, in his last speech, made to the men he was leading out to the front, proves that he imbibed lincoln's humanity with legal precepts in the office: "show the enemy that i want to kill them with kindness." * * * * * "fly away, jack!" at the end of , south carolina took the lead in seceding, and in the opening of the next year six other southern states allied themselves with her. the timid feared hasty acting would precipitate the marshaling of the waverers under the same flag. to a committee urging a pause to see "how the cats would jump," the president observed: "if there be three pigeons on the fence, and you fire and kill one, how many will there be left?" the voices said: "two." "oh, no," he corrected; "there would be none left; for the other two, frightened by the shot, would have flown away." as a truth, the firing on fort sumter welded the seceders into their union; at the same time as it likewise fused the northerners into consistency. the president said to general viele: "we want to keep all that we have of the border states--those that have not seceded and the portions we have occupied." * * * * * his _pen_ wanted to keep their hogs safe. just after the call for seventy-five thousand ninety-day men to subdue the outbreak after sumter was cannonaded, a deputation of loyal virginians waited upon the president. they expounded on this levy that the fair fields of the south would be overrun by the ragamuffins of the northern cities, and the hen-roosts and pig-houses ravished, etc. "but what would you have me do?" asked lincoln, who did not then foresee his having to conduct the military movements. "mr. president, if you would only lend us your pen a moment--" meaning, of course, that he should write a line to calm the rising storm. but the other pretended to misunderstand him, saying: "lend my pen! my _pen_? what would you do with that?--keep your hogs safe with that?" * * * * * "hurrah for you!" at the chicago reception, a little boy came into the room, with his father. no doubt he had been instructed to behave with decorum in the august presence; but he no sooner saw the tall, prominent figure than he shouted: "hurrah for mist' lincoln!" the crowd laughed, and still the more as the object of the ovation caught up the little fellow, gave him a toss to the ceiling, and, while he was in the air, shouted out lustily: "hurrah for mister you!" and, catching him, lowered him, red and panting, to the floor. * * * * * "put your feet right and stand firm!" giving a lift in his carriage to two ladies, to the soldiers' home, the horses were splashing and sliding after a shower in the mire, when mr. lincoln assisted the frightened women to alight. he set three stones for stepping-stones in the mud, and assisted them to firm ground. he had cautioned them in making the passage: "all through life be sure you put your feet in the right place, and then stand firm!" looking down on his muddy boots (lincoln as a westerner always stuck to leg-boots, and was never seen in the effeminate "congress gaiters," by the bye), he added: "i have always heard of 'washington mud,' and now i shall take home some as a sample!" * * * * * get their graves ready! in april, , a deputation of sympathizers with secession had the boldness to call on president lincoln and demand a cessation of hostilities until convening of congress, threatening that seventy-five thousand marylanders would contest the passage of troops over their soil. "i presume," quietly replied mr. lincoln, "that there is room enough in her soil for seventy-five thousand graves?"--(peterson's "life of lincoln.") * * * * * mr. lincoln's opinion of general mcclellan. in the first stage of the war, when the president was commander-in-chief of the forces by virtue of his office, he played the part of the elevated boy in "the king of the castle." every one of his colleagues, who ought to have been his loyal supporters, until some firm stand was attained under the batteries of richmond, civil and military, warred against him, underhandedly and haply openly. all aimed, in cabinet and on the staff, to be ruler. the understrappers of aged general scott upheld all that concurred with warfare, set and obsolete, of the european strategists, overthrown by the great napoleon. the principal practiser of these tactics, the _summum bonum_, or "good thing," of the "west pointers" was general mcclellan, "the little mac" of his worshipers and "the little napoleon" of the dazzled crowd. he was, like cassio, "a great arithmetician, who had never set a squadron in the field or the division of a battle knew," etc. seeming utterly to ignore that the enemy was composed of men trained by their life and "genteel" occupations to shoot true, to ride like comanches or revolutionary harry lee's light-horse, used to lying outdoors under skies genial to them, and subsisting on game and corn-cake as marion on sweet potatoes, he expected to foil such guerrillas as "jeb" stuart, mosby, and quantrell by earthworks, which they probably would have leaped their horse over if they wanted to reach their spoil in that way. it was in allusion to this adherence to vauban that the president, who eyed the aspiring hotspur as henry v. his heir, the sixth henry, trying on his crown, observed shrewdly, when the general kept silence: "he is entrenching." * * * * * a "stationary" engine. lincoln said of the much-promising general mcclellan: "he is an admirable engineer, but he seems to have a special talent for a _stationary_ engine." he also cited him as a scholar and a gentleman. nevertheless, as the education lavished on the army of the potomac to make it earn foreign military critics' praise at reviews, was not thrown away, but made sound soldiers which in time were invaluable to general grant, lincoln did him justice by quaintly, but earnestly, saying: "i would like to borrow _his_ arm if he has no further use for it." (general franklin heard this.) but "little mac" had no design on the dictatorship, being surely a lover of the union, too. * * * * * shoveling fleas. on account of the looseness and corruption attending the raising of soldiers at the first, the president, noting the difference between the number of men forwarded to general mcclellan for the army of the potomac, and the number reported arrived, said: "sending men to that army is like shoveling fleas across a barn-yard--half of them never get there." * * * * * the georgia colonel's costume. "on account of this sectional warfare," senator mason, of virginia, announced his resolve to wear homespun, and dispense with yankee manufactures altogether. that made lincoln laugh, and say: "to carry out his idea, he ought to go barefoot. if that's the plan, they should begin at the foundation, and adopt the well-known georgian colonel's uniform--a shirt-collar and a pair of spurs!"--(in, speech, new england tour, .) * * * * * coarse feed first! secretary whitney wrote: "in july, , i was in washington, where i merely said to president lincoln: 'everything is drifting into the war, and i guess you will have to put _me_ in the army.' (he was in the indian service at the time.) "the president looked up from his work, and said good-humoredly: "'i'm making generals _now_! in a few days i will be making quartermasters, and then i'll fix you.'" * * * * * "ain't i glad to git out o' de wilderness!" in the summer of , just when the north was lulled to repose by the note from general mcclellan's newsmongers, that the people would have a great surprise on the fourth of july, colonel j. e. b. stuart, confederate cavalrist, took about two thousand picked riders and performed a dash within the hostile lines, which achieved a world-wide admiration. it is necessary to premise that the country was inimical to the defenders of washington, and the farmers kept the secessionists clearly informed on the federal movements. besides, the first duty of keeping washington engrossed all the union commanders. if, by any unexpected movement, the rebels occupied the capital long enough to set up their government, europe would have recognized the stars and bars, and raised the blockade on the cotton ports. washington was stupefied and terror-stricken when the news came in from the _north_ that rebel cavalry were "cavortin" within mcclellan's lines. communication was cut off with him, and the president was heard to say in the general dumbness of consternation: "there is no news from the army of the potomac. i do not even know that we have an army!" he was himself filled with the universal alarm. his hope was that a bright morning would follow the dark hour, but his faith and belief that god would safely lead them "_out of the wilderness_" was not widely shared. the allusion was to the popular army song, taken from the negro camp-meeting repertoire: "ain't i glad to git out o' de wilderness," which a clergyman had encouragingly chanted awhile before. this wilderness was metaphorically spiritual, but all applied the figure to the wilderness of virginia, where the battles were fought. * * * * * with two guns, hold off an army. one irish artilleryman was left behind, with one gun of his battery, on the wrong bank of the potomac, when the union army retreated before lee. this gunner actually telegraphed direct to the president as his commander-in-chief that: "i have the whole rebel army in my front. send me another gun, and i assure your honor that they shall not come over!" this pleased the president greatly, who answered that the new horatius was to take counsel with his officer--if he could find him! * * * * * breaking up the little game. in , washington was full of talk "and no hard cider." there was the laugh talk of the gossips, who would chatter under fire, the chaff talk of the press men taking things farcically, and the staff talk of the officers envying one another and scheming for places. too many were still "carrying water on both shoulders," and would have welcomed a speedy reconciliation. the president heard that some of the latter voiced the petulant complaint of those weary of the gainless military movements, that the intention was to shift the two armies about till both were exhausted, and, like the peace-at-any-price men, and the still sympathizing pro-slavery "tail," a compromise could be effected and slavery saved. he summoned the parties in this public unbosoming before him. major turner said that major john j. key, staff-officer to general mcclellan, was asked why the unionists had not _bagged_ the rebel army soon after the battle of sharpsburg, whereupon he replied: "that was not the game! we should tire ourselves and the rebels out; that was the only way that the union could be preserved; then we would come together fraternally, and slavery will be saved." major key did not deny the words, but stoutly maintained his loyalty. as mcclellan's staff-officer, he must have known his leader's policy--no confiscation, and no emancipation act--for mcclellan hoped, like thousands of conservatives, to bring about reaction in the south. but the president sharply said with some of his sempiternal humor: "gentlemen, if there is a game even among union men, to have our army not take any advantage of the enemy it can, it is my object to break up that game!" * * * * * "the bottom will fall out." general mcclellan's delayed advance being, in , not upon manassas, but on yorktown, filled the less enthusiastic of his henchmen with consternation. to the general eye he seemed to have pitched on the very point where the enemy wanted to meet with all the gain in their favor. this direct route to richmond they had tried to make impregnable. the president, whom mcclellan openly thwarted with unconcealed scorn for the "civilian," was in profound distress. he called general franklin into his counsel and inquired his opinion of the slowness of movements. "if something is not soon done in this dry rot, the bottom will fall out of the whole affair!" this was his very saying. the confederates evacuated yorktown, but a series of actions ensued, culminating in the massacre at fair oaks, where both sides claimed the victory. soon after, lincoln took matters in hand, relegating mcclellan to one army, and, as commander-in-chief, ordering a general advance. the bottom had fallen out with a vengeance! * * * * * "master of them both." "general mcclellan's attitude is such that in the very selfishness of his nature he cannot but wish to be successful, and i hope he will! and the secretary of war (stanton) is in precisely the same situation. if the military commanders in the field cannot be successful, not only the secretary of war, but myself, for the time being master of both, cannot but be failures."--(speech, august , , at washington.) * * * * * "the skeered virginian." a reviewing-party, of which the president was the center, was stopped at a railroad by harper's ferry, to let a locomotive pass, and look at the old engine-house where john brown, the raider, was penned in and captured. the little switching-engine ran past with much noise and bustle, the engineer blowing the ludicrous whistle in salute to the distinguished visitors. lincoln referred to the recollections of the scene, where old "pottowatomie" thrilled the natives with panic lest he raised the negroes to revolt, and remarked, as the engine flew away: "you call that 'the flying dutchman' do you? they ought to call that thing 'the _skeered_ virginian!'"--(by general o. o. howard, a hearer.) * * * * * "he who fights and runs away--" shortly after the scandalous rout of bull run, the participants in the panic began to try to palliate the disgrace. the president, listening with revived sarcasm to the new perversion, remarked: "so it is your notion _now_ that we _licked_ the rebels and then ran away!" * * * * * no sunday fighting. as the first battle of bull run, a sanguinary defeat to the unionists, was fought on the sabbath day, the president forbade in the future important movements on the day desecrated. but with singular inconsistency in a sage so clear-headed, he did not see that the southerners chuckled, "the better the day, the better the deed," in their victory. * * * * * let a good man alone! general howard, in taking command before washington, incurred the hostility of certain officers of the convivial, plundering, swashbuckling order, who objected to his piety and orderliness. they tramped off to badger the president with their censure. but he who had appreciated the new leader in a glance, reproved them, saying: "howard is a _good_ man. let him alone; in time he will bring things straight." that was what caused the general to reverence him and love him. * * * * * the "blondin" simile. one of the universal topics of the early sixties was the feats of the acrobat blondin. this daring rope-walker crossed the waters by niagara falls on a slack wire. on one occasion he carried a man on his back, to whom he imparted the caution, "grappling as with hooks of steel": "if you upset me with trembling, i shall drop you! i shall catch the rope and be safe! as for you, inexperienced one--_pfitt!_" the chain of defeats and "flashes in the pan" attending the opening of the campaign beginning as a march upon richmond, [footnote: some northern newspapers kept a standing head: "on to richmond!"] but eventuating in a defense of washington, humiliating as was this reverse, promoted all sorts and conditions of men, moneyed, well-grounded, and investing in the new government securities, fluctuating like wildcat stock, to pester the president with jeremiads and counsel. to one deputation from his home parts he administered this caustic rebuke in such illustration as was habitual to him: "gentlemen, suppose all the property you were worth was in gold, and you had put it in the hands of blondin, to carry across the niagara river on a rope, would you shake the cable, or keep shouting out to him: "'blondin, stand up straighter! blondin, stoop a little more! go a little faster! _lean a little more to the north!_ to the south?' "no; you would hold your breath as well as your tongue, and keep your hands off all, until he was safe over. "the government [footnote: lincoln always used "government" and "u. s." as nouns carrying a plural verb.] are carrying an immense weight. untold treasures are in their hands. they are doing the very best they can. don't pester them! keep silence, and we will get you safe across." * * * * * the pioneer's land-title. judge weldon was appointed united states attorney, acting in illinois. being at washington, some speculators, knowing he was an old friend of the president, engaged him for their side. they wanted to get cotton permits from the treasury, which was feasible, but made sure that the military would recognize these passes--no doubt, if the president would countersign them. otherwise the army officers acted often without regard to trade desires. on broaching the subject to the potentate on whose lips so much hung at the epoch, the latter brightened up and, in his branching-off manner, said: "by the way, what has become of your friend robert lewis?" lewis was the clerk of the court in illinois, and at home, well and thrifty. "do you remember," continued the president, "his story about his going to missouri to look up some mormon lands belonging to his father?" whereupon, as weldon said that he had forgot some details, the story-teller related with unction: "this robert lewis, on coming of age, found papers in his father's muniments, entitling him as heir to lands in northeastern missouri, where the mormons had attempted settling before their enforced exodus. there was no railroad, so lewis rode out to that part and thought he had located the land. for the night he stopped at a solitary log house. a gruff voice bade him come in, not very hospitably. the owner was a long, lanky man about eleven feet high, 'bob' thought. he had a rifle hanging on its hooks over the fireplace, also about eleven feet long, bob also reckoned. he was interrupted in 'necking' bullets, for they were cast in a mold and left a little protuberance where the run left off. "this first comer had been there some time and seemed to know the section, but was rather indifferent to the stranger's inquiries about the site of _his_ lands. teased at this unconcern, so opposite to the usual feeling of settlers who like a neighbor in the lonesomeness, lewis hastened to lay down the law: "'he was looking up the paternal purchase. here were the titles,' spreading out the papers. 'that is _my_ title to this section. you are on it. what is yours?' "the other had shown some slight interest in the topic by this time. he paused in his occupation and pointed with his long arm to the long rifle, saying: "'young man, do you see that gun? that is _my_ title, and if you do not git out o' hyar pretty quick, you will feel the force of it!' "lewis crammed his papers into his saddle-bags and rushed out to bestride his pony--but said that the man snapped his gun at him twice before he was out of range. "now," resumed mr. lincoln, "the military authorities have the same title against the civil ones--the guns! the gentlemen themselves may judge what the result is likely to be!" mr. weldon reported to his employers, at willard's hotel, and they laughed heartily at the illustration, but they did not proceed with the cotton _speck_, understanding what would be the administration's policy as well as if a proclamation were issued.--(by judge weldon.) * * * * * "cheers not military--but i like them!" after the disarray of the first bull run battle, the president drove out to the camps to rally the "boys _in the blues_." general sherman was only a colonel, and he had the rudeness of a military man to hint to the visitor that he hoped the orator would not speak so as to encourage cheering and confusion. the president stood up in his carriage and prefaced his speech with this exordium: "don't cheer, boys; i confess that i rather like it, myself; but colonel sherman, here, says it isn't military, and i guess we had better defer to his opinion." with his inimitable wink, which would have been an independent fortune to a stage comedian. * * * * * numbering the hairs of his--tail! a congressional committee selected to examine and report upon a new cannon, produced so voluminous a tome that lincoln, reviewing it, dropped it in disgust and commented: "i should want a new lease of life to read this through! why can't a committee of this kind occasionally exhibit a grain of common sense? if i send a man to buy a horse for me, i expect him to tell me his points, not how many hairs there are in his tail!"--(authenticated by mr. hubbard, member of congress of connecticut, to whom the remark was addressed.) * * * * * an unconventional order. on going over the minor orders, riders, and corrections of the president, it will be seen that he never succumbed to conforming with the stale and set phrases of the civil-service documents. for an instance of his unquenchable humor read the following discharge: two brothers, smiths, of boston, had been arrested, held, and persecuted for a long period by a military tribunal. the charge was defrauding the government. the hue and cry about the cheating contractors called for a victim. but the chief executive on perusing the testimony concluded that the defendants were guiltless. he wrote the subsequent release: "whereas, franklin w. and j. c. smith had transactions with the navy department to the amount of one and a quarter millions of dollars; and, whereas, they had the chance to steal a million, and were charged with stealing twenty-two hundred dollars--and the question now is stealing a hundred--i don't believe they stole anything at all! therefore, the record and findings are disapproved--declared null and void--and the defendants are fully discharged." * * * * * "it occurs to me that i am commander!" to the prairie man the climate of washington would be almost tropical. nevertheless, it participates of american meteorological variability, as "old probability" would admit. one night, lincoln, coming out of his rooms at the executive mansion to make his nocturnal round, finishing with the call for the latest despatches at garrison headquarters, noticed as the fierce gale shook him and scourged him with sleet, that a soldier was contending with the storm just outside the outer door. "young man," said he, turning sharply to him, "you have got a cold job to-night. step inside and guard there." the soldier stoutly contended--for the colloquy became an argument by lincoln's delight in debate. he persisted that he was posted there by orders and must not budge save by a superior countermand. "hold on, there!" cried lincoln, pleased at the arguer supplying him with a decisive weapon; "it occurs to me that i am commander-in-chief! and so, i order you to go inside!" * * * * * compliments is all they do pay! a paymaster introduced to the president by the united states district marshal, remarked with independence noticeable in the sect: "i have no official business with you, sir--i only called to pay my compliments!" "i understand," was the retort; "and from the soldiers' complaints, i think that is all you gentlemen do pay!" * * * * * bail the potomac with a spoon. there is as pathetic a picture as the old sated marquis of queensberry (thackeray's steyne and history's "old q.") murmuring as he gazed from his castle window on the unsurpassed view of the thames valley, "oh, this cursed river running on all the day!" in president lincoln watching the broad potomac where all was so quiet, and yet the hidden and watchful enemy lined the other bank. a petitioner hemmed him in a corner of the room with this sight, and poured on him the bucket of his woes. the at last irritated worm turned on him, and cried: "my poor man! go away! do go away! i cannot meddle in your case. i could as easily bail the potomac with a teaspoon as attend to all the details of the army!" * * * * * "we shall beat them, my son!" george w. curtis, new york editor, called on the president in the first winter of the war, with the illinoisian's friend, judge arnold. he said that the official wore a sad, weary, and anxious look, and spoke with a softened, touching voice. but he added to his good-by at the door in shaking hands, with paternal kindness and profound conviction: "we shall beat them, my son! we shall beat them!" * * * * * "little for so big a business." before the war the museums of the eastern states were regaled by an "infant drummer." this lad, harry w. stowman, at the age of seven or eight, was a proficient on the drum. he was seen by this editor, executing solos of great difficulty, and accompanying the orchestra with variations on his unpromising instrument, which musicians praised and in which he avoided monotony with precocious talent. grown up, still a rare drummer, he was attached to the germantown hospital as post drummer. at the first inauguration he was with the band and noticed by the president. with his habit of applauding the young, the latter spoke to him, commended his playing, and remarked: "you are a very little man to be in this big business!" he took him up, kissed him, and paternally set him down, drum and all. mr. stowman lived to the age of forty with this pretty memory. * * * * * not "shoulder-straps," but hardtack. at a military function when lincoln presented a new commander to a legion, one of the soldiers burst out with that irreverence distinguishing the american volunteer: "it is not shoulder-straps (the officers' insignia), but hardtack that we want!" hardtack was the nickname for the disused ship bread turned over to the army by remorseless contractors. * * * * * "maryland a good state to move from!" thurlow weed, prominent "wire-puller," presented as a preferable puppet to montgomery blair his choice, henry winter davis, upon which the president said: "davis? judge david davis put you up to this. he has davis on the brain. a maryland man who wants to get out! maryland must be a good state to move from. weed, did you ever hear, in this connection, of the witness in court asked to state his age? he said sixty. as he was on the face of it much older, but persisted, the court admonished him, saying: "'the court knows you to be older than sixty!' "'oh, i understand now,' owned up the old fellow. 'you are thinking of the ten years i spent in maryland; that was so much time lost and did not count!'" * * * * * don't swap horses crossing a stream. the setting up and the bowling over of the generals commanding the army defending washington from mcdowell at bull run to meade at gettysburg, resembles a grim game at tenpins. the president, who tried to find a professional captain to relieve him of his responsibility as nominally war-chief of the national forces, therefore smiled sarcastically when the ninety-ninth deputation came to suggest still another aspirant to be the new napoleon, and said to it: "gentlemen, your request and proposition remind me of two gentlemen in kentucky. "the flat lands there bordering on the rivers are subject to inundations, so the fordable creek becomes in an instant a broad lake, deep and rapidly running. these two riders were talking the common topic--in that famous blue grass region where fillies and _fill-es_, as the _voyageur_ from canada said in his broken english, are unsurpassable for grace and beauty. each fell to expatiating upon the good qualities of his steed, and this dialogue was so animated and engrossing they approached a ford without being conscious of outer matters. there was heavy rain in the highlands and an ominous sound in the dampening air. they entered the water still arguing. then, at midway, while they came to the agreement to exchange horses, with no 'boot,' since each conceded the value of the animals, the river rose. in a twinkling the two horses were floundering, and the riders, taken for once off their balance, lost stirrup and seat, and the four creatures, separated, were struggling for a footing in the boiling stream. away streaked the horses, buried in foam, three or four miles down, while the men scrambled out upon the new edge. "gentlemen," concluded the president, drawing his moral with his provoking imperturbability, "those men looked at each other, as they dripped, and said with the one voice: 'ain't this a lesson? don't swap horses crossing a stream!'"--(heard by superintendent tinker, war telegrapher.) * * * * * "no placing thorns in the side of my worst enemy!" the free constitution of maryland was the work of lincoln. his and its supporters made a party to go to washington and congratulate the president on the victory. they had a band and serenaded him in the white house until he came forth. but he said, to the dampening of their ardor, when the cheering had subsided: "my friends, i appreciate this honor very highly, but i am very sorry to see you rejoice over the defeat of those opposed to us. it is furthest from my desire to place a thorn in any one's side, though he be my worst enemy."--(recited by mr. hy. g. willis, baltimore, in the _sun_ of that city.) * * * * * the lincoln plan of campaign. this historical document promised at one time to be a problem like the sibilline leaves or czar peter's will. but secretary h. c. whitney declares that it existed as he had it laid before him by the strategist. "running his long forefinger down the map of virginia, he said: 'we must drive them away from here (manassas gap, where indeed were fights over the keystone), and clear them out of this part of the state, so that they cannot threaten them here (washington) and get into maryland.' (unfortunately, the rebels did threaten washington right on and entered maryland and pennsylvania, as late as july, , and by a cavalry raid, a year later.) "'we must keep up a good and thorough blockade of their ports. we must march an army into east tennessee and liberate the union sentiment there. (this was not finally done till the end of .) "'finally, we must rely on the (southern) people growing tired, and saying to their leaders: "we have had enough of this thing, and will bear it no longer."'" in , a year after, lincoln says to mcclellan: "we have distinct and different plans for a movement of the army of the potomac: yours to be down the chesapeake, etc.; mine, to move directly to the point on the railroads southwest of manassas. (he hugs his original idea.)... in case of disaster, would not a retreat be more difficult by your plan than mine?" you see the prudence in him esteemed ignorant and consequently blindly rash. all this amounted to nothing when the president trusted fully to grant as his lieutenant. * * * * * the commander should obey orders. the president at fort stevens was the mark for a rebel battery. a colonel in command was diffident about ordering the superior about, but he was averse to letting the "dare" bring on a fatality, as the sharpshooters had an easy butt in the lincoln exceptional figure. so he took the advice of mr. registrar chittenden, on the staff, and bade the president retire, or he would move him by a file of men. "and you would do quite right, my boy!" acquiesced the chief. "i should be the last man to set an example of disobedience." * * * * * the idlers equaled the effectives. during a review of general howard's corps on the rappahannock, in april, , president lincoln noticed, whether his eyes were "unmilitary or not," that a very numerous mass of men were spectators, though wearing a semisoldierly look and clothes. they were, in fact, the inevitable hangers-on of an army, the more in number, as the escaped slaves were welcomed by the soldiers, as they made them do their dirty work. the commanding general explained that they were "the cooks, the bottle-washers, and the nigger waiters." they had come out to see the president. "that review yonder," returned lincoln gently, as he smiled, "is about as big as ours!"--(by general o. o. howard.) * * * * * rest! sitting before his desk in his office, at the white house, lincoln quaintly uttered: "i wish george washington or some of those old patriots were here in my place so that i could have a little rest."--(heard by general viele.) * * * * * "i can bear censure, but not insult!" an army officer appeared before the president with a statement of his defense against a sentence of cashiering. he was told that his own paper did not warrant the superior interference. but he showed up twice more, repeating the plea and the version of his own preparation. at the continued repulse he blurted out: "i see, mr. president, that you are not disposed to do me justice!" if lincoln was the embodiment of any one virtue it was justice to all. at this slur he sprang up and put the fellow out of the door by a lift of his collar, saying: "never show yourself in this room again! i can bear censure, but not insult!" * * * * * a battle of roses. at every reverse to the unionists, the more or less secret sympathizers with the seceders reiterated the cry that gentler measures should be used against "our erring brothers." to one such pleader, the president severely, but humorously, responded, in writing: "would you have me drop the war where it is, or would you prosecute it in future with elder-stalk squirts charged with rose-water?" mr. lincoln may or may not have said this and thus--but he certainly _wrote_ it, for which see his letter to c. bullitt, july , . guns of elder squirts are mentioned by his dear shakespeare. * * * * * "help me let go!" the year had its gold in the victories of murfreesboro and perryville in the west, but in the neighborhood of the capital general burnside's defeat at fredericksburg, while his supporters counted on his justifying his superseding mcclellan, clouded all washington. the staff-officer [footnote: an account says it was governor curtin in person.] who brought the painful news saw that the president was so saddened that he faltered an apology for the nature of his mission. "i wish, mr. president, that i might be the bearer of good instead of bad news--i wish i brought the intelligence by which you could conquer or get rid of these rebellious states!" his hearer smiled at the essay to cheer him, who believed he would "never sleep again," and related, with a view to enliven him also, the story of "help me let go." the version, circulating viva voce, ran as follows: "that reminds me of the camp where a bear suddenly made his appearance and scattered the party. all save one shinned up trees, or got behind rocks, and that one meeting the animal head on, before he could turn, seized bruin by the ears and held on 'like grim death to a dead nigger.' "recovering from their fright the hunters came out of ambush and were unable to do anything but laugh at the fix their friend was in. "'you ain't mastered, are you?' asked they. "'not licked, but i want you to help me let go!'" mr. lincoln expressed himself when he said he was slow to learn and slow to forget; the two qualities are redeemed by his wonderful ease and quickness in remembering. to quote well is good, but to quote fitly is better. his intimates noticed that he would reecho a story--a simile or a tag--and so neatly apply it that it seemed fresh on the second use. he was an admirable actor, though not appreciated in that light; for he could reappear in the same part without palling. hence one often meets his stories, as, for instance, this one. his life law partner, herndon, tells it as used toward a petty judge, in illinois, of inferior ability to lincoln's. it was a murder case, and this bully on the bench kept ruling against herndon and lincoln. a material point was ruled adversely just at the refreshment recess. lincoln withdrew sore, as he believed that the judge was personally controverting his positions. he avowed his own feelings, and announced: "i have determined to _crowd_ the court to the wall and regain my position before night." as judge herndon was a bystander, his account of the further proceedings must be as faithful as veracious: "at the reassembling of court, mr. lincoln rose to read a few authorities in support of his position, keeping within the bounds of propriety just far enough to avoid a reprimand. he characterized the continuous rulings against him as not only unjust but foolish, and, figuratively speaking, peeled the court from head to foot.... lincoln was alternately furious and eloquent, and after pursuing the court with broad facts and pointed inquiries in rapid succession, he made use of this homely incident to clinch his argument." (the tale is given as about a wild boar. in either phrase, the point is that the judge was attached to his tartar and wanted to be let go!) "the prosecution tried in vain to break lincoln down," concludes mr. herndon, "and the judge, badgered effectually by lincoln's masterly arraignment of law and fact, pretended to see the error of his former position, and finally reversed his decision in his tormentor's favor. lincoln saw his triumph and surveyed a situation of which he was master." * * * * * splitting the difference. upon the western virginia stateship bill passing in congress, an opponent, mr. carlisle, ran to the president. he urged him to veto the bill. "well, i'll tell you what i'll do: i'll split the difference and say nothing about it!"--(frank moore.) * * * * * in the inca's position. long after the president reconsidered his hasty surmise that the impending war was "artificial crisis," congress continued to waver, and no one put forward a definite and working policy for the head who avowed that he never had one. in his despondency and lonesomeness, he welcomed an old friend from his state, who, however, like the rest, had his frets and rubs to seek solace for. "you know better than any man living that, from my boyhood up, my ambition was to be president. i am, at least, president of one part of the divided country; but look at me! with a fire in my front and one in my rear to contend with, and not receiving that cordial cooperative support from congress, reasonably expected, with an active and formidable enemy in the field threatening the very life-blood of the government, my position is anything but on a bed of roses." * * * * * "blind" fortune. a soldier shot in the head so as to be deprived of sight in both eyes left the carver hospital, washington, and blundered in crossing the avenue. at that very moment the president's carriage was coming along to the soldiers' home from the mansion. the coach alone would probably have not brought any casualty upon the unfortunate young invalid, but it was again surrounded by one of the cavalry detachments, which lincoln insisted on being withdrawn, but it was replaced, for the time. the soldier hearing this double clatter of hoofs became bewildered, and stood still in the midroad, or, if anything, inclined toward the thundering danger. the cavalry chargers, trained to avoid hurting men--for a rider might be thrown--eluded contact, and the coachman neatly pulled aside. in the next moment, in a cloud of dust, the president, leaning out of the window, to ascertain the cause of the abrupt stop, saw the poor young soldier by his side. lincoln threw out a hand to seize him by the arm, and reassure him of safety by the vibrating clutch. then, perceiving the nature of the affair, he asked in a voice trembling with emotion about the man's regiment and disablement. the man was from the northwest--michigan. lumbermen--and they are of the woods woody out there--and lincoln believed in "the ax as the enlarger of our borders"--are brotherly. the next day the soldier was commissioned lieutenant with perpetual leave, but full pay.--(by the veteran reservist, h. w. knight, of the escort.) * * * * * little david and the stone for goliath. in the spring, , spies and foreign officers who had seen the rebel ram _merrimac_ being built at norfolk, reported her as formidable. the united states _galena_, our first ironclad, was a failure. there was no vessel of the kind to deal with the monster save ericsson's floating battery, ready for sea in march, called the _monitor_, as a warning to great britain, expected to interfere on behalf of the south and raise the blockade over the cotton ports. this craft with a revolving turret was just as much of a new idea as its prototype. on march , the _merrimac_ came out of norfolk and ran down the _cumberland_ sloop of war; blew the _congress_ to splinters, and compelled her being blown up to save her from the enemy; the _minnesota_ was run aground to prevent being rammed. the victor returned to her dock to make ready for a fresh onslaught. the effect was profound; it seemed no exaggeration to suppose that the irresistible conqueror would pass through the united states fleet at hampton roads and, speeding along the coast, reduce new york to the most onerous terms or to ashes. on sunday, the ninth, the _monitor_ arrived after a sea passage, showing she rode too low for ocean navigation. though in no fit state for battle, no time was allowed her, as the _merrimac_ ran out to exult over the ruins of the encounter. the _monitor_ threw herself in her way, bore her broadside without injury, and her shock with impunity, but on the other hand hurled her extremely heavy ball in, under her water-line. the ram backed out, and, wheeling and putting on full steam, returned to her haven. she was, it appears, too low to cross the bar to go up to richmond, and was not ocean-going; she was blown up when yorktown was evacuated by the confederates in may, . the president had said of her defeater, to some naval officers: "i think she will be the veritable sling with the stone to smite the philistine _merrimac_." * * * * * lincoln's cheese-box on a raft. there is a chapter yet to be published upon iron-clad war-ships, as introduced practically in the civil war. to the southerners is due the innovation on a fair scale, though the experiments were not at all profitably demonstrative. upon rumors that the enemy were building the novelties of iron-cased vessels, the federal government responded by voting money--and throwing it away upon a fiasco. meanwhile, the others had razeed a frigate, the _merrimac_, and upon an angular roof laid railroad-iron to make her shot-proof. stories of her likelihood to be a terror, especially as she was stated by spies to be seaworthy, inspired the americanized swedish naval engineer, ericsson, to build a turret-ship. the naval construction board unanimously rebuffed the innovator. luckily, president lincoln became interested as a flat-boat builder, in his youth. he took up the inventor and the design. he scoffed at the idea that the man had not planned thoroughly, saying, as to the weight of the armor sinking the hull: "out west, in boat-building, we figured out the carrying power to a nicety." his championship earned the _monitor_ the name of lincoln's "cheese-box on a raft." the assistant secretary of the navy, knowing all the facts, observes: "i withhold no credit from captain john ericsson, her inventor, but _i know_ the country is principally indebted to president lincoln for the construction of this vessel, and for the success of the trial to captain worden."--(captain fox, ericsson's adviser, confirms this credit.) * * * * * no "dutch courage." after the miraculous intervention of the ericsson _monitor_, the president took a party aboard to inspect the little champion which had saved the fleet and, perhaps, the capital, where the captain received them. he apologized for the limited accommodation, and for the lack of the traditional lemon and necessary attributes for a presidential visit. but the teetotaler chief merrily replied: "some uncharitable persons say that old bourbon valor inspires our generals in the field, but it is plain that _dutch courage_ was not needed on board of the _monitor!_" * * * * * "if i had as much money and was as badly skeered----" in march, , after her terrifying exploits, the _merrimac_ ram was reported to have escaped to sea and was seeking fresh prey to devour. the eastern seaports were in a panic. a deputation of new york's merchant princes, bullion barons, and plutocrats generally, representing "a hundred millions," was the rumor heralding their "rush" visit to the capital, arrived at the white house. the spokesman faltered that the great metropolis was in peril, that treasures were involved by the apprehension, and that, in brief, the government ought to take measures to defend the empire city from the spite of this irresistible ocean-terror. at the conclusion, the patient hearer responded: "well, gentlemen, the government has at present no vessel which can sink this _merrimac_. (they were not, for state reasons, to know what the sly fox had up his sleeve.) the government is pretty poor; its credit is not good; its legal-tender notes are worth only forty cents on your wall street; and we have to pay you a high rate of interest on our loans. now, if i were in your place, and had as much money as you represent, and was as badly _skeered_ as you say you are--i'd go right back to new york and build some war-vessels and present them to the government."--(authenticated by schuyler colfax, afterward vice-president under general grant; and by judge davis, who presented the delegation.) * * * * * "it pleases her, and it don't hurt me." april, , closed brilliantly for the union, as new orleans was captured. general porter phelps issued a proclamation which freed the slaves. as on previous occasions, when this bomb was brought out, the president had directed its being stifled and reserved for _his_ occasion, there was wonder that he took no official notice of the premature flash. taken to task by a friendly critic for his odd omission, he deigned to reply: "well, i feel about it a good deal like that big, burly, good-natured canal laborer who had a little waspy bit of a wife, in the habit of beating him. one day she put him out of the house and switched him up and down the street. a friend met him a day or two after, and rebuked him with the words: "'tom, as you know, i have always stood up for you, but i am not going to do so any longer. any man may stand for a bullyragging by his wife, but when he takes a switching from her right out on the public highway, he deserves to be horsewhipped.' "tom looked up with a wink on his broad face, and, slapping the interferer on the back with a leg-of-mutton fist, rejoined: "'why, drop it! it pleases her and it don't hurt me!'" * * * * * "let him squeal if he works." one of the northern war governors was admirably loyal and devoted to the reunion, but he was set on doing things his own way, and protested every time he was called on for men or material. lincoln saw that he was willing, and was only like the lady who "methinks protests too much." so he told secretary stanton, who laid before him the objections: "never mind! these despatches do not mean anything. go right ahead. the governor reminds me of a boy i knew at a launching. he was a small boy, chosen to fit the hollow in the midst of the ways where he should lie down, after knocking out the king-dog, which holds the ship on the stocks, when all other checks are removed. the boy did everything right, but yelled as if he was being murdered every time the keel rushed over him in the channel. i thought the hide was being peeled from his back, but he wasn't hurt a mite. "the shipyard-master told me that the boy was always chosen for the job, doing his work well and never being hurt, but that he _always_ squealed in that way. "now, that's the way with our governor; make up your mind that he is not hurt and that he is doing the work all right, and pay no attention to his squealing." to his confidant, general viele, the president said: "we cannot afford to quarrel with the governors of the loyal states about collateral issues. we want their soldiers." * * * * * brigadiers cheap--chargers costly. the news was transmitted to the executive that a brigadier-general and his escort of cavalry had been "gobbled up," the current and expressive term, by rebel raiders, near fairfax court-house, close enough to resound the echoes of the affray. "i am sorry of the loss of the horses," deplored the president. "i mean that i can make a brigadier-general any day--but those horses cost the government a hundred and twenty-five to fifty dollars a head!" * * * * * to cure singing in the head. the key to the trammels which bore upon the several generals of the army of the potomac is found in the fears of the inhabitants of the capital that at the least weakness in its defenders, there would be a shifting of the two governments, and the richmond one would replace that at washington. [footnote: this seems unlikely now, but general lee and many competent judges clung to the belief that, had his general early held his position at gettysburg, jefferson davis, and not abraham lincoln, would have occupied washington's seat--for a time, anyway! but if--the story of the civil war is studded with "ifs."] but the navy was not considered in this relation. hence, there was a proposition to draw the rebel forces from the north, by threatening the southern seaports with naval attacks, and descents of the tars and marines. a deputation visited the president with this project. he listened to its unfolding with his proverbial patient attention, and rejoined: "this reminds me of the case of a girl out our way, troubled with a singing in the head. all the remedies having been uselessly tried, a plain, common horse-sense sort of a fellow (he bowed to the deputation) was called in. "'the cure is simple,' he said; 'what is called by sympathy--make a plaster of psalm tunes and apply to the feet; it will draw the singing down and out!'"--(repeated by frank carpenter's "recollections.") * * * * * bowing to the boy of battles. congressman w. d. kelley wished to procure the admittance of a youth into the naval school. though a lad he had "shown the mettle of a man" on two serious occasions, while belonging to the gunboat _ottawa_. the president has the right to send three candidates to the school yearly, who have served a year in the naval service. thrilled by the recital of the youth's heroic conduct, the president wrote to the secretary of the navy to have the boy put on the list of his appointees. but the subject was found short of the age required. he would not be fourteen until september of that year, and it was but july. lincoln had the hero appear before him. he admired him frankly and altered the order so as to suit the later date. he bade the boy go home and have "a good time" during the two months, as about the last holiday he would get. the president had reconsidered his first impression that the "disturbance" was but "an artificial excitement." "and that's the boy who did so gallantly in those two great battles!" he mused; "why, i feel that i should bow to him, and not he to me."--(authority: congressman w. d. kelley; the person was willie bladen, u. s. n.) * * * * * when washington was all one tavern. as men wining with mars expect to sup with pluto, the drinking at the capital during the war was horrifying. the bars were overflowing with officers, and while, as "orpheus c. kerr" was saying of the civil-service corps, that spilling red ink was very different from spilling red blood, the novices in uniform were staining their new coats with port. coming out of the west with the unique recommendation, "this gentleman from kentucky never drinks," president lincoln had only the american standby, the ice-water pitcher, on his sideboard. and up to the last, even when the jubilation upon the war's close made many a stopper fly out of the tabooed bottle, he could say: "my example never belied the position i took when i was a young man." so he could reply to a new england women's temperance deputation, probably believing the caricaturists who pictured "old abe" mint-juleping with the eagle. "they would be rejoiced if they only knew how much i have tried to remedy this great evil." indeed, he was still "meddling" when he wrote and spoke against drunken habits in the army, especially among the officers. * * * * * "break the critter where slim!" lincoln's letters to his generals would be a revelation of character if it were not already famed. he warns "fighting joe" hooker, in june, , "not to get entangled on the rappahannock, like an ox jumped half over a fence and liable to be torn by dogs, front and rear, without a fair chance to give one way or kick the other." later: "fight lee, too, when opportunity offers. if he stays where he is, fret him--and fret him!" finally: "if the head of lee's army is at martinsburg, and the tail on the plank road between fredericksburg and chancellorsville, the critter must be slim _somewhere_; could you not break him there?" * * * * * how get him out? during the avalanche of plans to conduct the suppression of the rebellion, a genius proposed what afterward seemed a forecast for sherman's march to the sea. but at the time, lincoln saw in it merely a desperate venture which would detail a rescue-party much more important. "that reminds me," he said, with his whimsical smile, "of a cooper out my way, new at the trade and much annoyed by the head falling in as he was hooping in the staves around it. but the bright idea occurred to him to put his boy in to hold up the cover. only when the job was completed by this inner support, the new problem rose: how to get the boy out? "your plan is feasible, sir; but how are you to get the boy out?" (the story was originally credited to a chinese cooper, to whom modern caskmaking was a mystery.) * * * * * "a pleasure to preside, at last!" on the th of march, , when congress was closing the session, president lincoln gave away the bride at a marriage ceremony held--by his invitation--in the house of representatives' chamber. this seems a singular and high honor to the couple. their preeminence and the function being acclaimed by all the notables connected with the field and the forum in the capital, was a characteristic testimonial to the comforters whose service to the soldier was inestimable. the pair were john a. fowle and elida rumsey, the man from boston, the lady from new york. they were both attendants on the hospitals at the front, when their acquaintance verged into community, and this eventful matrimony. lincoln had met both, in his continuous calls at the hospitals, and offered the west wing of the capitol building for the wedding. he gave away the bride, and in the records figure his name and those of the illustrious witnesses. he gave a huge basket of the finest flowers from the white house conservatory. he stayed to witness the dedication of the soldier's library, founded by mr. fowle, who had seen the arrant want of reading-matter by our soldiers--so few being illiterate. at the president's hint, congress granted the ground for the library, but the pension office now occupies the site. sixty-three was a dark year, and the president might well say on this typical incident, during a time there was little marrying, it is for once a pleasure to _preside_. * * * * * on the lord's side. on a pastor assuring the president that "the lord is on our side!" he replied: "i am not at all concerned about that, for i know that the lord is always on the side of the right. but it is my constant anxiety and prayer that i and this nation should be on the lord's side." * * * * * "to canaan!" this hymn plays quite a part in the music of the civil war. there is a negro variation--"canaan's fair and happy land," given to the old hymn, "canaan's happy shore," which, better known by its chorus: "say, brothers, will you meet us?" and turned by the soldiers into the grand "john brown's body's moldering in the grave, but his soul is marching on," was paraphrased by julia ward howe into a "battle hymn." and holmes wrote "to canaan," relative to the first levy. and to top these, the southerners had a parody on the "old john brown," also called "lincoln going to canaan." * * * * * "going to canaan!" although the south is a poetic country, no bard wrote any "marseillaise hymn" on that side. one of the few effusions bidding tolerably for publicity was "lincoln going to canaan," a parody on the numerous negro camp-meeting lays in which lincoln was hailed as the coming moses. this burlesque was laid before mr. lincoln, he taking the grim relish in hits at him, caricatures and sallies, which great men never spurn. "going to canaan," he (is reported to have) said. "going to _cane 'em,_ i expect!" * * * * * the fox appointed paymaster. the president came into the telegraph-office of the white house, laughing. he had picked up a child's book in his son "tad's" room and looked at it. it was a story of a motherly hen, struggling to raise her brood to lead honest and useful lives; but in her efforts she was greatly annoyed by a mischievous fox. she had given him many lectures on his wicked ways, and--said the president: "i thought i would turn over to the finis, and see how they came out. this is what it said: "'and the fox became a good fox, and was appointed paymaster in the army.' i think it very funny that i should have appointed him a paymaster. i wonder who he is?" such inability to distinguish one officer as "good" does not speak highly for the eradication of the soldiers' prejudice for the gentry.--(superintendent tinker.) * * * * * risking the dictatorship. every one of the generals leading the army of the potomac was accused of the "longing for the presidency," which placed the occupant in a peculiar predicament. of general "joe" hooker, it was said in the press and in the washington hotels that he was the "man on horseback," and would, at the final success of clearing out the rebel beleaguers, set up as dictator. hence the letter which lincoln wrote to him: "i have heard in such a way as to believe it, of your recently saying that both the army and the government needed a dictator. of course, it was not for this, but in spite of it, that i have given you the command of the army of the potomac. what i now ask of you is military success, and i will risk the dictatorship!" it was april, , hooker issued the stereotyped address full of confidence on taking command, advanced, and withdrew his army after the repulse by lee. all he scored was the death of "stonewall" jackson, lee's right hand, and that was an accident. as lee invaded maryland, all hopes of hooker's dictatorship were dispersed in the battle smoke penetrating too far north to be pleasant incense to fallen heroes. * * * * * a stage in the ceaseless march onward to victory. veterans will remember the peculiar effect, on a forced march, of the younger or less-enduring comrade falling asleep as to all but his eyes and the muscles employed, but stepping out and apparently sustained only by the touching of elbows in the lurching from the ruts in the obliterated road. on the night of the stunning news of the last conflict at chancellorsville, lincoln could derive no comfort from later intelligence. late at night general halleck, commanding the capital, and secretary stanton left him unconsoled. then his secretary, as long as he stayed, heard the man on whom rested the national hopes--her very future--pace his room without pause save to turn. it was like the fisher on the banks who must keep awake for a chance at a grab at the chains of the ship that may burst through the fog and crush his smack like a coconut-shell. at midnight the chief may have stopped to write, for there was a pause--but a breathing-spell. then the pacing again till the attaché left at a.m. when he came in the morning, not unanxious himself, he found his chief eating breakfast alone in the unquitted room. on the table lay a sheet of written paper: instructions for general hooker to renew fighting although it only brought the slap on the other cheek--at winchester--and still lee pressed on into pennsylvania till harrisburg was menaced! but meade supplanted "fighting joe," and gettysburg wiped out the shame of the later repulses. (the private secretary was w. o. stoddard.) * * * * * working for a living makes one practical. the year was black-lettered in the north by disaster. general hooker had been badly beaten by general lee. the confederate advance into pennsylvania shook the strongest faith in the triumph of the federal arms, and the victory of gettysburg was attained at a bloody cost. the draft riots in new york excited a fear that the discontent with the colossal strife was deep-rooted. general thomas, at chickamauga, saved the union army from destruction, but the call for , three-years' men denoted that the end was not even glimpsed. nevertheless, this latter feat of arms gladdened tremulous washington, and among the exploits was cited to the president the desperate victualing of general thomas' exhausted troops by general garfield. he performed a dangerous ride from rosencrantz to the beleagured victor and brought him craved-for provisions. "how is it," inquired president lincoln of an officer, courier of the details, "that garfield did in two weeks what would have taken one of your _west pointers_ two months to accomplish?" the recollection was perfectly well understood by the regular, who thought the amateur commander "meddled too much" with the operations of the field. "because he was not educated at west point," was the reply, but half in jest. "no, that was not the reason," corrected the questioner; "it was because, when a boy, he had to work for a living." he rewarded "the purveyor-general" with the rank of major-general. * * * * * "hold on and chaw!" while in july, , general grant was held at vicksburg by the siege which he successfully prosecuted, the new york draft riots broke out. without knowing from experience that a riot, however portentous, must cease when the mob are drunk or spent, the inevitable contingencies, in his alarm general halleck, at washington, begged general grant to send reenforcements, that he might not weaken the capital defenses to any extent. the commander of the west declined and referred to the president. general horace porter was on grant's staff and saw his smiles as he read the despatch from headquarters. "the president has more nerve than any of his advisers," observed he to his officers, for lincoln did not agree with his cabinet, as to the revolution in the rear; and the message was sent by the staff: "i have seen your despatch, expressing your unwillingness to break your hold. neither am i willing. hold on with a bulldog grip, and _chaw_ and choke as much as possible!" * * * * * the great national job. "the signs look better. the father of waters again goes unvexed to the sea.... the job was a great national one, and let none be banned who bore an honorable part in it. and while those who cleared the great river may well be proud, even that is not all. it is hard to say that anything has been more bravely and well done than at antietam, murfreesboro, gettysburg, and on many fields of lesser note. nor must uncle sam's webfeet be forgotten. not only on the deep sea, the broad bay, and the rapid river, but also up the narrow, muddy bay, and wherever the ground was a little damp, they have been, and made their tracks! thanks to all--for the great republic!"--(letter by president lincoln, regretting inability to attend a meeting of unconditional union men at springfield, illinois; dated august , , to j. c. conkling.) * * * * * for flaying a man alive. a representative of ohio, alexander long, proposed in the house a recognition of the southern confederacy. it must be borne in mind that, before the firing on the supply-steamer at charleston, which was despatched surreptitiously not "to offend the sympathizers' susceptibilities," many good citizens, dwelling on the silence of the constitution as to secession, said openly that they did not see why the states chafing under the partnership all the original thirteen made, should not withdraw peacefully. long was not solitary in his unseemly proposition, which, however, could never have been otherwise than untimely after the first shot. general garfield met the issue with indignation. he called the act "treason!" and denounced the author as a second benedict arnold. he entreated loyal representatives: "do not believe that another such growth on the soil of ohio deformed the face of nature and darkened the light of god's day!" when this speech met the president's eye, he hastened to thank general garfield for having "flayed long alive." * * * * * "one on 'em not dead yet!" as communications were cut off with the north, intense anxiety was occasioned there by the situation in november, , of general burnside, packed in knoxville, tennessee, by longstreet's dreaded veterans. at last a telegram reached the war department, vaguely telling of "firing heard in the direction of knoxville." the president reading, expressed gladness, in spite of the remaining uncertainty. "why," said he to the group of officers and officials, "it reminds me of a neighbor of ours, in indiana, in the brush, who had a numerous family of young ones. they were all the time wandering off into the scrub, but she was relieved as to their being lost by a squall every now and then. she would say: 'thank the laws, there is one still alive!' that is, i hope _one_ of our generals is in the thicket, but still alive and kicking!" indeed, burnside resisted a night storming-party, and longstreet was not "a lane that knew no turning," but turned and retreated! * * * * * the south like an ash-cake. at the end of , the confederacy was scotched if not quite killed. sherman had halved it by striking into savannah. east tennessee and southwest virginia were cut by stoneman. alabama and mississippi were traversed by grierson and wilson. in sum, the new map resembled that of a territory charted off into sections. president lincoln said that its face put him in mind of a weary traveler in the west, who came at night to a small log cabin. the homesteader and his wife said they would put him up, but had not a bite of victuals to offer him. he accepted the truss of litter and was soon asleep. but he was awakened by whispers letting out that in the fire ashes a hoe-cake was baking. the woman and her mate were merry over how they had defrauded the stranger of the food. feeling mad at having been sent to bed supperless--uncommon mean in that part--he pretended to wake up and came forth to sit at the dying fire. he pretended, too, that he was ill from worry. "the fact is, my father, when he died, left me a large farm. but i had no sooner taken possession of it than mortgages began to appear. my farm was situated like this----" he took up the loggerhead poker to illustrate, drawing lines in the ashes so as to enclose the ash-cake. "first one man got so much of it one side," he cut off a side of the hidden dough. "then another brought in a mortgage and took off another piece there. then another here, and another there! and here and there"--drawing the poker through the ashes to make the figure plain--"until," he said, "there was nothing of the farm left for anybody--which, i presume is the case with your cake!" "and, i reckon," concluded mr. lincoln, "that the prospect is now very good of the south being as cut up as the ash-cake!"--(telegraph manager a. chandler.) * * * * * "i count for something!" the true lovers of the south were sorely wrung in by the emperor napoleon taking advantage of the "lockup" of the united states, to set a puppet in the austrian archduke maximilian on the imperial throne--so called--of mexico. it was said that the cabinet of lincoln were divided on the subject; whereon the marquis of chambrun, having the ear of the executive, called on him, and inquired on the real state--would the united states intervene, if only by winking at a filibustering expedition from the south, with northern volunteers accessory, to assist the natives against the usurper? "there has been war enough," was his rejoinder, with that sadness which secretary boutwell declares inseparable from him, but not due to the depression of public affairs. "i know what the american people want; but, thank god! i count for something, and during my second term there will be no more fighting!" it was left for his successor, with the two armies disbanded, but still whetted for slaughter, to expel the french by the mere threat of their union to restore the republic. * * * * * passes no good for richmond. a person solicited the president for a pass to richmond. but the other replied caustically: "i should be happy to oblige you if my passes thither were respected; but i have issued two hundred and fifty thousand to go to richmond, and not one man has got there yet!" * * * * * the mayor is the better horse. the lowell _citizen_ editor participated in a presidential reception in , just before the fall of richmond. the usher giving intimation that the president would see his audience at once, all were ushered into the inner room. "abraham lincoln's countenance bore that open, benignant outline expected; but what struck us especially was its cheerful, wide-awake expressiveness, never met with in the pictures of our beloved chief. the secret may have been that secretary stanton--middle-aged, well-built, stern-visaged man--had brought in his budget good news from grant." after saluting his little circle of callers, they were seated and attended to in turn. first in order was a citizen of washington, praying for pardon in the case of a deserter. "well," said the president, after carefully reading the petition, "it is only natural for one to want pardon; but i must in that case have a responsible name that i _know_. i don't know you. do you live in the city?" "yes." "do you know--h'm! the mayor?" "yes." "well, the _mayor_ is the better horse. bring me his name and i will let the boy off." the soldier was pardoned. * * * * * the real thing superior to the sham battle. on the th of march, , in honor of the president's renewal of office, a grand review had been fixed at city point, outside the capital. whatever the opinion of the old military, the volunteers gave the civilian commander "the soldiers' vote." in imitation of the french soldiers dubbing bonaparte "the little corporal," after his italian victories, the americans promoted lincoln to be their "captain," as walt whitman worded it, after his repeated reinstatement. he was rapturously greeted by "his boys in blue." but the arrangements made at washington in the undisturbed council were upset by general lee. on that very morning he had attacked and taken fort stedman. to drive him out required a veritable action not terminating for several hours. lincoln visited the scene of restoration after the carnage, and, on hearing regrets that the review--the chief _recreation_ of the washingtonians--he checked the light-souled attendants with: "this victory is better than any review." * * * * * the tool turned on the handle. the scales having fallen from our sight and the figure of the greatest american standing out colossal and clean-cut for posterity to worship as without a blemish, it is hard to measure the conceit of the clique of politicians, pettifoggers, and office-seekers certainly assisting in the advancement of abraham lincoln from confined obscurity in the west to the choice of the northern nation. that was not enough, but still gaging him with their tape they withheld justice from him, after he displayed his worth in meeting the impending crisis. when on the heels of the call for , men in , came in spring, , another for , , to fortify general grant in his finishing maneuvers, a murmur was heard. chicago, gallantly having done her part, thought it was pumping at a void. a deputation from cook county, headed by lincolnites, departed for the capital to object to the summons. it was thought by his friends and long supporters that "their own elect" could not resist their plea, or turn it off with a joke. this deputation fined down to three persons, as it was not a patriotic quest. one of them also wished to balk, being joseph medill, editor of the chicago _tribune_. as a matter of course, secretary of war stanton refused the indulgence, obdurate as he was. the president was likewise averse, but he did consent to go over the matter with stanton. the result was the same. all was left solely to lincoln, since the personal argument was implied by the mediums selected. "i"--said medill to miss tarbell--"i shall never forget how mr. lincoln suddenly lifted his head and turned on us a black and frowning face. "'gentlemen,' said he, in a voice full of bitterness, 'after boston, chicago has been the chief instrument in bringing this war on the country. the northwest has opposed the south as new england opposed the south. it was you who were largely responsible for causing the blood to flow as it has. you called for war until we had it. you called for emancipation, and i have given it to you. whatever you have asked, you have had. "'now you come here, begging to be let off from the call for men which i have made to carry out the war you demanded. you ought to be ashamed of yourselves. i have a right to expect better things of you! "'go home and raise your six thousand extra men--the cook county rate. and you, medill, you are acting like a coward! you and your _tribune_ have had more influence than any paper in the northwest in making this war. go home and send us those men!'" they went home, and they raised and sent those men! * * * * * "sooner the fowl by hatching the egg than smashing it." "still the question is not whether the louisiana government, as it stands, is quite all that is desirable. the question is, will it be wiser to take it as it is, and help to improve it, or to reject and disperse?... concede that the new government is to what it should be as the egg to the fowl, we shall sooner have the fowl by hatching the egg than by smashing it. (laughter.)"--(speech by a. lincoln, his last! in answer to a serenade at the white house, th april, , amid illuminations for the victories.) * * * * * too busy to go into another business. there came into the presidential hearing a man of french accent from new orleans. he was evidently a diffident person, not knowing how precisely to state his case. but the burden of it was that he was a real-estate holder in new orleans, and, since the advent of military rulers there, he could not collect his rents, his living. "your case, my friend," said the president, "may be a hard one, but it might be worse. if, with your musket, you had taken your chances with the boys before richmond, you might have found your bed and board before now! but the point is, what would you have me do for you? i have much to do, and the courts have been opened to relieve me in this regard." the applicant, still embarrassed, said: "i am not in the habit of appearing before _big men_." "and for that matter," it was quickly responded, "you have no need to change your habit, for you are not before very big men now;" playfully adding: "i am too busy to go into the rent-collection business." * * * * * the scale of rebels. when, at the finale, lincoln reproved his own wife for using the hackneyed expression of rebels, suggesting confederates, as officially accepted on both sides, a wit commented: "the southerners will be like the jews. as a poor one is simply a jew, a rich one a hebrew, and a rothschild an israelite, so it will be rebels, confederates, and our southern brothers anew!" * * * * * one war at a time. when the austrian archduke, maximilian, was foisted upon mexico as its emperor by napoleon iii., the southerners, who did not have their "bellyful of fighting" by , more than hinted that they would range shoulder to shoulder with the federals to try to expel him and the mercenary marshal bazaine. but the president returned sagaciously: "one war at a time!" it was under his successor, johnson, that the expulsion was effected and the upstart executed by the exasperated mexicans themselves. (note.--this was undoubtedly said, but mr. henry watterson, in his lecture on lincoln, dates it as at the commencement of the war, when secretary seward, to forestall possible european alliances in favor of the confederate states, proposed waging war against france and spain, already allied, and challenging russia and england to follow.) * * * * * "agin' the government." in the summer of , the governor-general of canada paid the president a visit, with a numerous escort. during the late unpleasantness, as much comfort as possible under the neutrality act was believed to have been given the raiders into the border towns, as witness the st. alban's bank steal and the outfitting of blockade-runners. but they were treated at washington with perfect courtesy. the head of the british party, at the conclusion, said with some sarcasm in his genial tone: "i understand, mr. president, that everybody is entitled to a vote in this country. if we remain until november, can _we_ vote?" "you would have to make a longer residence, which i could desire," politely replied the host; "only, i fear we should not gain much by that--for there was a countryman of your excellency, from the sister kingdom of ireland, though, who came here, and on landing wanted to exercise the privilege you seek--to vote early and often! but the officials at castle garden landing-stage laughed at him, saying that he knew nothing about parties, to which he replied: "'bother the parties! it is the same here with me as in the old country--i am agin' the government!' you see, he wanted to vote on the side of the rebellion! your excellency would then be no more at a loss to decide on which side!" * * * * * plowing around a log. a state governor came to washington, furious at the number of troops headquarters commanded of him and the mode of collecting them. irate as he was, general fry saw him bidding good-by to the capitol with a placid, even pleased, mien. the general inquired of lincoln himself how he had been so miraculously mollified. "i suppose you had to make large concessions to him, as he returns from you entirely satisfied?" suggested the general. "oh, no," replied the president, "i did not concede anything. "you know how that illinois farmer managed the big log that lay in the middle of his field? to the inquiries of his neighbors, he announced he had gotten rid of it. "'how did you do it?' they asked. 'it was too big to haul away, too knotty to split, too wet and soggy to burn. whatever _did_ you do?' "'well, now, boys, if you won't tell the secret, i'll tell you how. i just plowed 'round it!' "now, fry, don't tell anybody, but i just plowed around the governor!"--(on the authority of general james b. fry.) * * * * * not the right "clay" to cement a union. in , horace greeley, editor of the new york _tribune_, and a great authority among the farming class and the extremists, consented to attend an abortive peace consultation with southern representatives, george n. sanders, beverly tucker, and clement c. clay, at niagara falls. clay was so set upon jefferson davis being still left as a ruler in some high degree which would condone his action as president of the seceded states, the project, like others, was a "fizzle," as lincoln would have said. to our president, henry clay was the "beau-ideal of a statesman"; but it was clear that his namesake was not of the clay to cement a new union! * * * * * "the man down south." in august, , a painful absorption was noticed in the president's manner, growing more and more strained and depressed. the ancient smile was fainter when it flitted over the long-drawn features, and the eyes seemed to bury themselves out of sight in the cavernous sockets, too dry for tears. these withdrawing fits were not uncommon, but they had become frequent this summer, and at the reception he had mechanically passed the welcome and given the hand-shake. but then the abstraction became so dense that he let an old friend stand before him without a glance, much less the usual hearty greeting expected. the newcomer, alarmed, ventured to arouse him. he shook off his absence of mind, seized the hand proffered him, and, while grasping it, exclaimed as though no others were by, also staring and pained: "excuse me! i was thinking--thinking of a man--down south!" he was thinking of sherman--that military genius who "burned his ships and penetrated a hostile country," like cortez, and from whom no reliable news had been received while he was investing savannah. lincoln had in his mind been accompanying his captain on that forlorn march--"smashing things"--to the sea. * * * * * the dismembered "yaller" dog. toward the end of december, , the news trickled in of the utter discomfiture of confederate general hood's army at nashville, by general thomas. an enthusiastic friend of the president said to him: "there is not enough left of _hood_ to make a dish-rag, is there?" "well, no, medill; i think hood's army is in about the identical fix of bill sykes' dog (the application from dickens is noticeable as showing lincoln's eclectic reading) down in sangamon county. did you never hear it?" as a chicago man mr. medill might be allowed to be ignorant of sangamon valley incidents. "well, this bill sykes had a long, hungry _yaller_ dog, forever getting into the neighbors' meat smokehouses, and chicken-coops, and the like. they had tried to kill it a hundred-odd times, but the dog was always too smart for them. finally, one of them got a coon's _innards,_ and filled it up with gunpowder, and tied a piece of punk in the nozle. when he see this dog a-coming 'round, he fired this punk, split open a corn-cake and _squoze_ the intestine inside, all nice and slab, and threw out the lot. the dog was always ravenous, and swallered the heap--kerchunk! "pretty soon along come an explosion--so the man said. the head of the animal lit on the stoop; the fore legs caught a-straddle of the fence; the hind legs kicked in the ditch, and the rest of the critter lay around loose. pretty soon who should come along but bill, and he was looking for his dog when he heard the supposed gun go off. the neighbor said, innocentlike: 'william, i guess that there is not much of that dog left to catch anybody's fowls?' "'well, no,' admitted sykes; 'i see plenty of pieces, but i guess that dog _as a dog_, ain't of much account.' "just so, medill, there may be fragments of hood's army around, but i guess that army, _as an army_, ain't of much more account!" (joseph medill was editor of the chicago _tribune;_ he was one of the coterie who claimed to have "discovered" abraham lincoln, and surely added propulsion to the wave carrying him to washington. another version of this anecdote is applied to the breaking up of general early's rashly advanced army in july; but it would seem, by mr. medill's name, that this is the genuine; the other is not told in the western vernacular of mr. william sykes.) * * * * * the meteorological omen. the second inauguration day was amid the usual march weather in the district of columbia, like the fickle april in unkinder latitudes: smile and scowl. but as the president kissed the book there was a sudden parting of the clouds, and a sunburst broke in all its splendor. this is testified to by the newspaper correspondents, frank moore, noah brooks, and others. the president said next day: "did you notice the sun burst? it made me jump!" * * * * * did she take the wink to herself? miss anna dickinson, lecturing by invitation in the house of representatives' hall, alluded to the sunburst which came upon the president on inauguration day, just as he took the oath of office. the illustrious auditor sat directly in front of the lady, so that he also faced the reporters' gallery behind her. lincoln amiably glanced over her head, caught sight of an acquaintance among the newspaper men, and winked to him as she made the reference to the so-esteemed omen. next day he said to this gentleman--noah brooks: "i wonder if miss dickinson saw me wink at _you?"_ * * * * * going down with colors flying. all the wire-pulling of the many contestants for the presidential chair failed to get a prize upon it. it was held that there must be _in excelsis_ no "swapping of horses in crossing the stream," still turbid and dangerous. so the national convention, held at baltimore, purged by this time of its former treasonable activity, at the soldiers' fair, held there, the president had alluded to the time when he had to be whisked through as past a bed of vipers, and said: "blessings on the men who have wrought these changes!" all the states voted for the incumbent save missouri, which stood for general grant, but the votes transferred to lincoln, the opinion was unanimous. within two months he was driven by circumstances to call out five hundred thousand men. his partizans regretted the necessity, and on the old story that the people were tired of the war declared it would prove injurious to his re-election. but it is undisputed that about half the levies never reached their mustering-point. the arts and wiles of the marplots were equaled only by the prodigality and persistency of the parents to save their sons from "the evils of camp life." it is but fair to the puritans to accept their plea that the loss of them fighting the country's battles did not so distress them. lincoln replied to the political argument nobly: "gentlemen, it is not necessary that i should be re-elected, but it is necessary that our brave boys in the front should be supported, and the country saved." (the hackneyed phrase had led to his party being nicknamed "the union-savers.") "i shall call out the five hundred thousand more men, and if i go down under the measure i will go down like the _cumberland_, with my colors flying!" (on the th of march, , the confederate iron-clad ram, _merrimac_, ran into and sank the union sloop of war, _cumberland_, nearly all of the latter's company perishing. acting-captain morris refused to strike his flag.) * * * * * there must be the bell-mule. president lincoln formally disavowed the desire erroneously attributed to him by military critics that he wished to die "with soldiers' harness on his back." to quote general grant, to whom he said in their first interview when the victor of the west was summoned to washington to be made lieutenant-general, and given full command over all the national forces: "mr. lincoln stated to me that he had never professed to be a military man, or to know how campaigns should be conducted, and never wanted to interfere with them; but that procrastination on the part of his commanders, and the pressure of people at the north, and of congress, had forced him into issuing the 'executive orders.' he did not know but that they were all wrong, and did not know that some of them were." * * * * * "root, hog, or die!" in february, , permission was requested from the national government for three appointees on a peace commission to confer with the executive. it was granted, but the parties were not allowed to enter washington, as they wanted to do, to give more luster to the course. the interview of the president, mr. seward the "bottle-holder"--as it was facetiously said about this sparring-match for breath--was with alexander stephens, hunter, and campbell, of alabama, on board of the _river queen_, off fort monroe. the discussion lasted four hours, but, though on friendly terms, as "between gentlemen," resulted in nothing. for the president held that the first step which must be taken was the recognition of the union. as was his habit, he rounded off the parley with one of his stories apropos. mr. hunter, a virginian, had assumed that, if the south consented to peace on the basis of the emancipation proclamation, the slaves would precipitate ruin on not only themselves, but the entire southern society. mr. lincoln said to henry j. raymond, of the _times_, new york, that: "i waited for seward to answer that argument, but, as he was silent, i at length said: 'mr. hunter, you ought to know a great deal better about that than i, for you have always lived under the slave system. i can only say in reply to your statement of the case that it reminds me of a man out in illinois, by the name of case, who undertook to raise a very large herd of hogs. it was a great trouble to feed them, and how to get around this was a puzzle to him. at length he hit upon a plan of planting a great field of potatoes, and, when they were sufficiently grown, turned the whole herd into the field and let them have full swing, thus saving not only the labor of feeding the hogs, but also that of digging the potatoes. charmed with his sagacity, he stood one day leaning against the fence, counting his hogs, when a neighbor came along. "'well, well,' said he; 'this is all very fine, mr. case. your hogs are doing very well just now, but, you know, out here in illinois the frost comes early, and the ground freezes for a foot deep. then, what are you going to do?' "this was a view of the matter mr. case had not taken into account. butchering time for hogs was 'way on in december or january! he scratched his head, and at length stammered: "'well, it may come pretty hard on their snouts, but i don't see but it will be "root, hog, or, die!"'" the speaker had no need to draw this moral as to the fate of the south after the war, for black or white, from a _case_ in illinois; the negro minstrel song was current then which supplied the apt allusion, and was called "root, hog, or die." it may well be that the sailors conveying the baffled commissioners to richmond, or the soldiers about the "other government," were chanting the instructive and prophetic chorus: "it doan' make a bit of difference to either you or i, but big pig or little pig, it is root, hog, or die." mr. raymond, in chronicling this anecdote, tells of the new york _herald_ giving the story in a mangled and pointless copy. but it was current in conversation. mr. lincoln was in hopes that "it would not leak out lest some oversensitive people should imagine there was a degree of levity in the intercourse between us." quite otherwise, for the majority thought the illustration as good as any argument, and would have deemed the speaker prophet if they could have foreseen that the south would have to buckle down to hard work to redeem the losses. * * * * * the grant brand of whisky. although a kentuckian--orthodox jest--lincoln was so known for his rare temperance convictions that no one carped at the buffet at his official house being clear of the decanters characterizing it in previous administrations. the total abstinence societies therefore hailed him as an apostle of their creed. consequently, they had been pleased, on certain occasions, at his espousing and cheering their counsel. when general grant was elevating himself by his string of solid victories in the west, it was object of caviling, by the adherents of the generals eclipsed and foreseeing his becoming lieutenant-general, and the slander circulated that "philip sober" got the credit of "philip drunk," perpetrating his plans with the dram-bottle at his elbow. lincoln heard out this spiteful diatribe with his habitual patience, when, calmly looking at the chairman, he responded: "gentlemen, since you are so familiar with the general's habits, would you oblige me with the name of general grant's favorite brand of whisky. i want so to send some barrels of it to my other generals!" the deputation withdrew in poor order. major eckert says that mr. lincoln told him he had heard this story. it was good, and would be very good if he had told it--but he did not. he supposed it was "charged to him to give it currency." he went on to say: "the original is back in king george's time. bitter complaints were made against general wolfe that he was mad. the king, who could be more justly accused of that, replied: 'i wish he would bite some of my other generals.'" * * * * * "a general, at last!" without disparaging the lincoln generals, it may be said that they will never occupy a niche in walhalla beside napoleon's marshals and washington's commanders. but washington society liked them one with another for affording opportunities of outings to the grand reviews and parades. one--that to bull run--turned out a failure, and the southerners chasing the fugitives had the pickings of the iced wines, game pies, and cold chicken which "brick" pomeroy saw strewing the road back. grant's negligent and war-worn uniform did not remind any one of the gay and brilliant period of "old fuss and feathers," the veteran scott. but grant and the other westerner, lincoln, mutually pleased at their first meeting, the latter emerged from the interview exclaiming with joy: "at last, we have a general!" * * * * * a fizzle anyhow! american dash was, in military matters as in others, opposed to the engineering schemes dear to the scientific officers fresh from west point academy. among their projects was the dutch gap canal at city point. when grant, as his lieutenant-general, was conducted by the president to see the forces and their positions, the guide made known his opinion of the undertaking in his frank manner, consonant with the new commander's bluntness. "grant, do you know what this reminds me of? in the outskirts of our springfield, there was a blacksmith of an ingenious turn, who could make something of pretty nigh anything in his line. but he got hold of a bit of iron one day that he attempted to make into a corn-knife, but the stuff would not hold an edge, so he reasoned it would be a claw-hammer; but that would be a loss of overplus, and he tried to make an ax-head. that did not come out to a five-pounder; and, getting disgusted, he blew up the fire to a white heat around the metal mass, when, yanking it out with his tongs, he flung it into the water-tub hard by, and cried out: "'well, if i can't make anything of you, i'll make a fizzle anyhow!' "well, general, i am afeared that that's what we'll make of the dutch gap canal." * * * * * "forget over a grave!" when the _chronicle_, of washington, had the noble courage to speak well of "stonewall" jackson, accidentally shot, as a brave soldier, however mistaken as an american, lincoln wrote to the editor: "i honor you for your generosity to one who, though contending against us in a guilty cause, was nevertheless a gallant man. let us forget his sins over a fresh-made grave." * * * * * if he felt that way--start! although colonel dana, of the private branch of the war office intelligence department, might have claimed exemption from active service, he never spared himself, though such a messenger ran not only the common military dangers, but of the johnnies treating him as a spy. during the battles of the wilderness, acute was the trepidation in washington, where no news had come since a couple of days--grant having "cut loose" and buried himself in the midst of the foes. nevertheless, dana had a train at maryland avenue to take him to the front, and a horse and escort to see him farther; he came to take the president's last orders. but the other had been reflecting on the perils into which he would be sending his favorite despatch-bearer. "you can't tell where lee is, or what he is doing; _jeb_ stuart is on the rampage pretty lively between the rappahannock and the rapidan. it is considerable risk, and i do not like to expose you to it." "but i am all ready; and we are equipped, if it comes to the worst, to run!" "well, now, if you feel that way--start!"--(e. p. mitchell, from dana.) * * * * * figures will prove anything. toward the finish of the rebellion, lincoln was asked to what number the enemy might amount. he replied with singular readiness: "the confederates have one million two hundred thousand men in the field." astonishment being manifested at the precision, he went on, smiling: "every time a union commander gets _licked_, he says the enemy outnumbered him three or four times. we have three or four hundred thousand, so--logic is logic! they are three times that; say, one million two hundred thousand." as a fact, at the grand review before the president (johnson) the two armies of grant and sherman, may, , two hundred thousand veterans filed past. lincoln should have lived to see that glorious march past. * * * * * "i don't want to--but that's it if i must die!" in the ferment, as the term of lincoln's first office-holding was terminating, the old war fever returned by which "little mac (mcclellan), idol of the army" was hailed as "the hope of the country." only this time the presage was that general grant had only to secure that phantasm, the capture of richmond, to be nominated and elected. this reached the president's ears through the "hanged good-natured friend," as sheridan--the wit, not the general--calls the stinging tongue. "well," drawled mr. lincoln, "i feel very much like the man who said he did not particularly want to die, but, if he had got to die, that was precisely the disease he wanted to die of!" * * * * * best let an elephant go! a rebel emissary, the notorious jacob thompson, was reported by the secret service as slipping through the north and trying to get passage to europe on the allan steamship out of portland, maine, or canada. brevet-general dana, confidential officer to the war department and the president, inquired if the fugitive was to be detained at portland, where the provost-marshal thought he could capture him. secretary stanton wanted him apprehended. "h'm," said lincoln, who was being shaved, "i don't know as i have any apprehension in that quarter. when you have an elephant on your hands, and he wants to run away, better let him run!" (note.--the "unbeknownst" story has been applied to this tolerated "escape.") * * * * * history repeats. there is a double echo in the lincolnian saying, "no surrender, though at the end of one or a hundred defeats," from general-president taylor's reply at buena vista: "general taylor never surrenders," to its antecedent, not so well authenticated, of general cambronne at waterloo: "the old guard dies, but does not surrender." * * * * * "not the president, but the old friend." in february, , general grant's plans were so well shaped that, with the reenforcement of general sherman returned from his march to savannah, he could count on crushing up richmond, as an egg under trip-hammers. before this the doom was registered, for the southerners were at the end of their men, as before they had been at that of their means. bridges burned or blown up, the rebel army was pouring out of their capital with the fear that their one or two ways of flight were already blocked by sheridan or sherman. the desperate attempt to arm the slaves against their coming deliverer was the "last kick." lee clung to richmond in hope that his lieutenant, johnston, would check the oncomer, but he was compelled to notify his president and colleagues that flight was their only resource when he could no longer fight. lincoln was at petersburg at grant's headquarters when, a few miles off, davis received the fatal intelligence that lee was being deserted so freely that there would not be a body-guard left him. he fled, to be ignominiously captured in female disguise. his lair was hot when lincoln entered it, and made it his closet, whence he issued his orders. soon after this occupation the victor heard the name of pickett announced to him. the southern general, george pickett, was a protégé of his, as he smoothed his entry upon the west point military academy book when he was a congressman. without either knowing it, the hero was lying dead on a hard-fought field close by. but lincoln ordered her admittance. she was accompanied by her little son. this alone would have prevailed over the president, but, as she formally addressed him as the authority, he interrupted: "not the president, but george's old friend!" and beckoning the wondering boy to him with the irresistible attraction of men who love the young, and are intuitively loved by them, he said: "tell your father, rascal, that i forgive him for the sake of your mother's smile, and your own bright eyes." this reconciliation on the fall of the sword was a token of the forgivingness of the north toward the chastened foes. * * * * * "close your eyes!" the marquis of chambrun, a french volunteer, who entered the lincoln circle, relates in a more elegant strain the above incident. he states that thompson and sanders were informed upon, and stanton repeated the information to the president with a view of having them intercepted. but the other in his tender voice responded: "let us close our eyes, and leave them pass unnoticed." * * * * * don't judge by appearances. the president's recklessness seems incredible as to going about the capital, as far as he knew and wished, without escort, but his "browsing," to use his word, about the perilous front while the concluding actions were enveloping petersburg preliminarily to the rush at richmond, partake of the nature of a fanatic's daring. this is the support to the otherwise taxing story told by doctor j. e. burriss, of new york, then a volunteer soldier at the place. he states that lincoln, so shabbily dressed as to be taken for a farmer or planter, was so treated by soldiery before a tobacco-warehouse under guard. they wanted tobacco, and begged him to allow some to be turned out. he approached a young lieutenant commanding the post, but the latter was insolent to the "old southerner." the latter sent a soldier to general grant, who himself rode up, post-haste, at the summons. the soldiers were given some of the indian weed, and the donor, turning to the impertinent officer, who had thought him a converted reb, said: "young sir, do not judge by appearances; and for the future treat your elders with more respect." * * * * * "nothing can touch him further." returning to washington from richmond, lincoln read twice to friends on the journey, from his pocket shakespeare: treason has done his worst; nor steel nor poison, malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing, can touch him further. * * * * * "went and returned!" the last days of march, , contained the three battles, closing with that of five forks, signalizing the collapse of the confederacy at richmond. the president, at the front, sent the news of victories to the cabinet at home. after the battles, the advance of the triumphing unionists. on monday morning lincoln was enabled to telegraph the talismanic words so often dreamed of in the last agonizing years of fluctuating hope: "_richmond has fallen_! i am about to enter!" secretary stanton, of the war office, immediately implored: "do not peril your life!" but in the morning he received this line from the most independent president known since jackson: "received your despatch; went to richmond, and returned this morning!" expostulated with by speaker colfax on the apparent rashness, for he had completed "the foolhardy act" by occupying president jefferson davis' vacated house, he replied with the calm of a man of destiny: "i should have been alarmed myself if any other person had been president and gone there; but _i_ did not feel in any danger whatever." (note.--mark the analogy in great men. general grant says of his first emotions in war--the mexican--"if some one else had been colonel, and i had been lieutenant-colonel, i do not think i would have felt any trepidation.") * * * * * the clear foresight. on the d of april, , the president was at city point, grant's headquarters, until he started forth for the culminating series of ceaseless strokes. that morning, attack along the whole line had been commanded, and the president telegraphed to his wife, at the capital, during the raging battle. he knew that already the hostile lines had been pierced in one or more places, and that sheridan's cavalry rush was supported by a division of infantry. he concludes foreseeing that at length "pegging away" was over and slugging begun: "all is now favorable!" in truth, on that same day, the rebel government at richmond faded thence like a mirage, and, within one week, general lee surrendered his enfeebled relic of a grand army. * * * * * do it "unbeknownst." on april , , general grant had enveloped the enemy so that he could be assured that the rebel government, if it remained in richmond as the "last ditch," would be trapped. he notified the president close by, at petersburg, and asked what should be done in the event of the game being bagged. the plan was, it seems, to have slain the ex-president and his cabinet officers in a rout, and the charge would have been described as massacre abroad. the arbiter on this point of anguish replied in his characteristic manner: "i will tell you a story. there was once an irishman, who signed the father mathew's temperance pledge. but a few days afterward he became terribly thirsty, and finally went into a familiar resort, where the barkeeper was, at first, startled to hear him call for a 'straight' soda. he related that he had taken the pledge, so he hinted, with an irishman's broadness of hint, 'you might put in some spirits _unbeknownst_ to me!'" (note.--another and later version--for the above was limitedly repeated at the time with gusto and appreciation of the sublety--makes the hero a temperance lecturer at lincoln's father's house. this is stupid, for lincoln, a fervent temperance advocate, would not have decried the apostles of the doctrine for which he was also a sufferer.) in course of time doubt has been cast on this anecdote by reason that the president would not have jested at such a juncture. but abundant confirmation was forthcoming at the time. besides, we have so grave a general as sherman alluding to the "unbeknownst" in an official document. * * * * * one cannot die twice. in lincoln's last interview with his rustic friends, mrs. armstrong repeated the fears many apprehended of evil being visited on the president-elect on his way to be inaugurated. "hannah, if they do kill me, i shall never die another death!" and laughed at her. * * * * * no more invidious name-calling. on returning from a carriage-drive into washington, mrs. lincoln--who was not the southern sympathizer the scandalous hinted--glanced at the city, and said aloud with bitterness: "that city is full of our enemies!" had she a premonition on the fatal eve? right before the marquis of chambrun, their companion, the president serenely said: "enemies, mary! never speak of that!" no wonder, when the dastardly taking off was bruited through the beaten but ever gallant south, they knew that they had lost "their best friend!" as general pickett styled lincoln.--(by the marquis of chambrun.) * * * * * "the united states of america the treasury of the world." as schuyler colfax was going west, lincoln, in bidding him the _last_ farewell, said foresightedly: "i have very large ideas of the mineral wealth of our nation. now that the rebellion is overthrown, and we know pretty nearly the amount of our national debt, the more gold and silver we mine, we make the payment of that debt the easier. tell the miners from me that i shall promote their interests to the best of my ability because their prosperity is the prosperity of the nation; and we shall prove in a few years that we are the treasury of the world." * * * * * "hang on--not hang!" on april , , mr. lincoln spoke out of his study window to an immense and joyous crowd. there were rockets, and portfire, and a huge bonfire, while the president was serenaded. the finish of the rebellion delighted all persons. his offhand speech was full of compassion and brotherly love. louisiana was already being "reconstructed." mr. harlan, who followed the chief, touched the major key: "what shall we do with the rebels?" to which the mob responded hoarsely: "hang them!" lincoln's little son, tad, was in the room, playing with the quills on the table where his father made his notes. he looked at his father, and said, as one whose intimacy made him familiar with his inmost thoughts: "no, papa; not hang them--but _hang on_ to them!" the president triumphantly repeated: "we must hang on to them! tad's got it!"--(by mrs. h. mcculloch, present.) * * * * * lincoln's last wish. "springfield! how happy four years hence will i be, to return there in peace and tranquillity!"--(to the marquis of chambrun, april, .) * * * * * assassination. at springfield, immediately upon the election for president, lincoln began to receive letters with lethal menaces. his friends took them as serious, and two or more carried weapons, and escorted him closely that no one with a dagger might reach his side. calling on his stepmother for the farewell, she reiterated the general, and rising, fears. at philadelphia, detectives and others whispered of a plot matured at baltimore, and in his speech at raising the flag over independence hall he said pointedly: "if this country cannot be saved without giving up this principle--liberty to the world--i was about to say i would rather be assassinated on the spot than surrender it.... i have said nothing but what i am willing to live by, and, if it be the pleasure of almighty god, to die by."--(speech, philadelphia, february, .) * * * * * a president, not an emperor. the president said to colonel halpine as respected the life-guards, which he soon dispensed with around his person, often going out unawares so as to "dodge" the escort in waiting: "it will never do for the president of a republic to have guards with drawn swords at his door, as if he fancied he were, or were trying to be, or were assuming to be, an emperor." * * * * * the plot to waylay the president ( ). the dispute as to whether there was a foundation to the supposed plot to waylay and sequester president-elect lincoln between philadelphia and washington is notable. from the later light and the letter from wilkes booth to his brother-in-law, sleeper clarke, the comedian, no doubt is left that to kidnap him was a plot dated very early when the foresighted slave-holders were certain that he was a greater enemy from consistency than the louder-voiced and openly violent abolitionists. while colonel lamon doubted, and wished he had not been beguiled into aiding in the ignominious flight in disguise and secretly by train, secretary seward and general scott gave it credence. the foreboding had touched lincoln before he left his illinois home. at springfield his farewell speech is tinged with shade. at philadelphia and harrisburg he spoke of blood-spilling, and used the word "assassination" at the former. he took up the matter like a reasoner. already the detective brothers, pinkerton, had an inkling of the doings of the knights of the golden circle, or some such secret society, designing regicide. so, as the concordance is held as a proof from the variance of the witnesses to scenes, he argued that the story was founded. otherwise he would not have heard of the criminal attempt from all sides. that was what made him yield his dignity to the safety of a person whom he felt was chosen for the crisis. the next morning he had concluded to pass through baltimore at another than the arranged hour to foil the plot. * * * * * "i don't believe there is any danger!" one night the president had been very late with the secretary of war at the latter's department. but, just the same, he insisted on his getting home by the short cut--a foot-path, lined and embowered by trees, then leading from the war office to the white house. but stanton stopped him. "you ought not to go that way; it is dangerous for you in the daytime"--it did lend itself to an ambuscade, and persons who knew wilkes booth assert having seen him prowling around--"it is worse at night!" "i do not believe there is _any_ danger there, night or day!" responded the president, with malcolm's confidence that he stood "in the great hand of god." "well, mr. president," continued stanton, a stubborn man himself, "you shall not be killed returning from my department by that dark way while i am in it!" and he forced him to enter his carriage to return by the well-lighted avenue. lincoln had previously consented to carry a cane. (by schuyler colfax.) * * * * * worry till you get rid of things. on colonel halpine trying to make the chief see that even indoors there was danger, he debated about the two menaces--violence of "cranks" and of a political fanatic. he thought too well of the sense of the "people at richmond," some of whom had been colleagues of his in his first stay in washington as congressman. "do you think that they would like to have hannibal hamlin--his first vice-president--here any better than myself?" the story is repeated with his second vice substituted for the first, with the more justification, as "andy" johnson was impeached for his incompetency. detective baker put it this way: "as to the crazy folks, i must take my chances. the most crazy people being, i fear, some of my own too zealous adherents." (he had the same idea as in an ancient chinese proverb: "you may steal the captain out of his castle, but you cannot steal the castle.") "i am but a single individual, and it would not help their cause, or make the least difference in the progress of the war." [footnote: he might have said, as truly as his predecessor, john tyler, reproached also for going about unguarded: "my body-guard is the people who elected me."]--(cited by f. b. carpenter.) * * * * * the fearlessness of the god-fearing. lincoln said that by the death of his son willie he was touched; by the victory of gettysburg made a believer. it is plain that, after this, a fortitude replaced the despondency stamping him. it may be due to this conviction of being one of the chosen, like cromwell and gordon, soldiers of christ, that he met all adjurations for him to take care of his precious life with fanatical unconcern. he communicated to the cabinet, at the close of the conflict, how he had appointed to confer alone and without guards to terrify the emissary, a noted confederate. they were to discuss peace--and by that word, lincoln was drawn to any one. he answered the cautions with the simple saying: "i am but an individual, and my removal will not in any way advance the other folks in their endeavors." in fact, it was so--the misdeed was a double-edged blade which cut both ways. it will never be known, probably, how near a massacre followed the explosion of indignation at that maniac's murder of the emancipator. fortunately for the unsullied robe of columbia, a hundred advocates of leaving retribution to heaven echoed garfield's appeasing address. lincoln met the intermediator, but the ultimate negotiation fell through, like the others all. he came home from city point with sadness, but from his seed has outcome the universal peace tribunal of the hague. professor martens based his original plea of the czar's on the lincolnian guide for the soldiers in our war. * * * * * the poisoning plot. a servant at the white house testifies that he was approached by emissaries who offered him a sum almost preposterously large to put a powder in the milk for the lincoln family's table. the agents knew that they were temperance followers, milk being as common as wine at previous tenants' table. this was laughed at before the shadow of booth's patricide was cast ahead. but the reverend henry ward beecher publicly declares--and he was in the state secrets as deeply as any layman--that president-general harrison, "tippecanoe," was poisoned that tyler might fulfil the plan to annex texas as a slave state. "with even stronger convictions is it affirmed that president-general taylor was poisoned, that a less stern successor might give a suppler instrument to manage. who doubts now that it was attempted breckenridge in his room?" * * * * * nothing like getting used to things! the more evident it grew that the president, at whom the stupid jeers persisted through incurable density of his enemies, was the vital motor of the union cause, than threats of violently removing him were continually sent him. so many such letters accumulated that he grimly packeted them together and labeled the mass: "assassination papers." it was a damoclesian dagger of which he spoke lightly, because fear of death never awed him. when a man walks in the manifest path traced out for him by heaven, he does not tremble. but friends, more concerned by the strain in watching over his safety, expressing surprise at his indifference, he tried to reassure them: "oh, there is nothing like getting used to things!" * * * * * most afraid of a friendly shot. general wadsworth, in his anxiety about the president's safety in washington, swarming with insurgent agents, set a cavalry guard over the president's carriage. he went and complained to general halleck, in charge of the capital, saying only partly facetiously: "why, mrs. lincoln and i cannot hear ourselves talk for the clatter of their sabers and spurs; and some of them appear to be new hands and very awkward, so that i am more afraid of being shot by the accidental discharge of a carbine or revolver than of any attempt upon my life by a roving squad of 'jeb' stuart's cavalry." (since stuart came twenty miles within the union lines, he was the criterion of rebel raiders' possibilities.) * * * * * the one word he had learned. a tale-bearer came to the president with a plot against him and the government, which was a cock-and-bull without any adherence, and all superficial. lincoln heard him out, but then sharply returned: "there is one thing that i have learned, and that you have not. it is only one word: 'thorough!'" then bringing his huge hand down on the table-desk, to emphasize his meaning, he repeated: "thorough!" * * * * * not to disappoint the people. the strictly religious went so far as to call the lincoln assassination a judgment(!), as it happened in a playhouse on a good friday! it appears that the president had compunctions, and at the last moment was disinclined to go, though a party had been made up to oblige a young espoused couple; but general grant, who was to be a feature of the commanded performance, was called away--no doubt escaping the knife the murderer had in reserve to his pistol. the president said that he must go, not to disappoint the people on this gala night, as the rejoicing was wide over the dissolution of the confederacy. * * * * * nothing like prayer--but praise. in , the president suffered "an affliction harder to bear than the war!" his son willie (william, next to one that died in infancy) was carried off by typhoid fever, under the presidential roof; and another, "tad," (thomas, who actually lived to be twenty and passed away in illinois) was given up by the physicians. at this crisis miss dix, daughter of the general famous for his order: "if any one offers to pull down the american flag, shoot him on the spot," recommended an army nurse, mrs. rebecca r. pomeroy. she was a born succorer, pious and fortifying. she came reluctantly to the important errand, as she had to leave a wardful of wounded soldiers. she had lost many of her family, and was able to comfort from gaging the affectionate father's grief. she led him to pray in his double racking of bad war news and the domestic distress. on next seeing him and that he was less grieved, for news of the fort donaldson surrender to general grant arrived in the meantime, she hastened to say: "there is nothing like prayer, mr. president!" "yes, there is: praise! prayer and praise must go together!" the end. internet archive (http://www.archive.org) note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustration. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/ / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/ / -h.zip) images of the original pages are available through internet archive. see http://www.archive.org/details/whylincolnlaughe conw why lincoln laughed * * * * * books by russell h. conwell why lincoln laughed effective prayer acres of diamonds how a soldier may succeed after the war or the corporal with the book observation: every man his own university what you can do with your will power harper & brothers, new york established * * * * * [illustration: abraham lincoln] why lincoln laughed by russell h. conwell author of "acres of diamonds" harper & brothers publishers new york and london mcmxxii why lincoln laughed copyright, , by harper & brothers printed in the united states of america a-w contents chap. page foreword vii i. when lincoln was laughed at ii. president and pilgrim iii. lincoln reads artemus ward aloud iv. some lincoln anecdotes v. what made him laugh vi. humor in the political situation vii. why lincoln loved laughter viii. lincoln and john brown foreword abraham lincoln wrote to his law partner, william henry herndon, that "the physical side of niagara falls is really a very small part of that world's wonder. its power to excite reflection and emotion is its great charm." that statement might fittingly be applied to lincoln himself. one who lived in his time, and who has read the thousand books they say have been written about him in the half century since his death, may still be dissatisfied with every description of his personality and with every analysis of his character. he was human, and yet in some mysterious degree superhuman. nothing in philosophy, magic, superstition, or religion furnishes a satisfactory explanation to the thoughtful devotee for the inspiration he gave out or for the transfiguring glow which at times seemed to illumine his homely frame and awkward gestures. the libraries are stocked with books about lincoln, written by historians, poets, statesmen, relatives, and political associates. why cumber the shelf with another sketch? the answer to that reasonable question is in the expressed hope that great thinkers and sincere humanitarians may not give up the task of attempting to set before the people the true lincoln. one turns away from every volume, saying, "i am not yet acquainted with that great man." hence, books like this simple tale may help to keep the attention of readers and writers upon this powerful character until at last some clear and satisfactory portrayal may be had by the interested readers among all nations. neither bronze nor canvas nor marble can give the true image. perhaps the more exact the portrait or statue in respect to his physical appearance the less it will exhibit the real personality. all pictures of abraham lincoln fail to represent the man as he was. the appearance and the reality are at irreconcilable variance. heredity may be a large factor in the making of some great men, and education may be the chief cause for the influence of other great men. but there are only a few great characters in whose lives both of those advantages are lost to sight in the view of their achievements. genius is often defined with complacent assurance as the ability and disposition to do hard work. that is frequently the truth; but it is not always the truth. abraham lincoln did much of many kinds of hard work, but that does not account for his extraordinary genius. he had the least to boast of in his family inheritance. his school education was of the most meager kind, and he had more than his share of hard luck. his most difficult task was to overcome his awkward manners and ungainly physique. his life, therefore, presents a problem worthy the attention of philanthropic scientists. can he be successfully imitated? why did his laugh vibrate so far, and why was his humor so inimitable? if the suggestions made in this book will aid the investigator in finding an answer to these questions it will justify the venturesomeness of this volume in appearing upon the shelf with such a great company of the works of greater authors. russell h. conwell. philadelphia, _january, _. why lincoln laughed chapter i: when lincoln was laughed at lincoln loved laughter; he loved to laugh himself and he liked to hear others laugh. all who knew him, all who have written of him, from john hay, years ago, to harvey o'higgins in his recent work, tell how, in the darkest moments our country has ever known, lincoln would find time to illustrate his arguments and make his points by narrating some amusing story. his humor never failed him, and through its help he was able to bear his great burden. i first met lincoln at the white house during the civil war. to-day it seems almost impossible that i shook his hand, heard his voice, and watched him as he laughed at one of his own stories and at the writings of artemus ward, of which he was so fond. yet, as i remember it, i did not feel at that time that i was in the presence of a personality so extraordinary that it would fascinate men for centuries to come. i was a young man, and it was war time; perhaps that is the reason. on the contrary, he seemed a very simple man, as all great men are--i might almost say ordinary, throwing his long leg over the arm of the chair and using such commonplace, homely language. indeed, it was hard to be awed in the presence of lincoln; he seemed so approachable, so human, simple, and genial. did he use his humor to disarm opposition, to gain good will, or to throw a mantle around his own melancholy thoughts? did he believe, as mark twain said, that "everything human is pathetic; the secret source of humor is not joy, but sorrow?" i am sure i cannot say. i only know that humor to lincoln seemed to be a safety valve without which he would have collapsed under the crushing burden which he carried during the civil war. until he was twenty-four and was admitted to the bar, he was a quiet, serious, brooding young fellow, but apparently he discovered the effectiveness of humor, for he began using it when he was arguing before the court. some of his contemporaries say that he was humorous in the early part of his life, but that, as time went on and he gained confidence through success, he used humor less and less in his public utterances. this is partly true, for there is no trace of humor in his presidential addresses. but that he was humorous in his daily life and that he continued to read and laugh over the many jokes he read is too obvious to deny. you cannot think of lincoln without thinking at the same time of that very american trait which he possessed and which seems to spring from and within the soil of the land--homely humor. one day when i was at the white house in conversation with lincoln a man bustled in self-importantly and whispered something to him. as the man left the room lincoln turned to me and smiled. "he tells me that twelve thousand of lee's soldiers have just been captured," lincoln said. "but that doesn't mean anything; he's the biggest liar in washington. you can't believe a word he says. he reminds me of an old fisherman i used to know who got such a reputation for stretching the truth that he bought a pair of scales and insisted on weighing every fish in the presence of witnesses. "one day a baby was born next door, and the doctor borrowed the fisherman's scales to weigh the baby. it weighed forty-seven pounds." lincoln threw back his head and laughed; so did i. it was a good story. now what do you think of this? only recently i picked up a newspaper and read that same lincoln anecdote, and it was headed, "a new story." it was in connection with a death sentence that i first went to call upon president lincoln. this was in december, . i was a captain then in a massachusetts regiment brigaded with other regiments for the work of the north carolina coast defense, under command of gen. benjamin f. butler. a young soldier and boyhood playmate of mine from vermont had been sentenced by court martial to be shot for sending communications to the enemy. what had actually happened was this. the fighting at that time in our part of the country was desultory--a matter of skirmishes only. as must inevitably happen, even between hostile bodies of men speaking the same language, a certain amount of "fraternizing" (although that word was not used then) went on between the outposts and pickets of the opposing forces. in some cases the pickets faced one another on opposite sides of a narrow stream. often this would continue for days or weeks, the same men on the same posts, and something very like friendship--the friendship of respectful enemies--would spring up between individuals in the two camps. they would sometimes go so far as to exchange little delicacies, tobacco and the like, across the line, no man's land, as it was called in the last war. in some places the practice actually sprang up of whittling little toy boats and sailing them across a stream, carrying a tiny freight. this act was usually reciprocated to the best of his pitiful ability by johnny reb on the opposite bank. the custom served to while away the tedious hours of picket duty, and it is doubtful if any of these young fellows thought of their acts as constituting a serious military offense. but such in fact it was; and when my young friend was caught red-handed in the act of sending a northern newspaper into the rebel lines he was straightway brought to trial on the terrible charge of corresponding with the enemy. he was found guilty and sentenced to be shot. when the time for the execution of this sentence had nearly arrived i determined, as a last resort, to go and lay the case before the president in person, for it was evident, from the way matters had gone, that no mercy could be hoped for from any lesser tribunal. fortunately, i was able to secure a few days' leave of absence. i made the trip up to hampton roads by way of the old dismal swamp canal. hampton roads was by this time under undisputed control of the union forces, naval and military, and fortress monroe was, in fact, general butler's headquarters. from this point it was a simple, if somewhat tedious, matter to get to washington. but for one young officer the trip went all too quickly. the nearer loomed the nation's capital and the culmination of his momentous errand the more he became amazed at his own temerity, and it required the constant thought of a gray-haired mother, soon to be broken hearted by sorrow and disgrace, to hold him steadfast to his purpose. i had seen lincoln only once in my life, and that was merely as one of the audience in cooper union, in new york, when he delivered his great speech on abolition. that had taken place on february , , nearly five years before--long enough to make many changes in men and nations--yet the thought of that tall, awkward orator with his total lack of sophistication and his great wealth of human sympathy did much to hearten me for the coming interview. unconsciously, as the miles jolted past in my journey to washington, my mind slipped back over those five tremendous years and i seemed to live again the events, half pitiful, but wholly amazing, of that great meeting in the great auditorium of old cooper union. at that time i was a school-teacher from the hampshire highlands of the berkshire hills, and a neighbor of william cullen bryant. through his kindness, my brother, who was also a teacher, and myself received an invitation to hear this speech by a then little-known lawyer from the west. we were told at the hotel that the cooper union lectures were usually discussions on matters of practical education, and we therefore used our tickets of admission more out of deference to mr. bryant for his kindness than from any interest in the debate. when we approached the entrance to the building, however, we were soon aware that something unusual was about to happen. on the corner of the street near by we were accosted by a crowd of young roughs who demanded of us whether or not we were "nigger men." we thought that the roughs meant to ask if we were black men, and answered decidedly, "no!" what the mob meant to ask was, were we in favor of freeing the negroes. acting, therefore, upon the innocent answer, they thrust into our hands two dry onions, with the withered tops still adhering to the bulbs, while the ragged crowd yelled, "keep 'em under yer jacket and when yer hear the five whistles throw them at the feller speakin'." my brother and i took the onions, unconscious of the meaning of such strange missiles, and entered the hall with the crowd. there was great excitement, and yet we could not understand why, for no one seemed to know even the name of the speaker. "who is going to speak?" was the question asked all round us, which we asked also, although we had heard the unfamiliar name of lincoln. in one part of the hall we heard several vociferous answers: "beecher! beecher!" and some of the crowd seemed satisfied that the great preacher was to be the orator of the evening. two burly policemen pushed into the corner from which the noisiest tumult came, and we began to surmise that those onions were "concealed weapons" and that the best policy was to be sure to keep them concealed. many descriptions of that audience have been given by men from various viewpoints, but few have emphasized the important fact that when the people entered the hall the large majority were bitterly opposed to the abolitionists' cause. one-third of the audience was seemingly intent on mobbing the speaker, for some of the men carried missiles more offensive than onions. mark twain sagaciously wrote that the trouble with old men's memories is that they remember so many things "that ain't so." that warning may often be useful, even to those who are the most confident that their memories are infallible, but i should like to say, and quite modestly, that i still have a clear vision of that startling occasion and can testify to what i saw, heard, and felt in that hall on that memorable evening. i had previously read and studied the great models of eloquence, and was then in new york, using my carefully hoarded pennies to hear henry ward beecher, dr. r. s. stone, doctor storrs, doctor bellows, archbishop mccloskey, and other orators of current fame. i had studied much for the purpose of teaching my classes, from the great models, from cicero to daniel webster, and i had found my ideal in edward everett. but those two hours in cooper union; like a sudden cyclone, were destined to shatter all my carefully built theories. after nearly sixty-two years of bewilderment i am still asking, "what was it that made that speech on that night an event of such world-wide importance?" it was not the physical man; it was not in what he said. let us with open judgment meditate on the facts. the persons in the audience, and their city, as well, were antagonistic to lincoln's party associates. the negro-haters had seemingly pre-empted the hall. stories of negro brutality had been published in the papers of that week. lincoln was regarded as an adventurer from the "wild and woolly west." he was expected to be an extremist. he was crude, unpolished, having no reputation in the east as a scholar. he was not an orator and had the reputation of being only a homely teller of grocery-store yarns. his voice was of a poor quality, grinding the ears sharply. he seemed to be a ludicrous scarecrow rival of the great gentleman, scholar, and statesman, william h. seward. even lincoln's own party in new york city bowed religiously to seward, the idol of new york state. the quakers and the adherents of the pro-slavery party were conscientiously opposed to war, especially against a civil war. we now know that lincoln's speech had been written in illinois. as i saw him, on its delivery, he himself was trebly chained to his manuscript, by his own modest timidity, by the dictation of his party managers, and by the fact that when he spoke his written speech was already set up in type for the next morning's papers. in the chair on the platform as presiding officer sat the venerable poet of the new england mountains and the writer of keen political editorials. the minds of the intelligent auditors began to repeat "thanatopsis" or "the fringed gentian" as soon as they saw the noble old man. his culture, age, reputation, dignified bearing, and faultless attire seemed in disparaging contrast to the appearance of the young visitor beside him. in addition to mr. bryant, the stage setting included, on the other side of the slender guest, a very ponderous fat man, whose proportions, in their contrasting effect upon the speaker of the evening, made his thin form so tall as to bring to mind lincoln's story of the man "so tall they laid him out in a rope walk." lincoln himself was seated in a half-round armchair. his awkward legs were tied in a kind of a knot in the rungs of the chair. his tall hat, with his manuscript in it, was near him on the floor. the black fur of the hat was rubbed into rough streaks. one of his trousers legs was caught on the back of his boot. his coat was too large. his head was bowed and he looked down at the floor without lifting his eyes. somebody whispered in one of the back seats, "let's go home," and was answered, "no, not yet; there'll be fun here soon!" the entrance of the stranger speaker was greeted with neither decided nor hearty applause. in fact, the greeting for mr. bryant was far more enthusiastic. but there was a chilling formality in the effect of the whole of mr. bryant's introduction. nothing worth hearing was expected of the lank and uncouth stranger--that was the impression made upon me. and when young lincoln made an awkward gesture in trying to bow his thanks to mr. bryant, the audience began to smirk and giggle. lincoln was evidently disturbed and felt painfully out of place. he seemed to be fearfully lacking in self-control and appeared to feel that he had made a ridiculous mistake in accepting such an invitation to such a place. one singular proof of lincoln's nervousness was in the fact that he had forgotten to take from the top of his ear a long, black lead pencil, which occasionally threatened to shoot out at the audience. when i mentioned the pencil to lincoln nearly five years later, he said that his absent-mindedness on that occasion recalled to him the story of an old englishman who was so absent-minded that when he went to bed he put his clothes carefully into the bed and threw himself over the back of his chair. when mr. bryant's introduction was concluded, lincoln hesitated. he attempted to rise, and caught the toe of his boot under the rung of his chair. he ran his long fingers through his hair, which left one long tuft sticking up from the back of his head like an indian's feather. he looked pale, and he unrolled his manuscript with trembling fingers. he began to read in a low, hollow voice that trembled from uncertainty and nervousness--so low, in fact, that the crowd at the rear of the hall could not hear, and shouted: "louder! louder!" at this the speaker's voice became a little stronger, and with this added strength came added confidence, so much so that there came suddenly a slight climax. the speaker looked up from his manuscript as though to note the effect of his words. but his eyes quickly dropped again to the paper in his shaking hands. the applause was fitful, and from the corner where the hoodlums were assembled came several distinct hisses. when the audience finally began to make out what he was endeavoring to say about the signers of the declaration of independence and their opposition to the extension of human slavery, there was for a time respectful silence. how long the painful recital might have been permitted to continue no one can tell. the crowd, even that portion inclined to favor lincoln's views, was growing increasingly restless. half an hour had passed. the ordeal could not go on much longer. suddenly a leaf from the speaker's manuscript accidentally and without his knowledge dropped to the floor. the moment he missed the leaf he turned a little paler than he had been and hesitated awkwardly. for a moment the audience felt keenly the embarrassment of the situation. but the pause was brief. with an honest gesture of impatience and a movement forward as if he were about to leap into the audience, lincoln lifted his voice, swung out his long arms, and, as my brother remarked, "let himself go." disregarding his written speech,[ ] lincoln launched into that part of the subject that was nearest his heart. in a voice that no longer was hollow or sepulchral, but rich and ringing, he denounced the institution of slavery. yet he spoke of the south in the most affectionate terms. he said he loved the south, since "he was born there," but that he loved the union more for what it had done united and what it was destined still to do united. [ ] charles sumner said, in one of his great speeches in fanueil hall, boston, that if the speech lincoln carefully wrote had not been circulated, or if he had actually delivered the speech which he wrote, the change of direction in the car of progress would have led to delays and disasters "out beyond the limits of human calculation." many of the great historians like hay, brockett, mcclure, and miss tarbell have overlooked or thrown aside the most wonderful portion of that speech where the disgusted orator lost his place because of a misplaced leaf of the manuscript from which he was reading. wave after wave of telling eloquence rolled forth from this uncouth, gaunt figure and literally dashed itself against the hard, resisting minds of that prejudiced audience. already the feeble wits were engulfed in the overwhelming verbal torrents that came now like avalanches, and little by little even the most biased minds began to relent under the mystic persuasiveness of his voice and the unanswerableness of his logic, until nearly everybody in that throbbing and excited audience was convinced that slavery was one of the blackest crimes of which man could be found guilty. and even before the last words of his impassioned eloquence had passed his lips the audience was on its feet, and those most bitterly opposed to him politically arose too and applauded him. naturally, no verbatim report of that address can be recalled after sixty years. but the impression it made almost surpasses belief when told to those who were not there. there is no clearer descriptive term which could be applied to the speaker than to state, as some did, that "the orator was transfigured." no one thought of his ill-fitting new suit, of his old hat, of his protruding wrists or the disheveled hair, of his long legs, his bony face, or the one-sided necktie. the natural abraham lincoln had disappeared and an angel spake in his place. nothing but language which seems extravagant will tell the accurate truth. all manner of theories were advanced by those who heard the speech to account for the gigantic mystery of eloquent power which he exhibited. one said it was mesmerism; another that it was magnetism; while the superstitious said there was "a distinct halo about his head" at one place in the speech. no analysis of the speech as he wrote it, nor any recollection of the words, shows anything remarkable in language, figures, or ideas. the subtle, magnetic, spiritual force which emanated from that inspired speaker revealed to his audience an altogether different man from the one who began to read a different speech. he did not approach the delicate sweetness of mr. bryant's words of introduction, or reach the imaginative scenes and noble company which characterized beecher's addresses. lincoln was less cutting than wendell phillips and had no definite style like everett or gough. as an orator he imitated no one, and surely no one could imitate him. of the four ohio voters who changed their votes in the republican convention and made lincoln's nomination sure, two heard that cooper union speech and claimed sturdily that they knew "old abe" was right, but could not tell why. thus it appears throughout lincoln's public life. he was larger than his task, wider than his party, ahead of his time as an inspired prophet, and he seemed to be a spiritual force without material limitations. he began to grow at his death, and is conquering now in lands he never saw and rules over nations which cannot pronounce his name. such individual influence is next to the divine, and is of the same nature. can we find a measure for such a man? these facts and these thoughts were in my mind as i traveled to washington to intercede for my condemned comrade. such was the man to whom i was going. but it was to lincoln the commander-in-chief, and not to lincoln the impassioned orator, that i must make my plea. chapter ii: president and pilgrim the reader will not be surprised to learn that getting into the presence of the president was no laughing matter, and that his own habit of occasionally using laughter during business hours did not always descend to those under him in the government. i arrived in washington early on a crisp december morning, just a few days before christmas. i went straightway to the old ebbit house, which was then the fashionable gathering place for military people stationed or sojourning in the capital. the contrast between "desk officers" and officers in the field was even greater then than in more recent days, because if the former were less smart in appearance than the modern "citified" officer, the latter were, as a rule, vastly more disheveled and disreputable in appearance than one would find in any army of to-day on campaign. there were good reasons for this, of course, but they did not greatly help to increase the confidence of a decidedly "seedy"-looking young officer fresh from the swamps and thickets of north carolina. i was glad to get away from the environs of the ebbit house after a brief but very earnest effort to "spruce up." when the time at last arrived that the ordeal was directly ahead, i plucked up courage and walked up the footpath to the white house with a tolerably certain step. even at the height of the war president lincoln did not surround himself by the barriers which later executives have found necessary. one simply went to the white house, stated his business, and waited his turn for an interview. once inside that building, however, my earlier timidity returned tenfold. i had agreed that morning with the local correspondent of the new york _tribune_ to get all the material i could from lincoln for an interview for his paper. i trembled as with a chill when i told the doorkeeper that i wished to see the president, and when the official coldly ordered me to "come in and sit over there, in that row," i began to doubt whether i was to be arrested for intrusion. the anteroom was crowded with important-looking people, all waiting for an interview with lincoln. i wondered if i would ever get within sight of his door. presently, however, the president's personal secretary entered the room, and passing along the line of visitors with a notebook, asked each to state his business with the president. i showed my pass and in a few words explained my errand, even mustering up courage to emphasize the urgency of the case. the secretary disappeared, and there was an awkward half hour of waiting. finally he returned by a side door and, calling out my name, directed me in an official way to "come in at once" ahead of all the others. when i had passed into the vestibule the secretary shut the reception-room door behind us and, pointing to a door at the other side of the room, said, hastily: "that is the president's door. go over, rap on the door, and walk right in." he then hurried out at a side door and left me alone. thus abandoned, i felt faint with terror, embarrassment, and conflicting decisions. it was a most painful ordeal to be left to go in alone to meet the august head of the nation--to rush alone into the privacy of the commander-in-chief of all the loyal armies of the union. it was an especially trying period of the war which we had just passed through. sherman's march to the sea was still in progress. the president had not yet received the historic telegram in which general sherman offered him the city of savannah as a christmas gift, but he was well aware of the thorough devastation which that army left in its wake; and while he understood its necessity, the thought filled him with deepest gloom. hood's confederate army, which threatened for a time to repeat the successes of general kirby smith, had been crushed in tennessee, but only after a period of suspense which stretched the nerves of all in administration circles to within a degree of the breaking point. in addition to this the voices of the "defeatists"--"copperheads," they were called then--were heard far and wide in the land, ranting and howling their demand for a peace which would have been premature and inconclusive. the cares and sorrows of the president had hardly been more severe during the most critical days of the war than they were in december, --it was the dark just before the dawn. whether to turn and run for the street, to stand still, or to force myself to rap on that awful door was a question filling my soul with frightful emotions. i rubbed my head and walked several times across the vestibule to regain possession of my normal faculties. no one who has not been placed in such a startling situation can begin to realize what a stage-struck heartache afflicted me. i had been under fire and heard the shells crack and the bullets sing, but none of those experiences, so awful to a green soldier, had so filled my being with a desire to run away. but i recalled the fact that the president had the reputation of being a plain man to whom any citizen could speak on the street and was kind-hearted to an almost feminine degree, so i wiped my brow and at last drove myself over to the door. there, with the desperation such as the suicide must feel as he leaps from the cliff, i rapped hesitatingly on the door. instantly a strong voice from inside shouted, "come in and sit down." it was a command rather than an invitation. i turned the knob weakly and entered, almost on tiptoe. there at the side of a long table sat the same lank individual who spoke at the cooper union four years before. the pallor of his face and the prominence of the cheek bones seemed even more striking in contrast with the full beard than when he was clean shaven. but his hair was as sadly disturbed and his clothing had the same lack of style and fitness. an old gray shawl had fallen across one corner of the table, where also lay numerous rolls of papers. the president did not look up when i stepped in and hesitatingly sat down in the chair nearest the door. that close application to the task before him was a characteristic of lincoln which has not been emphasized by his biographers as it could and should have been. to quote his own words, whenever he read a book he "exhausted it." it seems to be the one great trait of character which lifted him above the common clay from which he came. lincoln had no inheritance worth recording. he once wrote to his partner that what little talent, money, and learning he had was "purloined or picked up." surely, never among the surprises which one finds in the history of this nation is there one more unaccountable than the career of abraham lincoln. how he first formed the habit, or where he adopted his method of mental concentration, has not been revealed. the ability to focus one's whole mind on a single idea is not such an unattainable achievement. perhaps it has no connection with genius in the true sense, but it serves to concentrate all the rays of mental light and power until they penetrate the hardest substances and ignite into explosion the latent power hitherto unguessed. there seems to be no other great quality in lincoln's mentality, but that one may account for all in him that was above the normal. he could manage flatboats, split rails, endure fatigue, tell homely stories for illustration, and wait with unshakable patience, but his greatest achievement was in the power he gained to think hard and long with his mind immovably concentrated upon a difficult problem. that morning while i sat trembling by the door, the president read on with undisturbed attention the manuscript before him, occasionally making notes on the margin of the paper. he did not lift his eyes or move in his seat, and it was not until he had read carefully the last sentence, had scribbled his name or initials at the bottom of the last page, and had tied the paper carefully with a string, that he looked up at his visitor. then a smile came over the worn face, and as he pulled himself into his spring-backed chair he called out, cheerfully: "come over to the table, young man. glad to see you. but remember that i am a very busy man and have no time to spare; so tell me in the fewest words what it is you want." i took the seat at the table to which the president pointed, pulled out a copy of the record of the case, and read the soldier's name. the president stopped me almost sharply, saying: "oh, you don't need to read more about that case. mr. stanton and i talked over that report carefully last week!" already my nervousness had been dispelled as if by magic. indeed, the president's cordial, familiar manner and apparent good will gave me the courage to remark that it was "almost time for that order to be carried out." for a moment lincoln seemed to be offended by the hasty remark. flinging himself back in his chair with an impatient gesture, he said: "you can go down to the ebbit house _now_ and write to that soldier's mother in vermont and tell her the president told you that he never did sign an order to shoot a boy under twenty years of age and _that he never will_!" as he uttered the last words of that remark he swung his long arms swiftly over his head and struck the table violently with his fist. at that moment lincoln's boy, "tad," then eleven years old, slipped off a stool in the farther corner of the room, where he had been silently at play, and lincoln turned anxiously around at the sound of his fall. seeing that the little boy was unhurt, the president called: "come here, tad, i wish to introduce you to this soldier!" so quickly and easily had the purpose of my interview been accomplished that for a moment it left me dazed. but lincoln wanted no thanks. what was done was done, and the incident was closed. the name of my young soldier friend was not mentioned again in the course of what turned out to be a long and wonderful chat about subjects as alien to discipline as music, education, and the cultivation and use of humor. the president had a purpose in detaining me, though at first i did not perceive what this was. without appearing in the least to see anything incongruous in the act--while a score of important callers waited in the anteroom--lincoln threw his long arm about the little boy and plunged into a conversation of the most personal sort. he told me it was his ambition to carry on a farm, with tad for a partner. he said that he had bought a farm at new salem, illinois, where he used to dig potatoes at twenty-five cents a day, and that tad and he were to have mule teams and raise corn and onions. then he smiled as he remarked, "mrs. lincoln does not know anything about the plan for the onions." he said farming was, after all, the best occupation on earth. he then told a number of incidents in his own life to illustrate, as he said, "how little i know about farming!" the incidents were droll and full of wise suggestions, which wholly disarmed me until i laughed without reserve. lincoln told of a visit horace greeley had made to the white house a few weeks before to enlighten the president on "what i know about farming." lincoln said he half believed the story about greeley wherein it was said that he (greeley) planted a long row of beans, and when in the process of first growth the beans were pushed bodily out of the ground, greeley concluded that the beans "had made a blunder," and, pulling up each bean, he carefully turned it over with the roots sticking out in the air. the president then asked me if i was a farmer's boy, and when i answered that i was brought up on a farm in the berkshire hills he burst out into strong laughter and said, "i hear that you have to sharpen the noses of the sheep up there to get them down to the grass between the rocks." then the president, as his mind was led away from the awful cares of state, turned to a small side table and picked up a much-worn copy of the news stand edition of the _life and sayings of artemus ward_. both ward and lincoln were skilled storytellers, and they were alike in their avoidance of vulgar or low yarns. lincoln was credited with thousands of yarns he never heard, and with thousands to which he would not have listened without giving a rebuke. many of those at which he revolted have been continued in print under his name. but ward's speech concerning his visit to the president among the office-seeking crowd was to lincoln's mind "a masterpiece of pure fun." as we sat there lincoln opened artemus ward's book and read several things from it. then closing it, he said, "ward rests me more than any living man." chapter iii: lincoln reads artemus ward aloud this generation, whose taste in humor has naturally changed from that of civil war times, is not very familiar with the stories of artemus ward. it will be well for the reader to bear this in mind in the pages that follow. one of the two stories lincoln read by way of relaxation, as i have told in the preceding chapter, concerned the president himself. here it is: how old abe received the news of his nomination there are several reports afloat as to how "honest old abe" received the news of his nomination, none of which are correct. we give the correct report. the official committee arrived in springfield at dewy eve, and went to honest old abe's house. honest old abe was not in. mrs. honest old abe said honest old abe was out in the woods splitting rails. so the official committee went out into the woods, where, sure enough, they found honest old abe splitting rails with his two boys. it was a grand, a magnificent spectacle. there stood honest old abe in his shirt-sleeves, a pair of leather home-made suspenders holding up a pair of home-made pantaloons, the seat of which was neatly patched with substantial cloth of a different color. "mr. lincoln, sir, you've been nominated, sir, for the highest office, sir--" "oh, don't bother me," said honest old abe; "i took a _stent_ this mornin' to split three million rails afore night, and i don't want to be pestered with no stuff about no conventions till i get my stent done. i've only got two hundred thousand rails to split before sundown. i kin do it if you'll let me alone." and the great man went right on splitting rails, paying no attention to the committee whatever. the committee were lost in admiration for a few moments, when they recovered, and asked one of honest old abe's boys whose boy he was? "i'm my parent's boy," shouted the urchin, which burst of wit so convulsed the committee that they came very near "gin'in eout" completely. in a few moments honest ole abe finished his task, and received the news with perfect self-possession. he then asked them up to the house, where he received them cordially. he said he split three million rails every day, although he was in very poor health. mr. lincoln is a jovial man, and has a keen sense of the ludicrous. during the evening he asked mr. evarts, of new york, "why chicago was like a hen crossing the street?" mr. evarts gave it up. "because," said mr. lincoln, "old grimes is dead, that good old man!" this exceedingly humorous thing created the most uproarious laughter. interview with president lincoln i hav no politics. not a one. i'm not in the bizniss. if i was i spose i should holler versiffrusly in the streets at nite and go home to betsy jane smellin of coal ile and gin, in the mornin. i should go to the poles arly. i should stay there all day. i should see to it that my nabers was thar. i should git carriges to take the kripples, the infirm, and the indignant thar. i should be on guard agin frauds and sich. i should be on the look out for the infamus lise of the enemy, got up jest be elecshun for perlitical effeck. when all was over and my candy-date was elected, i should move heving & erth--so to speak--until i got orfice, which if i didn't git a orfice i should turn round and abooze the administration with all my mite and maine. but i'm not in the bizniss. i'm in a far more respectful bizniss nor what pollertics is. i wouldn't giv two cents to be a congresser. the wuss insult i ever received was when sertin citizens of baldinsville axed me to run fur the legislater. sez i, "my frends, dostest think i'd stoop to that there?" they turned as white as a sheet. i spoke in my most orfullest tones & they knowed i wasn't to be trifled with. they slunked out of site to onct. there , havin no politics, i made bold to visit old abe at his humstid in springfield. i found the old feller in his parler, surrounded by a perfeck swarm of orfice seekers. knowin he had been capting of a flat boat on the roarin mississippy i thought i'd address him in sailor lingo, so sez i, "old abe, ahoy! let out yer main-suls, reef hum the forecastle & throw yer jib-poop over-board! shiver my timbers, my harty!" [n. b. this is ginuine mariner langwidge. i know, becawz i've seen sailor plays acted out by them new york theater fellers.] old abe lookt up quite cross & sez, "send in yer petition by & by. i can't possibly look at it now. indeed, i can't. it's on-possible, sir!" "mr. linkin, who do you spect i air?" sed i. "a orfice-seeker, to be sure," sed he. "wall, sir," sed i, "you's never more mistaken in your life. you hain't gut a orfiss i'd take under no circumstances. i'm a. ward. wax figgers is my perfeshun. i'm the father of twins, and they look like me--_both of them_. i cum to pay a friendly visit to the president eleck of the united states. if so be you wants to see me, say so, if not, say so & i'm orf like a jug handle." "mr. ward, sit down. i am glad to see you, sir." "repose in abraham's buzzum!" sed one of the orfice seekers, his idee bein to git orf a goak at my expense. "wall," sez i, "ef all you fellers repose in that there buzzum thar'll be mity poor nussin for sum of you!" whereupon old abe buttoned his weskit clear up and blusht like a maidin of sweet . jest at this pint of the conversation another swarm of orfice-seekers arrove & cum pilin into the parler. sum wanted post orfices, sum wanted collectorships, sum wantid furrin missions, and all wanted sumthin. i thought old abe would go crazy. he hadn't more than had time to shake hands with 'em, before another tremenjis crowd cum porein onto his premises. his house and dooryard was now perfeckly overflowed with orfice seekers, all clameruss for a immejit interview with old abe. one man from ohio, who had about seven inches of corn whisky into him, mistook me for old abe and addrest me as "the pra-hayrie flower of the west!" thinks i _you_ want a offiss putty bad. another man with a gold-heded cane and a red nose told old abe he was "a seckind washington & the pride of the boundliss west." sez i, "square, you wouldn't take a small post-offiss if you could git it, would you?" sez he, "a patrit is abuv them things, sir!" "there's a putty big crop of patrits this season, ain't there, squire?" sez i, when _another_ crowd of offiss seekers pored in. the house, dooryard, barngs, woodshed was now all full, and when _another_ crowd cum i told 'em not to go away for want of room as the hog-pen was still empty. one patrit from a small town in michygan went up on top the house, got into the chimney and slid into the parler where old abe was endeverin to keep the hungry pack of orfice-seekers from chawin him up alive without benefit of clergy. the minit he reached the fireplace he jumpt up, brusht the soot out of his eyes, and yelled: "don't make eny pintment at the spunkville postoffiss till you've read my papers. all the respectful men in our town is signers to that there dockyment!" "good god!" cried old abe, "they cum upon me from the skize--down the chimneys, and from the bowels of the yerth!" he hadn't more'n got them words out of his delikit mouth before two fat offiss-seekers from winconsin, in endeverin to crawl atween his legs for the purpuss of applyin for the tollgateship at milwawky, upsot the president eleck, & he would hev gone sprawlin into the fireplace if i hadn't caught him in these arms. but i hadn't more'n stood him up strate before another man cum crashing down the chimney, his head strikin me viliently again the inards and prostratin my voluptoous form onto the floor. "mr. linkin," shoutid the infatooated being, "my papers is signed by every clergyman in our town, and likewise the skoolmaster!" sez i, "you egrejis ass," gittin up & brushin the dust from my eyes, "i'll sign your papers with this bunch of bones, if you don't be a little more keerful how you make my bread basket a depot in the futur. how do you like that air perfumery?" sez i, shuving my fist under his nose. "them's the kind of papers i'll giv you! them's the papers _you_ want!" "but i workt hard for the ticket; i toiled night and day! the patrit should be rewarded!" "virtoo," sed i, holdin' the infatooated man by the coat-collar, "virtoo, sir, is its own reward. look at me!" he did look at me, and qualed be my gase. "the fact is," i continued, lookin' round on the hungry crowd, "there is scacely a offiss for every ile lamp carrid round durin' this campane. i wish thare was. i wish thare was furrin missions to be filled on varis lonely islands where eprydemics rage incessantly, and if i was in old abe's place i'd send every mother's son of you to them. what air you here for?" i continnered, warmin up considerable, "can't you giv abe a minit's peace? don't you see he's worrid most to death? go home, you miserable men, go home & till the sile! go to peddlin tinware--go to choppin wood--go to bilin' sope--stuff sassengers--black boots--git a clerkship on sum respectable manure cart--go round as original swiss bell ringers--becum 'origenal and only' campbell minstrels--go to lecturin at dollars a nite--imbark in the peanut bizniss--_write for the ledger_--saw off your legs and go round givin concerts, with tuchin appeals to a charitable public, printed on your handbills--anything for a honest living, but don't come round here drivin old abe crazy by your outrajis cuttings up! go home. stand not upon the order of your goin', but go to onct! ef in five minits from this time," sez i, pullin' out my new sixteen dollar huntin cased watch and brandishin' it before their eyes, "ef in five minits from this time a single sole of you remains on these here premises, i'll go out to my cage near by, and let my boy constructor loose! & ef he gits amung you, you'll think old solferino has cum again and no mistake!" you ought to hev seen them scamper, mr. fair. they run of as tho satun hisself was arter them with a red hot ten pronged pitchfork. in five minits the premises was clear. "how kin i ever repay you, mr. ward, for your kindness?" sed old abe, advancin and shakin me warmly by the hand. "how kin i ever repay you, sir?" "by givin the whole country a good, sound administration. by poerin' ile upon the troubled waturs, north and south. by pursooin' a patriotic, firm, and just course, and then if any state wants to secede, let 'em sesesh!" "how 'bout my cabinit, mister ward?" sed abe. "fill it up with showmen, sir! showmen, is devoid of politics. they hain't got any principles. they know how to cater for the public. they know what the public wants, north & south. showmen, sir, is honest men. ef you doubt their literary ability, look at their posters, and see small bills! ef you want a cabinit as is a cabinit fill it up with showmen, but don't call on me. the moral wax figger perfeshun mustn't be permitted to go down while there's a drop of blood in these vains! a. linkin, i wish you well! ef powers or walcutt wus to pick out a model for a beautiful man, i scarcely think they'd sculp you; but ef you do the fair thing by your country you'll make as putty a angel as any of us! a. linkin, use the talents which nature has put into you judishusly and firmly, and all will be well! a. linkin, adoo!" he shook me cordyully by the hand--we exchanged picters, so we could gaze upon each others' liniments, when far away from one another--he at the hellum of the ship of state, and i at the hellum of the show bizniss--admittance only cents. chapter iv: some lincoln anecdotes let us now get back to that room in the white house again. after lincoln had finished reading from ward's book we talked about the author. the two stories long accredited to ward at which mr. lincoln laughed most heartily that day included the anecdote of the gray-haired lover who hoped to win a young wife and who, when asked by a neighbor how he was progressing with his suit, answered, with enthusiasm, "all right." when the neighbor then asked, "has she called you 'honey' yet?" the old man answered, "well, not exactly that, but she called me the next thing to it. she has called me 'old beeswax'!" another story which lincoln accredited to ward had to do with a visit the latter was supposed to have made in his country clothes and manners to a fashionable evening party. ward, not wishing to show the awkwardness he felt, stepped boldly up to an aristocratic lady and said, "you are a very handsome woman!" the woman took it to be an insulting piece of rude flattery and replied, spitefully, "i wish i could say the same thing of you!" whereupon ward boldly remarked, "well, you could if you were as big a liar as i am!" ward once stated that lincoln told him that he was an expert at raising corn to fatten hogs, but, unfortunately for his creditors, they were his neighbor's hogs. during this conversation the president sat leaning back in his desk chair with one long leg thrown over a corner of the cabinet table. he had removed his right cuff--i presume to be better able to sign his name to the various documents with which the table was littered--and he did not trouble to put it on again. he wore a black frock coat very wrinkled and shiny, and trousers of the same description. his necktie was black and one end of it was caught under the flap of his turnover collar. yet his appearance did not give one an impression of disorder; rather he looked like a neat workingman of the better sort. as i sat talking with the president a strong light flooded the cabinet room through the great south windows. outside one could see the potomac river sparkling in the bright winter sunshine. this strong illumination revealed the deep lines of the president's face. he looked so haggard and careworn after his long vigil (he had been at work since two o'clock in the morning) that i said: "you are very tired. i ought not to stay here and talk to you." "please sit still," he replied, quickly. "i am very tired and i can get rested; and you are an excuse for not letting anybody else in until i do get rested." so i understood the reason, or perhaps it would be fairer to say the excuse, for granting me this remarkable privilege. somehow the subject of education came up, and when lincoln asked me if i was a college man i told him i had left yale college law school to go to war. then he recounted an amusing experience which he once had in new haven. he went to the old new haven house to spend the night, and was given a room looking out on chapel street and the green. students were seated on the rail of the fence across the street, singing. mr. lincoln said that all he could remember of yale college as a result of that visit was a continual repetition in the song they were singing: "my old horse he came from jerusalem, came from jerusalem, came from jerusalem, leaning on the lamb." he said whimsically that he thought this was a good sample of college education as he had found it. yet the president did not belittle the advantages to be gained by a college education properly and seriously applied. he said he often felt that he had missed a great deal by his failure to secure these advantages even though he thought the usual college education was inadequate and very impractical. he had found in his experience with the army that it took army officers from college just as long to learn military science as it did a young man from a farm. then the president asked me how i, as a poor farmer's boy, got along at yale. i told him i taught music in yale to earn part of my living--dug potatoes in the afternoon, and taught music in the evening. then he got up and walked up and down the room with his hands behind him, while he gave me quite a discourse on his opinion of music, and especially of church music. he said the inconsistency of church music was something that astonished him: that if you go to any place other than a church the music is always appropriate for the place and time. in the theater, for example, they sing songs which have some connection with the acting. (perhaps that example would not apply to-day.) but in church very often there did not seem to be any relation whatever between what the congregation or the choir sings and the sermon. then he told me about some "highfalutin' songs" he had heard in church, which he said would be ridiculous if it was not in church; he was disgusted with the lack of sacred art and of appropriateness in church music. he finished by saying that he did not favor "dance music at a funeral." there is a good deal of common sense in that! i do not now recall just how the subject was introduced, but lincoln talked to me about dreams, and he said that while he could not see any scientific reason for believing in dreams, nevertheless that he did in a measure believe in them, although he could not explain why. he said that they had undeniably influenced him. then he spoke of dreams he had "since the war came on," which had influenced him a great deal. he said, "there might not be much in dreams, but when i dream we have been defeated it puts me on my nerve to watch out and see how things are. men may say dreams are of no account, but they are suggestive to me, and in that respect of great account." when the president spoke of the people who were waiting to see him, i said: "no doubt many of them, like myself, are strangers to you. how do you select those you will let in when you can't see them all?" he replied that he decided a good deal by names, and then he told me what seemed a good point to remember, that he had trained his memory in his youth by determining to remember people's faces and names together. this he had done when he was first elected to the legislature in illinois. he realized at once when he got into the legislature that he could not make a speech like the rest of "those fellows," college people, but he could get a personal acquaintance and great influence if he would remember everybody's face and everybody's name; and so he said he had acted upon the plan of carrying a memorandum book around with him and setting down carefully the name of each man he met, and then making a little outline sketch with his pencil of some feature of the man--his ears, nose, shoulder, or something which would help him to remember. lincoln then told me a story about james g. blaine when the latter was first elected to congress. blaine afterward repudiated this story, but it serves to illustrate lincoln's thought none the less. he said that blaine hired a private secretary to help him out in remembering people. his system was to have the secretary meet all those who entered the reception room and ask their names, where they lived, what families they belonged to, and all the information that could be gained about them in a social way. then, according to the story, the secretary ran around to the back door to mr. blaine's private office and gave him a full memorandum about his callers. a few minutes later, when the visitor was ushered in, the secretary told him to "walk right in to see mr. blaine." he would say in the most casual manner: "mr. blaine is in there. you can go right in." mr. blaine would get up, shake hands with the man, ask him how his relations were, how long it had been since he was in the legislature, whether his wife's brother had been successful in the west, etc., until the visitor came to be perfectly astounded. as a result of this mr. blaine became very famous for his memory of names. but even if the story about the source of blaine's "memory" is untrue, lincoln was probably ahead of him and, indeed, of any man in this country; he could remember every person he had ever seen in twenty years' time. that was one of the things that became evident when i asked him how he could judge the visitors. in the majority of cases he had seen the man or heard of him in some connection, perhaps years before. he also said that he judged strangers by their names because when he heard their names he would think of other people he did know by that name, and he judged they might belong to that family and have the same traits. he admitted that he was sometimes guided by the suggestion of artemus ward, who told him a story of a boys' club in boston which did not take in any members who were not irish. a boy came along and asked to be admitted to the club, and the members asked, "are you irish?" "oh yes," replied the boy, "i am irish." "what is your name?" "my name is ikey einstein." lincoln, smiling, said, "the irish boys kicked that boy out forthwith." he said, "artemus ward, when telling me that story, confirmed me in my view that a name _does_ have something to do with the man. but," lincoln added, "if it is smith, i have no way of getting at it." then he said, more seriously, that he had to be guided a great deal by an instinctive impression of the visitor as he came in the door. "seldom a person sits down at this table, or desk, but i have formed an opinion of the man's disposition and traits, by an instinctive impression." he acknowledged that he could not always trust to this, but was generally guided by it and found he got along very well with it. sometimes, however, he did make a mistake, as when on one occasion he had talked to a man for half an hour as though he was a hotel keeper, and found out afterward that he was a preacher. through all this conversation there had run an undercurrent of whimsicality, partly, no doubt, the conscious effort of a sorely tried mind to gain a few minutes' respite from its pressing cares, but none the less showing a keen and deep-seated appreciation of the funny side of life. only once did this humor forsake him, and that was when lincoln spoke of tad. the little boy had been playing quietly by himself all the time--apparently he was as much at home in the cabinet room as in any other part of the white house--and lincoln told me tad had been sick and that it worried him. then he put his head in both his hands, looked down at the table, and said, "no man ought to wish to be president of the united states!" still holding his head in his hands, he said to me, "young man, do not take a political office unless you are compelled to; there are times when it is heart-crushing!" he said he had thought how many a mother and father had lost their children in the war--just boys. "and i am so anxious about my tad, i cannot help but think how they must feel. if tad had died--" he grew very sad; for a few minutes his face was gloomy, and it seemed as though half a sob was coming up in his throat. lincoln was not one of those men who go to the extremes of grief or the extremes of joy; but other people have told me, as i myself now saw, that when there came to him that seizure of deep sadness he had to fight himself for a few minutes to overcome it. this impressed me that day very deeply. breaking off abruptly from what he had been talking about--war and artemus ward--and speaking suddenly of tad, he had dropped down in that dejected position, and for a few minutes looked so sad i thought something awful must suddenly have come to his mind. but it seemed, after all, to be only the fear that tad, who was not very well, might die. who can say what vistas of thought that idea may have opened. chapter v: what made him laugh to many persons it seemed incongruous that there should be any thought, motive, or taste in common between abraham lincoln and the droll artemus ward. indeed, the great biographers of lincoln have either ignored the existence of ward or have referred to him very sparingly. yet no visitor at the white house seemed more welcome than ward during lincoln's administration. mr. seward, the secretary of state, and mr. stanton, the secretary of war, were said to disapprove of ward's frequent visits, and it was whispered to mrs. ames, correspondent of the _independent_, that lincoln hinted to ward that it might be best to time his visits so as to occur when mrs. lincoln was not at home. but it was a matter of common gossip in "newspaper row" that there was a strong and true friendship between the care-burdened president and the fun-making showman, whose real name was charles farrar browne. the strange contrast in their abilities, their dispositions, and their careers puzzled the amateur psychoanalysts of that day. was it merely an example of the attraction of opposites? lincoln was strong, athletic, and enduring; ward was weak, lazy, and changeable. lincoln loved work; ward took the path of least resistance. lincoln was a moderate eater and lived firmly up to his principles as a teetotaler; ward drank anything sold at a bar and sometimes was too intoxicated to appear at his "wax-figger show." lincoln loved the classics and was a good judge of literature; ward seldom read a classic translation. lincoln saved money and could carefully invest it; ward would not take the trouble to collect his own salary, and never was known to make an investment. lincoln laughed often, and on rare occasions laughed long and loud; ward never laughed in public and in his funniest moods never even smiled. lincoln's sad face, when in repose, touched a chord of sympathy in the souls of those who knew him best. yet hingston, who was ward's best friend, said that ward's cold stare awoke at once cyclones of riotous laughter in his audiences. lincoln was a great patriotic leader of men and wielded the power of a monarch; ward was a quiet citizen, who loved his country, but had no desire for power or for battles. strong contrasts these. yet in a deep and sincere friendship they were agreed. of the few cheerful things which entered lincoln's life in those troubled and gloomy times, the one which he enjoyed most was ward's "show." he thought this was the most downright comical thing that had ever been put before the public, and he laughed heartily even as he described it. ward had a nondescript collection of stuffed animals which he exhibited upon the stage; he told the audience he found it cheaper to stuff the animals once than to keep stuffing them continually. they consisted at one time of a jack-rabbit and two mangy bears. he had also a picture of the western plains--the poorest one he could find. he would say, "the indians in this picture have not come along yet." one always expected him to lecture about his animals, but he never did; in fact, he scarcely mentioned them. his manner was that of an utter idiot, and his blank stare, when the audience laughed at something he had said, was enough in itself to send the whole hall into paroxysms of mirth. lincoln said to me that day, "one glimpse of ward would make a culprit laugh when he was being hung." no doubt one reason why lincoln felt kindly toward ward was because the latter was "most unselfishly trying to keep people cheerful in a most depressing time. he and nasby," the president said, "are furnishing about all the cheerfulness we now have in this country." (petroleum v. nasby, it will be remembered, was the pen name taken by david ross locke in his witty letters from the "confedrit crossroads.") the humor of ward may seem crude to us now, but in the dark days of ' it took something more potent than refined wit to make people laugh--just as it took a series of ludicrous and not overrefined drawings to make england laugh in ; and it must be borne in mind that while ward's sayings were homely and sometimes savored strongly of the frontier, they were never coarse or insinuating. but after all, the best way to learn what lincoln really thought of ward was to ask him, and i did exactly that. also, i was careful to give close heed to his words, that i might be able to write them down immediately afterward. this, to the best of my recollection, was what lincoln said: "i was told the other day by a congressman from maine that ward was driven partly insane in his early life by the drowning of his intended bride in norway lake. i could feel _that_ in ward's character somehow before i was told about it. ward seems at times so utterly forlorn. "nothing draws on my feelings like such a calamity. i knew what it was once. yes! yes! i know all about it. one never gets away from it. i must ask ward to tell me all about his trouble sometime. i think that is what makes him so sad in appearances. ward never laughs himself, unless he thinks it is his duty to make other people laugh. he is surely right about that. "perhaps ward's whisky drinking is all an attempt to drown his sorrow. who knows? it is a mighty mistake to go to drink for comfort. i should suppose the memory of the woman, if she was one worth while, would keep him from such a foolish habit. i've been right glad that i let the stuff alone. there was plenty of it about. "ward told me one day that he took to funny work as a makeshift for a decent living; and that he found it to be an honest way to go about doing good. i would have done that myself if i had not found harder work at the law. "i have agreed with many people who think that ward should be in some trade or writing books. but i don't know about it. he has a special kind of mind, and, rightly used, he would make an excellent teacher of mental science. in one way of looking at it his life is wasted. but if he refreshes and cheers other people as he does me, i can't see how he could make a better investment of his life. i smile and smile here as one by one the crowd passes me to shake hands, until it is a week before my face gets straight. but it is a duty. _i could defeat our whole army to-morrow by looking glum at a reception or by refusing to smile for three consecutive hours._[ ] ward says he carries a bottle of sunshine in 'the other pocket,' to treat his friends. i like that idea. [ ] the italics are the author's.--ed. "ward is dreadfully misunderstood by a lot of dull people. they insist on taking him seriously. an old lady in baltimore held me up one night after i had told some of artemus ward's remarks, and she may not have forgiven me yet. i told his tale of the rich land out in iowa, where the farmer threw a cucumber seed as far as he could and started out on a run for his house. but the cucumber vine overtook him and he found a seed cucumber in his pocket. "at that the old lady opened her eyes and mouth, but made no remark. once more i tried her, by telling how ward knew a lady who went for a porous plaster and the druggist told her to place it anywhere on her trunk. not having a trunk or box in the house, she put it on her bandbox, and the next day reported that it was so powerful that it drew her pink bonnet all out of shape. "that was more than the conscientious old saint could stand, and after supper she called me aside and told me that i ought to know that man ward, or whoever it was, 'was an out-and-out liar.' "that makes me think of a colored preacher who worked here on the grounds through the week, and who loved the deep waters of theology in which he floundered daily. one evening i asked him why he did not laugh on sunday, and when he said it was because it was 'suthin' frivlus,' i told him that the bible said god laughed. "the old man came to the door several days after that and said, 'marse linkum, i've been totin' dat yar bible saying "god larfed," and i've 'cluded dat it mus' jes' tak' a joke as big as der universe ter mak god larf. dar ain't no sech jokes roun' dis yere white house on sunday.' "well, let us get back to ward and begin _de novo_. and, by the way, that was the first latin phrase i ever heard. but i like ward, because all his fun and all his yarns are as clean as spring water. he doesn't insinuate or suggest approval of evil. he doesn't ridicule true religion. he never speaks slightingly or grossly of woman. he is a one-hundred-carat man in his motives. i am often accredited with telling disgraceful barroom stories, and sometimes see them in print, but i have no time to contradict them. perhaps people forget them soon. i hope so. i don't know how i came by the name of a storyteller. it is not a fame i would seek. but i have tried to use as many as i could find that were good so as to cheer up people in this hard world. "ward said that he did not know much about education in the schools, but he had an idea the training there was more to make the child think quickly and think accurately than to memorize facts. if that were the case he thought a textbook on bright jokes would be a valuable addition to a school curriculum. "ward's sharp jokes _do_ discipline the mind. ward told tad last summer that adam was _snaked_ out of eden, and that goliath was surprised when david hit him because such a thing never entered his head before. ward told mr. chase that his father was an artist who was true to life, for he made a scarecrow so bad that the crows brought back the corn they had stolen two years before. ward believes that the riddles of sampson, the fables of Ã�sop, the questions of socrates, and sums in mathematics are all mind awakeners similar in effect to the discipline of real humor." knowing that lincoln had suffered a nearly fatal heart blow in his youth through the tragic death of his first love, i was interested, years after this interview with the president, to learn that there had been a startling occurrence of a very similar nature in the early life of ward. this has been almost universally overlooked. even his most intimate friends, including robertson, hingston, setchell, coe, carleton, and rider, make no mention of the tragic death of one of ward's earliest girl friends, maude myrick, then residing with relatives in norway, maine. the township of norway adjoins waterford, where ward was born, and where he lived until he was nineteen. none of ward's biographers give details of his early life on the farm, and none appear even to have heard of maude myrick. in a reporter of the boston _daily traveler_ was sent to waterford to find the living neighbors of ward's family and write a sketch of the village and people. in the report the barest mention was made of maude myrick. it stated that a cousin of ward's remembered that his early infatuation for a girl in the adjoining township "broke him all up" when she was accidentally drowned at the inlet of norway lake. search for her genealogy at this late date seems vain. ward appears never to have mentioned her name but once after her death, and that was on his own dying bed. the only allusion possibly concerning her that he ever made was a brief note in an autograph album, preserved in portland, maine, in which he wrote: "as for opposites; the happiest place for me is tiffin, and the saddest is a bridge over the norway brook." if the historian could be sure that the vague rumor was fact and that the country lass and the farmer's son were lovers, that the place of her sudden death at the bridge over the inlet to norway lake, halfway between their homes, was their trysting place, it would make clear the chief reason for abraham lincoln's tender interest in artemus ward. that fact would also account in a large degree for ward's eccentric, inimitable humor. all the great humorists from charles lamb to josh billings were broken-hearted in their youth. great geniuses have often been developed by the same sad experience. it often costs much to be truly great. previous to his sixteenth year the life of charles farrar browne was that of a new england country boy with parents who were industrious, honest, and poor. the family needs were not of the extreme kind which are found in the slums of the city, but existence depended on incessant toil and the most critical economy. squire browne, the father of the future "artemus ward," was a farmer who could also use surveying instruments with the skill of new england common sense. his mother was a strong, industrious woman of the pilgrim fathers stock. she encouraged home study and made the long winter evenings the occasion for moral and mental instruction. the district school was of little use to her children, as they could "outteach the teacher." but charlie was educated beyond his years by the books which his parents brought into the home. at fifteen years of age, his father having died two years previously, he was sent to skowhegan, maine, to learn the trade of a printer in the office of the skowhegan _clarion_. his parents had not intended that he should be permanently a printer; the inability to care for the growing boy at home evidently induced them to seek a trade for him by which he could earn a living while studying for the ministry. but the tragic events or the unaccountable mental revolution of those unrecorded years turned away all the hopes of his parents and sent his soul into rebellion against such a career. nevertheless, a deep good nature remained intact and the altruistic qualities of his disposition proved to be permanent. he wrote to shillabar ("mrs. partington") of boston that "the man who has no care for fun himself has more time to cheer up his neighbors." the only thing that ever cheered ward into chuckling laughter was to meditate by himself on the effect of a squib or description he was composing on "some old codger on a barrel by the country grocery." ward was never contented or fully happy. he traveled about from place to place, often leaving without collecting his wages. he was a typesetter and reporter at tiffin, ohio, at toledo, and at cleveland. when mr. j. w. gray of the cleveland _plain dealer_ secured ward's services as a reporter, ward was twenty-four years old and thought to be hopelessly indolent by his previous employer. he soon became known as "that fool who writes for the _plain dealer_"; and his comic situations and surprising arguments were soon the general theme of conversation in the city. he was famous in a month. it was there and then that he assumed the pen name of artemus ward. he began to give his humorous public talks in and was successful from the first evening. his writings for _vanity fair_, new york, and all his lectures were clearly original. he could never be accused of plagiarism or imitation. indeed, no one on earth could repeat his lectures with success or equal ward in continual fun making. he often assumed the role of an idiot, but at the same time made the wisest observations and the cutest sarcasms. his appearance on the stage even before he made his mechanical nod was greeted with loud, hearty, and prolonged laughter. the saddest forgot his sorrow, the most sedate gentleman began to shake, and the crusty old maid broke out into the ha! ha! of a girl of sixteen. we may read ward's writings and feel something of his absurd humor when we recall his posture as he stated solemnly that his wife's feet "were so large that her toes came around the corner two minutes before she came along"; but to feel the full force of the absurdity one needs to see ward's seeming impatience that anyone should take it as a joke or disbelieve his plain statement. some cynical persons saw in lincoln's friendship a move to secure ward's influence as a popular writer for the help of his political party. now that mr. lincoln is more fully understood, no one would accuse him of any such a hypocritical or unworthy motive. he would have been frank with ward even though the latter was needed to aid the sacred cause of human liberty. samuel bowles of the springfield _republican_, writing on artemus ward's death in , said, "ward is said not to have seen a well day after the death of president lincoln." it was a true friendship, beyond a doubt. chapter vi: humor in the political situation among the articles published by artemus ward were the following references to lincoln's political life, which greatly pleased mr. lincoln. he often showed the worn clippings to his intimate friends. they lose much of the keen wit of their composition by the changes which the years have wrought in their local setting. almost every word had a humorous and wise inference or thrust which cannot be recognized by the modern reader. but they retain enough still to be wonderfully funny. the tattered clippings are no more, of course, but i have gone back to ward's book and give below the stories which so amused lincoln. joy in the house of ward dear sirs: i take my pen in hand to inform you that i am in a state of great bliss, and trust these lines will find you injoyin the same blessins. i'm reguvinated. i've found the immortal waters of yooth, so to speak, and am as limber and frisky as a two-year-old steer, and in the futur them boys which sez to me "go up, old bawld hed," will do so at the peril of their hazard, individooally. i'm very happy. my house is full of joy, and i have to git up nights and larf! sumtimes i ax myself "is it not a dream?" & suthin withinto me sez "it air"; but when i look at them sweet little critters and hear 'em squawk, i know it is a reality-- realitys, i may say--and i feel gay. i returnd from the summer campane with my unparaleld show of wax works and livin wild beests of pray in the early part of this munth. the peple of baldinsville met me cordully and i immejitly commenst restin myself with my famerly. the other nite while i was down to the tavurn tostin my shins agin the bar room fire & amuzin the krowd with sum of my adventurs, who shood cum in bare heded & terrible excited but bill stokes, who sez, sez he, "old ward, there's grate doins up to your house." sez i, "william, how so?" sez he, "bust my gizzud but it's grate doins," & then he larfed as if he'd kill hisself. sez i, risin and puttin on a austeer look, "william, i woodunt be a fool if i had common cents." but he kept on larfin till he was black in the face, when he fell over on to the bunk where the hostler sleeps, and in a still small voice sed, "twins!" i ashure you gents that the grass didn't grow under my feet on my way home, & i was follered by a enthoosiastic throng of my feller sitterzens, who hurrard for old ward at the top of their voises. i found the house chock full of peple. thare was mis square baxter and her three grown-up darters, lawyer perkinses wife, taberthy ripley, young eben parsuns, deakun simmuns folks, the skoolmaster, doctor jordin, etsetterry, etsetterry. mis ward was in the west room, which jines the kitchen. mis square baxter was mixin suthin in a dipper before the kitchin fire, & a small army of female wimin were rushin wildly round the house with bottles of camfire, peaces of flannil, &c. i never seed such a hubbub in my natral born dase. i cood not stay in the west room only a minit, so strung up was my feelins, so i rusht out and ceased my dubbel barrild gun. "what upon airth ales the man?" sez taberthy ripley. "sakes alive, what air you doin?" & she grabd me by the coat tales. "what's the matter with you?" she continnerd. "twins, marm," sez i, "twins!" "i know it," sez she, coverin her pretty face with her aprun. "wall," sez i, "that's what's the matter with me!" "wall, put down that air gun, you pesky old fool," sed she. "no, marm," sez i, "this is a nashunal day. the glory of this here day isn't confined to baldinsville by a darn site. on yonder woodshed," sed i, drawin myself up to my full hite and speakin in a show actin voice, "will i fire a nashunal saloot!" sayin whitch i tared myself from her grasp and rusht to the top of the shed whare i blazed away until square baxter's hired man and my son artemus juneyer cum and took me down by mane force. on returnin to the kitchin i found quite a lot of peple seated be the fire, a talkin the event over. they made room for me & i sot down. "quite a eppisode," sed docter jordin, litin his pipe with a red-hot coal. "yes," sed i, " eppisodes, waying abowt pounds jintly." "a perfeck coop de tat," sed the skoolmaster. "e pluribus unum, in proprietor persony," sed i, thinking i'd let him know i understood furrin langwidges as well as he did, if i wasn't a skoolmaster. "it is indeed a momentious event," sed young eben parsuns, who has been quarters to the akademy. "i never heard twins called by that name afore," sed i, "but i spose it's all rite." "we shall soon have wards enuff," sed the editer of the baldinsville _bugle of liberty_, who was lookin over a bundle of exchange papers in the corner, "to apply to the legislater for a city charter!" "good for you, old man!" sed i; "giv that air a conspickius place in the next _bugle_." "how redicklus," sed pretty susan fletcher, coverin her face with her knittin work & larfin like all possest. "wall, for my part," sed jane maria peasley, who is the crossest old made in the world, "i think you all act like a pack of fools." sez i, "mis. peasly, air you a parent?" sez she, "no, i ain't." sez i, "mis. peasly, you never will be." she left. we sot there talkin & larfin until "the switchin hour of nite, when grave yards yawn & josts troop th," as old bill shakespire aptlee obsarves in his dramy of john sheppard, esq, or the moral house breaker, when we broke up & disbursed. muther & children is a doin well & as resolushhuns is the order of the day i will feel obleeged if you'll insurt the follerin-- whereas, two eppisodes has happined up to the undersined's house, which is twins; & whereas i like this stile, sade twins bein of the male perswashun & both boys; there be it-- _resolved_, that to them nabers who did the fare thing by sade eppisodes my hart felt thanks is doo. _resolved_, that i do most hartily thank engine ko. no. , who, under the impreshun from the fuss at my house on that auspishus nite that thare was a konflagration goin on, kum galyiantly to the spot, but kindly refraned from squirtin. _resolved_, that frum the bottum of my sole do i thank the baldinsville brass band fur givin up the idea of sarahnadin me, both on that great nite & sinse. _resolved_, that my thanks is doo several members of the baldinsville meetin house who for whole dase hain't kalled me a sinful skoffer or intreeted me to mend my wicked wase and jine sade meetin house to onct. _resolved_, that my boozum teams with meny kind emoshuns towards the follerin individoouls, to whit namelee--mis. square baxter, who jenerusly refoozed to take a sent for a bottle of camfire; lawyer perkinses wife who rit sum versis on the eppisodes; the editer of the baldinsville _bugle of liberty_, who nobly assisted me in wollupin my kangeroo, which sagashus little cuss seriusly disturbed the eppisodes by his outrajus screetchins & kickins up; mis. hirum doolittle, who kindly furnisht sum cold vittles at a tryin time, when it wasunt konvenient to cook vittles at my hous; & the peasleys, parsunses & watsunses fur there meny ax of kindness. trooly yures, artemus ward. the crisis [this oration was delivered before the commencement of the war] on returnin to my humsted in baldinsville, injianny, resuntly, my feller sitterzens extended a invite for me to norate to 'em on the krysis. i excepted & on larst toosday nite i peared be a c of upturned faces in the red skool house. i spoke nearly as follers: baldinsvillins: heartto , as i have numerously obsarved, i have abstrained from having any sentimunts or principles, my pollertics, like my religion, bein of a exceedin accommodatin character. but the fack can't be no longer disgised that a krysis is onto us, & i feel it's my dooty to accept your invite for one consecutive nite only. i spose the inflammertory individooals who assisted in projucing this krysis know what good she will do, but i ain't 'shamed to state that i don't scacely. but the krysis is hear. she's bin hear for sevral weeks, & goodness nose how long she'll stay. but i venter to assert that she's rippin things. she's knockt trade into a cockt up hat and chaned bizness of all kinds tighter nor i ever chaned any of my livin wild beests. alow me to hear dygress & stait that my beests at presnt is as harmless as the newborn babe. ladys & gentlemen neen't hav no fears on that pint. to resoom--altho i can't exactly see what good this krysis can do, i can very quick say what the origernal cawz of her is. the origernal cawz is our afrikan brother. i was into barnim's moozeum down to new york the other day & saw that exsentric etheopian, the what is it. sez i, "mister what is it, you folks air raisin thunder with this grate country. you're gettin to be ruther more numeris than interestin. it is a pity you coodent go orf sumwhares by yourselves, & be a nation of what is its, tho' if you'll excoose me, i shooden't care about marryin among you. no dowt you're exceedin charmin to hum, but your stile of luvliness isn't adapted to this cold climit." he larfed into my face, which rather riled me, as i had been perfeckly virtoous and respectable in my observashuns. so sez i, turnin a leetle red in the face, i spect, "do you hav the unblushin impoodents to say you folks haven't raised a big mess of thunder in this brite land, mister what is it?" he larfed agin, wusser nor be , whareupon i up and sez, "go home, sir, to afriky's burnin shores & taik all the other what is its along with you. don't think we can spair your interestin picters. you what is its air on the pint of smashin up the gratest guv'ment ever erected by man, & you actooally hav the owdassity to larf about it. go home, you low cuss!" i was workt up to a high pitch, & i proceeded to a restorator & cooled orf with some little fishes biled in ile--i b'leeve thay call 'em sardeens. feller sitterzuns, the afrikan may be our brother. sevral hily respectyble gentlemen, and sum talentid females tell us so, & fur argyment's sake i mite be injooced to grant it, tho' i don't beleeve it myself. but the afrikan isn't our sister & our wife & our uncle. he isn't sevral of our brothers & all our fust wife's relashuns. he isn't our grandfather, and our grate grandfather, and our aunt in the country. scacely. & yit numeris persons would have us think so. it's troo he runs congress & sevral other public grosserys, but then he ain't everybody & everybody else likewise. [notiss to bizness men of vanity fair: extry charg fur this larst remark. it's a goak.--a. w.] but we've got the afrikan, or ruther he's got us, & now what air we going to do about it? he's a orful noosanse. praps he isn't to blame fur it. praps he was creatid fur sum wise purpuss, like the measles and new englan rum, but it's mity hard to see it. at any rate he's no good here, & as i statid to mister what is it, it's a pity he cooden't go orf sumwhares quietly by hisself, whare he cood wear red weskits & speckled neckties, & gratterfy his ambishun in varis interestin wase, without havin a eternal fuss kickt up about him. praps i'm bearing down too hard upon cuffy. cum to think on it, i am. he woodn't be sich a infernal noosanse if white peple would let him alone. he mite indeed be interestin. and now i think of it, why can't the white peple let him alone. what's the good of continnerly stirrin him up with a ten-foot pole? he isn't the sweetest kind of perfoomery when in a natral stait. feller sitterzens, the union's in danger. the black devil disunion is trooly here, starin us all squarely in the fase! we must drive him back. shall we make a nd mexico of ourselves? shall we sell our birthrite for a mess of potash? shall one brother put the knife to the throat of anuther brother? shall we mix our whisky with each other's blud? shall the star spangled banner be cut up into dishcloths? standin here in this here skoolhouse, upon my nativ shore so to speak, i anser--nary! oh you fellers who air raisin this row, & who in the fust place startid it, i'm 'shamed of you. the showman blushes for you, from his boots to the topmost hair upon his wenerable hed. feller sitterzens: i am in the sheer & yeller leaf. i shall peg out of these dase. but while i do stop here i shall stay in the union. i know not what the supervizers of baldinsville may conclude to do, but for one, i shall stand by the stars & stripes. under no circumstances whatsomever will i sesesh. let every stait in the union sesesh & let palmetter flags flote thicker nor shirts on square baxter's close line, still will i stick to the good old flag. the country may go to the devil, but i won't! and next summer when i start out on my campane with my show, wharever i pitch my little tent, you shall see floatin prowdly from the center pole thereof the amerikan flag, with nary a star wiped out, nary a stripe less, but the same old flag that has allers flotid thar! & the price of admishun will be the same it allers was-- cents, children half price. feller sitterzens, i am dun. accordingly i squatted. wax figures _versus_ shakspeare onto the wing---- . mr. editor. i take my pen in hand to inform yu that i'm in good helth and trust these few lines will find yu injoyin the same blessins. i wood also state that i'm now on the summir kampane. as the poit sez-- ime erflote, ime erflote on the swift rollin tied an the rovir is free. bizness is scacely middlin, but sirs i manige to pay for my foode and raiment puncktooally and without no grumblin. the barked arrers of slandur has bin leviled at the undersined moren onct sins heze bin into the show bizness, but i make bold to say no man on this footstule kan troothfully say i ever ronged him or eny of his folks. i'm travelin with a tent, which is better nor hirin hauls. my show konsists of a serious of wax works, snakes, a paneramy kalled a grand movin diarea of the war in the crymear, komic songs and the cangeroo, which larst little cuss continners to konduct hisself in the most outrajus stile. i started out with the idear of makin my show a grate moral entertainment, but i'm kompeled to sware so much at that air infurnal kangeroo that i'm frade this desine will be flustratid to some extent. and while speakin of morrality, remines me that sum folks turn up their nosis at shows like mine, sayin they is low and not fit to be patrernized by peple of high degree. sirs, i manetane that this is infernal nonsense. i manetane that wax figgers is more elevatin than awl the plays ever wroten. take shakespeer for instunse. peple think heze grate things, but i kontend heze quite the reverse to the kontrary. what sort of sense is thare to king leer, who goze round cussin his darters, chawin hay and throin straw at folks, and larfin like a silly old koot and makin a ass of hisself ginerally? thare's mrs. mackbeth--sheze a nise kind of woomon to have round ain't she, a puttin old mack, her husband, up to slayin dunkan with a cheeze knife, while heze payin a frendly visit to their house. o its hily morral, i spoze, when she larfs wildly and sez, "gin me the daggurs--ile let his bowels out," or wurds to that effeck--i say, this is awl, strickly, propper, i spoze? that jack fawlstarf is likewise a immoral old cuss, take him how ye may, and hamlick is as crazy as a loon. thare's richurd the three, peple think heze grate things, but i look upon him in the lite of a monkster. he kills everybody he takes a noshun to in kold blud, and then goze to sleep in his tent. bimeby he wakes up and yells for a hoss so he kan go orf and kill sum more peple. if he isent a fit spesserman for the gallers then i shood like to know whare you find um. thare's iargo who is more ornery nor pizun. see how shameful he treated that hily respecterble injun gentlemun, mister otheller, makin him for to beleeve his wife was too thick with casheo. obsarve how iargo got casheo drunk as a biled owl on corn whiskey in order to karry out his sneckin desines. see how he wurks mister otheller's feelins up so that he goze and makes poor desdemony swaller a piller which cawses her deth. but i must stop. at sum futur time i shall continner my remarks on the drammer in which i shall show the varst supeeriority of wax figgers and snakes over theater plays, in a interlectooal pint of view. very respectively yures, a ward, t. k. the shakers the shakers is the strangest religious sex i ever met. i'd hearn tell of 'em and i'd seen 'em, with their broad brim'd hats and long wastid coats; but i'd never cum into immejit contack with 'em, and i'd sot 'em down as lackin intelleck, as i'd never seen 'em to my show--leastways, if they cum they was disgised in white peple's close, so i didn't know 'em. but in the spring of --, i got swampt in the exterior of new york state, one dark and stormy night, when the winds blue pityusly, and i was forced to tie up with the shakers. i was toilin threw the mud, when in the dim vister of the futer i obsarved the gleams of a taller candle. tiein a hornet's nest to my off hoss's tail to kinder encourage him, i soon reached the place. i knockt at the door, which it was opened unto me by a tall, slick-faced, solum lookin individooal, who turn'd out to be a elder. "mr. shaker," sed i, "you see before you a babe in the woods, so to speak, and he axes shelter of you." "yay," sed the shaker, and he led the way into the house, another shaker bein sent to put my hosses and waggin under kiver. a solum female, lookin sumwhat like a last year's bean-pole stuck into a long meal bag, cum in and axed me was i a thurst and did i hunger? to which i urbanely anserd "a few." she went orf and i endeverd to open a conversashun with the old man. "elder, i spect?" sed i. "yay," he said. "helth's good, i reckon?" "yay." "what's the wages of a elder, when he understans his bisness--or do you devote your sarvices gratooitus?" "yay." "stormy night, sir." "yay." "if the storm continners there'll be a mess underfoot, hay?" "yay." "it's onpleasant when there's a mess underfoot?" "yay." "if i may be so bold, kind sir, what's the price of that pecooler kind of weskit you wear, incloodin trimmins?" "yay!" i pawsd a minit, and then, thinkin i'd be faseshus with him and see how that would go, i slapt him on the shoulder, bust into a harty larf, and told him that as a _yayer_ he had no livin ekal. he jumpt up as if billin water had bin squirted into his ears, groaned, rolled his eyes up tords the sealin and sed: "you're a man of sin!" he then walkt out of the room. jest then the female in the meal bag stuck her hed into the room and statid that refreshments awaited the weary travler, and i sed if it was vittles she ment the weary travler was agreeable, and i follored her into the next room. i sot down to the table and the female in the meal bag pored out sum tea. she sed nothin, and for five minutes the only live thing in that room was a old wooden clock, which tickt in a subdood and bashful manner in the corner. this dethly stillness made me oneasy, and i determined to talk to the female or bust. so sez i, "marrige is agin your rules, i bleeve, marm?" "yay." "the sexes liv strickly apart, i spect?" "yay." "it's kinder singler," sez i, puttin on my most sweetest look and speakin in a winnin voice, "that so fair a made as thow never got hitched to some likely feller." [n. b.--she was upwards of and homely as a stump fence, but i thawt i'd tickil her.] "i don't like men!" she sed, very short. "wall, i dunno," sez i, "they're a rayther important part of the populashun. i don't scacely see how we could git along without 'em." "us poor wimin folks would git along a grate deal better if there was no men!" "you'll excoos me, marm, but i don't think that air would work. it wouldn't be regler." "i'm fraid of men!" she sed. "that's onnecessary, marm. _you_ ain't in no danger. don't fret yourself on that pint." "here we're shot out from the sinful world. here all is peas. here we air brothers and sisters. we don't marry and consekently we hav no domestic difficulties. husbans don't abooze their wives--wives don't worrit their husbans. there's no children here to worrit us. nothin to worrit us here. no wicked matrimony here. would thow like to be a shaker?" "no," sez i, "it ain't my stile." i had now histed in as big a load of pervishuns as i could carry comfortable, and, leanin back in my cheer, commenst pickin my teeth with a fork. the female went out, leavin me all alone with the clock. i hadn't sot thar long before the elder poked his hed in at the door. "you're a man of sin!" he sed, and groaned and went away. directly thar cum in two young shakeresses, as putty and slick lookin gals as i ever met. it is troo they was drest in meal bags like the old one i'd met previsly, and their shiny, silky har was hid from sight by long white caps, sich as i spose female josts wear; but their eyes sparkled like diminds, their cheeks was like roses, and they was charmin enuff to make a man throw stuns at his granmother if they axed him to. they comenst clearin away the dishes, castin shy glances at me all the time. i got excited. i forgot betsy jane in my rapter, and sez i, "my pretty dears, how air you?" "we air well," they solumnly sed. "whar's the old man?" sed i, in a soft voice. "of whom dost thow speak--brother uriah?" "i mean the gay and festiv cuss who calls me a man of sin. shouldn't wonder if his name was uriah." "he has retired." "wall, my pretty dears," sez i, "let's have sum fun. let's play puss in the corner. what say?" "air you a shaker, sir?" they axed. "wall, my pretty dears, i haven't arrayed my proud form in a long weskit yit, but if they was all like you perhaps i'd jine 'em. as it is, i'm a shaker protemporary." they was full of fun. i seed that at fust, only they was a leetle skeery. i tawt 'em puss in the corner and sich like plase, and we had a nice time, keepin quiet of course so the old man shouldn't hear. when we broke up, sez i, "my pretty dears, ear i go you hav no objections, hav you, to a innersent kiss at partin?" "yay," they sed, and i _yay'd_. i went up stairs to bed. i spose i'd bin snoozin half an hour when i was woke up by a noise at the door. i sot up in bed, leanin on my elbers and rubbin my eyes, and i saw the follerin picter: the elder stood in the doorway, with a taller candle in his hand. he hadn't no wearin appeerel on except his night close, which flutterd in the breeze like a seseshun flag. he sed, "you're a man of sin!" then groaned and went away. i went to sleep agin, and drempt of runnin orf with the pretty little shakeresses mounted on my californy bar. i thawt the bar insisted on steerin strate for my dooryard in baldinsville and that betsy jane cum out and giv us a warm recepshun with a panfull of bilin water. i was woke up arly by the elder. he sed refreshments was reddy for me down stairs. then sayin i was a man of sin, he went groanin away. as i was goin threw the entry to the room where the vittles was, i cum across the elder and the old female i'd met the night before, and what d'ye spose they was up to? huggin and kissin like young lovers in their gushingist state. sez i, "my shaker frends, i reckon you'd better suspend the rules and git married." "you must excoos brother uriah," sed the female; "he's subjeck to fits and hain't got no command over hisself when he's into 'em." "sartinly," sez i, "i've bin took that way myself frequent." "you're a man of sin!" sed the elder. arter breakfust my little shaker frends cum in agin to clear away the dishes. "my pretty dears," sez i, "shall we _yay_ agin?" "nay," they sed, and i _nay'd_. the shakers axed me to go to their meetin, as they was to hav sarvices that mornin, so i put on a clean biled rag and went. the meetin house was as neat as a pin. the floor was white as chalk and smooth as glass. the shakers was all on hand, in clean weskits and meal bags, ranged on the floor like milingtery companies, the mails on one side of the room and the females on tother. they commenst clappin their hands and singin and dancin. they danced kinder slow at fust, but as they got warmed up they shaved it down very brisk, i tell you. elder uriah, in particler, exhiberted a right smart chance of spryness in his legs, considerin his time of life, and as he cum a dubble shuffle near where i sot, i rewarded him with a approvin smile and sed: "hunky boy! go it, my gay and festiv cuss!" "you're a man of sin!" he sed, continnerin his shuffle. the sperret, as they called it, then moved a short fat shaker to say a few remarks. he sed they was shakers and all was ekal. they was the purest and seleckest peple on the yearth. other peple was sinful as they could be, but shakers was all right. shakers was all goin kerslap to the promist land, and nobody want goin to stand at the gate to bar 'em out, if they did they'd git run over. the shakers then danced and sung agin, and arter they was threw, one of 'em axed me what i thawt of it. sez i, "what duz it siggerfy?" "what?" sez he. "why this jumpin up and singin? this long weskit bizniss, and this anty-matrimony idee? my frends, you air neat and tidy. your hands is flowin with milk and honey. your brooms is fine, and your apple sass is honest. when a man buys a keg of apple sass of you he don't find a grate many shavins under a few layers of sass--a little game i'm sorry to say sum of my new englan ancesters used to practiss. your garding seeds is fine, and if i should sow 'em on the rock of gibralter probly i should raise a good mess of garding sass. you air honest in your dealins. you air quiet and don't distarb nobody. for all this i givs you credit. but your religion is small pertaters, i must say. you mope away your lives here in single retchidness, and as you air all by yourselves nothing ever conflicks with your pecooler idees, except when human nater busts out among you, as i understan she sumtimes do. [i giv uriah a sly wink here, which made the old feller squirm like a speared eel.] you wear long weskits and long faces, and lead a gloomy life indeed. no children's prattle is ever hearn around your harthstuns--you air in a dreary fog all the time, and you treat the jolly sunshine of life as tho' it was a thief, drivin it from your doors by them weskits, and meal bags, and pecooler noshuns of yourn. the gals among you, sum of which air as slick pieces of caliker as i ever sot eyes on, air syin to place their heds agin weskits which kiver honest, manly harts, while you old heds fool yerselves with the idee that they air fulfillin their mishun here, and air contented. here you air all pend up by yerselves, talkin about the sins of a world you don't know nothin of. meanwhile said world continners to resolve round on her own axeltree onct in every hours, subjeck to the constitution of the united states, and is a very plesant place of residence. it's a unnatral, onreasonable and dismal life you're leadin here. so it strikes me. my shaker frends, i now bid you a welcome adoo. you have treated me exceedin well. thank you kindly, one and all. "a base exhibiter of depraved monkeys and onprincipled wax works!" sed uriah. "hello, uriah," sez i, "i'd most forgot you. wall, look out for them fits of yourn, and don't catch cold and die in the flour of your youth and beauty." and i resoomed my jerney. high-handed outrage at utica in the faul of , i showed my show in utiky, a trooly grate sitty in the state of new york. the people gave me a cordyal recepshun. the press was loud in her prases. day as i was givin a descripshun of my beests and snaiks in my usual flowry stile what was my skorn disgust to see a big burly feller walk up to the cage containin my wax figgers of the lord's last supper, and cease judas iscarrot by the feet and drag him out on the ground. he then commenced fur to pound him as hard as he cood. "what under the son are you abowt?" cried i. sez he, "what did you bring this pussylanermus cuss here fur?" and he hit the wax figger another tremenjis blow on the hed. sez i, "you egrejus ass, that air's a wax figger--a representashun of the false 'postle." sez he, "that's all very well for you to say, but i tell you, old man, that judas iscarrot can't show hisself in utiky with impunerty by a darn site!" with which observashun he kaved in judassis bed. the young man belonged to of the first famerlies in utiky. i sood him, and the joory brawt in a verdick of arson in the d degree. chapter vii: why lincoln loved laughter only once in the course of our long and rambling conversation did lincoln refer to the war. that was when he asked me how the soldiers' spirits were keeping up. he said he had been giving out so much cheer to the generals and congressmen that he had pumped himself dry and must take in a new supply from some source at once. he declared that his "ear bones ached" to hear a good peal of honest laughter. it was difficult, he said, to laugh in any acceptable manner when soldiers were dying and widows weeping, but he must laugh soon even if he had to go down cellar to do it. he asked me if i had thought how sacred a thing was a loving smile, and how important it often was to laugh. then he told how some union officers in reconnoitering had heard the confederates laughing loudly over a game, and returned cast down with fear of some sudden and successful attack by the cheerful enemy. that laughter actually postponed a great battle for which the union soldiers had been prepared. when, as i later ascertained, i had been with the president for almost two hours, he suddenly straightened up in his chair, remarked that he "felt much better now," and with a friendly but firm, "good morning," turned back to the papers before him on the table. this sounds abrupt as it is told, but there was a homeliness and simplicity about everything lincoln did which robbed the action of any suspicion of discourtesy. one does not shake hands with a member of his own family on merely quitting a room, and i felt that a ceremonious dismissal would have been equally uncalled for in this case. perhaps i really should say that is the way i feel now; at the time i did not think of the matter at all because what was done seemed perfectly natural and proper. in the anteroom the crowd was greater, if anything, than when i had gone in. among those callers there were certain to be some who would bring trouble and vexation aplenty to the president. it was in preparation for this that he had been resting himself, like a boxer between the rounds of a bout. one would make a great error by supposing that lincoln's normal manner was that which he had exhibited to me. he could be soft and tender-hearted as any woman, but within that kindly nature there lay gigantic strength and the capacity for the most decisive action. he could speak slowly and weigh his words when occasion demanded, but his usual manner was vigorous and prompt--so much so that at times his speech had a quality which might fairly be described as explosive. this was because he always knew exactly what he wanted to say. he thought out each problem to the end and decided it; then he left that and did not trouble his mind about it any more, but took up something else. this habit of disciplined thinking gave him a great advantage over most people, who mix their thinking and try to carry on a dozen mental processes all at once. lincoln realized the importance of mental discipline and he gave to humor a high place as an aid to its attainment. i have already told how, in discussing artemus ward with me, he said ward was really an educator, for he understood that the purpose of education was to discipline the mind, to enable a man to think quickly and accurately in all circumstances of life. i hope the reader will bear with me if i repeat some of the points which lincoln made then, because they show so clearly why he valued humor. lincoln said that much of ward's humor was of the educational sort. it aroused intellectual activity of the finest kind, and he mentioned ward's constant use of riddles as an illustration. then he spoke of the ancient samson riddle and the fables of Ã�sop, and called attention to the fact that they employed a joke to train the mind by the study of keen satire. he said ward was like that. it seems that tad came to ward at the table one day after he had heard somewhere a joke about adam in eden. so he said to mr. ward, "how did adam get out of eden?" ward had never heard the conundrum and did not give the answer tad expected, but he had one of his own, for he exclaimed "adam was 'snaked' out." it took tad some little time to fathom this reply and gave him some splendid mental exercise. mr. lincoln said he did not see why they did not have a course of humor in the schools. it was characteristic of his great modesty that whenever he referred to school or to college lincoln always tried to limit himself by saying that, as he did not know what they did learn there, he was not an authority on the subject, but that such-and-such a thing was just "his notion." if discipline was a subjective purpose in lincoln's use of humor, it may be said with equal certainty that the illustrative power of a well-told story was the principal objective use to which he put it. lincoln seems never to have told a story simply to relate it; everyone he told had an application aside from the story itself. there is something profoundly elemental about this; it is like the use of the parable in the teachings of christ. astute minds, capable of grasping the meaning of facts without illustration, sometimes resented this habit of the president's; some of the sharpest criticism, as might be expected, came from within the cabinet itself; but there can certainly be no just foundation for the statement that lincoln detained a full session of the cabinet to read them two chapters in artemus ward's book. he was not frivolous or shallow. his reverence for great men, for great thoughts, and for great occasions was most sensitively acute. he recognized the fact that "brevity is the soul of wit," and would not have done more than use a condensed and brief reference to ward, at most. we know that on another occasion he made most effective use at a cabinet meeting of ward's burlesque on shaw patriotism when he quoted ward as saying that he "was willing, if need be, to sacrifice all his wife's relations for his country." an even better example of the president's use of humor is the following story which he once told to illustrate the military situation existing at the time. a bull was chasing a farmer around a tree. the farmer finally got hold of the bull's tail, and both started off across the field. the farmer could not let go for fear he would fall and break his head, but he called out to the bull, "who started this mess, anyway?" lincoln said he had gotten hold of the bull by the tail and that while the confederacy was running away he dared not let go. this summed up the situation in a way the whole country could understand. it is an interesting fact, and one not generally known, that lincoln committed almost every good story he heard to writing. if his old notebooks could be found they would make a wonderful volume, but, unfortunately, they have never come to light. perhaps he felt ashamed of them, as he did of his rough draft of the gettysburg address, which he had scribbled on the margin of a newspaper in the morning while riding to gettysburg on the train. there was one source of lincoln's humor--and perhaps it was the chief one--which flowed from the very bedrock of his nature. that was the desire to bring cheer to others. when he was passing through the very valley of the shadow after the tragic end of the single love affair of his youth a true friend told him that he had no right to look so glum--that it "was his solemn duty to be cheerful," to cheer up others. young abe took the lesson to heart, and he never forgot it. incidentally, it was the means of restoring him to health and probably of preserving his sanity--as the old saint who gave him the lecture no doubt intended that it should. in their common experience of an awful grief and in their ability to rise above its devastation purged of selfishness and devoted to a career of service, each according to his own gifts, abraham lincoln and charles farrar browne had followed the same path, and it was from this that there sprang that deep and true bond of sympathy between the two men which mystified so many even of those who considered themselves lincoln's intimates. where another saw but the cap and bells, lincoln saw and reverenced the tortured, struggling soul within. during our memorable talk on that december day in when the cares of state were pressing so sorely upon him, the president told me that he was greatly relieved in times of personal distress by trying to cheer up somebody else. he spoke of it as being both selfish and unselfish. he said he had been accused of telling thousands of stories he had never heard of, but that he told stories to cheer the downhearted and tried to remember stories that were cheerful to relate to people in discouraged circumstances. he reminded me that his first practice of the law was among very poor people. he tried to tell stories to his clients who were discouraged, to give them courage, and he found the habit grew upon him until he had to "draw in" and decline to use so many stories. bob burdett, writing for the burlington _hawkeye_ shortly after the president's death on april , , said that abraham lincoln's humorous anecdotes would soon die, but that lincoln's humor, like john brown's soul, would be ever "marching on." no printed story which he told ever expressed the soul of lincoln fully. his own partial description of humor as "that indefinable, intangible grace of spirit," is not to be found exemplified in his published speeches. it is in the spirit which animated them rather than in the works themselves that we must look for the vital principle of lincoln's humorous sayings. to attempt the analysis of humor is as if a philosopher should try to put a glance of love into a geometrical diagram or the soul of music into a plaster cast. no one by searching can find it and no one by labor can secure it. yet so simple, so homely, and withal so shrewd was the humor of abraham lincoln that one can easily picture him turning over in his mind the words of his favorite quotation from the "merchant of venice"--one of the few classical quotations he ever used--while he reflected, half sadly, upon the cynicism and pettiness of mankind: "nature hath framed strange fellows in her time, some that will evermore peep through their eyes and laugh like parrots at a bagpiper; and others of such vinegar aspect that they'll not show their teeth in way of smile though nestor swear the jest be laughable." chapter viii: lincoln and john brown "this is my friend!" said lincoln, as he suddenly turned to a pile of books beside him and grasped a japanese vase containing a large open pond lily. some horticultural admirer, knowing lincoln's love for that special flower, had sent in from his greenhouse a specimen of the _castilia odorata_. the president put his left arm affectionately around the vase as he inclined his head to the lily and drew in the unequaled fragrance with a long, deep breath. "i have never had the time to study flowers as i often wished to do," he said. "but for some strange reason i am captivated by the pond lily. it may be because some one told me that my mother admired them." sitting at this desk now, looking out on the berkshire hills and living over in memory that visit to the white house, i see again the tableau of the president looking down into the face of that glorious flower. he hugged the vase closer and repeated tenderly, "this is my friend!" in reverie and in dreams i have meditated long, searching for some satisfactory reason why that particular bloom was lincoln's dear friend. yet the reason, whatever it may be, matters not so much as the fact. lincoln loved the lily and called it his friend. no mere sensuous admiration of beauty, this, but a deep sense of its spiritual significance. by its perfection the lily achieved personality, and that personality, so simple, so pure, so exquisite, struck a responsive chord in the heart of this man whom his cultured contemporaries called uncouth! on the plane of the spirit they met as friends. great gifts have their price. from lincoln's sensitive tenderness sprang the suffering which he bore, both in his early life and during the living martyrdom of his years in the white house. but as if to offset somewhat this terrible burden was added the divine gift of humor. it has been often remarked that humor and pathos are closely akin. the greatest humorists are also the greatest masters of pathos. perhaps mark twain's greatest work was his _joan of arc_, which is almost wholly sad, a study in pathos, while _the gilded age_ makes its readers weep and laugh by turns. as in the expression so also in the source. when lincoln with tender emphasis said to me that artemus ward's humor was largely "the result of a broken heart," he was but stating the law of nature that deep sorrow is as essential to humor as winter snows are to the bloom of spring. charles lamb's many griefs, and especially his sorrow over his insane sister, were the black soil from which his genius grew. many of josh billings's ludicrous sayings were misspelled through his tears. the traceable outlines of tragedies in the early lives of writers like bret harte, mark twain, bob burdette, and nasby testify to the rule that a sad night somewhere precedes the dawn of pure wit and inspiring humor. burton in his _anatomy of melancholy_ said, "if there is a hell on earth, it is to be found in the melancholy man's heart." but james whitcomb riley said that "wit in luxuriant growth is ever the product of soil richly fertilized by sorrow." as for lincoln, his first love died of a broken heart; he lived on with one. "cheer up, abe! cheer up!" was the hourly advice of the sympathetic pioneers among whom he lived. but the sorrowing stranger was, after all, friendless, and he could not cheer up alone. he was an orphan, homeless; he had no sister, no brother, no wife to soothe, advise, or caress him. the floods of sorrow had swallowed him up and he struggled alone. few, indeed, are the men or women who have descended so deep and endured to remember it. down into the darkness came faint voices saying over and over, "cheer up, abe!" if he could muster the courage to do as they said, he would be saved from death or the insane asylum, which is more dreaded than the grave. nothing but cheer could be of any use. one dear old saint told him to remember that his sweetheart's soul was not dead, and that she, undoubtedly, wished him to complete his law studies and to make himself a strong, good man. "for her sake, go on with life and fill the years with good deeds!" years afterward he must have thought of that when, in the dark days of general mcclelland's failures, he urged the soldiers to "cheer up and thus become invincible." mr. lincoln, in , when speaking of his regard for the bible, said that once he read the bible half through carefully to find a quotation which he saw first in a scrap of newspaper, which declared, "a merry heart doeth good like a medicine." that must have been done in those sad days when the darkness was still upon him. how little has the world yet appreciated the important maxim given to those who seek success, "to smile and smile, and smile again." it is a very practical and a very useful direction. but it may be a hypocritical camouflage when it has no important reflex influence on the man himself. the same idea was expressed with serious emphasis by lincoln in , when he urged the teachers of keokuk, iowa, to let the children laugh. he said that a hearty, natural laugh would cure many ills of mankind, whether those ills were physical, mental, or moral. the truth and usefulness of that statement it has taken science and religion more than a half century to accept. now the study of good cheer is one of the major sciences. some psychologists contend that laughter is one of the greatest aids to digestion and is highly conducive to health; therefore, hufeland, physician to the king of prussia, commended the wisdom of the ancients, who maintained a jester who was always present at their meals and whose quips and cranks would keep the table in a roar. it was an important declaration made by the humorous "bob" burdette, when he said that an old physician of bellevue hospital had assured him that a cheerful priest who visited the hospital daily "had cured more patients by his laughter than had any physician with his prescriptions." burdette rated himself, in his uses of fun, as the "oiler-up of human machinery"; and good cheer and righteousness followed him closely, keeping ever within the sound of his voice. the life-giving, invigorating spirit of good cheer made abraham lincoln's great mind clearer and held him to his faith that right makes might, and that night is but the vestibule of morning. if lincoln was the founder, as many believe, of the "modern school of good cheer," he was a mighty benefactor of the human race. the idea of healing by suggestion, by hopeful influences, and by faith has given rise to many societies, schools, churches, and healers, all having for their basic principle the healthful stimulation of the weak body by the use of faith--that is to say, cheer. innumerable cases of the prevention of insanity, and some cases of the complete restoration of hopeless lunatics, by laughter and fresh confidence are now known to the medical profession. one draught of deep, hearty laughter has been known to effect an immediate cure of such nervous disorders, especially neuralgia, hysteria, and insomnia. the doctor who smiles sincerely is two doctors in one. he heals through the body and he heals through the mind. when this teaching is applied to the eradication of immorality or the defeat of religious errors we are reminded of lincoln's remark that "the devil cannot bear a good joke." that martyr is not going to recant who, on his way to the scaffold, can smile as he pats the head of a child. the believer in the assertion that "all things work together for good to those who love god" can laugh at difficulties, and he will be heard and followed by a throng. spurgeon said that "a good joke hurled at the devil and his angels is like a bursting bomb of greek fire." ridicule with laughter the hypocrite or evil schemer, and he will crouch at your feet or fly into self-destructive passion; but ridicule abraham lincoln and he lifts his clenched hand and smiles while he strikes. the cartoonist ever defeats the orator. people dance only under the impulse of cheerful music. these thoughts are recorded here because they were suggested by abraham lincoln and because they furnish a very satisfactory reason why lincoln laughed. the tales of lincoln's droll stories and perpetual fun making before he was twenty-four years old seem to have no trustworthy foundation. his use of humor as a duty and as a weapon in debate first appears distinctly about the year , when he was admitted to the bar. he was almost unnoticed in the legislature until he secured sufficient confidence to use side-splitting jokes in the defeat of the opponents of righteousness. as paradoxical as it first may seem, joking, with lincoln, was a serious matter. he had been saved by good cheer, and he was conscientiously determined to save others by the use of that same potent force. it has been said that the humanizing effect of his homely humor was what gave lincoln a place in the hearts of mankind such as few others have ever held. one man whom i knew intimately in my boyhood days was as devoted and as high minded, probably, as anyone who ever lived. he had a great influence upon the events of his day; some people regarded him as almost a saint--or at least a prophet. yet he never captured the heart of the people as abraham lincoln did, and to-day he is virtually forgotten. that man was john brown. when i had my long interview with president lincoln in the winter of i told him that john brown had been for a number of years in partnership with my father in the wool business at springfield, massachusetts, and that he was a frequent and intimate caller at our house. he and my father were closely associated in the antislavery movement and in the operation of the "underground railway" by which fugitive blacks were spirited across the line into canada. the idea of a slave uprising in virginia was discussed at our dinner table again and again for years before the harper's ferry raid finally took place; and it is altogether probable that my father would have shared brown's martyrdom if my mother's persistent opposition had not defeated his natural inclination. john brown had a summer place in the adirondacks, and when he left there a man remained behind in the old cabin to help the slaves escape. this was not the route usually followed, however. most of the fugitives came up from virginia to philadelphia, from philadelphia to new york, new york to hartford, and thence over the line into canada. my father's branch of the "underground railway" ran from springfield to bellows falls. it was a common thing for our woodshed to be filled with negroes whom my father would guide at the first opportunity to the next "station." this was very risky work; its alarms darkened my boyhood and filled our days with fears. lincoln was very much interested that day in what i told him about john brown. he asked me many questions, but i soon saw that there was very little he did not know about the subject. finally i told him that while my father shared john brown's opinions, my mother thought he was a kind of monomaniac and frequently said so. at this lincoln laughed heartily, but he made no verbal comment. nobody could be more earnest or sincere than lincoln, but he could laugh; john brown could not. my earliest impression, as a little boy, of john brown, was that he might be one of the old prophets; he made me think of isaiah. he was tall and thin; he wore a long beard and was always very, very serious. he hardly ever told a joke. john brown's part in the business partnership was to sell the wool which my father bought from the farmers in the surrounding territory. so brown was the man in the office, with time and opportunity for study and planning, while my father was out in the open, dealing with other men. until they became involved so deeply in the antislavery movement the wool business prospered; the fact was that my father trusted brown's business judgment as being pretty good. but in the end they gave up everything in the way of business of any sort. my father was a methodist, but i do not remember hearing that john brown belonged to any church. the liberation of the slaves obsessed his mind to the exclusion of all other thoughts and interests. brown used to drive over to our house two or three times a week. it was a thirty-mile drive from springfield, so he had always to spend the night. i have kept the latch of the door to his room--the room which he always occupied. how many times he raised that latch in passing in and out! i was a little chap then and used often to sit on his knee and listen to his stories told in that solemn, deep voice, which lent a mysterious dignity to the most unimportant tale. when evening came and dinner was over and the womenfolk were busy outside, brown and my father would pull up their chairs to the dining table, on which a big lamp had been set, and talk long and earnestly--sometimes far into the night--while they pored over maps and lists and memoranda. often i would wake up, when it seemed that morning must be almost at hand, and hear john brown's low, even-toned voice speaking words which were to me without meaning. next morning, after an early breakfast, he would harness his horse to the buggy, if one of us boys had not already done it for him, and start on the lonely drive back to springfield. brown and my father had accurate knowledge of many facts which might contribute to the success of a slave uprising in virginia. they knew how many plantations there were and how many negroes were owned in each county--also the number of whites. brown knew the names of the owners of the plantations and the means of reaching the plantations by unfrequented ways. he had talked this over with my father for years. william lloyd garrison told him it was a very foolish enterprise that he contemplated, and was opposed to it, although he was brown's intimate friend. it is a significant and a not generally known fact that john brown actually believed his insurrection would succeed; but whether it would or not, he was determined sooner or later to make the attempt. he said, "if i die that way, i will do more good than by living on; and, anyhow, i will do it whether it succeeds or not." the last time i saw john brown was when he drove out to our house before leaving springfield to go to harper's ferry. my father drove him down to the station--to huntingdon railroad station; they called it chester village then, but the name has since been changed. the last letter that he wrote from the prison at charleston was to my father. it was written the day before his execution. john brown's character was perfectly suited to the part he elected to play, and that this had a potent influence upon people's minds and through them upon events leading up to the war cannot be denied. a less austere man or a man less firm in his own convictions would never have carried through such a mad exploit. but it is not a desecration of john brown's memory to state the simple fact that he lacked the quality of human understanding which lincoln possessed so richly and which showed itself in the smile of sympathy and the word of good cheer. * * * * * before i left washington to go back to my regiment i learned that the friend for whose life i had gone to plead had been pardoned by the president. the hearty greeting which hailed the return of that young soldier to his comrades was full of spontaneous joy, but in the background of the picture was the great form of old abe, the greatest saint in the calendar of all the soldiers. he was indeed, as has been often said before, the best friend of the whole country--the south as well as the north. through all of that bitter struggle he never forgot that he had been elected president of _all_ the united states. when i had a second long talk with lincoln, just shortly before he was murdered, not one word did he say against the south or against the generals of the south. he spoke of general lee always in respectful terms. he respected the southern army and the southern people, and he estimated them for just about what they were worth. he did not underestimate their power nor their patriotism; not a word in that two hours' interview did he say against the southern army or the southern people vindictively; it was that of a calm statesman who estimated them for what they were worth; and whenever he mentioned the name of general lee he emphasized the fact that lee was fighting that war on a high principle, not one of vindictiveness or any small ambition. he realized that the southern people were fighting for what they believed was right, and he knew general lee would not be in it unless he was convinced it was right. he did not say that in words, but that is the impression i received. to hear the stories of southern barbarities which would naturally be circulated about the enemy and then to find the president of the united states treating the matter with such dignity and calmness was a surprise and an enlightenment to me. on that black day when the body of abraham lincoln lay in state in the east room of the white house it was my great privilege to be detailed for duty there. i happened to be in washington, recovering from a wound sustained in the battle of kenesaw mountain a short time before, and i was called upon, together with all unattached officers in the capitol, to help out. about twenty officers were continually on duty in the room in which the casket stood. two of us actually stood guard at a time--one at the head and one at the foot. the casket was heaped high with flowers and the people passed through the room in an unending stream. no such grief was ever known on this continent. all wept, strong, hardened warriors with the rest. people were heartily ashamed when their supply of tears ran out. some trembled as they passed through the door, and, once outside the room, gave vent to their sorrow in groans and shrieks, while others, in the excess of their grief, cursed god, as though lincoln's death was an unjust punishment of him instead of a glorious crown of martyrdom. looking back through fifty-four years--after the calm judgment of sages has reasserted their wisdom and after all lincoln's enemies have turned to devoted friends--we cannot forbear the renewed assertion that abraham lincoln was in some special way unlike other men. that unusual power of inspiration was exhibited in his words and acts almost every day of his closing years. through the half century there comes down to us a wonderful sentence in lincoln's second inaugural address which is incarnate with vigorous life. out of the smoke, devastation, hate, and death of a gigantic fratricidal war, above the contentions of parties, jealous commanders, and grief-benumbed mourners, clear and certain as a trumpet call this unlooked-for declaration rang out. it was the voice of god: with malice toward none, with charity for all, with firmness in the right as god gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in, to bind up the nation's wounds, to care for him who shall have borne the battle and for his widow and his orphans, to do all which may achieve and cherish a just and lasting peace among ourselves and with all nations. what a christian spirit, what a deference to god, what a determined purpose for good! what a basis for peace among the nations was there stated in one single sentence! where in the writings of the gifted geniuses, ancient or modern, is another one so potent. yet the mere dead words are not specially symmetrical, and the expression is in the language of the common people. the influence is that of the spirit; it can never die. his enemies mourned when he died and all the world said a great soul had departed. but the children of his dear heart and brain will live on the earth forever. they will pray and teach and sacrifice and fight on until all nations shall be the one human family which the prophet lincoln so clearly foresaw. men are called to special work. men are more divine than material; and among the most trustworthy proofs of this intuitive truth is the continuing force of the personality of abraham lincoln. medical life in the navy by gordon stables published by robert hardwicke, picadilly, london. this edition dated . medical life in the navy, by gordon stables. ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ medical life in the navy, by gordon stables. chapter one. by rail to london. little moonface. euston square. i chose the navy. i am not at all certain what it was that determined my choice; probably this--i have a mole on my left arm, which my gossiping old nurse (rest the old lady's soul!) used to assert was a sure sign that i was born to be a rover. then i had been several voyages to the arctic regions, and therefore knew what a sea-life meant, and what it didn't mean; that, no doubt, combined with an extensive acquaintance with the novels of captain marryat, had much to do with it. be this as it may, i did choose that service, and have never yet repented doing so. well, after a six weeks' preparatory read-up i packed my traps, taking care not to forget my class-tickets--to prove the number of lectures attended each course--a certificate of age and another of virtue, my degree in surgery (m.ch.), and my m.d. or medical degree; and with a stick in my hand, and a porter at my side, i set out for the nearest railway station. previously, of course, i had bidden double adieus to all my friends, had a great many blessings hurled after me, and not a few old shoes; had kissed a whole family of pretty cousins, ingeniously commencing with the grandmother, although she happened to be as yellow as a withered dock-leaf, and wrinkled as a malaga raisin; had composed innumerable verses, and burned them as soon as written. "ticket for london, please," said i, after giving a final wipe to my eyes with the cuff of my coat. "four, two, six," was the laconic reply from the jack-in-the-box; and this i understood to mean pounds shillings pence of the sterling money of the realm--for the young gentleman, like most of his class, talked as if he were merely a column in a ledger and had pound shilling penny written on his classic brow with indelible marking ink, an idea which railway directors ought to see carried out to prevent mistakes. i got on board the train, a porter banged-to the door so quickly that my coat-tails were embraced between the hinges; the guard said "all right," though it wasn't all right; the whistle shrieked, the engine puffed, the wheels went round with a groan and a grunt, and presently we were rattling over the bridge that spans the romantic dee, with the white walls of the granite city glimmering in the moonlight far behind us. after extricating my imprisoned garment, i leant over the window, and began to feel very dull and sentimental. i positively think i would have wept a little, had not the wind just then blown the smoke in my face, causing me to put up the window in disgust. i had a whole first-class compartment to myself, so i determined to make the best of it. impressed with this idea, i exchanged my hat for a glengarry, made a pillow of my rug, a blanket of my plaid, and laid me down to sleep--"perchance to dream." being rather melancholy, i endeavoured to lull myself to slumber by humming such cheering airs as `kathleen: mavourneen,' `home, sweet home,' etc--"a vera judeecious arrangement," had it continued. unfortunately for my peace of mind it did not; for, although the night train to london does not stop more than half-a-dozen times all the way, at the next station, and before my eyes had closed in sleep, the door of the compartment was opened, a lady was bundled in, the guard said "all right" again, though i could have sworn it wasn't, and the train, like the leg of the wonderful merchant of rotterdam, "got up and went on as before." now, i'm not in the habit of being alarmed at the presence of ladies--no british sailor is--still, on the present occasion, as i peered round the corner of my plaid, and beheld a creature of youth and beauty, i _did_ feel a little squeamish; "for," i reasoned, "if she happens to be good, `all right,' as the guard said, but if not then all decidedly wrong; for why? she might take it into her head, between here and london, to swear that i had been guilty of manslaughter, or suicide, or goodness knows what, and then i feared my certificate of virtue, which i got from the best of aged scottish divines, might not save me." i looked again and again from below my highland plaid. "well," thought i, "she seems mild enough, any how;" so i pretended to sleep, but then, gallantry forbade. "i may sleep in earnest," said i to myself, "and by george i don't like the idea of sleeping in the company of any strange lady." presently, however, she relieved my mind entirely, for she showed a marriage-ring by drawing off a glove, and hauling out a baby--not out of the glove mind you, but out of her dress somewhere. i gave a sigh of relief, for there was cause and effect at once--a marriage-ring and a baby. i had in my own mind grievously wronged the virtuous lady, so i immediately elevated my prostrate form, rubbed my eyes, yawned, stretched myself, looked at my watch, and in fact behaved entirely like a gentleman just awakened from a pleasant nap. after i had benignly eyed her sleeping progeny for the space of half a minute, i remarked blandly, and with a soft smile, "pretty baby, ma'am." (i thought it as ugly as sin.) "yes, sir," said she, looking pleasedly at it with one eye (so have i seen a cock contemplate a bantam chick). "it is so like its papa!" "is it indeed, ma'am? well, now, do you know, i thought it just the very image of its mamma!" "so he thinks," replied the lady; "but he has only seen its carte-de-visite." "unfortunate father!" thought i, "to have seen only the shadowy image of this his darling child--its carte-de-visite, too! wonder, now, if it makes a great many calls? shouldn't like the little cuss to visit me." "going far, ma'am?" said i aloud. and now this queer specimen of femininity raised her head from the study of her sleeping babe, and looked me full in the face, as if she were only aware of my presence for the first time, and hadn't spoken to me at all. i am proud to say i bore the scrutiny nobly, though it occupied several very long seconds, during which time i did not disgrace my certificate of virtue by the ghost of a blush, till, seeming satisfied, she replied, apparently in deep thought,--"to lon--don." "so am i, ma'am." "i go on to plymouth," she said. "i expect to go there myself soon," said i. "i am going abroad to join my husband." "very strange!" said i, "and _i_ hope to go abroad soon to join my," (she looked at me now, with parted lips, and the first rays of a rising smile lighting up her face, expecting me to add "wife")--"to join my ship;" and she only said "oh!" rather disappointedly i thought, and recommenced the contemplation of the moonfaced babe. "bah!" thought i, "there is nothing in you but babies and matrimony;" and i threw myself on the cushions, and soon slept in earnest, and dreamt that the director-general, in a bob-wig and drab shorts, was dancing jacky-tar on the quarter-deck of a seventy-four, on the occasion of my being promoted to the dignity of honorary-surgeon to the queen--a thing that is sure to happen some of these days. when i awoke, cold and shivering, the sun had risen and was shining, as well as he could shine for the white mist that lay, like a veil of gauze, over all the wooded flats that skirt for many miles the great world of london. my companion was still there, and baby had woken up, too, and begun to crow, probably in imitation of the many cocks that were hallooing to each other over all the country. and now my attention was directed, in fact riveted, to a very curious pantomime which was being performed by the young lady; i had seen the like before, and often have since, but never could solve the mystery. her eyes were fixed on baby, whose eyes in turn were fastened on her, and she was bobbing her head up and down on the perpendicular, like a wax figure or automaton; every time that she elevated she pronounced the letter "a," and as her head again fell she remarked "gue," thus completing the word "ague," much to the delight of little moonface, and no doubt to her own entire satisfaction. "a-gue! a-gue!" well, it certainly was a morning to give any one ague, so, pulling out my brandy-flask, i made bold to present it to her. "you seem cold, ma'am," said i; "will you permit me to offer you a very little brandy?" "oh dear, no! thanks," she answered quickly. "for baby's sake, ma'am," i pleaded; "i am a doctor." "well, then," she replied, smiling, "just a tiny little drop. oh dear! not so much!" it seemed my ideas of "a tiny little drop," and hers, did not exactly coincide; however, she did me the honour to drink with me: after which i had a tiny little drop to myself, and never felt so much the better of anything. euston square terminus at last; and the roar of great london came surging on my ears, like the noise and conflict of many waters, or the sound of a storm-tossed ocean breaking on a stony beach. i leapt to the platform, forgetting at once lady and baby and all, for the following tuesday was to be big with my fate, and my heart beat flurriedly as i thought "what if i were plucked, in spite of my m.d., in spite of my c.m., in spite even of my certificate of virtue itself?" chapter two. doubts and fears. my first night in cockneydom. what if i were plucked? what should i do? go to the american war, embark for the gold-diggings, enlist in a regiment of sepoys, or throw myself from the top of saint paul's? this, and such like, were my thoughts, as i bargained with cabby, for a consideration, to drive me and my traps to a quiet second-rate hotel--for my purse by no means partook of the ponderosity of my heart. cabby did so. the hotel at which i alighted was kept by a gentleman who, with his two daughters, had but lately migrated from the flowery lands of sunny devon; so lately that he himself could still welcome his guests with an honest smile and hearty shake of hand, while the peach-like bloom had not as yet faded from the cheeks of his pretty buxom daughters. so well pleased was i with my entertainment in every way at this hotel, that i really believed i had arrived in a city where both cabmen and innkeepers were honest and virtuous; but i have many a time and often since then had reason to alter my opinion. now, there being only four days clear left me ere i should have to present myself before the august body of examiners at somerset house, i thought it behoved me to make the best of my time. fain--oh, how fain!--would i have dashed care and my books, the one to the winds and the other to the wall, and floated away over the great ocean of london, with all its novelties, all its pleasures and its curiosities; but i was afraid--i dared not. i felt like a butterfly just newly burst from the chrysalis, with a world of flowers and sunshine all around it, but with one leg unfortunately immersed in birdlime. i felt like that gentleman, in hades you know, with all sorts of good things at his lips, which he could neither touch nor taste of. nor could i of the joys of london life. no, like moses from the top of mount pisgah, i could but behold the promised land afar off; _he_ had the dark gates of death to pass before he might set foot therein, and i had to pass the gloomy portals of somerset house, and its board of dread examiners. the landlord--honest man! little did he know the torture he was giving me--spread before me on the table more than a dozen orders for places of amusement,--to me, uninitiated, places of exceeding great joy--red orders, green orders, orange and blue orders, orders for concerts, orders for gardens, orders for theatres royal, and orders for the opera. oh, reader, fancy at that moment my state of mind; fancy having the wonderful lamp of aladdin offered you, and your hands tied behind your back i myself turned red, and green, and orange, and blue, even as the orders were, gasped a little, called for a glass of water,--not beer, mark me,--and rushed forth. i looked not at the flaming placards on the walls, nor at the rows of seedy advertisement-board men. i looked neither to the right hand nor to the left, but made my way straight to the british museum, with the hopes of engaging in a little calm reflection. i cannot say i found it however; for all the strange things i saw made me think of all the strange countries these strange things came from, and this set me a-thinking of all the beautiful countries i might see if i passed. "_if_, gracious heavens!" thought i. "are you mad, knocking about here like a magnetised mummy, and tuesday the passing day? home, you devil you, and study!" half an hour later, in imagination behold me seated before a table in my little room, with the sun's parting beams shemmering dustily in through my window, surrounded with books--books--books medical, books surgical, books botanical, books nautical, books what-not-ical; behold, too, the wet towel that begirts my thoughtful brow, my malar bones leaning on my hands, my forearms resting on the mahogany, while i am thinking, or trying to think, of, on, or about everything known, unknown, or guessed at. mahogany, did i say? "mahogany," methinks i hear the examiner say, "hem! hem! upon what island, tell us, doctor, does the mahogany tree grow, exist, and flourish? give the botanical name of this tree, the natural family to which it belongs, the form of its leaves and flower, its uses in medicine and in art, the probable number of years it lives, the articles made from its bark, the parasites that inhabit it, the birds that build their nests therein, and the class of savage who finds shelter beneath its wide-spreading, _if_ wide-spreading, branches; entering minutely into the formation of animal structure in general, and describing the whole theory of cellular development, tracing the gradual rise of man from the sponge through the various forms of snail, oyster, salmon, lobster, lizard, rabbit, kangaroo, monkey, gorilla, nigger, and irish yahoo, up to the perfect englishman; and state your ideas of the most probable form and amount of perfection at which you think the animal structure will arrive in the course of the next ten thousand years. is mahogany much superior to oak? if so, why is it not used in building ships? give a short account of the history of shipbuilding, with diagrams illustrative of the internal economy of noah's ark, the great eastern, and the rob roy canoe. describe the construction of the armstrong gun, king theodore's mortar, and mons meg. describe the different kinds of mortars used in building walls, and those used in throwing them down; insert here the composition of gunpowder tea, fenian fire, and the last new yankee drink? in the mahogany country state the diseases most prevalent among the natives, and those which you would think yourself justified in telling the senior assistant-surgeon to request the surgeon to beg the first lieutenant to report to the commander, that he may call the attention of your captain to the necessity of ordering the crew to guard against." then, most indulgent reader, behold me, with these and a thousand other such questions floating confusedly through my bewildered brain--behold me, i say, rise from the table slowly, and as one who doubteth whether he be not standing on his head; behold me kick aside the cane-bottomed chair, then clear the table with one wild sweep, state "bosh!" with the air and emphasis of a pasha of three tails, throw myself on the sofa, and with a "waitah, glass of gwog and cigaw, please," commence to read `tom cwingle's log.' this is how i spent my first day, and a good part of the night too, in london; and--moral--i should sincerely advise every medical aspirant, or candidate for a commission in the royal navy, to bring in his pocket some such novel as roderick random, or harry lorrequer, to read immediately before passing, and to leave every other book at home. chapter three. a feline adventure. passed--hooray! conversation of (not with) two israelitish parties. next morning, while engaged at my toilet--not a limb of my body which i had not amputated that morning mentally, not one of my joints i had not exsected, or a capital operation i did not perform on my own person; i had, in fact, with imaginary surgical instruments, cut myself all into little pieces, dissected my every nerve, filled all my arteries with red wax and my veins with blue, traced out the origin and insertion of every muscle, and thought of what each one could and what each one could not do; and was just giving the final twirl to my delicate moustache, and the proper set to the bow of my necktie, when something occurred which caused me to start and turn quickly round. it was a soft modest little knock--almost plaintive in its modesty and softness--at my door. i heard no footfall nor sound of any sort, simply the "tapping as of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber-door; simply that and nothing more." "this," thought i, "is sarah jane with my boots: mindful girl is sarah jane." then giving voice to my thoughts, "thank you, sally," said i, "just leave them outside; i'll have finnon haddocks and oatcake for breakfast." then, a voice that wasn't sally's, but ever so much softer and more kitten-like in tone, replied,-- "hem! ahem!" and presently added, "it is only _me_." then the door was pushed slightly open, while pressing one foot doubtfully against it i peeped out, and to my surprise perceived the half of a little yellow book and the whole of a little yellow face with whiskers at it, and an expression so very like that of a one-year-old lady cat, that i remained for a little in momentary expectation of hearing it purr. but it didn't, merely smiling and repeating,-- "it's only me." "so i see," said i, quite taken aback as it were. "so i see." then "_me_," slowly and gently overcame the resistance my right foot offered, and, pushing open the door, held out the yellow tract, which i took to be of a spiritual nature, and spoke to "i" as follows:-- "we--that is, he! he! my father and me, he! he! you see--had heard of your going up to join the navy." at that moment it seemed to "i" the easiest thing in the world, short of spending money, to "join" the royal navy. "and so," continued "_me_", "you see, he! he! we thought of making you a call, all in business, you see, he! he! and offering you our estimate for your uniform." uniform! grand name to my ear, i who had never worn anything more gay than a homespun coat of houden-grey and a gordon tartan kilt. i thought it was my turn to say, "hem! hem!" and even add an inaudible "ho! ho!" for i felt myself expanding inch by inch like a kidney bean. "in that little book," _me_ went on, "there,"--pointing to the front page--"you will find the names of one hundred and fifty-seven officers and gentlemen who have honoured us with their custom." then i exclaimed, "dear me!" and me added with animation, "you see: he! he!" was it any wonder then, that i succumbed to such a flood of temptation, that even my native canniness disappeared or was swept away, and that i promised this gentleman of feline address that if i passed i would assuredly make his father a call? alas! unfortunate greenhorn that i was, i found out when too late that some on the list had certainly given him their custom, and like myself repented only once but for ever; while the custom of the majority was confined to a pair or two of duck inexpressibles, a uniform cap, a dozen of buttons, or a hank of sewing silk. "we can proudly refer you," me continued, as i bowed him to the door, "to any of them, and if you do us the honour of calling you will be enabled to judge for yourself; but," added he, in a stage whisper, at the same time making a determined attempt, as i thought, to bite off my ear, "be aware of the jews." "what," said i, "is your father not then a jew? the name i thought--" "oh-h-h!" he cried, "they may call us so; but--born in england--bred in london--neighbourhood of bond street, highly respectable locality. army and navy outfitters, my father and me, you see, he! he! we invite inspection, give satisfaction, and defy competition, you see, he! he!" and he glided silently down stairs, giving me scarcely time to observe that he was a young man with black hair, black eyes and whiskers, and wearing goloshes. i soon after went down to breakfast, wondering, as i well might, how my feline friend had found out all about my affairs; but it was not till i had eaten ninety and one breakfasts and a corresponding number of dinners that i discovered he belonged to a class of fellows who live by fleecing the poor victims they pretend to clothe. intending candidates, beware of the jews! tuesday came round at last, just as tuesdays have always been in the habit of doing, and at eleven o'clock precisely i, with my heart playing a game of cricket, with my spine for the bat and my ribs for the wicket, "repaired"--a very different mode of progression from any other with which i am acquainted--to the medical department of somerset house. i do not remember ever having entered any place with feelings of greater solemnity. i was astonished in no small degree at the people who passed along the strand for appearing so disgustingly indifferent,-- "and i so weerie fu' o' care." had i been going to stand my trial for manslaughter or cattle-lifting, i am certain i should have felt supremely happy in comparison. i passed the frowning gateway, traversed the large square, and crossed the rubicon by entering the great centre doorway and inquiring my way to the examination room. i had previously, be it observed, sent in my medical and surgical degrees, with all my class tickets and certificates, including that for virtue. i was now directed up a great many long stairs, along as many gloomy-looking corridors, in which i lost my way at least half a dozen times, and had to call at a corresponding number of green-baize-covered brass tacketed doors, in order to be put right, before i at length found myself in front of the proper one, at which i knocked once, twice, and even thrice, without in any way affecting or diminishing the buzz that was going on behind the door; so i pushed it open, and boldly entered. i now found myself in the midst of a large and select assortment of clerks, whose tongues were hard at work if their pens were not, and who did not seem half so much astonished at seeing me there as i felt at finding myself. the room itself looked like an hypertrophied law office, of which the principal features were papers and presses, three-legged stools, calf-bound folios, and cobwebs. i stood for a considerable time, observing but unobserved, wondering all the while what to say, how to say it, and whom to say it to, and resisting an inclination to put my finger in my mouth. moreover, at that moment a war was going on within me between pride and modesty, for i was not at all certain whether i ought to take off my hat; so being "canny" and a scot, i adopted a middle course, and commenced to wipe imaginary perspiration from my brow, an operation which, of course, necessitated the removal of my head-dress. probably the cambric handkerchief caught the tail of the eye of a quieter-looking knight of the quill, who sat a little apart from the other drones of the pen; at any rate he quickly dismounted, and coming up to me politely asked my business. i told him, and he civilly motioned me to a seat to await my turn for examination. by-and-bye other candidates dropped in, each of whom i rejoiced to observe looked a little paler, decidedly more blue, and infinitely greener than i did myself! this was some relief, so i sat by the dusty window which overlooked the thames, watching the little skiffs gliding to and fro, the boats hastening hither and thither, and the big lazy-like barges that floated on the calm unruffled bosom of the great mysterious river, and thinking and wishing that it could but break its everlasting silence and tell its tale, and mention even a tithe of the scenes that had been acted on its breast or by its banks since it first rolled its infant waters to the sea, through a forest of trees instead of a forest of masts and spires, or tell of the many beings that had sought relief from a world of sin and suffering under its dark current. so ran my thoughts, and as the river so did time glide by, and two hours passed away, then a third; and when at last my name was called, it was only to inform me that i must come back on the following day, there being too many to be examined at once. at the hour appointed i was immediately conducted into the presence of the august assembly of examiners, and this, is what i saw, or rather, this was the picture on my retina, for to see, in the usual acceptation of the term, was, under the circumstances, out of the question:--a table with a green cover, laid out for a feast--to me a ghastly feast--of reason and flow of soul. my reason was to form the feast, my soul was to flow; the five pleasant-looking and gentlemanly men who sat around were to partake of the banquet. i did not walk into the room, i seemed to glide as if in a dream, or as if i had been my own ghost. every person and every thing in the room appeared strangely contorted; and the whole formed a wonderful mirage, miraculously confused. the fire hopped up on the table, the table consigned itself to the flames at one moment, and made an insane attempt to get up the chimney the next. the roof bending down in one corner affectionately kissed the carpet, the carpet bobbing up at another returned the chaste salute. then the gentlemen smiled on me pleasantly, while i replied by a horrible grin. "sit down, sir," said one, and his voice sounded far away, as if in another world, as i tottered to the chair, and with palsied arm helped myself to a glass of water, which had been placed on the table for my use. the water revived me, and at the first task i was asked to perform--translate a small portion of gregory's (not powder) conspectus into english--my senses came back. the scales fell from my eyes, the table and fire resumed their proper places, the roof and carpet ceased to dally, my scattered brains came all of a heap once more, and i was myself again as much as ever richard was, or any other man. i answered most of the questions, if not all. i was tackled for ten minutes at a time by each of the examiners. i performed mental operations on the limbs of beings who never existed, prescribed hypothetically for innumerable ailments, brought divers mythical children into the world, dissected muscles and nerves in imagination, talked of green trees, fruit, flowers, natural families, and far-away lands, as if i had been linnaeus, columbus, and humboldt all in one, so that, in less than an hour, the august body leant their backs against their respective chairs, and looked knowingly in each other's faces for a period of several very long seconds. they then nodded to one another, did this august body, looked at their tablets, and nodded again. after this pantomime had come to a conclusion i was furnished with a sheet of foolscap and sent back to the room above the thames to write a dissertation on fractures of the cranium, and shortly after sending it in i was recalled and informed that i had sustained the dread ordeal to their entire satisfaction, etc, and that i had better, before i left the house, pay an official visit to the director-general. i bowed, retired, heaved a monster sigh, made the visit of ceremony, and afterwards my exit. the first gentleman (?) i met on coming out was a short, middle-aged shylock, hook-nosed and raven-haired, and arrayed in a surtout of seedy black. he approached me with much bowing and smiling, and holding below my nose a little green tract which he begged i would accept. "exceedingly kind," thought i, and was about to comply with his request, when, greatly to my surprise and the discomposure of my toilet, an arm was hooked into mine, i was wheeled round as if on a pivot, and found myself face to face with another israelite armed with a _red_ tract. "he is a jew and a dog," said this latter, shaking a forefinger close to my face. "is he?" said i. the words had hardly escaped my lips when the other jew whipped his arm through mine and quickly re-wheeled me towards him. "he is a liar and a cheat," hissed he, with the same motion of the forefinger as his rival had used. "indeed!" said i, beginning to wonder what it all meant. i had not, however, long time to wonder, being once more set spinning by the israelite of the red tract. "beware of the jews?" he whispered, pointing to the other; and the conversation was continued in the following strain. although in the common sense of the word it really was no conversation, as each of them addressed himself to me only, and i could find no reply, still, taking the word in its literal meaning (from con, together, and _verto_, i turn), it was indeed a conversation, for they turned me together, each one, as he addressed me, hooking his arm in mine and whirling me round like the handle of an air-pump or a badly constructed teetotum, and shaking a forefinger in my face, as if i were a parrot and he wanted me to swear. _shylock of the green tract_.--"he is a swine and a scoundrel." _israelite of the red_.--"he's a liar and a thief." _shylock of the green_.--"and he'll get round you some way." _israelite of red_.--"ahab and brothers cheat everybody they can." _shylock of green_.--"he'll be lending you money." _red_.--"whole town know them--" _green_.--"charge you thirty per cent." red--"they are swindlers and dogs." _green_.--"look at our estimate." _red_.--"look at _our_ estimate." _green_.--"peep at our charges." _red_.--"five years' credit." _green_.--"come with us, sir," tugging me to the right. _red_.--"this way, master," pulling me to the left. _green_.--"be advised; he'll rob you." _red_.--"if you go he'll murder you." "damn you both!" i roared; and letting fly both fists at the same time, i turned them both together on their backs and thus put an end to the conversation. only just in time, though, for the remaining ten tribes, or their representatives, were hurrying towards me, each one swaying aloft a gaudy-coloured tract; and i saw no way of escaping but by fairly making a run for it, which i accordingly did, pursued by the ten tribes; and even had i been a centipede, i would have assuredly been torn limb from limb, had i not just then rushed into the arms of my feline friend from bond street. he purred, gave me a paw and many congratulations; was so glad i had passed,--but, to be sure, knew i would,--and so happy i had escaped the jews; would i take a glass of beer? i said, "i didn't mind;" so we adjourned (the right word in the right place--adjourned) to a quiet adjoining hotel. "now," said he, as he tendered the waiter a five-pound bank of england note, "you must not take it amiss, doctor, but--" "no smaller change, sir?" asked the waiter. "i'm afraid," said my friend (?), opening and turning over the contents of a well-lined pocket-book, "i've only got five--oh, here are sovs, he! he!" then turning to me: "i was going to observe," he continued, "that if you want a pound or two, he! he!--you know young fellows will be young fellows--only don't say a word to my father, he! he! he!--highly respectable man. another glass of beer? no? well, we will go and see father!" "but," said i, "i really must go home first." "oh dear no; don't think of such a thing." "i'm deuced hungry," continued i. "my dear sir, excuse me, but it is just our dinner hour; nice roast turkey, and boiled leg of mutton with--" "any pickled pork?" "he! he! now you young _officers_ will have your jokes; but, he! he! though we don't just eat pork, you'll find us just as good as most christians. some capital wine--very old brand; father got it from the cape only the other day; in fact, though i should not mention these things, it was sent us by a grateful customer. but come, you're hungry, we'll get a cab." chapter four. the city of enchantment. in joining the service! find out what a "gig" means. the fortnight immediately subsequent to my passing into the royal navy was spent by me in the great metropolis, in a perfect maze of pleasure and excitement. for the first time for years i knew what it was to be free from care and trouble, independent, and quietly happy. i went the round of the sights and the round of the theatres, and lingered entranced in the opera; but i went all alone, and unaccompanied, save by a small pocket guide-book, and i believe i enjoyed it all the more on that account. no one cared for nor looked at the lonely stranger, and he at no one. i roamed through the spacious streets, strolled delightedly in the handsome parks, lounged in picture galleries, or buried myself for hour's in the solemn halls and classical courts of that prince of public buildings the british museum; and, when tired of rambling, i dined by myself in a quiet hotel. every sight was strange to me, every sound was new; it was as if some good fairy, by a touch of her magic wand, had transported me to an enchanted city; and when i closed my eyes at night, or even shut them by day, behold, there was the same moving panorama that i might gaze on till tired or asleep. but all this was too good to last long. one morning, on coming down to breakfast, bright-hearted and beaming as ever, i found on my plate, instead of fried soles, a long blue official letter, "on her majesty's service." it was my appointment to the `victory,'--"additional for service at haslar hospital." as soon as i read it the enchantment was dissolved, the spell was broken; and when i tried that day to find new pleasures, new sources of amusement, i utterly failed, and found with disgust that it was but a common work-a-day world after all, and that london was very like other places in that respect. i lingered but a few more days in town, and then hastened by train to portsmouth to take up my appointment--to join the service in reality. it was a cold raw morning, with a grey and cheerless sky, and a biting south-wester blowing up channel, and ruffling the water in the solent. alongside of the pier the boats and wherries were all in motion, scratching and otherwise damaging their gunwales against the stones, as they were lifted up and down at the pleasure of the wavelets. the boatmen themselves were either drinking beer at adjacent bars, or stamping up and down the quay with the hopes of enticing a little warmth to their half-frozen toes, and rubbing the ends of their noses for a like purpose. suddenly there arose a great commotion among them, and they all rushed off to surround a gentleman in brand-new naval uniform, who was looking, with his mouth open, for a boat, in every place where a boat was most unlikely to be. knowing at a glance that he was a stranger, they very generously, each and all of them, offered their services, and wanted to row him somewhere--anywhere. after a great deal of fighting and scrambling among themselves, during which the officer got tugged here and tugged there a good many times, he was at last bundled into a very dirty cobble, into which a rough-looking boatman bounded after him and at once shoved off. the naval officer was myself--the reader's obsequious slave. as for the boatman, one thing must be said in his favour, he seemed to be a person of religious character--in one thing at least, for, on the day of judgment, i, for one, will not be able to turn round and say to him "i was a stranger and ye took me not in," for he did take me in. in fact, portsmouth, as a town, is rather particular on this point of christianity: they do take strangers in. "where away to?" asked the jolly waterman, leaning a moment on his oars. "h.m.s. `victory,'" replied i. "be going for to join, i dessay, sir?" "you are right," said i; "but have the goodness to pull so that i may not be wet through on both sides." "can't help the weather, sir." "i'll pay here," said i, "before we go alongside." "very good, sir." "how much?" "only three shillings, sir." "_only_ three shillings!" i repeated, and added "eh?" "that's all, sir--distance is short you know." "do you mean to say," said i, "that you really mean to charge--" "just three bob," interrupting me; "flag's up--can see for yourself, sir." "the flag, you see--i mean my good man--don't tell me about a flag, i'm too far north for you;" and i tried to look as northish as possible. "flag, indeed! humph!" "why, sir," said the man of oars, with a pitying expression of countenance and voice, "flag means double fare--anybody'll tell you that, sir." "nonsense?" said i; "don't tell me that any one takes the trouble of hoisting a flag in order to fill your confounded pockets; there is half a crown, and not a penny more do you get from me." "well, sir, o' condition you has me again, sir, you know, sir,--and my name's mcdonald;" and he pocketed the money, which i afterwards discovered was a _leetle_ too much. "mcdonald," thought i--"my grandmother's name; the rascal thinks to come round me by calling himself a scotchman--the idea of a mcdonald being a waterman!" "sir," said i, aloud, "it is my unbiassed opinion and firm conviction that you are--" i was going to add "a most unmitigated blackguard," but i noticed that he was a man of six feet two, with breadth in proportion, so i left the sentence unfinished. we were now within sight of the bristling sides of the old `victory,' on the quarter-deck of which fell the great and gallant nelson in the hour of battle and triumph; and i was a young officer about to join that service which can boast of so many brave and noble men, and brave and noble deeds; and one would naturally expect that i would indulge in a few dreams of chivalry and romance, picture to myself a bright and glorious future, pounds' weight of medals and crosses, including the victoria, kiss the hilt of my sword, and all that sort of thing. i did not. i was too wretchedly cold for one reason, and the only feeling i had was one of shyness; as for duty, i knew i could and would do that, as most of my countrymen had done before me; so i left castle-building to the younger sons of noblemen or gentry, whose parents can afford to allow them two or three hundred pounds a year to eke out their pay and smooth the difficulties of the service. not having been fortunate enough to be born with even a horn spoon in my mouth, i had to be content with my education as my fortune, and my navy pay as my only income. "stabird side, i dessay, sir?" said the waterman. "certainly," said i, having a glimmering idea that it must be the proper side. a few minutes after--"the admiral's gig is going there, sir,--better wait a bit." i looked on shore and _did_ see a gig, and two horses attached to it. "no," said i, "decidedly not, he can't see us here, man. i suppose you want to go sticking your dirty wet oars in the air, do you?"--(i had seen pictures of this performance). "drive on, i mean pull ahead, my hearty"--a phrase i had heard at the theatre, and considered highly nautical. the waterman obeyed, and here is what came of it. we were just approaching the ladder, when i suddenly became sensible of a rushing noise. i have a dim recollection of seeing a long, many-oared boat, carrying a large red flag, and with an old grey-haired officer sitting astern; of hearing a voice--it might have belonged to the old man of the sea, for anything i could have told to the contrary--float down the wind,-- "clear the way with that (something) bumboat!" then came a crash, my heels flew up--i had been sitting on the gunwale--and overboard i went with a splash, just as some one else in the long boat sang out. "way enough!" way enough, indeed! there was a little too much way for me. when i came to the surface of the water, i found myself several yards from the ladder, and at once struck out for it. there was a great deal of noise and shouting, and a sailor held towards me the sharp end of a boathook; but i had no intention of being lugged out as if i were a pair of canvas trowsers, and, calling to the sailor to keep his pole to himself--did he want to knock my eye out?--i swam to the ladder and ascended. thus then i joined the service, and, having entered at the foot of the ladder, i trust some day to find myself at the top of it. and, talking of joining the service, i here beg to repudiate, as an utter fabrication, the anecdote--generally received as authentic in the service--of the scotch doctor, who, going to report himself for the first time on board of the `victory,' knocked at the door, and inquired (at a marine, i think), "is this the royal nauvy?--'cause i'm come till jine." the story bears "fib" on the face of it, for there is not a scottish schoolboy but knows that one ship does not make a navy, any more than one swallow does a summer. but, dear intending candidate, if you wish to do the right thing, array yourself quietly in frock-coat, cap--not cocked hat, remember--and sword, and go on board your ship in any boat you please, only keep out of the way of gigs. when you arrive on board, don't be expecting to see the admiral, because you'll be disappointed; but ask a sailor or marine to point you out the midshipman of the watch, and request the latter to show you the commander. make this request civilly, mind you; do not pull his ear, because, if big and hirsute, he might beat you, which would be a bad beginning. when you meet the commander, don't rush up and shake him by the hand, and begin talking about the weather; walk respectfully up to him, and lift your cap as you would to a lady; upon which he will hurriedly point to his nose with his forefinger, by way of returning the salute, while at the same time you say-- "_come_ on board, sir--to _join_, sir." it is the custom of the service to make this remark in a firm, bold, decided tone, placing the emphasis on the "_come_" to show clearly that you _did come_, and that no one kicked, or dragged, or otherwise brought you on board against your will. the proper intonation of the remark may be learned from any polite waiter at a hotel, when he tells you, "dinner's ready, sir, please;" or it may be heard in the "now then, gents," of the railway guard of the period. having reported yourself to the man of three stripes, you must not expect that he will shake hands, or embrace you, ask you on shore to tea, and introduce you to his wife. no, if he is good-natured, and has not had a difference of opinion with the captain lately, he _may_ condescend to show you your cabin and introduce you to your messmates; but if he is out of temper, he will merely ask your name, and, on your telling him, remark, "humph!" then call the most minute midshipman to conduct you to your cabin, being at the same time almost certain to mispronounce your name. say your name is struthers, he will call you stutters. "here, mr pigmy, conduct mr stutters to his cabin, and show him where the gunroom--ah! i beg his pardon, the wardroom--lies." "ay, ay, sir," says the middy, and skips off at a round trot, obliging you either to adopt the same ungraceful mode of progression, or lose sight of him altogether, and have to wander about, feeling very much from home, until some officer passing takes pity on you and leads you to the wardroom. chapter five. haslar hospital. the medical mess. dr gruff. it is a way they have in the service, or rather it is the custom of the present director-general, not to appoint the newly-entered medical officer at once to a sea-going ship, but instead to one or other of the naval hospitals for a few weeks or even months, in order that he may be put up to the ropes, as the saying is, or duly initiated into the mysteries of service and routine of duty. this is certainly a good idea, although it is a question whether it would not be better to adopt the plan they have at netley, and thus put the navy and army on the same footing. haslar hospital at portsmouth is a great rambling barrack-looking block of brick building, with a yard or square surrounded by high walls in front, and with two wings extending from behind, which, with the chapel between, form another and smaller square. there are seldom fewer than a thousand patients within, and, independent of a whole regiment of male and female nurses, sick-bay-men, servants, cooks, _et id genus omne_, there is a regular staff of officers, consisting of a captain--of what use i have yet to learn--two medical inspector-generals, generally three or four surgeons, the same number of regularly appointed assistant-surgeons, besides from ten to twenty acting assistant-surgeons [note ] waiting for appointments, and doing duty as supernumeraries. of this last class i myself was a member. soon as the clock tolled the hour of eight in the morning, the staff-surgeon of our side of the hospital stalked into the duty cabin, where we, the assistants, were waiting to receive him. immediately after, we set out on the morning visit, each of us armed with a little board or palette to be used as a writing-desk, an excise inkstand slung in a buttonhole, and a quill behind the ear. the large doors were thrown open, the beds neat and tidy, and the nurses "standing by." up each side of the long wards, from bed to bed, we journeyed; notifying the progress of each case, repeating the treatment here, altering or suspending it there, and performing small operations in another place; listening attentively to tales of aches and pains, and hopes and fears, and just in a sort of general way acting the part of good samaritans. from one ward to another we went, up and down long staircases, along lengthy corridors, into wards in the attics, into wards on the basement, and into wards below ground,--fracture wards, lazarus wards, erysipelas wards, men's wards, officers' wards; and thus we spent the time till a little past nine, by which time the relief of so much suffering had given us an appetite, and we hurried off to the messroom to breakfast. the medical mess at haslar is one of the finest in the service. attached to the room is a nice little apartment, fitted up with a bagatelle-table, and boxing gloves and foils _ad libitum_. and, sure enough, you might walk many a weary mile, or sail many a knot, without meeting twenty such happy faces as every evening surrounded our dinner-table, without beholding twenty such bumper glasses raised at once to the toast of her majesty the queen, and without hearing twenty such good songs, or five times twenty such yarns and original bons-mots, as you would at haslar medical mess. yet i must confess we partook in but a small degree indeed of the solemn quietude of wordsworth's-- "--party in a parlour cramm'd, some sipping punch, some sipping tea, but, as you by their faces see, all silent--and all damned." i do not deny that we were a little noisy at times, and that on several occasions, having eaten and drunken till we were filled, we rose up to dance, and consequently received a _polite_ message from the inspector whose house was adjoining, requesting us to "stop our _confounded_ row;" but then the old man was married, and no doubt his wife was at the bottom of it. duty was a thing that did not fall to the lot of us supers every day. we took it turn about, and hard enough work it used to be too. as soon as breakfast was over, the medical officer on duty would hie him away to the receiving-room, and seat himself at the large desk; and by-and-bye the cases would begin to pour in. first there would arrive, say three or four blue-jackets, with their bags under their arms, in charge of an assistant-surgeon, then a squad of marines, then more blue-jackets, then more red-coats, and so the game of _rouge-et-noir_ would go on during the day. the officer on duty has first to judge whether or not the case is one that can be admitted,--that is, which cannot be conveniently treated on board; he has then to appoint the patient a bed in a proper ward, and prescribe for him, almost invariably a bath and a couple of pills. besides, he has to enter the previous history of the case, verbatim, into each patient's case-book, and if the cases are numerous, and the assistant-surgeon who brings them has written an elaborate account of each disease, the duty-officer will have had his work cut out for him till dinner-time at least. before the hour of the patient's dinner, this gentleman has also to glance into each ward, to see if everything is right, and if there are any complaints. even when ten or eleven o'clock at night brings sleep and repose to others, his work is not yet over; he has one other visit to pay any time during the night through all his wards. then with dark-lantern and slippers you may meet him, gliding ghost-like along the corridors or passages, lingering at ward doors, listening on the staircases, smelling and snuffing, peeping and keeking, and endeavouring by eye, or ear, or nose, to detect the slightest irregularity among the patients or nurses, such as burning lights without orders, gambling by the light of the fire, or smoking. this visit paid, he may return to his virtuous cabin, and sleep as soundly as he chooses. very few of the old surgeons interfere with the duties of their assistants, but there _be_ men who seem to think you have merely come to the service to learn, not to practise your profession, and therefore they treat you as mere students, or at the best hobble-de-hoy doctors. of this class was dr gruff, a man whom i would back against the whole profession for caudle, clyster, castor-oil, or linseed poultice; but who, i rather suspect, never prescribed a dose of chiretta, santonin, or lithia-water in his life. he came to me one duty-day, in a great hurry, and so much excited that i judged he had received some grievous bodily ailment, or suffered some severe family bereavement. "well, sir," he cried; "i hear, sir, you have put a case of ulcer into the erysipelas ward." this remark, not partaking of the nature of question, i thought required no answer. "is it true, sir?--is it true?" he continued, getting blue and red. "it is, sir," was the reply. "and what do you mean by it, sir? what do you mean by it?" he exclaimed, waxing more and more wroth. "i thought, sir--" i began. "you thought, sir!" "yes, sir," continued i, my highland blood getting uppermost, "i _did_ think that, the case being one of ulcer of an _erysipelatous_ nature, i was--" "erysipelatous ulcer!" interrupting me. "oh!" said he, "that alters the case. why did you not say so at first? i beg your pardon;" and he trotted off again. "all right," thought i, "old gruff. i guess you are sorry you spoke." but although there are not wanting medical officers in the service who, on being promoted to staff-surgeon, appear to forget that ever they wore less than three stripes, and can keep company with no one under the rank of commander, i am happy to say they are few and far between, and every year getting more few and farther between. it is a fine thing to be appointed for, say three or four years to a home hospital; in fact, it is the assistant-surgeon's highest ambition. next, in point of comfort, would be an appointment at the naval hospital of malta, cape of good hope, or china. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ note . the acting assistant-surgeons are those who have not as yet served the probationary year, or been confirmed. they are liable to be dismissed without a court-martial. chapter six. afloat. a storm in biscay bay. a word on bass's beer. for the space of six weeks i lived in clover at haslar, and at the end of that time my appointment to a sea-going ship came. it was the pleasure of their lordships the commissioners, that i should take my passage to the cape of good hope in a frigate, which had lately been put in commission and was soon about to sail. arrived there, i was to be handed over to the flag-ship on that station for disposal, like so many stones of salt pork. on first entering the service every medical officer is sent for one commission (three to five years) to a foreign station; and it is certainly very proper too that the youngest and strongest men, rather than the oldest, should do the rough work of the service, and go to the most unhealthy stations. the frigate in which i was ordered passage was to sail from plymouth. to that town i was accordingly sent by train, and found the good ship in such a state of internal chaos--painters, carpenters, sail-makers, and sailors; armourers, blacksmiths, gunners, and tailors; every one engaged at his own trade, with such an utter disregard of order or regularity, while the decks were in such confusion, littered with tools, nails, shavings, ropes, and spars, among which i scrambled, and over which i tumbled, getting into everybody's way, and finding so little rest for the sole of my foot, that i was fain to beg a week's leave, and glad when i obtained it. on going on board again at the end of that time, a very different appearance presented itself; everything was in its proper place, order and regularity were everywhere. the decks were white and clean, the binnacles, the brass and mahogany work polished, the gear all taut, the ropes coiled, and the vessel herself sitting on the water saucy as the queen of ducks, with her pennant flying and her beautiful ensign floating gracefully astern. the gallant ship was ready for sea, had been unmoored, had made her trial trips, and was now anchored in the sound. from early morning to busy noon, and from noon till night, boats glided backwards and forwards between the ship and the shore, filled with the friends of those on board, or laden with wardroom and gunroom stores. among these might have been seen a shore-boat, rowed by two sturdy watermen, and having on board a large sea-chest, with a naval officer on top of it, grasping firmly a cremona in one hand and holding a hat-box in the other. the boat was filled with any number of smaller packages, among which were two black portmanteaus, warranted to be the best of leather, and containing the gentleman's dress and undress uniforms; these, however, turned out to be mere painted pasteboard, and in a very few months the cockroaches--careless, merry-hearted creatures--after eating up every morsel of them, turned their attention to the contents, on which they dined and supped for many days, till the officer's dress-coat was like a meal-sieve, and his pantaloons might have been conveniently need for a landing-net. this, however, was a matter of small consequence, for, contrary to the reiterated assurance of his feline friend, no one portion of this officer's uniform held out for a longer period than six months, the introduction of any part of his person into the corresponding portion of his raiment having become a matter of matutinal anxiety and distress, lest a solution of continuity in the garment might be the unfortunate result. about six o'clock on a beautiful wednesday evening, early in the month of may, our gallant and saucy frigate turned her bows seaward and slowly steamed away from amidst the fleet of little boats that--crowded with the unhappy wives and sweethearts of the sailors--had hung around us all the afternoon. puffing and blowing a great deal, and apparently panting to be out and away at sea, the good ship nevertheless left her anchorage but slowly, and withal reluctantly, her tears falling thick and fast on the quarter-deck as she went. the band was playing a slow and mournful air, by way of keeping up our spirits. _i_ had no friends to say farewell to, there was no tear-bedimmed eye to gaze after me until i faded in distance; so i stood on the poop, leaning over the bulwarks, after the fashion of vanderdecken, captain of the flying dutchman, and equally sad and sorrowful-looking. and what did i see from my elevated situation? a moving picture, a living panorama; a bright sky sprinkled with a few fleecy cloudlets, over a blue sea all in motion before a fresh breeze of wind; a fleet of little boats astern, filled with picturesquely dressed seamen and women waving handkerchiefs; the long breakwater lined with a dense crowd of sorrowing friends, each anxious to gain one last look of the dear face he may never see more. yonder is the grey-haired father, yonder the widowed mother, the affectionate brother, the loving sister, the fond wife, the beloved sweetheart,--all are there; and not a sigh that is sighed, not a tear that is shed, not a prayer that is breathed, but finds a response in the bosom of some loved one on board. to the right are green hills, people-clad likewise, while away in the distance the steeple of many a church "points the way to happier spheres," and on the flagstaff at the port-admiral's house is floating the signal "fare thee well." the band has ceased to play, the sailors have given their last ringing cheer, even the echoes of which have died away, and faintly down the wind comes the sound of the evening bells. the men are gathered in little groups on deck, and there is a tenderness in their landward gaze, and a pathos in their rough voices, that one would hardly expect to find. "yonder's my poll, jack," says one. "look, see! the poor lass is crying; blowed if i think i'll ever see her more." "there," says another, "is _my_ old girl on the breakwater, beside the old cove in the red nightcap." "that's my father, bill," answers a third. "god bless the dear old chap?" "good-bye, jean; good-bye, lass. ah! she won't hear me. blessed if i don't feel as if i could make a big baby of myself and cry outright." "oh! dick, dick," exclaims an honest-looking tar; "i see'd my poor wife tumble down; she had wee johnnie in her arms, and--and what will i do?" "keep up your heart, to be sure," answers a tall, rough son of a gun. "there, she has righted again, only a bit of a swoon ye see. i've got neither sister, wife, nor mother, so surely it's _me_ that ought to be making a noodle of myself; but where's the use?" an hour or two later we were steaming across channel, with nothing visible but the blue sea all before us, and the chalky cliffs of cornwall far behind, with the rosy blush of the setting sun lingering on their summits. then the light faded from the sky, the gloaming star shone out in the east, big waves began to tumble in, and the night breeze blew cold and chill from off the broad atlantic ocean. tired and dull, weary and sad, i went below to the wardroom and seated myself on a rocking chair. it was now that i began to feel the discomfort of not having a cabin. being merely a supernumerary or passenger, such a luxury was of course out of the question, even had i been an admiral. i was to have a screen berth, or what a landsman would call a canvas tent, on the main or fighting deck, but as yet it was not rigged. had i never been to sea before, i would have now felt very wretched indeed; but having roughed it in greenland and davis straits in small whaling brigs, i had got over the weakness of sea-sickness; yet notwithstanding i felt all the thorough prostration both of mind and body, which the first twenty-four hours at sea often produces in the oldest and best of sailors, so that i was only too happy when i at last found myself within canvas. by next morning the wind had freshened, and when i turned out i found that the steam had been turned off, and that we were bowling along before a ten-knot breeze. all that day the wind blew strongly from the n.n.e., and increased as night came on to a regular gale of wind. i had seen some wild weather in the greenland ocean, but never anything before, nor since, to equal the violence of the storm on that dreadful night, in the bay of biscay. we were running dead before the wind at twelve o'clock, when the gale was at its worst, and when the order to light fires and get up steam had been given. just then we were making fourteen knots, with only a foresail, a fore-topsail, and main-topsail, the latter two close-reefed. i was awakened by a terrific noise on deck, and i shall not soon forget that awakening. the ship was leaking badly both at the ports and scupper-holes; so that the maindeck all around was flooded with water, which lifted my big chest every time the roll of the vessel allowed it to flow towards it. to say the ship was rolling would express but poorly the indescribably disagreeable wallowing motion of the frigate, while men were staggering with anxious faces from gun to gun, seeing that the lashings were all secure; so great was the strain on the cable-like ropes that kept them in their places. the shot had got loose from the racks, and were having a small cannonade on their own account, to the no small consternation of the men whose duty it was to re-secure them. it was literally sea without and sea within, for the green waves were pouring down the main hatchway, adding to the amount of water already _below_, where the chairs and other articles of domestic utility were all afloat and making voyages of discovery from one officer's cabin to another. on the upper deck all was darkness, confusion, and danger, for both the fore and main-topsails had been carried away at the same time, reducing us to one sail--the foresail. the noise and crackling of the riven canvas, mingling with the continuous roar of the storm, were at times increased by the rattle of thunder and the rush of rain-drops, while the lightning played continually around the slippery masts and cordage. about one o'clock, a large ship, apparently unmanageable, was dimly seen for one moment close aboard of us--had we come into collision the consequences must have been dreadful;--and thus for two long hours, _till steam was got up_, did we fly before the gale, after which the danger was comparatively small. having spent its fury, having in fact blown itself out of breath, the wind next day retired to its cave, and the waves got smaller and beautifully less, till peace and quietness once more reigned around us. going on deck one morning i found we were anchored under the very shadow of a steep rock, and not far from a pretty little town at the foot of a high mountain, which was itself covered to the top with trees and verdure, with the white walls of many a quaint-looking edifice peeping through the green--boats, laden with fruit and fish and turtle, surrounded the ship. the island of madeira and town, of funchal. as there was no pier, we had to land among the stones. the principal amusement of english residents here seems to be lounging about, cheroot in mouth, beneath the rows of trees that droop over the pavements, getting carried about in portable hammocks, and walking or riding (i rode, and, not being able to get my horse to move at a suitable pace, i looked behind, and found the boy from whom i had hired him sticking like a leech to my animal's tail, nor would he be shaken off--nor could the horse be induced to kick him off; this is the custom of the funchalites, and a funny one it is) to the top of the mountain, for the pleasure of coming down in a sleigh, a distance of two miles, in twice as many minutes, while the least deviation from the path would result in a terrible smash against the wall of either side, but i never heard of any such accident occurring. three days at madeira, and up anchor again; our next place of call being saint helena. every one has heard of the gentleman who wanted to conquer the world but couldn't, who tried to beat the british but didn't, who staked his last crown at a game of _loo_, and losing fled, and fleeing was chased, and being chased was caught and chained by the leg, like an obstreperous game-cock, to a rock somewhere in the middle of the sea, on which he stood night and day for years, with his arms folded across his chest, and his cocked hat wrong on, a warning to the unco-ambitious. the rock was saint helena, and a very beautiful rock it is too, hill and dell and thriving town, its mountain-sides tilled and its straths and glens containing many a fertile little farm. it is the duty of every one who touches the shores of this far-famed island to make a pilgrimage to longwood, the burial-place of the "great man." i have no intention of describing this pilgrimage, for this has been done by dozens before my time, or, if not, it ought to have been: i shall merely add a very noticeable fact, which others may not perchance have observed--_both sides_ of the road all the way to the tomb are strewn with _bass's beer-bottles_, empty of course, and at the grave itself there are hogsheads of them; and the same is the case at every place which john bull has visited, or where english foot has ever trodden. the rule holds good all over the world; and in the indian ocean, whenever i found an uninhabited island, or even reef which at some future day would be an island, if i did not likewise find an empty beer-bottle, i at once took possession in the name of queen victoria, giving three hips! and one hurrah! thrice, and singing "for he's a jolly good fellow," without any very distinct notion as to who _was_ the jolly fellow; also adding more decidedly "which nobody can deny"--there being no one on the island to deny it. england has in this way acquired much additional territory at my hands, without my having as yet received any very substantial recompense for my services. chapter seven. the modern roderick random. half a servant. a pretty picture. the duties of the assistant-surgeon--the modern roderick random--on board a line-of-battle ship are seldom very onerous in time of peace, and often not worth mentioning. suppose, for example, the reader is that officer. at five bells--half-past six--in the morning, if you happen to be a light sleeper, you will be sensible of some one gliding silently into your cabin, rifling your pockets, and extracting your watch, your money, and other your trinkets; but do not jump out of bed, pray, with the intention of collaring him; it is no thief--only your servant. formerly this official used to be a marine, with whom on joining your ship you bargained in the following manner. the marine walked up to you and touched his front hair, saying at the same time,-- "_i_ don't mind looking arter you, sir," or "i'll do for you, sir." on which you would reply,-- "all right! what's your name?" and he would answer "cheeks," or whatever his name might be. (cheeks, that is the real cheeks, being a sort of visionary soldier--a phantom marine--and very useful at times, answering in fact to the nobody of higher quarters, who is to blame for so many things,--"nobody is to blame," and "cheeks is to blame," being synonymous sentences.) now-a-days government kindly allows each commissioned officer one half of a servant, or one whole one between two officers, which, at times, is found to be rather an awkward arrangement; as, for instance, you and, say, the lieutenant of marines, have each the half of the same servant, and you wish your half to go on shore with a message, and the lieutenant requires his half to remain on board: the question then comes to be one which only the wisdom of solomon could solve, in the same way that alexander the great loosed the gordian knot. your servant, then, on entering your cabin in the morning, carefully and quietly deposits the contents of your pockets on your table, and, taking all your clothes and your boots in his arms, silently flits from view, and shortly after re-enters, having in the interval neatly folded and brushed them. you are just turning round to go to sleep again, when-- "six bells, sir, please," remarks your man, laying his hand on your elbow, and giving you a gentle shake to insure your resuscitation, and which will generally have the effect of causing you to spring at once from your cot, perhaps in your hurry nearly upsetting the cup of delicious ship's cocoa which he has kindly saved to you from his own breakfast--a no small sacrifice either, if you bear in mind that his own allowance is by no means very large, and that his breakfast consists of cocoa and biscuits alone--these last too often containing more weevils than flour. as you hurry into your bath, your servant coolly informs you-- "plenty of time, sir. doctor himself hain't turned out yet." "then," you inquire, "it isn't six bells?" "not a bit on it, sir," he replies; "wants the quarter." the rogue has lied to get you up. at seven o'clock exactly you make your way forward to the sick-bay, on the lower deck at the ship's bows. now, this making your way forward isn't by any means such an easy task as one might imagine; for at that hour the deck is swarming with the men at their toilet, stripped to the waist, every man at his tub, lathering, splashing, scrubbing and rubbing, talking, laughing, joking, singing, sweating, and swearing. finding your way obstructed, you venture to touch one mildly on the bare back, as a hint to move aside and let you pass; the man immediately damns your eyes, then begs pardon, and says he thought it was bill "at his lark again." another who is bending down over his tub you touch more firmly on the _os innominatum_, and ask him in a free and easy sort of tone to "slue round there." he "slues round," very quickly too, but unfortunately in the wrong direction, and ten to one capsizes you in a tub of dirty soapsuds. having picked yourself up, you pursue your journey, and sing out as a general sort of warning-- for the benefit of those happy individuals who never saw, or had to eat, weevils, i may here state that they are small beetles of the exact size and shape of the common woodlouse, and that the taste is rather insipid, with a slight flavour of boiled beans. never have tasted the woodlouse, but should think the flavour would be quite similar. "gangway there, lads," which causes at least a dozen of these worthies to pass such ironical remarks to their companions as-- "out of the doctor's way there, tom." "let the gentleman pass, can't you, jack?" "port your helm, mat; the doctor wants you to." "round with your stern, bill; the surgeon's _mate_ is a passing." "kick that donkey jones out of the doctor's road,"--while at the same time it is always the speaker himself who is in the way. at last, however, you reach the sick-bay in safety, and retire within the screen. here, if a strict service man, you will find the surgeon already seated; and presently the other assistant enters, and the work is begun. there is a sick-bay man, or dispenser, and a sick-bay cook, attached to the medical department. the surgeon generally does the brain-work, and the assistants the finger-work; and, to their shame be it spoken, there are some surgeons too proud to consult their younger brethren, whom they treat as assistant-drudges, not assistant-surgeons. at eight o'clock--before or after,--the work is over, and you are off to breakfast. at nine o'clock the drum beats, when every one, not otherwise engaged, is required to muster on the quarter-deck, every officer as he comes up lifting his cap, not to the captain, but to the queen. after inspection the parson reads prayers; you are then free to write, or read, or anything else in reason you choose; and, if in harbour, you may go on shore--boats leaving the ship at regular hours for the convenience of the officers--always premising that one medical man be left on board, in case of accident. in most foreign ports where a ship may be lying, there is no want of both pleasure and excitement on shore. take for example the little town of simon's, about twenty miles from cape town, with a population of not less than four thousand of englishmen, dutch, malays, caffres, and hottentots. the bay is large, and almost landlocked. the little white town is built along the foot of a lofty mountain. beautiful walks can be had in every direction, along the hard sandy sea-beach, over the mountains and on to extensive table-lands, or away up into dark rocky dingles and heath-clad glens. nothing can surpass the beauty of the scenery, or the gorgeous loveliness of the wild heaths and geraniums everywhere abounding. there is a good hotel and billiard-room; and you can shoot where, when, and what you please-- monkeys, pigeons, rock rabbits, wild ducks, or cobra-di-capellas. if you long for more society, or want to see life, get a day or two days' leave. rise at five o'clock; the morning will be lovely and clear, with the mist rising from its flowery bed on the mountain's brow, and the sun, large and red, entering on a sky to which nor pen nor pencil could do justice. the cart is waiting for you at the hotel, with an awning spread above. jump in: crack goes the long caffre whip; away with a plunge and a jerk go the three pairs of caffre horses, and along the sea-shore you dash, with the cool sea-breeze in your face, and the water, green and clear, rippling up over the horses' feet; then, amid such scenery, with such exhilarating weather, in such a life-giving climate, if you don't feel a glow of pleasure that will send the blood tingling through your veins, from the points of your ten toes to the extreme end of your eyelashes, there must be something radically and constitutionally wrong with you, and the sooner you go on board and dose yourself with calomel and jalap the better. arrived at cape town, a few introductions will simply throw the whole city at your command, and all it contains. i do not intend this as a complete sketch of your trip, or i would have mentioned some of the many beautiful spots and places of interest you pass on the road--rathfeldas for example, a hotel halfway, a house buried in sweetness; and the country round about, with its dark waving forests, its fruitful fields and wide-spreading vineyards, where the grape seems to grow almost without cultivation; its comfortable farm-houses; and above all its people, kind, generous, and hospitable as the country is prolific. so you see, dear reader, a navy surgeon's life hath its pleasures. ah, indeed, it hath! and sorry i am to add, its sufferings too; for a few pages farther on the picture must change: if we get the lights we must needs take the shadows also. chapter eight. a good dinner. enemy on the port bow. man the life-boat. we will suppose that the reader still occupies the position of assistant-surgeon in a crack frigate or saucy line-of-battle ship. if you go on shore for a walk in the forenoon you may return to lunch at twelve; or if you have extended your ramble far into the country, or gone to visit a friend or lady-love--though for the latter the gloaming hour is to be preferred--you will in all probability have succeeded in establishing an appetite by half-past five, when the officers' dinner-boat leaves the pier. now, i believe there are few people in the world to whom a good dinner does not prove an attraction, and this is what in a large ship one is always pretty sure of, more especially on guest-nights, which are evenings set apart--one every week--for the entertainment of the officers' friends, one or more of whom any officer may invite, by previously letting the mess-caterer know of his intention. the mess-caterer is the officer who has been elected to superintend the victualling, as the wine-caterer does the liquor department, and a by-no-means-enviable position it is, and consequently it is for ever changing hands. sailors are proverbial growlers, and, indeed, a certain amount of growling is, and ought to be, permitted in every mess; but it is scarcely fair for an officer, because his breakfast does not please him, or if he can't get butter to his cheese after dinner, to launch forth his indignation at the poor mess-caterer, who most likely is doing all he can to please. these growlers too never speak right out or directly to the point. it is all under-the-table stabbing. "such and such a ship that i was in," says growler first, "and such and such a mess--" "oh, by george!" says growler second, "_i_ knew that ship; that was a mess, and no mistake?" "why, yes," replies number one, "the lunch we got there was better than the dinner we have in this old clothes-basket." on guest-nights your friend sits beside yourself, of course, and you attend to his corporeal wants. one of the nicest things about the service, in my opinion, is the having the band every day at dinner; then too everything is so orderly; with our president and vice-president, it is quite like a pleasure party every evening; so that altogether the dinner, while in harbour, comes to be the great event of the day. and after the cloth has been removed, and the president, with a preliminary rap on the table to draw attention, has given the only toast of the evening, the queen, and due honour has been paid thereto, and the bandmaster, who has been keeking in at the door every minute for the last ten, that he might not make a mistake in the time, has played "god save the queen," and returned again to waltzes, quadrilles, or selections from operas,--then it is very pleasant and delightful to loll over our walnuts and wine, and half-dream away the half-hour till coffee is served. then, to be sure, that little cigar in our canvas smoking-room outside the wardroom door, though the last, is by no means the least pleasant part of the _dejeuner_. for my own part, i enjoy the succeeding hour or so as much as any: when, reclining in an easy chair, in a quiet corner, i can sip my tea, and enjoy my favourite author to my heart's content. you must spare half an hour, however, to pay your last visit to the sick; but this will only tend to make you appreciate your ease all the more when you have done. so the evening wears away, and by ten o'clock you will probably just be sufficiently tired to enjoy thoroughly your little swing-cot and your cool white sheets. at sea, luncheon, or tiffin, is dispensed with, and you dine at half-past two. not much difference in the quality of viands after all, for now-a-days everything worth eating can be procured, in hermetically sealed tins, capable of remaining fresh for any length of time. there is one little bit of the routine of the service, which at first one may consider a hardship. you are probably enjoying your deepest, sweetest sleep, rocked in the cradle of the deep, and gently swaying to and fro in your little cot; you had turned in with the delicious consciousness of safety, for well you knew that the ship was far away at sea, far from rock or reef or deadly shoal, and that the night was clear and collision very improbable, so you are slumbering like a babe on its mother's breast--as you are for that matter--for the second night-watch is half spent; when, mingling confusedly with your dreams, comes the roll of the drum; you start and listen. there is a moment's pause, when birr-r-r-r it goes again, and as you spring from your couch you hear it the third time. and now you can distinguish the shouts of officers and petty officers, high over the din of the trampling of many feet, of the battening down of hatches, of the unmooring of great guns, and of heavy ropes and bars falling on the deck: then succeeds a dead silence, soon broken by the voice of the commander thundering, "enemy on the port bow;" and then, and not till then, do you know it is no real engagement, but the monthly night-quarters. and you can't help feeling sorry there isn't a real enemy on the port bow, or either bow, as you hurry away to the cockpit, with the guns rattling all the while overhead, as if a real live thunderstorm were being taken on board, and was objecting to be stowed away. so you lay out your instruments, your sponges, your bottles of wine, and your buckets of water, and, seating yourself in the midst, begin to read `midsummer night's dream,' ready at a moment's notice to amputate the leg of any man on board, whether captain, cook, or cabin-boy. another nice little amusement the officer of the watch may give himself on fine clear nights is to set fire to and let go the lifebuoy, at the same time singing out at the top of his voice, "man overboard." a boatswain's mate at once repeats the call, and vociferates down the main hatchway, "life-boat's crew a-ho-oy!" in our navy a few short but expressive moments of silence ever precede the battle, that both officers and men may hold communion with their god. the men belonging to this boat, who have been lying here and there asleep but dressed, quickly tumble up the ladder pell-mell; there is a rattling of oars heard, and the creaking of pulleys, then a splash in the water alongside, the boat darts away from the ship like an arrow from a bow, and the crew, rowing towards the blazing buoy, save the life of the unhappy man, cheeks the marine. and thus do british sailors rule the waves and keep old neptune in his own place. chapter nine. containing--if not the whole--nothing but the truth. if the disposing, in the service, of even a ship-load of assistant-surgeons, is considered a matter of small moment, my disposal, after reaching the cape of good hope, needs but small comment. i was very soon appointed to take charge of a gunboat, in lieu of a gentleman who was sent to the naval hospital of simon's town, to fill a death vacancy--for the navy as well as nature abhors a vacuum. i had seen the bright side of the service, i was now to have my turn of the dark; i had enjoyed life on board a crack frigate, i was now to rough it in a gunboat. the east coast of africa was to be our cruising ground, and our ship a pigmy steamer, with plenty fore-and-aft about her, but nothing else; in fact, she was euclid's definition of a line to a t, length without breadth, and small enough to have done "excellently well" as a gravesend tug-boat. her teeth were five: namely, one gigantic cannon, a -pounder, as front tooth; on each side a brass howitzer; and flanking these, two canine tusks in shape of a couple of -pounder armstrongs. with this armament we were to lord it with a high hand over the indian ocean; carry fire and sword, or, failing sword, the cutlass, into the very heart of slavery's dominions; the arabs should tremble at the roar of our guns and the thunder of our bursting shells, while the slaves should clank their chains in joyful anticipation of our coming; and best of all, we--the officers--should fill our pockets with prize-money to spend when we again reached the shores of merry england. unfortunately, this last premeditation was the only one which sustained disappointment, for, our little craft being tender to the flag-ship of the station, all our hard-earned prize-money had to be equally shared with her officers and crew, which reduced the shares to fewer pence each than they otherwise would have been pounds, and which was a burning shame. it was the cape winter when i joined the gunboat. the hills were covered with purple and green, the air was deliciously cool, and the far-away mountain-tops were clad in virgin snow. it was twelve o'clock noon when i took my traps on board, and found my new messmates seated around the table at tiffin. the gunroom, called the wardroom by courtesy--for the after cabin was occupied by the lieutenant commanding--was a little morsel of an apartment, which the table and five cane-bottomed chairs entirely filled. the officers were five-- namely, a little round-faced, dimple-cheeked, good-natured fellow, who was our second-master; a tall and rather awkward-looking young gentleman, our midshipman; a lean, pert, and withal diminutive youth, brimful of his own importance, our assistant-paymaster; a fair-haired, bright-eyed, laughing boy from cornwall, our sub-lieutenant; and a "wee wee man," dapper, clean, and tidy, our engineer, admitted to this mess because he was so thorough an exception to his class, which is celebrated more for the unctuosity of its outer than for the smoothness of its inner man. "come along, old fellow," said our navigator, addressing me as i entered the messroom, bobbing and bowing to evade fracture of the cranium by coming into collision with the transverse beams of the deck above--"come along and join us, we don't dine till four." "and precious little to dine upon," said the officer on his right. "steward, let us have the rum," [note ] cried the first speaker. and thus addressed, the steward shuffled in, bearing in his hand a black bottle, and apparently in imminent danger of choking himself on a large mouthful of bread and butter. this functionary's dress was remarkable rather for its simplicity than its purity, consisting merely of a pair of dirty canvas pants, a pair of purser's shoes--innocent as yet of blacking--and a greasy flannel shirt. but, indeed, uniform seemed to be the exception, and not the rule, of the mess, for, while one wore a blue serge jacket, another was arrayed in white linen, and the rest had neither jacket nor vest. the table was guiltless of a cloth, and littered with beer-bottles, biscuits, onions, sardines, and pats of butter. "look out there, waddles!" exclaimed the sub-lieutenant; "that beggar dawson is having his own whack o' grog and everybody else's." "dang it! i'll have _my_ tot to-day, i know," said the assistant-paymaster, snatching the bottle from dawson, and helping himself to a very liberal allowance of the ruby fluid. "what a cheek the fellow's got!" cried the midshipman, snatching the glass from the table and bolting the contents at a gulp, adding, with a gasp of satisfaction as he put down the empty tumbler, "the chap thinks nobody's got a soul to be saved but himself." "soul or no soul," replied the youthful man of money as he gazed disconsolately at the empty glass, "my _spirit's_ gone." "blessed," said the engineer, shaking the black bottle, "if you devils have left me a drain! see if i don't look out for a to-morrow." "where's the doctor's grog?" cried the sub-lieutenant. "ay, where's the doctor's?" said another. "where is the doctor's?" said a third. and they all said "where is the doctor's?" and echo answered "where?" "steward!" said the middy. "ay, ay, sir." "see if that beggarly bumboat-man is alongside, and get me another pat of butter and some soft tack; get the grub first, then tell him i'll pay to-morrow." these and such like scraps of conversation began to give me a little insight into the kind of mess i had joined and the character of my future messmates. "steward," said i, "show me my cabin." he did so; indeed, he hadn't far to go. it was the aftermost, and consequently the smallest, although i _ought_ to have had my choice. it was the most miserable little box i ever reposed in. had i owned such a place on shore, i _might_ have been induced to keep rabbits in it, or guinea-pigs, but certainly not pigeons. its length was barely six feet, its width four above my cot and two below, and it was minus sufficient standing-room for any ordinary-sized sailor; it was, indeed, a cabin for a commodore--i mean commodore nutt--and was ventilated by a scuttle seven inches in diameter, which could only be removed in harbour, and below which, when we first went to sea, i was fain to hang a leather hat-box to catch the water; unfortunately the bottom rotted out, and i was then at the mercy of the waves. my cabin, or rather--to stick to the plain unvarnished truth--my burrow, was alive with scorpions, cockroaches, ants, and other "crawlin' ferlies." "that e'en to name would be unlawfu'." my dispensary was off the steerage, and sister-cabin to the pantry. to it i gained access by a species of crab-walking, squeezing myself past a large brass pump, and edging my body in sideways. the sick came one by one to the dispensary door, and there i saw and treated each case as it arrived, dressed the wounds and bruises and putrefying sores, and bandaged the bad legs. there was no sick-berth attendant; to be sure the lieutenant-in-command, at my request, told off "a little cabin-boy" for my especial use. i had no cause for delectation on such an acquisition, by no means; he was not a model cabin-boy like what you see in theatres, and i believe will never become an admiral. he managed at times to wash out the dispensary, or gather cockroaches, and make the poultices--only in doing the first he broke the bottles, and in performing the last duty he either let the poultice burn or put salt in it; and, finally, he smashed my pot, and i kicked him forward, and demanded another. _he_ was slightly better, only he was seldom visible; and when i set him to do anything, he at once went off into a sweet slumber; so i kicked him forward too, and had in despair to become my own menial. in both dispensary and burrow it was quite a difficult business to prevent everything going to speedy destruction. the best portions of my uniform got eaten by cockroaches or moulded by damp, while my instruments required cleaning every morning, and even that did not keep rust at bay. imagine yourself dear reader, in any of the following interesting positions:-- very thirsty, and nothing but boiling hot newly distilled water to drink; or wishing a cool bath of a morning, and finding the water in your can only a little short of degrees fahrenheit. to find, when you awake, a couple of cockroaches, two inches in length, busy picking your teeth. to find one in a state of decay in the mustard-pot. to have to arrange all the droppings and eggs of these interesting creatures on the edge of your plate, previous to eating your soup. to have to beat out the dust and weevils from every square inch of biscuit before putting it in your mouth. to be looking for a book and put your hand on a full-grown scaly scorpion. nice sensation--the animal twining round your finger, or running up your sleeve. _denouement_--cracking him under foot-- full-flavoured bouquet--joy at escaping a sting. you are enjoying your dinner, but have been for some time sensible of a strange titillating feeling about the region of your ankle; you look down at last to find a centipede on your sock, with his fifty hind-legs--you thank god not his fore fifty--abutting on to your shin. _tableau_-- green and red light from the eyes of the many-legged; horror of yourself as you wait till he thinks proper to "move on." to awake in the morning, and find a large and healthy-looking tarantula squatting on your pillow within ten inches of your nose, with his basilisk eyes fixed on yours, and apparently saying, "you're only just awake, are you? i've been sitting here all the morning watching you." you know if you move he'll bite you, somewhere; and if he _does_ bite you, you'll go mad and dance _ad libitum_; so you twist your mouth in the opposite direction and ejaculate-- "steward!" but the steward does not come--in fact he is forward, seeing after the breakfast. meanwhile the gentleman on the pillow is moving his horizontal mandibles in a most threatening manner, and just as he makes a rush for your nose you tumble out of bed with a shriek; and, if a very nervous person, probably run on deck in your shirt. or, to fall asleep under the following circumstances: the bulkheads, all around, black with cock-and-hen-roaches, a few of which are engaged cropping your toe-nails, or running off with little bits of the skin of your calves; bugs in the crevices of your cot, a flea tickling the sole of your foot, a troop of ants carrying a dead cockroach over your pillow, lively mosquitoes attacking you everywhere, hammer-legged flies occasionally settling on your nose, rats running in and rats running out, your lamp just going out, and the delicious certainty that an indefinite number of earwigs and scorpions, besides two centipedes and a tarantula, are hiding themselves somewhere in your cabin. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ note . officers, as well as men, are allowed one half-gill of rum daily, with this difference,--the former pay for theirs, while the latter do not. chapter ten. round the cape and up the 'bique. slaver-hunting. it was a dark-grey cloudy forenoon when we "up anchor" and sailed from simon's bay. frequent squalls whitened the water, and there was every indication of our being about to have dirty weather; and the tokens told no lies. to our little craft, however, the foul weather that followed seemed to be a matter of very little moment; for, when the wind or waves were in any way high, she kept snugly below water, evidently thinking more of her own convenience than our comfort, for such a procedure on her part necessitated our leading a sort of amphibious existence, better suited to the tastes of frogs than human beings. our beds too, or matresses, became converted into gigantic poultices, in which we nightly steamed, like as many porkers newly shaven. judging from the amount of salt which got encrusted on our skins, there was little need to fear danger, we were well preserved--so much so indeed, that, but for the constant use of the matutinal freshwater bath, we would doubtless have shared the fate of lot's wife and been turned into pillars of salt. after being a few days at sea the wind began to moderate, and finally died away; and instead thereof we had thunderstorms and waves, which, if not so big as mountains, would certainly have made pretty large hills. many a night did we linger on deck till well nigh morning, entranced by the sublime beauty and terrible grandeur of those thunderstorms. the roar and rattle of heaven's artillery; the incessant _floods_ of lightning--crimson, blue, or white; our little craft hanging by the bows to the crest of each huge inky billow, or next moment buried in the valley of the waves, with a wall of black waters on every side; the wet deck, the slippery shrouds, and the faces of the men holding on to the ropes and appearing so strangely pale in the electric light; i see the whole picture even now as i write--a picture, indeed, that can never, never fade from my memory. our cruising "ground" lay between the island and town of mozambique in the south, to about magadoxa, some seven or eight degrees north of the equator. nearly the whole of the slave-trade is carried on by the arabs, one or two spaniards sometimes engaging in it likewise. the slaves are brought from the far interior of south africa, where they can be purchased for a small bag of rice each. they are taken down in chained gangs to the coast, and there in some secluded bay the dhows lie, waiting to take them on board and convey them to the slave-mart at zanzibar, to which place arab merchants come from the most distant parts of arabia and persia to buy them. dhows are vessels with one or two masts, and a corresponding number of large sails, and of a very peculiar construction, being shaped somewhat like a short or blucher boot, the high part of the boot representing the poop. they have a thatched roof over the deck, the projecting eaves of which render boarding exceedingly difficult to an enemy. sometimes, on rounding the corner of a lagoon island, we would quietly and unexpectedly steam into the midst of a fleet of thirty to forty of these queer-looking vessels, very much to our own satisfaction, and their intense consternation. imagine a cat popping down among as many mice, and you will be able to form some idea of the scramble that followed. however, by dint of steaming here and there, and expending a great deal of shot and shell, we generally managed to keep them together as a dog would a flock of sheep, until we examined all their papers with the aid of our interpreter, and probably picked out a prize. i wish i could say the prizes were anything like numerous; for perhaps one-half of all the vessels we board are illicit slaveholders, and yet we cannot lay a finger on them. one may well ask why? it has been said, and it is generally believed in england, that our cruisers are sweeping the indian ocean of slavers, and stamping out the curse. but the truth is very different, and all that we are doing, or able at present to do, is but to pull an occasional hair from the hoary locks of the fiend slavery. this can be proved from the return-sheets, which every cruiser sends home, of the number of vessels boarded, generally averaging one thousand yearly to each man-o'-war, of which the half at least have slaves or slave-irons on board; but only two, or at most three, of these will become prizes. the reason of this will easily be understood, when the reader is informed, that the sultan of zanzibar has liberty to take any number of slaves from any one portion of his dominions to another: these are called household slaves; and, as his dominions stretch nearly all along the eastern shores of africa, it is only necessary for the slave-dealer to get his sanction and seal to his papers in order to steer clear of british law. this, in almost every case, can be accomplished by means of a bribe. so slavery flourishes, the sultan draws a good fat revenue from it, and the portuguese--no great friends to us at any time--laugh and wink to see john bull paying his thousands yearly for next to nothing. supposing we liberate even two thousand slaves a year, which i am not sure we do however, there are on the lowest estimate six hundred slaves bought and sold daily in zanzibar mart; two hundred and nineteen thousand in a twelvemonth; and, of our two thousand that are set free in zanzibar, most, if not all, by-and-bye, become bondsmen again. i am not an advocate for slavery, and would like to see a wholesale raid made against it, but i do not believe in the retail system; selling freedom in pennyworths, and spending millions in doing it, is very like burning a penny candle in seeking for a cent. yet i sincerely believe, that there is more good done to the spread of civilisation and religion in one year, by the slave-traffic, than all our missionaries can do in a hundred. don't open your eyes and smile incredulously, intelligent reader; we live in an age when every question is looked at on both sides, and why should not this? what becomes of the hundreds of thousands of slaves that are taken from africa? they are sold to the arabs--that wonderful race, who have been second only to christians in the good they have done to civilisation; they are taken from a state of degradation, bestiality, and wretchedness, worse by far than that of the wild beasts, and from a part of the country too that is almost unfit to live in, and carried to more favoured lands, spread over the sunny shores of fertile persia and arabia, fed and clothed and cared for; after a few years of faithful service they are even called sons and feed at their master's table--taught all the trades and useful arts, besides the mahommedan religion, which is certainly better than none--and, above all, have a better chance given them of one day hearing and learning the beautiful tenets of christianity, the religion of love. i have met with few slaves who after a few years did not say, "praised be allah for the good day i was take from me coontry!" and whose only wish to return was, that they might bring away some aged parent, or beloved sister, from the dark cheerless home of their infancy. means and measures much more energetic must be brought into action if the stronghold of slavedom is to be stormed, and, if not, it were better to leave it alone. "if the work be of god ye cannot overthrow it; lest haply ye be found to fight even against god." chapter eleven. an unlucky ship. the days when we went gipsying. inambane. quilp the pilot and lamoo. it might have been that our vessel was launched on a friday, or sailed on a friday; or whether it was owing to our carrying the devil on board of us in shape of a big jet-black cat, and for whom the lifebuoy was thrice let go, and boats lowered in order to save his infernal majesty from a watery grave; but whatever was the reason, she was certainly a most unlucky ship from first to last; for during a cruise of eighteen months, four times did we run aground on dangerous reefs, twice were we on fire--once having had to scuttle the decks--once we sprung a bad leak and were nearly foundering, several times we narrowly escaped the same speedy termination to our cruise by being taken aback, while, compared to our smaller dangers or lesser perils, saint paul's adventures--as a yankee would express it--wern't a circumstance. on the other hand, we were amply repaid by the many beautiful spots we visited; the lovely wooded creeks where the slave-dhows played at hide and seek with us, and the natural harbours, at times surrounded by scenery so sweetly beautiful and so charmingly solitary, that, if fairies still linger on this earth, one must think they would choose just such places as these for their moonlight revels. then there were so many little towns--portuguese settlements--to be visited, for the portuguese have spread themselves, after the manner of wild strawberries, all round the coast of africa, from sierra leone on the west to zanzibar on the east. there was as much sameness about these settlements as about our visits to them: a few houses--more like tents-- built on the sand (it does seem funny to see sofas, chairs, and the piano itself standing among the deep soft sand); a fort, the guns of which, if fired, would bring down the walls; a few white-jacketed swarthy-looking soldiers; a very polite governor, brimful of hospitality and broken english; and a good dinner, winding up with punch of schnapps. memorable too are the pleasant boating excursions we had on the calm bosom of the indian ocean. armed boats used to be detached to cruise for three or four weeks at a time in quest of prizes, at the end of which time they were picked up at some place of rendezvous. by day we sailed about the coast and around the small wooded islets, where dhows might lurk, only landing in sheltered nooks to cook and eat our food. our provisions were ship's, but at times we drove great bargains with the naked natives for fowls and eggs and goats; then would we make delicious soups, rich ragouts, and curries fit for the king of the cannibal islands. fruit too we had in plenty, and the best of oysters for the gathering, with iguana most succulent of lizards, occasionally fried flying-fish, or delicate morsels of shark, skip-jack, or devilled dolphin, with a glass of prime rum to wash the whole down, and three grains of quinine to charm away the fever. there was, too, about these expeditions, an air of gipsying that was quite pleasant. to be sure our beds were a little hard, but we did not mind that; while clad in our blanket-suits, and covered with a boat-sail, we could defy the dew. sleep, or rather the want of sleep, we seldom had to complain of, for the blue star-lit sky above us, the gentle rising and falling of the anchored boat, the lip-lipping of the water, and the sighing sound of the wind through the great forest near us--all tended to woo us to sweetest slumber. sometimes we would make long excursions up the rivers of africa, combining business with pleasure, enjoying the trip, and at the same time gleaning some useful information regarding slave or slave-ship. the following sketch concerning one or two of these may tend to show, that a man does not take leave of all enjoyment, when his ship leaves the chalky cliffs of old england. our anchor was dropped outside the bar of inambane river; the grating noise of the chain as it rattled through the hawse-hole awoke me, and i soon after went on deck. it was just six o'clock and a beautiful clear morning, with the sun rising red and rosy--like a portly gentleman getting up from his wine--and smiling over the sea in quite a pleasant sort of way. so, as both neptune and sol seemed propitious, the commander, our second-master, and myself made up our minds to visit the little town and fort of inambane, about forty--we thought fifteen--miles up the river. but breakfast had to be prepared and eaten, the magazine and arms got into the boat, besides a day's provisions, with rum and quinine to be stowed away, so that the sun had got a good way up the sky, and now looked more like a portly gentleman whose dinner had disagreed, before we had got fairly under way and left the ship's side. never was forenoon brighter or fairer, only one or two snowy banks of cloud interrupting the blue of the sky, while the river, miles broad, stole silently seaward, unruffled by wave or wavelet, so that the hearts of both men and officers were light as the air they breathed was pure. the men, bending cheerfully on their oars, sang snatches of dibdin-- neptune's poet laureate; and we, tired of talking, reclined astern, gazing with half-shut eyes on the round undulating hills, that, covered with low mangrove-trees and large exotics, formed the banks of the river. we passed numerous small wooded islands and elevated sandbanks, on the edges of which whole regiments of long-legged birds waded about in search of food, or, starting at our approach, flew over our heads in indian file, their bright scarlet-and-white plumage showing prettily against the blue of the sky. shoals of turtle floated past, and hundreds of rainbow-coloured jelly-fishes, while, farther off, many large black bodies--the backs of hippopotami--moved on the surface of the water, or anon disappeared with a sullen plash. saving these sounds and the dip of our own oars, all was still, the silence of the desert reigned around us, the quiet of a newly created world. the forenoon wore away, the river got narrower, but, though we could see a distance of ten miles before us, neither life nor sign of life could be perceived. at one o'clock we landed among a few cocoa-nut trees to eat our meagre dinner, a little salt pork, raw, and a bit of biscuit. no sooner had we "shoved off" again than the sky became overcast; we were caught in, and had to pull against, a blinding white-squall that would have laid a line-of-battle on her beam ends. the rain poured down as if from a water-spout, almost filling the boat and drenching us to the skin, and, not being able to see a yard ahead, our boat ran aground and stuck fast. it took us a good hour after the squall was over to drag her into deep water; nor were our misfortunes then at an end, for squall succeeded squall, and, having a journey of uncertain length still before us, we began to feel very miserable indeed. it was long after four o'clock when, tired, wet, and hungry, we hailed with joy a large white house on a wooded promontory; it was the governor's castle, and soon after we came in sight of the town itself. situated so far in the interior of africa, in a region so wild, few would have expected to find such a little paradise as we now beheld,--a colony of industrious portuguese, a large fort and a company of soldiers, a governor and consulate, a town of nice little detached cottages, with rows of cocoa-nut, mango, and orange trees, and in fact all the necessaries, and luxuries of civilised life. it was, indeed, an oasis in the desert, and, to us, the most pleasant of pleasant surprises. leaving the men for a short time with the boat, we made our way to the house of the consul, a dapper little gentleman with a pretty wife and two beautiful daughters--flowers that had hitherto blushed unseen and wasted their sweetness in the desert air. our welcome was most warm. after making us swallow a glass of brandy each to keep off fever, he kindly led us to a room, and made us strip off our wet garments, while a servant brought bundle after bundle of clothes, and spread them out before us. there were socks and shirts and slippers galore, with waistcoats, pantaloons, and head-dresses, and jackets, enough to have dressed an opera troupe. the commander and i furnished ourselves with a red turkish fez and dark-grey dressing-gown each, with cord and tassels to correspond, and, thus, arrayed, we considered ourselves of no small account. our kind entertainers were waiting for us in the next room, where they had, in the mean time, been preparing for us the most fragrant of brandy punch. by-and-bye two officers and a tall parsee dropped in, and for the next hour or so the conversation was of the most animated and lively description, although a bystander, had there been one, would not have been much edified, for the following reason: the younger daughter and myself were flirting in the ancient latin language, with an occasional soft word in spanish; our commander was talking in bad french to the consul's lady, who was replying in portuguese; the second-master was maintaining a smart discussion in broken italian with the elder daughter; the parsee and officer of the fort chiming in, the former in english, the latter in hindostanee; but as no one of the four could have had the slightest idea of the other's meaning, the amount of information given and received must have been very small,--in fact, merely nominal. it must not, however, be supposed that our host or hostesses could speak _no_ english, for the consul himself would frequently, and with a bow that was inimitable, push the bottle towards the commander, and say, as he shrugged his shoulders and turned his palms skywards, "continue you, sar capitan, to wet your whistle;" and, more than once, the fair creature by my side would raise and did raise the glass to her lips, and say, as her eyes sought mine, "good night, sar officeer," as if she meant me to be off to bed without a moment's delay, which i knew she did not. then, when i responded to the toast, and complimented her on her knowledge of the "universal language," she added, with a pretty shake of the head, "no, sar officeer, i no can have speak the mooch englese." a servant,-- apparently newly out of prison, so closely was his hair cropped,-- interrupted our pleasant confab, and removed the seat of our babel to the dining-room, where as nicely-cooked-and-served a dinner as ever delighted the senses of hungry mortality awaited our attention. no large clumsy joints, huge misshapen roasts or bulky boils, hampered the board; but dainty made-dishes, savoury stews, piquant curries, delicate fricassees whose bouquet tempted even as their taste and flavour stimulated the appetite, strange little fishes as graceful in shape as lovely in colour, vegetables that only the rich luxuriance of an african garden could supply, and numerous other nameless nothings, with delicious wines and costly liqueurs, neatness, attention, and kindness, combined to form our repast, and counteract a slight suspicion of crocodiles' tails and stewed lizard, for where ignorance is bliss a fellow is surely a fool if he is wise. we spent a most pleasant evening in asking questions, spinning yarns, singing songs, and making love. the younger daughter--sweet child of the desert--sang `amante de alguno;' her sister played a selection from `la traviata;' next, the consul's lady favoured us with something pensive and sad, having reference, i think, to bright eyes, bleeding hearts, love, and slow death; then, the parsee chanted a persian hymn with an "allalallala," instead of fol-di-riddle-ido as a chorus, which elicited "fra poco a me" from the portuguese lieutenant; and this last caused our commander to seat himself at the piano, turn up the white of his eyes, and in very lugubrious tones question the probability of "gentle annie's" ever reappearing in any spring-time whatever; then, amid so much musical sentimentality and woe, it was not likely that i was to hold my peace, so i lifted up my voice and sang-- "cauld kail in aberdeen, an' cas ticks in strathbogie; ilka chiel maun hae a quean bit leeze me on ma cogie--" with a pathos that caused the tears to trickle over and adown the nose of the younger daughter--she was of the gushing temperament--and didn't leave a dry eye in the room. the song brought down the house--so to speak--and i was the hero for the rest of the evening. before parting for the night we also sang `auld lang syne,' copies of the words having been written out and distributed, to prevent mistakes; this was supposed by our hostess to be the english national anthem. it was with no small amount of regret that we parted from our friends next day; a fresh breeze carried us down stream, and, except our running aground once or twice, and being nearly drowned in crossing the bar, we arrived safely on board our saucy gunboat. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "afric's sunny fountains" have been engaged for such a length of time in the poetical employment of "rolling down their golden sands," that a bank or bar of that same bright material has been formed at the mouth of every river, which it is very difficult and often dangerous to cross even in canoes. we had despatched boats before us to take soundings on the bar of lamoo, and prepared to follow in the track thus marked out. now, our little bark, although not warranted, like the yankee boat, to float wherever there is a heavy dew, was nevertheless content with a very modest allowance of the aqueous element; in two and a half fathoms she was quite at home, and even in two--with the help of a few breakers--she never failed to bump it over a bar. we approached the bar of lamoo, therefore, with a certain degree of confidence till the keel rasped on the sand; this caused us to turn astern till we rasped again; then, being neither able to get back nor forward, we stopped ship, put our fingers in our wise mouths, and tried to consider what next was to be done. just then a small canoe was observed coming bobbing over the big waves that tumbled in on the bar; at one moment it was hidden behind a breaker, next moment mounting over another, and so, after a little game at bo-peep, it got alongside, and from it there scrambled on board a little, little man, answering entirely to dickens's description of quilp. "quilp!" said the commander. "quilp!! by george!" repeated our second-master. "quilp!!!" added i, "by all that's small and ugly." "your sarvant, sar," said quilp himself. "i am one pilot." there certainly was not enough of him to make two. he was rather darker in skin than the quilp of dickens, and his only garment was a coal-sack without sleeves--no coal-sack _has_ sleeves, however--begirt with a rope, in which a short knife was stuck; he had, besides, sandals on his feet, and his temples were begirt with a dirty dishclout by way of turban, and he repeated, "i am one pilot, sar." "can you take us over the bar?" asked the commander. "how much water you?" "three fathoms." "i do it, sar, plenty quick." "twenty shillings if you do." "i do it, sar. i do him," cried the little man, as he mounted the bridge; then cocking his head to one side, and spreading out his arms like a badly feathered duck, he added, "suppose i no do him plenty proper, you catchee me and make shot." "if the vessel strikes, i'll hang you, sir." quilp grinned--which was his way of smiling. "up steam, sar!" he cried; the order was obeyed. "go 'head. stabird a leetle." "and a half three," sung the man in the chains; then, "and a half four;" and by-and-bye, "and a half three" again; followed next moment by, "by the deep three." the commander was all in a fidget. we were on the dreaded bar; on each side of us the big waves curled and broke with a sullen boom like far-off thunder; only, where we were, no waves broke. "mind yourself now," cried the commander to quilp; to which he in wrath replied-- "what for you stand there make bobbery? _i_ is de cap'n; suppose you is fear, go alow, sar." "and a quarter less three." "steady!" and a large wave broke right aboard of us, almost sweeping us from the deck, and lifting the ship's head into the sky. another and another followed; but amid the wet and the spray, and the roar of the breakers, firmly stood the little pilot, coolly giving his orders, and never for an instant taking his eyes from the vessel's jib-boom and the distant shore, till we were safely through the surf and quietly steaming up the river. after proceeding some miles, native villages began to appear here and there on both shores, and the great number of dhows on the river, with boats and canoes of every description, told us we were nearing a large town. two hours afterwards we were anchored under the guns of the sultan's palace, which were belching forth fire and smoke in return for the salute we had fired. we found every creature and thing in lamoo as entirely primitive, as absolutely foreign, as if it were a city in some other planet. the most conspicuous building is the sultan's lofty fort and palace, with its spacious steps, its fountains and marble halls. the streets are narrow and confused; the houses built in the arab fashion, and in many cases connected by bridges at the top; the inhabitants about forty thousand, including arabs, persians, hindoos, somali indians, and slaves. the wells, exceedingly deep, are built in the centre of the street without any protection; and girls, carrying on their heads calabashes, are continually passing to and from them. slaves, two and two, bearing their burdens of cowries and ivory on poles between, and keeping step to an impromptu chant; black girls weaving mats and grass-cloth; strange-looking tradesmen, with stranger tools, at every door; rich merchants borne along in gilded palanquins; people praying on housetops; and the sultan's ferocious soldiery prowling about, with swords as tall, and guns nearly twice as tall, as themselves; a large shark-market; a fine bazaar, with gold-dust, ivory, and tiger-skins exposed for sale; sprightly horses with gaudy trappings; solemn-looking camels; dust and stench and a general aroma of savage life and customs pervading the atmosphere, but law and order nevertheless. people of all religions agree like brothers. no spirituous liquor of any sort is sold in the town; the sultan's soldiers go about the streets at night, smelling the breath of the suspected, and the faintest odour of the accursed fire-water dooms the poor mortal to fifty strokes with a thick bamboo-cane next morning. the sugar-cane grows wild in the fertile suburbs, amid a perfect forest of fine trees; farther out in the country the cottager dwells beneath his few cocoa-nut trees, which supply him with all the necessaries of life. one tree for each member of his family is enough. _he_ builds the house and fences with its large leaves; his wife prepares meat and drink, cloth and oil, from the nut; the space between the trees is cultivated for curry, and the spare nuts are sold to purchase luxuries, and the rent of twelve trees is only _sixpence_ of our money. happy country! no drunkenness, no debt, no religious strife, but peace and contentment everywhere! reader, if you are in trouble, or your affairs are going "to pot," or if you are of opinion that this once favoured land is getting used up, i sincerely advise you to sell off your goods and be off to lamoo. chapter twelve. pros and cons. of the "gentlemen of england who live at home at ease," very few can know how entirely dependent for happiness one is on his neighbours. man is out-and-out, or out-and-in, a gregarious animal, else `robinson crusoe' had never been written. now, i am sure that it is only correct to state that the majority of combatant [note ] officers are, in simple language, jolly nice fellows, and as a class gentlemen, having, in fact, that fine sense of honour, that good-heartedness, which loves to do as it would be done by, which hurteth not the feelings of the humble, which turneth aside from the worm in its path, and delighteth not in plucking the wings from the helpless fly. to believe, however, that there are no exceptions to this rule would be to have faith in the speedy advent of the millennium, that happy period of lamb-and-lion-ism which we would all rather see than hear tell of; for human nature is by no means altered by bathing every morning in salt water, it is the same afloat as on shore. and there are many officers in the navy, who--"dressed in a little brief authority," and wearing an additional stripe--love to lord it over their fellow worms. nor is this fault altogether absent from the medical profession itself! it is in small gunboats, commanded perhaps by a lieutenant, and carrying only an assistant-surgeon, where a young medical officer feels all the hardships and despotism of the service; for if the lieutenant in command happens to be at all frog-hearted, he has then a splendid opportunity of puffing himself up. in a large ship with from twenty to thirty officers in the mess, if you do not happen to meet with a kindred spirit at one end of the table, you can shift your chair to the other. but in a gunboat on foreign service, with merely a clerk, a blatant middy, and a second-master who would fain be your senior, as your messmates, then, i say, god help you! unless you have the rare gift of doing anything for a quiet life. it is all nonsense to say, "write a letter on service about any grievance;" you can't write about ten out of a thousand of the petty annoyances which go to make your life miserable; and if you do, you will be but little better, if, indeed, your last state be not worse than your first. i have in my mind's eye even now a lieutenant who commanded a gunboat in which i served as medical officer in charge. this little man was what is called a sea-lawyer--my naval readers well know what i mean; he knew all the admiralty instructions, was an amateur engineer, only needed the title of m.d. to make him a doctor, could quibble and quirk, and in fact could prove by the queen's regulations that your soul, to say nothing of your body, wasn't your own; that _you_ were a slave, and _he_ lord--god of all he surveyed. peace be with him! he has gone to his account; he will not require an advocate, he can speak for himself. not many such hath the service, i am happy to say. he was continually changing his poor hard-worked sub-lieutenants, and driving his engineers to drink, previously to trying them by court-martial. at first he and i got on very well; apparently he "loved me like a vera brither;" but we did not continue long "on the same platform," and, from the day we had the first difference of opinion, he was my foe, and a bitter one too. i assure you, reader, it gave me a poor idea of the service, for it was my first year. he was always on the outlook for faults, and his kindest words to me were "chaffing" me on my accent, or about my country. to be able to meet him on his own ground i studied the instructions day and night, and tried to stick by them. malingering was common on board; one or two whom i caught i turned to duty: the men, knowing how matters stood between the commander and me, refused to work, and so i was had up and bullied on the quarter-deck for "neglect of duty" in not putting these fellows on the sick-list. after this i had to put every one that asked on the sick-list. "doctor," he would say to me on reporting the number sick, "this is _wondrous_ strange--_thirteen_ on the list, out of only ninety men. why, sir, i've been in line-of-battle ships,--_line-of-battle_ ships, sir,--where they had not ten sick--_ten sick_, sir." this of course implied an insult to me, but i was like a sheep before the shearers, dumb. on sunday mornings i went with him the round of inspection; the sick who were able to be out of hammock were drawn up for review: had he been half as particular with the men under his own charge or with the ship in general as he was with the few sick, there would have been but little disease to treat. instead of questioning _me_ concerning their treatment, he interrogated the sick themselves, quarrelling with the medicine given, and pooh-pooh-ing my diagnosis. those in hammocks, who most needed gentleness and comfort, he bullied, blamed for being ill, and rendered generally uneasy. remonstrance on my part was either taken no notice of, or instantly checked. if men were reported by me for being dirty, giving impudence, or disobeying orders, _he_ became their advocate--an able one too--and _i_ had to retire, sorry i had spoken. but i would not tell the tenth part of what i had to suffer, because such men as he are the _exception_, and because he is dead. a little black baboon of a boy who attended on this lieutenant-commanding had one day incurred his displeasure: "bo'swain's mate," cried he, "take my boy forward, hoist him on an ordinary seaman's back, and give him a rope's-ending; and," turning to me, "doctor, you'll go and attend my boy's flogging." i dared not trust myself to reply. with a face like crimson i rushed below to my cabin, and--how could i help it?--made a baby of myself for once; all my pent-up feelings found vent in a long fit of crying. true, i might in this case have written a letter to the service about my treatment; but, as it is not till after twelve months the assistant-surgeon is confirmed, the commander's word would have been taken before mine, and i probably dismissed without a court-martial. that probationary year i consider more than a grievance, it is a _cruel injustice_. cabins? there is a regulation--of late more strictly enforced by a circular--that every medical officer serving on board his own ship shall have a cabin, and the choice--by rank--of cabin, and he is a fool if he does not enforce it. but it sometimes happens that a sub-lieutenant (who has no cabin) is promoted to lieutenant on a foreign station; he will then rank above the assistant-surgeon, and perhaps, if there is no spare cabin, the poor doctor will have to give up his, and take to a sea-chest and hammock, throwing all his curiosities, however valuable, overboard. it would be the duty of the captain in such a case to build an additional cabin, and if he did not, or would not, a letter to the admiral would make him. does the combatant officer treat the medical officer with respect? certainly, unless one or other of the two be a snob: in the one case the respect is not worth having, in the other it can't be expected. in the military branch you shall find many officers belonging to the best english families: these i need hardly say are for the most part gentlemen, and gentle men. however, it is allowed in most messes that "the rank is but the guinea's stamp, a man's man for a' that;" and i assure the candidate for a commission, that, if he is himself a gentleman, he will find no want of admirers in the navy. but there are some young doctors who enter the service, knowing their profession to be sure, and how to hold a knife and fork--not a carving-fork though--but knowing little else; yet even these soon settle down, and, if they are not dismissed by court-martial for knocking some one down at cards, or on the quarter-deck, turn out good service-officers. indeed, after all, i question if it be good to know too much of fine-gentility on entering the service, for, although the navy officers one meets have much that is agreeable, honest, and true, there is through it all a vein of what can only be designated as the coarse. the science of conversation, that beautiful science that says and lets say, that can listen as well as speak, is but little studied. mostly all the talk is "shop," or rather "ship." there is a want of tone in the discourse, a lack of refinement. the delicious chit-chat on new books, authors, poetry, music, or the drama, interspersed with anecdote, incident, and adventure, and enlivened with the laughter-raising pun or happy bon-mot, is, alas! but too seldom heard: the rough joke, the tales of women, ships, and former ship-mates, and the old, old, stale "good things,"--these are more fashionable at our navy mess-board. those who would object to such conversation are in the minority, and prefer to let things hang as they grew. now, only one thing can ever alter this, and that is a good and perfect library in every ship, to enable officers, who spend most of their time out of society, to keep up with the times if possible. but i fear i am drifting imperceptibly into the subject of navy-reform, which i prefer leaving to older and wiser heads. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ note . combatant (from combat, a battle), fighting officers,--as if the medical offices didn't fight likewise. it would be better to take away the "combat," and leave the "ant"--ant-officers, as they do the work of the ship. chapter thirteen. odds and ends. there is one grievance which the medical officers, in common with their combatant brethren, have to complain of--i refer to _compulsory shaving_; neither is this by any means so insignificant a matter as it may seem. it may appear a ridiculous statement, but it is nevertheless a true one, that this regulation has caused many a young surgeon to prefer the army to the navy. "mere dandies," the reader may say, "whom this grievance would affect;" but there is many a good man a dandy, and no one could surely respect a man who was careless of his personal appearance, or who would willingly, and without a sigh, disfigure his face by depriving it of what nature considers both ornate and useful-- ornate, as the ladies and the looking-glass can prove; and useful, as the blistered chin and upper lip of the shaven sailor, in hot climates, points out. from the earliest ages the moustache has been worn,--even the arabs, who shave the head, leave untouched the upper lip. what would the pictures of some of the great masters be without it? didn't the roman youths dedicate the first few downy hairs of the coming moustache to the gods? does not the moustache give a manly appearance to the smallest and most effeminate? does it not even beget a certain amount of respect for the wearer? what sort of guys would the razor make of count bismark, dickens, the sultan of turkey, or anthony trollope? were the emperor napoleon deprived of his well-waxed moustache, it might lose him the throne of france. were garibaldi to call on his barber, he might thereafter call in vain for volunteers, and english ladies would send him no more splints nor sticking-plaster. shave tennyson, and you may put him in petticoats as soon as you please. as to the moustache movement in the navy, it is a subject of talk-- admitting of no discussion--in every mess in the service, and thousands are the advocates in favour of its adoption. indeed, the arguments in favour of it are so numerous, that it is a difficult matter to choose the best, while the reasons against it are few, foolish, and despotic. at the time when the lords of the admiralty gave orders that the navy should keep its upper lip, and three fingers' breadth of its royal chin, smooth and copper-kettlish, it was neither fashionable nor respectable to wear the moustache in good society. those were the days of cabbage-leaf cheeks, powdered wigs, and long queues; but those times are past and gone from every corner of england's possessions save the navy. barberism has been hunted from polite circles, but has taken refuge under the trident of old neptune; and, in these days of comparative peace, more blood in the royal navy is drawn by the razor than by the cutlass. in our little gunboat on the coast of africa, we, both officers and men, used, under the rose, to cultivate moustache and whiskers, until we fell in with the ship of the commodore of the station. then, when the commander gave the order, "all hands to shave," never was such a hurlyburly seen, such racing hither and thither (for not a moment was to be lost), such sharpening of scissors and furbishing up of rusty razors. on one occasion i remember sending our steward, who was lathering his face with a blacking-brush, and trying to scrape with a carving-knife, to borrow the commander's razor; in the mean time the commander had despatched his soapy-faced servant to beg the loan of mine. both stewards met with a clash, nearly running each other through the body with their shaving gear. i lent the commander a syme's bistoury, with which he managed to pluck most of the hairs out by the root, as if he meant to transplant them again, while i myself shaved with an amputating knife. the men forward stuck by the scissors; and when the commander, with bloody chin and watery eyes, asked why they did not shave,--"why, sir," replied the bo'swain's mate, "the cockroaches have been and gone and eaten all our razors, they has, sir." then, had you seen us reappear on deck after the terrible operation, with our white shaven lips and shivering chins, and a foolish grin on every face, you would, but for our uniform, have taken us for tailors on strike, so unlike were we to the brave-looking, manly dare-devils that trod the deck only an hour before. and if army officers and men have been graciously permitted to wear the moustache since the crimean war, why are not we? but perhaps the navy took no part in that gallant struggle. but if we _must_ continue to do penance by shaving, why should it not be the crown of the head, or any other place, rather than the upper lip, which every one can see? one item of duty there is, which occasionally devolves on the medical officer, and for the most part goes greatly against the feelings of the _young_ surgeon; i refer to his compulsory attendance at floggings. it is only fair to state that the majority of captains and commanders use the cat as seldom as possible, and that, too, only sparingly. in some ships, however, flogging is nearly as frequent as prayers of a morning. again, it is more common on foreign stations than at home, and boys of the first or second class, marines, and ordinary seamen, are for the most part the victims. i do not believe i shall ever forget the first exhibition of this sort i attended on board my own ship; not that the spectacle was in any way more revolting than scores i have since witnessed, but because the sight was new to me. i remember it wanted fully twenty minutes of seven in the morning, when my servant aroused me. "why so early to-day?" i inquired as i turned out. "a flaying match, you know, sir," said jones. my heart gave an anxious "thud" against my ribs, as if i myself were to form the "ram for the sacrifice." i hurried through with my bath, and, dressing myself as if for a holiday, in cocked hat, sword, and undress coat, i went on deck. we were at anchor in simon's bay. all the minutiae of the scene i remember as though it were but yesterday, morning was cool and clear, the hills clad in lilac and green, seabirds floating high in air, and the waters of the bay reflecting the line of the sky and the lofty mountain-sides, forming a picture almost dreamlike in its quietness and serenity. the men were standing about in groups, dressed in their whitest of pantaloons, bluest of smocks, and neatest of black silk neckerchiefs. by-and-bye the culprit was led aft by a file of marines, and i went below with him to make the preliminary examination, in order to report whether or not he might be fit for the punishment. he was as good a specimen of the british marine as one could wish to look upon, hardy, bold, and wiry. his crime had been smuggling spirits on board. "needn't examine me, doctor," said he; "i ain't afeard of their four dozen; they can't hurt me, sir,--leastways my back you know--my breast though; hum-m!" and he shook his head, rather sadly i thought, as he bent down his eyes. "what," said i, "have you anything the matter with your chest?" "nay, doctor, nay; its my feelins they'll hurt. i've a little girl at home that loves me, and--bless you, sir, i won't look her in the face again no-how." i felt his pulse. no lack of strength there, no nervousness; the artery had the firm beat of health, the tendons felt like rods of iron beneath the finger, and his biceps stood out hard and round as the mainstay of an old seventy-four. i pitied the brave fellow, and--very wrong of me it was, but i could not help it--filled out and offered him a large glass of rum. "ah! sir," he said, with a wistful eye on the ruby liquid, "don't tempt me, sir. i can bear the bit o' flaying athout that: i wouldn't have my messmates smell dutch courage on my breath, sir; thankee all the same, doctor." and he walked on deck and surrendered himself. all hands had already assembled, the men and boys on one side, and the officers, in cocked hats and swords, on the other. a grating had been lashed against the bulwark, and another placed on deck beside it. the culprit's shoulders and back were bared, and a strong belt fastened around the lower part of the loins for protection; he was then firmly tied by the hands to the upper, and by the feet to the lower grating; a little basin of cold water was placed at his feet; and all was now prepared. the sentence was read, and orders given to proceed with the punishment. the cat is a terrible instrument of torture; i would not use it on a bull unless in self-defence: the shaft is about a foot and a half long, and covered with green or red baize according to taste; the thongs are nine, about twenty-eight inches in length, of the thickness of a goose-quill, and with two knots tied on each. men describe the first blow as like a shower of molten lead. combing out the thongs with his five fingers before each blow, firmly and determinedly was the first dozen delivered by the bo'swain's mate, and as unflinchingly received. then, "one dozen, sir, please," he reported, saluting the commander. "continue the punishment," was the calm reply. a new man and a new cat. another dozen reported; again, the same reply. three dozen. the flesh, like burning steel, had changed from red to purple, and blue, and white; and between the third and fourth dozen, the suffering wretch, pale enough now, and in all probability sick, begged a comrade to give him a mouthful of water. there was a tear in the eye of the hardy sailor who obeyed him, whispering as he did so-- "keep up, bill; it'll soon be over now." "five, six," the corporal slowly counted--"seven, eight." it is the last dozen, and how acute must be the torture! "nine, ten." the blood comes now fast enough, and--yes, gentle reader, i _will_ spare your feelings. the man was cast loose at last and put on the sick-list; he had borne his punishment without a groan and without moving a muscle. a large pet monkey sat crunching nuts in the rigging, and grinning all the time; i have no doubt _he_ enjoyed the spectacle immensely, _for he was only an ape_. tommie g--was a pretty, fair-skinned, blue-eyed boy, some sixteen summers old. he was one of a class only too common in the service; having become enamoured of the sea, he had run away from his home and joined the service; and, poor little man! he found out, when too late, that the stern realities of a sailor's life did not at all accord with the golden notions he had formed of it. being fond of stowing himself away in corners with a book, instead of keeping his watch, tommie very often got into disgrace, spent much of his time at the mast-head, and had many unpleasant palmar rencounters with the corporal's cane. one day, his watch being over, he had retired to a corner with his little "ditty-box." nobody ever knew one-half of the beloved nicknacks and valued nothings he kept in that wee box: it was in fact his private cabin, his sanctum sanctorum, to which he could retreat when anything vexed him; a sort of portable home, in which he could forget the toils of his weary watch, the giddy mast-head, or even the corporal's cane. he had extracted, and was dreamily gazing on, the portrait of a very young lady, when the corporal came up and rudely seized it, and made a very rough and inelegant remark concerning the fair virgin. "that is my sister," cried tommie, with tears in his eyes. "your sister!" sneered the corporal; "she is a--" and he added a word that cannot be named. there was the spirit of young england, however, in tommie's breast; and the word had scarcely crossed the corporal's lips, when those lips, and his nose too, were dyed in the blood the boy's fist had drawn. for that blow poor tommie was condemned to receive four dozen lashes. and the execution of the sentence was carried out with all the pomp and show usual on such occasions. arrayed in cooked-hats, epaulets, and swords, we all assembled to witness that helpless child in his agony. one would have thought that even the rough bo'swain's mate would have hesitated to disfigure skin so white and tender, or that the frightened and imploring glance tommie cast upward on the first descending lash would have unnerved his arm. did it? no, reader; pity there doubtless was among us, but mercy--none. oh! we were a brave band. and the poor boy writhed in his agony; his screams and cries were heartrending; and, god forgive us! we knew not till then he was an orphan, till we heard him beseech his mother in heaven to look down on her son, to pity and support him. ah! well, perhaps she did, for scarcely had the third dozen commenced when tommie's cries were hushed, his head drooped on his shoulder like a little dead bird's, and for a while his sufferings were at an end. i gladly took the opportunity to report further proceedings as dangerous, and he was carried away to his hammock. i will not shock the nerves and feelings of the reader by any further relation of the horrors of flogging, merely adding, that i consider corporal punishment, as applied to men, _cowardly, cruel_, and debasing to human nature; and as applied to boys, _brutal_, and sometimes even _fiendish_. there is only one question i wish to ask of every true-hearted english lady who may read these lines--be you sister, wife, or mother, could you in your heart have respected the commander who, with folded arms and grim smile, replied to poor tommie's frantic appeals for mercy, "continue the punishment"? the pay of medical officers is by no means high enough to entice young doctors, who can do anything like well on shore, to enter the service. ten shillings a day, with an increase of half-a-crown after five years' service on full pay, is not a great temptation certainly. to be sure the expenses of living are small, two shillings a day being all that is paid for messing; this of course not including the wine-bill, the size of which will depend on the "drouthiness" of the officer who contracts it. government provides all mess-traps, except silver forks and spoons. then there is uniform to keep up, and shore-going clothes to be paid for, and occasionally a shilling or two for boat-hire. however, with a moderate wine-bill, the assistant-surgeon may save about four shillings or more a day. promotion to the rank of surgeon, unless to some fortunate individuals, comes but slowly; it may, however, be reckoned on after from eight to ten years. a few gentlemen out of each "batch" who "pass" into the service, and who have distinguished themselves at the examination, are promoted sooner. it seems to be the policy of the present director-general to deal as fairly as possible with every assistant-surgeon, after a certain routine. on first joining he is sent for a short spell--too short, indeed--to a hospital. he is then appointed to a sea-going ship for a commission--say three years--on a foreign station. on coming home he is granted a few months' leave on full pay, and is afterwards appointed to a harbour-ship for about six months. by the end of this time he is supposed to have fairly recruited from the fatigues of his commission abroad; he is accordingly sent out again to some other foreign station for three or four years. on again returning to his native land, he might be justified in hoping for a pet appointment, say to a hospital, the marines, a harbour-ship, or, failing these, to the channel fleet. on being promoted he is sent off abroad again, and so on; and thus he spends his useful life, and serves his queen and country, and earns his pay, and generally spends that likewise. pensions are granted to the widows of assistant-surgeons--from forty to seventy pounds a year, according to circumstances; and if he leaves no widow, a dependent mother, or even sister, may obtain the pension. but i fear i must give, to assistant-surgeons about to many, punch's advice, and say most emphatically, "don't;" unless, indeed, the dear creature has money, and is able to purchase a practice for her darling doctor. with a little increase of pay ungrudgingly given, shorter commissions abroad, and less of the "bite and buffet" about favours granted, the navy would be a very good service for the medical officer. however, as it is, to a man who has neither wife nor riches, it is, i dare say, as good a way of spending life as any other; and i do think that there are but few old surgeons who, on looking back to the life they have led in the navy, would not say of that service,--"with all thy faults i love thee still." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ the end. generously made available by the internet archive/american libraries.) nicotiana; or the smoker's and snuff-taker's companion; containing the history of tobacco; culture--medical qualities and the laws relative to its importation and manufacture: with an essay in its defence. the whole elegantly embellished and interspersed with original poetry and anecdotes, being intended as an amusing and instructive volume for all genuine lovers of the herb, by henry james meller, esq. "i do assert and will affirm it before any prince in europe, to be the most sovereign and precious weed that ever the earth tendered to the use of man." _captain bobadil.--every man in his humour._ london: effingham wilson, royal exchange. . to h. r. h. the duke of sussex, this little work, as a trifling token of veneration for his character and esteem for his taste, is most respectfully inscribed. preface. many an excellent cause has been lost through the want of sound arguments, founded on a knowledge of the case, to support and place it in its proper light. none, perhaps, more than _smoking_ and _snuff-taking_, the propriety of which, in the upper orders of life, have been and are, whether as regards their social or medicinal qualities, so frequently called in question by their enemies. these, the author is sorry to say, by the use of a few specious arguments, that chiefly pass current in refined society--the ladies in particular--have, strongly aided by prejudice, often made the defence succumb to the attack--an unpardonable weakness on the part of a _consumer_ of the herb, who is naturally enough expected to know the entire history of the favorite of his adoption. unacquainted with the excellence of his subject, its importance and consequence in ancient and modern annals--its high worshippers and eulogists, medical, and non-medical, with its many endearing and social virtues acknowledged over the far greater part of the world; he, the author asserts, unacquainted with the above _data_ and references, opposes but a feeble barrier to the sweeping and general assertions of his adversary. in the above glorious cause (i. e. anti-smokers and snuff-takers v. lovers of the herb) the author himself holds a brief in the defence as counsel, and flattering himself he has made himself fully master of the case, he begs to impart it as a proper, if not an absolutely requisite accompaniment to all lovers of the 'soothing leaf.' the prejudices against smoking are numerous. smoking that is called _unsocial_, the author affirms to be the common source of harmony and comfort,--the badge of good fellowship in almost every state, kingdom, and empire. aye, from the english settlers in the wildernesses of america, where the _calumet_ or pipe of peace is smoked by the natives, to the turbaned infidel of the east--from the burning zone of africa to the icy regions of the north. in fact, in almost every clime and condition of society it is known as a common sign, or freemasonry of friendly feeling and social intercourse. in the east, the first act of hospitality is proffering the pipe with its invariable accompaniment coffee, which is more or less observed under various modifications over nearly the rest of the habitable world. smoking that is termed _low_ and _vulgar_ was, and is, an occasional recreation with most of the crowned heads of europe, among which may be named his late majesty, and their royal highnesses the dukes of sussex and cumberland--ferdinand of spain, and the emperor nicholas of germany--besides very many of the nobility of either empires and kingdoms. smoking that is termed _idle_, is singularly popular with mechanics, the most industrious classes of england. smoking that is said to be _dirty_ and _filthy_, is in the greatest esteem, among the most moral and cleanly sect in christianity--the society of friends or quakers. smoking that is affirmed to be _revolting_ and _disgusting_, is indulged in by the most rigidly kept women in the world--those of turkey, who elevated in the dignity of the haram, are taught to consider a whiff of their lord's _chibouque_ a distinction. then the ladies of both old and new spain, who twining in the mazes of the giddy waltz, take the _cigarros_ from their own pretty lips to transfer to those of their favoured partners. if indeed, royalty be wanted in the female line, since the good old times of elizabeth, who can be so lamentably ignorant in the annals of smoking, as not to know, that the late _tumehemalee_, queen consort of _tirahee_, king of the sandwich islands, was dotingly fond of a pipe--sensible woman and above all petty prejudices as she was, at our own honoured court. now, in regard to snuff, that like smoking is so much abused, coming under the bans of the ignorant and prejudiced, _beastly_ is the word commonly given to its application, though used to the greatest excess in the famed land of _politesse_--france. the most polished and fascinating address is ever followed by the gracefully proffered snuff-box. what a vast deal does it not speak at once in a man's favor, begetting instantly a friendly sympathy in the head that gradually extends to the heart. what does not moliere, their favorite author say, in favor of the herb? for the benefit of casuists we quote the sublime panegyric, which alone ought to confirm the bold lovers of the pipe and box, and 'inspire and fire' the diffident and wavering. "quoi que puisse dire aristote, et toute la philosophie, il n'est rien d'égal au tabac; c'est la passion des honnêtes gens, et qui vit sans tabac, n'est pas digne de vivre. non seulement il réjouit et purge les cerveaux humains, mais encore il instruit les ames à la vertu et l'on apprend avec lui à devenir honnête homme. ne voyez-vous pas bien, dès qu'on en prend, de quelle manière obligeante on en use avec tout le monde, et comme on est ravi d'en donner à droit et à gauche, par tout où l'on se trouve? on n'attend pas même que l'on en demande, et l'on court au devant du souhait des gens; tant il est vrai que le tabac inspire des sentimens d'honneur et de vertu à tous ceux qui en prennent." the pipe and the box are twin-brothers; they are the agents of friendship, conviviality, and mirth; they succour the distressed, and heal the afflicted; impartial and generous, they administer to all that sue for comfort, and the spirits of peace advance at their call; they live in charity with all men, unite them, and re-unite them, and they sympathise all hearts, entwining them in a cheerful and lasting community of soul and sentiment. the pipe and the box give a vigour to the mind, and a language to its ideas. they give harmony a tone, and discord a silence. they inspire the bold, and encourage the diffident. yes! through their agency alone, all these benefits are received and experienced. in short, they express in one breath, superlative happiness. a few illustrations will suffice: a man in public company wishing to give utterance to some particular opinion or sentiment, invariably finds the pipe or the pinch the best prompter. a man wishing to be silent, in meditation finds the pipe his excuser. a man in anger with himself, his family, or the public, the pipe or the pinch will generally restore to kindness. a man desirous of meeting a friend, need but give him a "pinch," and the heart is at once opened to his reception. a man in misfortune, either in sickness or in circumstances, will learn philosophy from the pipe, and count upon the latter, at least, as his own: in this case, from both tobacco and snuff, he borrows an independent vigour, and a cheerfulness that shines even in the sadness of his heart. the impregnative spirit of tobacco will wind its way to the most secret recesses of the brain, and impart to the imagination a soft and gentle glow of heat, equally remote from the dullness of fervor, and the madness of intoxication; for to these two extremes, without the moderative medium of the pipe, an author's fancy will alternately expand itself. to the man of letters, therefore, the pipe is a sovereign remedy. amongst the incidental benefits of the pipe and box, may also be noticed their great advantages in a converzatione; they smooth the arrogance of an apostrophe, and soften the virulence of a negative, give strength to an ejaculation, and confidence to a whisper. in short, they extract the sting, and purify the spirit, which are too frequently inhering concomitants, in the common associations of life. in conclusion, fully impressed with the sovereign consequence of his subject, the author taketh his leave of the reader with the assurance, if his labours meet their due object, _viz._ imparting of the entire history of the much-aspersed, yet idolized herb, to its votaries, it will give him infinite pleasure. should he not be so fortunate in upholding by that means,-- ----the grand cause, i smokes--i snuffs--i chaws,-- philosophy still offers him consolation for the degeneracy of the times, in a pinch of _lundyfoot_, or the fumes of his merschaum. _newington, oct. ._ contents. page invocation to tobacco the history of the importation of the tobacco plant into europe, and the origin of smoking in england on snuff and the origin of the lundyfoot select poetry: tobacco snuff thou art a charm for winter all nations honour thee walton and cotton on a pipe of tobacco my last cigar a review of the laws and regulations concerning tobacco the importance of smoking and snuff-taking, exemplified in a grave dissertation, dedicated to the youth of the rising generation the medical qualities of tobacco botanical history and culture of the tobacco plant original poetry. new words to an old tune ode on tobacco stanzas to a lady the last quid anecdotes divans mems. for smokers invocation to tobacco. weed of the strange pow'r, weed of the earth, killer of dullness-- parent of mirth; come in the sad hour, come in the gay, appear in the night, or in the day: still thou art welcome as june's blooming rose, joy of the palate, delight of the nose. weed of the green field, weed of the wild, foster'd in freedom,-- america's child; come in virginia, come in havannah, friend of the universe, sweeter than manna: still thou art welcome, rich, fragrant, and ripe. pride of the tube-case, delight of the pipe. weed of the savage, weed of each pole, comforting,--soothing,-- philosophy's soul; come in the snuff-box, come in cigar, in strasburg and king's, come from afar: still thou art welcome, the purest, the best, joy of earth's millions, for ever carest! nicotiana. the history of the importation of the tobacco plant into europe, and the origin of smoking in england. the earth, perhaps, has never offered to the use of man a herb, whose history and adoption offer so varied a subject for thought and the mind's speculation, as tobacco. in whatever light we view it, there is something to interest the botanist, the physician, the philosopher, and even the historian, while, from the singularity of its discovery in a corner of the world where it had remained so long concealed, it would almost seem intended by providence, to answer some especial purpose in the creation. few things ever created a greater sensation than it did, on its first introduction into europe. it was adopted with an avidity, so far from decreasing with time, that the experience of nearly three centuries has but rendered it universal. that the habits of snuffing, and smoking, are not beneficial to the human constitution, has been asserted as a fact by many _savans_, and more powerfully defended by others. probably, after all, the most singular thing in favour of these habits is, that the practice of them, which should perfect our knowledge, advocates so strongly their use as agreeable stimulants, promoting cheerfulness, and mild and gentle in their operation when not adopted to too great an extent. this will be found the belief among the most enlightened, as well as the millions who echo its praises, from every clime and corner of the habitable globe. the precise introduction of the tobacco plant into europe, from the varied and contradictory accounts that exist concerning it, is involved in some obscurity. that it was unknown to the europeans, till the discovery of south america by that indefatigable voyager columbus, is certain; although don ulloa,[ ] a spaniard, and a writer of celebrity in the last century, would fain have shown that the plant was indigenous to several parts of asia; as china, persia, turkey, and arabia. he asserts, with some ingenuity we grant, that the plant was known and used in smoking in those countries, long previous to the discovery of the new world. but, as the old testament and the koran, books that treated of the most trifling eastern customs, make not the slightest mention of it, and more especially as no travellers have ever recorded its existence previous to the discovery of america, we cannot but dismiss the supposition, for want of data, as idle in the extreme. although we cannot, with the powers of observation columbus is said to have possessed, but imagine the plant must have been known to him, particularly as it was so popular among the natives, yet no mention is made of that fact or of its introduction into spain by him. on the contrary, one account furnished us, attributes it to hernandez de toledo, and another with a greater show of probability to fernando cortes. this latter adventurer, after the death of his great and ill-fated predecessor, succeeded to the command of a flotilla to prosecute those researches in the new world, as it was then called, that promised such an influx of wealth to the nation. it was in the year that cortes, flushed with the sanguine expectations of an ambitious people, set out to take possession, in the name of the spanish sovereignty, of a country whose treasures were deemed boundless. coasting along for several days, he came to a part of the shore of a very rich and luxuriant description, which induced him to come to anchor, and land; the natives asserting that it abounded in gold and silver mines. this place was a province of _yucatan_ in the mexican gulf, called _tobaco_, the place from whence tobacco is supposed to have derived its present name. there it was that the plant was discovered, in a very thriving and flourishing state. among the natives who held it in the greatest possible esteem and reverence, from the almost magical virtues they attached to it, it was called _petun_, and by those in the adjoining islands _yoli_. so singular a production of the country could not but draw the attention of the spanish commander to it. the consequence was, that a specimen of it was shipped home with other curiosities of the country, with a long detail of its supposed astonishing virtues, in pharmacy. in the latter end of the year the plants arrived at their destination, and this may fairly be deemed to have been their first entry into the civilized portion of the world. a dreadful disease, first brought from america by the last return of columbus, raged about this period with a fearful and unchecked virulency in spain, committing dreadful devastations on the human frame, and finally ending in the most horrible death imagination could picture. this circumstance served to procure it a most sanguine welcome; for the sailors composing the fleet, having learnt it from the natives, had disseminated the belief, that it was the only known antidote against its ravages,--that it in fact answered the purposes of mercury in the present day, a belief welcomed with enthusiasm, and ending in despair. no sooner, however, was its inefficacy perceived, than it sunk in the estimation of its worshippers, as low as it previously had risen. indeed, into such obscurity did it fall after the hopes it had vainly excited, that nearly forty years elapsed, ere it obtained any notice worth commemorating. at about the end of that period, however, we find that it had regained the ground it had previously lost, on a surer and better footing, as a soothing and gentle stimulant. from spain, the plant was carried into portugal; and from thence, gradually exported to the different kingdoms throughout europe. shortly after this, it was sent to the east, where it soon came into notice, as a narcotic, and consequently found a ready market. peculiar facilities at this time too presented themselves to the spaniards, above every other nation; for vasco de gama, another of its adventurers, had discovered and explored a great portion of the countries lying beyond the cape of good hope. among other articles, exchanged in the way of commerce with the natives, was tobacco: and this, despite of the reasoning of don ulloa mentioned some time back, was the first channel through which hindostan, arabia, and china, received the plants, now so common throughout the whole of the eastern empire. this occurred about the year , shortly after it had been carried into france and italy. while the nations of the peninsula were thus distinguishing themselves, and in the meridian of their glory, extending their discoveries, conquests, and trade to the furthermost parts of that world which they had opened to the eyes of astonished europe, england, for a time, was incapacitated from pursuing a similar course by intestine broils and factions at home. and even when elizabeth ascended the throne, her naturally enterprising and ambitious spirit was almost solely confined to arranging domestic discords, and settling foreign quarrels. sir humphrey gilbert, a plain blunt soldier, instigated by feelings of emulation and national enterprise, was the first to direct the attention of the maiden queen towards the benefits that would naturally result from planting a british colony in america. at his request a patent was granted, empowering him to plant and colonize some of the southern districts. he accordingly fitted out a squadron at his own expense, and proceeded on his voyage, which, from different circumstances that occurred, miscarried. a similar fate attended two subsequent attempts, when sir humphrey's half-brother, the after-celebrated sir walter ralegh or raleigh, as it is now spelt, returned home from the wars in the netherlands. inspired by a restless ambition that ever distinguished this great man, he succeeded in persuading the knight to undertake a fourth voyage, offering to accompany him himself. combining courage, enterprise, and perseverance, with a degree of knowledge little known at the period we treat of, few men were better qualified for the successful execution of such an enterprise than raleigh. the sequel proved the truth of this remark, newfoundland was discovered and taken; though the original gallant projector, sir humphrey gilbert, we have recorded, was drowned on his passage home. in the year , sir walter raleigh applied for the renewal of the letters patent in his own name, which the queen immediately granted him. having fitted out a squadron, he put to sea, and after a somewhat tedious voyage, discovered wingandacoa, which he afterwards called _virginia_, in honor of elizabeth. on his return, he was received with peculiar favour by the queen, who testified her satisfaction by making him a knight, while she lent a willing ear towards the colonizing schemes sir walter opened to her aspiring view. in pursuance of some of these, sir richard grenville, another relation of sir walter raleigh's, was sent out with captain lane, whom he left in command of one hundred men in one of the southern districts of the country, appointing him at the same time to act as governor; and promising to return to him before the next spring with stores and fresh provisions. circumstances, that have never yet been properly explained to this day, prevented sir richard from keeping his word, in consequence of which, the colony was reduced to great distress. shortly afterwards, taking the advantage of sir francis drake's return from the spanish wars, they embarked on board his ships for england, where they arrived in the month of july, a. d. , with their commander, lane. among the specimens of the productions and peculiarities of the country, they brought with them that which forms our subject, the tobacco plant. this, by some, is said to have been its first importation into great britain; lobel, however, asserts, it was cultivated here in , a statement plausible enough, we admit, considering the previous length of time the plant had been known in spain and portugal, but yet irreconcileable with the data our own historical research gives us. that it might indeed have been introduced from france previous to its importation from virginia, and cultivated in trifling quantities, is highly probable, inasmuch as the french date its first appearance among them in , just ten years previous to lobel's affirmation. _linnæus_ likewise mentions that the plant became known in europe the same year the french date from, and _humboldt_ so far corroborates him, as to state that seeds of it were received from yucatan in . that it was known in france, some years previous to its being carried into england, from the above accounts handed down to us, we cannot doubt. the french history of the importation of the plant into their country, attributes it to _jean nicot_ of nismes, who was their ambassador at the court of lisbon in the reign of francis ii. some of the seed, we are informed, was given him by a dutchman, who had brought it with him from florida. this, we imagine, must have been shortly after it had begun to regain notice in spain. impressed with the current account of its properties as a medicine and luxurious stimulant, he sent a portion of it home, where it arrived, and under high court patronage soon became popular. in england--and we shall now proceed to note our own accounts of the subject,--the first importer is very commonly thought to have been sir walter raleigh, who is said to have brought it from virginia in --a period when the tobacco plant was known throughout nearly the whole of europe, while whole fields of it were cultivated for commerce in spain and portugal. if it is to be attributed to an englishman, few possess a better claim to the honor than sir francis drake, as he had made several voyages to the _new_ world in - - , ere raleigh had undertaken his first. this idea is exactly in accordance, too, with the dates furnished us by _lobel_, _linnæus_ and _humboldt_. independent of this strong circumstantial evidence, bomare[ ] and camden[ ] both attribute its first appearance to him,--authority not to be disputed for a moment. that sir walter was the first distinguished individual that set the fashion of smoking, we have recorded, although this, we are again told, was taught him by the notorious ralph lane, whose adventure, we have a page or too back slightly touched upon. lane had himself learnt the habit, from the virginians, and having brought several of their pipes home with him, communicated it to raleigh, who indulged in it greatly, as a pleasant pastime. it was during one of his pleasing reveries under the soothing influence of the pipe, that the well-known anecdote is said to have occurred of a lacquey drenching him with water, supposing from the smoke he saw issuing from his nose and mouth that he was internally on fire. to such a degree, indeed, did he adopt and set the fashion of smoking, that he was frequently in the habit of giving entertainments to his friends, in which the fare consisted of pipes of tobacco, and ale seasoned with nutmegs--a somewhat curious origin of smoking-parties, or divans, in england. the result was, the example of a man so justly celebrated and popular was soon imitated by the court, and in the course of years gradually became common among the lower orders of people. elizabeth, notwithstanding her strong and powerful mind, possessed the sex's natural vanity and love of novelty to a great degree, and would seem to have very warmly patronized the custom; some writers of the period have gone as far as to affirm, in her own person. we are further borne out in this statement by the authority of the _biographia britannica_, that the _ladies_ of the court indulged in smoking the fragrant herb, as well as the noblemen and gentle men. that the queen therefore set a personal example, is by no means so strange. what a striking contrast does this afford, in regard to the taste expressed by the sex in the present day towards tobacco! in reference to the nomenclature of the tobacco plant, like that of most things handed down to posterity, it admits of many versions. as we have previously observed in america, it was termed among the natives, _petun_ and _yoli_, besides other barbarous names, probably each appellation peculiar to a different tribe. on the appearance of the plant in england, it received the name it is still recognized by, namely, tobacco. this word, by some writers, is supposed to have had its derivation from _tobago_ in the west indies, while others assert it is derived from _tobaco_, a different place altogether; which latter, from its closer approximation to the word _tobacco_, we cannot but imagine correct. in botany it is more particularly known under the scientific appellation of _herba nicotiana_, so named on its introduction into france, in compliment to her ambassador, _jean nicot of nismes_, from whom it was received. it was also well known under the imposing titles of _herba reginæ catharinæ medicæ_, and _herba reginæ_: the first given in honor of the queen, and the latter of a grand prior of the house of lorraine, both of whom were the first receivers of the plant, and fostered it on account of the many virtues it was supposed to be possessed of in pharmacy. in different countries its names were various. in italy at that time it was called _st. crucis_, taken from _st. croix_, an apostolic legate who brought it into the country, somewhere in the middle of the th century. the dutch call it taboc, or _taboco_, indifferently. some of the german writers describe it under the name of the _holy_ or the _indian healing herb--heilig wundkraut_, or _indianisch wundkraut_. in most other countries _tobac_ or _tabac_ prevails. notwithstanding the extreme popularity that attended the introduction of the plant generally throughout europe, there were not wanting those sovereigns who testified an antipathy at first to the tobacco plant, little short of that, for which king james was afterwards remarkable--of whom we shall have occasion to speak anon. amurath the fourth forbade its introduction in any form whatever within his dominions under very severe penalties. the czar of muscovy and the king of persia issued edicts of a similar nature, while pope urban the eighth made a bull to excommunicate all those who took tobacco into churches. on snuff and the origin of the lundy foot. jove once resolv'd, the females to degrade, to propagate their sex without their aid; his brain conceiv'd, and soon the pangs and throes he felt nor car'd the unnatural birth disclose: at last when tried no remedy could do, the god took _snuff_ and out the goddess flew. joe miller. snuff was manufactured and consumed in great quantities in france, long previous to its adoption in england. for the account of its being introduced to great britain we are indebted to the once celebrated[ ] charles lillie. before the year , when we sent out a fleet of ships under the command of sir george rook, with land forces commanded by the duke of ormond, in order to make a descent on cadiz, _snuff-taking_ was very rare, and indeed very little known in england; it being chiefly a luxurious habit among foreigners residing here, and a few english gentry, who had travelled abroad. among these, the mode of taking snuff was with pipes the size of quills out of small spring boxes. these pipes let out a very small quantity of snuff, upon the back of the hand, and this was snuffed up the nostrils with the intention of producing the sensation of sneezing, which we need not say forms now no part of the design, or rather fashion of snuff-taking. but to return to our cadiz expedition by sea. when the fleet arrived near cadiz, our land forces were disembarked at a place called port st. mary, where after some fruitless attempts, it was resolved to embark the troops, and set sail for england. but previous to this, the port and several adjacent places were plundered. there, besides some very rich merchandize, plate, jewels, pictures, and a great quantity of cochineal, several thousand barrels and casks of fine snuffs were taken, which had been manufactured in different parts of spain. each of these contained four tin canisters of snuff of the best growth, and of the finest manufacture. with this plunder on board (which fell chiefly to the share of the land officers), the fleet was returning to england; but on the way, it was resolved to pay a visit to vigo, a considerable port in spain, where the admiral had advice that a number of galleons from the havannah richly laden had put in: here, our fleet got in and destroyed the greater part of the spanish shipping, and the plunder was exceedingly rich and valuable. it now came to the turn of the sea-officers and sailors to be snuff proprietors and merchants; for at vigo they again became possessed of prodigious quantities of gross snuff from the havannah in bales, bags, and scrows,[ ] which were designed for sale in different parts of spain. thus, though snuff was very little known, as we have here remarked at that period, the quantities taken in this expedition, which were estimated at fifty tons weight, plainly show that in the other countries of europe, snuff was held in great estimation, and that the taking of it was not at all unfashionable. the fleet having returned to england, and most of the ships been put out of commission, the officers and sailors brought their snuff--called by way of victorious distinction--"vigo snuffs," to a very quick and cheap market: waggon loads being sold at portsmouth, plymouth, and chatham, for not more than _d._ per lb. the purchasers were chiefly spanish jews, who in the present case, bought up almost the whole quantity at considerable advantage. the land officers who were possessed of the finer kinds of snuff, taken at port st. mary, had sold considerable portions at the ports where they had touched on their homeward voyage. others, however, we are told, better understood the nature of the commodity which had fallen to their share, and kept it for several years; selling it off by degrees for very high prices. from the above-mentioned quantities of different snuffs, thus distributed throughout the kingdom, novelty being quickly caught in england, arose the custom and fashion of snuff-taking; and growing upon the nation by degrees, they are now as common here, as almost in any other part of europe; france alone excepted. after giving us a somewhat elaborate account of the manufactures of different spanish, havannah and brazilian snuffs, _lillie_ proceeds to describe a snuff he calls '_inferior lisbon_,' that singularly enough, closely approximates to the celebrated lundy foot. "this kind," he says "from the great heat used in drying it, has an agreeable smell, like high-dried malt, and is often called snuff of the burnt flavour; but the smell soon goes off on exposure to the air, for which reason, it is advisable to put no more into the snuff-box than shall be used whilst fresh." though we cannot but be aware, from the preceding account, that a snuff exactly resembling in all its attributes our own famous high-dried, called lundyfoot, so named from the nominal inventor, existed; yet the history of its discovery is of too facetious a description to be omitted here. lundy foot, the celebrated snuff manufacturer, some six-and-twenty years ago, had his premises at essex-bridge in dublin, where he made the common scented snuffs then in vogue. in preparing the snuffs, it was usual to dry them by a kiln at night, which kiln was always left in strict charge of a man appointed to regulate the heat, and see the snuffs were not spoilt. the man usually employed in this business, larey by name, a tight boy of cork, chanced to get drunk over the 'cratur', (i. e. a little whiskey) that he had gotten to comfort him, and quite regardless of his watch, fell fast asleep, leaving the snuff drying away. going his usual round in the morning, lundy foot found the kiln still burning, and its guardian lying snoring with the fatal bottle, now empty, in his right hand. imagining the snuff quite spoilt, and giving way to his rage, he instantly began belabouring the shoulders of the sleeper with the stick he carried. "och, be quiet wid ye, what the devil's the matter, master, that ye be playing that game," shouted the astounded larey, as he sprung up and capered about under the influence of the other's walking cane. "you infernal scoundrel, i'll teach you to get drunk, fall asleep, and suffer my property to get spoilt," uttered the enraged manufacturer, as each word was accompanied by a blow across the dancing mr. larey's shoulders. "stop! stop! wid ye, now; sure you wouldn't be afther spaking to ye'r ould sarvant that way,--the snuff's only a little dryer, or so, may be," exclaimed 'the boy,' trying to soften matters. "you big blackguard you, didn't you get drunk and fall asleep?" interrogated his master, as he suspended his arm for a moment. "och by all the saints, that's a good'un now, where can be the harum of slaaping wid a drop or so; besides--but hould that shilelah--hear a man spake raison." just as lundy foot's wrath had in some degree subsided in this serio-comic scene, and he had given the negligent watcher his nominal discharge, who should come in but a couple of merchants. they instantly gave him a large order for the snuffs they were usually in the habit of purchasing, and requested to have it ready for shipping by the next day. not having near so large a quantity at the time by him, in consequence of what had happened, he related the occurrence to them, at the same time, by way of illustration, pointing out the trembling larey, occupied in rubbing his arms and back, and making all kinds of contortions. actuated by curiosity, the visitors requested to look at the snuff, although lundy foot told them, from the time it had been drying, it must be burnt to a chip. having taken out the tins, they were observed to emit a burnt flavour, anything but disagreeable, and on one of the gentlemen taking a pinch up and putting it to his nose, he pronounced it the best snuff he had ever tasted. upon this, the others made a similar trial, and all agreed that chance had brought it to a degree of perfection before unknown. reserving about a third, lundy foot sold the rest to his visitors. the only thing that remained now, was to give it a name: for this purpose, in a facetious mood, arising from the sudden turn affairs had taken, the master called his man to him who was lingering near, "come here, you irish blackguard, and tell these gentlemen what you call this snuff, of your own making." larey, who did not want acuteness, and perceived the aspect of things, affected no trifling degree of sulky indignation, as he replied. "and is it a name ye'r in want of, sir? fait i should have thought it was the last thing you couldn't give; without indeed, you've given all your stock to me already. you may even call it 'irish blackguard,' stidd of one michael larey." 'upon this hint he spake,' and as many a true word is spoken in jest, so was it christened on the spot. the snuff was sent to england immediately, and to different places abroad, where it soon became a favorite to so great a degree, that the proprietor took out a patent and rapidly accumulated a handsome fortune. such are the particulars connected with the discovery of the far-famed lundy foot or irish blackguard--for which we are indebted to a member of the irish bar, who was a resident in dublin at the time. with regard to the numerous varieties of snuffs that exist, we shall say nothing at present, merely observing that the principal kinds of their manufacture are under three classes. the first is the granulated, the second an impalpable powder, and the third the bran, or coarse part, remaining after sifting the second part. select poetry. tobacco. [_from a book published in , called texnotamia, or the marriage of the arts._] tobacco's a musician--and in a pipe delighteth it descends in a close, thro' the organs of the nose, with a relish that inviteth. this makes me sing so-ho!--so-ho! boys-- ho! boys, sound i loudly-- earth ne'er did breed such a jovial weed, whereof to boast so proudly. tobacco is a lawyer--his pipes do love long cases, when our brains it enters, our feet do make indentures, while we scale with stamping paces. this makes me sing, &c. tobacco's a physician--good, both for sound and sickly, 'tis a hot perfume that expels cold rheume, and makes it flow down quickly. this makes me sing, &c. tobacco's a traveller, come from the indies hither,-- it passed sea and land, ere it came to my hand, and scaped the wind and weather. this makes me sing, &c. tobacco is a critticke, that still old paper turneth-- whose labour and care is as smoke in the aire, that ascends from a ray when it burneth. this makes me sing, &c. tobacco is an _ignis fatuus_--a fat and fyrie vapour, that leads men about till the fire be out, consuming like a taper. this makes me sing, &c. tobacco is a whyffler, and cries huff, snuff, with furie; his pipes, his club, once linke--he's the wiser that does drinke,-- thus armed i fear not a furie. this makes me sing so-ho!--so-ho!--boys-- ho! boys sound i loudly; earth ne'er did breed such a jovial weed, whereof to boast so proudly. snuff. --a delicate pinch! oh how it tingles up the titillated nose, and fills the eyes and breast, till, in one comfortable sneeze the full collected pleasure bursts at last! most rare columbus! thou shalt be, for this, the only christopher in my kalendar. why but for thee the uses of the nose were half unknown, and its capacity of joy. the summer gale, that, from the heath, at midnoon glittering with the golden furze, bears its balsamic odours, but provokes, not satisfies the sense, and all the flowers, that with their unsubstantial fragrance, tempt and disappoint, bloom for so short a space, that half the year the nostrils would keep lent, but that the kind tobacconist admits no winter in his work; when nature sleeps, his wheels roll on, and still administer a plenitude of joy, a tangible smell. what is peru, and those brazilian mines, to thee, virginia! miserable realms; they furnish gold for knaves, and gems for fools; but thine are _common_ comforts! to omit pipe-panegyric and tobacco-praise, think what a general joy the snuff-box gives europe, and far above pizarro's name write raleigh in thy records of renown! him let the school-boy bless if he behold his mother's box produced, for when he sees the thumb and finger of authority stuffed up the nostrils, when hot head and wig shake all; when on the waistcoat black, the dust or drop falls brown, soon shall the brow severe relax, and from vituperative lips, words that of birch remind not, sounds of praise and jokes that _must_ be laughed at must proceed. _anthology_, vol. ii. p. . thou art a charm for winter. nor here to pause--i own thy potent power, when chilling blasts assail our frigid clime, while flies the hail or rudely beats the shower, or sad impatience chides the wings of time. come, then, my pipe, and let thy savoury cloud, now wisdom seldom shews her rev'rend mien, spread round my head a bland and shelt'ring shroud, when riot mingles mischief with the scene. shield me at evening from the selfish fool, the wretch who never felt for human woes, and while my conduct's framed by virtue's rule, let only peace and honour interpose. shield me by day from hatred's threat'ning frowns, still let thine aromatic curtains spread, when bold presumption mounts to put me down, and hurls his maledictions round my head. do this, my pipe, and till my sand's run out, i'll sing thy praise among the sons of wealth, blest weed that bids the glutton lose his gout, and gains respect among the drugs of health. no shrew shall harm thee, no mundungus foul shall stain thy lining, as the ermine white; my choicest friends shall revel o'er thy bowl, and charm away the terrors of the night. from ample hoards i'll bring the fragrant spoils, the richest herb from kerebequa's shores, that grateful weed, that props the british isles, and sussex,[ ] england's royal duke adores. _the social pipe._ all nations honor thee. 'tis not for me to sing thy praise alone, where'er the merchant spreads his wind-bleach'd sails; wherever social intercourse is known, there too thy credit, still the theme prevails. the bearded turk, majestically grand, in high divan upholds the jointed reeds; and clearer reasons on the case in hand, till opposition to his lore concedes. thy potent charms delight the nabob's taste, fixt on his elephant (half reasoning beast); he twines the gaudy hookah round his waist, and puffs thy incense to the breezy east. the grave bavarian, midst his half year's frost, delights to keep thy ruby fins awake; and as in traffic's maze his fancy's tost, light skims the icy surface of the lake. the indian sachem at his wigwam-gate, by chiefs surrounded when the warfare ends, seated in all the pomp of savage state, circles the calumet[ ] to cheer his friends. the frenchman loves thee in another way, he grinds thy leaves to make him scented snuff; boasts of improvements, and presumes to say, france still the polish gives and we the _rough_. still let him boast, nor put john bull to shame, his gascon tales shall englishmen divert; france for her trifles has been _dear_ to fame, from her the ruffle sprung, from us the shirt. the lib'ral spaniard and the portuguese, spread richest dainties brought from realms afar; nor think their festive efforts form'd to please, unless redundant breathes the light cigar. so when our druids inspiration sought, they burnt the misletoe to fume around; th' inspiring vapours gave a strength to thought, they dealt out lore impressive and profound. methinks i see them with the mental eye, i hear their lessons with attention's ear; of early fishing with the summer fly, and many a pleasing tale to anglers dear. the while they draw from the inspiring weed, they boast a charm the smoker owns supreme; and now diverted with the polish'd reed, forego the little fish-house by the stream. tho' this be fancy, still it serves to shew, that wisdom's sons have lov'd columbia's pride; and shall, while waters round our island flow, tho' fools and fops its healing breath deride. mem'ry still hold me in thy high esteem, for lonely setting upon the day's decline; visions sublime, before my fancy gleam, and rich ideas from her stores combine. _the social pipe._ walton and cotton.[ ] our sires of old esteemed this healing leaf, sacred to bacchus and his rosy train; and many a country squire and martial chief, have sung its virtues mid a long campaign. methinks i see charles cotton and his friend, the modest walton from augusta's town; enter the fishing house an hour to spend, and by the marble[ ] table set them down. boy! bring me in the jug of derby ale, my best tobacco and my smoking tray; the boy obedient brings the rich regale, and each assumes his pipe of polish'd clay. thus sang young cotton, and his will obey'd, and snug the friends were seated at their ease; they light their tubes without the least parade, and give the fragrance to the playful breeze. now cloud on cloud parades the fisher's room, the moreland ale rich sparkles to the sight; they draw fresh wisdom from the circling gloom, and deal a converse pregnant with delight. the love-sick switzer from his frozen lake, lights thee to cheer him thro' the upland way; to her who sighs impatient for his sake, and thinks a moment loiter'd, is a moon's delay. the hardy scot amidst his mountain snow, when icy fetters bind the dreary vale, draws from his muse the never-failing glow, and bids defiance to the rushing gale. the honest cambrians round their cyder cask, in friendship meet the moments to solace; tell all thy worth as circles round the ask, and cheerly sing of "shenkin's noble race." the hardy tar in foamy billows hid, while fiery flashes all around deform; clings to the yard and takes his fav'rite _quid_, smiles at the danger and defies the storm; and when the foe with daring force appears, recurrent to the sav'ry pouch once more, new vigour takes and three for george he cheers, as vict'ry smiles, and still the cannons roar. the soldier loves thee on his dreary march, and when in battle dreadful armies join; 'tis thou forbids his sulphur'd lips should parch, and gives new strength to charge along the line. thy acrid flavour to new toil invites the ploughman, drooping 'neath the noon-day beam; inspir'd by thee, he thinks of love's delights, and down the furrow whistles to his team. thus all admire thee: search around the globe, the rich, the poor, the volatile, the grave; save the sweet fop, who fears to taint his robe, the smock-fac'd fribble, and the henpeck'd slave. thus all esteem thee, and to this agree, thou art the drug preferr'd in ev'ry clime; to clear the head, and set the senses free, and lengthen life beyond the wonted time. _the social pipe._ on a pipe of tobacco. by isaac hawkins brown, esq. pretty tube of mighty power! charmer of an idle hour; object of my hot desire, lip of wax and eye of fire; and thy snowy taper waist, with my fingers gently brac'd; and thy lovely swelling crest, with my bended stopper prest; and the sweetest bliss of blisses, breathing from thy balmy kisses; happy thrice and thrice agen-- happiest he of happy men! who, when again the night returns, when again the taper burns; when again the crickets gay, little crickets full of play; can afford his tube to feed, with the fragrant indian weed; pleasure for a nose divine, incense of the god of wine! happy thrice and thrice agen-- happiest he of happy men! my last cigar. the mighty thebes, and babylon the great, imperial rome, in turn, have bowed to fate; so this great world, and each 'particular star', must all burn out, like you, my last cigar: a puff--a transient fire, that ends in smoke, and all that's given to man--that bitter joke-- youth, hope, and love, three whiffs of passing zest, then come the ashes, and the long, long, rest. a review of the laws and regulations concerning tobacco. during the reign of elizabeth, a facility had been afforded to the dissemination of tobacco, that was soon destined to receive a check, on the accession of her successor, james the first, to the throne. this arose from a prejudice, that, with many others, rendered this weak and vacillating monarch remarkable. whether it arose, as many have supposed, from his dislike to sir walter raleigh, so despicably and cruelly shown, and that the source of his peculiar feelings turned with bitterness to the plant of that great man's adoption, can only be left to the imagination to decide; but that he exerted all the powers of his mind for its entire suppression, is certain. in the first place, the importation duty had been, up to this period, but _d._ per lb., and this, by the first law james passed, was increased to _s._ _d._, thus adding the comparatively enormous sum of _s._ _d._ to the previously existing trifle. in consequence of this, nearly a stagnation of the trade took place; and _stith_ informs us, that so low was it reduced in , that only , lbs. weight were imported from virginia, not amounting to one-sixth of the previous annual supply. one of two things now only remained to be done, as the traders could have no interest to gratify in shipping it under the existing law; they were either compelled to give it up or cultivate it at home. the latter alternative was adopted, and till the year , the tobacco-plant was cultivated to a very considerable extent. but the obduracy of its royal enemy was not to be so eluded, an act was passed especially prohibiting its culture at home. the crisis of the plant's fate seemed now to approach. determining on the other hand, not to forfeit an indulgence, that habit in a great degree had made necessary, it was examined and found in the reading of the act made in , that though it particularly provided _s._ _d._ duty should be levied on all tobacco _from virginia_, no mention was made of its importation from any other colony. taking advantage of this omission, recourse was immediately had to the spanish and portuguese districts, and the consequence was an influx of the favorite herb at the old duty of _d._ the only real sufferers through adopting this new channel of commerce, were the planters of virginia, who made a representation of their loss to the throne, when another law was passed, lessening the duty and prohibiting the importation from any other place. to this effect an act was passed in , and though it was some time previous to the trade regaining any thing like its pristine vigour, it had but just began to do so, when, as if the sight was doubly hateful to james, he had a new law passed. this was to the effect, that none, under very heavy penalties, should deal in the article without holding letters patent from himself. a blow so sudden and unexpected, occasioned the ruin, we are told, of many thousands, and the trade went rapidly to decay. so uncertain and precarious did the law at this period seem with regard to tobacco, and so well was the irritable monarch's antipathy to it known, by the celebrated "counterblaste" he had written against it, of which we shall treat hereafter, that few cared to speculate in the traffic. although the act james had made in was not repealed, the cultivation of the plant was still carried on clandestinely to a very great extent. most of the laws, indeed, since james's time, have an evident tendency to banish tobacco from the kingdom. an act was made th car. ii. cap. . this law, embracing the prohibitory portions of the preceding acts, confiscated the tobacco so found, with a fine of shillings for every pole of land so planted. another shortly followed after this, the th car. ii. cap. , wherein the previous one was enforced, and the penalty fixed at _l._ for every rod. by this we may infer, that the former of these acts had not, in the estimation of the legislature, been sufficiently powerful to restrain the practice of the secret culture of the plant at home. turning aside from the perusal of these laws, which probably arose from the pique of a learned though imbecile monarch, we cannot but reflect with a feeling of surprise, that our own _enlightened_ regulations have their origin distinctly traced to them. this is an assumption i think we may fairly maintain, when we state that the duty is now _s._[ ] per lb. on the importation of the raw material; a sum that forms no less than _fifteen times its prime cost_ in the countries where it is produced. on the leaf manufactured it is immense, the duty on cigars being _s._ the lb. ( th geo. iv. cap. ,) and on snuff _s._ that tobacco, as a luxury, is a fit article for taxation we are not disposed to deny, but a little reflection must convince any one, that a tax so exceedingly high, instead of adding to the revenue, can but have an opposite effect; for what can be a greater incentive to the contraband trade that is notoriously known to exist in this article of home consumption? if the duty were lowered, the great cause of smuggling in this line would no longer remain, and at the same time a much greater quantity would doubtless be consumed. if we but look back in other instances of a similar kind, we shall generally find it so. the duty on spirits in ireland and scotland was decreased from _s._ _d._ the wine-gallon down so low as _s._, which instead of lowering the amount of the annual tax, very considerably added to it. then again, in regard to the duty formerly levied on french wines, it was lowered from _s._ - / _d._ down to _s._ the gallon, a reduction that also greatly tended to increase the amount of the year's revenue. the duty on coffee is another proof we shall cite: in it was _s._ per lb. and the goverment derived from it that year , _l._ whereas when half of the amount levied was taken off, leaving it but _d._, in the gross receipt amounted to , _l._ thus may we see, with very numerous other instances that might be named, the advantages arising from a low tax, which we affirm, with few exceptions, will ever be found to benefit the country at large. nor is this the only evil we have to complain of as regards the tobacco regulations; while the whole system is defective, there is one that more imperatively calls for the attention of the legislature. what we allude to is, the glaring impolicy of obliging our merchant service to traverse different portions of the globe, at a consequently large expence, in search of an article we have the means of producing at home, and whose very production would furnish constant employment to some of the millions now a burthen to the country. perhaps it would scarcely be credited, that in , no less a quantity of tobacco and snuff was imported than , , lbs. now out of this, only , , lbs. paid duty; yet to the serious amount of , , _l._ sterling. the rest we suppose sought a market elsewhere. as a proof of the evident want of policy in our regulations concerning tobacco, we shall give our readers a slight abstract to judge for themselves. no tobacco shall be imported but from america on pain of forfeiture, with the vessel and its contents, except from spain, portugal, and ireland, from which it may be imported under certain regulations. ( geo. iii. c. .) but tobacco of the territories of russia or turkey may be imported from thence in british-built ships and warehoused, and may be exported or entered for home consumption on payment of the like duties as tobacco of the united states of america; and on its being manufactured in great britain and exported, shall be entitled to the drawbacks. ( geo. iii. c. .) by the geo. iii. c. , tobacco the production of the west indies or the continent of america, belonging to any foreign european state, may be imported into certain ports specified in the act, and exported to any port of the united kingdom subject to the regulations of the act; and such tobacco shall pay the same duties as that which is the growth of the british west indies, or of the united states of america. by the geo. iii. c. , unmanufactured tobacco may be imported from any place in british vessels navigated according to law, or in foreign ships navigated in any manner whatever belonging to any state in amity with great britain; and such tobacco shall be liable to the same regulations as tobacco from the british plantations. but no tobacco or snuff shall be imported in any vessel of less burthen than tons; nor any tobacco-stalks, tobacco-stalk flower, or snuff work in any vessel whatever; nor any tobacco or snuff in casks less than lbs. on the like penalty; except loose tobacco for the crew not exceeding five lbs. for each person; nor shall the vessel be forfeited, if proof be made, from the smallness of the quantity, that such tobacco or snuff was on board without the knowledge of the owner or master. ( g. iii. c. .) and no tobacco or snuff shall be imported, except at london, bristol, liverpool, lancaster, cowes, falmouth, whitehaven and hull, (and by geo. iii. c. , newcastle-upon-tyne), on the like forfeiture. every manufacturer of tobacco or snuff shall take out a licence from the officers of excise, for which he shall pay, if the quantity of tobacco and snuff-work weighed by him for manufacture within the year ending the th of october, previous to his taking out such licence did not exceed , lbs. £. above , , and under , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ------ every person who shall first become a manufacturer of tobacco or snuff, shall pay for every such licence _l._, and within ten days after the th of october next, after taking out such licence, such further additional sum as, with the said _l._, shall amount to the duty hereinbefore directed to be paid, according to the quantity of tobacco and snuff-work weighed for manufacture. and every dealer in tobacco and snuff shall take out a licence in like manner, for which he shall pay within the liberties of the chief office in london _s._, elsewhere _s._ _d._ ( geo. iii. c. .) but persons licensed as manufacturers who shall not sell tobacco in a less quantity than four pounds, nor snuff than two pounds, need not be licensed as dealers. ( geo. iii.) every person who shall manufacture or deal in tobacco or snuff without taking out such licence, or shall not renew the same ten days at least before the end of the year, shall forfeit, if a manufacturer _l._, and if a dealer _l._ persons in partnership need not take out more than one licence for one house. every manufacturer and dealer shall make entry in writing of his house or place intended to be made use of for manufacturing, keeping, or selling tobacco or snuff, three days previous to his beginning, on pain of forfeiting _l._, and also the tobacco and snuff there found, together with the casks and package which may be seized by the officers of the customs or excise. the importance of smoking and snuff-taking, exemplified in a grave dissertation, dedicated to the youth of the rising generation. what soothes the peasant when his toil is done? he cheerly sits beside his cottage door, in the sweet light of ev'ning's parting sun, his young ones sporting o'er the sanded floor:-- what cheers the seaman, when the fight is won, and vict'ry smiles upon our naval band? toiling no longer at the murd'rous gun, his thoughts are proudly of his native land. what charms the turk, greek, frenchman, fop or sage, in this enlighten'd comfort-loving age; since health, and pleasure's cheerful reign began, but lov'd tobacco, sovereign friend of man?--m. s. "for the taking of fumes by pipes, as in tobacco and other things, to dry and comfort."--_bacon._ "bread or tobacco may be neglected: but reason at first recommends their trial, and custom makes them pleasant."--_locke._ hail! inspirers of the profoundest and the brightest things that have been said and done since the creation, and, in the strength and plenitude of our recollections of thy divine virtues, aid us to sing thy praises! what though there be those, who, in the whim, caprice or ignorance of thy merits, would run ye down in the plenitude of their prejudices--have ye not stood the test of time, that criterion of excellence? are ye not, most sublime of pleasures, independent of your other numerous claims upon public and private favour--are ye not immortalized by the hallowed names of the great, the good, the wise, the witty and the learned, whose encomiums of your worth shall descend with you, through the future ages of unborn posterity. what! shall it ever be said that the disaffected to the great public cause, the innovators upon common taste, shall be allowed to progress in their rash undertaking, of seeking to undervalue the importance of those gentle consolers through life, the snuff-box and pipe. never! while there's a woodville--nay, even a dhoodeen,[ ] to smoke them to defiance, or a pinch of 'high dried,' to father a witty reply. much-injured and defrauded of habits--friends of past and present learning and genius--of every land and every clime--sought by rich, as well as poor, and alike soothing to the king as slave, how have ye not been calumniated by the weak and designing! as the poet saith, "envy doth merit as its shade pursue," and so is it with you. oh that those standing highest in the popular favour--the 'tried and trusty'--should ever be the objects of attack to the discontented! most delectable of companions! how many tender reminiscences and recollections are associated with you, from the last pipe of the murdered raleigh in newgate, to the dernier pinch of the equally unfortunate louis xvi, ere they mounted scaffolds, it is hoped, for a better world. if we turn to the imagination, how many endearing recollections connected with our subject throng upon us, even from the once happy days of our boyhood, when in secret we pored over the pages of genius in preference to scholastic lore. rise up before us, thou soul of philanthropy, and humorous eccentricity, my uncle toby! with thy faithful and humble serviteur the corporal.[ ] methinks, indeed, we now see ye together in the little cottage parlour, lighted up by the cheerful fire, discoursing of past dangers and campaigns under the soothing influence of the narcotic weed, whose smoke, as it rises in fantastic curls from either pipe, harmonizes together like your kindred souls. and thou, too, poor monk,[ ] offspring of the same pervading mind, yet picturing many a sad reality, must thou be forgotten, absorbed as thou art from all the grosser passions of our nature? our memory paints thee, impelled by the courtesy of thy gentle nature, proffering thine humble box of horn, thy pale and intellectual face, so sensitive, half-shrinking from the fear of 'pride's rebuff:' whilst thou thyself, from the sneers of the affluent, seekest consolation in--a pinch of snuff! good vicar of wakefield![ ] man of many sorrows, we greet thee in our reminiscences, sitting in thine happier days beneath the elm that shades thy rustic roof, as, under the influence of thy much loved pipe, thou inculcatest to the youthful circle around thee maxims of truth and piety. what peculiar feelings of veneration must we attach to these pipes and snuff-boxes. without them, indeed--with such a true knowledge of life are they introduced--the stories would lose half their force, and nearly all their effect. how naturally do we associate with a smoker, a blandness and evenness of voice and gesture, which we can by no means ascribe to men in common. the same almost in regard to the snuff-box: the mind seems to acquire a polish and fire at its very sight. nay, absolutely such is our profound respect for the sympathising herb, that even the _quids_ of poor lieutenant bowling[ ] himself would appear venerable in our eyes were they but in existence. lowering our pegasus a peg or two from the loftier flights of conception, we will proceed more immediately to analyze the merits of these legitimate offsprings of the parent plant, smoking and snuff-taking; first of all, however, having recourse to a pinch of welsh, to clear our head for so arduous an undertaking. that smoking and snuff-taking have, as habits pernicious to the health, been attacked repeatedly by the heads of science, is no less true than that they have escaped each intended flagellation, and thrived under the fostering lip and nose of a discerning public. previous, however, to proceeding further, we shall take a review of the different enemies arrayed against the good old customs we have had handed down to us from our fathers. these may most generally, we think, be divided into three classes--the ladies,--physicians, and a certain class of thin and pallid gentlemen, remarkable for the delicate susceptibility of their noses. the ladies of england designate smoking and snuffing, filthy and dirty habits. if you chance, dear reader, to ask why--because--because--they are vile and dirty habits, and thereby--'hangs a tale.' then, as a matter of course, comes to be cited a list of the most gentlemanly men, young and old, who are never guilty of committing the sin. now, what does all this come to?--that they do dislike the habits, and therefore none but brutes, among the more refined orders, would think of annoying them by practising either in their sweet presence. the understandings of women generally, in comparison with those of men, are proverbially weak. following the erratic course of the first of their sex, who brought misery and woe upon the devoted head of man, they in turn would fain deprive him of his two cheapest comforts, left to console him in this vale of sorrow. reader, if thou should'st chance to be a married man, when thy rib--so vulgarly called in epitome, though perchance the better half of thyself--rails against thy only consolation in domestic broils,--smoking--answer not, we beseech thee. no, not a word of the volume of eloquence we fancy rising indignantly in thy throat, against the cruel calumnies levelled at thy favorite virginia, as thou valuest the safety of thy tube, whether dutch or merschaum. the voice of an angel would not avail thee in thy cause. with reference to the _faculty_, though divided in opinions, we shall only notice those arrayed against the plant divine. indeed, the enmity of a physician dependent upon his profession for support may be always known; he detests anything cheap and soothing, conducive to health, and thence his frequent antipathy to tobacco in smoking. in regard to snuff he is wisely meek; for what were he himself without the stimulating dust in his pocket? in former times, indeed, its influence perhaps was greater and more respected than the wig and cane together, as swift says:-- "sir plume, of amber snuff-box, justly vain, and the nice conduct of a clouded cane." well, and what do the faculty say with reference to smoking? some will tell you it is hurtful to the lungs; others, that the head and heart are more particularly affected by it; very few of them agreeing precisely as to ill effects to be attributed to it. grant us patience to bear such ingratitude! while they are indebted for their consequence and fluency of discourse, to the wit-inspiring influence of the herb in grain, they are running it down in another and not less delightful preparation and form. then, by way of conclusion, like a crier of last dying speeches, comes to be related the death of some very promising young man, who, through the frequent habit of smoking, which he practised against the continued advice of the grave monitor--made his exit in a consumption. so if a man habituated to the pleasures of a pipe goes off in a consumption, the anti-smokers must immediately assert it was brought on by the use of tobacco. how do we know, indeed, but that its magic influence kept him alive much longer than he would have been, without it: supposing--and we suppose it only for the sake of argument, that one or two, nay, say twenty in the thousand, suffer in their health through smoking,--the abuse and not the use of which we candidly admit may slightly impair some peculiar constitutions,--where is the recreant who does not, feeling the joys of smoking, say with us, a "short life and a merry one!" what, after all, are a few years in the scale of human existence! is the fear of losing one or two of their number, to deter us from availing ourselves of innocent pleasures within our reach?--if so, london, methinks, would soon be deserted by the scientific and intelligent portion of its inhabitants, merely because the thames water chances to be a little poisonous, or so, and the air of the town notoriously unhealthy. by the same silly fear, too, the gourmand must abstain from the pleasures of the table,--fashionables from late hours, and the army and navy from hard drinking; in all of which the aforesaid, like true spirits, exclusively delight and take a pride; doubtless, inspired in seeking to indulge in what our own bard, byron, says: "aught that gave, hope of a pleasure, or peril of a grave." an evident proof, if any be wanting, that beings of a pacific disposition are as careless of facing death as those who have served an apprenticeship to it. once more, taking the most virulent of the medical enemies of smoking, on their own assertions, and supposing people are killed outright by smoking, why should this deter others from practising it? what is more common, than that each year presents us with numerous deaths in every department of recreation, whether riding, sailing, shooting or bathing; and yet we should be surprised to learn that ever it deterred others from following similar pursuits; then, wherefore, on their own shewing, should the harmless happy recreation (that to the poor comprehends all the above amusements) be excepted?--why, indeed?--o! ye sons of the 'healing art,' we throw reason away upon ye, and _we_ have too much reason to fear that the true lights of science are lost to ye for ever, when ye attack that which is so beneficial to man. the next, and in fact the most excusable of the triumvirate confederacy against smoking and snuff-taking, the former more particularly, that now calls for our attention, are the gentlemen of weak palates. these, first caught by the look of the thing, from perceiving the mild serenity ever attendant upon a smoker, and marking the sententious discourse of wisdom flowing like honey from his lips, have essayed the practice, without effect. at length, finding their nerves could never sustain the delightful fumes, without certain inward admonitions, that were not to be neglected or trifled with, they gave up all thoughts of that, which seemed to make so many happy. now, nothing is more common in metaphysics, than to know that when a fancy or love is not returned by the object of affection, it generally turns into as great a hatred. nothing, therefore, is more easily exemplified than the violence of the dislike expressed by this order of 'tobacco's foemen.' although the efforts of the above, with the exception of an occasional treatise against the pernicious effects of tobacco from the medical department, are confined to oral discussion of the subject; the genial herb has enemies of a more aspiring and determined cast. these parties are not contented with throwing their antipathies on the sympathy of their own friends, but they must even occasionally cast them upon the public in the awful form of a printed sheet. some of these, though written in a very grave style, are really amusing, and we shall note a couple of them, among many other originals before us, in proof. the first of these is the celebrated counterblaste by king james the first, written apparently in all the rancour of prejudice, and occupying rather a curious place among his learned works. the second is a tract (published in ) entitled, "an appeal to humanity, in behalf of the brethren of the heathen world: particularly addressed to snuff-takers and tobacco-smokers in all christian lands.--second edition." the application and tendency of this most facetious of pamphlets is, neither more nor less, than to induce the world at large to abstain from tobacco and snuff-taking altogether, and bestow the money formerly applied for that purpose, to the promotion of the missionary society to convert our 'heathen brethren.' such is the benevolent object of this barbarian himself--for what else can we, in the indignation that almost overwhelms us at his audacious attempt, call him. when we reflect but for a moment, if he succeeded by the powerful and charitable arguments he uses, the national wealth, powers, and consequences of the kingdom would be undermined. for what, we say, were englishmen without tobacco?--no more than a turk without his opium, a frenchman without his snuff, or any man without an agreeable stimulant to the mind. had he now only sought to deprive us of a meal in the day, our dinner even, for instance, we could have borne patiently with him; but to seek,--to conceive,--to attempt, banishing one of the most soothing,--sympathising, and truest friends from the mansions of john bull, is an atrocity we scarcely can credit; did not the identical barbarous proposition glare us in the face in good long-primer. write of the heathen, indeed! he wants converting himself to a just and proper sense of the darkness in which he walks, or rather we should say, writes, when he could conceive such an enormity. however, after thus premising, we shall allow him an opportunity of speaking for himself. in the first instance, he states, that he had long seriously thought, that the abuse of tobacco in every form is altogether inconsistent with the grand rule of the inspired volume--"whatsoever ye do, do all to the glory of god." (i cor. x. .) after stating what truly astonishing large sums of money are annually expended in tobacco and snuff, he details the following anecdote. "travelling some time ago in a stage-coach, an elderly lady and a gentleman sat opposite to me. it was not long before the old gentleman pulled out his snuff-box, and, giving it a tap with his finger as the manner is, asked the lady if she would take a pinch; but she declined. as the lady particularly eyed me, i could scarcely refrain from smiling.--(_most facetious!_) 'perhaps, ma'am, you do not decline taking a pinch, because you think there is any sin in snuff-taking?' 'oh no. i do take snuff: do you think there is sin in it, sir?' 'yes ma'am,' said i, 'i think in _some cases_ it is sinful,' (_as cases are in italics we should feel happy to know whether they are of tin or composition he alludes to, but to proceed_.) at this, the lady expressed great surprise (_as well she might_) and would not be satisfied, unless i would assign some reason for thinking that snuff-taking was sinful. at length, for she teazed me, i said to her, 'pray ma'am, (_cannot he drop the field-preacher and write madam_) how much in the week may you spend in snuff?' 'perhaps _d._' 'and how many years have you been in the habit of taking snuff?' 'well, i suppose,' she replied, 'upwards of forty years.' 'seven-pence a week, you say,--that is something more than thirty shillings in the year,--and if you have taken snuff at this rate for forty years, the same will amount to more than _l._' 'you surprise me,--you must be mistaken, sir.' 'no, ma'am,' said i, 'i am not mistaken. it amounts to more than _l._ without the interest (_profound calculation!_) now, do you think that god will reward you for taking snuff?' 'reward me for taking snuff!' said she, 'no, sir, i do not expect that.' 'but suppose, instead of spending this _l._ in snuff, you had spent it in feeding the hungry, clothing the naked;'"--we really can follow these opinions no further, as we have more than one old maiden lady within our ken, that would have actually _fainted_ outright at such a want of modesty. trusting our reader will bear with us, we shall notice a little more of this self-created minister's appeal in favour of the heathens, who, doubtless, if favoured with the knowledge, could not but feel highly indebted for the exertions of so powerful an advocate in their cause. at the same time we strongly suspect, from the love he has of showing his knowledge of the tables of pence, that the writer was formerly an officiating deputy in a huckster's or chandler's shop, until seduced by the influence of the "spirit that moves" for a nobler call of action. the following is another specimen of his _figurative_ powers. "a few days ago, i mentioned the above anecdote in the house of a farmer. 'why,' said the farmer, 'i could never have thought that _d._ a week would have come to so much.--do you know my wife and i can assure you, that awhile back, we smoked an ounce a day.' 'an ounce a day,' said i, (_the echo!_) 'what is tobacco an ounce?' (_ignoramus!--we thought he knew not the value of what he attempts to depreciate_). 'four-pence,' said he. 'four-pence an ounce, and an ounce in the day, that is _s._ _d._ per week, and weeks in the year will be the sum of _l._ and _d._ annually.--o sir!--i am very sorry for you.'"--(_kind hearted soul!_) pursuing his system, apparently, of poking his head into the affairs of country farmers, he gives us another trite anecdote, too rich a _morceau_ to be passed in silence; since it so admirably serves to shew the estimation the pipe is held in by the true representatives of john bull. "since i commenced writing of this, i had occasion to call upon a respectable farmer, who is a member of your society--(_we smell a rat_)--and a leader i suppose, greatly esteemed by his neighbours, who certainly have the best opportunity of knowing him as a truly pious, and useful man. almost immediately after we were seated, he called for his pipe (for some people cannot be cheerful or make a wise bargain--_symptoms of the shop_)--unless their heads are enveloped in smoke. 'now, sir,' said he, 'can you smoke any, will you have a pipe?' 'no, sir,' said i, 'i never smoked a pipe in all my life;'--(_miserable man! this he says doubtless by way of shewing his christian self-denial_). 'i have for a long time considered it sinful, and therefore i never smoke.' 'sinful,' said he, laughing--(_jolly fellow!_)--'how can it be sinful?' 'because,' said i, 'it wastes our power of doing good. did you never consider that.' upon this his wife who was sitting by, pleasantly observed, 'our john is a terrible smoker'--(_worthy man!_)--'for goodness sake don't make him believe that it is sinful to smoke. if he can't get his pipe, we shall have no peace: he'll be quite out of temper.' 'nay,' said i, 'surely not out of temper.' 'yes, for sure, out of temper enough,--quite peevish and fretful.' 'now,' said john, 'how thou talks my dear.' 'talk! why is it not true? thou wants it first thing in the morning--then again at breakfast time--then again at noon, and then again at night--just as it happens. why, i'll warrant you (turning to me) he has seven or eight pipes in a day, and sometimes more,'--(_sensible man!_)--'perhaps,' said i, 'he's sick, and smokes for his health.' 'nay, nay, sick, bless him! he's none sick, he has got a habit of it you see, and so he thinks he wants it. oh, he must have his pipe--he can't do without his pipe--sin in it! nay, surely it cannot be sinful.' (_he concludes with his favorite computation_). upon inquiry, i found, that though the only smoker in the family, yet at a moderate reckoning, he contrives to consume about _l._ worth of tobacco every year." this would, doubtless, have been better employed in the hands of the good promoter of the missionaries, of whom we now take our leave; and to whom, we wish no further punishment for his cruel attempt at seeking to banish the cheerful companionship of the pipe from mansions of peace, than being compelled to the smoking of a pipe of the oldest shag himself. in reference to king james' counterblaste, although, from its antiquity, as well as the rank and learning of the author, it occupies a serious claim upon our attention, yet, upon the whole, it may be termed nearly as ridiculous as the foregoing, although not in its application. it, indeed, fully bears the stamp of those antipathies that, once conceived, the monarch was seldom or never known to waive. this is more singular, as they were formed against a plant, received into the greatest favour and esteem among all ranks, and, as a medicine, was in far greater request than it is even now. facts like these plainly establish, that james' dislike, however acquired, proceeded from prejudice and _prejudice_ alone. in the first paragraph, he tells us, that it was first introduced into england from the indians, who used it as an antidote against "a filthy disease, whereunto these barbarous people (as all people know) are very much subject." after bestowing a volley of abuse upon smoking, not of the most elegant description, he refers to the acquiring of the fashion that certainly generally applies in all things now, as well as it did in his own times. "do we not daily see, that a man can no sooner bring ouer from beyond the seas any new forme of apparell, but that he cannot be thought a man of spirit that would not presently imitate the same? and so, from hand to hand it spreads, till it be practised by all; not from any commodity that is in it, but only because it is come to be the fashion." of the popularity of smoking in his time, he says himself, "you are not able to ride, or walk, the journey of a jew's sabbath, but you must have a reekie cole brought you from the next poor-house, to kindle your tobacco with?" "it is become in place of a care, a point of good fellowship, and hee that will refuse to take _a pipe_ of tobacco among his fellowes, though by his owne election he would rather not feel the savor of the stinke, is accounted peevish and no good company; even as they do tippling in the cold eastern countreys." of the consequences then often attending the habit of smoking, he observes, "now how you are by this custome disabled in your goods, let the gentry of this land beare witness; some of them bestowing three, some four hundred pounds a yeere upon this precious stinke, which i am sure might be bestowed upon far better vses." than the assertion of the above individual enormous expenditure, nothing perhaps is better calculated to display james's exaggeration, which actually here can only be considered hyperbolical. the idea, the bare possibility, is scarcely conceivable for a moment, that in those days, three hundred pounds, at least equal to nine hundred of our present money, was ever laid out by a single individual in smoking; excepting, indeed, perhaps, as a very rare and singular occurrence. king james concludes his counterblaste in the following piece of declamation. "have you not reason then to be ashamed, and to forbeare this filthie noveltie so basely grounded, so foolishly received, and so grossly mistaken, in the right use thereof? in your abuse thereof, sinning against god, harming yourselves both in persons and goods, and raking also thereby, the markes and vanities vpon you: by the custome thereof, making yourselves to be wondered at by all forreinne civill nations, and by all strangers that come among you, to be scorned and contemned: a custome loathsome to the eye, hateful to the nose, harmefull to the braine, dangerous to the lungs, and in the black, stinking fume thereof, nearest resembling the horrible stigian smoke of the pit that is bottomlesse." what a pity it is, james never smoked; instead of this long tirade against the most cheerful of all pastimes, we should have had an eulogy, glowing with the warmth and feeling of truth from the head and heart. from the very gall perceivable at times, one could easily know he was an utter stranger to the gentle sympathy of a pipe. he ridicules and condemns that, which, like many others, he knows not, and therefore cannot appreciate. had he but put the pipe fairly upon its trial, and found it guilty of the mischiefs ascribed to it, then could we have excused him; but to conceive ideas not founded upon truth and justice and the welfare of the kingdom he was called upon to govern, and to act upon those ideas, by the framing of arbitrary laws, repressing the tastes of the nation at large, raises in its remembrance an indignation in our mind, that takes repeated whiffs of our 'german' to quell. now the truly immense extent of the benefits europe is indebted to for the introduction of the tobacco-plant, is by no means generally known. for the instruction of our _fellow_ creatures--we say instruction, because probably our numerous readers may never have met with them before,--we shall proceed to enlighten the world upon the subject. if we look backward to the earlier periods of history, what barbarous and savage manners do we not mark characterizing the people and the times. rapine and murder stalking hand in hand among them, and scarce at all repressed by laws, divine or human. now mark, sweet readers, especially if true lovers of the invaluable herb, whose praises we are about singing! mark what "great effects from little causes spring." no sooner did tobacco make its appearance and get into notice and use, than the passions of all men wooing its soothing influence, gradually began to receive a change. as it got more generally diffused, its influence might almost be termed magical; the sword, in a great degree, was exchanged for the quill, the wine-cup for the coffee-cup (thence its use in turkey always with smoking), and letters began to flourish--the first grand step towards that civilization i shall prove it was gradually destined to effect in the world. doubtless, like many other great writers, who open out a new light to the world, we shall have enough of sceptics, as opponents, to contend with; but we are sanguine from the facts we shall clearly establish, that far more is to be attributed to the powers of tobacco, than millions dream of. in the first place, it is too well known to admit of much doubt, that tobacco, whether smoked or taken as snuff, exercises a very considerable power upon the mind, more especially when taken in considerable quantities. when such is the case, the faculties are refined and exalted to a degree of spirited buoyancy, that forms a strange and pleasing contrast to the usual unstimulated lethargic state of the mind. we can only compare it, though in a much milder, and more inoffensive degree, to the species of delirium the turks so vividly describe, when labouring under the effects of opium. the intellectual senses, more particularly that part of them forming the imagination, become so much more powerful and pervading, that its conceptions receive a warmth and strength of colouring they never can, under common excitement. now tobacco, as we have recorded, was first brought to england in the reign of elizabeth, who greatly patronized it among the nobles and poorer orders, by whom it came speedily into general use. most mighty herb!--the effects of thy worship were soon visible, for where do we find a reign so great and glorious either for victories by land and sea, or the distinguished talent and genius, whether in the camp or cabinet, it fostered at home. then was it, that shakespeare--the magnificent shakespeare, (blest and honored was the reign in which he drew life) burst forth like a star destined to excite the astonishment of the world he came to throw the effulgent light of his genius upon. he was a smoker. then, to sketch forth the gigantic march of intellect, in the ages of which we write, came forth those luminaries of the world; hobbes, the parent of locke's philosophy, the profound philosopher lord bacon, the most illustrious mathematician and philosopher, sir isaac newton, and the singularly talented metaphysician locke, each and all of whom were celebrated for their devotion to the soothing and stimulating powers of a pipe! it is related of hobbes, who was one of the most profound thinkers of his time, that as soon as the dinner was over, he used to retire to his study and had his candle with _ten or twelve_ pipes of tobacco laid by him; then shutting the door he fell to smoking, thinking and writing for several hours together. locke and bacon smoked much for recreation; the latter of whom probably was indebted to the practice for the preservation of his life in the plague of , from whose contagious influence in london he sought safety in the country and his pipe. now, to what, we should like to know, are to be attributed the mighty and successful efforts of these wonderful men, who may justly be considered the founders of modern civilization and literature, but the all--the far pervading fumes of the sovereign tobacco-leaf they worshipped with such devotion. to its exhilarating influence and invigorating aid, exciting the imagination to realms of undiscovered beauties, are we indebted for those works that shall live, while time is,--the wonder of this and all future ages. are we singular in our opinion? mark, learn, and inwardly digest, ye unbelievers, what the learned dr. raphael thorious says on the subject:-- "of cheering bowls i mean to sing the praise, and of the herb that can the poet's fancy raise; aid me, o! father phoebus i invoke, fill me a pipe (boy) of that fragrant smoke, that i may drink the god into my brain; and so enabled, write a noble strain. for nothing great or high can come from thence, where that blest plant denies its influence." smile on, ye critics; but let us ask ye, if those works that have so strong a claim to our respect, would ever have come into existence had there been no tobacco, to rarify and stimulate the mind. no!--must be your candid answer, if only in verification of the old saying, '_no pipe, no parr_.' then, what mighty blessings are we not indebted for to the much-aspersed, calumniated, and insulted herb. nor is the fact of its consequence in regard to these first great discoverers in science, the only proofs that exist of its reputation; successive generations, under the weed's cheering auspices, have but continued what they so ably began. dr. johnson,[ ] dr. thorious, dr. aldrich, dr. parr, pope, swift, addison, steele, and a host of other approved writers of celebrity, independent of those of the present day, are all similarly indebted to the genial influence of tobacco, under one preparation or another, for the stimulus of their inspiration. the fact is incontrovertible. where was transcendant literary ability before the introduction of tobacco?--nowhere--it was unknown:--but, no sooner, we repeat, did it become known and in use, than its generative powers became quickly visible: the minds of men, though previously barren, became fructified by its influence, and letters flourished. with truth it is observed, we formerly were a nation of readers; but, who is so ignorant as not to know, that as tobacco has become diffused, with knowledge, we are now a nation of smokers and writers. it may, indeed, be fairly set down as an axiom we may rely upon, that nearly every one occasionally gets a penchant for scribbling who smokes or snuffs; from the cobler, whose "_soul_ on higher things is bent," that composes a ditty to the measure of some admired production gracing his stall, to the peer of the realm, who, lounging on an ottoman under the inspiration of prince's mixture, dictates a sonnet, or a novel, to his secretary, as the humour may chance to be of the moment. that tobacco has effected wonders in the promotion and promulgation of knowledge, we flatter ourselves we have plausibly shown; that it is equally distinguished in _diplomacy_ and _war_, is a fact we shall now proceed to demonstrate. to commence then: who ever knew or heard of a plenipotentiary without his jewelled _snuff-box_?--the thing were out of nature: without _it_, indeed, he were but an automaton--a body without a head--a mere 'cypher in the great account,' unbacked and unsupported. so well aware, indeed, are civilized governments of this fact, that snuff-boxes set with brilliants to the value of a _thousand pounds_ are given them, that they may be stimulated to business; diving into the cabals and intrigues of the state,--concealing their own, and, in a word, never be deserted at a pinch. nay, so much is snuff the fashion, that a courtier in most european countries without it were a sort of curiosity. many of the greatest of men, have been remarkable for the snuff they took. napoleon was among this number; he (acute and penetrating) _was up to snuff_, disdaining your common methods of worshipping that "spirit stirrer" of the human mind, he took it out of his waistcoat-pocket, and when vexed or thwarted by any unexpected occurrence, was always observed to have recourse to it, previous to exerting his mind on the subject. the greatness of his fortunes was commensurate with the quantity he consumed: the greatest snuff-taker in the french territories, it is by no means singular to relate, he became the first in grandeur and consequence, as well as the most idolized of men. at the same time, he was by no means insensible of the powers of smoking, for we find it recorded, that his greatest relief from extreme fatigue (as he used to declare) arose from "a cigar, _a cup of coffee, and a warm bath_;" three things, we affirm, highly creditable to the taste of so great a genius. nor did buonaparte confine the use of it solely to his own person: fully impressed with its powers, he ordered its use throughout the whole of the french army. the immediate consequence was, that under his influence and that of the stimulating weed, they conquered all before them, and became renowned throughout europe for their discipline and determined bravery. this may, by those who dive no further than the surface, be attributed to the ability of their general, to a certain degree we in our candour acknowledge; but the grand secret and mover of it was tobacco--sovereign tobacco! what sceptic so rash, dares breathe a doubt of the truth of this statement? does he require additional evidence?--if so! let him turn his eyes to the british navy. what is it, ever since the time of elizabeth, from the defeat of the spanish armada up to the victory at trafalgar, has rendered them invincible and the terror of the world?--what, we exclaim, but tobacco! to quids! quids! alone is their success to be attributed; but deprive them of these, and you take the spirit of the men away. immortal, godlike pigtail! and well too does government know this fact, and wisely institute an allowance to each man. hunger, thirst, and every hardship is borne without a murmur by each gallant tar, so long as there is pigtail in the locker. go seek the man, whether _topman_, _afterguard_, or _idler_, who has ever been upon a seven or three years' station, and ask him whence his chief consolation in the watch of safety, or peril, and he, if a true sailor, shall answer with an indescribable roll of the jaw--"pigtail!!!" 'tis the essence, in fact, the very quintessence of the man, and its consideration in his mind may be sufficiently gleaned from the following well-known epistle--at once an irrefutable proof, if any be needed. "warren hastings east indyman, off gravesend. march , . dear brother tom; this comes hopein to find you in good health as it leaves me safe anckor'd here yesterday at p. m. arter a pleasant voyage tolerable short and a few squalls.--dear tom--hopes to find poor old father stout, and am quite out of pig-tail.--sights of pig-tail at gravesend, but unfortinly not fit for a dog to chor. dear tom, captain's boy will bring you this, and put pig-tail in his pocket when bort. best in london at the black boy in diles, where go acks for best pig-tail--pound a pig-tail will do, and am short of shirts. dear tom, as for shirts ony took whereof one is quite wored out and tuther most, but don't forget the pig-tail, as i a'n't had a quid to chor never since thursday. dear tom, as for the shirts, your size will do, only longer. i liks um long--get one at present; best at tower-hill, and cheap, but be particler to go to diles for the pig-tail at the black boy, and dear tom, acks for pound best pig-tail, and let it be good. captain's boy will put the pig-tail in his pocket, he likes pig-tail, so ty it up. dear tom, shall be up about monday there or thereabouts. not so perticuler for the shirt as the present can be washed, but don't forget the pig-tail without fail, so am your loving brother." "t. p." "p. s.--don't forget the pig-tail." treating of the milder virtues of tobacco, who ever knew a smoker--one of your twenty years' standing,--ill tempered; or a veteran snuff-taker, who did not occasionally give utterance to witty sayings?--the thing were against reason. in conclusion, what can we say more for thee, omnipotent, prolific herb! than in the inspired lines of thy true admirer byron? sublime tobacco, which from east to west, cheers the tar's labours or the turkman's rest; which on the moslems' ottomans divides his hours, and rivals opium and his brides: magnificent in stamboul, but less grand, though not less lov'd, in wapping or the strand. divine in hookas; glorious in a pipe, when tipped with amber, mellow, rich and ripe; like other charmers, wooing thy caress, more dazzling fair and glaring in full dress; yet thy true lovers more admire, by far, thy naked beauties--give me a cigar? the medical qualities of tobacco. of the properties attributable to the plant in the _materia medica_, a variety of opinions prevail, and have done, indeed, since its first appearance in the civilized portion of the globe. it certainly cannot but strike the reader as a fact to be very greatly lamented, that science should be so unfixed, even in this much boasted-of-enlightened æra, that some medical men should be found to ascribe every bad and pernicious quality to the use of tobacco; and others, equally celebrated for their professional knowledge, recommend it as a panacea for many ills. reflection makes this still more dreadful, when we consider these are the men to whose abilities we are frequently compelled to look up, for the preservation of our healths and lives. it would be well, indeed, if this lamentable difference of opinion among the facult existed only in reference to our present subject. we shall now, however, proceed to note some of the ideas of the learned that have been expressed concerning the qualities of the herb, in pharmacy, and quote our first specimen in the following poem, by the famous dr. thorious, who most sagely recommends it as an antidote for every evil under the sun. a latin poem, by raphael thorious. (_translated into english by the rev. w. bewick._) the herb which borrows santa croce's name, sore eyes relieves and healeth wounds; the same discusses the kings evil, and removes cancers and boils; a remedy it proves for burns and scalds, repels the nauseous itch, and straight recovers from convulsive fits; it cleanses, dries, binds up, and maketh warm; the head-ach, tooth-ach, cholic, like a charm it easeth soon; an ancient cough relieves, and to the reyns and milt and stomach gives quick riddance from the pains which each endures, next the dire wounds of poison'd arrows cures; all bruises heals, and when the gum once sore, it makes them sound and healthy as before: sleep it procures, our anxious sorrows lays, and with new flesh the naked bone arrays; no herb hath greater pow'r to rectify all the disorders in the breast that lie; or in the lungs. herb of immortal fame, which hither first by santa croce came; when he (his time of nunclature expir'd) back from the court of portugal retir'd, even as his predecessors, great and good. all christendom now with its presence blesses, and still the illustrious family possesses the name of santa croce, rightly given, since they in all respects resemble heaven: procure as much as mortal men can do, the welfare of our souls and bodies too. _dr. cullen_ observes, that tobacco is generally recognized for its narcotic powers, as well as being a very considerable stimulant, with respect to the whole system, but more especially the stomach and intestines, and acts even in small doses as an emetic and purgative. the editors of the edinburgh dispensary also remark, that of late, tobacco under the form of a vinous or watery infusion, given in small quantities, so as to produce little effect by its action on the stomach, has been found a very useful and powerful diuretic. _dr. fowler_ published some cases of dropsy and dysury, in which its application was attended with the best effects, and this has been confirmed by the practice of others. beaten into a mash with vinegar or brandy, it has sometimes proved highly serviceable for removing hard tumours of the _hypochondres_. two cases of cure are published in the 'edinburgh essays.' considerable reliance has also been placed upon it, by some of the most eminent practitioners, as an injection by the anus of the smoke, in cases of obstinate constipation, threatening _ileus_, of _incarcerated hernia_, of spasmodic asthma, and of persons apparently dead from drowning or other causes. _dr. strother_ speaks of its being beneficial in smoking, to persons having defluxions on the lungs. by long boiling in water, its deleterious power is said to be neutralized, and at length destroyed: an extract made by long decoction, is recommended by _stubb_ and other german physicians, as the most efficient and safe aperient detergent, expectorant and diuretic.--_lewis mat. med._ _bates_ and _fuller_ give many encomiums on its powers in asthmatic cases. _boyle_ asserts the juice and the plant to be very excellent in curing ulcers and mortifications, although its operation, in this respect, is stated by numerous other authorities, to be deleterious in the extreme. as regarding, indeed, many of the virtues attributed to its use by lewis and others, in decoctions and poultices, candour obliges us to declare, though with great deference to those opinions which have been expressed by the most eminent of the medical profession, that we cannot consider it of any particular efficacy. we shall, therefore, forbear tiring our readers with recipes of the different forms in which it is prescribed for many illnesses. taken as snuff, tobacco is generally allowed to be a mild and inoffensive stimulant, which, indeed, in many cases, is prescribed as a most effectual errhine for clearing the nostrils and head. when taken, however, as it frequently is, in excessive quantities, its consequences become often visible, and tumours and secretions in the nose are said to be the result. it is likewise said by some, when taken immoderately, to greatly tend to weaken the sight and bring on apoplexy. _revenus_ and _chenst_ likewise wrote against the habit of smoking; but like more modern writers, among whom may be named _dr. adam clarke_, with little or no effect; for it may be set down as a fact, proved in many other instances, as well as this illustrates,--that where a people have the facilities of judging for themselves, they invariably will do so. in this case, practice and precept peculiarly go together. of the medical qualities of tobacco, as an antidote against contagion, its inestimable efficacy was never better proved, than in the period of the plagues[ ] that have at times visited england. _dr. willis_ says, in his very able treatise, that its power in repelling the infectious air during the plague of was truly astonishing; so much so, that the shops of the tobacconists remained quite uninfected. it is also very favourably mentioned by _richard barker_, a physician, at the period of the pestilence, who gives it in the following recipe against the plague: "carry about with you a leaf of tobacco rolled up in tiffiny or lawn, so dipt in vinegar. smell often to it, and sometimes clap it to the temples for some few minutes of time. for those that smoke tobacco, let them use it with one-fourth part of flower of sulphur, and seven or eight drops of oil of amber for one pipe." among very many celebrated physicians, who have also recorded and recommended the use of tobacco against the poisonous influence of the plague, may be mentioned _gideon hovey_, m.d.,[ ] _dr. fowler_,[ ] and _diemerbroek_, a distinguished dutch medical practitioner; besides numerous pamphlets that have been published on the subject of the plague. one account, published in by w. kemp, professing to recommend the best means to the public to avoid the infection, mentions tobacco in a way, that reminds us somewhat of its warm panegyrist, dr. thorious, and is too facetious to be here omitted. the following is the literal transcript:-- "the american silver weed[ ] or tobacco, is an excellent defence against bad air, being smoked in a pipe, either by itself or with nutmeg shred, and rew seeds mixed with it; especially if it be nosed, for it cleanseth the air and choaketh and suppresseth and disperseth any venemous vapour; it hath both singular and contrary effects; it is good to warm one being cold, and will cool one being hot. all ages, all sexes and constitutions, young and old, men and women, the sanguine, the choleric, the melancholy, the phlegmatic, take it without any manifest inconvenience; it giveth thirst, and yet will make one more able and fit to drink; it chokes hunger, and yet will give one a good stomach; it is agreeable with mirth or sadness, with feasting and with fasting; it will make one rest that wants sleep, and will keep one waking that is drowsy; it hath an offensive smell, and is more desirable than any perfume to others; that it is a most excellent preservative, both experience and reason teach; it corrects the air by fumigation, and avoids corrupt humours by salivation; for when one takes it by chewing it in the leaf, or smoking it in the pipe, the humours are brought and drawn from all parts of the body to the stomach, and from thence rising up to the mouth of the tobacconist, as to the helm of a sublunatory, are voided and spitted out." of the poisonous qualities of tobacco, we are informed that a drop or two of the chemical oil of tobacco, being put upon the tongue of a cat or dog, produces violent convulsions, and death itself, in the space of a few minutes; yet, the same oil used on lint, applied to the teeth, has been found of the utmost service in the tooth-ach.[ ] a very common opinion prevails among those who do not smoke, that it is bad for the teeth: a belief founded upon any thing but experience, and resulting generally from prejudice. for preserving the gums and the enamel of the teeth, in a healthy and sound state, few remedies can operate better than the smoke of tobacco. in the first instance, it renders nugatory the corruptive power of the juices that invariably set into the interstices of the teeth, and unless brushed away, remain after meals; and, in the second place, it destroys the effluvia arising at times from the breath that, in some constitutions, so quickly brings about a corrosion of the outer surface or enamel. the benefits that have resulted from smoking, in cases of the tooth-ache, have been too commonly experienced to admit of doubt. in a pamphlet that was published some thirty years ago, detailing the adventures of the pretender; an anecdote is related of its excellence. while taking refuge in the mansion of lady kingsland, in the highlands of scotland, from his enemies, after having had recourse to many things, he smoked a pipe to free himself from this 'curse o' achs;' and after a short time, received the wished-for relief. as another and concluding instance of the preservative power of tobacco upon the teeth, it is related in the life of the great sir isaac newton, who was remarkable for the quantity of tobacco he smoked, that though he lived to a good old age, he never lost but one tooth. botanical history and culture of the tobacco plant. tobacco is a genus of the class _pentandria_. order _monogynia_; natural order of luridæ (solaneæ, _juss._)--generic characters--calyx; perianthium one-leafed, ovate, half five-cleft, permanent. corolla: one-petalled funnel-form.--_essential character_--corolla funnel-form, with a plaited border, stamina inclined; capsule two-valved and two-celled. there are six kinds of tobacco peculiar to america: which we shall proceed to notice in their relative order. . nicotiana fruticosa, or shrubby tobacco: leaves lanceolate, subpetioled, embracing; flowers acute, stem frutescent. this rises with very branching stalks, about five feet high. lower leaves a foot and a half long, broad at the base, where they half embrace the stalks, and about three inches broad in the middle, terminating in long acute points. . nicotiana alba, or white-flowered tobacco. this rises about five feet high: the stalk does not branch so much as that of the former. the leaves are large and oval, about fifteen inches long and two broad in the middle, but diminish gradually in size to the top of the stalk, and with their base half embrace it. the flowers grow in closer bunches than those of the former, and are white: they are succeeded by short oval obtuse seed-vessels. it flowers and perfects seeds about the same time with the former. it grows naturally in the woods of tobago, whence the seeds were sent to mr. philip miller by mr. robert miller. . nicotiana tabacum or virginian tobacco: leaves lanceolate, ovate, sessile, decurrent, flowers acute. virginian tobacco has a large, long annual root; an upright, strong, round, hairy stalk, branching towards the top; leaves numerous, large, pointed, entire, veined, viscid, pale green; flowers in loose clusters or panicles. . nicotiana latissima, the great broad-leaved or oroonoko; formerly, as mr. miller says, sown in england, and generally taken for the common broad-leaved tobacco of caspar bauhin, and others, but is very different from it. the leaves are more than a foot and a half long, and a foot broad; their surfaces very rough and glutinous, and their bases half embrace the stalk. in a rich moist soil the stalks are more than ten feet high, and the upper part divides into small branches, which are terminated by loose bunches of flowers, standing erect: they have pretty long tubes, and are of a pale purplish colour. it flowers in july and august, and the seeds ripen in autumn. this is the sort which is commonly brought to the market in pots. . nicotiana tabacum, broad-leaved, or sweet-scented. the stalks of this, which is the broad-leaved tobacco of caspar bauhin, seldom rise more than five or six feet high, and divide into more branches. the leaves are about ten inches long, and three and a half broad, smooth, acute, sessile; the flowers are rather larger, and of a brighter purple colour. . nicotiana angustifolia, or narrow-leaved virginian tobacco; rises with an upright branching stalk, four or five feet high. the lower leaves are a foot long, and three or four inches broad: those on the stalks are much narrower, lessening to the top, and end in very acute points, sitting close to the stalks. besides these, it must be remarked, there are many other kinds of tobacco peculiar to different countries. _nicotiana undulata_, or new holland tobacco: radical leaves obovate, obtuse, somewhat wavy; stem-leaves sharp-pointed. it came to kew in , and is perennial in the green-house, flowering all summer long. the settlers at port jackson are said to use this herb as tobacco. _nicotiana plumbaginifolia_, or lead-wort-leaved tobacco: radical leaves ovate, contracted at the base; stem-leaves lanceolate, clasping the stem; all undulated; corolla salver-shaped, acute. the native country of this species is unknown. it has been cultivated in some italian gardens, and there were flowering specimens in may , in the store of the late lady amelia hume. _nicotiana axillaris_, or axillary tobacco: leaves opposite, ovate, flat, nearly sessile; stalk axillary, solitary single-flowered; corolla obtuse; segments of the calyx deep, spatulate. gathered by commerson at monte video, and communicated by thouin to the younger linnæus. leaves rather above an inch long, and near an inch wide, downy, and apparently viscid, like the rest of the herbage. fruits unknown. _nicotiana tristis_, or dull-purple tobacco: leaves lanceolate, wavy, clasping the stem; corolla salver-shaped, its tube not twice the length of the calyx, and scarcely longer than the obtuse limb. gathered also by commerson at monte video. _nicotiana rustica_, common english tobacco: leaves petioled, ovate, quite entire; flowers obtuse. the stalks of this seldom rise more than three feet high. leaves smooth, alternate, upon short foot-stalks. flowers in small loose bunches on the top of the stalks, of an herbaceous yellow-colour, appearing in july, and succeeded by roundish capsules, ripening in the autumn. this is commonly called english tobacco, from its having been first introduced here, and being much more hardy than the other sorts, insomuch that it has become a weed in many places. _nicotiana rugosa_ of miller, rises with a strong stalk near four feet high; the leaves are shaped like those of the preceding, but are greatly furrowed on their surface, and near twice the size, of a darker green, and no longer on footstalks. _nicotiana urens_, or stinging tobacco: leaves cordate, crenate; racemes recurved; stem hispid, stinging. fructification in racemes directed one way and revolute, with bell-shaped corollas, and cordate leaves like those of nicotiana rustica; but crenate, and the whole tree prickly. native of south america. _nicotiana glutinosa_, or clammy-leaved tobacco: leaves petioled, cordate quite entire; flowers in racemes, pointing one way, and ringent. stalk round, near four feet high, sending out two or three branches from the lower parts. leaves large, heart-shaped, and a little waved. _nicotiana pusilla_, or primrose-leaved tobacco: leaves of oblong oval, radical; flowers in racemes, acute. this has a pretty thick taper root that strikes deep in the ground; at the top of it come out six or seven leaves spreading on the ground, about the size of those of the common primrose, but a deeper green. this kind was discovered by dr. houstoun at vera cruz, and he sent the seed to england. _tabacum minimum_ (gen. em. .) appears to be another species, hitherto unsettled, with a branched leafy stem, a span high; leaves ovate on footstalks, opposite; and stalked acute, greenish-yellow flowers. the n. minima of molina (poir. in lum. diet. iv. .), is probably another species, or perhaps the same. culture.--tobacco thrives best in a warm, kindly rich soil, that is not subject to be over-run with weeds. in virginia, the soil in which it thrives best is warm, light, and inclining to be sandy; and, therefore, if the plant is to be cultivated in britain, it ought to be planted in a soil as nearly of the same kind as possible. other kinds of soil might probably be brought to suit it, by a surface of proper manure; but we must remember, whatever manure is made use of, must be thoroughly incorporated with the soil. the best situation for a tobacco plantation is the southern declivity of a hill, rather gradual than abrupt, or a spot that is sheltered from the north winds: but at the same time it is necessary that the plants enjoy a free air; for without this they will not prosper. as tobacco is an annual plant, those who intend to cultivate it ought to be as careful as possible in the choice of the seeds; in which, however, with all their care, they may sometimes be deceived. the seed should be sown in the middle of april, or rather sooner in a forward season, in a bed prepared for this purpose, of such soil that has been already described, mixed with some warm rich manure. in a cold spring, hot beds are most eligible for that purpose; and gardeners imagine that they are always necessary: but mr. carver[ ] tells us, that he is convinced, when the weather is not very severe, the tobacco seeds may be raised without-doors: and for this purpose gives us the following directions: "having sown the seed in the manner above directed, on the least apprehension of a frost after the plants appear, it will be necessary to spread mats over the beds, a little elevated from the ground by poles laid across, that they may not be crushed. these, however, must be removed in the morning, soon after the sun appears, that they may receive as much benefit as possible from its warmth and from the air. in this manner proceed till the leaves have attained about two inches in length and one in breadth, which they will do in about a month after they are sown, or near the middle of may, when the frosts are usually at an end. one invariable rule for their being able to bear removal is, when the fourth leaf is shrouded, and the fifth just appears. then take the opportunity of the first rains or gentle showers to transplant them into such a soil and situation as before described; which must be done in the following manner:--the land must be ploughed or dug up with spades, and made as mellow and light as possible. when the plants are to be placed, raise with the hoe small hillocks at the distance of two feet or a little more from each other, taking care that no hard sods or lumps are in it; and then just indent the middle of each, without drilling holes, as for some other plants. "in some climates the top is generally cut off when the plant has fifteen leaves; but if the tobacco is intended to be a little stronger than usual, this is done when it has only thirteen; and sometimes, when it is designed to be remarkably powerful, eleven or twelve are only allowed to expand. on the contrary, if the planter is desirous of having his crop very mild, he suffers it to put forth eighteen or twenty. "this operation, called _topping_, is much better performed by the finger and thumb than with any instrument, because the grasp of the fingers closes the pores of the plant: whereas, when it is done by instruments, the juices are in some degree exhausted. care must also be taken to rip off the sprouts that will be continually springing up at the junction of the leaves with the stalks. this is termed _succouring_ or _suckering_ the tobacco, and ought to be repeated as often as occasion requires. "when the plantation comes to a proper growth, it should then be cut down and placed in a barn, or covered house, where it cannot be affected by rain or too much air, thinly scattered over the floor; and if the sun does not appear for several days, they must be allowed to _milt_ in that manner; but in this case the quality of the tobacco is not so good." "_cure._--after the plants have been transferred, and hung sometime, pressing or smoking, as it is technically termed, they should be taken down, and again laid in a heap and pressed with heavy logs of wood for about a week: but this climate may probably require a longer time. while they remain in this state it will be necessary to introduce your hand frequently into the heap, to discover whether the heat be not too intense; for in large quantities this will sometimes be the case, and considerable damage will be occasioned by it. when they are found to heat too much, that is, when the heat exceeds a moderate glowing warmth, part of the weight, by which they are pressed, must be taken away; and the cause being removed, the effect will cease. this is called the second or last sweating; and when completed, the leaves must be stripped from the stalks for use. many omit this last sweating; but mr. carver thinks it takes away its remaining harshness, and makes it more mellow. the strength of the stalk is also diffused by it through the leaves, and the whole mass becomes equally meliorated. when the leaves are stripped from the stalks, they are to be tied up in bunches or _hands_, and kept in a cellar or other damp place. at this period the tobacco is thoroughly cured, and as proper for manufacturing as that imported from the colonies. original poetry. new words to an old tune. a comic ditty. lieutenant fire was fond of smoke, and cash he ow'd a deal; tho' some said he'd a heart of oak, for others it could feel: with wit he was,--not money stor'd,-- his landlord thought it meet, as he'd liv'd free so long on board, why he should join the fleet. the station he lik'd not at all, and wish'd the duty o'er; he saw some fights, and many ball, but ne'er saw such before. to banish care, he sought a rod, and smok'd like any mid, but unlike some,--altho' in quod,-- disdain'd to take a quid. and though a man, both short and stout, all knew him in a crowd; for oh, he never mov'd, without his head was in a cloud: in pris'n he met a friend he'd known full many years ago, in 'four in hand' his cash had flown, and now he'd come to woe. poor brown, alas! he had been green, and so his hopes had marr'd; but thought it strange in turn, i ween, he should be driven hard. now he took snuff, in _quantum suff._, he thought it calm'd his woes,-- while one friend blew the light cigar, the other blew his nose. "as we have bask'd in fortune's calm, now squalls come we'll not flinch," thus spoke the tar, and gave his arm, and brown gave him a pinch. "now, fire, all snuffs are good, we know, except when ill-prepar'd, i love a box and you a blow, but keep me from blackguard. at _lundyfoot_ i am no hand, seldom its dust i take, ah! each day or so, by turns, i go from strasburg to jamaica." "'tis well, my boy," return'd the tar, "such journeys you can wend, for fuel here don't go so far, here's plenty of walls-end." of future scenes of happiness, the tar he often spoke; but they, indeed, as you may guess, but ended all in smoke. at length there money came one day,-- each left the walls unkind; the tar went out--yet strange to say, his ashes left behind! ode on tobacco. gently o'er my senses stealing, indian-weed, i love thee well; raising, soothing, passion's feeling, who can all thy magic tell: who can paint the soft entrancing, all thy virtues who can know? moving visions, sweetly glancing, giving joy and calming woe. tell me, do the proud ones scorn ye, does the monarch on his throne, in the countries where are born ye, in the lands of either zone; prince and beggar, both caress thee, and to thee their homage pay; from ind to lapland, myriads bless thee, all bow to thy sovereign sway. true, there are some soft ones ever, like a drop within the sea; weak in nerves, yet vastly clever, who have vainly 'countered thee: but thy strength, their own excelling, moves the wrath they cannot quell; envy makes their breast its dwelling, and the grapes are sour as[ ]---- stanzas to a lady. in defence of smoking. what taught me first sweet peace to blend, with hopes and fears that knew no end, my dearest, truest, fondest friend? my pipe, love! what cheer'd me in my boyhood's hour, when first i felt love's witching power, to bear deceit,--false woman's dow'r? my pipe, love! what still upheld me since the guile, attendant on false friendship's smile, and i in hope, deceiv'd the while? my pipe, love! what cheer'd me when misfortunes came, and all had flown me?--still the same, my only true and constant flame, my pipe, love! what sooth'd me in a foreign land, and charm'd me with its influence bland, still whisp'ring comfort, hand in hand? my pipe, love! what charm'd me in the thoughts of past, when mem'ry's gleam my eyes o'ercast, and burns to serve me to the last? my pipe, love! the last quid. he seiz'd the quid,--'twas hard and dry, the last one in its nook; the beggar'd sailor heav'd a sigh,-- despair was in his look. and have i fought, and bled in vain, are all my comforts o'er-- when shall i see thy like again, thou last one of my store. high and dry i've kept thee here, in hopes of getting aid; my cruise, alas, is lost, i fear-- oh why was bacce made! i've borne all weathers, wind and rain, and patiently i bore-- when shall i see thy like again, thou last one of my store. his gaze was on the muddy ground, and mis'ry in his eye; sudden he sprang with eager bound, on something glitt'ring nigh: a sovereign's aid, 'tis very plain, thank heaven, i ask no more; soon shall i see thy like again, thou last one of my store. anecdotes. _the precious pipe._--napoleon greatly patronized the habit of smoking in the french army, so that it soon became actually indispensable for the continuance of that _gaité du coeur_, for which his troops were remarkable, even in the moments of severest peril. under the cheering influence of the pipe, they surmounted all difficulties; and, under its consoling power, bore fatigue, and hunger, and thirst with a fortitude and philosophy, remarkable in the annals of military record. during the latter end of their march to moscow, and after the burning of the russian capital, they endured severe privations from the loss of their favourite herb, the stock of which was all expended: nor was this all; they suffered exceedingly through want of food and the inclemency of the weather, with many other evils, the smoking of tobacco had hitherto consoled them for. such was the general state of the army, when a private of the _garde imperiale_, being out with a detachment on a foraging party, chanced to stray from the rest, and, in the skirt of a wood, came upon a little low deserted hut. overjoyed in the hopes that he might find something to relieve his necessities, he stove in the door with the butt end of his musquet, and instantly commenced a scrutiny, to see if anything had been left behind by those who had evidently lately quitted it. the few articles of comfort it had formerly contained seemed, however, all to have been carried away in the flight of its late inmates, and he was about abandoning his search, when he perceived something stuffed up between the rafters of the ceiling. thrusting it with his bayonet, a dark bundle fell at his feet: his joy may be better imagined than expressed, when, on untying the rag that bound it, he found a quantity of coarse tobacco. after filling his pouch with it, and stowing the rest of the (to him) invaluable treasure about his person, he pulled forth a short clay pipe, whose late empty bowl he had so often contemplated with melancholy regret, and, having struck a light, filled it with his darling herb, and commenced smoking immediately. "never," said the soldier, who himself narrated the tale to us in paris, "since the campaign began, when we started with the certainty, almost, of returning with plunder to enrich the rest of our lives, did i feel half the pleasurable emotions i did, the hour i spent, sitting in the darkened room of that hut, whiffing the grateful fumes from my short pipe. indulging in visions that for a long time had been a stranger to me, the much-boasted pleasures of the opium eaters, were nothing in comparison to mine.--i seemed in heaven, sir." after having regained the camp, it soon became a subject of remark and discussion, how faucin (the soldier's name) got his tobacco to smoke, and looked so cheerful, when his comrades would have given all they were worth for the same luxury. knowing his extreme danger if it should be discovered he had any quantity of tobacco in his possession, he took every opportunity, when questioned, as he often was closely on the subject, to state that it was only a trifling remnant he had preserved. under this pretence, he refused the numerous applications that were made him for portions, however small. at length, as his short pipe was still perceived week after week, emitting its savoury steam, on their toilsome march homewards, it was generally suspected, and he was openly told, he had plenty of tobacco in his knapsack, and he was threatened, in case of his refusal to divide a share. firmly believing he should be robbed, if not murdered, by some of his comrades, who watched him with selfish eyes for the sake of the tobacco he carried, he was obliged by prudence to confess the secret to two corporals and a serjeant, and divide a quantity among them. while their line of march was daily and nightly strewed with the dead and dying, and many a gallant fellow breathed his last on the cold beds of snow, they were wonderfully sustained by the tobacco, that kept up their spirits throughout the scene of famine and desolation, and he reached france with the few wretched remnants of the fine troops, who had quitted it with the eagle's flight, amid the shouts of _vive napoleon_. _an old quiddist._--a late messenger in a certain public law-office had rendered himself remarkable for the very excellent economy he pursued in the consumption of tobacco. in term time he had always plenty to do, and picked up a sufficient sum to supply the deficiency of business in the short vacations, which enabled him to obtain as much shag as he could well chew at those times, but he never lost sight of the 'rainy day.' he frequently got drunk but never forgot the miseries of the 'long vacation,' and accordingly acted upon the following plan, which, for its genius, has never been equalled in the annals of chawing:--he would begin, for instance, the first day of michaelmas term, which succeeds the long vacation, with a new quid, which he would keep only about half the usual time in his mouth, and extract only a portion of its nectarine sweets. this quid, instead of casting it at his feet, he would then transfer to a certain snug little shelf in the office, with the most reverential caution, and obtain another. this practice he would repeat five or six times in the course of the same day, and every day during the times before mentioned, and what was the result? when the long vacation commenced, and he had nothing to do, he had collected the amazing quantity of between and quids!!! these he worked upon, _de novo_, during the long recess, and 'rich and rare' indeed was the collection; it was the poor messenger's only comfort. _dr. aldrich._--his excessive love for smoking was well known to his associates; but a young student of his college, finding some difficulty to bring a fellow collegian to the belief of it, laid him a wager that the dean aldrich was smoking at that time (about ten o'clock in the morning). away went the latter to the deanery; when, being admitted to the dean in his study, he related the occasion of his visit. the dean, instead of being disconcerted, replied in perfect good humour, "you see, sir, your friend has lost his wager, for i am not now smoking, but only filling my pipe!" _chinese arrogance._--as a precursor to the following, it will only be proper to relate, that in china the use of smoking and snuff-taking is general, although buildings are not thought requisite for curing tobacco, as in the west indies, there being little apprehension of rain to injure the leaves when plucked. thus the chinese grow tobacco enough for their own consumption, and will not allow any to be imported, so as to discourage their own cultivation. this prohibition, which has long existed in that country, was some years ago notified to mr. wilkodes, the american consul, then at canton, in the following manner: "may he be promoted to great powers! we acquaint you that the foreign opium, the dirt which is used for smoking, is prohibited by command. it is not permitted that it shall come to canton. we beg you, good brother, to inform the honoured president of your country of the circumstance, and to make it known, that the dirt used for smoking is an article prohibited in the celestial empire."--_paunkbyquia mowqua, &c. kai hing, nd year, th month, nd day, canton, may nd, ._ _sir isaac newton._--this illustrious individual was remarkable for smoking and temporary fits of mental abstraction from all around him; frequently being seized with them in the midst of company. upon one occasion, it is related of him, that a young lady presenting her hand for something across the table, he seized her finger, and, quite unconsciously, commenced applying it as a tobacco-stopper, until awoke to a sense of his enormity by the screams of the fair one. _extraordinary match._--some years ago, in a public room at langdon hills, in essex, the conversation chancing to turn on smoking, a farmer of the name of _williams_ boasting of the great quantity of tobacco he could consume at a sitting, challenged the room to produce his equal. mr. _bowtell_, the proprietor of the great boot-shop, skinner-street, and remarkable for smoking "pipes beyond computation," travelling his round at that time, chanced to be present, and immediately agreed to enter the lists with him for five pounds a-side. a canister of the strongest shag tobacco was placed by the side of each at eight o'clock in the evening, when they began the match. smoking very fast, by the time the clock had struck twelve, they had each finished sixteen pipes, when the farmer, through the dense atmosphere, was observed to turn pale. he still continued, however, dauntlessly on, but, at the end of the eighteenth pipe, fell stupefied off his chair, when the victory was adjudged to his opponent, who, calling for an extra glass of grog, actually finished his twentieth pipe before he retired for the night! divans. nor ball, nor concert, nor theatre can boast, with all their frippery and senseless fun; nor broiling taverns, when they shine the most, by hot unruly spirits overrun;-- in dance, or song, or drunken laugh, and toast, with elegance and comfort, cheaply won,-- to cheer the spirits and to refine the man: hail! books and mocha,--cigars and the divan! it is with feelings of pleasure we have remarked of late years the change that has gradually taken place in regard to places of public nightly amusement. formerly, the metropolis had no other allurements than were comprised in the theatre or the tavern,--the former of these being but too frequently a precursor to the latter; and that latter, in its turn, among young men in general, to scenes of a worse, and, in the end, more fatal description. as a preventative in a great degree to the above incentives to dissipation, must we welcome the appearance of divans amongst us, forming, as they do, in their quiet and elegant seclusion, a pleasing and intellectual contrast to their more boisterous contemporaries. divan, or more properly speaking, _diwan_, by some writers is said to be of eastern origin, and the plural of _diw_, a devil. the appellation, says a persian lexicographer, was first bestowed by a sovereign of persia, who, on observing his crafty counsellors in high conclave, exclaimed, _inan diwan end_--"these men are devils." _mutato nomine de te fabula narratur_, may be pertinently applied, in this instance, to the councils of more sovereigns than those of ispahan. another derivation, and a more probable one, perhaps, is the turkish word for sopha,--a luxury abundantly supplied in every divan in turkey. in that country it is a chamber of council held by the grand seignior, his pashas, or other high tributaries, in which all the councillors assembled smoke their chibouques during the debate in all the sedate pomp of eastern magnificence. the interiors of these divans are represented by travellers as superbly grand, falling little short of the far-famed description of their harems. coffee, it must be remarked, is the common beverage used by the turks whilst smoking, and is commonly handed round with little or no milk or sugar, in small china cups. taken thus, perhaps, nothing harmonizes with smoking so well on the palate; as the rev. dr. walsh says, in his travels in turkey, speaking of tobacco, and in whose judicious remarks we cannot but concur, "i do not wonder at the general use of this most indispensable of turkish luxuries; it is always the companion of coffee (mocha), and there is something so exceedingly congenial in the properties of both, that nature seems to have intended them for inseparable associates. we do not know how to use tobacco in this country, but defile and deteriorate it with malt liquor. when used with coffee, and after the turkish fashion, it is singularly grateful to the taste, and refreshing to the spirits; counteracting the effects of fatigue and cold, and appeasing the cravings of hunger, as i have experienced." the popularity of divans in england may be best known by the rapid increase of their numbers since their first adoption here. at the present period there are no less than six popular divans (independent of several obscure ones) in london. these are,-- the oriental divan, regent-street. the private subscription divan, pall mall. the royal city divan, st. paul's churchyard. the royal divan, king-street, covent garden. the royal divan, strand. the divan, charing cross. the whole of these divans are fitted up in a style of asiatic splendour and comfort, that produces to the uncultivated eye a very novel and pleasing effect; while, upon a closer examination, the other senses are no less delighted. the journals of every nation in europe are a general attraction to linguists and foreigners, while the cream of our own ever fertile press leaves the english reader nothing to wish for in the way of literature. indeed, no means of entertainment are found wanting at these delightful _soirées_; chess invites the player, pictures the eye, and occasional music the ear; while lounging on a sopha with a cigar in the mouth, the gazer might almost fancy himself in the land of the crescent. the divans in regent-street and pall mall, are considered the most oriental of any in town, though the saloon in the strand is perhaps the largest. a refinement that peculiarly distinguishes the divan in king-street, is an admirably laid-out garden; at night lit by numerous parti-coloured lamps; in the day during the summer-time it forms a pleasing attraction to all lovers of the cooling shade. of the royal city divan, of whose elegant interior our frontispiece engraving presents so correct a view, we can only say that its allurements are peculiarly attractive. in the first place, the saloon has an advantage in being situated--unlike all the other divans--on the first-floor, and is fitted up in a very superior manner. it likewise possesses, from the extent and spaciousness of the premises, the additional advantage of private refreshment rooms, to which parties of friends can retire from the busy hum of the grand saloon, and enjoy the pleasures of a convivial glass. altogether, we cannot help observing, ere we conclude, that great merit is due to the several proprietors of the divans for the tasteful and expensive way in which they have furnished their different saloons; while, from the extreme moderation of their charges, they cannot but have strong claims to the patronage of a discerning public. mems. for smokers. cigars.--the best and most approved cigars consumed among our nobility and gentry, are those brought from the havanah in the west indies. the woodville, so called from the name of the importer, are held in the greatest estimation. in form, these should gradually decline from the middle to long and tapering ends. color, a clear raw sienna brown, variegated with bright brown yellow spots. in flavour they should be light and spicy, draw free, leaving a firm white ash. an excellence too, that should distinguish these cigars from the common kind, independent of their taste, should be the length of time they are capable of retaining their light without being drawn. the strong flavoured cuba, by smokers of long standing, when indeed a pipe has not altogether superseded the cigar, are in the greatest request. these vary in color from black to brown, according to the strength or age of the leaf; and like the woodville, are also distinguished when properly seasoned, and kept by mildew spots, though of a darker hue. the tobacco of the cubas growth is very frequently made up into cheroots, a form some prefer to the cigar, and are sold under the denomination of manilla. without entering into a description of the numerous kinds of cigars vended in the united kingdom, we can only remark, as a fact well authenticated, that the greater and more common part, sold from eight to thirteen shillings the hundred; are prepared from the cabbage-leaf, soaked in a strong solution of tobacco-water. cigars, so composed, are generally passed off under the names of _hambro'_, _maryland_, and _virginia_. the same deceptions may be said to exist, in respect to the small cheroots, whether scented or not: they are, with comparatively trifling exceptions, nearly all of british make. the reason is obvious, why these deceits are practised: in a former part of this little work, we stated the duty on the imported raw leaf of tobacco to be three shillings per lb., while on the _manufactured_, it is just thrice that amount: at once a reason why a good price must needs be given for the genuine foreign article. a great saving is effected in purchasing cigars by the weight or box as imported, while from a respectable shop you may be always sure of their being made abroad, as they are sent under seal in boxes from the west indies. _tobaccos._--an idea prevails among young smokers, that tobacco, independent of its fancied vulgarity, is always much stronger than cigars; an error that is very common. like cigars, indeed, it is of various growth and quality, and like them, may be had weak, or strong. the smoker, if he desires it, can have tobacco as weak as the mildest havanahs. the only difference in their manufacture is, the leaf is cut into shreds to form the one, and wrapt up to form the other. the persian, turkish, and maryland tobacco, are the mildest. the shag and twists, the strongest; the latter of which, as its name implies, is manufactured uncut; its excellence may always be told by a shining cut and an agreeable smell. besides these, we have tobaccos under an infinite number of appellations, with all the variations in their nature, incident to climate, growth, age, and method of being prepared for use. the tobacco held in the greatest esteem in the east, is the persian. the turks, notwithstanding their own excellent growth of the plant, give very high prices to possess it; especially that which comes from, _shiraz_. this is accounted the best. the moslems are also much in the habit of smoking a composition of opium and rose leaves with their tobacco through scented waters. a similar practice is common in india among the higher class; the same materials are made into a thick consistency and rolled into balls, which they term _jugeny_. to the unpractised palate, the smoking of this composition has a strangely exhilarating and intoxicating effect. a singular habit also prevails in the island of ceylon. some of the natives wrap the leaf of a strong tobacco they call _kapada_ into a lengthened form, and then covering it with the leaf of the _wattakan_ tree, light one end of it, and smoke by the other, till the whole is consumed. besides the tobacco of the west indies, persia and turkey, considerable quantities are cultivated in the levant, the coasts of greece, the archipelago, the island of malta, and italy. _pipes._--in reference to these essentials to smoking tobacco, a great variety of tastes are displayed, while that of each country forms an amusing contrast to that of its neighbour. in the eastern portion of the globe, the gorgeous hookah or superb chibouque with their serpent train are caressed: in france, the short twisted pipe: in germany, the merschaum: in holland, the long slender black pipe: in america, the short red clay pipe, or the ingeniously manufactured, yet murderous tomahawk, bears the tube of comfort; while in england--happy england--all, or any of these, are attainable. the portable pipes the turks are in the habit of using have their bowls generally made of a peculiar kind of red clay; and the tube part of jasmine and cherry sticks. the most expensive and those which from their exceeding size, and costliness, are regarded as the most sumptuous furniture of the mansion, are composed of a variety of materials. the tubes, which sometimes have been known to exceed twenty yards in length, are commonly made of leather covered with the richest velvets, and bound with gold or silver wire; this is generally terminated at the one end by a gold, silver, or amber mouth-piece; while the other (when used as it almost always is with scented water) tipped with a reed of a foot long, is placed in a decanter containing the water, through which the smoke is to be drawn; it is then met and joined by a similar reed, bearing the chafing dish; this is of silver, very large, with a fretwork cover of the same metal, through which the fumes of the aromatics used arise. it is by no means an uncommon thing in the east to have these tubes (which are remarkably flexible) carried through the wall of one apartment into another, that the apparatus may not be in the way of the smoker. the merschaum or german pipes, in europe, are celebrated for the virtues of their bowls, which are of a very porous quality. these are composed of a substance thrown upon the shore by the sea in germany, and being called _ecume de mer_ form the origin of the word merschaum. in germany they are commonly set in copper, with leather and horn tubes, but in england they are variously formed and ornamented with chains and tassels. _tubes_, when they are used for cigars (whose flavour we think they greatly tend to spoil) should be short, and composed of amber. _lights for smoking._--the advantage of obtaining an instantaneous light, is perhaps seldom more appreciated than by smokers. the articles used until lately for the purpose of igniting cigars, when out, or travelling, were the amadou, with the flint and steel--the phosphorus box, and pneumatic cylinder:--all of which were, more or less, uncertain or inconvenient, until the ingenious invention of jones's prometheans. these may very fairly be said to possess a never-failing facility in producing an instantaneous light. the promethean is composed of a small bulb of glass, hermetically sealed, containing a small part of sulphuric acid, and surrounded by a composition of chlorate of potash and aromatics. this is enclosed in paper prepared for the purpose. the light is simply effected by giving the promethean a smart tap that breaks the bulb, when the acid, coming in contact with the composition, causes instant ignition. it must be remarked however, the lucifers or chlorate matches that ignite, by drawing the match through sand paper, introduced by the same inventor, is decidedly bad for a cigar; the fumes arising from the combustion being offensive, are too apt to spoil the flavour of the leaf. in divans, burners called jos-sticks, are generally used for lighting cigars, as they smoulder in their light, like the promethean. finis. london: printed by littlewood and co. old bailey. footnotes: [ ] _memoires philosophiques, historiques, physiques, concernant lá decouverte de l'amerique, &c. par don ulloa. traduit avec des observations par m----._ paris, . vol. ii. p. . [ ] _m. valmont de bomare_, formerly director of the cabinets of natural history, medicine, &c. to the prince of conde. [ ] the british historian. [ ] a well-known perfumer in his day who resided in beaufort's buildings, london, a. d. . [ ] scrows are the untanned hides of buffaloes, sewed with thongs of the same, and made up into bags or bales for the exportation of several kinds of american produce, as indigo, snuff, tobacco, &c. &c. the fleshy side of the skin is turned outwards, whilst the hairy side, partly scraped, comes into anything but an agreeable contact with the commodity. [ ] independent of his royal highness's attachment to the columbian weed, the duke has a repository where are to be seen, in curious arrangement, all the smoking tubes in use by the civilized inhabitants of the world, from the slender pipe used by the hollander, to the magnificent hookah used by the indian prince in his court, or on the back of his elephant; and so attentive is the prince to this healthy amusement, that even in his travelling carriage a receptacle is formed for the pipe, the tinder, the flint, and the steel. [ ] the pipe of peace. [ ] the two celebrated anglers. [ ] see walton's complete angler. charles cotton of beresford hall, his little fishing house. [ ] except from british possessions in america, and then it is _s._ _d._ [ ] a short pipe smoked by the lower orders, and generally rendered black by time and the frequent use of the commonest shag tobacco. [ ] sterne's tristram shandy. [ ] sterne's sentimental journey. [ ] by goldsmith. [ ] smollett's peregrine pickle. [ ] antiquarian fact: the identical pipe and chair used by the celebrated author of the rambler are still in being, and are exhibited as relics of no ordinary value, at the house he used formerly to frequent in bolt-court, fleet-street. it now goes under the very appropriate appellation of dr. johnson's coffee-house. [ ] we more particularly refer to this fact from the reports concerning the cholera morbus that are now in circulation. [ ] discourse on the plague, a. d. --recommends tobacco smoked in a pipe. [ ] physician to the general infirmary of the county of stafford, a. d. . [ ] at that time frequently so called. [ ] vide experiments on the effects of oil of tobacco on pigeons, &c. &c.--phil. trans. vol. xx. part i. append, p. . fonbine sur les poissons, florence. quarto. [ ] treatise on the culture of tobacco. [ ] i am sorry to say our leading black primer is all out; i have been down below, but they cannot spare any there.--_printer's devil._ the witch doctor and other rhodesian studies. the witch doctor and other rhodesian studies. by frank worthington, c.b.e. (_lately secretary for native affairs, northern rhodesia_). london: the field press ltd., windsor house, bream's buildings, e.c. to my wife. contents. the mind of the native. page the witch doctor the riddle of life and death flattery lizizi mironda--a woman man and beast. protective colouring darwin--a bird the lion's skin the reverend mr. bumpus the salvation army captain the sport of kings the lions of makululumi white men and black white men at play on the building of bridges the compleat angler the song of the great occasion the descent of man the railway contractor the licensed victualler the johnnie-come-lately the lost rubies the cattle king partners the letter home the doctor the mind of the native. the witch doctor. i. the native commissioner's court had, with a very brief interval for luncheon, sat throughout the day. the weather was very hot and thundery, for the breaking of the rains was imminent. a number of cases had been disposed of, and the last was now drawing to a close. having listened to the arguments of both sides, the commissioner summed up, gave judgment, and dismissed the litigants, whereupon the native clerk began to collect the papers and put things away. the official lighted a cigarette, put on his hat, and walked towards the door. he was met by his head messenger. "another case, morena,"[ ] said the messenger, pointing to a middle-aged native squatting in the courtyard softly clapping his hands. the hard-worked white man paused; he had thoughts of tea awaiting him in his bungalow a hundred yards away. [ ] _morena_ signifies _chief_. "tell the man to come to-morrow," he said, and walked off in the direction of his house. the head messenger turned to the man sitting in the yard and said: "the morena won't hear you to-day; you must sleep in the compound for to-night; to-morrow he will listen." "but my case is a big one," replied the stranger. "the father of his people will surely hear my case." the messenger pointed to the compound: "all cases are heavy in the hands of those who bring them; the compound is there." the man was evidently distressed. raising his voice in the hope that the commissioner would hear him, he shouted shrilly: "ma-we! ma-we! but mine is a big case, it is one of killing--of killing of people; the father of his people must hear me. oh! morena, i have a case, a big case, a case of killing." but the native commissioner had reached his house and was out of sight, the native clerk had locked the office door and, heedless of the man's wailing, walked away. if he thought at all, it was that sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof; evil meaning work to him. "come, father," said the head messenger, "i go now to the compound, and you with me; to-morrow the morena will hear your case before any other. i, mokorongo, will see to it." but the man was not to be consoled. "no," said he, "my case is a big one, of people killed by witchcraft; i, too, will die to-night. take me to the morena, my father; do not refuse and so kill me." the messenger felt uncomfortable. for some reason, best known to himself, his master disapproved of the killing of people, and also set his face against witchcraft. no witch doctor could practise for long in his district, for was not his medicine stronger than that of any witch doctor? did not the doctors know it, and had they not all moved to a safer place? who, then, could have done this killing by witchcraft? yes, it was a big case, and he would take the man to his master; but he must break in upon the great man's rest with care, or there would be trouble. telling the stranger to come with him, he strode towards the house, pulling down his uniform in front and behind and settling his fez smartly on his head--evidence of some nervousness. arriving at the door, he peered in. the hall was cool and dark, and, coming from the glare, for a moment he could see nothing; the next, he was aware of the commissioner's eye upon him, and started violently at his master's sharp "well, mokorongo, what is it?" he began well: "morena, here is a man who has killed another, and wants to tell of the matter before the sun sets, when he, too, will die." "let the man come to the door." for mokorongo the worst was over. he had with impunity disturbed the great man; the rest would be easy. he fitly marshalled the stranger to the mat just inside the hall door, drew himself up to his full height, and stood by to obey immediately such orders as his master might be pleased to give. the commissioner, who was a good linguist, addressed the seated man direct: "so you have killed a man?" "no, morena." "and you will yourself die to-night?" "no, morena." mokorongo's uneasiness returned; he shifted slightly and gazed at the ceiling. "tell me your story." "morena, my case is a big one; it is of killing--the killing of people, of my son--by witchcraft. yesterday at sunset he died, and i, too, shall die to-night unless the morena, father of his people, makes a stronger medicine, stronger than that of the witch doctor----" here the wretched fellow paused. the commissioner looked thoughtfully at the man in front of him; it was evident that the native dared not mention the witch doctor's name. presently he rose, took from a side-table a decanter, poured himself out some whisky, and added soda from a sparklet bottle. returning to his seat, he drank deeply of the bubbling liquid. the native was much impressed. boiling water alone, so far as he knew, bubbled like that; he knew of the ordeal by boiling water, and had, no doubt, seen more than once the test applied. but this white man drank the boiling mixture with evident pleasure. here, then, was the chief of all witch doctors. he finished his sentence: "--chiromo." "where does he live?" he explained in detail. "of what do you accuse chiromo?" "of killing my son by witchcraft." "go on with your story." "i have some goats. my son herded them by day and put them in the village at night. my son had a black-and-white dog which followed him to the lands each day. two days ago the dog stole a skin from chiromo's bed. chiromo saw the dog eating the skin, and killed him with his axe. chiromo is an angry man: he was angry with my son because his dog had eaten his skin. he knew the dog was my son's dog. he went to my son and said: 'i have killed your dog because your dog has eaten my skin.' "my son was very much afraid and said: 'yes, sir.' "then chiromo took hold of my son's leg just above the knee, like this, and said: 'do you feel pain here?' my son said: 'no.' "then chiromo said: 'you will to-morrow.' "then chiromo took hold of my son's other knee and said: 'do you feel pain here?' my son said 'no.' "then chiromo took hold of my son's arm at the elbow and said: 'do you feel pain here?' my son said: 'no.' "then chiromo touched his other arm and asked my son if he felt pain there. my son said he did not. he also touched him on the back of the neck, asking him if he felt any pain there. my son said he felt no pain. "then chiromo said: 'in your two legs and your two arms and in your neck you will feel much pain to-morrow.' "then chiromo went back to his own hut and my son, who was very frightened, came and told me what chiromo had said to him and i also was frightened, for chiromo is a great doctor. then i went to my hut to sleep and my son went to his hut. "in the morning when i rose the goats were still in the village, and i was angry with my son because he had not taken them to the lands. i called to him, but he did not answer. i went to his hut, and found him very stiff. he told me that chiromo had killed him; that he had much pain in his arms and legs and neck, and that he could not move. i tried to lift him, but he cried out with pain. at sunset he died. oh, morena, chiromo has killed my son. my son who herded my goats. and to-night i myself shall die. chiromo is indeed a great doctor. my case is a big one. a case of killing people by witchcraft. i, too, will----" the native commissioner interrupted the man. "enough, now you may go to the compound, where you will sleep to-night; you will not die, because i must talk with you again." the man clapped his hands, bowed his forehead several times to the floor, patted his chest, rose and withdrew, praising the native commissioner as the custom is: "great chief." "father of his people." "the very great doctor." "sir, my best thanks." "the chief of our country." "the lion, the great elephant, the chief." the head messenger was about to go too, but the commissioner stopped him. "mokorongo, you will have to go out and arrest chiromo." "to-morrow?" "to-night." "his village is far and the sun is setting." "you will get there before morning and will bring chiromo back with you." "how many go with me?" "you go alone." the messenger was very much afraid. he licked his lips, which had become dry, he shuffled with his feet, his gaze wandered from ceiling to floor and round the hall in which the commissioner sat. "mokorongo." "morena." "you are afraid." "i am afraid, morena." "very much afraid." "morena." "why?" "is not chiromo a doctor?" "what of that?" "i am but a man, your servant." "yes, my servant. why, then, are you afraid?" "morena." again the wretched man's eyes looked in any direction but in that of his master. "mokorongo." "morena." "are you ready to start? it is getting late." "yes, it is late, for the sun sets." "are you ready?" mokorongo made no reply: he was now quite frightened. in the ordinary way this simple native was full of courage, he would follow his master anywhere; they had been in a tight corner together more than once and he had shown up splendidly. but then his master, in whom he had implicit faith, had been there. to go alone to arrest a witch doctor was quite another matter. had not the doctor killed the boy in a strange way? no, it was too much to ask a man to do alone, and at night. the commissioner walked to his writing table and took from it a heavy paperweight, which he handed to mokorongo. "take this with you, it will protect you against chiromo, for it is mine." the messenger was satisfied; he put the weight inside his tunic and turned to go. "stop," said the commissioner, "what are your plans?" mokorongo had a quick mind: he unfolded his plan without hesitation. "i will talk awhile with the stranger, who will tell me of chiromo; whether he has a beard or has no beard; whether he is very old or not so old; if he is fat or thin; what his loin cloth is like, or if he wears a skin." "good, and then?" "i will travel to the village, which i shall reach before morning. in the bush i will hide my uniform. near the village i will lie in wait. in the morning chiromo will come out of his hut. all day i will watch and when the people have eaten and sleep i will arrest chiromo." "how?" "i will go to his hut and call to him, saying that i am a traveller from sijoba on my way to katora. that the sun has set and i ask for shelter. i shall tell him that i have some meat of a buck which i found dead near the path. then chiromo will open the door of his hut and i shall tie him. and he will come with me because of my uniform and the people will not hinder me because of my uniform." "good, take the handcuffs. but there is one thing you have forgotten. you must bring in a basket all chiromo's medicine." "i will bring the medicine," replied the messenger, clutching at the paperweight which bulged under his tunic. "go safely," said the master. "rest in peace," replied the man. the commissioner watched the retreating figure. the swinging stride showed self-confidence and courage. mokorongo would do successfully what was required of him. ii. the dawn was breaking. it had rained all night and the ground was very wet. when the first rain falls the earth is slow in absorbing it. little puddles form everywhere and little streams, increasing in volume as they join others, make small lakes or rushing torrents, according to the lie of the land. mokorongo was not comfortable. he had travelled far in the night and had stumbled many times in the darkness. moreover, he was drenched to the skin and very cold. the paperweight consoled him, as it had kept up his courage throughout his long journey. he remembered now the cry of a hyena close to the path at midnight, which had sent his hand clutching at the paperweight. then some large, dark object stirred beside him and bounded away, crashing through the bush. mokorongo's heart had thumped in time to the heavy hoof-beats. however, the dawn had come and his talisman had proved itself a sure shield and protection. the messenger took off his sodden tunic and drew it over his shoulders as a cloak against the wind which always heralds the coming day. he replaced the paperweight inside his shirt, and buckling on his belt again sat down on his heels to watch the village. presently smoke arose from the yard of one of the huts, then from another. a man came out of a low doorway, stretched and yawned. a dog barked, the cattle began to low and fowls to cluck--the day had come. he had chosen his observation post well. in front of him lay the village in a hollow. behind him, a patch of thick bush. to his left ran the path to the cultivated lands and to the next village. on his right was a stretch of rough country, good only for baboons and other beasts: it was unlikely that he would be disturbed from that or any other quarter. the village soon showed signs of full life. when the sun came out mokorongo stripped and spread out his tunic, shirt and loin cloth to dry, placing the paperweight and handcuffs on a little tuft of short grass which was comparatively dry. as the sun crept up the sky, mokorongo's back was warmed and he felt more comfortable. he watched the coming and going of men, women and children until midday. he had easily recognised chiromo. the father of the dead boy had described the witch doctor minutely, but even without that description he would have picked him out. he was fat and looked prosperous; some half-dozen inflated gall bladders of small mammals were tied to tufts of his hair. he wore chillies in the lobes of his ears, a sure sign that he had killed a lion--or a man. his hut, too, was larger than the rest and stood slightly apart. yes, this surely was chiromo; did he not wear, suspended from a string round his waist, the skin of a black tsipa cat? and had not the case-bearer of yesterday said: "chiromo has the skin of a black tsipa?" yes, mokorongo was sure of his man, and as the sun was now hot he gathered together his belongings and carried them into the shade of the thicket, where he settled himself for a sleep. at sunset he awoke. he felt hungry and thirsty, but as there were no means of satisfying either he turned his mind to the work immediately ahead. he crept back to his original post. the cattle were being kraaled; the goats were already settled for the night; women were preparing the evening meal. mokorongo slipped on his tunic shirt and loin cloth and buckled his belt. he put on his fez and tucked the paperweight inside his tunic. he then made sure that the handcuffs snapped as they should and that no amount of tugging would open them; having reset them he put the key in the small pouch attached to his belt. there is little twilight in africa. soon after the sun sets it is dark. he could see chiromo's fire and, in the glow of it, chiromo sitting on a low stool. presently the night sounds began. someone was beating a drum at a distant village. a jackal barked far down the valley. something rustled in a bush near by. the frogs set up their shrill chorus. a dog in the village began to howl, but stopped with a yelp as some woman threw a stick at it. after a while the fires burnt down; there was silence, and mokorongo judged that the time for action had arrived. he came down from the high ground and skirted the village until he came to the path from sijoba. then he turned and walked boldly towards the cluster of huts. the dogs began to bark loudly but it didn't matter now: was he not a stranger travelling from sijoba to katora? he made his way to chiromo's hut. the door was closed. mokorongo knocked. "who is it?" "a stranger travelling from sijoba to katora." "it is late, what do you want?" "yes, it is late. i ask for shelter for the night. i am in luck, for i have found meat and i ask shelter of a friend." there was a stir in the hut and the word meat was repeated several times. mokorongo stood ready with the open handcuffs. would the man never come out? meanwhile the occupants of adjacent huts were also astir and doors were being opened. there would be many witnesses to the arrest of chiromo. at length the door of the hut slid aside, a hand grasped either door post and a woolly head appeared. quick as lightning mokorongo seized chiromo's right wrist and snapped the lock of the handcuff. grasping the black head, he pulled the startled chiromo out of the doorway, and before the witch doctor had recovered from his surprise, also secured his left hand. mokorongo stepped back and surveyed his captive. chiromo said nothing, but the look in his eye made mokorongo's hand fly to the paperweight. the village was astir, and men came running, but, seeing the uniform of authority, stood still. mokorongo was himself again. "what is this?" demanded chiromo. "the morena calls you." "what for?" "how should i know the morena's thoughts?" "loose my hands or ill-luck will come to you." mokorongo said nothing. "listen," said chiromo. mokorongo listened and heard the laugh of a hyena. "that," said chiromo, "is a spirit." mokorongo clutched his paperweight: "it is a beast, and my master's medicine is strong." chiromo looked round at the circle of fellow villagers; he could not see their eyes, but felt that no help might be expected from them; they would not come between him and a government man. chiromo tried again. "in my hut i have much white man's money and a gun--all are yours if you will untie my hands; moreover, the iron hurts me and the morena's orders are that no man be hurt." the mention of the money and the gun reminded mokorongo of the medicine. "go in," he said, pushing chiromo before him. it is well that mokorongo had the paperweight to support his courage. iii. a fire smouldered in a circular hearth in the middle of the floor, but the light from it was so dim that nothing more was visible. mokorongo, kneeling deftly, drew together the unburnt sticks and blew upon the pile; the suddenness with which it burst into flame startled him. then he rose and looked round the hut. chiromo had walked over to his bed; he now sat watching. the blackened walls were profusely decorated with rude drawings, done in light clay, of men and beasts, with here and there a pattern such as one sees on primitive earthenware vessels. from the roof, suspended by a length of plaited bark, dangled the skull of a human being. mokorongo had seen many human skulls in his time, but, in such a place, this ghastly human relic unnerved him a little. the skull spun slightly with the air current which entered the open door, and ghostly eyes seemed to peer from the empty sockets, first at one man, then at the other, as if the lifeless thing were taking a lively interest in the situation. mokorongo pretended to scratch himself; what he really did was to shift the paperweight until it rested under his left arm. in that position he could press it to him without being noticed. the relief it brought was great and lasting. from a peg in the wall hung a mummified mass of what looked suspiciously like entrails; whether human or not the messenger did not pause to consider. the fleshless forearm and hand of a child protruded from the thatch; the fingers were spread out as in the act of grasping. a pile of mouldering skins lay on the floor, and beside it a little heap of dead chameleons; one, more lately killed than the rest, contributed generously to the evil smell which pervaded the hut. just above this carrion was a cluster of black and red weevils as large as mice; they hung from a porcupine quill, each tied to it by a thin strand of twisted sinew. the aimless movements of legs showed that some of the insects were still alive. here and there, propped against the wall, were gourds and pots filled, no doubt, with strange nauseous mixtures brewed by the witch doctor for his evil purposes. well-worn clothing and filthy rags hung from pegs thrust into the thatch where the roof of the hut rested on the mud wall. the bleeding head and slimy skin of a freshly killed goat lay on the floor at the foot of the bed. just beyond it was a large basket covered loosely with a leopard skin; mokorongo made a mental note of this. if chiromo expected his guard to show any sign of fear, he was disappointed. mokorongo drew a small stool towards him, and sat down; with the exception of the bed, it was the only furniture in the hut. the witch doctor was the first to speak: "the gun is yours, father, and the money, when you untie my hands so that i may get them for you." "i have two guns in my village," replied the messenger, "and i also have much money, for as i am a servant of the government, i pay no tax." "can a man have too much money or too many guns?" "i cannot say; but, as for me, i have enough." "how many wives have you?" asked chiromo. the messenger did not answer. such talk did not trouble him. he was a simple african, whose one desire was to please his master; he was proof against bribery in any form. chiromo tried other tactics. "yesterday, they say, i killed a man by charms. it is said also that many men have died by poison. people fall sick, some say, when i think of them in anger. it well may be that your master has fallen sick, for my anger is strong towards him, and is rising against his servant, who has tied me." mokorongo hugged the talisman, but did not reply. he glanced at the skull which at that moment swung towards him, then at the hand which, in the flicker of the firelight, seemed to reach out to grasp at him. he looked at the chameleons, and spat on the floor as he became aware of the stench arising from them; next, the aimless waving of the weevils' legs attracted his attention, and then his glance rested on the basket covered with the leopard skin. chiromo was about to speak again, but mokorongo, springing to his feet, interrupted him. his master had said: "bring chiromo back with you, and bring his medicines." the basket must hold those medicines; moreover, the prospect of listening to chiromo until the morning, seated in the midst of his evil properties, was unthinkable. he would feel more at his ease walking through the night, although it was so dark and cold. he went to the door and called. there was no reply. the village was full of people, but they had a very real fear of what the witch doctor might do. all had crept back to their huts. he called again, and in the name of the government, but still none came. he shouted, that the whole village might hear: "i take chiromo to our chief. bring a rope, that i may tie him and lead him through the night." presently a woman appeared, bringing in her hand a stout rope such as all natives use for trapping antelope. she handed it to mokorongo, volunteering the information that it was her son whom chiromo had killed. she did not actually say that he had been killed, neither did she mention chiromo's name--she dared not do this--but she did say that before sunrise her son had been buried. mokorongo tied a slip-knot in the rope and passed it over chiromo's head. a sharp tug, accompanied by a peremptory "stand, you!" brought chiromo quickly to his feet. indicating successively the horrors hanging from the roof and walls, he said: "put that, and this, and those into the basket." chiromo hesitated, but only for a moment; a tightening rope round one's neck has an unpleasant feeling. with his manacled hands he picked up each repulsive thing and thrust it into the basket. "bring the basket," mokorongo commanded, moving towards the door. outside in the black night, and conscious of the paperweight under his arm, the messenger's full courage and sense of authority returned to him. "let all witnesses to this big case follow quickly to the court; it is the order of the chief and the law of the government." then, helping chiromo to encircle the basket with his arms, he strode off down the path leading from the village, his captive, securely handcuffed and led by the rope round his neck, following tamely enough. iv. the witnesses were many--of all ages and of both sexes. the case promised to be a famous one, so relations and friends had come from the villages round about to attend. the people had travelled slowly, consequently it was late in the afternoon when they arrived. the native commissioner had decided to take evidence on the morrow; the people were therefore directed to camp by the river for the night. chiromo was to remain in the cell to which he had been conducted earlier in the day by the messenger. mokorongo was very happy. he had presented himself to his master on arrival, returned the paperweight, reported the arrest of chiromo, and had handed over the basket of medicines. he would have told his story then and there, but the commissioner, who was busy, dismissed him with "good, now go and eat and sleep. you can return at sundown and tell me everything. i will listen to the witnesses to-morrow." but, of course, mokorongo did not sleep. he felt a hero, and was so regarded by his fellow messengers and others. he told the story of his adventures to all who cared to hear, and they were many. little work was done that day by any native on the station. with much telling the story improved almost beyond recognition. for instance, his seventh audience was thrilled by the recitation of the threatening words which the skull had addressed to him; knots of woolly hair rose when the efforts of the fleshless hand to grasp the master's talisman were described; the brave words which mokorongo had addressed to the basket of medicines when it had shown an inclination to escape by the door drew grunts of admiration; a shudder ran through his hearers when he repeated what the dead chameleons had related to him--how they had once been men, until transformed and killed by the very bad man now under arrest. the narrative was interrupted by one of the house-boys: "you are called," was the curt command, meaning that his master wished to see mokorongo. under the stimulus of the great admiration of his fellows, generously expressed, mokorongo had given free play to his imagination. his narrative had become thrilling; but now, under the cold eye of the master, fancy fled, and the messenger's account of himself conformed to the court formula--the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. how chiromo passed the night cannot, of course, be told. he might have spent the time preparing his defence; it is much more likely that he simply slept. v. everything was ready for the hearing of the case. on the veranda of the court house the commissioner's table had been placed. conspicuous upon it was the paperweight. on the ground in front of it lay the witch doctor's basket with its leopard skin covering. on the right sat chiromo; he was still handcuffed, but without the rope round his neck. by his side stood mokorongo. immediately behind them were ranged the rest of the messengers attached to the station. they, with the court house, formed two sides of a square: the figure was completed by the crowd of witnesses seated on the ground. presently the commissioner was seen approaching along the path which led from his house. the people began to clap their hands, which, in certain parts of africa, is the native way of showing respect. as the commissioner appeared on the verandah, the messengers saluted him by raising their right hands above their heads and ejaculating "morena." the commissioner nodded by way of acknowledgment, the people ceased to clap; there was dead silence. the white man looked across his table at the witch doctor. for a time he said nothing. chiromo blinked and looked away. glancing up and finding that unpleasantly steady gaze upon him still, he again looked quickly away. "unlock those handcuffs," said the commissioner. mokorongo produced the key from the pouch on his belt and freed the witch doctor's hands. addressing chiromo, the official asked: "is it true that you are the killer of people?" "it is not true," replied chiromo. "can you kill people by means of charms and medicines?" chiromo said he could not. "is that your basket?" "yes, it is my basket." "what is in the basket?" "i do not know." "are not the things in the basket yours?" "no, they are your messenger's; he put them in my basket." mokorongo was indignant at the lie. the witnesses, too, were amazed at chiromo's effrontery. but none spoke. "take the things out of the basket one by one and place them on the ground in front of you." the witch doctor without hesitation began to do as he was bid. the skull, the arm, the weevils as large as mice, the chameleons, the stale offal: these mokorongo had seen in the hut, but there were other things he had not seen. a necklet of human teeth, another of small antelope horns, yet another of rats' skulls. these were followed by the shell of a very small tortoise, a bush buck's horn containing a reddish-coloured paste, four discs of ivory strangely carved, commonly known as "witch doctor's bones," a small piece of looking-glass, a dozen or more little bundles of something tied up in scraps of rag, a piece of red clay, a length of snake's skin, several cartridge cases plugged with pieces of wood, the sun-dried paw of a monkey, the beaks of several birds, a feather ball or two, another set of "bones," a small knife with a wooden sheath, a little gourd covered with beads, some charms of various sizes and shapes to wear round the neck or wrist. there were many other bits of rubbish which, at a sign from his master, mokorongo emptied out on the ground. under the direction of the commissioner, chiromo's possessions were separated into two heaps. the skull, the arm, the offal, and anything else of which there was only a single specimen, made one heap. the chameleons, and anything of which there were more than one, were carefully divided, half placed on one heap and the remainder on the other. "none of these things are yours?" asked the commissioner. "none, save the leopard skin," said chiromo. "those i shall want later on," said the commissioner, pointing to the larger heap, "the rest you shall burn." the witch doctor collected some dry grass, and some twigs and some larger sticks. the commissioner produced a box of matches. mokorongo lit the grass. the twigs crackled, the sticks caught fire and burned brightly. "put those things on the fire," said the commissioner, pointing to the smaller of the two heaps. chiromo paused and looked round at the witnesses in a strange manner. as his eyes sought out those of each witness ranged against him, his personality made itself felt. men quailed, women covered their faces, and children cried lustily. the witch doctor pointed suddenly to the sky, then at the ground, and then at the witnesses. picking up a chameleon he dangled it over the flame; he did not drop it in the fire, but looked round again with a malignant grin. this was more than the witnesses could stand; they bolted as fast as their legs could carry them. something dreadful was about to happen. when doctors engaged in a trial of strength, ordinary men were better out of the way. the messengers alone stood fast. they kept their eyes on mokorongo who, in turn, watched the commissioner. "bring back the headman," thundered the commissioner; "two of you will do," as all the messengers started off. the headman of the village in which chiromo lived was quickly brought back, and stood, covering his eyes with his hands. "now go on with the burning," ordered the commissioner. the tone of authority was unmistakable, so chiromo complied without further ado. one by one the medicines, necklets, charms and other rubbish were dropped into the fire. after a while, the headman removed his hands from his face. it was evident that the white man was the stronger doctor of the two. chiromo had looked very bad, it was true, but he had been able to do nothing. one by one the witnesses crept back and took their seats. the commissioner then sent for one of his house-boys and gave him an order in an undertone. the boy presently returned, carrying a carpet slipper. "hold chiromo face downwards on the ground," said the commissioner. the messengers obeyed. "now, mokorongo, beat him." and mokorongo did so, in the manner of a mother chastising her child--but rather harder. chiromo squealed, promising loudly never to offend again. then someone laughed, then another and another; presently all were laughing--with the exception of chiromo--even the commissioner smiled: mokorongo stopped beating and laughed too. the messengers released their hold on chiromo, who got up rubbing a certain portion of his anatomy. everybody laughed again. laughter at a man kills faith in him. the spell was broken. from that day forward this witch doctor, once powerful in hypnotic suggestion, was as other men. "and now," said the commissioner, "we will hear the evidence." the preliminary examination in the case of rex v. chiromo then began. the riddle of life and death. of the many curios which i acquired during my twenty-five years' residence in africa, there is one which i value above all others. i bought it a few weeks before i left the country. it is a round wooden pot with a lid to it. on the lid is the seated figure of a little old man with his shoulders hunched up, his chin resting in his two hands, his elbows on his knees. there is a mildly amused expression on the rudely carved face; whether this is there by accident or design i cannot say. on one side of the pot is a snake in relief; on the other, a tortoise. i bought this pot from a very old native. so old was he that his scanty knots of hair were quite white and his eyes were very dim. he must have been a fine enough man once, but now his dull, greyish-black skin clung in folds about his gaunt frame. i paid the old man the modest price he named, and asked him the meaning of the figures on the lid and sides of the pot. the following is his explanation, given in short, jerky sentences, done into english as literally as our language will permit: "yes, it was a long time ago. so long ago was it that no white man had then come to this country. it was before my father's day. before that even of his father. both died old men. yes, so long ago was it, that only the old people now speak of those past times. it was when men did not grow old and die. there was no death then; all men lived on, and happily. "one day all this was changed. god became angry--that is god on the lid of the pot. what foolish things men did to make god angry, i do not know. he must have been very angry. in his anger god sent his messenger of death to men. he sent his messenger, the snake. then people began to die--that is the snake on the side of the pot. "so many people died that all became frightened. they thought all would soon be dead. in their fear they cried to god. they said they were sorry for their foolish act, whatever that might have been. they promised they would anger him no more. they begged him to recall his messenger, the snake. "after a while god agreed. he said he would recall his messenger, the snake. he would send another messenger--that is the second messenger on the other side of the pot. god sent the tortoise to recall the snake." the old man paused and mused for a little while, and then resumed: "when i was a young man i thought to myself, perhaps the tortoise will overtake the snake; that some day he will deliver god's message. i am an old man now. i do not think the tortoise will ever overtake the snake--at least, not in my time." he said all this without a trace of emotion. he was too much of a philosopher, it seemed, to indulge in anything so profitless as self-pity. "do you kill snakes when you see them?" i asked. "no," said he. "why should i? but i do kill tortoises. the tortoise is very lazy. he runs with his message so slowly. moreover, a tortoise is good meat." having told his story and pouched the price of his pot, the old man rose painfully and hobbled away. just outside my compound gate he paused and made a vicious stab at something in a patch of grass. * * * * * shouldering his assegai, he passed on his way, a writhing tortoise impaled upon the blade. flattery. i. robert gregory was proud of his house. a colonial bishop, passing through on his way to england, stayed with gregory; in his bread-and-butter letter he wrote: "... i think your house the most beautiful and unique in central africa...." unique perhaps it was, but scarcely beautiful. when all is said and done, it was merely the ordinary bungalow of which one finds examples all over africa. in size it was very modest, having only a hall, with a dining-room on one side and a bedroom on the other. there were in addition various excrescences, termed locally "lean-to's." one of these was a pantry, another a storeroom, a third a bathroom, and so on. no, it must have been to the interior decorations that the bishop referred. gregory hoped to marry when next he went to england. during his last visit to the old country, on leave, he became engaged. the woman of his choice had once remarked to him: "i do hope you have heaps and heaps of curios." on his return to africa gregory began to collect curios, and now he had indeed "heaps and heaps" of them. you see, he had his excuses. on the walls of the hall were trophies of assegais and shields. these trophies were arranged in the approved armoury manner; that is to say, a shield in the centre with assegai blades radiating from it in all directions. flanking each of the principal trophies were lesser ones, composed of battle-axes in groups of two or three. these battle-axes were murderous-looking things. the heads of some were crescent-shaped, others were merely wedges of metal. in the intervening spaces were a variety of knives remarkable chiefly for their sheaths, which were curiously shaped and carved. there was a dado, too, round the wall, made of arrows arranged head downwards towards the floor. these were surmounted by bows fixed horizontally to the wall; they completed the dado, as it were. on the other two sides ancient guns of various makes and ages took the place of the arrows. there were flint locks, tower muskets, portuguese, french and german smooth-bore rifles, gaily decorated by native owners with bands of highly polished copper round the barrel and brass-headed nails driven into the stock. on a shelf, which ran round the hall a few feet from the ceiling, were specimens of native pottery. some were highly coloured, others dull red. all had curious patterns scratched on them, done before baking, and most of them bore fire marks and other evidence that their makers were somewhat lacking in the potter's skill. the shapes, however, were pleasing. the dining-room held a miscellaneous collection. the principal objects were musical instruments, chiefly of the harmonica variety, strips of hard wood suspended over gourds of different sizes. in the bad old days human skulls were used in place of gourds. but there were many others, both string and wind instruments, and some rattles. in this room was also a collection of snuff boxes; nearly all of them were minute gourds, differing one from another in decoration. some were completely covered with gaily coloured beads affixed cunningly and in pleasing patterns. some were banded with beads, which gave them the appearance of small school globes. others, again, were simply carved in relief, whilst a few were decorated with plaited brass, copper, or iron wire. all were very neatly made. occupying a space between a window and a door was a unique collection of snuff spoons. these were nearly all made of bright metal. not only do the natives use them for taking snuff, but also for preparing to take snuff and for recovering after snuffing. to be quite plain, they use them as our snuff-taking ancestors used their bandannas. they have yet a third use, namely, scraping the skin on a hot day. the only reason why gregory had so many of these nasty little implements was that they were so neatly made and in such diversity of pattern. in the spaces usually occupied by pictures were specimens of the native weavers' art, very highly coloured cloths of coarse texture. on shelves over the doors and windows of his dining-room were pots, mugs, bowls, and platters of carved wood. the patterns were curiously like those one finds on early pottery dug up in such quantities and in so many spots along the shores of the mediterranean. a kaross or skin blanket was thrown over the back of almost every chair and covered the one settee. there was hardly anything of european manufacture in the hall and dining-room. even the tables and chairs were native made and of country timber. in place of carpets, the floors were covered with rush and reed mats ornamented with strange patterns done in brightly dyed bark and fibre. the bedroom alone held nothing but european furniture. the collection was certainly a remarkable one--i have not attempted a complete inventory--and gregory had taken great pains to arrange it, as some would say, artistically. one day five natives arrived carrying a letter addressed to gregory. it was from a woman, chief in her own right. it ran as follows: april. my friend, i send to you my servant siadiadiadi with four others. as i cannot come to you myself i send my five people. i have heard much of your fine house and wish to see it. as i am old i send my people that they may see it and bring me word of it. i ask you to let them see it for three days, and on the fourth they shall return to me. i am well and all my people are well, but the cattle have a disease. i hope you are well. i must close my letter now with greetings. your faithful friend, movana. written by interpreter jacob mazuni. i believe gregory was pleased: at any rate he permitted the messengers to see his house. for the full three days they stayed. he often found them agape in the hall or in the dining room, taking mental notes. it was clear that the five natives were much impressed. whenever gregory entered the house, they saluted him and crept silently out. there was no reason to guard against theft; uncivilised natives do not steal. on the fourth day siadiadiadi and his companions thanked gregory in the name of their mistress and went away. o wad some power the giftie gie us to see oorsel's as ithers see us! it wad frae monie a blunder free us and foolish notion. ii. some six months later gregory, travelling to the extreme limit of his district, found himself within easy distance of the village occupied by the chieftainess who had been so curious about his house. he felt inclined to go out of his way to see her. when he was resting at midday a native brought him a letter which helped him to make up his mind to do so. my friend, i hear that you have arrived near to my village. please come and see my house. i think you will like it. hoping you are well, with greetings. your faithful friend, movana. written by interpreter jacob mazuni. i, too, send greetings. so gregory went to see the house. outside the village he was met by the usual gathering of elderly headmen, polite and dignified, who led him to the door of their chief's house. the house was barnlike, with a high, well-thatched roof. at the entrance stood the owner. she was very stout and wore a print dress. a red shawl was thrown over her shoulders, and she had a very small straw hat perched on her large, woolly head. gregory noticed that the hat was very much on one side. her feet were bare. after unusually hearty greetings she led the white man into her house. when gregory stepped over the threshold he stopped and stood looking from wall to wall aghast. the old black woman interpreted his open mouth to indicate admiration, wonder. this is what he saw. on a deal table a complete toilet set. complete to the extent that it included two of those very intimate pieces of domestic furniture seldom seen outside the shops where toilet ware is sold, and surely never before exhibited with pride by the owner. hanging awkwardly from a nail in the wall, a slop pail of enamelled iron. this was supported on the one side by a dustpan and brush, on the other by a pair of elastic-sided boots. on each side of this remarkable trophy were pinned two very ordinary coloured pocket handkerchiefs. on a small corner shelf was a large brown earthenware teapot with the words "advance australia" done in raised letters. four enamelled ware egg cups were its companions. one wall was devoted exclusively to kitchen utensils; new tin kettles predominated, but almost everything was represented. opposite this bright array the wall was literally covered with bedding. the centre piece was a mattress; sheets on one side, blankets on the other, pillows above, bolsters below. but what shocked gregory more than anything else was a regular trousseau of feminine underclothing, ranged round the door through which he had entered. he blushed hotly and with difficulty suppressed an impulse to bolt without ceremony. "what do you think of my house, my friend?" "i think it--er--beautiful, the most wonderful in all the world." "yes, i thought you would like it. do you not like the things my people use? for myself, i like the things the white people use. you put the black man's things in your house. i put the white man's things in my house. we are two friends who have the same thoughts. you buy from the people. i buy from the traders. the traders have promised to bring me many more things. my house is not finished yet. after the rains it will be finished, then you must come and see it again." * * * * * when gregory reached his bungalow after his journey he stripped his walls and packed all his curios in boxes. these he despatched to his father in england, who was very pleased with them. he replaced his curios by the hundred best pictures, framed suitably in fumed oak. "lizizi." i. the native commissioner was hurrying home. it was nearly midday and getting hot. moreover, he had been on a long journey and was anxious to get back to his bungalow which, for him, meant a measure of civilisation. his garden, his books, prints on the wall, white ducks, fair cooking and no more tinned food for a while, a cool verandah and occasional converse with his fellow officials. at daylight he had left his caravan to follow whilst he pushed on ahead. his sturdy horse also had thoughts of home for, in spite of the heat, he cantered briskly along the dusty road without any encouragement from his master. half a mile from the house a short cut skirted a patch of young gum trees and led through the servants' compound to the back door of the bungalow. the horse, without hesitation and not waiting for direction, took the short cut. as a general rule the commissioner chose the longer way. he preferred entering his own house by the front door; he had designed and built his home himself and had given much thought to its face and approach, for, who could tell, might he not some day lead an english bride up the winding drive? the commissioner let the beast have his way: he was amused and, leaning forward, patted his horse's neck. as he clattered through the compound he caught sight of some of his servants conversing with a stranger. there was nothing remarkable in that, but two things he noticed. one, that his people did not see or hear him until he was almost abreast of them, and secondly, that the stranger, a native from the river district, let him pass without the usual salute. he rode on and dismounted at the back of the house. a groom took his horse. a small boy opened the door for him and led him through to the front hall. the commissioner dropped into a chair and, after a short rest, busied himself with getting comfortable. a shave, followed by a hot bath, a change into "slacks," a light luncheon, and a pipe. then he attacked his accumulated mail. he had scarcely sorted his home from his official letters--the latter could well wait--when his head house boy came in rather breathless. "morena," he said, "what is to-day?" "what do you mean, the day of the month or of the week, and why do you ask?" "oh no," said the boy, "but what is the number of the day?" "tuesday the sixth. why?" "it is only that i wanted to know, for has not the morena been absent for a great many days?" "well, it's the sixth, tuesday the sixth of september." "thank you, morena." the boy withdrew. the native commissioner turned to his letters again. his mother had written pages telling him of his sister's engagement to his oldest friend; his sister wrote more pages about her happiness; his father referred to his younger brother at oxford, to the engagement just announced, and described the latest strike at some length. presently he got up and went out to the verandah to stretch his legs. he admired his garden and mentally praised his own cunning in setting it out. the rains had not yet broken but some of the trees were already in new leaf. what a blaze of colour there would be in a few weeks! "morena, what day is it to-day?" turning, he met the gaze of a garden labourer who, spade in hand, was standing slightly in advance of some half a dozen of his fellows. "the sixth. but why do you ask?" "it is because black people do not know how to count, and one day with us is as another." all returned to their work. a few minutes later the dog boy came with a litter born during his master's absence. they were a likely looking lot and the native took personally the remarks passed upon his charge: he appeared to assume responsibility for their colour, shape and sex. "morena, what day is it to-day?" "why?" "see, morena, i mark each day on a stick; the dogs were born ten days ago." "well, it's the sixth." "thank you, morena." at sundown the cattle came in. the herdsman came up to the house to report that the two calves born whilst his master was away on his journey were heifers, and received a few shillings as a reward for his good management when bull calves came the cattle herd made many excuses and neither expected nor received any reward. "you have done well." "thank you, morena," said the boy, tying the silver in a corner of his loin cloth. "what is the number of the day to-day?" now this was the fourth time the question had been asked. what did it mean? could it mean anything of importance and, if so, what? but the commissioner decided in his own mind that his people had some trivial dispute and were appealing to him to settle a knotty point. still, he felt a little curious as to what that point might be, but knowing natives well, concluded that he would hear about it all in good time. he asked no question this time but replied simply: "the sixth." the news of his return spread quickly and several officials dropped in for a "sundowner." headquarters news, dull and trivial as it usually is, was quickly disposed of. the browns had gone home on leave, jones had just come back, and robinson had passed the law exam very well. a lion had been heard outside the township, and a mad cur had run amok through the compounds and, as a result, several good dogs had been shot and half a dozen natives sent south for treatment. what sport had the commissioner had? on the whole, bad; he had missed a black-maned lion in a patch of bush near the river, and as the beast slipped through to the main forest he didn't bother to follow. he had, however, bagged a small leopard and two full-grown cheetahs. there were plenty of birds and buck about and, oh, yes, he had killed a bad old buffalo bull who nearly turned the tables on him. after listening to the details of the adventure, the visitors rose to leave. no, he would not join them at the club later, he felt tired and was looking forward to a comfortable bed for a change. the commissioner dined alone and turned in early. in the morning he woke with a start. it was late, nearly eight o'clock; what the deuce were his people about? he jumped out of bed and went to the bath-room. the bath was not set ready. he called to his boy. there was no answer. he slipped on a dressing gown and went to the kitchen. it was empty, the fire was not even lighted. he went back to the house for a pair of slippers and a hat and walked across to the native compound. by this time he was very angry. to his amazement, the compound was quite empty. on his way back he looked in at the stable. his horses whinnied: they had not been fed, nor had the stable been cleaned. he fed the horses himself and then walked over to the cattle kraal. his half-dozen cows had not been milked. at that moment the magistrate came up. "what's the matter with the natives?" "i don't know, why?" "not a black soul in the township will do a hand's turn." "mine aren't here." "is there going to be a rising?" "certainly not. you people who live in camp are always expecting risings." "well, you know best, of course, but the boys refuse to work. they say lizizi has told them not to." "who's lizizi?" "how should i know? i came to ask you that." "never heard of him." "well, what are you going to do about it?" "i don't know yet. send some of your people down to me, mine have made themselves scarce." "right, but what are you going to do to them?" "nothing, of course, except question them." "i'll send my two house boys down." "send your cook as well." "why my cook?" "because i haven't had my breakfast yet." "well, neither have i for that matter." "then you had better come with them, we'll have breakfast all right." the magistrate went away and the commissioner returned to his house to dress. he hated having no bath; he disliked, too, going without breakfast. discomfort on a journey he thought nothing of, but discomfort in his own home was ridiculous. when the commissioner emerged from his room, dressed but unshaven, and in a very bad temper, he found his head native in the hall and the rest of the servants standing on the verandah. "we wish to speak with you," said the boy. "i, too, have something to say." "we cannot work to-day. to-morrow we will work." "you will work to-day and now." "no, morena, we cannot work to-day, to-morrow we will work well." "why can't you work to-day?" "because lizizi says we may not work to-day." "who's lizizi?" "a great doctor." "where is he?" said the commissioner, looking round. "no, he is not here, morena, he lives on the zambesi. he sent his man with a message yesterday." "was that the messenger i saw in the compound?" "yes, morena." "where is he?" "he has gone." "where?" "he did not say where he was going. he told us he must carry the master's messages." "what are the messages?" "no man may work for his master to-day." "what are the others?" "that is all he said to us." "have you eaten this morning?" "yes, morena." "then bring breakfast for the magistrate and me, and quickly." "but, morena--" "well?" "i may not work to-day." "breakfast is food, not work. bring it." "yes, morena." the boy went out. the commissioner turned to the rest of his servants. "you won't work to-day?" the cattle herd answered: "we may not, it is forbidden." "who forbids you?" "lizizi." "who is lizizi?" "the great doctor." "great?" "yes, morena. does he not jump into the river and come out alive on the third day?" "i should say not, but where does he live?" "at minanga, on the zambesi." "go to your work. i will visit this lizizi. there is some mistake. the messenger is a foolish fellow, he had forgotten his master's words. i will see to it. tell all the people that i go on a visit to lizizi. he who does not work now and at once and well will meet with misfortune." the servants dispersed to their various occupations. slowly at first, and with evident reluctance; but, hearing that the head boy was busy getting his master's breakfast, they, too, set about their various duties. when the magistrate arrived he found everything normal. he had breakfast with the commissioner. when the meal was over he found his own servants had gone back to his compound. the word had spread abroad that the commissioner would visit lizizi and put matters right. "how did you do it?" "just talked to them a little." "no violence, i hope?" "unnecessary." "what was it all about?" "i know no more than you, but intend to find out." in a few hours the commissioner was on his way to minanga, on the zambesi, the home of lizizi, the great doctor. ii. all next day, and for several days following, natives might be seen passing south in the direction of minanga. the curious thing about these flocks of travellers was that they were chiefly composed of children--little children, from infants in arms to boys and girls of nine or ten, none older. when questioned, the parents would reply simply: "we are called. we are called to minanga by lizizi--by lizizi, the great doctor." the native servants who worked in the houses of the officials could, or would, give no fuller explanation. "yes, they are called by lizizi," was the only answer to all questioning. in the club, speculation as to what the commissioner would do monopolised the conversation. nearly all the officials wagered on a native rising. the commandant of police went about to prepare systematically for an event of this kind. iii. the commissioner travelled light and quickly. he, too, passed hordes of natives, mostly children. he, too, learnt that lizizi called--that lizizi had apparently mustered all the children of the district. he was now doubly certain that this was no native rebellion, or the children would have been conspicuously absent. he grudged lizizi this implicit obedience. two could not run the same country. at length he approached minanga. the neighbouring villages were thronged with children. in minanga itself there were many hundreds. the commissioner rode to the centre of the village and demanded to be shown lizizi's hut. he was led up the hill to a single small hut built half-way up the slope. in front of it grew a huge tamarind tree. "there is lizizi," said his guide, pointing to an old man sitting on a stool in front of the hut. the commissioner watched. a strange performance was going on. a long queue of children was moving slowly past the seated figure, and as each child was marshalled forward--screaming with fright, for the most part--the old man put his hands on its head. the commissioner rode up to the hut. the old man touched the head of the child in front of him with his crossed thumbs; that was all, and the child passed hurriedly on to join a throng, already large, of others who had passed through the ordeal, or whatever it was. on seeing the commissioner the old man rose and seated himself on the ground, clapping his hands by way of greeting. this curious native wore a large pair of spectacles, which gave him a benevolent air. his feet were bare--so, too, was his head--but he was otherwise clothed to the extent of a patched and very dirty shirt and an aged pair of trousers. "are you lizizi?" asked the commissioner. "morena, i am his slave." "where is lizizi?" "he walked on the water. then he went to the bottom of the river and stayed there. after three days he came out alive and well. some people said so who saw him." "where is he now?" "who can tell?" "did you send that message to the servants of the white men, saying that they were not to work?" "i sent my master's message." "what are you doing to these children?" "my master said they must come." "what for?" "i put my hands on them, as my master said. lizizi said: 'let the children come, the little children, and do not stop them.' and lizizi said: 'you must work for six days, and on the seventh day you must not do anything.'" so that was the explanation. it came to the commissioner in a flash. "who are you?" he asked. "my name is sinyoro." "you have worked for a white man?" "yes, i was with the mission." "i thought as much." "lizizi" was the nearest this native could get to jesus. the poor old man was, it transpired, a little mad. he had lived with the missionaries for many years, and had recently asked permission to visit friends on the zambesi. the head missionary had let him go. as he afterwards explained, he knew the man was a little mad, but quite harmless. they had christened him james--james sinyoro. however, james, it seemed, had been trying his prentice hand at missionary work, and had given orders based on the little he remembered of the mission bible teaching. * * * * * james sinyoro returned to the mission station, and the district to its normal tranquillity. mironda--a woman. the paramount chief had many wives. a newly arrived missionary, determined to convert the great man, opened his attack by asking why he had so many wives. the answer was disconcerting: "for political reasons." this matter of the chief's was a rock upon which all missionary endeavours foundered. the chief must discard all his wives, save one. the chief was determined to keep them all. to another reformer he said: "leave me alone. do what you will with the children and young people. leave me to myself. you have shown me that my beliefs are foolish. you have not proved to me that yours are any wiser." a third good man, about to transfer his activities to other fields, offered to present the chief with his bright brass bedstead provided he became a christian. "let me see it," said the old heathen. the bed was produced. "i have a better one. i paid a trader ten head of cattle for it." so no bargain was struck. i think there must have been some grounds for saying that he clung to his many wives "for political reasons," because they, or at any rate some of them, were more trouble to the chief than they were perhaps worth. there was mavevana, for instance, who was large and fat and therefore very beautiful from a native point of view, but whose tongue was a constant source of strife without and within the harem. i should explain that each wife had her own group of huts. these groups--there were seventeen of them--were surrounded by a high reed fence, strengthened by sharply-pointed poles. the harem was a village within a village. outside the fence the common people lived. each woman had her slaves. a strong guard of fully-armed men patrolled the harem at night. old sikoro, the keeper of the harem, was about day and night. then there was mironda. poor mironda, who later paid, as women do, be they white, black or yellow. mironda was rather nearer to yellow than to black. i think she had some european blood in her. one does not often see a native woman with hazel eyes nor with freckles; and besides, she was very tall and slim. as a special mark of his good will the chief once took me through his harem. that is how i first came to see mironda. the woman aroused my interest. when we entered her compound she glared at her lord and master as a caged beast does upon free men. she did not for a moment take her eyes off him. she never so much as glanced in my direction. her eyes caught the light once and reflected it as do those of a cat, a tiger. yes, that was it, she put me in mind of a caged tiger. she clasped her hands continuously during our short stay. the click, click, click of her ivory bangles drew my attention to her hands. her hands and her wrists were very small, her finger nails long and sharp. i noticed her hands particularly because she had solid ivory bangles on each arm from wrist to elbow. these bangles were very small and, as they were solid, could only pass over very small hands. i saw this curious woman twice only: the second time was some years later. as i have said before, old sikoro was the keeper of the harem. i hated him instinctively the moment i first set eyes on him: i hated him more when i heard the whole story. sikoro had only one eye. in his youth he had had smallpox, which pitted his face remorselessly and destroyed one eye. he wore a soldier's red tunic, the colour dimmed with age and dirt. perched on his head was a tall cone-shaped fur cap which he plucked off whenever he met a superior. he was always plucking it off, not because he was really inferior in the black man's social scale to all he so saluted; on the contrary, in view of his office, he was an important person; he was over polite because he chose to appear humble. the man knew his power well: his occupation gave him the ear of the chief. all realized this and were ready to show him the respect which was justly his due: sikoro was before them in showing respect, which was unnecessary. men did not understand this humbleness of his and feared him. sikoro loved their fear. the woman, mironda, alone had no fear of him. she despised the man and did not try to hide it. she often refused to see him. it was only utter boredom that induced her to admit him to her compound at all. the truth is he was a great gossip and was the link between the harem and the outer world. sikoro knew everything, was an authority on everything, and the first to hear all news. now this is what befell mironda. i don't blame her; no one could. i consider her a victim of circumstances. the old, old story. a young and impulsive woman, an elderly, much married lord, a well-favoured young man. the long and the short of it is that mironda was in the end divorced; but the manner of that divorce enrages me whenever i think of it. one morning she was sitting on a mat in the shade thrown by the overhanging thatch of her hut. she was singing in a low voice and threading beads picked with the point of her needle from a wooden bowl held by a small girl slave. the father of mbututu was killed on the sand bank wei ye-i, wei i-ye, wei ye-i, wei i-ye, the father of mbututu was killed on the sand bank wei ye-i, etc. the monotonous chant in a minor key was interrupted by someone scratching on the reed fence. "go," said mironda to the child, "see who it is." the child put down the bowl of beads and ran to the fold in the fence which formed the gate. she looked out. a glance was sufficient. she ran back past her mistress and into a far hut, muttering as she went "ma--we! ma--we! it is sikoro!" mironda moved uneasily on her mat, then fell to fumbling nervously with the brightly-dyed bark patterns which ornamented it. sikoro slouched into the compound, removing his fur cap as he came. just inside he knelt down and sat on his heels, placing his cap on the ground beside him. he arranged his voluminous skirts carefully round him and then clapped his hands very respectfully. mironda did not look at him. after a short interval sikoro broke the silence. "good day to you, morena." "yes, good day." "and has the chief's wife slept well?" "she has." "and the slaves of her house, have they slept well?" "they have." "and is the chief's wife pleased with the new shawl chosen by sikoro as a gift from the chief to his wife?" "it is all right." sikoro relapsed into silence and mironda did not speak. presently the man got up and, in a crouching attitude, shuffled nearer and sat down as close as possible to the edge of the woman's mat without actually touching it. to touch the mat of the chief's wife would have been an offence, to come so near to it was studied insolence. mironda looked up angrily, met the bloodshot eye of sikoro and opened her mouth as if to speak. instead of doing so, however, she looked away and examined the work upon which she had been engaged when the man arrived. sikoro grinned and, detaching from his belt a small gourd, emptied some snuff into the palm of his hand. this was a deliberate insult to the chief's wife and conclusive evidence to her, if indeed she needed it, that she might now expect the worst. sikoro blew his nose unpleasantly and loudly sniffed up the snuff from the palm of his hand. then, clearing his throat, he said: "someone has stolen one of the chief's heifers." "eh." "a yellow one which the chief might well have sold to a jew." "so." "it is no great loss to the chief, as the heifer is barren." mironda's eyes blazed with fury; she had no child. "the thief has been caught." "what will be done with him?" ah! he had aroused her interest at last. sikoro smiled pleasantly as he said: "he will, of course, be strangled." "will not the missionaries prevent it?" "the missionaries? they do not know and may not know for many days, and anyhow, what could they do?" "the white man's government will prevent the killing of people." "no doubt the white man's government will do many foolish things, but the magistrate has not yet come." "he is coming soon." "but they strangle miyobo to-day, now." no name had been mentioned before: indeed it was not necessary even now; mironda had known sikoro's errand from the manner of entry into her compound. the abominable man leant forward and repeated: "now, now, now," then put his hand to his ear. the woman listened, too, and heard distinctly the shriek and gurgle of a dying man: then silence save for the pattering of slaves' feet and their shrill inquiries and conjectures. miyobo had been strangled just outside the compound in which the woman sat. mironda looked at sikoro with wide eyes of fear. he, of course, enjoyed the situation. did he not hate this woman for her overbearing pride? had not she and miyobo fooled him more than once, and had it not been the merest chance which had delivered them into his hand? his one eye contracted with merriment, a cruel smile lifted his lip and disclosed a row of sharply-filed teeth--the tribal mark of a subject race; he was a freed slave. pointing to the bangles on the woman's arm, sikoro asked: "what are you doing with the chief's ivory?" one by one mironda took her bangles off and placed them on the mat before her. "is not that the chief's new shawl?" the wretched woman took the garment from her shoulders and laid it on the mat beside the bangles. "and why," said sikoro, "do you sit on the chief's mat?" mironda slowly rose to her feet. "and is not this the chief's hut?" this was the last word, the full sentence of divorce; she, now a common woman, had no right to stand where she stood. she looked hastily round the compound and then walked silently to the gate and so out. the man gathered up the ivory bangles and tied them in the shawl. he rolled up the mat upon which mironda had been sitting and tucked it under his arm. then, spitting contemptuously on the ground, he followed. * * * * * some years later i saw mironda, clothed in the rags of a slave woman, begging food at the mission station. when the wife of the chief is divorced, her fall is gradual. for a space she becomes the wife of a head man, who presently passes her on to someone lower in the social scale, and so from hand to hand she passes until she becomes the consort of a slave. in mironda's case she first became the wife of sikoro; surely a no more cruel punishment could have been devised for her. man and beast. protective colouring. mobita had views on protective colouring. who is mobita? oh, an elephant hunter, a black man; a very good fellow--as black men go. mobita used to say that elephants, and big and small game generally, could not see black and white. black they could and white they could, but not a judicious combination of the two. his usual hunting kit was a black hat with a white feather in it, a black waistcoat over a white shirt, a black and white striped loin cloth. his thin arms and legs were dull ebony. there you have mobita. mobita's theory worked very well for a time, but as he had missed an essential he paid the penalty in the end. a zebra is black and white--more or less--and in the bush is practically invisible so long as it stands still. that, then, is the essential adjunct to protective colouring--you must keep still. this is what happened to mobita. just before the war i was hunting on the edge of the great swamp. early one afternoon, when the day was at its hottest, i heard a shot fired. later, i met a freshly-wounded tusker and dropped him. i went up to have a look at him, and found dry blood on his ground tusk and a hole behind his near shoulder; someone had just missed his heart. my shot took him in the ear. i left some of my men to cut out his tusks, and, out of curiosity, went back along his spoor. i had not far to go. sitting round a pile of green branches i found a dozen of mobita's people, looking very glum. they told me their yarn, which i did not believe until i had had a look round for myself. the spoor told me their story was true enough. it appears that mobita had followed the bull since early morning. he got in a moderate shot; the bull saw him and gave chase. the ground was unbroken, with no large ant-hills or big trees to dodge behind. here and there they went, this way and that, but the tusker kept his eye on mobita--on his protective colouring, i should think. then somehow mobita tripped and fell, and the game was up. the elephant stamped on him, knelt on him, put his tusk through him. then--and here is the strange part of it all--went from tree to tree picking green branches and piling them up on what was left of mobita. then he moved off and shortly met me. did i bury mobita? why, no. people came around presently--as natives will when meat is about--and i made them pile stones on him; quite a hill they made. i paid them for their trouble with elephant meat, and handed the tusks to mobita's men, as the custom is. protective colouring is all right, no doubt--if you keep still. darwin--a bird. when the railway construction reached to within reasonable distance of my camp, i realised how tired i was of living in a mud hut, and acquired sufficient material from the contractor for a small house. i also asked him to spare one of his carpenters to erect it for me. the man sent to me was a german named fritz kunst. he was not only a carpenter, but a mason, bricklayer, plumber, and painter as well. he was an excellent workman, a member of no union, and intent only on finishing his job quickly and well. i hasten to explain that this was many years before the war. in build he was very short, almost deformed. his head was abnormally large; so, too, were his hands and feet, especially his feet. he looked upon his feet as his salvation. he was flat-footed, and on that account had never served in the german army. he referred to his feet as, "my goot luck, isn't it?" i had but one fault to find with him. he was rough with his native servant. the boy sometimes complained to me, and when i remonstrated with kunst or threatened him with the law he would burst into a flood of tears and offer to pay cash for his lapse. one day the boy complained to me that kunst had beaten him severely and without cause. he could, however, show no mark, but i sent for his master and demanded an explanation. kunst was evidently very angry with the boy, for he shook his fist in his face and bellowed in his coarse, guttural voice: "zo, you make er tam vool of me, eh? i will your head break. you spoil my money. gott tam you!" in broken english, but with considerable fluency and force, kunst told me the source of his indignation. it appeared that from time to time he commissioned his boy to make small purchases for him--eggs, fowls, milk, fish, and the like. on the previous evening the boy produced a very large egg for which he said he had paid sixpence. as eggs were then never more than sixpence a dozen in that country, kunst charged him with cheating. the boy explained that the egg was a very large one. it was large--huge, in fact--for a hen's egg, so kunst did not press the charge, but went to bed, telling the boy to boil it for breakfast next morning. on the breakfast-table the egg looked larger than ever. it couldn't sit in the tin egg-cup, so lay on the table beside it. now kunst was a greedy man and attacked the egg in the best of good spirits. he tried to crack it in the usual way with a spoon, but without success. he banged it on the table. the shell did crack then, but, to kunst's indignation, the egg proved to be hard set. whether he thought parts of it might be good i cannot say, but the german broke open the egg and examined it more closely. he then became very angry indeed, for what he found satisfied him that the egg was not a hen's egg at all. the creature upon which he gazed was three-parts beak and most of the rest was made up of feet. kunst had never seen anything like it. in a rage of disappointment he beat the boy. he had so looked forward to eating that very large egg which the boy assured him was a hen's egg. had not his trusted servant declared that the egg had cost sixpence? i soothed kunst's ruffled feelings, and persuaded him to go to his work and forgive the boy. when i had settled the little differences between the german and the native, i cross-questioned the latter. it transpired that the giant egg was that of a marabout stork which had nested in a tree a few miles away. as one egg still remained in the nest, i told the boy to let a week or two go by, and if by then the egg had hatched out to bring the chick to me. in due course darwin arrived. i did not call him darwin for several weeks; the name occurred to me later. darwin was the queerest of objects. he was a large ball of fluff based on two very long legs, and surmounted by a huge beak protruding from a bald head. he was wise from birth; it was when i had fully realised how very wise he was that i christened him darwin. when he first came to me he made no proper use of his legs. he could not stand erect, but sat awkwardly with his bird equivalent to knees protruding behind and his large feet, with toes spread out, in front. he resembled a downy globe on rails. he crawled about my bungalow almost from the first day i had him. this he managed by sliding first his right hand rail along the floor and then his left, clapping his huge beak after each movement. i suppose i subconsciously accepted this beak clapping as the crooning of a baby bird, for i soon found myself indulging in baby talk with him. his appetite was amazing; moreover, he was omnivorous. when it was neither his meal time nor mine, he would sit on the floor in front of me blinking up at me with wisdom in his eyes. he winked. there is no doubt about it. it was as if he had just remarked: "what you and i don't know isn't worth knowing." i soon dropped the baby talk with darwin, and discussed with him affairs of state. he grew rapidly. one day i detected a feather. by degrees feathers replaced the down, but the most important sign of darwin's growing up was when he took his first step. one morning without warning he heaved himself up, and, by using his beak as a third leg, actually stood on his feet. for the space of a full minute he remained in this position, then, suddenly lifting his head, he was erect. for one moment only; then, overbalancing backwards, he fell with a crash full length on the floor. he appeared stunned at first. i picked him up and placed him on his rails again, and there he sat, thinking the matter over. presently he repeated the manoeuvre, but with no better success, falling this time on his "front" as a child would say. again i gathered him up, and apparently, after mature consideration, he decided that his time for walking had not yet come, for he made no more attempts that day. about a week later, as if the idea had struck him for the first time, he got up quite suddenly, and coolly walked out of the back door into the yard; he stood there sunning himself, and chattering to and at everybody and everything in sight. darwin never looked back. he quickly developed a curiosity as insatiable as his appetite. he became playful, too. he made friends with the dogs, and romped with them. he noticed that the doctor paid a daily visit to the compound, and hid behind the fence in wait for him. as the doctor sped past on his bicycle, darwin would shoot out his heavy beak at him. so sure a marksman did the bird become--he always narrowly missed the saddle, but hit the doctor--that the good man complained, and approached the compound by the long way round. the day arrived when certain puppies had to lose their tails. darwin took a proper interest in the operation, and gobbled up each tail as it fell. he appeared to like dogs' tails, and went in search of more. he found a nice long one which he tried to swallow, but it happened to be still attached to an elderly greyhound. poor darwin met with his first serious rebuff in life; he came to me for sympathy with a large puncture in his beak. the mark of the dog's displeasure was permanent. when natives came, as they did in hundreds, to sell the produce of their gardens, woods, and streams, darwin inspected their wares. with a twist of his beak he would filch a pinch of meal from a bowl to see, so the natives declared, whether it was of uniform whiteness throughout. eggs had to be protected with outstretched arms, so, too, had baskets of little fishes, for he was very partial to them both, and only a very full sample would satisfy him. the natives declared him possessed. judging by the way he first abused and then assaulted any one of them bold enough to resist his inspection, i think they were right. i have already mentioned his curiosity. he permitted this defect in his character to carry him too far when he became a common thief. a traveller stayed with me for a few days. in spite of warning, he left the door of his hut open when he came across to the mess hut for breakfast. darwin entered to inspect. it is surmised that he swallowed my guest's shaving brush and tooth brush, for they have never been found. it is only surmise, but there was circumstantial evidence to support the charge in the form of the stick of shaving soap which was found on the floor with marks on it which might have been made by the beak of a large bird. again, the contents of two boxes of cigars were found scattered far and wide; each cigar had been nipped in half. darwin was questioned; he looked wise but said nothing. a native witness swore he had seen the accused walking in the yard with the white man's pipe in his mouth. this was a wicked slander, for the white man had that pipe in his pocket, and it was his only one. the case was not proven, but darwin left the court without a shred of character. i have referred to his appetite. one day the cook missed a piece of lamb's neck, weighing probably half a dozen pounds. he couldn't blame the cat, because there wasn't one, so he pointed the finger of accusation at darwin. the evil bird was sent for. i felt he was guilty, and, although he winked at me for sympathy, i had to say so. besides, he had not been sufficiently careful to hide the loot; even a professional detective could have recognised the meat by the very large, irregular bulge in the bird's pouch. in places the mutton bones threatened to pierce the thin disguise. darwin certainly had his uses. no nasty-smelling scrap could lie undetected for long. his scent was keen and his eye sharp. i never found a snake in the house after darwin grew up, nor were there many rats about the place. once a huge swarm of locusts fell upon us, and all hands turned out to destroy them. darwin joined in the fray, and soon we retired and left him to finish the job, as he disposed of thousands to our joint hundreds. his method was simplicity itself. he dashed here, there, and everywhere with his huge beak wide open. only now and then, and for a moment, did he close it to gulp down what had fallen in. the doctor, who lived a mile away, did not like darwin; partly because of his stupid trick of pecking at him as he cycled by, but chiefly because he seemed to know what was going on in the hospital. if an operation was being performed, darwin could be heard tramping about impatiently on the corrugated iron roof of the building. as the marabout stork mainly lives on carrion scraps, there was, the doctor considered, questionable taste in darwin's visits. alas! darwin met with a violent death in his early prime. like all others of his kind, he grew those beautiful downy feathers so highly prized by women who dress well. there was a demand throughout the country for the feathers, and many of these delightful and useful birds died at the hands of the natives in consequence. an operation was going on at the hospital, and darwin was hurrying thither on foot, as i had recently cut the feathers of one of his wings. in the road he met a strange native, who despatched him with his assegai, stripped him of his feathers, and walked on. the spoiler soon came up with two of my servants who, on hearing of the man's good luck, as he put it, took him back to the scene of the outrage. yes, it was "da-wi-ni"; was not that the hole in his beak which the angry greyhound made? my servants decided that darwin had been most foully murdered, and acted according to their lights. * * * * * it was well that the doctor knew his job. after six anxious weeks the native was so far recovered from the beating as to be pronounced out of danger. the lion's skin. in the year sergeant johnson, the one with the bright red beard, was sent up country to establish and to remain in charge of the new out-station of likonga. likonga, a little-known spot in central africa, was, and still is, miles away from civilisation. sergeant johnson's command was cut to small dimensions by malaria at headquarters. he had but a corporal and two men. likonga in those days consisted of nothing but a name on the map, and nothing at all in the way of buildings or anything else to show you when you had got there. the commandant of police had dotted vaguely the imperfect sketch map with his pencil, and had instructed sergeant johnson to go there. the sergeant had glanced at the map as it lay on the office table, and had said, "yes, sir." "you will take with you corporal merton and privates hay and hare. i cannot spare more." again the sergeant said, "yes, sir." "you will take rations for ninety days, the small buck waggon, and the black span of oxen." for the third time sergeant johnson said, "yes, sir." now, this man with the bright red beard had been a soldier elsewhere before he became a policeman in the middle of africa. his old training had not encouraged questions, so he never asked any now. when, therefore, the commandant of police glanced up from the map, the sergeant saluted, turned about, and left the office. he wasted no time. he took corporal merton, privates hay and hare, the small waggon, ninety days' rations, a span of fourteen black oxen, the zulu jacob to drive, and the kaffir boy "nine-thirty" to lead. just before sundown he pulled out of camp. it is hardly necessary, perhaps, to say that the leader of a waggon is the native who walks in front of the oxen, but it is necessary to explain that a leader of oxen in africa answers to any name flung at him. this particular one was called "nine-thirty" because, without any apparent effort, he stood and walked with his feet splayed at what should have been an impossible angle to his legs. if his right big toe pointed east, his left one pointed west, whilst he himself faced north or south, as the case might be. for seven days the party travelled in a northeasterly direction, sergeant johnson spending most of the time on his back on the waggon, corporal merton tramping immediately behind, whilst privates hay and hare followed at any distance ranging between a hundred yards and half a mile. the party was not a cheery one; it might have travelled for yet another day, or even more, had not the sergeant dropped his looking glass off the tail end of the waggon. he was devoted to his big red beard. while lying on the waggon he spent his time fondling and trimming this beard, smearing vaseline on it and admiring it in his little lead-framed looking glass. when, therefore, he dropped his glass, he said: "damn," and then, more loudly, "this is likonga; outspan, jacob!" the driver shouted "ah, now!" to the oxen, and the outfit came to a halt. as a camping place, the spot so casually chosen was not a bad one. there was wood and there was water, good grazing for the cattle, and obviously some game about. moreover, there were some granite boulders on the left, set round in the form of a rude circle. under the sergeant's direction all were soon roughly housed. the cattle had been made secure at night by a skilful reinforcement of the circle of boulders, here a thorn bush and there a few poles. patrol tents, protected by a straggling fence, satisfied the sergeant and his men. jacob spent the day in the lee of his waggon and the night under it. "nine-thirty" slept on the other side of the cattle kraal, under the propped-up roof of an abandoned native hut; during the day he herded the cattle. the making of this very primitive out-station occupied less than a couple of days, and then the question, "what the devil shall we do now?" fell upon the party like a blight. but, as is so often the case, the devil decided. all had turned in for the night. the sergeant had taken a last look at his beard. corporal merton had read something of kipling's. private hay, after a long-winded argument with private hare, in which neither seemed to gain advantage, had told his adversary to go to hell. private hare had found satisfaction in saying, "ditto, brother." jacob had retired under his waggon, and, like most natives, fell asleep immediately, with his head well covered by his blanket. the leader with the silly name, alone of all the party, remained awake in his solitude on the other side of the cattle kraal. his evening meal of maize porridge was bubbling in his small cooking pot, perched on a handful of embers. he was playing a minute native "piano," a trumpery, tinkling thing, made of half a gourd, a strip of hard wood, with a few tongues of metal affixed to it. the tinkle, tinkle, tink, tink; tinkle, tinkle, tink, tink, sounded very plaintive and lonely in africa's wide expanse. the boy was singing, too--if his wail could be called singing. the crocodile, floating near the bank, sleeps in the river. tinkle, tinkle, tink, tink. the fish, floating on the water, sleeps in the river. tinkle, tinkle, tink, tink. the hippopotamus, floating in mid-stream, sleeps in the river. tinkle, tinkle,... the music stopped. africa was deadly still, save for the croaking of a frog. "nine-thirty" sat motionless, looking straight before him, out beyond his little fire. immediately opposite stood a large, black-maned lion. the pair faced each other, a yard or so apart. the only movement was the lion's tail, which switched from side to side. the huge beast looked steadily at "nine-thirty," who, full of fear, stared back at the lion. where life and death are concerned, things happen very suddenly. the lion took one step forward and seized "nine-thirty" by the knee. the boy reached for his assegai and plunged it into the lion's ribs. the sergeant heard the cry and a roar of pain in his sleep, and woke up to fumble with his beard. corporal merton, from an interrupted dream, cried out: "halt! who goes there?" private hay, if awake, said nothing, whilst his companion in arms muttered: "what's up?" jacob answered from under his blanket: "it's a lion, master, and he has killed my leader." at any rate, it was certain something serious had happened. a lion, uncomfortably close, was making such a din that the leaves of the trees near by seemed to flutter, and "nine-thirty" was moaning on the other side of the cattle kraal. "stand to arms!" commanded the sergeant. all tumbled out of their blankets, rifle in hand, shirttails flapping in the night wind. they were not cowards, neither were they fools. the four listened to the sound of a lion growling and retreating as he growled. the moaning came from one place, so it was evident that nine-thirty was for the moment safe. then, hastily lighting a lantern, the policemen picked their way round the cattle kraal to nine-thirty's little fire. the sergeant knew something of first aid. he lifted the mauled native carefully and carried him back to the waggon. the boy's knee was in a bad state--the joint was crushed. a "tot" of brandy, a thorough wash of the wound, a bandage, a blanket or two, and a bed of grass near the camp fire made nine-thirty as comfortable as possible. after making up the fire, all turned in again. at daylight the sergeant mustered his men, and thus addressed them: "we will now go and blot out this accursed lion. load, and remember no one fires until i give the word. put on your boots, don't bother about your bags." the four lined up. "march!" they hadn't far to go--barely a couple of hundred yards. the lion raised his head and growled. nine-thirty's assegai, broken off short, still protruded from the beast's ribs. "fire!" commanded the sergeant. four shots rang out as one, and the lion's head sank upon his paws. the men reloaded, and approached with caution, but the marauder was dead. the sergeant instructed jacob to skin the beast, and the four returned to camp for breakfast and to think out the problem which had arisen out of the killing of this lion. all things being equal in sport, and rank apart, and as man to man, to whom belonged the skin? someone had missed, because there were only three holes in the skin. someone had made a rotten bad shot, because there was a bullet hole in the lion's rump. someone had killed the beast outright, because a bullet had passed through the lion's brain. someone had done for him, because another shot had taken him behind the shoulder. all claimed the head shot. well, jacob was out of it anyway. so, too, was poor nine-thirty. neither had fired a shot. when i arrived i found nine-thirty well on the way to recovery, but the policemen still "man to man." a deputation presented me with the skull and asked me to decide about the skin. i declared nine-thirty the owner by all the rules of hunting; he had drawn first blood, and had stopped the lion. i suggested, however, that as nine-thirty did not want the skin, the four who fired at the lion should have a five shilling sweepstake for it, nine-thirty to have the pound and the winner the skin. sergeant johnson drew the prize. but jacob, being a zulu, collected the lion's fat, melted it into tins, bottles, and small gourds, and sold it for many pounds to his friends when he went home a year later. all zulus know that lion's fat smeared on the head, face, or beard makes a man brave in battle. the reverend mr. bumpus. some missionaries i like very much, they are good fellows; others i am not so sure about; others, again, i admit i cordially dislike. i place the rev. mr. bumpus in the third category. i met him once going down the road from the zambesi as i was going up. he, lucky beggar, was travelling to rail-head in his ox-waggon, going on leave. i was trekking north in my waggon, having just exhausted my home leave. all his fun was to come; mine was over for a period. i felt, when i met him, like a boy who, having eaten his own plum cake, must now watch another boy devour his. the rev. bumpus had a wife. poor soul, she was cooped up with him in the waggon, and had been for three weeks. they had come about two hundred miles from their mission station in that time. think of it, cooped up for three solid weeks with the rev. mr. bumpus. how i pitied her! what a change there was in the little woman. three years earlier, i remember, she had gone north with bumpus, newly married, and with a look in her eyes of a brave soldier of the faith, rosy cheeked, well favoured and plump. and now! what a battle she must have had! and i'm sure she didn't find a good ally in the man of her choice. she was thin and drawn, had a sad, discouraged eye, and looked more than twice her age. almost the first question she asked was: "oh, have you any tobacco? any you can spare, i mean?" i produced my pouch, and said i had plenty in my waggon coming on behind. the rev. bumpus slipped off the waggon, took a handful, crammed his pipe, and put the remainder in his alpaca coat pocket. then he lit up, took a puff or two, and said--nothing! it was she who thanked me, adding: "fred has been impossible for the last five days; he's had no tobacco. i didn't pack enough. perhaps his temper will be better now." and this poor little lady cast a beseeching look at her lord and master. as for the reverend gentleman, he climbed back into the waggon, sat down with a grunt of contentment, and puffed vigorously at his pipe. "i'm so glad we've met you," continued the woman. "we've been followed for days by some lions. last night they took my riding donkey." "they'll have you next," interjected her gallant spouse with a grin. "they like donkey-meat." the fellow was a brute. his wife was scared, and even if he couldn't encourage her he needn't have tried to frighten her more. but there he sat, grinning down from his perch in the waggon, and showing his big, yellow teeth. yes, certainly, i disliked the rev. mr. bumpus. i did my best to reassure the lady, advised the man to put out lighted lanterns at night to keep off the lions, and said good-bye. i did a short trek that evening, and outspanned early. i couldn't help thinking of the callous man and the frightened woman. i knew that if the lions came round bumpus was no man to cope with them, or, for that matter, to take sensible precautions. for myself, i had some poles out, tied lighted lanterns to them, and set them up some distance ahead, behind, and on either side of my waggon. in addition, i had a good fire lit beyond the leading oxen and an extra large one in front of my patrol tent by the side of the waggon. i had been sitting by the fire for a little while after dinner, smoking, when i was startled by a rifle shot, and then another. i judged by the direction that they must have been fired by the rev. bumpus or his driver, and, by the sound, that we were not camped very far apart. i took a couple of boys, my rifle, and a lantern, and hurried along the road to see what had happened. the missionary's waggon was further away than i expected. when i got there the rev. bumpus was on the roof of the waggon, on the top of the tent, in his nightshirt. i hadn't seen a nightshirt on a man for years. his wife was inside the waggon. the driver--it was he who had fired the shots--was, with his leader, crouching under the waggon. the oxen were very restless. it was quite dark, and there would be no moon all night. the missionary's fire had died down, and i couldn't see a yard beyond the ring of light shed by the lantern in my hand. my first concern, therefore, was to shake the unburnt logs together and get the fire going again. then, with my lantern in one hand and my rifle in the other, i walked along the line of oxen, talking to them as i went, with the object of settling them down. i counted the cattle as i passed and found the span intact. then, under my direction, my boys collected as much wood as we could find handy, and lighted another fire, ahead of the oxen. then i went back to the waggon to question the missionary. had he seen a lion? "yes, a large one." "where?" "close to the leading oxen." had she seen any? "no, nothing," said his wife. had the driver seen the lion? "ja, baas, two." at that moment i nearly jumped out of my skin. the driver, from under the waggon, fired again; his bullet must have missed my legs by inches only. i had to use un-sunday school language before i could make the rev. bumpus stop his din from the top of the waggon; he was terrified, and showed it without shame or reserve. i took the rifle from the driver. lions at night are bad enough, but the additional risk of a scared native armed with a martini is a little too much. "what the devil did you let fly for?" "at the lion, baas." "where?" "over there, baas." "over there," indeed, a few yards from the waggon, it was as black as ink, but i argued, natives have good eyesight, and a lion's eyes have a way of reflecting the light of a distant fire. he might have seen a lion. well, there was nothing for it, more fires must be built. the missionary had only one lantern, and that i lighted. it was too dark to find a pole, so i dug a hole in the sandy soil, planted the waggon whip in it, and slung the lantern to the whip-stick. then began a night of toil and anxiety; i have no wish to live through such a night again. my boys were frightened now. frightened does not describe the condition of the rev. mr. bumpus. there he was, a weird figure, perched on the top of the waggon-tent, ghostly in his white nightshirt, chattering with alarm. mrs. bumpus sat, fully dressed, inside the waggon, quite still and silent. the missionary's driver, leader, and my boys stood huddled round the largest fire at the tail end of the waggon, their eyes looking unusually large and white as they peered into the thick darkness. "there he is, baas!" "where?" "there!" "where's there, you fool?" "listen!" i listened, and sure enough i heard the shush, shush of something moving in the dead leaves and dry grass a little distance away. the oxen nearest the waggon showed signs of nervousness. i would have given much for a dog that night. the movement stopped. we all listened. the rev. bumpus began to mumble something from his perch aloft. "for goodness sake shut up! how can i hear anything while you're making all that noise!" he stopped. "there he is, baas!" "where?" "there!" i listened, but could hear nothing. i listened for quite a long time. we all listened--we could hear nothing. the nearest ox lay down with a grunt, which meant that he, at any rate, was not much alarmed. the rev. bumpus asked whether i thought he could come down, as on the top of the waggon-tent it was very cold. i was just about to say he could when again that shush, shush! i heard it myself distinctly this time. at once the chorus again of "there he is," in as many languages as there were natives huddled round me. i decided that we must do something, make a sortie and get more wood; the fires had burnt low. presently we had four fires blazing away, the one in front of the leading oxen, one on either side of the waggon, and one at the tail-end of it. my boys' courage rose as the circle of light grew. they dashed here and there--strictly within the circle of light formed by the fires--collecting dry wood. after a while you could have roasted the proverbial ox at any one of the fires. while we were busy the rev. bumpus had crept down from his place of vantage and had gone to bed. his wife, the better man of the two, made us some strong coffee. the missionary's driver and leader joined in the scramble for wood. the lion had evidently drawn off, so we had some coffee and stood warming ourselves by the fire. "there he is, baas!" i grabbed my rifle. "where?" "there, i can hear him now." "listen! silence, all of you!" shush, shush; shush, shush. from over there! no, from there! where the devil is he? * * * * * and this sort of thing went on the whole night through. quiet for a while. fires die down. shush, shush; shush, shush. hurried collection of wood. fires blaze up. silence. the shush, shush just beyond the limit of light. "there, he is, baas!" "where?" "there!" and so on. then dawn. how slowly it came! intense desire to murder that lion or lions. a little lighter now. i set out, with the natives following, to look for the spoor. shush, shush; i heard it quite plainly. good heavens! where is that lion? broad daylight now. is the thing a ghost? no. there it is--a scrubby, little, scaly anteater! still grubbing in the fallen leaves. shush, shush; shush, shush. we stood looking at it, tired-eyed and weary. "why don't you kill the wretched rat?" it was the rev. mr. bumpus who spoke. talking of rats, i could have killed that man there and then. * * * * * when i got back to my own waggon i found lion spoor on the sandy road. it was not difficult to read from their tracks--there were three lions--that they had followed the missionary's waggon until they came to a turn in the road and saw my lanterns. from that point the spoor led down to the river bed, across it, and into the thick bush on the other side. they hadn't come near the waggons. the salvation army captain. to-day you may book your passage with cook's, in ludgate circus, to the victoria falls and back, and travel in comfort all the way. in it was different. there was no road to the victoria falls then, let alone a railway. i won't bother you with an account of our journey out by waggon as far as panda-ma-tenga, or of how we rode across country from the edge of the kalahari desert to the falls, guided by the column of spray arising from them, or, where the land dipped, by a sense of direction. at length we got there, or, more correctly, within a hundred yards of the tumbling waters. their roar was deafening. it was a wonderful sound and a more wonderful sight. imagine the hum of london traffic increased ten thousand fold. imagine a forest of palm, fern, black-trunked trees, all within a hothouse of immense proportions, and a tepid, tropical rain soaking you to the skin. we cut through the distance which separated us from the lip of the falls. thick, tough creeper and undergrowth, maidenhair fern waist high; it seemed a sin to trample it underfoot. from time to time up to the thigh in watery mud when, unluckily, one stepped in the pit-like spoor of a hippopotamus which had passed in the night. monkeys chattering from overhead. i think i caught sight of a buffalo. what a difference to-day! you might see a monkey in the trees now and then, but a fire has since passed through that jungle at the end of a dry season, and a century will not repair the damage. moreover, there are gravel paths leading from the new hotel to every "view" now, but we, who saw the victoria falls twenty-four years ago, have something to remember and to brag about. we spent half a day looking and looking and looking. we were drenched by the spray, dried by the sun, deafened by the roar of the waters, and struck dumb by the beauty of it all. at about one o'clock we felt hungry, and went in search of our pack-horses. we had off-saddled outside the thicket and turned our beasts loose. we found our saddles easily enough, and the horses, too, for that matter; the grass was so luscious and plentiful that no horse would desire to stray far after several weeks in the dry kalahari. we had lunch and a little rest, and then set out again to do more exploring. we hadn't gone far before we came upon the track of a waggon. robinson crusoe, when he found the footprint of the man friday, could not have been more amazed than we. so far as we knew, no other expedition had come to the falls ahead of us. who, then, was the intruder? we followed the track, and presently, in a small clearing, we saw a waggon. whoever he was, this traveller deserved full credit for what he had done. we had ridden to the falls, and were proud of it, but here was a man who had got a waggon through. stout fellow. and there, seated on a skin near his oxen, was the man. he had a matted beard, and didn't look too clean. under one arm he hugged a huge calabash, from which he was eating honey with a stick. the honey was old and granulated. there were many flies in it, too, evidence that the neck of the calabash had been left uncovered at times. he didn't move when he saw us, but, holding out his stick, said: "have some." we told him we had just fed, but thanked him all the same. "sit down," said he, "sit on this skin," but he made no room for us. "i shot it yesterday at the falls. this is the cub; the lioness went off." "how long have you been here?" "a couple of days." "how did you get through?" "cut my way." "lose any cattle in the thirst country?" "didn't come that way; took a bee line from bulawayo." this was a good performance indeed. all the old hands had said it couldn't be done. "what did you come for?" "what did you?" the man who asked the question first was travelling north to take over the administration of a tract of country as big as france. he explained his business. "oh, so you're the magistrate, are you?" "yes, that's about it. and you?" "i'm a captain in the salvation army down south, but i've brought a fellow up to prospect for mineral on the other side of the zambesi. he crossed yesterday, and moved up country on foot this morning." i looked at this queer fellow with interest. his cap of calling lay on the ground beside him. throughout the conversation he went on eating the honey. the zambesi in those days was about the last place i should have expected to find a salvation army man. looking round i caught sight of the familiar red jersey with the yellow letters. it was hanging on a bush, evidently drying. the captain had followed my gaze, and volunteered: "had a bit of a washing day, first on this trip." from the look of him i concluded that his own turn was yet to come. "well, tell us about the lion cub." i think he told the truth. i can't, of course, vouch for it, but he was sitting on the skin of a newly-killed cub. before we left the falls the vultures told us where to find the lioness. but this is his story: "i was walking along in the rain-forest with my rifle, looking for a pig or a palla or anything else eatable. i hadn't gone far when i nearly fell over this cub. he snarled at me, so i shot him. while he lay kicking on his back up comes his mother, so i reloaded my old martini and gave her one for herself. not being a first-class shot, i didn't do for her right off. she looked so angry and seemed to be coming on that i stepped back a pace or two, but keeping my eye on her. i tried to reload, but the empty cartridge case jammed. i broke off a stick from a handy bush and plugged it down the muzzle. i must have pushed too hard, for the stick broke off short." the captain stopped, got up, and fetched his rifle from the wagon. the stick was still in the barrel, evidently stuck fast in the cartridge, which, in its turn, was firmly fixed in the breech. we had a look at the rifle and then at the captain. he simply said: "can either of you gentlemen fix this up for me?" we both said we could, and both asked: "but what about the lioness?" "oh, the lioness. why, there she was and there i was. she with a very ugly look, and growling, and i with my rifle put out of action. i felt it was time to do something, so i backed out of the bush singing a hymn in a loud voice." the sport of kings. the days have gone by when the paramount chiefs of the barotse embarked annually upon a large-scale lechwe drive. i believe the last big hunt took place in . i, at any rate, have heard of no such happening since. it is just as well that these drives have come to an end. the african natives' idea of sport does not altogether tally with that of the white man; no sportsman likes to see animals slaughtered _en masse_. in those days the lechwe antelope were strictly preserved for the pleasure of the paramount chief and his entourage. no native was permitted to disturb them in their natural haunts--the wide, open plains--and no man could kill one under pain of heavy penalty. the only exception to this rule was when a few head strayed into the vicinity of lealni, the principal native village of the barotse valley. then the people were allowed to hunt them with dogs, but not to shoot them. the time chosen for these drives was after the rains had ceased to fall, but while the zambesi had still more water to carry off than its banks could contain. the overflow was such that for a space the barotse valley became a vast lake, varying in depth from a few inches to a dozen feet. the same may be said with equal truth of the luena river, an important tributary which, flowing from the east, made its junction with the zambesi not far from lealni. it was in the luena basin that the drives took place. for two months before the time of hunting preparations for the drive began. those long, heavy casting assegais, peculiar, i believe, to that part of africa, were cleaned and sharpened. narrow hunting canoes were collected, repaired and caulked. four foot long pikes, sharpened at one end--which was hardened by burning--with a stout blade fixed in the other, were prepared in great numbers by the batotela, a slave tribe cunning in the manufacture of iron. the blades of these pikes were short and flat and had the rounded point of an oyster-knife. i was invited by the chief to be present at the drive in , and i went. it took two days to reach the hunting ground. we travelled in shallow-draught, dug-out canoes. the first night we slept in elaborate grass shelters prepared for us beforehand. next morning we resumed our journey at daylight. the chief went first in a very small and narrow canoe. he was accompanied by one man only. they stood up in the canoe and punted with long, red-wood poles. all european clothes had been discarded by the natives. the chief wore a woollen nightcap and a long, white shirt. round his waist, but under his shirt, he had a highly-coloured, fringed tablecloth. his legs and feet were bare; so, too, were his arms to the elbow. my canoe started immediately after that of the chief, but i did not retain that position long. it was more comfortable and, therefore, much heavier and slower. it carried a crew of seven. i suppose there must have been several thousand canoe loads of men. two of the chief's wives accompanied the party. all etiquette was abandoned. it became a race to follow the chief, and although the waterway was several miles wide, collisions were frequent. everyone was good-humoured, including one of the chief's wives, whose canoe was capsized in the scurry. she was rescued amid much laughter and joking, in which she joined. _en route_ we passed many canoes loaded down to the gunwale with pikes. to these everyone gave a wide berth for fear of swamping them, for the pikes were necessary to the sport. in the afternoon of the second day we arrived at the spot selected, or, to be more precise, at a large camping ground within easy reach of it. here we found even more elaborate grass huts ready for us. the chief gave me a hut quite near to his own, a compliment which i did not appreciate at its intended value, because his band played and women sang throughout the night and robbed me of all sleep. the moment we arrived the chief started off in his fast canoe to inspect the ground over which the lechwe were to be driven next day. on his return he told me that the place had been well chosen and that the country was alive with lechwe. he also said he had found a high ant-hill for me to stand upon and watch the drive. at daylight we set out again and reached my ant-hill in about an hour. the chief took me to the top of it, pointed out the direction from which the antelope would come, and explained the plans for the day's sport. looking through my field-glasses i saw two faint lines which, beginning more than a mile away in the open plain, converged, forming a funnel. the narrow end of the funnel terminated within a quarter of a mile from my ant-heap and in a line with it. the faint lines were really thin strips of dry palmleaf tape, which shone white in the bright sunlight. every few yards a bight was taken round a bunch of tall, growing grass, which lent support to it and gave the impression that a one-strand fence or a barrier of some sort had been erected. the chief referred to the two thin lines as walls, and assured me that the antelope, if properly driven, would not break through them. he then drew my attention to the apparent opening at the narrow end of the funnel, and asked me if i saw anything to prevent the lechwe from escaping in that direction. i said i could see no bar. he replied that the lechwe couldn't either, so, when pressed, would dash for the opening. "it is then that the sport will begin," he added. at this i looked more carefully and saw innumerable pikes had been driven into the ground with their iron points sloping forward towards the wire end of the funnel. the grass had been carefully rearranged. this, then, was the general plan: to drive the lechwe into the funnel, down it, and on to the pikes at the narrow end. in reply to my questions, he said that many thousands of beaters, drawn from the slave tribes, had been wading through the swamps for two days collecting small herds of antelope and driving them slowly forward towards the mouth of the funnel. he drew a diagram with his stick on the side of the ant-heap to show how the beaters were disposed. he had adopted the well-known african method of envelopment--the crescent, with the horns well forward. the men who formed the horns had already reached the extremities of the funnel and were passing slowly down outside the line. the antelope, he told me, were contained in the arc of men coming forward. as yet i could see no antelope, nor could i see the men who formed the arc; they were still too far away. in the meantime, all the men who had come in small hunting canoes had taken their places outside, but close to, the two thin lines or walls. the moment they reached their stations they sat down and were lost to view in the long grass. the chief explained that these men remained hidden until the lechwe had passed them, when their business was to stand up and frighten the antelope forward with shouts and gesticulations. should any lechwe attempt to break through the sides of the funnel, the canoemen had to drive them back or assegai them. i now knew what to expect. the chief presently left me, as he, too, had to take up his station. he begged me to keep myself hidden, as a premature exposure might easily spoil the entire drive. i lay flat on the ant-heap, looking through a small gap which i made in the tall grass which crowned it. i could see admirably, but could not be seen. it was a long time before i could discern any movement, even at the mouth of the funnel. i could hear the cries of the beaters as they approached, faintly at first, then a hum, then a roar. presently i saw a single reed-buck ram pacing very slowly towards the concealed assegais. from time to time he stopped, stamped, sniffed and whistled, scenting danger. what became of him, i don't know. i lost sight of him. looking through my glasses towards the entrance of the funnel again, i saw a sight which made me gasp. although the most distant beaters had not yet appeared, a huge herd of lechwe seemed literally to block the funnel and were trotting steadily down it. half way they stopped. a fine ram turned and walked towards the left-hand wall. a man stood up and the antelope turned in the direction of the opposite wall; he went at a trot again and the immense herd followed him. when within twenty yards of the palmleaf tape, some dozen men stood up. all the antelope but the ram stopped. he, fine fellow that he was, made a bold bid for liberty. he dashed on, gathered himself together, and cleared the fence. one of the men in a canoe made a movement. it was too far off to see anything clearly, but as the lechwe landed in a heap, i realised that he had been transfixed in mid-air by one of those heavy hunting assegais. the herd was not leaderless for long. another ram forged ahead and trotted straight towards the narrow end of the funnel. immediately every man sat down. it was clear that these hunters had been very well drilled. after moving rapidly for a hundred yards the lechwe came to a halt. they were not as yet frightened, but highly suspicious. first, they turned at a walk towards the right-hand wall: a man stood up. they moved across to the left: the first man sat down and his opposite number stood up. the antelope broke into a trot. after heading to the right again for a little way, some hundreds broke back, and this, i think, is where the mistake was made, for, instead of leaving them to the beaters, who were approaching, driving many more herds of lechwe before them, man after man stood up, shouting and waving their arms wildly. this had the effect of breaking up the whole of the antelope formation. they dashed here and there, thoroughly frightened; some broke through the wall, some cleared it, some dashed right back, and others came on towards the trap. i watched these last. there were several hundred of them. they came along at a very fast trot, the rams with their heads forward, noses up, and horns lying along their backs. a ram led. he struck one of the hidden pikes full with his chest and gave a mighty leap into the air, bleeding from a terrible wound in the brisket. he landed on the point of another pike and bounded up from it, his entrails dragging behind him. much weakened, he leaped and leaped again until, completely disembowelled, he fell and lay still. there was no escape, the pikes were set so closely together: not a foot apart. they reached right across the gap in the funnel and to the depth of forty or fifty yards. i do not think a single one of this part of the large herd escaped. for the space of two minutes they were dashing past me and on to the hidden pikes. every one was disembowelled before it fell dead--rams, ewes, and young alike. it was a disgusting sight. the natives were in a frenzy of excitement. no doubt their one idea was to drive the lechwe to the trap and in that they succeeded; but they also drove a considerable part of the herd back upon the beaters, who were pressing other herds before them. the confusion was complete. lechwe were dashing in all directions. men were shouting and hurling their assegais. a deafening roar rose from the beaters, now close in. from time to time a score or so lechwe dashed upon the pikes and added to the slaughter. i saw a setutunga approach the pikes leisurely out of the confusion. he lifted his feet high at every step, a habit bred of life in the papyrus swamps. a native appeared from nowhere in particular and running him down killed him with a club. the drive was over. that evening when i met the chief he was still furious. someone had blundered and most of the lechwe had escaped. moreover, a man in a small canoe, hurling his heavy assegai at a lechwe, had missed the beast and killed his brother. the chief's own cook and several of his companions had been mauled out in the plain by a leopard. no, the drive had not been a success by any means. i wondered what the bag would have been if all had gone well with the chief's plans. i had personally counted three hundred mutilated carcasses, but, feeling sick, had given up the tally and returned to camp. the lions of makululumi. how hot it was! september, . i had not shot my first lion then, and many, many months were to pass before my luck came. dame fortune doesn't often condescend to glance my way. she smiled broadly once when, with three tickets, i won first, second, and third prize in a sweep on the grand national; but then i have never drawn a prize in a sweep since. however, to return to september, . yes, by jingo, it was hot. not a breath of air; not a leaf on any tree. the rains were almost due, but not a shower had fallen. the only shade was in the shadow of the wagon. but it was not the blazing sun alone with which we had to contend. there thrives in the kalahari desert a pestiferous little winged insect called the mopani bee, named after the hardwood tree in which it sets its hive. it would seem that this creature must have moisture, moisture of any kind--it isn't at all particular. and to think that i used to eat the stuff they call mopani honey until, one day, i saw a bunch of them lapping up the moisture from a perspiring native runner. ugh! these bees will congregate in dozens at the corners of your eyes, try to burrow into them and then collect the tears which the discomfort of their burrowing produces. they will crowd at the corners of your mouth; when you open it to blow the little plagues away, they rush in. thank heaven, the mopani bee doesn't sting. we were struggling up to the zambesi from bulawayo. our waggons were overloaded, for the kalahari had taken heavy toll of our cattle and our spans were therefore many oxen short. we had reached and covered the first ten miles of the thirty-five which separate makululumi from kasibi. all those who knew the old hunter's road will remember that stretch. the first ten miles are not bad going, but the next seven are the heaviest and loosest sand that oxen were ever asked to drag a waggon through. between makululumi and kasibi there is no water, so the major who commanded our little party thought it wise to send the oxen back from the ten-mile point to have the best part of a couple of days' rest at makululumi before calling upon them to tackle the next stage of the journey. during the afternoon of the second day, by following my chief's example, i got the better of those bees. it is true i was slowly suffocating, but that was better than being tormented. i was lying on my back under the waggon, with my head covered with a blanket, perspiring immoderately. at least three more hours of this before the cattle returned and we resumed our journey. presently i heard a conversation going on in dutch between the major and one of his boys. i looked out and saw one of the drivers who should have been with the cattle. "what are you doing here?" the major asked. "lions, baas." "where? how many? when?" "last night at makululumi. yes, many of them, baas." "any cattle dead?" "four, baas." "tell me about it." the driver told his story. it appeared that the night before, as soon as it was dark, the boys had collected the cattle together and had driven them up to the camp fires. the oxen stood about for a little while and then settled down. seeing this, the boys had turned in. when the moon set, the cattle moved off to the water holes again to drink and graze. presently there was a great commotion at the water, oxen bellowing and stampeding. the boys got up and ran down with lights and a rifle. there they found three of the oxen lying dead within a hundred yards of each other, and a fourth, also dead, some little distance on. each ox had his neck broken, but was otherwise unmarked. one of the boys thought he heard a lion in the grass, so fired his rifle off. collecting the cattle again, they drove them up to the camp fires and kept a strict watch for the remainder of the night. at daylight they went back to the scene of the killing, and found that the lions had returned to the carcasses and made a heavy meal off two of them, the third was half eaten, the fourth untouched. this was indeed a disaster; we simply couldn't spare these four oxen. "where are the cattle now?" "at the water holes with the other boys." "what did you tell the other boys to do?" "let the cattle graze until sundown, then water them and bring them along." "good. now let's get busy." during this conversation i had got out from under the waggon and was now listening. "what are you going to do?" i asked. "go back and blot out some of those lions." "may i come, too?" "have you ever shot a lion?" "no." "have you ever seen one?" "not outside the zoo, but i should like to." "well, you may come on one condition." "what's that?" "don't shoot unless and until i tell you to." i promised. here was adventure indeed! the major took an axe and a length of cord. he handed me a billy-can, two cups and some coffee. he selected a double . from his battery. i took the only rifle i possessed, namely, a single martini metford. without more ado we set off to cover the ten miles back to makululumi. there was no path, of course, merely the overgrown waggon track through the forest. the traffic on that road was insufficient to cope with the suckers which had sprung up round the stump of every tree felled in the cutting of this so-called road. the men who originally made the road had not troubled to stump it. the going was tiresome, and, lightly loaded as i was, i soon found the little i had to carry an increasing burden to me. about a mile from our destination we met the rest of our natives driving the cattle along. we stopped for a few minutes to question them. they had kept the vultures off the fourth ox, which was still intact, but the birds had eaten up the other three almost entirely. a bushman had arrived shortly before they came away, attracted by the circling vultures. they made him stand guard over the yet untouched ox in case we came back for the lion. all this was satisfactory, so, telling the boys to inspan the waggons when they reached them, and make as long a trek as they could through the heavy sand, we pushed on. we had no difficulty in finding the spot where the oxen had been killed. hundreds of vultures, gorged with meat, sat on the upper branches of a clump of trees. a little further on an unusually tall bushman stood up as we approached. the major examined the lie of the land with an experienced eye, and quickly made his plans. the makululumi water holes are really a series of pools strung out along the otherwise dry bed of a small river. of three of the slaughtered oxen little remained but the bones and hide; they had been killed in the bed of the river. the fourth lay on the far bank, where the river made a very sharp hairpin bend and narrowed to not more than a dozen feet. the major selected a point as near as possible to the bank and immediately opposite the dead ox. he didn't waste much time in explanation, but, taking the axe, told me to follow him. the sun was just beginning to set. he hurried to the nearest clump of small trees and felled them rapidly, trimming off the branches and cutting them into poles about six feet long. my part of the work was to carry the poles to the hairpin bend. twenty in all were cut, varying in thickness from two to five inches in diameter. then we built our moral support, for it was no more. i held the tops of three poles while the major tied them together with the piece of cord which he had brought from the waggon. then, standing them on end, he spread them to form a tripod. this he reinforced with additional poles, which he made fast with strips of bark. the finished shelter looked like a skeleton bell-tent. it had neither strength nor stability, for we had no time to sink the ends of the poles in the sun-baked ground. by that time the sun had set, and the bushman, who had been watching us silently all this time, said something in that strange clicking language of his and hurried off, presumably to a place of safety. the major thought a meal would do us good, and, going back along the river until we came to a dry place where the banks were high, he lit a fire. at the sight of a blaze i realised that i was cold. we did not think of our coats in the heat of the midday sun. however, there was nothing for it but to see the matter through. i felt quite comfortable after some bully-beef and bread, washed down with two or three cups of hot coffee. at eight o'clock we returned to our fort as quietly as possible, surprising on the way a hyena in the act of dragging off the hide of one of the oxen. we had to crawl very carefully into our shelter for fear of disturbing a pole and bringing the whole thing down about our ears. once inside, i had ample time for reflection. we sat within three yards of the bank of the river, which was but four yards wide at this point. a yard from the opposite bank lay the dead ox; beyond the ox, for about a hundred yards, the grass had been burnt short; beyond that again was long grass and thick bush. the moon, which was three-quarter full, would not set for another five hours; everything was almost as clear as daylight between the river and the thick bush; we could see up and down the river bed. the ox, much distended by a day's exposure to the blazing african sun, was too near to be pleasant, and, being on a level with us, blotted out much of the landscape on the other side of the river. we could distinctly hear the hyenas, jackals, and the lesser scavengers quarrelling over the scraps of bone, hide, and offal left by the lions and the vultures. we sat facing the ox. the major thought that if the lions came at all it would be from the thick bush ahead, for immediately behind us was open country for a considerable distance. strangely enough, i felt extremely sleepy. we held a short whispered consultation, and it was agreed that i should sleep while i could. the major promised to wake me if things became interesting. he wasn't sleepy. i lay down with my rifle by my side, my head touching one pole and my feet another. i slept almost immediately, in spite of the cold and the hardness of the ground. not only was the air at night cold by contrast with the hot day, but the evaporation from the water holes lowered the temperature. the sound of my companion's rifle woke me. sitting up, i saw a lion in the air, descending upon us. the major fired again, and the lion fell into the water-course, literally at our feet. i could see his rump and tail quite plainly. his rage was terrific as he tried to reach us. his bellowing must have been heard for miles around, and doubtless many a bushman and many a beast quaked at the sound of it. i remember shouting at the top of my voice: "i can see his rump. shall i shoot?" the reply, i must admit, disconcerted me: "rump's the wrong end, but if he shows his head shoot it off." i watched the struggling beast so intently that i did not see that a second lion had approached. he made his presence known to me by a roar which sounded loud and clear above the thunder of his wounded fellow. he was standing broadside on to us, just behind the ox. the major fired and the lion sprang forward. the noise was deafening. a chorus of two wounded lions is something not often heard. i now watched the second lion. he dashed off towards the bush, changed his mind and charged us. he came in great leaps, roaring as he came, then thought better of it, for he stopped sharply, throwing up clouds of dust as he did so, and pulled up almost on the ox. all i could see was his head, and that very indistinctly because of the dust which now enveloped both the lion and the dead ox. again a steadying warning: "don't shoot until you can see more of him than that." as the major spoke the lion veered off and trotted back towards the bush, grunting savagely as he went. "here he comes again!" and so he did, bounding along as before and bellowing so that i wondered whether our home of poles could stand the vibration of sound. again the lion hesitated, again he sheered off, this time entering the bush. we heard him crashing through it until there was silence once more, for the first lion had now ceased to show any signs of life. i must admit to feeling decidedly uncomfortable then. my heart thumped like a sledge hammer. i longed to get out and stretch my legs. a great deal of action had been compressed into a short space of time, probably not more than ten minutes. to the major's suggestion that we should have a look at the dead fellow i responded with alacrity--too much alacrity--my foot catching in one of the poles, the whole structure came crashing down upon his head. after extricating himself he climbed down into the river bed and stood looking at the lion. i followed him. i don't know why i did it--some sudden impulse for which i cannot account--but i stepped forward and raising the lion's head in my two hands, looked into his eyes. i certainly heard the major talking, and i distinctly heard what he said. "what the devil are you doing, you damned young fool? drop that head and come away. how do you know he's dead?" i took no notice. i couldn't. i was terrified, hypnotised. i could do nothing but stare and stare. no doubt the lion was dead, but the light in his eyes was not. it was dying, not dead. it was a blazing, vivid, blinding light--as it were, the light of an untamed spirit reluctantly taking leave of a mighty body. when at length i let that rugged head fall, the light had faded; i stood shivering, feeling little and mean, as one who had looked upon something not meant for him to see. white men and black. white men at play. the white man is superior to the black and must show it in his manners and deportment. this is an unwritten law, observed in the early days of any of our african settlements. for the man who breaks this law the punishment is swift and severe: he is shunned by his caste and colour. it is said, but it is nevertheless generally true, that as the settlement prospers, so does this excellent law fall into abeyance. men without manners arrive and are soon in the majority. but in the beginnng, the white man watches himself very carefully. he knows all eyes are upon him. he must not permit himself to unbend. in the observance of the law, a man is very self-conscious and is apt to seem stiff and unsympathetic. in the very, very early days of kazungula the natives of the place watched some white men relax, and the spectacle afforded them as much pleasurable interest as the knowledge that they had been seen caused pain to the white men. for many a day the natives of kazungula commanded a ready audience anywhere in the country, for had not they, and they alone, seen white men at play? it came about in this way. a solitary white man stood on the north bank of the zambesi river, looking across to the other side. it was knight, the native commissioner, who had for the last fortnight expected daily the arrival of some waggons which carried his year's provisions and other stores. he had little of anything left. no sugar, very little tea, and a single bottle of gin represented his cellar. he longed each night for the usual "sundowner," but had determined not to open his one remaining bottle, in case of accident. just what he meant by accident he could not have said. in answer to a direct question he might have replied: "oh, anything might happen, one never knows." to-night, for some reason unknown to himself, he was more impatient of the sluggard waggons than usual. would the darned things never come? the sun was setting and small flights of duck were going down stream to the marshy feeding grounds. a goose passed in the same direction. the reed birds, in large noisy flocks, were choosing their roosting place for the night. it seemed that they could not make up their minds. no sooner had they settled in one patch of reeds than they started up with much twittering in search of a better place. they had done this at least a dozen times, and their indecision irritated the man. a plump kingfisher, sitting on a log almost at his feet, dived from time to time into the shallow water and returned to his perch again. knight noticed that the busy bird usually returned with a tiny silver fish in his bill, and mentally commended him for his good fishing. well, the waggons hadn't come, and wouldn't come to-night. the sun had set and it was growing dark. a chill wind sprang up and the reed birds had become silent. the watcher turned slowly and walked in the direction of his camp. he had not gone far when he stopped, for he had caught sight of a queer-looking man hobbling towards him along the path which ran by the river side. in the dying light he saw that the stranger was a white man accompanied by a single native, that he wore a long blonde beard, that he was unusually tall, that his trousers were cut off above the knee, that he had no boots, that he was very lame and had his feet bandaged in rags. in short, he saw a fellow white man in distress. he forgot his own little troubles and hastened towards the newcomer. he gave the usual greeting of "hulloa." "hulloa," was the reply. "going a bit short, i see." "yes, about done in." "let me give you a hand to my camp." "thanks; i heard i should find you here." "come far to-day?" "yes, from the falls." "a good forty-five miles, by jove!" "yes, quite that, i should think." the two men relapsed into silence; the taller one because he was very exhausted and felt it acutely now that he had reached his journey's end; the shorter, because he realised his companion's condition and did not wish to bother him with questions which could very well wait. on reaching the camp knight shouted to his body servant: "hot bath and be quick!" turning to his companion, he said: "you'd like a hot bath, wouldn't you?" "there is only one thing on earth i should like better, but no doubt you can give me both." "oh, i know; you want a drink, of course. i'll get you one in a second. sit down." "curse those waggons," muttered knight, as he hurried off to get his last bottle of gin. his second impulse was to thank goodness that the bottle was a "baby," that is, one of the largest size. returning with his precious "baby," he saw his guest's face clearly for the first time. the natives had lit the camp fire, and the light of it fell upon the strong features of the stranger. "good lord! it's lindsay!" "yes, why not? didn't you recognise me at once?" "no. will you have water or a sparklet with your gin?" asked knight, pouring out about half a glass of the spirit--a quantity known to travellers as a "three-finger tot." "i'll chase it," said lindsay, who, having gulped down the gin, held out his glass for some water. "bath ready, morena," a black boy called from an adjoining hut. "have another?" said his host. "no, thanks. i can face your hot bath now." the tired man entered the hut, followed by the native who had reached the camp with him. knight called his cook and took stock. what was there for dinner? soup. oh, yes, there was always soup, made by boiling down bones and meat, throwing in a few dried vegetables and thickening with peaflour. fish? good man; so he had caught some that very evening? then there was that cold bush-pig's head. yes, they would like that. what else was there? remembering the leathery thing his cook called an omelette, he discouraged a suggestion of eggs. to be sure, there were chickens. they had just gone to roost, and were now quiet after a noisy bed-going. yes, two very young ones spatchcocked, and with plenty of black pepper and a little salt. and there was one tinned plum pudding in the store; they would have that. this plum pudding had been suggested daily by the cook, and always rejected because it might be wanted. it was wanted now. yes, they would have the plum pudding. and then there was the gin. well, they wouldn't do so badly after all. soup, fish, chickens, the cold pig's head and a hot plum pudding; what more could two men want? by this time lindsay had splashed to his heart's content, and the generous qualities of the gin were having their effect. he felt a new man. "are you out of your bath?" "yes; can you give me some clean kit?" "certainly, but will it fit you?" "oh, near enough. it will be clean, which is the main thing." much chaff ensued as lindsay, who stood six feet three in his socks, got into some of his host's clothes, for knight was the shorter of the two by some six inches, but fortunately broad in the shoulders. "can't do you in boots." "oh, that's all right. give me some limbo[ ] to tie up my feet." [ ] slang term for calico. during the bandaging the camp dogs began to bark loudly, and both men paused to listen. "by the way," said lindsay, "that must be hobday. i walked on ahead of him; he is so deuced slow. do you know hobday? he's 'pills' to our expedition. not a bad fellow, as doctors go." "no, i don't know him and you haven't told me what the expedition is or anything about anything yet." "well, we've walked across country from zanzibar, or rather mombasa, looking for minerals." "found anything?" "no." "well, i'd better go and look out for--what did you say his name was?" "hobday, quite a little fellow." knight went out of the hut and, as he passed the kitchen, ordered another bath and told the cook that as a second white man was arriving he must kill another chicken. almost immediately hobday arrived. he was a short, precise little man, inclined to tubbiness. "how do you do? my name is mr. hobday. i am the medical man attached to an important expedition headed by mr. j.g. lindsay, who may not be unknown to you." to this long-winded greeting knight replied: "well, come along and have a drink and a hot bath and a change, and by that time dinner will be ready. lindsay's here." "i do not often indulge in alcoholic beverages and never in the daytime, but after a very tiring day----" "say when. will you have a sparklet with it or do you prefer water?" "er, thanks, a sparklet if you please. i am of opinion that the sparklet is a very useful invention. what would not that great traveller and hunter, gordon cumming, have given for what amounts to a portable soda-water factory? ah, thank you, that is ample. and, as i always tell my patients, if they must drink alcohol, they will find in gin its least harmful form." "what a queer little devil," thought knight. "i am greatly obliged to you for this stimulant, and now i shall be further and deeply indebted to you if i may have a bath. i always say that a hot bath, when one is tired, revives one more quickly and effectually than anything else." knight found it difficult to reply suitably to this, and was relieved when the bath was announced and the doctor disappeared into the hut. lindsay looked extremely funny in knight's clothes. the old shooting jacket was a little short in the skirt and sleeves. the trousers reached half way down the tall man's shins, but he felt clean and comfortable and appearances didn't matter. "have another?" "thanks." the two men sat and talked whilst the third bathed. the rest of the expedition had remained at the victoria falls. there were a dozen white men altogether, and about a hundred and fifty natives. lindsay heard that knight was at kazungula and came on to see him. the pair had been through the matabele rebellion together, and had had other experiences in common. hobday had insisted on coming too. his devotion to "the head of the expedition" rather embarrassed lindsay. he was not a bad fellow on the whole, and a very capable doctor. the rest of the men with the exception of gray--knight knew gray--were professional prospectors, good enough men at their particular job but a troublesome lot on an expedition. no, they hadn't found anything really worth while, lindsay thought, but some indications of oil might turn out a big thing. yes, they were going straight home from the falls by way of bulawayo, salisbury and beira, and if any of them came back to have another look, it would be this way and not in from mombasa. the question "have another?" had been asked and satisfactorily answered before hobday reappeared. he looked quite as funny in his host's clothes as lindsay did. the only difference was that the coat and trousers supplied to him were as much too big for him as they were too small for lindsay. hobday began to apologise for his appearance, but the announcement that dinner was ready cut short the unnecessary speech. all three were hungry, the two visitors especially so. if, during dinner, hobday noticed that a native replenished his glass whenever it was empty, he made no protest. the conversation almost at once turned to england, to london, and what each man had seen and done when last there. towards the end of the meal dancing was the topic. these new dances, the jazz, the hesitation, the two-step, the fox-trot, and the rest; all agreed that they were impossible, that there was little difference, if any, between them and the average kaffir dance. hobday became quite eloquent on the subject, and, as they moved to chairs set ready for them round a camp fire, gravely stepped a measure which he was pleased to call the stately waltz, and then proceeded to contrast it with what he termed the ridiculous prancings of the present day. although the uncomplimentary terms which he applied to modern dancing could with equal justice have been applied to the waltz as danced by him, his companions agreed and fell to talking again of dances they had been to when last at home. suddenly lindsay said: "why shouldn't we have a dance? one could hum the tune while the other two dance. we can take it turn and turn about to him. you and hobday dance first and i'll hum. why not?" and thus began the dance which is talked of to this day by the natives who saw it. lindsay hummed the "eton boating song" whilst knight and hobday waltzed round and round the fire. although he bobbed about in an unnecessarily energetic manner, it was clear to knight that hobday had been inside a ballroom. then knight sat down and hummed the "blue danube," but very badly, and with many notes strange to the tune, for lindsay was six foot three and hobday only five foot four! then knight and lindsay danced to the "merry widow," hummed by hobday. they really got on very well together in spite of lindsay's bandaged feet, for both, in civilisation, were adjudged good dancing men. after that they each had some light refreshment in the shape of another tot of gin, and it was then that hobday showed himself to be a man of imagination. "let's all dance now," he said. "let's dance the lancers." "how?" said lindsay, "we are only three and there should be at least eight for the lancers." "that don't matter," replied hobday, "you two fellows take sides, i'll do top and bottom; our partners--well, they're in england, don't you see?" and so it came about that in the heart of africa, under the star-lit sky, three sane and more or less sober englishmen danced right through the lancers from beginning to end, one taking top and bottom, the other two the sides, whilst their partners were present only in the mind of each. after the dance they stood silently round the dying fire, gazing into the embers. who can say what fair forms and faces they saw there? * * * * * it was knight who kicked the logs of the fire together and so brought about a sudden blaze. "what's that?" asked lindsay, peering into the darkness. all looked and saw the whites of innumerable black men's eyes reflecting the camp firelight. then there was a patter of many feet as the silent witnesses to the dance hurried away. on the building of bridges. if, in the course of conversation, a rhodesian referred to "the old man," his fellow rhodesians knew that cecil john rhodes was meant. no one who knew him personally spoke of that great man as rhodes; in rhodesia such familiarity was impertinence. if anyone in the bulawayo club said: "rhodes told me ..." we turned our backs, as we knew the fellow was about to lie. no, it must be "mr. rhodes" or "the old man." i, personally, never got beyond "mr. rhodes" in his lifetime, and i don't see why i should now that he is dead. as i was about to remark, the best piece of imaginative work that mr. rhodes ever did was to plan the cape to cairo railway. it has not been carried out yet, but that doesn't matter; one day we shall see it, unless flying kills the train. the corner-stone to this imaginative piece of work is, without a doubt, the bridge over the victoria falls. i watched that bridge being built, not girder by girder, of course, but generally speaking. old mkuni watched it girder by girder. mkuni was a fine old savage, who had, in his far off younger days, carved out a little kingdom for himself. he possessed the left bank of a little river called the maramba, some square miles of rock, a few acres of good land, and--the victoria falls. a man who could establish his claim to the falls has a right to be regarded as of some importance. within the memory of man a large herd of elephants went over the falls and whirled in the boiling pot below--a noble offering to the spirits who dwell there. anyone who denies that the falls are the abode of spirits is a fool, be he white man or black. old mkuni looked after the falls and ministered in divers ways to the wants of the spirits who inhabited the place. he it was who, in fair and fierce battle, took this precious spot from old sekute, the wall-eyed ruffian who used to live on the north bank of the zambesi. to hide his defeat from the eyes of passing natives, old sekute set up a noble avenue of poles from the river to his village. on every pole he placed a human skull; these, he vowed, were the headpieces of mkuni's men. mkuni could afford to laugh, for did not he and all the world know that some of the grim trophies were the heads of sekute's own followers, slain by mkuni's men and added to at the expense of half a hundred of sekute's own slaves? all this was before livingstone discovered the falls. so you see, when all is said and done, mkuni was a man worthy of respect. he always had mine, and we were fast friends. it fell to my lot to tell him of the bridge which would stand astride the tumbling waters. he was interested, and gave his consent without reserve. when he asked me how it was going to be done, i had to confess i did not know; engineering feats are not in my line. "are you going to build it, morena?" "no." "who then will build this bridge?" "the people of the great man." "the king of all the white men?" "no, not he himself, but one of his greatest men." "if the king would build it, i should believe, or," he added most politely, "if you would build it, i should agree that it can be done, but what do others know of bridges?" this was a little difficult to answer, so i told him to watch. mkuni took my words literally; he did watch. he could be seen daily perched upon a rock overlooking the work, surrounded by a large number of his own people. from time to time strangers from inland added to the watchers. to all mkuni held forth: "am not i an old man now? have i not killed many in battle? did i not take the thundering smoke from a certain person? who then knows so much of the building of bridges as i?" with this inconsequent line of argument the crowd of watchers would murmur full agreement. "when a man builds a small hut, is a pole from the ground to the roof necessary?" "no," from his audience. "that is true, but if a man builds a hut as high as heaven, is not a pole necessary?" all agreed that it was so. "but see now these white men, who build a bridge across the thundering smoke. it is not the king of the white men who builds, nor he who collects from us the hut tax, but strangers. they build this bridge from the north bank and from the south, but where is the pole to hold up the roof of the bridge?" from day to day mkuni's supporters increased in number. "come and see the white man's bridge fall into the tumbling waters," was his daily invitation, and many came. "i am sorry for these white men, for they work to no profit." and mkuni's adherents increased. but, in spite of all, the work progressed. the thin steel arms flung out from either bank crept nearer daily towards the clasping of hands, and yet the bridge did not fall. poor old mkuni, firm in his belief, found it hard to stomach the thinning in the number of his fellow watchers. he became highly indignant. in vain he talked--piled unanswerable argument upon argument unanswerable. someone put it about that there was nothing the white man could not do. many agreed with this, and went home. at last the engineer who built the victoria falls bridge saw his work complete. mkuni, too, saw that the work was finished--all but the pole in the middle to keep it from tumbling down. under all his anxiety the poor old man had shrunk visibly; so, too, had the number of those who believed in him, and had come at his invitation to watch with him the disaster which he assured them must overtake that bridge. poor old mkuni! it must be admitted that there is something of the gentleman about the raw, untutored savage, for when the first train had crossed safely over the victoria falls bridge, mkuni stood alone on his rock. no one remained as witness to his discomfiture. he climbed slowly down to his village. everyone in it was busy with his or her ordinary daily occupation; all strangers had quietly gone their several ways. the compleat angler. r. e. baker was engaged as conductor of our waggons on one of our journeys from bulawayo to the zambesi, and a more capable cattle-man than he did not, i am sure, exist between the cape and cairo. if an ox wouldn't pull, he made it. if an ox went sick, he cured it with amazing rapidity. baker, though english by descent, was a cape dutchman through and through. a bad-natured ox he named "englishman," and flogged the wretched beast into a better frame of mind. on the other hand, he would walk miles to find good grazing for his cattle, and to see baker caress an ox was a thing to remember. not being a cattle-man myself, i thought our conductor was gouging out the eye of an ox. it certainly looked uncommonly like it. he was forcing his fist with a rotary movement into the beast's eye. in answer to my questioning, he explained that he was caressing the ox, that cattle appreciated the attention; you had to be vigorous or you tickled the poor thing, and oxen didn't like being tickled. he was obviously right, for each ox, as baker approached, seemed to know what to expect and tamely submitted. a few days out from bulawayo baker came back from the water carrying fish. he had caught them, he said, in the large water-hole. it never occurred to me that there would be any fish in the almost dried-up rivers which we crossed from time to time. baker assured me that where there was water there were fish, but you must know how to catch them. a day or two later we outspanned close to some water-holes. baker said he was going to catch some fish, and asked me whether i would like to come too. i said i should, and began unpacking a rod and some tackle which i had bought in london with the intention of fishing for tiger-fish in the zambesi. baker watched me unpack and make my selection. he seemed much amused. presently he drew from his pocket his own tackle, which appeared to me to be a confused mass of tangled string and hooks. we set out. baker stopped at a small deep hole containing clear water. it was my turn to smile. the pool he was going to fish in was a little larger than a water-butt. i went on, and found a fairly long pool. the water was rather muddy, and i found little depth anywhere. however, i hoped for the best, and fished just clear of the bottom. i used as bait a small piece of meat from a wild pigeon's breast, recommended by baker. i have a certain amount of patience, but not, i fancy, quite sufficient to entitle me to describe myself as a fisherman. after about two hours of this fiddling, i gave it up and went in search of baker. to my amazement, he had quite a score of fish on the grass by his side. "did you catch all those?" i asked. "yes." "in that hole?" "why, yes." "how on earth do you do it?" by way of reply he asked me how many i had caught. i said, "none." "ah," said baker, "you shouldn't fish, you should angle. watch me." i sat down and watched. baker had a short, thick stick in his hand. from the end of the stick hung a thick piece of whipcord. on the end of the cord he had a stone with a hole in it, what we, as children, used to call a lucky stone. just above the stone he had tied a skinned pigeon--the whole bird. hooks radiated in every direction from the bird; hooks set at every conceivable angle--dozens of hooks. from time to time baker threw a few breadcrumbs at his bait. i could plainly see the small fish cluster round. now and then he struck sharply. nearly every time he fouled a small fish, mostly under the jaw or in the belly. each time he hooked a fish he repeated: "my lad, you shouldn't fish; you should angle." when we reached the gwai river, baker produced a long hand-line with an immense hook on the end of it. the bait he used was a lump of washing soap. i didn't go with him because i wasn't ready and he was impatient to begin. "we shall catch big barbles here," said baker. i followed him, and saw him throw his lump of soap well out into the river. i stood on the bank above and watched. baker lit his pipe, looked up and down the river, and at his line. then he shifted the line to his left hand, which he lifted to his left ear. with his right he made a winding movement close to his head, and said: "'ullo! exchange; put me on to mr. barble, please, miss." to my intense amusement, and to baker's obvious surprise, there was a sharp tug at the line. he remained for a while with his hand suspended near his right ear as though still on the handle of the old-fashioned telephone instrument. then he gave a violent strike. but the barble--if indeed it was a barble--had had time to spit out the piece of soap and so escape. baker, still unaware of my presence, said: "damn the fellow!" he shifted the line to his right hand, and went through the pantomime of getting on to the exchange again, this time ringing with his left hand. "'ullo! is that you, exchange? put me on to mr. barble again, please, miss." no response from the fish. "'ullo! exchange! what? no answer from mr. barble? gone to lunch, eh?" i moved off quietly up the river, and in course of time succeeded in catching a mud-fish weighing forty-eight pounds. i came back a couple of hours later, and found baker had landed two immense fish of the same kind; one weighed fifty-three pounds and the other fifty-nine. he had also caught a poisonous looking eel. how he had landed these monsters he would not tell me; he contented himself with repeating: "my lad, you mustn't fish; you must angle." when we reached the zambesi, baker almost neglected his cattle. he had never seen this grand river before. he at once got out a line and went "angling." coming down the river bank, i saw baker standing on a rock a few yards from the bank. sitting on the bank was an old man, watching him. "any luck?" said i. "no." "been here long?" "not very long, but that old man talks too much to please me." i looked down at the old man. he looked up at me. he greeted me in the local language. in his language i replied. whereupon he calmly said: "i have been telling that white man that from the rock on which he stands a crocodile took a woman yesterday." i hurriedly translated. baker did no more angling that day! he thought the old man had been saying "how do you do?" to him. in the end we converted baker to our way of fishing, so that he became an expert spinner and killed many a noble tiger-fish. but he had a mishap the first day he used a rod which almost decided him not to use one again. he was fishing from the bank for bream, which run large in that part of the river. he used a float for the first time. presently his float disappeared. baker struck upwards, using both hands. he pulled his fish out of the water, but with such force that it flew over his head and fell with a splash into a pond behind--free. i think we just saved him from an immediate return to "angling" by pretending not to have seen his discomfiture. the song of the great occasion. the news spread quickly that the "great man," his wife and some friends were coming north of the zambesi to shoot. williams, the native commissioner, heard it from the boy who looked after his fowls a full week before he received official warning from headquarters. how the chicken-boy heard of it remains a mystery. he who can tell you how news travels so rapidly in africa can no doubt explain; but in answer to questioning, the boy replied: "people say so." thanks to this advance notice, williams had time to make his plans at leisure. he had experience of native rumours of this kind, and, invariably acting upon them, gained a reputation for good organising. no doubt the sovereign's representative would want to shoot lion, buffalo, eland, sable, and, in addition, at least a specimen of each of the lesser inhabitants of the plain and forest. well, he would do this and that and the other, and it would not be williams's fault if a thoroughly representative bag were not made. like all sportsmen in official positions, living far from headquarters and having a large district to control, williams knew exactly where the game was most plentiful. he kept the information to himself as a general rule, for he well knew that if he did not do so his special reserves would soon cease to exist. but for the direct representative of the king nothing was too good. williams made his plans, built a camp and awaited the arrival of his visitors. two days before the "great man" was due to arrive, old garamapingwe, the musician, passed that way. he stopped to pay his respects to williams. "good day, my father." "good day to you, garamapingwe." "what are the news, my chief?" "i look to you for news." "oh, there is nothing but the coming of the 'great man.'" "yes, he is coming." "i should like to see the 'great man.'" "you shall, garamapingwe." "much thanks to you, my chief." an idea occurred to williams. no doubt the sport which he had planned to provide would be excellent, but what about the evenings spent round the camp fire after dinner? it might happen that his guests did not want to play bridge. he himself detested the game--most unnatural of him, but there it was. he disliked "shop" out of hours, and one could have too much talk of personal experiences. he must provide for a possible gap. how many men in a thousand had heard native african music? not the stuff you can hear any day from the boys' compound at the back of the house, but music, worthy of the name of music, made by men like garamapingwe? very few. so williams added to his plan. * * * * * it was friday. the great man had been shooting for three days. the first two were decidedly promising. nothing very wonderful had been shot, but very fair heads of eland, buffalo, roan and waterbuck had been secured by various members of the party. the great man had done fairly well, but he was perhaps more at home with a shot gun. but friday had been a bad day. at the great man's request williams had gone with him to look for sable antelope. so far no one had shot a sable. well, they came across sable, and in this manner. at daylight all had gone their several ways. the great man and williams had gone east. good luck, sable spoor and quite fresh. williams was a fair tracker: he had picked up something of the art from the bushmen down south. they followed it, williams leading, carefully. the report of a rifle in the distance! the great man stopped. williams felt savage. who was this poaching? who had left his beat and jumped their claim? he motioned the great man to sit down. they waited. they waited for ten minutes and then the snapping of a twig, somewhere to the left, attracted williams's attention. by jingo, there they were, the sable. led by a cow, a noble herd of sable antelope came slowly through the forest. the great man looked at williams, who grinned and commanded quiet by lifting his hand. on they came, cows, cows and more cows. where was the bull? surely a big bull accompanied such a herd of cows? more cows and young bulls, but as yet no big, black, outstanding bull. williams was puzzled. the great man became restive under inaction: to him there was no apparent difference between a cow and a bull. he had never seen sable antelope before. the huge herd filed past within forty yards. still no bull. the great man looked at williams and his expression was none too pleasant. williams felt desperate. he began to think it best after all to let the great man kill a good cow and have done with it when, looking to the left, he saw the bull. it was the bull! black as ink, with a snow-white belly. horns seemed above the average. a great spasm of joy gripped williams's heart. here was a bull worthy of the great man, the direct representative of the sovereign. in response to a sign from williams, the great man looked, saw, raised his rifle and--williams checked him. good heavens, what was the matter with that bull? seemed to be going short, off fore. it couldn't be. then he motioned to the great man to take his shot. the next moment the noble bull crashed to the ground and the cows filed on at a gallop and so out of sight. "a good shot and a good bull, sir," said williams, but he was conscious of a sickening sense of dread. they hurried up. the bull lay stone dead with a bullet exactly placed behind the shoulder. "shall i mark out the head skin for you, sir? you'll want to keep this head?" "yes, please." williams worked like a man possessed. he cut the sleek, black skin from the withers to the brisket as the bull lay. without moving the carcass he made a slit up the mane to the base of the skull. here he stopped and listened. he heard something. footsteps approaching. with a gasp of despair he dropped his hunting knife and faced the way the bull had come. curse the fellow! there he was; the great man's a.d.c., babbling like the fool he was. he was talking in english to the native who accompanied him. "are you sure you are on the right track?" the native said nothing because he didn't understand one word of any language but his own. the a.d.c. headed straight for the great man's bull. presently he looked up and walked forward smiling. "hullo, soames, what are you doing here in my patch of country?" "i hit a sable bull about two miles back and followed him." "you hit a bull?" "yes, sir." "so i have killed your bull for you, have i?" "oh no, sir. it's your bull, of course." "my dear boy, i know the laws of shooting. mr. williams, was this bull hit before i killed him?" "i'll look, sir," said williams, feeling like a detected thief. fancy having to say "yes" to the question! there was the bullet hole in the off fore fetlock. what a shot! * * * * * the party dined under a sense of restraint that night. the great man congratulated his a.d.c. on having secured a fine bull, but that didn't improve matters. after dinner it was a silent party round the camp fire. williams spoke. "would you like to hear some african music, sir?" "very much indeed. do you play?" "no, sir, but i have a man here." "by all means let us hear him." garamapingwe was sent for. the old musician came, followed by two other natives. he himself carried two curious looking musical instruments, one of the men carried another; the third man, led by a little native boy, was blind and empty handed. the three natives greeted the great man suitably who as suitably replied. they then sat down on the other side of the fire and garamapingwe struck a few bold chords. no common musician he. williams said something in the vernacular to garamapingwe, who replied. "what did he say?" asked the great man. "i asked him what he was going to sing," replied williams, "and he said: 'the song of the great occasion.'" "will you please ask him what this great occasion is of which he is going to sing?" the question was put and the reply translated. "the great occasion is the visit paid to our poor country by the great man who represents the king of the white men." "how very interesting! please tell him to proceed." garamapingwe sang and played vigorously. he played an instrument with either hand. his companion played one with both his hands. the blind man droned in chorus to garamapingwe's recitative. it was a very fine performance. the great man had an ear for music. williams was delighted, for the great man seemed both pleased and interested. the second verse was ended and the third began, when suddenly the blind man leaped into the air, interrupting the harmony with a piercing shriek. all but williams and the natives thought this part of the performance. they were not left long in doubt. clutching wildly at his clothing, the blind man moaned and moaned and moaned. he stripped himself and turned to the fire to be inspected by his fellows. the great man's wife fled to her tent. williams had the musicians hustled away. a large scorpion had crept up and stung the blind man as he sat. thus the song of the great occasion ended abruptly. the descent of man. randall was skinning a monkey. he had shot two monkeys during the morning and had already skinned one of them. he collected monkeys and had done so steadily for years. randall was district commissioner and magistrate of a large tract of british africa. one of the many men who live and die unheard of by the british public; men who quietly but efficiently "administer" england's african possessions. some day, perhaps, england may realise what a debt it owes to these unknown men. i was randall's assistant. i had served for four years; that is to say, one year beyond the probationary period. i had made good to the extent of getting on the establishment, and held the rank of assistant native commissioner. randall had been in the service for twenty-three years. in his dealings with the natives he was firm and just. he had a deep sympathy for the people entrusted to his care, but he successfully concealed it from them. he used to say to me "play the game with your people but don't slobber over them, they don't understand that sort of thing." it has often been said that all men who have spent more than ten years in the heart of africa are mad. i have known few saner men than randall, but i cannot deny that he had one peculiarity: he collected monkeys. i could never understand why he shot the wretched things, or why he skinned them in such a peculiar way. let me explain. randall only shot one kind of monkey, and only the mature male of that kind. having bagged his monkey, he would consult a shabby little black pocket-book, make an entry in it, and then set to work to skin the beast. from watching him i gathered this much: he kept only the head and shoulders and one arm of each monkey. sometimes it was the right arm, sometimes the left, never both. some kind of calculation in the pocket-book appeared to be necessary before he could determine which arm he wanted. i also observed that he carefully cleaned all particles of flesh from the skull and arm bones and, having put some preservative on the skin, wrapped it round the skull and bones, making a neat little parcel of the whole. after labelling the specimen, he packed it away in a box which was carried, wherever he travelled, by his body servant, monga. on reaching the station, after a journey in the district, monga and his master would repack the contents of the box in a large tin-lined case. randall had three such cases. two of them were quite full, the third nearly so. i never questioned randall about his hobby. once i shot a monkey and gave it to monga, thinking his master would skin it; but he did not; he simply told his man to throw it away. as he said nothing to me about it, i let the matter drop and made no more advances. as i said before, on this particular morning randall had shot two monkeys. he decided to keep the left arm in each case. monga was squatting on the ground in front of him, holding the body of the dead monkey whilst his master skinned it. the pair were silent; from long practice monga knew exactly what was required of him and needed no instructions. presently randall said "this is the last one, monga: no more monkeys after this one." monga accepted the statement without comment, but it set me speculating afresh upon the object of randall's quaint hobby. however, as my chief offered no explanation, i did not ask for one. when the skinning was all but done, monga permitted himself to remark, "monkeys were men like me once, morena." randall paused and looked gravely at monga for a moment; then, bending to his task once more, he said, "monga, i believe you, tell me more." now, if monga resembled anything, it was a monkey. his eyes were set close together, his nose was very small, his lower jaw protruded slightly, and his forehead was very low and much puckered. i saw the humour of the conversation and wanted to laugh, but to have done so would, i felt, have lowered me in the estimation of my chief. randall had once said to me: "blackmore, in spite of your ridiculous name, you should get on in the native department. had your name been whitelaw, or even smith, you would not have been handicapped. you have a stupid name to live down, for this is a black man's country. however, always remember this: never laugh with a native, and only laugh at him if he is deserving of punishment and you wish to punish him. only a fool beats a native; ridicule is a cleaner form of punishment, and not as brutalising." i suppressed my desire to laugh, and monga resumed. "yes, morena, monkeys were men once just the same as we are. they lived in their own villages in nice huts; they had their own chiefs, and spoke like people do. "but they became lazy--lazy to hoe their fields and to weed them; lazy to build their huts and to plaster them. so they said to each other: 'it is a bad thing to work; let us go to the forest and live there, and we will find fruits in the forest to eat.' so they went to the forest and lived there. "one day one said: 'are we not tired of making clothes? let us grow hair on our bodies that we may be warm always.' and all agreed and grew hair on their bodies. "when the autumn came, and the grain in the lands was ripe, the lazy ones came to steal from the men's gardens. the men tried to watch their gardens, but the thieves were too clever. "the monkeys had their servants, and when they wanted food they sent their servants on to see if there were any men in the lands. if there were no men there they would steal corn and pumpkins and melons and calabashes, and carry them away to the forest. "and if they found a sleeping man watching the fields they passed by him gently; and when they had finished stealing they would cut some twigs and beat him severely. and when the man woke up and began to run away, they would laugh at him and mock him. "when the monkeys returned to the forest with the foods which they had stolen, they lit fires and cooked them. then the people, seeing the smoke, came with sticks and assegais, and beat some monkeys and killed others. "then the monkeys said: 'it is not good to have fire, for the men see it and come and kill us.' so now the monkeys steal when the men are not looking, and eat the food uncooked in the trees at night." randall made only one comment. he asked monga where the monkeys got their tails from. but monga admitted that he did not know. randall had now finished his skinning, and had made the usual neat little parcels; monga brought the box and carefully packed them in with the rest. the travelling box was quite full! * * * * * a few days later randall developed black-water fever and died. we carried his body back to the station and buried him at the foot of a large baobab tree. the natives for many miles round attended. when all was over, and randall's successor was on his way to take charge of the district, monga came to me and reminded me that there were some monkey skins in the travelling box to be packed away in the large tin-lined case. as he knew more of his master's strange hobby than i did, he did the packing whilst i looked on. when the last skin had been transferred i realised that the case was quite full, and would not have held another one. this, i remember, struck me as being uncanny. between us we soldered up the tin lining and nailed on the lid of the case. then monga looked at me for instructions. this set me thinking. why on earth did randall collect monkeys? i examined the lids of the cases and found his name and home address neatly painted on each. clearly, therefore, he had intended to take them home. but this did not explain why he had collected them. i thought of the shabby little black note-book, so went into the house and looked through it. all i could gather was that randall had collected three hundred and eighty right-armed and one hundred and twenty left-armed skins. five hundred wretched monkeys--and what for? and why not two hundred and fifty right arms and two hundred and fifty left; or why not all right or all left? i went back to where monga stood by the cases, and asked him why his master had collected the monkeys. he seemed surprised at my question; it apparently never occurred to him to inquire into the why and the wherefore of any of his master's acts. he seems to have accepted all his master did or said as a matter of course. the whole thing was monstrous. i could not send the wretched things to his people at home. they would think him mad, as perhaps he was as regards his hobby, but no saner man ever lived so far as anything else was concerned. then i had an inspiration. i ordered a large hole to be dug at the foot of another tree, which stood about a hundred yards from that under which randall's grave lay. into this hole i had the three cases carried, and the earth shovelled back. monga didn't disapprove, or, if he did, he made no protest. i think he took the whole thing as a matter of course, as was his way. i never found out, nor can i imagine, why randall collected the heads and shoulders of five hundred monkeys--three hundred and eighty with right arms and one hundred and twenty with left arms attached. someone reading this story may guess or may know. for myself, i frankly admit defeat. the railway contractor. bositi had returned to his village after six years' absence. most of the time he had spent on the railway construction, where the work was heavy and the pay light. in physique he was improved almost beyond recognition. the large blue-and-yellow tin box which he carried on his head contained the miscellaneous goods upon which he had spent some of his wages. much of his money had gone in drink, more in gambling. after bositi had been away two years the headman and elders presumed his death. so, too, did his wife; she married again, and had presented her new husband with two children. bositi was unreasonable about it. on being told that he was supposed to be dead, he insulted the headman and beat the woman who was once his wife. when her husband protested, he beat him too. after he had thus relieved his feelings he opened his box, and took from it many strings of pink and white beads; these he gave to the mothers of the pretty marriageable girls of the village. in return he received much strong beer. the beer made him drunk--too drunk to beat or insult anyone else, but not too drunk to grasp securely in a moist hand the key of his precious box. next morning he made his peace with the headman by giving him a hat, but he rudely rebuffed his late wife, whose cupidity was excited by the size of that blue-and-yellow tin box. he also made friends with the men of the village--not excluding him who had married his wife--by distributing pieces of strong twist tobacco. after a few days' rest he made certain selections from the treasure in his box and set out for the chief's village. when there he showed off. he wore his best clothes, and spoke bad english fluently and loudly in the traders' stores. while his money lasted the traders suffered him; when it was spent he was told not to come again. the chief soon heard of him and sent for him. bositi had never been presented at court before. he was immensely impressed. he squatted in the sand, one of a long row of strangers to the capital, with his gifts neatly folded before him. immediately in front of him was a long thatched building. three sides of it were closed in with reed mats, the fourth was open to the public. this, a lounger told him, was the national council house, or khotla. the chief had not yet arrived, but his orchestra was playing idly. it consisted of three gigantic harmonicas and a number of drums. the instrumentalists showed their utter contempt of all common people by talking loudly as they strummed and thumped. the court fool was aping birds. he had a bunch of feathers in his hair and a few stuck in his waist-belt behind; this was the extent of his make-up. for the moment he was imitating a crested crane. the bird is beautiful, the fool was hideous; yet such was his art of mimicry that all recognised the bird he had chosen to represent. the town crier paused for a moment to bawl something unintelligibly, and then passed on his way. some oxen straying by stopped to sniff at some rubbish. the armed guards drove them off with a few cuts of their raw hide whips. bositi had brought as a present to the chief a large blanket with a realistic lion printed on it, a highly-coloured pocket handkerchief, and a new brass tinder box. he mentally contrasted his gifts with those brought by other men--mostly to the disadvantage of the others. one old man was about to offer two goodly tusks of ivory. by the fuss the hangers-on made of this old man it was very evident that a possessor of ivory commanded very much respect. bositi had smuggled an old tower musket across the border and knew where to get powder. he promised himself an elephant with larger tusks than those displayed by his rival. presently there was a stir. the chief was coming! the orchestra struck up energetically; the fool twirled rapidly round on one foot; the hangers-on crouched and shaded their faces as from the rising sun; the long row of visitors bent forward until their foreheads touched the sand; the guards fell upon one knee and all clapped their hands. bositi literally buried his face in the sand; a little got into his right eye and annoyed him for days to come. the chief moved towards the council house, preceded by a number of body servants, one of whom pointed with a long stick to imaginary stumps and stones over which his lord and master, if not warned, might trip. another carried the chief's chair. this chair was strongly made on the european pattern. the seat of it was covered with the hide of a sable antelope, from which constant use had worn much of the hair. a rude face was carved on the bar which supports the sitter's back. to this face men do reverence when the chief is not in his chair. a third man beat with two small drum-sticks upon a large harmonica, which was suspended by a bark rope from his neck. another carried a green umbrella, not open, because the chief himself had a smaller one in his own hand. the sight of the chief filled bositi with awe. he paid no attention to the crowd of councillors following in the footsteps of the august personage. he felt that his own finery, which had been much admired by the common herd, was really very mean. for the chief had on a grey top hat with a wide black band to it. he wore a long magenta dressing gown, which fell open as he strode forward, disclosing a pair of pepper and salt trousers. on his feet he had a magnificent--in bositi's eyes--pair of new bright yellow boots. in his free hand he carried an eland's tail fitted as a fly-whisk, with an ivory and ebony handle. in spite of his absurd clothes the chief had a certain air of dignity. he was heavily built and stooped slightly at the shoulders with age; his small beard was tinged with grey. he stepped along firmly, however, and bositi noticed with jealousy that his eyes lit up as they rested for a moment on the two great tusks of ivory brought by the old man. the chief entered the council house and sat down. immediately all present raised their hands and shouted a salutation with such good will that the orchestra was not heard for a space. the court fool hopped round with renewed energy. the official praiser shouted: the great lion! the bull elephant! the thunderer! the greatest of all lions! the salutations died down and the orchestra came to its own again. there is no hurry in a native council house. the band played out its selection and the court fool continued to gyrate. one by one the councillors took their seats in the chamber. this was a lengthy business: each man in turn seated himself on the ground before the chief and clapped his hands and bowed several times; then, collecting his skirts round him, he moved in a crouching position to his accustomed seat. at length quiet prevailed. one by one the visitors were marshalled forward to present their gifts and state their case--if they had one to state. many trivial matters were discussed and trumpery gifts bestowed upon the chief, when it came to the turn of the old man with the ivory. "who is this who brings ivory?" asked the chief. "it is moyo of the rivoswe country," someone volunteered. "oh, the man who is said to have broken our laws. see, he brings two tusks and they are large ones." "yes, the tusks he brings are large ones," remarked several of those in the council house. "who accuses this man of law-breaking?" demanded the chief. there was no reply. all knew their master's weakness for ivory. the chief addressed moyo: "tell me, old man, what mischief was in your heart when last you left my village?" moyo pointed to the tusks. "i went to hunt elephants for the chief. for long i hunted before i killed. when i had killed, i brought my ivory to my chief. i am no law-breaker. is it against the law for the chief's slave to hunt elephants for the chief?" "if," answered the chief, "to bring me ivory is to break the law, let many break it. who accused this man?" as no answer was forthcoming, the chief accepted the ivory. as a matter of fact this old man moyo had been very troublesome in days gone by. he had refused to pay the annual tribute of honey, corn and skins, and had driven away the tax-gatherers sent to collect. now, realising that he was getting on in years, he thought it wise to make his peace. no one ventured to remind the chief of these things in view of the offering of two goodly tusks. moyo was permitted to go to his home in peace; it was, however, plainly hinted to him that ivory would not save his skin if again he thought fit to defy the chief's authority. at length bositi's turn came. "who is this slave?" asked the chief. someone spoke for him. "he comes with a small gift. he has been working for many years for the white man." "is this the fellow who has been making the white man's stemala?" (by "stemala" the chief meant railway, probably an attempt at the word "steamers.") "yes, chief," said bositi, "i have been making stemalas." "can you make good stemalas?" "yes, chief, i can make them. i have been helping the white man to make them for many years." "what does the white man use stemalas for?" "to carry goods too heavy for a man to carry, and to travel distances more quickly and greater than a man can travel." "could you build a stemala for me?" without hesitation bositi declared he could build a railway for the chief if he were provided with the necessary men to help him and a few axes and adzes for felling and shaping the timber. "is not the stemala made of iron?" inquired the chief. "yes, the white man uses iron from his country where it is found in pieces as long and as straight as a palm tree. he has no big trees in his country. in the chief's country iron is only found in little pieces, but the trees are large and long." "if you make a good stemala for me you shall be the headman of your village and the induna of your district. the axes and the adzes shall be given to you. go and make a stemala for me; go quickly and make the stemala quickly." "i will go, but the chief must know that a stemala is a big thing to make. many men and many days are wanted for its making." "it is well; i understand," said the chief. then turning to one of his principal advisers, he directed him to see that bositi had all the men and all the tools he required. that night much fuss was made over bositi who was to become the headman of his village and the induna of his district--when he had made a railway for his chief. as for bositi, he talked big things and adopted the manner of a big man, bearing himself as if his railway were already built and he installed in his high position. in due course were settled such small details as where the railway was to be built, how many men were required, and what tools would be wanted from the chief's store. at length the party set out. bositi was the most important member of it. next, and with authority in some respects even greater than his, was the chief's representative. this man had power to requisition slave labour in the chief's name and free food from the villages near to the seat of operations. the spot chosen for the railway was some two hundred miles from the chief's village. this was fortunate for bositi, for the distance freed him from too much tiresome supervision. it was on the main river where free navigation is interrupted by a waterfall of considerable size and a series of formidable rapids. for centuries travellers had been content to drag their canoes overland round these obstacles. the going was very heavy as the soil was loose and sandy. the railway was to save this labour. canoes were to be put on the rails above the falls and so transported to the quiet water below. a more useful railway, from the natives' point of view, could not have been planned. i was shown over the works by bositi himself in the early days of construction, before those difficult problems arose which sooner or later confront all who "bite off more than they can chew." if bositi had paid strict attention to business and had attached that importance to details which details have a way of demanding, i think his railway would have been a success. but this is too much to expect of any native. he began well. i found firmly fixed to the ground by means of stout wooden pegs half a dozen well-made wooden rails. much labour had been expended on these, for they were cut from large trees. they were perfectly straight and set in true parallel. resting on the rails were two pairs of wheels: each pair was linked together by a heavy axle bar, rounded at either extremity to permit the wheels to turn freely, but squared between the wheels. the wheels, which were secured to the axle by wooden pins, were shaped like cotton reels: that is, they were doubly flanged in order to keep them from slipping off the rails. bositi ordered his men to put a long, heavy log across the axle of the two pairs of wheels and proudly pushed it backwards and forwards along the short length of line, some sixty feet. he explained that when the work was finished it would be necessary only to place a canoe, fully loaded, across the axles and push it along. i asked him how many months he had been at work on the construction. he said six. i pointed out that as the distance to be covered by the rails was some three miles, it would be forty years and more before the railway was ready for use. in the meantime, what about the ravages of the white ant? bositi appeared hurt but not discouraged. i think he put my criticism down to the natural jealousy which a white man would feel upon finding that a native is not incapable of great things. he explained that the work had required some planning out, that the local people had been slow to respond to the calls made upon them by the chief's representative for food and labour, and that the rains had hindered progress. i admitted that these were difficulties which required time to overcome, and asked to be shown his working camp. bositi led me some distance into the forest. here i saw a number of men busy with tiny native adzes upon some felled trees, shaping them into wooden rails. in very few instances were the rails in the making as straight as those already laid. it was clear to me that the wheels would somehow have to negotiate very awkward turns and twists in the line, and i wondered how they would do it. by no amount of questioning and patient explanation could i get bositi to see the difficulty which lay ahead of him, so i presently continued my journey, encouraged by the promise that when next i passed that way with my canoes i should enjoy a ride on the wooden railway. * * * * * that section of the cape to cairo railway was never finished. i inspected the abandoned line many months later and found, as i had expected, that the white ants had eaten the rails almost as quickly as they were laid. i also saw that less trouble had been taken in making them. the trees from which they were cut were crooked, so here the rails widened, there they narrowed. here there was a hump, there a depression. i made it my business to find out what had become of bositi. he had not been made a headman of his village nor an induna of his district; but, having failed in his undertaking and squandered all his substance, he had gone south again to live the careless life of the railway camp, where, under the hand of the white man, difficulties seem to disappear as quickly as the morning mist before the rising sun. the licensed victualler. john smith was an up-country caterer in a remote part of africa. we called him joseph, after other shining lights in the trade. i don't think i ever saw him quite sober, but, on the other hand, never heard of his being drunk. he was not good to look at, being fat, bald and red-faced. a stranger once called him joe. our host was indignant at the familiarity, and snapped: "i'm joe to me pals, john smith to me acquaintances, mr. smith to you, damn you!" coming across to my table, he winked heavily, and said in a hoarse stage-whisper: "p'raps you've 'eard a bloke say that afore?" i admitted i had. "come in nice and 'andy, tho'," said joe. joe's place of business was a frame house with walls of canvas. he had named it the "duke of york's restuarant." the spelling was his; so, too, was the sign-writing. he was a man of uncertain temper. one day a hungry guest asked for more beef. joe thought this unreasonable, and thus addressed the man: "yore twist do give yer nerve. 'ere, tike the bloomin' lot!" with that he hurled the round of beef full at the hungry man's head; it missed him and passed out through the canvas wall. joe glared at his damaged property for a space, and then in a loud voice made it known to the rest of us that "beef's off." on another occasion a boarder declined to partake of a doubtful-looking meat concoction which joe declared was "frickerdells." "wot, yer don't like 'em, don't yer?" "no." "won't eat 'em, won't yer?" "no." we all held our breath, wondering what manner of assault joe would select for this reckless fellow. but joe grinned, actually grinned, and replied: "i don't blame yer; i wot makes 'em wouldn't touch 'em; no, not for a fortune." one saturday afternoon i happened to be passing through the yard when joe was discussing with his handy-man, sammy, the sunday lunch. (sammy was an indian, and in africa all indians are "sammy" to all men.) "'ow many dead chickens are there, sammy?" "fourteen, boss." "'ell! 'ow many died yesterday and 'ow many did yer find dead this mornin'?" "eight yesterday and six to-day, boss." "well, we'll curry the eight and roast the six." on sunday i refused curry and roast fowl. joe asked why. i told him. "blokes wot 'ang around the cook-'ouse door 'ears things an' sees things o' times wot puts 'em off their grub. 'ave some bully?" i did. joe seldom had enough waiters, and what he had were mostly black men, quite untrained. i remember one white waiter who answered to the name of william. in our eyes he had many faults--in joe's, but one. he would talk to the customers, stand and talk instead of attending to wants. joe warned him repeatedly, but his warnings were lost on william. one day joe lost his temper. "look 'ere, you snip, wot 'ave i told yer? wot 'ave i kep' on tellin' yer? you'd talk the 'ind leg off a mule! you'r hat it agen. 'ere, quit. sling yer 'ook out o' this. i'm bloomin' well fed up with yer." william blinked at joe during this harangue, and then quietly asked: "do i understand you to mean, joe, that i'm sacked?" "yes," said joe, "i sack yer. come to the till for yer pay." "do you mean," pursued william, "that i am a free man?" "you are," said joe. william turned and looked up and down the crowded tables. he then walked quietly to an empty seat and sat down, bawling: "joe, bring me a plate o' beef; look sharp, i'm in a hurry." as joe's business grew (and it did grow in spite of joe), the waiting became too much for him. he had so many guests that he couldn't get them served quickly enough to please himself, or them. this man wanted one thing, that another, and a third something else; all called their wants loudly and together. joe's remedy was, i believe, original. sharp at one o'clock he had each place set round with generous helpings of all the dishes for the day. you would find a plate piled with roast beef, greens and potatoes; a second equally full of cold pork, potatoes and spring onions; a third with hashed mutton and potatoes; a fourth with hot suet pudding plentifully smeared with treacle; half a loaf of bread on a fifth, and so on. to one arriving a little late, this spectacle was far from appetising. one knife and fork and one spoon had to do duty for the lot. most people ate what they wanted and left the rest. once a guest protested that he could not eat everything set before him. joe was hurt. "'oo the 'ell arst yer to?" he thundered savagely. "it won't cost yer no more, nor no less, either way." just inside the "restuarant" door there stood what joe described as a "wash-and-brush-up-nice-and-'andy." it was his claim that he catered for the "better clarse." the "wash-and-brush-up" consisted of a tin basin on an empty upturned whisky case. the water was usually dirty; the towel, suspended from a roller, was always so; the soap was a long bar of "blue mottled." dangling from a piece of string, tied to a nail driven into the wooden framework of the wall, was a tooth-brush. heaven knows where joe got it from; it was by no means new. he had never used one himself. when i questioned him on the subject of this "fitting," he said: "some people uses 'em. like as not i should be arst for one quick enough if i didn't have one. best to tie it to the 'ouse, or some bloke 'ud lift it." someone once asked for a table napkin. joe was puzzled, and looked searchingly at the man. he suspected a "leg-pull." "what for?" he demanded. the man explained. "oh, it's a servy-yet yer want, is it? ain't got any! you wait till the railway comes, then we'll get all manner o' things--servy-yets, toothpicks, and suchlike. don't be unreasonable; you ain't in a drawin'-room now, yer know." when the railway did come, joe sold his business for much money and went north. the sight of a starched collar and a tie in his "restuarant" was a sign for him that civilisation had reached his very door. joe didn't like civilisation, and hated "torfs." he had been known to remark: "the sight of a bloke in a boiled shirt makes me sick." * * * * * on the spot once occupied by joe's eating house now stands a large hotel built of stone, with a bathroom leading out of every bedroom. the johnnie-come-lately. william blake walked quietly into the bar of the tantani hotel. it was obvious to all that he had not been out from england long, because his clothes were so new and clean. besides, he bore the self-conscious air which is an unmistakeable sign. all the men who crowded the bar wore reach-me-downs; or, if their clothes had been made in england, it was very, very long ago. william knew the barman, who had been at eton with his elder brother. men find strange jobs in africa in the process of reaching their proper level. i must add that in course of time that same barman bought the bar--and many other things besides--and ultimately represented his district on the legislative council. at the moment of william's entry the barman was busy, so the youngster edged his way in between the wall and the brawny back of a corduroyed transport-rider, intending to wait quietly until he could catch the barman's eye. the place was thick with the fumes of strong drink and tobacco smoke--boer tobacco smoke. of all the unlovely habits which men acquire, that of smoking boer tobacco is the most trying to other people. i know, because i used to smoke it once, and i have seen it empty an underground railway carriage at every station. but william did not smoke, neither did he drink strong drink; he merely wanted to have a talk to the man his brother fagged for. but, on reaching the bar, he unintentionally jogged the transport-rider's arm and spilt some of his liquor. "who the hell are you shovin'?" "sorry." "sorry, are you? yer bloomin' tailor's model." the barman's chief asset was a quick ear and a keen sense of rising trouble. he was at the end of the counter in a moment. "hullo, bill. upset rogers' drink, have you? well, both have a drink at my expense. this boy is a friend of mine, rogers." "well, jimmy, as he's a friend of yours i'll overlook the accident--and i will. mine's a gin and tonic; what's the boy goin' to drink?" before william could explain that he didn't drink, the barman said: "i know his poison, don't i, bill?" following this up with a heavy wink. "mr. john rogers--mr. william blake." "pleased to meet you, mr. blake. put it here." the pair shook hands. the barman pushed two glasses forward--one, containing gin, towards rogers, and the other, lime-juice, for blake. he took something out a bottle under the counter for himself, gave rogers a small tonic, and split a small soda with william. "here's fun," said rogers. "chin, chin," said jimmy the barman. the boy nodded gravely at each. they drank. "come on, let's have another," said rogers. "same as before for me, but not quite so much of your bloomin' tonic, jimmy. spoils the gin." no sooner were the drinks poured out than the barman hurried away to attend to the calls at the other end of the counter, so the two were left to themselves. "what are you drinkin', might i ask?" "lime-juice and soda," said william. "just what i thought. now, my young friend, it won't do. didn't you see the train come in to-day?" "yes." "well?" "i don't understand." "don't you? well, isn't this the very first train to get here from the south?" "yes." "well, ain't you goin' to get drunk on it?" "certainly not." rogers stepped back and looked the boy up and down. then---- "what will you bet?" william didn't answer. the transport-rider knocked over the lime-juice and placed his gin in front of the boy. "drink that." "no, i won't." "yer won't?" "no." "i'll give you three chances and no more." with that rogers drew a heavy revolver from his coat pocket. "drink! one!" "no." "drink! two!" "no." "drink! three!" "no, i won't drink it." rogers stared at the boy for a moment and then put the revolver back in his pocket again. "i like you. you've got grit. drink rot-gut if you like, it ain't any business of mine. here, take these." "these" were a bundle of standard bank notes tied up with a piece of string. william edged close to the wall. "here, you take 'em; they're fivers. got paid for a job to-day, but i like you, so you've got to have 'em." "i don't want your money." "neither do i. take 'em." "no." "what? you don't drink and you won't take good money?" "no." "i'll give you three chances, and this time i'll shoot." "take 'em! one!" "no." "take 'em! two!" "no." "take 'em before i say three!" "no." "well then, no one shall have 'em." and with that rogers flung the bundle out of the door into the darkness. then he bent his head upon his crossed arms and sobbed. jimmy seemed to be watching, for he lifted a flap in the bar counter, went outside the door, and returned almost immediately, stuffing the bundle into his pocket. "don't mind him, william." then to rogers, "what about your drink?" the transport-rider stood up. "did you see the train, jimmy?" "yes." "ain't nobody drunk?" "not very." "the train's in and nobody drunk? i'll get drunk. i will get drunk." and with that he danced round and round the bar waving his glass. "the train! the train! the train!" ... crash! everyone turned round. john rogers, transport-rider of tantani, had fallen, and lay on the floor insensible. "rogers drunk?" came in a chorus of incredulity from all quarters. no one stooped to examine him; perhaps because few besides william and the barman felt it quite safe to stoop. then several of his fellows pushed him under a seat with their feet, and turned to the bar again. "poor old rogers," they said, "who would have thought it? must be breaking up. used to keep goin' for days together without turnin' a hair. poor old blighter. train's taken his transport-ridin' away from him. yes, that's what's upset him." but william met rogers next morning, quite himself again. "morning, boy." "good morning." "jimmy gave me my money back." "of course." "have you got a job?" "no." "looking for one?" "yes." "well, come my next journey with me. i'll go on the strict t.t. i'll show you some good shooting, too, and i want a hefty young man to help me with my cattle. jimmy told me he thought you'd come. i want you to come." william went, and a partnership sprang up which resulted in profit to both. rogers and blake own that large cattle ranch just beyond belingwe. rogers must be nearly seventy now, and is still hale and hearty. the lost rubies. if you asked a south african mining man, no doubt he would tell you that there are no rubies in africa. he would be wrong. to my knowledge two very large ones have been found. one of them i have seen. the other i have heard about. take my word for it, there are many rubies in africa. i will go so far as to tell you where. i hope you will go and look for them, and, what is more, find them. the rubies of which i write are to be found on the banks of the zambesi, somewhere below the victoria falls. if i could give more exact details, i wouldn't do it: i should go and look for them myself. as i said before, i know they are there, because i have actually held one in my hand. the man who showed it to me told me it was a ruby. i believed him, of course. i had reason to. but just to make sure, i placed it between two half-crowns, put the precious sandwich on a flat slab of granite, and gave it a severe twisting under my heel. my silver suffered. i did manage to pass those half-crowns off on someone, but i felt a criminal. now this old man who showed the ruby to me looked a very old man indeed. he was a scotsman. his long beard was only slightly red, otherwise it was white. to be quite accurate, i suppose i should say he had a long white beard tinged with pink. at least, so it seemed to me the first time i saw it and him. it is just twenty-five years ago that the old man came to my camp on the zambesi, some forty-five miles above the victoria falls. quite apart from his beard he was obviously old. his legs were thin. he hobbled from rheumatism. his cheeks were hollow, and how very thin his ears were! i remember his ears quite well, they were almost transparent and his hands--well, they were just claws. this poor old man came to me for three things. one. could i mend a shot-gun? i had a look at the dingy old weapon and admitted that it was quite beyond me. it was a double-barrelled shot-gun with four good inches gone from the right barrel, one from the left, and the rib of metal which should join the two was curled back for a good ten inches. he explained that he had tried to shoot a king-fisher and his gun exploded. he suggested that a mouse must have crept up the barrel during the night. perhaps one had. i, personally, should have said that the gun was suffering from the same complaint as its owner--old age. well, i couldn't help him in the matter of the gun, so what was the next thing? had i a drop of good scotch? yes, by jingo, i had, and very welcome the poor old fellow was to it. i gave him a good dose of his native medicine, which seemed to put back the clock of time for him at least a couple of dozen years. and the third thing? oh, yes, the third thing. he began:-- "you see, i am an old man. i'm an honest man, oh yes, quite honest. i don't lie like the others." he paused and looked out of the door of my tent. "the other two are bad." i don't attempt to reproduce his accent or the queer, querulous way he had of talking, because i can't. he was an old scotsman, so you may fill in the local colour for yourself. "i want to tell you something." "yes." "you won't give me away?" "no, of course not." "you won't tell the other two?" "certainly not, but who are the other two?" the old man looked out of the tent again and quickly back at me. he placed his finger alongside his nose and winked. then he said in a loud voice: "i must be going. thanks for the drink. no, i won't have another. it's getting late and my pals will be anxious." through his talk i heard an approaching footstep. the old man backed out of my tent and i followed him. within a few yards of us was another man approaching hurriedly. he looked anxiously from me to the old scotsman and back again. he stopped and, addressing the old, old man, said: "what are you doing here?" this annoyed me. i was on the point of asking very sharply what he wanted, anyway, when the expression of both made me pause. on the old man's face, fear; on the newcomer's, anger, suspicion, greed, cruelty--a bad face of a bad man. my curiosity was aroused; i answered the question. "your friend has been having a drink with me. won't you have one?" "no, i will not." then, by way of an afterthought: "no, thank you very much." and the fellow smiled with his ugly mouth, but not with his eyes. the intruder, as i now regarded him, seemed in a hurry to be gone. "the canoe boys are waiting for us and we must go. come along, macdonald." the old man turned his face towards me and, as he said good-bye, i saw a great fear in his eyes. ignoring the other, i begged him to stay the night and promised to try my best to mend his gun. he shook his head and turned slowly away. the ugly man hurried him along towards the bank of the river and helped him into the canoe. i felt there was something wrong but didn't see how i could interfere. as the pair pushed off from the bank, the other man turned round and shot a searching look at me. what could the mystery be? that thick-set, black-haired little devil was up to no good. he looked as if could murder the old man, me, or anyone else, if necessary. i saw nothing of them next day, but my natives told me that there were three white men with a waggon camped on the other side. i sent a boy across to spy out the land, but he came back with no information of any real importance. on the third day i felt so uneasy about the old man that i half made up my mind to cross the river to see him. i was prevented from doing so by the arrival at my camp of the veriest pair of ruffians i ever clapped eyes on. as they walked up from the river i had time to study them. and a pair of arrant scoundrels they looked. the man who had already paid me one visit was talking rapidly to a fat, unhealthy-looking fellow who seemed to feel mere walking an excessive exertion, for he puffed, stooped, and walked awkwardly. the stranger wore a waistcoat but no coat. his braces, which were red, hung untidily on either side; he had forgotten to slip them over his shoulders when putting on his waistcoat. when they reached my tent i offered them chairs. the fat man sank into one, his thick-set companion stood. it was the latter who talked. the other mopped his perspiring forehead with a blue cotton handkerchief, and seemed capable only of saying: "that is so; yes, yes," in support of his companion's rapid talk. it soon became obvious that this precious pair wanted to know exactly what the old man had told me three days before. as he had told me nothing, it was easy to answer them. "how did i find the old man?" "just that he seemed very old, much too old to be at the zambesi at his time of life." "didn't i find him lightheaded?" "on the contrary, quite normal." "hadn't he spun me some queer yarns?" "no; just told me of his gun and his accident with it." "well, as a matter of fact, he was off his head, and i really mustn't believe all he said. oh dear, he had kept them both in fits of laughter on the road up with his queer notions. stories of gold mines and suchlike nonsense. hadn't he talked of that kind of thing?" "no." "well, he was now in bed with a go of fever and talking queerer than usual. yes, if i could spare it, they'd like some quinine for him; but they had better be going, for it wasn't playing the game to leave an old man for long who had the fever on him." the pair got up to go. i disliked them both, especially the fat one, who looked to me like a city-bred parasite--a barman, bookmaker, tobacconist's assistant, or something of that sort. they glanced round them and hesitated, evidently expecting to be asked to drink with me. i would sooner have gone "three out" of a bottle of beer with a couple of hogs. presently they went off, evidently much relieved to find i knew nothing. i was now determined to know all, and quickly; but how to get hold of the old man alone again was the difficulty. as i sat in my chair thinking, i recollected a remark let fall by the boy i sent to spy upon them: "the fat one drank much kaffir beer, which he bought from the natives who lived on the north bank of the river." i sent a messenger to the headman of the village with an order to make much beer, pots and pots of it, and take it new and half-fermented to the white men on the other side. i instructed the headman to sell it cheaply, and said that i would make up the difference. in due course i had my reward. the old scotsman came over and told me one of his companions was in great pain and the other was trying to ease the pain by rubbing fat on his belly, that he himself had got away unnoticed, and now wanted to tell me all about "it." i was naturally all anxiety to hear what "it" was all about, and made the old man sit down. now why is it, i wonder, that old men can't come quickly to the point? much to my annoyance, he wasted a good half an hour telling me what scamps the other two were; how he felt sure that, given half a chance, they would "do him in" but not until they had got from him his secret. tell them? not on your life! but he would tell me; oh yes, he would tell me. ever seen a ruby? no, not out of a ring? well, i should see one now and hold it in my hand. a large one, fit for a king. and he would tell me where to find more. hundreds of them. the other two had brought him up to the zambesi just to find out where the rubies were. but he wasn't going to tell them, not he. they were too darned stingy with the whisky bottle; besides, they wouldn't sign a paper on it. a man who wouldn't sign a paper on a deal was up to no good--didn't intend to play fair. now what did i think they should pay him for showing them where the ruby mine was? would a couple of hundred be a fair thing? and so on, and on, and on. i gave him the best advice i could, which amounted to a warning not to trust his companions. then he showed me the ruby, which he carried in a small blue medicine bottle marked "fever mixture." i knew precious little about rubies, and told him so. it was then that i tried it between the two half-crowns. having satisfied myself that it was a very hard stone, even if it weren't a ruby, i gave it back to him, and he returned it to its bottle. he then told me that, many years before, he had been travelling in company with a jesuit father along the banks of the zambesi. that just below the village of a native, whose name for the moment he could not remember, he had found the rubies. one he had kept and the other he had given to the priest, who told him he was going home to france shortly and would find out whether the stone was worth anything or not. if it had value, he would sell it and go halves. they went down south together, and parted company at grahamstown. a year later he was sent for by the manager of the bank and told that £ had been remitted to him by the reverend father. the money came in handy, and for one reason or another he didn't bother about going all the way up to the zambesi to get more rubies. he also got married and settled down in bechuanaland on a farm. but his wife had lately died. his two daughters were married, and his son was killed in the matabeleland rebellion. then he lost all his cattle by rinderpest. so he left the farm and went to bulawayo. he didn't know anyone there, but took up with his two companions, met them in a bar, told them about the ruby and showed it to them. a jew had assured them that the stone was a ruby right enough, and had, he believed, put up some cash for their outfit and journey. but they wouldn't sign a paper, and were up to no good. he had come up to the zambesi--felt he had to. it was hard to make money nowadays. "but i'll tell you all about it," he said, "and where the mine is, so that, if these fellows do me in, you can get the stones. they shan't have them. you know where the gwai river runs into the zambesi?" "yes." "well, it's not quite so far down--listen! did you hear that?" "no, what?" "that calling for help. there it is again." we went to the tent door and looked towards the river. in midstream we could see a canoe bottom up. one white man was sitting astride at one end, and there was a native at the other. a second white man was swimming for the bank. i ran down to the landing stage, calling my canoe boys as i went. for the moment i forgot all about my visitor. there was a white man in the water and, scamp though he undoubtedly was, i couldn't let him drown. my boys and i got him ashore. it was the thickset one. his fat, unhealthy-looking companion was floating down the river astride the upturned canoe. after landing the one, i sent my boys back for the other. they had had a thorough wetting and the city-bred fellow was very much scared. i had their clothes dried and then sent them back to their camp in my own canoe. it appears that an angry hippopotamus attacked them. all this time i had little time to think about old macdonald. i asked my people about him and they told me that he had slipped away and crossed in a canoe to the white man's camp whilst the other men's clothes were being dried. not a word was said about the kaffir beer. if the pair of villains were coming across the river to me for assistance or medicine when the accident happened, they forgot to mention the fact in the excitement of the moment and after. next day they were gone--all three of them, ruby and all. and i never saw any of them again. but i did see in a bulawayo paper, which reached me later, the following announcement: "at the memorial hospital, bulawayo, john macdonald, died of blackwater fever. funeral (hendrix and sons) starting from the hospital at . this afternoon." so i repeat there are rubies in africa, somewhere on the banks of the zambesi, below the falls, but north of where the gwai river makes its junction. if you decide to go and look for them, good luck to you! the cattle king. schiller was a cattle trader by profession, and he made a lot of money. he was incidentally a jew by birth, an austrian by accident, a hairdresser by training, and a soldier of fortune when occasion offered. he was quite illiterate. although he could neither read nor write he yet kept accurate enough accounts of all his many transactions with the natives. he once showed me his accounts. they consisted of notches on tally sticks. i couldn't make head or tail of them, but schiller knew to a shilling how much each ox had cost him and how many cattle he had. one sunday morning he came over to my bungalow and told me all the gossip of the country-side. incidentally he remarked that my hair wanted cutting, and asked if he might have the pleasure of operating. i thanked him and sat down. to my amazement he produced from a little black bag all the implements of the trade, including a pink print sheet which he proceeded to tuck in round my neck. his touch was unmistakable. "aren't you a professional?" "yes, sir, from ---- of bond street." from that day on, twice a month if i was at home, this man who was worth at least twenty thousand pounds cut my hair for sixpence. he called himself the "cattle king." i first met him when he made application for a cattle trading licence at my office: this was many years ago. as, in those days, we could issue or withhold a licence at discretion, i questioned schiller closely. he didn't look like the ordinary jew. by that i mean he hadn't a pronounced nose: on the contrary, it was small and snubby. he told me he was a jew, i should not have guessed it. he wore a long row of medal ribbons and, in support of his claim to them, produced discharge papers from every irregular force raised in africa during the last twenty years. i read the papers carefully and could but conclude that the little man who applied for a licence was a confirmed fire-eater and a very gallant soldier. no camp follower he. his medals were earned and at the cost of not a few wounds. i later saw these honourable scars. i gave him his licence and asked him to sign an undertaking designed to control certain undesirable activities in which it was just possible he might wish to indulge. he couldn't write his name. a large x with a few unnecessary blots thrown in adorned the record of his promise. he never broke his word: in fact that man's word was his bond in the truest sense. i have always found that an illiterate man is a much more rapid learner than one who keeps a note book. the one relies upon his memory and so strengthens it; the other discourages it by admitting its limitations. he learnt the local dialect rapidly, and his pronunciation was quite good. this gave him advantage over his rival traders. natives like to hear their language spoken by a white man, and, as schiller was a fluent talker, his company was much sought after. he was a trading genius. anything he had for sale soon became the rage with the large native population. he got to know most of the great ladies of the land. knowing that great ladies, be they white or black, set the fashions, he persuaded them to patronise his store and accept long credit. if this particular pattern of print did not generally commend itself to the community, one of the important dames would shortly appear draped in yards of it. if that coloured bead did not sell freely, a personage in the chief's household would soon be seen wearing string after string of it. but it was cattle he wanted, and cattle he got. so large did his herd of fine beasts become that the chief himself grew jealous, and issued a warning to his people not to sell too freely. still the herd increased. the man dealt more fairly with the people than the other traders, and, moreover, did not make the mistake of getting upon too familiar terms with his customers. during my absence on a tour of inspection a crisis arose. the chief forbade his people to have any further dealings with the cattle king. schiller counted his gains, branded his cattle, and sent them south to the rail-head for sale. then he closed his store. just at this time a number of waggons arrived bearing many cases and bales of new goods for him. these were off-loaded, unpacked, and disappeared into the closed store. then schiller made a hatch in the store door not unlike that of a railway booking-office. he left the shutter ajar, but piled up goods in front of all the windows. black noses in plenty gathered against the panes, but goods--goods everywhere--blocked a view of the interior of the store. through the hatch schiller could be seen mysteriously occupied. he had a chequered board in front of him with many little discs of wood upon it. he sat with eyes fixed on the board, and from time to time moved a disc. he told all inquirers that his store had been closed by orders of the chief, and that he himself was very busy. news of the trader's preoccupation spread about. was he making medicine with which to harm the people? surely not; he was a kind little man. was he communicating in some strange way with the absent commissioner? that might be; better make sure. the chief became uneasy. at last he sent his principal headman to inquire. this headman had received some education at the mission school, so he wrote a polite letter to warn the trader of his coming. sir, my greetings to the honest man the merchant. i hope you have slept well i am telling you that i have not seen you for a long time and it is my intention of coming to see how you get on. i am well and my wife is well. now i must close my letter. your friend, gonye. the envelope bore the address: mr. shiler, esq., the merchant. the letter was duly delivered at the hatch. schiller pretended to read it and said there was no answer. as a rule he brought his letters to be read by my native clerk, but i had taken him with me on my tour. if the cattle king was surprised when the headman pushed open the hatch shutter and looked in, he did not show it. he glanced up from his draught-board impatiently, frowned at the interruption, and turned to the game again. he was playing self versus self, and self was giving self no end of a tussle. "good-day to you, merchant." "good-day, gonye." "i hope you have slept well?" "yes, and you?" "oh, yes, i have slept very well, thank you, merchant." silence fell upon the pair, and the game of self _v._ self proceeded. "huff you for not taking me here," muttered schiller. "crown me, please," replied schiller. "what are you doing, honest man?" asked gonye. "yes," replied the merchant abstractedly. "you do not trade now, merchant." "no, your chief has closed my store." "will you tell the commissioner?" "of course." "what will he do?" "the chief and you will know what he will do when he does it." "what are you doing now, honest man?" asked gonye, and added--"may i come in?" "yes, if you don't talk or touch the goods." the trader got up and let the native in, but returned to his game without ceremony. gonye walked round the piled-up counters and inspected the well-filled shelves. here were goods indeed. goods worth many head of cattle. blankets, coloured print, calico, brass wire, beads, shirts, hats, coats, sugar, jam, tobacco, pipes, knives, looking-glasses, mouth organs, and goodness knows what besides. seeing all these nice new things created many wants in the headman's heart. but the chief had closed the store. gonye wandered back to where the trader sat and watched him. with a shout of triumph, self beat self by two kings. schiller rearranged the board for another contest. "is it a game?" asked gonye. "yes, it's a game." "is it a very hard game?" "very hard." "did it take you long to learn?" "years and years." "could i learn it?" the trader sat back in his chair and looked fixedly at the native. "you might," he said. "will you teach me?" "i will try to; bring up that chair and sit down." the rest of the afternoon was spent by schiller initiating gonye into the mysteries of draughts. next day the native came again. "i think i can play now, merchant." "do you? well, you take black and i will play with white." schiller won, with a loss of scarcely a man. "try again, gonye." schiller played a cunning game, so the native made a slightly better showing next time. the third game he did better still. the fourth game he won. that was the only game of draughts he ever did win against the trader. in his triumph the headman persuaded the chief to declare the store reopened. the merchant was a good man. he was indeed an honest man. his cattle kraal was empty. what would they say to the commissioner on his return? the trader would of course complain. moreover, the store was full of very nice goods. the next morning the store was opened and the natives flocked to it with their cattle. schiller did a great trade, and bought more cattle in a week than all the other traders combined had done in three months. gonye felt rather sore as the merchant declared that he was now too busy trading to play draughts. however, schiller, who was no fool, made his position of cattle king secure by presenting the board and men to gonye. the last i heard of schiller was at the outbreak of the great war. he had joined the force which set out to take german south-west africa. partners. jack fernie and william black became partners in the usually pleasant business of seeing something of the world. what the two men had in common was little enough so far as i could discover. they appeared to meet on the common ground of boots--uncommon boots. fernie hated wet feet. he argued that if water got in over the top of the boot, the foot remained damp all day, which was bad for you. so he punched holes through the leather of the uppers, all round, just where it bends in to meet the soles. he explained that since water must find its own level, it will run out of your boots as readily as it will run in, if given a fair chance. black went in constant dread of developing an ingrowing toenail, so he wore boots with two compartments inside, one for the big toe and the other for the rest. they were very ugly, clumsy boots, but black declared that they were a sure preventive and very comfortable. these two strange creatures were never tired of discussing each other's boots. now fernie had been second officer on board a liner. on the way home from india he had said unrepeatable things to a parson. when he arrived in london his directors sent for him, scolded him severely, and dismissed him from their service. when i got to know fernie well, i asked him what all the trouble had been about. he was not very communicative; he merely said that he could no more abide a black coat than he could a black cat. with that he changed the subject, and i had to be content. black had slaved as a clerk in the city for thirty-five years and doubtless would have remained one for the rest of his natural life had not an old lady, no relation of his, left him in her will a sum of money which provided him with an income of between six and seven hundred a year. there was no mention of the why and the wherefore in the will, and black declared that he couldn't imagine why she did him this good turn. it appears that fernie and black first met in bulawayo. how, exactly, i don't know. they had bought a donkey-waggon and set out for the zambesi river, which they crossed at a place called kazungula, some forty-five miles above the victoria falls. their introduction to me was a curious one. fernie walked into my camp one day, followed by black. he said: "are you the magistrate of these parts?" "yes." "well, will you sell us up?" "what do you mean?" "you see, we're partners, black and i. we don't get on as such and want to dissolve. isn't that so, black?" "yes." "so we want you to sell us up; sell our outfit as it stands--waggon, donkeys, and everything else we've got. don't we, black?" "yes." "but," i said, "who do you expect to buy in a place like this? there isn't a white man within a couple of hundred miles. i'm not buying donkeys, and the natives can't." "that's all right," said fernie. "i will do all the bidding, and you can divide the proceeds between us." "yes," said black, "that's what we want you to do." of course, i agreed to help and asked them to set out the things for sale. when everything was ready, black handed to me a list, neatly written and ruled with two money columns, one headed "cost price" and the other "sale price." i had never acted as auctioneer before, but that didn't matter; entering into the spirit of the thing, i began. "gentlemen, i have here as fine a span of donkeys and as sound a waggon as ever came north of the zambesi----" but fernie cut me short with: "a hundred and sixty pounds." i looked at the list. in the cost-price column, against the item "span of donkeys and a waggon" was set £ . i got no fun out of the sale at all. fernie bought everything, bidding cost price for everything. the total, i think, came to just three hundred pounds. "black, i owe you a hundred and fifty, and here you are." black took the bundle of notes, counted them with practised finger and thumb, nodded, and handed a receipt to fernie. the queer pair then shook hands, grinned at each other sheepishly, and thanked me for settling their little difference. the three of us had lunch together, and during the meal fernie told me as much of their story as he thought fit. it appears that on their way up to the zambesi friction arose between them; nothing serious, but just enough to make them feel a little tired of one another's company. fernie considered that he should boss the outfit; black wanted a say in matters, too. in black's opinion fernie was too dictatorial. fernie thought that black butted in too much and always unnecessarily--fatuously. so they sat down one day and discussed the situation calmly and decided that fernie should buy black's share and that black should become a passenger, paying fernie so much weekly. this arrangement was so simple and complete that i wondered why it was necessary to bring me into the matter at all. i suspect it was the ex-clerk's passion for regularity and record, for immediately after the sale he had drawn up a formal statement of dissolution of partnership. when he and fernie had signed this document, they asked me to countersign it. after luncheon we sat for a while discussing guns and rifles. by we, i mean fernie and i, for black possessed no firearms of any sort and appeared to take little interest in them. fernie set so much store by the martini-henry rifle and the old hammer shot-gun that i correctly guessed these made up his battery. presently he produced the weapons for my opinion. the shot-gun had been a good one in its far-off day, but the spring of the right-hand lock had gone, so only the left barrel was serviceable. the martini was so old and the rifling so worn that i wondered how fernie ever hit anything at which he aimed. but he did. he said he had got to know the old gas-pipe. that evening the pair left me and went north. from time to time i came across these men; now and again one or the other wrote to me; later, their waggon boys told me much; i gathered more from the natives of the district in which they aimlessly wandered; finally, black's sister entrusted her brother's diary to me. the entries in this book were made in shorthand. i had the whole transcribed. i told her i had lost the book; i lied. i have the book still. she died peacefully without an inkling of its contents. from these various sources of information i have put together a few yarns, which i now tell for the first time. for instance, there was a curious adventure with a lion. fernie had been out shooting most of the day: shooting for the pot, as the party had been without meat for some time. black, as usual, remained in camp writing up his diary. he also mended a boot. he concluded that fernie was having very good sport because of the number of shots he fired during the afternoon. with an inexperienced man like fernie, armed with a rifle such as his, it was not wise to jump at conclusions. late in the evening fernie came back to camp very hot and tired. he was evidently in a bad temper, for when black asked him if he would like some tea, he rudely said: "tea, you bloomin' grandmother," and opened a bottle of whisky. then he called the driver and said he wanted a couple of donkeys to bring in the meat of a hartebeest which he had killed. the driver brought two and followed fernie into the bush. they didn't return until eleven o'clock at night. black had become anxious as time went on. he heard fernie shooting again at about ten o'clock and wondered how he could see to take aim in the dark. he had, of course, never heard of the common practice of firing a shot in the air if you are not quite sure of your whereabouts and then listening for a guiding shot from the camp. it wouldn't have helped much if he had known, for he had never fired a gun in his life. it did not occur to the second waggon boy, who had also remained in camp, to ask black why he didn't reply to the signals of distress; he very naturally concluded that black did not do so for reasons of his own, not through ignorance or inability. it is only fair to black to say that fernie had not previously heard of this manner of signalling either. the waggon boy put him up to it when they thought they were lost. at eleven o'clock the wanderers found their way back to camp. fernie was in a worse temper than ever. "why the hell didn't you answer my shots?" "your shots?" "is the fellow deaf as well as a brainless idiot?" "i did hear you shooting, but i thought you had come across some more hartebeest." "how the devil do you suppose i could see to shoot in this pitch darkness?" "i don't know; i wondered." "oh, so you wondered, did you?" "well, what did you want me to do?" "sing, or any damn thing. but how could an ex-ink-slinger be expected to have any horse-sense to do anything requiring a glimmer of intelligence? oh, don't talk; of course, it's not your fault, it's your maker's." black felt keenly the coarse injustice of this attack and sat silently looking into the fire. the truth of the matter was that fernie had lost his way. he couldn't find the dead hartebeest. he cursed the waggon boy for a fool, which he wasn't; and beat him, which he didn't deserve. "off-load those chunks of meat near the fire and get to hell out of this," said fernie roughly to the waggon boy. the fellow relieved the donkeys of their load and slouched away. black looked up. "you're tired, fernie. won't you have some supper?" fernie, who was making a pile of the hartebeest meat, turned with an angry jerk towards the speaker. something in black's attitude brought him sharply to his senses and saved him from adding fresh insult to those already thrown at his friend. instead, he said: "i'm sorry, black old man. i'm a beast and we both know it. i take back all i said; please forget it. and i must give that driver fellow a tot of whisky; i hit him, which was a rotten thing to do, because he can't hit me back, and i, not he, was wrong." it certainly was a rotten thing to do. fernie was a big-boned, powerful man, with a fist like a leg of mutton in size. he hardly knew his strength, but many a troublesome seaman could have testified to it in the old liner days. however, the tot of neat whisky put matters more or less right with the boy. black pressed fernie to have a good square meal, but he wouldn't. he drank half a glass of raw whisky, followed by about a gallon of water. then he put down his blankets and turned in, his head towards the pile of meat and his feet to the fire. completely exhausted, he fell asleep immediately. it had become a habit with fernie to place his loaded shot-gun by his side when he went to sleep, and he invariably had a large spanner handy. he did not forget to make these preparations now, tired though he was. he made them mechanically. black, who remained by the fire, put on his spectacles and wrote up his diary. then he too put down his blankets, close to where fernie lay. he didn't go to sleep at once. in spite of his apology, fernie's words had left a sting. this had been his worst outbreak so far. he had never used the contemptuous epithet "ex-ink-slinger" before. because of its truth it hurt. so black lay on his back watching the sparks rise from the fire at his feet. he was indeed seeing the world, but he began to doubt whether he had chosen exactly the best parts of it or the most pleasant way of seeing them. no unkind thought of fernie ever entered his mind. i think i can safely say this, for his very full diary contains no hint of such. on the contrary, a strong thread of deep admiration and affection for his friend can be traced without a break through every page of that strange book. presently there was a slight movement behind the pile of meat. black turned slowly over on his side and looked. to his great alarm he saw a large lion smelling the meat. he put out his hand and touched fernie, who woke at once, sat up, and looked. however uncertain the sailor's temper might be, his nerve was still good. he snatched up his gun. as he did so, the lion made a short backward jump and glared at the men, growling. fernie put the gun to his shoulder and pressed the trigger. there was no report! he had forgotten the broken spring. why he did not fire the left barrel remains a mystery. instead, he gripped the gun about the trigger guard with his left hand, pressed the stock firmly to his shoulder, and aimed a sharp blow at the hammer with his spanner. he missed the hammer, but hit his thumb. "gentle, jumping johnson!" he hissed through his clenched teeth. "the devil take the blighted thing and chew it!" with that he flung the spanner at the beast, and disregarding the blood spurting from his crushed thumb, fired the left barrel after the lion, which had bounded away into the darkness. it was many days before that thumb healed. i don't suppose that at the beginning of their partnership fernie knew much or any more about firearms than black did. it is probable that both were equally ignorant. this does not appear from the diary, but then allowance must be made for black's deep admiration of fernie and all he did. of course, fernie had travelled much and, thanks to his training at sea, took more quickly to strange conditions and new things than black. by dint of perseverance and the expenditure of much ammunition, he managed to keep the camp supplied with meat, but in those days game was thick upon the ground. it is probable that if the job of keeping the larder full had been handed over to the driver of the donkey waggon, all would have fared better. it is on record that under fernie's tuition black once tried his hand at shooting at a target. i say once advisedly, for he tried but once. the rifle he used was, of course, fernie's old martini. the target was the bleached skull of an ox that they found by the roadside. after showing his pupil how to hold the rifle, how to aim, and the use of sights, fernie gave black a handful of cartridges and walked off to set up the target. black was bubbling over with suppressed excitement. his heart beat rapidly. his mouth felt unaccountably dry. he almost made up his mind to borrow the rifle that very afternoon and go out and look for a buck. he pictured himself soon taking turn and turn about with fernie in keeping the pot going. with an effort he ceased building castles, pulled himself together, and mentally repeated fernie's instruction on the rifle. he determined to acquit himself creditably. fernie had meanwhile set up the target about fifty yards away, and had moved to what he considered a safe distance. he now shouted to black to have a shot, adding: "don't be afraid of the darned thing, it won't hurt you. besides, it doesn't matter if you do miss the first shot or two." black clenched his teeth, put the rifle to his shoulder, and aimed at the skull. the rifle wobbled. he was most anxious to make a good beginning. the rifle went on wobbling. he held his breath. the rifle wobbled more. he held his breath until his lungs nearly burst. then, i'm afraid, he shut his eyes and pulled the trigger in desperation. goodness knows where the bullet went to. fernie declared that it passed just over his head. but black? he threw the rifle on the ground and rubbed his collar-bone and chin. his spectacles fell off. from where fernie stood it looked as if he might be swearing. "what's the matter? have another shot," shouted fernie, as he walked towards his friend. "nothing much the matter, but i don't want another shot. it hurts too much, and you said it wouldn't." "hurt? nonsense! slip in another cartridge." "i won't." fernie picked up the rifle and began to wipe off the dust with his hand. "hulloa! what on earth have you done to the thing?" "done to it?" "why yes; this bulge in the barrel." "did i do that?" "well, it wasn't like that before." "wasn't it?" "why no. and where's my plug?" "your what?" "the plug of wood i had in the barrel. good heavens! you don't mean to say that you fired the thing off with the plug in it?" "i don't know anything about plugs. you gave me the rifle to fire and i fired it. my neck hurts, and i'm going back to the waggon." there must have been good metal in that old rifle, or it would surely have exploded. about an inch from the end of the barrel was a bulge as large as a hen's egg. one adventure is fully recorded in the diary. fernie shot a reedbuck. rain had fallen during the afternoon, so, following the example of the waggon boys, the white men had taken the roof from a deserted native hut, propped it up with a pole, and had made their beds under it. fernie put the reedbuck meat on the raised eaves of the hut roof to be out of the reach of stray night marauders, such as hyenas, jackals, or native dogs. after his experience with the lion, he had discarded the damaged shot-gun in favour of the more serviceable rifle as a means of protection by night. in due course the two men went to bed and both fell asleep. their awakening was as sudden as it was unusual. something fell heavily on fernie's chest. still half-asleep, he hit out instinctively. his fist came in violent contact with hairy ribs. a beast grunted and scrambled away. meanwhile black had received a leg of the reedbuck on his head and was pushing the clammy thing from him. it appears that a hyena had crept up between the sleeping men, had sprung at the meat piled on the upturned roof, had misjudged the distance, and had fallen back in a heap upon fernie. in its ineffectual attempt to carry off the meat it had dislodged a piece, which fell upon black. the friends re-made their beds, replenished the fire, and black turned in again. fernie, determined to get a shot at the hyena, should it return, sat up, rifle in hand, and watched for some time. after a while he got tired of sitting up, so got back into his blankets again. for perhaps an hour he lay on his back, holding his rifle in his hand, the butt resting on his chest and the barrel pointing straight up into the sky. it was in those positions that black remembered seeing man and weapon just before he slipped off to sleep. how long it was before fernie went to sleep neither had means of knowing, but both awoke to the sound of fernie's rifle. "what's up?" asked black. "blest if i know quite." "did you see the hyena?" "i think so, i thought i did." "do you think you hit him?" "i really don't know. i think i must have been dreaming. i believe i let off the rifle in my sleep and then dropped it. my jaw hurts, so does my shin--damnably." "do you mean to say you fired the thing into the air?" "i expect so; why?" black didn't wait to talk. he jumped up, pulled on his boots and bolted. as he ran he shouted: "look out for the bullet!" "come back, you silly ass!" called fernie after him. but there was no reply. for a little while he could hear the shuffle of black's unlaced boots as he hurried away, but not for long, as there was a wind blowing in the direction which black had taken. from time to time fernie called, but there was no reply. he became alarmed for his pal's safety, so got up and dressed. with a lantern in his hand he wandered here and there, hullooing. when it became light enough he called the waggon boys, and all went in search of black. they hadn't very far to go. they saw him perched in a tree quite half-a-mile away. fernie had to climb up and bring the poor fellow down as he was stiff with cold. he pick-a-backed him to the camp. a vigorous rubbing, a hot blanket, and a hotter whisky and water soon restored the patient. he had a curious story to tell. when he realised that fernie had fired his rifle straight up into the air, he concluded that the bullet would sooner or later come straight down again. it might fall on him. why run unnecessary risk? so he ran away. he thought he had time to pull on his boots, but no more. he intended to give the bullet ten minutes and then come back. he heard fernie call to him, but he also heard a sound which made him run faster and still faster. it was the movement of some invisible wild beast trotting parallel and very close to him. he stopped once. it stopped. scared out of his senses, he ran on, and so did it. by a stroke of good fortune he collided in his flight with a tree; instinct made him clamber up; he did it awkwardly. "it" jumped up at him as he climbed. black, on the verge of exhaustion, continued to struggle frantically up the tree. he heard the crash of teeth as it's jaws came together within an inch of his leg. he felt it's hot breath on his flesh and a shiver ran down his spine. he drew up his leg as the beast jumped again. he felt the heel of his boot seized in the creature's jaws; felt the full weight of the thing at his hip-joint as his leg swung with the spring of the beast. he clung to the tree for dear life. something gave way. he wondered how much of his leg had gone. fortunately his loss was not so very serious; his boot had been wrenched from his foot--one of his patent two-compartment boots, and with it much skin from his toes. the waggon boys, who examined the spoor under the tree, declared it to be that of a hyena, probably the hyena which had tried to steal the meat. the boot was not recovered. fernie really knew very little about shooting--of dangerous game he knew nothing. i don't suppose it would have made very much difference, because he was a reckless fellow, quite without fear. one afternoon he shot at a skulking beast and hit her in the stomach. this beast was a female leopard, three-quarters grown. she charged him. fernie hadn't time to load again, so hit her with his fist. his heavy blow stopped her for a moment, but no more. she sprang again, and as she sprang she struck at him, half-scalping him, and scoring deep wounds in his stomach and thighs. fernie roared like a mad thing. dropping his rifle he grappled with her. she fought with the weapons nature had given her; he, like savage man before the days of weapons. he spoke no word; the sounds he made came from the throat, not from the tongue--the raucous cries of a wild beast fighting for its life. presently fernie tripped and fell. they rolled over and over in the dust; he, half-blinded, searching for her throat; she, biting and tearing at his flesh. he lay on her and pressed her to the ground; thus he got his grip upon her throat and held on until the end. the end? fernie had killed the leopard with his hands, had strangled her. but what of the man? a blinded, shredded thing, covered with blood and dust; his scalp hanging like a coarse fringe from his forehead to his chin; his clothes in tatters; gaping, welling wounds everywhere. this ruin of a strong man stood up, gave one long, loud roar of victory, and fell insensible. the waggon boys had heard the shot, they also heard that cry. thinking their master had killed an antelope, they went towards the spot from whence they judged the cry had come. they found fernie and the leopard lying side by side, and thought at first that both were dead. it would have been better so. but fernie wasn't dead. his hold on life was much loosened, but not yet lost. for a day or two he lingered, and then he died. his agony was awful. he couldn't move; blood-poisoning set in; he knew he had to die, and hour by hour he begged his friend to shoot him. "shoot me, black. for the love of heaven shoot. my god, i cannot stand it. kill me, black! oh, do be quick, black!" hour after hour black sat near his dying friend. he did little more than keep the flies away. he was helpless. he didn't know what to do. he had scarcely heard of first aid, and they possessed no medicines. one of the waggon boys searched me out and found me. i travelled day and night, but fernie was dead when i arrived. after we had buried fernie, i think black was the most alone man in the whole world. for him there was nothing left. he had aged much during the few days of his friend's hopeless lingering. whenever he looked at me the tears welled up and trickled from under the lower rim of his spectacles. he couldn't stop them, he no longer seemed to try. a man crying is not a thing for a man to see. i began to avoid him. i pleaded official duties, and hated myself for it. his obvious agony of grief became a burden to me. his whole being seemed to plead for help, and i didn't know how to give it; no one could give it. just at that time the south african war broke out. i had official notice of it and told black. his manner changed, changed with strange rapidity; i couldn't understand why. it did not occur to me that this helpless creature saw opportunity in that war; but he did, and he seized it. next day black said good-bye to me. he was almost cheerful. he was not the old black. he seemed resolute, more a man, he moved briskly. i never saw him again. i learnt much of what happened from his diary, which his sister sent me; the rest from a chance acquaintance in cape town. he went south to bulawayo; from there he travelled to beira and shipped to durban. in durban he volunteered for active service, and was, of course, rejected by every recruiting officer. in the end, an enterprising newspaper man engaged him. he risked nothing, because black asked for no pay. black went to the front immediately, as an accredited war correspondent. what his articles would have been like i cannot imagine, but he didn't write any. his luck was in. the very day he arrived at headquarters a stray bullet hit him in the forehead and dropped him dead. how strange it all was! a shot, fired from no one knows where and for no obvious reason, found its mark in the brain of a man who longed for death; probably the only man in south africa at that moment who did long for death. the letter home. i. "i and my people will pay the government's tax, we have our money here, we pay willingly and in full; but the barushu will not pay, they will fight the government." wrenshaw eyed the speaker angrily and replied: "the barushu will pay. all will pay the government tax and all will pay willingly and in full. who are you to speak of fighting? take your receipts and go. tell all you meet by the way that the barushu are paying the government tax willingly and in full." "i will tell them, morena," said the old native chief as he rose to go. but there was no conviction in his tone, though his attitude towards the white man was respectful. wrenshaw felt anxious. he had heard vague rumours that the barushu, a large tribe living some twenty miles to the north, would refuse to pay the native tax. this would be awkward. it would have a bad effect on the rest of the tribes. he had been charged with preparing his district for the imposition of the tax. for two years he had worked hard and had then reported that all was in readiness to collect the tax for the first time. this was quite true of all the tribes of which he had control, save, perhaps, of the barushu. they were a truculent people who had always threatened trouble, although they had never actually given any. his two native commissioners, who were busy receiving tax-money from another chief, were puzzled to find that there were many more people in this particular community than the census papers showed. it was wrenshaw who discovered the curious fraud which was being perpetrated by the chief. it appeared that having met all demands of him, he deliberately invented names. when asked how it was that all these people had failed to have their names recorded on the census, he suggested that they must have been away from home at the time. at last the truth came out. "i pay willingly," said the old man; "willingly and in full, morena. i have paid all the money i have to the government because the government asks for money. i am not a barushu to refuse to pay. what does it matter how many people i have; does not the government want money, and is it not right that i should give all i have to the government?" "old man," said wrenshaw kindly, "take back your money. the barushu will certainly pay. if, when all have paid, the government still wants money, i will ask you for it. for this time you have done enough; you have paid willingly and well." then, turning to his assistants, he directed them to cross out all the new and obviously fictitious names which they had just entered in the register and return the money paid in excess of the amount due. later, and at their leisure, they could check the census, and if they found that any of the people really did exist, they could, of course, accept the money. as he was speaking a cattle-trader hurried up, panting. "there is a rising!" he shouted; "the barushu are up. they have killed my partner and taken my cattle. they have beaten the police and will soon be here. quick! form a laager and let's get into it!" "stop that, and go in there!" said wrenshaw, pointing to his tent. to the officials who had been receiving the tax-money and issuing receipts he gave instructions to carry on. entering the tent wrenshaw asked: "what's your name?" "wilkie." "have they killed your partner?" "yes." "what did they kill him with?" "i don't know; assegais, i suppose." "then you didn't see them kill him?" "no." "is he dead?" "i have told you that the barushu are up, that they----" wrenshaw interrupted the man: "did you see his dead body?" "no." "then you don't know that he is dead. you say they have taken your cattle; how many?" "a hundred and fifty head." "did they threaten to kill you?" "no." "did you do anything to prevent the barushu from taking your cattle?" "how could i? i wasn't there." "who was in charge of the cattle?" "my partner, jones." "one more question: who told you that the barushu had beaten the police?" "a native." "did he also tell you that the barushu had risen?" "yes." "and that your partner had been killed and your cattle taken away?" "well, not exactly; but----" "you're a silly scaremonger, spreading a yarn like this, and a cur to boot for deserting your partner! get out of my camp; get out quickly; go south, go anywhere. i don't care where you go so long as you do go!" the man expostulated and threatened to report to headquarters wrenshaw's unmannered treatment of him. as the commissioner took no more notice of him, he went off. but wrenshaw was scanning the road which led towards the seat of the alleged trouble. presently he stepped back into his tent, picked up his field-glasses and, returning, focussed them on a distant point of the road. what he saw perturbed him; he returned the glasses to his case and walked impatiently up and down before his tent. a runner was approaching, a government messenger, he could tell that by his uniform. in his hand he bore a split reed with a letter slipped in it. his long arab shirt was gathered up and tucked into his belt to give greater freedom in running. the messenger came along at that steady jog trot which enables the native to cover such surprising distances in africa. on nearing wrenshaw he dropped into a walk, approached the white man, saluted and handed him the letter. the envelope was addressed to the commandant of the police force at headquarters. without hesitation the commissioner tore it open and read as follows: c.a.r. police, mora station. "monday, th june, --. sir, i have the honour to report that there is a native rising. this p.m. i met a large crowd of them who behaved in such a queer way that i thought it best to go back to camp, seeing that i had only two police boys with me and they having no rifles and me only a few rounds. on the way back to camp i fell in with the trader jones with a mob of cattle, whose partner wilkie has been killed by the natives and he anxious to come into laager. i am putting the camp in a state of defence with the help of the said jones and await orders. your obedient servant, joseph wilson, sergeant in charge. so there was something in it after all. wrenshaw went into his tent and wrote a reply to the sergeant of police: to sergeant joseph wilson, i have read your letter to the commandant and will deal with it. do not worry overmuch about the rising, i will attend to that too. remain in camp or you might miss me, i am coming your way. richard wrenshaw. after a short consultation with his juniors wrenshaw issued his orders. he sent for his horse, told the interpreter to get his pony, and also to saddle-up and load a pack mule. the two native commissioners were to carry on as usual, accepting the tax from those who came to pay. it was nearly midday. he had to cover twenty miles by sundown. this was easy enough for himself and his interpreter, but he would also take his gunbearer and his cook. he believed in being comfortable, and saw no reason for roughing it now. the two on foot would have to hurry. ii. it was after sundown when the party reached their destination. the cook had stubbed his toe against a root in the path. taking advantage of the remaining light, wrenshaw helped the interpreter to pitch the patrol tent. the cook collected wood for an all-night fire and then fetched water from the nearest stream half-a-mile away. the gunbearer cut coarse grass for bedding for the horses. each servant had his job, which he performed with the precision born of long practice. the camping ground was well-chosen. in front was a level plain, probably a mile wide. after the first quarter of a mile it was very swampy; a single path led across it to the high ground which flanked the river beyond. wrenshaw knew this path, he was probably the only living white man who did. the high ground was thickly covered with palm trees; behind the spot chosen for the camp was mile upon mile of thin forest. when bringing in his last load of grass the gunbearer stumbled over a native lying face downwards on the ground. he stirred him with his foot. "now then, you, what do you want?" as he could get no satisfactory reply he brought the fellow to wrenshaw, who asked who he was. "one of nanzela's men, morena." "nanzela the barushu?" "he is." "where is he now?" "on the river bank." "with his people?" "with his people." "what are you doing here?" "i was on my way to join him when you arrived. i was afraid, and hid myself." "you may go to nanzela and give him a message. say that i have come. that i come because i hear nanzela boasts. he says he will not pay the government tax. that he asks for war. tell him that if by sunrise to-morrow he does not come to me with tax-money in his hands, i shall come to him with a gun in mine." whilst wrenshaw had been speaking the native's eyes had wandered. he was making a mental note of the white man's forces. there was the white man himself--an unknown quantity--an alien black man in clothes who interpreted the white man's words, a native of a neighbouring tribe attending to two horses, and a half-caste busy with some cooking-pots at the fire. so far as he could see there were no more than these. he looked again at the white man and wondered what his real strength might be. however, it didn't matter, as by this time nanzela had posted scouts on every path, and the police camp, some miles away, was being watched. the white man, too, would be watched. the sun had set, and it was now quite dark save for the camp fire which the cook had made. a mile away, on the high ground by the river, little points of light appeared. the barushu were lighting their fires and preparing for the night. judging by the distance on either hand to which these fires extended, the natives had assembled in some force. presently the sound of a drum, then of another, then of many, reached the white man's ear. "what is that sound?" "i do not know, morena." "are they not drums?" "they are drums." "war drums?" "i do not know." "what is their message?" "i do not know." the man, of course, lied; he could read their message as well as any other native of his tribe within earshot. "go, give my message to nanzela." the man turned to go, bidding the white man rest in peace. "go safely," was the reply. presently the cook announced "dinner ready, sir," and wrenshaw moved to the small camp table. the moment he sat down he felt he could not eat. he had decided on his lonely journey in the heat of the moment--of the midday sun, as it were; now that it was dark and cold, he wished he had brought one of his assistants with him. on second thoughts he was very glad he had come alone. if there was going to be trouble--and it looked uncommonly like it--a life might have been needlessly sacrificed. his cook aroused him from his mooning by: "soup's cold, sir." "well, take it away and bring something else! what is there?" "guinea-fowl and some native peas, sir." "all right, and give me a drink." "whisky or gin, sir?" "whisky to-night; not much, just a little." after a drink wrenshaw felt more settled and attacked the guinea-fowl. presently he started up and walked a few paces from his camp and listened. his message must have reached nanzela: a roar of distant laughter, followed by a hum of voices, arose from the encamped barushu. then the drums began again, but this time they beat to a song well known to wrenshaw, a song to which natives dance. stop the pig and see where he will pass; stop him! stop him! stop him! that nanzela should see in his message a huge joke slightly annoyed wrenshaw, but he reflected that people with a sense of humour were more easily dealt with than those in a sullen mood. yes, it was, perhaps, a ridiculous thing for him to have come alone on such an errand. he went back to his table and attacked the guinea-fowl once more, this time with vigour. after dinner he lit his pipe and ordered a large billy-can of coffee made very strong. he had a long night in front of him. he made no attempt to sleep; he wouldn't risk it. the barushu had, in days gone by, a nasty habit of making a night attack. he didn't expect them to attack him, especially after their laughter; but he intended to take no risks. he had the fire piled up and saw that a plentiful supply of wood had been collected and placed handy. he told his natives to turn in, and walked across to where the horses were tethered. the animals seemed comfortable: one was lying down and the other standing with drooping head, dozing. he satisfied himself that their blankets were secure and that they had emptied their nosebags. next he loaded his rifle and tied it lightly to the tent pole; he also loaded a double-barrelled horse-pistol, a twenty-bore, shooting large, leaden slugs; very handy for close quarters. then he sat down and listened. the camp fires over the way were for the most part dying down. wrenshaw had no illusions: he knew that he was being watched; by how many, he could not tell. it might be the intention of the barushu to make a sudden end of him during the night. if he had brought a dog with him it would have given him timely warning; but, then, no dog can travel comfortably for twenty miles in the heat of the day without water. and supposing they did wipe him out, what then? his mind flew back to england. would she care? he supposed she would; hoped she would. well, no, not exactly hoped; that was hardly the word. but did she care? did she care enough to make her home with him in this rough country? she certainly seemed sorry when he left england a few months before. her letters, too, were a source of encouragement to him, for she dwelt upon the good times they had had together when he was on leave. he took her last letter from his pocket. "dear mr. wrenshaw." how bald it looked to be sure. if only she had written "dear dick," or "my dear dick," or.... however, she hadn't; but she did sign herself "your friend." into this simple signature wrenshaw read a whole world of meaning, which, of course, might not have been intended; again, it might. by jove! why not write to her? it might be his last chance. those fools on the high ground over the way might blot him out. he had his writing gear with him. he would write. he must, however, be careful what he wrote. no pathetic sort of last letter. no heroics of the penny novelette type. if he did go under, well, she would have the satisfaction of knowing that just before the event he had thought of her. wrenshaw got some paper and an indelible pencil and began: my friend... at this he stuck for a long time; what on earth could he write about? there were ten thousand things he wanted to say. most of them he had no right to say because they were not engaged; there was not even an understanding between them. the remainder would give the show away; she would see that he was in danger, or, at any rate, in a tight place. he must write in some sort of general terms. this is what he wrote: my friend, i am on one of my journeys through the country; at this moment am sitting by the light of my camp fire, writing. i do not feel very sleepy to-night, some strong coffee which i drank after dinner is keeping me awake. the natives in the distance are beating their drums, which adds to the mystery of the night. their booming may mean a message sent by the african equivalent to the telegraph or it may be that a cheery dance is in progress miles away. do you remember our last dance? we are quite a small party here, only a couple of horses, a mule, and three natives. i like to travel light in this way sometimes, it gives one a sense of greater freedom, of independence. to-morrow i continue my journey; until morning comes i shall not know exactly in which direction i am to travel. all depends upon an interesting meeting to which i have called the members of a curious tribe. they may have arranged my journey for me. wrenshaw read through what he had written and mentally condemned it for a stupid letter, a poor effort. what more was there to say? plenty he wanted to say, but what more could he say? he couldn't add that he felt sleepy now and must go to bed, it would look so silly with that opening reference to the strong coffee. how should he end it? he settled the matter by saying that he would tell her all about his plans in the morning, and signed himself: "your sincerest friend, d.w." he then addressed the envelope. rising, he split a thin stick a few inches down its length, inserted the envelope, and made it fast with a twist of bark. then he pressed the stick into the ground. the letter in its holder resembled a miniature notice board. if the natives did dispose of him, they wouldn't destroy the letter. the written message is sacred in africa: some native would deliver it to some white man. in due course it would reach her, shortly after the news of his death, perhaps. if she cared, she would understand. if she didn't, she would vote it a dull letter. rather ashamed of his weakness, wrenshaw poured himself out another large mug of strong black coffee and returned to his lonely vigil. his three companions were sound asleep, snoring loudly. of the three, the interpreter had most cause for concern, because he should have had some inkling of the position, but even he slept. the half-caste was a brainless fellow, albeit a good cook. the gunbearer didn't bother his head about matters which didn't appear to disturb his master. in the far distance a lion was roaring. a large green beetle hurried past wrenshaw's feet in the direction of the fire. he picked it up and threw it far into the darkness; the insect somehow reminded him of himself. iii. just before dawn the gunbearer woke up feeling cold. he crept out of his blanket and to the fire, which had died down and was nearly out. on reaching the fire he saw his master sleeping in his chair without other covering than the clothes he had ridden in throughout the afternoon. the man quietly got his own blanket and gently spread it over his master's knees. wrenshaw was wide awake in an instant. his hand shot out to his pistol, but, recognising his gunbearer, the movement was arrested. he accepted the attention; to have refused the grimy blanket would have been ungracious and have hurt the man; besides, he was chilled to the bone. he told the gunbearer to rake the fire together and throw on some more wood. there was still some coffee in the pot, and this he heated and drank. feeling warmer, he got up and paced about to restore his circulation and get rid off his stiffness. so after all he had slept; well, he was glad he had, for now he felt rested and refreshed. he woke the interpreter and told him to feed the horses. the cook got up and took charge of the fire. looking towards the other side of the plain he saw signs that the barushu were also astir. the points of light twinkled at him across the intervening space. the sky in the east was becoming tinged with red. the silence was broken only by the sound of his animals munching their corn. this, slight as it was, woke a flock of guinea fowl roosting in some trees not far away; they began to exchange shrill greetings. as it became lighter he could see a thin ribbon of white mist suspended over the swamp. this did not interfere with his view of the high ground on which the barushu had camped during the night, but he could distinguish nothing but the dark shadow of the palm trees and undergrowth. the light of the first was becoming rapidly paler as the day dawned. the gunbearer, who had the usual eyesight of uncivilised man, was the first to notice movement on the other side. "the barushu are coming, morena." "good, many of them?" "yes, many." wrenshaw took his glasses and scanned the further edge of the swamp. yes, there they came, in single file. he smiled as he noted the twistings of the secret path which they followed. on they came, a thin black stream fed constantly from the palm tree forest. soon the head of the column disappeared in the stratum of mist which obscured the greater part of the swamp, but the stream of natives from the palm trees did not cease. wrenshaw untied his rifle from the tent pole and put it and the horse pistol on his camp table. then he pushed the table into the patrol tent and, placing his chair in the entrance, sat down. in this position he had only to stretch out his hand to reach his weapons if the necessity arose; in the meantime they were out of sight. although he had been expecting for some time to see the first barushu emerge from the mist, he was a little startled when he realised that the van of the oncoming column was within three hundred yards of him. the natives had left the secret path, but still moved in single file. by this time it was quite light. wrenshaw took up his glasses again and examined his visitors. they were an ugly looking lot and quite naked. he presently became aware that there was something strange about them; what was it? oh, of course, contrary to their custom, they carried no assegais. well, that, at any rate, was a good sign. then again, they were walking extraordinarily slowly. marking time, obviously, until their fellows had crossed the swamp. on second thoughts wrenshaw rejected that explanation. he kept his glasses fixed on the foremost man. the fellow appeared to be lame, lame in the right leg. he shifted his glasses. by jingo, the whole lot were lame, all lame or stiff in the right leg. it was the gunbearer who solved the mystery. "morena." "well?" "why do the barushu carry their assegais in their toes to-day?" "why, indeed?" so the devils meant trouble after all. stalking him, were they? he would make some of 'em smart for this. the white man took some cartridges from his pocket and placed them handy on the table. he glanced at his letter, which stood erect in its holder like a miniature notice-board. he looked at the dull-brained cook and felt sorry for him. his interpreter, who was standing, appeared to be feeling faint. the gunbearer was quite unperturbed. close to a large dead tree, which stood alone in the plain about a hundred yards from where wrenshaw was sitting, the leader halted and the barushu began to bunch into knots, talking quietly. wrenshaw didn't like the look of things. something must be done, and done quickly. he must make the first move, and lose no time about it. "go," he said to the interpreter, "and tell the barushu that they may pile their assegais against that tree, and after that they may come forward and talk to me." "morena, i am afraid." "so it seems, but what's the matter with your hands, with your coat?" the interpreter was terrified, and, which was worse, showed it. he fiddled with the buttons of his coat, doing them up, undoing them, and again doing them up. his pale, yellow face had become greenish, his eyes were rolling, and he seemed unable to stand still. this would never do. even if the barushu meant no mischief, such an exhibition of fear wasn't good for them. "pick up that log," said wrenshaw, pointing to a huge piece of wood collected overnight for the fire, "and hold it in your arms." the frightened man obeyed, he held the log as a woman does a baby. wrenshaw turned to the gunbearer, "you go and tell them to stack their assegais and come forward to talk. don't go too near them, shout from halfway. i have my rifle ready." if the barushu made to kill his man he would open fire at once and get in a few shots before the end came. the gunbearer stepped forward. the barushu watched his approach. a single man and unarmed. they could see that the white man was alone save for a government servant in clothes; he, at any rate, was of no account. then there was the half-caste at the fire; well, after all, what could two men do against so many? what was the trap? no, let this fellow come forward, they would wait and see what he was going to do. halfway the gunbearer stopped and delivered his message in a loud voice that all could hear. then he repeated it. no one heard his voice the third time, although he shouted lustily, for the barushu broke into peals of laughter. "oh, this white man, how cunning he is; so he has found us out and has spoilt our very good joke. well, well, better do as we are told, put our assegais against the tree and hear what he is going to say to us. but it would have been very funny." each man lifted his right foot, and removing his assegai from between his toes placed it against the dead tree. at length all the barushu were seated, marshalled to their places by the imperturbable gunbearer. at a signal from nanzela, who sat slightly in advance of his followers, a good two thousand men clapped their hands in greeting to the chief official of the district. so far, so good. normal relations had been established. the usual formal inquiries concerning the well-being of each were put and answered. "come nearer, nanzela, and sit here," said wrenshaw. "i wish to speak to you." nanzela walked to the spot pointed out to him and sat down. "the time has come when all men pay the tax to the government. have you had warning of it?" "i have." "all the people are paying the tax willingly and well." nanzela made no reply, but gazed at the speaker with an expression of indifference. wrenshaw put his hand carelessly on the butt of his rifle and resumed. "there are but two paths for a man to travel, the one is towards peace, and the other to trouble, war." nanzela blinked. he had not been able to see the white man's rifle from where he sat until called to come closer, nor had he noticed it before wrenshaw's careless gesture drew his attention to it. his arms and those of his people were piled against the tree, and so, for the moment, out of reach. the white man's hand was on his rifle. all white men were good shots, and wrenshaw had a reputation for being better than most. if he chose the wrong path now he would be the first to suffer. it would not be wise to run risks. "it is only a foolish man who seeks trouble." "exactly," said wrenshaw, "that is why all men are paying willingly and in full. i see you have your purse on your arm and have come to pay your tax." and again his hand caressed the butt of his rifle. nanzela unbuckled an armlet which held his money. turning to the interpreter wrenshaw told him to put down the log, which he was still nursing, and get a book of tax receipt forms from the pack-saddle. nanzela shook half-a-sovereign from his purse. the official made out a receipt for ten shillings, which he gave in exchange for the money. then, raising his voice, he said: "every man who has paid the tax must carry his tax-paper in a stick so that all may see that he has paid willingly and in full." the gunbearer cut a reed, slit it a few inches down its length, and offered it to nanzela. the chief slipped his tax-paper into the slit and bound the top with a shred of bark. how simple it all was! now man after man came forward, paid his tax, and received in exchange a small square of coloured paper, which he slipped into a split reed, making it fast with a shred of bark. their chief had paid, they naturally followed his example. wrenshaw had only one book of receipts with him; he had thrown it into the pack-saddle at the last moment. the book held one hundred forms, and these he had now used. some of the men had no money with them, which was not to be wondered at, since they had come out looking for trouble and certainly with no intention of paying tax. he seized upon this as an excuse for collecting no more tax that day, and informed nanzela that he would accompany him and his people back to the village and encamp there, so that each man might bring his money from his hut. he made no reference to the night spent on the high land near the river. the animals were saddled up and the interpreter sent back on his pony with a note calling upon the native commissioners to follow to nanzela's village with all possible speed, bringing their census books, tax receipt forms, and the rest of their travelling office. a strange procession now formed. first walked the chief with his assegai--recovered from the tree--in one hand and the tax-paper in the other. then a body-guard of fully-armed men, some with and some without tax-papers. in the midst of these rode wrenshaw, with his rifle gripped between his saddle and his thigh. then followed the gunbearer leading the mule; the cook slouched along behind. the rear was brought up by the remainder of nanzela's men, a few of whom had tax-papers, which they carried well in the air, much to the envy of those who had not yet paid. the little papers in the sticks appealed to the child-like fancy of these savages; taxpaying had become a game, a receipt in a stick, a toy. to say that wrenshaw was much relieved is not to overstate the case. as he looked round him upon this mob of armed men eager to pay their tax and receive in exchange a piece of coloured paper, he realised better than anyone else could how tight a corner he had been in. his thoughts were disturbed by a commotion as the ranks parted and a man ran up to him with a letter in a stick; as the native held it up it resembled a miniature notice-board. good heavens! it was his letter home; in the excitement of starting he had forgotten it. the man who brought it was one of nanzela's people who had gone back to pick up anything which the white man or his servants might have left behind. he hoped, no doubt, to find a stray cartridge or two in the grass, or perhaps a spoon or a table knife. wrenshaw did not remove the letter from the stick, but carried it as the natives did their tax-papers. the simple people became impatient to pay their tax; was not the white man also playing this new game? * * * * * the letter home was never sent. in place of it wrenshaw despatched a brief account of his adventure, told in a very matter-of-fact way. * * * * * over the mantelpiece of his den hangs a frame; in place of a picture it contains a letter in a stick which, at a short distance, looks like a miniature notice-board. the doctor. those who go in search of trouble usually find it. they deserve no sympathy and seldom get any. the well-meaning man frequently meets with trouble too, although it is the one thing he doesn't want. when he is in difficulties, people pity him; they give him that pity which is akin to contempt, not to love. but harry warner was lucky. he most certainly went in search of trouble; he also meant well. his reward was unusual and quite out of proportion to the little good he did. he achieved immortal, if only local, fame. it was the natives who dubbed him "doctor." he wasn't one, he had no medical qualifications and little knowledge of medicine. but what do black people know or care about qualifications? wasn't warner always accessible? did he not give medicine to all who asked for it, no matter what the disease might be? did not some of those to whom he gave medicine recover? had he ever asked anyone for payment? what a doctor! so the natives declared, and do still declare, that there never has been, never will be, never could be so great a doctor in their country as he. now if warner possessed no medical knowledge, he had the "goods." the goods consisted of a miscellaneous collection of superfluous drugs, plasters and pills, all a little stale, packed in an old whisky case and presented to him by a hospital orderly of his acquaintance. warner watched the packing and asked questions. "iodine, what's that for?" "oh, sore throat, water on the knee, to stop vomiting, for fixing a gumboil, chilblains, and a host of other things. it's made from seaweed." "do you drink it?" "not in every case, not with housemaid's knee or sore throat, anyway. you paint it in the throat or on the knee. here, we'd better put you in a camel's hairbrush." "good. and what's nitrate of potash for?" "well, if you have an inflamed eye, put a spot or two in this eye-cup, fill it up with water and blink into it--like this." "thanks. and what do you use chlorodyne for?" "bad pains in the stomach." "i see. and quinine is good for fever, of course." "yes, that's right. cover a sixpence with the powder, mix it with a little whisky, add a little water, and toss it off." "and corrosive sublimate?" "oh, that's good stuff for washing wounds with, jolly good. don't make it too strong or you'll burn the bottom out of the pot you mix it in, not to mention the wounded part. about one in ten thousand makes a useful solution if the water you use isn't too dirty." "i understand. and what is in this funny little box marked 'sovereign remedy'?" "dash it all! that box belongs to my set of conjuring tricks. can't think how it's got mixed up with this lot. but you may as well take it along; you might want to surprise the natives and you'll certainly do it with that." "how do you use it?" "it's all on the box, full directions." "and what's in all these pill boxes? pills?" "yes, pills." "but what are they all for?" "bless the man! i haven't time to wade through the lot. besides, you must know in a general way what pills are for. all the boxes have the dose on them. now let's get a move on. give a hand with the packing. i'm on duty in half an hour." * * * * * and now we know just as much about doctoring as warner did on the threshhold of his short medical career. even a real doctor has much to learn before he reaches harley street; he picks up many wrinkles on the way and much improves with practice. the sovereign remedy. warner had travelled many miles from civilisation before his first patient came to him. the precious box of medicines had all along been kept handy on the waggon. from time to time he got it down, unpacked it, examined the labels, shook the bottles, and carefully repacked them. but, like a real doctor, he did not advertise. it isn't done. somehow it did get about at last that he had a box of medicines. how, it doesn't really matter. the fact remains that a native came to the waggon one morning with a strip of bark tied tightly round his forehead, another round his chest, and a third round his belly. warner, recognising a case, asked the native what the matter was. the boy replied: "i have much pain here and here and here," touching the bands of bark in downward succession. warner, pleased at getting a patient at last, took the box of medicines from the waggon, opened it, took out the bottles one by one, and examined the labels with the eye of a master. "iodine? no, that's for housemaid's knee, gumboils and that sort of thing. corrosive sublimate? wounds. nitrate of potash? no, eyes. why not a pill? yes, a pill." but there were boxes and boxes of them. he picked up one after the other, but met with a check. each box had on its label the name of its pill contents, followed by the words: "from one to three as ordered by the physician." in some cases: "from two to six." there was nothing about the complaint for which the pill might be used. just a little difficult. doctoring was not such an easy job after all. "what's this?" the gaudy label on a small box read: sovereign remedy. trick no. . never known to fail. surprising in its effects. _directions:_--borrow a sovereign. request the lender to take a seat. ask him how he feels. tell him he is looking off-colour. suggest headache. say you will brighten him up, that you will make his head glow pleasantly, etc. palm the sovereign in your left hand. empty contents of box into your right. rub the powder well into gent's head, which will become golden (metallic). then proceed as in trick no. . the directions seemed clear enough. "sit down," said warner. the native obeyed, squatting on the ground and spreading his loin cloth over his knees like an apron. "i am going to take away your pains." "thank you, sir." it suddenly occurred to warner that, though the native might have a shilling, he certainly would not possess a sovereign, so he took one from his own pocket, wishing he had thought of this before. "you see this?" said warner, holding up the coin. "yes sir, much money." now warner didn't know how to palm a coin. he had seen it done, of course, but had never yet tried to palm or to do anything else in the nature of a conjuring trick. to guard against possible accident, he turned his back upon the boy and very cautiously opened the box. it was full of some bright yellow metallic powder. he read the directions again and wondered what trick no. might be. he wished he had risked a pill. however, he had not the courage to go back now. the native might suspect his ignorance if he selected another box. it was hardly playing the game perhaps to trick a poor confiding black, but warner consoled himself with the thought that it is said of even real doctors that when in doubt they sometimes give their patients bread pills. so, emptying the contents of the box into his right hand, he turned again and began to rub the golden powder into the native's woolly head. the sovereign he held in his left hand. the more he rubbed, the brighter grew his patient's head. it scintillated. the trick pleased warner, who soon forgot his misgivings; he forgot the sovereign too, and rubbed the powder in with both hands. the coin fell into the patient's lap. warner was busy and didn't notice the accident at once, but the native did. he picked up the money and quietly slipped it into the rawhide pouch attached to his belt. at length warner stepped back and surveyed his handiwork. the boy's head shone like a brass knob. he glanced at his own hands. they looked as if they had been gilded. both hands! where the devil had that sovereign gone to? he looked on the ground. he felt in all his pockets. he looked at the boy, who said nothing. he therefore dismissed the patient without mentioning his loss. whilst washing the greasy gold stuff off his hands, warner was conscious of a hum of excitement rising from the spot where his natives had made their midday shelter. trick no. was evidently a success. the hospital orderly was right; he had surprised the natives. that night all his boys, and a score of strange natives besides, came to warner complaining of pains. each one had a strip of bark tied tightly round his forehead, a second round his chest, and a third round his stomach. they lingered as if dissatisfied when he gave pills to each--one or more as ordered by the physician--taken at random from his many little pill boxes. iodine. warner was sitting under a tree on the south bank of the zambesi, watching the local natives floating his waggon across the stream. he was wondering how long, at the present rate of progression, it would take to get the whole of his stuff across. two days, three, perhaps more. "sir, my felicitations upon the indefectibility of the climatology." the startled warner looked round and saw a black man very stout and short, in european clothes and perspiring freely. he carried his large elastic-sided boots in his hand and a black alpaca coat over his arm. as warner turned towards him, this strange creature politely lifted his ridiculously small sun helmet. it could not be said that he bowed to the white man, but the braces which he wore over his waistcoat sagged slightly in front and became taut behind, whilst the crease which represented the highest contour of his stomach deepened a little. warner gaped stupidly at the man. he made mental note of the large gold spectacles astride the fat, flat nose; the collar, once white and starched, now grubby and collapsed; the heavy brass watchchain stretched tightly across the ample space between pocket and pocket; the badly creased loud check trousers, and the dirty white socks; the large green umbrella which, held to shield the back, framed face and form. warner forgot the man's ridiculous speech in his more ridiculous appearance. "as i ventured to remark, sir, although the orb of day smiles down with radiance from the firmament, the temperamental calidity is not unendurable." "yes," said warner vaguely, "but who are you?" "sir, if you will pardon the expression i may say i am a kind of a wandering refugee hailing from jamaica with a mission to carry the apprehensions of civilisation to the unspeakably incomprehending aboriginal inhabitants of this beatific equatorial region who are doubtless immersed in the chaotic complexity of irreligious heathenism and incondite boorishness." warner eyed the speaker with astonishment, feeling tired, somehow, and out of breath. the black man saw, with obvious pleasure, the effect which his speeches had produced. he had spoken fluently, continuously, without pause or effort. without expression or inflexion the long unbroken flow of chosen words had rumbled off his tongue. he cleared his throat as if about to speak again, but warner hastily interposed. "what is your name?" "joseph johnson, sir." "you are obviously a man of some education." "sir, if i may presume to express an opinion upon your honour's personality i would hazard the conclusion that your excellency is a gentleman of kindly but penetrating discernment for i received my education at the hands of the reverend westinghouse wilberforce of kingston jamaica alas now dead of whom as the classical writer has it _de mort nil ni bum_ i repeat sir _de mort nil ni bum_." warner abruptly turned his back, snatched out his handkerchief, and held it tightly to his nose. joseph johnson, mistaking for emotion the queer little sounds which warner did not entirely succeed in smothering with his handkerchief, sniffed and blinked his small eyes sympathetically, murmuring "_de-mort-nil-ni-bum_." when warner had regained his self-control he asked the black man what he wanted. "sir, i am credibly informed that you are a distinguished member of a profession which has my humble but unqualified admiration and regard for what can be nobler than the unselfish alleviation in others of the ills to which this weak flesh of ours is heir need i say the medical profession?" "what then?" "i suffer your honour from a slight but painful derangement of the vocal chords which hinders my fluency of enunciation and so disturbs my mental process as to detract from the strength of my disputations and dissertations." "you mean you have a sore throat?" "sir, you grasp my meaning." "you want some medicine for it?" "sir, if i might so far encroach upon your generosity...." warner rose hastily and walked to his goods piled up on the bank awaiting transportation, leaving johnson to rumble on and on. here, then, was another patient. he must be careful. the man might know something and question his treatment. that would be most awkward. "corrosive sublimate? wounds, the orderly had said, and had warned him about burning out the bottom of the pot used when mixing the stuff. better look through the rest before deciding. "pills? might do the objectionable fellow some general good. "iodine? yes, that's the stuff for him. iodine for housemaid's knee or sore throat. well, the man said he had a sore throat and he should know, so iodine let it be. where's the brush?" warner opened the bottle. the cork was a little soft and inclined to crumble. he dipped the tip of the large camel's hair brush into the dark brown liquid and called joseph johnson to him. "i am going to paint your throat. it also wants a thorough rest, so you must not talk more than is absolutely necessary." "thank you, sir." "now open." the black man's mouth was immense. warner had never seen such a cavern, nor, for that matter, had he ever seen such a perfect, strong, clean set of teeth. he gave little dabs here and there, this side and that, and then withdrew the brush. "that's enough for this morning. come again at sunset, and remember, don't talk." this admonition he repeated in self-defence. he rather dreaded the man's brook of words. his patient bent forward slightly, put on his sun helmet and walked away, his eyes watering a little. the man was most obedient. punctually at sunset he again appeared. he smiled pleasantly at warner, but did not announce himself with any long-winded speech. warner looked at the throat and remarked that he thought it was better, that one or two applications would set it right. he then painted as before. this time johnson coughed and large tears rolled slowly down his cheeks. then it occurred to warner that he himself, when a child, had had his throat painted, more than once. he recollected that the operation was not a pleasant one. he had coughed a great deal, and his eyes had watered very much. clearly he was underdoing it. no matter, he would put that right to-morrow. warner was pleasantly surprised when, in the morning, the local natives came to tell him that they were about to cross the river with the last of his goods, after which they would take him if he was ready to go. he had expected the job to take at least another day. he kept back the bottle of iodine and the camel's hair brush, and sat down on a camp stool to wait for johnson. in about a quarter of an hour the patient arrived. "how are you this morning?" asked warner pleasantly. "much better, i thank you, sir." "let's have a look. capital, capital. now don't move, i'll just touch it up." warner, remembering his overnight decision, plunged the brush deeply into the bottle and withdrew it fully charged and dripping. he began to dab the throat here and there as before. a gurgling sound came from joseph johnson's mouth. warner recognised the warning. he knew his time was distinctly limited. he felt that, if he did not hurry, much of the enormous cavern would remain unpainted. with a rapid movement, like one stirring porridge to save it from burning, he finished the job and stepped back. joseph johnson seemed to explode. tears forced their way through his tightly closed eyelids. a roar boomed from the painted throat. the patient's condition quite alarmed the doctor. surely the fool wasn't going to die? looking round for inspiration, warner saw that the native canoe had returned to ferry him across the river. he didn't actually run away, but quickly corking his bottle of iodine he walked briskly to the river bank, entered the canoe and told the crew to paddle to the other side. he heaved a sigh of relief when he stepped ashore. he looked back, but could see no sign of joseph johnson. * * * * * some weeks later his troubled conscience was set at rest by the following letter: "bulawayo, " / / . "honoured sir, "the enablement was not vouchsafed to me to indicate to your excellency the prodigious potentiality of the prophylactic applied with such consummate and conscientious technicality to my unostentatious tenement of clay. for full three weeks the taciturnity prescribed was obediently observed without difficulty or mutinousness of feeling. after which, rising from the slough of my despond, i found my multiloquence had returned fourfold, my linguacious allocution and discursive conversationalism prominently augmented. i then felt that my mission was not to the unenlightened ignoramusses of this neighbourhood but to the encyclopedical omnicients of the south. i have therefore returned to bulawayo. now here...." as there were four closely written pages of this kind of thing, warner turned to the last of them, which ended: "sir, i have the honour to be "your honourable excellency's most grateful, most humble, most obedient and unforgetful servant, "joseph johnson." corrosive sublimate. late one afternoon some natives carried an old man, wrapped in a blanket, into warner's camp and laid him down on the ground before the tent. warner came out. "what is this?" he asked. "a dead man, killed by a leopard." "why do you bring the dead man to me?" "he said he wanted to come and told us he would curse us if we did not bring him. we did not wish to trouble the doctor with a dead man, but a 'dead man's curse' is a fearful thing." warned stooped and looked under the blanket. the man wasn't dead, he opened his eyes. although far from dead, the native had been very badly mauled and had lost a great quantity of blood. tyro though he was, warner could see that his condition was serious. stepping back into the tent, he poured out half a tumbler of neat whisky and, lifting the man's head, made him drain the glass. the effect upon the patient was immediate; he sat up and began to talk rapidly, describing the accident. "we were hunting, these dogs, those others, and i. we came upon a leopard in the grass. one, who is not here, thrust an assegai through her. she bit him in the arm and he ran away. another, and neither is he here, struck the leopard with his axe. she jumped on him and bit him in the neck. he ran away crying out that she had killed him. "a third, who did not return with us, broke her back with a club, but she tore his thigh with her teeth. then i went to her and pierced her belly with my assegai. but she bit me in the arm and shoulder and clawed me down the back. she also broke my assegai with her teeth so that it was useless. "then, having nothing with which to kill her, i held her by the ears with my two hands, calling to these slaves to come and finish her, for i could see by her face that she was dying. but they were afraid and ran away like women. and the leopard shook her head and my hands slipped because of the blood which had run down my arm from my shoulder. and when my hands came together, she took them in her mouth and crushed them both. then she died." the man's hands were swollen and shapeless. he had a large gash and a deep puncture in his shoulder, and his back was very badly scored. after staring for a while at their companion, the natives who brought him slipped quietly away, hastened in their departure, no doubt, by his reference to the sorry part which they had played in the affair. warner was greatly pleased. he looked upon the coming of this wounded man as a stroke of good fortune. here at last was a straightforward case, all clear and above board. and he knew exactly what to do. corrosive sublimate, one in ten thousand, wash the blood off, keep the wounds clean, make the man comfortable. he shouted for his kitchen boys and ordered warm water in large quantities. he had not seen them go, so called the wounded man's companions to build a shelter of grass and branches for him. when he realised that they had gone, he set to work on the shelter himself. for weeks warner laboured on those wounds. the man improved slowly. as he grew better he spoke of payment. warner told him not to bother about it, but he persisted. "have you not given me back my life?" "what of it?" "are not those others dead?" now, this was true. the other wounded men who went to their homes all died of blood-poisoning, and warner's reputation grew in consequence. but no matter what arguments and persuasions were used, warner would not hear of payment in any shape or form. the man was obstinate. "if i receive a gift from a man, must i not give one in return? am i to be shamed? is it not the custom that a gift shall be received with a gift? and gifts must be equal. what, then, shall i give to the great doctor? what have i, a very poor man, of value equal to the life which the doctor has given back to me? i have no cattle and no sheep. i have a few goats, very few, and i have some wild cats' skins. but what are these to a life?" twice daily did warner wash and dress the man's wounds. each time the man spoke of a gift for a gift. he seemed to feel his honour was at stake. at length the day came when warner thought he could safely send his patient away. the man's final protestations of gratitude and his entreaties to be permitted to make some payment caused warner much embarrassment. he firmly declined to accept the merest trifle in return for all his time and trouble. he would not be robbed of the feeling that at length he had done some genuine good for good's sake. of course he could explain nothing of this to the old native. the man was much troubled. he went away at length saying he would bring next day the gift which he knew now the doctor wanted. warner repeated that he wanted nothing and would take nothing. next morning, when warner got up and came out of his tent, he found the old man waiting for him. he was not alone. by his side sat a little girl, the old man's daughter. warner remembered having seen her several times before during her father's long illness. from time to time she had come with her mother to inquire how the old man progressed and to bring him some horrid-looking native delicacy. "here she is," said the late patient. "here is my child. she is my only one. you ask for her and i give her to you. a life for a life, which is just." warner protested indignantly that he had not asked for the girl, that he did not want her or anything else. "see, she is strong," persisted the old man. "she is strong to carry water, to grind grain. she is worth three cows, five goats and ten hoes." warner became quite angry. the old man was incredulous and distressed. he had somehow concluded that warner had really set his heart upon possessing his daughter, his plain, fat little daughter and nothing else, but that, native-like, he had not said so. in the end warner accepted, in self-defence, a mangy, evil-smelling cat's skin. chlorodyne. a day or two after warner had become the unwilling possessor of the mangy skin, which, by the way, he promptly buried as soon as its donor's back was turned, he set out on a three days' journey from his camp to visit a white trader with whom from time to time he transacted business of some kind. he went on foot, accompanied only by a few natives, one of whom carried the box of medicines. while he was resting during the midday heat, the headman of the neighbouring village approached him with many signs of deference. "good day to you, great doctor." "good day to you," warner replied. "are you indeed the great doctor?" warner was bold enough to say he was. "will the great doctor help me with medicines? my wife, who is very old, suffers from a great sickness. her arms are now no thicker than a stick. pain is with her always. she never sleeps. all day long and all the night she lies and moans. she no longer cries out. will not the great doctor kill this sickness? i have told her of you." warner rose abruptly. he felt a lump rising in his throat. he wished he were a doctor instead of merely the owner of a box of drugs and all but ignorant of the uses to which they should be put. "where is your wife?" he asked gruffly. "the great doctor will come!" exclaimed the delighted old native, leading the way towards his village. warner could distinguish little or nothing when he found himself inside the headman's hut. coming in directly from the outside glare made it difficult to see. the native pointed to a form propped up against the pole which supported the roof of the hut. warner looked; suddenly he saw all there was to see, and gasped as a faint moan of pain reached his ears. a thin old woman lay there with closed eyes, so thin that warner marvelled that she could be alive. her arms and legs, too, for that matter were indeed, as the headman had said, as thin as sticks. her distended ribs showed plainly even in the dim light. she had neither hair nor flesh on her skull, merely wrinkled, dull brown skin adhering closely to the bone. her neck was no thicker than one's wrist. her stomach was enormous. warner looked down upon this poor, emaciated creature with horror. she moaned again. her husband said: "see, woman, here is the great doctor of whom all men speak. he has turned aside from his journeying to make you well with medicines. does he not make all men well? do not the people say so? soon you will be well and will laugh again. soon you will sit in the sun or go to the fields. do you hear, woman? the great doctor has come." warner cursed under his breath. he never expected this sort of thing when he lightheartedly accepted from the hospital orderly the box of medicines with a conjuring trick thrown in. the thought of that conjuring trick was nauseating in the presence of this pain. save for the rapid heaving of her bony chest to laboured breathing, the woman had made no move since he entered the hut. now, however, warner saw the drooping eyelids flicker. a fear seized him that the poor creature would look up. he couldn't stand that. he couldn't meet her eyes. he hurried away, saying he would bring some medicine. he reached his resting place and opened his box. right on the top lay the bottle of chlorodyne. he repeated to himself: "chlorodyne, good for pains in the stomach! chlorodyne, good for pains in the stomach!" warner returned to the hut but wouldn't go in. he pushed the bottle into the old man's hand saying, parrot-like: "good for pains in the stomach, give her some water with it." then he went back to his halt again, called to his boys to pack up and follow him, anxious only to put distance between himself and all that pain and suffering. ten days later warner passed by that village again on his return journey. he could have followed another route, but a strong desire to ask about the woman drew him to the village. he must know about the woman. he had casually asked the trader with whom he had transacted his business how much chlorodyne one usually takes at a dose. the reply: "oh, about fifteen drops or from ten to twenty, according to your size," nearly made his heart stand still. and he, the great doctor, had given the old native a full bottle of the stuff! true, he had not told him how much to take, but warner found scant consolation in this thought. as he and his carriers neared the village, he heard a great commotion, men shouting to each other and women making that shrill quavering noise familiar to all travellers in africa. he thought he could distinguish the word "doctor." he was certain of it now. "the great doctor is coming. he who saves the people! the white man with the medicines! the doctor! the doctor!" the natives broke through from the bush on every hand. they surrounded the little party. the carriers were quickly relieved of their loads. there was no mistaking the nature of the demonstration; it was one of goodwill, not of hate. the old headman hobbled up, praising warner lustily. what could it all mean? at length warner asked the question point blank: "how is your wife?" "oh, she is dead," replied the old man. "she died with a smile upon her face. i gave her half a cup full of your medicine filled up with water. she was silent for a long while. then she said: 'i have now no pain.' and then: 'give me more.' she smiled when i gave her another cup of your good medicine. and then she slept. and i knew she had no pain because she smiled. and as she slept she died. and when we buried her the smile was on her face. you are a great doctor and your medicine is very good. good fortune has come to the people that you are here. can a man smile who is in pain? does not a smile mean pleasure? ah, but that is a good medicine." "give me back that bottle," said warner, and his voice sounded strangely weak. "yes, great doctor, it is indeed a precious medicine." nitrate of potash. the memory of that old woman haunted warner. he argued continuously with himself. yes, he had certainly killed her. there was no doubt about it. on the other hand, she would have died in any case. if he had not come upon the scene, she might have lingered on for a few more weary weeks, never free from pain. still, if he had overdosed her intentionally to end her pain, it would surely have been murder. at best it was a criminal blunder. but then he meant well. so, too, do other fools. common sense told him he had no cause to worry, nothing to regret, it was merely a fortunate accident. conscience viewed the matter seriously and with harshness. warner was still engaged in this mental struggle when a stranger, a white man, walked briskly up to his tent. "is anyone at home?" "yes, come in." "have you any nitrate of potash, doctor?" warner had become so used to the term "doctor" that he did not at once notice the significance of the word when spoken by a white man. so he merely answered: "yes, i think so. what do you want it for?" "i, too, am a doctor." "a doctor?" "yes, a medical missionary, your new neighbour on the other side of the hill." "sit down a minute, i'll get the stuff." warner went to his box and, opening it, surveyed his wretched stock of stale drugs. so here was a real doctor! thank providence for that! he passed in review his many cases, only a few of which are set down here. he knew he had done his best, but he blamed himself for ever having aped the doctor. "is there anything you want besides nitrate of potash?" "no, thanks. i've got everything else i'm likely to require." warner brought the bottle. "here you are." "thanks. i only want a little." "take the lot." "but you'll want it sooner or later." "no." "of course you will." "no." "then you have some more?" "no." "then of course you'll want it." "no, i'm not a doctor and i don't know how to use it. i don't really know the use of any drug. i've probably killed off dozens of people in my efforts to assist. i'm so glad you've come to live here." when warner sent applicants for medical relief to his new friend on the other side of the hill, they went, of course, but not too willingly. the newcomer did much good, but it was warner who got the credit for it all. the natives invariably consulted warner before going to the missionary, and returned again to thank him after they had been treated. they persisted in the belief that the missionary doctor was their doctor's man. warner is still spoken of as "the doctor"; all others who came later are referred to as "medical men." the end. printed by the field press ltd., windsor house, bream's buildings, e.c. * * * * * transcriber's note obvious typographical errors have been corrected. spelling has not been standardized (e.g. wagon/waggon) or corrected (beginnng). close quotes have not been added at the end of paragraphs followed by more dialogue. (this file was produced from images generously made available by the internet archive.) [illustration: engraved by j. c. buttre, expressly for fireside lectures. doct. w'm. a. alcott.] forty years in the wilderness of pills and powders; or, the cogitations and confessions of an aged physician. boston: john p. jewett and company. new york: c. m. saxton and company. rochester, new york: e. darrow and brother. . entered according to act of congress, in the year , by john p. jewett and company, in the clerk's office of the district court for the district of massachusetts. lithotyped by cowles and company, washington st., boston. printed by geo. c. rand and avery. preface. the present volume was one of the last upon which its author was engaged, the facts having been gathered from the experience and observation of a long life. it was his design to publish them anonymously, but under the changed circumstances this is rendered impracticable. a short time previous to his death, the writer spoke of this work, and said, in allusion to the termination of his own somewhat peculiar case,--"this _last chapter_ must be added." in accordance with this desire, a brief sketch, having reference chiefly to his health and physical habits, with the closing chapter of his life, has been appended. boston, june, . to the reader. in the sub-title to the following work, i have used the word "confessions"--not to mislead the reader, but because _to confess_ is one prominent idea of its author. it is a work in which confessions of the impotence of the healing art, as that art has been usually understood, greatly abound; and in which the public ignorance of the laws of health or hygiene, with the consequences of that ignorance, are presented with great plainness. the world will make a wiser use of its medical men than it has hitherto done, when it comes to see more clearly what is their legitimate and what their ultimate mission. these remarks indicate the main intention of the writer. it is not so much to enlighten or aid, or in any way directly affect the medical man, as to open the eyes of the public to their truest interests; to a just knowledge of themselves; and to some faint conception of their bondage to credulity and quackery. the reader will find that i go for science and truth, let them affect whom they may. let him, then, suspend his judgment till he has gone through this volume once, and i shall have no fears. he may, indeed, find fault with my style, and complain of my literary or philosophic unfitness for the task i assigned myself; but he will, nevertheless, be glad to know my facts. should any one feel aggrieved by the exposures i have made in the details which follow, let me assure him that no one is more exposed--nor, indeed, has more cause to be aggrieved--than myself. let us all, then, as far as is practicable, keep our own secrets. let us not shrink from such exposures as are likely, in a large measure, to benefit mankind, while the greatest possible inconvenience or loss to ourselves is but trifling. some may wish that instead of confining myself too rigidly to naked fact and sober reasoning, i had given a little more scope to the imagination. but is not plain, "unvarnished" truth sometimes not only "stranger," but, in a work like this, better also, than any attempts at "fiction"? the author. auburndale, march, . contents. chapter. page. i. educational tendencies ii. my first medical lesson, iii. the electrical machine, iv. the measles, and pouring down rum, v. lee's pills and dropsy, vi. the cold shower bath, vii. my first sickness abroad, viii. lesson from an old surgeon, ix. lee's windham bilious pills, x. dr. solomon and his patient. xi. physicking off fever, xii. manufacturing chilblains, xiii. how to make erysipelas, xiv. studying medicine, xv. nature's own eye water, xvi. the viper story, xvii. struck with death, xviii. efficacy of cold spring water, xix. cheating the physician, xx. medicinal effects of story telling, xxi. ossified veins, xxii. he will die in thirty-six hours, xxiii. about to die of consumption, xxiv. my journeymanship in medicine, xxv. my temperance pledge, xxvi. trials of a young physician, xxvii. a dosing and drugging family, xxviii. poisoning with lead, xxix. standing patients, xxx. killing a patient, xxxi. a sudden cure, xxxii. gigantic doses of medicine, xxxiii. the lambskin disease, xxxiv. milk punch fever, xxxv. my first case in surgery, xxxvi. emilia and the love-cure, xxxvii. hezekiah judkins and delirium, xxxviii. my first amputation, xxxix. milk as a remedy in fevers, xl. virtues of pumpkin seed tea, xli. broken limbs and intemperance, xlii. dying from filthiness, xliii. taking the fever, xliv. blessings of cider and cider brandy, xlv. the indian doctor, xlvi. dying of old age at fifty-eight, xlvii. daughters destroying their mother, xlviii. poisoning with stramonium, xlix. curing cancer, l. swelled limbs, li. sudden changes in old age, lii. an opium eater, liii. coffee and the lame knee, liv. the opium pill box, lv. bleeding at the lungs, lvi. butter eaters, lvii. hot houses and consumption, lviii. poisoning by a painted pail, lix. one drop of laudanum, lx. mrs. kidder's cordial, lxi. almost raising the dead, lxii. female health and insane hospitals, lxiii. a giant dyspeptic, lxiv. getting into a circle, lxv. poisoning with maple sugar, lxvi. physicking off measles, lxvii. tic douloureux, lxviii. cold water in fever, lxix. cold-taking and consumption, lxx. freezing out disease, lxxi. the air cure, lxxii. the clergyman, lxxiii. he must be physicked or die, lxxiv. who hath woe? or, the sick widow, lxxv. the penalty of self-indulgence, lxxvi. dr. bolus and morphine, lxxvii. bleeding and blistering omitted, lxxviii. medical virtues of sleep, lxxix. cure by deep breathing, lxxx. spirit doctoring, lxxxi. remarkable cure of epilepsy, lxxxii. scarlatina cured by letting alone, lxxxiii. ignorance not always bliss, lxxxiv. measles without snakeroot and saffron, lxxxv. the consumptive pair, lxxxvi. how to cure cholera, lxxxvii. obstinacy and suicide, lxxxviii. health hospitals, lxxxix. destruction by scrofula, xc. starving out disease, xci. dieting on mince pie, xcii. giants in the earth, xciii. the green mountain patient, xciv. cure of poison from lead, xcv. faith and works, xcvi. works without faith, xcvii. diseases of licentiousness, xcviii. curious and instructive facts, xcix. anti-medical testimony, c. an anti-medical premium, ci. concluding remarks, cii. a last chapter, forty years in the wilderness of pills and powders. chapter i. educational tendencies. i was born in a retired but pleasant part of new england, as new england was half a century ago, and as, in many places, despite of its canals, steamboats, railroads, and electromagnetic telegraphs, it still is. hence i am entitled to the honor of being, in the most emphatic sense, a native of the land of "steady habits." the people with whom i passed my early years, though comparatively rude and uncultivated, were yet, in their manners and character, quite simple. most of them could spell and read, and write their names, and a few could "cipher" as far as simple subtraction. to obtain the last-mentioned accomplishment, however, was not easy, for arithmetic was not generally permitted in the public schools during the six hours of the day; and could only be obtained in the occasional evening school, or by self-exertion at home. the majority of my townsmen also knew something of the dream-book and of palmistry, and of the influence of the moon (especially when first seen, after the change, over the right shoulder), not only on the weather and on vegetation, but on the world of humanity. they also understood full well, what troubles were betokened by the howling of a dog, the blossoming of a flower out of due season, or the beginning of a journey or of a job of work on tuesday or friday. many of them knew how to tell fortunes in connection with a cup of tea. nay, more, not a few of them were skilled in astrology, and by its aid could tell under what planet a person was born, and perchance, could predict thereby the future events of his life; at least after those events had actually taken place. under what particular planet i was born, my friends never told me; though it is quite possible some of my sage grandmothers or aunts could have furnished the needful information had i sought it. they used to look often at the lines in the palms of my hands, and talk much about my dreams, which were certainly a little aspiring, and in many respects remarkable. the frequent prediction of one of these aged and wise friends i remember very well. it was, that i would eat my bread in two kingdoms. this prediction was grounded on the fact, that the hair on the top of my head was so arranged by the plastic hand of nature as to form what were called two crowns; and was so far fulfilled, that i have occasionally eaten bread within the realms of queen victoria! according to the family register, kept in the cranium of my mother, i was born on monday, which doubtless served to justify the frequent repetition of the old adage, and its application to my own case--"born on monday, fair of face." i was also born on the sixth day of the month, on account of which it was said that the sixth verse of the thirty-first chapter of proverbs was, prospectively, a key to my character. it is certainly true that i have dealt out not a little "strong drink to him that" was "ready to perish;" and that few of my professional brethren have furnished a larger proportion of it gratuitously; or as solomom says, have _given_ it. whether there was any clear or distinct prophecy ever uttered that i would one day be a knight of the lancet, clad in full armor, is not certain. if there was, i presume it was unwritten. that i was to be distinguished in some way, everybody appeared to understand and acknowledge. i was not only at the head of all my classes at school, in spelling, reading, and writing, but exalted above most of my competitors and compeers by a whole head and shoulders. in ciphering, in particular, i excelled. i understood the grand rules of arithmetic, and could even work a little in the rule of three. that the thought of being a "doctor" did, in a sort of indefinable way, sometimes enter my head, even at that early period, i will not deny. one of my teachers, as i well remember, had medical books, into which bars and bolts could hardly prevent me from peeping. but there were a thousand lions in the way--or at least _two or three_. one was extreme indigence on the part of my parents. they came together nearly as poor as john bunyan and his wife, or sydney smith and his companion. or if, in addition to a knife, fork, and spoon, they had a looking-glass, an old iron kettle, an axe, and a hoe, i am sure the inventory of their property at first could not have extended much farther; and now that they had a family of four children, their wants had increased about as fast as their income. besides, there was a confused belief in the public mind--and of course in mine--that medical men were a species of conjurors; or if nothing more, that they had a sort of mysterious knowledge of human character, obtained by dealing with the stars, or by reliance on some supernatural source or other. and to such a height as this i could not at that time presume to aspire; though i certainly did aspire, even at a very early period, to become a learned man. as a means to such an end, i early felt an ardent desire to become a printer. this desire originated, in part at least, from reading the autobiography of dr. franklin, of which i was exceedingly fond. it was a desire, moreover, which i was very slow to relinquish till compelled. my father, as we have seen, was a poor laborer, and thought himself unable either to give me any extra opportunities of education, or to spare me from the cultivation of a few paternal acres. still, in secret, i i clung to the hope of one day traversing the lengths and breadths and depths and heights of the world of science. but for what purpose, as a final end? for, practically, the great question was, _cui bono_? as for becoming a lawyer, that, with me, was quite out of the question; for lawyers, even thus early, were generally regarded as bad men. all over the region of my nativity the word lawyer was nearly synonymous with liar; and to liars and lawyers the devil was supposed to have a peculiar liking, not to say affinity. i had never at that time heard of but one honest lawyer; and him i regarded as a sort of _lusus naturæ_ much more than as an ordinary human being. my friends would have been shocked at the bare thought of my becoming a lawyer, had the road to that profession been open to my youthful aspirations. the clerical profession was in some respects looked upon more favorably than the legal or the medical. i was scarcely "three feet high" when an aged and venerable grandmother said one day, _in my hearing_, and probably _for_ my hearing, "i always did hope one of my grandsons would be a minister." this, however, neither interested me much nor encouraged me; for (reader will you believe it?), as the doctor was regarded in those days as more than half a sorcerer, and the lawyer three-fourths devil, so the minister was deemed by many as almost half an idiot, except for his learning. i am not, by any means, trifling with you. it was the serious belief of many--i think i might say of most--that those boys who "took to learning" were by nature rather "weak in the attic," especially those who inclined to the ministry. it was a common joke concerning an idiot or half idiot, "send him to college."[a] in short, so strongly was this unfounded impression concerning the native imbecility of ministers, and in general of literary men, fastened on my mind as well as on the minds of most people, that i grew up nearly to manhood with a sort of confused belief that as a general rule they were below par in point of good, common sense. one prominent reason, as i supposed, why they were sent to college and wrought into that particular shape, was to bring them up to an equality with their fellows. hence, i not only repelled with a degree of indignation the thought of becoming a minister, but felt really demeaned by my natural fondness for books and school; and like the poet cowper, hardly dared, all my early lifetime, to look higher than the shoe buckles of my associates. still, i could not wholly suppress the strong desire to _know_ which had penetrated and pervaded my soul, and which had been nurtured and fed not only by an intelligent mother but by a few books i had read. perhaps the life of franklin, already referred to, had as much influence with me as any thing of the kind. for along with the love of knowledge which was so much developed by this book, the love of doing good was introduced. the doctor says, somewhere, that he always set a high value on a doer of good; and it is possible, nay, i might even say probable, that this desire, which subsequently became a passion with me, had its origin in this very remark. footnotes: [a] to illustrate this point, and show clearly the state of the public opinion, i will relate an anecdote. a certain calf in the neighborhood, after long and patient trial, was pronounced too ignorant to be able to procure his own nourishment, or in other words, was said to be a fool. on raising the question, what should be done with him, a shrewd colored man who stood by, said, "master, send him to college!" chapter ii. my first medical lesson. straws, it is said, show which way the wind blows; and words, and things very small in themselves, sometimes show, much better than "two crowns," or the "stars," what is to be the future of a person's life. the choice of a profession or occupation, were we but trained to the habit of tracing effects up to their causes, will doubtless often be found to have had its origin, if not in _straws_, at least in very small matters. when i was ten years of age, my little brother, of only two years, sat one day on the floor whittling an apple. the instrument in his hand was a barlow knife, as it was then called. the blade was about two inches in length, but was worn very narrow. how his parents and other friends, several of whom were in the same room, came to let him use such a plaything, i cannot now conceive; but as the point was almost square, and the knife very dull, they do not seem hitherto to have had any fears. suddenly the usual quiet of the family was disturbed a little by the announcement, "somebody is going by;" an event which, as you should know, was quite an era in that retired, mountainous region. all hastened to the window to get a view of the passing traveller. the little boy scampered among the rest; but in crossing the threshold of a door which intervened, he stumbled and fell. a sudden shriek called to him one of our friends, who immediately cried out, "oh dear, he has put out his eye!" and made a hasty but unsuccessful effort to extract the knife, which had penetrated the full length of its blade. the mother hastened to the spot, and drew it forth, though, as she afterward said, not without the exertion of considerable force. its back was towards the child, and by pressing the ball of the eye downward, the instrument had been able to penetrate to the bottom of the cavity, and perhaps a little way into the bone beyond. the elasticity of the eyeball had retained it so as to render its extraction seemingly difficult. most of those who were present, particularly myself and the rest of the children, were for a short time in a state of mental agony that bordered on insanity. not knowing at first the nature of the wound, but only that there was an eye there, and brains very near it, we naturally expected nothing less than the loss of this precious organ of vision, if not of life. there was no practising physician or surgeon, just at that time, within five or six miles, and i do not remember that any was sent for. we probably concluded that he could do no good. the child's eye swelled, and for a few days looked very badly; but after the lapse of about two weeks the little fellow seemed to be quite well; and so far as his eyes and brain are concerned, i believe he has been well to this time, a period of almost half a century. although we resided at a considerable distance from the village, and from any practising physician, there was near by a very aged and superannuated man, who had once been a medical practitioner. our curiosity had been so much excited by the wonderful escape of the little boy from impending destruction, that we called on the venerable doctor and asked him whether it was possible for a knife to penetrate so far into the head without injuring the brain and producing some degree of inflammation. from dr. c. we received a good deal of valuable information concerning the structure of the eye, the shape of the cavity in which it is placed, the structure and character of the brain, etc. this was a great treat to me, i assure you. it added not a little to the interest which was imparted by his instructions when he showed us, from the relics of better days, some of the bones of the skull, especially those of the frontal region, in which the eye is situated. of course the sight of a death's head, as we were inclined to call it, was at first frightful to us; but it was a feeling which in part soon passed away. it was a feeling, most certainly, which in me was not abiding at all. indeed, as the title to the chapter would seem to imply, i received in this dispensation of providence and its accompaniments my first medical lesson; though without the remotest thought, at the time, of any such thing. i was only indulging in a curiosity which was instinctive and intense, without dreaming of future consequences. chapter iii. the electrical machine. two years after this, an aged man, a distant relation, came to reside in my father's family for a short time, and brought with him a small electrical machine. he was a person of some intelligence, had travelled much, and had been an officer in the army of the american revolution. on the whole, he was just such a man as would be likely to become a favorite with children. he was, moreover, fully imbued with the expectation of being able to cure diseases by means of electricity; which in our neighborhood, at the least, was quite a novel, not to say a heterodox idea. curiosity alone had no small share of influence in bringing my mind to the study of electricity; but a general desire to understand the subject was greatly strengthened by the hope of being able to apply this wonderful agent in the cure of disease. one of the most interesting phases of christianity is that the love and practice of healing the bodily maladies of mankind are almost always seen in the foreground of the new testament representations of our saviour's doings; and it is no wonder that a youth who reverences his bible, and has a little benevolence, should entertain feelings like those above mentioned. the owner of the machine had brought with him a book on the subject of curing by electricity. it was a volume of several hundred pages, and was written by t. gale, of northern new york. it had in it much that was mere theory, in a highly bombastic style; but it also professed to give with accuracy the details of many remarkable cures, in various forms and stages, of several difficult diseases; and some of these details i knew to be realities. one or two cases at or near ballston springs were those of persons of whom i had some knowledge; and one of them was a relative. this last circumstance, no doubt, had great influence on my mind. as i had in those days some leisure for reading, and possessed very few books, i read--and not only read but studied--dr. gale's work from beginning to end. it is scarcely too much to say, that i read it till i knew it almost "by heart;" and my heart assented to it. i believed a new dispensation was at hand to bless the world of mankind; and what benevolence i had, began to be directed in this particular channel. i do not mean to say, that at twelve years of age i began to be a physician, for i do not now recollect that either our aged friend or myself ever had a patient during the whole year he remained with us. eight or ten subsequent years at the plough and hoe, and the absence of book, electrical machine, and owner, did much towards obliterating the impressions on this subject i had received. still, i have no doubt that the affair as a whole had a tendency to lead my thoughts towards the study and practice of medicine, and even to inspire confidence in electricity as a curative agent. in other and fewer words, it was, as i believe, a part of my medical education. chapter iv. the measles and pouring down rum. when i was about fourteen years of age, an event occurred which left a stronger impression on my mind than any of the foregoing; and hence in all probability did more to give my mind a medical bias and tendency. it was in the month of august. my father, assisted by two or three of his neighbors, was mowing a swamp meadow. it was an unusually wet season, and the water in many places was several inches deep,--in some few instances so deep that we were obliged to go continually with wet feet. to meet, and as it was by most people supposed to remove the danger of contracting disease, a bottle of rum was occasionally resorted to by the mowers, and offered to me; but at first i steadfastly refused it. at length, however, i began to droop. a feverish feeling and great languor came over me, and i was hardly able to walk. i was not then aware, nor were my friends, that i had been exposed to the contagion of measles, and therefore was not expecting it. i spoke of my ill health, but was consoled with the answer that i should soon get over it. but no; i grew worse, very fast. "turn down the rum," said one of the mowers, "if you mean to work." but i hesitated. i was not fond of rum at any time, and just now i felt a stronger disinclination to it than ever before. "turn down the rum," was repeated by the mowers, from time to time, with increased emphasis. at length wearied with their importunity; and, not over-willing to be the butt of their mirth and ridicule, i went to the spring, where the bottle of rum was kept, and, unperceived by any one, emptied a large portion of its contents on the ground. the mental agitation of temporary excitement dispelled in part my sufferings, and i proceeded once more to my work. in a very short time my noisy alcoholic prescribers went to the spring to pour rum down their _own_ throats. "what," said they, with much surprise, "has become of the rum?" "have you drank it?" said they, turning to me. "not a drop of it," i said. "but it is almost all gone," they said; "and it is a great mystery what has become of it." "the mystery is easily cleared up," i said; "you told me to turn it down, and i have done so."--"told you to turn it down!" said one of them, the most noisy one; "i told you to drink it."--"no," said i, "you told me to turn it down; and i have poured it down--my part of it--at the foot of the stump. if you have forgotten your direction to turn it down, i appeal to two competent witnesses." the joke passed off much better than i expected. for myself, however, i grew worse rapidly, and was soon sent home. my mother put me into bed, applied a bottle of hot water to my feet, and gave me hot drinks most liberally, and among the rest some "hot toddy." her object was to sweat away a supposed attack of fever. had she known it was measles that assailed me, or had she even suspected it, she would almost as soon have cut off her right hand as apply the sweating process. she would, on the contrary, have given me cooling drinks and pure air. she was not wholly divested of good sense on this point, neither was the prevailing public opinion. i suffered much, very much, and was for a part of the time delirious. at length an eruption began to be visible, and to assume the appearance which is usual in measles, both to my own relief and that of my parents and other friends. but the mistaken treatment, or the disease, or both, gave a shock to my already somewhat delicate constitution, from which i doubt whether i ever fully recovered. the sequel, however, will appear more fully in the next chapter. chapter v. lee's pills, and the dropsy. in consequence either of the disease or its mismanagement, i was left, on recovering from the measles, with a general dropsy. i might also say here, that at the recurrence of the same season, for many years afterwards, i was attacked with a complaint so nearly resembling measles that some who were strangers to me could hardly be diverted from the belief that it was the veritable disease itself. but to the dropsy. this disease, so unusual in young people, especially those of my sanguine and nervous temperament, alarmed both my parents and myself, and medical advice was forthwith invoked. our family physician was an old man, bred in the full belief of the necessity in such cases of what are called "alteratives," which, in plain english, means substances so active as to produce, when applied to the body either externally or internally, certain sudden changes. alteratives, in short, are either irritants or poisons. our aged doctor was called in to see me; and after the usual compliments, and perhaps a passing joke or two,--for both of which he was quite famous,--he asked me to let him see my tongue. next, he felt my pulse. all the while--a matter exceedingly important to success--he looked "wondrous wise." he also asked me sundry wondrous wise questions. they were at least couched in wondrous words of monstrous length. the examination fairly over, there followed a pause; not, indeed, an "awful pause," but one of a few seconds, or perhaps in all of half a minute. "now," said he, "you must take one of lee's pills every day, in roasted apple." there were other directions, but this was the principal, except to avoid taking cold. the pills, of course, contained a proportion of mercury or calomel, on the alterative effects of which, as i plainly perceived, he placed his chief dependence. i took the pills, daily, for about six weeks; but they produced very little apparent effect, except to spoil my appetite. what their remoter effects were on my constitution generally, is quite another question. suffice it to say, for the present, that for his occasional calls and wondrous wise looks, and his lee's pills, he made quite a considerable bill. we were, it is true, always glad to see him, for he was pretty sure to crack a joke or two during his stay, and he sometimes told a good story. nor, after all, were his charges remarkably high. for coming two or three miles to see me, he only made a charge of fifty cents a visit. it was near the beginning of october, and i was "getting no better very fast." a young physician had in the mean time come into the place, and my friends were anxious to call him in as "counsel." he proposed digitalis, and the family physician consented to it. but it was all to no purpose; i was still a bloated mass, and extremely enfeebled. at length, after some two or three months of ill health and loss of time, and the expenditure of considerable money on physicians and medicine, our good family doctor proposed a tea made from certain sweet roots, such as fennel, parsley, etc. of this i was to drink very freely. i followed his advice, and in a few days the dropsy disappeared. whether it was ready to depart just at this precise time, or whether the tea hastened its departure, i never knew. in any event, one thing is certain; that, either with its aid or in spite of it, i got rid of the dropsy; and it nevermore returned. but it is one thing to get rid of an inveterate disease, and quite another to be restored to our wonted measure of health and strength. the disease or the medicine or both had greatly debilitated me. i tried to attend school, but was unable till january or february; nor even then was i at all vigorous. i was able in the spring to work moderately; but it was almost a whole year before i occupied the same ground, physically, as before. indeed, i have very many doubts whether i ever attained to the measure of strength to which i might have attained had it not been for the expenditure of vital power in a long contest with lee's pills and disease. one lesson i learned, during my long sickness, in moral philosophy. i allude to the power of associated habits. thus i was accustomed to take my pills daily for a long time, in combination with the pulp of a certain favorite apple. by degrees this apple, before so congenial to my taste, became so exceedingly disgusting to me that i could hardly come in sight of it, or even of the tree on which it grew, without nausea; and this dislike continued for years. by the aid of a strong will, however, i at length overcame it, and the apple is now as agreeable to my taste, for any thing i know, as it ever was. chapter vi. the cold shower-bath. my long experience of ill health, and of dosing and drugging, had led me to reflect not a little on the causes of disease, as well as on the nature of medicinal agents; and i had really made considerable progress, unawares, in what i now regard as the most important part of a medical education. in short, i had gained something, even by the loss of so precious commodity as health. so just is the oft-repeated saying, "it is an ill wind that blows nobody any good." it was about this time that i began to reflect on bathing. what gave me the first particular impulses in this direction i do not now recollect, unless it was the perusal of the writings of dr. benjamin rush and dr. john g. coffin. my attention had been particularly turned to cold shower bathing. i had become more than half convinced of its happy adaptation to my own constitution and to my diseased tendencies, both hereditary and acquired. but what could i do? there were in those times no fleeting shower-baths to be had; nor indeed, so far as i knew, any other apparatus for the purpose; and had there been, i was not worth a dollar in the world to buy it with; and i was hardly willing to ask for money, for such purposes of my father. i will tell you, very briefly, what i did. my father had several clean and at that time unoccupied stables, one of which was as retired as the most fastidious person could have wished. in one of these stables, directly overhead, i contrived to suspend by its two handles a corn basket, in such a way that i could turn it over upon its side and retain it in this position as long as i pleased. into this basket, when suspended sideways, and slightly fastened, i was accustomed to set a basin or pail of water; and when i was ready for its reception, i had but to pull a string and overturn the basket in order to obtain all the benefits of a cold and plentiful shower. here, daily, for almost a whole summer, i used my cold shower-bath, and, as i then thought and still believe, with great advantage. my consumptive tendencies were held at bay during the time very effectually. i was fortunate, indeed, in being able always, with the aid of a coarse towel and a little friction, to secure a pretty full reaction. this season of cold bathing was when i was about sixteen years of age. i shall ever look back to it as one of the most important, not to say most interesting, of my _experiences_. indeed, i do not know that in any six months of my life i ever gained so much physical capital--thus to call it; by which i mean bodily vigor--as during these six months of the year . i may also add here, that it has been my lot all my life long to learn quite as much from experiment and observation as in any other way. the foregoing experience gave me much knowledge of the laws of hygiene. sometimes, while reflecting on this subject, i have thought of the assurance of the apostle john, that he who "doeth truth cometh to the light," and have wondered whether the good apostle, along with this highly important truth, did not mean to intimate that the natural tendency of holy living was to an increase of light and love and holiness. and then i have gone a step further, and asked myself whether it was not possible that the doing of _physical_ truth as well as _moral_, had the same tendency. i have alluded to experience, or experiment. it is sometimes said that medical men are very much inclined to make experiments on their patients. now, although i have a few sad confessions of this sort to make hereafter, yet i can truly say, in advance, that while i have made comparatively few experiments on other people, i have probably, during the progress of a long life, made more experiments on myself, both in sickness and in health, than any other existing individual. whether i have learned as much in this way as i ought, in such favored circumstances, is quite another question. chapter vii. my first sickness abroad. when i was about half-way through my nineteenth year, a desire to see the world became so strong that i made up my mind to a little travelling. accordingly, having provided myself with an employment which would, without a great deal of hindrance, enable me to earn my passing expenses, i set out on my journey. it was in the month of march, and near its close. the weather was mild, and the snow was fast disappearing--but not as yet the mud. in walking all day, my boots became soaked and my feet wet. the era of india rubbers had not then arrived. in truth, i went with my feet wet in the afternoon two or three days. on the evening of the third day i came to the house of the friends with whom i was desirous of stopping not only for the sabbath's sake, which was now at hand, but to rest and recruit. the next morning i was quite sick, and my friends were alarmed. it was proposed to send for a physician; but against this i uttered my protest, and the plan was accordingly abandoned. the next purpose of my kind friends was to bring on a perspiration. they were accustomed in these cases to aim at sweating. this is indeed a violence to nature; but they knew no better. the mistress of the house was one of those self-assured women who cannot brook any interference or submit willingly to any modification of their favorite plans. otherwise i should even then have preferred a gentle perspiration, longer continued. yet on the whole, for the sake of peace, i submitted to my fate, and went through the fiery furnace which was prepared for me. more than even this i might say. i was cooler, much cooler, when i got through the fire than when i was in the midst of it! in three days i was, in a good measure, restored. i was, it is true, left very weak, but was free from fever. my strength rapidly returned; and on the fifth day i was able to set out for home, where in due time i safely arrived. during this excursion i learned one good lesson, if no more. this was, the danger of going day after day with wet feet. a vigorous person may go with wet or damp feet a little while, in the early part of the day, when in full strength, with comparative safety; but towards evening, when the vital forces are at ebb tide, or at least are ebbing, it is unsafe. the feeble especially should guard themselves in this direction; nor should those who may perchance at some future time be feeble, despise the suggestion. one important resolution was also made. this was never to use violent efforts to induce perspiration. such a course of treatment i saw clearly, as i thought, must be contrary to the intentions of nature; and time and further observation and experiment have confirmed me in this opinion. there may of course be exceptions to the truth of such a general inference; but i am sure they cannot be very numerous. what though the forcing plan seems to have succeeded quite happily in my own case? so it has in thousands of others. so might a treatment still more irrational. mankind are tough, and will frequently live on for a considerable time in spite of treatment which is manifestly wrong, and even without any treatment at all. chapter viii. lesson from an old surgeon. five or six miles from the place of my nativity a family resided whom i shall call by the name of port. among the ancestry of this family, time out of mind, there had been more, or fewer of what are usually called natural bone setters. they were known far and near; and no effort short of miraculous would have been sufficient to shake the confidence which ignorance and credulity had reposed in them. one or two of these natural bone setters were now in the middle stage of life, and in the full zenith of their glory. the name of the most prominent was joseph. he was a man of some acquired as well as inherited knowledge; but he was indolent, coarse, vulgar, and at times profane. had it not been for his family rank and his own skill as a surgeon, of which he really had a tolerable share, he would have been no more than at best a common man, and occasionally would have passed for little more than a common blackguard. i was in a shop one day conversing with capt. r., when dr. port came in. "capt. r., how are you?" was the first compliment. "very well," said the captain, "except a lame foot." "i see you have one foot wrapped up," said dr. port; "what is the matter with it?"--"i cut it with an axe, the other day," said he, "very badly."--"on the upper part of the foot?" said the doctor. "yes, directly on the instep," said capt. r. "is it doing well?"--"not very well," he replied; "and i came into town to-day partly to see and converse with you about it."--"well, then, undo it and let me have a look at it." wrapper after wrapper was now taken from the lame foot, till dr. port began to scowl. "you keep it too warm," said he. "a wound of this sort should be kept cool, if you don't wish to have it inflame. a slight wrapping is all that is needful." they came at length to the wound. "it does not look very badly," said dr. port; "but you must keep it cool. and then," added he with an oath, the very thought of which to this day almost makes me shudder, "you must keep your nasty, abominable ointments away from it. remember one thing, capt. r., whenever you have a new flesh wound, all you can possibly do with any hope of advantage is to bring the divided edges of the parts together and keep them there, and nature will take care of the rest." "would you, then, do nothing at all but bind it up and keep it still?" said capt. r. "nothing at all," said he, "unless it should inflame; and then a little water applied to it is as good as any thing."--"but is there nothing of a healing nature i can use?" said the captain. "i have told you already," said he, with another strange oath, "that you don't want any thing healing on the outside, if you had a cart-load of medicaments. all wounds, when they heal at all, heal from the bottom; and of course all your external applications are useless, except so far as is necessary to protect the parts from fresh injury and keep them from the air." the crowd around looked as if they were amazed; but it was dr. port who said it, and therefore it must be swallowed. i was somewhat surprised with the rest. and i have not a doubt that what he said was to most of them an invaluable lecture. for myself, as a student of _man_, it was just what i needed. it set me to thinking. it was a lesson which i could never forget if i were to live a thousand years. it was a lesson, moreover, which i have repeated almost a thousand times, in circumstances not dissimilar. indeed, i believe this very occurrence did much to turn my attention to the medical profession. i saw at once it was a rational thing; a matter of plain common sense; a thing of principle; and not on the one hand a bundle of mysteries, nor on the other a mere humbug. dr. port long ago paid the debt of nature; but not till he had made his mark on the age he lived in. if, indeed, he died as the fool dieth,--and thus it was said he _did_ die,--he was at least a means of teaching others to live right. he did great good by his frequent wise precepts, as well as not a little harm by his sometimes immoral example. for myself, i honor him because he was my teacher on a point of great practical importance, and because he was to thousands of over-credulous people a light and a benefactor. although i had not at this time any very serious thoughts of becoming a physician and surgeon, yet i certainly inclined in that direction. my great poverty was the chief difficulty that lay in my way; but this difficulty at that time seemed insurmountable. besides, i was wedded to my father's farm, and i did not see how the banns could very well be sundered. chapter ix. lee's windham bilious pills. i was, at length, twenty-two years of age. i had about fifty dollars in my pocket, besides a few books. but what would this do towards giving me a liberal education? and yet, to an education in the schools, of some sort, either as a means to a profession, or as affording facilities for obtaining knowledge or communicating it to others, i certainly did aspire. but i seemed compelled for the present to plod on in the old way. there had been, but recently, a gold fever--not, it is true, of california, but of carolina. the young men of the north, shrewd, intelligent, active, and ambitious yankees, had flocked by hundreds, if not by thousands, from new england to the southern states, to sell tin ware and clocks, especially the former. the trade at first had been very lucrative. though many had been made poor by it, yet many more had been made rich. i do not say how honorably the trade had been conducted. to sell tin lanterns, worth fifty cents each, for silver, at fifty dollars, and tin toddy sticks, worth a new york shilling, for twelve dollars, did not in the final result redound much to our new england credit. though it brought us gold, it did not permanently enrich us. a much better trade had now, in , sprung up with the south. the north--the great nursery of america--had still a surplus of young men who wanted to go somewhere. a part of them found their way to carolina and georgia, and engaged during the winter, and occasionally through the year, in teaching; while another part labored on their canals and railroads and in their shops. this was to furnish the south with a commodity of real value, for which we received in return a fair compensation. besides, it had a better effect than clock and tin peddling, both on the seller and buyer. to improve my pecuniary condition, and to acquaint myself with the world, i prepared to embark for the south. my purpose was to teach. it was the beginning of october, and yellow fever was said to be raging in charleston, where i purposed to disembark. was it, then, safe for me to go? should the prospect of doing good, improving my mind, and bettering my condition in many other respects, weigh against the danger of disease; or was it preferable that i should wait? my numerous friends counselled me according to their various temperaments and prepossessions. the strong and vigorous in body and mind said, _go on_; the feeble and timorous and trembling interposed their caution. but the vessel was ready and would soon sail; and i saw on board many of my acquaintances. the temptation was before me, and was great; the dangers, though many, were remote--the dangers of the sea excepted. for these, it is true, i was, like everybody else, entirely unprepared, having never before in my life crossed more than a single river. i was moreover exceedingly timid. one kind friend--kind, i mean, in general intention--who had been many years at the south, amid the ravages of the gold fever, as well as other fevers more or less yellow, whispered me just at this critical moment, "take with you a box of lee's windham bilious pills; and as soon as you arrive at charleston, make it your rule to swallow, every other day, one of these pills. that will prevent your getting the fever. i have often tried it, and always with success." my friend's words gave me more courage than his pills. i saw that he had been in the midst of sickness and had lived through it. why might not i? my mind was soon made up to proceed on the journey. we sailed from new haven in connecticut, and were seventeen days on our passage. when we reached charleston, either the yellow fever had spent itself or it had not recently been there, except in a few rare instances. i found no use for pills of any kind, except _such as grew on fruit-trees_--the apple, peach, orange, persimmon, etc., or such as were the products of the corn, potato, and rice fields; nor did i ever take any other while i remained in the south. a queer idea, i often said to myself, that of taking poison while a person is well, in order to prevent becoming sick! in any event, i did not do it. there was sickness in the country, however, if not in the city; and i was much and often exposed to it. but what then? how would one of lee's pills defend me from it, even for two days? i preferred to eat and drink and sleep correctly, and then trust to my good fortune and to him who controlled it, rather than to nauseous and poisonous medicine. and i had my choice, and with it a blessed reward. i was in the low country of north and south carolina and virginia six months or more, and often and again much exposed to disease, and yet i never had a sick day while i remained there. and yet, as i have before intimated, i never took a particle of medicine during the whole time. once, indeed, i was beguiled into the foolish habit of using french brandy with my dinner, under the idea that it would promote digestion. but i did not continue it long; and i verily believe that it did me more harm than good while i used it; for i have at no other period of my life suffered so much from dyspeptic tendencies as during the summer which followed this temporary indulgence of brandy with my dinner. during my wanderings in the south, i had, much of the time, a fellow traveller, who, though he took no medicine, was less cautious than myself, and less fortunate. perhaps his very recklessness served as a warning to me. in truth, without being much of a theologian, i have sometimes thought that the errors of mankind were intended in the divine plan--at least in part--for this very end. happy, then, if this is so, are they who make a wise use of them! chapter x. dr. solomon and his patient. i have said that my fellow traveller was less cautious than myself, and have intimated much more. he was in some respects cautious, and yet in others absolutely reckless. when hot and thirsty, for example, instead of just rinsing out his mouth and swallowing a very little water, he would half-fill his stomach with some of that semi-putrid stuff, ycleped water, which you often find in virginia and the carolinas; and when hungry, he would eat almost any thing he could lay hold of, and in almost any quantity, as well as at almost any hours, whether seasonable or unseasonable. this course of conduct seemed to answer very well for a few months; but a day of retribution at last came. he was then in norfolk, in virginia. i had been absent from the place a few weeks, and on my return found him sick with a fever, and without such assistance as was absolutely and indispensably necessary. there were yankees in the place in great numbers, and some of them were his personal acquaintances and friends; but they had hitherto refused to come near him, lest they should take the fever. i proceeded to take care of him by night and by day. at the suggestion of an old citizen, in whom i placed great confidence, dr. solomon was called in as his physician. there was some bleeding and drugging, and a pretty constant attendance for many weeks; but the young man finally recovered. if you ask what this chapter has to do with my medical confessions, i will tell you. dr. solomon was an old school physician, and made certain blunders, which i am about to confess for him. he prescribed--as very many of us his medical brethren formerly did, for the _name_ of a disease rather than for the disease itself, just as it now appeared. thus, suppose the disease was typhus fever; in that case he seemed to give just about so many pills and powders every day, without much regard to the circumstances; believing that somehow or other, and at some time or other, good would come out of it. if his patient had sufficient force of constitution to enable him to withstand both the disease and the medicine, and ultimately to recover, dr. s. had the credit of a cure; not, perhaps that he claimed it,--his friends awarded the honor. if the patient died, it was on account of the severity of the disease. neither the doctor nor his medicine was supposed to be at fault. some, indeed, regarded it as the mysterious work of divine providence. dr. s. attended my young companion in pedestrianism a long time, and sometimes brought a student into the bargain. he probably kept his patient insane with his medicine about half the time, and greatly prolonged his disease and his sufferings. but he knew no better way. he was trained to all this. the idea that half a dozen careful visits, instead of fifty formal ones, and a few shillings' worth of medicine instead of some twenty or thirty dollars' worth, would give the young man a better prospect of recovery than his own routine of fashionable book-dosing and drugging, never for once, i dare say, entered his head. and yet his head was large enough to hold such a simple idea, had it been put there very early; and the deposit would have done much to make him--what physicians will one day become--a rich blessing to the world. reader, are here no confessions of medical importance? if not, bear with me awhile, and you will probably find them. we have yet a long road to travel, and there are many confessions to be made in which i have a personal concern and responsibility, and, as you may perhaps conclude, no small share of downright culpability. chapter xi. physicking off fever. the eyes of my mind having just begun to be opened to the impotence of a mere routine of medication as a _substitute for nature_, rather than _as an aid to her enfeebled efforts_, i was prepared to make a wise use of other facts that came before me, especially those in which i had a personal concern and interest. here is one of this description. on the morning of march , , during the very period when i was watching over my sick friend, as mentioned in the preceding chapter, i took from the post-office a letter with a black seal. it contained the distressing intelligence of the death of a much-valued sister and her husband, both of whom, but a few months before, i had left in apparently perfect health. on a careful inquiry into the particulars, both by letter and, after my return, in other ways, i learned that the connecticut river fever, as it was then and there called, having carried off several persons who were residing in the same house with my brother, the survivors were advised to do something to prevent the germination and development of such seeds of the disease as were supposed to be in their bodies and ready to burst forth into action. i do not know that any medical man encouraged this notion, the offspring of ignorance and superstition; but my brother and his wife had somehow or other imbibed it, and they governed themselves accordingly. both of them took medicine--moderate cathartics--till they thought they had physicked off the disease; and all seemed, for a time, to be well, except that they complained still of great weakness and debility. it was not long, however, before they were both taken with the disease and perished; my brother in a very short time, and my sister more slowly. my sister, on being taken ill, had been removed to the house of her mother, in the hope that a change of air might do something for her; but all in vain. my mother and a few other friends who were with them as assistants sickened, but they all ultimately recovered. they, however, took no medicine by way of prevention. now i do not presume to say, that my young friends were destroyed solely by medicine, for the assertion would be unwarranted. i only state the facts, and tell you what my convictions then were, and what they are still. my belief is, that though they might have sickened had they taken no medicine or preventive, yet their chance of recovery after they sickened was very much diminished by the unnecessary and uncalled-for dosing and drugging. the notion that we can physick off the seeds of disease, or by our dosing prevent their germination, is as erroneous as can possibly be, and is a prolific source of much suffering and frequent death. the best preventive of disease is good health. now, physicking off generally weakens us, instead of giving strength. it takes away from our good health instead of adding to or increasing it. as a general rule, to which there are very few exceptions, all medicine, when disease is unusually common or fatal, is hazardous without sound medical advice, and not generally safe even then. it is fit only for extreme cases. you may be at a loss to understand how such facts and reflections as these could allure me to the study and practice of medicine as a profession. yet they most certainly had influence. not that i felt a very strong desire to deal out medicine, for to this i felt a repugnance which strengthened with increase of years and experience. what i most ardently desired was to know the causes of disease, and how far they were or were not within human control. such a science as that of _hygiene_--nay, even the word itself, and the phrase _laws of health_--was at that time wholly unknown in the world in which i moved. there was, in truth, no way then to this species of knowledge, except through the avenues opened by a course of medical study. hence it was that i blundered on, in partial though not entire ignorance, for some time longer, groping and searching for that light which i hardly knew how or whence to seek, except in pills and powders and blisters and tinctures. chapter xii. manufacturing chilblains. at the period of my life to which we have at length arrived, i was for four or five months of every year a school teacher. this was, in no trifling degree, an educational process; for is it not well known that, "teaching we learn, and giving we retain?" it was at least an education in the great school of human nature. every morning of one of these winter sessions of school keeping, lydia maynard, eight years of age, after walking about a mile, frequently in deep snow, and combating the cold northwest winds of one of the southern green mountain ranges, would come into the schoolroom with her feet almost frozen, and take her seat close to the stove, so as to warm them and be ready for school as quickly as possible. here she would sit, if permitted to do so, till the bell rang for school. it was not long before i learned that she was a great sufferer from chilblains. whether she inherited a tendency to this troublesome and painful disease, which was awakened and aggravated by sudden changes of temperature, or whether the latter were the original cause of the disease, i never knew with certainty. but i was struck with the fact that sudden warming was followed by such lasting and terrible consequences. and herein is one reason why i have opposed, from that day to this, the custom or habit, so exceedingly prevalent, of rushing to the fire when we are very cold, and warming ourselves as quickly as possible. i have reasoned; i have commanded; and in some few instances i have ridiculed. every one knows it is hazardous to bring the ears or fingers or toes, or any other parts of the body, suddenly to the fire when really frozen,--that is, when the temperature is lowered down in the part to °; and yet, if it is only down to °, and the part not quite frozen, almost every one, young and old, will venture to the fire. can there be such a difference in the effects when there is only a difference of one degree in temperature? no reflecting person will for one moment believe it. the trouble is we do not think about it. sudden changes from heat to cold are little more favorable than when the change is in the other direction. indeed, it often happens that children at school are subjected to both these causes. thus, in the case of lydia, suppose that after roasting herself a long time at the stove, she had gone to her seat and placed her feet directly over crevices in the floor, through which the cold wind found its way at almost freezing temperature. would not this have greatly added to the severity of the disease? there are, it is true, other reasons against sudden changes of temperature, particularly the change from cold to heat, besides the fact that they tend to produce chilblains; but i cannot do more just now than barely advert to them. the eyes are apt to be injured; it renders us more liable than otherwise we should be to take cold. occasionally it brings on faintness and convulsions, and still more rarely, sudden death. i will only add now, that sudden warming after suffering from extreme cold, whether we perceive it or not at the time, is very apt to produce deep and lasting injury to the brain and nervous system. but my main object in relating the story is answered if i have succeeded in clearly pointing out to the reader one of the avenues through which light found its way to my benighted intellect, and led me to reflection on the whole subject of health and disease. here was obviously one cause of a frequent but most painful complaint. it was natural, perfectly natural, that by this time i should begin to inquire. have all diseases, then, their exciting causes? many certainly have; and if many, perhaps all. at least, how do we know but it may be so? and then again, if the causes of chilblains are within our control, and this troublesome disease might be prevented, or its severity mitigated if no more, why may it not be so with all other diseases? to revert for a moment to the case of lydia maynard. though i was the cause, in a certain sense, of her suffering, yet it was a sin of ignorance. but it taught me much wisdom. it made me cautious ever afterward. i do not doubt but i have been a means of preventing a very considerable amount of suffering in this form, since that time, by pointing out the road that leads to it. prevention is better than cure, was early my motto, and is so still. and from the day in which i began to open my eyes on the world around me, and to reason from effects up to their causes, i have been more and more confirmed in the belief that mankind as a race are to be the artificers of their own happiness or misery. all facts point in this direction, some of them with great certainty. and facts, everywhere and always, are stubborn things. chapter xiii. how to make erysipelas. my periodical tendency to a species of eruptive disease closely resembling measles, was mentioned in chapter iv. during the summer of this affection became unusually severe, and seemed almost beyond endurance. the circumstances were as follows:-- i had in charge a large and difficult school. the weather was very hot, and i was not accustomed to labor in summer within doors. besides, my task was so difficult as to call forth all the energies of body and mind both; and the "wear and tear" of my system was unusually great. it was in the very midst of these severe labors, in hot and not well-ventilated air, that the eruption appeared. perhaps it was aggravated by my diet, which, in "boarding around," was of course not the best. the eruption not only affected my body and reached to the extremities, but was accompanied by an itching so severe that i was occasionally compelled to lie awake all night. my general strength at last began to give way under it, and i sought the advice of our family physician. he advised me to use, as a wash to the irritated and irritable surface, a weak solution of corrosive sublimate. i hesitated; especially as i believed it to be, with him, an experiment. but on his repeated assurance, that if i would take special care of myself and avoid taking cold, there was no danger, i waived my objections, and proceeded to carry out his plan. the solution was applied, accordingly, to the letter of the doctor's directions. for many days no change appeared, either favorable or adverse. at length a most distressing headache came on and remained. my sufferings became so severe that i was obliged to postpone my school and return to my father's house. on the road, i observed that an eruption of a peculiar kind had appeared, particularly about the forehead, accompanied with small blisters. it was not here that i had applied the solution, but on the arms, chest, and lower limbs. of course the corrosive sublimate, if at all operative, had affected me through the medium of the circulation and not by direct contact. our physician came, pronounced the disease erysipelas, and without saying a word about the cause, prescribed; and i followed out carefully his prescription. but the disease had its course in spite of us both, and was very severe. it took away my sleep entirely for a day or two. it proved a means of removing the hair from one side of my head, and of so injuring the skin that it never grew again. indeed, gangrene or mortification had actually commenced at several points. suddenly, however, the pain and inflammation subsided, and i recovered. now my physician never said that i was poisoned by the corrosive sublimate, probably for the two following reasons: , i never made the inquiry. , he would probably have ascribed the disease to taking cold rather than to the mercury, had i inquired. i do not believe i took cold, however. how it came to affect me so unfavorably i never knew with certainty; but that it was the medicine that did the mischief i never for one moment doubted. i suppose it was absorbed; but of the manner of its introduction to the system i am less certain than of the fact itself. but besides the absorption of the corrosive sublimate into the system, and its consequences--a terrible caution to those who are wont to apply salves, ointments, washes, etc., to the surface of the body unauthorized--i learned another highly important lesson from this circumstance. active medicines, as i saw more plainly than ever before, are as a sword with two edges. if they do not cut in the right direction, they are almost sure to cut in the wrong. i must not close, however, without telling you a little more about the treatment of my disease. after i had left my school and had arrived at home, a solution of sugar of lead was ordered in the very coldest water. with this, through the intervention of layers of linen cloth, i was directed to keep my head constantly moistened. its object, doubtless, was to check the inflammation, which had become exceedingly violent. why the sugar of lead itself was not absorbed, thus adding poison to poison, is to me inconceivable. perhaps it was so; and yet, such was the force of my constitution, feeble though it was, that i recovered in spite of both poisons. or, what is more probable, perhaps the lead, if absorbed at all, did not produce its effects till the effects of the corrosive sublimate were on the wane; so that the living system was only necessitated to war with one poison at a time. mankind are made to live, at least till they are worn out; and it is not always easy to poison a person to death, if we would. in other words, human nature is tough. now i do not know, by the way, that any one but myself ever suspected, even for one moment, that this attack of erysipelas was caused by the corrosive sublimate. but could i avoid such a conclusion? was it a hasty or forced one? judge, then, whether it was not perfectly natural that i should be led by such an unfortunate adventure to turn my attention more than ever to the subject of preserving and promoting health. for if our family physician--cautious and judicious as in general he was--had been the unintentional cause of a severe attack from a violent and dangerous disease, which had come very near destroying my life, what blunders might not be expected from the less careful and cautious man, especially the beginner in medicine? and if medical men, old and young, scientific as well as unscientific, make occasional blunders, how much more frequently the mass of mankind, who, in their supposed knowledge of their own constitutions and those of their families, are frequently found dosing and drugging themselves and others? i do not mean to say that in the incipiency of my observations and inquiries my mind was mature enough--well educated enough, i mean--to pursue exactly the foregoing train of thought; but there was certainly a tendency that way, as will be seen more fully in the next chapter. the spell at least was broken, and i saw plainly that if "died by the visitation of god" _never_ means any thing, it _generally_ does not. and as it turned out that the further i pushed my inquiries the more i found that diseases were caused by transgression of physical and moral law, and hence not uncontrollable, why should it not be so, still farther on, in the great world of facts which i had not yet penetrated? chapter xiv. studying medicine. my thoughts were now directed with considerable earnestness and seriousness, to the study of medicine. it is true that i was already in the twenty-fourth year of my age, and that the statute law of the state in which i was a resident required three years of study before receiving a license to practise medicine and surgery, and i should hence be in my twenty-seventh or twenty-eighth year before i could enter actively and responsibly upon the duties of my profession, which would be rather late in life. besides, i had become quite enamored of another profession, much better adapted to my slender pecuniary means than the study of a new one. however, i revolved the subject in my mind, till at length, as i thought, i saw my path clearly. it was my undoubted duty to pursue the study of medicine. still, there were difficulties which to any but men of decision of character were not easily got removed. shall i tell you how they were gradually and successfully overcome? our family physician had an old skeleton, and a small volume of anatomy by cheselden, as well as a somewhat more extended british work on anatomy and physiology; all these he kindly offered to lend me. then he would permit me to study with him, or at least occasionally recite to him, which would answer the letter of the law. then, again, i could, during the winter of each year of study except the last, teach school, and thus add to my pecuniary means of support. and lastly, my father would board me whenever i was not teaching, and on as long a credit as i desired. were not, then, all my difficulties practically overcome, at least prospectively? it was early in the spring of the year that i carried to my father's house an old dirty skeleton and some musty books, and commenced the study of medicine and surgery, or at least of those studies which are deemed a necessary preparation. it was rather dry business at first, but i soon became very much interested in the study of physiology, and made considerable progress. my connection with our physician proved to be merely nominal, as i seldom found him ready to hear a recitation. besides, my course of study was rather desultory, not to say irregular. in the autumn of , having occasion to teach school at such a distance as rendered it almost impracticable for me to continue my former connection as a student, i made arrangements for studying with another physician on terms not unlike those in the former case. my new teacher, however, occasionally heard me recite, especially in what is properly called the practice of medicine and in surgery. his instructions, though very infrequent, were of service to me. in i became a boarder in his family, where i remained about a year. here i had an opportunity to consult and even study the various standard authors in the several departments which are usually regarded as belonging to a course of medical study. so that if i was not in due time properly qualified to "practise medicine and surgery in this or any other country," the fault was chiefly my own. however, in the spring of , after i had attended a five months' course of lectures in one of the most famous medical colleges of the northern states, i was regularly examined and duly licensed. _how_ well qualified i was supposed to be, did not exactly appear. it was marvellous that i succeeded at all, for i had labored much on the farm during the three years, taught school every winter and two summers, had two or three seasons of sickness, besides a severe attack of influenza (this, you know, is not regarded as a disease by many) while attending lectures, which confined me a week or more. and yet one of my fellow students, who was present at the examination, laughed at my studied accuracy! one word about my thesis, or dissertation. it was customary at the college where i heard lectures--as it probably is at all others of the kind--to require each candidate for medical license to read before the board, prior to his examination, an original dissertation on some topic connected with his professional studies. the topic i selected was pulmonary consumption; especially, the means of preventing it. it was, as may be conjectured, a slight departure from the ordinary routine, but was characteristic of the writer's mind, prevention being then, as it still is, and probably always will be, with him a favorite idea. i go so far, even, as to insist that it should be the favorite idea of every medical man, from the beginning to the end of his career. "the best part of the medical art is the art of avoiding pain," was the motto for many years of the _boston medical intelligencer_; and it embraced a most important truth. when will it be fully and practically received? but i must recapitulate a little; or rather, i must go back and give the reader a few chapters of incidents which occurred while i was a student under dr. w., my second and principal teacher. i will however study brevity as much as possible. chapter xv. nature's own eye water. when i began the study of medicine, my eyes were so exceedingly weak, and had been for about ten years, or indeed always after the attack of measles, that i was in the habit of shading them, much of the time, with green or blue glasses. my friends, many of them, strongly objected to any attempt to pursue the study of medicine on this very account. and the attempt was, i confess, rather hazardous. what seemed most discouraging in the premises was the consideration that i had gone, to no manner of purpose, the whole round of eye waters, elixir vitriol itself not excepted. was there room, then, for a single gleam of hope? yet i was resolutely, perhaps obstinately, determined on making an effort. i could but fail. soon after i made a beginning, the thought struck me, "why not make the experiment of frequently bathing the eyes in cold water?" at that very moment they were hot and somewhat painful; and suiting the action to the thought, i held my face for some seconds in very cold water. the sensation was indescribably agreeable; and i believe that for once in my life, at the least, i felt a degree of gratitude to god, my creator, for cold water. the practice was closely and habitually followed. whenever my eyes became hot and painful, i put my face for a short time in water, even if it were _twenty_ times a day. the more i bathed them, the greater the pleasure, nor was it many days before they were evidently less inflamed and less troublesome. why, then, should i not persevere? i carried the practice somewhat further still. i found from experiment, that i could open my eyes in the water. at first, it is true, the operation was a little painful, and i raised, slightly, its temperature. gradually, however, i became so much accustomed to it that the sensation was not only less painful, but even somewhat agreeable. in a few weeks i could bear to open my eyes in the water, and keep them open as long as i was able to hold my breath, even at a very low temperature. perseverance in this practice not only enabled me to proceed with my studies, contrary to the expectation of my friends, and in spite, too, of my own apprehensions, but gave me in addition the unspeakable pleasure of finding my eyes gaining every year in point of strength, as well as clearness of sight. my glasses were laid aside, and i have never used any for that specific purpose since that time. of course i do not mean by this to say that my eyes remain as convex as they were at twenty-five or thirty years of age, for that would not be true. they have most certainly flattened a little since i came to be fifty years of age, for i am compelled to wear glasses when i would read or write. i mean, simply, that they have never suffered any more from inflammation or debility, since i formed the habit of bathing them, even up to the present hour. the more i observe on this subject, the more i am persuaded--apart from my own experience--that pure water, at the lowest temperature which can be used without giving pain, is the best known eye medicine in the world, not merely for one, two, or ten in a hundred persons, but for all. i recommend it, therefore, at every opportunity, not only to my patients but to others. it may doubtless be abused, like every other good gift; but in wise and careful hands it will often accomplish almost every thing but downright miracles. we may begin with water a little tepid, and lower the temperature as gradually as we please, till we come to use it ice cold. chapter xvi. the viper story. i was, early in life, greatly perplexed in mind by the oft-recurring question, why it was that in the hands of common sense men, every known system of medicine--even one which was diametrically opposed to the prevailing custom or belief, like that of hahnemann, seemed to be successful. not only the botanic practitioner with his herbs, and the homoeopathist with his billionth dilutions, but even the no-medicine man[b] could boast of his cures, and, for aught i could see, of about an equal number--good sense and perseverance and other things being equal. and then, again, he that bled everybody, or almost everybody, if abounding in good sense, like the late dr. hubbard, of pomfret, in connecticut, was about as successful as those who, like dr. danforth, once an eminent practitioner of boston, would bleed nobody, nor, if in his power to prevent it, suffer the lancet to be used by anybody else. while cogitating on this subject one day, the following anecdote from a surgical work--i think a french work--came under my eye, and at once solved the problem, and relieved me of my difficulty. it may probably be relied on. when the abbé fontana, a distinguished medical man and naturalist, was travelling, once, in some of the more northern countries of europe, he was greatly surprised to find such a wonderful variety of applications to the bite of the viper, and still more to find them all successful, or at least about equally so. even those that were in character diametrically opposed to each other, _all cured_. his astonishment continued and increased when he found at length that those who applied nothing at all recovered about as readily as any of the rest. in the sequel, as the result of diligent and scientific research, it turned out that the bite of this animal, however dangerous and fatal in hot climates, is scarcely dangerous at all in cold ones. hence it was that all sorts of treatment appeared to cure. in other words, the persons who were bitten all recovered in spite of the applications made to their wounds, and generally in about the same period of time. thus, as i began to suspect,--and the reader must pardon the suspicion, if he can,--it may be with our diversified and diverse modes of medical treatment. a proportion of our patients,--perhaps i should say a large proportion,--if well nursed and cared for and encouraged, would recover if let alone so far as regards medicine. and it is in proof of this view, that nearly as many recover under one mode of practice, provided that practice is guided by a large share of plain, unsophisticated sense, as another. and does not this fully account for a most remarkable fact? hence it is, too,--and perhaps hence alone,--that we can account for the strange development in boston, not many years since, during a public medical discussion; viz., that he who had given his tens of pounds of calomel to his patients, and taken from their arms his hogsheads of blood, had been on the whole about as successful a practitioner as he who had revolted from the very thought of both, and had adopted some of the various forms of the stimulating rather than the depleting system. "is there, then, no choice between medication and no-medication? for if so, what necessity is there of the medical profession? why not annihilate it at once?" my reply is,--and it would have been about the same when these discoveries began to be made,--that there is no occasion to give up the whole thing because it has been so sadly abused. every mode of medical practice, not to say every medical practitioner from the very beginning, has been, of necessity, more or less empirical. the whole subject has been involved in so much ignorance and uncertainty, that even our wisest practitioners have been liable to err. they have been led, unawares, to prescribe quite too much for names rather than for symptoms; and their patients were often glad to have it so. and were the whole matter to come to an end this day, it might well be questioned whether the profession, as a whole, has been productive of more good than evil to mankind. but then, every thing must have its infancy before it can come to manhood. and it is a consolation to believe that the duration of that manhood always bears some degree of proportion to the time required in advancing from infancy to maturity. medicine, then, as a science, is valuable in prospect. and then, too, it is worth something to have a set of men among us on whom we may fasten our faith; for, credulous as everybody is and will be in this matter of health and disease, till they can duly be taught the laws of hygiene, they will lean upon somebody; it is certainly desirable that they should rely on those whom they know, rather than upon strangers, charlatans, and conjurors, of whom they know almost nothing. but i shall have frequent occasion to revert to this subject in other chapters, and must therefore dismiss it for the present, in order to make room for other facts, anecdotes, and reflections. footnotes: [b] of the hydropathist at that time i had not heard. chapter xvii. struck with death. throughout the region where i was brought up, and perhaps throughout the civilized world, the notion has long prevailed that in some of the last moments of a person's life, he is or may be "struck with death;" by which, i suppose the more intelligent simply mean that such a change comes over him as renders his speedy departure to the spirit-world inevitable. now that we are really justified in saying of many persons who are in their last moments, that they are beyond the reach of hope, is doubtless true. when decomposition, for instance, has actually commenced, and the vital organs have already begun to falter, it would be idle to conceal the fact, were we able to do so, that life is about to be extinguished beyond the possibility of doubt. in general, however, it is never quite impossible for the sick to recover even after recovery _seems_ to be impossible. so many instances of this kind have been known, that we ought at least, to be exceedingly cautious about pronouncing with certainty, and to encourage rather than repel the application of the old saying, "as long as there is life, there is hope."[c] i had a lesson on this subject while a medical student, which was exceedingly instructive, and which, if i were to live a thousand years, i could never forget. it was worth more to me in practical life afterward, than all my books and recitations would have been without it. the facts were these:-- my teacher of medicine used occasionally to take his students with him when he rode abroad on his professional visits. one day, it fell to my lot to bear him company. his patient was an aged farmer, a teamster rather, who had been for some time ill of a fever, and had not been expected to recover. yet his case was not so desperate but that the physician was expected to continue his daily visits. on our arrival at the house of the sick man, we were met by a member of the family, who said, "come in, doctor, but you are too late to do us any good. mr. h. is struck with death; all the world could not save him now." we entered the room. there lay the patient almost gone, surely. so at least, at the first view, it appeared. it was a hot summer day, and hardly a breath of air was stirring. the friends were gathered around the bed, and there was less freedom of circulation in the air of the sick-room than elsewhere. it was almost enough to kill a healthy man to be shut up in such a stagnant atmosphere; what, then, must have been the effect on one so sick and feeble? the doctor beckoned them away from the bed, and requested them to open another window. they did it rather reluctantly; but then, _they did it_. the sufferer lay panting, as if the struggle was almost over. "don't you think he is struck with death, doctor?" whispered one and another and another. almost out of patience, the doctor at length replied: "struck with death? what do you mean? no; he is no more struck with death than i am. he is struck much more with the heat and bad air. raise another window." the window was raised. "now," said he, "set that door wide open." it was quickly done. "now bring me a bowl of water, and a teaspoon." the bowl of water was quickly brought. "put a little water into his mouth with the teaspoon," said he. "o doctor," they replied, "it will only distress him; he is already struck with death."--"try it then, and see." tremblingly they now moistened his parched lips. "put a little of it in his mouth, with the teaspoon," he said. they shuddered; the doctor persisted. "why," said the attendant, "he has not been able to swallow any thing these two hours." "how do you know?" said he. "why, he has been all the while struck with death."--"nonsense! have you tried it?" "tried it? oh, no; by no means."--"why not?"--"because we knew it would only distress him. he is too far gone to swallow, doctor; you may rely on it." the physician's patience was now well nigh exhausted, as well it might have been, and seizing the bowl and teaspoon with his own sacrilegious hands, "i will see," said he, "whether he is struck with death or not." he not only wetted his lips and tongue, as they had partially done before, but gradually insinuated a few drops of nature's best and only drink, into the top of his throat. at last he swallowed! the doctor's hopes revived; while the family stood as if themselves struck, not with death, but with horror. at length, he swallowed again and again. in half an hour, he opened his eyes; before we left him, he had become quite sensible, and, had we encouraged it, might have spoken. to make my story as short as possible, the next day he could swallow a little gruel. the third day, he could be raised upon the bed. the fourth, though still weak, he was dressed and sat up an hour. in a fortnight, he was once more driving his team; and for ought i know to the contrary, unless debarred by reason of age, he may be driving it at this very moment! going home together from our visit, already so fully described, the conversation turned on the silly notion which so extensively prevails about being struck with death. we talked of its origin, its influence, and its consequences. it had done no good in the world, while it had been the means, we could not doubt, of indirectly destroying thousands of valuable lives. of its origin.--how came the notion abroad that a person can be struck with death, so affected that there is no possible return for him, to life and health? struck! by whom? is there a personage, spiritual but real, that strikes? is it the divine being? surely not. is it an arch enemy? is it satan himself? "no day, no glimpse of day, to solve the knot." the doctor and i had, however, one conjecture concerning it, which, if it should not instruct the reader, may at least, afford him a little amusement. it certainly amused us. you have seen the old-fashioned new england primer. it has been in vogue, i believe, a full century; perhaps nearer two centuries. it has done not a little to give shape to new england character. in its preliminary pages is a sort of alphabet of couplets, with cuts prefixed or annexed. one of the couplets reads thus:-- "youth forward slips, death soonest nips." while at its left, is the representation of a skeleton, armed with a dagger, and pursuing a youth--a child rather--with the apparent intention of striking him through. now i cannot say how this picture may have affected others, but to my medical teacher and myself, as we mutually agreed, it always brings up the idea of striking down a youth or child prematurely, and sending him away to the great congregation of the dead. nor am i quite sure that this representation, innocent as may have been its intention, has not been the origin of a relentless and cruel superstition. i know certainly, that my own early notions about being struck with death, had, somehow or other, a connection with this picture; and why may it not be so with others? but the _influence_ and _consequences_ of this superstition must be adverted to for a moment. i said they affect and have affected thousands; perhaps i ought to have said millions. under the confused and preposterously silly idea that death, the personification of satan or some other demon, has laid hold of the sick or distressed, and that it would be a sort of useless, not to say sacrilegious, work to oppose, or attempt to oppose, the grim messenger, we sometimes leave our sick friends in the greatest extremity, to suffer and perhaps die, when the gentle touch of a kind hand, a mere drop of water, or a breath of fresh air, might often bring them back again to life and health and happiness and usefulness. if this chapter should not be deemed a confession of medical impotence, it is at least a practical confession of medical selfishness or ignorance. if duly enlightened themselves, medical men ought long ago, to have rid society of this abominable superstition; and if not sufficiently enlightened to perceive its existence and evil tendency, they ought to have abandoned their profession. footnotes: [c] dr. livingstone, in his work of travels and researches in africa, tells us that during his residence among the backwains, a tribe in the african interior, two persons who had been hastily buried, perhaps "struck with death" in the first place, returned home "to their affrighted relatives." p. . chapter xviii. efficacy of cold spring water. an aged man not far from where i was studying, had an attack of dysentery which was long and severe. whether the fault of its long continuance lay in his own bad habits, or the injudicious use of medicine, or in both, we can inquire to better advantage by and by. i was not, however, very much acquainted with his physician, so as to be able in the premises to form a very correct opinion concerning him. the greatest puzzle with me, at that time, was why he should live so long after the disease appeared to have spent itself, without making any advances. the physician used to call on him day after day, and order tonic medicine of various kinds, all of which was given with great care and exactness. every thing in fact, seemed to be put in requisition, except what were most needful of all, pure air and water. the former of these was, as is usual in such cases, neglected; the latter was absolutely interdicted. for this last, as not unfrequently happens at this stage of acute diseases, the poor man sighed from day to day as though his heart would break. but, no; he must not have it. the effect on his bowels, he was told, would be unfavorable. and such at that day was the general _theory_. it was not considered that a very small quantity at first, a few drops merely, would be a great relief, and might be borne, till by degrees a larger quantity would be admissible. after repeated efforts, and much begging and crying for a little water to cool his parched tongue, the old gentleman, one night dreamed that he drank from a certain cold spring, which really flowed at a remote corner of his farm and was a great favorite both with him and his whole family, and that it almost immediately restored him. delighted with his dream, he no sooner fairly awaked than he called up his eldest son and sent him with a bottle, to the spring. he did not now _plead_, he _commanded_. the son returned in due time, with a bottle of water. he returned, it is true, with great fear and trembling, but he could do no less than obey. the demands and commands were peremptory, and the father was almost impatient. "now, my son," said the father, "bring me a tumbler." it was brought, and the father took it. "now," said he, "pour some of that water into it." samuel could do no other way than submit to the lawfully constituted authority, though it was not without the most painful apprehensions with regard to the consequences, and he kindly warned his father of the danger. nor were his sufferings at all diminished when the father, in a decided tone of voice, ordered him to fill the tumbler about half full. whether he had at first intended to drink so large a draught and afterwards repented, is not known; but instead of swallowing it all at a draught, the son's distress was greatly mitigated when he saw that he only just tasted it, and then set down the tumbler. in a few minutes he drank a little more, and then after a short time a little more still. he was about half an hour drinking a gill of water. when that was gone, he ordered more; and persisted in this moderate way till morning. by ten o'clock, when his physician arrived, he had drunk nearly a quart of it, and was evidently better. there was a soft, breathy perspiration, as well as more strength. the physician no sooner saw him than he pronounced him better. "what have you been doing?" he said, rather jocosely. the sick man told him the simple story of his rebellion from beginning to end. the doctor at first shook his head, but when he came to reflect on the apparent good consequences which had followed, he only said: "well, i suppose we must remember the old adage, 'speak well of a bridge that carries you safe over,'" and then joined in the general cheerfulness. the patient continued to drink his spring water from day to day, and with increasing good effects. it acted almost like a charm; it was not only food and drink to him, but also medicine. doubtless his great faith in it was not without its efficacy; still it was not to be denied that the water did him great and positive good. he soon found his newly discovered medicine not only more agreeable to his taste, but cheaper also than huxham's tincture and quassia. he also found that his son's daily visits to the spring cost him less than dr. physic's daily rides of three or four miles. so that though he was greatly delighted to see the smiling face, and hear the stories and jolly laugh of the latter, he was glad when he proposed to call less frequently than he had done and to lay aside all medicine. he recovered in a reasonable time, and lived to a very advanced age. a friend of his and mine, found him in his eighty-sixth year, mowing thistles barefooted. two or three years still later, i found him--it was during the cold month of january, --in the woods with his hired man far from his house, assisting in cutting and loading wood; in which employment he seemed to act with much of the energy and not a little of the activity of his earlier years. i do not of course undertake to say that he owed his recovery from his long sickness, above described solely to drinking cold water, there are so many other circumstances to be taken into the account, in settling all questions like this, that such an assertion would be hazardous, not to say foolish. his fever at the time of making his experiment, had already passed away; and having great tenacity of life, it was but reasonable to expect nature would ere long, rally, if she _could_ rally at all. it is also worthy of remark, that though his physician was one of those men who place their chief reliance on the medicine they give, rather than on the recuperative powers of the system, yet to his credit be it said, he had in this instance departed from his usual routine, and given comparatively little. perhaps we may explain the phenomenon of his recovery, as follows: nature long oppressed, yet by rest partially restored to her wonted energy, was now ready to rally as soon as she could get the opportunity; this the moderate draughts of water by their effects on the circulation enabled her to do; then, too, one consideration which i forgot to mention in its place, deserves to be noticed. when the sick man began the use of water, he laid aside (without the knowledge of his physician) most of what pills and powders and tinctures were prescribed him. and finally he had great faith in the water, as you have already seen; whereas he had lost all faith in drugging and dosing. and the efficacy of faith is almost sufficient in such cases, to work a cure, were this our only reliance. of this we shall have an illustration in chapter lxxvi. but though the water, as i now fully believe--and as i more than half believed when i heard of the facts at the time,--was fairly indicated, there is great hazard, in such circumstances in its use. had this gentleman taken a large draught at first, or had he swallowed more moderate draughts with great eagerness, and a quick succession, it might have produced an ill effect; it might, even, have provoked a relapse of his dysentery and fever. many a sick patient in the same circumstances, would have poured the cooling liquid into an enfeebled throat and stomach without the least restraint. and why did not he? i will give you one reason. he was early taught to govern himself. he told me, when eighty-eight years of age, he had made it a rule, all his life long, never to eat enough, but always to leave off his meals with a good appetite. he did not indeed, follow out with exactness the rule of the late amos lawrence: "begin hungry and leave off hungrier," but he came very near it. he managed so as always to have a good appetite, and never in the progress of more than fourscore years, whether by night or day, to lose it. such a man, if his mind is not too much reduced by long disease, can be safely trusted with cold spring water, even during the more painful and trying circumstances of convalescence from acute disease. another thing deserves to be mentioned in this connection. he had not kept his bowels and nervous system, all his life long, under the influence of rum, tobacco, opium, coffee, tea, or highly seasoned food. he did not it is true, wholly deny himself any one of these, except opium and tobacco; but he only used them occasionally, and even then in great moderation. nor was it from mere indigence, or culpable stinginess that he ate and drank, for the most part in a healthful manner. it seemed to be from a conviction of the necessity of being "temperate in all things;" and that such a course as he pursued tended to hardihood. as one evidence of a conviction of this kind, i have known his children and their school teacher to carry to the schoolroom for their dinner, a quantity of cold indian cake--ycleped johnny cake--and nothing else; nor was there an attempt at the slightest apology. such a man would not be very likely to have an ulcerated alimentary canal, or bad blood; or to be injured by swallowing every five minutes a table-spoonful of cold water; no, nor to sink as quickly as other people under the depressing tendency of irritating or poisonous medicine. this last-mentioned fact concerning the use of water,--for it is a fact on which we can rely, and not one of those statements which dr. cullen was accustomed to call "false facts,"--was to me exceedingly instructive. it taught me more concerning the human constitution and the laws of health and disease than i had ever before learned from a single case of mere disease, in my whole life; and i endeavored to make a wise use of it--of which as i trust, i shall give some evidence in the very next chapter. chapter xix. cheating the physician. it was by no means an uncommon thing with me, while studying medicine, to take long walks. one day, in the progress of one of these rambles, i came so near the family mansion of a young man with whom i had formerly been acquainted, that i thought i would, for once, go a little out of my way and make a call on him. and judge, reader, if you can, of my surprise, when i found him exceedingly sick. for residing, as we did, only a few miles apart, why had i not heard of it? most people, in truth, would have called on some of the young doctors--for there were three or four of us together,--to take care of the sick man, especially by night. young doctors, i grant--and this for various reasons which might be named, were it needful--are usually the very worst of watchers and nurses of the sick; but the public often appear to think otherwise, and even to prefer them. i found him under the care of an old school physician;--one who, though he otherwise prescribed very well, gave quite too much medicine; and like the old physician mentioned in the preceding chapter, mortally detested cold water; at least he detested its use in bowel complaints. the young man's case, however, was as yet wholly unlike that of the elderly gentleman of the foregoing chapter; and cold water at first, was not particularly needed; nor perhaps quite safe. some few days afterward, i called again. found my young friend rather less feverish, but no better; in fact, he was much worse, and was most obviously running down. i continued after this to call on him daily, till he too, like the old man before mentioned, began to beg for cold water. but his physician said, "no, not a drop," and with a good deal of emphasis. one day, while i was at his bedside, he turned to me, and with a most imploring look begged to know whether i believed a very little cold water would really hurt him. i told him no; but that a good deal doubtless would, and might even prove the means of his destruction. "simple a thing as water is," i said, "it is to you, in circumstances like yours, a sword with two edges. if it should not cut away the disease, it would probably cut in the other direction, to the destruction of your health, if not of your life." my remarks had both awakened his curiosity and increased his desires for the interdicted beverage. i found i had gone too far, and i frankly told him so. i told him it was not in accordance with medical etiquette, nor even with the rules of good breeding, for one medical man to prescribe for another's patient without his knowledge. but this explanation did not satisfy him. water was what he wanted; and as i had opened the budget and removed some of his fears, water he must have. he was willing, he said, to bear the responsibility. water, then, in exceedingly small quantity at a time, was permitted; but it was to be given by stealth. the physician was not allowed to know it, or, at all events, he was not to know under whose encouragement he acted. his friends were very careful in regard to the quantity, and i had the happiness of finding him, in a few days, very much better. but, as i said in reflecting on the recovery of my aged friend before mentioned, it is not quite certain, after all, how much was effected by the water, and how much by the recuperative efforts of nature herself. she might have been long waiting for that opportunity to rally, which the judicious introduction of the water, and the partial or entire discontinuance of other medicine, greatly facilitated. chapter xx. the medicinal effects of story telling. my aged father sickened about this time, and remained in a low condition many months. i was at a distance so great, and in circumstances so peculiar, that i could not see him often enough to become his medical adviser. besides, in my then unfledged condition as a disciple of galen, i should not have regarded myself competent to the discharge of so weighty a responsibility, had i even been at home with him. the result was that he employed his family physician as usual, and went through, as might have been expected, with the whole paraphernalia of a dosing and drugging campaign. among other troubles, or rather to cap the climax of his troubles, he was exceedingly low-spirited. confined as he had been to the house almost all winter, and seeing nobody to converse with,--no new faces, i mean,--was it very strange that his mind turned, involuntarily, to his complaints, and preyed upon itself, and that he was evidently approaching the deep vortex of hypochondria? medicine did him no good, and could do him none. it is true he had, after three months, almost left off its use; but the little to which he still clung was most evidently a source of irritation. my own occasional visits, as i soon found out, did him more good than any thing else. this gave me a needful hint. near him was an old revolutionary soldier, full of mirthfulness, and a capital story teller. unknown to my father, and even to the family, i employed this old soldier to visit my father a certain number of evenings in each week, and tell stories to him. sergeant k. complied faithfully with the terms of the contract, and was at my father's house three evenings of each week for a long time. this gave the old gentleman something else to think of besides himself, and it was easy to see, did him much good. during the progress of the fourth month his improvement became quite perceptible; and in another month he was nearly recovered. but, as i have repeatedly said of cold water, and indeed of all other remedial efforts or applications, whether external or internal, and whether moral, mental, or physical, too much credit should not be given, at least hastily, to a single thing. the opening spring was in my father's favor, as well as the story telling. the bow, so long retained in an unnatural position, on having an opportunity, sprung back and resumed its wonted condition. still, i could never help awarding much credit to the revolutionary soldier. most persons must have observed the effects which cheerfulness in a medical man has on his patients. the good-natured, jolly doctor, who tells a story now and then, and cracks a joke and has occasionally a hearty laugh _with you_, or _at_ you, about something or nothing, will do you much more good, other things being equal, than the grave, staid, sombre practitioner, who thinks it almost a sin to smile, especially at the sick-bed or in the sick-room. i think story telling, as an art, should be cultivated, were it only for its good effects in sickness. but this is not all. its prophylactic or preventive tendencies are much more valuable. few people know how to tell a story of any kind; while others, in some few remarkable instances, such as i could name, will make a story of almost any thing, and bring it to bear upon the precise point or end they wish to accomplish. it is yet, in reality, a mooted point, which could make the deepest, or at least most abiding, impression, daniel webster by a congressional oration, or jacob abbott by a simple story. if this is an indirect or incautious confession of medical imperfection or impotence, let me say as patrick henry once did, in revolutionary days, "then make the most of it." while on this topic of story telling, i must not forget to allude to its moral effects. lorenzo dow, the eccentric preacher, is not the only pulpit occupant who has acquired the art of "clinching the nail," in his discourses by a well told story. it was quite a habit, in former times, with certain preachers of certain denominations of christians, whose sermons were chiefly unwritten, to tell stories occasionally. and i appeal to father waldo, late chaplain in the united states senate, to see whether the effects of these discourses were not as deep and as lasting, to say the least, as many of our modern sermons, which, while they smell much more of the lamp, fall almost lifeless upon the sleepy ears of thousands of those whom whitfield by his more practical course would have converted. chapter xxi ossified veins. while i was studying medicine with my new or second master, i had several excellent opportunities for studying health and disease through the medium of the doctor's patients. one of them was a swaggering man of wealth, about sixty-three years of age. he had long lived very highly, had eaten a good deal of roast beef, and drunk a good deal of wine, and had almost swum in cider. he was in short, one of that class of men who "go off" in very many instances, at the grand climacterical period, some of them very suddenly. "doctor," said the general, exhibiting himself in full size and the boldest relief, "i want to be bled."--"what do you want bleeding for?" said the doctor. "oh," said he, "bleed me, and you will see. you will find my blood in a very bad state."--"your blood, general, was always in a very bad state," said the shrewd son of galen, with a sardonic grin. "none of your fun, doctor," was the prompt reply; "i must be bled. i have headache and giddiness half the time, and must have some blood taken."--"very well," said dr. s. "it shall be as you desire. here, my son, bring me a bowl." an older student assisted, while i, glad of the privilege, kept aloof, and at a distance. the general's brawny arm was mauled a long time; and even then not much blood was obtained. at last the attempt was given up, and the man returned home, though not, as might have been expected, very well satisfied. when he was gone, i inquired of dr. s., as modestly as i could, what serious difficulties he had to encounter in his attack on gen. upham's arm. "why was it," said i, "that you could get no more blood?" "for the plainest reason in the world," he answered; "his veins were all ossified." i was quite satisfied at the time, with this answer; for i knew so well the habits of gen. u. that i stood ready to believe almost any thing in regard to him, especially when it came from a highly respectable source. yet i have often suspected since that time, that there was a serious mistake made. ossified or bony arteries, even at this great distance from the heart, in such a man, ought not to excite surprise; but these would hardly be met with in attempting to open a vein, since the arteries are much more deeply imbedded in the flesh than the veins are. and as for ossified veins themselves, especially in the arm, they are seldom if ever heard of. you may wonder why i did not satisfy my curiosity at the time, by making diligent inquiry at the proper source of information; and i almost wonder too. but, in the first place, my curiosity did not rise so high on any occasion whatever, as it has since done. for, though i was hungering and thirsting for knowledge thirty years ago, my solicitude to know has so increased with increasing years that my present curiosity will admit of no comparison with the former. secondly, i was exceedingly diffident. thirdly, my mind was just then fully occupied with other things. and lastly, whenever i was in the company of dr. s., both while i remained in the office and subsequently, it was only for a very short time, perhaps a single half hour, at best; and we had always so many other things to talk about, that gen. u. and his _ossified veins_ never entered our minds. however, it was not many years afterward that i heard of the old general's death. of the manner of his exit except that it was sudden, i never heard a word, up to this hour. it is by no means improbable that there was ossification about his heart, for he was a very fit subject for ossification of any parts that could be ossified. i do not know, indeed, that a post mortem examination was ever made; the family would doubtless have opposed it. the uses of the dead to the living are in general very little thought of. such cases of disease are, however, a terrible warning to those who are following in the path of gen. upham. they may or may not come to just such an end as he did, but of one thing we may be well assured; viz., that the wicked do not live out half their days, or, in other words, that sins against the body, even though committed in ignorance, can never wholly escape the heaven-appointed penalty of transgression. "the soul that sins must die." for no physical infraction of god's holy, physical laws, do we know of any atonement. we may indeed, be thankful if we find one in the moral world or anywhere else. chapter xxii. he'll die in thirty six hours. in the autumn of , while a severe sickness was sweeping over one or two towns adjacent to that in which i resided, and considerable apprehension was felt lest the disease should reach us, the wife and child of my medical teacher, and myself, suddenly sickened in a manner not greatly dissimilar, and all of us suffered most severely. it was perfectly natural, in those circumstances, to suspect, as a cause of our sickness, the prevailing epidemic. and yet the symptoms were so unlike those of that disease, that all suspicions of this sort were soon abandoned. besides, no other persons but ourselves, for many miles around, had any thing of the kind, either about that time or immediately afterward. i have said that the symptoms of disease in all three of us were not dissimilar. there was much congestion of the lungs and some hemorrhage from their organs, and occasionally slight cough, and in the end considerable tendency to inflammation of the brain. the last symptom, however, may have been induced at least, in part, by the large amount of active medicine we took. when the news of my own sickness reached my near relatives who resided only a few miles distant, they were anxious to pay such attention to me as the nature of the case appeared to require. but they soon tired; and it was found needful to employ an aged and experienced nurse to take the general charge, and under the direction of the physician, assume the entire responsibility of the case. this nurse was one of those conceited people whose aid, after all, is worth very little. he was as far from affording the kind of assistance i required as could possibly be. and yet his intentions were in the main excellent. the selection of physician was equally unfortunate. my teacher had nearly as much as he could do to take care of his wife and child. at his request, and in accordance with the wishes of my friends, their and my former physician were called in. when the danger became more imminent, a third was occasionally consulted. it was supposed, no doubt, that in the midst of counsellors there was safety. the counsels of our third man, or umpire, may have had influence; but his manners were coarse, and in many respects objectionable. he was in favor, also, of a highly stimulating treatment, which appeared to me to add fuel to the flame, for i soon began to be at a loss when called upon to recollect things and circumstances. he saw the tendency, and, partly by way of "showing off" his powers of diagnosis, as well as in part to gain applause should a case so desperate turn out favorably, said, in the hearing of my nurse, "he'll die in just thirty-six hours." now, whatever his intentions were, and however honest his declaration, my nurse swallowed it at once, and was restless till he had an opportunity to divulge what he regarded as an important secret. it is by no means improbable that he entertained the usual impressions that a special preparation should be made for death, and that it was needful i should know my danger and attend to the subject before it was too late. in one of my most lucid intervals, therefore, he said to me, "do you expect to recover from your disease?"--"most certainly i do," was the reply. "do you know what dr. thornton thinks about it?"--"not certainly; but from his cheerful manner, i suppose he thinks favorably."--"do you think you could bear to know the truth? for if it was unfavorable, would it not be too much for you in your enfeebled condition?" my heart was in my mouth, as the saying is, at this broad hint; and with a strong and earnest curiosity, i begged to know the worst, and to know it immediately. my attendant saw, in my agitation, his error, and would doubtless have receded had it been in his power; but it was too late; the die was cast; my curiosity was all on tiptoe, and i trembled, as a sailor would say, from stem to stern. "well," said he, at length, putting on a face which of itself was enough to destroy some very feeble persons, "he says you cannot live more than thirty-six hours." my friend, in divulging what he deemed an important secret, doubtless felt relieved; but not so with me. my philosophy had disappeared with the progress of my disease, and i was now, in mind, a mere child. in short, i was so much agitated by the unexpected intelligence, that i sank at once under it, and remained in this condition for several hours. when i awoke from this delirium, the symptoms of my disease were more favorable, and from that day forth i began to recover. but the risk was too great for my enfeebled and diseased frame, and should not have been incurred. dr. thornton, though a physician of much reputation, was nevertheless a man of very little principle, and though respected for his medical tact and skill, was beloved by very few. he died, moreover, not many years afterward, as the fool dieth; viz., by suicidal hands. nor do i know that as a man--a mere citizen--he had many mourners. the reader will pardon me, perhaps, for saying so many times, and with so much emphasis, that "it is an ill wind that blows nobody any good." but i must be allowed to repeat the saying here, and to observe that while i entirely disapprove of the course my attendant took in the present instance, i am by no means sure that the delirium into which i was thrown by his tattling propensity was not safer for me than a restless apprehension of danger would have been, especially when long continued; nor that it did not contribute, indirectly, to bring about my recovery. i was confined to the house by my sickness about five or six weeks, or till it was midwinter. and yet, all covered as the earth was when i first ventured forth, no paradise could ever appear more beautiful to any son or daughter of adam than did this terrestrial abode to me. and if ever i shed tears of devout gratitude to my father in heaven, it was on this very occasion. it was a long time, however, after i got out of doors, before i was strong enough, in body or mind, to attempt to perform much labor. at the time of being taken sick, i was teaching a public school; and as soon as i began to be convalescent my patrons began to be clamorous about the school. they were hardly willing to wait till my physicians and myself deemed it safe to make a beginning. indeed, notwithstanding all my caution, i was hurried into the pedagogic chair quite too soon. but it is time for me to inform my readers what were the probable causes of my sickness; for i have already said, more than once, that to be able to do this is a matter of very great importance, both as it concerns ourselves and others; and it is a thing which can be done, at least to a considerable extent, whenever parents and teachers shall be wise enough to put their children and pupils upon the right track. i am well acquainted with a minister of the gospel, now nearly sixty years of age, who says he never had any thing ail him in his whole lifetime of which he could not trace out the cause. for some months before my sickness i had been curtailing my hours of sleep. i had resolved to retire at eleven and rise at four. but it had often happened that instead of retiring at exactly eleven and rising exactly at four, i had not gone to bed till nearly twelve, and had risen as early as half-past three. so that instead of sleeping five full hours, as had been my original intention, i had often slept but about four. how far this abridgment of my sleep had fallen in with other causes of debility, and thus prepared the way for severe, active disease, i cannot say. i was at this time tasking my energies very severely, for i was not only pursuing my professional studies with a good deal of earnestness, but at the same time, as has been already intimated, teaching a large and somewhat unmanageable district school. if ever a good supply of sleep is needful, whatever the quantum required may really be, i am sure it is in such circumstances. but then it should be remembered, in abatement of all this, that the symptoms of disease, in all the three cases which i have alluded to, as occurring in the family with which i was connected, were very much alike; whereas neither the mother nor the child had suffered, prior to the sickness, for want of sleep. must we not, therefore, look for some other cause? or if it is to be admitted that sleeplessness is exceedingly debilitating in its tendencies, must there not have been in addition some exciting cause still more striking? we will see. during the latter part of the autumn which preceded our sickness, the water of the well from which we were drinking daily had a very unpleasant odor, and a fellow student and myself often spoke of it. as it appeared to give offence, however, we gradually left off our remarks and complaints about the water, and only abstained, as much as we could conveniently, from its use. in the progress of the autumn, the well became nearly dry, and the offensive odor having become troublesome to others no less than to ourselves, it was very wisely concluded to draw out the water to the bottom, and thus find and remove the impurities. the task was exceedingly trying, but was at length accomplished. besides other impurities, there were found at the bottom of the well, several toads in a state of putrefaction, and so very offensive that it was difficult to approach them, or even to approach the top of the well that contained them. they were of course removed as soon as possible, and every practicable measure was adopted which was favorable to cleanliness. this final clearing of the well was about two months before the sickness commenced. now whether there was a connection between the use of this water and the sickness which followed, is a curious, and at the same time, a very important question. against this belief, at least apparently so, is the fact that our disease resembled in no trifling degree, the prevailing disease in certain neighboring towns. another fact is also worthy of consideration. the rest of the family drank freely of the water, why did not they sicken as well as we? but as a deduction from the force of these facts, it is to be observed that nobody else around us for several miles had the prevailing epidemic unless it was ourselves. and then as to the objection that only a part of the family sickened, it is to be recollected that in the case of some of them who sickened there might have been, nay, probably were, other debilitating causes in operation previously, to prepare the way; such as, for example, in my own case, the want of sufficient sleep. thus far, then, though we arrive at nothing positive, we yet find our suspicions of a poisonous influence emanating from the putrid reptiles remaining. indeed, it were impossible wholly to suppress them, and i will ask the candid reader's attention for a few moments to certain analogical evidence in the case, which, it is believed, will greatly aid the mind in coming to a right decision on the subject. an eruptive disease broke out in two families residing in a house in eastern massachusetts, a few years ago, which was observed to affect more or less, every member of the two families who had drunk water from the common family well, except two; and these last had drank but very little. on cleaning the well, the same species of reptiles which i have already mentioned, were found in it, in a state of decomposition, and highly offensive. no eruptive complaints of the same general kind prevailed at the time in the neighborhood, and those which i have mentioned disappeared soon after resuming the use of pure water. another instance occurred in this same region, a few years afterward. in the latter case, however, the putrid animals were rats and mice, and the eruption, instead of having a diffused or miliary appearance, partook largely of the character of the common boil. forty years ago a sickness broke out in litchfield county in connecticut, in a neighborhood where the wells were all very low; and the water which remained being in a cavity of rock, and continuing unchanged or nearly so, had at length become putrid. it was late in the autumn when the disease broke out, and it disappeared as soon as the wells were duly filled for the winter. it is true, i never heard in the latter case, any thing about putrid animals, but their existence and presence under such circumstances, would be natural enough. it has, i know, been sometimes said that putrid animal substances, however unpleasant their odor might be, were not poisonous. but this opinion is doubtless unfounded; and, for myself, i find it difficult to resist the belief that in all the foregoing cases, except the last, and very possibly in that too, animal putridity had influence. the practical lessons to be derived from the developments of the foregoing chapter are exceedingly numerous. i shall direct your attention for a few moments, to some of the more important. first, we learn the necessity of keeping our wells in a proper condition. could it be even proved that dead reptiles never produce disease, it is at least highly desirable to avoid them. no reasonable person would be willing to drink water highly impregnated with their odor, even if it did not reach his own seat of sensation. secondly, we should avoid the use of stagnant water, even though it should be free from animal impurities. especially should we be cautious where there is a liability, or even a possibility, to impurity and stagnation both. either of these causes may, as it is most fully believed, produce disease; but if so, what is not to be expected from a combination of the two? our wells should be often cleaned. it is not possible, of course, to say with exactness, how often, but we shall hardly err in the line of excess. very few wells are cleaned too often. once a year, in ordinary cases, cannot be too much; nor am i quite sure that twice would be useless. it seems to me quite possible to exclude animals from our wells, would we but take the necessary pains; and this, too, without covering them closely at the top. i can not see how any toad, unless it be the tree-toad so called, could climb a well-curb three feet high. other animals, however, might do so, and therefore i would keep a well as closely covered as possible. many, i know, believe it desirable that the surface of the water in a well should be exposed to the air. i do not believe there is any necessity for this, though it is certainly desirable to avoid stagnation of the air at the bottom. motion is essential, i might even say indispensable. i have sometimes thought the modern endless or chain pump as perfect a fixture as any other. thirdly, we may learn from the details of the foregoing chapter, the necessity of having in our sick-chambers the right sort of nurses or attendants. there should be a class of persons educated to this service, as a profession; and most happily for the prospects of the great human family, such efforts are now being made; it is hoped and believed they will be crowned with success. one thing more may, as i think, be inferred from the story of my sickness as above:--the folly of multiplying physicians. in the present case, when the physician's own family was in a condition to demand a large share of his attention, if not to absorb all his energies, it may have been desirable to call in an additional medical man as counsellor. but the multiplication of counsel, besides adding to the danger of too much dosing and drugging, brings with it a host of ills too numerous to be mentioned in this place, and should be studiously avoided. my full belief is, that dr. thornton was a principal agent in creating the dangers he deprecated, and which came so near effecting my own destruction. chapter xxiii. about to die of consumption. i have already mentioned more than once,--or at least done so by implication,--that i hold my existence, on this earth by a very feeble tenure. consumption, by right of inheritance, made very early claims; and its demands, as i approached manhood, became more and more cogent, in consequence of measles, dropsy, lee's pills, and the injudicious use of medicine and many other errors. my employment, too, as school teacher had been far enough from favorable to health. while thus engaged from winter to winter, and sometimes from year to year; i was accustomed to have cold upon cold, till at length especially towards the close of winter and at the opening of the spring, i was often apparently on the verge of a rapid decline. a ramble up and down the country, with a summer or part of a summer on the farm or garden, did indeed for a time partially set me up again, so that i could return to my favorite employment of teaching in the autumn and during the winter; and thus time with me went on. a course of medical lectures which i heard in - , left me, in march, , in about as bad a state of health as school keeping usually had done. however i was too indigent, i might even say too destitute, to be idle. scarcely was my license to practise medicine and surgery fairly in my pocket, than i found myself turning towards the district school again. yet i did not continue it many weeks before my old enemy returned upon me with renewed strength; till i was at length compelled to abandon the school entirely. i had as much as i could do, in attempting to keep up a successful war with cough, night-sweats, purulent expectoration, and hectic fever. this was one of the darkest periods of my life. destitute of money, and even somewhat in debt, yet too proud or self-relying to be willing to ask my friends to aid me; my hopes of usefulness defeated in two favorite fields of activity, teaching and medicine; and practically given up to linger out a year or two and then die, how could i avoid discouragement? was it strange even, if i approached at times, the very borders of despair? for some time prior to this crisis--indeed at certain seasons all my life long,--i relied not a little on medicine, in various forms, especially in the shape of tonics. strange that i should have done thus, when my general impressions were so unfavorable to its exhibition; and yet such inconsistencies have been, and may be again. huxham's tincture, quassia, ale, and other bitter infusions and tinctures, had been successively invoked, and i still clung to ale. i also used some wine, and i attached a good deal of importance to a stimulating diet. but it was all to no purpose, the disease was marching on steadily, and appeared destined to triumph; and that, too, at no very distant period. in these circumstances, i repeat, what could be done? nature's extremity is sometimes said to be god's opportunity. but without assuming that there was any special providence about it, i will say, that i was driven to desperation, nay almost to insanity or madness. i deemed myself on the very verge of a mighty precipice, beneath which yawned a gulf unfathomable. i must make a last mighty struggle, or perish irretrievably and forever. it was july th, the anniversary of american independence; i sought and found a few moments of calm reflection, and began to interrogate myself. why was i so dependent on the physician and the apothecary's shop, and so tremblingly alive to every external impression of atmospheric temperature, or purity? why must i, at the early age of twenty-eight, be doomed to tread the long road of decline and death? why can i not declare independence of all external remedial agents, and throw myself wholly on nature and nature's god? i know, full well, the laws of my being. if trust in these, and faithful and persevering obedience will not save me, nothing will. thus i mused; but alas! it was to muse only. though almost ready to take the critical step,--i will not say make the desperate plunge,--the fourth of july finally passed away, and found me still lingering, to use a scripture expression, "between the porch and the altar." july the fifth at length arrived. and is it all over? i said to myself. has the "glorious" _fourth_ gone by and i have not acted up to the dignity of a well-formed and glorious resolution? must i, alas! now go on to woe irretrievable? must i go down to the consumptive's grave? must i perish at less than thirty years of age, and thus make good the declaration that the wicked shall not live out half his days? a new thought came to me. "one of the south american provinces celebrated her independence to day, the fifth. i will take the hint,--i will yet be free. i will escape from present circumstances. i will fly from my native home, and all that pertains to it. i will fly from myself,--it is done," i added, "and i go with the first conveyance." i could indeed walk a little distance, but it either set me to coughing, severely, or else threw me into a profuse perspiration which was equally exhausting. one favorable symptom alone remained, a good appetite and tolerable digestion. had there been, in addition to the long train of troublesome and dangerous symptoms above mentioned, a loss of digestive power and energy, with colliquative diarrhoea, my hopes must have been forever abandoned. but i had made my resolution, and was prepared to execute it, let the consequences be what they might. with little more than a single change of clothing, i contrived to find a conveyance before night, quite beyond my immediate neighborhood. fatigued, at length i stopped, and without much delay, committed myself to the friendship of morpheus. on the top of a considerable eminence, in the very midst of a mountain range, one of the most delightful in all new england, only a few miles from the place of my lodging, was a tower some sixty or seventy feet high, which commanded a view of the surrounding country. i had often wished to enjoy the prospect which this tower afforded. was there, now an opportunity? i had the leisure, had i the needful strength? could i possibly reach it? and by what means? i rested for the remainder of the day and the night following, at the foot of the eminence, in order to prepare myself for the excursion of the following morning. it was as much as i could do, that night to take care of my irritable and irritated lungs. at length, however, i slept, and was refreshed. the only drawback upon my full renewal, was my usual night--or rather as i ought to say morning--perspiration, which was quite drenching and exhausting; though not much worse after all my fears than usual. god is good, i said to myself, when i saw from my chamber window the top of the hills i wished to climb, and perceived that the first rays of the morning sun were already falling upon them. by the middle of the forenoon i was at the foot of the mountain, and prepared to ascend it. after a little rest, i wound my way to the tower, and finally to its top, when i took a survey of what seemed to me like a new world. here i renewed my declaration of independence with regard to those earthly props on which i had so long been wont to lean, and of dependence on god, and on his natural and moral enactments. here, too, i formed my programme for the day and for the week. distant from the point which i occupied not more than eight miles was a most interesting educational institution i had long wished to see; and near it was an old acquaintance, with, whom i might perhaps spend the sabbath, which was now approaching. could i carry out my plan? had i the needful strength? my resolution was at length made; and no sooner made than begun to be executed. the public houses on the way were miserable things; but they were better far than none. they gave me a temporary home, such as it was. i reached the institution, had a partial view of it, and, half worn out with my week's labor, was glad to rest the seventh day, "according to the commandment," in the house of an old acquaintance. monday morning came, and with the aid of the intervening sabbath, brought to my attenuated and almost sinking frame a new recruit of strength. with a new object of interest some fifteen miles distant, i was once more on the road. i could now walk several miles a day without greatly increasing my cough, or ride in a stage coach many miles. nor was the nightly perspiration, nor even that which was induced by exercise, any more distressing than it had been, if indeed it was as much so. in due time i reached my point of destination, and curiosity became fully gratified. what next? a few miles distant was a high mountain which i greatly desired to climb. i reached its base; but the heat was great, so dog-days like, that my courage failed me. i had the necessary strength, but dared not use it for such a purpose. perhaps i acted wisely. twelve miles in the distance still was my father's house, now grown from a few patrimonial acres to full new england size; viz., a hundred acres or more, and well cultivated. my wandering abroad had given me a little strength and very much courage. why should it not? was it not truly encouraging that while i was making a long excursion, chiefly on foot, in the heats of midsummer, my cough and hectic and night sweats should become no worse, while my muscular strength had very much increased? my mind's eye turned towards my father's house as a place of refuge. in a day or two i was in it; and in another day or two i was caparisoned as a laborer, and in the field. it is true that i did not at first accomplish a great deal; but i held the implements of husbandry in my hands, and spent a certain number of hours every day in attempting to work. some of the workmen laughed about me, and spoke of the vast benefits to be derived from having a ghost in the field with them; but i held on in spite of their jokes. i had been accustomed of old to the labor of a farm, which greatly facilitated my efforts. habit is powerful. not many weeks passed ere i was able to perform half a day's work or more in a day. my consumptive tendencies, moreover, were far less exhausting and trying. in a word, i was better. the rubicon was already passed. i did not, indeed, expect to get entirely well, for this would have been a hope too big for me. but i should not die, i thought, immediately. drowning men, as you know, catch at straws; and this is a wise arrangement, for otherwise they would not often be saved by planks. one point, at least, i had gained. i was emancipated from slavery to external forms, especially medicated forms. but i had not only declared and found myself able to maintain independence of medicine, but i had acquired much confidence in nature and nature's laws. and this faith in the recuperative powers of nature was worth more to me than worlds would have been without it. much was said, in those days, not only in books but by certain learned professors, about shaking off pulmonary consumption on horseback. whether, indeed, this had often been done--for it is not easy, in the case of a joint application of various restorative agencies, such as air, light, full mental occupation etc., to give to each agency its just due--i am not quite prepared to say. but as soon as i was able to ride on horseback several miles a day, the question was agitated whether it was or was not advisable. in prosecuting this inquiry, another question came up. how would it do, thought i, to commence at once the practice of medicine? but difficulties almost innumerable--some of them apparently insurmountable--lay in my way. among the rest, i had no confidence in my medical knowledge or tact; i was a better school-master. but teaching, as i had every reason to fear, would bring me down again, and i could not think of that: whereas the practice of medicine, on horseback, which at that time and in that region was not wholly out of date, might, as i thought, prove quite congenial. besides being "fearful and unbelieving" in the matter, i was still in the depths of poverty. i had not even five dollars. in fact, during my excursion already described, i had lived on a few ounces of solid food and a little milk or ale each day, in order to eke out my almost exhausted finances; though, by the way, i do not know but i owed my partial final recovery in no small degree to this very starvation system. however, to become a practising physician, money would be indispensable, more or less. what could be done without it? my father had credit, and could raise money for me; but _would_ he? he had never wholly approved of my medical tendencies and course; and would it be right to ask him to aid me in an undertaking which he could not conscientiously approve? just at this time our own family physician wanted to sell, and offered me his stand. his practice, he said, was worth a thousand dollars a year. he had an old dilapidated house and a couple of acres of miserable land, and a horse. these, he said, he would sell to me for so much. i might ride with him as a kind of apprentice or journeyman for six months, at the expiration of which time he would vacate the field wholly. the house, land, and horse were worth perhaps one-third the sum demanded, but probably not more. however, the price with me, made very little difference. one sum was much the same with another. for i was so anxious to live, that i was willing to pay almost any price which might be required by a reasonable man, and till that time, it had not entered my heart that a good man would take any serious advantage of a fellow being in circumstances so desperate. and then i was not only anxious to live, but very confident i should live. so strong was my determination to live on, and so confident was i in the belief that i should do so, that i was willing to incur a debt, which at any other period of my life would have discouraged me. there was another thing that tended to revive me and restore my courage. the more i thought of commencing business, and talked about living, the more i found my strength increasing. that talking about dying had a downward or down-hill tendency, i had long known; but that the tendency of talking up-hill was exactly the reverse, i had not fully and clearly understood. my father tried to dissuade me from a hasty decision, but it was to no purpose. to me, it seemed that the course i had proposed was my only alternative. "i must do it," i said to myself, "or die;" and life to me, as well as to others, was sweet. but although it was a course to which i seemed shut up, and which i must pursue or die, it was a step which i could not take unaided. i had not the pecuniary ability to purchase so much as a horse, or, had i needed one, hardly a good dog. it was at length proposed by my medical friend, the seller, to accept of a long credit for the amount due for the place and appurtenances, provided, however, i would get my father or some other good man to be my endorser. but here was a difficulty almost or quite insurmountable. my father had always said he would endorse for nobody. and as for asking any one else to endorse for me, i dared not. but i cannot dwell at this point. my father at length became my endorser, and the bargain was signed and sealed. it was indeed, a desperate effort, and i have a thousand times wondered how i could have ventured. why! only one or two years before, i was miserable for several days because i was in debt to the extent of only two dollars for a much-needed article, and actually procured the money with considerable difficulty, and went and paid the debt to get rid of my anguish; whereas now, without much pain and without being worth fifty dollars in the world, i could be willing to contract a debt of from twelve to fifteen hundred dollars, and involve my good old father in the consequences besides. how entirely unaccountable! but mankind love life, and fear death. the scheme proposed was, as i believed, not only a dernier but a needful resort. it was a wrong step no doubt, but i did not then think so. i believed the end "sanctified" or at least sanctioned the means. how could i have done so? "what ardently we wish, we soon believe." i had most ardently wished, i now began to believe! my consumptive tendencies now receded apace, even before i was astride of my horse. the stimulus of the hope of life with a forgetfulness of myself, were better tonics than huxham or ale or rich food. there was the expectation of living, and consequently the beginning of life. mind has great power over even inert matter; how much more over the living animated machine! chapter xxiv. my journeymanship in medicine. journeymen in medicine, though without the full responsibilities of the profession, have yet their difficulties. i had mine; and i had not only the ordinary complement of ordinary men, but some which were a little extra. for example, i was no horseman at all, and people around me knew it. at the first attempt to mount a new horse, and ride out with the old physician, of whom i had purchased my stand, to see his patients, i made an exhibition of my horsemanship which i shall not soon forget, and which i am sure certain wags and half-buffoons and common loungers who witnessed the scene _never_ will. my horse stood at the post all caparisoned, while i made ready. in setting off, i knew well i must submit to the ordeal of being gazed at and commented on by a crowd assembled in an adjoining store. it was a rainy day, and the crowd would doubtless be much larger than usual. now my love of approbation was excessive; so great as at times to defeat entirely its object. so in truth, it proved on the present occasion. when i was ready to go forth on my journey, i mounted my horse and attempted to place my right foot in the stirrup. at this critical instant the gaping multitude in the grocery, presented themselves in quite a formidable column at the door to see the young doctor on his new horse. their appearance threw my mind off its balance to an extent that prevented me from well-balancing my body, and with every possible exertion i could not get my feet firmly fixed in the stirrups. to add to my trouble, my horse was in haste and trotted off high and hard before i could muster presence of mind enough to check him. i rolled this way and that, till at length, down i came headlong. my hat went one way, and my whip another. a great shout was at once raised by the spectators, but being cured by this time, of my excessive diffidence, and not at all hurt, i could soon join in the laugh with the rest. i could most heartily adopt my old maxim, "it is an ill wind that blows nobody any good;" and i had learned by my fall at least, one thing, at least for the moment; viz., my excessive regard to human approbation. thenceforward, i rode as i pleased. but before i enter upon the details and particular confessions of my professional career, it is needful that i should say something of those changes which were made about this time in my physical habits, by means of which i gained at least a temporary victory over my great enemy, the consumption. for it must not be supposed that because i could sit on a horse and ride six, eight, ten, or twelve miles a day, or work in the field or garden half the day, i was out of danger. i had, indeed, gained important victories, but there remained very much land yet to be possessed. of my abandonment of all medicine, i have already told you. but i had also greatly changed my dietetic habits. during my excursion of the fifth of july, and subsequently, i had lived almost wholly on what might have been denominated the starvation system. the case was this: i started with less than five dollars in my pocket, and with too much pride to borrow more. that my money might hold out, therefore, though i took care to secure a good, clean bed by nights, even at the full market price (except when i was entertained occasionally, by particular friends), i almost went without food. many a time was i satisfied, because i was determined to have it so, with a tumbler of milk and a couple of crackers for my breakfast, or even my dinner; and as for supper, i often dispensed with it wholly; and all this too, strange though it may seem, not only without the loss of strength, but with a slow, yet steady, increase. these dietetic changes, though they were a necessity, were continued and extended from principle. i had known, for a long time, what the laws of digestion, respiration, circulation, cleanliness, exercise, etc., were, but had not fully obeyed them. but i now set myself obeying them up to the full extent of my knowledge. i do not mean to affirm that my obedience was perfect and entire--wanting in nothing; but only that i made an attempt at sinless perfection. however, i speak here, of course, of the physical code; for to moral obligation, at that time, i do not mean, now, to refer. my diet was exceedingly plain and comparatively unstimulating. it consisted chiefly of bread, fruits, potatoes; and, once a day of salted meats. these last should have been exchanged for those which were not pickled, and which are of course less stimulating; but at that time i was not fully aware of their tone and tendency. my drink was water and a little tea; for cider i had long before abandoned. i paid particular attention to purity of air, and to temperance. fortunately i resided in a house which from age and decrepitude, pretty effectually ventilated itself. but temperature, as i well knew, must be carefully attended to, particularly by consumptive people. while they avoid permanent chilliness, and even at times, the inhalation of very cold air on the one hand, it is quite indispensable that they should breathe habitually as cool an air as possible, and yet not be permanently chilly. this, by means of a proper dress, by night and by day, and proper fixtures for heating my room, i contrived to secure. cleanliness, too, by dint of frequent bathing, received its full share of my attention. it was a rule from which i seldom if ever departed, to wet my body daily with cold water, and follow it up by friction. at home or abroad, wherever i could get a bowl of water i would have a hand bath. need i say here that a medical man--one who rode daily on horseback--paid a proper regard to the laws of exercise? and yet i am well persuaded that not a few medical men exercise far too little. riding on horseback, though it may sometimes shake off consumption, is not so good an exercise for the mass of mankind--perhaps not even for consumptive people themselves--as an alternation of walking with the riding. this, also, i took good care to secure. physicians are usually either very greatly addicted to the habit of dosing and drugging for every little ill, real or imaginary, or particularly hostile to it. i have seldom found any such thing as a golden mean in this respect, among them. my feelings, saying nothing at present of the sober convictions of my head, led me almost to the extreme of no medicine, if extreme it can be called. i did not even retain my daily tumbler of ale. though i began my medical career as an apprentice or journeyman, merely, and went abroad chiefly as the associate of my predecessor, i was soon called upon in his absence, and in other circumstances, to take the whole charge of patients; or at least to do so till a longer experience was available. thus i was gradually inducted into an important office, without incurring a full and proportionate share of its responsibilities. chapter xxv. my temperance pledge. the subject of temperance, in its present associated forms, had, at this time, just began to be agitated. at least, it had just begun to receive attention in the newspapers which i was accustomed to see. it could not be otherwise than that i should be deeply interested in its discussion. i had been brought up, as i have before intimated, to a pretty free use of cider and tea; but not of ardent spirits or coffee. neither of these was regularly used in my father's family; though both occasionally were. but i had abandoned cider long before this time, because i found it had a tendency to produce, or at least to aggravate, those eruptive diseases to which i was greatly liable. temperance, then, in the popular sense of the term, was, to me, an easy virtue. and yet as a temperance man--in the circle of my acquaintance--i stood nearly alone. no individual around me was ready to take the ground i occupied. of this, however, i was not fully apprised, till a patient attempt to recruit the temperance ranks convinced me of the fact. but i will give you a full account of my enterprise, since it has a bearing on my subsequent history and confessions. with the aid of a boston paper which i habitually read, i drew up the customary preamble, declaration, and pledge of a temperance society. it involved the great idea of total abstinence from spirituous liquors; though by the term spirituous liquors, as used at that day, was meant chiefly _distilled_ spirits. having first affixed my own name to the paper i went to the most influential of my patrons and friends and asked them to sign it likewise. but, reader,--will you believe it?--not a single subscriber could i obtain far, or near. they all, with one consent, made excuse. the elder deacon of the most evangelical church in the place where i resided, had for his apology that he suffered seriously from a complaint for which his physicians had prescribed the daily use of gin, "now," said he, "though there is nothing in the pledge which goes to prohibit the use of spirits in a case like my own, yet as some might think otherwise and charge me with inconsistency, i must on the whole be excused from signing it." his son, who was also a deacon in the same church with the father, excused himself by saying he was young, and without influence, and it would be far better for the old people to put their names down first. "perhaps," said he, "i may conclude to sign the paper by-and-by. i will consider well the matter, and if i conclude to sign it, i will let you know." other leading men in the church as well as in the town affairs, refused to sign the pledge, because deacon h. and son would not. it belonged to the deacons in the church, they said, to take the lead in all good things, and not to them. when _they_ had put _their_ names to the document, others would not long hesitate to follow. in short nobody would consent to sign the paper, and it remains to this day, just as it was when i drew it up; and it is now more than thirty years old. there it is, with my name attached to it, as large as life. i have been president, vice president, treasurer, secretary, and "all hands too," of my would-be temperance society, from that day to this. i doubt whether many societies can be found which in thirty years have made so little change as the one under consideration. for about four years from the time of getting up the above-named temperance society, strange as the assertion may seem, i retained the right to use a little beer and a good deal of coffee. but in may, , i abandoned all drinks but water, to which custom i have ever since adhered and in which i shall probably die. chapter xxvi. trials of a young physician. the poet cowper, in his delineations of a candidate for the pulpit, prescribes, as one needful condition or qualification, "that he is honest in the sacred cause." so, when i entered upon the medical profession, which i regarded as next of kin to sacred, i deemed honesty quite a high recommendation; and whatever in the abstract appeared to me to be right, i endeavored to pursue through the routine of every-day life. alas, that i should ever have had occasion to doubt the policy of common honesty! i was called to see mrs. ----. the case was an urgent one. there was no time for deliberation or consultation. i understood her case but very poorly; yet i knew that in order to success i must at least _seem_ to be wise. besides, what was to be done must be done quickly; so i boldly prescribed. my prescription was entirely successful, and i left the house with flying colors. i left, moreover, with the full consciousness of having acted in the main like an honest man. a few days afterward i was sent for by mrs. ----, who immediately filled my ears with the most piteous complaints, the sum total of which was that she was exceedingly _nervous_, and i told her so. of course i did not complain of culpability or crime. but i told her, very plainly, that she needed no medicine--nothing but plenty of air and exercise, and less high-seasoned food. my great frankness gave offence, and impaired my reputation. she employed, in my stead, dr. robinson, who continued to attend her till his bill amounted to a sum sufficient to buy a good carriage and harness, and till his credit for skill was advanced in a degree corresponding. mr. b.'s child was sick, and his wife besides. he came for my predecessor; but, not finding him at home,--though he still remained in the place,--he was compelled to hobson's choice--myself or nobody; dr. robinson lived at too great a distance. i was accordingly employed, and was soon on the spot. the child was very sick; and for some little time after my arrival i was so much occupied in the performance of my duties that i paid no attention to any thing else. but having prescribed for both my patients, i sat down quietly to look over the newspaper. presently i heard from mrs. b. a deep groan. i was immediately at her bedside, anxious to know the cause. "oh, nothing at all," she said, "except a momentary feeling of disappointment because dr. ---- did not come." i said to her, "you can send for him now, madam, as soon as he returns. do not think yourselves compelled to adhere to me, simply because you have been obliged to call me once. i will yield most cheerfully to the individual of your preference." mrs. b. apologized. she knew i had done as well as i could, she said; and perhaps no one could have done better. "but little leonora," said she, "is dreadfully sick; and i do very much want to see dr. b. he has had more experience than you. these young doctors, just from the schools, what can they know, the best of them?" i saw her difficulties; but, as i have already intimated, i did not look so wise as dr. b., nor had i so grave a face, nor so large an abdomen. i could neither tell so good a story, nor laugh so heartily; i could not even descend to that petty talk which is so often greatly preferred to silence or newspaper reading, not only by such individuals as mrs. b. and her friends, but by most families. a physician must be a man of sympathy. he need not, however, descend to so low a level as that of dishonesty; but he must come down to the level of his people in regard to manners and conversation. he must converse with them in their own language. he must not only _seem_ to be devoted, unreservedly, to their interests, but must actually _be_ so. this confession is most cheerfully and sincerely and honestly made; and may he who reads it understand. on a certain occasion i was called to prescribe in a family where the disappointment was so great that the patient was actually made worse by my presence, and an unfavorable turn given to the disease. it may be said that people ought not to yield themselves up to the influence of such feelings; and it is certainly true that they ought not. but sick people are not always rational, nor even judicious. dr. johnson says: "every sick man is a rascal;" but we need not go quite so far as that. sickness changes us, morally, sometimes for the better, but much oftener for the worse; and in general it makes us much less reasonable. but it is far enough from being my intention to present a full account of the trials incident to the life of a young medical man; for, in order to do this, i should be obliged to carry you with me, at least mentally, to places which you would not greatly desire to visit. physicians can seldom choose their patients; they are compelled to take them as they find them. they will sometimes be called to the vilest of the vile and the filthiest of the filthy. their office is indeed a noble one; but is noblest of all when performed honestly, in the fear of god, with a view to do good, and not merely to please mankind and gratify their own ambition. above all, they should not practise medicine for the mere love of money. a physician should have a heart overflowing with benevolence, and should feel it incumbent upon him, at every step in his professional life, not only to do good to his patients, but to all around him. he should be a guide to mankind, physically, for moral ends. he should let his light so shine, that they, seeing his good works, may be led to glorify the father who is in heaven. his object should be to spread, by the good he performs, the everlasting gospel, just as truly as this should be the object of him who ministers in holy things at the altar. such a physician, however, at first, i was not. such, however, i soon aspired to be; such, as i trust, i at length became. of this, however, the reader will judge for himself, by-and-by. "by their fruits ye shall know them." chapter xxvii. a dosing and drugging family. for several months of the first year of my medical life, i was a boarder in a family, all of whom were sickly. some of the number were even continually or almost continually under the influence of medicine, if not of physicians. here my trials were various, and some of them severe. but i must give you a particular description of this family; for i have many things to say concerning it, some of which may prove instructive. mr. l. had been brought up a farmer; but being possessed of a delicate constitution, had been subsequently converted into a country shop-keeper,--a dealer, i mean, in dry goods and groceries. as is usual in such cases, he was in the habit of keeping a small assortment of drugs and medicines. the circumstance of having medicine always at hand, and often _in_ hand, had led him, as it has thousands of others, into temptation, till he had formed and confirmed the habit of frequent dosing and drugging his frail system. but as usually happens in such cases, the more medicine he took, the more he seemed to require, and consequently the more he swallowed. one thing prepared the way for another. with mrs. l. matters were still worse. in the vain belief that without a course of medication, _she could never have any constitution_, as she was wont to express it, her mother had begun to dose and drug her as early as at the age of twelve or fourteen years. and what had been thus early begun, had been continued till she was twenty-four, when she married mr. l. but she was feebler, if possible, at twenty-four, than at fourteen, and believed herself under the necessity of taking medicine in order to be able to sit up a part of the day and perform a little light, but needful, family labor, such as sewing, mending, etc. when i first had a seat at their family table, it was by no means uncommon for mr. and mrs. l. to begin their meal, as soon as "grace" was over, with stoughton's bitters, or some other supposed cordial, or strengthener of the appetite. as i not only refused to join them, but occasionally spoke a kind word against the custom into which they had fallen, the bitters at length fell into disuse; and it was found that their meals could be digested as well without the stimulus, as with its aid. but i was much less successful in preventing the torrent of medicine from producing its wonted ---- upon this family, at other times and seasons; for which mr. l.'s business furnished such facilities. but you must not think of mrs. l. as a mere tyro in this business of compounding medicine, nor in that of administering it, especially to herself. from the apothecary's shop of her husband, as well as from other sources, she selected one thing after another, not merely for the time, but for permanent purposes, till it was almost difficult to say which had the best assortment, she or her husband. and she not only had it on hand, but she took it, as freely, almost so, as her food and drink. more than even this should be affirmed. had she at any time flagged in this work of self-destruction, she would have been brought up again to the line by her mother. for though the latter resided at a considerable distance, she paid mrs. l. an occasional visit, and sometimes remained in the family several weeks. whenever she did so, little was heard of in the usual hours of conversation,--especially at the table,--but sarah's stomach, sarah's nerves, and what was good for sarah. it was enough to make one _sick at the stomach_, to witness the conversation even for a single day; and above all to be compelled to join in it. she was there once, in the early spring, and remained until the ground was fairly settled. no sooner could she get into the woods, and come to the naked surface of the earth, than the whole country around was laid under tribute to furnish roots "good for the blood." these were put into a beer to be prepared for sarah. it was supposed by many,--and by this wondrous wise old lady, among the rest,--that the efficacy of these medicinal beers in cleansing the blood, must ever be in due proportion to the number of their respective ingredients. thus, if twenty articles, "good for the blood," could be procured and boiled in the wort, the result would be a compound which would be worth twenty times as much, or at least be _many_ times as useful, in accomplishing its supposed specific purpose, as if only one kind of root had been obtained. it was a long time before i could break in upon this tissue of error, to any practical purpose. for so deeply imbedded in the human brain is the idea of purifying the blood by some such unnatural means, that one might almost as well think of building a railroad to the moon, as of overcoming it. they never thought--perhaps never knew--that the blood of the human body of to-day, will be little more the blood of the body to-morrow, than the river which flows by our door to-day will be the river of to-morrow; and that the one can no more be purified independently of any and all things else, than the other. but it is said to be a long road which never turns. some good impressions had been made on this family, as we shall see hereafter. not, indeed, until there had been much unnecessary suffering, and many an unwilling penalty paid for transgression, as well as much money uselessly expended for physicians and medicine. for though i was somewhat a favorite in the family, i was as yet young and inexperienced, and many a wiser head than mine was from time to time invoked, and much time and money lost in other ways, that might have been saved for better and nobler purposes. among the items of loss, as well as of penalty, was that of offspring. these were generally still-born. one, indeed, lived about two weeks and then perished. the parents seemed to be written childless. or rather, they seemed to have written themselves so. they seemed destined moreover, to follow their premature children, at no great distance, to an untimely grave. for nothing was more obvious--i mean to the medical observer--than at an age when everybody ought to be gaining in bodily no less than in mental and moral vigor, they were both of them growing feeble as well as irresolute. as a boarder, i left the family some time afterward, though i did not lose sight of it wholly; nor did they entirely forget or disregard the numerous hints i had given them. they made some progress every year. at length, however, i lost sight of them entirely, and only kept up a faint recollection of them by means of an occasional word of intelligence from the place where they resided, showing that they were still alive. one day, after the lapse of about eight years, as i was passing through a charming new england village, the stage-coach stopped to let the passengers dine, when, to my great surprise, on stepping out of the coach, whom should i see but my old friend mr. l.? he was equally surprised, and perhaps equally rejoiced, to see me. the interview was utterly unexpected to us both. "how do you do?" said he, grasping my hand. i returned the compliment by inquiring after his own health and that of mrs. l. it turned out that he had failed in his business a few months before, and that, as a consequence, he had been compelled to remove to the place where he now was, and engage in an employment which brought his skin into contact with the air, and his muscles into prolonged and healthful activity. it appeared also that both he and his family had long since banished the use of medicine. "and now," said he, "thank god i know what it is, once more, to enjoy health; i can not only eat, but work." it was monday, the great _washing-day_ of yankee house-keepers; and while we were talking together with so much earnestness, that, like milton's first pair in innocence, we "forgot all time," a female approached, with her sleeves rolled up, greeted me with much cordiality and seized me by the hand. "can this be mrs. l.?" i asked. how changed! she was, it is true, like her husband, a little sunburnt; but then she was as she assured me, and, as i had every reason for believing to be true, comparatively healthy. while i was still in amazement, hardly knowing whether i was awake or dreaming, a little girl approached us. though somewhat slender and delicate, she was only slightly diseased; rather, she was only predisposed to disease by inheritance; and mere predispositions no more destroy us, than a train of powder explodes without igniting. the girl was about four or five years old. "who is this?" i inquired. "not yours, most certainly," i added, turning to mr. and mrs. l. "we call her ours," they said, "and yours; for we, no doubt, owe her life and health, in no small degree, to your instructions."--"this," said i, "is what i little expected to see; but you may thank god for it rather than me, since she lives by virtue of obedience to his laws, and not mine. then you are not only pretty healthy yourselves," i added, "but you have a healthy child."--"we have two," said they. "the other is in the cradle; we will go and bring her." at this moment, the loud declaration, "the coach is ready, gentlemen," reminded us that our conversation was at an end for the present, and we were obliged to separate. not, however, till we had enjoyed a most luxurious mental repast in "the feast of reason, and the flow of soul," with no abatement but the consciousness, on my part, of a little loss to the landlord, who had provided for the passengers a smoking dinner. this, reader, to speak somewhat paradoxically, was one of the proudest, and yet one of the humblest days of my life. to have been the heaven-appointed instrument of such a marked change for the better in a human family, was more than could have been foreseen or even expected. it is more than has often fallen to my lot. true, i do not hesitate to regard it as an extreme case; and yet it is, in magnitude, just what i could show you in miniature, at various points in the same vicinity, and indeed, all over the country. mr. and mrs. l. still pursue the even tenor of their way, and have their reward in it. one of their two daughters,--buds of early promise,--though probably more or less scrofulous, hardly reached maturity, ere she descended to the tomb. the rest enjoy a tolerable degree of health. of course, i do not speak of their health as greater than that of the average of mankind, notwithstanding their thorough reformation. it is much, all things considered, that it should be equal to that average. as for the mother of mrs. l., who still occasionally visits the family, she looks on in silent amazement, hardly knowing whether to recommend any more beer, with all sorts of roots good for the blood in it, or whether to give up the pursuit. i believe, however, that she does not often presume to interfere with their habits. perhaps she has learned--if not, she may possibly live long enough to acquire the lesson,--to "let well alone," as her children and grandchildren already have. i certainly hope she has. it will conduce greatly to her health and happiness, as well as make her a better citizen and better christian. chapter xxviii. poisoning with lead. nearly at the beginning of my practice in medicine, i was called to see a fine and hitherto healthy youth, twelve years old, but who had for several weeks before application was made to me, complained of a steady and sometimes severe pain in his bowels, attended with more or fewer febrile symptoms and a loss of appetite. in endeavoring to trace out carefully the causes of his disease, the first thing that attracted my attention was his employment. his father was a blacksmith, and being in moderate circumstances and destitute of any other help besides this son, had for a considerable time required him to perform the work of an adult, or nearly such. it had not been suspected at the time, that the work injured him, though he had sometimes complained of great fatigue, and of a slight weakness and uneasiness in the place where the pain had now become fixed. as the result of my investigations, i came to the conclusion that he had been overworked, and certain ligaments of the bowels had been weakened. my treatment in the case was at first mild and palliative, in the hope that after a few days of rest the trouble would disappear. instead of this, however, it grew worse. at my special request, various counselling physicians were called in; but i do not know that they were of any service to me. no new light was thrown on the case, though we could all converse very learnedly on the subject. like many other young practitioners, i was at that time apt to indulge in gloomy fears about poisons. i seldom had a case of acute disease, without suspecting their influence. i suspected poison now, and accordingly made search into every possible nook and corner whence such an influence could possibly have emanated. for a long time nothing could be found. one day, on examining a pot of pickled cucumbers which had hitherto escaped observation, i found that a part of its glazing had been destroyed by the acid. i no sooner saw this than i was ready to say, _eureka_ (i have found it), and to inform the family and my patient. it appeared that the pickles had been there for some time, and that the boy had eaten of them very freely. the parents and friends, though they had much confidence in the wisdom and skill of their physician, were very slow to believe in the injurious tendency of the pickles. they admitted the danger of such cases generally; but how could the boy be injured, and not the rest of them? they asked. they forgot, or did not know, that the poison would be more likely to affect one who was weakened in the abdomen from other causes, than those who were sound; especially when he took much more of it into his stomach than they did. in my suspicion about lead poisoning, i had very little sympathy from those around me. even the counselling physicians had little confidence in any such existing cause of disease. they were nearly as ready as other people to leave the case in the dark, and to say, practically, "the finger of providence is here;" or, in other words, it comes of some cause which god alone knows or _can_ know. how much of human ignorance--ay, and of human credulity and folly, too--is clustered round the well-known decision of many a court of inquest; viz., "died by the visitation of god!" what do they mean by it? do they suppose that since satan or some other personage whom we call death, is guilty of striking us down here and there, those who are not "struck with death" are struck down by the great source of light and life? the far greater probability is, that they know not what they _do_ mean. mankind are not addicted to thinking, especially on subjects of this sort. it is much easier, or at least much lazier, to refer all our ills and complaints, as well as their unfavorable terminations, to god or satan, friend or foe,--to some agency exterior to themselves,--than to consider themselves as the probable cause, and proceed to make diligent search for their own errors. thus it was, in a remarkable degree, in the region where it was my lot to meet and palliate and try to cure diseases. i say, here, _cure_; for the idea would hardly have found a lodgment, at that early period, in any human brain which could have been found in that region of rural simplicity, hardly in my own somewhat more highly enlightened cranium, that _medical men never cure_; and that when people get well, it is the result of the operations and efforts of nature, or of nature's god, who is doing the best thing possible to set matters right. it was even deemed by many as not only foolish, but almost sacrilegious, to say much about the causes of disease, and especially about lead. and then to talk about lead as connected with the use of their favorite red earthen, which had been in use time immemorial, and which had never, in all past time, killed anybody, as they supposed, was the dictate of almost any thing else rather than of good, sound, sober, common sense. you can hardly imagine, at this day, in the year , what an air of incredulity the gaping countenances of the family and neighbors of my young friend and patient presented, when i told them stories of lead disease in different parts of the country, especially of such cases as were then recent and fresh in my memory. one of these stories may not be out of place in the present connection. about the year , the people of elizabethtown, penn., put up what they called their apple butter in these same red earthen vessels, glazed, as almost everybody now knows, with an oxyde of lead. there had been a pottery established near the village that very year, and it was thought not a little patriotic to purchase and use its products, thus favoring the cause of home manufacture. nearly every family, as it appeared in the sequel, had bought and used more or fewer of these vessels. this was, of course, some time in the autumn. in the progress of a few months a dreadful disease broke out in the village, which baffled the skill of the best physicians, and consigned some forty or fifty of the inhabitants to the grave. the cause, at first, was not at all suspected. at length, however, from a careful examination of facts, it was ascertained that the disease which had proved so fatal must have had its origin in the glazing of these vessels. the sickness abated only when it had attacked all whose bowels--already weakened by some other cause or causes--were duly prepared for the poisonous operation of the lead. it is indeed true that the physicians supposed the disease came to a stand on account of the overwhelming tendency of huge doses of calomel, which they gave to almost everybody who had used the apple butter; but of this there was no satisfactory evidence. it ceased, as i believe, and as i have already intimated, because--except in the case of those who were enfeebled by other causes, nature was too strong for it, or her recuperative powers too energetic. now this story illustrates a case which, in magnitude or in miniature, is in our country of almost every-day occurrence; and the only reason why the results everywhere else are not like those at elizabethtown, is simply this: that there is not so much of the poison used in any one village, at the same time, as there was at that place in the circumstances which have been mentioned. one is sick here, another there, and another elsewhere. in one, owing to peculiar predisposition or habit, it takes the shape of fever; in another, of palsy; in another, of eruptions or boils; in another, of bowel complaint. and as all these and many other diseases have been known before, and have been induced by other causes equally unobserved or obscure, we have fallen into the habit of supposing that these things must needs be, do what we will. in other words, god the creator, is supposed to have made the world and appointed to us, for trial or otherwise, these various forms of disease; and they are for the most part dealt out to us arbitrarily; or, if not arbitrarily, by chance or hap-hazard. but to return to the young man. there was such a hostility of the public mind to the idea that his disease was induced or even aggravated by lead, that i receded in part from my suspicions. at least, i proceeded, with fresh energy and enthusiasm, to search for other and more probable or popular causes. cause there must have been, of some sort, i was confident; while to all my efforts of this kind the friends of the boy stood opposed. they did not, it is true, say much against it; but then it was perfectly evident from all their conversation and conduct that they regarded it as not only idle, but presumptuous, perhaps wicked. how can it be, they seemed to say, by those looks and actions which so often speak louder than words, that this young doctor is always trying to ferret out the causes of disease, while dr ---- (my predecessor) never attempted any such thing, but rather dissuaded us from it? yet thus it was precisely. for three long months i was endeavoring to meet and obviate the symptoms of a disease which i secretly believed was induced by lead, but of which i had no such strong evidence as would have justified the positive affirmation that it was so, or prevented me from searching for other causes. this state of mind was by no means favorable to my success as a medical practitioner; for it somehow greatly impaired or weakened their general confidence in my wisdom and skill. had i, on the other hand, "looked very wise," declared the disease to be so and so, with great pertinacity, and adhered, through good report and through evil, to my opinion, whenever it was assailed, and withal manifested no desire to receive medical counsel, i should have had a larger measure of their esteem, and a very much larger measure, as a professional man, of their confidence. they might then have thought me a very wise and good physician. a man who wishes to be greatly popular in the world must learn the ways of the world, and walk in them more or less, whether they are crooked or straight. he must not be over-modest, or over-honest; nor must he be over-solicitous to improve his own mind or heart, or encourage others, by precept or example, to walk in the way of improvement. he must not only make up his mind to take the world as it is, but to suffer it to remain so. the world does not like to be found fault with; it has a great deal of self-confidence. the young man, in the end, recovered; not, as i now believe, in consequence of the treatment, but in spite of it. had he been nursed carefully from the first, and kept from every source of irritation, both external and internal, even from food, except a very little of the mildest sort, just enough to keep him from absolute starvation; and had his air been pure and his temper of mind easy, cheerful and hopeful, he would probably have recovered much sooner than he did, and with far better prospects for the future. but he had been frightened about himself, from the very first, by my own inquiries about poison,--which had unwarily been communicated to him,--and his fears never wholly subsided. how much wisdom from both worlds does it require in order to be a physician! the office of a medical man, i repeat, is one of the noblest under the whole heaven. the physician is, or should be, a missionary. do you regard this assertion as extravagant or unfounded? why, then, was it made an adjunct, and more than an adjunct, in the first promulgation of the gospel, and this, too, by the gospel's divine author? why is it that our success in modern times, in spreading the gospel, has been greater--other things being equal--in america or china, in proportion as its preachers have attended to the body as well as to the soul? at the time of my commencing the practice of medicine, i was no more fit for it than i was to preach the cross of christ; that is, i was almost entirely unqualified for either profession. i was honest, sanguine, philanthropic, but i was uneducated. i knew very little, indeed, of human nature; still less did i know of the sublime art of becoming all things to all men, in the nobler and more elevated sense of the great apostle paul. i would yield to no other compromise than such as he encourages, of course. let us be honest and truthful, though the heavens fall. chapter xxix. standing patients. medical men well know--should any such condescend to look over this volume--what is meant when i affirm that i was not long in securing to myself a good share of _standing patients_. they are the dread, not to say the curse, of the profession. and yet they abound. they are found throughout the length and breadth of the land, and in great numbers. they are a class of persons, not always of one sex, who hang continually, like an incubus, on the physician, and yet are forever a disadvantage to him. they are never well enough to let him alone, and yet seldom ill enough to require much medical advice or treatment. and yet, medicine they will have, of somebody, even if they go to the apothecary for it, without so much as the semblance of a medical prescription of any sort. but then, after all, they are seldom reduced to any such necessity. they usually have on hand prescriptions enough of some sort. a dearth of yankee physicians--could such a thing possibly occur--would still leave us a supply of indian doctors, mesmeric doctors, nutritive doctors, etc., etc., to say nothing of doctresses, in liberal abundance, ever ready to prescribe. when i succeeded dr. ----, in the chair of medicine, surgery, etc., at ----, i received, as if by contract, if not by inheritance, his whole stock of standing patients. they were not slow to _call on_, sometimes to _call in_, the new doctor. nor was i often long in the house before comparisons began to be made between my predecessor and myself. they did not, of course, directly traduce or slander dr. ----, but they were very careful to intimate that, having got his name up, he had grown careless about his patients, especially such of them as did not belong to his clique, political or sectarian; and that, on this account, they were almost willing to part with him, and to receive and accept as his substitute one who was not only younger and more active, but also less tinctured with conservatism and aristocracy! a very large amount of valuable time was spent during the first year of my practice as a physician, in endeavors to do good to these very devoted and loving and loyal patients; for if they did not always call me when i had occasion to pass their doors, i knew full well they expected me, and so i usually called. besides, in many an instance i was sent for in post haste, with entreaties that i would come and see them immediately; and no atonement for neglect or even delay--if such neglect or delay was ventured--would suffice. and yet, despite of their fears of "monarchy and aristocracy," they were my most truly aristocratic patients. they expected me to come and go at their request, whether anybody else was attended to or not. and, to add to the vexation of the case, though they boasted of having paid most enormous bills to my predecessor, they never, if they could avoid it, paid any thing to me. now, i do not suppose that every medical man has as large a share of these standing patients as fell to my unhappy lot; but from the knowledge i have acquired of mankind, and from the acquaintance i have necessarily formed with medical men, i do not think i err when i affirm that they are everywhere numerous, and that they are everywhere not only a pest to society at large, but particularly so to the physician. but the worst feature of the case is, that after all our efforts, we can seldom, if ever, cure them. they are always hanging upon us like an incubus; and yet like solomon's daughters of the horseleech, are never satisfied. they take the medicine, and follow the advice, if they _like_ it; or they take such parts of it as they choose, and reject the rest. or they take the advice and follow us to-day, but get discouraged and abandon us, at least practically, to-morrow; especially if some smart young physician happens to come along, who has more than an average share of empiricism and pretension, and more than he has of real merit. i must here confess, among other confessions, that at first i was not a little deceived by their open countenances and concealed thoughts, and unintelligent and hence unconfiding professions. it was a long time before i relinquished the hope of doing them good; or at least a portion of them. but i was at length compelled. there was nothing on which to build. if a foundation seemed to be laid one day, it would disappear the next. one fundamental difficulty lay in the way of these persons to health, as it has to thousands of others. they were all the while talking or thinking about themselves, their ailments and woes and abuses and neglects. they were particularly inclined to turn their attention to their own diseased feelings. now it may be pretty safe to say that no individual can fully recover from chronic disease,--nervous, stomachic, or glandular--who is always turning his thoughts inward, and watching his own feelings, and perhaps relating his woes to every one he meets with. we must learn to forget ourselves, at least a part of the time, and think of others, if we are in earnest to get rid of chronic disease. i do not say, of course, that everybody would recover of disease, even if they acted right in every particular; but this i _do_ say, that if every person who is ill would act wisely, and if their physicians, in every instance, were wise enough to take the best course, the number of these standing patients would soon dwindle to a very small remnant. instead of thousands, or tens of thousands, it would soon be reduced to hundreds. chapter xxx. killing a patient. president lindsley, late of one of our south western colleges,--a very shrewd and observing, as well as learned and excellent individual--has been often heard to say that no half-educated young physician ever succeeded in obtaining a good run of professional business, and a fair medical reputation, without despatching prematurely to the other world, at least as many as half a dozen of his patients. it is said that most rules have their exceptions; and it is even affirmed by some, that the exceptions strengthen the rule. if this is so, perhaps the rule of pres. l. may stand; though to many it seems at first exceedingly sweeping. one known exception to its universality may be worth mentioning, on which the reader may make his own comments, and from which he may draw his own inferences. i was so fortunate for one, as to attain to the eminence he mentions, without killing any thing _like_ half a dozen patients; at least, so far as i know. and yet, as i verily fear and most honestly confess, i _did_ kill one or two. not, of course, with malice aforethought, for they were among my very best friends; and one in particular was a near and highly valued neighbor. let me give you a few details concerning the latter. it may serve as a lesson of instruction, as well as a confession. he was about six feet high, with large vital organs; and though by no means possessed of a strong constitution, yet in virtue of a most rigid temperance, generally healthy. he was, however, subjected to the habitual influences of a most miserable cookery. indeed, i never knew worse. seldom, if ever, did he pass a single week--i might even say a single day--without having his alimentary organs irritated to subinflammation by more or fewer of what dr. dunglison, the physiologist, would call "rebellious" mixtures. i do not wonder, in truth, that he occasionally sickened. the wonder with me is, that he did not sicken and die long before he did. and though the blow that finished his perilous mortal career, was doubtless inflicted by my own hand, i do not hesitate to say that his "housekeeper" had nearly half destroyed him before i was called. it was a midsummer night, when the messenger came across an intervening field, and aroused me from my slumbers with the intelligence that mr. m. was very sick, and wanted to have me come and see him immediately. although it was fully twelve o'clock, and i had been so fully occupied during the preceding evening, that i had but just crawled into bed and begun my slumbers, i was instantly on my feet, and in about twelve minutes at the bedside of the sick man. he had been affected with a bowel complaint, as it appeared, for several days, during which his wife, who was one of those conceited women who know so much, in their own estimation, that nobody can teach them any thing, had dosed him with various things, such as were supposed to be good for the blood, or the stomach, among which was brandy and loaf sugar. now his bowels, though they were inflamed, might have borne the sugar; but the brandy was a little too much for them. they had endured it for a time, it is true, but had at length yielded, and were in a worse condition than when she began her treatment. and what was worse, her alcoholic doses, frequently "inflicted," had heated the circulatory apparatus, and even the whole system, into a burning fever. it needed no very active imagination, in such circumstances, to make out, at least in prospect, a very "hard case." and as he who has a giant foe to contend with, arms himself accordingly, i immediately invoked the strongholds of the materia medica for the strongest doses which it could furnish, and these in no measured or stinted quantity. in short, i attacked the disease with the most powerful agents of which i could avail myself. i will not trouble the non-professional reader with the names of the various and powerful drugs which were laid under contribution in this trying and dangerous case, and which were most assiduously plied. it is sufficient, perhaps, to say that on looking over my directions--fairly written out as they were, and laid on a small stand near the sick-bed--you might have discovered that hardly a half-hour, by night or day, could pass, in which he was not required to swallow some very active or in other words poisonous medicinal agent or other. for though i was even then greatly opposed, in _theory_, to the exhibition of much medicine in disease, yet in _practice_ i could not free myself wholly from the idea that my prospects of affording aid, or rather of giving nature a chance of saving a patient, was nearly in proportion to the amount i could force into him of opium, calomel, nitrate of silver, carbonate of ammonia, etc. it was, in short, enough to kill a samson or a hercules; and i repeat that i verily fear that it did kill in the present instance; not, however, immediately. for several days and nights we watched over him, heating his brain, in our over-kindness, to a violent delirium on the one hand, or to a stupor almost like the sleep of death on the other. not satisfied with our own murderous efforts, we at length applied for medical counsel. my predecessor was not so far off as to be quite beyond our reach, and was in due time on the spot. he, good man, sanctioned the deeds already done, and only made through the force of their prepossessions, an addition to the dark catalogue of demons which already assailed if they did not actually possess him. for the first time in my medical career, i suffered, here, from a loss of the confidence of my employers. a very mean man, who could gain notoriety in no other way, undertook to insinuate that i did not understand well my profession; and this story for a short time made an impression. however, there was soon a reaction in my favor, so that nothing was lost in the end. more than even this might be said--that i rose higher, as the result of the report. mr. m. at length began to decline. nature, though strongly entrenched in her citadel, and loth to "give up the ship," began to succumb to the powers of disease and the load of medicine; and he gradually descended to the tomb. his whole sickness was of little more than a week's duration. i was present at the funeral, but i could scarcely hold up my head, or look any person in the face. to my perturbed imagination every one who was but "three feet high" was ready to point at me the finger of scorn, and say, "you have killed that man." the heavens themselves seemed covered with thick darkness, and the green earth with sackcloth and ashes. "never again," i said to myself a thousand times, "can i bear up under such sad and severe responsibilities." and yet--will the reader believe it?--no one circumstance of my whole medical life ever did more to establish my reputation than this. true, i had contended on the battle field, and had been beaten, but then it was thought i had contended against a powerful foe. men sometimes think it honorable even to be beaten. i well remember an instance of this sort. a very great scoundrel heaped insults upon a worthy justice of the peace, till the latter seized him and held him down to the ground for a considerable time. the man was quite respectable afterward, and told the story to his own praise a thousand times over! he had measured lances with 'squire h.! and though the 'squire was too much for him, he obtained a town-wide reputation by the contest. you will see, more and more, as i proceed with these confessions, that it is not in him that willeth nor in him that runneth, to be acceptable as a physician, but in certain circumstances, partly within and partly beyond our control. you will see, however, that the best way in the end is, boldly and fearlessly to do right, and then trust in him who loves right, and whose throne is in the heavens, for the final issue. we may not always be popular in doing right--probably we shall _not_ be--but we shall, in any event, have a clear conscience. chapter xxxi. a sudden cure. i was called one morning very early, to see a little girl, five or six years of age, who, it was said, was extremely sick, and without immediate aid could not probably long survive. she was one of a very numerous family, most of whom, though suffered to run almost wild, like so many rabbits, were comparatively healthy. i do not suppose they had ever called in a physician more than once or twice in a year. in truth, they had very little confidence in physicians; though in extremities, they were accustomed to call on them almost as much as other people. in any event caroline was very sick now; and they loudly demanded aid. i was forthwith on the spot. caroline was groaning most piteously. "where is your distress?" i inquired. she gave no direct answer, but continued to groan and writhe, as if she were impaled. as i could obtain no reliable information from her, and could discover no special or exciting cause of her suffering, and as the case was urgent, i proceeded to do _something_, though, as i must honestly confess, it was to labor quite in the dark. one thing i knew, it is true; that there were spasms, and that it depended on a diseased condition of the brain and nervous system; but what the cause or causes were, i could hardly divine. nor, in truth, had i time to ask many questions. though the days of hydropathy had not yet arrived, the world, even then, had a good deal of water in it, and physicians were sometimes wise enough to use it. it was demanded, as i thought, on the present occasion. it would, at least, by whiling away the time, give opportunity for further observation and reflection, and deeper investigation. there was a good fire in the kitchen, and i ordered a warm bath immediately. every effort was made to hasten the process of warming the water, as well as to keep the patient quiet and within doors; for she raved like a maniac--partly indeed from a childish fear, but partly also from real bodily suffering. the family and neighborhood--for the latter were very largely collected together--were almost as much alarmed and distressed as the little patient, and this reacted on the patient to her increased disadvantage. as there were no special preparations in those days for bathing--i mean in the region of which i am now speaking--we used a large wash-tub. the water was soon ready, and was made rather warm, quite above ° of fahrenheit. i had taken the precaution to have my patient already undressed, so as to lose no time. the very instant the bath was ready, she was plunged into it. it cost some trouble, for she resisted with almost superhuman strength, and uttered most terrific screams. but as the ox is dragged to the slaughter, she was dragged into the water and held in it. the effect was like magic. she had not been in the water twenty seconds before every thing was quiet; and i do not know that she has ever had another pang to the present hour. certain it is that she seemed to be entirely cured by this single bath, and none of her spasms ever returned. the family were greatly delighted, and so were the neighbors. and was the physician, think you, an uninterested spectator? had he been wholly destitute of the love of doing good, by relieving human distress, he must at least have been susceptible of receiving pleasure from general approbation. he certainly sought respectability as a physician. and this he was by degrees now attaining. it is hardly possible to refer the sudden quiet which followed in this instance from the application of warm water, to a mere coincidence, as if the system was ready, just at this very instant, to react or rally. the bath must have had something more than a mere imaginary or accidental effect, though its prescription may be said to have been empirical. had the experiment in the present instance wholly failed, it is by no means improbable the physician would still have been on a par with other men. the _guess_ he made was his _only_ thought. he had nothing in reserve. but he was successful; he _guessed right_, and it built him up. his fame now began to spread far and wide, wafted, as it were, on the wings of every breeze. if he succeeded, it was supposed to be undeniable proof of his skill; if he failed, it was not supposed to be so much his fault as the result of circumstances; or, more properly, the severity of the disease. and even in the case of failure, as i have said elsewhere, he often gained credit; for he had boldly contended, at great odds, with a mighty because intangible antagonist! it is an old proverb,--but by no means the less true for its age,--that when a person is going down hill every one will give him a kick. but is it not equally true that when he is resolutely going up hill, they are equally ready to help him on? so at least i found it at this period of my progress. chapter xxxii. gigantic doses of medicine. although i was opposed to the frequent and free use of medicine, i early fell into one habit which was as diametrically opposed to my general theory as could possibly have been. i refer to the habit of giving my patients, at least occasionally, most enormous doses of those more active preparations which should seldom, if ever, be administered in this way. as nearly as i can now recollect, i fell into this habit in the following manner: among my standing patients, before mentioned, were several drunkards. occasionally, however, they were more than standing or standard patients; they had attacks of mania, or as it is usually called in the case of drunkards, delirium tremens. in these circumstances, among these patients, i often had the most severe trials. sometimes i could relieve them; but sometimes, too, i failed. one night, while endeavoring to relieve the sufferings of one of these patients in delirium tremens, almost to no purpose, the thought struck me, "what effect would a prodigious dose of calomel have on the poor creature? can it kill him? i doubt it. i will venture on the trial." so, without communicating the slightest hint to any one around me of what i was about to do, i contrived to insinuate a hundred grains or more of this substance into the man's stomach, that like a chemical receiver took what was poured into it. having succeeded in the administration of the dose, i waited patiently the issue. the medicine had, in due time, its full ordinary effect; but the degree of its cathartic effect was not in proportion to the largeness of the dose. its activity hardly amounted to violence. it seemed, however, to quiet the brain and nerves as if by magic; nor am i aware that any injurious effects, either local or general, ever followed its exhibition. i had the full credit of a speedy and wonderful cure. another fact. i was frequently called to prescribe for children who were threatened with the croup. one night, on being called to a child of some eight or ten months, i thought of large doses of calomel. was there any great risk in trying one? i ventured. i gave the child almost a teaspoonful of this active cathartic. it was indeed a gigantic dose, and the treatment was bold if not heroic. for a couple of hours the patient breathed badly enough. there was evidently much oppression, not only of the lungs but of the nervous system. the parents and friends of the child grew uneasy. they were not, however, more uneasy than their physician. but i consoled myself by laboring to compose them. i preached to them long and loud, and to some extent with success. at the end of about two hours, the latter part of which had been marked by a degree of stupor which almost discouraged me, a gentle vomiting came on, followed by moderately cathartic effects; and the child immediately recovered its mental activity, and in a few days was well. empirical as this practice was, i ventured on it again and again, and with similar success. at length the practice of giving giant doses in this disease became quite habitual with me, and i even extended it to other diseases. not only calomel, but several other active medicines were used in the same bold and fearless manner. i do not know that i ever did any direct or immediate mischief in this way. on the contrary, i was regarded as eminently successful. and yet i should not now dare to repeat the treatment, however urgent might seem to be the demand, or recommend it to others. it might, perhaps, be successful; but what if it should prove otherwise? i could make no appeal to principle or precedent in justification of my conduct. it is true, i have met with one or two practitioners whose experience has been similar; but what are a few isolated cases, of even honest practice, in comparison with the deductions of wise men for centuries? there may be after consequences, in these cases, which are not foreseen. sentence against an evil work, as solomon says, is not always executed speedily. chapter xxxiii the lambskin disease. should any medical man look through these pages, he may perchance amuse himself by asking where the writer obtained his system of classification of disease. it will not, certainly, be very easy to find such a disease as the lambskin disease in any of our modern nosologies. but he will better understand me when he has read through the chapter. he may be reminded, by its perusal and its quaint title, of the classification which is found in whitlow's new medical discoveries, founded, as the doctor says, on the idea that "every disease ought to be named from the plant or other substance which is the principal exciting cause of such disease." it is as follows: "the mercurial disease, the belladonna do the stramonium do the tobacco do the cicuta do the butter cup do the colchicum do the colocynth do the pork or hog do the vinegar do the fool's parsley do the fox glove do the nux vomica do the quassia do the opium do the hellebore do the salt do the mineral acid do the acrid do the putrid do" if on examination the curious reader should find no such disease as the "lambskin disease" in dr. w.'s catalogue, he should remember that the list is by no means complete, and that there will be no objection to the addition of one more. and why, indeed, may i not coin terms as well as others? all names must have been given by somebody. but i will not dwell on the subject of nosology too long. i have something else to do in this chapter than merely to amuse. i have some thoughts to present on health and sickness,--thoughts, too, which seem to me of vast importance. a son of mr. g., a farmer, had been at work in an adjoining town, all summer, with a man who was accustomed to employ a great number of hands in various occupations,--farming, road building, butchering, etc., etc. of a sudden, young g., now about twenty years of age, was brought home sick, and i was sent for late at night--a very common time for calling the doctor--to come and see him. i found him exceedingly weak and sick, with strong tendencies to putridity. what could be the cause? there was no prevailing or epidemic disease abroad at the time, either where he had been laboring, or within my own jurisdiction; nor could i, at first, find out any cause which was adequate to the production of such effects as were before me. i prescribed for the young man, as well as i could; but it was all to no purpose. some unknown influence, local or general, seemed to hang like an incubus about him, and to depress, in particular, his nervous system. in short, the symptoms were such as portended swift destruction, if not immediate. i could but predict the worst. and the worst soon came. he sunk, in a few days, to an untimely grave. i say _untimely_ with peculiar emphasis; for he had hitherto been regarded as particularly robust and healthy. his remains were scarcely entombed when several members of his father's family were attacked in a similar way. another young man in the neighborhood, who had been employed at the same place with the deceased, and who had returned at the same time, also sickened, and with nearly the same symptoms. and then, in a few days more, the father and mother of the latter began to droop, and to fall into the same train of diseased tendencies with the rest. of these, too, i had the charge. my hands were now fully occupied, and so was my head. anxious as most young men are, in similar circumstances, not only to save their patients, but their reputation, and though the distance at which they resided was considerable, i visited both families twice a day, and usually remained with one of them during the night. i was afraid to trust them with others. physically this constant charge was too much for me, and ought not to have been attempted. no physician should watch with his patients, by night or by day,--above all by night--any more than a general should place himself in the front of his army, during the heat of battle. his life is too precious to be jeoparded beyond the necessities involved in his profession. but while my hands were occupied, my mind was racked exceedingly with constant inquiry into the cause of this terrible disease,--for such to my apprehension it was becoming. the whole neighborhood was alarmed, and the paleness of death was upon almost every countenance. my doubts were at length removed, and the cause of trouble, as i then supposed and still believe, fully revealed. the disease so putrescent in its tendencies, had originated in animal putrefaction. the circumstances were as follows:-- the individual with whom the young men who sickened had been residing and laboring, had laid aside, in his chamber, some time before, quite a pile of lambskins, just in the condition in which they were when removed from their natural owners, and had suffered them to lie in that condition until they were actually putrescent and highly offensive. the two young men, owing to the relative position of the chambers they occupied, were particularly exposed to the poisonous effluvia. i did not forget--i did not then forget--the oft inculcated and frequently received doctrine, that animal impurity is not apt to engender disease. it most certainly had an agency--a prominent one--in the case before us. perhaps it has such an influence much more frequently than is generally supposed. one of my patients, in the family which i first mentioned,--a little boy two or three years old,--died almost as soon, after being seized with disease, as his elder brother had done. the rest, though severely sick, and at times given over to die, finally recovered. some of them were sick, however, many months, and none of them, so far as i now recollect,--with perhaps a single exception,--ever enjoyed as good health afterward as before. i had in these families six or eight of the most trying cases i ever had in my life; and yet, with the exceptions before named, all recovered. how much agency my own labors as a medical man had in producing this result, i am at a loss to conjecture. as an attendant or nurse, i have no doubt my services were valuable. and it was because a good nurse is worth more than a physician that i so frequently ran the risk of watching over the sick so closely as considerably to impair my own health. the neighbors and friends of the two sick families, as i have already intimated, looked on in silent agony during the whole campaign; expecting, first that _their_ families, too, would soon be called to take their turn; and secondly, that i, the commander in chief, should be a sufferer, which of course would be a great public disadvantage. they were almost as much gratified as i, when we all came forth from the fire unscathed. on the whole, except as regards health, i was a gainer rather than a loser by the affair. i mean, of course, in the way of medical reputation. i was by this time fairly established as a powder and pill distributer, of the _first water_. in other words, i was beginning to be regarded as a good family physician, and to be sought for, not only within the narrow limits of my own native township, some four or five miles square, but also quite beyond these narrow precincts. occasionally i had patients in three or four adjoining towns, and i was even occasionally called as counsel to other physicians. my ambition was high, perhaps higher than it ought to have been; but it had its checks and even its valleys of humiliation; so that on the whole i retained my sanity and a full measure of public confidence. and yet, in conclusion, i have to confess that besides exposing my own health, i made many medical blunders. i would not again run the risk to health or reputation which, during this long trial of several months, i certainly ran, for any sum of money which king croesus or the rothschilds could command. nor do i believe an intelligent physician can do it, without being guilty of a moral wrong. every one has his province; let him carefully ascertain what that is, and confine himself to it. the acting commander in an important military expedition has no right to place himself in the ranks of those who are about to leap a ditch, scale a wall, or charge bayonet. paul has no right to labor in athens when he knows perfectly well that he can do more good in jerusalem, and the voice of god, by his providence or otherwise, calls him thither. and "to him that knoweth to do good and doeth it not, to him it is sin." chapter xxxiv. milk punch fever. a certain young woman who had great general confidence in my skill, after i had stood by her many long hours in one of nature's sorest trials, was left at length in a fair way to recover, except that she was exceedingly exhausted, and needed the most careful attendance on the part of those around her. she no longer needed any medicine, nothing but to be let alone. in other words, she needed nothing but good nursing and entire freedom from all care and responsibility. being obliged at this juncture to leave her for nearly the whole night, i gave the best directions to her principal nurse of which i was capable, as well as the principal reasons on which it was founded. she seemed entirely submissive, and perhaps, in theory, was so. but in my zeal to make them understand that i was acting on common-sense principles, i committed one error, a very common one, indeed, but yet an error. it was that of reasoning with them with a view to make every thing particularly intelligible. one has authority, in these matters, as long as he takes the _attitude_ of authority, but the moment he descends to the general level of his patients, and in true republican style puts himself on a par with them, he begins to lose their confidence as a physician. you may not be sensible of a loss of this sort, nor even the physician. you may even think the reverse were more true. but you deceive yourself. though your patients may love you better as a friend or even as a father, yet they have lost confidence in you medically, in nearly the same proportion. strange indeed that it should be so; but so, according to my own observation, it ever has been. that a prophet is "without honor"--and most so in his own country and among his own personal friends--is as true now as it was eighteen hundred years ago. had i told mrs. d.'s attendants to do so or so, and left them without saying a word more, they would probably have done it. but i had condescended to reason with them about the matter; their belief that medical men dealt with the stars, and spoke with a species of supernatural authority, had been shaken; and they were emboldened to reason on the subject, and to hearken to the reasonings as well as to what had but the slightest resemblance thereto in others, during my absence. having occasion to use all possible precaution against the supervention of milk fever in my patient, i left particular directions that nothing stimulating should be administered, and assigned several good, substantial reasons. no food was to be given, except a little bread and some plain chicken broth, with no condiment or dressing but a little salt; and this at intervals of about four hours. no drink--not a particle--was to be given, except frequent very small draughts of cold water. while i was absent mrs. d.'s mother came into their family, not only to rejoice with them in an accession to their number, but to render them a little aid. she was one of those mothers whose kindness so often defeats their best and purest intentions. she was all eyes, ears, and attention, and _nearly all talk_. the daughter's treatment soon underwent a special scrutiny, and was found "wanting." "has the doctor ordered my daughter no milk punch?" she said to the attendants. "not a drop," they replied. she raised both hands in astonishment. "how, then," she asked, "can the ninny expect she can ever have any nourishment for that _boy_?" the attendants could not inform her. "the doctor," they said, "gave reasons," but they could not fully understand them. "he did not probably understand them himself," said she. "there are no reasons against it, i am confident. it is only a notion of his. these young doctors are always full of their book wisdom. why, a little experience is worth a whole world full of theories. now _i_ know--and so does every other person who has nursed children--that a little milk punch, in these cases, is necessary. not a great deal, it is true; but a little, just enough to give the system strength. nature is weak in these cases. i wish some of these young doctors themselves were obliged to endure the trials we have to endure, and we should see whether they could get along with no drink but cold water!" the rebellion soon reached the daughter's ears, who, till now, had confided in the "doctor's" prescription, and was doing well. she was soon as uneasy with things as they were, as her mother and the nurse and the neighbors. the husband was not of the clique; but then he was one of those good-natured men who leave every thing to their wives; and though they may not fully approve of every thing that is attempted, will yet do and refrain from doing many things for the sake of peace. he interposed no veto on the present occasion. the mother, in short, soon reigned "sole monarch," and proceeded to issue from her imperial throne, the sage decree that a little milk punch must be made. judith, the nurse, was to have it prepared so and so, and she would herself administer it. only just so many spoonfuls of rum must be added to the tumbler of milk and water, and just so much sugar. it must be weak, the decree said. mrs. d. drank freely of the punch, because her mother told her that it would do her good. true, she asked after the first swallow, "what will the doctor say to this?" but her mother bade her be quiet, she would see to all that. "it is made very weak," said the mother, "on purpose for you; drink of it a little and often. it will be both food and drink to you. it will be good for the babe, dear child! how can these doctors wish to starve folks? i have no notion of starving to death, or having my children or grandchildren starved." it was now past midnight, and mrs. d. had as yet slept but very little. had she simply followed out my directions she might have slept an hour or two before midnight, and several hours in the aggregate afterward. this, though done by stealth and in short naps, would have given her more real rest and strength than a whole gallon of milk punch, and instead of kindling fever, would have carried off all tendencies of the kind. on my arrival, early the next morning, i found a good deal of headache, such as cold water and plain food and rest seldom, if ever, create. my fears were at once excited, and they were greatly strengthened when i saw her mother. but the blow had been struck, and could not be recalled. mrs. d., in short, was already in the beginning stage of a fever which came within a hair's breadth of destroying her. it is indeed true that she finally recovered. no thanks, however, were due to the mother's over-kindness, nor to my own over-communicativeness. had i done my duty, had i kept my own counsel, nobody, not even the mother herself, as i now verily believe, would have ventured to disobey my positive injunctions. and had this mother done, as she would have been done by in similar circumstances, all would probably have been well still. we should have saved a little reputation, and a good deal of health. i learned, i repeat, from this unexpected adventure, that it was wisdom to keep my own secrets. i do not say that i have always acted up to the dignity of this better knowledge, but i am justified in saying that i have sometimes profited from an acquaintance with human nature that cost me dear. it is no trifle to see an individual suffer from painful disease a couple of weeks, and jeopard the life of a child during the whole time, when a little knowledge how to refrain from speaking _ten words_ of a particular kind and cast, would have prevented every evil. chapter xxxv. my first case in surgery. my first surgical case of any magnitude, was that of a wounded foot. for, though i had been required to bleed patients many times,--and bleeding is properly a surgical operation,--yet it had become so common in those days, and was performed with so little science or skill, that it was seldom recognized as belonging to the department of surgery. one of my neighbors had struck his axe into the upper part of his foot, and cut it nearly through. happening to be at home when the accident occurred, which was in my own immediate neighborhood, i was soon on the spot, and ready to afford assistance; and, as good luck would have it, the man was not at all weakened by loss of blood, at my arrival. my lesson from an old surgeon[d] was not yet forgotten. i still knew, as well as any one could have told me, that to put together the divided edges of the wound and keep them there, was half the cure. but how was this to be done? slips of adhesion plaster would bring the divided edges of the wounded surface into their place, but would the deeper-seated and more tendinous parts unite while left without touching each other? or should a few stitches be taken? the wound was lengthwise of the foot, and no tendons were divided. i made up my mind to dress it without any sewing, and acted accordingly. the bleeding soon ceased. when all was secured, the patient inquired what he should put on it, to cure it. had he not raised the question, i might, perhaps, have followed out my own ultra tendencies, and left it without any application at all; but as it was, i concluded to order something on which he might fasten his faith,--something which, though it should do no good, would do no harm. "nothing is better for a fresh wound," i said, "than the 'balsam of life.' just send thomas over to mr. ludlow's, and get a couple of ounces of his 'balsam of life.'" it was soon brought, and the surface of the wound and its bandages moistened with it. "now," said i, "keep your foot as still as you can till i see you again. i will be in again before i go to bed." i called again at nine o'clock in the evening. all appeared well, only the patient had some doubts whether the balsam of life was just the right thing. several of the neighbors had been in, as he said, and, though they admitted that the balsam might be very good, they knew, or thought they knew, of something better. however, i succeeded in quieting most of his rising fears for the present, by assuring him that nothing in the wide world was equal, for its healing virtues, to the "balsam." my voice here was law, for _i gave no reasons_! on making inquiry, afterward, with a view chiefly to gratify curiosity,[e] i found that the first individual who came in after i had left the house, assured them there was nothing so good for a fresh wound as a peach leaf. the next, however, insisted that the best way was to bind up the part in molasses. the third said the best way was to take just three stitches to the wound, and bind it up in the blood. the fourth said the most sovereign thing in the world, for a fresh cut, was tobacco juice! now i could have told these various representatives of as many various public opinions, that all these things and many more which might have been named, are, in a certain sense, good, since any mere flesh wound, in the ordinary circumstances of ordinary life, will heal in a reasonable time, in spite of them. i could have told them, still further, that the balsam of life was probably little, if any, better than the other things proposed, any farther than as it secured more faith and confidence, and prevented the application of something which was worse. i could have assured them that all the external applications in the world are of no possible service, except to defend from cold air, and prevent external injuries, or reduce inflammation; and that the last-mentioned symptom, should it occur, would be best relieved by cold water. but what good would it have done? just none at all, according to my own experience. positive assurance--mere dogmatism--was much better. the wound did well as it was, though it might have done much better, could the patient's faith have been just as firmly fixed on nothing at all but nature, as it was on _medicaments_. however, the tincture i proposed, which somebody had dignified with the name of balsam of life, had done very little harm, if any, to the parts to which it had been applied, while it had done a great deal of good to the patient's mind, and the minds of his friends. it was nothing, i believe, but a compound tincture of benzoin. i have used it a great number of times, and with the same wonderful results. the patient always gets well, either on account of it, or in spite of it! does it make much practical difference which? footnotes: [d] see chap. viii. [e] even such inquiries as these are usually of doubtful tendency. they weaken public confidence. there must be but one opinion of any value to the physician or his patients, and that must be _his own_! chapter xxxvi. emilia and the love cure. one young family on whom i was accustomed to call from time to time, was not only accustomed to send for me in the night, as did many others, but, what made it much worse for me, they resided some four or five miles distant, among the mountains. they were of that class of people who look every man on his own things, and never, as the apostle would enjoin, on the things of others. they knew very well that a physician, though he might be half a conjuror, required sleep; still, they were willing to finish their day's work, eat their supper, perform a large number of _et ceteras_, even if they did not call for the doctor till he had fairly taken off his boots to retire for the night. but there was one consolation in all this, that they paid me promptly; and medical men, as you know, like other men, work for pay. they cannot live wholly on air. in the same house with the family alluded to, was a young woman, about twenty-five years of age, who had been confined to her bed ten or twelve years. she was the only daughter of very indulgent parents, who had never, from her earliest years, thought they could do too much for her. in truth, this was the source of her feebleness. some little ailment, indeed, there might have been at the outset, induced by pie, cake, preserves, pickles, or something which no truly kind parents should permit a child to take; though nothing more than might have been got rid of in its effects, by a little patient waiting. but instead of waiting a little, the anxious mother had dosed and drugged her. and these ill turns had been more and more frequent, just in proportion to the frequency with which she had been drugged for them; till, at twelve years of age, she was almost all the while complaining. and at fourteen, she was completely bedridden--a burden to herself and to others. "i wonder," said my principal employer, at about twelve o'clock, when i had attended to his own little family, and was about to leave, "whether you could do any thing for our millie. she has tried almost all the doctors, to no purpose; but we have so much confidence here in your skill, that she sometimes speaks of trying you. she is hardly willing to 'give up the ship' without another trial." this, as you must be aware, was a stirring appeal to my love of approbation; but it was too late at night to make a call on her at that moment. so, promising to come and see her shortly, i took my leave, and rode home, as usual, meditating. now i had never seen emilia, but from the account which i had received from the neighbors, as well as from the nature of the case, i knew very nearly how she was; and that the great difficulty in the way of recovery was the constant habit of watching herself and attending to every internal sensation. in other words, she was so completely wrapped up in self, that i could see no reasonable prospect of getting her mind out of the maze in which it had been so long involved. but i found time, a few days afterward, as i was employed again in the same neighborhood, to call and see her; and i ventured accordingly. she was sitting up in the bed, well bolstered, with a huge mass of clothing both on herself and on the bed. then, at her right hand, was a stand half covered with bowls, saucers and tumblers; and near it a little closet or recess, in which were nearly an equal number of parcels of medicine, wrapped in papers ready to be used, when they were supposed to be necessary. i had no sooner entered the room, than she began to give me an account of her medicine, rather than of herself. so rapid was her enunciation, and so eager was she to tell me what she knew--not about the symptoms of her disease, but about the treatment--that it was a full quarter of an hour before i could reach the inmost recesses of her condition. "that," said she, "is for canker in the mouth; that for sore throat; that is an eye wash i sometimes use, and that is a kind of bitters dr. r. left for me, but which i have now nearly done taking--and they never did me any good," etc. when i found an opportunity, i endeavored to investigate, very fully and freely, what had hitherto been supposed to be a very remarkable case. i found, indeed, that the patient had a great many little troubles, dependent mainly on the state of a mind greatly harassed by constant reflex tendencies, not easily eradicable. but i did not find it easy to prescribe for her. she was one of those very inquisitive people who wish to know what every thing you give them is, and who have a very conscientious objection to every thing. however, i at last settled down on a course of treatment, and wrote it out in a fair hand, and left it at the bedside. not, however, i repeat, till i had foolishly fallen into my former error, and told her all the whys and wherefores. this familarity into which she had drawn me, had already extracted one-half the virtue of my medicine; for that is no longer mysterious which the medical man openly and freely discusses. the freedom of thinking she had indulged in while i was present, had been extended to freedom of action; and the very medicine, whose virtues she had dared to discourse upon, she ventured to set aside, when her experience assured her it was not producing the effect she desired, and for which she supposed it was intended. so that what, from the first, i had feared, and more than i had feared, at length happened. she took my medicine, professedly,--that is, just when she pleased,--for about four weeks, to no manner of purpose whatever, except to deceive herself; for during the first and second weeks of its use, she imagined herself all the while getting better; while during the third week she began to doubt, and about the fourth week she came to the sage conclusion that she was just where she had been a month or two before. the great, abiding difficulties of her case--her want of simple, confiding trust in her physician, and her constant, anxious attention to her own internal sensations, were far enough from being overcome. she was, in short, very nearly where she was ten years before, except that she was in circumstances rather more difficult to be reached, and had become rather more sceptical about medicine. what should now be done? must the case be abandoned? or was there some other way, some _new_ way, by means, of which it could be reached? i was not quite willing to give her up as irrecoverable, and yet i saw nothing remaining which i could do. i revolved the thing in my mind, by night and by day. at last a plan struck me which i verily believed would succeed. a few miles distant was a young physician, just from the schools, who vainly, though naturally, supposed he knew almost every thing which was known, and who wanted business. as he had nothing to lose, even if he were to fail in a hundred trials, but every thing to gain could he effect one very remarkable cure, i proposed to the family to employ him. i knew well he would have one or two advantages over his older and more experienced brethren. he would not at once place himself on the same platform with his patient and the friends, by answering their numerous questions; and for this plain and simple reason: in the first place, that he _could_ not, and very probably knew his own weakness; secondly, he would have more of that blind faith in medicine which inspires the ignorant with confidence. but there was another thought beyond all this, a wheel within a wheel. the young physician might succeed better than i, in drawing her thoughts, and even her affections, away from herself; for he was a single man, and the patient, though sick, not destitute of charms, especially of that more tangible charm which, to _indigent_ young men, and especially young _medical_ men, so often eclipses all others. she, on her part, as i well knew, was not wholly resigned to the world of single blessedness, though her long-continued ill health had almost unfitted her for any thing else. it only required a little _management_ to bring about the desired result. dr. juvenis was soon employed; and, though he did not always reply to her questions, which were numerous, and often wholly irrelevant, yet according to my own secret anticipations, he gradually raised her hopes in another direction, and hence drew her attention in no small degree from herself. his reserve, too, served but to inspire her with confidence in his great wisdom. there was something deep beyond the exterior, she always thought, which did not come out to the full, vulgar gaze. the final result was a strong attachment on her part, which, though not reciprocated by him in a direct manner, was not by any means repelled. the virtues of the medicines were no longer discussed or doubted; and it was obvious to all that she was beginning to mend. it was now high time for me to abandon a field which was not only fully occupied, but _well_ occupied. the visits of the young physician were continued, at longer or shorter intervals, for years, till the young woman's health was nearly restored; and, as i subsequently learned, they were married. the more recent history of her life, i have not been able to ascertain, except that neither party gained as much by the new connection as had been expected,--a result which, alas! is by no means any thing new, and that there was, after some time, a relapse of disease. this artifice for restoring health to a bedridden patient, is not mentioned in a way of approbation, but of regret, or at least of confession. yet, while it declares my weakness, it develops or at least confirms a well-known principle, which it concerns mankind, patients as well as physicians, most fully and clearly to understand. the medical efficiency of an agent is greatly enhanced when the mind can be made to go along with it. i have wished a thousand times, both by night and by day, that i had never commended dr. juvenis to the favorable notice and regard of this illiterate but confiding family. true, i had the good fortune thus to get rid of a most troublesome, standing _patient_. had i a moral right thus to do? did the end either sanction or sanctify the means? grant that i saved, or seemed to save, the patient;--was she really saved? was there any absolute gain in the end? these are questions which i cannot, as yet, fully settle. most certainly she was not quite cured. what a mighty work for this fallen world education has yet to achieve; especially physical education! this, reader, let me say once for all, this physical education, under the guidance of christianity, whose handmaid all true science should be, and to whose development and application all true religion should be directed, is our chief dependence. it is the lever by which we are to raise the world. chapter xxxvii. hezekiah and delirium tremens. one morning, about two o'clock, in the depth of winter, i was roused from my slumbers by a stranger's voice, requesting me to get up and go immediately along the sides of the mountain and see hezekiah. "and who is hezekiah?" i said, only half awake; "and where is the side of the mountain? and who are you with whom i am conversing?" the mystery was easily cleared up, and i mounted my horse and was soon on the road through the sides of the mountain. it was wild and unfrequented; nay, it was, in places, almost impassable, especially in the night. mr. judkins, the father of the sick man, not only resided quite beyond my usual range of practice, but almost out of the range of everybody else, squirrels and rabbits and wild fowls excepted. in passing along, i made many inquiries with regard to the particular condition of the young man, in order to prepare myself for a more rapid investigation of his case whenever i should arrive. but i sought in vain. the messenger's lips were almost wholly sealed. the cause, at that time, i did not at all understand; but i had, subsequently, great reason to believe he was silent and reserved by the special command of the patient's friends. all i could obtain from my guide, was that hezekiah had an ill turn; that he was occasionally subject to ill turns, and that the family were greatly alarmed about him. on my arrival, i found a group of friends large enough, almost, for a train band, gathered so closely round the bed of the young man that he could hardly breathe. there was, also, a monstrous fire in the chimney, sufficient to heat well the whole house, had the heat been properly distributed. the air was, at best, greatly confined; but it was particularly so to the poor patient, who lay panting as if in a dying condition. yet i soon saw, and, as it were, instinctively, that he was not likely to die immediately. some adventitious cause was evidently operating to throw his brain and nervous system into an abnormal condition, nor was i long in determining what it was. the father was a farmer. he possessed immense orchards, and made great quantities of cider, and one of his neighbors owned a distillery. for every barrel of cider mr. j. carried to the distillery, he received in return a certain amount of cider-brandy; and at the time when i was called to see hezekiah, he had more than two barrels of this "precious commodity" in his cellar. at the close of autumn he had had three barrels. why this deposit of an article so doubtful? and what had become of the one barrel which had disappeared? not a member of the family would touch it, but mr. j. himself, and hezekiah. the women and children did, indeed, sometimes taste a little molasses toddy, as it was called. mr. j. would prepare it and pass it round in the morning just before breakfast, in the hope and expectation that all would taste it; and they usually did so. it was not, however, quite a voluntary thing on their part, but a species of moral compulsion. left entirely to themselves, they never would have tasted it. now think, reader, of two persons in a family, with two or three barrels of brandy at their entire disposal, with the expectation of consuming it, or the far greater part of it, during autumn and winter. why, three barrels are more than a quart a day, for every day of the year. mr. j. drank freely; but not more freely than his son. the latter was treading in the steps of his father, with the almost certain prospect of going, in the end, quite beyond him. it was not difficult to prescribe for the young man. the far greater difficulty was to induce him to follow out the prescription. i was honest enough to tell the father what ailed the son, and what ought to be done, and to plead with him to change his own habits immediately. i could not, it is true, quite prevail, when i urged him to pour his brandy, the whole of it, into the street; for that, as he said and doubtless thought, would be a waste of property. but he _did_ promise to _sell_ it; though even this promise he never kept. he even continued to drink it; though as he always insisted, with great moderation. but the greatest drinkers we have among us, are usually the first to speak of their own moderation. the sequel of the story may easily be guessed. hezekiah became a miserable creature, and ere he reached the age of fifty came to a most miserable end,--the drunkard's death, by the drunkard's mania. mr. j. having inherited a strong constitution passed on to sixty-three, when, like a mighty tree with decayed trunk, a slight wind crushed him to the dust. his family, most of them, still survive; but they are daughters, and have not inherited the vices of their father, so much as his diseases. they have, at least, inherited the disease which drinking is so apt to entail on the next generation,--i mean scrofula. several of mr. j.'s elder daughters are already dead; and the younger ones--for he had a very large family--are feeble, and always will be so; and their children are still more feeble. thus "earthward," and not heavenward, "all things" in the family of the drunkard have a tendency. how painful the reflection that i did not labor with this family, not only in season, as i certainly did, but also out of season, and try to save it! i had influence with them. my honest plainness at my first visit, above described, did not prevent them from calling on me again for counsel; though at first i had feared such a result. i was often in the family, but not so often as i might have been; nor was i so bold as i ought to have been. shall i be able to render up my account of the intercourse i had with them, in the great day, with joy, or must it be with grief and shame? chapter xxxviii. my first amputation. it is easy in imagination, to be wise, especially at a distance. how many a surgical operation have i performed _on paper_; or still oftener, and with more assurance, in my own brain. the difficulties are much fewer than in the reality. a fine young man came to me, one day, with a crushed thumb. he had been at work on a wool-carding machine, and through the most inexcusable carelessness had suffered his thumb to be drawn in. on a careful examination, i found the wound to be very severe, and, as i believed, requiring amputation. but what could i do? i had no surgical instruments. young medical men, in plain country places, are hardly expected to purchase these conveniences, except perhaps a lancet and the needful instruments for extracting teeth. i had, however, a keen penknife in my pocket, and without the smallest formality, i proceeded to separate the mangled thumb at the joint. it was a very painful process, and as i now fully believe, quite an unnecessary one. but young men are not apt to see things in the same light with those who have had experience. they are not half as ready to rely on nature. they are inclined to think art will do every thing; nature, almost nothing. they frequently love to use the lancet, the knife, the scalpel, and the trephine. of this fondness, however, i knew comparatively little. in the present instance, i simply saw it to be a doubtful, and as i thought, a hopeless case to attempt to save the thumb; and therefore, without much reflection, i removed it. now i shall never cease to feel a pang, whenever memory calls up this hasty act, as long as i live. were life to be protracted to a thousand years, i should always reproach myself for it. and yet i am not aware that either the young man himself or his friends ever respected me the less for it. and so far was i from suffering in the eyes of society at large, i verily believe i was a gainer by it. but i respected myself less on account of it. i respect myself less to-day. i am fully conscious i was too hasty,--that had i waited a little, i might have been a means of saving his hand without much deformity. nature, in such cases, left to herself, will work all but miracles, especially in the young, and in those who have a sound constitution. chapter xxxix. milk, as a remedy in fevers. early in my practice as a physician i had a patient, a little girl, who, after having been sick for many weeks with a fever, seemed at length to become stationary. she was not weak or sick enough to die, and yet she seemed not strong enough to recover. her vitality was almost exhausted, and yet nature was loth to give up. on this young patient, during her long sickness, i had tried a thousand things, to see if i could not give nature a "start;" but all to no purpose. the wheels would not move. she would either vomit up every thing i gave her, or it would pass away as into a reservoir, unchanged. there appeared to be, i repeat, no vital action in the system. to check the vomiting or prevent it, i had tried various measures, both external and internal. i had used warm applications to her stomach, both dry and moist. i had tried frictions of the skin and fomentations of the abdomen, both simple and medicated. electricity i believe i had not used. cheerful conversation, music to some extent, and the society of pleasant faces had all been invoked. still there she was, on her bed. it seemed next to impossible for her "chariot" to go either backward or forward. one day she asked for some milk. in an instant i determined to try it. so i took a teaspoonful of this fluid, warm from the animal, and gave it to her, only requiring her to swallow it very slowly. she not only obeyed me, but appeared to relish it. nor was there any nausea afterward, nor any evidence of evil effects or evil tendencies. at the end of four hours, i gave her another teaspoonful of milk, in the same way and with similar effects. at the end of four hours more, another was given; and thus onward. in twenty-four hours i was able to increase, slightly, the dose. all this while there was no stomach sickness, in the smallest degree. in three or four days, she could bear a table-spoonful of the "new medicine," every four hours, or a quantity equal to two or three ounces a day. in a week or ten days, she could take nearly half a gill at once, and had gained considerable strength. she recovered in the end, though her recovery was very slow. but i had hardly used the milk three days, before i began to be denounced as an almost insane man, especially by those who were wont to set themselves up as the arbiters of public opinion, and who lived too remotely to witness the good effects of the course i was pursuing. the family, of course, though they disapproved of what i did, could say nothing against it, especially as it afforded the only ground of hope of recovery. the whole public mind, in that region, was affected by the belief that milk, in a fever, is heating and dangerous. "what a strange thing it is," said many an old woman, and not a few young ones, "that the doctor should give milk to a person sick with a fever! he will certainly kill the girl before he is through with her. if these young doctors are determined to make experiments, they ought surely to make them on themselves, and not on their patients." the public complaint involved one serious mistake, else it would have had the semblance of reason to justify it. as a general fact, milk is heating in a fever, and is consequently inadmissible. the mistake to which i allude consisted in the belief that the fever still existed, when it had wholly passed away and left nothing behind it but debility, or the consequences of the fever. but the evidence that milk did not hurt her, lay, after all, in the indisputable fact that she improved as soon as she began to use it, and under its moderate and judicious exhibition entirely recovered her health. observe, however, that i do not say it cured her; although i might make this affirmation with as much confidence as can justly exist with regard to any thing belonging to the _materia medica_. all i say is, that after having hung in suspense for some time, neither growing better nor appearing likely to do so, she commenced the use of the milk as aforesaid; and almost as soon as she began to use it she began to be convalescent, and her improvement went on steadily, till it terminated in sound health. and yet our good friends, up and down the country, who uttered so many jeremiades about the folly of giving milk to a little girl in a fever, lived to witness her complete recovery, notwithstanding. she is now a mother in our new england israel, and i believe a very healthy one. whether i would venture to pursue exactly the same course in the same circumstances, were i to live my life over again, is not quite certain. and yet i certainly think it not only safe, but desirable in such cases, to do something. why, i have occasionally, in circumstances of convalescence from fever, given things which, in themselves considered, are much more objectionable than a little milk, and with the most perfect success. i have even given pork, cabbage, cheese, and beans. it is true, i have been compelled to exercise a good deal of care in these cases, with regard to quantity. that which in the quantity of half a pound might destroy life, might in the quantity of half an ounce, be the one thing needful to the salvation, physically, of a valuable member of society. a man in new haven county, in connecticut, some fifty years ago, was for a long time suspended, as it were, between this world and the next, in consequence of being left in great debility after a long and dangerous fever. for several weeks, in fact, it was scarcely guessed, except in the softest whisper, whether the slightest movement or change in his system might not precipitate him at once into the eternal world. in this perilous condition, he one day asked for sweet cider, just from the press. his attendants very properly and naturally hesitated; but the physician, when he arrived and was made acquainted with his request, immediately said, "yes; give him a teaspoonful of good, clean, sweet cider, every two hours." the cider was given, according to the commandment, and appeared to have a restorative effect. the man recovered in a reasonable time, and is, i believe, alive to this day. chapter xl. the virtues of pumpkin-seed tea. physicians are sometimes compelled by the force of circumstances, to visit the poor as well as the rich; albeit, they expect, so far as mere pecuniary compensation is concerned, that they are to have "their labor for their pains." they know well that honesty here, if nowhere else, is the best policy. dr. cullen, who became, as is well known, a giant in the profession, first attracted public attention from the act that he was often seen coming out of the hovels of the poor. my own lot for several years was to labor _chiefly_ for the poor. in a region where it had been customary for a medical man who had the whole control of the business to charge one thousand dollars a year, my charges scarcely exceeded three hundred. a few of the wealthy employed me, it is true, but not all; while i had all the poor. indeed, it is among the poor, as a general rule, that sickness is most frequent and prevalent, not to say fatal. in one of these poor families, on a certain occasion, i had a long campaign and a hard one. first, i was obliged to travel a great distance to see them; secondly, i had a very severe disease to encounter; thirdly, there were several patients in the house; and the family, usually unprovided with sufficient space for a free circulation of the air, was still more incommoded when sick. fourthly, the mistress of the house was exceedingly ignorant; and ignorance in a mother is, of itself, almost enough to insure the destruction of all patients over whom she has control. my chief source of trouble, in the present instance, was the injudicious conduct of the mother to the family; for all else could have been borne. she was almost incessantly trying to do something over and above what i had ordered or recommended. the neighbors, almost as weak as herself, would come in and say: "why don't your doctor give such or such a thing? mr. blarney was sick exactly like samuel, and they gave him a certain powder and he got right up in a very few days." this would usually be quite sufficient to make mrs. ----very unhappy, at least till she had again seen me. among the sick members of her family, was a daughter of about fifteen years of age. for this daughter, in particular, more than for the son samuel, the good matrons of the neighborhood had their thousand remedies; and they regarded them all as infallible. with these, their favorite notions and doses, they were continually filling the ears of mrs. ----. one day, when i had been the usual round of the family, and given all needful directions for the day, mrs. ---- came to me and said: "doctor, what do you think would be the effect of a little pumpkin-seed tea on my daughter eunice? do you think it would hurt her?" "why, no; i suppose not," i said. "but for what purpose would you give her pumpkin-seed tea? is she not doing as well as could be expected? and if so, is it not desirable to let well enough alone?" "to be sure she is doing very well," said mrs. ----; "and i do not know but every thing is just as it should be. we certainly have great confidence in your treatment. but she is so feeble it seems as if something might be given which would make her gain strength faster. why, she is very weak, doctor! mrs. gay and several others have thought a little pumpkin-seed tea might give her strength; but i do not like to order any thing new without first consulting you." i did not object to the pumpkin-seed tea, _administered in great moderation_. i did not say as i ought boldly to have said: "i shall be obliged, as your physician, at least till you choose to dismiss me, to pursue the course i have marked out for myself, since i shall have to bear the responsibility." in my modesty and even diffidence, i preferred to let the ignorant friends of the young woman dabble with this comparatively inoffensive article, rather than with something worse. besides, i wished to have no clandestine movements, and had already rejected so many proposals to give this or that medicament, that i dared not do it longer. "oh, yes," said i, "you may give her pumpkin-seed tea; but give it in moderation." the pumpkin-seed tea was given for the next twenty-four hours, i believe, with great exactness. but as there was no obvious or immediate advantage from using it during that time, it shared the fate which might have been expected. like the wad in the child's pop-gun, which some new wad soon and effectually expels, the pumpkin-seed tea was thrown aside, and some other infallible cure proposed in its stead. now, reader, do not suppose i deemed it at all derogatory to medical authority that pumpkin-seed tea should be proposed by a weak and silly mother for a darling daughter. such a feeling as that would have placed me on the same level of human folly that she herself occupied. on the contrary, a medical man of any considerable experience among the sick and the friends of the sick, should think himself exceedingly fortunate when nothing worse is suggested by ignorance for his patients than _pumpkin-seed tea_! chapter xli. broken limbs and intemperance. wrestling for amusement, in the region where i practised medicine, was a very common occurrence, and certainly had its advantages. but there was one drawback upon its excellence, except to physicians. it involved a good deal of bone-breaking. one famous wrestler with whom i was well acquainted, broke, for his neighbors, an arm and a collar-bone; and in the end almost broke his own neck. he certainly injured it to an extent from which there was never an entire recovery. i shall mention him in another place. for more or fewer of these broken bones from wrestling, i was called on to prescribe. one case in particular may be worth a few moments' attention, especially as it brings with it certain medical confessions. i was sent for one evening, about nine o'clock, to visit a young man who had been injured, as it was said, by wrestling. on my arrival, i found him in great distress. he had delayed sending for aid so long that there was much inflammation, and consequent heat, swelling, tenderness, and pain. it was not easy, at first, to ascertain the exact character of the fractures; but on inquiry and examination, it appeared that while the patient was resting nearly or quite his whole weight on the fractured leg, his antagonist had struck or tripped with his foot so violently as to fracture both bones a little way above the ankle. it was rather a trying-case to me--for as yet i was, in the art of surgery, a mere tyro. but it was a case which would not admit of much delay; for the inflammation, already sufficiently great, was rapidly increasing. nor would it do long to hesitate from mere modesty. i was among a class of people, who would, as i well knew, construe modesty, even though it should chance to be, as sometimes it is, an accompaniment of true science, into sheer ignorance; and this would deprive me, as a physician, of my principal lever. for who can lift up the down-fallen without having their full confidence. but i must explain. my patient with the fractured leg, though not in the usual acceptation of the term a drunkard, was, nevertheless, in the habit of drinking more or less of ardent spirit; and there were not wanting those who believed he was pretty well heated with liquor at the time his leg was broken. but, however this may have been, his frequent and excessive use of spirituous liquors had rendered his blood exceedingly impure; and i could not help shrinking, at first, from the task of having charge of him. yet, it was a war from which there was no honorable discharge. there was no other surgeon within a reasonable distance, and why should i refuse to do my best for him? somebody must assist him; and though the case was a troublesome one, why should i not take my share of troublesome cases among the rest? there was another consideration. as he was poor, any thing like reluctance would have been construed into a willingness to neglect him on account of his poverty--a suspicion from which i should, at that time, have shrunk as readily as from the charge of robbery or murder. but his associates were worse than he; and, with the exception of his own immediate relations, not an individual would be likely to call on or proffer him aid who was not half or two thirds of the time steeped in spirits. has the surgeon or physician, in such circumstances, much reason to hope? and what is the hope of his patient? can he reasonably expect, even with the aid of a skilful surgeon, ever to have a good leg? however, i did my duty, according to my best knowledge. i had the man laid in a proper position, then placed the divided bones as nearly in their natural position as possible, and bound them. i confess, here, to very great ignorance. moreover, i repeat, it was a difficult case. and yet i think i succeeded very well for a beginner. having properly placed the fractured bones and detained them there by suitable means, i gave due orders concerning the patient's management and treatment. i was particularly careful to interdict all stimulating or indigestible food, and all drink but water. my directions were written down with great care, and the strictest charge was given to his friends and family to see that they were faithfully regarded. but, alas, for the best person in the world with such attendants! whenever his wife took care of him, things went on very well; but in other instances, almost every thing went wrong. his attendants gave him rum, opium, laudanum, or almost any thing that he called for. it is true--and i mention it to his credit--that he was often rather moderate in his use of interdicted articles; but then he took just about enough of these unnatural or extra stimulants, to prevent the healing process from going forward as fast as in a man of only thirty years might have been expected. instead of being on his feet in a couple of months or so, he lay on his bed three months or more. and then, instead of having a good leg, it was not merely slightly crooked, but half an inch too short. and then, in addition,--and what was very hard to endure,--he charged the whole blame of its imperfection on the surgeon, and insisted that it was not "set" right! now, while i confess to much awkwardness, and to the possibility that the limb was not managed as well as it might have been, i must maintain, notwithstanding, that such a charge was wholly misplaced and even gratuitous. had he employed the best surgeon in the world, and had the leg received the best possible attention, it could not have been kept in its proper place with so much distilled spirits in the house, and so many slaves of the bottle! one might almost as well expect a leg to heal in the nether pit. though i have never said, either by way of retaliating the abuse or otherwise, that his punishment was richly merited, i _might_ have said so. a man is hardly entitled to good health and a good frame who keeps such company as he did, whether in sickness or in health. god has so connected law and penalty, that he who should complain of the penalty would but insult the law given. many cases of petty surgery as well as of severe and complicated disease, fell to my lot, which embarrassed me in a manner not unlike the foregoing; though in no one did i suffer quite so much from misrepresentation as in this. for at least twenty years, to my certain knowledge, my patient took pains to speak of me in terms of reproach, and to say that his leg was set badly; and all without the slightest evidence. i do not positively aver, i again say, that the surgery in the case was faultless; but whether it was so or not, neither he nor any living individual could know, unless it were a more skilful surgeon than myself; and no such surgeon, i am sure, ever saw him during the time i was in attendance. chapter xlii. dying from mere filthiness. the family of a wealthy farmer came under my hands, as physician, one autumn, in circumstances peculiarly painful and trying. several of them had been taken suddenly and severely sick, and one or two were almost dead before they were fairly aroused to a sense of danger. they lived, however, quite remote from any village, and were strongly prejudiced against both physicians and medicine. but a fearful foe, in the shape of typhoid dysentery, now assailed them, and handled them so roughly that they laid aside their prejudices for the moment, and cried aloud for help. i was soon on the spot, but, oh, what a scene presented itself! as i have more than intimated, two of the family were already beyond hope. others seemed likely to die. what was to be done for them, as i saw plainly, must be done quickly. on nearly every countenance i met with, both within the family and beyond its precincts, were the marks of consternation, and on some, of despair. in these circumstances--for desperate cases require a desperate remedy--i sought the counsels of an older physician. he came immediately and took a survey of the dreadful field of slaughter. on retiring with him for consultation, he immediately said; "there must be some local cause or causes for all this. have you," he added, "been into the cellar?" when i replied in the negative, he said, "then we must go there immediately." on speaking to the lady of the house, who was among the sick, by the way of asking permission, she objected, and with a good deal of promptitude and spirit. however, she at length yielded, and we made a thorough examination. the results of this examination were such as to confirm our suspicions. "we need not search further for the causes of a deadly disease," said dr. b., and i thought so too. i have said already that the family was wealthy; but wealth need not include negligence, and still more filth. it was now september; and i am quite of opinion that the cellar had not been cleaned in one year, perhaps not in two. i had seen many farmers' cellars before, but i had never seen such an one as this. nor do i believe my consulting physician ever had, though he was some twenty years older in medical practice than myself. nor am i certain that what i may state will appear to you wholly reliable. in the first place there were, in abundance, cabbage leaves and stumps in a semi-putrid state. next there were decayed potatoes, turnips, beets, and apples. then there were in various parts of the cellar remnants of cider and vinegar, and cider lees--the latter in a most offensive condition. finally, there were remnants of barrels of beef and pork, in a bad state--to say nothing of other casual filth--the whole contributing to such a stench as i had never before perceived in a cellar. the old physician who accompanied me had said, "we need not go farther;" but our determination was, on full and mature reflection, to know the worst and the whole, and we governed ourselves accordingly. close to one corner of the kitchen was the well, the water in which was very low, and near to that the sink. and if the contents of the sink did not find their way, from day to day, into the well, thus adding impurity to putridity, it must have been in virtue of some unknown law which stood opposed to the great law of specific gravity and attraction. it is true that many speak of the earth as having a _cleansing_ power in such cases; but i know of no power which it possesses of cleaning sink water, while the latter is passing only five or six feet through it. the coarser parts may be strained out, but the essence must remain.[f] but our work was not yet finished. the vault, greatly neglected, was not far from the well; and so of the pigsty. nor was it easy to resist the conviction that there was an underground communication between them. then, finally, the house instead of standing on an elevation, greater or less,--a very common mode of building in new england,--stood in a sort of concavity, which contained also the barn and barnyard and woodpile;--connected with both of which was a large amount of decayed and decaying animal and vegetable matter. now after such a review as this, he who could remain in doubt with regard to the cause of existing disease, especially on its assuming the form of bowel complaint with typhoid tendencies, must be much more ignorant of the laws of health and disease than i was. in fact the signs were unmistakable. we immediately made our report to the heads of the family, and recommended a most thorough cleansing, at once. it was easy to see that we gave great offence; indeed we had anticipated such a result. but we were not at all intimidated. we insisted on a work of immediate expurgation, which was finally effected, only we could not put pure water into the well. but we could and did require that the well water should not be used for any thing except washing clothes. the result was a decided and almost immediate improvement in the condition of the family, except the two already spoken of, and a very young child. these three died. some of the rest lingered for weeks, and one or two for months; but they finally recovered. it is worthy of remark, moreover, that of the people of the neighborhood, though they had been excessively frightened and had not at first dared to come near the house, at least without holding their breath, not a person among them sickened. the disease began and ended over the foul cellar i have mentioned; nor has a similar disease ever since broken out there. the fair presumption is, that they have never since suffered such foul accumulations to remain through the hot season, on their premises. my honest and truly honorable course of conduct, in this instance, cost me something. though i was a means of saving their lives, the survivors never thanked me for the exposure i made of their slovenliness. perhaps i was wrong in reporting it abroad; but it was next to impossible to conceal the facts; and i, for once, did not attempt it. physicians sometimes thus stand between the living and the dead, and must expect to give offence. they are, however, in duty bound to keep the secrets of their patients' faults as long as they can, unless the greater good of the public demands an exposition. but while i lost reputation in this particular family, i have not a doubt that i gained a strong hold, by this adventure, on the public mind and feelings. in truth, despite of even some trifling errors, i deserved it. i had, moreover, during the adventure, acquired a good deal of practical knowledge, of which, in the progress of my course as a medical man, i was glad to avail myself. this was doubtless an extreme case of disease from filthiness; but cases of the same general character are quite numerous. i have sometimes wished the public could have a history of these cases. there is an immense amount of neglect in the departments of cleanliness and ventilation; and the consequent suffering in the various forms of disease, is in similar degree and proportion. i will conclude this chapter with a single anecdote, which, were it necessary, could be substantiated by a very great number of living witnesses. some fifteen or twenty years ago, a severe disease was accustomed to visit one of our new england factory villages, and to carry off more or fewer of its inhabitants. so regular and certain were its yearly visits and ravages, that not a few were disposed to regard it as a sort of necessary evil, or, perhaps, as a divine infliction. at length a very shrewd old gentleman told the people that the troublesome visitor was of human and not of divine origin; and that if they would attend properly to their cellars, sleeping-rooms, wells, etc., it would no more be heard of. at first, they were disposed to laugh at him; but the matter was talked of and agitated, till a work of general purgation was actually attempted and finally accomplished. the disease has never re-appeared. was all this the result of mere accident? do our diseases spring out of the ground? are they the result of chance or hap-hazard? or, are they not the heaven-appointed penalties of transgression? footnotes: [f] farmers, in former times, while making cider, were very slovenly. when i observed a large amount of filth adhering to their boots and shoes as they carried the pumice from the vat to the press, i thought of the worms, insects, and dust, which were ground up and incorporated with the mass, i sometimes expressed surprise. "oh," said they, "the cider will work itself clean!" if so, i thought, and still think, it must be by the operation of some law not yet discovered. it may work itself _clear_, perhaps; but to work itself _clean_, is quite another matter. chapter xliii. taking the fever. a large family, not much more careful of their habits or cleanly about their premises than the family alluded to in the foregoing chapter, had sickened one autumn, and one of them had died. anxious to save the rest, i again acted as physician and nurse both, and effected my object; or, at least, appeared to do so. the rest of my patients ultimately recovered. but while thus watching these patients, by night and day, standing in the very front of the battle, i suddenly sickened. the circumstances, as nearly as i can recollect them, were the following:---- among the sick of this afflicted family was one unmarried man of rather eccentric and very unsociable habits, and exceedingly negligent both of his person and dress. his linen, and i think also his bed-clothes, were hardly changed once a month; at least as long as he was well. and then he had, of course, extended the same neglect to his sick chamber. added to this, moreover, was a species of _necessity_ at this juncture; for so much distressed were the family, and so difficult was it to procure aid in the neighborhood, that a part of the neglect to which our old bachelor was subjected seemed unavoidable. i took notice of the neglect, spoke of it repeatedly, and labored assiduously to correct the evil. but the case seemed an almost forlorn one. i was morally obliged, as i then felt, to do a thousand things for him that usually fall to the lot of nurses and assistants. in some instances, i passed even whole nights in the family, in attendance on him and the other sick persons. my task was the more severe from the fact that a similar fever was prevailing in other parts of the town, and my labors beyond the precincts of this family were exceedingly fatiguing and severe. in truth, i was, in the end, greatly overworked and debilitated, and my system most admirably prepared for the reception of disease. for various reasons, some of which, have already been named, i often assisted in turning my bachelor-patient in his foul bed. it is true the process was so offensive that i avoided it whenever i could; but on occasions, i yielded to the pressure of necessity. one night, when i was greatly fatigued and exhausted, and at the bottom of my condition,--utterly unfit for exertion, even in a pure atmosphere,--i was stooping over mr. v., to turn him in his bed, when i suddenly felt a sensation like that of receiving a blow externally on the chest and stomach. the thought struck me as quickly as the imaginary blow did--have i not taken the disease? i knew the laws of contagion; the only question was whether any contagion had been generated. my opinion was to the contrary; nevertheless, i could not wholly suppress my fears. a sensation of oppression which followed the imaginary blow, soon gradually passed away, though i felt, each succeeding day, more and more debilitated. many a resolution was made to leave my patients, so far as personal manual care was concerned, and be much more than i had been, in the open air, though it was only made for a time--to be broken. at length, however, principle prevailed over sympathy and inclination, and i did as i ought to have done long before. it was, however, rather late, for the die was already cast. i was taken sick, and the symptoms of my disease were precisely like those of mr. v. perceiving now, most clearly, my condition, and that i was engaged in a war from which there could be no discharge, i made preparation for a long and severe sickness. first, i calmly and deliberately adjusted all my domestic concerns of a pecuniary kind, and made such arrangements as would, in case of my demise, render every thing intelligible. then, in the second place, i made up my mind to submit, as cheerfully as i could, to my condition. i determined to keep quiet, and not indulge for a moment in any undue anxiety. i employed a physician,--my old master--but steadfastly, and almost obstinately determined not to take much medicine;--nor was there much prescribed. my disease proved to be much milder than was expected; but it had its regular course. i never wholly lost my muscular strength or my appetite. while i was sick, several of my nearest friends and patrons sickened in a similar way, only more severely; and one or two of them died. on my recovery, however, or about the same time, the most of them began also to recover, and the disease in general abated. now, when i came to reflect coolly and carefully on the whole affair, i could not help perceiving that i richly deserved all i suffered. it was the just penalty of transgression. i had been fully and repeatedly warned not to watch with my patients, as those who turn back to chapter xxiii, and those too who remember its contents, will perceive. it was fit, therefore, that i should feel the rod, even if i could not kiss the hand that had appointed it. the only wonder with me now is, that my punishment was not more severe. chapter xliv. blessings of cider and cider brandy. some of these blessings have been alluded to in chapter xxxvi. but the subject is one of too much importance to be left in an unfinished state, and i have concluded to make it the principal topic of a separate chapter. a man came to me, one day, with sundry grievous complaints about his head and stomach. it was easy to see, at once, that they were not of mushroom growth, and that they could not be removed either in an hour or a day. however, i did the best i could with him, and charged him to follow, implicitly, my directions, which he promised faithfully to do. i told him, even, that he was in danger of a severe disease, but counselled him to do his utmost to escape it, if possible. he was, in the first place, a new england or yankee farmer. not quite satisfied with the products of his farm from the labors of the day, he coupled with them the night labors of managing a saw-mill and a distillery. and not satisfied with even these, he sometimes burned charcoal, which also involved more or less of nocturnal labor. in truth, these employments and avocations kept him up a great many nights during a considerable portion of the year, and were evidently wearing him out prematurely; for, though less than forty years of age, he had the appearance of being fifty or sixty. this severe tasking of his system, had led him greatly into temptation. not only had he acquired the habit of chewing tobacco, as a solace in his seclusion and toil, but also of drinking very freely of cider and cider brandy; the last two of which, as might naturally be inferred from what has been said, he was accustomed to manufacture in large quantities. he was not a great eater, though i have no doubt he ate too much. but he did not take time to eat--he did not masticate any thing; almost every thing was swallowed in masses, and washed down with tea, coffee, or cider. then, lastly and finally, he ate, as it were, by the job, when he _did_ eat; for his meals were very irregular and sometimes very infrequent. another thing should be noticed. his cider and perhaps his tobacco, having leagued together, took away his appetite. cider, as is well known, practically and in a gradual way, takes away the appetite, and so does coffee. many a farmer will tell you that it is a matter of economy to give his laborers cider or coffee, since they will not eat so much. it is highly probable that brandy, and indeed all extra stimulants, have the same appetite-destroying effect. and as the result of his various irregularities and abuses, his digestive and nervous systems had become very much deranged and disordered, and i could hardly help foreboding evil concerning him. i prescribed for him as well as i could, and requested him to call on me in two or three days, and "report progress." on the next day but one, i was summoned to his bedside. my medicine had indeed appeared to afford him a little temporary relief, but it was only temporary. he was now much worse than ever before. i prescribed again; but it was with similar effect. nature, somewhat relieved, as i then vainly imagined, seemed disposed to rally, but was unable. every successive effort to rally, showed more and more clearly how much she had been crippled. at least she seemed to succumb either to the treatment or the disease, which last became in the end quite formidable. but though nature had yielded, apparently vanquished, she still made occasional faint efforts, every two or three days, to regain the supremacy, or, in other words, to set things right; and sometimes we were led to indulge in hope. but the remissions of disease and of suffering were only temporary, and were succeeded, in every instance, by a worse condition of things than before. i called for sage medical counsel, but all to no permanent purpose. downward he tended, step by step, and no human power or skill seemed likely to arrest his progress. in this downward course his constitution held out--for he was by nature exceedingly tenacious of life--till about the twenty-third day, when the vital forces began to retreat. he died on the twenty-fifth. one practical but general error deserves to be noticed, for want of a better place, in this very connection. notwithstanding the great difficulty of convincing a person who habitually uses extra stimulants, narcotics, or any medicinal agents, all the way from rum, opium, and tobacco, down to tea, coffee, and saleratus, that they are injuring him at all, as long as he does not feel very ill, yet it ought to be clearly and fully known that every one who is thus addicted to unnatural habits, and _being_ thus addicted is seized with disease of any kind and from any cause whatever, is certain to have that disease with greater severity than if his habits had been, from the first, perfectly correct or normal. nor is this all. medical aid, whenever invoked under these circumstances, is more questionable as to its good tendencies. no medical man of any skill or observation but must feel, in such a case, most painfully, the terrible uncertainty of that treatment of the living machine which is quite enough so when the habits have been most favorable, by being most correct. one caution of quite another kind may be interposed here. my patient above had neglected to call on me for several days in the beginning of his disease, under the very general impression of ignorant people, that if he called a physician he should certainly be severely sick; for if he was not already very sick, any efforts to prevent disease would only serve to make him so. now this is, as a general rule, a very great mistake. it would be much more safe to call a physician very early, than to wait till nature is so much embarrassed and even crippled that we can place very little reliance on her efforts. worse still is it for the physician, when called late, to load down the enfeebled system with medicine by way of atoning for past neglects. thousands have made the mistake here alluded to, and have thus been a means of hastening on a fatal termination of the disease. it is not by any means improbable that such was the result in the foregoing instance. chapter xlv. the indian doctor. a little child about two years of age, severely afflicted with bowel complaint, came under my care during the first year of my medical practice, and proved the source of much difficulty. she was the child of a mother who had been trained to delicacies, in the usual fashionable way, and who had begun to carry out the same wretched course of education in her own family. in addition to a generally wrong treatment, the child had been indulged, for many weeks before i was called, with a large amount of green, or at least very unripe, fruit. it was at a season of the year when both children and adults were suffering from bowel complaints much more than at any other; but as the hot days and nights were expected soon to give way to the cooler and longer nights of october, i fastened my hopes of the child's final recovery, very largely, on the natural recuperative effects of the autumnal season. i did not attempt to give much medicine. my reliance was almost wholly on keeping up what i was wont to call a good centrifugal force, or in keeping the skin--the great safety valve of the system--in proper and healthful activity. much that i ordered was in the way of bathing, local and general, especially warm bathing. the parents of the child were among my most confidential, not to say influential, friends. if there was a family within the whole of my medical circuit with whom my word was law, it was this. yet after all they were ignorant, especially of themselves; and such people always were and always will be credulous. they would open their ears, not only to the thousand and one insinuations of malice and envy, which at times are ventured against a young physician,--especially if he is going ahead, and as they say "getting rich" too fast, and thus securing more than they believe to be his share of public popularity;--but to the still larger number, if possible, of weak criticisers in his practice. my friend's residence, moreover, was in a neighborhood contiguous to quacks and quackery, in the pretensions to which there were many believers. these dupes of ignorance and assurance were ever and anon filling the heads of my "patrons" with their stories of wonderful cures, in cases almost _exactly like that of my own little patient_, and urging the poor half-distracted parents to try something new--either medicine or physician. they would appeal to their feelings by asking them how they could be willing, as parents,--however great might be their confidence in me as a physician,--to let a darling child lie, day after day, and yet make no extra effort to save it. their appeals were not wholly ineffective; indeed, what else could have been expected? my first suspicion of any thing radically wrong, arose from a decidedly unexpected effect from a little medicine i had previously ordered. it seemed quite clear to my mind that a neutralizing agent had been at work somehow, by design or otherwise. and yet i shrunk from making an inquiry. in the end, however, i found myself morally compelled to do so. the results were very nearly what i had feared, and what might have been expected. one of the _reliabilities_ of the wise ones of the neighborhood went by the name of the "indian" doctor. whether in addition to a very little indian blood he was half or three-fourths spanish, portuguese, or canadian, i never knew, for i never took pains to inquire. but he had indian habits. he was at times intemperate and vicious. no one who knew him would have trusted him with a sixpence of his own honest earnings, at least any longer than he was within his sight or reach. yet many people would and did trust him with their own lives and the lives of their children. there was one redeeming circumstance in connection with the history of this indian doctor. he would never prescribe for the sick when in a state of intoxication. he knew, in this respect, his own weakness. but then it must be confessed he was not often free from intoxication. he was almost always steeped in cider or spirits. he was seldom, if ever, properly a sane or even a steady man. on pressing the parents of the sick child more closely than usual, they frankly owned that though they had not of themselves called in the indian doctor, they had permitted mrs. a. b. to invite him in, and had permitted the child to take a little of his medicine. the secret was now fully revealed, and it was no longer a matter of wonder with me, why poison did not work well against poison. the wonder was why, together, we had not killed the poor child. and yet it was by no means certain that the indian's prescription was of much force, save the few drops of alcohol which it contained, for all his medicine was to be taken in alcohol. i stated to the parents the probable issues--that unless the child possessed more than ordinary tenacity of life, it must ultimately sink under the load it was compelled to sustain. but to our great surprise--certainly my own--it survived; and, though it was suspended for weeks between life and death, it finally recovered. the most mortifying circumstance of all was, that this miserable mongrel of a man had the credit of curing a child that only survived because it was tough and strong enough to resist the destructive tendency of two broadside fires--mine and his own. but medical men are compelled to put up with a great many things which, of course, they would not prefer. they must take the world as it is--as the world does the corps of physicians. they must calculate for deductions and drawbacks; and what they calculate on, they are pretty sure to experience. but, like other men with other severe trials, they have their reward. chapter xlvi. dying of old age, at fifty-eight. within the usual limits assigned me in the daily routine of my profession, but on its very verge, there resided an individual of much general reputation for worth of character, but of feeble constitution and cachetic or deranged habits, for whom as well as for his numerous family i had frequently prescribed. he was at length, one autumn, unusually reduced in health and strength, and i was again sent for. there was evidently very little of real disease about him, and yet there was very great debility. all his bodily senses were greatly deranged, and all his intellectual faculties benumbed. his internal machinery--his breathing, circulation, and digestion--was all affected; but it seemed more the result of debility than any thing else. there was no violence or excess of action anywhere, except a slight increase of the circulation. the man was about fifty-eight years of age. had he been ninety-eight or even eighty-eight, i should have had no difficulty in understanding his case. i should have said to myself, "nature, nearly exhausted by the wear and tear of life, is about to give way;" or in other words, "the man is about to did (?die) of mere old age." but could he have been thus worn out at the age of fifty-eight? i gave him gentle, tonic medicine, but it did not work well. without increasing his strength, it increased his tendencies to fever. yet, as i well knew, depletion would not answer in a case like this, whether of bleeding, blistering, or cathartics. in these circumstances, i contrived to while away the time in a routine of that negative character which, in true medical language, means laboriously doing nothing. he was visited about twice a week. i heard patiently all his complaints, and endeavored to be patient under all my disappointments, for disappointments i had to encounter at nearly every step. no active treatment whatever would have the general effect i desired and intended. if i gave him but a single dose of elixir paregoric for his nervousness, it only added, nine times in ten, to the very woes it was intended to relieve. my policy--and i fully believe it was the only true policy--was to leave him to himself and to nature, as much as possible. though i have spoken here of what i regarded as the true policy in the case then under my care, yet, after all, the truest course would have been to call for consultation some wiser head than my own. another individual, even though he were no wiser than i, might have aided me most essentially, in compliance with, and in confirmation of, the good old adage--"two eyes see more than one." why, then, did i not call on some inquiring and highly experienced physician? it was not that i was too proud to do so, nor that i was too jealous of my reputation. it was not that i feared any evil result to myself. it was rather because i did not, at first, think it really necessary; and then, subsequently, when i supposed it to be really needful, i feared my patient would grudge the expense. this fear, by the way, was grounded in something more than mere conjecture. the proposal had been practically made, and had been rejected. in this general way things went on for some time. the friends grew uneasy, as they should have done; and one or two of them, now that it was almost too late, spoke of another physician as counsel. my own readiness and more than readiness for this seemed to have the effect to quiet the patient, though it had the contrary effect on his friends. they appeared to construe my own liberality and the admixture of modesty and conscientiousness, which were conspicuous in my general behavior, into self-distrust, and hence began themselves to distrust me. the patient's state of mind--for he was a man whose habits of thinking and feeling approximated very closely to those of the miser--more than once reminded me of some doggerel verses i have seen, perhaps in an old almanac, which are so pertinent in illustration of the point in my patient's character which these remarks are intended to expose, that i have ventured to insert them:-- "the miser sherdi, on his sick-bed lying, affrighted, groaning, fainting, wheezing, dying, expecting every hour to lose his breath, enters a dervise: 'holy father, say, as life seems parting from this sinful clay, what can preserve me from the jaws of death?' "'sacrifice, dear son, good joints of meat,-- of lamb and mutton for the priest and poor. nay, shouldst thou from the koran lines repeat, those lines might possibly thy health restore,' "'thank you, good father, you have said enough; your counsels have already given me ease. now as my sheep are all a great way off, i'll quote holy our koran, if you please.'" at length my patient began, most evidently, to decline. there were various marks on him and in him, of approaching dissolution. when pressed, as i frequently was, to say definitely what the disease was--that is, to give it a name--under which mr. ---- labored, i only replied that he was suffering from premature old age. this always awakened surprise, and led to much and frequent inquiry how it was that a man of fifty-eight years could be dying of mere old age. my explanations, whenever attempted,--for sometimes in my pride of profession i wholly evaded them,--were usually, in substance like the following:-- "mr. ---- was feeble by inheritance. he never had that firmness of constitution which several of his brothers now possess. then, too, he was precocious. his body and mind, both of them, came to maturity very early; which, as you know, always betokens premature decay. men live about four times as long, when not cut short by disease, as they are in reaching maturity. as he was apparently mature at fourteen or fifteen, he might very naturally be expected to wear out at or before sixty. "but then, in addition to this, he has all his lifetime labored too hard, not only from necessity, but from habit and choice. his ambition, it is well known, has been unlimited, except by his want of strength to accomplish. he has only ceased to labor hard when he had strength to labor no longer, or when it was so dark or so cold or so stormy as to prevent him. "then of late years he has had the care and anxiety which are almost inseparable from the work of bringing up a numerous family. it is indeed true that he has not been called to that severest of all possible trials pertaining to the family, the pain of seeing that family or any of its members go materially wrong. still he has had a world of care; of its effects none are aware who have not been called to the same forms of experience. "there is one thing more; mr. ---- has, at times, taken a good deal of medicine: not alcohol, in any of its forms, i admit, but substances which for the time were, in their effects, almost equally bad for him. he has used tea immoderately, and even tobacco. his constant smoking has been very injurious to his nervous system, and along with other things has, doubtless, greatly hurried on the wheels of life." remarks like these had their intended effect on a few individuals, especially such of them as were couched in language with which they were already familiar. on most, however, they fell lifeless and hopeless. what knew they about precocity and its effects on the after life? in short, it was quite doubtful then, and is still more doubtful with me now, whether, on the whole, any thing was gained by attempts at explanation. for example, when i spoke of my patient being worn out, prematurely, by overworking, it was asked by one man, "but how is this? other men as well as mr. ---- have worked too hard, and brought up large families, and perhaps taken a great deal of medicine, and smoked a vast amount of tobacco? why are they not affected in this way as well as mr. ----?" it was not easy to make current the idea that mr. ---- was about to die of old age; although partly from conviction, but partly, also, to conceal my ignorance, i still endeavored to promulgate it. it was the only apology i could make for suffering a man to run down and die, without appearing to those around him to be very sick. but he died, after some time, to my infinite mortification and great regret. i was invited to his funeral, as i was usually to the funerals of my patients. in this case, however, i contrived to be absent. so great was my consciousness of ignorance and so much ashamed was i of my ill success, that i felt as if the veriest ignoramus would be disposed to point at me, and to charge me with having been, practically, the murderer of the much-beloved head of a family, and a worthy and highly respected member of society. but, whether others would deem me culpable for my ignorance or not, i could not avoid the pangs of habitual condemnation. there were, i grant, a few extenuating circumstances in the case. one or two causes existed, of premature decline, on which, in a work like this, i cannot stop to expatiate. it was also very unfortunate for him that he was accustomed to look on the dark side of things, and to forebode ills, where, oftentimes, none existed. notwithstanding my former ignorance and doubt, and numerous misgivings, in cases like the foregoing, i have of late years, on a maturer review, been obliged very frequently to confirm my earlier decisions. in the case which has been detailed in this chapter, i have, on the whole, come to a belief that my first judgment was nearly correct; and that the patient actually perished, as much as men ever do, of premature old age. it is, indeed, very possible that had i pursued a different course in several important particulars, his life might have been prolonged for a year or two. men have a tendency to become what they are taken to be; and many a person has died much sooner for being taken to be near his end, and treated accordingly. if we would have our patients recover, we must take for granted that recovery is at least possible. in the case above, i believe i lost reputation, in large measure. several shrewd people insisted, at the time and long afterward, that i ought to have had medical counsel. mr. ----, they said, was too good a man to lose without a more persevering effort to raise him. they charged me with having got my name up, and having at the same time grown careless. had he been properly doctored, they said, from the very first, they believed he might still have been alive to ornament and bless society. chapter xlvii. daughters destroying their mother. there are, of course, many ways of destroying or killing people. to kill, with malice aforethought, though sometimes done, is a much less frequent occurrence than killing in the heat of passion, or by carelessness; by leading into bad habits, or by the injudicious use of medicine. then, again, there is such a thing as killing by omitting to keep alive. thus we have sins of omission as well as of commission. if i leave a man in a mill-pond and suffer him to drown, or if i suffer him to take a dose of arsenic or prussic acid, when i might, with the utmost ease, or even with considerable difficulty, prevent it,--is it not, in a practical sense, to destroy or kill him? it is certainly within the wide range of human possibility, that a daughter may, without bludgeon or pistol, and even without poison, kill her mother. and it is quite notorious and a plain matter of fact that many a mother kills her own children. it could be demonstrated that thousands, if not tens of thousands of children are destroyed every year by their own mothers; as truly so as if they had received at their hands a quantity of arsenic. why, then, may not children sometimes kill their parents? i have known people, in very many instances, kill, in trying to save. i have even known the medical man do this, as may be seen by turning back to chapter xxx. then, too, i have known the attendants of the sick, though among their dearest friends, sometimes kill in this very way. in truth, such killing is not uncommon. one of the most painful instances of this last kind of killing came under my own immediate observation, and was in the range of my own practice. i was visiting a sick woman, whose only property lay in three or four lovely and loving children. two of these, who were full-grown daughters, resided in her house and took care of her. she was severely afflicted with typhoid dysentery. her daughters in turn watched over her, both by day and night, and would not suffer her to be left in the care of anybody else for a single minute. and, in general, their faithfulness was above all praise. one day, however, disliking the appearances of a part of my medicine, they mutually agreed to throw it into the fire; and the deed was done. they had supposed it to be calomel, as it had the color and general appearance of that drug, and to calomel they had a most inveterate and irreconcilable hatred. it was a hatred, however, which whether well or ill founded, very extensively prevails. at first, i could not help wondering at the results of my supposed doses of medicine; and indeed it was a long time before i began to suspect the true cause. for, while i verily believed i was employing the only thing which could help her,--one which i then thought _ought_ to help her,--i had the unspeakable mortification of finding her every day growing worse. what could be the possible cause, i often asked myself, of this downward tendency? while thus perplexed and pained, i accidentally learned that the main ingredient in my plan of treatment--the main pillar in my fabric--had been habitually withdrawn by her anxious but injudicious attendants. i no longer wondered at the threatening symptoms. my only wonder was, that things had not gone wrong with her at a much more rapid rate. the patient continued to sink from day to day, and to become more and more insensible. the daughters themselves saw her downward tendency, for it could not be concealed. i did not tell the young women of their error at first, although i did so afterwards. it was a most painful duty, but it was one from which i dared not shrink. i hoped and trusted it would be a means of saving some among the coming generations. i have never met with either of these daughters since that day--for one of them, at least, is still living--without blushing for their sake. they, on their part, appear to be equally affected and agitated. they almost adored their mother, and yet they inadvertently destroyed her. she might have perished, it is true, without their aid; but i rather think she would have slowly recovered. let him that readeth understand: it is extremely hazardous for a second or third person to change the doses of a physician's medicine, either by the omission or addition of an ingredient. it would be safer--very much safer--to omit every thing, and leave the disease wholly to nature. the true course, however, in all cases, is to follow the prescription of the physician, to the best of our abilities, or else dismiss him. i might pause here a moment to animadvert on the unreasonableness of the vulgar prejudice which almost everywhere prevails against calomel. that this drug does great harm, in many instances, is most certain; but that it does more mischief to the human constitution when in the hands of judicious practitioners, than some half a dozen articles of the _materia medica_ i could name, about which complaint is seldom made, remains to be proved. let us, if possible, prevent the necessity of using any of these two-edged weapons, by so living that disease cannot assail us, and then we shall not, of necessity, be exposed to the danger of medicinal agents, whether calomel or any thing else. my own principal error in relation to this interesting case, consisted in not telling the attendants of the sick woman, in the plainest language, what my medicines were and how much, in my own estimation, depended on their careful and proper exhibition; that if they should take away or suffer to be taken away, one faggot from the bundle, they would not only spoil their effect, but might, very probably, turn the edge of the sword against the very citadel of life itself. but from the extreme of explaining every thing, in sick families where i was called, i had passed over to that of explaining nothing. truth here, as elsewhere, usually lies midway between extremes. chapter xlviii. poisoning with stramonium. one of my patients was subject to repeated attacks of rheumatism. he was by no means a man of good and temperate habits, and never had been so. and even his rheumatic attacks, though they were now frequently excited by taking cold, or by a sudden strain, as well as by many other causes of no considerable magnitude, often had both a foundation or predisposition in his former and later intemperance. let me here say, most distinctly and unequivocally, even at the risk of being charged with repetition, that a large proportion of even these casual or apparently accidental attacks of rheumatism, neuralgia, sick headache, etc., etc., with which our world--the fashionable part of it, at least--is half filled, instead of springing out of the ground, or coming upon us by the special appointment of high heaven, have their origin in the intemperance, excess, or licentiousness of somebody. the cause may lie many years back, and may be almost forgotten; nay, it may be found in a preceding generation rather than the present. but it lies somewhere in the range of human agency. "almighty man," as the poet has well said, "decrees it." solomon never uttered a more palpable truth than when he said: "because sentence against an evil work is not executed speedily, therefore the heart of the sons of men is fully set in them to do evil." my rheumatic friend sent for me one day, to come and see him in great haste, for, as the messenger said, he could not long continue in such suffering. i found him in the greatest distress, and after making the usual temporary applications, i gave him what i had never given him before--a pretty full dose of tincture of stramonium. it had, in due time, its accustomed effect, and i left him, rather prematurely, to visit another patient in a somewhat distant part of the town, intending, however, to see him again in the evening. but i had not been absent more than an hour, before i was sent for in post-haste. as soon as possible i hastened to the spot. i found my patient in a state somewhat peculiar and not easily described. he was evidently affected by the stramonium; but how, i said to myself, can this be? i certainly did not give him an overdose. besides, as i well knew, the effects, so long as i remained with him, had been decidedly favorable. the mystery was soon revealed. on finding himself much better, soon after my departure, he had resorted again to the stramonium bottle, which in my haste and contrary to my usual practice, i had left within his reach. the result was a degree of delirium that had alarmed his friends and induced them to send for me. by means of careful and persevering management, a partial recovery soon took place, though a train of incidental evils followed which it is not necessary here to enumerate. the patient was one of those ignorant and selfish individuals on whom a permanent cure can rarely be effected. this circumstance taught me one important lesson which ought to have been impressed on my mind long before. it was, not to leave medicine of any kind within reach of my patients or their friends. in many an instance, medicine thus left has been taken by others, under the belief that since it operated favorably in the case for which it had been prescribed by the physician, it would do so in another case which was vainly supposed to be just like it, when, in truth, it was not at all similar. to the custom of keeping medicine in the house, of any sort, i am equally opposed, and for similar reasons. there will generally be time enough to send for it when its presence is really needed. such at least is the fact, ninety-nine times in a hundred. and as a set-off against the fact of its being thus useful once in a hundred times, we have to acknowledge the multiplied dangers to which we are exposed, of using it without prescription, and to which we are otherwise exposed by having it constantly before us in our houses. chapter xlix. curing cancer. theodore, a laborious young man, came to me one day, saying, "i am afraid i have a cancer on one side of my nose, and i wish you would look at it." accordingly i made a careful examination of the sore, taking care to give him a little pain, and, at the same time, as a most indispensable ingredient, to look "wondrous wise;" after which the following conversation, in its essentials, took place between us:-- "what makes you suspect this sore to be a cancer?" "there are various reasons. many of the neighbors think it to be so. then, too, it has a very strong resemblance to the cancer on mrs. miller's lip. and then, again, it burns and itches and smarts, just as people say cancers always do." "how long have you been troubled with it?" "it is three months or more since i first observed it; but it has given me very little uneasiness or trouble till within a few weeks." "what have you done for it?" "it would take a long time to tell you of all i have done for it. every thing i could hear of, far or near, has been applied; from plasters of clay and chalk, to plasters of vitriol and other poisonous things. but i have used most a plaster made of chalk and the white of an egg. i do not know that any thing i have done has benefited it." "perhaps you have not persevered in the use of any thing long enough. how long is it, pray, since you began to use the chalk and egg plaster?" "oh, it is three weeks, or more." "and how long is it usual to wear it? do you know?" "mrs. lovejoy, who advised it, only said, 'use it as long as it appears to do good.'" "is it a favorite remedy with her?" "very much so." "has any one been really cured by it?" "oh, yes. mr. browning, the gardener, was entirely cured by it; so, at least, people say." "any one else?" "yes, half a hundred or more have tried it." "but how many have been cured by it? that is my main inquiry." "that i cannot tell you. i have heard of no positive cure but that of mr. browning." "it is almost incredible, my dear sir, that any thing like fifty cases can have come within such a small range of population as the village or even the town in which mrs. lovejoy resides. do you mean as you say?" "well, then, a great many. i know of a dozen, most certainly; and i have heard of a great many more. i venture, at least, to say twenty." "and you have no positive knowledge of but one permanent cure among them all?" "only one, i meant to say, that i can call by name. there must be many more, i am sure, but i have not their names." "have you much confidence in a method of treatment that succeeds once in fifty times, or even once in twenty?" "not much, i confess; but if it now and then succeed, that is something. you know that they who run in a race _all_ run, though but one receives the prize." "are you quite sure there _is_ any gain or prize, after all?" "do you mean to ask if i believe mr. browning was really cured?" "yes." "how could i doubt what i have seen and known?" "i do not expect you will doubt the existence of what you have seen and known. but the question before us is, what you _have_ seen and known. mr. browning had something on his face, and it got well; but do we know it was a cancer? only a very small proportion of twenty sores suspected to be cancers ever prove to be such, and many of them get well after a little time, if they are let entirely alone; or, if not let entirely alone, they would probably still get well, in spite of the treatment. it is quite a marvel with me, not that one person, mr. browning, recovered in spite of the treatment, but that more did not." "this is to me a new way of reasoning on this subject, and yet i do not know but you are correct. i confess, that on reflection, i do not find positive evidence that any good has been done to mr. browning. it may be so, or it may not. and yet the story of his cure is told all over the neighborhood and for many miles around, and mrs. lovejoy gets great credit by it." "no doubt she does; and thousands obtain both credit and cash in a similar way. much of the reputation of our wonderful cure-alls, advertised in the newspapers, comes in a similar way." "do you really think so?" "it can be demonstrated." "why, then, is it not oftener done?" "it has been done, again and again." "are the public, then, fully determined to act against their own interest? do they choose to be humbugged?" "it seems so." "but can you do nothing with my face?" "i can try. i will do what i can. but i must first tell you what i _cannot_ do. i cannot pronounce your disease to be cancer. i cannot say positively that my method of treatment will cure it. i cannot say, moreover, that somebody else cannot cure you, even if i cannot. if, however, i prescribe for you, you must consent to follow me for the time most implicitly, and let everybody else alone." "that i shall be both willing and glad to do." "you need not begin till you are fully satisfied in regard to the efficacy of mrs. lovejoy's plaster." "i am pretty well satisfied already. i see that science is modest but honest, and i prefer it to humbuggery." my prescription was an application of the common blistering ointment of the apothecary's shop. the part to which it was to be applied was quite denuded and tender; but i told the patient to stick a small piece of the plaster over it and wear it, and keep it as sore as he could for a month or more. he was, however, to call on me once a week,--or, perhaps, at first, twice,--that i might watch the effects. there was some danger of an absorption of the cantharides into the system, which might do more of general harm than would justify an attempt at local good. no man ever followed the prescription of his physician with more pertinacity and faithfulness than young theodore. he adhered, without wavering, to plain and unstimulating food, and to water for drink. at the end of twenty-one days, all the fiery redness of the ulcer had passed away, and it had begun to wear a healthy appearance. "now," said i, "you may take away your plasters, and let the sore get well, if it will." in about ten, or at most fourteen days more, the young man's nose was as well as any other part of his system. whether the spanish flies contained in the plaster had any thing to do with it, or whether it recovered its healthful condition in spite of them,--having just then got ready to heal,--i cannot, of course, positively determine. in any event, the case was a strong one, though not stronger, i confess, than that of dosing largely with calomel, as detailed in chapter xxxii. and yet, as i have already told you, i should not dare to repeat that heroic treatment. success is not always competent proof that a given course is correct;--at least, this is true with regard to the success of a particular formulary of medicine. there are very many things on earth to be known and thought of, as well as in heaven. chapter l. swelled limbs. not far from this period i was called to visit mr. o. b., sixty-one years of age, a farmer by occupation. he had been for twenty or thirty years addicted to cider drinking very freely, according to the custom of the country; which habit, conjoined with full feeding, a diminished amount of exercise, and a lymphatic tendency by inheritance, had rendered him exceedingly corpulent. his legs had even fallen into a habit of swelling, especially at night, sometimes to a very alarming extent. his story concerning himself was essentially as follows: in getting into a wagon, some time before, he had detached a small portion of skin from one of his legs. although the wound was slight, and was duly attended to, according to the usual method of the family, with cabbage leaves, and with considerable care and neatness, yet, instead of healing kindly, it had put on a very unhealthy appearance, and had, at length, even become extensively ulcerated. he was also habitually a sufferer from chronic rheumatism in his back and hips, partly constitutional and partly as the result of overstraining the parts, especially in wrestling. when i was called in to see him, it was about the last of june. his wounded leg was now evidently growing worse; and as the heat of the weather was increasing, and was for some time to come likely to increase, i could hardly help apprehending the most serious consequences. he had been in the habit of making greasy applications to it for a short time, but these at my special request were set aside immediately. he was also encouraged to keep his leg cool; to exercise his whole system moderately; to avoid exciting, above all, stimulating, food and drink; and to keep his mind quiet. in regard to drinks, particularly, he was directed to use none but water. he was also required to abstain wholly from pork, and all long-salted meats. he had also been, for almost half a century, a chewer of tobacco--a circumstance rather unfavorable to a rapid return of healthy action; but i did not think it expedient to interdict its use entirely at the very first; for i feared the change, at his advanced age, would be more than his system could well endure. in fact, i found it extremely difficult to persuade him to pursue the straight and narrow path which, letting alone his tobacco, i had deemed indispensably necessary. to encourage him to do so, i availed myself of a circumstance which, though in itself trifling, was nevertheless likely to have its influence. the thirteenth day of july was at hand, and would be the fortieth anniversary of his marriage. my proposal was that he should commence the change of habits that very day, and continue it precisely eighteen months. although the danger to which he would be exposed by neglecting my prescription was neither immediate nor imminent; yet it was so considerable in prospect that i pressed him very hard to comply with my requirements, notwithstanding their seeming rigidity. and as a further inducement,--for he was not above the influence of pecuniary considerations,--i offered him a certain sum of money. i left him without much hope, after all, that he would follow out my suggestions and advice, so difficult is it, at the age of sixty, to make substantial and radical changes. but i was most happily disappointed. he began the work of reform on the very day appointed, and began it well; and though he did not adhere to the letter of my prescription entirely, he did quite as much as i had dared, even in my most sanguine moments, to expect. and though his leg did not at first improve much, it was something to find that during the very hottest weather of the season it did not grow worse. for three months he did not use, as he said, so much as fifty cents worth of pork, nor much salted food of any kind. he abandoned entirely all drinks but water, and all condiments with his food except a little salt. he subsisted almost wholly on bread, fruits, and vegetables, with a very little flesh or fish. at the end of three months he ventured abroad more than before; and as it was now near the middle of october, he consented to put on woollen stockings. but he made one change at this time which i had not intended. he returned to the use of one of his former greasy and worse than useless ointments. in the course of the month, however, in spite of the foul external application, his leg was entirely healed; and the swelling considerably abated. in short, at the close of the year he had entirely recovered. the friends and neighbors attributed the cure to the ointment. how very unreasonable! the ointment had been used during the spring, up to the time when he came under my direction, without any apparent benefit. what evidence then was there that it had been useful now? why should not the change for the better be attributed to his increased exercise, the change of air and food, and the stimulus and warmth of woollen stockings? had water, moreover, as his only drink, nothing to do with the cure? but while standing in the position i did, it was useless to decry the ointment or exalt my own treatment, since it would have been regarded as merely special pleading. still, i did not shrink wholly from the statement of my honest convictions, whenever i was inquired of, even though i did not manifest a disposition to carry the war into africa. chapter li. sudden changes in old age. mrs. n. was about seventy years of age. in her early years she had possessed a sort of masculine constitution; and though embarrassed by poverty, had reared a large family of children, who were all well settled in the world. she resided with the youngest but one of them, where she did just as she pleased. in short, she had a good home, and, had she enjoyed health, might have been happy. but a change had come over her in point of health, which it was not so easy to account for at its outset as in its progress. for her first derelictions, at least, i know of no cause. but she had, at length, become reconciled to the use of tea, and as her spirits began to flag, she added to it strong coffee. from these she proceeded to the pipe. the more she increased her extra stimulants, the more she added to her troubles, and the greater was her necessity for additional stimulus. laudanum was very soon on her list; at first, it is true, in very small quantities. yet, as she grew older, she found a necessity, as she verily believed, for increasing the size of her dose from year to year, till, at the age of seventy, i found her in the full and free use of tea, coffee, tobacco, and laudanum,--the latter to the enormous extent of half an ounce a day,--and yet her complaints were more numerous than ever. she was a reasonable woman, and therefore i attempted to set forth, in their true colors, the realities of her condition. however, as i was not acting as her physician, but only as a friend, i had little hope of making any very permanent impressions. she knew the whole story as well as i or any one else could know it. the great difficulty under which she labored was a want of resolution to change her habits. her irresolution was sustained by the belief--a very general one--that old people cannot make sudden changes in their physical habits with safety.[g] but she was unhappy in the condition she then was. she had no peace with conscience, nor, as i might almost venture to say,--for she was a religious woman by profession,--with god. i assured her that the real danger of sudden changes, at her age, had been greatly overrated; though danger there certainly was, in greater or less degree. but i pointed out to her the means of obviating what danger there was, and urged her, as a christian, to make up her mind to meet it. of course, i did not presume to urge her to cast every thing aside, and return to nature's path at once; but to drop first one thing and then another. i counselled her to be thorough and determined, as far as she went; and when she abandoned a thing to make no reserve, but to be sure of not going too fast and too far at once. when i left her one day, after a somewhat protracted conversation, it was with many feelings of discouragement. i doubted very seriously whether, on the whole, she would move at all. the power of half an ounce of laudanum and a paper of tobacco daily, in paralyzing the human will, is very great. but she was one of those persons who cannot, or think they cannot, leave off a habit gradually, in the way i proposed. she must "go the whole figure," as it is said vulgarly, or do nothing at all. judge then, if you can, of my surprise, when about two months afterward i learned, from a source which was perfectly reliable, that the very next day after i saw her, she abandoned the whole herd of extra stimulants, both solid and liquid, and betook herself to water. nor had it, so far as i could learn, at all injured her. no sooner did i hear the news of her reformation, than i took my horse and made her a visit. there she was, nearly as well as ever she had been in her life, though perhaps a little paler and thinner. and oh, what rejoicing she had in her freedom! it would have done you good to see her. she had now no fears for the result. "true," she said, "i suffered for a few days, but the agony was soon over." one thing should be mentioned, since it doubtless added to the dangers, real and imaginary, of her condition and trial. it took place during the middle of a very cold winter--one of the coldest which we of the north ever experienced; scarcely, if at all, behind those of - and - . but all persons have not mrs. n.'s faith, nor her deep-abiding religious principles. these, it is presumed, greatly aided her in the terrible conflict. no one ought to attempt such changes, at least in life's decline, unless most fully convinced of their importance and necessity. yet, _with_ this conviction, and strong faith in addition, all becomes comparatively easy. mrs. n. died a few years after her reform; but she died a free woman, and not a slave to her appetite. some few there were of her acquaintance who appeared to think that the sudden changes to which she had subjected herself several years before, hastened her dissolution. but i do not believe there was a particle of evidence to be found that such was the fact. reader, remember mrs. n., and if you are in the road of error, and not more than seventy years of age, go and do likewise. if you have not _lived_ free, resolve at least to have the pleasure of dying so. footnotes: [g] this error has been met and refuted in the happiest manner, by the late lamented dr. john c. warren, of boston, in his little work, entitled, "hints for the preservation of health." also, by dr. alcott's new work, "the laws of health." chapter lii. an opium eater. almost at the next door from me was an opium eater. he, like the female whose case was described in the preceding chapter, was not far from three score and ten, and was of industrious and, in many respects, temperate habits. and yet he was one of the most inveterate and abandoned voluntary slaves to the drug opium i have ever seen. he had used it largely thirty years. his case is the more singular from the fact that he became enslaved to it so very early. to use opium or laudanum at the present day, i grant is no uncommon occurrence. we may often find six, eight, or ten opium takers in a single township, if not a single village, or even a single neighborhood; and the number is rapidly increasing. opium has not that offensive appearance to many that tobacco has, and a much larger amount of stimulus may be kept in a very small space, perhaps in the very corner of the smallest pocket. another circumstance which rendered the case of my opium-taking neighbor somewhat striking, was his usual good health. i say, here, _usual_, for there were exceptions which will appear presently. yet though he was nearly threescore and ten, this man had, while under the influence of his accustomed stimulus, as much elasticity and nearly as much strength as most men of thirty. how could this happen, you will naturally ask, if opium is such a deadly narcotic as some medical men proclaim it to be? how can a person, male or female, begin its use at forty and continue it to seventy years of age, and yet be, for the most part, strong and healthy? in the first place, we must remember the force of habit. we have seen how it is with alcoholic drinks and tobacco. i might tell you how it is with arsenic, which is beginning to be taken, it is said, by men and horses, both in the old world and the new. i might even give you the story of mithridates, king of pontus, who is said to have so accustomed himself to hemlock,--the most deadly poison of his time,--that in any ordinary dose, it would not affect him injuriously, or, at least, would not do so immediately. we must remember, in the second place, the active, industrious habits of this patient--of which, however, i have already spoken. he who is always or almost always in the open air, is less likely to suffer from the use of extra stimulants, and the penalty when it _does_ fall on his head, is much more likely to be deferred, than in the case of the sedentary and inactive. he was so hardy and withal so bold, that in the summer season he sometimes slept in the open air, under a tree. but, thirdly, he was descended from a very long-lived race or family. his father died at the age of ninety-seven. at the time of his decease he had been the progenitor of nineteen children, one hundred and five grandchildren, one hundred and fifty-five great grandchildren, and four of the fifth generation,--a posterity amounting in all, to two hundred and eighty-three. and what is most marvellous, nearly all of them were at that very moment living. in truth, he had several sons and daughters already between the ages of sixty-five and eighty. there was one of the brotherhood, whom i had seen, nearly eighty, and yet as active and elastic as the opium eater of seventy. one thing more: the latter, as we have seen, was a man of excellent habits in respect to nearly every thing but opium. he drank no ardent spirits, nor much coffee and tea; he used very little tobacco, and he ate in great moderation. he was an early riser and was in general cheerful. in short, but for his opium taking, he would have enjoyed a green old age. i have said he was usually healthy. when he was out of opium and could not obtain any, i have seen him sit and writhe in the most intense apparent anguish till the arrival of the accustomed stimulus, when the transformation would be as sudden as it was striking. in fifteen minutes, instead of writhing and groaning and almost dying, he might be found talking, laughing, and telling stories most merrily, to the infinite amusement of all around him. but he had troubles more abiding than this; at least, occasionally. after taking his opium for a long time, such a degree of costiveness would sometimes supervene, as seemed almost to defy the combined powers of both nature and art. in these circumstances, of course, the aid of the physician was usually invoked. it was on one of these occasions that i first became fully acquainted with his habits and tendencies. once, when thus called to his bedside, i began to think he was not very far from the end of his career. the wheels of life seemed so completely obstructed, that i doubted whether they would ever start again. he himself declared, most positively and i doubt not in sincerity that he must die. but he lived on many years longer. he died at about seventy-five years of age--more than twenty years younger than his venerable and more temperate father. from this distinguished opium eater, and from his family, i learned two things: first, that solomon was right when he spoke of the certainty of punishment, even though long deferred. secondly, the certainty of the visitation, so to call it, of human transgression upon subsequent generations no less than on the individual transgressor. the fourth generation from the patriarch of ninety-seven was puny and feeble--exceedingly so; the fifth and sixth not only puny and feeble, but absolutely sickly, not to say dwarfish. did i say i learned these important truths from this source? not at all. i mean only, that i received from it a new confirmation of what i had fully believed long before, and concerning which, till compelled, most men--even some thinking men--appear to me not a little sceptical. they seem to think it reflects dishonor on our maker. how this is, we shall perhaps see more fully in another place. let it suffice, for the present, to say that the fact itself is fully established, whatever may be the deductions or its consequences. chapter liii. coffee, and the lame knee. mr. w. was a distinguished minister of the gospel, and teacher of females. he could not at this time have been much less than seventy years of age. he was originally a man of iron constitution and of great mental activity. of late it had been observed by some of the members of his family, that his mind had seasons of great inactivity, and it was even suspected he had, either in his sleep or at some other time, suffered from a slight attack of paralysis. his face seemed a little distorted, and one of the angles of his mouth a little depressed. there appeared to be a slight change even of his speech. it was recollected, too, that he inherited a tendency of this kind. along with other difficulties was a lame knee. this he called rheumatism; but was it so? people are very fond of having a name for every thing; and yet names very often mislead. prof. ives, of the medical college in connecticut, was wont to say to his students, "diseases, young gentlemen, are not creatures to whom we can give particular names, or assign particular marks of distinction. they are merely _modes of action_." my friend's over solicitude for a name to his complaint was therefore no new thing. i explained the matter as well as i could, very cautiously. i told him it was of little consequence about the name of his disease, provided we could ascertain the cause and remove it. "however," i said, "we will conclude to call it rheumatism." for though possessed of a good natural constitution, and, in general, of comparatively temperate habits, he had nevertheless set at defiance some of nature's laws, and was suffering under a just penalty. one member of his family, a favorite son, was suspicious of coffee. he himself had abandoned it long before, and had thus placed himself in a position to observe its effects on others. his father used it very strong, he said; and had used it in this way for a long time. he even ventured, at length, to express his fears to his father. "nonsense, my son," said the father; "do you think coffee is powerful enough to give a man a lame knee? why, the whole world--i mean the whole civilized world--use it; and do they all have stiff knees?" "perhaps not," said the son; "but almost every coffee-drinker has, sooner or later, some ailment about him, that may very possibly have its origin in this source. our troubles, as you yourself are accustomed to say, do not spring out of the ground. coffee, as the best authorities tell us, is a slow poison; and if it is so, its effects must, at some time, be manifested." "ay, a very slow poison this coffee must be, my son," said the half-indignant father; "for i have used it pretty freely forty years, and am not dead yet. but to be serious for a moment, henry, do you really believe that such a small transgression as this, even if it could be proved to be a transgression at all, would be the cause of so much suffering?" "you admit, then, that your troubles may possibly be the result of transgression, and that they did not spring out of the ground." "oh yes, i suppose it must be so; but there is such a strange disproportion between the transgression and the penalty, in the case you mention, that i cannot for one moment believe any thing about it. why, what rational man in the world will believe that a little coffee, once a day, will entail upon a person severe rheumatism?" "to what larger transgression, my dear father, will you be more ready to refer it? you do not use tobacco, or rum, or opium; and i am happy in being able to say that you never did. you are no tea-drinker. you are no worshipper of the apothecary's shop. you have not, so far as i know, strained your knee, by over exertion, either in labor or amusement yet, here you are a sufferer; and you have suffered for months. now, how do you account for it?" "there is no possibility of accounting for it, my son, and why should we talk about it? if any thing can be done to cure it, i am sure i shall be glad; but though i admit that the complaint may have had a cause--and indeed _must_ have had--i do not think we shall ever be able to trace it out." the son still adhered to the opinion that the coffee was the cause of the father's sufferings; and there was reason for believing that the father was more than half convinced of it himself; only that he was too proud to confess it. he concluded by asking his father if he would like to consult me on the subject--to which he cheerfully consented. on a careful investigation of the case, i came to a full conclusion that the son was right in his conjectures; that the coffee was the principal source of his troubles; and that troubles still more serious might befall him unless he abandoned it; and accordingly i told him so. it was a severe trial. he was, in truth, a most inveterate coffee-drinker; and the greater his slavery to it had become, the greater his reluctance to believe it produced, on him, any injurious effects. he consented, at length, to leave off its use for two months, and see if it made any difference with him. being, however, about half a convert to hydropathy, as was also his son, it was concluded, with my permission, to apply the cold _douche_ every day to his knee, by way of an adjunct to the abstinence plan. no change was made in his diet; as, in fact, very little was needed after the coffee had been removed. "but one thing is needful," at the same meal, had long been his motto; and he was never excessive in the use of even that. the coffee was laid aside, and resolution was put to the test. he suffered in his feelings for want of his accustomed stimulus during the first month; but during the second, very little. in about five weeks after i saw and had prescribed for him, i met him one day, by accident, and inquired about his lameness. "very much better," said he, smiling; "but no thanks to you for it. it is the _douche_ which is curing me." i replied that i was not very solicitous to know the cause, provided he was cured. on a more particular inquiry i found that his lameness had nearly disappeared already; and what is more remarkable still, it never returned. as long as he lived he could walk up and down stairs nearly as well as i. he continued to be a water-drinker about ten years, when he died, as he had lived, rejoicing in his emancipation from slavery to coffee. he believed, most fully, in its evil effects and tendencies, and did not hesitate, for many years before he died, to acknowledge that belief. neither his son nor myself had firmer faith in the connection of law with penalty, in these matters, that he. and his only regret, in this particular, seemed to be that he had suffered himself to remain, almost all his lifetime, in what he now regarded as utter ignorance. and yet, compared with most men of his day, he was quite enlightened. the case of mr. w. was a pretty apt illustration of the truth of what i regard as the great or cardinal doctrine of temperance, faintly announced in chapters xviii., xxi., xxviii, and elsewhere, viz., that, as a general rule, much more mischief is done to society at large by the frequent or at least habitual use of small quantities of poison, than by an equal aggregate quantity in much larger doses. i mean just this: the poisonous effects of mr. w.'s coffee, though the amount daily taken was trifling, produced a greater aggregate of mischief, in the end, than if the same amount of poison had been applied in a very short time. a pint of rum drank in a single day will do much less mischief to the human constitution, than if divided into twenty _small_ doses and two of them are taken every day for ten days. in the first case the effect will be severe, but temporary; in the second, it will seem to be trifling, but there will be an accumulation of ill effects, a heaping up, as it were, of combustible matter in the system, till by and by when an igniting spark comes to be applied to the pile, lo! we have an explosion. some of the hydropathists who knew the facts concerning mr. w.,--for the case did not occur in a corner,--tried to make it appear, perhaps in all honesty, that he was cured by the cold _douche_. now i have no disposition to deny, wholly, its good effects. i have given you the facts just as they were. yet i have not a doubt that had he returned to his coffee, the same troubles or others of equal magnitude would have fallen to his lot again, despite the influences of the _douche_. in truth, i know of no sensible hydropathist who, in such a case, would rely upon the _douche_ alone; which is to concede, practically, all that i desire to claim. chapter liv. the opium pill box. the statements of the following chapter will include a confession of one of the principal faults of my life,--a fault, moreover, which, as a physician, i ought to have guarded against with the most assiduous and unwearied care. for no man more than the medical man, is bound to let his light shine--especially in the matter of general temperance, in such a manner that others may be benefited by it. when, in the beginning of my medical career, i attempted to establish a temperance society, though i was exceedingly free from the charge of using distilled liquors, according to the tenor and spirit of the pledge, yet exposed, as i was, to colds, and delicate in constitution, and above all, particularly liable, in the daily routine of business, to temptation, i was yet one of those who lay aside one stimulus and retain or resort to another. i did not, indeed, use my substitute with much freedom, at first. the example daily before me, which was alluded to in chapter lii, was sufficient, one would think, to deter me from excess; and so it proved. all i did for some time, whenever i had been peculiarly exposed and feared i had taken cold, was to go and swallow a small pill--say about a grain--of opium. but as usually happens in such cases, though the pill seemed to remove all tendency to cold, or in other words to cure me for the time, the necessity for recurring to it became more and more frequent and imperious, till i was, at length, a confirmed opium taker. and yet--strange to say it--all the while i regarded myself as a rigid temperance man; nay, i was a violent opposer of the use even of opium as a daily stimulus, in the case of everybody but myself. my apology was--and here was the ground of self-deception--that i only used it as a medicine, or rather as a medical means of prevention. it is, however, quite obvious to my own apprehension now, that a substance is hardly entitled to the name of medicine, in any ordinary sense of the term, which is used nearly or quite every day. yet to this stage of opium taking i soon arrived. nay, i went even much farther than this, and was, at length, pretty well established in the wretched habit of using this poisonous drug three times a day. in the summer of , while under the full habitual influence of opium, i had a slight attack of dysentery. it even went so far as to derange all my habits, and to break in, among the rest, upon my opium taking. opium or laudanum was, indeed, included in the prescription of my physician,--for i did not wholly rely on my own judgment in the case,--but as a habitual daily stimulus, at certain fixed hours, it was, of course, omitted. as i began to recover, however, my old desire for the opium pill began to recur, at the accustomed former hours, and with all its wonted imperiousness. in a moment of reflection, reason resumed her throne, and the inquiry came up, whether i should ever again wear the chain which had been temporarily loosened. after a short debate, it was decided in the negative. but a second question soon came up, whether i could keep my resolution. this was a matter of serious inquiry, and it caused a somewhat lengthy mental discussion. during the discussion a new thought struck me. it was a child's thought, perhaps; and yet it was interesting, and not to be despised for its simplicity and childishness. it was that i would take my opium, what i had in the house, and after carefully enclosing it in my pill box, would make use of the box as a nucleus for the twine i was daily using. "when i am inclined to break my resolution," thought i, "nothing shall be done till i have unwound the ball of twine. i shall thus gain a little time for reflection; and perhaps before i come to the opium, i may permit reason to return and to mount the throne. the trial shall, at all events, be made." my resolution was carried into effect, and steadily adhered to. the opium was fairly entombed in the twine, where, for aught i know, it still remains. most certainly i never saw it more; nor have i ever tasted any of the opium or laudanum family, from that day to the present, whether in sickness or in health. chapter lv. bleeding at the lungs. having occasion to go to the metropolis, one day, i took the most expeditious public conveyance which the times and the season afforded. it was january, . railroad cars were not so much in vogue that i could step into one of them, and, unless in case of accident, be there in four or five hours, as i now could. it required something like twenty-four hours to perform the journey i proposed, especially in the winter. we started at three o'clock in the morning. it had recently snowed, the snow was deep, and the path was not well broken. of course it was not daylight when we set out, and as it was cloudy, it proved, as is not unfrequent in such cases, to be the darkest time in the whole twenty-four hours. however, we did as well as we could--driver, horses, passengers, and all. our company consisted of seven males and two females. the coach was small, and we filled it to the brim. the weather was by no means very cold for the season; at least, it was not extreme. there was a sound of rain,--the january thaw, perhaps, as we are wont to call it,--but as yet, fortunately for us, the storm had not begun. we had proceeded about ten miles, and the day had not yet dawned, when, in passing around the point of a hill and winding our way among the deep drifts, our driver and his charge missed the path, and we were precipitated down a steep bank. the horses stopped immediately. every effort was made to rescue us from the stage-coach, which was lying on its side, deeply embedded in the snow. i was so situated at the first moment after the overturn, that most of the affrighted passengers made use of me as a stepping-stone in their endeavors to reach the door above, which was either opened or broken. at last we were all fairly outside of the coach; no one appeared to be seriously injured. as we were at a considerable distance from any dwelling-house, and as the stage-coach was somewhat broken, and the harnesses torn, it required a full hour to put things to rights, so as to enable us to proceed. meanwhile, though the weather was not very cold, it was quite chilly. some of the passengers stood still or sat still; others walked about. the day had broken when we renewed our journey. the sleighing here was better than at the place where we started. at the next stage-office we exchanged our coach for a huge sleigh, which was not only more commodious than the coach, but more easily drawn over the ground, especially for a short time. about noon it began to rain. soon the travelling became worse again, and our progress was slow and tedious. to me, the tediousness of the journey was increased by a lame shoulder--the effect either of the overturn, or of being used as a stair when the passengers made their sudden exit, or of both. no bones were broken, nor joints dislocated; though there were several considerable bruises. our other troubles were not yet over. in the midst of a violent rain, and at a considerable distance from any public house, our sleigh broke down, and we were obliged to send for a wagon. in making the exchange, moreover, we were more or less exposed to the storm. i for one became considerably wet, and did not get perfectly dry till we reached the metropolis. we arrived at evening at a large thoroughfare, forty miles or more from our point of destination, when, after procuring a comfortable supper and a good sleigh, with a new relay of horses, we set out to perform the remainder of our journey. this was fortunate and very expeditious. we reached our place of destination just before midnight, having travelled the last forty-two miles in little more than four hours. this was almost equal to railroad speed; but it was good sleighing, and we had with us, in the sleigh, the united states mail, which imposed on the driver a necessity of being as expeditious as the nature of the case would admit. for even then, we had been twenty-one hours in making our passage. i soon discovered that i had taken a severe cold during the journey; nor do i believe my opium itself would have saved me. my only medicine was a warm bed, into which i threw myself as soon as possible. in the morning i repaired as early as i could to a boarding-house, in which a friend to whom i had previously written, had made ready a place for me. i was at first quite ill; but in the hope that a few days of rest would restore me, i was not particularly anxious about myself, though some of my friends were so. several individuals called to inquire after my health--nearly every one of whom pressed me to take medicine. the second day after my arrival i began to expectorate a little blood. those who were familiarly acquainted with my consumptive tendencies became greatly alarmed. they thought me not only presumptuous, because i took nothing, but absolutely and carelessly ungrateful. and as i refused to dose myself, they pressed me to send for a physician. yielding, at length, to their importunity, they called one of the oldest and best physicians in the metropolis. he was an eccentric man, but he had the full confidence of the better sort of people, and richly deserved it; and i knew i should not be advised by him hastily. he was acquainted with my peculiar views, at least in part. besides, i should not be obliged to follow his counsel implicitly. i should still be my own physician. my disease had not, at least thus far, impaired my intellect or taken out of my hands my free agency. the doctor remained with me half an hour or so, during which time i made him acquainted, as perfectly as i could, with my whole case. my good friends, many of them, sat around waiting almost with impatience, to hear him bid them or me to do some great thing--for great men though some of them were, they were not great in matters pertaining to health and disease. they were born, several of them, in the eighteenth century. at length the time for prescription and departure had arrived, and my good brother and father of the lancet rose very deliberately, and said with great gravity, "you will be obliged to stay in your room a few days, and keep both your body and mind as quiet as possible. for the most part, it will be well to maintain a recumbent position. for food, use a little water gruel. in following this course, i think you will very soon find yourself convalescent." then, with a sort of stiff bow, that every one who knew him could pardon in so excellent a man, he said, "good-morning, sir,--good-morning, gentlemen;" and was making the best of his way to the door of the chamber. "will it not be needful for you to call again?" i said to him. "i shall be most happy to call," said he, "should it be necessary; but i doubt very much whether my advice will be any farther required." my friends were very much astonished that he did not prescribe active medicine. "what can it mean?" they asked again and again. for myself, too, i must confess that i was not a little disappointed. not that i had any considerable attachment to pills and pill boxes,--such a confidence had gone by long before, as you know,--but i verily thought my particular tendencies to pulmonary consumption demanded a little tincture of digitalis, or something in the shape of strong medicine. but the physician knew my theories, better than he knew the power of that habit whose chains, in this respect, he had long ago escaped. for i learned afterwards, much better than i then knew, that so feeble was his faith in medicine, at least in all ordinary cases, that whenever the intelligence of his patients would at all warrant it, he prescribed, as he had for me, just nothing at all, but left every thing to be done by nature and good common-sense attendants. this was, in fact, just what he attempted to do here. he doubtless supposed my friends were nearly as well informed in the matter as i was; and that i was as fully emancipated in practice as i was in theory. "how much drugging and dosing might be saved," i said to myself, when i came to reflect properly on the subject, "if mankind were duly trained to place a proper reliance on nature and nature's laws, instead of fastening all their faith on the mere exhibition of some mystic powder or pill or tincture--or, at best, a few drops of some irritant or poison. it is their ignorance that makes their physicians' and apothecaries' bills so heavy, and the grave-digger's calling so good and so certain." it is hardly necessary for me to say that i followed the advice which had been so wisely given, and which, after all, was but the echo of my own judgment, when that judgment was freely exercised. my friends were not satisfied at first; but when they saw that i was slowly recovering, they submitted with as good a grace as they could. the fact was that they had no court of appeal. they had selected a man who was at the head of his profession, and whose voice, in the medical world, and as a medical man, wherever he was known, was law. had some young man given such "old woman's" advice, as they would most certainly have regarded it, they would have appealed to a higher court. no man ever did better, when placed in similar circumstances, with the aid of medicine, than i did without it. in two weeks, at farthest, i was as well as i had been at any time in ten years or even twenty. what more or greater could i have asked? what more could my friends have expected? what more could have been possible? could hippocrates or galen have done more? chapter lvi. butter eaters. about the year , i became somewhat intimately acquainted with the dietetic and general physical habits of a young woman in a family where i was a boarder, whose case will be instructive. she was about twenty-five years of age, and resided in a family that had adopted her as their own, her parents being unknown. she possessed a good natural constitution; and was, for the most part, of good habits. if there was any considerable defect of constitution, it consisted in a predominance of the biliary and lymphatic over the nervous and sanguine temperaments. yet she was not wholly wanting in that susceptibility, not to say activity, which the sanguine temperament is wont to impart. but the same necessity which is so often the mother of invention, is also sometimes the progenitor of a good share of activity; and this was, in a remarkable degree, the lot of miss powell. although her skin was not by any means fair, it was not a bad skin. it was firm in its structure, and very little susceptible of those slight but ever recurring diseased conditions in which persons of a sanguine temperament so often find themselves involved. such i mean to say was her natural physical condition, when uninfluenced by any considerable practical errors. and yet i had not been many months one of her more intimate acquaintances, ere her face--hitherto so smooth and transparent--became as rough and congested as any drunkard's face ever was, only the eruption was more minute. it was what the common opinion of that region would have called a rash. it came on suddenly, was visible for a short time, and then gradually disappeared, leaving, in some instances, a branny substance, consisting of a desquamation of the cuticle. when the eruption had once fairly disappeared, her skin was as smooth as ever. then again, however, in a little time, its roughness would return, to an extent which, to young ladies, is usually quite annoying. young men, in general, are not so much disturbed by a little roughness of the skin, as the young of the other sex. my particular acquaintance with her habits and annoyances continued as many as four or five years. during this period there were several ebbings and flowings of this tide of eruptive disease. my curiosity, towards the end of this period, was so much excited that i sought and obtained of her an opportunity for conversation on the subject. the result was as curious as it was, to me, unexpected. it appeared, in the sequel, that she understood, perfectly well, the whole matter, and held the control of her cutaneous system in her own hands, nearly as much as if she had been a mere piece of mechanism. she had not sought for medical advice, because she knew the true method of cure for her complaints as well as anybody could have told her. in truth, she cured it about once a year, simply by omitting the cause which produced it. this she had found out was butter, salted butter, of course, eaten with her meals. she had somehow discovered that this article of food was the real cause of her disease, and that entire abstemiousness in this particular, would, in a reasonable time, remove it. i inquired why, after a long period of abstinence from butter, she ever returned to its use. her reply was that she was too fond of it to omit it entirely and forever. she preferred to use it till the eruption began to be quite troublesome, which was sometimes many weeks; then abstain from it till she recovered, and then return to it. this gave her an opportunity to use it from one-third to one-half of the time; and this she thought greatly preferable to entire abstinence. at this time i did not press her to abandon wholly an article of food, which, though partially rejected, was yet slowly producing derangement of her digestive system, and might, in time, result in internal disease, which would be serious and irremediable. i did not do it; first, because i knew my advice would not be very acceptable; secondly, for want of that full measure of gospel benevolence which leads us to try to do good, even in places where we have no right to expect it will be received; and, lastly, no doubt for want of moral courage. were i to live my life over again, particularly my medical life, i would pray and labor for a little more of what i am accustomed to call holy boldness. by this term i do not mean _meddlesomeness_,--for this is by no means to be commended,--but true christian or apostolic boldness. of late years the young woman above referred to has been in circumstances which, i have reason to believe, practically precluded the use of the offending article. i meet her occasionally, but always with a smooth face, which greatly confirms my prepossessions.[h] happy would it be for a multitude of our race if their circumstances were such as to exclude this and many other articles of food and drink which are well known to injure them. one instance occurred in the very neighborhood of the foregoing, which, though i received it at second hand, is not a little striking, and is wholly reliable. a certain young mother--the wife of a merchant in easy circumstances, was so excessively fond of butter, that, though she was a dyspeptic, and knew it increased her dyspepsia, she used to eat it in a manner the most objectionable which could possibly have been devised. for example: she would take a ball of this article,--say half or three-quarters of a pound,--pierce it with the point of a firm stick, and having heated it, on all sides, over the fire, till the whole surface was softened, would then plunge it into a vessel of flour, in such a manner that the latter would adhere to it on all sides, till a great deal was absorbed by the butter. having done this, she would again heat the surface of the ball and again dip or roll it in the flour. this alternate melting the surface of the ball and rolling it in flour, was continued till the whole became a mass of heated or scorched flour, entirely full of the melted butter, and as completely indigestible as it possibly could be, when she would leisurely sit down at a table and eat the whole of it. did it make her sick?--you will ask. it did, indeed, and she expected it would. she would go immediately to bed, as soon as the huge bolus was swallowed, and lie there a day or two, perhaps two or three days. occasionally such a surfeit cost her the confinement of a whole week. it is truly surprising that any christian woman should thus make a beast of herself, for the sake of the momentary indulgence of the appetite; but so it is. i have met with a few such. happily, however, conduct so low and bestial is not so frequent among females as males, though quite too frequent among the former so long as a single case is found, which could be prevented by reasoning or even by authority. there is one thing concerning butter which deserves notice, and which it may not be amiss to mention in this place. what we call butter, in this country,--what is used, i mean, at our tables,--is properly pickled or salted butter. now, i suppose it is pretty well understood, that in some of the countries of europe no such thing as salted or pickled butter is used or known. they make use of milk, cream, and a little fresh butter; but that is all. in the kingdom of brazil, among the native population, at least, no such thing as butter, in any shape, has ever yet been known. fresh butter is sufficiently difficult of digestion; but salted butter is much more so; and this is the main point to which i wish to call your attention. why, what is our object in salting down butter? is it not to prevent change? would it not otherwise soon become acid and disagreeable? and does not salting it so harden or toughen it, or, as it were, fix it, that it will resist the natural tendency to decomposition or putrefaction? but will not this same "fixation," so to call it, prepare it to resist changes within the stomach as well as outside of it; or, in other words, prevent, in a measure, the work of digestion? most unquestionably it will. and herein is the stronghold of objection to this article. hence, too, the reason why it causes eruptions on the skin. the irritation begins on the lining membrane of the stomach. the latter is first coated with eruption; and, after a time, by what is called sympathy, the same tendency is manifested in the face. these things ought to be well understood. there is great ignorance on this subject, and what is known is generally the _ipse dixit_ of somebody. reasons there are none for using salted butter. or, if any, they are few, and frequently very flimsy and weak. let us have hygiene taught us, were it only that we may know for ourselves the right and wrong of these matters. footnotes: [h] since this was penned, the young woman has died of erysipelas. can it be that she has been compelled, in this form, to pay a fearful penalty for her former abuses? one might think that twenty years of reformation would have worn out the diseased tendencies. perhaps she recurred, in later years, unknown to the writer, to her former favorite article. chapter lvii. hot houses and consumption. if any individual in the wide world needs to breathe the pure atmospheric mixture of the most high,--i mean a compound of gases, consisting, essentially, of about twenty parts of oxygen and eighty of nitrogen,--it is the consumptive person. mr. thackrah, a foreign writer on health, says, "that though we are eating animals, we are breathing animals much more; for we subsist more on air than we do on food and drink." and yet i know of no class of people, who, as a class, breathe other mixtures, and all sorts of impurities, more than our consumptive people. first, their employments are very apt to be sedentary. under the impression that their constitutions are not equal to the servitude of out-of-door work, agricultural or mechanical, they are employed, more generally, within doors. they are very often students; for they usually have active, not to say brilliant minds. and persons who stay in the house, whether for the sake of study or anything else, are exceedingly apt to breathe more or less of impure air. secondly, it is thought by many that since consumptive people are feeble, they ought to be kept very warm. now i have no disposition to defend the custom of going permanently chilly, in the case of any individual, however strong and healthy he may be; for it is most certainly, in the end, greatly debilitating. it would be worse than idle--it would be wicked--for consumptive people to go about shivering, day after day, since it would most rapidly and unequivocally accelerate their destruction. and yet, every degree of atmospheric heat, whether it is applied to the internal surface of the lungs through the medium of atmospheric air, or externally to the skin, is quite as injurious as habitual cold; and this in two ways: first, it weakens the internal power to generate heat, which, no doubt, resides very largely in the lungs. secondly, it takes from them a part of that oxygen or vital air which they would otherwise inhale, and gives them in return a proportional quantity of carbonic acid gas, which, except in the very small proportion in which the author of nature has commingled it with the oxygen and nitrogen of the atmosphere, is, to every individual, in effect, a rank poison. hence it is that those who have feeble lungs, or whose ancestors had, should pay much attention to the quality of the air they breathe, especially its temperature. and this they should do, not only for the _sake_ of its temperature, but also for the sake of its purity. such a caution is always needful; but its necessity is increased in proportion to the feebleness of the lungs and their tendency to suppuration, bleeding, etc. i was once called to see a young woman (in the absence of her regular physician) who was bleeding at the lungs. she had bled occasionally before, and was under the general care of two physicians; but a sudden and more severe hemorrhage than usual had alarmed her friends, and, _in the absence of better counsel_, they sought, temporarily, the advice of a stranger. it was a cold, spring day, and in order to keep up a proper temperature in her room, i had no doubt that a little fire was needful. but instead of a heat of ° in the morning and something more in the afternoon, i found her sitting in a temperature, at ten o'clock in the forenoon, of not less than ° or °. on inquiry, i was surprised to find that the temperature of her room was seldom much lower than this, and that sometimes it was much higher. i was still more surprised when i ascertained that she slept at night in a small room adjoining her sitting-room, and that a fire was kept all night in the latter, for her special benefit. no wonder her cough was habitually severe! no wonder she was subject to hemorrhage, from the irritated vessels of the lungs! the wonder was that she was not worse. the greatest wonder of all was, however, that two sensible physicians should, for weeks if not for months, have overlooked this circumstance. for i could not learn, on inquiry, that a single word had been said by either of them on the subject. if you should be inclined to ask whether she had no exercise in the more open and pure air, either on horseback or in a carriage, the reply would be, none at all. horseback exercise was even regarded as hazardous, and other forms of exertion had not been urged, or, that i could learn, so much as recommended. i was anxious to meet her physicians, that i might communicate my views and feelings directly to them; but as this was not convenient i gave such directions as the nature of the case seemed to require, requesting them to follow my advice till the arrival of her physicians, and then to lay the whole case before them. my advice was, to reduce the temperature of the sitting-room as low as possible, and yet not produce a sensation of chilliness, and to have her sleeping-room absolutely cold, taking care to protect her body, however, by proper covering. i also recommended exercise in the open air, such as she could best endure; and withal, a plain, unstimulating diet. what was done, i never knew for many months. at last, however, i met with a neighbor of the family, one day, who told me that the young woman's physicians entirely approved of my suggestions, and that by following them out for some time, she partially recovered her wonted measure of health. whether she recovered entirely, i never knew. the far greater probability is, that she remained more comfortable through the summer and autumn, but that the injudicious management of the next winter and spring reduced her to her former condition, or to a condition much worse. people are exceedingly forgetful even of their dearest rights and interests. they may, perhaps, exert themselves in the moment of great and pressing danger; but as soon as the danger appears to be somewhat over they relapse into their former stupidity. there is, however, much reason for believing that consumptive people might often live on many years beyond their present scanty limit, could they be made to feel that their recovery depends, almost wholly, on a strict obedience to the laws of health, and not on taking medicine. if miss h., by strict obedience, could recover from a dangerous condition, and enjoy six or eight months of tolerable health, is it not highly probable, to say the least, that a rigid pursuance of the same course would have kept her from a relapse into her former low and dangerous condition? it is in this way, as i suppose, that consumption is to be cured, if cured at all. it is to be _postponed_. in some cases it can be postponed one year; in some, five years; in some, ten, fifteen, or twenty; in a few, forty or fifty. it is in this respect with consumption, however, as it is with other diseases. in a strictly pathological sense, no disease is ever entirely cured. in one way or another its effects are apt to be permanent. the only important difference, in this particular, between consumption and other diseases, is, that since the lungs are vital organs, more essential to life and health than some other organs or parts, the injury inflicted on them is apt to be deeper, and more likely to shorten, with certainty, the whole period of our existence. connected with this subject, viz., the treatment of consumption, there is probably much more of quackery than in any other department of disease which could possibly be mentioned. one individual who makes pretensions to cure, in this formidable disease, and who has written and spoken very largely on the subject, heralds his own practice with the following proclamation: "five thousand persons cured of consumption in one year, by following the directions of this work." another declares he has cured some sixty or seventy out of about one hundred and twenty patients of this description, for whom he has been called to prescribe. now, if by curing this disease is meant the production of such changes in the system, that it is no more likely to recur than to attack any other person who has not yet been afflicted with it, then such statements or insinuations as the foregoing are not merely groundless, but absolutely and unqualifiedly false, and their authors ought to know it. for i have had ample opportunity of watching their practice, and following it up to the end, and hence speak what i know, and testify what i have seen. but if they only mean by cure, the _postponement_ of disease for a period of greater or less duration, then the case is altered; though, in that case, what becomes of their skill? no book worthy of the name can be consulted by a consumptive person without his deriving from it many valuable hints, which if duly attended to may assist him in greatly prolonging his days; and the same may be said of the prescriptions of the physician. yet, i repeat, it is a misnomer, in either case, to call the improvement a cure. consumptive people continue to live, whenever their lives are prolonged, as the consequence of what they do to promote their general health. one is roused to a little exercise, which somewhat improves his condition, and prolongs his days. another is induced to pay an increased regard to temperature, and he lives on. another abandons all medicine, and throws himself into the open arms of nature, and thus prolongs, for a few months or a few years, his existence. if this is _cure_, then we may have all or nearly all of our consumptives cured, some of them a great many times over. some few aged practitioners may be found to have cured, during the long years of their medical practice, more than five thousand persons of this description. there is no higher or larger sense than this in which any individual has cured five thousand, or five hundred, or even fifty persons a year, of consumption. on this, a misguided, misinformed public may reply: many, indeed, revive a little, as the lamp sometimes brightens up in its last moments; but this very revival or flickering only betokens a more speedy and certain dissolution. on the other hand, predisposition to consumption no more renders it necessary that we should die of this disease in early life, at an average longevity of less than thirty years, than the loading and priming of a musket or piece of artillery renders it necessary that there should be an immediate or early explosion. without an igniting spark there will be no discharge in a thousand years. in like manner, a person may be "loaded and primed" for consumption fifty years, if not even a hundred, without the least necessity of "going off," provided that the igniting spark can be kept away. our power to protect life, both in the case of consumption and many more diseases, is in proportion to our power to withhold the igniting spark. and herein it is that medical skill is needful in this dreadful disease, and ought to be frequently and largely invoked. if the estimate which has been made by prof. hooker, of yale college, that one in five of the population of the northern united states die of consumption, is correct, then not less than two millions of the present inhabitants of new england, new york, pennsylvania, and ohio, are destined, as things now are, to die of this disease. what a thought! can it be so? can it be that two millions of the ten millions now on the stage of action in the northern united states, are not only _predisposed_ to droop and die, but are laid under a constitutional necessity of so doing? must the igniting spark be applied? must the disease be "touched off" with hot or impure air, by hard colds, by excitements of body and mind, and in a thousand and one other ways? people are not wholly ignorant on this great subject. would they but _do_ as well as they _know_, the fatal igniting spark would be much oftener and longer withheld; and, indeed, in many instances, would never prove the immediate cause of dissolution. the lamp of life would burn on--_sometimes, it may be, rather feebly_--till its oil was wholly exhausted, as it always ought. man has no more occasion, as a matter of necessity, to die of consumption, than the lamp or the candle. this, if true,--and is it not?--should be most welcome intelligence in a country where, at some seasons and in particular localities, one-fourth of all who die, perish of this disease. in march, , twenty-one persons out of eighty who died in boston in a single week, were reported as having died of consumption; and in june of the same year, the proportion was nearly as great. in newton, a few miles from boston, the proportion for the last ten years has been also about one in four. but place the proportion for the whole northern united states, at one in five only, or even one in six. yet even at this rate, the annual mortality for new york or new england, must be about twelve or fourteen thousand. yet it seems to excite little if any surprise. but when or where has the cholera, the yellow fever, or the plague depopulated a country of three millions of people, for each succeeding year, at the rate of twelve thousand annually, or one hundred and twenty thousand every ten years? one reason why the statements i have made, of the possible postponement of consumptive disease, should be most welcome intelligence, is found in the fact that they inspire with the hope of _living_. the ordinary expectation that those who inherit a consumptive tendency must die prematurely, has been fatal to thousands. mankind, in more respects than one, tend to become what they are taken to be. if we take them to be early destined to the tomb, they go there almost inevitably. there is, i grant, one most fortunate drawback upon this tendency. most people who have the truly consumptive character, are disposed to disbelieve it. they are generally "buoyant and hopeful," which, in some degree, neutralizes the effect of sombre faces, and grave and prognosticating jeremiades. it will not be out of place to present the patient reader with an anecdote, which may or may not be true, but which i received as truth from the people of the neighborhood where the facts which it discloses are said to have occurred. in the eastern part of connecticut, not many years since, a young man lay on his bed, very feeble and greatly emaciated, almost gone, as everybody supposed but himself, with pulmonary consumption. and yet, up to that very hour, the thought that his disease was consumption, had never obtained a lodgment in his own mind for a moment. on the contrary, he was still fondly hoping that sooner or later he should recover. it was fortunately about the middle of the forenoon one day,--an hour when his body and mind were in the best condition to endure it,--that his listening ear first caught from those around him the word _consumption_. starting up, he said, "do you think my disease is consumption?" they frankly told him their fears. "and do you think," he added, "that i must die?" they did not conceal longer their real sentiments. he was for a few moments greatly distressed, and seemed almost overpowered. at length, however, a reaction came, when, raising his head a little, he deliberately but firmly exclaimed, "i can't die, and i won't die." after a few moments' pause and reflection, he said, "i must be got up." his attendants protested against the effort, but it was to no purpose. nothing would satisfy him but the attempt. he was bolstered up in his bed, but the effort brought on a severe fit of coughing, and he was obliged to lie down again. the next forenoon, at about the same hour, he renewed the request to be got up. the result was nearly as before. the process, however, was repeated from day to day, till at length, to the great joy and surprise of his friends, he could sit in his bed fifteen or twenty minutes. it is true that it always slightly increased the severity of his cough; but the paroxysm was no worse at the twentieth trial than at the first, while he evidently gained, during the effort, a little muscular strength. it was not many weeks before he could sit up in bed for an hour or more, with a good degree of comfort. "now," said he, "i must be taken out of bed and placed in a chair." at first his friends remonstrated, but they at length yielded and made the attempt. it was too much for him; but he persevered, and after a few repeated daily efforts, as before, at length succeeded. continuing to do what he could, from day to day, he was, ere long, able to sit up a considerable time twice a day. he now made a third advance. he begged to be placed in an open carriage. as i must be brief, i will only say that, after many efforts and some failures, he at length succeeded, and was able to ride abroad several miles a day, whenever the weather was at all favorable. nor was his cough at all aggravated by it. on the contrary, as his strength increased, it became rather less harassing and exhausting. one more advance was made. he must be helped, as he said, upon a horse. it was doubtful, even to himself, whether he had strength enough to endure exercise in this form; but he was determined to try it. the attempt was completely successful, and it was scarcely a week before he could ride a mile or two without very much fatigue. the final result was such a degree of recovery as enabled him to ride about on horseback several miles a day for six years. he was never quite well, it is true, but he was comfortable, and, to some extent, useful. he could do errands. he could perform many little services at home and abroad. he could, at least, take care of himself. at the end of this period, however, his strength gave way, and he sank peacefully to the tomb. he was completely worn out. now the principal lesson to be learned from this story is obvious. _determination_ to live is almost equivalent to _power_ to live. a strong will, in other words, is almost omnipotent. of the good effects of this strong determination, in case of protracted and dangerous disease of this sort, i have had no small share of experience, as the reader has already seen in chapter xxiii. another fact may be stated under this head. a young man in southern massachusetts, a teacher, was bleeding at the lungs, and was yielding at length to the conviction--for he had studied the subjects of health and disease--that he must ere long perish from consumption. i told him there was no necessity of such a result, and directed him to the appropriate means of escape. he followed my directions, and after some time regained his health. ten or twelve years have now passed away, and few young men have done more hard work during that time than he; and, indeed, few are able, at the present moment, to do more. it is to be observed, however, that he made an entire change in his dietetic habits, to which he still adheres. he avoids all stimulating food--particularly all animal food--and uses no drink but water. i did not advise him, while bleeding, to mount a hard-trotting horse, and trot away as hard as he could, and let the blood gush forth as it pleased. it is a prescription which i have not yet hazarded. i might do so in some circumstances, when i was sure of being aided by that almost omnipotent determination of which i have elsewhere spoken. i might do it occasionally; but it would be a rare combination of circumstances that would compel me. i might do it in the case of a resolute sea captain, who insisted on it, would not take _no_ for an answer, and would assume the whole responsibility. i might and would do it for such a man as dr. kane. i have, myself, bled slightly at the lungs; but while i did not, on the one hand, allow myself to be half frightened to death, i did not, on the other hand, dare to meet the hemorrhagic tendency by any violent measures; not even by the motion of a trotting horse. i preferred the alternative of moderate exercise in the open air, with a recumbent position in a cool room, having my body well protected by needful additional clothing, with deep breathing to expand gently my chest, and general cheerfulness. but i have treated on this subject--my own general experience--at sufficient length elsewhere. chapter lviii. poisoning by a painted pail. a child about a week old, but naturally very sensitive and irritable, became, one night, unusually restless and rather feverish, with derangement of the bowels. the condition of the latter was somewhat peculiar, and i was not a little puzzled to account for it. there was nothing in the condition of the mother which seemed to me adequate to the production of such effects. she was as healthy as delicate females usually are in similar circumstances. the derangement of the child's bowels continued and increased, and i was more and more puzzled. was it any thing, i said to myself, which was imbibed or received from the mother? just at the time, i happened to be reading what dr. whitlaw, a foreign medical writer, says of the effects which sometimes follow when cows that are suckling calves feed on buttercup. the poison of the latter, as he says, instead of injuring the cow herself, affects, most seriously, the calf, and, in some few instances, destroys it. this led me to search more perseveringly than i had before done, for a cause of so much bowel-disturbance in my young patient. at length i found that a wooden pail, in which water was kept for family use, had been but recently painted inside; and that the paint used was prepared in part, from the oxyde of lead, usually called white lead. on this i immediately fastened the charge of poisoning. my suspicions were confirmed by the fact that the mother had been more thirsty and feverish than usual, during a few hours previous to the child's first manifestation of disease, and had allowed herself to drink very freely of water, which was taken from the very pail on which our suspicions now rested. another fact of kindred aspect was, that the child recovered just in proportion as the mother left off drinking from the painted pail, and used water which was procured in vessels of whose integrity we had no doubt. most people who had any knowledge of the facts in the case, said that the cause i assigned could not have been the true one, since it was inadequate to the production of such an effect. but the truth is, we know very little about poisons, in their action on the living body, whether immediate or remote. till this time, although i had read on it as much as most medical men, yet i knew--practically knew--almost as little as the most illiterate. yet the subject was one with which professional physicians should be familiarly acquainted, if nobody else is. many an individual, as we have the most abundant reason for believing, loses his health, if not his life, from causes which appear to be equally slight. a mr. earle, of massachusetts, cannot swallow a tumbler of water containing a few particles of lead, without being made quite sick by it. nor is he alone in this particular. such sensitiveness to the presence of a poisonous agency is by no means uncommon. it may be found to exist in some few individuals in every country, and almost every neighborhood. chapter lix. one drop of laudanum. a babe, not yet a day old, came under my care for treatment. what the symptoms were, except those of nervous irritation, i have now forgotten; but there was ample evidence of much disturbance in the system, and the parents and friends were exceedingly anxious about the results. now it was one of those cases in which a large proportion of our medical men are exceedingly ignorant, and only guess out the cause or causes as well as they can. i was thus ignorant, and would not--and as an honest man, _could_ not--attempt to divine the cause or give a name to the disease. yet i must needs, as i verily thought, prescribe something and somehow. so i took a single drop of laudanum, and diluted it well, and made the child swallow it. he soon became easy, quite too easy, and fell into a profound sleep. so deep and profound, in fact, was its sleep, or rather its _stupor_, that i began to be afraid it never would awake. how strange, i thought within myself, that a single drop of this liquid should produce so much effect! yet it taught me wisdom. it taught me to let medicine alone--strong medicine, at least--in the diseases of very young children. it also taught me not to give too large doses to anybody, especially to those who had never taken any before. the first dose, for unperverted nature, must be very small indeed! how much my little patient was injured, permanently, by this act of unpardonable carelessness, i never knew. it may have laid the foundation for many ills which he has since experienced, some of which have been severe and trying. or, if otherwise, it may have aggravated such ills as had their origin in other causes. or, if nothing more, it may have contributed to a delicacy and sensitiveness and feebleness of structure, which can never, in all probability, be fully overcome, and which have more to do, even with our moral tendencies and character, than most of us are fully aware. how much would i give to be able to blot from my history such errors and defects of character as this! for, though i confess to nothing worse than haste and carelessness, in the present instance, yet a medical man, like the commander in the battle field or elsewhere, has no right to be careless. my aged, honored father gravely insisted, all his life long, that no accidents, as they are termed, in human life, ever take place, unless there is in the first place, carelessness, somewhere. much more is it true that many an individual who sickens and loses his life, is the victim of carelessness; or, what is the same thing, want of attention, when great care and attention were necessary, and the issues of life and death were suspended, as it were, on a thread! chapter lx. mrs. kidder's cordial. should you ever go to boston, and pass along a certain street called court street, almost to its western extremity, you may probably see at your left hand, in large letters of various fantastical shapes, the words which i have placed at the head of this chapter; viz., "mrs. kidder's cordial." sometimes, i believe, it is called her cholera cordial; but it is sufficiently well known, as i suppose, by the former name. but how is it known? not merely by the sign i have mentioned, fastened up at the door of that aforesaid shop in court street, but by a host of advertisements in the public papers; and in other cities as well as boston. you may find them in almost every public house, post-office, railroad depot, and grocery in new england; or, as i might perhaps say, in the whole union. i once had a child severely sick, at a season of the year when not only the asiatic cholera prevailed, but also the cholera morbus. she was teething at the time, which was doubtless one cause of her illness,--to which however, as i suppose, other causes may have been added. in any event, she was in a very bad condition, and required the wisest and most careful medical attention. there was also a young woman in the house who was ill in the same way, but not so ill as the child. at that time my residence was very near the metropolis, though, as i have already told you, mrs. kidder's cordial could be had almost everywhere. having occasion to go to town, i fell in with an old friend who kindly inquired after the health of my family. when i had told him, he boldly and with true yankee impertinence, asked what i had done for my family patients; to which i replied, with a frankness and simplicity which was fully equal to his boldness, "nothing, as yet." "do you mean to do nothing?" said he, with some surprise. i told him that i did not know what i might do in future, but that i saw no necessity of using any active medication at present. "are you not aware," i added, "that physicians seldom take their own medicines or give them to their families?" "i know very well," said he, "that physicians theorize a good deal about these matters; but after all, experience is the best school-master. should you lose that little girl of yours, simply because you are anxious to carry out a theory, will you not be likely to regret it? as yet you have lost no children, and therefore, though much older than myself, you have not had all the experience which has fallen to my lot; and experience is the best school-master." "true," i answered, "i am not too old to learn from that experience, which, in a certain sense, is the basis of all just knowledge, especially in medicine. what you call my theory, or at least all the theory i have, is grounded on this same experience; not, indeed, that of one man in one neighborhood, nor, indeed, in one nation. i have looked the world over." "and you have come to the very wise conclusion, it would seem," said he, "that medicine never does any good, and that you will never give it more, except to those who are determined to have it, or will not fasten their faith on any thing else." "not exactly that," i replied. "i can think of a great number of cases in which i would give medicine. for example: suppose one of my children had by the merest accident taken a dose of poison, which, if retained, must inevitably destroy it, i would much sooner give that child an active emetic--which, of course, is medicine--than stand still and see it die." "very well," said he, "your child and miss l., are, in one point of view, poisoned. they will probably die, if you stand still and do nothing; at least i have not a doubt that the little girl will. now take my advice, and do something before it is too late. give up all your theories and fine-spun reasonings, and do as others do, and save your child." as i had but little time for conversation with him, even on a highly important and deeply interesting subject, above all to point out the difference between the two cases he mentioned. i was now about ready to say "good-morning," and leave him. "stop a moment," said he, "and go with me to the second shop beyond that corner, and get a bottle of mrs. kidder's cordial for your sick folks." here i smiled. "well," said he, "you may continue to smile; but you will mourn in the end. i have used mrs. kidder's cordial in my family a good deal, and i assure you it is no humbug. it is all it promises. now just go with me, for once, and get a bottle of it. depend upon it, you will never regret it." although my good friend had not succeeded in changing my views by his many affirmations, nor by his strong appeal to his experience of the good effects of the cordial in his own family (for i well knew he had lost almost all his children), i consented to go with him to the shop, partly to get rid of him. when we arrived i bought a bottle of the cordial,--i believe for fifty cents,--put it in my pocket, and carried it home with me. when i reached home i put away the bottle, on a shelf in our family closet which was quite unoccupied, and inquired about the patients. the little girl was rather better, it was thought, but miss l. was still weak and low. i told them about the adventure with the bookseller, but omitted to state that i had purchased the cordial. in a very few days, by dint of good care and attention, and the blessing of a kind providence, the sick were both of them much better, and i could leave them for a whole day at a time. my business in town demanded my presence, and i repaired thither again. and who should i meet, on getting out of the omnibus, but my old friend, who had reasoned with me so patiently and perseveringly, in defence of mrs. kidder's cordial? he inquired, almost immediately, about my family; to which i joyfully replied, "better, all better. they were better in less than two days after i last saw you;--yes, they were a little better that very evening." "i told you it would be so," said he. "i never knew the cordial to fail when taken in season. i have lost several children, it is true; but they did not take it soon enough. i am profoundly glad you were in season. does it not operate like a charm?" "exactly so," said i, "if it operates at all; exactly like a charm, or like magic. shall i tell you the whole story?" "by all means," he replied; "let us have the whole of it; keep nothing back." "well, then, i went home, and placed the bottle of cordial on a high and obscure shelf, where nobody would be likely to see it, and proceeded with our sick folks just as before. the bottle of cordial remained unknown, except to myself, and untouched, and is probably untouched to the present hour. so you see--do you not?--how like a charm it operates." "just _like_ you, doctor. well, as long as they recovered i do not care. but i shall always have full faith in the medicine. i know what i know; and if all the world were of your opinion i could not resist a full belief in the efficacy of mrs. kidder's cholera cordial." my friend was not offended with me, for he was, in the main, a sensible, rational man. he pitied me; but, i believe from that time forth, gave up all hopes of my conversion. i come to this conclusion because he has never uttered a syllable on the subject, in my hearing, from that day to this hour, though i have met with him probably fifty times. there can be no doubt that were we to place full faith in the recuperative efforts of nature, three-fourths of our medicine--perhaps i may just as well say nine-tenths--would be quite as useful were it disposed of in the way i disposed of mrs. kidder's cordial, as when swallowed. nay, it is possible it might be much more useful. if a sick person can recover without it just as well as _with_ it, he certainly will get well more easily, even if it should not be more quickly, than if he had a load of foreign substance at his stomach to be disposed of. in other words, to get well in spite of medicine seems to me much less agreeable, after all that is said in its favor, than to get well in nature's own way. chapter lxi. almost raising the dead. so many people regarded it, and therefore i use the phrase as a title for my chapter. i have heard of families of children so large that it was not easy to find names for them all. my chapters of confession are short, but very numerous, and i already begin to find it difficult to procure titles that are _apropos_. mary benham was the second daughter, in an obscure and indigent family that resided only a little distance from my house, just beyond the limits of what might properly be called the village. i do not know much of her early history, except that she was precocious in mind, and scrofulous and feeble in body. the first time i ever heard any thing about her, was one night at a prayer-meeting. mr. brown, the minister, took occasion to observe, at the close of the meeting, in my hearing, that he must go to mr. benham's and see mary, for she was very ill, and it was thought would not live through the night. she survived, however, as she had done many times before, and as she did many times afterward, in similar circumstances. more than once mr. brown had been sent for--though sometimes other friends were called, as mr. brown lived more than a mile distant--to be with her and pray with her, in what were supposed to be her last moments. but there was still a good deal of tenacity of life; and she continued to live, notwithstanding all her expectations and those of her friends. it appeared, on inquiry, that her nervous system was very much disordered, and also her digestive machinery. she was also taking, from day to day, a large amount of active medicine. still no one appeared to doubt the propriety of such a course of treatment, in the case of a person so very sick as she was; for how, it was asked, could she live without it? in one or two instances i was sent for; not, indeed, as her physician, but as a substitute for the more distant or the absent minister. at these visits i learned something, incidentally, of her true physical condition. i found her case a very bad one, and yet, as i believed, made much worse by an injudicious use of medicine. yet what could i do in the premises? i had not been asked to prescribe for her, nor even to give counsel as a supernumerary or consulting physician. dr. m. paid her his weekly and semi-weekly visits, and doubtless supposed all the wisdom of the world added to his own would hardly improve her condition. i was, of course, by all the rules of medical etiquette, and even by the common law of politeness, obliged to bite my lips in silence. one thing, indeed, i ventured to do, which was to send her a small tract or two, in some of the departments of hygiene or health. soon after this her physician died; and died, too, by his own confession, publicly made, of stomach disease,--at least, in part. he was a man of gigantic body and great natural physical force. his digestive apparatus was particularly powerful, and it had been both unwisely cultivated and developed in early life, and unwisely and wickedly managed afterward. for an example of the latter, he would, while abroad among his patients, sometimes go without his dinner, and then, on his return to his family and just as he was going to bed, atone for past neglect by eating enough for a whole day, and of the most solid and perhaps indigestible food. in this and other abusive ways he had been suicidal. but he was now gone to his final account, and on whose arm could mary lean for medical advice? her parents were too poor to pay a physician's bill. what had been paid to her former medical attendant--which, indeed was but a mere pittance--was by authority of the town. mary felt all the delicacy she should have felt, in her circumstances, and perhaps more, for she refused for some time to ask for farther aid, preferring to groan her way alone. one evening, when i was present on a moral errand, she spoke of the great benefit she had derived from the perusal of the little books i had sent her, and modestly observed that, deprived as she was by the wise dispensation of providence, of her old friend and physician, she had sometimes dared to wish she could occasionally consult me. i told her i hoped she would not hesitate a moment to send for me, whenever she desired, for if in a situation to comply with her requests, i would always do so immediately. she was about to speak of her poverty, when i begged her not to think of that. the only condition i should impose, i told her, was that she should do her very best to follow, implicitly, my directions. with this condition she did not hesitate to promise a full and joyful compliance. from that time forth i saw her frequently, since i well knew that even voluntary visits would be welcome. i found she had become convinced of the necessity of breathing pure air, and of ventilating her room every day. nor did she neglect, as much as formerly, the great laws of cleanliness. yet, alas! in this respect, the hard hand of necessity was upon her. she could not do all she wished. however, she could apply water to her person daily, if she could not to her clothing and bedding; so that, on the whole, she did not greatly suffer. her mother did what she could, but she was old and decrepit. she had also made another advance. she had contrived to obtain, i hardly know from what source, but probably from the hands of kind friends, a small amount of good fruit to use daily, with one or more of her meals. this excluded a part or portion of that kind of food which was more stimulating and doubtful. but the greatest difficulty we had to encounter was to shake off the enormous load of narcotic medicine which had been so long prescribed for her that she seemed unable to live without it. morphine, in particular, she had come to use in quantities which would have destroyed a person who was unaccustomed to its influence, and in frequently repeated doses. i told her she might as well die in one way as another; that the morphine, though it afforded a little temporary relief, was wearing out her vital energies at a most rapid rate, and that the safest, and, in the end, the easiest way for her was, to abandon it entirely. she followed my advice, and made the attempt. i have forgotten how long a time it required to effect a complete emancipation from her slavery to drugs; but the process was a gradual one, and occupied at least several months. in the end, however, though not without considerable suffering, she was perfectly free, not only from her slavery to morphine, but to all other drugs. all this time, moreover, she was as _well_, to say the least, as before; perhaps, on the whole, a little better. i now set myself, in good earnest, to the work of improving her physical habits. the laws of ventilation and cleanliness, to which her attention, as i have already intimated, had become directed, were still more carefully heeded. she was required to retire early and rise early, and to keep her mind occupied, though never to the point of fatigue, while awake. her habits with regard to food and drink were changed very materially. the influence of the mind on the condition of the body was also explained to her, and the influence of temperature. in short, she was brought, as fast as possible, to the knowledge of physical law in its application to her circumstances, and encouraged to obey it. the recuperative powers of nature, even in unfavorable circumstances, were soon apparent. this greatly increased her docility and inspired her with faith and hope. the greatest trouble was in regard to muscular exercise. much of this was needed; and yet how could it be obtained? she could not walk, and yet, in her indigence, she had no means of conveyance, except at the occasional invitation of some friend. but this even had its good tendencies. to take her up, as we would have taken a child, set her in a carriage and let her ride half a mile or a mile, was obviously of great service to her. she was far less fatigued by it than was expected; her subsequent sleep was far better; nor did any remote evil effects follow. this greatly increased her courage, and raised the hopes of her friends. she was at length able to be placed in the railroad cars, and with the aid of coaches, at embarking and disembarking, to travel about a good deal, to the distance of ten, twelve, or twenty miles; and all this with favorable effects. her recovery, at no distant day, began to be regarded, by the most sceptical, as quite probable. my removal, a hundred miles or so from the village, just at this time, was, however, a misfortune to her. in one of her excursions, she received and accepted an invitation to spend a few months with a distant relative, where she came under the influence of one of the phases of modern quackery, by means of which her progress to the promised land of health was very considerably retarded. she even sickened, but afterward recovered. sometime after this, as i subsequently learned, she partially regained her good condition of steady progress, and returned to her father's house. finding herself, at length, able to do something for her support, she entered into the service of a neighboring family, at first with little compensation except her board, but subsequently at half pay or more. her domestic duties were such as only taxed her system to a degree which she was able to endure without any injury. it was in this condition, that, after two or three years of absence, i found her and rejoiced with her. for, though she could no more be said to be restored to perfect health, than a vessel could be considered perfectly sound that is full of shot holes, yet her condition was far enough from being desperate, and was even comparatively excellent. i left her once more with the tear of gratitude to god on her cheek, and again, for many long years, neither saw her nor heard from her. at our next interview she brought with her a gentleman whom she introduced to me as her husband. the meeting was to me wholly unexpected, but most happy. she lived in this relation, but without progeny, a few years more, and then sank in a decline, to rise no more till the sound of the last trumpet. of the particulars of her decline and death, i have never heard a word. her scrofulous temperament and tendencies rendered her liable to numerous diseases of greater or less severity and danger, to some of which she probably fell a victim. it is, however, by no means impossible that her numerous cares and anxieties--for she was naturally very sensitive--may have hastened her exit. if i have any misgivings in connection with this protracted, but very interesting case, and consequently any confessions to make, it is with reference to the point faintly alluded to in a preceding paragraph. while i honor, as much as any man, the marriage relation,--for it is in accordance with god's own intention, and is the first institution of high heaven for human benefit and happiness,--i must freely confess that in the present fallen condition of our race, it occasionally happens that an individual is found unfit for the discharge of its various duties, as well as for the endurance of some of its peculiar responsibilities. such, as i believe, among others, was mary benham. chapter lxii. female health, and insane hospitals. a female, about thirty-five years of age, and naturally of a melancholic temperament, was very frequently at my room for the purpose of conversing with me in regard to her health. most of her complaints--for they were numerous--were grafted upon a strongly bilious habit, and were such as required in the possessor and sufferer, more than an ordinary measure of attention to the digestive organs and the skin. and yet both these departments, especially the latter, had been in her case, hitherto, utterly neglected. to speak plainly, and with some license as a physiologist, _she had no skin_. it was little more than a mere wrapper, so far as the great purposes of health were concerned. a dried and even tanned hide, could it have been fitted to her person with sufficient exactness, would have subserved nearly the same purposes. perhaps you will excuse the tendency in the description of this case, to exaggeration, when you are informed that the treatment of themselves, in the particular here alluded to, by females especially, is one which habitually fills one with disgust, and sometimes with indignation. persons of good sense, of both sexes, who from month to month, perhaps from year to year, never wash their skins, nor use much muscular exercise, ought to know that they must, sooner or later, experience the dreadful penalty attached to violated physical law, and from which there is, neither on earth nor in heaven, any possible escape. can any one suppose, for a moment, that so curious and complicated an organ as the skin, and one of such considerable extent, has nothing to do? nearly every living person has some idea, of greater or less intensity, of pores in the skin; at least, they use language which implies such an idea. they talk, often, of the necessity of keeping these pores open. but how is it to be done? not certainly while they use little or no muscular exercise, by washing, once a day, their hands and faces merely, or, as some say, their fingers, their noses, and the tips of their chins. they may talk, on occasions, very boldly and flippantly, about _sweating_ away a cold, as they term it; but do they vainly suppose that the sweat vessels or sweating machinery has nothing to do, from day to day, which might prevent the necessity of resorting to these sweating processes? miss l. appeared to be in utter ignorance of any laws of the skin, or of the digestive or muscular systems. and yet her thoughts had been turned, often and frequently, to her own feelings and sensations. she would talk, almost incessantly, if anybody would hear her, about her aches and pains, and could describe her whole train of feelings, from morning to evening, with a faithfulness and patience and minuteness that would have furnished a genius less than defoe with material sufficient for quite a huge volume. now i could have visited and counselled miss l., at least once a week, with great profit to herself, had she been as intelligent, in general, as she was familiar with her own sensations. as things were, her confidence was rather more troublesome than agreeable; but she was, practically, a standing patient; and physicians, as you know, cannot choose. they must be, among mankind, like the great physician, as they who "_serve_;" not as those who are _to be served_, or accommodated. and they must serve those who come to them. miss l. was evidently somewhat disappointed, when she found i was not disposed to give her any medicine. a little, she thought, might sometimes be useful; a great deal she did not believe in, of course. experience had forced upon her some of the lessons of wisdom. however, she contrived to fasten a good deal of faith on the laws of health, which i continually held forth to her. in particular, i urged on her the necessity of endeavoring to keep up what i was wont to call a centrifugal tendency in her system. a good plump, healthful, ever active, and ever vigorous skin was, as i told her, our only hope in her case. as a means to this end, and also as a means of withdrawing her attention from the slavery of a constant attendance on her own sensations, i urged her to mingle with society much more, and go about doing good to others, on the great principle, "it is more blessed to give than to receive." i warned her, however, against the danger of falling into the habit of giving an account of herself--her woes and sorrows--to every one she might meet with, who should kindly inquire about her condition, since it would greatly retard her improvement, even if it did not keep up or renew her disease. among other things, i ventured to suggest to her the importance of having something to do--something of a permanent nature. "we hear," i said, "of gentlemen at large, and you seem to be a lady at large. you have, in the usual acceptation of the phrase, nothing to do. would it not be well for you to take charge of something or of somebody? you might, perhaps, assume the office of teacher, and take the charge of a few pupils; or even adopt a child or two as your own, where you might receive compensation. or," as i finally added,--for i perceived she shrunk from all responsibilities of this kind,--"you might, perhaps, become the mistress of a family." on the last mentioned topic, i was also obliged, for obvious reasons, to speak with considerable caution. she was unsocial, timid, fearful of being burdened with cares--the very stuff, though she knew it not, that human life is made of, ay, and human happiness too. but i could not hesitate to make the trial. my suggestions, however, were of little avail. she went on for some time, in the old way, and made very little progress. i lost sight of her about this time, and never met her more. the sequel of her history i only know from report. it is painful in the extreme. it is, however, the history, in all its essential features, of thousands of selfish people, who, after all, by dint of numbers, force, and influence, contrive to rule the world. being fully determined to have no cares or responsibilities connected with children or household, she not only refused to hearken to my advice, but also to one or more truly kind and promising offers of marriage. she pursued her selfish course undisturbed, unless by occasional misgivings, till her brain and nervous system suffered so severely that she began to approach the confines of insanity. it was, however, a considerable time before the silver cord was loosed, the golden bowl broken, and the wheel broken at the cistern. but the terrible result at length came. the demands of violated physical law are inexorable. she was conveyed, as a last resort, in the hope of cure, to an insane hospital. here, after many and patient attempts to restore the crippled and broken down machinery to healthful motion, she ended her days. my female patients were not all equally unfortunate. one i had, whose case, if minutely described, would present an array of facts painful in the extreme. she, too, approached the dark regions of insanity; but she did not enter. she still lives, and is at once a useful and happy woman, and an excellent wife and housekeeper. as a means to her recovery, however, she pursued a course diametrically opposite to that pursued by miss l. she did not shrink from care and responsibility; on the contrary, she submitted to both. first, she sought increased activity and usefulness in her father's family; and, secondly, in a family of her own. concerning the last mentioned case, i have few misgivings, and equally few confessions to make. i call it a remarkable case; but it must not be revealed in its details, for other reasons besides its tediousness. in the case of miss l., however, i have one deep and lasting regret. in the early part of my acquaintance with her, as a medical man, she probably had more confidence in my integrity and skill than in those of any other living individual. she had been early left an orphan; and i was among the first--perhaps the very first--to take the attitude towards her of a true father. such kindness, and especially such paternal care, never fail to make their impression. "love, and love only, is the loan for love." at this early sympathizing period, had i been more faithful, i might, perhaps, have saved her. but i was remiss--disposed to delay. i waited, a thousand times, for a better opportunity. i waited till the favorable moment--ay, the _only_ moment--had passed by. physicians often err here. god gives to many individuals the most unbounded confidence in medical men; and this remarkable provision of his has a deep meaning. it is not, however, to the intent that they should abuse the influence thus secured to them, by filling their patients' stomachs with pills and powders; but for such purposes, rather, as have been indicated by the general tenor of the foregoing remarks. it is that they may give them wise paternal counsel and sound physiological and pathological instruction. such counsel and such instruction were indeed given to miss l., but not to that extent which the nature of the case required, and which a little more moral courage and christian plainness would have secured. she was worth saving, and i might, perchance, have been the honored instrument of saving her, and of thus rendering to society a most valuable service. that vital energy of hers which was expended in watching over her own internal feelings, might have been rendered a much more profitable investment. but the account is closed and sealed, to be agitated or questioned no more till the inquisitions of the last day. let such considerations and reflections as this remark suggests to the human mind have their intended effect. let us ever increase our zeal and watchfulness, that we may avoid such a course of conduct as makes confessions meet, or needful, or even salutary. chapter lxiii. a giant dyspeptic. there have been giants in the earth, in nearly every age, if not in every clime--giants mentally, and giants physically. of course they may have been rare exhibitions, and may thus have elicited much attention; and some of them have attained to quite a memorable place in history. there have been and still are, on the earth, giants of other descriptions. we sometimes even meet with giant dyspeptics. dyspepsia, at best, is formidable, many-headed, but not always gigantic. if gigantic size, in this case, were the general rule, what we now call giants would, of course, cease to be regarded as such. it may be thought that what i shall here call dyspeptic giants, or giant dyspeptics, were better designated as monsters, than giants. be it so, for we will not quarrel about names; though a difficulty might be found in making the required distinction between giants and monsters; for is not every giant a monster? not far from the year , perhaps a little earlier, you might have seen, in connection with a certain private seminary of education, in new england, one of these giant dyspeptics. i do not mean, of course, that he had already attained to giant size, but only that what proved in the result to be gigantic was already a giant in miniature, and was rapidly advancing to one of magnitude. he had early been a cabin boy; and like many other cabin boys, had been gluttonous, and in some respects intemperate. not by any means, that he had ever been guilty of downright intoxication; for of this i have no certain knowledge. my belief is, however, that he had gone very far in this direction, though he might not have--probably _had_ not--been justly chargeable with going quite to the last extremity. but why should such a young man be found at a seminary of learning? was he with "birds of a feather?" do not these attract each other? mr. gray, for that is the name i shall give to our young dyspeptic, had been recently subjected to the influences of one of those seasons of excitement well known in the religious world by the name of _revivals_; and what is not at all uncommon with the rude and uncultivated minds of even more hardened sailors than he, a great change had come over him. in short, he had the appearance, in every respect, of being a truly converted young man. why this change of character had led him to this school-house, may not at first appear. yet such a result is by no means unusual. this waking up the mind, by awakening the soul, and causing it to hunger and thirst after knowledge, has been observed long since, by those who have had their eyes open to what was going on around them. young gray was penniless, and his parents not only poor, but overburdened with the cares of a large family, so that they could give him no aid but by their prayers. he was not, however, to be discouraged by poverty. he agreed to ring the bell, sweep the hall, build fires, etc., for his board and tuition. as for clothing, he had none, or almost none. charity, cold as her hand oftentimes is, supplied him with something. dyspepsia had not, as yet, marred his visage or weakened his energies. in his connection with this seminary and others of kindred character, such as he could attend and yet pay his expenses by his labor, he became, ere long, able to teach others. here was a new means of support, of which he eagerly availed himself. in whatever he undertook, moreover, he was singularly successful. he was in earnest. an earnest mind, in connection with an indomitable will--what may it not accomplish? it is every thing but omnipotent. "heaven but persuades, almighty man decrees," as i have before said, assuming our old english poets as standard authority; but this saying has more in it than mere poetry. or, if heaven more than persuades--somewhat more--does not man still decree? but i am inclined, i see, to press this thought, perhaps in undue proportion to its magnitude. whether or not it abates one half the guilt, i make the confession. for several years gray pushed his devious course, through "thick and thin," sustaining himself chiefly by his teaching. in , he was the private instructor of a wealthy family in rhode island; but so puzzling, not to say erratic, were some of his movements, that he was not very popular. subsequently to this, he was found in another part of new england, editing a paper, and teaching at the same time a small number of pupils. all this while he paid great attention to physical education; but being either a charity scholar, or obliged to pay his way by his own exertions, he had not at command the needful time to render him thorough in any thing, even in his obedience, as he called it, to nature's laws. nearly all his studies were pursued by snatches, or, at least, with more or less irregularity. in nothing, however, was he more irregular than in his diet. this, to a person already inclined, as he certainly was, to dyspepsia, was very unfortunate. perhaps, as generally happens in such cases, there was _action and reaction_. perhaps, i mean, his dyspeptic tendencies led to more or less of dietetic irregularity; while the latter, whenever yielded to, had a tendency, in its turn, to increase his load of dyspepsia. there was, indeed, one apology to be found for his irregularity with regard to diet, in his extreme poverty. there were times when he was actually compelled to subsist on the most scanty fare; while his principles, too, restricted him to very great plainness. in one instance, for example, after he had finished his preparatory, course of study and entered college, he subsisted wholly on a certain quantity of bread daily; and as if not quite satisfied with even this restriction, while he needed his money so much more for clothing and books, he purchased stale bread--sometimes that which was imperfect--at a cheaper rate. now a diet, exclusively of fine flour bread, and withal more or less sour or mouldy, is not very suitable for a dyspeptic, nor yet, indeed, for anybody whatever. however, he learned, at length, to improve a little upon this, by purchasing coarse, or graham bread. subsequently to this period, not being able, either alone or with the aid of friends, most of whom were poor, to pursue a regular academic course of instruction, he accepted the proposition that he should become an assistant teacher in the english department of a school in europe. this, he feared, might postpone the completion of his studies, but would enable him, as he believed, to improve his mind, establish his health, and add greatly to his experience and to his knowledge of the world. it would also perfect him in teaching, so far at least as the mere inculcation of english grammar was concerned. his health was by no means improved by a residence of three or four years in europe, but rather impaired. he returned to america, in the autumn of , and as soon as he had partially recovered from the effects of a tedious and dangerous voyage, went to reside in the family of a near relative who was a farmer, with a view to learn, for the first time, what the labors of the farm would do for him. here he often resorted to the same rigid economy which he had before practised, both at academy and college, and in europe. the very best living he would allow himself was a diet exclusively of small potatoes--those, i mean, from which the larger ones had been separated for the use of others. this, his dyspeptic stomach would not long endure. his digestive and nervous systems both became considerably deranged; and even his skin, sympathizing with the diseased lining membrane of his stomach and intestines, became the seat of very painful boils and troublesome sores. these, while they indicated still deeper if not more troublesome disease, gave one encouraging indication--that the recuperative powers of the system were not as yet irrecoverably prostrated. he now came to me and begged to become my patient, and to reside permanently under my roof, so that he might not only receive such daily attention and counsel as the circumstances required, but also such food, air, exercise, and ablutions as were needful. he was accordingly admitted to the rights, privileges, and self-denials of the family. here he spent a considerable time. while under my care, i made every reasonable exertion for his recovery which i would have made for a favorite child. indeed, few children were ever more obedient or docile. he would sometimes say to me: "doctor, i have no more power over myself than a child, and you must treat me _as you would_ a child." nor was he satisfied till i restricted his every step, both with regard to the quantity and quality of his food, and the hours and seasons of bathing, exercise, reading, etc. it was to me a painful task, and i sometimes shrunk from it, for the moment. there was, however, no escape. i had embarked in the enterprise, and must take the consequences. at first, his improvement was scarcely perceptible, and i was almost discouraged. but at length, after much patience and perseverance, the suffering digestive organs began, in some measure, to resume their healthful condition, and the whole face of things to wear a different aspect. he left us to take charge of a public school. for some time after the opening of this school, his health seemed to be steadily improving, and the world around him began to have its charms again. he was in his own chosen, and, i might say, native element, which was to him a far more healthful stimulus than any other which could have been devised, whether by the physician or the physiologist. nothing in this world is so well calculated to preserve and promote human health, as full and constant employment, of a kind which is perfectly congenial and healthful, and which we are fully assured is useful. in other words, the first great law of health is benevolence. it keeps up in the system that centrifugal tendency of the circulation of which i have already spoken, and which is so favorable for the rejection of all effete and irritating matters. it would have been next to impossible for our saviour, with head, heart, and hands engaged as his were, to have sickened; nor was it till the most flagrant physiological transgressions had been long repeated, that even howard the philanthropist sickened and died. not the whole combined force of malaria and contagion could overcome him, till continual over-fatigue, persistent cold, and strong tea,--an almost matchless trio,--lent their aid to give the finishing stroke. mr. gray was a boarder with a gentleman who kept a grocery store, and who was glad to employ him on certain days and hours of vacation or recess, in taking care of the shop and waiting on his customers. here the tempter again assailed him, in the form of foreign fruits, raisins, figs, prunes, oranges, dried fish, cordials, candy, etc. for some time past he had been wholly unaccustomed to these things; they had even been forbidden him, especially between his meals. as a consequence of his indulgences, and his neglect of exercise, his health again declined, and he came a second time under my care. he was partially restored the second time, but not entirely. his labors, which were teaching still, became more exhausting than formerly. cheerfulness, hope, sympathy, conscious usefulness, and the force of many good habits, sustained him for a time, but not always. his great labors of body and mind, with a deep sense of responsibility, and the indulgences to which i have alluded, preyed upon him, and dyspepsia began once more her reign of tyranny. doubtless he attempted too much here, for he was an enthusiast on the subject of common schools and common school instruction. and yet, under almost any circumstances of school-keeping, dyspepsia, nurtured as it was by every physical habit, would most certainly have assailed him. with regard to his food and drink he was very unwise. it contributed largely to an extreme of irritability, which was unfavorable, and which at the end of a single term compelled him to resign his place and seek some other employment. this was a grievous disappointment to mr. gray, and, as some of his friends believe, was the mountain weight that crushed him. the horrors of the abyss into which he believed he had plunged himself, were the more intolerable from the fact that he now, for the first time, began to despair of being able to consummate a plan by means of which both his sorrows and joys, especially the latter, would have been shared by another. yet, even here, he did not absolutely despair. hope revived when he found himself, a third time, my patient. i did all in my power to encourage him till i had at length, to my own surprise as well as his, the unspeakable pleasure of finding him again returning to the path of health and happiness. it is indeed true, that a capricious appetite still retained its sway, in greater or less degree, and whenever he was not awed by my presence, he would indulge himself in the use of things which he knew were injurious to him, as well as in the excessive, not to say gluttonous, use of such good things as were tolerated. he occasionally confessed his impotence, and begged us to keep every thing out of his way, even those remnants which were designed for the domestic animals! and yet, after all, strange to say, he absented himself very frequently, as if to seek places of retirement, where he could indulge his tyrannical appetite. i saw most clearly his danger, and spoke to him concerning it. i appealed to his fears, to his hopes, to his conscience. i reminded him of the love he bore to humanity, and the regard he had for divinity. once more, being partly recruited, he resumed his labors as a teacher. this was doubtless a wrong measure, and yet i was not aware of the error at the time, or i should not have encouraged the movement, or assisted him as i did in procuring a situation. but i then thought he had been punished so effectually for his transgressions, that he would at length be wise. besides he was exceedingly anxious to be at work, and to avoid dependence, a desire in which his friends participated, and in regard to which they were so unwise as to express their over anxiety in his hearing. three months in the school-house found him worse than ever before. he had attempted to board himself, to subsist on a very few ounces of "graham wafers" at each meal, and to be an hour in masticating it. as an occasional compensation for this, however, a sort of _treating resolution_, he allowed himself to pick up the crusts and other fragments left about the school-house by his pupils, and when he had collected quite a pile of these, to indulge his appetite with them, _ad libitum_. nor was this all. he erred in other particulars, perhaps in many. he came to my house a fourth time, but my situation was such that i could not well receive him. he staid only a day or two, but his residence with us was long enough to enable me to mark the progress of his case, and to deplore what i feared must be the final issue. from me he went to a friend in an adjoining state; not, however, till he had alluded to certain errors of his recent life that he had not yet devulged, even to his best friend. "doctor," said he, "there are some things that i have not yet told you about." to me, also, it belongs, at this point of gray's lamentable history, to make confession of great and glaring error. to have received the young man to my house, and to have devoted myself to the work of endeavoring again to raise him, would, most undoubtedly, have been a sacrifice to which few people in my circumstances would have thought themselves called. yet, difficult as it was, the sacrifice might have been made. had he been my only brother, i should, doubtless, have received him. the saviour of mankind, in my circumstances, would probably have taken him in. was i not his follower? and was i not bound to do what i believed he would do, in similar circumstances? his more distant friend, but more consistent christian brother, opened wide his doors for his reception, and did the best he could for him. it was his intention, at first, to employ him, as i now think he ought to have been employed long before; viz., on a small farm. in this point of view this friend's house was particularly favorable. yet there were offsets to this advantage. one thing in particular, cast a shade upon our efforts in his behalf. it was about april st, and the house and farm had an eastern aspect, and the easterly winds, which at that season so much prevailed, were very strong and surcharged with vapor at a low temperature. for a few days after his arrival he was worse than ever. this was discouragement heaped upon discouragement, and he began soon to sink under it. for a short time he was the subject of medical treatment. what was the character of the medicine he took, i never knew. at length there were signs of convalescence; but no sooner did his bodily health and strength begin to improve, than his mental troubles began to press upon him, till he was driven to the very borders of insanity. indeed, so strong was the tendency to mental derangement that his relatives actually carried him, _per force_, to an insane hospital. but his residence at the hospital was very short. provision having in the mean time been made for his reception in a private family, among his acquaintance, and the superintendent of the hospital having advised to such a course, he was remanded to the country, to familiar faces, and to a farm. on reaching the place assigned him, he became extremely ill,--worse, by far, than ever before,--so that, for several weeks, his life was despaired of. but by means of careful medical treatment, and a judicious and very simple diet, which at the hospital had been exchanged for a stimulating one, nature once more rallied, and in three or four weeks he appeared to be in a fair way for recovery. his strength increased, his mind became clear; his digestive function, though still erratic, appeared about to resume its natural condition, and to perform once more its wonted office; and the other troublesome symptoms were all gradually disappearing, except one;--he had still a very frequent pulse. but even this rapid arterial action was at length abating. from a frequency of the pulse equal to , , and sometimes in a minute, it fell in two weeks to from to ; and this, too, under the influence of very mild and gentle treatment. there was no reduction of activity or power, by bleeding, or by blistering, or in any other way; on the contrary, as i have intimated, there was a general increase of strength and vigor, both of body, and mind. he did not even take digitalis or morphine. the prospect, therefore, was, on the whole, truly encouraging. and yet he had a set of friends--relatives, i should say, rather--who were not satisfied. it was strongly written on their minds that he was about to die; and they sternly insisted on removing him to his native home, that if he should die, he might die in the bosom of his own kindred. i was consulted; but i entered my most solemn protest against the measure, as both uncalled for and hazardous. it was to no purpose, however. in their over-kindness they determined to remove him; and the removal was effected. i ought also to say that though mr. gray highly appreciated their kindness, he was himself opposed to the measure, as one attended with much hazard. on the road to his paternal home, influenced in no small degree by mental excitement, his delirium returned, and with an intensity that never afterwards abated. he was, for about three weeks, a most inveterate and raving maniac, when, worn out prematurely with disease, he sunk to rise no more till the general resurrection. there was no post-mortem examination of this young man, though there should have been. not that there was any lurking suspicion of peculiarity of disease, but because such examinations may always be made serviceable to the cause of medical science, while they cannot possibly injure either the dead or the living. i have been the more minute in my account of this man, because the case is an instructive one, both to the professional and non-professional reader, and also because it places medicine and physicians in the true light, and holds forth to the world the wonderfully recuperative power of nature, and the vast importance of giving heed to the laws of health and to the voice of physiology. chapter lxiv. getting into a circle. the oddity of some of my captions may seem to require an apology; but i beg the doubtful reader to suspend any unfavorable decisions, till he has read the chapter which follows. he will not, either in the present instance or in any other, be introduced to a magic ring, or to the mysteries of modern "spiritualism." the circle into which my patient fell, was of a different description. a young mother from the west, about the year , came to consult me with regard to her health. not being able to receive her into my own family, i made arrangements for her reception in the immediate neighborhood, where she remained for a long time. she was a dyspeptic--if not of giant magnitude, but little short of it. i spent many an hour in endeavoring to set all right, both in mind and body. it was, however, much easier to set her head right, than her hands, feet, and stomach. she had been under the care of almost all sorts of medical men--hydropathic, homoeopathic, and allopathic. some of them, from all these schools, had been men of good sense, while a much larger proportion of them had turned out to be fools, and had done her more harm than good. in short, like the woman in the new testament, she had spent much on many physicians, and was nothing bettered by it, but rather made worse. under such circumstances what ground was there for hope? what she most needed, it was easy to see, was a little more of resolution to carry out and complete what she believed to be her duty. i told her so. i told her how many times i had repeated to her the same directions; while she, after the lapse of a very few days,--sometimes only a day or two,--had come round again, in her remarks and inquiries, to the very point whence she had first started. i told her how easy a thing this getting into a circle was, and how difficult it was to escape from it. although she perfectly understood her condition, there was still a strange and almost unaccountable reaching forth for something beyond the plain path of nature, which i had faithfully and repeatedly pointed out to her. she wished for some shorter road, something mysterious or magical. she was, in short, a capital subject for humbuggery, had she not tried it already to her heart's content. occasionally, i must confess, i felt somewhat disposed to put her on the "starvation plan," as dr. johnson calls it,--on a diet of two pints only of plain gruel (thin hasty pudding, rather) a day,--for she would have borne it much better than did mr. gray, of the preceding chapter. i am sorry i did not. however, i prescribed for her, in general, very well; and, except in the last-mentioned particular, have no reason for regret nor any call for confessions. she remained under my care several weeks--all the while in a mill-horse track or circle, beginning at the same point and coming round to the same result or issue, when i frankly told her, one day, that it was a great waste, both of time and money, for her to remain longer. i saw, more and more clearly, that all her thoughts were concentrated on her own dear self. _her_ troubles, _her_ health, _her_ concerns, _her_ prospects in life and death, were, to her, of more importance than all the world besides. no woman, as good as she was,--for she was, professedly, a disciple of him who said to his followers, "feed my lambs,"--whom i have ever seen, was so completely wrapped up in self, and so completely beyond the pale of the world of benevolence. my final advice to her, in addition to that general change of personal habits which, from the first, i had strongly recommended to her, was to return to her native city, and, after making her resolution and laying her plan, give herself no rest, permanently, till by personal appeal or otherwise she had brought all the females within her reach into maternal associations, moral reform societies, and the like. on her return to her husband and children, she made an attempt to carry out the spirit of my prescription, and not without a good degree of success. but the great benefit which resulted from it--that, indeed, which it was my ultimate object to secure--was that it diverted her thoughts from their inward, selfish tendency, and placed her on better ground as to health than she had occupied for some time before. i saw her no more for ten or twelve years. occasionally, it is true, i heard from her, that she was better. yet she was never entirely well. she was never entirely beyond the circle in which she had so long moved. she returned, at times, to medical advice and medicine; but, so far as i could learn, with little permanent good effect. she died about twelve years after she left my "guardianship," an extreme sufferer, as she had lived; and a sufferer from causes that a correct education and just views of social life, and of health and disease, would, for the most part, have prevented. chapter lxv. poisoning with maple sugar. a particular friend of mine purchased one day, at a stand in the city, two small cakes of maple sugar. it was early in the spring, and very little of the article had as yet been manufactured. my friend, in his eagerness, devoured them immediately. he observed, before eating them, that they had a very dark appearance; but the taste was correct, as far as he could judge, and he did not hesitate. he was one of those individuals, moreover, who are not greatly given to self-denial in the matter of appetite. the next day he had as sore a mouth as i ever saw. the inflammation extended not only to the back part of the mouth, but into the throat, and probably quite into the stomach, and was attended with a most distressing thirst, with loss of appetite, and occasional nausea. in short, it unfitted him for business the whole day; indeed it was many days before he recovered entirely. my own conclusion, after a careful investigation of the facts, was, that the sugar was cooled down in vessels of iron, which were, in some way, more or less oxydated or rusted, and that a small quantity of free acid having been, by some means unknown, developed in the sugar, it entered into a chemical combination with the metallic oxyde, to form a species of copperas--perhaps the genuine sulphate of iron itself. no medicine was given, nor was any needed. it was sufficient to let the system rest, till nature, with the assistance of small quantities of water,--such as she was constantly demanding,--could eject the intruding foe. it required only a little patient waiting. there is scarcely a doubt that the sufferer learned, from his experiment, one important lesson; viz., to let alone every thing which, by cooking, has been changed to a dark color. beets are sometimes blackened by cooking in iron vessels, as well as sugar; and so are apples and apple-sauce, and sundry other fruits and vegetables. the word apple-sauce reminds me of an incident that recently occurred in my own family. a kind neighbor having sent us some apple-sauce, such of the family as partook of it freely, suffered, soon afterward, in a way that led to the suspicion of poison. this apple-sauce was quite dark-colored, but tasted well enough. we have seen, in chapter xxviii., that in the use of apple-sauce, or apple butter, or, indeed, any thing containing an acid, which has been in contact with the inner surface of red earthen ware, glazed with the oxyde of lead, people are sometimes poisoned; but for common, plain, apple-sauce, recently cooked, to be poisonous, is rather unusual. however, we can hardly be too careful in these matters. serious evils have sometimes arisen from various kinds of complicated cookery, even when the healthiness of the vessels used was quite above suspi. a powerful argument this in favor of simplicity. it should also be remembered, with regard to sugar, that this is a substance whose use, even when known to be perfectly innoxious, is, at best, of doubtful tendency, beyond the measure which the divine hand has incorporated into the various substances which are prepared for our use. that sugar, in considerable quantities, leads to fulness, if not to fatness, is no proof of its healthfulness; since fatness itself is a sign of disease in man and all other animals, as has, of late, been frequently and fully demonstrated. chapter lxvi. physicking off measles. the father of a large family came to me one day, and, with unwonted politeness, inquired after my health. of course, i did not at first understand him, but time and patience soon brought every thing to light. his family, he said, were all sick with measles, except his wife, and he wished to ask me a question or two. the truth is, he wanted to consult me professionally, without paying a fee; and yet he felt a little delicacy about it. but i was accustomed to such things; for his was neither the first nor the hundredth application of the kind; so i was as polite as he was, in return. another individual stood near me just at that moment, who supposed he had a prior claim to my attention; and i was about to leave mr. m. for a moment, when he said, in a low voice, and in a fawning manner: "i suppose, doctor, it is necessary to physic off well for the measles; is it not? the old women all say it is; but i thought that, as i saw you, it might be well to ask." this species of robbery is so common, that few have any hesitancy about practising it. mr. m., though passing for a pattern of honesty and good breeding, wherever he was known, was nevertheless trained to the same meanness with the rest of the neighborhood where i resided, and was quite willing--even though a faint consciousness of his meanness chanced to come over him now and then--to defraud me a little in the fashionable or usual manner. perhaps i may be thought fastidious on this point. but though i have been sponged,--i may as well again say robbed,--in this or a similar way, a hundred or a thousand times, i believe i never complained so loudly before. yet it is due to the profession of medicine, and to those who resort to it, that i should give my testimony against a custom which ought never to have obtained foothold. but to return to our conversation;--for i was never mean enough to refuse to give such information as was required, to the best of my abilities, even though i never expected, directly or indirectly, to be benefited by it;--i told him, at once, that if costiveness prevailed at the beginning of convalescence, in this disease, some gentle laxative might be desirable; but that, in other circumstances, no medicine could be required, the common belief to the contrary notwithstanding. mr. m. seemed not a little surprised at this latter statement, and yet, on the whole, gratified. it was, to him, a new doctrine, and yet he thought it reasonable. he never could understand, he said, what need there was of taking "physic," when the body was already in a good condition. this physicking off disease is about as foolish as taking physic to prevent it--of which i have said so much in chapter xi. and elsewhere. i do not, indeed, mean to affirm that it is quite as fatal; though i know not but it may have been fatal in some instances. death from measles is no very uncommon occurrence in these days. now how do we know whether it is the disease that kills or the medicine? and when we physic off, in the way above mentioned, how know we, that if, very fortunately, we do not kill, some other disease may not be excited or enkindled? you are aware, both from what has been said in these pages, and from your own observation, that measles are not unfrequently followed by dropsy, weak eyes, and other troubles. no individual, perhaps, is, by constitution, less inclined to dropsy than myself; yet he who has read carefully what i have noted in chapter iv., will not be confident of his own safety in such circumstances. yet if they are endangered who are least predisposed to this or any other disease, where is the safety of those who inherit such a predisposition? chapter lxvii. tic douloureux. some fifty years ago, i saw in a connecticut paper, a brief notice of the death of an individual in wellingworth, in that state, from a disease which, as the paper proceeded to state,--and justly too,--not one in a million had then ever felt, and which not many at that time had ever heard of; viz., _tic douloureux_. this notice, though it may have excited much curiosity,--it certainly arrested my own attention,--did not give us much light as to the nature of the disease. "what _is_ tic douloureux?" i asked my friends; for at that time, of course, i knew nothing of the study of medicine. they could not tell me. "why do medical men," i asked, "give us such strange names? is it to keep up the idea of mystery, as connected with the profession, in order thus to maintain an influence which modest worth cannot secure?" it was largely believed at that time, by myself and many others, that science, like wealth,--especially medical science,--was aristocratical; that the learned world, though they saw the republican tendencies of things, were predisposed to throw dust in the people's eyes as long as they could. the fact that almost all our medicines, whether in the condition in which we see them labelled at the apothecary's shop, or as prescribed by the family physician, have latin names,--was often quoted in proof of this aristocratic feeling and tendency. now there was doubtless some foundation for this opinion. medical men did then and still very generally do believe, that it is better, on the whole, for the mass of mankind to have nothing to do with these matters, except at the prescription of those who have given the best part of their lives to the study of medicine and disease. that they are weapons of so much power, that even physicians--men who only partially understand the human constitution and their influence on it--are almost as likely to do harm with them as good, and that it is quite enough for society to bear the evils which are connected with the regular study and practice of the profession, without enduring a much larger host, inflicted by those who have other professions and employments, and must consequently be still more ignorant than their physicians. and may not this be one reason why a foreign language has been so long retained in connection with the names of diseases and medicines? but though physicians entertain the belief alluded to, and though it were founded in truth, it does not thence follow that mankind are to remain in ignorance of the whole subject of life and health, nor is it the intention of enlightened medical men that they shall. the latter are much more ready, as a general rule, to encourage among mankind the study of the most appropriate means of preventing disease, than they are willing to take the needful pains. in short, though physicians by their slowness to act, in this particular, are greatly faulty, the world as a mass are still more so. i was speaking, at first, of tic douloureux. this is a painful affection of a nerve or a cluster of nerves. when it first began to be spoken of, it was confined chiefly to an expansion of nerve at the side of the face, called in anatomical works _pes anserina_. but, of late years, it has been found to attack various nerves and clusters of nerves in different parts of the body. in truth, under the general name of neuralgia, which means about the same thing, we now have tic douloureux of almost every part of the human system, and it has become so common that instead of one in a million, we have probably one or two if not more in every hundred, who have suffered from it in their own persons. about the year , i had a patient who was exceedingly afflicted with this painful disease. she was, at the same time, consumptive. the neuralgia was but a recent thing; the consumption had been of many years' standing, and was probably inherited. the physicians of her native region had exhausted their skill on her to no purpose. there was no hope of aid, in her case, from medicine. the only thing to be done was to invigorate her system, and thus palliate the neuralgia and postpone the consumption. she was accordingly placed under the most rigid restrictions which the code of physical law could demand. she was required to attend to exercise and bathing with great care; to avoid over anxiety and fretfulness; to drink water, and to eat the plainest food. it was not intended to interdict _nutritious_ food; but only that which was _over-stimulating_. it required considerable time to show her and her friends the practical difference between nutrition and stimulation. they thought, as thousands have thought beside them, that without a stimulating diet she could not be properly nourished. but they learned at length that good bread of all sorts, rice, peas, beans, and fruits, especially the first two, while they were unstimulating, were even more nutritious than the more stimulating articles of flesh, fish, fowl, butter, and milk and its products. the treatment to which she was directed was at length pretty carefully followed. the friends--of which religious connection she was a member--are generally thorough, when we gain their full confidence. her health was so far restored, that at one period i entertained strong hopes of her ultimate recovery; or, at least of a recovery which would permit of her continuance some twenty or twenty-five years longer. but after seven or eight years of comfortable though not very firm health, she again declined. she died at forty years of age. chapter lxviii. cold water in fever. my daughter, then about three years of age, was feverish; and as the lung fever was somewhat prevalent, the family became considerably alarmed. on examination, i found a strong tendency to the head. the eye was heavy, the head hot and painful, and the tongue thickly coated. the digestive system was disordered, and the skin was collapsed, inactive, and cold. the extremities, especially the feet, were particularly cold and pale. the days of hydropathy had now arrived; but i was not a full convert, as i have already told you, to the exclusive use of cold water in disease. however, a case was before me which obviously demanded it. so i proceeded to make frequent applications of nature's drug to the top of her head, and to the temples, while i ordered warm and stimulating applications to the feet and ankles. this treatment had the effect to render her condition somewhat more comfortable during the day, but at evening the fever returned, and during the night was violent. the tendency to the head was so great as to cause delirium. the anxiety of the family became very great. in the morning, however, she was rather better, so that hope again revived. during the day the fever increased again, and towards evening and during the whole night was accompanied by restlessness and delirium. but we only persevered with the more earnestness in the use of what we believed to be the most rational treatment. she had, however, a very sick night. the next morning she was again better, though, as might have been expected, somewhat more feeble than she was twenty-four hours before. most parents, i know, and not a few wise medical men among us, would have resorted to powders and pills; but we only persevered with our cold applications to the head, and our stimulating draughts to the feet. the bowels were in a very tolerable condition, otherwise a very mild cathartic might possibly have been administered. we had very strong hopes,--at least i had,--that nature would be too strong for the disease, and that the fever would, ere long, begin to abate. in the afternoon the fever increased again, in some degree, and there was a slight delirium during the succeeding night. she slept a little, however, towards morning, after which she was evidently much better. this third day was passed away very comfortably, and she slept well during the succeeding night. the fourth morning she seemed to be quite restored. now a case of fever treated with emetics, diaphoretics, etc., and followed up with the usual paraphernalia of customary medical practice, which should yield so promptly and so immediately, would be supposed to be cured by the medicine; and the cure would very probably be regarded as rather remarkable; and if there was any peculiarity in the treatment, if the diaphoretic powders, for example, had any new or strange name, the practice would, peradventure, be thought worth imitating in other apparently similar cases of disease. for myself, however, i simply regard it as one of nature's own cures, unobstructed and unembarrassed by medicine. as the child was young and tenacious of life, she might very probably have recovered under the more common routine of medical treatment. but would there have been any advantage in such a recovery, over one which was equally rapid and perfect without the aid of medicine? would there, in the latter case, have been no hazard to the constitution? chapter lxix. cold-taking and consumption. in chapter xxiii., i have given a full account of my partial recovery from consumption. i have even spoken of the postponement as if it were complete and final. more than twenty years had now passed away, and i had begun to indulge the hope that i should never have another relapse. as one element of this hope, i had nearly broken up the habit--once very strong--of taking cold, especially on my lungs. in truth, i believed all danger from this source to be entirely removed, and my particular susceptibility to any thing like acute pulmonary attacks forever at an end. i was confident, moreover, that the art of avoiding cold was an art which not only an individual, here and there, like myself, could acquire, but one which was within the reach of every one who would take the needful pains. on a certain occasion of this latter kind, i was under a conventional necessity of exposing myself, in an unusual degree, for several successive evenings, to circumstances which, at an earlier period of my life, would, almost inevitably, have been followed by a cold. was it safe, in my present condition, to run the risk? i hesitated for some time, but finally decided to comply with the request which had been made, and take the responsibility. i believed my susceptibility to cold so entirely eradicated that there was little if any danger. but, as the event proved, i was quite mistaken; a severe cold came on, and left me in a condition not merely alarming, but immediately so. my lungs were greatly oppressed and my cough exceedingly severe and harassing; and it was followed with great debility and rapid emaciation. ashamed of myself, especially as i had boasted, for so many years, of an entire freedom from all tendencies of this sort, i endeavored, for a few days, to screen myself entirely from the public eye and observation. but i soon found that inaction, especially confinement to the house, would not answer the purpose,--that i should certainly die if i persisted in my seclusion. what now should i do? i was too feeble to work much, although the season had arrived when labor in the garden was beginning to be needed. trees were to be pruned and washed, and other things promptly attended to. the open air was also the best remedy for my enfeebled and irritated bronchial cavities. whether there was, at this time, any ulceration of tubercles in my lungs, is, to say the least, very doubtful. however, i greatly needed the whole influence of out-of-door employment, or of travelling abroad; and, as it seemed to me, could not long survive without it. accordingly i took my pruning knife in my hand, and walked to the garden. it was about a quarter of a mile distant, and quite unconnected with the house i occupied. at first, it was quite as much as i could do to walk to the garden and return without attempting any labor. nor could i have done even this, had i not rested several times, both on the road and in the enclosure itself. it was a week before i was able to do more than merely walk to the garden and back, and perhaps prune a small fruit tree or shrub, and then return. but i persevered. it seemed a last if not a desperate resort; yet hope sometimes whispered that my hour had not yet come, that i had more work to perform. at length i began to perceive a slight increase of muscular strength. i could work moderately a quarter of an hour or more, and yet walk home very comfortably. in about two months, i had strength enough to continue my labors several hours, in the course of a whole day, though not in succession--perhaps two in the forenoon and two in the afternoon. in about three months, i was, so far as i could perceive, completely restored. it is to be remarked and remembered that, during the whole three months, i never took the smallest particle of medicine, either solid or fluid. my simple course was to obey, in the most rigid and implicit manner, all known laws, physical and moral. it was my full belief at that time,--it is still my belief,--that conformity to all the creator's laws is indispensable to the best of health, in every condition of human life, but particularly so when we are already feeble and have a tendency to consumption. when it became known to my neighbors, who saw me day after day, reeling to my garden or staggering home, that i refused to take any medicine, there was a very general burst of surprise, and, in some cases, of indignation. "why," said they, "what does the man mean? he must be crazy. as he is going on he will certainly die of a galloping consumption. any one that will act so foolishly almost _deserves_ to die." as soon as i found myself fairly convalescent, i returned gradually to all those practices on which i had so long relied as a means of fortifying myself, but which, since my _fall_, had been partially omitted. among these was bathing, especially cold bathing. to the last, however, i returned very cautiously. not for fear i should not be able to secure a reaction, but rather for fear nature would have to spend more _vitality_ during the process than she could well afford to spare. i have known cases of the latter kind. an aged minister in cleveland, ohio, who had long followed the practice of cold bathing every morning, came to me in dec. , when the cold weather was very intense, and told me that though he could, with considerable effort, get up a reaction in his system after the bath, he was afraid it _cost_ too much. i advised him to suspend it a few weeks, which he did with evident advantage. there are, however, many other things to be done besides giving due attention to cold bathing, if we would harden ourselves fully against taking cold, to which i should be glad to advert were it not foreign to the plan i had formed, and the limits which, in this work, i have prescribed to myself. chapter lxx. freezing out disease. i am well acquainted with one man of yankee origin, who formerly made it a practice to freeze out his colds, as he called it. it is certainly better to prevent them, as i have all along and always taught. but this man's story is somewhat amusing, and by way of relief from our more sober subject, i will very briefly relate it. whenever he fancied he had taken cold, he would go, at about nine o'clock in the evening, in such diminished clothing as would render him in a very little time, quite chilly, and remain out of doors, when the weather would possibly permit, till he was almost frozen, and then come in and go immediately to bed, and procure a reaction. this he called freezing out his colds. whether it was the cold or the heat that restored him, may be a point not yet fully settled; but it was a well-known fact to his friends, though they insisted in protesting against the practice, that every vestige of his cold would frequently, if not always, immediately disappear. but it was a method of treatment which, as the event proved, was not without its hazards. i met with him a few years since, and on inquiring whether he continued to be as successful as formerly in freezing out his colds, he replied that for some time past he had not tried the plan, for, on a former occasion, after many successful experiments, he had failed in one, and had concluded to relinquish it. he made no farther confessions for himself, but his friends have since told me that in the case he faintly alluded to, he came very near dying under the process. he was sick with a fever, as the consequence, for a long time. a man in one of the middle states, who is himself about half a physician, and who has in various ways done much for his fellow-men as a philanthropist, is accustomed to pursue a course of treatment which, though slightly related to the former, is, nevertheless, founded on principle. he keeps the sick in a room whose temperature is very low,--little, if at all, above the freezing point,--in order that they may inhale a full supply of oxygen. for every one doubtless knows that the colder the air, the denser it is, and consequently, the greater the absolute quantity of oxygen inhaled at each breath. by compelling his patients, however weak and feeble, to breathe a cold atmosphere, he secured to them an increased and full supply of oxygen. to prevent his patients from suffering, in consequence of the external atmospheric cold, he keeps them in warm beds, and only suffers them to be out of bed a very short time, at long intervals. and while out of bed even, they are rubbed rapidly, in order to prevent any collapse of the skin from the cold. i knew him to keep a very delicate female, who was scrofulous if not consumptive, for several weeks of the coldest part of the winter, in a room whose temperature seldom exceeded ° to °, scarcely permitting her to go out of it night or day, and what is still more curious, she slowly recovered under the treatment, and is now--seven or eight years afterwards--in the enjoyment of excellent health. chapter lxxi. the air-cure. the individual alluded to in the preceding chapter, once sent for me to come and aid him for a time. he was the proprietor of a somewhat dilapidated water-cure establishment, which he wished to convert into what he chose to denominate an air-cure. for though half a physician himself, he had usually employed men of education to assist him; but, not having been quite fortunate in his selection, in every instance, he was disposed to make trial of myself. in expressing to me his desires, he said he understood, perfectly well, my position. he well knew, in the first place, that i was not a hydropathist, but a regular, old-school physician, with this modification: that i had, for the most part, lost my faith in medicine, and relied chiefly on the recuperative efforts of nature. he thought, on some points, as he said, a little differently from me; still, he supposed that wherein we could not agree we could at least agree to differ. the sum total of his wishes, in short, was, that i would aid him in such way and manner as might seem to me best. he believed air to be the most important and efficient remedial agent in the world. his ideas of the virtue of this ærial fluid were hardly exceeded by those of mr. thackrah, of leeds, england, who believes that we subsist more on air than on food and drink. i was with this good man about six months, when, finding it impossible to carry out his plan, i left him. but i left him with regret. his purposes were generous in the extreme--i might even say noble. he loved to cure for the pleasure of curing--not for the emolument. in short, he seemed to have no regard to the emolument--not the slightest, and to be as nearly disinterested as usually falls to the human lot. but did he cure? you will perhaps inquire. yes, if _anybody_ cures. persons came under his care who had been discharged by other physicians--both allopathic and homoeopathic--as incurable; and who yet, in a reasonable time, regained their health. they followed our directions, obeyed the laws of health, and recovered. you may call it what you please--either cure or spontaneous recovery. miracle, i am quite sure, it was not. what, then, were the agencies employed in the air-cure? my friend believed that the judicious application of pure air, in as concentrated, and, therefore, as cool a state as possible, particularly to the internal surface of the lungs, was more important than every other agency, and even more important than all others. but then he did not forget the skin. he had his air bath, as well as his deep breathings; it was as frequently used, and was, doubtless, as efficacious. he also placed great reliance on good food and drink. animal food he rejected, and condiments. i have neither known nor read of any vegetarian, of britain or america, who carried his dietetic peculiarities to what would, by most, be regarded as an extreme, more than he. and yet his patients, with few exceptions, submitted to it with a much better grace than i had expected. some of them, it is true, took advantage of his absence or their own, and made a little infringement upon the rigidity of his prescriptions, but these were exceptions to the general rule; and i believe the transgressors themselves regretted it in the end--fully satisfied that every indulgence was but a postponement of the hour of their discharge. one thing was permanently regarded as ultra. he did not believe in breakfasting; and therefore kept every patient, who wished to come under his most thorough treatment, from the use of food till about the middle of the day. this permitted of but two meals a day, which, however, is one more than has sometimes been recommended by o. s. fowler, the phrenologist, and even by a few others. the main error, however, of this air-cure practice,--if error there was in it,--consisted in the idea of its applicability to everybody, in every circumstance. for though it may be true that as large a proportion of inveterate cases of disease would disappear under such treatment as under any other, yet there are probably not a few to whom it would be utterly unadapted. chapter lxxii. the clergyman. an ohio clergyman, just setting out in his ministerial career, consulted me, one day, about his health and future physical prospects. his nervous system and cerebral centre had been over-taxed and partially prostrated; and his digestive and muscular powers were suffering from sympathy. in short, he was a run-down student, who, in order to be resuscitated, needed rest. it was not, however, the rest of mere inertia that he required, but rest from those studies to which his attention had been long and patiently confined. his bodily powers were, indeed, flagging with the rest; but then it was impossible for him to be restored without _some_ exercise. in truth, it was not so much a _rest_ of body, mind, or heart that he needed, as a _change_. i will tell you what a course he had been, for five or six years, pursuing. though his father was reckoned among the wealthier farmers of ohio, yet, having a large family to sustain and educate, he did not feel at full liberty to excuse his children from such co-operation with him as would not materially interfere with their studies. hence they were required--and this son among the rest--not only to be as economical as possible, in all things, but also to earn as much as they could, especially during their vacations. they were not, of course, expected to do any thing which was likely to impair their health, but, on the contrary, to take every possible pains to preserve the latter, and to hold labor and study and every thing else in subserviency to it. the son for whom i was requested to prescribe, not only attended to his father's wishes and expectations, and endeavored to fulfil them, but went much farther than was intended, and did more than he ought. besides keeping up with his class, he taught school a very considerable portion of the time, so that his mental apparatus, as i have already more than intimated, was continually over-taxed; and he had been a sufferer, more or less, for several years, when i met with him. my advice was that he should leave his studies, entirely, for two years, and labor moderately, in the meantime, on his father's farm. his principal objection to doing so, was, that he was already at an age so much advanced, that it seemed to him like a wrong done to society, to delay entering upon the duties of the ministry two whole years. but i reasoned the case with him as well as i could, and, among other things, pointed out to him the course pursued by his divine master. i have never met with him from that day to this; nor have i ever received from him--strange as it may seem--any communication on the subject. but i have been informed from other sources, that after laboring for a time with his father, he was settled as a minister in a neighboring village with greatly improved health and highly encouraging prospects. he is at the present time one of the main pillars, theologically, of the great state of new york, and, as i have reason for believing, is in the enjoyment of good health. it is easy to see that the time he spent on his father's farm, instead of being a loss to him, was, in the end, among the most important parts of the work of his education. how much better it was for him to recruit his wasted energies before he took upon him the full responsibilities of preacher and pastor in a large country church and congregation, than to rush into the ministry prematurely, with the prospect, amounting almost to a certainty, of breaking down in a few years, and spending the remnant of his days in a crippled condition,--to have the full consciousness that had he been wise he might have had the felicity of a long life of usefulness, and of doing good to the souls and bodies of mankind. chapter lxxiii. he must be physicked, or die. mr. s., a very aged neighbor of mine, fell into habits of such extreme inactivity of the alimentary canal, that instead of invoking the aid of cloacinà, as mr. locke would say, every day, he was accustomed to weekly invocations only. there was, however, a single exception. in the month of june, of each year, he was accustomed to visit the seaside, some twenty miles or more distant, and remain there a few days, during which and for a short time afterward, his bowels would perform their wonted daily office. and yet, despite of all this, he got along very well during summer and autumn, for a man who was over seventy years of age. it was not till winter--sometimes almost spring--that his health appeared to suffer as the consequence of his costiveness. nor was it certain, even then, whether his inconveniences,--for they hardly deserved the name of sufferings,--arose from his costiveness, or from the croakings of friends and his own awakened fears and anxieties. nearly every one who knew of the facts in his case was alarmed, and many did not hesitate to cry out, even in his hearing, "he must be physicked, or die!" and their fears and croakings, by leading him to turn his attention to his internal feelings, greatly added to his difficulties. my principal aim, as his friend and physician, was to convince him that there was no necessity of anxiety on the subject, as long as none of the various functions of the system were impaired. as long as digestion, circulation, respiration, perspiration, etc., were tolerably well performed, and his general health was not on the decline, it was not very material, as i assured him, whether his alvine movements were once a day, once in two days, or once a week. the various emunctories or outlets of the body should, undoubtedly, be kept open and free, so that every portion of worn-out or effete matter may be effectually got rid of. in order to have this done in the very best manner, it is indispensably necessary that we should eat, drink, breathe, sleep, and exercise the muscles and all the mental and moral powers daily. and yet we are to such an extent the creatures of habit, that we can, in all these respects, bring ourselves to almost any thing we choose, and yet pass on, for a time, very comfortably. thus we may eat once, twice, thrice, or five times a day, and if possessed of a good share of constitutional vigor, we may even accustom ourselves to considerable variation from the general rule with regard to drinking, sleeping, exercise, temperature, etc. healthy men have been able to maintain their health, in tolerable measure, for a long time, without drink, without exercise, and even without sleep. of the truth of this last remark, i could give you, did time and space permit, many well-attested, not to say striking facts. i was not wholly successful in my attempts at quieting the mind and feelings of my aged patient or his friends. and yet his erratic habit was never entirely broken up. he lived to the age of fourscore without suffering much more from what are usually called the infirmities of age, than most other old men. it must not, however, be concealed that he possessed what has been sometimes denominated an iron constitution. mr. locke strongly insists that children should be trained, from the very first, to diurnal habits of the kind in question; and i cannot help thinking that such habits should be secured very early--certainly at eight or ten years of age. some of the healthiest men and women i have ever known were those who had either been trained or had trained themselves in this way. and yet i would not be so anxious to bring nature back to this rule when there have been large digressions, as to be found administering cathartics on every trifling occasion. an old man, who eats little and exercises still less, but has a good pulse, a good appetite, and a free perspiration, with a cheerful mind, need not take "physic" merely because his bowels do not move more than once a week; nor need those who are feverish, and who eat and exercise but little. the disturbance which will ensue, if medicine be taken, may be productive of more mischief, on the whole, than the absorption into the system of small portions of the retained excretions, or the small amount of irritation they produce--and probably will be so. it will be a solace to some to know that the alvine excretions of the system are not so much the remnants of our food, when that food is such as it should be, as a _secretion_ from the internal or lining membrane of the bowels. consequently, if this secretion is interrupted by disease, there will be a proportionally diminished necessity for alvine evacuations. prof. ----, of ohio, had been sick of fever, for a long time, and, on the departure of the disease, his bowels were left in such a condition that cathartics, or at least laxatives, began to be thought of; but his physician interdicted their use: his costiveness continued to the twenty-first day, without any known evil as the consequence. on this day nature rallied. then followed a period of quiescence of fourteen days, and then another of seven days, after which he fell into his former diurnal habits. there was much croaking among the neighbors, on account of the treatment of his physician; but the results put all to silence. the case of judge ----, in the interior of the same state (ohio), was so much like that of prof. ----, in all its essential particulars, that i need but to state the fact, without entering at all upon the details. j. w. g., a lawyer of massachusetts, was sick with a lingering complaint, attended with more or less of fever, for several months. during this time there was one interval, of more than thirty days, during which his bowels did not move. and yet there was no evidence of any permanent suffering as the consequence. the principal use i would make of these facts, so far as the mass of general readers is concerned, is the following: if, during feebleness and sickness, human nature will bear up, for a long time, under irregularities of this sort, is it needful that we should be alarmed and fly at once to medicine in cases _less_ alarming--above all, in these cases, when, except in regard to costiveness, the health and habits are excellent? may we not trust much more than we have heretofore believed, in the recuperative efforts of nature? chapter lxxiv. who hath woe? or, the sick widow. early in the year , i received a letter, of which the following, with very slight needful alterations, is an extract. it was written from the interior of massachusetts. "about three months ago, i took a long journey by stage-coach, which brought on, as i think, an internal inflammation. since that time i have taken very little medicine. please tell me whether it is right for me to bathe daily in, and drink freely of, cold water; and whether it is safe to make cold applications to the parts affected. "i take as much exercise as i can without producing irritation. i do not, by any means, indulge in the food which my appetite craves. "i am twenty-six years of age; was married and left a widow, while young and very ignorant, under circumstances the most deeply painful. i have a strong desire to get well if i can; though if i must give up the thought i am willing to die. "i should be very glad to see you, if you will take the trouble to come and see me. i should have made an effort to consult you, in person, before now, if i could have safely taken the journey." at the time of receiving this letter i was travelling in a distant state, and, as an immediate visit was wellnigh impracticable, i wrote her, requesting such farther information as might enable me to give her a few general directions, promising to see her on my return in the spring. in reply to my inquiries, i received what follows:-- "i have been, from childhood, afflicted with bunches in the throat. there is no consumptive tendency on either my father's or my mother's side; but i come, by the maternal side, from a king's evil[i] family. i am an ardent, impulsive creature, possessing a nervous, sanguine temperament; naturally cheerful and agreeable, but rendered, by sickness, irritable, capricious, and melancholic. i fear consumption so much, that were i convinced it was fully fastened upon me, i might be tempted, unless restrained by a strong moral influence, to commit a crime which might not be forgiven. "i have great weakness in the throat, and soreness in the chest, with a dull pain between the shoulders. my appetite is extraordinary;--i think it has increased since i have dieted. my flesh is stationary. i gain a few pounds, and then commit some wild freak and lose it. i am unaccountable to myself. i think, sir, that my mental disturbances impair my health. "i anticipate much pleasure from seeing you; for i see, by your letter, you understand me. i have always been thought inexplicable. i feel a universal languor. i am, at times, unconscious. i feel dead to all things; there seems a loss of all vitality; and sometimes there is a sense of suffocation. all these feelings are extreme, because i am, by my nature, so sensitive. i met the other day with a slight from a friend, a young lady, which caused grief so excessive that i have ever since been suffering from influenza." these lengthy extracts may not be very interesting to the general reader, except so far as they reveal to him some of the internal cogitations of a soul borne down with a load of suffering, which almost drove her to suicide. "who hath woe,"--as solomon says, with respect to a very different description of human character,--if not this poor widow? and yet it required a personal visit, and the conversation of a couple of hours, to fathom the depths of her woe, to the utmost. for there are secrets of the human heart, with which, of course, no stranger--not even the family physician--should presume to intermeddle; though to these depths, in the case of the half-insane sufferer of whom i am speaking, it was not necessary that i should go, in order to find out what i had all along suspected. disease had been communicated several years before, of a kind which was much more communicable _then_, than it was eradicable now. whenever, by the laws of hereditary descent, in their application to health and disease, our children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren suffer, we may recognize in it the hand of the great creator; nor do we doubt, often, the wisdom of such laws nor their ultimate tendency to work out final good. but when we find a widow suffering many long years, from a disease to which a husband's weakness and wickedness has subjected her, what shall we say, especially when we have reason to fear that the evils in question, some of them, at least, will be terminable only, in their effects, with life itself? my patient is _patiently_ wearing out her ills; and what she cannot wear out, she is learning to endure. her case cannot be reached with medicine, at least with safety, and is only to be affected, so far as affected at all, by yielding the most unflinching obedience to the laws of god, physical and moral. she will not die of consumption; she will live on; but how much progress she may be able to make towards the land of life and health, is by no means certain. her case is, at best, a trying one, and must compel us, whenever we reflect on the subject, to say, "who hath woe, if not persons situated like this widow?"[j] footnotes: [i] she was not aware that king's evil, or scrofula, is oftentimes the parent of consumption. [j] since this chapter was written, i have had the pleasure of learning from a reliable source that the young woman above referred to is now enjoying comparatively good health. she married a second time, a year or two afterwards; and by following out the course prescribed, and with the blessing of heaven, she came at length to her present position of usefulness and happiness. chapter lxxv. the penalty of self-indulgence. the thought that a minister of the gospel can be gluttonous is so painful that, after selecting as the caption to the present chapter, "a gluttonous minister," i concluded to modify it. perhaps, after all, it might be as well in the end, to call things by their proper names. however, we will proceed, as we have set out, for this once. a minister about forty years of age came to me one day, deeply involved in all the midnight horrors of dyspepsia. on investigating his case, i found it one of the most trying i had ever met with. it was not only trying in itself, in the particular form and shape it assumed, but it had been rendered much more troublesome and unmanageable by injudicious medical treatment. my course was a plain one, and i proceeded cautiously to prescribe for him--not medicine, for in my judgment he needed none, but simply a return to the physical laws he had so long and so palpably violated. these laws i endeavored briefly to recall to his attention. as he was an intelligent man, i dealt with him in the most plain and direct manner. some two or three weeks afterward he called on me again, saying that he was no better. i repeated my prescription, only more particularly. still i was not, as i now think, sufficiently particular and definite, for want of time. moreover, he still clung to the off-hand customs of empiricism,--that of looking at the tongue, feeling the pulse, and seeming "wondrous wise,"--and vainly hoped i would treat him in the same direct way, instead of requiring what he regarded as a more circuitous course. he called on me the third time. we had now ample leisure and opportunity for attempting to ferret out the causes which had operated to bring him into his present condition, some of which, it appeared, had been of long standing. i inquired, in the first place, concerning his exercise. this, he said, was taken very irregularly, chiefly in walking abroad on business, seldom or never in company. his mind, in all probability, was not directed, to any considerable extent, from its accustomed mill-horse track. his gait, too, when he walked, was staid and measured. it was never buoyant, lively, or playful. and as for amusement, he had none at all. his diet was still worse than his exercise. he had a large family, and resided in the midst of a dense population; and was so situated as to render his house, practically, a kind of ministerial thoroughfare. he probably entertained, at his hospitable table, more ministers, literary men, and students than any other three clergymen in the neighborhood. "now," said he to me, "we have a good deal of table preparation to make, and mrs. y., who dearly loves to have things in pretty good order, sets a full table, with, a large variety. well, this food must be eaten. it will never do for a minister who has a large family and lives on a moderate salary, to _waste_ any thing. and, besides, as i ought to tell you, we sometimes, if not always, have a very considerable amount of rich food on the table." "do you mean to intimate that the bountiful provision you make for others renders it necessary for you to overeat? or have your remarks a reference to a supposed necessity of eating rich food?" "we are not, of course, absolutely compelled to _any_ thing. my meaning is this: in order to meet the wants of those who are liable to call on us at almost any hour, _we prepare largely_. then, to meet these varying and often very fastidious tastes, we must have _a large variety_ of food, and it must be _highly seasoned_. and then, if it happens that our company is not as large as is expected, we have an extra quantity remaining, and i am tempted to aid in eating it up, the highly seasoned food among the rest." "and you think, do you, that this highly seasoned food is the cause of your dyspepsia?" "undoubtedly it is." "and do you expect to be cured of a disease which is produced by certain definable causes, like this, and yet be permitted to go on in the same way you have long gone? do you suppose i have any power to grant you an immunity from the evil effects of high living while that high living is persisted in? can you get rid of an effect till you first remove the cause?" "why, no, sir, not exactly. such an expectation would be very unreasonable. but is there no medicine i can take that will _partially_ restore me? perhaps, at my age, entire restoration from such a hydra disease as dyspepsia is hardly to be expected; but can you not patch me up in part?" "what! and suffer you to go on sinning?" "why, yes, to some small extent. it is very hard, nay, it seems to me almost impossible, to break away from the routine of my family, at least as long as mrs. y. is fully determined to prepare for company according to the prevailing customs. i could submit to a different arrangement if she were ready for it." "i wish i could encourage you to pursue this compromising course of conduct. but it is not so. you must change your habits entirely, or you must continue to suffer. for if it were possible to patch you up, for a short time, while your present habits are continued, it would not be as well for you in the end: it would only add another head and horn, perhaps several others, to the monster that annoys you. no, sir; you must change your habits or give up the contest. there is no use in attempting to do any thing, in such a case as yours, with medicine." "well, then, if it must be so, it must. i will try once more, and see what i can do." he left me with a downcast look, and, i suspected, with a heavy heart. at all events, my own heart was heavy, and seemed almost ready to bleed. here was a father in our ministerial israel,--one to whom multitudes looked up for the bread of spiritual life,--who was a perfect slave to his appetites; or, at least, to the conventionalisms of modern house-keeping. he groaned daily and hourly under bodily disease the most aggravated and severe. his eyes were red and swelled; the sides of his nose enlarged and inflamed, till he had the appearance of being about half a sot. he knew all about it, and yet refused to take the first step in the way of reformation. i saw him, by accident, once more, and would have spoken with him freely; but he seemed to shun every thing beyond a merely passing compliment. i saw how it was with him; and the reflections which arose in my mind gave me the most intense pain. two or three weeks afterward, while in an intimate and confidential conversation with two of his very familiar friends, i ventured to predict his fall, with nearly as much particularity as if the events which were predicted had already taken place. i was asked how i dared to say such things, even in secret, of so good a man and such a father in the american church. so i gave them, by way of reply, the principal facts in the case, as detailed above. not many years passed ere this very minister was tried for a crime much more high-handed than gluttony, though sometimes the sequel to it; and not only tried, but silenced. the results of the trial were as shocking to most people as they were unexpected. every one said: "how can it be?" mr. y. became a farmer, and is still so. but he is cured of his dyspepsia. compelled, as i have reason to believe he is, to practise the most rigid economy, having very little temptation to unlawful indulgence, and having an abundance of healthful exercise in the open air, he has every appearance, externally, of a reformed man. his old friends would, i think, hardly know him. his skin is as clear, and his eyes and nose as physiologically correct in their appearance, as yours or mine. true, he is an old man, but he is not a gluttonous old man. he is a fallen man, but a healthy, and, i hope, a penitent one. he has experienced a species of first resurrection, and has, i trust, the hope of a better one still. now, had this man believed, in the first place, that the fault of his dyspepsia was not wholly chargeable on mrs. y., but also on himself,--had he clearly seen that he loved high living, and would not relinquish it,--he might have been reformed without a dreadful and scathing ordeal, and without disgracing the cause of his divine master, but alas! "the woman that thou gavest to be with me," as he said, was in fault; and so he did not reform himself. that his wife was in fault, most deeply, i do not deny. she knew her husband's weakness, and yet continued to place before him those temptations which she well knew were too strong for him. how she could do this, and persist in doing it, is, to me, a mystery. but she had her reward; at least, in part. for in the fall and retirement of her husband from public life, and in the consciousness--which was the most terrible of all--of his guilt, must not her sufferings have been terrible? it is indeed true that she may not have been wise enough--for this wisdom has not yet been made public property, in the fullest sense--to look at the subject in one point of view, which would be calculated to add to the poignancy of her anguish. so that we may be almost ready to say, in her case, "ignorance is bliss." i refer, here, to the infliction of scrofula and nervousness, by high living, on the next generation. for while mrs. y. was bowing down to public opinion, and preparing rich viands for her guests, and practically compelling her husband and children to eat up what they had nibbled at and left, she was not only fastening dyspepsia upon the former and nervousness upon herself, but imparting more or less of a tendency to nervousness and scrofula upon the rest of her family. of the two thousand children born in a day, in the united states, from two hundred to three hundred--perhaps nearer four hundred--come into the world with a scrofulous tendency; and of these, it is highly probable, that at least one hundred per day are manufactured at just such tables as those which were set by mrs. y. for the teachers of the religion of jesus christ. i have quoted the old adage, that "ignorance is bliss;" but alas! is it not to trifle with the most solemn considerations? can that be regarded as blissful which leaves a mother, who, in general, means to love and honor the saviour, to destroy her husband and one or two of his children? there is little doubt that, besides shutting her husband out of the sacred enclosure, after she had destroyed his health, mrs. y. was the means of destroying at least one or two of her children. one of them, who was scrofulous, ran at last--a very common occurrence--into consumption, and perished early, in the beginning of active usefulness. i may be suspected of exaggeration, by some of my readers. would to god, for humanity's sake and for christ's sake, it were so! for though i cannot subscribe to the creed of those who profess to be willing to come into everlasting condemnation for the glory of god, yet, so long as opportunity for repentance shall last, i would willingly be convicted of untruth, if so that the falsehood might be made palpable to my mind, rather than believe what i am compelled to believe with regard to the murderous tendency on soul and body of our murderous modern cookery. is it not true--the old adage, that while "god," in his mercy, "sends us meats, the devil," in his malignity, "sends us cooks?" this unnatural cookery,--this mingling medicine with viands naturally healthful, and torturing the compounds thus formed into sources of irritation, has more to do with that sensuality which has come upon us like a flood,--much of it in new forms,--than many are aware. and i am much mistaken if modern societies for moral reform, popularly so called, might not thank the over-refined cookery of a gross and highly stimulating diet, for that necessity which impels to their own field of labor. one thing more might have been mentioned in its proper place--the tendency of high living to eruptions on the skin. these, in their various forms of pimple, carbuncle, boil, etc., are becoming quite the order of the day. mr. y.'s family had a full share of them, especially those of them who were scrofulous. i have already mentioned the appearance of mr. y.'s face, and have alluded to the change which took place after his fall. but i should have spoken of the eruptions on his face, which, at times, were such as almost made him ashamed to enter the pulpit. you will see, from the tenor of these remarks, that i have laid the guilt, in this sad affair, just where i believe it ought to rest. i have not sought to exculpate one individual or party, at the expense of another equally guilty, but rather to do justice to all. only one thing remains, which is to confess my _own_ guilt. have i not great reason to fear that my advice was not sufficiently pointed and thorough? i might have gone to mr. y. and told him the truth, the whole truth. what if it had given offence? would not the prospect of doing good, rather than of giving offence, have been worth something? in any event, i do regret most deeply my unfaithfulness, even though it arose from delicacy and diffidence, for that very delicacy and diffidence were far enough from being grounded on the love of god. they were grounded much more on the love of human approbation. no man was ever more free from it than our saviour. ought i not to have used the same plainness that he would have used? had i rebuked mrs. y. as kindly and as faithfully as he rebuked martha at bethany, how much, for ought i can ever know, might have been saved, not only to the cause of health and conjugal happiness, but also to that of piety. chapter lxxvi. dr. bolus and morphine. a telegraphic communication was made to me one day, nearly as follows: "b. j. w. is very sick, and is not expected to live through the day. please come on immediately." the distance was about one hundred and fifty miles, and the mode and means of conveyance neither very direct nor rapid for these latter times. it was more than probable that mr. b. j. w. would be dead before i could reach the place. however, as he was a particular friend, and as there was some hope, i concluded to set out. late in the evening,--or rather, in the night,--i arrived at the place, and found the young man still alive. he was, however, as it was easy to perceive, in a very critical condition. glad to find him alive, but inclined to fall in with the general opinion that his case was a hopeless one, and withal greatly fatigued, i yielded to the demands of exhausted nature, and slept a short time, when his physician arrived. now i had been sent for, in part, as a special friend, and in part, as a medical counsellor. and yet there were difficulties. dr. bolus, the family physician, was just such a man--for reasons that might be given--as i dreaded to advise with, should my advice be needed. he was one who would be likely to think any important suggestion an impeachment of his own superior wisdom. science, true science, is always modest, and does not fear any thing; because she loves, most of all things, _to be right_. but dr. bolus had not, as i think, enough of true science to make him feel or perceive the want of it. the ignorant are always self-confident in proportion to their ignorance. we examined the patient, as soon as possible, and retired for consultation. dr. bolus gave a full history of the progress of the case, with a particular account of the treatment. i saw at once, both from the existing symptoms and dr. bolus's statement, that the tendency to the brain--so great as to keep up an almost constant delirium--was quite as likely to be caused by the enormous quantities of morphine and quinine, and other active medicines which had been administered, as to belong properly to the disease. i therefore advised a gradual reduction and ultimate discontinuance of the extra stimulants. dr. bolus was opposed to the reduction i proposed, but finally consented to it, at least in part, and the patient evidently derived almost immediate benefit from it. when i had pushed my views with regard to the stimuli as far as i could, we separated, and as the distance at which the doctor resided was considerable, and as i was on the spot to watch the patient, he proposed not to call again till early in the morning of the following day. i was by no means satisfied with the compromise we had made. it had not accomplished its intended object. dr. bolus had, indeed, yielded a little, but not enough to satisfy me. i believed the amount of stimulus still given vastly too great, and was unwilling to continue it. in truth, i persuaded one of the attendants to omit the principal articles, whenever the hour came for administering them, assuring him that i would take all the responsibility. of the other attendant i would have made the same requisition, but he being exceedingly attached to dr. bolus, would never have tolerated the slightest concealment, or departure from the strictest letter of the law. it was easy to see that the less stimulating treatment of each alternate two hours, during which it was entirely omitted, left behind it, on the patient's frame, a better influence than the more active treatment of the other two. and when the next medical consultation came, i pleaded for a still greater diminution of the stimulus. but, as i had unwillingly used a little duplicity,--a thing i now deeply regret,--in order to come at my conclusions against the stimulants, i was not willing to state, in full, the grounds of my opinion, and therefore could not prevail with dr. bolus to consent to any farther advances in the unstimulating plan. i was now, at length, compelled to leave for home; and the results, for the rest of the time, were reported to me through the kindness of the young man's friends. it is sufficient, perhaps, to say that he finally recovered; but it was not till the lapse of several months. in the mean time, a severe ulcer broke out on the lower part of his back, which caused much suffering, and appeared to retard very greatly the progress of his recovery. my errors in this case were numerous and great. believing, as i did, in the outset, that dr. bolus and myself could never agree, i did wrong in consenting to a consultation with him. i ought to have been nothing but a visitor, or else to have entered fully into the spirit and duty of a counsellor. in the former case i might, indeed, have outraged every feeling of benevolence; in the latter i ought to have proposed my objections in full, and not to have compromised so as to submit to what i really believed to be radically and essentially wrong. for i did most fully believe all this; and in spite of every effort at concealment, my scepticism finally came out, and i was weak enough to speak of it, and openly to find fault with dr. bolus. a practical quarrel followed between dr. bolus and myself, in which the friends joined, or, at least, strongly sympathized. my own belief, then, was, and it still remains the same, that the violence of the young man's disease, especially the tendency to the brain, was chiefly, if not wholly, owing to the medicine administered; and that, from the very first, no active medicine--nothing but an exceedingly mild and cooling treatment--was required. it was even my belief that the ulcer was caused by the medicine. but, while i lost confidence in human nature, and especially in the human nature of some of my brethren of the medical profession, by this experiment, i became more thoroughly convinced than ever before of the great need of honest and benevolent as well as scientific men in this department, and of the general impotency and worse than impotency of much that is dignified with the name of medical treatment. i became most fully convinced, that in acute diseases as well as chronic, nature, unembarrassed, will generally accomplish her own work, when left to herself and to good and careful nursing and attendance. chapter lxxvii. bleeding and blistering omitted. one of my neighbors had fallen down-stairs, and injured himself internally, in the right side of the chest; and a degree, greater or less, of inflammation had followed. the pain was constant, though not severe; but the soreness was considerable, and did not give promise of speedy amendment. my advice was to keep quiet, both in body and mind, and to avoid all kinds of exertion that could possibly affect the chest. i also advised the use of water, not only for drink, in small draughts, but, if the pain and soreness should be troublesome, as an external application to the part affected. the food was to be mild and unstimulating. a tendency to crowd around the fire was to be guarded against and prevented, by putting on, if necessary, an increased amount of clothing. two days passed away with no great variation of the symptoms, either for better or worse. i was now fully convinced that i had taken the true course, because, otherwise, my patient must, by this time, have become worse. accordingly, i persevered in my general let-alone plan for about two weeks, when the patient fully recovered. he was a slender boy, in the fifteenth year of his age, strongly inclined, by inheritance, to disease of the chest and brain; and this consideration, among others, led me to be extremely cautious about his treatment. the greater the danger the greater the necessity that what is done should be done right, or we shall defeat our own purposes. but the most remarkable fact in relation to this very interesting case is,--and it is chiefly for the sake of this fact that i have related the story,--that more than forty-eight hours had passed, after the occurrence of the accident, before it came into my mind that any thing could, by possibility, be done for the chest, in the way of bleeding, blistering, etc.,--so utterly irrational had this treatment, once so fashionable, come to be regarded, both by myself and a few others. how strange that i should not think of it in two whole days! twenty years before, i should not have dared to pass through the first twenty-four hours, in such a case, without _thinking_, at least, of balsams and mustard poultices and the whole paraphernalia of external treatment, to say nothing of bleeding and blistering. chapter lxxviii. medical virtues of sleep. my own child, a boy nine or ten years of age, and somewhat inclined to croup, was one evening wheezing considerably, and, as his mother thought, was threatened with an immediate attack, either from this or some other disease. of course, there was not a little anxiety manifested in the family on his account, and we were deliberating what to do with him, when the late dr. shew, the hydropathist, chanced to come in. after a little general conversation, we turned our thoughts again to our little patient, and asked dr. shew what he would do with him if he were his patient. "if it were my case," said he, "i would give him a tepid bath--say at about the temperature of ° or °." "would you do nothing more?" "nothing at all, except to put him early to bed." i was not committed to hydropathy, as i have before told you. i never have been, though i had a sort of general respect for dr. shew; and hence it was that, incidentally, i asked him the question which i did; and i was pleased with his reply. there was nothing suggested which was at all akin to violence. he did not propose a shower bath of any kind. he did not speak of hot bathing, which for that hour of the day might have induced too violent a perspiration. he did not propose vapor bathing or steaming. a tepid bath could, abstractly considered, do no harm. it would, at least, while away the time till nature could have opportunity to rally. and then, if the return to health should be attributed to the application of the tepid water, we had no special objection to it. we had no medical pride--most certainly i had none--that would lead me to fear lest i should add to the popularity of the cold-water system. but it was rather late in the evening,--between seven and eight o'clock,--almost time for such a child to be in bed. in order to get up a tepid bath and make the application, so much time would be required that it would keep him from sleep till nine o'clock, and perhaps later; whereas, i had a very high opinion of the healing and renovating power of natural and healthy sleep. it struck me that to put the child to bed immediately, and let him have a good night's rest, would be a much wiser measure than to bathe him even in _tepid_ water. so, after thanking dr. shew for his advice, i told him that, for the reasons above stated, we had concluded to omit the bath and put the child immediately to bed. on being put in bed and suitably covered, he went to sleep immediately, and fell into a gentle perspiration, and in about two hours his breathing was much better. it continued to improve till the next morning, when he arose, at the usual time, and was nearly well. dr. shew himself jocosely observed that the _sleep_ cure had proved quite as successful as the _water_ cure. much, therefore, as i prize bathing of all sorts, in its proper place, it must never take the place of other and more important influences, whenever these influences can be brought to bear on the case. indeed, no bathing of any kind can be desirable, any farther than as it serves to aid these natural processes. it has no magic or miraculous power. if we do not eat, drink, sleep, and wake, all the better for it; if the various offices of digestion, respiration, circulation, perspiration, and cerebral action are not thereby, as a whole thing, better performed, it might as well--nay, better--be omitted. otherwise we waste time and trifle away vital energy. if all the functions of the body and all the faculties of the mind could be kept steadily employed, and in healthful proportion, it is obvious that a person could not be sick. or, if one of these only should be deranged, and we should fall sick, as the consequence, what else, pray tell me, is needed, but to effect a speedy return of the faltering function or part to its proper post and duty? but sleep, more than all things else, whenever the usual hour has actually arrived, has the effect to facilitate a cure. we all know how wakeful some maniacs are, and how hurried and deranged all the movements of the muscular and nervous systems are apt to become, no less than those of the brain itself. and we all know, too, how much good it does such persons to be able to obtain good, sound, substantial, quiet sleep. it acts like a charm, and does more than charms can do, or mere medicine. half the formality of having watchers by night in the sick room, does more harm than good. it were better, in many instances, to extinguish all the lights, except at certain set times and on particular occasions, and let the patient sleep. and yet i have as exalted an estimate of the importance of careful nursing as any other individual. for example of my meaning, in a case of seeming contradiction, i may say that i have taken all the needful care of a young man who was very sick, for more than thirty successive nights with the exception of two, and yet maintained my health, which, as you already know, was never very firm. and i have known those who could do this for three months. but they extinguish or hide their light, and acquire a habit of waking at certain times, so as never to neglect the wants of the patient. so true is it that sleep is the grand restorer as well as the great curer of disease, that its salutary influence in the case of various infantile complaints, has long been known and regarded. and one reason why infants should neither be nursed nor fed in the night, as many physiologists maintain, is, that it breaks in upon the soundness of the sleep, as experience has most abundantly proved. sleep, in short, if not a "matchless" sanative, is at least a universal one. chapter lxxix. cure by deep breathing. a young man, fifteen or sixteen years of age, who was in the habit of suffering from protracted colds, nearly the whole winter, till they seemed to terminate almost in consumption in the spring, came under my care about march st, , and was treated as the nature of his case seemed to require, though with a few of what may be, by some, regarded as peculiarities. he was directed to rise in the morning at about six o'clock, which at that season of the year is about as early as any one can see well without lamp-light. at the moment of leaving his bed, he was required to wet his body all over, as quickly as possible, either with the hand or a sponge, or if preferred, with a coarse towel, and then wipe himself hastily and partially, so as to leave on the surface a little moisture, and yet not enough to cause, by evaporation, any sensations of chilliness. the water to be used was to be cold, or at such temperature as is usual at that season, when standing all night in a room without fire. this was to be followed by a rapid rubbing with _crash mittens_, a coarse towel, or the hand, as long as he could keep up a good reaction and a proper degree of vital warmth. or, if rubbing the body increased the cough, and an assistant was required, in this case, a healthy man well charged, so to speak, with electricity, was always to be deemed preferable. in general, however, the young man found no difficulty in keeping himself warm, in this exercise, about half an hour. whenever his strength began to flag, or a little before,--for i did not think it desirable to go farther than the mere borders of fatigue,--he was placed in bed and well covered, so as to be immediately warm. the room itself was kept as cool as possible, even in the coldest weather, the fire having been entirely removed at bedtime the night before, and the room well aired and ventilated. this method of placing him in a warm bed was called dry packing. in this dry pack he usually remained from half an hour to an hour. at the end of this period, he was required to get out of bed, and repeat the former course of rubbing the naked surface of the body a long time, in the cold air, though, in this case, without repeating the application of the cold water. thus the forenoon passed away, with a few slight but unimportant variations. at twelve o'clock, this alternation of air-bathing with friction and dry-packing, ceased, and the patient was expected to put on his clothes and come to dinner. you will, perhaps, ask when and where he had his breakfast. no breakfast was allowed him. nothing was to be taken, except small draughts of water, till twelve o'clock. another operation, which had much more the appearance of peculiarity than any other part of the treatment, but which was deemed, more than all else, indispensable to his recovery, consisted in a series of deep inspirations or breathings. it may be described thus: the patient was required to draw as much air into his lungs as possible, and then immediately expel as much of it as possible. this was to be repeated and continued till a suitable degree of fatigue was induced. at first, it was only required as a species of amusement while in the dry pack; but subsequently it was demanded in other circumstances. i have usually required a person to begin the process by ten, twenty, or thirty deep inspirations, according to his strength of lungs and their irritability; for, at first, it often makes him cough. in the present case, i began with fifty, and gradually increased the number to one hundred. sometimes, by way of experiment, and to pass away the time while in the dry pack, he went much farther; once to six hundred. in this case, however, the face became slightly flushed, the eyes reddened, and the whole arterial action became hastened. it was evidently like "too much of a good thing," and was never repeated. the afternoon was spent in physical exercise, active amusement, reading, conversation, etc. the first consisted chiefly in sawing and splitting wood, and in walking abroad. the amusements were of various kinds. the reading was chiefly of the lighter sort, such as newspapers and magazines. the conversation--not always controllable--was the best we could furnish him. some of the walks were long, extending to five or six miles. music, both vocal and instrumental, was regarded as a most valuable amusement, and was not wholly overlooked. it had its difficulties, but most of them could be surmounted. as a devotional exercise, its soothing influence was almost always evoked. i have said that no breakfast was taken by this young man, and no drink used but cold water. the dinner was also without drink, and so was the supper. the first consisted of a very few kinds of coarse food,--generally not more than two or three at once,--such as coarse whole-meal bread, rice, potatoes, apples, etc., and was the principal meal. the supper was a lighter meal, both as respected quantity and quality, and was taken at about six o'clock. no condiments were allowed except salt, and very little of this; and no animal food, or the products of animals, except, occasionally, a little milk. fruits, either raw or cooked, were frequently among the staples at dinner, but never at supper. this treatment, with slight variations, would be applicable to most persons suffering with lingering complaints, and to persons in health, as a means of invigorating their systems; but my present purpose is, chiefly, to speak of it as a remedial agency in the particular case of this young man. i had hoped to be able to effect a cure on him in about a month. but i was happily disappointed in finding him recover so fast that he was dismissed and sent home on the twenty-fifth day. nor has his consumptive tendency ever again appeared with much severity. since the spring of --now between two and three years--it has not appeared at all. this method of cure, by deep breathing, consists simply in using the lungs freely, without overworking them. they may be overworked as well as used too little; though the danger is generally in the latter direction. they are made, most undoubtedly, for a great amount of action, in breathing, conversation, singing, reading, etc.; and yet, in all these respects, they are sadly neglected. our ordinary conversation is such as hardly to exercise the lungs at all. we talk with the mouth and throat rather than the lungs. so is it, for the most part, with our singing. and, as for breathing, we only breathe a little way down, even when our dress is such as to form no impediment. full breathing, except in making violent efforts, is hardly known. chapter lxxx. spirit-doctoring. one of the most amusing incidents of my "forty years among pills and powders," is found at full length of detail in the following chapter. the amusement it affords has, however, a tinge of sadness. a young man came under my care in the early part of the year , who, for the sake of convenience, i will call thomas. he was about eighteen years of age, but as delicate, sensitive, and effeminate as a female directly from broadway would have been, or as a plant reared in a hothouse. in truth, he had been reared very much like many females of the present day, in a manner entirely sedentary--the creature of over-tenderness and over-kindness. his disease was scrofula; but, with his scrofulous tendencies were conjoined some other difficulties, more obscure and still more unmanageable. his joints were enlarged; and in particular portions of his body were various watery swellings or sacs. as it was a scrofulous tendency that lay at the bottom or basis of his complaints, i proceeded to treat him accordingly. i was to have him under my care three months, during which time, it was believed, something might be done, if ever. at least, it was believed that a beginning might be made, if indeed the disease should prove to be at all curable. he was subjected to the treatment, with few variations, which is mentioned in the preceding chapter. he was not permitted, however, to do much in the way of deep breathing till his general health and strength could be improved by other measures. warm water, in his case, was preferred, also, to cold, and was used in the form of a tub-bath, at five o'clock in the afternoon. thomas had been with me about three weeks, without much variation of condition or prospects, when i received a long letter from his friends, the purport of which was that they had been favored with a communication from the "spirit world," which was attended with the appearance of so much truth and reality, that they were not at liberty wholly to disregard it. the communication purported to be made by the late dr. benjamin rush, of philadelphia. as these friends of thomas well knew i was not a believer in this new-fangled spiritualism, they had taken much pains to satisfy me that i was to have for my venerable counsellor not a mere pretender, but the veritable dr. rush himself. as one evidence in the case, they had inquired through the "medium," who were the present associates of the good doctor in his new abode; who, nothing loath, had deigned to gratify their supposed curiosity, by giving them the names of five distinguished physicians, among whom were the elder and younger dr. ingalls, of massachusetts, and dr. sanborn, of new hampshire. and then, with regard to thomas, he only said, at first, that he was very much interested in him, and that he would examine him and report. soon after this, at another communication, he said his case was a difficult one, but he thought not incurable. he added, that he was already in very good hands, the best, perhaps, that could be found in this mundane sphere, but rather cautiously insinuated that there were symptoms in the case which i had not yet got hold of, but which would, if rightly apprehended, modify, in some of its particulars, my treatment. what it was in the case which i had not discovered, he did not say directly, but subsequently intimated that the young man's disease was not scrofula, as i had pronounced it, but dropsy of the joints. it was not long afterward that the mother paid us a visit, and brought, well written out, the substance, as she said it was, of quite a number of communications from dr. rush. much was said in them about the necessity of exercise and a plain diet. and, in general, so far as the mere treatment was concerned, the statements of the spiritual doctor accorded so well with those of the earthly one, that had i been a believer in these modern mysteries, i should have been highly gratified, not only on thomas's account, but my own. but the spirit doctor urged a few variations in the treatment of the young man. beside pressing a little harder than myself the use of green vegetables, and particularly of vegetable juices, he requested, with great apparent earnestness, that he might be permitted to occupy a room heated by a wood fire, rather than by coal. he also made a few other suggestions of less importance. his mother was a very good woman, save her great credulity. and even here, perhaps, i do her injustice, for there were some curious facts and coincidences. the venerable spirit doctor appeared to have possessed himself of certain secrets which it was extremely puzzling to conjecture how an impostor could have obtained. after spending a day or two with me, and giving me "much exhortation," the mother returned to her friends. of her safe arrival, as well as of certain changes that had been resolved on, the husband informed me, by a letter, which, so far as the case of thomas is concerned, i copy entire. "dear sir:--by mrs. p., in her recent visit to your place, you have been made acquainted with some of the manifestations of spirits, made to us through a young lady, a medium of our acquaintance. "the communications purporting to come from dr. rush (as he says in his last communication, tell dr. ---- that it is the veritable old dr. rush, the signer of the declaration of independence), and with such apparent earnestness and reality, we feel that, to us, they are something more than human or earthly, and of momentous account in this case of thomas, and that we are not at liberty longer to disregard them. and though we have great confidence in yourself and your practice, we hope you will not think we are losing either when i say that we have decided to have thomas return to ----, and commence following the prescriptions of this invisible personage. they appear to be harmless, and may be of great virtue; and much which pertains to them appears to be in harmony with your practice. "again, in closing, i must say that these communications come to us with such force and apparent reality and truth, that i think it would not be doing justly, either to thomas or our creator, longer to disregard them. "with much esteem, yours, etc., ---- ----." in a somewhat extended postscript it was added: "we have witnessed other manifestations, of several of which we had ample proof of their correctness." on another small portion of a sheet which was appended to the former, i found, in pencil, the following:-- "we have, this evening, had another conversation with dr. rush. his medium was in ---- to-day, and was brought to us in order that she might speak to us (mrs. p. and myself). we are directed to tell you this: that he wants thomas to be under her (mrs. p.) care; that there are no earthly physicians that can cure him; that we could not have placed him in better hands than with you. he (dr. rush) says he can and _will cure him_. he says he could cure him without our help, if he could impress him, but in that he has not yet succeeded. he says he has seen thomas with rubbers on, and that he would have taken them off if he could. says positively, he must not wear them. be good enough, dear sir, to see that he does not wear them in coming home." he adds, in conclusion, "tell dr. ---- to remove him from the room he now occupies, and place him in one with a wood fire, and where he will have no bed-fellow." thus ended the communication. thomas went home, according to request, and was, forthwith, put under the treatment of the spiritual doctor. all appeared to be going on very well for a short time; but after the lapse of about three weeks, i heard of his death. no particulars were added, in the papers, but i afterwards learned that his death was rather sudden. i did not chance to fall in with mr. p. for several months, and out of respect to his feelings and those of mrs. p., i did not depart from my usual track to call on them or even write. at the end of the year, however, i visited them, and after the usual passing remarks, the following conversation took place. "it seems, then, that dr. rush with all his wisdom and skill could not save thomas." "no; he said it was too late for any power of earth or heaven to cure him." "but he was very confident he could cure him?" "perhaps he spoke with more confidence than he really felt, in order to encourage us and lead us to exert ourselves." "do i understand you? do you mean to say that perhaps the spirit doctors, like the fleshly ones, in order to encourage the friends of the sick, will depart a little from the truth?" "not exactly that. rather this: we do not consider it a departure from the truth." "i am of a different opinion. in earth, or elsewhere, i call such a course as you intimate a species of white lying--quite common on earth, but which, till now, i did not suppose had found its way to the confines of the world spiritual." the conversation ended here, and was not afterward resumed. i have, indeed, witnessed a good deal of spiritual doctoring since that time, but it was of a somewhat different character from the foregoing. for example: i saw a family in the interior of massachusetts, whose faith in spiritualism and spirit doctrine was perfect. the mistress of the house was the patient. the physician a young man who had been a mechanic, but who had very recently become convinced that it was his duty to attend the sick,--not to do anything for them, on his own responsibility, but only to suffer an old indian physician to operate through him as a medium. the chief thing which dr. h. did, so far as i observed, was to lay his hands on her, and sit for some time in that position. i am not sure that he did not prescribe a few very simple things, from time to time, such as a little weak tea, or the infusion of some domestic herb, from the garden. he was counted, everywhere (for his circuit was a large one), very successful; for his patients generally recovered. their recovery, it is true, was often very slow. chapter lxxxi. remarkable cure of epilepsy. when i was a lad, a man was employed by my father on his farm, who used occasionally to fall down in convulsions, lie for some time, not entirely still, but foaming at the mouth and agitated or rocked to and fro, as if in great distress; and yet, as i afterward learned, senseless. these attacks, they told me, were _falling sickness_ fits. the man was weak in mind, and not vigorous in body, though, by diligence and perseverence, he could accomplish something in the progress of a whole day. he died but little beyond middle age. since that time i have been intimately acquainted with several individuals who were subject to these attacks of epilepsy, some of whom were affected in one way, some in another. the cause, too, was as various as the manner of attack, and in a few instances was peculiar and remarkable. in general, their memory and intellectual faculties, as well as their bodily strength, became, ultimately, a good deal impaired. in my practice as a physician, i had very few of these cases, and none in which i could afford relief at first. the patients were, however, for the most part, of middle age, or at least beyond thirty years. several had taken nitrate of silver or other minerals, till their skins were of a blue-black color. in the beginning of the year , a young man about seventeen years of age, of scrofulous and nervous temperament and of great delicacy, came under my care, to be treated for this disease, whose history, from beginning to end, was remarkable. i will call him samuel. when about twelve years of age he had difficulty with another boy,--an irish or scotch lad,--which ended in a personal affray, in which samuel was worsted, and his head severely injured. it was thought by some that a portion of the skull, which, by the violence of the blow it had received, had been forced in, ought to have been elevated by the trephine; but i believe no surgeon of reputation ever saw him. being young, the depressed portion of skull gradually resumed its place, so that the depression could scarcely be seen. all, however, was not right within, for he was soon afterward attacked by epilepsy. whether, at first, any connection between the disease and the bruised skull was suspected by the friends, i was not able to learn; but probably not. the attacks having been once commenced, were frequent and severe, and every year became more so. they were particularly frequent and severe during the winter and spring. the medical art was invoked in his behalf, especially in the region round about new haven, conn. he was not only treated by the regular physicians, of different kinds and schools, but by not a few empirics or quacks. by some of them he was evidently injured, and by none was he benefited. the tendency still continued to be downward, on the whole, and his friends were, at length, almost discouraged. all this while his diet appears to have been the usual diet of that part of new england in which he resided---too stimulating, and too much refined by cookery. in general, too, his active and perverted appetite led him to excess in quantity; but, as his friends never thought of its being a morbid or diseased appetite, no strong efforts were made to control it. in truth, as he was feeble and growing, it was thought necessary that he should eat stimulating and highly seasoned food, and in large quantity. he was also accustomed to tea and coffee. all his appetites, as it afterwards appeared, were, to say the least, very active, though the gratification of _the third appetite_ was wholly confined to solitude. no restriction, nor indeed any direction, so far as i could learn, had been made at this period, with regard to his mental food. whatever he chose to read, he was indulged in, both as regards quantity and quality. and as usually happens, in the case of epileptic, and scrofulous people, he was quite too much inclined to works of imagination, with which the age and country abound. it appears, also, that being regarded as quite unequal to the task of laboring in field or garden, he was thus, in large measure, deprived of two essentials of health and happiness, especially to epileptics; viz., air and exercise. in august, , he went to an institution that had once been a water-cure establishment, but which had undergone many modifications, till it better deserved the name of college of hygiene, than water cure. here he remained several months. the peculiar treatment he received at this institution consisted, first, in a plain and unstimulating diet. water was his only drink, and bread and fruits, with a few well-cooked vegetables, his only food. but, in the second place, he was subjected to a course of treatment not unlike that described in chapter lxxix, with the exception of the deep breathing and cold-bathing. the last, however, was, i believe, used occasionally. there was, indeed, one important addition made to the treatment above alluded to. this consisted in an exercise designed to expand and strengthen the lungs, by what was called _shaking down the air_. this exercise was practised very frequently, and was curious. i will describe it as well as i can. he was first required to inflate his chest as much as possible, and then, while retaining the air with all his might, rise on his toes, and suddenly drop on his heels, with a sort of jerk, several times in succession, till he could hold his breath and retain the air no longer, which was now suffered gradually to escape. a new recruit was then drawn in, and treated in the same manner. the exercise, as a whole, seemed to consist of a series of jumpings up and down, without quite raising the toes from the floor, and of deep sighing. the object aimed at was to shake down a large amount of good, pure air, into the cells of the lungs, and retain it there as long as possible; and then, to let out or force out the air, so as to empty the lungs as perfectly as possible. the warm bath was occasionally used at four o'clock in the afternoon, but with doubtful effect. exercise, especially mechanical exercise, was of much more service, and so was the gymnasium. he was, however, required to forbear all violence, in his exercises and amusements; nor was he allowed any severe studies. his reading was to be light, though not trifling. for several months next subsequent to his arrival at the institution, he appeared to improve. instead of weekly, or semi-weekly, or still more frequent attacks, he suffered but rarely; and, in one instance, he was exempt from an attack for several weeks. but in december and january they became, once more, rather frequent. they had, however, usually been most frequent in winter and spring. he now began to be apprehensive of a return of his disease, in all its former violence; and the dread of february, march, and april had an influence on his system which was any thing but favorable--since fear, in these cases, is often worse than the evils which excite it. and, according to his faith, or rather according to his want of faith, so it was with him. the attacks became very frequent, sometimes daily; and, in one or two instances, twice a day. he came under my special and almost exclusive care, feb. , . i soon discovered that there was a close connection between excess and irregularity, in regard to his food and his paroxysms of disease. i saw, also, that a part of his food had been too stimulating. in justice, however, i ought to say that in the government of the other appetites, he had succeeded far better than i had expected, though his power to control himself was far from being perfect. while, therefore, i did not materially change the general treatment in other particulars, i determined to regulate his diet; and, with a view to this important end, to watch him, and even to deal out to him his daily rations, with just as much care and particularity as if he were a mere child. he ate but two meals a day, and these were taken at _twelve_ and _six_; and then i always sat by him. i did not leave him, except for one single meal, for a period of fifty-five days. during the whole of this long period--long, i mean, to the patient--he not only had no attacks of his disease, but none of the giddiness or other symptoms which had formerly accompanied or preceded them. he did not, it is true, gain in flesh or strength during the time. in all this and in many more particulars he remained nearly stationary. towards the close of march, his friends became desirous of taking him home. i was not without apprehension; but, hoping for the best, i submitted to their wishes as cheerfully as i could. he was among them for a short time; and was then, by my particular request, as well as in conformity with his own choice, placed on a farm. nearly three months after his return to his friends, i received a letter from him, which i insert here, not only as a convenient nucleus around which to cluster certain suggestions i wish to make to the general reader, but also as a continuation of my patient's history. it was dated june , . "my dear physician,--i am now at mr. ----'s. every thing seems to be in perfect accordance with the wishes of those who are concerned in the case. i can get as plain a diet as i please, and have nothing, so to say, to tempt me. i confine myself to a very small variety. i have had strawberries ever since i came here, which was june th. i eat sometimes nearly a pint at a meal. sometimes i eat nothing but strawberries and dry bread. i have some sugar on the table, and sweeten the berries a little. i eat considerable potatoe--say two or three at dinner--sometimes a little more. i have had two dinners of asparagus, just boiled in a little water, and poured on to some crusts of toasted bread. it was good. i do not think i have had more than three things set on the table for me, at a time, while i have been here. i have bread, potatoes, and berries for dinner. for supper i have bread and berries, and sweetened bread, as it might be called. it is sweetened but a very little. now don't i live plainly. "but i have left out some things that i have had. i had graham mush a few days, but i like the bread better, as mrs. ---- makes such good bread. mr. ---- likes it better than superfine. i have had boiled rice--a few meals. i had one meal of bag-pudding--indian--with a few whortleberries in it. "i have now given you an account of how i live. i eat at ten or half-past ten, a. m., and at four, p. m. so i do not have to go to bed with a meal of victuals on my stomach. "after i left you, and before i came here, i had, all the time, a great looseness of the bowels. it seemed to weaken me. afterwards i thought it was caused, partly, by some very tart, dried apples, of which i ate freely at every meal. aunt ----thought it was working at hoeing up turf around trees, for she said that working hard with her arms affected her in that way. my stomach did not seem quite right. perhaps i strained it in coming home. the very next day after i came here, i commenced eating the ripe strawberries at meals, and have eaten them freely ever since. i sometimes eat nearly a pint at a meal. from the first they have seemed just the thing for me. they regulated my stomach and bowels, and they have strengthened them ever since. "i eat alone, and enjoy it capitally. i would not go back to the institution (the hygiene establishment) for a great deal, because there are so many things there to harass one's mind, or tempt him, at every corner of the street and almost every shop. since i came here i have not tasted of any thing between meals, and have had no inclination to do so. i think there will be no trouble on that account. "i am busy out of doors a good deal of the time. i have hoed corn, piled cord-wood, driven team, picked strawberries, etc. at night i milk one cow. i go barefooted three or four hours in the middle of the day, use no flannels, dress very thin,--as little as i can get along with. "do you wish me to learn to swim, if possible? there is a pond--a natural one--about a mile from this place. will you not answer me soon, and give me your opinion on this and other subjects? "in love, yours, etc. "samuel." about a month later, viz., july , he wrote thus: "my dear doctor:--five months and a half without a symptom! i have not the slightest feeling to remind me of my old attacks. should i not be thankful? "a short time since, i had a very sore stomach. it got out of order, i think, in consequence of eating too much. i broke off, went a day without nothing to eat; eat less now, and feel well. when mrs. ---- was here, she told me she thought i might eat all i craved. i did so, and suffered the consequences, though i cured myself. "there is a place here in the woods where raspberries are so thick that people get six quarts at a time. apples are nearly ripe. pears will soon succeed them. "yours truly, "samuel." two weeks later than the above,--a little more than six months after the discontinuance of the epileptic attacks,--i received a letter from samuel's guardian, in which he wrote as follows: "we have continued the same course of diet as at your house; in short, have carried out your views perfectly as possible. notwithstanding all this, he (samuel) has lost flesh and strength; and, for the last few weeks, has fallen off greatly, in mental and physical vigor. he has run down in flesh to eighty pounds, is pale as this paper, coughs considerably, especially at night, yet does not expectorate very much. he had a spell of spitting blood, some five or six weeks ago, raised perhaps a gill. i do not think that it debilitated him very much at the time." not far from this time samuel was taken from the farm, and subjected to various changes in his habits, which were unauthorized, and which probably proved injurious. he took a large amount of cream,--an article which had not before been allowed him,--also a little fresh meat at his dinners. instead of going without his breakfast, as before, he now appears to have taken breakfast; and in some instances, at least, to have used not only large quantities of cream at this early hour, but animal food likewise. there was a strong and increasing belief among his friends, that his food was not sufficiently nutritious, and that he was suffering for want of materials for blood; whereas the error lay in the other direction. his stomach and other digestive organs were overloaded and depressed by the large amount of nutriment he had for some time received. but more on this hereafter. he now appeared to be falling into what is called a galloping consumption, of which he died a few weeks afterward. there should have been a post mortem examination; but, from various causes, it was not attended to. at the time of his death he was about eighteen years of age. the treatment of this young man on the farm, was by no means what had been intended. the experiment of having him eat alone was hazardous, and i sternly protested against it. but the hours at which he chose to take his two meals, especially the first, were such as to preclude, practically, a better arrangement. there was no one that wished to eat at ten in the forenoon, but himself; and it was not customary for the family to convene for eating in the afternoon, till six. now, although, abstractly considered, he selected the best hours for his meals, yet, taking society as it is, and human nature as _his_ was, it would have been much better, in the result, had he eaten with the family at twelve and six. he would have eaten less, and yet would probably have been better nourished and better satisfied. no housekeeper who has the usual feelings of a housekeeper, will be content to set before a young man of seventeen or eighteen years of age, no more, for example, than one-sixth as much food as she would prepare for six such persons. it would seem to her almost like prisoner's fare. and then, few young men or old ones will content themselves with one sixth as much food when sitting alone, entirely unrestrained, as when in company, where pride or self-respect would have influence. and of one thing we may, at least, be sure, viz., that samuel, with his almost illimitable appetite, tempted by abundance and assured that he might, with safety, eat as much as that appetite craved, would never be the individual to stop short of fifty per cent more of carbon than his feeble machinery could appropriate; while every ounce of the surplus was burned up by his lungs, at an expense of that vital energy which should have been husbanded with the greatest care, and expended no faster than was indispensably necessary. his friends, no doubt, supposed--for such views greatly prevail--that he would not be likely to hurt himself on plain and simple food; and, in truth, that it was so light and unsubstantial that he needed a large amount of it to keep him alive. one or two individuals, largely interested in him, gave this as their opinion, more than once, and vainly believe, to the present day, that he ran down and died for want of proper nourishment. whereas, we need nothing more than samuel's own confessions, to show us, as clearly as the sunlight could possibly show us any thing, that it is much more likely that he perished from excess of nutrition than for the want of it. let us look a little at particulars. it appears, most clearly, that samuel always had before him a good supply of bread, of such excellent quality that he could make a full and agreeable meal of it. while under my special care, he could eat and enjoy a full meal of the driest bread; and he would even have proceeded beyond the limits of safety on it, had i permitted it, and this, too, without berries, sugar, or cream, to make it still more inviting, or without his "sweetened bread," as he called it, for a dessert. it is, moreover, by no means probable, that the morbid keenness of his appetite was at all diminished by being on a farm and in the open air much of the time. observe, now, his living. fruit, he says, he allowed himself always, at both dinner and supper, sometimes a pint at a meal. dried apple-sauce, very "tart," as he called it, he appears to have had at every meal. sugar, moreover, to sweeten his berries, etc., he always had on the table. will one who has such an appetite as he had, eat moderately, with fruit, sugar, and apple-sauce always before him,--and these regarded as a dessert, of which he may eat _ad libitum_, after having eaten a full and more than a full meal of bread? in potatoes, too, he indulged, as you will see by referring to his letter, in rather large quantity. now the most healthy person in the world, would ere long have an acid stomach, as well as weakened lungs, who should undertake to live in this way; how much more a person who has long been feeble, especially in his lungs, nervous system, and even his digestive system, for that was active rather than strong. indeed, there are many circumstances which favor the belief that he burned himself out by excess of stimulus, or, in chemical language, by excess of carbon. his thoughts seem to have been very largely on eating. it will be seen by the extracts i have made from his letters, that after speaking on any other needful topic, he would soon get back to the subject of eating. observe, too, he says he feels no temptation to eat between his meals; but why? first, doubtless, because he eat to the full at his regular meals; and secondly, because the food was mostly, if not always, set away out of his reach. another thing deserves consideration. not only was he, but his friends also, inclined to the opinion that he would not, and perhaps could not, hurt himself on such things as plain dry bread; but they also appeared to believe, _practically_, at least,--and the belief is very common,--that the use of bread would atone for other transgressions. thus, suppose he were to have, for once, a rich pudding to eat, or some baked beans, or sweetened rice pudding,--which, as you know, are of themselves very pure nutriments,--set before him, and he were to eat to the full, till the question should begin to arise in his own mind, whether he had not gone too far, it was apt to be thought, or rather _felt_, that an addition of plain bread, or some fruit, or a few cold potatoes, or some other vegetable, would be a correction for the preceding excess. such, i say, is the virtue which, by a kind of tradition, is awarded to coarse and plain food, and to fruits, and even nuts. i know, indeed, that this idea would hardly be defended in so many words; still, it is practically entertained. to make plainer a great dietetic error, i will explain my meaning. it is believed, for example, that a pound or two of greasy baked beans would not be so likely to hurt a person, if a little bread or fruit or potatoe or sauce were eaten after them, as if eaten alone,--a belief than which none can be more unfounded or dangerous. one more proof that samuel was constantly inclined to excess in eating, is found in the fact that there was a continual tendency, in his stomach, to acidity, which was best relieved by a day of entire abstinence; and the same might be said of a tendency to relaxation of the bowels, and its correction. in short, if there be a plain truth fairly deducible from the facts in the case, it is that he was destroyed by a carbonaceous nutriment in too great proportion for his expenditure. it may have been feared by his friends, that he yielded, at this period, to _other propensities_. indeed, one letter which i received after his death, more than intimated all this. the remark alluded to was as follows:--"i have had the fear that there was something unexplained about his case, as you say you once had." for various reasons, i am inclined to believe that the indulgence referred to had little to do with his comparatively sudden death. his whole soul was pivoted on that great central organ, the stomach. for this he lived, and for this, probably, he died. my own principal error, in relation to the case, was, in suffering him to go upon the farm with such unintelligent, though well-intentioned teachers. lord bacon and others have said, "a little knowledge is a dangerous thing;" and in nothing is the remark more applicable than to the first or pioneer knowledge of people on hygiene. from the very nature of the case it must be so. i ought either to have protested against the farm, _in toto_, or given such minute instructions that they could not have been easily mistaken. but i had my reasons, at the time, for the course i took, and i thought them quite sufficient. how easy it is, in this world, to find cause for misgivings! chapter lxxxii. scarlatina cured by letting alone. at a certain season when scarlet fever was very prevalent among us, a member of my family was attacked with it slightly, and, as it was believed by almost everybody to be contagious, the case excited much alarm. the fact that in persons of my friend's age, it had, during the season, occasionally proved fatal, no doubt increased the apprehension and alarm, and led to many anxious fears about the treatment. those who regarded my general method of treating disease as rather too "tame," and who supposed themselves in special danger of "taking the disease," were not only curious, but curiously inquisitive to know what i would do in my own family, to meet this supposed terrible malady. my first object was to quiet all fears, especially in the patient. it would have been easy--comparatively so--to do this, had it not been for the croakings of our neighbors. they told the sick person so many dismal stories of persons of her age--she was in middle life--who had died of scarlet fever, that it was not so easy to resist, wholly, the impressions. the most resolute and determined are apt to yield, in such circumstances. however, we did the best we could. we endeavored not only to keep her quiet in mind, but in body. all irregularities were carefully watched and guarded against; not by giving medicine to prevent evil, real or imaginary; not by prophylactics, as they are called; but by strictly and carefully obeying all the laws pertaining to the human, physical frame, so far as they were then understood. it was one object to keep the patient cool,--not, of course, chilly; for this would have been worse than a temperature a little too high. but excess of heat, in its application to the surface, was dreaded as one of the worst of evils; and no pains were spared in attempts to keep the sick-room not only cool, but well ventilated. her food, also, both for the sake of the general circulatory system, and for that, also, of the sympathizing skin, was not only cool, but unstimulating. in addition to all this, and in pursuance of the same general plan, a warm or rather a tepid bath was administered. but in applying this the greatest care was used. the water was only warmed just enough so as not to feel uncomfortable. it had so good an effect that it was repeated. the fever did not run so high as had been expected; and our apprehensions gradually disappeared. all went on well, and, in a few days, health was entirely restored. none of the neighbors sickened as the consequence, either of infection or of contagion. i do not mean, by the relation of this fact, to intimate that every case of scarlatina, treated in the same way, would be attended with similar results; for the powers of life are often fed by sicklier streams than in the present case. there is often a large amount, so to speak, of combustible matter in every "nook and corner," ready to be ignited by the burning flood, as it courses its way through the system. yet, even then, the flame would be greatly diminished by keeping quiet. who has not observed the difference, amid a general conflagration, between a most perfect stillness and a blustering or windy moment? the difference between perfect quiet of body and mind and great agitation and fear, in their effects on health and disease, is scarcely less striking, if not, indeed, more so. chapter lxxxiii. ignorance not always bliss. pope says of the freethinker, that he may be "all things in an hour." so may some people in their medical creed, at least, practically. they change their opinions with almost every change in the position of the weathercock. to-day they are very orthodox, medically; to-morrow they are ready to throw physicians and medicine to the four winds, if not to the dogs. just as the freethinker is now very orthodox in religious matters, and in a day or an hour quite out at sea. my troubles with patients of this description have been numerous and great. they promise well, and probably _mean_ well. but just as the new wad in a boy's pop-gun drives out the old one, in order to occupy its place, so the very next medical adviser, especially if he have much self-confidence, secures their entire trust, and i, for the time, seem to lose it. at least, mine is eclipsed. the people i am describing are of too easy virtue to be virtuous. and whence all this? it arises from ignorance--not very blissful ignorance, either. as well might nebuchadnezzar's image, had it possessed sensation, been blissful, as such persons as these. brass, iron, and clay may quite as easily unite to form a reliable compound, as these persons become settled in opinion with regard to a proper medical treatment. i had one patient of this description who harassed me for many years. it is true that he finally recovered; but i hardly know how. his recovery, when i reflect on it, leads me towards the belief that people oftener get well in spite of their medicine, than as the consequence of using it. he was originally a boot and shoe maker; and being exceedingly ambitious, he had neglected exercise, and worked too hard at the bench, as well as committed certain imprudences connected with diet, till he was almost a perfect wreck, from dyspepsia. he was about twenty-five years of age. at first, despite of his ignorance, i had hope of being able to put him upon the high road to health. he seemed unusually docile. but, as i have before said, virtue is sometimes too easy. he would believe in and follow me almost implicitly, for a little while; but when about half or perhaps two-thirds of the way to the land of health, he would become impatient, and either run to me anxiously or veer to somebody else. i have known him to start in pursuit of me when i was a full day's journey distant, and not easily found even then. but i have also known him go, with the same earnestness and anxiety, to another adviser, and follow his directions with the same care with which he had followed my own, and perhaps about as long. while following a person, however, he was, for a very short period at the first, entirely devoted to him and his principles, which, as far as it went, was undoubtedly favorable. once he followed, for a time, a clairvoyant,--a female,--and took her medicine. she gave him, it is true, rather more medicine than he was willing to take, or even pay for; but as i gave him less than he desired, he thought it advisable to give her system a fair trial. i do not know whether he thought himself at all benefited by her prescriptions. most certain it is that he did not long follow her, and that he came to me again some time afterwards, in the same condition as formerly. in another instance, he sought relief of the hydropathists. one of the most eminent of them had him under his care for a long time. i believe he even visited, and staid a week or two, at a water cure institution. yet he never acknowledged any benefit from this treatment. he finally tried to unite allopathy and hydropathy, and to invoke their combined forces. a meeting of myself and an eminent hydropathic practitioner was appointed and held, but even this did not result in his recovery. and yet he finally recovered, though i hardly know how. such cases force me to the acknowledgment that human physical nature is tough, that we are machines made to live. were it not so, this dyspeptic friend of mine must, at a comparatively early age, have sank to the grave, a victim of ignorance. he has, however, acquired wisdom in the school of experience. a brother of his, who was my patient in a similar complaint, and from similar causes, recovered in a very few months. but he was not a mere weathercock. chapter lxxxiv. measles without snakeroot and saffron. in the early part of the year , measles prevailed considerably, and was rather severe even under the most favorable circumstances. in our cities, such as new york and boston, it destroyed a great number of valuable lives. it was by no means confined to children; it attacked adults, who had hitherto escaped it, as well as children. one of my most intimate female friends, who was over forty years of age, had often been exposed to it without taking it, and had begun to hope she should escape through life. the family to which she belonged had it, and in the end a blow fell on her. it alarmed her most fearfully. she declared, again and again, that she should not and could not survive it, and her fears greatly aggravated the severity of her symptoms. she was well acquainted with the most enlightened views on the subject of disease, and though her fears were great, she endeavored to pursue the proper course at first, which, as she knew, consisted mainly in supporting her strength as much as possible, in the most appropriate and healthful ways. she had no thought, it would seem, of taking medicine. but she had neighbors,--some of them of the gossiping kind,--who called on her frequently, to convince her of the necessity of _taking something to bring out the measles_, and to relate the pitiful story of mr. and mrs. such-an-one, who perished because they would do nothing to save themselves, and to entreat her to take at least a little saffron and snakeroot tea. and they had some influence with her; not indeed at first, but after she became weakened by the disease. drowning people, it is said, catch at straws. i was called to see her late one saturday evening. she did not know, as she said, that any medicine was needed, but as she was considerably advanced in life, and many had sunk under the disease of late, and as she had such a continual feeling of depression and fainting, she thought it barely possible i might think it advisable to give her some little thing to make her feel more comfortable. there were indeed many things that required attention. her feet were cold, unnecessarily so, and her room was not properly ventilated. then she needed small draughts of water much oftener than she had been accustomed to receive them, or had dared to venture in their use. she needed no snakeroot and saffron, nor indeed any other form of herb tea. i gave particular orders with regard to the little things so needful in such cases, and in order to be on hand in case of alarm, i remained in the house till morning. more than once during the night, her courage nearly failed her, and i was summoned to her bedside. in one or two instances, she ventured to complain of me as neglectful of her case, because i gave her no medicine. but i cheered and encouraged her as well as i could. her disease had made her a child, and she needed a child's treatment. i was not, indeed, without my fears, but i did not see how her condition could be alleviated by medicinal agents, unless they become necessary as a substitute for that faith in nature, which she was accustomed to exercise when she had more strength. this faith, as i have already told you, did indeed sometimes fall a little below the proper standard, but the depression was in general but momentary. early in the morning a near neighbor called, and kindly inquired how she did; and when assured that she was, as yet, no better, was unable longer to repress her feelings. "why, in the case of _my_ children," said she, "the measles never came out without giving them something, and they never would have done so to this day." yet she had a large family. i might have asked her how she knew what nature _could_ have done unaided, since she gave her no opportunity to test her strength; but she was too ignorant to converse with on such subjects. to have asked her how she knew whether her children got well in spite of the medicine they took, or on account of it, would have been but throwing pearls before swine, and i would not do it. it was very soon reported, all over the neighborhood, that mrs. o. was in a very dangerous condition, and if she did not have some other doctor, would soon die. and, what was worst of all, the stories got back to mrs. o. herself. and now came the tug of war; and had not the eruption, just at this time made its appearance, i do not know what the results might have been. before noon, however, of this day (sunday), every thing went right, and mrs. o. was as blooming as she had been before pale and disconsolate. my good friend who had given me the morning homily, did not again make her appearance, and the neighbors in general who had dealt out their jeremiades so freely, kept themselves at a very respectful distance. the recovery was as rapid as could have been expected, even in the most vigorous young person. nor was there any after-trouble, to require physic, or eye-water, or remedies for the dropsy. and,--what added to my own surprise, if not to that of the neighbors in general,--though she was a feeble woman, constitutionally, she recovered with as much rapidity as the most healthy and robust, and as well, to say the least, as if she had taken "_snakeroot and saffron_." chapter lxxxv. the consumptive pair. a young man, recently married, called on me one day, and requested me to visit his family as soon as i could conveniently, for the purpose of having what he was pleased to call a general consultation. i called in due time, and found the case as follows: both the husband and wife were descended from consumptive families, and though they had got along tolerably well till very recently, there were now, in them both, many evidences of approaching disease; and though consumptive people are said to be slow in admitting they have consumption, yet this young couple formed an exception to the general rule. in the bosom of the family, and possessed of their entire confidence, i had an ample opportunity for examining the case of this interesting couple. i found the tendency downward much more marked and rapid than i had expected, and i frankly told them so. some of the circumstances were, indeed, rather peculiar. consumptive people are generally sensual, while indulgence is peculiarly fatal to them. but here was a case more glaring than i had before seen. they had been married but about three months; nor were the indulgences of the table believed to be remarkable, as they were forbidden by a due regard to economy. they suffered much by excessive heat in their rooms, both by day and by night, and in several other ways, much more than by high living. but i endeavored to put all things right, and to convince them of the necessity of keeping them so. in a long, but very familiar series of conversations,--for the most part separately,--i endeavored to show them that conjugal life was a life of duty, as well as of enjoyment; and that consumptive people, in order to live out more than half their days, must forego a great many gratifications to which they might very naturally lay claim. the results of this conversation were probably worth a hundred-fold the expense they involved. this young couple are, to this hour, for aught i know, enjoying tolerable health; and their health is improving. their children, though not strong, reap the full benefit of thorough parental reform; and their scrofulous tendencies seem every day more and more receding. chapter lxxxvi. how to cure cholera. while cholera was prevailing in our large towns and cities, and a few cases were occurring and proving fatal in my own neighborhood, a friend of mine, who had till recently been a sea captain, complained, one day, of cholera symptoms, and begged to know what he could do to ward off the threatened disease. on inquiry i found he was more than half right, that cholera, surely enough, was already marking him for its victim. the rice-water discharges, so called, had actually commenced. had he been any thing but a resolute tar, he would have gone on, most evidently, into severe if not fatal disease. i gave him the best advice i was able, with regard to diet, exercise, etc.,--probably the same, or about the same, that any thoughtful medical man, in the same circumstances, would have given. he was to be cheerful, quiet, and abstinent. for food, he was to use nothing but a little boiled rice,--at least, till the symptoms of cholera began to abate. he was especially directed to avoid all medicine. several weeks passed away, during which i heard nothing from him. as i did not hear of his death, however, i concluded he must have recovered. one day, rather unexpectedly, i met him again, and inquired familiarly how he got along with his cholera? he laughed outright, but immediately added,--"sit down, sir, and i will tell you the whole story." "after i left you," said he, "the thought struck me,--why cannot i control the muscles of my system as well as my appetites and passions? indeed, on occasions, i have done it, at least for a short time. these little rice-water evacuations cannot, in the nature of things, do much harm by being retained. i can do what any man can. these frequent demands of nature seem to me very unreasonable. i will not yield to them. and, like a good sailor, i kept my word. for nearly a whole day i never permitted a single evacuation. then, after yielding obedience, for once, to nature's clamorous demands, i again enforced my prohibitory law. my task, the second day, was less severe than it was the first, and on the third day i got along very comfortably. the fourth day i was well; and to-day you see me here." whether he told me the truth, i do not know, of course; but i give the statement, as nearly as i can recollect, just as it was given to me. i have reason, however, for believing it to be true. the man is still alive, and is as likely to live for twenty or twenty-five years to come, as you or i, or any other individual. mrs. willard, of troy, new york, under the full impression that the seat of human life is in the lungs, and not in the heart, and that even the blue color of the skin during the collapse of asiatic cholera, is owing to an accumulation of unburnt carbon in the air cells of the lungs, made the experiment of trusting a few patients, in this disease, to the full influence of pure air, and nothing else. according to her account the experiments were most admirably successful. she cured every individual she experimented on (and it was a considerable number), and in a comparatively short period. it was my good fortune to escape cholera patients, with the single exception mentioned above. however, i am quite confident that, but for the alarm, which more than half paralyzes our efforts, we might much more frequently recover, under its deadly influences, especially if we begin the work of preparation in good season, and duly and faithfully persevere. there is much in enduring to the end. chapter lxxxvii. obstinacy and suicide. without examining the term suicide, in regard to its various shades of meaning, i have placed it at the head of this chapter; for i think it properly belongs there. of this, however, i leave the reader to judge when he has heard a statement of the facts in the case to which i have applied it. a young woman was admitted to the family where i was, to be treated for a nervous complaint so obstinate as to remind one who was not wholly insane nor strikingly imaginative, of the demoniacal possessions of eighteen hundred years ago. she would not eat; she would not drink; she would not or _could_ not sleep. in short, she would not, if she could help it, do any thing which did not have an immediate bearing on her own well-being, for the moment. she was, in truth, one of the most selfish creatures in human shape i ever yet saw. if dr. johnson, who is said to have held that every sick person is a rascal, had seen her, i wonder what he would have said of the case. she was one of those young women who have never been governed, and hence cannot govern themselves. if she took it into her head to do or not to do a thing, she would be sure to carry her point, if not in one way, at least in another. how she came to consent to be placed under my care, i never knew; for all the neighbors and friends of the poor girl well understood that if she came there she would have to obey me; and yet that, if she _did_ obey me, it would be the first instance in which she ever yielded to any mind or will but her own, either earthly or heavenly. perhaps it was a last resort--a sort of desperation. i began my directions, however, as if i expected to be obeyed, and had no fears of any disinclination on her part. some things which pleased her, she consented to attempt; others she would tell me she _could_ not do. when i was quite confident nothing was wanting but a will, i sometimes asked for a reason; but it could, in no instance, be obtained. if i pressed her for an answer, or for a reason, she would either be silent or groan most dreadfully with pain! at length i saw that nothing could be obtained in this way, and that she must either attend to my directions, as far as was really in her power, or i could have nothing to do with her; and i told her so. she did not appear to care. her alienation of feeling was so rapid that in a very few days she seemed almost to hate the very sight of me. indeed, i believe she made statements to this effect to several of her friends. her report, so unfavorable and so very strange, soon reached the ears of several very respectable people, who in wonder and surprise came to me, to learn what it meant, and among the rest came her minister. they made diligent though respectful inquiry whether the facts were as she represented them to be. i believe that, for the most part, they were satisfied with the treatment. but the girl herself was not satisfied. she could not leave the house without help; and yet it was easy to see that she was determined not to remain. she preferred, as she said, to die. everybody seemed to pity her, despite of her unreasonableness, and the more for her unreasonableness. her friends assured her that this treatment of mine afforded her the last chance of recovery, and begged her not to decide to leave us too hastily. it was all to no purpose, however; she said she preferred death in the street to a cure at my hands. there had been serious difficulty about her diet. i had strenuously forbidden the use of certain condiments which i thought injurious to her, but which she was resolutely determined to have. at first, a few things prepared to her taste had been smuggled in by certain psuedo friends; but this, when discovered, was absolutely prohibited. one evening, just at dark, some of her friends called to see her and me. they found me in the sitting-room. we had a short conversation concerning the patient, in which they were made most distinctly to understand that they must either leave her to be treated wholly according to my discretion or remove her. they were left at a loss what course was best; but at length, in compliance with her clamors, they placed her in their carriage and carried her away. this was both the first and last patient that ever ran away from me, or that ever appeared to be desirous of doing so. on the whole, though no one pitied her more than myself, i was glad when she was gone. she was hardly worth curing. i never heard from her more, except vaguely, some time afterward, that she was dead, which was probably correct. most certainly i could not have lived long, in her circumstances. i was very unwise in taking the charge of her, or, at least, in retaining her a moment after she refused to obey me. however, i had my reward. the public not being possessed of all the facts in the case, probably lost confidence in me. it was proper that they should. he who takes a viper to his bosom, must not be surprised if he suffers the natural consequences of his presumption. chapter lxxxviii. health hospitals. some of my friends, fully aware of my strong reliance on the recuperative powers of nature, and of my growing scepticism in regard to medicine, entered into combination and proposed to place me at the head of a hospital, in which i should have an opportunity, as they supposed, to test the superiority of my favorite practice. the buildings needful for the purpose, were to be furnished by one of the company, gratuitously. for the rest, a subscription was to have been started. the salary was to have been $ , a year. matters were, in fine, carried so far that nothing remained but my own acceptance or non-acceptance, of the proposal, as there was no doubt that the subscription would readily succeed. but i saw, at the moment, so many difficulties, that after a careful consideration of the subject i was compelled to decline. situated as i then was, and with very little self-confidence, perhaps the decision was right. and yet i have at times, ever since, regretted it. i was not then so fully aware as i now am, of the stern necessity of such institutions. still later than this, i made an effort to establish a hospital, on my own responsibility, and on my own plan. this was, simply, to receive patients at my house, and teach them, both by precept and example, _how to live._ in other words, i was to teach the art of preventing disease by obeying the physical and moral laws. even disease itself was to be cured by obedience to these laws,--those of hygiene. at this time, i was residing in the country. had i been in the crowded city, i might, perhaps, have succeeded. as it was, i found many difficulties. just now, too, among other difficulties, my pecuniary condition became embarrassed, and i was anxious to be freed from debt before i begun a work which, at best, required a good deal of capital. not to be able to labor wholly gratuitously would, as i thought, defeat my whole plan. in these circumstances, and after considerable delay, the whole thing was indefinitely postponed; and soon after, i removed to a region still less promising. i shall not, at present, if ever, repeat my attempts, at least on the plan of doing my work gratuitously. what costs little is, usually, little valued. and yet, such institutions are needed; and the time must come when they will succeed. some eminent medical man who already possesses wealth, will perhaps make the trial. for myself, i prefer a more radical work. i prefer to throw my own make-weight, while i live, into the scale of early and correct physical education. chapter lxxxix. destruction by scrofula. much is said in these days about scrofula, and much indeed should be said about it; for it has become a most frequent, not to say fatal, disease. for, if few die of it, immediately, it leads to, or renders more severe, numerous other diseases, which are more directly fatal. in truth, a scrofulous constitution not only prepares us for many other diseases, but renders them, when they assail us, much more severe than they otherwise would have been. colds, fevers, and consumption, in particular, are not only more frequent in scrofulous people than in others, but also more intense or severe, as well as less manageable by medical skill. this disease itself, though often inherited, may, on the one hand, be greatly aggravated by improper treatment; or, by a proper course of living, may, on the other hand, be postponed many years, if not indefinitely. living much in the open air, cheerfulness of mind, plain food and drink, and a proper regard to the skin, will do a vast deal towards arresting its progress, and in some instances will wholly prevent its doing us any harm. for though five millions of the inhabitants of the united states were probably born with a tendency to this formidable disease, and the same proportion--if not a greater--of each generation to come will be likely to have the same tendency, i do not believe it to be indispensably necessary that one-half of this number should die, as now they do, of consumption. i have not a doubt that two-thirds of them might, by proper management, be made to last many years, and some of them to what is usually called old age. it has been my lot to have a very great number of scrofulous patients, daring the last twenty-five years, from almost every part of the united states. one of the worst cases i ever had was that of mrs. ----, of new hampshire. her history, prior to the period when she came to me, is very briefly as follows. she was born of parents, who, at the time of her birth, were very near their dotage; in consequence of which, as it was believed, she held her existence by a very feeble tenure. at two and a half years of age, she was nearly destroyed by dysentery, or by the medicine given to arrest her disease, or by both. in addition to this and almost before she recovered, she had an attack of scarlet fever, which was very severe, and which was also probably treated freely by medicine. by this time there is no doubt that scrofula, at first slightly inherited, had become pretty well riveted on a constitution already but poorly prepared to endure it. in her seventeenth year, she was afflicted with a troublesome eruption, which was cured, or at least checked, by a wash of sugar of lead. (see chapter xiii.) she was married at twenty-one; and though stinted in her growth, so as to be almost a dwarf, she seemed, at first, to be tolerably healthy. but in the course of a year she suffered from various complaints, to which scrofulous and otherwise debilitated females are subject in early conjugal life, for which she was treated--as i suppose very injudiciously--with active medicine, especially calomel. and now, as if to render what was already bad enough a great deal worse, she made use of a certain patent medicine, which had been greatly lauded in the public papers. she was also persuaded to make use of a more stimulating diet than before; which was doubtless to her great disadvantage, in such a feeble condition. her diet, though it should have been _nourishing,_ should have been _less stimulating_ than usual, and not more so. falling in with the famous sylvester graham, who was lecturing near her at the time, she was overpersuaded to change her habits very suddenly, especially her dietetic habits. from a highly seasoned diet, she was at once transferred to a very plain one, to which was added cold bathing and abundant exercise in the open air. this change, though it caused great emaciation, appeared to restore her health entirely. her appetite and general strength were such that she thought it almost impossible she could ever be sick again. but now a heavy domestic affliction befell her, which again very much reduced her; and, as she was wont to say afterward, "killed her." what it was, however, i was never informed. being greatly depressed, she undoubtedly confined herself to the house too much, and in one instance when she ventured out, she unluckily exposed herself to a damp east wind, which appeared to give her cold. to remove this, and for other purposes, she fasted rigidly, for several days. it was at this time that she came, in part, under my care. but she was already so much diseased in mind and body, and so ignorant of any just principles of hygiene, as to be greatly liable to be led about by the fancy or whim of this friend or that--sometimes by mr. graham and others, who only relied on nature; and at others, by those who went to the opposite extreme. i could do little for her to any valuable purpose, and was glad to send her to the elder dr. jackson, of boston. not, however, till i had given her to understand, in general, that aside from her scrofulous tendencies, i did not know what ailed her; and that, so far as i could understand her case, her safest course was to avoid medicine and depend almost wholly on a careful obedience to god's laws, physical and moral, especially to his laws of hygiene. i had not then fully learned how much she had been abused, in early life, by unnecessary dosing and drugging. dr. jackson told her it was evident there was something in her case very much out of the way; but he would be honest with her, and confess that he did not know what it was. he proposed to have dr. putnam see her, and another physician at lowell. he insisted, however, on a more nutritious diet. the last suggestion was heeded for awhile, but evidently to her disadvantage. under the impression that in order to obtain more nutriment she must do so, she suddenly returned to the free use of flesh, butter, eggs, milk, etc., which, for a long time, till now, she had refused. this course brought upon her much acidity of the stomach. she returned once more to the plain diet, and by avoiding extremes and letting alone medicine, according to the general tenor of my directions, she partly recovered, and seemed destined to still higher advance towards the land of health and life. but here, again, domestic trials, like a flood, came upon her, and brought her into great mental anxiety and embarrassment, as well as into that weak and vacillating condition which had once before existed, and which i have already described. to-day she would use her well-balanced, plain diet; to-morrow, perhaps, resort to the starvation system, for a few days. then, in the fear of suffering from that, she would resort again, for a few days, to luxurious living. now, too, she would adhere to and follow this physician, now that, and next, none at all; or, perchance, follow some quack. i was not in a situation to exert much influence over her, or it is possible she might still have been saved. she would, indeed, adhere to my general plan, when all else that promised more seemed to fail, and perhaps would have been more persevering, but for her friends. they wanted to have the "prophet" do "some great thing," and cure her as by magic or miracle. in saying these things, it is far enough from being my intention to be reproachful. she was not educated to a knowledge of herself; and she was by no means, at the present time, what she had been in her best days. it is not to be wondered at, therefore, that she acted like a wayward child; though it is greatly to be regretted, since, in her circumstances, it probably cut off every chance of her recovery. in the spring, two or three years after her first change of diet, a cough with which she had occasionally been troubled before, came on with renewed violence, and never after wholly left her. she remained in this condition till the opening of the next year, when her cough made still farther advances, and was attended with hectic fever. she died in the month of may following. a post mortem examination was made, which determined the case to have been what dr. jackson and myself and many others supposed, a case of scrofula or struma; though it was certainly attended with many curious and rather anomalous symptoms. though there were no ulcers in the lungs, they were found full of tubercles; and so were the mesenteric glands, and the lining membrane of the alimentary canal. it was even said by the principal individual concerned in the examination, that her whole body was but a mass of disease. for myself, i was necessarily absent at the time, and therefore have no facts of my own to present. i never had a case, either before or since, in which my hands were so completely tied as in this. the patient probably had as much confidence in me as in anybody; and yet she would not long follow me implicitly and strictly, without yielding to the whims of her friends or her enemies, and halving the practice with some physician or quack, either known or unknown. under the care of some good, common-sense physician, and with full faith in him on the part of all concerned, i am still of opinion, as i always have been, that she might have recovered and lived many years, and, perhaps, been able to do a vast amount of good. chapter xc. starving out disease. dr. johnson, one of the best british writers on dyspepsia, advises his medical brethren to starve out the disease, as the surest way of getting rid of it. he says he has by far the best success with those patients who submit to this course. it is not starvation, exactly, though it savors of it. he says, keep them on just two pints of indian-meal gruel--by which he appears to mean thin hasty pudding--a day, and no more. if they are really afraid of starving, after the trial of a few weeks, let them eat a few times of something else; but they must soon return to the starvation plan. i have usually preferred cakes of indian meal, or wheat meal unbolted and baked very hard, to gruel or pudding. the reason is, that i consider mastication very essential to good digestion, especially in the case of dyspeptics. i believe the small quantity of indian meal that goes into two pints of gruel, or even of pudding, were it firmly baked, would hold out and sustain the health and strength of an individual much longer than gruel; and it will, by most persons, be preferred. one of my dyspeptic patients, a young man of great resolution, was put upon ten ounces a day of thin indian-meal cake, or johnny cake; and it wrought wonders. the prescription was made about twenty years ago, and no young man under forty years of age, in massachusetts, is more efficient, at the present time, than he. to another young man, similarly afflicted, i recommended eight ounces of the same kind of food. he was from a family that had long known me, and that appeared to confide in me. i have never heard from him since. my conjecture is that he refused to follow the directions, and hence did not wish to communicate with me any farther. he may be still a dyspeptic, as the consequence, though it is certainly possible he may have obeyed the prescription, to the saving of his health. some have supposed that a quantity of food so small, is not sufficient to keep alive an ordinary adult; but they are mistaken. much smaller quantities than eight ounces have proved sufficient for this purpose, in a great many instances. three or four ounces have been found adequate to every want, in these circumstances. as i regard this as a highly important point, i will endeavor to establish it by two or three facts, which have come, in part, under my own observation. the first appeared in the _boston medical and surgical journal_, for , and in several other papers. the other is from a philadelphia paper, and is as reliable as the former. it is, however, of much later date; viz., december, . jervis robinson,[k] of nantucket, was a ship-master, born in . in , he became a most miserable dyspeptic. for three or four years he relied on the popular remedy of beef-steak three times a day, and with the usual consequences. it made him worse rather than better. in the year , a friend of his who had heard lectures on dyspepsia, or had read on the subject, suggested a new remedy. it was three graham crackers daily, one at each meal, without any drink at the time of eating. this, it was said, if persevered in long enough, would certainly effect a radical cure. but i prefer to let mr. robinson tell his own story, which he does in the following manner:-- "the novelty as well as simplicity of this prescription, greatly interested my mind, and i laid the case before my friends. but they, as with one voice, endeavored to dissuade me from a course which they said would certainly destroy me. they were particularly afraid of the sudden change from a full flesh diet to one entirely vegetable.[l] but i told them i might as well die in one way as another, and that i was resolved on the experiment. "at first i had no graham crackers; i therefore used the common soft graham bread cut in thin slices and thoroughly dried. twenty-one ounces a week was my allowance. of these i made three meals a day, at the hours of six, twelve, and six. small as the allowance was, i spent half an hour in consuming it. occasionally at evening, i omitted one-half of even these scanty rations. "my drink, for twenty-four hours, was one gill of water, divided into three equal parts, and one of them to be taken just two hours after each meal. i also used a cold shower-bath at rising in the morning, and walked a mile before breakfast, having retired at ten the previous evening. "under this course, my flesh and strength wasted fast. i was weighed every week, and for the first three or four weeks, i lost half a pound a day. the daily loss then diminished somewhat, but was not entirely discontinued till the lapse of two months. at this time i had lost, in all, twenty pounds weight. "all this time the cry of starvation was heard from every quarter, and i must frankly own that, for a week or so, i was not myself wholly without fears. however, my head felt so much better, and my spirits so much revived, that i began to take courage. my bowels, moreover, which up to this time had rarely moved, and never to much purpose, now began to move more regularly, and in about three weeks they resumed their functions entirely, both as regarded time and quantity. "at the end of two months, i ceased to lose flesh, and remained, in this respect, about stationary for four weeks; but after this i began to gain. at first, the increase of weight was very slow indeed, but soon it became much more rapid, so that in two months more i gained nearly what i had lost, or at the average rate of five or six ounces a day. for a part of this time, however, the gain was half a pound a day, or nearly three times as much as the whole weight of my food, and more than the whole weight of my food and drink together. "i have said that i ate three ounces, by weight, of graham bread, daily,--an ounce at each meal. but i afterwards procured the graham crackers in boston, and used them a part of the time. of these, too, i continued frequently to omit half a cracker at evening. the water, also,--one-third of a gill,--was generally omitted at evening. "as to my appetite, during the experiment, i can truly say that, though i never in my life came to the table with a better appetite, i was never better satisfied with my meals when they were finished. after the first three weeks, i had little or no thirst. nor had i, so far as i now recollect, any desire to eat between meals. in truth, food, except at my meals, was seldom thought of. but, on this subject, my mind had been made up at the outset. i will only add, on this point, that my bread, during the whole time, tasted better, far better, to me than the nicest cake formerly had. "as regards perspiration, my skin, after the first three or four weeks (during which it was dry and hard), became soft and moist. when i used much exercise, i perspired very freely. my sleep was sound and satisfying. indeed, the whole "machinery," so far as i could judge, worked admirably during the latter part of the experiment, and at its close i could perform a good day's work at my trade. "i was about thirty years of age when i made the experiment. i am now above fifty. i have not always, nor indeed generally, been as rigid in my habits since that time. in one instance, however, i worked two weeks on a ship, at "sheathing," on but five ounces of food a day, and was never better in my life, and never felt less fatigue at night. in fact, i felt much better at night than i did in those instances in which i indulged myself in eating two pounds of food a day. "during a part of the time of my principal experiment, i kept a grocery. on leaving this, i established a graham boarding-house, in which i continued for one year. "about a year after the termination of my experiment, i had occasion, for about three weeks, to work in a bake-house, where the mercury in the thermometer was at °. while here, i ate twelve ounces of dry bread and two apples a day, and drank nothing. yet i perspired as freely as ever, nor did i perceive any difference in the quality or the quantity of any other secretions or excretions." the reader will take notice that mr. robinson's principal or starvation experiment, lasted five months, or one hundred and fifty days. he will also observe that he left off the experiment with nearly or quite as much flesh as he had when he commenced, and with a very great increase of muscular strength. the above statement was so remarkable, that not a few medical men and others regarded it as a hoax. "to live on three ounces of bread, and yet be in daily employment," they said, "even though such employment were of a kind likely to call for very little muscular effort, is altogether incredible. and what renders the whole so much more unlikely, is, the yet more extraordinary assertion, that, part of the time, he gained more in weight than the whole amount eaten and drank." it was no wonder that medical and all scientific men were staggered at the account. i was in doubt myself, in regard to the functions of waste, and made a very rigid examination, in order to be certain of the facts, before i ventured to publish any thing. on one or two points, i afterward obtained mr. robinson's particular statement, as follows:-- "in regard to the question you propose, i shall have to guess a little. so far as the fluids are concerned, however, i think it was about half a pint a day. the solids--for i weighed them this morning, and they appear to me about equal to those voided during the experiment--are fully half a pound." i also recently ascertained another curious fact. mr. robinson's eyesight, prior to the experiment, had, for many years, been very poor, but was perfectly restored during its progress. it appeared, also, that he had again resorted to the exclusive use of bread and water for food; but not in such small quantities as before. mr. robinson, of course, is now above sixty years old. one medical correspondent of the _boston medical and surgical journal_, pressed mr. robinson, very hard, for corroborative testimony concerning the facts just stated, to which mr. robinson very kindly replied, by sending him the certificate of his wife, mrs. e. d. robinson, whose veracity is undoubted. the certificate was as follows:-- "the most of the facts which my husband has written, i well recollect, and will give my name as a voucher for the truth of them." a brother of mr. robinson, at holmes' hole, whom i called on, appeared to give full credence to the statements of the latter, although he was much opposed to the experiment, at the time it was made, and mortally detested all his bread and water tendencies. i will only add, that a medical man who was sceptical in regard to the whole matter, became finally convinced that the story bore the marks of truth, and made public his conviction, in the subjoined statements and reasonings. "it is no true philosophy to refuse credence to a statement of fact supported by competent evidence, simply on the ground that we cannot understand how it can be. that his system (robinson's) absorbed a very considerable amount of weight from the moisture at all times existing in the atmosphere, i have no doubt--partly through the skin, but chiefly, as i apprehend, through the mucous membrane of the lungs. the fact that they are capable of transmitting such an amount of water in a very short time, as may be rendered evident by breathing on a cold, polished surface, is a pretty conclusive proof that they may, under favorable circumstances, be as active in absorption. "that the alvine evacuations are purely and entirely a secretion, to become an excretion, i have been satisfied for a number of years; and i am glad of this new and striking--i might say incontrovertible--proof that it is so. to be sure, all matters incapable of solution and digestion, pass off through the alimentary canal, but they are purely accidental. one of the most satisfactory proofs, to my mind, of the fact, has been the discharges from the bowels of a healthy infant. the whole of the milk is so digested that there is no residuary matter to pass through the canal, and yet the discharges are abundant." the case of mary b. adams, of oakham, mass., though differing considerably from that of mr. robinson, is, nevertheless, remarkable. i have dwelt so long on the preceding case, however, that i must study brevity. what i shall say, was published in the papers of some years since, and is from her own pen. "in june, , i had an abscess in my throat, accompanied by slow fever, and in the fall, dysentery. in the autumn of the same year, i discontinued the use of animal food. "in , i had an attack of spinal complaint, which lasted me three months. in the spring of , i had lung fever, followed, for nearly two years, by a cough, and accompanied by a very indifferent appetite. a piece of bread three inches square and one inch thick would serve me for a meal. a hard fit of coughing, however, was sure to follow every meal. i also became very much emaciated. in the fall of , i took some medicine which removed my cough. "through the winter and spring of , i had diarrhoea; and in the last of may, i was suddenly and completely prostrated. i had risen in the morning more unwell than usual, but before flight i was suffering intolerable pain through the kidneys and back; and it was not till the lapse of two weeks that i was able to walk about the house. all this while i was entirely destitute of an appetite, though my stomach continually craved acids. for six months, i lived almost wholly on fruit. four good-sized apples a day,[m] was all that i required. my drink was, for the most part, catnip tea. sometimes i could take sugar and milk in my tea; at others, milk could not be borne. i drank four teacupfuls of it a day. "while i was at one period expectorating largely, i had custards made from the white of eggs, sweetened with loaf sugar, of which i took three table-spoonfuls, every twenty-four hours. i slept but little--not more than two hours in twenty-four.... my bowels were very costive; i do not suppose there were more than two or three natural evacuations during the whole of the six months i am describing." a more particular account of her diet, in , is elsewhere given. it is in the following words: "during this year i took but little food, and that of the simplest. i lived chiefly on fruit, such as apples, currants, strawberries, gooseberries, and blueberries, and other acid fruits." some years later than this, miss adams was still living very simply. "my food," she says, "is raised bread, and butter, apple or pumpkin pie, and fruit in small quantity. i do not require more than a third as much food as most females. in fact, i can eat but little of any thing. my food, even now, distresses me very much, unless i vomit it. i eat no animal food, and roots of every kind distress me. i drink tea; i cannot drink water; it seems, in swallowing it, more like a solid than a liquid." there would be no difficulty in adding largely to the list of cases of dyspepsia which have been cured on the starvation plan; but these must suffice for the present chapter. footnotes: [k] for obvious reasons, i give real names and dates in this chapter. [l] even mr. graham himself, whom he accidentally met, repeated to him the same caution! [m] or other fruits equal to them. the reader must not forget that she had already subsisted five years without animal food, and that what she took of vegetable food was a very small quantity--little more than was taken by mr. robinson. chapter xci. dieting on mince pie. a recent letter from a patient of mine, contains the following statement: "i met, yesterday, with a poor dyspeptic. he said he felt very bad indeed, and that he had been _dieting_ for a long time. i asked him what his diet had been. he said 'bread and butter, for the morning meal; beef, etc., for dinner; and nothing at all, for supper, but a piece of mince pie and one or two glasses of cider.'" admitting this to be dieting, it is, at least, such a kind of dieting as will not be likely, very soon, to cure dyspepsia. and yet to hundreds, if not thousands, _dieting_ is little more than an increased attention to what they eat--i mean, from meal to meal. yet no changes of food, even for the better, will compensate for this increased watchfulness over--i might perhaps say devotion _to_--the stomach. the philippians, to whom paul wrote so touchingly, are not the only people in the world whose god is their abdominal region. such an anxious attention to the demands of an abnormal appetite, only tends to increase that determination of blood to the stomach, to prevent which all judicious or effective dieting is intended. dyspepsia only renders her devotees--her very slaves--the more enslaved. with such, every attempt to cure the disease by dieting is still stomach worship. they must have their very medicine taste agreeably and _sit_ well. at all events, they must and will have their minds continually upon it, and must and will be continually inquiring whether they may safely eat this article or that or the other. it would be almost true to affirm that the fall of man from primeval integrity, consists essentially in dyspepsia, and that every descendant of adam and eve is a dyspeptic. the attention of mankind generally, is directed too exclusively as well as too anxiously, to the inquiry, what they shall eat, and what they shall drink. that we must eat, and drink too, is quite obvious--nothing more so. that the author of nature intended, also, that we should take pleasure in our eating and drinking, is scarcely less so. but does he secure to himself the most pleasure who thinks most about it? most certainly there is pleasure--_much_ pleasure in the anticipation of good. we may, by aid of imagination, then, feast upon the same dish half a dozen times. yet, does not this--i repeat the idea--tend to determine an increased amount of blood and of nervous energy to the stomach, and to aggravate the disease? let the reader ponder this question. my own most deliberate conviction is, that the stomach, in general, is best managed, and the greatest amount of gustatory enjoyment secured, when it is subjected most fully to good habits; that this organ, being blind and deaf, is best served when directed by the wiser head; or, to express the same truth in a better way, instead of asking the stomach at any time what it will have, _we should ask the head what is right_, and follow its directions. if the stomach is pleased, why, very well; if not, let it go without being pleased. give it what you think is right, all things considered, and think no more about it. if it rebels, give it a smaller quantity. if it still complains, lessen still more the quantity, and perhaps diminish the frequency of your meals. there is no danger of starving to death, as every one must be convinced who has read carefully the two preceding chapters. when the system is really in a suffering condition for want of nutriment, then the stomach will be able to receive more, and dispose of it. if you give it what is right for it, there will be no want of appetite--at least, very long. nay, more; the mere animal or gustatory enjoyment of that food which the head tells us is right, and to which we conscientiously adhere, will, in the end, be far greater than in the case of continual inquiry and anxiety and anticipation and agitation about it. dyspepsia, i know, has a great variety of causes--as many, almost, as it has forms. and yet i do not believe it can often be induced by other causes alone, as long as the stomach is treated correctly. give to that organ, habitually, what is exactly right for it, both as regards quality and quantity, and i do not believe we shall hear any more, in this world, about dyspepsia. but he who would confine his stomach to food which his head tells him is right, will not surely put mince pie into it. he must know that such a strange compound, however agreeable, will in the end be destructive, not only of health, but of gustatory enjoyment. the mince pie dyspeptic is just the man for quackery to feed upon. he will keep his nerves in such a state as to render him liable to read about and swallow all the wonderful cures of the day--whether hunger cures, nutrition cures, clairvoyant cures, "spiritual" cures, or any other cures. now it is great gain, when we have got beyond all these, when we simply put into our stomachs what is right, and think no more about it, leaving ourselves to the event; and this in sickness and health both. a man in the eastern part of massachusetts,--an asthmatic,--told me he had spent six hundred dollars in fourteen years, on quack medicines, and that he was nothing bettered by them. that man, you may depend, is the slave of his feelings. no man who has been accustomed to dictate to his stomach what it shall have, and make it submit, would ever do this. a very poor woman, on the green mountains, assured me she had spent, or rather wasted, four hundred dollars in the same way. we must drop all this. i do not now say we must drop or lay aside all medicine, in all cases; that is quite another question. but i do say, we must rely on obedience to the laws of god, or on doing right, not on medicine. it will be time enough to rely on medicine when our family physician urges it upon us as indispensable. if i have a single regret with regard to the instruction i have given my patients, from time to time, it is that i have not pressed upon them more forcibly and perseveringly, such views as are comprised in the foregoing reasonings and reflections. they are all-important to the dyspeptic, and by no means less important to the healthy than to the diseased. chapter xcii. giants in the earth. it is said of job, and his friends who visited him to condole with him in his sufferings, that they sat down together and said nothing, for seven days and seven nights. nearly twenty years ago, a man of gigantic frame, but haggard appearance, came to me, and after the usual compliments,--which were indeed very dry ones,--sat down by my side, and said nothing; and this for the very same reason which is assigned as the cause of the long silence of job and his friends--his grief and his sufferings were very great. his disease, however, was very different in its nature from that of job. it was more like insanity than small pox, or eruptive disease of any kind. but hear him tell his own story, which i solicited at his hands for the express purpose of publication: "my business, until i was twenty years of age, was farming. since that time, it has been mechanical, and for the most part sedentary. from my youth, i ate animal food of all kinds, prepared in the usual manner. twice a day i partook, more or less freely, of such vegetables as are in general use. fruits, as they came in their season, i ate whenever and wherever i could lay hands on them, more especially apples; these last at almost all hours of the day, and almost without number. i was also in the habit of eating a luncheon at nine or ten o'clock in the morning, and just before going to bed. "my drinks, till , were principally tea, coffee, cider, and beer; but sometimes i used rum, brandy, molasses and water, milk and water, etc. for twelve years previous to , i used tobacco. from my youth, i have had a fondness for reading and study--have spent many hours in reading after the whole village were asleep. "my health i considered good, compared with that of my acquaintances, and i was able to labor hard, although i was subject to dizziness and vomiting with such intensity that i could not walk or stand without assistance; and for a number of days, the complaint seemed to bid defiance to all medical aid. here began the day of retribution, and bitterly have i suffered for my intemperance, both in eating and drinking. at length, my dizziness in some measure wore away, so that i returned to my work; but my system had received a shock that was not to be got rid of at once. and although my dizziness and inclination to vomit were in some measure removed, yet i grew weaker by degrees, so that by spring i was unable to perform my daily labor. "i continued to decline until summer, when i was attacked with a violent cough--from what cause i did not know. some said it was the hooping-cough, some said it was _la grippe_. suffice it to say, i took all the medicines prescribed by our family physician, followed all his good advice, and took all to no purpose. i was also persuaded to try the prescription of a celebrated physician in a neighboring town; but, alas! his prescription was tried in vain. "my cough and dizziness not having left me, i tried a respectable physician of boston, who, with an honesty of heart that does credit to his profession, bid me buy a ninepence worth of liquorice, keep my mouth and throat moist by chewing a little of that, and let my cough have its course; 'for,' said he, 'though i should like to sell you medicine and give you medical advice, for the sake of the emolument, it will do you no good. your disease will have its course, and you cannot help it.' i now thought my days were few; but, as a last resort, i repaired to you." he here enters into particulars which are not needful to my present purpose; and the detail, by one so intimately concerned, and withal so complimentary to me as his physician, would be fulsome. it is sufficient, perhaps, to add the following paragraphs. "agreeably to your advice, i now began to reform, in good earnest. with a constitution broken down, and almost rotten with disease, it was no easy matter for me to cure myself; but to it i went, determined to overcome or die in the attempt. "i now began to think of eating what god created for man to eat. and now it was that my health began to return; and by the time i had practised the rules and prescriptions you laid down for me, about three months, my cough ceased, my dizziness left me, and my health and strength partly returned. "since that time i have lived on bread made of wheat meal, rye and indian bread, rice boiled or stewed, rice puddings, corn puddings, apples, potatoes, etc. i sleep soundly and sweetly, on a straw bed; rise at four in summer and five in winter, refreshed both in body and mind; do as much work as it is necessary for any man to do; am cheerful, happy, contented, and thankful to god for all his mercies; go to bed at nine and go to sleep without having the night mare or any thing else to disturb my rest. i ought to add that i eat no luncheon; and but about as much in a whole day, as i used to eat at one meal." as i have already intimated, it is about twenty years since i prescribed for this individual, at which time he had a wife and two or three children. the latter seemed to require not a little watching and dosing. now, in , he has a very large family, many of whom have either arrived at maturity or nearly so; and the whole family have, for many years, been strangers to dosing and drugging. except the mother, they seem like a family of giants, so large are their frames, and so marked and strong are their muscles. they are pictures of health, so to speak; and if mr. barnum would exhibit them at his museum, or elsewhere, he might, for aught i know, retrieve his shattered fortunes. i know another great family, in new england, whose history, so far as physical inheritance is concerned, is not unlike that of the family just described. "there were giants in the earth in those days," hence appears to be applicable to the world since the flood, as well as to that which was before it. chapter xciii. the green mountain patient. not many years since, i received a letter from a family in a retired village of the green mountains, begging me to visit one of their number, a young woman about twenty-seven years of age. she was a farmer's daughter, and had been, in early life, employed as is customary in such families in that region; but, for a few years past had been employed, a considerable portion of the time, in teaching in the district or public schools. it is probable she exchanged the employments of home for the labors of the pedagogue, on account of increasing ill health (though of this i am not quite certain), since nothing is more common or more hazardous. the daughters of our agriculturalists, who inherit, as she did, a scrofulous constitution, and who appear to be tolerably healthy while they remain at home, almost always break down within a few years after leaving the broom and duster. but whatever may have been the first cause or causes of her diseased condition, it is probable there had been both action and reaction. she was now, at the time i received her most piteous petition, quite ill, and had been so for a considerable time. however, in order to come at the case and the results, it may be as well to make a few extracts from the letters of her friends and herself. for, though they were not accustomed to such descriptions of a case as a medical man would be apt to give, yet, for popular perusal, they are, after all, the more useful. my first extract will be made from a long letter written by her brother. "the first attack of what we suppose to be her present disease, was a year ago last spring, and was believed to be the result of taking severe colds repeatedly, while teaching school among the mountains of new hampshire, and which ended in what dr. k. (their family physician) called inflammation of the lungs, and was treated accordingly. there was much cough and expectoration of mucus. though she partially recovered, so as to be able to teach again the ensuing summer, yet her cough was somewhat troublesome till autumn, when health seemed again to smile upon her. "late in the fall, however, she had a very severe attack of diarrhoea,--caused, perhaps, by imprudence in diet, and sundry other deviations from a straight line,--which has been her constant companion ever since. (this was a period of eight months.) during all this time her food has passed almost without being dissolved. there is much pain in the stomach and bowels, unless mitigated by opiates, morphine or something analogous. but very little cough has attended her since the last attack of diarrhoea. there has been some pain and soreness in the right side; an eruption over the region of her stomach, swelling of the feet and ankles, whenever fatigued by walking, with pain and soreness in the left ankle. "i will now give you, briefly, her physician's views. he was called soon after the disease had taken hold of her, and made an examination of her case, which he then called dyspepsia, attended with a little inflammation of the right lung, or perhaps, said he, a slight filling up of the air passages, and he thought the lower part of her right lung might be somewhat indurated. 'still,' said he, 'the case is not a serious one.' these were his very words. he said he could cure her; and, till very lately, he has always held out to her the language of hope. but now he speaks very differently; he says the case is a hopeless one--that of tubercular consumption; and he says he has always known it to be such!--and adds that there is, even now, a small cavity in her right lung, and that her lungs are passing off in her diarrhoea, without any inconvenience in breathing, or any disagreeable sensation in filling the lungs to fulness." it is difficult to believe that a medical man who has any regard for his own reputation, would tell such a downright falsehood, as that above represented; and still more difficult to believe he would make the strange mistake of representing her lungs as passing off through the bowels! why, they might almost as well pass though the moon! probably my correspondent did not exactly and truly apprehend his meaning; at least, i would charitably hope so. the appeal for relief was so very urgent, and withal so humble, i visited and examined her, the family physician being present. i found the latter to be a timid invalid, for whom, before i left, i was requested to prescribe; which may account, in part, for his very inefficient practice. i also found him ignorant, in many particulars, of the first principles of his profession; and it was with extreme difficulty--like that of mingling oil with water--that we could unite on any thing reasonable or desirable. he still clung to medicine, as his sheet-anchor in the case, while i was for depending, mainly, on a strict conformity to the laws of health, and the restorative efforts of nature. there were other difficulties. a part of the family still inclined to a reliance on him and his old system, while the rest were in favor of my general views, as far as they understood them. the patient herself sometimes inclined to one, and sometimes to the other. while in health, she had been a woman of much decision of character; but, in her present condition, she was weak and vacillating. but there was, at length, a partial blending of the inharmonious elements, and a prescription made out. it did not satisfy, however. there was so strong a leaning to nature, that, after my departure, dr. k. gradually worked his way back to his old system of full medication, as a letter received a few weeks afterwards plainly indicated. for, as the great change in her treatment which we made, left her no mystical props to lean upon, and as dr. k. was a little disposed to speak to her in a way which was calculated to increase her fears, it preyed upon her mind so much that, though her diseased tendencies gradually diminished, yet the continual croakings of her would-be friends, and the faithlessness of a half-sick and wholly sombre physician, more than counteracted every favorable tendency. in about two weeks after i saw her, she began to have more heat and pain in the stomach, with some other threatening symptoms,--probably induced by an attempt to use food prescribed for her, but which was too stimulating. her physician now, to gratify both his own morbid feelings, and the clamor of her friends, ordered brandy and other stimulating drinks; also morphine and camphor powders, and a new relay of stimulating food. the sequel of the story, as related by a sister of the patient, is as follows:-- "soon after i wrote you last (which was the letter containing an account of the strange resort to beef, brandy, morphine and camphor), she began to fail very fast, and dr. k. informed her that she could live but a very short time. but she clung to life, and it was distressing to see her going down to the grave, while we were doing nothing to help her. we spoke to her about sending for you again; but she said you were a great way off, and if you could come at all, which was doubtful, it would be a long time before you could arrive; whereas, if she could not have help soon, she must be compelled to leave us. we asked her if she could think of any other physician that she would like to see? she replied, that she should like to see dr. q.,--an old physician about twenty miles distant. we sent for him immediately. he came, and with him her old physician, dr. k. "i wish to say that she had taken but very little medicine before dr. q. came, except the morphine, camphor, and brandy. but the counselling physician said that would not do, and he could not help her unless she took three opium pills, eighteen drops of laudanum, and from six to nine drops of the chloride of iron, a day; and when she hesitated about being able to bear it, he told her to drink down the white part of two eggs in cold water, which would keep the medicine from hurting her. "we inquired if he would come again and see her: to which he replied in the affirmative. she proceeded to take his medicine for one day, but it quickly increased her diarrhoea. instead of six movements a day, they were increased to thirty-five. under these circumstances, her weakness increased so fast that she could help herself very little; and her feet, hands, and limbs were very much bloated. as dr. q. did not come, according to his agreement, we sent for her old physician. when he saw her, he said it was a wonder she had lived so long after taking dr. q.'s medicine." we are not told, in the letter from which the above is extracted, why her old physician, dr. k., consented, in the first place, that she should take the medicine, if he regarded it as so very bad for her. but, then, he was a timid as well as a janus-faced man, and probably said as he did because he did not know what else to say. but i will go on with the extracts, since they reveal another most astounding fact in regard to medical dishonesty. "he also (the family physician) told us that we must not expect dr. q. any more, for he told him expressly that he should not come again, as he could do nothing for her, and that if he had known how she was before he came, he never would have come so far in a case so hopeless. and, true to his engagement with dr. k., but contrary to his promise, both to my sister and my father, separately, he never came again. "but the other doctor came again, and attended her as formerly. he gave her a powder of morphine, and some gum myrrh, and a little anise, which reduced the evacuations from thirty-three to three a day. but her distress was still very great, and her feet soon began to turn purple, and she began to bloat in her stomach and bowels. this continued till she was as full as she could be; and you could have heard her scream and groan as far as the road (a distance of three or four rods). the physician then applied ether, to relieve her distress, and gave twenty-five drops of laudanum, and a morphine powder, upon which her distress left her for a very short time, but soon returned, not to leave her again while she lived. almost her last breath was a scream. she died in just eight days after dr. q. came to see her. "but i must close by saying that we think if our sister could have been a patient of yours, she would have been restored to health. but it is past, and we cannot recall it; and all i can now do, is to tender our thanks to you for your kindness and attention during our sister's sickness. i trust you will have life and health, long to pursue your noble vocation." i am afraid the patient reader of this long chapter, will be led to one conclusion which the writer would exceedingly regret; viz., that all medical counsel, in chronic disease, is of more than doubtful utility; and that it would be safer to leave it wholly to nature and to good nursing. there are medical men in the world who are honest as well as skilful, and who, because a case is difficult to manage, will not, chameleon-like, tell two or three different stories, and thus half ruin a profession that embraces so many noble and honorable-minded men; nor will they persist in a course of treatment which is evidently murdering their patients. it is hardly needful to say that the patient above described was murdered; but i am obliged to say, without doubt, that there was no necessity of her coming to such an untimely end. her sister, it seems, thought that, had she fallen into my hands from the first, she might have been saved. i think so too. and yet, it might have been otherwise. in any event, she ought not, at the first, to have been treated for consumption, but for dyspepsia. starvation, and a little mental quietude, with daily exercise, such as she could bear, in the open air, would have greatly changed her condition, when her diarrhoea first commenced. i never knew a case which was worse managed in my whole life. it is a wonder to me, when i think of it, that she so long survived under it. but it is a wonder, greater still, that medical men who are so unqualified for the duties of their profession as the physicians who were most concerned in the treatment of the above case appear to me to have been, do not feel compelled, by the remonstrances of their own consciences, to quit their profession, and do something for a living for which they are better prepared. chapter xciv. cure of poison from lead. cases of poisoning by lead are occurring in our country almost daily; and it becomes a matter of much importance to know how to treat them. indeed, there are many who are so susceptible to the action of this deleterious agent, that the reception of a single tumbler of water brought through lead pipes, in a certain condition, into their stomachs, will cause serious disturbance. i have had one patient of this description--a mr. e., of worcester, mass. some twenty years ago, much of the water used in the village of dedham, mass., was conveyed to the village, for half a mile or so, in lead pipes. many who drank the water were injured by it; some of them for life. a mr. r., a printer, is believed to have lost his life, by disease which was either induced or aggravated by this cause. i have, myself, been called to prescribe for several, who were probably led into a state of ill health by this unhealthy water. one of the clergymen of the village suffered from it very greatly, though he is, as i believe, yet living. there is some difference of opinion as to the circumstances which most favor the action of the lead, or, rather, which cause its dissolution in the water. but, with regard to its danger, in certain circumstances, either known or unknown, there can be no doubt. nor can we doubt that, in view of facts which exist, it is our duty to banish lead pipes, as much as possible, from common use. during the early part of the year , capt. j. h., near boston, aged thirty-four years, of good natural constitution and comparatively healthy habits in general, had a slow typhoid fever, from which, however, he finally recovered, though not without a continued liability to a relapse. about this time, he began to use water brought to his kitchen in lead pipes. late in the year , he was taken down very suddenly, with fever and great debility, and in four or five days his upper and lower limbs became completely paralyzed. he was not able to stir so much as one of his hands. indeed, the whole abdominal region seemed to be almost as inactive as his limbs; for very severe friction across the hips, and along the spine, down the legs, produced no sensation; and his bowels were so constipated, as to remain motionless from five or six days to a fortnight at a time, unless excited by medical agents. his case was examined by several eminent medical men in the vicinity of boston, who gave it as their unanimous opinion, that the cause of his disease was the irritation of the water. some of them prescribed for his case, but all to no apparent purpose. on the first day of november, he was sent to an electro-chemical bathing establishment, to be treated according to the usages of that institution. i was intimately acquainted with the establishment, and, in circumstances like his, was understood to regard it with favor. i was, therefore, from time to time, consulted in the case of captain h. to give an impulse to the nervous and arterial systems of capt. h., one bath was administered. the use of his limbs was restored, as if by magic. when he came out of the bath, he walked some twenty feet or more, to his bed, without assistance; and, to his great surprise, could raise his hands to his head. the second day's bath, and treatment with simple diet, not only restored sensation, but gave him a better use of his hands than he had enjoyed before for many months. his bowels, also, became immediately regular, and continued so. it is, however, to be confessed, that his recovery was not so rapid as at first seemed probable. the baths seemed to give an impulse; but it was reserved for a proper diet, suitable exercise, and good air, to work out, slowly, a perfect cure. how much was attributable to the baths, considered by themselves, is not known. no medicine was given, from first to last, except the electricity. it should also be confessed, that no belief was entertained, by myself or my associates, of any mechanical power possessed by the electricity, of forcing the lead out of the system; though some individuals had believed in such a power. the most we claimed was, that the invisible agent had an immediate influence on the nerves, and a more remote one on the absorbent system. as a farther proof, if more proof had been needed, that the paralysis was induced by lead, some of the water from which he had drank was analyzed by dr. hayes, city assayer for boston, who pronounced it to be strongly impregnated with lead, and "utterly unfit for culinary purposes." chapter xcv. faith and works. in the autumn of , a fine young man, a clerk in a large mercantile house in boston, came to me with complaints not unlike those of thousands of his own age and sex, and begged for relief; but was surprised when he learned that i treated all such cases as his without medicine. added to the surprise, moreover, was a degree of mortification at the idea of attempting to cure himself by a change of habits, especially of dietetic habits, which, in a boarder in a family, might be observed. he would have been much better pleased to take medicine, so concentrated that a few drops or a few small boluses or pills could be taken a few times a day unperceived--than to run the risk of awakening suspicions of diseases to which he was unwilling to make confession. and herein, by the way, comes out the secret of such a wonderful imposition on our young men, by what i have elsewhere called land-sharks in the shape of physicians. the fondness of young men for secret cures,--or, at least, their money, which is the thing most wanted after all,--leads them, almost directly, into the mouths of these monsters. my young patient, however, had faith in me; and, after the first shock of surprise and the first feelings of mortification were over, resolved to follow my directions, and did so. he came to me, it is true, several times, and said he could not endure it; that he was losing flesh very fast, and that he was already so weak that he could scarcely walk to his desk. i comforted him as well as i could, told him there would be a change soon for the better, and kept him on through the tedious months of december, january, and february, when his strength began to return, and his flesh to be restored. between march and may, he gained twenty-one pounds; and in june, he was in as good health as he ever had been before in his life. and yet he took not a particle of any thing medicinal, from first to last. if you desire to know, in few words, what he _did_ do, i will tell you. first, he took a long walk, regularly,--sufficiently long to induce a good deal of muscular fatigue,--as the last thing before he went to bed which was at an early hour. secondly, he used a cold hand-bath, followed by much friction, daily. thirdly, he abandoned tea and coffee (tobacco and rum he had never used), and drank only water. fourthly, he abandoned all animal food and all concentrated substances and condiments, and lived simply on bread (unfermented), fruits, and a few choice vegetables. it was faith that served this young man,--not faith without works, but faith which is manifested by works. "according to your faith be it unto you," might be enjoined on every patient, under all circumstances. but the most remarkable thing connected with this case, is the fact that this young man had been brought up _in the lap of ease and indulgence_--an education which is as unfavorable to faith as it is to works. chapter xcvi. works without faith. a female, in worcester county, massachusetts, nearly sixty years of age, having for many years been a sufferer from domestic afflictions, till, along with certain abuses of the digestive function, it had brought upon her a full load of dyspepsia, was at length subjected to a trio of evils, which capped the climax of her sufferings, reduced her to a very low condition, and laid her on her bed. while lying in this condition, a young woman who was her constant attendant, and who was acquainted with my no-medicine practice, recommended to her to send for me. she hesitated, for a time, on account of the expense; for, though by no means poor, she felt all the pangs of poverty in consequence of the hard and unworthy treatment of the individual who was to have justly executed the last will and testament of her husband. but i was at length sent for. i found her under the general care and oversight of a homoeopathic physician; but as he was ten or twelve miles distant and had not been informed of my visit, i did not see him. his practice, however, in the case, was similar to what i had usually met with in cases which had come under the care of physicians of the same school, and was, at most, as it appeared to me, negative. she had indeed been drugged by some one most fearfully, and her whole system was suffering as the consequence; but it was a physician who had preceded dr. a., and who was of an entirely different school. i found no great difficulty in persuading her to ask dr. a., when he should next call, to suspend his medicine a week or two; and, after ordering a warm bath two or three times a week, and certain changes in diet, with particular care about ventilation and temperature, left her, to call again the next week. on calling, at the time appointed, i was greatly disappointed in finding her with many better symptoms. there was indeed cough, which busy rumor had converted into an indication of galloping consumption; but i found no other symptom which belonged to that disease. the homoeopathic medicine had been suspended, and the warm bath had been applied with apparent success. i left, with the promise of calling again in ten days--but not sooner, unless they sent for me. at the end of the ten days, i called and found all things ajar again. her female attendant had left her about a week before; and the new attendants--two of them--being destitute of faith in me, had found no great difficulty in persuading her that she had a fever of the lungs, and that she would die if she did not take a _little_ medicine, and that she would do well to recall dr. a., and take his medicine. when i arrived, at this third visit, i found her taking a small amount of homoeopathic medicine, but without appetite or strength, and evidently tending downward. it was too late to do any thing, especially when there was no faith in anything but pills and powders; and i left her to her native strength of constitution, her homoeopathic physician, her croaking nurses, and god, vainly mourning, all my way home, about the inefficiency of works without faith, especially in the case of the sick. this woman's case is recent, and it is possible that she may recover, in spite of pills, powders, croakings, and faithlessness. i have witnessed such things. nature is tough. but while i lament the inefficiency of works, where faith is wanting, i have had one case which seems an exception to the general rule, "according to your faith," etc., which i take great pleasure in recording. in june, --, a young man from the interior of new england called on me while abroad on business, and desired to receive my advice concerning certain complaints, attended with great debility, and accompanied by hernia and varicocele, and, in general, by dyspepsia. on examination, i found the case a very obstinate one, of long standing. the patient was a young man of twenty-two, a clerk in a country store, a man of some principle, and yet trained to find his chief happiness in the indulgence of his appetite, especially in what is called good eating. i gave him some general directions, promising him something still more specific as soon as i got home. in july, i gave him written directions, in full, and urged him to push the treatment as fast as possible, in order to get into a beginning state of convalescence, soon enough to take advantage of the naturally recuperative effects of autumn. if he could find himself recruiting in september, the month of october, i told him, would produce on him a very decided change. he went to work accordingly, but it was because it was a last resort, and he must do so. it was not because he had much faith in me. some of his friends, it seems, had directed his attention this way; but when i came to talk of the starvation plan of cure, to which i so much inclined, both they and he revolted. however, he made a faint beginning. i had foreseen most of the difficulties i had to contend with, and was prepared to meet them. thus, knowing full well that if i laid down the laws of diet in great strictness, either as regards, quality or quantity, he would be discouraged and do nothing at all, i permitted him to use almost all kinds of food, and only insisted on a rigid adherence to the great law, and avoiding medicine. these two points i made much of, and explained them fully. for example: i told him that all kinds of cookery or preparations which prevented the necessity of teeth labor, such as soaking in milk, forming into toast, mashing, or in any way softening, were wrong, and must be avoided. also, that all additions to our food, whether of foreign bodies, such as pepper, mustard, vinegar, salt, etc., or of more concentrated substances, such as molasses, sugar, honey, butter, gravy, etc., should, for the same reason as well as others, be shunned as much as possible. when, therefore, said i, the question comes before your mind, whether you may or may not eat a particular thing, consider first, whether its use would be a violation of the general laws i have laid down for you. i gave him many specific directions, at first, and yet continued to urge it upon him to reason for himself. but it seemed, for a long time, a hopeless case. he kept writing to me, to know if he might eat toast, bread and butter, soup, milk, etc., or to know why it was that he ought not to make additions of foreign or concentrated substances, as of pepper, mustard, molasses, syrup, etc. i have before me sixteen letters from him, in most of which his pleadings abound, up to the very last but one. this fifteenth letter, dated december , more than six months after my interview with him and first prescription, has the following inquiries:-- "will a diet do for me that admits of any pastry?--of pies, of any kind? what _kind_ of puddings, pies, and cake will answer? what kind of meats? what food shall i be obliged to avoid to keep my passions in check? what am i to eat this winter--next spring--next summer? how much at a time? can i eat tripe--corned beef--oysters--lean pork steak? what kinds of meat and fish will do for me to eat? any salt fish? is milk bad in case of liver disease? is there any objection to baked sour apples and milk, or to sour apples after using a little milk or bread? will you allow me to eat any simple thing between meals?" and in this same letter, after six months' instruction, as aforesaid, he undertakes to tell me what his habits of living are, which, despite of all said and done, in the way of personal counsel and nearly twenty letters, strangely reads thus:-- "i use some milk three times a day, and almost always soak my toasted bread in milk. since i have been out in the open air, i have usually had some wild game, or a piece of beef steak, or raw eggs, twice a day. my suppers, lately, have been toasted bread, of any convenient kind (usually graham), with milk, about a tumbler full, at a time, or three-fourths full. i usually eat two apples, with or after each breakfast and dinner. i use considerable cream soaked into my bread, when i can obtain it, and some molasses. now, which is the best for me to use on my bread, at supper time--cream, milk, molasses, or a little butter?--or with my other meals? is there any objection to my using all these now, in proper quantities? will a little plain sauce do with my supper? why do you so strongly object to cream toasts, or cream on bread? is chewing gum from spruce trees injurious?--or birch bark? any objections to eating two sour apples after breakfast and dinner?" now the great difficulty with this young man was, that he had but little faith, either in me or in principles--though if i would direct him, from step to step, like a child, he would obey me, for the moment: though, like a child, too, he would forget my directions at almost the next moment, and ask for information on the very same point. was not such a trial almost too great? however, he was destined to survive it, to live on in spite of it, notwithstanding my after fears. in march, --, he wrote me as follows:-- "as i have been getting better all the while, and have troubled you with so many little queries from time to time, i thought i would delay this letter a while. my health has been constantly improving all winter, and i think i have not enjoyed as good health before for many years. people now say, 'how well you are looking!' and 'how fleshy you are!' i mean to live according to the '_laws_.'" in short, this young sufferer from dyspepsia in one of its worst forms, after more than half a year of works without faith, and of whining and complaining a part of the time, without either works or faith, is at last shouting victory! and a glorious victory it is! would that the rest of our dyspeptics, with land by millions, might stand on as good a footing, with as good prospects before them, as this young man! and yet he might have come up to the same point long ago, had he used more common sense, and exercised but a little more faith and trust in just hygienic principles. chapter xcvii diseases of licentiousness. not far from the end of july, , i received the following, in a letter through the post office, as usual, and dated at boston, but signed by a name probably fictitious. "it was with no small degree of interest that i noticed, in a book written by yourself,--i cannot recollect its name,--some remarks upon certain diseases which you called nameless; yet, through a dread to introduce so delicate a subject, i have neglected so to do, till it has become an imperative task. and now, laying aside all feelings of modesty, allow me to be familiar with you, as with a father, and to lay my case before you, assuring you that, however unfortunate i have been, it is not my fault, but has come upon me while living with my husband, having never betrayed _his_ confidence." she then proceeded at once to describe her disease and sufferings, which were terrible. it appeared that she had not been of the number of those who, in circumstances akin to hers, so often fall into shark's mouths. she had taken but little medicine of any kind, except balsam copaiba. after the details of her symptoms and sufferings were finished, she added: "now, if you are able to understand me, i wish to ask you whether, from the description i have given, you cannot prescribe something that will relieve me. if so, you can be assured that you will put your humble correspondent and her erring but repentant companion under great obligation to yourself, and that you will be rewarded for all your trouble and advice." as the result of this request, a correspondence followed, which continued several months. at first, the patient clung to the idea that she could not possibly be restored without minerals, or at least without active medicine of some sort or other, she scarcely knew what. but she at length understood me, and followed, quite implicitly, my directions. there was indeed a little shrinking, at first, from the rigidity, or, as she would call it, the nakedness, of a diet which it was indispensable to use in order to purify her blood effectually; but she finally came bravely up to the mark, and probably reaped her reward in it. it is true, i did not hear from her till she came to the end of a very long road; but up to the last of our correspondence, she was slowly improving. my belief is that, before this time, she has fairly recovered, and with far less injury to the vital powers than if mercurial or other strong medicines had been used. and herein we are reminded of a crime that not only has no name, but deserves none. i allude to the act of communicating a disease so distressing to an innocent and unoffending female. we had an instance of this same crime in chapter lxxiv. if there be such a thing as punishing too severely, i am sure it is not in cases like these. the individual in human shape, who, with eyes open, will run the risk of injuring those whom he professes to love better, if possible, than himself, deserves a punishment more condign and terrible than he to whom is so often awarded a halter or a guillotine. chapter xcviii. curious and instructive facts. it is morally impossible for any medical man who has kept his eyes open for forty years, not to have been struck with certain obvious and incontrovertible facts, of which i present a few specimens. the _boston medical and surgical journal_, a few years since, in an obituary notice of dr. danforth, who had long been an eminent practitioner in boston, makes the following remarks:-- "though considered one of the most successful practitioners, he rarely caused a patient to be bled. probably, for the last twenty years of his practice, he did not propose the use of this remedy in a single instance. and he maintained that the abstraction of the vital fluid diminished the power of overcoming the disease. on one occasion, he was called to visit a number of persons who had been injured by the fall of a house frame, and, on arrival, found another practitioner engaged in bleeding the men. 'doctor,' said the latter, 'i am doing your work for you.' 'then,' said dr. danforth, 'pour the blood back into the veins of those men.'" dr. thomas hubbard, of pomfret, conn., long a president of the medical society in that state, was, on the contrary, accustomed to bleed almost all his patients. yet both of these men were considered as eminently successful in their profession. how is it that treatment so exactly opposite should be almost, if not quite, equally successful? there was a discussion in boston, many years ago, between dr. watson, one of the most successful old-school practitioners of medicine, and a thomsonian practitioner, whose name i have forgotten, in the progress of which the former made the open and unqualified declaration, that, in the course of four years' practice, he had drawn one hundred gallons of human blood, and that he was then on the use of his thirty-ninth pound of calomel. now both these men had full practice; and while one did little or nothing to break up disease or destroy the enemy, the other did a great deal; and yet both were deemed successful. can we explain this any better than we can the facts in regard to drs. danforth and hubbard? let us look at the case of dr. m., of boston, a successful allopathic practitioner. in order to satisfy his curiosity, with regard to the claims of homoeopathy, he suddenly substituted the usual homoeopathic treatment for allopathy, and pursued it two whole years with entire success. curiosity still awake, he again exchanged his infinitesimal doses of active medicine for similar doses, as regards size, of fine flour, and continued this, also, for two years. the latter experiment, as he affirms, was quite as successful as the former. do not such facts as these point, with almost unerring certainty, to the inefficiency of all medical treatment? do they not almost, if not quite, prove that when we take medicine, properly so called, or receive active medical treatment; we recover in spite of it? is there any other rational way of accounting for the almost equal success of all sorts of treatment,--allopathic, botanic, homoeopathic, hydropathic, etc.,--when in the hands of good, sound, common sense, and conjoined with good nursing and attendance? is it not that man is made to live, and is tough, so that it is not easy to poison him to death? but the most remarkable fact of this kind with which i am acquainted, is the case of isaac jennings, m.d., now of ohio. he was educated at yale college, in connecticut. during the progress of his education, he served a sort of medical apprenticeship in the family of prof. eli ives, of new haven. he took his medical degree in , and soon after this commenced the practice of his profession in trumbull, in fairfield county. here, for eight years, he had ample opportunity to apply the principles with which, at the schools, he had been fully indoctrinated. in the summer of , he removed, by special request, to derby, nine miles from new haven. up to his second year in derby, he pursued the usual, or orthodox, course of practice. the distance from his former field of labor was not so great but that he retained a portion of his old friends in that region. he was also occasionally called to the town of huntington, lying partly between the two. on meeting one day with dr. tisdale, of bridgeport, an older physician than himself, he said to him, very familiarly, "jennings, are you aware that we do far less good with our medicine than we have been wont to suppose?" he replied in the affirmative, and observed that he had been inclining to that opinion for some time. "do you know," added dr. tisdale, "that we do a great deal more harm than good with medicine?" dr. jennings replied that he had not yet gone as far as that. dr. tisdale then proceeded to state many facts, corroborating the opinion he had thrown out concerning the impotency of medicine. these statements and facts were, to the mind of dr. jennings, like a nail fastened in a sure place. from this time forth his medical scepticism increased, till he came, at length, to give his doubts the test of experiment. accordingly, he substituted for his usual medicaments, bread pills and colored water; and for many years--i believe five or six--gave nothing else. the more rigidly he confined himself to these potions, the better he found his success, till his business was so extended, and his reputation so great, as to exclude all other medical men from his own immediate vicinity. his great conscientiousness, as well as a desire of making known to his medical brethren what he believed to be true, and thus save them from the folly of dealing out that which he was assured was only a nuisance, especially under the shelter of what they supposed to be his example, led him, at length, to call a meeting of physicians, and reveal to them his discovery. the surprise was great; but greater or less, according to their tact for observation, and the length of their experience. but the secret was now out, and dr. jennings soon began to lose practice. instead of employing a man to give them bread pills and colored water, many chose to take care of themselves, and let the physician wholly alone; while a far greater number, though they dearly loved and highly respected jennings, as an old friend and physician and an eminent christian, began to seek medical counsel at other hands. the result was, that his business became so much diminished as to leave him without a full support, except from past earnings, and he began to make preparations for a removal to the west. but this his friends were unwilling to have him do, and they accordingly raised, by subscription, $ a year, to induce him to remain. in a few years, however, the subscription failed to be renewed, and in or he removed to ohio, where he still remains. he does a little business, and what he does is attended with great success; and yet, the number of those who follow him is small. facts of similar import, in very great numbers, some more and some less striking, might be related, to almost any extent; but can it be necessary? suffice it to say that some of the oldest physicians in boston and its vicinity, the oldest physician in cleveland, and some of the most intelligent ones in new york and philadelphia, as well as elsewhere, are coming rapidly to the same conclusions with dr. jennings, and a few of them have already arrived there. it is from stumbling on such facts as these, together with my own long experience, all bearing in the same direction, that i have long since renounced dependence on medicine, properly so called, as a means of restoring the system, when out of order, to a state of health. in other words, i have ceased to employ poison to _cure_ poison. but, lest it should still be thought i make too much of my own experience, and of the facts which have been adduced in this chapter, i subjoin another of kindred character, containing the written testimony of others, especially medical men, on the subject. chapter xcix. anti-medical testimony. a very large amount of testimony, going to show the inefficiency and inutility of medicine, might be presented; but i have limited myself to a selection of some of the more striking and important. let me begin with dr. rush, of philadelphia. in a published lecture of his, more than half a century ago, he made the following remark:-- "dissections daily convince us of our ignorance of disease, and cause us to blush at our prescriptions. what mischief have we done under the belief of false facts and theories! we have assisted in multiplying diseases; we have done more; we have increased their mortality.... the art of healing is like an unroofed temple, uncovered at the top, and cracked at the foundation." magendie, late a distinguished french physician and physiologist, says, as follows:-- "i hesitate not to declare,--no matter how sorely i shall wound our vanity,--that so gross is our ignorance of the real nature of the physiological disorders called diseases, that it would, perhaps, be better to do nothing, and resign the complaint we are called upon to treat, to the resources of nature, than to act, as we are frequently compelled to do, without knowing the why and the wherefore of our conduct, and at the obvious risk of hastening the end of our patient." dr. good, a learned and voluminous british writer, also says:-- "the science of medicine is a barbarous jargon; and the effects of our medicines upon the human system, are, in the highest degree, uncertain, except, indeed, that they have already destroyed more lives than war, pestilence, and famine combined." professor clark, of the harvard medical school, in boston, in an address of his, recently published, insists, again and again, that medicine never cures, and that it rarely, if ever, so much as _aids_ nature; while he exalts, in an unwonted degree, the remedial effects of every hygienic influence. let him who longer doubts, read this most remarkable production; and with the more care from the fact that it is a very fair exponent of the doctrines now held at the very fountain-head of medical orthodoxy. from a work entitled, "memoirs of james jackson, jr.," late of boston, written by his father, i have extracted the following. it is part of a letter, written from europe, to his venerable father, the present elder dr. james jackson, of boston. "but our poor pathology and worse therapeutics--shall we ever get to a solid bottom? shall we ever have fixed laws? shall we ever _know_, or, must we always be doomed to _suspect_, to _presume_? is _perhaps_ to be our qualifying word forever and for aye? must we forever be obliged to hang our heads when the chemist and natural philosopher ask us for our laws and principles?... if honest, must we not acknowledge that, even in the natural history of disease, there is very much _doubtful_, which is received as _sure_? and in therapeutics, is it better yet, or worse? have we judged--have we deduced our results, especially in the last science--from _all_, or from a selection of facts? "do we know, for example, in how many instances such a treatment fails, for the one time it succeeds? do we know how large a proportion of cases would get well without any treatment, compared with those that recover under it? do not imagine, my dear father, that i am becoming a sceptic in medicine. it is, not quite as bad as that. i shall ever believe, _at least_, that the rules of _hygeia_ must be and are useful, and that he only can understand and value them, who has studied pathology. indeed, i may add that, to a certain extent, i have seen demonstrated the actual benefit of certain modes of treatment in acute diseases. but, is this benefit immense? when life is threatened, do we very often save it? when a disease is destined by _nature_ to be long, do we very often materially diminish it?" it is worthy of remark, that the discussions in the pages of the _boston medical and surgical journal_, for two or three years past, concerning the treatment of scarlatina, have usually resulted, practically, in favor of the no-medicine system. it clearly appears that the less our reliance on medicine, in this disease, the better. but what shall hinder or prevent our coming to similar results, in the investigation, in time to come, of other diseases? dr. reynolds, one of the most aged as well as most distinguished medical men of boston, has been heard to affirm that if one hundred patients were to call on him during the day, and he could induce them to follow such directions as would keep them from injuring themselves from eating and drinking,--no matter what the disease,--he should be surprised at a mortality of more than three per cent of their number; and he should _not_ be surprised if every one who implicitly followed his direction should finally recover. i will only add, in this place, the testimony of two or three distinguished individuals on this subject, whose opinion, though they were not medical men, will with many have weight, as it certainly ought. thomas jefferson, in a letter to dr. caspar wistar, of philadelphia, thus writes: "i have lived to see the disciples of hoffman, boerhaave, stahl, cullen, and brown succeed each other, like the shifting figures of a magic lantern.... the patient treated on the fashionable theory, sometimes recovers in spite of the medicine. the medicine, therefore, restores him (!!!), and the doctor receives new courage to proceed in his experiment on the lives of his fellow-creatures!" sir walter scott says, of napoleon: he never obeyed the medical injunctions of his physician, dr. o'meara, and obstinately refused to take medicine. "doctor," said he, "no physicking. we are a machine made to live. we are organized for that purpose. such is our nature. do not counteract the living principle. let it alone; leave it the liberty of defending itself; it will do better than your drugs. the watchmaker cannot open it, and must, on handling it, grope his way blindfold and at random. for once that he assists and relieves it, by dint of tormenting it with crooked instruments, he injures it ten times, and at last destroys it." chapter c. an anti-medical premium. the massachusetts medical society, in the year , were authorized by an unknown individual to offer a premium of one hundred dollars for the best dissertation which should be presented to them, on or before april , , on the following subject, viz.: "_we would regard every approach towards the rational and successful prevention and management of disease without the necessity of drugs, to be an advance in favor of humanity and scientific medicine._" a number of essays were accordingly presented, having, as is usual in such cases, various degrees of merit; but the preference was given to one written by worthington hooker, m. d., of new haven, conn. this essay is to be published in due time, and it is devoutly hoped there will be as little delay as possible in the circulation of so remarkable, and, as i have no doubt, valuable, an essay. the facts in connection with this essay, taken as an item in the history of human progress, are truly remarkable. the very title of the essay is at once peculiar and striking; but the main idea which it suggests to the mind is much more so. that a learned society, in the literary metropolis of new england, if not of the united states, should, at the present time, in any way or shape, encourage a discussion of the question, whether, in the practice of medicine, drugs can be dispensed with, was not an event to be expected or so much as dreamed of. it is, therefore, i repeat, very remarkable, and must have a deeper meaning than at first appears. what, then, let us inquire, is that meaning? does it intimate that there is a belief,--a lurking belief, if you choose to call it so,--among our scientific medical men, that drugs might be entirely dispensed with? or, does it rather imply a belief in the possibility of approximating to such a point,--with those approximations of two mathematical lines, of which we sometimes hear,--without the possibility of ever reaching it? it is by no means improbable, at least in my own view, that the essay intended by the boston society had its origin in a growing tendency, everywhere, among scientific medical men, to the belief that, in the most rational and successful practice of medicine, drugs are not indicated; and that they are only necessary on account of the ignorance or credulity of the community. the family practice of many sensible physicians, perhaps i might say of most, is strongly corroborative of this main idea. i can point to more than a score of eminent individuals, in this department, who never, or at most but seldom, give medicine in their own families; above all, they never take it themselves. it is indeed true, that some of them are hardly willing to own it, when questioned on the subject; but this does not alter the plain matter of fact. thus dr. s----, ten miles from boston, is subject to attacks of a species of neuralgia, which sometimes last two days; and yet, none of his family or friends or medical brethren have ever been able to persuade him to do any thing to mitigate his pain, except to keep quiet and abstain almost entirely from food; and a daughter of his assures me that she can scarcely recollect his giving a dose of medicine to any member of his family. dr. h., seven miles from boston, not only does the same, but frequently disappoints the expectations of his patients, by giving them no medicine. yet both these individuals are exceedingly slow to be seen in company with those men of heterodoxy in medicine, who dare to advocate, everywhere and on all occasions, what they habitually practice on themselves and their families. what, then, i repeat it, can these things mean? is there not reason for believing that the truly wise men of the medical profession, at the present time, are beginning to see, in certain facts which in the providence of god are forced upon them, that in the general management of disease, and as the general rule of treatment, no drugs or medicines are needful? there is a wide difference between that practice of our profession which, as a general rule, excludes medicine, and that which, as a general rule, includes it. and an entire change from the latter to the former, is, perhaps, too great to be expected immediately. yet, in the progress of society towards a more perfect millennial state of things, must it not come? chapter ci. concluding remarks. it is a notorious fact, that while the number of physicians and the expenditure for drugs and medicines is constantly increasing, in every civilized country where they have been much employed, diseases have been multiplied in proportion. perhaps, too, they have, in a like proportion, become more fatal; but this does not so clearly appear. nor is it quite so certain that acute diseases have been multiplied, as chronic ones. another fact deserves to be placed by the side of this; viz., that in those countries, or portions of country, where no physicians have ever been in vogue, and very little medicine beyond a few herbs, and roots, and incantations, or charms, the health of the people is quite as good, and the longevity quite as great, all other things being equal, as in those countries and places where physicians and medicine have obtained a strong foothold. there is no evidence that the want of physicians before the flood,--if such a want or deficiency there was, which appears probable,--had any influence in shortening human life, since methuselah, who lived at the end of the series, was the oldest of all. nor does it appear at all probable that there were more diseases, or more fatal ones, at that early period, than since. one thought more. it is confidently expected that a better day than the present is yet to dawn upon our dark world. not only is it predicted that the child shall die a hundred years old, by the highest authority, and that men, like the oak tree, shall live several hundred years, but profane writers no less than prophets and sacred ones, have expected and still expect it. the better time coming is, as it were, in everybody's mouth. but, is it probable that this better day will dawn on a world which, in respect to health and longevity, is going in the other direction? while nearly half our children die under ten years of age, and the mortality is increasing, are we tending towards the point when a child shall die a hundred years old? and are our physicians and our medicines likely to bring us there? if not, and if a radical change is desirable, when is it to be made? shall we wait till we have run down a century or two longer, or shall we begin the work immediately? and if we are to begin it at once, on whom shall the work devolve? these are questions, i grant, more easily asked than answered. nevertheless, they must soon be met; they cannot much longer be shuffled off. would it not be the part of wisdom to meet them now, rather than postpone? here, then, i leave the subject. let it be pondered in the light of reason, common sense, conscience, and, above all, the truth of god. let there be no immature or hasty decisions. truth, in truthful hands, has nothing to fear. chapter cii. a last chapter. william a. alcott was born in wolcott, conn., august th, . his father, a farmer in the rough mountain town, employed his son, as soon as he was old enough to be useful, in laboring on the farm, so that, from childhood, he was trained to habits of industry. his early employments were, in many respects, beneficial, and his feeble constitution was probably invigorated by this out-of-door work. the only apparent drawback was being kept at work too closely, with very little time left for amusement; and, as he was too conscientious to neglect the tasks assigned him, he plodded on, thus losing, in a great measure, while young, the natural and healthy relish of boys for athletic games and sports. as a natural consequence, his mind developed too rapidly. he early showed a great fondness for books, and the love of reading came to be his chief and almost only amusement. till eight years of age he attended the district school, in summer and winter, but after this period his father employed him in farm labor constantly, except during the winter term. at the age of fourteen he had measles, from which he suffered greatly at the time, and in its consequences for several years. he grew rapidly, was, when a lad, tall and thin, and his strength, when young, and, indeed, through his whole life, lay chiefly in a strong will, combined with great energy and perseverance. to these qualities, doubtless, is owing the continuance of his life for many years. when little more than eighteen years of age, he commenced teaching, which was continued, during the winter, for several years; sometimes through the entire year. but a strong desire to improve and elevate the schools, led him to overtask himself. mr. barnard's _journal of education_, speaks thus of his labors at this period: "the severity of his exertions and self-denials, joined to other causes, especially a feeble constitution, brought on him a most violent attack of erysipelas, from the effects of which, though he escaped with his life, he never entirely recovered." about this time he commenced the study of medicine, and the succeeding winter, - , attended medical lectures in new haven, not so much with the design of making it a profession, as with the hope that it might prove an aid in fitting him to become a more thorough teacher. the following march he received a license to practice medicine and surgery. but his health was far from being good, and he was, himself, more apprehensive of a fatal result, than consumptive people usually are. however, he soon found an opportunity to engage in teaching again, and embraced it eagerly. but here he was destined to disappointment. his pulmonary tendencies, which had for ten years been increasing upon him, aggravated, no doubt, by hard study and improper diet of the preceding winter, now became very alarming. beside a severe cough and great emaciation, he was followed by hectic fever, and the most exhausting and discouraging perspirations. he fought bravely to the last moment, but was finally compelled to quit the field, and endeavor to regain his health. for a time, he followed the soundest medical advice he could obtain; kept quiet, took a little medicine, ate nutritious food, and when his strength would permit, breathed pure air. this course was at length changed, for one of greater activity and less stimulus. he abandoned medicine, adopted for a time the "starvation system," or nearly that, and threw himself, by such aids as he could obtain, into the fields and woods, and wandered among the hills and mountains. in autumn, he was able to perform light horticultural labors, a few hours of the day, and to ride on horseback. for six months he rode almost daily in company with a physician; at the end of which period he commenced the practice of medicine, in the place where he had last labored, and where he was born. after continuing in the practice a few years, and his health seeming to be restored, he ventured to return again to the work dearer to him than any other--that of teaching. but his labors seemed again to be slowly undermining his health, and, fearful of a relapse of the pulmonary tendencies, he abandoned for a time all hope of teaching permanently. the following year, he became connected with rev. william c. woodbridge, and continued to labor in the cause of education for several successive years. in jan. , he removed to boston, and during the winter had a severe attack of bleeding at the lungs, and other dangerous symptoms. these, however, passed away; and the great change which, in , had been made in his physical habits, seemed to be working one equally great in his constitutional tendencies. for while his labors were constant and often severe, there was a steady gain in health. the strength and elasticity of youth returned, and, to use his own words it was with him, now, "morning all day." the effects of an unfavorable climate, which he had feared, were apparently held in check, and he sometimes said that "obedience gave him command over climate, in a great degree." yet, during all these years when his health was apparently most firm, it was kept in this condition only by a rigid obedience to the laws of life and health, as he understood and expounded them. his precepts and practice were in harmony. in the spring of , owing to some unusual exposure, a return of the cough and other symptoms of his old disease made their appearance.[n] but, with care, and light labor in the garden, they gradually passed away, and his usual measure of health returned, and continued, with slight interruptions, till . during this year he was confined to his room several months with a broken limb. the change, at his age, from exercise daily in the open air, to confinement without exercise nearly all winter, was very unfavorable, in its results, to his general health. the lungs, doubtless, suffered greatly, and were never able to resist, as before, the effects of exposure to sudden changes of temperature. still he labored on from year to year, untiringly as ever, writing, lecturing, visiting schools, etc. during the last winter, his time was employed more exclusively in reading and writing, and he went out less than usual. his lungs were weak and very easily affected. a difficulty of breathing after much exertion was frequent. his feet and ankles were often much swollen, and there was a loss of strength and general debility quite new to him. these indications were not to be mistaken, and in the retirement of his own home he often spoke of the possibility and even probability, that his earthly labors were drawing to a close. on the th of march, he left home to be absent a few days, partly with the hope that being more in the open air might prove beneficial. on friday of the following week, though scarcely able to be moved, he was brought home, having been prostrated by what appeared to be a violent attack of pleurisy, which terminated his earthly existence, on tuesday, march , . in many minds the question will naturally arise: what should induce such an apparently violent disease, in a person who so rigidly obeyed the laws of health? a satisfactory answer to this can be given only by supposing the acute disease to have been merely a finishing up or termination of that disease which for years had been held in check. his own views on the subject were in accordance with this conclusion, and the condition of the lungs, as shown by a post mortem examination, served to confirm it. the amount of disease found in the lungs was so great that the examination could not be as careful and satisfactory as would have been desirable. the hand that wrote this volume, and that would have drawn important lessons from this page of life, now moulders in the dust. to the reader it is left to gather from it instruction and motive and courage, for a like battle against evil, for a like victory over self, until he, too, shall accomplish his mission upon earth. footnotes: [n] see chapter lxix. toasts and forms of public address for those who wish to say the right thing in the right way by william pittenger contents introduction after-dinner speeches--ancient and modern value of a good story and how to introduce it purpose of after-dinner speaking some a b c directions for making speeches, toasts, and responses holiday speeches fourth of july memorial day washington's birthday christmas thanksgiving presentation addresses addresses of welcome wedding and other anniversaries toasts sentiments suggested by a toast miscellaneous toasts humorous toasts miscellaneous addresses centennial or semi-centennial dedication of a monument or unveiling a statue birthday celebration reception responses to toasts at a dinner responses to toasts to the navy responses to toasts to general jackson responses to toasts to the workingman nominating a candidate accepting a nomination speech in a political canvass speech after a political victory speech after a political defeat a chairman's or president's speech for any occasion illustrative and humorous anecdotes index of toasts index of anecdotes introduction the author of this manual has at various intervals prepared several treatises relating to the art of speech. their wide circulation is an indication of the demand for works upon this subject. they were intended to embrace the principles which govern speech-making in the forum, in the pulpit, or at the bar. while these do not differ essentially from the principles applicable to occasions where the object is only entertainment, yet there are certain well-defined differences which it is the purpose of this little volume to point out. we hope thus to render the same service to a person who is called upon to offer or respond to a toast in a convivial assembly, as the author's previous volumes rendered to those preparing to speak upon subjects of a serious and practical nature. that help is needed, and may be afforded, no one will deny. a novice called upon to participate in the exercises of a public banquet, an anniversary, or other entertainment, unless he has an experienced friend to give him a few hints or advice, is apt to be dismayed. he does not even know how to make a start in the work of preparation, and his sense of inability and fear of blundering go far to confuse and paralyze whatever native faculty he may have. a book like this comes to him at such a time as reinforcements to a sorely pressed army in the very crisis of a battle. as he reads, some ideas which seem practical, flash upon him. he learns what others before him have done. if he is to offer a toast, he examines the list furnished in this volume, finding one perhaps that pleases him, or one is suggested which is better adapted to his purpose than any in the book, and he wonders at the stupidity of the author in omitting it. soon he becomes quite interested in this suggested toast, and compares it with those in the list to find out wherein it differs. thus gradually and unconsciously he has prepared himself for the part he is to perform. or if invited to respond to a toast, he passes through a similar experience. he may find the outline of a speech on that very topic; he either uses it as it is printed or makes an effort to improve it by abridgment or enlargement. next he looks through the treasury of anecdotes, selects one, or calls to mind one he has read elsewhere which he considers better. he then studies both of them in their bearings on the subject upon which he is to speak, and longs for the hour to arrive, when he will surprise and delight his friends by his performance. he rises to speak conscious that he knows a great deal, not only about the toast assigned to him, but about other toasts as well--feels that he has something to say which, at least, will fill in the time, and save him from confusion and discredit. he even hopes to win applause by means of the stories and happy turns with which his speech is interspersed. he has thus satisfactorily taken the first step toward becoming a ready and entertaining after-dinner speaker. the sense of knowing how to do what is expected of him has a wonderfully quieting effect upon his nerves; and thus the study of this book will greatly add to the confidence of a speaker, and the effectiveness of his delivery. whatever graces of manner he possesses will become available, instead of being subverted by an overmastering fear. it is not easy to mention all the uses of such a manual. one who has been accustomed to speaking, but fears he is getting into a rut, can turn to this text-book and find something which is _not_ so distressingly his own, that his friends expect him to parade it before them on all occasions. he may glance over the outline of a speech altogether new and strange to him, and endeavor to adapt it to his own use; or he may weave together fragments of several speeches, or take the framework of one and construct upon it a speech which will enable him to make a new departure. a writer sometimes, after years of practice, finds it difficult to begin the composition of some simple reception or commemorative address; but the reading of a meagre outline, not one word or idea of which may be directly used, serves to break the spell of intellectual sloth or inertia, and starts him upon his work briskly and hopefully. the field covered by the present volume is not entirely unoccupied. one of the earliest publications in this line is an anonymous english work, very dignified and conservative. the speeches it furnishes are painstaking, but a trifle heavy, and savor so much of english modes of expression, as well as thought and customs, as to be poorly adapted to this country. two works have appeared in this country, also, one being intended apparently for wine parties only; the other, while containing a number of gem-like little speeches, fails to give the aid which is sought by the ordinary tyro, and is calculated rather to discourage him; giving him the impression that it is more difficult to become an acceptable after-dinner speaker than he had ever supposed. while a few of the best things in the latter volume are availed of, a different method is pursued in the present work. outlines of speeches are preferred to those which are fully elaborated; and the few plain rules, by which a thing so informal and easy as an after-dinner speech may be produced, are so illustrated as to make their application almost a matter of course. good-humor and brevity, an outline and a story--what more is needed, unless it be that serene self-confidence which enables a speaker to say even foolish and absurd things, with the assurance that all goes down at a public dinner? what if you are not the most brilliant, humorous, and stirring speaker of the evening? aim to fill your place without discredit; observe closely those who make a great success; the next time you may have a better outline or more telling story, and become, before you know it, the leader of the evening. it is not intended to give rules or directions for the order either of drinking or feasting. that field is fully occupied. but the custom of making addresses at the close of a feast has, been so thoroughly established, and so frequent are these occasions, that a gentleman is not fully equipped for a place in society, if he cannot gracefully offer or respond to a toast, or preside at a gathering where toasts or other forms of after-dinner speaking are expected. it is the aim of this manual to help the beginner in this field. after-dinner speeches--ancient and modern an idea of the real meaning of after-dinner speaking may be obtained from the feudal feasts of earlier times. the old lord or baron of the middle ages partook of his principal meal in the great hall of his castle, surrounded by guests, each being assigned his place in formal order and with no small degree of ceremony. this hall was the main feature of the castle. there all the family and guests met on frequent festal occasions, and after the feasting and the hour of ceremony and more refined entertainment was over, retired to rest in comparatively small and humble apartments adjoining, though sometimes they would simply wrap their cloaks about them, and lie down to sleep on the rushes that littered the floor of the great hall. after the "rage of hunger was appeased"--which then, as in our day, and back even as far as the time of the ancient greeks, was the first business in order--came the social hour, which meant much to the dwellers in those dull, comfortless old barracks--for the great castles of that day were little better than barracks. the chief gave the signal for talk, music, or story, previous to which, any inquiries or conversation, other than the briefest question and answer about the food or other necessary things, would have been considered inappropriate and disrespectful. there probably was present some guest, who came under circumstances that awakened the strongest curiosity or who had a claim upon his entertainer. such a guest was placed at the board in a position corresponding to his rank. after resting and partaking of the repast, it was pertinent to hear what account he could give of himself, and courtesy permitted the host to levy an intellectual tax upon him, as a contribution to the joy of the hour. seated at the head of the table the chief, or, in his absence, a representative, made the opening speech--the address of welcome, to use the term familiar to ourselves. this might be very brief or at considerable length; it might suggest inquiries of any of the company or merely pledge an attentive and courteous hearing to whatever the guest might utter; it might refer to the past glory of the castle and its lord, or vaunt its present greatness and active occupation. but whatever form it might take it was sure to consist--as addresses of welcome in all ages have done--of two words, by dexterously using which, any man can make a good speech of this character. these two words are "we" and "you;" and all else not connected with these is irrelevant and useless. they do not constitute two parts of the same speech but ordinarily play back and forth, like a game of battledore. who "we" are; what "we" have done; how "we" saw "you;" what "we" have heard of "you;" how great and good "you" are thought to be; the joy at "your" coming; what "we" now want to learn of "you;" what "we" wish "you" to do; how "we" desire a longer stay or regret the need of an early departure--all is a variation of the one theme--"we" and "you." the old baron probably said all of this and much more in a lordly way, occupying a longer or shorter time, without ever dreaming that he was making a speech. it was his ordinary after-dinner talk to those whom chance or fortune brought within his walls. or, if he prided himself upon being a man of few words, scorning these as fit only for women and minstrels, he would simply remind the guest that he was now at liberty to give such an account of himself, and to prefer such requests as seemed agreeable to him. the guest was then expected to respond, though this by no means was the rule. the host might wish first to call out more of his own intellectual treasures. this he would do by having other occupants of the castle speak further words of welcome, or would call upon a minstrel to sing a song or relate some deed of chivalry. when the guest at last rises to speak, it is still the two pronouns with slightly changed emphasis that play a conspicuous part. the "we" may become "i;" but this is no essential change. where "i" or "we" have been; what "i" have done, suffered, or enjoyed; how and why "i" came here; how glad "i" am to be here; what "i" have known and heard of "you;" how "we" may help each other; what great enterprises "we" can enter upon; how thankful for the good cheer and good words "we" hear. in the baronial hall, which foreshadowed the family fireside of later days, the drinking was free and copious whilst the other portions of the entertainment were of a general character and quite protracted. mirth, song, the rude jest, anecdotes of the chase or of a battle, or a rehearsal of the experiences of every-day life, were all in place. sometimes, the guests, overpowered by their libations, are said to have fallen under the table and to have slumbered there till surprised by the pale morning light. there was little need of ceremony in such feasts, and there is little need of formality or constraint in the far different festal occasions of the present time. when no guest, either by chance or invitation came to the castle, less variety could be given to the after-dinner entertainment, and many expedients were required to pass the long hours that sometimes hung heavily on their hands. then the use of "toasts" became an important feature. the drinking also was expected to arouse interest, but if it went on in silence and gloom or amid the buzz of trivial conversation in different parts of the hall the unity of the hour was marred and the evening was voted dull--the lord himself then having no more honor than his meanest vassal. but the toast--no matter how it originated--remedied all this. a compliment and a proverb, a speech and a response, however rude, fixed the attention of every one at the table, and enabled the lord to retain the same leadership at the feast that he had won in the chase or in battle. he might himself propose a toast of his own choice or give another permission to propose it. he might then designate some humorous or entertaining clansman to respond; he might either stimulate or repress the zeal of the guests, and give unity to each part of the entertainment and to the whole feast. for these reasons the toast rose into popularity, and is now often used--possibly it might be said generally used if our own country alone be considered--even when no drinking at all is indulged in. let us now take a look at an after-dinner hour of the present day; one of the very latest and most approved pattern. the contrast will not be without interest and value. the fare at the dinner is always inviting. the company is large. good speakers are secured in advance. each is given an appropriate toast, either to propose or respond to. suppose it is a new england society celebrating forefathers' day in new york. the chairman (who is usually the president of the society) rises, and by touching a bell, rapping on the table, or in some other suitable manner, attracts all eyes to himself. he then asks the meeting to come to order, or if he prefers the form, to give attention. then he utters a few graceful commonplaces, and calls upon a guest to offer the leading toast--not always the chief or most interesting one. when one is reached in which there is a lively interest, some distinguished person such as chauncey m. depew, the prince of after-dinner speakers, comes to the front. we give an outline of one of his addresses on forefathers' day, delivered december d, , in response to the toast, "the half moon and the mayflower." in reading this address the "we" and "you" cannot fail to be noted. mr. depew said he did not know why he should be called upon to celebrate his conquerors. the yankees had overcome the dutch, and the two races are mingled. the speaker then introduced three fine stories--one at the expense of the dutch who are slow in reaching their ends. a tenor singer at the church of a celebrated preacher said to mr. depew, "you must come again, the fact is the doctor and myself were not at our best last sunday morning." the second related to the inquisitiveness of a person who expressed himself thus to the guide upon the estate of the duke of westminster: "what, you can't tell how much the house cost or what the farm yields an acre, or what the old man's income is, or how much he is worth? don't you britishers know anything?" the third story, near the close, set off yankee complacency. a new england girl mistook the first mile-stone from boston for a tombstone, and reading its inscription " m. from boston," said "i'm from boston; how simple; how sufficient." the serious part of the discourse was a rapid statement of the principles represented by the dutch pioneer ship "half moon" and the pilgrim "mayflower;" the elements of each contributed to national character and progress. (for speech in full see _depew's speeches_, vol. i.) other toasts and responses followed; eloquence and humor mingled until the small hours of the night. probably not one of that pleased and brilliant assemblage for a moment thought that they were doing at this anniversary what their old, barbaric ancestors did nightly, while resting after a border foray or viking sea raid. the value of a good story and how to introduce it. no matter how inexperienced a speaker may be or how stammering his utterance, if he can tell a good story, the average dinner party will pronounce him a success, and he will be able to resume his seat with a feeling of satisfaction. the efforts often made to bring in an entertaining story or a lively anecdote are sometimes quite amusing, but if they come in naturally the effect will unquestionably be happy. almost any story, by using a little skill, can be adapted to nearly every occasion that may arise. we may mention a few among which a speaker can scarcely fail to find something to serve his purpose. it is necessary always to be thoroughly familiar with the story and to understand its exact point. no matter how deliberately or with what difficulty you approach that part of your speech where the fun is to be introduced--yet, when that point _is_ reached there must be no hesitation. it is well to memorize carefully the very words which express the pun, or the flash of wit or humor which is the climax of the story. the story itself may be found in such a manual as this, or in some volume of wit and humor. there is no disadvantage in using wit gathered from any source, if it has not been so often used as to be completely worn out. when a good story is found anywhere and fully memorized and all its bearings and fine points thoroughly understood, there are two ways of getting it before an audience. the direct way is to say frankly that you have read a story and will tell it. this will answer very nicely when called upon for a speech. few festive audiences are unwilling to accept a story for a speech, and a proposal to compromise on such terms is very likely in itself to bring applause. but the story in this case should be longer than if it is given as part of a speech. if, however, it should prove a failure, your performance will make a worse impression than when a poor story is introduced into a speech, although the story may only feebly illustrate any portion of it. for these as well as other reasons most persons will prefer to make an address, even if it be very brief, and will endeavor to make the story fit into it. all stories that suggest diffidence, modesty, backwardness, or unwillingness to undertake great things, can be introduced to show how reluctant the speaker is to attempt a speech, and if these characteristics are only slightly referred to in the story it may still be used effectively and will leave a favorable impression. if a topic, a toast, or a sentiment is given for a response, any of them may suggest a story; and after a good story has been told--one that has real point--it will be better to stop without making any attempt at application or explanation. a great help is often found in the utterances of previous speakers. if these have done well, they may be complimented, and the compliment so contrived as to lead directly up to the story that is lying in wait; or something being said with which you heartily agree--however slight a portion of the address it may be--this harmony of views can be used in the same manner. on the other hand, if you disagree with any of the speakers, the mere reference to it will excite a lively interest. if this difference is used, not as the basis of a serious argument, but only to drag in a story illustrating the disagreement, the story will nevertheless appear to be very appropriate. if you happen to be the first speaker, you are by no means without resources. you can then imagine what other speakers are going to say, and if you can slip in a humorous or good-natured hit at the expense of some of the prominent speakers, it will be, highly relished. if you describe what they are likely to say it will be enjoyed, while if you should happen to mention the very opposite this will be set down as your intention. you may even describe the different speakers, and be reminded of things that will bring in the prepared story very appropriately. the writer once knew of a very dull speaker, who scored a great success in a popular meeting, by describing the eloquent speaker who was to follow. he began by telling how he was accustomed when a boy to take a skiff and follow in the wake of a steamer, to be rocked in its waves, but once getting before the huge vessel his boat was swept away, and he was nearly drowned. this unfortunately was his situation now, and he was in danger of being swept aside by the coming flood of eloquence. but he asked who is this coming man? it was the first time he had heard of him--then followed the story he had been trying to work in--a story wherein the eloquent man was described as "one who could give seventeen good reasons for anything under heaven." the story was a great success. in dumb show, the speaker he referred to begged for mercy. this only delighted the audience still more, and when the dull speaker finished it was admitted that, for once, he had escaped being stupid or commonplace. he had also forced upon the next speaker the necessity of removing the unpleasant effects of the jokes made at his expense, a task that required all his cleverness. the manner of introduction by the chairman, his name or general position, the appearance of any one of the guests, the lateness or earliness of the hour, events of the day that attract interest, the nature of the entertainment or assemblage--all of these will offer good hooks by which to draw in the story. but let the story be good and thoroughly mastered. of course the work of adaptation will be much easier if you have several stories in reserve. a story must not be repeated so often that it becomes known as belonging to you, for then a preceding speaker might get a laugh on you by telling it as yours, leaving you bankrupt. jones and smith once rode several miles in a carriage, together, to a town where both were to make addresses. jones was quite an orator; smith had a very retentive memory. jones asked smith about his speech, but smith professed not to have fully decided upon his topic, and in turn asked jones the same question. jones gave a full outline of his speech, smith getting him to elaborate it by judicious inquiries as to how he would apply one point and illustrate another. the ride thus passed pleasantly for both parties. smith was called upon to speak first, and gave with telling effect what he had gathered from jones, to the delight of everybody, but poor jones, who listened in utter consternation, and had not strength enough left even to reclaim his stolen property. if your speech is to be a story it is especially advisable to have a reserve on hand, for stories are easily copied and apt to be long remembered. care also must be taken that the story is not one with which persons generally are familiar. a gentleman was in the habit of telling a story which has already been quoted, the point of which lies in the phrase "i'm from boston." some of his more intimate companions, in self-defense, would exclaim when he proposed a story, "is it a mile from boston?" the definition of the toast itself or of any of the words in the sentiment which is the speaker's topic may be made the occasion for drawing in the illustrative story. the manner of ending a good story is also worthy of careful study. when an audience is applauding a palpable "hit," it does not seem an appropriate time to stop and take one's seat; but it often is the best course. to do this appears so abrupt that the novice is apt to make a further effort to finish up the subject till he has finished up his audience as well. an attempt to fully discuss a topic, under such circumstances, is not successful once in a hundred times. the best course is to follow an apt story by some proverb, a popular reference, or a witty turn, and then to close. but no abruptness will be disliked by your hearers half so much, as the utterance of a string of commonplaces, after you have once secured their attention. the richness of the dessert should come at the close, not at the beginning, of the oratorical feast. the purpose of after-dinner speaking briefly stated, it is to bring into one focus the thought of an assembly. while the good things of the table may be satisfactory, and conversation free and spontaneous, there is yet need of some expedient for making all thought flow in one channel, and of blending the whole company into a true unity. there is one way, and only one, of doing this--the same that is used to produce unity of action and thought in any assembly, for whatever purpose convened. when the destinies of empires are at stake, when great questions that arise among men are to be solved, the art of speech must be called into play. so after a good dinner has been enjoyed, the same potent agency finds a field, narrower, indeed, but scarcely less operative. and this object--of causing a whole assembly to think the same thoughts and turn their attention to a common topic--is often well attained even when the speeches do not aspire to great excellence or pretension to eloquence. a commonplace illustration will make our meaning clear. suppose a great reception, where many rooms are filled with invited guests. there is conversation, but only by groups of two or three persons; refreshments are served; larger groups begin to gather around prominent persons, but there is the same diversity of sentiment and purpose that is to be found in a chance crowd in a public park. the guests are not in one place, with one accord. but now, on some pretext, the power of public speech is evoked; perhaps a toast is offered and responded to, or a more formal address of welcome or congratulation, or anything else suitable to the occasion. the subject and the manner of introduction are not material, so that the living, speaking man is brought face to face with his fellows; at once, instead of confusion and disorder, all is order and harmony. the speaker may hesitate in the delivery of his message, but his very embarrassment will in some instances contribute to harmonize the thought of the assembly even more powerfully than a more pretentious address. but a good and appropriate speech will indelibly fix the thought, and be far more satisfactory. where no particular kind of address is indicated by the nature of the assemblage, stories and humor will generally be highly appreciated. a good story has some of the perennial interest that surrounds a romance, and if it is at the same time humorous, an appeal is made to another sentiment, universal in the human breast. if people thrill with interest in unison, or laugh or cry together for a time, or merely give attention to the same thoughts, there will arise a sense of fellowship and sympathy which is not only enjoyable, but is the very purpose for which people are invited to assemblies. more ordinary after-dinner speeches succeed by the aid of humorous stories than by all other means combined. in a very ingenious book of ready-made speeches the turning point of nearly every one depends upon a pun or other trick of speech. while this is carrying the idea a little too far, still it fairly indicates the importance placed upon sallies of wit or humor as a factor in speech-making. the fellowship that comes from laughing at the same jokes and approving the same sentiments may not be the most intimate or the most enduring, but it is often the only kind possible, and should be prized accordingly. the chief use of toasts is to call out such speeches, and thus lead the thought of the assembly along pleasant and appropriate channels--all prearranged, yet apparently spontaneous. a long speech is selfish and unpardonable. it wearies the guests, destroys variety, and crowds others out of the places to which they have been assigned and are entitled. when the speaking is over, the company will have been led to contemplate the same themes, and will have rejoiced, sympathized, and laughed in unison. some a b c directions for making speeches, toasts, and responses . do not be afraid or ashamed to use the best helps you can get. divest yourself of the idea that all you need is to wait till a toast is proposed and your name called, and then to open your mouth and let the eloquence flow forth. the greatest genius in the world _might_ succeed in that way, but would not be likely to venture it. use a book and study your subject well. . generally, it is not well to memorize word for word either what you have written or obtained from a book, unless it is a pun or a story where the effect depends upon verbal accuracy. but be sure to memorize toasts, sentiments, and titles absolutely. to know the substance of your speech well, with one or two strong points in it, is better than to have a flowery oration weighing down your memory. . if you are a novice (and these directions are given to no others), do not aim to make a great speech, but to say a few things modestly and quietly. a short and unassuming speech by a beginner is sure of applause. eloquence, if you have it in you, will come later through practice and familiarity with your subject. . if you can't remember or find a good story, invent one! perhaps you have scruples as to the latter. but a story is not a lie; if so, what would become of the noble tribe of novel-writers! mark twain gives a very humorous account of the way in which he killed his conscience. probably many speakers who retail good things might make confession in the same direction. but why is it not as reputable to invent one's own story as to tell the story some one else has invented? does the second telling improve its morality? rather give heed to the quality of the story. this, and not its origin, is the really important matter to consider. . success in after-dinner speaking is difficult or easy to attain according to the way you go about it. if you think you must startle, rouse, and electrify your hearers, or, worse still, must instruct them in something _you_ think important, but about which they care nothing, your efforts are likely to be attended by a hard and bitter experience. but if, when a prospective speech-occasion looms up, you will reflect upon the sentiment you wish to propose, or will get a friend to do a little planning and suggest the easiest toast or topic, and then attempt to say just a little, you will probably come off with flying colors. . when you rise, do not be in a hurry. a little hesitation has a better effect than too much promptness and fluency, and a little stammering or hesitation, it may be added, will have no bad effect. in beginning, your manner can without disadvantage be altogether lost sight of, and if you have something to say the substance of which is good, and has been carefully prearranged, you will be able to give utterance to it in some form; grammatical mistakes or mispronunciation, where there is no affectation, as well as an occasional repetition, will rarely be noticed. . above all, remember it may be assumed that your hearers are your friends, and are ready to receive kindly what you have to say. this will have a wonderfully steadying effect on your nerves. and if your speech consists only of two or three sentences slowly and deliberately uttered, they will at least applaud its brevity, and give you credit for having filled your place on the programme respectably. it has been often said that americans are greatly ahead of the english in general speech-making, but in pleasant after-dinner talking and addresses they are much inferior. probably this was once true, but if so, it is true no longer. the reason of any former deficiency was simply want of practice, without which no speech-making can be easy and effective. but the importance of this kind of oratory is now recognized, and, with proper efforts to cultivate and master it, americans are taking the same high rank as in other forms of intellectual effort. lowell and depew are acknowledged as peers of any "toast-responder" or "after-dinner orator" the world has ever seen. one of the chief elements of their charm consists in the good stories they relate. whoever has a natural faculty, be it ever so slight, as a storyteller, will, if he gathers up and appropriates the good things that he meets with, soon realize that he is making rapid progress in this delightful field, and that he gains much more than mere pleasure by his acquisitions. the best entertainments are not those which merely make a display of wealth and luxury. quiet, good taste, and social attractions are far better. the english wit, foote, describes a banquet of the former character. "as to splendor, as far as it went, i admit it: there was a very fine sideboard of plate; and if a man could have swallowed a silversmith's shop, there was enough to satisfy him; but as to all the rest, the mutton was white, the veal was red, the fish was kept too long, the venison not kept long enough; to sum up all, everything was cold except the ice, and everything sour except the vinegar." excellence in the quality of the viands is not to be disregarded in the choicest company. a celebrated scholar and wit was selecting some of the choicest delicacies on the table, when a rich friend said to him, "what! do philosophers love dainties?" "why not?" replied the scholar; _"do you think all the good things of this world were made only for blockheads?"_ holiday speeches fourth of july at a fourth of july banquet, or celebration, toast may be offered to "the flag," to "the day," to "independence," to "our revolutionary fathers," to "the nation," to any great man of the past, to "liberty," to "free speech," to "national greatness," to "peace," to "defensive war," to any of the states, to "washington" or "lafayette," to "our old ally, france," to any of the "patriotic virtues," to "the army and the navy," to the "memory of any of the battles by land or sea." appropriate sentiments for any of these may easily be devised or may be found in the miscellaneous list in this volume. "the constitution and the laws" or something similar should not be omitted. some items that would be appropriate in responding to these toasts. their order and character will depend upon the special topic. our present prosperity--the greatness and resources of our country as compared with those of the revolutionary epoch--the slow growth of the colonies--the rapid growth of the states and the addition of new states continually--what was gained by independence--did we do more than simply prevent tyranny--the advantages an independent country possesses over a colony, such as canada--the perils of independence and the responsibility of power--the romantic early history of the country--the wars that preceded the revolutionary conflict--the character of the struggle--the slenderness of our resources compared with the mighty power of britain--our ally, france--what that nation gained and lost by joining in our quarrel--the memories of washington and lafayette--the principles at stake in the revolution--the narrow view our fathers took of the issue at first, and the manner in which they were led first to independence and then to nationality--some phases of the struggle--its critical points--trenton and valley forge--saratoga and yorktown--our responsibilities and duties--the questions of that day enumerated and compared with the burning questions of the present day (which we do not enumerate here, but which the speaker may describe or even argue if the nature of his audience, or time at his disposal permits)--the future greatness of the nation--the probability of the acquisition of new territory. laughable incidents either from history or illustrations from any source, must not be forgotten, for if the speech be more than a few minutes long they are absolutely indispensable. outline of a speech in response to the toast "the day we celebrate" the fourth of july has been a great day ever since . before that year the fourth of this month came and went like other days. but then a great event happened: an event which made a great difference to the entire world; the boundaries of many countries would be very different to-day if the important event of that day had not transpired. it was a terrible blow to the foes of humanity and even to many weak-kneed friends. the exhortation of one of the signers of the declaration on that day, "we must all hang together," with the grim but very reasonable rejoinder, "if we do not, we will assuredly hang separately." the bloodshed and suffering which followed and which seem to be the only price at which human liberty and advancement can be procured. we had to deal with our old friends the english very much as the peace-loving quaker did with the pirate who boarded his ship; taking him by the collar broad-brim dropped him over the ship's side into the water, saying, "friend, thee has no business on this ship." we have shown that we own and can navigate the ship of state ourselves, and now we are willing to welcome here not only john bull but all nations of the world when they have any friendly business with us. the gunpowder that has been consumed. first, during the revolutionary war and the second war with england; and then the powder that has been exploded by small and large boys in the hundred and odd fourths that have followed. outline of a spread-eagle speech in a foreign land we are so far from home that we can't hear the eagle scream or see the lightning in his eye. only from the almanac do we know that this is the day of all days on which he disports himself. he was a small bird when born, more than a hundred years ago, but has grown lively till his wings reach from ocean to ocean, and it only requires a little faith to see him stretch himself clear over the western hemisphere and the adjacent islands. other birds despised him on the first great fourth, but these birds of prey, vultures, condors and such like, with crows, as well as the smaller republican eagles born since, are humble enough to him now. the british lion himself having been so often scratched and clawed by this fowl, has learned to shake his mane and wag his tail rather amiably in our eagle's presence, even if he has to give an occasional growl to keep his hand in. we are proud of this bird, though we are far from home, and to-day send our heartiest good wishes across the sea to the land we love the best. outline of a response to the toast, "our country" the field here is very wide. all the history of the country is appropriate, but can only be glanced at, though a good speech might be made by dwelling at length on some romantic incident in its history. the size and richness of the country from the green pine forests of maine to the golden orange groves of california; or the prophecy of the manifest greatness of coming destiny. here the old but laughable story can be brought in easily about the raw irishman who saw a pumpkin for the first time, and was told that it was a mare's egg, and generously given one. he had the misfortune, however, to drop it out of his cart, when it rolled down-hill, struck a stump, burst and frightened a rabbit, which bounded away followed by pat, shouting: "shtop my colt; sure and if he is so big and can run so fast now, when just born, what a rousing horse he will be when grown up!" but our country has more than merely a vast area. she has made advances in science, art, literature, and culture of all kinds, and is destined to play a chief part in the drama of the world's progress. * * * * * memorial day the celebration of this day has become general and has assumed a special and beautiful character. it might have been feared that angry passions engendered by civil strife would predominate, but the very reverse of this is true. kindness and charity, tender memories of the sacrifices of patriotism, the duty of caring for the living and of avoiding all that might lead again to the sad necessity of war, are the sentiments nearly always inculcated. the following are a few of the toasts that may be given at celebrations, or banquets, or at the exercises that form a part of the annual decorating of soldiers' graves: the martyred dead--the regiments locally represented--the army and navy--any dead soldier especially prominent--the union forever--the whole country--victory always for the right--the surviving soldiers and sailors--unbroken peace--the commander-in-chief, and other officers locally honored--any special battle whose field is near at hand--the flag with all its stars undimmed. sketch of a speech in response to the toast, "our honored dead" time in its rapid flight tests many things. thirty years ago the southern confederacy, like a dark cloud full of storm and thunderings, covered the southern heavens. statesmen planned, preachers prayed, women wept, and armies as brave as ever formed in line fought, for its establishment. blood flowed freely, and the roar of battle filled the whole land. many wise men thought it would continue for ages, but lo! it has disappeared. nothing remains to its adherents but a memory--mournful, pathetic, and bitter. how different with the old flag that we love. it had been tested before, but this was its supreme trial. it had been victorious in several wars. it had sheltered new and expanding states, it had fostered higher forms of civilization, and represented peoples and interests that were complex and varied; but in our civil war it was assailed as never before. the test was crucial, but nobly was it borne. men died in ranks as the forest goes down before the cyclone. what sharp agony in death, and what long-continued suffering and bereavement this implies. but the result was decisive--a strengthening of the power and grandeur of the nation that sometimes seems to be only too great and unquestioned. we have no wish by any word of ours to revive bitter feeling or stir up strife. this hallowed day has been from the first a peacemaker. men, standing with uncovered heads in the presence of the dead, do not care to utter words of reproach for the irrevocable past. we, wearing the blue, can say to the scarred veteran wearers of the gray: "you fought well for the lost cause. but the case was fairly tried in the awful court of war. it took four years for the jury to agree, but the verdict has been given--a verdict against your cause--and there is no higher court and no appeal. there is no resurrection for the dead confederacy; but we can offer you something better--an equal part in the life and destiny of the most glorious nation time has yet produced." and on their side the gray can reply, in the words of colonel grady, the eloquent orator of the south, in his speech at atlanta: "we can now see that in this conflict loss was gain, and defeat real and substantial victory; that everything we hoped for and fought for, in the new government we sought to establish, is given to us in greater measure in the old government our fathers founded." we do not meet on these memorial days to weep for the dead, as we did while wounds were yet fresh. time has healed the scars of war, and we can calmly contemplate the great lesson of patriotic devotion, and rejoice that the nation to which we belong produced men noble enough to die for that which they valued so much. neither do i care to say anything of human slavery, the institution that died and was buried with the confederacy. i had enough to say about it while it was living. let the dead past bury its dead. but we are here to foster patriotism, in view of the most tremendous sacrifice ever willingly made by a people on the altar of nationality. that the sacrifices of the civil war deserve this rank will appear from the fact that they were made--in the main--by volunteers. we were not fighting directly to defend our altars and our fires; we were not driven to arms to repel an invading foe; we were not hurried to the field by king or noble; but in the first flush of manhood we offered ourselves to preserve unimpaired the unity, the purity, the glory of our nation. so far as i have turned over the leaves of the volume of time, i have found nothing in all the past like this. therefore, standing before the highest manifestation of earthly patriotism, viewing it crowned in all the glory of self-sacrifice, by a faithfulness which was literally in the case of hundreds of thousands "unto death," we ask: "what is there that justifies a nation in exacting or accepting (when freely offered) such tribute of the life-blood of its people?" the two things of inestimable value which our government furnishes and which we ought to preserve even with life itself, if the sacrifice is needed, are liberty and law, or rather liberty _in_ law. the old world gave law, without which human society cannot exist. but it was accompanied with terrible suffering--as when "order reigned in warsaw." such law came from masters, and made the mass of the people slaves. we have an equal perfection of law, order, subordination, but it rises side by side with liberty the people govern themselves--not in one form of government alone but in affairs national, state, county, down to the smallest school district and a thousand voluntary societies. in each the methods by which the people's will may be made supreme in designated affairs are clearly defined, so that the whole of united human effort is brought under the dominion of law, even such things as general education, and yet each affair is in the hands of the people directly concerned. for thousands of years the principles of our complex and wonderful system of co-ordinated government have been growing up till they have reached their fullest perfection on our soil, and we breathe their beneficence as we breathe the air of heaven. men are willing to die by the tens of thousands that this liberty under law may not perish from the world. ... comrades and citizens:--we move forward to new issues and new responsibilities. grave dangers are now upon us. god grant that they may not need to be met and settled in the rude shock of war. the time for wisdom, for clear-sighted patriotism is--_now_. labor and capital, the foundations of law and order; the complex civilization of a nation which now talks by lightning, and is hurled by steam over plains and mountains, and which, doubtless, will soon fly through the air--all these are to be settled by the men now on the stage of action. we cannot do better than to tell you, to settle them in the spirit of the men whose great sacrifices we to-day commemorate. outline of a speech by chauncey m. depew, on a decoration [memorial] day. this is one of the most interesting of national celebrations, appealing not to pride, but to tender personal memories. but we must not give ourselves up wholly to sadness or mourning. the story of issues and results must be told. why did our heroes die? on account of the cancer of slavery and the resulting doctrine of state rights. nationality and liberty, the opposite view. the former was the party of action, and, therefore, though in a minority, it was bolder and more determined. but the shell of materialism dropped from the north, and it was aroused with electric energy when sumter was fired on; there was no passion, only such fervid resolve to preserve our nation as the world never before saw. the struggle over, there were no state trials, no prisons nor scaffolds, and the republic, though bleeding at every pore, said to the conquered enemy, "come and share fully with us all the blessings of our preserved institutions," and thus won a second victory greater than the first. the wonderful intelligence of the volunteer--story of napoleon's soldier--"dead on the field of honor." the grand army of the elect--the heroes of history, some of whom are enumerated--the actual value to a nation of such heroism. to-day all that belongs to the strife is forgiven, but its lessons are too noble and precious ever to be forgotten. we can all, north and south, read with enthusiasm the story of each varied and romantic campaign. the confederate women first began decorating the graves of their dead with flowers, and did not pass by the union graves near their late foes. this touched the heart of the nation as nothing else could have done, and enmity melted away, and the observance of the day has become universal. the two great national heroes--washington, with his wise, foresighted "farewell address;" lincoln, with his gentle spirit, his martyr death, and his tender words, "with malice towards none, with charity for all." washington the founder, lincoln the preserver. * * * * * washington's birthday appropriate toasts to washington--to the great men of revolutionary times--to the great man who could not do what many modern politicians can do--_tell a lie_--to the childless father of eighty millions of people--to the american model statesman--to the greatest of good men and the best of great men. thoughts for a speech in response to the toast "washington: great as a soldier, greater as a statesman, greatest as a pure patriot" indian, french, and english enemies. he had to make the armies with which he conquered. he was always a safe commander, but full of enterprise also--his character made the union of the states and the constitution possible. his character the best inheritance of the american people. other men as great, possibly in some instances greater in a single field--his greatness shown in the wide union of the noblest kinds of greatness, all in harmony. humorous response by benjamin f. butler to the toast, "our forefathers" "while venerating their lofty patriotism, may we emulate them in their republican simplicity of manners." he declared that a great deal had been said at one time and another about the democratic simplicity of our forefathers. suppose that the gentlemen of the present day should go back to some of the customs of the forefathers. suppose a man should go to a ball nowadays in the costume in which thomas jefferson, "that great apostle of democratic simplicity," once appeared in philadelphia. what a sensation he would create with his modest (?) costume of velvet and lace, with knee-breeches, silk stockings, silver shoe-buckles, and powdered wig. "even the great father of his country had a little style about him," said the speaker. "it was a known fact that he never went to congress when he was president unless he went in a coach and six, with a little cupid on the box bearing a wreath of flowers. the coach must be yellow and the horses white, and then the president's secretary usually followed in a coach drawn by four horses. when washington ascended the steps to enter the doors, he always stopped for a moment and turned slowly around to allow an admiring people to see the father of their country. oh! our forefathers were saturated with modesty and simplicity. the people of the present day have retrograded greatly from the simplicity of their revolutionary ancestors. i can remember when it was impossible, years before the war, to hold a night session of congress. it was impossible because the members of congress attended dinners, and lingered over their wine. they attended dinners very like the one we have just enjoyed, and yet there is not a man in this company who is unfitted to attend to any public or private duties that might demand his attention. yes, it is true that we have departed from the old customs, but we have advanced and not retrograded. the world has changed, but it has changed for the better. it is growing better every day, and don't let anybody forget it." * * * * * christmas appropriate toasts the day of good-will--to the cold weather without and the warm hearts within--to the christmas tree, which grows in a night and is plucked in the morning by the gladdest of fingers--to the day in which religion gives sweetness to social life--christmas gifts; may they bless the giver not less than the receiver--to the oldest of our festivals, which grows mellower and sweeter with the passage of the centuries--to st. nicholas [or santa claus], the only saint protestants worship--to a merry day that leaves no heart-ache--to a good christmas, may sleighing, gifts, and feasting crowd out all gambling and drunkenness. speech-thoughts the good cheer enjoyed on this merriest day of the year. how the little people look forward to it. it comes to the older ones as a joy, and yet tender and sad with the memories of other christmases. the religious and the secular elements of the day. the countries where it is most observed. the long contest between the two days, thanksgiving and christmas. the compromise that massachusetts and virginia, new england and the south, have unanimously agreed upon; namely, to keep both days. selected outline op an effective little christmas speech the speaker assumes that the observance of the day is becoming obsolete, and that there are persons who wish it to die out. the assumption, though rather strained, affords the opportunity to demolish this man of straw. "all other kings may go, but no one can spare king christmas, or st. nicholas, his prime minister. school-rooms and nurseries would rebel. and plum pudding is too strongly entrenched in church and state to be dislodged. washington irving, with his _sketch book_, would protest. best argument of all is the worth of the christmas entertainments. here's to the festival of festivals, and long may its honors be done by such hosts as entertain us to-day." thanksgiving coming at the beginning of the farmer's rest, when the harvest is all gathered, this is a very joyous festival, and more than any other abounds in family reunions. any toast therefore is appropriate which tells of the harvest, of fertility, of the closing year, of the family pride and traditions, of pleasure to young and old. at dinner, turkey and mince or pumpkin pie will of course be served, and these national favorites must not be forgotten by the toastmaker. this day, too, has an official and governmental flavor given to it by the state and national proclamations which fix the date and invite its observance. usually, these enumerate the blessings enjoyed by the whole country during the year, and suggest topics peculiarly fitting for toasts. it is perhaps not too much to say that thanksgiving is distinctly _the_ american festival, and should be honored accordingly. toasts to the inventor of pumpkin pie--to peace with all nations--to the rulers of our country--to the farmer--to full stomachs and merry hearts--to their excellencies, the president and the governor; may we obey all their commands as willingly as when they tell us to feast--abounding plenty; may we always remember the source from which our benefits come--our two national fowls, the american eagle and the thanksgiving turkey; may the one give us peace for all our states and the other a piece for all our plates--the turkey and the eagle; we love to have the one soar high, but wish the other to roost low--the great american birds; may we have them where we love them best, the turkeys on our tables and the eagles in our pockets. thoughts for a thanksgiving speech the manner in which the day was first instituted. the sore struggles and the small beginnings of that day compared with the greatness and abounding prosperity of the present. the warfare between christmas and thanksgiving, the one being thought the badge of popery and prelacy. the battle of the pies, pumpkin and mince, terminating in a treaty of peace and alliance; and now we can enjoy the nightmare by feasting on both combined! the national blessings of the year; the poorest have more now than kings and emperors had five hundred years ago. exemption from wars. internal peace. willingness and habit of settling every domestic dispute by the ballot, and not the bullet. the increasing tendency to arbitrate between nations, thus avoiding the horrors of war. the beneficence of our government and the ease with which its operations rest upon our shoulders. the wonderful progress of science and invention, and the manner in which these have added to the comfort of all the people. selected outline foe a thanksgiving speech why we ought to be grateful to the old puritans, with all their faults. their unsuccessful warfare on plum pudding, which, like truth, "crushed to earth," rose again. their discovery and enshrining of turkey. on this day the nation gathers as a family at the thanksgiving board, and from all parts of the world the wanderers come home to the family feast. the duty of happiness, joined to gratitude, is emphasized this day. the closing toast, "the federal eagle and the festal turkey; may we always have peace under the wings of the one, and be able to obtain a piece from the breast of the other." presentation addresses giving a present is a kind and graceful act, and should be accompanied by a simple, short, and unaffected speech. "take this" would have the merit of brevity, but would fail in conveying any information as to _who_ gave, why they gave _to the recipient_, and why _that_ present was selected rather than another, and why _the speaker_ was chosen to make the presentation. all of these items form a part of nearly every presentation address, whilst some of them belong to all. the novice will find much help in preparing his proposed speech by selecting a few items that are generally appropriate; afterward he can include anything which his own genius or wishes may suggest. he may say that an abler speaker might have been selected for the pleasant duty, but not one who could enter into it more heartily or with more good wishes. he can refer to any circumstance which, if told briefly, will show why he has been selected, notwithstanding his reluctance or sense of unworthiness; or why he is pleased that the selection has fallen upon him. such reference is usually effective. then the nature of the gift may be described. here is an easy field for a little pleasantry. if a watch, it can be said, "your friends are growing a little suspicious of you, and, after due deliberation, they have determined to a place _a watch_ upon you." if a cane is the article in hand, then the painful duty of administering punishment for offenses by _caning_ is in order. a ring will afford an opportunity for many verbal plays. the ring of friends about the recipient, the true ring of a bell, or of an uncracked vase, a political ring--any of these can be made to lead up to the little hoop of gold. the fineness of the material, its sterling and unvarying value, the inscription on it, any specialty in its form--all these will be found rich in suggestion. silverware of any kind may also be considered as to the form of the article, the use to which it is to be put, and the purity of the metal. hardly any article can be thought of which will not allow some pleasant puns or _bon mots_. if a book is given, we bring the person "to book," and the book to him. job wished that his enemy might write a book; we, more charitable, wish our friend to read a book, and now offer him a good one for the purpose. the author or the title will, if closely examined, yield some matter for play on words. the army presents of sword or banner, while usually more serious, do not forbid the same kind of badinage. but this should form only a small portion of the speech, and consist merely of two or three well-studied sentences, to be uttered slowly, so that their double meaning may have time to sink in, and appear also as if they were just thought of. a good anecdote should be introduced at this point. it must be short, tinged with humor, and, if it succeeds in arousing the attention of the hearers, it will be of great value. if it is very appropriate or highly illustrative, these qualities will compensate for humor. indeed, a felicitous anecdote will make the whole speech a success, if the speech is not continued too long afterward. better suffer the extreme penalty of reading every anecdote in this volume, and of searching for hours in other fields, than fail to get the right one; but if unsuccessful invent one for the occasion! the good qualities of the recipient must not be overlooked, especially those in recognition of which the present is given. if anything in the nature of the present itself can be made symbolic of these assumed good or great qualities, it will be a happy circumstance. and while flattery should not be excessive or too palpable, it is seldom indeed that a large dose of "pleasant things" will not be well received by all parties on such an occasion. the expression of kindly feeling and good wishes always affords a favorable opportunity for closing. perhaps, however, a more striking conclusion can be made by taking advantage of the very moment when the present is handed over to the recipient, accompanying this act with a hearty wish for its long retention and its happy use in the manner its nature indicates. wishing a ring to be worn as a memento of friendship, a watch to mark the passage of happy hours, a cane not to be needed for support, but only as a treasured ornament, a sword to be worn with honor and only to be unsheathed at the call of duty or of patriotism, etc. the reception of a gift is more easy than the presentation, but is at the same time more embarrassing. the reception is easier, because the essential part of the response is to say "thank you," which are very easy words to utter if the givers are real friends and the present is an appropriate one. it is more embarrassing because it is always harder to receive a favor gratefully than to give one. if the gift is a surprise, there is no harm in saying so, though if it is not a surprise, it is not advisable to tell an untruth about it. the recipient may say he is embarrassed, and his embarrassment--whether real or feigned--will create sympathy for him. besides, he can ask for indulgence with more grace than the preceding speaker, as he is supposed to be taken by surprise. he may be so overcome with emotion as to break down altogether, and yet he will be loudly applauded. a still stronger reason for this disparity is that the speaker representing the givers has been selected, probably out of a large company, to make his speech, and is thus expected to do it well; but the receiver occupies _his_ position for a reason that has no connection whatever with his speech-making powers. if he succeeds in expressing his gratitude and goodwill to those who have been so generous he will have served the essential purpose of his speech; but if, in addition, he can gather up the points made in the presentation speech, assenting to its general principles, accepting the humorous charges for which he is to be watched, caned, stoned (when a diamond or other stone is given), or put to the sword, and gently deprecates the serious flattery offered, he will be regarded as doing exceedingly well. one phrase he will not be likely to omit, unless "he loses his head" altogether--"when i look upon this, i will always remember the feelings of this hour, the kind words uttered, the appreciation shown." this word "appreciation." with the reiteration of thanks, will make a very fitting conclusion. addresses of welcome in our country the number of voluntary associations that visit similar associations, or meet at special times and places is very large. often such associations are furnished with free board and lodging by the people of the place where the assemblage occurs. facilities for assemblage and enjoyment are offered and other privileges tendered that are highly appreciated. religious bodies, church and philanthropic societies, military and fire companies, athletic and social clubs, various orders and educational societies, political bodies, these form only a small proportion of the endless number of organizations convening and gathering at different centres, gatherings which serve to keep all parts of our country in close touch. it is needless to furnish model speeches for each of these, for the same general line of remark is adapted to all. the changes of illustration demanded by the character of the association to be welcomed, and for which responses are to be made, will be readily understood, and a little study of the name and character of the place of meeting will make the necessary local allusions quite easy. the welcome and response for a fire company, or a baseball club, will not differ much from that for a christian endeavor society. a few general hints and a little investigation by the novice will put him on the right track in either case. address of welcome a clear statement about those who extend the welcome and of those who are to be welcomed is appropriate. this may be expanded advantageously by giving a few of the characteristics of each, greater latitude being allowed in complimenting those who are welcomed than those who entertain. it is bad taste to spend more time in telling our guests how good and great we are than in expressing the exalted opinion we have of them for their noble work, their great fame, or their high purpose; or in declaring the pleasure we feel and the honor we have in entertaining them. the warmth of the welcome extended should be expressed in the fullest manner, and as this is the central purpose of the whole address, it will bear _one repetition_. a good illustrative story, brief but pointed, may be worked in somewhere, perhaps in connection with a modest depreciation of our own fitness or ability adequately to express the strong feelings of those we represent, though if one can be found having a connection with the visitors themselves, it will be still better. what we wish our visitors to do while with us may also be appropriately referred to. if there are places of interest for them to visit, work for them to do, or special entertainments provided,--here is additional matter for remark. all these items may be run through in a few minutes, and then the address should close. the most bungling and formal welcome, if short, will be enjoyed more and be more applauded than the most graceful and eloquent one unduly prolonged. should however, in spite of this warning, more "filling in" be desired of an appropriate character, it may be found almost without limit in setting forth the claim of the cause which both the visitors and the entertainers represent--athletic sports, religion, benevolence, education, or what not. address in response this may be still more brief than the address of welcome. to say that the reception is hearty, that it gives pleasure and is gratefully received and appreciated, is all that is essential. an invitation to return the visit should not be forgotten, if circumstances are such that it can be appropriately made. then the speaker has an opportunity to review any portion of the preceding speech and express his indorsement of any of the assertions made. he should not dissent from them, unless this dissent can be made the means of a little adroit flattery by placing a higher estimate upon the entertainers and their services than their own speaker has done, or by modestly disclaiming some of the praise that has been given. the novice must avoid being carried too far by this fascinating review, both as to the quantity and the quality of the disagreement. a closing sentence may be, "allow me once more, most heartily, to thank you for this generous welcome to--your homes--your headquarters--to the hospitalities of your city," as the case may be. wedding and other anniversaries another wide field for the oratory of entertainment is to be found in the various celebrations that mark the passage of specific or notable portions of time--centennial, semi-centennial, and quadrennial; likewise weddings, annual, tin, paper, crystal, silver, and golden. the speeches for these differ widely in character. they may take the form of congratulatory addresses, of toasts and responses, or more formal addresses. all dedications come in the same category. generally the shorter intervals call for light and humorous speeches, while the longer ones demand something more grave and thoughtful. the following speech and response for a wooden (fifth) wedding anniversary is taken from a volume of ready made speeches. it is a fine example of that wit and play upon words which is never more suitable or more highly appreciated than on such an occasion. speech for a wooden wedding if it is a good maxim not to halloo till you are out of the woods, our kind host and hostess must be very quiet this evening, for it seems to me that they are in the thick of it. if their friends had been about to burn them alive instead of to wish them joy on their fifth wedding-day, they could scarcely have brought a greater quantity of combustible material to the sacrifice. what shall we say to them on this ligneous occasion? of course, we must congratulate them on their willingness to renew their matrimonial vows after five years of double-blessedness. in this age of divorce it is something worthy of note, that a pair who have been one and inseparable for even so short a period as the twentieth part of a century, should stand up proudly before the world and propose to strengthen the original compact with a new one. they look as happy and contented as if they had never heard of chicago, or seen those tempting little advertisements in the newspapers that propose to separate man and wife with immediate dispatch for a reasonable consideration. instead of going to court to cut the nuptial bond in twain, it appears that they have been _courting_ for five years with the view of being remarried this evening. vaccination, it is said, wears out in seven years, but matrimony, we see, in this instance, at least, takes a stronger hold of the parties inoculated as time rolls on; and although in this case they are willing to go through the operation again, it is not for the sake of making assurance doubly sure, but in order to enjoy marriage as a luxury. with this happy specimen of a wooden wedding before them our young unmarried friends will see that they can go into the _joinery_ business with but little risk of getting into the wrong box. in fact, it is because connubial bliss beats every other species of felicity all hollow that we have met this evening to requite it with hollow-ware. in the name of all their friends i affectionately congratulate the doubly-married pair on their past happiness and future prospects, and hope they may live to celebrate their fiftieth wedding day and receive a _golden_ reward. bridegroom in reply "for self and partner"--as men associated in business sometimes conclude their letters--i offer to you and all our friends who have obliged us with their presence, the thanks of the firm which renews its articles of partnership this evening. we welcome you heartily to our home, well knowing that your kind wishes are not like--your useful and elegant tokens of remembrance--_hollow-ware_. when birnam wood came to dunsinane, macbeth was conquered, and it seems to me that you have come almost as well provided with timber as macduff and malcolm were. your articles, however, although of wood, are not of the burn 'em kind, and i am not such a dunce inane as to decline accepting them. indeed, my wife, who, notwithstanding her matrimonial vows, has a _single eye_--to housekeeping--would not permit me to refuse them were i so inclined. she knows their value better than i do, and with the assistance of her kitchen cabinet will, i have no doubt, employ them usefully. the speech closes with thanks and good wishes in return. toasts a toast may be given either with or without sentiment attached, and in either case a response equally fitting; but in the former the subject is narrowed and defined by the nature of the sentiment. yet the speaker need not hold himself closely to the sentiment, which is often made rather a point of departure even by the ablest speakers. indeed, the latitude accorded to after-dinner speeches is very great, and a sentiment which gives unity and direction to the speech made in response to it is, on that account, of great value. to illustrate these points we will take the toast "our flag." a speech in response would be practically unlimited in scope of treatment. anything patriotic, historical or sentimental, which brings in some reference to the banner, would be appropriate. but let this sentiment be added: "may the justness and benevolence which it represents ever charm the heart, as its beauty charms the eye," and the outline of a speech is already indicated. has our nation always been just and kind? where and how have these qualities been most strikingly manifested? why have we seemed sometimes to come short of them, and how should such injustice or harsh dealing be remedied, with as much rhetorical admixture of the waving folds and the glittering stars as the speaker sees fit to employ. from these considerations may be deduced the rule that when the proposer of a toast wishes to leave the respondent the freedom of the whole subject he will give the toast alone, or accompanied by a motto of the most non-committal character. but if he wishes to draw him out in a particular direction he will put the real theme in the sentiment that follows the toast. sentiments suggested by a toast years ago a speaker provoked a controversy (maliciously and with no good excuse) which scarcely came short of blows, by proposing as a toast the name of a general of high rank, but who was unfortunate in arms. he was a candidate for office. added to the toast was the sentiment, "may his political equal his military victories." this was in bad taste, indeed, but it shows the use that can be made of the sentiment, when added to a toast, in fixing attention in a certain direction. the number of sentiments suggested by the common and standard toasts is unlimited. take the toast "home," as an example. home: the golden setting in which the brightest jewel is "mother." home: a world of strife shut out, and a world of love shut in. home: the blossoms of which heaven is the fruit. home: the only spot on earth where the fault and failings of fallen humanity are hidden under a mantle of charity. home: an abode wherein the inmate, the superior being called man, can pay back at night, with fifty per cent. interest, every annoyance that he has met with in business during the day. home: the place where the great are sometimes small, and the small often great. home: the father's kingdom; the child's paradise; the mother's world. home: the jewel casket containing the most precious of all jewels--domestic happiness. home: the place where you are treated best and grumble most. home: it is the central telegraph office of human love, into which run innumerable wires of affection, many of which, though extending thousands of miles, are never disconnected from the one great terminus. home: the centre of our affections, around which our hearts' best wishes twine. home: a little sheltered hollow scooped out of the windy hill of the world. home: a place where our stomachs get three good meals daily and our hearts a thousand. miscellaneous toasts these might be multiplied indefinitely, but a sufficient number are given to serve as hints to the person who is able to make his own toasts, yet seeks a little aid to lift him out of the common rut. marriage: the happy estate which resembles a pair of shears; so joined that they cannot be separated; often moving in opposite directions, yet always punishing any one who comes between them. marriage: the gate through which the happy lover leaves his enchanted ground and returns from paradise to earth. woman: the fairest work of the great author; the edition is large, and no man should be without a copy. woman: she needs no eulogy; she speaks for herself. woman: the bitter half of man. (a sour bachelor's toast.) wedlock: may the single all be married and all the married be happy. love to one, friendship to many, and good-will to all. the lady we love and the friend we trust. may we have the unspeakable good fortune to win a true heart, and the merit to keep it. friendship: may its bark never founder on the rocks of deception. friendship: may its lamp ever be supplied by the oil of truth and fidelity. unselfish friendship: may we ever be able to serve a friend, and noble enough to conceal it. firm friendship: may differences of opinion only cement it. may we have more and more friends and need them less and less. may our friend in sorrow never be a sorrowing friend. active friendship: may the hinges of friendship never grow rusty. to our friends: whether absent on land or sea. our friends: may the present have no burdens for them and futurity no terrors. our friends: may we always have them and always know their value. friends: may we be richer in their love than in wealth, and yet money be plenty. a friend: may we never want one to cheer us, or a home to welcome him. good judgment: may opinions never float in the sea of ignorance. careful kindness: may we never crack a joke or break a reputation. enduring prudence: may the pleasures of youth never bring us pain in old age. deliverance in trouble: may the sunshine of hope dispel the clouds of calamity. successful suit: may we court and win all the daughters of fortune except the eldest--miss fortune. here's a health to detail, retail, and curtail--indeed, all the tails but tell-tales. the coming millennium: when great men are honest and honest men are great. our merchant: may he have good trade, well paid. may the devil cut the toes of all our foes, that we may know them by their limping. may we live to learn well and learn to live well. a placid life: may we never murmur without cause, and never have cause to murmur. may we never lose our bait when we fish for compliments. a better distribution of money: may avarice lose his purse and benevolence find it. may care be a stranger and serenity a familiar friend to every honest heart. may fortune recover her eyesight and be able to distribute her gifts more wisely and equally. may bad example never attract youthful minds. may poverty never come to us without rich compensations and hope of a speedy departure. our flag: the beautiful banner that represents the precious _mettle_ of america. american eagle, the: the liberty bird that permits no liberties. american eagle, the: may she build her nest in every rock peak of this continent. american valor: may no war require it, but may it be always ready for every foe. american people, the: may they live in peace and grow strong in the practice of every virtue. our native land: may it ever be worthy of our heartiest love, and continue to draw it forth without stint. (a spread-eagle toast.) the boundaries of our country: east, by the rising sun; north, by the north pole; west, by all creation; and south, by the day of judgment. our lakes and rivers: navigable waters that unite all the states and render the very thought of their separation absurd. our sons and daughters: may they be honest as brave and modest as fair. america and the world: may our nation ever enjoy the blessings of the widest liberty, and be ever ready to promote the liberties of mankind. discontented citizens: may they speedily leave their country for their country's good. america: "our hearts, our hopes are all with thee, our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears, our faith, triumphant o'er our fears, are all with thee, are all with thee." the patriot: "breathes there a man with soul so dead, who never to himself hath said, this is my own, my native land; whose heart hath ne'er within him burned, as home his footsteps he hath turned from wandering on a foreign strand?" our country: whether bounded by canada or mexico, or however otherwise bounded and described; be the measurement more or less, still our country; to be cherished in our hearts and defended by our lives. our country: in our intercourse with foreign nations may she always be in the right; and if not, may we ever be true patriots enough to get her into the right at any cost. our country: may we render due reverence and love to the common mother of us all. the ship of state: "nail to the mast her holy flag; set every threadbare sail; and give her to the god of storms, the lightning and the gale." columbia: my country, with all thy faults, i love thee still. webster's motto: liberty and union, now and forever, one and inseparable. true patriotism: may every american be a good citizen in peace, a valiant soldier in war. our country: may our love of country be without bounds and without a shadow of fear. our statesmen: may they care less for party and for personal ambition than for the nation's welfare. failure to treason: may he who would destroy his country for a mess of pottage never get the pottage! the penalty of treason: may he who would uproot the tree of liberty be the first one crushed by its fall. the nation: may it know no north, no south, no east, no west, but only one broad, beautiful, glorious land. america: dear country, our thoughts are more constant to thee, than the steel to the star and the stream to the sea. our revolutionary fathers: may their sons never disgrace their parentage. our town: the best in the land; let him that don't like it leave it. the tree of liberty: may every american citizen help cultivate it and eat freely of its fruit. the emigrant: may the man that doesn't love his native country speedily hie him to one that he can love. the american eagle: it is not healthful to try to deposit salt on his venerable tail. california: the land of golden rocks and golden fruits. ohio: the second mother of presidents. vermont: a state of rocks, but producing men, women, maple sugar, and horses. "the first are strong, the last are fleet, the second and third are exceedingly sweet, and all are uncommonly hard to beat." texas: the biggest of states, and one of the very best. new york: unrivalled if numbers in city and state be the test. our navy: may it always be as anxious to preserve peace as to uphold the honor of the flag in war. our army: may it ever be very small in peace, but grow to mighty dimensions and mightier achievement in war. our country: may the form of liberty never be used to subvert the principles of true freedom. our voters: may they always have a standard to try their rulers by, and be quick to punish or reward justly. fortune: a divinity to fools, a helper to wise men. the present: anticipation may be very agreeable but participation is more practical. the present opportunity: we may lay in a stock of pleasures for use in memory, but they must be kept carefully to prevent mouldering. philosophy: it may conquer past or present pain but toothache, while it lasts, laughs at philosophy. our noble selves: why not toast ourselves and praise ourselves since we have the best means of knowing all the good in ourselves? charity: a link from the chain of gold that angels forge. our harvests: may the sunshine of plenty dispel the clouds of care. virtue: may we have the wit to discover what is true and the fortitude to practice what is good. our firesides: our heads may not be sharpened at colleges, but our hearts are graduates of the hearths. the true medium: give us good form, but not formality. the excesses of youth: they are heavy drafts upon old age, payable with compound interest about thirty years from date. the best of good feeling: may we never feel want nor want feeling. our incomes: may we have a head to earn and hearts to spend. forbearance: may we have keen wit, but never make a sword of our tongues to wound the reputation of others. wit: a cheap and nasty commodity when uttered at the expense of modesty and courtesy. cheerfulness and fortitude: may we never give way to melancholy, but always be merry at the right places. generosity: may we all be as charitable and indulgent as the khan of tartary, who, when he has dined on milk and horseflesh, makes proclamation that all the kings and emperors of earth have now his gracious permission to dine. economy: the daughter of prudence, the sister of temperance, and the parent of independence. fidelity and forgiveness: may our injuries be written in sand and our gratitude for benefits in rock. a good memory: may it always be used as a storehouse and never as a lumber-room. a health to our dearest: may their purses always be heavy and their hearts always be light. the noblest qualities: charity without ostentation and religion without bigotry. discernment of character: may flattery never be permitted to sit in the parlor while plain and kindly dealing is kicked out into the woodshed. false friends: may we never have friends who, like shadows, keep close to us in the sunshine only to desert us in a cloudy day or in the night. a competence: may we never want bread to make a toast or a good cook to prepare it. the man we love: he who thinks most good and speaks least ill of his neighbors. human nature as the best study: he who is learned in books alone may know how some things ought to be, but he who reads men learns how things are. metaphysics the noblest of the sciences: "when a mon wha' kens naething aboot ony subject, takes a subject that nae mon kens onything aboot and explains it to anither mon still more ignorant--that's metaphysics." the deeds of men: the best interpreters of their motives. love and affection: the necessary basis for a happy life. charity: a mantle of heavenly weaving used to cover the faults of our neighbors. charitable allowances: may our eyes be no keener when we look upon the faults of others than when we survey our own. cheerful courage: "may this be our maxim whene'er we are twirled, a fig for the cares of this whirl-a-gig world." a golden maxim: to err is human, to forgive divine. prudence in speech: the imprudent man reflects upon what he has said, the wise man upon what he is going to say. thought and speech: it is much safer to always think what we say than always to say what we think. everybody: may no one now feel that he has been omitted. fame: the great undertaker who pays little attention to the living but makes no end of parade over the dead. the chatterbox: may he give us a few brilliant flashes of silence. discretion in speech: may we always remember the manner, the place, and the time. a happy future: may the best day we have seen be worse than the worst that is to come. humorous toasts. to a fat friend: may your shadow never grow less. may every hair of your head be as a shining candle to light you to glory. long life to our friends: may the chicken never be hatched that will scratch on their graves. confusion to the early bird: may it and the worm both be picked up. the nimble penny: may it soon grow into a dime and then swell into a dollar. to a sovereign: not the kind that sits on a throne, but the one that lies in our pocket. our land: may we live happy in it and never be sent out of it for our country's good. three great commanders: may we always be under the orders of general peace, general plenty, and general prosperity. the three best doctors: may doctor quiet, doctor diet, and doctor good conscience ever keep us well. the health of that wise and good man who kept a dog and yet did his own barking! here's to the health of ----: the old bird that was not caught with chaff. the health of those we love the beet; our noble selves. miscellaneous addresses every year new occasions arise that point to a new order of celebrations. until recently there were no centennial celebrations. once inaugurated these suggested semi-centennial and quarter-century ones, and as the country advanced in years there came the bi-centennial and ter-centennial. and the attention of the civilized globe was called to our fourth-centennial by the unrivalled and wonderful display at the world's exhibition in chicago. in this chapter are given outlines of a miscellaneous character, some original and some selected. outline of chauncey m. depew's address at the centennial of capture of andrÃ� this is a good model for the semi-centennial or centennial of any noted event. being in the open air the speaker referred to the grand scenery, almost the same as one hundred years before. effect on the nation's heart of such revolutionary commemorations. small events influence the currents of history. thermopylæ and its ; _the three plain farmers who preserved american liberty_. the orator then sketched compactly but vividly the critical situation of , and tells at length the story of arnold's treason, its frustration by the capture of andré and his pathetic fate. this "one romance of the revolution" is a thrilling tale, and all adornment is given to it. the account of the struggle to save andré's life gives the interest of controversy, as does the defense of washington's course. the anecdote and the illustrative parallel are both supplied by the case of captain nathan hale, executed by the english as an american spy. the address closes with a fitting tribute to andré's three captors, whose modest monument marked the spot, and a very effective quotation of william of orange's heroic oath at his coronation, "i will maintain." outline of speech by governor foraker at the dedication of ohio's monument to the andrews raiders, at chattanooga why this monument and this dedication. the story of the raid, the suffering of the raiders, and heroism of those who died. the controversial part covered two points--the military value of the raid, and the manner in which the raiders had been treated by the enemy while prisoners. the illustrative setting was the historic background of chattanooga and the contrasts of war and peace. outline of address by chauncey m. depew at dinner on the th birthday of john jay not on the programme--pleasantry with mr. choate (president) about his railroad fees. mr. choate wants it made the rule for all ex-presidents of the club to have a dinner on their th birthday. this will help them to live at least that long, as gladstone and bismarck, when they had an object, have lived on in spite of the doctors! depew, a native of the same county as three generations of jays. services of the revolutionary jay. _the anecdote_.--general sherman yesterday told a beautiful young girl--generals always interested in beautiful young girls--that he would be willing to throw away all he was doing or had done to start at her time of life again. but the nation could not permit that, nor could it in the case of john jay--closing words of tribute and esteem to the guest of the evening. outline of address by chauncey m. depew at the reception to henry m. stanley by the lotus club the speaker jests about his own locks whitened by the cares of railroading, and the raven hair of the reporters--where do they get their dye? stanley's lecture fee, $ .--lotus club gets one for only the price of a dinner! stanley a great artist in his descriptions as well as a great traveler. americans a nation of travelers.--this makes railroads prosperous! what some reporters have done. the motive makes heroism.--livingstone the missionary--his rescue by stanley. the civilized africa of the future with stanley for its columbus. speeches at a dinner given to the religious press toast.--"the religious press and literature." first, what are sound views of literature; second, what is a religious paper? the speaker used two illustrations bound in one. a great book is the nilometer which measures intellectual life as the original nilometer measured the life and fertility of the land of egypt. a description of the rise of the nile and of the _divine comedy_ of dante, as such a measurer of the life of the middle ages, made up the speech. toast.--"religious press and questions of the day." eternity begins _here_. the paper must show on which side of any question the right lies. it should go even further than this. it should cover a wider range of topics and aim to secure the attention of the general public to the questions it discusses and so entitle it to circulate more widely. toast.--"should religious papers make money?" if i may make the paying papers, anybody may make the others. money losing--soon comes, _hic jacet_. money making proves usefulness and renders the issue of a paper possible. letter from the oldest editor of new york in which he says the editor is under life sentence to hard labor. toast.--"the religious paper and scholarship." he laments that he has no letter from an editor to read (like the last speaker), and tells a story of a methodist, on request, praying for rain; and when a terrible storm came, the man who asked, was heard to murmur: "how these methodists do exaggerate." this was to show the excellence of the dinner. two other stories were used by the speaker, about the length and discursiveness of his talk. the people need and will read deep, accurate, and scholarly productions. there ought to be a general paper for such. something has been done in that direction by two religious papers. the speaker treated his topic by giving a semi-humorous review of the preceding speeches. he showed how denominational traits affected each item in the work of the paper. he did not make just the kind of a paper _he_ liked best, for some people were of the same taste as artemus ward, who always ordered _hash_ at a restaurant, because he then knew what he was getting! the speaker also referred ironically to the mistaken idea that church papers could not pay, and gave striking instances to the contrary. he concluded that denominational papers may be as successful in their line as those purely undenominational and independent. response to the toast, "the navy: our country's best wall of defense" . the disasters which different ports of our country have experienced from invading forces during three great wars. no foe now on this continent which we need fear--our enemies, if any, will come by sea. . the defense by fortified harbors cannot be relied on, for when one place is defended another may be attacked, and the coast-line is so great that an unguarded spot may be found. but our glorious navy will seek the foe at any and every point. . past glory of the navy. paul jones in the revolutionary war singeing john bull's beard at his own fireside. . the ships of iron that kept the confederate states engirdled and forbade outside meddling with domestic troubles. . the navy, by showing the world that we are impregnable, should be the best promoter of a solid peace. response to the toast, "general jackson: a diamond in the rough, but a diamond" . the hero of new orleans, though rough, was a strong and great man. stories about him always popular. his indorsing state papers "o.k." when he approved them, and saying that these letters meant "_oll korrect_." the victor and the spoils. . his connection with great questions, such as the currency and nullification. popularity with his own party. . proved to be a great commander by the manner in which he used his very slender resources at the battle of new orleans--the backwoods riflemen and the breastworks of cotton. response to the toast, "the working man: may he love his work and have plenty of it, with good wages promptly paid" . for a healthy man a reasonable amount of work is no misfortune, but a blessing. idleness is a curse, and leads to all kinds of evil. (see story in anecdote no. at end of this volume--of the tramp who earned seventy-five cents and quit work because he feared that he could not bear the curse of riches! not many of us have this kind of fear.) . toil with pen and brain as real, and may be as exhausting as with the hand and foot. . but to defraud a workman of one cent of his earnings is a peculiarly atrocious crime. how this may be done indirectly. all persons who believe in this toast should deal justly and fairly, and try to hold others to the same rule. . the true workman wants work and fair play; not patronage and flattery, but sympathy and friendship. a nominating speech the great conventions that nominate candidates for the presidency of the united states furnish examples on the largest scale of the nominating speech. but officers of societies of almost any character may be nominated in addresses that are very similar. the following outline of a speech of general character may be easily modified to suit any case in which such help is desired. _mr. chairman_: it gives me great pleasure to place before you, the name of a candidate who is so well qualified and so fully deserving of this honor, and of every other, that may be conferred upon him, as ----. in giving him your votes, you can make no mistake. [here state previous offices held, or trusts filled, or other evidences of fitness for the post in view.] in addition, i am happy to state that he represents [here name locality, section, class, or opinion, being careful to adduce only those which will be pleasing to the persons whose votes are sought.] on his behalf, i can promise faithful service, and the prompt discharge of every duty. others may have as much zeal for the cause: some may have as long a training for the duties of this office; a few may possibly have as legitimate a claim upon any honors or rewards in your gift, but where else can you find such a combination of claims? the illustrative anecdote will naturally be of the candidate himself, of his popularity, availability, or other good quality, or of some person or element strongly supporting him. speech accepting a nomination . an honor of which any man must be deeply sensible as well as proud. the importance or high character of the body making the nomination. . the degree of surprise felt that the candidate should be preferred to so many worthy competitors. w by the honor is especially prized, and the reasons, if any; why the candidate would have preferred a different selection. . the motives which make him willing to bear the burdens entailed by this nomination. . the hope of being able to support his competitors for other offices, or other terms of this office. . with all his sense of unworthiness, the candidate dares not set up his judgment against that of the honorable body which has named him, for the office of ----, and he therefore bows to their decision and gratefully accepts the [unexpected?] honor conferred upon him. should the people--not for his sake, but for the sake of the cause represented--have the intelligence and good judgment [of which there is not a shadow of doubt?] to indorse the nomination, he will exert all the power he possesses, to faithfully fill the position their choice has bestowed upon him. speech in a political canvass no form of speech is so easy as a political address in a hot campaign. the people know enough of the general argument in advance, to appreciate a strong statement of it, or the addition of new items. they already have much of that interest in the theme that other classes of speakers must first seek to arouse. the tyro makes his feeble beginnings in the sparsely settled portions of the country, but the polished orator is welcomed by large audiences at the centres of population, and wins money, fame, and possibly a high office. americans have many opportunities of hearing good speeches of this character, and not only become competent judges, but learn to emulate such examples. . a bright story, a personal incident, a local "hit," or, best of all, a quick, shrewd caricature of some feature of the opposing party, will gain attention and half win the battle. a speaker was once called upon to make an address after a political opponent had taken his seat. this man at one time strongly indorsed a measure to which his own party was bitterly opposed. the measure was defeated notwithstanding his opposition, and he was obliged to sanction his party's action. the audience being familiar with this, the speaker referred to it by saying: "oh! _he_ approves, does he! imagine a kicked, cuffed, pounded, and dragged across a road, bracing himself at every step, but forced over at last and tied to a post; then imagine _that mule_ straightening himself up and saying, 'thank heaven, we crossed that road, didn't we?' it was difficult to move the mule, he was obstinate, but it made no difference. my opponent was obstinate too, but what did it avail!" . the criticism of our opponents' platform or principles. their fallacies, mistakes, and misrepresentations. . their history. how they have carried out all their bad and dangerous doctrines, but have slurred over and allowed to drop out of sight their promises of good. . the contrast. plain statement [and there is nothing more effective in a speech than a plain, dear, and condensed statement] of the opposing issues. . the man. [the personal element in a canvas nearly always overshadows political doctrine, except when a new party or new measure is rising into prominence.] our men brilliant, able, safe. our opponents the opposite. [public character only should be criticized. gossip, scandal, slander are abominable, and seldom well received by any audience. poison, the assassin's dagger, and the spreading of infamous stories do not belong to honorable warfare.] speech after a political victory. selected . we are masters of the field. completeness of victory [told in military language]. . sympathy for the defeated. we will treat their leaders with good samaritan generosity, but we invite the rank and file to enlist with us, unless they prefer to go home and pray for better luck next time. . only by joining us can they get a nibble at the spoils. probably they will, for many of them are men of seven principles--five loaves and two fishes. the "cohesive power of public plunder." . we must not be careless after victory, but reorganize, be vigilant, keep our powder dry. the "outs" are hungry, and an enemy will fight terribly for rations. "brag is a good dog, but holdfast is a better." . now let us all rejoice over the defeat of a party many of whose members we respect personally, but which, as a whole, we regard as an immense nuisance. speech after a political defeat. selected my political brethren: you seem to be in the dumps! don't like the figures; wish they were a cunningly devised fable. how did it happen? big vote and intolerable cheating cooked our goose. but we are india-rubber and steel springs, and no amount of hard usage can take the fight out of us. let our opponents laugh! we are not savage--would not hurt a hair of their heads personally, but politically will skin them alive next time. but we prefer to convert them, and hope they will hear our speakers as often as possible before the next election. a chairman's or president's speech at a public meeting some one interested in the object for which it has convened calls the assembly to order. after securing attention he proposes the name of some person as chairman or president. when the nomination is seconded he takes the vote and announces the election. it will then be in order for the person chosen to take a position facing the assembly and to make a brief speech. "ladies and gentlemen: i have no wish to disparage your judgment, although i think it might have been exercised to better advantage by electing some of the able persons i see before me. but i thank you for this honor, which i appreciate the more highly and accept the more readily because of say deep interest in the question of ----, which is now before us. first, however, please nominate a secretary." when, however, the president or chairman elected is himself a prime mover in the business for which the meeting is called, it will be perfectly proper for him to extend his speech, upon accepting the chair, by stating clearly but briefly the object of the meeting; or, if he prefers, he may ask some one in whose powers of plausible and persuasive statement he has confidence to do this in his place. formal argument is not advisable in the opening speech; but the best argument consists in giving a compact statement and ample information. in this way the cause may be half won by the chairman's speech or the speech of his proxy. a general outline foe all occasions _the introduction_. the speaker's modesty or inability, the lateness of the hour, the merit of preceding speeches, the literary treats that are to follow, the character of the dinner, personal allusion to the president or to the audience--_but not all of these in one address_. _the discussion_. here refer to the toast or theme--be sure to put in a humorous anecdote. make it as appropriate as possible, but don't fail to bring it in. get up a short controversy: set up a man of straw if you can find nobody else, and then make an onslaught upon him; but _be sure he has no friends in the audience_! _conclusion_. a graceful compliment to some one, a reference to an expected speaker, or a word indicating the part of your subject of which you will not treat, or give a _very_ quick summary of what you have already said. illustrative and humorous anecdotes with a number of the following anecdotes a few suggestions are given as to the manner in which they may be used. the habit of thinking how a good story may be brought into an address should be formed, after which these hints will be superfluous. at the outset they may help to form the habit. . independence of a monopoly [a good illustration of complete independence. it can be used as a humorous description of a monopoly or as a compliment to a man who has complete control of his own affairs.] an inquisitive passenger on a railroad recently had the following dialogue: "do you use the block system on this road?" inquired the passenger. "no, sir," replied the conductor, "we have no use for it." "do you use the electric or pneumatic signals?" "no, sir." "have you a double track?" "no." "well, of course, you have a train dispatcher, and run all trains by telegraph?" "no." "i see you have no brakeman. how do you flag the rear of your train if you are stopped from any cause between stations?"' "we don't flag." "indeed! what a way to run a railroad! a man takes his life in his hand when he rides on it. this is criminally reckless!" "see here, mister! if you don't like this railroad you can get off and walk. i am president of this road and its sole owner. i am also board of directors, treasurer, secretary, general manager, superintendent, paymaster, trackmaster, general passenger agent, general freight agent, master mechanic, ticket agent, conductor, brakeman, and boss. this is the great western railroad of kentucky, six miles long, with termini at harrodsburg and harrodsburg junction. this is the only train on the road of any kind, and ahead of us is the only engine. we never have collisions. the engineer does his own firing, and runs the repair shop and round-house all by himself. he and i run this railway. it keeps us pretty busy, but we've always got time to stop and eject a sassy passenger. so you want to behave yourself and go through with us, or you will have your baggage set off here by the haystack!" . explanation [to ridicule extravagant explanations that do not explain--or unreasonable pretensions to antiquity.] an old scotch lady, who had no relish for modern church music, was expressing her dislike to the singing of an anthem in her own church one day, when a neighbor said: "why, that is a very old anthem! david sang that anthem to saul." to this the old lady replied: "weel, weel! i noo for the first time understan' why saul threw his javelin at david when the lad sang for him." . riding a hobby [to illustrate hobby-riding--very appropriate where many toasts and speeches run in one line.] a boy in buffalo, n. y., who was asked to write out what he considered an ideal holiday dinner _ménu_, evolved the following: furst corse. mince pie. second corse. pumpkin pie and turkey. third corse. lemon pie, turkey, and cranberries fourth corse. custard pie, apple pie, chocolate cake and plum pudding. dessert. pie. . hobson's choice [suitable caricature for any one who tries to make merit of doing what he cannot help.] "if my employer does not retract what he said to me this morning i shall leave his store." "why, what did he say?" "he told me to look for another place." . when to be silent [a silent guest might tell this to show that he had found a way to be of greatest service at a banquet.] mrs. penfield--"my husband has found a way by which he says i am of the greatest help to him in his literary work." mrs. hillaire--"how nice that must be for you, my dear! but how are you able to do it?" mrs. penfield--"as soon as i see him at his desk i go into another room and keep perfectly quiet until he has finished." . paying for your whistle [would be a good answer to one who gave a compliment, and tried in that way to shove off a speech or other duty upon the one complimented.] mcswatters--"it's very funny." mrs. mcswatters--"what is?" mcswatters--"why, when the doctor treats me i always have to pay for it." . goose-chase [would come in well after several had declined to speak, the goose being the one who finally consents and tells the story.] a lady had been looking for a friend for a long time without success. finally, she came upon her in an unexpected way. "well," she exclaimed, "i've been on a perfect wild-goose chase all day long, but, thank goodness, i've found you at last." . the perplexed sage [to show that the chairman may safely confide in his own power to manage such poor material as the person who tells the story assumes himself to be.] "and now what is it?" asked the sage, as the young man timidly approached. "pray, tell me," asked the youth, "does a woman marry a man because of her confidence in the man, or because of her confidence in her ability to manage him?" for once the sage had to take the question under advisement. . quick thought [the following illustrates the advantages of a happy retort, the importance of a felicitous phrase, or of quick thought and ready speech. it might be said that the preceding speaker was as ready as:] when napoleon (then a student at brienne) was asked how he would supply himself with provisions in a closely-invested town, he answered, without a moment's hesitation, "from the enemy," which so pleased the examiners that they passed him without further questions. . [the russian general suvaroff is said to have promoted one of his sergeants for giving substantially the same answer.] the emperor paul, of russia, was so provoked by the awkwardness of an officer on review that he ordered him to resign at once and retire to his estate. "but he has no estate," the commander ventured. "then give him one!" thundered the despot, whose word was law, and the man gained more by his blunders than he could have done by years of the most skillful service. . [the anger of an actor took the same turn as that of the czar.] colley cibber once missed his "cue," and the confusion that followed spoiled the best passage of betterton, who was manager as well as actor. he rushed behind the scenes in a towering passion, and exclaimed, "forfeit, master colley; you shall be fined for such stupidity!" "it can't be done," said a fellow-actor, "for he gets no salary." "put him down for ten shillings a week and fine him five!" cried the furious manager. . insignificant things [the need of accuracy, or how insignificant things sometimes change the meaning, is shown by the following.] a merchant of london wrote his east india factor to send him or apes; but he forgot to write the "r" in "or," and the factor wrote that he had sent , and would send the remainder of the as soon as they could be gathered in. . a very well-known writer had a similar experience. he was selling copies of his first literary venture, and telegraphed to the publisher to send him "three hundred books at once." he answered. "shall i send them on an emigrant train, or must they go first-class? had to scour the city over to get them. you must be going into the hotel business on a great scale to need so many cooks." i was bewildered; but all was explained when a copy of the dispatch showed that the telegraph clerk had mistaken the small "b" for a capital "c." . making an excuse; or, johnny peep [a guest pleading to be excused from a speech or a song might say that he wanted to be accounted as "johnny peep" in the following story which allan cunningham tells of robert burns.] strolling one day in cumberland the poet lost his friends, and thinking to find them at a certain tavern he popped his head in at the door. seeing no one there but three strangers, he apologized, and was about to retire, when one of the strangers called out, "come in, johnny peep." this invitation the convivial poet readily accepted, and spent a very pleasant time with his newly-found companions. as the conversation began to flag, it was proposed that each should write a verse, and place it, together with two-and-six pence, under the candlestick, the best poet to take the half-crowns, while the unsuccessful rhymers were to settle the bill among them. according to cunningham, burns obtained the stakes by writing: "here am i, johnny peep; i saw three sheep, and these three sheep saw me. half-a-crown apiece will pay for their fleece, and so johnny peep goes free." . stern logic [probably this boy would have seen the necessity of avoiding such rich banquets as this.] "say, ma, do they play base-ball in heaven?" "why, no, my dear; of course not. why do you ask?" "huh! well, you don't catch me being good and dying young then; that's all." . mistaken brevity ["brevity is the soul of wit;" and calculation and economy are very commendable; but they may be carried to extremes. this may be used when the last speaker has closed a little abruptly.] this is the message the telegraph messenger handed a young man from his betrothed "come down as soon as you can; i am dying. kate." eight hours later he arrived at the summer hotel, to be met on the piazza by kate herself. "why, what did you mean by sending me such a message?" he asked. "oh!" she gurgled, "i wanted to say that i was dying to see you, but my ten words ran out, and i had to stop." . charity begins at home breslau, a celebrated juggler, being at canterbury with his troupe, met with such bad success that they were almost starved. he repaired to the church wardens, and promised to give a night's takings to the poor if the parish would pay for hiring a room, etc. the charitable bait took, the benefit proved a bumper, and the next morning the church wardens waited upon the wizard to touch the receipts. "i have already disposed of dem," said breslau; "de profits were for de poor. i have kept my promise, and given de money to my own people, who are de poorest in dis parish!" "sir!" exclaimed the church wardens, "this is a trick." "i know it," replied the conjurer; "i live by my tricks." . charity; or, a good word for every one--even the devil. [it is well to feel charitably and kindly at all times, but especially at a dinner party.] a friend said to a scotchman who was celebrated for possessing these amiable qualities, "i believe you would actually find something to admire in satan himself." the canny scot replied, "ah! weel, weel, we must a' admit, that auld nick has great energy and perseverance." [if the chairman has been very persistent in calling out reluctant speakers, the foregoing would be a good story to turn the laugh upon him.] . ingenious reason [the scotchman referred to in the last anecdote was as ingenious in finding a reason as the boy mentioned in the following:] "can you suggest any reason why i should print your poem?" said the overbearing editor. the dismal youth looked thoughtful, and then replied: "you know i always inclose a stamp for the return of rejected manuscript?" "yes." "well, if you print it you can keep the stamp." . ambiguity of words [the equivocal use of words in our language.] recently a west-bound train on the fitchburg (mass.) railroad had just left the town of athol when the conductor noticed among the new passengers a young man of intelligent appearance. he asked for the young man's fare, and the latter handed him a ticket to miller's falls and with it a cent. for a moment the conductor suspected a joke, but a look at the passenger's face convinced him to the contrary. "what is this cent for?" the conductor asked. "why, i see," answered the young fellow, "that the ticket isn't good unless it is stamped, and as i don't happen to have a stamp with me i give you the cent instead. you can put it on, can't you?" the good-natured conductor handed back the coin with a smile, remarking that it was a small matter, and he would see that it was all right. . useless regret [persons who pretend to regret something without making a real effort to better it are hit off by this anecdote.] a father called his son rather late in the morning, and finding him still abed, indignantly demanded: "are you not _ashamed_ to be caught asleep this time of day?" "yes, rather," returned the ingenious youth, "but i'd ruther _be ashamed_ than git up." . no happiness in wealth [the great advantage of being fully adapted to one's situation and contented with it.] there are people who cannot hold their heads under the influence of sudden riches. they immediately begin to degenerate. they have become so used to humble circumstances that wealth is a curse. here is a case: a tramp, for some mysterious reason, had accepted an offer to work about the place, for which he was to receive his meals, sundry old clothes, and cents a day in cash. for the first two or three days he did very well, and he was paid cents on account. he did not spend the money, but he began to grow listless and sad, and at the end of the week he interviewed his employer. "you've been very kind to me, sir," he said, "and i want to thank you for what you have done." "that's all right," was the reply. "i'm glad to be able to help you." "i know that, sir, and i appreciate it, but i shall have to give it all up, sir." "what's that for? don't i pay you enough?" "oh! yes, sir; that isn't it. i have cents left, sir, but i find that money doesn't bring happiness, sir, and i guess i'll resign and go back to the old ways, sir. wealth is a curse to some people, sir, and i fancy i belong to that class. good-bye, sir." and he shambled off down the path and struck the highway. . short but pointed [splendid for a speaker called up rather late in the evening--even if he should make a short speech afterward.] being nobody in particular, a mr. bailey was placed last on the list of the speakers. the chairman introduced several speakers whose names were not on the list, and the audience were tired out when he said, "mr. bailey will now give you his address." "my address," said mr. bailey, rising, "is no. loughboro park, brixton road, and i wish you all good night." . reasoning in a circle [this is very common, as in the case of the heroine of this story.] the director of a chicago bank tells how his wife overdrew her account at the bank one day last month. "i spoke to her about it one evening," said he, "and told her she ought to adjust it at once. a day or two afterward i asked her if she had done what i suggested. 'oh! yes,' she answered. 'i attended to that matter the very next morning after you spoke about it. i sent the bank my check for the amount i had overdrawn.'" . extreme economy [economy is a great virtue, but it should not be extreme.] an old lady of massachusetts was famed in her native township for health and thrift. to an acquaintance who was once congratulating her upon the former she said: "we be pretty well for old folks, josiah and me. josiah hasn't had an ailin' time for fifty years, 'cept last winter. and i ain't never suffered but one day in my life, and that was when i took some of the medicine josiah had left over, so's how it shouldn't be wasted." . sensible to the last [how we commend those who take our standards and help us.] a story is told of a late dublin doctor, famous for his skill and also his great love of money. he had a constant and profitable patient in an old shopkeeper in dame street. this old lady was terribly rheumatic and unable to leave her sofa. during the doctor's visit she kept a £ note in her hand, which duly went into dr. c.'s pocket. one morning he found her lying dead on the sofa. sighing deeply, the doctor approached, and taking her hand in his, he saw the fingers closed on his fee. "poor thing," he said as he pocketed it, "sensible to the last." . fishing for a compliment [fishing for compliments is sometimes dangerous.] a well-known congressman, who was a farmer before he went into politics, was doing his district not long ago, and in his rambles he saw a man in a stumpy patch of ground trying to get a plow through it. he went over to him, and after a brief salutation he asked the privilege of making a turn or two with the plow. the native shook his head doubtfully as he looked at his visitor's store clothes and general air of gentleman of elegant leisure, but he let him take the plow. the congressman sailed away with it in fine style, and plowed four or five furrows before the owner of the field could recover his surprise. then he pulled up and handed the handles over to the original holder. "by gravy, mister," said the farmer, admiringly, "air you in the aggercultural business?" "no," laughed the statesman. "y'ain't selling plows?" "no." "then what in thunder air you?" "i'm the member of congress from this district." "air you the man i voted for and that i've been reading about in the papers doin' legislatin' and sich in washington?" "yes." "well, by hokey, mister," said the farmer, as he looked with admiration over the recently-plowed furrows, "ef i'd a had any idea that i was votin' fer a waste of sich good farmin' material i'd voted fer the other candidate as shore as shootin'." . beyond expression [when called on for a speech one may answer the chairman in the words of this lady:] she was in her room when some people came to call. her husband received the company, and after awhile said to his daughter, who was playing about the room: "go up-stairs and tell your mamma that mr. and mrs. blank have come to call." the child went, and after a while returned and began to play again. "did you tell your mamma that mr. and mrs. blank are here?" asked the father. "oh! yes." "and what did she say?" the little girl looked up, and after a moment's hesitation, exclaimed: "she said--well, she said, 'o dear!'" . the toast of the evening [the comment upon this incident by the editor is not less amusing than the speech.] it is not always a pleasant thing to be called upon suddenly to address a public meeting of any sort, as is amusingly illustrated by the following speech at the opening of a free hospital by one who was certainly not born an orator: "gentlemen--ahem--i--i--i rise to say--that is, i wish to propose a toast, which i think you'll all say--ahem--i think, at least, that this toast is, as you'll say, the toast of the occasion. gentlemen, i belong to a good many of these things, and i say, gentlemen, that this hospital requires no patronage--at least, what i mean is, you don't want any recommendation. you've only got to be ill--got to be ill." "now, gentlemen, i find by the report" (turning over the leaves in a fidgety way) "that from the year seventeen--no eighteen--no, ah, yes, i'm right--eighteen hundred and fifty--no, it's a ' '--thirty-six--eighteen hundred and thirty-six, no less than one hundred and ninety-three millions--no! ah!" (to a committeeman at his side) "eh? oh, yes, thank you--yes--one hundred and ninety-three thousand--two millions--no" (after a close scrutiny at the report) "two hundred and thirty-one--one hundred and ninety-three thousand, two hundred and thirty-one! gentlemen, i beg to propose--success to this admirable institution!" to what the large and variously stated figures referred no one in the audience ever felt positive, but all agreed, as he had said they would, that this was the toast of the evening. . bee line [he knew how to escape from more than one kind of fire.] a soldier on guard in south carolina during the war was questioned as to his knowledge of his duties. "you know your duty here, do you, sentinel?" "yes, sir." "well, now, suppose they should open on you with shells and musketry, what would you do?" "form a line, sir." "what! one man form a line?" "yes, sir; form a bee-line for camp, sir." . ventriloquism ["take the good the gods provide."] at raglan castle, said mr. ganthony, the ventriloquist, i gave an entertainment in the open air, and throwing my voice up into the ivy-covered ruins, said: "what are you doing there?" to my amazement a boy answered: "i climbed up 'ere this mornin' just to see the folk and 'ear the music; i won't do no harm." i replied: "very well, stay there, and don't let any one see you, do you hear?" the reply came: "yes, muster, i 'ear." this got me thunders of applause. i made up my mind to risk it, so i bowed, and the boy never showed himself. . a slight mistake [orders should be strictly obeyed.] a celebrated german physician, according to a london paper, was once called upon to treat an aristocratic lady, the sole cause of whose complaint was high living and lack of exercise. but it would never have done to tell her so. so his medical advice was: "arise at five o clock, take a walk in the park for one hour, then drink a cup of tea, then walk another hour, and take a cup of chocolate. take breakfast at eight." her condition improved visibly, until one fine morning the carriage of the baroness was seen to approach the physician's residence at lightning speed. the patient dashed up to the doctor's house, and on his appearing on the scene she gasped out: "o doctor! i took the chocolate first!" "then drive home as fast as you can," directed the astute disciple of Ã�sculapius, rapidly writing a prescription, "and take this emetic. the tea must be underneath." the grateful patient complied. she is still improving. . presence of mind [a fine story to illustrate the value (money value) of presence of mind.] a witty person whom bismarck was commissioned by the emperor to decorate with the iron cross of the first class, discomfited the chancellor's attempt to chaff him. "i am authorized," said bismarck, "to offer you one hundred thalers instead of the cross." "how much is the cross worth?" asked the soldier. "three thalers." "very well, then, your highness, i'll take the cross and ninety-seven thalers." bismarck was so surprised and pleased by the ready shrewdness of the reply that he gave the man both the cross and the money. . joke on a dude [a good story for one who has some power of personation, for the dudes get little sympathy.] a crowded car ran down the other evening. within was a full-blown, eye-glassed, drab-gaitered dude, apparently satisfied that he was jammed in among an admiring community. on the rear platform a cheery young mechanic was twitting the conductor and occasionally making a remark to a fresh passenger. everybody took it in good part as a case of inoffensive high spirits, all but the dude, who evinced a strong disgust. when the young man called out to an old gentleman, "sit out here, guvinor, on the back piazza," or to another, "don't crowd there; stay where the breezes blow," the dude looked daggers, and at last, grabbing the conductor's elbow and indicating the young man by a nod of the head, evidently entered a protest. every one saw it. so did the young man, and he gathered his wits together like a streak to finish that dude. he did it all with an imperturbable good humor and seriousness which would carry conviction to the most doubting. "well, i never!" he began, poking his head inside the doorway with an air of comic surprise. "jes' to see you a-sitting there, dressed up like that. catch on to them gaiters, will you? ain't you got the nerve to go up and down broadway fixed up like that, and your poor father and mother workin' hard at home? ain't you 'shamed o' yourself, and your father a honest, hard-workin' driver, and your mother a decent, respectable washwoman? y' ain't no good, or you wouldn't have gev up your place, and i think i'll go look after it myself and put a decent man in it." he stepped off the car as if bent on doing this at once, and the dude, unable to resist the ridicule of the situation or defend the attack, hastily stepped off after him. . newspaper reporter [equally good for a missionary meeting or a gathering of newspaper men.] a young journalist was requested to write something about the zenana mission. he assured the readers of the paper that among the many scenes of missionary labor, none had of late attracted more attention than the zenana mission, and assuredly none was more deserving of this attention. comparatively few years had passed since zenana had been opened up to british trade, but already, owing to the devotion of a handful of men and women, the nature of the inhabitants had been almost entirely changed. the zenanese, from being a savage people, had become, in a wonderfully short space of time, practically civilized; and recent travelers to zenana had returned with the most glowing accounts of the continued progress of the good work in that country. he then branched off into the "laborer-worthy-of-his-hire" side of this great work, and the question was aptly asked if the devoted laborers in that remote vineyard were not deserving of support. were civilization and christianity to be snatched from the zenanese just when both were within their grasp? so on for nearly half a column the writer meandered in the most orthodox style, just as he had done scores of times before when advocating certain missions. some one who found him the next day running his finger down the letter z, in the index to the "handy atlas," with a puzzled look upon his face, knew he had had a letter from the editor. . how a woman proposed [a variation of the old and always pleasing theme.] they were dining off fowl in a restaurant. "you see," he explained, as he showed her the wishbone, "you take hold here. then we must both make a wish and pull, and when it breaks the one who has the bigger part of it will have his or her wish granted." "but i don't know what to wish for," she protested. "oh! you can think of something," he said. "no, i can't," she replied; "i can't think of anything i want very much." "well, i'll wish for you," he exclaimed. "will you, really?" she asked. "yes." "well, then, there's no use fooling with the old wishbone," she interrupted, with a glad smile, "you can have me." . lucky answer [certainly thompson would be a lawyer, ready for any emergency.] in times past there was in a certain law school an aged and eccentric professor. "general information" was the old gentleman's hobby. he held it as incontrovertible that if a young lawyer possessed a large fund of miscellaneous knowledge, combined with an equal amount of common sense, he would be successful in life. so every year the professor put on his examination papers a question very far removed from the subject of criminal law. one year it was, "how many kinds of trees are there in the college yard?" the next, "what is the make-up of the present english cabinet?" finally the professor thought he had invented the best question of his life. it was, "name twelve animals that inhabit the polar regions." the professor chuckled as he wrote this down. he was sure he would "pluck" half the students on that question and it was beyond a doubt that that opprobrious young loafer thompson would fail. but when the professor read the examination papers, thompson, who had not answered another question, was the only man who had solved the polar problem. this was thompson's answer: "six seals and six polar bears." thompson got his degree with distinction. . double education a young doctor, wishing to make a good impression upon a german farmer, mentioned the fact that he had received a double education, as it were. he had studied homoeopathy, and was also a graduate of a "regular" medical school. "oh! dot vas noding," said the farmer, "i had vonce a calf vot sucked two cows, and he made nothing but a common schteer after all." . remnants [this and the preceding have a little spice of ill-nature, and while enjoyable must be applied carefully.] wife--"such a dream as i had last night, dear!" husband--"may i hear about it?" "well, yes; i dreamed i was in a great establishment where they sold husbands. they were beauties; some in glass cases and marked at fearful prices, and others were sold at less figures. girls were paying out fortunes, and getting the handsomest men i ever saw. it was wonderful." "did you see any like me there, dear?" "yes; just as i was leaving i saw a whole lot like you lying on the remnant counter." . indirect and direct [the following instances show that it is necessary to heed indirect as well as direct meanings.] mr. callon, m. p. for louth, ireland, a stanch opponent of the sunday closing and permissive bill and personally a great benefactor to the revenue, replying to the irish attorney-general, said: "the facts relied on by the learned gentleman are very strange. now, mr. speaker, _i swallow a good deal_. ['hear, hear,' 'quite true,' 'begorra, you can,' and roars of laughter.] i repeat, _i can swallow a great deal_ ['hear, hear,' and fresh volleys of laughter], but i can't swallow that." a few nights before, in a debate which had to do with the jews, baron de worms had just remarked, "_we owe much to the jews_," when there came a feeling groan from a well-known member in his back corner, "_we do_." . an unmarried man's wife at a dinner at delmonico's, after the bottle had made its tenth round, one of the company proposed this toast: "to the man whose wife was never vixenish to him!" a wag of an old bachelor jumped up and said: "gentlemen, as i am the only _unmarried_ man at this table, i suppose that that toast was intended for me." . a dilemma "i am no good unless i strike," said the match. "and you lose your head every time you do strike," said the box. . courageous girl [the following is a good instance of an elaborate story and a sharp retort.] it is not always safe to presume upon the timidity or ignorance of folks. the most demure may be the most courageous. a gentleman who attempted to play a practical joke in order to test the courage of a servant, was nonplused in a very unexpected way. here is his story: i am very particular about fastening the doors and windows of my house. i do not intend to leave them open at night as an invitation to burglars to enter. you see, i was robbed once in that way last year, and i never mean to be again; so when i go to bed i like to be sure that every door and window is securely fastened. last winter my wife engaged a big, strong country girl, and the new-comer was very careless about the doors at night. on two or three occasions i came down-stairs to find a window up or the back door unlocked. i cautioned her, but it did her no good. i therefore determined to frighten her. i got some false whiskers, and one night about eleven o'clock i crept down the back-stairs to the kitchen, where she was. she had turned down the gas, and was in her chair by the fire fast asleep, as i could tell by her breathing, but the moment i struck a match she awoke. i expected a great yelling and screaming, but nothing of the sort took place. she bounced out of her seat with a "you villain!" on her lips, seized a chair by the back, and before i had made a move she hit me over the head, forcing me to my knees. i tried to get up, tried to explain who i was, but in vain. before i could get out of the room she struck me again, and it was only after i had tumbled up the back-stairs that she gave the alarm. then she came up to my room, rapped at the door, and coolly announced: "mr. ----, please get up. i've killed a burglar." . moral suasion "what are your usual modes of punishment?" was among the questions submitted to a teacher in rural district in ohio. her answer was, "i try moral suasion first, and if that does not work i use capital punishment." as it was a neighborhood where moral suasion had not been a success, and the children were scarce the committee took no risks. . cute boy the teacher in geography was putting the class through a few simple tests: "on which side of the earth is the north pole?" he inquired. "on the north side," came the unanimous answer. "on which side is the south pole?" "on the south side?" "now, on which side are the most people?" this was a poser, and nobody answered. finally, a very young scholar held up his hand. "i know," he said, hesitatingly, as if the excess of his knowledge was too much for him. "good for you," said the teacher, encouragingly; "tell the class on which side the most people are." "on the outside," piped the youngster, and whatever answer the teacher had in her mind was lost in the shuffle. . perplexed bob--"hello! i'm awfully glad to see you!" dick--"i guess there must be some mistake. i don't owe you anything, and i am not in a condition to place you in a position to owe me anything!" . ben franklin's oysters benjamin franklin was not unlike other boys in his love for sophomoric phrases. it is related that one day he told his father that he had swallowed some acephalus molluscus, which so alarmed him that he shrieked for help. the mother came in with warm water, and forced half a gallon down benjamin's throat with the garden pump, then held him upside down, the father saying, "if we don't get those things out of bennie he'll be poisoned sure." when benjamin was allowed to get his breath he explained that the articles referred to were oysters. his father was so indignant that he whipped him for an hour for frightening the family. franklin never afterward used a word with two syllables when a monosyllable would do. . family affairs "newlywed seems to find particular delight in parading his little family affairs before the eyes of his acquaintances," "does he? what are they? scandals?" "nop, twins." . a burglar's experience a new york paper prints this extract from the reminiscences of a retired burglar: "i think about the most curious man i ever met," said the retired burglar, "i met in a house in eastern connecticut, and i shouldn't know him, either, if i should meet him again unless i should hear him speak. it was so dark where i met him that i never saw him at all. i had looked around the house down-stairs, and actually hadn't seen a thing worth carrying off. it was the poorest house i ever was in, and it wasn't a bad-looking house on the outside, either. i got up-stairs and groped around a little, and finally turned into a room that was darker than egypt. i had not gone more than three steps in this room when i heard a man say: "'hello, there.' "'hello,' says i. "'who are you?' says the man; 'burglar?' "and i said yes; i did do something in that line occasionally. "'miserable business to be in, ain't it?' said the man. his voice came from a bed over in the corner of the room, and i knew he hadn't even sat up. "and i said, 'well, i dunno. i got to support my family some way.' "'well, you've just wasted a night here,' says the man. 'did you see anything down-stairs worth stealing?' "and i said no, i hadn't. "'well, there's less up-stairs,' says the man; and then i heard him turn over and settle down to go to sleep again. i'd like to have gone over there and kicked him, but i didn't. it was getting late, and i thought, all things considered, that i might just as well let him have his sleep out." . hitting a lawyer "have you had a job to-day, tim?" inquired a well-known legal gentleman of the equally well-known, jolly, florid-faced old drayman, who, rain or shine, summer or winter, is rarely absent from his post. "bedad, i did, sor." "how many?" "only two, sor." "how much did you get for both?" "sivinty cints, sor." "seventy cents! how in the world do you expect to live and keep a horse on seventy cents a day?" "some days i have half a dozen jobs, sor. but bizness has been dull to-day, sor. on'y the hauling of a thrunk for a gintilman for forty cints an' a load av furniture for thirty cints; an' there was the pots an' the kittles, an' there's no telling phat; a big load, sor." "do you carry big loads of household goods for thirty cents?" "she was a poor widdy, sor, an' had no more to give me. i took all she had, sor; an' bedad, sor, a lyyer could have done no better nor that, sor." . cutting short a prayer many a spiritual history is condensed into a miniature in the following: two fishermen--jamie and sandy--belated and befogged on a rough water, were in some trepidation lest they should never get ashore again. at last jamie said: "sandy, i'm steering, and i think you'd better put up a bit of a prayer." sandy said: "i don't know how." jamie said: "if you don't i'll just chuck ye overboard." sandy began: "o lord, i never asked onything of ye for fifteen year, and if ye'll only get us safe back i'll never trouble ye again." "whist, sandy," said jamie, "_the boat's touched shore; don't be beholden to onybody_." . unremitting kindness jerrold was asked if he considered a man kind who remitted no funds to his family when away. "oh! yes. _unremitting kindness_," said he. . amusing blunder one of the passengers on board the ill-fated "metis" at the time of the disaster was an exceedingly nervous man, who, while floating in the water, imagined how his friends would acquaint his wife of his fate. saved at last, he rushed to the telegraph office and sent this message: "dear p----, i am saved. _break it gently to my wife._" . compliment to a lady [how nicely this might fit into a ladies' party.] sidney smith, the cultivated writer and divine, who, when describing his country residence, declared that he lived twelve miles from a lemon, was told by a beautiful girl that a certain pea in his garden would never come to perfection. "permit me then," said he, taking her by the hand, "_to lead perfection to the pea_." . too slim [the great evil of mixing religion and politics are well set forth in the following incident:] "gabe," said the governor to an old colored man, "i understand that you have been ousted from your position of sunday-school superintendent." "yes, sah, da figured aroun' till da got me out. ii was all a piece of political work, though; and i doan see why de law of de lan' doan prevent de sunday-schools an' churches from takin' up political matters!" "how did politics get you out?" "yer see, some time ago, when i was a candidate for justice ob de peace, i gin' a barbecue ter some ob my frien's. de udder day da brung up de fack an' ousted me." "i don't see why the fact that you gave a barbecue to your friends should have caused any trouble." "neider does myse'f, boss; but yer see da said dat i stole de hogs what i barbecued. de proof wa'nt good, an' i think dat da done wrong in ackin' upon sech slim testimony. da said dat i cotch de hogs in a corn fid'. i know dat wan't true, 'case it was a wheat fid' whar i cotch 'em." . a fast-day toast on one of the fast-days--a cold, bleak one, too--father foley, a popular and genial priest, on his way from a distant visitation, dropped in to see widow o'brien, who was as jolly as himself, and equally as fond of the creature comforts, and, what is better, well able to provide them. as it was about dinner-time, his reverence thought he would stay and have a "morsel" with the old dame; but what was his horror to see served up in good style a pair of splendid roast ducks! "oh! musha, mistress o'brien, what have ye there?" he exclaimed, in well-feigned surprise. "ducks, yer riverence." "ducks! roast ducks! and this a fast-day of the holy church!" "wisha! i never thought of that; but why can't we eat a bit of duck, yer riverence?" "why? because the council of trint won't lave us--that's why." "well, well, now, but i'm sorry fur that, fur i can only give ye a bite of bread and cheese and a glass of something hot. would that be any harrum, sir?" "harrum! by no manes, woman. sure we must live any way, and bread and cheese is not forbid!" "nayther whiskey punch?" "nayther that." "well, thin, yer riverence, would it be any harrum fur me to give a toast?" "by no manes, mrs. o'brien. toast away as much as ye like, bedad!" "well, thin, _here's to the council of trint, fur if it keeps us from atin', it doesn't keep us from drinkin'_!" . the sun standing still james russell lowell, when concluding an after-dinner speech in england, made a happy hit by introducing the story of a methodist preacher at a camp-meeting, of whom he had heard when he was young. he was preaching on joshua ordering the sun to stand still: "my hearers," he said, "there are three motions of the sun; the first is the straightforward or direct motion of the sun, the second is the retrograde or backward motion of the sun, and the third is the motion mentioned in our text--'the sun stood still.' now, gentlemen, i do not know whether you see the application of that story to after-dinner oratory. i hope you do. the after-dinner orator at first begins and goes straight forward--that is the straightforward motion of the sun; next he goes back and begins to repeat himself a little, and that is the retrograde or backward motion of the sun; and at last he has the good sense to bring himself to an end, and that is the motion mentioned in our text of the sun standing still." . neutralizing poison col. john h. george, a new hampshire barrister, tells a good story on himself. meeting an old farmer recently whom he had known in his youth, the old fellow congratulated the colonel on his youthful appearance. "how is it you've managed to keep so fresh and good-looking all these years?" quoth he. "well," said george, "i'll tell you. i've always drank new rum and voted the democratic ticket." "oh! yes," said the old man, "_i see how it is; one pizen neutralizes the other!_" . general butler and the spoons while general butler was delivering a speech in boston during an exciting political campaign, one of his hearers cried out: "how about the spoons, ben?" benjamin's good eye twinkled merrily as he looked bashfully at the audience, and said: "now, don't mention that, please. _i was a republican when i stole those spoons._" . making most of one's capital [one should always make the most of his capital, as this orator did.] "fellow-citizens, my competitor has told you of the services he rendered in the late war. i will follow his example, and i shall tell you of mine. he basely insinuates that i was deaf to the voice of honor in that crisis. the truth is, i acted a humble part in that memorable contest. when the tocsin of war summoned the chivalry of the country to rally to the defense of the nation, i, fellow-citizens, animated by that patriotic spirit that glows in every american's bosom, hired a substitute for that war, and the bones of that man, fellow-citizens, now lie bleaching in the valley of the shenandoah!" . meeting half-way [but the following man could get even more out of an unpromising situation.] "now, i want to know," said a man whose veracity had been questioned by an angry acquaintance, "just why you call me a liar. be frank, sir; for frankness is a golden-trimmed virtue. just as a friend, now, tell me why you called me a liar." "called you a liar because you are a liar," the acquaintance replied. "that's what i call frankness. why, sir, if this rule were adopted over half of the difficulties would be settled without trouble, and in our case there would have been trouble but for our willingness to meet each other half-way." . unfortunate mistake judge ----, who is now a very able judge of the supreme court of one of the great states of this union, when he first "came to the bar," was a very blundering speaker. on one occasion, when he was trying a case of replevin, involving the right of property to a lot of hogs, he addressed the jury as follows: "gentlemen of the jury, there were just twenty-four hogs in that drove--just twenty-four, gentlemen--_exactly twice as many as there are in that jury-box_!" the effect can be imagined. . taken at his word a pretentious person said to the leading man of a country village, "how would a lecture by me on mount vesuvius suit the inhabitants of your village?" "very well, sir; very well, indeed," he answered; "a lecture by you on mount vesuvius would suit them a great deal better than a lecture by you in this village." . bragging veterans in warning veterans against exaggerating, a gentleman at a washington banquet related the following anecdote of a revolutionary veteran, who, having outlived nearly all his comrades, and being in no danger of contradiction, rehearsed his experience thuswise: "in that fearful day at monmouth, although entitled to a horse, i fought on foot. with each blow i severed an englishman's head from his body, until a huge pile of heads lay around me, great pools of blood on either side, and my shoes were so full of the same dreadful fluid that my feet slipped beneath me. just then i felt a touch upon my shoulder, and, looking up, who should i behold but the great and good washington himself! never shall i forget the majesty and dignity of his presence, as, pressing his hand upon me, he said, 'my young friend, restrain yourself, and for heaven's sake do not make a slaughter-house of yourself.'" . exchanging minds heinrich heine, the german poet, apologizing for feeling dull after a visit from a professor said: "i am afraid you find me very stupid. the fact is, dr. ---- called upon me this morning, and _we exchanged our minds_." . buying a lawyer [the willingness to pay full value for an article is a trait of character always appreciated.] lawyer b---- called at the office of counselor f----, who has had considerable practice in bankruptcy, and said: "see here, f----, i want to know what the practice is in such and such a case in bankruptcy." f----, straightening himself up and looking as wise as possible, replied: "well, mr. b----, i generally get paid for telling what i know." b---- put his hand into his pocket, drew forth half a dollar, handed it to f----, and said: "here, tell me _all_ you know, and _give me the change_." . would not save it in the old town of w----, in the pine-tree state, lived one of those unfortunate lords of creation who had, in not a very long life, put on mourning for three departed wives. but time assuages heart-wounds, as well as those of the flesh. in due time a fourth was inaugurated mistress of his heart and house. he was a very prudent man, and suffered nothing to be wasted. when the new mistress was putting things in order, while cleaning up the attic she came across a long piece of board, and was about launching it out of the window, when little sadie interposed, and said: "oh! don't, mamma! _that is the board papa lays out his wives on, and he wants to save it!_" nevertheless, _out it went_. . widow outwitted in a western village a charming, well-preserved widow had been courted and won by a physician. she had children. the wedding-day was approaching, and it was time the children should know they were to have a new father. calling one of them to her, she said: "georgie, i am going to do something before long that i would like to talk about with you." "well, ma, what is it!" "i am intending to marry dr. jones in a few days, and--" "bully for you, ma! _does dr. jones know it?_" ma caught her breath, but failed to articulate a response. . too kind [where can we find a more touching manifestation of mutual benevolence than the following.] in new jersey reside two gentlemen, near neighbors and bosom friends, one a clergyman, dr. b----, the other a "gentleman of means" named wilson. both were passionately fond of music, and the latter devoted many of his leisure hours to the study of the violin. one fine afternoon our clerical friend was in his study, deeply engaged in writing, when there came along one of those good-for-nothing little italian players, who planted himself under his study window, and, much to his annoyance, commenced scraping away on a squeaky fiddle. after trying in vain for about fifteen minutes to collect his scattered thoughts, the doctor descended to the piazza in front of the house, and said to the boy: "look here, sonny, you go over and play awhile for mr. wilson. here is ten cents. he lives in that big white house over yonder. he plays the violin, and likes music better than i do." "well," said the boy, taking the "stamp," "_i would, but he just gave me ten cents to come over and play for you!_" . not fooled twice san francisco boasts of a saloon called the bank exchange, where the finest wines and liquors are dispensed at twenty-five cents a glass, with lunches thrown in free. a plain-looking person went in one morning and called for a brandy cocktail, and wanted it _strong_. mr. parker, as is usual with him, was very considerate, and mixed the drink in his best style, setting it down for his customer. after the cocktail had disappeared the man leaned over the bar and said that he had no change about him then, but would have soon, when he would pay for the drink. parker politely remarked that he should have mentioned the fact before he got the drink; when his customer remarked: "i tried that on yesterday morning with one of your men, but he would not let me have the whiskey, so you could not play that dodge on me again!" this was too good for parker, and he told the customer he was welcome to his drink, and was entitled to his hat in the bargain, if he wanted it. . biting sarcasm standing on the steps at the entrance to one of the grand hotels at saratoga, a young gentleman, in whom the "dude" species was strongly developed, had been listening with eager attention to the bright things which fell from the lips of the well-known wit and orator, emory a. storrs. at last our exquisite exclaimed: "er--mr. storrs,--i--er--wish, oh! how i--er--_wish_! that i had your--er--cheek." mr. storrs instantly annihilated him with: "it is a most fortunate dispensation of providence that you have not. for, _with my cheek and your brains_, you would be kicked down these steps in no time!" . incorrigible neighbor a lady in california had a troublesome neighbor, whose cattle overrun her ranch, causing much damage. the lady bore the annoyance patiently, hoping that some compunction would be felt for the damage inflicted. at last she caught a calf which was making havoc in her garden, and sent it home with a child, saying, "tell mrs. a. that the calf has eaten nearly everything in the garden, and i have scarcely a cabbage left." the feelings of the injured lady may be imagined when she received this reply: "the cabbage nearly all eaten! well, i must get over and borrow some before it is all gone!" . disgusted officer some years since a party of indians drove off all the live-stock at fort lancaster. a few days afterward captain ---- was passing through the post, and stopped a couple of days for rest. while there an enthusiastic officer took him out to show him the trail of the bad indians, how they came, which way they went, etc. after following the trail for some distance the captain turned to his guide and exclaimed: "look here; if you want to find any indians, you can find them; _i haven't lost any_, and am going back to camp." . irate prisoner a man arrested for stealing chickens was brought to trial. the case was given to the jury, who brought him in guilty, and the judge sentenced him to three months' imprisonment. the jailer was a jovial man, fond of a _smile_, and feeling particularly good on that particular day, considered himself insulted when the prisoner looking around his cell told him it was dirty, and not fit for a hog to be put in. one word brought on another, till finally the jailer told the prisoner if he did not behave himself he would put him out. to which the prisoner replied: "i will give you to understand, sir, i have as good a right here as you have!" . truthful prisoner the eccentric old king of prussia, father of frederick the great, while visiting the potsdam prison, was much interested in the professions of innocence the prisoners made. some blamed their conviction on the prejudice of judges; others, upon the perjury of witnesses or the tricks of bad companions. at length he accosted a sturdy, closely-fettered prisoner with the remark, "i suppose you are innocent, too." "no, your majesty," was the unexpected response. "i am guilty, and richly deserve all i get." "here, you turnkey," thundered the monarch, "come and turn out this rascal, quick, before he corrupts this fine lot of innocent and abused people that you have about you." . ruling passion there are persons now living in bennington who remember old billy b----, of whom it might be said he furnished an example of the "ruling passion strong in death." when very ill, and friends were expecting an early demise, his nephew and a man hired for the occasion had butchered a steer which had been fattened; and when the job was completed the nephew entered the sick-room, where a few friends were assembled, when, to the astonishment of all, the old man opened his eyes, and turning his head slightly, said, in a full voice, drawing out the words: "what have you been doing?" "killing the steer," was the reply. "what did you do with the hide?" "left it in the barn; going to sell it by-and-by." "let the boys drag it around the yard a couple of times; it will make it weigh heavier." and the good old man was gathered unto his fathers. . bad speculation [this is told of bears, rattlesnakes, etc., as well as indians.] at a recent festive occasion a gentleman who was making a few remarks was repeatedly interrupted by another one of the company. he bore it patiently at first, but finally said that it reminded him of a story he had heard. he said that a man, whom business had called away a short distance from his home in the city, thought he would pay his way back again by purchasing a number of hogs and driving them home. he did so, but when he and the hogs arrived at their destination the market for the latter had fallen considerably in price, and the hogs had also lost weight on the journey. it was remarked to him that he had made rather a bad speculation. "yes--well, yes," he answered reflectively. "yes--but then, you see, _i had their company all the way_!" . satisfied with his situation [the following may not be strictly true, but it well illustrates that there is always a lower depth in misfortune, and--that western roads are often somewhat muddy.] some years ago, when riding along one of the almost impassable roads in the far west, i observed a dark-looking object lying in the middle of the road, and my natural curiosity impelled me to dismount and examine it. it proved to be a hat, somewhat muddy and dilapidated, but emphatically a hat. on lifting it up, to my surprise i found that it covered a head--a human head--which protruded sufficiently out of the mud to be recognizable as such. i ventured to address the evidently wide-awake head, and remarked that it seemed to be in a pretty bad sort of a fix. "wa'al, yes!" the lips replied; "you're about right thar, stranger; _but then i ain't anyway near as bad off as the horse that's under me_!" . a good word for the devil a conference preacher one day went into the house of a wesleyan reformer, and saw the portraits of three expelled ministers suspended from the walls. "what!" said he, "have you got them hanging there?" "oh! yes," was the answer; "they are there." "ah! well; but one is wanted to complete the set." "pray, who is that?" "why, the devil, to be sure." "ah!" said the reformer, "but he is not yet expelled from the conference." . marrying a widow in cadiz, ohio, a preacher was summoned to the hotel to make an expectant couple one. in the course of the preliminary inquiries the groom was asked if he had been married before, and admitted that he had been--three times. "and is this lady a widow," was also asked, but he responded promptly and emphatically, "no, sir; _i never marry widows_." . a good sale several years ago there resided in saratoga county a lawyer of considerable ability and reputation, but of no great culture, who had an unusually fine taste in paintings and engravings--the only evidence of refinement he ever exhibited. a clergyman of the village in which he lived, knowing his fondness for such things, introduced to him an agent of a publishing house in the city who was issuing a pictorial bible in numbers. the specimen of the style of work exhibited to the lawyer was a very beautiful one, and he readily put down his name for a copy. but in the progress of the publication the character of the engravings rapidly deteriorated, much to the disgust of the enlightened lawyer. the picture of joseph, very indifferently done, provoked him beyond endurance, and seizing several of the numbers he sallied forth to reproach the parson for leading him into such a bad bargain. "look at these wretched scratches," said he, turning the pages over, "and see how i have been imposed upon! here is a portrait of joseph, whom his brethren sold to the egyptians for twenty pieces of silver; and let me tell you, parson, _if joseph looked like that it was a mighty good sale_!" . triumphs of medicine a priest was called upon by a superstitious parishioner, who asked him to do something for her sick cow. he disclaimed knowing anything about such matters, but could not put her off. she insisted that if he would only say some words over the cow, the animal would surely recover. worn out with importunity, he seized his book in desperation, walked around the four-legged patient several times, repeating in a sonorous voice the latin words, which mean, "if you die, you die; and if you live, you live," and rushed off disgusted. but the woman was delighted, and sooth to say the cow quickly recovered. but in time the good man himself was taken sick, and grew rapidly worse. his throat was terribly swollen, and all medical aid was exhausted. the word passed around the parish that the priest must die. when bridget heard the peril of her favorite pastor she was inspired by a mighty resolve. she hurried to the sick-room, entered against the protest of the friends who were weeping around, and with out a word to any one with her strong hands dragged his reverence's bed to the middle of the floor, and with the exact copy of his very gestures and voice marched around the bed, repeating the sonorous and well-remembered latin phrase, "if you die, you die; and if you live, you live." the priest fell into a fit of uncontrollable laughter, and in his struggle for breath and self-control the gathering in his throat broke and his life was saved! mighty are the triumphs of medicine! . tit for tat an old fellow in a neighboring town, who is original in all things, especially in excessive egotism, and who took part in the late war, was one day talking to a crowd of admiring listeners, and boasting of his many bloody exploits, when he was interrupted by the question: "i say, old joe, how many of the enemy did you kill during the war?" "how many did i kill sir? _how many_ enemies did i kill? well, i don't know just 'zactly _how_ many; but i know this much--i killed as many o' them _as they did o' me_!" . sleeping on top during a homeward trip of the "henry chauncey," from aspinwall, the steerage passengers were so numerous as to make them uncomfortable. as for sleeping accommodation, it was aptly described by a californian, who approached the captain, and said: "i should like to have a sleeping-berth, if you please." "why, where have you been sleeping these last two nights since we left?" "wa'al, i've been sleeping a-top of a sick man; _but he's better now, and won't stand it no longer_!" . sambo and the lawyer in a macon (ga.) court the other day a lawyer was cross-examining a negro witness, and was getting along fairly well until he asked the witness what his occupation was. "i'se a carpenter, sah." "what kind of a carpenter?" "they calls me a jackleg carpenter, sah." "what is a jackleg carpenter?" "he is a carpenter who is not a first-class carpenter, sah." "well, explain fully what you understand a jackleg carpenter to be," insisted the lawyer. "boss, i declare i dunno how ter splain any mo' 'cept to say hit am jes' the same difference 'twixt you an' a fust-class lawyer." . sixty-cent nap on board a train in the west an eccentric preacher wanted a sleeping-berth, but had only sixty cents, while the lowest price was a dollar. naturally he did not get on very fast with the porter; but after wearing out the patience of that functionary in vain efforts to stretch the sixty cents, the conductor was sent for. all proposals to borrow, to pledge an old waterbury watch, and other financial expedients failed; but the circle was squared when the preacher said, "i'll lie down, and _when i have slept sixty cents worth, you send that bed-shaker to rout me out_." the procession started for the sleeper amid the hilarity of the passengers, but the tradition is that he slept the whole night through and far into the morning. . preferred to walk a great traveler once found himself on the shore of the sea of galilee. he was at once beset by boatmen, who wanted to take him out to sail on the waters where christ had walked. he yielded to their importunities, and returned to the shore in about an hour. but his devout meditations were greatly disturbed when he was told that the charge was $ . with energy he declared that it was robbery, that it was not worth so much to sail all over their little lake, and demanded, "what makes you charge so dreadfully?" "why," said the innocent boatman, "because dese ese de lake were de saviour walked on de water." "walked! walked! did he? well, if the boatmen of that day charged as you fellows do, i should think he _would_ walk." . horace greeley's joke on one occasion a person, who wished to have a little fun at the expense of his constituency, said in a group where horace greeley was standing: "mr. greeley and i, gentlemen, are old friends. we have drunk a good deal of brandy and water together." "yes," said mr. greeley, "that is true enough. you drank the brandy, and i drank the water." . doctors and deadheads fifty years ago the principal avenue of detroit had a toll-gate close to the entrance of the elmwood cemetery road. as this cemetery had been laid out some time previous to the construction of the plank road, it was arranged that all funeral processions should be allowed to pass along the latter toll-free. one day as a well-known physician stopped to pay his toll, he observed to the gate-keeper: "considering the benevolent character of our profession, i think you ought to let physicians pass free of charge." "no, no, doctor," replied the man; "we can't afford that. you send too many 'deadheads' through here as it is." the story traveled, and the two words became associated. . booming a town they tell a story of a man who came into omaha one day, and wanted to trade his farm for some city lots. "all right," replied the real-estate agent, "get into my buggy, and i'll drive you out to see some of the finest residence sites in the world--water, sewers, paved streets, cement sidewalks, electric light, shade trees, and all that sort of thing," and away they drove four or five miles into the country. the real-estate agent expatiated upon the beauty of the surroundings, the value of the improvements made and projected, the convenience of the location, the ease and speed with which people who lived there could reach town, and the certainty of an active demand for such lots in the immediate future. then, when he was breathless, he turned to his companion, and asked: "where's your farm?" "we passed it coming out here," was the reply. "it's about two miles nearer town." . athletic nurse young wife--"why, dear, you were the stroke oar at college, weren't you?" young husband--"yes, love." "and a prominent member of the gymnastic class?" "i was leader." "and quite a hand at all athletic exercises?" "quite a hand? my gracious! i was champion walker, the best runner, the head man at lifting heavy weights, and as for carrying--why, i could shoulder a barrel of flour and--" "well, love, just please carry the baby for a couple of hours, i'm tired." . too premature [anything rather premature may be illustrated by the following:] a spring bird that had taken time by the forelock flew across the lawn near this city one day last week. his probable fate is best described in this pathetic verse, author unknown: "the first bird of spring essayed for to sing; but ere he had uttered a note he fell from the limb, a dead bird was him, the music had friz in his throat." . a bewildered irishman the poet shelley tells an amusing story of the influence that language "hard to be understood" exercises on the vulgar mind. walking near covent garden, london, he accidentally jostled against an irish navvy, who, being in a quarrelsome mood, seemed inclined to attack the poet. a crowd of ragged sympathizers began to gather, when shelley, calmly facing them, deliberately pronounced: "i have put my hand into the hamper, i have looked on the sacred barley, i have eaten out of the drum. i have drunk and am well pleased. i have said, 'knox ompax,' and it is finished." the effect was magical, the astonished irishman fell back; his friends began to question him. "what barley?" "where's the hamper?" "what have you been drinking?" and shelley walked away unmolested. . obeying orders when general sickles, after the second battle of bull run, assumed command of a division of the army of the potomac, he gave an elaborate farewell dinner to the officers of his old excelsior brigade. "now, boys, we will have a family gathering," he said to them, as they assembled in his quarters. pointing to the table, he continued: "treat it as you would the enemy." as the feast ended, an irish officer was discovered by sickles in the act of stowing away three bottles of champagne in his saddle-bags. "what are you doing, sir," gasped the astonished general. "obeying orders, sir," replied the captain, in a firm voice: "you told us to treat the dinner as we would the enemy, and you know, general, what we can't kill we capture." . a speech from the rear platform an irish street-car conductor called out shrilly to the passengers standing in the aisle: "will thim in front plaze to move up, so that thim behind can take the places of thim in front, an' lave room for thim who are nayther in front nor behind?" . a way out of it "what's the matter with you," asked a gentleman of a friend whom he met. "you looked puzzled and worried." "i am," said the friend. "maybe you can help me out" "well, what is it?" "i am subject at intervals," said the friend, "to the wildest craving for beefsteak and onions. it has all the characteristics of a confirmed drunkard's craving for rum. this desire came upon me a few minutes ago, and i determined to gratify it. then suddenly i remembered that i had promised to call this evening on some ladies, and i must keep that promise. yet my stomach is shouting for beefsteak and onions, and i am wavering between duty and appetite." "can't you wait until after the call?" asked the gentleman, solicitously. "never," said the friend, earnestly. "can't you postpone the call?" "impossible," declared the friend. "well," said the gentleman, "i'll tell you what to do: go to john chamberlin's café; order your beefsteak and onions, and eat them. when you get your bill it will be so big that it will _quite take your breath away_." . the extent of science "and now," said the learned lecturer on geology who had addressed a small but deeply attentive audience at the village hall, "i have tried to make these problems, abstruse as they may appear, and involving in their solution the best thoughts, the closest analysis, and the most profound investigations of our noblest scientific men for many years; i have tried, i say, to make them seem comparatively simple and easily understood, in the light of modern knowledge. before i close this lecture i shall be glad to answer any questions that may occur to you as to points that appear to need clearing up or that may have been overlooked." there was a silence of a few moments, and then an anxious-looking man in the rear of the hall rose up. "i would take it as a favor," he said, "if you could tell me whether science has produced as yet any reliable and certain cure for warts." . what's in a name? one of the managers of a home for destitute colored children tells a funny story about the institution. she went out there to see how things were getting along, and found a youngster as black as the inside of a coal mine tied to a bed-post, with his hands behind him. "what is that boy tied up there for?" she demanded of the attendant. "for lying, ma'am. he is the worstist, lyingest nigger i ever seen." "what's his name? "george washington, ma'am," was the paralyzing reply. . still room for research "what is this new substance i hear so much about?" asked the eminent scientist's wife. "what new substance, my dear?" "the element in the air that has just been detected." "oh! that, my dear," he answered, beaming over his spectacles with the good nature of superior wisdom, "is known as argon!" "oh!" "yes; its discovery is one of the most remarkable triumphs of the age. it has revolutionized some of the old theories, or at least it will revolutionize them before it gets through." "what is it?" "it's--er--a--did you say, what is it?" "i said that." "well--ahem--you see, we haven't as yet discovered much about it except its name." . he was "'piscopal" an episcopal clergyman passing his vacation in indiana met an old farmer who declared that he was a "'piscopal." "to what parish do you belong?" asked the clergyman. "don't know nawthin' 'bout enny parish," was the answer. "well, then," continued the clergyman, "what diocese do you belong to?" "they ain't nawthin' like that 'round here," said the farmer. "who confirmed you, then?" was the next question. "nobody," answered the farmer. "then how are you an episcopalian?" asked the clergyman. "well," was the reply, "you see it's this way: last winter i went down to arkansas visitin', and while i was there i went to church, and it was called 'piscopal, and i he'rd them say 'that they left undone the things what they'd oughter done and they had done some things what they oughten done,' and i says to myself, says i: 'that's my fix exac'ly, and ever since i considered myself a 'piscopalian." the clergyman shook the old fellow's hand, and laughingly said: "now i understand, my friend, why the membership of our church is so large." . johnny's excuse a little girl brought a note to her school-teacher one morning, which read as follows. "dear teacher, please excuse johnny for not coming to school today. he is dead." johnny was excused. the cynic's rules of conduct the cynic's rules _of_ conduct by chester field, jr. philadelphia henry altemus company copyright, , by henry altemus entered at stationers' hall the cynic's rules of conduct go to the aunt, thou sluggard, and offer her ten off on your legacy for spot cash. the difference between a bad break and a _faux pas_ indicates the kind of society you are in. when alone in paris behave as if all the world were your mother-in-law. [illustration] remember, too, that perhaps you are not the sort of husband that father used to make. you may refer to her cheeks as roses, but the man who sends her american beauties will leave you at the post. a woman should dress to make men covetous and women envious. [illustration] even cupid crosses his fingers at what he hears by moonlight. after marriage you may speak of her temper; but during courtship you had better refer to it as temperament. when dinners entice thee consent thou not. [illustration] the position of the hostess should be at the doorway of the drawing-room to receive her guests. the position of her husband should be at his office desk making the money to pay for the blow-out. it is safer to do business with jailbirds than with relatives. discuss family scandals before the servants. we should always be kind to the lower classes. [illustration] when children paw a visitor's gown with their candied fingers the proper observation for the mother to make is: "my children are so affectionate." reprimand your servants before your guests. it shows your authority. the chief duty of the best man is to prevent the groom from escaping before the ceremony. [illustration] in marching up the aisle to the altar the bride carries either a bunch of flowers or a prayer book. her father carries a bunch of money or a cheque book. on returning from the altar be careful not to step on the bride's train. there's trouble enough ahead without that. don't blow your own horn when you can get some one else to blow it for you. [illustration] keep your servants in good humor, if you can--but keep your servants. your conduct in an elevator should be governed by circumstances. should the lady's husband remove his hat keep yours on. should he fail to remove it, take your hat off. this will embarrass him. never put in the collection box less than ten per cent. of the amount you tip your waiter at luncheon. [illustration] at afternoon funerals wear a frock coat and top hat. should the funeral be your own, the hat may be dispensed with. it is never in good taste to indulge in personal pleasantries, such as referring to a lady's artificial teeth as her collection of porcelains. beware of the man who never buys a gold brick. the chances are that he sells them. [illustration] indorse checks about two inches from the end. don't indorse notes at all. no house should be without its guest-chamber. besides giving one's home an air of hospitality, it makes an admirable store-room for dilapidated furniture and unspeakable pictures. there is only one worse break than asking a woman her age: it is looking incredulous when she tells it. [illustration] it is not good form to rehearse your domestic difficulties in public, but it is mighty interesting to your auditors. never leave a guest alone for a moment. force your entertainment upon him even if you have to use chloroform. if you would have a serene old age never woo a girl who keeps a diary. [illustration] when you are inclined to be haughty, remember that a cook in the kitchen is worth two in the employment office. a chef is a cook who gets a salary instead of wages. it is better form for a bride to take her wedding journey with the groom than with the coachman. [illustration] under no circumstances associate with persons who wear detachable cuffs. such men are usually trying to get rich at the expense of the washerwoman. when crossing the atlantic no gentleman will rock the boat. take care of the luxuries and the necessities will take care of themselves. [illustration] those who live in glass houses should be polite to reporters. when in a hurry to get to the poor house, take the road that leads through the bucket shop and passes the race track. condensed milk should be used in a small flat. [illustration] tell your rich relations how fast you are making money--your poor ones, how fast you are losing it. in taking soup try not to give others the impression that the plumbing is out of order. when giving a studio tea, remember that there should be soft lights and hard drinks. [illustration] eschew the race-track and the roulette table. faro is a squarer game than either. beware of indiscriminate charity. you will never get your name in the paper by giving a tramp the price of a meal. before marriage the fashionable tint for eyeglasses is rose; after marriage smoked glasses should be worn. [illustration] if you would make a lifelong friend of a man who lives in a hall bedroom, accuse him of leading a double life. no sportsman will shoot craps during the closed season. compliments paid a woman behind her back go farthest and are remembered longest. [illustration] avoid having business relations with a man whose i. o. u. is not as good as his note; but take his note by preference. when playing poker, it is as bad form to wear a coat as it is to be shy. the father gives the bride away, but the small brother would like to. [illustration] in the best society it is considered snobbish to wear a disguise when entertaining country cousins. simply take them to places where you will not encounter your friends. at the tables of the very wealthy, brook trout have given place to gold fish. to get on in society a woman should cultivate repose--and a few prominent social leaders. [illustration] when angry count ten before you speak. when "touched" count one thousand before you lend. in entering a crowded car, a lady should leave the door open. it is quite permissible for her to appropriate the seat of the man who gets up to close it. if your friend asks you to lend him your evening clothes, hide your toothbrush without delay. [illustration] never leave the price tag on the present, unless it is a very expensive present. at a formal dinner the hostess should see that raw oyster forks should be placed alongside the plates. if she hasn't any raw oyster forks she may use cooked ones. you should bear in mind that to be kind to your employees, it is not absolutely essential that you kiss the stenographer every morning. [illustration] if you would be thought a fool, play with a loaded pistol; if a knave, with loaded dice. let the reign of your summer girl be no longer than her bathing suit. it is coarse for a divorcée to refer to her ex-husband as the late mr. so-and-so. she should speak of him as, "my husband once removed." [illustration] every investor should have a ward. a ward's estate is a great convenience in unloading financial indiscretions. avoid church fairs. it hurts less to be stung by the scoffers than by the faithful. people who think that newspaper advertisements are not read should watch a man sitting in a street car where women are standing. [illustration] at a formal dinner, one may serve five different wines; but no indifferent ones. when in the street with a lady, a gentleman should not light a cigarette unless the lady does. a man will let go his religion before he parts with his respectability. [illustration] an engagement ring should not be passed around like "the buck" in a poker game. "new girl, new ring," is the rule in select society. dresses that look as if they had set the wearer's father back more than $ should always be referred to as "frocks." ladies should not wear garden hose except at garden parties. [illustration] men will lose their reputations as gay deceivers when women are less willing to be deceived. when at a wedding breakfast try to remember that you will probably have other opportunities of drinking champagne. remember that your wife's wardrobe is the bradstreet in which women look for your rating. [illustration] one of the joys of wealth is the right to preach the virtues of poverty. at a wedding married women cry because they've been through it and unmarried women for fear they won't. if a man's worth doing at all, he's worth doing well. [illustration] when you end a letter "please burn this," post it in the fireplace. when you start out to "do" wall street buy a return ticket. never refer to your indisposition as _mal de coeur_ when it is _mal de liqueur_. [illustration] cure your wife of bargain-shopping and you will have more money for bucket-shopping. encourage your husband to go to his club. otherwise, you will miss a lot of gossip that you can use in your business. the mother-in-law joke was invented by a bachelor. to the married man the mother-in-law is no joke. [illustration] it is not good form for a young girl to go to the theatre with a gentleman, unaccompanied by a chaperone. on the other hand, it is not good fun for her to go to the theatre with a chaperone, unaccompanied by a gentleman. no gentleman will strut about his club with his hat on. there is no rule, however, against his having a jag on. [illustration] when you step on a lady's toes make some offhand remark about her feet being too small to be seen. this is older than the cave dwellers; but it still works. when organizing a friendly poker party, don't invite friends. settle an allowance on your wife and you'll always know where to borrow money. [illustration] strict convention decrees that if a young girl accepts from a man any gift more valuable than sweets, flowers or tips on the races, she shall not mention the fact to her mother. a corkscrew is not the only symbol of hospitality. when you catch your caller kissing the maid, remind her that the kitchen is the proper place to entertain her friends. [illustration] don't forget to tell her that she's "not like other girls." it always works, whether you spring it on the belle of the village, the girl with a hare lip or the bearded lady at the circus. spaghetti should be eaten only in the bath-tub. if you _must_ have your hand held, go to a manicure. [illustration] the difference between bigamy and divorce is the difference between driving a double hitch and driving tandem. never tell secrets to women. if you must talk about them, buy a megaphone. don't tell a girl that she looks best when wearing a veil. she may not understand what you mean. [illustration] take your servants into your confidence. you'll always get a lot of interesting information about your neighbors. it is a mistake to regard your linen as the leopard does his spots. some girls want a home wedding; most girls want a church wedding; all girls want a wedding. [illustration] if you use the same solitaire for the second engagement, don't refer to it as killing two birds with one stone. cultivate cheerfulness in your household; money makes the _mère_ go. at sunday night bridge parties no really nice girl will cheat. [illustration] the way to save doctor's bills is not to pay them. only a specialist would think of suing you. when you see a girl drowning, look before you leap. on your way to the altar, do not wear the expression of a man mendelssohning into the jaws of death. try to look as if your salary had just been raised. [illustration] debutantes should never attend prize fights unchaperoned. in paying your fare always take your time. it annoys the conductor. oysters are served after cocktails, soup after oysters, game after decomposition sets in. [illustration] when choosing a wife shut your eyes; it's a sporting chance, because after all your wife is choosing you. the man who buys a gold brick hates to feel lonesome. the race is not always to the swift, though the smart set thinks it is. [illustration] when attending an afternoon tea or musicale do not forget to leave a card. the social standing of your hostess determines whether it shall be a face card or a twospot. besides leaving a card, leave all the small articles of value that you may find lying about in the dressing room. it is not necessary to throw rice at a departing bride and groom. the cab is already full of mush. [illustration] in proposing to a girl always refer to your own unworthiness. she won't believe it at the time nor will you a few years later. sweet are the uses of adversity to the gentlemen who conduct loan offices. when matching dollars, remember that two heads are better than one. [illustration] at automobile funerals, the chauffeurs should be directed to play the dead march on the french tooters. the effect is very refined. drug store beauty isn't even skin-deep. don't enter into a gentleman's agreement, if you're a gentleman. [illustration] wild oats make poor breakfast-food. it is always good form to talk about nausea when caused by seasickness; but never otherwise. when your face is too full for utterance speak to her only with your eyes. [illustration] show kindness to your creditors, but not unremitting kindness. suspect the man who wants only a small loan; a little touch is a dangerous thing. don't marry for money; but never let money stand between a girl and her happiness. [illustration] "conservative dressers," as the tailors call them, have discarded the night-cap except for internal use. when in rome do the romans. don't buy for your daughter a count that is likely to turn out a discount. [illustration] eat, drink and be merry, for to-morrow you may be married. it is not good form to congratulate a girl friend upon her engagement. simply remark, "so you landed him at last." pay no obvious compliments. a beautiful woman has her mirror. [illustration] if you can afford the right sort of lawyer you won't need any rules of conduct. [the end] [illustration] [illustration: sergeant hunter charging the confederates] brave deeds of union soldiers by samuel scoville, jr. philadelphia george w. jacobs & company publishers copyright, , by george w. jacobs & company _published november, _ _all rights reserved_ printed in u.s.a. _to theodore roosevelt_ _commissioner, governor, colonel and president, who believes in peace with honor, but never in peace at the price of righteousness and whose own life has been full of deeds of physical and moral courage, this book of brave deeds is dedicated._ foreword in these days when even our skies are shadowed by wars and rumors of wars, it is fitting to remember what men and women and children of our blood have done in the past. in this chronicle have been included not alone the great deeds of great men, but also the brave deeds of commonplace people. may the tale of their every-day heroism be an inspiration to each one of us to do our best endeavor when we find ourselves in the crisis-times of life. contents i. the bare brigade ii. the escape from libby prison iii. two against a city iv. boy heroes v. the charge of zagonyi vi. the locomotive chase vii. sheridan's ride viii. the bloody angle ix. heroes of gettysburg x. the lone scout xi. running the gauntlet xii. forgotten heroes xiii. the three hundred who saved an army xiv. the rescue of the scouts xv. the boy-general xvi. medal-of-honor men illustrations sergeant hunter charging the confederates _frontispiece_ libby prison _facing page_ captain bailey and midshipman read facing the new orleans mob " " sheridan hurrying to rally his men " " the battle of gettysburg " " corporal pike " " in the woods near chancellorsville " " attacking the inner traverses of fort fisher " " chapter i the bare brigade kipling wrote one of his best stories on how mulvaney and his captain with an undressed company swam the irriwaddy river in india and captured lungtungpen. it was a brave deed. the average man can't be brave without his clothes. in the civil war there was one unchronicled fight where a few naked, shoeless men swam a roaring river, marched through a thorny forest and captured a superior and entrenched force of the enemy together with their guns. this american lungtungpen happened on the great march of general sherman to the sea. he had fought the deadly and lost battle of kenesaw mountain, and failing to drive out the crafty confederate general johnson by direct assault outflanked him and forced him to fall back. then the union army celebrated the fourth of july, , by the battle of ruffs station and drove johnson back and across the chattahoochee river. the heavy rains had so swollen this river that all the fords were impassable, while the confederates had destroyed all boats for miles up and down the river to prevent them from being used by the union army and had settled down for a rest from their relentless pursuers. general mccook was commanding the part of the union line fronting directly on the river. orders came from general sherman to cross at cochran's ford and colonel brownlow of the first tennessee regiment was ordered to carry out this command. he was the son of fighting parson brownlow and had the reputation of not knowing what fear was. the attempt was made at three o'clock in the morning. it was raining in torrents and the men at the word of command dashed into the river. the water kept getting deeper and deeper and the bottom proved to be covered with great boulders over which the horses stumbled and round which the cross torrents foamed and rushed. when the men had finally reached the middle of the river and were swimming for dear life, suddenly a company of confederates on the other side opened up on them at close range. as the bullets zipped and pattered through the water, the floundering, swimming men turned around and made the best of their way back, feeling that this was an impossible crossing to make. once safely back they deployed on the bank and kept up a scattering fire all that morning against the enemy. as the day wore on, colonel dorr, who commanded the brigade, made his appearance and inquired angrily why the first tennessee was not on the other side and in possession of the opposite bank. colonel brownlow explained that he had made the attempt, that there was no ford and that to attempt to make a swimming charge through the rough water and in the face of an entrenched enemy would be to sacrifice his whole regiment uselessly. colonel dorr would listen to no explanations. "if you and your men are afraid to do what you're told, say so and i'll report to general sherman and see if he can't find some one else," he shouted and rode off, leaving colonel brownlow and his command in a fighting frame of mind. the former called nine of his best men to the rear and it was some time before he was calm enough to speak. "boys," he said at last, "we've _got_ to cross that river. it's plain it can't be forded. we've no pontoons and i am not going to have my men slaughtered while they swim, but you fellows come with me and we'll drive those rebs out of there before dark." he then gave directions for the rest of his men to keep up a tremendous fire to divert the attention of the enemy. in the meanwhile he and his little squad marched through the brush to a point about a mile up the river behind a bend. there they stripped to the skin and made a little raft of two logs. on this they placed their carbines, cartridge boxes and belts and swam out into the rough water, pushing the little raft in front of them. it was hard going. the water was high, and every once in a while the fierce current would dash and bruise some of the men against the boulders which were scattered everywhere along the bed of the river. the best swimmers, however, helped the weaker ones and they all worked together to keep the precious raft right side up and their ammunition and rifles dry. after a tremendous struggle they finally reached the opposite bank without having seen any confederates. there they lined up, strapped on their cartridge belts, shouldered their carbines and started to march through the brush. every step they took over the sharp stones and twigs and thorns was agony and the men relieved themselves by using extremely strong language. "no swearing, men!" said colonel brownlow, sternly. at that moment he stepped on a long thorn and instantly disobeyed his own order. he halted the column, extracted the thorn and amended his order. "no swearing, men,--unless it's absolutely necessary," he commanded. they limped along through the brush until they reached a road that led to the ford some four hundred yards in the rear of the enemy whom they could see firing away for dear life at the union soldiers on the other side. the confederate forces consisted of about fifty men. colonel brownlow and his nine crept through the brush as silently as possible until they were within a few yards of the unconscious enemy. then they straightened up, cocked their carbines, poured in a volley and with a tremendous yell charged down upon them. the confederates upon receiving this unexpected attack from the rear sprang to their feet, but when they saw the ten white ghostly figures charge down upon them, yelling like madmen, it was too much for their nerves and they scattered on every side. twelve of them were captured. the last one was a freckle-faced rebel who tried to hide behind a tree. when seen, however, he came forward and threw down his gun. "well, yanks, i surrender," he said, "but it ain't fair. you ought to be ashamed to go charging around the country this way. if you'd been captured, we'd have hung you for spies because you ain't got any uniforms on." colonel brownlow hustled his prisoners up the river to the raft and made them swim across in front of them and then reported to general mccook that he had driven the enemy out of the rifle-pits, captured twelve men, one officer and two boats. shortly afterward the confederates withdrew from their position for, as some of the prisoners explained, they felt that if the yanks could fight like that undressed, there was no telling what they'd do if they came over with their clothes on. chapter ii the escape from libby prison it takes a brave man to face danger alone. it takes a braver man to face danger in the dark. this is the story of a man who was brave enough to do both. it is the story of one who by his dogged courage broke out of a foul grave when it seemed as if all hopes for life were gone and who rescued himself and one hundred and eight other union soldiers from the prison where they lay fretting away their lives. libby prison, the castle despair of captured union officers, stood upon a hilltop in richmond, the capital and center of the confederacy. it was divided into three sections by solid walls, also ringed around by a circle of guards and there seemed to be no hopes for any of the hundreds of prisoners to break out and escape. in september, , colonel thomas rose, of the th pennsylvania volunteers, was taken prisoner at the terrible battle of chickamauga. from the minute he was captured he thought of nothing else but of escape, although he had a broken foot which would have been enough to keep most men quiet. on the way to richmond, he managed to crawl through the guards and escape into the pine-forests through which they were passing. there he wandered for twenty-four hours without food or water and suffering terribly from his wound. at the end of that time he was recaptured by a troop of confederate cavalry and this time was carefully guarded and brought to libby prison. this prison was a three-story brick building which had formerly been occupied by libby & company as a ship-chandlery establishment. there were several hundred union officers imprisoned there when colonel rose arrived. first he was taken into the office of the commandant. back of his desk was a united states flag fastened "union down," an insult for every loyal union man that had to pass through this office. "we'll teach you to take better care of the old flag," remarked colonel rose as he stood before the commandant's desk for examination. the commandant scowled at this prisoner, but rose looked him in the eye without flinching. "you won't have a chance to do much teaching for some years," said the commandant at last, grimly, "and you'll learn a lot of things that you don't know now." as colonel rose went up the ladder which led to the upper rooms and his head showed above the floor, a great cry went up from the rest of the prisoners of "fresh fish! fresh fish! fresh fish!" this was the way that each newcomer was received and sometimes he was hazed a little like any other freshman. although not as bad as some of the prisons, libby prison was no health resort. at times there were nearly a thousand prisoners crowded in there with hardly standing room. at night they all lined up in rows and laid down at the word of command, so closely packed that the floor was literally covered with them. each one had to go to bed and get up at the same time. these crowded conditions made for disease and dirt, and the place was alive with vermin. "skirmish for gray-backs," was the morning call in libby prison before the men got up. each prisoner then would sit up in his place, strip off his outer garments and cleanse himself as much as possible from the crawling gray-backs, as they had nicknamed the vermin which attacked all alike. the food was as bad as the quarters. soon after rose arrived one man found a whole rat baked in a loaf of corn-cake which had been furnished as a part of his rations. the rat had probably jumped into the dough-trough while the corn-cake was being made and had been knocked in the head by the cook and worked into the cake. another officer made himself one night a bowl of soup by boiling a lot of beans together with a fresh ham-bone. he set it aside to wait until morning so as to enjoy his treat by daylight. afterward he was glad he did, for he found his soup full of boiled maggots. at times the men were compelled to eat mule-meat and sometimes were not even given that but had to sell their clothing to keep from starving. in each room was a single water faucet without basin or tub. this was all that perhaps a couple of hundred men had to use both for washing and drinking purposes. the death-rate from disease in these crowded quarters was, of course, terribly high. [illustration: libby prison] from the day rose entered the prison he made up his mind that he would not die there like a sick dog if there was any way of escape and there was not a moment of his waking hours in which he was not planning some way to get out. although the prisoners were not supposed to have communication with each other or from outside, there was a complete system under which each one had news from all over the prison as well as from the outside world. this was done by a series of raps constituting the prison telegraph. as the guards usually visited the prison only at intervals in the daytime, the prisoners managed to pass back and forth down through the chimney throughout the whole prison in spite of locked doors and supposedly solid walls. messages and money were frequently sent in from outside. a favorite trick was to wind greenbacks around a spool and then have the thread wound by machinery over this money. gold pieces were sealed up in cans of condensed milk. maps, compasses and other helps for escaping prisoners were sent in a box. in order to prevent suspicion of the fact that the box had a double bottom, two double bottoms were placed on the box side by side with a space between them. when the contents were turned out, the prison inspectors could see the light shining through the bottom of the box and were thus convinced that there could be no double bottom there. letters were sent in containing apparently harmless home-news. between the lines, information as to routes and guards was written in lemon juice. this was invisible until exposed to heat, when the writing would show. colonel rose was placed in the topmost room of the eastern wing. this was named upper gettysburg. from there he saw workmen entering a sewer in the middle of a street which led to the canal lying at the foot of the hill on which the prison stood. he at once decided to tunnel into this sewer and crawl through that into the canal which was beyond the line of the guards. with this plan in view, he began to explore the prison. one dark afternoon he managed to make his way down through the rooms to one of the dungeons underneath, which was known as rat hell. this had been used as a dead-house and was fairly swarming with rats. as he was fumbling around there he suddenly heard a noise and in a minute another man came in. each thought the other was a guard, but finally it turned out that the intruder was a fellow-prisoner, a kentucky major named hamilton. this major and rose at once became fast friends and immediately planned a tunnel from a corner of rat hell after securing a broken shovel and two kitchen knives. they had no more than begun this, however, before alterations were made in the prison which cut them off from this dungeon. by this time the other prisoners had noticed the midnight visits of rose and hamilton as well as their constant conferences together and it was buzzed around everywhere that there was a plot on hand to break out of libby. for fear of spies or traitors, rose decided to organize a company of the most reliable men and plan a dash out through one of the walls and the overpowering of the guards. seventy-two men were sworn in and everything was arranged for the dash for freedom one cloudy night. the little band had all gathered in rat hell and sentries had been placed at the floor opening into the kitchen above. suddenly footsteps were heard and the signal was given that the guards were making a tour of inspection of the prison. in perfect silence and with the utmost swiftness, each man went up the rope-ladder to the floor above and stole into his bed. rose was the last man up. he managed to reach the kitchen and hide his rope-ladder about ten seconds before the officer of the guard thrust his lantern into the door of the lowest sleeping chamber. rose had no time to lie down, but with great presence of mind sat at a table and stuck an old pipe into his mouth and nodded his head as if he had gone to sleep while sitting up and smoking. the guard stared at him for a moment and passed on. the next day the leaders decided that some news of the attempt must have reached the authorities outside to account for this sudden and unusual visit. it was decided to raise the numbers and make an immediate attempt. the band was increased from seventy-two to four hundred and twenty. with the increase in numbers, however, there seemed to be a decrease of courage. many of the officers feared that it was a hopeless plan for a crowd of unarmed men to break through a ring of armed guards and that such an attempt would merely arouse the town and they would be hemmed in, driven back and shot down in crowds inside the prison walls. finally a vote was taken and it was decided to abandon this plan. once more rose and hamilton found themselves the only two left who were absolutely resolved on an escape. after talking the matter over, they decided to begin another tunnel. this time they had only an old jack-knife and a chisel to work with and they could only work between ten at night and four in the morning. they started back of the kitchen fireplace and there removed twelve bricks and dug a tunnel down to rat hell so that they could reach this base without disturbing any other prisoners and without being exposed to detection by the guard. one would work and the other would watch. at dawn each day the bricks were replaced and the cracks filled in with soot. they had no idea of direction and this tunnel was nearly the death of rose. the digging was done by him while major hamilton would fan air to him with his hat, but so foul was the air below ground that bits of candle which they had stolen from the hospital would go out at a distance of only four feet from the cellar wall. in spite of this terrible atmosphere, rose dug his tunnel clear down to the canal, but unfortunately went under the canal and the water rushed in and he had a narrow escape from being drowned. by this time both men were so nearly exhausted that they decided to take in helpers again. thirteen men were chosen to work with them and were all sworn to secrecy. the flooded passage was plugged and a fresh one started in the direction of a small sewer which ran from a corner of the prison down to the main sewer beyond. night after night in the mud and stench and reek underground they dug their tunnel. at last they reached the small sewer only to find that it was lined with wood. the only cutting tools they had were a few small pen-knives. with these they slowly whittled a hole through the wooden lining and the fourteen men were all in high hopes of an escape. the night came when only a few hours of work would be necessary to make a hole large enough to enter the small sewer. it was then hoped they could all crawl from this into the larger one and down into the canal safe past the guards. once again they were all grouped shivering at the entrance to the tunnel, waiting for the man who was working inside to pass the word back that the opening was made. suddenly the news came back that the entrance into the large sewer was barred by planks of solid, seasoned oak six inches thick. the chisel and the penknives were worn down to the handles. for thirty-nine nights these men had worked at the highest possible pitch under indescribable conditions. there was not an inch of steel left to cut with or an ounce of reserved strength to go on farther. despairingly, the party broke up, put away the kits which they had prepared for the march and once again rose and hamilton were left alone by their discouraged comrades. after a day's rest, these two decided to start another tunnel in the north corner of the cellar away from the canal. this tunnel would come out close to the sentry beat of the guards, but rose had noticed that this beat was nearly twenty yards long and it was decided that in the dark there would be a fair chance of slipping through unseen. once again rose and hamilton started on this new task alone. they had finally obtained another chisel and this was the only tool which they had. once more rose did the digging. hamilton would fan with all his strength and rose would work until he felt his senses going, then he would crawl back into the cellar and rest and get his breath. the earth was dragged out in an old wooden cuspidor which they had smuggled down from their room and hamilton would hide this under a pile of straw in the cellar. the tunnel became longer and longer, but rose was nearly at the end of his strength. it was absolutely impossible to breathe the fetid air in the farther end of the tunnel, nor could hamilton alone fan any fresh air to him. once again, and with great difficulty, a new party of ten was organized. these worked in shifts--one man dug and two or three fanned the air through the tunnel with their hats, another man dragged the earth into the cellar and a fifth kept watch. the first five would work until exhausted and then their places would be taken by the second shift. they finally decided to work also by day and now the digging went on without interruption every minute of the twenty-four hours. finally, the little band of exhausted workers had gone nearly fifty feet underground. they were on the point of breaking down from absolute exhaustion. the night-shift would come out into rat hell and be too tired and dazed to find their way out and would have to be looked after in the dark and led back to the rooms above like little children. rose, in spite of all that he had been through, was the strongest of the lot and could work after every other man had fallen out. it was still necessary for the tunnel to be carried five feet further to clear the wall. once again a sickening series of accidents and surprises occurred. the day-shift always ran the risk of being missed at roll-call, which was held every morning and afternoon. usually this was got around by repeating--one man running from the end of the line behind the backs of his comrades and answering the name of the missing man. on one occasion, however, there were two missing and a search was at once begun which might have resulted in finding the entrance to the tunnel. there was just time to pull these two up out of the dark and brush off the telltale dirt from their hands and clothes and tell them to lie down and play sick. neither one of them needed to do much pretending and they both showed such signs of breakdown that the prison inspector came near sending them to the hospital, which would also have delayed operations. the next day, while one man was inside the tunnel, a party of guards entered rat hell and remained there so long that it was evident they must have suspected that something was going on. colonel rose called his band together for a conference. he believed that two days of solid work would finish the tunnel. the rest of the men, however, pleaded for time. they were half sick, wholly exhausted and discouraged. rose decided that he would risk no further delay and that the last two days' work should be entrusted to no one except himself. the next day was sunday and the cellar was usually not inspected on that day. he posted his fanners and sentries and at early dawn crawled into the tunnel and worked all day long and far into the night lying full length in a stifling hole hardly two feet in diameter. when he dragged himself out that night, he could not stand but had to be carried across the cellar and up the rope ladder and fanned and sponged with cold water and fed what soup they could obtain until he was able to talk. he then told the band that he believed that twelve hours more of work would carry the tunnel beyond the danger line. he slept for a few hours and then, in spite of the protests of the others, crawled down into the reeking hole again, followed by the strongest of the band who were to act as fanners. for seventeen days they had been working and the tunnel was now fifty-three feet long. in order to save time, rose had made the last few feet so narrow that it was impossible for him to even turn over or shift his position. all day long he worked. night came and he still toiled on, although his strokes were so feeble that he only advanced by inches each hour. finally it was nearly midnight of the last day and rose had reached the limit of his strength. the fanners were so exhausted that they could no longer push the air to the end of the tunnel. rose felt himself dying of suffocation. he was too weak to crawl backward, nor had he strength to take another stroke. the air became fouler and thicker and he felt his senses leaving him and he gasped again and again in a struggle for one breath of pure air. in what he felt was his death agony, he finally forced himself over on his back and struck the earth above him with his fists as he unconsciously clutched at his throat in the throes of suffocation. thrusting out his arms in one last convulsive struggle, he suddenly felt both fists go through the earth and a draught of pure, life-giving air came in. for a moment rose had the terrible feeling that it was too late and that he was too sick to rally. once again, however, his indomitable courage drove back death. for some minutes he lay slowly breathing the air of out-of-doors. it was like the elixir of life to him after long months of breathing the foul atmosphere of the prison and tunnel. little by little his strength came back and he slowly enlarged the hole and finally thrust his head and shoulders cautiously out into the yard. the first thing that caught his eye was a star and he felt as if he had broken out of the grave and come back again to hope and life. he found that he was still on the prison side of the wall, but directly in front of him was a gate which was fastened only by a swinging bar. rose spent some moments practicing raising this bar until he felt sure he could do it quietly and swiftly. just outside was the sentry beat. rose waited until the sentry's back was turned, opened the gate and peered out, convincing himself that there was plenty of time to pass out of the gate and into the darkness beyond before the sentry turned to come back. he then lowered himself again into the stifling tunnel, drew a plank which he found in the yard over the opening, after first carefully concealing the fresh earth, and crept back again into rat hell. it was three o'clock in the morning when rose gathered together his little band and told them that at last libby prison was open. rose and hamilton, the leaders, were anxious to start at once. they had seen so many accidents and so many strokes of misfortune that they urged an instant escape. the others, however, begged them to wait and to leave early the next evening so that they could gain a whole night's start before their absence was found at the morning roll-call. with many misgivings, rose at last consented to do this. the next day was the most nerve-racking day of his life. every noise or whisper of the guard seemed to him to be a sign that the tunnel had been discovered. the time finally dragged along and nothing happened and once again the party met in rat hell at seven o'clock in the evening of february th and rose and the faithful hamilton led the way through the tunnel to freedom. every move was carefully planned. the plank was raised noiselessly and rose had taken the precaution to leave the gate half-open so that the sentry on duty that night would see nothing unusual. he found it just as he had left it. all that was necessary now to do was for each man to wait until the sentry had passed a few yards beyond the gate and then to start noiselessly through and out to freedom. all thirteen escaped easily. the last man left a message that the prison was open to any one who dared try the tunnel. by nine o'clock that night the message flashed through each ward that the colonel and a party had escaped. there was a rush for the hole at the fireplace and one hundred and nine other prisoners slipped through and got safely past the guard. after days and weeks of hiding, starving and freezing, the original party and many of the others got safely through to the union lines. castle despair had again been broken by mr. great heart. chapter iii two against a city it takes brave men to fight battles. it takes braver men to face death without fighting. in the spring of new orleans, the queen city of the south, was blockaded by the union fleet. no one could come in or go out. the grass grew in her empty streets. the wharves were deserted and cobwebs lay on the shut and barred warehouses. the river itself, which had been thronged with the masts and funnels of a thousand crowded craft, flowed yellow and empty as the amazon. as business stopped and wages grew scarce and scarcer, the fierce, dangerous part of the population which comes to the surface in times of siege began to gain more and more control of the city. for years there had been a secret society of criminals in new orleans which had often controlled her city government. it was known as the "thugs." heretofore they had always worked in secret and underground. now criminals who formerly would only come out at night and secretly, were seen on the streets in open day. as the union lines closed around the city by sea and land, the crowds of men and women without money and without work became as fierce and bitter and dangerous as rats in a trap. for a while they told each other that the city could never be taken. nothing afloat, they said again and again, can pass by the great chain and the sunken ships that block the river. if they could they would sink under the withering fire of fort jackson, a great star-shaped fort of stone and mortar, or fort st. phillip with its fifty-two guns which could be brought to bear on any vessel going up or down the river. beyond the forts was a fleet of rams and gunboats and in a shipyard over at jefferson, one of the suburbs of new orleans, was building the great iron-clad _mississippi_, which alone they felt would be equal to the whole blockading fleet. so thought and said the swarming unemployed thousands of new orleans. finally came a dreadful day when the tops of the naked masts of the hated yankee fleet showed against the evening sky across one of the bends of the river. then came the roar of distant guns for a day and a night as the union vessels attacked the forts and concealed batteries. still the people believed in their defenses although the firing came nearer and nearer. not until they saw the city troops carry the cotton out of the cotton-presses down to the wharves to be burned in miles of twisting flame to save it from the union army did they realize how close was the day of the surrender of the city. then all the empty ships which had been moored out in the river were fired and the warehouses of provisions still left were broken open. mobs of desperate men and women surged back and forth fighting for the sugar and rice and molasses with which the wharves were covered. suddenly around slaughter house point, silent, grim and terrible, came the black fleet which had safely run the gauntlet of forts, gunboats, batteries and torpedoes. for the first time since the war had begun, the stars and stripes floated again in sight of new orleans. as the fleet came nearer and nearer, the crowds which blackened the wharves and levees of new orleans shouted for the _mississippi_. "where is the _mississippi_? ram the yanks! mississippi! mississippi! mississippi!" thousands of voices roared across the water and through the forsaken streets of the doomed city. and then, as if called by the shout of her city, around a bend suddenly floated the great iron-clad _mississippi_ which was to save new orleans,--a helpless, drifting mass of flames. there was a moment of utter silence and then a scream of rage and despair went up that drowned the crackling of the flames. "betrayed! betrayed! we have been betrayed!" was the cry which went up everywhere. no stranger's life was worth a moment's purchase. one man whose only crime was that he was unknown to the mob was seized at one of the wharves and in an instant was swinging, twisting and choking, from the end of a rope at a lamp-post. through the crowds flitted the thugs and began a reign of terror against all whom they hated or feared. men were hung and shot and stabbed to death that day at a word. the mob was as dangerous, desperate and as unreasoning as a mad dog. through this roaring, frothing, cursing crowd it was necessary for admiral farragut to send messengers to the mayor at the city hall to demand the surrender of the city. it seemed to the men in the ships like going into a den of trapped wild beasts, yet instantly captain theodorus bailey, the second in command, demanded from the admiral the right to undertake this dangerous mission. with a little guard of twenty men he was landed on the levee in front of a howling mob which crowded the river-front as far as the eye could reach. they offered an impenetrable line through which no man could pass. captain bailey drew his marines up in line and tried to reason with the mob, but could not even be heard. he then ordered his men to level their muskets and take aim. in an instant the mob had pushed forward to the front crowds of women and children and dared the yanks to shoot. captain bailey realized that nothing could be done by force without a useless slaughter of men and women and children. in order to save this he decided to try what could be done by two unarmed men. if this plan failed, it would be time enough to try what could be done by grape and canister. taking a flag of truce and choosing as his companion a young midshipman named read, whom he knew to be a man of singular coolness, captain bailey started up the street to the city hall. it was a desperate chance. the mob had already tasted blood and it was almost certain that some one would shoot or stab these two representatives of the hated yanks as soon as they were out of sight of the ships. the slightest sign of fear or hesitation would mean the death of both of them. captain bailey and midshipman read, however, were men who would take just such a chance. slowly, unconcernedly, they walked along the streets through a roar of shouts, and curses, and cheers for jeff davis. as they reached the middle of the city, the crowd became more and more threatening. they were pushed and jostled while men, many of them members of the dreaded thugs, thrust cocked revolvers into their faces and waved bowie-knives close to their throats. others rushed up with coils of rope which had already done dreadful service. captain bailey never even glanced at the men around him, but looking straight ahead walked on as unconcernedly as if he were treading his own quarter-deck. young read acted as if he were bored with the whole proceeding. he examined carefully the brandished revolvers and knives and smiled pleasantly into the distorted, scowling, gnashing faces which were thrust up against his. occasionally he would half pause to examine some building which seemed to impress him as particularly interesting and would then saunter unconcernedly along after his captain. [illustration: captain bailey and midshipman read facing the new orleans mob] right on through the gauntlet of death passed the two men with never a quiver of the eye or a motion of the face to show that they even knew the mob was there. little by little, men who had retained something of their self-control began to persuade the more lawless part of the rabble to fall back. it was whispered around that farragut, that old man of iron and fire, had said that he would level the city as flat as the river if a hand were even laid on his envoys. finally through the surging streets appeared the city hall and the end of that desperate march was in sight. at the very steps of the city hall the mob took a last stand. half-a-dozen howling young ruffians, with cocked revolvers in either hand, stood on the lower step and dared the union messengers to go an inch farther. midshipman read stepped smilingly ahead of his captain and gently pushed with either hand two of the cursing young desperadoes far enough to one side to allow for a passageway between them. both of them actually placed the muzzles of their cocked revolvers against his neck as a last threat, but even the touch of cold steel did not drive away read's amused smile. the mob gave up. evidently these men had resources about which they knew nothing. "they were so sure that we wouldn't kill them that we couldn't," said one of the thugs afterward in explaining why the hated messengers had been allowed to march up the steps. they sauntered into the mayor's room where they met a group of white-faced, trembling men who were the mayor and his council. captain bailey delivered the admiral's summons for the surrender of the city to the mayor. the mob, which at first had stayed back, at this point surged up to the windows and shouted curses and threats into the very mayor's room, threatening him and the council if they dared to surrender the city. captain bailey and his companion gave the trembling city officials a few minutes in which to make up their minds. suddenly there was heard a roar outside louder than any which had come before. the mob had torn down the union flag which had been hoisted over the custom house and rushing to the mayor's office, tore it to pieces outside the open windows and threw the fragments in at the seated envoys. this insult to their flag aroused captain bailey and young read as no threats against them personally had been able to do. turning to the mayor and the shrinking council, bailey said, "as there is a god in heaven, the man who tore down that union flag shall hang for it." later on this promise was carried out by the inflexible general butler when he took over the city from admiral farragut and hanged mumford, the man who tore down the flag in the city square, before the very mob which had so violently applauded his action. this incident was the last straw for the mayor and his associates. they neither dared to refuse to surrender the city lest it should be bombarded by farragut nor did they dare to surrender it for fear of the mob which had gathered around them with significant coils of rope over their arms. in a half-whisper they hurriedly notified captain bailey that they could not surrender the city, but that they would make no resistance if the union forces occupied it. looking at them contemptuously, captain bailey turned away, picked up the fragments of the torn flag and faced the mob outside threateningly. the man who had torn the flag slunk back and his example was contagious. one by one men commenced to sneak away and in a minute the city hall was deserted and captain bailey and midshipman read were able to leave the building and drive back to the vessels in a carriage obtained for them by the mayor's secretary. so ended what one of the mob, who afterward became a valued citizen of his state, described as the bravest deed he had ever seen--two unarmed men facing and defeating a mob of murderers and madmen. chapter iv boy heroes one doesn't have to be big, or old, or strong to be brave. but one does have to believe in something so much and so hard that nothing else counts, even death. an idea that is so big that everything else seems small is called an ideal. it is easy for a boy with an ideal to be brave. cassabianca, the boy who stayed on the burning ship because he had been ordered to wait there by his dead father, had made obedience his ideal. the boy of holland who found a leak in the dyke which could only be stopped by his hand, and who stayed through the long night and saved his village but lost his right hand had learned this great ideal of self-sacrifice. the shepherd boy who saved his sheep from a lion and a bear and who afterward was the only one who dared enter the fatal valley and meet the fierce giant-warrior had as his ideal faith. he believed so strongly that he was doing god's will that he shared god's strength. in the great war between slavery and freedom which swept like fire over the country, boys learned the ideals for which their fathers fought. they learned to believe so entirely in freedom that there was no room left for fear. many of them went to the war as drummer boys, the only way in which boys could enlist. one of these was johnny mclaughlin of the tenth indiana. johnny lived at a place called lafayette and was not quite eleven years old. from the minute that the war broke out he thought of nothing but what he could do for his country and for freedom. other boys played at drilling and marching, but this was not enough for him. he made inquiries and found that if he could learn to drum, there was a chance that he might be allowed to enlist. he said nothing at first to his father and mother about his plans, but saved all his spending-money and worked every holiday in order to get enough to buy a drum. times were hard, however. there was little money for men, much less for boys, and after johnny had worked for over two months, he had saved exactly two dollars. in the village was a drummer who had been sent home to recover from his wounds and to him johnny went one day to ask how much more he would have to save before he could buy a drum. the man told him that a good drum would cost him at least ten dollars. johnny sighed and turned away very much discouraged. "why don't you play something else?" said the man. "you can get more fun out of ten dollars than buying a drum with it." "i don't want it to play with," said johnny. "i want to learn to drum so that i can enlist." at first the man laughed at the boy--he seemed so little, but when he found that johnny had made up his mind to do his share for his country in the great fight, donaldson, as he was named, became serious. "i tell you what i'll do," he said at last. "if you are really in earnest about learning to drum, i'll give you lessons myself, for," said he modestly, "i was the best drummer in my regiment. if you can learn and they will take you, i'll give you the old drum. i'll send it to the front even if i can't go myself." this was enough for johnny. morning, noon and night he was with his friend donaldson and it was a wonder that the drum-head was not worn out long before he learned. learn he did, however, and in a few months there was not a roll or a call which he could not play. one morning as the school-bell was ringing, johnny presented himself to his parents with the big drum around his neck looking nearly as large as he was. "i'm going to enlist," he said simply. at first his father and mother, like donaldson, were inclined to laugh at him, he was such a little boy, but johnny was in earnest and a boy who is in earnest always gets what he wants. a few days later found him a drummer for the tenth indiana and as he led the regiment, beating the long roll, johnny was the proudest boy that had ever come out of indiana. he had his first taste of fire at fort donelson and afterward at the bloody battle of shiloh. johnny drummed until the terrible drumming of the muskets drowned out even his loud notes. then he laid down his sticks, carefully hid his drum, took a musket and cartridge box from off one of the dead soldiers and ran on with his regiment and fought in the front with the bravest of them all. he had a quick eye and it was not long before he could shoot as accurately as any man there. it was just after shiloh that johnny had a narrow escape from being captured. wanting to try everything, he obtained permission to do picket duty at night although this work was not required of drummer boys. as he had shown himself such a cool and ready fighter, his colonel felt that he was entirely able to do this duty and one dark night put him on picket. his post was some distance away from the camp. just at dawn he was suddenly rushed by a party of rebel cavalry. as they burst out of the bushes johnny fired his carbine at the first one, dropping him, and ran across an open field about fifty yards wide. at the other side was an old, rotten, log fence and beyond that a mass of briers and underbrush where he was sure the horses could not follow. fortunately for him the rains had made the field a mass of mud. there his lightness gave him the advantage, for the horses slumped through at every step. the rebels fired constantly at him as they rode with their pistols. one ball went through his hat, another clear through his cartridge box and lodged in his coat, fortunately without exploding any of the cartridges. beyond the middle of the field the ground was drier and the horsemen commenced to gain on him, but he reached the fence well ahead and with one jump landed on the top. the rotten rails gave way underneath him and he plunged headlong over into the brush, right on the back of a big sleeping wild pig who had rooted out a lair at this place. the pig jumped up grunting and crashed through the underbrush and johnny heard his pursuers smashing through the broken fence not a rod away. he curled up into the round hole which the pig had left, drew down the bushes over his head and lay perfectly quiet. the horsemen, hearing the rustling of leaves and the smashing of branches as the pig dashed off down a pathway, followed after at full gallop and were out of sight in a minute. as soon as the sound of their galloping had died away, johnny crawled cautiously out of his hole and made the best of his way back to camp. the next day some of the rebel cavalry were taken prisoners and johnny recognized one of them as the leader of the squad which had so nearly caught him. the prisoner recognized the boy at the same time and they both grinned cheerfully at each other. "did you catch that pig yesterday?" finally said johnny. "we did that," retorted the prisoner, "but it wasn't the one we were after." johnny had always been able to ride the most spirited horses on the farm and after shiloh he asked to be transferred from the infantry to colonel jacob's kentucky cavalry. there he attracted the attention of the colonel so that the latter gave him one of the best horses in the regiment and a place in the fighting first, as the best-mounted company was called, which the colonel always led personally in every charge. in this company johnny was taught how to handle a sabre. the regular sabre was too heavy for him, but colonel jacob had one light, short one specially made which johnny learned to handle like a flash. a german sergeant, who had been a great fencer on the continent, taught him all that he knew and before long johnny was an expert in tricks of fence which stood him in good stead later on. one in special he so perfected that it was never parried. instead of striking down with the sabre as is generally done, johnny learned a whirling, flashing upper-cut which came so rapidly that generally an opponent could not even see much less parry it. he was also armed with the regulation revolver and a light carbine instead of the heavy revolving rifle used by the rest of the troop. at perryville he fought his first battle with his new regiment. in the charge he stuck close to colonel jacob and received a ball through his left leg above the knee. fortunately it did not break any bone and johnny tore a strip off his shirt, bandaged the hole and went on with the fight. while he was doing this, the greater part of the regiment passed on and when johnny started to join his colonel, he could not find him. he rode like the wind over the field and soon behind a little patch of woods saw colonel jacobs with only six or seven men, the rest having been scattered in the fight. johnny spurred his horse over to him and the colonel was delighted to be joined by his little body-guard. as they were riding along to rejoin the rest of the regiment, from out a clump of bushes a squad of fifty men led by a confederate major dashed out calling on them to surrender. colonel jacob hesitated, for some of his men were wounded and the odds seemed too great for a fight. before he had time to answer, johnny slipped in front of him, drew out his revolver and fired directly into the confederate officer's face, killing him instantly and then drawing his sabre dashed into the ranks of the enemy. the first man he met was a big fellow whose bare, brawny arm and blood-stained sabre proved him a master with his weapon. johnny never gave him a chance to strike. at the whirl of his light sabre his opponent instinctively raised his weapon in the ordinary parry of a down-blow and the point of johnny's sabre caught him under the chin and toppled him off his horse. the union men gave a cheer, followed their little leader, breaking clear through the demoralized confederates and joined their command at the other side of the field. a few weeks later they had a skirmish with the troop of john morgan, the most dreaded cavalry leader and fighter in all the south. johnny, as usual, was in the front of the charge and had just cut at one man when another aimed a tremendous blow at his head in passing. there was just time for johnny to raise the pommel of his sabre to save his head, but the deflected blow caught him on the leg and he fell from the horse with blood spurting out of his other leg this time. he lay perfectly quiet, but another rebel had seen him fall and spurring forward, caught him by the collar, saying: "we'll keep this little yankee in a cage to show the children." johnny did not approve of this cage-idea and although there was no room to use the sabre, managed to work his left hand back into his belt, draw his revolver and shoot his captor dead. in another minute his company came riding back and he was whirled up behind his colonel and rode back of him to safety. this last wound proved to be a serious one and he was sent back to indiana on a furlough to give it time to heal. on the way back he was stopped by a provost guard and asked for his pass. "my colonel forgot to give me any passes," said johnny, "but here are two that the rebels gave me," showing his bandaged legs, and the guard agreed with him that this was pass enough for any one. as his wound refused to heal, against his wishes he was discharged and once more returned home. he then tried to enlist again, but each time he was turned down because of the unhealed wound. finally, johnny traveled clear to washington and had a personal talk with president lincoln and explained to him that his wound would never heal except in active service. his arguments had such force with the president that a special order was made for his enlistment and he fought through the whole war and afterward joined the regular army. the littlest hero of the war was eddie lee. shortly before the battle of wilson's creek, one of the iowa regiments was ordered to join general lyon in his march to the creek. the drummer of one of the companies was taken sick and had to go to the hospital. the day before the regiment was to march a negro came to the camp and told the captain that he knew of a drummer who would like to enlist. the captain told him to bring the boy in the next morning and if he could drum well he would give him a chance. the next day during the beating of the reveille, a woman in deep mourning came in leading by the hand a little chap about as big as a penny and apparently not more than five or six years old. she inquired for the captain and when the latter came out, told him that she had brought him a drummer boy. "drummer boy," said the captain; "why, madam, we don't take them as small as this. that boy hasn't been out of the cradle many months." "he has been out long enough," spoke up the boy, "to play any tune you want." his mother then told the captain that she was from east tennessee where her husband had been killed by the rebels and all her property destroyed and she must find a place for the boy. "well, well," said the captain, impatiently, "sergeant, bring the drum and order our fifer to come forward." in a few moments the drum was produced and the fifer, a tall, good-natured fellow over six feet in height, made his appearance. "here's your new side-partner, bill," said the captain. bill stooped down, and down and down until his hands rested on his ankles and peered into the boy's face carefully. "why, captain," said he, "he ain't much taller than the drum." "little man, can you really drum?" he asked. "yes, sir," said the boy. "i used to drum for captain hill in tennessee. i am nearly ten years old and i want the place." the fifer straightened himself up slowly, placed his fife at his mouth and commenced to play "the flowers of the forest," one of the most difficult pieces to follow on the drum. the little chap accompanied him without a mistake and when he had finished began a perfect fusillade of rolls and calls and rallies which came so fast that they sounded like a volley of musketry. when the noise had finally died out, the captain turned to his mother and said: "madam, i'll take that boy. he isn't much bigger than a minute but he certainly can drum." the woman kissed the boy and nearly broke down. "you'll surely bring him back to me, captain," she said. "sure," said the captain; "we'll all be discharged in about six weeks." an hour later eddie was marching at the head of the iowa first playing "the girl i left behind me" as it had never been played before. he and bill, the fifer, became great chums and eddie was the favorite of the whole regiment. whenever anything especially nice was brought back by the foraging parties, eddie always had his share and the captain said that he was in far more danger from watermelons than he was from bullets. on heavy marches the fifer would carry him on his back, drum and all, and this was always eddie's position in fording the numerous streams. at the battle of wilson's creek the iowa regiment and a part of an illinois regiment were ordered to clear out a flanking party concealed in a ravine upon the left of the union forces. the ravine was a deep, long one with high trees and heavy underbrush and dark even at noontime. the union regiments marched down and there was a dreadful hand-to-hand fight in the brush in the semi-twilight. men became separated from each other and as in the great battle between david and absalom, the wood devoured more people that day than the sword devoured. the fight was going against the union men when suddenly a union battery wheeled into line on a near-by hill and poured a rain of grape and canister into the confederates which drove them out in short order. later on the word was passed through the union army that general lyon had been killed and soon after came the order to fall back upon springfield. the iowa regiment and two companies of a missouri regiment were ordered to camp on the battle-field and act as a rear guard to cover a retreat. when the men came together that night there was no drummer boy. in the hurry and rush of hand-to-hand fighting, eddie had become separated from bill and although the latter raged back and forth through the brush like an angry bull, never a trace of his little comrade could he find. that night the sentries stood guard over the abandoned field and along the edge of the dark ravine now filled with the dead of both sides. it was a wild, desolate country and as the men passed back and forth over the stricken field, they could hear the long, mournful, wailing howl of the wolves which were brought by the smell of blood from the wilderness to the battle-field from miles around. that night poor bill was unable to sleep and moaned and tossed on his blanket and said for the thousandth time: "if only i had kept closer to the little chap." suddenly he sprang to his feet and roused the sleeping men all around him. "don't you hear a drum?" said he. they all listened sadly, but could hear nothing. "lie down, bill," said one of them. "eddie's gone. we all did the best we could." "he's down there in the dark," cried poor bill, "drumming for help, and i must go to him." the others tried to hold him back for it was impossible to see a foot through the tangled ravine at night and moreover the orders were strict against any one leaving camp. bill went to the sentry who guarded the captain's tent and finally persuaded the man to wake up the captain. the latter lay exhausted with fatigue and sorrow, but came out and listened as did all the rest for the drum, but nothing could be heard. "you imagined it, my poor fellow," he said. "there's nothing you could do to-night anyway. wait until morning." bill paced restlessly up and down all through that dark night and just as the dawn-light came in the sky, he heard again faint and far away a drum beating the morning call from out of the silence of the deep ravine. again he went to the captain. "of course you can go," said the latter, kindly, "but you must be back as soon as possible for we march at daybreak. look out for yourself as the place is full of bushwhackers and rebel scouts." bill started down the hill through the thick underbrush and wandered around for a time trying to locate the drum-beats which were thrown back by the trees so that it was difficult to determine from what point they came. as he crept along through the underbrush, they sounded louder and louder and finally in the darkest, deepest part of the ravine, he came out from behind a great pin-oak and saw his little comrade sitting on the ground leaning against the trunk of a fallen tree and beating his drum which was hung on a bush in front of him. "eddie, eddie, dear old eddie," shouted bill, bursting through the thicket. at the sound the little chap dropped his drumsticks and exclaimed: "oh, bill, i am so glad to see you. i knew you would come. do get me a drink." bill started to take his canteen down to a little near-by brook when eddie called him back. "you'll come back, bill, won't you," he said, "for i can't walk." bill looked down and saw that both of his feet had been shot away by a cannon-ball and that the little fellow was sitting in a pool of his own blood. choking back his sobs, the big fifer crawled down to the brook and soon came back with his canteen full of cold water which eddie emptied again and again. "you don't think i am going to die, do you, bill?" said the little boy at last. "i do so want to finish out my time and go back to mother. this man said i would not and that the surgeon would be able to cure me." for the first time bill noticed that just at eddie's feet lay a dead confederate. he had been shot through the stomach and had fallen near where eddie lay. realizing that he could not live and seeing the condition of the boy, he had crawled up to him and taking off his buckskin suspenders had bandaged with them the little fellow's legs so that he would not bleed to death and on tying the last knot had fallen back dead himself. eddie had just finished telling bill all about it in a whisper, for his strength was going fast, when there was a trampling of horses through the ravine and in a minute a confederate scouting party broke through the brush, calling upon bill to surrender. "i'll do anything you want," said bill, "if you will only take my little pal here safe back to camp and get him into the hands of a surgeon." the confederate captain stooped down and spoke gently to the boy and in a minute took him up and mounted him in front of him on his own horse and they rode carefully back to the confederate camp, but when they reached the tents of the nearest confederate company they found that little eddie had served out his time and had given his life for his country. on june , , was fought the stubborn battle of glendale, one of the seven days' battles between mcclellan, the general of the union forces, and lee, the confederate commander. this battle was part of mcclellan's campaign against richmond, the capital of the confederacy which he had within his grasp when he was out-generaled by lee, who that month for the first time had been placed in supreme command of the confederate army. with him were his two great generals, stonewall jackson and longstreet. mcclellan was within sight of the promised land. the spires of richmond showed against the sky. instead of fighting he hesitated and procrastinated away every chance of victory. lee was even then planning that wonderful strategy which was to halt a victorious army, turn it away from the beleaguered capital of the confederacy and send it stumbling back north in a series of defeats. it was necessary for him to have a conference with stonewall jackson, his great fighting right-hand in military matters. jackson rode almost alone fifty miles and attended a conference with lee, longstreet and generals d. h. and a. p. hill. to each of them general lee assigned the part that he was to play. in the meantime, knowing that mcclellan always read and pondered the richmond papers, he arranged that simultaneously every paper should publish as news the pretended facts that strong reinforcements had been sent to the shenandoah valley. mcclellan fell into the trap and instead of pressing forward to attack richmond, which was now only guarded by a small force, he, as usual, waited for reinforcements and allowed his antagonists to march around him and start flanking battles which threatened to cut off his line of communications. the battle of gaines mill was fought in which battle general fitz john porter with thirty-one thousand men stubbornly faced lee and jackson's forces of fifty-five thousand and with sullen obstinacy only retreated when it was absolutely impossible longer to hold his ground. this defeat, which occurred simply because mcclellan could not bring himself to send porter the necessary reinforcements, made general mcclellan resolve to withdraw, although even then, with a superior army, he could have fought his way to richmond. from june th to july , , occurred the seven days' battles fought by the retreating union army. by one of the few mistakes which general lee made in that campaign, the union army was allowed a respite of twenty-four hours to organize its retreat and were well on their way before pursuit was given. on june th there was a battle between the rear guard of the union force and the confederate's under general magruder in which the confederates were defeated. the next day came the battle of glendale. generals longstreet and a. p. hill commanded the confederate army while the rear guard of the retreating union forces was made up of general mccall's division and that of general heintzelman and a part of the corps under general sumner which had done such gallant fighting the day before. it was a stern and stubborn battle. if the confederates could cut through the rear guard, they would have the retreating army at their mercy. on the other hand, if they could be held back, the main army would have time to occupy a favorable position and entrench and could be saved. for a time it seemed as if the confederate attack could not be checked. every available man was called into action. back at the rear were posted the hospital corps where the sick and wounded lay. with them were stationed the band and the drum-corps made up of drummer boys who were supposed to keep out of actual fighting as much as possible. among them was a little jewish boy named benjamin levy, who was only sixteen years old and small for his age. benjamin stayed back with the hospital while the roar of the battle grew louder and louder. finally there was a tremendous chorus of yells and groans and shouts mingled with the rattle of rifle-shots and the heavy thudding sounds which sabres and bayonets make as they slash and pierce living flesh. little groups of wounded men came straggling back or were carried back to the hospital and each one told a fresh story of the fierce fight which was going on at the near-by front. benjamin could stand it no longer. the last wounded man that came in hobbled along with a broken leg, using his rifle for a crutch. the boy helped him to a near-by cot and made him as comfortable as he could. "now you lie quiet," he said, "until the doctor comes and i'll just borrow this rifle of yours and do a little fighting in your place," and benjamin picked up the gun and slipped on the other's cartridge belt. "hi there, you come back with my gun," yelled the wounded man after him. "that front's no place for kids like you." benjamin, however, was well on his way before the man had finished speaking and slipping past an indignant doctor who was trying to stop him, he ran forward, keeping as much as possible in the shelter of the trees among which the bullets and grape-shot were whining and humming. he passed many wounded limping to the rear and rows of prostrate men, some still, some writhing in the agony of their wounds. these were the men who had fallen on their way back to the hospital. a minute later benjamin found himself in the thick of the fight. there had been a confederate charge which the union soldiers had just barely been able to drive back. the men were still panting and shouting and firing volleys at the gray forces who were reluctantly withdrawing to rally for another attack. the boy lay down with the rest and loaded and fired his borrowed rifle as rapidly as he could. no one seemed to notice him except the color-bearer who happened to be the man next to him. he had stopped firing to wipe his face and saw the little fellow close by his arm. "why don't you get back to the rear where you belong?" he said, pretending to talk very fiercely. "this is no place for little boys. when those gray-backs come back, you'll scamper quick enough, so you had better be on your way now." "no i won't," said benjamin positively. "i guess boys have got as much right to fight in this war as men have. anyway, you won't see me do much running." benjamin was mistaken in that last statement, for a minute later the colonel of this particular regiment decided that instead of waiting for a confederate attack, he would do a little charging on his own account. the signal came. the men sprang over the earthworks and benjamin found himself running neck and neck with the color-bearer at the head of them all. it was a glorious charge. the ground ahead was smooth, the fierce flag of the regiment streamed just in front and all around were men panting and cheering as they ran. it was almost like a race on the old school-green at home. they came nearer and nearer to the masses of gray-clothed men who were hurriedly arranging themselves in regular ranks out of the hurry and confusion of their retreat. when they were only a short hundred yards distant, suddenly a wavering line of fire and smoke ran all up and down the straggling line in front of them. men plunged headlong here and there and benjamin noticed that he and the color-bearer seemed to have drawn away from the rest and were racing almost alone. suddenly his friend with the colors stopped in full stride, swung the flag over his head once with a shout and dropped backward with a bullet through his heart. as he fell the colors slowly dropped down through the air and were about to settle on the blood-stained grass when the boy, hardly knowing what he did, shifted his rifle to his left hand, caught the staff of the flag and once more the colors of the regiment were leading the men on. right up to the gray line he carried them, followed by the whole regiment. firing, cutting and stabbing with their bayonets they broke straight through the confederates and after a hand-to-hand fight, drove them out of their position. they carried the boy, still clinging to the colors, on their shoulders to their colonel and to the end of his life benjamin remembered the moment when the colonel shook hands with him before the cheering regiment as the climax of the greatest day of his life. chapter v the charge of zagonyi in battle the charge is the climax. in other kinds of fighting men have a certain amount of shelter and respite and at long range it makes little difference whether the fighter is strong or weak. in a charge, however, the fighting is hand to hand. as in the days of old, men fight at close grips with their enemy and each one must depend upon his own strength and skill and bravery. there have been three charges in modern battles which have been celebrated over and over again. the first of these was the last desperate charge of the old guard at waterloo. a thin red line of english held a hill which napoleon, the greatest of modern generals, saw was the keystone of the battle. if that could be taken, the whole arch of the english and belgium forces would crumble away into defeat. again and again the french stormed at this hill and each time were driven back by the coolly-waiting deadly ranks of the english. toward nightfall napoleon made one last desperate effort. the old guard was to him what the great tenth legion had been to julius cæsar, the best and bravest veterans of his army who boasted that they had never yet been defeated. calling them up with every last one of his reserves, he ordered a final desperate charge to break the battle center. to the grim drumming of what guns the little general had left, they rushed again up that blood-stained slope in desperate dark masses of unbeaten men. with a storm of cheers, the columns surged up in a vast blue battle-wave which seemed as if it must dash off by its weight the little group of silent, grim defenders. the englishmen waited and waited and waited until the rushing ranks were almost on them. then they poured in a volley at such close range that every bullet did the work of two and with a deep english cheer sprang on the broken ranks with their favorite weapon, the bayonet. that great battle-wave broke in a foam of shattered, dying and defeated men and the sunset of that day was the sunset of napoleon's glory. fifty years later in the great war which england with her allies was waging to keep the vast, fierce hordes of russia from ruling europe, happened another glorious, useless charge. owing to a misunderstanding of orders, a little squad of six hundred cavalrymen charged down a mile-long valley flanked on all sides by russian artillery against a battery of guns whose fire faced them all the way. every schoolboy who has ever spoken a piece on friday afternoon knows what comes next. how the gallant six hundred, stormed at with shot and shell, made the charge to the wonder and admiration of three watching armies and how they forced their way into the jaws of death and into the mouth of hell and sabred the gunners and then rode back--all that was left of them. in our own civil war occurred the most famous charge of modern days, pickett's charge at the battle of gettysburg. for three days raged the first battle which the confederates had been able to fight on northern soil. if their great general lee, with his seventy thousand veterans, won this battle, washington, philadelphia and even new york were at his mercy. on the afternoon of the third day he made one last desperate effort to break the center of the union forces. pickett's division of the virginia infantry was the center of the attacking forces and the column numbered altogether over fifteen thousand men. for two hours lee cannonaded the union center with one hundred and fifteen guns. he was answered by the union artillery although they could only muster eighty guns. finally the union fire was stopped in order that the guns might cool for hunt, the union chief of artillery, realized that the cannonade was started to mask some last great attack. suddenly three lines, each over a mile long, of virginia, north carolina, alabama, georgia and tennessee regiments started to cover the mile and a half which separated them from the union center. the union crest was held by the pennsylvania regiments who were posted back of the stone wall on the very summit. as the gray lines rushed over the distance with a score of fierce battle flags flaming and fluttering over their ranks, the eighty guns which had cooled so that they could now be used with good effect opened up on them first with solid shot and then with the tremendous explosive shells. as they charged, the virginia regiments moved away to the left leaving a gap between them and the men from alabama on the right. the union leaders took advantage of this gap and forced in there the vermont brigade and a half brigade of new york men. by suddenly changing front these men were enabled to attack the charging thousands on their flank. the union guns did terrible execution, opening up great gaps through the running, leaping, shouting men. as the charge came nearer and nearer the batteries changed to the more terrible grape and canister which cut the men down like grass before a reaper. still they came on until they were face to face with the waiting union soldiers who poured in a volley at short range. for a moment the battle flags of the foremost confederate regiments stood on the crest. the effort had been too much. over half of the men had been killed or wounded and many others had turned to meet the flank attack of the vermont and new york regiments so that when the pennsylvania troops met them at last with the bayonet, the gray line wavered, broke, and the north was saved. all three of these great charges were brave, glorious failures. this is the story of a charge, an almost forgotten charge, just as brave, just as glorious, which succeeded, a charge in which one hundred and sixty men and boys broke and routed a force of over two thousand entrenched infantry and cavalry. at the breaking out of the war, one of the most popular of the union commanders was john c. fremont, the pathfinder. he had opened up the far west and had made known to the people the true greatness of the country beyond the mississippi. at the birth of the republican or free-soil party, he was the first candidate. the country rang with a campaign song sung to the tune of the marseillaise, the chorus of which was: "march on, march on, ye braves, and let your war cry be, free soil, free press, free votes, free men, fremont and victory." he was one of the first generals appointed. among those whom the fascination of his romantic and adventurous life had attracted to his side was a hungarian refugee named zagonyi. in his boyhood he had fought in the desperate but unsuccessful war which hungary made to free herself from the austrian yoke. he served in the hungarian cavalry; and in a desperate charge upon the austrians, in which half the force were killed, zagonyi was wounded and captured and for two years was a prisoner. he was finally released on condition that he leave his country forever. as an experienced soldier, he was welcomed by general fremont and was authorized to raise a company to be known as fremont's body-guard. in a few days two full companies, composed mostly of very young men, had been enrolled. a little later another company composed entirely of kentucky boys was included in the guards. they were all magnificently mounted on picked horses and very handsomely uniformed. because of their outfit and name they soon excited the envy of the other parts of the army who used to call them the "kid-glove brigade." although well-trained and enthusiastic, they had no active service until october, , when zagonyi, who had been appointed their major, was ordered to take one hundred and sixty of his men and explore the country around springfield, missouri, through which the main army was intending to advance. there were rumors that a confederate force was approaching to take possession of the city of springfield and the body-guard marched seventeen hours without stopping in order to occupy this town before the enemy should arrive. as they came within two miles of springfield, however, they were met by a farmer who informed them that the confederates had beaten them in the race to springfield and were already in camp on a hill about half a mile west of the town. their rear was protected by a grove of trees and there was a deep brook at the foot of the hill. the only way to approach them was through a blind lane which ran into fences and ploughed fields. this was covered by sharpshooters and infantry while four hundred confederate horsemen were posted on the flank of the main body of infantry which guarded the top of the hill. altogether the force numbered over two thousand men. it seemed an absolutely hopeless undertaking for a little body of tired boys to attack twenty times their own number. zagonyi, however, had been used to fighting against odds in his battles with the austrians. he hurriedly called his men together and announced to them that he did not intend to go back without a fight after riding so far. "if any of you men," he said, "are too tired or too weak, or too afraid, go back now before it is too late. there is one thing about it," he added grimly, "if there are any of us left when we are through we won't hear much more about kid gloves." not a man stirred to go back. zagonyi gathered them into open order and drawing his sabre gave the word to start up the fatal lane. at first there was no sight or sound of any enemy, but as the horses broke into a run, there was a volley from the woods and a number of men swayed in their saddles and sank to the ground. down the steep, stony lane they rushed in a solid column in spite of volley after volley which poured into their ranks. some leaped, others crashed through fences and across the ploughed fields and jumped the brook and finally gained the shelter of the foot of the hill. there was a constant whistle of bullets and scream of minie balls over their heads. they stopped for a minute to re-form, for nearly half the squad was down. zagonyi detached thirty of his best horsemen and instructed them to charge up the hill at the confederate cavalry which, four hundred strong, were posted along the edge of the wood, and to hold them engaged so that the rest of the force could make a front attack on the infantry. the rest of the troop watched the little band gallop up the hillside and they were fully half-way up before it dawned upon the confederates that these thirty men were really intending to attack a force over ten times their number. as they swept up the last slope, the confederate cavalry poured a volley from their revolvers instead of getting the jump on them by a down-hill charge. lieutenant mathenyi, another hungarian and an accomplished swordsman, led the attack and cut his way through the first line of the confederate horsemen, closely followed by the score of men who had managed to get up the hill. with their sabres flashing over their heads, they disappeared in the gray cloud of confederates which awaited them. at that moment zagonyi gave the word for the main charge and his column opened out and rushed up the hill from all sides like a whirlwind. even as they breasted the slope they saw the solid mass of confederate cavalry open out and scatter in every direction while a blue wedge of men cut clear through and turned back to sabre the scattering confederates. with a tremendous cheer, zagonyi and the rest of the band rushed on to the massed infantry. they had time for only one volley when the young horsemen were among them, cutting, thrusting, hacking and shooting with their revolvers. in a minute the main body followed the example of the cavalry and broke and scattered everywhere. some of them, however, were real fighters; they retreated into the woods and kept up a murderous fire from behind trees. one young union soldier dashed in after them to drive them out, but was caught under the shoulders by a grape-vine and swept off his horse and hung struggling in the air until rescued by his comrades. down into the village swarmed the fugitives with the guards close at their heels. at a great barn just outside of the village a number of them rallied and drove back the kentucky squad which had been pursuing them. this time zagonyi himself dashed up, and shouting, "come on, old kentuck, i'm with you," rushed at the group which stood in the doorway. as he came on, a man sprang out from behind the door and leveled his rifle at zagonyi's head. the latter spurred his horse until he reared, and swinging him around on his hind legs, cut his opponent clear through the neck and shoulders with such tremendous force that the blood spurted clear up to the top of the door. another hero of the fight was sergeant hunter, the drill-master of the squad. it had always been an open question with the men as to whether he or major zagonyi was the better swordsman. in this fight hunter killed five men with his sabre, one after the other, showing off fatal tricks of fence against bayonet and sabre as coolly as if giving a lesson, while several men fell before his revolver. his last encounter was with a southern lieutenant who had been flying by, but suddenly turned and fought desperately. the sergeant had lost three horses and was now mounted on his fourth, a riderless, unmanageable horse which he had caught, and was somewhat at a disadvantage. in spite of this he proceeded to give those of his squad who were near him a lecture on the fine points of the sabre. "always parry in secant," said he, suiting his action to the word, "because," he went on, slashing his opponent across the thigh, "a regular fencer like this confed is liable to leave himself open. it is easy then to ride on two paces and catch him with a back-hand sweep," and at the words he dealt his opponent a last fatal blow across the side of the head which toppled him out of his saddle. a young southern officer magnificently mounted refused to follow the fugitives, but charged alone at the line of the guards. he passed clear through without being touched, killing one man as he went. instantly he wheeled, charged back and again broke through, leaving another union cavalryman dead. a third time he cut his way clear up to zagonyi's side and suddenly dropping his sabre, placed a revolver against the major's breast and fired. zagonyi, however, was like lightning in his movements. the instant he felt the pressure of the revolver he swerved so that the bullet passed through his tunic, and shortening his sabre he ran his opponent through the throat killing him before he had time to shoot again. holding his dripping sabre in his hand, the major shouted an order to his men to come together in the middle of the town. one of the first to come back was his bugler, whom zagonyi had ordered to sound a signal in the fiercest part of the fight. the bugler had apparently paid no attention to him, but darted off with lieutenant mathenyi's squad and was seen pursuing the flying horsemen vigorously. when his men were gathered together, major zagonyi ordered him to step out and said: "in the middle of the battle you disobeyed my order to sound the recall. it might have meant the loss of our whole company. you are not worthy to be a member of this guard and i dismiss you." the bugler was a little frenchman and he nearly exploded with indignation. "no," he said, "me, you shall not dismiss," and he showed his bugle to his major with the mouthpiece carried away by a stray bullet. "the mouth was shoot off," he said. "i could not bugle wiz my bugle and so i bugle wiz my pistol and sabre." the major recalled the order of dismissal. so ended one of the most desperate charges of the civil war. one hundred and forty-eight men had defeated twenty-two hundred, with the loss of fifty-three killed and more than thirty wounded. chapter vi the locomotive chase courage does not depend upon success. sometimes it takes a braver man to lose than to win. a man may meet defeat and even death in doing his duty, but if he has not flinched or given up, he has not failed. a brave deed is never wasted whether men live or die. in the spring of , james j. andrews and a little band of nineteen other men staked their lives and liberty for the freedom of tennessee and although they lost, the story of their courage helped other men to be brave. at the beginning of the civil war, the eastern part of tennessee was held by the confederates although the mountaineers were for the most part union men. the city of chattanooga was the key to that part of the state and was held by the confederates. a railroad line into that city ran through georgia and was occupied by the southern army. if that could be destroyed, chattanooga could be cut off from reënforcements and captured by the small body of union troops which could be risked for that purpose. this road was guarded by detachments of confederate troops and extended for two hundred miles through confederate territory and it seemed as if it could not be destroyed by any force less than an army. there was no army that could be spared. one april evening a stranger came to the tent of general o. m. mitchel, commander of the union forces in middle tennessee, and asked to see the general. the sentry refused to admit him unless he stated his name and errand. "tell the general," said the man quietly, "that james j. andrews wants to speak to him on a matter of great importance." the sentry stared at him for there were few in the army who had not heard of andrews, the scout, but fewer still who had ever seen him. no man had passed through the enemy's lines so many times, knew the country better or had been sent more often on dangerous errands. in a minute he was ushered in to where general mitchel sat writing in the inner tent. with his deep-set gray eyes and waving hair brushed back from his broad, smooth forehead, he looked more like a poet than a fighter. the general noticed, however, that his eyes never flickered and that although he spoke in a very low voice, there was something about him that at once commanded attention. andrews wasted no time. "general mitchel," he said, "if you will let me have twenty-four men, i will capture a train, burn the bridges on the georgia railroad and cut off chattanooga." "it can't be done," returned general mitchel. "well, general," answered andrews slowly, "don't you think it's worth trying? you know i generally make good on what i set out to do. in this matter if we lose, we lose only twenty-five men. if we win, we take chattanooga and all tennessee without a battle." there was a long pause while the general studied the scout. "you shall have the men," he said finally. andrews saluted and left the tent. that night twenty-four men from three regiments were told that they were to have the first chance to volunteer for secret and dangerous service. not a man chosen refused to serve. the next evening they were told to meet at a great boulder at sunset about a mile below the camp and wait until joined by their captain. each man was furnished with the camp countersign as well as a special watchword by which they could know each other. one by one the men gathered at dusk, recognized each other by the watchword and sat down in the brush back of the boulder to wait. just at dark there was a rustling in the underbrush at the other side of the road and the scout stepped out, joined them and gave the countersign. without a word, he moved to the thick bushes at one corner of the boulder and pushing them aside showed a tiny hidden path which wound through the brush. into this he stepped and beckoned them to follow. the path twisted back and forth among the great stones and trees and through patches of underbrush and the men in single file followed andrews. finally nearly a mile from the road, he led them down into a dense thicket in a little ravine. there the brush had been cut out so as to make a kind of room in the thicket about ten feet square. when they were all inside, the scout motioned them to sit down and then circled around through the underbrush and doubled back on his track so as to make sure that they had not been followed by any spy. then he returned and lighted a small lantern which hung to one of the saplings and for the first time his men had a good look at their captain. as usual, andrews wasted no time. "boys," he said simply, "i have chosen you to come with me and capture a train from an army and then run it two hundred miles through the enemy's country. we will have to pass every train we meet and while we are doing this we must tear up a lot of track and burn down two bridges. there is every chance of being wrecked or shot and if we are captured, we will be hung for spies. it is a desperate chance and i picked you fellows out as the best men in the whole army to take such a chance. if any of you think it is too dangerous, now is the time to stand up and draw out." there was a long pause. each man tried to see what his companions were thinking of in the dim light. "well, captain," at last drawled a long, lank chap with a comical face, who had the reputation of being the worst daredevil in his regiment, "i would like to stand up for you've got me kind of scared, but my foot's asleep and i guess i'll have to go with you." "that's the way i feel," said the man next to him, as every one laughed, and the same answer went all around the circle. in a whisper the scout then outlined his plan. the men were to change their uniforms and put on the butternut-colored clothes of the south and to carry no arms except a revolver and bowie-knife. then they were to cross the country on foot until they got to chattanooga and were then to go back on their tracks by train and meet at a little town called marietta in the middle of georgia. no one would, of course, suspect men coming out of a confederate city to be union soldiers. if questioned they were to say that they were kentuckians on their way to join the southern army. at marietta they were to take rooms at the marietta hotel and meet at the scout's room on the following saturday morning at two o'clock. disguised as a quinine seller, andrews reached marietta ahead of the others. at the time appointed, he sat fully dressed in the silent hotel waiting for the arrival of his little company and wondering how many would appear. just as the town clock struck the hour from the old-fashioned court house, there came a light tapping at the door and one by one nineteen of the twenty-four glided in and reported for duty. all had gone through various adventures and several had only escaped capture by quick thinking and cool action. one of the missing ones had been delayed by a wreck and did not reach marietta in time, two others were forced to enlist in the southern army, and two more reached marietta but by some mistake did not join the others. the twenty who were left, however, were the kind of men whose courage flares highest when things seem most desperate and they were not at all discouraged by the loss of a fifth of their force, and they all agreed with brown, the man whose foot had been asleep, when he drawled out in his comical way, "the fewer fellows the more fun for those who are left." after reporting, they went back to their rooms and got what sleep they could. at daylight they were all at the ticket office in time for the north-bound mail train. in order to prevent any suspicion, each man bought a ticket for a different station along the line in the direction of chattanooga. eight miles out of marietta was a little station called big shanty where the train was scheduled to stop twenty minutes for breakfast. it was a lonely place at the foot of kenesaw mountain and there were only the station, a freight-house, a restaurant and one or two dwelling houses. andrews had planned to capture the train there, believing that there would be few, if any, bystanders at so small a place early in the morning. as the train came around the curve of the mountain, however, the scout and his men, who were scattered through the train, were horrified to see scores of tents showing white through the morning mist. a detachment of confederate soldiers was in camp there and it was now necessary for the little squad of union soldiers to capture the train not only from its crew and passengers, but under the very eyes of a regiment. there was no flinching. the minute the train stopped there was the usual wild scramble by the passengers for breakfast in which the engineer, fireman and conductor joined. in a minute the engine was left entirely unguarded. in those days engines were named like steamboats, and this one had been christened "general." andrews and his men loitered behind. in his squad were two engineers and a fireman. these at once hurried forward and began to uncouple the engine with its tender and three baggage-cars. the rest of the party grouped around, playing the part of bystanders, but with their hands on their revolvers, for within a dozen feet of the engine stood a sentry with his loaded musket in his hand watching the whole thing, while other sentries and a large group of soldiers were only a few yards farther off. the men worked desperately at the coupling and finally succeeded in freeing the cars. then the engineers and fireman sprang into the cab of the engine while andrews stood with his hand on the rail and foot on the step, and the rest of the band tumbled into the baggage-cars. this was the most critical moment of all, for although the watching soldiers might think it natural to change the crew, yet their suspicions would certainly be aroused at the sight of fifteen men climbing into baggage-cars. the nearest sentry cocked his musket and stepped forward to investigate. at this moment brown climbed into the engine along with one of the engineers, coolly smoking a cigar. poking his head out of the window he called back as if to one of the crew, "tell those fellows not to eat up all the breakfast. we'll be back just as soon as we can take those other cars on at the siding." all this time andrews was standing with his foot on the step watching the men enter the baggage-cars. the track was on a high bank and it was necessary for the first man to be raised up on the shoulders of two others in order to open the door. once inside, the other men were tossed up to him and he pulled them in like bags of meal. finally there were only two left and these jumped, caught the outstretched hands of two inside and were hauled up into the car. not until then did andrews step aboard under the very nose of the suspicious sentry. the engineer was so anxious to start that he pulled the throttle wide open and for a few seconds the wheels spun round and round without catching on the rails. he finally slowed up enough to allow the wheels to bite and the engine started off with a jerk which took all the soldiers in the baggage-cars off their feet. just at this moment the fat engineer waddled out of the eating-house shouting at the top of his voice, "stop, thief! stop, thief!" he was followed by the fireman who bellowed to the sentry, "shoot 'em, shoot 'em! they're yanks!" it was too late. the general was taking the first curve on two wheels, leaving the quiet little station swarming and buzzing like a hornet's nest struck by a stone. the train had been captured without losing a man. now came the even more difficult part of the undertaking, to run the engine for two hundred miles through an enemy's country and to force it past all the other trains between big shanty and chattanooga. the first thing to do was to prevent any message of the capture being sent on ahead. there was no telegraph station at big shanty, but there was no telling how soon word would be sent back to the nearest telegraph operator. accordingly, four miles out the engine was stopped and a man named scott, who had been a great coon-hunter before entering the army, shinned up a telegraph pole and sawed through the wires. while he was doing this, the rest of the party took up one of the rails and loaded it into a baggage-car. others piled in a lot of dry railroad ties to be used in burning the bridges. the general was an old-style engine the like of which is never seen nowadays. it had one of the round, funny smoke-stacks which we still see on old postage stamps and it burned cord-wood instead of coal, but it was a good goer for those times and was soon whirling through the enemy's country at what seemed to the raiders a tremendous rate of speed. before long they were compelled to stop at one of the stations to take in wood and water. andrews explained to the station-agent that they were agents of general beauregard running a powder-train down to the confederate headquarters at corinth. at one station named etowah, they found an old locomotive belonging to a local iron company standing there with steam up. it carried the name of jonah and so far as the raiders were concerned, it certainly lived up to its name. brown, who was acting as engineer, wanted to stop and put jonah out of business, but andrews decided to push on. it was a fatal mistake. at kingston, thirty miles from their starting place, they learned that the local freight coming from chattanooga was about due, so andrews put his engine over on the siding and waited. after a long delay, the freight arrived, but it carried on its caboose a red flag showing that another train was behind. andrews stepped up to the conductor and indignantly inquired how any train dared delay general beauregard's special powder-cars. "well, you see," said the freight's conductor, "the yanks have captured huntsville thirty miles from chattanooga and special trains are being run to get everything out." andrews realized that general mitchel had started against chattanooga and that if he could burn even one bridge, the capture of the city was certain. another long wait and the special freight came in, but it carried another fatal red flag. it turned out that it was so large that it was being run in two sections. there was nothing to do but wait. by this time crowds of passengers and train-hands had gathered around the so-called powder-train, all curious to look it over. the four men in the engine sat there smoking, seemingly unconcerned. as a matter of fact, however, they were ready any moment to fight for their lives. if any of the crowd opened the baggage-cars and saw the other men hidden there, no amount of explanation could persuade them that there was not something wrong. if the waiting was hard on the men in the engine, it was still worse for the men crouched back in the cars, not knowing what was wrong and expecting to hear the alarm given any moment. for an hour and five minutes the union train was kept at kingston. at last a whistle was heard and the long-expected freight passed by and the general was again on its way. a mile out from kingston the coon-hunter was sent up another telegraph pole and the wires again cut. the rest of the party were leisurely trying to loosen another rail with the poor tools which they had, when from far in the rear a sound was heard which brought the man at the wires down with a run. it was the whistle of an engine coming their direction and meant that in some mysterious way the enemy was on their track. "pull, you men!" shouted andrews. "they've got word somehow and they're after us." again the whistle sounded, this time much nearer, and with a last frantic pull the rail broke and eight men tumbled head over heels down an embankment. they were up in a minute and scrambled into the baggage-car and the old general was off once more at top speed. at adairsville, the next station, a freight and passenger train were waiting and there andrews heard that another express was due from chattanooga which had not yet arrived. there was no time to wait now that the pursuit had begun and the old general was pushed at full speed in order to reach the next siding before meeting the express. the nine miles between stations were covered in as many minutes, brown and the fireman heaping on the cord-wood and soaking it with kerosene-oil until the fire-plate was red hot. they reached the station just in time, for the express was about to pull out when the whistle of andrews' train was heard, and it backed down so as to allow the "powder-train" to take the side track. it stopped, however, in such a manner as to completely close up the other end of the switch. the engineer and conductor of the express were plainly suspicious and refused to move their train until andrews had answered their questions. with the pursuing engine on his track, any more delay would be fatal. cocking his revolver, andrews poked it into the stomach of the engineer. "my instructions from general beauregard," he said, "are to rush this train through and to shoot any one that tries to delay it and i am going to begin on you." the engineer lost all further desire to ask questions, climbed into his cab and pulled out. the way was now clear to chattanooga. beyond the next station andrews stopped once more to cut the wires and to try to take up a section of the track, when right behind suddenly sounded the whistle of an engine like the scream of some relentless bird of prey that could not be turned from its pursuit. far down the track rushed a locomotive crowded with soldiers armed with rifles. two minutes more would have saved the day for andrews. the rail bent, but did not break, although the men tugged at it frantically until the bullets began pattering around them. there was only just time to jump aboard and the general was off again with the confederate engine thundering close behind. the story of this pursuer is the story of two men who refused to give up and who won out by accepting the one chance in a thousand which ordinary men would let go by. when the stolen train whirled off at big shanty there were two men who didn't waste any time in shouting or swearing. they were fuller, the conductor of the stolen train, and murphy, the foreman of the atlanta railway machine shops. there was no telegraph station nor any locomotive at hand in which to follow the runaways. apparently it was hopeless, yet out of all the crowd of civilians and soldiers who rushed around and asked questions and shouted answers, fuller and murphy were the only two who took the long chance and ran after the flying train. the rest of the crew could not help laughing to see two men chase a locomotive on foot. but murphy and the other let them laugh and ran on. before they had gone a half mile they found a hand-car on a siding. this they lifted over to the main track, manned the pump-bars and were soon flying along at the rate of some fifteen miles an hour. as they came near etowah the hand-car suddenly flew off the track and went rolling down the embankment. it had met the first of the broken rails. the two men were much bruised and shaken up, but no bones were broken and they managed to hoist the hand-car back on to the rails again and were soon on their way, this time keeping a lookout for any traps ahead. at etowah they found old "jonah" puffing on the siding, the engine that brown had advised blowing up. it was at once pressed into service, loaded with soldiers and in a minute was flying toward kingston, where andrews had his life-shortening wait of over an hour. fuller knew of the tangle of trains at that point and told his escort to get their muskets ready and be prepared for a fight, but andrews had been away just four minutes when the pursuers reached the station, and fuller there found himself stopped by three heavy trains. it was hopeless to wait for them to move, and besides old jonah was not much on speed. fuller and his men jumped out, ran through to the farthest train, uncoupled the engine and one car, in spite of the protests of its crew, filled it with forty armed men and once more started after the flying general. it was their whistle which so startled andrews and his men when they were breaking the second rail. fuller and murphy saw what they had done and managed to reverse the engine in time to prevent a wreck. again at this point ordinary men would have given up the chase for it was impossible to go farther in that engine or to get it over the broken rail, but these confederates were not ordinary men. leaving their escort they started down the track again on foot alone, doggedly and relentlessly after their stolen general. before they had gone far they met the mixed train that had told andrews of the express. they signaled so frantically that it stopped and when the crew learned that the so-called "powder-train" was on its way to destroy the great bridges which formed the backbone of their railway, they consented to turn back. so uncoupling the locomotive and the tender and filling them with armed soldiers and civilians from among the passengers, fuller and murphy made their sixth start. on foot, by hand-car, in two locomotives, on foot again and now once more in a locomotive, they began what was to be the last lap of this race on which a city and a state depended. beyond adairsville the confederates could see far ahead in the distance andrews and his men making desperate efforts to raise the rail. with long screams from her whistle, the confederate engine fairly leaped over the tracks. the rail bent slowly, but the spikes still held. two minutes, or even a minute more would break the track and the road and bridges would be defenseless before the union raiders. but it was not to be. andrews and his men tugged at the stubborn rail until the pursuing engine was so close that the bullets were dropping all around them and then sprang into the engine and thundered off again. if only a little time could be gained the union men could burn the oostinaula bridge. so while the engine was running at a speed of nearly a mile a minute, the men in the last car crowded into the next and the last car was dropped off in the hope that it would block the road for the pursuer. but the engine behind pushed it ahead until the next station was reached where it could be switched off the main track. this slowed the chaser's speed, however, so that the general was able to take on wood and water and also to cut the wires beyond the station so that the news of their coming would not be telegraphed ahead and give the station-master a chance to either side-track them or block the track. the pursuing engine began to gain again and the little band of union soldiers moved into the first car and the end of the second car was smashed and it was cut loose. railroad ties were also dropped across the track and time enough was gained once more for the general to take on wood and water at two more stations and to cut the wires beyond each. twice they stopped and tried in vain to raise a rail, but the pursuers came within rifle range each time before they could finish. the rain prevented the burning of the bridges and now slowly and surely the pursuing engine began to gain. the raiders tried every way to block the track. at one point they spied a spare rail near a sharp curve. stopping the engine they fitted it into the track in such a way that it seemed certain to derail the confederate engine. the latter came thundering on at full speed, struck the hidden rail, and leaped at least six inches from the rail, but came down safely and went whirling along as if nothing had happened. not once in a hundred times could an engine have kept the track after such a collision. this was the time. now they were too close to the general to allow of any more stoppages even for wood and water. andrews decided to risk everything on one last stroke. a mile or so ahead was a wooden-covered bridge. at his orders out of the last car his men swarmed into the engine filling every inch of space, even the tender and the cow-catcher being covered with men. all of the fuel left was piled into the one remaining car, smeared with oil and set afire. both the doors were opened and the draught as it was whirled along soon fanned the fire into furious flames. they dashed into the dark of the covered bridge with the car spurting flame from both sides. right in the middle of the bridge it was uncoupled and left burning fast and furiously. it did not seem possible that any engine could pass through such a barrier. there was just enough pressure left in the boiler to reach the next wood-yard and the union scouts looked back anxiously at the bridge. in a minute they heard around a far-away curve the whistle which sounded to them like the screech of a demon. the confederates had dashed into the bridge and pushed the flaming car ahead of them to the next switch. the union scouts had played their last card. there would be no chance of taking in wood before they were overtaken. one thing only was left. they stopped the engine, sprang out, reversed the locomotive and sent it dashing back to collide with their pursuer and then separated to try to make their way back some three hundred miles through the enemy's country to the union lines. the confederates, when they saw the engine coming, reversed their own and kept just ahead of this last attack of the old general until its fires died down and it came to a stop. mitchel, the union general, but thirty miles west of chattanooga, waited in vain for the engine which never came. chattanooga was saved and the most daring railroad raid in history had failed. the story of the fate of the brave men who volunteered for the forlorn hope is a sad one. several were captured that same day and all but two within a week. these two were overtaken and brought back when they were just on the point of reaching the union outposts and had supposed themselves safe. even the two who reached marietta but did not take the train with the others were identified and added to the band of prisoners. being in civilian clothes within an enemy's lines, they were all held as spies and the heroic andrews and seven others were tried and executed. of the others, eight, headed by brown, overpowered the guards in broad daylight and made their escape from atlanta, georgia, and finally reached the north. the other six started with them, but were recaptured and held as prisoners until exchanged in the early part of . so ends the story of an expedition that failed in its immediate object, but that succeeded in the example which these brave men set their fellows. chapter vii sheridan's ride there are as many different kinds of courage as there are different kinds of men. some men are brave because they were born so. they are no more to be praised for their bravery than a bulldog deserves credit because it is a natural born fighter or a hare deserves blame because it specializes in running away. some men belong to the bulldog class. they are brave because it is natural for them to be brave. others belong to the hare-family and they show far more real courage in overcoming their natural instincts than does the other for whom it is natural to do brave deeds. much also depends on the circumstances. we all know from our own experience of athletes who can play a good winning game, and who perform well against inferior competitors. the rarer type, however, is the boy or man who can play a good up-hill game and who with all the odds against him, is able to fight it out and never to let up or give up until the last point is scored or the last yard is run and who often is able to win against better, but less dogged, less courageous competitors. it is so in battles. it is easy for any commander to be courageous and to take unusual chances when he is winning. the thrill of approaching victory is a stimulant which makes even a coward act like a brave man. even general gates, the weak, vacillating, clerkly, self-seeking, cowardly general of the revolutionary war, whose selfishness and timidity were in such contrast to washington's self-sacrifice and courage, was energetic and decisive at the battle of saratoga after benedict arnold, who was there only as a volunteer, had made his brave, successful charge on the british column in spite of gates' orders. after attacking and dispersing the reserved line of the british army, arnold called his men together again and attacked the canadians who covered the british left wing. just as he had cut through their ranks, a wounded german soldier lying on the ground took deliberate aim at arnold and killed his horse and shattered his leg with the same bullet. as he went down, one of his men tried to bayonet the wounded soldier who had fired, but even while disentangling himself from his dead horse and suffering under the pain of his broken leg, arnold called out, "for god's sake, don't hurt him, he's a fine fellow," and saved the life of the man who had done his best to take his. that was the hour when benedict arnold should have died, at the moment of a magnificent victory while saving the life of a man who had injured him. gates went on with the battle, closed in on the british and in spite of their stubborn defense, attacked them fiercely for almost the only time in his career as a general and completely routed them. there is no doubt that on that occasion after arnold's charge gates displayed a considerable amount of bravery, yet such bravery cannot really be termed courage of the high order which was so often displayed by washington, by william of orange and later by his grandson, william of england, by fabius the conqueror of hannibal and by many other generals who were greatest in defeat. napoleon once said that the highest kind of courage was the two-o'clock-in-the-morning courage. he meant that at that gray hour, when the tide of life is at its ebb before the dawn, a man who is brave is brave indeed. the best test of this kind of courage is in defeat. fabius showed that in the long, wasting campaign which he fought against hannibal, one of the greatest generals of his or any other age. following, retreating, harassing, fabius always refused a pitched battle until his enemies at rome forced the appointment of minucius as joint dictator with him. in spite of the protests of fabius, the army was divided and the younger and rasher minucius offered battle with his army. he was like a child before the crafty hannibal who concealed a great force of men in ravines around an apparently bare hill and then inveigled minucius into attacking a small force which he sent up to the top of this hill as a bait to draw him on. once there the ambuscade of hannibal attacked the roman army on all sides and almost in a moment it was in disorder and a retreat was commenced which was about to become a rout when fabius hurried up and by his exhortations and steadfast courage rallied the men, re-formed them, drove through hannibal's lighter-armed troops and finally occupied the hill in safety. the grateful minucius refused to act as commander any further, but at once insisted upon thereafter serving under fabius. at the battle of boyne, that great battle between william of england and his uncle, james ii, which was to decide whether england should be a free or a slave nation, william showed the same kind of courage. in spite of chronic asthma, approaching age and a frail body, king william was a great general. he never appeared to such advantage as at the head of his troops. usually of reserved and saturnine disposition, danger changed him into another man. on this day, while breakfasting before the battle, two field-pieces were trained on him and a six-pound ball tore his coat and grazed his shoulder drawing blood, and dashing him from his horse. he was up in an instant, however, and on that day in spite of his feeble health and wounded shoulder, was nineteen hours in the saddle. the crisis came when the english soldiers charged across the ford of the boyne river. general schomberg, william's right-hand and personal friend, was killed while rallying his troops. bishop walker, the hero of the siege of londonderry, had been struck by a chance shot and the english, who had hardly obtained a firm foothold on the opposite bank, commenced to waver. at this moment king william forced his horse to swim across, carrying his sword in his left hand, for his right arm was stiff with his wound, and dashed up to rally the troops. as he rode up, the disorganized regiment recognized their king. "what will you do for me?" he cried, and almost in an instant he had rallied the men and persuaded them to stand firm against the attacks of the ferocious irish horsemen. "gentlemen," he said, "i have heard much of you. let me see something of you," and charging at their head, this middle-aged, wounded invalid by sheer courage shattered the irish and french troops and saved his kingdom. our own washington was never greater than in defeat and not once but many times rallied a defeated and disheartened army and saved the day. at the battle of monmouth, the traitorous charles lee had turned what should have been a great victory into a disorderly retreat. after outflanking cornwallis, instead of pressing his advantage, he ordered his men to retreat into a near-by ravine. lafayette's suspicions were aroused and he sent in hot haste to washington who arrived on the field of battle just as the whole army in tremendous disorder was pouring out of the marsh and back over the neighboring ravine before the british advance. at that moment washington rode up pale with anger and for once lost control of a temper which cowed all men when once aroused. "what is the meaning of all this?" he shouted to lee and when he received no answer, repeated the question with a tremendous oath. then immediately realizing the situation, he sent lee back to the rear and wheeled about to stop the retreat and form a new front. riding down the whole line of retreating soldiers, the very sight of him steadied and rallied them and in less than half an hour the line was reformed and washington drove back the british across the marsh and the ravine until night put an end to the battle. before morning the whole british force had retreated, leaving their wounded behind and the battle of monmouth had been changed by the courage and fortitude of one man from defeat into a victory for the american forces. the most striking instance in the civil war of what the courage of one brave, enduring, unfaltering man can do was at the battle of cedar creek. in the year , general sheridan, the great cavalry leader, took command of the army of the shenandoah. sheridan was an ideal cavalry leader. brave, dashing, brilliant, he had commanded more horsemen than had any general since the days of the tartar hordes of tamerlane and genghis khan. there was no watchful waiting with sheridan. this he had shown at the great mountain battle of chattanooga. at that battle, missionary ridge was the keystone of the confederate position. it was occupied by confederate batteries and swarming with confederate troops. a storming party was sent from the main body of the union forces to drive out the confederates who held the woods on the flanks of the ridge. the orders were to attack the confederates and hold the captured positions until the main body could come up. grant was watching the battle through his field-glasses and saw the attacking party gain possession of the slopes of the ridge. suddenly, to his surprise and horror, the whole regiment charged directly up the ridge. it was a mad thing to do for the top was held by a tremendous force of confederates and guarded by massed batteries. general grant called general granger up to him and said angrily: "did you order those men up, granger?" "no," said the general, "they started up without orders. when those fellows get started, all hell can't stop 'em." general grant then sent word to general sheridan to either stop the men or take the ridge. "i guess it will be easier to take the ridge than it will be to stop them," said sheridan. before starting, he borrowed a flask and waved it toward the group of confederate officers who were standing on top of the ridge in front of the headquarters of bragg, the confederate general. "here's at you," he shouted, drinking to them. they could plainly see his action through their field-glasses and immediately two field-guns, which were known as lady breckenridge and lady buckner, were trained at sheridan and his group of officers and fired. one shell struck so near sheridan as to splash dirt all over him. "i'll take those guns just for that," was all he said and, followed by his officers, he dashed up the ridge after the climbing, attacking-party. the way was so steep that the men had to climb up on their hands and knees while the solid shot and shell tore great furrows in their ranks. sheridan was off his horse as soon as the slope became steep, and, although he had started after the charge, was soon at the front of the men. they recognized him with a tremendous cheer. "i'm not much used to this charging on foot, boys," he said, "but i'll do the best i can," and he set a pace which soon brought his men so far up that the guns above could not be depressed enough to hit them. behind him came the whole storming party clambering up on their hands and knees with their regimental flags flying everywhere, sometimes dropping as the bearers were shot, but never reaching the ground because they would be caught up again and again by others. at last they were so near that the confederate artillerymen, in order to save time, lighted the fuses of their shells and bowled them down by hand against the storming party. just before they reached the summit, sheridan formed them into a battle-line and then with a tremendous cheer, they dashed forward and attacked the ridge at six different points. the confederates had watched their approach with amazement and amusement. when they found, however, that nothing seemed to stop them, they were seized with a panic and as the six desperate storming parties dashed upon them from different angles, after a few minutes' fast fighting, they broke and retreated in a hopeless rout down the other side of the ridge. sheridan stopped long enough to claim lady breckenridge and lady buckner as his personal spoils of war and forming his men again, led them on to a splendid victory. as soon as he took command of the army of the shenandoah, aggressive fighting at once began. twice he defeated jubal early, once at winchester and again at fisher's hill, while one of his generals routed the rebels so completely in a brilliant engagement at woodstock that the battle was always known as the woodstock races, the confederate soldiers being well in front in this competition. finally, general sheridan had massed his whole army at cedar creek. from there he rode back to washington to have a conference with general halleck and the secretary of war. when that was finished with his escort he rode back to winchester, some twelve miles from cedar creek, two days later. there he received word that all was well at his headquarters and he turned in and went to bed intending to join the army the next day. six o'clock the next morning an aide aroused him with the news that artillery firing could be heard in the direction of cedar creek. sheridan was out of bed in a moment and though it was reported that it sounded more like a skirmish than a battle, he at once ordered breakfast and started for cedar creek. as he came to the edge of winchester he could hear the unceasing roar of the artillery and was convinced at once that a battle was in progress and from the increase of the sound judged that the union army must be falling back. the delighted faces of the confederate citizens of winchester, who showed themselves at the windows, also convinced him that they had secret information from the battlefield and were in raptures over some good news. with twenty men he started to cover the twelve miles to cedar creek as fast as their horses could gallop. sheridan was riding that day a magnificent black, thoroughbred horse, rienzi, which had been presented to him by some of his admirers. like lee's gray horse "traveler" and the horse wellington rode at waterloo, "copenhagen," rienzi was to become famous. before sheridan had gone far and just after crossing mill creek outside of winchester, he commenced to meet hundreds of men, some wounded, all demoralized, who with their baggage were all rushing to the rear in hopeless confusion. just north of newtown he met an army chaplain digging his heels into the sides of his jaded horse and making for the rear with all possible speed. sheridan stopped him and inquired how things were going at the front. "everything is lost," replied the chaplain, "but it will be all right when you get there." the parson, however, in spite of this expression of confidence, kept on going. sheridan sent back word to colonel edwards, who commanded a brigade at winchester, to stretch his troops across the valley and stop all fugitives. to most men this would have been the only plan of action possible, to stop the fugitives and rally at winchester. sheridan, however, was not accustomed to defensive fighting and instantly made up his mind that he would rally his men at the front and if possible, turn this defeat into a victory. the roads were too crowded to be used and so he jumped the fence into the fields and rode straight across country toward the drumming guns at cedar creek, which showed where the main battle was raging. from the fugitives, as he rode, sheridan obtained a clear idea of what had happened. his great rival, early, had taken advantage of his absence to obtain revenge for his previous defeats. just after dawn he had made an attack in two different directions on the union forces and had started a panic which had seized all the soldiers except one division under getty and the cavalry under lowell. the army which sheridan met was a defeated army in full rout. as he dashed along, the men everywhere recognized him, stopped running, threw up their hats with a cheer and shouldering their muskets, turned around and followed him as fast as they could. he directed his escort to ride in all directions and announce that general sheridan was coming. from all through the fields and roads could be heard the sound of faint cheering and everywhere men were seen turning, rallying and marching forward instead of back. even the wounded who had fallen by the roadside waved their hands and hats to him as he passed. as he rode, sheridan took off his hat so as to be more easily recognized and thundered along sometimes in the road and sometimes across country. as he met the retreating troops, he said: "boys, if i had been with you this morning this wouldn't have happened. the thing to do now is to face about and win this battle after all. come on after me as fast as you can." [illustration: sheridan hurrying to rally his men] so he galloped the whole twelve miles with the men everywhere rallying behind him and following him at full speed. at last he came to the forefront of the battle where getty's division and the cavalry were holding their own and resisting the rapid approach of the whole confederate army. sheridan called upon his horse for a last effort and jumped the rail fence at the crest of the hill. by this time the black horse was white with foam, but he carried his master bravely up and down in front of the line and the whole brigade of men rose to their feet with a tremendous cheer and poured in a fierce fire upon the approaching confederate troops. sheridan rode along the whole front of the line and aroused a wild enthusiasm which showed itself in the way that the first rebel charge was driven back. telling getty's and lowell's men to hold on, he rode back to meet the approaching troops. by half-past three in the afternoon, sheridan had brought back all the routed troops, reformed his whole battle line and waving his hat, led a charge riding his same gallant black horse. as they attacked the confederate front, generals merritt and custer made a fresh attack and the whole confederate army fell back routed and broken and was driven up the valley in the same way that earlier in the day they had driven the union soldiers. once again the presence of one brave man had turned a defeat into a victory. sheridan took no credit to himself in his report to lincoln, simply telegraphing, "by the gallantry of our brave officers and men, disaster has been converted into a splendid victory." "my personal admiration and gratitude for your splendid work of october th," lincoln telegraphed back and the whole country rang with praises of phil sheridan and his wonderful ride. the day after the news of the battle reached the north, thomas buchanan read wrote a poem entitled "sheridan's ride," with a stirring chorus. the last verse sang the praise both of the rider and the horse: "what was done? what to do? a glance told him both, then striking his spurs with a terrible oath, he dashed down the line, mid a storm of huzzas, and the wave of retreat checked its course there because, the sight of the master compelled it to pause. with foam and with dust the black charger was gray; by the flash of his eye, and the red nostrils' play, he seemed to the whole great army to say, 'i have brought you sheridan all the way from winchester, down to save the day.'" chapter viii the bloody angle it takes courage to charge, to rush over a space swept by shot and shell and attack a body of men grimly waiting to beat back the onset with murderous volleys and cold steel. sometimes, though, it takes more courage to stand than to charge, to endure than to attack. the six hundred gallant horsemen of that light brigade who charged an army at balaclava were brave men. the six hundred knights of st. john who at the siege of malta by solyman the magnificent defended the tiny fortress of st. elmo against thirty thousand turks until every man lay dead back of the broken ramparts and the power and might of the turkish empire had been wasted and shattered against their indomitable defense were braver. the burghers of leyden who lived through the siege of their city on shoe-leather, rats and bark, who baked their last loaves and threw them down to the besiegers in magnificent defiance, who shouted down to the spaniards that they would eat their left arms and fight with their right, and who slept on the ramparts night and day until they drove back the greatest army in all europe were braver. "it's dogged that does it," said the grim duke of wellington when his thin red line of english fighters endured through that long summer day against attack after attack until at twilight the old guard were repulsed for the last time and the great battle of waterloo won. many men are brave in flashes. they are good for a dash. few are those who can go the distance. this is the story of a union general who could endure and whose courage flared highest when defeat and death seemed certain. it is the story of a little band of men who were brave enough to stand against an army and whose endurance won a seven-day battle and opened the way for the capture of the confederate capital. it was the fourth year of the war of the rebellion, and the end was not yet in sight. the confederate cause had fewer men, but better officers. robert e. lee was undoubtedly the most able general in the world at that time. stonewall jackson had been his right arm, while longstreet, johnston, early and a host of other fighting leaders helped him to defeat one union army after another. the trouble with the union leaders was that they didn't know how to attack. there had been mcclellan, a wonderful organizer, but who preferred to dig entrenchments rather than fight and who never believed that he had enough men to risk a battle. then came meade who won the great battle of gettysburg and beat back the only invasion of the north, but who failed to follow up his advantage and had settled down to the old policy that the north knew so well of watchful waiting. at last came the man. he had been fighting in the west and he had won,--not important battles, but more important, the confidence of the people and of abraham lincoln, the people's president. for this new man had a new system of generalship. his tactics were simple enough. he believed that armies were made to use, not to save. he believed in finding the enemy and hammering and hammering and hammering away until something broke--and that something was usually the enemy. his name was ulysses s. grant. "he fights," was all that president lincoln said about him when a party of politicians came to ask that he be removed. that was enough. what the north wanted was a fighter. other generals would fight when they had to and were satisfied to stop if they defeated the enemy or broke even, but grant was like old charles martel, charles the hammerer, who won his name when he saved all europe from the saracens on the plains of tours by a seven-day battle. the great host of horsemen which had swept victorious through asia, africa and half the circle of the mediterranean whirled down on the solid mass of grim northmen. for six long days charles martel hammered away at that flashing horde of wild warriors. on the seventh his hammer strokes shattered the might of the moslems and they broke and fled, never to cross the pyrenees again. now like charles, the hammerer of the union army was facing his great test, the terrible seven days in the wilderness. between him and the confederate capital lay lee's veteran army entrenched in that wild stretch of virginia territory which was well named the wilderness. every foot of the puzzling woods, ravines, thickets and trails were known to the confederates and well they ought to know it since they had already won a great battle on nearly the same field. in this tangled waste an army that knew the ground had a tremendous advantage. lee chose his battle-field, but did not believe that grant would join battle. he was to learn to know his great opponent better. grant would always fight. on may , , the head of grant's army met lee's forces on one of the few roads of the wilderness, known as the orange plank road. the battle was joined. at first the union forces drove the confederates back into the thick woods. there they were reinforced and the knowledge of the field began to tell. everywhere confederate soldiers were sent by short cuts to attack the entangled union forces and before long the union line was shattered and driven back only to form again and fight once more for six long days. and what a battle that was! as in the fierce forest-fight between david and absalom the wood devoured more people that day than the sword devoured. the men fought at close quarters and in the tangled thickets of stunted virginia pine and scrub-oak they could scarcely see ten yards ahead. every thicket was alive with men and flashed with musketry while the roar and rattle of guns on all sides frightened the deer and rabbits and wildcats that before that day had been the only dwellers in those masses of underbrush. the men fought blindly and desperately in both armies. artillery could not be used to much advantage in the brush. it was largely a battle of musket and bayonet and wild hand-to-hand fights in the tangle of trees. the second day the confederate lines were rolled back to the spot where lee himself stood. just as they were breaking, down the plank road at a steady trot came a double column of splendid troops paying no attention to the rabble and rout around them. straight to the front they moved. it was the brigade of longstreet, lee's great "left hand." at once the union advance was stopped and the confederates began to reform their lines. at this moment from the pines streamed another federal brigade with apparently resistless force down upon the still confused line. then it was that a little force of texans did a brave deed. they saw that if the union advance was not checked, their men would not have time to form. although only eight hundred strong, they never hesitated, but with a wild rebel yell and without any supports or reinforcements, charged directly into the flank of the marching union column of many times their number. there was a crash, and a tumult of shouts and yells which settled down into a steady roar of musketry. in less than ten minutes half of the devoted band lay dead or wounded. but they had broken the force of the federal advance and had given the confederate line time to rally. back and forth, day after day the human tide ebbed and flowed until the lonely wilderness was crowded with men, echoing with the roar and rattle of guns and stained red with brave blood. at times in the confusion scattered troops fired upon their own men, and longstreet was wounded by such an accident. at one place the federal forces had erected log breastworks. these caught fire during the battle and both forces fought each other over a line of fire through which neither could pass. from every thicket different flags waved. the forces were so mixed that men going back for water would find themselves in the hands of the enemy. in places the woods caught fire and men fought through the rolling smoke until driven back by the flames that spared neither the blue nor the gray. both sides would then crawl out to rescue the wounded lying in the path of the fire. in some places where the men had fought through the brush, bushes, saplings and even large trees were cut off by bullets four or five feet from the ground as clean and regularly as if by machinery. for the first few days the confederates had the advantage. they knew the paths and the union men were driven back and forth among the woods in a way that would have made any ordinary general retreat. but grant was not an ordinary general. the more he was beaten the harder he fought. the more men he lost the more he called into action from the reserves. "it's no use fighting that fellow," said one old confederate veteran; "the fool never knows when he's beaten. and it's no use shooting at those yanks," he went on; "half-a-dozen more come to take the place of every one we hit." at last the union soldiers got the lay of the land. they couldn't be surprised or ambushed any more. then they began to throw up breastworks and to cut down trees to hold every foot that they had taken. the confederates did the same and the two long, irregular lines of earthworks and log fortifications faced each other all the way through the wilderness. yet still the lines of gray lay between richmond and the men in blue. for six days the men had fought locked together in hand-to-hand fights over miles and miles of wilderness, marsh and thicket. the union losses had been terrific. all along the line the confederates had won and again and again had dashed back the attempts of the union forces to pass through or around their lines. the union army had lost eleven officers and twenty thousand men and had fought for six days without accomplishing anything. yet on that day grant sent to washington a dispatch in which he wrote: "i propose to fight it out on this line if it takes all summer." through all this tumult of defeats and losses he sat under a tree whittling and directing every movement as coolly as if safe at home. finally the great hammerer chose a spot at which to batter and smash with those tremendous strokes of his. the confederates had built a long irregular line of earthworks and timber breastworks running for miles through the tangled woods. at one point near the center of the lines a half-moon of defenses jutted out high above the rest of the works. at the chord of this half-circle was an angle of breastworks back of which the confederates could retreat if driven out of the semicircle. grant saw that this half-moon was the key of the confederate position. if it could be captured and held, their whole battle line could be broken and crumpled back and the union army pass on to richmond. if taken at all, it must be by some sudden irresistible attack. he chose general hancock, a daring, dashing fighter, to make the attempt for the morning of may th. it rained hard on the night of may th and came off bitter cold. the men gathered for the attack about ten o'clock and huddled together in little groups wet and half-frozen. all that long night they waited. just at dawn the word was passed around. crouching in the darkness, a division pressed forward and rushed like tigers at the half-circle and began to climb the breastworks from two sides. the sleepy sentries saw the rush too late. the first man over was a young sergeant named brown. with a tremendous jump he caught a projecting bough, swung himself over like a cat and landed right in the midst of a crowd of startled soldiers. finding himself entirely alone with a score of guns pointed at him, he lost his nerve for a minute. "i surrender, don't shoot," he bellowed like a bull. at that moment from all sides other soldiers dropped over the rampart. "i take it all back," shouted brown, now brave again, and to make up for the break in his courage he rushed into the very midst of the defenders and, single-handed, captured the colors. the confederates were taken entirely by surprise. in the dim light they fought desperately, but they were attacked from two sides with bullets, bayonets and smashing blows from the butt-ends of muskets used like clubs. almost in a moment the entrenchments were in the hands of the union soldiers and over three thousand prisoners, two generals and twenty cannon were captured. those who were left took refuge back of the angle-breastworks which guarded the approach to the half-moon. there they fought back the charging troops until lee, who had heard of the disaster, could pour in reinforcements. he knew full well that this center must be retaken at any cost. every man and gun that could be spared was hurried to the spot. lee started then to take command in person. only when the soldiers refused to fight unless he took a safe place did he consent to stay back. with all his available forces grant lapped the half-circle on every side and began to hammer away at this break in the confederate line. the confederate reinforcements came up first and hancock's men were driven back from the angle until they met the reinforcements pouring in from the troops outside. for a moment they could not face the concentrated fire that came from the rear breastworks. flat on their faces officers and men lay in a little marsh while the canister swished against the tall marsh-grass and the minie balls moaned horribly as they picked out exposed men here and there. soon another regiment came up and with a yell the men sprang to their feet and dashed at the breastworks which loomed up through the little patch of woods through which they had retreated. in a minute they had rushed through the trees with men dropping on every side under the murderous fire. before them was the grim angle of works to be known forever as the bloody angle. as they came nearer they found themselves in front of a deep ditch. scrambling through this they became entangled in an abattis, a kind of latticework of limbs and branches. as they plunged into this many a man was caught in the footlocks formed by the interwoven branches and held until he was shot down by the fire back of the breastworks. these were made of heavy timber banked with earth to a height of about four feet. above this was what was called a "head-log" raised just high enough to allow a musket to be inserted between it and the lower work. inside were shelves covered with piles of buck and ball and minie cartridges. through the ditch and the snares, up and over the breastworks charged a pennsylvania regiment, losing nearly one hundred men as they went. once again there was the same confused hand-to-hand fighting as had taken place at the outer fortifications. this time the result was different. the crafty lee had hurried a dense mass of troops through the mist. these men crawled forward in the smoke, reserving their fire until they got to the very inside edge of the angle. then with the terrible long-drawn rebel yell, they sprang to their feet and dashed into the breastworks with a volley that killed every union soldier who had crossed over. down too went the men in front, still tangled in the abattis. every artillery horse was shot and colonel upton of the th pennsylvania volunteers was the only mounted officer in sight. "stick to it, boys," he shouted, riding back and forth and waving his hat. "we've got to hold this point!" in a dense mass the confederates poured into the breastworks and for a moment it seemed as if they would sweep the union forces back and retake the half-moon salient. at this moment the pennsylvanians were reinforced by the th maine and the st new york, but the confederates had the advantage of the breastworks and the union men began to waver. then a little two-gun battery of the second corps did a very brave thing. they were located at the foot of a hill back of a pine-grove. as the news came that the union men were giving way, they limbered the guns, the drivers and cannoneers mounted the horses and up the hill at full gallop they charged through the union infantry and right up to the breastworks, the only case of a charge by a battery in history. then in a second they unlimbered their guns and poured in a fire of the tin cans filled with bullets called canister which was deadly on the close-packed ranks of the confederates hurrying up to the angle. the union gunners were exposed to the full fire of the men back of the breastworks, but they never flinched. the left gun fired nine rounds and the right fourteen double charges. these cannonades simply mowed the men down in groups. captain fish of general upton's staff left his men and rushed to help this little battery. back and forth he rode before the guns and the caissons carrying stands of canister under his rubber coat. "give it to 'em, boys," he shouted. "i'll bring you canister if you'll only use it." again and again he rode until, just as he turned to cheer the gunners once more, he fell mortally wounded. the guns were fired until all of the horses were killed, the guns, carriages and buckets cut to pieces by the bullets and only two of the twenty-three men of the battery were left on their feet. leaving their two brass pieces which had done such terrible execution still on the breastworks cut and hacked by the bullets from both sides, the lone two marched back through the cheering infantry. "that's the way to do it," shouted colonel upton. "hold 'em, men! hold 'em!" and his men held. the soft mud came up half-way to their knees. under the continued tramping back and forth, the dead and wounded were almost buried at their feet. the shattered ranks backed off a few yards, then closed up and started to hold their place out in the open against the constantly increasing masses of the enemy back of the breastworks of the angle. the space was so narrow that only a certain number of men on each side could get into action at once. a new jersey and vermont brigade hurried in to help while on the other side general lee sent all the men that could find a place to fight back of the breastworks. into the mêlée came an orderly who shouted in colonel upton's ear so as to be heard over the rattle of musketry and the roar of yells and cheers: "general grant says, 'hold on!'" "tell general grant we are holding on," shouted back colonel upton. the men in the mud now directed all their fire at the top of the breastworks and picked off every head and hand that showed above. the confederates then fired through the loopholes, or placed their rifles on the top log and holding by the trigger and the small of the stock lifted the breach high enough to fire at the attacking forces. the losses on both sides were frightful. a gun and a mortar battery took position half a mile back of the union forces and began to gracefully curve shells and bombs just over the heads of their comrades so as to drop within the ramparts. sometimes the enemy's fire would slacken. then some reckless union soldier would seize a fence-rail or a piece of the abattis and creep close to the breastworks and thrust it over as if he was stirring up a hornet's nest, dropping on the ground to avoid the volley that was sure to follow. one daring lieutenant leaped upon the breastworks and took a rifle that was handed up to him and fired it into the masses of the confederate soldiers behind. another one was handed up and he fired that and was about aiming with a third when he was riddled with a volley and pitched headlong among the enemy. a little later a party of discouraged confederates raised a piece of a white shelter tent above the works as a flag of truce and offered to surrender. the union soldiers called on them to jump over. they sprang on the breastworks and hesitated a moment at the sight of so many leveled guns. that moment was fatal to them for their comrades in the rear poured a volley into them, killing nearly every one. all day long the battle raged. different breastworks in the same fortifications flaunted different flags. gradually, however, all along the line the firing and the fighting concentrated at the angle. the head logs there were so cut and torn that they looked like brooms. so heavy was the fire that several large oak trees twenty-two inches in diameter back of the works were gnawed down by the bullets and fell, injuring some of the south carolina troops. toward dusk the union troops were nearly exhausted. each man had fired between three and four hundred rounds. their lips were black and bleeding from biting cartridge. their shoulders and hands were coated and black with grime and powder-dust. as soon as it became dark they dropped in the knee-deep mud from utter exhaustion. but they held. grimly, sternly they held. all the long night through they fired away at the breastworks. the trenches on the right of the angle ran red with union blood and had to be cleared many a time of the piles of dead bodies which choked them. at last, a little after midnight, sullenly and slowly the confederate forces drew back and the half-moon and the bloody angle were left in possession of the union forces. the seven days' hammering and the twenty hours of holding had won the fierce and bloody battle of the wilderness. chapter ix heroes of gettysburg heroes are not made of different stuff from ordinary men. god made us all heroes at heart. satan lied when he said "all that a man hath will he give for his life." the call comes and commonplace men and workaday women give their lives as a very little thing for a cause, for an ideal, or for others. when the great moment comes, the love and courage and unselfishness that lie deep in the souls of all of us can flash forth into beacon-lights of brave deeds which will stand throughout the years pointing the path of high endeavor for those who come after. women the world over will never forget how mrs. strauss came back from the life-boat and went down on the _titanic_ with her husband rather than have him die alone. boys have been braver and tenderer their lives long because of the unknown hero at niagara. with his mother he was trapped on a floe when the ice-jam broke. slowly and sternly it moved toward the roaring edge of the cataract. from the suspension bridge a rope was let down to them. twice he tried to fix it around his mother, but she was too old and weak to hold on. the floe was passing beyond the bridge and there was just time for him to knot the rope around himself. young, active and strong, he would be safe in a moment, but his mother would go to death deserted and alone. he tossed the rope away, put his arm around his old mother and they went over the falls together. every american sailor has been braver and gentler from the memory of captain craven who commanded the monitor _tecumseh_ when fighting farragut destroyed the forts and captured the rebel fleet at mobile bay. the _tennessee_ was about to grapple with the _tennessee_, the great rebel ram, when she struck a torpedo, turned over and went down bow foremost. captain craven was in the pilot-house with the pilot. as the vessel sank they both rushed for the narrow door. craven reached it first, but stood aside saying, "after you, pilot." the latter leaped through as the water rushed in and was saved. craven went down with his ship. the great moments which are given to men in which to decide whether they are to be heroes or cowards may come at any time, but they always flash through every battle. danger, suffering and death are the stern tests by which men's real selves are discovered. a man can't do much pretending when he is under fire, and he can't make believe he is brave or unselfish, or chivalric when he is sick, or wounded, or dying. we can be proud that the man who went before us made good and that we can remember all the great battles of the greatest of our wars by the brave deeds of brave men. the battle of gettysburg was the most important of the civil war. lee with seventy thousand men was pouring into the north. if he defeated meade and the union army, washington, the capital, would fall. even philadelphia and new york would be threatened. in three days of terrible fighting, thirty thousand men were killed. in one of the charges one regiment, the st minnesota, lost eighty-two per cent. of its men--more than twice as many as the famous light brigade lost at balaclava. pickett's charge of fifteen thousand men over nearly a mile and a half against the hill which marked the center of the union lines was one of the greatest charges in history. when the confederates were driven back, two-thirds of the charging party had been killed or wounded. it was the crisis of the war. if that charge went home gettysburg was lost, the union army would become a rabble and the whole strength of the confederate forces would pass on into the north. on the union batteries depended the whole fate of the army. if they could keep up a fire to the last moment, the charge must fail. otherwise the picked thousands of the confederate army would break the center of the union forces and the battle would be lost. lee gathered together one hundred and fifteen guns and directed a storm of shot and shell against the union batteries as his regiments charged up the hill. on the very crest was a battery commanded by young cushing, a brother of lieutenant w. b. cushing, who drove a tiny torpedo launch over a boom of logs under the fire of forts, troops and iron-clads and destroyed the great confederate iron-clad _albemarle_. this cushing was of the same fighting breed. during the battle he was shot through both thighs but would not leave his post though suffering agonies from the wounds. when the charge began he fought his battery as fast as the guns could be loaded and fired and his grape-shot and canister mowed down the charging confederates by the hundred. in spite of tremendous losses the rebels rushed up the hill firing as they came and so fierce was their fire and that of the confederate batteries that of the union officers in command of the batteries just in front of the charge, all but two were struck. but the men kept up the fire to the very last. as what was left of the confederates topped the hill, a shell struck the wounded cushing tearing him almost in two. he held together his mangled body with one hand and with the other fired his last gun and fell dead just as the confederates reached the stone wall on the crest. they were so shattered by his fire that they were unable to hold the hill and were driven back and the battle won for the union. old john burns was another one of the many heroes of gettysburg. john was over seventy years old when the battle was fought and lived in a little house in the town of gettysburg with his wife who was nearly as old as he. burns had fought in the war of and began to get more and more uneasy every day as the battle was joined at different points near where he was living. the night before the last day of the battle the old man went out to get his cow and found that a foraging band of confederates had driven her off. this was the last straw. the next day regiment after regiment of the confederate forces marched past his house and the old man took down his flintlock musket which had done good service against the british in and began to melt lead and run bullets through his little old bullet mould. mrs. burns had been watching him uneasily for some time. "john, what in the world are you doing there?" she finally asked. "oh," he said, "i thought i would fix up the old gun and get some bullets ready in case any of the boys might want to use it. there's goin' to be some fightin' and it's just as well to get ready. there ain't a piece in the army that will shoot straighter than betsy here," and the old man patted the long stock of the musket affectionately. "well," said his wife, "you see that you keep out of it. you know if the rebs catch you fightin' in citizens' clothes, they'll hang you sure." "don't you worry about me," said john. "i helped to lick the british and i ain't afraid of a lot of rebels." finally the long procession of confederate forces passed and for an hour or so the road was empty and silent. at last in the distance sounded the roll and rattle of drums and through a great cloud of dust flamed the stars and stripes and in a moment the road was filled with solid masses of blue-clad troops hurrying to their positions on what was to be one of the great battle-fields of the world. as regiment after regiment filed past, old john could stand it no longer. he grabbed his musket and started out the door. "john! john! where are you going?" screamed his wife, running after him. "ain't you old enough to know better?" "i'm just goin' out to get a little fresh air," said john, pulling away from her and hurrying down the street. "i'll be back before night sure." it was the afternoon of the last day when the men of a wisconsin regiment near the front saw a little old man approaching, dressed in a blue swallow-tail coat with brass buttons and carrying a long flintlock rifle with a big powder-horn strapped about him. "hi, there!" he piped, when he saw the men. "i want to jine in. where'll i go?" the men laughed at the sight. "anywhere," shouted back one of them; "there's good fightin' all along the line." "well," said john, "i guess i'll stop here," and in spite of their attempts to keep him back, he crept up until he was at the very front of the skirmish line. there was a lull in the fighting just then and there was a good deal of joking up and down the line between the men and john. "say, grandpa," called out one, "did you fight in the revolution?" "have you ever hit anything with that old gun of yours?" said another. but john was able to hold his own. "sure i fought in the revolution," he piped loudly, "and as for hittin' anything, say, boys, do you know that at the battle of bunker hill i had sixty-two bullets in my pocket. i had been loadin' and firin' fifty times and i had shot forty-nine british officers when suddenly i heard some one yellin' to me from behind our lines and he says to me, 'hi, there, old dead-shot, don't you know that this is a battle and not a massacre?' i turns around and right behind me was general george washington, so i saluted and i says, 'what is it, general?' and he says, 'you stop firin' right away.' 'well,' i said, 'general, i have only got twelve more bullets; can't i shoot those?' 'no,' he says to me, 'you go home. you've done enough,' and he says, 'don't call me general, call me george.'" this truthful anecdote was repeated along the whole line and instantly made john's reputation as a raconteur. he was allowed to establish himself at the front of the line and in a minute, as the firing commenced, he was fighting with the best of them. they tried to persuade him to take a musket from one of the many dead men who were lying around, but like david, john would not use any weapon which he had not proved. he stuck to old betsy and although he did not make quite so good a record as at the battle of bunker hill, according to his comrades he accounted for no less than three confederates, one of whom was an officer. before the day was over he received three wounds. toward evening there was an overwhelming rush of the confederates which drove back the union soldiers and the wisconsin regiment fell back leaving poor old john lying there among the other wounded. he was in a dilemma. although his cuts were only flesh-wounds, yet he would bleed to death unless they were properly dressed. on the other hand if he was found by the rebels in civilian clothes with his rifle, he would undoubtedly be shot according to military law. the old man could not, however, bear the thought of parting with old betsy, so he crawled groaningly toward a hollow tree where he managed to hide the old flint-lock and the powder-horn and soon afterward attracted the attention of the confederate patrol which was going about the field attending to the wounded. at first they were suspicious of him. "what are you doing, old man, wounded on a battle-field in citizens' clothes?" one of the officers asked. "well," said john, "i was out lookin' for a cow which some of you fellows carried off and first thing i knew i was hit in three places. so long as you got my cow, the least you can do is to carry me home." [illustration: the battle of gettysburg] this seemed fair to the officer and a stretcher was brought and the old man was carried back to the house. his next fear was that his wife would unconsciously betray him to the patrol that were bringing him into the house. sure enough as they reached the door, old mrs. burns came rushing out. "john," she screamed, "i told you not to go out." "shut up, molly," bellowed john at the top of his voice. "i didn't find the old cow, but i did the best i could and i want you to tell these gentlemen that i am as peaceable an old chap that ever lived, for they found me out there wounded with a lot of soldiers and think i may have been doin' some fightin'." mrs. burns was no fool. "gentlemen," she cried out, "i can't thank you enough for bringing back this poor silly husband of mine. i told him that if he went hunting to-day for cows or anything else, he would most likely find nothing but trouble, and i guess he has. he's old enough to know better, but you leave him here and i'll nurse him and try to get some sense into his head." so the patrol left burns at his own house, not without some suspicions, for the next day an officer came around and put him through a severe cross-examination which john for the most part escaped by pretending to be too weak to answer any particularly searching question. mrs. burns nursed the old man back to health again and never let a day go by without a number of impressive remarks about his foolhardiness. the old man hadn't much to say, but the first day after he got well he disappeared and came back an hour or so later with old betsy and the powder-horn which he found safe and sound in the tree where he left them. these he hung again over the mantelpiece in readiness for the next war, "for," said john, "a man's never too old to fight for his country." another hero in that battle was lieutenant bayard wilkeson. only nineteen years old he commanded a battery in an exposed position on the union right. his two guns did so much damage that gordon, the confederate general, could not advance his troops in the face of their deadly fire. wilkeson could be seen on the far-away hilltop riding back and forth encouraging and directing his gunners. general gordon sent for the captains of two of his largest batteries. "train every gun you've got," he said, "on that man and horse. he's doing more damage than a whole yankee regiment." quietly the guns of the two far-apart positions were swung around until they all pointed directly at that horseman against the sky. a white handkerchief was waved from the farthest battery and with a crash every gun went off. when the smoke cleared away, man and horse were down, the guns dismounted and the gunners killed. the confederate forces swept on their way unchecked across the field that had been swept and winnowed by wilkeson's deadly guns. as they went over the crest, they found him under his dead horse and surrounded by his dead gunners still alive but desperately wounded. he was carried in to the allen house along with their own wounded and given what attention was possible, which was little enough. it was plain to be seen that he was dying. suffering from that choking, desperate thirst which attacks every wounded man who has lost much blood he faintly asked for water. there was no water to be had, but finally one of the confederate officers in charge managed to get a full canteen off a passing soldier. wilkeson stretched out his hands for what meant more to him than anything else in the world. just then a wounded confederate soldier next to him cried out, "for god's sake give me some." wilkeson stopped with the canteen half to his mouth and then by sheer force of will passed it over to the other. in his agonizing thirst the wounded confederate drank every drop before he could stop himself. horror-stricken he turned to apologize. the young lieutenant smiled at him, turned slightly--and was gone. it took more courage to give up that flask of cold water than to fight his battery against the whole confederate army. the hero-folk on that great day were not all men and boys. among the many, many monuments that crowd the field of gettysburg there is one of a young girl carved from pure translucent italian marble. it is the statue of jennie wade, the water-carrier for many a wounded and dying soldier during two of those days of doom. although she knew it not, jennie was following in the footsteps of another woman, that unknown wife of a british soldier at the battle of saratoga in the far-away revolutionary days. when burgoyne's army was surrounded at saratoga, some of the women and wounded men were sent for safety to a large house in the neighborhood where they took refuge in the cellar. there they crouched for six long days and nights while the cannon-balls crashed through the house overhead. the cellar became crowded with wounded and dying men who were suffering agonies from thirst. it was only a few steps to the river, but the house was surrounded by morgan's sharp-shooters and every man who ventured out with a bucket was shot dead. at last the wife of one of the soldiers offered to go and in spite of the protests of the men ventured out. the american riflemen would not fire upon a woman and again and again she went down to the river and brought back water to the wounded in safety. jennie wade was a girl of twenty who lived in a red-brick house right in the path of the battle. they could not move to a safer place, for her married sister was there with a day-old baby, so the imprisoned family was in the thick of the battle. recently when the old roof was taken off to be repaired, over two quarts of bullets were taken from it. during the first day, jennie's mother moved her daughter and her baby so that her head rested against the foot of the bed. she had no more been moved than a bullet crashed through the window and struck the pillow where her head had lain an instant before. while her mother watched her daughter and the baby, jennie carried water to the soldiers on the firing-line. at the end of the first day fifteen soldiers lay dead in the little front yard and all through that weary day and late into the night jennie was going back and forth filling the canteens of the wounded and dying soldiers as they lay scattered on that stricken field. throughout the second day she kept on with this work and many and many a wounded soldier choking with thirst lived to bless her memory. on this day a long procession of blue-clad men knocked at the door of the house asking for bread until the whole supply was gone. after dark on the second day, jennie mixed up a pan of dough and set it out to rise. she got up at daybreak and as she was lighting a fire, a hungry soldier-boy knocked at the door and asked for something to eat. jennie started to mix up some biscuit and as she stood with her sleeves rolled up and her hands in the dough, a minie ball cut through the door and she fell over dead without a word. her statue stands as she must have appeared during those first two days of battle. in one hand she carries a pitcher and over her left arm are two army-canteens hung by their straps. not the least of the heroic ones of that battle was jennie wade who died while thus engaged in homely, helpful services for her country. these are the stories of but a few who fought at gettysburg that men might be free and that their country might stand for righteousness. the spirit of that battle has been best expressed in a great poem by will h. thompson with which we end these stories of some of the brave deeds of the greatest battle of the civil war. high tide at gettysburg a cloud possessed the hollow field, the gathering battle's smoky shield; athwart the gloom the lightning flashed, and through the cloud some horsemen dashed, and from the heights the thunder pealed. then, at the brief command of lee, moved out that matchless infantry, with pickett leading grandly down to rush against the roaring crown of those dread heights of destiny. far heard above the angry guns, a cry across the tumult runs, the voice that rang through shiloh's woods and chickamauga's solitudes, the fierce south cheering on her sons. ah, how the withering tempest blew against the front of pettigrew! a khamsin wind that scorched and singed, like that infernal flame that fringed the british squares at waterloo! "once more in glory's van with me!" virginia cries to tennessee, "we two together, come what may, shall stand upon those works to-day." (the reddest day in history.) but who shall break the guards that wait before the awful face of fate? the tattered standards of the south were shriveled at the cannon's mouth, and all her hopes were desolate. in vain the tennesseean set his breast against the bayonet; in vain virginia charged and raged, a tigress in her wrath uncaged, till all the hill was red and wet! above the bayonets mixed and crossed, men saw a gray, gigantic ghost receding through the battle-cloud, and heard across the tempest loud the death-cry of a nation lost! the brave went down! without disgrace they leaped to ruin's red embrace; they only heard fame's thunder wake, and saw the dazzling sun-burst break in smiles on glory's bloody face! they fell, who lifted up a hand and bade the sun in heaven to stand! they smote and fell, who set the bars against the progress of the stars, and stayed the march of motherland. they stood, who saw the future come on through the fight's delirium! they smote and stood, who held the hope of nations on that slippery slope amid the cheers of christendom! god lives! he forged the iron will that clutched and held that trembling hill. god lives and reigns! he built and lent those heights for freedom's battlement, where floats her flag in triumph still! fold up the banners! smelt the guns! love rules; her gentler purpose runs. a mighty mother turns in tears the pages of her battle years, lamenting all her fallen sons! chapter x the lone scout single-handed exploits, where a man must depend upon his own strength and daring and coolness, rank high among brave deeds. occasionally a man has confidence enough in himself to penetrate alone into the enemy's country and to protect his life and do his endeavor by his own craft and courage. of such was hereward, the last of the english, who, like robin hood, many centuries later, led his little band of free men through fen and forest and refused to yield even to the vast resources of william the conqueror. once disguised as a swineherd he entered the very court of the king and sat with the other strangers and wanderers at the foot of the table in the great banquet-hall and saw in the distance the man who was first to conquer and then to make unconquerable all england. to this day we love to read of his adventures on that scouting trip. how the servants who sat at meat with him played rough jokes on him until, forgetful of his enormous strength, he dealt one of them a buffet which laid him lifeless across the table with a broken neck. how he was taken up to the head of the table and stood before william on an instant trial for his life. his loose jerkin had been torn during the struggle and showed his vast chest and arms covered with scars of old wounds which no swineherd would ever have received. the old chronicle goes on to tell how they imprisoned him for the night and when his jailer came to fetter his legs with heavy irons, he stunned him with a kick, unlocked the doors and gates, broke open the stable door, selected the best horse in the king's stable and, armed with an old scythe blade which he had picked up in the barn, cut his way through the guard and rode all night by the stars back to his band. in corporal pike of the fourth ohio regiment led an expedition for a hundred miles through the enemy's country, which was worthy of hereward himself. the expedition consisted of corporal james pike, who held all positions from general to private and who also had charge of the commissary department and was head of the board of strategy. the corporal was a descendant of captain zebulon pike the great indian fighter and inherited his ancestor's coolness and daring. old zebulon used to say that he never really knew what happiness was until he was in danger of his life and that when he started into a fight, it was as if all the music in the world was playing in his ears and that a battle to him was like a good dinner, a game of ball and a picnic all rolled into one. the corporal was very much this way. he had taken such particular pleasure in foolhardy exploits that his officers decided to try him on scout duty. there he did so well that general mitchel's attention was attracted to him. in april, , it was of great importance for the general's plans to obtain information in regard to the strength of the confederates in alabama, and to have a certain railroad bridge destroyed so as to cut off the line of communications with the forces farther south. out of the whole regiment the general picked corporal pike. the corporal's plan of procedure was characteristic of the man. he wore his regular full blue uniform and throughout the first part of his trip made no attempt at disguise or concealment. this was not as reckless as it sounds. the country was filled with confederate spies and messengers who almost invariably adopted the union uniform and it had this advantage--if captured, he could claim that he was in his regular uniform and was entitled to be treated as a soldier captured on the field of battle and not hung as a spy. the corporal, however, did not attach any very great weight to the protection of this uniform, as he figured out that if he were caught burning bridges and obtaining reports of confederate forces, they would hang him whatever the color of his uniform. he had no adventures until he drew near fayetteville in tennessee. he spent the night in the woods and bright and early the next morning rode into the village and up to the hotel and ordered breakfast for himself and a similar attention for his horse. the sight of a union soldier assembled all the unoccupied part of the population and in a few minutes there were three hundred men on the sidewalk in front of the hotel. as the corporal came back from looking after his horse, for he would never eat until he had seen that old bill was properly cared for, a man stepped up and inquired his name. [illustration: corporal pike] "my name, sir," said the corporal, "is james pike of the fourth ohio cavalry, which is located at shelbyville. what can i do for you?" there was a few moments' silence and then a great laugh went up as the crowd decided that this was some confederate scout, probably one of morgan's rangers in disguise. "what are you doing down here?" asked another. "i am down here," said pike coolly, "to demand the surrender of this town just as soon as i can get my breakfast and find the mayor." the crowd laughed loudly again and the corporal went in to breakfast, where he sat at a table with a number of confederate officers with whom he talked so mysteriously that they were fully convinced that he must be one of morgan's right-hand men. after breakfast he ordered his horse and started out, first saying good-bye to the crowd who were still waiting for him. "if you're from the north," said one, "why don't you show us a yankee trick before you go?" for the southerners were thoroughly convinced that all yankees were sly foxes full of sudden schemes and stratagems. "well, i will before long," said pike, as he waved good-bye and galloped off. five miles out of the village he came to a fork in the road where one road led to decatur, which was where the main confederate forces were located, and the other to huntsville. just as he was turning into the decatur road, he saw a wagon-train coming in from huntsville and decided that here was a chance for his promised yankee trick. he rode up to the first wagon. "drive that wagon up close to the fence and halt," he said. "how long since you've been wagon-master?" said the driver, cracking his whip. "ever since you left your musket lying in the bottom of the wagon," said pike, leveling his revolver at the man's head. he drove his wagon up and halted it without a word and stood with his arms over his head as ordered by pike. one by one the other wagons came up and the drivers assumed the same attitude. last of all there was a rattle of hoofs and the wagon-master, who had been lingering in the rear, galloped up. "what the devil are you fellows stopping for?" he shouted, but as he came around the last wagon, he almost ran his head into pike's revolver and immediately assumed the same graceful attitude as the others. pike rode up to each wagon, collected all the muskets, not forgetting to remove a couple of revolvers from the belt of the wagon-master and then inquired from the latter what the wagons had in them. "provender," said the wagon-master, surlily. "what else?" said the corporal, squinting along the barrel of his revolver. "bacon," yelled the wagon-master much alarmed; "four thousand pounds in each wagon." "well," said the corporal, "i've always been told that raw bacon is an unhealthy thing to eat and so you just unhitch your mules and set fire to these wagons and be mighty blamed quick about it too, because i have a number of engagements down the road." the men grumbled, but there was no help for them and in a few minutes every wagon was burning and crackling and giving out dense black smoke. waiting until it was impossible to put them out, the corporal lined the men up across the road. "now you fellows get on your marks and when i count three you start back to fayetteville and if you are in reach by the time i have counted one hundred, there's going to be some nice round holes in the backs of your uniforms. when you get back to the village tell them that this is the yankee trick that i promised them." before pike had counted twenty-five there was not a man in sight. he at once turned back and raced down the road toward decatur. he had gone about ten miles when he came to a small country church and as it was sunday, it was open and nearly filled. fearing that there might be a number of armed confederate soldiers in the church who would start out in pursuit as soon as the word came back from fayetteville, the corporal decided to investigate. not wishing to dismount he rode bill up the steps and through the open door and down the main aisle, just as the minister was announcing a hymn. "excuse this interruption," said pike, as the minister's voice quavered off into silence, "but i notice a number of soldierly-looking men here and i will take it as a great favor if they will hold their hands as high above their heads as possible and come down here and have a talk with me." as this simple request was accompanied by a revolver aimed at the audience, one by one six soldiers who had been attending the service came sheepishly down the aisle. they looked so funny straining their arms over their heads that some of the girls in the audience unkindly burst out laughing. pike removed a revolver from each one and dumped his captured arms into one of his saddle-bags. "now, parson," he said, "i want to hear a good, fervent prayer from you for the president of the united states." the minister hesitated. "quick and loud," said pike, "because i'm going in a minute." there was no help for it and the minister prayed for president lincoln by name, while pike reverently removed his cap. then backing his horse out of the door, he started on toward decatur. not a half mile from the church he met two confederate soldiers who were leisurely riding to the church. there was no reason at all why the corporal should meddle with these men. they were two to one and he had no way of disposing of them even if he made them captives. however, the sight of the confederate parson praying for abe lincoln had tickled pike and he made up his mind to have some fun with these soldiers. as he came abreast of them he whipped out his revolver, ordered them to halt and to give their names, regiments and companies. they did so with great alacrity. "well, gentlemen," he said, "you are my prisoners and i am very sorry for i am so far outside of my lines that i am afraid there is only one way to safely dispose of you." "great heavens, man," said one, "you don't mean to shoot us down." "i'm sorry," said pike, "but you can see for yourself that that's the only thing to do. you are rebel soldiers and to leave you alive would mean that you will keep on doing harm to the union forces." "don't shoot, captain," both of them chorused; "we'll take the oath of allegiance." pike seemed to hesitate. "well," he said finally, "i hate to kill men on sunday. i suppose i ought not to do this, but if you'll solemnly swear allegiance to the united states of america and that you'll never hereafter serve against the union or be late to church again, i'll let you go." with much solemnity, the confederates took the oath in the form dictated, delivered up their revolvers and rode away. the next man that pike encountered was an old gentleman on his way to fayetteville, who admitted that he was a judge and the next day was intending to serve in a number of political cases involving the property of certain union sympathizers. pike made him also take the oath of allegiance, and promise not to enter judgment contrary to the interests of the union. he then left the road and rode along a shallow creek through the woods. about sunset he suddenly came upon an old man under the trees. he questioned him and found that he was a union sympathizer and was told by him that there were twelve tennessee cavalrymen and fifteen mounted citizens on the lookout for him. "that is," said the old man, "if you're the chap that has been going around capturing wagon-trains and churches and soldiers and judges." "that's me," said pike. the old man took him home and fed him and with him he left his horse and started out on foot, feeling that the hue and cry would now be out all over the country against a mounted man in union uniform. leaving his friend, he followed the path through the woods toward decatur until it was dark and then wrapped himself up in a blanket and slept all night in the pouring rain. in the morning he made his way toward the railway and followed it until about ten o'clock when he stopped at a house and bought a breakfast. he had not been there long before he was joined by several confederate cavalrymen. "what's your business," said one, "and what are you doing in that uniform?" "well," said pike, "i was told to wear it and not to tell any one my business until it was done and if you fellows don't like it, you had better take it up with the general." once again the confederates concluded that he was on some secret mission. they insisted, however, on taking him to camp with them and there he stayed two days and nights, incidentally obtaining all the information possible as to the forces and the guard about the bridge. just before dawn on the second morning, he managed to give them the slip and started across country, wading and swimming and toiling through one swamp after another until he finally reached the river bank, traveling only by night and sleeping by day. along this bank he went for miles until finally he found concealed in a little creek a small rowboat which was tied to a tree and in which were two oars. he spent the better part of the day in loading this up with pine knots and bits of dry driftwood which he planned to use in firing the bridge. just at evening he pushed off into the middle of the river and started again down for the bridge. he had found by his inquiries that the confederate camp was located on a bank some distance from the bridge, as no one expected any attack there so far within the confederate lines. all night long he tugged at the oars and aided by the current reached the bridge about three o'clock in the morning. the bridge was an old-fashioned one erected on three piers. pike made a careful survey of the whole length of the bridge from the river and found it absolutely unguarded although he could hear the sentry call on the hill a quarter of a mile away where the troops were encamped by the town. concealing his skiff under an overhanging tree, he toiled up to the bridge with armful after armful of fire-wood. at each end and in the middle he made a little heap of fat-wood and pine knots with a strip of birch-bark, which burns like oiled paper, underneath each. starting from the far end, he lit the first two piles and by the time he had crossed and was working on the last, he could hear the flames roaring behind him as they caught the dry weather-beaten planking of the bridge. and now he made a mistake which was to prove well-nigh fatal to him. as soon as the fire had obtained a headway, he should have instantly stolen back up the river in his skiff. in his anxiety to make a thorough job of it he stayed too long, forgetting that in the bright light of the fire every motion he made would be plainly visible from the hilltop. suddenly he heard the alarm given from the camp and almost instantly it was followed by the wail of a minie ball as the sentry above fired down upon him. by this time the river was as bright as day for a quarter of a mile on both sides of the bridge. near the confederate camp were a number of boats and pike was already nearly exhausted by his long row and his work in firing the bridge. he heard the shouts of men as they dashed down for their boats. if he attempted to escape by water he was certain to be overtaken. another bullet close to his head decided him and he dashed down from the bridge into the road, and plunged into the thick woods on the farther side. all the rest of that night and through the first part of the next day he traveled, following one path after another and keeping his general direction by a pocket compass. by noon he was so tired that if it had been to save his life he could not have gone any farther. the little stock of provisions which he had carried with him had been exhausted the night before and he threw himself on a bed of dry pine-needles under a long-leafed pine which stood on the top of a little knoll and lay there for nearly an hour until part of his strength came back. the first thing to do was to find something to eat. pike did not dare shoot anything with his revolver, even if there had been anything to shoot, for fear of attracting the attention of confederate pursuers or bushwhackers. it was now that the corporal's wood-craft proved to be as valuable as his scout-craft. if he were to go further, he must have food and he commenced to wander back and forth through the woods, his quick eye taking in everything on the ground or among the trees. on the other side of the knoll where he had been lying, he noticed a rotten log where the dry, punky wood had been scattered as if a hen had been scratching there. pike commenced to look carefully all along the ground and finally just on the edge of the slope where the thick underbrush began, he nearly stepped on a large brown speckled bird so much the color of the leaves that if he had not been looking for it, he never would have discovered the nest. the bird slipped into the underbrush like a shadow, leaving behind fifteen brown, mottled partridge eggs. the corporal sat down over the nest and gulped down, one after the other, those eggs, warm from the breast of the brooding bird. as he said afterward, never had he tasted anything half so good. this was a step in the right direction, but even fifteen partridge eggs are not enough for a man who hadn't eaten for nearly thirty hours. once again he began to prowl restlessly through the woods and this time his attention was attracted by something growing on the side of a dead maple stub. it was dark red and looked like a great tongue sticking out from the bark. to his great joy, pike recognized it at once as the beefsteak mushroom. it was a magnificent specimen which must have weighed nearly two pounds and as he pulled it off from the tree, red drops oozed out and it looked and smelled like a big, fresh beefsteak. the corporal went down the hollow into the thickest part of the swamp and there picked an armful of perfectly dry cedar and scrub-oak twigs which burn with a clear, smokeless flame. out of these he built a little indian cooking fire by arranging the twigs into the form of a little tepee so that a jet of clear flame came up with hardly a sign of any smoke. it was the work of only a moment to whittle and set up a forked stick and to fasten a slab of that meaty-looking fungus on a spit fixed in the fork. fortunately he had left in his haversack a little salt and pepper with which he seasoned the broiling, hissing steak. in about ten minutes it was done to a turn. cutting a long strip of bark from off one of the red river-birches which grew near, pike squatted down on the ground and in fifteen minutes more there was nothing left of that savory, two-pound, broiled vegetable steak. with fifteen eggs and two pounds of beefsteak mushroom under his belt, the corporal felt like another man. he coiled himself up on the dry pine-needles in a little hollow which he found under the low-hanging boughs of a long-leaf pine and resolved to take a sleep to make up for what he had lost during the last two nights. it was early afternoon and everything was still and hot and the drowsy scent of the pine mingled with puffs of spicy fragrance from the great white blossoms of the magnolia with which the woods were starred. as he fell asleep the last thing the corporal heard was the drowsy call of flocks of golden-winged warblers on their way north. how long he slept he could not tell. he only knew that he awoke with a sudden consciousness of danger, that strange sixth sense which most indians and a few white hunters sometimes develop. perhaps he inherited it from old zebulon pike who, like daniel boone and kit carson, had the power of hearing and sensing the approach of an enemy even in their soundest sleep. the corporal was alert the second he opened his eyes, but made not a movement or a rustle. the sun was well down in the sky and there was nothing in sight, but the birds had stopped singing. finally way down through the little tunnel which a near-by flowing stream had made through the hillocks came a sound which brought him to his feet in an instant. it was a ringing note that chimed like a distant bell. three times it sounded and there was silence, then again three times, but a little nearer and louder, then again silence. a third time it came and this time it seemed around the bend of the bayou not half a mile away. pike knew in a minute what it was. it was the bay of the dreaded bloodhounds, those man-hunters who had learned to trail their prey through forest and fen, no matter how much he doubled nor how fast he ran. there was but one thing to do if there was time. springing up, the corporal ran down to the little stream and leaped in. it was hardly up to his knees, but he splashed along for a hundred yards, now and then plunging in up to his waist. it ran a hundred yards or so through the swamp and then emptied into a larger bayou. along this pike swam for his life as silently as a muskrat, for now he could hear the baying of the dogs close at hand and suddenly there was a chorus of deep raging barks followed by shouts and he knew that his pursuers had found his lair under the pine trees. soon the stream ran into another one and then another until pike had swam and waded and plunged through half a score of brooks which made a regular network through the middle of the swamp. by this time the sound of the dogs had died far away in the distance and he had every reason to believe that he had thrown them off the track. down the last stream there was a deep, sluggish creek nearly fifty feet wide. he swam until he could go no farther. it opened out into a series of swampy meadows and to his joy he saw in the very midst of the swamp through which it ran a pile of newly-split rails. swimming over to this he found that they had been piled on a little island about five feet above the level of the swamp and surrounded on all sides by masses of underbrush and deep sluggish water. by this time it was nearly sunset and he resolved to crawl up here and find a dry place and spend the night on this island, which could not be approached except by boat. as he climbed up to the top of the mass of rails, he heard a low, thick hiss close to his face and outstretched hand. he had never heard the sound before, but no man born needs to be taught the voice of the serpent. he started back just in time. coiled on one of the rails was a great cotton-mouth moccasin whose bloated swollen body must have been nearly five feet in length and as big around as his arm. the great creature slowly opened its mouth, showing the pure white lining which has given it the name and hissed again menacingly. the corporal was in a predicament. behind him was the cold, dark river in which he no longer had the strength to swim. in the approaching darkness, he might not be able to find any other island of refuge on which to pass the night. there was nothing for him but to fight the grim snake for the possession of the rails. he dropped back and twisted off the thick branch of a near-by willow-tree and began again to climb up toward the snake cautiously, but as rapidly as possible, for the light was beginning to die out in the sky and pike preferred not to do his fighting in the dark in this case if possible. as he reached the top of the pile, the king of the island was ready for him and struck viciously at him as he approached. the movable poison fangs protruded like poisoned spear-heads from the wide-open mouth and from them could be seen oozing the yellow drops of the fatal venom which makes the cotton-mouth more dreaded even than the rattler or the copperhead. the fatal head flashed out not six inches from corporal pike's face, but it had miscalculated the distance and before it could again coil, he had struck with all his might at the monstrous body just where it joined the heart-shaped head. fortunately for him, his aim was good and the crippled snake writhed and hissed and struck in vain in a horrible mass at pike's feet. two more blows made it harmless and inserting the stick under the heavy body, the corporal heaved it far over into the water and it floated away. pike then made a careful examination of the rails and the island on which he stood so as to make sure that the moccasin had not left any of his family behind. he found no others, however, and before it was dark the corporal moved the rails and piled them around him in a kind of barricade which shut him off from view from the water and shore and which he sincerely hoped would discourage the visits of any more moccasins. inside of this he laid three rails lengthwise and wrung out his sodden coat and coiled up for the night on his hard bed. he woke up surrounded by the gleaming mist of the early morning and shaking with the cold after sleeping all night in his soaked clothing. as he was too cold to sleep and it was light enough now to see, he decided to start off for dry land again. for over two hours he swam and waded along big and little bayous until, just as the sun was getting up, he came out through the morass and found himself at the rear of a lonely plantation. just in front of him an old negro was at work hoeing in a field. the corporal crept up near him through the bushes and looked all around cautiously to see whether there were any white men in sight. seeing none, he decided to take a chance on the negro being friendly. "hi, there, uncle!" he called cautiously from behind a little bush. the old man jumped a foot in the air. "that settles it," he observed emphatically to himself, "i'se gwine home. this old nigger ain't gwine to work in any swamp whar he hears hants callin' him 'uncle.'" at this point the corporal came out of his hiding place and finally managed to convince the old man that he was nothing worse than very hungry flesh and blood. the old darkey turned out to be a friend indeed and going to his cabin in less than fifteen minutes he was back with a big pan full of bacon and corn bread which the corporal emptied in record-breaking time. moreover, he brought his son with him who promised to guide pike by safe paths to the road which led to huntsville where general mitchel had located his headquarters. hour after hour the two wound in and out of swamps which would have been impassable to any one who did not know the hidden trails which crossed them. twice they heard confederate soldiers, evidently still hunting for the union soldier who had been making them so much trouble. toward noon they came to a broad bayou which went in and out through the swamp. at one point where it approached the bend it became very narrow and pike's guide showed him a fallen tree half hidden in the brush. "cross that, boss," he said, "and at the other end you'll find a little hard path. follow that and you'll come out clear down on the huntsville road, only a few miles from the union soldiers." pike said good-bye to his faithful guide and gave him one of the numerous confederate revolvers which he had captured on his trip as the only payment he could make for his kindness. the corporal found the path all right and was soon wearily trudging along the huntsville road. he had not gone far before he was overtaken by another negro dressed in a style which would have made the lilies of the field take to the woods. with his panama hat, red tie and checked suit, he made a brave show. what impressed the corporal, however, more than his clothes was the fact that he was driving a magnificent horse attached to a brand-new buggy. "stop a minute," said pike, stepping out into the road. "no," said the negro, pompously, "i'se in a great hurry." the corporal whipped out a revolver and cocked it. "come to think of it, massa," said the darkey in quite a different tone, "i'se got plenty of time after all." "whose horse is this?" said the corporal, climbing into the buggy. "this is mistah pomeroy's property," said the negro with much dignity. "well," said the corporal, "you turn right around and drive me to general mitchel's camp just as fast as the law will let you." "but, boss," objected the other, "massa will whip me if i do." "and i'll shoot you if you don't," returned the corporal. this last argument was a convincing one and half an hour later general mitchel and his forces were enormously impressed by seeing corporal pike, who had been reported shot, drive up back of a magnificent horse in a new buggy and beside a wonderfully-dressed coachman. the general was even more impressed when the corporal reported that the bridge was gone and gave him an accurate statement as to the confederate forces. corporal pike found mr. pomeroy's horse a very good substitute for his faithful bill and, to his surprise, the coachman went with the horse, since he was afraid to go back, and became a cook in general mitchel's mess. chapter xi running the gauntlet in the old days of the indian wars a favorite amusement of a raiding party was to make their captives run the gauntlet. on their return home two long lines of not only the warriors, but even of the women and children would be formed armed with clubs, arrows, tomahawks and whips. the unfortunate captive was stationed at one end of this aisle of enemies and given the choice of being burned at the stake or of running for his life between the lines from one end to the other. sometimes a swift runner and dodger escaped enough of the blows to stagger blinded with blood from a score of wounds, but still alive, across the line which marked the end of this grim race against death. it was always a desperate chance. only the certainty of death if it were not taken ever caused any man to enter such a terrible competition. there is no record of even the most hardened indian fighter ever running the gauntlet for any life save his own. in the summer of , three men ran the gauntlet of shot and shell and rifle-fire for forty miles to save an army, with death dogging them all the way. brigadier-general thomas, who afterward earned the title of the rock of chickamauga by his brave stand in that disastrous battle, was entrenched on one of the spurs of the hills around chattanooga. general bragg with a much superior army of confederates had hunted the union soldiers mile after mile. at times they had stopped and fought, at times they had escaped by desperate marches. now exhausted and ringed about by the whole confederate army, they must soon have help or be starved into surrender. yet only forty miles to the eastward was a body of thirty thousand men commanded by general stockton. this general was one of those valuable men who obey orders without any reasoning about the why and the wherefore of the same. he had been commanded to hold a certain pass in the mountains until further orders and that pass he would hold, as general thomas well knew, until relieved or directed to do otherwise. if only the duty had been assigned to some other officer, it might be that not hearing anything from the main body, he would send out a reconnoitering party. not so with general stockton. that general would stay put and only a direct order or an overpowering force of the enemy would move him. it was in vain that general thomas tried to get a messenger through with secret despatches in cipher. general bragg knew that he had the union army cornered and he had stationed a triple row of pickets who caught or shot every man that general thomas sent. supplies and ammunition were both running low and general thomas was considering massing a force of men on some point in the line in an attempt to break through far enough for a messenger to escape. this meant a great loss of life and probably would not be successful as the messenger would almost certainly be captured by an outer ring of scouts which bragg would throw out as soon as he realized what was going on. there was only one other chance. the confederates were so sure of their own strength, and that they would eventually capture the whole army, that they had not destroyed the railroad line which ran between the two federal camps, hoping to use the same for shipping soldiers, prisoners and captured supplies later on. both sides of the track, however, were lined with guards and covered by a number of confederate batteries. general thomas decided to make the attempt and called for volunteers who were willing to run this forty-mile gauntlet between the confederate lines and batteries. two old railroad men offered their services as engineer and fireman and they were accompanied by an adjutant who was to be the bearer of the despatches. there seemed to be only one chance in a thousand for this engine to get safely through and the men themselves, if they were not shot in their flight or wrecked with the engine, stood a good chance of being captured and hung as spies. in fact it seemed such a hopeless chance that at the last moment general thomas was on the point of countermanding the order when one of the men themselves gave the best argument in favor of the plan. "it's worth trying, general," said he, "for even if we fail, you only lose three men. the other way you would have to throw away at least a thousand before you could find out whether it was possible to cut through the lines or not." it was decided to make the trial and a dark, moonless night when the sky was covered with heavy clouds was selected as the best time for starting. the men shook hands with their comrades and each left with his best friend a letter to be sent to his family if he were not heard from within a given time. there were but few engines in the union ranks and none of them were very good as the confederates had captured the most powerful. however, the ex-engineer and fireman picked out the one which seemed to be in best repair, put in an extra supply of oil to allow for the racking strain on the machinery and filled up the tender with all the fuel that it could carry. at half-past ten they started after firing up with the utmost care and in half a mile they were running at full speed when suddenly there was the sharp crack of a rifle and a minie bullet whined past the panting, jumping, rushing engine. another one crashed through the window of the caboose, but fortunately struck no one. by this time the little engine was going at her utmost speed. at times all four of the wheels seemed to leave the track at once, she jumped so under the tremendous head of steam which the fireman, working as he had never done before, had raised. the engine swayed so from side to side as it ran that it was all that the adjutant could do to keep his feet. finally they reached the first battery. fortunately it had miscalculated the tremendous speed of the engine. a series of guns stationed close to the track hurled a shower of grape and solid shot at the escaping engine. it cut the framework of the caboose almost to pieces, but fortunately not a shot struck any vital part of the machinery or injured any of the three men. as they whirled on, the last gun of all sent a solid shot after them which struck the bell full and fair and with a last tremendous clang it was dashed into the bushes by the side of the road. all along the track there was a fusillade of musket-fire and bullets whizzed around them constantly, but none struck any of the crew. the next danger-point was at a junction with this road and another which ran off at right angles. this junction was protected by no less than two batteries and furthermore on the junction-track was an engine standing with smoke coming out of her smoke-stack showing that she was fired up ready for pursuit. it seemed absolutely impossible to escape these two batteries. already they could see lanterns hurrying to and fro on both sides of the track where the guns were trained so close that they simply could not fail to dash the engine into a hissing, bloody, glowing scrap-heap of crumpled steel and iron. the men set their teeth and prepared for the crash which every one of them felt meant death. it never came. by some oversight, no alarm had been given and before the guns could be manned and sighted, the engine was whirling along right between both batteries, a cloud of sparks and a column of fire rushing two feet above her smokestack. the confederates succeeded in only turning one gun and training it on the little engine fast disappearing in the darkness. the gunner, however, who fired that gun came nearer putting an end to the expedition than all the others. he dropped a shell in the air directly over them. it shattered the roof of the caboose, wounded the fireman and blew out both windows, but almost by a miracle left the machinery still uninjured. the adjutant laid the fireman on the jumping, bounding floor of the cab and under his faint instructions fired the engine in his place. as he was heaping coal into the open fire-box with all his might, there came a deep groan from the wounded fireman. "try and bear the pain, old man," shouted the engineer over the roar of the engine. "we'll be safe in a few minutes if nothing happens." "something's goin' to happen," gasped the fireman. "listen!" far back over the track came a pounding and a pushing. the engineer shook his head. "they're after us," he said to the adjutant, "and what's more they're bound to get us unless we can throw them off the track." "can't we win through with this start?" said the captain. "no, sir," said the engineer, "they've got an engine that can do ten miles an hour better than this one and beside that, they've got a car to steady her. i don't dare give this old girl one ounce more of steam or she'd jump the tracks." before long far back around the curve came the head-light of the pursuing engine like the fierce eye of some insatiable monster on the track of its prey. steadily she gained. once when they approached the long trestlework which ran for nearly a mile, the sound of the pursuit slackened off as the lighter engine took the trestle at a speed which the heavier one did not dare to use. bullet after bullet whizzed past the escaping engine as the soldiers in the cab of her pursuer fired again and again. both engines, however, were swaying too much to allow for any certain aim. finally one lucky shot smashed the clock in the front engine close by the engineer's head, spraying glass and splinters all over him. now the front engine had only ten miles to go before she would be near enough to general stockton's lines to be in safety. the rear engine, however, was less than a quarter of a mile away and gaining at every yard. "how about dropping some of the fire-bars on the tracks?" suggested the captain. "we've got enough coal on to carry her the next ten miles. we shan't need the fire-bars after we get through and we certainly won't need them if they capture us." it seemed a good idea and the wounded fireman dragged himself to the throttle and took the engineer's place for a moment while he and the captain climbed out upon the truck and carefully dropped one after the other of the long, heavy steel rods across the track. then they listened, hoping to hear the crash of a derailed engine. it never came. instead there was a loud clanging noise followed by a crackling of the underbrush and repeated again as the pursuing engine struck each bar with its cow-catcher and dashed it off the rails. the captain suddenly commenced to unbutton and tear off his long, heavy army overcoat. "how about putting this in the middle of the track on the chance that it may entangle the wheels?" he suggested. in a minute the engineer clambered out on the truck. "if only it gets wedged in the piston-bar, it may take half an hour to get it out," he panted as he climbed back into the cab. suddenly from behind they heard a heavy jolting noise and then the sound of escaping steam. "we got her," shouted the engineer and the captain to the wounded fireman whose face looked ghastly white against the red light of the open fire-box. the engineer and the captain shook hands and decided to do a little war-dance without much success on the swaying floor of the cab, but they were suddenly stopped by a whisper from the fireman. "they've got it out," he said. sure enough once more there came the thunder of approaching wheels and the start which they had gained was soon cut down again. the heavy engine came more and more rapidly on them as the fire died down, although the captain tried to stir up the flagging flames with his sword in place of the lost fire-iron. only a mile ahead they could see the lights which showed where the union lines lay. before them was a heavy up-grade and it was certain that the confederate engine would catch them there just on the edge of safety. in a minute or so the men crowded into the cab of the engine behind to be close enough to pick off the fugitives at their leisure. the three men stared blankly ahead. suddenly the dull, despairing look on the engineer's face was replaced by a broad grin. entirely forgetting military etiquette, he slapped his superior officer on the back and said: "captain, come out to the tender with me and i'll show you a stunt that will save our lives if you will do just what i tell you." the captain obeyed meekly while the wounded fireman stared at his friend under the impression that he was losing his mind under the strain. the engineer took one of the large oil-cans with a long nozzle and then wrapping his two brawny arms tightly around the captain's waist, lowered him as far as he could from the tender and directed him to pour the oil directly on each rail without wasting a drop or allowing a foot to go unoiled. it was hard in the dark to see the rail or to keep one's balance on the bounding engine, but the captain was a light weight and the engineer let him down as far back from the tender as he dared and held him there until one rail was thoroughly oiled. he repeated the operation on the other side and the two once more came back to the fireman who was clinging limply to the throttle. "now," said the engineer, "keep your eye open and you'll see some fun." the front engine puffed more and more slowly up the grade and the pursuing engine seemed to gain on them at every yard. already the men in the cab were commencing to aim their rifles for the last fatal volley. at this moment the front wheels of the pursuing engine reached the oiled track and in a minute her speed slackened, the wheels whirled round and round at a tremendous speed and there was a sudden rush and hiss of escaping steam. the engine in front suddenly drew away from her anchored pursuer. the engineer took a last long look at them through his field-glasses. "it seems to me, captain," said he, "as if they are cussin' considerable. her old wheels are spinnin' like a squirrel-cage." the engine dashed on more and more slowly, but there was no need for haste. in a few minutes a shot was fired in front of them and a sentry shouted for them to halt. they were within the picket lines of the union army. the engine was stopped and the three men staggered out holding tightly the precious dispatches which they carried in triplicate and in a few minutes more they were in the presence of general stockton. a force was at once sent out and the confederates and their locomotive were captured and within an hour thirty thousand men were on their way to relieve the beset union forces. the gauntlet had been run and general thomas' army was saved. chapter xii forgotten heroes "there was a little city and few men within it and there came a great king against it and besieged it and built great bulwarks against it. now there was found in it a poor wise man and he by his wisdom delivered the city, yet no man remembered that same poor man." thus wrote the great solomon, hearing of a deed, the tale of which had come down through the centuries. the doer of the deed had been long forgotten. history is full of memories of brave deeds. the names of the men who did them have passed away. the deeds live on forever. like a fleck of radium each deed is indestructible. it may be covered with the dust and débris of uncounted years, but from it pulsates and streams forever a current of example and impulse which never can be hidden, never be forgotten, but which may flash out ages later, fighting with a mysterious, hidden inner strength against the powers of fear and of wrong. the annals of the civil war are full of records of forgotten doers of great deeds, humble, commonplace men and women who suddenly flashed out in some great effort of duty and perhaps were never heard of again. pray god that all of us when the time comes may burst if only for a moment into the fruition of accomplishment for which we were born and not wither away like the unprofitable fig-tree which only grew, but never bore fruit. in , the battle-hospitals were crowded with wounded and dying men. the best surgeons of that day had not learned what every doctor knows now about the aseptic treatment of wounds and conducting of operations. accordingly too often even slight wounds gangrened and a terrible percentage of injured men died helplessly and hopelessly. in the fall of that year the hospitals at jefferson were in a fearful condition. thousands and thousands of wounded and dying men were brought there for whom there were no beds. one poor fellow lay on the bare, wet boards, sick of a wasting fever. he was worn almost to a skeleton and on his poor, thin body were festering bed-sores which had come because there was no one who could give him proper attention. from his side he had seen five men one after the other brought in sick or wounded and carried away dead. one day an old black washerwoman named hannah stopped in the ward to hunt up a doctor for whom she was to do some work. she saw this patient lying on his side on a dirty blanket spread out on the boards unwashed and filthy beyond all description with gaping sores showing on his wasted back. there he lay staring hopelessly at the body of a man who had recently died next to him and which the few overworked attendants had not had time to carry out to the dead-house. old hannah could not stand the sight. when she finally found the doctor she begged him to give her leave to take the man up and put him in her own bed. "it's no use, hannah," said the doctor kindly, "the poor chap is dying. he will be gone to-morrow. i wish we could do something for him, but we can't and you can't." hannah could not sleep that night thinking of the sick man. bright and early the next morning she came down and found him still alive. that settled it in her mind. without asking any one's permission, she went out, looked up her two strapping sons and made them leave their work and bring her bed down to the hospital. it was covered with coarse but clean linen sheets and she directed them while they lifted the sufferer on to the bed and carried him down to her shanty. there she cut away the filthy shirt which he wore and washed him like a baby with hot water. then she settled down to nurse him back to life. every half hour, night and day, she fed him spoonfuls of hot, nourishing soup. that and warm water and clean linen were the only medicines she used. for a week she did nothing else but nurse her soldier. several times he sank and once she thought him dead, but he always rallied and single-handed old hannah fought back death and slowly nursed him back to health. finally when he was well, he was given a furlough to go back to his home in indiana. he tried to persuade hannah to go back with him. "no, honey," she said, "i'se got my washing to do and besides i'm goin' to try to adopt some more soldiers." she went with him to the steamboat, fixed him in a deck chair, as he was still too feeble to walk, and kissed him good-bye and when she left the man broke down and cried. old hannah went back to her shanty and did the same thing again and again until she had nursed back to life no less than six union soldiers. as she was not in active service, the government never recognized her work and even her last name was never known, but six men and their families and their friends have handed down the story of what a poor, old, black washerwoman could and did do for her country and for the sick and helpless. the exploit of lieutenant blodgett and his orderly, peter basnett, was a brave deed of another kind. he had been sent by general schofield during the engagement at newtonia with orders to the colonel of the fourth missouri cavalry. as the two rode around a point of woods, they suddenly found themselves facing forty confederate soldiers drawn up in an irregular line not fifty yards away. there was no chance of escape, as they would be riddled with bullets at such a short range. moreover neither the lieutenant nor his orderly thought well of surrendering. without an instant's hesitation they at once drew their revolvers and charging down upon the confederates, shouted in loud, though rather shaky voices, "surrender! drop your arms! surrender at once!" the line wavered, feeling that two men would not have the audacity to charge them unless they were followed by an overwhelming force. as they came right up to the lines, eight of the men in front threw down their muskets. the rest hesitated a minute and then turned and broke for the woods and the lieutenant and his orderly rode on and delivered eight prisoners along with their orders. in the battle of rappahannock station, colonel edwards of the fifth maine showed the same nerve under similar circumstances. while his regiment were busy taking a whole brigade of captured confederates to the rear, the colonel with a dozen of his men rode out into the darkness after more prisoners. following the line of fortifications down toward the river, he suddenly came out in front of a long line of confederate troops lying entrenched in rifle-pits. like lieutenant blodgett, he decided to make a brave bluff rather than be shot down or spend weary years in a confederate prison. riding directly up to the nearest rifle-pit where a score of guns were leveled at him, he inquired for the officer who was in command of the confederate forces. "i command here," said the confederate colonel, rising from the middle pit, "and who are you, sir?" "my name is colonel edwards of the fifth maine, u.s.a.," replied the other, "and i call upon you to surrender your command at once." the confederate colonel hesitated. "let me confer with my officers first," he said. "no, sir," said colonel edwards, "i can't give you a minute. your forces on the right have been captured, your retreat is cut off and unless you surrender at once, i shall be compelled to order my regiment," pointing impressively to the whole horizon, "to attack you without further delay. i don't wish to cause any more loss of life than possible." the confederate colonel was convinced by his impressive actions and that there would be no use to resist. "i hope you will let me keep my sword, however," he said. "certainly," said colonel edwards, generously, "you can keep your sword, but your men must lay down their arms and pass to the rear immediately." the whole brigade including a squad of the famous louisiana tigers were disarmed and marched to the rear as prisoners of war by colonel edwards and his twelve men. one of these men said afterward, "colonel, i nearly lost that battle for you by laughing when you spoke about their 'surrendering to avoid loss of life.'" the most terrible missile in modern warfare is the explosive shell. records show that the greatest loss of life occurs from artillery fire and not from rifle bullets. in the civil war these shells were especially feared. the solid shot and the grape and the canister were bad enough, but when a great, smoking shell dropped into the midst of a regiment, the bravest men fled for shelter. the fuses were cut so that the shell would explode immediately on striking or a very few seconds afterward. the explosion would drive jagged fragments of iron and sometimes heated bullets through scores of men within a radius of fully one hundred yards. no wounds were more feared or more fatal than the ghastly rips and tears made by the jagged, red-hot fragments of shells. the men became used to the hiss and the whistle of the solid shot and the whirling bullets, but when the scream of the hollow shell was heard through the air overhead, like the yell of some great, fatal, flying monster, every man within hearing tried to get under shelter. in , the st ohio infantry were fighting at buzzards roost, georgia. company h was drawn up along the banks of the stream there and one of the confederate batteries had just got its range. suddenly there came across the woods the long, fierce, wailing scream of one of the great shells and before the echo had died out it appeared over the tree tops and fell right in the midst of a hundred men, hissing and spitting fire. all the men but one scattered in every direction. private jacob f. yaeger was on the edge of the group and could have secured his own safety by dodging behind a large tree which stood conveniently near. just as he was about to do this he saw that some of the men had not had time enough to get away and were just scrambling up only a few feet from the spluttering shell. he acted on one of those quick, brave impulses which make heroes of men. like a flash, he sprinted across the field, tearing off his coat as he ran, wrapped it round the hissing, hot shell and started for the creek, clasping it tight against his breast. by this time the fuse had burned so far in that there was no opportunity to cut it below the spark. his only chance was to get it into the water before the spark reached the powder below. he reached the bank of the creek in about two jumps, but, as he said afterward, he seemed to hang in the air a half hour between each jump. even as he reached the bank, he hurled the shell, coat and all, into the deep, sluggish water and involuntarily ducked for the explosion which he was sure was going to come. it didn't. the water stopped the spark just in time and private yaeger had saved the lives of many of his comrades. of all the prizes which are most valued in war the captured battle-flags of an enemy rank first. the flag is the symbol of an army's life. while it waves the army is living and undefeated. when the flag falls, or when it is captured, all is over. in battle the men rally around their colors and the flag stands for life or death. it must never be given up and the one who carries the flag has not only the most honorable but the most dangerous post in his company. against the flag every charge is directed. the man who carries the flag knows that he is marked above all others for attack. the man who saves a flag from capture saves his company or his regiment not only from defeat, but from disgrace. in the battle of gettysburg, corporal nathaniel m. allen of the first massachusetts infantry was the color-bearer of his company. on the d of july his regiment had been beaten back under the tremendous attacks of the confederate forces. their retreat became almost a rout as the men ran to escape the murderous fire which was being poured in upon them by concealed batteries of the enemy as well as from the muskets of the advancing infantry. corporal allen stayed back in the rear and retreated slowly and reluctantly so as to give his company a chance to return and rally. beyond and still farther back than he, marching grimly and doggedly from the enemy, was the color-bearer of his regiment carrying the regimental flag. suddenly allen saw him falter, stop, fling up his arms and fall headlong on the field tangled up in the flag which he was carrying. there came a tremendous yell from the advancing confederate forces as they saw the flag go down. allen stopped and for a moment hesitated. it was only his duty to carry and wave his own colors, but at that moment he saw a squad of gray-backs start out from the advancing confederate forces and make a rush to capture the flag which lay flat and motionless in a widening pool of the color-bearer's blood. this was too much for allen. with a yell of defiance he rushed back, heedless of the bullets which hissed all around him, and rolling over the dead body of the man who had given his life for his colors he pulled the regimental flag from under his body, and started back for the distant union forces. by this time the confederates were close upon him, but his brave deed had not gone unnoticed. seeing him coming across the stricken field with a flag in either hand, the rear-guard of his regiment turned back with a cheer and poured in a volley into the approaching confederates which stopped them just long enough to let allen escape and to carry back both the colors. "what's the matter with you fellows anyway," said allen, as he reached the safety of the rear rank; "do you think i'm going to do all the fighting?" a storm of cheers and laughter greeted this remark and the rear-guard stopped. slowly the others, hearing the cheers, and stranger still, the laughing, came back to the colors and in a few minutes the line was again formed and this time the regiment held and drove back the attack of the confederates. one man by doing more than his duty had changed a defeat into a victory. sometimes in a battle a man becomes an involuntary hero. in some of sienkiwictz's war-novels, he has a character named zagloba who was constantly doing brave deeds in spite of himself. in one battle he became caught in a charge and while struggling desperately to get out, he tripped and fell on top of the standard-bearer of the other army who had just been killed. zagloba found himself caught and entangled in the banner and finally, as the battle swept on, he emerged from the place in safety carrying the standard of the enemy and from that day forward was held as one of the heroes of the army. at the battle of chancellorsville major clifford thompson at hazel grove became an involuntary hero and did a much braver deed than he had intended, although, unlike zagloba, he had shown no lack of courage throughout the battle. general pleasonton was forming a line of battle along the edge of the woods and was riding from gun to gun inspecting the line when suddenly not two hundred yards distant a body of men appeared marching toward them. he was about to give the order to fire when a sergeant called out to him: "wait, general, i can see our colors in the line." the general hesitated a moment and then turning said, "major thompson, ride out and see who those people are and come back and tell me." as the major said afterward, he had absolutely no curiosity personally to find out anything about them and was perfectly willing to let them introduce themselves, but an order is an order, and he accordingly rode directly toward the approaching men. he could plainly see that they had union colors, but could see no trace of any union uniforms. when he was only about forty yards distant, the whole line called out to him: "come on in, we're friends; don't be afraid." the major, however, had heard of too many men being made prisoners by pretended friends and accordingly rode along the front of the whole line in order to determine definitely the character of the approaching forces, fearing that the colors which he saw and which they kept waving toward him might have been union colors captured from the union forces the day before. seeing that he did not come closer, one of the front rank suddenly fired directly at him and then with a tremendous rebel yell the whole body charged down upon the union forces. thompson turned his horse to dash back to his own lines, but realized that, caught between two fires, he would evidently be shot either by his own troops or by the rebels behind him. dashing his spurs into his horse, he rode like the wind between the two lines, hoping to get past them both before the final volley came. fortunately for him both sides reserved their fire until they came to close quarters although he received a fusillade of scattered shots all along the line. just as he rounded the ends, the lines came together with a crash and simultaneous volleys of musketry. there were a few moments of hand-to-hand fighting, but the union forces were too strong and the confederate ranks broke and retreated in scattering groups to the shelter of the woods beyond. the major reached the rear of his own lines just in time to help drive back the last rush of the confederates. a few moments later he saw general pleasonton sitting on his horse nearly in the same place where he had been when he had first sent him on his errand. riding up to him, major thompson saluted. "general," he said, "those men were confederates." "i strongly suspected it," said the general, "but, major, i never expected to see you again, for when that charge came i figured out that if the rebs didn't shoot you, we would. you did a very brave thing reconnoitering the enemies' front like that." "well," said the major, "i am glad, general, that it impressed you that way. it was such a rapid reconnoiter that i was afraid that you might think it was a retreat." when henry c. foster, who afterward became famous as one of the heroes of vicksburg, joined the union army, he was the rawest recruit in his regiment. his messmates still tell the story of how, before the regiment marched, he was visited by his mother who brought him an umbrella and a bottle of pennyroyal for use in wet weather and was horrified to find that soldiers are not allowed to carry umbrellas. henry was impatient of the constant and never-ending drilling to which he was subjected. one day after a trying hour of setting-up exercises, he suddenly grounded his gun and said engagingly to the captain: "say, captain, let's stop this foolishness and go over to the grocery store and have a little game of cards." the captain stared at foster for nearly a minute before he could get his breath, then he turned to a grinning sergeant and said: "sergeant, you take charge of this young cabbage-head after the regular drilling is over and drill him like blazes for about three extra hours," which the sergeant accordingly did. in spite of his greenness and his peculiarities, however, henry had good stuff in him and the making of a brave soldier. he was known as a dead-shot and a good soldier, although still retaining some of his peculiarities. among others he insisted upon wearing a coonskin cap and was known throughout his company as "old coonskin." he soon showed such qualities of courage and self-reliance that in spite of his early record he was gradually promoted until by the time his regiment reached vicksburg, which the union army was then besieging, he was a second lieutenant. the siege of vicksburg was a long and tedious affair. the investing forces did not have sufficient artillery to make such a breach in the defenses of the confederates that a successful attack could be made. the besiegers out in the wet and mud wearied of the slow process under which the encircling lines were brought closer and closer and longed for more active operations. lieutenant foster especially, just as formerly he had protested against the interminable drilling, now chafed against the enforced inaction of the troops. finally he made up his mind that he at least would get some interest out of the siege. as one of the best shots in his regiment, he had no difficulty in being detailed for sharp-shooting duty. one dark night, loaded with ammunition and with a haversack of provisions and several canteens of water, he crawled out into the space between the union lines and the defender's ramparts. the next morning, to his comrades' intense surprise, they found that old coonskin had dug for himself a deep burrow like a woodchuck close to the enemy's defenses and had thrown up a little mound with a peep-hole. there he lay for three days picking off the confederates and scoring each successful shot with a notch on the butt of the long rifle which he had obtained especial permission to use. at first the confederates could not locate the direction from which the fatal shots kept coming. when they did discover foster in his burrow, volley after volley was directed at his refuge, but he kept too close to be hit and at regular intervals men who showed themselves on the ramparts were kept dropping before his unerring fire. at the end of the third day, the confederates had learned their lesson and there were no more shots to be had and once more old coonskin began to be bored. it finally occurred to him that if he could in any way gain possession of a height which would allow him to shoot over the ramparts, he could make the confederate position very uncomfortable. there was no tree or hill, however, near by which would lend itself to any such idea. accordingly the third night foster crawled back again to his regiment and spent a day in resting and reconnoitering and receiving the congratulations of the whole regiment for his marksmanship and daring. the next night was dark and stormy. at daylight the sentries inside the city were amazed to see a rude structure standing close beside the fatal burrow. it was in the form of a log-cabin hastily built out of railroad ties and reinforced with heavy railroad iron and containing peep-holes so that its occupant could shoot with entire safety. at first it did not seem to be any more dangerous than the burrow had been so long as the besieged kept off the breastwork. by the second day, however, it had grown visibly higher and the third night found it built up by slow degrees so that it began to look really like a low tower. finally it reached such a height that from an upper inside shelf, protected by heavy logs and planks, old coonskin could lie at his ease and overlook all of the operations inside the city. then began a reign of terror for the besieged. they had no artillery and it was necessary to concentrate an incessant fire on the tower, otherwise the sharp-shooter within could pick off his men without difficulty. it was absolutely impossible for the besieged to keep under cover and still properly man the defenses against an attack. one by one the officers went down before old coonskin's deadly fire and it seemed to be only a question of time and ammunition before the whole garrison succumbed to his marksmanship. in the meantime, the besieging lines drew closer and closer and the never-ceasing artillery fire and incessant attacks gradually wore down the courage and the resources of the besieged. one day within an hour eleven men went down before the deadly aim of old coonskin, most of them officers. suddenly the firing ceased from the ramparts and slowly and reluctantly a white flag was hoisted, followed shortly by an envoy to the union lines with a flag of truce. a tremendous cheer went up through the weary union lines. vicksburg had fallen, and to this day you never will be able to convince old coonskin's company that he was not the man who, along with grant, brought about its surrender. chapter xiii the three hundred who saved an army twenty-three hundred and fifty years ago, three hundred men beat back an army of three millions of the great king, as the king of persia was rightly called. the kingdom of xerxes, who then ruled over persia, stretched from india to the Ã�gean sea and from the caspian to the red sea. he reigned over chaldean, jew, phoenician, egyptian, arab, ethiopian and half a hundred other nations. from these he assembled an army, the greatest that has ever gone to war. this mass of men from all over the eastern world he hurled at the tiny free states in greece. it was as if the czar of all the russias with his vast armies from europe and asia should suddenly attack the state of connecticut. greece's best defense was the ring of rugged mountains which surrounded its seacoast. the persian army had gathered at sardis. from there to gain entrance into greece they must follow a narrow path close to the seashore with a precipice on one side and impassable morasses and quicksands on the other. beyond this the way widened out into a little plain and narrowed again at the other end. it was an ideal place to be held by a small army of brave men. a council of all the states of greece was held at the isthmus of corinth. there all the states except one resolved to fight to the death for their freedom. thessaly alone, which lay first in the path of the great king, sent earth and water to his envoys who had come to all the states in greece to demand submission. the council sent to guard this pass, which was named thermopylæ, a little army of four thousand men. it was commanded by leonidas, one of the two kings of sparta, who led a little band of three hundred spartans who had sworn never to retreat. before they left sparta, each man celebrated his own funeral rites. this little army built a wall across the pass and camped there waiting for the enemy. before long they were seen coming, covering the whole country with army after army until the plain below the pass was filled as far as the eye could see with hordes of marching, shouting warriors. high on the mountainside a throne had been built for xerxes where he could see and watch his armies sweep through the little force which stood in their way. his great nobles waited for the chance to display before him their leadership and the splendid equipment and discipline of the armies which they led. the first attack was made by an army of the persians and medes themselves, supported by archers and slingers and flanked with cohorts of magnificently appareled horsemen mounted on arab steeds. with a wild crash of barbaric music they rushed to the charge expecting by mere weight of numbers to break through the thin line of men who manned the little wall across the path, but the slave regiments of the persians were made up of men who were trained under the lash. they were officered by great nobles who had led self-indulgent lives of luxury and pleasure. against them was a band of free men, every one an athlete and able to use weapons which the lighter and weaker persians could not withstand. the onslaught broke on the spears and long swords of the spartan warriors and in a minute there was a huddle of beaten, screaming men and plunging horses and demoralized officers. into the broken and defeated ranks plunged the greeks and drove them far down the plain, returning in safety to their ramparts with the loss of hardly a man. again and again this happened and regiment after regiment from the inexhaustible forces of the persians were hurled against the wall only to be dashed backward and driven defeated down the plain by the impenetrable line of heavy-armed greeks. three times did xerxes the great king leap from his throne in rage and despair as he saw his best troops slaughtered and defeated by this tiny band of fighters. for two days this went on until the plain in front of the wall was covered with dead and dying persians and mercenaries while the greeks had hardly any losses. baffled and dispirited xerxes was actually on the point of leading back his great army when a traitor, for a great sum of gold, betrayed a secret path up the mountainside. it was none other than the bottom of a mountain torrent through the shallow water of which men could wade and find a way which would lead them safely around to the rear of the grecian army. on the early morning of the third day word was brought to leonidas that the enemy had gained the heights above and that by noon they would leave the plain and entirely encircle the little grecian army. a hasty council of war was called. all of the allied forces except the spartans agreed that the position could not be held further and advised an honorable retreat. the spartan band alone refused to go, although leonidas tried to save two of his kinsmen by giving them letters and messages to sparta. one of them answered that he had come to fight and not to carry letters and the other that his deeds would tell all that sparta needed to know. another one named dienices, when told that the enemy's archers were so numerous that their arrows darkened the sun, replied, "so much the better, for we shall fight in the shade." the little band took a farewell of their comrades and watched them march away and then without waiting to be attacked, this tiny body of three hundred men marched out from behind their ramparts and attacked a force nearly ten thousand times their own number. right through the slave-ranks they broke and fought their way to a little hillock where back to back they defended themselves against the whole vast army of the persians. again and again waves of men dashed up from all sides against this little hill, but only to fall back leaving their dead behind. at last the spears of the spartans broke and they fought until their swords were dulled and dashed out of their hands. then they fought on with their daggers, with their hands and their teeth until not one living man was left, but only a mound of slain, bristled over with arrows and surrounded by ring after ring of dead persians, medes, arabs, ethiopians and the other mercenaries which had been dashed against them. so died leonidas and his band of heroes. nearly ten thousand of the persian army lay dead around them during the three days of hand-to-hand fighting. by their death they had gained time for the armies of the grecian states to organize and, best of all, they had taught persian and greek alike that brave men cannot be beaten down by mere numbers. leonidas and his band are drifting dust. the stone lion and the pillar with the names of those that died that marked the battle-mound have crumbled and passed away long centuries ago. even the blood-stained pass itself has gone and the sea has drawn back many miles and there is no longer the morass, the path or the precipice. after the passage of more than twoscore centuries in a new world of which leonidas never dreamed, in another great war between freedom and slavery, this same great deed was wrought again by another three hundred men who laid down their lives to hold back an enemy and dying saved an army and perhaps a nation. their story might almost be the old, old hero story of the lost spartan band. the great civil war was in its third year. disaster after disaster had overtaken the union armies. english writers were already chronicling the decline and fall of the american republic. it was a time of darkness and peril. the great leaders who were afterward to win great victories had not yet arrived. under mcclellan nothing had been accomplished. at the first trial burnside failed at the terrible battle of fredericksburg where nearly thirteen thousand union soldiers--the flower of the army--died for naught. there was another shift and "fighting joe hooker" took command of the army of the potomac. through continuous defeats, the great army had become disheartened and the men were sullen and discouraged. it was a time of shameful desertions. the express trains to the army were filled with packages of citizens' clothes which parents and wives and brothers and sisters were sending to their kindred to help them desert from the army. hooker changed all this. he was brave, energetic and full of life and before long the soldiers were again ready and anxious to fight. unfortunately, their general, in spite of his many good qualities, did not have those which would make him the leader of a successful army. he was vain, boastful and easily overcome and confused by any unexpected check or defeat. encamped on the rappahannock river he had one hundred and thirty thousand men against the sixty thousand of the confederate forces on the other side. these sixty thousand, however, included robert e. lee, the great son of a great father, as their general. "light-horse harry lee," his father, had been one of the great cavalry commanders of the revolution and one of washington's most trusted generals. with robert e. lee was stonewall jackson, the great flanker who has never been equaled in daring, rapid, decisive, brilliant flanking, turning movements which so often are what decide great battles. hooker decided to fight. by the night of april , , no less than four army corps crossed the river in safety and were assembled at the little village of chancellorsville under his command. his confidence was shown in the boastful order which he issued just before the battle. "the operations of the last three days," he declared, "have determined that our enemy must either ingloriously fly or come out from behind his defenses and give us battle on our own ground where certain destruction awaits him." well might it have been said to him as to another boaster in the days of old, "let not him that girdeth on his armor boast as him that taketh it off." the morning of the battle came and hooker said to his generals that he had the confederates where god almighty himself could not save them. at first lee retreated before his advance, but when he had reached a favorable position, suddenly turned and drove back the union forces with such energy that hooker lost heart and ordered his men to fall back to a better position. this was done against the protests of all of his division commanders who felt as did meade, afterward the hero of gettysburg, who exclaimed to general hooker, "if we can't hold the top of a hill, we certainly can't hold the bottom of it." [illustration: in the woods near chancellorsville] hooker took a position in the wilderness, a tangled forest mixed with impenetrable thickets of dwarf oak and underbrush. here he hoped that lee would make a direct attack, but this pause gave the great confederate general the one chance which he wanted. all that night jackson with thirty thousand men marched half-way round the union army. again and again word was sent to hooker that the confederate forces were marching toward his flank, but he could see in the movement nothing but a retreat and sent word that they were withdrawing so as to save their baggage trains. at three o'clock the next afternoon jackson was at last in position. in front of hooker's army lay the main forces of lee. half-way to the rear of his forces were jackson's magnificent veterans. the first warning of the fatal attack which nearly caused the loss of the great union army of the potomac came from the wild rush of deer and rabbits which had been driven from their lairs by the quick march of the confederate soldiers through the forest. following the charge of the frightened animals came the tremendous attack of jackson's infantry, the toughest, hardiest, bravest, best-trained troops in the confederate army. the union soldiers fought well, but they were new troops taken by surprise and as soon as the roar of the volleys of the attacking confederates sounded from the rear, lee advanced, with every man in his army and smashed into hooker's front. the surprise and the shock of possible defeat instead of expected victory was too much for a man of hooker's temperament. at the time when he most needed a clear mind and unflinching nerve, he fell into a state of almost complete nervous collapse. the battle was practically fought without a leader, every corps commander did the best he could, but in a short time the converging attacks of the two great confederate leaders cut the army in two and defeat was certain. at this time came the greatest loss which the confederate army had received up to that day. stonewall jackson's men had charged through the forest and cut deeply into the flank of the union army. after their charge the confederate front was in confusion owing to the thick and tangled woods in which they fought. jackson had ridden forward beyond his troops in order to reform them. the fleeing union soldiers rallied for a minute and fired a volley at the little party which jackson was leading. he turned back to rejoin his own troops and in the darkness and confusion he and his men were mistaken for union cavalry and received a volley from their own forces which dashed jackson out of his saddle with a wound in his left arm which afterward turned out to be mortal. at that time general lee sent his celebrated message to jackson, "you are luckier than i for your left arm only is wounded, but when you were disabled, i lost my right arm." in a short time the whole union army was nothing but a disorganized mass of men, horses, ambulance-wagons, artillery and commissary trains, all striving desperately to cross the rappahannock before the pursuing confederates could turn the retreat into a massacre. unless the confederate pursuit could be held back long enough to let the men cross the river and reform on the opposite bank, the whole army was lost. history is full of the terrible disasters which overtake an army which is caught by the enemy while in the confusion of crossing a river. general pleasonton of pennsylvania was in command of the rear of the federal retreat. he was striving desperately to mount his guns so as to sweep the only road which led to the river and hold back the confederate forces long enough to let his men cross. already the van of the union army had reached the ford when far down the road appeared the whole corps of stonewall jackson, maddened by the loss of their great leader. every man that pleasonton had was working desperately to get the guns into position, but it was evident that they would be captured and their pursuers would sweep into the huddle which was crossing the river unless something could be done to hold them back. as the general looked silently down the road, he saw near to him major keenan of the pennsylvania cavalry. keenan had been a porter in a philadelphia store, but his rare faculty for handling men and horses had made him one of the most efficient cavalry officers of any pennsylvania regiment. the three companies which were with him were all the cavalry that pleasonton had. they were bringing up the rear of the retreat like a pack of wolves who, though driven back from their prey, move off sullenly only waiting for the signal from their leader to turn again and fight. general pleasonton had rallied his gunners and they would stand if only they had a chance. there was no hope of bringing any order into the mass of broken, terrified infantry rushing on toward the river. "major keenan," shouted general pleasonton, "how many men have you got?" "three hundred, general," replied keenan, quietly. "major," said the general, low and earnestly, riding up to him, "we must have ten minutes to save the army of the potomac. charge the confederate advance and hold them!" keenan never hesitated. when the six hundred charged at balaclava, some of them came back from the bite of the russian sabres and the roar of the muscovite guns. when pickett made that desperate, fatal charge at gettysburg, there was still a chance to retreat, but major keenan knew that when three hundred cavalry met the fixed bayonets of thirty thousand infantry on a narrow road, not one would ever return. it was not a splendid charge which might mean laurels of victory, but a hopeless going to death, the buying of ten minutes of time with the lives of three hundred men, yet neither keenan nor his men questioned the price nor flinched at the order. the sunlight of the last day he was to see on earth caught the gleam of his uplifted sabre as he gave the quick, sharp command to charge. he flung his cap into the bushes, bent his head and rode bareheaded in front of his flying column and then like an avalanche, like a hurricane of horse, he and his three hundred men thundered down the narrow road. just around the curve, with a crash that broke the necks of a score of the leading horses, this charging column hurled themselves against the astonished, packed ranks of infantry rushing on with fixed bayonets. for five, for ten, for fifteen minutes horses rose and fell to the clashing of dripping sabres and the bark of revolvers thrust into the faces of the oncoming foemen. for fifteen long minutes there was a swirl and a flurry which held back the head of the charging forces and then shattered by volley after volley of musketry and pierced by thousands of charging bayonets, horse and men alike went down. not one ever came back. keenan and his three hundred had bought the ten minutes and had thrown in five more for good measure and the price was paid. the head of the confederate column reformed, passed over and by the struggling horses and the silent, mangled men and then again swept on around the bend and down the road toward the fords crowded with a hundred thousand helpless, escaping soldiers. general pleasonton, however, had made good use of those precious moments. as the confederate column came around the curve, they were met by a hell of grape and canister from the batteries which at last had been mounted in position. right into their front roared the guns and the road was a shamble of writhing, struggling, dying men. no army ever marched that could stand up against the grim storm of death that swept down that road and in a moment the confederate forces broke and rushed back for shelter. the army of the potomac was saved. bought at a great price, it was yet to be hammered and forged and welded under a great leader into the sword which was to save the union. "year after year, the pine cones fall, and the whippoorwill lisps her spectral call. they have ceased, but their glory will never cease, nor their light be quenched in the light of peace. the rush of the charge is sounding still, that saved the army at chancellorsville." chapter xiv the rescue of the scouts the man who will risk his life for his friends, the leader who never deserts his band, the soldier who will not escape alone, these are the men whom history has always hailed as heroes. some of the greatest stories of devotion and courage have been those which chronicle the rescue of men from almost certain death. courage and devotion have often opened the dark doors of dungeons, stricken the fetters from despairing prisoners and saved men doomed to death from the stake, the block and the gallows. when the civil war broke out, the lot of the few union men left in the south was a hard one. the fierce passions of those days ran so high that not only was a unionist himself liable to death and the confiscation of his property, but even his family were not safe. in there was a georgian who assumed the name of william morford in order to protect those of his family who lived in georgia from the bitter hatred which his services for the union had aroused. he was one of many devoted scouts who worked secretly and single-handed for their country, claiming no reward if they won and losing their lives on the gallows if they lost. morford throughout was attached to the command of general rosecrans and performed many a feat during that stormy year. it was morford who burned an important bridge under the very eyes of a confederate regiment sent to guard it and who, when the light from the flames made escape impossible, coolly mingled with the guards and actually received their congratulations for his bravery in attempting to put out the fire which he himself had lighted. it was morford who single-handed captured a confederate colonel while he was sleeping in a house surrounded by his regiment and with his staff in the next room. morford obtained access to him under pretense of bearing an important oral dispatch from general beauregard himself. they were left alone with an armed sentry just outside the half-opened door. stepping to one side so that he could not be seen by the guard, morford suddenly placed a cocked revolver close against the substantial stomach of the colonel. "i have been sent, colonel," he muttered sternly, "to either capture or kill you. i would rather capture you, for if i kill you i shall have to fight my way out, but it is for you to say which it shall be." the colonel was a brave officer, but a cocked revolver against one's stomach is discouraging even for a hero. he decided instantly that he much preferred being a prisoner to being a corpse and said as much to morford. "well," said the latter, still in a tone so low that the sentry could not make out the words, "i'm glad you feel that way. get your hat and tell the guard that you're going to take me out for a talk with some of the other officers. i'll be right behind you with this revolver in my sleeve and if anything goes wrong, two bullets will go through the small of your back." with this stimulant, the colonel arranged matters entirely to the scout's satisfaction. he led the way out of the house and through the lines, giving the countersign himself, in a somewhat shaky voice, and in a short time the two found themselves within the union lines. "i hope i didn't startle you too much, colonel," said morford, as he turned his prisoner over to the guard. "you weren't in any danger, for my revolver wasn't loaded. i didn't find it out until just as i got to your lines and i figured out that i probably wouldn't have to shoot anyway." as this is a book for good boys and girls, it would not be proper to set down the colonel's language as he looked at the empty chambers of morford's revolver. another time the scout was sent by general rosecrans to find out whether certain steamboats were on the hiawassee and if so, where they were located. on this trip he climbed cumberland mountain and on looking down over the famous cumberland gap, he discovered a force of confederates who were busily engaged in fortifying the gap so as to prevent any federal troops from passing through it. the force consisted of twenty soldiers and forty or fifty negroes who were doing the work. morford made up his mind that it was his business as a union scout to stop all such work. standing out in full sight of the troop, he fired his revolver at the officer in command. the shot killed the leader's horse, and horse and man pitched over into the little troop throwing it into confusion. morford at once fired a second time and then turning, waved his hand to an imaginary aide and shouted so that the confederates could hear: "run back and tell the regiment to hurry up." he then turned to the opposite ridge and shouted across the gap to another imaginary force: "lead your men down that path and close in on 'em. hurry up. my men will come from this side and we'll beat you down." by this time the confederate officer was on his feet again and started to rally his men. morford made a rush toward them, firing his revolver as he came, waving his arms in both directions, shouting to his imaginary forces and bellowing at the top of his tremendous voice--"come on, boys, we've got them now. surround 'em. don't let a man escape!" the negro workmen felt that this was no place for neutrals and they dropped their shovels and made a rush for the mouth of the gap. the confederate soldiers stood for a minute, but as they saw morford rushing toward them, they broke and followed the workmen. the scout chased them until he saw that they were well on their way and then started back along the ridge chuckling to himself over the way in which they had scattered. he laughed too soon. the confederates had not gone far before they found out the trick which had been played upon them. they turned back and in a short time fifty men were riding along the ridge at full speed to capture the yankee who had fooled them so. unfortunately for morford, he had kept to the path along the ridge which was better going, but which offered very little chance of escape, since on one side was a sheer precipice while on the other was a long, bare slope which offered no place for concealment. from the top of a little knoll he caught sight of the confederates before they saw him. at that time they were only a half mile behind. the scout tried to escape by running far out on a rocky spur which jutted out over the gap and which was filled with trees, hoping that he might dodge in among these, double on his pursuers and so get away. the same officer, however, whom he had unhorsed caught sight of him as he ran from one tree to another and with a tremendous shout, the whole band galloped after him at full speed. morford had hoped that as the way led up a steep hill covered with rocks, his pursuers would have to dismount, but they were riding horses which had been bred in the mountains and which were trained to go up and down hill-paths like goats. they gained on him fast. spreading out they cut off every chance of his escaping back to the slope or skirting their ranks. there was nothing left for him to do except to go on and on to the very edge of the precipice. the scout knew that if he were caught he would be hung on the nearest tree and that knowledge was a considerable incentive to keep ahead of his pursuers as long as possible. he ran as he had never run before and as he could follow paths too narrow for the horses, for a while he managed to hold his lead. he could see, however, that some of the band had ridden around the slope and held the whole base of the spur so that it would be only a question of time before he would be hunted out and caught. he was running now along the very edge of the precipice which dropped six hundred feet to the rocks below. the gorge narrowed until finally at one point it was not more than twenty feet wide. this was too wide, however, for the scout to clear, even if he were not wearing heavy boots and carrying a rifle. several feet below where he stood, on the opposite shelf a hickory tree had grown out so that some of the branches extended within ten feet of his side of the gorge. below that tree was a fissure through the rock down which a desperate man might possibly clamber. it was a slight chance, but the only one which he had. at this point he was hidden from the confederates by a wall of rock. without allowing himself to stop, for fear that he would lose his nerve, morford took a run and launched himself through the air ten feet out and ten feet down against the spreading boughs of the hickory tree. he broke through them with a rush but wound his arms desperately around the bending limbs and though they bent and cracked, the tough wood held and he found himself firmly hugging the shaggy bark of the trunk with all his might. he slid down, ripping his clothes and skin, until finally his feet touched the beginning of a possible path down to the gorge. he could hear the shouts of his pursuers only a few rods away. if they had gone to the edge, nothing could have saved him, as they would have shot him down before he could have escaped, but they beat carefully through the trees and rocks for fear lest he should crawl back through their line. without stopping to weigh his chances, morford let himself drop from one shelf of rock to another, clinging to every little crevice and every twig and plant which he could find. several times he thought he was gone as his feet swung off into the space below, but always he managed to get a hand-grip on some rock which held, and almost before he realized the terrible chance he had taken, he had passed down the side of the cliff and was safe around a bend in the rock which hid him from view. from there the path was easier and in a short time he found himself in the gorge far below. there he crawled carefully along behind rocks and took advantage of every bit of cover and in a few minutes was far on his way, leaving the confederates to hunt for hours every square yard of ground on the rocky promontory whence he had come. this was but one of many similar adventures which made the name of morford feared and hated through the confederate states. the most desperate as well as the most generous of his many exploits was his rescue of three fellow-scouts who were held in jail at harrison, tennessee, and were to be shot on may st. morford was then in chattanooga and there heard of the capture of these scouts. chattanooga at that time was a confederate town, although it had a number of union residents. there did not seem to be any chance of rescuing the condemned men, yet from the minute that morford heard that these scouts were facing death, as he had so often faced it, he made up his mind that he would rescue them if he had to do it alone. morford's mother's name was kinmont and her earliest ancestor had been kinmont willie, celebrated in the border-wars between england and scotland in the latter part of the sixteenth century. many and many a time had she sung to him as a child an old scotch ballad handed down for centuries through the family, which told of the rescue of this far-away ancestor by his leader on the night before the day fixed for his execution. in salkeld was the deputy of lord scroope, the english warden of the west marches, while the laird of buccleuch, the keeper of liddesdale, guarded the scotch border. in that year these two held meetings on the border-line of the kingdoms according to the custom of the time for the purpose of arranging differences and settling disputes. on these occasions a truce was always proclaimed from the day of the meeting until the next day at sunrise. kinmont willie was a follower of the laird of buccleuch and was hated by the englishmen for many a deed of arms in the numerous border-raids of those times. after the conference he was returning home attended by only three or four friends when he was taken prisoner by a couple of hundred englishmen and in spite of the truce lodged in the grim castle of carlisle. the laird of buccleuch tried first to free him by applying to the english warden and even to the scotch embassador, but got no satisfaction from either and when at last he heard that his retainer was to be hung three days later, he took the matter into his own hands, gathered together two hundred of his men, surprised the castle of carlisle and rescued kinmont willie by force of arms. the story of this rescue is told in one of the best as well as one of the least-known of the scotch ballads, "kinmont willie," the verses of which run as follows: o have ye na heard o' the fause sakelde? o have ye na heard o' the keen lord scroope? how they hae ta'en bauld kinmont willie, on haribee to hang him up? they band his legs beneath the steed, they tied his hands behind his back; they guarded him, fivesome on each side, and they brought him over the liddel-rack. now word is gane to the bauld keeper, in branksome ha' where that he lay, that lord scroope has ta'en the kinmont willie, between the hours of night and day. he has ta'en the table wi' his hand, he garr'd the red wine spring on hie-- "now christ's curse on my head," he said, "but avenged of lord scroope i'll be! "o were there war between the lands, as well i wot that there is none, i would slight carlisle castell high, though it were builded of marble stone. "i would set that castell in a low, and sloken it with english blood! there's never a man in cumberland, should ken where carlisle castell stood. "but since nae war's between the lands, and there is peace, and peace should be; i'll neither harm english lad or lass, and yet the kinmont freed shall be!" he has call'd him forty marchmen bauld, were kinsmen to the bauld buccleuch; with spur on heel, and splent on spauld, and gleuves of green, and feathers blue. and as we cross'd the bateable land, when to the english side we held, the first o'men that we met wi', whae sould it be but fause sakelde? "where be ye gaun, ye hunters keen?" quo' fause sakelde; "come tell to me!" "we go to hunt an english stag, has trespass'd on the scots countrie." "where be ye gaun, ye marshal men?" quo' fause sakelde; "come tell me true!" "we go to catch a rank reiver, has broken faith wi' the bauld buccleuch." "where are ye gaun, ye mason lads, wi' a' your ladders lang and hie?" "we gang to berry a corbie's nest, that wons not far frae woodhouselee." "where be ye gaun, ye broken men?" quo' fause sakelde; "come tell to me!" now dickie of dryhope led that band, and the nevir a word of lear had he. "why trespass ye on the english side? row-footed outlaws, stand!" quo' he; the nevir a word had dickie to say, sae he thrust the lance through his fause bodie. and when we left the staneshaw-bank, the wind began full loud to blaw; but 'twas wind and weet, and fire and sleet, when we came beneath the castle wa'. we crept on knees, and held our breath, till we placed the ladders against the wa'; and sae ready was buccleuch himsell to mount the first before us a'. he has ta'en the watchman by the throat, he flung him down upon the lead-- had there not been peace between our lands, upon the other side thou hadst gaed! "now sound out, trumpets!" quo' buccleuch; "let's waken lord scroope right merrilie!" then loud the warden's trumpet blew-- "o wha dare meddle wi' me?" then speedilie to work we gaed, and raised the slogan ane and a', and cut a hole through a sheet of lead, and so we wan to the castle ha'. they thought king james and a' his men had won the house wi' bow and spear; it was but twenty scots and ten, that put a thousand in sic' a stear! wi' coulters, and wi' forehammers, we garr'd the bars bang merrilie, until we came to the inner prison, where willie o' kinmont he did lie. and when we cam to the lower prison, where willie o' kinmont he did lie-- "o sleep ye, wake ye, kinmont willie, upon the morn that thou's to die?" "o i sleep saft, and i wake aft, it's lang since sleeping was fley'd frae me; gie my service back to my wife and bairns, and a' gude fellows that spier for me." then red rowan has hente him up, the starkest man in teviotdale-- "abide, abide now, red rowan, till of my lord scroope i take farewell." "farewell, farewell, my gude lord scroope! my gude lord scroope, farewell!" he cried-- "i'll pay you for my lodging maill, when first we meet on the border side." then shoulder high, with shout and cry, we bore him down the ladder lang; at every stride red rowan made, i wot the kinmont's airns play'd clang. "o mony a time," quo' kinmont willie, "i have ridden horse baith wild and wood; but a rougher beast than red rowan i ween my legs have ne'er bestrode." "and mony a time," quo' kinmont willie, "i've prick'd a horse out oure the furs; but since the day i back'd a steed, i never wore sic cumbrous spurs." we scarce had won the staneshaw-bank, when a' the carlisle bells were rung, and a thousand men on horse and foot cam wi' the keen lord scroope along. buccleuch has turn'd to eden water, even where it flow'd frae bank to brim, and he has plunged in wi' a' his band, and safely swam them through the strem. he turn'd him on the other side, and at lord scroope his glove flung he-- "if ye like na my visit in merry england, in fair scotland come visit me!" "all sore astonish'd stood lord scroope, he stood as still as rock of stane; he scarcely dared to trew his eyes, when through the water they had gone. "he is either himsell a devil fra hell, or else his mother a witch maun be; i wadna have ridden that wan water, for a' the gowd in christentie." the memory of that brave rescue nearly three hundred years before, as the scout afterward told his friends, was what inspired him to save his fellow-scouts as buccleuch had saved the first william kinmont. by saving the lives of these three men he would pay with interest for the life of his ancestor. shakespeare writes somewhere that the good which men do is oft buried with their bones, but that their evil deeds live on forever. no more mistaken lines have ever been written. evil brings about its own death. no good deed is ever forgotten or ever buried. hundreds of years later it may flash out through the dust of centuries and light the path of high endeavor. morford scoured chattanooga and finally found nine men who were ready to go with him and try to rescue the condemned scouts. leaving chattanooga they traveled by night and hid by day in caves and thickets among the mountains. occasionally they would meet or get word from men whom they knew to be union sympathizers. finally they hid on the top of bear mountain which towered above the river and which separated them from harrison where was located the jail. although they had traveled fast and far they were only just in time. the second noon after the night when they reached the mountain had been fixed for the execution. on bear mountain they hid in a cave which morford himself had discovered when hunting there many years before. it could only be reached by a narrow path which ran along a shelf of rock which jutted out over a precipice three hundred feet deep. the path turned sharply and led under an enormous overhanging ledge and ended in a deep cave with a little mountain spring bubbling up on a mossy slope only ten feet wide which led up to the cave's entrance. inside was a dry, high cavern large enough to hold fifty men. it could not be reached from above by reason of the over-hanging ledge. at that point the path stopped and where the slope ended was a sheer drop to the rocks below which extended around the farther side of the slope so that the only entrance was around the path's bend along which only one man could pass at a time. morford reached the foot of bear mountain just at sunset and led his little band up the steep side by a winding deer-path, the entrance to which was concealed in a tangled thicket of green briar and could only be reached by crawling underneath the sharp thorns like snakes. the path to the cave was no place for a man with weak nerves. it was bad enough as it skirted the precipice, but where it took a sharp bend around the jutting point of rock, it narrowed to nothing more than a foothold not three inches wide. he who would pass into the cave must turn with his back to the precipice and edge his way with arms outstretched along the smooth face of the rock for nearly ten feet. the point at the turn was the worst. there it was necessary to take one foot off the ledge and grope for a tiny foothold below the path while one shuffled around the curve. it was not absolutely necessary for morford and his men to spend the night in this cave. there were other places where they could have stayed in safety, as no one suspected their presence. morford, however, had made up his mind to choose his men with the utmost care. it was necessary in order to save the lives of the three condemned scouts to pass through the camp of the soldiers and the ring of guards encircling the jail, break open the jail, rescue the prisoners and break out again. it was a desperate chance and morford's only hope of success was to have men who would show absolute coolness and daring throughout the whole adventure. the nine men whom he had selected all bore a high reputation for courage, but morford decided like gideon of old to cut out every factor of weakness and leave only the picked men. when gideon was chosen of god to rescue the children of israel from the unnumbered host of midianites and amalekites and the other bedouin hordes of the desert which were encamped in the great valley that lay at the hill of moreh, he started with a force of thirty-two thousand. when this army looked down upon the innumerable hosts of the fierce desert warriors, it began to weaken and gideon sent back twenty-two thousand soldiers who had showed signs of fear. the night before the day fixed for battle, gideon decided to select from this ten thousand a picked band of men who would be not only brave, but watchful and ready for any emergency. as his army swarmed down to the water-hole gideon watched the men as they drank. they had kept watch and ward on that bare sun-smitten mountain top all through the long, hot day. as they came to the water some of the thirsty men dashed forward out of the ranks and fell on their faces and lapped the water like dogs without a thought that there might be an ambush at the ford and without a care that they were lying absolutely defenseless before any enemy who might attack them. others kneeled on their hands and knees and drank. of the ten thousand only three hundred had bravery and self-control enough to maintain the discipline of a vigilant army. without laying down their weapons they drank as a deer drinks, watching on every side for fear of a surprise. with one hand they scooped up the water, in the other they held fast their weapon. it was slower, but it was safer. these three hundred men gideon chose for that band which for three thousand years has been the symbol of bravery and watchfulness. with this little force just before dawn he burst down upon the sleeping midianites which were as the sand by the sea for multitude. the three hundred were divided into three companies. each man carried a sword, a trumpet, and an earthenware pitcher with a lighted lamp inside. from three separate directions they rushed down upon the sleeping foe and sounded the trumpets and brake the pitchers and held the flashing lamps on high and then shouting as their watchword, "the sword of the lord and of gideon," they burst into the great camp of the invaders. roused from sleep, hearing the trumpet notes and the crash of the breaking pitchers and seeing the flash of lights from all sides and mighty voices shouting the fierce slogan, the midianites scattered like sheep and all that great host ran and cried and fled and every man's sword was against his fellow in the darkness, and when day dawned the ground was covered with dead men, the camp was abandoned and nothing was left of that mighty army but a fringe of fugitives scattered in every direction. it may be that some such test was in morford's mind as the little band of nine scaled the heights of bear mountain. at any rate as they approached the precipice-path he halted them. "boys," he said, "i got word this afternoon that these scouts have only thirty-six hours to live unless we save them. the guards have been doubled. it's going to be a desperate chance to get to them and none of us may ever come back. now if any of you fellows want to quit, the time to do it is now rather than later. i'm going to lead the way along the path which we used to say was the best nerve-tonic in this county. if any of you fellows get discouraged and don't want to make the last turn past old double-trouble, why back out, go over the top of the mountain and down the other side. you know your way home and you've got provisions enough to last for the trip. only travel fast, for those of us who are left are going to come right over the top of this mountain on the run with those scouts--if we save 'em." with this characteristic oration, morford started along the path, first tightening his heavy revolver belt so that it might not swing out and over-balance him at the critical moment. he was instantly followed by six others, quiet, self-contained men who like him had taken up scouting as the best way of showing their devotion to the union. the other three hesitated a moment, looked at each other shamefacedly and then slowly followed along the dangerous route. as morford reached double-trouble, he stopped and in a low voice told the next man how to put one foot out into space and search for the little foothold which jutted out below the main path and then how to swing around that desperate curve. slowly and with infinite caution each one of the six followed their leader and found himself safe on the slope of the cave. the seventh man listened carefully to the instructions of the man before him as to how he should round the curve and gave a gasp of horror when he found that he must balance himself on one foot on a three-inch ledge while the other was in mid-air. "tell general morford," he finally said, "that i ain't no tight-rope walker. i draw the line at holdin' on like a fly, head downward over this old precipice. anyway i don't think there's any chance to do anything and i'm goin' home." he seemed to have voiced the exact sentiments of the other two who had sidled up and with out-stretched necks were examining in the faint light the curve around double-trouble. the last man spent no time in any argument. "good-bye, general," he called in a low voice. "go as far as you like--but go without me." that was the last morford and the other six ever saw of those men. they reached home in safety after some days of wandering, but decided to choose another territory where the scouting would not be quite so strenuous. morford and his men made themselves comfortable that night. they drank deep from the spring and then had a much-needed scrub. after a hearty meal they turned in and slept like dead men through the next day on the crisp springy moss, first rolling a big boulder against the side of double-trouble so that no one could pass. late the next afternoon they awoke and found that the path was not so bad the second time as it had been the first. down the mountainside by the same concealed route they marched in single file and just at dark crossed the river and entered the little village of harrison. there they were met by an old man with whom morford had previously communicated. he had obtained by strategy the countersign which would take them through the soldiers, the guards and to the very entrance of the jail itself. curiously enough, some confederate officer had fixed as the countersign that very one with which gideon had conquered so many years ago. "the sword of gideon" was the open sesame which would take them past the guards and unlock the gates which ringed about the doomed men. morford accepted it as a good omen. the night before he had told his companions the old story of gideon's test and it came to them all as a direct message that god was fighting on their side as he had fought of old against even greater odds. morford planned to use gideon's tactics. he decided to surprise and confuse his enemy and escape in the confusion. he tied the hands of two of his band behind their backs and with the other four marched directly to the confederate camp, gave the countersign, and stated that he had prisoners to deliver to the jail. the sleepy sentry passed him through without any comment and they marched until they came to the high board fence with a double row of spikes on top which surrounded the prison-yard. this fence at one point touched the edge of a marsh filled with rank grass, briars and tussocks. to this point morford had gone earlier in the evening and had bored two auger-holes in one of the boards and then with a small saw dipped in oil had carefully sawed out one of the old timbers, leaving a space just large enough to admit of a man passing through. there was only one entrance to the prison grounds which was through the main gate besides which night and day sat two guards. morford rang at this gate and when it was opened, presented himself with his pretended prisoners. one of the guards accompanied them to the main jail toward which morford marched with his prisoners and two men, leaving the other two behind with the remaining guard. morford had no more than passed around the corner when these two suddenly seized the unsuspecting guard at the gate, pressed a revolver against his temple and in an instant gagged him, tied him up hand and foot with rope which they had brought and started to the jail to assist the others. usually the jail was only guarded by the jailer and one deputy or assistant who lived there with him. to-night, however, there was a death-watch of three extra men heavily armed stationed around in the corridor in front of the cells of the condemned men. the jailer opened the door and the sentry who had accompanied morford from the gate explained that these were two prisoners coming under guard from chattanooga, and morford and his men were admitted. every detail had been planned out ahead and the prisoners tottered into the corridor in an apparently exhausted condition and approached the guards who were waiting in front of the cells, or rather cages, in which were the condemned men. suddenly just as the supposed prisoners came close, the ropes dropped off their hands and each of said hands grasped a particularly dangerous looking revolver which was aimed directly at the heads of the astonished guards. "sit still," said one of the prisoners, "and keep on sitting still because i have very nervous fingers and if they twitch, these revolvers are likely to go off." the guards followed this advice and in an instant were disarmed and roped up like the guard at the gate. so far everything had gone like clockwork according to program. the jailer, however, had yet to be reckoned with. as he did not seem to be armed, morford had stepped forward to assist in disarming the guards when with a tremendous spring the jailer reached the door, pulled it open and with the same motion kicked a chair at morford who had sprung after him. morford tripped over the chair and before he could get the door open, the jailer had cleared the staircase with one jump and was out of the jail, running toward the entrance. morford and two others ran after him, but he had too much of a start and reached the gate fifty yards ahead. this jailer was cool enough to stop at the gate long enough to pull a knife from his belt. with this he slashed the ropes of the bound guard, pulled him to his feet and they both disappeared together through the open gate in spite of a couple of revolver shots which morford sent after them. the latter, however, was prepared for any emergencies. he told off two of his men to shut and bar the gates and to guard against any attack. two others were to run around and around the fence on the inside shouting and firing as rapidly and as often as their breath and ammunition would allow. with one companion he returned to the jail and demanded the keys from the tethered guard. "the jailer's got them, captain," said one of the guards; "he always carries them with him and there isn't a duplicate key in the place." there was no time to be lost. already could be heard outside the confederate camp the shouts of the officers to the men to fall in. only the tremendous turmoil which apparently was going on inside saved the day for morford. it would have been an easy thing to force the rickety old fence at any point or to dash in at the gate if the confederates had known how small a force of rescuers there were. they, however, believed that the jail must have been surprised by some large union force and they spent precious time in throwing out skirmishers, mustering the men and preparing to defend against a flank attack. in the meantime morford had rushed into the jailer's room and found lying there a heavy axe. with this he tried to break into the cells of the condemned men who were shaking the bars and cheering on their plucky rescuers. the door of the cell was locked and also barred with heavy chains. morford was a man of tremendous strength and swinging the axe, in a short time he managed to snap the chains apart and smash in the outer lock and with the aid of an iron bar pried open the door only to find that there was an inside door with a tremendous lock of wrought steel against which his axe had absolutely no effect. time was going. already they could hear the shouted commands of the confederate officers just outside the fence and morford expected any moment to see the door fly in and receive a charge from a couple of hundred armed men. as he wiped the sweat off his forehead, out of the corner of his eye he saw one of the guards grinning derisively at him. this was enough for morford. dropping the axe, he cocked his revolver and with one jump was beside the guard. placing the cold muzzle of his weapon against the guard's temple, he ordered him to tell him instantly where the keys were. there's no case on record where any man stopped laughing quicker than did that guard. "i ain't got 'em, captain," he gasped, "really i ain't." "i'm going to count ten," said morford, inflexibly, "and if i don't hear where those keys are by the time i say ten, i'm going to pull the trigger of this forty-four. then i'm going to count ten more and do the same with the next man and the next. if i can't save these prisoners, i'm going to leave three guards to go along with them." morford got as far as three when the guard, whose voice trembled so that he could scarcely make himself heard, shouted at the top of his voice: "there's a key in the pants-pocket of each one of us." in spite of the emergency they were facing morford's men could not help laughing at the expression on their leader's face as he stood and stared at the speaker. "i have a great mind," he said at last, "to shoot you fellows anyway as a punishment for being such liars and for making me chop up about two cords of iron bars." "you wouldn't shoot down prisoners, general," faltered one of the confederates. "no, i wouldn't," said morford, commencing to grin himself, "but i ought to." as he talked he had been fitting the key into the locks and with the last words the door opened and the condemned scouts were once more free men. there was not an instant to lose. already the confederates were battering away at the front gate with a great log and a fusillade of revolver-shots showed that the outer guards were doing all they could to stand off the attack. it took only a moment to arm the scouts with the weapons taken from the guards and in a minute the seven men were out in the prison-yard. morford himself ran to the gate, stooping in the darkness to avoid any chance shots that might fly through and ordered the two guards, who were lying flat on either side of the gate shooting through the bars at the soldiers outside, to join the others at the place where the plank had been removed. it took only a minute for the men to rush across the dark yard and reach the farther corner of the fence. morford sent them through the opening one by one. like snakes they crept into the tall grass, wormed their way through the tussocks into the thick marsh beyond and disappeared in the darkness. they were only just in time. as morford himself crept through the opening last the gate crashed in and with a whoop and a yell a file of infantry poured into the yard. at the same moment another detachment dashed around on the outside in order to make an entrance at the rear of the supposed union forces. morford had hardly time to dive under the briars like a rabbit when a company of soldiers reached the opening through which he had just passed. "here's the place, captain," he heard one of them say in a whisper. "here's the place where they broke in." the confederate officer hurried his men through the gap, not realizing that it was really the place where the rescuers had broken out. as the last man disappeared through the fence, morford crept on into the marsh, took the lead of his men and following a little fox-path soon had them safe on the other side and once again they started for bear mountain. they reached the boat in safety and in a few minutes they were on the other side of the river. instead of getting out at the landing, however, morford rowed down and made the men get out and make a distinct trail for a hundred yards or so to a highway which led off in an opposite direction from the mountain. then they came back and got into the boat again while morford rowed to where an old tree hung clear out over the water. a few feet from this tree was a stone wall. morford instructed his men to swing themselves up through the tree and jump as far out as possible on the wall and to follow that for a hundred yards and then spring out from the wall some ten or fifteen feet before starting for the mountain. when they had all safely reached the wall, morford himself climbed into the tree and set the boat adrift and again took charge of his party. some of the younger scouts, who had never been hunted by dogs, were inclined to think that their leader was unnecessarily cautious. the next morning, however, as they lay safe and sound on the slope of the cave at the top of bear mountain and saw party after party of soldiers and civilians leading leashed bloodhounds back and forth along the river-bank, they decided that their captain knew his business. their pursuers picked up the trail which was lost again in the highway and finally decided that the men must have escaped along the road, although the dogs were, of course, unable to follow it more than a hundred yards. for three days the scouts lay safe on the mountainside and rested up for their long trip north. several times parties went up and down bear mountain, but fortunately did not find the hidden deer-path nor was morford called upon to stand siege behind old double-trouble. when the pursuit was finally given up and the soldiers all seemed to be safe back in camp, morford led his little troop out and following the same secret paths by which they had come, landed them all with the union forces at murfreesboro. so ended one of the many brave deeds of a forgotten hero. chapter xv the boy-general boys are apt to think that they must wait until they are men before they can claim the great rewards which life holds in store for all of us. history shows that courage, high endeavor, concentration and the sacrifice of self will give the prizes of a high calling to boys as well as to men. one is never too young or too old to seek and find and seize opportunity. alexander hamilton was only a boy when in new york at the outbreak of the revolution, white-hot with indignation and patriotic zeal, he climbed up on a railing and in an impassioned speech to a great crowd which had collected, put himself at once in the forefront along with patrick henry, samuel adams, john otis and other patriots who were to be the leaders of a new nation. david was only a boy of seventeen when he was sent to take provisions to his brethren in the army of the israelites then encamped on the heights around the great battle-valley of elah. there he heard the fierce giant-warrior of a lost race challenge the discouraged army. by being brave and ready enough to seize the opportunity which thousands of other men had passed by, he that day began the career which won for him a kingdom. george washington was only a boy when he saved what was left of braddock's ill-fated army in that dark and fatal massacre and was hardly of age when the governor of virginia sent him on that dangerous mission to the indian chiefs and the french commander at venango. on that mission he showed courage that no threats could weaken and an intelligence that no treachery could deceive and he came back a man marked for great deeds. as a boy he showed the same forgetfulness of self which he afterward showed as a man when he refused to take any pay for his long services as general of the continental army and even advanced heavy disbursements from his own encumbered estate. napoleon was only a boy when, as a young lieutenant, he first showed that military genius, that power of grasping opportunities, of breaking away from outworn rules which made him one of the greatest generals of all time and which laid europe at his feet. if only to his bravery and genius had been added the high principle and the unselfishness of washington, of hamilton, of david, he would not have died in exile hated and feared by millions of men and women and children whose countries he had harried and whose lives he had burdened. in the civil war the youngest general in both the union and the confederate forces was major-general galusha pennypacker, who still lives in philadelphia. he became a captain and major at seventeen, a colonel at twenty and a full brigadier-general a few months before he became twenty-one. his last and greatest fight was at fort fisher and the story of that day, of which he was the hero, is typical of the bravery and readiness which made him the only boy-general in the world. by the end of the union forces had captured one by one the great naval ports of the confederacy, the gates through which their armies were fed by the blockade-runners of europe. new orleans, mobile and savannah had at last fallen. by december, , wilmington, south carolina, was the only port left through which the confederacy could receive provisions from outside. in that month an expedition was sent against the city by sea and land. the river-forces were commanded by admiral porter while generals ben butler and witzel had charge of the land-forces. general butler conceived the fantastic idea of exploding an old vessel filled with powder close to the ramparts. in the confusion which he thought would result, he hoped to carry the place by assault. fort fisher was the strongest fortress of the confederacy. admiral porter afterward said that it was stronger than the famous russian fortress malakoff, which next to gibraltar was supposed to be the most impregnable fortification in the world. fort fisher consisted of a system of bomb-proof traverses surrounded by great ramparts of heavy timbers covered with sand and banked with turf, the largest earthworks in the whole south and which were proof against the heaviest artillery of that day. the powder-boat was an abandoned vessel which was loaded to the gunnels with kegs of powder and floated up to within four hundred yards of the fort. when it was finally exploded, its effect upon the fortress was so slight that the confederate soldiers inside thought it was merely a boiler explosion from one of the besieging vessels. general butler and his assistant, general witzel, however, landed their forces, hoping to find the garrison in a state of confusion and discouragement. general butler found that the explosion had simply aroused rather than dismayed the besieged. from all along the ramparts as well as from the tops of the inner bastions a tremendous converging fire was poured upon the attacking force. back of these fortifications were grouped some of the best sharp-shooters of the whole confederate army and after a few minutes of disastrous fighting, general butler was glad enough to withdraw his forces back to the safety of the ships. he refused to renew the battle and reported to general grant that fort fisher could not be taken by assault. general grant was so disgusted by this report that he at once relieved general butler of the command and this battle was the end of the latter's military career and he went back to civil life in massachusetts. president lincoln too was deeply disappointed at the unfortunate ending of this first assault on the last stronghold of the confederacy. general grant sent word to admiral porter to hold his position and sent general alfred h. terry to attack the fort again by land with an increased force. general robert e. lee learned of the proposed attack and sent word to colonel lamont, who commanded the fort, that it must be held, otherwise his army would be starved into surrender. on january , , admiral porter ran his ironclad within close range of the fort and concentrating a fire of four hundred heavy guns rained great shells on every spot on the parapets and on the interior fortifications from which came any gun-fire. the shells burst as regularly as the ticking of a watch. the confederates tried in vain to stand to their guns. one by one they were broken and dismounted and the garrison driven to take refuge in the interior bomb-proof traverses. the attacking forces were divided into three brigades. the attack was commenced by one hundred picked sharp-shooters all armed with repeating rifles and shovels. they charged to within one hundred and seventy-five yards of the fort, quickly dug themselves out of sight in a shallow trench in the sand and tried to pick off each man who appeared in the ramparts. next came general curtis' brigade to within four hundred yards of the fort and laid down and with their tin-cups and plates and knives and sword-blades and bayonets, dug out of sight like moles. close behind them was pennypacker's second brigade and after him bell's third brigade. in a few moments, curtis and his brigade advanced at a run to a line close behind the sharp-shooters while pennypacker's brigade moved into the trench just vacated and bell and his men came within two hundred yards of pennypacker. all this time men were dropping everywhere under the deadly fire from the traverses. it was not the blind fire with the bullets whistling and humming overhead which the men had learned to disregard, but it was a scattering irregular series of well-aimed shots of which far too many took effect. the loss in officers especially was tremendous and equal to that of any battle in the war. more than half of the officers engaged were shot that day while one man in every four of the privates went down. when the men had at last taken their final positions, the fire of the vessels was directed to the sea-face of the fort and a strong naval detachment charged, with some of ames' infantry of the land-forces, at the sea angle of the fort. the besieged ran forward a couple of light guns loaded with double charges of canister and grape and rushed to the angle all of their available forces. the canister and the heavy musketry fire were too much for the bluejackets and they were compelled to slowly draw back out of range while the confederates shouted taunts after them. "come aboard, you sailors," they yelled; "the captain's ladder is right this way. what you hangin' back for?" [illustration: attacking the inner traverses of fort fisher] the last words were drowned in a tremendous rebel yell as they saw the bluejackets break and retreat out of range. the confederates, however, had cheered too soon. in manning the sea-wall they had weakened too much the defenses on the landward side and the word was given for all three brigades to attack at once. the color-bearers of all the regiments ran forward like madmen, headed by the officers and all sprinting as if running a two hundred and twenty-yard dash. the officers and the color-bearers of all three brigades reached the outer lines almost at the same time. with a rush and a yell they were up over the outer wall and forming inside for the attack on the inner traverses which yet remained. it was desperate work and the hardest fighting of the day was done around these inner bomb-proofs, each one of which was like a little fort in miniature. the crisis came when the first brigade was barely keeping its foothold on the west end of the parapet while the enemy which had repulsed the bluejackets were moving over in a heavy column to drive out curtis' panting men. it was at this moment that the boy-general pennypacker showed himself the hero of the day. he had already carried the palisades and the sally-port and had taken four hundred prisoners and then wheeled and charged to the rescue of curtis' exhausted men. ahead of them was the fifth traverse which must be stormed and crossed before curtis' men could be relieved. already the men were wavering and it was a moment which called for the finest qualities of leadership. pennypacker himself seized the colors of the th pennsylvania, his old regiment, and calling on his men to follow, charged up the broken side of the fifth traverse. his troops swarmed up after him side by side with the men of the d pennsylvania and the soldiers of the th new york, but pennypacker was the first man to fix the regimental flag on the parapet and shouted to colonel moore of the other pennsylvania regiment: "colonel, i want you to take notice that the first flag up is the flag of my old regiment." before colonel moore had time to answer, he pitched over with a bullet through his heart and colonel bell was killed at the head of his brigade as he came in. the gigantic curtis was fighting furiously with the blood streaming down from his face. just at that moment, at the head of his men, general pennypacker fell over, so badly wounded that never from that time to this was a day to pass free from pain. his work was done, however. his men fought fiercely to avenge his fall, broke up the enemies' intended attack, freed the first brigade and all three forces joined and swept through the traverses, capturing them one by one until the last and strongest fort of the confederacy had fallen. the only remaining gateway to the outer world was closed. after the fall of fort fisher, it was only a few months to appomattox. one of the bloodiest and most successful assaults of the war had succeeded. general grant ordered a hundred-gun salute in honor of the victory from each of his armies. the secretary of war, stanton, himself, ran his steamer into wilmington and landed to thank personally in the name of president lincoln the brave fighters who had won a battle which meant the close of the war. general pennypacker was to survive his wounds. this was the seventh time that he had been wounded in eight months. at the close of the war he was made colonel in the regular army, being the youngest man who ever held that rank, and was placed in command of various departments in the south and was the first representative of the north to introduce the policy of conciliation. later on he went abroad and met emperor william of germany, the emperor of austria and prince bismarck and von moltke, that war-worn old general, who shook hands with him and said that as the oldest general in the world, he was glad to welcome the youngest. so ends the story of a great battle where a boy showed that he could fight as bravely and think as quickly and hold on as enduringly as any man. what the boys of ' could do, the boys of can and will do if ever a time comes when they too must fight for their country. chapter xvi medal-of-honor men to-day in the world-war that is being waged in two hemispheres among twelve nations, we hear much of the victoria cross and the iron cross, and the decoration of the legion of honor, those tiny immortal symbols of achievement for which men are so willing to lay down their lives and which are cherished and passed on from father to son as a heritage of honor undying. not since gunpowder sent armor, swords, spears, arrows, bows, catapults and a host of other outworn equipment to the scrap-heap has the method of warfare been changed as it was in the year . battles are now fought in the air and under the water and armies move forward underground. automobiles and power-driven cars, trucks and platforms have succeeded the horse. aeroplanes have taken the place of cavalry. vast howitzers carried piecemeal on trucks, which can run across a rougher country than a horse, have made the strongest fortress obsolete. bombs which kill every living thing within a circle one hundred and fifty yards in diameter, vast cylinders of gas which turn the air for miles into a death-trap, airships which can drop high-power explosives while invisible beyond the clouds, aerial and submarine torpedoes which can be automatically guided by electric currents from vessels miles away, guns that send vast shells a mile above the earth to carry death and destruction to a point twenty miles away, concealed artillery equipped with parabolic mirrors and automatic range-finders which can shoot over distant hills and mountains to a hair's breadth, and destroy concealed and protected bodies of men, rifles which shoot without noise and without smoke, machine-guns that spray bullets across a wide front of charging men as a hose sprays water across the width of a lawn, wireless apparatus which send messages thousands of miles across land and sea, all these and hundreds of other devices would be more of a mystery to grant and lee and the other great commanders of the civil war than the breech-loading magazine rifles and artillery and iron-clads of their day would have been to napoleon. the warfare of to-day is farther removed from the period of the civil war of half a century ago than the napoleonic wars were from those of hannibal over a thousand years before. methods have changed, but men are the same to-day as they were when they first built that great tower on the plain of shinar. the eternities of life are still with us. brave deeds, acts of self-sacrifice, truth, honor, courage, unselfishness still stand as in the days of old. every man or woman or child, small or great, can achieve such deeds. at the end of this chronicle of the brave deeds wrought by our fathers and grandfathers in a war which was fought for an ideal, it is most fitting that the boys and girls of to-day should read what was done by commonplace men as a matter of course. from the great list prepared by the war department of the united states of those whom their country have honored have been selected a few stories of the way different men won their medal of honor. in general sherman was in the midst of his great march to atlanta. grant had begun the campaign against lee's army which was to end at richmond, while to sherman was given the task of crushing his rival, joseph e. johnston. inch by inch the whole of that march was fought out in a series of tremendous battles. one of these was the hard battle of new hope church in sight of kenesaw mountain. the battle was fought as a successful attempt on the part of sherman to turn the flank of johnston's position at alatoona pass. during the battle, follett johnson, a corporal in the th infantry, did not only a brave, but an unusual deed. while his company was awaiting the signal to take part in the battle which was raging on their left, they were much annoyed by the deadly aim of a confederate sharp-shooter concealed in an oak tree a quarter of a mile away. every few minutes there would be a puff of smoke and the whine of a minie bullet, too often followed by the thud which told that the bullet had found its billet. when at last the sixth man, one of johnson's best friends, was fatally wounded through the head, johnson made up his mind to do his share in stopping this sharp-shooting permanently. unfortunately he was only an ordinary shot himself, but he crawled down the line and had a hasty conference with one of the best shots in the regiment. "you get a good steady rest," said johnson, "and draw a bead on that oak tree. i'll kind of move around and get the chap interested and when he gives you a chance, you take it." the union sharp-shooter agreed to carry out his part of the bargain. johnson suddenly sprang to his feet and ran in a zigzag course to a position farther down the line. a bullet from the watcher in the tree shrieked close past his head. "lie down, you fool," shouted his captain. "are you trying to commit suicide?" "captain, we're fishing for that fellow over in the tree," returned johnson. "i'm the bait." "well, you won't be live-bait if you keep it up much longer," said his captain as johnson again took another run while a bullet cut through his coat hardly an inch from his side. johnson did keep it up, however. now he would raise his cap on a stick and try to draw the enemy's fire in safety. again he would suddenly spring up and make divers disrespectful gestures toward the sharp-shooter in his tree. sometimes he would lie on his back and kick his legs insultingly up over a little breastwork that had been hurriedly thrown up. one bullet from the confederate marksman nearly ruined a pair of good boots for johnson while he was doing this, taking the heel off his left boot as neatly as any cobbler could have done. the hidden marksman, however, commenced to show the effect of this challenge by this unknown joker. little by little he ventured out from behind the trunk of the tree in order to get a better aim. by the captain's orders no one fired at him in the hopes that he would give the watching union sharp-shooter a deadly chance. at last his time came. johnson started his most ambitious demonstration. he suddenly stood up in front of the breastworks in an attitude of the most irritating unconcern. yawning, he gave a great stretch as if tired of lying down any longer, then he kissed his hand toward the sharp-shooter and started to stroll down the front of the line, first stopping to light his pipe. the whole company gave a gasp. "that will be about all for poor old folly," said one man to his neighbor and every minute they expected to see him pitch forward. his indifference was too much for the confederate. emboldened by the absence of any recent shots, he leaned out from behind the sheltering trunk in order to draw a deadly bead on the man who had been mocking him before two armies. this was the chance for which the union sharp-shooter had been waiting. before the confederate marksman had a chance to pull his trigger there was the bang of a springfield rifle a few rods from where johnson was walking and the watching soldiers saw the confederate sharp-shooter topple backward. the rifle which had done so much harm slipped slowly from his hand to the ground and in a minute there was first a rustle, then a crash through the dense branches of the oak as the unconscious body lost its grip on the limb and pitched forward to the ground forty feet below. johnson's captain was the first man to shake his hand. "it takes courage to fish for these fellows sometimes," he said, "but it takes braver men than i am to be the bait." nearly thirty years later this occurrence was remembered and corporal johnson awarded the medal of honor which he had earned. another man who drew the enemy's fire in order to save his comrades was john kiggins, a sergeant in one of the new york regiments. it was at the battle of lookout mountain on november , . the terrible battle of chickamauga had been fought. the union army had been reduced to a rabble and swept off the field, except over on the left wing where general george h. thomas with twenty-five thousand men dashed back for a whole afternoon the assaults of double that number of confederates and earned the title which he was henceforth to bear of the "rock of chickamauga." the defeated army, followed afterward by general thomas' forces, withdrew to chattanooga, that tennessee battle-ground surrounded by the heights of missionary ridge and lookout mountain. here the union forces were invested on all sides by the confederate army under general bragg. the supplies of the union army gave out. the confederates commanded the tennessee river and held all of the good wagon-roads on the south side of it. the union army was nearly starved. general rosecrans had never recovered from the battle of chickamauga. not only was his nerve shattered, but he seemed to have lost all strength of will and concentration of purpose. general grant, who had just been placed in supreme command of all the military operations in the west, decided to place thomas in command of the army of the cumberland in place of the dispirited rosecrans. he telegraphed thomas to hold chattanooga at all hazards. "we'll hold the town until we starve," thomas telegraphed back. when grant reached chattanooga on october d, wet and dirty, but well, he realized as he saw the dead horses and the hollow-cheeked men how far the starving process had gone. although he was on crutches from injuries received from a runaway horse, yet his influence was immediately felt throughout the whole army. he was a compeller of men like napoleon and, like him, had only to ride down the line and let his men see that he was there in order to accomplish the impossible. he at once sent a message to sherman, who was coming slowly along from vicksburg. his messenger paddled down the tennessee river in a canoe under a guerrilla-fire during his whole journey and handed sherman a dispatch from grant which said, "drop everything and move your entire force toward stevenson." sherman marched as only he could. when his army reached the tennessee river he laid a pontoon bridge thirteen hundred and fifty feet in length in a half day, rushed his army across, captured all the confederate pickets and was ready to join grant in the great battle of chattanooga. general hooker marched in from one side on november th and fought the great battle of lookout mountain above the clouds, through driving mists and rains and on the morning of november th the stars and stripes waved from the lofty peak of lookout mountain. the next day eighteen thousand men without any orders charged up the almost perpendicular side of missionary ridge and carried it, and the three-day battle of chattanooga was ended in the complete defeat of bragg's army and the rescue of the men whom he thought he had cornered beyond all hopes of escape. it was during this first day's battle in the mist on lookout mountain that kiggins distinguished himself. the new york regiment, in which he was a sergeant, had crawled and crept up a narrow winding path, dragging their cannon after them up places where it did not seem as if a goat could keep its footing. they had already come into position on one side of the higher slopes when suddenly a battery above them opened fire and the men began to fall. through the mists they could see the stars and stripes waving over this upper battery, which had mistaken them for confederate soldiers. they were shielded from the confederate batteries by a wall of rock, but it was necessary to stop this mistaken fire or every man of the regiment would be swept off the mountain by the well-aimed union guns. sergeant kiggins volunteered to do the necessary signaling. he climbed up on the natural wall of rock which protected them from the confederate batteries and sharp-shooters and waved the union flag toward the battery above him with all his might. they stopped firing, but evidently considered it simply a stratagem and wigwagged to kiggins an inquiry in the union code. it was necessary for kiggins to answer this or the fire would undoubtedly be at once resumed. unfortunately he was a poor wigwagger and as he stood on the wall, he was exposed to the fire of every confederate battery or rifleman within range. the perspiration ran down his face as he clumsily began to spell a message back to the battery above. over his head hummed and whirled solid round shot and around him screamed the minie balls from half-a-dozen different directions. once a shot pierced his signaling flag right in the middle of a word. he not only had to replace the flag, but he had to spell the word over again which was even worse. the whole message did not take many minutes, but it seemed hours to poor kiggins. his life was saved as if by a miracle. several bullets pierced his uniform, his cap was shot off his head and when the last word was finished, he dropped off the wall with such lightning-like rapidity that his comrades, who had been watching him with open mouths, thought that at last some bullet must have reached its mark. kiggins, however, was unharmed, but made a firm resolve to perfect himself in wigwagging. we have no record whether he carried out this good resolution, but his unwilling courage saved his regiment in spite of his bad spelling and won for himself a medal of honor. it was at the end of that terrible wilderness campaign of grant's which in a little more than a month had cost him fifty-four thousand nine hundred and twenty-nine men, a number nearly equal to the whole army of lee, his antagonist, when the campaign was commenced. grant's first object in this campaign was to destroy or capture lee's army. his second object was to capture richmond, the capital of the confederacy. a special rank of lieutenant-general had been created for him by president lincoln with the approval of the whole country. his victory at the dreadful battle of shiloh, his successful siege of vicksburg and his winning above the clouds the battle of chattanooga, had made the silent, scrubby, commonplace-looking man, with the gray-blue eyes, who never talked but acted instead, the hope of the whole nation. in this campaign, grant's one idea was to clinch with lee's army and fight it as hard and as often as possible. he fought in the wilderness, tangled in thickets and swamps. he fought against strong positions on hilltops, he fought against entrenchments defended by masked batteries and tremendous artillery. he fought against impregnable positions and although he lost and lost and lost, he never stopped fighting. lee had beaten mcclellan and pope and burnside and hooker, all able generals, who had tried against him every plan except that which grant now tried, of wearing him out by victories and defeats alike. grant's army could be replenished. there were not men enough left in the confederacy to replace lee's army. it was a terrible campaign and only a president of lincoln's breadth of view and only the supreme confidence which the american people have in a man who fights, no matter how often he is beaten, kept grant in command. if, after the bloody defeats in the wilderness and at spottsylvania or at cold harbor, he had turned back like any of his successors would have done, undoubtedly his past record would not have saved him the command. it was like the celebrated battle between tom cribb, the champion of england, and molineaux, the giant black, in the eighteenth century for the championship of the world. again and again and again cribb was knocked down by blows so tremendous that even his ring generalship could not avoid them. battered and bloody he always staggered to his feet and bored in again for more. molineaux at last said to his seconds, "i can't lick a fellow like that; the fool doesn't know when he is beaten." it was so with grant and lee. grant never knew when he was beaten. lee's generalship could knock him down, but could not keep him back, and the confederate leader realized himself that sooner or later some chance of war would give grant the opportunity for a victory from which the confederate army could not recuperate. cold harbor was the last of this series of defeats which helped wear out lee's army and ended in its capture and the occupation of richmond. at the time, however, it was bitter to be borne by the millions of men and women and children who were hungering and thirsting for a victory of the union arms. marching and fighting and fighting and marching every day for a month, grant was almost in sight of the spires of the confederate capital. about six miles outside the city lee had taken his last stand at cold harbor. he held a position of tremendous natural strength and had fortified and entrenched it so that it was practically impregnable. grant tried in vain to flank it. on june th he ordered an assault in front. against him was the flower of the confederate army commanded by the best general of the world and securely entrenched in a position than which no stronger was ever attacked throughout the whole war. grant first gave his command to attack on the afternoon of june d, but then postponed it until the early morning of june d. officers and men alike knew that they were to be sacrificed. all through the regiments men were pinning slips of paper, on which were written their names and addresses, to the backs of their coats, so that their dead bodies might be recognized after the battle and news sent to their families at the north. the battle was a short one. the second corps of general hancock, one of the bravest and most dashing of all of grant's generals, was shot to pieces in twenty-two minutes and fell back with three thousand of its best men gone, including most of its officers. all along the line the story was the same. at some places the union men were beaten back without any difficulty and at other spots they penetrated the salients, but were driven back. attack after attack was in vain against the generalship of lee, the bravery of his men and the almost impregnable strength of his position. eugene m. tinkham, of the th new york infantry, was in that corps directly under the eye of grant himself which attacked and attacked the confederate position throughout that bloody morning, only to be driven back each time with tremendous losses. the th infantry, in which tinkham was a corporal, charged right up to the very mouth of the guns. flesh and blood could not stand, however, against the volleys of grape and canister which ripped bloody, struggling lanes right through the masses of the charging men. as the corps of which tinkham's regiment was a part was stopped by the wall of dead and wounded men piled up in front of them, the confederates with a fierce rebel yell charged over the breastworks on the confused attackers. for a minute the new york regiment held its own, but were finally slowly forced back fighting every foot to the shelter of their own rifle-pits. there they made a stand and the confederate sally stopped and the men in gray dashed back to their own fortifications. in this charge, tinkham received a bayonet wound through his left shoulder while a jagged piece of canister had ripped through his left arm. not until he found himself back in the rifle-pit, however, did he even know that he was wounded. his bayonet and the barrel of his rifle were red clear up to the stock and he did not at first realize that the blood dripping from his left sleeve was his own. it was only as he lay on the dry sand and saw the red stain beside him grow larger and larger that he realized that he was hurt. one of the few men who had returned with him stripped off his coat, cut away the sleeve of his shirt and made a couple of rough bandages and extemporized a rude tourniquet from the splinters of one of the wheels of a battered field-piece which had flown into the pit. when that was over, tinkham lay back and shut his eyes and felt the weakness which comes over a man who has lost much blood. to-day there was not the tonic of victory which sometimes keeps even wounded men up. he had seen his comrades, men with whom he had eaten and slept and fought for over two years, thrown away, as it seemed to him, uselessly. he was yet to learn, what the army learned first and the country last, that grant was big enough and far-sighted enough to know that some victories must be wrought from failure as well as success. this was one of the hammer-strokes which seemed to bound back from the enemy's armor without leaving a mark, yet the impact weakened lee even when it seemed that he was most impervious to it. it was absolutely necessary to grant's far-reaching plans that lee be fought on every possible occasion. whether he won or lost, grant's only hope lay on keeping lee on the defensive. none of this, of course, could a wounded corporal in a battered, beaten and defeated regiment realize. all he knew was that his friends were gone, that he was wounded and, worst of all, had been forced to again and again retreat. he shut his eyes and there was a sound in his ears like the tolling of a great bell. it seemed to swell and rise until it drowned even the rattle and roar of the battle which was still going on. when tinkham opened his eyes everything seemed to waver and quiver before him. suddenly there came a short, thin, wailing sound which cut like a knife through the midst of the unconsciousness which was stealing over him. it was the cries of two wounded men lying far out in the field over which he had come. tinkham raised his hand and strained his eyes. he could recognize two of his own file, men who a moment before had been by his side and who now lay moaning their lives away out on that shell-swept field. tinkham listened to it as long as he could. then he set his teeth, scrambled to his feet and in spite of his comrades who thought that he was delirious, climbed stiffly over the edge of the rifle-pit and began to creep out between the lines toward the wounded men. at first every motion was an agony. he was weakened by the loss of blood and he could bear no weight on his left arm, yet there was such a fatal storm of bullets and grape-shot whizzing over him that he knew that, if he rose to his feet, there would be little chance of his ever reaching his friends alive. slowly and doggedly he sidled along like a disabled crab. sometimes he would have to stop and rest. many times bullets whizzed close to him and cut the turf all around where he lay. as soon as he had rested a few seconds, he would fix his eye on some little tuft of grass or stone or weed and make up his mind that he would crawl until he reached that before he rested again. it was a long journey before he reached his goal. on the way he had taken three full canteens of water from silent figures which would never need them more. when at last he reached the men, they recognized him and the tears ran down their faces as they called his name. "god bless you, corporal," said one; "it's just like you to come for us." tinkham had no breath left to talk, but he gave each wounded man a refreshing drink from the canteens. both of them were badly, although not fatally, wounded. one had a shattered leg and the other was slowly bleeding to death from a jagged wound in his thigh which he had tried in vain to staunch. tinkham bandaged them up to the best of his ability and started to drag them both back to safety. with his help and encouragement, each of them crawled for himself as best he was able. it was a weary journey. during the last part of it, however, he was helped by other volunteers who were shamed into action by seeing this wounded man do what they had not dared. all three recovered and lived to take part in the latter-day victories which were yet to come. tinkham was but one of the thousands of brave men who risked their lives to save their comrades. there was michael madden who at mason's island, maryland, was on a reconnaissance with a comrade within the enemy's lines. his companion was wounded. a number of the enemy's cavalry started out to cut off the two men who were at the same time exposed to concentrated fire from the enemy's sharp-shooters. madden picked his comrade up as if he had been a child, hoisted him to his back and ran with him to the bank of the potomac, and plunged off into the water. swimming on his back, he kept his comrade's head up and crossed the river in safety with the bullets hissing and spattering all around him. then there was julius langbein, a drummer-boy fifteen years old. in at camden, n.c., the captain of his company was shot down. langbein went to his help, but found that unless he received surgical treatment, he could not live an hour. unstrapping his drum, he ran back to the rear and found a surgeon who was brave enough to go out to the front with him and under a heavy fire give first-aid to the wounded officer. then the two carried the unconscious captain back to safety. it is a brave man that can rally himself in a retreat. usually men go with the crowd. once let the tide of battle begin to ebb and a company or a regiment or a brigade commence a retreat, it takes not only unusual courage, but also unusual will-power for any single man to stand out against his fellows and resist not only his own fears, but theirs. such a man was john s. kenyon. at trenton, s.c., on may , , the whole column of his regiment, the d new york cavalry, was retreating under a murderous fire from the enemy. kenyon was in the rear rank. the retreat had started at a trot, had increased to a gallop and finally the whole column was riding at breakneck speed away from the shot and shell which crashed through their ranks. at the very height of their speed a man riding next to kenyon was struck in the right shoulder by a grape-shot. the force of the blow pitched him headlong from the saddle. he still held to his reins with his left hand with a death-grip and was dragged for yards by his plunging, snorting horse. kenyon was just ahead and knew nothing of the occurrence until he heard a faint voice behind him calling breathlessly, "help, john, help!" he looked back and saw his comrade nearly fifty yards behind lying on the ground. already his fingers were loosening their grip on the rein and the blood was flowing fast from the gash on his shoulder. behind him the confederate cavalry came thundering along not a quarter of a mile away while the massed batteries behind them swept the whole field with a hail of lead and steel. john hesitated for a minute and for the last time he heard once more the call of help, this time so faint that he could hardly hear it above the din of the battle. with a quick movement, he swung his horse to one side of the column. "don't be a fool, john," shouted one of the men ahead; "it's every man for himself now. you can't save him and you'll only lose your own life." it was the old plausible lie that started when satan said of job, "skin for skin, all that a man hath will he give for his life." it was a lie then and it is just as much a lie to-day. "greater love hath no man than that he lay down his life for his friend," said our master. every day when the crisis comes we see men who will do that. kenyon was one of these men. as he said afterward, "i should never have been able to get jim's voice out of my mind if i hadn't stopped." it only took an instant to cover the distance from the column to the wounded man. kenyon reached him just in time to catch the riderless horse which had at last freed his bridle from the weak grip of his wounded master. kenyon swung himself to the ground and holding the two plunging horses with his right hand, pulled his friend to his feet and with a tremendous effort finally hoisted him into his saddle again. by this time the pursuing cavalry was within pistol-shot and the revolver bullets began to sing around the heads of the two men. "you hang on to your saddle, jim," said kenyon, "and i'll take care of your horse." bending low in his saddle, he dug his spurs deep into his horse's sides, at the same time keeping his grip on the reins of the other horse and in a few minutes the two were back again in the rear of the retreating column. all through the retreat kenyon stuck to his comrade and finally landed him safely in the field-hospital in front of which the union army had thrown up entrenchments which stopped all further pursuit. war, like everything else, is always a one-man job. it was the one man hannibal that took a tropical army of sunburned arabs, carthaginians, abyssinians, berbers and soldiers from half a score of other southern nations and cut and built and tunneled his way through the ice and snow and cold of the alps. not only did his indomitable will carry his men through an impossible and unknown region, but it was this one man who for the first time in the history of the world marched elephants up over the alps. over two thousand years later it was one man again who took a ragged, battered, beaten army and marched over the same route and through the avalanches and snow-covered peaks and blinding snow-storms of the great bernard pass. when the men turned trembling back from the brink of immeasurable precipices and before cliffs which seemed as if they could be climbed only by the chamois, napoleon would order the drums and bugles to strike up the signal for a charge and up and over his soldiers went. it was this one short, frail, little man that fused this army into a great fighting machine, marched it over impossible mountains and swept down into italy to win as great victories as did his fierce predecessor twenty centuries before. the records of the war department are full of instances where men singly did seemingly impossible things. there was patrick ginley, a private in a new york regiment. at reams station, virginia, the command in which he fought deserted important works which they occupied and retreated under the tremendous fire of the advancing enemy. patrick remained. it seemed impossible that only one man could do anything except throw away his life, but patrick made up his mind that he would accomplish everything that one man could. accordingly as the enemy surged up to occupy the works with cheers and laughter at the sight of the retreating bluecoats, they were suddenly staggered by receiving a tremendous cannonade of grape-shot which cut down the entire first two ranks of the approaching company. it was private ginley who, single-handed, had loaded and sighted the gun and coolly waited until the enemy were within pointblank range. the confederates were thrown into confusion. they suspected a yankee trick and thought that the retreat had been made simply to lure them into close range. in the confusion they fell back, although they could have marched in without any further opposition, for as soon as ginley had fired the gun, he escaped out of the rear of the earthworks and hastened to another union regiment which was holding its ground near by. waving his arms over his head and shouting like a mad-man, he rushed up to the astonished men and grabbed the colors out of the hands of the bewildered color-sergeant. "come on, boys!" he shouted. "i've got some good guns and a nice bit of fortification just waitin' for you. look at the way i drove them back all by myself." and he waved the colors toward the shattered confederates who were slowly forming into line again preparatory to an assault, and started back for the works as fast as his legs could carry him. "come on, you fellows," he yelled over his shoulder; "do you want me to drive them back twice?" his example was all that was needed. there was a cheer from officers and men alike and close behind him thundered the charge of the regiment. with a rush they swept up over the earthworks, drove the confederates, who had just entered from the other side, out headlong, manned the whole works and in a minute were pouring charges of grape and canister from the retaken guns which completed their victory. a defeat had been changed into a victory, eleven guns and important works had been retaken from the enemy and a regiment of confederates disorganized and driven from the field. one man did it. the deeds that most appeal to our imagination are single combats--one man against a multitude when daring and dash and coolness and skill take the place of numbers. history is full of such stories. we love to read of that great death-fight of hereward the wake, the last of the english, when with sturdy little winter at his back, he fought his last fight ringed around with hateful, treacherous foes. at his feet the pile of dead and wounded men grew high and higher until no one dared step within the sweep of that fatal sword. at last when winter had fallen, some treacherous coward thrust a spear into hereward's defenseless back. as he lay fallen on his face, apparently dead, one of his foemen stepped over to rob him of his sword when hereward struggled to his knees and struck forward with his shield so fiercely, the last blow of the last englishman, that he laid his man dead on the field. then there was the death-fight of grettir the outlaw which andrew lang calls one of the four great fights in literature of one man against a multitude. no boy should ever grow up without reading the grettir saga which tells how after being unjustly driven into outlawry grettir finally took refuge on a rocky island which could only be climbed by a rope-ladder. there with his brother and a cowardly, lazy servant he lived in safety until his enemies hired a witch-wife to do him harm. at midnight she cut grim runes into a great log of driftwood and burned strange signs thereon and stained it with her blood and then after laying upon it many a wicked spell, had it cast into the sea by four strong men. against wind and tide it sailed to drangy, grettir's island of refuge. there he found it on the beach, but recognized it as ill-fated and warned the servant not to use it for fire-wood. in spite of this the lazy thrall brought it up the next day and when grettir, not recognizing it, started to split the accursed log, his axe glanced and cut a deep gash in his leg. the wound festered and the leg swelled and turned blue so that grettir could not even stand on it. when he was at last disabled, the witch-wife raised a storm and under her direction a band of his bitterest enemies went out to the island and found that his servant had left the rope-ladder down. one by one they climbed the sheer cliff and made a ring around the little hut where grettir and his young brother slept. they dashed in the door. grettir seized his sword and shield and fought on one knee so fiercely that they dared not approach him. some of the attackers tried to slip behind his watchful sword. "bare is the back of the brotherless," panted grettir and his boy-brother stood behind him and fought over him until they were both overborne by the sheer weight of heavy shields, and grettir killed, although not until six men lay dead in front of the great chieftain. illugi, the brother, was offered his life if he would promise to take no vengeance on the murderers of his brother. he refused to do this because they had killed grettir by witchcraft and treachery and not in fair fight. so they slew him, trying in vain to avoid the vengeance which came to them all many years later at the hands of another of grettir's kin. we read also of battles won against what seem to us impossible odds. the samurai stories of old japan have several instances where chieftains defeated whole armies single-handed by their wonderful swordsmanship. the bible contains several such stories. there is the story of jonathan and his armor-bearer who together captured a fortress. jonathan said to the young man that bare his armor, "come and let us go over unto the garrison. it may be that the lord will work for us." and his armor-bearer said unto him, "do all that is in thine heart, behold i am with thee." then they agreed to wait for a sign. if when they came before the garrison the men should invite them to come up, then they would go. if not, they would not make the attempt. the account goes on to say that when they both discovered themselves unto the garrison of the philistines, the men of the garrison cried out to jonathan and his armor-bearer and said, "come up to us and we will show you a thing." and jonathan said unto his armor-bearer, "come up after me for the lord hath delivered them to us." and jonathan climbed up upon his hands and upon his feet and his armor-bearer after him and they fell before jonathan and his armor-bearer slew after him. in a half-acre of ground which a yoke of oxen might plough, these two fought and slew and cut their way back and forth until the band that held the fort broke and fled and the stronghold was captured by the two. then there was jashobeam the hachmonite, one of the first three men of david's body-guard of heroes who slew with his spear three hundred men at one time. there was eleazar, who with david fought in that bloody barley field when these two warriors single-handed dispersed a company of philistines. there was abishai who slew three hundred men. these were the three mighty men who were besieged with david in the cave of adullam in the midst of a parched and burning desert and david longed and said, "oh, that one would give me to drink of the water of the well of bethlehem that is at the gate." the three heard what their captain said and alone they broke through the ranks of the philistines, drew water out of the well of bethlehem and brought it back to david. and david did not drink of it, but poured it out to the lord and said, "lord forbid that i should drink the blood of these men that have put their lives in jeopardy for me." when we read these and other hero-stories, we are apt to think that the time for such deeds is past and that the men of to-day can never equal the accomplishments of the fighters of olden time. yet the civil war shows stories just as stirring and accomplishments seemingly as impossible. there was george wilhelm, a captain in the ohio infantry. at bakers creek he was badly wounded in the breast and after he had fallen was captured by a confederate, forced to his feet and though faint from loss of blood marched to the confederate camp. as he saw himself farther and farther away from his own army a berserkir rage came over him which made him forget his wound and his weakness. with one tremendous spring he caught his captor around the neck, wrested his drawn sabre from out of his hand, slashed him over the left shoulder and then picking up the loaded revolver which had dropped from the disabled hand faced him around and marched him back to the union lines a prisoner although, toward the end of that journey, wilhelm was so weak that he had to lean on the shoulder of his unwilling attendant. there was william g. whitney a sergeant in the th michigan infantry, at the battle of chickamauga who, just as his men were about to face a fierce charge from the confederates, found that their ammunition had given out. outside the union works was a shell-swept field covered with dead and wounded men. whitney never hesitated. he leaped over the works and ran back and forth over that field, cutting off and loading himself down with cartridge-boxes, although it did not seem as if a man could live a minute in that hissing storm of bullets and shell. just in time he brought back the ammunition which enabled his men to beat back the charge and hold their position. at rappahannock station, virginia, j. henry white, a private in the th pennsylvania infantry, like david's men brought back water to his thirsty comrades at the risk of his own life. the enemy had concentrated their fire on the only spring from which union men could get water, but white crawled through the grass like a snake, covered from head to foot with canteens, filled them every one and crawled back under a fire which seemed as if it must be fatal. the union forces were able to hold out and win the fight through his brave deed. on may , , christopher w. wilson, a private in the d new york infantry at the battle of spottsylvania in a charge on the confederate works, seized the flag which the wounded color-bearer had dropped, led the charge and then for good measure cut down the color-bearer of the th virginia regiment, captured the confederate colors and brought back both flags in safety to the union lines. another color-bearer who won his share of battle-glory was andrew j. tozier, a sergeant in the th maine infantry at the battle of gettysburg. tozier believed that it was the duty of a color-bearer having done all to stand fast. at the very flood-tide of the fight when it was a toss-up which side would be the victor of that crisis-battle of the war, tozier's regiment, which was in the forefront, was borne back leaving him standing with the colors in an advanced position. tozier stood there like a rock and coolly picked off with his musket every confederate that attacked him until his ammunition gave out. he then pushed forward a few yards until he reached the body of one of the soldiers of his regiment who had fallen and stooping down, still keeping his colors flying, he managed to loosen some cartridges from the dead man's belt. with these he recharged his rifle and fought a great fight alone. again and again he would stoop for a minute to get more cartridges, but the flag never went down. from all over the field the officers from the scattered regiment rallied their men and hurried toward the colors and just as a confederate troop thundered down on tozier, intending to ride over him and carry away the precious flag, from every part of the field little squads of fighting men reached him in time to pour in a volley that saved the colors which tozier for many minutes had been protecting single-handed. that was the turning-point of this part of the battle. the maine regiment pressed on and never retreated a foot again through all those days of terrible fighting. tozier was one of the many men who saved that day for the union by being brave in the face of tremendous odds. freeman c. thompson of the th ohio infantry won his medal of honor at petersburg, virginia. on april , , the union forces were storming fort gregg. both sides had poured in murderous volleys at short range and then had rushed to close quarters, fighting desperately with bayonet and butt. thompson scrambled up on his hands and knees, but had no more reached the parapet when he was knocked off it headlong by a tremendous blow on the head from a clubbed musket. when he returned to consciousness he found himself lying in the ditch with two dead men on top of him. thompson made up his mind that this was not the kind of company which he ought to keep and springing to his feet, he started again for the parapet. this time he was more fortunate for he gained a footing and managed to bayonet the first man who attacked him, but before he could withdraw the bayonet, once again he received a tremendous smash full in the face from a clubbed musket and went clear over backward with a broken nose. he struck on the heap of bodies from which he had just emerged and though not unconscious, lay for a few minutes unable to move. finally he managed to wipe the blood out from his eyes and spit out the blood and broken teeth from his battered mouth. some men would have felt that they had had enough, but not so with this one. for the third and last time he scrambled up and as he reached the edge of the parapet caught sight of the man who was responsible for his battered face. thompson rushed at him and there was a battle royal between the two, bayonet to bayonet, but thompson at last by a trick of fence which he had learned, suddenly reversed his musket and smashed the heavy butt down on his opponent's right forearm, breaking the latter's grip on his own weapon. before he could recover, thompson's bayonet had passed through his throat and thompson himself had gained a foothold within the works. shoulder to shoulder he fought with the rest of his comrades in spite of the streaming blood and only stopped when the garrison surrendered. it is a brave man in civil life that will give up his vacation and it takes a hero to relinquish a furlough, that precious breathing spell away from battles and hardships back at home with his dear ones. martin schubert, a private in the th new york infantry, had gained this respite and had paid for it by his wounds. hearing that his regiment was about to go into battle again at fredericksburg, he gave up his furlough, hurried back to the front and fought fiercely through all that brave day. six men of his regiment, one after the other, had been shot down that fatal afternoon while carrying the colors. schubert, although he already had one half-healed and one open wound, seized the flag when it went down for the last time and carried it to the front until the very end of the battle, although he received an extra wound for doing it. thirty-one years later he received a medal of honor for that day's work. it is easier to save a wounded friend or wounded comrade than a wounded enemy. he who dares death to save one whom he is fighting against shows courage of the highest type. such a deed occurred during the battle of chancellorsville. those four fatal may-days were filled as full of brave deeds as any days of the civil war. though general hooker, the union general, flinched and lost not only the battle, but forever his name of fighting joe hooker, his men gave up only when they were outflanked and out-fought and unsupported. elisha b. seaman was a private in one of the regiments which was surprised and attacked by the twenty-six thousand infantry of stonewall jackson, the best fighters in the confederate army. the union men were not suspecting any danger. word had been sent a number of times both to hooker and to general howard who commanded the eleventh corps under him that jackson was crossing through the woods to make a flank-attack. neither general would believe the message. both were sure that jackson was in retreat. when the attack came the union troops were attacked in front and from the flank and rear at once. they held their ground for a time, but they were new troops and even veterans could not have long sustained such an assault. at first they attempted to make an orderly retreat, but the confederates pressed on them so close and fought so fiercely that the retreat became a run and the corps of which seaman's regiment was a part was not rallied until they met reinforcements far over in the wilderness and gradually came to a halt and threw up defenses. there they were too strong to be driven back further by the confederates and managed to hold their ground although attacked again and again. after the last attack the confederate forces withdrew and took up a strong position on the union front, brought up artillery and opened up a tremendous rifle-fire mingled with the cannonade from all their available batteries, hoping to throw the union forces into disorder so that they would not stand another charge. during the fiercest of the fire while every man was keeping close under cover, seaman's attention was caught by the sight of a confederate officer who lay writhing in terrible agony not a hundred yards outside of the union lines. he had been shot through the body in the last charge and had been left on the field by the retreating confederates. the pain was unbearable. seaman could see his face all distorted and although not a sound came through the clenched teeth, the poor fellow could not control the agonized twitching and jerking of his tortured muscles. seaman tried to turn his face away from the sight, but each time his eyes came back to that brave man in torment out in front of him. at last he could stand it no longer. he slipped back to the rear and got hold of a surgeon. "doctor," he said, "there's a fellow out in front pretty badly wounded. if i get him to you, do you think you can ease his pain?" "i certainly can," said the surgeon, "but judging from the noise out there in front, you'll lie out there with him if you go beyond the breastworks." "you get your chloroform ready," said seaman, "and i'll get the man." a few minutes later elisha was seen by his astonished comrades crawling along the bullet-torn turf on his way to the wounded man. "hi there, come back, you lump-head!" yelled his bunkie. "don't you see the fellow is a reb? you'll get killed." "i wouldn't let a dog suffer the way that fellow's suffering," yelled back elisha, waddling along on his hands and knees like a woodchuck. he finally reached the officer, forced a little whiskey into his mouth and prepared to lift him up on his back. "cheer up, old man," he said. "i've got a good surgeon back there who says he can fix you up. if i can only get you on my back, we'll be safe in a minute." "you'll be safe enough," gasped the other somewhat ungratefully, seaman thought, "but there will be a dozen bullets through me." there seemed to be something in that statement. elisha decided that it would be a cruel kindness to turn this man into a target for the bullets which were coming across the field and make him act as his involuntary shield. "i'll tell you what i'll do, general," seaman said finally; "i'll get you up and then i'll back down to our lines. if any one gets hit, it'll be me. he was as good as his word. although the wounded officer was a large man, seaman got a fireman's-lift on him, swung him over his shoulders and then facing the confederate lines, slowly backed his way toward safety. at first the confederate fire redoubled as the men in gray thought that he was simply effecting the capture of one of their men. when, however, they realized that he was protecting one of their own officers from their fire with his own body, all along the line the fusillade of musketry died down and there came down the wind in its place the sound of a storm of cheers which swept from one end of the confederate position to the other. seaman covered the last fifty yards of his dangerous journey without a shot being fired at him except the shot and shell from the batteries which were being worked too far back for the gunners to know what was going on. the surgeon with whom he had spoken had been attracted to the front by the shouts and cheers both from the confederate lines and from seaman's own comrades and was the first to help him over the breastworks. "you're a great fool," he said. "i thought you were talking about one of our men, but so long as you brought this poor reb in at the risk of your life, i'll certainly cure him." and he did. another man whose courage flared up superior to wounds and mutilation and who was brave enough to do his duty in spite of the agony he was suffering, was corporal miles james, who on september , , at chapins farm, virginia, with the rest of his company was attacking the enemy's works. they had charged up to within thirty yards of the fortifications when they were met by a murderous storm of grape and canister, the enemy having held their fire until the very last moment. a grape-shot cut through corporal james' left arm just above the elbow, smashing right through the middle of the bone and cutting the arm half off so that it dangled by the severed muscles. the force of the blow whirled james around like a top and he fell over to the ground, but was on his feet again in an instant and started for the confederate line like the bulldog that he was. "go back, corporal," shouted one of his men. "your arm's half off and you'll bleed to death." "no i won't," yelled james; "my right arm is my fighting-arm anyway." "let me tie you up then," said the man, pulling him to the ground where the rest of the regiment lay flat on their faces waiting for the storm to pass so that they might charge again. "there's plenty of time." an examination of the arm showed that it was past saving. "corporal," said the other, "you had better let me take this arm right off. i can make a quick job with my bowie-knife and bandage it. if i don't you'll bleed to death." "all right," said miles; "go ahead." a minute later the amateur surgeon tied the last knot in the bandage which he had made out of a couple of bandanna handkerchiefs which had been contributed by others of the file. "now, corporal," he said, coaxingly, "let me get you back where you can lie down and rest." "no," said corporal james, "the only resting i'm going to do will be inside those works." he reached back for the springfield rifle which he had dropped when first struck and fitting it carefully to his right shoulder, fired a well-aimed shot at a confederate gunner who was serving one of the cannons on the breastworks. as the man toppled over the corporal smiled grimly and in spite of offers of help from all sides, loaded and fired his gun twice again. by this time the fire had died down and the corporal suddenly sprang to his feet and started for the breastworks. "hurry up, fellows," he shouted to his men; "don't let a one-armed man do all the work." with a tremendous cheer the whole force sprang again to their feet and swarmed over the ramparts in a rush which there was no stopping. james was right with them, two of his men hoisting and pushing him up, for he found that although he could shoot, it was more difficult to climb with one arm. as the last confederates who were left surrendered, james sat down against one of the captured cannon and smiled wanly at the man who had helped him and said: "now i'll take a rest and later on i'll go to the rear with you if you like." this he did and a regular surgeon completed an operation which he said had, under the circumstances, been most efficiently performed. corporal james always said that the medal of honor which the government gave him was worth far more than the arm which he gave the government. in the days of david there came a great famine. year after year the crops failed and the people starved. at last the priests and soothsayers told david that this doom had fallen upon the nation because of a broken oath. many centuries before joshua, one of the great generals of the world, was fighting his way into the promised land. he was contending with huge black giant tribes like the anakim, and against blue-eyed amorite mountaineers with their war-chariots of iron, whose five kings he was to utterly destroy on that great day when he said in the sight of the host of israel, "sun, stand thou still upon gibeon and thou moon in the valley of ajalon," and the sun stood still and the moon stayed until the people had revenged themselves upon their enemies. he had captured the fortified city of jericho and had razed it to the ground and laid that terrible curse which was afterward fulfilled on the man who should again lay the foundation and rebuild the city. he had destroyed the city of ai, little but inhabited by fierce fighters who had hurled back even the numberless hordes of israel. the terror and the dread of the invaders had spread through the length and breadth of the land. on the slopes of mount hermon lived the hivites. they were not great in war, but like the men of tyre they asked to be let alone to carry on the trade and commerce in which they were so expert. not far away from ai was their chief city of gibeon and the elders of that city planned to obtain from joshua safety by stratagem. they sent embassadors whose skin bottles were old and rent and bound up and whose shoes were worn through and clouted and whose garments were old and worn and their provision dry and mouldy. these came to joshua pretending to be embassadors from a far country who desired to make a league with them. not knowing that their city was in the very path of his march, joshua and the princes of the congregation made peace with them. later on they found that they had been deceived, but the word of the nation had been passed and the sworn peace could not be broken. so it happened from that day that the gibeonites became hewers of wood and drawers of water for the congregation and lived in peace with the israelites under their sworn protection. the centuries passed and at last saul, the first king of israel, began his reign. in spite of the oath of his forefathers, he slew the gibeonites and sought to root them out of the land. it was this broken oath that had brought upon the nation the years of famine and suffering. under the advice of their priests david sent for the remnants of the gibeonites and asked them what atonement could be made for the cruel and treacherous deed of king saul who had long been dead, but whose sin lived on after him. the gibeonites said that they would have no silver or gold of saul or of his house, but demanded that seven men of the race of saul be delivered unto them. it was done and they hung these seven prisoners as a vengeance on the bloody house of saul. two of them were the sons of rizpah whom she bore unto saul, the king. when they were hanged, she took sackcloth and spread it on the rocks and guarded those bodies night and day and suffered neither the birds of the air to rest upon them by day or the beasts of the field by night. sleeplessly she guarded all that was left of her sons until the news of her faithfulness was brought to david, who gave back to her the bodies for burial and for the last rites of sepulchre and sanctuary which mean so much to all believers. in the civil war at cold harbor, virginia, sergeant leroy williams of the th new york artillery, like rizpah, saved the body of his dead colonel and brought it back at the risk of his own life for honored burial. during that terrible battle in one of the charges of his regiment, his colonel was shot down close to the enemy's lines. when the shattered remnants of the regiment rallied again after they had been driven back by the entrenched confederates, it was found that the colonel was missing. williams had a profound admiration and affection for his colonel. when he found he was missing, he took an oath before the men that were left that he would find him and bring him in dead or alive. all the rest of that weary afternoon he crept back and forth over the battle-field exposed to the fire of the enemy's sharp-shooters. again and again his life was saved almost by a miracle, so close did the well-directed bullets strike. finally just at twilight close to the enemy's lines he found his colonel. he lay as he had fallen, facing the entrenchments which he had fought so hard to win, with a bullet through his heart. within a few feet of where he lay the confederate pickets were stationed who watched the field and fired at the least suspicious movement. just as williams identified the body, he saw one of the sentries approaching in the dusk and had just time to throw himself down with outstretched arms beside the dead officer when the guard was upon him. something in his attitude aroused the man's suspicions and he prodded williams in the back with his bayonet. fortunately the sharp steel struck him glancingly and only inflicted a shallow wound and williams had the presence of mind and the fortitude to lie perfectly quiet without a motion or a sound to indicate that he lived. the sentry passed on convinced that only dead men lay before him. williams waited until it became perfectly dark and started to drag in the dead body of his officer. inch by inch he crept away from the enemy's lines in the darkness until he was far enough away so that his movements could not be seen. all that weary night he dragged and carried the rescued body of the dead officer until just at dawn he brought it within the union lines to receive the honors of a military funeral. space fails to tell of the many brave deeds which gleam through the blood of many a hard-fought field and shine against the blackness of many a dark defeat. there was david l. smith, a sergeant in battery e of the st new york light artillery, who, when a shell struck an ammunition chest in his battery, exploding a number of cartridges and setting fire to the packing tow, instead of running away from the exploding cartridges which threatened every minute to set fire to the fuses of some of the great shells, had the coolness and the courage to bring a bucket of water and put out the flames as quietly as if he were banking a camp-fire for the night. there was isaac redlon, a private in the th maine infantry, who shortly before the battle of chickamauga was put under arrest for a gross breach of discipline. isaac saw a chance to wipe out the disgrace which he had incurred. instead of staying at the rear with the wounded and other men under arrest, he managed to get hold of a rifle and fought through the two terrible days of that disastrous battle. so bravely did he fight, so cool was he under fire and so quick to carry out and to anticipate every order that was given, that when the battle was at last over, his captain decided that not only had redlon wiped out the memory of his former misdoing, but that he had earned the medal which was afterward awarded to him. another man whose bravery wiped out his mistakes was colonel louis p. dicesnola of the th new york cavalry. on june , , he was under arrest when the battle was joined at aldie, virginia. it was the bitterest day that the colonel had ever known when in the guard-house he watched his regiment go into action without him. he felt that he had ruined his whole career and that his life through his folly and hot-headedness was a complete failure. there was granted to him, however, as there is to all of us, the opportunity to make amends. while he was still moodily watching the progress of the battle, suddenly he saw the men, whom he had so often led, waver. then stragglers began to slip back through the lines and suddenly the whole regiment was in full retreat. colonel dicesnola did not hesitate a moment. "open that door," he said to the guard. "i'll show those fellows how to fight and i'll come back when it's all over." without a word the sentry unlocked the door and the colonel rushed out just in time to meet the first rank of the flying men. almost the first man that he met was the officer who had taken his place, riding the colonel's own horse. dicesnola gripped the animal by the bridle. "get off that horse," he shouted, "and let some one ride him who knows which way to go. he's not used to retreating," and before his bewildered successor could answer, he was hurled out of the saddle and colonel dicesnola was on the back of his own horse. "about face, charge!" he thundered to his men. most of them recognized his voice and the familiar figure that so often led them and without hesitating a moment, wheeled about and followed him toward the front. every few yards his troop was increased by men who were ashamed to ride to the rear when they saw him charging to the front unarmed but waving his hat and cheering them on. before the confederates could realize what had happened they were fairly hurled off their feet by the tremendous rush of hurtling men and horses. of all the attacks which are hard to withstand, the charge of a body of men who have rallied and are trying to wipe out the shame of their retreat is most to be feared. it was so here. although the confederates fought hard nothing could hold back the rush of this cavalry regiment. they were led by their own colonel who though unarmed stayed in the forefront of the battle. as they finally broke through the confederate line, a burly cavalryman slashed at him with his sabre. colonel dicesnola stooped low to avoid the cut, but the point of the sabre caught him on the right shoulder and ripped deep into his chest while almost at the same moment he received a pistol shot in his left arm which broke it. unable to hold the reins, he slipped forward and would have fallen to the ground, but was held in his saddle by his first assailant who forced his horse up close beside the colonel's and dashed back through the confederate lines carrying dicesnola and his magnificent horse. there the colonel was made prisoner, but was carefully nursed and by the time that he had recovered his strength, was exchanged and rejoined his old regiment. he reported to his general as still under arrest. "you are mistaken," said the latter. "i saw the way you rallied your men that day and when you were reported missing, we thought you had been killed. the charges against you are dismissed and your record is just as clean as it ever was and your old regiment is waiting for you." the story of william w. noyes, a private in the d vermont infantry, and his charmed life is still told by the veterans who fought at spottsylvania. on that day the madness of battle came over him. when that happens, life has no value except to spend it for the cause for which one is fighting. noyes' regiment had charged up to the breastworks of the enemy from which was poured into the attacking forces tremendous volleys. noyes had charged with the others, but when they stopped to rally at the breastworks preparatory to forcing them, noyes never paused. right up the parapet he scrambled and stood on top of the breastworks with his musket in full range of a thousand men. taking deliberate aim he shot the man just below him who was aiming his gun at him not more than two yards away. in full sight of both armies he stood there and loaded and fired no less than fifteen shots. not one of them missed its mark. it was in vain that the men all around him who were exposed to his fire shot at him. the bullets cut through his clothing, carried off his cap and one stripped the sights off his rifle and ricochetted off the hammer itself, but not a wound did he receive. his example spurred his comrades on and in a few minutes the whole regiment struggled over the earthworks and drove out the garrison. joseph von matre, a private in the th ohio infantry, did the same thing at petersburg on april , , during the assault on fort gregg. he climbed up the parapet and fired down into the fort as fast as his comrades could pass up to him loaded guns. no bullet could harm him and single-handed he drove the men out of that embrasure after killing several and forced a gap which was filled by the men who climbed up when he shouted down to them what he had done. this chronicle of brave deeds would not be complete without the stories of the men who were brave enough to disregard all odds either in numbers or in circumstances. there was delano morey, a private in the d ohio infantry, who at mcdowell, virginia, found himself, after the charge of the confederates had been repulsed, with an empty gun and no ammunition. just in front of him were two of the enemy's sharp-shooters who had been picking off the union officers all through the charge. each of them was a dead shot and each of them had a loaded gun. menacing them both with his empty piece, morey rushed forward and called on them to surrender. the superb confidence of the man was too much for them and without a word each of them handed him his loaded rifle and walked meekly back with him as prisoners to the union lines. there was frank w. mills, a sergeant in a new york regiment, who while scouting at sandy cross roads in north carolina, with only three or four men under him, suddenly came upon a whole troop of the enemy. without orders and seemingly without the possibility of succeeding, mills charged down upon the confederates at the head of his regiment, consisting of four men. courage took the place of numbers. the confederates scattered like sheep and mills and his men rounded up no less than one hundred and twenty prisoners who stacked their arms and marched obediently into the union lines. augustus merrill, a captain in the st maine infantry, performed a similar feat at petersburg when with six men he captured sixty-nine confederate prisoners and recaptured and released a number of union soldiers whom they had made prisoners. the th of may, , was a great day for john p. mcvean, a corporal in the th infantry. on that day at fredericksburg heights, virginia, he fought at the forefront of his company and when the order to charge was given, outstripped them all, reached the confederate lines entirely alone, shot down the confederate color-bearer, seized the colors and fought back all attempts to retake them until his comrades could come to his assistance. later in the day he showed that he could be just as brave away from the inspiration and excitement of battle. between the lines stood a barn which was occupied by a number of confederate sharp-shooters who were greatly annoying the union forces by picking off men at every opportunity. mcvean's captain finally ordered his men to charge on the barn and drive them out. "wait a minute, captain," said the corporal; "i believe i can make those fellows surrender without losing any men. let me try anyway." without waiting for the captain to reply, the corporal laid down his gun and alone and unarmed and beckoning as he walked with his hand toward the barn, started for the sharp-shooters. seeing that he was not armed they allowed him to come within speaking distance. "i have come to take you men prisoners," he said positively; "we don't want to kill you, but if you don't come now, we are going to charge and this is your last chance." the men inside hesitated a minute, but there was such an air of supreme confidence about mcvean that first one and then another and then the whole band of twelve men marched out and followed him back to the union lines. once more a brave man had accomplished the impossible. there were no braver men in all the union army than were found in the ranks of the different batteries whose guns did so much to bring about the final victory of the union arms. the courage of our cannoneers, men who saved the guns in spite of every attack and who often saved them in many a defeat, has never been surpassed. the affection of a gunner for the piece which he has manned and served in many a hard-fought battle is like that which a cavalryman has for his horse. like the rider, the crew of a battery will risk all to save their gun. at wilson's creek, missouri, on august , , nicholas broquet, a private in one of the iowa batteries, showed the spirit that was in him when the gun that he was serving was disabled. the battery-horses had been shot down, all the crew except himself had been killed by the tremendous fire of the enemy and across the field appeared a detachment of the enemy's forces sent to capture the gun. broquet cut the traces of the dead horses, rushed out between the lines in the face of a fierce fire and succeeded in catching a riderless horse. he rode the animal back to the gun, made him fast to it and just as the enemy's detachment was close upon him, rode off in safety, trundling the rescued gun behind him. john f. chase was a cannoneer of the same stamp. at chancellorsville he was serving as a private in a maine battery. a shell from one of the enemy's guns struck down the officers and killed or disabled every man of the battery except chase and one other. they manned the gun, sighted it as best they could and fired three rounds at the approaching enemy. then as the horses had been killed and it was certain that the gun would be captured in a few minutes, they fastened themselves to the traces and tugged away until they got the gun in motion. although it was a heavy one which ordinarily took two horses to drag it, yet these two actually pulled the gun across the rough field safe to the main line of the union forces and saved it from capture. three of the most spectacular deeds of the whole war were those of lieutenant thomas w. custer, private samuel e. eddy and adjutant eugene w. ferris. custer was a lieutenant in the th michigan cavalry and was present at the spirited engagement at sailors creek, virginia, when the union forces attacked the entrenched confederates. custer's company charged in the face of a heavy fire on the enemy's works. when they reached the entrenchments the order was received to dismount and to continue the charge on foot. custer was riding a thorough-bred and preferred to continue the charge on horseback. spurring his horse up to the lowest part of the ramparts, he actually leaped him over and landed in the very midst of the astonished defenders. making a dash for the color-bearer, custer cut him down, seized the colors and wheeled and galloped right through the demoralized men to the other end of the works, intending to capture the colors displayed there. as he broke through the ranks of the defenders for the second time, a volley of straggling shots was fired at him. one bullet pierced his thigh and two more struck his horse, killing the latter instantly. custer rolled over and over with the struggling animal, managed to pull himself loose and still clinging to the captured colors, with the blood streaming down his leg, rushed at the last color-bearer, shot him down with his revolver and seized his colors and with his back to the rampart, fought off all attempts to rescue them. a moment later his companions climbed over the earthworks and rescued him just as he was on the point of fainting from loss of blood. eddy was a private in the th massachusetts infantry and on april , , was present at the battle of sailors creek, virginia. while his regiment was fighting desperately to hold their position, eddy saw that his adjutant lay wounded far out beyond their lines. a little detachment of confederate soldiers approached and to eddy's horror, he saw them deliberately shoot down several of the wounded union men. one of them approached the adjutant to whom eddy was much attached. he could not bear to see him killed without at least attempting to rescue him and he at once rushed out beyond the protection of his own line. as he approached the adjutant, he saw the leader of the confederate attachment in the act of taking aim at the wounded officer. eddy was an excellent shot and at once knelt down and took rapid but accurate aim and killed the confederate just as he was on the point of firing. he ran forward to his adjutant, but there he encountered three confederates and had a hand-to-hand bayonet fight with them. eddy was a man of tremendous strength and reach and managed to kill one of his assailants and severely wound another. while he was so engaged, however, the third ran him through the body with his bayonet and pinned him to the ground. while the enemy was struggling to disengage his bayonet for another fatal thrust, eddy, by a last desperate effort, managed to slip a cartridge into his gun and just as his opponent was aiming a deadly stab at his throat, shot him through the body. then wounded as he was, he staggered to his feet and half-carried, half-dragged the wounded adjutant back to the safety of the union lines where they were both nursed back to health and strength. ferris was an adjutant in the th massachusetts infantry. on april , , at berryville, virginia, accompanied only by an orderly, he was riding outside the union lines when he was attacked by five of mosby's guerrillas. it was not the custom of mosby's men either to ask or give quarter or to take prisoners. ferris who was well mounted could probably have escaped, but would have had to leave his orderly behind, as the latter's horse was a slow one. accordingly, although both the men were armed only with sabres, ferris made up his mind to fight to the death. without waiting to be attacked, he spurred his horse at the guerrilla-leader and suddenly executing a demi-volte which is only effective when performed by a good sabre and a trained horse, he whirled like lightning and caught his opponent such a tremendous back-handed slash that he cut him almost to the saddle. as the man toppled over, ferris slipped one arm around his waist and managed to unbuckle his pistol-belt and seize both of his pistols. he then at once engaged with another one of the band and while parrying and thrusting, saw out of the tail of his eye a third man aiming a revolver at him only a few yards away. parrying a thrust from his opponent in front, ferris simultaneously fired with the other hand. although ferris was shooting with his left hand, his bullet killed his opponent while the confederate's fire struck ferris just above the left knee, inflicting a painful but not dangerous flesh-wound. ferris pressed his opponent in front still more vigorously and finally succeeded in wounding him so severely that he turned and bolted, leaving ferris free to go to the rescue of his orderly, who had been putting up a good fight against the other two of the band. ferris reached him just in time. he had been wounded twice and though fighting bravely, one of his antagonists had managed to reach a position in his rear. there was not much time for ferris to do anything with his sabre. everything must depend upon a pistol shot. stopping his horse, he drew his remaining pistol, took careful aim and shot the man behind his orderly through the body just as the latter had his sabre uplifted for a last blow at the hardly-pressed union officer. the remaining guerrilla, who had already been slightly wounded by the orderly, wheeled his horse and rode off leaving the two union men in possession of the field and the spoils of war, consisting of two capital pistols and a magnificent riderless horse which they brought back with them. one of the most devoted deeds of courage in the war is chronicled last. on july , , the first great battle of the war was fought at bull run, virginia, not far from the federal capital. it was a disastrous day. unorganized, commanded by inexperienced officers, that battle soon became the shameful rout which for a long time was the basis of the belief throughout the south that one southerner could whip four northerners. charles j. murphy was quartermaster on that day in the th new york infantry. it was not his business to fight. he was there to feed and look after his men and it was no more his duty to join the battle than that of the surgeons, the band, or any of the other non-combatants which accompany a regiment. when, however, he saw the masses of beaten, discouraged, panic-stricken men straggling back, murphy made up his mind that the rear was no place for him. seizing a rifle which one of the retreating men had thrown away, he rushed forward and did all that one man could to stop the retreat, fighting as long and as hard as he could. it was beyond his power. his regiment were bewildered, confused and broke and fled like sheep, leaving hundreds of wounded men on the field. murphy made up his mind that he would have no part or lot in this rout and also that he would not desert his wounded comrades, for in those days there were terrible tales rife of how the confederates treated wounded soldiers. the union fighters had not yet learned that their antagonists were the same brave, fair fighters that they were. murphy stayed behind. when the victorious confederate forces marched down the field, they found it held by one man who was giving water to the wounded and doing his clumsy best to staunch the flowing blood from many a ghastly wound. "do you surrender?" shouted the first officer who approached him. "not if you are going to hurt these wounded men," said murphy, bringing his bayonet into position. "we will take just as good care of them as we will of our own," the officer assured him, and only on this assurance did murphy surrender. he spent years in rebel prisons, but no prison could ever take away from him the recollection that he alone had refused to retreat on that disastrous day and that he had risked his life and given up his liberty to save his wounded comrades. so ends, with these little stories of sudden hero-acts wrought by commonplace men in a matter-of-fact manner, this chronicle of a few of the many, many brave deeds done by our forefathers in a war that was fought for an ideal. read them, boys and girls, in these war-days that we may remember anew the lessons which the lives and deaths of our kin hold for us. if the day ever comes when we too must fight for ideals which other nations have forgotten or have trampled upon, may we show ourselves worthy of the great heritage of honor which our forefathers have handed down to us. genius in sunshine and shadow. by the same author edge-tools of speech. one fine octavo volume. $ . . "a vast storehouse of the best thought of the world."--_boston: home journal._ "will find its way into thousands of families. it is a volume to take up when a few minutes of leisure are found, and it will always be read with interest."--_boston journal._ "'edge-tools of speech' is one of the best books of quotation in the language. it is indispensable in the library and at the office."--_gazette._ "he has classified his quotations alphabetically under the head of subjects ('ability,' 'absence,' etc.), and has collected the most famous literary or historical sayings bearing on each subject. thus the word 'ability' is made the text of wise utterances from napoleon i., dr. johnson, wendell phillips, longfellow, maclaren, gail hamilton, froude, beaconsfield, zoroaster, schopenhauer, la rochefoucauld, matthew wren, gibbon, and aristotle. it has no rival."--_christian union._ "the book is one which will at once command a place on the reference-shelf of every well-appointed library, and which will be a most useful aid to every literary man."--_boston courier._ "to open it at random anywhere is to chance upon the wisdom of the ages. every important authority of every age and clime is represented. the choicest reading of a lifetime is brought, in its salient points, into the limits of this volume."--_boston traveller._ *** _for sale by all booksellers. sent, post-paid, upon receipt of price_, ticknor and company, boston. genius in sunshine and shadow by maturin m. ballou author of "edge-tools of speech," etc. 'tis in books the chief of all perfection to be plain and brief. butler boston ticknor and company _copyright, _, by maturin m. ballou. _all rights reserved._ university press: john wilson and son, cambridge. preface. the volume in hand might perhaps better have been entitled "library notes," as the pages are literally the gathered notes of the author's library-hours. the reader will kindly peruse these pages remembering that they assume only to be the gossip, as it were, of the author with himself,--notes which have grown to these proportions by casual accumulation in the course of other studies, and without consecutive purpose. that these notes thus made have been put into printed form, is owing to the publisher's chance knowledge and hearty approval of them. these few lines are by way, not of apology,--no sensible person ever made an apology, according to mr. emerson,--but of introduction; so that the reader may not fancy he is to encounter a labored essay upon the theme suggested by the title of the volume. these pages may not be without a certain wholesome influence, if, fortunately, they shall incite others to analyze the character of genius as exhibited by the masters of art and literature. the facts alluded to, though familiar to many, are not so to all; wherefore the volume may indirectly promote the knowledge of both history and biography, at the same time leading the thoughtful reader to seek further and more ample information concerning those individuals who are here so briefly introduced. m. m. b. genius in sunshine and shadow. chapter i. the ever-flowing tide of time rapidly obliterates the footprints of those whom the world has delighted to honor. while it has caused heroic names, like their possessors, to lapse into oblivion, it has also shrouded many a historical page with the softened veil of distance, like ivy-grown towers, rendering what was once terrible now only picturesque. in glancing back through thousands of years, and permitting the mind to rest on the earliest recorded epochs, one is apt to forget how much human life then, in all its fundamental characteristics, was like our own daily experience. there never was a golden age; that is yet to come. the most assiduous antiquarian has only corroborated the fact that human nature is unchanged. conventionalities, manners and customs, the fashions, may change, but human nature does not. as an example of the mutability of fame, we have only to ask ourselves what is actually known to-day of homer,[ ] aristophanes, and their renowned contemporaries, or even of our more familiar shakespeare?[ ] of the existence of the first named we have evidence in his two great epics, the iliad and the odyssey; but, though deemed the most famous poet that ever lived, we do not even know his birthplace. "ten ancient towns contend for homer dead, through which the living homer begged his bread." the cautious historian only tells us that he is supposed to have flourished about nine hundred years before the time of christ; while there are also learned writers who contend that no such person as homer[ ] ever lived, and who attribute the two most famous poems of antiquity to various minstrels or ballad-mongers, who celebrated the "tale of troy divine" at various periods, and whose songs and legends were fused into unity at the time of pisistratus. over the personality of aristophanes,[ ] the great comic poet of greece, who is supposed to have flourished some five or six hundred years later than homer, there rests the same cloud of obscurity, and he is clearly identified only by eleven authentic comedies which are still extant, though he is believed to have written fifty. of shakespeare, born some two thousand years later ( ), how little is actually known beyond the fact of his birthplace! even the authorship of his plays, like that of homer's poems, is a subject of dispute. perhaps, however, this loss of individuality but adds to the influence of the poet's divine mission. the really great men of history, benefactors of their race, are those who still live in the undying thoughts which they have left behind them. * * * * * in this familiar gossip we propose to glance briefly at such names as may suggest themselves, without observing any strict system of classification. the theme is so fruitful, the pages of history so teem with portraits which stand forth in groups to attract the eye, that one hardly knows where to begin, what matter to exclude, what to adduce; and therefore, closing the elaborate records of the past, we will trust to momentary inspiration and the ready promptings of memory. the first thought which strikes us in this connection is, that the origin of those whom the world has called great--men who have written their names indelibly upon the pages of history--is often of the humblest character. such men have most frequently risen from the ranks. in fact, genius ignores all social barriers and springs forth wherever heaven has dropped the seed. the grandest characters known in art, literature, and the useful inventions have illustrated the axiom that "brave deeds are the ancestors of brave men;" and it would almost appear that an element of hardship is necessary to the effective development of true genius. indeed, when we come to the highest achievements of the greatest minds, it seems that they were not limited by race, condition of life, or the circumstances of their age. "it is," says emerson, "the nature of poetry to spring, like the rainbow daughter of wonder, from the invisible, to abolish the past and refuse all history." but this of course refers only to poetry in its loftiest and noblest conceptions and sentiments; and then only in passages of a great work. Æsop, the fabulist, who flourished six hundred years before christ, and whose fables are as familiar to us after the lapse of twenty-five hundred years as household words; publius syrus,[ ] the eminent moralist, who lived in the time of julius cæsar, and whose wise axioms are to be found in every library; terence,[ ] the carthaginian poet and dramatist; epictetus, the stoic philosopher,--all were slaves in early life,[ ] but won freedom and lasting fame by force of their native genius. no man is nobler than another unless he is born with better abilities, a more amiable disposition, and a larger heart and brain. the field is open to all; for it is fixedness of purpose and perseverance that win the prizes of this world,--qualities that can be exercised by the most humble. protagoras, the greek sophist and orator, was in his youth a street porter of athens, carrying loads upon his back like a beast of burden. he was a singularly independent genius, and was expelled from his native city because he openly doubted the existence of the gods. his countryman, cleanthes the stoic, was also "a hewer of stone and drawer of water," but rose among the athenians to be esteemed as a rival of the great philosopher zeno. he wrote many works in his day,--about three hundred years before the christian era,--none of which have been preserved except a hymn to jupiter, which is remarkable for purity of thought and elevation of sentiment. we need not confine ourselves, however, to so remote a period to illustrate that genius is independent of circumstances. in our random treatment of the subject there occurs to us the name of bandoccin, one of the most learned men of the sixteenth century, who was the son of an itinerant shoemaker, and who was himself brought up to the trade. gelli, the prolific italian author, and president of the florentine academy, was a tailor by trade, and of very humble birth. his moral dialogues entitled, _i capricci del bottajo_ ("the whims of the cooper"), have been pronounced by competent critics to be extraordinary for originality and piquancy, while all his works are remarkable for purity of diction. canova, the sculptor of world-wide fame, was the son of a day-laborer in the marble quarries. opie, the distinguished english painter, earned his bread at the carpenter's trade until his majority, but before his death became professor of painting in the royal academy. amyot, the brilliant scholar, and professor of greek, hebrew, and latin, who is ranked among those who have contributed most towards the perfection of the french language, learned to write upon birch-bark with charcoal, while he lived on a loaf of bread per day. this man rose to be grand almoner of france, and proved that courage, perseverance, and genius need no ancestors.[ ] akenside, the english didactic poet, wit, essayist, and physician, author of the "pleasures of the imagination," was a butcher's boy. his developed genius caused him to be appointed to the queen's household. sir humphry davy was an apothecary's apprentice in his youth. matthew prior, the english poet and diplomatist, began life as a charity scholar. rollin, famous for his "ancient history," was the son of a poor parisian cutler, and began life at an iron-forge. james barry, the eminent historical painter, was in his minority a foremast hand on board an irish coasting-vessel. d'alembert, the remarkable french mathematician, author, and academician, was at birth a poor foundling in the streets of paris, though it must be added that he was the illegitimate and discarded son of madame de tencin, one of the wickedest, most profligate, most cynical, and ablest of the high-placed women of france. d'alembert scorned her[ ] proffered help when she, learning that he was the offspring of one of her desultory amours, attempted to assist him by her money and patronage. he lived austerely poor, and his love was lavished, not on his natural, or rather unnatural, mother, but on the indigent woman who had picked him up in the street, and who by self-denial had enabled him to obtain sustenance and education. as soon as he was old enough to realize his true situation, he said, "i have no name, but with god's help i will make one!" the time came when catherine ii. of russia offered him one hundred thousand francs per annum to become the educator of her son, which he declined. béranger, the lyric poet of france, whose effectiveness and purity of style defy criticism, was at one time a barefooted orphan on the boulevards of the great city. his verses, bold, patriotic, and satirical, were in every mouth among the masses of his countrymen, contributing more than any other cause to produce the revolution of .[ ] he had the noble independence to refuse all official recognition under government. rachel, it will be remembered, was in her childhood a street-ballad singer. a resident of the french capital once pointed out to the writer a spot on the champs Élysées where at the age of twelve, so pale as to seem scarcely more than a shadow, she used to appear daily, accompanied by her brother. a rude cloth was spread on the ground, upon which she stood and recited tragic scenes from corneille and racine, or sang patriotic songs for pennies, accompanied upon the violin by her brother. her attitudes, gestures, and voice always captivated a crowd of people. rachel was a jewish pedler's daughter, though she was born in switzerland; and in these youthful days she wore a swiss costume upon the boulevards.[ ] boccaccio, the most famous of italian novelists, was the illegitimate son of a florentine tradesman, and began life as a merchant's clerk. it is well known that shakespeare borrowed the plot of "all's well that ends well" from boccaccio.[ ] in fact, the "decamerone" furnished him with plots for several of his plays. chaucer derived from the same source his poem of the "knight's tale." we never hear shallow people reflecting upon the bard of avon for taking some of his plots from earlier writers, and weaving about them the golden threads of his superb genius, without recalling dryden's remark relative to ben jonson's adaptations and translations from the classics, in such plays as "catiline" and "sejanus." "he invades authors," says dryden, "like a monarch; and what would be theft in other writers is but victory in him." sterne's idea upon the same subject also suggests itself. "as monarchs have a right," he says, "to call in the specie of a state and raise its value by their own impression, so are there certain prerogative geniuses who are above plagiaries, who cannot be said to steal, but from their improvement of a thought, rather to borrow it, and repay the commonwealth of letters with interest again, and may more properly be said to adopt than to kidnap a sentiment, by leaving it heir to their own fame." columbus, who gave a new world to the old, was a weaver's son, and in his youth he earned his bread as a cabin-boy in a coasting-vessel which sailed from genoa. the story of the great genoese pilot possesses a more thrilling interest than any narrative which the imagination of poet or romancer has ever conceived. his name flashes a bright ray over the mental darkness of the period in which he lived. in imagination one sees him wandering for years from court to court, begging the necessary means wherewith to prosecute his inspired purpose,[ ] and finally, after successfully accomplishing his mission, languishing in chains and in prison. how naturally halleck's invocation to death, in "marco bozarris," occurs to us here, as the hero, when his object has been attained, joyfully faces the grim monarch: "thy grasp is welcome as the hand of brother in a foreign land; thy summons welcome as the cry that told the indian isles were nigh, to the world-seeking genoese, when the land wind from woods of palm and orange-groves and fields of balm blew o'er the haytian seas." de foe, the author of "robinson crusoe," and of over two hundred other books, was a hosier by trade, the son of a london butcher named james foe. the particle _de_ was added by the son without other authority than the suggestion of his own fancy. cardinal wolsey and kirke white were also sons of butchers. claude lorraine, the glorious colorist, whose very name has become a synonym in art, was in youth employed as a pastry-cook. molière, the great french dramatist and actor, who presents one of the most remarkable instances of literary success known to history, was the son of a tapestry-maker, and was himself at one time apprenticed to a tailor, and afterwards became a _valet-de-chambre_. when molière was valet to louis xiii., he had already appeared upon the stage, and was rather sneered at by the other members of the king's household. the generous monarch observed this, and determined to put a stop to it: "i am told you have short commons here, molière, and some of my people decline to serve you," said louis, as he rose from his breakfast one day. "sit down here at my table. i warrant you are hungry." and the king cut him a portion of chicken and put it upon his plate just at the moment when a distinguished member of the royal household entered. "you see me," said the king, "giving molière his breakfast, as some of my people do not think him good enough company for themselves." from that hour the royal valet was treated with due consideration. william cobbett, the english author and vigorous political writer, was a poor farmer's boy and entirely self-educated. izaak walton, the delightful biographist and miscellaneous author, whose "complete angler" would make any man's name justly famous, was for years a linen-draper in london. pope and southey were the sons of linen-drapers. how rapidly instances of the triumphs of genius over circumstances multiply upon us when the mind is permitted to roam at will through the long vista of the past! cervantes, the spanish shakespeare, whose "don quixote" is as much a classic[ ] as "hamlet," was a common foot-soldier in the army of castile. in he was captured by an algerine corsair and carried as a slave to algiers, where he endured the most terrible sufferings. he was finally ransomed and returned to spain. alexandre dumas's grandmother was an african slave. hugh miller, author, editor, poet, distinguished naturalist, whose clear, choice saxon-english caused the edinburgh "review" to ask, "where could this man have acquired his style?" was a stone-mason, and his only college was a stone-quarry.[ ] keats, the sweetest of english poets, whose delicacy of fancy and beauty of versification are "a joy forever," was born in a stable. oliver cromwell, one of the most extraordinary men in english history, famous as a citizen, great as a general, and greatest as a ruler, was the son of a malt-brewer. howard, the philanthropist and author, whose name stands a monument of christian fame, was at first a grocer's boy. rossini, one of the greatest of modern composers, was the son of an itinerant musician and a strolling actress. andrea del sarto was the son of a tailor, and took his name from his father's trade. perino del vaga was born in poverty and nearly starved in his boyhood. perugino, whose noble painting of the "infant christ and the virgin" adorns the albani palace at rome, grew up in want and misery. we all remember the story of the shepherd-boy giotto, who finally came to be so eminent a painter, and the intimate friend of dante; like michael angelo, he was an architect and sculptor. paganini, one of the greatest of instrumental performers that ever lived, was born in poverty and was illegitimate. he gained enormous sums of money by his wonderful exhibitions and musical compositions, but was spoiled by adulation, becoming reckless and dissipated. his performances in the cities of europe created a _furore_ before unparalleled in the history of music, and never since surpassed. wilson the unequalled ornithologist, dr. livingstone the heroic missionary and african traveller, and tannahill[ ] the scottish poet,--author of that familiar and favorite song, "jessie, the flower of dumblane,"--earned their living in youth as journeymen weavers. joost van den vondel, the national poet of holland, was a hosier's apprentice. molière, already referred to, began his career as a journeyman tailor, but occasionally his maternal grandfather took him to the play, and thus were sown the seeds which led to his greatness as a dramatic author and actor. samuel woodworth, author of the "old oaken bucket," one of the sweetest lyrics in our language, was a journeyman printer. richard cobden, statesman, economist, and author, was a poor sussex farmer's son, whose youthful occupation was that of tending sheep. john bright, the intimate friend and coadjutor of cobden, one of the greatest, most eloquent, and most successful of english reformers, was the son of a cotton-spinner. lord clyde, the successful general who crushed the rebellion in india, and who was made a peer of england, was the son of a carpenter. the motto of his life, always inscribed upon the fly-leaf of his pocket memorandum-book, was: "by means of patience, common-sense, and time, impossibilities become possible." john bunyan,[ ] the author of "pilgrim's progress," the solace and delight of millions, and a text-book for all future time, was a tinker. his great work is said to have obtained a larger circulation than any other english book except the translation of the bible. benjamin franklin, statesman, philosopher, epigrammatist, was a tallow-chandler.[ ] nathaniel bowditch, the eminent mathematician, was a cooper's apprentice. he was twenty-one years of age before he may be said to have begun his education, but in his prime was a fellow of the royal society of london, and was offered the chair of mathematics in harvard college. hiram powers, the first sculptor from this country to win european fame, was brought up a ploughboy on a vermont farm; his "greek slave" gave him high rank among modern sculptors. elihu burritt, the remarkable linguist, was a connecticut horse-shoer. whitefield, the eloquent english preacher and father of the sect of calvinistic methodists, was in youth the stable-boy of an english inn. cardinal wolsey, chief minister of henry viii., was brought up to follow his father's humble calling of a butcher. horne tooke, the english wit, priest, lawyer, and genius, was the son of a poulterer.[ ] correra, afterwards president of guatemala, was born in poverty, and for years was a drummer-boy in the army, where he was laughed at for saying that the world should some day hear from him, being reminded that his present business was to make a noise in the world. but he meant what he said, and acted under lord clyde's motto. he rose by degrees to the highest position in the gift of his countrymen. "to the persevering mortal the blessed immortals are swift," says zoroaster. ebenezer elliott, the english "corn-law rhymer,"[ ] was a blacksmith, but a poet by nature, and his songs created a political revolution in his native land, though unlike béranger's, in france, it was a peaceful revolution. he was ever a true champion of the poor and oppressed. in the latter portion of his life he was in easy pecuniary circumstances. william lloyd garrison,[ ] the beloved philanthropist, orator, and writer, was born in poverty, and was early apprenticed to a shoemaker, but became a journeyman printer before his majority. he suffered imprisonment for his opinions' sake, and may be said to have been the father of abolitionism in america, fortunately living long enough to see the grand effort of his life crowned with success, in the emancipation of the blacks and the abolishment of slavery throughout the length and breadth of his native land. kepler, the famous german astronomer, was the son of a poor innkeeper, and though enjoying royal patronage, often felt the pressure of poverty. coleridge said: "galileo was a great genius and so was newton; but it would take two or three galileos and newtons to make one kepler." we owe our knowledge of the laws of the planetary system to him. sir richard arkwright, inventor of the spinning-jenny, and founder of the great cotton industries of england, never saw the inside of a schoolhouse until after he was twenty years of age, having long served as a barber's assistant. justice tenterden, and turner, greatest among landscape-painters, were also brought up to the same trade. james brindley, the english engineer and mechanician, and cook, the famed navigator, were day-laborers in early life. romney, the artist, john hunter, the physiologist, professor lee, the orientalist, and john gibson, the sculptor, were carpenters by trade. shakespeare was a wool-comber in his youth. these low estates, the workshop and the mine, have often contributed liberally to recruit the ranks of those whom the world has recognized as men of genius. horace mann declared that education is our only political safety. he might have gone further, and said our only moral safety also. it is not, however, the school and the college alone that bring about this grand object, though they are natural adjuncts. real education is the apprenticeship of life, and that is always the best which we realize in our struggle to obtain a livelihood. genius, as a rule, owes little to scholastic training,--within these pages there will be found proof sufficient of this. sir t. f. buxton says he owed more to his father's gamekeeper, who could neither read nor write, than to any other source of knowledge. he said this man was truly his "guide, philosopher, and friend," whose memory was stored with more varied rustic knowledge, good sense, and mother wit, than his young master ever met with afterwards. he adds that he was his first instructor, and that he profited far more by his remarks and admonitions than by those of his more learned tutors.[ ] perhaps at first thought it may seem singular that so many unschooled geniuses should have risen to be famous in their several departments, but it is because they were geniuses. they saw and understood nature and art by intuition, while those of us who can claim no such distinction have been compelled to acquire knowledge by plummet and line, so to speak. "the ambition of a man of parts," says sydney smith, "should be not to know books, but things; not to show other men that he has read locke, and montesquieu, and beccaria, and dumont, but to show that he knows the subjects upon which they have written." let us pursue our examples still further, for they are both interesting and remarkable when brought thus together. benjamin west[ ] was born in pennsylvania, a poor farmer's boy; but the genius of art was in him, and after patient study he became an eminent painter, finally succeeding sir joshua reynolds as president of the royal academy in . george iii. was his personal friend and patron. he was so thoroughly appreciated there that he made england his home, where he died in . john britton, author of the "beauties of england and wales," as well as of several valuable works on architecture, was born in a mud cabin in wiltshire, and was for years engaged as a bar-tender. he was finally turned adrift by his employer with two guineas in his pocket, but before his death his list of published books exceeded eighty volumes! sir francis chantrey, the eminent sculptor, was in his minority a journeyman carver in wood. talma, the great tragic actor of france, and favorite of the first napoleon, was a dentist by trade. gifford, the eminent english critic and essayist, was "graduated" from a cobbler's bench. when cicero was asked concerning his lineage, he replied, "i commence an ancestry." beaumarchais, the successful french dramatist, author of the "barber of seville" and the "marriage of figaro," was a watchmaker by trade, but developed such versatile genius as finally to excite the jealousy of the unscrupulous voltaire. thomas ball, the sculptor, who has done so much to ornament the parks and squares of boston, used as a lad to sweep out the halls of the boston museum.[ ] the author has often been within the walls of his pleasant studio in the environs of florence, adjoining his charming domestic establishment. it is near to the spot where powers produced his "greek slave," and overlooks the lovely city of florence, divided by the arno. andrew jackson, who became president of the united states, was the son of a poor irish emigrant, and so was john c. calhoun, the great southern statesman and vice-president. abraham lincoln and the late president garfield were both sons of toil, the former being commonly designated as "the rail-splitter," the latter as "the canal-boy." andrew johnson was a journeyman tailor. henry wilson was a cobbler at the bench until he was nearly twenty-one. so also was andersen,[ ] the danish novelist. jasmin, who has been called the burns of france, was the son of a street beggar. allan cunningham, poet, novelist, and miscellaneous writer, began life as a stone-mason; he became the father of four sons, all of whom won distinction in literature. among the father's novels was that of "paul jones," which was remarkably successful. dr. isaac miller, dean of carlisle, began life as a weaver, and dr. prideaux, bishop of worcester, earned his living in youth as a kitchen-boy at oxford. watt, the great scotch inventor, whose steam-engine has revolutionized modern industry, and whitney, inventor of the cotton-gin, were street gamins in childhood. both these inventors were thought by their associates to be "beside themselves" as they grew towards maturity. "no man is quite sane," says emerson; "each has a vein of folly in his composition, a slight determination of blood to the head, to make sure of holding him hard to some one point which nature has taken to heart." the world's great men, according to the acceptation of the term, have not always been great scholars. general nathaniel greene, the successful revolutionary commander, second only in military skill to washington, was brought up at a blacksmith's forge. horace greeley, orator and journalist, was the son of a poor new hampshire farmer and earned his living for years by setting type. william sturgeon the able and famous electrician, samuel drew the english essayist, and bloomfield the poet, all rose from the cobbler's bench; and so did thomas edwards, the profound naturalist. robert dodsley, the poet, dramatist, and friend of pope began life as a london footman in livery. his tragedy of "cleone" was so successful and well constructed, that dr. johnson said, "if otway had written it, no other of his pieces would have been remembered," which was certainly extravagant praise.[ ] douglas jerrold was born in a garret at sheerness. hobson, one of england's admirals, was a tailor's apprentice in early life. huntington, the remarkable preacher and revivalist, was originally a coal-heaver, and bewick, the father of wood-engraving, was a laborer in a coal mine for many years. john gay, the english poet, was not "born with a silver spoon in his mouth," but in youth he came up to london, where he served as a clerk to a silk-mercer. "how long he continued behind the counter," says dr. johnson, "or with what degree of softness and dexterity he received and accommodated the ladies, as he probably took no delight in telling it, is not known." he wrote comedies, fables, farces, and ballads, and wrote well, and was vastly popular. gay was a great gourmand, very lazy, and fond of society.[ ] the silk-mercer's clerk attained the much-coveted honor of resting at last in westminster abbey. boffin, the great navigator, served at first before the mast as a common sailor. robert dick, the geologist and botanist, followed his trade as a baker through his whole life. would it not seem, in the light of these many instances, that practical labor forms the best training even for genius? linnæus (karl von linné), the great swedish botanist, the most influential naturalist of the eighteenth century, was a shoemaker's apprentice. his works upon his favorite study are authority with students of science all over the world. he became physician to the king and made his home at stockholm, but roamed over all scandinavia in pursuing his special science of botany and also that of zoölogy. he will always be remembered as having been the first to perfect a systematic and scientific classification of plants and animals. he lies buried in the upsala cathedral. thorwaldsen, the great danish sculptor, was the son of an humble icelandic fisherman, but by reason of native genius he rose to bear the name of the greatest of modern sculptors. he left in the copenhagen museum alone six hundred grand examples of the art he adorned. many of our readers will remember having seen near lucerne, switzerland, one of his most remarkable pieces of sculpture, representing a wounded and dying lion of colossal size, designed to commemorate the heroic fidelity of the swiss guards who fell aug. , . thorwaldsen was passionately fond of children, so that the moment he entered a house he gathered all the juveniles about him; and in most of his marble groups he introduces children. he never married, but made his beautiful mistress, the roman fortunata, celebrated by repeating her face in many of his ideal groups. thorwaldsen gave an impulse to art in his native country which has no like example in history; indeed, art is to-day the religion of copenhagen, and thorwaldsen is its prophet. george stephenson, the english engineer and inventor, was in his youth a stoker in a colliery, learning to read and write at a laborers' evening school. john jacob astor began life as a pedler in the streets of new york, where his descendants own a hundred million dollars worth of real estate.[ ] the elder vanderbilt, famous not alone for his millions but also for his vast enterprise in the development of commerce and railroads, served as a cabin-boy on a north river sloop during several years of his youth. george peabody, the great american philanthropist and millionnaire, was born in poverty. fisher ames, the eminent statesman and orator, eked out a precarious living for years as a country pedagogue. greatness lies not alone in the possession of genius, but in the right and effective use of it. we have given examples sufficient to illustrate this branch of our subject, though they might be almost indefinitely extended. it was daniel webster[ ] who said that "a man not ashamed of himself need not be ashamed of his early condition in life." titles are vendible, but genius is the gift of heaven. enthusiasm is the heritage of youth; it plans with audacity and executes with vigor: "it is the leaping lightning," according to emerson, "not to be measured by the horse-power of the understanding." in the accomplishment of great deeds it is undoubtedly the keenest spur, and consequently those who have become eminent in the history of the world have mostly achieved their greatness before gray hairs have woven themselves about their brows. unless the tree has borne ample blossoms in the spring, we shall look in vain for a generous crop in the fall. notwithstanding the abundance of axioms as to youth and rashness dwelling together, we have ample evidence that it is the period of deeds, when the senses are unworn and the whole man is in the vigor of strength and earnestness. goethe tells us that the destiny of any nation depends upon the opinions of its young men. let us recall a few examples, in corroboration of this view, among those who have made their mark upon the times in which they lived. alexander the great reigned over the macedonians at sixteen; scipio was but twenty-nine at the zenith of his military glory; charles xii.[ ] was only nineteen when, as commander-in-chief, he won the famous battle of narva; condé was twenty-two when he gained the battle of rocroi; scipio the younger conquered carthage at thirty-six, and cortes subdued mexico at the same age. at thirty charlemagne was master of france and germany; at thirty-two clive had established the british power in india. hannibal won his greatest victories before he was thirty, and napoleon was but twenty-seven when he outgeneralled the veteran marshals of austria on the plains of italy. george washington won his first battle as a colonel at twenty-two; lafayette was a major-general in our army at the age of twenty. nor are we to look only for youthful greatness among those who have won laurels in war. william pitt was prime minister of england at twenty-four; calhoun had achieved national greatness before he was thirty; while the names of john adams, alexander hamilton, and the elder pitt in england also suggest themselves in this connection.[ ] handel composed sonatas at ten years of age; mozart was equally precocious, and died at thirty-six, at which age shakespeare had written "hamlet." bellini, the composer, had produced "ii pirata," "la sonnambula," and "la norma," before his thirtieth year; "i puritani" was finished at thirty, and he died two years later. charles matthews the elder began to write for the press at fourteen, and moore wrote verses for print at the same age; undoubtedly both were open to cool and judicious criticism.[ ] henry kirke white published a volume of poems at seventeen. bryant, the first american poet of celebrity, began to write verses at the age of ten, and his most celebrated poem, "thanatopsis," was written before he was twenty. fitz-greene halleck, author of "marco bozzaris," wrote verses for the magazines at fourteen. congreve was at the height of his literary fame at four-and-twenty,--he to whom dryden said shakespeare had bequeathed his poetical crown, and to whom pope dedicated his version of the iliad. watt invented the steam-engine before he was thirty. the reproof administered by his grandmother for his idleness in taking off and replacing the cover of the teakettle, and "playing with the steam to no purpose," will occur to the reader. joan of arc[ ] was but eighteen when she raised the siege of orléans and conquered city after city, until charles vii. was crowned king at rheims. guizot, the distinguished french statesman and historian, seems to have been "a child who had no childhood." at eleven years of age he was able to read in their respective languages thucydides, demosthenes, dante, schiller, gibbon, and shakespeare. robert hall, the eloquent english clergyman, was a remarkable instance of early mental development. it is said that before he was ten years of age he perused with interest and understanding edwards's treatises on the "affections" and on the "will." his sermons, essays, and writings generally were eagerly read and admired by the public; but excessive application at last brought on insanity. it was gracefully said of him that his imperial fancy laid all nature under tribute. even in madness he did not lose his power of retort. a hypocritical condoler visited him in the mad-house, and asked in a servile tone: "pray, what brought you here, mr. hall?" hall touched his brow significantly with his finger, and replied, "what'll never bring you, sir,--too much brains!"[ ] macaulay had already won an exalted reputation for prose and poetry before he was twenty-three, and n. p. willis, before he left college, had achieved enduring fame by his sacred poems,[ ] which, in fact, he never afterwards excelled in a long and successful literary career. schiller wrote and published in his fourteenth year a poem on moses. klopstock began his "messiah" at seventeen, and tasso had produced his "rinaldo," and completed the first three cantos of "jerusalem delivered," before he was nineteen. milton was an unremitting student at ten. southey began to write verses before he was eleven, chaucer and cowley at twelve, and leigh hunt at about the same age. pope,[ ] like so many others, began to write poetry as a child, thus proving that "poets are born and not made." chatterton, the remarkable literary prodigy, died at eighteen, but not until he had established a lasting reputation. bulwer-lytton was a successful author at about the same age, and so were keats and bayard taylor. dickens produced the "pickwick papers" before he was twenty-five, and it may safely be said that in wit, humor, and originality he never surpassed that delicious book. these seem interesting facts to remember, though they do not establish any actual criterion, since the thoughtful student of the past can adduce many notable examples of mature development in art and literature. among these is that of edmund burke, on the whole the greatest of english philosophical statesmen. he is the most remarkable instance of a number of men of genius who seem to have grown younger as they grew older,--that is, mentally and morally. macaulay has noticed that bacon's writings towards the close of his career exceeded those of his youth and manhood "in eloquence, in sweetness and variety of expression, and in richness of illustration."[ ] he adds: "in this respect the history of his mind bears some resemblance to the history of the mind of burke. the treatises on the 'sublime and beautiful,'[ ] though written on a subject which the coldest metaphysician could hardly treat without being occasionally betrayed into florid writing, is the most unadorned of burke's works. it appeared when he was twenty-five or twenty-six. when, at forty, he wrote the 'thoughts on the causes of the present discontents,' his reason and judgment had reached their full maturity, but his eloquence was in its splendid dawn. at fifty his rhetoric was as rich as good taste would admit; and when he died, at almost seventy, it had become ungracefully gorgeous. in his youth he wrote on the emotions produced by mountains and cascades, by the masterpieces of painting and sculpture, by the faces and necks of beautiful women, in the style of a parliamentary report. in his old age he discussed treaties and tariffs in the most fervid and brilliant language of romance." socrates learned to play on musical instruments in his old age. cato at eighty first studied the greek language, and plutarch did not apply himself to learn the latin language until about the same age. theophrastus[ ] began his "character of man" on his ninetieth birthday. peter rusard, one of the fathers of french poetry, did not develop his poetic faculty until nearly fifty. arnauld, the learned french theologian and philosopher, translated josephus in his eightieth year. lope de vega, one of the most learned men of the sixteenth century, wrote his best at seventy years of age. dr. johnson applied himself to learn the dutch language at seventy. at seventy-three, when quite feeble, he composed a latin prayer to test to his own satisfaction the loss or retention of his mental faculties. chaucer's "canterbury tales" were the work of the author's last years. franklin's philosophical pursuits were but fairly begun at fifty. la mothe le vayer's best treatises were written after he was eighty years of age, and izaak walton's when he was nearly ninety. thomas hobbes, the remarkable english philosopher and author, published his version of the odyssey in his eighty-seventh year, and his iliad in his eighty-eighth. winckelmann,[ ] author of the "history of ancient art," lived in ignorance and obscurity until the prime of his life, when he became famous. landor was busy with authorship until after he was eighty. the earl of chatham made his most remarkable oratorical effort at seventy, and our own american orator and statesman, robert c. winthrop, at a still later period of his life. fontenelle continued his literary pursuits until he was ninety-nine, "blossoming in the winter of his days," as lord orrery wrote of him. ménage, the celebrated french critic and scholar, wrote sonnets and epigrams at ninety. julius scaliger, the renowned italian scholar and poet, dictated to his son, at the age of seventy, two hundred verses of his own composition from memory. mr. gladstone and john bright, the english statesmen, are more recent examples of oratorical, mental, and physical powers in advanced years. george bancroft the american historian, in his eighty-sixth year is still engaged in authorship, and whittier and holmes are writing with unabated vigor at nearly eighty years of age. miss elizabeth peabody at eighty-four is still a vigorous writer and active philanthropist, and the same may be said of mrs. julia ward howe at the age of sixty-six. mrs. howe, indeed, is one of the foremost of american women, whether we regard the ripeness of her scholarship, the breadth of her understanding, the richness of her imagination, or the quiet intrepidity with which she champions great reforms. chapter ii. who does not enjoy recalling these silent friends, favorite authors grown dear to us by age and long association? some one has said that authors, like coins, grow dearer as they grow old. indeed, samuel rogers, the banker and poet, declared that when friends at his famous "breakfasts" were praising a new book, he forthwith began to re-read an old one. all these writers were double-sided, so to speak; they had their book natures and their human natures, and it is when we prefer to contemplate them in the latter aspect that we like them best. carlyle calls them "the vanguard in the march of mind, the intellectual backwoodsmen reclaiming from the idle wilderness new territory for the thought and activity of their happier brethren." it is true that we can form but a partial judgment of authors by their books, their motives being not always as pure as we are inclined to believe.[ ] a traitor like bolingbroke is quite capable of writing a captivating book on patriotism; and it has been said if satan were to write one, it would be upon the advantages of virtue. it is certain he has ever shown such a hearty appreciation of virtue that he holds in highest estimation his success in corrupting it. examples flash across the memory. there was sir thomas more advocating toleration, while he was himself a fierce persecutor; sallust declaring against the licentiousness of his age, yet addicted to habitual debaucheries; byron assuming a misanthropy which he never felt; and cowley boasting of his mistresses, though he had not the courage even to address one. smollett's descriptions and scenes were often indelicate, though he was himself in that respect a faultless man. "as a rule, the author who is not in genius far above his productions must be a second-rate one at best," says bulwer-lytton. sometimes we detect striking likenesses between the author and his works. goldsmith, for instance, was the same hero to low-bred women, and the same coward to ladies, that he depicts in his charming comedy. it is difficult, however, in the light of handel's inspired music, to realize what an animal nature possessed him in his every-day mood,--what a glutton he was at table; or to reconcile the sublime strains of mozart with his trivial personality.[ ] still, buffon persistently declares, "le style c'est l'homme." addison, recognized as the purest and most perspicuous writer of the english language, though exercising such mastership of the pen, had no oral ability, and rarely attempted to talk in social circles. he said of himself that though he had a hundred pounds in the bank, he had no small coin in his pocket.[ ] dr. johnson and coleridge were famous for their colloquial facility, but both of these were rather lecturers than talkers, however delightful in this respect the latter may have been. johnson during his life was undoubtedly more of a power as a talker than as a writer. it has been said that scott talked more poetry and edmund burke more eloquence than they ever wrote. emerson thought that "better things are said, more incisive, more wit and insight are dropped in talk and forgotten, than gets into books." e. h. chapin and h. w. beecher have talked sounder and more brilliant theology than they ever preached from the pulpit. spontaneous thoughts come from our inner consciousness; sermons and essays, from the cooler action of the brain. coleridge, on first meeting byron, entertained the poet with one of his monologues, wherein he ascended into the seventh heaven upon wings of theology and metaphysics. leigh hunt described the scene to charles lamb, and expressed his wonder that coleridge should have chosen so unsympathetic an auditor. "oh, it was only his fun," explained lamb; "there's an immense deal of quiet humor about coleridge!" wordsworth speaks of him as the "rapt one, with the godlike forehead," the "heaven-eyed creature." hazlitt says that "no idea ever entered the mind of man, but at some period or other it had passed over his head with rustling pinions." talfourd writes of seeing "the palm-trees wave, and the pyramids tower, in the long perspective of his style." when coleridge once asked lamb, "charles, did you ever hear me preach?" he received the quiet reply, "i never heard you do anything else." rogers tells us: "coleridge was a marvellous talker. one morning, when hookham frere also breakfasted with me, coleridge talked for three hours without intermission about poetry, and so admirably that i wish every word he uttered had been written down." madame de staël said of him that he was great in monologue, but that he had no idea of dialogue. macaulay was also remarkable for his conversational powers, which were greatly aided by an excellent memory. he has been accused of talking too much; and sydney smith once said of him: "he is certainly more agreeable since his return from india. his enemies might perhaps have said before--though i never did so--that he talked rather too much; but now he has occasional flashes of silence that make his conversation perfectly delightful!" in a party in which eminent men are present, the rule is said to be that, for good conversation, the number of talkers should never be fewer than the graces or more than the muses. goldsmith, who wrote so charmingly and exhibited such a remarkable versatility with the pen, could make no figure in conversation. fox, bentley, burke, curran, and swift were all brilliant talkers; tasso, dante, gray, and dryden[ ] were all taciturn. of ben jonson it is said that he was mostly without speech, sitting by the hour quite silent in society, sucking in the wine and humor of his companions. sheridan had the reputation of being a brilliant conversationalist; but we all know that many of his "impromptus" were laboriously prepared beforehand, and that he was wont to lie in wait silently for half an evening watching his opportunity to discharge the arrows of his polished wit. one would be glad to learn how it was with shakespeare in society. he could hold his own in a controversy, however, as thomas fuller, in his "worthies of england," says, "many were the wet-combats between him and ben jonson:[ ] which two i behold like a spanish great galleon and an english man-of-war; master jonson, like the former, was built far higher in learning; solid, but slow, in his performances. shakespeare, like the english man-of-war, lesser in bulk but lighter in sailing, could turn with all tides, tack about, and take advantage of all winds by the quickness of his wit and invention." shakespeare himself has said, "silence is only commendable in a neat's tongue dried and a maid not vendible;" but the ancient stoics thought that by silence they heard other men's imperfections and concealed their own. the diplomatist metternich said he had never known more than ten or twelve persons with whom it was pleasant to converse. margaret fuller said carlyle's talk was an amazement to her, though she was familiar with his writings. his conversation, she declared, was a splendor scarcely to be faced with steady eye. he did not converse--only harangued. she thought him "arrogant and overbearing, but it was not the arrogance of littleness, nor self-love, but rather the arrogance of some old scandinavian conqueror; it was his nature, the untamable impulse that had given him power to crush the dragons. she was not led to love or revere him, but liked him heartily,--liked to see him the powerful smith, the siegfried, melting all the old iron in his furnace till it glows to a sunset red and burns you, if you senselessly go too near."[ ] when dr. johnson was asked why he was not invited out to dine as garrick[ ] was, he answered, as if it was a great triumph to him, "because great lords and ladies don't like to have their mouths stopped!" he indulged a furious hatred to americans, and whenever there was an opportunity sneered at them even more bitterly than he did at scotchmen. it will be remembered that he thought something could be made out of a scotchman "if you caught him young;" but he would not admit even this saving clause as regarded americans. he said, "i am willing to love all, all mankind, except an american." he called them "robbers and pirates;" adding, "i'd burn and destroy them!" these words were addressed to miss anna seward, of lichfield. it was in the grammar school of this ancient cathedral town that addison, dr. johnson, and garrick received their early education, and johnson was a native of the place. miss seward's father was the canon resident of lichfield cathedral. in his family there was a beautiful young lady named honora sneyd, a companion to his daughter. john andré, a cultured london youth, fell in love with honora, and was tacitly accepted. the young man was somewhat suddenly called back to the metropolis on business, and a separation thus ensued which seemed to wean the lady's affections from him, so that she soon after married a mr. edgeworth and in the course of time became the mother of maria edgeworth, the well-known novel-writer.[ ] john andré remained faithful to his first love, and came to america carrying in his bosom a miniature of honora suspended from his neck. his sad fate during our revolutionary war is well known to all. he was the major andré whom washington reluctantly executed as a spy, and whose memorial is now conspicuous in westminster abbey. peter corneille, the great french dramatic poet, had nothing in his exterior that indicated his genius. as to his conversational powers, they were simply insipid, and never failed to weary all listeners. nature had endowed him with brilliant gifts, but forgot to grant him the ordinary accomplishments. he did not even speak correct french, which he never failed to write with perfection. when his friends represented to him how much more he might please by not disdaining to correct these trivial errors, he would smile and say, "i am none the less peter corneille!" we learn from rogers that in the early days of his popularity byron was quite diffident in society, or at least never ventured to take part in the conversation. if any one happened to let fall an observation which offended him, he never attempted to reply, but treasured it up for days, and would then come out with some cutting remarks, giving them as his deliberate opinion, the result of his experience of the individual's character. southey[ ] was stiff, reserved, sedate, and so wrapped up in a garb of asceticism that charles lamb once stutteringly told him he was "m-made for a m-m-monk, but somehow the co-co-cowl didn't fit." racine made this confidential confession to his son: "do not think that i am sought after by the great on account of my dramas; corneille composed nobler verses than mine, but no one notices him, and he only pleases by the mouth of the actors. i never allude to my works when with men of the world, but i amuse them about matters they like to hear. my talent with them consists not in making them feel that i have any, but in showing them that they have." the well-remembered saying about goldsmith's lack of conversational power is excellent because it was so true; namely, that "he wrote like an angel and talked like poor poll."[ ] fisher ames and rufus choate were distinguished for their conversational powers. stuart, the american painter, was remarkable in this respect; and so were washington allston, edgar a. poe, margaret fuller, and the late caleb cushing. the lady just named was considered to be the best talker of her sex since madame de staël. indeed, those who knew her well said she talked even better than she wrote, which was saying much. charles sumner used to relate a talk in a company where daniel webster was present. the question under discussion was what were the best means of culture. webster was silent until all had spoken. he then said: "gentlemen, you have overlooked one of the means of culture which i consider of the first importance, and from which i have gained the most; that is, good conversation."[ ] whipple has said in one of his essays that "real, earnest conversation is a kind of intellectual cannibalism, where strong minds feed on each other and mightily enjoy the repast." charles lamb's most sportive essays, which read as though they came almost spontaneously from his pen, are known to have been the result of intense brain labor. he would spend a whole week in elaborating a single humorous letter to a friend. lamb was so sensitive concerning proof-reading as to be the dread of the printers. it is said of the poet-laureate of england that he has been known to re-write a poem twenty times and more before he was satisfied to give it to the printer. dickens, when writing a book, was accustomed to shut himself up for days together, and to work with fearful energy until the task was completed; after which he would come forth presenting the appearance of a person recovering from a fit of illness. the free-and-easy spirit which characterizes his pages affords no evidence of the travail through which their author passed in giving them birth. bulwer-lytton took matters much more philosophically. he always worked at pen-craft leisurely, never more than three or four hours a day; and yet by carefully observing a system the aggregate of his productions was very large. balzac, after thinking over a subject, would retire to his study and write it out half a dozen times before he gave the manuscript to the printer, whom he afterwards tormented to the very verge of exasperation by his proof alterations. to come nearer to our own time, we may remark that longfellow, whose versification seems always to have flowed with such ease and fluency from his pen, was a slow and painstaking producer, sometimes altering and amending until the original draft of an essay or poem was quite improved out of sight. dr. channing nearly drove his printers crazy; after his manuscript--almost illegible by corrections and interlineations--had been returned to them with alterations, omissions, and additions on the first proof-sheets, he would ponder over, alter, and amend three or four successive proofs before he finally allowed the result to meet the public eye,--a new edition involving another series of alterations. the lyric which cost tennyson the most trouble was "come into the garden, maud." it is said to have been held back from the public after it had been a year in his hands, going through repeated processes of alteration. what time indorses, requires time to create and finish. to this determination of tennyson to condense all his thoughts into the smallest space, and never to expand when by patient labor he can contract, we owe the few lines in which he states in the "princess" the whole nebular theory of the universe as expounded by kant and laplace; and how much reflection must have been required to condense the description of the fundamental defect of english law, on which volumes have been written, as he has done in "aylmer's field:"-- "the lawless science of our law, that codeless myriad of precedent, that wilderness of single instances." when we observe good workmanship, whether it be by a stone-mason, a cabinet-maker, or a writer, we may be sure that it has cost much patient labor. his biographer tells us that moore thought ten or fifteen lines in twenty-four hours a good day's accomplishment in poetry; and at this rate he wrote "lalla rookh."[ ] wordsworth wrote his verses, laid them aside for weeks, then, taking them up, frequently rewrote them a score of times before he called them finished. buffon's "studies of nature" cost him fifty years of writing and re-writing before the work was published. john foster, the profound and eloquent english essayist, often spent hours upon a single sentence. ten years elapsed between the first sketch of goldsmith's "traveller" and its final completion. rochefoucauld[ ] spent fifteen years over his little book of maxims, altering some of them thirty times. rogers admitted that he had more than once spent ten days upon a single verse before he turned it to suit him. vaugelas, the great french scholar, devoted twenty years to his admirable translation of "quintus curtius." some authors have produced with such rapidity as to approach improvisation. perhaps the most remarkable instance of this was in the case of lope de vega, who composed and wrote a versified drama in a single day, and is known to have done so for seven consecutive days. contemporary with shakespeare and cervantes, de vega has left behind him two thousand original dramas sparkling with vivacity of dialogue and richness of invention. soldier, duellist, poet, sailor, and priest, his long life was one of intense activity and adventure.[ ] the name of hardy, the french dramatic author and actor, occurs to us in this connection; though an inferior genius to de vega, he wrote over six hundred original dramas. he was considered the first dramatic writer of the days of henry iv. and louis xiii., before whom hardy often appeared upon the stage personating the heroes of his own dramas. prynne, the english antiquary, politician, and pamphlet-writer, sat down early in the morning to his composition. every two hours his man brought him a roll and a pot of ale as refreshment; and so he continued until night, when he partook of a hearty dinner. one of his pamphlets was entitled "a scourge for stage-players," which was considered so scurrilous that the star-chamber sentenced him to pay a heavy fine, to be exposed in the pillory, to lose his ears, and to be imprisoned for life. he was finally released from prison. while he was confined in the pillory, a pyramid of his offending pamphlets was made close at hand, to windward of his position, and set on fire, so that the author was very nearly choked to death by the smoke. he was almost as incessant and inveterate a writer as petrarch, and considered being debarred from pen and ink an act more barbarous than the loss of his ears. however, he partially obviated his want of the usual facilities by writing a whole volume on his prison walls while confined in the tower of london. byron wrote the "corsair" in ten days, which was an average of nearly two hundred lines a day,--a fact which he acknowledged to moore with a degree of shame. he said he would not confess it to everybody, considering it to be a humiliating fact, proving his own want of judgment in publishing, and the public in reading, "things which cannot have stamina for permanent attention." the surpassing beauty of the "corsair," however, excuses all the author said or did in connection with it. it may nevertheless be affirmed that, as a rule, no great work has ever been performed with ease, or ever will be accomplished without encountering the throes of time and labor. dante, we remember, saw himself "growing lean" over his "divine comedy." mary russell mitford, the charming english authoress, dramatist, poet, and novelist, who so excelled in her sketches of country life, says of herself: "i write with extreme slowness, labor, and difficulty; and, whatever you may think, there is a great difference of facility in different minds. i am the slowest writer, i suppose, in england, and touch and retouch incessantly." her life was one of constant labor and self-abnegation in behalf of a worthless, selfish, and imperious father. he was a robust, showy, wasteful profligate, and a gambler. a doctor by profession, he was a spendthrift and sensualist by occupation. he contracted a venal marriage with an heiress much older than himself, and after squandering her entire fortune he fell back upon his daughter as the bread-winner for the whole family. by a remarkable chance she became the possessor of a great lottery prize, from which she realized twenty thousand pounds, every penny of which her beastly father drank and gambled away. still, the devotion and industry of the daughter never waned for a moment. her patient struggles have placed her name on the roll of fame, while her father's has sunk into deserved oblivion. de tocqueville wrote to his publishers: "you must think me very slow. you would forgive me if you knew how hard it is for me to satisfy myself, and how impossible it is for me to finish things incompletely." horace suggested that authors should keep their literary productions from the public eye for at least nine years, which certainly ought to produce "the well-ripened fruit of sage delay." after a labor of eleven years virgil pronounced his Æneid imperfect. this recalls the italian saying, "one need not be a stag, neither ought one to be a tortoise." tasso's manuscript, which is still extant, is almost illegible because of the number of alterations which he made after having written it. montaigne, "the horace of essayists," could not be induced, so lazy and self-indulgent was he, to even look at the proof-sheets of his writings. "i add, but i correct not," he said. the writer of these pages has seen the original draft of longfellow's "excelsior," so interlined and amended to suit the author's taste as to make the manuscript rather difficult to decipher. the poet wrote a back-hand, as it is called; that is, the letters sloped in the opposite direction from the usual custom, and as a rule his writing was remarkably legible. coleridge was very methodical as to the time and place of his composition. he told hazlitt that he liked to compose walking over uneven ground, or making his way through straggling branches of undergrowth in the woods; which was a very affected and erratic notion, and might better have been "whipped out of him."[ ] wordsworth, on the contrary, found his favorite place for composing his verses in walking back and forth upon the smooth paths of his garden, among flowers and creeping vines. hazlitt, in a critical analysis of the two poets, traces a likeness to the style of each in his choice of exercise while maturing his thoughts,--which, it would seem to us, is a subtile deduction altogether too fine to signify anything. charles dibdin, the famous london song-writer and musician, whose sea-songs as published number over a thousand, caught his ideas "on the fly." as an example, he was at a loss for something new to sing on a certain occasion. a friend was with him in his lodgings and suggested several themes. suddenly the jar of a ladder against the street lamp-post under his window was heard. it was a hint to his fertile imagination, and dibdin exclaimed, "the lamplighter! that's it; first-rate idea!" and stepping to the piano he finished both song and words in an hour, and sang them in public with great éclat that very night, under the title of "jolly dick, the lamplighter." like nearly all such mercurial geniuses, dibdin was generous, careless, and improvident in his habits, dying at last poor and neglected. dr. johnson was so extremely short-sighted that writing, re-writing, and correcting upon paper were very inconvenient for him; he was therefore accustomed to revolve a subject very carefully in his mind, forming sentences and periods with minute care; and by means of his remarkable memory he retained them with great precision for use and final transmission to paper. when he began, therefore, with pen in hand, his production of copy was very rapid, and it required scarcely any corrections. boswell says that posterity will be astonished when they are told that many of these discourses, which might be supposed to be labored with all the slow attention of literary leisure, were written in haste, as the moments pressed, without even being read over by johnson before they were printed. sir john hawkins says that the original manuscripts of the "rambler" passed through his hands, "and by the perusal of them i am warranted to say, as was said of shakespeare by the players of his time, that he never blotted a line." johnson tells us that he wrote the life of savage in six-and-thirty hours. he also wrote his "hermit of teneriffe" in a single night. when we consider the amount of literary work performed by johnson, say in the period of seven years, while "he sailed a long and painful voyage round the world of the english language," and produced his dictionary, we must give him credit for the most remarkable industry and great rapidity of production. during these seven years he found time also to complete his "rambler," the "vanity of human wishes," and his tragedy, besides several minor literary performances. no wonder he developed hypochondria. burke was a very slow and painstaking producer; it is even said that he had all his works printed at a private press before submitting them to his publisher. hume was more rapid, even careless with his first edition of a work, but went on correcting each new one to the day of his death.[ ] macaulay, in his elaborate speeches, did not write them out beforehand, but _thought_ them out, trusting to his memory to recall every epigrammatic statement and every felicitous epithet which he had previously forged in his mind, so that when the time came for their delivery they appeared to spring forth as the spontaneous outpouring of his feelings and sentiments, excited by the questions discussed. wendell phillips followed a similar method. thomas paine, the political and deistical writer, was under contract to furnish a certain amount of matter for each number of the "pennsylvania magazine." aitken the publisher had great difficulty in getting him to fulfil his agreement. paine's indolence was such that he was always behindhand with his engagements. finally, after it had become too late to delay longer, aitken would go to his house, tell him the printers were standing idle waiting for his copy, and insist upon his accompanying him to the office. paine would do so, when pen, ink, and paper would be placed before him, and he would sit thoughtfully, but produce nothing until aitken gave him a large glass of brandy. even then he would delay. the publisher naturally feared to give him a second glass, thinking that it would disqualify him altogether, but, on the contrary, his brain seemed to be illumined by it, and when he had swallowed the third glass,--quite enough to have made mr. aitken dead drunk,--he would write with rapidity, intelligence, and precision, his ideas appearing to flow faster than he could express them on paper. the copy produced under the fierce stimulant was remarkable for correctness, and fit for the press without revision.[ ] charlotte bronté was a very slow producer of literary work, and was obliged to choose her special days. often for a week, and sometimes longer, she could not write at all; her brain seemed to be dormant. then, without any premonition or apparent inducing cause, she would awake in the morning, go to her writing-desk, and the ideas would come with more rapidity than she could pen them. mrs. gaskell the novelist, a friend of the brontés, was exactly the opposite in her style of composition. she could sit down at any hour and lose herself in the process of the story she was composing. she was also a prolific authoress, of whom george sand said: "she has done what neither i nor other female writers in france can accomplish; she has written novels which excite the deepest interest in men of the world, and which every girl will be the better for reading." bacon[ ] often had music played in the room adjoining his library, saying that he gathered inspiration from its strains. warburton said music was always a necessity to him when engaged in intellectual labor. curran, the great irish barrister, had also his favorite mode of meditation; it was with his violin in hand. he would seem to forget himself, running voluntaries over the strings, while his imagination, collecting its tones, was kindling and invigorating all his faculties for the coming contest at the bar. bishop beveridge adopted bacon's plan, and said, "when music sounds sweetest in my ears, truth commonly flows the clearest in my mind." even the cold, passionless carlyle said music was to him a kind of inarticulate speech which led him to the edge of the infinite, and permitted him for a moment to gaze into it. john foster, the english essayist, declared that the special quality of genius was "the power to light its own fire;" and certainly sir walter scott was a shining example of this truth. shelley, a poet of finer but less robust fibre, decided that "the mind, in creating, is as a fading coal, which some passing influence, like an invisible wind, wakens into momentary brightness." as already remarked, ten years transpired between the first sketch of the "traveller," which was made in switzerland, and its publication; but the history of the "vicar of wakefield" was quite different. goldsmith hastened the closing pages to raise money, being terribly pressed for the payment of numerous small bills, and also by his landlady for rent. he was actually under arrest for this last debt, and sent to dr. johnson to come to him at once. understanding very well what was the trouble, johnson sent him a guinea, and came in person as soon as he could. he found, on arriving, that goldsmith had already broken the guinea and was drinking a bottle of wine purchased therewith. the doctor put the cork into the bottle, and began to talk over the means of extricating the impecunious author from his troubles. goldsmith told johnson that he had just finished a small book, and wished he would look at it; perhaps it would bring in some money. he brought forth the manuscript of the "vicar of wakefield." johnson hastily glanced over it, paused, read a chapter carefully, bade goldsmith to be of good cheer, and hastened away with the new story to newbury the publisher, who, solely on johnson's recommendation, gave him sixty pounds for the manuscript and threw it into his desk, where it remained undisturbed for two years.[ ] a voluminous writer once explained to goldsmith the advantage of employing an amanuensis. "how do you manage it?" asked goldsmith. "why, i walk about the room and dictate to a clever man, who puts down very correctly all that i tell him, so that i have nothing to do but to look it over and send it to the printers." goldsmith was delighted with the idea, and asked his friend to send the scribe to him. the next day the penman came with his implements, ready to catch his new employer's words and to record them. goldsmith paced the room with great thoughtfulness, just as his friend had described to him, back and forth, back and forth, several times; but after racking his brain to no purpose for half an hour, he gave it up. he handed the scribe a guinea, saying, "it won't do, my friend; i find that my head and hand must work together." milton dictated that immortal poem, "paradise lost," his daughters being his amanuenses; but milton was then blind. it is said of julius cæsar that while writing a despatch he could at the same time dictate seven letters to as many clerks. this seems almost miraculous; but in our own day paul morphy has performed quite as difficult a feat at chess, playing several games at once, blindfolded. one of the most eminent and eloquent of american preachers and lecturers, thomas starr king, was accustomed to dictate to an amanuensis; but when a difficulty would occur in developing his thought, he would take the pen in his own hand, and, abstracting himself entirely from the wondering reporter by his side, would spend perhaps half an hour in deeper thinking and more exact expression than when he dictated. those who have examined his manuscript since his death easily perceive that the portions of a sermon or a lecture which he personally wrote are better than those which he poured forth to his amanuensis as he walked the room. on one occasion a friend who was in favor of making the pen and brain work together went to hear mr. king deliver a lecture on pope gregory vii. (hildebrand), and at its conclusion told the lecturer that he could distinguish, without seeing the manuscript, the portions he wrote with his own hand from those he dictated. he succeeded so well, in the course of half an hour's conversation, as to surprise the orator by hitting on the passages in dispute, and proving his case. to write an acceptable book, poem, or essay, is quite as much of a trade as to make a clock or shoe a horse. to produce easy-flowing sentences, as they finally appear before the reader's eye, has cost much careful thought, long and patient practice, and even with some famous authors, as we have seen, many hours of writing and re-writing. so far as it is applied to authorship, we are not surprised at hogarth's remark: "i know no such thing as genius; genius is nothing but labor and diligence." buffon's definition is nearly the same; he says, "genius is only great patience." authors are generally very commonplace representatives of humanity, and remarkably like the average citizen whom we meet in our daily walk. rogers, in his "table talk," says: "when literature is the sole business of life, it becomes a drudgery; when we are able to resort to it only at certain hours, it is a charming relaxation. in my early years i was a banker's clerk, obliged to be at the desk every day from ten to five o'clock, and i shall never forget the delight with which, on returning home, i used to read and write during the evening." he was a great reader, but said that "a man who attempts to read all the new publications must often do as a flea does--skip."[ ] to recur to charles dickens, is it generally known that his favorite novel of "david copperfield" partially relates to the history of his own boyhood? the story of david's employment, when a child, in washing and labelling blacking-bottles in a london cellar, was true of dickens himself. if it were possible to read between the lines, we should not infrequently find the most effective narrative sketches little less than biography or autobiography. thackeray and dickens both wrote under the thin gauze of fiction. "vivian gray" is but a photograph of its dilettante author; and every character drawn by charlotte bronté is a true portrait, all being confined within so small a circle as to be easily recognizable. smollett sat for his own personality in that of roderick random; while scott drew many of his most strongly individualized characters, like that of dominie sampson, from people in his immediate circle. coleridge says of milton: "in 'paradise lost,' indeed in every one of his poems, it is milton himself whom you see. his satan, his adam, his raphael, almost his eve, are all john milton; and it is a sense of this intense egotism that gives one the greatest pleasure in reading milton's works." it is well known that many of byron's[ ] poetical plots are almost literally his personal experiences. this was especially the case as to the "giaour." a beautiful female slave was thrown into the sea for infidelity, and was terribly avenged by her lover, while byron was in the east; being impressed with the dramatic character of the tragedy, he gave it expression in a poem. carlyle says that satan was byron's grand exemplar, the hero of his poetry, and the model, apparently, of his conduct. in bulwer-lytton's "disowned," one of his earliest and best stories, the hero, clarence linden, a youth of eighteen, while journeying as a pedestrian, makes the acquaintance of a free-and-easy person named cole,--a gypsy king,--in whose camp he passes the night: all of which was an actual experience of bulwer himself. hans christian andersen gives us many of his personal experiences in his popular tale, "only a fiddler;" so is "gilbert gurney," a novel by theodore hook, a biography of himself as a practical joker. it will thus be seen that authors do not always draw entirely upon the imagination for incidents, characters, and plot, but that there is from first to last a large amount of actual truth in seeming fiction. when goldsmith was a lad of fifteen or there-about, some one gave him a guinea, with which, and a borrowed horse, he set out for a holiday trip. he got belated when returning, and, inquiring of a stranger if he would point out to him a house of entertainment, was mischievously directed to the residence of the sheriff of the county. here he knocked lustily at the door, and sending his horse to the stable, ordered a good supper, inviting the "landlord" to drink a bottle of wine with him. the next morning, after an ample breakfast, he offered his guinea in payment, when the squire, who knew goldsmith's family, overwhelmed him with confusion by telling him the truth. thirty years afterwards goldsmith availed himself of this humiliating blunder at the time he wrote that popular comedy, "she stoops to conquer." when goldsmith was talking to a friend of writing a fable in which little fishes were to be introduced, dr. johnson, who was present, laughed rather sneeringly. "why do you laugh?" asked goldsmith, angrily. "if you were to write a fable of little fishes, you would make them speak like whales!" the justice of the reproof was perfectly apparent to johnson, who was conscious of goldsmith's superior inventiveness, lightness, and grace of composition. speaking of authors writing from their own personal experience recalls a name which we must not neglect to mention. laurence sterne, author of "tristram shandy," various volumes of sermons, the "sentimental journey," etc., was a curious compound in character, but possessed of real genius. he was quite a sentimentalist in his writings, and those who did not know him personally would accredit him with possessing a tender heart. the fact was, however, as horace walpole said of him, "he had too much sentiment to have any feeling." his mother, who had run in debt on account of an extravagant daughter, would have been permitted to remain indefinitely in jail, but for the kindness of the parents of her pupils. her son laurence heeded her not. "a dead ass was more important to him than a living mother," says walpole. sterne also used his wife very ill. one day he was talking to garrick in a fine sentimental manner in praise of conjugal love and fidelity. "the husband," said sterne, "who behaves unkindly to his wife, deserves to have his house burned over his head." garrick's reply was only just: "if you think so, i hope _your_ house is insured." he is known to have been engaged to a miss fourmantel for five years, and then to have jilted her so cruelly that she ended her days in a mad-house. such was the great laurence sterne. it was poetical justice that he should repent at leisure of his subsequent hasty marriage to one whom he had known only four weeks. he twice visited the lady whom he had deceived, in the establishment where she was confined; and the character of maria, whom he so pathetically describes, is drawn from her, showing how cheaply he could coin his pretended feelings. contradictions in character are often ludicrous, and go to show that the author and the man are seldom one. what can be more contradictory in the nature of the same individual than sterne whining over a dead ass and neglecting to relieve a living mother; or prior addressing the most romantic sonnets to his chloe, and at the same time indulging a sentimental passion for a barmaid? goldsmith's "deserted village," according to mr. best, an irish clergyman, relates to the scenes in which goldsmith was himself an actor. auburn is a poetical name for the village of lissoy, county of westneath. the name of the schoolmaster was paddy burns. "i remember him well," says mr. best; "he was indeed a man severe to view. a woman called walsey cruse kept the ale-house. i have often been within it. the hawthorn bush was remarkably large, and stood in front of the ale-house." the author of the "deserted village," however, made his best contemporary "hit" with his poem of the "traveller." he always distrusted his poetic ability, and this poem was kept on hand some years after it was completed, before he published it in . it passed through several editions in the first year, and proved a golden harvest to newbury the publisher; but goldsmith received only twenty guineas for the manuscript. the character of sober, in johnson's "idler," is a portrait of himself; and he admitted more than once that he had his own outset in life in his mind when he wrote the eastern story of "gelaleddin." is not "tristram shandy" a synonym for its author, sterne? hazlitt and many others fuse the personality of the author of the "imaginary conversations" with this admirable work from his pen: certainly a high compliment to landor, if the portraiture is a likeness. walter savage landor[ ] was a most erratic genius, a man of uncontrollable passions which led him into constant difficulties; at times he must have been partially deranged. in all his productions he exhibits high literary culture; and being born to a fortune, he was enabled to adapt himself to his most fastidious tastes, though in the closing years of his life, having lost his money, he learned the meaning of that bitter word dependence. the severest critic must accord him the genius of a poet; but his literar reputation will rest upon his elaborate prose work, "imaginary conversations" of literary men and statesmen, upon which he was engaged for more than ten years. he lived to the age of ninety, and found solace in his pen to the last. chapter iii. as we have already remarked, authors are very much like other people, rarely coming up to the idea formed of them by enthusiastic readers. they are pretty sure to have some idiosyncrasies more or less peculiar; and who, indeed, has not? to know the true character of these individuals, we should see them in their homes rather than in their books. having so lately spoken of landor, we are reminded of another literary character who in many respects resembled him. william beckford, the english author, utterly despised literary fame, and when he wrote he could afford to do so, for he was a millionnaire. his romance of "vathek," as an eastern tale, was pronounced by the critics superior to "rasselas;" and indeed "rasselas, prince of abyssinia," is hardly in any sense an eastern tale. "johnson," says macaulay, "not content with turning filthy savages, ignorant of their letters and gorged with raw steaks cut from living cows, into philosophers as eloquent and enlightened as himself or his friend burke, and into ladies as accomplished as mrs. lennox or mrs. sheridan, transferred the whole domestic system of england to egypt." beckford read to rogers one of his novels in which the hero was a frenchman who was ridiculously fond of dogs, and in which his own life was clearly depicted. even this millionnaire author was finally reduced to such necessity as obliged him to sell his private pictures for subsistence. the last which he disposed of was bellini's portrait of the "doge of venice," which was bought for and hung in the national gallery on the very day that beckford died, in . certainly those authors who give us their own personal experience as a basis for their sketches are no plagiarists. the late wendell phillips[ ] delighted, in his lecture on the "lost arts," to prove that there was nothing new under the sun; a not uncongenial task for this "silver-tongued orator," who was an iconoclast by nature. so early as the age of twenty-five he relinquished the practice of the law because he was unwilling to act under an oath to the constitution of the united states. in one sense there is nothing new under the sun. genius has not hesitated to borrow bravely from history and legend. the "amphitrion" of molière was adopted from plautus, who had borrowed it from the greeks, and they from the indians. any one reading a collection of the arabian stories for the first time will be surprised at meeting so many which are familiar, and which he had thought to be of modern birth. la fontaine borrowed from petronius the "ephesian matron," which had been taken from greek annals, having been previously transferred from the arabic, where it appeared taken from the chinese. there is no ignoring the fact that a large portion of our plots belonged originally to eastern nations. the graceful, attractive, and patriotic story of william tell was proven by the elder son of haller, a century ago, to have been, in the main features, but the revival of a danish story to be found in saxo grammaticus. the interesting legend of the apple was but a fable revived. the english story of whittington and his cat was common two thousand years ago in persia. when the writer of these pages visited the grand temples of nikko, in the interior of japan, he was told that the wonderfully preserved carvings beneath the eaves and on the inner walls, thousands of years old, were executed by one who was known as the "left-handed artist," who was a dwarf, and had but partial use of the right hand. it seems, according to the local legend preserved for so many centuries, that while this artist was working at the ornamentation of the temples at nikko he saw and fell in love with a beautiful japanese girl resident in the city; for nikko was then a city of half a million, though now but a straggling village. the girl would have nothing to do with the artist, on account of his deformity of person. all his attempts to win her affection were vain; she was inflexible. finally the heart-broken artist returned to tokio, his native place. here be carved in wood a life-size figure of his beloved, so perfect and beautiful that the gods endowed it with life, and the sculptor lived with it as his wife, in the enjoyment of mutual love, all the rest of his days. here, then, in japan, we have the legend upon which the greek story of pygmalion and galatea is undoubtedly founded. as regards the subject of plagiarism in general, which is so often spoken of as connected with literary productions, it should be remembered, as ruskin says, that all men who have sense and feeling are being constantly helped. they are taught by every person whom they meet, and enriched by everything that falls in their way. the greatest is he who has been oftenest aided.[ ] "literature is full of coincidences," says holmes, "which some love to believe plagiarisms. there are thoughts always abroad in the air, which it takes more wit to avoid than to hit upon." it has been truthfully said that no man is quite sane; each one has a vein of folly in his composition, a view which would certainly seem to be illustrated by circumstances which are easily recalled. take, for instance, the fact that schiller[ ] could not write unless surrounded by the scent of decayed apples, with which he kept one drawer of his writing-desk well filled. could we have a clearer instance of monomania? he also required his cup of strong coffee when he was composing, and the coffee was well "laced" with brandy. bulwer-lytton, in his life of schiller, declares that when he wrote at night he drank hock wine. as an opposite and much more agreeable habit, we have that of méhul, the french composer, and author of over forty successful operas, who could not produce a note of original music except amid the perfume of roses. his table, writing-desk, and piano were constantly covered with them; in this delicious atmosphere he produced his "joseph in egypt," which alone would have entitled him to undying fame. father sarpi, who was macaulay's favorite historian, best known as the author of the "history of the council of trent," having the idea that the atmosphere immediately about him became in a degree impregnated with the mental electricity of his brain, was accustomed to build a paper enclosure about his head and person while he was writing. "all air is predatory," he said. salieri, the venetian composer, prepared himself for writing by filling a capacious dish at his side with candy and bonbons, which he consumed in large quantities during the process. sarti, the well-known composer of sacred music, was obliged to work in the dark, or thought that he was, as daylight or artificial light of any sort at such moments utterly disconcerted him. rossini, on the contrary, seemed to have no special ideas about his surroundings when he was in a mood for composing. he sat down among his friends, laughing and talking all the while that he was creating, and framing with marvellous rapidity strains that will live for all time. the whole of "tancredi," which first made his fame, was produced in the very midst of social life and merry companionship. he said he found inspiration in the cheerful human voices about him. as to the peculiarities we have noted in others, they must at first have been mere affectations; but such is the force of habit, that no doubt these individuals became confirmed in them and really believed their indulgence a necessity. carneades, the greek philosopher, so famed for his subtle and powerful eloquence, before sitting down to write dosed himself with hellebore,--a strange resort, as it is supposed to act directly upon the liver, and only very slightly to stimulate the brain, besides being a fatal poison in large doses. it is well known that dryden resorted to singular aids as preparatory to literary composition; being in the habit of first having himself bled and then making a meal of raw meat. the former process, he contended, rendered his brain clear, and the latter stimulated his imagination. in he held the position now filled by tennyson, as poet-laureate of england. he was a notable instance of power in poetry, satire, and indecency, whom cowper characterized as a lewd writer but a chaste companion. dryden's own couplet will forcibly apply to himself:-- "o gracious god! how far have we profaned thy heavenly gift of poesy!" his "essay on dramatic poesy," according to dr. johnson, entitled him to be considered the father of english criticism. his dramas, such as "mariage à-la-mode," "all for love," "don sebastian," etc., were, by reason of their indecency, examples of perverted genius. he was sixty-six years old when he wrote his "alexander's feast," by far his best literary effort. while macaulay calls him "an illustrious renegade,"[ ] dr. johnson says, "he found the english language brick and left it marble,"--a most superlative and ridiculous comment to be made by so erudite a critic. when james francis stephens, the english entomologist, was about to write, he mounted a horse and arranged his thoughts and sentences while at full gallop. this was a plan that sir walter scott also adopted when he wrote "marmion," galloping up and down the shore of the firth of forth. but he concluded that he could do better pen-work in a more rational manner, so this practice did not become habitual with him. scott made an interesting confession when writing the third volume of "woodstock." he declared that he had not the slightest idea how the story was to be wound up to a catastrophe. he said he could never lay out a plan for a novel and stick to it. "i only tried to make that which i wrote diverting and interesting, leaving the rest to fate." sir david dalrymple (afterwards lord hailes) was a voluminous author on historical and antiquarian subjects. his "annals of scotland," published in , was his most important work; dr. johnson called it "a book which will always sell, it has such a stability of dates, such a certainty of facts, and such punctuality of citation." lord hailes's mode of writing was very domestic, so to speak, being performed by the parlor fire, and amid his family circle of wife and children. he was always ready to answer any appeal, however trifling, and to enter cheerfully into all current family affairs. this seems hardly reconcilable with the extreme nicety and absolute correctness of his work. cormontaigne, the french military engineer, wrote an elaborate treatise on fortification in the trenches and while under fire. the duke of wellington, when his army was at san christoval awaiting battle with the french, wrote a complete essay on the purpose of establishing a bank at lisbon after the english methods. thomas hood wrote at night, when the house was still and the children asleep. ouida[ ] writes with her dogs only as companions, while they lie contentedly at her feet in the bright sunny library whose windows overlook the valley of the arno and her well-beloved florence. in the flower-garden before the villa her favorite newfoundland dog, not long since dead, lies buried beneath a marble monument. her productive literary capacity is wonderfully rapid, but the demand far exceeds it, and the prices she receives are unprecedented. she has few if any intimate friends, and no confidants, leading a life of almost perfect isolation. notwithstanding common-sense and experience have ever taught that the brain is capable of producing its best work when in its normal condition, still a host of writers have resorted systematically to some sort of artificial stimulant to aid them in authorship. history tells us that Æschylus, eupolis, cratinus, and ennius, in the olden time, would not attempt to compose until they had become nearly intoxicated with wine. in more modern times, we know that shadwell, de quincey, psalmanazar the famous literary impostor, coleridge, robert hall, and bishop horsley stimulated themselves with fabulous doses of opium. alfred de musset, burns, edgar a. poe, dickens, christopher north, and a host of others whose names will only too readily occur to the reader, were reckless as to the use of alcohol. they were both fed and consumed by stimulants. we are inclined, however, to forgive much of indiscretion in a brilliant and ardent imagination. schiller, so lately referred to, was addicted to rhenish wine in large quantities. blackstone, author of "commentaries on the laws of england," remarkable for his clearness and purity of style, never wrote without a bottle of port by his side, which he emptied at a sitting. it is related of bacon that he did not drink wine when engaged in pen-craft, but he was accustomed to have sherry poured into a broad open vessel, and to inhale its fragrance with great relish. he believed that his brain thus received the stimulating influence without the narcotic effect. sheridan could neither write nor talk until warmed by wine. if about to make a speech in the house, he would, just before rising, swallow half a tumbler of raw brandy. burke presents a remarkable contrast; his great stimulant being _hot water_. the most impassioned passages of his speeches had no other physical inspiration; all the rest came from his glowing soul, which was powerful enough to vitalize his body for an oration of four hours' length. the food which sustained him on such occasions was _cold_ mutton, the drink being _hot_ water. brandy and port, even claret and champagne, would have driven him wild, though they were the ordinary stimulants of his contemporaries. burke was, like burns, a man of an excitable temperament; but, unlike burns, he was wise enough to avoid all dangerous alcoholic excitements, which increased the impulsive elements of his nature and diminished the action of his reason. it will be observed that even in the occasional violence of his invective, his passion is still reasoned passion, or reason penetrated by passion, so as to reach the will as well as to convince the understanding. addison, with his bottle of wine at each end of the long gallery at holland house, where he walked back and forth perfecting his thoughts, will be sure to be recalled by the reader in this connection. consciously or unconsciously he took a glass of the stimulant at each turn, until wrought up to the required point. dr. radcliffe, the eminent london physician and author, was often found in an over-stimulated condition. summoned one evening to a lady patient, he found that he was too much inebriated to count her pulse, and so muttered, "drunk! dead drunk!" and hastened homeward. the next morning, while experiencing intense mortification over the recollection, he received a note from the same patient, in which she said, she knew only too well her own condition when he called, and begged him to keep the matter secret, enclosing a hundred-pound note. burns was wont oftentimes to compose, as he tells us, "by the lee side of a bowl of punch, which had overset every mortal in the company except the haut-boy and the muse."[ ] of course "the pernicious expedient of stimulants," as carlyle would say, only served to use up more rapidly his already wasted physical strength. sometimes, however, burns would compose walking in the open fields. his first effort was to master some pleasing air, and then he easily produced appropriate words for it. one noble trait of burns's character should not be forgotten. though he died in abject poverty, he did not leave a farthing of debt owed to any one. nothing could be finer than carlyle's exordium in his review of lockhart's "life of burns:" "with our readers in general, with men of right feeling anywhere, we are not required to plead for burns. in pitying admiration he lies enshrined in all our hearts, in a far nobler mausoleum than that one of marble; neither will his works ever as they are, pass away from the memory of men. while the shakspeares and miltons roll on like mighty rivers through the country of thought, bearing fleets of traffickers and assiduous pearl-fishers on their waves, this little valclusa fountain will also arrest our eye; for this also is of nature's own and most cunning workmanship, bursts from the depths of the earth, with a full gushing current, into the light of day; and often will the traveller turn aside to drink of its clear waters, and muse among its rocks and pines." as we have seen, musical composers, like those devoted to literature, are apt to have singular fancies. glück, who was at one time the music-teacher of marie antoinette, and whose operas have entitled him to a niche in the temple of fame, could compose only while under the influence of champagne, two bottles of which he would consume at a sitting. he was an eccentric individual, singing and acting the part for which he at the same time wrote the music. handel, when he felt the inspiration of music upon him, sought the graveyard of some village church, and on the moss-grown stones laid his portfolio and wrote his notes, never trying their harmony until he had completed the entire piece. it seems strange to us, in the light of his great genius, to think what an immense glutton handel was. we have already spoken of this, but recur to it again in this connection; for one is puzzled how to reconcile the grossness of his appetite with his æsthetic nature. he could devour more food at one dinner than any other composer in three.[ ] never before was height and breadth of musical genius combined with such enormous appetite for the good things of the table; and yet his digestion was as sound as his love and need of food was portentous. everything about this great composer was gigantesque, as became a giant. his forgetive brain was recruited by the nourishment drawn from a ravenous yet healthy stomach. unlike handel's mode of composition, mozart played his music upon the harpsichord before he wrote a note of it upon paper; but he had a most exalted idea of his mission, and prepared himself for composition, not by partaking of a hearty dinner, but by reading favorite classic authors for hours before beginning what was to him a sacred task. his favorite authors on such occasions were dante and petrarch. he chose the morning for his compositions; but he would often delay writing his scores for the musicians until it was too late to copy them, and sometimes failed altogether to write out the part intended to be performed by himself; yet when the moment arrived, so perfectly had all been arranged in his mind, he played it without hesitation, instrument in hand. the emperor joseph, before whom he was performing on one occasion, observed that the music-sheet before him contained no characters whatever, and asked, "where is your part?" "here," replied mozart, pointing with his finger to his forehead.[ ] he became blind before he was forty years of age, but continued to compose. the duet and chorus in "judas maccabæus," and some others of his finest efforts were produced after his total deprivation of sight; nor did he cease to conduct his oratorios in public on account of his blindness. spontini, the italian composer, like sarti, could only produce his music in the dark, dictating to some one sitting in an adjoining room. rossini, author of the "barber of seville," composed his music as the elder dumas was accustomed to write; namely, in bed. offenbach, of opera-bouffe notoriety, almost lived on coffee while creating his dainty aerial music. the writer of these pages met this composer in paris in , when he was at the height of his popularity, and was told by him that he took no wine or spirit until _after_ his work of composition was completed. cimarosa, the italian composer, who won national fame before he was twenty-five, derived his inspiration from the noisy crowd. auber, the french composer, could write only among the green fields and the silence of the country. sacchini, another italian composer, lost the thread of his inspiration unless attended by his favorrite cats, they sitting all about him while he worked, some upon the table, some on the floor, and one always perched contentedly between his shoulders on his neck; he declared that their purring was to him a soothing anodyne, and fitted him for composition by making him content. eugène sue would not take up his pen except in full dress and with white kids on his hands. thus he produced the "mysteries of paris," which dumas designated as "one-gross-of-gloves long." buffon would only sit down to write after taking a bath and donning pure linen with a full frilled bosom. haydn[ ] declared that he could not compose unless he wore the large seal-ring which frederick the great had given him. he would sit wrapped in silence for an hour or more, after which he would seize his pen and write rapidly without touching a musical instrument; and he rarely altered a line. in early life, poor, freezing in a miserable garret, he studied the rudiments of his favorite art by the side of an old broken harpsichord. for a period of six years he endured a bitter conflict with poverty, being often compelled for the sake of warmth to lie in bed most of the day as well as the night. finally he was relieved from this thraldom by the generosity of his patron, prince esterhazy, a passionate lover of music, who appointed him his chapel-master, with a salary sufficient to keep him supplied with the ordinary comforts of life. crébillon the elder, a celebrated lyric poet and member of the french academy, was enamoured of solitude, and could only write effectively under such circumstances. his imagination teemed with romances, and he produced eight or ten dramas which enjoyed popularity in their day,--about . one day, when he was alone and in a deep reverie, a friend entered his study hastily. "don't disturb me," cried the author, "i am enjoying a moment of happiness: i am going to hang a villain of a minister, and banish another who is an idiot." we have lately mentioned dumas. hans christian andersen, speaking of the various habits of authors, thus refers to the elder dumas, with whom he was intimate: "i generally found him in bed, even long after mid-day, where he lay, with pen, ink, and paper by his side, and wrote his newest drama. on entering his apartment i found him thus one day; he nodded kindly to me, and said: 'sit down a minute. i have just now a visit from my muse; she will be going directly.' he wrote on, and after a brief silence shouted '_vivat_' sprang out of bed, and said, 'the third act is finished!'"[ ] lamartine was peculiar in his mode of composition, and never saw his productions, after the first draft, until they were printed, bound, and issued to the public. he was accustomed to walk forth in his park during the after part of the day, or of a moonlit evening, with pencil and pieces of paper, and whatever ideas struck him he recorded. that was the end of the matter so far as he was concerned. these pieces of paper he threw into a special box, without a number or title upon them. his literary secretary with much patient ability assorted these papers, arranged them as he thought best, and sold them to the publishers at a royal price. we know of no similar instance where authorship and recklessness combined have produced creditable results. certainly such indifference argued only the presence of weakness and irresponsibility, which were indeed prominent characteristics of lamartine. the remarkable facility with which goethe's poems were produced is said to have resembled improvisation, an inspiration almost independent of his own purposes. "i had come," he says, "to regard the poetic talent dwelling in me entirely as nature; the rather that i was directed to look upon external nature as its proper subject. the exercise of this poetic gift might be stimulated and determined by occasion, but it flowed forth more joyfully and richly, when it came involuntarily, or even against my will." addison, whose style is perhaps the nearest to perfection in ancient or modern literature, did not reach that standard without much patient labor. pope tells us that "he would show his verses to several friends, and would alter nearly everything that any of them hinted was wrong. he seemed to be distrustful of himself, and too much concerned about his character as a poet, or, as he expressed it, 'too solicitous for that kind of praise which god knows is a very little matter after all.'" pope himself published nothing until it had been a twelvemonth on hand, and even then the printer's proofs were full of alterations. on one occasion this was carried so far that dodsley, his publisher, thought it better to have the whole recomposed than to attempt to make the necessary alterations. yet pope admits that "the things that i have written fastest have always pleased the most. i wrote the 'essay on criticism' fast, for i had digested all the matter in prose before i began it in verse." "i never work better," says luther, "than when i am inspired by anger: when i am angry, i can write, pray, and preach well; for then my whole temperament is quickened, my understanding sharpened, and all mundane vexations and temptations depart." we are reminded of burke's remark in this connection: "a vigorous mind is as necessarily accompanied with violent passions as a great fire with great heat." luther, however ribald he may have been at times, had the zeal of honesty. there was not a particle of vanity or self-sufficiency in the great reformer. "do not call yourselves lutherans," he said to his followers; "call yourselves christians. who and what is luther? has luther been crucified for the world?" churchill,[ ] the english poet and satirist, was so averse to correcting and blotting his manuscript that many errors were unexpunged, and many lines which might easily have been improved were neglected. when expostulated with upon this subject by his publisher, he replied that erasures were to him like cutting away so much of his flesh; thus expressing his utter repugnance to an author's most urgent duty. though macaulay tells us that his vices were not so great as his virtues, still he was dissipated and licentious. cowper was a great admirer of his poetry, and called him "the great churchill." george wither,[ ] the english poet, satirist, and political writer, was compelled to watch and fast when he was called upon to write. he "went out of himself," as he said, at such times, and if he tasted meat or drank one glass of wine he could not produce a verse or sentence. rogers, who wrote purely _con amore_, took all the time to perfect his work which his fancy dictated, and certainly over-refined many of his compositions. the "pleasures of memory" occupied him seven years. in writing, composing, re-writing, and altering his "columbus" and "human life," each required just double that period of time before the fastidious author felt satisfied to call it finished. besides this, the second edition of each went through another series of emendations. the observant reader will find that rogers has often weakened his first and best thoughts by this elaboration. the expression of true genius oftenest comes, like the lightning, in its full power and effect at the first flash. "every event that a man would master," says holmes, "must be mounted on the run, and no man ever caught the reins of a thought except as it galloped by him." one who has had years of active editorial experience on the daily press can hardly conceive of such fastidious slowness of composition as characterizes some authors. sir joshua reynolds, in speaking of rogers, rochefoucauld, cowper, and others, and their dilatory habits of composition, says, that although men of ordinary talents may be highly satisfied with their productions, men of genius never are,--an assumption which is not borne out by facts, as we shall have occasion to show in these chapters. modesty is not always the characteristic of genius; and very few popular writers are without a due share of vanity in their natures. voltaire somewhere says that an author should write with the rapidity which genius inspires, but should correct with care and deliberation; which doubtless expresses the process adopted by this unscrupulous but versatile writer, of whom carlyle said: "with the single exception of luther, there is perhaps, in these modern ages, no other man of a merely intellectual character, whose influence and reputation have become so entirely european as that of voltaire." sydney smith was so rapid a producer that he had not patience even to read over his compositions when finished. he would throw down his manuscript and say: "there, it is done; now, kate, do look it over, and put dots to the _i's_ and strokes to the _t's_." he was once advised by a fashionable publisher to attempt a three-volume novel. "well," said he, after some seeming consideration, "if i do so, i must have an archdeacon for my hero, to fall in love with the pew-opener, with the clerk for a confidant; tyrannical interference of the church-wardens; clandestine correspondence concealed under the hassock; appeal to the parishioners," etc. he was overflowing with humor to the very close of life. he wrote to lady carlisle during his last illness, saying, "if you hear of sixteen or eighteen pounds of human flesh, they belong to _me_. i look as if a curate had been taken out of me." buffon caused his "Époques de la nature" to be copied eighteen times, so many corrections and changes were made. as he was then ( ) over seventy years of age, one would think this an evidence that his mind was failing him. pope covered with memoranda every scrap of clear paper which came in his way. some of his most elaborate literary work was begun and finished on the backs of old letters and bits of yellow wrappers. we do not wonder that such fragmentary manuscript always suggested the idea of revision and correction. it is difficult to understand why pope should have assumed this small virtue of economy and yet often have been lavish in other directions; indeed, it may be questioned whether it was intended to be an act of economy. such petty parsimony is inexplicable, but certainly it grew into a fixed habit with him. we believe it was swift who first called him "paper-saving pope;" but swift was nearly as eccentric a paper-saver as pope. he wrote to dr. sheridan: "keep very regular accounts, in large books and a fair hand; not like me, who, to save paper, confuse everything!" miss mitford had the same habit of writing upon waste scraps of paper, fly-leaves of books, envelopes, and odd rejected bits, all in so small a hand as to be nearly illegible. william hazlitt was also remarkable for the same practice, and we are told that he even made the first outline of some of his essays on the walls of his chamber, much to the annoyance of his landlady. some idea of the rapidity with which byron wrote may be inferred from the fact that the "prisoner of chillon" was written in two days and sent away complete to the printer. the traveller in switzerland does not fail to visit the house--once a wayside inn, at merges, on the lake of geneva--where byron wrote this poem while detained by a rainstorm, in . on the heights close at hand is the castle of wuffens, dating back to the tenth century. morges is a couple of leagues from lausanne, and the spot where gibbon finished his "rise and fall of the roman empire," in . colton, the philosophical but erratic author of "lacon," wrote that entire volume upon covers of letters and such small scraps of paper as happened to be at hand when a happy thought inspired him. having completed a sentence, and rounded it to suit his fancy, he threw it into a pile with hundreds of others, which were finally turned over to the printer in a cloth bag. no classification or system of arrangement was observed. colton exhibited all the singularities that only too often characterize genius, especially as regards improvidence and recklessness of habit. he lived unattended, in a single room in princes street, soho, london, in a neglected apartment containing scarcely any furniture. he wrote very illegibly upon a rough deal table with a stumpy pen. he was finally so pressed with debts that he absconded to avoid his london creditors, though he held the very comfortable vicarage of kew, in surrey. montaigne, the french philosopher and essayist, whose writings have been translated into every modern tongue, like the musician sacchini was marvellously fond of cats, and would not sit down to write without his favorite by his side. thomas moore required complete isolation when he did literary work, and shut himself up, as did charles dickens. he was a very slow and painstaking producer. some friend having congratulated him upon the seeming facility and appropriateness with which a certain line was introduced into a poem he had just published, moore replied, "facility! that line cost me hours of patient labor to achieve." his verses, which read so smoothly, and which appear to have glided so easily from his pen, were the result of infinite labor and patience. his manuscript, like tennyson's, was written, amended, rewritten, and written again, until it was finally satisfactory to his critical ear and fancy. "easy writing," said sheridan, "is commonly damned hard reading." bishop warburton tells us that he could "only write in a hand-to-mouth style" unless he had all his books about him; and that the blowing of an east wind, or a fit of the spleen, incapacitated him for literary work; and still another english bishop could write only when in full canonicals, a fact which he frankly admitted. milton would not attempt to compose except between the vernal and autumnal equinoxes, at which season his poetry came as if by inspiration, and with scarcely a mental effort.[ ] thomson, collins, and gray entertained very similar ideas, which when expressed so incensed dr. johnson that he publicly ridiculed them. crabbe fancied that there was something in the effect of a sudden fall of snow that in an extraordinary manner stimulated him to poetic composition; while lord orrery found no stimulant equal to a fit of the gout!--all of which fancies are but mild forms of monomania. james hogg (the ettrick shepherd) was only too glad to write without any of these accessories, when he could get any material to write upon. he used to employ a bit of slate, for want of the necessary paper and ink. the son of an humble scottish farmer, he experienced all sorts of misfortunes in his endeavors to pursue literature as a calling. he was both a prose and poetic writer of considerable native genius, and formed one of the well-drawn characters of christopher north's "noctes ambrosianæ." n. p. willis in the latter years of his life was accustomed to ride on horseback before he sat down to write. he believed there was a certain nervo-vital influence imparted from the robust health and strength of the animal to the rider, as he once told the writer of these pages; and, so far as one could judge, the influence upon himself certainly favored such a conclusion. some authors frankly acknowledge that they have not the necessary degree of patience to apply themselves to the correction of their manuscripts. ovid, the popular roman poet, admitted this. such people may compose with pleasure, but there is the end; neither a sense of responsibility nor a desire for correctness can overcome their constitutional laziness. pope, dryden, moore, coleridge, swift,--in short, nine-tenths of the popular authors of the past and the present, all change, correct, amplify, or contract, and interline more or less every page of manuscript which they produce, and often to such a degree as greatly to confuse the compositors. richard savage, the unfortunate english poet, could not, or would not, bring himself to correct his faulty sentences, being greatly indebted to the intelligence of the proof-reader for the presentable form in which his writings finally appeared. julius scaliger, a celebrated scholar and critic, was, on the other hand, an example of remarkable correctness, so that his manuscript and the printer's pages corresponded exactly, page for page and line for line. hume,[ ] the historian, was never done with his manifold corrections; his sense of responsibility was unlimited, and his appreciation of his calling was grand. fénelon and gibbon were absolutely correct in their first efforts; and so was adam smith, though he dictated to an amanuensis. we are by no means without sympathy for those writers who dread and avoid the reperusal and correction of their manuscripts. only those who are familiar with the detail of book-making can possibly realize its trying minutiæ. when one has finished the composition and writing of a chapter, his work is only begun; it must be read and re-read with care, to be sure of absolute correctness. when once in type, it must be again carefully read for the correction of printer's errors, and again revised by second proof; and finally a third proof is necessary, to make sure that all errors previously marked have been corrected. by this time, however satisfactory in composition, the text becomes "more tedious than a twice-told tale." any author must be singularly conceited who can, after such experience, take up a chapter or book of his own production and read it with any great degree of satisfaction. godeau, bishop of venice, used to say that "to compose is an author's heaven; to correct, an author's purgatory; but to revise the press, an author's hell!" guido reni, whose superb paintings are among the gems of the vatican, in the height of his fame would not touch pencil or brush except in full dress. he ruined himself by gambling and dissolute habits, and became lost as to all ambition for that art which had been so grand a mistress to him in the beginning. he finally arrived at that stage where he lost at the gaming-table and in riotous living what he earned by contract under one who managed his affairs, giving him a stipulated sum for just so much daily work in his studio. such was the famous author of that splendid example of art, the "martyrdom of saint peter," in the vatican. parmigiano, the eminent painter, was full of the wildness of genius. he became mad after the philosopher's stone, jilting art as a mistress, though his eager creditors forced him to set once more to work, though to little effect. great painters, like great writers, have had their peculiar modes of producing their effects. thus domenichino was accustomed to assume and enact before the canvas the passion and character he intended to depict with the brush. while engaged upon the "martyrdom of saint andrew," caracci, a brother painter, came into his studio and found him in a violent passion. when this fit of abstraction had passed, caracci embraced him, admitting that domenichino had proved himself his master, and that he had learned from him the true manner of expressing sentiment or passion upon the canvas. richard wilson, the eminent english landscape-painter, strove in vain, he said, to paint the motes dancing in the sunshine. a friend coming into his studio found the artist sitting dejected on the floor, looking at his last work. the new-comer examined the canvas and remarked critically that it looked like a broad landscape just after a shower. wilson started to his feet in delight, saying, "that is the effect i intended to represent, but thought i had failed." poor wilson possessed undoubted genius, but neglected his art for brandy, and was himself neglected in turn. he was one of the original members of the royal academy. undoubtedly, genius is at times nonplussed and at fault, like plain humanity, and is helped out of a temporary dilemma by accident,--as when poussin the painter, having lost all patience in his fruitless attempts to produce a certain result with the brush, impatiently dashed his sponge against the canvas and brought out thereby the precise effect desired; namely, the foam on a horse's mouth. washington allston[ ] is recalled to us in this connection, one of the most eminent of our american painters, and a poet of no ordinary pretensions. "the sylphs of the seasons and other poems" was published in . he was remarkable for his graphic and animated conversational powers, and was the warm personal friend of coleridge and washington irving. irving says, "his memory i hold in reverence and affection as one of the purest, noblest, and most intellectual beings that ever honored me with his friendship." while living in london he was elected associate of the royal academy. bostonians are familiar with allston's half-finished picture of "belshazzar's feast," upon which he was engaged when death snatched him from his work. chapter iv. it has been said that the first three men in the world were a gardener, a ploughman, and a grazier; while all political economists admit that the real wealth and stamina of a nation must be looked for among the cultivators of the soil. was it not swift who declared that the man who could make two ears of corn or two blades of grass grow upon a spot of ground where only one grew before, deserved better of mankind than the whole race of politicians? bacon, cowley, sir william temple, buffon, and addison were all attached to horticulture, and more or less time was devoted by them to the cultivation of trees and plants of various sorts; nor did they fail to record the refined delight and the profit they derived therefrom. daniel webster was an enthusiastic agriculturist; so were washington, adams, jefferson, walter scott, horace greeley, gladstone, evarts,[ ] wilder, loring, poore, and a host of other contemporaneous and noted men. "they who labor in the earth," said jefferson, "are the chosen people of god." but the habits and mode of composition adopted by literary men still crowd upon the memory. hobbes, the famous english philosopher, author of a "treatise on human nature," a political work entitled the "leviathan," etc., was accustomed to compose in the open air. the top of his walking-stick was supplied with pen and inkhorn, and he would pause anywhere to record his thoughts in the note-book always carried in his pocket. virgil rose early in the morning and wrote at a furious rate innumerable verses, which he afterwards pruned and altered and polished, as he said, after the manner of a bear licking her cubs into shape. the earl of roscommon, in his "essay on translated verse," declared this to be the duty of the poet,-- "to write with fury and correct with phlegm." dr. darwin, the ingenious english poet, wrote his works, like some others of whom we have spoken, on scraps of paper with a pencil while travelling. his old-fashioned sulky was so full of books as to give barely room for him to sit and to carry a well-stored hamper of fruits and sweetmeats, of which he was immoderately fond. rousseau tells us that he composed in bed at night, or else out of doors while walking, carefully recording his ideas in his brain, arranging and turning them many times until they satisfied him, and then he committed them to paper perfected. he said it was in vain for him to attempt to compose at a table surrounded by books and all the usual accessories of an author. irving wrote most of the "stout gentleman" mounted on a stile at stratford-on-avon, while his friend leslie, the painter, was engaged in taking sketches of the interesting locality. jane taylor, the english poetess and prose writer, began to produce creditable work at a very early age, and used at first to compose tales and dramas while whipping a top, committing them to paper at the close of that somewhat trivial exercise. as she grew older she said that she could find mental inspiration only from outdoor exercise. petavius, the learned jesuit, when composing his "theologica dogmata" and other works, would leave his table and pen at the end of every other hour to twirl his chair, first with one hand, then with the other, for ten minutes, by way of exercise. cardinal richelieu resorted to jumping in his garden, and in bad weather leaped over the chairs and tables indoors,--an exercise which seemed to have a special charm for him. samuel clark, the english philosopher and mathematician, adopted richelieu's plan of exercise when tired of continuous writing. pope says, with regard to exercise, "i, like a poor squirrel, am continually in motion, indeed, but it is only a cage of three feet: my little excursions are like those of a shopkeeper, who walks every day a mile or two before his own door, but minds his business all the while." we are told that douglas jerrold, when engaged in preparing literary matter, used to walk back and forth before his desk, talking wildly to himself, occasionally stopping to note down his thoughts. sometimes he would burst forth in boisterous laughter when he hit upon a droll idea. he was always extremely restless, would pass out of the house into the garden and stroll about, carelessly picking leaves from the trees and chewing them; then suddenly hastening back to his desk, he recorded any thoughts or sentences which had formed themselves in his mind. jerrold wrote so fine a hand, forming his letters so minutely, that his manuscript was hardly legible to those not accustomed to it. he was very fastidious about his writing-desk, permitting nothing upon it except pen, ink, and paper. like most persons who habitually resort to stimulants, he could not be content with a single glass of spirits or wine, but consumed many, until he was only too often unfitted for mental labor. jerrold's wit was of a coarser texture than that of sheridan, but, unlike his, it came with spontaneous force; it was always ready, though it had not the polish which premeditation is able to impart. oftentimes his wit was severely sarcastic, but as a rule it was only genial and mirth-provoking. it was asked in jerrold's club, on a certain occasion, what was the best definition of dogmatism. "there is but one," he instantly replied,--"the maturity of puppyism." a member remarked one day that the business of a mutual acquaintance was going to the devil. "all right," said jerrold; "then he's sure to get it back again." another member who was not very popular with the club, hearing a certain melody spoken of, said, "that always carries me away when i hear it." "cannot some one whistle it?" asked jerrold. another member, who was rather given to boasting, said: "very singular! i dined at the marchioness of so-and-so's last week, and we actually had no fish." "easily explained," said jerrold; "no doubt they had eaten it all upstairs." when heraud, a somewhat bombastic versifier, asked him if he had read his "descent into hell," jerrold instantly replied, "no; i had rather see it." being asked what was the idea of harriet martineau's rather atheistical book, he answered that it was plain enough,--"there is no god, and harriet is his prophet." this is even better than the remark of another wit who, when asked what was the outcome of a meeting before which three of the ablest and most dogmatic positivists in england made speeches, replied that the result arrived at was this: that there were three persons and no god. jerrold could not confine himself to any regular system of work, but drove the quill at such times and only to such purpose as his erratic mood indicated, jumping from one subject to another like one crossing a brook upon stepping-stones. this, however, was a habit by no means peculiar to douglas jerrold. there are some ludicrous stories told of him; like that of his being pursued by a printer's boy about the town, from house to club, from club to the theatre, and so on, and finally of his being overtaken, getting into a corner and writing an admirable article with pencil and paper on the top of his hat. agassiz,[ ] the great swiss naturalist, who became an adopted and honored son of this country, was singularly unmethodical in his habits of professional labor. if he was suddenly seized with an interest in some scientific inquiry, he would pursue it at once, putting by all present work, though it might be that he had just got fairly started in another direction. "i always like to take advantage," he would say, "of my productive moods." the rule that we must finish one thing before we begin another, had no force with him. an individual connected with the lyceum of a neighboring city called upon agassiz to induce him to lecture on a certain occasion, but was courteously informed by the scientist that he could not comply with the request. "it will be a great disappointment to our citizens," suggested the caller. "i am sorry for that," replied agassiz. "we will cheerfully give you double the usual price," added the agent, "if you will accommodate us." "ah, my dear sir," replied the scientist, with that earnest but genial expression so natural to his manly features, "i cannot afford to waste time in making money." a very similar habit of composition or study possessed goldsmith, coleridge, wordsworth, pope, and some others of the poets, who not infrequently laid by a half-constructed composition for two or three years, then finally took up the neglected theme, finished and published it. this unmethodical style of doing things is but one of the many eccentricities of genius. scott said he never knew a man of much ability who could be perfectly regular in his habits, while he had known many a blockhead who could. southey and coleridge were at complete antipodes in regard to regularity of habits and punctuality: the former did everything by rule, the latter nothing. charles lamb said of coleridge, "he left forty thousand treatises on metaphysics and divinity, not one of them complete." neither agassiz, coleridge, nor any of similar irregularity in work, is to be imitated in those respects. had it not been for agassiz's far-seeing and vigorous powers,--in short, for his great genius, he could never have accomplished his remarkable mission. the deduction which we naturally draw is, that method is a good servant but a bad master. if genius were to be trammelled by system and order, it would suffocate. perhaps montaigne was nearly right when he thought that individuals ought sometimes to cross the line of fixed rules, in order to awaken their vigor and keep them from growing musty. coleridge was much addicted to the habit of marginal writing; which, though sadly wasteful on his own part, was very enriching to those friends who loaned him from their libraries.[ ] charles lamb, who was not inclined to spare book-borrowers as a tribe, had no reflections to cast upon coleridge for this habit. the depth, weight, and originality of his comments as hastily and carelessly penned on the margins of books were wonderful, and if collected and classified would form several volumes, not only of captivating interest, but of rare critical value, as the few which have been brought together abundantly prove. in one volume which he returned to lamb is this memorandum: "i shall die soon, my dear charles lamb, and then you will not be vexed that i have be-scribbled your book. s. t. c., may d, ." "elia" valued these marginal notes beyond price, and said that to lose a volume to coleridge carried some sense and meaning with it. these critical notes often nearly equalled in quantity of matter the original text. in his article upon the subject, lamb says, "i counsel thee, shut not thy heart nor thy library against s. t. c." as we have already said, while this erratic expenditure of coleridge's rare literary taste and judgment enriched others, it in a degree impoverished himself; for had the same time and thought been expended upon consecutive literary work, it would have produced volumes of inestimable value to the world at large, and have proved monumental to their author. byron was addicted to marginalizing; and though he could not equal coleridge in the profundity of his criticisms, or impart such charming interest to them, still he was quite original and often piquant. burns contented himself with trifling criticisms of approval or disapproval pencilled in the margin of books, especially poetical ones, which were nearly all he was in the habit of reading. many famous authors and public men have been extravagantly fond of the rod and line, disciples of that patient and poetical angler, izaak walton. george herbert, the english poet; henry wotton, diplomatist and author; dr. paley, archdeacon of carlisle; john dryden, poet and dramatist; sydney smith, the witty divine; sir humphry davy, the eminent chemist,--all were devoted anglers.[ ] this brief list might be largely increased. bulwer-lytton says: "though no participator in the joys of more vehement sport, i have a pleasure that i cannot reconcile to my abstract notions of the tenderness due to dumb creatures, in the tranquil cruelty of angling. i can only palliate the wanton destructiveness of my amusement by trying to assure myself that my pleasure does not spring from the success of the treachery i practise towards a poor little fish, but rather from that innocent revelry in the luxuriance of summer life which only anglers enjoy to the utmost." walton puts himself on record in these words: "we may say of angling, as dr. boteler said of strawberries: 'doubtless god could have made a better berry, but doubtless god never did;' and so, if i might be judge, god never did make a more calm, quiet, innocent recreation than angling." sydney smith declared it to be an occupation fit for a bishop, and that it need in no way interfere with sermon-making. perhaps the best thing said or done in angling is an unpublished anecdote of the great preacher to the seamen,--the late father taylor, of boston. he was once lured to try his hand at the rod, and soon brought up a very little fish that had been tempted by his bait. he took the small creature carefully from the hook, gazed at it a moment, and then cast it back into the water, with this advice: "my little friend, go and tell your mother that you have seen a ghost!" dr. parr, the profound english scholar, was a most inveterate smoker; so was charles lamb,[ ] who one day said to his doctor, "i have acquired this habit by toiling over it, as some men toil after virtue." robert hall, the popular english divine, was very much addicted to tobacco and other stimulants. a friend who found him in his study blowing forth clouds of smoke from his lips, said, "there you are, at your old idol!" "yes," replied the divine, "burning it." napoleon could never abide smoking tobacco; yet observing how much other men seemed to enjoy it, he tried to acquire the habit, but finally gave it up in disgust. he, however, took snuff to excess. sir walter scott was very fond of smoking. thackeray, like burns, loved to get away by himself and enjoy the flavor of a rank tobacco-pipe. carlyle, like tennyson, did not care for a cigar, but kept a pipe in his mouth most of his waking hours. bulwer-lytton was a ceaseless smoker; and there are few if any notable germans who have not been addicted to the same indulgence. the nicotine produced from tobacco is one of the most deadly of all poisons, as has been proven by some startling experiments in the paris hospitals.[ ] thackeray said there was good eating in scott's novels. extending the remark, it might be added that there was good drinking in those of dickens, and good smoking in those of thackeray. dean swift relieved his sombre moods by harnessing his servants with cords and driving them, school-boy fashion, up and down the stairs and through the garden of the deanery of st. patrick's cathedral, dublin. dickens was controlled by a nervous activity which made him crave physical exercise of some sort, and he daily found relief in an eight or ten mile walk. thackeray once told the author of these pages that he preferred to take his exercise driving upon very easy roads. when dickens was in this country he was frequently accompanied in his long walks by the late james t. fields, who was ever ready to sacrifice himself to the pleasure of others. mr. fields was not partial to extreme pedestrian exercise, and the author of the "pickwick papers" tested his good-nature to the verge of exhaustion in this respect. dumas, when not otherwise engaged, was accustomed to go down into his kitchen, and, deposing the servants, cook his own dinner; and an excellent cook he must have been, if one half the stories rife about him be true. besides, did he not write an original cook-book, which still stands for good authority in the cafés of the boulevards? dr. warton, the english critic and author, as represented by contemporary authority, was noted for a love of vulgar society, which he daily sought in low tap-rooms and gin-shops, where he joked away the evening hours. turner the painter had similar tastes and habits, though he was of a reserved and unsociable character, and noted for his parsimony. shelley, goldsmith, and macaulay delighted in the company of young children. "they are so near to god," said shelley. "intercourse with them freshens and rejuvenates one's soul," wrote macaulay. "i love these little people; and it is not a small thing when they, who are so fresh from god, love us," said dickens. children always had a most tender and humanizing effect upon douglas jerrold, no matter what was his mood. he writes: "a creature undefiled by the taint of the world, unvexed by its injustice, unwearied by its hollow pleasures; a being fresh from the source of light, with something of its universal lustre in it. if childhood be this, how holy the duty to see that in its onward growth it shall be no other!" history tells us that henry of navarre, who was every inch a king, was often seen upon his palace floor with two of his children upon his back, playing elephant and rider. what a peep into the king's heart we get by this little picture of his domestic life! where was all the monarch's pride of state, his kingly dignity? "how hard it is to hide the sparks of nature!" it is related of epictetus that he would steal away from his philosophical associates to pass an hour romping with a group of children,--"to prattle, to creep, and to play with them." charles robert maturin, the poet, author of the tragedy of "bertram," and other successful dramas, could not endure to have children near him during his hours of literary composition. at such times he was particularly sensitive, and pasted a wafer on his forehead as a token to the members of his family that he was not to be interrupted. he said if he lost the thread of his ideas even for a moment, they were gone from him altogether. sir walter scott, on the contrary, was ever ready to lay down his pen at any moment, to exchange pleasant words with child or adult, friend or stranger; and it was notorious that children could always interrupt him with impunity. he declared that their childish accents made his heart dance with glee. he could not check their confidence and simplicity, though pressed upon him when his thoughts were soaring in poetic flights or describing vivid scenes of warfare and carnage. scott preserved considerable system, nevertheless, in his composition and labor. he lay awake, he tells us, for a brief period in the quiet of the early morning, and arranged carefully in his mind the work of the coming day. he laid out systematically the subject upon which he was writing, and resolved in what manner he would treat it. thus it was that he could lay down his pen at any moment without deranging the purpose of the work. he had one axiom to which he tenaciously adhered, and was often heard to repeat it to his dependants and friends: "do whatever is to be done, at once; take the hours of reflection or recreation after business, and never before it." schiller said that children made him half glad and half sorry,--always inclined to moralize. "happy child," he exclaims, "the cradle is still to thee a vast space: become a man, and the boundless world will be too small for thee." goethe was ever watchful, loving, and tender with the young. "children," he says, "like dogs, have so sharp and fine a scent, that they detect and hunt out everything." he thought their innocent delusions should be held sacred. elihu burritt, the "learned blacksmith," says that he once congratulated an humble farmer upon having a fine group of sons. "yes, they are good boys," was the father's answer. "i talk to them often, but i do not beat my children,--the world will beat them by and by, if they live." a fine thought, rudely expressed. shelley's interest in children was connected with his half belief in the platonic doctrine of pre-existence. as he was passing over one of the great london bridges, meditating on the mystery, he saw a poor working-woman with a child a few months old in her arms. here was an opportunity to bring the theory to a decisive test: and in his impulsive way he took the infant from its astonished mother, and in his shrill voice began to ask it questions as to the world from which it had so recently come. the child screamed, the indignant parent called for the police to rescue her baby from the philosophical kidnapper; and as shelley reluctantly delivered the infant to its mother's arms, he muttered, as he passed on, "how strange it is that these little creatures should be so provokingly reticent!" shelley was a child himself in many respects; in illustration of which the reader has only to recall the poet's singular amusement of sailing paper boats whenever he found himself conveniently near a pond. so long as the paper which he chanced to have about him lasted, he remained riveted to the spot. first he would use the cover of letters, next letters of little value; but he could not resist the temptation, finally, of employing for the purpose the letters of his most valued correspondents. he always carried a book in his pocket, but the fly-leaves were all consumed in forming these paper boats and setting them adrift to constitute a miniature fleet. once he found himself on the banks of the serpentine river without paper of any sort except a ten-pound note. he refrained for a while; but presently it was rapidly twisted into a boat by his skilful fingers, and devoted to his boat-sailing purpose without further delay. its progress being watched, it was finally picked up on the opposite shore of the river and returned to the owner for more legitimate use. charles lamb in his quaint way says: "i know that sweet children are the sweetest things in nature, not even excepting the delicate creatures which bear them; but the prettier the kind of a thing is, the more desirable it is that it should be pretty of its kind. one daisy differs not much from another in glory; but a violet should look and smell the daintiest."[ ] good and substantial food is quite as necessary to authors and public men, as to those who gain their livelihood by laborious physical employment. authors are, however, as a rule, rather inclined to free indulgence at table. there is as much intemperance in eating as in drinking. tom moore, who was the best diner-out of his day, said, by way of excusing this habit, "in grief, i have always found eating a wonderful relief." n. p. willis was quite a gourmand. "there are," he once wrote, "so few invalids untemptable by those deadly domestic enemies, sweetmeats, pastry, and gravies, that the usual civilities at a meal are very like being politely assisted to the grave." it is certainly better to punish our appetites than to be punished by them. dickens and thackeray were both inclined to free indulgence at the table, the former being struck with death at a public banquet. dean swift often gave better advice than he was himself inclined to follow. he says: "temperance," meaning both in eating and drinking, "is a necessary virtue to great men, since it is the parent of the mind, which philosophy allows to be one of the greatest felicities in life." macready, the famous english tragedian, would not touch food of any kind for some hours before making one of his grand dramatic efforts, but drank freely of strong tea before appearing in public,--a subtle stimulant in which the late rufus choate freely indulged, particularly before addressing a jury. abstinence in diet was a special virtue with milton. shelley utterly despised the pleasures of the table. walter scott was an abstemious eater. pope was a great epicure, and so was the poet gay. speaking of appetite, coleridge tells us of a man he once saw at a dinner-table, who struck him as remarkable for his dignity and wise face. the awful charm of his manner was not broken until the muffins appeared, and then the wise one exclaimed, "them's the jockeys for me!" dignity is sometimes very rudely unmasked, and an imposing air is nearly always the cloak of a fool. newton lived on the simplest food. "if aristotle could diet on acorns," he said, "so can i;" and before sitting down to study he exercised freely and abstained from food. dr. george fordyce, the eminent scotch physician, ate but one meal a day, saying that if one meal in twenty-four hours was enough for a lion, it was sufficient for a man; but in order not to be like the lion, he drank a bottle of port, half a pint of brandy, and a pitcher of ale with his one meal. lamartine used to pass one day in ten fasting, as he said, to clear both stomach and brain. aristo, the stoic philosopher, used to fast for days on acorns. thomas byron, a well-known author, never ate flesh of any sort. dryden's favorite dish was a chine of bacon. charles lamb was enamoured of roast pig. he said, "you can no more improve sucking pig than you can refine a violet!" keats was a very fastidious eater, but was fond of the table, especially where there was good wine,[ ] and yet he was not addicted to its intemperate use. dr. johnson was greedy over boiled mutton; and dr. rhondelet, the famous writer on fishes, was so fond of figs that he died from having at one time eaten immoderately of them. barrow, one of the greatest of english theologians and mathematicians, is said to have died of a surfeit of pears,--a fruit of which he was extravagantly fond. gastronomic appetite and reason have been compared to two buckets in a well; when one is at the top the other is at the bottom. byron nearly starved himself to prevent growing gross and uninteresting in physical aspect. addison was addicted to port and claret, and was accustomed, as already spoken of, while meditating a moral or political essay, to pace up and down the long gallery of holland house.[ ] when a humorous suggestion occurred to his fertile fancy, he solaced himself with claret; or fortified himself with a glass of port when a moral sentiment required to be enforced by an impressive close to a beautifully constructed sentence.[ ] this was after his frigid marriage to the dowager countess of warwick. on his death-bed he is reported to have said to her graceless son, "see how a christian can die!" probably the profligate youth, spying his father-in-law as he walked in the gallery, might have irreverently remarked: "see how a christian can drink!" but the truth is that addison, judged by the habits of his time, should be considered a moderate drinker. poe's nerves were so shattered that a slight amount of wine would intoxicate him into a frenzy of dissipation; the same amount swallowed by a regular toper would hardly disturb his brain at all. while pitt was quite a young man, he was so weakly that his physician ordered him to drink freely of port wine, and he thus contracted the habit of depending upon stimulants, and could not do without them. lord greville tells us he has seen him swallow a bottle of port wine by tumblerfuls before going to the house. this, together with the habit of late suppers, helped materially to shorten his life.[ ] goldsmith had a queer fancy for sassafras tea, from which he imagined he derived an excellent tonic effect. such a relish had certainly one element to recommend it,--and that was its harmlessness. dr. shaw, the english naturalist, nearly killed himself by drinking green tea to excess. haydn partook immoderately of strong coffee, and kept it brewing by his side while he composed. burns lived on whiskey for weeks together, supplemented by tobacco, which caused byron to say that he was "a strange compound of dirt and deity." aristippus of old lived up to his own motto; namely, "good cheer is no hindrance to a good life." few men reason about their appetites, but they give way to them until disease reminds them they are made of mortal stuff. even plutarch used to indulge at times in riotous living, saying, "you cannot reason with the belly; it has no ears." addison has pithily recorded his own ideas of this matter. "when i behold a fashionable table set out in all its magnificence," he says, "i fancy that i see gouts and dropsies, fevers and lethargies, with other innumerable distempers, lying in ambuscade among the dishes. nature delights in the most plain and simple diet. every animal but man keeps to one dish. herbs are the food of this species, fish of that, and flesh of a third. man falls upon everything that comes in his way; not the smallest fruit or excrescence of the earth, scarce a berry or a mushroom, can escape him." it is among the easiest of all things to outsit both our health and our pleasure at the table. "the pleasures of the palate," said shrewd old seneca, "deal with us like egyptian thieves, who strangle those whom they embrace." thackeray said towards the close of his life, that his physicians warned him habitually not to do what he habitually did. "they tell me that i should not drink wine, and somehow i drink wine; that i should not eat this or that, and, guided by my appetite for this or that, i disregard the warning." eminent men are not unlike the rest of humanity in a desire for some sort of recreation, and each one finds it after his own natural bent or fancy. literature is capable of affording the most rational and lasting enjoyment to cultured minds, but physical exercise has also its reasonable demands. the late victor emmanuel found recreation only in hunting, having a number of lodges devoted to this purpose in different parts of italy. mcmahon, late president of france, was also an ardent sportsman. william the conqueror passed all his leisure in the hunting-field; and president cleveland hastens with rod and gun to pass his vacation in the adirondack region. henry v. occupied a whole day at a time upon his one game,--tennis. cardinal mazarin, while virtual ruler of france, used to shut himself up in his library and pass an hour daily in jumping over the chairs. louis xvi. had a passion for constructing intricate locks and keys, many curious specimens of which are still extant in the cluny museum. charles ii. in his leisure hours enjoyed practical chemistry. john milton wiled away the long hours of his blindness, when not engaged in composing and dictating, by playing upon a cabinet organ; and chief justice saunders was given to the same recreation. the duke of burgundy had a singular fancy for constructing mechanical traps and surprises in his house and grounds, so that visitors were liable to encounter practical jokes at every turn. we might cover pages in enumerating the resorts of notable people in their instinctive search after necessary recreation from sterner duties. man must be doing something in order to be happy; action being quite as necessary to the health of body and brain as thought. schiller declared that he found the greatest happiness of life to consist in the regular discharge of some mechanical duty. "cheerfulness," says the shrewd and practical dr. horne, is "the daughter of employment; and i have known a man come home from a funeral in high spirits, merely because he had the management of it." it is in our unoccupied moments that discontent creeps into the mind; busy people have no time to be very miserable. amusements are not without a double purpose, and it is only a mistaken zeal which argues against those that are innocent. "let the world," says that wise old philosopher robert burton, "have their may-games, wakes, whatsunales, their dancings and concerts; their puppet-shows, hobby horses, tabors, bagpipes, balls, barley-breaks, and whatever sports and recreations please them best, provided they be followed with discretion." sir george cornewall lewis, a scholar as well as a statesman, found delight in a variety of intellectual work. he shirked as well as he could all invitations to parties, balls, and dinners, and once despairingly exclaimed, when he was called from his studies to enter into some form of amusement, "that life was tolerable were it not for its pleasures." chapter v. leonardo da vinci, the inspired painter of the "last supper" upon the walls of the time-worn milan convent,[ ] is said to have had a strange inclination for dirt. one biographer tells us he grovelled in it. da vinci was a great engineer and scientist, as well as artist. the face of judas in the group seated at the table carries with it a legend. the artist entertained a bitter enmity towards a priest of the cathedral who had worked him some vital injury, either real or imaginary. his revenge was clear to him; his enemy's hated features were impressed upon his mind, and so, a little modified to suit the supposed treacherous character of the disciple, were made to constitute those of judas at the moment when he contemplates the betrayal of his master. the likeness was too plain not to be recognized by those who knew of the ill feeling existing between the artist and priest. the result was that the latter was virtually banished from the city, as he asked to be, and was transferred to rome. raphael thought he could paint best under the inspiration of wine, and therefore used it freely. some modern critics pretend to discover the vinous influence in certain exaggerations of style peculiar to his best pictures. notwithstanding the number and grandeur of the works which he left behind him, he died prematurely at the age of thirty-seven. a book might easily be written upon the peculiarities and habits of artists; but we continue our desultory gossip. how often we see the lives and fortunes of individuals contingent upon seeming chance! cromwell and hampden, who were cousins, both took passage in a vessel that lay in the thames, bound for this country, in . they were actually on board, when an order of council prohibited the vessel from sailing. we recall two other instances of a similar character in the career of goethe and robert burns, each of whom was once on the eve of sailing for america to seek a foreign home. locke was banished from england by force of public opinion, in company with his friend lord ashley, and wrote his well-known "essay on the human understanding"[ ] in a dutch garret. he finally lived down all detraction, and was himself a practical example of that self-teaching which he so strongly advocates in his writings. he possessed a wonderful memory; so also did thomas fuller, who could repeat five hundred unconnected words after twice hearing them. coleridge esteemed fuller, not only for his wit, originality, and liberality, but as being the most sensible great man of an age that boasted a galaxy of great men. jeremy taylor, whose birth is shrouded in mystery, though he is said to be the son of a barber, was a singular compound, in character, of simplicity and erudition. he was always a child among children, and it is said that a child could at any time attract his attention. he encountered many of the sterner vicissitudes of life, being more than once cast into prison. in the civil war he was a decided adherent of charles i., and some have supposed him to have been a natural son of that monarch. emerson calls him the shakespeare of divines. gibbon, the distinguished historian, composed while walking back and forth in his room, completely arranging his ideas in his brain before taking his pen in hand, which in a degree accounts for the correctness of his manuscript.[ ] montaigne and châteaubriand,[ ] when disposed to composition, sought the open fields and unfrequented paths, where, somewhat like gibbon, they arranged their matter with great precision before sitting down to write. bacon always wrote in a small room, because, as he believed, it enabled him to concentrate his thoughts. franklin wrote and studied with a plate of bread and cheese by his side to repair mental waste, as he said, and also to economize time. is there not a ceaseless interest hanging over the domestic and professional habits of these famous men of the past? congreve, to whom pope dedicated his iliad and dryden submitted his poems for criticism before giving them to the public, was extremely popular, witty, and original as a dramatist. congreve was a slow writer, and was the father, as it were, of that style of writing which died with sheridan. he wrote only a few dramas, but those were incomparable for the brilliancy of the dialogue; yet the brilliancy was obtained by the hardest intellectual _work_. according to macaulay, no english author except byron had at so early an age stood so high in the estimation of his contemporaries. but the licentiousness and general immorality of the works of congreve are without excuse.[ ] he had not even the paltry plea of necessity, which might lead him to pander to a vitiated taste in seeking a market for his wares, as was evidently the case with fielding. he was very desirous to pass for a man of fashion, and affectedly sneered at his own literary productions, declaring them to be produced simply to while away his idle hours. vanity seems to have completely overshadowed any spirit of ambition which may have originally inspired him. flattery and royal patronage were the ruin of congreve so far as his after fame is concerned. had he known the wholesome spur of necessity, his grand powers would have shone with surpassing lustre. he had the genius, but not the incentive, wherewith to make a great name. pope is said, on a certain occasion, to have hinted as much to congreve, whom he really reverenced for his ability, and to have incurred his partial enmity thereby. "oh that men's ears should be to counsel deaf," says shakespeare, "but not to flattery." the broad inconsistency of congreve's dramas is the fact that all his characters are equally endowed with wit, culture, and genius. collier, in his review of the profaneness of the english stage, administered to congreve a merited castigation, to which the dramatist attempted to reply, but without success. the remarkable vicissitudes which have waited upon the career of men of genius, and especially of authors, are very noticeable. the earliest authentic history shows us the same fatality besetting the paths of such characters as has pursued them to the present day. the student of the past will recall as examples seneca and his friend lucan, who were honored and famous in the days of nero. both of these renowned authors, when condemned to death, lanced their veins and sung a dying requiem while the tide of their lives ebbed slowly away. so socrates drank of the fatal hemlock, like sappho and lucretius, voluntarily seeking death. "that which is a necessity to him that struggles, is little more than a choice to him who is willing," says seneca. sophocles, the greek tragic poet and rival of Æschylus, was brought to trial by his own children as a lunatic. he composed more than a hundred tragedies, of which seven are still extant. he also excelled as a musician. plautus, poet and dramatist, was at one time a baker's assistant, earning his bread by grinding corn in a hand-mill. tasso, italy's favorite epic poet, became broken-hearted from unrequited love, and was confined in a mad-house for years, and, illustrative of the mutability of fortune, was afterwards brought to rome to be crowned, like petrarch, with laurels, but died before the day of coronation. euripides, one of the three tragic poets of greece, was torn to pieces by dogs; and hesiod, a still more ancient poet, fell by the assassin's dagger. in later times there looms up the name of galileo, the discoverer and natural philosopher, imprisoned by the inquisition for teaching men that the world moved.[ ] "poor galileo," said a modern wit, "was too honest; he should have treated these inquisitors to a champagne supper, and they would have risen from it with the conviction that the world surely _did_ turn round." galileo's greatest affliction, however, was that of becoming totally blind. milton, who visited him in prison, tells us he was poor and old. in a letter which he dictated to a correspondent, galileo says: "alas! your dear friend has become irreparably blind. the heavens, the earth, this universe, which by wonderful observation i have enlarged a thousand times past the belief of former ages, are henceforth shrunk into the narrow space which i myself occupy." handel also passed the last of his life in the gloom of blindness; and beethoven was afflicted with incurable deafness, which nearly drove him to suicide.[ ] it was perhaps the most trying misfortune possible to one with his special endowments. have not these historic characters tested the familiar axiom that calamity is man's true touchstone? dante, the greatest poet between the augustan and elizabethan ages, was expatriated and exiled from wife and children, becoming a poverty-stricken wanderer. thus broken in heart and fortune he was hurried by persecution to his grave. spenser, who endowed english verse with the soul of harmony while eking out a life of misery, finally died in abject poverty. milton sold "paradise lost"[ ] for ten pounds. "when milton composed that grand poem," says carlyle, "he was not only poor but impoverished; he was in darkness, and with dangers compassed round, he sang his immortal song, and found fit audience, though few." at one time milton borrowed fifty pounds of jonathan hartop, of aldborough, who lived to the remarkable age of one hundred and thirty-eight years, dying in . he returned the loan at the time agreed upon, but mr. hartop, knowing his straitened circumstances, refused to take the money; the pride of the poet, however, was equal to his genius, and he sent the money back a second time with an angry letter, which was found years afterwards among the papers of the remarkable old man. corneille, the french dramatist; vaugelas, a noted author of the same nationality; crabbe, the english poet; chatterton, the precocious and versatile genius; holzmann, the profound oriental scholar; cervantes; camoens,[ ] the pride of portugal; and erasmus, the dutch scholar, who rose to the leadership of the literature of his day,--all lived more or less continuously on the verge of starvation. camoens had a black servant who had grown old with him. this man, a native of java, is said to have saved his master's life in the shipwreck whereby he lost all his fortune except his poems. in after years, when camoens became so much reduced as to be able no longer to support his servant, the faithful retainer begged in the streets of lisbon for bread to sustain the one great poet of portugal. le sage, author of "gil blas," was endowed with exquisite literary taste, but the victim of extreme poverty. de quincey, the eminent english author, tells us that he passed much time in london in the most abject want, living upon precarious charity. nowhere else can so vivid a picture of misused genius be found as in the "confessions of an english opium-eater." de quincey was noted for his rare conversational powers, supplemented by a vast and varied stock of information. he was finally successful in a business point of view, and was possessed of a noble generosity, as he relieved at a critical moment the necessities of coleridge at a cost of five hundred pounds. this was at a comparatively early period of de quincey's life. afterwards he was himself often in want of a tenth part of the sum. he was a voluminous writer, though not always publishing under his own name; his collection of works as issued in this country, edited by j. t. fields, forms some twenty volumes. let us not forget to mention sydenham, the english scholar who gave us, among other profound works, the best version of plato, and who breathed his last in a london sponging-house. "genius," says whipple, "may almost be defined as the faculty of acquiring poverty." some writers have contended, and not without reason, that such adversity was often providential; that without the spur of necessity genius would rarely accomplish its best, and that distress has often elicited talents which would otherwise have remained dormant. in speaking of burns, carlyle says: "we question whether for his culture as a poet, poverty and much suffering were not absolutely advantageous. great men in looking back over their lives have testified to that effect. 'i would not for much,' says jean paul, 'that i had been born rich.' and yet jean paul's birth was poor enough, for in another place he adds: 'the prisoner's allowance is bread and water, and i have often only the latter.' but the gold that is refined in the hottest furnace comes out the purest; or, as he has himself expressed it, 'the canary-bird sings sweetest the longer it has been trained in a darkened cage.'" horace emphatically declares, that adversity has the effect of developing talents which prosperous circumstances would not have elicited. the hardships endured by many historic persons crowd upon the mind in this connection. we remember john bunyan in bedford jail,[ ] writing that immortal work, "pilgrim's progress;" ben jonson,[ ] the comrade of shakespeare; john seldon, the profound scholar and author; and jeremy taylor, whose "holy living and dying" is only second to "pilgrim's progress,"--all of whom endured the suffering of imprisonment.[ ] nor must we forget sir walter raleigh, who during his thirteen years of prison-life produced his incomparable "history of the world."[ ] lydiat, the subtle scholar to whom dr. johnson refers, wrote his "annotations on the parian chronicles," while confined for debt in the king's bench; and wicquefort's curious work on ambassadors is dated from the prison to which he was condemned for life. voltaire wrote his "henriad" while confined in the bastile; de foe produced his best works within the walls of newgate; and cervantes gave the world "don quixote" from a prison.[ ] some of the sweetest love-lyrics extant were written by charles, duke of orleans, during his captivity of twenty-five years. baron trenck wrote his wonderful book of personal experience during a ten years' captivity in a subterranean dungeon at magdeburg,--a book which has been translated into every modern language. he was released from prison, but died by the guillotine at paris in . silvio pellico, the italian poet and dramatist, who wrote the well-known story of his prison life, was ten years confined in the fortress of spielberg, in moravia. ponce de leon, among the foremost of spanish poets, as well as the poet alonzo de ereilla, were victims of long and severe incarceration because they dared to translate the biblical songs of solomon into spanish. james howell, the english author, wrote his "familiar letters" in the fleet prison. so popular were they, that he had the pleasure of seeing ten editions of them published in rapid succession; this was about the year . william penn and roger williams, both founders of states in this country, suffered imprisonment. the former wrote his well-known "no cross, no crown" in the tower of london. oakley, the great oriental scholar, whose remarkable asiatic researches have rendered his name famous, wrote his work on the saracens in jail. cobbett, the political satirist, was no stranger to the inside of a prison; and we all remember cooper, the english chartist, who made himself famous by his "prison rhymes," written behind the frowning bars. montgomery suffered the same chilling influences for daring to make a public plea for freedom of speech. theodore hook, the novelist, delightful miscellaneous writer, and unrivalled wit, was for a long period imprisoned.[ ] richard lovelace, the english poet, was a gallant soldier who spilled his blood for his king in the civil war and impoverished himself in the same cause, was imprisoned for political reasons, and died poor and neglected at the age of forty. he wrote to "lucasta,"[ ] when going to the wars, that fine and often-quoted couplet:-- "i could not love thee, dear, so much, loved i not honor more." lucasta (_lux casta_, "pure light"), to whom his verses were dedicated, was lady sacheverell, whom he devotedly loved, but who married another after having been deceived by the false report that lovelace had been killed. he was liberated from prison under cromwell, but lived a wretched life thereafter. leigh hunt, the most genial of essayists, was imprisoned for two years, when he was visited by lamb, byron, and moore. his offence was a libel on the prince regent, afterwards george the fourth. madame guyon wrote the most of her beautiful poems--so greatly admired by cowper--while a captive for four years in the bastile. the great public library of paris contains forty octavo volumes of her writings. why does not some popular author give us a book upon this theme, and entitle it "behind the prison bars"? the suggestion is freely offered, and is perhaps worth considering. disraeli tells us: "the gate of the prison has sometimes been the porch of fame." the reference to lovelace reminds us that sometimes the female favorites of poets are selected from rather questionable positions, and certainly with very questionable taste. prior poured out his admiration in verses addressed to chloe, a fat barmaid; and bousard addressed poems to cassandra, who followed the same refining occupation. colletet, a french bard, addressed his lines to his servant-girl, whom he afterwards married. no doubt that oftenest the poet's mistress has no actual existence, but, like the sculptor's ideal, is the combined result drawn from several choice models. gilbert wakefield, the erudite scholar, theologian, and author, suffered two years' imprisonment for publishing his "enquiry into the expediency of public and social worship." "the sentence passed upon him was most infamous," says rogers, who, in company with his sister, visited the prisoner in dorchester jail. while incarcerated here, wakefield wrote his "noctes carcerariæ" ("prison nights"). matthew prior, the poet, diplomatist, courtier, and versatile author, was the son of a joiner, though it is not known exactly where he was born. chancing to interest the earl of dorset, he was educated at the cost of that liberal nobleman. he[ ] was one of those, as dr. johnson said, "that have burst out from an obscure original to great eminence." thackeray says of him, "he loved, he drank, he sang; and he was certainly deemed one of the brightest lights of queen anne's reign." his contempt for pedigree was very natural, and was wittily expressed in the epitaph which he wrote for himself:-- "nobles and heralds, by your leave, here lies what once was matthew prior; the son of adam and of eve: can bourbon or nassau claim higher?" schumann, the german musical composer, author of "paradise and the peri," in a fit of mental depression threw himself into the rhine, but was rescued. goethe, alfieri, raphael, and george sand all struggled against a nearly fatal temptation to end their earthly careers. the last named declared that at the sight of a body of water or a precipice she could hardly restrain herself from committing suicide! "genius bears within itself a principle of destruction, of death, and of madness," says lamartine. de quincey, who was never quite sane, was given to queer habits in connection with his literary work. he was wont to keep his manuscripts stored in his bath-tub, and carried his money in his hat.[ ] cowper, after a fruitless attempt to hang himself, became a religious monomaniac, "hovering in the twilight of reason and the dawn of insanity."[ ] moore, the gay, vivacious, witty, diner-out, sank finally into childish imbecility. john clare, the english peasant poet, was born in poverty; his early productions accidentally attracted attention and gained him patrons, but after a brief, irregular, unhappy career he died in an insane asylum. so also died charles fenno hoffman, our own popular poet, editor, and novelist, who wrote "sparkling and bright." cruden, the industrious author and compiler of the biblical concordance, suffered from long fits of insanity; and so did jeremy bentham,[ ] though he lived to extreme old age, and died so late as . congreve said it was the prerogative of great souls to be wretched; and jean paul, that great souls attract sorrows as lofty mountains do storms. lenau, the hungarian lyric poet, died in a mad-house; in the height of his fame he refused, when invited, to visit an asylum, saying, "i shall be there soon enough as it is." it would seem but charitable to attribute fits of insanity to carlyle, who pronounced most of his contemporaries "fools and lunatics." his wife confessed that she felt as if she were keeping a mad-house. vaugelas died in such poverty that he bequeathed his body to the surgeons at paris for a given sum with which to pay his last board-bill. in his will he wrote: "as there may still remain creditors unpaid after all that i have shall be disposed of, it is my last wish that my body should be sold to the surgeons to the best advantage, and that the purchase-money should go to discharge those debts which i owe to society, so that if i could not while living, at least when dead i may be useful." vaugelas was called the owl, because he ventured forth only at night, through fear of his creditors. next to the "newgate calendar," it has been said, the biography of authors is the most sickening chapter in the history of man. "woe be to the youthful poet who sets out upon his pilgrimage to the temple of fame with nothing but hope for his viaticum!" wrote southey, in , to a young man who had consulted him. "there is the slough of despond, and the hill of difficulty, and the valley of the shadow of death upon the way." coleridge's exhortation to youthful literati may be summed up in one sentence: "never pursue literature as a trade." béranger's advice was by no means to be despised. he spoke as one having authority, and he certainly had experience.[ ] "write if you will," he says, "versify if you must, sing away if the singing mood is an imperative mood, but on no account give up your other occupation; let your authorship be a pastime, not a trade; let it be your avocation, not your vocation." even the successful washington irving speaks of "the seductive but treacherous paths of literature." he adds: "there is no life more precarious in its profits and more fallacious in its enjoyments than that of an author." but these lines were addressed to his nephew, and must be taken _cum grano salis_. he had genius, his nephew had not; he never could have acquired so much money had he, like halleck, become a clerk,--even the clerk of mr. astor. the truth is, most writers have failed in authorship because they have not had talent enough to write books that an intelligent public would buy and read, and because their vagabond habits deterred them from being employed by merchants and tradesmen as salesmen and clerks. real genius now obtains a remuneration always higher than that of clerks and tradesmen. it is mediocre writers who mourn in our days; but they should never have taken as a profession a role they were incompetent to fill. they are like doctors who cannot obtain patients, and lawyers who cannot attract clients. but we were considering the past, not the present. robert heron, author, scholar, teacher, who wrote much that will live in literature, died in hopeless poverty. his "history of scotland" and his "universal geography" are still among our best books of reference. he says of himself in a paper written just before he died: "the tenor of my life has been temperate, laborious, humble, and quiet, and, to the utmost of my power, beneficent. for these last three months i have been brought to the very extremity of bodily and pecuniary distress, and i shudder at the thought of perishing in jail." yet such was his fate; he died in newgate. thomas decker, the english author, and collaborator with ford and rowley in the production of popular dramas, died in a debtor's prison. christopher smart, the personal friend of dr. johnson, produced his principal poem while confined in a mad-house. richard savage, the english poet, experienced a life which reads like fiction.[ ] the natural son of an english earl and countess, he was abandoned by his mother to the care of a nurse who brought him up in ignorance of his parentage. before he was thirty years of age he was tried and condemned for murder; and, though finally pardoned, he died in jail. during a considerable portion of the time that savage was engaged upon his tragedy of "sir thomas overbury," he was without lodgings and often without meat; nor had he any other convenience for study and composition than the open fields or the public streets. having formed his sentences and speeches in his mind, he would step into a shop, ask for pen and ink, and write down what he had composed upon such scraps of paper as he had picked up by chance, often from the street gutters. thomas hood, the famous english humorist, began at first as a clerk in a store, then became apprentice to an engraver; but his genius soon led him to seek literary occupation as a regular means of support. he was endowed with an unlimited fund of wit and comic power. his "song of the shirt" showed that he had also great tenderness and pathos in his nature. he edited various magazines and weekly papers, and published two or three humorous books; but his career was far from a success in any light. his life was occupied in incessant brain-work, aggravated by ill-health and the many uncertainties of authorship. he finally died poor in his forty-seventh year, leaving a dependent family. william thom was an english poet of genius, but very humbly born. he was at first a weaver and afterwards a strolling pedler, often only too glad to obtain a lodging in a country barn. the poor fellow said, "there's much good sleeping to be had in a hayloft." in one of these deplorable shelters his only child, who followed him, perished from hunger and exposure. thom published so late as a collection of his poems entitled, "rhymes and recollections of a hand-weaver." the volume was well received, and the author was given a dinner by his london admirers. he died at the age of fifty-nine in extreme poverty. we find two admirable poems by him in sargent's "british and american poets." the reader who has perused these pages thus far will doubtless have come to the conclusion that even talent is not developed as a rule in calm and sunshine, but that it must encounter the tempest in some form before the fruit can ripen. byron, in the third canto of "childe harold," thus gloomily declares the penalties of becoming famous:-- "he who ascends to mountain-tops shall find the loftiest peaks most wrapt in clouds and snow; he who surpasses or subdues mankind must look down on the hate of those below. though high _above_ the sun of glory glow, and far _beneath_ the earth and ocean spread, _round_ him are icy rocks, and loudly blow contending tempests on his naked head, and thus reward the toils which to those summits led." longfellow's idea is true and forcible: "time has a doomsday book, in which he is continually recording illustrious names. but as soon as a new name is written there, an old one disappears. only a few stand in illumined characters never to be effaced." thackeray's tender and beautiful thoughts upon this subject occur to us here: "to be rich, to be famous? do these profit a year hence, when other names sound louder than yours, when you lie hidden away under ground, along with the idle titles engraven on your coffin? only true love lives after you, follows your memory with secret blessings, or pervades you and intercedes for you. _non omnis moriar_, if, dying, i yet live in a tender heart or two; nor am lost and hopeless, living, if a sainted departed soul still loves and prays for me." chapter vi. our familiar gossip thus far concerning those whose lives by universal consent, "rising above the deluge of years," bear the impress of genius, has led us to speak of the hardships and vicissitudes to which they have so often been subjected. at this sad yet interesting aspect of genius we will continue to glance, observing, as hitherto, no chronological order, but discussing the personalities of each character as they are unrolled before us on the panorama of memory. handel, most original of composers, after losing his entire fortune in a legitimate effort to further the interests of the art he loved so well, passed the last of his life in the gloom of blindness. his glorious oratorios were most of them produced under the stress of keen adversity, loss of fortune, and failing health, quite sufficient to have discouraged any one not truly inspired.[ ] mozart also labored under the ban of poverty. he was glad to accept even the position of chapel-master. it is well known that during the composition of some of his masterpieces he and his family suffered for bread. the great composer was so absorbed in music that he was but a child in matters of business.[ ] whatever may be the true definition of genius, perseverance and application form no inconsiderable part of it. "it is a very great error," said mozart, "to suppose that my art has been easily acquired. i assure you that there is scarcely any one that has so worked at the study of composition as i have. you could hardly mention any famous composer whose writings i have not diligently and repeatedly studied throughout." a boy came to mozart wishing to compose something, and inquiring the way to begin. mozart told him to wait. "you composed much earlier," said the youth. "but asked nothing about it," replied the musician.[ ] willmott says very truly that genius finds its own road and carries its own lamp. we have seen that goldsmith produced some of his finest literary work under stress of circumstances. "oh, gods! gods!" he exclaimed to his friend bryanton, "here in a garret, writing for bread and expecting to be dunned for a milk-score!" like so many other children of genius, he was careless, extravagant, irregular, always in debt and difficulty, all which hurried him to his grave. he died at the age of forty-five. when, on his death-bed, the physician asked him if his mind was at ease, he answered, "no, it is not!" and these were his last words. in that exquisite story, the "vicar of wakefield,"[ ] we have the explanation of how he supported himself while on his travels. "i had some knowledge of music," he says, "and now turned what was once my amusement into a present means of subsistence. whenever i approached a peasant's house towards nightfall, i played one of my most merry tunes; and that procured me not only a lodging, but subsistence for the next day." goldsmith's many faults were all on the amiable side, though he was perhaps a little inclined to find fault with his ill-fortune in good set phrases. sometimes we are forced to remember that the misery which can so readily find relief in words of complaint is not dissimilar to that love which thackeray thought quite a bearable malady when finding an outlet in rhyme and prose. real suffering and profound sorrow are nearly always silent in proportion to their depth. it is evanescent afflictions which most readily find tongue. "to write well," says madame de staël, "we should feel truly; but not, as corinne did, heartbreakingly." if goldsmith did grumble, he had bitter cause. at one time having pawned everything that would bring money, he resorted to writing ballads at five shillings apiece, going out secretly in the evening to hear them sung in the streets. his five shillings were often shared with some importunate beggar. one day he gave away his bed-clothes to a poor woman who had none; and then, feeling cold at night, he ripped open his bed and was found lying up to his chin in the feathers! the very name of goldsmith seems to us to ring with a generous tone of unselfishness and human sympathy. the story is true of his leaving the card-table to relieve a poor woman whose voice as she sang some ditty in passing on the street came to his sensitive ear indicating distress. not a line can be found in all his productions where he has written severely against any one, though he was himself the subject of bitter criticism and literary abuse. he was not a very thorough reader of books, but owed his ability as a writer more to the keenness of his observation. nature and life were the books he studied; which was simply going to the fountain-head for his information. machiavelli, the renowned italian statesman, philosopher, and dramatist, whose picturesque history of florence alone would have entitled him to fame, was entirely misconstrued by the times in which he lived, suffering imprisonment, torture, and banishment in the cause of public liberty. macaulay says of him: "the name of a man whose genius has illumined all the dark places of policy, and to whose patriotic wisdom an oppressed people owed their last chance of emancipation, passed into a proverb of infamy." the victim of one age often becomes the idol of the next. dante,[ ] expatriated, and exiled from wife and children, is not forgotten. the greatest genius between the augustan and elizabethan ages, an accomplished musician, a painter of no mean repute, and a brilliant scholar, he yet enjoyed no contemporary fame. "the inventor of the spinning-jenny is pretty sure of his reward in his own day," says carlyle; "but the writer of a true poem, like the apostle of a true religion, is nearly as sure of the contrary." dante poured out the deep devotion of his youthful heart at the feet of that beatrice whose name he has rendered classic by the genius of his pen, though she did not live to bless him. his later marriage was ill-assorted and unhappy. the sublime and unique "divine comedy" was not even published until after its author's death. now the pilgrim bends with reverence over the grave whither he was hurried by persecution. how absurd are the transitions of which human appreciation is capable! even the cool, philosophical carlyle was struck with admiration of the poet's devotion. he says: "i know not in the world an affection equal to that of dante. it is a tenderness, a trembling, longing, pitying love, like the wail of Æolian harps,--soft, soft, like a child's young heart; one likens it to the song of angels; it is among the purest utterances of affection, perhaps the very purest that ever came out of a human soul." hard indeed seems to have been the fate of the italian dramatist and poet, bentivoglio, who, after impoverishing himself in acts of charity, literally selling all and giving the proceeds to the poor, when old and miserable was refused admission into a hospital which he had himself founded in his days of prosperity. kotzebue, the german author and dramatist, who wrote that remarkable play "the stranger," was a man beset with morbid melancholy, causing him to pray for death, which came at last by a murderous hand.[ ] philip massinger, the creator of "sir giles overreach," a dramatic conception almost worthy of shakespeare, despite his rare and wondrous powers, was the child of adversity. massinger wrote in conjunction with beaumont and fletcher, they getting whatever of credit was earned by the three. in those days, an established writer for the stage would frequently utilize the brains of others of less note, calling them to aid in productions which bore only the employer's name. there seemed to be no sunshine in massinger's life; it was all in shadow.[ ] could anything be more pathetic than this brief entry in the death chronicle of a london parish, under date of march , : "buried--philip massinger--a stranger." erasmus, the dutch scholar and philosopher, defrauded of his patrimony while an orphan of tender years, devoted himself to learning, and cheerfully submitted to every deprivation to secure it. while pursuing his studies in paris he was clothed in rags, and his form was cadaverous from want of food. it was at this time that he wrote to a friend, "as soon as i get any money, i will buy first greek books and then clothes." thus nurtured in the school of adversity, he rose to a proud distinction; and to him, more than to any other writer, was attributed the success of the reformation,--it being expressively remarked that he laid the egg which luther hatched. if it be true that an atmosphere of hardship is necessary to the nurture of genius, then certainly erasmus encountered the requisite discipline; but as dr. johnson says in his epigrammatic way, "there is a frightful interval between the seed and the timber." death is the dropping of the flower that the fruit may ripen. thus fame may follow, but seldom is contemporary; nor does true genius fail to recognize this. milton's ambition, to use his own words, was, "to leave something, so written, to after ages that they should not willingly let it die;" and cato said he had rather posterity should inquire why no statues were erected to him, than why they were. motherwell calls fame "a flower upon a dead man's heart." were it otherwise, were fame contemporary, it would be but the breath of popular applause, the shallowest phase of reputation. "i always distrust the accounts of eminent men by their contemporaries," says samuel rogers. "none of us has any reason to slander homer or julius caesar; but we find it difficult to divest ourselves of prejudices when we are writing about persons with whom we have been acquainted." it is tears which wash the eyes of poor humanity, and enable it to see the previously invisible land of beauty; it is threshing which separates the wheat from the chaff; every ripened genius has passed its gethsemane hours. "the eternal stars shine out as soon as it is dark enough!" says carlyle. izaak walton, the delightful biographer and charming miscellaneous writer, was an humble hosier in london in early life. it was sorrow caused by the death of his wife and children in the stived quarters of a poor city tradesman, which led him finally to turn his back upon the great metropolis and seek a home in the country. what seemed to him to be "dim funereal tapers," proved to be "heaven's distant lamps." influenced by the inspiring surroundings of nature, he produced his "complete angler;" of which charles lamb said, "it might sweeten a man's temper at any time to read it," and which modern criticism has pronounced one of the best pastorals in the english language. spenser, author of the "faerie queene," of whose birth little is known, died in great destitution, though he was buried near chaucer in westminster abbey. of his poetry campbell says: "he threw the soul of harmony into our verse, and made it more warmly, tenderly, and magnificently descriptive than it ever was before, or, with a few exceptions, it has ever been since." the best critics agree that the originality and richness of his allegorical personages vie with the splendor of ancient mythology. let us not forget to speak of schiller in his early indigence and distress, wanting friends and wanting bread, but yet bravely fighting the battle of life. the humble cottage is still extant, near leipsic, where he wrote the "song of joy" in those trying days.[ ] we recall crabbe, stern poet of life's strivings and hardships, reduced to the verge of starvation, and only relieved by the noble charity of edmund burke; and otway, one of the most admirable of english dramatists, author of "venice preserved," choked to death by the crust of bread he eagerly swallowed when weakened by famine. butler, the author of "hudibras,"[ ] died in poverty in a london garret. santara, the famous french painter, died neglected and penniless in a pauper hospital. andrea del sarto labored hard and patiently at a tailor's bench to procure the means of pursuing art; and benvenuto cellini[ ] languished in the dungeons of san angelo. we have spoken of de foe in prison, he who produced two hundred volumes, yet died insolvent. dr. johnson said there was never anything written by man that was wished longer by its readers, except "don quixote," "robinson crusoe," and "pilgrim's progress." the author of "robinson crusoe" says of himself: "i have gone through a life of wonders, and am the subject of a great variety of providences. i have been fed more by miracles than elijah when the ravens were his purveyors. in the school of affliction i have learned more philosophy than at the academy, and more divinity than from the pulpit. in prison i have learned that liberty does not consist in open doors and the egress and regress of locomotion. i have seen the rough side of the world as well as the smooth, and have in less than half a year tasted the difference between the closet of a king and the dungeon of newgate." "talent is often to be envied," says holmes, "and genius very commonly to be pitied; it stands twice the chance of the other of dying in a hospital, in jail, in debt, in bad repute." the example of robert greene's life carries with it an impressive moral. he was well educated, taking his degree at cambridge, england, and was a successful playwright and poet; but he was also improvident and reckless in his life, exhibiting more than the usual eccentricities of genius. he squandered his patrimony in dissipation, and died in great poverty. his last book, "the groatsworth of wit bought with a million of repentance," is a book both curious and rare.[ ] with all his dissipated proclivities, henry fielding had much more genius than robert greene. he too was constantly poor through his own recklessness. lady montagu, who was a kinswoman of his, said: "he was always wanting money, and would have wanted it had his hereditary lands been as extensive as his imagination." and yet he was a marvel of industry, ever slaving with the pen, writing often under excruciating pain, and producing his most famous work, "tom jones," as has been said, with an ache and a pain to every sentence. he was, as usual, very short of money when this work was finished, and tried to sell it to a second-class publisher for twenty-five pounds. thomson the poet heard of this from fielding, and told him to come to miller the book-publisher. this individual gave it to his wife to read, and she bade him to secure it by all means; so the publisher offered the impecunious author two hundred guineas for it, and the bargain was closed, to the entire satisfaction of both parties.[ ] critics have remarked upon the similarity between steele and fielding, though attributing the greater genius and learning to the latter. they were certainly alike in one respect; namely, as regarded a chronic state of impecuniosity. fielding said of himself that he had no choice but to be a hackney writer or a hackney coachman for a living. his genius deserved a better fate. owing to his poverty he was forced to throw upon the market many productions which he had much better have thrown into the fire. fortunately, in literature it is the rule that the unworthy perishes, and only the good remains. many of fielding's works have a just and lasting fame, and no library is complete without them. in spite of his many imperfections, which made brusque dr. johnson refuse to sit at table with him, there was much that was fine and lovable in harry fielding,--truthful, generous to a fault, and with wit and wisdom marvellously combined. gibbon, speaking of his own genealogy, refers to the fact of fielding being of the same family as the earl of denbigh, who, in common with the imperial family of austria, is descended from the celebrated rodolph of hapsburg. "while one branch," he says, "have contented themselves with being sheriffs of leicestershire and justices of the peace, the other has furnished emperors of germany and kings of spain; but the magnificent romance of 'tom jones' will be read with pleasure when the palace of the escurial is in ruins and the imperial eagle of austria is rolling in the dust." justice, like the sword of damocles, is ever suspended. nemesis is not dead, but sleepeth. sometimes old age seizes upon an ill-spent life, and gives us a striking example of the vicissitudes of genius. dean swift, the great master of biting satire and felicitous analogy, possessing the rarest qualities of wit, humor, and eloquence, was yet so paradoxical and inconsistent withal, as to lie under the suspicion of madness half of his life. ambitious, talented, ever seeking preferment, never satisfied, now a busy whig and now a noisy tory, he was a perfect brigand in politics, and his motto was, "stand and deliver." swift's bitterness, scorn, and subsequent misanthropy were the sequence of disappointment. "all my endeavors to distinguish myself," he wrote to bolingbroke, "were only for want of a great title and fortune, that i might be used like a lord by those who have an opinion of my parts; whether right or wrong is no great matter." coarse, sceptical, and irreligious,[ ] he was arrogant where he dared to be, and cautious with his money, though having a reputation for charity. "if you were in a strait," asks thackeray, "would you like such a benefactor? i think i would rather have had a potato and a friendly word from goldsmith, than be beholden to the dean for a guinea and a dinner." heartlessly vibrating between stella and vanessa, to the misery and mortification of both, he finally married the former, only to separate from her at the church door. we are fain to abhor the man while we freely acknowledge the lustre of his genius, and to see only providential justice in his fate, when in the later years of his life, grown morose, misanthropic, and solitary, watched at all times by a keeper, his memory and other faculties failed him, and the great dean became a picture of death in life. he made many enemies, and was bitterly criticised by his contemporaries, often not without ample justice. he has been stigmatized as "the apostate politician, the perjured lover, and the ribald priest,--a heart burning with hatred against the whole human race, a mind richly laden with images from the gutter and the lazar-house."[ ] at complete antipodes to this portrait is that of richard steele, the popular dramatist, essayist, and editor; the friend of addison, and one of the wittiest and most popular men of his day. his also was an erratic career, alternating between vice and virtue; or, as he says of himself, always sinning and repenting, until he finally outlived his relish for society, his income, and his health. "he was the best-natured creature in the world," says young; "even in his worst state of health he seemed to desire nothing but to please and be pleased." worn out and forgotten by his contemporaries, steele retired into the country and left posterity to appreciate his genius. with a warm heart overflowing with love of wife and children, his checkered life was yet full of faults and careless blunders, many of which were directly traceable to strong drink. little learned in books, but with a large knowledge of men and the world, he wrote with captivating simplicity and in the most colloquial style. social and kindly in the extreme, his whole character is in strong contrast with the harshness of swift and the dignified loneliness of addison.[ ] somehow we forget about the sword of damocles, and ignore nemesis altogether in connection with the name of steele; and while we do not forget his weaknesses, we recollect more readily his loving nature, his appreciation of beauty and goodness, and his warm sympathy and kindness of heart. it was steele who said of a noble lady of his time, that to love her was a liberal education. dr. johnson spent much of his early life in penury, wandering in the streets, sometimes all night, without the means to pay for a lodging. a garret was a luxury to him in those days.[ ] alas! what a satire upon learning and authorship! notwithstanding his powerful intellect, he was subject to such a singular and even superstitious dread of death, that he could hardly be persuaded to execute his will in later years. when garrick showed johnson his fine house and grounds at hampton court, the mind of the great lexicographer reverted to his special weakness, saying, "ah! david, david, these are the things which make a death-bed terrible." when he and garrick both became famous, they used to chaff each other about who came to london with two shillings, and who had two-and-sixpence. johnson was a confirmed hypochondriac; hence the gloom and morbid irritability of his disposition. his disorder entailed upon him perpetual fretfulness and mental despondency. had it not been for the wonderful vigor of his mind,--as in the case of cowper, who was similarly affected,--he would have been the inmate of a mad-house. macaulay says of johnson grown old: "in the fulness of his fame, and in the enjoyment of a competent fortune, he is better known to us than any other man in history. everything about him, his coat, his wig, his figure, his face, his scrofula, his st. vitus's dance, his rolling walk, his blinking eye, the outward signs which too clearly marked his approbation of his dinner, his insatiable appetite for fish-sauce and veal-pie with plums, his inextinguishable thirst for tea, his trick of touching the posts as he walked, his mysterious practice of treasuring up scraps of orange-peel, his morning slumbers, his midnight disputations, his contortions, his mutterings, his gruntings, his puffings, his vigorous, acute, and ready eloquence, his sarcastic wit, his vehemence, his indolence, his fits of tempestuous rage, his queer inmates, old mr. levitt and blind mrs. williams, the cat hodge and the negro frank,--are all as familiar to us as the objects by which we have been surrounded from childhood." the greatest talents are usually coupled with the most acute sensibility. rousseau imagined a phantom ever by his side; luther had his demon, who frequented his study at all hours. so realistic was the great reformer's imagination, that he was accustomed to throw at the intruder any article nearest at hand. the confusion thus caused may easily be conceived when on one such occasion he cast his inkstand, with its contents, at the supposed demon. cowper's weird and fatal messenger will also be remembered. tasso's spirits glided in the air,[ ] and mozart's "man in black" induced him to write his own requiem. but johnson saw omens in the most trifling circumstances. if he chanced, in passing out of the house, to place his left foot foremost, he would return and start with the right, as promising immunity from accident and a safe return. strange as it may seem, this eminent and profound man put faith in a long list of equally ridiculous omens in every-day life. he was a most voluminous and versatile writer, and excelled in delineating female characters; though burke did say "all the ladies of his dramatis personæ were johnsons in petticoats." few persons with means so limited as his ever spent more for charitable purposes; and if his disposition was irritable, his heart was kind. "he loved the poor," says mrs. thrale, "as i never yet saw any one else love them. he nursed whole nests of people in his house, where the lame, the blind, the sick, and the sorrowful found a sure retreat." now and then, throughout johnson's life, we get a glimpse that shows us the man, not as the world at large knew him, but as his unmasked heart appeared. does the reader recall the incident of his kneeling by the dying bed of an aged woman, and giving her a pious kiss, afterwards recording, "we parted firmly, hoping to meet again"? melancholy has been the very demon of genius, the skeleton in the closet of poets and philosophers. burton composed his "anatomy of melancholy" to divert his own depressed spirits.[ ] cowper is another example. he says of himself, "i was struck with such a dejection of spirits as none but they who have felt the same can have the least conception of." he was tenderly attached, it will be remembered, to his cousin theodora, who returned his love; but disappointment was the lot of both, as her parents, doubtless for good reasons, forbade the union. while the vastly humorous and popular ballad of "john gilpin" was delighting the londoners, and was being read to crowded audiences at high prices, the poor unhappy author was confined as a lunatic, and, to use his own words, was "encompassed by the midnight of absolute despair."[ ] the poet, like the clown in the ring, when he appears before the public must be all smiles and jests, though concealing perhaps an agony of physical or mental suffering. we know little of the real aspect which the face of harlequin presents beneath his mask. be sure he has his sorrows, deep and dark, in spite of the grinning features which he wears. who does not recall the words which thackeray makes his old and faithful gold pen utter:-- "i've help'd him to pen many a line for bread; to joke, with sorrow aching in his head; and make your laughter when his own heart bled." was there ever pleasanter or more genial reading than "cowper's familiar letters," full to the brim with sparkling humor? yet these were coined from his brain while in a state of hopeless dejection. "i wonder," he writes to mr. newton, "that a sportive thought should ever knock at the door of my intellect, and still more that it should gain admittance. it is as if harlequin should introduce himself into the gloomy chamber where a corpse is deposited in state." he was one of the most amiable and gifted, but also one of the unhappiest, of the children of genius. christopher smart, poet, scholar, and prose writer, was an eccentric individual, but of such undoubted ability as to challenge the admiration and win the friendship of dr. johnson, who wrote his biography. his habits finally became very bad, so that, delirium setting in, it was found necessary to confine him in an asylum. while there he wrote a very remarkable religious poem entitled the "song of david," produced in his rational moments, which exhibited sublimity and power, and is still considered one of the curiosities of english literature. smart improved in health and was discharged with his full reason restored, but was soon after committed to the king's bench prison for debt; and there he died, poverty-stricken and neglected, in . samuel boyle was a contemporary of smart, and was possessed of equal genius whether with the pen or the bottle. poor fellow! he got an indifferent living as a fag author, though he was capable of fine literary work. his poem entitled the "deity" fully proved this. ogle, the london publisher, used to employ boyle to translate some of chaucer's tales into modern english, which he did with much excellence and spirit, and for which he received threepence per printed line. the poor genius sank lower and lower, lived in a miserable garret, wearing a blanket about his shoulders, having no vest or coat, and was at last found famished to death with a pen in his hand. "hunger and nakedness," says carlyle, "perils and revilings, the prison, the cross, the poison-chalice, have in most times and countries been the market price the world has offered for wisdom, the welcome with which it has greeted those who have come to enlighten and purify it. homer and socrates and the christian apostles belong to old days; but the world's martyrology was not completed with them." richard payne knight, the greek scholar and antiquary, was a remarkable genius in his way. his gift of ancient coins, bronzes, and works of art presented to the british museum was valued at fifty thousand pounds. he was a poet of more than ordinary ability, and wrote, among other prose works, "an analytical enquiry into the principles of taste." he was for a number of consecutive years a member of parliament. he had singular attacks of melancholy, and finally developed such a loathing of life that he destroyed himself with poison. poverty has nearly always been the patrimony of the muses. "an author who attempts to live on the manufacture of his imagination," says whipple, "is constantly coquetting with starvation." a glance at the brief life of chatterton is evidence enough of the truth of this remark. he began to write poems of extraordinary merit at an immature age, and when a mere boy came up to london to seek for literary employment as a means of support. he wrote sermons, poems, essays, and political articles with an ability far beyond his years. he was indeed a prodigy of genius, and probably would have stood in the front rank of english poets had he lived to maturer years. no one ever equalled him at the same age, and tasso alone, says campbell, can be compared to him as a youthful prodigy. his life in the metropolis was one of great hardship and deprivation, as he often suffered for want of the simplest necessities of life, and grew so emaciated in appearance from the lack of food that strangers, sometimes meeting him in the street, forced him to accept a dinner which he was too proud to ask for. all this while, with much more consideration for the feelings of the family at home than thought for himself, he wrote cheerful letters to his mother, and even sent small and acceptable presents to his sister, in order to content them for his absence. seeking only expression for the divine afflatus within him, he had no thought of self, no care for the morrow. by degrees, young as he was, he sank into utter despondency, and was reduced to actual starvation. he was found at last upon his bed of straw, having taken his own life in a fit of desperation. at the time he swallowed the fatal poison he was not quite nineteen years of age. george combe, the english author, encountered a full share of the vicissitudes of genius. he was capable of much theoretical goodness, but was not practical in that respect. he wrote in his old age, "few men have enjoyed more of the pleasures and brilliance of life than myself;" yet he died in the king's bench, where he had taken refuge from his creditors, not leaving enough to pay the expenses of his funeral. many a child of genius has been compelled to prostitute godlike powers to repel the gnawings of hunger; as for instance holzman, the sagacious oriental scholar and professor of greek, who sold his notes on dion cassius for a dinner. the record of this learned man's struggles with dire want form a pathetic chapter in literary history. he tells us himself that at the age of eighteen he studied to acquire glory, but at twenty-five he studied to get bread. while these pages are preparing for the press, dr. moshlech, a scientist, and the master of ten languages, has died in the county almshouse of erie, pennsylvania. he was a prussian by birth, and graduated with high honors from the university of bonn; made medicine a specialty, and practised the profession for several years in paris, but finally turned his attention to science, and afterwards to the languages. he numbered among his friends many illustrious men, chief of whom were darwin and victor hugo. at the beginning of our late war he visited this country, and accepted a position as professor of greek and hebrew in bethany college, west virginia, which he held but a short time, owing to the war excitement. he subsequently practised medicine in ohio and pennsylvania, and wrote for scientific publications. he was so much interested in his work that he neglected to make provision for his old age; and when he could no longer pursue his profession, this man, who had associated with the most learned men of europe, was compelled to apply to a poorhouse for shelter and bread. even after he entered the almshouse he prepared a number of young men for college, and lectured occasionally before the erie historical society. few authors are so calm of spirit, or so assured of their position, as not to shrink from well-expressed criticism, and especially when it comes in the form of ridicule,--forgetting that although an ass may bray at a classic statue, an ass cannot create one.[ ] so sensitive was even newton to critical attacks, that whiston, another english philosopher, and a personal friend of sir isaac, said he was quite unmanned when any declaration of his was called in question by the reviewers; and further, that he (whiston) lost newton's favor, which he had enjoyed for twenty years, by contradicting him on some point of his printed works; "for," he adds, "no man was of a more fearful temper." some critics use the pen as the surgeon does the scalpel: they do not analyze, but they dissect. the flowers of the imagination, like the life of the body, vanish if too closely pressed. "criticism," says richter, "often takes from the tree caterpillar and blossoms together."[ ] thus was the heart of poor keats crushed and broken by the malignant severity of gifford in the "quarterly review." one would have thought that this captious critic, who by his own talent alone had worked his way from the cobbler's bench to the editorial chair of the "quarterly," would have been more considerate towards a man[ ] who, like himself, rose from humble associations. it only proved that the man who had successfully cast the slough of vulgar life, had still the heart of a clown. gifford was indignant and sensitive beyond measure at a published criticism on his translation of juvenal, which appeared in the "critical review;" and he put forth a sharp, angry answer, in the form of a large quarto pamphlet. no poet ever exhibited a more vivid perception of the beautiful, or greater powers of fancy, than keats; but the bitterness of the criticism referred to was too much for his delicate health and sensitive nature, hastening, if it did not actually develop, the seeds of consumption, of which he died. keats's father was a livery-stable keeper, and it is said that the future poet was born in the most humble quarters; but the irresistible fire of genius lighted his path, and had he lived past the noon of life, he would have carved his way to the highest fame. he finally went to rome, in the hope of recuperating his failing health; but that was not to be. in the last day of his illness a companion who had called in, asked him how he was. "better, my friend," he answered in a low voice. "i feel the daisies growing over me!" he died at rome in his twenty-sixth year, feb. , . his body lies in the english burial-ground outside the gates of the ancient city, by the appian way, and near to the pyramid of cestius. the simple slab that marks the spot interests one quite as much as many of the grand historical monuments of the via appia.[ ] we all remember the touching epitaph from his own pen:-- "here lies one whose name was writ in water." as to the effect of criticism in general, we are told that pope was observed to writhe in his chair on hearing the letter of cibber mentioned, with other severe criticism on the product of his hand and brain. the strictures, deserved and undeserved, which were publicly made on montesquieu are said to have hastened his death. ritson's extreme sensitiveness to criticism ended in lunacy, and racine is thought by many to have died from the same cause. surely disappointment tracks the path of genius. thus collins, the eminent lyric poet, whose "ode to the passions" has made his name famous and familiar in our day, did not live to enjoy his literary success; indeed, his death is known to have been hastened by long neglect. the last half of his brief life was darkened by melancholy,[ ] and his home was a lunatic asylum. the money received from his publishers as copyright on his poems he voluntarily refunded, also paying the entire expense of the edition, after which he made a bonfire of the sheets. as we have seen in so many other instances, it was left for posterity to do collins justice. in the course of a single generation, without any adventitious aid to bring them into notice, his poems have come to rank among the best of their kind in the language. poor collins! unfortunate in love, threatened with blindness, and harassed by bailiffs half his life, his career was one of unrest, unhappiness, and despair; death, the comforter of him whom time cannot console, gave the poet an early grave.[ ] small was the portion of happiness that fell to the share of these men of genius; the lonely places they occupied were too lofty for companionship. "the wild summits of the mountains are inaccessible," says madame necker; "only eagles and reptiles can get there." we have seen how hard appears the fate of genius as a rule, and that its possession is often at the cost of great deprivation and unhappiness. is it not difficult to recall an instance where a pronounced genius has also enjoyed the quiet beauty of domestic life? wordsworth's remark, however, is applicable: namely, that men do not make their homes unhappy because they have genius, but because they have not enough genius. the conclusion would seem to be that we may envy talent, but must oftenest pity genius. about half a century since, the well-known indiscretions of shelley caused his name to be tabooed in london society, though in moral attributes he stood immeasurably above his friend byron. still, he was amenable enough to censure. his poetry is strikingly brilliant; each line is a complete thought, and the whole sparkles like sunlight upon the sea. after being expelled from college he made a "gretna green" marriage with harriet westbrook, but eventually abandoned her with his two children,--the woman who had given up all for him, and who in her dark hour of sorrow and despair drowned herself.[ ] we can describe shelley's character no better than by comparing it to his longest poem, the "revolt of islam," which abounds in passages of surpassing beauty, but which as a whole is deficient in connection and human interest. it is as erratic as his own life.[ ] there is so much of bad in the best, and of good in the worst, that few of us are willing to sit in judgment upon poor humanity. time has softened the asperity of our feelings, and the productions of shelley's genius are now justly admired. when, after his fatal accident, his body was washed on shore, a copy of keats's poems was found in his pocket. his ashes now rest near those of his brother poet outside the gates of rome. as a striking example of his remarkable sensibility, we may mention the effect upon him when he first listened to the reading of coleridge's "christabel"[ ] in a small social circle. says one who was present, "shelley was so affected that he fainted dead away." he was consistent, and lived up to his convictions. while listening to the organ in an italian cathedral, he sighed that charity instead of faith was not regarded as the substance of religion. the maintenance of his opinion cost him a fine estate, so constant and profuse were his charities towards impoverished men of letters and the poor generally. the author of an "elegy written in a country church-yard"[ ] was absolutely a slave to diffidence and painful shyness,--a characteristic which led to bitter persecution while he was a young student; nor could he ever quite divest himself of this nervous timidity. hazlitt says of gray that "he was terrified out of his wits at the bare idea of having his portrait prefixed to his works, and probably died from nervous agitation at the publicity into which his name had been forced by his learning, taste, and genius." on the death of cibber, the vacant laureateship was offered to gray, but his sensitiveness led him to decline it.[ ] chapter vii. in these desultory chapters we have more than once seen that fame appeals to posterity; but in the instance of byron it was contemporary, for he tells us he "awoke one morning and found himself famous." no man's errors were ever more closely observed and recorded than his; and we are still too near the period of his life to forget his foibles and remember only the productions of his genius. byron, like pope, was a sufferer from physical deformity, and much of the morbid sensibility of both arose from their common misfortune. macaulay, speaking of byron, says: "he had naturally a generous and feeling heart, but his temper was wayward and irritable. he had a head which statuaries loved to copy, and a foot the deformity of which the beggar in the street mimicked. distinguished at once by the strength and by the weakness of his intellect, affectionate yet perverse, a poor lord and a handsome cripple, he required, if ever man required, the finest and most judicious training. but capriciously as nature had dealt with him, the parent to whom the office of forming his character was intrusted was more capricious still. she passed from paroxysms of rage to paroxysms of tenderness. at one time she stiffled him with her caresses; at another time she insulted his deformity. he came into the world; and the world treated him as his mother had treated him,--sometimes with fondness, sometimes with cruelty, never with justice. it indulged him without discrimination, and punished him without discrimination. he was truly a spoiled child,--the spoiled child of fortune, the spoiled child of fame, the spoiled child of society." the author of "don juan" was actuated at times by a strange recklessness, and a desire to seem worse than he really was. he aped the misanthrope, assumed unfelt remorse, and affected singularity, in order to court notoriety. however capricious may have been his temper, he came rightly enough by it, since his mother was noted for the frenzied violence of her passion, being wholly without judgment or self-control, and in nearly every respect disqualified for performing a parent's duty.[ ] byron was also a victim of hypochondria only in a less degree than johnson and cowley; and this is his one genuine excuse for the excesses into which he sometimes rushed headlong. no matter in what light we consider him, all must concede the fervor of his passionate genius; and therein lay his remarkable power, for man is at his greatest when stimulated by the passions. enthusiasm is contagious, and infuses a spirit of emulation; while reason, calm and forcible, only wins us by the slow process of conviction. the truest grandeur of our nature is often born of sorrow. those who have suffered most have developed the profoundest sympathies and have sung for us the sweetest notes. it is the heart which is seamed with scars that compels other hearts. charles lamb, at one time himself confined in an insane asylum, lived to the end of his days with, and in charge of, an unfortunate sister, who in a fit of madness murdered her mother,--an experience sufficient to cast, as it did, an awful blight over his whole life; but it was the occasion in him of an instance of holy human love and pure self-denial seldom equalled. poor mary lamb[ ] knew when these mental attacks were coming on, and then her brother and herself, hand in hand, sought the asylum, to the matron of which he would say, "i have brought mary again;" and presently, when the attack had passed, he was at the door of the asylum to receive her once more and take her kindly home. the domestic tragedy and his sister's condition caused lamb to give up all idea of marriage, though at the time of the sad occurrence he was sincerely attached to a lovely woman. the court, after mary's trial, consigned her to her brother's care. he wrote to his friend coleridge, "i am wedded to the fortunes of my sister and my poor old father." the father died not long subsequent, but mary survived charles thirteen years, dying in . with considerable ability as a versifier, lamb will not be remembered as a poet; his fame will rest on his essays and his sagacious criticisms. the "essays of elia" are inimitable, full of the author's personality, exquisitely delicate, poetical, whimsical, witty, and odd. the only fault to be reasonably found with them is their brevity. we wish there were a dozen volumes in place of one. they are the pedestal upon which the fame of this gentle, charitable, and quaint genius will ever rest. lamb's character was amiably eccentric, but always full of loving-kindness. the pseudonym of "elia" has become famous, and was first assumed in the author's contributions to the "london magazine." while his lovable disposition and pensive cast of thought tinge all his productions, there is ever a playfulness lurking just below the surface which is sure to captivate the most casual reader. during his life lamb was looked upon by the world as possessing more oddity than genius; but now all join in admitting him to be one of the fixed stars of literature.[ ] what a significant fact it is that lamb was so tenderly regarded by the galaxy of notable men with whom he associated! he was a schoolmate of coleridge and intimate with him for fifty years. southey, hazlitt, wordsworth, godwin, de quincey, edward irving, thomas hood, leigh hunt, and other men of literary fame were the warm and loving friends of charles lamb. with all his æsthetic proclivities, "elia" was of a sensuous nature. besides roast pig, he had other favored dishes, not rare and luxurious, but special, nevertheless. he was particularly fond of brawn, and considered tripe to be superlatively appetizing when suitably prepared. he was also a connoisseur in all sorts of drinks; not that he was extravagant,--on the contrary, he was to a degree self-denying, and even with all his little generosities and his care of his sister mary he managed to leave two thousand pounds, saved out of his always moderate income, to make that sister comfortable. he wrote to wordsworth: "god help me! i am a christian, an englishman, a londoner, a templar. when i put off these snug relations and go to the world to come, i shall be like a crow on the sand." lamb said that oftentimes absurd images forced themselves with irresistible power upon his mind,--such, for instance, as an elephant in a coach office gravely waiting to have his trunk booked; or a mermaid over a fish-kettle cooking her own tail![ ] wordsworth--to whom we have already alluded more than once--was at times distressingly poor, and in such straitened circumstances that he and his family denied themselves meat for days together. had it not been for the admirable influence of his sister dorothy, who cheered his spirits and counteracted his morbid tendencies, his mind might have drifted into something like insanity. his disappointment was great at the comparative failure of his literary work, which brought him little in the way of pecuniary return during his life. a fortunate legacy and comparatively sinecure office, however, finally afforded him humble independence. it seems gratuitous to refer to the natural weakness of so pure and good a man as wordsworth, but we have tried to be impartial in these pages. grand and simple as our poet was, he had the element of vanity snugly stowed away among his attributes, yet ready to betray itself on occasion. it is related that sometimes when he met a little child he would stop and ask him to observe his face carefully, so that in after years the child might be able to say he had seen the great wordsworth. "wordsworth," says charles lamb, "one day told me that he considered shakespeare greatly overrated. 'there is,' said he, 'an immensity of trick in all shakespeare wrote, and people are taken by it. now, if i had a mind, i could write exactly like shakespeare!' so you see," added lamb, "it was only the mind that was wanting!" the late james t. fields, who was a hearty admirer and personal friend of the poet, said, "yes, wordsworth was vain; but think for a moment what he has produced, and how much he had in him to be self-conscious of!" colton, better known by his _nom de plume_ of "lacon," is a vivid illustration of the eccentricities of genius. though he was a man whose personal character is entirely unworthy of our respect, yet no one can deny that he was endowed with marked and original powers. he comes before us in our day simply as the author of his remarkable laconics, full of spontaneous thoughts happily expressed, and which will compare favorably with the apothegms of bacon or the terse brevities of rochefoucauld. the eccentricities and irregularities of colton are almost too extravagant for belief, and certainly will not bear rehearsal. at one and the same time a clergyman of fair repute and the secret companion of sporting-men and gamblers, he was always playing a double part. he was the author of several important pamphlets and some excellent poetry, and, when abroad, the well-paid correspondent of the london press. notwithstanding the wit and consummate wisdom of the volume which made him famous, it must be admitted that he was incapable of appreciating what was grand and noble in principle. deeply in debt, he fled to paris to escape the importunities of his creditors, where he became a confirmed and undisguised gambler. here at one time he realized such an extraordinary run of luck as to break a famous bank, becoming the possessor of nearly thirty thousand pounds. his experience was like that of nearly every one who becomes suddenly rich in a similar manner. he lost every penny of his winnings within a few weeks, and retired to fontainebleau, where he ended his life by suicide.[ ] in future generations, when his personal career is forgotten, his one remarkable literary monument will still remain, like the column of luxor, imperishable. it is known to every mathematician that the regular gambler must lose in the end, even though he may "break the bank" now and then. even if the bank is honestly conducted, all the chances are against him. the theory of probabilities has become almost an exact science. arago,--the famous french astronomer and natural philosopher,--when consulted by a gentleman who was infatuated with the terrible vice of gambling, told him, within a few francs, how much he had lost the preceding year. "but i must play," was the answer. "it is true that i find my fortune diminishing every year, as you have stated; but can you not tell me how, on a capital of five million francs, i may save enough to give me a decent burial in the end?" arago, after learning the gambler's method of playing, and the sum he risked, told him that he must reduce the amount of his daily ventures to a certain small number of francs, and that, according to the law of chances, however cool and calm his playing, he would lose his five million francs in about fifteen years. every body of stockholders in a faro bank can calculate on twenty per cent of their investment being returned to them yearly. could genius enjoy the advantage of being judged by its peers, it would stand a better chance for contemporary fame; but overshadowed, as it so often is, by foibles, waywardness, and those passions alike common to the humble and the exalted, it must pass through the crucible of time to fit it for sincere homage. robert burns, whose struggle with fate began almost beside the cradle, and whose youth was one ceaseless buffeting with misfortune, is an illustration in point. his productions are not of a character to set aside altogether the remembrance of his follies, though we are all inclined to treat the memory of the scottish bard with indulgence and half reverence, while we hasten to acknowledge his great and unquestioned genius. burns was sadly addicted to whiskey and tobacco, which led byron, as we have already said, to call him "a strange compound of dirt and deity." the author of "childe harold" forgot the proverb about those who live in glass houses. burns, from early youth, was subject to extraordinary fits of dejection, which amounted to a species of hypochondria, long before convivial society had inoculated him with the then popular vice of intemperance. he became finally an incongruous mixture of mirth and melancholy, while poverty with its attendant ills was seldom from his door. he writes to a friend: "i have been for some time pining under secret wretchedness; the pang of disappointment, the sting of pride, and some wandering stabs of remorse settle on my vitals like vultures when my attention is not called away by the claims of society or the vagaries of the muse." poor, ill-fated genius![ ] by his follies and indulgences he as surely committed suicide in his thirty-seventh year as did the starving, half-delirious chatterton on his bed of straw. mrs. dunlop, an early patroness of burns, had in her family an old and favored housekeeper, who did not exactly relish her mistress's attention to a man of such low estate. in order to overcome her prejudice, her mistress induced the domestic to read one of burns's poems, the "cotter's saturday night." when mrs. dunlop inquired her opinion of the poem, the housekeeper replied with quaint indifference, "aweel, madam, that's vera weel." "is that all you have to say in its favor?" asked the mistress. "'deed, madam," she replied, "the like o' you quality may see a vast in 't; but i was aye used the like o' all that the poet has written about in my ain father's house, and atweel i dinna ken how he could hae described it any other gate." when burns heard of the old woman's criticism, he remarked that it was one of the highest compliments he had ever received. the name of thoreau suggests itself in this connection. he lived in a cabin erected by himself on the borders of walden pond, a voluntary hermit, frugal and self-denying, that he might enjoy a studious retirement. the intimate friend of emerson and hawthorne must have had fine original qualities to commend him. known at the outset only as an oddity, he grew finally to be respected and admired for his quaint genius. he experienced a disappointment in love, which doubtless had much to do with his social peculiarities.[ ] in business and the affairs of every-day life he was utterly impracticable. he supported himself during his college course at cambridge by teaching school, doing carpentering, and other work. the restrictions of society were intolerable to him; he never attended church, never paid a tax, and never voted. he ate no flesh, drank no wine, never used tobacco, and though a naturalist, used neither trap nor gun. when asked at dinner what dish he preferred, he answered, "the nearest." "so many negative superiorities smack somewhat of the prig," says one of his reviewers. "time," says thoreau, in his fanciful way, "is but a stream i go fishing in. i drink at it, but while i drink i see the sandy bottom and detect how shallow it is. its thin current slides away, but eternity remains. i would drink deeper--fish in the sky, whose bottom is pebbly with stars." he worshipped nature in all her forms, and depicted with a loving and exuberant fancy hills and water, with the myriad life which peopled them. he wrote several books which are read to-day with more of interest than when the author was alive. genius and inspiration are so nearly allied as to leave no dividing line, and the sublimity of martyrdom is often added to the column of fame. joan of arc, the most illustrious heroine of history, was born a poor peasant girl of lorraine; but at the age of eighteen, impelled by an exalted enthusiasm, she commanded an army of devoted followers, and raising the siege of orleans gave to charles vii. a crown. at the age of thirteen she said she received commands from heaven to go and liberate france; and with a confidence of divine support she pursued her mission. no romancer would dare to imagine or portray so glorious a heroine; fiction could not equal the actual deeds that this pure and lowly girl accomplished.[ ] that she was the agent of divine providence to bring about a great political object goes without saying; yet this maid of domremy was burned at the stake. rachel, the child of poverty, the itinerant of the parisian boulevards, infused with genius, suddenly became the idol of courts and of princes, being as devoutly worshipped by the lovers of art on the banks of the neva and the thames as on the shores of her beautiful seine. how strange were the vicissitudes of this wonderful artist, this frail child of genius! an actress of transcendent dramatic power, she leaves us the souvenir of a splendid star of histrionic art extinguished when it burned the brightest. one day, when rachel was thus singing and reciting on the public street, a benevolent-looking man, with pitying eyes, was attracted, in passing, by the child's intelligent look, and put a five-franc piece in her hand. she took the silver with a grateful courtesy and watched him until he passed out of sight. a citizen who had seen the generous act said, "that was victor hugo;" and the child-actress remembered the name ever after. but little did the great poet anticipate what the pale-faced child was destined to become in that world of art of which he was so distinguished a disciple. edwin forrest, our own famous tragedian, was in paris in , and was invited by the manager to see an actress who was to make her début at one of the theatres on a certain evening. the manager asked him, in the course of the performance, what he thought of the débutante. forrest replied that he feared she would never rise above mediocrity, and added, "but that jewish-looking girl, that little bag of bones, with the marble face and the flaming eyes,--there is demoniacal power in her. if she lives and does not burn out too soon, she will make a great actress." he referred to rachel, then in her fifteenth year. we all know how that genius developed. parsimony was a fixed trait of her character; she could not help it. "is it any wonder," she once said to a friend, "that i should be fond of money, considering the suffering i went through in my youth to earn a few sous?" it appears as if nature scattered her seeds of genius to the wind, so many take root and blossom in sterile places, and also that she delights to add vigor and glory to her chance productions. thus adelina patti, the greatest prima donna of her day, was once a barefooted child in the streets of new york. kings and queens, spellbound by her glorious voice, have delighted to honor her; but her domestic life was wrecked at the moment of her greatest professional triumph. complete success is granted to none. some bitterness is sure to tincture our cup of bliss, for, after all, it is of earth and not of heaven. perfection may exist with angels above, but not among mortals. the life of genius is beset with extraordinary temptations; the stimulating spur of praise, flattery, and high homage should be, but rarely is, counterbalanced by the curb of reason. we have already seen that great genius and true domestic happiness are seldom found under the same roof. the extraordinary development of certain faculties argues diminution in others; and where there are extremes, it is ever difficult to harmonize the various parts. miss landon, the youthful and tender poetess and novelist, known to the world by her familiar signature "l. e. l.," coined the treasures of her brain to support those who were dependent upon her. in one of her letters she says, "my life, since the age of fifteen years, has been one incessant struggle with adversity." her productions can hardly be said to bear the stamp of high genius, but they enjoyed a certain popularity and procured the much-needed money. the mystery of her early and mournful death is only known in heaven. she died from a dose of prussic acid, in her thirty-sixth year, which was also her bridal year.[ ] the infinitely sweet and touching poems of mrs. hemans were the outflow of a heart yearning for human affection and finding it not. her domestic life also proved to be a marked failure. she separated from her husband after six years of married life, and never saw him again. her genius was early developed; her poems were contributed to the london press at the age of fifteen.[ ] she died at the age of forty-one, worn out by domestic unhappiness and ill health. she has herself said, "there is strength deep-bedded in our hearts, of which we reck but little till the shafts of heaven have pierced its frail dwelling. must not earth be rent before her gems are found?" "it has been the fashion among youthful critics of late," says epes sargent, "to undervalue her productions; but not a few of these have a charm, a tenderness, and a spirit which must make them long dear to the hearts of the many." her complete works, containing a tragedy entitled, "the vespers of palermo," are contained in six volumes. we may also recall the sad, sad life of charlotte bronté, the poor curate's daughter, whose orphaned childhood was so miserable, and whose youth was drudgery as a schoolteacher at sixteen pounds a year. under the pressure of extreme ill health and a heart nearly broken with sorrow, this daughter of genius produced "jane eyre," a novel of such power, piquancy, and originality as to take the reading world by storm. she was finally married, but only to die in her bridal year. the three daughters of rev. patrick bronté were each endowed with literary genius, which under happier circumstances might have developed into famous results. charlotte wrote, as we have said, "jane eyre;" emily wrote "wuthering heights," an almost equally popular novel; and anne wrote the "tenant of wildfell hall." the three unitedly published in "poems by currer, ellis, and acton bell," the sisters' respective pseudonyms.[ ] the father's income was one hundred and seventy pounds a year, upon which to support a family of twelve persons. he was a man of more than ordinary culture and of much poetic talent. a volume of his poems was published in , entitled "cottage poems." he survived his whole family. many critics have pronounced "villette," published by charlotte a couple of years before her death, to be superior in construction and interest to "jane eyre." it would seem that deep and thoughtful minds, like deep waters, must have a gloom in them, and that ideal life leads to turbulence of soul. nathaniel hawthorne, endowed by nature with an acute and subtle intellect, always suffered more or less from a morbid sensibility. even in his youth, like burns, he was oppressed by fits of deep dejection, which gave his friends much anxiety. his order of genius was of the highest; of that there is no doubt. his style is simple, graceful, and forcible, with a power to awaken intense interest in the characters which he delineated. the "scarlet letter" is perhaps the best known and most popular of his several productions; and much of the same half-suppressed, feverish excitement is realized in its perusal as in a degree characterized hawthorne himself. his most prominent trait as an author lay in his originality and power of analysis.[ ] insanity is often the result of an overtasked sensitive brain wandering in the realms of fancy. like a high-mettled horse, it sometimes throws the rider,--as in the instance of cowper, collins, and others already spoken of in these pages. charles fenno hoffman, the ripe scholar, poet, and novelist, conceded to be one of the best song-writers we have had in america, was bereft of reason and died the inmate of an insane asylum, where the last quarter of his life was passed. while yet a boy, hoffman met with an accident so serious as to render necessary the amputation of one of his legs, and thenceforth he was obliged to go with a wooden one. béranger, like de foe, was at one period the prime favorite of the court, and presently was languishing within the dreary walls of the bastile, where he wrote some of his most effective poems. contemporary with béranger was alfred de musset, a poet and littérateur of rare excellence, possessed of a flow of poetical genius characterized by passion, vivacity, and grace, notwithstanding that a morbid, misanthropic frame of mind consumed him in secret. his youthful liaison with george sand is familiar to us all, and no doubt it left a weird influence upon his life. when de musset received money he would squander it in the most reckless dissipation, then live on bread and onions until he earned another supply, to be lavished in the same manner. he was the intimate friend of the duke of orleans, victor hugo, and other notable men, but deliberately chose the debasing career of a drunkard, and died at the premature age of forty-seven, a victim to the demon of alcohol. the grandmother of alexandre dumas the elder was an african negress. he enjoyed no educational advantages, until while yet a mere boy, actuated by a bohemian spirit, which always influenced him more or less, he wandered away from his native place (villers-cotterets, france), and sought a stranger's home in paris. many of the varied productions of this prolific and sensual novelist bear testimony to his african origin, in their savage voluptuousness and barbaric taste. dumas was one of the greatest plagiarists of modern times, so that it was said by his critics that he introduced the sweating system into literature. but no intelligent reader can deny that he was a great genius,[ ]--in evidence of which he possessed the thousand and one conventional characteristics of the race. at one time he would resort to all manner of expedients to dodge his creditors and escape arrest for debt, at another scattering gold with the most lavish and inconsiderate hand. unlike lamartine, he failed entirely in politics, but certainly was for years the most popular novelist in france. dumas was frequently in the receipt of large sums in gold from the many popular books which he wrote. when this money was received it was placed in a pile upon the table of his sitting-room, and if appealed to in behalf of a charity, or asked for aid by an impecunious caller, he sent the parties to _help themselves_ as long as the pile of napoleons lasted! such reckless disregard of reasonable care for money seems almost incredible; but this story is authenticated by his son, the present popular author and dramatist, alexandre dumas. the life of douglas jerrold is still another example of the mutability of fortune; at first call-boy in a theatre, then a sailor, and finally a printer's apprentice, he became at last a famous dramatist, essayist, wit, and humorist. the anecdote of his first contribution to the press is perhaps not too familiar to repeat. he was a youthful compositor in a publishing office, where he ventured to drop anonymously into the editor's box a contribution consisting of a criticism on "der freischütz." he lay awake that night thinking of his venture, and the next morning was rendered half frantic with joy when his copy was handed to him to be put into type by his own hands. appended to the copy the editor had written a note, asking the anonymous author for further contributions. jerrold became a prominent member of the brilliant coterie which made "punch," that daring wag, a great moral and political power. many of his best sayings--flashes of wit like those of wycherley, congreve, and sheridan--rarely found their way into print, being uttered in small social circles, or in the society of the london clubs, where he was rather feared for the keenness of his satire, as he was no respecter of persons. as a dramatist jerrold is best known by those popular plays, "the rent day" and "black-eyed susan,"[ ] the latter being still considered the best nautical drama on the stage. good-fellowship, as it is falsely called, was the bane of jerrold's life; and though he realized a most liberal income, he died poor and grievously in debt. during the last years of his life he was editor of "lloyd's weekly newspaper," from which he received one thousand pounds per annum, besides an income of a very handsome amount for other and various literary work. charles dickens, whose early career was not without its severe discipline, and who was indisputably one of the greatest literary geniuses of modern times, certainly shortened his life by free living. he was extravagantly fond of the pleasures of the table, and a constant participant in convivial occasions.[ ] undoubtedly his domestic infelicity was largely attributable to a habit of overstimulating, besides which, brandy and continuous literary effort are incompatible with each other. his later works will not compare favorably with his earlier ones. "our mutual friend" was not worthy of his reputation; and the half of "edwin drood" which was published was not of a character to make an intelligent reader desire more. at fifty-eight his brain was failing. both dickens and thackeray were really sacrificed to the moloch of conviviality. the latter was not only a remarkable novelist, but is entitled to distinct fame as a poet. he was a man of noble impulses, and charitable to a fault. he inherited a small fortune, in the expenditure of which he was very lavish, at one time giving the impecunious dr. maginn five hundred pounds,--an unfortunate brother author who appealed to thackeray when he was in a strait; and no needy man was ever refused by the author of "vanity fair." there are few objects which if held up against a strong light, will not betray some defect. a perfect emerald was perhaps never seen, and almost as rare is a perfect diamond; the magnifying-glass is pretty sure to detect some flaw in the gem, be it never so small. so the microscope applied to genius is apt to discover those imperfections of humanity from which no mortal is entirely exempt. washington said it was lamentable that great characters are so seldom without blot.[ ] edgar a. poe, whose genius has so lately received public recognition, was left an orphan at a tender age, thus lacking the moral influence and training which might have prevented the blight of his after years. his father was a law-student, and his mother an actress named elizabeth arnold. heaven had breathed into his soul the fire of a master-spirit, but at the same time endowed him with a morbid sensitiveness which rendered his imagination weird and gloomy. he became the victim of strong drink, and was thereby marked for an early grave, dying, after an erratic career, in a public hospital. he was an editor, critic, and poet, wielding a most witty but bitterly sarcastic pen. when penniless and in absolute want, he wrote to a friend, with a supreme contempt of the very sinews of war for which he was suffering: "the romans worshipped their standard, and the roman standard happened to be an eagle. our standard is only one tenth of an eagle, one dollar, but we make all even by adoring it with tenfold devotion." even in boyhood poe developed a wild, unruly disposition, being expelled from the university of virginia, and afterwards from the west point academy. the writer of these pages knew poe personally, and employed him as a regular contributor to a paper which the writer was editing. poe's literary reputation rests mainly upon one remarkable poem, "the raven." mr. lowell's portrait of the author of "the raven" is both concise and true,--"three fifths of him genius and two fifths sheer fudge." he was unquestionably a man of genius, but wrong-headed from very childhood. we must worship our literary heroes and heroines from afar: indeed, this will apply with force to all notables; intimacy is pretty sure to disenchant us. "the love or friendship of such people," says de quincey, "rather contracts itself into the narrow circle of individuals. you, if you are brilliant like themselves, they will hate; you, if you are dull, they will despise. gaze, therefore, on the splendor of such idols as a passing stranger. look for a moment as one sharing in the idolatry, but pass on before the splendor has been sullied by human frailty." admiration is the offspring of ignorance; even where familiarity does not breed contempt, it blunts the keenness of our homage, since to those that know them best, authors quickly come down from their pedestals and become only men and women. one of byron's biographers lays it down as a rule to avoid writers whose works amuse you; for when you see them they will delight you no more, though shelley, he admits, was an exception. mr. emerson thought the conditions of literary success almost destructive of the best social powers. we are told by lockhart that scott could not endure, in london or edinburgh, the little exclusive circles of literary society; he craved the company of men of business and affairs. "it is much better to read authors than to know them," says horace walpole. speaking of young mr. burke, he says (in ), that although a remarkably sensible man, "he has not worn off his authorship yet, and thinks there is nothing so charming as writers, and to be one. he will know better one of these days." even byron hated authors who were all author,--"fellows in foolscap uniform turned up with ink." miss mitford, in the ripeness of her experience, wrote that authors "as a general rule are the most disappointing people in the world;" much preferring persons who loved letters to those who followed the profession of authorship. sir egerton brydges, the prolific writer of sonnets, novels, essays, letters, etc., says: "i have observed that vulgar readers almost always lose their veneration for the writings of the genius with whom they have had personal intercourse." we have spoken several times of the remuneration realized by authors for their literary productions, and perhaps a few more words upon this subject may be of interest to the general reader. in the reigns of william iii., anne, and george i., literature, however excellent, could not find a sufficient market to fairly requite its authors. intelligent, cultured men could not realize remunerative incomes by their pen; so the political chiefs of those days came forward and extended official patronage to them in a manner which was often princely and munificent. thus congreve, scarcely yet twenty-one years of age, was given a place under government which made him independent for life. rowe, poet and dramatist, author of "tamerlane," was made under-secretary of state, and finally became poet-laureate, in . hughes, the poet and dramatist, also held a lucrative government office; he was the author of the "siege of damascus," a drama, singular to say, which was played for the first time on the evening of his death. ambrose phillips, an author of similar character, was made judge of the prerogative court of ireland. locke, the english philosopher, philanthropist, and voluminous writer, was the recipient of liberal government patronage. newton, it will be remembered, was made master of the royal mint. stepney, the poet, of whom dr. johnson said, "he is a very licentious translator, and does not recompense the neglect of his author by beauties of his own," was honored by various appointments, as also was matthew prior, of whom the same critic heartily approved. gay was made secretary of legation at five-and-twenty,--he whom we have seen come up to london and begin life as a mercer's clerk. montague is another illustrious example of those geniuses who may be said to have enjoyed at least a degree of sunshine as well as of shadow. his poem on the death of charles ii. led to his various appointments and his earldom. steele was made commissioner of stamps, and swift came very near being made a bishop.[ ] addison was appointed secretary of state, and dr. johnson was the recipient of a pension. the reader can easily add instances to such as we have enumerated as those most readily presenting themselves. in our own day excellence in literature is much more remunerative, and in a legitimate business way. good books sell, and authors receive fair royalties thereon; but even among us instances of official recognition for literary merit are not wanting. we recall in this connection bancroft the historian, as minister to germany; lowell the scholar and poet, minister to the court of st. james. hawthorne, irving, everett, motley, bayard taylor, howells, and others, have all been officially recognized in a similar manner. chapter viii. egotism in eminent characters is often amusing to us, but extremely undignified in them. it is almost always the betrayal of weakness,--the tongue of vanity. he who talks of himself, however humble the words, exposes a proud heart. still, as emerson says, "there are dull and bright, sacred and profane, coarse and fine egotists." carlyle was an egotist of the first water, and so were many other famous authors. demosthenes expressed his pleasure when even a fishwoman pointed him out in the streets of athens. margaret fuller once wrote: "i have now met all the minds of this country worth meeting, and find none comparable to my own "! the admiration point is ours; the words evince most insufferable vanity. no wonder emerson complained of her "mountainous me," or that lowell called the whole of her being a "capital i." even the gentle, undemonstrative hawthorne was obliged to denounce her vanity; and yet margaret was a woman full of kindly human instinct and of remarkable culture. dickens was vain,[ ] egotistical, and selfish,--traits which grew upon him as he advanced in years. thackeray, in his frank, open way, acknowledged his delight at being recognized by street gamins as the author of "vanity fair." hans andersen, like dante, confidently predicted his own future greatness. kepler declared that "god has not sent in six thousand years an observer like myself." buffon's vanity was proverbial and ridiculous; and yet the man was not ridiculous according to pope's idea, that "every man has just so much vanity as he lacks understanding," for we all know that buffon was a profound naturalist and scholar. "i am the greatest historian that ever lived," wrote gibbon in his private diary; and goethe said, "all i have had to do, i have done in kingly fashion." albert dürer, in reviewing his own work, wrote, "it cannot be better done." though he had in his day many admirers, and has even some at the present time, we confess that his pictures have no attraction for us. however, he has unquestionable merit as an engraver, and was court painter to charles v. ruskin's conceit peeps out everywhere in his writings. nothing could be more egotistical than disraeli's (beaconsfield) novels. george sand boastfully betrays her own liaison with de musset in her popular story of "elle et lui." "i shall be read," says southey, "by posterity, if i am not read now,--read with milton, and virgil, and dante, when poets whose works are now famous will only be known through a biographical dictionary."[ ] most of the eminent men among the ancients were superlatively conceited and vain. plato quoted the oracle which pronounced him great; cæsar frequently commends himself, and so does cicero. pliny puts himself on record as one of this class when he wrote to venator: "the longer your letter was, so much the more agreeable i thought it, especially as it turned entirely upon my works. i am not surprised you should find a pleasure in them, since i know you have the same affection for every composition of mine as you have for the author." "a modern instance" occurs to us here. when a certain distinguished lady asked lord brougham, the great english orator and author, who was the _best_ debater in the house of lords, his lordship modestly replied, "lord stanley is the _second_ best, madam." that some people who despise flatterers do not hesitate to flatter themselves, is an axiom to the truth of which we must all subscribe. in contradistinction to these, whittier, the quaker poet, wrote recently to a correspondent in that gentle, modest manner which is so characteristic of everything relating to him: "i have never thought of myself as a poet in the sense in which we use the word when we speak of the great poets. i have just said from time to time the things i had to say, and it has been a series of surprises to me that people should pay so much attention to them, and remember them so long." voltaire betrayed his conceit when he attempted to criticise shakespeare. balzac and victor hugo were two egotists. "there are only three writers of the french language," said balzac,--"victor hugo, théophile gautier, and myself." southey, young, pope, dryden, and wordsworth betrayed their vanity in an egregious manner. goldsmith was conspicuously vain at times. landor had a supreme estimate of his own productions, and wrote to wordsworth, concerning his "imaginary conversations," as follows: "in two thousand years there have not been five volumes in prose equal in their contents to these."[ ] voltaire's remark upon dante served only to illustrate his own spleen and jealousy. "his reputation," said the sarcastic frenchman, "will continually be growing greater, because there is now nobody who reads him." as for voltaire's tragedies, de tocqueville said he could not even read them through, and he doubted if anybody else could. scott said he read the "henriade" through, and _lived_, but it was when he was a young man, and then he read everything. dr. johnson once acknowledged that he never read milton through until he was obliged to do so in compiling his dictionary. southey said he had read spenser through about _thirty_ times, and that he could not read pope once. it was perhaps singular, but southey, coleridge, and wordsworth all failed to appreciate virgil. hannah more tells us that on a certain occasion when she was visiting the garricks in , david read aloud to herself and mrs. garrick her (hannah's) last poem. "after dinner garrick read 'sir eldred' with all his pathos and all his graces. i think i was never so ashamed in my life; but he read it so superbly that i cried like a child. only think what a ridiculous thing to cry at the reading of one's own poetry." in another place she says: "whether my writings have promoted the spiritual welfare of my readers, i know not; but they have enabled me to do good by private charity and public beneficence. i am almost ashamed to say that they have brought me thirty thousand pounds." burns was affected almost to tears when he heard for the first time george lockhart, of glasgow, sing his verses. "i'll be hanged if i knew half their merit until now!" he said. james hogg, the "ettrick shepherd," wrote, "i cannot express what my feelings were at first hearing a song of mine sung by a beautiful young lady in ettrick to her harpsichord." one recalls in this connection the legend told in rome of canova's disguising himself and mingling with the crowd of citizens that he might hear their comments upon a newly unveiled statue just completed by his own hands, and of the great satisfaction he bore away with him at their commendations. thomas hood could not suppress his pleasure at listening to the "song of the shirt"[ ] as sung by the poor sorrowing work-people in the london streets, adapted to rude airs of their own composition. béranger, the song-writer of france, acknowledged a similar delight in hearing his verses sung upon the parisian boulevards by the common people. francis jacox speaks of the first visit of the old poet ducis to his beloved master, louis xviii., when that monarch graciously recited to him some of his own verses. in an ecstasy of delight ducis exclaimed: "i am more fortunate than boileau or racine; they recited their verses to louis xiv., but my king recites my verses to me!" though people are said to be vainer of qualities which they fondly believe they have than of those which they do really possess, still we must allow to genius some latitude in the matter of conceit, since common people exhibit so much of that spirit on no capital at all. dr. holmes says of conceit, that "it is to character what salt is to the ocean,--it keeps it sweet and renders it endurable." perhaps the acme of conceit is reached when cicero says, "for all my toils and pains i have no recompense here; but hereafter, in heaven, among the immortal gods, i shall look back on my beloved city, and find my reward in seeing her made glorious by my career." horace, referring to his future fame, says, "i shall not wholly die." vanity, says shakespeare, keeps persons in favor with themselves who are out of favor with all others. he was not himself without a portion of that conceit which he says "in weakest bodies strongest works;" but there is this difference in his share of vanity,--he had, indeed, a genius the gods themselves might envy. he begins one of his sonnets,-- "not marble, nor the gilded monuments of princes, shall outlive this powerful rhyme." and again he says:-- "your monument shall be my gentle verse, which eyes not yet created shall o'er-read, and tongues to be your being shall rehearse when all the breathers of this world are dead; you still shall live--such virtue hath my pen-- where breath most breathes, even in the mouths of men." sydney smith's definition occurs to us here, wherein he defines vanity as "proceeding from the supposition of possessing something better than the rest of the world possesses. nobody is vain of possessing two legs and two arms, because that is the precise quantity of either sort of limb which everybody possesses." fielding bluntly tells the truth when he says, "there is scarcely any man, however much he may despise the character of a flatterer, but will condescend, in the meanest manner, to flatter himself." we have seen that even diogenes was gratified by popular praise, not to say flattered thereby; while the fact of his occupying so notable and peculiar an abode argued a degree of pride and vanity. did not thoreau also affect humility in his rudely built cabin on the borders of walden pond? certainly the idea of diogenes and his tub must have occurred to so classic a scholar as the concord hermit. southey's appeal to posterity to do him justice, in his letter to his publisher, will be remembered: "my day and popularity will come when i shall have said good-night to the world." de quincey remarks that posterity is very hard to get at; and swift thought the present age altogether too free in laying taxes on the next. "future ages shall talk of this; they shall be famous to all posterity;" whereas their time and thoughts, he believed, would be taken up with present things, as ours are now. carlyle thought dr. johnson's carelessness as to future fame a very remarkable trait in his character. the vanity of authors is their shame, and ought to be their secret. while it does not necessarily detract from the merit of their excellent productions, it prejudices all by belittling them in our estimation. oftentimes the career of these notables, as we have seen, has been one of surmounted difficulties and hardships endured for the sake of their chosen calling, embittering their nature, perhaps, yet at the same time tincturing them with an exultant spirit of success. there are examples in abundance, however, of an opposite character--examples of true modesty and self-forgetfulness--among poets and authors generally. the poet rogers, as well as whittier, is a happy example of an equable life with a full share of reasonable blessings. referring to his irreproachable career, sheridan told rogers it was easy for happy people to be good. "how noiseless falls the foot of time that only treads on flowers!" says william robert spencer. a modest estimate of self sits gracefully upon genius. listen to newton: "i do not know what i may appear to the world, but to myself i seem to have been only like a boy playing on the sea-shore, and diverting myself in now and then finding a smoother pebble or a prettier shell than ordinary, while the great ocean of truth lay all undiscovered before me." scott was very little tainted with vanity; indeed, he wrote in his diary that no one disliked or despised the "pap" of praise so heartily as he did. he said there was nothing he scorned more, except those persons who seem to praise one in order to be puffed in return. as a rule, he did not entertain a very high opinion of literary people, or, as we have seen, desire to associate with them. he said: "if i encounter men of the world, men of business, odd or striking characters of professional excellence in any department, i am in my element, for they cannot lionize me without my returning the compliment and learning something of them." some people think praise so pleasant and agreeable that they cannot have too much of it. goldsmith said garrick was a mere glutton of praise, who swallowed all he came across and mistook it for renown,--the fluffy of dunces. not actors alone, but writers also, are endowed with a very ravenous appetite for the same sort of nutriment. there is a nest of vanity in almost every breast, and according to burke it is omnivorous. rochefoucauld declared that men had little to say when not prompted by vanity. another example of unbounded self-conceit occurs to us in the instance of the french poet and dramatist scudéri, the protégé of cardinal richelieu. his genius was not to be doubted, but it was deeply shadowed by his vanity, as made manifest in the preface to his literary works, which abounds in gasconade pure and simple. of his epic poem "alaric" he says: "i have such a facility in writing verses, and also in my invention, that a poem of double its length would have cost me but little trouble. although it contains only eleven thousand lines, i believe that longer epics do not exhibit more embellishment than mine." poor, self-satisfied scudéri! both he and his works are very nearly forgotten, though he was an honored member of the french academy.[ ] john heyward, poet and jester, a court favorite in the days of queen mary, is another example of consummate vanity. he was among the earliest who wrote english plays. in a work which he produced, in , called "the spider and the fly," a parable there are seventy-seven chapters, and at the beginning of each is a portrait of the author in various attitudes, either sitting or standing by a window hung with cobwebs. dryden honestly declared that it was better for him to own his failing of vanity than for the world to do it for him; and adds: "for what other reason have i spent my life in so unprofitable a study? why am i grown old in seeking so unprofitable a reward as fame? the same parts and application which have made me a poet might have raised me to any honors of the gown." sometimes goethe speaks with the true breath of humility, and sometimes quite the reverse. he says, "had i earlier known how many excellent things have been in existence for hundreds and thousands of years, i should have written no line; i should have had enough else to do." and yet goethe is not only the most illustrious name in german literature, but one of the greatest poets of any age or nation. eugene sue,[ ] who was born in luxury, and who need never have written for support, would sit down to write only in full dress, even wearing, as we have seen, kid gloves,--an evidence of vanity which has a precedent in buffon, who when found engaged in literary work was always curled, powdered, ruffled, and perfumed. n. p. willis was as dainty in his dress as in his style of writing; and emerson's remark relative to nature would well apply to him, when he says, "she is never found in undress." ruskin, who lives in a glass house as it regards the matter of self esteem, charges goethe with self-complacency, and at the same time adds that this quality marks a second-rate character. the reader will not be long in determining which of the two was the more amenable to such criticism. before we dismiss mr. ruskin let us quote a letter of his published not long since, and written so late as , addressed to alexander mitchell. "what in the devil's name," he writes, "have you to do with either mr. disraeli or mr. gladstone? you are a student at the university, and have no more business with politics than you have with rat-catching. had you ever read ten words of mine with understanding, you would have known that i care no more for mr. disraeli or mr. gladstone than for two old bagpipes with their drones going by steam; but that i hate all liberalism as i do beelzebub, and that, with carlyle, i stand--we two alone now in england--for god and the queen!" so much for the vanity and conceit of mr. john ruskin. pope never saw the inside of a university, or indeed of a school worthy of the name. two romish priests attempted at different times to do something for him as personal tutors, but with little success. "this was all the teaching i had," he says, "and god knows it extended a very little way." and yet at the age of sixteen he thought himself, as he has recorded, "to be the greatest genius that ever was;" and we are afraid that this vanity and self-conceit never quite deserted him. atterbury compared him to homer in a nutshell. dr. johnson pronounces pope's iliad to be "the noblest version of poetry which the world has ever seen; and its publication must therefore be considered as one of the great events in the annals of learning." as soon as pope was pecuniarily able he made himself a comfortable home, and brought his aged parents into it and made them happy. he calls his existence "a long disease;" but if he was "sent into this breathing world but half made up," nature compensated him by the richness with which she endowed his brain. "in the streets he was an object of pity," says tuckerman; "at his desk, a king." though his life was embittered in a measure by his physical deformity and by ill-health, he was not lacking in the tenderness of heart which forms the key-note to all domestic happiness. "i never in my life knew," says bolingbroke, "a man who had so tender a heart for his particular friends, or a more general friendship for mankind." as to his poetry there has always been a great diversity of opinion, but we think it reached the height of art. it is therefore difficult to realize the egotism which could prompt the following couplet from his pen in the ripeness of his fame:-- "i own i'm proud,--i must be proud, to see men not afraid of god afraid of me." colley cibber was a sharp thorn in pope's side; he was a witty actor, as well as clever dramatist and mediocre poet. he was chosen poet-laureate in . his most popular comedy was "love's last shift, or the fool in fashion," though it divided the honors with the "careless husband," in which cibber himself enacted the principal role. dr. johnson disliked him because, "though he was not a blockhead, he was pert, petulant, and presumptuous." on the stage he excelled in almost the whole range of light, fantastic, comic characters; but in poetry, which he much affected, his lyrics were all so bad that his friends pretended he made them so on purpose, and fully justified johnson's remark that they were "truly incomparable." he was the recipient of a pension of two hundred pounds from george i. there is a vein of vanity in most of us: few authors or artists are without a share; and, singular to say, it most frequently arises from trivial matters in which there would seem to be the least cause for pride. william mitford, the author of the "history of greece," a scholarly and admirable piece of literary work, was most proud of his election to a captaincy in the southampton militia. to be sure, his literary work challenged some severe criticism; de quincey said of it, "it is as nearly perfect in its injustice as human infirmity will allow." carlyle certainly magnified his own calling when he wrote: "o thou who art able to write a book, which once in the two centuries or oftener there is a man gifted to do, envy not him whom they name conqueror or city-builder, and inexpressibly pity him whom they name conqueror or city-burner." great as he was in authorship, macaulay in one of his letters remarks, "i never read again the most popular passages of my own works without painfully feeling how far my execution has fallen short of the standard which is in my mind." he is undoubtedly one of the noblest characters in english literature, and his mortal remains very properly rest in the poets' corner of westminster abbey,--a favorite resort of the great historian during his life. as an example of modest merit we recall the name of robert boyle, the irish chemist and linguist, the great experimental philosopher of the seventeenth century,--he whom some wit called "the father of chemistry and the brother of the earl of cork." he translated the gospels into the malay language, and published the translation at his own expense; he was besides a thorough hebrew and greek scholar. his many published works are all profound and useful. he was chosen president of the royal soceity, but refused the honor, from an humble estimate of his own merit, and for the same reason declined a peerage which was tendered to him. we owe to him, according to boerhaave, "the secrets of fire, air, water, animals, plants, and fossils." boyle cared nothing for fame. in realizing that genius is apt among its other foibles to be over self-conscious, we should be careful not to confound conceit with vanity, to which it is so nearly allied. the latter makes one sensitive to the opinions of others, while the former renders us self-satisfied. few have possessed either genius or personal beauty without being conscious of it; though hazlitt declares that no great man ever thought himself great,--an assertion which the reader will hardly be prepared to indorse. a famous american philosopher was persuaded that vanity was often the source of good to the possessor, and that among other comforts of life, one might consistently thank god for his vanity. still, when evinced in social intercourse nothing is more derogatory to dignity; one becomes not only his own, but everybody's fool. "vanity is so anchored in the heart of man," says pascal, "that a soldier, sutler, cook, and street porter vapor and wish to have their admirers; and philosophers even wish the same." concerning localities rendered of special interest by association, leigh hunt said: "i can no more pass through westminster without thinking of milton, or the borough without thinking of chaucer and shakespeare, or gray's inn without calling bacon to mind, or bloomsbury square without steele and akenside, than i can prefer bricks and mortar to wit and poetry, or not see a beauty upon it beyond architecture, in the splendor of the recollection. i once had duties to perform which kept me out late at night, and severely taxed my health and spirits. my path lay through a neighborhood in which dryden lived; and though nothing could be more commonplace, and i used to be tired to the heart and soul of me, i never hesitated to go a little out of the way, purely that i might pass through gold street, to give myself the shadow of a pleasant thought." gibbon was twenty-three years in preparing the material for and in writing his "decline and fall of the roman empire;" that is to say, he began it in , and did not finish it until . he says as he "sat musing amidst the ruins of the capital, while the barefooted friars were singing vespers in the temple of jupiter, the idea of writing the decline and fall of the city first occurred to his mind." the writer of these pages has visited the garden and summer-house at lausanne, overlooking lake leman, where gibbon completed his work, and where he laid down his pen in triumph almost exactly a century since. james watt has localized a spot of interest in connection with himself at glasgow, where first flashed upon him the idea which resulted in the improvement of the steam-engine. leibnitz recalls the grove near leipsic where in his youth he first began to meditate and create. so burns had his favorite walk at dumfries, secluded, and commanding a view of the distant hills, where he composed, as was his wont, in the open air. he says in a letter to mr. thomson, august, , "autumn is my propitious season. i make more verses in it than all the year else." luther tells us of the spot, and the very tree, under which he argued with dr. staupitz as to whether it was his true vocation to preach. beethoven wrote to frau von streicher, at baden: "when you visit the ancient ruins, do not forget that beethoven has often lingered there; when you stray through the silent pine forest, do not forget that beethoven often wrote poems there, or, as it is termed, 'composed.'" how readily we pardon the conceit that peeps out from the words of the great magician of harmony! hawthorne writes in his note-book: "if ever i should have a biographer, he ought to make great mention of this chamber in my memoirs; because here my mind and character were formed, and here i sat a long, long time, waiting for the world to know me, and sometimes wondering why it did not know me sooner, or whether it would ever know me at all,--at least until i were in my grave." scott tells us of the precise spot where at the age of thirteen he first read percy's "reliques of ancient english poetry," beneath a huge platanus tree, forgetting his dinner in the absorbing interest of the book, whose influence upon the mind of the youth may easily be traced in the future poet and romancer. cowper, who was not blessed with a particularly good memory with regard to what he was accustomed to read, yet possessed a tenacious one for localities, and therefore used in summer to select certain spots out of doors by pond or hedges where to read his favorite books and chapters. the recalling of these spots brought back, he said, the remembrance of the subjects and chapters read beside them. this was certainly an original and remarkable mode of memorizing ideas. william ellery channing localizes the clump of willows, a favorite retreat, where the view of the dignity of human nature first broke upon him, and of which he was ever after such a tenacious advocate. he often resorted hither, and speaks of the place with grateful solemnity. it overlooked the meadows and river west of boston, with a background formed by the brookline hills.[ ] washington irving used to point out to visitors the spot, commanding the hudson river, where he first read the "lady of the lake," with a wild-cherry tree over his head. in his old age he writes to a friend: "come and see me, and i will give you a book and a tree." as an example of the perseverance of genius under discouraging circumstances, we recall the trying experience of our own great naturalist audubon, who had stored in a pine box a thousand and more of his drawings for his great work on "the birds of america," while he pursued his studies. on opening the box, after the lapse of a few months, he found his carefully made illustrations destroyed and converted into a nest for rats. the work of years was irreparably gone to nought. after a brief period of bitter disappointment, he says: "i took up my gun, my note-book, and my pencil, and went forth to the woods as gayly as if nothing had happened. i felt pleased that i might now make better drawings than before; and, ere a period not exceeding three years had elapsed, my portfolio was again filled."[ ] the destruction of his first thousand drawings was a blessing in disguise, both to science and to its modest disciple, since it confirmed him in the resolve which culminated in producing what cuvier denominated "the most magnificent monument art had ever erected to ornithology." the destruction of sir isaac newton's papers by his favorite dog, embracing the careful calculations of years of study, will occur to the reader in this connection, as well as the loss of carlyle's first manuscript copy of the "french revolution," burned by a maid-of-all-work to kindle the fire. having no draft or copy of the same, he was compelled to reproduce it as nearly as possible from memory. there is positive pleasure in the original production of a piece of literary work; but the reproduction under such circumstances must have been agonizing. the history of literature is full of instances wherein its votaries have by patient perseverance finally achieved the much-desired fame which has inspired them to endure deprivation and labor. we affirm this, though at the same time recalling douglas jerrold's words,--"how much of what is thought by idle people fame is really sought for as the representative of so many legs of mutton! we may make fame an angelic creature on the tombs of poets, but how often do bards invoke her as a bouncing landlady!" pope made his way from obscurity, overcoming by sheer perseverance obstacles that genius hardly ever before encountered. he was not only deformed, as we have said, but he was diseased, "unable to take his own stockings off--a woman nurse with him always." so far as we know it, there was not much to love, or even respect, in his personal character; but we must all admire the wonderful perseverance and genius that enabled him to write what he did. his translation of the iliad alone was sufficient to give him lasting fame; and it did give him plenty of money, as he received a little over five thousand three hundred pounds from it. how goldsmith would have scattered that generous sum of money, and how securely pope hoarded it! gifford showed wonderful perseverance and resolve in the right direction, learning to write and to work out mathematical sums on scraps of leather with an awl, for the want of better facilities. this was at his native place, ashburton in devonshire, where he sat all day for five years upon a cobbler's bench, earning just enough to support life. but he conquered in the brave struggle with adverse fortune. "the nerve that never relaxes, the eye that never blenches, the thought that never wanders,--these are the masters of victory," says burke. gifford finally came to the editorial chair of the "quarterly review," where he remained for fifteen years, proving one of the severest critics of his day, as we have had occasion to observe, and regarding authors, according to southey, as izaak walton did worms, slugs, and frogs. "whatever may have been his talents," says mr. whipple, "they were exquisitely unfitted for his position; his literary judgment being contemptible where any sense of beauty was required." as an example of calm, determined resolve and patience to accomplish an honorable end, we know of nothing more remarkable in connection with authorship or literature than that of sir walter scott's deliberately sitting down to pay off a debt of one hundred and twenty-eight thousand pounds with his pen. scott considered it a debt of honor, though it was not of his own contracting. amid the pains and pressure of increasing age he worked on to fulfil this honorable purpose, until in seven years he had paid all but about twenty thousand pounds of this enormous load of debt, when the overwrought brain and body gave out, and he was laid to sleep forever. the great "wizard of the north" says modestly: "it is with the deepest regret that i recollect in my manhood the opportunities of learning[ ] which i neglected in my youth; through every part of my literary career i have felt pinched and hampered by my own ignorance, and i would at this moment give half the reputation i have had the good fortune to acquire, if by so doing i could rest the remaining part upon a sound foundation of learning and science." chapter ix. there seems always to have been a natural attraction in literature which draws from other and less captivating professions. bryant, longfellow, and washington irving started early in life with the purpose of studying law; so did bailey the poet, and prescott the historian,--though each and all abandoned that profession for literature. beaconsfield served an apprenticeship in an attorney's office in london. burke, lockhart, john wilson, shirley brooks, corneille, layard, and buffon began in life as solicitors, but soon drifted into literature. byron's first poetical efforts were failures; so were those of bulwer-lytton and beaconsfield, both in literature and oratory. "i have begun several times many things, and have succeeded in them at last," said the latter when he was hissed down in the house of commons. "i shall sit down now, but the time will come when you will hear me." he toiled patiently, until the house laughed with him instead of at him.[ ] sheridan broke down completely on the occasion of his first effort at public speaking, but declared that it was in him and should come out. bulwer-lytton worked his way upwards by slow degrees, and acquired his later facility only by the greatest assiduity and patient application. he wrote at first very slowly and with great difficulty; but he resolved to overcome his slowness of thought, and he succeeded. he was very systematic in his literary work, and rarely wrote more than three hours each day; that is, from ten o'clock in the morning until one. when regularly engaged, the product of a day in latter years amounted to twenty pages of printed matter, such as appear in the regular editions of his novels. jean paul richter's first efforts as a writer were failures; but he possessed genius and the great element of success,--namely, patience. he fought long and hard to attain a position in literature, supporting himself by small contributions to the press, not all of which were accepted or paid for. "i will succeed in making an honorable living by my pen," he said, "or i will starve in the attempt." his triumph was near at hand.[ ] it is the overcoming of difficulties by heroic perseverance that in no small degree serves to secure and to fix success. "every noble work is at first impossible," says carlyle. "even in social life it is persistency," says whipple, "which attracts confidence, more than talents and accomplishments." thus it will be seen that the greatest geniuses have not commanded success at the outset, but have finally achieved it by deserving it. voltaire was one of the most brilliant and popular of dramatists; but when "mariamne" was brought out, it was played but once. the question of its merit was settled oddly enough. the farce which was given after voltaire's production was entitled "mourning." "for the deceased play, i suppose," said one of the critics, in the pit; and this decided the fate of the piece. again, when the "semirarmis" of voltaire was acted for the first time, it was far from receiving all the praise which its author anticipated for it. as he was coming from the theatre, he overtook piron, a less celebrated but brother dramatist, and asked him his opinion of the piece. "i think," said piron, "you would be very glad if i had written it!" dr. samuel parr, whom macaulay pronounced to be the greatest scholar of his age, was a very hard-working literary genius, sensitive more especially to the tender emotions, so that he would weep like a woman when listening to any affecting story. he was very erratic and imaginative, having a special horror of the east wind, which he believed had both a moral and physical power over him. sheridan knew this very well, and kept the doctor a prisoner in the house for a whole fortnight by fixing the weathercock in that direction. the doctor was not without his share of conceit, founded upon the possession of acknowledged talent and ability. he once said in a miscellaneous assembly, pertinent to the subject before the company: "england has produced three great classical scholars: the first was bentley, the second was porson, and the third modesty forbids _me_ to mention." in glancing through the records of the past no name upon the roll of fame strikes the eye of appreciation more pleasantly than that of sir philip sidney, whose life has been called poetry put in action. he lived amid contemporary applause, and his memory is the admiration of all. the bravest of soldiers, he was also the gentlest of sons, equally illustrious for moral qualities and for intellectual genius, controlled by "that chastity of honor which felt a stain like a wound." no incident in history is more familiar than that of this exhausted warrior resigning the cup of water to a fainting soldier, whose need, he said, was greater than his own. sidney was one of the brightest ornaments of queen elizabeth's court. lord brooke, who was his intimate friend, says of him: "though i lived with him and knew him from a child, yet i never knew him other than a man with such steadiness of mind, lovely and familiar gravity, as carried grace and reverence above greater years. his talk was ever of knowledge, and his very play tended to enrich the mind." his death occurred at the age of thirty-two, from a wound in battle, the result of his self-abnegation. he was in full armor, but seeing the marshal of the camp unprotected, he took off his armor and gave it to him, thus exposing himself to the mortal wound which he received. fuller says, "he was slain before zutphen, in a small skirmish which we may sadly term a great battle, considering our heavy loss therein." victor hugo was banished from france for his opposition to the _coup d'état_. he was ever true to his convictions without counting the cost. "if there is anything grander than victor hugo's genius," said louis blanc, "it is the use which he has made of it." he affords us an instance of the highest fame and the favor of fortune culminating in ripe old age. when hugo was but a rising man, he was still looked upon by the elder littérateurs with considerable jealousy. at the time when he was first an aspirant for the honors of the french academy, and called on m. royer-collard to solicit his vote, the sturdy veteran professed entire ignorance of his name. "i am the author of 'notre dame de paris,' 'marion delorme,' 'les derniers jours d'un condamne,' etc." "i never heard of them," said collard. "will you do me the honor of accepting a copy of my works?" said victor hugo, with perfect urbanity. "i never read new books," was the cutting reply.[ ] but the time came presently when not to know the author of "les misérables" was to argue one's self unknown. when he had reached the age of sixty-three he wrote on a bit of sketching paper accompanying a scene he wished to delineate in the "toilers of the sea:" "on the face of this cardboard i have sketched my own destiny,--a steamboat tossed by the tempest in the midst of the monstrous ocean; almost disabled, assaulted by foaming waves, and having nothing left but a bit of smoke which people call glory, which the wind sweeps away, and which constitutes its strength." improvidence has ever been a distinctive and a common feature in the lives of men of genius. sir thomas lawrence, the celebrated english portrait-painter, was an illustrious example. of his natural genius there was ample evidence even in childhood, when at the age of six years he produced in crayon in a very few moments accurate likenesses of eminent persons. at the age of twenty-three he succeeded sir joshua reynolds as first painter to the king. he received a hundred guineas each for his portraits,--head and bust,--and one thousand if full-length, which was a large price for those days; and yet he was always embarrassed for money, and died deeply in debt while president of the royal academy. thomas moore was very improvident; and though he realized over thirty thousand pounds from his literary productions, yet his family were obliged to live in the most economical manner, often experiencing serious deprivation of the ordinary comforts of life. "his excellent wife," says rogers, "contrived to maintain the whole family upon a guinea a week; and he, when in london, thought nothing of throwing away that sum weekly on hackney-coaches and gloves." in order to escape the payment of his just debts, moore was finally obliged to go to paris, where, rogers tells us, he frittered away a thousand pounds a year.[ ] lamartine and the elder dumas are notable examples of gross improvidence,--the first being reduced almost to beggary before his death, and supported solely by the liberal contributions of his admirers, while the latter was much of his life either squandering gold profusely or dodging his honest creditors. richard savage, the unfortunate poet and dramatist, passed his life divided between beggary and extravagance. his undoubted genius and ability as an author attracted the hearty friendship of johnson and steele, both of whom made earnest efforts to save him from himself; but dissolute habits had taken too firm a hold of him. it is also honorable to pope that he was his steady and consistent friend almost to the close of his life. savage's ill-conceived poem of "the bastard" was intended to expose the cruelty of his mother, who was responsible in the main for the wreck of his life. he finally died a prisoner for debt in bristol jail. undoubtedly dr. johnson was right when he said that the miseries which savage underwent were sometimes the consequence of his faults, and his faults were often the effect of his misfortunes. the period of which we are writing has been vividly described by macaulay, from whom we quote:-- "all that is squalid and miserable might now be summed up in the word poet. that word denoted a creature dressed like a scarecrow, familiar with compters and sponging-houses, and perfectly competent to decide on the comparative merits of the common side in the king's bench prison and of mount scoundrel in the fleet. even the poorest pitied him; and they well might pity him. for if their condition was equally abject, their aspirings were not equally high, nor their sense of insult equally acute. to lodge in a garret up four pair of stairs, to dine in a cellar among footmen out of place, to translate ten hours a day for the wages of a ditcher, to be hunted by bailiffs from one haunt of beggary and pestilence to another,--from grub street to st. george's field, and from st. george's field to the alleys behind st. martin's church,--to sleep on a bulk in june and amidst the ashes of a glass-house in december, to die in a hospital and to be buried in a parish vault, was the fate of more than one writer who, if he had lived thirty years earlier, would have been admitted to the sittings of the kitcat or the scriblerus club, would have sat in parliament, and would have been intrusted with embassies to the high allies; who, if he had lived in our time, would have found encouragement scarcely less munificent in albemarle street or in paternoster row. "as every climate has its peculiar diseases, so every walk of life has its peculiar temptations. the literary character assuredly has always had its share of faults, vanity, jealousy, morbid sensibility. to these faults were now superadded the faults which are commonly found in men whose livelihood is precarious, and whose principles are exposed to the trial of severe distress. all the vices of the gambler and of the beggar were blended with those of the author. the prizes in the wretched lottery of book-making were scarcely less ruinous than the blanks. if good fortune came, it came in such a manner that it was almost certain to be abused. after a month of starvation and despair, a full third night or a well-received dedication filled the pocket of the lean, ragged, unwashed poet with guineas. he hastened to enjoy those luxuries with the images of which his mind had been haunted while he was sleeping amidst the cinders and eating potatoes at the irish ordinary in shoe lane. a week of taverns soon qualified him for another year of night-cellars. such was the life of savage, of boyse, and of a crowd of others. sometimes blazing in gold-lace hats and waistcoats; sometimes lying in bed because their coats had gone to pieces, or wearing paper cravats because their linen was in pawn; sometimes drinking champagne and tokay with betty careless; sometimes standing at the window of an eating-house in porridge island, to snuff up the scent of what they could not afford to taste,--they knew luxury; they knew beggary; but they never knew comfort. these men were irreclaimable. they looked on a regular and frugal life with the same aversion which an old gypsy or a mohawk hunter feels for a stationary abode, and for the restraints and securities of civilized communities." notwithstanding douglas jerrold received a thousand pounds per annum from "lloyd's weekly newspaper" alone, besides a respectable income from "punch" and other literary labor, he never had a guinea in his pocket; every penny was forestalled, and he left his family in extreme penury. goldsmith, as we have seen, was the most improvident of men, and died owing two thousand pounds; which led dr. johnson to say, "was ever poet so trusted before?" it was at this time that boswell, who was always a little jealous of goldsmith's intimacy with johnson, made some disparaging remarks about the dead poet; whereupon johnson promptly replied, "dr. goldsmith was wild, sir, but he is so no more!" "cover the good man who has been vanquished," says thackeray,--"cover his face and pass on!" some families seem to inherit impecuniosity; goldsmith came thus rightfully, so to speak, by his weakness in this respect.[ ] sheridan, according to byron, wrote the best comedy, the "school for scandal;" the best opera, the "duenna;" the best farce, the "critic;" and delivered the most famous oration of modern times. with genius and talents which entitled him to the highest station, he yet sank into difficulties, mostly through inexcusable improvidence, outraging every principle of justice and of truth, finally dying in neglect. the reader will be apt to recall the anecdote illustrative of sheridan's impecuniosity. as he was hacking his face one day with a dull razor, he turned to his son and said, "tom, if you open any more oysters with my razor, i'll cut you off with a shilling." "very well, father," was the reply; "but where is the shilling to come from?" sheridan thought if he had stuck to the law he might have done as well as his friend erskine; "but," he added, "i had no time for such studies; mrs. sheridan and myself were often obliged to keep writing for our daily leg or shoulder of mutton, otherwise we should have had no dinner; yes, it was a _joint_ concern." all authorities combine in pronouncing the great speech of sheridan on the impeachment of warren hastings to be one of the grandest oratorical efforts known to us. but the persuasive power of eloquence was never better illustrated than in the instance of mirabeau when he pleaded his own case. his liaison with the marchioness de mounier surpasses, in fact, all stories of romance. mirabeau induced her to run away with him, for which she was seized and thrown into a convent, while he escaped to switzerland.[ ] he was brought to trial, was convicted of contumacy, and sentenced to lose his head. the lady escaped and once more joined him; together they passed into holland, where they were a second time arrested, she being again immured in a convent and he confined in the castle of vincennes, where he remained for more than three years. after his liberation he obtained a new trial, pleaded his own case, and by the impassioned power of his all-commanding eloquence he terrified the court and the prosecutor, melted the audience to tears, obtained a prompt reversal of his sentence, and even threw the whole cost of the suit upon the prosecution.[ ] when the stupid, ill-bred judge robinson insulted curran by reflecting upon his poverty while he was arguing a case before him, saying to him that he "suspected his law library was rather contracted," curran answered the servile office-holder in words of aptest eloquence and cutting irony. "it is true, my lord," said curran, with dignified respect, "that i am poor, and the circumstance has somewhat curtailed my library; my books are not numerous, but they are select, and i hope they have been perused with proper disposition. i have prepared myself for this high profession rather by the study of a few good works than by the composition of a great many bad ones. i am not ashamed of my poverty, but i should be ashamed of my wealth could i have stooped to acquire it by servility and corruption. if i rise not to rank, i shall at least be honest; and should i ever cease to be so, many an example shows me that ill-gained reputation, by making me the more conspicuous, would only make me the more universally and the more notoriously contemptible!" [ ] speaking of eloquence, hazlitt describes how he walked ten miles to hear coleridge the poet preach, and declared that he could not have been more delighted if he had heard the music of the spheres. the names of fox, pitt, grattan, patrick henry, daniel webster, wendell phillips, and rufus choate, with many others, crowd upon the mind as we dwell upon the theme of eloquence in oratory. there is eloquence of the pen as well as of the tongue; socrates of old, celebrated for his noble oratorical compositions, was of so timid a disposition that he rarely ventured to speak in public. he compared himself to a whetstone, which will not cut, but which readily enables other things to do so; for his productions served as models to other orators. we have myriads of examples showing us that accident has often determined the bent and development of genius. accident may not, however, create genius; it is innate, or it is not at all. cowley tells us that when quite young he chanced upon a copy of the "faerie queene,"[ ] nearly the only book at hand, and becoming interested he read it carefully and often, until enchanted thereby he became irrevocably a poet. the apple that fell on newton's head with a force apparently out of all proportion to its size, led him to ponder upon the fact, until he deduced the great law of gravitation and laid the foundation of his philosophy. it was shakespeare's youthful roguery which drove him from his trade of wool-carding and necessitated his leaving stratford. a company of strolling actors became his first new associates, and he took up with their business for a while; but dissatisfied with his own success as an actor he turned to writing plays, and thus arose the greatest dramatist the world has produced. molière, who was of very low birth, being often taken as a lad to the theatre by his grandfather, was thus led to study the usages of the stage, and came to be the greatest dramatic author of france. "tartuffe," which he wrote a hundred and twenty years ago, still holds the stage, as well as many others of his inimitable productions. he was the shakespeare of france. hallam says that shakespeare had the greater genius, but molière has perhaps written the better comedies. corneille fell in love, and was thus incited to pour out his feelings in verse, developing rapidly into a poet and dramatist. he was intended for the law; but love tripped up his heels and made him a poet. the chance perusal of de foe's "essay on projects," dr. franklin tells us, influenced the principal events and course of his life; so the reading of the "lives of the saints" caused ignatius loyola to form the purpose of creating a new religious order,--which purpose eventuated in the powerful society of the jesuits. benjamin west says, "a kiss from my mother made me a painter."[ ] la fontaine read by chance a volume of malherbe's poems,--he who was called "the poet of princes and the prince of poets,"--whereby he became so impressed, that ever after his mind sought expression through the same medium. rousseau's eccentric genius was first aroused by an advertisement offering a prize for the best essay on a certain theme, which brought out his "declamation against the arts and sciences" (winning the prize thereby), and determined his future career. the husband and father of the woman who nursed michael angelo were stone-masons, and the chisel thus became the first and most common plaything put into the child's hands; hence his earliest efforts were made to apply the hammer and chisel to marble, and the seed was planted which blossomed into art. it was the accidental observation of steam, lifting by its expansive power the heavy iron cover of a boiling pot, that suggested to the mind of james watt thoughts which led to the invention of the steam-engine. the "pickwick papers," dickens's earliest and best literary work, owes its origin to the publisher of a magazine upon which he was doing job-work desiring him to write a serial story to fit some comic pictures which were in the publisher's possession. the genius was in dickens, but it slept. the sight of virgil's tomb, just above the grotto of posilippo, at naples, determined giovanni's literary vocation for life. so gibbon was struck with the idea of writing his "rise and fall of the roman empire," as he sat dreaming amid the ruins of the forum.[ ] when scott was a mere boy he chanced upon a copy of percy's "reliques of ancient poetry," which he read with eagerness again and again. as soon as he could get the necessary sum of money, he purchased a copy; and thus the taste for poetry was early instilled into his soul and found after expression in his charming poems. scott's first literary effort was the translation of "götz von berlichengen," to which carlyle ascribes large influence on the great novelist's future career. he says this translation was "the prime cause of 'marmion' and the 'lady of the lake,' with all that has followed from the same creative hand. truly a grain of seed that had lighted in the right soil. for if not firmer and fairer, it has grown to be taller and broader than any other tree; and all nations of the earth are still yearly gathering of its fruit." while in england, not long since, the writer of these pages was told an anecdote relating to mrs. siddons which was new to him, and which illustrates how often accident has directed the future bent of genius. when quite a young lady, sarah siddons saw in some private gallery an antique statue of great excellence, which had a most electrifying effect upon her. it suggested to her at once the most effective position and manner in which to express intensity of feeling. the arms were close down at the sides, and the hands nervously clenched, while the head was erect, the chest expanded, and the face half in profile. "i cannot express how indelibly the pose took effect upon my imagination," said the great actress many years afterwards, "or the force of the lesson taught me by the marble." if memory serves us correctly, we recall an old engraving of mrs. siddons in the character of lady macbeth, which would be nearly a reproduction of the pose described.[ ] accident developed one of the greatest vocalists the world has ever known. jenny lind was at the beginning of her life a poor neglected little girl, homely and uncouth, living in a single room of a tumble-down house in a narrow street at stockholm. when the humble woman who had her in charge went out to her daily labor, she was accustomed to lock jenny in with her sole companion, a cat. one day the little girl, who was always singing to herself like a canary-bird, "because," as she said, "the song was in her and would come out," sat with her dumb companion at the window warbling her sweet childlike notes. she was overheard by a passing lady, who paused and listened, struck by the clearness and trill of the untutored notes. she made careful inquiries about the child and became the patroness of little jenny, who was at once supplied with a music-teacher. she loved the art of song, and had the true genius for it. jenny made rapid progress, surprising both patroness and teachers, and presently became the great queen of song. the world knows of jenny lind's splendid fortune, of her professional triumphs, and of her noble charities; but few, perhaps, have ever pictured her humble girlhood, cooped up in a cheerless room, with only her cat for a companion, in a dull quarter of the swedish capital. the plain, awkward girl grew up under favorable culture to be a graceful, lovely woman. the courts of europe treated her as a revered guest; she was covered with laurels and with jewels, but she was ever in disposition and character the same pure, simple swedish girl. adulation had no power to spoil this child of nature and of art. the swedish public cherish her name as that of their most favored daughter, and honor her for the noble educational institution which she has so liberally founded in her native stockholm. christina nilsson, another scandinavian vocalist, was the daughter of an humble swedish peasant, born in so lowly a cabin that it was difficult to conceive of the name of "home" being applied to it. while yet a child she was obliged to work with the rest of the family in the fields and on the mountain-side. her sweet voice was first heard at the fairs and peasant weddings, where her simple scandinavian melodies delighted the assembled crowds. at one of these public gatherings a man of taste and means heard the child's voice, and realized the hidden possibilities it indicated. he was a magistrate, and became her patron, taking her from her humble surroundings and supplying her with suitable teachers. she was carefully taught instrumental as well as vocal music, and became both an eminent pianist and singer, developing like her fair countrywoman, jenny lind, into a vocalist of grandest genius, and of such ability as the world affords but few examples. taglioni was also scandinavian by birth, having been born at stockholm, in , of humble parentage, her father being a dancing-master. she had the genius of an artist, which she patiently developed through many dark hours of toil and deprivation, until she made herself acknowledged as queen of the ballet in the great cities of europe. her purity of character added a charm to her public performances, giving her a prestige never before enjoyed by any exponent of her art. she finally amassed a large fortune, and retiring from the stage married count gilbert de voisins. doubtless many of our readers have paused in their gondolas beneath the windows of her marble palace on the grand canal at venice, to recall the story of the great danseuse, or have looked with pleasure upon her elegant villa on the lake of como. chapter x. it is not the author's purpose to treat the names of painters, or indeed those of any other branch of art, especially by themselves. were any single line to be selected, the peculiarities of its representatives would alone be sufficient to fill a volume. under the general design of this gossip about genius, the pen is permitted to glide after its own fancy, treating only upon such individuals as readily suggest themselves, and who are illustrative of characteristics already introduced. upon beginning the chapter before us, we were thinking of john opie, the distinguished english painter, born in cornwall in . when opie was only ten years of age[ ] he saw a person who was somewhat accomplished with the pencil draw a butterfly. the boy watched the process with marked interest, and as soon as the draughtsman had departed, produced upon a shingle a drawing equally good, which he showed to his mother. she, good woman, encouraged him, as mrs. west did her son on a similar occasion; but the father, being a harsh, rude, low-bred man, was constantly punishing the boy for laziness, and for chalking figures, faces, and animals on every stray bit of board or flat surface at hand. the boy had genius, however; what he required was opportunity. good fortune sent dr. wolcott, better known as "peter pindar," that way. he saw the boy's dawning genius, and helped him with suitable material and some useful suggestions. it was not long before the lad got away from home, quietly aided by his good friend wolcott, and soon earned money enough to clothe himself decently and to make a start in life. he finally married amelia, daughter of james alderson, who afterwards became the well-known authoress amelia opie. the husband developed into a distinguished artist, whose historical pictures, "the death of rizzio" and "jephthah's vow," were stepping-stones to his election as president of the royal academy. does not this truthful sketch from life, of a poor wood-sawyer's son, read like romance? genius will assert itself; it seems useless to strive against it. the secret suggestions of the soul are true, lead us whither they will. salvator rosa was the son of a poor architect who made ineffectual efforts to thwart his son's predilection for art, but all in vain. the young man, finding that he could not hope for any assistance from his father, strove all the harder to earn a livelihood by painting, but nearly starved before he reached his majority. about this time the patrons of art in rome offered a grand prize for the best painting to be submitted at an exhibition to be held in the eternal city. the young neapolitan saw his chance, and painted a picture into which he infused all the glowing spirit of the art which burned within him. if it failed, he resolved that no one should know aught of its authorship. it was forwarded anonymously, and received the recognition of being hung in the most favorable position. that picture took the grand prize, the unknown artist being lauded as above titian. nought was to be heard for it but praise. this decided the fate of rosa. he left his humble home near naples and settled in rome, where he secured the friendship and intimacy of the greatest men of the day. numerous and grand were the pictures sent forth from rosa's hand; orders pressed upon him faster than he could fill them, and thus he stepped at once into the highest contemporary fame and fortune.[ ] "salvator possessed real genius," says ruskin, "but was crushed by misery in his youth." he was not only a painter, but also a poet and a musician; nearly all cultured italians are the latter. at the grand carnival of the year there appeared upon the corso and in the squares of rome an actor of fantastic dress, who was marked like all the other revellers on such occasions, but whose name was given as one formica, of southern italy. he attracted both public and private attention by his brilliant wit, his eloquence, and especially by his songs, as he accompanied himself on the lute. he was the hero of the carnival of that season. by and by the appointed hour arrived when all the revellers unmasked, and lo! the stranger proved to be salvator rosa. among painters, rubens is one of the greatest and most familiar names, though ruskin disparages him by saying that "he is a healthy, worthy, kind-hearted, courtly-phrased animal, without any clearly perceptible traces of a soul, except when he paints children." rubens became an artist from love of art, and his career was one in which there was far more of sunshine than usually falls to the lot of genius. he throve greatly in a business point of view as well as in art, and became a man of wealth in his native city of antwerp, where he built a comfortable house and adorned it inside with pencil and brush--the whole, as he estimated it, worth about a thousand pounds sterling. presently there came to antwerp the duke of buckingham, who coveted the artist's house. a negotiation was opened, and rubens sold it to the duke for twelve times what it cost, or say in our currency sixty thousand dollars. rubens must have possessed wonderful industry, as we judge by the fact that a hundred of his paintings may be found in the munich gallery alone, not to mention those contained in other european collections. undoubtedly his "descent from the cross," now in the antwerp cathedral, is his grandest work. our artist was by no means without his vein of vanity, as evinced by the family picture which he painted, and in which he gives himself due prominence. this picture is placed just above his tomb, back of the altar, in the church of st. jacques, at antwerp. the presumptuousness is increased by the fact that the combined portraits of his first and second wife, his daughter, with his father, grandfather, and himself, are intended to represent a holy family, and the painting is typical of that idea. the whole is incongruous and in bad taste. vandyke, teniers, and denis calvart, the instructor of guido reni, were all natives of antwerp. the city owes its attraction to travellers almost solely to the fact that here are so many masterpieces of painting. william hogarth was a great and original genius, who wrote comedies pictorially, satirized vice, and depicted all phases of life more in detail than is possible with the pen. he was early apprenticed to a silversmith; but the natural bent of his genius was too apparent and promising not to be encouraged by the study of art. in the dramatic and satirical departments of design he has never been excelled. it has been objected that his pictures are vulgar; but when we remember the period in which they appeared, and also the fact that they undoubtedly convey useful lessons of morality, we shall find ample excuse if not commendation for the artist. in he published his "analysis of beauty," in which he maintains that a waving line is essential to beauty. hogarth composed comedies just as much as did molière. it was a singular characteristic of this able designer and artist that he could not successfully illustrate another's work; he is known utterly to have failed in the attempt, though never in the successful illustration of his own ideas. hogarth was also a historian, inasmuch as every picture he produced represented the manners and customs of the period. the interior scenes give us the exact style of the furniture and minutest domestic surroundings; while out of doors we have all the various modes of conveyance in use, and a faithful picture of the street architecture. hogarth died in . james spencer, who was a personal friend of hogarth, began life as a london footman; but the genius of an artist was born in him, and it gradually forced its way to the front. at odd moments he practised drawing and even painting with oils, whenever and wherever he could seize upon a brief chance. it happened that a professional portrait-painter was engaged to make a portrait of the head of the family where spencer had long acted as footman. when the likeness was finished, he heard his master express some just dissatisfaction at its want of resemblance to the original. spencer very humbly asked permission of his master to copy the painting and see if he could not get a good likeness. after expressing some astonishment at the request, his master assented. in a much briefer period than the first artist occupied, and without a single sitting on the part of his employer, spencer astonished the family by producing not only a remarkable likeness, but an entirely satisfactory painting. with such a start the footman became a professional portrait-painter, and accumulated the means ere long to set up a fine london establishment. in an earlier part of this volume we gave numerous instances of genius being at its best in early youth, when, as burke says, "the senses are unworn and tender, and the whole frame is awake in every part." of this early development we know of no more striking instance in art than that of sir thomas lawrence, who at the age of ten years surpassed most of the london portrait-painters both in his certain likenesses and in the general effect of his portraits. he was a remarkable genius, and for a considerable period was the talk of all london.[ ] added to his ability as an artist, young lawrence was remarkably handsome. prince hoare saw something so angelic in his face that he desired to paint him in the character of christ. in about seven minutes lawrence scarcely ever failed of producing in crayon an excellent likeness of any person present, and in a manner expressive of both grace and freedom. he succeeded sir joshua reynolds, in due time, as first painter to the king, was knighted in , and five years later became president of the royal academy. to realize under what shadows many an artist has lived, worked, and died, yet who is known to us of the highest genius, we have only to recall some familiar names. correggio was of very humble birth: and though one of the most original of all the brilliant masters of the sixteenth century, he enjoyed little contemporary fame. his works to-day are held at as high a valuation as those of raphael, titian, or murillo.[ ] his modesty was characteristic; his pretension, nothing. his pictures speak for him, and exhibit the softness, tenderness, and harmony of his nature. nearly all his work was done at his native city of correggio and at parma; nor is he believed ever to have visited rome. it was he who, after gazing on one of raphael's finest productions, exclaimed, "i also am a painter!" correggio was chosen by the canons of the cathedral at parma to paint for them the "assumption of the virgin." it was a subject well fitted to his style, and his conception and execution of the painting were beyond criticism. it may be seen, mellowed by age, in the parma cathedral to-day. when the work was done, the priests meanly haggled and found fault with it, in order to reduce the price, which had been previously agreed upon. finally, they only paid the artist half the promised sum, stealing the balance to supply their secret luxuries. to add insult to their meanness, the priests paid the artist the price in copper coin. he could not refuse the money, for his poverty-stricken family awaited his return with it to supply their pressing needs. correggio took the heavy burden on his shoulders and bore it two leagues and more, under a broiling italian sun, to reach his home. on arriving there he was completely exhausted, and drank freely of the water his children brought to him; then, disheartened at his ill-fortune and broken down by fatigue, he went sadly to his rude bed, to awake on the following morning in a burning fever and delirious. in two days correggio was no more. the development of the genius which slept in the soul of canova when a lad was brought about by a happy accident. a superb banquet was preparing in the palace of the falieri family at venice. the tables were already arranged, when it was discovered that a crowning ornament of some sort was required to complete the general effect of the banqueting board. canova's grandfather, who brought him up, was a stone-cutter, often hewing out stone ornaments for the architects; and as he lived close at hand, he was hastily consulted by the steward of the falieris. canova chanced to go with his grandfather to view the tables, and overheard the consultation. his quick eye and ready genius at once suggested a suitable design for the apex of the principal dishes. "give me a plate of cold butter," said the boy; and seating himself at a side table he rapidly moulded a lion of proper proportions, and so true to nature in its pose and detail as to astonish all present. it was put in place, and proved to be the most striking ornamental article there. when the guests were seated and discovered it, they exclaimed aloud with admiration, and demanded to see at once the person who could perform such a miracle impromptu. canova was brought before them, and his boyish person only heightened their wonder. from that hour he had in the head of this opulent family a kind, appreciative, and liberal patron. he was placed under tuition with the best sculptors of venice and rome, to study the art of which he finally became a grand master.[ ] the story of spagnoletto is a romantic one, and not without a vivid moral. of such humble birth was he, that nothing is said of it by himself or his friends. he suffered the very extreme of poverty; but feeling a deep love for art, and a consciousness within him that he was born to be a painter, he pursued this purpose through besetting difficulties for years. he still felt within him a power of genius superior to all and every disadvantage which he encountered. he was spanish by birth, but made his way on foot to rome, where he worked for his daily bread at anything which offered, and for many months was employed as a street porter, but at the same time followed the study of art in his humble way. one day a cardinal passing in his carriage saw in the streets a ragged person painting a board affixed to an ordinary house of rome. the young man's wretchedness attracted his attention. it was spagnoletto earning wherewith to purchase a loaf of bread. the cardinal questioned him, took him home to his palace and gave him every luxury he desired, as well as the means to pursue his beloved art. for a brief time all was well, and the art student made great progress; but, alas! the nature which could withstand the frowns of fortune wilted beneath her smiles, and pleasure thoroughly seduced the youth by her tempting wiles. he became a slave to the senses, neglected art entirely, and was fast going to ruin. one night spagnoletto had a dream; it was the midnight visit of his better angel, and she prevailed. he awoke the next morning determined to leave the cardinal's palace with all its luxuries behind him, to resume his former condition and industry. he worked his way to naples, and by degrees rose steadily in art until he cast off his rags and was independent. he furnished so perfect a painting of saint bartholomew stripped to the muscles, that it became a valued study for anatomists, and from that day his fame was assured. his pictures were eagerly sought for, and to-day they adorn the best european galleries.[ ] as salvator rosa, the italian artist, delighted most in depicting wild, rugged mountain scenery and battles, so spagnoletto, the spanish painter, was most at home with martyrdoms, executions, and tragic scenes generally. he died at naples in . genius is confined to no line of art, to no special profession; we find its exponents in the legislative hall, in the pulpit, and on the stage. garrick was undoubtedly one of the greatest geniuses of the english stage; he was not only an actor, but a successful dramatic author. he married a viennese danseuse, and so far as the world knows was happy in his domestic relations. he was equally at home in tragedy and comedy, possessing in a most marvellous degree the art of imitating the physiognomy of others and the manner of expressing their various emotions. it is said of him that he could imitate anything, bird or beast, both in voice and manner. on the occasion of a grand dinner-party in london, at a certain lord's, garrick was a guest; in the course of the entertainment he was suddenly missed, and at last was discovered in the garden belonging to the house, where a young negro boy was rolling on the ground convulsed with screams of laughter to see garrick mimicking a turkey-cock that was strutting about in the enclosure. the actor had his coat-tail stuck out behind, and was in a seeming flutter of feathered rage and pride.[ ] garrick declared that he would cheerfully give a hundred guineas if he could say "oh!" as whitfield did. a noble friend wished him to be a candidate for parliament. "no, my lord," said the actor, sincerely; "i would rather play the part of great men on the stage, than the part of fool in parliament."[ ] he accumulated a large fortune, stated at over a hundred and fifty thousand pounds. he died in , and was buried with such pomp as is awarded only to those who are considered national characters. his ashes rest beside the tomb of shakespeare in westminster abbey. moore mentions having seen that excellent comic genius john liston behind the scenes in a towering rage about some trifle, while he was dressed and "made up" for the part of rigdum funidos,--a contrast which must have been as ludicrous as when washington irving met grimaldi in a furious rage behind the curtain, with the regular stage grin painted on his cheeks. liston began his profession in tragic parts and developed his wonderful comic powers by chance, being suddenly called upon one evening to fill the low comedian's place on account of the illness of the actor cast for the part. he made a hit at once, such as he had not dreamed of, and it was seen by every one that he was naturally a comic actor. on the occasion referred to, by the exercise of his extraordinary facial powers he caused the spectators and actors, until the curtain fell on the closing scene, to roar with laughter, though but very little of the text had been audible to them. true genius loses itself in the character and the subject. betterton, when he performed hamlet, by reason of the violent and sudden emotion of amazement and horror at the presence of his father's spectre, absolutely turned as white as his neckcloth, although his natural cast of countenance was very florid, while his whole body seemed affected by an uncontrollable tremor. had his father's apparition indeed risen before him, he could not have been seized with more real agonies. when a well-known actor of that period, named booth, first took the part of the ghost, betterton acted hamlet; on which occasion his extraordinary look struck booth with such horror that for a moment he remained silent, having forgotten his part.[ ] samuel foote, the witty english comedian, was one of the vainest of geniuses. "for loud, obstreperous, broad-faced mirth," said dr. johnson, "i know not his equal." foote sought the stage to earn thereby a living after squandering his fortune at gaming and other vices. when visiting in the country, his vanity led him to boast of his horsemanship, an accomplishment of which he knew little or nothing; and when invited by lord mexborough to join the hunt, he could not decently decline. the consequence was that at the first burst he was thrown and broke his leg in two places, so that amputation was necessary. however, he managed to play nearly as well with a cork leg. to some one who made a reflection upon his "game" leg, foote replied promptly: "make no allusion to my weakest part. did i ever attack your head?" garrick, observing that foote had placed a plaster bust of him in his entry, remarked, "you are not afraid, i see, to trust me near your gold and bank-notes." "no," retorted the humorist, "you have no hands!" foote was considered by his contemporaries the greatest master of comic humor after molière. one day foote, garrick, and dr. johnson went together to bedlam,--a hospital in london for the insane. johnson, who was much affected at the sight of so much human misery, got into a corner by himself to meditate, and in the progress of his mood he threw himself into so many strange attitudes, and drew his face into such odd shapes, that foote whispered mysteriously to garrick to ask _how they should contrive to get him out_! of the moral character of nell gwynn, who was a favorite london actress and a mistress of charles ii., the less said the better; and yet she was not entirely void of good impulses, for it is well known that she persuaded the king to establish and endow chelsea hospital. but of bracegirdle, the beautiful actress who captivated all hearts, and whom congreve was thought nearly to worship, not a word reflecting upon her moral character could be truthfully uttered. at a london coffee-house one evening there chanced to be gathered a score or more of her admirers, including the dukes of devonshire and dorset, besides other members of the peerage. bracegirdle's name had been mentioned; when lord halifax said: "you all of you praise the virtue of this lady; why not reward her for not selling it? there are two hundred guineas _pour encourager les autres_." a thousand guineas were raised on the spot, which the noblemen took to bracegirdle, going into her presence in a body. as it was a testimony intended in honor of her virtue, she accepted it. no doubt a large portion of this handsome tribute found its way very quickly into the hands of her needy pensioners; for she was no more estimable in her profession than noble in her charities. the best dramatists wrote for her; and two of them, rowe and congreve, when they gave her a lover in a play seemed palpably to plead their own passions and to make their individual court to her in fictitious characters. having spoken of nell gwynn and bracegirdle, another english actress, margaret woffington, comes forcibly to mind; and though we do not propose to treat especially the profession of the drama, the incidental mention of some of its members in this gossip is not out of place. her father was an irish bricklayer in dublin, where peg woffington, as she was best known, was a great public favorite long before she came to london to find an equally agreeable home. her versatility of genius may be judged of from the fact of her personating lady macbeth and sir harry wildare with equal excellence. the latter character was a favorite one with garrick, but he gave up the part altogether after witnessing her excellence in its assumption.[ ] she also was distinguished for her benevolence and open-handed charity. the manager of covent garden theatre could always be sure of a full house when he announced her in the character of the gay, dissipated, good-humored rake, sir harry wildare. margaret built and endowed two almshouses at teddington, middlesex, and lies buried in the principal church of the district. in the height of her popularity she declared that she preferred the society of men to that of women; the latter, she said, "talk of nothing but silks and scandal." her end was singularly dramatic. she was playing the character of rosalind with more than usual éclat, when she was struck with paralysis, and died soon after in the prime of life.[ ] we have spoken of accident as often determining the development and directing the course of genius. edward shuter was one of the most popular comedians on the london stage in , but he began life as a pot-boy at a public-house in the neighborhood of covent garden. a gentleman came to the house one evening, and after refreshing himself he sent the boy shuter to call him a hackney-coach. on reaching home he found that he had dropped his pocket-book; and suspecting that he had lost it in the coach, he went the next morning to the tavern to make inquiry. he asked shuter if he knew the number of the hack. the poor boy could not read or write, and was totally unskilled in numerals; but he knew the signs by which his master scored the quarts and pints of porter that were drunk, and to the gentleman's inquiry as to the number of the coach which the boy had called for him shuter said it was "two pots and a pint" ( ). this was unintelligible to the gentleman, but was explained by the landlord. the coachman was summoned, and the pocket-book recovered. this acuteness of the boy interested the gentleman, and he became his patron, sent him to school, and gave him a start in the line of his choice, which was the theatrical profession. such is the story in brief of one of the famous london comedians. how many of our readers remember the one recorded scene when queen elizabeth condescended to coquet with shakespeare? the great bard was performing the part of a king; elizabeth's box was contiguous to the stage, and she purposely dropped her handkerchief from the box upon the boards, at the very feet of shakespeare, having a mind thus to try whether her poet would stoop from his high estate of assumed majesty. "take up _our_ sister's handkerchief," was his prompt and dignified order to one of the actors in his train. * * * * * it will doubtless be found interesting to see recorded in juxtaposition the words and the manner of death of some of the great geniuses whom history mentions. when alonzo cano, the famous spanish artist, was dying, the attendant priest presented before him an ivory crucifix; cano turned away and refused to look at it because the sculpture was so bad, calling for a plain cross, which he embraced, and died. chaucer breathed his last while composing a ballad. when the priest came whom alfieri had been prevailed upon to see, he requested him to call the next day. "death, i trust, will tarry four-and-twenty hours," he said, but died in the interim. petrarch was found dead in his library, leaning on a book. "i could wish this tragic scene were over," said quin the actor, "but i hope to go through it with becoming dignity." pitt, the great statesman, died alone, in a solitary house on wimbledon common. rousseau, when dying, asked to be carried to the window of the apartment overlooking his garden, that he might look his last on nature. when malherbe the lyric poet was dying, he reprimanded his nurse for making use of a solecism in her language, and bade the priest stop his trite, cant talk about heaven, saying, "your wretched style only makes me out of conceit with it." bide, the english monk and author, on the night of his death continued to dictate to his amanuensis. he asked his scribe how many chapters yet remained to complete the work, and was told there was one. "take your pen," he commanded, and went on with the work. by and by the scribe said, "it is finished," just as his master breathed his last. roscommon, when expiring, quoted from his own translation of the "dies iræ." "all my possessions for a moment of time!" were the dying words of queen elizabeth. the last words of cardinal beaufort were, "what! is there no bribing death?" the last words uttered by byron were, "i must sleep now." in his last moments crébillon, who had composed two acts of his tragedy of "catiline," regretted that he had not been spared to complete it. colorden on the day of his death was visited by his friend barthe, who requested his opinion of the comedy of the "selfish man," which he came to read at his bedside. "you may add an excellent trait to the character of your principal personage," said colorden. "say that he obliged an old friend, on the eve of his death, to hear him read a five-act comedy!" "let me die to the sound of delicious music," were the last words of mirabeau. herder died writing an ode to the deity, his pen on the last line. heller died feeling his own pulse; and when he found it almost gone, turning his eyes to his brother physician, said, "my friend, the artery ceases to beat!" "tell collingwood to bring the fleet to anchor," said nelson, and expired. the last words of charles i. were uttered on the scaffold,--"i fear not death! death is not terrible to me!" curran's ruling passion was strong in death. near the close of his earthly hours his physician at his morning call said he "seemed to cough with more difficulty." "that's surprising," said the almost exhausted invalid, "as i have been practising all night." "there is not a drop of blood on my hands," said the expiring frederick v. of denmark. "let not poor nellie starve" (nell gwynn, his mistress), were the last words of charles ii. "i have loved righteousness and hated iniquity, therefore do i die in exile," said pope gregory vii. with his expiring breath. anne boleyn turned to the executioner on the scaffold, and pointing to her neck, said pathetically, "it is small, very small indeed!" the last words of maria theresa were, "i do not sleep; i wish to meet my death awake." madam roland exclaimed, "o liberty! liberty! how many crimes are committed in thy name!" it was in perfect accord with his character when chancellor thurlow said at the closing moment of his life, "i'm shot if i don't believe i'm dying!" "world without end, amen!" said bunyan as he breathed his last. "guilty, but recommended to the mercy of the court," whispered lord hermand. "for the last time i commit soul, body, and spirit into his hands," said john knox in dying. "trust in god," said president edwards, "and you need not fear." these were his last words. "if i had strength enough to hold a pen," said willian hunter, the distinguished anatomist, "i would write how easy and delightful it is to die." the dying words of louis xiv. were, "i thought that dying had been more difficult." arthur murphy the dramatist quoted in his last breath pope's lines,-- "taught by reason, half by mere decay, to welcome death and calmly pass away." when asked if he heard the prayers which were offered in his presence, the duke of marlborough replied, "yes, and i join in them." he never spoke again. "o lord, open the king of england's eyes," said the martyr tyndale as he died at the stake. when those noble english reformers, latimer and ridley, were being burned at the stake, "be of good cheer, brother," cried ridley, "for our god will either assuage the fury of this flame or enable us to abide it." latimer replied: "be of good comfort, brother, for we shall this day light such a candle in england as by god's grace shall never be put out." lady jane grey's last words upon the scaffold were: "lord, into thy hands i commend my spirit." "many things are growing plain and clear to me," whispered schiller, and died with these words on his lips. anna lætitia barbauld, the english authoress, wrote with great poetic feeling and moral beauty. her husband became a lunatic, and she suffered much. it was her beautiful self-sacrifice that gave the best charm to her character. she wrote, among many other works, a popular life of the novelist richardson, and some political pamphlets of great force and excellence. her series of books for children would alone have given her lasting reputation. there occurs to us in these closing pages the stanza which she wrote in her old age, probably in her eighty-second year, not long before her death,--lines which rogers and wordsworth so much and so justly admired. the former says in his "table talk" that while sitting with madame d'arblay a few weeks before her death, he asked her if she remembered these lines of mrs. barbauld's. "remember them!" answered the famous authoress, "i repeat them to myself every night before i go to sleep." "life! we've been long together through pleasant and through cloudy weather; 't is hard to part when friends are dear; perhaps 't will cost a sigh, a tear; then steal away, give little warning, choose thine own time; say not 'good-night,' but in some brighter clime bid me 'good morning.'" chapter xi. genius has its hours of sunshine as well as of shadow, and when it finds expression in wit and humor it is undoubtedly most popular. the emperor titus thought he had lost a day if he had passed it without laughing. coleridge tells us men of humor are in some degree men of genius; wits are rarely so, although a man of genius may, among other gifts, possess wit. as in pathos and tenderness "one touch of nature makes the whole world kin," so is it in true wit and humor with the appreciative. obtuseness will be unsympathetic under any circumstances. "it is not in the power of every one to taste humor," says sterne, "however much he may wish it; it is the gift of god! and a true feeler always brings half the entertainment with him." bruyere has somewhere said very finely that "wit is the god of moments, but genius is the god of ages." some men of genius have found their most natural exponent to be the pen; others indulge in practical humor. sheridan[ ] belonged to this latter class; he was full of fun and frolic, ever on the alert for an opportunity to exercise his humor. when on a certain occasion he had been driving about the town for three or four hours in a hackney-coach, he chanced to see his friend richardson, whom he hailed, and invited into the vehicle. when they were seated together he at once introduced a subject upon which he and richardson always differed, and a controversy naturally ensued. at last, affecting to be mortified at richardson's argument, sheridan said abruptly, "you are really too bad; i cannot bear to listen to such things: i will not stay in the coach with you." and accordingly he opened the door and sprang out, richardson hallooing triumphantly, "ah, you're beat, you're beat!" nor was it until the heat of the victory had a little cooled that he realized he was left in the lurch to pay for sheridan's three hours' coaching.[ ] sheridan, profligate and unprincipled as he was, still was capable of fine expression of sentiment and true poetic fire. in a poem called "clio's protest; or, the picture varnished," we find the following really beautiful lines:-- "marked you her cheek of rosy hue? marked you her eye of sparkling blue? that eye in liquid circles moving; that cheek abashed at man's approving; the one love's arrows darting round; the other blushing at the wound: did she not speak, did she not move, now pallas, now the queen of love?" the poets have frequently made satire an auxiliary of their wit; and when the proportions are properly adhered to, a favorable result is produced. satire, like many subtle poisons used as a medicine, may be safely taken in small quantities, while an overdose is liable to be fatal. in chaucer's[ ] canterbury pilgrims he draws his portraits to the life. while he exposes the weakness of human nature, he does not do so in surliness; a pleasant smile wreathes his lips all the while. there is slyness, but no bitterness in his satire. he would not chastise, he would only reform his fellow-men. as illustrating exactly the opposite spirit, we may instance pope, dryden, and byron, who, descending from their high estate, often prostituted their genius to attacks upon personal enemies or rivals, with keenest weapons, while their opponents had no means of defence. the "dunciad" is a monument of satiric wit, or genius belittled. swift, who wrote "cords" of worthless rhymes, squibs, songs, and verses, which live as much by their vulgar smartness as for the slight portion of true wit which tinctures them, says: "satire is a sort of glass wherein beholders generally discover everybody's face but their own; which is the chief reason for that kind of reception it meets with in the world, and that so few are offended with it." hawthorne gave the dean a merited thrust when he said, "the person or thing on which his satire fell shrivelled up as if the devil had spit on it." the _double entendre_ to be found in nearly all of swift's effusions, epigrams, and verses, comes with ill grace from a dignitary of the church. he was always ready with an epigram on all occasions. one "lives in our memory" which he addressed to mrs. houghton of bormount, who took occasion one day to praise her husband in swift's presence:-- "you always are making a god of your spouse; but this neither reason nor conscience allows: perhaps you will say 'tis in gratitude due, and you adore him because he adores you. your argument's weak, and so you will find; for you, by this rule, must adore all mankind." the wit and humor of shakespeare endear him to our hearts; and what a rich harvest does the gleaner obtain from his pages! take "love's labor's lost," for instance, a play produced in his youth, so full of quips and quiddity as to live in the memory by whole scenes. there is no lack of scathing sarcasm in the play, but it leaves no bitter taste in the mouth, like the "doses" of swift or the more unscrupulous productions of pope in the same line. ben jonson,[ ] who ranked so high as a dramatist, has been pronounced to be, next to shakespeare, the greatest wit and humorist of his time. his expression was through the pen, not by the tongue: no man was more taciturn in society. much of jonson's matter was better adapted to his time than to ours; words which seem to us so coarse and vulgar passed unchallenged in the period which gave them birth. here are five lines from jonson, with which he closes a play directed against plagiarists and libellers generally. he sums up thus:-- "blush, folly, blush! here's none that fears the wagging of an ass's ears, although a wolfish case he wears. detraction is but baseness' varlet, and apes are apes, though clothed in scarlet." it is said that jonson was a "sombre" man. we have seen that it is by no means always sunshine with those who brighten others' spirits by their pen. the great luminary is not always above the horizon. a friend remarked to the wife of one of our wittiest poets, "what an atmosphere of mirth you must live in, to share a home with one who writes always so sportively and wittily!" the answer was a most significant shake of the head. we spoke of dryden as a satirist; perhaps no writer ever went further in the line of bitterness and personality. his portrait of the duke of buckingham will occur to the reader in this connection:-- "a man so various that he seemed to be not one, but all mankind's epitome; stiff in opinions, always in the wrong, was everything by starts, and nothing long; but, in the course of one revolving moon, was chymist, fiddler, statesman, and buffoon." when a boy at school in westminster, dryden more than once showed the budding promise of the genius that was in him. when put with other classmates to write a composition on the miracle of the conversion of water into wine, he remained idle and truant, as usual, up to the last moment, when he had only time to produce one line in latin and two in english; but they were of such excellence as to presage his future greatness as a poet, and elicit hearty praise from his tutor. they were as follows:-- _videt et erubit lympha pudica deum!_ "the modest water, awed by power divine, beheld its god, and blushed itself to wine." dryden's complete works form the largest amount of poetical composition from the pen of one writer, in the english language; and yet he published scarcely anything until he was nearly thirty years of age. from that period he was actively engaged in authorship for forty years, and gave us some of the finest touches of his genius in his second spring of life. addison wrote of dryden at this period the following lines:-- "but see where artful dryden next appears, grown old in rhyme, but charming e'en in years; great dryden next, whose tuneful muse affords the sweetest numbers and the fittest words. whether in comic sounds or tragic airs she forms her voice, she moves our smiles or tears; if satire or heroic strains she writes, her hero pleases and her satire bites; from her no harsh, unartful numbers fall, she wears all dresses, and she charms in all." richard porson, the profound scholar, linguist, and wit, reared many monuments of classic learning, which have however crumbled away, leaving his name familiar to us only as a writer of _jeux d'esprit_; but these are admirable. he was full of the sunshine of wit; and though sarcastic and personal, as the nature of his _bon-mots_ compelled, he had no bitterness in his reflections, and uttered them with a good-natured laugh. wonderful stories are told of his powers of memory. he could repeat several consecutive pages of a book after reading them once. it was he who wrote a hundred epigrams in one night on the subject of pitt's drinking habit, one of which occurs to us:-- "when billy found he scarce could stand, 'help, help!' he cried, and stretched his hand, to faithful harry calling. quoth he, 'my friend, i'm sorry for't, 'tis not my practice to support a minister that's falling.'" the "faithful harry" was dundas, viscount melville. the reply of pitt to walpole, march , , is one of the finest, most polished, and biting retorts on record: "the atrocious crime of being a young man, which the honorable gentleman has, with such spirit and decency, charged upon me, i shall neither attempt to palliate nor deny, but content myself with wishing that i may be one of those whose follies may cease with their youth, and not of that number who are ignorant in spite of experience." dr. gilles, the historian of greece, and dr. porson used often to meet and discuss matters of mutual interest relating to the classics. these interviews were certain to lead to very earnest arguments; porson was much the better scholar of the two. dr. gilles was one day speaking to him of the greek tragedies and of the odes of pindar. "we know nothing," said gilles, emphatically, "of the greek metres." porson answered: "if, doctor, you will put your observation in the singular number, i believe it will be quite correct." in repartee he was remarkable. "dr. porson," said a gentleman with whom he had been disputing,--"dr. porson, my opinion of you is most contemptible." "sir," responded the doctor promptly, "i never knew an opinion of yours that was not contemptible." porson was a natural wit, so to speak. being once at a dinner-party where the conversation turned upon captain cook and his celebrated voyages, an ignorant person in order to contribute something towards the conversation asked, "pray, was cook killed on his first voyage?" "i believe he was," answered porson, "though he did not mind it much, but immediately entered upon a second." the sharpest repartee is both witty and satirical. james ii., when duke of york, made a visit to milton, prompted by curiosity. in the course of his conversation the duke said to the poet that he thought his blindness was a judgment of heaven on him because he had written against charles i., the duke's father; whereupon the immortal poet replied: "if your highness thinks that misfortunes are indexes of the wrath of heaven, what must you think of your father's tragical end? i have lost my eyes--he lost his head." few men equalled coleridge in the matter of prompt readiness of retort, and few have so misused the lavish gifts of providence.[ ] on a certain occasion he was riding along a durham turnpike road, in his awkward fashion,--for he was no horseman,--when a wag, noticing his peculiarity, approached him. quite mistaking his man, he thought the rider a good subject for a little sport, and so accosted him: "i say, young man, did you meet a _tailor_ on the road?" "yes," replied coleridge, "i did, and he told me if i went a little further i should meet a _goose_!" the assailant was struck dumb, while the traveller jogged leisurely on. lord bolingbroke, the ardent friend of pope, was often bitterly satirical, and notably quick at retort. being at aix-la-chapelle during the treaty of peace at that place, he was asked impertinently by a frenchman whether he came there in any public character. "no, sir," replied bolingbroke, very deliberately; "i come like a french minister, with no character at all." bolingbroke's talents were more brilliant than solid, but the style of his literary work is admirable. it is generally believed that he wrote the "essay on man" in prose, and that pope put it into verse, with such additions as would naturally occur in such an adaptation. painters, like poets, are equal at times to producing the keenest epigrams. salvator rosa's opinion of michael angelo's "last judgment" is an instance of this. the brother artist wrote not unkindly as follows:-- "my michael angelo, i do not jest; thy pencil a great judgment has expressed; but in that judgment thou, alas! hast shown but very little judgment of thine own!" we have already spoken of molière[ ] in these pages, though only too briefly when his just fame is considered. england has her shakespeare, spain her cervantes, germany her goethe, and france her molière. we have seen how triumphantly his powerful genius made its way amid adverse circumstances, until it enabled him, as disraeli says, "to give his country a plautus in farce, a terence in composition, and a menander in his moral truths." in short, molière showed that the most successful reformer of the manners and morals of the people is a great comic poet. did not cervantes "laugh spain's chivalry away"? it is a curious fact, worthy of note, that molière, who was so great a comic writer, and such an admirable comedian upon the stage, should have been socially one of the most serious of men and of a melancholic temperament. it was a considerable time before his genius struck out in the right direction and became self-reliant. at the beginning of his dramatic authorship he "borrowed bravely" from the italian, as shakespeare did; and spanish legends were also adapted by his facile pen to dramatic purposes, himself enacting chosen comedy parts of his own plays. this course, however, did not satisfy the genius of molière; he felt that he was capable of greater originality and of more truly artistic work. after much communing with himself he sought a new and more legitimate field of inspiration and employed fresher material. having now the entrée to the hôtel de rambouillet, he began to study with critical eye the court life about him, soon producing his "précieuses ridicules," which was a biting satire upon the follies of the day, though delicately screened. the author skilfully parried in the prologue any application to his court associates, by averring that the satire was aimed at their imitators in the provinces. the _ruse_ was sufficient, and the play was performed without offence; but its significance was nevertheless realized, and had its reformative influence without producing too great a shock. it was almost his first grand and original effort, and from thenceforth his career was a triumphal march. he is said to have exclaimed, "i need no longer study plautus and terence, nor poach on the fragments of menander, i have only to study the world about me." subsequently the brilliant success of his "tartuffe," his "misanthrope," and his "bourgeois gentilhomme" confirmed him in his conviction. although society felt itself arraigned, it was also humbled and powerless. the author had become too great a power to be suppressed. molière's domestic life, like that of only too many men of genius, and especially of authors, was a wreck.[ ] it may be doubted if such persons ought to marry at all. rousseau is another instance of domestic infelicity; and so are milton, dryden, addison, steele; indeed, the list could be indefinitely extended. a young painter of great promise once told sir joshua reynolds that he had taken a wife. "married!" responded the great master; "then you are ruined as an artist." michael angelo's answer when he was asked why he never married will be remembered: "i have espoused my art, and that occasions me sufficient domestic cares; my works shall be my children." the marriage of men of genius forms a theme of no little interest in the history of literature. it is herein that genius has oftenest found its sunshine or its shadow. even emerson has said, "is not marriage an open question, when it is alleged from the beginning of the world that such as are in the institution wish to get out, and such as are out wish to get in?" rousseau married a kitchen-girl, and raphael allied himself for the last eleven years of his life with a common girl of rome, whom he first saw washing her feet in the tiber. judging from her portrait, which he painted, and which still hangs in the barberini gallery, she was by no means beautiful, though the ensemble of head, face, and neck strikes the eye as forming a very attractive whole. margarita belonged to the lower classes of the eternal city, and when raphael died she went back to her former obscurity. there must have been many noble qualities in this young roman girl, to have held the consistent devotion of so great an artist for an entire decade. she must have possessed some inspiring influence over him other than forming his mere physical model. sympathetic she undoubtedly was, or else no such union could have lasted; and one feels that he must have imparted to her a portion of the glowing aspirations which fired his own genius. goethe married to legitimize his offspring; niebuhr, to please a mistress; churchill, because he was dispirited and lonely; napoleon, to obtain influence; wilkes, to oblige a friend; lamartine, in gratitude for a fortune which was offered to him, and which he rapidly squandered; wycherly married his servant to spite his relations. and so we might fill pages with brief mention of the influences which have led men of note to assume matrimonial relations. balzac's marriage forms a curious example. he met by chance, when travelling, a youthful married lady, who told him, without knowing who he was, how much she admired balzac's writings. "i never travel without a volume of his," she added, producing a copy. greatly flattered, the author made himself known to the lady, who was a princess by birth, and who became his constant correspondent until the death of her husband, when she gave him her hand and fortune. they were married, and settled to domestic life in a château on the rhine. but we have wandered away from molière before quite concluding the consideration of himself and his works. one of his most popular productions, "l'impromptu de versailles," has often been borrowed from; indeed, the general idea has been appropriated bodily both on the english and american stage. in this piece molière appears in his own person and in the midst of his whole theatrical company, apparently taken quite aback because there is no suitable piece prepared for the occasion. the characters are the actors as though congregated in the green room, with whom the manager is consulting, now reprimanding and now advising. in the course of his remarks he throws out hints of plots designed for plays, criticises his own productions, gives amusing sketches of character, and in short presents a humorous, realistic, and unique scene which formed as a whole a very complete comedy, and which proved a grand success. louis xiv. was his friend and patron; being himself particularly fond of theatrical performances, he often made shrewd suggestions, which the actor and dramatist took good care faithfully to adopt. indeed, it was said that this then unique idea of the green room brought before the curtain was from his majesty's own brain, though greatly improved upon by molière. some of the plots hinted at by the manager before his company in this play were afterwards amplified and perfected so as to become popular dramas, not only by molière, but by other dramatists. this is notably the case with beaumarchais' "barber of seville," which is but the elaboration of one of these incipient plots. however, molière was himself so liberal a borrower, like montesquieu, racine, and corneille, he could well afford to lend to others. bruyère embodies whole passages from publius syrus in his printed works; and la fontaine borrowed his style and much of his matter from mazot and rabelais. though we have referred to this subject before, we will add that voltaire looked upon everything as imitation; saying that the instruction which we gather from books is like fire: we fetch it from our neighbor's, kindle it at home, and communicate it to others, till it becomes the property of all. chapter xii. every thoughtful person must often have realized how close is the natural sympathy between artists in literature and artists of the pencil and brush; between painters and poets. belori informs us of a curious volume in manuscript by the hand of rubens, which contained among other topics descriptions of the passions and actions of men, drawn from the poets and delineated by the artist's own graphic pencil. here were represented battles, shipwrecks, landscapes, and various casualties of life, copied and illustrated from virgil and other classic poets, showing clearly whence rubens often got his inspiration and ideas of detail. the painter and the poet are the siamese-twins of genius. the finest picture ever produced is but poetry realized, though each art has its distinct province. the same may be said as to sculpture and poetry. it has long been a mooted question whether the laocoön in sculpture preceded or was borrowed from the idea expressed in poetry. lessing believed that the sculptor borrowed from the poet. all the sister arts[ ]--music, sculpture, poetry, and painting--are most intimately allied. when great composers, like mozart, were contemplating a grand expression of their genius, they endeavored to inspire themselves with lofty ideas by reading the poets; while masters in literature and oratory have sought for a similar purpose the elevating and soothing influence of music. orators have not infrequently depended upon more material stimulus, as we have seen in the instances of pitt and sheridan. the biographer of more tells us that when sir thomas was sent by henry viii. on an embassy to the emperor of germany, before he delivered his important remarks he ordered one of his servants to fill him a goblet of wine, which he drank off at once, and in a few moments repeated it, still demanding another. this his faithful servant, knowing his master's temperate habits, feared to furnish, and even at first declined to do so, lest he should expose him thereby before the emperor. still, upon a reiterated order, he brought the wine, which was rapidly swallowed by sir thomas, who then made his address to the sovereign in latin, like one inspired, and to the intense admiration of all the auditors, the emperor himself complimenting him upon his eloquence. more was a strange medley of character. devout in his religious convictions, he was yet as light-hearted as a child,--at times wise as solomon in his discourse, and anon descending almost to buffoonery; a truly good man at heart, and yet often espousing the worst of causes. though a pronounced reformer, he predicted that the reformation would result in universal vice. he is represented to have had a supreme contempt for money and a true generosity of spirit. with the most solemn convictions of the realities of death, he yet died upon the scaffold with a joke upon his lips. that imaginative english artist barry, the great historical painter, advised his pupils as follows: "go home from the academy, light your lamps, and exercise yourselves in the creative part of your art, with homer, with livy, and all the great characters ancient and modern, for your companions and counsellors." barry has left behind him works upon art which should not be read except with care, unbiassed judgment, and honest appreciation. his own eccentricities, all arising from a passion for art, led his contemporaries to criticise the man and ignore his work. he was wildly enthusiastic in all things relating to art, but yet sometimes exhibited the coarseness of his early associations. he was born at cork, from whence his father sailed as a foremast hand aboard a coasting vessel, and designed his son for the same humble occupation; but the lad had other and higher aspirations, until finally he attracted the notice of people able to advise and help him. humbly born and self-educated as he was, he presented some of the highest aspects of genius. by the generosity of edmund burke he was sent to rome, where he studied art for three or four years under favorable circumstances. on his return to england he took high rank, and was engaged by the academy as a professor. at times in his lectures before the students he would burst into such vehement enthusiasm as to electrify his listeners, and they in turn would rise to their feet and shout applauses long and deep, entirely heedless of the great turmoil which they created. then barry would exclaim: "go it, go it, boys; they did so at athens!" literature and art should be wedded together. the careful reader and the keen observer gather up a mental harvest and store it for use. what many conceive to be genius is often but reproduction. hosts of ideas have passed through the crucible of the author's mind and have been refined by the process, coming forth individualized by the stamp of his personality. he is none the less an originator, a creator; originality is after all but condensed and refined observation. there is a great deal of nonsense written and credited by the world at large as to the inspiration of authorship. some of the very best poetic turns of thought are the children of purest accident. sir joshua reynolds, calling upon goldsmith one day, opened his door without knocking, and found him engaged in the double occupation of authorship and teaching a pet dog to sit upon his haunches, now casting a glance at his writing-table, and now shaking his finger at the dog to make him retain his upright position. the last lines upon the paper were still wet,--as sir joshua[ ] said when he afterwards told the story,--and formed a part of the description of italy:-- "by sports like these are all their cares beguiled: the sports of children satisfy the child." goldsmith, with his usual good humor, joined in the laugh caused by his whimsical employment, and acknowledged to the great painter that his boyish sport with the dog suggested the lines. goldsmith was always the wayward and erratic being whom we have represented in these pages. his habit on retiring at night was to read in bed until overcome by somnolence; and he was so little inclined to sleep, that his candle was kept burning until the last moment. his mode of extinguishing it finally, when it was out of immediate reach, was characteristic of his indolence and carelessness: he threw his slipper at it, which consequently was found in the morning covered with grease beside the overturned candlestick. if, as we have attempted to show, authors exhibit oftentimes a spirit of vanity, it must be admitted that readers as frequently exhibit evidence of captiousness. those who sit down to peruse a book without a good and wholesome appetite for reading are very much in the same condition as one who approaches a table loaded with food, without a sense of hunger. in neither case can one be a proper judge of what is before him; mental or physical pabulum requires for just appreciation a wholesome appetite. unjust criticism often grows out of an attempt to force the appetite, the censor coming to his task in a wrong humor. the author is usually severely judged; he is solus, his critics are many: if he satisfies one class of readers he is sure to dissatisfy another. swift's definition of criticism, in his "tale of a tub," is pertinent. "a true critic," he says, "in the perusal of a book, is like a dog at a feast, whose thoughts and stomach are wholly set upon what the guests fling away, and consequently is apt to snarl most when there are the fewest bones." edgar a. poe's sarcasm upon the "north american review," in the matter of criticism, will long be remembered. it was generally considered at the time not only a keen but a just retort. our erratic genius writes: "i cannot say that i ever fairly comprehended the force of the term 'insult,' until i was given to understand, one day, by a member of the 'north american review' clique, that this journal was not only willing but anxious to render me that justice which had been already accorded me by the 'revue française,' and the 'revue des deux mondes,' but was restrained from doing so by my 'invincible spirit of antagonism.' i wish the 'north american review' to express no opinion of me whatever,--for i have none of it. in the mean time, as i see no motto on its titlepage, let me recommend it one from 'sterne's letter from france.' here it is: 'as we rode along the valley, we saw a herd of asses on the top of one of the mountains: how they viewed and _reviewed_ us!'" no one can deny that poe possessed remarkable genius; but his best friends could not approve either his temper or his habits. balzac complained of lack of appreciation; though, as has just been shown, he captivated one of his readers to such a degree as to bring him a wife and a fortune. "a period," he says, "shall have cost us the labor of a day; we shall have distilled into an essay the essence of our mind; it may be a finished piece of art, and they think they are indulgent when they pronounce it to contain some pretty things, and that the style is not bad!" montaigne said that he found his readers too learned or too ignorant, and that he could please only a middle class who possessed just knowledge enough to understand him. to read well and to a consistent purpose is as much of an art as to write well. it was said of dr. johnson by mrs. knowles that "he knows how to read better than any other one; he gets at the substance of a book directly; he tears out the heart of it." a literary friend of the writer has long adopted an effective aid to memory in connection with reading. after perusing a book he writes down the date, the place, and under what circumstances it was read, and in a few concise lines gives the impression it has left upon his mind. this he does not design as a criticism; it is intended for himself only. at a future day he can take up the volume, since perusing which he may have read a hundred in a similar manner, and by turning to his brief comment at the close, the power of association enables him to recall the subject of the volume and virtually to remember the contents. he assures us that the circumstances under which he became familiar with the book, if fairly remembered, recall even its detail. for our own part, we have trusted solely to a retentive memory, and the choice of such lines of reading as inclination has suggested. the books which we consult lovingly will long remain with us, requiring very little effort to impress their contents upon the brain. how suggestive is this theme of books and the reading of them! whipple eulogizes them thus appropriately: "books,--light-houses erected in the great sea of time; books,--the precious depositories of the thoughts and creations of genius; books,--by whose sorcery time past becomes time present, and the whole pageantry of the world's history moves in solemn procession before our eyes. these were to visit the fireside of the humble, and lavish the treasures of the intellect upon the poor. could we have plato and shakespeare and milton in our dwellings, in the full vigor of their imaginations, in the full freshness of their hearts, few scholars would be affluent enough to afford them physical support; but the living images of their minds are within the reach of all. from their pages their mighty souls look out upon us in all their grandeur and beauty, undimmed by the faults and follies of earthly existence, consecrated by time." poets have been more addicted to building castles upon paper than residences upon the more substantial earth. though the old axiom of "genius and a garret" has passed away, both as a saying and in the experiences of real life, still it had its pertinency in the early days of literature and art. ariosto, who was addicted to castle-building with the pen, was asked why he was so modestly lodged when he prepared a permanent home for himself. he replied that palaces are easier built with words than with stones. but the poet, nevertheless, had a snug and pretty abode at ferrara, italy, a few leagues from bologna, which is still extant. leigh hunt says: "poets love nests from which they can take their flights, not worlds of wood and stone to strut in." the younger pliny was more of a substantial architect, whose villa, devoted to literary leisure, was magnificent, surrounded by gardens and parks. tycho brahe, the great danish astronomer, built a grand castle and observatory combined on an island of the baltic, opposite copenhagen, which he named the "castle of the heavens." many of our readers have doubtless visited the house which shakespeare built for himself in his native town on red-lion street. in passing through its plain apartments one receives with infinite faith the stereotyped revelations of the local cicerone. buffon was content to locate himself for his literary work and study in an old half-deserted tower, and gibbon, as we have seen, to write his great work in the summer-house of a lausanne garden. chaucer lived and wrote in a grand palace, because he was connected with royalty; but he never dilated upon such surroundings,--his fancy ran to outdoor nature, to the flowers and the trees. milton[ ] sought an humble "garden house" to live in; that is, a small house in the environs of the city, with a pleasant little garden attached. addison wrote his "campaign" "up two pair of back stairs in the hay-market." johnson tells us that much of his literary work was produced from a garret in exeter street. paul jovius,[ ] the italian author, who wrote three hundred concise eulogies of statesmen, warriors, and literary men of the fourteenth century, built himself an elegant château on the lake of como, beside the ruins of the villa of pliny, and declared that when he sat down to write he was inspired by the associations of the place. in his garden he raised a marble statue to nature, and his halls contained others of apollo and the muses. the traveller visits with eager interest rubens' house in his native city of antwerp, a veritable museum within, but plain and unpretentious without. rubens is to the belgian capital what thorwaldsen is to copenhagen. spenser lived in an irish castle (kilcolman castle), which was burned over his head by a mob; and, sad to say, his child was burned with it. in his verses spenser was always depicting "lowly cots," and it was on that plane that his taste rested. moore's vine-clad cottage at sloperton is familiar to all. in the environs of florence we still see the cottage home where landor lived and wrote, and in the city itself the house of michael angelo,--plain and unadorned externally, but with a few of the great artist's household gods duly preserved in the several apartments. the historic home of the poet longfellow, in cambridge, has become a mecca to lovers of poetry and genius; while tennyson's embowered cottage at the isle of wight is equally attractive to travellers from afar. pope[ ] had a modest nest at twickenham, and wordsworth at rydal mount, the beauties of both being more dependent upon the surrounding scenery than upon any architectural attraction. pope declared all gardens to be landscape-paintings, and he loved them. scott made himself a palatial home at abbotsford, which was quite an exception to that of his brother poets. dr. holmes's unpretentious town house in the trimountain city overlooks the broad charles, and affords him a glorious view of the setting sun. emerson's concord home was and is the picture of rural simplicity. hawthorne's biographer makes us familiar with his red cottage at lenox. bryant made himself an embowered summer cottage at roslyn, new york state. lowell has a fine but plain residence overlooking the beautiful grounds of mount auburn. nothing could be more simple and lovely than whittier's danvers home. none of these poets have built castles of stone, whatever they may have done under poetical license. "i never had any other desire so strong, and so like to covetousness," says the poet cowley, "as that i might be master at least of a small house and a large garden, with very moderate conveniences joined to them, and there dedicate the remainder of my life only to the culture of them and study of nature, and then, with no desire beyond my wall,-- '----whole and entire to lie, in no unactive ease, and no unglorious poverty.'" cowley at last got what he so ardently desired, but it was not until he was too old and broken in health to find that active enjoyment which he had so fondly anticipated. he died in the forty-ninth year of his age. we spoke of the contrast which was manifest between the private and public life of molière. these paradoxes are strange, but by no means uncommon in the character of men of genius. it will be remembered that grimaldi, the cleverest and most mirth-provoking clown of his day in england, was often under medical treatment on account of his serious attacks of melancholy. it seems almost incredible that men of such profound judgment in most matters, as were dr. johnson and addison, should have been so inexcusably weak as to entertain a belief in ghosts,--an eccentricity which neither of them denied. byron,[ ] who as a rule was noted for his shrewd common-sense, was so superstitious that he would not help a person at table to salt, nor permit himself to be served with it by another's hand. there were other equally absurd "omens" which he strenuously regarded. cowper, who was a devoutly religious man, deliberately attempted to hang himself,--an act entirely at variance with his serious convictions. so also hugh miller, one of the most wholesome writers upon the true principles of life, wrested his own life from his maker's hands. pope, who was such a bravado with his pen, boldly denouncing an army of scholars and wits in his "dunciad," was personally an arrant coward, who could not summon sufficient self-possession to make a statement before a dozen of his personal friends. the paradox which existed between goldsmith's pen and tongue passed into an axiom: with the one he was all eloquence and grace; with the other, as foolish as a parrot. douglas jerrold, whose forte was as clearly that of wit and humor as it is the sun's province to shine, was ever wishing to write a profound essay on natural philosophy. newton, highest authority in algebra, could not make the proper change for a guinea without assistance, and while he was master of the mint was hourly put to shame by the superior practical arithmetic of the humblest clerks under him. another peculiarity of newton was that he fancied himself a poet; but who ever saw a verse of his composition? judged by all accepted rules, charles lamb experienced ills sufficient to have driven him to commit suicide; whereas the truth shows that with "his sly, shy, elusive, ethereal humor" he was ordinarily the most genial and contented of beings. curious beyond expression are the many-sided phases of genius, and indeed of all humanity. let us therefore have a care how we judge our fellow-men, since what they truly are within themselves we cannot know, and may only infer by what they seem to be relatively to ourselves. undoubtedly the germs of virtue and of vice are born within the soul of every human being; their development is contingent upon how slight a cause! nor in our readiness to censure should we forget in whose image we are all created,--"a little lower than the angels, a little higher than the brutes." it is the nature of man, like the harp, to give forth beautiful or discordant sounds according to the delicacy and skill with which it is touched. we find what we come to find,--what, indeed, we bring with us. richard baxter, the prolific author upon theology, at the close of a long life said: "i now see more good and more evil in all men than heretofore i did. i see that good men are not so good as i once thought they were; and i find that few are so bad as either malicious enemies or censorious professors do imagine." index. adams, john, . addison, joseph, , , , , and note, , , , , , . Æschylus, . Æsop, . agassiz, louis, and note. akenside, mark, . alexander the great, . alfieri, vittorio, , . allston, washington, , and note. ames, fisher, , . amyot, jacques, . andersen, hans christian, and note, , , . andré, major john, . angelo, michael, , , . arago, dominique françois, . arc, joan of, , . ariosto, lodovico, . aristippus, . aristo, . aristophanes, , . arkwright, sir richard, . arnauld, antoine, . astor, john jacob, and note. astor, william b., note. auber, daniel françois esprit, . audubon, john james, , and note. bacon, francis, , and note, , . bailey, philip james, . ball, thomas, and note. balzac, de (honoré), , , , . bancroft, george, , , . bandoccin, . barbauld, anna lætitia, . barrow, isaac, . barry, james, , note, . baxter, richard, . beaconsfield, lord (disraeli), note, note, note, , , and note. beaufort, cardinal henry, . beaumarchais, de (pierre auguste caron), . beckford, william, . beecher, h. w., . beethoven, van, ludwig, and note, . bellini, vincenzo, . bentham, jeremy, and note. bentivoglio, ercole, . bentley, richard, . béranger, de (pierre jean), , and note, , . betterton, thomas, . beveridge, bishop, . bewick, thomas, . bide, . biglow, hosea, note. blackstone, sir william, . blessington, lady margaret, note. bloomfield, robert, . boccaccio, giovanni, . boëthius, note. boffin, ----, . boleyn, anne, . bolingbroke, lord (henry saint john), . bousard, ----, . bowditch, nathaniel, . boyle, robert, . boyle, samuel, . bracegirdle, . bright, john, , . brindley, james, . britton, john, . bronté, anne, . bronté, charlotte, , , . bronté, emily, . bronté, rev. patrick, . brooks, shirley, . brougham, lord, note, . browning, mrs., note. bruyère, de la (jean), , . bryant, william c., , , . brydges, sir samuel egerton, . buffon, georges louis leclerc, comte, , , , , , , , . bulwer lytton, , , , , , , , . bunyan, john, and note, , . burgundy, duke of, . burke, edmund, and note, , , , , , , , , . burns, robert, , and note, , , , , , , , . burritt, elihu, , . burton, robert, , and note. butler, samuel, and note. buxton, sir thomas fowell, . byron, george gordon noel, , , , , and note, , , , , , , , and note, , , , , and note. byron, thomas, . cæsar, julius, , . cæsar, octavius, note. calhoun, john c., , . calvart, denis, . camoens, luis, and note. campbell, thomas, , note. cano, alonzo, . canova, antonio, , , , . carlyle, thomas, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . carneades, . cato, , . cellini, benvenuto, and note. cervantes, miguel, , and note, , note, and note, . channing, dr. william e., , and note. chantrey, sir francis, . chapin, e. h., . charlemagne, . charles, duke of orleans, . charles i. of england, . charles ii. of england, . charles xii. of sweden, and note. châteaubriand, françois auguste, and note. chatham, earl of, . chatterton, thomas, , , . chaucer, geoffrey, , , , note, , , . choate, rufus, , . churchill, charles, and note, . cibber, colley, . cicero, , , . cimarosa, domenico, . clare, john, . clark, samuel, . cleanthes the stoic, . clive, robert, lord, . clyde, lord, . cobbett, william, , note, . cobden, richard, . coleridge, s. t., note, , , , , note, , , , and note, , , , note, , , , and note. colletet, guillaume, . collier, john payne, . collins, william, and note. colorden, . colton (lacon), , , . columbus, christopher, , and note. combe, george, . congreve, william, , , and note, , . condé, de (louis ii. de bourbon), prince, . cook, james, capt., . cormontaigne, louis de, . corneille, peter, , , , , . correggio, antonio allegri da, . correra, ----, . cortes, hernando, . cowley, abraham, , , , . cowper, william, and note, , , , . crabbe, george, , , . crassus, roman triumvir, note. cratinus, . crébillon, prosper jolyot, , . cromwell, oliver, , . cruden, alexander, . cunningham, allan, . curran, john philpot, , , , . cushing, caleb, . d'alembert, jean le rond, . dalrymple, sir david (lord hailes), . dante, allighieri, , , , and note, . d'arblay, madame (frances burney), . darwin, dr. erasmus, . davenant, sir william, note. da vinci, leonardo, and note. davy, sir humphry, , . decker, thomas, . defoe, daniel, , , . demosthenes, . de quincey, thomas, , , , and note, , . de tocqueville, alexis charles henry clerel, , . dibdin, charles, . dick, robert, . dickens, charles, , , , , , , , , , and note, . diogenes, . dodsley, robert, . domenichino, zampieri, . drew, samuel, . dryden, john, , and note, , and note, , , , , , . ducis, jean françois, . dumas, alexandre, , and note, , , . durer, albert, . edgeworth, maria, and note. edwards, president jonathan, . edwards, thomas, . elizabeth, queen, . elliott, ebenezer, and note. emerson, ralph waldo, , , , , note, note, , , , . ennius, . epictetus, , . erasmus, désiré, . ereilla, alonzo de, . eupolis, . euripides, . evarts, william, and note. fénelon, françois de salignac de la mothe, . fielding, henry, note, and note, , . fields, james t., , . fletcher, andrew, of saltoun, note. fontenelle, bernard le bovier, . foote, samuel, . fordyce, dr. george, . forrest, edwin, . foster, john, , . fox, charles james, . franklin, dr. benjamin, and note, , , . frederick v. of denmark, . fuller, margaret, , and note, , . fuller, thomas, and note, . galileo, , and note. garfield, james a., . garrick, david, and note, , , , , and note, note. garrison, william lloyd, and note. gaskell, mrs. elizabeth c., . gay, john, and note, , . gelli, giovanni battista, . gibbon, edward, , , and note, , , , and note. gibson, john, . gifford, william, , , . gilles, dr., . giotto, angiolotto, . giovanni, . gladstone, rt. hon. w. e., . glück, von (johann christoph), . godeau, antoine, bishop of venice, . goethe, johann wolfgang, , note, , , , , note, , , . goldsmith, oliver, note, , , , , , , , , , and note, , , and note, , . grattan, henry, note. gray, thomas, , and note, note. greeley, horace, . greene, general nathanael, . greene, robert, . gregory vii., pope, . grey, lady jane, . grimaldi, joseph, . guizot, françois pierre guillaume, . guyon, madame, jeanne bouvier de la motte, . gwynn, nell, , . hall, robert, and note, , . hallam, arthur, note. halleck, fitz-greene, , , . hamilton, alexander, . hampden, john, . handel, george frederick, , , , and note, , and note. hannibal, . hardy, ----, . hawkins, sir john, . hawksworth, dr. john, note. haydn, joseph, and note, . haydon, benjamin robert, note. hawthorne, nathaniel, , , . hazlitt, william, note, note, , , , , and note, , note. heller, joseph, . hemans, mrs. felicia dorothea, and note. henry of navarre, . henry v. of france, . herbert, george, . herder, von (johann gottfried), . hermand, lord, . heron, robert, . hesiod, . heyward, john, . hobbes, thomas, , . hobson, ----, . hoffman, charles fenno, , . hogarth, william, , . hogg, james, note, , . holmes, oliver wendell, , , , , . holzmann, adolf, , . homer, and note. hood, thomas, , , and note. hook, theodore, and note. horace, , . horne, dr. thomas hartwell, . horsley, bishop samuel, . howard, john, . howe, mrs. julia ward, . howell, james, . hughes, john, . hugo, victor, , . hume, david, and note, and note. hunt, leigh, note, , , , note, note, , . hunter, john, . hunter, william, . huntington, william, . irving, washington, , , , . jackson, andrew, . jasmin, jacques, . jeffrey, lord francis, note. jerrold, douglas, , note, , , , , , , . johnson, andrew, . johnson, dr. samuel, , , , note, , , , , , , , , note, , note, - , note, , , , , , , , . jonson, ben, , and note, , and note, and note. jovius, paul, . keats, john, , , and note, , and note. kepler, johann, , . kimball, moses, note. king, thomas starr, . klopstock, friedrich gottlieb, . knight, richard payne, . knox, john, . kotzebue, von, august friedrich ferdinand, and note. lafayette, general marie jean paul, . lafayette, madame de, note. la fontaine, jean, , , . lamartine, alphonse de, , , , , . lamb, charles, , , , , , , and note, and note, , , - , , . lamb, mary, . landon, miss letitia elizabeth, , and note. landor, walter savage, , and note, , . latimer, hugh, . lawrence, sir thomas, , . layard, austen henry, . lee, prof. samuel, . leibnitz, gottfried wilhelm, baron, . lenau, nikolaus, . leon, ponce de, . le sage (gil blas), . lewis, sir george cornewall, . lincoln, abraham, . lind, jenny, . linnæus (karl von linné), . liston, john, . livingston, dr. david, . locke, john, and note, . lockhart, john gibson, . longfellow, henry w., note, , , , , . lorraine, claude, . louis xiii. of france, louis xiv. of france, . louis xvi. of france, . lovelace, richard, . lowell, james russell, , . loyola, ignatius, . lucan, . luther, martin, , , . lydiat, thomas, . macaulay, lord (thomas babington), , , , , , , , note, , , , , . macready, william charles, . machiavelli, niccolò di bernardo, . malherbe, de (françois), . mann, horace, . marlborough, duke of (john churchill), . maria theresa, . massinger, philip, . matthews, charles, sr, . maturin, charles robert, . maurice of saxony, note. mazarin, cardinal giulio, . mcmahon, ----, . méhul, Étienne henri, . ménage, gilles, . menander, note. metternich, von (clemens wenzel), . miller, dr. isaac, dean of carlisle, . miller, hugh, and note, . milton, john, , , , , , , , and note, , , , . mirabeau, de (honoré gabriel de riquetti), , . mitford, mary russell, , , . mitford, william, . molière, jean baptiste pocquelin, , , , , , , , . montague, edward, . montaigne, michel eyquem, , , , , . montesquieu, charles, . montgomery, james, . moore, thomas, , and note, , , , . more, hannah, . more, sir thomas, , . morphy, paul, . moshlech, dr., . motherwell, william, . mounier, marchioness de, . mozart, johann chrysostom wolfgang amadeus, , , , and note, and note, and note, . murphy, arthur, . musset, alfred de, , . napoleon bonaparte, , , . necker, madame albertine adrienne, . nelson, lord, horatio, . newton, sir isaac, , , , , , , . niebuhr, barthold georg, . nilsson, christina, . north, christopher, . oakley, henry, . offenbach, isaac, . opie, amelia, . opie, john, , and note. orrery, lord, . otway, thomas, . paganini, niccolò, . paine, thomas, , and note. paley, dr. william (archdeacon of carlisle), . parmigiano, girolamo francesco maria (mazzola), . parr, dr., , note, . pascal, blaise, . patti, adelina, . paul, jean, , . peabody, elizabeth, . peabody, george, . pellico, silvio, . penn, william, . perugino, pietro venucci, . petavius, denis, . petrarch, francesco, . petronius, . phillips, ambrose, . phillips, wendell, , . pierce, franklin, . pisistratus, . pitt, william, , , , . plato, . plautus, , . pliny, , . plutarch, , . poe, edgar a., , , , , . pope, alexander, , and note, , , , , , , , , , note, , , . porson, richard, , . poussin, nicolas, . powers, hiram, . prideaux, dr. john, bishop of worcester, . prior, matthew, , , and note. protagoras, . prynne, william, . psalmanazar, george, . pygmalion and galatea, , . quin, james, . rachel, elisabeth félix, , and note, . racine, jean, , note, . radcliffe, dr. john, . raleigh, sir walter, and note. rame, louise de la (ouida), and note. raphael, sanzio, , , . reni, guido, . reynolds, sir joshua, , , . rhondelet, dr. guillaume, . richelieu, cardinal armand jean du plessis, . richter, jean paul, and note, and note. ridley, nicholas, . ritson, joseph, . rochefoucauld, duc françois, and note, . rogers, samuel, , , , note, , , , . roland, madam marie jeanne, . rollin, charles, . romney, george, . rosa, salvator, - , . roscommon, earl of (wentworth dillon), , . rossini, gioacchimo, , , . rousseau, jean jacques, , , , , . rowe, nicholas, . royer-collard, note. rubens, peter paul, , , . rusard, peter, . ruskin, john, , , . sacchini, antonio maria gasparo, . st. pierre, de (jacques henri bernardin), note. salieri, antonio, . sallust, . sand, george, , , , . santara, . sargent, epes, . sarpi, father paolo, . sarti, giuseppe, . sarto, andrea del, , . saunders, chief justice sir edmund, . savage, richard, , , . scaliger, julius, , schiller, von (johann christoph friedrich), , and note, , , and note, . schumann, robert, . scipio, . scipio the younger, . scott, sir walter, note, , note, , , , , , , , , , , , , and note, , . scudéri, george, . scudéri, mlle. de (madeleine), note. seldon, john, . seneca, , . seward, miss anna, . shadwell, thomas, . shakespeare, wm., and note, , , , , , note, , , , , , . shaw, dr., . shelley, percy bysshe, , , , , , and note, . sheridan, richard brinsley butler, , , , , note, , , , , . shuter, edward, . siddons, mrs. sarah, , and note. sidney, sir philip, . smart, christopher, , . smith, adam, . smith, sir sydney, , note, , note, , , , note, . smollett, tobias george, , . sneyd, miss honora, . socrates, , , . sophocles, . southey, robert, , , and note, , , , , . spagnoletto, - and note. spencer, james, . spencer, william robert, . spenser, edmund, , , note, . spontini, gasparo luigi pacifico, . staël, madame de (anne louise), , . steele, richard, , , . stephens, james francis, . stephenson, george, . stepney, george, . sterne, laurence, , , , . stuart, gilbert charles, . sturgeon, william, . sue, eugène, , and note. sumner, charles, . swift, dean (jonathan) , , , , , note, - , and note, , , . sydenham, floyer, . syrus, publius, and note. taglioni, marie, . talfourd, thomas noon, . talma, françois joseph, . tannahill, robert, and note. tasso, torquato, , , , , and note. taylor, bayard, . taylor, father, , . taylor, jane, . taylor, jeremy, , . tell, william, . tencin, madame de claudine alexandrine guérin, and note. teniers, david, . tennyson, alfred, , , , , . tenterden, justice (abbott), charles, . terence, and note. thackeray, william makepeace, note, , , , , , note, , and note, note, , , , . theophrastus, . thom, william, . thoreau, henry david, , , . thorwaldsen, albert bertel, . thrale, mrs. esther lynch (salusbury), . thurlow, chancellor edward, . titus, emperor, . tooke, horne, note. trenck, baron, von der (friedrich), . turner, joseph mallord william, , , note. tyndale, william, . vaga, perius del, . vanderbilt, cornelius, . vandyke, sir anthony, . vaugelas, claude favre, , , . vayer, la mothe le, françois, . vega, lope de, , and note. victor emmanuel, . virgil, , . voltaire, de (françois marie arouet), , , , , . vondel, joost van den, . wakefield, gilbert, . waller, edmund, note, note. walpole, horace, . walton, izaak, , , . warburton, bishop william, , . warton, dr. joseph, . washington, george, . watt, james, , , , . webster, daniel, and note, . wellington, duke of, arthur (wellesley), note, . west, benjamin, and note, and note. whipple, edwin percy, note, note, , note, , , , , note, . white, henry kirke, , . whitefield, george, . whitney, eli, , . whittier, john greenleaf, , , , . wicquefort, de (abraham), . wilkes, john, . william of orange, note. william the conqueror, . williams, roger, . willis, nathaniel parker, , note, , , . wilson, henry, . wilson, john, , . wilson, richard, . winckelmann, and note. winthrop, robert c., . wither, george, and note. woffington, margaret (peg), , and note. wolcott, dr. john, note. wolsey, cardinal thomas, , . woodworth, samuel, . wordsworth, william, , , , , , , . wotton, henry, . wycherly, william, . zoroaster, . university press: john wilson & son, cambridge. footnotes: [footnote : goldsmith makes his chinese philosopher recount the name of homer as the first poet and beggar among the ancients,--a blind man whose mouth was more frequently filled with verses than with bread.] [footnote : shakespeare's line expired in his daughter's only daughter. several of the descendants of shakespeare's sister joan, bearing a strong family likeness to the great poet, were, so late as , living in and about stratford, chiefly in a state of indigence.] [footnote : i have no doubt whatever that homer is a mere concrete name for the rhapsodies of the iliad. of course there was a homer, and twenty besides. i will engage to compile twelve books, with characters just as distinct and consistent as those of the iliad, from the metrical ballads and other chronicles of england, about arthur and the knights of the round table.--_coleridge._] [footnote : they must needs be men of lofty stature, whose shadows lengthen out to remote posterity.--_hazlitt._] [footnote : the edinburgh "review," once the most formidable of critical journals, took its motto from publius syrus:-- "judex damnatur cum nocens absolvetur."] [footnote : the kindly human sympathy exhibited by terence contributed largely to the popularity of his dramas. whenever the often-quoted words, "i am a man; and i have an interest in everything that concerns humanity," were spoken upon the roman stage, they were received with tumultuous applause by all classes.] [footnote : crassus, a roman triumvir, noted for his great wealth, who lived about a hundred years before the christian era, bought and sold slaves. these he educated, and taught the highest accomplishments of the day, sparing no labor or expense for the purpose. these educated slaves were then sold for large sums of money, so that any rich man could own his private poet and scholar. we are told by plutarch that some of these slaves brought enormous prices into the treasury of crassus.] [footnote : "what can they see in the longest kingly line in europe," asks sir walter scott, "save that it runs back to a successful soldier?"] [footnote : when approached by madame de tencin, who was finally eager to acknowledge so distinguished a son, he replied:-- "je ne connais qu'une mère, c'est la vitrière."] [footnote : i knew a very wise man that believed if a man were permitted to make all the ballads, he need not care who should make the laws of a nation.--_andrew fletcher of saltoun._] [footnote : rachel made her debut at the théâtre français of paris, in . she came to this country in , and performed in our eastern cities. three years later she died of consumption, near cannes, in the south of france. when she was giving one of her readings before the duke of wellington, she perceived that all her audience were ignorant of the french language except the duke himself. she went on, however, at her best, consoling herself that he at least understood her. after it was over, the duke approached the great actress, and said: "mademoiselle, our guests have had a great advantage over me; they have had the happiness of hearing you: i am as deaf as a post."] [footnote : hazlitt, after remarking that shakespeare's play of "all's well that ends well" is taken from boccaccio, adds: "the poet has dramatized the original novel with great skill and comic spirit, and has preserved all the beauty of character and sentiment without improving upon it, which is impossible." in the town of certaldo, tuscany, the house in which boccaccio was born is shown to curious travellers. on the façade is an inscription speaking of the small house and a name which filled the world. "before seven years of age," says boccaccio, "when as yet i had met with no stories, was without a master, and hardly knew my letters, i had a natural talent for fiction, and produced some small tales."] [footnote : the author has stood upon the bridge of pinos, at granada, from whence columbus, discouraged and nearly heart-broken, was recalled by isabella, after having been denied and dismissed, as he supposed, for the last time. the messenger of the relenting queen overtook the great pilot at the bridge, and conducted him back to the hall of the ambassadors, in the alhambra.] [footnote : disraeli tells us that the french ambassador to spain, meeting cervantes, congratulated him on the great success and reputation gained by his "don quixote;" whereupon the author whispered in his ear: "had it not been for the inquisition, i should have made my book much more entertaining." when cervantes was a captive, and in prison at algiers, he concerted a plan to free himself and his comrades. one of them traitorously betrayed the plot. they were all conveyed before the dey of algiers, who promised them their lives if they would betray the contriver of the plot. "i was that person," replied cervantes; "save my companions, and let me perish." the dey, struck with his noble confession, spared his life and permitted them all to be ransomed.] [footnote : "the testimony of the rocks," a noble and monumental work, by hugh miller, was published in . the night following its completion its author shot himself through the heart. the overworked brain had given out, and all was chaos. he had sense enough left to write a few loving lines to his wife and children, and to say farewell.] [footnote : falling into a state of morbid despondency and mental derangement, tannahill committed suicide, by drowning, in his thirty-sixth year. james hogg, the "ettrick shepherd," visited him a short time before his death. "farewell," said tannahill, as he grasped his brother poet's hand; "we shall never meet again!"] [footnote : one of bunyan's biographers tells us his library consisted of two books,--the bible and fox's "book of martyrs." the latter work, in three volumes, is preserved in the bedford town library, and contains bunyan's name at the foot of the titlepages written by himself. bunyan's crime, for which he was imprisoned twelve years, was teaching plain country people the knowledge of the scriptures and the practice of virtue.] [footnote : is it generally known that among the accomplishments of his after years was that of music and an instrumental performer? leigh hunt says that "dr. franklin offered to teach my mother the guitar, but she was too bashful to become his pupil. she regretted this afterwards, possibly from having missed so illustrious a master. her first child, who died, was named after him." in his autobiography franklin says: "at ten years of age i was called home to assist my father in his occupation, which was that of a soap-boiler and tallow-chandler, a business to which he had served no apprenticeship, but which he embraced on his arrival in new england, because he found his own, that of a dyer, in too little request. i was accordingly employed in cutting the wicks, filling the moulds," etc.] [footnote : his original name was john horne, but being adopted and educated by william tooke, he assumed his name. his humble birth being suspected by the proud striplings at eton, when he was questioned as to his father he replied, "he was a turkey merchant!" he was imprisoned for a year because he said that certain americans were "murdered" by the king's troops at lexington!] [footnote : elliott, the corn-law rhymer, was no pander to popular cries unless they were founded on reason. being asked, "what is a communist?" he answered, "one who has yearnings for equal division of unequal earnings. idler or bungler, he is willing to fork out his penny and pocket your shilling." whipple says: "his poetry could hardly be written by a man who was not physically strong. you can hear the ring of his anvil, and see the sparks fly off from his furnace, as you read his verses."] [footnote : while these notes are writing, the city of boston is erecting a bronze statue to the memory of garrison, which is to adorn one of its finest and largest public parks,--a fitting tribute to the honored philanthropist.] [footnote : hosea biglow's words are specially applicable here:-- "an' yit i love th' unhighschooled way ol' farmers hed when i wuz younger; their talk wuz meatier, an' 'ould stay, while book-froth seems to whet your hunger."] [footnote : his "death on the pale horse," now in the academy of fine arts at philadelphia, is the most remarkable of his productions in this country. the pennsylvania hospital, in the same city, has also "christ healing the sick," by west,--a truly noble conception, a vigorous work of art, and a generous gift from the author.] [footnote : his old employer, moses kimball, paid ball twenty thousand dollars for the bronze group now standing in park square. it represents president lincoln freeing the slaves. the purchaser presented it to the city of boston.] [footnote : hans christian andersen was one of the most gifted of modern authors. in his story entitled "only a fiddler," he has given many striking pictures from the experience of his own life. his best books are his fairy-tales, of which he has published several volumes.] [footnote : any one who could place the tragedy of "cleone" before that of "venice preserved," by otway, in point of merit, must have been singularly prejudiced.] [footnote : thackeray says: "he was lazy, kindly, uncommonly idle; rather slovenly, forever eating and saying good things. a little french abbé of a man, sleek, soft-handed, and soft-hearted." a mr. rich was the manager of the theatre in which gay's "beggar's opera" was brought out. its unprecedented success suggested the epigram that "it made rich gay, and gay rich."] [footnote : among his liberal bequests were four hundred thousand dollars for the establishment of a public library in new york, to which his son, william b. astor, subsequently added as much more. the astor library is therefore one of the best endowed institutions of the kind in america.] [footnote : webster, when told that there was no room for new lawyers in a profession already overcrowded, answered, with the proud consciousness of genius and character, "there is always room at the top."] [footnote : charles xii. put his whole soul into the cause of sweden at the time when she was threatened with extinction by her enemies. he fought all europe,--danes, russians, poles, germans,--and gave away a kingdom before he was twenty. at his coronation at upsala, he snatched the crown from the hands of the archbishop and set it proudly on his head with his own hands.] [footnote : whipple speaks of three characters "who seem to have been statesmen from the nursery." these were: "octavius cæsar, more successful in the arts of policy than even the great julius, never guilty of youthful indiscretion, or, we are sorry to say, of youthful virtue; maurice of saxony, the preserver of the reformed religion in germany, in that memorable contest in which his youthful sagacity proved more than a match for the veteran craft of charles v.; and the second william of orange, the preserver of the liberties of europe against the ambition of louis xiv., who, as a child, may be said to have prattled treaties and lisped despatches."] [footnote : nothing is so beneficial to a young author as the advice of a man whose judgment stands constitutionally at the freezing point.--_douglas jerrold._] [footnote : the life of jeanne d'arc is like a legend in the midst of history.--_waller._] [footnote : after a couple of years hall was restored to the full possession of his faculties, and for twenty years thereafter maintained his high reputation as a pulpit orator. he died in .] [footnote : fifty years after these poems were published, as we are informed by the publishers, there is a steady demand for from two to three hundred copies annually. of how many american books, of a similar character, can this be said?] [footnote : i wrote things, i'm ashamed to say how soon. part of an epic poem when about twelve. the scene of it lay at rhodes and some of the neighboring islands; and the poem opened under water, with a description of the court of neptune.--_pope._] [footnote : lord brougham hoped to see the day when every man in the united kingdom could read bacon. "it would be much more to the purpose," said cobbett, "if his lordship could use his influence to see that every man in the kingdom could _eat_ bacon."] [footnote : on a certain occasion when barry, the eminent painter, exhibited one of his admirable pictures, some one present doubted that it was his work, so remarkable was its excellence, and barry at the time had not established any special fame. the artist was so affected by the remark that he burst into tears and retired. burke, who was present, followed him to pacify his grief. the painter by chance quoted some passages of the newly published essay on the "sublime and beautiful." it appeared anonymously, and burke took occasion to sneer at it, when barry showed more feeling than he had done about his picture. he commended the essay in the most earnest language. burke, smiling, acknowledged its authorship. "i could not afford to buy it," replied the astonished artist, "but i transcribed every line with my own hands;" at the same time pulling the manuscript from his pocket. this was commendation so sincere and appreciative, that the great author and the great painter clasped hands in mutual friendship.] [footnote : menander, the poet, was theophrastus's favorite pupil.] [footnote : winckelmann, one of the most distinguished writers on classic antiquities and the fine arts, was the son of a shoemaker. he contrived, by submitting to all sorts of personal deprivation, to fit himself for college, and to go through with the studies there by teaching young and less advanced fellow-students, at the same time supporting a bedridden and helpless father.] [footnote : "people may be taken in once, who imagine that an author is greater in private life than other men," says dr. johnson.] [footnote : such incongruities do exist: nothing is infallible; phrenologists even find the crania of some men to exhibit contradictory evidences. when sydney smith with some friends submitted his head to be examined by a phrenologist who did not know him, the party were amused at the examiner declaring him to be a great naturalist,--"never happier than when arranging his birds and fishes." "sir," said the divine, "i don't know a fish from a bird!"] [footnote : "men of genius," says longfellow, "are often dull and inert in society; as the blazing meteor, when it descends to earth, is only a stone."] [footnote : dryden said of himself: "my conversation is slow and dull, my humor saturnine and reserved. in short, i am none of these who endeavor to break jests in company, or make repartees." and yet at will's coffee-house, where the wits of the town met, his chair in winter was always in the warmest nook by the fire, and in summer was placed in the balcony. "to bow to him, and to hear his opinion of racine's last tragedy or of bossuet's treatise on epic poetry was thought a privilege. a pinch from his snuff-box was an honor sufficient to turn the head of a young enthusiast." every one must remember how, in scott's novel of the "pirate," claud halcro is continually boasting of having obtained at least that honor from "glorious john."] [footnote : jonson was a bricklayer, like his father before him. "let them blush not that have, but those who have not, a lawful calling," says thomas fuller as he records this fact; and goes on to say that "jonson helped in the construction of lincoln's inn, with a trowel in his hand and a book in his pocket. some gentlemen pitying that his parts should be buried under the rubbish of so mean a calling, did by their bounty manumise him freely to follow his own ingenious inclinations."] [footnote : margaret fuller by marriage became the marchioness of ossoli, and with her husband and child perished in the wreck of the brig "elizabeth," from leghorn, near fire island, in . she was one of the most gifted literary women of america.] [footnote : garrick was so popular that it was impossible for him to respond to half the social invitations which he received from the nobility. even royalty itself honored him by private interviews, often listening to his readings in the domestic circle of the palace. though he was always rewarded by the hearty approval of the king and queen, he said its effect upon him was like a "wet blanket" compared with the thunders of applause which he usually received in public.] [footnote : sir walter scott greatly admired maria edgeworth's novels, complimenting "her wonderful power of vivifying all her persons and making them live as beings in your mind." lord jeffrey honored "their singular union of sober sense and inexhaustible invention." she died in , in her eighty-second year.] [footnote : southey was marvellously industrious, as over one hundred published volumes testify. few men have been students so long and consecutively. he possessed one of the largest private libraries in england. he says: "having no library within reach, i live upon my own stores, which are, however, more ample perhaps than were ever before possessed by one whose whole estate was in his inkstand." he generously supported the family of coleridge, who were left destitute. his first wife was a sister of coleridge's wife.] [footnote : "to expect an author to talk as he writes is ridiculous," says hazlitt; "even if he did, you would find fault with him as a pedant."] [footnote : there is a sort of knowledge beyond the power of learning to bestow, and this is to be had in conversation: so necessary is this to understanding the characters of men, that none are more ignorant of them than those learned pedants whose lives have been entirely consumed in colleges and among books.--_fielding._] [footnote : his publishers paid moore three thousand guineas for the copyright of "lalla rookh," his favorite production; and the liberal purchasers, longman & co., had no reason to regret their bargain. when moore's "lalla rookh" first appeared, the author was terribly taken aback in company by lady holland, who said to him, "mr. moore, i don't intend to read your larry o'rourke; i don't like irish stories!"] [footnote : madame de lafayette was a warm friend of rochefoucauld. she was intimately allied to the clever men of the time, and was respected and loved by them. the author of the "maxims" owed much to her, while she also was under obligations to him. their friendship was of mutual benefit. "he gave me intellect," she said, "and i reformed his heart."] [footnote : his enemies having declared that de vega's dramas were not judged upon their merit, but were popular because they bore his name,--to try the public taste he wrote and published a book of poems anonymously, entitled "soliloquies on god." their merit was undisputed, and they were vastly popular, until the carping critics threatened him with the unknown author as a rival. his triumph when he claimed them as his own was complete.] [footnote : coleridge tells us how he was once cured of infidelity by his teacher. "i told boyer that i hated the thought of becoming a clergyman. 'why so?' said he. 'because, to tell you the truth, sir,' i said, 'i'm an infidel!' for this, without further ado, boyer flogged me,--wisely, as i think, soundly, as i know. any whining or sermonizing would have gratified my vanity, and confirmed me in my absurdity; as it was, i was laughed at, and got heartily ashamed of my folly."] [footnote : when hume was in paris receiving the homage of the philosophers, three little boys were brought before him, who complimented him after the fashion of grown persons, expressing their admiration for his beautiful history. these children afterwards succeeded to the throne as louis xvi., his brother, louis xviii., and charles x.] [footnote : this was the tom paine on whom was written one of the most felicitous of epitaphs:-- "here lies tom paine, who wrote in liberty's defence, but in his 'age of reason' lost his 'common sense.'"] [footnote : bacon was full of crotchets, so to speak. in spring, he would go out for a drive in an open coach while it rained, to receive "the benefit of irrigation," which, he contended, was "most wholesome because of the nitre in the air, and the universal spirit of the world." he had extraordinary notions and indulged them freely, such as dosing himself with chemicals, rhubarb, nitre, saffron, and many other medicines. at every meal his table was abundantly strewn with flowers and sweet herbs.] [footnote : it is curious that st. pierre's story of paul and virginia, which has since proved one of the most popular tales ever written, was at first listened to by the author's friends so coldly that after it was finished he laid it by for months; but when it once got into print the public indorsed it immediately, and fresh editions followed each other in rapid succession.] [footnote : poor, dear rogers! smith was disposed to be a little too hard on him. some one having asked after rogers's health in smith's presence, he replied, "he's not very well." "why, what's the matter?" rejoined the querist. "oh, don't you know," said smith, "he's produced a couplet;" and added: "when our friend is delivered of a couplet with infinite labor and pain, he takes to his bed, has straw laid down, the knocker tied up, expects his friends to call and make inquiries, and the answer at the door invariably is, 'mr. rogers and his little couplet are as well as can be expected'!"] [footnote : that excellent and conservative critic, epes sargent, says of the author of "don juan," "he may have been overrated in his day; but his place in english literature must ever be in the front rank of the immortals." "byron," said emerson once, "had large utterance, but little to say,"--a half-truth pointedly expressed; but, alluding to byron's poems in his later life, acknowledging their captivating energy, emerson denied having uttered, even in conversation, so derogatory a remark of him who was, with all his limitations, a bard palpably inspired.] [footnote : "i had learned from his works," remarks lady blessington, after meeting landor at florence, in may, , "to form a high opinion of the man as well as the author. but i was not prepared to find in him the courtly, polished gentleman of high breeding, of manners, deportment, and demeanor, that one might expect to meet with in one who had passed the greater part of his life in courts."] [footnote : this man scornfully renounces your civil organizations,--county and city, or governor or army; is his own navy and artillery, judge and jury, legislature and executive. he has learned his lessons in a bitter school.--_emerson._] [footnote : "every one of my writings," says goethe, "has been furnished to me by a thousand different persons, by a thousand different things. the learned and the ignorant, the wise and the foolish, infancy and age, have come in turn, generally without having been the least suspicious of it, to bring me the offering of their thoughts, their faculties, their experience; often have they sown the harvest i have reaped. my work is that of an aggregation of human beings taken from the whole of nature; it bears the name of goethe."] [footnote : when only eighteen years of age, in , he wrote "the robbers," a tragedy of extraordinary power, though he characterized it at a later day as "a monster for which fortunately there was no original." during a few years after its first publication it was translated into various languages and read all over europe.] [footnote : such facts as the following lead us to draw rather disparaging conclusions as to dryden's character. he was short of money at a certain time, and sent to jacob tonson, his publisher, asking him to advance him some, which tonson declined to do; whereupon dryden sent him these lines, adding, "tell the dog that he who wrote these can write more":-- "with leering looks, bull-faced, and freckled skin, with two left legs, and judas-colored hair, and frowzy pores, that taint the ambient air!" the bookseller felt the force of the description, and to avoid trouble immediately sent the insulting poet the money.] [footnote : the real name of this lady is louise de la rame. her father was a frenchman and her mother of english birth. the name of "ouida" is an infantine corruption of her baptismal name louise. her first episode in love occurred when she was a maiden of forty years, resulting finally in a most embittering disappointment.] [footnote : burns realized his own unfortunate lack of self-control, but he gives good advice to others, as follows:-- "reader, attend! whether thy soul soars fancy's flights beyond the pole, or darkling grubs this earthly hole in low pursuit,-- know, prudent, cautious self-control is wisdom's root."] [footnote : it is said to have been when handel's great appetite was being spoken of as rather at antipodes with his glorious musical conceptions, that sydney smith remarked, "his own idea of heaven was eating _foie gras_ to the sound of trumpets!"] [footnote : the overture to "don giovanni," generally considered to be the best portion of the opera, was written by mozart in _two hours_, he having overslept himself. it was copied in great haste by the scribes, and actually played for the first time without rehearsal.] [footnote : the poet carpani once asked his friend haydn how it happened that his church music was of so animating and cheerful a character. "i cannot make it otherwise," replied the composer; "i write according to the thoughts which i feel. when i think of god, my heart is so full of joy that the notes dance and leap as it were from my pen."] [footnote : dumas was a charming story-teller in society. being at a large party one evening, the hostess tried to draw him out to exhibit his powers in this line. at last, weary of being importuned, he said: "every one to his trade, madam. the gentleman who entered your drawing-room just before me is a distinguished artillery officer. let him bring a cannon here and fire it; then i will tell one of my little stories."] [footnote : churchill was a spendthrift of fame, and enjoyed all his revenue while he lived; posterity owes him little, and pays him nothing.--_disraeli._] [footnote : wither had a strange career. he was imprisoned for some published satire in , at the age of twenty-five, but lived to his eightieth year, dying finally in misery and obscurity.] [footnote : dr. johnson was not particularly inclined to "smash images;" but when he looked for the first time upon callcott's picture of "milton and his daughters," one of whom holds a pen as if about to write from his dictation, the doctor coolly remarked, "the daughters were never taught to write!"] [footnote : such a superiority do the pursuits of literature possess over other occupation, that even he who attains but a mediocrity merits pre-eminence above those that excel the most in the common and vulgar professions.--_hume._] [footnote : allston's death was peculiar. it occurred in , after a cheerful evening passed in the midst of his friends. he had just laid his hand on the head of a favorite young friend, and after begging her to live as near perfection as she could, he blessed her with fervent solemnity, and with that blessing on his lips, died.] [footnote : the farm of william m. evarts is situated in vermont. he once, in eulogizing that state, declared that no criminal was allowed to enter its prisons unless he furnished evidence of good moral character before he committed his crime!] [footnote : e. p. whipple said of agassiz in : "he is not merely a scientific thinker, he is a scientific force; and no small portion of the immense influence he exerts is due to the energy, intensity, and geniality which distinguish the nature of the man. in personal intercourse he inspires as well as informs; communicates not only knowledge, but the love of knowledge."] [footnote : on the fly-leaf of a volume of anderson's "british poets" he wrote the following lines:-- "ye autograph-secreting thieves, keep scissors from these precious leaves, and likewise thumbs, profane and greasy, from pages hallowed by s. t. c."] [footnote : the pleasant'st angling is to see the fish cut with her golden oars the silver stream, and greedily devour the treacherous bait.--_shakespeare._] [footnote : when lamb was once asked by a friend why he did not leave off smoking, he humorously replied that he could find no equivalent _vice_.] [footnote : a patient who had been an inveterate smoker of tobacco for years, on entering the hospital was placed in a hot water bath, and here he remained for half an hour. a frog and other aqueous animals placed in the same water after it had become cool, died instantly; showing that the patient had exuded by the pores of the skin sufficient nicotine to impregnate the water.] [footnote : at another time, having been greatly annoyed by the persistent crying and screaming of some infant children, lamb tried to bear it patiently; but finally he quietly ejaculated, "b-b-blessed b-be the m-memory of g-good king herod!"] [footnote : hayden, the painter, says of keats, that at dinner he would swallow some grains of red pepper in order that he might enjoy the more the "delicious coolness of claret."] [footnote : it was at holland house, of which he became possessed by marriage, that addison "taught us how to live; and (oh! too high a price for knowledge) taught us how to die."] [footnote : those were days when people drank freely. "how i should like," said grattan one day to rogers, "to spend my whole life in a small neat cottage! i could be content with very little; i should need only cold meat, and bread, and beer, and _plenty of claret_."] [footnote : the blemishes of great men are not the less blemishes; but they are, unfortunately, the easiest part for imitation.--_disraeli._] [footnote : occupied, the last time the author visited milan, as barracks for a cavalry regiment. time and exposure are fast obliterating the original work of da vinci. in leonardo da vinci visited france at the urgent solicitation of francis i. his health was feeble, and the king often came to fontainebleau to see him. one day when the king entered, leonardo rose up in bed to receive him, but in the effort fainted. francis hastened to support him; but the eyes of the artist closed forever, and he lay encircled in the arms of the monarch.] [footnote : the original copy of this work is still preserved, dated , though it was not published until ,--an evidence of the author's great caution in offering his views to the public. three of his works were not published until after his death.] [footnote : rogers says that gibbon took very little exercise. he had been staying some time with lord sheffield in the country; and when he was about to go away, the servants could not find his hat. "bless me," said gibbon, "i certainly left it in the hall on my arrival here." he had not stirred out of the house during the whole of the visit.] [footnote : châteaubriand was the most famous french author of the first empire. it will be remembered that he visited this country in . he wrote, relative to dining with washington at philadelphia: "there is a virtue in the look of a great man. i felt myself warmed and refreshed by it during the rest of my life." his career was full of remarkable vicissitudes. he was once left for dead on the battlefield, suffered banishment, and was for a time imprisoned in the bastile.] [footnote : thackeray says of congreve: "he loved, conquered, and jilted the beautiful bracegirdle, the heroine of all his plays, the favorite of all the town of her day."] [footnote : galileo was remarkable, even in his youth, for mechanical genius, and also for his accomplishments in painting, poetry, music, and song. in early childhood, it is said of him, "while other boys were whipping their tops, he was scientifically considering the cause of the motion."] [footnote : "i was nigh taking my life with my own hands," he wrote, "but art held me back. i could not leave the world until i had revealed what was within me." in view of his great misfortune, his dying words are very touching: "i shall be able to hear in heaven!"] [footnote : when "paradise lost" was first published, in , edmund waller, himself a poet, politician, and critic, said: "the old blind schoolmaster, john milton, has published a tedious poem on the fall of man; if its length be not considered a merit, it has no other." the second edition was not brought out until seven years later, , the year in which milton died. this edition was prefaced by two short poems, the first by andrew marvell in english, and the second by samuel barrow in latin, in which milton's poem is placed "above all greek, above all roman fame."] [footnote : when a friend complained to camoens that he had not furnished some promised verses for him, the disheartened poet replied: "when i wrote verses i was young, had sufficient food, was a lover, and beloved by many friends, and by the ladies; then i felt poetical ardor; now i have no spirits to write, no peace of mind or of body."] [footnote : the county jail in which bunyan spent the twelve years of his life from to was taken down in . it stood on what is now the vacant piece of land at the corner of the high street and silver street, used as a market-place, in bedford. silver street was so named because it was the quarter where the jews in early times trafficked in the precious metals.] [footnote : ben jonson tried his fortune as an actor, but did not succeed. a duel with a brother actor, whom unhappily he killed, caused him to be imprisoned by the sentence of the court. he was ten years younger than shakespeare, and survived him twenty-one years, dying in .] [footnote : imprisonment could not deprive boëthius of the consolation of philosophy, nor raleigh of his eloquence, nor davenant of his grace, nor chaucer of his mirth: nor five years of slavery at algiers deaden the wit of cervantes.--_willmott._] [footnote : urged by the king of spain to punish raleigh for his attack on the town of st. thomas, james i. basely resolved to carry into execution a sentence sixteen years old, which had been followed by an imprisonment of thirteen years, and then a release. so raleigh was brought up before the court of king's bench to receive sentence, and was beheaded the next morning.] [footnote : philip iii., king of spain, saw a student one day at a distance on the banks of the river manzanares, reading a book, and from time to time breaking off to roar with laughter and show other signs of delight. "that person is either mad or is reading 'don quixote,'" said the king,--a volume of panegyric in a few words. cervantes did not have to wait the verdict of posterity as to his incomparable history of the famous knight la mancha; it sprung at once into unbounded popularity, while "it laughed spain's chivalry away."] [footnote : during theodore hook's confinement in a sponging-house in london he was visited by an old friend. astonished at the comparative spaciousness of the apartment, the latter observed by way of consolation, "really, hook, you are not so badly lodged, after all. this is a cheerful room enough." "oh, yes," replied theodore, pointing significantly to the iron defences outside; "remarkably so--barring the windows."] [footnote : "tell me not, sweet, i am unkind, that from the nunnery of thy breast and quiet mind to war and arms i fly. "true, a new mistress now i chase, the first foe in the field; and with a stronger faith embrace a sword, a horse, a shield. "yet this inconstancy is such as you too shall adore; i could not love thee, dear, so much, loved i not honor more."] [footnote : swift and prior were very intimate, and he is frequently mentioned in the "journal to stella." "mr. prior," says swift, "walks to make himself fat, and i to keep myself lean. we often walk round the park together."] [footnote : de quincey was often very happily delivered of witty ideas. he said on one occasion, "if once a man indulges himself in murder, very soon he comes to think little of robbing; and from robbing he comes next to drinking and sabbath-breaking, and from that to incivility and procrastination. once being upon this downward path, you never know where you are to stop. many a man has dated his ruin from some murder or other that perhaps he thought little of at the time."] [footnote : "i cannot bear much thinking," said cowper. "the meshes of the brain are composed of such mere spinner's threads in me, that when a long thought finds its way into them, it buzzes and twangs and bustles about at such a rate as seems to threaten the whole contexture."] [footnote : macaulay spoke with great admiration of bentham, and placed him in the same rank with galileo and locke, designating him as "the man who found jurisprudence a gibberish, and left it a science."] [footnote : béranger's first collection of songs was published in and received with great favor by the people; but the bold, patriotic, and often satirical tone of these songs gave offence to the government; and as the author did not abate the freedom of his criticism in future poems, he was condemned to imprisonment and to pay a heavy fine.] [footnote : "in a cellar, or the meanest haunt of the casual wanderer, was to be found," as dr. johnson says, "the man whose knowledge of life might have aided the statesman, whose eloquence might have influenced senates, and whose conversation might have polished courts."] [footnote : mozart said of him that he struck you, whenever he pleased, with a thunderbolt. leigh hunt also said he was the jupiter of music; nor is the title the less warranted from his including in his genius the most affecting tenderness as well as the most overpowering grandeur.] [footnote : his biographer tells us that the king of prussia offered him three thousand crowns a year, to attract him to berlin; but he declined to quit the service of the emperor joseph, who paid him only eight hundred florins; and that he was often reduced to painful distress for want of money while he lived in vienna.] [footnote : we see that which we bring eyes to see, and appreciation presupposes a degree of the same genius in ourselves. mozart's wife said of him that he was a better dancer than musician. leigh hunt tells us that when mozart became a great musician, a man in distress accosted him in the street, and as the composer had no money to give him, he bade him wait a little, while he went into a coffee-house, where he wrote a beautiful minuet extempore, and, sending the poor man to the nearest music-dealer's, made him a present of the handsome sum gladly paid by the publisher.] [footnote : this book, which none of us fail to read and read again with delight, was at first very coldly received, and severely attacked by the reviewers; until lord holland, being ill, sent to his bookseller for some amusing book to read, and received the "vicar of "wakefield." he read it, and was so much pleased with it that he mentioned it wherever he visited. the consequence was, the first edition was rapidly exhausted, and the fame of the book established.] [footnote : perhaps the cause of dante's struggle through life lay in that reckless sarcasm which prompted his answer to the prince of verona, who asked him how he could account for the fact, that in the household of princes the court fool was in greater favor than the philosopher. "similarity of mind," said the fierce genius, "is all over the world the source of friendship."] [footnote : kotzebue was fifty-eight years of age when he was assassinated at mannheim, in , by karl ludwig sand, who was actuated by a fanatical zeal against one whom he considered a traitor to liberty. kotzebue was a prolific writer, and has left several dramas.] [footnote : the sad lines in his last poem, entitled "waiting for death," will long be remembered:-- "deformed and wrinkled; all that i can crave is quiet in my grave. such as live happy hold long life a jewel; but to me thou art cruel if thou end not my tedious misery, and i soon cease to be. strike, and strike home then; pity unto me, in one short hour's delay, is tyranny!"] [footnote : "schiller," says coleridge, "has the material sublime to produce an effect; he sets a whole town on fire, and throws infants with their mothers into the flames, or locks up a father in an old tower. but shakespeare drops a handkerchief, and the same or greater effect follows."] [footnote : "'hudibras,'" says hallam, "was incomparably more popular than 'paradise lost.' no poem in our language rose at once to so great reputation; nor can this remarkable popularity be called ephemeral, for it is looked upon to-day as a classic." butler died in .] [footnote : "benvenuto cellini, the jeweller, engraver, poet, musician, soldier, sculptor, and lover: and in all so truly admirable!" his autobiography remained in dusty oblivion for the period of two hundred years after his death before it met the public eye.] [footnote : "we quote a verse from his "death-bed lament," contained in this volume:-- "deceiving world, that with alluring toys hast made my life the subject of thy scorn, and scornest now to lend thy fading joys, to out-length my life, whom friends have left forlorn;-- how well are they that die ere they are born, and never see thy slights, which few men shun, till unawares they helpless are undone!"] [footnote : before miller died, he had cleared over eighteen thousand pounds by the publication of "tom jones." the number of editions that has been published is almost fabulous. the popularity of fielding may be judged of from what dr. johnson says of his "amelia": "it was, perhaps, the only book, of which, being printed off betimes one morning, a new edition was called for before night."] [footnote : swift has had many biographers; his life has been told by the kindest and most good-natured of men, scott, who admired but could not bring himself to love him; and by stout old johnson, who, forced to admit him into the company of poets, receives the famous irishman, and takes off his hat to him with a bow of surly recognition, scans him from head to foot, and passes over to the other side of the street.--_thackeray._] [footnote : swift at one time in his subtle way declared with elaborate reasons, that on the whole it would be impolitic to abolish the christian religion in england. we have yet to discover a finer piece of irony. his exquisitely ridiculous proposition to utilize for _food_ the babies born in ireland, so as to prevent their becoming a burden to the country, will also be remembered.] [footnote : it is in the nature of such lords of intellect to be solitary; they are in the world, but not of it; and our minor struggles, brawls, successes, pass over them.--_thackeray._] [footnote : "in london," says dawson, "johnson suffered a great deal from poverty, and made use of many little artifices to eke out his scanty means. all the great kindly acts which his large manly heart prompted him to do cost him much self-denial. when he said that a man could live very well in a garret for one-and-sixpence a week, the statement was not a speculative but an experimental one."] [footnote : tasso was often obliged to borrow a crown from a friend to pay for his month's lodging. he has left us a pretty sonnet to his cat, in which he begs the light of her eyes to write by, being too poor to purchase a candle.] [footnote : burton is said to have been, in the intervals of his vapors, the most facetious companion in the university where he was educated. so great was the demand for his "anatomy of melancholy," when published, that his publisher is said to have acquired an estate by the sale of it.] [footnote : how appropriate are the lines by mrs. browning, dedicated to cowper's grave:-- "o poets! from a maniac's tongue was poured the deathless singing! o christians! at your cross of hope a hopeless hand was clinging! o men! this man in brotherhood your weary paths beguiling, groaned inly while he taught you peace, and died while we were smiling!"] [footnote : according to disraeli, dr. hawksworth, who was employed by the english government to write an account of captain cook's first voyage, and who was the intimate friend of dr. johnson, absolutely died from the effects of severe criticism. he was an extremely graceful, effective, and ready writer.] [footnote : racine encountered much harsh criticism, which rendered him very unhappy. he told his son in after years that he suffered far more pain from the fault found with his productions than he ever experienced pleasure from their success.] [footnote : richter's remark that "some souls fall from heaven like flowers, but ere the pure fresh buds have had time to open, they are trodden in the dust of the earth, and lie soiled and crushed beneath the foul tread of some brutal hoof," has been aptly applied to keats.] [footnote : keats modestly admitted the shortcomings of his early compositions. he said, "i have written independently, without judgment; i may write independently and with judgment hereafter. the genius of poetry must work out its own salvation in a man."] [footnote : collins was deeply attached to a young lady, who did not return his passion, and there is little doubt that the consequent disappointment preyed upon his mind to such an extent as finally to dethrone his reason. dr. johnson says nothing of this, but tells us how "he loved fairies, genii, giants, and monsters," and how "he delighted to rove through the meanders of enchantment, to gaze on the magnificence of golden palaces, and to repose by waterfalls of elysian gardens."] [footnote : johnson met collins one day with a book under his arm, at which the former looked inquiringly. "i have but one book," said the melancholy poet; "it is the bible." after his death, which occurred in his thirty-sixth year, there was found among his papers an ode on the "superstitions of the highlands." in his last days he committed many manuscript poems to the flames.] [footnote : shelley's favorite amusement had been boating and sailing. while returning one day--july , --from leghorn, whither he had been to welcome leigh hunt to italy, his boat was struck by a squall and he was drowned. thus he met the same fate as his deserted wife.] [footnote : as to shelley's mode of composition, he said: "when my brain gets heated with thought, it soon boils and throws off images and words faster than i can skim them off. in the morning, when cooled down, out of that rude sketch, as you justly call it, i shall attempt a drawing."] [footnote : this production was circulated in manuscript only for the first three or four years after it was completed. lockhart says that it was hearing it read from manuscript that led scott to produce the "lay of the last minstrel."] [footnote : "genius is rarely conscious of its power," says hazlitt; "our own idea is that if gray had had an eye to his posthumous fame, had cast a sidelong glance to the approbation of posterity, he would have failed in producing a work of lasting texture like this."] [footnote : it is not many years since the auctioneer in a public salesroom in london, in the course of his advertised list of objects to be disposed of, held up two small half sheets of paper, all written over, torn, and mutilated. he called these scraps most interesting, but apologized for their condition. there was present a highly intelligent company of amateurs in autographs, attracted by the sale. the first offer for these scraps of paper was ten pounds. the bids rose rapidly until sixty-five was reached, when they were knocked off; but as there proved to be two bidders at that price, it was necessary to put them up again. they were finally closed at one hundred pounds. these scraps of paper, which were almost a hundred years old to a day, were the original copy of "gray's elegy."] [footnote : speaking of byron's mother, dawson, the brilliant english lecturer, says: "she was a shrieking, howling, red-faced, passionate, self-indulgent person; now spoiling him by ridiculous indulgence, now subjecting him to her extravagant wrath. a ridiculous person, an absurd person, short and fat. what a sight it was to see her in a rage, running round the room after the lame boy, and he mocking, and dodging, and hopping about! although that may be droll to hear, it was tragical to suffer from; and there is much mercy to be bestowed upon a man whose father was a blackguard and whose mother was a fool!"] [footnote : we quote from one of his sister's letters to a confidential friend: "charles is very busy at the office; he will be kept there to-day until seven or eight o'clock. he came home very smoky and drinky last night, so that i am afraid a hard day's work will not agree very well with him. i have been eating a mutton-chop all alone, and i have just been looking into the pint porter-pot, which i find quite empty, and yet i am still very dry; if you were with me, we would have a glass of brandy and water, but it is quite impossible to drink brandy and water by one's self." is not this a quiet peep behind the curtain?] [footnote : it was singular that with his acute sensibility and tenderness of nature lamb never cared for music. but this was the case with dr. johnson, fox, pitt, and sir james mackintosh. johnson was observed by a friend to be extremely inattentive at a concert, while a celebrated solo player was running up the divisions and subdivisions of notes upon the violin. the friend desiring to induce the doctor to give his attention, remarked how difficult the performance was. "difficult, do you call it, sir?" replied johnson. "i wish it were impossible." it will also be remembered that goethe was not particularly fond of music. once at a court concert in weimar, when a pianist was in the middle of a very long sonata, the poet suddenly rose up, and, to the horror of the assembled ladies and gentlemen, exclaimed, "if this lasts three minutes longer, i shall confess everything!"] [footnote : leigh hunt tells us that lamb was under the middle size, and of fragile make, but with a head as fine as if it had been carved on purpose. he had a very weak stomach. three glasses of wine would put him in as lively a condition as can be wrought in some men only by as many bottles.] [footnote : in his volume of wise sayings, which has passed through many editions, we find this paragraph: "the gamester, if he dies a martyr to his profession, is doubly ruined. he adds his soul to every other loss, and by the act of suicide renounces earth to forfeit heaven!"] [footnote : when the last scene came, those who had neglected him in life, at least paid their respects to his remains; twelve thousand people followed the body of robert burns to its resting-place in the grave.] [footnote : we find these two verses in thoreau's published journal: i. canst thou love with thy mind, and reason with thy heart? canst thou be kind, and from thy darling part? ii. canst thou range earth, sea, and air, and so meet me everywhere? through all events i will pursue thee, through all persons i will woo thee.] [footnote : in battle, the maiden displayed a spirit of almost reckless bravery, leading her followers into the thickest of the fight. "she was benign," says michelet, "in the fiercest conflict, good among the bad, gentle even in war. she wept after the victories, and relieved with her own hands the necessities of the wounded."] [footnote : her husband, george maclean, was governor of cape coast castle, and, as is well known, treated her with marked disrespect, even going so far as to introduce a favorite mistress into the castle. some envious people circulated vile reports as to "l. e. l.," but no one of intelligence ever heeded them.] [footnote : "her gladness was like a burst of sunlight," says one of her own sex who knew her well; "and if in her sadness she resembled the night, it was night wearing her stars. she was a muse, a grace, a variable child, a dependent woman, the italy of human beings."] [footnote : charlotte married her father's curate, mr. nicholls. the other two sisters died young and unmarried. "the bringing out of our book of poems," writes charlotte, "was hard work. as was to be expected, neither we nor our poems were at all wanted."] [footnote : longfellow was a classmate of hawthorne in college, and franklin pierce was his most intimate friend. when pierce was chosen president, he at once appointed our author to the consulship at liverpool, which lucrative office he held for four years.] [footnote : thackeray testifies to his hearty admiration of the elder dumas in these words: "i think of the prodigal banquets to which this lucullus of a man has invited me, with thanks and wonder."] [footnote : jerrold was but twenty-five years of age when he wrote this the first of his dramas. it was a great success from the start, and had a run of three hundred consecutive nights, though the author received but seventy pounds for the copyright.] [footnote : sydney smith, when talking of the bad effect of late hours, said of a distinguished diner-out, that it should be written on his tomb, "he dined late,"--to which luttrell added, "and died early."] [footnote : some one told father taylor, the well-known seamen's clergyman of boston, that a certain individual who was under discussion was a very good citizen, except for an amiable weakness. "but i have found," said the practical old preacher, "that weakness of character is nearly the only defect which cannot be remedied."] [footnote : the prejudice excited in queen anne's mind by the archbishop of york, on account of the alleged infidelity in the "tale of a tub," is supposed to be the reason why swift's aspirations were not granted by his royal mistress. his final unsatisfactory appointment as dean of st. patrick was awarded to him instead of the coveted bishopric.] [footnote : the author remembers him well on the occasion of his first appearance in this country as a lecturer and public reader. his style at that time (which was afterwards changed) was that of a modern dude, wearing flash waistcoats, double watch-chains, gold eye-glasses and rings.] [footnote : no father or mother thinks their own children ugly; and this self-deceit is yet stronger with respect to the offspring of the mind.--_cervantes._] [footnote : no one can anticipate the suffrages of posterity. every man in judging of himself is his own contemporary. he may feel the gale of popularity, but he cannot tell how long it will last. his opinion of himself wants distance, wants time, wants numbers, to set off and confirm it. he must be indifferent to his own merits before he can feel a confidence in them. besides, every one must be sensible of a thousand weaknesses and deficiencies in himself, whereas genius only leaves behind it the monuments of its strength.--_hazlitt._] [footnote : the "song of the shirt" first appeared in "punch," in ; and was hood's favorite piece of all his published compositions, though the "bridge of sighs" was perhaps more popular with the public. hood died in , at the age of forty-seven.] [footnote : his sister, mlle. de scudéri, is better known to us in literature than himself. she was a distinguished member of the society which met at the hôtel de rambouillet, and which has been made so famous by molière in his "précieuses ridicules." she survived her brother some years.] [footnote : sue studied medicine at first, and was with the french army in spain ( ) as military surgeon. after inheriting his father's fortune, he studied painting, but renounced that art finally to engage in literature. his romances were for a time as popular as those of dumas, and in their character as immoral as those of paul de kock.] [footnote : he possessed a diminutive figure, with a pale, attenuated face, eyes of spiritual brightness, an expansive and calm brow, and his movements were characterized by a nervous alacrity. until he reached the years of middle life he was embarrassed by restricted means and necessary habits of self-denial.] [footnote : with gun in hand, and note-book and drawing material by his side, audubon explored the coast, lakes, and rivers from labrador and canada to the gulf of mexico. as early as he explored alone the primeval forests of north america, impelled more by a love of nature than a desire to make himself famous. his original and finely hand-colored illustrated work sold in folio at a thousand dollars a volume, and is now rare and valuable.] [footnote : like milton, swift, and other great geniuses, scott was, as swift says of himself at school, "very justly celebrated for his stupidity." but one is inclined to think that it was largely owing to a want of talent in his master rather than in the pupil. it will be remembered that it was the illustrious samuel parr, when an undermaster at harrow school, who first discovered the latent talent and genius of sheridan, and who by judicious cultivation brought it forth and developed it.] [footnote : in five or six years subsequent to that failure of his maiden speech, disraeli, as he was then known, became leader of the opposition in the house, and chancellor of the exchequer soon after, rising rapidly, until in he became premier of england.] [footnote : richter was a bavarian, and of very humble birth. during his youthful career he was reduced to extreme indigence. he became a tutor in a private family, and afterwards taught school, all the while striving with his pen both for fame and money, until at last he "compelled" public appreciation. he is one of the few geniuses of that period who were happy in their domestic relations. he died at baireuth in .] [footnote : royer-collard was an eminent philosopher and statesman, the founder of a school called the "doctrinaire," of which cousin was a disciple. he was president of the chamber of deputies in . his father's family name was royer, to which he joined the name of his wife, mademoiselle collard.] [footnote : hazlitt was a just but merciless critic. it was he who designated moore's productions "the poetry of the toilet-table, of the saloon, and of the fashionable world,--not the poetry of nature, of the heart, or of human life;" and the force of the criticism lay in the fact of its truth.] [footnote : goldsmith himself tells us: "my father, the younger son of a good family, was possessed of a small living in the church. his education was above his fortune, and his generosity greater than his education. poor as he was, he had his flatterers; for every dinner he gave them they returned him an equivalent in praise, and this was all he wanted."] [footnote : it happened that a certain lady became charmed with mirabeau by reading his writings, and wrote him rather a tender letter, asking him to describe himself to her. he did so by return of post as follows: "figure to yourself a tiger that has had the small-pox." history has not handed down the sequel.] [footnote : mirabeau and the marchioness had agreed on mutual destruction, by exchanging poisoned locks of hair, if he failed to be acquitted.] [footnote : to make the appropriateness of this retort clear, it should be known that judge robinson was the author of many stupid, slavish, and scurrilous political pamphlets; and by his servility to the ruling powers he had been raised to the eminence which he thus shamefully disgraced.] [footnote : the effect the poem had upon the earl of southampton when he first read it will be remembered. spenser took it to this noble patron of poets as soon as it was finished, and sent it up to him. the earl read a few pages and said to a servant, "take the writer twenty pounds." reading on, he presently cried in rapture, "carry that man twenty pounds more." still he read on; but at length he shouted, "go turn that fellow out of the house, for if i read further i shall be ruined!"] [footnote : when a boy, west secretly pursued his first attempts at art, absenting himself from school to do so. being one day surprised at his work in the garret of the house by his mother, he expected to be seriously reproved; but mrs. west saw incipient genius in her son's work at the age of ten; so she kissed and congratulated him, promising to intercede with his father in his behalf that he would forgive him for his truancy.] [footnote : it was not without difficulty that gibbon could obtain a publisher for his famous history. after it had been declined by several houses, it was finally undertaken by thomas cadell, "on easy terms," as the author expresses it. it was thought best to publish only five hundred copies at first; this edition being soon exhausted, edition after edition followed in rapid succession, until, as gibbon says, "my book was on every table and on almost every toilet."] [footnote : sydney smith said of mrs. siddons: "what a face she had! the gods do not bestow such a face as hers on the stage more than once in a century. i knew her very well, and she had the good taste to laugh at my jokes; she was an excellent person, but she was not remarkable out of her profession, and never got out of tragedy even in common life. she used to _stab_ the potatoes; and said 'boy, give me a knife!' as she would have said 'give me a dagger!'"] [footnote : "i first discovered opie," says dr. wolcott, "in a little hovel in the parish of st. agnes, cornwall. he was the son of a poor sawyer. i was first led to notice him by some drawings which he had made." the good doctor gave him material aid, took him to his house, and finally introduced him into london society.] [footnote : he fought under masaniello, and after the final defeat at naples he escaped to florence, where he was befriended by the grand duke, who was a liberal patron of art. his masterpiece is considered to be the "conspiracy of catiline," though he excelled in wild mountain scenery rather than in the grouping of human figures.] [footnote : haydon, the historical painter, had power but not popularity. sir arthur shea, a man who rose to the height of his profession as regarded popularity, was haydon's special aversion. "he is," haydon once began, "the most impotent painter in--" his listeners supposed he would add "the world." that did not satisfy haydon's antipathy, and his conclusion was,--"in the solar system!"] [footnote : many of our readers will remember a remarkable picture by correggio in the dresden gallery, representing a "penitent magdalen," the ineffable and almost divine beauty of which no one can fail to appreciate. one of the saxon kings paid six thousand louis-d'ors ($ , ) for this painting, which is only about eighteen inches square. twice that sum would not purchase it to-day.] [footnote : canova executed a statue of washington, which ornaments the state house in boston, and is known to have produced during his life fifty statues and as many busts, besides numerous groups in marble. he died in , having the reputation of being the greatest sculptor of his age.] [footnote : spagnoletto was finally appointed court painter in spain, and some of his best paintings still adorn the madrid gallery. his "adoration of the shepherds" is familiar to us all, and remains unsurpassed in power of conception and execution. in the madrid museo is another of his masterpieces, a "mater dolorosa."] [footnote : "mr. murphy, sir, you knew mr. garrick?" asked rogers the poet of that individual. "yes, sir, i did, and no man better." "well, sir, what did you think of his acting?" after a pause: "well, sir, _off_ the stage he was a mean, sneaking little fellow. but _on_ the stage"--throwing up his hands and eyes--"oh, my great god!"] [footnote : in the broad grounds of abington abbey, in northamptonshire, stands garrick's mulberry-tree, with this inscription upon copper attached to one of the limbs: "this tree was planted by david garrick, esq., at the request of ann thursby, as a growing testimony of their friendship, ."] [footnote : pope was younger than betterton, but they were very warm personal friends, and it is thought that the poet aided the actor in the adaptations which he published from chaucer, and for which he received hearty if not merited commendation.] [footnote : garrick was for a long time at her feet, and indeed was at one time engaged to be married to her, but the nuptials were not consummated. it was generally believed that the engagement was broken from disinclination on her part.] [footnote : during the vacation season miss woffington went to bath, and on her return was telling quin how much she had been pleased by the excursion. "and pray, madam," he inquired, "what made you go to bath?" "mere wantonness," she replied. "and pray, madam, did it cure you?"] [footnote : from the volatility of his mind and conduct, it would be a misuse of language to say that he had good principles or bad principles. he had no principles at all. his life was a life of expedients and appearances, in which he developed a shrewdness and capacity made up of talent and mystification, of ability and trickery, which were found equal to almost all emergencies.--_whipple._] [footnote : sheridan probably had not a penny in his pocket. he never did have for more than a few minutes at a time; yet this was the man of whose famous speech in the house of commons burke said: "it was the most astonishing effort of eloquence, argument, and wit united, of which there was any record or tradition." and of which fox said, "all that he had ever heard, all that he had ever read, when compared with it, dwindled into nothing, and vanished like vapor before the sun."] [footnote : "a perpetual fountain of good sense," dryden calls him; "and of good humor, too, and wholesome thought," adds lowell. he was scholar, courtier, soldier, ambassador, one who had known poverty as a housemate, and who had been the companion of princes.] [footnote : jonson died on the th of august, , at the age of sixty-three. he survived both wife and children. he was buried in westminster abbey. a common slab laid over his grave bears the inscription, "o rare ben jo_h_nson!"--not jonson, as it is always printed. jonson was a heavy drinker, and it has been said that every line of his poetry cost him a cup of sack. canary was his favorite drink; of which he partook so immoderately that his friends called him familiarly the canary bird.] [footnote : coleridge says sadly in his "literary life," "i have laid too many eggs in the hot sands of this wilderness the world, with ostrich carelessness and ostrich oblivion. the greater part, indeed, have been trodden under foot and are forgotten. but yet no small number have crept forth into life, some to furnish feathers for the caps of others, and still more to plume the shafts in the quiver of my enemies,--of them that, unprovoked, have lain in wait against my soul."] [footnote : so disgusted was the paternal upholsterer, pocquelin, at his son's choice of the stage for a profession, that he virtually disowned him. molière was an assumed name, to save the family honor; but how rapidly that name became famous.] [footnote : molière was fascinated by his young wife; her lighter follies charmed him. he was a husband who was always a lover. the actor on the stage was the very man he personated. mademoiselle molière, as she was called by the public, was the lucile in "le bourgeois gentilhomme." with what a fervor the poet feels her neglect! with what eagerness he defends her from the animadversions of the friend who would have dissolved the spell!--_disraeli._] [footnote : campbell the poet and turner the artist were dining together on a certain occasion with a large party. the poet was called upon for a toast, and by way of a joke on the great professor of the "sister art" gave, "the painters and glaziers." after the laughter had subsided, the artist was of course summoned to propose a toast also. he rose, and with admirable tact and ready wit responded to the author of "pleasures of memory" by giving "the paper-stainers."] [footnote : sir joshua reynolds was inclined to tell stories about goldsmith's negligence in his habits, his want of neatness in dress, his unkempt appearance at all times, and his absolute want of cleanliness. no doubt the reflection was merited by the careless author; but the famous artist was himself such a gross consumer of snuff that his shirt-bosom, collars, and vest were never in a respectable condition.] [footnote : milton was a london boy in his eighth year when shakespeare died ( ); he was seventeen years old when fletcher died (in ); and twenty-nine when ben jonson died (in ).] [footnote : paul jovius was from an ancient italian family. he wrote altogether in latin. clement vii. made him a bishop, and he enjoyed the favor of charles v. and francis i., which enabled him to amass great wealth. he died at florence in .] [footnote : "pope died in ," says lowell, "at the height of his renown, the acknowledged monarch of letters, as supreme as voltaire when the excitement and exposure of his coronation-ceremonies at paris hastened his end, a generation later."] [footnote : no other man presented within himself such a bundle of contradictions. "he seems an embodied antithesis," says whipple,--"a mass of contradictions, a collection of opposite frailties and powers. such was the versatility of his mind and morals, that it is hardly possible to discern the connection between the giddy goodness and the brilliant wickedness which he delighted to exhibit." in all his relations he was consistently inconsistent.] [illustration: zoological gardens.--london.] anecdotes of the animal kingdom. boston: c. h. peirce and g. c. rand. illustrative anecdotes of the animal kingdom: by the author of peter parley's tales. boston: published by rand and mann, no. cornhill. . entered according to act of congress, in the year , by s. g. goodrich, in the clerk's office of the district court of massachusetts. press of george c. rand & co. contents. page general classification, vertebrata, class mammalia, order i.--bimana, man, order ii.--quadrumana, apes, orang-outang, chimpansé, gibbon, baboon, monkeys, order iii.--carnaria, bats, hedgehog, mole, bear, white bear, raccoon, coati, badger, glutton, weasel, polecat, ferret, mink, marten, sable, skunk, otter, dog, wolf, fox, hyena, lion, tiger, panther, leopard, jaguar, american panther, cat, order iv.--amphibia, seal, walrus, order v.--marsupiala, opossum, kangaroo, order vi.--rodentia, squirrel, mouse, dormouse, rat, beaver, porcupine, hare, order vii.--edentata, sloth, platypus, order viii.--pachydermata, elephant, hippopotamus, rhinoceros, wild boar, domestic hog, tapir, horse, pony, ass, zebra, order ix.--ruminantia, camel, deer, moose, american elk, red deer, virginia deer, reindeer, giraffe, goat, sheep, ox, bison, order x.--cetacea, dolphin, grampus, porpoise, whale, class ii.--aves, order i.--accipitres, vultures, condor, turkey buzzard, carrion crow, hawk, peregrine falcon, kestrel, sparrow hawk, buzzard, eagle, owl, order ii.--passerinÆ, shrike, king-bird, cedar-bird, scarlet tanager, mocking-bird, baltimore oriole, wren, purple martin, swallow, skylark, titmouse, canary-bird, bulfinch, sparrow, crow, raven, magpie, humming-bird, blue jay, order iii.--scansoriÆ, cuckoo, red-headed woodpecker, ivory-billed woodpecker, parrot, order iv.--gallinacea, cock, pheasant, ruffed grouse, pigeon, passenger pigeon, musical pigeon, carrier pigeon, order v.--stilted birds, adjutant, stork, heron, flamingo, order vi.--palmipedes, gull, cormorant, swan, goose, class iii.--reptilia, order i.--chelonia, tortoise, order ii.--sauria, crocodile, alligator, salamander, order iii.--ophidia, serpents, order iv.--batrachia, frog, toad, class iv.--pisces, mackerel, sword-fish, pike, golden carp, salmon, herring, shark, invertebrata, class i.--mollusca, squid, nautilus, snail, oyster, scallop, class ii.--articulata, leech, crab, spider, scorpion, death-watch, glowworm, fire-fly, beetle, earwig, cricket, locust, ant, caterpillar, butterfly, moth, silkworm, flies, class iii.--radiata, polypi, anecdotes of the animal kingdom. the purpose of the present volume is to exhibit a series of well-authenticated anecdotes, calculated to illustrate the character and habits of the more prominent species of the animal kingdom. the plan of the work, of course, excludes full scientific descriptions; but it has been thought that it may be more useful, as well as interesting, to arrange the subjects according to the most approved system of classification, and to indicate, briefly, the leading traits of the several orders and genera.[ ] [ ] for a more scientific account of the animal kingdom, the reader is referred to "a pictorial natural history," &c., published by james munroe & co., boston. general classification of the animal kingdom first grand division, vertebrata, or back boned animals, having a bony skeleton, and including four classes. _class_ i. mammalia, or sucking animals; as, man; bats, monkeys, bears, oxen, sheep, deer, and many other four-footed beasts; as well as seals, walruses, whales, &c. " ii. aves, birds of all kinds. " iii. reptilia, or reptiles; as, lizards, frogs, serpents, toads, &c. " iv. pisces, fishes generally. second grand division, invertebrata, or animals without a bony spine, or a bony skeleton, and including three classes. _class_ i. mollusca, embracing pulpy animals mostly enclosed in shells; as, the nautilus, oyster, clam, cuttle-fish, &c. " ii. articulata, or jointed animals; as, crabs, lobsters, spiders, insects, leeches, earthworms, &c. " iii. radiata, branched or radiated animals; as, the star-fish, tape-worm, coral insect, sea anemone, &c. vertebrata. class mammalia. the mammalia include not only man, the head of creation, but, generally, those animals which have the most numerous and perfect faculties, the most delicate perceptions, the most varied powers, and the highest degrees of intelligence. all the species have a double heart; red, warm blood; and a nervous system more fully developed than that of any other animals. this class is divided into nine orders, under each of which we shall notice some of the more remarkable species. order i. bimana, two-handed. man. of this race there is one species, yet divided into many nations, kingdoms, and tribes. these are all grouped under five races: . the _caucasian_, or white race, including the most highly civilized nations; . the _mongolian_, or yellow race, including the tartars, chinese, japanese, &c.; . the _malay_, or brown race, including the people of malacca, and most of the oceanic islands; . the _american_, or red race, including the american indians; and . the _african_, or black race, including negroes. philosophers have been a good deal puzzled for a definition of man; yet it would seem by no means difficult to point out characteristics which distinguish him from all other animated beings. he is not only the acknowledged lord and master of the animal kingdom, but he is the only being that knows god, yet the only one that worships stones, apes, and idols; the only being that has the bible, and the only one that makes systematic warfare on his own species. he is the only created being that perceives the force of moral obligation, and the only one that makes slaves of his fellow-beings; he is the only creature that has reason, and yet the only one that besots himself with intoxicating drugs and drinks. man is the only being that has tasted of the tree of knowledge, and yet the only one that appears, in all ages and countries, to be a _fallen being_,--one not fulfilling, here on the earth, the purposes of his creation. must we not, from the analogy of the works of god, look to a future state, to find the true end of human existence? that we may not omit to give at least one illustrative and characteristic anecdote, under the head of "_homo sapiens_," we copy the following from the quaint pages of carlyle:-- "what, speaking in quite unofficial language, is the net purport of war? to my own knowledge, for example, there dwell and toil, in the british village of dumdrudge, usually, some five hundred souls. from these, by certain 'natural enemies' of the french, there are successively selected, during the french war, say thirty able-bodied men. dumdrudge, at her own expense, has suckled and nursed them; she has, not without difficulty and sorrow, fed them up to manhood, and even trained them to crafts--so that one can weave, another build, another hammer, and the weakest can stand under thirty stone avoirdupois. nevertheless, amid much weeping and swearing, they are selected, all dressed in red, and shipped away at the public charge some miles, or, say, only to the south of spain, and fed there till wanted. "and now to that same spot, in the south of spain, are thirty similar french artisans, from a french dumdrudge, in like manner wending; till, at length, after infinite effort, the parties come into actual juxtaposition, and thirty stand fronting thirty, each with a gun in his hand. straightway the word 'fire' is given, and they blow the souls out of one another; and instead of sixty brisk, useful craftsmen, the world has sixty dead carcasses, which it must bury, and anon shed tears for. had these men any quarrel? busy as the devil is, not the smallest. they lived far enough apart, were the entirest strangers; nay, in so wide a universe, there was indeed unconsciously, by commerce, some mutual helpfulness between them. how then? simpleton! their governors had fallen out; and instead of shooting one another, had the cunning to make these poor blockheads shoot." order ii. quadrumana, four-handed animals. this numerous order of animals is divided into three families: . _apes_, which are destitute of tails; . _baboons_, having short tails; . _monkeys_, having long tails. the whole group are confined to warm countries, and none but the latter kinds are met with in america. they are not found in europe, except at gibraltar. here, among the rocks, are considerable numbers of apes; and it has been conjectured that they come hither from the african coast, by means of passages under the straits. this idea, however, is groundless. no doubt these animals were once common in europe; but they have been gradually extirpated, except at gibraltar, where they have made a stand. its rocks and caverns seem to have proved as impregnable a garrison to them as to the british. apes. the orang-outang;--a native of cochin china, malacca, and the large adjacent islands. it has a countenance more like that of man than any other animal. it seldom walks erect, and seems to make its home in the trees. it is covered with reddish brown hair. _an orang-outang in holland._--this was a female, brought to that country in . she generally walked on all fours, like other apes, but could also walk nearly erect. when, however, she assumed this posture, her feet were not usually extended like those of a man, but the toes were curved beneath, in such a manner that she rested chiefly on the exterior sides of the feet. one morning she escaped from her chain, and was seen to ascend with wonderful agility the beams and oblique rafters of the building. with some trouble she was retaken, and very extraordinary muscular powers were, on this occasion, remarked in the animal. the efforts of four men were found necessary in order to secure her. two of them seized her by the legs, and a third by the head, whilst the other fastened the collar round her body. during the time she was at liberty, among other pranks, she had taken a bottle of malaga wine which she drank to the last drop, and then set the bottle again in its place. she ate readily of any kind of food which was presented to her; but her chief sustenance was bread, roots, and fruit. she was particularly fond of carrots, strawberries, aromatic plants, and roots of parsley. she also ate meat, boiled and roasted, as well as fish, and was fond of eggs, the shells of which she broke with her teeth, and then emptied by sucking out the contents. if strawberries were presented to her on a plate, she would pick them up, one by one, with a fork, and put them into her mouth, holding, at the same time, the plate in the other hand. her usual drink was water; but she also would drink very eagerly all sorts of wine, and of malaga, in particular, she was very fond. while she was on shipboard, she ran freely about the vessel, played with the sailors, and would go, like them, into the kitchen for her mess. when, at the approach of night, she was about to lie down, she would prepare the bed on which she slept by shaking well the hay, and putting it in proper order; and, lastly, would cover herself up snugly in the quilt. one day, on noticing the padlock of her chain opened with a key, and shut again, she seized a little bit of stick, and, putting it into the keyhole, turned it about in all directions, endeavoring to open it. when this animal first arrived in holland, she was only two feet and a half high, and was almost entirely free from hair on any part of her body, except her back and arms; but, on the approach of winter, she became thickly covered all over, and the hair on her back was at least six inches long, of a chestnut color, except the face and paws, which were somewhat of a reddish bronze color. this interesting brute died after having been seven months in holland. _an orang-outang killed in sumatra._--this specimen measured eight feet in height when suspended for the purpose of being skinned. the form and arrangement of his beard were beautiful; there was a great deal of the human expression in his countenance, and his piteous actions when wounded, and great tenacity of life, rendered the scene tragical and affecting. on the spot where he was killed, there were five or six tall trees, which greatly prolonged the combat; for so great were his strength and agility in bounding from branch to branch, that his pursuers were unable to take a determinate aim, until they had felled all the trees but one. even then he did not yield himself to his antagonists till he had received five balls, and been moreover thrust through with a spear. one of the first balls appears to have penetrated his lungs, for he was observed immediately to sling himself by his feet from a branch, with his head downwards, so as to allow the blood to flow from his mouth. on receiving a wound, he always put his hand over the injured part, and distressed his pursuers by the human-like agony of his expression. when on the ground, after being exhausted by his many wounds, he lay as if dead, with his head resting on his folded arms. it was at this moment that an officer attempted to give him the _coup-de-grace_ by pushing a spear through his body, but he immediately jumped on his feet, wrested the weapon from his antagonist, and shivered it in pieces. this was his last wound, and his last great exertion; yet he lived some time afterwards, and drank, it is stated, great quantities of water. captain cornfoot also observes, that the animal had probably travelled some distance to the place where he was killed, as his legs were covered with mud up to the knees. _an orang-outang brought to england._--dr. clark abel has given the following interesting account of an orang-outang which he brought from java to england: "on board ship an attempt being made to secure him by a chain tied to a strong staple, he instantly unfastened it, and ran off with the chain dragging behind; but finding himself embarrassed by its length, he coiled it once or twice, and threw it over his shoulder. this feat he often repeated; and when he found that it would not remain on his shoulder, he took it into his mouth. after several abortive attempts to secure him more effectually, he was allowed to wander freely about the ship, and soon became familiar with the sailors, and surpassed them in agility. they often chased him about the rigging, and gave him frequent opportunities of displaying his adroitness in managing an escape. on first starting, he would endeavor to outstrip his pursuers by mere speed; but when much pressed, eluded them by seizing a loose rope, and swinging out of their reach. at other times, he would patiently wait on the shrouds, or at the mast-head, till his pursuers almost touched him, and then suddenly lower himself to the deck by any rope that was near him, or bound along the main-stay from one mast to the other, swinging by his hands, and moving them one over the other. the men would often shake the ropes by which he clung with so much violence, as to make me fear his falling; but i soon found that the power of his muscles could not be easily overcome. when in a playful humor, he would often swing within arm's length of his pursuer, and having struck him with his hand, throw himself from him. "whilst in java, he lodged in a large tamarind-tree near my dwelling, and formed a bed by intertwining the small branches, and covering them with leaves. during the day, he would lie with his head projecting beyond his nest, watching whoever might pass under; and when he saw any one with fruit, would descend to obtain a share of it. he always retired for the night at sunset, or sooner if he had been well fed, and rose with the sun, and visited those from whom he habitually received food. "of some small monkeys on board from java, he took little notice whilst under the observation of the persons of the ship. once, indeed, he openly attempted to throw a small cage, containing three of them, overboard; because, probably, he had seen them receive food, of which he could obtain no part. but although he held so little intercourse with them when under our inspection, i had reason to suspect that he was less indifferent to their society when free from our observation; and was one day summoned to the top-gallant-yard of the mizzen-mast, to overlook him playing with a young male monkey. lying on his back, partially covered with a sail, he for some time contemplated, with great gravity, the gambols of the monkey, which bounded over him; but at length caught him by the tail, and tried to envelop him in his covering. the monkey seemed to dislike his confinement, and broke from him, but again renewed its gambols, and although frequently caught, always escaped. the intercourse, however, did not seem to be that of equals, for the orang-outang never condescended to romp with the monkey, as he did with the boys of the ship. yet the monkeys had evidently a great predilection for his company; for whenever they broke loose, they took their way to his resting-place, and were often seen lurking about it, or creeping clandestinely towards him. there appeared to be no gradation in their intimacy, as they appeared as confidently familiar with him when first observed, as at the close of their acquaintance. "this animal neither practises the grimaces and antics of other monkeys, nor possesses their perpetual proneness to mischief. gravity, approaching to melancholy, and mildness, were sometimes strongly expressed in his countenance, and seemed to be the characteristics of his disposition. when he first came among strangers, he would sit for hours with his hand upon his head, looking pensively at all around him; and when much incommoded by their examination, would hide himself beneath any covering that was at hand. his mildness was evinced by his forbearance under injuries, which were grievous before he was excited to revenge; but he always avoided those who often teased him. he soon became strongly attached to those who kindly used him. by their side he was fond of sitting; and getting as close as possible to their persons, would take their hands between his lips, and fly to them for protection. from the boatswain of the alceste, who shared his meals with him, and was his chief favorite, although he sometimes purloined the grog and the biscuit of his benefactor, he learned to eat with a spoon; and might be often seen sitting at his cabin door, enjoying his coffee, quite unembarrassed by those who observed him, and with a grotesque and sober air, that seemed a burlesque on human nature. "on board ship he commonly slept at the masthead, after wrapping himself in a sail. in making his bed, he used the greatest pains to remove every thing out of his way that might render the surface on which he intended to lie uneven; and, having satisfied himself with this part of his arrangement, spread out the sail, and, lying down upon it on his back, drew it over his body. sometimes i preoccupied his bed, and teased him by refusing to give it up. on these occasions he would endeavor to pull the sail from under me, or to force me from it, and would not rest till i had resigned it. if it were large enough for both, he would quietly lie by my side. "his food in java was chiefly fruit, especially mangostans, of which he was extremely fond. he also sucked eggs with voracity, and often employed himself in seeking them. on board ship his diet was of no definite kind. he ate readily of all kinds of meat, and especially raw meat; was very fond of bread, but always preferred fruits, when he could obtain them. "his beverage in java was water; on board ship, it was as diversified as his food. he preferred coffee and tea, but would readily take wine, and exemplified his attachment to spirits by stealing the captain's brandy bottle. since his arrival in london, he has preferred beer and milk to any thing else, but drinks wine and other liquors. "i have seen him exhibit violent alarm on three occasions only, when he appeared to seek for safety in gaining as high an elevation as possible. on seeing eight large turtles brought on board, whilst the cæsar was off the island of ascension, he climbed with all possible speed to a higher part of the ship than he had ever before reached, and, looking down upon them, projected his long lips into the form of a hog's snout, uttering, at the same time, a sound which might be described as between the croaking of a frog and the grunting of a pig. after some time, he ventured to descend, but with great caution, peeping continually at the turtles, but could not be induced to approach within many yards of them. he ran to the same height, and uttered the same sounds, on seeing some men bathing and splashing in the sea; and since his arrival in england, has shown nearly the same degree of fear at the sight of a live tortoise." this animal survived his transportation to england from august, , when he arrived, to the st april, ; during which interval he was in the custody of mr. cross, at exeter 'change, as much caressed for the gentleness of his disposition as he was noticed for his great rarity. there was no need of personal confinement, and little of restraint or coercion; to his keepers, especially, and to those whom he knew by their frequent visits, he displayed a decided partiality. during his last illness, and at his death, his piteous appearance, which seemed to bespeak his entreaties to those about him for relief, did not fail to excite the feelings of all who witnessed them--an excitement evidently heightened by the recollection of human suffering under similar circumstances, which the sight of this animal so strongly brought to mind. the chimpansÉ;--a native of guinea and congo, in africa. its frame is more analogous to that of man than to that of any other tribe, and it is the only one that can walk erect with ease. it lives in troops, uses stones and clubs as weapons, and was mistaken for a species of wild man, by early voyagers along the african coast. _the chimpansé on board a vessel._--m. de grandpré, speaking of the chimpansé, says that "his sagacity is extraordinary; he generally walks upon two legs, supporting himself with a stick. the negro fears him, and not without reason, as he sometimes treats him very roughly. he saw, on board a vessel, a female chimpansé, which exhibited wonderful proofs of intelligence. among other arts, she had learnt to heat the oven; she took great care not to let any of the coals fall out, which might have done mischief in the ship; and she was very accurate in observing when the oven was heated to the proper degree, of which she immediately apprized the baker, who, relying with perfect confidence upon her information, carried his dough to the oven as soon as the chimpansé came to fetch him. this animal performed all the business of a sailor, spliced ropes, handled the sails, and assisted at unfurling them; and she was, in fact, considered by the sailors as one of themselves. "the vessel was bound for america; but the poor animal did not live to see that country, having fallen a victim to the brutality of the first mate, who inflicted very cruel chastisement upon her, which she had not deserved. she endured it with the greatest patience, only holding out her hands in a suppliant attitude, in order to break the force of the blows she received. but from that moment she steadily refused to take any food, and died on the fifth day from grief and hunger. she was lamented by every person on board, not insensible to the feelings of humanity, who knew the circumstances of her fate." the gibbon;--a native of sumatra, borneo, and malacca. the arms are of immense length, and the hands and feet are formed for clinging to the limbs of trees, where it throws itself from branch to branch with surprising agility. the expression of the face is gentle, and rather melancholy. there are many species, all of which utter loud cries. _the nimble gibbon, at the zoological gardens in london._--"this specimen," says the editor of the penny magazine, "was a female, and had been four years in captivity at macao, previous to her arrival in this country. on entering the apartment in which she was to be kept, where a large space, and a tree full of branches, were allotted for her accommodation, she sprang upon the tree, and, using her hands in alternate succession, she launched herself from bough to bough with admirable grace and address, sometimes to the distance of twelve or eighteen feet. her flight might be termed aërial, for she seemed scarcely to touch the branches in her progress. it was curious to witness how abruptly she would stop in her most rapid flight. suddenly as thought, she would raise her body, and sit quietly gazing at the astonished spectators of her gymnastics. "she possessed great quickness of eye; and apples, and other fruit, were often thrown at her with great rapidity, but she always caught them without an effort. on one occasion, a live bird was set at liberty in her apartment. she marked its flight, made a spring to a distant branch, caught the bird with one hand, on her passage, and attained the branch with her other hand. she instantly bit off the head of the bird, picked off its feathers, and threw it down, without attempting to eat it. "while exerting herself in feats of agility, the gibbon ever and anon uttered her call-notes, consisting of the syllables _oo-ah_, _oo-ah_, in a succession of ascending and descending semitones, during the execution of which, the lips and frame vibrated. the tones were not unmusical, but deafening, from their loudness. "in disposition, this creature was timid, being apparently afraid of men, but allowing women to come near her, and stroke her fur, and pat her hands and feet. her eye was quick, and she seemed to be perpetually on the watch, scrutinizing every person who entered the room. after exercising in the morning from three to four hours, she would, if allowed, spend the rest of the day quietly on one of the branches." the baboon. this is a large and ferocious species of ape, common in the south of africa, and asia. _le vaillant's baboon._--this celebrated traveller, while in africa, had a dog-faced baboon, whom he called _kees_. he accompanied his master in his wanderings, and of his way of life we have the following sketches: "i made him," says le vaillant, "my taster. whenever we found fruits, or roots, with which my hottentots were unacquainted, we did not touch them till kees had tasted them. if he threw them away, we concluded that they were either of a disagreeable flavor, or of a pernicious quality, and left them untasted. the ape possesses a peculiar property, wherein he differs greatly from other animals, and resembles man--namely, that he is by nature equally gluttonous and inquisitive. without necessity, and without appetite, he tastes every thing that falls in his way, or that is given to him. "but kees had a still more valuable quality: he was an excellent sentinel; for, whether by day or night, he immediately sprang up on the slightest appearance of danger. by his cry, and the symptoms of fear which he exhibited, we were always apprized of the approach of an enemy, even though the dogs perceived nothing of it. the latter at length learned to rely upon him with such confidence, that they slept on in perfect tranquillity. i often took kees with me when i went a-hunting; and when he saw me preparing for sport, he exhibited the most lively demonstrations of joy. on the way, he would climb into the trees, to look for gum, of which he was very fond. sometimes he discovered to me honey, deposited in the clefts of rocks, or hollow trees. but if he happened to have met with neither honey nor gum, and his appetite had become sharp by his running about, i always witnessed a very ludicrous scene. in those cases, he looked for roots, which he ate with great greediness, especially a particular kind, which, to his cost, i also found to be very well tasted and refreshing, and therefore insisted upon sharing with him. but kees was no fool. as soon as he found such a root, and i was not near enough to seize upon my share of it, he devoured it in the greatest haste, keeping his eyes all the while riveted on me. he accurately measured the distance i had to pass before i could get to him, and i was sure of coming too late. sometimes, however, when he had made a mistake in his calculation, and i came upon him sooner than he expected, he endeavored to hide the root--in which case, i compelled him, by a box on the ear, to give me up my share. "when kees happened to tire on the road, he mounted upon the back of one of my dogs, who was so obliging as to carry him whole hours. one of them, that was larger and stronger than the rest, hit upon a very ingenious artifice, to avoid being pressed into this piece of service. as soon as kees leaped upon his back, he stood still, and let the train pass, without moving from the spot. kees still persisted in his intention, till we were almost out of his sight, when he found himself at length compelled to dismount, upon which both the baboon and dog exerted all their speed to overtake us. the latter, however, gave him the start, and kept a good look-out after him, that he might not serve him in the same manner again. in fact, kees enjoyed a certain authority with all my dogs, for which he perhaps was indebted to the superiority of his instinct. he could not endure a competitor if any of the dogs came too near him when he was eating, he gave him a box on the ear, which compelled him immediately to retire to a respectful distance. "like most other domestic animals, kees was addicted to stealing. he understood admirably well how to loose the strings of a basket, in order to take victuals out of it, especially milk, of which he was very fond. my people chastised him for these thefts; but that did not make him amend his conduct. i myself sometimes whipped him; but then he ran away, and did not return again to the tent until it grew dark. once, as i was about to dine, and had put the beans, which i had boiled for myself, upon a plate, i heard the voice of a bird with which i was not acquainted. i left my dinner standing, seized my gun, and ran out of the tent. after the space of about a quarter of an hour, i returned, with the bird in my hand; but, to my astonishment, found not a single bean upon the plate. kees had stolen them all, and taken himself out of the way. "when he had committed any trespass of this kind, he used always, about the time when i drank tea, to return quietly, and seat himself in his usual place, with every appearance of innocence, as if nothing had happened; but this evening he did not let himself be seen. and on the following day also he was not seen by any of us; and, in consequence, i began to grow seriously uneasy about him, and apprehensive that he might be lost forever. but, on the third day, one of my people, who had been to fetch water, informed me that he had seen kees in the neighborhood; but that, as soon as the animal espied him, he had concealed himself again. i immediately went out and beat the whole neighborhood with my dogs. all at once, i heard a cry like that which kees used to make when i returned from my shooting, and had not taken him with me. i looked about, and at length espied him, endeavoring to hide himself behind the large branches of a tree. i now called to him in a friendly tone of voice, and made motions to him to come down to me. but he could not trust me, and i was obliged to climb up the tree to fetch him. he did not attempt to fly, and we returned together to my quarters: here he expected to receive his punishment; but i did nothing, as it would have been of no use. "when any eatables had been pilfered at my quarters, the fault was always laid first upon kees; and rarely was the accusation unfounded. for a time, the eggs, which a hen laid me, were constantly stolen away, and i wished to ascertain whether i had to attribute this loss also to him. for this purpose i went one morning to watch him, and waited till the hen announced, by her cackling, that she had laid an egg. kees was sitting upon my vehicle; but, the moment he heard the hen's voice, he leaped down, and was running to fetch the egg. when he saw me, he suddenly stopped, and affected a careless posture, swaying himself backwards upon his hind legs, and assuming a very innocent look; in short, he employed all his art to deceive me with respect to his design. his hypocritical manoeuvres only confirmed my suspicions; and, in order, in my turn, to deceive him, i pretended not to attend to him, and turned my back to the bush where the hen was cackling, upon which he immediately sprang to the place. i ran after him, and came up to him at the moment when he had broken the egg, and was swallowing it. having caught the thief in the fact, i gave him a good beating upon the spot; but this severe chastisement did not prevent his soon stealing fresh-laid eggs again. "as i was convinced that i should never be able to break kees off his natural vices, and that, unless i chained him up every morning, i should never get an egg, i endeavored to accomplish my purpose in another manner: i trained one of my dogs, as soon as the hen cackled, to run to the nest, and bring me the egg, without breaking it. in a few days, the dog had learned his lesson; but kees, as soon as he heard the hen cackle, ran with him to the nest. a contest now took place between them, who should have the egg: often the dog was foiled, although he was the stronger of the two. if he gained the victory, he ran joyfully to me with the egg, and put it into my hand. kees, nevertheless, followed him, and did not cease to grumble and make threatening grimaces at him, till he saw me take the egg,--as if he was comforted for the loss of his booty by his adversary's not retaining it for himself. if kees got hold of the egg, he endeavored to run with it to a tree, where, having devoured it, he threw down the shells upon his adversary, as if to make game of him. in that case, the dog returned, looking ashamed, from which i could conjecture the unlucky adventure he had met with. "kees was always the first awake in the morning, and, when it was the proper time, he aroused the dogs, who were accustomed to his voice, and, in general, obeyed, without hesitation, the slightest motions by which he communicated his orders to them, immediately taking their posts about the tent and carriage, as he directed them." _a droll mimic._--a clergyman of some distinction, in england, had a tame baboon, which became so fond of him, that, wherever he went, it was always desirous of accompanying him. whenever, therefore, he had to perform the service of his church, he was under the necessity of shutting it up in his room. once, however, the animal escaped, and followed his master to the church; and, silently mounting the sounding-board above the pulpit, he lay perfectly still till the sermon commenced. he then crept to the edge, and, overlooking the preacher, imitated his gestures in so grotesque a manner, that the whole congregation was unavoidably made to laugh. the minister, surprised and confounded at this levity, severely rebuked his audience for their conduct. the reproof failed of its intended effect. the congregation still laughed, and the preacher, in the warmth of his zeal, redoubled his vociferation and action. this last the ape imitated so exactly, that the congregation could no longer restrain themselves, but burst into a long and loud roar of laughter. a friend of the preacher at length stepped up to him, and pointed out the cause of this apparently improper conduct; and such was the arch demeanor of the animal, that it was with the utmost difficulty that the parson himself could maintain his gravity, while he ordered the sexton to take the creature away. miscellaneous anecdotes.--immense troops of baboons inhabit the mountains in the neighborhood of the cape of good hope, whence they descend to the plains, to devastate the gardens and orchards. in their plundering excursions they are very cunning, always placing sentinels, to prevent the main body from being surprised. they break the fruit to pieces, cram it into their cheek-pouches, and keep it until hungry. whenever the sentinel discovers a man approaching, he sets up a loud yell, which makes the whole troop retreat with the utmost precipitation. they have been known to steal behind an unwary traveller resting near their retreats, and carry off his food, which they would eat at a little distance from him; and with absurd grimaces and gestures, in ridicule, offer it back; at the same time greedily devouring it. the following account is given by lade: "we traversed a great mountain in the neighborhood of the cape of good hope, and amused ourselves with hunting large baboons, which are very numerous in that place. i can neither describe all the arts practised by these animals, nor the nimbleness and impudence with which they returned, after being pursued by us. sometimes they allowed us to approach so near that i was almost certain of seizing them. but, when i made the attempt, they sprang, at a single leap, ten paces from me, and mounted trees with equal agility, from whence they looked at us with great indifference, and seemed to derive pleasure from our astonishment. some of them were so large that, if our interpreter had not assured us they were neither ferocious nor dangerous, our number would not have appeared sufficient to protect us from their attacks. "as it could serve no purpose to kill them, we did not use our guns. but the captain levelled his piece at a very large one, that had rested on the top of a tree, after having fatigued us a long time in pursuing him; this kind of menace, of which the animal, perhaps, recollected his having sometimes seen the consequences, terrified him to such a degree, that he fell down motionless at our feet, and we had no difficulty in seizing him; but when he recovered from his stupor, it required all our dexterity and efforts to keep him. we tied his paws together; but he bit so furiously, that we were under the necessity of binding our handkerchiefs over his head." the common baboon is very numerous in siam, where they frequently sally forth in astonishing multitudes to attack the villages, during the time the peasants are occupied in the rice harvest, and plunder their habitations of whatever provisions they can lay their paws on. fruits, corn, and roots, are their usual food, although they will also eat flesh. when hunted, baboons often make very formidable resistance to dogs--their great strength and long claws enabling them to make a stout defence; and it is with difficulty a single dog can overcome them, except when they are gorged with excessive eating, in which they always indulge when they can. some years ago, mr. rutter, doing duty at the castle of cape town, kept a tame baboon for his amusement. one evening it broke its chain unknown to him. in the night, climbing up into the belfry, it began to play with, and ring the bell. immediately the whole place was in an uproar, some great danger being apprehended. many thought that the castle was on fire; others, that an enemy had entered the bay; and the soldiers began actually to turn out, when it was discovered that the baboon had occasioned the disturbance. on the following morning, a court-martial was summoned, when cape justice dictated, that, "whereas master rutter's baboon had unnecessarily put the castle into alarm, the master should receive fifty lashes;" mr. rutter, however, found means to evade the punishment. the following circumstance is characteristic of the imitative disposition of the baboon: the army of alexander the great marched, in complete battle array, into a country inhabited by great numbers of these apes, and encamped there for the night. the next morning, when the army was about to proceed on its march, the soldiers saw, at some distance, an enormous number of baboons, drawn up in rank and file, like a small army, with such regularity that the macedonians, who could have no idea of such a manoeuvre, imagined at first that it was the enemy, prepared to receive them. the ape-catchers of africa, it is said, take a vessel filled with water, and wash their hands and face in a situation where they are sure to be observed by the apes. after having done so, the water is poured out, and its place supplied by a solution of glue; they leave the spot, and the apes then seldom fail to come down from their trees, and wash themselves in the same manner as they have seen the men do before them. the consequence is, that they glue their eyelashes so fast together, that they cannot open their eyes, or see to escape from their enemy. the ape is fond of spirituous liquors, and these are also used for the purpose of entrapping them. a person places, in their sight, a number of vessels filled with ardent spirits, pretends to drink, and retires. the apes, ever attentive to the proceedings of man, descend, and imitate what they have seen, become intoxicated, fall asleep, and are thus rendered an easy conquest to their cunning adversaries. the people of india make the proneness of apes to imitation useful; for, when they wish to collect cocoa-nuts, and other fruits, they go to the woods where these grow, which are generally frequented by apes and monkeys, gather a few heaps, and withdraw. as soon as they are gone, the apes fall to work, imitate every thing they have seen done; and when they have gathered together a considerable number of heaps, the people approach, the apes fly to the trees, and the harvest is conveyed home. apes and monkeys, in many parts of india, are made objects of religious veneration, and magnificent temples are erected to their honor. in these countries, they propagate to an alarming extent; they enter cities in immense troops, and even venture into the houses. in some places, as in the kingdom of calicut, the natives find it necessary to have their windows latticed, to prevent the ingress of these intruders, who lay hands without scruple upon every eatable within their reach. there are three hospitals for monkeys in amadabad, the capital of guzerat, where the sick and lame are fed and relieved by medical attendants. bindrabund, a town of agra, in india, is in high estimation with the pious hindoos, who resort to it from the most remote parts of the empire, on account of its being the favorite residence of the god krishna. the town is embosomed in groves of trees, which, according to the account of major thorn, are the residence of innumerable apes, whose propensity to mischief is increased by the religious respect paid to them, in honor of hunaman, a divinity of the hindoo mythology, wherein he is characterized under the form of an ape. in consequence of this degrading superstition, such numbers of these animals are supported by the voluntary contributions of pilgrims, that no one dares to resist or molest them. hence, access to the town is often difficult; for, should one of the apes take an antipathy against any unhappy traveller, he is sure to be assailed by the whole community, who follow him with all the missile weapons they can collect, such as pieces of bamboo, stones, and dirt, making at the same time a most hideous howling. a striking instance of the audacity of the ape, in attacking the human species, is related by m. mollien, in his travels in africa. a woman, going with millet and milk to a vessel, from st. louis, which had been stopped before a village in the country of golam, was attacked by a troop of apes, from three to four feet high; they first threw stones at her, on which she began to run away; they then ran after her, and, having caught her, they commenced beating her with sticks, until she let go what she was carrying. on returning to the village, she related her adventure to the principal inhabitants, who mounted their horses, and, followed by their dogs, went to the place which served as a retreat to this troop of marauders. they fired at them, killed ten, and wounded others, which were brought to them by the dogs; but several negroes were severely wounded in this encounter, either by the stones hurled at them by the apes, or by their bites; the females, especially, were most furious in revenging the death of their young ones, which they carried in their arms. d'obsonville, speaking of the sacred haunts of apes in different parts of india, says that, in the course of his travels through that country, he occasionally went into the ancient temples, in order to rest himself. he noticed always that several of the apes, which abounded there, first observed him attentively, then looked inquisitively at the food which he was about to take, betraying, by their features and gestures, the great desire which they felt to partake of it with him. in order to amuse himself upon such occasions, he was generally provided with a quantity of dried peas; of these he first scattered some on the side where the leader stood,--for, according to his account, the apes always obey some particular one as their leader,--upon which the animal gradually approached nearer, and gathered them eagerly up. he then held out a handful to the animal; and, as they seldom meet a person who harbors any hostile intentions against them, the creature ventured slowly to approach, cautiously watching, as it seemed, lest any trick might be played upon him. at length, becoming bolder, he laid hold, with one of his paws, of the thumb of the hand in which the peas were held out to him, while, with the other, he carried them to his mouth, keeping his eyes all the while fixed upon those of m. d'obsonville. "if i happened to laugh," he observes, "or to move myself, the ape immediately gave over eating, worked his lips, and made a kind of growling noise, the meaning of which was rendered very intelligible to me by his long, canine teeth, which he occasionally exhibited. if i threw some of the peas to a distance from him, he sometimes seemed pleased to see other apes pick them up; though, at other times, he grumbled at it, and attacked those who approached too near to me. the noise which he made, and the apprehensions he showed, though they might, perhaps, proceed in some measure from his own greediness, evidently proved, however, that he feared i might take advantage of their weakness, and so make them prisoners. i also observed, that those whom he suffered to approach the nearest to me were always the largest and strongest of the males; the young and the females he obliged to keep at a considerable distance from me." monkeys. of this numerous and frolicsome family, there is a great variety in the hot regions of both continents. in some portions of south america, they enliven the landscape by their gambols, and make the forests resound with their cries. they are the smallest and most lively of the four-handed family, and in all caravans, they are the favorites of young observers. _the fair monkey._--this is one of the most beautiful of the tribe. its head is small and round: its face and hands are of scarlet, so defined and vivid that it has more the appearance of art than nature. its body and limbs are covered with long hairs of the purest white, and of a shining and silvery brightness: the tail is of a deep chestnut color, very glistening, and considerably longer than the body. this animal is somewhat larger than the striated monkey. it is an inhabitant of south america, and is frequently to be met with on the banks of the amazon. the following circumstance, exhibiting the fickleness of the fair monkey, was communicated to mr. bewick by sir john trevelyan. "pug was a gentleman of excellent humor, and adored by the crew; and, to make him perfectly happy, as they imagined, they procured him a wife. for some weeks he was a devoted husband, and showed her every attention and respect. he then grew cool, and became jealous of any kind of civility shown her by the master of the vessel, and began to use her with much cruelty. his treatment made her wretched and dull; though she bore the spleen of her husband with that fortitude which is characteristic of the female sex of the human species. pug, however, like the lords of creation, was up to deceit, and practised pretended kindness to his spouse, to effect a diabolical scheme, which he seemed to premeditate. one morning, when the sea ran very high, he seduced her aloft, and drew her observation to an object at some distance from the yard-arm; her attention being fixed, he all of a sudden applied his paw to her rear, and canted her into the sea, where she fell a victim to his cruelty. this seemed to afford him high gratification, for he descended in great spirits." _a trick._--in , a vessel that sailed between whitehaven, in england, and jamaica, embarked on her homeward voyage, and, among other passengers, carried mrs. b., and an infant five weeks old. one beautiful afternoon, the captain perceived a distant sail; and, after he had gratified his curiosity, he politely offered the glass to the lady, that she might obtain a clear view of the object. she had the baby in her arms, but now she wrapped her shawl about it, and placed it on a sofa, upon which she had been sitting. scarcely had she applied her eye to the glass, when the helmsman exclaimed, "see what the mischievous monkey has done!" the reader may judge of the mother's feelings, when, on turning round, she beheld the animal in the act of transporting her child apparently up to the top of the mast. the monkey was a very large one, and so strong and active, that, while it grasped the infant firmly with one arm, it climbed the shrouds nimbly by the other, totally unembarrassed by the weight of its burden. one look was enough for the terrified mother; and had it not been for the assistance of those around her, she would have fallen prostrate on the deck, where she was soon afterwards stretched, apparently a lifeless corpse. the sailors could climb as well as the monkey, but the latter watched their motions narrowly; and, as it ascended higher up the mast the moment they attempted to put a foot on the shroud, the captain became afraid that it would drop the child, and endeavor to escape by leaping from one mast to another. in the mean time, the little innocent was heard to cry; and though many thought it was suffering pain, their fears on this point were speedily dissipated, when they observed the monkey imitating exactly the motions of a nurse, by dandling, soothing, and caressing, its charge, and even endeavoring to hush it to sleep. from the deck, the lady was conveyed to the cabin, and gradually restored to her senses. in the mean time, the captain ordered the men to conceal themselves carefully below, and quietly took his own station on the cabin stairs, where he could see all that passed, without being seen. the plan happily succeeded. the monkey, on perceiving that the coast was clear, cautiously descended from his lofty perch, and replaced the infant on the sofa, cold, fretful, and perhaps frightened, but, in every other respect, as free from harm as when he took it up. the captain had now a most grateful office to perform; the babe was restored to its mother's arms, amidst tears, and thanks, and blessings. _a tragedy in the woods._--an englishman travelling in india tells the following interesting, though painful, story:-- "i was strolling through a wood, with my gun on my shoulders, my thoughts all centred in europe, when i heard a curious noise in a tree above me. i looked up, and found that the sounds proceeded from a white monkey, who skipped from branch to branch, chattering with delight at beholding a 'fellow-creature,' for so he decidedly seemed to consider me. for a few moments i took no notice of his antics, and walked quietly along, till suddenly a large branch fell at my feet, narrowly escaping my head. i again paused, and found that the missile had been dropped by my talkative friend. without consideration, i instantly turned round and fired at him. "the report had scarcely sounded, when i heard the most piercing, the most distressing cry, that ever reached my ears. an agonized shriek, like that of a young infant, burst from the little creature that i had wounded. it was within thirty paces of me. i could see the wretched animal, already stained with blood, point to its wound, and again hear its dreadful moan. "the agony of a hare is harrowing, and i have seen a young sportsman turn pale on hearing it. the present cry was, however, more distressing. i turned round, and endeavored to hurry away. this, however, i found no easy task; for, as i moved forward, the unhappy creature followed me, springing as well as he could from bough to bough, uttering a low, wailing moan, and pointing at the same time to the spot whence the blood trickled. then, regarding me steadily and mournfully in the face, it seemed to reproach me with my wanton cruelty. again i hastened on, but still it pursued me. never, in my life, did i feel so much for a dumb animal: never did i so keenly repent an act of uncalled-for barbarity. "determined not to allow the poor monkey thus to linger in torture, and at once to end the annoying scene, i suddenly came to a halt; and, lowering my gun, which was only single-barrelled, i was about to reload it for the purpose of despatching the maimed creature, when, springing from a tree, it ran up to within a dozen paces of me, and began to cry so piteously, and roll itself in agony, occasionally picking up earth, with which it attempted to stanch the blood by stuffing it into the wound, that, in spite of my resolution, when i fired, i was so nervous, i almost missed my aim, inflicting another wound, which broke the animal's leg, but nothing more. again, its piercing shriek rang in my ears. horrified beyond endurance, i threw down my gun, and actually fled. "in about half an hour, i returned, for the purpose of getting my gun, fully expecting that the poor animal had left the spot. what, then, was my surprise, to find a crowd of monkeys surrounding the wretched sufferer, and busily employed in tearing open its wounds! a shout drove them all away, except the dying animal. i advanced. the little creature was rolling in agony. i took up my gun, which lay beside him, and fancied he cast one look of supplication on me--one prayer to be relieved from his misery. i did not hesitate; with one blow of the butt-end, i dashed out his brains. then turning round, i slowly returned to my quarters, more profoundly dispirited than i had felt for many months.--take my advice, reader; if you must live in india, never shoot a monkey." _miscellaneous anecdotes._--we are told of a king of egypt who was so successful in training monkeys to the art of dancing, that they were long admired for the dexterity and gracefulness of their movements. on one occasion, his majesty had a ball, at which a vast number of these animals "tripped it on the light, fantastic toe." a citizen, who enjoyed fun, threw a few handfuls of walnuts into the ball-room, while these picturesque animals were engaged in a high dance, upon which they forgot all decorum, and sprang to the booty. a monkey, which was kept on board a british frigate, was the favorite of all on board but the midshipmen. this animal knew well of a large store of apples being in a locker in the wardroom, which was kept constantly secure, in consequence of his propensity for plundering it. he, however, fell upon ways and means to secure his booty. he procured a piece of wadding, swung himself from the stern gallery by one hand, and, with this in the other, broke a pane of glass in the wardroom window; and, after carefully picking out all the broken pieces of glass, made his entrance, where he gorged himself so fully, that he was unable to effect his retreat by the place where he entered. he was caught in the fact, and soundly flogged. a singular piece of ingenuity was once practised by a monkey, in defending himself against fire-arms. this animal belonged to captain m----, of the navy, who had also another small monkey, of which he was very fond, from its lively playfulness. the larger animal was often exceedingly troublesome, and could not be driven from his cabin, without _blazing_ at him with a pistol loaded with powder and currant jelly,--a discharge which produced a painful and alarming effect. the old monkey was at first astounded at the sight of the weapon, which stung him so sore, that he at last learned a mode of defence; for, snatching up the little favorite, he used to interpose him as a shield between the pistol and his body. in one of his excursions, le vaillant killed a female monkey, which carried a young one on her back. the latter continued to cling to her dead parent till they reached their evening quarters; and the assistance of a negro was even then required to disengage it. no sooner, however, did it feel itself alone, than it darted towards a wooden block, on which was placed the wig of le vaillant's father. to this it clung most pertinaciously by its fore paws; and such was the force of this deceptive instinct, that it remained in the same position for about three weeks, all this time evidently mistaking the wig for its mother. it was fed, from time to time, with goat's milk; and, at length, emancipated itself voluntarily, by quitting the fostering care of the peruke. the confidence which it ere long assumed, and the amusing familiarity of its manners, soon rendered it a favorite with the family. the unsuspecting naturalist had, however, introduced a wolf in sheep's clothing into his dwelling; for, one morning, on entering his chamber, the door of which had been imprudently left open, he beheld his young favorite making a hearty breakfast on a collection of insects which he had made. in the first transports of his anger, he resolved to strangle the monkey in his arms; but his rage immediately gave way to pity, when he perceived that the crime of its voracity had carried the punishment along with it. in eating the beetles, it had swallowed several of the pins on which they were transfixed. its agony, consequently, became great, and all his efforts were unable to preserve its life. order iii. carnaria, butchering animals. this order includes bats, hedgehogs, bears, dogs, wolves, foxes, lions, weasels, &c. bats. these creatures, partaking both of the nature of quadrupeds and birds, have excited the wonder of mankind in all ages. there is a great variety of species, from the common bat of our climate to the vampyre of south america, whose wings stretch to the extent of two feet. these animals live in caves and crevices during the day, and sally forth at evening to catch their prey. for this reason, there is a popular disgust of the whole tribe; yet the species in our climate are a harmless race. we cannot say as much of the larger kinds, which sometimes darken the air, by their abundance, in hot climates. one species, already mentioned, is a formidable animal. captain stedman, in his "narrative of a five years' expedition against the revolted negroes of surinam," relates that, on awaking about four o'clock one morning in his hammock, he was extremely alarmed at finding himself weltering in congealed blood, and without feeling any pain whatever. "the mystery was," says captain stedman, "that i had been bitten by the vampyre, or spectre of guiana, which is also called the flying dog of new spain; and by the spaniards, _perrovolador_. this is no other than a bat of monstrous size, that sucks the blood from men and cattle, while they are fast asleep, even, sometimes, till they die; and, as the manner in which they proceed is truly wonderful, i shall endeavor to give a distinct account of it. "knowing, by instinct, that the person they intend to attack is in a sound slumber, they generally alight near the feet, where, while the creature continues fanning with his enormous wings, which keeps one cool, he bites a piece out of the tip of the great toe, so very small, indeed, that the head of a pin could scarcely be received into the wound, which is, consequently, not painful; yet, through this orifice, he continues to suck the blood, until he is obliged to disgorge. he then begins again, and thus continues sucking and disgorging until he is scarcely able to fly, and the sufferer has often been known to pass from time to eternity. cattle they generally bite in the ear, but always in places where the blood flows spontaneously. having applied tobacco ashes as the best remedy, and washed the gore from myself and hammock, i observed several small heaps of congealed blood, all round the place where i had lain, upon the ground; on examining which, the surgeon judged that i had lost at least twelve or fourteen ounces of blood." "some years ago," says mr. waterton, in his "wanderings in south america," "i went to the river paumaron, with a scotch gentleman, by name tarbet. we hung our hammocks in the thatched loft of a planter's house. next morning, i heard this gentleman muttering in his hammock, and now and then letting fall an imprecation or two, just about the time he ought to have been saying his morning prayers. 'what is the matter, sir?' said i, softly; 'is any thing amiss?' 'what's the matter?' answered he, surlily; 'why, the vampyres have been sucking me to death.' as soon as there was light enough, i went to his hammock, and saw it much stained with blood. 'there,' said he, thrusting his foot out of the hammock, 'see how these infernal imps have been drawing my life's blood.' on examining his foot, i found the vampyre had tapped his great toe. there was a wound somewhat less than that made by a leech. the blood was still oozing from it. i conjectured he might have lost from ten to twelve ounces of blood. whilst examining it, i think i put him into a worse humor, by remarking that a european surgeon would not have been so generous as to have blooded him without making a charge. he looked up in my face, but did not say a word. i saw he was of opinion that i had better have spared this piece of ill-timed levity." hedgehog. this animal belongs exclusively to the eastern continent, and is well known from the thick and sharp prickles with which its back and sides are covered, and the contractile power by which it can draw its head and belly within the prickly covering of its back, so as to give it the appearance of a ball. it is found near hedges and thickets, from the fruits and herbage of which it obtains its food. it also feeds upon small animals, such as snails and beetles. the sagacity of the hedgehog is celebrated in antiquity. we are informed by plutarch, that a citizen of cyzicus thus acquired the reputation of a good meteorologist: a hedgehog generally has its burrow open in various points; and, when its instinct warns it of an approaching change of the wind, it stops up the aperture towards that quarter. the citizen alluded to, becoming aware of this practice, was able to predict to what point the wind would next shift. though of a very timid disposition, the hedgehog has been sometimes tamed. in the year , there was one in the possession of a mr. sample, in northumberland, which performed the duty of a turnspit as well, in all respects, as the dog of that denomination. it ran about the house with the same familiarity as any other domestic animal. in the london sporting magazine for , there is an account of one, which, after having been tamed in a garden, found its way to the scullery, and there made regular search for the relics of the dinner plates; having its retreat in the adjoining cellar. it was fed after the manner itself had selected. milk was given in addition to the meat; but it lost its relish for vegetables, and constantly rejected them. it soon became as well domesticated as the cat, and lived on a footing of intimacy with it. the mole. of this animal there are several species; they burrow in the earth, and form avenues from one nest to another, like the crossing streets of a city. their eyes are small, and so buried in fur as to be invisible, except on close inspection. _mole-catching._--it has been a common opinion that moles were destructive to the crops; and in europe, much pains have been taken to destroy them. the mole-catcher--in general a quiet old man, who passes his winter in making his traps, in the chimney-corner--comes forth, in the spring, with his implements of destruction. his practised eye soon discovers the tracks of the mole, from the mound which he throws up to some neighboring bank, or from one mound to another. it is in this track, or run, that he sets his trap, a few inches below the surface of the ground. as the mole passes through this little engine of his ruin, he disturbs a peg which holds down a strong hazel rod in a bent position. the moment the peg is moved, the end of the rod which is held down flies up, and with it comes up the poor mole, dragged out of the earth which he has so ingeniously excavated, to be gibbeted, without a chance of escape. there was a frenchman, of the name of le court, who died a few years since,--a man of great knowledge and perseverance, and who did not think it beneath him to devote his whole attention to the observation of the mole. he established a school for mole-catching; and taught many what he had acquired by incessant perseverance--the art of tracing the mole to his hiding-place in the ground, and cutting off his retreat. the skill of this man once saved, as was supposed, a large and fertile district of france from inundation by a canal, whose banks the moles had undermined in every direction. more recently, it has been doubted whether moles are really so mischievous to the farmer as has been supposed. it is said that they assist in draining the land, and thus prevent the foot-rot in sheep. mr. hogg, the ettrick shepherd, says, "if a hundred men and horses were employed on a common-sized pasture-farm--say from to acres--in raising and draining manure for a top-dressing to the land, they would not do it so effectually, so equally, and so neatly, as the natural number of moles on the farm would do for themselves." moles are said to be very ferocious animals; and, as an evidence of this, we are told that a mole, a toad, and a viper, were enclosed in a glass case; the mole despatched the other two, and devoured a great part of both of them. the bear. of this animal there are many species; among which, the white bear of the polar regions, and the grisly bear of the eastern slope of the rocky mountains, are the largest and most formidable. the brown bear is common to both continents. the most remarkable of the other species are the bornean, spectacled, large-lipped, thibetian, and malayan. the brown or black bear.--_miscellaneous anecdotes._--this species, like the rest of the family, is a solitary animal; for he only remains associated with his mate for a short period, and then retires to his winter retreat, which is usually in the hole of a rock, the cavity of a tree, or a pit in the earth, which the animal frequently digs for himself. he sometimes constructs a kind of hut, composed of the branches of trees, which he lines with moss. in these situations he continues, for the most part, in a lethargic state, taking no food, but subsisting entirely on the absorption of the fat which he has accumulated in the course of the summer. the modes that are adopted, by the inhabitants of different countries, for taking or destroying bears, are various. of these, the following appear to be the most remarkable: in consequence of the well-known partiality of these animals for honey, the russians sometimes fix to those trees where bees are hived a heavy log of wood, at the end of a long string. when the unwieldy creature climbs up, to get at the hive, he finds himself interrupted by the log; he pushes it aside, and attempts to pass it; but, in returning, it hits him such a blow, that, in a rage, he flings it from him with greater force, which makes it return with increased violence; and he sometimes continues this, till he is either killed, or falls from the tree. in lapland, hunting the bear is often undertaken by a single man, who, having discovered the retreat of the animal, takes his dog along with him, and advances towards the spot. the jaws are tied round with a cord, to prevent his barking; and the man holds the other end of this cord in his hand. as soon as the dog smells the bear, he begins to show signs of uneasiness, and, by dragging at the cord, informs his master that the object of his pursuit is at no great distance. when the laplander, by this means, discovers on which side the bear is stationed, he advances in such a direction that the wind may blow from the bear to him, and not the contrary; for otherwise, the animal would, by his scent, be aware of his approach, though not able to see the enemy, being blinded by sunshine. the olfactory organs of the bear are exquisite. when the hunter has advanced to within gunshot of the bear, he fires upon him; and this is very easily accomplished in autumn, as he is then more fearless, and is constantly prowling about for berries of different kinds, on which he feeds at this season of the year. should the man chance to miss his aim, the furious beast will directly turn upon him in a rage, and the little laplander is obliged to take to his heels with all possible speed, leaving his knapsack behind him on the spot. the bear, coming up to this, seizes upon it, biting and tearing it into a thousand pieces. while he is thus venting his fury, the laplander, who is generally a good marksman, reloads his gun, and usually destroys him at the second shot; if not, the bear in most cases runs away. bear-baiting was a favorite amusement of our english ancestors. sir thomas pope entertained queen mary and the princess elizabeth, at hatfield, with a grand exhibition of a "bear-baiting, with which their highnesses were right well content." bear-baiting was part of the amusement of elizabeth, among "the princely pleasures of kenilworth castle." rowland white, speaking of the queen, then in her sixty-seventh year, says,--"her majesty is very well. this day she appoints a frenchman to do feats upon a rope, in the conduit court. to-morrow she has commanded the bears, the bull, and the ape, to be bayted, in the tilt-yard. upon wednesday, she will have solemn dauncing." the office of chief master of the bear was held under the crown, with a salary of d. _per diem_. whenever the king chose to entertain himself or his visitors with this sport, it was the duty of the master to provide bears and dogs, and to superintend the baiting; and he was invested with unlimited authority to issue commissions, and to send his officers into every county in england, who were empowered to seize and take away any bears, bulls, or dogs, that they thought meet, for his majesty's service. the latest record, by which this diversion was publicly authorized, is a grant to sir saunders duncombe, october , , "for the sole practice and profit of the fighting and combating of wild and domestic beasts, within the realm of england, for the space of fourteen years." occasional exhibitions of this kind were continued till about the middle of the eighteenth century. we are told, in johnston's _sketches of india_, that "bears will often continue on the road, in front of a palanquin, for a mile or two, tumbling, and playing all sorts of antics, as if they were taught to do so. i believe it is their natural disposition; for they certainly are the most amusing creatures imaginable, in a wild state. it is no wonder they are led about with monkeys, to amuse mankind. it is astonishing, as well as ludicrous, to see them climb rocks, and tumble, or rather roll, down precipices. if they are attacked by a person on horseback, they stand erect on their hind legs, showing a fine set of white teeth, and make a crackling kind of noise. if the horse comes near them, they try to catch him by the legs; and, if they miss him, they tumble over and over several times. they are easily speared by a person mounted on horseback, that is bold enough to go near them." bears ascend trees with great facility. of their fondness for climbing, we have the following curious instance: in the end of june, , a tame bear took a notion of climbing up the scaffolding placed round a brick stalk, erecting by mr. g. johnstone, at st. rollox. he began to ascend very steadily, cautiously examining, as he went along, the various joists, to see if they were secure. he at length, to the infinite amusement and astonishment of the workmen, reached the summit of the scaffolding, one hundred and twenty feet high. bruin had no sooner attained the object of his wishes, than his physiognomy exhibited great self-gratulation; and he looked about him with much complacency, and inspected the building operations going on. the workmen were much amused with their novel visitor, and every mark of civility and attention was shown him; which he very condescendingly returned, by good-humoredly presenting them with a shake of his paw. a lime bucket was now hoisted, in order to lower him down; and the workmen, with all due courtesy, were going to assist him into it; but he declined their attentions, and preferred returning in the manner he had gone up. he afterwards repeated his adventurous visit. "bears," says mr. lloyd, "are not unfrequently domesticated in wermeland. i heard of one that was so tame, that his master, a peasant, used occasionally to cause him to stand at the back of his sledge when on a journey; but the fellow kept so good a balance, that it was next to impossible to upset him. when the vehicle went on one side, bruin threw his weight the other way, and _vice versa_. one day, however, the peasant amused himself by driving over the very worst ground he could find, with the intention, if possible, of throwing the bear off his equilibrium, by which, at last, the animal got so irritated, that he fetched his master, who was in advance of him, a tremendous thwack on the shoulders with his paw. this frightened the man so much, that he caused the beast to be killed immediately." of the ferocity of the bear there are many instances on record. a brown bear, which was presented to his late majesty, george iii., while prince of wales, was kept in the tower. by the carelessness of the servant, the door of the den was left open; and the keeper's wife happening to go across the court at the same time, the animal flew out, seized the woman, threw her down, and fastened upon her neck, which he bit; and without offering any further violence, lay upon her, sucking the blood out of the wound. resistance was in vain, as it only served to irritate the brute; and she must inevitably have perished, had not her husband luckily discovered her situation. by a sudden blow, he obliged the bear to quit his hold, and retire to his den, which he did with great reluctance, and not without making a second attempt to come at the woman, who was almost dead, through fear and loss of blood. it is somewhat remarkable, that, whenever he happened to see her afterwards, he growled, and made most violent struggles to get at her. the prince, upon hearing of the circumstance, ordered the bear to be killed. but the bear is also capable of generous attachment. leopold, duke of lorraine, had a bear called marco, of the sagacity and sensibility of which we have the following remarkable instance: during the winter of , a savoyard boy, ready to perish with cold in a barn, in which he had been put by a good woman, with some more of his companions, thought proper to enter marco's hut, without reflecting on the danger which he ran in exposing himself to the mercy of the animal which occupied it. marco, however, instead of doing any injury to the child, took him between his paws, and warmed him by pressing him to his breast, until next morning, when he suffered him to depart, to ramble about the city. the young savoyard returned in the evening to the hut, and was received with the same affection. for several days he had no other retreat; and it added not a little to his joy, to perceive that the bear regularly reserved part of his food for him. a number of days passed in this manner without the servants' knowing any thing of the circumstance. at length, when one of them came to bring the bear its supper, rather later than ordinary, he was astonished to see the animal roll his eyes in a furious manner, and seeming as if he wished him to make as little noise as possible, for fear of awaking the child, whom he clasped to his breast. the bear, though ravenous, did not appear the least moved with the food which was placed before him. the report of this extraordinary circumstance was soon spread at court, and reached the ears of leopold, who, with part of his courtiers, was desirous of being satisfied of the truth of marco's generosity. several of them passed the night near his hut, and beheld, with astonishment, that the bear never stirred as long as his guest showed an inclination to sleep. at break of day, the child awoke, was very much ashamed to find himself discovered, and, fearing that he would be punished for his temerity, begged pardon. the bear, however, caressed him, and endeavored to prevail on him to eat what had been brought to him the evening before, which he did at the request of the spectators, who afterwards conducted him to the prince. having learned the whole history of this singular alliance, and the time which it had continued, leopold ordered care to be taken of the little savoyard, who, doubtless, would have soon made his fortune, had he not died a short time after. munster relates the following story of a man being strangely relieved from a perilous situation: a countryman in muscovy, in seeking for honey in the woods, mounted a stupendous tree, which was hollow in the centre of its trunk; and, discovering that it contained a large quantity of comb, descended into the hollow, where he stuck fast in the honey, which had been accumulated there to a great depth; and every effort on his part to extricate himself proved abortive. so remote was this tree, that it was impossible his voice could be heard. after remaining in this situation for two days, and allaying his hunger with the honey, all hope of being extricated was abandoned, and he gave himself up to despair. at last a bear, who, like himself, had come in search of honey, mounted the tree, and descended the hollow cleft, "stern forward." the man was at first alarmed, but mustered courage to seize the bear with all the firmness he could; upon which the animal took fright, made a speedy retreat, and dragged the peasant after it. when fairly out of the recess, he quitted his hold, and the bear made the best of its way to the ground, and escaped. it would appear that, in the remote regions of the united states, the common black bear is occasionally found of a cinnamon color, and sometimes even white. tanner gives us the following account: "shortly after this, i killed an old she-bear, which was perfectly white. she had four cubs; one white, with red eyes and red nails, like herself; one red, and two black. in size, and other respects, she was the same as the common black bear; but she had nothing black about her but the skin of her lips. the fur of this kind is very fine, but not so highly valued by the traders as the red. the old one was very tame, and i shot her without difficulty; two of the young ones i shot in the hole, and two escaped into a tree. "i had but just shot them when there came along three men, attracted, probably, by the sound of my gun. as these men were very hungry, i took them home with me, fed them, and gave them each a piece of meat, to carry home. next day, i chased another bear into a low poplar-tree; but my gun being a poor one, i could not shoot him. "a few days after, as i was hunting, i started, at the same moment, an elk and three young bears; the latter ran into a tree. i shot at the young bears, and two of them fell. as i thought one or both must only be wounded, i sprang towards the root of the tree, but had scarcely reached it when i saw the old she-bear coming in another direction. she caught up the cub which had fallen near her, and, raising it with her paws, while she stood on her hind feet, holding it as a woman holds a child, she looked at it for a moment, smelled the ball-hole, which was in its belly, and perceiving it was dead, dashed it down, and came directly towards me, gnashing her teeth, and walking so erect that her head stood as high as mine. all this was so sudden, that i scarce reloaded my gun, having only time to raise it, and fire, as she came within reach of the muzzle. i was now made to feel the necessity of a lesson the indians had taught me, and which i very rarely neglected--that is, to think of nothing else before loading it again." some years ago, a boy, of new hampshire, found a very young cub, near lake winnipeg, and carried it home with him. it was fed and brought up about the house of the boy's father, and became as tame as a dog. every day its youthful captor had to go to school at some distance, and, by degrees, the bear became his daily companion. at first, the other scholars were shy of the creature's acquaintance; but, ere long, it became their regular playfellow, and they delighted in sharing with it the little store of provisions which they brought, for their sustenance, in small bags. after two years of civilization, however, the bear wandered to the woods, and did not return. search was made for him, but in vain. four succeeding years passed away, and, in the interval, changes had occurred in the school alluded to. an old dame had succeeded to the ancient master, and a new generation of pupils had taken the place of the former ones. one very cold, winter day, while the schoolmistress was busy with her humble lessons, a boy chanced to leave the door half way open, on his entrance, and, suddenly, a large bear walked in. the consternation of the old lady, and her boys and girls, was unspeakable. both schoolmistress and pupils would fain have been abroad; but the bear was in the path, and all that could be done was to fly off, as far as possible, behind the tables and benches. but the bear troubled nobody. he walked quietly up to the fireplace, and warmed himself, exhibiting much satisfaction in his countenance during the process. he remained thus about a quarter of an hour, and then walked up to the wall where the provender bags and baskets of the pupils were suspended. standing on his hind feet, he took hold of these successively, put his paws into them, and made free with the bread, fruit, and other eatables, therein contained. he next tried the schoolmistress's desk, where some little provisions usually were; but finding it firmly shut, he went up again to the fire, and, after a few minutes' stay before it, he walked out by the way he came in. as soon as the schoolmistress and her pupils had courage to move, the alarm was given to the neighbors. several young men immediately started after the bear, and, as its track was perfectly visible upon the snow, they soon came up with it, and killed it. then it was that, by certain marks upon its skin, some of the pursuers recognized, in the poor bear, no enemy, but an old friend of their own recent school days. great regret was felt at the loss of the creature. it was like killing a human friend rather than a wild animal. landor furnishes us with the following account: a man in sweden set off one morning to shoot the cock of the woods. this bird is so extremely shy, that he may rarely be met with, except in the pairing season, when, every morning, he renews his song. he usually commences just before sunrise, beginning in a loud strain, which gradually sinks into a low key, until he is quite entranced with his own melody; he then droops his wings to the earth, and runs to the distance of several feet, calling, _cluck, cluck, cluck_! during which time, he is said to be incapable of seeing, so wrapped up is he in his own contemplations, and may be caught even with the hand by those who are near enough, as the fit lasts only a few moments. if unready, wait for the next occasion; for, should he advance a step, except when the bird is thus insensible, he will certainly be overheard, and the victim escape. the man i began to speak of, being, early one morning, in pursuit of this bird, heard his song at a short distance, and, as soon as the _clucking_ commenced, of course advanced as rapidly as he could, and then remained motionless, till these particular notes were again sounded. it was quite dusk, the sun not having yet risen; but the song seemed to come from an open space in the forest, from which the sun was just emerging. he could not see many yards before him, and only followed the direction of the sound. it so happened that, from another point, but at no great distance, a bear was advancing on the bird, just in the manner of, and with the same steps as the man. the hunter, whilst standing motionless, thought he perceived a dark object on one side of him; but it did not much engage his attention; at the usual note, he moved on toward the game, but was surprised to see that the black object had also advanced in an equal degree, and now stood on a line with him. still he was so eager after the bird, that he could think of nothing else, and approached close to his prey before he perceived that a large bear stood within a few feet of him; in fact, just as they were about to spring on the bird, they caught sight of one another, and each thought proper to slink back. after having retreated a short distance, the man began to think it would be rather inglorious to yield the prize without a struggle; and there being now more light, he returned to the spot, when it appeared that the bear had also taken the same resolution, and was actually advancing over the same open space i have mentioned, growling, and tearing up the grass with her feet. though the man had only shot in his gun, he fired without hesitation, and immediately took to his heels and fled, conceiving the bear to be close in his rear, and returned not to pause till he gained his own habitation. having armed himself anew, and taken a companion with him, he again repaired to the spot, where he found the bear lying dead on the ground, some of the shots having entered her heart. the american black bear lives a solitary life in forests and uncultivated deserts, and subsists on fruits, and on the young shoots and roots of vegetables. of honey he is exceedingly fond, and, as he is a most expert climber, he scales the loftiest trees in search of it. fish, too, he delights in, and is often found in quest of them, on the borders of lakes and on the sea-shore. when these resources fail, he will attack small quadrupeds, and even animals of some magnitude. as, indeed, is usual in such cases, the love of flesh, in him, grows with the use of it. as the fur is of some value, the indians are assiduous in the chase of the creature which produces it. "about the end of december, from the abundance of fruits they find in louisiana and the neighboring countries, the bears become so fat and lazy that they can scarcely run. at this time they are hunted by the indians. the nature of the chase is generally this: the bear chiefly adopts, for his retreat, the hollow trunk of an old cypress-tree, which he climbs, and then descends into the cavity from above. the hunter, whose business it is to watch him into this retreat, climbs a neighboring tree, and seats himself opposite to the hole. in one hand he holds his gun, and in the other a torch, which he darts into the cavity. frantic with rage and terror, the bear makes a spring from his station; but the hunter seizes the instant of his appearance, and shoots him. "the pursuit of the bear is a matter of the first importance to some of the indian tribes, and is never undertaken without much ceremony. a principal warrior gives a general invitation to all the hunters. this is followed by a strict fast of eight days, in which they totally abstain from food, but during which the day is passed in continual song. this is done to invoke the spirits of the woods to direct the hunters to the places where there are abundance of bears. they even cut the flesh in divers parts of their bodies, to render the spirits more propitious. they also address themselves to the manes of the beasts slain in the preceding chases, and implore these to direct them, in their dreams, to an abundance of game. the chief of the hunt now gives a great feast, at which no one dares to appear without first bathing. at this entertainment, contrary to their usual custom, they eat with great moderation. the master of the feast touches nothing, but is employed in relating to the guests ancient tales of feasts in former chases; and fresh invocations to the manes of the deceased bears conclude the whole. "they then sally forth, equipped as if for war, and painted black. they proceed on their way in a direct line, not allowing rivers, marshes, or any other impediment, to stop their course, and driving before them all the beasts they find. when they arrive at the hunting-ground, they surround as large a space as they can, and then contract their circle, searching, at the same time, every hollow tree, and every place capable of being the retreat of a bear; and they continue the same practice till the chase is expired. "as soon as a bear is killed, a hunter puts into his mouth a lighted pipe of tobacco, and, blowing into it, fills the throat with the smoke, conjuring the spirit of the animal not to resent what they are about to do to its body, or to render their future chases unsuccessful. as the beast makes no reply, they cut out the string of the tongue, and throw it into the fire. if it crackle and shrivel up, which it is almost sure to do, they accept this as a good omen; if not, they consider that the spirit of the beast is not appeased, and that the chase of the next year will be unfortunate." when our forefathers first settled in america, bears were common in all parts of the country along the atlantic. many adventures with them took place, some of which are recorded in the histories of the times. the following is said to have occurred at a later period:-- some years since, when the western part of new york was in a state of nature, and wolves and bears were not afraid of being seen, some enterprising pilgrim had erected, and put in operation, a sawmill, on the banks of the genesee. one day, as he was sitting on the log, eating his bread and cheese, a large, black bear came from the woods towards the mill. the man, leaving his luncheon on the log, made a spring, and seated himself on a beam above; when the bear, mounting the log, sat down with his rump towards the saw, which was in operation, and commenced satisfying his appetite on the man's dinner. after a little while, the saw progressed enough to interfere with the hair on bruin's back, and he hitched along a little, and kept on eating. again the saw came up, and scratched a little flesh. the bear then whirled about, and, throwing his paws around the saw, held on, till he was mangled through and through, when he rolled off, fell through into the flood, and bled to death. the grisly bear.--this creature, which is peculiar to north america, is, perhaps, the most formidable of the bruin family in magnitude and ferocity. he averages twice the bulk of the black bear, to which, however, he bears some resemblance in his slightly elevated forehead, and narrow, flattened, elongated muzzle. his canine teeth are of great size and power. the feet are enormously large--the breadth of the fore foot exceeding nine inches, and the length of the hind foot, exclusive of the talons, being eleven inches and three quarters, and its breadth seven inches. the talons sometimes measure more than six inches. he is, accordingly, admirably adapted for digging up the ground, but is unable to climb trees, in which latter respect he differs wholly from most other species. the color of his hair varies to almost an indefinite extent, between all the intermediate shades of a light gray and a black brown; the latter tinge, however, being that which predominates. it is always in some degree grizzled, by intermixture of grayish hairs. the hair itself is, in general, longer, finer, and more exuberant, than that of the black bear. the neighborhood of the rocky mountains is one of the principal haunts of this animal. there, amidst wooded plains, and tangled copses of bough and underwood, he reigns as much the monarch as the lion is of the sandy wastes of africa. even the bison cannot withstand his attacks. such is his muscular strength, that he will drag the ponderous carcass of the animal to a convenient spot, where he digs a pit for its reception. the indians regard him with the utmost terror. his extreme tenacity of life renders him still more dangerous; for he can endure repeated wounds which would be instantaneously mortal to other beasts, and, in that state, can rapidly pursue his enemy; so that the hunter who fails to shoot him through the brain is placed in a most perilous situation. one evening, the men in the hindmost of one of lewis and clark's canoes perceived one of these bears lying in the open ground, about three hundred paces from the river; and six of them, who were all good hunters, went to attack him. concealing themselves by a small eminence, they were able to approach within forty paces unperceived; four of the hunters now fired, and each lodged a ball in his body, two of which passed directly through the lungs. the bear sprang up, and ran furiously, with open mouth, upon them; two of the hunters, who had reserved their fire, gave him two additional wounds, and one, breaking his shoulder-blade, somewhat retarded his motions. before they could again load their guns, he came so close on them, that they were obliged to run towards the river, and before they had gained it, the bear had almost overtaken them. two men jumped into the canoe; the other four separated, and, concealing themselves among the willows, fired as fast as they could load their pieces. several times the bear was struck, but each shot seemed only to direct his fury towards the hunters; at last he pursued them so closely that they threw aside their guns and pouches, and jumped from a perpendicular bank, twenty feet high, into the river. the bear sprang after them, and was very near the hindmost man, when one of the hunters on the shore shot him through the head, and finally killed him. when they dragged him on shore, they found that eight balls had passed through his body in different directions. richardson relates the following story of a grisly bear. a party of voyagers, who had been employed all day in tracking a canoe up the saskatchewan, had seated themselves, in the twilight, by a fire, and were busy in preparing their supper, when a large grisly bear sprang over their canoe that was behind them, and, seizing one of the party by the shoulder, carried him off. the rest fled in terror, with the exception of a man named bourasso, who, grasping his gun, followed the bear as it was retreating leisurely with its prey. he called to his unfortunate comrade that he was afraid of hitting him if he fired at the bear; but the latter entreated him to fire immediately, as the animal was squeezing him to death. on this he took a deliberate aim, and discharged his piece into the body of the bear, which instantly dropped its prey to pursue bourasso. he escaped with difficulty, and the bear retreated to a thicket, where it is supposed to have died. the man who was rescued had his arm fractured, and was otherwise severely bitten by the bear, but finally recovered. the white bear.--the polar bear is considerably larger than the brown or black bear, and is covered with a long, thick fur, of a bright white beneath and of a yellowish tinge above. besides the difference in external appearance, there is a remarkable distinction between the brown and the polar bears; for the former prefers, as his abode, the wooded summits of alpine regions, feeding principally on roots and vegetables; while the latter fixes his residence on the sea-coast, or on an iceberg, and seems to delight in the stormy and inhospitable precincts of the arctic circle, where vegetation is scarcely known to exist, feeding entirely on animal matter. but it cannot be regarded as a predatory quadruped, for it seems to prefer dead to living animal food, its principal subsistence being the floating carcasses of whales. it also preys upon seals, which it catches with much keenness and certainty, as they ascend to the surface of the ocean to breathe; and sometimes fish are caught by them, when they enter shoals or gulfs. they move with great dexterity in the water, and capture their prey with apparent ease. it is only when these bears quit their winter quarters, and especially when the female has to protect her young, that they manifest great ferocity. while the carcass, one of the ships of captain phipps's voyage of discovery to the north pole, was locked in the ice, early one morning the man at the mast-head gave notice that three bears were making their way very fast over the frozen ocean, and were directing their course towards the ship. they had no doubt been invited by the scent of some blubber of a sea-horse, which the crew had killed a few days before, and which, having been set on fire, was burning on the ice at the time of their approach. they proved to be a she-bear and her two cubs; but the cubs were nearly as large as the dam. they ran eagerly to the fire, and drew out from the flames part of the flesh of the sea-horse that remained unconsumed, and ate it voraciously. the crew of the ship threw great lumps of the flesh they had still left upon the ice, which the old bear fetched away singly, laying every piece before the cubs as she brought it, and, dividing it, gave each a share, reserving but a small portion to herself. as she was fetching away the last piece, they levelled their muskets at the cubs, and shot them both dead, at the same time wounding the dam in her retreat, but not mortally. it would have drawn tears of pity from any but the most unfeeling, to have marked the affectionate concern expressed by this poor animal, in the dying moments of her expiring young. though she was sorely wounded, and could but just crawl to the place where they lay, she carried the lump of flesh she had just fetched away, as she had done the others, tore it in pieces, and laid it down before them. when she saw they refused to eat, she laid her paws first upon the one, then upon the other, and endeavored to raise them up, making, at the same time, the most pitiable moans. finding she could not stir them, she went off, and, when she had got to some distance, looked back, and moaned; and that not availing to entice them away, she returned, and, smelling round them, began to lick their wounds. she went off a second time, as before, and having crawled a few paces, looked again behind her, and for some time stood moaning. but still her cubs not rising to follow, she returned to them anew, and, with signs of inexpressible fondness, went round, pawing them successively. finding, at last, that they were cold and lifeless, she raised her head towards the ship, and growled a curse upon the destroyers, which they returned with a volley of musket-balls. she fell between her cubs, and died licking their wounds. the polar bears are remarkably sagacious, as the following instances may prove. those in kamtschatka are said to have recourse to a singular stratagem, in order to catch the _bareins_, which are much too swift of foot for them. these animals keep together in large herds; they frequent mostly the low grounds, and love to browse at the base of rocks and precipices. the bear hunts them by scent, till he comes in sight, when he advances warily, keeping above them, and concealing himself among the rocks, as he makes his approach, till he gets immediately over them, and near enough for his purpose. he then begins to push down, with his paws, pieces of rock among the herd below. this manoeuvre is not followed by any attempt to pursue, until he finds he has maimed one of the flock, upon which a course immediately ensues, that proves successful, or otherwise, according to the hurt the barein has received. the captain of a greenland whaler, being anxious to procure a bear without injuring the skin, made trial of a stratagem of laying the noose of a rope in the snow, and placing a piece of kreng within it. a bear, ranging the neighboring ice, was soon enticed to the spot by the smell of burning meat. he perceived the bait, approached, and seized it in his mouth; but his foot, at the same time, by a jerk of the rope, being entangled in the noose, he pushed it off with his paw, and deliberately retired. after having eaten the piece he had carried away with him, he returned. the noose, with another piece of kreng, having been replaced, he pushed the rope aside, and again walked triumphantly off with the bait. a third time the noose was laid; but, excited to caution by the evident observations of the bear, the sailors buried the rope beneath the snow, and laid the bait in a deep hole dug in the centre. the animal once more approached, and the sailors were assured of their success. but bruin, more sagacious than they expected, after snuffing about the place for a few moments, scraped the snow away with his paw, threw the rope aside, and again escaped unhurt with his prize. a greenland bear, with two cubs under her protection, was pursued across a field of ice by a party of armed sailors. at first, she seemed to urge the young ones to an increase of speed, by running before them, turning round, and manifesting, by a peculiar action and voice, her anxiety for their progress; but, finding her pursuers gaining upon them, she carried, or pushed, or pitched them alternately forward, until she effected their escape. in throwing them before her, the little creatures are said to have placed themselves across her path to receive the impulse, and, when projected some yards in advance, they ran onwards, until she overtook them, when they alternately adjusted themselves for another throw. in the month of june, , a female bear, with two cubs, approached near a whale ship, and was shot. the cubs, not attempting to escape, were taken alive. these animals, though at first very unhappy, became, at length, in some measure reconciled to their situation, and, being tolerably tame, were allowed occasionally to go at large about the deck. while the ship was moored to a floe, a few days after they were taken, one of them, having a rope fastened round his neck, was thrown overboard. it immediately swam to the ice, got upon it, and attempted to escape. finding itself, however, detained by the rope, it endeavored to disengage itself in the following ingenious way: near the edge of the floe was a crack in the ice, of considerable length, but only eighteen inches or two feet wide, and three or four feet deep. to this spot the bear turned, and when, on crossing the chasm, the bight of the rope fell into it, he placed himself across the opening; then, suspending himself by his hind feet, with a leg on each side, he dropped his head and most part of his body into the chasm, and, with a foot applied to each side of the neck, attempted, for some minutes, to push the rope over his head. finding this scheme ineffectual, he removed to the main ice, and, running with great impetuosity from the ship, gave a remarkable pull on the rope; then, going backwards a few steps, he repeated the jerk. at length, after repeated attempts to escape this way, every failure of which he announced by a significant growl, he yielded himself to hard necessity, and lay down on the ice in angry and sullen silence. like the brown and black bear, polar bears are animals capable of great fierceness. brentz, in his voyage in search of the north-east passage to china, had horrid proofs of their ferocity in the island of nova zembla, where they attacked his seamen, seizing them in their mouth, carrying them off with the utmost ease, and devouring them even in sight of their comrades. about twenty years ago, the crew of a boat belonging to a ship in the whale fishery, shot at a bear some little distance off, and wounded him. the animal immediately set up a dreadful howl, and scampered along the ice towards the boat. before he reached it, he had received a second wound. this increased his fury, and he presently plunged into the water, and swam to the boat; and, in his attempt to board it, he placed one of his fore paws upon the gunwale, and would have gained his point, had not one of the sailors seized a hatchet and cut it off. even this had not the effect of damping his courage; for he followed the boat till it reached the ship, from whence several shots were fired at him, which hit, but did not mortally wound him: he approached the vessel, and ascended the deck, where, from his dreadful fury, he spread such consternation, that all the crew fled to the shrouds, and he was in the act of pursuing them thither, when an effective shot laid him dead on the deck. the raccoon. this animal is peculiar to america. he resembles the bear, but is much smaller and more elegantly formed. he is an active and lively animal; an excellent climber of trees, in which the sharpness of his claws greatly aids him; and he will even venture to the extremity of slender branches. he is a good-tempered animal, and, consequently, easily tamed; but his habit of prying into every thing renders him rather troublesome, for he is in constant motion, and examining every object within his reach. he generally sits on his hinder parts when feeding, conveying all his food to his mouth with his fore paws. he will eat almost every kind of food, but is particularly fond of sweetmeats, and will indulge in spirituous liquors even to drunkenness. he feeds chiefly at night, in a wild state, and sleeps during the day. brickell gives an interesting account, in his "history of north carolina," of the cunning manifested by the raccoon in pursuit of its prey. "it is fond of crabs, and, when in quest of them, will take its station by a swamp, and hang its tail over into the water, which the crabs mistake for food, and lay hold of it; as soon as the raccoon feels them pinch, it pulls up its tail with a sudden jerk, and they generally quit their hold upon being removed from the water. the raccoon instantly seizes the crabs in its mouth, removes them to a distance from the water, and greedily devours its prey. it is very careful how it takes them up, which it always does from behind, holding them transversely, in order to prevent their catching its mouth with their nippers." when enraged, or desirous of attacking a person, the raccoon advances with arched back and bristling hair, and with its chin or under jaw close to the ground, uttering gruff sounds of displeasure. if once injured, it seldom forgives its enemy. on one occasion, a servant struck a tame raccoon with a whip: in vain did he afterwards attempt a reconciliation; neither eggs, nor food most coveted by the animal, availed in pacifying it. at his approach, it flew into a sort of fury; it darted at him with sparkling eyes, uttering loud cries. its accents of anger were very singular; sometimes one might fancy them the whistling of the curlew, at others, the hoarse bark of an old dog. if any one beat it, it opposed no resistance; it concealed its head and its paws, like the hedgehog, by rolling itself into a ball. in this position it would suffer death. when its chain broke, it would allow no one to approach it, and it was with great difficulty refettered. the coati. this animal, which frequents the woods of south america, resembles the raccoon, but is smaller. he is in the habit of rooting under trees, and thus overturns many of them, even those of large size. the most curious incident in his history, is that he eats his own tail! this is explained by godman as follows: "the extreme length of its tail, in which the blood circulates but feebly, exposes it to the influence of cold or frost; and the exceedingly tormenting irritation produced thereby leads the animal to gnaw and scratch the tail, to relieve the excessive itching. the disease spreads, and the anguish induces the coati to gnaw more furiously, and eventually its life is destroyed by the extension of the inflammation and irritability to the spine." the badger. of this animal there are two species, one european, the other american; but they have a strong resemblance. it has short legs, and a long body; lives in burrows by day, and goes forth at night to prey on roots, snails, and worms. the american species seems to be more carnivorous than his foreign relation: in this respect he has high example, for the people of america eat more butcher's meat than those of europe--for the reason, however, that they are so fortunate as to be able to get it. in europe, the badger is hunted as a matter of sport, the chief amusement being derived from the fierce resistance he makes to the dogs. in south america, the creature is eaten, and badger hams are deemed a delicacy. catching this animal is a great source of interest to the indians. we are told that a "party of eight, in one of their expeditions, will destroy two or three hundred badgers, and a quantity of deer on their return home, besides guanas. these hunting parties are so delightful, even to the women, that the hopes of being allowed to accompany the men will make them behave well all the year. on these excursions they live well, and seem more happy than during the rainy season; in their way home, they travel day and night rapidly, in spite of obstructions, carrying long poles between them, on which the animals are slung--the boys carrying the skins and lard; the dogs too are well fed during this period, and seem to return with regret. a cloud of vultures generally hover over them, and are seen by their clans a day or two before they arrive, who make every preparation to receive them; their return is greeted like that of victors. the rainy nights are passed in recounting their exploits one to another." the habits of the badger are said to be "the most social of any quadruped in the universe; it is not known to quarrel with any other animal; even the fox, polecat, opossum, land crab, and snake, make it resign its abode, although it is much stronger than any of them. it also lives in the greatest harmony with its own species, subsisting principally on nuts, roots, and vegetables; it is cleanly in its habits, being observed to perform its ablutions while the dew is on the ground." the glutton. this animal, which is called _wolverene_ in this country, and _carcajou_ by the canadians, is about three feet long, and of a dark-brown color. it is strong and courageous, and will even attack and destroy the fox in its burrow. its extraordinary voracity gives the impulse to all its exertions. incessantly in search of food, it kills animals larger and stronger than itself, seizes the deer which the hunter has just shot, plunders the baits on his traps, or the game these have taken. a proof at once of the strength, the cunning, and the strong appetite, of the glutton, was afforded by one, at hudson's bay, some years since, which overset the greatest part of a pile of wood of great extent, which contained a whole winter's firing; his object was to get at some provisions that had been hidden there by the company's servants when going to the factory to spend the christmas holidays. this animal had for many weeks been lurking about their tent, and had committed many depredations on the game caught in their traps and snares, as well as eaten many of the foxes that were killed by guns set for the purpose; but he was too cunning to touch either gun or trap himself. the people thought they had adopted the best method to secure their provisions, by tying them in bundles, and laying them on the top of wood piles. to their astonishment, when they returned, they found the greatest part of the pile thrown down, notwithstanding some of the trees with which it was constructed were as much as two men could carry. the wood was very much scattered about; and it was supposed that, in the animal's attempting to carry off the booty, some of the small parcels of provisions had fallen down into the heart of the pile, and sooner than lose half his prize, he was at the trouble of pulling away the wood. the bags of flour, oatmeal, and peas, though of no use to him, he tore all to pieces, and scattered the contents about on the snow; but every bit of animal food, consisting of beef, pork, bacon, venison, salted geese, and partridges, in considerable quantities, he carried away. when attacked by other animals, the glutton fights desperately, and three stout dogs are scarcely its match. a man who had tamed one of them threw it one day into the water, and set a couple of dogs upon it, when it immediately seized one of them by the head, and held it under water till it was drowned. the weasel. the weasel stands as the type of a large number of animals, such as the marten, sable, polecat, otter, skunk, &c.; all being characterized by a long body, short legs, and considerable energy of disposition. some of the species are celebrated for their abominable odor. the weasel is an active, bloodthirsty little animal, not exceeding seven inches in length from the nose to the tail. it is much about the same size as a rat, though more slender; but it is a mortal enemy to this animal, pursuing them to their holes, and killing them in great numbers. it is also often fatal to the hare, as it will either creep upon it when at rest, or, lying unseen amidst the rubbish or furze, will spring at its throat; where, as in the case of other animals which it kills, it fixes its bite, and then sucks the blood till its victim expires. it makes a hole in the ends of eggs, and sucks the contents--differently from the rat, which breaks the shell to pieces. it is a destructive enemy to pigeons, as it creeps into the holes of a dove-cot in the evening, and surprises its prey while they are asleep; and, from the peculiar construction of its body, there are few situations it is incapable of reaching; for it can clamber up an almost perpendicular wall. when it sees a man, it endeavors as quickly as possible to get out of the way, and hide itself amidst the grass or loose stones; but if trodden on, or seized, it will turn and bite, like a serpent. an ordinary dog does not wish to attack it, for it instantly fastens itself on his lips. _miscellaneous anecdotes._--weasels seem to unite, in many cases, for mutual defence, or the attack of man. in january, , a laborer in the parish of glencairn, dumfriesshire, was suddenly attacked by six weasels, which rushed upon him from an old dike in the field where he was at work. the man, alarmed at such a furious onset, instantly betook himself to flight; but he soon found he was closely pursued. although he had about him a large horsewhip, with which he endeavored, by several back-handed strokes, to stop them, yet, so eager was the pursuit of the weasels, that he was on the point of being seized by the throat, when he luckily noticed, at some distance, the fallen branch of a tree, which he made for, and, hastily snatching it up, manfully rallied upon his enemies, and had such success, that he killed three of them, and put the remaining three to flight. a similar case occurred some years ago at gilmerton, near edinburgh, when a gentleman, observing a person leaping about in an extraordinary manner, made up to him, and found him beset, and dreadfully bitten, by about fifteen weasels, which continued their attack. being both strong persons, they succeeded in killing a number, and the rest escaped by flying into the fissures of a neighboring rock. the account the person gave of the commencement of the affray was, that, walking through the park, he ran at a weasel which he saw, and made several attempts to strike it, remaining between it and the rock to which its retreat lay. the animal, being thus circumstanced, squeaked aloud, when an instantaneous sortie was made by the colony, and an attack commenced. the weasel is exceedingly difficult to tame. when kept in a cage, it seems in a perpetual state of agitation, is terrified at the sight of all who approach to look at it, and generally endeavors to hide itself behind the straw, or other substances, which may be at the bottom of its cage. yet instances are not wanting to prove that the weasel may be brought into complete subjection. mademoiselle de laistre, in a letter on this subject, gives a very pleasing account of the education and manners of a weasel which she took under her protection, and which frequently ate from her hand, seemingly more delighted with this manner of feeding than any other. "if i pour," says this lady, "some milk into my hand, it will drink a good deal; but if i do not pay it this compliment, it will scarcely take a drop. when satisfied, it generally goes to sleep. my chamber is the place of its residence; and i have found a method of dispelling its strong smell by perfumes. by day it sleeps in a quilt, into which it gets by an unsewn place which it has discovered on the edge; during the night, it is kept in a wired box or cage, which it always enters with reluctance, and leaves with pleasure. if it be set at liberty before my time of rising, after a thousand little playful tricks, it gets into my bed, and goes to sleep on my hand or on my bosom. "if i am up first, it spends a full half hour in caressing me; playing with my fingers like a little dog, jumping on my head and on my neck, and running round on my arms and body with a lightness and elegance which i never found in any other animal. if i present my hands at the distance of three feet, it jumps into them without ever missing. it shows a great deal of address and cunning in order to compass its ends, and seems to disobey certain prohibitions merely through caprice. during all its actions it seems solicitous to divert, and to be noticed; looking, at every jump, and at every turn, to see whether it be observed or not. if no notice be taken of its gambols, it ceases them immediately, and betakes itself to sleep; and when awakened from the soundest sleep, it instantly resumes its gayety, and frolics about in as sprightly a manner as before. it never shows any ill-humor, unless when confined, or teased too much; in which case it expresses its displeasure by a sort of murmur very different from that which it utters when pleased. in the midst of twenty people, this little animal distinguishes my voice, seeks me out, and springs over every body to come to me. his play with me is the most lovely and caressing; with his two little paws he pats me on the chin, with an air and manner expressive of delight. this, and a thousand other preferences, show that his attachment is real. "when he sees me dressed to go out, he will not leave me, and it is not without some trouble that i can disengage myself from him. he then hides himself behind a cabinet near the door, and jumps upon me, as i pass, with so much celerity, that i often can scarcely perceive him. he seems to resemble a squirrel in vivacity, agility, voice, and his manner of murmuring. during the summer he squeaks and runs all the night long; and since the commencement of the cold weather, i have not observed this. sometimes, when the sun shines while he is playing on the bed, he turns and tumbles about, and murmurs for a while. "from his delight in drinking milk out of my hand, into which i pour a very little at a time, and his custom of sipping the little drops and edges of the fluid, it seems probable that he drinks dew in the same manner. he very seldom drinks water, and then only for the want of milk; and with great caution, seeming only to refresh his tongue once or twice, and to be even afraid of that fluid. during the hot weather, it rained a good deal. i presented to him some rain water in a dish, and endeavored to make him go into it, but could not succeed. i then wetted a piece of linen cloth in it, and put it near him, when he rolled upon it with extreme delight. one singularity in this charming animal is his curiosity; it being impossible to open a drawer or box, or even to look at a paper, but it will examine it also. if he gets into any place where i am afraid to let him stay, i take a paper or a book, and look attentively at it, when he immediately runs upon my hand, and surveys, with an inquisitive air, whatever i happen to hold. i must further observe, that he plays with a young cat and dog, both of some size; getting about their necks and paws without their doing him the least harm." the following story regarding the weasel is told in selkirkshire: "a group of haymakers, while busy at their work on chapelhope meadow, at the upper end of st. mary's loch,--or rather of the loch of the lowes, which is separated from it by a narrow neck of land,--saw an eagle rising above the steep mountains that enclose the narrow valley. the eagle himself was, indeed, no unusual sight; but there is something so imposing and majestic in the flight of this noble bird, while he soars upwards in spiral circles, that it fascinates the attention of most people. but the spectators were soon aware of something peculiar in the flight of the bird they were observing. he used his wings violently; and the strokes were often repeated, as if he had been alarmed and hurried by unusual agitation; and they noticed, at the same time, that he wheeled in circles that seemed constantly decreasing, while his ascent was proportionally rapid. the now idle haymakers drew together in close consultation on the singular case, and continued to keep their eyes on the seemingly distressed eagle, until he was nearly out of sight, rising still higher and higher into the air. in a short while, however, they were all convinced that he was again seeking the earth, evidently not, as he ascended, in spiral curves; it was like something falling, and with great rapidity. but, as he approached the ground, they clearly saw he was tumbling in his fall like a shot bird; the convulsive fluttering of his powerful wings stopping the descent but very little, until he fell at a small distance from the men and boys of the party, who had naturally run forward, highly excited by the strange occurrence. a large black-tailed weasel or stoat ran from the body as they came near; turned with the _nonchalance_ and impudence of the tribe; stood up upon its hind legs; crossed its fore paws over its nose, and surveyed its enemies a moment or two,--as they often do when no dog is near,--and bounded into a saugh bush. the king of the air was dead; and, what was more surprising, he was covered with his own blood; and, upon further examination, they found his throat cut, and the weasel has been suspected as the regicide unto this day." the polecat. this animal, which is confined to the eastern continent, is thrice the size of the weasel, but its prey is nearly the same. it has as high a reputation in europe, for its offensive smell, as the skunk has here. the following fact is recorded in bewick's quadrupeds: "during a severe storm, one of these animals was traced in the snow from the side of a rivulet to its hole at some distance from it. as it was observed to have made frequent trips, and as other marks were to be seen in the snow, which could not easily be accounted for, it was thought a matter worthy of greater attention. its hole was accordingly examined, the polecat taken, and eleven fine eels were discovered to be the fruits of its nocturnal exertions. the marks on the snow were found to have been made by the motions of the eels while in the creature's mouth." the ferret. this animal is a native of africa, and requires much care to preserve it alive in cold countries. it is kept for the purpose of dislodging rabbits from their warren, and has such a natural antipathy to these animals, that, if a dead one be presented to a young ferret, though it has never seen a rabbit before, it will eagerly seize it. like the rest of the species, it is remarkable for the pertinacity with which it retains the bite which it has once taken. this circumstance is illustrated by the following occurrence: a man, of the name of isles, a bargeman, finding himself much incommoded by the repeated mischief done in his barge by rats, procured a ferret to destroy them. the ferret remaining away a considerable time, he thought it was devouring some rats that it had killed, and went to sleep, but was awakened early next morning by the ferret, who was commencing an attack upon him. the animal had seized him near his eyebrow; and the man, after endeavoring in vain to shake him off, at length severed the body from the head with a knife,--the latter still sticking so fast, as to be with difficulty removed. the mink. this animal is found throughout a great extent of country, from carolina to hudson's bay, and in its habits and appearance resembles the otter. the favorite haunts of this species are the banks of streams, where it inhabits holes near the water. it is an excellent swimmer and diver, and feeds on frogs and fish. it also commits great depredations in the poultry-yard. when provoked, it ejects a fetid liquor, which is exceedingly unpleasant. the marten. of this animal there are two or three species, confined to the northern regions of the eastern continent. of all the weasel tribe it is the most pleasing; all its motions show great grace as well as agility; and there is scarcely an animal in our woods that will venture to oppose it. quadrupeds five times as large are easily vanquished; the hare, the sheep, and even the wild-cat itself, is not a match for it. we are told of a marten which had been tamed, and was extremely pretty and playful in its manners. it went among the houses of the neighborhood, and always returned home when hungry. it was extremely fond of a dog that had been bred with it, and used to play with it as cats are seen to play, lying on its back, and biting without anger or injury. the sable. this animal, as well as several others of the tribe, is greatly valued for its fur. it resembles the marten, and is found in the northern parts of both continents. the enterprise, perseverance, and hardships of the hunters, in america as well as siberia, in pursuit of this creature, are almost incredible. in the latter country, the hunting of the sable chiefly falls to the lot of condemned criminals, who are sent from russia into these wild and extensive forests, that for the greatest part of the year are covered with snow; and in this instance, as in many others, the luxuries and ornaments of the vain are wrought out of the dangers and miseries of the wretched. these are obliged to furnish a certain number of skins every year, and are punished if the proper quantity is not provided. the sable is also killed by the russian soldiers, who are sent into those parts for the purpose. they are taxed a certain number of skins yearly, and are obliged to shoot with only a single ball, to avoid spoiling the skin, or else with cross-bows and blunt arrows. as an encouragement to the hunters, they are allowed to share among themselves the surplus of those skins which they thus procure; and this, in the process of six or seven years, amounts to a considerable sum. a colonel, during his seven years' stay, gains about four thousand crowns for his share, and the common men earn six or seven hundred each. the skunk. of this animal there are several varieties upon the american continent, to which it is confined; though we have but one in this quarter of the united states. this is of the size of a cat, and striped with black and white. its celebrity depends exclusively upon its peculiar mode of defence--that of discharging upon its foe a liquid of the most revolting and intolerable odor, and of such vigor as to fill the air for half a mile around. some years ago, a frenchman, who had settled at hartford, connecticut, was going home from wethersfield, a place renowned for raising _onions_. it was evening, and in the twilight the man saw a little animal crossing the path before him. not knowing or suspecting its character, he darted upon it, caught it, and put it in his pocket. when he reached home, he took it out, and a general exclamation of astonishment burst from the household, at the extraordinary flavor of the little beast. "what is it?" "what can it be?"--was the general inquiry. "i cannot say," said the frenchman; "but i suppose it must be a _wethersfield_ kitten!" on a certain occasion, dr. b----, an eminent divine, was walking at evening in a by-way, when he saw a small animal trotting along before him. he easily guessed its true character, and having a volume of rees's cyclopedia under his arm, he hurled it with all his might at the suspicious quadruped. it took effect, but the animal retorted by discharging, both upon the cyclopedia and the d.d., a shaft from his abominable quiver. it seems that the event made an indelible impression both upon the garments and the memory of the divine; the former he buried; and when, some years after, he was advised to write a book against a rival sect, he replied, "no, no!--i once threw a quarto at a skunk, and got the worst of it. i shall not repeat such folly." "in the year ," says kahn, "one of these animals came near the farm where i lived. it was in winter time, during the night; and the dogs that were on watch pursued it for some time, until it discharged against them. although i was in a bed at some distance from the scene of action, i thought i should have been suffocated, and the cows and oxen, by their lowing, showed how much they were affected by the stench. "about the end of the same year, another of these animals crept into our cellar, but did not exhale the smallest scent when undisturbed. a foolish woman, however, who perceived it one night by the shining of its eyes, killed it, and at that moment the fetid odor began to spread. the cellar was filled with it to such a degree that the woman kept her bed for several days; and all the bread, meat, and other provisions that were kept there, were so infected, that they were obliged to be thrown out of doors." the otter. the otter is a native of the greater part of europe and america. its principal food being fish, it makes its habitation on the banks of rivers, where it burrows to some depth. _anecdotes._--the females produce from four to five at a birth. their parental affection is so powerful, that they will frequently suffer themselves to be killed rather than quit their progeny; and this has frequently been the occasion of their losing their lives, when they might, otherwise, have escaped. professor steller says, "often have i spared the lives of the female otters, whose young ones i took away. they expressed their sorrow by crying like human beings, and followed me as i was carrying off their young ones, which called to them for aid, with a tone of voice which very much resembled the wailing of children. when i sat down in the snow, they came quite close to me, and attempted to carry off their young. on one occasion, when i had deprived an otter of her progeny, i returned to the place eight days after, and found the female sitting by the river, listless and desponding; she suffered me to kill her on the spot without making any attempt to escape. on skinning her, i found she was quite wasted away, from sorrow for the loss of her young. another time i saw, at some distance from me, an old female otter sleeping by the side of a young one, about a year old. as soon as the mother perceived us, she awoke the young one, and enticed him to betake himself to the river; but, as he did not take the hint, and seemed inclined to prolong his sleep, she took him up in her fore paws and plunged him into the water." the otter is naturally ferocious; but when taken young, and properly treated, it can be rendered tame, and taught to catch fish, and fetch them to its master. james campbell, near inverness, procured a young otter, which he brought up and domesticated. it would follow him wherever he chose; and, if called on by its name, would immediately obey. when apprehensive of danger from dogs, it sought the protection of its master, and would endeavor to spring into his arms for greater security. it was frequently employed in catching fish, and would sometimes take eight or ten salmon in a day. if not prevented, it always made an attempt to break the fish behind the anal fin, which is next the tail; and, as soon as one was taken away, it always dived in pursuit of more. it was equally dexterous at sea-fishing, and took great numbers of young cod, and other fish, there. when tired, it would refuse to fish any longer, and was then rewarded with as much as it could devour. having satisfied its appetite, it always coiled itself round, and fell asleep; in which state it was generally carried home. it appears that the otter, in its native haunts, is of a playful and sportive humor. we are told that, on the banks of the northern rivers, where they dwell unmolested, they may be sometimes seen sliding down the soft, muddy banks into the water, like a parcel of boys coasting upon the snow. they become quite animated with the sport, seeming to emulate each other in the vigor and frolic of their performances. the sea otter is a larger species, living in pairs along the northern shores of the pacific ocean. the dog. the dog, in its wild state, differs little in its habits from those of the same order of quadrupeds; it resembles the wolf rather than the fox, hunts in troops, and, thus associated, attacks the most formidable animals--wild boars, tigers, and even lions. they are said, however, even while in this condition, to exhibit a disposition to yield to man; and, if approached by him with gentleness, will submit to be caressed. on the other hand, if dogs that have been once tamed are driven from the haunts of men, and the protection to which they have been accustomed, they readily become wild, and associate together in troops. in asia, there are multitudes of these animals around the towns, which live in a half-wild state, calling no man master. but when domesticated, the dog presents the appearance of the most thorough submission to the will, and subservience to the use of man. if we look at the individual, we perceive it attached to a person whom it acknowledges as master, with whom it has formed a very humble alliance, and whose interest it considers its own. it answers to its name, is willing to follow its master wherever he goes, and exerts all its energies in any service to which he may command it, and that without any constraint except what arises from its own disposition. a more perfect image of obedience and subservience cannot be conceived. if, on the other hand, we survey the species, we find it in every variety of size, and shape, and disposition, according to the various services of which it is capable. the division of labor is almost as complete, among the different species of the dog, as among men themselves. it, like its masters, gives up the exercise of one faculty that it may bring another to a greater perfection. _miscellaneous anecdotes._--the anecdotes which go to display the intelligence and fidelity of dogs, are almost innumerable. of these, we can give only a few specimens. "my dog sirrah," says the ettrick shepherd, "was, beyond all comparison, the best dog i ever saw. he was of a surly and unsocial temper. disdaining all flattery, he refused to be caressed; but his attention to my commands and interests will never again, perhaps, be equalled by any of the canine race. when i first saw him, a drover was leading him in a rope. he was both lean and hungry, and far from being a beautiful animal, for he was almost all black, and had a grim face, striped with dark-brown. the man had bought him of a boy, somewhere on the border, for three shillings, and had fed him very ill on his journey. i thought i discovered a sort of sullen intelligence in his countenance, notwithstanding his dejected and forlorn appearance. i gave the drover a guinea for him, and i believe there never was a guinea so well laid out; at least, i am satisfied i never laid one out to so good a purpose. he was scarcely a year old, and knew so little of herding, that he had never turned a sheep in his life; but as soon as he discovered that it was his duty to do so, and that it obliged me, i can never forget with what anxiety and eagerness he learned his different evolutions. he would try every way deliberately, till he found out what i wanted him to do; and, when i once made him understand a direction, he never forgot or mistook it again. well as i knew him, he often astonished me; for, when hard pressed in accomplishing the task that he was put to, he had expedients of the moment that bespoke a great share of the reasoning faculty." among other remarkable exploits of sirrah, illustrative of his sagacity, mr. hogg relates that, upon one occasion, about seven hundred lambs, which were under his care at weaning time, broke up at midnight, and scampered off, in three divisions, across the neighboring hills, in spite of all that he and an assistant could do to keep them together. the night was so dark that he could not see sirrah; but the faithful animal heard his master lament their absence in words which, of all others, were sure to set him most on the alert; and, without more ado, he silently set off in quest of the recreant flock. meanwhile, the shepherd and his companion did not fail to do all in their power to recover their lost charge; they spent the whole night in scouring the hills for miles round, but of neither the lambs nor sirrah could they obtain the slightest trace. it was the most extraordinary circumstance that had ever occurred in the annals of pastoral life. they had nothing to do, as day had dawned, but to return to their master, and inform him that they had lost his whole flock of lambs, and knew not what was become of one of them. "on our way home, however," says mr. hogg, "we discovered a lot of lambs at the bottom of a deep ravine called the flesh cleuch, and the indefatigable sirrah standing in front of them, looking round for some relief, but still true to his charge. the sun was then up; and when we first came in view, we concluded that it was one of the divisions, which sirrah had been unable to manage until he came to that commanding situation. but what was our astonishment when we discovered that not one lamb of the whole flock was wanting! how he had got all the divisions collected in the dark is beyond my comprehension. the charge was left entirely to himself from midnight until the rising sun; and if all the shepherds in the forest had been there to have assisted him, they could not have effected it with greater propriety. all that i can further say is, that i never felt so grateful to any creature under the sun, as i did to my honest sirrah that morning." sir walter scott has furnished an anecdote on this subject, concerning a dog, which, though meritorious in himself, must ever deserve the greatest share of fame and interest from the circumstance of having belonged to such a master. "the wisest dog," says sir walter, "i ever had, was what is called the bull-dog terrier. i taught him to understand a great many words, insomuch that i am positive that the communication betwixt the canine species and ourselves might be greatly enlarged. camp once bit the baker, who was bringing bread to the family. i beat him, and explained the enormity of his offence; after which, to the last moment of his life, he never heard the least allusion to the story, in whatever voice or tone it was mentioned, without getting up and retiring into the darkest corner of the room, with great appearance of distress. then, if you said, 'the baker was well paid,' or 'the baker was not hurt after all,' camp came forth from his hiding-place, capered, barked, and rejoiced. when he was unable, towards the end of his life, to attend me when on horseback, he used to watch for my return, and the servant used to tell him 'his master was coming down the hill, or through the moor;' and although he did not use any gesture to explain his meaning, camp was never known to mistake him, but either went out at the front to go up the hill, or at the back to get down to the moor-side. he certainly had a singular knowledge of spoken language." it has been made a question, whether the dog remembers his master after a long period of separation. the voice of antiquity favors the affirmative. homer makes the dog of ulysses to recognize him after many years' absence, and describes eumenes, the swineherd, as being thus led to apprehend, in the person before him, the hero, of seeing whom he had long despaired. byron, on the other hand, was skeptical on this point. writing to a friend, who had requested the results of his experience on the subject,--he states that, on seeing a large dog, which had belonged to him, and had formerly been a favorite, chained at newstead, the animal sprang towards him, as he conceived, in joy--but he was glad to make his escape from it, with the comparatively trivial injury of the loss of the skirts of his coat. perhaps this circumstance may have suggested the following verses of the poet:-- "and now i'm in the world alone, upon the wide, wide sea; but why should i for others groan, when none will sigh for me? perchance my dog will whine in vain, till fed by stranger hands; but long ere i come back again, he'd tear me where he stands." the affection of the dog for his master does not end with his life; and innumerable are the anecdotes on record of dogs, which have continued to pine after their master's death, or died immediately after. we shall select but one or two well-authenticated instances, for they are all so much alike, that it is unnecessary to produce many. it is said, in the life of mary, queen of scots, lately published at glasgow, that, after her head was cut off, her little favorite lapdog, which had affectionately followed her, and unobserved had nestled among her clothes, now continued to caress her, and would not leave the body till forced away, and then died two days afterwards. mr. renton, of lammerton, had a herdsman, who, pursuing a sheep that had run down the steep bank of blackadder water, fell into the river and was drowned. his dog, a common shepherd's dog, returned home next morning, and led his wife to the spot, holding her by the apron. the body was found. the dog followed it even to the grave, and died in a few days. a mastiff dog belonging to the honorable peter bold, england, attended his master in his chamber during the tedious sickness consequent on a pulmonary consumption. after the gentleman expired, and his corpse had been removed, the dog repeatedly entered the apartment, making a mournful, whining noise; he continued his researches for several days through all the rooms of the house, but in vain. he then retired to his kennel, which he could not be induced to leave; refusing all manner of sustenance, he soon died. of this fact, and his previous affection, the surgeon who attended his master was an eye-witness. the regret of the dog for its master's death is not confined to inactive sorrow; if his death has been caused by violence, it discovers a singular and persevering hatred of the murderers, which in some cases has led to their detection. the following instance is related in a letter, written in , by a gentleman at dijon, in france, to his friend in london: "since my arrival here, a man has been broken on the wheel, with no other proof to condemn him than that of a water-spaniel. the circumstances attending it being so very singular and striking, i beg leave to communicate them to you. a farmer, who had been to receive a sum of money, was waylaid, robbed, and murdered, by two villains. the farmer's dog returned with all speed to the house of the person who had paid the money, and expressed such amazing anxiety that he would follow him, pulling him several times by the sleeve and skirt of the coat, that at length the gentleman yielded to his importunity. the dog led him to the field, a little from the roadside, where the body lay. from thence the gentleman went to a public house, in order to alarm the country. the moment he entered, (as the two villains were there drinking,) the dog seized the murderer by the throat, and the other made his escape. this man lay in prison three months, during which time they visited him once a week with the spaniel; and though they made him change his clothes with other prisoners, and always stand in the midst of a crowd, yet did the animal always find him out, and fly at him. on the day of trial, when the prisoner was at the bar, the dog was let loose in the court-house, and, in the midst of some hundreds, he found him out, though dressed entirely in new clothes, and would have torn him to pieces had he been allowed; in consequence of which he was condemned, and at the place of execution he confessed the fact. surely so useful, so disinterestedly faithful an animal, should not be so barbarously treated as i have often seen them, particularly in london." other cases might be produced, but we shall only present that of the dog of montargis, which has become familiar to the public by being made the subject of a melodrame frequently acted at the present time. the fame of this english blood-hound has been transmitted by a monument in basso-relievo, which still remains in the chimney-piece of the grand hall, at the castle of montargis, in france. the sculpture, which represents a dog fighting with a champion, is explained by the following narrative: aubri de mondidier, a gentleman of family and fortune, travelling alone through the forest of bondy, was murdered, and buried under a tree. his dog, a bloodhound, would not quit his master's grave for several days; till at length, compelled by hunger, he proceeded to the house of an intimate friend of the unfortunate aubri, at paris, and, by his melancholy howling, seemed desirous of expressing the loss sustained. he repeated his cries, ran to the door, looked back to see if any one followed him, returned to his master's friend, pulled him by the sleeve, and, with dumb eloquence, entreated him to go with him. the singularity of all these actions of the dog, added to the circumstance of his coming there without his master, whose faithful companion he had always been, prompted the company to follow the animal, who conducted them to a tree, where he renewed his howl, scratching the earth with his feet, and significantly entreating them to search the particular spot. accordingly, on digging, the body of the unhappy aubri was found. some time after, the dog accidentally met the assassin, who is styled, by all the historians that relate this fact, the chevalier macaire; when, instantly seizing him by the throat, he was with great difficulty compelled to quit his victim. in short, whenever the dog saw the chevalier, he continued to pursue and attack him with equal fury. such obstinate violence in the animal, confined only to macaire, appeared very extraordinary--especially as several instances of macaire's envy and hatred to aubri de mondidier had been conspicuous. additional circumstances created suspicion, and at length the affair reached the royal ear. the king, louis viii., accordingly sent for the dog, which appeared extremely gentle till he perceived macaire in the midst of several noblemen, when he ran fiercely towards him, growling at and attacking him, as usual. the king, struck with such a combination of circumstantial evidence against macaire, determined to refer the decision to the chance of battle; in other words, he gave orders for a combat between the chevalier and the dog. the lists were appointed in the isle of notre dame, then an unenclosed, uninhabited place, and macaire was allowed, for his weapon, a great cudgel. an empty cask was given to the dog as a place of retreat, to enable him to recover breath. every thing being prepared, the dog no sooner found himself at liberty, than he ran round his adversary, avoiding his blows, and menacing him on every side, till his strength was exhausted; then springing forward, he seized him by the throat, and threw him on the ground. macaire now confessed his guilt in presence of the king and the whole court. in consequence of this, the chevalier, after a few days, was convicted upon his own acknowledgment, and beheaded on a scaffold in the isle of notre dame. the instances in which persons have been saved from drowning by the newfoundland dog, are innumerable. the following anecdote is the more remarkable, as it does not appear that the affectionate animal was of that species. a young man belonging to the city of paris, desirous of getting rid of his dog, took it along with him to the river seine. he hired a boat, and, rowing into the stream, threw the animal in. the poor creature attempted to climb up the side of the boat, but his master, whose intention was to drown him, constantly pushed him back with the oar. in doing this, he fell himself into the water, and would certainly have been drowned, had not the dog, as soon as he saw his master struggling in the stream, suffered the boat to float away, and held him above the water till assistance arrived, and his life was saved. of the alertness of the dog in recovering the lost property of its master, we shall furnish a striking instance. m. dumont, a tradesman of the rue st. denis, paris, offered to lay a wager with a friend that, if he were to hide a six-livre piece in the dust, his dog would discover and bring it to him. the wager was accepted, and the piece of money secreted, after being carefully marked. when they had proceeded some distance from the spot, m. dumont signified to his dog that he had lost something, and ordered him to seek it. caniche immediately turned back, while his master and his companion pursued their walk to the rue st. denis. meanwhile a traveller, who happened to be just then returning in a small chaise from vincennes, perceived the piece of money, which his horse had kicked from its hiding-place; he alighted, took it up, and drove to his inn in rue pont-aux-choux, and caniche had just reached the spot in search of the lost piece when the stranger picked it up. he followed the chaise, went into the inn, and stuck close to the traveller. having scented out the coin, which he had been ordered to bring back, in the pocket of the latter, he leaped up incessantly at and about him. the gentleman, supposing him to be some dog that had been lost or left behind by his master, regarded his different movements as marks of fondness; and as the animal was handsome, he determined to keep him. he gave him a good supper, and, on retiring to bed, took him with him to his chamber. no sooner had he pulled off his breeches, than they were seized by the dog; the owner, conceiving he wanted to play with them, took them away again. the animal began to bark at the door, which the traveller opened, under the idea that he wanted to go out. caniche instantly snatched up the breeches, and away he flew. the stranger posted after him with his night-cap on, and nearly _sans culottes_. anxiety for the fate of a purse full of double napoleons, of forty francs each, which was in one of the pockets, gave redoubled velocity to his steps. caniche ran full speed to his master's house, where the stranger arrived a moment afterwards, breathless and furious. he accused the dog of robbing him. "sir," said the master, "my dog is a very faithful creature, and if he has run away with your breeches, it is because you have in them money which does not belong to you." the traveller became still more exasperated. "compose yourself, sir," rejoined the other, smiling; "without doubt there is in your purse a six-livre piece with such and such marks, which you picked up in the boulevard st. antoine, and which i threw down there with a firm conviction that my dog would bring it back again. this is the cause of the robbery which he has committed upon you!" the stranger's rage now yielded to astonishment; he delivered the six-livre piece to the owner, and could not forbear caressing the dog which had given him so much uneasiness and such an unpleasant chase. a shepherd on the grampian mountains, having left his child at the foot of the hill, was soon enveloped in mist; and, unable to return to the precise place, he could not discover the child. in vain he searched for it in the midst of the mist, not knowing whither he went; and when, at length, the moon shone clearly, he found himself at his cottage, and far from the hill. he searched in vain next day, with a band of shepherds. on returning to his cottage, he found that the dog, on receiving a piece of cake, had instantly gone off. he renewed the search for several days, and still the dog had disappeared, during his absence, taking with it a piece of cake. struck with this circumstance, he remained at home one day, and when the dog, as usual, departed with his piece of cake, he resolved to follow him. the dog led the way to a cataract at some distance from the spot where the shepherd had left his child. the banks of the waterfall almost joined at the top, yet, separated by an abyss of immense depth, presented that abrupt appearance which so often astonishes and appals the traveller amidst the grampian mountains. down one of these rugged and almost perpendicular descents the dog began, without hesitation, to make his way, and at last disappeared in a cave, the mouth of which was almost upon a level with the torrent. the shepherd with difficulty followed; but, on entering the cave, what were his emotions when he beheld his infant eating, with much satisfaction, the cake which the dog had just brought him, while the faithful animal stood by, eyeing his young charge with the utmost complacence. from the situation in which the child was found, it appears that he had wandered to the brink of the precipice, and either fallen or scrambled down till he reached the cave, which the dread of the torrent had afterwards prevented him from leaving. the dog, by means of his scent, had traced him to the spot, and afterwards prevented him from starving by giving up to him his own daily allowance. he appears never to have quitted the child by night or day, except when it was necessary to go for its food, and then he was always seen running at full speed to and from the cottage. the memory of the dog gelert has been preserved by tradition, and celebrated in poetry. in the neighborhood of a village at the foot of snowdon, a mountain in wales, llewellyn, son-in-law to king john, had a residence. the king, it is said, had presented him with one of the finest greyhounds in england, named gelert. in the year , llewellyn one day, on going out to hunt, called all his dogs together; but his favorite greyhound was missing, and nowhere to be found. he blew his horn as a signal for the chase, and still gelert came not. llewellyn was much disconcerted at the heedlessness of his favorite, but at length pursued the chase without him. for want of gelert the sport was limited; and, getting tired, he returned home at an early hour, when the first object that presented itself to him at the castle gate was gelert, who bounded with the usual transport to meet his master, having his lips besmeared with blood. llewellyn gazed with surprise at the unusual appearance of his dog. on going into the apartment where he had left his infant son and heir asleep, he found the bed-clothes all in confusion, the cover rent and stained with blood. he called on his child, but no answer was made, from which he hastily concluded that the dog must have devoured him; and, giving vent to his rage, plunged his sword to the hilt in gelert's side. the noble animal fell at his feet, uttering a dying yell which awoke the infant, who was sleeping beneath a mingled heap of the bed-clothes, while beneath the bed lay a great wolf covered with gore, whom the faithful and gallant hound had destroyed. llewellyn, smitten with sorrow and remorse for the rash and frantic deed which had deprived him of so faithful an animal, caused an elegant marble monument, with an appropriate inscription, to be erected over the spot where gelert was buried, to commemorate his fidelity and unhappy fate. the place to this day is called beth-gelert, or the grave of the greyhound. "here never could the spearman pass, or forester, unmoved; here oft the tear-besprinkled grass llewellyn's sorrow proved. and here he hung his horn and spear, and oft, as evening fell, in fancy's piercing sounds would hear poor gelert's dying yell." the bull-dog would appear the least likely to combat with a heavy sea, and yet the following circumstances are well authenticated: on board a ship, which struck upon a rock near the shore, there were three dogs, two of the newfoundland variety, and one a small but firmly-built english bull-dog. it was important to have a rope carried ashore, and it was thought that one of the newfoundland dogs might succeed; but he was not able to struggle with the waves, and perished; and the other newfoundland dog, being thrown over with the rope, shared the same fate. but the bull-dog, though not habituated to the water, swam triumphantly to land, and thus saved the lives of the persons on board. among them was his master, a military officer, who still has the dog in his possession. among the instances of sagacity, mingled with an affection for its master, may be mentioned those cases in which the dog notices or detects thefts, and restores lost or stolen articles to its master. an acquaintance of lord fife's coachman had put a bridle belonging to the earl in his pocket, and would have abstracted it, had he not been stopped by a highland cur, that observed him, barked at him, and absolutely bit his leg. this was unusual conduct in the dog; but the wonder of the servants ceased when they saw the end of the bridle peeping out of the visitor's pocket; and it being delivered up, the dog became quiet. it is well known that in london, the other year, a box, properly directed, was sent to a merchant's shop to lie there all night, and be shipped off with other goods next morning, and that a dog, which accidentally came into the shop with a customer, by his smelling it, and repeatedly barking in a peculiar way, led to the discovery that the box contained not goods, but a rogue who intended to admit his companions and plunder the shop in the night-time. a man who frequented the _pont neuf_ in paris, and whose business it was to brush the boots of persons passing by, taught his dog, which was a poodle, to roll himself in the mud, and then brush by gentlemen so as to soil their boots. in this way, the animal largely contributed to support the trade of his master. there were two friends--one living in london, the other at guildford. these were on terms of the greatest intimacy, and for many years it had been the custom of the london family to pass the christmas with the one at guildford. their usual practice was to arrive to dinner the day before, and they were always accompanied by a large spaniel, who was as great a favorite of the visited as of the visitors. at the end of about seven years, the two families had an unfortunate misunderstanding, which occasioned an omission of the usual christmas invitation. about an hour before dinner, the guildford gentleman, who was standing at the window, exclaimed to his wife, "well, my dear, the w.'s have thought better of it, for i declare they are coming as usual, although we did not invite them; for here comes cæsar to announce them;" and the dog came trotting up to the door, and was admitted, as usual, into the parlor. the lady of the house gave orders to prepare beds; dinner waited an hour; but no guests arrived. cæsar, having staid the exact number of days to which he had been accustomed, set off for home, and reached it in safety. the correspondence which subsequently occurred had the happy effect of renewing the intercourse of the estranged friends; and as long as cæsar lived, he paid the annual visit in company with his master and mistress. a terrier, belonging to the marchioness of stafford, having lost a litter of puppies, was quite disconsolate, till, perceiving a brood of young ducks, she immediately seized them, and carried them to her lair, where she kept them, following them out and in, and nursing them in her own way with the most affectionate anxiety. when the ducklings, obeying their instinct, went into the water, their foster-mother exhibited the utmost alarm, and as soon as they returned to land, she snatched them up, one by one, in her mouth, and ran home with them. the next year, the same animal, being again deprived of her puppies, seized two cock chickens, which she reared with infinite care. when they began to crow, their foster-mother was as much annoyed as she had been with the swimming of the young ducks, and never failed to repress their attempts at crowing. a man engaged in smuggling lace into france from flanders, trained an active and sagacious spaniel to aid him in his enterprise. he caused him to be shaved, and procured for him the skin of another dog of the same hair and the same shape. he then rolled the lace round the body of the dog, and put over it the other skin so adroitly that the trick could not be easily discovered. the lace being thus arranged, the smuggler would say to the docile messenger, "homeward, my friend." at these words, the dog would start, and pass boldly through the gates of malines and valenciennes in the face of the vigilant officers placed there to prevent smuggling. having thus passed the bounds, he would await his master at a little distance in the open country. there they mutually caressed and feasted, and the merchant placed his rich package in a place of security, renewing his occupation as occasion required. such was the success of this smuggler, that, in less than five years, he amassed a handsome fortune, and kept his coach. envy pursues the prosperous. a mischievous neighbor at length betrayed the lace merchant; notwithstanding all his efforts to disguise the dog, he was suspected, watched, and discovered. but the cunning of the dog was equal to the emergency. did the spies of the custom-house expect him at one gate, he saw them at a distance, and ran to another; were all the gates shut against him, he overcame every obstacle; sometimes he leaped over the wall; at others, passing secretly behind a carriage, or running between the legs of travellers, he would thus accomplish his aim. one day, however, while swimming a stream near malines, he was shot, and died in the water. there was then about him five thousand crowns' worth of lace--the loss of which did not afflict his master, but he was inconsolable for the loss of his faithful dog. a dog belonging to a chamois-hunter, being on the glaciers in switzerland, with an englishman and his master, observed the former approaching one of the crevices in the ice, to look into it. he began to slide towards the edge; his guide, with a view to save him, caught his coat, and both slid onward, till the dog seized his master's clothes, and preserved them both from inevitable death. dogs have a capacity to act upon excitements of an artificial nature. a dog, in paris, at the commencement of the revolution, was known to musicians by the name of parade, because he regularly attended the military at the tuileries, stood by and marched with the band. at night he went to the opera, and dined with any musician who intimated, by word or gesture, that his company was asked; yet always withdrew from any attempt to be made the property of any individual. the penny magazine furnishes a still more singular instance of the desire of excitement, in a dog which, for several years, was always present at the fires in london. some years ago, a gentleman residing a few miles from london, in surrey, was roused in the middle of the night by the intelligence that the premises adjoining his house of business were on fire. the removal of his furniture and papers, of course, immediately called his attention; yet, notwithstanding this, and the bustle that is ever incident to a fire, his eye every now and then rested on a dog, whom, during the progress of the devouring element, he could not help noticing, running about, and apparently taking a deep interest in what was going on--contriving to keep himself out of every body's way, and yet always present amidst the thickest of the stir. when the fire was got under, and the gentleman had leisure to look about him, he again observed the dog, who, with the firemen, appeared to be resting from the fatigues of duty, and was led to make inquiries respecting him. stooping down, and patting the animal, he addressed a fireman near him, and asked him if the dog were his. "no, sir," replied the man, "he does not belong to me, nor to any one in particular. we call him the firemen's dog." "the firemen's dog? why so? has he no master?" "no, sir; he calls none of us master, though we are all of us willing to give him a night's lodging, and a pennyworth of meat; but he won't stay long with any of us. his delight is to be at all the fires of london, and, far or near, we generally find him on the road as we are going along; and sometimes, if it is out of town, we give him a lift. i don't think that there has been a fire for these two or three years past which he has not been at." three years after this conversation, the same gentleman was again called up in the night to a fire in the village where he resided, and, to his surprise, he again met "the firemen's dog," still alive and well, pursuing, with the same apparent interest and satisfaction, the exhibition of that which generally brings with it ruin and loss of life. still he called no man master, disdained to receive bed or board from the same hand more than a night or two at a time, nor could the firemen trace out his ordinary resting-place. to this long list, we might add many other anecdotes, in evidence of the varied powers of the canine family. we have endeavored to select those only which are well authenticated. some of these are sufficiently marvellous, but there are many other well-attested accounts equally wonderful. mr. hogg seems to imagine that mankind are prepared to believe any thing in respect to dogs which partakes of the mysterious, and accordingly plays off the following quiet joke upon his readers:-- "it's a good sign of a dog when his face grows like his master's. it's proof he's aye glow'ring up in his master's e'en to discover what he's thinking on; and then, without the word or wave of command, to be aff to execute the wull o' his silent thocht, whether it be to wean sheep, or to run doon deer. hector got so like me, afore he dee'd, that i remember, when i was owre lazy to gang to the kirk, i used to send him to take my place in the pew, and the minister never kent the difference. indeed, he once asked me next day what i thocht of the sermon; for he saw me wonderfu' attentive amang a rather sleepy congregation. "hector and me gied ane anither sic a look! and i was feared mr. paton would have observed it; but he was a simple, primitive, unsuspecting old man--a very nathaniel without guile, and he jaloused nothing; tho' both hector and me was like to split; and the dog, after laughing in his sleeve for mair than a hundred yards, couldn't stand't nae longer, but was obliged to loup awa owre a hedge into a potato field, pretending to scent partridges." the wolf. this is a fierce and savage beast, resembling in form and size the newfoundland dog. it hunts in packs, and attacks deer, sheep, and sometimes even man himself. when taken young, it may be tamed. it is found in the northern portions of both continents. in north america, there are several varieties. _miscellaneous anecdotes._--mr. cuvier gives an account of a wolf that had all the obedience and affection that any dog could evince. he was brought up by his master in the same manner as a puppy, and, when full grown, was sent to the menagerie at paris. for many weeks, he was quite disconsolate at the separation from his master, refused to take food, and was indifferent to his keepers. at length he became attached to those about him, and seemed to have forgotten his old affections. on his master's return, however, in a year and a half, the wolf heard his voice among the crowd in the gardens, and, being set at liberty, displayed the most violent joy. he was again separated from his friend; and again, his grief was as extreme as on the first occasion. after three years' absence, his master once more returned. it was evening, and the wolf's den was shut up from any external observation; yet, the moment the man's voice was heard, the faithful animal set up the most anxious cries, and, on the door of his cage being opened, he rushed to his friend, leaped upon his shoulders, licked his face, and threatened to bite his keepers when they attempted to separate them. when the man again left him, he fell sick, and refused all food; and from the time of his recovery, which was long very doubtful, it was always dangerous for a stranger to approach him. a story is told of a scotch bagpiper, who was travelling in ireland one evening, when he suddenly encountered a wolf who seemed to be very ravenous. the poor man could think of no other expedient to save his life, than to open his wallet, and try the effect of hospitality; he did so, and the savage beast swallowed all that was thrown to him with such voracity, that it seemed as if his appetite was not in the least degree satisfied. the whole stock of provisions was of course soon spent, and now the man's only resource was in the virtues of his bagpipe; this the monster no sooner heard than he took to the mountains with the same precipitation with which he had left them. the poor piper did not wholly enjoy his deliverance; for, looking ruefully at his empty wallet, he shook his fist at the departing animal, saying, "ay! are these your tricks? had i known your humor, you should have had your music before your supper." in sweden, frequent attacks are made upon the people by wolves, during the winter, as they are then often in a famishing condition. in one instance, a party of sixteen sledges were returning from a dance on a cold and starlight night. in the middle of the cavalcade was a sledge occupied by a lady; at the back of the vehicle sat the servant; and at her feet, on a bear skin, reposed her favorite lapdog. in passing through a wood, a large wolf suddenly sprang out, and, jumping into the sledge, seized the poor dog, and was out of sight before any steps could be taken for his rescue. a swedish peasant was one day crossing a large lake on his sledge, when he was attacked by a drove of wolves. this frightened the horse so much that he went off at full speed. there was a loose rope hanging from the back of the vehicle that had been used for binding hay; to the end of this a noose happened to be attached. though this was not intended to catch a wolf, it fortunately effected that object; for one of the ferocious animals getting his feet entangled in it, he was immediately destroyed, owing to the rapidity with which the horse was proceeding. the poor man at length reached a place of safety. though he had been dreadfully frightened during the ride, he not only found himself much sooner at the end of his journey than he expected, but richer by the booty he had thus unexpectedly gained--the skin of a wolf in this country being worth about two dollars and a half. a peasant in russia was once pursued in his sledge by eleven wolves. being about two miles from home, he urged his horse to the very extent of his speed. at the entrance to his residence was a gate, which being shut at the time, the frightened horse dashed open, and carried his master safely into the courtyard. nine of the wolves followed them into the enclosure, when fortunately the gate swung back, and shut them all as it were in a trap. finding themselves thus caught, the animals seemed to lose all their ferocity; and, as escape was impossible, slunk into holes and corners, molesting no one, and offering no resistance. they were all despatched without further difficulty. the prairie wolf is said to be wonderfully cunning and sagacious. instances have been known of his burrowing under ground to procure the bait from a trap, rather than run the chance of being caught above. many and curious are the devices prepared to ensnare this animal, but very few have succeeded. this variety of wolf is common in the prairies of the western country, where it hunts deer by running them down. sometimes a large number associate together, and, forming a crescent, creep slowly towards a herd of deer, so as not to alarm them. they then rush on with hideous yells, and drive the poor animals towards a precipice, seeming to know that, when they are once at full speed, they will all follow one another over the cliff. the wolves then descend at leisure, and feed upon their slaughtered victims. a farmer in france, one day looking through the hedge in his garden, observed a wolf walking round a mule, but unable to get at him on account of the mule's constantly kicking with his hind legs. as the farmer perceived that the beast was so well able to defend himself, he did not interfere. after the attack and defence had lasted a quarter of an hour, the wolf ran off to a neighboring ditch, where he several times plunged into the water. the farmer imagined that he did this to refresh himself after the fatigue he had sustained, and had no doubt that his mule had gained a complete victory; but in a few minutes the wolf returned to the charge, and, approaching as near as he could to the head of the mule, shook himself, and spouted a quantity of water into the animal's eyes, which caused him immediately to shut them. that moment, the wolf leaped upon him, and killed the poor animal before the farmer could come to his assistance. in the commencement of the reign of louis xiv., of france, in the depth of winter, a party of dragoons were attacked, at the foot of the mountains of jurat, by a multitude of wolves; the dragoons fought bravely, and killed many hundreds of them; but at last, overpowered by numbers, they and their horses were all devoured. a cross is erected on the place of combat, with an inscription in commemoration of it, which is to be seen at this day. the fox. this animal, which resembles a small dog, is widely distributed over the colder portions of both continents. there are several species, as the red, gray, black, silver, arctic, &c. in all ages and countries, the fox has been remarkable for his cunning, and, from the time of Æsop to the present day, has figured, in allegory and fable, as the personification of artifice and duplicity. _fruitless enterprise._--a fox finding himself hard run by the hounds, at a hunt in ireland, ran up a stone wall, from which he sprang on the roof of an adjoining cabin, and mounted up to the chimney-top. from that elevated station, he looked all around him, as if reconnoitring the coming enemy. a wily old hound approaching, and having gained the roof, was preparing to seize the fox, when, lo! renard dropped suddenly down the chimney. the dog looked wistfully down the dark opening, but dared not pursue the fugitive. meanwhile renard, half enrobed in soot, had fallen into the lap of an old woman, who, surrounded by a number of children, was gravely smoking her pipe, not at all expecting the entrance of this abrupt visitor. "_emiladh deouil!_" said the affrighted female, as she threw from her the red and black quadruped. renard grinned, growled, and showed his fangs; and when the huntsmen, who had secured the door, entered, they found him in quiet possession of the kitchen, the old woman and children having retired, in terror of the invader, to an obscure corner of the room. the fox was taken alive without much difficulty. _unavailing artifice._--two gentlemen in new jersey went out to hunt rabbits. in a low, bushy swamp, the dogs started a fox, and off they went in swift pursuit. after a chase of two miles, he entered a very dense thicket, and, making a circuit of the place, returned to the point whence he first started. the dogs closely pursuing the fox, he again started for the thicket, when one of the sportsmen shot at him, and he fell apparently dead at his feet. as he stooped to pick him up, however, he rose upon his legs and escaped. for two hours and a half, the thicket was the scene of the wiles of renard; but at last he was taken, and, being carried home by the men, was thrown, apparently quite dead, into the corner of the room. the family sat down to supper. finding them all busily engaged, he ventured to reconnoitre, and had cautiously raised himself on his fore legs for the purpose, but, on finding himself observed, resumed his quiescent state. one of the party, to ascertain whether the fox was alive or not, passed a piece of lighted paper under his nose; but the inanimate stone or log appeared not more senseless at that moment. finding all attempts to get away unavailing, renard submitted to his destiny with a very good grace, and the next morning was as well as ever, bating a slight wound in the shoulder and a dirty skin. _unexpected resentment._--some country people in germany once caught a pike, but in conveying it home during the night, it escaped. as it was a large fish, they returned with torches to secure their prize, and after some time found it on the grass, having fast hold of a fox by the nose. the animal caught in this novel trap made every effort to escape, without success; and it was not until the pike was killed, that it was possible to separate them. it seems that, after the pike was dropped by the fisherman, renard came across it, and in paying his addresses to it, was received in the manner we have described. the hyena. this animal, which is the size of a large dog, belongs to africa. it is very ferocious, feeds on flesh, and prefers that which is in a state of decay. it seems, with the vulture, to be a scavenger to remove masses of putrid flesh, which, in these hot regions, would otherwise breed infection and disease. _miscellaneous anecdotes._--bruce, in his "travels in africa," gives us the following account of the hyena:-- "one night, being very busily engaged in my tent, i heard something pass behind me towards the bed, but, upon looking round, could perceive nothing. having finished what i was about, i went out, resolving directly to return, which i did. i now perceived a pair of large blue eyes glaring at me in the dark. i called to my servant to bring a light, and there stood a hyena, near the head of my bed, with two or three large bunches of candles in his mouth. as his mouth was full, i was not afraid of him; so, with my pike, i struck him as near the heart as i could judge. it was not till then that he showed any signs of fierceness; but, feeling his wound, he let the candles drop, and endeavored to climb up the handle of the spear, to arrive at me; so that, in self-defence, i was obliged to draw a pistol from my girdle, and shoot him; nearly at the same time, my servant cleft his skull with a battle-axe. "the hyena appears to be senseless and stupid during the day. i have locked up with him a goat, a kid, and a lamb, all day, when he was fasting, and found them in the evening alive and unhurt. repeating the experiment one night, he ate up a young ass, a goat, and a fox, all before morning, so as to leave nothing but some small fragments of the ass's bones." sparman furnishes us with the following story:--"one night, at a feast near the cape, a trumpeter, who had got himself well filled with liquor, was carried out of doors in order to cool and sober him. the scent of him soon attracted a spotted hyena, which threw him on his back, and carried him away to sable mountain, thinking him a corpse, and consequently a fair prize. "in the mean time, our drunken musician awoke, sufficiently sensible to know the danger of his situation, and to sound his alarm with his trumpet, which he carried at his side. the beast, as it may be imagined, was greatly frightened, in its turn, and immediately ran away." the lion. this animal stands at the head of the numerous family of cats, and has often been ranked by naturalists as the lord of the brute creation, and holding the same relation to quadrupeds as the eagle does to birds. like all the rest of his genus, the lion steals upon his prey, and, when at a proper distance, rushes upon it with a bound, securing it in his sharp claws. in general he is cowardly; but, in pursuit of his prey, he is, to the last degree, fearless and ferocious. his strength is so great that he can break a man's skull with the stroke of his paw, and can drag the body of a cow over the ground at a gallop. his roar is terrific, and when heard, the animals around seem agitated with the wildest terror. the lion is common in the hot parts of africa, and is occasionally found in india. _miscellaneous anecdotes._--some hottentots once perceived a lion dragging a buffalo from the plain to a neighboring woody hill. they soon forced him to quit his prey, in order to secure it for themselves. they now found that the lion had had the sagacity to take out those inner parts of the buffalo that it rejected as food, in order to make it easier to carry away the fleshy and eatable parts of the carcass, thus showing reflection on his part. it is probable that the lion does not easily venture upon any one who puts himself in a posture of defence. the following anecdote would seem to show that this is the case. a young man was walking one day on his lands in the southern parts of africa, when he unexpectedly met a large lion. being an excellent shot, he thought himself sure of killing him, and therefore fired. but unfortunately, the charge had been in the piece for some time, and the ball fell before it reached the animal. the young man, seized with panic, now took to his heels; but being soon out of breath, and closely pursued by the lion, he jumped upon a little heap of stones, and there made a stand, presenting the butt-end of his gun to his adversary, fully resolved to defend his life as well as he could. this movement had such an effect upon the lion, that he likewise came to a stand; and what was still more singular, laid himself down at some paces' distance from the stones, seemingly quite unconcerned. the sportsman, in the mean while, did not dare to stir a step from the spot; besides, in his flight, he had lost his powder-horn. at length, after waiting a good half hour, the lion rose up, and retreated slowly, step by step, as if it had a mind to steal off; but as soon as it got to a greater distance, it began to bound away with great rapidity. it is related that geoffrey de la tour, one of the knights that went upon the first crusade to the holy land, heard, one day, as he rode through a forest, a cry of distress. hoping to rescue some unfortunate sufferer, the knight rode boldly into the thicket; but what was his astonishment, when he beheld a large lion, with a serpent coiled round his body! to relieve the distressed was the duty of every knight; therefore, with a single stroke of the sword, and regardless of the consequences to himself, he killed the serpent, and extricated the tremendous animal from his perilous situation. from that hour the grateful creature constantly accompanied his deliverer, whom he followed like a dog, and never displayed his natural ferocity but at his command. at length, the crusade being terminated, sir geoffrey prepared to set sail for europe. he wished to take the lion with him; but the master of the ship was unwilling to admit him on board, and the knight was, therefore, obliged to leave him on the shore. the lion, when he saw himself separated from his beloved master, first began to roar hideously; then, seeing the ship moving off, he plunged into the waves, and endeavored to swim after it. but all his efforts were in vain; and at length, his strength being exhausted, he sank, and the ocean ingulfed the noble animal, whose unshaken fidelity deserved a better fate. some years since there was, in a menagerie at cassel, in germany, a large lion, whose keeper was a woman, to whom the animal seemed most affectionately attached. in order to amuse the company, this woman was in the habit of putting her hands, and even her head, into the lion's mouth, without experiencing the least injury. upon one occasion, however, having introduced her head, as usual, between the animal's jaws, he made a sudden snap, and killed her on the spot. undoubtedly, this catastrophe was unintentional on the part of the lion; probably the hair of the woman's head irritated his throat, so as to make him sneeze or cough. this supposition is confirmed by the subsequent conduct of the animal; for as soon as he perceived that he had killed his attendant, the good-tempered, grateful creature exhibited the signs of the deepest melancholy, laid himself down by the side of the dead body, which he would not suffer to be removed, refused to take any food, and, in a few days, pined himself to death. a remarkable instance of docility in a lion once took place in the menagerie at chester, in england. a strange keeper, having fed a magnificent lion one evening, neglected to fasten the door of the den. the watchman, when going his rounds about three the next morning, discovered the king of beasts deliberately walking about the yard, and surveying the objects with apparent curiosity. the watchman went to call the proprietors, and when they arrived they found the lion _couchant_ upon the top of one of the coaches in the yard. with very little entreaty, the monarch of the forest deigned to descend from his throne, and very graciously followed a young lady, the proprietor's daughter, back to his den. some time ago, for the purpose of seeing the manner in which the lion pounces upon his prey, a little dog was, most cruelly, thrown into the den of one of these animals in the tower menagerie. the poor little animal skulked, in terror, to the most remote corner of the lion's apartment, who, regarding him with complacency, refrained from approaching him. the little trembler, seeing the lion's mildness, ventured to draw near him; and soon becoming familiar, they lived together thenceforward in the most perfect harmony; and, although the little dog had sometimes the temerity to dispute his share of food with the king of the beasts, yet he magnanimously allowed him to satisfy his appetite before he thought of making a meal himself. a lioness in the tower of london once formed such an attachment for a little dog which was kept with her in the den, that she would not eat till the dog was first satisfied. after the lioness had become a mother, it was thought advisable to take the animal away, for fear that her jealous fondness for her whelps might lead her to injure it. but while the keeper was cleaning the den, the dog, by some means, got into it, and approached the lioness with his wonted fondness. she was playing with her cubs; and, seeing the dog approach, she sprang towards him, and, seizing the poor little animal by the throat, seemed in the act of tearing him to pieces; but as if she momentarily recollected her former fondness for him, she carried him to the door of the den, and suffered him to be taken out unhurt. to the traveller in africa, the lion is formidable not at night only; he lies in his path, and is with difficulty disturbed, to allow a passage for his wagons and cattle, even when the sun is shining with its utmost brilliancy; or he is roused from some bushy place, on the roadside, by the indefatigable dogs which always accompany a caravan. mr. burchell has described, with great spirit, an encounter of this nature:-- "the day was exceedingly pleasant, and not a cloud was to be seen. for a mile or two we travelled along the banks of the river, which in this part abounded in tall mat-rushes. the dogs seemed much to enjoy prowling about, and examining every bushy place, and at last met with some object among the rushes which caused them to set up a most vehement and determined barking. we explored the spot with caution, as we suspected, from the peculiar tone of their bark, that it was, what it proved to be, lions. having encouraged the dogs to drive them out, a task which they performed with great willingness, we had a full view of an enormous black-maned lion and lioness. the latter was seen only for a minute, as she made her escape up the river, under concealment of the rushes; but _the lion_ came steadily forward, and stood still to look at us. at this moment we felt our situation not free from danger, as the animal seemed preparing to spring upon us, and we were standing on the bank at the distance of only a few yards from him, most of us being on foot and unarmed, without any visible possibility of escaping. "i had given up my horse to the hunters, and was on foot myself; but there was no time for fear, and it was useless to attempt avoiding him. i stood well upon my guard, holding my pistols in my hand, with my finger upon the trigger; and those who had muskets kept themselves prepared in the same manner. but at this instant the dogs boldly flew in between us and the lion, and, surrounding him, kept him at bay by their violent and resolute barking. the courage of these faithful animals was most admirable; they advanced up to the side of the huge beast, and stood making the greatest clamor in his face, without the least appearance of fear. the lion, conscious of his strength, remained unmoved at their noisy attempts, and kept his head turned towards us. at one moment, the dogs, perceiving his eyes thus engaged, had advanced close to his feet, and seemed as if they would actually seize hold of him; but they paid dearly for their imprudence; for, without discomposing the majestic and steady attitude in which he stood fixed, he merely moved his paw, and at the next instant i beheld two lying dead. in doing this, he made so little exertion, that it was scarcely perceptible by what means they had been killed. of the time which we had gained by the interference of the dogs, not a moment was lost. we fired upon him; one of the balls went through his side just between the short ribs, and the blood immediately began to flow; but the animal still remained standing in the same position. we had now no doubt that he would spring upon us; every gun was instantly reloaded; but happily we were mistaken, and were not sorry to see him move quietly away; though i had hoped in a few minutes to have been enabled to take hold of his paw without danger. "this was considered, by our party, to be a lion of the largest size, and seemed, as i measured him by comparison with the dogs, to be, though less bulky, as heavy as an ox. he was certainly as long in body, though lower in stature; and his copious mane gave him a truly formidable appearance. he was of that variety which the hottentots and boors distinguish by the name of the _black lion_, on account of the blacker color of the mane, and which is said to be always larger and more dangerous than the other, which they call the _pale lion_. of the courage of a lion i have no very high opinion; but of his majestic air and movements, as exhibited by this animal, while at liberty in his native plains, i can bear testimony. notwithstanding the pain of a wound, of which he must soon afterwards have died, he moved slowly away, with a stately and measured step." the tiger. this animal, of which there is but one species, is found in the southern parts of asia, and the adjacent islands. it is inferior only to the lion in strength, size, and courage. the body is long, the legs rather short, the eyes glassy, and the countenance haggard, savage, and ferocious. it has strength to seize a man and carry him off at full gallop, and its ferocity leads it to slay beyond its desire for food. in contrast to these hideous qualities, its skin is marked with a singular beauty, being of a fawn color, splendidly striped downward with black bands. its step resembles that of a cat. when taken young, and kindly treated, it grows familiar, and exhibits gentleness and affection towards its keeper. _miscellaneous anecdotes._--of the muscular powers of the tiger we have the following illustration: a buffalo, belonging to a peasant in the east indies, having fallen into a quagmire, the man was himself unable to extricate it, and went to call the assistance of his neighbors. meanwhile, a large tiger, coming to the spot, seized upon the buffalo, and dragged him out. when the men came to the place, they saw the tiger, with the buffalo thrown over his shoulder, in the act of retiring with him towards the jungle. no sooner, however, did he observe the men, than he let fall the dead animal, and precipitately escaped. on coming up, they found the buffalo quite dead, and his whole blood sucked out. some idea may be gained of the immense power of the tiger, when it is mentioned that the ordinary weight of a buffalo is above a thousand pounds, and consequently considerably more than double its own weight. the effect of feeding the tiger upon raw flesh, is shown by the following anecdote: a party of gentlemen, from bombay, found, one day, in a cavern, a tiger's whelp, which was hidden in an obscure corner. snatching it up hastily, they cautiously retreated. being left entirely at liberty, and well fed, the tiger became tame, like the dog, grew rapidly, and appeared entirely domesticated. at length it attained a great size, and began to inspire terror by its tremendous strength and power, notwithstanding its gentleness. up to this moment, it had been studiously kept from raw meat. but, unfortunately, during its rambles, a piece of flesh dripping with blood fell in its way. the instant it had tasted it, something like madness seemed to seize the animal; a destructive principle, hitherto dormant, was kindled: it darted fiercely, and with glowing eyes, upon its prey--tore it with fury to pieces, and, growling and roaring in the most frightful manner, rushed off, and disappeared in the jungle. tigers are sometimes very cunning. one of them was kept at a french factory, at silsceri, which was secured by a strong chain. this animal used to scatter a portion of the rice that was set before him as far round the front of his den as possible. this enticed the poultry to come and pick it up. the tiger pretended to be asleep, in order to induce them to approach nearer, when he suddenly sprang upon them, and seldom failed to make several of them his prey. this animal is susceptible of strong attachments. an instance of this is recorded of a tigress of great beauty in the tower at london. she was extremely docile in her passage home from calcutta, was allowed to run about the vessel, and became exceedingly familiar with the sailors. on her arrival in london, however, her temper became irascible, and even dangerous, and she exhibited for some days a savage and sulky disposition. shortly after, a sailor, who had had charge of her on board the ship, came to the tower, and begged permission to enter her den. no sooner did she recognize her old friend, than she fawned upon him, licked and caressed him, exhibiting the most extravagant signs of pleasure; and, when he left her, she whined and cried the whole day afterwards. in time, however, she became reconciled to her new keeper and residence. some years ago, a tame tiger was led about madras by some of the natives, without any other restraint than a muzzle, and a small chain round his neck. the men lived by exhibiting, to the curious, the tiger's method of seizing his prey. the manner in which they showed this, was by fastening a sheep to a stake driven into the earth. the tiger was no sooner brought in sight of it than he crouched, and moved along the ground on his belly, slowly and cautiously, till he came within the limits of a bound, when he sprang upon the sheep with the rapidity of an arrow, and struck it dead in an instant. although the tigress sometimes destroys her young ones, she generally shows much anxiety for them. two cubs were once discovered by some villagers, in india, while their mother was in quest of prey, and presented by them to a gentleman, who had them put in his stable. the creatures made piteous howlings every night, which at last reached the ears of the mother. she came to the spot, and answered their cries by hideous howlings, which so alarmed their keeper that he let the cubs loose, for fear the dam would break the door of the stable. nothing was seen of them the next morning; the tigress had carried them both off into the jungle. the tiger is often hunted in india, and frequently the sportsmen are mounted upon elephants. sometimes the animal is shot, and occasionally he is trodden to death, or laid prostrate on the earth, by the tramp of the elephant. numerous anecdotes are told of these rencounters, all tending to show the fierce and formidable character of the tiger. it is much more active and ferocious than the lion, and is also more dangerous to the inhabitants who live in the vicinity of its retreats. the panther. this animal, which is a native of northern africa, is smaller than the tiger, but it possesses the same ferocious disposition. it preys upon every animal it can master, and man himself sometimes falls a victim to its rapacity. its color is fawn, spotted with black. _a tame panther._--notwithstanding the savage character and habits of this animal, mr. bowditch, who resided at coomassie, in western africa, gives us an interesting account of one that he tamed. when he was about a year old, he was taken to cape coast, being led through the country by a chain. when he arrived, he was placed in a court, where he became quite familiar with those around him, laying his paws upon their shoulders, and rubbing his head upon them. by degrees all fear of him subsided, and he was allowed to go at liberty within the gates of the castle, having a small boy for a keeper. on one occasion, sai, as the panther was called, finding the lad sitting upright on the step fast asleep, lifted his paw, and gave him a blow on the side of the head, which knocked him down, and then stood wagging his tail, as if enjoying the mischief he had done. on another occasion, as an old woman was sweeping the hall with a short broom, which brought her nearly down upon all fours, sai, who was hidden under the sofa, suddenly leaped upon her back, where he stood in triumph. she screamed violently, and all her fellow-servants scampered away in terror; nor was she released till the governor himself came to her assistance. after the departure of mr. bowditch from the castle, the ship in which he had embarked lay at anchor some weeks in the river gaboon: while here, an orangoutang was brought on board, and the rage of the panther, who had accompanied his master, was indescribable. his back rose in an arch, his tail was elevated and perfectly stiff, his eyes flashed, and if he had not been restrained, he would have torn the ape in pieces. at the same time, the orang showed the greatest fear and terror. after sailing to england, the change of climate seemed to affect sai, and medicine was given him in the shape of pills. these had the desired effect. on reaching the london docks, he was taken ashore, and presented to the duchess of york, who had him placed in exeter 'change. here he remained for some weeks, apparently in good health; but he was taken suddenly ill, and died of an inflammation on the lungs. the leopard. this animal is more slender and graceful than the panther, yet it has all the savage qualities of the feline race. its skin is exceedingly beautiful, being of a light fawn, marked with black spots. nothing can surpass the ease, grace, and agility, of its movements. _hunting the leopard._--two boors in southern africa, in the year , returning from hunting the hartebeest, fell in with a leopard in a mountain ravine, and immediately gave chase to him. the animal at first endeavored to escape, by clambering up a precipice; but, being hotly pressed, and slightly wounded by a musket-ball, he turned upon his pursuers, with that frantic ferocity which, on such emergencies, he frequently displays: springing upon the man who had fired at him, he tore him from his horse to the ground, biting him, at the same time, very severely on the shoulder, and tearing his face and arms with his claws. the other hunter, seeing the danger of his comrade, sprang from his horse, and attempted to shoot the leopard through the head; but, whether owing to trepidation, the fear of wounding his friend, or the sudden motions of the animal, he unfortunately missed his aim. the leopard, abandoning his prostrate enemy, darted with redoubled fury upon this second antagonist; and so fierce and sudden was his onset, that, before the boor could stab him with his hunting-knife, he struck him in the eyes with his claws, and had torn the scalp over his forehead. in this frightful condition, the hunter grappled with the raging beast, and, struggling for life, they rolled together down a steep declivity. all this passed so rapidly that the other man had scarcely time to recover from the confusion into which his feline foe had thrown him, to seize his gun, and rush forward to aid his comrade--when he beheld them rolling together down the steep bank, in mortal conflict. in a few moments he was at the bottom with them, but too late to save the life of his friend, who had so gallantly defended him. the leopard had torn open the jugular vein, and so dreadfully mangled the throat of the unfortunate man, that his death was inevitable; and his comrade had only the melancholy satisfaction of completing the destruction of the savage beast, which was already much exhausted by several deep wounds in the breast, from the desperate knife of the expiring huntsman. _captive leopards._--mr. brown gives us the following account: "there are at present in the tower a pair of these animals, from asia, confined in the same den. the female is very tame, and gentle in her temper, and will allow herself to be patted and caressed by the keepers, while she licks their hands, and purrs. she, however, has one peculiarity--that she cannot bear many of the appendages which visitors bring with them to the menagerie. she has a particular predilection for the destruction of parasols, umbrellas, muffs, and hats, which she frequently contrives to lay hold of before the unwary spectator can prevent it, and tears them to pieces in an instant. she has been five years in the tower, during which time she has seized and destroyed several hundreds of these articles, as well as other parts of ladies' dress. while this creature is in a playful mood, she bounds about her cell with the quickness of thought, touching the four sides of it nearly at one and the same instant. so rapid are her motions, that she can scarcely be followed by the eye; and she will even skim along the ceiling of her apartment with the same amazing rapidity, evincing great pliability of form and wonderful muscular powers. the male has been about two years in the tower, and is only beginning to suffer familiarities; but he seems jealous of the slightest approach. he is larger than the female, the color of his skin more highly toned, and the spotting more intensely black." the jaguar. this animal is confined to south america, where it is frequently called a tiger. it greatly resembles the panther of africa in size, appearance, and habits. it inhabits thick forests, and sometimes destroys cows and horses. it also feeds on fish, which it entices to the surface by its spittle, and then knocks them out of the water with its paw. _the jaguar's cave._--from the numerous anecdotes in relation to this animal, we select the following interesting account communicated to the edinburgh literary journal: "on leaving the indian village, we continued to wind round chimborazo's wide base; but its snow-crowned head no longer shone above us in clear brilliancy, for a dense fog was gathering gradually around it. our guides looked anxiously towards it, and announced their apprehensions of a violent storm. we soon found that their fears were well founded. the thunder began to roll, and resounded through the mountainous passes with the most terrific grandeur. then came the vivid lightning; flash following flash--above, around, beneath--every where a sea of fire. we sought a momentary shelter in the cleft of the rocks, whilst one of our guides hastened forward to seek a more secure asylum. in a short time he returned and informed us that he had discovered a spacious cavern, which would afford us sufficient protection from the elements. we proceeded thither immediately, and with great difficulty, and some danger, at last got into it. "when the storm had somewhat abated, our guides ventured out, to ascertain if it were possible to continue our journey. the cave in which we had taken refuge was so extremely dark, that, if we moved a few paces from the entrance, we could not see an inch before us; and we were debating as to the propriety of leaving it, even before the indians came back, when we suddenly heard a singular groaning or growling, in the farther end of the cavern, which instantly fixed all our attention. wharton and myself listened anxiously; but our inconsiderate young friend lincoln, together with my huntsman, crept about on their hands and knees, and endeavored to discover, by groping, whence the sound proceeded. "they had not advanced far into the cavern, before we heard them utter an exclamation of surprise; and they returned to us, each carrying in his arms an animal singularly marked, about the size of a cat, seemingly of great strength and power, and furnished with immense fangs. the eyes were of a green color; strong claws were upon their feet; and a blood-red tongue hung out of their mouths. wharton had scarcely glanced at them, when he exclaimed in consternation, 'we have come into the den of a ----' he was interrupted by a fearful cry of dismay from our guides, who came rushing precipitately towards us, calling out, 'a tiger, a tiger!' and, at the same time, with extraordinary rapidity, they climbed up a cedar-tree which stood at the entrance of the cave, and hid themselves among the branches. "after the first sensation of horror and surprise, which rendered me motionless for a moment, had subsided, i grasped my fire-arms. wharton had already regained his composure and self-possession; and he called to us to assist in blocking up the mouth of the cave with an immense stone which fortunately lay near it. the sense of imminent danger augmented our strength; for we now distinctly heard the growl of the ferocious animal, and we were lost, beyond redemption, if he reached the entrance before we could get it closed. ere this was done, we could distinctly see the tiger bounding towards the spot, and stooping in order to creep into his den by the narrow opening. at this fearful moment, our exertions were successful, and the great stone kept the wild beast at bay. "there was a small, open space, however, left between the top of the entrance and the stone, through which we could see the head of the animal, illuminated by his glowing eyes, which he rolled, glaring with fury, upon us. his frightful roaring, too, penetrated to the depths of the cavern, and was answered by the hoarse growling of the cubs. our ferocious enemy attempted first to remove the stone with his powerful claws, and then to push it with his head from its place; and these efforts proving abortive, served only to increase his wrath. he uttered a tremendous, heart-piercing growl, and his flaming eyes darted light into the darkness of our retreat. "'now is the time to fire at him,' said wharton, with his usual calmness. 'aim at his eyes; the ball will go through his brain, and we shall then have a chance to get rid of him.' "frank seized his double-barrelled gun, and lincoln his pistols. the former placed the muzzle within a few inches of the tiger, and lincoln did the same. at wharton's command, they both drew their triggers at the same moment; but no shot followed. the tiger, who seemed aware that the flash indicated an attack upon him, sprang growling from the entrance, but, finding himself unhurt, immediately turned back, and stationed himself in his former place. the powder in both pieces was wet. "'all is now over,' said wharton. 'we have only now to choose whether we shall die of hunger, together with these animals who are shut up along with us, or open the entrance to the bloodthirsty monster without, and so make a quicker end of the matter.' "so saying, he placed himself close beside the stone, which for the moment defended us, and looked undauntedly upon the lightning eyes of the tiger. lincoln raved, and frank took a piece of strong cord from his pocket, and hastened to the farther end of the cave i knew not with what design. we soon, however, heard a low, stifled groaning; the tiger, which had heard it also, became more restless and disturbed than ever. he went backwards and forwards, before the entrance of the cave, in the most wild and impetuous manner; then stood still, and, stretching out his neck towards the forest, broke forth into a deafening howl. "our two indian guides took advantage of this opportunity to discharge several arrows from the tree; but the light weapons bounded back harmless from his thick skin. at length, however, one of them struck him near the eye, and the arrow remained sticking in the wound. he now broke anew into the wildest fury, sprang at the tree, and tore it with his claws, as if he would have dragged it to the ground. but having at length succeeded in getting rid of the arrow, he became more calm, and laid himself down, as before, in front of the cave. "frank now returned from the lower end of the den, and a glance showed us what he had been doing. in each hand, and dangling from the end of a string, were the two cubs. he had strangled them, and, before we were aware what he intended, he threw them, through the opening, to the tiger. no sooner did the animal perceive them, than he gazed earnestly upon them, and began to examine them closely, turning them cautiously from side to side. as soon as he became aware that they were dead, he uttered so piercing a howl of sorrow, that we were obliged to put our hands to our ears. "the thunder had now ceased, and the storm had sunk to a gentle gale; the songs of the birds were again heard in the neighboring forest, and the sunbeams sparkled in the drops that hung from the leaves. we saw, through the aperture, how all nature was reviving, after the wild war of elements which had so recently taken place; but the contrast only made our situation the more horrible. the tiger had laid himself down beside his whelps. he was a beautiful animal, of great size and strength; and his limbs, being stretched out at their full length, displayed his immense power of muscle. a double row of great teeth stood far enough apart to show his large red tongue, from which the white foam fell in large drops. "all at once, another roar was heard at a distance, and the tiger immediately rose, and answered it with a mournful howl. at the same instant, our indians uttered a shriek, which announced that some new danger threatened us. a few moments confirmed our worst fears; for another tiger, not quite so large as the former, came rapidly towards the spot where we were. "the howls which the tigress gave, when she had examined the bodies of her cubs, surpassed every thing of horrible that we had yet heard; and the tiger mingled his mournful cries with hers. suddenly her roaring was lowered to a hoarse growling, and we saw her anxiously stretch out her head, extend her wide and smoking nostrils, and look as if she were determined to discover immediately the murderers of her young. her eyes quickly fell upon us, and she made a spring forward, with the intention of penetrating our place of refuge. perhaps she might have been enabled, by her immense strength, to push away the stone, had we not, with all our united power, held it against her. "when she found that all her efforts were fruitless, she approached the tiger, who lay stretched out beside his cubs, and he rose and joined in her hollow roarings. they stood together for a few moments, as if in consultation, and then suddenly went off at a rapid pace, and disappeared from our sight. their howlings died away in the distance, and then entirely ceased. "our indians descended from their tree, and called upon us to seize the only possibility of yet saving ourselves, by instant flight, for that the tigers had only gone round the height to seek another inlet into the cave, with which they were, no doubt, acquainted. in the greatest haste the stone was pushed aside, and we stepped forth from what we had considered a living grave. we now heard once more the roaring of the tigress, though at a distance, and, following the example of our guides, we precipitately struck into a side path. from the number of roots and branches of trees, with which the storm had strewed our way, and the slipperiness of the road, our flight was slow and difficult. "we had proceeded thus for about a quarter of an hour, when we found that our way led along a rocky cliff, with innumerable fissures. we had just entered upon it, when suddenly the indians, who were before us, uttered one of their piercing shrieks, and we immediately became aware that the tigers were in pursuit of us. urged by despair, we rushed towards one of the breaks or gulfs in our way, over which was thrown a bridge of reeds, that sprang up and down at every step, and could be trod with safety by the light foot of the indians alone. deep in the hollow below rushed an impetuous stream, and a thousand pointed and jagged rocks threatened destruction on every side. "lincoln, my huntsman, and myself, passed over the chasm in safety; but wharton was still in the middle of the waving bridge, and endeavoring to steady himself, when both the tigers were seen to issue from the adjoining forest; and the moment they descried us, they bounded towards us with dreadful roarings. meanwhile, wharton had nearly gained the safe side of the gulf, and we were all clambering up the rocky cliff, except lincoln, who remained at the reedy bridge, to assist his friend to step upon firm ground. wharton, though the ferocious animals were close upon him, never lost his courage or presence of mind. as soon as he had gained the edge of the cliff, he knelt down, and, with his sword, divided the fastenings by which the bridge was attached to the rock. "he expected that an effectual barrier would thus be put to the farther progress of our pursuers; but he was mistaken; for he had scarcely accomplished his task when the tigress, without a moment's pause, rushed towards the chasm, and attempted to bound over it. it was a fearful sight to see the mighty animal suspended for a moment in the air, above the abyss; but the scene passed like a flash of lightning. her strength was not equal to the distance; she fell into the gulf, and, before she reached the bottom, was torn into a thousand pieces by the jagged points of the rocks. "her fate did not in the least dismay her companion. he followed her with an immense spring, and reached the opposite side, but only with his fore claws; and thus he clung to the edge of the precipice, endeavoring to gain a footing. the indians again uttered a wild shriek, as if all hope had been lost. "but wharton, who was nearest the edge of the rock, advanced courageously towards the tiger, and struck his sword into the animal's breast. enraged beyond all measure, the wild beast collected all his strength, and, with a violent effort, fixing one of his hind legs upon the cliff, he seized wharton by the thigh. the heroic man still preserved his fortitude. he grasped the trunk of a tree with his left hand, to steady and support himself, while, with his right hand, he wrenched and violently turned the sword, that was still in the breast of the tiger. all this was the work of an instant. the indians, frank, and myself, hastened to his assistance; but lincoln, who was already at his side, had seized wharton's gun, which lay near upon the ground, and struck so powerful a blow with the butt-end upon the head of the tiger, that the animal, stunned and overpowered, let go his hold, and fell back into the abyss." the american panther. this animal, which belongs to north and south america, passes under the various titles of _cougar_, _puma_, and _panther_. the latter is its most common designation. it is about the size of the european panther, but is of a uniform reddish-brown color. it was once common throughout the united states, but it has retired from the more thickly-settled portions to the remote forests of the country. it generally flies from man, but occasions have frequently occurred in which persons have fallen victims to its rage or rapacity. _fatal sport._--some years since, two hunters, accompanied by two dogs, went out in quest of game near the catskill mountains. at the foot of a large hill, they agreed to go round it in opposite directions, and, when either discharged his rifle, the other was to hasten towards him to aid in securing the game. soon after parting, the report of a rifle was heard by one of them, who, hastening towards the spot, after some search, found nothing but the dog, dreadfully lacerated, and dead. he now became much alarmed for the fate of his companion, and, while anxiously looking around, was horror-struck by the harsh growl of a cougar, which he perceived on a large limb of a tree, crouching upon the body of his friend, and apparently meditating an attack on himself. instantly he levelled his rifle at the beast, and was so fortunate as to wound it mortally, when it fell to the ground along with the body of his slaughtered companion. his dog then rushed upon the wounded cougar, which, with one blow of its paw, laid the poor animal dead by its side. the surviving hunter now left the spot, and quickly returned, with several other persons, when they found the lifeless cougar extended near the dead bodies of the hunter and the faithful dogs. _terrible revenge._--the following account is furnished by a correspondent of the "cabinet of natural history:" "it was on as beautiful an autumnal day as ever ushered in the indian summer, that i made an excursion after game among a group of mountains, or rather on a link in the great chain of the alleghany range, which runs in a north-eastern direction in that part of pennsylvania which bounds the new york line. "i had kept the summit of the mountains for several miles, without success, for a breeze had arisen shortly after sunrise, which rattled through the trees, and made it unfavorable for hunting on dry ground; and indeed the only wild animal i saw was a bear, that was feeding on another ridge across a deep valley, and entirely out of reach of my rifle-shot. i therefore descended the mountain in an oblique direction, towards the salt springs, which i soon reached, and, after finding others had preceded me here, i left the spot for another mountain, on which i intended to pass the remainder of the day, gradually working my way home. this mountain was covered with chestnut-trees; and here it was that i caught a glimpse of the bear from the other ridge, and found he had disappeared but a short time previous to my arrival on this mountain. i followed his track for three miles, for chestnuts lay in abundance on the ground, and bears, like hogs, root up the leaves in search of food beneath; and it no doubt had lingered about here eating its meal until my near approach gave warning of its danger. this i could discover, as, the leaves having been wet by the melted frost on the top, a path could be traced where the bear, in running, had turned the dried part of the leaves uppermost. i quickened my pace along the mountainside and around the turn of the mountain, with the hopes of surprising the bear; and, after a rapid chase for the distance above mentioned, all proved fruitless, and i relinquished further pursuit. warm with this exercise, and somewhat fatigued, i descended the mountain-side, and took my seat beside a stream of water which gently washed the base of the mountain, and emptied itself into the head of the waters of the susquehannah. "i had remained, sitting on a fallen tree, whose branches extended considerably into the water, for, perhaps, an hour and a half, when, of a sudden, i heard a rustling among the leaves on the mountain immediately above my head, which, at first, was so distant that i thought it merely an eddy in the wind, whirling the leaves from the ground; but it increased so rapidly, and approached so near the spot where i sat, that instinctively i seized my rifle, ready in a moment to meet any emergency which might offer. "that part of the mountain where i was seated was covered with laurel and other bushes, and, owing to the density of this shrubbery, i could not discover an object more than ten yards from me; this, as will afterwards appear, afforded me protection; at any rate, it conduced to my success. the noise among the leaves now became tremendous, and the object approached so near, that i distinctly heard an unnatural grunting noise, as if from some animal in great distress. at length, a sudden plunge into the water, not more than twenty yards from me, uncovered to my view a full-grown black bear, intent upon nothing but its endeavors to press through the water and reach the opposite shore. the water, on an average, was not more than two feet deep, which was not sufficient for the animal to swim, and too deep to run through; consequently, the eagerness with which the bear pressed through the water created such a splashing noise as fairly echoed through the hills. with scarcely a thought, i brought my rifle to my shoulder with the intention of shooting; but, before i could sight it correctly, the bear rushed behind a rock which shielded it from my view. this gave me a momentary season for reflection; and, although i could have killed the bear so soon as it had passed the rock, i determined to await the result of such extraordinary conduct in this animal; for i was wonder-struck at actions which were not only strange, but even ludicrous,--there not appearing then any cause for them. the mystery, however, was soon unravelled. "the stream of water was not more than ten rods in width; and before the bear was two thirds across it, i heard another rustling, on the mountain-side, among the leaves, as if by jumps, and a second plunge into the water convinced me that the bear had good cause for its precipitation; for here, pressing hard at its heels, was a formidable antagonist in an enormous panther, which pursued the bear with such determined inveteracy and appalling growls, as made me shudder as with a chill. "the panther plunged into the water not more than eighteen or twenty yards from me; and, had it been but one third of that distance, i feel convinced i should have been unheeded by this animal, so intent was it on the destruction of the bear. it must indeed be an extraordinary case which will make a panther plunge into water, as it is a great characteristic of the feline species always to avoid water, unless driven to it either by necessity or desperation; but here nature was set aside, and some powerful motive predominated in the passions of this animal, which put all laws of instinct at defiance, and, unlike the clumsy bustling of the bear through the water, the panther went with bounds of ten feet at a time, and, ere the former reached the opposite shore, the latter was midway of the stream. this was a moment of thrilling interest; and that feeling so common to the human breast, when the strong is combating with the weak, now took possession of mine, and, espousing the cause of the weaker party, abstractedly from every consideration which was in the wrong, i could not help wishing safety to the bear and death to the panther. under the impulse of these feelings, i once more brought my rifle to my shoulder, with the intention of shooting the panther through the heart; but, in spite of myself, i shrank from the effort. perhaps it was well i reserved my fire; for, had i only wounded the animal, i might have been a victim to its ferocity. "so soon as the bear found there was no possibility of escape from an issue with so dreadful an enemy, on reaching the opposite bank of the stream, it shook the water from its hair like a dog, ran about fifteen feet on the bank, and lay directly on its back in a defensive posture. this it had scarcely done, when the panther reached the water's edge, and then, with a yell of vengeance, it made one bound, and sprang, with outstretched claws, and spitting like a cat, immediately on the bear, which lay in terror on the ground, ready to receive its antagonist; but the contest was soon at an end. not more easily does the eagle rend in sunder its terror-stricken prey, than did the enraged panther tear in scattered fragments the helpless bear. it appeared but the work of a moment, and that moment was one of unrelenting vengeance; for no sooner did the panther alight on its victim, than, with the most ferocious yells, it planted its hinder claws deep in the entrails of the bear, and, by a few rips, tore its antagonist in pieces. although the bear was full grown, it must have been young, and deficient in energy; for it was so overcome with dread as not to be able to make the least resistance. "satisfied with glutting its vengeance, the panther turned from the bear, and came directly to the water's edge to drink, and allay the parching thirst created by so great excitement; after which, it looked down and then up the stream, as though it sought a place to cross, that it might avoid the water; then, as if satisfied with revenge, and enjoying its victory, stood twisting and curling its tail like a cat, and then commenced licking itself dry. "the animal was now within thirty-five yards of me; and seeing no prospect of its recrossing the stream, i took rest for my rifle on a projecting limb of the tree on which i still sat, and fired directly at the panther's heart. the moment i discharged my rifle, the monster made a spring about six feet perpendicular, with a tremendous growl, which reverberated among the rocks; fell in the same spot whence it sprang, with its legs extended; and lay in this situation, half crouched, rocking from side to side, as if in the dizziness of approaching death. i saw plainly that my fire was fatal; but i had too much experience to approach this enemy until i could no longer discover signs of life. i therefore reloaded my rifle, and with a second shot i pierced immediately behind the ear. its head then dropped between its paws, and all was quiet. "on examining the panther, no marks of violence appeared, except where my rifle balls had passed completely through, within a foot of each other: but on turning the animal on its back, i discovered it to be a female, and a mother, who, by the enlargement of her teats, had evidently been suckling her young. from this circumstance, i supposed the bear had made inroads on her lair, and probably had destroyed her kittens. i was the more convinced of this from the fact, that i never knew, from my own experience, nor could i learn from the oldest hunters of my acquaintance, an instance wherein a bear and a panther engaged in combat; and again, no circumstance but the above would be sufficient to awaken that vindictive perseverance, in the passions of a panther, which would lead to the annihilation of so formidable an animal as a bear." the cat. this animal, which is chiefly known in a domestic state, was originally wild, and is still found in that condition in the forests of europe and asia. it was not a native of the american continent, but was brought hither by the european settlers. the quadruped found in our woods, and sometimes called by the name of _wild-cat_, is a lynx. in a domestic state, the savage habits of the cat are exchanged for a soft, gentle, and confiding character, which renders her a favorite around every fireside. nor is puss to be admired only for these winning qualities, and her utility as a mouser. she possesses considerable genius, and the memoirs of her race are scarcely less remarkable than those of her natural rival, the dog. _miscellaneous anecdotes._--the following story is furnished by a correspondent of the penny magazine: "i was once on a visit to a friend in the country, who had a favorite cat and dog, who lived together on the best possible terms, eating from the same plate and sleeping on the same rug. puss had a young family, and pincher was in the habit of making a daily visit to the kittens, whose nursery was at the top of the house. one morning, there was a tremendous storm of thunder and lightning. pincher was in the drawing-room, and puss was attending to her family in the garret. pincher seemed annoyed by the vivid flashes of lightning; and, just as he had crept nearer to my feet, some one entered the room followed by puss, who walked in with a disturbed air, and mewing with all her might. she came to pincher, rubbed her face against his cheek, touched him gently with her paw, walked to the door, stopped, looked back, and mewed,--all of which said, as plainly as words could have done, 'come with me, pincher;' but the dog was too much alarmed himself to give any consolation to her, and took no notice of the invitation. "the cat then returned, and renewed her application, with increased energy; but the dog was immovable, though it was evident that he understood her meaning, for he turned away his head with a half-conscious look, and crept closer to me; and puss soon left the room. not long after this, the mewing became so piteous, that i could no longer resist going to see what was the matter. i met the cat at the top of the stairs, close by the door of my chamber. she ran to me, rubbed herself against me, and then went into the room, and crept under the wardrobe. i then heard two voices, and discovered that she had brought down one of her kittens, and lodged it there for safety; but her fears and cares being so divided between the kitten above and this little one below, i suppose she wanted pincher to watch by this one, while she went for the other; for, having confided it to my protection, she hastened up stairs. not, however, wishing to have charge of the young family, i followed her up, taking the kitten with me, placed it beside her, and moved the little bed farther from the window, through which the lightning flashed so vividly as to alarm poor puss for the safety of her progeny. i then remained in the garret till the storm had passed away. "on the following morning, much to my surprise, i found puss waiting for me at the door of my apartment. she accompanied me down to breakfast, sat by me, and caressed me in every possible way. she had always been in the habit of going down to breakfast with the lady of the house; but on this morning she had resisted all her coaxing to leave my door, and would not move a step till i had made my appearance. she had never done this before, and never did it again. she had shown her gratitude to me for the care of her little ones, and her duty was done." the editor of the "edinburgh evening courant" gives us the following extraordinary story: "a country gentleman of our acquaintance, who is neither a friend to thieves nor poachers, has at this moment, in his household, a favorite cat, whose honesty, he is sorry to say, there is but too much reason to call in question. the animal, however, is far from being selfish in her principles; for her acceptable gleanings she regularly shares among the children of the family in which her lot is cast. it is the habit of this grimalkin to leave the kitchen or parlor, as often as hunger and an opportunity may occur, and wend her way to a certain pastrycook's shop, where, the better to conceal her purpose, she endeavors slyly to ingratiate herself into favor with the mistress of the house. as soon as the shopkeeper's attention becomes engrossed in business, or otherwise, puss contrives to pilfer a small pie or tart from the shelves on which they are placed, speedily afterwards making the best of her way home with her booty. "she then carefully delivers her prize to some of the little ones in the nursery. a division of the stolen property quickly takes place; and here it is singularly amusing to observe the _sleekit_ animal, not the least conspicuous among the numerous group, thankfully munching her share of the illegal traffic. we may add, that the pastrycook is by no means disposed to institute a legal process against poor mrs. puss, as the children of the gentleman to whom we allude are honest enough to acknowledge their fourfooted playmate's failings to papa, who willingly compensates any damage the shopkeeper may sustain from the petty depredations of the would-be philanthropic cat." in the month of july, , a woman was murdered in paris. a magistrate, accompanied by a physician, went to the place where the murder had been committed, to examine the body. it was lying upon the floor, and a greyhound, who was standing by the corpse, licked it from time to time, and howled mournfully. when the gentlemen entered the apartment, he ran to them without barking, and then returned, with a melancholy mien, to the body of his murdered mistress. upon a chest in a corner of the room a cat sat motionless, with eyes, expressive of furious indignation, steadfastly fixed upon the body. many persons now entered the apartment; but neither the appearance of such a crowd of strangers, nor the confusion that prevailed in the place, could make her change her position. in the mean time, some persons were apprehended on suspicion of being the murderers, and it was resolved to lead them into the apartment. before the cat got sight of them, when she only heard their footsteps approaching, her eyes flashed with increased fury, her hair stood erect, and so soon as she saw them enter the apartment, she sprang towards them with expressions of the most violent rage, but did not venture to attack them, being probably afraid of the numbers that followed. having turned several times towards them with a peculiar ferocity of aspect, she crept into a corner, with a mien indicative of the deepest melancholy. this behavior of the cat astonished every one present. the effect which it produced upon the murderers was such as almost amounted to an acknowledgment of their guilt. nor did this remain long doubtful, for a train of accessory circumstances was soon discovered, which proved it to a complete conviction. a cat, which had a numerous litter of kittens, one summer day in spring, encouraged her little ones to frolic in the vernal beams of the noon, about the stable door, where she dwelt. while she was joining them in a thousand tricks and gambols, a large hawk, who was sailing above the barn-yard, in a moment darted upon one of the kittens, and would have as quickly borne it off, but for the courageous mother, who, seeing the danger of her offspring, sprang on the common enemy, who, to defend itself, let fall the prize. the battle presently became severe to both parties. the hawk, by the power of his wings, the sharpness of his talons, and the strength of his beak, had for a while the advantage, cruelly lacerating the poor cat, and actually deprived her of one eye in the conflict; but puss, no way daunted at the accident, strove, with all her cunning and agility, for her kittens, till she had broken the wing of her adversary. in this state, she got him more within the power of her claws, and, availing herself of this advantage, by an instantaneous exertion she laid the hawk motionless beneath her feet; and, as if exulting in the victory, tore the head off the vanquished tyrant. this accomplished, disregarding the loss of her eye, she ran to the bleeding kitten, licked the wounds made by the hawk's talons in its tender sides, and purred whilst she caressed her liberated offspring. in the summer of , a gentleman who lived in the neighborhood of portsmouth, england, had a cat, which kittened four or five days after a hen had brought out a brood of chickens. as he did not wish to keep more than one cat at a time, the kittens were all drowned, and the same day the cat and one chicken were missing. diligent search was immediately made in every place that could be thought of, both in and out of the house, to no purpose; it was then concluded that some mischance had befallen both. four days afterwards, however, the servant, having occasion to go into an unfrequented part of the cellar, discovered, to his great astonishment, the cat lying in one corner, with the chicken hugged close to her body, and one paw laid over it, as if to preserve it from injury. the cat and adopted chicken were brought into a closet in the kitchen, where they continued some days, the cat treating the chicken in every respect as a kitten. whenever the chicken left the cat to eat, she appeared very uneasy; but, on its return, she received it with the affection of a mother, pressed it to her body, purred, and seemed perfectly happy. if the chicken was carried to the hen, it immediately returned to the cat. the chicken was by some accident killed, and the cat would not eat for several days afterwards, being inconsolable for its loss. "i had," says m. wenzel, "a cat and dog which became so attached to each other, that they would never willingly be asunder. whenever the dog got any choice morsel of food, he was sure to divide it with his whiskered friend. they always ate sociably out of one plate, slept in the same bed, and daily walked out together. wishing to put this apparently sincere friendship to the proof, i, one day, took the cat by herself into my room, while i had the dog guarded in another apartment. i entertained the cat in a most sumptuous manner, being desirous to see what sort of a meal she would make without her friend, who had hitherto been her constant table companion. the cat enjoyed the treat with great glee, and seemed to have entirely forgotten the dog. i had had a partridge for dinner, half of which i intended to keep for supper. my wife covered it with a plate, and put it into a cupboard, the door of which she did not lock. the cat left the room, and i walked out upon business. my wife, meanwhile, sat at work in an adjoining apartment. "when i returned home, she related to me the following circumstances: the cat, having hastily left the dining-room, went to the dog, and mewed uncommonly loud, and in different tones of voice, which the dog, from time to time, answered with a short bark. they then went both to the door of the room where the cat had dined, and waited till it was opened. one of my children opened the door, and immediately the two friends entered the apartment. the mewing of the cat excited my wife's attention. she rose from her seat, and stepped softly up to the door, which stood ajar, to observe what was going on. the cat led the dog to the cupboard which contained the partridge, pushed off the plate which covered it, and, taking out my intended supper, laid it before her canine friend, who devoured it greedily. probably the cat, by her mewing, had given the dog to understand what an excellent meal she had made, and how sorry she was that he had not participated in it; but, at the same time, had given him to understand that something was left for him in the cupboard, and persuaded him to follow her thither. since that time i have paid particular attention to these animals, and am perfectly convinced that they communicate to each other whatever seems interesting to either." a cat belonging to an elderly lady in bath, england, was so attached to her mistress, that she would pass the night in her bedchamber, which was four stories high. outside of the window was the parapet wall, on which the lady often strewed crumbs for the sparrows that came to partake of them. the lady always sleeping with her window open, the cat would pounce upon the birds, and kill them. one morning, giving a "longing, lingering look" at the top of the wall, and seeing it free from crumbs, she was at a loss for an expedient to decoy the feathered tribe, when, reconnoitring, she discovered a small bunch of wheat suspended in the room, which she sprang at, and succeeded in getting down. she then carried it to the favorite resort of the sparrows, and actually threshed the corn out, by beating it on the wall, then hiding herself. after a while, the birds came, and she resumed her favorite sport of killing the dupes of her sagacity. a cat belonging to a gentleman of sheffield, england, carried her notions of beauty so far, that she would not condescend to nourish and protect her own offspring, if they happened to be tinted with colors different from what adorned her own figure, which was what is usually denominated tortoise-shell. she happened, on one occasion only, to produce one kitten, of a jet black. the cruel mother drew the unfortunate little creature out of the bed in which it lay, and, refusing to give it suck, it perished on the cold ground. some time after, she gave birth to three more, one of which had the misfortune not to be clad in the same colors as the mother. it was therefore ousted by the unnatural parent; and, although again and again replaced in its bed, it was as frequently turned out again. the owner of the cat, finding it useless to persist in what puss had determined should not be, in humanity consigned the kitten to a watery grave,--the victim of a parent's pride and cruelty. "i once saw," says de la croix, "a lecturer upon experimental philosophy place a cat under the glass receiver of an air-pump, for the purpose of demonstrating that very certain fact, that life cannot be supported without air and respiration. the lecturer had already made several strokes with the piston, in order to exhaust the receiver of its air, when the animal, who began to feel herself very uncomfortable in the rarefied atmosphere, was fortunate enough to discover the source from which her uneasiness proceeded. she placed her paw upon the hole through which the air escaped, and thus prevented any more from passing out of the receiver. all the exertions of the philosopher were now unavailing: in vain he drew the piston; the cat's paw effectually prevented its operation. hoping to effect his purpose, he let air again into the receiver, which as soon as the cat perceived, she withdrew her paw from the aperture; but whenever he attempted to exhaust the receiver, she applied her paw as before. all the spectators clapped their hands in admiration of the wonderful sagacity of the animal, and the lecturer found himself under the necessity of liberating her, and substituting in her place another, that possessed less penetration, and enabled him to exhibit the cruel experiment." a lady at potsdam, in prussia, tells an anecdote of one of her children, who, when about six years old, got a splinter of wood into her foot, early one morning, and, sitting down on the floor of the chamber, cried most vehemently. her elder sister, asleep in the same apartment, was in the act of getting up to inquire the cause of her sister's tears, when she observed the cat, who was a favorite playmate of the children, and of a gentle and peaceable disposition, leave her seat under the stove, go up to the crying girl, and, with one of her paws, give her so smart a blow upon the cheek as to draw blood; and with the utmost gravity resume her seat under the stove, and relapse into slumber. as she was otherwise so harmless, the conclusion was, that she intended this as a chastisement for being disturbed, in hopes that she might enjoy her morning nap without interruption. a lady residing in glasgow had a handsome cat sent her from edinburgh. it was conveyed to her in a close basket, and in a carriage. she was carefully watched for two months; but having produced a pair of young ones, at that time she was left to her own discretion, which she very soon employed in disappearing with both her kittens. the lady at glasgow wrote to her friend in edinburgh, deploring her loss, and the cat was supposed to have strayed away. about a fortnight, however, after her disappearance from glasgow, her well-known mew was heard at the street door of her old mistress in edinburgh, and there she was with both her kittens! they in the best condition--but she very thin. it is clear that she could only carry one kitten at a time. the distance from edinburgh to glasgow being forty miles, she must have travelled one hundred and twenty miles at least! her prudence must likewise have suggested the necessity of journeying in the night, with many other precautions for the safety of her young. order iv. amphibia, amphibious animals. this order embraces several species of the seal kind, which are found in all seas, but chiefly in those of the polar regions. their structure is admirably adapted to their mode of life; the nostrils and ears both closing when the animal dives. its hind feet alone are used for swimming. its movements on land are slow and painful, dragging itself along like a reptile. the seal. _miscellaneous anecdotes._--mr. brown furnishes us with the following account: about twenty-five years ago, a seal was so completely domesticated that it remained with a gentleman, whose residence was but a short distance from the sea, without attempting to escape. it knew all the inmates of the family, and would come to its master when he called it by name. it was usually kept in the stable, but was sometimes permitted to enter the kitchen, where it seemed to take great delight in reposing before the fire. it was taken to the sea every day, and allowed to fish for itself, in which it was very dexterous; but when unsuccessful, fish was bought for it. when tired of swimming, it came up to the boat, holding up its head to be taken in. a farmer in fifeshire, scotland, while looking for crabs and lobsters, among the rocks, caught a young seal about two feet and a half long, and carried it home. he fed it with pottage and milk, which it ate with avidity. he kept it for three days, feeding it on this meal, when, his wife being tired of it, he took it away, and restored it to its native element. he was accompanied by some of his neighbors. on reaching the shore, it was thrown into the sea; but, instead of making its escape, as one would have expected, it returned to the men. the tallest of them waded to a considerable distance into the sea, and, after throwing it as far as he was able, speedily got behind a rock, and concealed himself; but the affectionate animal soon discovered his hiding-place, and crept close up to his feet. the farmer, moved by its attachment, took it home again, and kept it for some time. seals are said to be delighted with music. mr. laing, in his account of a voyage to spitzbergen, mentions that the son of the master of the vessel in which he sailed, who was fond of playing on the violin, never failed to have a numerous auditory, when in the seas frequented by seals; and they have been seen to follow a ship for miles when any person was playing on the deck. it is a common practice in cornwall, england, for persons, when in pursuit of seals, as soon as the animal has elevated its head above water, to halloo to it till they can approach within gunshot, as it will listen to the sound for several minutes. the bottlenose seal is in general very inactive, but when irritated, is exceedingly revengeful. a sailor, who had killed a young one, was in the act of skinning it, when its mother approached him unperceived, and, seizing him in her mouth, bit him so dreadfully that he died of the wound in three days. the walrus. this animal is a native of the polar regions, and in many of its habits resembles the seal. it lives in troops, which visit the shore, or extensive fields of ice, as a sort of home. its food consists of a kind of seaweed, which it tears up by means of its tusks. it is very much hunted for its skin and its oil. _anecdote._--in the year , a vessel which had gone to the north seas, to trade with the esquimaux, had a boat out with a party of the crew. a number of walruses attacked them, and, notwithstanding every effort to keep them at bay, a small one contrived to get over the stern of the boat, looked at the men for some time, and then plunged into the water to rejoin his companions. immediately after, another one, of enormous bulk, made the same attempt to get over the bow, which, had he succeeded, would have upset the boat; but, after trying every method in vain to keep him off, the boatswain discharged the contents of a gun loaded with goose-shot into the animal's mouth, which killed him; he immediately disappeared, and was followed by the whole herd. seeing what had happened to their companion, the enraged animals soon followed the boat; but it luckily reached the ship, and all hands had got on board before they came up; otherwise, some serious mischief would, doubtless, have befallen the boat's crew. order v. marsupiala, pouched animals. this order includes animals with a pouch under the belly, where the young are in some cases produced and nursed. the opossum. this curious animal belongs exclusively to america, and is familiarly known in the milder parts of the united states. it is about the size of a cat, but its legs are short, and its body broad and flat. the females are remarkable for having an abdominal pouch, to which the young ones retreat in time of danger. the hunting of this animal is the favorite sport in some of the middle states. parties go out in the moonlight evenings of autumn, attended by dogs. these trace the opossum to some tree, between the branches of which he hides himself from the view of the hunter. the latter shakes him down, and the quadruped, rolling himself into a ball, pretends to be dead. if not immediately seized, he uncoils himself, and attempts to steal away. the various artifices it adopts for escape have given rise to the proverb of "playing 'possum." the kangaroo. the following description of this animal, which is peculiar to new holland, is taken from dawson's "present state of australia:"-- "the country on our right consisted of high and poor, stony hills, thickly timbered; that on the left, on the opposite side of the river, was a rich and thinly-timbered country. a low and fertile flat meadow there skirted the river; and, at the extremity of the flat, hills gradually arose with a gentle slope, covered with verdure, upon which an immense herd of kangaroos were feeding. i crossed over with maty bill and a brace of dogs, leaving the party to proceed on their route. the moment we had crossed, the kangaroos moved off. it is extremely curious to see the manner in which a large herd of these animals jump before you. it has often been asserted that they make use of their tails to spring from you when they are pursued. this is not correct. their tails never touch the ground when they move, except when they are on their feed, or at play; and the faster they run or jump, the higher they carry them. "the male kangaroos were called, by the natives, old men, 'wool man;' and the females, young ladies, 'young liddy.' the males are not so swift as the females; and the natives, in wet seasons, occasionally run the former down when very large, their weight causing them to sink in the wet ground, and thus to become tired. they frequently, however, make up for this disadvantage by fierceness and cunning, when attacked either by men or dogs; and it is exceedingly difficult for a brace of the best dogs to kill a 'corbon wool man.' when they can, they will hug a dog or a man as a bear would do; and as they are armed with long, sharp claws, they not unfrequently let a dog's entrails out, or otherwise lacerate him in the most dreadful manner, sitting all the while on their haunches, hugging and scratching with determined fury. "the kind of dog used for coursing the kangaroo is, generally, a cross between the greyhound and the mastiff, or sheep-dog; but, in a climate like new south wales, they have, to use the common phrase, too much lumber about them. the true-bred greyhound is the most useful dog. he has more wind; he ascends the hills with more ease, and runs double the number of courses in a day. he has more bottom in running; and, if he has less ferocity when he comes up with an 'old man,' so much the better, as he exposes himself the less, and lives to afford sport another day. the strongest and most courageous dog can seldom conquer a 'wool man' alone, and not one in fifty will face him fairly; the dog who has the temerity is certain to be disabled, if not killed. "the herd of kangaroos we had thus come upon was too numerous to allow of the dogs' being let loose; but, as the day's walk was drawing to a close, i had given maty bill liberty to catch another kangaroo, if we should fall in with a single one. after moving up to the foot of the hill, about a quarter of a mile from the river, my sable companion eyed a 'corbon wool man,' as he called it, quietly feeding at a distance, on the slope of the hill. his eyes sparkled; he was all agitation; and he called out, 'massa, massa! you tee! you tee! wool man! wool man! corbon wool man!' and off he ran with his dogs, till he was within a fair distance, when he slipped their collars. i was at this time on foot, and the whole of them, therefore, were soon out of my sight. they had turned round the bottom of the hill, in the direction of the river; and, as i was following them down, i heard the dogs at bay, and the shrill call of 'coo-oo-oo,' from my companion, to direct me to the spot; and, on turning the corner of the hill, i met him, running, and calling as fast and as loud as he could. as soon as he saw me, he stopped, and called out, 'massa, massa! make haste! dingo (dogs) have got him in ribber. many corbon wool man, all the same like it bullock.' "all this was said in a breath; and as i could not pretend to run with him, i desired him to go as fast as he could, and help the dogs, till i should arrive. when i got up to the spot, he was in the middle of the river, with about two feet depth of water, while the kangaroo, sitting upright on its haunches, was keeping both him and the dogs at a respectful distance, and had laid bare the windpipe of one of the dogs. billy's waddy was too short to reach him without coming to close quarters, and he knew better than to do that; at length he got behind him, and, with a blow on the head, he despatched him. no huntsman could have shown more ardor in the pursuit, or more pleasure at the death of a fox, than did poor maty bill upon this occasion. the kangaroo was so heavy, weighing about a hundred and fifty pounds, that he could not lift him out of the water, and we were obliged to leave him till our party arrived on the opposite side." order vi. rodentia, gnawing animals. this order embraces a considerable number of small animals, most of which possess a gentle and harmless character. they live upon vegetable matter, and a large proportion use their fore-paws in the manner of hands. the squirrel. of this lively, pleasing genus, there is a considerable variety, especially in the temperate zone. they are very agile, and use their paws with much grace and dexterity, in handling their food. _miscellaneous anecdotes._--a squirrel, seated in a nut-tree, was once observed to weigh a nut in each paw, to discover by weight which was good; the light ones he invariably dropped, thus making a heap of them at the foot of the tree. on examining this heap, it was found to consist entirely of bad nuts. a gentleman near edinburgh took a common squirrel from a nest, which he reared, and rendered extremely docile. it was kept in a box, nailed against the wall, which was wired in front, and had a small aperture at the end, to allow the animal to enter. to the end of the box was suspended a rope, which touched the ground, by which the animal descended from and ascended to its domicile at pleasure. it became extremely playful, and was familiar with every one of the family, but devotedly attached to its master, who generally carried it about with him in his coat-pocket. the little creature used to watch all its master's movements. whenever it saw him preparing to go out, it ran up his legs, and entered his pocket, from whence it would peep out at passengers, as he walked along the streets--never venturing, however, to go out. but no sooner did he reach the outskirts of the city, than the squirrel leaped to the ground, ran along the road, ascended the tops of trees and hedges with the quickness of lightning, and nibbled at the leaves and bark; and, if he walked on, it would descend, scamper after him, and again enter his pocket. in this manner, it would amuse itself during a walk of miles, which its master frequently indulged in. it was taught to catch food, roots, and acorns, with its fore-paws, which it accomplished with great neatness. it was also instructed to leap over a stick, held out to it, and perform various other little tricks. a lady in england had a squirrel which she taught to crack nuts for her, and hand her the kernels with his paws. she also instructed him to count money; and he was so attentive that, whenever he found a coin on the ground, he took it up and carried it to her. so attached was this little creature to its mistress, that, whenever she was confined to her bed, from indisposition, he lay still in his cage, without moving, although, at other times, he was full of life and vivacity. some years ago, as a swede was constructing a mill dike, late in the autumn, he accidentally came upon an abode of the ground or striped squirrel. he traced it to some distance, and found a gallery on one side, like a branch, diverging from the main stem, nearly two feet long; at its farther end was a quantity of fine white oak acorns; he soon after discovered another gallery, which contained a store of corn; a third was filled with walnuts; while a fourth contained three quarts of fine chestnuts;--all of which the provident little animal had stored up for the winter. a correspondent of the "penny magazine" gives us the following account: "although apparently not adapted to swimming, yet both gray and black squirrels venture across lakes that are one or two miles wide. in these adventurous exploits, they generally take advantage of a favorable breeze, elevating their tails, which act like sails, thus rendering their passage quicker and less laborious. i have frequently noticed black squirrels crossing niagara river, and i always remarked that they swam across when the morning first began to dawn. on reaching the opposite shore, they appeared greatly fatigued, and, if unmolested, generally took a long rest preparatory to their setting off for the woods." the black and gray squirrels of the western country frequently emigrate, in immense numbers, from one district to another. they may be often seen swimming across the ohio; and it is not uncommon for persons to stand upon the banks, and kill them as they come to the shore, being then in an exhausted state. the mouse. of this genus there are many species, including not only the domestic mouse, but several other kinds, as well as the various kinds of rats. the common mouse was not originally a native of this country, but was introduced from europe. the same may be said of the common rat. these animals are spread over nearly the whole world, seeming always to be the attendants upon man. _miscellaneous anecdotes._--"on a rainy evening," says dr. archer, "as i was alone in my chamber in the town of norfolk, i took up my flute and commenced playing. in a few moments, my attention was directed to a mouse that i saw creeping from a hole, and advancing to a chair in which i was sitting. i ceased playing, and it ran precipitately back to its hole. i began again to play, and was much surprised to see it reappear, and take its old position. it couched upon the floor, shut its eyes, and appeared in ecstasy, being differently affected by the music i played, as it varied from slow and plaintive to lively and animated." a gentleman who was on board a british man of war, in the year , states that, as he and some officers were seated by the fire, one of them began to play a plaintive air on the violin. he had scarcely performed ten minutes, when a mouse, apparently frantic, made its appearance in the centre of the floor. the strange gestures of the little animal strongly excited the attention of the officers, who, with one consent, resolved to suffer it to continue its singular actions unmolested. its exertions now appeared to be greater every moment; it shook its head, leaped about the table, and exhibited signs of the most ecstatic delight. after performing actions that an animal so diminutive would at first sight seem incapable of, the little creature suddenly ceased to move, fell down, and expired, without evincing any symptoms of pain. an officer confined to the bastille, at paris, begged to be allowed to play on his lute, to soften his confinement by its harmonies. shortly afterwards, when playing on the instrument, he was much astonished to see a number of mice come frisking out of their holes, and many spiders descending from their webs, and congregating round him while he continued the music. whenever he ceased, they dispersed; whenever he played again, they reappeared. he soon had a numerous audience, amounting to about a hundred mice and spiders. mr. olafsen gives an account of the remarkable instinct of the iceland mouse. in a country where berries are but thinly dispersed, these little animals are obliged to cross rivers to make their distant forages. in their return with the booty to their magazines, they are obliged to repass the stream. "the party, which consists of from six to ten, select a flat piece of dried cow-dung, on which they place the berries on a heap in the middle; then, by their united force, they bring it to the water's edge, and, after launching it, embark and place themselves round the heap, with their heads joined over it and their backs to the water, their tails pendent in the stream, serving the purpose of rudders." remarkable as this story is, the truth of it is confirmed by many people who have watched the arrangements of the tiny navigators. the dormouse. mr. mangili, an italian naturalist, made some curious experiments upon the _dormouse_. he kept one in the cupboard in his study. when the thermometer was ° above the freezing point, the little animal curled himself up among a heap of papers, and went to sleep. it was ascertained that the animal breathed, and suspended his respiration, at regular intervals, sometimes every four minutes. within ten days from his beginning to sleep, the dormouse awoke, and ate a little. he then went to sleep again, and continued through the winter to sleep some days and then to awaken; but as the weather became colder, the intervals of perfect repose, when no breathing could be perceived, were much longer--sometimes more than twenty minutes. the rat. _miscellaneous anecdotes._--there was, in the year , in a farm-house in england, a remarkable instance, not only of docility, but of usefulness, in a rat. it first devoured the mice which were caught in traps, and was afterwards seen to catch others as they ventured from their holes; till, at length, the whole house was cleared of these animals. from the services it rendered, the family kindly protected the rat, and it used to gambol about the house, and play with the children, without the least fear. it sometimes disappeared for a week or ten days at a time, but regularly returned to its abode. during a dreadful storm in england, in , a singular instance occurred of sagacity in a rat. the river tyne was much swollen by the water, and numbers of people had assembled to gaze on the masses of hay it swept along in its irresistible course. a swan was at last observed, sometimes struggling for the land, at other times sailing majestically along with the torrent. when it drew near, a black spot was seen on its snowy plumage, and the spectators were greatly pleased to find that this was a live rat. it is probable that it had been borne from its domicile in some hayrick, and, observing the swan, had made for it as an ark of safety, in the hope of prolonging its life. when the swan at length reached the land, the rat leaped from his back, and scampered away, amid the shouts of the spectators. a surgeon's mate on board a ship, in , relates that, while lying one evening awake in his berth, he saw a rat come into the room, and, after surveying the place attentively, retreat with the utmost caution and silence. it soon returned, leading by the ear another rat, which it left at a small distance from the hole by which they entered. a third rat then joined them. the two then searched about, and picked up all the small scraps of biscuit; these they carried to the second rat, which seemed blind, and remained on the spot where they had left it, nibbling such fare as was brought to it by its kind providers, whom the mate supposed were its offspring. a steward of a ship infested with rats used to play some lively airs on a flute after he had baited his traps and placed them near the rat-holes. the music attracted the rats, who entered the traps unconscious of that danger which, without that allurement, they would have instinctively avoided. in this manner the steward caught fifteen or twenty rats in three hours. the beaver. there is but one species of this animal, which is found in the temperate regions of both continents. it spends a great part of its time in the water, where it constructs dams and builds huts of the branches of trees. it gnaws these asunder with wonderful dexterity, frequently cutting off a branch, the size of a walking-stick, with one effort. they live in families composed of from two to ten. _a tame beaver._--major roderfort, of new york, had a tame beaver, which he kept in his house upwards of half a year, and allowed to run about like a dog. the cat belonging to the house had kittens, and she took possession of the beaver's bed, which he did not attempt to prevent. when the cat went out, the beaver would take one of the kittens between his paws, and hold it close to his breast to warm it, and treated it with much affection. whenever the cat returned, he restored her the kitten. _affection of the beaver._--two young beavers were taken alive some years ago, and carried to a factory near hudson's bay, where they grew very fast. one of them being accidentally killed, the survivor began to moan, abstained from food, and finally died in grief for the loss of its companion. _a tame beaver in the zoological gardens of london._--"this animal arrived in england, in the winter of , very young, being small and woolly, and without the covering of long hair which marks the adult beaver. it was the sole survivor of five or six, which were shipped at the same time, and was in a very pitiable condition. good treatment soon made it familiar. when called by its name, 'binny,' it generally answered with a little cry, and came to its owner. the hearth-rug was its favorite haunt, upon which it would lie stretched out, sometimes on its back, and sometimes flat on its belly, but always near its master. the building instinct showed itself immediately after it was let out of its cage, and materials were placed in its way,--and this before it had been a week in its new quarters. its strength, even before it was half grown, was great. it would drag along a large sweeping-brush, or a warming-pan, grasping the handle with its teeth, so that the load came over its shoulder; it then advanced in an oblique direction, till it arrived at the point where it wished to place it. the long and large materials were always taken first; two of the longest were generally laid crosswise, with one of the ends of each touching the wall, and the other ends projecting out into the room. the area formed by the crossed brushes and the wall, he would fill up with hand-brushes, rush-baskets, books, boots, sticks, cloths, dried turf, or any thing portable. as the work grew high, he supported himself on his tail, which propped him up admirably; and he would often, after laying on one of his building materials, sit up over against it, apparently to consider his work, or, as the country people say, 'judge it.' this pause was sometimes followed by changing the position of the material 'judged,' and sometimes it was left in its place. "after he had piled up his materials in one part of the room,--for he generally chose the same place,--he proceeded to wall up the space between the feet of a chest of drawers, which stood at a little distance from it, high enough on its legs to make the bottom a roof for him, using for this purpose dried turf and sticks, which he laid very even, and filling up the interstices with bits of coal, hay, cloth, or any thing he could pick up. this last place he seemed to appropriate for his dwelling; the former work seemed to be intended for a dam. when he had walled up the space between the feet of the chest of drawers, he proceeded to carry in sticks, clothes, hay, cotton, and to make a nest; and, when he had done, he would sit up under the drawers, and comb himself with the nails of his hind-feet. in this operation, that which appeared at first to be a malformation was shown to be a beautiful adaptation to the necessities of the animal. the huge webbed hind-feet often turn in, so as to give the appearance of deformities; but, if the toes were straight, instead of being incurved, the animal could not use them for the purpose of keeping its fur in order, and cleansing it from dirt and moisture. binny generally carried small and light articles between his right fore-leg and his chin, walking on the other three legs; and large masses, which he could not grasp readily with his teeth, he pushed forwards, leaning against them with his right fore-paw and his chin. he never carried any thing on his tail, which he liked to dip in water, but he was not fond of plunging in his whole body. if his tail was kept moist, he never cared to drink; but if it was kept dry, it became hot, and the animal appeared distressed, and would drink a great deal. it is not impossible that the tail may have the power of absorbing water, like the skin of frogs; though it must be owned that the scaly integument which invests that member has not much of the character which generally belongs to absorbing surfaces. bread, and bread and milk, and sugar, formed the principal part of binny's food; but he was very fond of succulent fruits and roots. he was a most entertaining creature; and some highly comic scenes occurred between the worthy, but slow, beaver, and a light and airy macauco, that was kept in the same apartment." the porcupine. of this animal there are several species. the common porcupine of europe is about two feet long, and covered with long spines or quills. in defending itself, it lies on one side, and rolls over upon its enemy. the quills of the american porcupine are used by the indians in ornamenting their dress. _curious playmates._--we are told that sir ashton lever had a tame porcupine, a domesticated hunting leopard, and a newfoundland dog, which he used frequently to turn out together, to play in a green behind his house. no sooner were the dog and leopard let loose, than they began to chase the porcupine, who uniformly, at the outset, tried to escape by flight, but when he found there was no chance of doing so, he would thrust his head into some corner, and make a snorting noise, and erect his spines. his pursuers, if too ardent, pricked their noses, which made them angry; and in the quarrel which usually ensued, the porcupine effected his escape. le vaillant says that a wound from a porcupine's quill is difficult to cure, from some poisonous quality it possesses; he mentions that a hottentot, who was pricked in the leg by one of these, was ill for upwards of six months afterwards; and that a gentleman at the cape kept his bed for about four months, and nearly lost his limb, in consequence of a wound inflicted by one of these animals. the hare. of this slender, graceful creature, there are several species. the animal which passes by the name of rabbit, in america, and is common in our woods, is a hare. the pursuit of this animal is a favorite sport in england, and some other countries of europe. _miscellaneous anecdotes._--in the "annals of sporting," for , we find the following interesting account of a hare: "two years ago, a doe hare produced two young ones in a field adjoining my cottage; and the three were occasionally seen, during the summer, near the same spot; but the leverets were, i have reason to believe, killed at the latter end of september of the same year. the old doe hare was also coursed, and, making directly for my cottage, entered the garden, and there blinked the dogs. i repeatedly afterwards saw her sitting, sometimes in the garden, which is one hundred and ten yards by forty-three, but more frequently in the garden-hedge. she was repeatedly seen by greyhounds when she sat at some distance, but uniformly made for the garden, and never failed to find security. about the end of the following january, puss was no longer to be seen around the garden, as she had probably retired to some distance with a male companion. one day, in february, i heard the hounds, and shortly afterwards observed a hare making towards the garden, which it entered at a place well known, and left not the least doubt on my mind, that it was my old acquaintance, which, in my family, was distinguished by the name of kitty. the harriers shortly afterwards came in sight, followed kitty, and drove her from the garden. "i became alarmed for the safety of my poor hare, and heartily wished the dogs might come to an irrecoverable fault. the hare burst away with the fleetness of the wind, and was followed, breast high, by her fierce and eager pursuers. in about twenty minutes i observed kitty return towards the garden, apparently much exhausted, and very dirty. she took shelter beneath a small heap of sticks, which lay at no great distance from the kitchen door. no time was to be lost, as, by the cry of the hounds, i was persuaded they were nearly in sight. i took a fishing-net, and, with the assistance of the servant, covered poor kitty, caught her, and conveyed the little, panting, trembling creature into the house. the harriers were soon at the spot, but no hare was to be found. i am not aware that i ever felt greater pleasure than in thus saving poor kitty from her merciless pursuers. towards evening i gave her her liberty; i turned her out in the garden, and saw her not again for some time. "in the course of the following summer, however, i saw a hare several times which i took to be my old friend; and, in the latter end of october, kitty was again observed in the garden. henceforward, she was occasionally seen as on the preceding winter. one morning, in january, when i was absent, a gun was fired near my cottage. kitty was heard to scream, but, nevertheless, entered the garden vigorously. the matter was related to me on my return home; and i was willing to hope that kitty would survive. however, i had some doubt on the subject; and, the next morning, as soon as light permitted, i explored the garden, and found that my poor, unfortunate favorite had expired. she was stretched beneath a large gooseberry tree; and i could not help regretting very much her death." borlase informs us that he had a hare so completely tamed as to feed from the hand. it always lay under a chair in the ordinary sitting-room, and was as much domesticated as a cat. it was permitted to take exercise and food in the garden, but always returned to the house to repose. its usual companions were a greyhound and a spaniel, with whom it spent its evenings. the whole three seemed much attached, and frequently sported together, and at night they were to be seen stretched together on the hearth. what is remarkable, both the greyhound and spaniel were often employed in sporting, and used secretly to go in pursuit of hares by themselves; yet they never offered the least violence to their timid friend at home. dr. townson, the traveller, when at gottingen, brought a young hare into such a state of domestication, that it would run and jump about his sofa and bed. it leaped on his knee, patted him with its fore feet; and frequently, while he was reading, it would knock the book out of his hands, as if to claim, like a fondled child, the preference of his attention. one sunday evening, five choristers were walking on the banks of the river mersey, in england. being somewhat tired, they sat down, and began to sing an anthem. the field where they sat had a wood at its termination. while they were singing, a hare issued from this wood, came with rapidity towards the place where they were sitting, and made a dead stand in the open field. she seemed to enjoy the harmony of the music, and turned her head frequently, as if listening. when they stopped, she turned slowly towards the wood. when she had nearly reached the end of the field, they again commenced an anthem, at which the hare turned round, and ran swiftly back, to within the same distance as before, where she listened with apparent rapture till they had finished. she then bent her way towards the forest with a slow pace, and disappeared. a hare, being hard run by a pack of harriers in the west of england, and being nearly exhausted, happened to come upon another hare in her form. she instantly drew out the latter, and slipped in herself; the pack followed the newly-started hare, and the huntsmen, coming up, found the animal they had been chasing, lying down in the form, panting very hard, and covered with mud. a gentleman, actuated by curiosity, put one male and two female hares in a large garden, walled entirely round, where they had plenty to eat. judge his surprise, when he opened the gate of the garden in a year from the time that he had shut in the animals, to find that his family had increased to the number of forty-seven! a hare was once seen to start from its form at the sound of the hunting horn, run towards a pool of water at a considerable distance, plunge in, and run to some rushes in the middle, where it lay down, and concealed itself. by this ingenious trick, the animal balked its pursuers, and effected its escape. order vii. edentata, animals without front teeth. the animals in this order are not numerous, but they are marked with very peculiar characteristics. the chief species are the sloths, armadilloes, ant-eaters, and pangolins, of south america, and the platypus of australia. most of these are too little known to have furnished us with characteristic anecdotes. the sloth. this singular animal is destined by nature to live upon the trees. he is rare and solitary; and, as he is good for food, he is much sought after by the indians and negroes. he is ill at ease on the ground, having no soles to his feet, which are so formed as to enable him to cling to the branches of trees, from which he suspends himself. mr. waterton kept one of these animals in his room for several months. "i often took him out of the house," says he, "and placed him on the ground, in order to get a good opportunity of observing his motions. if the ground was rough, he would pull himself forward, by means of his fore legs, at a pretty good pace; but he invariably shaped his course towards the nearest tree. but if i put him upon a smooth and well-trodden part of the road, he appeared to be in trouble and distress: his favorite abode was on the back of a chair; and after getting all his legs in a line upon the topmost part of it, he would hang there for hours together, and often, with a low and inward cry, would seem to invite me to take notice of him." the same author thus describes an adventure with a sloth: "one day, as we were crossing the essequibo, i saw a large two-toed sloth on the ground upon the bank. how he got there was a mystery. the indian who was with me said that he never surprised a sloth in such a situation before. he could hardly have come there to drink; for, both above and below, the branches of the trees touched the water, and afforded him a safe and easy access to it. be this as it may, he could not make his way through the sand time enough to escape before we landed. as soon as we got up to him, he threw himself upon his back, and defended himself in gallant style with his fore legs. 'come, poor fellow,' said i to him, 'if thou hast had a hobble to-day, thou shalt not suffer for it; i'll take no advantage of thee in misfortune. the forest is large enough for thee and me to rove in; go thy ways up above, and enjoy thyself in these endless wilds. it is more than probable thou wilt never again have an interview with man. so, fare thee well!' "saying this, i took up a long stick which was lying there, held it for him to hook on, and then conveyed him to a high and stately tree. he ascended with wonderful rapidity, and in about a minute he was at the top. he now went off in a side direction, and caught hold of the branch of a neighboring tree. he then proceeded towards the heart of the forest. i stood looking on, lost in amazement at his singular mode of progression, and followed him with my eyes till i lost sight of him." the platypus. among the strange and interesting productions of australia, no one is more wonderful than the ornithorynchus, platypus, or water-mole. it is aquatic in its habits, frequenting quiet streams, where it excavates burrows to a great depth. it is about eighteen inches long, and is covered with fur. it is web-footed, at the same time that its feet are well fitted for burrowing in the earth. its head terminates in a broad bill, like that of a duck. mr. g. bennett procured several specimens of this curious creature, but did not succeed in taking them to england. one of them was caught at the mouth of its burrow, and taken by mr. b. to lansdowne park. "here," says he, "i availed myself of the vicinity of some ponds, to give my platypus a little recreation. on opening the box where i kept it, it was lying in a corner, contracted into a very small compass, and fast asleep. i tied a very long cord to its hind leg, and roused it; in return for which, i received numerous growls. when placed on the bank, it soon found its way into the water, and travelled up the stream, apparently delighting in those places which most abounded in aquatic weeds. although it would dive in deep water, yet it always preferred keeping close to the bank, occasionally thrusting its beak into the mud, and at the roots of the various weeds on the margin of the pond, as if in search of insects. "after it had wandered some time, it crawled up the bank, and enjoyed the luxury of scratching itself, and rolling about. in the process of cleaning itself, the hind claws were alone brought into use for the operation--first the claws of one hind leg, then the claws of the other. the animal remained for more than an hour cleaning itself, after which, it had a more sleek and glossy appearance than before. it never became familiar, and always manifested the greatest reluctance to be placed in the box. one night it escaped, and i was never able to find it again." order viii. pachydermata, thick-skinned animals. the elephant. this is the largest quadruped at present extant on the earth. it is nine feet high, and in some cases has risen to the height of fifteen feet. its weight varies from four to nine thousand pounds. nor is it more distinguished for its size than its sagacity. when tamed, it becomes the most gentle, obedient, and affectionate of domestic animals, capable of being trained to any service which may be required of it. there are two species of elephant--the asiatic and the african. the former is the largest and best known. in the mighty forests which they inhabit, they hold undisputed sway; their immense size, strength, and swiftness, enabling them to dislodge all intruders from their abodes. even the lion and tiger fear their united attacks, and avoid being in their vicinity. they are excellent swimmers, and are capable of crossing the largest rivers. this power seems essential, for the quantity of food they consume renders it necessary for them to remove often from one region to another. _miscellaneous anecdotes._--bishop heber, in his approach to dacca, saw a number of elephants bathing, which he thus describes: "at a distance of about half a mile from those desolate palaces a sound struck my ear, as if from the water itself on which we were riding--the most solemn and singular i can conceive. it was long, loud, deep, and tremulous--something like the blowing of a whale, or, perhaps, more like those roaring buoys which are placed at the mouths of some english harbors, in which the winds make a noise to warn ships off them. 'o,' said abdallah, 'there are elephants bathing; dacca much place for elephant.' i looked immediately, and saw about twenty of these fine animals, with their heads and trunks just appearing above the water. their bellowing it was which i had heard, and which the water conveyed to us with a finer effect than if we had been on shore." the manner of hunting and taming the wild elephant, in asia, is curious. in the middle of a forest, where these animals are known to abound, a large piece of ground is marked out, and surrounded with strong stakes driven into the earth, interwoven with branches of trees. one end of this enclosure is narrow, and it gradually widens till it takes in a great extent of country. several thousand men are employed to surround the herd of elephants, and to prevent their escape. they kindle large fires at certain distances; and, by hallooing, beating drums, and playing discordant instruments, so bewilder the poor animals, that they allow themselves to be insensibly driven, by some thousands more indians, into the narrow part of the enclosure, into which they are decoyed by tame female elephants, trained to this service. at the extreme end of the large area is a small enclosure, very strongly fenced in, and guarded on all sides, into which the elephants pass by a long, narrow defile. as soon as one enters this strait, a strong bar is thrown across the passage from behind. he now finds himself separated from his neighbors, and goaded on all sides by huntsmen, who are placed along this passage, till he reaches the smaller area, where two tame female elephants are stationed, who immediately commence disciplining him with their trunks, till he is reduced to obedience, and suffers himself to be conducted to a tree, to which he is bound by the leg, with stout thongs of untanned elk or buckskin. the tame elephants are again conducted to the enclosure, where the same operation is performed on the others, till all are subdued. they are kept bound to trees for several days, and a certain number of attendants left with each animal to supply him with food, by little and little, till he is brought by degrees to be sensible of kindness and caresses, and thus allows himself to be conducted to the stable. so docile and susceptible of domestication is the elephant, that, in a general way, fourteen days are sufficient to reduce the animals to perfect obedience. during this time, they are fed daily with cocoa-nut leaves, of which they are excessively fond, and are conducted to the water by the tame females. in a short time, they become accustomed to the voice of their keeper, and at last quietly resign their freedom, and great energies, to the dominion of man. the mode employed by the africans, to take elephants alive, is by pits. pliny, whose accounts were in general correct, mentions that, when one of the herd happened to fall into this snare, his companions would throw branches of trees and masses of earth into the pit, with the intention of raising the bottom, so that the animal might effect his escape. although this appears to be a species of reasoning hardly to be expected from an animal, yet it has in a great measure been confirmed by mr. pringle, who says,--"in the year , during one of my excursions in the interior of the cape colony, i happened to spend a few days at the moravian missionary settlement of enon, or white river. this place is situated in a wild but beautiful valley, near the foot of the zuurberg mountains, in the district of uiterhage, and is surrounded on every side by extensive forests of evergreens, in which numerous herds of elephants still find food and shelter. "from having been frequently hunted by the boors and hottentots, these animals are become so shy as scarcely ever to be seen during the day, except amongst the most remote and inaccessible ravines and jungles; but in the night time they frequently issue forth in large troops, and range, in search of food, through the inhabited farms in the white river valley; and on such occasions they sometimes revenge the wrongs of their race upon the settlers who have taken possession of their ancient haunts, by pulling up fruit-trees, treading down gardens and cornfields, breaking their ploughs, wagons, and so forth. i do not mean, however, to affirm, that the elephants really do all this mischief from feelings of revenge, or with the direct intention of annoying their human persecutors. they pull up the trees, probably, because they want to browse on their soft roots; and they demolish the agricultural implements merely because they happen to be in their way. "but what i am now about to state assuredly indicates no ordinary intelligence. a few days before my arrival at enon, a troop of elephants came down, one dark and rainy night, close to the outskirts of the village. the missionaries heard them bellowing, and making an extraordinary noise, for a long time, at the upper end of the orchard; but, knowing well how dangerous it is to encounter these powerful animals in the night, they kept close within their houses till daylight. next morning, on their examining the spot where they had heard the elephants, they discovered the cause of all this nocturnal uproar. there was at this spot a ditch or trench, about four or five feet in width, and nearly fourteen feet in depth, which the industrious missionaries had recently cut through the banks of the river, on purpose to lead out water to irrigate some part of their garden, and to drive a corn-mill. into this trench, which was still unfinished, and without water, one of the elephants had evidently fallen, for the marks of his feet were distinctly visible at the bottom, as well as the impress of his huge body on the sides. "how he had got into it, was not easy to conjecture; but how, being once in, he ever contrived to get out again, was the marvel. by his own unaided efforts it was obviously impossible for such an animal to have extricated himself. could his comrades, then, have assisted him? there can be no question that they had, though by what means, unless by hauling him out with their trunks, it would not be easy to conjecture; and, in corroboration of this supposition, on examining the spot myself, i found the edges of this trench deeply indented with numerous vestiges, as if the other elephants had stationed themselves on either side,--some of them kneeling, and others on their feet,--and had thus, by united efforts, and probably after many failures, hoisted their unlucky brother out of the pit." we are told that the emperor domitian had a troop of elephants disciplined to dance to the sound of music; and that one of them, which had been beaten for not having his lesson perfect, was observed, on the following night, to be practising by himself in a meadow. the elephant recently exhibited in new york was fed by a young girl with cakes and apples. while in the act of pulling an apple from her bag, she drew out her ivory card-case, which fell, unobserved, in the sawdust of the ring. at the close of the performances, the crowd opened to let the elephant pass out; but, instead of proceeding as usual, he turned aside, and thrust his trunk in the midst of a group of ladies and gentlemen, who, as might be supposed, were very much alarmed. the keeper at this moment discovered that the animal had something in his trunk: upon examination, it was found to be the young lady's card-case, which the elephant had picked up, and was now seeking out the fair owner. a female elephant, belonging to a gentleman at calcutta, being ordered from the upper country to chittagong, broke loose from her keeper, and was lost in the woods. the excuses which the man made were not admitted. it was supposed that he had sold the elephant. his wife and family were, therefore, sold as slaves, and he was himself condemned to work upon the roads. about twelve years after, this man was ordered into the country to assist in catching wild elephants. in a group that he saw before him, the keeper thought that he recognized his long-lost elephant. he was determined to go up to it; nor could the strongest representations of the danger dissuade him from his purpose. when he approached the creature, she knew him and, giving him three salutes by waving her trunk in the air, knelt down and received him on her back. she afterwards assisted in securing the other elephants, and likewise brought with her three young ones, which she had produced during her absence. the keeper recovered his character; and, as a recompense for his sufferings and intrepidity, an annuity was settled on him for life. this elephant was afterwards in the possession of warren hastings. of the attachment of elephants to their keepers, or to those who have done them a kindness, many instances are on record. Ælian relates that a man of rank in india, having very carefully trained up a female elephant, used daily to ride upon her. she was exceedingly sagacious, and much attached to her master. the prince, having heard of the extraordinary gentleness and capacity of this animal, demanded her of her owner. but so attached was this person to his elephant, that he resolved to keep her at all hazards, and fled with her to the mountains. the prince, having heard of his retreat, ordered a party of soldiers to pursue, and bring back the fugitive with his elephant. they overtook him at the top of a steep hill, where he defended himself by throwing stones down upon his pursuers, in which he was assisted by his faithful elephant, who threw stones with great dexterity. at length, however, the soldiers gained the summit of the hill, and were about to seize the fugitive, when the elephant rushed amongst them with the utmost fury, trampled some to death, dashed others to the ground with her trunk, and put the rest to flight. she then placed her master, who was wounded in the contest upon her back, and conveyed him to a place of security. when pyrrhus, king of epirus, attacked the territory of argos, one of his soldiers, who was mounted upon an elephant, received a dangerous wound, and fell to the ground. when the elephant discovered that he had lost his master in the tumult, he furiously rushed among the crowd, dispersing them in every direction, till he had found him. he then raised him from the ground with his trunk, and, placing him across his tusks, carried him back to the town. some years ago, an elephant at dekan, from a motive of revenge, killed its conductor. the wife of the unfortunate man was witness to the dreadful scene; and, in the frenzy of her mental agony, took her two children, and threw them at the feet of the elephant, saying, "as you have slain my husband, take my life, also, as well as that of my children!" the elephant became calm, seemed to relent, and, as if stung with remorse, took up the eldest boy with its trunk, placed him on its neck, adopted him for its _cornac_, and never afterwards allowed another to occupy that seat. a soldier, in india, was in the habit of giving to an elephant, whenever he received his pay, a certain quantity of arrack. once, being intoxicated, this soldier committed some excesses, and was ordered to be sent to the guard-house; but he fled from the soldiers who were sent to apprehend him, and took refuge under the body of his favorite elephant, where he laid himself down quietly, and fell asleep. in vain the guard attempted to seize upon him, and draw him from his place of refuge; for the grateful elephant defended him with his trunk, and they were obliged to abandon their attempt to secure him. when the soldier awoke next morning from his drunken slumber, he was very much alarmed at finding himself under the belly of such an enormous animal; but the elephant caressed him with his trunk, so as to quiet his apprehensions, and he got up and departed in safety. the author of the "twelve years' military adventures" says,--"i have seen the wife of a _mohout_ give a baby in charge to an elephant, while she was on some business, and have been highly amused in observing the sagacity and care of the unwieldy nurse. the child, which, like most children, did not like to lie still in one position, would, as soon as left to itself, begin crawling about, in which exercise it would probably get among the legs of the animal, or entangle itself in the branches of the trees on which he was feeding, when the elephant would, in the most tender manner, disengage his charge, either by lifting it out of the way with his trunk, or by removing the impediments to his free progress. if the child had crawled to such a distance as to verge upon the limits of his range,--for the animal was chained by the leg to a peg driven into the ground,--he would stretch out his trunk, and lift it back, as gently as possible, to the spot whence it had started." the elephant is not less disposed to resent an injury than to reward a benefit. it has been frequently observed, by those who have had the charge of these animals, that they seem sensible of being ridiculed, and seldom miss an opportunity of revenging themselves for the insults they receive in this way. an artist in paris wished to draw the elephant in the menagerie at the _jardin des plantes_ in an extraordinary attitude, which was with his trunk elevated in the air, and his mouth open. an attendant on the artist, to make the elephant preserve the attitude, threw fruits into his mouth, and often pretended to throw them, without doing so. the animal became irritated, and, seeming to think that the painter was the cause of his annoyance, turned to him, and dashed a quantity of water from his trunk over the paper on which the painter was sketching the portrait. an amusing anecdote is related, by captain williamson, of an elephant, which went by the name of the _paugal_, or fool, who, by his sagacity, showed he could act with wisdom. this animal, when on a march, refused to carry on his back a larger load than was agreeable to him, and pulled down as much of the burden as reduced it to the weight which he conceived proper for him to bear. one day, the quarter-master of brigade became enraged at this obstinacy in the animal, and threw a tent-pin at his head. a few days afterwards, as the creature was on his way from camp to water, he overtook the quarter-master, and, seizing him in his trunk, lifted him into a large tamarind-tree, which overhung the road, and left him to cling to the branches, and to get down the best way he could. we shall conclude our anecdotes of the elephant with one which shows it in a most amiable light. the rajah dowlah chose once to take the diversion of hunting in the neighborhood of lucknow, where there was a great abundance of game. the grand vizier rode his favorite elephant, and was accompanied by a train of indian nobility. they had to pass through a ravine leading to a meadow, in which several sick persons were lying on the ground, in order to receive what benefit they could from exposure to the air and the rays of the sun. as the vizier approached with his numerous hunting party, the attendants of these sick persons betook themselves to flight, leaving the helpless patients to their fate. the nabob seriously intended to pass with his elephants over the bodies of these poor wretches. he therefore ordered the driver to goad on his beast. the elephant, as long as he had a free path, went on at full trot; but, as soon as he came to the first of the sick people, he stopped. the driver goaded him, and the vizier cursed; but in vain. "stick the beast in the ear!" cried the nabob. it was done; but the animal remained steadfast before the helpless human creatures. at length, when the elephant saw that no one came to remove the patients, he took up one of them with his trunk, and laid him cautiously and gently to a side. he proceeded in the same way with a second and a third; and, in short, with as many as it was necessary to remove, in order to form a free passage, through which the nabob's retinue could pass without injuring any of them. how little did this noble animal deserve to be rode by such an unfeeling brute in human form! the hippopotamus. this is among the largest of quadrupeds, being sometimes twelve feet long, and six feet high. its body is very massive, its legs short, and its head large. the skin is extremely thick. it lives on the muddy banks of rivers in africa, diving on the approach of danger. it eats grass, and generally feeds at night. it swims well, and walks on the bottom with ease. the negroes of africa hunt this animal for his flesh, and when one of them is captured, it is the signal for a general feast. _effect of music._--the enterprising and lamented traveller clapperton informs us that, when he was departing on a warlike expedition from lake muggaby, he had convincing proofs that the hippopotami are sensibly affected by musical sounds. "as the expedition passed along the banks of the lake at sunrise," says he, "these uncouth and stupendous animals followed the drums the whole length of the water, sometimes approaching so close to the shore, that the spray they spouted from their mouths reached the persons who were passing along the banks. i counted fifteen, at one time, sporting on the surface of the water." _hunting the hippopotamus._--dr. edward russell gives us the following account of a hunt of the hippopotamus in dongola: "one of the animals that we killed was of an enormous size. we fought with him for four good hours by night, and were very near losing our large boat, and probably our lives too, owing to the fury of the animal. as soon as he spied the huntsmen in the small canoe, he dashed at them with all his might, dragged the canoe with him under water, and smashed it to pieces. the two huntsmen escaped with difficulty. of twenty-five musket-balls aimed at the head, only one pierced the skin, and the bones of the nose; at each snorting, the animal spouted out large streams of blood on the boat. the rest of the balls stuck in the thick hide. "at last, we availed ourselves of a swivel; but it was not till we had discharged five balls from it, at the distance of a few feet, that the colossus gave up the ghost. the darkness of the night increased the danger of the contest; for this gigantic animal tossed our boat about in the stream at his pleasure; and it was at a fortunate moment indeed for us that he gave up the struggle, as he had carried us into a complete labyrinth of rocks, which, in the midst of the confusion, none of our crew had observed." the rhinoceros. in common with the lion and elephant, the rhinoceros frequents the vast deserts of asia and africa. its appearance is chiefly remarkable, from possessing one solid conical horn on the nose, sometimes three feet in length, and from having the skin disposed about the neck in large plaits or folds. the body of this animal is little inferior in size to the elephant, but he is much shorter in the legs; his length, from the muzzle to the tail, is nearly twelve feet, and the girth about the same measurement: from the shortness of his legs, the belly nearly touches the ground. the rhinoceros can run with great swiftness; and, from his strength, and hard, impenetrable hide, he is capable of rushing through the thickets with resistless fury, almost every obstacle being quickly overturned in his track. there is a two-horned species in africa, but little is known of it. in india, the hunting of the rhinoceros is famous sport. the people go out mounted on elephants, and usually find five or six of these animals in a drove. their hides are so thick that it is difficult to kill them. one will often receive twenty bullets before he falls. the rhinoceros attacks an elephant fearlessly, and endeavors to get his horn under him, so as to rip him open. but the elephant, finding what he would be at, turns his rear to the assailant, who gives him a hunch behind, and tumbles his huge enemy upon his knees. then the men upon the elephants fire their guns, and pepper the thick hide of the rhinoceros with their bullets. _anecdotes._--in the year , a rhinoceros arrived in england, about five years old, and was purchased by mr. pidcock, of exeter 'change, for seven hundred pounds. he was very mild, and allowed himself to be patted on the back by strangers. he was quite obedient to the orders of his keepers, and would move through the apartment to exhibit himself. his daily allowance of food was twenty-eight pounds' weight of clover, besides an equal provision of ship bread, and a great quantity of greens; he drank five pails of water every twenty-four hours. he liked sweet wines, and was sometimes indulged with a few bottles. his voice resembled that of a calf, which he usually exerted at the sight of fruit, or any favorite food. this animal suffered much from a dislocation of the joint of one of his fore-legs, which induced inflammation, and he died nine months afterwards. the following particulars of a rhinoceros, exhibited at exeter 'change, were obtained, by the late sir everard home, from the person who kept him for three years. "it was so savage," says he, "that, about a month after it came, it endeavored to kill the keeper, and nearly succeeded. it ran at him with the greatest impetuosity; but, fortunately, the horn passed between his thighs, and threw the keeper on its head; the horn came against a wooden partition, into which the animal forced it to such a depth as to be unable for a minute to withdraw it; and, during this interval, the man escaped. its skin, though apparently so hard, is only covered with small scales, of the thickness of paper, with the appearance of tortoise-shell; at the edges of these, the skin itself is exceedingly sensible, either to the bite of a fly or the lash of a whip. by discipline, the keeper got the management of it, and the animal was brought to know him; but frequently, more especially in the middle of the night, fits of frenzy came on; and, while these lasted, nothing could control its rage,--the rhinoceros running with great swiftness round the den, playing all kinds of antics, making hideous noises, knocking every thing to pieces, disturbing the whole neighborhood, and then, all at once, becoming quiet. while the fit was on, even the keeper durst not make his approach. the animal fell upon its knee when it wished to strike any object with its horn. it was quick in all its motions, ate voraciously all kinds of vegetables, appearing to have no selection. it was chiefly fed on branches of willow. three years' confinement made no alteration in its habits." the wild boar. this is the original from which all the different kinds of the tame hog have sprung. he is not subject to the varieties of the domestic races, but is uniformly of a brindled or dark gray, inclining to black. his snout is longer than that of the tame hog, his ears short, and pricked. he has formidable tusks in each jaw, sometimes nearly a foot long,--those in the upper jaw bending upwards in a circular form, exceedingly sharp, being those with which the animal defends himself, and frequently inflicts mortal wounds. the wild boar is to be met with in various parts of europe, asia, and africa. the hunting of this animal has always afforded a rather barbarous sport to the natives of the countries in which it is to be found. the season for this sport is in the beginning of winter. the huntsmen ride with the dogs, and encourage them at the same time that, by the spear, they endeavor to dishearten the boar. the weapon is generally directed towards the front of the animal's head, but cautiously; for, were the boar to seize the spear, which it attempts to do, it would wrest it from the hand of the hunter; and the latter, unless supported, would fall a victim to its strength and ferocity. there are generally more hunters than one; the boar is called off by each man as he provokes it, and the animal thus generally perishes by a series of attacks. _anecdotes._--a boar from ethiopia was, in , sent by the governor of the cape of good hope to the prince of orange. from confinement and attention he became tolerably mild and gentle, except when offended, in which case even those persons to whose care he was intrusted were afraid of him. in general, however, when the door of his cage was opened, he came out in perfect good-humor, frisked about in search of food, and greedily devoured whatever was given him. he was one day left alone in the court-yard for a few minutes; and, on the return of the keeper, was found busily digging into the earth, where, notwithstanding the cemented bricks of the pavement, he had made a very large hole, for the purpose, as was afterwards conceived, of reaching a common sewer that passed at a considerable depth below. when, after long confinement, he was set at liberty, for a little while he was very gay, and leaped about in an entertaining manner. during sparman's residence in africa, he witnessed a curious method by which the wild hogs protected their young, when pursued. the heads of the females, which, at the commencement of the chase, had seemed of a tolerable size, appeared, on a sudden, to have grown larger and more shapeless than they were. this he found to have been occasioned by the fact, that each of the old ones, during its flight, had taken up and carried forward a young pig in its mouth; and this explained to him another subject of surprise, which was, that all the pigs he had just before been chasing with the old ones, had suddenly vanished. the domestic hog. the effect of domestication on the larger animals seems to be a diminution of their powers of resistance or defence, no longer necessary to their safety; and, on account of the want of free exercise, an increase of size, attended by a relaxation of the fibres and frame of the body. in this way, domestication has told with considerable disadvantage on the hog. by the diminution of the size of its tusks, and of its inclination or power to use them, it ceases to be very formidable; and by luxurious habits, by overfeeding, and indolence, the animal that fearlessly ranges the forest becomes one whose sole delight it seems to be to rise to eat, and to lie down to digest, and one whose external appearance, beyond that of any other quadruped, testifies the gluttony of its disposition and of its practices. the hog uses considerable selection in its vegetable diet, but it compensates itself for the loss which its appetite might thus sustain, by occasional recourse to animal food. _miscellaneous anecdotes._--the following statement, made a few years ago by a gentleman in stanbridge, england, develops the carnivorous propensities which the hog sometimes discovers, even in a condition of perfect domestication,--the variety too of animals which it is inclined to devour. "i had a pig," says this writer, "of the chinese species, a most voracious fellow; but through necessity i have lately been obliged to have him killed, finding that he endangered the safety of my rabbits, hens, and ducks. previous to possessing him, i had a small warren of about forty yards square, walled in, and well stocked with various-colored rabbits, which i had been at infinite pains to collect. but, unfortunately, one day a rabbit having intruded into his sty, the pig immediately caught and devoured it. this having given him an opportunity of knowing the agreeable flavor of rabbit, he next day, when let out, directed his course to the warren, and soon was successful in securing another; he then returned to his sty, and consumed it with the greatest avidity. "after this circumstance occurred, he was confined three weeks; but being again set at liberty, he immediately returned to his favorite pursuit, and, after trying various manoeuvres for the space of a quarter of an hour he seized another rabbit, and was returning, when i ordered my servant to take it away. unluckily for the servant, the pig, after trying many devices to get by him, crouched for a moment, and then, running furiously at him, seized on his leg, lacerating it so severely, that he was confined to the house for six weeks. so greedy was the pig, that, while the man was limping towards the house, he actually went back to his prey, and carried it off victoriously. "being at a party the next day, and relating the above, a gentleman in company appeared to doubt the veracity of the account. i asked him, with the rest of the party, to dine with me the following day, that they might witness the exploits of the creature. they all attended at an early hour. no sooner had we released him, than off he went with the most voracious eagerness, and entered the warren through a hole in the wall; but he was not quite so successful to-day, for, after making many fruitless attempts, most of the rabbits were driven to their burrows. he now seemed as we supposed, despairing of success, as he lay down amongst some furze; but, on our returning to the house, we were surprised by the cry of his victim, and, immediately turning round, saw him coming through the hole in the wall with a fine black rabbit. the gentleman who doubted the facts over-night nearly met the fate of my servant; but by actively springing over him, at the moment the furious animal was seizing his legs, he escaped unhurt. after showing his dexterity to many more gentlemen, i devised means to keep him out of the warren. the carnivorous animal then took to my ducks and hens. still, however, i put up with his depredations while he confined himself to my own yard; but having visited a neighbor's, and killed two ducks and a favorite guinea-hen, and much frightened the lady who went to drive him away, i was obliged to kill him the next morning." a gamekeeper of sir henry mildmay, of england, broke a black sow to find game, back, and stand to her point, nearly as steadily as a well-bred dog. the sow was a thin, long-legged animal, of the new forest breed. when young, she manifested a great partiality for some pointer puppies; and it occurred to the gamekeeper, that, as he had often succeeded with obstinate dogs, he might attempt to break a pig. he enticed her to follow him by bits of barley-meal pudding, which he carried in one of his pockets, while the other was filled with stones, which he threw at his pupil when she misbehaved, as she would not allow herself to be caught and corrected, like a dog. under this system she proved tolerably tractable. when she came on the cold scent of game, she slackened her trot, and gradually dropped her ears and tail till she was certain, and then fell down on her knees. as soon as the game rose, she returned, grunting, for her reward of pudding. when the gamekeeper died, his widow sent the pig to sir henry mildmay, who kept it for three years, and often amused his friends by hiding a fowl among the fern in some part of the park, and bringing out the pig, which never failed to point at it in the manner described. some time after, a great number of lambs were lost nearly as soon as they were dropped; and a person, being sent to watch the flock, detected the sow in the act of devouring a lamb. this carnivorous propensity was ascribed to her having been accustomed to feed with the dogs on flesh; but it obliterated the memory of her singular sagacity, and she was killed for the benefit of the widow of the gamekeeper who had trained her. the tapir. this quadruped resembles the hog in shape, but is much larger. it is of a brown color, and has a long, flexible nose, somewhat like the elephant's trunk. it sleeps during the day, and goes forth at night in search of pasture, melons, and vegetables. one species is found in south america, and one in malacca and sumatra. it is docile, is easily tamed, and capable of strong attachments. a young specimen of this animal was sent from sumatra to bengal, which became very tractable. it was allowed to roam in the park, and frequently entered the ponds, and walked along on the bottom, making no attempt to swim. a full-grown tapir was recently at the zoological gardens, in london, which seemed to thrive very well. from its curious formation, and its gentle, inoffensive manners, it became an object of great attraction. the horse. this animal is now only known in a domestic state, or, if wild, but as the offspring of domestic varieties. most countries possess races of this animal peculiar to themselves. the finest breed is that of arabia. the horse may be considered the most valuable of all the brute creation to man. he combines strength, speed, and docility, beyond any other animal. the wild herds in the western regions, mexico, and south america, are sprung from horses brought into the country by the spaniards. the arabian horse is a hardy animal, "left exposed," says chateaubriand, "to the most intense heat of the sun, tied by the four legs to stakes set in the ground, and refreshed generally only once in the twenty-four hours. yet," continues the same writer, "release his legs from the shackles, spring upon his back, and he will paw in the valley; he will rejoice in his strength; he will swallow the ground in the fierceness of his rage, and you recognize the original picture of job." _miscellaneous anecdotes._--the arab has a strong affection for his horse; nor is it wonderful, when we consider that he is his support and comfort--his companion through many a dreary day and night, enduring hunger and thirst in his service. from their constant community, a kind of sociality of feeling exists between them. the terms in which he addresses his horse are thus given by clarke: "ibrahim went frequently to rama to inquire news of the mare, whom he dearly loved; he would embrace her, wipe her eyes with his handkerchief, would rub her with his shirt sleeves, would give her a thousand benedictions during whole hours that he would remain talking to her. 'my eyes! my soul! my heart!' he would say; 'must i be so unfortunate as to have thee sold to many masters, and not keep thee myself? i am poor, my antelope! i brought thee up in my dwelling as a child; i did never beat nor chide thee.'" but the poverty of the arabs, and the desire of foreigners to possess their horses, frequently compel them to do what they so much deprecate--to sell their horse. a horse he may be tempted by a large sum to part with, but to sell a mare is a heart-rending trial to an arab. "when the envoy," says sir john malcolm, "was encamped near bagdad, an arab rode a bright bay mare, of extraordinary shape and beauty, before his tent, until he attracted his attention. on being asked if he would sell her, 'what will you give me?' was the reply. 'that depends upon her age; i suppose she is past five.' 'guess again,' said he. 'four?' 'look at her mouth,' said the arab, with a smile. on examination, she was found to be rising three. this, from her size and symmetry, greatly enhanced her value. the envoy said, 'i will give you fifty _tomans_,' (a coin nearly of the value of a pound sterling.) 'a little more, if you please,' said the fellow, a little entertained. 'eighty--a hundred.' he shook his head and smiled. the officer at last came to two hundred tomans. 'well,' said the arab, 'you need not tempt me further. you are a rich _elchee_, (nobleman;) you have fine horses, camels, and mules, and i am told you have loads of silver and gold. now,' added he, 'you want my mare; but you shall not have her for all you have got.'" nor does the arabian horse fail to repay the attachment of his master. it not only flies with him over the desert, but, when he lies down to sleep, the faithful animal will browse on such herbage as is near the spot; will watch its master with solicitude; and, if a man or animal approaches, will neigh loudly till he is awakened. "when i was at jerusalem," says chateaubriand, "the feats of one of these steeds made a great noise. the bedouin to whom the animal, a mare, belonged, being pursued by the governor's guards, rushed with him from the top of the hills that overlooked jericho. the mare scoured at full gallop down an almost perpendicular declivity without stumbling, and left the soldiers lost in admiration and astonishment. the poor creature, however, dropped down dead on entering jericho; and the bedouin, who would not quit her, was taken, weeping over the body of his faithful companion. ali aga religiously showed me, in the mountains near jericho, the footsteps of the beast that died in the attempt to save her master!" the powers of the horse, as evinced in certain cases, appear almost incredible. at four o'clock in the morning, a gentleman was robbed at gadshill, on the west side of chatham, england, by a highwayman named nicks, who rode a bay mare. nicks set off instantly for gravesend, where he was detained nearly an hour by the difficulty of getting a boat--an interval which he employed to advantage in baiting his horse. from thence he got to essex and chelmsford, where he again stopped about half an hour, to refresh his horse. he then went to braintree, bocking, westerfield, and over the downs to cambridge, and, still pursuing the cross roads, he went to huntingdon, where he again rested about half an hour. proceeding now on the north road, and at full gallop most of the way, he arrived at york the same afternoon, put off his boots and riding clothes, and went dressed to the bowling-green, where, among other promenaders, happened to be the lord mayor of the city. he there studied to do something particular, that his lordship might remember him, and, asking what o'clock it was, the mayor informed him that it was a quarter past eight. upon prosecution for the robbery, the whole safety of the prisoner rested upon this point. the gentleman swore positively to the time and place; but, on the other hand, the proof was equally clear of his being at york at the time specified. the jury acquitted him on the supposed impossibility of his having got so great a distance from kent by the time he was seen in the bowling-green. yet it appeared afterwards that he was the robber, and had performed this feat of horsemanship to escape conviction. very extraordinary performances of the horse, in swimming, are on record. a violent gale of wind, at the cape of good hope, setting in from north and northwest, a vessel in the road dragged her anchors, was forced on the rocks, and bilged; and, while the greater part of the crew fell an immediate sacrifice to the waves, the remainder were seen, from the shore, struggling for their lives by clinging to the different pieces of the wreck. the sea ran dreadfully high, and broke over the sailors with such amazing fury that no boat whatever could venture off to their assistance. meanwhile a planter, considerably advanced in life, had come from his farm to be a spectator of the shipwreck. his heart melted at the sight of the unhappy seamen; and, knowing the bold and enterprising spirit of his horse, and his particular excellence as a swimmer, he instantly determined to make a desperate effort for their deliverance. he alighted, and blew a little brandy into his horse's nostrils, and again seating himself in the saddle, he instantly pushed into the midst of the breakers. at first both disappeared; but it was not long before they floated on the surface, and swam up to the wreck; when, taking with him two men, each of whom held by one of his boots, he brought them safe to shore. this perilous expedition he repeated no less than seven times, and saved fourteen lives; but, on his return the eighth time, his horse being much fatigued, and meeting a most formidable wave, he lost his balance, and was overwhelmed in a moment. the horse swam safely to land, but his gallant rider was no more! the effects of habit and discipline upon the horse are exemplified by the following anecdotes:--an old cavalry horse has been known to stop, in the midst of a rapid gallop, on hearing the word _halt_, uttered by an officer in the ranks. the tyrolese, in one of their insurrections in , took fifteen bavarian horses, on which they mounted as many of their own soldiers. a rencounter occurring with a squadron of the regiment of bubenhoven, these horses, on hearing the trumpet and recognizing the uniform of their corps, set off at full gallop, and carried their riders, in spite of all their resistance, into the midst of the bavarian ranks, where they were made prisoners. previously to the erection of the cavalry barracks in glasgow, the detachment of horse for the west of scotland was sometimes divided between hamilton and kilmarnock. those assigned to the latter place, having been sent to the fine grass fields in the vicinity of loudon castle, presented on one occasion a most striking appearance. the day was heavy and sultry; the thunder, which had at first been heard only at a distance, began to increase in loudness and frequency, and drew the marked attention of the horses. as it still became more loud, and the numerous peals, echoed along the extensive slopes of galston moor, crept along the water of the irvine, or were reverberated through the woods, the horses became animated with the same enthusiasm which seizes them on hearing the rolling sounds emitted from numerous cannon. they rushed together, and, rapidly arranging themselves in their accustomed ranks, presented the front of a field of battle. in the following case, related by professor kruger, of halle, the horse has rivalled the most remarkable examples of the sagacity and fidelity of the dog. "a friend of mine," says he, "who was, one dark night, riding home through a wood, had the misfortune to strike his head against the branch of a tree, and fell from his horse stunned by the blow. the horse immediately returned to the house they had left, which stood about a mile distant. he found the door closed--the family had retired to bed. he pawed at the door, till one of them, hearing the noise, arose and opened it, and, to his surprise, saw the horse of his friend. no sooner was the door opened than the horse turned round; and the man, suspecting there was something wrong, followed the animal, which led him directly to the spot where his master lay on the ground in a fainting fit." a horse in england, among other bad propensities, constantly resented the attempts of the groom to trim his fetlocks. this circumstance had been mentioned in a conversation, during which a young child, a very few years old, was present, when its owner defied any man to perform the operation singly. the father, next day, in passing through the stable-yard, beheld, with the utmost distress, the infant employed, with a pair of scissors, in clipping the fetlocks of the hind legs of this vicious hunter--an operation which had been always hitherto performed with great danger, even by a number of men. but the horse, in the present case, was looking with the greatest complacency on the little groom, who soon after, to the very great relief of his father, walked off unhurt. a gentleman in bristol had a greyhound which slept in the same stable, and contracted a very great intimacy, with a fine hunter. when the dog was taken out, the horse neighed wistfully after him; he welcomed him home with a neigh; the greyhound ran up to the horse and licked him; the horse, in return, scratched the greyhound's back with his teeth. on one occasion, when the groom had the pair out for exercise, a large dog attacked the greyhound, bore him to the ground, and seemed likely to worry him, when the horse threw back his ears, rushed forward, seized the strange dog by the back, and flung him to a distance. that the horse is much affected by musical sounds, must be evident to every one who has paid attention to its motions, and the expression of its countenance, while listening to the performances of a military band. it is even said that, in ancient times, the libyan shepherds were enabled to allure to them wild horses by the charms of music. that this is at least not entirely improbable, is evident from an experiment made by a gentleman, in the year , on some of the duke of buccleuch's hunters. the horses being shy of his approach, and, indeed, retreating from it, he sounded a small musical instrument, called the mouth eolian harp. on hearing it, they immediately erected their heads, and turned round. on his again sounding it, they approached nearer him. he began to retreat, and they to follow. having gone over a paling, one of the horses came up to him, putting its mouth close to his breast, and seemingly delighted with the sounds which he continued to produce. as the other horses were coming up, apparently to follow the example of their more confident comrade, the gentleman retired. a farmer in england, on his way home one evening, having drank rather hard at an alehouse, could not keep an erect position on his horse, and rolled off the animal into the road. his horse stood still; but, after remaining patiently for some time, and not perceiving any disposition in his rider to get up and proceed farther, he took him by the collar and shook him. this had little or no effect, for the farmer only gave a grumble of dissatisfaction at having his repose disturbed. the horse was not to be put off with any such evasion, and so he applied his mouth to one of his coat-laps, and after several attempts, by dragging at it, to raise him upon his feet, the coat-lap gave way. three individuals who witnessed this extraordinary proceeding then went up, and assisted in putting him on his horse, putting the one coat-lap into the pocket of the other, when the horse trotted off and safely reached home. he was said to be very fond of his master, and to gambol with him like a dog. as a gentleman was proceeding from a survey at fort augustus to his own house,--a distance of about sixteen miles,--the road became completely blocked up by snow, and nearly indiscernible. in this dilemma, he thought it best to trust to his horse, and, loosing the reins, allowed him to choose his own course. the animal made way, cautiously and slowly, till, coming to a gully or ravine, both horse and rider suddenly disappeared in a snow wreath several fathoms deep. the gentleman, on recovering, found himself nearly three yards from the dangerous spot, with his faithful horse standing over him and licking the snow from his face. he supposed that the bridle must have been attached to his person, by means of which he had been drawn out of the pit. a cart-horse belonging to a mr. leggat, of glasgow had been several times afflicted with the bots, and as often cured by a farrier by the name of dawine. he had not, however, been troubled with that disease for a considerable time; but on a recurrence of the disorder, he happened, one morning, to be employed nearly a mile from the farrier's house. he was arranged in a row with other horses engaged in the same work, and, while the carters were absent, he went, unattended by any driver, through several streets, and up a narrow lane, when he stopped at the farrier's door. as neither mr. leggat nor any one else appeared with the horse, it was surmised that he had been seized with his old complaint. being unyoked from the cart, he lay down, and showed, by every means of which he was capable, that he was in distress. he was treated as usual, and sent home to mr. leggat, who had by that time sent persons in all directions in search of him. a curious instance of instinct occurred at bristol, england, some years ago, which proves the great local memory possessed by horses. a person, apparently a townsman, recognized a horse, bestrode by a countryman, to be one which he had lost about nine months before. he seized his property, and put in his claim: "this is my horse. i will prove it in two minutes, or quit my claim." he then set the horse free, and declared his proof to be that the horse would be found at his stables, at some distance--a fact that was attested, in a few minutes, by the two claimants, and several bystanders, repairing to the stables, where they found the horse "quite at home." the celebrated polish general kosciusko once wished to send some bottles of good wine to a clergyman at solothurn; and, as he hesitated to send them by his servant, lest he should smuggle a part, he gave the commission to a young man of the name of zeltner, and desired him to take the horse he usually rode. young zeltner, on returning, said that he would never ride his horse again without he gave him his purse at the same time. kosciusko asking him what he meant, he answered, "as soon as a poor man on the road takes off his hat, and asks for charity, the horse immediately stands still, and will not stir till something is given to the petitioner; and as i had no money about me, i was obliged to make a motion as if i had given something, in order to satisfy the horse." a higher eulogy could hardly be pronounced upon the owner of the horse. the wild horses of the western country are thus described by mr. catlin: "there is no other animal on the prairies so wild and sagacious as the horse, and none so difficult to come up with. so remarkably keen is their eye, that they will generally run 'at sight' a mile distant; and, when once in motion, they seldom stop short of three or four miles. i made many attempts to approach them by stealth, when they were grazing, and playing their gambols, without succeeding more than once. in this instance i left my horse, and skulked through a ravine for a couple of miles, until i was within gunshot of a fine herd of them. these were of all colors--some milk-white, some jet-black; others were sorrel, and bay, and cream color; and many were of an iron-gray. their manes were profuse, and hanging in the wildest confusion over their faces and necks, while their long tails swept the ground." the camanches and other tribes of indians capture great numbers of wild horses. the process is described by catlin as follows: "the indian, when he starts for a wild horse, mounts one of the fleetest he can get, and, coiling his lasso under his arm, which consists of a thong of cowhide ten or fifteen yards long, with a noose at the end of it, he starts under 'full whip' till he can enter the drove, when he soon gets the noose over the neck of one of them. he then dismounts, leaving his own horse, and runs as fast as he can, letting the lasso pass out gradually and carefully through his hands, until the horse falls for want of breath, and lies helpless on the ground. the indian then advances slowly towards his head, keeping the lasso tight upon his neck, until he fastens a pair of hobbles on his two fore feet, and also loosens the lasso, and moves it round the under jaws; by which he gets great power over the affrighted animal, which is constantly rearing and plunging. he then advances, hand over hand, towards the horse's nose, and places one hand over his eyes; he then breathes in his nostrils, when he soon becomes conquered and docile, and allows himself to be led or ridden to the camp." it appears that horses are subject to a kind of panic, which in the western prairies is called _stampede_. the instances of this frenzy, as described by travellers, sometimes present the most terrific spectacles. mr. kendall, in his "narrative," gives us the following lively sketch:-- "as there was no wood about our camping-ground, some half a dozen men pushed on in search of it. one of them had a wild, half-broken mexican horse, naturally vicious, and with difficulty mastered. his rider found a small, dry tree, cut it down with a hatchet, and very imprudently made it fast to his horse's tail by means of a rope. the animal took it unkindly from the first, and dragged his strange load with evident symptoms of fright; but when within a few hundred yards of the camp, he commenced pitching, and finally set off into a gallop, with the cause of all his uneasiness and fear still fast to his tail. his course was directly for the camp; and, as he sped along the prairie, it was evident that our horses were stricken with a panic at his approach. at first they would prick up their ears, snort, and trot majestically about in circles; then they would dash off at the top of their speed, and no human power could arrest their mad career. "'a stampede!' shouted some of the old campaigners,--a stampede! look out for your horses, or you'll never see them again,' was heard on every side. fortunately for us, the more intractable horses had been not only staked, but hobbled, before the panic became general, and were secured with little difficulty; else we might have lost half of them. frequent instances have occurred where a worthless horse has occasioned the loss of hundreds of valuable animals. "nothing can exceed the grandeur of the scene when a large _cavallada_, or drove of horses, takes a 'scare.' old, weather-beaten, time-worn, and broken-down steeds--horses that have nearly given out from hard work and old age--will at once be transformed into wild and prancing colts. with heads erect, tails and manes streaming in the air, eyes lit up, and darting beams of fright,--old and jaded hacks will be seen prancing and careering about with all the buoyancy which characterizes the action of young colts. then some one of the drove, more frightened than the rest, will dash off in a straight line, the rest scampering after him, and apparently gaining fresh fear at every jump. the throng will then sweep along the plain with a noise which may be likened to something between a tornado and an earthquake; and as well might feeble man attempt to arrest the earthquake as the stampede." the pony. this is a variety of the horse--its small stature being the result of the climate in which it is bred. the most remarkable kinds are produced in wales, the highlands of scotland, and the shetland isles. _miscellaneous anecdotes._--one afternoon in september, a gentleman in england, mounted on a favorite old shooting pony, had beaten for game all day without meeting with any success, when, on a sudden, to his great astonishment, his pony stopped short, and he could not persuade him to move, either by whip or spur. he desired his keeper to go forward. he did. a covey of fifteen partridges rose. they were, of course, killed by the astonished sportsman. the pony had been accustomed to carry his master for many years on shooting expeditions, and had, no doubt, acquired a knowledge of the scent of birds. a little girl, the daughter of a gentleman in warwickshire, england, playing one day on the banks of a canal which ran through the grounds, had the misfortune to fall in, and in all probability would have been drowned, had not a little pony, which was grazing near, and which had been kept by the family many years, plunged into the stream, and, taking the child up by her clothes, brought her safely to shore without the slightest injury. a gentleman was some time since presented with a shetland pony, which was only seven hands in height, and very docile and beautiful. he was anxious to convey his present home as soon as possible, but, being at a considerable distance, he was at a loss how to do so easily. the friend who presented it to him said, "can you not convey him home in your chaise?" he accordingly made the experiment. the pony was lifted into the bottom of the gig, and covered up with the boot--some bits of bread being given him, to keep him quiet. he lay quite peaceably till his master had reached his place of destination; thus exhibiting the novel spectacle of a horse riding in a gig. a pony mare belonging to mr. evans, of montgomeryshire, england, had a colt, and they both grazed in a field adjoining the river severn. one day, the pony made her appearance in front of the house, making a clattering with her feet, and other noises, to attract attention. observing this, a person went out, and the pony immediately galloped off. mr. evans desired he should be followed. on reaching the field, the pony was found looking into the river, where the colt was drowned. the ass. when the ass is brought into comparison with the horse, in respect to external form, every thing appears to be in favor of the latter animal. the ass is inferior to the horse in size, less sprightly in its motions, its head is heavy, and it stoops in its gait. the horse generally moves with its head erect, looks freely abroad on the skies and earth, with an eye expressive of lively emotions. the ass is seen trudging slowly along, as if sensible of the hopelessness of a cessation from toil; and, full of melancholy thoughts, its leaden eye is fixed on the ground. yet its shape and its habits, in its state of servitude, present something that is pleasing, though, on the whole, they are somewhat untoward and ungainly. _miscellaneous anecdotes._--the ass is far from being incapable of understanding the nature of the employments in which he is engaged, or disobedient to the commands of his master. an ass was employed, at carisbrook, in the isle of wight, in drawing water by a large wheel from a deep well, supposed to have been sunk by the romans. when his keeper wanted water, he would call the ass by his name, saying, "i want water; get into the wheel;" which wish the ass immediately complied with; and there can be no doubt but that he knew the precise number of times necessary for the wheel to revolve upon its axis in order to complete his labor; for every time he brought the bucket to the surface of the well, he stopped and turned round his head to observe the moment when his master laid hold of the bucket to draw it towards him, because he had then a nice motion to make either slightly forward or backward, as the situation of the bucket might require. in , an ass belonging to captain dundas was shipped on board the ister, bound from gibraltar to malta. the vessel struck on a sand-bank off the point de gat, and the ass was thrown overboard into a sea which was so stormy that a boat that soon after left the ship was lost. in the course of a few days, when the gates of gibraltar were opened in the morning, the guard was surprised by the same ass, which had so recently been removed, presenting itself for admittance. on entering, it proceeded immediately to the stable which it had formerly occupied. the ass had not only swam to the shore, but found its own way from point de gat to gibraltar, a distance of more than two hundred miles, through a mountainous and intricate country intersected by streams, which it had never passed before, but which it had now crossed so expeditiously that it must have gone by a route leading the most directly to gibraltar. a few years ago, at swalwell, england, a man set his bull-dog to attack an ass, that for a while gallantly defended itself with its heels, which it was agile enough to keep presented to the dog. suddenly turning round on its adversary, it caught it with its teeth, in such a manner that the dog was unable to retaliate. it then dragged the assailant to the river derwent, into which it plunged it overhead, and lying down upon it, kept it in the water till it was drowned. though the ass is frequently the subject of ill treatment, yet it seems to be an animal not without affection for its master, which in many cases we may suppose to be returned by kindness and care on his part. a pleasing instance to this effect we have in the following anecdote: "an old man, who some time ago sold vegetables in london, had an ass which carried his baskets from door to door. he frequently gave the poor industrious creature a handful of hay, or some pieces of bread or greens, by way of refreshment and reward. the old man had no need of any goad for the animal, and seldom, indeed, had he to lift up his hand to drive it on. his kind treatment was one day remarked to him, and he was asked whether the beast was not apt to be stubborn. 'ah!' he said, 'it is of no use to be cruel; and as for stubbornness, i cannot complain, for he is ready to do any thing or go any where. i bred him myself. he is sometimes skittish and playful, and once ran away from me: you will hardly believe it, but there were more than fifty people after him, attempting in vain to stop him; yet he turned back of himself, and never stopped till he ran his head kindly into my bosom.'" the following is a pleasing anecdote of the sagacity of the ass, and the attachment displayed by the animal to his master. thomas brown travelled in england as a pedler, having an ass the partner of his trade. from suffering under paralysis, he was in the habit of assisting himself on the road by keeping hold of the crupper of the saddle, or more frequently the _tail_ of the ass. during a severe winter some years ago, whilst on one of his journeys, the old man and his ass were suddenly plunged into a wreath of snow. there they lay far from help, and ready to perish. at last, after a severe struggle, the poor ass got out; but, finding his unfortunate master absent, he eyed the snow-bank some time with a wistful look, and at last forced his way through it to where his master lay, when, placing his body in such a position as to allow him to lay a firm hold on his tail, the honest pedler was enabled to grasp it, and was actually dragged out by the faithful beast to a place of safety! the zebra. the zebra possesses some of the characteristics of the horse;--smaller in size, it strongly resembles it in the shape of its body, its head, its limbs, and its hoofs. it moves in the same paces, with a similar activity and swiftness. but it discovers none of that docility which has rendered the services of the horse so invaluable to man. on the contrary, it is proverbially untamable; it is ever the most wild even among those ferocious animals which are ranged in the menagerie, and it preserves in its countenance the resolute determination never to submit. in the year , general dundas brought a female zebra from the cape of good hope, which was deposited in the tower, and there showed less than the usual impatience of subordination. the person who had accompanied her home, and attended her there, would sometimes spring on her back, and proceed thus for about two hundred yards, when she would become restive, and oblige him to dismount. she was very irritable, and would kick at her keeper. one day she seized him with her teeth, threw him down, and showed an intention to destroy him, which he disappointed by rapidly extricating himself. she generally kicked in all directions with her feet, and had a propensity to seize with her teeth whatever offended her. strangers she would not allow to approach her, unless the keeper held her fast by the head, and even then she was very prone to kick. the most docile zebra on record was burnt at the lyceum, near exeter 'change. this animal allowed its keeper to use great familiarities with it,--to put children on its back, without discovering any resentment. on one occasion, a person rode it from the lyceum to pimlico. it had been bred in portugal, and was the offspring of parents half reclaimed. the zebra of the plain differs from the other species in having the ground color of the body white, the mane alternately striped with black and white, and the tail of a yellowish white. a specimen of this animal was a few years since in the tower of london, where it was brought to a degree of tameness seldom reached by the other variety. it ran peaceably about the tower, with a man by its side, whom it did not attempt to leave except for the purpose of breaking off to the canteen, where it was sometimes regaled with a glass of ale, a liquor for which it discovered a considerable fondness. order ix. ruminantia, ruminating animals--those that chew the cud. the camel. of this quadruped there are two species, the dromedary, and the bactrian camel, which has two hunches on the back. it has been used from the earliest ages, and is one of the most useful of all the animals over which the inhabitants of asia and africa have acquired dominion. these continents are intersected by vast tracts of burning sand, the seats of desolation and drought; but by means of the camel, the most dreary wastes are traversed. the camel's great strength, and astonishing powers of abstinence both from food and drink, render it truly invaluable in these inhospitable countries. denon tells us that, in crossing the arabian desert, a single feed of beans is all their food for a day. their usual meal is a few dates, or some small balls of barleymeal, or, occasionally, the dry and thorny plants they meet with, at remote intervals, during their progress across the desert. with these scanty meals, the contented creature will lie down to rest amid the scorching sands, without exhibiting either exhaustion or a desire for better fare. well may the arab call the camel "the ship of the desert!" mr. mcfarlane says, "i have been told that the arabs will kiss their camels, in gratitude and affection, after a journey across the deserts. i never saw the turks, either of asia minor or roumelia, carry their kindness so far as this; but i have frequently seen them pat their camels when the day's work was done, and talk to them on their journey, as if to cheer them. the camels appeared to me quite as sensible to favor and gentle treatment as is a well-bred horse. i have seen them curve and twist their long, lithe necks as their driver approached, and often put down their tranquil heads toward his shoulder. near smyrna, and at magnesia and sardes, i have occasionally seen a camel follow his master like a pet dog, and go down on his knees before him, as if inviting him to mount. i never saw a turk ill-use the useful, gentle, amiable quadruped; but i have frequently seen him give it a portion of his own dinner, when, in unfavorable places, it had nothing but chopped straw to eat. i have sometimes seen the _devidjis_, on a hot day, or in passing a dry district, spirt a little water in the camels' nostrils; they pretend it refreshes them." the same writer says that, upon his first camel adventure, he was so taken by surprise by the creature's singular rising behind, that he was thrown over his head, to the infinite amusement of the turks, who were laughing at his inexperience. "i was made acquainted with this peculiarity of the animal's movement, in a striking manner, the first time i mounted a camel out of curiosity. i ought to have known better--and, indeed, did know better; but when he was about to rise, from old habits associated with the horse, i expected he would throw out his fore legs, and i threw myself forward accordingly--when up sprang his hind legs, and clean i went over his ears, to the great delight of the devidjis." the following interesting story of the sufferings of a caravan, from thirst, is related by burckhardt: "in the month of august, a small caravan prepared to set out from berber to daraou. they consisted of five merchants and about thirty slaves, with a proportionate number of camels. afraid of the robber naym, who at that time was in the habit of waylaying travellers about the wells of nedjeym, and who had constant intelligence of the departure of every caravan from berber, they determined to take a more easterly road, by the well of owareyk. they had hired an ababde guide, who conducted them in safety to that place, but who lost his way from thence northward, the route being little frequented. after five days' march in the mountains, their stock of water was exhausted, nor did they know where they were. they resolved, therefore, to direct their course towards the setting sun, hoping thus to reach the nile. after experiencing two days' thirst, fifteen slaves and one of the merchants died: another of them, an ababde, who had ten camels with him, thinking that the animals might know better than their masters where water was to be found, desired his comrades to tie him fast upon the saddle of his strongest camel, that he might not fall down from weakness; and thus he parted from them, permitting his camels to take their own way; but neither the man nor his camels were ever heard of afterwards. on the eighth day after leaving owareyk, the survivors came in sight of the mountains of shigre, which they immediately recognized; but their strength was quite exhausted, and neither men nor beasts were able to move any farther. lying down under a rock, they sent two of their servants, with the two strongest remaining camels, in search of water. before these two men could reach the mountain, one of them dropped off his camel, deprived of speech, and able only to move his hands to his comrade, as a sign that he desired to be left to his fate. the survivor then continued his route; but such was the effect of thirst upon him, that his eyes grew dim, and he lost the road, though he had often travelled over it before, and had been perfectly acquainted with it. having wandered about for a long time, he alighted under the shade of a tree, and tied the camel to one of its branches; the beast, however, smelt the water, (as the arabs express it,) and, wearied as it was, broke its halter, and set off galloping in the direction of the spring, which, as afterwards appeared, was at half an hour's distance. the man, well understanding the camel's action, endeavored to follow its footsteps, but could only move a few yards; he fell exhausted on the ground, and was about to breathe his last, when providence led that way, from a neighboring encampment, a bisharye bedouin, who, by throwing water upon the man's face, restored him to his senses. they then went hastily together to the water, filled their skins, and, returning to the caravan, had the good fortune to find the sufferers still alive. the bisharye received a slave for his trouble." deer. of this genus there are many species, as the elk, moose, stag, fallow-deer, reindeer, &c. they are characterized by timidity, a love of retirement in the solitudes of the forest, a general capacity for domestication, and great swiftness of foot. the moose.--in the immense forests of north america, this animal is hunted by the indians with such relentless perseverance, that all its instincts are called forth for the preservation of its existence. tanner tells us that, "in the most violent storm, when the wind, the thunder, and the falling timber, are making the loudest and most incessant roar, if a man, either with his foot or hand, breaks the smallest dry limb in the forest, the moose will hear it; and though he does not always run, he ceases eating, and gives all his attention to the sounds he may hear, and he does not relax this till after three or four hours of the keenest vigilance." the american elk.--this stately creature is easily domesticated, and will then come at the call of his master, follow him to a distance from home, and return with him quietly. although of a gentle disposition, instances have occurred of its turning upon its pursuers. a wounded one was once known to turn and face a hunter in the woods of canada; the man was found next day pounded to a jelly, his bones being broken to pieces; the deer, having exhausted its fury, was found dead by his side. the red deer.--the stag is said to love music, and to show great delight at hearing any one sing. if a person happens to whistle, or call some one at a distance, the creature stops short, and gazes upon the stranger with a kind of silent admiration; and if he perceives neither fire-arms nor dogs, he slowly approaches him with apparent unconcern. he seems highly delighted with the sound of the shepherd's pipe. playford says, "travelling some years since, i met, on the road near royston, a herd of about twenty bucks, following a bagpipe and violin. while the music continued, they proceeded; when it ceased, they all stood still." brown tells us the following story: "as captain smith, of the bengal native infantry, was out in the country with a shooting party, very early in the morning, they observed a tiger steal out of a jungle in pursuit of a herd of deer. having selected one as his object, it was quickly deserted by the herd. the tiger advanced with such amazing swiftness that the stag in vain attempted to escape, and, at the moment the gentleman expected to see the fatal spring, the deer gallantly faced his enemy, and for some minutes kept him at bay; and it was not till after three attacks that the tiger succeeded in securing his prey. he was supposed to have been considerably injured by the horns of the stag, as, on the advance of captain smith, he abandoned the carcass, having only sucked the blood from the throat." the following circumstances are mentioned by delacroix: "when i was at compiegne," says he, "my friends took me to a german who exhibited a wonderful stag. as soon as we had taken our seats in a large room, the stag was introduced. he was of an elegant form and majestic stature, his aspect at once animated and gentle. the first trick he performed was, to make a profound obeisance to the company, as he entered, by bowing his head; after which he paid his respects to each individual of us in the same manner. he next carried about a small stick in his mouth, to each end of which a small wax taper was attached. he was then blindfolded, and, at the beat of a drum, fell upon his knees, and laid his head upon the ground. as soon as the word _pardon_ was pronounced, he instantly sprang upon his feet. dice were thrown upon the head of a drum, and he told the numbers that were cast up, by bowing his head so many times. he discharged a pistol, by drawing with his teeth a string that was tied to the trigger. he fired a small cannon by means of a match that was fastened to his right foot, without showing any signs of fear. he leaped several times, with the greatest agility, through a hoop, which his master held at a man's height from the ground. at length the exhibition was closed with his eating a handful of oats from the head of a drum, which a person was beating the whole time with the utmost violence. almost every trick was performed with as much steadiness as it could have been accomplished by the best-trained dog." at wonersh, near guildford, the seat of lord grantley, a fawn was drinking in the lake, when one of the swans suddenly flew upon it, and pulled the poor animal into the water, where it held it under till it was drowned. this act of atrocity was noticed by the other deer in the park, and they took care to revenge it the first opportunity. a few days after, this swan, happening to be on land, was surrounded and attacked by the whole herd, and presently killed. before this time, they were never known to molest the swans. the virginia deer.--a young gentleman, in bath, virginia, killed two large bucks, the horns of which were so interlocked that they could not disengage themselves. there is no doubt that they had had a combat; and, from observations made by the sportsman, he supposed them to have been in that condition several days. the horns were so securely fastened that, he could not separate them without breaking off one of the prongs. the bucks were killed at two shots, and the one which escaped the first ball carried the other a hundred yards before he met his death. a farmer in the state of kentucky domesticated a female deer, but lost her during the whole spring and summer. after an absence of several months, she returned with a fawn at her side, and, on her arrival, seemed to take great pleasure in showing her young one. the virginia deer is said by the hunters to evince a strong degree of animosity towards serpents, and especially to the rattlesnake. in order to destroy one of these creatures, the deer makes a bound into the air, and alights upon the serpent with all four feet brought together in a square, and these violent blows are repeated till the hated reptile is destroyed. the reindeer.--this animal, as is well known, is the great resource of the laplanders, to whom it furnishes most of the necessaries of life. two or three varieties are found in the polar regions of the american continent. "they visit the arctic shores," says captain lyon, "at the latter end of may or the early part of june, and remain until late in september. on his first arrival, the animal is thin, and his flesh is tasteless; but the short summer is sufficient to fatten him. when feeding on the level ground, an esquimaux makes no attempt to approach him; but should a few rocks be near, the wary hunter feels secure of his prey. behind one of these he cautiously creeps, and, having laid himself very close, with his bow and arrow before him, imitates the bellow of the deer when calling to its mate. sometimes, for more complete deception, the hunter wears his deer-skin coat and hood so drawn over his head, as to resemble, in a great measure, the unsuspecting animals he is enticing. though the bellow proves a considerable attraction, yet if a man has great patience, he may do without it, and may be equally certain that his prey will ultimately come to examine him; the reindeer being an inquisitive animal, and at the same time so silly, that, if he sees any suspicious object which is not actually chasing him, he will gradually, and after many caperings, and forming repeated circles, approach nearer and nearer to it. "the esquimaux rarely shoot until the creature is within twelve paces, and i have frequently been told of their being killed at a much shorter distance. it is to be observed that the hunters never appear openly, but employ stratagem for their purpose--thus by patience and ingenuity rendering their rudely-formed bows, and still worse arrows, as effective as the rifles of europeans. when two men hunt in company, they sometimes purposely show themselves to the deer, and when his attention is fully engaged, walk slowly away from him, one before the other. the deer follows, and when the hunters arrive near a stone, the foremost drops behind it, and prepares his bow, while his companion continues walking steadily forward. this latter the deer still follows unsuspectingly, and thus passes near the concealed man, who takes a deliberate aim, and kills him." the giraffe. this animal, the tallest of quadrupeds, is found in the interior of africa. its height is about seventeen feet. it is of a fawn color, marked with dark spots. its neck is slender, its head gracefully formed, and its eyes soft, yet animated. it associates in small troops, and feeds upon the twigs and leaves of trees. _miscellaneous anecdotes._--some years ago, a giraffe was sent from egypt to constantinople. its keeper used to exercise it in an open square, where the turks used to flock daily, in great crowds, to see the extraordinary animal. seeing how inoffensive it was, and how domesticated it became, the keeper used to take it with him through the city, and, whenever he appeared, a number of friendly hands were held out of the latticed windows to offer it something to eat. the women were particularly attentive to it. when it came to a house where it had been well treated, if no one was at the window, it would tap gently against the wooden lattice, as if to announce its visit. it was extremely docile and affectionate; and, if left to itself it always frequented the streets where it had the most and best friends. the giraffe has become familiar to us, in the menageries, of late years; but half a century ago, its very existence was doubted. le vaillant was the first to dissipate the mystery which enveloped it. his account of his success in killing one, is given in the following glowing terms: "the th of november was the happiest day of my life. by sunrise i was in pursuit of game, in the hope to obtain some provision for my men. after several hours' fatigue, we descried, at the turn of a hill, seven giraffes, which my pack instantly pursued. six of them went off together; but the seventh, cut off by my dogs, took another way. bernfry was walking by the side of his horse; but in the twinkling of an eye, he was in the saddle, and pursued the six. for myself, i followed the single one at full speed; but, in spite of the efforts of my horse, she got so much ahead of me, that, in turning a little hill, i lost sight of her altogether; and i gave up the pursuit. my dogs, however, were not so easily exhausted. they were soon so close upon her, that she was obliged to stop, to defend herself. from the place where i was, i heard them give tongue with all their might; and, as their voices appeared all to come from the same spot, i conjectured that they had got the animal in a corner; and i again pushed forward. i had scarcely got round the hill, when i perceived her surrounded by the dogs, and endeavoring to drive them away by heavy kicks. in a moment i was on my feet, and a shot from my carbine brought her to the earth. enchanted with my victory, i returned to call my people about me, that they might assist in skinning and cutting up the animal. whilst i was looking for them, i saw one of my men, who kept making signals which i could not comprehend. at length, i went the way he pointed; and, to my surprise, saw a giraffe standing under a large ebony-tree, assailed by my dogs. it was the animal i had shot, who had staggered to this place; and it fell dead at the moment i was about to take a second shot. who could have believed that a conquest like this would have excited me to a transport almost approaching to madness! pains, fatigues, cruel privation, uncertainty as to the future, disgust sometimes as to the past,--all these recollections and feelings fled at the sight of this new prey. i could not satisfy my desire to contemplate it. i measured its enormous height. i looked from the animal to the instrument which had destroyed it. i called and recalled my people about me. although we had combated together the largest and most dangerous animals, it was i alone who had killed the giraffe. i was now able to add to the riches of natural history. i was now able to destroy the romance which attached to this animal, and to establish a truth. my people congratulated me on my triumph. bernfry alone was absent; but he came at last, walking at a slow pace, and holding his horse by the bridle. he had fallen from his seat, and injured his shoulder. i heard not what he said to me. i saw not that he wanted assistance; i spoke to him only of my victory. he showed me his shoulder; i showed him my giraffe. i was intoxicated, and i should not have thought even of my own wounds." the goat. of this animal there are many species, some wild and some domestic. they seem to be a link between the sheep and antelope, and to partake of the qualities of both. in some european countries, goat's milk is used, by the poor, as a substitute for that of the cow. _anecdotes._--a person in scotland having missed one of his goats when his flock came home at night, being afraid the wanderer would get among the young trees in his nursery, two boys, wrapped in their plaids, were ordered to watch all night. the morning had but faintly dawned, when they sprang up the brow of a hill in search of her. they could but just discern her on a pointed rock far off, and, hastening to the spot, perceived her standing with a newly-dropped kid, which she was defending from a fox. the enemy turned round and round to lay hold of his prey, but the goat presented her horns in every direction. the youngest boy was despatched to get assistance to attack the fox, and the eldest, hallooing and throwing up stones, sought to intimidate him as he climbed to rescue his charge. the fox seemed well aware that the child could not execute his threats; he looked at him one instant, and then renewed the assault, till, quite impatient, he made a resolute effort to seize the kid. suddenly the whole three disappeared, and were soon found at the bottom of the precipice. the goat's horns were fast into the back of the fox; the kid lay stretched beside her. it is supposed the fox had fixed his teeth in the kid, for its neck was lacerated; but when the faithful mother inflicted a death-wound upon her mortal enemy, he probably staggered, and brought his victims with him over the rock. dr. clarke, in his "travels in palestine," relates the following: "upon our road we met an arab with a goat, which he led about the country for exhibition, in order to gain a livelihood. he had taught this animal, while he accompanied its movements with a song, to mount upon little cylindrical blocks of wood, placed successively one above the other, and in shape resembling the dice-boxes belonging to a backgammon-table. in this manner, the goat stood first on the top of one cylinder, and then upon the top of two, and afterwards of three, four, five, and six, until it remained balanced upon the top of them all, elevated several feet from the ground, and with its feet collected upon a single point, without throwing down the disjointed fabric upon which it stood. the diameter of the upper cylinder, on which its feet ultimately remained until the arab had ended his ditty, was only two inches, and the length of each was six inches." we are told by a late traveller that the spaniards do not milk, and then distribute to their customers, in the same manner as with us, but drive their flock of goats to the residence of each customer, and then milk and furnish according to contract. "i was looking out of the window of the dining-room of my hotel one morning; there were at least forty goats, young and old, and the old man who managed the affair seemed hard pushed to get our regular supply. he had to go over the whole flock once, and some twice, before he could completely fulfil his contract. after carrying in his milk, he came to the door and uttered a few spanish words, and in an instant the whole moved off, the herdsman bringing up the rear. they moved at the word of command much quicker, and marched off in better order, than do our militia." the sheep. of this useful creature there are many varieties, all of which are supposed to have sprung from the argali, which is found in asia, europe, and america. _anecdotes._--the house of the celebrated dr. cotton, of massachusetts, stood on an eminence, with a garden sloping down in front, filled with fruit-trees. at the foot of the garden was a fence, and in a straight line with the fence was an old well-curb. mr. cotton kept a great many sheep, and one day these uneasy creatures took it into their heads to get a taste of their master's fruit. but the minister had another mind about the matter, and sallied out to chastise the marauders. these were very much alarmed; and, according to their usual habit, all followed their leader to escape. the well-curb being the lowest part of the barrier which presented itself to the retreating animal, over he leaped, and down he went to the very bottom of the well, and after him came several of his followers, till it was in danger of being choked up by the silly sheep. dr. cotton leaped over the barrier himself, and prevented the rest from destruction. as for those in the well, they humbly stretched out their forefeet to their master, and bleated piteously, as if petitioning him to release them. "don't be in haste," quietly replied the good pastor: "wait patiently till i go to the house for a rope--then i will try to save you." he was as good as his word; he fastened the rope around their bodies, and drew them one by one out of the water. "there are few things," says hogg, "more amusing than a sheep-shearing. we send out all the lambs to the hill, and then, as fast as the ewes are shorn, we send them to find their young ones. the moment that a lamb hears its dam's voice, it rushes from the crowd to meet her; but instead of finding the rough, well-clad, comfortable mamma, which it left a few hours ago, it meets a poor, naked, shivering, most deplorable-looking creature. it wheels about, and, uttering a loud, tremulous bleat of despair, flies from the frightful vision. the mother's voice arrests its flight--it returns--flies and returns again--generally for a dozen times, before the reconciliation is fairly made up." the following pleasing anecdote of the power of music is given by the celebrated haydn: "in my early youth," says he, "i went with some other young people equally devoid of care, one morning during the extreme heat of summer, to seek for coolness and fresh air on one of the lofty mountains which surround the lago maggiore, in lombardy. having reached the middle of the ascent by daybreak, we stopped to contemplate the borromean isles, which were displayed under our feet, in the middle of the lake, when we were surrounded by a large flock of sheep, which were leaving their fold to go to the pasture. "one of our party, who was no bad performer on the flute, and who always carried the instrument with him, took it out of his pocket. 'i am going,' said he, 'to turn corydon; let us see whether virgil's sheep will recognize their pastor.' he began to play. the sheep and goats, which were following one another towards the mountain, with their heads hanging down, raised them at the first sound of the flute, and all, with a general and hasty movement, turned to the side from whence the agreeable noise proceeded. they gradually flocked round the musician, and listened with motionless attention. he ceased playing, and the sheep did not stir. "the shepherd with his staff now obliged them to move on; but no sooner did the fluter begin again to play, than his innocent auditors again returned to him. the shepherd, out of patience, pelted them with clods of earth, but not one of them would move. the fluter played with additional skill; the shepherd fell into a passion, whistled, scolded, and pelted the poor creatures with stones. such as were hit by them began to march, but the others still refused to stir. at last, the shepherd was forced to entreat our orpheus to stop his magic sounds; the sheep then moved off, but continued to stop at a distance as often as our friend resumed the agreeable instrument. "the tune he played was nothing more than a favorite air, at that time performing at the opera in milan. as music was our continual employment, we were delighted with our adventure; we reasoned upon it the whole day, and concluded that physical pleasure is the basis of all interest in music." a gentleman, while passing through a lonely district of the highlands, observed a sheep hurrying towards the road before him, and bleating most piteously. on approaching nearer, it redoubled its cries, looked in his face, and seemed to implore his assistance. he alighted, left his gig, and followed the sheep to a field in the direction whence it came. there, in a solitary cairn, at a considerable distance from the road, the sheep halted, and the traveller found a lamb completely wedged in betwixt two large stones of the cairn, and struggling feebly with its legs uppermost. he instantly extricated the sufferer, and placed it on the greensward, while the mother poured forth her thanks and joy in a long-continued and significant strain. the ox. there are many varieties of the domestic ox or cow, all of which are supposed to have sprung from a species still found wild in europe and asia. the herds of wild cattle in north and south america are the progeny of animals brought hither by the spanish settlers. _miscellaneous anecdotes._--the following account is from the journal of a sante fe trader: "our encampment was in a beautiful plain. our cattle were shut up in the pen with the wagons; and our men were, with the exception of the guard, all wrapped in a peaceful slumber,--when all of a sudden, about midnight, a tremendous uproar was heard, which caused every man to start in terror from his couch, with arms in hand. some animal, it appeared, had taken fright at a dog, and, by a sudden start, set all around him in violent motion. the panic spread simultaneously through the pen; and a scene of rattle, clash, and 'lumbering' succeeded, which far surpassed every thing we had yet witnessed. a general _stampede_ was the result. notwithstanding the wagons were tightly bound together, wheel to wheel, with ropes or chains, the oxen soon burst their way out; and, though mostly yoked in pairs, they went scampering over the plains. all attempts to stop them were in vain; but early the next morning we set out in search of them, and recovered all the oxen, except half a dozen." similar cases of panic are frequently described by travellers upon the western prairies. the cattle of south america, especially in the neighborhood of buenos ayres, are said to give indications of approaching rain, before the signs of it are visible in the atmosphere. a traveller relates that, in passing from this place, the weather had been long dry, almost every spring had failed, and the negroes were sent in all directions to discover fountains. soon after, the cattle began to stretch their necks to the west, and to snuff in a singular manner through their noses, which they held very high in the air. not a cloud was then seen, nor the slightest breath of wind felt. but the cattle proceeded, as if seized with a sudden madness, to scamper about, then to gather together, squeezing closer and closer, and snuffing as before. while he was wondering what was to be the result of such extravagant motions, a black cloud rose above the mountains, thunder and lightning followed, the rain fell in torrents, and the cattle were soon enabled to quench their thirst on the spot where they stood. there are many anecdotes which show that the ox, or cow, has a musical ear. the carts in corunna, in spain, make so loud and disagreeable a creaking with their wheels, for the want of oil, that the governor once issued an order to have them greased; but the carters petitioned that this might not be done, as the oxen liked the sound, and would not draw so well without their accustomed music. professor bell assures us that he has often, when a boy, tried the effect of the flute on cows, and has always observed that it produced great apparent enjoyment. instances have been known of the fiercest bulls being calmed into gentleness by music. it is probable that the old rhyme had its origin in reality:-- "there was a piper had a cow, and nothing had to give her: he took his pipe and played a tune-- 'consider, cow, consider.'" a correspondent of the penny magazine says that, while on a visit to the country-house of a lady, it one day happened that they were passing the cow-house just at the time when the dairymaid was driving home the cows, to be milked. they all passed in quietly enough, with the exception of one, which stood lowing at the door, and resisted every effort of the dairymaid to induce her to enter. when the maid was interrogated as to the cause of this obstinacy, she attributed it to pride; and when surprise was expressed at this, she explained that, whenever any of the other cows happened to get before her, this particular cow would seem quite affronted, and would not enter at all, unless the others were turned out again. this statement having excited curiosity, the maid was desired to redouble her exertions to induce the cow to enter; on which she chased the animal through every corner of the yard, but without success, until she at last desisted, from want of breath, declaring that there was no other remedy than to turn out the other cows. she was then permitted to make the experiment; and no sooner were the others driven out, than in walked the gratified cow, with a stately air--her more humble-minded companions following in her rear. the bison. this animal is peculiar to north america, and wanders in vast herds over the western plains. they are much attracted by the soft, tender grass, which springs up after a fire has spread over the prairie. in winter, they scrape away the snow with their feet, to reach the grass. the bulls and cows live in separate herds for the greater part of the year; but at all seasons, one or two bulls generally accompany a large herd of cows. the bison is in general a shy animal, and takes to flight instantly on winding an enemy, which the acuteness of its sense of smell enables it to do from a great distance. they are less wary when they are assembled together in numbers, and will then often blindly follow their leaders, regardless of, or trampling down, the hunters posted in their way. it is dangerous for the sportsman to show himself after having wounded one, for it will pursue him, and, although its gait may be heavy and awkward, it will have no difficulty in overtaking the fleetest runner. _anecdotes._--many instances might be mentioned of the pertinacity with which this animal pursues his revenge. we are told of a hunter having been detained for many hours in a tree by an old bull, which had taken its post below, to watch him. when it contends with a dog, it strikes violently with its fore feet, and in that way proves more than a match for an english bull-dog. the favorite indian method of killing the bison, is by riding up to the fattest of the herd on horseback, and shooting it with an arrow. when a large party of hunters are engaged in this way, the spectacle is very imposing, and the young men have many opportunities of displaying their skill and agility. the horses appear to enjoy the sport as much as their riders, and are very active in eluding the shock of the animal, should it turn on its pursuer. the most common method, however, of shooting the bison, is by crawling towards them from to leeward; and in favorable places, great numbers are taken in pounds. when the bison runs, it leans very much first to one side, for a short space of time, and then to the other, and so on alternately. when the indians determine to destroy bisons, as they frequently do, by driving them over a precipice, one of their swiftest-footed and most active young men is selected, who is disguised in a bison skin, having the head, ears, and horns adjusted on his own head, so as to make the deception very complete; and, thus accoutred, he stations himself between the bison herd and some of the precipices that often extend for several miles along the rivers. the indians surround the herd as nearly as possible, when, at a given signal, they show themselves, and rush forward with loud yells. the animals being alarmed, and seeing no way open but in the direction of the disguised indian, run towards him, and he, taking to flight, dashes on to the precipice, where he suddenly secures himself in some previously ascertained crevice. the foremost of the herd arrives at the brink--there is no possibility of retreat, no chance of escape; the foremost may for an instant shrink with terror, but the crowd behind, who are terrified by the approaching hunters, rush forward with increasing impetuosity, and the aggregated force hurls them successively into the gulf, where certain death awaits them. order x. cetacea, the whale kind. this order contains a class of animals which live in the water, propel themselves by fins, and have the general form of fishes; yet they are viviparous, and suckle their young; in these respects forming a striking contrast to all the other finny inhabitants of the wave. the principal species are the dolphin, grampus, porpoise, and whale. the latter is remarkable as being by far the largest creature known to the animal kingdom. the dolphin. this animal usually swims in troops, and its motions in the water are performed with such wonderful rapidity, that the french sailors call it _la flèche de la mer_, or the sea-arrow. st. pierre, in his "voyage to the isle of france," assures us that he saw a dolphin swim with apparent ease round the vessel in which he was sailing, though it was going at the rate of about six miles an hour. a shoal of dolphins followed the ships of sir richard hawkins upwards of a thousand leagues. they were known to be the same, from the wounds they occasionally received from the sailors. they are greedy of almost any kind of scraps that are thrown overboard, and consequently are often caught by means of large iron hooks, baited with pieces of fish and garbage. the bounding and gambolling of dolphins has attracted the attention of writers and poets in all ages, and is described as being extremely beautiful. the ancients believed that dolphins attended all cases of shipwreck, and transported the mariners in safety to the shore. piroetes, having made captive arion, the poet, at length determined on throwing him overboard; and it is said that he escaped in safety to the shore on the back of a dolphin. the poet says,-- "kind, generous dolphins love the rocky shore, where broken waves with fruitless anger roar. but though to sounding shores they curious come, yet dolphins count the boundless sea their home. nay, should these favorites forsake the main, neptune would grieve his melancholy reign. the calmest, stillest seas, when left by them, would awful frown, and all unjoyous seem. but when the darling frisks his wanton play, the waters smile, and every wave looks gay." the grampus. this inhabitant of the deep is from twenty to twenty-five feet in length, and seems to cherish a mortal spite against the whale. it possesses the strong affection for its young common to this order. one of the poems of waller is founded upon the following incident: a grampus in england, with her cub, once got into an arm of the sea, where, by the desertion of the tide, they were enclosed on every side. the men on shore saw their situation, and ran down upon them with such weapons as they could at the moment collect. the poor animals were soon wounded in several places, so that all the immediately surrounding water was stained with their blood. they made many efforts to escape; and the old one, by superior strength, forced itself over the shallow, into a deep of the ocean. but though in safety herself, she would not leave her young one in the hands of assassins. she therefore again rushed in, and seemed resolved, since she could not prevent, at least to share, the fate of her offspring: the tide coming in, however, conveyed them both off in triumph. the porpoise. this creature is familiar to every one who has been at sea, or who has frequented the bays and harbors along our coast. it may often be seen in troops gambolling in the water, and seeming like a drove of black hogs, with their backs above the waves. it is imagined by the sailors that they are the most sportive just before a storm. the following method is adopted for taking them on the banks of the st. lawrence: when the fishing season arrives, the people collect together a great number of sallow twigs, or slender branches of other trees, and stick them pretty firmly into the sand-banks of the river, which at low water are left dry; this is done on the side towards the river, forming a long line of twigs at moderate distances, which at the upper end is connected with the shore, an opening being left at the lower end, that they may enter. as the tide rises, it covers the twigs, so as to keep them out of sight: the porpoise, in quest of his prey, gets within the line; when those who placed the snare rush out in numbers, properly armed, and, while in this defenceless state, they overpower him with ease. the whale. of this monster of the deep there are several species--as the great whale, which is seventy or eighty feet in length; the spermaceti whale, which is somewhat smaller, &c. they frequent various seas, and are most common in cold latitudes. to the greenlanders, as well as the natives of more southern climates, the whale is an animal of essential importance; and these people spend much time in fishing for it. when they set out on their whale-catching expeditions, they dress themselves in their best apparel, fancying that, if they are not cleanly and neatly clad, the whale, who detests a slovenly and dirty garb, would immediately avoid them. in this manner about fifty persons, men and women, set out together in one of their large boats. the women carry along with them their needles, and other implements, to mend their husbands' clothes, in case they should be torn, and to repair the boat, if it happen to receive any damage. when the men discover a whale, they strike it with their harpoons, to which are fastened lines or straps two or three fathoms long, made of seal-skin, having at the end a bag of a whole seal-skin, blown up. the huge animal, by means of the inflated bag, is in some degree compelled to keep near the surface of the water. when he is fatigued, and rises, the men attack him with their spears till he is killed. the affection and fidelity of the male and female are very great. anderson informs us that some fishermen having harpooned one of two whales that were in company together, the wounded animal made a long and terrible resistance; it upset a boat containing three men with a single blow of its tail, by which all went to the bottom. the other still attended its companion, and lent it every assistance, till at last the one that was struck sank under its wounds; while its faithful associate, disdaining to survive the loss, with great bellowing, stretched itself upon the dead animal, and shared its fate. the whale is remarkable also for its attachment to its young, and may be frequently seen urging and assisting them to escape from danger, with the most unceasing care and fondness. they are not less remarkable for strong feeling of sociality and attachment to one another. this is carried to so great an extent, that, where one female of a herd is attacked or wounded, her faithful companions will remain around her to the last moment, until they are wounded themselves. this act of remaining by a wounded companion is called "heaving to," and whole "schools," or herds, have been destroyed by dexterous management, when several ships have been in company, wholly from their possessing this remarkable disposition. in the year , an english harpooner struck a cub, in hopes of attracting the attention of the mother. when the young one was wounded, the whale rose to the surface, seized the cub, and dragged a hundred fathoms of line from the boat with great velocity. she again rose to the surface, and dashed furiously about, seemingly deeply concerned for the fate of her young one. although closely pursued, she did not again descend; and, regardless of the surrounding danger, continued in this state, till she received three harpoons, and was at length killed. there are few incidents in which the enterprise and power of man are more strikingly displayed than in the chase and capture of the whale. it would be easy to fill a volume with thrilling tales of adventure in this hazardous vocation. one of the most curious occurrences upon record, in relation to the whale fishery, happened to a nantucket ship some years since in the pacific ocean. an attack having been made upon a young whale, the dam went to a distance, and, turning toward the ship, came against the bow with a terrific force, which beat it in, and the vessel sank, only allowing time for the hands to get into the boat. in this they roamed upon the ocean for several weeks, and, when emaciated to the last degree by fatigue and privation, they were finally picked up and saved. class ii. aves.... birds. it is evident that this class of animals are generally destined to live a portion of their time in the air, and to perch upon trees. the scientific naturalist is struck with admiring wonder when he comes to examine the adaptation of these creatures to their modes of life. the ingenuity of contrivance, in giving strength, yet lightness, to the frame of the bird, is perhaps unequalled in the whole compass of animated nature. nor are the feathered races less interesting to common observers. they are associated in the mind with all that is romantic and beautiful in scenery. their mysterious emigrations, at stated seasons, from land to land; their foresight of calm and storm; their melody and beauty; and that wonderful construction by which some of them are fitted for land and air, and others for swimming,--these contribute to render them an unfailing source of interest to mankind at large. the birds are divided into six orders, under each of which we shall notice a few of the more prominent species. order i. accipitres, birds of prey. vultures. the condor.--this is not only the largest of vultures, but the largest known bird of flight. it is common in the regions of the andes, in south america, and is occasionally found as far north as the rocky mountains of the united states. nuttall gives us the following characteristic sketch of this fierce and formidable bird:-- "a pair of condors will attack a cougar, a deer, or a llama: pursuing it for a long time, they will occasionally wound it with their bills and claws, until the unfortunate animal, stifled, and overcome with fatigue, extends its tongue and groans; on which occasion the condor seizes this member, being a very tender and favorite morsel, and tears out the eyes of its prey, which at length falls to the earth and expires. the greedy bird then gorges himself, and rests, in stupidity and almost gluttonous inebriation, upon the highest neighboring rocks. he can then be easily taken, as he is so gorged that he cannot fly." _vultures in africa._--mr. pringle describes these birds as follows: "they divide with the hyænas the office of carrion scavengers; and the promptitude with which they discover and devour every dead carcass is truly surprising. they also instinctively follow any band of hunters, or party of men travelling, especially in solitary places, wheeling in circles high in the air, ready to pounce down upon any game that may be shot and not instantly secured, or the carcass of any ox, or other animal, that may perish on the road. in a field of battle, no one ever buries the dead; the vultures and beasts of prey relieve the living of that trouble." turkey buzzard and carrion crow.--these are two small species of vulture, common in our southern states, and may be often seen in the cities, prowling for such offals as may fall in their way. wilson furnishes us with the following sketch: "went out to hampstead this forenoon. a horse had dropped down in the street, in convulsions; and dying, it was dragged out to hampstead, and skinned. the ground, for a hundred yards beyond it, was black with carrion crows; many sat on the tops of sheds, fences, and houses within sight; sixty or eighty in the opposite side of a small run. i counted, at one time, two hundred and thirty-seven; but i believe there were more, besides several in the air over my head, and at a distance. i ventured cautiously within thirty yards of the carcass, which three or four dogs, and twenty or thirty vultures, were busily tearing and devouring. seeing them take no notice, i ventured nearer, till i was within ten yards, and sat down on the bank. on observing that they did not heed me, i stole so close that my feet were within one yard of the horse's legs, and i again sat down. they all slid aloof a few feet; but seeing me quiet, they soon returned as before. as they were often disturbed by the dogs, i ordered the latter home: my voice gave no alarm to the vultures. as soon as the dogs departed, the vultures crowded in such numbers, that i counted, at one time, thirty-seven on and around the carcass, with several within; so that scarcely an inch of it was visible." hawks. the peregrine falcon.--of this species, so celebrated, in former times, for being used in the noble sport of falconry, mr. selby gives us an interesting anecdote. "in exercising my dogs upon the moors, previous to the shooting season," says he, "i observed a large bird, of the hawk genus, hovering at a distance, which, upon approaching it, i knew to be a peregrine falcon. its attention was now drawn towards the dogs, and it accompanied them whilst they beat the surrounding ground. upon their having found and sprung a brood of grouse, the falcon immediately gave chase, and struck a young bird before they had proceeded far upon the wing. my shouts and rapid advance prevented it from securing its prey. the issue of this attempt, however, did not deter the falcon from watching our subsequent movements, and, another opportunity soon offering, it again gave chase, and struck down two birds, by two rapidly repeated blows, one of which it secured, and bore off in triumph." _fatal conflict._--le vaillant gives an account of an engagement between a falcon and a snake. "when this bird attacks a serpent, it always carries the point of one of its wings forward, in order to parry the venomous bites. sometimes it seizes its prey and throws it high in the air, thus wearying it out. in the present instance, the battle was obstinate, and conducted with equal address on both sides. the serpent at length endeavored to regain his hole; while the bird, guessing his design, threw herself before him. on whatever side the reptile endeavored to escape, the enemy still appeared before him. rendered desperate, he resolved on a last effort. he erected himself boldly, to intimidate the bird, and, hissing dreadfully, displayed his menacing throat, inflamed eyes, and head swollen with rage and venom. the falcon, for one moment, seemed intimidated, but soon returned to the charge, and, covering her body with one of her wings as a buckler, she struck her enemy with the bony protuberance of the other. the serpent at last staggered and fell. the conqueror then fell upon him to despatch him, and with one stroke of her beak laid open his skull." the kestrel.--selby gives us the following curious account of this small european species of falcon. "i had," says he, "the pleasure, this summer, of seeing the kestrel engaged in an occupation entirely new to me--hawking after cockchaffers late in the evening. i watched him through a glass, and saw him dart through a swarm of the insects, seize one in each claw, and eat them whilst flying. he returned to the charge again and again." an extraordinary spectacle was exhibited, in , in the garden of mr. may, of uxbridge, in the instance of a tame male hawk sitting on three hen's eggs. the same bird hatched three chickens the year before; but being irritated by some person, it destroyed them. it also hatched one chicken, in the year above mentioned, which was placed with another brood. the sparrow hawk.--a remarkable instance of the boldness of this bird was witnessed at market deeping, england, one sunday. just as the congregation were returning from divine service in the afternoon, a hawk of this species made a stoop at a swallow which had alighted in the centre of the church; and, notwithstanding the surrounding spectators, and the incessant twitterings of numbers of the victim's friends, the feathered tyrant succeeded in bearing his prey triumphantly into the air. the buzzard.--of this common species of hawk, buffon tells us the following story: "a buzzard that had been domesticated in france exhibited much attachment to his master, attending him at the dinner-table, and caressing him with his head and bill. he managed to conquer all the cats and dogs in the house, seizing their food from them even when there were several together; if attacked, he would take wing, with a tone of exultation. he had a singular antipathy to red caps, which he dexterously snatched off the heads of the working men without being perceived. he likewise purloined wigs in the same manner; and, after carrying this strange booty off to the tallest tree, he left them there without injury. although he sometimes attacked the neighboring poultry, he lived on amicable terms with those of his master, bathing even among the chickens and ducklings without doing them any injury." the eagle. of this bird, which seems to stand at the head of the feathered race, as does the lion at the head of quadrupeds, there are many species--among which, the sea eagle, the bald eagle, the washington, and the golden eagle, hold prominent places. _miscellaneous anecdotes._--several instances have been recorded of children being seized and carried off, by eagles, to their young. in the year , in the parish of norderhouss, in norway, a boy, somewhat more than two years old, was running from the house to his parents, who were at work in the fields at no great distance, when an eagle pounced upon and flew off with him in their sight. it was with inexpressible grief and anguish that they beheld their child dragged away, but their screams and efforts were in vain. we are told that, in the year , as two boys, the one seven and the other five years old, were amusing themselves in a field, in the state of new york, in trying to reap during the time that their parents were at dinner, a large eagle came sailing over them, and with a swoop attempted to seize the eldest, but luckily missed him. the bird, not at all dismayed, sat on the ground at a short distance, and in a few moments repeated the attempt. the bold little fellow defended himself with the sickle in his hand, and, when the bird rushed upon him, he struck it. the sickle entered under the left wing, went through the ribs, and, penetrating the liver, instantly proved fatal. a gentleman, visiting a friend's house in scotland, went to see a nest which had been occupied by eagles for several summers. there was a stone near it, upon which, when there were young ones, there were always to be found grouse, partridges, ducks, and other game, beside kids, fawns, and lambs. as these birds kept such an excellent storehouse, the owner said that he was in the habit, when he had unexpected company, of sending his servants to see what his neighbors, the eagles, had to spare, and they scarcely ever returned without some dainty dishes for the table; game of all kinds being better for having been kept. when the servants took away any quantity of provisions from the stone larder, the eagles lost no time in bringing in new supplies. as some gentlemen were once hunting in ireland, a large eagle hastily descended and seized their terrier. this being observed by some of the party, they encouraged the dog, who, turning on the eagle as it continued to soar within a few feet of the ground, brought it down by seizing its wing, and held it fast till the gentlemen secured it. sir h. davy gives us the following: "i once saw a very interesting sight, above one of the crags of ben-nevis, as i was going in the pursuit of game. two parent eagles were teaching their offspring--two young birds--the manoeuvres of flight. they began by rising to the top of a mountain in the eye of the sun; it was about midday, and bright for this climate. they at first made small circles, and the young birds imitated them; they then paused on their wings, waiting till they had made their first flight. they then took a second and larger gyration, always rising towards the sun, and enlarging their circle of flight, so as to make a gradually ascending spiral. the young ones slowly followed, apparently flying better as they mounted; and they continued this sublime kind of exercise, always rising, till they were mere points in the air, and the young ones were lost, and afterwards their parents, to our aching sight." not long since, a man in connecticut shot an eagle of the largest kind. the bird fell to the ground, and being only wounded, the man carried him home alive. he took good care of him, and he soon got quite well. he became quite attached to the place where he was taken care of, and though he was permitted to go at large, and often flew away to a considerable distance, he would always come back again. he used to take his station in the door-yard in the front of the house, and, if any well-dressed person came through the yard to the house, the eagle would sit still and make no objections; but if a ragged person came into the yard, he would fly at him, seize his clothes with one claw, hold on to the grass with the other, and thus make him prisoner. often was the proprietor of the house called upon to release persons that had been thus seized by the eagle. it is a curious fact that he never attacked ragged people going to the house the back way. it was only when they attempted to enter through the front door that he assailed them. he had some other curious habits; he did not go out every day to get breakfast, dinner, and supper; his custom was about once a week to make a hearty meal, and that was sufficient for six days. his most common food was the king-bird, of which he would catch sometimes ten in the course of a few hours, and these would suffice for his weekly repast. the owl. of this numerous family, there are a great variety of species; but nearly all steal forth at night, preying upon such birds and quadrupeds as they can master. they are spread over the northern portions of both continents, and appear in all minds to be associated with ideas of melancholy and gloom. the owl was anciently an emblem of wisdom; but we have no evidence that it possesses sagacity in any degree superior to that of any other member of the feathered family. mr. nuttall gives us the following description of a red owl: "i took him out of a hollow apple-tree, and kept him several months. a dark closet was his favorite retreat during the day; in the evening he became very lively, gliding across the room with a side-long, restless flight, blowing with a hissing noise, stretching out his neck in a threatening manner, and snapping with his bill. he was a very expert mouse-catcher, swallowed his prey whole, and afterwards ejected the bones, skin, and hair, in round balls. he also devoured large flies. he never showed any inclination to drink." the little owl has a cry, when flying, like _poopoo_. another note, which it utters sitting, appears so much like the human voice calling out, _aimé aimé edmé_, that it deceived one of buffon's servants, who lodged in one of the old turrets of a castle; and waking him up at three o'clock in the morning with this singular cry, the man opened the window, and called out, "who's there below? my name is not edmé, but peter!" a carpenter, passing through a field near gloucester, england, was attacked by a barn owl that had a nest of young ones in a tree near the path. the bird flew at his head; and the man, striking at it with a tool he had in his hand, missed his blow, upon which the owl repeated the attack, and, with her talons fastened on his face, tore out one of his eyes, and scratched him in the most shocking manner. a gentleman in yorkshire, having observed the scales of fishes in the nest of a couple of barn owls that lived in the neighborhood of a lake, was induced, one moonlight night, to watch their motions, when he was surprised to see one of the old birds plunge into the water and seize a perch, which it bore to its young ones. a party of scottish highlanders, in the service of the hudson's bay company, happened, in a winter journey, to encamp, after nightfall, in a dense clump of trees, whose dark tops and lofty stems, the growth of centuries, gave a solemnity to the scene that strongly tended to excite the superstitious feelings of the highlanders. the effect was heightened by the discovery of a tomb, which, with a natural taste often exhibited by the indians, had been placed in this secluded spot. our travellers, having finished their supper, were trimming their fire preparatory to retiring to rest, when the slow and dismal notes of the horned owl fell on the ear with a startling nearness. none of them being acquainted with the sound, they at once concluded that so unearthly a voice must be the moaning of the spirit of the departed, whose repose they supposed they had disturbed by inadvertently making a fire of some of the wood of which his tomb had been constructed. they passed a tedious night of fear, and with the first dawn of day, hastily quitted the ill-omened spot. genghis khan, who was founder of the empire of the mogul tartars, being defeated, and having taken shelter from his enemies, owed his preservation to a snowy owl, which was perched over the bush in which he was hid, in a small coppice. his pursuers, on seeing this bird, never thought it possible he could be near it. genghis in consequence escaped, and ever afterwards this bird was held sacred by his countrymen, and every one wore a plume of its feathers on his head. order ii. passerinÆ. this order derives its name from _passer_, a sparrow; but the title is not very appropriate, for it includes not sparrows only, but a variety of birds greatly differing from them. they have not the violence of birds of prey, nor are they restricted to a particular kind of food. they feed mainly on insects, fruit, and grain. the shrike, or butcher-bird. one of these birds had once the boldness to attack two canaries belonging to a gentleman in cambridge, mass., which were suspended, one fine winter's day, at the window. the poor songsters, in their fear, fluttered to the side of the cage, and one of them thrust its head through the bars of its prison; at this moment the wily butcher tore off its head, and left the body dead in the cage. the cause of the accident seemed wholly mysterious, till, on the following day, the bold hunter was found to have entered the room with a view to despatch the remaining bird; and but for a timely interference, it would instantly have shared the fate of its companion. this bird has been observed to adopt an odd stratagem. it sticks grasshoppers upon the sharp, thorny branches of trees, for the purpose of decoying the smaller birds, that feed on insects, into a situation whence it could dart on them. the king-bird. mr. nuttall, who domesticated one of these birds, gives us the following account: "his taciturnity, and disinclination to familiarities, were striking traits. his restless, quick, and side-glancing eye enabled him to follow the motions of his insect prey, and to know the precise moment of attack. the snapping of his bill, as he darted after them, was like the shutting of a watch-case. he readily caught morsels of food in his bill. berries he swallowed whole. large grasshoppers and beetles he pounded and broke on the floor. some very cold nights, he had the sagacity to retire under the shelter of a depending bed-quilt. he was pleased with the light of lamps, and would eat freely at any hour of the night." the cedar-bird. this beautiful member of the feathered family flies in flocks, and makes himself familiar with the cherry trees when their fruit is ripe. though his habits are timid and somewhat shy, he appears to possess an affectionate disposition. mr. nuttall tells us that one among a row of these birds, seated one day upon a branch, was observed to catch an insect, and offer it to his associate, who very disinterestedly passed it to the next, and, each delicately declining the offer, the morsel proceeded backwards and forwards many times before it was appropriated. the scarlet tanager. wilson gives us the following interesting anecdote of one of these birds: "passing through an orchard one morning, i caught a young tanager that had apparently just left the nest. i carried it with me to the botanic garden, put it in a cage, and hung it on a large pine-tree near the nest of two orioles, hoping that their tenderness might induce them to feed the young bird. but the poor orphan was neglected, till at last a tanager, probably its own parent, was seen fluttering round the cage, and endeavoring to get in. finding this impracticable, it flew off, and soon returned with food in its bill, feeding the young one till sunset: it then took up its lodgings on the higher branches of the same tree. in the morning, as soon as day broke, he was again seen most actively engaged; and so he continued for three or four days. he then appeared extremely solicitous for the liberation of his charge, using every expression of anxiety, and every call and invitation that nature had put in his power, for him to come out. unable to resist this powerful pleader, i opened the cage, took out the prisoner, and restored it to its parent, who, with notes of great exultation, accompanied its flight to the woods." the mocking-bird. the mocking-bird selects the place for his nest according to the region in which he resides. a solitary thorn bush, an almost impenetrable thicket, an orange or cedar-tree, or a holly bush, are favorite spots; and sometimes he will select a low apple or pear-tree. the nest is composed of dry twigs, straw, wool, and tow, and lined with fine fibrous roots. during the time when the female is sitting, neither cat, dog, animal, or man, can approach the nest without being attacked. but the chief vengeance of the bird is directed against his mortal enemy, the black snake. whenever this reptile is discovered, the male darts upon it with the rapidity of an arrow, dexterously eluding its bite, and striking it violently and incessantly upon the head. the snake soon seeks to escape; but the intrepid bird redoubles his exertions; and as the serpent's strength begins to flag, he seizes it, and lifts it up from the ground, beating it with his wings; and when the business is completed, he returns to his nest, mounts the summit of the bush, and pours out a torrent of song, in token of victory. his strong, musical voice is capable of every modulation. his matin notes are bold and full, consisting of short expressions of two, three, or five and six syllables, generally interspersed with imitations, all of them uttered with great emphasis and rapidity. his expanded wings, and tail glistening with white, and the buoyant gayety of his action, arrest the eye as his song does the ear. the mocking-bird loses little of the power and energy of his music by confinement. when he commences his career of song, it is impossible to stand by uninterested. he whistles for the dog; cæsar starts up, wags his tail, and runs to meet his master. he squeaks out like a hurt chicken, and the hen hurries about with hanging wings and bristling feathers, clucking to protect her injured brood. the barking of the dog, the mewing of the cat, the creaking of the passing wheelbarrow, follow with great truth and rapidity. he repeats the tune taught him by his master, though of considerable length, fully and faithfully. he runs over the quiverings of the canary, and the clear whistlings of the red-bird, with such superior execution and effect, that the mortified songsters feel their own inferiority, while he seems to triumph in their defeat by redoubling his exertions. the baltimore oriole. a correspondent of wilson furnishes the following account of an oriole: "this bird i took from the nest when very young. i taught it to feed from my mouth; and it would often alight on my finger, and strike the end with its bill, until i raised it to my mouth, when it would insert its bill, to see what i had for it to eat. in winter, spring, and autumn, it slept in a cage lined with cotton batting. after i had put it in, if i did not close up the apertures with cotton, it would do so itself, by pulling the cotton from the sides of the cage till it had shut up all the apertures; i fed it with sponge cake; and when this became dry and hard, it would take a piece and drop it into the saucer, and move it about till it was soft enough to be eaten. "in very cold weather, the oriole would fly to me, and get under my cape, and nestle down upon my neck. it often perched upon my finger, and drew my needle and thread from me when i was sewing. at such times, if any child approached me and pulled my dress, it would chase after the offender, with its wings and tail spread, and high resentment in its eye. in sickness, when i have been confined to the bed, the little pet would visit my pillow many times during the day, often creeping under the bed-clothes. at such times, it was always low-spirited. when it wanted to bathe, it would approach me with a very expressive look, and shake its wings. on my return home from a call or visit, it would invariably show its pleasure by a peculiar sound." the wren. wilson furnishes us with the following anecdotes of this little favorite:-- "in the month of june, a mower once hung up his coat under a shed in the barn: two or three days elapsed before he had occasion to put it on again. when he did so, on thrusting his arm into the sleeve, he found it completely filled with rubbish, as he expressed it, and, on extracting the whole mass, found it to be the nest of a wren, completely finished, and lined with a large quantity of feathers. in his retreat he was followed by the forlorn little proprietors, who scolded him with great vehemence for thus ruining the whole economy of their household affairs." "a box fitted up in the window of a room where i slept, was taken possession of by a pair of wrens. already the nest was built, and two eggs laid; when one day, the window being open as well as the room door, the female wren, venturing too far into the room, was sprung upon by grimalkin, and instantly destroyed. curious to know how the survivor would demean himself, i watched him carefully for several days. at first he sang with great vivacity for an hour or so; but, becoming uneasy, went off for half an hour. on his return, he chanted again as before, went to the top of the house, stable, and weeping willow, that his mate might hear him; but seeing no appearance of her, he returned once more, visited the nest, ventured cautiously into the window, gazed about with suspicious looks, his voice sinking into a low, melancholy note, as he stretched his neck in every direction. "returning to the box, he seemed for some minutes at a loss what to do, and soon went off, as i thought altogether, for i saw no more of him that day. towards the afternoon of the second day, he again made his appearance, accompanied with a new female, who seemed exceedingly timorous and shy, and after great hesitation entered the box. at this moment, the little widower and bridegroom seemed as if he would warble out his very life with ecstasy of joy. after remaining about half a minute inside, they began to carry out the eggs, feathers, and some of the sticks, supplying the place of the two latter with materials of the same sort, and ultimately succeeded in raising a brood of seven young ones, all of whom escaped in safety." the purple martin. this well-known bird is a general inhabitant of the united states, and a particular favorite wherever he takes up his abode. "i never met with more than one man," says wilson, "who disliked the martins, and would not permit them to settle about his house. this was a penurious, close-fisted german, who hated them because, as he said, 'they ate his _peas_.' i told him he must certainly be mistaken, as i never knew an instance of martins eating _peas_; but he replied, with great coolness, that he had often seen them 'blaying round the hive, and going _schnip_, _schnap_,' by which i understood that it was his _bees_ that had been the sufferers; and the charge could not be denied." the swallow. in england, in one corner of the piazza of a house, a swallow had erected her nest, while a wren occupied a box which was purposely hung in the centre. they were both much domesticated. the wren became unsettled in its habits, and formed a design of dislodging the swallow; and having made an attack, actually succeeded in driving her away. impudence gets the better of modesty; and this exploit was no sooner performed, than the wren removed every part of the materials to her own box, with the most admirable dexterity. the signs of triumph appeared very visible; it fluttered with its wings with uncommon velocity, and a universal joy was perceivable in all its movements. the peaceable swallow, like the passive quaker, meekly sat at a small distance, and never offered the least opposition. but no sooner was the plunder carried away, than the injured bird went to work with unabated ardor, and in a few days the depredations were repaired. a swallow's nest, built in the west corner of a window in england facing the north, was so much softened by the rain beating against it, that it was rendered unfit to support the superincumbent load of five pretty, full-grown swallows. during a storm, the nest fell into the lower corner of the window, leaving the young brood exposed to all the fury of the blast. to save the little creatures from an untimely death, the owner of the house benevolently caused a covering to be thrown over them, till the severity of the storm was past. no sooner had it subsided, than the sages of the colony assembled, fluttering round the window, and hovering over the temporary covering of the fallen nest. as soon as this careful anxiety was observed, the covering was removed, and the utmost joy evinced by the group, on finding the young ones alive and unhurt. after feeding them, the members of this assembled community arranged themselves into working order. each division, taking its appropriate station, commenced instantly to work; and before nightfall, they had jointly completed an arched canopy over the young brood in the corner where they lay, and securely covered them against a succeeding blast. calculating the time occupied by them in performing this piece of architecture, it appeared evident that the young must have perished from cold and hunger before any single pair could have executed half the job. the skylark. a gentleman was travelling on horseback, a short time since, in norfolk, england, when a lark dropped on the pommel of his saddle, and, spreading its wings in a submissive manner, cowered to him. he stopped his horse, and sat for some time in astonishment, looking at the bird, which he supposed to be wounded; but on endeavoring to take it, the lark crept round him, and placed itself behind: turning himself on the saddle, to observe it, the poor animal dropped between the legs of the horse, and remained immovable. it then struck him that the poor thing was pursued, and, as the last resource, hazarded its safety with him. the gentleman looked up, and discovered a hawk hovering directly over them; the poor bird again mounted the saddle, under the eye of its protector; and the disappointed hawk shifting his station, the little fugitive, watching his opportunity, darted over the hedge, and was hid in an instant. the titmouse. during the time of incubation, the natural timidity of birds is greatly lessened. the following instance, given by w. h. hill, of gloucester, england, illustrates this: "some time since, a pair of blue titmice built their nest in the upper part of an old pump, fixing on the pin, on which the handle worked. it happened that, during the time of building the nest and laying the eggs, the pump had not been used: when again set going, the female was sitting, and it was naturally expected that the motion of the pump-handle would drive her away. the young brood were hatched safely, however, without any other misfortune than the loss of part of the tail of the sitting bird, which was rubbed off by the friction of the pump-handle; nor did they appear disturbed by the visitors who were frequently looking at them." the canary-bird. _miscellaneous anecdotes._--at a public exhibition of birds, some years ago, in london, a canary had been taught to act the part of a deserter, and flew away pursued by two others, who appeared to apprehend him. a lighted candle being presented to one of them, he fired a small cannon, and the little deserter fell on one side, as if killed by the shot. another bird then appeared with a small wheelbarrow, for the purpose of carrying off the dead; but as soon as the barrow came near, the little deserter started to his feet. "on observing," says dr. darwin, "a canary-bird at the house of a gentleman in derbyshire, i was told it always fainted away when its cage was cleaned; and i desired to see the experiment. the cage being taken from the ceiling, and the bottom drawn out, the bird began to tremble, and turned quite white about the root of the bill; he then opened his mouth as if for breath, and respired quick; stood up straighter on his perch, hung his wing, spread his tail, closed his eyes, and appeared quite stiff for half an hour, till at length, with trembling and deep respirations, he came gradually to himself." a few years since, a lady at washington had a pair of canaries in a cage, one of which, the female, at last died. the survivor manifested the utmost grief; but upon a looking-glass being placed by his side, so that he could see his image, he took it for his departed friend, and seemed at once restored to happiness. the details of the story are given in the following lines:-- poor phil was once a blithe canary-- but then his mate was at his side; his spirits never seemed to vary, till she, one autumn evening, died;-- and now upon his perch he clung, with ruffled plumes and spirits low, his carol hushed; or, if he sung, 'twas some sad warble of his wo. his little mistress came with seed:-- alas! he would not, could not, feed. she filled his cup with crystal dew; she called--she whistled:--'twould not do; the little mourner bowed his head, and gently peeped--"my mate is dead!" alas, poor phil! how changed art thou! the gayest then, the saddest now. the dribbled seed, the limpid wave, would purchase, then, thy sweetest stave; or, if thou hadst some softer spell, thine ear had stolen from the shell that sings amid the silver sand that circles round thy native land, 'twas only when, with wily art, thou sought'st to charm thy partner's heart. and she is gone--thy joys are dead-- thy music with thy mate is fled! poor bird! upon the roost he sate, with drooping wing, disconsolate; and as his little mistress gazed, her brimming eyes with tears were glazed. in vain she tried each wonted art to heal the mourner's broken heart. at last she went, with childish thought, and to the cage a mirror brought. she placed it by the songster's side-- and, lo! the image seemed his bride! forth from his perch he wondering flew, approached, and gazed, and gazed anew; and then his wings he trembling shook, and then a circling flight he took; and then his notes began to rise, a song of triumph, to the skies! and since--for many a day and year, that blissful bird--the mirror near-- with what he deems his little wife, his partner still--has spent his life: content, if but the image stay, sit by his side, and list his lay! thus fancy oft will bring relief, and with a shadow comfort grief. the bulfinch. a farmer in scotland had a bulfinch which he taught to whistle some plaintive old scottish airs. he reluctantly parted with the bird for a sum of money, which his narrow circumstances at the time compelled him to accept of; but inwardly resolved, if fortune should favor him, to buy it back, cost what it would. at the end of a year or so, a relation died, leaving him a considerable legacy. away he went, the very day after he got intelligence of this pleasant event, and asked the person who had purchased the bulfinch, if he would sell it again, telling him to name his own price. the man would not hear of parting with the bird. the farmer begged just to have a sight of it, and he would be satisfied. this was readily agreed to; so, as soon as he entered the room where the bulfinch was kept, he began to whistle one of the fine old tunes which he had formerly taught it. the bulfinch remained in a listening attitude for a minute or two, then it grew restless, as if struggling with some dim recollection,--then it moved joyously to the side of the cage, and all at once it seemed to identify its old master, who had no sooner ceased, than it took up the tune, and warbled it with the tremulous pathos which marked the manner of its teacher. the effect was irresistible; the poor farmer burst into tears, and the matter ended by his receiving the bulfinch in a present: but report says, to his credit, that he insisted on making a present of money, in return. the sparrow. a few years since, a pair of sparrows, which had built in the thatch roof of a house at poole, were observed to continue their visits to the nest long after the time when the young birds take flight. this unusual circumstance continued throughout the year; and in the winter, a gentleman who had all along observed them, determined on investigating the cause. he therefore mounted a ladder, and found one of the young ones detained a prisoner, by means of a piece of string, or worsted, which formed part of the nest, having become accidentally twisted round its leg. being thus incapacitated from procuring its own sustenance, it had been fed by the continued exertions of its parents. an old man belonging to the neighborhood of glasgow, who was a soldier in his youth, mentions, that he became first reconciled to a foreign country, by observing a sparrow hopping about just as he had seen them do at home. "are you here too, freen?" said he to the sparrow. he does not add that it returned a verbal answer to his exclamatory question; but he could not help fancying that it looked assent, as if it understood he was an exile, and wished him to take a lesson of resignation to circumstances. the crow. _miscellaneous anecdotes._--in the year , a scotch newspaper states that a common crow, perceiving a brood of young chickens, fourteen in number, under the care of a parent hen, picked up one of them; but a young lady, seeing what had happened, suddenly pulled up the window, and calling out loudly, the plunderer dropped his prey. in the course of the day, however, the audacious and calculating robber, accompanied by thirteen others, came to the place where the chickens were, and each seizing one, got clearly off with the whole brood at once. an instance of sagacity in the crow is told by dr. darwin. he had a friend, on the northern coast of ireland, who noticed above a hundred crows at once, feeding on mussels. the plan they took to break them was, each to lift one in its bill, and ascend about thirty or forty yards in the air, and from thence let the mussels drop upon stones; thus they secured the flesh of the animal inhabitants. during the war between augustus cæsar and mark antony, when the world looked with anxiety which way fortune would turn herself, an indigent man in rome, in order to be prepared to take advantage of whichever way she might incline, determined on making a bold hit for his own advancement; he had recourse, therefore, to the following ingenious expedient: he applied himself to the training of two crows with such diligence, that he taught them at length to pronounce distinctly, the one a salutation to cæsar, and the other to antony. when augustus returned conqueror, the man went out to meet him, with one of the crows perched on his hand, which every little while exclaimed, _salve, cæsar, victor, imperator!_ augustus, greatly struck, and delighted with so novel a circumstance, purchased the bird of the man for a sum which immediately raised him to opulence. there is a kind of crow, which is seen in england in flocks, called the _hooded_ crow. it is said that one or two hundred of them will sometimes meet together as if upon some fixed plan; and at these times, a few of them sit with drooping heads, and others look very grave, as if they were judges, while others still are very bustling and noisy. in about an hour, the meeting breaks up, when one or two are generally found dead; and it has been supposed that this meeting is a sort of trial of some crows who have behaved ill, and who are punished in this severe way for their bad behavior. the raven. _miscellaneous anecdotes._--this bird is very hardy, crafty, and wary. he is easily domesticated, and is very mischievous, readily catching up any thing glittering, and hiding it. there is a well-authenticated fact of a gentleman's butler having missed a great many silver spoons, and other articles, without being able to detect the thief for some time; at last he observed a tame raven with one in his mouth, and watched him to his hiding-place, where he found more than a dozen. a young raven, fifteen months old, was taken from the nest when very young, and brought up by a keeper with his dogs. it was so completely domesticated that it would go out with the keeper, and when it took its flight farther than usual, at the sound of the whistle it would return and perch upon a tree or a wall, and watch all his movements. it was no uncommon thing for it to go to the moors with him, and to return--a distance of ten or twelve miles. it would even enter a village with the keeper, partake of the same refreshment, and never leave him until he returned home. a gentleman who resided near the new forest, hampshire, england, had a tame raven, which used frequently to hop about the verge of the forest, and chatter to every one it met. one day, a person travelling through the forest to winchester, was much surprised at hearing the following exclamation: "fair play, gentlemen! fair play! for god's sake, gentlemen, fair play!" the traveller, looking round to discover from whence the voice came, to his great astonishment, beheld no human being near. but hearing the cry of "fair play" again repeated, he thought it must proceed from some fellow-creature in distress. he immediately rushed into that part of the forest from whence the cries came, where, to his unspeakable astonishment, the first objects he beheld were two ravens combating a third with great fury, while the sufferer, which proved to be the tame one aforesaid, kept loudly vociferating, "fair play;" which so diverted the traveller, that he instantly rescued the oppressed bird, by driving away his adversaries; and returned highly pleased with his morning adventure. the magpie. this bird, which is found in europe, and also in the plains east of the rocky mountains, is remarkable alike for its loquacity and its disposition to theft--a trait of character which belongs to several birds of the same genus. lady morgan furnishes us with the following anecdote:-- "a noble lady of florence resided in a house which still stands opposite the lofty doric column which was raised to commemorate the defeat of pietro strozzi, and the taking of sienna, by the tyrannic conqueror of both, cosmo the first. she lost a valuable pearl necklace, and one of her waiting-women, a very young girl, was accused of the theft. having solemnly denied the fact, she was put to the torture, which was then practised at florence. unable to support its terrible infliction, she acknowledged that 'she was guilty,' and, without further trial, was hung. shortly after, florence was visited by a tremendous storm; a thunderbolt fell on the figure of justice, and split the scales, one of which fell to the earth, and with it fell the ruins of a magpie's nest, containing the pearl necklace. those scales are still the haunts of birds, and i never saw them hovering round them, without thinking of those 'good old times,' when innocent women could be first tortured, and then hung, on suspicion." we are informed by plutarch of a magpie, belonging to a barber at rome, which could imitate every word it heard uttered. it happened one day that some trumpets were sounded before the shop door, and for some days afterwards the magpie was quite mute, and appeared pensive and melancholy. this change in its manners greatly surprised all who knew it, and it was supposed that the sound of the trumpets had so completely stunned the poor bird, that it was deprived of both voice and hearing. it soon appeared, however, that this was not the case; for plutarch says, the bird had been all the while occupied in profound meditation, studying how to imitate the sound of the trumpets, which had made a deep impression on him; and at last, to the astonishment of all its friends, it broke its long silence by a very perfect imitation of the flourish of the trumpets it had heard; observing with great accuracy all the repetitions, stops, and changes. but this turned out an unfavorable lesson, for the magpie forgot every thing else, and never afterwards attempted another imitation but that of the trumpets. the humming-bird. the following is from the pen of wilson: "a nest of young humming-birds was once brought to me that were nearly fit to fly; one of them flew out of the nest and was killed. the other was fed with sugar and water, into which it thrust its bill, sucking it with great avidity. i kept it upwards of three months, feeding it on sugar and water; gave it fresh flowers every morning, sprinkled with the liquid, and surrounded the space in which i kept it with gauze, that it might not injure itself. it appeared gay, active, and full of spirit, humming from flower to flower, as if in its native wilds, and always expressed, by its motions and chirping, great pleasure at seeing fresh flowers introduced into its cage. numbers of people visited it from motives of curiosity, and i took every precaution to preserve it, if possible, through the winter. unfortunately, however, it got at large in the room, and, flying about, so injured itself, that it soon after died." the blue jay. "this elegant bird," says wilson, "is distinguished as a kind of beau among the feathered tenants of our woods, by the brilliancy of his dress. he possesses the mischievous disposition of the jay family, and he seems particularly fond of exercising his malignant ingenuity against the owl. no sooner has he discovered the retreat of one of these, than he summons the whole feathered fraternity to his assistance, who surround the glimmering _solitaire_, and attack him from all sides, raising such a shout as might be heard, on a still day, more than half a mile off. when, in my hunting excursions, i have passed near this scene of tumult, i have imagined to myself that i heard the insulting party, venting their respective charges with all the virulence of a billingsgate mob; the owl, meanwhile, returning every compliment with a broad, goggling stare. the war becomes louder and louder, and the owl, at length, forced to betake himself to flight, is followed by his whole train of persecutors, until driven beyond the boundaries of their jurisdiction." _anecdotes._--a gentleman in south carolina gives an account of a blue jay, which was brought up in his family, that had all the tricks and loquacity of a parrot; pilfered every thing he could carry off, and hid them in holes and crevices; answered to his name with great sociability when called on; could articulate a number of words pretty distinctly; and when he heard an uncommon noise, or loud talking, seemed impatient to contribute his share to the general festivity, by a display of all the oratorical powers he was possessed of. "having caught a jay in the winter season," says mr. bartram, "i turned him loose in the greenhouse, and fed him with corn, the heart of which he was very fond of. the grain being ripe and hard, the bird at first found a difficulty in breaking it, as it would start from his bill when he struck it. after looking about, as if considering a moment, he picked up his grain, carried and placed it close up in a corner on the shelf, between the wall and a plant-box, where being confined on three sides, he soon effected his purpose, and continued afterwards to make use of the same practical expedient." order iii. scansoriÆ, climbing birds. the cuckoo. dr. jenner gives us the following anecdote: "i found one day the nest of a hedge-sparrow, which contained a cuckoo's and three hedge-sparrow's eggs. the next day, i found the bird had hatched, but the nest now contained only one sparrow, and the cuckoo. what was my astonishment to observe the young cuckoo, though so newly hatched, in the act of turning out the young hedge-sparrow! the mode of accomplishing this was very curious. the little animal, with the assistance of its rump and wings, contrived to get the bird on its back, and, making a lodgment for the burden, by elevating its elbows, clambered with it to the side of the nest till it reached the top, where resting for a moment, it threw off its load with a jerk, and quite disengaged it from the nest. it remained in this situation a short time, feeling about with the extremities of its wings, as if to be convinced that the business was properly done, and then dropped into the nest again." the woodpecker. the red-headed woodpecker.--of the woodpecker there are several species; but this is one of the best known. it is, properly speaking, a bird of passage; though even in the eastern states individuals are found during moderate winters, as well as in the states of new york and pennsylvania. notwithstanding the care which this bird takes to place its young beyond the reach of enemies, within the hollows of trees, yet there is one deadly foe, against whose depredations neither the height of the tree nor the depth of the cavity, is the least security. this is the black snake, who frequently glides up the trunk of the tree, and, like a skulking savage, enters the woodpecker's peaceful apartment, devours the eggs, or helpless young, in spite of the cries and flutterings of the parents, and, if the place is large enough, coils himself up in the spot they occupied, where he will sometimes remain several days. the ivory-billed woodpecker.--wilson says, "i found one of these birds while travelling in north carolina. it was slightly wounded in the wing, and, on being caught, uttered a loudly-reiterated and most piteous note, exactly like the violent crying of a child, which terrified my horse very much. it was distressing to hear it. i carried it with me under cover to wilmington. in passing through the streets, its affecting cries surprised every one within hearing, especially the females, who hurried to the doors and windows with looks of anxiety and alarm. i rode on, and on arriving at the piazza of the hotel where i intended to put up, the landlord came forward, and a number of persons who happened to be there, all equally alarmed at what they heard; this was greatly increased by my asking whether he could furnish me with accommodations for myself and baby. the man looked foolish, and the others stared with astonishment. after diverting myself a few minutes at their expense, i drew out my woodpecker, and a general laugh took place. i took him up stairs, and locked him up in my room, and tied him with a string to the table. i then went out to procure him some food. on my return, i had the mortification to find that he had entirely ruined the mahogany table, on which he had wreaked his whole vengeance. i kept him three days, but, refusing all sustenance, he died, to my great regret." the parrot. this is a large genus of birds, consisting of two hundred species, distinguished by the peculiar structure of the bill, which assists them in climbing. they are gregarious, have generally very brilliant plumage, and inhabit warm regions. _anecdotes._--the gray parrot often lives to a great age. we are told by le vaillant of one which lived in the family of mr. huyser, in amsterdam, for thirty-two years; had previously lived forty-one with that gentleman's uncle; and there can be little doubt that it was two or three years old at the time of its arrival in europe. in the day of its vigor, it used to speak with great distinctness, repeat many sentences, fetch its master's slippers, call the servants, &c. at the age of sixty, its memory began to fail. it moulted regularly twice a year, till the age of sixty-five, when the red feathers of the tail gave place to yellow ones, after which, no other change of plumage took place. when le vaillant saw it, it was in a state of complete decrepitude, and, having lost its sight and memory, had lapsed into a sort of lethargic condition, and was fed at intervals with biscuit dipped in madeira. leo, son of the emperor basilius macedo, was accused, by a monk, of having a design upon the life of his father, and was thereupon cast into prison, from which he was freed through the instrumentality of a parrot. the emperor, upon a certain occasion, entertained some of the greatest nobles of his court. they were all seated, when a parrot, which was hung up in the hall, in a mournful tone cried out, "alas! alas! poor prince leo!" it is very probable that he had frequently heard courtiers passing, bewailing the prince's hard fortune in those terms. he frequently repeated these words, which at last so affected the courtiers that they could not eat. the emperor observed it, and entreated them to make a hearty repast; when one of them, with tears in his eyes, said, "how should we eat, sire, when we are thus reproached by this bird of our want of duty to your family? the brute animal is mindful of its lord; and we, that have reason, have neglected to supplicate your majesty in behalf of the prince, whom we all believe to be innocent, and to suffer under calumny." the emperor, moved by these words, commanded them to fetch leo out of prison, admitted him to his presence, and restored him, first to his favor, and then to his former dignities. buffon says, "i have seen a parrot very ridiculously employed, belonging to a distiller who had suffered pretty severely in his circumstances from an informer that lived opposite him. this bird was taught to pronounce the ninth commandment,--'thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor,' with a very clear, loud, articulate voice. the bird was generally placed in a cage over against the informer's house, and delighted the whole neighborhood with its persevering exhortations." some years since, a parrot in boston, that had been taught to whistle in the manner of calling a dog, was sitting in his cage at the door of a shop. as he was exercising himself in this kind of whistle, a large dog happened to be passing the spot; the animal, imagining that he heard the call of his master, turned suddenly about, and ran towards the cage of the parrot. at this critical moment, the bird exclaimed vehemently, "get out, you brute!" the astonished dog hastily retreated, leaving the parrot to enjoy the joke. order iv. gallinacea, resembling the domestic hen. the cock. the domestic cock is the origin of all the varieties of the domestic fowl, and is supposed to have come originally from asia. it was brought to america by the first settlers. _miscellaneous anecdotes._--a short time since, a farmer in ohio heard loud talking and angry words among his fowls, and, being a man of pacific disposition, bent his course towards the scene of cackling and confusion. arrived in the vicinity, he observed his favorite cock engaged in mortal combat with a striped snake, dealing his blows with bill and spurs in quick succession, and with true pugilistic skill. but the wily serpent, well aware that, in order to beat his powerful antagonist, he must use cunning, seized him by the thigh in the rear. thus situated, the cock rose on his wings, and lighted on an apple-tree, the snake keeping fast hold, and dangling down like a taglock. it then coiled its tail round a branch of the tree. the cock tried again to escape, but, not being able to disengage himself, hung with his head down. in this melancholy situation he was found by the farmer, who instantly killed the snake, and set chanticleer at liberty. the following is a remarkable instance of the degree to which the natural apprehension for her brood may be overcome, in the hen, by the habit of nursing ducks. a hen, who had reared three broods of ducks in three successive years, became habituated to their taking the water, and would fly to a large stone in the middle of the pond, and patiently and quietly watch her brood as they swam about it. the fourth year she hatched her own eggs, and finding that her chickens did not take to the water as the ducklings had done, she flew to the stone in the pond, and called them to her with the utmost eagerness. this recollection of the habits of her former charge, though it had taken place a year before, is strongly illustrative of memory in a hen. "i have just witnessed," says count de buffon, "a curious scene. a sparrow-hawk alighted in a populous court-yard; a young cock, of this year's hatching, instantly darted at him, and threw him on his back. in this situation, the hawk, defending himself with his talons and his bill, intimidated the hens and turkeys, which screamed tumultuously around him. after having a little recovered himself, he rose and was taking wing; when the cock rushed upon him a second time, upset him, and held him down so long, that he was easily caught by a person who witnessed the conflict." the pheasant. this splendid bird was brought originally from asia, but it is now common in europe, especially in the parks and preserves of england, where it lives in a wild state. _anecdotes._--"it is not uncommon," says warwick, "to see an old pheasant feign itself wounded, and run along the ground, fluttering and crying, before either dog or man, to draw them away from its helpless, unfledged young ones. as i was hunting with a young pointer, the dog ran on a brood of very small pheasants; the old bird cried, fluttered, and ran tumbling along just before the dog's nose, till she had drawn him to a considerable distance, when she took wing, and flew still farther off. on this the dog returned to me, near the place where the young ones were still concealed in the grass. this the old bird no sooner perceived, than she flew back again to us, settled just before the dog's nose, and, by rolling and tumbling about, drew off his attention from her young, thus preserving them a second time." a turkey cock, a common cock, and a pheasant, were kept in the same farm-yard. after some time, the turkey was sent away to another farm. after his departure, the cock and pheasant had a quarrel; the cock beat, and the pheasant disappeared. in a few days he returned, accompanied by the turkey; the two allies together fell upon the unfortunate cock, and killed him. the ruffed grouse. this bird is called _pheasant_ at the south, and _partridge_ in the eastern states. the following incident in relation to it is extracted from the "cabinet of natural history:" "i once started a hen pheasant with a single young one, seemingly only a few days old; there might have been more, but i perceived only this one. the mother fluttered before me for a moment; but, suddenly darting towards the young one, she seized it in her bill, and flew off along the surface through the woods, with great steadiness and rapidity, till she was beyond my sight. i made a very active and close search for others, but did not find any." the pigeon. this genus includes a great variety of doves and pigeons, all of which are remarkable for their tenderness and constancy. the passenger pigeon.--audubon gives us the following description of a forest in ohio, which was the resort of the passenger pigeon: "every thing proved to me that the number of birds resorting to this place must be immense beyond conception. as the period of their arrival approached, a great number of persons collected, and prepared to receive them. some were furnished with iron pots, containing brimstone; others with torches of pine-knots; many with poles, and the rest with guns. two farmers had driven upwards of two hundred hogs more than a hundred miles, to be fattened upon the devoted pigeons! the sun was lost to our view, yet not a pigeon had arrived. every thing was ready, and all eyes were gazing on the clear sky, when suddenly there burst forth a general cry of 'here they come!' the noise that they made, though far distant, reminded me of a hard gale at sea through the rigging of a close-reefed vessel. as the birds arrived, and passed over me, i felt a current of air that surprised me. thousands were soon knocked down by the pole-men. the birds continued to pour in. the fires were lighted, and a magnificent as well as terrifying sight presented itself. pigeons, arriving in thousands, alighted every where, one over another, until solid masses as large as hogsheads were formed on the branches all around. it was a scene of uproar and confusion. i found it quite useless to speak, or even to shout, to those persons nearest to me. this uproar continued all night. towards day the pigeons began to move off, and at sunrise, all that could fly had disappeared: the dead and the dying were then picked up and piled in heaps, while the hogs were let loose to feed on the remainder." musical pigeon.--bertoni, a famous instructor in music, while residing in venice, took a pigeon for his companion, and, being very fond of birds, made a great pet of it. the pigeon, by being constantly in his master's company, obtained so perfect an ear for music, that no one who saw his behavior could doubt for a moment the pleasure it took in hearing his master play and sing. carrier pigeon.--some years ago, two persons arrived in london, from antwerp, with pigeons, to be thrown off there for the purpose of ascertaining whether they would find their way back, and if so, in what time they would perform the journey. the pigeons were contained in eight enclosures, constructed of wire and canvass, and capable of admitting a sufficiency of air to the birds, and at the top of each was a trap door of tin. the baskets were all placed side by side, and at a given signal, on monday morning at eight o'clock, the doors were all lifted up, and out rushed all the pigeons at the same instant. they rose in a flock, and bent their way immediately in the direction of home. the men set off on foot shortly after, with certificates of the hour of departure. most of the pigeons reached antwerp the same day, the swiftest bird having arrived there in five hours and a half: the distance he flew was miles! order v. stilted or long-legged birds. this order includes a number of remarkable birds, some of great size. most of them live on fish; while others eat grain and insects. the adjutant, or maraboo crane. of this enormous bird we have the following account: a young one, about five feet high, was taken and tamed at sierra leone. it was fed in the large dining-hall, and at dinner-time always took its place behind its master's chair--frequently before the guests entered. the servants were obliged to watch their provisions narrowly, and defend them from the crane by means of switches; but notwithstanding all their precaution, it would frequently snatch something or other, and once purloined a whole boiled fowl, which it swallowed in an instant. when threatened with punishment, it would open its enormous bill, and roar like a bear or tiger. it swallowed every thing whole, and on one occasion took, at one mouthful, a leg of mutton weighing five or six pounds. the stork. a traveller in russia tells us the following curious story: he was one evening riding near a village, when he saw a number of people in a field assembled round some object. he went to the spot, and saw two storks lying dead upon the ground. one of the bystanders said that the storks had a nest in the field, and that, not long before, the hen bird, who was sitting, left the nest in search of food. during her absence, a species of hawk very common in the country, seeing the eggs unprotected, pounced upon them and sucked them. a short time after this, the male bird, who had been away for food, returned, and finding the eggs destroyed, he threw himself down upon the shells, and gave way to every demonstration of grief. in the mean time, the female returned, and as soon as he observed her, as if to reproach her for leaving the nest, he ran up and attacked her with his beak, and, seizing her between his claws, soared up with her to a great height. he then compressed his own wings, and both falling to the ground together, were instantly killed! the penny magazine gives us the following story: "on the day of the memorable battle of friedland, a farm in the neighborhood of the city was set on fire by the falling of a bomb. the conflagration spread to an old tree in which a couple of storks had built their nest. the mother would not leave this until it was completely devoured by flames. she then flew up perpendicularly, and dashed down into the midst of the fire, as if endeavoring to rescue her precious charge from destruction. at last, enveloped in fire and smoke, she fell into the midst of the blazing embers, and perished." the heron. in westmoreland, england, there were, some years ago, two groves adjoining a park, one of which, for many years, had been the resort of a number of herons; the other was occupied by rooks. at length, the trees tenanted by the herons, consisting of some fine old oaks, were cut down in the spring of , and the young ones had perished by the fall of the timber. the parent birds immediately set about preparing new habitations to breed again; but not finding any other in the neighborhood high enough for them, they determined to effect a settlement in the rookery. the rooks made an obstinate resistance; but after a very violent contest, in which the herons finally triumphed, they built their nests and reared their young. the next season, the same contest took place; but victory declared, as before, for the herons. after this, peace was agreed upon, and they lived together in harmony in different parts of the same grove. the flamingo. during the french revolutionary war, when the english were expected to make a descent upon st. domingo, a negro, having perceived, at the distance of some miles, in the direction of the sea, a long file of flamingoes, ranked up and priming their wings, forthwith magnified them into an army of english soldiers; their long necks were mistaken for shouldered muskets, and their scarlet plumage suggested the idea of a military costume. the poor fellow accordingly started off to gonalves, running through the streets, and vociferating that the english were come! upon this alarm, the commandant of the garrison instantly sounded the tocsin, doubled the guards, and sent out a body of men to reconnoitre the invaders; but he soon found, by means of his glass, that it was only a troop of red flamingoes, and the corps of observation marched back to the garrison, rejoicing at their bloodless expedition. order vi. palmipedes, web-footed birds. the gull. mr. scott, of benholm, near montrose, many years ago caught a sea-gull, whose wings he cut, and put it into a walled garden, for the purpose of destroying slugs, of which these birds are very fond. it throve remarkably well in this situation, and remained about the place for several years. the servants were much attached to this animal, and it became so familiar that it came, at their call, to the kitchen door to be fed, and answered to the name of willie. at length it became so domesticated, that no pains were taken to keep its wings cut; and having at last acquired their full plume, it flew away, and joined the other gulls on the beach, occasionally paying a visit to its old quarters. at the time the gulls annually leave that part of the coast, willie also took his departure along with them, to the no small regret of the family, who were much attached to him. next season, however, willie again made his appearance, and visited the delighted family of mr. scott with his wonted familiarity. they took care to feed him well, to induce him, if possible, to become a permanent resident. but all would not do, for he annually left benholm. this practice he regularly continued, for the extraordinary length of _forty years_, without intermission, and seemed to have much pleasure in this friendly intercourse. while he remained on that part of the coast, he usually paid daily visits to his friends at benholm, answered to his name, and even fed out of their hands. one year the gulls appeared on the coast, at their ordinary time; but willie did not, as was usual, pay his respects immediately on reaching that neighborhood--from which they concluded that their favorite visitant was numbered with the dead, which caused them much sorrow. about ten days after, during breakfast, a servant entered the room exclaiming that willie had returned. the overjoyed family, one and all of them, ran out to welcome willie; an abundant supply of food was set before him, and he partook of it with his former frankness, and was as tame as a domestic fowl. in about two years afterwards, this bird disappeared forever. the above facts are confirmatory of the great age which the gull has been said to attain. the cormorant. it is well known that this bird is taught by the chinese to fish for them. a gentleman of scotland some years ago obtained two young ones, which he succeeded in domesticating. they soon learned to fish on their own account, and when satisfied, would amuse themselves by quitting and retaking their prey. they sometimes remained for a whole day on board of ships when they were kindly treated, and when these sailed, they would accompany their friends to sea for a few miles. they were very familiar, but would not submit to be teased. when shot at, they always flew to the first person they saw belonging to their master's family, for protection. their owner had their heads painted white, in order to distinguish them from the wild ones with whom they frequently associated. the swan. at abbotsbury, in dorsetshire, there was formerly a noble swannery, the property of the earl of ilchester, where six or seven hundred were kept; but from the mansion being almost deserted by the family, this collection has of late years been much diminished. a female swan, while in the act of sitting, observed a fox swimming towards her from the opposite shore. she instantly darted into the water, and having kept him at bay for a considerable time with her wings, at last succeeded in drowning him; after which, in the sight of several persons, she returned in triumph. this circumstance took place at pensy, in buckinghamshire. the goose. _miscellaneous anecdotes._--"an old goose," says an english writer, "that had been for a fortnight sitting in a farmer's kitchen, was perceived on a sudden to be taken violently ill. she soon after left her nest, and repaired to an outhouse, where there was a young goose, which she brought into the kitchen. the young one immediately scrabbled into the old one's nest, sat, hatched, and afterwards brought up, the young goslings as her own. the old goose, as soon as the young one had taken her place, sat down by the side of the nest, and shortly afterwards died. as the young goose had never been in the habit of entering the kitchen before, it is supposed that she had in some way received information of the wants of the sick goose, which she accordingly administered to in the best way she could." an english gentleman had some years ago a canadian goose, which attached itself to a house dog. whenever he barked, she cackled, ran at the person the dog barked at, and bit his heels. she would not go to roost at night with the other geese, but remained near the kennel, which, however, she never entered, except in rainy weather. when the dog went to the village, the goose always accompanied him, contriving to keep pace with him by the assistance of her wings; and in this way she followed him all over the parish. this extraordinary affection is supposed to have originated in the dog having rescued her from a foe in the very moment of distress. captain l., of new jersey, while lying at anchor with his schooner off poole's island, in the chesapeake bay, observed a wild goose, which had been wounded, attempt to fly from the top of a hill to the water; but being unable to reach its place of destination, it alighted about midway down the hill, where some cattle were grazing; one of which, seeing the stranger, walked up, as is commonly the case, to smell it. the goose, not fancying this kind of introduction, seized the ox by the nose with so much firmness as to set the creature bellowing; and he actually ran off a considerable distance before he could disengage the goose from its hold. class iii. reptilia ... reptiles. this is a class of animals between birds and fishes, generally crawling or swimming, of a cold temperature, sluggish habits, slow digestion, and obtuse senses. they include serpents, lizards, tortoises, frogs, toads, salamanders, the proteus and siren. the reptilia are divided into four orders, the division being founded upon the difference in the quantity of their respiration, and the diversity of their organs of motion. order i. chelonia, tortoise. these animals are of various sizes, some living on the land, and some on the sea. they are remarkable for longevity. mr. murray says, "the size to which this creature occasionally attains is quite monstrous. i remember, some years ago, to have seen one, then semi-torpid, exhibited near exeter 'change, london, which weighed several hundred weight. its shell was proportionably thick, and its other dimensions bore a corresponding ratio. it was stated to be about _eight hundred_ years old." order ii. sauria, lizards. the more formidable species of this tribe are inhabitants of the warmer countries of the globe. the larger kinds prey upon animals, the smaller upon insects. the crocodile. this animal is found on the banks of the nile, niger, and ganges. in crossing the ba-woolima, mungo park's attendant, isaaco, met with a strange and nearly fatal adventure. in attempting to drive six asses across the river, just as he had reached the middle, a crocodile rose close to him, and instantly seizing him by the left thigh, pulled him under water. with wonderful presence of mind, he felt the head of the animal, and thrust his finger into its eye. this forced it to quit its hold: it soon, however, returned to the charge, and, seizing him by the other thigh, again pulled him under water. isaaco had recourse to the same expedient, and thrust his fingers a second time into its eyes with such force, that it again quitted him, rose to the surface, floundered about as if stupid, and then swam down the stream. isaaco, in the mean time, reached the bank of the river, bleeding very much--the wound in his left thigh being four inches long, that on the right somewhat less, but very deep, besides several single teeth-marks on his back. in six days, however, he recovered so as to be able to travel. at chantilly, in france, there was, in the year , a crocodile so perfectly tame and well-disposed, that he was caressed with impunity by the keeper, who endeavored, although not always with success, to induce visitors to follow his example. he never attempted to bite any one, but seemed pleased by being fondled. the alligator. this creature is similar in habits and appearance to the crocodile. it is found only in america, and is most abundant in the tropical regions. the anecdotes which display its ferocity are numerous; but we choose one which exhibits it in a different character. mr. jesse had one which he made so perfectly tame, that it followed him about the house like a dog, scrambling up the stairs after him, and showing much affection and docility. its great favorite, however, was a cat; and the friendship was mutual. when the cat was reposing herself before the fire, the alligator would lay himself down, place his head upon the cat, and in this attitude go to sleep. if the cat was absent, the alligator was restless; but he always appeared happy when puss was near him. the only instance in which he showed any ferocity was in attacking a fox, which was tied up in the yard. probably, however, the fox had resented some playful advances which the other had made, and thus called forth the anger of the alligator. in attacking the fox, he did not make use of his mouth, but beat him with so much severity with his tail, that, had not the chain which confined the fox broken, he would probably have killed him. the alligator was fed on raw flesh, and sometimes with milk, for which he showed great fondness. in cold weather, he was shut up in a box, with wool in it; but having been forgotten one frosty night, he was found dead in the morning. the salamander. recently, as david virtue, a mason in scotland, was dressing a heavy barley millstone from a large block, after cutting away a part, he found a lizard of this species imbedded in the stone. it was about an inch and a quarter long, of a brownish-yellow color, and had a round head, with bright, sparkling, projecting eyes. when first found, it was apparently dead; but after being about five minutes exposed to the air, it showed signs of life. it soon became lively, and ran about with much celerity; and about half an hour after the discovery, was brushed off the stone, and killed. when found, it was coiled up in a round cavity of its own form, being an exact impression of the animal. there were about fourteen feet of earth above the rock, and the block in which the lizard was found was seven or eight feet in the rock; so that the whole depth of the animal from the surface was twenty-one or twenty-two feet. the stone had no fissure, was quite hard, and one of the best which is got from the quarry of cullaloe; the stone is reckoned one of the hardest in scotland. order iii. ophidia, serpents. this order of animals is greatly diversified in their size, color, and qualities. some are but five inches in length, and others reach the enormous extent of thirty feet. some are inoffensive, and others are in the highest degree venomous. they are in general regarded with horror by mankind, and a universal instinct seems to call upon us to destroy them. _anecdotes._--mr. strohecker, of pennsylvania, had a daughter three years of age, who, for a number of successive days, was remarked to leave home with a piece of bread in her hand, and go to a considerable distance. the mother's attention was attracted by the circumstance, who desired the father to follow the infant, and observe what she did with the bread. on coming up to her, he found she was busy feeding several snakes called bastard-rattlesnakes. he immediately took the infant away, and proceeded to his house for his gun, and on returning killed two of them at a shot, and another a few days afterwards. the child called these reptiles, in the same manner as chickens are called; and when her father told her she would certainly be bitten by them if she attempted it again, she innocently replied, "no, father, they won't bite me; they only eat the bread i give them." it has been a common opinion that serpents possess a peculiar power of fascination. this is probably a vulgar error; yet the following story is told of the daughter of a dutch farmer near niagara. it was on a warm summer day that she was sent to spread out wet clothes upon some shrubbery near the house. her mother conceived that she remained longer than was necessary, and seeing her standing unoccupied at some distance, she called to her several times, but no answer was returned. on approaching, she found her daughter pale, motionless, and fixed in an erect posture. the perspiration rolled down her brow, and her hands were clinched convulsively. a large rattlesnake lay on a log opposite the girl, waving his head from side to side, and kept his eyes steadfastly fastened upon her. the mother instantly struck the snake with a stick; and the moment he made off, the girl recovered herself, and burst into tears, but was for some time so weak and agitated that she could not walk home. order iv. batrachea, the frog kind. the frog. _a thief._--a correspondent of the penny magazine, who lived close to the outlet of a small lake, used to bestow a great deal of care and attention upon the rearing of young ducklings; but, after all, he had the mortification to find his efforts fruitless. the old ones would hatch fine healthy broods; but as soon as they were strong enough to waddle to a sedgy stream that issued from the adjoining lake, one or two daily disappeared, to the gentleman's great annoyance. having suffered these continual depredations for two or three seasons, he one day noticed a nice duckling gradually disappear under the water; but judge of his surprise when he beheld a large bull-frog crawl out upon the prostrate trunk of a tree, with the duckling's feet still protruding from his capacious mouth! the mystery was thus solved; the bull-frogs had swallowed all the young ducks! _curious._--some years ago, the city of metz was afflicted by one among the seven plagues of egypt, namely, frogs; certain streets were filled with these animals, and no one was able to conjecture from whence they came, until it was explained by a dealer in frogs applying to the tribunals for the recovery of his property. he had shut up about six thousand frogs, designed for food, in a particular place belonging to the fish-market, where they were discovered by some children, who took part away to sell, and on leaving the troughs in the fish-market, forgot to close them. profiting by the opening thus left, the frogs began to spread themselves in various parts, and even got into some of the neighboring houses, whose inhabitants found much difficulty in ejecting the unwelcome intruders. _an escape._--a butcher in glasgow found an ordinary-sized living frog in the stomach of a cow, which he had just killed. when laid down, it was full of spirit, and leaped about the slaughter-house, to the astonishment of a considerable crowd. the cow was killed between three and four o'clock in the afternoon; it was supposed she had swallowed the frog when drinking. the toad. not the least wonderful part of the history of the toad is the circumstance of its being frequently found in the bed of solid rocks, and the internal cavities of trees. _anecdotes._--we find it mentioned in the "edinburgh philosophical journal," that "a specimen of a toad, which was taken alive from the centre of a solid mass of stone, has been sent to the college museum of edinburgh by lord duncan." it is mentioned, in the "transactions of the academy of sciences," at paris, that a live toad was found in the centre of an elm-tree, and another in an oak. both trees were quite sound, and in a healthy condition. to these facts we may add another: it is related by sir thomas dick lauder, who is a close observer of nature, that, on his estate in east lothian, a large toad was found in the heart of a smooth, straight beech-tree, at the height of thirty feet from the ground, where it was confined in a circular hole. a gentleman who resided at keswick, england, one evening in the latter end of july, observed a rustling among the strawberries in his garden, and on examining what it was, found that a toad had just seized a field-mouse, which had got on the toad's back, scratching and biting to get released, but in vain. the toad kept his hold, and, as the strength of the mouse failed, he gradually drew the unfortunate little animal into his mouth, and gorged him. class iv. pisces ... fishes. fishes are extremely numerous in species, and many of them are little known. they are found in every ocean, sea, lake, or river,--under the dreary skies of the poles, and the burning latitude of the tropics. being the tenants of an element which excludes them from the familiar observation of man, we have fewer anecdotes of them than of those classes which we have already noticed. we shall therefore only attempt to present a few of the most striking that have come to our notice. the mackerel. the mackerel is one of the most voracious of all fishes; and when they get among a shoal of herrings, they make such havoc as frequently to drive it off the coast. pontoppidan informs us that a sailor, belonging to a ship lying in a harbor of norway, went into the water to wash himself, when he was suddenly missed by his companions. in the course of a few minutes, however, he was seen on the surface with vast numbers of mackerels fastened to him. the people went to his assistance in a boat, and tore the fishes from him; but it was too late; for he very shortly afterwards expired from the effects of the wounds he had received, and from the loss of blood. the sword-fish. the extraordinary power of this fish is shown by the following statement, from the penny magazine: "in repairing his britannic majesty's ship leopard, in , on her return from the coast of guinea, a sword of this fish was found to have gone through the sheathing one inch, next through a three-inch plank, and, beyond that, four inches and a half in the firm timber. it was the opinion of mechanics that it would require nine strokes of a hammer weighing twenty-five pounds to drive an iron bolt, of similar size and form, to the same depth in the hull; yet this was accomplished by a single thrust." the pike. _anecdotes._--the rapacity of this fish is notorious. jesse says, "out of eight hundred gudgeons, which were brought to me by a thames fisherman, and which i saw counted into the reservoir,--some few of which, however, died,--there were scarcely any to be seen at the end of three weeks. indeed, the appetite of one of my pike was almost insatiable. one morning, i threw to him, one after the other, five roach, each about four inches in length. he swallowed four of them, and kept the fifth in his mouth for about a quarter of an hour, when it also disappeared." the pike is an animal of extraordinary boldness. a few years ago, the head keeper of richmond park was washing his hands at the side of a boat, in the great pond, when a pike made a dart at one of his hands, which the keeper suddenly withdrew, otherwise he would have received a severe snap. mr. jesse says, "fish appear to be capable of entertaining affection for each other. i once caught a female pike during the spawning season, and nothing could drive the male away from the spot at which the female disappeared, whom he had followed to the very edge of the water. a person who had kept two small fish together in a glass, gave one of them away; the other refused to eat, and showed evident symptoms of unhappiness, till his companion was restored to him." in the year , a pike was caught, in standing water, at heilbronn, on the neckar, which had a copper ring round its head; the ring bore the following inscription in greek: "i am the first fish that was launched into this pond, and was thrown in by frederick the second, emperor of the romans, on the th of october, ." it appeared, therefore, that the pike was two hundred and fifty-seven years old when thus caught; it weighed three hundred and fifty pounds; and an exact representation of it exists to this day upon one of the gates of heilbronn. the golden carp. this beautiful fish was first introduced into england about the year . it is a native of china, where they are very common in ponds. they are, however, very delicate, and unable to stand the powerful rays of the sun; on which account, in each of the ponds where they are kept, earthenware basins, with holes in them, are placed upside down, so that the fishes may retire under them for shade. in china these fish are taught to rise to the surface of the water, to be fed, at the sound of a bell. in very cold weather, they are frequently taken into the house, to prevent them from being frozen. there are several varieties of this beautiful fish,--some of them appearing all speckled over with golden dust; others are pure silvery white; some are spotted with red and white; and a fourth variety is black and white, spotted. many of these, of a large size, may be seen in the ponds at the royal gardens of the tuileries, at paris. they are perfectly tame, and follow individuals round the ponds in hopes of being fed. the salmon. some years ago, a herdsman, on a very sultry day in july, while looking for a missing sheep, observed an eagle posted on a bank that overhung a pool. presently the bird stooped and seized a salmon, and a violent struggle ensued: when the herdsman reached the spot, he found the eagle pulled under water by the strength of the fish; and the calmness of the day, joined to his drenched plumage, rendered him unable to extricate himself. with a stone, the peasant broke the eagle's pinion, and separated the spoiler from his victim, which was dying in his grasp. the herring. about fifty years ago, the shoals of herrings came into loch urn, scotland, in such amazing quantities, that, from the narrows to the head, about two miles, it was quite full. so many of them were forced ashore by the pressure, that the beach, for four miles round the head, was covered with them from six to eighteen inches deep; and the ground under water, as far as could be seen, was in the same condition. indeed, so dense and forcible was the shoal, as to carry before it every other kind of fish; even ground-fish, skate, flounders, and plaice, were driven on shore with the force of the herrings, and perished there. it is a curious fact, that herrings die the moment they are taken out of the water; whence originated the adage, which is much used, _as dead as a herring_. the shark. this formidable animal is the dread of mankind in the seas where it is found. there is no safety in bathing where this monster abounds. the late sir brooke watson was at one time swimming at a little distance from a ship, when he observed a shark approaching towards him. struck with terror at its appearance, he immediately cried out for assistance. a rope was instantly thrown out for him; and even while the men were in the act of pulling him up the ship's side, the shark darted after him, and at a single snap derived him of one leg. in the west indies, the negroes have frequently the hardihood to engage the shark in single combat, by diving beneath him, and, in ascending, stab him before he sees where they are. in these combats they frequently conquer this formidable creature; and thus, through courage and tactics, overcome his great strength and ferocity. invertebrata. we come now to the second grand division of the animal kingdom--the invertebrata animals--those which, instead of an internal skeleton, have, for the most part, an external shell, or framework, by means of which the fleshy parts are sustained. class i. mollusca ... soft animals. the squid. there is a singular genus of animals, called _sepia_, of which the cuttle-fish is a familiar example. some of them are of great size, having arms nearly thirty feet in length. we are told of a sardinian captain, who, while bathing, felt one of his feet in the grasp of a squid; he instantly tried to disengage himself with his other foot, but this limb was immediately seized by another of the monster's arms. he then with his hands endeavored to free himself, but these also, in succession, were firmly grasped by the creature, and the poor man was shortly after found drowned, with all his limbs strongly bound together by the arms and legs of the fish; and it is extraordinary that, where this happened, the water was scarcely four feet deep. mr. beale gives us the following narrative: "while upon the bonni islands, searching for shells, i one day saw, towards the surf, a most extraordinary-looking animal, crawling upon the beach. it was creeping on eight soft and flexible legs, and, on seeing me, made every effort to escape. to prevent this, i pressed one of its legs with my foot; but it quickly liberated the member. i then laid hold of it with my hand, and gave it a powerful jerk, which it resisted by clinging with its suckers to the rock; but the moment after, the apparently enraged animal let go its hold, and sprang upon my arm, which i had previously bared to the shoulder, and clinging to it with great force, endeavored to get its beak between its arms in a position to bite. "a sensation of horror pervaded my whole frame. its cold, slimy grasp was extremely sickening, and i immediately called to the captain, who accompanied me, and who was at a little distance, to come and release me from my disgusting assailant. he came and set me free, by cutting my tormentor apart with his boat-knife. it must have measured four feet across its extended arms, while its body was not larger than a clinched hand. this was of that species called by whalers 'rock squid.'" the nautilus. in some places, where the sea is not agitated by winds, great numbers of these singular creatures may occasionally be seen sailing and sporting about. le vaillant observed several of them on the sea near the cape of good hope; and, as he was desirous of obtaining perfect specimens of the shells, he sent some of his people into the water to catch them; but when the men had got their hands within a certain distance, they always instantly sank, and, with all the art that could be employed, they were not able to lay hold of a single one. the instinct of the animal showed itself superior to all their subtlety; and when their disappointed master called them away from their attempts, they expressed themselves not a little chagrined at being outwitted by a shell-fish. the snail. m. de martens states that the annual export of snails from ulm, by the danube, for the purpose of being used as food in the season of lent by the convents of austria, amounted formerly to ten millions of these animals. they were fattened in the gardens in the neighborhood. mr. rowe gives us the following account: "i was at mr. haddock's," says he, "in kent, and was making a little shell-work tower, to stand on a cabinet in a long gallery. sea-shells running short before i had finished, i recollected having seen some pretty large snails on the chalk hills, and we all went out one evening to pick up some. on our return, i procured a large china basin, and putting a handful or two of them into it, filled it up with boiling water. i poured off the first water, and filled the bowl again. i then carried it into a summer-house in the garden. next morning, how great was my surprise, on entering the summer-house, to find the poor snails crawling about, some on the edge of the basin, some tumbling over, some on the table, and one or two actually eating paste that was to stick them on! i picked up every snail carefully, and carried them into a field, where i make no doubt that they perfectly recovered from their scalding." the oyster. a gentleman who lived at salisbury, england, used to keep a pet oyster, of the largest and finest breed. he fed it on oatmeal, for which it regularly opened its shell. it also proved itself an excellent mouser, having killed five mice, by crushing the heads of such as, tempted by the meal, had the audacity to intrude their noses within its bivalvular clutches. a great number of large creeks and rivers wander through the marshes on the seaboard of georgia. whenever the tide bends forcibly against the land, the effects are counteracted by the walls of living oysters which grow upon each other from the beds of the rivers to the very verge of the banks. they are in such abundance, that a vessel of a hundred tons might load herself in three times her length. bunches of them sufficient to fill a bushel are found matted as it were together, and the neighboring inhabitants and laborers light fires upon the marsh grass, roll a bunch of oysters upon it, and then eat them. the scallop. the great scallop has the power of progressive motion upon the land, and likewise of swimming on the surface of the water. when it happens to be deserted by the tide, it opens its shell to the full extent, then shuts it with a sudden jerk, often rising five or six inches from the ground. in this manner, it tumbles forward until it regains the water. when the sea is calm, troops of little fleets of scallops, it is said, are sometimes to be observed swimming on the waves. they elevate one valve above the top of the water, which is used as a kind of sail, while they float on the other, which remains on the surface. class ii. articulata ... jointed animals. these animals have not an internal skeleton, like the vertebrata; nor are they wholly destitute of a skeleton, as are the mollusca. the hard parts are external, and the muscles are internal. the class includes red-blooded worms, the _crustacea_, spiders, and insects. the leech. if you ever pass through la brienne, in france, you will see a man pale, and straight-haired, with a woollen cap on his head, and his legs and arms naked. he walks along the borders of a marsh, among the spots left dry by the surrounding waters, but particularly wherever the vegetation seems to present the subjacent soil undisturbed. this man is a leech-fisher. to see him at a distance,--his hollow aspect, livid lips, and singular gestures,--you would take him for a patient who had left his sick bed in a fit of delirium. if you observe him every now and then raising his legs, and examining them one after another, you might suppose him a fool; but he is an intelligent leech-fisher. the leeches attach themselves to his legs and feet, and as he moves along their haunts, he feels them bite, and gathers them as they cluster round the roots of the bulrushes and sea-weeds. the crab. the following incident is from a late english journal: "in the year , a sailor, in company with several persons, at sunderland, perceived a crab which had wandered to the distance of about three yards from the water-side. an old rat, on the look-out for food, sprang from his lurking-place, and seized the crab, who, in return, raised his forcep-claws, and laid fast hold of the assailant's nose, who hastily retired, squeaking a doleful chant, and much surprised, no doubt, at the reception he had met with. "the crab retreated as fast as he could towards his own element; but after a short space, the rat renewed the contest, and experienced a second rude embrace from his antagonist. the rat again retreated, but returned again to the attack. after the contest had lasted half an hour, the crab, though much exhausted, had nearly reached the sea, when the rat made a sudden spring, and capsized his antagonist; then, taking advantage of this manoeuvre, like a successful general, seized the crab by his hind leg. the crab, however, again made his escape in a most mutilated condition; the rat, however, closely pursuing him, soon dragged him back to his den, where he doubtless regaled his wife and family with his hard-earned prey. "in the year , as a lady in england was in the act of dressing a crab, she found in its stomach a half guinea, of the reign of george iii., worn very thin; but some of the letters were so entire as to enable the reign to be traced." the spider. the celebrated lewenhoek found by microscopic observation that the threads of the minutest spiders, some of which are not larger than a grain of sand, are so fine that it would take four millions of them to make a thread as thick as a hair of his beard. in the early part of the last century, m. bon, of languedoc, fabricated a pair of stockings and a pair of gloves from the threads of spiders. they were nearly as strong as silk, and of a beautiful gray color. the animal ferocity of spiders makes it impossible to keep them together. m. bon distributed or spiders into different cells, putting in each cell about , and fed them with flies; but the large ones soon devoured the small ones, and in a short time there were only one or two large ones left in each cell. to test the ingenuity of the spider, a gentleman frequently placed one on a small upright stick, and surrounded the base with water. after having reconnoitred, and discovered that the ordinary means of escape were cut off, it ascended the stick, and, standing nearly on its head, ejected its long web, which the wind soon carried to some contiguous object: along this the sagacious insect effected its escape--not, however, until it had ascertained, by several exertions of its own strength, that its web was securely attached at the end. the scorpion. this is one of the largest of the insect tribe, and is not less terrible for its size than its malignity. its sting, in some countries, is fatal. volchammer put one of these creatures, and a large spider, into a glass vessel. the latter used all its efforts to entangle the scorpion in its web, which it immediately began to spin; but the scorpion stung its adversary to death; it then cut off all its legs, and sucked out the internal parts at its leisure. the same naturalist shut up a female scorpion with her young in a glass case. she devoured all but one, which took refuge on the back of its parent, and soon revenged the death of its brethren by killing the old one in its turn. the death-watch. this insect makes a ticking noise by beating its head with great force against whatever it happens to stand on. two of them were kept in a box by a gentleman for three weeks; and he found that, by imitating their note by beating with the point of a pin or nail upon the table, the insect would answer him as many times as he made the sound. the glowworm. the female of this insect is very luminous, and has no wings. the light always becomes brighter when the worm is in motion, and it can withdraw it when it pleases. when the light is most brilliant, it emits a sensible heat. when a glowworm is put into a phial, and this is immersed in water, a beautiful irradiation takes place. if the insect be crushed, and the hands and face rubbed with it, they have a luminous appearance, like that produced by phosphorus. the fire-fly. "i was in the habit," says a writer on the island of jamaica, "of enclosing, every night, a dozen or more fire-flies under an inverted glass tumbler on my bedroom table, the light of whose bodies enabled me to read without difficulty. they are about the size of a bee, and perfectly harmless. their coming forth in more than usual numbers is the certain harbinger of rain; and i have frequently, while travelling, met them in such numbers that, be the night ever so dark, the path was as visible as at noonday." the beetle. the following account of the burying beetle is given by m. gleditsch, a foreign naturalist. he often remarked that dead moles, when laid upon the ground, especially if upon loose earth, were almost sure to disappear in the course of two or three days, often of twelve hours. to ascertain the cause, he placed a mole upon one of the beds in his garden. it had vanished by the third morning; and, on digging where it had been laid, he found it buried to the depth of three inches, and under it four beetles, which seemed to have been the agents in this singular inhumation. to determine the point more clearly, he put four of these insects into a glass vessel, half filled with earth, and properly secured, and upon the surface of the earth, two frogs. in less than twelve hours, one of the frogs was interred by two of the beetles; the other two ran about the whole day, as if busied in measuring the dimensions of the remaining corpse, which on the third day was also found buried. he then introduced a dead linnet. a pair of the beetles were soon engaged upon the bird. they began their operations by pushing out the earth from under the body, so as to form a cavity for its reception; and it was curious to see the efforts which the beetles made, by dragging at the feathers of the bird from below, to pull it into its grave. the male, having driven the female away, continued the work alone for five hours. he lifted up the bird, changed its place, turned it, and arranged it in the grave, and from time to time came out of the hole, mounted upon it, and trod it under foot, and then retired below, and pulled it down. at length, apparently wearied with this uninterrupted labor, it came forth, and leaned its head upon the earth beside the bird, without the smallest motion, as if to rest itself, for a full hour, when it again crept under the earth. the next day, in the morning, the bird was an inch and a half under ground, and the trench remained open the whole day, the corpse seeming as if laid out upon a bier, surrounded with a rampart of mould. in the evening, it had sunk half an inch lower; and in another day, the work was completed, and the bird covered. m. gleditsch continued to add other small dead animals, which were all sooner or later buried; and the result of his experiment was, that in fifty days four beetles had interred, in the very small space of earth allotted to them, twelve carcasses: viz., four frogs, three small birds, two fishes, one mole, and two grasshoppers, besides the entrails of a fish, and two morsels of the lungs of an ox. the queen beetle is about one inch and a quarter in length; she carries by her side two brilliant lamps, which she lights up at pleasure with the solar phosphorus furnished her by nature. these lamps do not flash and glimmer like those of the fire-fly, but give as steady a light as that of gas, exhibiting two glowing spheres as large as a minute pearl, which affords light enough, in the darkest night, to enable one to read by them. the queen beetle is found only in tropical climates. the earwig. baron de geer, a famous swedish naturalist, gives us the following: "about the end of march i found an earwig brooding over her eggs in a small cell, scooped out in a garden border. in order to watch her proceedings, i removed the eggs into my study, placing them upon fresh earth under a bell-glass. the careful mother soon scooped out a fresh cell, and collected the scattered eggs with great care to the little nest, placing herself over them, to prevent the too rapid evaporation of the moisture. when the earth began to dry up, she dug the cell gradually deeper, till at length she got almost out of view. at last, the cell became too dry, and she removed the eggs to the edge of the glass, where some of the moisture had condensed. upon observing this, i dropped some water into the abandoned cell, and the mother soon after removed the eggs there. her subsequent proceedings were no less interesting; but i regret to add that, during my absence, the bell-glass was removed, and the earwig escaped with her eggs." the cricket. mr. southey describes the perilous situation of a ship sailing to brazil, which was saved from shipwreck by the singing of a ground cricket. "three days they stood towards land. a soldier, who had set out in ill health, had brought a ground cricket with him from cadiz, thinking to be amused by the insect's voice; but it had been silent the whole distance, to his no small disappointment. now, on the fourth morning, the _grillo_ had begun to ring its shrill rattle, scenting the land. such was the miserable watch that had been kept, that, upon looking out at this warning, they perceived high rocks within bowshot, against which, had it not been for the insect, they must inevitably have been lost. they had just time to drop anchor. from hence they coasted along, the grillo singing every night as if it had been on shore, till they reached the islands of st. catalina." in china, the people take as much pleasure in cricket fights as the spaniards do in bull fights. two crickets are pitted against each other, and crowds of people gather round, to witness the combat. the insects rush at each other with great fury; and the spectators, high and low, rich and poor, seem to experience the most lively sensations of delight. the locust. in july, , the russian general cobley had a grand battle with the locusts, on his estate of coblewka, along the borders of the sea of oschakoff. the locusts were marching in twenty-four columns, and were destroying all the crops. general cobley collected the peasants on his estate, and from all the neighboring country, amounting to five hundred persons. they were armed with pitchforks, spades, drums, and bells; and, thus equipped, they commenced their march against the invaders. they soon compelled them to retreat, and pursued them incessantly towards the sea, where they were forced to jump into the water, and were drowned. three days afterwards, the sea-shore was covered with the dead locusts, cast up by the waves; the air was infected by a fetid exhalation, and great numbers of poisoned fish were cast up by the waves on the strand. it is probable that the fish had fed on the locusts. the ant. _anecdotes._--in tracing the designs of the cells and galleries, each ant appears to follow its own fancy. a want of accordance must therefore frequently take place at the point where their works join; but they never appear to be embarrassed by any difficulties of this kind. an instance is related, in which two opposite walls were made, of such different elevations, that the ceiling of the one, if continued, would not have reached above half way of the height of the other. an experienced ant, arriving at the spot, seemed struck with the defect, immediately destroyed the lower ceiling, built up the wall to the proper height, and formed a new ceiling with the materials of the former. in the "transactions of the french academy," an account is given of an ant, that was taken from a hill, and thrown upon a heap of corn. it seemed attentively to survey this treasure, and then hastened back to its former abode, where it communicated intelligence of the land of plenty; for an immense host of its brethren quickly made their appearance, and commenced carrying off the grain. m. homberg informs us that, in surinam, there is a species of ant called by the natives the _visiting ant_. these animals march in large troops, with the same order and precision as do a regularly-constituted army. they are welcome visitors to the natives, on account of their power of exterminating rats, mice, and other noxious animals, with which that country abounds. no sooner do they appear, than all the coffers, chests of drawers, and locked-up places in the house, are thrown open for them, when they immediately commence their work of destruction of animal life, as if commissioned by nature for that purpose. the only regret of the natives is, that they pay their visits but once in three or four years. two ants meeting on a path across a gravel-walk, one going to and the other from the nest, stop, touch each other's antennæ, and appear to hold a conversation. one would almost fancy that one was communicating to the other the best place for foraging. the caterpillar. a curious species of manufacture was contrived by an officer of engineers residing at munich. it consisted of lace veils, with open patterns on them, made entirely by caterpillars. having made a paste of the leaves of the plant on which the insect feeds, he spread it thinly over a stone, or other flat substance, of the required size. he then, with a camel's hair pencil dipped in olive oil, drew a pattern he wished the insects to leave open. this stone was then placed in an inclined position, and a number of caterpillars were placed at the bottom. a peculiar species was chosen, which spins a strong web, and the animals commenced at the bottom, eating and spinning their way up to the top, carefully avoiding every part touched by the oil, but devouring every other part of the paste. the extreme lightness of these veils, combined with their strength, is surprising. the butterfly. in june, , a column of butterflies, from ten to fifteen feet broad, was seen to pass over neufchatel, in switzerland; the passage lasted upwards of two hours, without any interruption, from the moment when the insects were observed. the moth. a moth was once caught, at arracan, which measured ten inches from the tip of one wing to the tip of the other, both being variegated with the brightest colors. the silkworm. the great care bestowed upon this creature in china is shown in the following extract from an old work: "the place where their habitation is built must be retired, free from noisome smells, cattle, and all noises; as a noisome smell, or the least fright, makes great impressions upon so tender a breed; even the barking of dogs, and the crowing of cocks are capable of putting them in disorder when they are newly hatched. for the purpose of paying them every attention, an affectionate mother is provided for their wants; she is called _isan-more_, mother of the worms. she takes possession of the chamber, but not till she has washed herself, and put on clean clothes which have not the least ill smell; she must not have eaten any thing before, or have handled any wild succory, the smell of which is very prejudicial; she must be clothed in a plain habit without any lining, that she may be more sensible of the warmth of the place, and accordingly increase or lessen the fire; but she must carefully avoid making a smoke, or raising a dust, which would be very offensive to these tender creatures, which must be carefully tended before the first time of casting their slough." during the first twenty-four hours of the silkworm's existence, the patient chinese feeds the objects of her care forty-eight times a day; during the second or third day, thirty times; and so on, reducing the number of meals as the worm grows older. flies. sir arthur young thus speaks of flies in his "travels through the south of europe:" "flies form the most disagreeable circumstance in the southern climates. they are the first torments in spain, italy, and the olive districts of france. it is not that they bite, sting, or hurt; but they buzz, tease, and worry: your mouth, eyes, ears, and nose, are full of them; they swarm on every eatable. fruit, sugar, milk, every thing, is attacked by them in such myriads, that if they were not driven away, by a person who has nothing else to do, to eat a meal is impossible. if i farmed in these countries, i think i should manure four or five acres of land a year with dead flies." class radiata ... radiated animals. this class embraces those beings which are the lowest in the animal kingdom--those which have the fewest and most imperfect senses. indeed, some of them so far resemble plants as to make the point of separation between the animal and vegetable kingdoms almost a matter of uncertainty. they are called _radiata_, because in most of them an arrangement may be traced, in their formation, like that of rays branching out from a centre. among the creatures of this class are the star-fish, polypus, sea-anemone, and infusoria. polypi. captain basil hall makes some interesting remarks on the examination of a coral-reef, which is the product of the marine polypi. he observes that, during the different stages of the tide, the changes it undergoes are truly surprising. when the tide has left it for some time, it becomes dry, and appears to be a compact rock, exceedingly hard and rugged; but as the tide rises, and the waves begin to wash over it, the coral worms protrude themselves from holes which before were invisible. these animals are of a great variety of shapes and size, and in such prodigious numbers, that, in a short time, the whole surface of the rock appears to be alive and in motion. the most common worm is in the shape of a star, with arms from four to six inches long, which move in every direction to catch food. others are so sluggish that they may be taken for pieces of rock, and are of a dark color; others are of a blue or yellow color; while some resemble a lobster in shape. the green polype, or hydra, is found in clear waters, and may generally be seen in great plenty in small ditches and trenches of fields, especially in the months of april and may. it affixes itself to the under parts of leaves, and to the stalks of such vegetables as happen to grow immersed in the same water. the animal consists of a long, tubular body, the head of which is furnished with eight, and sometimes ten long arms, or tentacula, that surround the mouth. it is of an extremely predacious nature, and feeds on the various species of small worms, and other water animals, that happen to approach. when any animal of this kind passes near the polype, it suddenly catches it with its arms, and, dragging it to its mouth, swallows it by degrees, much in the same manner as a snake swallows a frog. two of them may sometimes be seen in the act of seizing the same worm at different ends, and dragging it in opposite directions with great force. when the mouths of both are thus joined together upon one common prey, the largest polype gapes and swallows his antagonist; but, what is more wonderful, the animal thus swallowed seems to be rather a gainer by the misfortune. after it has lain in the conqueror's body for about an hour, it issues unhurt, and often in possession of the prey that had been the original cause of contention. the remains of the animals on which the polype feeds are evacuated at the mouth the only opening in the body. it is capable of swallowing a worm of thrice its own size: this circumstance, though it may appear incredible, is easily understood, when we consider that the body of the polype is extremely extensile, and is dilated, on such occasions, to a surprising degree. this species are multiplied, for the most part, by a process resembling vegetation--one or two, or even more young ones emerging gradually from the sides of the parent animal; and these young are frequently again prolific before they drop off; so that it is no uncommon thing to see two or three generations at once on the same polype. the end. advertisement--cabinet library. parley's cabinet library, for schools and families. this work consists of twenty volumes, and contains --> _five hundred different subjects, and is illustrated by five hundred engravings_. --> it is an entirely original series, recently written and completed by s. g. goodrich, the author of peter parley's tales. --> _this is the only library that has been expressly written for a school and family library._ it is adopted into many of the libraries of the leading schools and seminaries in new england and new york, and has been introduced, in the space of a few months, into more than three thousand families, in boston, new york, and philadelphia. the following is a list of the volumes, each containing about pages, mo.:-- biographical department. vol. .--lives of famous men of modern times. " .--lives of famous men of ancient times. " .--curiosities of human nature; or, the lives of eccentric and wonderful persons. " .--lives of benefactors; including patriots, inventors, discoverers, &c. " .--lives of famous american indians. " .--lives of celebrated women. historical department. " .--lights and shadows of american history. " .--lights and shadows of european history. " .--lights and shadows of asiatic history. " .--lights and shadows of african history. " .--history of the american indians. " .--manners, customs, and antiquities of the american indians. miscellaneous. " .--a glance at the sciences, astronomy, natural philosophy, &c. " .--wonders of geology. " .--anecdotes of the animal kingdom. " .--a glance at philosophy, mental, moral, and social. " .--book of literature, ancient and modern, with specimens. " .--enterprise, industry, and art of man. " .--manners and customs of all nations. " .--the world and its inhabitants. --> these works are designed to exhibit, in a popular form, select biographies, ancient and modern; the wonders and curiosities of history, nature, art, science, and philosophy, with the practical duties of life. it cannot be deemed invidious to say, that no similar work has met with equal favor at the hands of the public, as the following testimonials, among many others, will show:-- _the hon. h. g. otis, of boston, says_, i view it as the best compendium of useful learning and information, respecting its proposed contents, _for the use of young persons and schools_, that has fallen within my knowledge. it abounds in illustrations of the history of the world, and the customs and manners of nations, that _may be read by general scholars of any age_, with pleasure. _the rev. dr. sprague says, albany_, i regard the cabinet library as a most important accession to the means of intellectual and moral culture, especially in respect to the rising generation. but while it is peculiarly adapted to the young, it may be read by persons of any age with both pleasure and profit. to men of business, who have not leisure to read extensively, and indeed to all who would keep up with the times, the work is invaluable. it is also suited to the various members of the family circle, --> and is _among the very best of the libraries for public schools_. i learn that it is introduced into the public schools of this city, (albany,) and various other places, and i cannot doubt that it will ultimately be adopted in our seminaries of learning generally. _charles sprague, esq., of boston, says_, i have read, with both pleasure and profit, all the numbers of your very instructive cabinet library. my friend and namesake, the rev. dr. sprague, has so exactly expressed my opinion of the work, that i need only adopt his language, in recommending it, as i cheerfully do, to the favorable attention of both teachers and learners. _from the quincy patriot_, we recommend it (parley's cabinet library) as peculiarly valuable to families. we often see one young man taking precedence of others in the race of life. if we could read his history minutely, we should see the explanation of the case to be, that he had a better head or a better heart than others. now we know of no works so well calculated to mould the head and heart aright as those of "peter parley." those parents who wish to have their children "go ahead" in life, should place parley's cabinet library within their reach. we have never seen a work better suited to bestow instruction, or that inculcates truth in a more pleasant fashion. _from the boston courier_, they are exceedingly agreeable books, and such as young and old may peruse with pleasure and profit. the moral and religious account to which the author turns every subject must render the work peculiarly suitable to the family and the school library. we cheerfully commend the work to the public as one of sterling value. _from the boston atlas_, it is a compact family and school library of substantial reading, which is delightful in point of style, and wholesome in its moral, social, and religious tendency. _from the boston post_, we hardly know when we have been better pleased with a publication than this. _from hunt's merchant's magazine_, this work, now complete, is the most elaborate of the works of the author for the young; and we think it quite the best. it is a _library of facts_, and seems intended to cultivate a taste for this kind of reading. it is said that "truth is stranger than fiction," and no one who has perused these pages can feel any necessity for seeking excitement in the high-wrought pages of romance. every subject touched by the author seems invested with a lively interest; and even dry statistics are made, like steel beneath the strokes of the flint, to yield sparks calculated to kindle the mind. in treating of the iron manufacture,--a rather hard subject, it would seem,--we are told that, every "working day, fifty millions of nails are made, bought, sold, and used in the united states;" and, in speaking of the manufacture of cotton, we are informed that the merrimack mills of lowell alone "spin a thread of sufficient length to belt the world, at the equator, in two hours." the work was doubtless intended for the young; and we think it quite equal, for this object, to any thing that has been produced; yet it is also suited to the perusal of all classes, especially to men of business, who find little leisure for reading, and who yet are unwilling to be left behind in the great march of knowledge and improvement. _as there is now a strong desire, especially among the enlightened friends of education in this state, to have the common schools supplied with suitable books for libraries, we heartily commend this series to the notice of all who are desirous of obtaining books for this object. they are unquestionably among the best that have been prepared for school libraries, being every way attractive and instructive._ no one can fail to be pleased with the simplicity and elegance of the style, and with the vein of cheerfulness, humanity, and morality, which runs through the pages of the volumes. the moral influence of the work, especially upon the young, cannot fail to be in the highest degree effective and salutary. _from the troy whig_, they are written in an easy and graceful style, and are compiled from the most authentic sources. they will be found highly attractive to young people of both sexes, and worthy to be read by persons of mature age. _from the albany advertiser_, it would be difficult to find any where, in such convenient compass, so much healthy and palatable food for the youthful mind as is furnished by parley's cabinet library. _from the albany argus_, we know of no series of volumes on kindred subjects so good as these for parents to put into the hands of their children. it is due not only to the author, who has rendered great service to the cause of american literature, but to the work itself, and to the best interests of the youth of our nation, that these volumes should be scattered all over the land. _from the new england puritan_, we cordially recommend the work to the perusal of all. _from the boston post_, _the very best work of its class_ is parley's cabinet library. it combines a vast deal of useful information, conveyed in an exceedingly interesting style. the beauty of the typographical execution, the cheapness of the volumes, and the great intrinsic merit of their contents, must render the work one of general popularity. _from the boston courier_, as we have quoted so largely from mr. goodrich's work, we ought to say--what it richly merits--that it is a pleasing and useful series, and that it is calculated not only to instruct and amuse, but to cultivate virtuous and patriotic sentiments. with those who read for mere amusement, it is worthy of attention, for the author has ingeniously contrived to give truth all the charms of fiction. _from the albany advertiser_, it ought to be, and no doubt will be, extensively introduced into schools. _from the bay state democrat_, the volumes are illustrated with spirited wood engravings, and printed in dickinson's neatest style. altogether, they present decidedly the most attractive appearance as to matter and form, of any works we have seen for a long time. _from the quincy aurora_, parley's cabinet library is a publication of rare excellence. no writer of the present day invests the themes of which he treats with livelier interest than the well-known peter parley. his pen imparts to history and biography the charm of romance; while, at the same time, it unfolds rich and enduring treasures of practical and useful knowledge. the animal, the mineral, and vegetable kingdoms of nature present, beneath his pencil, the attractions of a grand museum. the publication of his cabinet library will accomplish much, in our opinion, to eradicate the eagerness for fiction which engrosses so extensively the public mind. the perusal of these volumes will convince the reader that reality has charms as potent, and far more satisfying than those of the ideal world. we know of no work, comprehended within equal limits, capable of affording richer intellectual banqueting. _from the boston traveller_, we deem it but a discharge of our duty to our readers, to urge this valuable series upon their attention. the whole series will cost but a trifle, yet they may and doubtless will be the deciding means of insuring success in life to many a youth who shall enjoy the means of reading them. _from the boston recorder_, they are written in a pleasing style, and are enlivened by numerous characteristic anecdotes. the series will form a very valuable library. _from the boston post_, it is an admirable publication for the family and school library. its topics are interesting and important, and presented in a simple but effective style. _from the boston atlas_, parley's cabinet library is worthy of all encouragement. it is cheap not only in promise, but in fact. it is also calculated to exercise a wholesome influence. like every thing from the same author, it strongly inculcates virtue and religion, and at the same time it arrays truth in a guise so comely and attractive, that it is likely to win many votaries of fiction to companionship with it. there is great need of such works at this time. board of education, } _city of rochester, sept. ._ } whereas, the board of education have examined a series of books called "parley's cabinet library," now in course of publication by samuel g. goodrich, esq., (the celebrated peter parley,) embracing, in the course of twenty volumes, the various subjects of history, biography, geography, the manners and customs of different nations, the condition of the arts, sciences, &c.; and whereas, this board are satisfied that the same are highly useful to the young: therefore, resolved, that we recommend that the same be procured by trustees for the several school libraries, at the earliest practicable period. a true copy of the minutes, i. f. mack, sup't. scanned images of public domain material from the internet archive. [illustration: book cover] cowboy life on the sidetrack * * * * * being an extremely humorous and sarcastic story of the trials and tribulations endured by a party of stockmen making a shipment from the west to the east. * * * * * by frank benton, cheyenne, wyo. * * * * * illustrated by e. a. filleau, kansas city, mo. * * * * * denver, colo.: the western stories syndicate. copyright, , by frank benton. * * * * * press of hudson-kimberly publishing company kansas city, mo. dedication. * * * * * for justice no shipper e'er asked in vain from george h. crosby or c. j. lane. we go to them, as to our dad, when on their road our run is bad, and when we think the freight too large ask them to rebate the overcharge. no matter which road you give your freight, to both these friends, this book i dedicate. f. b. [illustration: _the author waiting for the train to start._] contents. page chapter i.--the start chapter ii.--chuckwagon's dream chapter iii.--grazing the sheep chapter iv.--letters from home brought by immigrants chapter v.--eatumup jake's life story chapter vi.--the schoolmarm's saddle horse chapter vii.--selling cattle on the range chapter viii.--true snake stories chapter ix.--chuckwagon's death chapter x.--disappearance of the sheepmen chapter xi.--our arrival in cheyenne chapter xii.--the post-hole digger's ghost chapter xiii.--grafting chapter xiv.--the file chapter xv.--the cattle stampede chapter xvi.--catching a maverick chapter xvii.--stealing crazy head's war ponies chapter xviii.--the cattle queen's ghost chapter xix.--packsaddle jack's death chapter xx.--a cowboy enoch arden chapter xxi.--grand island chapter xxii.--"sarer" chapter xxiii.--arrival at south omaha transfer chapter xxiv.--the final roundup preface. to the readers of this little booklet: i wish to say that while some things in the story seem over-drawn, yet i have endeavored to write it entirely from a cowboy standpoint. to the sheepmen of the west: i want to say that i couldn't have written this story true to the cowboys' character without making a great many reflections on sheepmen, and i want to tender my apologies in advance for anything they may consider offensive, as some of my old-time and dearest friends in the west are among the large sheep owners. but i have been a cowboy and worked with the cowboys for thirty-two years, and have written the things set down here just as they came from the cowboys' lips on a stock train as we were waiting on sidetracks. the names of the cowboys used are the actual nicknames of cowpunchers whom i worked with on wyoming ranges twenty years ago, and will be recognized by lots of old-timers. the statement has been frequently made by newspapers that this volume was written as a roast on the union pacific railroad. i wish to correct that impression by saying that i selected that road for the groundwork of this story to give them a good advertisement free in requital for the many courtesies extended to me in times past by the officials of the road, for whom i have the warmest friendship. the author. chapter i. the start. i met a man from utah the other day by the name of joe smith, and he gave me quite an interesting history of his shipping some cattle to market over the great overland route from utah to south omaha. i shall tell it in his own language. he said: i don't want to misstate anything, and i don't want to exaggerate anything, but will tell you the plain facts. when i and my neighbors, old chuckwagon, packsaddle jack, eatumup jake and dillbery ike got into the ranch with a drive of cattle we found that three railroad live stock agents, two representatives of the union stockyards and five commission house drummers had been staying at the ranch for a week waiting to get our shipment. each one took each of us aside and gave us a dirty private as to what they would do for us. every one of the commission house drummers said their house was second last month in number of cars of live stock in their market and they were looking for them to be first this month; said their salesmen always beat the other firms cents a hundred on even splits, and their yardmen always got the best fill on the cattle. we went off by ourselves to talk it over and make up our minds which firm to ship to. packsaddle jack said it was remarkable that they all told the same story, said it was confusing as nary one of them had mentioned a point but what all the rest had coppered the same bet. dillbery ike gave it as his opinion that they were the bummest lot of liars he ever see. old chuckwagon and eatumup jake now compared notes and discovered that all the drummers were out of whiskey, but each drummer claimed the other dead beats had drank his up. old chuckwagon took a blue down-hearted fit of melancholy on seeing they was all out of whiskey and wouldn't decide on any of them. eatumup jake just chewed a piece of dried rawhide and wouldn't talk. packsaddle jack and me finally decided to bill the cattle to ourselves till we got some further light on the subject. [illustration: _scott davis leaving to order the cars, and to grease and sand them._] as the great overland agent agreed that his road would run us all the way to market at the rate of forty miles an hour and the other live stock agents couldn't promise only thirty-five miles an hour, we gave the shipment to the overland. the overland agent went right into town to have the cars greased and sanded ready to start. we followed in with the cattle. it took us about seven days to drive the cattle in, and when we got there the cars were coming--but hadn't arrived. we waited around nine days, grazing the steers on sage brush in daytime and penning them nights till they got so thin we had about concluded to drive back and keep them for another year, when the cars came. it seemed the railroad had got them pretty near out to us once, but had run short of tonnage cars, so just had to haul them back and forth several times over one division to make up their tonnage for the trains. this was very annoying to the railroad men as well as ourselves, but they had their orders to not let any california fruit spoil on the road and to haul their tonnage, so just had to use these stock cars. it seems harriman and hill and j. p. morgan and all the other boys who own the western railroads are very particular about every train hauling its full tonnage, and i heard there was places they had a lot of scrap iron close to the track, so if the train was short a ton or so they could load it on, haul it to some place where there was some freight to take the place of it, and then unload it for trains going the other way that were short on tonnage. finally we got the cattle loaded and our contract signed. got a basket of grub, as we were informed there would be no time to get meals on the road. it is to this basket of grub that we all owe our lives to-day, so i will give a partial description of the contents. first, we had four dozen bottles of beer; next, eight quarts of old rye whiskey; next, two corkscrews, a hard boiled egg, a sandwich without any meat in it and a bottle of mustard, as dillbery ike said he always wanted mustard. eatumup jake was for getting a can of tomatoes, but old chuckwagon said he never had been empty of canned tomatoes in twenty years and wanted one chance to get them out his system. well, we got on the way-car, were hitched on to the cattle train and off at last for the first sidetrack, which was a quarter of a mile from the stockyards. the conductor said we would start right away soon as he got his orders, so chuckwagon proposed we open the lunch, which meeting with direct approval from the entire party, we proceeded to consume a large section of it, and then went to sleep. when we woke up the sun was sinking in the east, at least i maintained it was east, but packsaddle jack said it was in the north. anyway we argued till it sunk, and never did agree. but we found we were on the same old sidetrack, and as our lunch was about gone we made up a jackpot and sent dillbery ike after more lunch. packsaddle jack went up and interviewed the agent in the meantime, as he was the only one left in the party who was on speaking terms with that functionary, and found out they were holding us there for the arrival of eight cars of sheep that was expected to come by trail from idaho. these sheep belong to rambolet bill and old cottswool canvasback, and these two gentlemen had seen a cloud of dust ten miles away about noon and insisted on having the train held, as they were sure the sheep were coming, which finally proved to be correct. so when they got them loaded, about o'clock that night, we quit quarrelling with the agent, stopped making threats against the railroad superintendent, got dillbery ike to put on his coat (he had kept if off all evening to whip the railroad agent who was to blame undoubtedly for all this delay), and finally started, with rising spirits. but as we got up to the depot where the conductor was waiting with his final papers, the head brakeman reported a cow was down up near the engine, and we all walked up there and found that one of dillbery ike's critters had become so weak and emaciated that it had succumbed right in the start. we prodded her, and hollered and yelled, and chuckwagon twisted her tail clear off before we discovered she was stiff and cold in death and consequently couldn't respond to our suggestions. dillbery asked the advice of a hobo (who was giving us pointers how to get her up before we discovered her dead condition) about suing the railroad company for her. the hobo agreed to act as witness and swear to anything after dillbery gave him a nip out of his bottle; and after we found out what a good fellow the hobo was, how much he knew about shipping cattle and that he wanted to go east, we concluded to put his name on the contract and make him one of the party. we asked his name and he said 'twas most always john doe, but we nicknamed him jackdo for short. we all went back to the way-car and started up to the switch and back on to a sidetrack, as no. was expected to arrive pretty soon, as she was four hours late, and was liable to come any time after she got four hours late. after taking some lunch we lay down on the seats and went to sleep, jackdo, rambolet bill and cottswool canvasback on one side of the car, and dillbery ike, chuckwagon, packsaddle jack, eatumup jake and myself on the other side. it was rather crowded on our side of the car, but none of us liked the perfume that jackdo and the two sheepmen used. about the time we got to sleep the brakeman came in, woke us all up so he could get into the coal and kindling which is under the seat in a way-car. it was warm weather, but the train crews always build roaring fires in hot weather on stock trains, and he was only following the usual custom. we got our places again and dropped off to sleep. the conductor came in, woke us all up to punch our contracts. we went to sleep again; the conductor came around, roused us all up to know where we wanted our stock fed. jackdo now gave us a great deal of advice about where to feed and how much, but dillbery said the cattle had got used to going without feed so long that it wasn't worth while to waste time feeding them now. jackdo said all the stockmen fed plenty of hay to their stock all the way to omaha, but never let them have any water till they got there, as they would get a big fill that way. we finally went to sleep again. the conductor and brakeman took turns jumping down out of their high airy cab on top of the car (where they keep a window open) to build up the fire and see that all the doors and windows below were tightly closed so the stockmen couldn't get no air, but hot air. however, we had been getting hot air from the railroad live stock agents and commission house drummers for some time and slept on till old chuckwagon begun to snore and woke us up again. it seemed he was having a fearful nightmare, and we had all we could do to keep him from jumping off the train till we got him fairly awake. but after we had each given him a drink from our private bottles he gave several long, shuddering, shivering sighs and told us his dream. chapter ii. chuckwagon's dream. he said he dreamed he was in a deep narrow canyon, and it seemed to be a very hot day, and he thought he walked in the broiling hot sun for miles and miles, his mouth and throat parched with thirst and his eyes almost bursting from their sockets with the heat, when all at once he heard the low mutterings of thunder and he knew there was a storm approaching. the thunder kept growing louder and louder, and he looked around for some shelter and discovered a narrow crevice in the rocks, and just as the storm broke he entered this crevice. he hadn't no more than got inside when he saw a wild animal approaching the same place of refuge. it was bigger than any two grizzly bears he ever saw in his life, but was black with white stripes down its back, had a large bushy tail, and he knew he was up against the biggest skunk the world had ever known, and trembling with horror he crept farther and farther back into the crevice till he was stopped by a stream of red molten fire that seemed to be flowing across his path in the mountain. he was about to retreat, but as he turned to retrace his steps the immense jumbo skunk was coming in the crevice backwards, with its enormous tail reared over its back, and while the crevice seemed only just large enough for him, yet this great animal had a way of flattening himself out that, while he was a great deal taller than before, yet did he keep forcing himself gradually back towards poor chuck. chuckwagon said he knew that if the skunk was disturbed he would discharge that terrible effluvia that is known the world over, yet the heat from the molten stream of fire was so great that it burned his face and he was obliged to keep it turned towards the skunk. finally the animal had backed so far that the top of chuckwagon's head was just under the root of the skunk's tail. then something commenced to annoy the animal in front, and it started to back a little farther. it was then he gave that despairing, blood-curdling, soul-freezing yell that woke us up, and he said he could still smell that awful effluvia even now that he was awake; but we told him it was just the heat of the car and the perfume that jackdo and the two sheepmen had. we now discovered that the train was in motion. we were in doubt a long time, but after marking fence posts, setting up a line of sticks and testing it by all the known devices, we became convinced that it was really a fact, and when there was no longer any doubt left in our minds we fell on each other's necks and sobbed for joy. we tapped four fresh bottles in succession to celebrate the event and shook one another's hands repeatedly. but, alas! in the midst of our rejoicing we came to a sidetrack. it seems to be one of the rules of railroading to never pass a sidetrack with a stock train till they find out whether that particular train will fit that sidetrack. this sidetrack was , feet and inches long and our train just fit it like it had been made a purpose. if our train had been three feet longer it would have been too long for this sidetrack, and we had a long heated argument whether the train had been made for this sidetrack or the sidetrack designed for this special train; but, anyway, i never saw a better fit, and it shows what mechanical heads railroad men have got. we became attached to this sidetrack, and for a long time had the sole use of it. we held it against all comers, trains of empty cars going west, gravel cars and even handcars, but finally had to leave it, and it was with feelings of sadness and regret that we at last had to bid it good-bye. although we had many sidetracks afterwards, yet as this one was the first we had entirely to ourselves we hated to give it up and our eyelashes were wet with unshed tears as we blew the last kisses from our finger tips when it slowly faded from our sight around a narrow bend in the roadbed. how long it remained true to us we never knew, probably not long, as it was a lonely spot and undoubtedly was occupied by another stock train as soon as we were out of sight. while at this sidetrack we took a stroll over the hills one day and found a sage hen's nest with the old hen setting. dillbery ike slipped up, grasped her by the tail and in her struggle to free herself she lost all her tail feathers and got away. dillbery tied a string around the tail feathers and took them along. this, as it turned out afterwards, was very fortunate, as we were able by the feathers to settle a dispute that might have led to serious consequences, which happened in this way: some time after the sage hen episode, while we were waiting on a sidetrack one day for a gravel train going west, and having had nothing to eat for a long time but mustard on ice, we had become very much discouraged and had even tried to buy cottswool canvasback's coat to make soup of, when jackdo discovered a flock of half-grown young sage chickens feeding along past the train, and immediately we were all out, filled our hats with rocks and commenced to knock them over. we managed to kill the most of them along with the old mother bird, and made the startling discovery that she had lost her tail feathers. we showed her to the division superintendent, who came along in his private car just then and stopped to explain some of the delays on our run, and told him the story of dillbery pulling out her tail when she was setting. the superintendent argued it couldn't be the same hen, but when dillbery got the bunch of tail feathers they just fitted in the holes in the poor old bird's rump and that settled the dispute. there was another little incident occurred afterwards that shows the world isn't so large after all. one day while we were waiting on a sidetrack a mud turtle came strolling by, and as jackdo had suggested turtle soup for old chuckwagon, who, by the way, had been feeling bad ever since the night he had the skunk dream, not being able to keep anything on his stomach, we captured the turtle and on examining a peculiar mark on the back of its shell discovered it was dillbery ike's brand that he had playfully burnt into the animal the day before we left the ranch with the cattle. [illustration: _rambolet bill, cottswool canvasback and jackdo watching the sheep graze._] chapter iii. grazing the sheep. it's not generally known that when sheep get extremely hungry they eat the wool off one another, but nevertheless this is a fact, and cottswool canvasback and rambolet bill's sheep had long ere this devoured all the wool off each other's backs, but we had had a couple good warm showers of rain and the wool had started up again and was high enough for pretty fair grazing, so the two sheepmen were middlin' easy, as they had a receipt for cooking jackrabbits so they wouldn't shrink in the cooking. they claimed that manager gleason of the warren live stock company had invented this receipt. however, lambing season had come on and cottswool and rambolet were kept pretty busy as double deck cars was very cramped quarters to lamb in. rambolet wanted to unload the sheep, and when they got through lambing to drive them to laramie city and catch the train again, but cottswool canvasback said they would have to pay the same tariff for the cars and insisted on the railroad company earning their money. jackdo sings "home, sweet home." i remember a pathetic little incident that occurred about this time. when we were waiting on a sidetrack one evening i suggested to jackdo that he sing us a song to while away the time, and he started in singing "home, sweet home," in a choked-by-cinders sort of voice, and he hadn't been singing long before i discovered old chuckwagon and dillbery ike lying face downward on the seats sobbing like their hearts would break. chuck and dillbery didn't have much of a home, as they batched in little dobe shacks away out on the edge of the plains; but that old song, even if sung by a hoot owl, would make a stockman weep when he is on a stock train and has got about half-way to market. however, it didn't seem to affect eatumup jake much, and yet jake had married a big, buxom, red-headed mormon girl about six weeks before we started to ship. while jake looked like he was in delicate health when we left home, yet he had grown strong and hearty on the trip in spite of the privations and sufferings we had to go through, and was pretty near always whistling in a lively way "the girl i left behind me." we now arrived at a town. it was about two o'clock in the morning and the conductor roused us up to tell us we would have to change way-cars, as they didn't go any farther. we asked him which way to go when we got off, and he said go anyway we wanted to. we asked him where our car was that we would go out on, and he said, "damfino." so we started out to hunt it. this was a division station, there were hundreds of cars in every direction and they had put us off a mile from the depot. we begged piteously from everyone we met to tell us where the way-car was that went out on the stock train. we carried our luggage back and forth, fell over switch frogs in the darkness and skinned our shins, fell over one another trying to keep out the way of switch engines, ran ourselves out of breath after brakemen, conductors, engineers and car oilers, but everyone of them gave us the same stereotyped answer, "damfino." at last we started out to hunt up the stock again, but just as we found it they started to switching. however, we climbed on the sides of the cars and hung on, all but poor old chuckwagon, who had been sorter under the weather and wasn't quite quick enough. but he chased manfully after us till we came to a switch, when we dashed past him going the other way. we hollered to him to follow the train, which he did, but only to find us going the other way again. and thus we kept on. how long this would have lasted i don't know, for old chuck was game to the death and had throwed away his coat, vest, hat and boots and was bound to catch them stock cars, and the switchman and engineer was bound he shouldn't. but finally the engine had to stop for coal and water, and they shoved us in on a sidetrack, went off to bed and left us there till o'clock the next day. but i never shall forget the anguish and horror we endured for fear we wouldn't find that way-car and they would pull the stock out and leave us there. packsaddle jack gave it as his opinion that the railroad people had plotted to do that, but we frustrated their designs by getting on the stock cars and staying with them. we all believed packsaddle jack was right, but since that time i've talked with a good many cattlemen and found out that's the way they treat everybody. chapter iv. letters from home brought by immigrants. we arrived at hawlins, wyoming, one bright sunny morning and planned to get a square meal there and kinder clean up and take a shave. but this was a sheep town and full of sheepmen and the odor of sheep was so strong we just stopped long enough to fill our bottles and then sauntered on ahead of our train, expecting to get on when it overtook us. well, we sauntered and sauntered, looking back from every hill, but no train, and finally when we were tired from walking in the heat and dust we found a shade tree, and, laying down, went to sleep. how long we slept i don't know, but when we awoke it was night. in the darkness we had hard work finding our way back to the railroad track, and for a while were undecided which way to go, but finally took the wrong direction, and after plodding along in the dark for several miles we came on top a high hill and saw the lights of the town below us that we left that morning. we now held a council as to who should go down to town to get our bottles filled. jackdo offered to go, but we had already discovered we couldn't trust him on that kind of errand, as the bottles would be just as empty when he got back as when he started, so finally we sent eatumup jake and told him to inquire if our train was still there or had gone sneaking by us when we were asleep. jake returned about midnight with the refreshments and the information that the train was on ahead. so we started after it, exchanging ideas along the route as to how far we would have to walk before we came to a sidetrack, as we didn't doubt for a moment we would find the stock on the first siding it could get in on. this was one of the pleasantest nights we had on our whole trip, with good fresh air (we made the sheepmen and jackdo walk about three miles ahead of us and the wind was blowing in their direction) and nothing to worry us. we talked of home and speculated as to how many calves the boys at home had branded for us on their annual roundups since we left. finally chuckwagon stopped and sniffed a time or two and said he was satisfied the sheepmen and jackdo must have found the train. after we walked a mile further we came to the sheepmen and jackdo setting down at a sidetrack, but the stock train was not there. we were much puzzled at this, but after a great deal of argument eatumup jake, who had studied arithmetic some, proposed to measure the sidetrack. he suggested as the only possible solution to the train not being there that probably the track was too short for the train. the trouble now was to get some proper thing to measure with. finally we took eatumup jake's pants which he had removed for the purpose, they being thirty-four inches inseam. by taking the end of each leg they measured sixty-eight inches, or five feet eight inches, to a measurement. every time we made a measurement dillbery put a pebble in his pocket for feet and chuckwagon put one in his for inches. when we got through we made a light out of some sticks and counted the pebbles. dillbery had and chuckwagon . they both insisted they had made no mistake, so we had to measure it all over again. there had come up a little flurry of snow in the meantime, which happens frequently at that altitude, and eatumup jake wanted them to divide the difference between and , but as one had inches and the other feet, eatumup jake couldn't make the proper division in his head and we had nothing to figure with. so we measured again and counted and found they each had . as this would only equal forty-one stock cars, and as there was forty-three cars of stock, five cars of california fruit, three cars merchandise, nine tonnage cars and the way-car, we knew our train couldn't possibly get in on this sidetrack. so jake put on his pants and we started on again, perfectly satisfied now that we had solved what seemed at first a great mystery. after walking several miles it became daylight and we discovered a man and woman with a mule team and wagon, going the same way we were. as they didn't seem to have much of a load and asked us to ride we concluded to ride. however, as we couldn't all ride in the wagon at once and as the wagon road wasn't always in sight of the track, we had jackdo and the two sheepmen walk along the track, and if they found the train they were to holler and wave something to us so we would know. eatumup jake had been kinder grumpy ever since he had to stand the snowstorm without any pants on while we done the measuring, but now he was to hear some good news which brought such overwhelming joy to him as, indeed, it did to all of us, as our joys and sorrows were one on this trip. it will be remembered that eatumup jake had married a buxom mormon girl about six weeks before we started with the cattle, and now it turned out that these people, who were on their way from the two wallys to arkansas, had come by jake's place in utah and jake's wife had not only sent a letter by this couple to him, but the letter contained the news that he was the father of twin boys. jake's pride and joy knew no bounds, and for a time he talked about going back and taking a look at the twins and then catching up to us again. but we argued this would bring bad luck, and anyway there were immigrants on the way from oregon to arkansas all the time, and jake's wife said all our folks in utah had agreed to send us letters every time anyone came by with a team going east. we now came in sight of our stock train as it was slowly climbing a grade, but we were loath to give up our new-found friends, the immigrants, and it wasn't till they had drove several miles ahead of the stock train that we finally bid them a reluctant good-bye and sauntered on back to meet the special. this is the first time i've used the word special, but all stock trains are known as specials because they make special time with them. after we got on the train and had taken the prod pole, and drove the sheepmen and jackdo out and made them ride on top, we emptied a bottle or so and eatumup jake got very hilarious and sang "the little black bull came running down the mountain," while we all joined in the chorus. and finally when old chuckwagon, packsaddle jack and dillbery ike had gone to sleep on the floor of the car, eatumup jake got me by the button hole and told me the story of his life in the following words. he talked in a thick, slushy, slobbery voice, something like the mud and water squirts through the holes in your overshoes on a sloppy day, but this was on account of a great deal of whiskey and the fact that he had taken a slight cold the night before standing in the snowstorm while we used his pants to measure the sidetrack. chapter v. eatumup jake's life story. he said his father was a poor methodist preacher in a little country place in western kansas where he was born. said they lived there many years because they was so durn poor they couldn't get away. his father's salary was paid promptly every month in contributions and consisted of one sack of cornmeal, one sack of potatoes, two gallons sorghum molasses, four old crowing hens, seven jack rabbits, one quart choke cherry jelly and one load of dried buffalo chips for fuel. he said his father was one of the most patient beggars he ever saw, that he took up collections at all times and on all occasions, morning, noon and night--week days and sundays he passed the hat. he had seventeen different kinds of foreign missions to beg for. he had twenty-one different kinds of home missions to beg for, and while it was the poorest community he ever saw, most people too poor to have any tea or coffee, or overshoes for winter or shoes in summer, yet his father begged so persistently that he got worlds of flannels for the heathens in africa, any amount of bibles for the starving children in new york city and all kinds of religious literature for the reconcentrados in india. finally his mother died of nothing on the stomach, his father and a woman missionary went to chicago, his nine brothers and sisters was bound out and adopted by different people, and he, the oldest child, was taken in charge by a professional bone picker, and although he was only years old at the time, yet he picked up bones on kansas prairies summer and winter for two years till a bunch of cowpunchers came along and took him away from the bone picker. he said he never had anything much to eat till he got into this cow camp, and just eat roast veal, baking powder biscuits, plum duff and california canned goods till all the cowboys stopped eating to look at him, and one of them asked his name, and when he said jacob, they immediately nicknamed him eatumup jake. he said he never had seen any of his folks since all this happened, but one night he had a dream, just as plain as day. he thought he was in a big city and a one-legged man with blue glasses was following him, and when he stopped the man said: "jacob, i'm your father," and he asked him how he lost his leg, what he was wearing blue glasses for (a placard saying he was blind), and why he held out a tincup, and his father said: "i aint lost any leg, it's tied up inside my pants leg, and i'm wearing glasses so people can't see my eyes." and he said his father told him that his training as a methodist preacher had peculiarly fitted him for a professional beggar. when eatumup jake finished telling his story he fell to weeping and wept very bitterly for a long time, and when i tried to comfort him by telling him a man wasn't to blame for what his folks done, he said no, but cowmen were to blame when they fell so durn low as to spend the best part of their lives on a special stock train associating with a hobo and two sheepmen. chapter vi. the schoolmarm's saddle horse. one day while waiting on a sidetrack old chuckwagon got to telling about the new school-marm in their neighborhood. he said he reckoned she was as high educated as anybody ever got. he said she didn't sabe cowpuncher talk much, but she used some mighty high-sounding words. why, he said, she called a watergap a wateryawn; a shindig, a dawnce; injuns, naborigines; cowboys, cow servants, and bill allen's hired girl, where she boards, a domestic. the first night she came to bill allen's she heard them a talking about cowpunchers, and she asked old bill if he wouldn't show her a real live cowpuncher: said there weren't any cowpunchers in boston, where she came from, and old bill said he'd have one over from the nearest cow ranch next day. [illustration: _george h. crosby, general freight-agent d. & m._] so next morning he comes over to my ranch and tells me to rig out in fur snaps, put on my buckskin shirt and big mexican hat with tassels on it, with red silk handkerchief around my neck, and he would take me over and introduce me to the new school-marm. so i rigged all up proper, and when we got over to bill allen's place, old bill told his wife to go to the school-marm's room and tell her he had a genuine cowpuncher out there and for her to come out and see him. she told mrs. allen she was busy just then, but tell mr. allen to take the cowpuncher to the barn and give him some hay and she would be out directly. now, he'd been wondering ever since, old chuck said, what on earth she reckoned a cowpuncher was. still she was mighty green about some things, 'cause when they had a little party at old bill allen's all the girls got to telling about the breed of their saddle hosses, and some said their hoss was a hamiltonian, and some said their hoss was thoroughbred, and some was blackhawk morgan. the school-marm said she had a gentleman friend in boston who had a very fine saddle hoss of the stallion breed, and when the boys giggled and the gals began to look red, she says as innocent as a lamb. "there is such a breed of hosses, ain't they?" "of course," she says, "i know it's a rare breed and perhaps you folks out here never saw any of that breed." she says, "they are great hosses to whinney. why, my friend's hoss kept whinneying all the time." when she got to describing that hoss's habits, course all us boys begun to back up and git out the room. i reckon she was from an irish family, 'cause she insisted mrs. flanagan was right when she called the station a daypo. but i reckon she could just knock the hind sights off anybody when it came to singing. i never did know just whether it was a song or not she sung, 'cause none of us could understand it. she said it was italian, and of course there wasn't any of us understood any dago talk. but she would just commence away down in a kind of low growl, like a sleeping foxhound when he is dreaming of a bear fight, and keep growling a little louder and little louder, and directly begin to give some short barks, and then it would sound like a herd of wild cattle bawling round a dead carcass; then like a lot of hungry coyotes howling of a clear frosty night, and finally wind up like hundreds of wild geese flying high and going south for winter. she said her voice had been cultivated and i reckon it had. you could tell it had been laid off in mighty even rows, the weeds all pulled out and the dirt throwed up close to the hills. but somehow i'd a heap rather hear a little blue-eyed girl i know up in the mountains in idaho sing "the suwanee river," and "coming through the rye," 'cause i can understand that. but i guess them boston girls are all right at home. i reckon they are used to them there. chapter vii. selling cattle on the range. then old packsaddle jack got to telling about senator dorsey, of star route fame, selling a little herd of cattle he had in northern new mexico. he said the senator had got hold of some eyeglass englishmen, and representing to them that he had a large herd of cattle in northern new mexico, finally made a sale at $ a head all round for the cattle. the englishmen, however, insisted on counting the herd and wouldn't take the senator's books for them. dorsey finally agreed to this, but said the cattle would have to be gathered first. the senator then went to his foreman, jack hill, and asked jack if he knew of a place where they could drive the cattle around a hill where they wouldn't have to travel too far getting around and have a good place to count them on one side. jack selected a little round mountain with a canyon on one side of it, where he stationed the englishmen and their bookkeepers and senator dorsey. the senator had about , cattle, and jack and the cowboys separated them into two bunches out in the hills, a couple of miles from the party of englishmen and out of sight. keeping the two herds about a mile apart, they now drove the first herd into the canyon, which ran around the edge of the bluff, and on the bank of the canyon sat the senator with the englishmen, and they counted the cattle as the herd strung along by them. the herd was hardly out of sight before the second bunch came stringing along. two or three cowboys, though, had met the first herd, and, getting behind them, galloped them around back of the mountain and had them coming down the canyon past the englishmen again, and they were counted the second time. and they were hardly out of sight before the second division was around the mountain and coming along to be tallied some more. and thus the good work went on all day long, the senator and the englishmen only having a few minutes to snatch a bite to eat and tap fresh bottles. the foreman told the english party at noon that they was holding an enormous herd back in the hills yet from which they were cutting off these small bunches of and bringing them along to be tallied. but along about o'clock in the afternoon the cattle began to get thirsty and footsore. every critter had traveled thirty miles that day, and lots of them began to drop out and lay down. in one of the herds was an old yellow steer. he was bobtailed, lophorned and had a game leg, and for the fifteenth time he limped by the crowd that was counting. milord screwed his eyeglass a little tighter into his eye, and says, "there is more bloody, blarsted, lophorned, bobtailed, yellow, crippled brutes than anything else, don't you know." milord's dogrobber speaks up, and says, "but, me lord, there's no hanimal like 'im hin the hither 'erd." the senator overheard this interesting conversation, and taking the foreman aside, told him when they got that herd on the other side of the mountain again to cut out that old yellow reprobate, and not let him come by again. so jack cut him out and run him off aways in the mountains. but old yellow had got trained to going around that mountain, and the herd wasn't any more than tallied again till here come old buck, as the cowboys called him, limping along behind down the canyon, the englishmen staring at him with open mouths, and senator dorsey looking at old jack hill in a reproachful, grieved kind of way. the cowboys ran old buck off still farther next time, but half an hour afterwards he appeared over a little rise and slowly limped by again. the senator now announced that there was only one herd more to count and signaled to jack to ride around and stop the cowboys from bringing the bunches around any more, which they done. but as the party broke up and started for the ranch, old buck came by again, looking like he was in a trance, and painfully limped down the canyon. that night the cowboys said the senator was groaning in his sleep in a frightful way, and when one of them woke him up and asked if he was sick, he told them, while big drops of cold sweat was dropping off his face, that he'd had a terrible nightmare. he thought he was yoked up with a yellow, bobtailed, lophorned, lame steer and was being dragged by the animal through a canyon and around a mountain day after day in a hot, broiling sun, while crowds of witless englishmen and jibbering cowboys were looking on. he insisted on saddling up and going back through the moonlight to the mountain and see if old buck was still there. when they arrived, after waiting awhile, they heard something coming down the canyon, and in the bright moonlight they could see old buck painfully limping along, stopping now and then to rest. a cowboy reported finding old buck dead on his well-worn trail a week afterwards. but no one ever rides that way moonlight nights now, as so many cowboys have a tradition that old buck's ghost still limps down the canyon moonlight nights. [illustration: _counting "'old buck."_] old buck's ghost. down in new mexico, where the plains are brown and sere, there is a ghostly story of a yellow spectral steer. his spirit wanders always when the moon is shining bright; one horn is lopping downwards, the other sticks upright. on three legs he comes limping, as the fourth is sore and lame; his left eye is quite sightless, but still this steer is game. many times he was bought and counted by a dude with a monocle in his eye; the steer kept limping round a mountain to be counted by that guy. when footsore, weary, gasping, he laid him down at last, his good eye quit its winking; counting was a matter of the past; but his spirit keeps a tramping 'round that mountain trail, and that's the cause, says packsaddle, that i have told this tale. chapter viii. true snake stories. then we all got to telling true snake stories. eatumup jake said down on the republican river in western kansas the rattle-snakes were awful thick when the country was first settled. he said they had their dens in the chalk bluffs along the republican and solomon rivers; said these bluffs were full of them. it was nothing for the first settlers in that country to get together of a sunday afternoon in the fall of the year and kill , rattle-snakes at one bluff as they lay on the shelves of rock that projected out from its face. he said the snake dens were two or three miles apart, all the way along the river for a hundred miles, and when somebody would start in to killing them at one place, why all the snakes at that den would start in to rattling. then the snakes at the dens on each side of where they was killing them would wake up and hear their neighbors' rattle, and then they'd get mad and begin to rattle and that would wake up the snake dens beyond them and start them to rattling. and in an hour's time all the snakes for a hundred miles along that country would be rattling. when these two hundred million snakes all got to rattling at once you could hear them one hundred miles away and all the settlers in eastern kansas would go into their cyclone cellars. but after the populists got so thick in kansas, if they did hear the snakes get to rattling, they just thought five or six populists got together and was talking politics. then packsaddle jack told about a bull-snake family he used to know in southern kansas. he said the whole family had yellow bodies beautifully marked below the waist, but from their waist up, including their necks and heads, was a shiny coal black. the old man bull-snake would beller just like a bull when he was stirred up. the old lady bull-snake had sort of an alto voice and the younger master and misses bull-snakes went from soprano and tenor down to a hiss. he said this family of bull-snakes were very proud of their clothes, as there weren't any other bull-snakes dressed like them, all the other bull-snakes being just a plain yellow. and old mrs. bull-snake used to talk about her ancestors on her father's side, and she called the scrubby willow under which they had their den the family tree, and talked about the family tree half her time. she never allowed her daughters to associate with any of the common young bull-snakes, but kept them coiled up around home under the family tree till they got very delicate, being in the shade all the time. all the snakes in the country looked up to this family of half-black bull-snakes and they were known by the name of half-blacks. all the old female bull-snakes in the country around there, if they had just a distant speaking acquaintance with mrs. half-black, always spoke of her as "my dear intimate friend mrs. half-black." old papa half-black set around all swelled up with unwary toads he'd swallowed when they came under the family tree for shade, and while he didn't say much about his ancestry and family tree, yet he was mighty proud and dignified. sometimes he would slip off from his illustrious family, and going over the hill where there was a little sand blow-out and something to drink, he'd meet some of the miss common bull-snakes, and then he would unbend a good deal from his dignity and treat them with great familiarity, and after having a few drinks call them his sweethearts and get them to sing "the good old summer time," and he would join in the chorus with his heavy bass voice, and they would all be very gay. of course, he never told old mrs. half-black about these meetings, cause she wouldn't understand them. but with all their glory this aristocratic family of half-black bull-snakes came to an untimely end. one day there came along a couple of mangy kansas hogs and rooted the whole family out and eat them up as fast as they came to them; rooted up the family tree also. we all cheered packsaddle jack's bull-snake story. we now all got to telling stories about fellows we knowed who had died from mad skunk bites, said skunks creeping up on them in the night when they were sleeping outdoors. when we got to the end of our mad skunk stories we turned our attention to tales of friends of ours who had died from rattlesnake bites. it seemed each of us had dozens of dead friends who had met their doom by crawling into a roundup bed at night without shaking the blankets only to find a couple of rattle-snakes coiled up inside. the more we told the stories the more snake-bite antidote we imbibed, till we got so full of the antidote it's safe to say that it would have been sure death for any poisonous reptile to have bitten any man in the crowd. some of us wept a good deal over the memory of our dead friends and other things, and all together this was about the most enjoyable half day of our journey. chapter ix. chuckwagon's death. i now come to a point in my story that is fraught with such grief and sorrow that i would gladly pass over if i could, but my story wouldn't be complete without this sad chapter. we were slowly climbing sherman hill, some of us pushing on the train, some using pinch bars--as we always did where there was a hard pull--when all of a sudden the engine broke down and the train started slowly back down the hill. while the train didn't go very fast on account that the wheels hadn't been greased since we started, as the company was economizing on oil, and the train stopped when it got to the bottom of the hill, yet it was so discouraging and heart-sickening to poor old chuckwagon that he died almost immediately after this took place. he had been gradually growing weaker lately, not being able to keep anything on his stomach except a little limburger cheese since the night he had the skunk dream. he always imagined this dream to be a warning, and had low sinking spells at times, specially when the two sheepmen and jackdo were all three in the car in at once, and at such times we were obliged to take a prod pole and drive jackdo and the two sheepmen out the car and make them ride on top till chuck revived. we made some smelling salts out of asafoetida and limburger cheese for him to use when he had these fainting spells, as he frequently did when the car got warm and jackdo and the sheepmen were there. we also found the decomposed body of a dog lying beside the track one day, and gathering it up in a gunnysack would hang it round chuck's neck at night when the sheepmen and jackdo had to ride inside, and in that way he would get a little sleep. but if he happened to be out of reach of any of these remedies when one of the sheepmen come near him he immediately began to strike at the end of his nose and mutter something about glue factories. poor old chuckwagon! in my mind i can still see his rugged, tear-stained face as he would piteously hold out his hands for his sack of decomposed dog when one of the sheepmen or jackdo came in the way-car. all i know of chuckwagon's life before he come west was what he told me on this trip. he said as a boy he had worked cleaning sewers in chicago and after that was watchman for glue factories till he come west, but with all this training had never got hardened enough to stand the smell of jackdo, cottswool canvasback and rambolet bill in a way-car. he died like a hero. when we see he was going, packsaddle jack took a prod pole and drove jackdo and the sheepmen down the track a ways so chuck could breathe some purer air. then we gave him a whiff of decomposed dog, propped him up against an old railroad tie and took his post-mortem statement in writing as to cause of his death. we let some cattlemen who had formed themselves into a committee for the public safety up in the new fork country, in wyoming, have his statement. we now went to the nearest town, got the best coffin we could and after selecting a place right under a big cliff, we buried old chuck and piled up a lot of rock at the grave so we could come back and get him and give him a good decent burial on his own ranch. we didn't have much funeral services, but dillbery ike made a talk which just filled all our ideas exactly, and here is what he said: dillbery ike's tribute to chuckwagon. chuck was a good man. while he never joined church and drunk a heap of whiskey, bucked faro and monte, cussed mighty hard at times, yet he always paid his debts. never killed other people's beef and didn't take mavericks till they was plum weaned from the cows. he believed mighty strong in ghosts and god almighty; believed in angels, 'cause he loved a little, blonde, blue-eyed girl away up in the mountains in idaho. he had a strong belief in heaven, but a heap stronger one in hell, 'cause he said there must be some place to keep the sheepmen by themselves in the other world. he never had a father or mother and no bringing up, but lived a better life 'cording to what he knowed than some people who knowed more. he always gave his big-jawed cattle to injuns to eat, place of hauling the meat to town and peddling it out to white folks. he'd been known to even cut stove wood for married men when their wives were off visiting, and once he gave all the tobacco and cigarette papers he had to a sick digger injun and went without for a week himself. he always let the tenderfoot visitor at the ranch fish all the strips of bacon out the beans and pretended to be looking the other way, and when old widow mulligan, who ran a little milk ranch, died of fever and left four little red-headed kids he took them all home and took care of them, told them bear stories till they all went to sleep nights in his bed, washed them, fed them and never said a cross word, and even when they drowned his pet cat in the well, let out his pigs, turned the old cow in his garden and stoned all his young plymouth rock chickens to death, he just said, "poor little fellars, they hain't got no mother now," and he guessed they didn't mean any harm, and took care of them till a relative came and took them away. we figured all these things up and made up our minds that no fair-minded god would send a great, big-hearted, innocent cowman, who never harmed anybody in his life, to a place like hell was supposed to be. even if god couldn't let him into heaven on 'count of his wearing his pants in his boots, eating with his knife at the table place of his fork, drinking his coffee out his saucer and other ignorant ways, yet he might give him a pretty decent place away out where there wasn't any sheepmen, and if he didn't have somebody handy to keep old chuck company just let him have a deck or two of cards to play solitaire with and chuck wouldn't mind. old chuckwagon was mighty fond of white-faced cattle, and just as he breathed his last he sorter roused up and stretched out his arms, with his eyes as bright as 'lectric lamps, and said: "boys, i see another country, just lots of big grass, with running streams of water, big herds of white-face cattle, and they are all mavericks, not a brand on 'em, and not a sheep-wagon in sight." and them was his last words. he lay on the sidetrack, poor honest chuckwagon, the pallor of death creeping fast o'er his brow; said he to the cowboys, "my rope is a dragging, i'm going o'er the divide and going right now. "i've often faced death with the bronks and the cattle, and meeting him now doesn't take so much sand. for sooner or later with death all must grapple, and all that we need is to show a straight brand. "i would like one more glimpse at the side of the mountain, before i saddle up for eternity's divide; the ranch house, the meadow, the spring like a fountain, but, alas for poor chuck, my feet are hogtied." down his bronzed hardy cheeks the warm tears were stealing, at the memory of his cow ranch, so pleasant and bright. a smile like an angel played over each feature, and the soul of the cowboy rode out of sight. chapter x. the disappearance of the sheepmen. after we buried chuckwagon we walked across a bend in the road and caught up with the stock train and strolled on ahead with sad hearts and silent lips till we arrived at the top of sherman hill. we prepared to wait for the arrival of the stock train, so selecting a site on the south side of ames monument, we built a snow hut by rolling up huge snowballs and piling them up one on top of the other for walls to a height of about seven and one-half feet, leaving a space for our room of about twelve feet square inside, and gradually drawing them together at the top for a roof, and making a big snowball for the door. after it was all finished we let the sheepmen and jackdo go over across the canyon about two miles and build another hut for themselves. we moved our luggage (which we had carried to lighten up the train) inside, and after closing the door with the big snowball, we ate a hearty supper of boiled rawhide, and spreading down a sheet of mist, we rolled up in a blanket of fog and went to sleep. we hadn't no more than got to sleep before a lightning rod agent by the name of woods came along and put up lightning rods all over our snow hut and woke us up to sign $ worth of notes for the rods. this matter attended to, we went to sleep again and the lightning rod agent went over across the canyon to the sheepmen's hut and put rods on it. this man woods was a good fellar, got people to sign notes by the wholesale, but never did anything so low as to collect them, just turned them over to a lawyer and let him attend to that. he was always broke and borrowed your last "five" in a way that endeared him to you for life. he never bothered with paying for anything, always said, "just put it down, or charge it," in such a lofty way that everyone in hearing would begin to hunt for pencils right off. he put lightning rods on everything, even to prairie dogs' houses and ant heaps, took anybody's note with any kind of signature. cottswool canvasback, rambolet bill and jackdo couldn't write, but he had rambolet bill make his mark to the note and then cottswool canvasback and jackdo witnessed it by affixing their mark; then he had cottswool canvasback sign his mark as security and rambolet bill and jackdo witness the signature with their marks; then had jackdo sign his mark as security and rambolet and cottswool witness it with their marks. we had put out a signal flag on our snow hut so the trainmen would know where to find us when they came along with the stock. when we awoke next morning and went outdoors a strange sight greeted our astonished vision. there had come a [ ]chinook wind in the night and melted the snow off up to within one hundred feet of our altitude. as jackdo and the two sheepmen had built their snow residence about feet lower altitude on the other side of the canyon, their house had melted down over their heads, and as they were nowhere in sight it was safe to presume they had been carried away in the ruins. we had quite an argument now, whether we should try to find them or not. dillbery ike maintained they was human beings and as such was entitled to our looking for them. packsaddle jack said he didn't know for sure whether sheepmen were humans or not. he guessed it was a mighty broad word and covered a heap of things. eatumup jake said he reckoned they would turn up all right, that sheepmen didn't die very easy, that he knowed them to pack off more lead than an antelope would and still live; he guessed being washed off the side of the mountain wouldn't kill them. he said we'd better wait till the trainmen came along and then report the matter to them, as the sheepmen would want damages off the railroad or somebody and we'd better not hunt them up too quick as it might jeopardize their case. we all agreed there was some difference in sheepmen, and that rambolet bill and cottswool canvasback certainly belonged to the better class, and we all fell to telling stories of the generous, open-handed things that sheepmen of our acquaintance had done. packsaddle jack said he knowed a sheepman once by the name of black face, who was so good-hearted that he paid $ towards one of his herder's doctor bill when he lost both feet by their being frozen in the great wyoming blizzard in ' . the herder stayed with the sheep for seventy-two hours in the bad lands and saved all the , head except seven, that got over the bank of the creek into ice and water and drowned. the herder having got all but these seven head out and getting his feet wet they froze so hard that black face said his feet was rattling together like rocks when he found him still herding the sheep. of course, the sheep might have all perished in the storm if the herder didn't stay with them, and of course, the herder didn't have anything to eat the entire three days in the storm, as he was miles from any habitation and that way saved black face cents in grub. but we all agreed that while black face would feel the greatest anguish at the loss of the seven sheep and giving up the $ , yet the satisfaction of doing a generous deed and the pride he would experience when it was mentioned in the item column of the local county paper would partially alleviate that anguish. eatumup jake said he knew a sheepman by the name of hatchet face from connecticut, who had sheep ranches out there in utah, and he was so kind-hearted that when one of his herders kept his sheep in a widow neighbor's field till they ate up everything in sight, even her lawn and flower garden, he apologized to the widow when she returned from nursing a poor family through a spell of sickness, and told her he would pay her something, and while he never did pay her anything, yet he always seemed sorry, while a lot of sheepmen would have laid awake nights to have studied a way how to eat out the widow again. eatumup jake said old hatchet face, when he prayed in church sundays (he being a strict presbyterian), he always prayed for the poor and widows and orphans, and that showed he had a good heart, to use what influence he had with god almighty and get him to do something for widows and orphans and poor people. dillbery ike said he knew a sheepman by the name of shearclose, and while he never gave his hired help any meat to eat except old broken-mouthed ewes in the winter and dead lambs in the spring and summer, and herded his sheep around homesteaders' little ranches till their milk cows mighty near starved to death, yet old shearclose gave $ for a ticket to a charity ball once when a list of the names of all the people who bought tickets was printed in the county paper. [illustration: _c. j. lane, general freight agent and pass distributer to live stock shippers._] after we summed all these things up, our hearts got so warm thinking of these acts of generosity by sheepmen that we concluded to make a hunt for rambolet bill, cottswool canvasback and jackdo. we now discussed a great many plans how to rescue them. while we were arguing the stock train came, and when we told the conductor, he immediately had the agent wire general freight agent c. j. lane at omaha the following message: "two prominent sheepmen swept away by freshet while camping ahead of special stock train no. . please wire instructions how to find them." lane immediately wired back not to find them, and if there was any trace left of them to obliterate it at once. jackdo's story of his escape. we now sauntered down sherman hill ahead of the train to cheyenne, expecting to get some help there to find rambolet bill and cottswool canvasback, and was much surprised to discover jackdo asleep riding on the trucks of a car in a special that went by, and on waking him up he told us the following story of his escape: he said when the flood came he got astride a big snowball and making a compass out of a piece of lightning rod he pointed it for the north star so as to not lose his bearings and started for cheyenne. he said it was a wild ride, that he passed cattle and horses, forests and ranches in quick succession and his snowball was almost worn out when he got below the altitude of the chinook wind and struck a country of ice and snow again. but it was impossible to stop, he had acquired such a momentum going down the mountain that he slid through nine miles of cactus and prickly pears without having changed the sitting position he started in. however, after his snowball wore out, he just held up his feet and kept on till he struck a special stock train going east, and after knocking two of the cars off the rails and breaking the bumpers of a half-dozen more, he checked up enough to crawl on a brake beam and go to sleep. he knew nothing of rambolet bill and cottswool canvasback. footnotes: [ ] for the benefit of our readers who do not know what a chinook wind is, i will explain that it is a hot, violent coast wind which blows at certain periods of the year at certain altitudes in the west. chapter xi. our arrival in cheyenne. we arrived in cheyenne, and after reporting to the dispatcher what time our special stock train would arrive, we exposed jackdo to the gentle breeze, which is always on tap in cheyenne, and it blew all the cactus slivers out of his anatomy that he had accumulated in his nine miles slide in just thirteen seconds. we then started out to see the town. we asked an expressman on the corner of main street--he was the only live human being in sight--what was the main features of cheyenne. he said tom horn and senator warren. we asked him what they was noted for, and he said that tom horn was noted for killing people that took things that didn't belong to them and then blowing his horn about it afterwards, and senator warren was noted for building wire fences on government land and taking everything in sight. not seeing anyone on the streets, we asked him if it was sunday, and he said every day was sunday in cheyenne except when they had a political rally, and then it was a durn democratic funeral from sun to sun, burying the democratic party over and over again, they rehearsed them same old services. whenever people saw the politicians on the streets with clean shirts on they knew the democratic party was going to have another funeral. the folks in cheyenne was always going to church, or else burying the democratic party. we asked him what the prevailing religion of the town was, and he said, "high-priced wool." just then senator w---- came along, and hearing of the disappearance of two sheepmen, and it being near election time, he immediately had all the troops called out, got together a vast army of united states deputy marshals and wired the president of the overland, who immediately chartered a special train loaded with detectives, and two cars loaded with blood-hounds in charge of a lawyer by the name of ashby from lincoln; one car loaded with automobiles, two cars loaded with bottled goods and other useful supplies and two pianos with pianola attachments, seven trunks full of mechanical music in air-tight bottles, and one steam calliope near the engine on a flat car. the governor of wyoming met the special train at cheyenne, and after issuing a proclamation offering a large reward for the sheepmen dead or alive, joined the u. p. president in his car. they now started the steam calliope, and the governor playing one of the pianola-attachment pianos, the u. p. president playing the other. the state chairman of the republican party sang the old familiar hymn, "ninety and nine were safely laid in the shelter of the fold," and senator w---- made a speech something like this: he said: "fellow sheepmen and what few other citizens there are in wyoming: what's the matter with the sheep business? have we deteriorated in the eyes of the world in the last two thousand years? who writes poetry of the sheep and sheepherder of the present time? what artist puts priceless paintings on canvass of the sheep business to-day? why, fellow sheepmen, in ancient times all the poetry that was written was of the shepherd and his flock, and in every palace, in the most conspicuous place, was a picture of a tall shepherd with venerable beard and flowing locks, with his serape thrown carelessly over his shoulder, a long shepherd's crook in his hand, leading his sheep over the hill into some fresher pasture. and when the people saw the original of this painting in ye ancient time appearing over the hill in the sunset glow, they cried: 'lo, behold the shepherd cometh.' now what do they say? this is what you hear: 'well, look at that lousy sheepherding scoundrel coming over the divide with his sheep. boys, get your black masks and the wagon spokes.' "now," he says, "wouldn't that ram you? what would our party have amounted to in wyoming if i hadn't bucked everything in sight? i've lambed the stuffing out of the democrats and pulled wool over the eyes of the would-be party leaders till we have pretty good grazing and fair we(a)thers. "in a few days we will be called on to decide a great question at the polls, whether billy bryan will build your house out of cold, clammy, frosty silver bricks, or whether we will have houses built out of all wool. you must make a choice between the two. if you vote for me, it means a good, warm woolen house, good woolen underclothes, good woolen overclothes." judge carey tried to say something about a gold plank, but everybody frowned at him so that he slunk off in the crowd and shortly afterwards was seen in a back alley having a heart-to-heart talk with two bow-legged cowpunchers who, while they did not know much about any kind of gold, let alone a big gold standard, knew anything was better than all this talk about sheep and wool. senator w---- kept talking as long as he could keep the governor and the u. p. president making music. he said everybody who voted right could sit on his right hand with the sheep, otherwise they would have to associate with the goats on his left that was herded by billy bryan. some of the crowd grumbled about associating with either one, but the senator said there was no choice if they stayed in wyoming. a carriage now dashed up, all emblazoned with a coat-of-arms, which consisted of a panel of barbed wire fence with a rampant sheep leaning against it. the senator entered this carriage, rolled away and the crowd followed him. although there had been no effort made to find the sheepmen, yet apparently the object of the railroad expedition had been accomplished, and they were about to return when they discovered that three of the highest-priced detectives were missing. they were found almost immediately on the trail of the man who could tell why a life-long democrat in wyoming, as soon as he starts in the sheep business, gets a public office in place of a life-long republican who didn't own any sheep. the detectives were called off the trail and the president of the great overland began his return. we heard afterwards that captain ashby claimed that two of the most valuable blood-hounds escaped from the hound car and he demanded that the u. p. pay him $ for the dogs. he claimed that if they struck the trail of anything they would follow it to the death. a couple of mangy fox-hounds were found dead in an alley back of one of the cheyenne hotels the next morning after the president's train left, and as it was known that one of the hotel cooks had been down to the train, these were supposed to be the dogs, and the claim was allowed. what caused their death was a matter of conjecture. there was quite a pile of hotel grub laying near the dogs. the hotel boarders differed in opinion. some said the dogs died of indigestion and some said of starvation. chapter xii. the post-hole digger's ghost. the skeletons of rambolet bill and cottswool canvasback were found a long time after this all happened by one of the warren live stock company's fence riders. this fence commences in northeastern colorado near the th degree of longitude west from washington, and extends west over hills and valleys, plains and mountains, through all kinds of latitudes, longitudes and vicissitudes. there is a legend in regard to the building of this fence that is told in whispers when the fire burns low of a night in western homes. it runs something like this: years ago senator warren, manager gleason and some other massachusetts yankees started in the sheep business in southern wyoming and northern colorado, and as the country was large they thought it would be a good thing to fence in a few hundred thousand acres of government land and save the grass so fenced in case of hard winters and other things and graze their sheep in this enclosure only when there was no more grass around the little homesteads taken here and there by settlers. so hiring a young german from the old country, who couldn't speak a word of english, to dig the post-holes, they got him a brand-new shovel, a post-bar about eight feet long, the famous receipt for cooking jackrabbits, and started him digging near the th degree of longitude west from washington. pointing toward the setting sun in the west, they went off and left him. the german was never seen alive again, but he left a never-ending line of post-holes behind him. the warren live stock company, it is said, put on a great many men setting the posts in these holes and stringing barbed wire on them, and although they kept ever increasing the force that built the fence, yet they never caught up with the german, and time after time the post-setters would come to the top of a high hill or a range of mountains and thought they would come in sight of the german, only to see a long line of post-holes stretching away over hill and valley towards the setting sun. after a while the mormons along the line of utah and wyoming complained of seeing a ghost about the time they drove their cows home of an evening. they said it was a german with grizzled locks and flowing beard, with a large meerschaum pipe in his mouth and a shovel in one hand from which the blade was worn down to the handle and a post-bar no bigger than a drag tooth in the other hand. he was always looking toward the setting sun, shading his eyes with his hand and muttering these words: "das sinkende sonne, ich fange sie nicht." but when they approached close to him, or spoke to him, he immediately vanished. when the ghost wasn't disturbed it seemed to be digging holes. it would go through the motions of digging a hole in the ground, then rising up, take thirteen steps in a westerly direction, look back to see if the line was straight, dig another hole, and go on. sometimes the ghost seemed to be studying a well-worn piece of paper, which was undoubtedly the receipt for cooking jackrabbits, and would mutter in german, "o wohene, o wohene ist er gegangen, mit schwanz so kurz und ohr so lang? o wohene ist mein hase gegangen?" after awhile the ghost began to appear in western utah and still later on in nevada, always digging a never-ending imaginary line of post-holes. no one never knew where the actual post-holes left off and the imaginary ones commenced. as the routt county cattlemen in western colorado never allowed any sheepmen to encroach on their range, and they always killed all the sheep and sheepmen who dared to intrude, of course, the warren live stock had to stop building fence west and turn north before they got there. when the ghastly skeletons of rambolet bill and cottswool canvasback were found lying by this fence, their bones picked clean by coyotes and vultures, a small book was picked up near them which proved to be a diary of their adventures and last hours of suffering. it will be remembered that rambolet bill and cottswool canvasback couldn't write, but they had drawn pictures in the book, and when we had gotten another sheepman who couldn't write to examine them he read them just like print. the first picture was a mountain with a lot of marks, which was interpreted as the flood, and two men drawn crosswise laying down was the sheepmen being washed away. the next picture was a wire fence with two men clinging to it. he said that was when they washed into the fence. the next was another fence picture showing two men walking along it. there was about fifty pictures after this one, but they always had a section of a wire fence in them. several pictures in the front part of the book showed the two men eating jackrabbits, but later on some of the pictures showed them chasing a prairie dog, or trying to slip up on one, indicating that they couldn't find any more jackrabbits. there was pictures of them chewing bits of their clothes to get the sheep grease out of them. then there was pictures of them pointing to their mouths and stomachs, finally in the last picture they were in the act of eating a piece of paper with some writing on it, which was probably the receipt for cooking jackrabbits. they probably had walked hundreds of miles along this fence before they finally succumbed, and as it was a country where they had herded large bands of sheep the grass had become so exterminated that no jackrabbits could live there, and consequently rambolet bill and cottswool canvasback had gradually starved to death. two guileless sheepmen lay sleeping on the side of a barren hill, one's name was cottswool canvasback, the other was rambolet bill. they were dreaming, sweetly dreaming, the fore part of the night of grazing their sheep on a homesteader's claim when he was out of sight. but hark! to the wind that's rising; 'tis coming fast and warm; little recked the sleepers that it would do them harm; but the roar was growing louder, as the pine trees bent and shook, and the birds were screaming loudly, "beware of the warm chinook." when that hot blast struck their hut, built out of walls of snow, that house turned into a river in a way that wasn't slow; washed off these dreaming sheepmen in the middle of the night. as the waters swept the dreamers away, what must have been their fright, till tangled up in warren's fence that's built o'er mountain and vale, they followed it the rest of their lives, winding o'er hill and dale. when found by the annual fence rider, they long since had been dead, their bones picked clean by coyotes, with vultures hovering o'erhead. chapter xiii. grafting. one night while we were in cheyenne we were going from the dispatcher's office down to our way car, which was, as usual, about one mile from the depot. the railroad company had quite a number of police on duty in the yards to watch for strikers, there having been a machinists' strike on for a long time. no strikers had ever come around the railroad yards nights or even interfered with any one at any time, but a lot of fellows who wanted soft jobs as watchmen made the officials of the road think the strikers were going to do something, and these night watch men had, it seems, been looking for a long time for some weak tramp to beat to death and then claim the tramp was working in the interest of the strikers and was about to injure railroad property when those awful sleuths caught him in the act and put his light out. thus they could get a fresh hold on their jobs. however, they had been unable to catch a tramp, and as they had to get somebody in order to hold their jobs, they cornered dillbery ike, who had loitered behind the rest, and one of the valiant watchmen swiping him over the head with a six-shooter, scalped him as clean as a sioux injun would have done it with a scalping knife. hearing dillbery ike's cries for help, we went to his rescue, and none too soon, as the watchman was still beating him. when we had got a doctor for dillbery, of course the first thing he asked for was dillbery's scalp, so he could sew it on again. but although we made a long search for the scalp, we only found a few bloody hairs, and undoubtedly some hungry canine prowling around had ate it up. however, the railroad company, after some parleying, agreed to pay for having a new one grafted on, and as grafting is the long suit of the cheyenne doctors, there was a general scramble for the job. 'twas finally agreed to divide the job amongst them, or rather divide the space and the money. the doctors immediately advertised for contributions of pieces of scalp to graft on dillbery's head, but no one responding they offered to buy some sections of scalp, and this ad was responded to in a mysterious way by a midnight visitor at each of their offices, with a small piece of very close shaven fresh scalp, which the visitor (who was a woman in each case and so muffled up that her features couldn't be seen) claimed she had cut off billy's or johnny's or jimmy's head after putting them under the influence of ether. [illustration: _dillbery ike as a shipper._] each of the four doctors paid her $ and hiked off to plaster the piece of hide on dillbery ike's cranium. the scalped place had been carefully laid off by a civil engineer, so each of the four doctors knew his corner in the block, and without any courtesies to one another they each trimmed down his $ piece of hide to fit his corner and then fastened it on. the grafting took at once and in a few days was healed over nicely, despite the fact it turned out that the woman had taken a different piece of scalp off from different pet animals which she kept. one was a pet pig, another a pet goat, another a pet sheep and the fourth a pet dog of the newfoundland breed. when the hair, wool and bristles all began to make a luxuriant growth on dillbery's new scalp, he seemed to be more or less affected by the dispositions of each animal from which a part of the wonderful scalp was removed, and when the different colored hair, wool and bristles had grown to a good length the effect of this unique head covering was very striking to strangers. however, dillbery ike was justly proud of it, as the doctors had charged the union pacific $ , for this variegated scalp. of course, no other cowpuncher could boast of such a valuable head covering. there was one little white bare spot in the center which was above timber line, as it were, where the doctors, making these four corners, had each been a little shy of material, and here was a little open, or park, on the top of his head in which sheep ticks, hog lice, dog fleas and goat vermin could have a common ground to assemble and sun themselves in. chapter xiv. the file. after learning the fate of the two sheepmen we prepared to leave cheyenne and catch up with our stock train, which we figured would take us a day or so. we interviewed the dispatcher, superintendent and station agent at cheyenne, asking each one of them to wire down the road and see if they could locate the special. every one of them wired and the next day about noon the agent got word the stock was at egbert. that evening the superintendent got a message that they was between egbert and pine bluffs. about midnight the dispatcher got a message that they were hourly expected in pine bluffs, so we started on to overtake them. we had noticed with a great deal of anxiety that the wrinkles had commenced to accumulate on our cattle's horns, as a new wrinkle grows each year after an animal is two years old, and we had been advised by several cattlemen who had been in the habit of taking their cattle by rail to market in place of driving them, to procure files and rasps and remove these wrinkles before we got to omaha. so we secured a lot of rasps and files at cheyenne and had jackdo carry them for us, and when we caught up with the train we went to work to take off the sign of old age which had come on our stock since shipping them, as the nebraska corn-raisers only want young stock to feed. when we first loaded our cattle we were informed that they were a little bit too fat for the killers, but, of course, the next day, they was about four pounds too thin for the killers, but too fat for the feeders. however, by this time they were nothing but petrified skeletons, and dillbery ike wanted to leave the wrinkles on their horns and sell the entire outfit for antiques. but the more we discussed it, the more we made up our minds that as this railroad done a large business hauling stock, the antique cattle market must be overstocked. so we finally concluded to take off the wrinkles that had grown since we started and sell the cattle on their merits. we arranged to run two day shifts and one night shift of six hours each and to commence up next the engine and work back. so getting in the first car we climbed astride the critters' necks and commenced to file. day after day, night after night, we kept at this wearisome task, and when our files and rasps became worn we sent jackdo (who wouldn't work, but who didn't mind tramping) to the nearest town to get fresh files and rasps. sometimes we became discouraged when we saw the wrinkles starting again that we had removed to commence with, and our eyes filled with bitter tears when we thought how much better it would have been to have trailed our cattle through, or even sold them to some nebraska sucker and taken his draft on a commission house. dillbery ike, who had some education, made up a song for us to sing while we were at work, called "the song of the file," and one of us would sing a verse and then all join in the chorus, and this song helped us a great deal. here it is: oh! we are a bunch of cattlemen. going to market with our stock again, and, as we ship over a road that's bum, the days they go and the days they come. _chorus._ cheer up, brave hearts, and list to the file as the wrinkles keep dropping below in a pile; never fear, my boys, we have plenty of time to remove old age that's known by the wrinkle sign. and as time goes by the wrinkles grow on the horns of the cattle in a train that's slow; for every year after the second a cow that's born another wrinkle grows upon each horn. while we have a job that isn't so soft, a-trying to rasp these wrinkles off, to make their horns look smooth and bright, we file all day and we file all night. and as we file, we whistle and sing, trying to make it a jolly thing, to remove the wrinkles that are sure to grow on the horns of cattle with a road that's slow. astride their necks, we sit and file, and through our tears, we try to smile. cheer up, brave hearts, cheer up, we say again, as we camp along with the bum stock train. chapter xv. the cattle stampede. the boys all got to talking about stampedes one night while we were waiting on a sidetrack, and i related to them an experience of my own. a number of years ago, i bought some , steers in southern arizona, and shipping them to denver, colorado, divided them up into herds of about , head in each herd and started to trail these herds north to wyoming. about , head of these steers were from to years old and were known as outlaws in the country where they were raised. these steers were almost as wild as elk; very tall, thin, raw-boned, high-headed, with enormous horns and long tails, and as there was great danger of their stampeding at any time, i put all of them in a herd by themselves and went with that herd myself. i worried about these steers night and day, and talked to my men incessantly about how to handle them and what to do if the cattle stampeded. there is only one thing to do in case of a stampede of a herd of wild range steers, and that is for every cowboy to get in the lead of them with a good horse and keep in the lead without trying to stop them, but gradually turn them and get them to running in a circle, or "milling," as it is commonly known among cowboys. cattle on the trail never stampede but one way, and that is back the way they come from. if you can succeed in turning them in some other direction, you can gradually bring them to a stop. these long-legged range steers can run almost as fast as the swiftest horse. so we kept our best and swiftest horses saddled all night, ready to spring onto in case the herd ever got started. we were driving in a northerly direction all the time, and every night took the herd fully a mile north of the mess wagon camp before we bedded them down. i had fourteen men in the outfit, half of them old-time cowboys and the other half would-be cowboys; several of them what we used to call tenderfeet. amongst the green hands at trailing cattle was the nephew of my eastern partner, a college-bred boy, with blonde, curly hair and a face as merry as a girl's at a may day picnic. the boys all called him curley. he was as lovable a lad as i ever met, but positively refused to take this enormous herd of old outlaw, long-horned steers as a serious proposition. we had always four men on night herd at a time, each gang standing night guard three hours, when they were relieved by another four men. the first gang was to o'clock in the evening; the next till and the last guard stood from till daylight, and then started the herd traveling north again. i kept two old cow hands and two green ones on each guard, and had been nine days on the trail; had traveled about a hundred miles without any mishap. we had bright moonlight nights. the grass was fine, being about the first of june, and i was beginning to feel a little easier, when one night we were camped on a high rolling prairie near the wyoming line. curley and three other men had just went on guard at o'clock in the morning. the moon was shining bright as day. everything was as still as could be, the old long-horned outlaws all lying down sleeping, probably dreaming of the cactus-covered hillsides in their old home in arizona. curley was on the north side of the herd and rolling a cigarette. he forgot my oft-repeated injunction not to light a parlor match around the herd in the night, but scratched one on his saddle horn. when that match popped, there was a roar like an earthquake and the herd was gone in the wink of an eyelid; just two minutes from the time curley scratched his match, that wild, crazy avalanche of cattle was running over that camp outfit, two and three deep. but at that first roar, i was out of my blankets, running for my hoss and hollering, "come on, boys!" with a rising inflection on "boys." the old hands knew what was coming and were on their hosses soon as i was, but the tenderfeet stampeded their own hosses trying to get onto them, and their hosses all got away except two, and when their riders finally got on them, they took across the hills as fast as they could go out the way of that horde of oncoming wild-eyed demons. the men who lost their hosses crawled under the front end of the big heavy roundup wagon, and for a wonder the herd didn't overturn the wagon, although lots of them broke their horns on it and some broke their legs. when i lit in the saddle, and looked around, five of my cowboys was lined up side of me, their hosses jumping and snorting, for them old cow hosses scented the danger and i only had time to say, "keep cool; hold your hosses' heads high, boys, and keep two hundred yards ahead of the cattle for at least five miles. if your hoss gives out try to get off to one side," and then that earthquake (as one of the tenderfeet called it when he first woke up) was at our heels, and we were riding for our own lives as well as to stop the cattle, because if a hoss stumbled or stepped in a badger hole there wouldn't be even a semblance of his rider left after those thousands of hoofs had got through pounding him. i was riding a blackhawk morgan hoss with wonderful speed and endurance and very sure footed, which was the main thing, and i allowed the herd to get up in a hundred yards of me, and seeing the country was comparatively smooth ahead of me, i turned in my saddle and looked back at the cattle. [illustration: _the stampede._] i had been in stampedes before, but nothing like this. the cattle were running their best, all the cripples and drags in the lead, their sore feet forgotten. every steer had his long tail in the air, and those , waving tails made me think of a sudden whirlwind in a forest of young timber. once in a while i could see a little ripple in the sea of shining backs, and i knew a steer had stumbled and gone down and his fellows had tramped him into mincemeat as they went over him. they were constantly breaking one another's big horns as they clashed and crowded together, and i could hear their horns striking and breaking above the roar of the thousands of hoofs on the hard ground. as my eyes moved over the herd and to one side, i caught sight of a rider on a grey hoss, using whip and spur, trying to get ahead of the cattle, and i knew at a glance it was curley, as none of the other boys had a grey hoss that night. i could see he was slowly forging ahead and getting nearer the lead of the cattle all the time. we had gone about ten or twelve miles and had left the smooth, rolling prairie behind us and were thundering down the divide on to the broken country along crow creek. now, cattle on a stampede all follow the leaders, and after i and my half dozen cowboys had ridden in the lead of that herd for twelve or fifteen miles, gradually letting the cattle get close to us, but none by us, why we were the leaders, and when we began to strike that rough ground, my cowboys gradually veered to the left, so as to lead the herd away from the creek and onto the divide again. but curley was on the left side of the herd. none of the other boys had noticed him, and when the herd began to swerve to the left, it put him on the inside of a quarter moon of rushing, roaring cattle. i hollered and screamed to my men, but in that awful roar could hardly hear my own voice, let alone make my men hear me, and just then we went down into a steep gulch and up the other side. i saw the hind end of the herd sweep across from their course of the quarter circle towards the leaders, saw the grey hoss and curley go over the bank of the gulch out of sight amidst hordes of struggling animals. but as i looked back at the cattle swarming up the other bank i looked in vain for that grey hoss and his curly-haired rider. sick at heart, i thought of what was lying in the bottom of that gulch in place of the sunny-haired boy my partner had sent out to me, and i wished that eighty thousand dollars worth of hides, horns and hoofs that was still thundering on behind was back in the cactus forests of arizona. as the herd swung out on the divide they split in two, part of them turning to the left, making a circle of about two miles, myself and two cowboys heading this part of the herd and keeping them running in a smaller circle all the time till they stopped. the other part of the herd kept on for about five miles further, then they split in two, and the cowboys divided and finally got both bunches stopped; not, however, till one bunch had gone about ten miles beyond where i had got the first herd quieted. it was now broad daylight, and i started back to the gulch where poor curley had disappeared. when i came in sight of the gulch, i saw his dead hoss, trampled into an unrecognizable mass, lying in the bottom of the gulch, but could see nothing of curley. while gazing up and down the gulch which was overhung with rocks in places, i heard someone whistling a tune, and looking in that direction, saw curley with his back to me, perched on a rock whistling as merry as a bird. he told me that as his hoss tumbled over the rocky bank, he fell off into a crevice, and crawling back under the rocks, he watched the procession go over him. we were three days getting the cattle back to where they had started and two hundred of them were dead or had to be shot, and hundreds had their horns broken off and hanging by slivers. it had cost in dead cattle and damage to the living at least $ , . but i was so glad to get that curly-headed scamp back alive and unhurt i never said a word to him. chapter xvi. catching a maverick. one day while waiting for a gravel train going west, we all got to talking about catching mavericks. eatumup jake said he'd always been too honest to go out on the range and hunt mavericks; dillbery ike said he was too, but he wasn't so durned honest as to let a maverick chase him out of his own corral, and they asked me what i thought about branding mavericks. i told them that i thought it was a bad practice to hunt mavericks all the time, but whenever a maverick came around hunting me up, i generally built a fire and put a branding iron in to heat. but i told them i would always remember one maverick i had an adventure with, and after they had all promised me not to ever tell the story to any one, i told them the following: one hot day in the spring of ' i started across the hills from my ranch to town, fifteen miles away. i generally had a good riata on my saddle, but this day, for some reason, i didn't take anything but a piece of rope fifteen feet long. i didn't expect to meet any mavericks, as it was just after the spring roundup and there wasn't a chance in a hundred of seeing one. my way was across a high, broken country, without a house or a ranch the entire distance. there was bunches of cattle and horses everywhere eating the luxuriant grass, drinking out of the clear running streams of mountain water or lying down too full to eat or drink any more. i was riding one of my best hosses, as everybody did when they went to town; had my high-heeled boots blacked till you could see your face in them; was wearing a brand-new $ stetson hat that was made to order; had on a pair of new california pants--they were sort of a lavender color with checks an inch square, and i was more than proud of them. i had on a white silk shirt and a blue silk handkerchief round my neck, a red silk vest with black polka dots on it, but didn't have any coat to match this brilliant costume, so was in my shirt sleeves. i rode along, setting kind of side ways, my hat cocked over my ear, a-looking down at myself from time to time, and i was about the most self-satisfied cowpuncher ever was, didn't envy a saloon-keeper in the territory, and saloon-keepers had as much influence in wyoming them days as a sheepman does now, and that's saying all you can say, when it's known that the sheepmen to-day in wyoming fill almost every office, elective and appointive. well i had got about half way to town and was a studying 'bout a girl i bid good-bye to in the east fifteen years before, and sort a-wishing she could see me now, when all of a sudden i looked up and right there, not fifty feet away, was a big, fat, black bull maverick. he was about a year and a half old and would weigh pounds. he was wild as an elk and had given a loud snuff on seeing me, which had called my attention to him. i immediately commenced making that short piece of rope into a lasso. there wasn't much more than enough for the loop. but i knew old bill, the hoss i was riding, could catch him on any kind of ground, so throwed the spurs in and went sailing over the breaks and coolies after that wild bull maverick. i soon caught up with him, but found it almost impossible to throw the loop over his head with such a short rope, as he dodged to one side or the other every time i got in reach. however, i finally got it over his horns just as he went over a bank, but before i could take any [ ]dallys, he jerked the rope out of my hands and was gone with it. now i had got to pick up the rope, and as it only dragged five or six feet behind him, i would have to ride by him and grab the rope near his head as i went by: but he was still on the dodge, and i made several passes at it and missed. the bull was getting mad by this time, and lowering his head and elevating his tail he soon had me on the dodge. whenever i wasn't chasing the bull, he was chasing me. thus we had it up one gulch and down another. many times i grabbed the rope only to have it jerked out of my fingers, but finally got a wrap around my saddle horn and a knot tied. it never had occurred to me i couldn't throw him with that short rope till i was tied hard and fast to him and riding down the gulch at break-neck speed with that black bull a close second. we had been chasing each other now for over an hour and my hoss was getting tired, but mr. bull seemed to be fresher than ever. i had lost my new stetson hat early in the game, and, as we had soused through a good many alkali mud-holes, i was spattered from head to foot with mud. my white silk shirt and lavender-colored pants were a total wreck. but something had got to be done, and watching the bull till he was veering a little to the left of my hoss i made a quick turn to the right, and stopping right quick, turned mr. bull over on his back. before he could get up i was off and on top of him, had his tail between his hind legs, my knees in his flank, and, as every cowpuncher knows, i could hold him down. my hoss was pulling on the rope same as any well-trained cow hoss would, keeping the bull's head stretched out, and there wasn't the least possible show of him getting up; but as i didn't have any short foot ropes to tie his feet with, i just had to set in his flank and keep tight hold of his tail. billy, my hoss, had got hot and excited during the race and kept surging on the rope more than was necessary. i kept saying, "whoa, bill," but directly he give an extra hard pull, the rope broke right at the bull's head, and despite my nice talk, billy turned his back to me and started across the hills for home. in vain i hollered, "whoa, bill; come, billy," he never looked around but once, and that was just as he disappeared over the hill. he sort a-looked back for a moment, as much as to say, "well you wanted that darn little black bull so bad, now you got him stay with him," and that's what i had to do. he was twice as hard to hold now without any rope on his head, but i knew if he ever got up, he would gore me to death, as there wasn't a tree or rock to get behind. it was about noon. the hot sun was pouring down on my bare head and i was choking with thirst. no one ever traveled that way but me. miles away to any habitation, there i would have to stay in that stooping position, holding on to that little black bull's tail. i was young and strong, but my back began to ache, my hand would cramp clasping that bull's tail so tightly, but still i held on somehow, for i knew certain death awaited me if i let go. a bunch of cattle came along and circled around me with wide-eyed astonishment, then trotted off; a couple of antelope came running over the hill, and catching sight of me in that ridiculous position, their curiosity overcame their timidity and they kept getting nearer and nearer, till only a few rods away, the old buck antelope stopped and snuffed very loudly and stamped with his fore feet, but, not being able to get any response out of the black bull and me, finally left. then a silly jackrabbit came hopping up on three legs, and after standing up several times on his hind legs as high as possible and pulling his whiskers some, he shook his big ears as much as to say, "it's beyond me," and he, too, left. [illustration: _catching a maverick._] just then the bull took a new fit of struggling and i heard the loud buzz of a rattlesnake behind me. i almost dropped my holt on the bull's tail then, but i had acquired the habit of holding on to it by this time, so glanced over my shoulder to see how far the snake was from me. i discovered he was only about ten feet behind me, coiled up and mad about something. he was about four and a half feet long and big around as my wrist, and didn't seem to have any notion of going around, but just laid there coiled up, and every time the bull or me moved, would begin to rattle and draw his head back and forth, run out his tongue and act disagreeable. several times he started to uncoil and crawl in my direction, but i stirred up the bull to floundering around and bluffed the snake out of coming any closer. still he seemed to like our company, and finally went to sleep; but every time i and the bull got to threshing around, he would drowsily sound his rattle, as much as to say, "i am still here; don't crowd me any." it was now about two o'clock in the afternoon. i felt a kind of a goneness in my stomach, but my thirst was something awful, and in my mind's eye i could see the boys in town setting in the card-room of the saloon around the poker tables behind stacks of red, white and blue chips, drinking scotch highballs, while i was out on that high mesa dying of thirst and holding down a little black bull maverick with nothing for company but that old fat rattlesnake who insisted on staying there to see how the bull and i come out. i hoped against hope that when old billy arrived at the ranch some one would start back with him to hunt me up, but i remembered that most everybody at the ranch had gone up in the mountains trout fishing and wouldn't be back till night, and then i wondered which would live the longest, me or the bull, and i thought about slipping away from him while he was quiet; but the moment i would loosen up on his tail he would commence threshing around trying to get up, still i kept fooling with him. i'd loosen up on his tail, and then when he tried to get up, throw him back; so pretty soon he didn't pay any attention when i loosened up, and i thought i would try a sneak. however, in order to make him think i still had hold of his tail, i tied the end of it into a hard knot. i looked around for his snakeship, as i had got to sneak back towards him, but he was sound asleep, and as the bull was pretty quiet, i sized up the country back of me and spied a gulch with steep broken banks about one hundred and fifty yards away, and made up my mind that that was the place to get to. so slipping by the snake i made the star run of my life for that gulch. i had run about fifty feet when that bull first realized some of his company was missing, and jumping to his feet looked around and caught sight of me, and giving a snuff that i can hear in my dreams to this day, he was after me. talk about running. i remember a jackrabbit jumped up in front of me, but i hollered to him to get out of the way. the bull caught up before i quite got to the gulch, but hesitated for a moment where to put his horns, and sort a-throwed his head up and down for a time or two, like he was practicing--kind a-getting a swing like throwing a hammer. when he got his neck to working good, biff! he took me and i went sailing through the air, but when i come down it was on the bank of the gulch, and before he could pick me up again i was over and under that bank. it was about fifteen feet to the bottom and straight up and down, but there was a little shelf of hard dirt on the side, and i caught on there and was safe. he had gone clear over me into the gulch, but was up and bawling and jawing around in a minute. however, he couldn't get up to me, so looked around, found a trail leading out of the gulch, and went up on top, then come around and looked down at me. he was mad clear through; went and hunted up the old rattlesnake, and after pawing and bellowing around him, charged him and got bit on the nose. then he saw my stetson hat, and giving a roar, went after it, and putting his horn through it, went off across the hills mad clear through, full of snake poison, with my stetson hat on one horn, and that was the last i saw of the little black bull. footnotes: [ ] wrapping rope around the saddle horn. chapter xvii. stealing crazy head's war ponies. we all got to talking about looking over your shoulder, and the boys asked me if i had ever had to look over my shoulder, and i related to them the following incident in my career on the plains: in the year - the first cattle herds were driven to northern wyoming and turned loose along tongue river, powder river and the little horn, and while the injuns in southern montana at that time were not very hostile, yet they kept stealing our hosses and butchering the cattlemen's cattle and committing all kinds of petty crimes, and once in a while when they found a white man riding alone in the hills didn't scruple to murder him. but stealing hosses was their long suit. now, i only had four hosses at that time, and was working out by the month for a cow outfit at $ a month and board. i thought everything of these four hosses, as they was the sum total of my possessions except about $ i had due me in wages. and when these hosses was missing one day and a hunter reported seeing a band of injuns prowling around, i was pretty well worked up. a good many of the settlers in northern wyoming at that time had had their hosses stolen by the injuns, but when they found them in the injuns' possession were unable to get them, as the injuns refused to give them up and would drive the white men out of their camp. i had always made a loud talk when these men related their experiences, that if ever any injuns stole my hosses and i found them in their possession i'd take them hosses and no injun would drive me a step in any direction. so when a freighter reported seeing some injuns on the little horn river, going north with my hosses, the cowboys all said now was the time for me to make good all my loud talk about taking my hosses away from the injuns if they stole them. i had considerable trouble to get anyone to go with me, but finally persuaded a boy by the name of king, who was about years old at the time, and getting three hosses from the outfit i worked for, which was the pk cattle outfit, we packed one of the hosses with bed and grub, and riding the other two we struck out north down the little horn river. after traveling along the river for several days we crossed and went over on the big horn river, and keeping up this river to the big horn mountains, came across about two hundred injuns camped at the base of the mountains. as soon as we got in sight of their cayuses we saw two of my hosses running with theirs. when we rode into their camp they appeared friendly enough till they found out we wanted these two hosses. i could talk the injun language, and after making one of the petty chiefs of their band a few little presents, king and i went out to catch our two hosses, but they had been running with the injuns' cayuses so long we couldn't get near them. finally we tried to drive them away from the injuns' cayuses, but about twenty injuns had come up to us and told us to let the hosses alone and go away. they had their guns, and while they didn't point their guns at me, they kept sticking them against king's breast and threatening to shoot if he didn't go at once. i now offered to pay them if they would catch the two hosses. every injun wanted from four to twenty dollars apiece. as there were about twenty injuns it amounted to about $ . the injuns rounded up all their cayuses, and getting them in a safe corral, caught my two hosses. i now instructed king to take the saddle off the hoss he was riding and tie the hoss to the pack-hoss, and i also done this with the one i was riding. we then turned them loose and the three animals immediately started south towards wyoming. i then told king to saddle one of the hosses that the injuns had caught for us, but pay no attention to the injun who was holding it. i saddled the other animal; two injuns each had a rope on the hoss's neck. when we got them saddled and bridled, i told king to get on his, and i got on mine. the injuns were standing all around us as well as the squaws and papooses, but they had all laid down their guns. i pulled my winchester out of the saddle scabbard and throwing a shell in the barrel, i told king to pull his six-shooter and cut the injun's rope that was on his hoss's neck. he said: "the injuns will shoot me if i do." i said: "i will shoot you right now if you don't." although he was very much excited, he managed to pull his knife out of his belt and cut the injun's rope, and immediately started off after the pack-hoss and saddle hosses on a dead run. the injuns all set up a howl, and the squaws began bringing the guns out of the teepees. but i kept throwing my winchester down on first one and then another. the injuns kept up an awful din hollering to one another, all the squaws yelling to kill the masacheta (white man). but i could hear the chief's voice above them all, telling them not to shoot me. the two injuns holding the hoss having dropped their ropes, i suddenly threw the ropes off my hoss's neck and reaching down grabbed a papoose, five or six years old, and throwing it up in the saddle with me, galloped away. i knew they wouldn't shoot at me as long as i held to that papoose. but it was like holding on to a full-grown wildcat. i was carrying my winchester in one hand, guiding my hoss with the same hand and trying to hold on to that little biting, scratching, hair-pulling, shrieking papoose with the other. my hoss was bounding over rocks and sage brush. but he was a magnificent animal and in less time than it takes to tell i was out of gunshot, and then i dropped that shrieking little injun devil on a sage bush and galloped off in the gathering darkness. i soon caught up with king. we traveled all night and the next day. putting him on the trail to wyoming with all the hosses but the one i was riding, i turned north again to find the other two hosses. that day i met a piegan injun that i was acquainted with, and he told me old crazy head's band was camped on the yellowstone river, and that they had my other two hosses and tried to sell them to him. i rode into fort custer and told my story to jim dunleavy, the post scout and interpreter, and wanted him to introduce me to the post commander and get me a permit to be on the reservation. but the post commander refused to see me and sent word for me to get off the reservation, or he would put me in the guard house. but i struck out through the hills north, and that afternoon came in sight of crazy head's camp. i found an injun boy herding a large bunch of cayuses about a mile from camp, with my two hosses in the bunch. i rode into the herd and had my hosses roped and tied together before the injun had recovered from his surprise, and started back south. but now a new idea took possession of me. why not steal some indian cayuses and get even? there was a stage line running through the reservation them days, and i knew the stock tender at the stage ranch, fifteen miles from fort custer, at the fort custer battle-ground. so waiting till dark i went there, and getting something to eat and leaving the two hosses, i started back to crazy head's camp. it was a bright, moonlight night and i found the injuns' cayuses grazing in the same place. looking around cautiously i discovered two fine-looking, coal black cayuses grazing by themselves about two hundred yards from the main bunch. slipping up close to them i threw my rawhide rope over one of them, and, as he was perfectly gentle, started to lead him to a little patch of timber, intending to hobble him and come back and get his mate. but as soon as i started to lead him off, his mate followed him, so i just kept going till i got to the stage station, twenty miles from there, about o'clock in the morning. getting a bite to eat from the old stock tender and showing him the two cayuses i had stole, he told me he knew the cayuses and that they were old crazy head's war ponies. i had been in the saddle now for twenty-four hours without any rest, but dare not stop a moment, for i knew the injuns and troops both would be after me as soon as crazy head missed his ponies. so necking the two to my other two hosses i started for wyoming, ninety miles away. the little horn river was very high, swimming a hoss from bank to bank, and the stage hadn't been able to get through for some time. the recent rains made the ground soft, and i knew the injuns would have no trouble tracking me. but they wouldn't miss the ponies till o'clock in the morning, so i would have twenty miles the start and certainly three hours of time. but there was the danger of meeting other injuns who would know crazy head's ponies, and i might meet some scouting soldiers and have to give an account of myself, not having any permit. i didn't mind swimming the little horn river, if i hadn't the hosses to drive, but it's hard work for a hoss to swim in a swift current where the waves out about the middle are running big and high, as they do in mountain streams, and drive some loose hosses. but i made the hosses all plunge in and started for the other shore, two hundred yards away. they all swam like ducks at first crossing, but i would have to swim the river seven times if i kept the valley, and knew i would lose time if i went through the hills. so i kept on in a tireless lope, mile after mile, and all the time looking back over my shoulder. [illustration: "_looking over my shoulder._"] now i knew the injuns couldn't be in twenty miles of me, but nevertheless i kept looking over my shoulder to make sure, and i looked ahead, and every moving bush along the stream looked like a soldier or an injun, and every jackrabbit that jumped up side the road, every sage hen that flew out the grass and startled my hosses nearly made me jump out of my skin. everything that moved in the distance looked like old crazy head to me. talk about looking over your shoulder, boys; why, my neck got in the shape of a corkscrew. then i came to another crossing of the river. i never stopped to look at the high rolling black waters, but plunged my hosses in and struck out for the other side. i again made it in safety, and stopping just long enough to tighten my saddle cinches, took another look over my shoulder and hit that lope again and made up my mind i wouldn't be caught. but supposing i was caught, what kind of a story could i tell? and so i tried to figure out a defense for being found with them two black hosses. i couldn't think of anything or any story but what looked fishy and showed i was a thief, and it seemed as if every one else would know it. i remember after i became an officer of the law, several years after this event happened, i caught a poor devil skinning a beef one day that didn't belong to him, and as i rode up on him and told him to turn the beef over so i could see the brand, he dropped his skinning knife and looking up at me with guilt and terror in his face, he says, "you know how it is yourself." and i said, "yes, bill, i know how it is. i was a thief once, but the people are paying me now to uphold the law. besides i stole injun hosses and you are stealing white men's beef." and then at the memory of my ride on the little horn that day i looked over my shoulder again, and when i looked back for bill he was gone, and somehow i was kind of glad, for i had a fellow feeling for him. but to return to my story. when i had swum the little horn the fourth time i was forty miles on my journey, and while the iron grey oregon hoss i was riding seemed as fresh as ever, the black indian ponies seemed to be getting tired. when i struck the next ford on the river i was fifty miles on the way and it was only o'clock. i was feeling pretty good. but this time when we got out about the middle of the river where the waves were high and rolling, one of the injun ponies stopped swimming and commenced to float down stream with his nose in the water and dragging the one he was necked to with him. i started after them and by a good deal of urging got my hoss alongside, and throwing my rope on them finally towed them ashore. the pony laid in the shallow water at the shore for a long time, and i thought he was dead, but he finally came to and got up. but he was full of water and pretty groggy. i found the other two, and getting them together again started on, but knew i would have to take to the hills now when i came to the river again, which i did, and hadn't rode over five miles in the hills skirting the river till, coming up on a high divide and looking down in the valley of the river, i saw a camp of five or six hundred injuns; but they didn't see me, and i kept on till i came to owl creek, which empties into the little horn, and it was bank full of cream-colored, muddy water. the banks were steep and i couldn't guess at the depth of the water, which was of the consistency of gumbo soup. however, i drove the hosses into it, first having untied them from one another, as the buffalo trail going down into it was very narrow. as each hoss plunged in he went completely out of sight, and i couldn't guess how far he went under water. but they all clambered up on the other bank, and i see i had got to follow them, so plunged in. as my hoss jumped off that high bank, i grabbed my nose and under that yellow water we went. it seemed like we never would find the bottom, but finally did, and came back to the surface and scrambled up the bank. my fine buckskin shirt and leggings made but a sorry appearance. my six-shooter and holster were full of yellow mud the same as my winchester, and it took me an hour to clean my guns and get that yellow mud off my hat and clothes. but i had no more streams to cross, except tongue river, which is in wyoming, and i crossed it a little after dark and got to my own ranch at o'clock that evening, having ridden the same hoss one hundred and six miles since o'clock that morning. that grey hoss is still living and is years old now, and is well known by all the old-timers in northern wyoming. i laid down and slept for twenty hours, and when i reported at the roundup with my four hosses and the two injun ponies besides, i got a hearty handshake all around. the boys made up a pot of a hundred dollars and gave it to me for the injun ponies, and then played a game of freeze-out to see who should have them. i've never had the least inclination to look over my shoulder since. chapter xviii. the cattle queen's ghost. when darkness overshadows a lone cow ranch, wild and drear, one's nerves they get a-trembling in a way that seems so queer; when you _feel_ the spirits round you, 'tis idle then to boast you don't believe those stories you've heard about the ghosts. one dark, rainy evening while we were waiting on a sidetrack the boys insisted i should tell them some adventure of mine. so after considerable urging i told them an actual experience i had, that has always convinced me that murdered people's ghosts come back and haunt the place they were murdered in. twenty years ago jerry wilson was known as the cattle king of the platte river. his cattle roamed for hundreds of miles up and down the main river and all its tributaries, and, as the cowboys used to say, no one man could count them even if they was strung out, cause he couldn't count high enough. jerry had a beautiful wife and two lovely children, a boy and a girl, and for years he and his family had no settled place to live, but went around amongst his different ranches, staying awhile at each one, the children being kept in school in chicago, except in the summer time when they came west to stay on some cattle ranch with their parents. finally jerry wilson bought a new ranch up in the south part of south dakota, on battle creek, and stocking it up with registered cattle and fine horses, built a fine house, furnished it very expensively and settled on this ranch for their home. he built magnificent barns that were the talk of the whole country, and spent a small fortune in building up and beautifying this ranch. but one day jerry was riding his horse after a cow on a hard run. the horse stepped in a badger hole and fell on top of him, crushing in his ribs and otherwise injuring him so he only lived long enough to be carried to the house and bid his wife and children good-bye before he died. mrs. wilson mourned for jerry a long time, but the care of her two children and the increasing cattle herds occupied her mind and time to such an extent that her grief had settled into a quiet sadness, when a young man from new york city, who had been discarded from home by his family for his profligate excesses, came to battle creek, and stopping at mrs. wilson's ranch was (as is the custom at all cattle ranches in the west) made welcome to stay as long as he wanted to. at this time jerry wilson had been dead seven years. his daughter, who was the oldest of the two children, had married a prominent lawyer of chicago. the son was in school in the same city, and mrs. wilson made her home at the battle creek ranch. she had successfully carried on all her cattle enterprises and was known all over the west as the cattle queen. she was about years old at this time, still a beautiful woman and had received many offers of marriage, but had rejected them all till this graceless and unprincipled scoundrel from new york, whose name was clayton allen, came to the ranch. mrs. wilson had arrived at the age where a great many women begin to hanker for a young man's society and attention, and was soon violently in love with clayton allen; and he, seeing a chance to get hold of large sums of money to gamble and go on sprees with, and knowing he could never hope to get any more from his family, laid siege to the cattle queen's heart and herds with all the wiles he was capable of. to make the story short, mrs. wilson married this worse than scamp and learned too late to regret her mistake. he persuaded her first to sell all her great cattle herds and ranches and invest all the money in bonds, which she did, keeping only the ranch and blooded cattle on battle creek. he now persuaded her to go to new york city with him, and soon as they arrived he joined his old gang of profligates and spent his nights with gay men and women, only coming to see her when his money was exhausted, and then only long enough to get more money. in vain she plead with him. finally, in sorrow and grief, not having seen him for several days, she took the train for the west and returned alone to her old battle creek home. she had been home about a month, staying in her room alone most of the time, weeping and crying, when one stormy, black night clayton allen returned about o'clock. he immediately went to his wife's rooms. the servants heard loud talking and angry words between them for some time, and apparently he was demanding money and she was refusing to give him any. there was a large hall that ran through the center of the house, dividing the building its entire length. the servants had their rooms and the dining-room was on the west side of this hall, and the cattle queen had her parlors and sleeping apartments on the other side. about o'clock the servants heard their mistress walking up and down this hall, crying and moaning, but on opening their door that led into the hall found she had gone back into her rooms, but clayton allen came in the hall just then and asked the housekeeper to bring a bottle of wine, as her mistress was ill and wanted some. the wine was brought, and clayton allen taking it out of her hand at the door closed the door in her face, telling her if she was wanted he would call her. thirty minutes later the housekeeper heard her mistress scream for help in the hall, and rushing in found her lying on the floor in violent spasms, and picking her up carried her to the bed, only to see her die the next moment. the death-stricken woman only spoke once as she was being carried to the bed. she whispered in the housekeeper's ear, "mr. allen has poisoned me." all of the cattle queen's money and bonds were kept in a portable safe and where she kept the keys hidden no one knew. but at the funeral the lawyer from chicago, who, it will be remembered, married jerry wilson's daughter, appeared on the scene, and after a consultation with the housekeeper and cowboys at the ranch, clayton allen disappeared, in fact the cowboys kidnapped him and kept him guarded in an old dugout for several days, and when they let him go the lawyer had returned to chicago. the safe disappeared at the same time the lawyer left. so clayton allen never got the enormous fortune that was in the safe, but he got an administrator appointed, and the administrator sold the herd of fine cattle at the battle creek ranch to me, as also the use of the ranch for one year, and the hay. i tried to get some cowboys living in that part of the country to take care of the ranch and cattle, but all of them promptly refused, saying they wouldn't stay there for any amount of money. then i sent some of my men from my wyoming ranch, where i was living at the time, but in a week they came back, looking shamefaced and sulky, but refusing to stay at the battle creek ranch. after i questioned them pretty sharply, they said they didn't believe much in ghosts, but the cattle queen's ghost was too much for them. they said from : o'clock in the evening till after midnight she tramped up and down the hall in the house, crying, screaming and groaning. they said the doors leading from the hall to the cattle queen's rooms kept opening and shutting, and they could hear her talking and expostulating with someone and walking back and forth from the hall to her rooms. i had an old man working for me at the time who was almost totally deaf, so i sent him and my own son, georgie, who was a manly, brave little fellow of years, to the ranch. i had a talk with george before they started and told him all about it. i said some one was trying to buy the ranch cheap and was making these disturbances in order to give the ranch the name of being haunted. but in a week i got a letter from my boy, saying there might not be any such things as ghosts, but there was certainly some kind of carrying on in the hall of that old house every night, and wanting me to come up. so taking my gun and dog, i went up there to lay the ghost. my dog was one of the largest specimens of the big blue dane breed and wasn't afraid of anything. and i said to myself, "now i will nail these parties and convince my son while he is young that there isn't any such things as ghosts." when i arrived at the ranch i found deaf bill, as we called him, and my little boy had taken up their quarters in the housekeeper's room, which was in the extreme western portion of the house, which was built without any upstairs, all the rooms being on the ground floor. i went into the hall of the house and found that the doors at each end of the hall were locked from the inside, the keys being in the locks. i next went into the parlors and sleeping apartment used by the cattle queen in her lifetime and where she met her tragic death, and found the curtains all down and the windows closed with catch locks and screens outside of the windows. everything was apparently in the same condition as when the rooms were fastened up after her death. her books, and pictures, and paintings, and wardrobe, and easy chairs were all there, just as if she might have stepped out expecting to be back at any moment. i raised a window in her bedroom with some difficulty, as i wanted to air the room a little, for i had made up my mind to sleep in that bed that night in those haunted rooms and convince superstitious people that i at least wasn't afraid of ghosts. i tried to get my little boy to sleep in there with me, but with pale cheeks and staring eyes and chattering teeth he begged so hard that i didn't insist on it. i have always been thankful that i didn't oblige him to stay with me that dreadful night. when i retired, about : that evening, with my dog and gun into the haunted rooms i was very tired from my long drive from the railroad, and setting the lamp on a stand at the head of the bed and putting my six-shooter under my pillow i called my dog to the side of the bed and laying down with my clothes on, pulled some blankets over me, blew out the light and immediately went to sleep. how long i slept i know not, but was awakened by my dog who was whining and licking my face. when i first woke up i didn't remember for a moment where i was, but the next moment heard a long-drawn sigh across the room from me and could hear somebody walking on the carpet. i bounded up and had just lit the lamp when i heard someone open the door from the parlor into the hall, and the next moment heard an agonizing cry for help in the hall. i now grabbed the lamp and my six-shooter and running through the two parlors opened the hall door suddenly, just after hearing the second cry for help, and found that the hall was absolutely empty, the doors at each end still being locked, and the door that led into the servants' part of the house was also locked from my side of the hall, as i had locked it when i went through to go to bed. i went back into the two parlors and sleeping apartments and searched them thoroughly, even the wardrobes and clothes closets; tried all the windows, but there was no trace of any living person's presence. i then noticed my dog. he had crawled under the bed and was lying there whining in the most abject terror. i dragged him out and kicked him a couple of times and told him to "watch them." but apparently he'd had all the ghost business he cared about, for he lay at my feet trembling and whining. disgusted with him, i laid down again, thinking i would blow out the light, but be ready with my six-shooter and some matches and catch whoever it was prowling around that house, trying to hoodoo the place. [illustration: _the cattle queen's ghost._] i hadn't any more than laid down and blown out the light before my dog was trying to get out of the window back of my bed and whining piteously, and then i heard a woman crying in the same room with me and coming slowly towards my bed. i began to get nervous, but scratched a match and in the flickering light saw that the room was absolutely empty. but as the match went out i heard someone run through the parlor, open and shut the door into the hall, and then heard a long despairing cry for help in a woman's voice. i plucked up the little courage i had left, ran to the hall door, opened it, and, lighting a match, gazed up and down that empty hall, seeing nothing or nobody. but as the match flickered and went out there came a breath of cold air right in my face, and then out of that black darkness, seemingly right at my shoulder, arose that awful blood-curdling cry for help again, and as my blood froze in my veins my dog answered the cry with one of those long, despairing, drawn-out, mournful howls that dogs always give as a premonition of death in the family. i tottered back to the bed and vainly tried to light a match, but was too nervous; then hearing that light footstep and that rustling presence coming from the hall through the parlors again towards the bed, i dropped the match and pulling a lot of blankets and bed covers over my head, i huddled down in a heap and lay there trembling with fright and horror till the next morning, when i heard my boy pounding on the outside of the window and calling me to breakfast. no money would have induced me to have stayed another night on that ranch, and getting an offer next day for the cattle, i sold them. five years afterwards i saw a man who had come by the cattle queen's ranch and he said nobody lived there. the house and barns were all out of repair; the fields overgrown with weeds and an air of desolation to the whole premises. the administrator had finally sold the property for a song to an easterner and he moved his family up there in the day time. he had to go back to town that night for another load of his goods, and when he returned to the ranch the next day, he found his wife roaming around the fields a raving maniac, and she is still in the asylum in south dakota. they say the cattle queen's ghost still keeps entire possession, and will till her murderer is punished for his crimes. chapter xix. packsaddle jack's death. packsaddle jack had got tired of filing off wrinkles one night, and, not being sleepy, walked on ahead of the special till he came to a sidetrack. lying down there on the embankment he went to sleep and caught a violent cold, from which he never recovered. it settled into a bad cough, and the wrinkle dust seemed to aggravate it. still he insisted on taking his regular shift in spite of our remonstrances, and the harder he coughed the harder he'd file. as the motion of filing and coughing is almost the same, he seemed to make better time coughing when he was filing, and vice versa, but finally he became so weak that he couldn't leave the way-car any more, and we knew it would be a question of a very few days till old packsaddle would be swimming his bronk across the river styx. he became very quiet and thoughtful those days--seemed to do a heap of studying--and one bright, sunny afternoon he called me over to his corner of the way-car and told me he had a dream the night before and it made such an impression on him he wanted to tell it to me. he said in the start of his dream he seemed to be there on the way-car planning how much he could possibly get out of what cattle was left when he got to omaha, when it seemed all of a sudden there was a mighty well-dressed cowpuncher riding a big paint hoss and leading another all saddled and bridled came right up to him and says: "packsaddle, come with me." he said the stranger had on a big stetson hat, a mighty nice embroidered blue shirt, with red silk necktie and white fur snaps, high-heeled boots, and a pearl-handled . six-shooter. he was riding frazier's famous pueblo saddle, had a split-eared bridle and was rigged out every way that was proper. said he asked the stranger where he wanted him to go, and the stranger told him they was going to a country where there was no sheep or sheepmen; where the grass grew every year; where the cattle was always fat; where they drove their cattle to market place of shipping them; where hard winters, horn flies, heel flies and mange was unknown. he said the stranger made such a square talk he finally made up his mind to go with him, although he had some doubts, not knowing the fellar. so getting on the led hoss, he was kind of surprised to find the stirrups just his length and the saddle just fitted him. he said they started off kind a slow at first, in a little jog trot, but directly got to loping, and finally, after crossing a lot of mean-looking country, they came to a big river and his guide told him they had got to swim their horses across it as there was no bridge. the stranger said lots of smart men had tried to build a bridge across this river, and some people had deluded themselves into thinking they knew of a bridge that they could get across on, but always when it came to crossing they couldn't exactly locate their bridge and had to plunge in with the crowd. packsaddle said it was a mighty ugly-looking stream. it was wide and deep and looked like it was rising. the water was black as ink and the waves out toward the middle was rolling mountain high. still there appeared to be people all along the shore, a-plunging in and starting for the other side. there was a large crowd scattered along and most of them didn't seem to see the river till they fell off backwards into it. they would be laughing and cutting up, with their backs to the river and all of a sudden get too close; a little piece of bank would crumble off, and with a despairing cry they disappeared beneath the black waters and was seen no more. some apparently mighty rich people dashed up with carriages and servants, and taking a sack of gold in each hand would offer that to the river, thinking probably they wouldn't have to cross if they offered it some gold. but of all the people who came to the river, only a very few ever turned back, although most of them seemed to want to. he noticed a few that looked like farmers' wives who came up, and soon as they saw the river a smile of content came on their faces and they slid into the boiling water as naturally as though it was wash-day. there was a class of men, too, who came up with a determined look on their countenances, and without the slightest hesitation plunged into the awful stream and struck out for the other side. these men all had cowboy hats on, and when packsaddle asked his guide who they were, he said they were cowmen who had been shipping their cattle to the omaha market, and their cattle had starved to death on the stock-yard transfer waiting to be unloaded. some there was that looked like pettifogging lawyers and cheap politicians, who, when they arrived at the river, flourished a handful of annual passes over different lines, looking for a pass over the river, but not getting it, turned back and wouldn't cross, and the guide told packsaddle that he guessed this class of people never did cross, as they seemed to get thicker every year. packsaddle said at first he kind of hated to cross the river, as his guide said none ever returned, and he couldn't see the other bank very plainly, and was in some doubt as to what kind of a country was on the other side, although there was hundreds of big, fat, red-faced looking men, dressed in black, standing along the shore where he was, telling everybody what kind of a country was on the other side. they differed a great deal in their description of it, but that was probably on account of what different people wanted. all these black-robed, fat-looking rascals got money out of the crowds and seemed to be doing a thriving business by fixing up people to cross and giving them encouragement. most all of them was selling some kind of a patented life-preserver to wear across the river, and each one shouted out the merits of his life-preserver till their noise drowned the roar of the river, and they tried to get lots of people to cross the river that hadn't got anywhere near the bank, just to sell them a life-preserver. packsaddle had noticed all these things as they waited on the bank a moment, and then, he said, they plunged their hosses in and started swimming for the other side. the other bank, he said, was sorter obscured by a mist or fog, and he didn't see it till most there, but saw worlds of all kinds of people struggling in the black water of the river. packsaddle said his hoss swam high in the water, never wetting the seat of his saddle, and he felt just like he was getting home from the general roundup. when they struck the bank there was a bunch of cowboys helped his hoss up the bank, gave him a hearty handshake all around and made him welcome every way. when he turned around to thank his guide that gentleman had vanished, and the cowboys told him his guide was a regular escort across the river for cowmen and cowboys; that most everybody had to get across the best way they could, but cowmen and cowboys always had a good hoss to ride and a guide; that one reason for this was that they was most always mighty good to a hoss and thought a heap of them. they said, though, that there was a lot of boats with cushioned seats, and mighty comfortable, that brought over the poor old widder women and farmers' wives and orphan children that had been abused and starved till they just had to cross the river to get away. packsaddle said it looked like a mighty good country, lots of fat cattle, the finest hosses he ever see, lots of cowboys laying under the mess-wagon bucking monte and everybody winning, while the roundup cooks had pots and bakeovens steaming with roast veal, baking powder biscuits and cherry roll. he said the boss of one of these outfits hired him on the spot, and giving him a string of fat hosses to ride, he picked out a black pinto with watch eyes and saddled him. soon as he got on this hoss it started to buck and he said he dreamed that hoss throwed him so high that he saw he was coming down on the other side of the river and it disgusted him so he woke up. [illustration: _packsaddle jack._] packsaddle was very weak when he got through telling his dream, and after taking a drink of water he told me he thought we was all making a mistake trying to make money raising cattle. he'd heard about some place in the east where they just issued stock, place of raising it, and that certainly must be the place to go. he'd heard of two or three men, probably stockmen, who get together in new york city, issued just millions of stock in one day, and he was satisfied that was one thing made our stock so cheap. for himself, he said, he liked that country he saw in his dream and thought he'd go there pretty soon. while we were talking the head brakeman came in and said there was a cow dead in the car next the engine. packsaddle gave a gasp or two, and when i bent down over him he whispered he would go and round her up; and when i looked at him again he was dead. poor old packsaddle! his early life had been embittered by the discovery that a married woman (whom he was in the habit of visiting in the absence of her husband down in texas where he was raised) was untrue to him, and on meeting his rival at the lady's house when her husband had gone to mill with a grist of corn, he promptly filled his rival's anatomy full of lead and came away in such a hurry that he had to borrow a jack-mule and packsaddle from a man that was prospecting, and rode this packsaddle to wyoming, and thus acquired the euphonious name of packsaddle jack. although he was cheerful at times, yet the memory of this woman's perfidy to him cast a gloom of melancholy over his after life which was never entirely dispelled. he never whined when he lost his money bucking monte, always had a good supply of tobacco and cigarette papers of his own and never failed to pass them around. while he didn't have much love for women or injuns, he loved a good hoss and twice owed his life to his hoss when he had a brush with cheyenne injuns in early days in northern wyoming. in a burst of confidence a few days before his death he told me he had endured the worst kind of hardships all his life. winter and summer he had lived on the plains and in the mountains without shelter, by open campfires, lots of times without much to eat; had been hunted and shot at for days and nights by cheyenne injuns and never met with the privations and discomforts he had on this trip. and as for slowness, he said he hired out one time in texas when he was a boy, to help drive tame ducks across the swamps of louisiana to new orleans to market; said the trail was so narrow that only one duck at a time could walk in it and sometimes no trail at all, just high grass and swamp brush, and yet they beat the time of a cattle special away yonder. the spirit of packsaddle follows the dead cow. a stock train was waiting on a sidetrack one day for gravel trains going some other way; and as they waited the cattle grew old, the stockmen grew haggard, the weather turned cold. their stomachs were empty, they were starving in fact, while the stock train was waiting on its lonely sidetrack. the reports said the markets were lower each day, while the cattle grew thinner, the stockmen grew grey. an old, grizzled cattleman spoke up at last, said he to the cowboys, "the time it is past, to make mon out of cattle or get any dough, this going to market by rail is a little too slow. "the railroad companies' tariffs get higher each year, their passes get fewer, till i very much fear that ahead of our stock train we will have to walk and wait for the cattle train to get up our stock. "let us up and be doing and build a big merger trust, and sell stock to suckers and let them go bust, and for every steer issue millions of shares, let other people worry how to get railroad fares. "we will issue bonds and certificates and thus raise our stock; in place of breeding shorthorns we will make a swift talk; have our shares all printed in red, green and gold, sell them in the stock market to the young and the old. "and thus live by our cuteness and work of our brains in place of starving on special stock trains. we will have servants and waiters, the best in the land; governors and princes will give us the glad hand." just then the front brakeman stuck in his head, saying in the car next the engine an old cow was dead. the old cowman gave a gasp and his spirit started to ride to round up that old cow that in the front car had just died. chapter xx. a cowboy enoch arden. just after leaving north platte, a train of immigrants on their way from oregon to arkansas with mule teams went by us, and we found they had a letter for us from eatumup jake, who had returned to utah long ere this to look after his domestic matters. one of the reasons why he abandoned us was to return and look after the education of the twin boys. however, the main reason was that so many reports had come to us from travelers in wagons and sheepherders trailing sheep east, who had come through our neighborhood in utah, who said that all our friends had given us up for dead, and eatumup jake's wife, after putting on mourning for a proper season, had begun to receive the attentions of a widower, who was part gentile bishop and part mormon elder. as jake was in a hurry when he started back home, he bought him a cheap mustang in place of accepting the transportation which was urged on him by all the principal officers of the railroad. he wrote us that when he arrived on his ranch, his wife was out in the hayfield putting up the third crop of alfalfa. she was driving a bull rake, hauling it into the stack, while one of the twins was driving the mower and the other twin was doing the stacking. the half-breed mormon-gentile bishop was standing round with a cotton umbrella over his head, giving orders. jake's wife didn't know him at first, he had changed so, but the bishop tumbled to him at once and started to leave. however, jake overtook him and persuaded the bishop to turn aside into a little patch of timber with him, and jake getting the loan of the umbrella in the painful interview that followed, he left most of the steel ribs of the umbrella sticking in the anatomy of the bishop, and then let the house dog, with the help of the twin boys armed with their pitchforks, assist the bishop clear off the ranch. this was so much better than the old style of enoch arden business that dillbery ike made up a little rhyme about it after we got jake's letter, and here it is: in utah a cattleman got married in the glow of summer time, married a buxom mormon girl, warm heart and manner kind. and as the autumnal sun began to tinge things red, he rounded up his cattle herd and to his bride he said: "come hither, dear, and kiss me and sit upon my lap, for i am going a lengthy journey with my cows and steers that's fat. i'm going on the overland with a special, long stock train." his bride, she wept and trembled and said, "i'll ne'er see you again. o jake, my darling husband, give up this wrong design, if you must go east with cattle, then try some other line, for i have heard the stockmen talking and this is what they say, that if you drive your stock to market, that then there's no delay. but if you get a special train, the railroad has a knack of letting you do your running when your train is on a sidetrack. some stockmen they have starved to death, and others grow so old that none knew them on their return, so frequent i've been told." but jake was young and hearty and his mind was full of zeal to load his beef on a special and eastward take a spiel. so he started with his steers and cows in the golden autumn time. some neighbors also loaded theirs; the cattle were fat and fine. but they run the stock on the overland, so slow and awful bum that stockmen get old and care-worn, staying with a special run. their wives get weary waiting for hubby's coming home and flirt with the nearest preacher who drops in when they're alone. jake's wife was no exception, and, as time went by, she said, "if jake was alive i know he'd come back; he surely must be dead." the good woman put on mourning and mourned for quite a time, but when thus she'd done her duty, she suddenly ceased to pine, and when a gentile-mormon preacher dropped in one night to tea she put on her new dress of gingham and was chipper as she could be; had him eating her pies and jellies that she knew how to make, had him sit in the easy rocker, without ever a thought of jake. and when the twins got drowsy, she packed them off to bed, sat and played checkers with the bishop, just as though poor jake was dead. when she jumped in the preacher's king-row, and had eight men to his five, she cared not (she was so excited) whether jake was dead or alive. but at four o'clock next morning, she roused from sleep with a scream; she'd seen jake pushing behind a stock train in this early morning dream. and that evening when the lusty preacher came hanging around again, he got but a scanty welcome, for she thought of the special train. for a time she was silent and thoughtful, the dream an impression had made, she could still see jake pushing the special, as it slowly climbed the grade. now we know how the brave-hearted jake with the stock train had to stay, how he camped by her side night times as on a sidetrack she lay. we know how he pushed so manfully whene'er she climbed a hill, in fact every one pushed, even the sheepmen, cottswool and rambolet bill; how hunger and famine o'ertook them as slowly they crawled along, their hearts almost broke with home-longing when jackdo sung a home song. eyes filled with tears that were unbidden, hearts o'erflowing with pain-- no pen can paint their sorrow as they stayed with this special stock train. the passing of poor old chuckwagon, who slowly starved to death, on account of the smell of the sheepmen, he couldn't get his breath; their camping ahead of the special after they had buried chuck, the washing away of the sheepmen, who surely were out of luck. they lived in snow huts on the mountain that's known as sherman hill, where the last was seen of the sheepmen, cottswool and rambolet bill; their arrival at the windy city that's known as the dead shyann, some things about burt and warren and mayhap another man. and now with their party diminished by old age, privation and death, they still kept plodding on eastward, what of the party was left till jake talking with wandering sheepmen, who had trailed by his cabin home. heard of the scandalous preacher, who came when his wife was alone; heard of the nightly playing of checkers when the twins were safely in bed, about his wife all the neighbors were talking, her claiming that jake was dead. finally through very home-sickness, he started to take the back track, and because he was in such a hurry, he rode all the way horse-back. arriving in sight of his meadows, a-waving fresh and green, the alfalfa growing the highest that jake had ever seen; two red-headed boys the hay were pitching; their mother was hauling it in. there was only one blot on the landscape that made jake feel like sin. 'twas our gentile-mormon bishop in the shade of his old umbreller. with his long-tailed coat and eye glasses, he looked like foxy quiller. when jake got close to the bishop he booted him out the field, the house dog and twins, with their hayforks, finished making the elder spiel. then jake gathered his family around him, work was laid by for the day, they told all their joys and their sorrows, so i've finished my lay. _moral._ the old-fashioned enoch arden story was a tale well told; i can't approach or rival it, nor make a claim so bold. but the ending of my cowboy enoch arden i really like the best, for he fired the interloper out the modern arden nest. chapter xxi. grand island. before we arrived at grand island we learned from jackdo that most cowmen unloaded their cattle there and drove them back and forth through the stockyards awhile in order to accumulate a large amount of mud on them. this grand island mud is very adhesive and once steers is thoroughly immersed in it the mud sticks to them for weeks and helps very materially in their weight. a shipper told him that before he stopped at grand island he used to wonder what cattlemen meant by filling their cattle at grand island, but now he knew it was filling their hair full of mud. sometimes he said the mud was a little too thick, kind of chunky and fell off, and sometimes it had too much water in it and drained off, more or less. but when it was mixed just right it would settle into their hair like concrete cement. it's quite dark in color, fortunately, and if they've had a rain it is easy to get pens where you can immerse your cattle all over and thus make them the color of the galloways, which is the most fashionable color for cattle in the market. he said there was cases where cattlemen had got a good fill on grand island mud and sold their cattle weighed up there to feeders who put them on full feed for six months and they weighed less in the market than to start with, because the feeders had curried the mud off them. sometimes he said after people left grand island with their cattle and before the mud got well set, there would come a hard rain on them and the mud washed off in streaks and gave the cattle kind of a zebra appearance. especially was this true where the cattle had originally been white. he said we would be expected to order some hay and pay for it and get the mud for nothing. it was just like a boot-jack saloon, where you bought a high-priced peppermint drop and got a pint of whiskey throwed in. [illustration: _joe kerr loading sheep for south st. joe._] 'twas here at grand island that we met joe kerr again. we had met him in utah before we shipped, and he had tried very hard to get us to ship our cattle to the coming live stock market of the united states at st. joe. kerr travels in the interest of the st. joe stockyards, and while in the fullness of our youth and conceit when we first loaded our stock we wouldn't have taken a suggestion from teddy roosevelt, yet we had grown older and had lost some of our self-confidence; in fact, i've often thought since these experiences that the old proverb, "he who ships his range cattle to market place of selling them at home leaves hope behind," would apply to most range shipments. now it seems joe kerr had kept posted as to our movements right along through friends of his who were in the sheep business and who had trailed their herds past our train at different times on their trip east to sell their sheep for feeders, and kerr had made such nice calculations by casting horoscopes and looking up the signs of the zodiac that he knew to a month when we would arrive in grand island, and was waiting there to persuade us to ship our stock to st. joe in place of omaha. he was right on the spot to help us unload them; knew all the pens where the mud was the deepest, even helped us smear the mud into their hair on the few spots that was missed, when we were swimming them through the mud batter. joe had loads of statistics for sheepmen, cattlemen, horsemen and hogmen that would convince any man that wasn't too suspicious that st. joe was the best market. he had beautiful colored maps of the yards, showing the clear limpid waters of the missouri river, flowing along at the foot of the bluffs; the waters swarming with steamboats and smaller craft; the city of st. joe covering the bluffs and river bottoms for miles, and just down the river at the lower end of this great city was stockyards and packing plants laid out like some great city park and hundreds of acres, all paved with brick, laid into walks and floors for the pens with perfect precision, and all divided in different compartments for all kinds of live stock; everything arranged so sheep could be unloaded one place, hogs another place, cattle another, so as to admit of no delay in unloading when stock arrived. he told us that their yards were kept so clean that ladies could walk all over them in rainy weather without soiling their costumes. said no sheenies were skinning people in their yards. he made such a square talk we finally agreed to split the shipment and let part of the train go to st. joe, and sent jackdo along to take care of the cattle. chapter xxii. "sarer." the rainy season had now set in in good earnest all through nebraska, and while the natives have typhoid fever and malaria to a more or less extent, yet most of them live through it, but people from the dry mountain regions that have been used to pure air and water all their lives fare worse from these fevers ten times over than the natives, and dillbery ike fell a victim right in the start. one evening soon after we left grand island i noticed his face was flushed very red, and he complained of a dull headache, but as he had the headache a good deal ever since the railroad police had scalped him at cheyenne in mistake for a striker, i didn't think so much of his headache. but when i come to look at his tongue and feel his pulse i found every indication of high fever. in a few hours he was out of his mind and talked of shady mountain sides, babbling brooks and clear mountain springs of water, and he talked of his hosses and cattle, his cow ranch and alfalfa meadows, but most of all he talked of "sarer." now dillbery had only one romance in his life that we knew of, and that happened in this way: several decades previous to our story the few families living in the vicinity of dillbery's ranch in utah had got together and built an adobe school-house, and voting a special tax on the piece of railroad track that run through their part of the country had raised enough money to pay for the school-house and hire a school-teacher. at first each of the three married women in the neighborhood wanted to teach the school. then each of them offered to take turns about teaching it so they could divide the money, but their husbands, who was the directors, wanted a school-marm, so as to have a little young female blood diffused through the atmosphere in that part of the country, and after advertising for a school teacher, the new england brand preferred, got hundreds of answers very shortly. so putting their heads together they selected one that had a kind of crab apple perfume attached to the application, and was worded in such way as to give the reader a notion of pleading blue eyes, with a wealth of golden brown hair and heaving bosom, not too young to teach school nor too old to be romantic and sympathetic, and closed a deal with her to come west and teach their school. she had signed her name sarah jessica virginia smythe, but was always known as miss sarer. when she was about to arrive at the railroad station, thirty miles away, all the married men wanted to go and meet her. all of them had particular business in at the station that day, but none of their wives would stand for it. they said that dillbery ike was a bachelor and the proper one to get her. [illustration: _the arrival of miss "sarer."_] now dillbery ike was a long, gangling, bashful, backward plainsman, never had a sweetheart and was considered perfectly harmless around women by every one who knew him. the old married men finally agreed to let dillbery meet the school-marm, but not till each had went through a stormy scene with his wife, in which that good woman had threatened to tear the blanket right in two in the middle with such forcible language that you could almost hear it ripping. dillbery had got shaved, had his hair cut, put on his best black suit he had bought from a sheeny, the pants being a trifle of six or eight inches too short for him at the top and bottom both, his coat rather large in the waist, but short at the wrists like the pants; and hitching his mules to his spring wagon, he started bright and early to the station of kelton, utah. he arrived about noon, him and his mules white with alkali dust, and finding that the train was twenty-three hours late, stayed at the section house till next day, there being no hotel in kelton. when the train came along next day about noon, a large, portly lady of uncertain age, with her frizzed-up hair turning grey, her hands full of wraps, lunch baskets, sofa pillows, telescope grips, umbrellers, band-boxes and bird cages, climbed off the train, and the baggageman put off a large horse-hide trunk, from which most of the hair had been worn off, or perhaps scalped off in the troublous times when washington was crossing the delaware. when she got this old, bald-headed looking trunk and a couple of shoe boxes with rope handles (that were probably full of century magazines) piled up with her other baggage, the newsboy said it looked like an irish eviction. when dillbery saw this old man-hunter and all her luggage, his heart failed him, and he went to the saloon three times to liquor up before he got sand enough to talk to her. of course, dillbery expected to marry her, no matter what she was like, as the whole neighborhood where he lived had planned it ever since the school-marm was talked of, and he couldn't expect to disappoint the neighbors and still continue to live there. still she wasn't exactly what he had figured in his mind after reading a great many novels about the rosy-cheeked, small-waisted, dainty-feet, lily-white hands, wondrous brown hair, blue-eyed new england darlings, with pretty sailor hats and tailor-made suits, who come west to teach our schools and incidentally marry the most expert roping, best broncho-busting, chief cowpuncher. and now here was this dropsical-looking old girl, with fat, pudgy-looking hands and feet like a couple of poisoned pups, with all this colonial luggage. however, dillbery was obliged to take charge of her and her traps, as he called them, and when he was finally ready to start, had got everything on the spring wagon, even to the bird cages, and after getting a final drink with the boys and filling a bottle to take along, he loaded the old girl in and whipping up his mules, disappeared in a cloud of alkali dust. dillbery sat on his end of the seat, frightened out of his wits, and sarah jessica virginia smythe sat on the other end, but, of course, sat on all the vacant seat left by dillbery, 'cause she couldn't help it, she was built that way, and was even more afraid of dillbery than he was of her. although she had always been hunting a man, yet she was in a wild country and a stranger; not a house in sight and night coming on, was with a savage-looking man, who was, undoubtedly, very drunk, and acting very strangely to say the least. as time went on dillbery got dryer and dryer, and studied a good deal how to get a drink out of his bottle without letting sarah see him. finally he concluded he could make some excuse that the load was slipping; he might get around back of the wagon to fix it, and under cover of the darkness quietly get a drink out of his bottle. so when they were crossing a canyon in an unusually lonely spot, he stopped the mules and muttering something about the load, he started to get out, but sarah thought her hour had come, and throwing her arms (which were like pillow bolsters) around dillbery's neck, began to scream and piteously beg him not to do her any wrong. the more dillbery ike tried to explain, the more sarah jessica cried, screamed and sobbed, till finally with a despairing sigh, like unto the collapse of a big balloon, she fainted clear away on his breast, pinning him over the back of the seat, his spinal column slowly but surely being sawed in two over the sharp edge. the horror of poor old dillbery, when he realized that death from a broken back was only a question of her not coming out of the dead faint, which she seemed to have gotten an allopathic dose of, cannot be described. when some time had elapsed and she showed no signs of animation, he made a great struggle to get from under her; but it was a vain attempt, he was nailed down as completely as a piece of canvas under a paving block. and when it came over him that he was doomed to this ignominious death, when he fully realized what people would think about him when they found him in this compromising position, and the cowboys would facetiously all agree that he looked like a texas dogie steer hanging dead on a wire fence after a wyoming blizzard; when he felt that peculiar, loud buzzing in his ears that is a premonition of death, he made one final desperate struggle, and spitting out a lot of grey hair, hair pins and pieces of switch, which had accumulated in his mouth, he screamed with all the strength of his lungs in one long despairing cry, the one word "sarer." now in dillbery ike's delirium and raging fever on the stock train, he kept continually giving tongue in a long, blood-curdling, soul-freezing, despairing cry to that one word "sarer." night and day we had to listen to that heart-broken cry. finally, when the fever was at its highest stage i consulted the conductor of our special about getting a doctor and he advised me to go back to the last town we had passed through, where there was a good physician and get him. he said that we would have plenty of time, as there was a lonely sidetrack just ahead of the train. so walking back about ten miles to this town, i secured the services of a doctor, and getting a livery rig we soon caught up with the special. when the doctor had examined dillbery's tongue and pulse and had put his ear to dillbery's heart while he was giving one of his despairing cries for "sarer," he wrote a prescription in some kind of foreign language which he interpreted to us, as he said he had written it down as a mere form to show that he could write in a foreign language. he said our friend was very sick and the one thing that would save his life was to get "sarer" for him. now, of course, that was an impossibility, but he said all we needed was an imitation "sarer," something that looked like her and was about her size and form, so after explaining to him what "sarer" was like, he drove back to town, and when he caught up to us again, brought into the car a wonderful dummy made out of a large sack of bran with a head tied on it composed mainly of a sack of hair, such as plasterers use to mix mortar with. he had a large, but not too large, mother hubbard dress on this wonderful dummy, and the whole well perfumed with florida water. when we laid this imitation "sarer" in the emaciated arms of poor old dillbery, his eyes grew moist for a moment, and straining it to his breast he gave a contented sigh or two, whispered "sarer, sarer," and dropped off into a healthy slumber, and the doctor said he would live. eats up "sarer." dillbery slept for a long time, and awoke somewhat refreshed, but somewhat under the influence of his animal scalp, and no one being in the car, the spirit of the goat probably overtook him, as he devoured the head of the dummy "sarer," which will be remembered consisted of plastering hair. then the spirit of the sheep and the pig coming over him, he devoured the sack of bran, and laying down in front the stove like a newfoundland dog, he went to sleep. thus i found him on my return to the car. but, alas! his stomach was too weak to digest all the stuff he had consumed and in a few hours he was in a raging fever and calling for "sarer" again. but, of course, he had devoured "sarer," and we had nothing to fix up in the place of the dummy. and while it was heart-rending to hear his sobbing cry for "sarer" growing weaker and weaker as the night wore on, yet we could only listen and hope. about o'clock in the morning his cries stopped and he seemed to be sleeping for a few minutes, and then opened his eyes and took my hand and in a weak but rational voice told me the story of his boyhood in the following words: [illustration: _dillbery ike's darling mother under arrest._] he said he was born in the mountains in virginia. he was the only child, so far as he knew, of a moonshiner's daughter. his mother was not an unhappy woman, he said, when she had plenty of snuff and moonshine whisky; in fact, was quite gay at times. no one, not even his mother, knew exactly who his father was. some people said it was a revenue officer and some said it was the member of congress from that district, but most people thought it was a live stock agent of one of the western railroads. however this may be, he thrived on corn pone, dewberries, wild honey, and sow bosom, and as soon as he got old enough helped his mother cut wood and haul it to town in a two-wheeled hickory cart drawn by a steer. they lived with his grandfather, who was quite a prominent man in that part of virginia and who was finally killed by revenue officers. his mother was sent to the pen for selling moonshine whiskey and he was taken charge of by a family who immigrated to utah. he said the last time he saw his darling mother 'twas at their old home in the mountains in virginia. the steer was hitched to the cart one beautiful spring morning. the sun's rays was just kissing the mountain tops, when two revenue officers had appeared at their home, and after a lively scrap with his mother they had succeeded in arresting her. not though till she had thoroughly furrowed their cheeks with her finger nails and plenteously helped herself to sundry handfuls of their hair, after which she had peacefully seated herself in the cart and was placidly chewing a snuff stick in each corner of her mouth, when the steer and cart disappeared around a bend in the mountain road, and fate had decreed he should never see her again. the family that took charge of him were neighbor moonshiners and had a day or so after this took place traded off their virginia estate for a team of antique mules and a linch-pin wagon, and storing a goodly supply of moonshine whiskey, apple jack, corn meal and bacon in the wagon, loaded the family, consisting of nine children, himself included, in the wagon, and immigrated for utah. he said as long as he was with these people he was treated like one of the family, but as they immigrated back to virginia the next year they left him in utah with a poor family and he was hungry many times, and was always telling the children he associated with how big the dewberries grew where he came from, so the other children nicknamed him dewberry, which was finally changed to dillbery and that name had stuck to him ever since. after finishing the story of his boyhood, dillbery lay quiet for a short time and then motioning me to bend down close to him he whispered to me not to bury him in nebraska where, he said, the only way a man could hope to be resurrected was in the shape of a yellow ear of corn, to be fed to a yellow steer, followed by a yellow hog and the hog meat eaten by a yellow-whiskered malarial populist, and so on. after i promised to see that he was buried on his ranch in utah, he asked me to sing that old cowboy song, "oh! give me a home where the buffalo roams, a place where the rattlesnake plays." the passing of dillbery ike. 'twas a dismal night on a way-car, the rain pattering on the roof o'erhead, the man who has told this story was alone with the silent dead. the voice that had been calling for sarah was hushed and stilled at last, he had finished telling the story of his childhood's checkered past. no more would he ride the ranges, no more the mavericks brand, nor subdue the bucking broncho, in that far western land; never again to meet the school-marms, when they came traveling west under the guise of school teaching, to get in a bachelor's nest. dillbery folded his hands gently, as he quietly went to sleep, in the death that knows no waking, for which no shipper could weep; while some of his life had been stormy, of hardships he'd had his share, pen cannot paint a cattleman's troubles, nor picture his heart sick care. when he's got his cattle on a special, and getting a special run, death for him hasn't a single terror, he longs for it to come; and so with poor old dillbery, when his weary eyes closed in death, blotted out his sorrows and troubles, all blown away with his last breath. he had gone to meet his grandfather, and get some of his latest brew, for who shall say that old moonshiner had quit distilling some mountain dew; for all say the other world is better, we'll get what we like over there, while of our joys here we are stinted, in the hereafter we get double share. his eyes grew bright with a vision that he saw on the other side, he got a glimpse of a right good cow country, just before he started to ride; and his eyes lit up with a gladness, his face o'erspread with hope, as without a trace of sadness, his spirit rode away in a lope. chapter xxiii. arrival at the transfer track of south omaha. one dark, dismal, rainy morning, a little before daylight, i arrived with the remnant of our stock train on the stockyards transfer at south omaha. the conductor and brakeman ordered me out of the way-car. so picking up my belongings i got out in the mud and rain and looked around for some shelter. there was a lot of railroad tracks and switches, but no houses or hotels, or anyone to inquire from, as i had learnt by experience that conductors, brakemen and switchmen never give any information to stockmen in a dark, rainy night. so after wandering up and down the tracks for a ways, and not being able to find out which way the town lay i got on top of the stock cars, and huddling down in my rain-soaked rags i prepared to wait till daylight. the rain was very cold, and after a bit turned to snow and chilled me to the bone. but i was afraid to leave the stock cars, as i had never been there before and was sure to get lost if i left the stock, as the town is quite a ways from the transfer. i thought of dillbery ike, packsaddle jack and old chuckwagon in the other world, and wondered why i should be left shivering in this awful storm, suffering the pangs of hunger and cold, while doubtless they had more fire than they really needed. no matter what their condition was in the other world, it was bound to be better than mine. even the sheepmen's condition in the other world couldn't be much worse, though some claim there is a hell set apart a-purpose for sheepmen on the other side. [illustration: _the arrival of the survivor at the transfer._] my clothes were all worn out long ago; my beard had grown down to my knees and the hair on my head having never been cut since we started, now reached to my waist, and, of course, it and my beard was some protection from the storm. but i realized that if i stayed where i was it would only be a short time till i should meet my comrades who had gone before, and i thought it would be proper to make some preparations for the other world. i never had prayed or went to church much, 'cause a cowman don't have any chance to attend to these, as there is always either some calves to brand sundays, or else some of the neighbors coming visiting. but i remembered a passage of scripture i had heard when a boy, and it came back to me now and kept ringing in my ears: "forgive thine enemy." i never had an enemy in my whole life that i knew of, without it was this blamed railroad, and while i wasn't sure they was enemies, yet they had dealt me more misery than anyone, except it might be this stockyards company that was keeping me and my stock out on this transfer, starving and freezing in the storm after me and my steers had all got to be rip van winkles getting that far on the road. i studied over the matter and could see it would be too great a job to forgive them both at the same time, and, of course, couldn't tell how much forgiveness the stockyards company would have to have, as i hadn't got through with them yet. there might be so much against them before they got my cattle unloaded that it would be impossible to forgive it. it was very lucky, as it turned out afterwards, that i had this forethought, because, as i take it, forgiveness only comes from the heart no matter what your lips say, and your heart is the blamedest thing to control in forgiveness, as well as love, and when that stockyards company finally got around to bring my cattle in and unload them, i reckon it would have been impossible for any mortal man with the least spark of vitality left in his veins to have forgiven them. they have tried over and over to explain it to me by saying that when they built the transfer tracks and unloading chutes, their receipts only run about , to , cattle a day, with about the same number of hogs and about sheep. and, now in the fall of the year, their receipts of cattle run up to , to , a day, with the same number of hogs and , to , of sheep, and they are trying to handle them with the same facilities they had to start with. so they are pretty near always so far behind in unloading stock in the busy season that it takes all the slack business season to finish unloading the stock that accumulated during the rush. having made up my mind to put off forgiving the stockyards company till some future date, i turned all my attention to forgiving the railroad company. i had noticed a good many religious people when some one had done them an injury and they couldn't get at them any other way they would pray for them. and while they generally asked the lord to forgive them, yet they always told their side of the story in such a way that if the lord was anyways easily prejudiced, he would be pretty tolerable slow about handing out any unsought-for clemency to their enemies, as they always started in by telling of all the mean things their enemies had ever done in order to remind the lord what a big contract it was. after studying the matter over i thought this would be the proper way to pray for the railroad company. but after i got started telling the lord what mean things they had done, i see 'twas no use to try to finish unless i'd hand the matter down to future generations, as one life wouldn't be long enough to get fairly started in. the inferno of the transfer. all night long i had heard voices on all sides of me and apparently the owners of them were in the direst distress. some were praying undoubtedly, but the most were cursing. a few were crying and moaning with the cold and i thought for a long time i must have got into an inferno of lost souls, and added to my sufferings in the storm in which i had come close to death was the terror of listening to these distressing cries, and i longed for daylight to appear so these horrors would be explained. daylight began to appear while i was thinking about these things, and i could see other stock trains near me, and on every train i could see one or more miserable wretches like myself huddled down on top of a car in the snow and cold rain, and the only sign of life you could detect was when they took spells of shivering. one of them was pretty close, and i hailed him once or twice, and finally he roused up enough to answer me; but the poor, shivering wretch was so numb with the cold he didn't sense much of anything, and when i asked him why all the shippers stayed out all night with their cattle, place of going into town, he said lots of times cattle were so tired when they got to omaha and they were so long about getting them to the chutes, that there was more danger of their getting down after they got to the transfer and getting tramped to death than before. then he said lots of stockmen who tried to get to town from the transfer in the night and had got killed, and some got their legs cut off by trains that were all the time switching on the transfer tracks. he said if the humane society took half the pains to protect the shippers that they did the stock being shipped he thought it would be better. he said a shipper was a human being even if he did look like a orangoutang just dragged out of a chicago sewer when he got through to omaha with a shipment of livestock. i thought maybe he was getting personal, so told him he didn't look so fine himself; that i thought anyone who resembled a jackass in a wyoming blizzard hadn't any call to make reflections on other people's looks. just then the switch engine coupled onto his train and hauled him and his stock off to the unloading chutes, and i was kinda glad he was gone, as i had conceived a dislike to him anyway. i can't bear anyone who makes disagreeable reflections and comparisons on one's personal appearance when one isn't looking their best, especially a person who ain't got anything to brag of themselves. the farmer's prayer. i looked on the other side of me and saw another stock train with a group of four or five stockmen on top the cars. they were huddled down together in the snow and wet, and i thought at first one of them was making a speech, but soon discovered he was praying. it turned out one of their number was dying from ill health and the exposure of the night before, they having been there all night waiting for the switch engine to haul them to the chutes. they were a bunch of nebraska farmers who had bought some feeders in omaha sometime previous, shipped them out to their farms a couple hundred miles west, fed up their corn crop and was bringing the cattle back. the man that was praying seemed to be a son and partner of the dying man, and was telling the lord the whole transaction from a to izard. whether he was doing this to relieve his own feelings, or whether he thought the lord would size his father up as an honest man in place of a sucker, it's hard to tell. anyway, you could tell by his prayer that him and his dying father had got the worst of the deal all the way through. what i heard of his prayer run something like this: "o lord, thou knowest how thy humble servants have been the victims of designing and unscrupulous men. thou knowest, lord, how a hooked-nosed sheeny first induced thy poor servants to buy of him a lot of crooked-backed, narrow-hipped, long-tailed, high-on-the-rump, ewe-necked, dehorned, southern steers, and how they had kept them off of water for seven days, waiting for a sale, and then let them drink till their stomachs was like unto bass drums, when they weighed them up to thy deceived servants, and then, o lord, thy wretched servants, not having any money to pay for them, we had to go to a grasping commission man and, o lord, thou knowest how he did charge us usury cent for cent and all kinds of percent, how he figured up interest on the cost of the steers, then figured interest on that interest, then figured interest on the interest that he had figured on the interest, then figured a commission for buying them, then another commission for selling them, then figured the interest on the commission, then figured the interest on the interest that he had figured on the commission; and, how when we had got these steers home, two of them were dead, three were cripples, five were lump jaws, and how their feet were so large, and they had such wise, old-fashioned countenances, we were behooved to look into their mouths to determine by their teeth how old they were, and thy astonished servants discovered that in place of two year-olds, as was represented, they were a great many times two years old; and how many times when we had a little fat on their ribs, they saw someone afoot, and becoming frightened, ran round and round the feed lots till they were poorer than ever, and some there was that escaping over the fence were never seen by thy servants any more, they having disappeared over the hills and in adjacent corn fields; and thou knowest how we were always sober, law-abiding citizens till we were inveigled into buying these imitation steers, and since that time have lived in a constant round of excitement, terror and riot." the switch engine now coupled on to the dying man's stock train and pulled it away to the chutes, so i didn't hear the last of the prayer. probably his commission man heard it after he got through explaining why the steers didn't bring any more money. chapter xxiv. the final roundup. two railroad men of mighty brain, the steadfast friends of true cowmen; no matter which the first you name, we all love george crosby and charlie lane. and if in this story, they should see some mentioned evil, for which a remedy that's in their power and can be used, they'll fix it so the shipper is less abused. of all things needed, and it's a crying shame, is some kind of toilet room on each stock train; in regard to fires, let the shippers agree, whether they'll be froze or roasted into eternity. have a call-boy escort with lantern bright, when at division stations we come in darkest night; to save our anxiety, fear and doubt, put us on the right way-car that's going out. to the stockyards company a suggestion could be made, if they expect to keep and gain more trade; when our cattle are delivered on their transfer track, try and unload them, or else we'll ship them back. if one or two of these evils should be wiped away by these suggestions in this humble lay, then will i rejoice and forget the days of toil when i composed this work and burnt the midnight oil. the denver union stock yard co., denver, colo. [illustration] greatest stocker, feeder and fat stock market in the west. capacity-- , cattle; , hogs; , sheep; , horses. g. w. ballentine, v.-pres. and gen. mgr. j. w. hurd, asst. treasurer. h. petrie, superintendent. elijah bosserman, president. m. h. mark, vice-president. f. j. duff, secretary and treas. a. bosserman, cashier. elijah bosserman, cattle salesman. link bosserman, cattle salesman. f. j. duff, hog salesman. m. h. mark, sheep salesman. ====the==== denver live stock commission co. [illustration] telephone . p. o. box . union stock yards, denver, colo. * * * * * market reports furnished promptly by mail or wire on application. money loaned to parties owning stock. correspondence solicited. * * * * * incorporated $ , . reference: any bank in denver. denver, colo. f. w. flato, jr., prest. i. m. humphrey, vice-prest. james c. dahlman, sec'y. j. s. horn, treas. ...the... flato commission company live stock salesmen and brokers. south omaha, nebraska; chicago, illinois; south st. joseph, missouri; north fort worth, texas. ======== capital $ , . ======== prompt and careful attention given all consignments. pleased to furnish information by correspondence or otherwise to any person interested. directors: f. w. flato jr. i. m. humphrey. r. r. russell. ed. h. reid. l. l. russell. james c. dahlman. j. s. horn. produced from scanned images of public domain material from the google print project.) the women of the confederacy in which is presented the heroism of the women of the confederacy with accounts of their trials during the war and the period of reconstruction, with their ultimate triumph over adversity. their motives and their achievements as told by writers and orators now preserved in permanent form. by rev. j. l. underwood master of arts, mercer university, captain and chaplain in the confederate army new york and washington the neale publishing company copyright, by j. l. underwood [illustration: _yours truly, j. l. underwood_] dedication to the memory of mrs. elizabeth thomas curry, whose remains rest under the live oaks at bainbridge, ga., who cheerfully gave every available member of her family to the confederate cause, and with her own hands made their gray jackets, and who gave to the author her christian patriot daughter, who has been the companion, the joy and the crown of his long and happy life, this volume is most affectionately dedicated. contents page i symposium of tributes to confederate women mrs. varina jefferson davis tribute of president jefferson davis tribute of a wounded soldier tribute of a federal private soldier joseph e. johnston's tribute stonewall jackson's female soldiers gen. j. b. gordon's tribute general forrest's tribute tribute of gen. m. c. butler tribute of gen. marcus j. wright tribute of dr. j. l. m. curry address of col. w. r. aylett before pickett camp gen. bradley t. johnson's speech at the dedication of south's museum governor c. t. o'ferrall's tribute tribute of judge j. h. reagan, of texas, postmaster-general of confederate states general freemantle (of the british army) sherman's "tough set" tribute of general buell tribute of judge alton b. parker, of new york heroic men and women (president roosevelt) the women of the south eulogy on confederate women ii their work introduction to woman's work the southern woman's song the ladies of richmond the hospital after seven pines burial of latane making clothes for the soldiers the ingenuity of southern women mrs. lee and the socks fitting out a soldier the thimble brigade noble women of richmond from matoaca gay's articles in the _philadelphia times_ the women of richmond two georgia heroines the seven days' battle death of mrs. sarah k. rowe, "the soldiers' friend" "you wait" annandale--two heroines of mississippi a plantation heroine lucy ann cox "one of them lees" southern women in the war between the states a mother of the confederacy "the great eastern" cordial for the brave hospital work and women's delicacy a wayside home at millen a noble girl the good samaritan female relatives visit the hospitals mania for marriage government clerkships schools in war times humanity in the hospitals mrs. davis and the federal prisoner socks that never wore out burial of aunt matilda "illegant pair of hands" the gun-boat "richmond" captain sally tompkins the angel of the hospital iii their trials old maids a mother's letter tom and his young master "i knew you would come" letters from the poor at home life in richmond during the war the women of new orleans "incorrigible little devil" the battle of the handkerchiefs the women of new orleans and vicksburg prisoners "it don't trouble me" savage war in the valley mrs. robert turner, woodstock, va. high price of needles and thread despair at home--heroism at the front the old drake's territory the refugee in richmond desolations of war death of a soldier mrs. henrietta e. lee's letter to general hunter sherman's bummers reminiscences of the war times--a letter aunt myra and the hoe-cake "the corn woman" general atkins at chapel hill two specimen cases of desertion sherman in south carolina old north state's trials sherman in north carolina mrs. vance's trunk--general palmer's gallantry the eventful third of april the federals enter richmond somebody's darling iv their pluck female recruiting officers mrs. susan roy carter j. l. m. curry's women constituents nora mccarthy women in the battle of gainesville, florida "she would send ten more" women at vicksburg "mother, tell him not to come" brave woman in decatur, georgia giving warning to mosby "ain't you ashamed of you'uns?" false teeth emma sansom president roosevelt's mother and grandmother the little girl at chancellorsville saved her hams heroism of a widow winchester women sparta in mississippi "woman's devotion"--a winchester heroine spoken like cornelia a specimen mother mrs. rooney warning by a brave girl a plucky girl with a pistol mosby's men and two noble girls a spartan dame and her young singing under fire a woman's last word two mississippi girls hold yankees at pistol point "war women" of petersburg john allen's cow the family that had no luck brave women at resaca, georgia a woman's hair a breach of etiquette lola sanchez's ride the rebel sock v their cause introductory note to their cause "when this cruel war is over" northern men leaders of disunion the union vs. a union the northern states secede from the union frenzied finance and the war of the right of secession the cause not lost slavery as the south saw it vindication of southern cause northern view of secession major j. scheibert on confederate history vi mater rediviva introductory note the empty sleeve the old hoopskirt the political crimes of the nineteenth century brave to the last sallie durham the negro and the miracle georgia refugees the negroes and new freedom the confederate museum in the capital of the confederacy federal decoration day--adoption from our memorial the daughters and the united daughters of the confederacy a daughter's plea home for confederate women jefferson davis monument reciprocal slavery barbara frietchie social equality between the races dream of race superiority roosevelt at lee's monument preface it is remarkable that after a lapse of forty years the people of this country, from the president down, are manifesting a more lively interest than ever in the history of the women of the confederacy. bodily affliction only has prevented the author from rendering at an earlier date the service to their memory and the cause of the south which he feels that he has done in preparing this volume. his friends, dr. j. wm. jones, and the lamented dr. j. l. m. curry, of richmond, va., made the suggestion of this work several years ago. they both rendered material assistance in the preparation of the lecture which appears in this volume as the author's tribute in the symposium, and to doctor jones the author is greatly indebted for the practical brotherly assistance he has continued to render. thanks are due to the virginia state librarian, mr. c. d. kennedy, and his assistants, for kind attentions. the author is under obligations to the lady members of the confederate memorial literary society of richmond, especially to mrs. lizzie carey daniels, corresponding secretary, and mrs. katherine c. stiles, vice-regent of the georgia department of the confederate museum. in many ways great and valuable service was kindly rendered by miss isabel maury, the intelligent house regent of the museum. to his old commander, gen. s. d. lee, now general commander of confederate veterans, he is under obligation for his practical help; also to gen. marcus j. wright. in making selections from the works of others, great pains have been taken to give proper credit for all matter quoted. the author's home has been for more than thirty years his delightful pearland cottage, in the suburbs of camilla, ga. on account of his afflictions he has moved his family to blakeley, ga., while he himself may remain some time for medical treatment here in richmond. the book is sent forth from an invalid's room with a fervent prayer that it may do good in all sections of our beloved country. much of the work has been done under severe pain and great weakness, and special indulgence is asked for any defects. j. l. underwood. kellam's hospital, richmond, va. introduction by rev. dr. j. b. hawthorne richmond, va., _january th, _. only within the last two years have i had the opportunity to cultivate an intimate personal acquaintance with rev. j. l. underwood, but as the greater part of our lives have been spent in the states of georgia and alabama, i have been quite familiar with his career through a period which embraces a half century. wherever he is known he is highly esteemed for his intellectual gifts and culture, his fluency and eloquence in speech, his genial manner, his high moral and christian ideals, and his unflinching fealty to what he believes to be his country's welfare. no man who followed the confederate flag had a clearer understanding or a more profound appreciation of what he was fighting for. no man watched and studied more carefully the progress of the contest. no man interpreted more accurately the spirit, purposes, and conduct of the contending armies. when the struggle closed no man foresaw with more distinctness what was in the womb of the future for the defeated south. his cultivated intellect, his high moral and christian character, his personal observations and experiences, his residence and travels in europe, his extensive acquaintance and correspondence with public men, north and south, and his present devotion to the interests of our united country, render him pre-eminently qualified for the task of delineating some features of the greatest war of modern times. i have been permitted to read the manuscript of mr. underwood's book, entitled, "the women of the confederacy." i do not hesitate to pronounce it a valuable and enduring contribution to our country's history. there is not a page in it that is dull or commonplace. no man who starts to read it will lay it aside until he has reached the conclusion of it. the author's definitions of the relations of each sovereign state to the federal union and of her rights under the federal constitution are exact. his argument in support of the constitutional right of secession amounts to a demonstration. his interpretation of the long series of political events which drove the south into secession is clear, just and convincing. his tributes to the patriotism and valor of the southern women are brilliant and thrilling without the semblance of extravagance. his description of the vandalism of sherman's army in its march through georgia and south carolina cannot fail to kindle a flame of indignation in the heart of any civilized man who reads it. his anecdotes, both humorous and pathetic, are well chosen. the section of this book which relates most directly to "the women of the confederacy," including mr. underwood's tribute in the symposium to their memory, is by far the most thrilling and meritorious part of it. into this the author has put his best material, his deepest emotions, his finest sentiments, and his most eloquent words. to the conduct of southern women in that unprecedented ordeal, history furnishes no parallel. through many generations to come it will be the favorite theme of the poets and orators. i need no prophetic gift to see that this book will be immensely popular and extensively circulated. its aged and afflicted author has done a work in writing it which deserves the gratitude and applause of his fellow countrymen. j. b. hawthorne. introduction by rev. dr. j. wm. jones j. wm. jones, _secretary and superintendent_, _confederate memorial association_, n. th street. richmond, va., _january , _. i have carefully examined the manuscript of mr. j. l. underwood on "the women of the confederacy" and i take great pleasure in saying that in my judgment it is a book of very great interest and value, and if properly published and pushed i have no doubt that it would have a very wide sale. mr. underwood has given a great deal of time to the collecting of material for his book, and has had great advantages in doing so in having had free access to the libraries of richmond, and his book abounds in touching and thrilling incidents, which present as no other book that has been published does the true story of our confederate women, their sufferings and privations; their heroism and efficiency in promoting the confederate cause. i do not hesitate to say that it is worthy of publication, and of wide circulation. j. wm. jones. author's introduction one of the last things the great henry w. grady said, was: "if i die, i die serving the south, the land i love so well. my father died fighting for it. i am proud to die speaking for it." the author of this volume fought for the south and is now so afflicted that he can no longer hope to speak for the south, but he will be happy to die writing for it. not half has yet been told of the best part of the south, her women. the apostle john, on finishing his gospel story of christ, said: "and there are many other things which jesus did, the which if they could be written every one, i suppose that even the world itself could not contain the books that should be written." while at work preparing this volume, mr. c. d. kennedy, the courteous state librarian of virginia, said to the writer it would "take a whole library to tell all about the confederate women." as in the life of christ, only a small part can be told; and only a small part is necessary. it is remarkable that the life of christ was the most tragic, thrilling, and beneficent life the world ever saw. and yet it is all told in four booklets of simple incidents. those four little books have been worth more to the world than all other books combined. neither is there any system in the gospel record. there was no system in christ's life. it could not be told in a consecutive biography nor in a scientific treatise. science and system all fail when it comes to telling of a life of such love and labor and sorrow. it is not sacrilegious to say the same thing when we come to tell of the heroic lives, the courage, the trials, the work of the confederate women. we can only give incidents, and these incidents tell all the rest. fortunately the author, while a patient in a richmond hospital, has been strong enough to search the libraries of the city and gather material scattered among the confederate records already made. with them and his own original sketches, it is hoped that a contribution of some value has been made to a good cause. the story of the southern women is worth studying; and the author tells in his eulogy his estimate of their great virtues. then he shows that his estimate is not from partiality or ignorance by giving a symposium of tributes from others, some from the north and some from europe. it may surprise some that so much attention is given to holding up the righteousness of the cause in which these women labored and suffered. why not? the great cause ennobled them, and they adorned the confederate cause. the truth must be told from both directions. this is the ground idea of this humble volume. it is hoped that it will fill a good place in our southern literature, suggesting further investigation on the same line. it has been a work of love, a comfort to him in the days of very fearful bodily affliction. he is conscious of the feebleness of his work and much indulgence is asked for. the author deems his subject a consecrated theme. and he rejoices that he could labor at his task amid the consecrated memories of dear old richmond, where he has had the assistance and the smiles of encouragement from the noble women who continue to keep guard over hollywood and oakwood cemeteries, the soldiers' home, and the home for confederate women, and keep vestal watch in the confederate museum. not a line is written in sectional prejudice or tainted by a touch of hate. the author was a confederate soldier. he hates sham, injustice, falsehood, and hypocrisy everywhere, but he loves his fellow men, and still bears the old soldier's respect and warm hand for the true soldiers who fought on the other side. the barbarities of bummers and brutal commanders must be repudiated by us all that the honor of true soldiers like mcclellan, rosecrans, thomas, and buell, on the one side, and lee, jackson and johnston on the other, may stand forth in its true light. when our broad-brained and big-hearted president roosevelt has just stepped down from the white house to tell on capitol hill at richmond and at the feet of the monuments of lee and jackson, his great admiration for the confederate soldiers and the confederate women, it is time for us all to take a fresh look at their heroic lives. j. l. underwood. kellam's hospital, _richmond, va., april st, _. chapter i symposium of tributes to confederate women mrs. varina jefferson davis from her invalid chair in new york the revered and beloved wife of the great chieftain of the confederacy writes a personal letter to the author of this volume, from which he takes the liberty of publishing the following extract. there is something peculiarly touching in this testimonial which will be prized and kept as a precious heirloom throughout our southern land: hotel gerard, west forty-fourth street, new york. _october , ._ my dear mr. underwood: * * * i do not know in all history a finer subject than the heroism of our southern women, god bless them. i have never forgotten our dear mrs. robt. e. lee, sitting in her arm chair, where she was chained by the most agonizing form of rheumatism, cutting with her dear aching hands soldiers' gloves from waste pieces of their confederate uniforms furnished to her from the government shops. these she persuaded her girl visitors to sew into gloves for the soldiers. certainly these scraps were of immense use to all those who could get them, for i do not know how many children's jackets which kept the soldiers' children warm, i had pieced out of these scraps by a poor woman who sat in the basement of the mansion and made them for them. the ladies picked their old silk pieces into fragments, and spun them into gloves, stockings, and scarfs for the soldiers' necks, etc.; cut up their house linen and scraped it into lint; tore up their sheets and rolled them into bandages; and toasted sweet potato slices brown, and made substitutes for coffee. they put two tablespoonfuls of sorghum molasses into the water boiled for coffee instead of sugar, and used none other for their little children and families. they covered their old shoes with old kid gloves or with pieces of silk and their little feet looked charming and natty in them. in the country they made their own candles, and one lady sent me three cakes of sweet soap and a small jar of soft soap made from the skin, bones and refuse bits of hams boiled for her family. another sent the most exquisite unbleached flax thread, of the smoothest and finest quality, spun by herself. i have never been able to get such thread again. i am still quite feeble, so i must close with the hope that your health will steadily improve and the assurance that i am, yours sincerely, v. jefferson davis. tribute of president jefferson davis [from dr. craven's prison life of jefferson davis.] if asked for his sublimest ideal of what women should be in time of war, he said he would point to the dear women of his people as he had seen them during the recent struggle. "the spartan mother sent her boy, bidding him return with honor, either carrying his shield or on it. the women of the south sent forth their sons, directing them to return with victory; to return with wounds disabling them from further service, or never to return at all. all they had was flung into the contest--beauty, grace, passion, ornaments. the exquisite frivolities so dear to the sex were cast aside; their songs, if they had any heart to sing, were patriotic; their trinkets were flung into the crucible; the carpets from their floors were portioned out as blankets to the suffering soldiers of their cause; women bred to every refinement of luxury wore homespuns made by their own hands. when materials for army balloons were wanted the richest silk dresses were sent in and there was only competition to secure their acceptance. as nurses for the sick, as encouragers and providers for the combatants, as angels of charity and mercy, adopting as their own all children made orphans in defence of their homes, as patient and beautiful household deities, accepting every sacrifice with unconcern, and lightening the burdens of war by every art, blandishment, and labor proper to their sphere, the dear women of his people deserved to take rank with the highest heroines of the grandest days of the greatest centuries." tribute of a wounded soldier a beautiful southern girl, on her daily mission of love and mercy in one of our hospitals, asked a badly wounded soldier boy what she could do for him. he replied: "i am greatly obliged to you, but it is too late for you to do anything for me. i am so badly wounded that i can't live long." "will you not let me pray for you?" said the sweet girl. "i hope that i am one of the lord's daughters, and i would like to ask him to help you." looking intently into her beautiful face he replied: "yes, do pray at once, and ask the lord to let me be his son-in-law." tribute of a federal private soldier there is no more popular living hero of the federal army of the war between the states than corporal tanner, who is commander of the grand army of the republic. he left both legs on a southern battlefield and is a universal favorite of the confederate veterans. the following is an extract from his speech at the wheeler memorial in atlanta, ga., in march, : "the union forces would have achieved success, in my opinion, eighteen months sooner than they did if it had not been for the women of the south. why do i say this? because it is of world-wide knowledge that men never carried cause forward to the dread arbitrament of the battlefield, who were so intensely supported by the prayers and by the efforts of the gentler sex, as were you men of the south. every mother's son of you knew that if you didn't keep exact step to the music of dixie and the bonny blue flag, if you did not tread the very front line of battle when the contest was on, knew in short that if you returned home in aught but soldierly honor, that the very fires of hell would not scorch and consume your unshriven souls as you would be scorched and consumed by the scorn and contempt of your womanhood." joseph e. johnston's tribute as to the charge of want of loyalty or zeal in the war, i assert, from as much opportunity for observation as any individual had, that no people ever displayed so much, under such circumstances, and with so little flagging, for so long a time continuously. this was proved by the long service of the troops without pay and under exposure to such hardships, from the cause above mentioned, as modern troops have rarely endured; by the voluntary contributions of food and clothing sent to the army from every district that furnished a regiment; by the general and continued submission of the people to the tyranny of the impressment system as practiced--such a tyranny as, i believe, no other high-spirited people ever endured--and by the sympathy and aid given in every house to all professing to belong to the army, or to be on the way to join it. and this spirit continued not only after all hope of success had died but after the final confession of defeat by their military commanders. but, even if the men of the south had not been zealous in the cause, the patriotism of their mothers and wives and sisters would have inspired them with zeal or shamed them into its imitation. the women of the south exhibited that feeling wherever it could be exercised: in the army, by distributing clothing with their own hands; at the railroad stations and their own homes, by feeding the marching soldiers; and, above all, in the hospitals, where they rivaled the sisters of charity. i am happy in the belief that their devoted patriotism and gentle charity are to be richly rewarded. stonewall jackson's female soldiers in the southern part of virginia the women had become almost shoeless and sent a petition to general jackson to grant the detail of a shoemaker to make shoes for them. here is his reply, in a letter of november , : "be assured that i feel a deep and abiding interest in our female soldiers. they are patriots in the truest sense of the word, and i more and more admire them." gen. j. b. gordon's tribute back of the armies, on the farms, in the towns and cities, the fingers of southern women were busy knitting socks and sewing seams of coarse trousers and gray jackets for the soldiers at the front. from mrs. lee and her daughters to the humblest country matrons and maidens, their busy needles were stitching, stitching, stitching, day and night. the anxious commander, general lee, thanked them for their efforts to bring greater comfort to the cold feet and shivering limbs of his half-clad men. he wrote letters expressing appreciation of the bags of socks and shirts as they came in. he said he could almost hear, in the stillness of the night, the needles click as they flew through the meshes. every click was a prayer, every stitch a tear. his tributes were tender and constant to these glorious women for their labor and sacrifice for southern independence. general forrest's tribute there is a story told of general forrest which shows his opinion of the pluck and devotion of the southern women. he was drawing up his men in line of battle one day, and it was evident that a sharp encounter was about to take place. some ladies ran from a house which happened to stand just in front of his line, and asked him anxiously, "what shall we do, general, what shall we do?" strong in his faith that they only wished to help in some way, he replied, "i really don't see that you can do much, except to stand on stumps, wave your bonnets and shout, 'hurrah, boys.'" tribute of gen. m. c. butler who of those trying days does not recall the shifts which the southern people had to adopt to provide for the sick and wounded: the utilization of barks and herbs for the concoction of drugs, the preparation of appliances for hospitals and field infirmaries? what surgeons in any age or in any war excelled the confederate surgeons in skill, ingenuity or courage? who does not recall the sleepless and patient vigilance, the heroic fortitude and untiring tenderness of the fair southern women in providing articles of comfort and usefulness for their kindred in the field, preparing with their dainty hands from their scanty supplies, food and clothing for the confederate soldiers; establishing homes and hospitals for the sick and disabled, and ministering to their wants with a gentle kindness that alleviated so much suffering and pain? do the annals of any country or of any period furnish higher proofs of self-sacrificing courage, self-abnegation, and more steadfast devotion than was exercised by the southern women during the whole progress of our desperate struggle? if so, i have failed to discover it. the suffering of the men from privations and hunger, from the wounds of battle and the sickness of camp, were mild inconveniences when compared with the anguish of soul suffered by the women at home, and yet they bore it all with surpassing heroism. no pen can ever do justice to their imperishable renown. the shot and shell of invading armies could not intimidate, nor could the rude presence of a sometimes ruthless enemy deter their dauntless souls. to my mind there has been nothing in history or past experiences comparable to their fortitude, courage, and devotion. instances may be cited where the women of a country battling for its rights and liberties have sustained themselves under the hardest fate and made great sacrifices for the cause they loved and the men they honored and respected, but i challenge comparison in any period of the world's history with the sufferings, anxieties, fidelities, and firmness of the fair, delicate women of the south during the struggle for southern independence and since its disastrous determination. disappointed in the failure of a cause for which they had suffered so much, baffled in the fondest hopes of an earnest patriotism, impoverished by the iron hand of relentless war, desolated in their hearts by the cruel fate of unsuccessful battle, and bereft of the tenderest ties that bound them to earth, mourning over the most dismal prospect that ever converted the happiest, fairest land to waste and desolation, consumed by anxiety and the darkest forebodings for the future, they have never lowered the exalted crest of true southern womanhood, nor pandered to a sentiment that would compromise with dishonor. they have found time, amid the want and anxiety of desolated homes, to keep fresh and green the graves of their dead soldiers, when thrift and comfort might have followed cringing and convenient oblivion of the past. they had the courage to build monuments to their dead, and work with that beautiful faith and silent energy which makes kinship to angels, and lights up with the fire from heaven the restless power of woman's boundless capabilities. when men have flagged and faltered, dallied with dishonor and fallen, the women of the south have rebuilt the altars of patriotism and relumed the fires of devotion to country in the hearts of halting manhood. they have borne the burden of their own griefs and vitalized the spirit and firmness of the men. all honor, all hail, to woman's matchless achievements, and thanks, a thousand thanks, for the grand triumph and priceless example of her devoted heroism. appropriately may she have exclaimed: "here i and sorrow sit. this is my throne; let kings come bow to it." tribute of gen. marcus j. wright i know that it were needless to say that the character and conduct of the women of the south during our late war stand out equally with those of any age or country, and deserve to go down in history as affording an example of fortitude, bravery, affection and patriotism that it is impossible to surpass: and i am further proud to say that the women of the northern states exhibited in that war a devotion and patriotism to their country and its cause deserving of all praise. tribute of dr. j. l. m. curry [civil history of the confederate states, pages - .] we hear and read much of delicately pampered "females" in ancient rome and modern paris and newport, but in the time of which i speak in this southland of ours, womanhood was richly and heavily endowed with duties and occupations and highest social functions, as wife and mother and neighbor, and these responsibilities and duties underlay our society in its structure and permanence as solid foundations. instead of superficial adornments and supine inaction, the intellectual sympathies and interests of these women were large, and they undertook, with wise and just guidance, the management of household and farms and servants, leaving the men free for war and civil government. these noble and resolute women were the mothers of the gracchi, of the men who built up the greatness of the union and accomplished the unexampled achievements of the confederacy. knowing no position more exalted and paramount than that of wife and mother, with the responsibilities which attach to miniature empire, the training of children and guidance of slaves, each one was as caesar would have had his companion, above reproach and above suspicion; and whose purity was so prized that a violation of personal dignity was resented and punished, by all worthy to be sons and husbands and fathers of such women, with the death of the violator. "strength and dignity were her clothing; she opened her mouth with wisdom, and the law of kindness was on her tongue. she looked well to the ways of her household, and she ate not the bread of idleness. her children rose up and called her blessed; her husband also." when inequality was threatened and states were to be degraded to counties, and the south became one great battlefield, and every citizen was aiding in the terrible conflict, the mothers, wives, sisters, daughters, with extraordinary unanimity and fervor, rallied to the support of their imperilled land. while the older women from intelligent conviction were ready to sustain the south, political events and the necessity of confronting privations, trials, and sorrows developed girlhood into the maturity and self-reliance of womanhood. anxious women with willing hands and loving hearts rushed eagerly to every place which sickness or destitution or the ravages of war invade, enduring sacrifices, displaying unsurpassed fortitude and heroism. churches were converted into hospitals or places for making, collecting, and shipping clothing and needed supplies. innumerable private homes adjacent to battlefields were filled with the sick and wounded. it was not uncommon to see grandmother and youthful maiden engaged in making socks, hats, and other needed articles. untrained, these women entered the fields of labor with the spirit of christ, rose into queenly dignity, and enrolled themselves among the immortals. address of col. w. r. aylett before pickett camp [in southern historical papers, volume , page .] i claim for camp pickett the paternity of the first of the public expressions, in the form of a confederate woman's monument. on the th day of january, , in an address made by me, upon the presentation of general pickett's portrait to this camp by mrs. jennings, as my remarks, published in the richmond _dispatch_ of the th of january, , will show, i urged that steps be taken to erect a monument to the women of the southern confederacy, and you applauded the suggestion. but this idea, and the execution of it, is something in which none of us should claim exclusive glory and ownership. the monument should be carried not alone upon the shoulders of the infantry, artillery, cavalry, engineers and sailors of the confederacy, but should be urged forward by the hearts and hands of the whole south. and wherever a northern man has a southern wife (and a good many northern men of taste have them) let them help, too, for god never gave him a nobler or richer blessing. the place for such a monument, it seems to me, should be by the side of the confederate soldier on libby hill. it is not well for a man to be alone, nor woman either. to place her elsewhere would make a perpetual stag of him, and a perpetual wall-flower of her. companions in glory and suffering, let them go down the corridors of time side by side, the representatives of a race of heroes. gen. bradley t. johnson's speech at the dedication of south's museum _what our women stood_ [in southern historical papers, volume , pages - .] evil dies, good lives; and the time will come when all the world will realize that the failure of the confederacy was a great misfortune to humanity, and will be the source of unnumbered woes to liberty. washington might have failed; kosciusko and robert e. lee did fail; but i believe history will award a higher place to them, unsuccessful, than to suwarrow and to grant, victorious. this great and noble cause, the principles of which i have attempted to formulate for you, was defended with a genius and a chivalry of men and women never equalled by any race. my heart melts now at the memory of those days. just realize it: there is not a hearth and home in virginia that has not heard the sound of hostile cannon; there is not a family which has not buried kin slain in battle. of all the examples of that heroic time; of all figures that will live in the music of the poet or the pictures of the painter, the one that stands in the foreground, the one that will be glorified with the halo of the heroine, is the woman--mother, sister, lover--who gave her life and heart to the cause. and the woman and girl, remote from cities and towns, back in the woods, away from railways or telegraph. thomas nelson page has given us a picture of her in his story of "darby." i thank him for "darby stanly." i knew the boy and loved him well, for i have seen him and his cousins on the march, in camp, and on the battlefield, lying in ranks, stark, with his face to the foe and his musket grasped in his cold hands. i can recall what talk there was at a "meetin'" about the "black republicans" coming down here to interfere with us, and how we "warn't goin' to 'low it," and how the boys would square their shoulders to see if the girls were looking at 'em, and how the girls would preen their new muslins and calicoes, and see if the boys were "noticen'," and how by tuesday news came that captain thornton was forming his company at the court-house, and how the mother packed up his little "duds" in her boy's school satchel and tied it on his back, and kissed him and bade him good-bye, and watched him, as well as she could see, as he went down the walk to the front gate, and as he turned into the "big road," and as he got to the corner, turned round and took off his hat and swung it around his head, and then disappeared out of her life forever. for, after cold harbor, his body could never be found nor his grave identified, though a dozen saw him die. and then, for days and for weeks and for months, alone, the mother lived this lonely life, waiting for news. the war had taken her only son, and she was a widow; but from that day to this, no human being has ever heard a word of repining from her lips. those who suffer most complain least. or, i recall that story of bishop-general polk, about the woman in the mountains of tennessee, with six sons. five of them were in the army, and when it was announced to her that her eldest born had been killed in battle, the mother simply said: "the lord's will be done. eddie (her baby) will be fourteen next spring, and he can take billy's place." the hero of this great epoch is the son i have described, as his mother and sister will be the heroines. for years, day and night, winter and summer, without pay, with no hope of promotion nor of winning a name or making a mark, the confederate boy-soldier trod the straight and thorny path of duty. half-clothed, whole-starved, he tramps, night after night, his solitary post on picket. no one can see him. five minutes' walk down the road will put him beyond recall, and twenty minutes further and he will be in the yankee lines, where pay, food, clothes, quiet, and safety all await him. think of the tens of thousands of boys subjected to this temptation, and how few yielded! think of how many dreamed of such relief from danger and hardship! but, while i glorify the chivalry, the fortitude, and the fidelity of the private soldier, i do not intend to minimize the valor, the endurance, or the gallantry of those who led him. governor c. t. o'ferrall's tribute [in southern historical papers, volume , pages - .] i think i can say boldly that the bloody strife of to developed in the men of the south traits of character as ennobling and as exalting as ever adorned men since the day-dawn of creation. i think i can proclaim confidently that, for courage and daring chivalry and bravery, the world has never seen the superiors of the southern soldiers. i think i can assert defiantly that the annals of time present no leaves more brilliant than those upon which are recorded the deeds and achievements of the followers of the southern cross. i think i can proclaim triumphantly that, from the south's beloved president, and the peerless commander of her armies in the field, down to the private in her ranks, there was a display of patriotism perhaps unequalled (certainly never surpassed) since this passion was implanted in the human breast. but as grand as the south was in her sons, she was grander in her daughters; as sublime as she was in her men, she was sublimer in her women. history is replete with bright and beautiful examples of woman's devotion to home and birthland; of her fortitude, trials, and sufferings in her country's cause, and the women of the confederacy added many luminous pages to what had already been most graphically written. yes, these spartan wives and mothers, with husbands or sons, or both, at the front, directed the farming operations, supporting their families and supplying the armies; they sewed, knitted, weaved, and spun; then in the hospitals they were ministering angels, turning the heated pillow, smoothing the wrinkled cot, cooling the parched lips, stroking the burning brow, staunching the flowing blood, binding up the gaping wounds, trimming the midnight taper, and sitting in the stillness, only broken by the groans of the sick and wounded, pointing the departing spirit the way to god; closing the sightless eyes and then following the bier to hollywood or some humble spot, and then dropping the purest tear. they saw the flames licking the clouds, as their homes, with their clinging memories, were reduced to ashes; they heard of the carnage of battle, followed by the mother's deep moan, the wife's low sob--for, alas! she could not weep--the orphan's wail, and the sister's lament. but amid flame, carnage, death, and lamentations, though their land was reddening with blood, and their beloved ones were falling like leaves in autumn, they stood, like heroines, firm, steadfast, and constant. oh! women of the confederacy, your fame is deathless; you need not monument nor sculptured stone to perpetuate it. young maidens, gather at the feet of some confederate matron in some reminiscent hour, and listen to her story of those days, now more than thirty years past, and hear how god gave her courage, fortitude, and strength to bear her privations, and bereavements, and live. tribute of judge j. h. reagan, of texas, postmaster-general of confederate states i never felt my inability to do justice to any subject so keenly as i do when attempting to do justice to the character, services, and devotion of the women of the confederacy. they gave to the armies their husbands, fathers, sons, and brothers, with aching hearts, and bade them good-bye with sobs and tears. but they believed their sacrifice was due to their country and her cause. they assumed the care of their homes and of the children and aged. many of them who had been reared in ease and luxury had to engage in all the drudgery of the farm and shop. many of them worked in the fields to raise means of feeding their families. spinning-wheels and looms were multiplied where none had been seen before, to enable them to clothe their families and furnish clothing for the loved ones in the army, to whom, with messages of love and encouragement, they were, whenever they could, sending something to wear or eat. and like angels of mercy they visited and attended the hospitals, with lint and bandages for the wounded, and medicine for the sick, and such nourishment as they could for both, and their holy prayers at all times went to the throne of god for the safety of those dear to them and for the success of the confederate cause. there was a courage and a moral heroism in their lives superior to that which animated our brave men, for the men were stimulated by the presence of their associates, the hope of applause, and by the excitements of battle. while the noble women, in the seclusion and quietude of their homes, were inspired by a moral courage which could only come from god and the love of country. general freemantle (of the british army) [in "three months in southern lines."] it has often been remarked to me that when this war is over the independence of the country will be due in a great measure to the women: for they declare that had the women been desponding they never could have gone through with it. but, on the contrary, the women have invariably set an example to the men of patience, devotion, and determination. naturally proud and with an innate contempt for the yankees, southern women have been rendered furious and desperate by the proceedings of butler, milroy, and other such federal officers. they are all prepared to undergo any hardship and misfortunes rather than submit to the rule of such people; and they use every argument which women can employ to infuse the same spirit into their male relatives. sherman's "tough set" after sherman took possession of savannah he soon issued orders, driving out of the city the wives of confederate officers and soldiers. while these women were packing their trunks, he sent soldiers to watch them. the ladies sent a remonstrance to the general, and here is his reply: "you women are the toughest set i ever knew. the men would have given up long ago but for you. i believe you would keep this war up for thirty years." tribute of general buell the following are some of the words quoted from general buell, one of the most high-toned and gallant of the federal generals, and who saved the federal army from complete defeat at the battle of shiloh. this appeared in the _century magazine_, and afterward in the third volume of "battles and leaders in the civil war." after speaking of the confidence of the southern soldier in his commander, general buell then speaks of another influence which nerved the heart of the confederate soldier to valorous deeds: "nor must we give slight importance to the influence of southern women who, in agony of heart, girded the sword upon their loved ones and bade them go. it was expected that these various influences would give a confidence to leadership that would tend to bold adventure and leave its mark upon the contest. "yes; the confederate soldier has gone down in all histories as the most peerless, most gallant and matchless hero the world ever produced." tribute of judge alton b. parker, of new york nothing in all recorded history of mankind has been more pathetic, more heroic, more deserving of admiration and sympathy than the attitude of the southern people since . as fate would have it, their defeat in war was the smallest of their woes, because it would neither threaten nor bring dishonor. but the new _post-bellum_ contest with military power, with theft and robbery, with poverty and enforced domination of a race lately in slavery, forced as it was without time for recovery, and that, too, in their own homes, required a courage a little less than superhuman. heroic men and women [president roosevelt, in his speech at richmond, october , .] great though the meed of praise is which is due the south for the soldierly valor of her sons displayed during the four years of war, i think that even greater praise is due her for what her people have accomplished during the forty years of peace which followed. for forty years the south has made not merely a courageous, but at times a desperate struggle, as she has striven for moral and material well-being. her success has been extraordinary, and all citizens of our common country should feel joy and pride in it; for any great deed done, or any fine qualities shown, by one group of americans, of necessity reflects credit upon all americans. only a heroic people could have battled successfully against the conditions with which the people of the south found themselves face to face at the end of the civil war. there had been utter destruction and disaster, and wholly new business and social problems had to be faced with the scantiest means. the economic and political fabric had to be readjusted in the midst of dire want, of grinding poverty. the future of the broken, war-swept south seemed beyond hope, and if her sons and daughters had been of weaker fiber there would have been in very truth no hope. but the men and the sons of the men who had faced with unfaltering front every alternation of good and evil fortune from manassas to appomattox, and the women, their wives and mothers, whose courage and endurance had reached an even higher heroic level--these men and these women set themselves undauntedly to the great task before them. for twenty years the struggle was hard and at times doubtful. then the splendid qualities of your manhood and womanhood told, as they were bound to tell, and the wealth of your extraordinary natural resources began to be shown. now the teeming riches of mine and field and factory attest the prosperity of those who are all the stronger because of the trials and struggles through which this prosperity has come. you stand loyally to your traditions and memories; you also stand loyal for our great common country of to-day and for our common flag, which symbolizes all that is brightest and most hopeful for the future of mankind; you face the new age in the spirit of the age. alike in your material and in your spiritual and intellectual development you stand abreast of the foremost in the world's progress. the women of the south [joel chandler harris, in southern historical papers.] southern women have been heretofore referred to only as the standards of fiction. there are three pieces of fiction that have had a long and popular run in what may be described in a large way as the north american mind. one is that the stage representations of negro characters are true to life; another is that the poor white trash of the south are utterly worthless and thriftless; and the other is that the white woman of the south lived in a state of idleness during the days of slavery, swinging and languishing in hammocks while bevies of pickaninnies cooled the tropical air with long-handled fans made of peacock tails. preposterous as they are, age has made these fictions respectable, especially in the north. they strut about in good company, and sometimes a sober historian goes so far as to employ them for the purpose of bolstering up his sectional theories, or, what is still worse, his prejudices. i do not know that these fictions are important, or that they are even interesting. if there was an explosion every time truth was outrun by his notorious competitor, the man who sleeps late of a morning would wake up with a snort and imagine that the universe was the victim of a fierce and prolonged bombardment. _wives of planters_ the busiest women the world has ever seen were the wives and daughters of the southern planters during the days of slavery. they were busy from morning until night, and sometimes far into the night. they were practically at the head of the commissary and sanitary departments of the plantation. it was a part of their duty to see that the negroes were properly fed, clothed, and shod. they did not, it is true, go into the market and purchase the supplies; that was a matter that could be attended to by even a dull-witted man; but after the supplies were bought it was the woman's intelligent management that caused them to be properly distributed. i have never yet heard of a southern woman who surrendered the keys of her smoke-house and store-room to an overseer. the distribution of the supplies, however, was a comparatively small item. take, for example, the clothing provided for, say, one hundred negroes, male and female, large and small. the cloth was bought in bolts, though occasionally a considerable portion was woven on the plantation on the old-fashioned hand-looms. whether bought or woven, the cloth had to be cut out and made into garments. who was to superintend and see to all this if not a woman? who was at the head of the domestic establishment? there were seamstresses to make up the clothes, but all the details and preparations had to be looked after by the mistress, and it oftentimes fell to her lot to go down on her knees on the floor and cut out the garments for hours at a time. _sanitary experts_ and then there was the health of the negroes--a very important item where a twenty-year-old field hand was worth $ , in gold. who was to look after the sick when, as frequently happened, the physician was miles away? who, indeed, if not the mistress? it was natural, therefore--and not only natural, but absolutely necessary--that a part of the store-room should be an apothecary's shop on a small scale, and that the southern woman should know what to prescribe in all the simpler forms of disease. it is to be borne in mind that when the negroes came in from their work the plantation became a domestic establishment, and its demands were such that it was necessary for a woman to be at the head of it. on the energy, the industry and the apt management of the mistress the success of the plantation depended to a great extent. it was not often these qualities were lacking, either, for they were absolutely essential to the success, the comfort, and the moral discipline of the establishment. _queen of the kitchen_ then there was the kitchen. no southern woman could afford to turn that important department over to a negro cook. such a thing was not to be thought of. the mistress of the plantation was also the mistress of the kitchen. in order to teach their negroes the art of cooking, the southern women had to know how to cook themselves, and they were compelled to gain their knowledge by practical experience, for the kitchen is one of the places where theories cannot be entertained. there are negro women still living who got their training in the plantation kitchen, under the eyes of their mistresses, and their cooking is a spur to the appetite and a remedy for indigestion. it is no wonder that a georgia woman, when she heard the negroes were really free, gave a sigh of relief and exclaimed: "thank heaven! i shall have to work for them no more!" these southern women were the outgrowth of the plantation system, the result of six or seven generations of development. on that system they placed the impress of their humanity and refinement; and the outcome of it is to be seen in the condition of the negro race to-day. in the sphere of their homes and in their social relations they exercised a power and influence that has no parallel in history. as they were themselves, so they trained their daughters to be. _in this generation_ as the vine was, so must the fruit be. i have tried to describe the mistress of the plantation for the reason that her characteristics and tendencies have been transmitted to the southern women of this generation and to the young girls who are growing into womanhood. it is inevitable, however, that certain of these characteristics should be modified or amplified according as the circumstances of an environment altogether new may demand. i know of no more beautiful or romantic civilization than that which blossomed under the plantation system, and yet, in the natural order of things, it would have inevitably run to caste distinctions. it had social ideals that were impracticable, and it had literary ideals that were foolish; nevertheless, after everything had been said, caste distinctions under the plantation system would have been less distasteful than those which are now in process of organization in some parts of this country. whatever the development of southern civilization might have been under the old system it has come under the domination of the new. that the new has been strengthened and sweetened thereby i think will not be denied by impartial observers who have no pet theories to nurse. women of to-day still possess the characteristics that made their mothers and their grandmothers beautiful and gracious; still possess the refinement that built up a rare civilization amid unpromising surroundings; still possess the energy and patience and gentleness that wrought order and discipline on the plantations. _an inheritance of graciousness_ take, for example, the home life of the plantation. it was larger, ampler, and more perfect than that which exists in the republic to-day, not because it was more leisurely and freer from care, but because the aims and purposes of the various members of the family were more concentrated. the hospitality that was a feature of it was more unrestrained and simpler, because it bore no relation whatever to the demands and suggestions of what is now known in sunday newspapers as "society." the home life of the old plantation has had a marked influence on the southern women of to-day in their struggles with adverse circumstances. they lack, for one thing, the assurance of those who have inherited the knack of making their way among strangers. the poetic young bostonian who has been writing recently of "the mannerless sex" and "the ruthless sex" could never have made the southern woman a text for his articles, and i trust that for generations yet to come they will retain the gentleness and the graciousness that belong to them by right of inheritance. _a beneficent influence_ comparatively speaking, it has been but a few years since the southern woman has been compelled by circumstances to seek a wider and more profitable field for her talent, her energy, and her industry than the home and fireside afford, and the experience of these few years has demonstrated the fact that she is amply able to take care of herself. in shaping and developing what is called the new literary movement in the south, she has shown herself to be a far more versatile worker than the men, more artistic and more conscientious. she has made herself in art, in science, and in schools; she has taken a place in the ranks of the journalists; she has a place on the stage and the platform; she is to be found in many of the trades that are next door to the arts, in the professions and in business; she is stenographing, typewriting, clerking, dairying, gardening. she is to be found, in short, wherever there is room for her, and her field is always widening. i think she will exercise a mellowing and restraining influence on the ripping and snorting age just ahead of us--the rattling and groaning age of electricity. what part she may play in the woman's rights movement of the future it is difficult to say. just now she has no aptitude in that direction. she has been taught to believe that the influences that are the result of a happy home-life are more powerful and more important elements of politics than the casting of a ballot; and in this belief she seems to be with an overwhelming majority of american women--the mothers and daughters who are the hope and pride of the republic. yet she is an earnest and untiring temperance worker. conservative in all other directions, she is inclined to be somewhat radical in her crusade against rum. she is inclined to fret and grieve a little over the fact that public opinion failed to keep pace with her desires. the wheels of legislation do not move fast enough for her, and she is inclined to wonder at it. in the innocence of her heart she has never suspected that there is a demijohn in the legislative committee-room. there is no question and no movement of real importance in which she is not interested. her devotion and self-sacrifice in the past have consecrated her to the future, and her sufferings and privations have taught her the blessings of charity in its largest and best interpretation. eulogy on confederate women, by j. l. underwood, delivered in [the author offers as his tribute to the memory of the confederate women the following lecture just as it came from his brain and heart in . it was delivered mainly for the benefit of the confederate monument in cuthbert, ga. a very serious lip cancer soon interrupted all lecture work and finally landed him in kellam's hospital in richmond, va.] ever since the women of the south have been laying flowers on the graves of confederate soldiers and building monuments to their memory. the humblest of surviving veterans begs the privilege of offering a wreath of evergreen and immortelles to the memory of the confederate women. to the genuine woman, no bouquet is acceptable, not even the kiss of affection is welcome, unless hallowed by respect. horatio seymour, the great governor of new york, said that the south, prior to , produced "the best men and the best women the world ever saw." in the early part of the spring of , your speaker heard m. laboulaye, one of the foremost men of france in literature and public life, in a public lecture at the sorbourne in paris, utter the following memorable words: "i am told that in america a lady can travel alone from baltimore to new orleans and will all the way be protected and assisted. a country where woman is respected as she is in the southern states of the american republic,--a country where women so richly deserve that respect,--others may say what they please about slavery in that sunny land, but that's the country for me." this profound admiration, expressed by the good and great of the world, while it fills the heart, must surely temper the words of a southern writer. that man is not qualified to admire one woman who sees no good in other women. blind partiality is stupid idolatry. the just historian of southern women will say nothing in disparagement of the warm-hearted fraus of germany, the tasteful, tidy, sparkling women of france, our rosy cousins of old england, and especially those bustling, bright little creatures up north, who make things so lively everywhere. when titian and correggio put woman on canvas she is their italian woman; murillo paints her as the lustrous, dark-eyed beauty of his own spain. meissonier's women are french women, and when rubens paints an angel or unfallen eve, she is the fat chubby girl of holland. but raphael, in his celebrated madonna, the greatest of all paintings, forgets all nationality, and his picture is just that of a woman. oh for something of this cosmopolitan spirit in our sacred task. nor must history degenerate into panegyric. weeds are near the flower-garden, and there are thorns among the roses. even among the brave confederate soldiers there were some shirkers and cowards. we had our "hospital rats" and "butter-milk-rangers." in the battle there were some who suddenly got very thirsty and ran away to get water. as one of these was rushing from a hot fire to the rear one day, his colonel shouted to him, "what are you running for? i wouldn't be a baby." "i wish i was a baby, and a gal baby at that"--was the reply. another one in gordon's command, in another battle, was making tracks to the rear as fast as he could. general j. b. gordon shouted, "stop there, jim; what makes you run?" "because i can't fly," was his reply, as he leaped the fence. so our confederate women were not all paragons nor angels; not if you let their poor husbands tell it. an old soldier in atlanta has sued for a divorce from his wife on the plea that during a long life she has allowed him only four years of peace, and that was when he was away in the war. about the time of the surrender in , a federal brigade, on its march to take possession of a georgia city, halted near a farm. as usual the soldiers went in to get supplies of milk, chickens, etc., offering to pay for everything. the old gentleman of the farm when he heard of their approach had taken to the woods. his wife stood her ground, and, seizing her first opportunity to let the yankees "know what she thought of them," let out upon their devoted heads a torrent of woman's fury. her tongue fought the war over again. they became enraged and literally "cleaned up" the farm, taking mules, wagons, corn, chickens,--everything in sight. when they had gone the old farmer came in and when he saw "wide o'er the plain the wreck of ruin laid" he became desperate. finally, on the advice of his neighbors, he went to the headquarters of the general in the city and laid before him his pitiful complaint. that officer told him he could not help him. "if you people give my soldiers a civil treatment, i shall see that they respect your property and pay for everything they get; but when they are abused and insulted as they were at your house, i can't restrain them, nor shall i try." "but, see here, general, it is my mules and other property that they have taken, and i have not abused your soldiers; it was my wife." "but, sir, you ought to make your wife hold her tongue." "well, now, general, i have been trying that forty years, and if you and your whole army can't make her hold her tongue, how in the world can you expect me to do it?" the general saw the situation and kindly ordered everything which had been taken to be given back to the old farmer. it has been said that the south has been busy making history and others busy writing it. our own people must write it, and our children must study it. for more than twenty-five years the life of the south was the drama of the nineteenth century; and no drama is complete without woman's part in it. the war between the southern and northern states was one of the bloodiest in history. the southern states claimed the right of secession from the union--a right which during the first seventy years of the nation's life was never questioned. the northern states claimed the right to coerce our states back into what they called the union--a right never before thought of. the die of war was cast, the rubicon of coercion was crossed, the gauntlet of blood was thrown down, when the northern states sent ships and soldiers to hold fort sumter on south carolina's soil. again and again had the southern states asked the northern states for the fish of peace; they were given the serpent of seward's "irrepressible conflict." they asked for the bread of simple right; they were given the stone of invasion. the reinforcement of fort sumter was a declaration of war on the south. then, and not till then, did beauregard's cannon thunder forth the protest for the rights of states, and the tocsin rang out from the potomac to the rio grande. the ultimatum was cowardly submission to sectional dictation. there is something better than peace; that is liberty. there is something dearer than a people's life; that is a people's manhood. the south wanted no war; had prepared for no war; and had but few arms, no navy, few factories and railroads. with a small population, she was cut off by an effective blockade from the rest of the world. the northern states had the national army, navy, treasury and flag, and all europe from which to draw soldiers and supplies. the south, after mustering every able-bodied man, could enroll, in all, but , soldiers, while she fought , , . never was there a war continued for four years at such fearful odds. and yet richmond, the confederate capital, almost in sight of washington, was only captured when sherman and sheridan, the modern atillas, had flanked it with walls of fire, and pillaged the country in its rear. never has there been a war in which the weaker so long and so effectually held the stronger at bay or so often defeated them on the field of battle; never a war in which the valor of the finally vanquished was so respected by foes and so universally applauded by the world. the mention of no battle, from manassas to appomattox, from shiloh to franklin, brings a blush to the confederate soldier. the world congratulates the federal soldier on his pension and the confederate soldier on his valor. the surrender of lee's , to grant's , and the roll of , federal soldiers living to-day in the grand army of the republic measure the odds against us. the reduction of the federal forces to , , during the war and the present pension roll of , tell our work. our poor south was never vanquished. her sad fate was simply to be worn out, starved out, burned out, to die out. generously, but truthfully, did professor worseley, of england, in his poem on robert e. lee, say of the ill-fated confederacy, "thy troy is fallen, thy dear land is marred beneath the spoiler's heel; i cannot trust my trembling hand to write the things i feel. "ah, realm of tombs! but let her bear this blazon to the end of times; no nation rose so white and fair or fell so pure of crimes." after the surrender a poor southern soldier was wending his way down the lane over the "red old hills of georgia." his old gray jacket that his wife had woven and his mother made, was all tattered and torn; the old greasy haversack and cedar canteen hung by his side. from under his bullet-pierced hat there beamed eyes that had seen many a battlefield. said one of his neighbors: "hello, john; the yankees whipped you, did they?" "no, we just wore ourselves out whipping them." "well, what are you going to do now, john?" "why, i'm going home, kiss mary, and make a crop and get ready to whip 'em again." that "mary" is our theme to-day. others have told of confederate soldiers on the battlefield. god help me to tell of the soldier's "other-self" behind the battlefield. the brave southern army was defending home. the arm of the hero is nerved by his heart, and the heart of john was mary, and mary was the soul of the south. in peace woman was the queen of that arcadia which god's blessings made our sunny land, and never has there been a war in which her enthusiasm was so intense and her heroic cooperation so conspicuous. her effectual and practical work in the departments of the commissary, the quartermaster and the surgeon, and her magic influence at home and on the spirit of the army, were something wonderful. the federal general atkins, of sherman's army, said to a carolina lady: "you women keep up this war. we are fighting you. what right have you to expect anything from us?" and yet in all she was woman,--nothing but woman. "and the lord said it is not good for man to be alone; i will make a help-meet for him." in paradise she was the rib of man's side; in paradise lost she bears woman's heavy share of his labors and his fate. the history of the south of will go down to the centuries with its immortal lesson that woman's power is greatest, her work most beneficent and her career most splendid when she moves in the orbit assigned her by heaven as the help-meet of man. it is the glory of southern life and society that with us woman is no "flaring jezebel" but our own modest vashti. thank god the confederate woman was no lady macbeth, plotting treason for the advancement of her husband; but the loyal daughter cordelia, clinging to her old father lear in his wrongs; no fanatical catherine de medici, thirsting for huguenot blood, but the sweet florence nightingale, hovering over the battlefield with, "the balm that drops on wounds of woe, from woman's pitying eye," and making the dying bed of the patriot feel "soft as downy pillows are." she was no herodias, calling for the head of an enemy, but the humble mary, breaking the alabaster box to anoint the martyr of her cause; weeping at his cross and watching at his grave. she was no fierce clytimnestra, but the loving antigone leading the blind old oedipus, or digging the grave of her brother polynices; no amazon camilla, "_agmen agens equitum et florentes aere catervas_," but the roman cornelia, proud of her jewel gracchi sons, and laying them upon the altar of her country; no helen, heartless in her beauty, but the gentle creusa, following her husband to be crushed in the ruins of her ill-fated troy; no cruel juno, seeking revenge for wounded pride, but a pure vesta, keeping alive the fires of american patriotism; no charlotte corday, plunging a dagger into the heart of the tyrant marat, but the calm madame roland, under the guillotine of the jacobins, raised to sever her proud but all womanly head, and crying to her countrymen, "oh, liberty, what crimes are committed in thy name!" who begrudges a moment for the record of her patriotic services and unremitting toil? who does not see in her a glorious lesson? thank god! the clash of arms has long ago ceased. the temple of janus is closed. but the war of pens, the contest of history, is upon us. for years southern women had been written down as soulless ciphers or weakling wives, dragged by reckless husbands into an unholy cause. text books of so-called history, teeming with such falsehoods, have been thrust even into southern schools. it is high time to protest. before god we tell them our mothers were not dupes, but women; they and our men were not rebels, but patriots, obedient to every law, loyal to every compact, state and national, of their country; true, gloriously true, to every lesson taught by washington and jefferson, and moved by every impulse that has made this country great. but there must be no gall in the inkstand of history. no man can justly record the truth of the confederate war who has not risen above the passions and prejudices incident to such terrible convulsions. no man with malice to the north can write justly of the south. no man can appreciate our great jefferson davis, who can see nothing good in president lincoln. no man can describe the glory of lee and jackson, who shuts his eyes to the soldiership of mcclellan, the patriotism of hancock, the generosity of grant, and the knighthood of mcpherson and custer. but don't let us go too far in this direction. we might fall into the other extreme of hypocritical "gush." let us be careful; yea, honest. about the best we could do in war times is well shown in the preaching of a good old alabama country baptist preacher in the darker days of the war. he was a thorough southerner and "brim full of secesh," as we used to say, and at the same time a devout christian. he was of the old-fashioned type and talked a little through his nose. his text was the great day when the good people will be gathered to heaven from the four corners of the world. warming up to his theme he said: "and oh, my brethren,--ah; in the day of redemption the redeemed of the lord will come flocking from the four corners of the earth,--ah! they will come from the east on the wings of the morning,--ah! i hear them shouting hallelujah, as they strike their harps of gold--ah! and they'll come from the west shouting hosanna in the highest,--ah! and you'll see them coming in crowds from the south,--ah; with palms of victory in their hands, ah! and they'll come from the,--well, i reckon may be a few of them will come from the north." oh that's about the way men, women and children down south felt for twenty years. but, we've moved up on that. christians grow in grace, you know. the war is over. there are no enemies now. we now believe a great many will come from the north. our old preacher would not now have a misgiving about all four of the corners. a few weeks after the surrender of vicksburg, a large number of sick paroled confederate soldiers were sent home on a federal steamer by way of new orleans and mobile. the speaker was among them. he had been promoted to the chaplaincy of the thirtieth alabama regiment and soon found himself strong enough at least to bury the dead as our poor fellows dropped away every day. the federal guard on the boat was under command of lieutenant winslow, of massachusetts, and a nobler and bigger hearted soldier never wore a sword. between new orleans and mobile it was necessary to bury our dead in the gulf. having no coffins the federal lieutenant and the confederate chaplain would lay the body, wrapped in the old blanket or quilt, on a plank and then bind it with ropes and, fastening heavy irons to the feet, we would gently lower it and let it sink down, down in the briny deep, the cleanest grave man ever saw. the northern lieutenant not only took off his cap and bowed in reverence when the confederate chaplain prayed, but with his own hands assisted in all the details of every burial. so let the north and the south together bury the dead animosities of the past, take the corpse of bitter falsehood, the prolific mother of prejudice and hatred, bind it with the cords of patriotism and sink it into the ocean of oblivion. but publish the truth. the truth lives and ought to live. truth never does harm; but, with god and man, it is the peace angel of reconciliation. let the testimony be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth and our people will abide by it and every patriot will welcome the verdict. who were the women of ? my old tennessee father used to teach me that there is a great deal more in the stock of people than there is in horses. blood will tell. these women were the direct descendants of those bold, hardy englishmen, who, under john smith, lord delaware, lord baltimore and general oglethorpe made settlements on the southern shores and those who, from time to time, were added to their colonies. they were broad men, bringing broad ideas. they came, not because they were driven out of england, but because they wanted to come to america; who thought it no sin to bring the best things of old england, and give them a new and better growth in the new world; who first gave the new world trial by jury and the election of governors by popular vote. english cavaliers who knew how to be gentlemen, even in the forest. this was the leading blood. from time to time it was made stronger by a considerable addition of scotch and scotch-irish and an occasional healthful cross with the very best people of the north, more soulful and impulsive by some of the blood of ireland, and more vivacious by the french huguenot in the carolinas and the creole in louisiana. there thus grew up a new english race--english, but not too english; english but american-english blood, of which old england is proud to-day. with little or no immigration for many years from other people, this blood under our balmy sun produced a race of its own--a southern people, as klopstock says of the sweet strong language of germany, "gesondert, ungemischt und nur sich selber gleich." distinct, unmixed and only like itself. this was the blood that made america great, the blood from which the south gave her washington and so many men like henry, jefferson, madison and monroe; that out of seventy-two first years of this republic furnished the president for fifty-two years; the chief justice all the time, and the leaders of senates and of cabinets; the blood of calhoun and clay and lowndes and pinkney and benton and crawford; cobb and berrien, hall and jenkins, toombs and stevens; the blood that produced our washington, sumter and marion to achieve our independence of great britain; scott and jackson to fight the war of , clark and jackson to conquer from the indians all the splendid country between the mountains and the mississippi, and taylor and scott to win vast territories from mexico. this was the blood that so often showed how naturally and gracefully a southern woman could step from a country home to adorn the white house at washington; the blood that made the south famous for its women, stars at the capital and at saratoga; favorites in london and paris; and queenly ladies in their homes, whether that home was a log cabin in the forest or a mansion by the sea. it was common for northern and european people to praise the taste of southern women, especially in matters of dress. they did have remarkable taste in dressing, for they had a form to dress and a face to adorn that dress. neither war nor poverty could mar their grace of form nor beauty of face. it is said of the great bishop bascomb, of the southern methodist church, that, in the early years of his ministry, he was so handsome and graceful in person, and so neat in his dress, that a great many of his brethren were prejudiced against him as being what they called "too much of a dandy." for a long time the young orator was sent on mountain circuits to bring him down to the level of plain old-fashioned methodism. it was proposed to one of his mountain members who was very bitter about the preacher's fine clothes that he give bascomb a suit of homespun. the offer was gladly accepted, and on the day for bascomb's appearance in the plain clothes the old brother was early on the church grounds to glory in having made the city preacher look like other folks. imagine his chagrin when bascomb walked up, looking in homespun as he looked in broadcloth, an apollo in form and a brummel in style. "well i do declare!" said the old man. "go it, brother bascomb; i give it up; it ain't your clothes that's so pretty, it's jist you." so our southern women were just as charming in the shuck hats and home-made cotton dresses of , as in the silks and satins of . but by their fruits ye shall know them. walk with me on the streets of richmond and charleston. go with me to any of our country churches throughout these southern states and i will show you, among the many poor daughters of these women, that same classic face that tells of the blood in their veins. go with me back to the confederate army and you will see in such generals as the lees, albert sidney johnston, breckinridge, toombs, the colquitts, gordon, evans, gracie, jeb. stuart, price, hampton, tracy, ramseur, ashby and thousands of private soldiers that face and form that tell of the knightly blood in the veins of the mothers that bore them. south georgia is to be congratulated that in the confederate monument recently unveiled at cuthbert, the artist has at least given what is sadly lacking in other confederate monuments to private soldiers, the genuine face of the southern soldier, that face which is a just compliment to the confederate mother. the artists who cast some other monuments in the south had seen too little of southern people, and had put on some of our monuments the pug nose and bullet head of other people. our mothers and grandmothers lived mostly in the country, and drank in a splendid vigor from the ozone of field, and forest, and mountain. they were trained mostly at home by private teachers or in common schools run on common sense principles, and in "the old-time religion," without "isms," fanaticism, or cant. they were taught the philosophy of life by fathers who thought and manners by mothers who were the soul of inborn refinement. they thought for themselves, and indulged no craze for things new, and they aped no foreigners. in conversation they didn't end every sentence with the interrogation point, but followed nature and let their voices fall at periods. they never said "thanks," but in the good old english of addison and goldsmith, said "i thank you." they never spoke of a sweetheart as "my fellow," and would have scorned such a word as "mash." they never walked "arm clutch," nor allowed sunday newspapers to make five-cent museums of their pictures. their entertainments were famous for elegance and pleasure, but they had no euchre-clubs. indeed, we doubt if many of them ever heard of a woman's club of any kind. they were fond of "society," but would have had a profound contempt for that so-called "society" of our day, in which the man is a prince who can lead the german, spend money for bouquets and part his hair in the middle. they didn't wear bloomers, nor did many of them ever dress decolette. they were clothed and in their right mind. they never mounted platforms to speak nor pulpits to preach, and yet their influence and inspiration gave southern pulpits and platforms a world-wide fame. their highest ambition was to be president of home. they were southern women everywhere, at home and abroad, in church and on the streets, in parlor and kitchen, when they rode, when they walked. gentle, but brave; modest, but independent. seeking no recognition, the true southern woman found it already won by her worth; courting no attention, at every turn it met her, to do willing homage to her native grace and genuine womanhood. now, to appreciate the enthusiasm of such women in the confederate war, you must remember that great principles were at stake in that struggle, and that woman grasps great principles as clearly as man, and with a zeal known only to herself. see with what prompt intuition and sober enthusiasm woman received the christian religion. martha, of bethany, uttered the great keynote of the christian creed long before an apostle penned a line. the primitive evangelist timothy, the favorite of the great apostle paul, was trained by his grandmother lois and his mother eunice; and the pulpit orator apollos studied at the feet of priscilla. the great lamented dr. thornwell, of south carolina, who was justly called the "john c. calhoun of the presbyterian church" of the united states, loved to tell it that he learned his theology from his poor old country baptist mother. in politics, as in religion, our mothers may not have read much, and they talked less, but they heard much and thought the more. before the war the reproach was often hurled at southern men that they talked politics. god's true people talked religion from abel to the invention of the art of printing. they had a religion to talk. our fathers did talk politics, for, thank god, they had politics worth talking--not the picayune politics of the demagogue office-seeker of our day; not the almighty dollar politics of the bloated bond-holder and the trusts, the one-idea craze of the silver mine-owner, nor the tariff greed of the manufacturer; not the imported european communism that would crush one class to build up another, not the wild anarchy that would pull down everything above it and blast everything around it. the south was intensely american, and her people loved american politics and talked american politics. she entered into the revolutionary war with all her soul. southern statesmanship lifted that struggle from a mere rebellion to a war of nations by manly secession from great britain in north carolina's declaration of independence at mecklenburg. the philadelphia declaration was drawn up by the south's jefferson and proposed by virginia. this was the great secession of . to the revolutionary war the south sent one hundred out of every two hundred and nine men of military age, while the north sent one hundred out of every two hundred and twenty-seven. (we quote from the official report of general knox, secretary of war.) virginia sent , men. south carolina sent , men, while new york, with more than double her military population, sent , . new hampshire, with double the population of south carolina, sent only , . the little southern states sent more men in proportion to population than even massachusetts and connecticut, who did their part so well in that war. it was southern politics that proposed the great union of the sovereign states in . to that union the three states of virginia, north carolina, and georgia have added out of their own bosoms ten more great states. these southern states were the mothers of states, and most naturally did they talk of states and state's rights. southern politics, prevailing in the national councils against the bitter protests of new england, carried through the war of ; added florida to the union, and, by the purchase of louisiana, all the trans-mississippi valley from the gulf to canada. it was southern politics against the furious opposition of new england that annexed texas, and, by the war with mexico, brought in the vast territory far away to the pacific. the south sent , volunteers to the mexican war; the whole north, with three times the population, sent , . thus the south was the mother of territories, and was it not natural that she should talk of territories and of her rights in the territories? in political platforms, in legislative enactments, and notably in the election of mr. lincoln in , the more populous north declared that the southern states should be shut out from all share in the territories bought with common treasure and blood. our women, a child, a negro, could see the iniquity of the claim. the action of the north in regard to national territory was an edict, too, that the negroes, through no fault of their own, should be shut up in one little corner of the country. then when the south sought the only alternative left her, that of peaceable secession, her right to go was justified by the terms of the constitution; by the distinct understanding among the sovereign states when they entered the union, more directly insisted and put on record by the three states of virginia, new york, and rhode island than any other state; by the secession convention of new england in the war of ; by the northern secession convention in ohio in and the reiterated declarations of henry ward beecher, and by wendell phillips, and horace greeley, william lloyd garrison and the other great leaders of northern thought in . as to coercing the states back into the union, president buchanan well said at the time there was "not a shadow of authority" for it, and governor seymour, of new york, truthfully said "coercion is revolution." again, remember that wrongs pierce deeper into the heart of woman than into the more callous soul of man. for years vast multitudes of the people of the north had kept up a furious war against the south in books and newspapers; in pulpits and religious conventions; in political platforms and state assemblies. oh, it makes the blood run cold to think of the relentless malignity of the fanaticism of those days. no parlors nor churches too sacred for bitter onslaught on southern people; no epithets too vile; no slanders too black; no curses too deadly to be hurled at southern men and women. but war,--yes, blood-red war was really, and almost formally declared by the northern endorsement of henry ward beecher's "sharpe's rifles" crusade against southern settlers in kansas; and the war of was actually begun by john brown's murderous raid at harper's ferry in virginia in . the north made him a hero martyr. john brown's rifle shot in virginia only alarmed the angel of peace. the northern applause of john brown drove her away from our unhappy land. by his apotheosis the northern people made his rifle shot at harper's ferry the skirmish firing of the impending war, to be answered by our manly cannon at charleston in . puritan intolerance scourged roger williams out of massachusetts for nonconformity in religion; and puritanism scourged the south out of the union in for nonconformity in politics. the southern woman's heart felt to the very core and resented as only woman can resent, the sting of that merciless lash. this is an age of monuments, and your speaker has undertaken to erect one in book form to the memory of confederate women. when this thought comes to be put in marble or brass, as it will some day soon, let that monument rest on the broad granite foundation of truth. then as the artist begins to put in bas relief the symbols of the virtues of the southern women of , and the souvenirs of her heroic life, let the first scene be that of a scroll, the constitution of the united states, held in the unsullied hands of the great jefferson davis, as he marches out from the united states court, under whose warrants he had been held for treason, again a free man. let that picture tell of the undying loyalty of our mother and her people to the organic law of the land: that southern men wrote it and their sons have ever honored and loved it: tell it in gath, publish it in the streets of aekelon, that those who crushed us were the men who despised, hawked at and cursed the constitution. the south at montgomery swore fresh allegiance to the constitution handed down by our american fathers, and carried with her through all the wilderness march the sacred old ark of the covenant. and when our confederate head, the peerless jefferson davis, our chosen standard bearer of state sovereignty and home rule, was brought to trial, bearing in himself the alleged sins of us all, charged with being a rebel, that document showed him to be a stainless patriot; and though the mob of millions was shouting, "crucify him, crucify him!" the highest courts of the federal government declared by his quiet and silent, but significant release, as pilate did of jesus, "we find no fault in this man." the constitution of the united states is a standing declaration of the sinlessness of the confederate cause. let the artist next put on the monument a picture of an old negro woman, the old southern "mammy," with the child of her mistress in her arms. near by let old uncle jacob be leading the little white boy, while down in the cornfield near by are seen jacob's sons and daughters at work singing the cheerful songs which the poor negro now has heart to sing no more. in the distance picture the faithful bob or mingo coming from the battlefield, bearing the dead body of his young master. let that picture tell to all generations the story of slavery. we had slavery, but, thank god, it was southern slavery,--christian slavery. truth will explain the paradox, if there was any paradox. it had its evils, and nobody blushes because we had it, nor whines because it is gone. but as for any sin of the south in it, let the first stone of condemnation be thrown by that people who had no fathers cruel to their children, no husbands harsh to their wives, and no rich man unjust to the poor laborer. the south never enslaved a single negro, never brought one to america. georgia was the first of the settlements to forbid slavery, and georgia and virginia were the foremost states in cutting off the slave trade. the colony of virginia petitioned twenty times against the continuance of the slave trade. the negroes were enslaved by their own savage chiefs in africa. england and the northern people brought them to america and sold them for gold. the dutch brought twenty to virginia, but were forbidden to bring any more. when found less profitable in the colder climate of the north, the negroes were sold south to become valuable tillers of the soil, and, after the invention of the cotton gin, to make the country rich. the northern people at a good profit sold their slaves down south, put the money at interest, suddenly got pious, and waged a fierce war on the people who bought them. that's history. in , on the first sunday after the news of the fall of fort sumter reached england, the author, in company with a friend from pennsylvania, who was an anti-slavery man, attended services in mr. spurgeon's chapel in london. the great city was wrapped in the deepest gloom. the war storm in america was expected to ruin manufactures and trade throughout great britain. mr. spurgeon and his people seemed bowed down with sorrow. on returning to our hotel my northern friend remarked that he knew i didn't approve of spurgeon's prayer about slavery. i said to him, "r----, just there you are mistaken. some of my people in alabama some time ago burned spurgeon's books because of some of his abolition views, but when i go home and tell them how this great christian prayed to-day they will respect his honesty and sincerity. we blame nobody for being anti-slavery, but we do abominate fanatical abolitionism. spurgeon is no fanatic. listen to this englishman: 'o god, our people are in the ashes of woe. a dreadful war beyond the ocean has cut off our commerce and closed our factories, and thousands of our poor must sadly suffer. the people of the american states are bone of our bone and flesh of our flesh. o lord, pity them, and pity us. o god, they and we have sinned in enslaving our fellow men. england put slavery on her colonies against the protest of those southern people, and england must suffer thy judgments for her part. forgive the north, forgive the south, and forgive england. o pity especially the people of that section where the war will bear so heavily and pity the poor everywhere.' "now, r----, that's a christian prayer that we respect; and while spurgeon goes back one hundred and fifty and even two hundred years and tells the truth about slavery, and for his english people, even to-day, shoulders their responsibility in this matter, how are thousands (thank god, but not all) of your northern preachers in your churches at the north praying to-day? 'we thank thee, lord, that this war has come. somebody will get hurt, but we people up this way will come out all right because we are so innocent and so righteous. o lord, we thank thee that we are holy and not as other men are, especially these wicked southern people. we thank thee for short memories; that we have forgotten that we brought the negroes from africa, kept them as long as it paid us, and then sold them to these southerners; that we have forgotten that when virginia and maryland wanted to put an end to the slave trade, we out-voted them and kept the slave trade open until . lord, we could have seceded from these savage southern states long ago and got rid of any connection with slavery, for we believed in secession until just now. but, lord, if we let the south go, as mr. lincoln says, where will we get our revenues? we thank thee too that we have forgotten that those southerners can't get rid of the negroes without kicking them into the gulf of mexico. lord, we thank thee that we can see nothing but our own righteousness. we have tried to reform those wicked southerners and make them good like ourselves, but we couldn't. now, lord, we have brought on a war and we turn it over to thee. we'll hire dutchmen and irishmen to help thee do our fighting, and we'll stand off and enjoy the fun. now, as thou art about to pour out the vials of thy mighty wrath upon the abominable southern people, do, lord, just give 'em--fits.' now, r----, there's the difference between honest anti-slavery in england and the hypocrisy of the crusade in america." the truth is that in southern homes, the negro prospered and multiplied as no other laboring class has ever done. the south shared with him its bread, its medicines, its homes and its churches. m. de la tours, the eminent french hygienist, truthfully said that "the slaves of the south were the best fed and the best cared for laborers that the world ever saw." no chain-gang, no penitentiary, for the negro, no lynchings, and no crimes to be lynched for, when the negro was under the influence of our mothers and grandmothers. god forgive the fanatic who in later days put folly in his head and the devil in his heart. our mothers trusted him and he trusted them. all through the war, while nearly all the white men were away in the army, the negro slave was the protector and the support of southern families. our mothers would have died for the negroes, and negroes would have died for them. in wilson's raid near columbus, ga., his soldiers were about to destroy a patch of cane belonging to a widow. the brave woman took her gun and declared she would shoot the first man that touched her property. in their rage they raised their rifles to shoot her down. just then her old cook rushed in between them, saying, "if you are going to kill 'old miss,' you'll have to kill me, too." when sherman was plundering south carolina, some of his soldiers heard that a young lady had a very fine gold watch concealed in her bosom. they demanded it, and on her refusal they were about to seize her, when delia, her faithful servant, defied them. "fore god, buckra, if one of younner put your nasty hand on dis chile of my ole missus you got to knock delia down fust." the monument to the southern woman will be a monument to our faithful old dinahs and delias too. the old ex-slaves will gather at its base and as the tears stream down their dusky cheeks they will say, as they say now, "dat's de best friend the poor nigger ever had," and enlightened negroes, like booker washington, will tell the true story that out of slavery the north got money, the south got ruin, and the negro got civilization, christianity, and contentment. let the next picture be an ear of corn, a spinning-wheel, and a hand-loom. ceres was the goddess of the sunny south, and the staff of our armies was the corn of our own fields. the south, however prosperous, was not made up of rich people. not one man in ten owned a slave; not one slave holder in ten was wealthy. the small farms, many of them under the care of the soldier's wife and the faithful old negro foreman, and many more tilled by the soldier's boys under the eye of their mother, yielded a very large share of the confederate supplies. while minerva taught our men war she taught our women household work, and quickly did she make southern beauties arachnes at the loom and penelopes with the knitting needles. they knew how to adorn the parlor and play the piano, but, when necessity came, like lemuel's mother, they "sought wool and flax and wrought diligently with their hands," or even, like rebecca, they could go out into the field and draw water for the cattle; or, like ruth, hold the plow steady in the furrows, or glean grain at harvest time. false histories have pictured our mothers as doll babies. let that monument tell of the wonderful pluck, energy, and strength, while it tells of the patriotism of the smartest and sweetest and bravest and strongest doll babies the world ever saw. the artist must do his best when he puts on that monument a little white hand--the well-shaped, classic hand of the southern woman. in that hand must be held the little white handkerchief. what a part that handkerchief played in the war! old soldiers, as you rode off down the lane, again and again you turned to take the farewell look at home, sweet home, and there was that little white handkerchief waving at the gate; or when your company left the railroad station there, all around, were the good women of the neighborhood, and as you looked far back down the track these little white flags bade you woman's "good bye and god bless you." you never forgot it. whether we marched past country homes or through the streets of cities, woman's heart-cheer greeted us in the handkerchief from the window. perhaps it was held in the rheumatic hand of mrs. general lee as she looked out from her knitting in her richmond home, or, later on we could see behind it the sad, mourning sleeve of stonewall jackson's widow. i tell you, my countrymen, the bonny blue flag or the southern cross was the banner of the soldier on the battlefield, but the little white handkerchief was our sacred banner behind the battlefield. the one, in the hands of the color sergeants, guided our movements in the army; but the other, in woman's hand, inspired our movements everywhere. put here a knapsack, the rough, old, oil-cloth knapsack of the confederate soldier. poor fellow! he had but few clothes in it, but it contained something dearer to him than clothes--letters from home. he kept them all, the most of them written on the blank side of old wall paper and inclosed in brown envelopes, which perhaps had been turned so as to be twice used. when our poor boys were killed, their letters were gathered by the chaplains, litter bearers and burial details, to be sent to their homes. i am not going to tell what sort of letters were found in many knapsacks on our battlefields, but it is a fact, borne out by the testimony of these men, that never was there found a letter from a confederate soldier's wife to her husband whose words would make the most modest blush, or in which she exerted any of her woman's power or used any of woman's arts to decoy him from the army. here is a specimen of a letter from home in a confederate knapsack: mitchell county, ga., _july , _. mr. jno. iverson, company b, fourth regiment, army of virginia. dear john: this leaves us all getting along very well. nobody sick, and we finished laying by the corn. the cattle are fat and the hogs doing finely. we sell some butter and eggs every week. we have plenty to eat, and know that it's only you that's having a hard time. but we are all so proud that you are fighting for your country. will be so glad when you can get a furlough, but we know that you must, and will stick to your post of duty. willie and jennie send kisses to their brave papa. we never forget to pray for you. if you get killed, darling, god will take care of us and we'll all meet in heaven. your, mary. that's the way they wrote. let that knapsack tell forever of the fortitude, the purity, the loyalty and refinement of the southern woman. let the next picture be the humble hospital couch. "up and down through the wards where the fever stalks, noisome, and gaunt, and impure; you must go with your steadfast endeavor to comfort, to counsel, to cure. i grant you the task is superhuman, but strength will be given to you to do for those loved ones what woman alone in her pity can do." our women gave their carpets to make blankets, their dresses to be made into shirts for the soldiers, and their linen to furnish lint for their wounds, and then, clad in homespun, they gave themselves. nearly every town and village in the south had its soldiers' aid society and its hospital. thousands and thousands of the poor fellows were taken to private houses, even away out in the country, and tenderly cared for. there was scarcely a woman near a battlefield or a railroad who did not nurse a soldier. nearly every woman in richmond served regularly on hospital committees. one of these, a mrs. roland, was blind, and her sweet guitar and sweeter song cheered many a poor hero. one of the songs of these days was "let me kiss him for his mother." here's a story to show how woman's petting, which always spoils a boy and sometimes a husband, occasionally found a hard case in a confederate soldier. among the sick in richmond was a brave young fellow, who was a great favorite and the only son of a widowed mother, who was far away beyond the mississippi. one morning the report got out that he was dying in the hospital, and one of the prettiest and sweetest young ladies in the city was so touched by the sad story that she determined to go and kiss him for his mother. she hastened to the ward where the poor youth was lying high up on one of the upper tiers of bunks and quickly told her mission to the nurses. "i don't know him, but oh, its so sad, and i have come to 'kiss him for his mother' away out in texas." now he wasn't dying at all, but was much better, and as he peeped at the sweet face, the rascal, raising his head over the edge of the bunk, said, "never mind the old lady, miss, just go it on your own hook." now that's just the thanks these ununiformed sisters of mercy sometimes got for their pains. put on this monument a pair of crutches. you never see the bright star of womanhood until it shines in the darkness of man's misfortune. it is the furnace of man's suffering that brings out the pure gold of her love. here's a specimen. on a cold winter day, when lee's army was marching through one of the lower sections of virginia, some of the veterans were completely barefooted, and the sixth georgia regiment was passing. a plain country woman was standing in the group by the road side. "lord, a mercy," said she, "there's a poor soldier ain't go no shoes," and off came hers in a jiffy and she ordered her negro woman standing by to give hers up, too. the good woman wore number threes, and the soldier who got them was jake quarles, of company b, dade county, georgia, who wore number twelves. soon after the war i once expressed my sympathy to a young lady friend who was about to marry a young one-armed soldier. "i want no sympathy. i think it a great privilege and honor to be the wife of a man who lost his arm fighting for my country," was her prompt reply. that's your southern girl. when john redding, of randolph county, ga., was brought home wounded from chickamauga, it was found necessary to amputate his leg. on the day fixed for the dangerous operation, his many friends were gathered at his father's country home. among them was miss carrie mcneil, to whom he was engaged. after he had passed safely through the ordeal she, of course, was allowed to be the first to go in to see him. they were left alone for a while. the next to go in was an aunt of miss carrie's, and as she shook hands with poor john and was about to pass on, he said, "ain't you going to kiss me, too?" ah, what a tale that question told. the gallant soldier had offered to release his betrothed from her engagement, but she said, "no, no, john, i can't give you up, and i love you better than ever," and a kiss had sealed their holy love. when tom phipps, of randolph county, ga., came home on crutches he offered to release miss maggie pharham from her engagement. "no, tom," she said. "we can make a living." there are hundreds of these noble, god-given carrie mcneils and maggie pharhams all over our war-wrecked south. let the next emblem be the oak riven by the lightning, and the tender ivy entwining itself around it. let it tell of the sufferings of the refugee father and the wreck of the old man in the track of such vandals as sherman, hunter, sheridan, milroy and kilpatrick. let it tell of the horrors of the years of so-called peace that followed the war. northern soldiers killed our young men in war; politicians killed our old men in peace. sherman burned houses from atlanta to bentonville. thad stevens in congress blighted every acre of ground from baltimore to san antonio. the war of shot and shell lasted four years; the war of blind, revengeful reconstruction legislation lasted twenty years. war marshalled our enemies on the battlefield; reconstruction made enemies of the men who had held our plow handles and stood around our tables. war put the south under the rule of soldiers; reconstruction put us under the heel of the rapacious carpet-bagger and negro plunderers. war crushed some of our people. vindictive legislation crushed all our people. war made the south an aceldama; reconstruction made it a gehenna. grant held back the red right hands of stanton and holt from the throats of lee and his paroled soldiers: alas, lincoln was dead, and his patriotic arm was not there to hold back thad stevens and his revolutionary congress from our prostrate citizens. amid these horrors our young men could hope, but to our old men was nothing left but despair. robbed of their property after peace was declared, without a dollar of compensation, their lands made valueless or confiscated; they themselves disfranchised and their slaves made their political masters, too old to change and recuperate, too old to hope even, but too manly to whine, they stood as desolate and uncomplaining as that old oak. do you see that tender vine binding up the shattered tree and hiding its wounds? that is southern woman clinging closer and more tenderly to father and husband when the storms beat upon him, comforting as only such christian women can comfort; smiling only as such heroines can smile; with "toil-beat nerves, and care-worn eye," helping only as such women can help. in the schoolroom and behind the counter, over the sewing machine and the cooking stove, in garden and field, everywhere showing the gems of southern character washed up from its depths by the ocean of southern woe. let the last symbol on the monument be the clasped right hands of the union. these southern women of were the daughters of the great american union. their fathers under the leadership of jefferson, madison and washington, had proposed the union, devised the union, loved the union, and, under clay and calhoun and benton, had preserved the union. as an inducement for union between the original states, without which the northern states would not come into it, virginia, the great mother of the union, gave up all her splendid territory north of the ohio, embracing what is now ohio, illinois, indiana, wisconsin, and michigan, and agreed that they should be made states without slavery. she afterwards gave kentucky. north carolina gave tennessee, and georgia gave alabama and mississippi. southern influence and southern statesmanship made the union strong at home and respected abroad by the war of , which was gallantly fought by the south and bitterly opposed by new england--opposed to the very verge of secession from the union in the hartford convention. the southern states had shown their devotion to the union by yielding to the compromises on the tariff, the bounty, and the territorial questions. the south demanded no tariff tribute, no bounties and no internal improvements as the price of her devotion to the union. she loved the union for the union's sake. all that she demanded was that in the territory, while it was territory, belonging to the government, her sons, with their families, white and black, should have an equal share. john c. calhoun was not a disunionist. the nullification ordinance of south carolina, "the hotspur of the union," was not secession. it was the protest of a sovereign state against unconstitutional federal taxation levied through the tariff on the consumer, not for government revenue, but for the benefit of the manufacturer. the nation heard the manly voice of the little state, and calhoun and clay stood side by side in the great compromise that followed. calhoun and his people loved the union, but they wanted a union that was a union. true religion is that which is laid down in the bible, not theory nor sentiment. true political union is the union formed by the sovereign states and expressed in the constitution. constitutional union was the only true union. everything else was a mere sentiment or a sham. history will yet hold that the secession of the southern states in was itself a union movement. the northern states had destroyed the old union. by their numerous nullification acts in state assemblies they had repudiated the legislative branch of the government; by their defiance of the supreme court they had virtually abolished the judiciary, the second branch; and in , by the sectional platform of the dominant party and the election of a sectional president, they had denationalized the executive branch of the government. where was the union? gone, utterly gone. south carolina only cut herself off from the union-breakers and attached herself to such states as clung to the constitution and union of the fathers. secession in meant the preservation of the union of . coercion in was rebellion against the federal compact and death of the old union. the star-spangled banner became the labarum of invasion, and the southern cross the standard of all the union that was left. the union that our fathers and mothers loved lay buried for twenty-five years. from march, , to march, , any true southern man in the national capital found himself a stranger in a strange land, and was looked upon as a political pariah by those in power,--an intruder even in the house of his fathers. every government office all over the land in the hands of the northern states. what a travesty of union! the north a dictator, the south a satrapy. the northern man, lord; the southern man, a vassal. but, thank god, the resurrection came; the door-stone of the tomb was rolled away by the national election of cleveland in . "the southern states are in the union, and they shall have their equal rights," was the slogan of the triumphant party. then go to the capital and you find the first national administration since buchanan--bayard, the champion of the south, in the first place in the cabinet, and by his side the confederate leaders, lamar and garland. about the first act of the administration was to appoint general lawton, the quartermaster-general of the confederate army, to one of the most conspicuous embassies in europe, curry to spain and other confederates wherever there was a place for them. the sons of our southern mothers were no longer under the ban. peace, real peace, had come. the union, real union, was herself again. again in the electoral votes of the northern states alone were sufficient to make grover cleveland, the great pacificator, twice the choice of the solid south, again president of the united states. once more there is a national cabinet, the south having half of it, with a confederate colonel in command of the navy, another minister to france, another to mexico, another to guatemala--southern men at madrid and constantinople; and when this country needs a man to represent her in the crisis in cuba to a virginia lee is given the conspicuous honor. the last unjust election law is repealed; the last taint taken from the fair name of confederate officers. the north has extended the right hand of union. the south has grasped it; and withered be the arm that would tear those hands asunder. _image of the southern woman surmounting the monument_ high above these hands, artist, place the crowning statue of the southern woman. let it be the queenly form of the proudest of the proud mothers of southern chivalry. let her sweet, calm image face the north,--no frown on her brow,--no scorn on her lip. let her happy, hopeful smile tell the world that southern womanhood felt most sadly the union broken, and hails most joyfully the union restored. my countrymen, we have a country! in the name of god, our mothers, as they look down from heaven, beseech you to preserve it. the art of sculpture was finished in ancient greece, and the statue of venus de medici will never be surpassed. in it the artist has put in marble the perfect form, face, majesty and grace of woman. the ancients in their sensual materialism adored beauty in form and feature and many moderns worship at the same shrine. the german poet heine, when an invalid in paris, had himself carried every day in a roller chair to the tuilleries, to gaze upon the marble beauty of venus de milo. if in our age, the artist ever attempts to sculpture the true woman, the woman with soul, the christian psyche, with heart as perfect as her face, with character more charming than her form, the modern praxitiles will take for his model the southern woman, from among your mothers and grandmothers. they are your models in character now. to you much is given; of you will much be required. study your mothers and may heaven help you to learn the god-given lesson. young men, the model man, jesus christ, the divine saviour of our world, asked for no carved stone, no statue to his memory. he wanted no marble cathedral. he demanded living monuments,--men and women to set forth in holy lives the lessons of his example. from childhood he honored his mother, nor did he forget her on the cross. with something of his exalted spirit your mothers, who have gone before you, demand of you not a chiseled monument, but they do beseech you to honor them in manly life. hold sacred the very blood they gave you. lay hold of their lofty principles; drink in their noble spirit. set forth their glorious patriotism, and you will be a crown to them, a blessing to your country, and an honor to your god. chapter ii their work introduction to woman's work [by j. l. underwood.] throughout the south the women went to work from the first drum-beat. a great deal of it was done privately, the left hand itself hardly knowing what the modest, humble right hand was doing. in nearly every neighborhood soldiers' aid societies, or relief associations, were organized and did systematic and efficient work throughout the four years. supplies of every kind were constantly gathered and forwarded where most needed. the old men and women did an immense amount of work. in all the railroad towns, hospitals and wayside houses were established for the benefit of the travelling soldier. these were maintained and managed almost exclusively by the women. they prepared as best they could such articles as pickles and preserves and other delicacies for the use of the hospitals. they sent testaments and other good books and good preachers to the army, and being nearly all women of practical piety, they helped greatly to infuse that spirit of patriotism which gave such strength to the confederate army. the world has never known an army in which there were so many earnest, practical christians like jackson, cobb, lee, polk, price, and gordon among the commanding officers, where there were so many ministers of the gospel of good standing who were fighting soldiers, and so many men in ranks who were god-fearing men. the world has never known an army where so many officers and soldiers came from homes where there were pious wives, mothers, and sisters. the inspiration of the knightly hearts of the confederacy was home and the inspiration of a pious home was godly woman. the world will never know how effective were the prayers and letters of the women at home in those great religious revivals with which the confederate army was so often and so richly blessed. thousands of men who entered the army wicked men went home or to their graves genuine christians. the war ended; but the good woman's work never ends. our confederate women began immediately to look after the soldiers' orphans and the soldiers' graves. in all directions the confederate monuments have been erected mainly by their efforts. soldiers' homes have been established and in some few of the states homes provided for the confederate widows. it is safe to say that women collected two-thirds of the money raised for all these objects. it is their dead they are honoring. and they will continue to break the alabaster box. let them alone. the southern woman's song [confederate scrap book.] stitch, stitch, stitch. little needle, swiftly fly, brightly glitter as you go; every time that you pass by warms my heart with pity's glow. dreams of comfort that will cheer, dreams of courage you will bring, through winter's cold, the volunteer. smile on me like flowers in spring. stitch, stitch, stitch. swiftly, little needle, fly, through this flannel, soft and warm; though with cold the soldiers sigh, this will sure keep out the storm. set the buttons close and tight, out to shut the winter's damp; there'll be none to fix them right in the soldier's tented camp. stitch, stitch, stitch. ah! needle, do not linger; close the thread, make fine the knot; there'll be no dainty finger to arrange a seam forgot. though small and tiny you may be, do all that you are able. a mouse a lion once set free, as says the pretty fable. stitch, stitch, stitch. swiftly, little needle, glide. thine's a pleasant labor; to clothe the soldier be thy pride, while he wields the sabre. ours are tireless hearts and hands; to southern wives and mothers, all who join our warlike bands are our friends and brothers. stitch, stitch, stitch. little needle, swiftly fly; from morning until eve, as the moments pass thee by, these substantial comforts weave. busy thoughts are at our hearts-- thoughts of hopeful cheer, as we toil, till day departs, for the noble volunteer. quick, quick, quick. swiftly, little needle, go; for our homes' most pleasant fires let a loving greeting flow to our brothers and our sires; we have tears for those who fall, smiles for those who laugh at fears; hope and sympathy for all-- every noble volunteer. the ladies of richmond the editor of the lynchburg _republican_, writing to his paper in june, , says: the ladies of richmond, as of lynchburg, and indeed of the whole country, are making for themselves a fame which will live in all future history, and brilliantly illuminate the brightest pages of the republic's history. discarding all false ceremony and giving full vent to those feelings and sentiments of devotion which make her the noblest part of god's creation and the fondest object of man's existence, the ladies of this city from all ranks have gone into the hospitals and are hourly engaged in ministering to the wants and relieving the sufferings of their countrymen. mothers and sisters could not be more unremitting in their attention to their own blood than these women are to those whom they have never seen before, and may never see again. they feed them, nurse them, and by their presence and sympathy cheer and encourage them. "man's inhumanity to man makes countless millions mourn," but woman's sympathy would heal every wound and make glad every heart. the hospital after seven pines [richmond during the war, pages - .] on this evening, as a kind woman bent over the stalwart figure of a noble georgian, and washed from his hair and beard the stiffened mud of the chickahominy, where he fell from a wound through the upper portion of the right lung, and then gently bathed the bleeding gash left by the minie ball, as he groaned and feebly opened his eyes, he grasped her hand, and in broken whispers, faint from suffering, gasping for breath, "i could-bear-all-this-for-myself-alone-but my-wife and my-six little-ones," (and then the large tears rolled down his weather-beaten cheeks,) and overcome he could only add, "oh, god! oh, god!-how will-they endure it?" she bent her head and wept in sympathy. the tall man's frame was shaking with agony. she placed to his fevered lips a cooling draught, and whispered: "think of yourself just now; god may raise you up to them, and if not, he will provide for and comfort them." he feebly grasped her hand once more, and a look of gratitude stole over his manly face, and he whispered, "god bless you! god bless you! god bless you! kind stranger!" burial of latane ["the next squadron moved to the front under the lamented captain latane, making a most brilliant and successful charge with drawn sabres upon the enemy's picked ground, and after a hotly-contested, hand-to-hand conflict put him to flight, but not until the gallant captain had sealed his devotion to his native soil with his blood."--official report of the pamunkey expedition, gen. j. e. b. stuart, c. s. a., .] [from a private letter.] lieutenant latane carried his brother's dead body to mrs. brockenbrough's plantation an hour or two after his death. on this sad and lonely errand he met a party of yankees, who followed him to mrs. b.'s gate, and stopping there, told him that as soon as he had placed his brother's body in friendly hands he must surrender himself prisoner. * * * mrs. b. sent for an episcopal clergyman to perform the funeral ceremonies, but the enemy would not permit him to pass. then, with a few other ladies, a fair-haired little girl, her apron filled with white flowers, and a few faithful slaves, who stood reverently near, a pious virginia matron read the solemn and beautiful burial service over the cold, still form of one of the noblest gentlemen and most intrepid officers in the confederate army. she watched the sods heaped upon the coffin-lid, then sinking on her knees, in sight and hearing of the foe, she committed his soul's welfare and the stricken hearts he had left behind him to the mercy of the "all-father." "and when virginia, leaning on her spear, _victrix et vidua_, the conflict done, shall raise her mailed hand to wipe the tear that starts as she recalls each martyred son, no prouder memory her breast shall sway, than thine, our early lost, lamented latane!" making clothes for the soldiers [in our women in the war, pages - .] money was almost as unavailable as material with us for a time. "uncle sam's" treasury was not accessible to "rebels." our government was young, and confederate bonds and money yet in their infancy. we could do nothing more than wait developments, and try to meet emergencies as they trooped up before us. in the meantime, children grew apace. our village stores were emptied and deserted. our armies in the field became grand realities. all resources were cut off. our government could poorly provide food and clothing and ammunition for its armies. then it was our mothers' wit was tested and did in no sort disappoint our expectations. spinning-wheels, looms and dye-pots were soon brought into requisition. wool of home production was especially converted, by loving hands, into warm flannels and heavy garments, with soft scarfs and snugly-fitted leggings, to shield our dear boys from virginia's wintry blasts and fast-falling snows. later on, when the wants and privations of the army grew more pressing, societies were formed to provide supplies for the general demand. southern homes withheld nothing that could add to the soldiers' comfort. every available fragment of material was converted into some kind of garment. after the stores of blankets in each home had been given, carpets were utilized in their stead and portioned out to the suffering soldiers. wool mattresses were ripped open, recarded, and woven into coverings and clothing. bits of new woolen fabrics, left from former garments, were ravelled, carded, mixed with cotton and spun and knitted into socks. old and worn garments were carried through the same process. even rabbits' fur was mixed with cotton and silk, and appeared again in the form of neat and comfortable gloves. begging committees went forth (and be it truthfully said, the writer never knew of a single one being turned away empty) to gather up the offerings from mansion and hamlet, which were soon cut up, packed, and forwarded with all possible speed to the soldiers. and who can tell what pleasure we took in filling boxes with substantials and such dainties as we could secure for the hospitals. old men and little boys were occupied in winding thread and holding brooches, and even knitting on the socks when the mystery of "turning the heel" had been passed. the little spinning-wheel, turned by a treadle, became a fascination to the girls, and with its busy hum was mingled oft times the merry strain of patriotic songs. "our wagon's plenty big enough, the running gear is good, 'tis stiffened with cotton round the sides and made of southern wood; carolina is the driver, with georgia by her side; virginia'll hold the flag up and we'll take a ride." the ingenuity of southern women [our women in the war, pages - .] during all that time, when every woman vied with the other in working for the soldiers, there were needs at home too urgent to be disregarded. these, too, had to be met, and how was not long the question. for those very women who had been reared in ease and affluence soon learned practically that "necessity is the mother of invention," and the story of their ingenuity, if all told, might surprise their northern sisters, who always regarded them as inefficient, pleasure-loving members of society. whatever may have been the fault of their institutions and rearing, the war certainly brought out the true woman, and no woman of any age or nation ever entered, heart and soul, more enthusiastically into their country's contest than those who now mourn the "lost cause." while our armies were victorious in the field hope lured us on. we bore our share of privations cheerfully and gladly. we replaced our worn dresses with homespuns, planning and devising checks and plaids, and intermingling colors with the skill of professional "designers." the samples we interchanged were homespuns of our last weaving, not a. t. stuart's or john wanamaker's sample envelopes, with their elaborate display of rich and costly fabrics. our mothers' silk stockings, of ante-bellum date, were ravelled with patience and transformed into the prettiest of neat-fitting gloves. the writer remembers never to have been more pleased than she was by the possession of a trim pair of boots made of the tanned skins of some half-dozen squirrels. they were so much softer and finer than the ordinary heavy calf-skin affairs to be bought at the village "shoe shop," that no northern maiden was ever more pleased with her ten-dollar boots. our hats, made of palmetto and rye straw, were becoming and pretty without lace, tips, or flowers. our jackets were made of the fathers' old-fashioned cloaks, in vogue some forty years agone--those of that style represented in the pictures of mr. calhoun--doing splendid service by supplying all the girls in the family at once. we even made palmetto jewelry of exquisite designs, intermingled with our hair, that we might keep even with the boys who wore "palmetto cockades." the flowers we wore were nature's own beautiful, fragrant blossoms, sometimes, when in a patriotic mood, nestled, with symbolic cotton balls. for our calico dresses, if ever so fortunate as to find one, we sometimes paid a hundred dollars, and for the spool of cotton that made it from ten to twenty dollars. the buttons we used were oftentimes cut from a gourd into sizes required and covered with cloth, they having the advantage of pasteboard because they were rounded. on children's clothes persimmon seed in their natural state, with two holes drilled through them, were found both neat and durable. in short, we fastened all our garments after true confederate style, without the aid of madame demorest's guide book or worth's parisian models, and suffered from none of miss flora mcflimsey's harassing dilemmas. mrs. lee and the socks r. e. lee, in his recollections of his father, general lee, says: "his letters to my mother tell how much his men were in need. my mother was an invalid from rheumatism, and confined to a roller chair. to help the cause with her own hands, as far as she could, she was constantly occupied in knitting socks for the soldiers, and induced all around her to do the same. she sent them directly to my father and he always acknowledged them." it was well known in the army what great pleasure it gave the general to distribute these socks. fitting out a soldier [mrs. roger a. pryor's reminiscences of peace and war, pages - .] when i returned to my father's home in petersburg i found my friends possessed with an intense spirit of patriotism. the first, second and third virginia were already mustered into service; my husband was colonel of the third virginia infantry. the men were to be equipped for service immediately. all of "the boys" were going--the three manys, will johnson, berry stainback, ned graham; all the young, dancing set, the young lawyers and doctors--everybody, in short, except bank presidents, druggists, a doctor or two (over age), and young boys under sixteen. to be idle was torture. we women resolved ourselves into a sewing society, resting not on sundays. sewing-machines were put into the churches, which became depots for flannel, muslin, strong linen, and even uniform cloth. when the hour for meeting arrived, the sewing class would be summoned by the ringing of the church bell. my dear agnes was visiting in petersburg, and was my faithful ally in all my work. we instituted a monster sewing class, which we hugely enjoyed, to meet daily at my home on market street. my colonel was to be fitted out as never was colonel before. he was ordered to norfolk with his regiment to protect the seaboard. i was proud of his colonelship, and much exercised because he had no shoulder-straps. i undertook to embroider them myself. we had not then decided upon the star for our colonels' insignia, and i supposed he would wear the eagle like all the colonels i had ever known. we embroidered bullion fringe, cut it in lengths, and made eagles, probably of some extinct species, for the like were unknown in audubon's time, and have not since been discovered. however, they were accepted, admired, and, what is worse, worn. the confederate soldier was furnished at the beginning of the war with a gun, pistol, canteen, tin cup, haversack, and knapsack--no inconsiderable weight to be borne in a march. the knapsack contained a fatigue jacket, one or two blankets, an oil-cloth, several suits of underclothing, several pairs of white gloves, collars, neckties, and handkerchiefs. each mess purchased a mess-chest containing dishes, bowls, plates, knives, forks, spoons, cruets, spice-boxes, glasses, etc. each mess also owned a frying-pan, oven, coffee-pot, and camp-kettle. the uniforms were of the finest cadet cloth and gold lace. this outfit--although not comparable to that of the federal soldier, many of whom had "saratoga" trunks in the baggage train--was considered sumptuous by the confederate volunteer. as if these were not enough, we taxed our ingenuity to add sundry comforts, weighing little, by which we might give a touch of refinement to the soldier's knapsack. there was absolutely nothing which a man might possibly use that we did not make for them. we embroidered cases for razors, for soap and sponge, and cute morocco affairs for needles, thread, and courtplaster, with a little pocket lined with a bank note. "how perfectly ridiculous," do you say? nothing is ridiculous that helps anxious women to bear their lot--cheats them with the hope that they are doing good. the thimble brigade [from dickison and his men, pages - .] with prayerful hearts, the devoted women of marion formed themselves into societies for united efforts in behalf of our gallant defenders. at orange lake, we formed a soldiers' relief association, playfully called the "thimble brigade;" and, with earnest faith in the blessing of god upon our work, we began our mission of love. with grateful hearts we labored to provide comforts for the brave soldiers, who around their campfires were keeping watch for us. the following notice will be read by our sisterhood with mingled emotions of pleasure and sadness: "in this number of the ocala _home journal_ will be found the proceedings of a meeting of the ladies of the neighborhood of orange lake, held for the purpose of organizing a 'soldiers' friend' association. they have not only succeeded in perfecting their organization, but have already accomplished a great deal for the benefit of the soldiers. they have made thirty pairs of pants for the soldiers at fernandina, the ladies furnishing the material from their own private stores, besides knitting socks and making other garments. the manner in which they have commenced this patriotic work is, indeed, encouraging to all who have the soldier's welfare at heart, and we know that they will labor as long as the necessities of the soldier require it." noble women of richmond [in a rebel's recollections, pages - .] in richmond, when the hospitals were filled with wounded men brought in from the seven days' fighting with mcclellan, and the surgeons found it impossible to dress half the wounds, a band was formed, consisting of nearly all the married women of the city, who took upon themselves the duty of going to the hospitals and dressing wounds from morning till night; and they persisted in their painful duty until every man was cared for, saving hundreds of lives, as the surgeons unanimously testified. when nitre was found to be growing scarce, and the supply of gunpowder was consequently about to give out, women all over the land dug up the earth in their smokehouses and tobacco barns, and with their own hands faithfully extracted the desired salt, for use in the government laboratories. many of them denied themselves not only delicacies, but substantial food also, when, by enduring semi-starvation, they could add to the stock of food at the command of the subsistence officers. i myself knew more than one houseful of women, who, from the moment that food began to grow scarce, refused to eat meat or drink coffee, living thenceforth only upon vegetables of a speedily perishable sort, in order that they might leave the more for the soldiers in the field. when a friend remonstrated with one of them, on the ground that her health, already frail, was breaking down utterly for want of proper diet, she replied, in a quiet, determined way, "i know that very well; but it is little that i can do, and i must do that little at any cost. my health and life are worth less than those of my brothers, and if they give theirs to the cause, why should not i do the same? i would starve to death cheerfully if i could feed one soldier more by doing so, but the things i eat can't be sent to camp. i think it a sin to eat anything that can be used for rations." and she meant what she said, too, as a little mound in the church-yard testifies. every confederate remembers gratefully the reception given him when he went into any house where these women were. whoever he might be, and whatever his plight, if he wore the gray, he was received, not as a beggar or tramp, not even as a stranger, but as a son of the house, for whom it held nothing too good, and whose comfort was the one care of all its inmates, even though their own must be sacrificed in securing it. when the hospitals were crowded, the people earnestly besought permission to take the men to their houses and to care for them there, and for many months almost every house within a radius of a hundred miles of richmond held one or more wounded men as especially honored guests. "god bless these virginia women!" said a general officer from one of the cotton states, one day; "they're worth a regiment apiece." and he spoke the thought of the army, except that their blessing covered the whole country as well as virginia. from matoaca gay's articles in the _philadelphia times_ in a diary kept at the time by an official in the war department i find this entry: _may , ._--the ladies are sewing everywhere, and are full of ardor. love affairs are plentiful, but the ladies are postponing all engagements till their lovers have fought the yankees. their influence is very great. day after day they go in crowds to the fair grounds, where the first south carolina volunteers are encamped, showering upon them smiles and every delicacy which the city can afford. they wine them and dine them, and they deserve it, for they are just from the taking of sumter, and have won historic distinction. i was presented to several very distinguished looking young men, all of them privates, and was told by their captain that many of them were worth from a hundred thousand to half a million. these are the men the _tribune_ thought would all of them want to be captains; but that is only one of the hallucinations under which the north is now laboring. the women of richmond [by phoebe y. pember, in hospital life.] but of what importance was the fact that i was homeless, houseless and moneyless, in richmond, the heart of virginia? who ever wanted for aught that kind hearts, generous hands or noble hospitality could supply, that it was not here offered without even the shadow of a patronage that could have made it distasteful? what women were ever so refined in feeling and so unaffected in manner; so willing to share all that wealth gives, and so little infected with the pride of purse which bestows that power? it was difficult to hide one's needs from them; they found them out and ministered to them with their quiet simplicity and the innate nobility which gave to their generosity the coloring of a favor received, not conferred. would that i could do more than thank the dear friends who made my life for four years so happy and contented; who never made me feel by word or act that my self-imposed occupation was otherwise than one which would ennoble any woman. if ever any aid was given through my own exertions, or any labor rendered effective by me for the good of the south--if any sick soldier ever benefited by my happy face or pleasant smiles at his bedside, or death was ever soothed by gentle words of hope and tender care--such results were only owing to the cheering encouragement i received from them. two georgia heroines [mary l. jewett, corresponding secretary clement evans chapter, u. d. c.] "to such women as these should a shaft of precious stone be erected." 'twas thus an old soldier spoke of the wife of judge alexander herrington, of dougherty county, georgia, many years ago, when the heroism of the southern women was mentioned. she was president of the ladies' relief association during the war, and as such had thirty machines brought to her home and the neighbors gathered together and made leggings and clothing for "our boys," as they were called. many and many days did she work with bleeding hands, caused by the constant use of the shears, for with her own hands she did the cutting for the others to stitch. this was a work that is far beyond the understanding of the present day, for she had never known a day's toil, being the wife of a wealthy planter and slave owner. not only did she and judge herrington give money, cattle, cotton, and slaves to be used in the erecting of breastworks, but he being too old, and their only son being a mere child, they bravely sent two of their daughters to the field as army nurses, one of which served through the entire war. after the war, with slaves and money gone, her husband died, and it was then that she and her children suffered through the days of reconstruction, with never a murmur from her lips for the things she had given up and lost. the seven days' battle [mrs. r. a. pryor's reminiscences.] all the afternoon the dreadful guns shook the earth and thrilled our souls with horror. i shut myself in my darkened room. at twilight i had a note from governor letcher, telling me a fierce battle was raging, and inviting me to come to the governor's mansion. from the roof one might see the flash of musket and artillery. no; i did not wish to see the infernal fires. i preferred to watch and wait alone in my room. and so the night wore on and i waited and watched. before the dawn a hurried footstep brought a message from the battlefield to my door: "the general, madame, is safe and well. colonel scott has been killed. the general has placed a guard around his body, and he will be sent here early to-morrow. the general bids me say he will not return. the fight will be renewed, and will continue until the enemy is driven away." my resolution was taken. my children were safe with their grandmother. i would write. i would ask that every particle of my household linen, except a change, should be rolled into bandages, all my fine linen be sent to me for compresses, and all forwarded as soon as possible. i would enter the new hospital which had been improvised in kent & paine's warehouse, and would remain there as a nurse as long as the armies were fighting around richmond. but the courier was passing on his rounds with news to others. presently fanny poindexter, in tears, knocked at my door. "she is bearing it like a brave, christian woman." "she? who? tell me quick." "mrs. scott. i had to tell her. she simply said, 'i shall see him once more.' the general wrote to her from the battlefield and told her how nobly her husband died, leading his men in the thick of the fight, and how he had helped to save the city." alas! that the city should have needed saving. what had mrs. scott and her children done? why should they suffer? who was to blame for it all? kent & paine's warehouse was a large, airy building, which had, i understood, been offered by the proprietors for a hospital immediately after the battle of seven pines. mcclellan's advance upon richmond had heavily taxed the capacity of the hospitals already established. when i reached the warehouse, early on the morning after the fight at mechanicsville, i found cots on the lower floor already occupied, and other cots in process of preparation. an aisle between the rows of narrow beds stretched to the rear of the building. broad stairs led to a story above, where other cots were being laid. the volunteer matron was a beautiful woman, mrs. wilson. when i was presented to her as a candidate for admission, her serene eyes rested doubtfully upon me for a moment. she hesitated. finally she said: "the work is very exacting. there are so few of us that our nurses must do anything and everything--make beds, wait upon anybody, and often a half a dozen at a time." "i will engage to do all that," i declared, and she permitted me to go to a desk at the farther end of the room and enter my name. as i passed by the rows of occupied cots, i saw a nurse kneeling beside one of them, holding a pan for a surgeon. the red stump of an amputated arm was held over it. the next thing i knew i was myself lying on a cot, and a spray of cold water was falling over my face. i had fainted. opening my eyes, i found the matron standing beside me. "you see it is as i thought. you are unfit for this work. one of the nurses will conduct you home." the nurse's assistance was declined, however. i had given trouble enough for one day, and had only interrupted those who were really worth something. a night's vigil had been poor preparation for hospital work. i resolved i would conquer my culpable weakness. it was all very well,--these heroics in which i indulged, these paroxysms of patriotism, this adoration of the defenders of my fireside. the defender in the field had naught to hope from me in case he should be wounded in my defence. i took myself well in hand. why had i fainted? i thought it was because of the sickening, dead odor in the hospital, mingled with that of acids and disinfectants. of course, this would always be there--and worse, as wounded men filled the rooms. i provided myself with sal volatile and spirits of camphor,--we wore pockets in our gowns in those days,--and thus armed i presented myself again to mrs. wilson. she was as kind as she was refined and intelligent. "i will give you a place near the door," she said, "and you must run out into the air at the first hint of faintness. you will get over it, see if you don't." ambulances began to come in and unload at the door. i soon had occupation enough, and a few drops of camphor on my handkerchief tided me over the worst. the wounded men crowded in and sat patiently waiting their turn. one fine little fellow of fifteen unrolled a handkerchief from his wrist to show me his wound. "there's a bullet in there," he said proudly. "i am going to have it cut out, and then go right back to the fight. isn't it lucky it's my left hand?" as the day wore on i became more and more absorbed in my work. i had, too, the stimulus of a reproof from miss deborah couch, a brisk, efficient, middle-aged lady, who asked no quarter and gave none. she was standing beside me a moment, with a bright tin pan filled with pure water, into which i foolishly dipped a finger to see if it were warm, to learn if i would be expected to provide warm water when i should be called upon to assist the surgeon. "this water, madame, was prepared for a raw wound," said miss deborah, sternly. "i must now make the surgeon wait until i get more." miss deborah, in advance of her time, was a germ theorist. my touch evidently was contaminating. as she charged down the aisle, with a pan of water in her hand, everybody made way. she had known of my "fine-lady faintness," as she termed it, and i could see she despised me for it. she had volunteered, as all the nurses had, and she meant business. she had no patience with nonsense, and truly she was worth more than all the rest of us. "where can i get a little ice?" i one day ventured of miss deborah. "find it," she rejoined, as she rapidly passed on; but find it i never did. ice was an unknown luxury until brought to us later from private houses. but i found myself thoroughly reinstated--with surgeons, matrons and miss deborah--when i appeared a few days later, accompanied by a man bearing a basket of clean, well-rolled bandages, with promise of more to come. the petersburg women had gone to work with a will upon my table-cloths, sheets, and dimity counterpanes--and even the chintz furniture covers. my springlike green and white chintz bandages appeared on many a manly arm and leg. my fine linen underwear and napkins were cut, by the sewing circle at the spotswood, according to the surgeons' directions, into two lengths two inches wide, then folded two inches, doubling back and forth in a smaller fold each time, until they formed pointed wedges or compresses. such was the sudden and overwhelming demand for such things that but for my own and similar donations of household linen the wounded men would have suffered. the war had come upon us suddenly. many of our ports were already closed and we had no stores laid up for such an emergency. the bloody battle of gaines' mill soon followed. then frazier's farm, within the week, and at once the hospital was filled to overflowing. every night a courier brought me tidings of my husband. when i saw him at the door my heart would die within me. one morning john came in for certain supplies. after being reassured as to his master's safety, i asked, "did he have a comfortable night, john?" "he sholy did. marse roger sart'nly was comfortable las' night. he slep' on de field 'twixt two daid horses." the women who worked in kent & paine's hospital never seemed to weary. after a while the wise matron assigned us hours, and we went on duty with the regularity of trained nurses. my hours were from to during the day, with the promise of night service should i be needed. efficient, kindly colored women assisted us. their motherly manner soothed the prostrate soldier, whom they always addressed as "son." many fine young fellows lost their lives for want of prompt attention. they never murmured. they would give way to those who seemed to be more seriously wounded than themselves, and the latter would recover, while from the slighter wounds gangrene would supervene from delay. very few men ever walked away from that hospital. they died, or friends found quarters for them in richmond. none complained. unless a poor man grew delirious, he never groaned. there was an atmosphere of gentle kindness; a suppression of emotion for the sake of others. every morning the richmond ladies brought for our patients such luxuries as could be procured in that scarce time. the city was in peril, and distant farmers feared to bring in their fruits and vegetables. one day a patient-looking, middle-aged man said to me, "what would i not give for a bowl of chicken broth like my mother used to give me when i was a sick boy?" i perceived one of the angelic matrons of richmond at a distance, stooping over the cots, and found my way to her and said, "dear mrs. maben, have you a chicken? and could you send some broth to no. ?" she promised, and i returned with her promise to the poor, wounded fellow. he shook his head. "to-morrow will be too late," he said. i had forgotten the circumstance next day, but at noon i happened to look toward cot no. , and there was mrs. maben herself. she had brought the chicken broth in a pretty china bowl, with napkin and silver spoon, and was feeding my doubting thomas, to his great satisfaction. it was at this hospital, i have reason to believe, that the little story originated, which was deemed good enough to be claimed by other hospitals, of the young girl who approached a sick man with a pan of water in her hand and a towel over her arm. "mayn't i wash your face?" said the girl, timidly. "well, lady, you may if you want to," said the man, wearily. "it has been washed fourteen times this morning. it can stand another time, i reckon." i discovered that i had not succeeded, despite many efforts, in winning miss deborah. i learned that she was affronted because i had not shared my offerings of jelly and fruit with her, for her special patients. whenever i ventured to ask a loan from her, of a pan or a glass of water, or the little things of which we never had enough, she would reply, "i must keep them for the nurses who understand reciprocity. reciprocity is the rule some persons never seem to comprehend." when this was hammered into my slow perception, i rose to the occasion. i turned over the entire contents of a basket the landlord of the spotswood had given me to miss deborah, and she made my path straight before me ever afterward. at the end of a week the matron had promoted me. instead of carving the fat bacon, to be served with corn bread, for the hospital dinner, or standing between two rough men to keep away the flies, or fetching water, or spreading sheets on cots, i was assigned to regular duty with one patient. the first of these proved to be a young colonel coppens, of my husband's brigade. i could comfort him very little, for he was wounded past recovery. i spoke little french, and could only try to keep him, as far as possible, from annoyance. to my great relief, place was found for him in a private family. there he soon died--the gallant fellow i had admired on his horse a few months before. then i was placed beside the cot of mr. (or captain) boyd, of mecklenburg, and was admonished by the matron not to leave him alone. he was the most patient sufferer in the world--gentle, courteous, always considerate, never complaining. "are you in pain, captain?" "no, no," he would say gently. one day when i returned from my "rest," i found the matron sitting beside him. she motioned me to take her place, and then added, "no, no; i will not leave him." the captain's eyes were closed, and he sighed wearily at intervals. presently he whispered slowly: "there everlasting spring abides;" then sighed, and seemed to sleep for a moment. the matron felt his pulse and raised a warning hand. the sick man's whisper went on: "bright fields beyond the swelling flood, stand dressed in living green;" and in a moment more the christian soldier had crossed the river and lain down to rest under the trees. each of the battles of those seven days brought a harvest of wounded to our hospital. i used to veil myself closely as i walked to and from my hotel, that i might shut out the dreadful sights in the streets--the squads of prisoners, and worst of all, the open wagons in which the dead were piled. once i did see one of these dreadful wagons. in it a stiff arm was raised, and shook as it was driven down the street, as though the dead owner appealed to heaven for vengeance--a horrible sight, never to be forgotten. after one of the bloody battles--i know not if it was gaines' mill or frazier's farm or malvern hill--a splendid young officer, colonel brokenborough, was taken to our hospital, shot almost to pieces. he was borne up the stairs and placed in a cot--his broken limbs in supports swinging from the ceiling. the wife of general mahone and i were permitted to assist in nursing him. a young soldier from the camp was detailed to help us, and a clergyman was in constant attendance, coming at night that we might have rest. our patient held a court in his corner of the hospital. such a dear, gallant, cheery fellow, handsome, and with a grand air even as he lay prostrate. nobody ever heard him complain. he would welcome us in the morning with the brightest smile. his aid said, "he watches the head of the stairs and calls up that look for your benefit." "oh," he said one day, "you can't guess what's going to happen. some ladies have been here and left all these roses, and cologne, and such; and somebody has sent champagne. we are going to have a party." ah! but we knew he was very ill. we were bidden to watch him every minute and not be deceived by his own spirits. mrs. mahone spent her life hunting for ice. my constant care was to keep his canteen--to which he clung with affection--filled with fresh water from a spring not far away, and i learned to give it to him so well that i allowed no one to lift his head for his drink during my hours. one day, when we were alone, i was fanning him, and thought he was asleep. he said gravely, "mrs. pryor, beyond that curtain they hung up yesterday, poor young mitchell is lying. they don't know. but i heard when they brought him in. as i lie here i listen to his breathing. i haven't heard it now for some time. would you mind seeing if he is all right?" i passed behind the curtain. the young soldier was dead. his wide-open eyes seemed to meet mine in mute appeal. i had never seen or touched a dead man, but i laid my hands upon his eyelids and closed them. i was standing thus when his nurse, a young volunteer like myself, came to me. "i couldn't do that," she said. "i went for the doctor. i'm so glad you could do it." when i returned colonel brokenborough asked no questions and i knew that his keen senses had already instructed him. to be cheerful and uncomplaining was the unwritten law of our hospital. no bad news was ever mentioned; no foreboding or anxiety. mrs. mahone was one day standing beside colonel brokenborough when a messenger from the front suddenly announced that general mahone had received a flesh wound. commanding herself instantly, she exclaimed merrily: "flesh wound. now you all know that is just impossible." the general had no flesh. he was thin and attenuated as he was brave. as colonel brokenborough grew weaker, i felt self-reproach that no one had offered to write letters for him. his friend the clergyman had said to me: "that poor boy is engaged to a lovely young girl. i wonder what is best? would it grieve him to speak of her. you ladies have so much tact; you might bear it in mind. an opportunity might offer for you to discover how he feels about it." the next time i was alone with him i ventured: "now, colonel, one mustn't forget absent friends, you know, even if fair ladies do bring perfumes and roses and what not. i have some ink and paper here. shall i write a letter for you? tell me what to say." he turned his head and with a half-amused smile of perfect intelligence looked at me for a long time. then an upward look of infinite tenderness; but the message was never sent--never needed from a true heart like this. one night i was awakened from my sleep by a knock at my door, and a summons to "come to colonel brokenborough." when i reached his bedside i found the surgeon, the clergyman, and the colonel's aid. the patient was unconscious; the end was near. we sat in silence. once, when he stirred, i slipped my hand under his head, and put his canteen once more to his lips. after a long time his breathing simply ceased, with no evidence of pain. we waited awhile, and then the young soldier who had been detailed to nurse him rose, crossed the room, and stooping over, kissed me on my forehead, and went out to his duty in the ranks. two weeks later i was in my room, resting after a hard day, when a haggard officer, covered with mud and dust, entered. it was my husband. "my men are all dead," he said, with anguish, and, falling across the bed, he gave vent to the passionate grief of his heart. thousands of confederate soldiers were killed, thousands wounded. richmond was saved! death of mrs. sarah k. rowe, "the soldiers' friend" [from southern historical papers.] orangeburg, s. c., _june , _. i feel warranted in informing you of the death of mrs. sarah k. rowe, which occurred yesterday, the st of june, at her country home in this county. mrs. rowe was known for four and a half years, ' to ' , as "the soldiers' friend." i detract nothing from great women all over the south, cornelias of heroic type, when i state that mrs. rowe was pre-eminently the soldiers' friend. if this should meet the eye of hood's texans, of polk's tennesseeans, of morgan's kentuckians, or of pickett's virginians, any of whom passed on the south carolina railroad during the war, her face beaming with benevolence, her arms loaded with food, will be remembered as one of the sunny events of a dark time. from the first note of war mrs. rowe gave all she had and could collect by wonderful energy to the soldiers. she had her organized squads. the gay, strong soldier to virginia was fed and cheered on; the mangled and sick were nursed and cared for. she had a mother's blessing for the brave; a mother's tears and sympathy for the dying and the dead. mrs. rowe emphatically lived and spent herself for the cause, and when it failed, like a noble woman she submitted, with the remark, "it is all right." the sight of a bandaged head or limb under her soft touch was an everyday picture. the echo of a thousand cheers as the troop trains passed her was recurring every day. she bandaged and waved god-speed as well. a few days ago mrs. rowe showed by request a part of her great legacy--the letters from the soldiers she had nursed to life again. truly her reward was rich. she passed away, of paralysis, at a ripe old age. the soldiers and survivors buried her. the young and "old guard" lowered her remains to mother earth. when fame makes up its roll her precious name should stand out--the soldiers' friend. yours truly, john a. hamilton. "you wait" [phoebe y. pember, in hospital life.] pleasant episodes often occurred to vary disappointments and lighten duties of hospital life. "kin you writ a letter?" drawled a whining voice from a bed in one of the wards, a cold day in ' . the speaker was an up-country georgian, one of the kind called "goobers" by the soldiers generally--lean, yellow, attenuated, with wispy strands of hair hanging over his high, thin cheek-bones. he put out a hand to detain me and the nails were like claws. "why do you not let the nurse cut your nails?" "because i aren't got any spoon, and i use them instead." "will you let me have your hair cut then? you can't get well with all that dirty hair hanging about your eyes and ears." "no, i can't git my hair cut, kase as how i promised my mammy that i would let it grow till the war be over. oh, it's unlucky to cut it." "then i can't write any letter for you. do what i wish you to do, and then i will oblige you." this was plain talking. the hair was cut (i left the nails for another day), my portfolio brought, and sitting by the side of his bed i waited for further orders. they came with a formal introduction,--"for mrs. marthy brown." "my dear mammy: "i hope this finds you well, as it leaves me well, and i hope that i shall git a furlough christmas, and come and see you, and i hope you will keep well, and all the folks be well by that time, as i hopes to be well myself. this leaves me in good health, as i hope it will find you and--" but here i paused as his mind seemed to be going round in a circle, and asked him a few questions about his home, his position during the last summer's campaign, how he got sick, and where his brigade was at that time. thus furnished with some material to work upon, the letter proceeded rapidly. four sides were conscientiously filled, for no soldier would think a letter worth sending home that showed any blank paper. transcribing his name, the number of his ward and proper address, so that an answer might reach him--the composition was read to him. gradually his pale face brightened, a sitting posture was assumed with difficulty (for, in spite of his determined effort to write a letter "to be well," he was far from convalescence). as i folded and directed it, contributed the expected five-cent stamp, and handed it to him, he gazed cautiously around to be sure there were no listeners. "did you writ all that?" he asked, whispering, but with great emphasis. "yes." "did i say all that?" "i think you did." a long pause of undoubted admiration--astonishment--ensued. what was working in that poor mind? could it be that psyche had stirred one of the delicate plumes of her wing and touched that dormant soul? "are you married?" the harsh voice dropped very low. "i am not. at least, i am a widow." he rose still higher in bed. he pushed away desperately the tangled hay on his brow. a faint color fluttered over the hollow cheek, and stretching out a long piece of bone with a talon attached, he gently touched my arm and with constrained voice whispered mysteriously: "you wait!" annandale--two heroines of mississippi [by anna b. a. brown, in memphis commercial world.] in these hurried days, when we spend the major portion of our lives trying to keep up with the electric currents that control the universe, it is good to be able to turn aside for a while in the byways of the south and feel the restfulness of old plantation life, whether it be a reality or an echo from the past. a day spent in touch with old southern home life is a day full of restful peace and happy memories. in madison county, mississippi, one finds many bits of ante-bellum life that the turbulent tide of commerce has not yet swept away--big plantations, historic old mansions, tumble-down slave quarters--that are the abiding proofs of the prosperity and hospitality of a people who lived and loved when knighthood was yet in flower, and whose children live yet to preserve the old traditions. many of the old plantations are still tilled by the descendants of the original owners. many have passed into stranger's hands. some stand tenantless and lonely, with ghostly visitants slipping at midnight down the great stairways to tread a stately measure on the ball floor, a silent assemblage of long-ago belles and beaux returned from the cities of the dead or from the still trenches of seven pines, chickamauga, or shiloh. one of these silent homes is annandale, a bit of historic mississippi architecture that stands near canton, once the home of southern chivalry and romance, now empty, save for the memories that cluster thickly within its walls. annandale is the property, and was until recently the home of the mississippi branch of the johnstone family, and preserves to memory the name of the county in scotland that cradled the ancestors who bore this illustrious name. it is still known as their home, though vicksburg now claims the daughter of the house, and only in the summers are the doors opened again for that lavish hospitality for which the old place was noted. two brothers of the johnstone family came over from scotland in , having been sent by george iii, on business of great import to the colonies. one had the appointment of governor to his majesty's colony of north carolina, the other that of surveyor-general. the johnstone family remained loyal to their king as long as native pride would permit, and then, true to the spirit that demanded the magna charta at runnymede centuries before, they went to the american settlements in the fight for liberty. they were prominent in the revolution, and after the war took part in the political work of building up the nation. john t. johnstone, a prominent member of this family, moved from north carolina to mississippi in and bought large tracts of land in madison county. on the plantation near annandale he built a comfortable home--a fine house for those days of pioneer effort. his neighbors were the families of hardeman, hinton, ricks, winters and christmas, and there are still marvelous tales told in that locality of the lavish manner of living, the wonderful hospitality dispensed and the gay companies that assembled in the old home. a few years of this charmed life mr. johnstone called his, and then he was gathered to his illustrious fathers, and the burden of this great estate fell on the shoulders of his young widow. she stood the test of generalship, as other southern women of her day have done, and the affairs of the plantation, the slave quarters and the household moved as smoothly as clock work and success smiled on her. the material side of her plantation's progress did not overshadow the religious side, and services for bond and free were held daily in a gothic church on the estate, the chapel of the cross which mrs. johnstone had erected in memory of her husband. the daughter of the house was carefully educated, and as she neared womanhood mrs. johnstone had a new home built, the present annandale, and the same lavish hospitality was continued. then came the war. there was no husband, brother or son to send to the front, but the women, true to the patriotic sentiments of their house, gave of their best. the big mansion was turned into a factory for supplying confederate needs. mrs. johnstone and her fair daughter, helen, became the head of a busy body of working women, who gave of their time and talent for the south. all day was heard the whir of spinning-wheels, the slipping of the shuttles in the looms; all day busy fingers carded, wove, spun and sewed, that the soldiers might be made more comfortable. one company of soldiers was equipped throughout the war solely at miss johnstone's expense, while she and her mother furnished clothing to two hundred others. the setting of dainty stitches, the manufacture of rolled and whipped ruffles, were laid aside for the time. the rich carpets were torn from the floors and made into blankets; the rare bronzes and brasses were torn from their pedestals or their fastenings and sent to the foundries to be made into cannon; silk dresses were transformed into banners to lead the gray-clad men to victory, and dainty linen and cambric garments and rare household napery and linen were ruthlessly torn in strips to bandage the wounds of the men in the hospitals. the granaries, smokehouses, and wine cellars gave up their stores for the confederacy, the wealth of these two loyal women being laid gladly on their country's altar. yet, through all this troublous season, hospitality and merriment still reigned. the rebel lads adored the loyal women; the union soldiers tried more than once to burn the house that sheltered such secessionists. during the war the fair daughter of the house was married to rev. george carroll harris, of nashville, and for many years rector of christ church, and widely known throughout the south. in mrs. johnstone died, and historic annandale passed into her daughter's hands, and is still owned by her. a few years ago the son of dr. and mrs. harris, george harris, married miss cecile nugent, of jackson, mississippi, and they live on his place in the delta, and with the marriage of the daughter helen to the son of the late bishop thompson the younger generation of annandale closed another chapter of romances for the old home. but even though the windows are darkened and no material form passes daily over the threshold, the inner air is still palpitant with memories, and who knows what gay revels the ghostly companies of the past may not hold in the grand salon when midnight has come and the human world is wrapped in slumber? a plantation heroine [in southern soldier stories, pages - .] it was nearing the end. every resource of the southern states had been taxed to the point of exhaustion. the people had given up everything they had for "the cause." under the law of a "tax in kind," they had surrendered all they could spare of food products of every character. under an untamable impulse of patriotism they had surrendered much more than they could spare in order to feed the army. it was at such a time that i went to my home county on a little military business. i stopped for dinner at a house, the lavish hospitality of which had been a byword in the old days. i found before me at dinner the remnants of a cold boiled ham, some mustard greens, which we virginians called "salad," a pitcher of buttermilk, some corn pones and--nothing else. i carved the ham, and offered to serve it to the three women of the household. but they all declined. they made their dinner on salad, buttermilk, and corn bread, the latter eaten very sparingly, as i observed. the ham went only to myself and to the three convalescent wounded soldiers who were guests in the house. wounded men were at that time guests in every house in virginia. i lay awake that night and thought over the circumstance. the next morning i took occasion to have a talk on the old familiar terms with the young woman of the family, with whom i had been on a basis of friendship in the old days that even permitted me to kiss her upon due and proper occasion. "why didn't you take some ham last night?" i asked urgently. "oh, i didn't want it," she replied. "now, you know you are fibbing," i said. "tell me the truth, won't you?" she blushed, and hesitated. presently she broke down and answered frankly: "honestly, i did want the ham. i have hungered for meat for months. but i mustn't eat it, and i won't. you see the army needs all the food there is, and more. we women can't fight, though i don't see at all why they shouldn't let us, and so we are trying to feed the fighting men--and there aren't any others. we've made up our minds not to eat anything that can be sent to the front as rations." "you are starving yourselves," i exclaimed. "oh, no," she said. "and if we were, what would it matter? haven't lee's soldiers starved many a day? but we aren't starving. you see we had plenty of salad and buttermilk last night. and we even ate some of the corn bread. i must stop that, by the way, for corn meal is a good ration for the soldiers." a month or so later this frail but heroic young girl was laid away in the grub hill church-yard. don't talk to me about the "heroism" that braves a fire of hell under enthusiastic impulse. that young girl did a higher self-sacrifice than any soldier who fought on either side during the war ever dreamed of doing. lucy ann cox [in southern historical papers, volume , pages - . from the richmond _star_, july , .] on the evening of october th an entertainment was given in fredericksburg, virginia, to raise funds to erect a monument to the memory of mrs. lucy ann cox, who, at the commencement of the war, surrendered all the comfort of her father's home, and followed the fortunes of her husband, who was a member of company a, thirteenth virginia regiment, until the flag of the southern confederacy was furled at appomattox. no march was too long or weather too inclement to deter this patriotic woman from doing what she considered her duty. she was with her company and regiment on their two forays into maryland, and her ministering hand carried comfort to many a wounded and worn soldier. while company a was the object of her untiring solicitude, no confederate ever asked assistance from mrs. cox but it was cheerfully rendered. she marched as the infantry did, seldom taking advantage of offered rides in ambulances and wagon trains. when mrs. cox died, a few years ago, it was her latest expressed wish that she be buried with military honors, and, so far as it was possible, her wish was carried out. her funeral took place on a bright autumn sunday, and the entire town turned out to do honor to this noble woman. the camps that have undertaken the erection of this monument do honor to themselves in thus commemorating the virtues of the heroine, lucy ann cox. "one of them lees" [phoebe y. pember, in hospital life.] there was little conversation carried on, no necessity for introductions, and no names ever asked or given. this indifference to personality was a peculiarity strongly exhibited in hospitals; for after nursing a sick or wounded patient for months, he has often left without any curiosity as regarded my name, my whereabouts, or indeed anything connected with me. a case in point was related by a friend. when the daughter of our general had devoted much time and care to a sick man in one of the hospitals, he seemed to feel so little gratitude for the attention paid him that her companion to rouse him told him that miss lee was his nurse. "lee, lee?" he said. "there are some lees down in mississippi who keeps a tavern there. is she one of them lees?" almost of the same style, although a little worse, was the remark of one sick, poor fellow who had been wounded in the head and who, though sensible enough ordinarily, would feel the effect of the sun on his brain when exposed to its influence. after advising him to wear a wet paper doubled into the crown of his hat, more from a desire to show some interest in him than from any belief in its efficacy, i paused at the door long enough to hear him ask the ward-master, "who that was?" "why, that is the matron of the hospital; she gives you all the food you eat, and attends to things." "well," said he, "i always did think this government was a confounded sell, and now i am sure of it, when they put such a little fool to manage such a big hospital as this." southern women in the war between the states [in southern historical papers, volume , pages - . t. c. deleon, in new orleans _picayune_.] the great german who wrote: "honor to woman! to her it is given to garden the earth with roses of heaven!" precisely described the confederate conditions--a century in advance. true, constant, brave and enduring, the men were; but the women set even the bravest and most steadfast example. nor was this confined to any one section of the country. the "girl with the calico dress" of the lowland farms; the "merry mountain maid" of the hill country, and the belles of society in the cities, all vied with each other in efforts to serve the men who had gone to the front to fight for home and for them. and there was no section of the south where this desire to do all they might and more was oftener in evidence than another. in every camp of the early days of the great struggle the incoming troops bore trophies of home love, and as the war progressed to need, then to dire want, the sacrifices of those women at home became almost a poem, and one most pathetic. dress--misconceived as the feminine fetich--was forgotten in the effort to clothe the boys at the front; the family larder--ill-stocked at the best--was depleted to nothingness, to send to distant camps those delicacies--so equally freighted with tenderness and dyspepsia--which too often never reached their destination. and later, the carpets were taken from the floors, the curtains from the windows--alike in humble homes and in dwellings of the rich--to be cut in blankets for the uncomplaining fellows, sleeping on freezing mud. so wide, so universal, was the rule of self-sacrifice, that no one reference to it can do justice to the zeal and devotion of "our girls." and the best proof of both was in the hospitals, where soon began to congregate the maimed and torn forms of those just sent forth to glory and victory. this was the trial that tested the grain and purity of our womanhood, and left it without alloy of fear or selfishness. and some of the women who wrought in home and hospital--even in trench and on the firing line--for the "boys," had never before handled aught rougher than embroidery, or seen aught more fearsome than its needle-prick. yes, these untried women, young and old, stood fire like veteran regulars, indeed, even more bravely in moral view, for they missed the stimulus of the charge--the tonic in the thought of striking back. during the entire war--and through the entire south--it was the hospital that illustrated the highest and best traits of the tried and stricken people. doubtless, there was good work done by the women of the north, and much of it. happily, for the sanity of the nation, american womanhood springs from one common stock. it is ever true to its own, as a whole--and, for aught i shall deny--individually. but behind that chinese wall of wood and steel blockade, then nursing was not an episode. it was grave duty, grim labor; heartbreaking endurance--all self-imposed, and lasting for years, yet shirked and relinquished only for cause. but the dainty little hands that tied the red bandages, or "held the artery" unflinching; the nimble feet that wearied not by fever cot, or operating table, the active months of war, grew nimbler still on bridle, or in the dances when "the boys" came home. this was sometimes on "flying furlough," or when an aid, or courier, with dispatches, was told to wait. then "the one girl" was mounted on anything that could carry her; and the party would ride far to the front, in full view of the enemy, and often in point-blank range. or, it was when frozen ruts made roads impassable for invader and defender; and the furlough was perhaps easier, and longer. then came those now historic dances, the starvation parties, where rank told nothing, and where the only refreshment came in that intoxicant--a woman's voice and eyes. then came the "dies irae," when the southern rachel sat in the ashes of her desolation and her homespun was sackcloth. and even she rose supreme. by her desolate hearth, with her larder empty, and only her aching heart full, she still forced a smile for the home-coming "boy" through the repressed tears for the one left, somewhere in the fight. in richmond, atlanta, charleston and elsewhere was she bitter and unforgiving? if she drew her faded skirt--ever a black one, in that case--from the passing blue, was it "treason," or human nature? thinkers who wore the blue have time and oft declared the latter. was she "unreconstructed?" her wounds were great and wondrous sore. she was true, then, to her faith. that she is to-day to the reunited land let the fathers of spanish war heroes tell. she needs no monument; it is reared in the hearts of true men, north and south. a mother of the confederacy [in southern historical papers, volume , pages - . from the memphis, tenn., _appeal-avalanche_, june , .] just upon the eve of preparations by ex-confederates to celebrate the fourth of july in a becoming manner and spirit, the sad news is announced of the death of the venerable mrs. law, known all over the south as one of the mothers of the confederacy. she was also truly a mother in israel, in the highest christian sense. her life had been closely connected with that of many leading actors in the late war, in which she herself bore an essential part. she passed away, june th, at idlewild, one of the suburbs of memphis, nearly years of age. she was born on the river yadkin, in wilson county, north carolina, august , , and at the time of her death was doubtless the oldest person in shelby county. her mother's maiden name was charity king. her father, chapman gordon, served in the revolutionary war, under generals marion and sumter. she came of a long-lived race of people. her mother lived to be years of age, and her brother, rev. hezekiah herndon gordon, who was the father of general john b. gordon (now senator from georgia), lived to the age of years. sallie chapman gordon was married to dr. john s. law, near eatonton, georgia, on the th day of june, . a few years later she became a member of the presbyterian church, in forsyth, georgia, and her name was afterward transferred to the rolls of the second presbyterian church in memphis, of which church she remained a member as long as she lived. she became an active worker in hospitals, and when nothing more could be done in memphis she went through the lines and rendered substantial aid and comfort to the soldiers in the field. her services, if fully recorded, would make a book. she was so recognized that upon one occasion general joseph e. johnston had , of his bronzed and tattered soldiers to pass in review in her honor at dalton. such a distinction was, perhaps, never accorded to any other woman in the south--not even mrs. jefferson davis or the wives of great generals. yet, so earnest and sincere in her work was she that she commanded the respect and reverence of men wherever she was known. after the war she strove to comfort the vanquished and encourage the down-hearted, and continued in her way to do much good work. "the great eastern" [in christ in camp, pages - ; j. william jones, d. d.] here is another sketch of a soldier's friend who labored in some of our largest hospitals. "she is a character," writes a soldier. "a napoleon of her department, with the firmness and courage of andrew, she possesses all the energy and independence of stonewall jackson. the officials hate her; the soldiers adore her. the former name her 'the great eastern,' and steer wide of her track, the latter go to her in all their wants and troubles, and know her by the name of 'miss sally.' she joined the army in one of the regiments from alabama, about the time of the battle of manassas, and never shrunk from the stern privations of the soldier's life from the moment of leaving camp to follow her wounded and sick alabamians to the hospitals of richmond. her services are not confined, however, to the sick and wounded from alabama. every sick soldier has now a claim on her sympathy. why, but yesterday, my system having succumbed to the prevailing malaria of the hospital, she came to my room, though a stranger, with my ward nurse, and in the kindest manner offered me her pillow of feathers, with case as tidy as the driven snow. the very sight of it was soothing to an aching brow, and i blessed her from heart and lips as well. i must not omit to tell why 'miss sally' is so disliked by many of the officials. like all women of energy, she has eyes whose penetration few things escape, and a sagacity fearful or admirable, as the case may be, to all interested. if any abuse is pending, or in progress in the hospital, she is quickly on the track, and if not abated, off 'the great eastern' sails to headquarters. a few days ago one of the officials of the division sent a soldier to inform her that she must vacate her room instantly. 'who sent you with that message to me?' she asked him, turning suddenly around. 'dr. ----,' the soldier answered. 'pish!' she replied, and swept on in ineffable contempt to the bedside, perhaps, of some sick soldier." cordial for the brave [eggleston's recollections, pages - .] the ingenuity with which these good ladies discovered or manufactured onerous duties for themselves was surprising, and having discovered or imagined some new duty they straightway proceeded to do it at any cost. an excellent richmond dame was talking with a soldier friend, when he carelessly remarked that there was nothing which so greatly helped to keep up a contented and cheerful spirit among the men as the receipt of letters from their woman friends. catching at the suggestion as a revelation of duty, she asked, "and cheerfulness makes better soldiers of the men, does it not?" receiving yes for an answer, the frail little woman, already over-burdened with cares of an unusual sort, sat down and made out a list of all the men with whom she was acquainted even in the smallest possible way, and from that day until the end of the war she wrote one letter a week to each, a task which, as her acquaintance was large, taxed her time and strength very severely. not content with this, she wrote on the subject in the newspapers, earnestly urging a like course upon her sisters, many of whom adopted the suggestion at once, much to the delight of the soldiers, who little dreamed that the kindly, cheerful, friendly letters which every mail brought into camp were a part of woman's self-appointed work for the success of the common cause. from the beginning to the end of the war it was the same. hospital work and women's delicacy [phoebe y. pember, in hospital life.] there is one subject connected with hospitals on which a few words should be said--the distasteful one that a woman must lose a certain amount of delicacy and reticence in filling any office in them. how can this be? there is no unpleasant exposure under proper arrangements, and if even there be, the circumstances which surround a wounded man, far from friends and home, suffering in a holy cause and dependent upon a woman for help, care and sympathy, hallow and clear the atmosphere in which she labors. that woman must indeed be hard and gross who lets one material thought lessen her efficiency. in the midst of suffering and death, hoping with those almost beyond hope in this world; praying by the bedside of the lonely and heart-stricken; closing the eyes of boys hardly old enough to realize man's sorrow, much less suffer by man's fierce hate, a woman must soar beyond the conventional modesty considered correct under different circumstances. if the ordeal does not chasten and purify her nature, if the contemplation of suffering and endurance does not make her wiser and better, and if the daily fire through which she passes does not draw from her nature the sweet fragrance of benevolence, charity, and love,--then, indeed, a hospital has been no fit place for her. a wayside home at millen [electra tyler deloache, in augusta _chronicle_, october , .] only a few of the present inhabitants of millen know that it was once famous as the location of a confederate wayside home, where, during the civil war, the soldiers were fed and cared for. the home was built by public subscription and proved a veritable boon to the soldiers, as many veterans now living can testify. the location of the town has been changed slightly since the 's, for in those days the car sheds were several hundred yards farther up the macon track, and were situated where the railroad crossing is now. the hotel owned and run by mr. gray was first opposite the depot, and the location is still marked by mock-orange trees and shrubbery. the wayside home was on the west side of the railroad crossing and was opposite the house built in the railroad y by major wilkins and familiarly known here as the berrien house. the old well still marks the spot. the home was weather-boarded with rough planks running straight up and down. it had four large rooms to the front, conveniently furnished with cots, etc., for the accommodation of any soldiers who were sick or wounded and unable to continue their journey. a nurse was always on hand to attend to the wants of the sick. back of these rooms was a large dining hall and kitchen, where the weary and hungry boys in gray could minister to the wants of the inner man. and right royally they performed this pleasant duty, for the table was always bountifully supplied with good things, donated by the patriotic women of burke county, who gladly emptied hearts and home upon the altar of country. this work was entirely under the auspices of the women of burke. mrs. judge jones, of waynesboro, was the first president of the home. she was succeeded by mrs. ransom lewis, who was second and last. she was quite an active factor in the work, and it was largely due to her efforts that the home attained the prominence that it did among similar institutions. miss annie bailey, daughter of captain bailey, of savannah, was matron of the home. she was assisted in the work by committees of three ladies, who, each in turn, spent several days at the home. the regular servants were kept and extra help called in when needed. this home was to the weary and hungry confederate soldier as an oasis in the desert, for here he found rest and plenty beneath its shelter. and the social feature was not its least attraction, when a bevy of blooming girls from our bonny southland would visit the home, and midst feast and jest spur the boys on to renewed vigor in the cause of the south. they felt amidst such inspirations it would be glorious to die but more glorious to live for such a land of charming women. one of our matrons with her sweet old face softened into a dreamy smile by happy reminiscences of those days of toil, care, and sorrow, where happy thoughts and pleasantries of the past crowded in and made little rifts of sunshine through the war clouds, remarked: "but with all the gloom and suffering, we girls used to have such fun with the soldiers at the home, and at such times we could even forget that our loved south was in the throes of the most terrible war in the history of any country!" the home was operated for two years or more and often whole regiments of soldiers came to it, and all that could be accommodated were taken in and cared for. it was destroyed by sherman's army on their march to the sea. the car shed, depot, hotel and home all disappeared before the torch of the destroyer and only the memory, the well, and the trees remain to mark the historic spot where the heroic efforts of our burke county women sustained the wayside home through long years of the struggle. mrs. amos whitehead and others who have "crossed the river" were prominently connected with this work; in fact, every one lent a helping hand, for it was truly a labor of love, and was our southern women's tribute to patriotism and heroism. a noble girl [from the _floridian_, .] upon the arrival of the troops at madison sent to reinforce our army in east florida, the ladies attended at the depot with provisions and refreshments for the defenders of their home and country. among the brave war-worn soldiers who were rushing to the defence of our state there was, in one of the georgia regiments, a soldier boy, whose bare feet were bleeding from the exposure and fatigue of the march. one of the young ladies present, moved by the impulse of her sex, took the shoes from her own feet, made the suffering hero put them on, and walked home herself barefooted. wherever southern soldiers have suffered and bled for their country's freedom, let this incident be told for a memorial of lou taylor, of madison county. the good samaritan [in christ in camp, pages - ; j. william jones, d. d.] at richmond, va., there was a little model hospital known as the "samaritan," presided over by a lady who gave it her undivided attention, and greatly endeared herself to the soldiers who were fortunate enough to be sent there. "through my son, a young soldier of eighteen," writes a father, "i have become acquainted with this lady superintendent, whose memory will live in many hearts when our present struggle shall have ended. but for her motherly care and skilful attention my son and many others must have died. one case of her attention deserves special notice. a young man, who had been previously with her, was taken sick in camp near richmond. the surgeon being absent, he lay for two weeks in his tent without medical aid. she sent several requests to his captain to send him to her, but he would not in the absence of the surgeon. she then hired a wagon and went for him herself; the captain allowed her to take him away, and he was soon convalescent. she says she feels that not their bodies only but their souls are committed to her charge. thus, as soon as they are comfortably fixed in a good, clean bed, she inquires of every one if he has chosen the good part; and through her instruction and prayers several have been converted. her house can easily accommodate twenty, all in one room, which is made comfortable in winter with carpet and stove, and adorned with wreaths of evergreen and paper flowers, and in summer well ventilated, and the windows and yard filled with green-house plants. a library of religious books is in the room, and pictures are hung on the walls." female relatives visit the hospitals. [phoebe y. pember, in hospital life.] there was no means of keeping the relations of patients from coming to them. there had been rules made to meet their invasion, but it was impossible to carry them out, as in the instance of a wife wanting to remain with her husband; and, besides, even the better class of people looked upon the comfort and care of a hospital as a farce. they resented the detention there of men who in many instances could lie in bed and point to their homes within sight, and argued that they would have better attention and food if allowed to go to their families. that _maladie du pays_ called commonly nostalgia, the homesickness which rings the heart and impoverishes the blood, killed many a brave soldier, and the matron who day by day had to stand helpless and powerless by the bed of the sufferer, knowing that a week's furlough would make his heart sing with joy and save his wife from widowhood, learned the most bitter lesson of endurance that could be taught. my hospital was now entirely composed of virginians and marylanders, and the nearness to the homes of the former entailed upon me an increase of care in the shape of wives, sisters, cousins, aunts, and whole families, including the historic baby at the breast. they came in troops, and, hard as it was to know how to dispose of them, it was harder to send them away. sometimes they brought their provisions with them, but not often, and even when they did there was no place for them to cook their food. it must be remembered that everything was reduced to the lowest minimum, even fuel. they could not remain all day in the wards with men around them, and if even they were so willing, the restraint on wounded, restless patients who wanted to throw their limbs about with freedom during the hot days was unbearable. generally their only idea of kindness was giving the sick men what food they would take in any quantity and of every quality, and in the furtherance of their views they were pugnacious in the extreme. whenever rules circumscribed their plans they abused the government, then the hospitals, and then myself. many ludicrous incidents happened daily, and i have often laughed heartily at seeing the harassed ward-master heading away a pertinacious female who, failing to get past him at the door, would try the three others perseveringly. they seemed to think it a pious and patriotic duty not to be afraid or ashamed under any circumstances. one sultry day i found a whole family, accompanied by two young lady friends, seated around a sick man's bed. as i passed through six hours later, they held the same position. "had not you all better go home?" i said good-naturedly. "we came to see my cousin," answered one very crossly. "he is wounded." "but you have been with him all morning and that is a restraint upon the other men. come again to-morrow." a consultation was held, but when it ceased no movement was made, the older ones only lighting their pipes and smoking in silence. "will you come back to-morrow and go now?" "no! you come into the wards when you please, and so will we." "but it is my duty to do so. besides, i always ask permission to enter, and never stay longer than fifteen minutes at a time." another unbroken silence, which was a trial to any patience left, and finding no movement made, i handed some clothing to the patient near. "here is a clean shirt and drawers for you, mr. wilson. put them on as soon as i get out of the ward." i had hardly reached my kitchen, when the whole procession, pipes and all, passed me solemnly and angrily; but, for many days, and even weeks, there was no ridding the place of this large family connection. their sins were manifold. they overfed their relative who was recovering from an attack of typhoid fever, and even defiantly seized the food for the purpose from under my very nose. they marched on me _en-masse_ at o'clock at night, with a requisition from the boldest for sleeping quarters. the steward was summoned, and said "he didn't keep a hotel," so in a weak moment of pity for their desolate state, i imprudently housed them in my laundry. they entrenched themselves there for six days, making predatory incursions into my kitchen during my temporary absences, ignoring miss g. completely. the object of their solicitude recovered and was sent to the field, and finding my writs of ejectment were treated with contemptuous silence, i sought an explanation. the same spokeswoman alluded to above met me half-way. she said a battle was imminent she had heard, and she had determined to remain, as her husband might be wounded. in the ensuing press of business she was forgotten, and strangely enough, her husband was brought in with a bullet in his neck the following week. the back is surely fitted to the burden, so i contented myself with retaking my laundry and letting her shift for herself, while a whole month slipped away. one morning my arrival was greeted with a general burst of merriment from everybody i met, white and black. experience had made me sage, and my first question was a true shot, right in the center. "where is mrs. daniels?" she had always been spokeswoman. "in ward g. she has sent for you two or three times." "what is the matter now?" "you must go and see." there was something going on either amusing or amiss. i entered ward g, and walked up to daniel's bed. one might have heard a pin drop. i had supposed, up to this time, that i had been called upon to bear and suffer every annoyance that humanity and the state of the country could inflict, but here was something most unexpectedly in addition; for lying composedly on her husband's cot (for he had relinquished it for the occasion) lay mrs. daniels and her baby (just two hours old). the conversation that ensued is not worth repeating, being more of the nature of a soliloquy. the poor wretch had ventured into a bleak and comfortless portion of the world, and its inhuman mother had not provided a rag to cover it. no one could scold her at such a time, however ardently they might desire to do so. but what was to be done? i went in search of my chief surgeon, and our conversation although didactic was hardly satisfactory on the subject. "doctor, mrs. daniels has a baby. she is in ward g. what shall i do with her?" "a baby! ah, indeed! you must get it some clothes." "what must i do with her?" "move her to an empty ward and give her some tea and toast." this was offered, but mrs. daniels said she would wait until dinner time and have some bacon and greens. the baby was a sore annoyance. the ladies of richmond made up a wardrobe, each contributing some article, and at the end of the month, mrs. d., the child, and a basket of clothing and provisions were sent to the cars with a return ticket to her home in western virginia. sadie curry and "clara fisher" [i. l. u.] in later years of the war a great many of the wounded soldiers were brought from east and west to augusta, ga. immediately the people from the country on both sides of the savannah river came in and took hundreds of the poor fellows to their homes and nursed them with every possible kindness. ten miles up the river, on the carolina side, was the happy little village of curryton, named for mr. joel curry and his father, the venerable lewis curry. here, many a poor fellow from distant states was taken in most cordially and every home was a temporary hospital. among those nursed at mr. curry's, whose house was always a home for the preacher, the poor man, and the soldier, was major crowder, who suffered long from a painful and fatal wound, and a stripling boy soldier from kentucky, elijah ballard, whose hip wound made him a cripple for life. miss sadie curry nursed both, night and day, as she did others, when necessary, like a sister. her zeal never flagged, and her strength never gave way. after young ballard, who was totally without education, became strong enough, she taught him to read and write, and when the war ended he went home prepared to be a book-keeper. others received like kindness. but this noble girl had from the beginning of the war made it her daily business to look after the families of the poorer soldiers in the neighborhood. she mounted her horse daily and made her round of angel visits. if she found anybody sick she reported to the kind and patriotic dr. hugh shaw. if any of the families lacked meal or other provisions, it was reported to her father, who would send meal from his mill or bacon from his smoke-house. in appreciation of her heroic work, her father and her gallant brother-in-law, major robert meriwether, who was in the virginia army, now living in brazil, bought a beautiful tennessee riding horse and gave it to her. she named it "clara fisher" and many poor hearts in old edgefield were made sad and many tears shed in the fall of , when sadie curry and "clara fisher" moved to southwest georgia. bless god, there were many sadie currys all over the south, wherever there was a call and opportunity. miss sadie married dr. h. d. hudson and later in life rev. dr. rogers, of augusta, where she died a few years ago. mania for marriage [in diary of a refugee, pages - .] there seems to be a perfect mania on the subject of matrimony. some of the churches may be seen open and lighted almost every night for bridals, and wherever i turn, i hear of marriages in prospect. "in peace love tunes the shepherd's reed; in war he mounts the warrior's steed," sings the "last minstrel" of the scottish days of romance; and i do not think that our modern warriors are a whit behind them, either in love or war. my only wonder is, that they find time for love-making amid the storms of warfare. just at this time, however, i suppose our valiant knights and ladies fair are taking advantage of the short respite, caused by alternate snows and sunshine of our variable climate having made the roads impassable to grant's artillery and baggage-wagons. a soldier in our hospital called to me as i passed his bed the other day, "i say, mrs. ----, when do you think my wound will be well enough for me to go to the country?" "before very long, i hope." "but what does the doctor say, for i am mighty anxious to go?" i looked at his disabled limb and talked to him hopefully of his being able to enjoy country air in a short time. "well, try to get me up, for, you see, it ain't the country air i'm after, but i wants to get married, and the lady don't know that i am wounded, and maybe she'll think i don't want to come." "ah," said i, "but you must show her your scars, and if she is a girl worth having she will love you all the better for having bled for your country, and you must tell her that-- "'it is always the heart that is bravest in war that is fondest and truest in love.'" he looked perfectly delighted with the idea; and as i passed him again he called out, "lady, please stop a minute and tell me the verse over again, for, you see, when i do get there, if she is affronted, i wants to give her the prettiest excuse i can, and i think that verse is beautiful." government clerkships [in richmond during the war, pages - .] from the treasury department, the employment of female clerks extended to various offices in the war department, the post office department, and indeed every branch of business connected with the government. they were all found efficient and useful. by this means many young men could be sent into the ranks, and by testimony of the chiefs of bureaus, the work left for the women was better done; for they were more conscientious in their duties than the more self-satisfied, but not better qualified, male attaches of the government offices. the experiment of placing women in government clerkships proved eminently successful, and grew to be extremely popular under the confederate government. many a young girl remembers with gratitude the kindly encouragement of our adjutant-general cooper, our chief of ordnance, colonel gorgas, or the first auditor of the confederate treasury, judge bolling baker, or postmaster-general reagan, and various other officials, of whom their necessities drove them to seek employment. the most high-born ladies of the land filled these places as well as the humble poor; but none could obtain employment under the government who could not furnish testimonials of intelligence and superior moral worth. schools in war times [in richmond during the war, pages - .] as the war went on a marked change was made in the educational interests of the south. for a certain number of pupils, the teachers of schools were exempt from military duty. to their credit be it recorded that few, comparatively, availed themselves of this exception, and the care of instructing the youth devolved, with other added responsibilities, upon the women of the country. only the boys under conscript age were found in the schools; all older were made necessary in the field or in some department of government service, unless physical inability prevented them from falling under the requirements of the law. many of our colleges for males suspended operation, and at the most important period in the course of their education our youths were instructed in the sterner lessons of military service. humanity in the hospitals [richmond _enquirer_, june , .] in our visits to the various hospitals, we cannot but remark, admire, and commend the kindly harmony and sweet-tempered familiarity which mark the intercourse of the ladies who have devoted themselves to the care of the sick and the wounded. there is a unity in the actions and solicitude of all which only a unity of motive could induce. the amiable and unpretending sister of mercy, the earnest bright-eyed jewish girl and the womanly, gentle, and energetic protestant, mingle their labors with a freedom and geniality which would teach the most prejudiced zealot a lesson that would never be forgotten. the necessity of charity, once demonstrated, teaches us that we are one kindred, after all, and whatever differences may exist in the peculiar tenets of the many, all hearts are alike open to the same impulses, and the couch of suffering at once commands their sympathy and reminds them of an identity of hope and a common fate. mrs. davis and the federal prisoner [augusta, ga., _constitutionalist_.] a clerical friend of ours in passing through one of our streets a few days since, to perform a ministerial duty--attending to the sick and wounded in the hospitals--encountered a stranger, who accosted him thus: "my friend, can you tell me if mrs. jeff davis is in the city of augusta?" "no, sir," replied our friend. "she is not." "well, sir," replied the stranger, "you may be surprised at my asking such a question, and more particularly so when i inform you that i am a discharged united states soldier. but (and here he evinced great feeling), sir, that lady has performed acts of kindness to me which i can never forget. when serving in the valley of virginia, battling for the union, i received a severe and dangerous wound. at the same time i was taken prisoner and conveyed to richmond, where i received such kindness and attention from mrs. davis that i can never forget her; and, now that i am discharged from the army and at work in this city, and understanding that the lady was here, i wish to call upon her, renew my expressions of gratitude to her, and offer to share with her, should she unfortunately need it, the last cent i have in the world." can it be truly charged on a nation that it was wantonly, criminally cruel, when a generous foe bears testimony to the mercy, kindness, and lowly service of the highest lady of the land? socks that never wore out general gordon tells of a simple-hearted country confederate woman who gave a striking idea of the straits to which our people were reduced later in the war. she explained that her son's only pair of socks did not wear out, because, said she: "when the feet of the socks get full of holes, i just knit new feet to the tops, and when the tops wear out i just knit new tops to the feet." burial of aunt matilda [mrs. r. a. pryor's reminiscences.] this precise type of a virginia plantation will never appear again, i imagine. i wish i could describe a plantation wedding as i saw it that summer. but a funeral of one of the old servants was peculiarly interesting to me. "aunt matilda" had been much loved and, when she found herself dying, she had requested that the mistress and little children should attend her funeral. "i ain' been much to church," she urged. "i couldn't leave my babies. i ain' had dat shoutin' an' hollerin' religion, but i gwine to heaven jes' de same"--a fact of which nobody who knew aunt matilda could have the smallest doubt. we had a long, warm walk behind hundreds of negroes, following the rude coffin in slow procession through the woods, singing antiphonally as they went, one of those strange, weird hymns not to be caught by any anglo-saxon voice. it was a beautiful and touching scene, and at the grave i longed for an artist (we had no kodaks then) to perpetuate the picture. the level rays of the sun were filtered through the green leaves of the forest, and fell gently on the dusky pathetic faces, and on the simple coffin surrounded by orphan children and relatives, very dignified and quiet in their grief. the spiritual patriarch of the plantation presided. old uncle abel said: "i ain' gwine keep you all long. 'tain' no use. we can't do nothin' for sis' tildy. all is done fer her, an' she done preach her own fune'al sermon. her name was on dis church book here, but dat warn' nothin'; no doubt 'twas on de lamb book, too. "now, whiles dey fillin' up her grave, i'd like you all to sing a hymn sis' tildy uster love, but you all know i bline in one eye, an' i dunno as any o' you all ken do it"--and the first thing i knew, the old man had passed his well-worn book to me, and there i stood at the foot of the grave, "lining out": "'asleep in jesus, blessed sleep, from which none ever wake to weep.'" words of immortal comfort to the great throng of negro mourners who caught it up line after line, on an air of their own, full of tears and tenderness,--a strange, weird tune no white person's voice could ever follow. "illegant pair of hands" [phoebe y. pember.] a large number of the surgeons were absent, and the few left would not be able to attend to all the wounds at that late hour of the night. i proposed in reply that the convalescent men should be placed on the floor on blankets or bed-sacks filled with straw, and the wounded take their place, and, purposely construing his silence into consent, gave the necessary orders, eagerly offering my services to dress simple wounds, and extolling the strength of my nerves. he let me have my way (may his ways be of pleasantness and his paths of peace), and so, giving miss g. orders to make an unlimited supply of coffee, tea, and stimulants, armed with lint, bandages, castile soap, and a basin of warm water, i made my first essay in the surgical line. i had been spectator often enough to be skilful. the first object that needed my care was an irishman. he was seated upon a bed with his hands crossed, wounded in both arms by the same bullet. the blood was soon washed away, wet lint applied, and no bones being broken, the bandages easily arranged. "i hope that i have not hurt you much," i said with some trepidation. "these are the first wounds that i have ever dressed." "sure, they be the most illegant pair of hands that ever touched me, and the lightest," he gallantly answered. "and i am all right now." the gun-boat "richmond" [scharf's confederate navy.] the "ladies' defence association" was then formed at richmond, with mrs. maria g. clopton, president; mrs. general henningsen, vice-president; mrs. r. h. maury, treasurer, and mrs. john adams smith, secretary. at its meeting, on april th, an address, prepared by captain j. s. maury, was read by rev. dr. doggett. in this address it was eloquently stated that the first efforts of the association would be "directed to the building and putting afloat in the waters of the james river a steam man-of-war, clad in shot-proof armor; her panoply to be after the manner of that gallant ship, the noble _virginia_." committees were appointed to solicit subscriptions, and so much encouragement was received that the managers of the association called upon president davis for sanction of its purpose, which he gladly gave, and it was announced that the keel of the vessel would be laid in a few days; that commander farrand would be in charge of the work, and that he would be assisted by ship-builder graves. words can but inadequately represent the energy with which the women of virginia undertook this work, or the sacrifices which they made to complete it. that their jewels and their household plate, heirlooms, in many instances, that had been handed down from generation to generation and were the embodiments of ancestral rank and tradition, were freely given up, is known. "virginia," said they in their appeal, "when she sent her sons into this war, gave up her jewels to it. let not her daughters hold back. mothers, wives, sisters! what are your ornaments of silver and gold in decoration, when by dedicating them to a cause like this, you may in times like these strengthen the hand or nerve the arm, or give comfort to the heart that beats and strikes in your defence! send them to us." the organization, moreover, did not confine itself to urging upon the women of the state that this was particularly their contribution to the maintenance of the confederacy. "iron railings," the address continued, "old and new, scrap-iron about the house, broken ploughshares about the farm, and iron in any shape, though given in quantities ever so small, will be thankfully received if delivered at the tredegar works, where it may be put into the furnace, reduced, and wrought into shape or turned into shot and shell." a friendly invasion of the tobacco factories was made by a committee of ladies, consisting of mrs. brooke gwathney, mrs. b. smith, and mrs. george t. brooker, and the owners cheerfully broke up much of their machinery that was available for the specified purpose. mrs. r. h. maury, treasurer of the association, took charge of the contributions in money, plate, and jewelry; the materials and tools were sent to commodore farrand, and an agent, s. d. hicks, was appointed to receive the contributions of grain, country produce, etc., that were sent in by virginia farmers to be converted into cash. by the end of april the construction had reached an advanced stage; president davis and secretary mallory had congratulated the ladies' association upon the assured success of its self-allotted task, and by the sale of articles donated to a public bazaar or fair, almost a sufficient sum to complete the ship was secured. the _richmond_ was completed in july, , and although detailed descriptions are lacking all mention made of her is unanimous that she was an excellent ship of her type. captain parker says that "she was a fine vessel, built on the plan of the _virginia_." note.--mrs. general henningsen received from new orleans boxes containing articles to be sold for contribution to building the richmond. among the articles were two beautiful vases, which were bought by a gentleman of richmond and are now in the possession of his family. the richmond was destroyed on the evacuation of the capital city.--j. l. u. captain sally tompkins [by j. l. underwood.] southern women have cared little for public honors nor have they courted masculine titles. but a recent number of the richmond _times-dispatch_ recalls the pleasant bit of history that in the case of miss sallie tompkins a remarkable honor was deservedly conferred upon a worthy virginia girl by the confederate authorities. while yet a very young woman miss tompkins used her ample means to establish in richmond a private hospital for confederate soldiers. she not only provided for its support at her own expense, but devoted her time to the work of nursing the patients. the wounded were brought into the city by the hundreds and there was hardly a private house without its quota of sick and wounded. quite a number of private hospitals were established but, unlike miss tompkins's splendid institution, charges were made by some of them for services rendered. in course of time abuses grew with the system, and general lee ordered that they all be closed--all except the hospital of miss tompkins. this was recognized as too helpful to the confederate cause to be abolished. in order to preserve it it had to be brought under government control, and to do this general lee ordered a commission as captain in the confederate army to be issued to miss sallie tompkins. though a government hospital from that time on, captain tompkins conducted it as before, paying its expenses out of her private purse. the veterans are proud of her record, and a movement is now on foot among them to place captain tompkins in a position of independence as long as she lives. the angel of the hospital [from the gray jacket, pages - .] 'twas nightfall in the hospital. the day, as though its eyes were dimmed with bloody rain from the red clouds of war, had quenched its light, and in its stead some pale, sepulchral lamps shed their dim lustre in the halls of pain, and flitted mystic shadows o'er the walls. no more the cry of "charge! on, soldiers, on!" stirred the thick billows of the sulphurous air; but the deep moan of human agony, from the pale lips quivering as they strove in vain to smother mortal pain, appalled the ear, and made the life-blood curdle in the heart. nor flag, nor bayonet, nor plume, nor lance, nor burnished gun, nor clarion call, nor drum, displayed the pomp of battle; but instead the tourniquet, the scalpel, and the draught, the bandage, and the splint were strewn around-- dumb symbols, telling more than tongues could speak the awful shadows of the fiend of war. look! look! what gentle form with cautious step passes from couch to couch as silently as yon faint shadows flickering on the walls, and, bending o'er the gasping sufferer's head, cools his flushed forehead with the icy bath, from her own tender hand, or pours the cup whose cordial powers can quench the inward flame that burns his heart to ashes, or with voice as tender as a mother's to her babe, pours pious consolation in his ear. she came to one long used in war's rude scenes-- a soldier from his youth, grown gray in arms, now pierced with mortal wounds. untutored, rough, though brave and true, uncared for by the world. his life had passed without a friendly word, which timely spoken to his willing ear, had wakened god-like hopes, and filled his heart with the unfading bloom of sacred truth. beside his couch she stood, and read the page of heavenly wisdom and the law of love, and bade him follow the triumphant chief who bears the unconquered banner of the cross. the veteran heard with tears and grateful smile, like a long-frozen fount whose ice is touched by the restless sun, and melts away, and, fixing his last gaze on her and heaven, went to the judge in penitential prayer. she passed to one, in manhood's blooming prime, lately the glory of the martial field, but now, sore-scathed by the fierce shock of arms, like a tall pine shattered by the lightning's stroke, prostrate he lay, and felt the pangs of death, and saw its thickening damps obscure the light which make our world so beautiful. yet those he heeded not. his anxious thoughts had flown o'er rivers and illimitable woods, to his fair cottage in the western wilds, where his young bride and prattling little ones-- poor hapless little ones, chafed by the wolf of war-- watched for the coming of the absent one in utter desolation's bitterness. o, agonizing thought! which smote his heart with sharper anguish than the sabre's point. the angel came with sympathetic voice, and whispered in his ear: "our god will be a husband to the widow, and embrace the orphan tenderly within his arms; for human sorrow never cries in vain to his compassionate ear." the dying man drank in her words with rapture; cheering hope shone like a rainbow in his tearful eyes, and arched his cloud of sorrow, while he gave the dearest earthly treasures of his heart, in resignation to the care of god. a fair man-boy of fifteen summers tossed his wasted limbs upon a cheerless couch. ah! how unlike the downy bed prepared by his fond mother's love, whose tireless hands no comforts for her only offspring spared from earliest childhood, when the sweet babe slept, soft--nestling in her bosom all the night, like a half-blown lily sleeping on the heart of swelling summer wave, till that sad day he left the untold treasure of her love to seek the rude companionship of war. the fiery fever struck his swelling brain with raving madness, and the big veins throbbed a death-knell on his temples, and his breath was hot and quick, as is the panting deer's, stretched by the indian's arrow on the plain. "mother! oh, mother!" oft his faltering tongue shrieked to the cold, bare wall, which echoed back his wailing in the mocking of despair. oh! angel nurse, what sorrow wrung thy heart for the young sufferer's grief! she knelt beside the dying lad, and smoothed his tangled locks back from his aching brow, and wept and prayed with all a woman's tenderness and love, that the good shepherd would receive this lamb, far wandering from the dear maternal fold, and shelter him in his all-circling arms, in the green valleys of immortal rest. and so the angel passed from scene to scene of human suffering, like that blessed one, himself the man of sorrows and of grief, who came to earth to teach the law of love, and pour sweet balm upon the mourner's heart, and raise the fallen and restore the lost. bright vision of my dreams! thy light shall shine through all the darkness of this weary world-- its selfishness, its coolness, and its sin, pure as the holy evening star of love, the brightest planet in the host of heaven. chapter iii their trials old maids [j. l. underwood.] this would be a dark world without old maids--god bless them! no one can measure their usefulness. many a one of them has never married because she has never found a man good enough for her. the saddest mourners the world ever saw were some of our southern girls whose hearts and hopes were buried in a soldier's grave in virginia or the far west. for four years the daughters of the south waited for their lovers, and alas! many waited in a life widowhood of unutterable sorrow. after the seven days' battles in front of richmond a horseman rode up to the door of one of the houses on ---- street in richmond and cried out to an anxious mother: "your son is safe, but captain ---- is killed." on the opposite side of the street a fair young girl was sitting. she was the betrothed of the ill-fated captain, and heard the crushing announcement. that's the way war made so many southern girls widows without coming to the marriage altar. "it matters little now, lorena; the past is the eternal past. our heads will soon lie low, lorena; life's tide is ebbing out so fast but, there's a future--oh, thank god-- of life this is so small a part; 'tis dust to dust beneath the sod, but there--up there,--'tis heart to heart." the writer is so partial to the old maids of the confederacy that he is afraid of a charge of extravagance were he to say anything more. but the author of this book is not the only one to admire and love them. hear what another old confederate soldier says in the following letter in the atlanta _journal_: sugar valley, ga. dear miss thomas: will you permit an old confederate soldier, who has nearly reached his three-score and ten, to occupy a seat while he says a few words? the old maids of to-day were young girls in my youthful days. they were once young and happy and looked forward with bright hopes to the future, while the flowers opened as pretty, the birds sung as sweetly, and the sun shone as brightly as it does to the young girls of to-day. they had sweethearts; they loved and were loved in return; they had pleasant dreams of the coming future to be passed in their own happy homes surrounded by husband and children. but, alas! the dark war clouds lowered above the horizon and all their bright dreams of the future were overcast with gloom. they loved with a pure and unselfish devotion, but they loved their country best. the young men of the sixties were the first to respond to their country's call and marched away to the front, to undergo the hardships and dangers of a soldier's life. now, can you imagine the pangs that rent the maiden's breast as she bid farewell, maybe for the last time this side of eternity, to the one who was dearer than her own heart's blood, as she watched his manly form clothed in his uniform of gray disappear in the distance? she tried to be brave when she bade him go and fight the battles of his country. she remained at home and prayed to an all-wise and merciful god to spare him amidst the storm of iron and lead, but her heart seemed rent in twain and all of her bright hopes for the future seemed turned to ashes. the weary days and months passed in dread suspense. now and then a letter from the front revived her drooping spirits, as her soldier boy told of his many escapes amid the charging columns and roar of battle. after many months or maybe years she received the sad tidings that her gallant soldier was no more; his gallant spirit had flashed out with the guns, and his manly form, wrapped in a soldier's blanket, had been consigned to an unmarked grave far away from home and loved ones. the last rays of hope fled, and she resigned herself to her sad and lonely fate. they were true to their country in its sore distress, true to their heroes wearing the gray, and true to their god who doeth all things well. could any one lead a more consecrated life? now, let us, instead of deriding, cast the veil of charity over their desolate lives. the once smooth cheek is furrowed with the wrinkles of time, the glossy braids have whitened with the snows of winter, the once graceful form is bending under the weight of years, while the bright eyes have grown dim watching, not for the soldier in gray, but for the summons that calls her to meet him on that bright and beautiful shore, there to be with loved ones who have gone before, and receive the reward of "well done, thou good and faithful servant." soon the last one of those patriotic women of the sixties will have passed over the river, and their like may never be seen again, but their love of home and country will be handed down to generations yet unknown. with best wishes for the household, w. h. andrews. a mother's letter [from a dying soldier boy.] the alabama papers in published the following letter from private john moseley, a youth who gave up his life at gettysburg: battlefield, gettysburg, pa., _july , _. dear mother: i am here, prisoner of war and mortally wounded. i can live but a few hours more at furthest. i was shot fifty yards from the enemy's line. they have been exceedingly kind to me. i have no doubt as to the final result of this battle, and i hope i may live long enough to hear the shouts of victory before i die. i am very weak. do not mourn my loss. i had hoped to have been spared, but a righteous god has ordered it otherwise, and i feel prepared to trust my case in his hands. farewell to you all. pray that god may receive my soul. your unfortunate son, john. tom and his young master [in richmond during the war, pages - .] a young soldier from georgia brought with him to the war in virginia a young man who had been brought up with him on his father's plantation. on leaving his home with his regiment, the mother of the young soldier said to his negro slave: "now, tom, i commit your master jemmy into your keeping. don't let him suffer for anything with which you can supply him. if he is sick, nurse him well, my boy; and if he dies, bring his body home to me; if wounded, take care of him; and oh! if he is killed in battle, don't let him be buried on the field, but secure his body for me, and bring him home to be buried!" the negro faithfully promised his mistress that all her wishes should be attended to, and came on to the seat of war charged with the grave responsibility placed upon him. in one of the battles around richmond the negro saw his young master when he entered the fight, and saw him when he fell, but no more of him. the battle became fierce, the dust and smoke so dense that the company to which he was attached, wholly enveloped in the cloud, was hidden from the sight of the negro, and it was not until the battle was over that tom could seek for his young master. he found him in a heap of slain. removing the mangled remains, torn frightfully by a piece of shell, he conveyed them to an empty house, where he laid them out in the most decent order he could, and securing the few valuables found on his person, he sought a conveyance to carry the body to richmond. ambulances were in too great requisition for those whose lives were not extinct to permit the body of a dead man to be conveyed in one of them. he pleaded most piteously for a place to bring in the body of his young master. it was useless, and he was repulsed; but finding some one to guard the dead, he hastened into the city and hired a cart and driver to go out with him to bring in the body to richmond. when he arrived again at the place where he had left it, he was urged to let it be buried on the field, and was told that he would not be allowed to take it from richmond, and therefore it were better to be buried there. "i can't do it. i promised my mistress (his mother) to bring his body home to her if he got killed, and i'll go home with it or i'll die by it; i can't leave my master jemmy here." the boy was allowed to have the body and brought it to richmond, where he was furnished with a coffin, and the circumstances being made known, the faithful slave, in the care of a wounded officer who went south, was permitted to carry the remains of his master to his distant home in georgia. the heart of the mother was comforted in the possession of the precious body of her child, and in giving it a burial in the church-yard near his own loved home. fee or reward for this noble act of fidelity would have been an insult to the better feelings of this poor slave; but when he delivered up the watch and other things taken from the person of his young master, the mistress returned him the watch, and said: "take this watch, tom, and keep it for the sake of my boy; 'tis but a poor reward for such services as you have rendered him and his mother." the poor woman, quite overcome, could only add: "god bless you, boy!" "i knew you would come" [in southern historical papers, volume , pages - .] col. w. r. aylett tells the following tender story: once during the war, when the lines of the enemy separated me from my home, i was an inmate of my brother's richmond home while suffering from a wound. as soon as i could walk about a little, my first steps were directed to seabrook's hospital to see some of my dear comrades who were worse wounded than i. while sitting by the cot of a friend, who was soon to "pass over the river and rest under the shade of the trees," i witnessed a scene that i can hardly ever think of without quickened pulse and moist eye. a beautiful boy, too young to fight and die, and a member of an alabama regiment, was dying from a terrible wound a few feet off. his mother had been telegraphed for at his request. in the wild delirium of his dying moments he had been steadily calling for her, "oh, mother, come; do come quickly!" then, under the influence of opiates given to smooth his entrance into eternal rest, he dozed and slumbered. the thunders of the great guns along the lines of the immortal lee roused him up. just then his dying eyes rested upon one of the lovely matrons of richmond advancing toward him. his reeling brain and distempered imagination mistook her for his mother. raising himself up, with a wild, delirious cry of joy, which rang throughout the hospital, he cried: "oh, mother! i knew you would come! i knew you would come! i can die easy now;" and she, humoring his illusion, let him fall upon her bosom, and he died happy in her arms, her tears flowing for him as if he had been her own son. letters from the poor at home [phoebe y. pember.] a thousand evidences of the loving care and energetic labor of the patient ones at home, telling an affecting story that knocked hard at the gates of the heart, were the portals ever so firmly closed; and with all these came letters written by poor, ignorant ones who often had no knowledge of how such communications should be addressed. these letters, making inquiries concerning patients from anxious relatives at home, directed oftener to my office than my home, came in numbers, and were queer mixtures of ignorance, bad grammar, worse spelling, and simple feeling. however absurd the style, the love that filled them chastened and purified them. many are stored away, and though irresistibly ludicrous, are too sacred to print for public amusement. in them could be detected the prejudices of the different sections. one old lady in upper georgia wrote a pathetic appeal for a furlough for her son. she called me "my dear sir," while still retaining my feminine address, and though expressing the strongest desire for her son's restoration to health, entreated in moving accents that if his life could not be spared, that he should not be buried in "ole virginny dirt"--rather a derogatory term to apply to the sacred soil that gave birth to the presidents,--the soil of the old dominion. almost all of these letters told the same sad tale of destitution of food and clothing; even shoes of the roughest kind being either too expensive for the mass or unattainable by the expenditure of any sum, in many parts of the country. for the first two years of the war, privations were lightly dwelt upon and courageously borne, but when want and suffering pressed heavily, as times grew more stringent, there was a natural longing for the stronger heart and frame to bear part of the burden. desertion is a crime that meets generally with as much contempt as cowardice, and yet how hard for the husband or father to remain inactive in winter quarters, knowing that his wife and little ones were literally starving at home--not even at home, for few homes were left. life in richmond during the war [southern historical papers, volume . from the _cosmopolitan_, december, ; by edward m. alfriend.] for many months after the beginning of the war between the states, richmond was an extremely gay, bright, and happy city. except that its streets were filled with handsomely attired officers and that troops constantly passed through it, there was nothing to indicate the horrors or sorrows of war, or the fearful deprivations that subsequently befell it. as the war progressed its miseries tightened their bloody grasp upon the city, happiness was nearly destroyed, and the hearts of the people were made to bleed. during the time of mcclellan's investment of richmond, and the seven days' fighting between lee's army and his own, every cannon that was fired could be heard in every home in richmond, and as every home had its son or sons at the front of lee's army, it can be easily understood how great was the anguish of every mother's heart in the confederate capital. these mothers had cheerfully given their sons to the southern cause, illustrating, as they sent them to battle, the heroism of the spartan mother, who, when she gave the shield to her son, told him to return with it or on it. _happy phases_ and yet, during the entire war, richmond had happy phases to its social life. entertainments were given freely and very liberally the first year of the war, and at them wine and suppers were graciously furnished, but as the war progressed all this was of necessity given up, and we had instead what were called "starvation parties." the young ladies of the city, accompanied by their male escorts (generally confederate officers on leave) would assemble at a fashionable residence that before the war had been the abode of wealth, and have music and plenty of dancing, but not a morsel of food or a drop of drink was seen. and this form of entertainment became the popular and universal one in richmond. of course, no food or wine was served, simply because the host could not get it, or could not afford it. and at these starvation parties the young people of richmond and the young army officers assembled and danced as brightly and as happily as though a supper worthy of lucullus awaited them. the ladies were simply dressed, many of them without jewelry, because the women of the south had given their jewelry to the confederate cause. often on the occasion of these starvation parties, some young southern girl would appear in an old gown belonging to her mother or grandmother, or possibly a still more remote ancestor, and the effect of the antique garment was very peculiar; but no matter what was worn, no matter how peculiarly any one might be attired, no matter how bad the music, no matter how limited the host's or hostess's ability to entertain, everybody laughed, danced, and was happy, although the reports of the cannon often boomed in their ears, and all deprivations, all deficiencies, were looked on as a sacrifice to the southern cause. _the dress of a grandmother_ i remember going to a starvation party during the war with a miss m., a sister of annie rive's mother. she wore a dress belonging to her great-grandmother or grandmother, and she looked regally handsome in it. she was a young lady of rare beauty, and as thoroughbred in every feature of her face or pose and line of her body as a reindeer, and with this old dress on she looked as though the portrait of some ancestor had stepped out of its frame. such spectacles were very common at our starvation parties. on one occasion i attended a starvation party at the residence of mr. john enders, an old and honored citizen of richmond, and, of course, there was no supper. among those present was willie allan, the second son of the gentleman, mr. john allan, who adopted edgar allan poe, and gave him his middle name. about o'clock in the morning he came to one other gentleman and myself, and asked us to go to his home just across the street, saying he thought he could give us some supper. of course, we eagerly accepted his invitation and accompanied him to his house. he brought out a half dozen mutton chops and some bread, and we had what was to us a royal supper. i spent the night at the allan home and slept in the same room with willie allan. the next morning there was a tap on the door, and i heard the mother's gentle voice calling: "willie, willie." he answered, "yes, mother; what is it?" and she replied: "did you eat the mutton chops last night?" he answered, "yes," when she said, "well, then, we haven't any breakfast." _frightful contrasts_ the condition of the allan household was that of all richmond. sometimes the contrasts that occurred in these social gayeties in richmond were frightful, ghastly. a brilliant, handsome, happy, joyous young officer, full of hope and promise, would dance with a lovely girl and return to his command. a few days would elapse, another "starvation" would occur, the officer would be missed, he would be asked for, and the reply come, "killed in battle;" and frequently the same girls with whom he danced a few nights before would attend his funeral from one of the churches of richmond. can life have any more terrible antithesis than this? a georgia lady was once remonstrating with general sherman against the conduct of some of his men, when she said: "general, this is barbarity," and general sherman, who was famous for his pregnant epigrams, replied: "madame, war is barbarity." and so it is. on one occasion, when i was attending a starvation party in richmond, the dancing was at its height and everybody was bright and happy, when the hostess, who was a widow, was suddenly called out of the room. a hush fell on everything, the dancing stopped, and every one became sad, all having a premonition in those troublous times that something fearful had happened. we were soon told that her son had been killed late that evening, in a skirmish in front of richmond, a few miles from his home. wounded and sick men and officers were constantly brought into the homes of the people of richmond to be taken care of, and every home had in it a sick or wounded confederate soldier. from the association thus brought about many a love affair occurred and many a marriage resulted. i know of several wives and mothers in the south who lost their hearts and won their soldier husbands in this way, so this phase of life during the war near richmond was prolific of romance. _general lee kissed the girls_ general robert e. lee would often leave the front, come into richmond and attend these starvation parties, and on such occasions he was not only the cynosure of all eyes, but the young ladies all crowded around him, and he kissed every one of them. this was esteemed his privilege and he seemed to enjoy the exercise of it. on such occasions he was thoroughly urbane, but always the dignified, patrician soldier in his bearing. private theatricals were also a form of amusement during the war. i saw several of them. the finest i witnessed, however, was a performance of sheridan's comedy, of alabama, played by mrs. malaprop. her rendition of the part was one of the best i ever saw, rivalling that of any professional. the audience was very brilliant, the president of the confederacy, mrs. davis, judah p. benjamin, and others of equal distinction being present. mrs. davis is a woman of great intellectual powers and a social queen, and at these entertainments she was very charming. mr. davis was always simple, unpretentious, and thoroughly cordial in his manner. to those who saw him on these occasions it was impossible to associate his gentle, pleasing manner with the stern decision with which he was then directing his side of the greatest war of modern times. the world has greatly misunderstood mr. davis, and in no way more than in personal traits of his character. my brother, the late frank h. alfriend, was mr. davis's biographer, and through personal intercourse with mr. davis i knew him well. in all his social, domestic, and family relations, he was the gentlest, the noblest, the tenderest of men. as a father and husband he was almost peerless, for his domestic life was the highest conceivable. mr. davis, at the executive mansion, held weekly receptions, to which the public were admitted. these continued until nearly the end of the war. the occasions were not especially marked, but mr. and mrs. davis were always delightful hosts. _john wise and his big clothes_ the spectacle presented at the social gatherings, particularly the starvation parties, was picturesque in the extreme. the ladies often took down the damask and other curtains and made dresses of them. my friend, hon. john s. wise, formerly of virginia, now of new york, tells the following story of himself: he was serving in front of richmond and was invited to come into the city to attend a starvation party. having no coat of his own fit to wear, he borrowed one from a brother officer nearly twice his height. the sleeves of his coat covered his hands entirely, the skirt came below his knees several inches, and the buttons in the back were down on his legs. so attired, captain wise went to the party. his first partner in the dance was a young lady of richmond belonging to one of its best families. she was attired in the dress of her great-grandmother, and a part of this dress was a stomacher very suggestive in its proportions. captain wise relates with exquisite humor that in the midst of the dance he found himself in front of a mirror, and that the sight presented by himself and his partner was so ridiculous that he burst out laughing; and his partner turned and looked at him angrily, left his side and never spoke to him again. _contrasts that were pretty_ the varied and sometimes handsome uniforms of the confederate officers commingling with each other and contrasting with the simple, pretty, sometimes antiquated dresses of the ladies, made pictures that were beautiful in their contrasts of color and of tone. an artist would have found these scenes infinite opportunity for his pencil or brush. i am sure that this phase of social life in richmond during the war is without parallel in the world's history. the army officers, of course, had only their uniforms, and the women wore whatever they could get to wear. in the last year of the war, particularly the last few months, the pinch of deprivation, especially as to food, became frightful. there were many families in richmond that were in well-nigh a starving condition. i know of some that lived for days on pea soup and bread. confederate money was almost valueless. its purchasing power had so depreciated that it used to be said it took a basketful to go to market. of course, the people had very few greenbacks, and very little gold or silver. the city was invested by two armies, grant's and lee's, and its railroad communications constantly destroyed by the union cavalry. supplies of food were very scarce and enormously costly; a barrel of flour cost several hundred dollars in confederate money, and just before the fall of the confederacy i paid $ for a pair of heavy boots. the suffering of this period was dreadful, and when richmond capitulated many of its people were in an almost starving condition. indeed, there was little food outside, and the southern troops were but little better off. _loyalty of the slaves_ but in april, , the confederacy ceased to exist; it passed into history, and richmond was occupied by the northern army. many of its people were without food and without money--i mean money of the united states. it was at this period that the colored people of richmond, slaves up to the time the war ended, but now no longer bondsmen, showed their loyalty and love for their former masters and mistresses. they, of course, had access to the commissary of the united states, and many, very many, of these former negro slaves went to the united states commissary, obtained food seemingly for themselves, and took it in basketfuls to their former owners, who were without food or money. i do not recall any record in the world's history nobler than this--indeed, equal to it. these are memories of a dead past, and thank god! we now live under the old flag and in a happy, reunited country, which the south loves with a patriotic devotion unsurpassed by the north itself. the women of new orleans [j. l. underwood.] while the patriotic women of new orleans saw very little of war's ravages, yet they endured three years of war's hardships. the crescent city fell into the hands of the federals in , commodore farragut commanding the navy, and general b. f. butler the land forces. the latter was made military governor. farragut carried on war against combatants, and as an officer is to this day respected and honored by the southern people. butler carried on war on civilians and against defenceless women. the history of these women cannot be told without telling of their odious military tyrant. president davis in his proclamation said: the helpless women have been torn from their homes and subjected to solitary confinement, some in fortresses and prisons, and one, especially, on an island of barren sand under a tropical sun, have been fed with loathsome rations that had been condemned as unfit for soldiers, and have been exposed to the vilest insults. egress from the city has been refused to those whose fortitude could withstand the test, even to lone and aged women and to helpless children; and after being ejected from their homes and robbed of their property, they have been left to starve in the streets or subsist on charity. but this does not tell half the story. the civilized world stood aghast when general butler issued his infamous "order no. ," which reads as follows: as the officers and soldiers of the united states have been subjected to insults from the women (calling themselves ladies) of new orleans in return for the most scrupulous noninterference and courtesy on our part, it is ordered that hereafter when any female shall by word, gesture, or movement insult or show contempt for any officer or soldier of the united states, she shall be regarded and held liable to be treated as a woman of the town plying her avocation. by command of major general butler. human language cannot describe the cowardice, the meanness, the brutality of such an order. all europe denounced him, president davis outlawed him, some of his own northern newspapers would not at first believe that he had issued such an order. from that time on the name of "butler, the beast," was fastened to him. in this day we pity women who are in danger of falling into the clutches of the black brute. these women of were under the heels of a white brute. every american patriot will hang his head in shame for all time that president lincoln kept butler in high military office to the end of the war, and the government never did repudiate his infamous official outrage. be it recorded to the everlasting honor of the federal army that none of the soldiers of "the beast" availed themselves of the license conferred by his order. "incorrigible little devil" [eggleston's recollections, pages - .] in new orleans, soon after the war, i saw in a drawing-room, one day, an elaborately framed letter, of which, the curtains being drawn, i could read only the signature, which to my astonishment was that of general butler. "what is that?" i asked of the young gentlewoman i was visiting. "oh, that's my diploma, my certificate of good behavior from general butler;" and taking it down from the wall, she permitted me to read it, telling me at the same time its history. it seems that the young lady had been very active in aiding captured confederates to escape from new orleans, and for this and other similar offenses she was arrested several times. a gentleman who knew general butler personally had interested himself in behalf of her and some friends, and upon making an appeal for their discharge received this personal note from the commanding general, in which he declared his willingness to discharge all the others. "but that black-eyed miss b.," he wrote, "seems to me an incorrigible little devil, whom even prison fare won't tame." the young lady had framed the note, and she cherishes it yet, doubtless. later on butler was given a command in the east and general banks put in control at new orleans. he was clean and soldierly, but more stern and overbearing in some respects than butler. dr. stone, the most prominent citizen of new orleans, said to the writer in : "we could manage butler better than we can banks. we could scare butler, but we can't move banks." our poor women, patient and prudent through it all, were out of the fire, but they were in the frying-pan. the battle of the handkerchiefs we are indebted to the honorable w. h. seymour for the following very interesting story: there was a great stir and intense excitement one time during general banks's administration. a number of the "rebels" were to leave for the "confederacy." their friends, amounting to some , persons, women and children principally, wended their way down to the levee to see them off and to take their last farewell. such a quantity of women frightened the federal officials: they were greatly exasperated at their waving of handkerchiefs, their loud calling to their friends, and their going on to vessels in the vicinity. orders were given to "stand back," but no heed was given; the bayonets were pointed at the ladies, but they were not scared. a lady ran across to get a nearer view. an officer seized her by the arm, but she escaped, leaving a scarf in his possession. at last the military received orders to do its duty. the affair was called the pocket handkerchief war and has been put in verse, as follows: _the greatest victory of the war--la battaille des mouchoirs._ [by capt. james dinkins, in new orleans _picayune_; southern historical papers, volume .] [fought friday, february , , at the head of gravier street.] of all the battles modern or old, by poet sung or historian told; of all the routs that ever was seen from the days of saladin to marshall turenne, or all the victories later yet won, from waterloo's field to that of bull run; all, all, must hide their fading light, in the radiant glow of the handkerchief fight; and a paean of joy must thrill the land, when they hear of the deeds of banks's band. 'twas on a levee, where the tide of "father mississippi" flows, our gallant lads, their country's pride, won this great victory o'er her foes, four hundred rebels were to leave that morning for secessia's shades, when down there came (you'd scarce believe) a troop of children, wives, and maids, to wave their farewells, to bid god-speed, to shed for them the parting tear, to waft their kisses as the meed of praise to soldiers' hearts most dear. they came in hundreds; thousands lined the streets, the roofs, the shipping, too; their ribbons dancing in the wind, their bright eyes flashing love's adieu. 'twas then to danger we awoke, but nobly faced the unarmed throng, and beat them back with hearty stroke, till reinforcements came along. we waited long; our aching sight was strained in eager, anxious gaze, at last we saw the bayonets bright flash in the sunlight's welcome blaze. the cannon's dull and heavy roll, fell greeting on our gladdened ear, then fired each eye, then glowed each soul, for well we knew the strife was near. "charge!" rang the cry, and on we dashed upon our female foes, as seas in stormy fury lashed, whene'er the tempest blows. like chaff their parasols went down, as our gallants rushed; and many a bonnet, robe, and gown was torn to shreds or crushed; though well we plied the bayonet, still some our efforts braved, defiant both of blow and threat, their handkerchiefs still waved. thick grew the fight, loud rolled the din, when "charge!" rang out again and then the cannon thundered in, and scoured o'er the plain. down, 'neath the unpitying iron heels of horses children sank, while through the crowd the cannon wheels mowed roads on either flank, one startled shriek, one hollow groan, one headlong rush, and then "huzza!" the field was all our own, for we were banks's men. that night, released from all our toils, our dangers passed and gone, we gladly gathered up the spoils our chivalry had won! five hundred 'kerchiefs we had snatched from rebel ladies' hands, ten parasols, two shoes (not matched), some ribbons, belts, and bands, and other things that i forgot; but then you'll find them all as trophies in that hallowed spot-- the cradle--faneuil hall! and long on massachusetts' shore and on green mountain's side, or where long island's breakers roar, and by the hudson's tide, in times to come, when lamps are lit, and fires brightly blaze, while round the knees of heroes sit the young of happier days, who listen to their storied deeds, to them sublimely grand, then glory shall award its meed of praise to banks's band, and fame proclaim that they alone (in triumph's loudest note) may wear henceforth, for valor shown, a woman's petticoat. the women of new orleans and vicksburg prisoners [by j. l. underwood.] general pemberton's army at vicksburg surrendered on the th of july, . according to the liberal terms, the thirty thousand confederates were paroled and allowed to march to their homes across the country. it was about a month before the sick and wounded could be removed. they were sent on federal transports down the mississippi river by the way of new orleans and thence across the gulf of mexico by fort morgan to mobile. the first boatload consisted of the sick in the hospital, which was under the charge of dr. richard whitfield, of alabama. i went to vicksburg as sergeant major of the twentieth alabama regiment, but, at the request of the thirtieth alabama, had been commissioned captain and appointed chaplain of that command a few months before the surrender. on the very evening of the surrender i was taken very sick and for some days lay at the point of death. under the kind nursing of friends in vicksburg, and by the good medicines provided by the noble chaplain porter, of illinois, of the federal army, i began to rally in time to be moved to dr. whitfield's hospital and be put aboard the first boat for home. by the time we reached new orleans i had nearly recovered my usual strength. at new orleans we were transferred to a gulf steamer, which lay at the wharf for nearly two days. soon after our arrival it looked as if the whole population of the crescent city had crowded down to look at us and they stood there all day to comfort us with their smiles during our stay. general banks allowed dr. stone and five other physicians to come on our steamer and look after the sick, to furnish coffins for the dead and remove them for burial. no other citizens could pass the sentinels or a rope guard extending about thirty yards from the boat. a detail of federal soldiers kept all our private confederates on the boat. there were only three or four confederate officers and we were allowed full liberty to go to the guard line and talk to the citizens. very soon the people began to bring such supplies and refreshments as general banks would allow, and they literally loaded the steamer with all sorts of good things, from hams and pickles down to fans, pipes, and tobacco. every soldier had enough for his wants and as much as he could take home. dr. stone told me that general banks would not allow his people to do half of what they were anxious to do. he said the people wanted to keep us a while and clothe us in new outfits. i must just here put on record one of the most touching instances of soldierly generosity and kindness that ever occurred in war. lieutenant winslow, of massachusetts, was in command of the federal guard on our steamer, and captain ---- in charge of the guard on the wharf. these two gallant young federal officers, although in full dress uniform, worked like beavers all day under a hot sun, in assisting me to get the refreshments and provisions from the hands of the ladies or servants at the guard line and take them to the boat, there to be handed to our men. the good women thought, of course, we had wounded men among us, but there was not one. an amazing quantity of lint and bandages was sent aboard. in the linen furnished for this purpose were whole garments of the finest fibre of female underwear, most of it all bright and new. many a rusty vicksburg soldier that night decked himself in a fine nightrobe with amazingly short sleeves, and many a soldier's wife accepted for her own use the dainty peace-offering when we reached home. none of these good people, men nor women, were allowed to cheer us. all that they could do was to give us sympathy by their presence and their smiles. i saw the police or the soldiers arrest man after man for some disloyal utterance. the day we left the throng of beautiful women seemed to extend up and down the levee as far as the eye could reach. as the boat pushed off for mobile our poor fellows crowded the deck and the excitement on shore grew intense. neither side could cheer and the tension was painful. finally the awfully trying stillness was broken by the waving of a little white handkerchief, in a fair woman's hand. in a moment thousands of others were to be seen, silently telling us "good-bye and god bless you." in a few moments we could see excitement in every face, and presently a little tender woman's voice screamed out "hurrah! hurrah!" and then a thousand sweet throats took up the shout. that "hurrah" from southern women and those handkerchiefs waved under the point of hostile bayonets told with pathos of a world of patriotism in the breasts of those noble women. we old confederates were overcome. one grim old north carolinian, standing by my side, with federal guards all around us, and the tears streaming down his sun-hardened cheeks, cried out at the top of his voice: "men, they may kill me, but i tell you i am willing to die a hundred times for such women as them." we all felt so, and the living veterans feel that way yet. "it don't trouble me" [phoebe y. pember.] there was but little sensibility exhibited by soldiers for the fate of their comrades in field or hospital. the results of war are here to-day and gone to-morrow. i stood still, spell-bound by that youthful death-bed, when my painful revery was broken upon by a drawling voice from a neighboring bed, which had been calling me such peculiar names and titles that i had been oblivious to whom they were addressed. "look here. i say, aunty!--mammy!--you!" then in despair, "missus mauma! kin you gim me sich a thing as a b'iled sweet pur-r-rta-a-a-tu-ur? i b'long to the twenty-secun' nor' ka-a-a-li-i-na regiment." i told the nurse to remove his bed from proximity to his dead neighbor, that in the low state of his health from fever the sight might affect his nerves, but he treated the suggestion with contempt. "don't make no sort of difference to me; they dies all around me in the field and it don't trouble me." savage war in the valley [in the rise and fall of confederate government, volume , pages - .] on june , , major-general hunter began his retreat from before lynchburg down the shenandoah valley. lieutenant-general early, who followed in pursuit, thus describes the destruction he witnessed along the route: "houses had been burned, and helpless women and children left without shelter. the country had been stripped of provisions, and many families left without a morsel to eat. furniture and bedding had been cut to pieces, and old men and women and children robbed of all the clothing they had, except that on their backs. ladies' trunks had been rifled, and their dresses torn to pieces in mere wantonness. even the negro girls had lost their little finery. at lexington he had burned the military institute with all its contents, including its library and scientific apparatus. washington college had been plundered, and the statue of washington stolen. the residence of ex-governor letcher at that place had been burned by orders, and but a few minutes given mrs. letcher and her family to leave the house. in the county a most excellent christian gentleman, a mr. creigh, had been hung, because, on a former occasion, he had killed a straggling and marauding federal soldier while in the act of insulting and outraging the ladies of his family." mrs. robert turner, woodstock, va. [j. l. underwood.] the patriotic husband was in lee's army and had left his wife at home with two little girls and an infant in her arms. the home had fallen within the lines of the federals and the officers had stationed a guard in the house for her protection. one night a marauding party of bummers, who were fleeing from a party of soldiers seeking to arrest them, came to her house and demanded that she should go and show them the road they wanted to take. the soldier guarding her said they were asking too much and refused to let her go. they shot him down so near her that his blood fell on her dress. she went with her little children in the dark night and showed them the road they asked for, and the poor woman hastened back to her home, only to hear the ruffians coming again. they overtook her in the yard and came with such rough threats that she thought they were going to kill her, and to save her oldest little girl, she tried to conceal her by throwing her into some thick shrubbery. unfortunately the fall and the excitement inflicted an injury which followed the child all her life. the marauders followed the poor mother into the house and threatened to kill her. but as one of them held a pistol in her face the pursuing party rushed in and an officer knocked the pistol up and shot the ruffian, who proved to be the one who had killed the guard of the home. some one wrote to mr. turner of the situation of his family. general lee saw the letter and sent turner home to remove his little family to a place of safety. this he did, and promptly returned to his post in the army, where he served faithfully to the end of the war and then became a staunch citizen. high price of needles and thread [by walter, a soldier's son; from mrs. fannie a. beer's memoirs, pages - .] my father was once a private soldier in the confederate army, and he often tells me interesting stories of the war. one morning, just as he was going down town, mother sent me to ask him to change a dollar. he could not do it, but he said, "ask your mother how much change she wants?" she only wanted a dime to buy a paper of needles and some silk to mend my jacket. so i went back and asked for ten cents. instead of taking it out of his vest pocket, father opened his pocket-book and said, "did you say you wanted ten dollars or ten cents, my boy?" "why, father," said i, "who ever heard of paying ten dollars for needles and thread?" "i have," said he. "i once heard of a paper of needles, and a skein of silk, worth more than ten dollars." his eyes twinkled and looked so pleasant that i knew there was a story on hand, so i told mother and sis' loo, who promised to find out all about it. after supper that night mother coaxed father to tell us the story. we liked it so well that i got mother to write it down for the _bivouac_. after the battle of chickamauga, one of "our mess" found a needle case which had belonged to some poor fellow, probably among the killed. he did not place much value upon the contents, although there was a paper of no. needles, several buttons, and a skein or two of thread, cut at each end and neatly braided so that each thread could be smoothly drawn out. he put the whole thing in his breast-pocket, and thought no more about it. but one day while out foraging for himself and his mess, he found himself near a house where money could have procured a meal of fried chicken, corn-pone, and buttermilk, besides a small supply to carry back to camp. but confederate soldiers' purses were generally as empty as their stomachs, and in this instance the lady of the house did not offer to give away her nice dinner. while the poor fellow was inhaling the enticing odor, and feeling desperately hungry, a girl rode up to the gate on horseback, and bawled out to another girl inside the house, "oh, cindy, i rid over to see if you couldn't lend me a needle. i broke the last one i had to-day, and pap says thar ain't nary 'nother to be bought in the country hereabouts!" cindy declared she was in the same fix, and couldn't finish her new homespun dress for that reason. the soldier just then had an idea. he retired to a little distance, pulled out his case, sticking two needles on the front of his jacket, then went back and offered one of them, with his best bow, to the girl on the horse. right away the lady of the house offered to trade for the one remaining. the result was a plentiful dinner for himself; and in consideration of a thread or two of silk, a full haversack and canteen. after this our mess was well supplied, and our forager began to look sleek and fat. the secret of his success did not leak out till long afterward, when he astonished the boys by declaring he "had been 'living like a fighting-cock' on a paper of needles and two skeins of silk." "and," added father, "if he had paid for all the meals he got in confederate money, the amount would have been far more than ten dollars." i know other boys and girls will think this a queer story, but i hope they will like it as well as mother and loo and i did. despair at home--heroism at the front [major robert stiles, in four years under marse robert, pages - .] there is one feature of our confederate struggle, to which i have already made two or three indirect allusions, as to which there has been such a strange popular misapprehension that i feel as if there rested upon the men who thoroughly understand the situation a solemn obligation to bring out strongly and clearly the sound and true view of the matter. i refer to an impression, quite common, that the desertions from the confederate armies, especially in the latter part of the war, indicated a general lack of devotion to the cause on the part of the men in the ranks. on the contrary, it is my deliberate conviction that southern soldiers who remained faithful under the unspeakable pressure of letters and messages revealing suffering, starvation, and despair at home displayed more than human heroism. the men who felt this strain most were the husbands of young wives and fathers of young children, whom they had supported by their labor, manual or mental. as the lines of communication in the confederacy were more and more broken and destroyed, and the ability, both of county and public authorities and of neighbors, to aid them became less and less, the situation of such families became more and more desperate, and their appeals more and more piteous to their only earthly helpers who were far away, filling their places in "the thin gray line." meanwhile the enemy sent into our camps, often by our own pickets, circulars offering our men indefinite parole, with free transportation to their homes. i am not condemning the federal government or military authorities for making these offers or putting out these circulars; but if there was ever such a thing as a conflict of duties, that conflict was presented to the private soldiers of the confederate army who belonged to the class just mentioned, and who received, perhaps simultaneously, one of these home letters and one of these federal circulars; and if ever the strain of such a conflict was great enough to unsettle a man's reason and to break a man's heart strings these men were subjected to that strain. the old drake's territory [j. l. underwood.] when sherman's army was making its celebrated "march to the sea," it cut a swath of fire and desolation from atlanta to savannah and on through the carolinas. what food was not seized for the army was consumed by fire. mills and barns and hundreds of dwellings were consigned to the flames. most of the people fled from the approach of the federals and especially were the old men, who might be thought by negroes and bummers to have money concealed on their persons or premises, afraid to fall into their hands. somewhere not far from milledgeville, a well-to-do farmer lay hid in the woods where he saw the federals enter his premises and carry off everything of any use or value. not a strip of bedding, not an ear of corn, a hough of a cow nor the tail of a pig did they leave him. before the yankee brigade got entirely out of sight the old farmer came into his desolate home. one glance at the wreck and away he went in pursuit of the federals. "oh, general, general, stop your command," was the cry. on they marched without hearing him. on he rushed and cried as he ran, "oh, general, oh, general, stop your command." finally when he was nearly out of breath the cry was heard and the brigade halted. "what's the matter, man?" said the soldiers, as he passed on by them, his face all flushed with excitement. "where's the general?" "yonder he is, sitting on that black horse." everybody stood still to hear the breathless message. "oh, general!" "well, what's the trouble, sir?" "general, your men have been yonder to my house and literally ruined me. they have taken everything i have on god's earth; they have left me nothing but one old drake, and he says he is very lonesome, and he wishes you would come back and get him." this was too much for the soldiers. up went a shout of laughter and a yell all up and down the lines. the general was completely unhorsed by the desperate drollery of the old farmer, and rolled on the ground. calling the man to him, he heard more of his story and finally had a list made of all the property which had been taken from him and had it all sent back to him, and the old rebel and the old drake felt better. i saw much of that old drake's territory. it was the only drake or fowl of any kind i ever heard of being left by sherman's bummers. i was with a cavalry company on sherman's flanks or front all the way to savannah. miles and miles of smoke from burning houses, barns, and mills could be seen every day and the red line shone by night. he did not burn all the dwellings, but for months and years there stood the lone chimneys of hundreds of once happy homes. these chimneys were called "sherman's sentinels." as he said, "war is hell." it is hell when conducted on the devil's plan instead of the principles of civilized warfare. for all time to come the march of sherman and the burning of the shenandoah valley by sheridan will cause the american patriot, north and south, to hang his head in shame. the women and children in the burned district were, in many localities, reduced almost to starvation. there is a lady living now near blakely, ga., who, as a little girl fourteen years old, walked fifteen miles to bring a half bushel of meal for her mother's family. some of the old men were murdered. the body of old mr. brewer, of effingham county, father of judge harlan brewer of waycross, was never seen by his family after he was made prisoner. the charred remains of a man were found in a burned mill not far away. sherman was the right man in the right place. he had lived in the south as a teacher and knew her people; and knew that in fair and honorable warfare the south never could be subdued. he knew, too, the devotion of southern men to home and family, and he knew that the quickest way to thin the lines of lee and johnston was to fire the homes and beggar the families of the confederate soldiers. as soon as i saw the lines of his fire i said confidentially to my captain, "our men in virginia can't stand this. sherman has whipped us with fire. he drives the women and children out of atlanta and then burns the country ahead of them. our cause is lost." and it was. "but the whole world was against us; we fought our fight alone; to the conquerors want and famine, we laid our standard down." the refugee in richmond [by a lady of virginia, in diary of a refugee, pages - .] prices of provisions have risen enormously--bacon, $ per pound, butter, $ , etc. our old friends from the lower part of essex, mr. ----'s parishioners for many years, sent over a wagon filled most generously with all manner of necessary things for our larder. we have no right to complain, for providence is certainly supplying our wants. the clerks' salaries, too, have been raised to $ per month, which sounds very large; but when we remember that flour is $ per barrel, it sinks into insignificance. th.--our hearts ache for the poor. a few days ago, as e. was walking out, she met a wretchedly dressed woman, of miserable appearance, who said she was seeking the young men's christian association, where she hoped to get assistance and work to do. e. carried her to the door, but it was closed, and the poor woman's wants were pressing. she then brought her home, supplied her with food, and told her to return to see me the following afternoon. she came, and with an honest countenance and manner told me her history. her name was brown; her husband had been a workman in fredericksburg; he joined the army, and was killed at the second battle of manassas. many of her acquaintances in fredericksburg fled last winter during the bombardment; she became alarmed, and with her three little children fled, too. she had tried to get work in richmond; sometimes she succeeded, but could not supply her wants. a kind woman had lent her a room and a part of a garden, but it was outside of the corporation; and although it saved house-rent, it debarred her from the relief of the associations formed for supplying the city poor with meal, wood, etc. she had evidently been in a situation little short of starvation. i asked her if she could get bread enough for her children by her work? she said she could sometimes, and when she could not, she "got turnip-tops from her piece of a garden, which were now putting up smartly, and she boiled them, with a little salt, and fed them on that." "but do they satisfy their hunger?" said i. "well, it is something to go upon for awhile, but it does not stick by us like as bread does, and then we gets hungry again, and i am afraid to let the children eat them to go to sleep; and sometimes the woman in the next room will bring the children her leavings, but she is monstrous poor." when i gave her meat for her children, taken from the bounty of our essex friends, tears of gratitude ran down her cheeks; she said they "had not seen meat for so long." poor thing, i promised her that her case should be known, and that she should not suffer so again. a soldier's widow shall not suffer from hunger in richmond. it must not be, and will not be when her case is known. desolations of war [diary of a refugee, page - .] when the war is over, where shall we find our old churches, where her noble homesteads, scenes of domestic comfort and generous hospitality? either laid low by the firebrand, or desecrated and desolated. in the march of the army, or in the rapid evolutions of raiding parties, woe betide the houses which are found deserted. in many cases the men of the family having gone to the war, the women and children dare not stay; then the lawless are allowed to plunder. they seem to take the greatest delight in breaking up the most elegant or the most humble furniture, as the case may be; cut the portraits from the frames, split pianos in pieces, ruin libraries in any way that suits their fancy; break doors from their hinges, and locks from the doors; cut the windows from the frames, and leave no pane of glass unbroken; carry off house-linen and carpets; the contents of the store-rooms and pantries, sugar, flour, vinegar, molasses, pickles, preserves, which cannot be eaten or carried off, are poured together in one general mass. the horses are of course taken from the stables; cattle and stock of all kinds driven off or shot in the woods and fields. generally, indeed, i believe always, when the whole army is moving, inhabited houses are protected. to raiders such as hunter and co. is reserved the credit of committing such outrages in the presence of ladies--of taking their watches from their belts, their rings from their fingers, and their ear-rings from their ears; of searching their bureaus and wardrobes, and filling pockets and haversacks in their presence. is it not, then, wonderful that soldiers whose families have suffered such things could be restrained when in a hostile country? it seems to me to show a marvellous degree of forbearance in the officers themselves and of discipline in the troops. death of a soldier [diary of a refugee, pages - .] an officer from the far south was brought in mortally wounded. he had lost both legs in a fight below petersburg. the poor fellow suffered excessively; could not be still a moment; and was evidently near his end. his brother, who was with him, exhibited the bitterest grief, watching and waiting on him with silent tenderness and flowing tears. mr. ---- was glad to find that he was not unprepared to die. he had been a professor of religion some years, and told him that he was suffering too much to think on that or any other subject, but he constantly tried to look to god for mercy. mr. ---- then recognized him, for the first time, as a patient who had been in the hospital last spring, and whose admirable character had then much impressed him. he was a gallant and brave officer, yet so kind and gentle to those under his control that his men were deeply attached to him, and the soldier who nursed him showed his love by his anxious care of his beloved captain. after saying to him a few words about christ and his free salvation, offering up a fervent prayer in which he seemed to join, and watching the sad scene for a short time, mr. ---- left him for the night. the surgeons apprehended that he would die before morning, and so it turned out; at the chaplain's early call there was nothing in his room but the chilling signal of the empty "hospital bunk." he was buried that day, and we trust will be found among the redeemed in the day of the lord. this, it was thought, would be the last of this good man; but in the dead of night came hurriedly a single carriage to the gate of the hospital. a lone woman, tall, straight, and dressed in deep mourning, got out quickly, and moved rapidly up the steps into the large hall, where, meeting the guard, she asked anxiously, "where's captain t.?" taken by surprise, the man answered hesitatingly, "captain t. is dead, madam, and was buried to-day." this terrible announcement was as a thunderbolt at the very feet of the poor lady, who fell to the floor as one dead. starting up, oh, how she made that immense building ring with her bitter lamentations. worn down with apprehension and weary with traveling over a thousand miles by day and night, without stopping for a moment's rest, and wild with grief, she could hear no voice of sympathy--she regarded not the presence of one or many; she told the story of her married life as if she were alone--how her husband was the best man that ever lived; how everybody loved him; how kind he was to all; how devoted to herself; how he loved his children, took care of, and did everything for them; how, from her earliest years almost, she had loved him as herself; how tender he was of her, watching over her in sickness, never seeming to weary of it, never to be unwilling to make any sacrifice for her comfort and happiness; how that, when the telegraph brought the dreadful news that he was dangerously wounded, she never waited an instant nor stopped a moment by the way, day nor night, and now--"i drove as fast as the horses could come from the depot to this place, and he is dead and buried. i never shall see his face again. what shall i do? but where is he buried?" they told her where. "i must go there; he must be taken up; i must see him." "but, madam, you can't see him; he has been buried some hours." "but i must see him; i can't live without seeing him; i must hire some one to go and take him up; can't you get some one to take him up? i'll pay him well; just get some men to take him up. i must take him home; he must go home with me. the last thing i said to his children was that they must be good children, and i would bring their father home, and they are waiting for him now. he must go, i can't go without him; i can't meet his children without him;" and so, with her woman's heart, she could not be turned aside--nothing could alter her purpose. the next day she had his body taken up and embalmed. she watched by it until everything was ready, and then carried him back to his own house and children, only to seek a grave for the dead father close by those he loved, among kindred and friends in the fair sunny land he died to defend. mrs. henrietta e. lee's letter to general hunter on the burning of her house [in southern historical papers, volume , pages - .] the following burning protest against a cruel wrong deserves to be put on record, as a part of the history of general david hunter's inglorious campaign in the valley of virginia, and we cheerfully comply with the request of a distinguished friend to publish it. the burning of this house and those of col. a. r. boteler and andrew hunter, esq., in the lower valley, and of governor letcher's and the virginia military institute at lexington give him a place in the annals of infamy only equaled by the contempt felt for his military achievements: jefferson county, _july , _. general hunter: yesterday your underling, captain martindale, of the first new york cavalry, executed your infamous order and burned my house. you have had the satisfaction ere this of receiving from him the information that your orders were fulfilled to the letter; the dwelling and every out-building, seven in number, with their contents, being burned. i, therefore, a helpless woman whom you have cruelly wronged, address you, a major-general of the united states army, and demand why this was done? what was my offence? my husband was absent, an exile. he had never been a politician or in any way engaged in the struggle now going on, his age preventing. this fact your chief of staff, david strother, could have told you. the house was built by my father, a revolutionary soldier, who served the whole seven years for your independence. there was i born; there the sacred dead repose. it was my house and my home, and there has your niece (miss griffith), who has tarried among us all this horrid war up to the present time, met with all kindness and hospitality at my hands. was it for this that you turned me, my young daughter, and little son out upon the world without a shelter? or was it because my husband is the grandson of the revolutionary patriot and "rebel," richard henry lee, and the near kinsman of the noblest of christian warriors, the greatest of generals, robert e. lee? heaven's blessing be upon his head forever. you and your government have failed to conquer, subdue, or match him; and disappointment, rage, and malice find vent on the helpless and inoffensive. hyena-like, you have torn my heart to pieces! for all hallowed memories clustered around that homestead, and demon-like, you have done it without even the pretext of revenge, for i never saw or harmed you. your office is not to lead, like a brave man and soldier, your men to fight in the ranks of war, but your work has been to separate yourself from all danger, and with your incendiary band steal unaware upon helpless women and children, to insult and destroy. two fair homes did you yesterday ruthlessly lay in ashes, giving not a moment's warning to the startled inmates of your wicked purpose; turning mothers and children out of doors, you are execrated by your own men for the cruel work you give them to do. in the case of colonel a. r. boteler, both father and mother were far away. any heart but that of captain martindale (and yours) would have been touched by that little circle, comprising a widowed daughter just risen from her bed of illness, her three fatherless babies--the oldest not five years old--and her heroic sister. i repeat, any man would have been touched at that sight but captain martindale. one might as well hope to find mercy and feeling in the heart of a wolf bent on his prey of young lambs, as to search for such qualities in his bosom. you have chosen well your agent for such deeds, and doubtless will promote him. a colonel of the federal army has stated that you deprived forty of your officers of their commands because they refused to carry on your malignant mischief. all honor to their names for this, at least! they are men; they have human hearts and blush for such a commander! i ask who that does not wish infamy and disgrace attached to him forever would serve under you? your name will stand on history's page as the hunter of weak women, and innocent children, the hunter to destroy defenceless villages and refined and beautiful homes--to torture afresh the agonized hearts of widows; the hunter of africa's poor sons and daughters, to lure them on to ruin and death of soul and body; the hunter with the relentless heart of a wild beast, the face of a fiend and the form of a man. oh, earth, behold the monster! can i say, "god forgive you?" no prayer can be offered for you. were it possible for human lips to raise your name heavenward, angels would thrust the foul thing back again, and demons claim their own. the curses of thousands, the scorns of the manly and upright, and the hatred of the true and honorable, will follow you and yours through all time, and brand your name infamy! infamy! again, i demand why you have burned my home? answer as you must answer before the searcher of all hearts, why have you added this cruel, wicked deed to your many crimes? sherman's bummers [e. j. hale, jr.] fayetteville, n. c., _july st, _. my dear general: it would be impossible to give you an adequate idea of the destruction of property in this good old town. it may not be an average instance, but it is one, the force of whose truth we feel only too fully. my father's property, before the war, was easily convertible into about $ , to $ , in specie. he has not now a particle of property which will bring him a dollar of income. his office, with everything in it, was burned by sherman's order. slocum, who executed the order, with a number of other generals, sat on the veranda of a hotel opposite watching the progress of the flames, while they hobnobbed over wines stolen from our cellar. a fine brick building adjacent, also belonging to my father, was burned at the same time. the cotton factory, of which he was a large shareholder, was burned, while his bank, railroad, and other stocks are worse than worthless, for the bank stock, at least, may bring him in debt, as the stockholders are responsible. in fact, he has nothing left, besides the ruins of his town buildings and a few town lots which promise to be of little value hereafter, in this desolated town, and are of no value at present, save his residence, which (with brother's house) sherman made a great parade of saving from a mob (composed of corps and division commanders, a nephew of henry ward beecher, and so on down,) by sending to each house an officer of his staff, after my brother's had been pillaged and my father's to some extent. by some accidental good fortune, however, my mother secured a guard before the "bummers" had made much progress in the house, and to this circumstance we are indebted for our daily food, several months' supply of which my father had hid the night before he left, in the upper rooms of the house, and the greater part of which was saved. you have, doubtless, heard of sherman's "bummers." the yankees would have you believe that they were only the straggling pillagers usually found with all armies. several letters written by officers of sherman's army, intercepted near this town, give this the lie. in some of these letters were descriptions of the whole burning process, and from them it appears that it was a regularly organized system, under the authority of general sherman himself; that one-fifth of the proceeds fell to general sherman, another fifth to the other general officers, another fifth to the line officers, and the remaining two-fifths to the enlisted men. there were pure silver bummers, plated-ware bummers, jewelry bummers, women's clothing bummers, provision bummers, and, in fine, a bummer or bummers for every kind of stealable thing. no bummer of one specialty interfering with the stealables of another. a pretty picture of a conquering army, indeed, but true. reminiscences of the war times--a letter [b. winston, in confederate scrap-book.] signal hill, _february th_. my dear ----: your very kind letter received. i delayed perhaps too long replying. i have hunted up a few little things. we are so unfortunate as to have nearly all our war relics burnt in an outhouse, so i have little left unless i took what i remember. we were left so bare of everything at that time. our only pokers and tongs were pokers and ramrods; old canteens came into domestic service; we made our shoes of parts of old canvas tents, and blackened them with elderberry juice (the only ink we could command was elderberry juice); we plaited our hats of straw (i have a straw-splinter now, for which i gave $ ; it did good service); the inside corn-shuck made dainty bonnets; sycamore balls, saturated with grease, made excellent tapers, though nothing superseded the time-honored lightwood knots. the confederate army was camped around us for months together. we often had brilliant assemblages of officers. on one occasion, when all went merry as a marriage-bell, and uniformed officers and lovely girls wound in and out in the dance, a sudden stillness fell--few words, sudden departures. the enemy were in full force, trying to effect a crossing at a strategic point. we were left at daybreak in the federal camp, a sharp engagement around us--the beginning of the seven days' fight around richmond. it was a bright, warm day in may. an unusual stillness brooded over everything. a few officers came and went, looking grave and important. in a short time, from a dense body of pines near us, curled the blue smoke, and volley after volley of musketry succeeded in sharp succession, the sharp, shrill scream of flying shells falling in the soft green of the growing wheat. not long, and each opposing army emerged from ambush and stood in the battle's awful array. our own forces (mostly north carolinians) fell back into a railroad cut. the tide of battle swept past us, but the day was lost to us. at evening they brought our dead and wounded and made a hospital of our house. then came the amputating surgeon to finish what the bullet had failed to do. arms and legs lay in a promiscuous heap on our back piazza. on another occasion i saw a sudden surprise in front of our house. a regiment of soldiers, under general rosser's command, were camped around us. it was high, blazing noon. the soldiers, suspecting nothing, were in undress, lying down under every available shadow, when a sudden volley and shout made every man spring to his feet. the enemy were all around them, and panic was amongst our men; they were running, but as they rose a little knoll every man turned, formed, and fired. i saw some poor fellows fall. aunt myra and the hoe-cake [in our women in the war, pages - .] another instance was that of an old lady. small and fragile-looking, with soft and gentle manners, it seemed as if a whiff of wind might have blown her away, and she was not one who was likely to tempt the torrent of a ruffian's wrath. but how often can we judge of appearances, for in that tiny body was a spirit as strong and fearless as the bravest in the land. the war had been a bitter reality to her. one son had been brought home shattered by a shell, and for long months she had seen him in the agony which no human tongue can describe; while another, in the freshness of his young manhood, had been numbered with the slain. she was a widow, and having the care of two orphan grandchildren upon her, was experiencing the same difficulty in obtaining food that we were. one morning she had made repeated efforts to get something cooked, but failed as often as she tried, for just as soon as it was ready to be eaten in walked a federal soldier and marched off with it, expostulations or entreaties availing naught. finally, after some difficulty, a little corn meal was found which was mixed with a hoe-cake and set in the oven to bake. determined not to lose this, aunt myra, the lady in question, took her seat before the fire and vowed she would not leave the spot until the bread was safe in her own hands. scarcely had she done so when, as usual, a soldier made his appearance, and, seeing the contents of the oven, took his seat on the opposite side and coolly waited its baking. i have since thought what a picture for a painter that would make--upon one side the old lady with the proud, high-born face of a true southern gentlewoman, but, alas! stamped with the seal of care and sorrow; and upon the other, the man, strong in his assumed power, both intent upon that one point of interest, a baking hoe-cake. when it had reached the desired shade of browning, aunt myra leaned forward to take possession, but ere she could do so that other hand was before her and she saw it taken from her. rising to her feet and drawing her small figure to its fullest height, the old lady's pent up feelings burst forth, and she gave expression to the indignation which "this last act caused to overflow." "you thieving scoundrel!" she cried in her gathering wrath. "you would take the very last crust from the orphans' mouths and doom them to starvation before your very eyes." then, before the astonished man could recover himself, with a quick movement she had snatched the bread back again. scarcely had she got possession, however, when a revulsion of feeling took place, and, breaking it in two, tossed them at him in the scorn which filled her soul as she said: "but if your heart is hard enough to take it, then you may have it." she threw them with such force that one of the hot pieces struck him in the face, the other immediately following. strange to say, he did not resent her treatment of him; but it was too much for aunt myra's excited feelings when he picked up the bread, and commenced munching upon it in the most unconcerned manner possible. again snatching it from him, she flung it far out of the window, where it lay rolling in dirt, crying as she did so: "indeed, you shan't eat it; if i can't have it, then you shan't." "the corn woman" [our women in the war, page .] "the corn woman" was a feature of the times. the men in the counties north of us were mostly farmers, owning small farms which they worked with the assistance of the family. few owned slaves, and they planted garden crops chiefly. the men were now in the army, and good soldiers many of them made. during the last two years, for various reasons, many of the wives of these soldiers failed in making a crop, and were sent with papers from the probate judges to the counties south to get corn. no doubt these were really needy, and they were supplied abundantly, and then, thinking it an easy way to make a living, others not needing help came. they neglected to plant crops, as it was far more easy to beg all the corn they wanted than to work it. women whose husbands were at home, who never had been in the army, young girls and old women came in droves--all railroad cars and steamboats were filled with "corn women." they came twenty and thirty together, got off at the stations and landings for miles, visiting every plantation and never failing to get their sacks filled and sent to the depot or river for them. some had bedticks; one came to me with a sack over two yards long and one yard wide that would have held ten bushels of corn, and she had several like it. they soon became perfect nuisances. when you objected to giving they abused you; they no longer brought papers; when we had no corn to spare we gave them money, which they said they would rather have. it would save the trouble of toting corn, and they could buy it at home for the money. i once gave them twenty-five dollars, all i had in the house at the time. "well, this won't go to buy much corn, but as far as it do go we's obliged to you," were the thanks. i saw a party of them on a steamboat counting their money. they had hundreds of dollars and a quantity of corn. the boats and railroads took them free. i was afterward told by a railroad official that their husbands and fathers met them at the depot and either sold the corn or took it to the stills and made it into whiskey. they hated the army and all in it and despised the negro, who returned the compliment with interest. the very sight of a corn woman made them and the overseers angry. they regarded them as they did the army worm. general atkins at chapel hill [in last ninety days of the war, page .] while the command of general atkins remained in chapel hill--a period of nearly three weeks--the same work, with perhaps some mitigation, was going on in the country round us, and around the city of raleigh, which had marked the progress of the federal armies all through the south. planters having large families of white and black were left without food, forage, cattle, or change of clothing. being in camp so long, bedding became an object with the marauders; and many wealthy families were stripped of what the industry of years had accumulated in that line. much of what was so wantonly taken was as wantonly destroyed and squandered among the prostitutes and negroes who haunted the camps. as to raleigh, though within the corporate limits, no plundering of the houses was allowed; yet in the suburbs and the country the policy of permitting it to its widest extent was followed. two specimen cases of desertion [heroes in the furnace; southern historical papers.] we by no means excuse or palliate desertion to the enemy, which is universally recognized as one of the basest crimes known to military law; but most of the desertions from the confederate army occurred during the latter part of the war, and many of them were brought about by the most heartrending letters from home, telling of suffering, and even starving families, and we cannot class these cases with those who deserted to join the enemy, or to get rid of the hardships and dangers of the army. some most touching cases came under our observation, but we give only the following incidents as illustrating many other cases. a distinguished major-general in the western army has given us this incident. a humble man but very gallant soldier from one of the gulf states, had enlisted on the assurance of a wealthy planter that he would see his young wife and child should not lack for support. the brave fellow had served his country faithfully, until one day he received a letter from his wife, saying that the rich neighbor who had promised to keep her from want now utterly refused to give or to sell her anything to eat, unless she would submit to the basest proposals which he was persistently making her, and that unless he could come home she saw nothing but starvation before her and his child. the poor fellow at once applied for a furlough, and was refused. he then went to the gallant soldier who is my informant and stated the case in full, and told him that he must and would go home if he was shot for it the day he returned. the general told him while he could not give him a permit, he did not blame him for his determination. the next day he was reported "absent without leave," and was hurrying to his home. he moved his wife and child to a place of safety and made provision for their support. then returning to the neighborhood of his home, he caught the miscreant who had tried to pollute the hearthstone of one who was risking his life for him, dragged him into the woods, tied him to a tree, and administered to him a flogging that he did not soon forget. the brave fellow then hurried back to his regiment, joined his comrades just as they were going into battle, and behaved with such conspicuous gallantry as to make all forget that he had ever, even for a short time, been a "deserter." the other incident which we shall give was related by general c. a. battle, in a speech at tuscumbia, ala., and is as follows: during the winter of - it was my fortune to be president of one of the courts-martial of the army of northern virginia. one bleak december morning, while the snow covered the ground and the winds howled around our camp, i left my bivouac fire to attend the session of the court. winding for miles along uncertain paths, i at length arrived at the court-ground at round oak church. day after day it had been our duty to try the gallant soldiers of that army charged with violations of military law; but never had i on any previous occasion been greeted by such anxious spectators as on that morning awaited the opening of the court. case after case was disposed of, and at length the case of "the confederate states vs. edward cooper" was called; charge, desertion. a low murmur rose spontaneously from the battle-scarred spectators as a young artilleryman rose from the prisoner's bench, and, in response to the question, "guilty or not guilty?" answered, "not guilty." the judge advocate was proceeding to open the prosecution, when the court, observing that the prisoner was unattended by counsel, interposed and inquired of the accused, "who is your counsel?" he replied, "i have no counsel." supposing that it was his purpose to represent himself before the court, the judge-advocate was instructed to proceed. every charge and specification against the prisoner was sustained. the prisoner was then told to introduce his witnesses. he replied, "i have no witnesses." astonished at the calmness with which he seemed to be submitting to what he regarded as inevitable fate, i said to him, "have you no defence? is it possible that you abandoned your comrades and deserted your colors in the presence of the enemy without any reason?" he replied, "there was a reason, but it will not avail me before a military court." i said, "perhaps you are mistaken; you are charged with the highest crime known to military law, and it is your duty to make known the causes that influenced your actions." for the first time his manly form trembled and his blue eyes swam in tears. approaching the president of the court, he presented a letter, saying, as he did so, "there, colonel, is what did it." i opened the letter, and in a moment my eyes filled with tears. it was passed from one to another of the court until all had seen it, and those stern warriors who had passed with stonewall jackson through a hundred battles wept like little children. soon as i sufficiently recovered my self-possession, i read the letter as the prisoner's defence. it was in these words: my dear edward: i have always been proud of you, and since your connection with the confederate army i have been prouder of you than ever before. i would not have you do anything wrong for the world; but before god, edward, unless you come home we must die! last night i was aroused by little eddie's crying. i called and said, "what's the matter, eddie?" and he said, "oh, mamma, i'm so hungry!" and lucy, edward, your darling lucy, she never complains, but she is growing thinner and thinner every day. and before god, edward, unless you come home we must die. your mary. turning to the prisoner, i asked, "what did you do when you received this letter?" he replied, "i made application for a furlough, and it was rejected; again i made application, and it was rejected; and that night, as i wandered backward and forward in the camp, thinking of my home, with the mild eyes of lucy looking up to me, and the burning words of mary sinking in my brain, i was no longer the confederate soldier, but i was the father of lucy and the husband of mary, and i would have passed those lines if every gun in the battery had fired upon me. i went to my home. mary ran out to meet me, her angel arms embraced me, and she whispered, 'o, edward, i am so happy! i am so glad you got your furlough!' she must have felt me shudder, for she turned pale as death, and, catching her breath at every word, she said, 'have you come without your furlough? o, edward, edward, go back! go back! let me and my children go down together to the grave, but o, for heaven's sake, save the honor of our name! and here i am, gentlemen, not brought here by military power, but in obedience to the command of mary, to abide the sentence of your court." every officer of that court-martial felt the force of the prisoner's words. before them stood, in beatific vision, the eloquent pleader for the husband's and father's wrongs; but they had been trained by their great leader, robert e. lee, to tread the path of duty though the lightning's flash scorched the ground beneath their feet, and each in his turn pronounced the verdict: "guilty." fortunately for humanity, fortunately for the confederacy, the proceedings of the court were reviewed by the commanding-general, and upon the record was written: headquarters army of northern virginia. the finding of the court is approved. the prisoner is pardoned, and will report to his company. r. e. lee, _general_. during a subsequent battle, when shot and shell were falling "like torrents from the mountain cloud," my attention was directed to the fact that one of our batteries was being silenced by the concentrated fire of the enemy. when i reached the battery every gun but one had been dismantled, and by it stood a solitary soldier, with the blood streaming from his side. as he recognized me, he elevated his voice above the roar of battle, and said, "general, i have one shell left. tell me, have i saved the honor of mary and lucy?" i raised my hat. once more a confederate shell went crashing through the ranks of the enemy, and the hero sank by his gun to rise no more. sherman in south carolina [cornelia b. spencer, in last days of the war, pages - .] a letter dated charleston, september , , written by rev. dr. john bachman, then pastor of the lutheran church in that city, presents many facts respecting the devastation and robberies by the enemy in south carolina. so much as relates to the march of sherman's army through parts of the state is here presented: "when sherman's army came sweeping through carolina, leaving a broad track of desolation for hundreds of miles, whose steps were accompanied with fire, and sword, and blood, reminding us of the tender mercies of the duke of alva, i happened to be at cash's depot, miles from cheraw. the owner was a widow, mrs. ellerbe, years of age. her son, colonel cash, was absent. i witnessed the barbarities inflicted on the aged, the widow, and young and delicate females. officers, high in command, were engaged tearing from the ladies their watches, their ear and wedding rings, the daguerreotypes of those they loved and cherished. a lady of delicacy and refinement, a personal friend, was compelled to strip before them, that they might find concealed watches and other valuables under her dress. a system of torture was practiced toward a weak, unarmed, and defenceless people which, as far as i know and believe, was universal throughout the whole course of that invading army. before they arrived at a plantation, they inquired the names of the most faithful and trustworthy family servants; these were immediately seized, pistols were presented at their heads; with the most terrific curses, they were threatened to be shot if they did not assist them in finding buried treasures. if this did not succeed, they were tied up and cruelly beaten. several poor creatures died under the infliction. the last resort was that of hanging, and the officers and men of the triumphant army of general sherman were engaged in erecting gallows and hanging up these faithful and devoted servants. they were strung up until life was nearly extinct, when they were let down, suffered to rest awhile, then threatened and hung up again. it is not surprising that some should have been left hanging so long that they were taken down dead. coolly and deliberately these hardened men proceeded on their way, as if they had perpetrated no crime, and as if the god of heaven would not pursue them with his vengeance. but it was not alone the poor blacks (to whom they professed to come as liberators) that were thus subjected to torture and death. gentlemen of high character, pure and honorable and gray-headed, unconnected with the military, were dragged from their fields or beds, and subjected to this process of threats, beating, and hanging. along the whole track of sherman's army traces remain of the cruelty and inhumanity practiced on the aged and the defenceless. some of those who were hung up died under the rope, while their cruel murderers have not only been left unreproached and unhung, but have been hailed as heroes and patriots." old north state's trials [cornelia p. spencer, in last ninety days of the war, pages - .] by january, , there was very little room for "belief" of any sort in the ultimate success of the confederacy. all the necessaries of life were scarce, and were held at fabulous and still increasing prices. the great freshet of january th, which washed low grounds, carried off fences, bridges, mills, and tore up railroads all through the central part of the state, at once doubled the price of corn and flour. two destructive fires in the same months, which consumed great quantities of government stores at charlotte and at salisbury, added materially to the general gloom and depression. the very elements seemed to have enlisted against us. and soon, with no great surplus of food from the wants of her home population, north carolina found herself called upon to furnish supplies for two armies. early in january an urgent and most pressing appeal was made for lee's army; and the people, most of whom knew not where they would get bread for their children in three months' time, responded nobly, as they had always done to any call for "the soldiers." few were the hearts in any part of the land that did not thrill at the thought that those who were fighting for us were in want of food. from a humble cabin on the hill-side, where the old brown spinning-wheel and the rude loom were the only breastworks against starvation, up through all grades of life, there were none who did not feel a deep and tender, almost heartbreaking solicitude for our noble soldiers. for them the last barrel of flour was divided, the last luxury in homes that had once abounded cheerfully surrendered. every available resource was taxed, every expedient of domestic economy was put into practice--as, indeed, had been done all along; but our people went to work even yet with fresh zeal. i speak now of central north carolina, where many families of the highest respectability and refinement lived for months on corn-bread, sorghum, and peas; where meat was seldom seen on the table, tea and coffee never, where dried apples and peaches were a luxury; where children went barefoot through winter, and ladies made their own shoes, and wove their own homespuns; where the carpets were cut up into blankets, and window-curtains and sheets were torn up for hospital uses; where the soldiers' socks were knit day and night, while for home service clothes were twice turned, and patches were patched again; and all this continually, and with an energy and a cheerfulness that may well be called heroic. there were localities in the state where a few rich planters boasted of having "never felt the war;" there were ladies whose wardrobes encouraged the blockade-runners, and whose tables were still heaped with all the luxuries they had ever known. there were such doubtless in every state in the confederacy. i speak not now of these, but of the great body of our citizens--the middle class as to fortune, generally the highest as to cultivation and intelligence--these were the people who denied themselves and their little ones, that they might be able to send relief to the gallant men who lay in the trenches before petersburg, and were even then living on crackers and parched corn. the fall of fort fisher and the occupation of wilmington, the failure of the peace commission, and the unchecked advance of sherman's army northward from savannah, were the all-absorbing topics of discussion with our people during the first months of the year . the tide of war was rolling in upon us. hitherto our privations, heavily as they had borne upon domestic comfort, had been light in comparison with those of the people in the states actually invaded by the federal armies; but now we were to be qualified to judge, by our own experience, how far their trials and losses had exceeded ours. what the fate of our pleasant towns and villages and of our isolated farm-houses would be we could easily read by the light of the blazing roof-trees that lit up the path of the advancing army. general sherman's principles were well known, for they had been carefully laid down by him in his letter to the mayor of atlanta, september, , and had been thoroughly put in practice by him in his further progress since. to shorten the war by increasing its severity: this was his plan--simple, and no doubt to a certain extent effective. sherman in north carolina [cornelia p. spencer, in last ninety days of the war, pages - .] general sherman's reputation had preceded him, and the horror and dismay with which his approach was anticipated in the country were fully warranted. the town itself was in a measure defended, so to speak, by general schofield's preoccupation; but in the vicinity and for twenty miles around the country was most thoroughly plundered and stripped of food, forage, and private property of every description. one of the first of general sherman's own acts, after his arrival, was of peculiar hardship. one of the oldest and most venerable citizens of the place, with a family of sixteen or eighteen children and grandchildren, most of them females, was ordered, on a notice of a few hours, to vacate his house, which of course was done. the gentleman was nearly years old, and in very feeble health. the outhouses, fences, grounds, etc., were destroyed, and the property greatly damaged during its occupation by the general. not a farm-house in the country but was visited and wantonly robbed. many were burned, and very many, together with outhouses, were pulled down and hauled into camps for use. generally not a live animal, not a morsel of food of any description was left, and in many instances not a bed or sheet or change of clothing for man, woman, or child. it was most heartrending to see daily crowds of country people, from three score and ten years down to the unconscious infant carried in its mother's arms, coming into the town to beg food and shelter, to ask alms from those who had despoiled them. many of these families lived for days on parched corn, on peas boiled in water without salt, or scraps picked up about the camps. the number of carriages, buggies, and wagons brought in is almost incredible. they kept for their own use what they wished, and burned or broke up the rest. general logan and staff took possession of seven rooms in the house of john c. slocumb, esq., the gentleman of whose statements i avail myself. every assurance of protection was given to the family by the quartermaster; but many indignities were offered to the inmates, while the house was effectually stripped as any other of silver plate, watches, wearing apparel, and money. trunks and bureaus were broken open and the contents abstracted. not a plank or rail or post or paling was left anywhere upon the grounds, while fruit trees, vines, and shrubbery were wantonly destroyed. these officers remained nearly three weeks, occupying the family beds, and when they left the bed-clothes also departed. it is very evident that general sherman entered north carolina with the confident expectation of receiving a welcome from its union-loving citizens. in major nichol's "story of the great march," he remarks, on crossing the line which divides south from north carolina: the conduct of the soldiers is perceptibly changed. i have seen no evidence of plundering; the men keep their ranks closely; and more remarkable yet, not a single column of the fire or smoke, which a few days ago marked the positions of the heads of columns, can be seen upon the horizon. our men seem to understand that they are entering a state which has suffered for its union sentiment, and whose inhabitants would gladly embrace the old flag again if they can have the opportunity, which we mean to give them. but the town meeting and war resolutions of the people of fayetteville, the fight in her streets, and governor vance's proclamation, soon undeceived them, and their amiable dispositions were speedily corrected and abandoned. mrs. vance's trunk--general palmer's gallantry [cornelia b. spenser, in southern historical papers.] on the road from statesville a part of the command was dispatched in the direction of lincolnton, under general palmer. of this officer the same general account is given as of general stoneman, that he exhibited a courtesy and forbearance which reflected honor on his uniform, and have given him a just claim to the respect and gratitude of our western people. the following pleasant story is a sample of his way of carrying on war with ladies: mrs. vance, the wife of the governor, had taken refuge, from raleigh, in statesville with her children. on the approach of general stoneman's army, she sent off to lincolnton, for safety, a large trunk filled with valuable clothing, silver, etc., and among other things two thousand dollars in gold, which had been entrusted to her care by one of the banks. this trunk was captured on the road by palmer's men, who of course rejoiced exceedingly over this finding of spoil, more especially as belonging to the rebel general vance. its contents were speedily appropriated and scattered. but the circumstances coming to general palmer's knowledge, within an hour's time he had every article and every cent collected and replaced in the trunk, which he then immediately sent back under guard to mrs. vance with his compliments. general palmer was aiming for charlotte when he was met by couriers announcing news of the armistice. the eventful third of april [correspondent of new york _herald_, southern historical papers.] it was known about this time to the people of richmond that the negro troops in the union army had requested general grant to give them the honor of being the first to enter the fallen capital. the fact gave rise to a fear that they would unite with the worst class of resident negroes and burn and sack the city. when, therefore, the black smoke and lurid flames arose on that eventful d of april, caused by the confederates themselves, the terror-stricken inhabitants at first thought their fears were to be realized, but were soon relieved when they saw the manful fight made by many of the negroes and union troops to suppress the flames. at no time did they fear their own servants; indeed, i was afterwards assured that the many negroes who filled the streets and welcomed the union troops would have resisted any attack upon the households of their old masters. the behavior of many of the old family servants was very marked in the care and great solicitude shown by them for their masters during this trying period. as an amusing instance of this, i will tell you this incident: an old lady had a very bright, good-looking maid servant, to whom some of the union officers had shown considerable attention by taking her out driving. the girl came in one morning and asked her old mistress if she would not take a drive with her in the hack which stood at the door, with her sable escort in waiting. doubtless this was done not in a spirit of irony, but really in feeling for her old mistress. in another family, on the day the troops entered the city, when all the males had fled, leaving several young ladies with their mother alone, "old mammy," the faithful nurse, was posted at the front door with the baby in her arms, while the trembling females locked themselves in an upper room. when the hurrahing, wild union troops passed along, many straggled into the house and asked where the white ladies were. "old mammy" replied: "dis is de only white lady; all de rest ar' culled ladies," and she laughed and tossed up the baby, which seemed to please the soldiers, who chucked the baby and passed on. _spartan richmond ladies_ the ladies of richmond who bore such an active part on that terrible d of april, many of whom with blackened faces mounted the tops of their roofs, and with their faithful servants swept off the flying firebrands as they were wafted over the city, or bore in their arms the sick to places of safety, or sent words of comfort to their husbands and their sons who were battling against the flames--these were the true women of the south, who had never given up the hope of final victory until lee laid down his sword at appomattox. they were calm even in defeat; and though strong men lost their reason and shed tears in maniacal grief over the destruction of their beautiful city, yet her noble women still stood unflinching, facing all dangers with heroism that has never been equalled since the days of sparta. sauntering along the street, making a few purchases preparatory to leaving the doomed city, i was suddenly accosted by a friend, who with trembling voice and terrified countenance exclaimed: "sir, i have just heard that the petersburg and weldon railroad will be cut by the yankees in a few days. my daughter, who is in north carolina, will be made a prisoner. i will give all i have to get her home." i saw the intense anguish of the father, and learning that he could not get a pass to go through petersburg, i said, "mr. t----, if you will pay my expenses, i will have your daughter here in two days." he overwhelmed me with thanks, crammed my pockets full of confederate notes, filled my haversack with rations for several days, and i left next morning for petersburg. the train not being allowed to enter the city, we had to make a mile or more in a conveyance of some kind at an exorbitant price. learning that the weldon train ran only at night for fear of the yankee batteries, which were alarmingly near, i had time to inspect the city. i found here a marked contrast to richmond. as i passed along its streets, viewing the marks of shot and shell on every side, hearing now and then the heavy, sullen boom of the enemy's guns, seeing on every hand the presence of war, i noticed its business men had, nevertheless, a calm, determined look. its streets were filled with women and children, who seemed to know no fear, though at any moment a shrieking shell might dash among them, but each eye would turn in loving confidence to the confederate flag which floated over the headquarters of general lee, feeling that they were secure as long as he was there. that night, when all was quiet and darkness reigned, with not a light to be seen, our train quietly slipped out of the city, like a blockade-runner passing the batteries. the passengers viewed in silence the flashing of the guns as they were trying to locate the train. it was a moment of intense excitement, but on we crept, until at last the captain came along with a lantern and said, "all right!" and we breathed more freely; but from the proximity of the batteries, i surmised that it would not be "all right" many days hence. hastening on my journey, i found the young lady, and telling her she must face the yankee batteries if she would see her home, i found her even enthusiastic at the idea, and we hastily left, though under protest of her friends. returning by the same route--which, indeed, was the only one now left--we approached to within five miles of petersburg and waited for darkness. the lights were again extinguished, the passengers warned to tuck their heads low, which in many cases was done by lying flat on the floor, and then we began the ordeal, moving very slowly, sometimes halting, at every moment fearing a shell from the belching batteries, which had heard the creaking of the train and were "feeling" for our position. the glare and the boom of the guns, the dead silence broken only by a sob from some terrified heart, all filled up a few moments of time never to be forgotten. but we entered the city safely just as the moon was rising, and the next morning i handed my friend his daughter. a few days after the batteries closed the gap on the weldon road, cutting off petersburg and richmond from the south, and compelling general lee to prepare for retreat. the federals enter richmond [phoebe y. pember.] before the day was over the public buildings were occupied by the enemy, and the minds of the citizens relieved from all fear of molestation. the hospitals were attended to, the ladies being still allowed to nurse and care for their own wounded; but rations could not be drawn yet, the obstructions in the james river preventing the transports from coming up to the city. in a few days they arrived, and food was issued to those in need. it had been a matter of pride among the southerners to boast that they had never seen a greenback, so the entrance of the federal army had thus found them entirely unprepared with gold and silver currency. people who had boxes of confederate money and were wealthy the day previously looked around in vain for wherewithal to buy a loaf of bread. strange exchanges were made on the street of tea and coffee, flour, and bacon. those who were fortunate in having a stock of household necessaries were generous in the extreme to their less wealthy neighbors, but the destitution was terrible. the sanitary commission shops were opened, and commissioners appointed by the federals to visit among the people and distribute orders to draw rations, but to effect this, after receiving tickets, required so many appeals to different officials, that decent people gave up the effort. besides, the musty cornmeal and strong codfish were not appreciated by fastidious stomachs; few gently nurtured could relish such unfamiliar food. but there was no assimilation between the invaders and invaded. in the daily newspapers a notice had appeared that the military bands would play in the beautiful capitol grounds every afternoon, but when the appointed hour arrived, except the federal officers, musicians and soldiers, not a white face was to be seen. the negroes crowded every bench and path. the next week another notice was issued that the colored population would not be admitted; and then the absence of everything and anything feminine was appalling. the entertainers went alone to their own entertainment. the third week still another notice appeared: "colored nurses were to be admitted with their white charges," and lo, each fortunate white baby received the cherished care of a dozen finely dressed black ladies, the only drawback being that in two or three days the music ceased altogether, the entertainers feeling at last the ingratitude of the subjugated people. despite their courtesy of manner--for, however despotic the acts, the federal authorities maintained a respectful manner--the newcomers made no advance toward fraternity. they spoke openly and warmly of their sympathy with the sufferings of the south, but committed and advocated acts that the hearers could not recognize as "military necessities." bravely-dressed federal officers met their former old classmates from colleges and military institutions and inquired after the relatives to whose houses they had ever been welcome in days of yore, expressing a desire to "call and see them;" while the vacant chairs, rendered vacant by federal bullets, stood by the hearth of the widow and bereaved mother. they could not be made to understand that their presence was painful. there were but few men in the city at this time; but the women of the south still fought their battles for them: fought it resentfully, calmly, but silently. clad in their mourning garments, overcome, but hardly subdued, they sat within their desolate homes, or if compelled to leave that shelter went on their errands to church or hospital with veiled faces and swift steps. by no sign or act did the possessors of their fair city know that they were even conscious of their presence. if they looked in their faces they saw them not; they might have supposed themselves a phantom army. there was no stepping aside with affectation to avoid the contact of dress; no feigned humility in giving the inside of the walk; they simply totally ignored their presence. somebody's darling [in richmond during the war, pages - .] our best and brightest young men were passing away. many of them, the most of them, were utter strangers to us; but the wounded soldier ever found a warm place in our hearts, and they were strangers no more. a southern lady has written some beautiful lines, suggested by the death of a youthful soldier in one of our hospitals. so deeply touching is the sentiment, and such the exquisite pathos of the poetry, that we shall insert them in our memorial to those sad times. when all sentiment was well nigh crushed out, which courts the visit of the nurse, these lines sent a thrill of ecstasy to our hearts, and comfort and sweetness to the bereaved in many far-off homes of the south. of "somebody's darling," she writes: into a ward of the whitewashed halls where the dead and dying lay; wounded by bayonets, shells, and balls, somebody's darling was borne one day. somebody's darling so young and so brave, wearing yet on his sweet, pale face, soon to be laid in the dust of the grave, the lingering light of his boyhood's grace. matted and damp are the curls of gold, kissing the snow of that fair young brow; pale are the lips of delicate mould, somebody's darling is dying now! back from his beautiful blue-veined brow, brush the wandering waves of gold; cross his hands on his bosom now-- somebody's darling is still and cold. kiss him once, for somebody's sake, murmur a prayer, soft and low. one bright curl from its fair mates take, they were somebody's pride, you know. somebody's hand hath rested there, was it a mother's, soft and white; or have the lips of a sister fair been baptized in their waves of light? god knows best! he has somebody's love, somebody's heart enshrined him there; somebody wafted his name above, night and morn, on the wings of prayer. somebody wept when he marched away, looking so handsome, brave and grand! somebody's kiss on his forehead lay, somebody clung to his parting hand. somebody's waiting, and watching for him, yearning to hold him again to her heart, and there he lies--with his blue eyes dim, and his smiling, child-like lips apart! tenderly bury the fair young dead, pausing to drop o'er his grave a tear; carve on the wooden slab at his head, "'somebody's darling' is lying here!" chapter iv their pluck female recruiting officers [j. l. underwood.] the young women and girls brightly and cordially cheered every confederate volunteer. nothing was too good for him, and smiles of sisterly esteem and love met him at every turn. there was a sort of intoxication in the welcome and applause that everywhere greeted the young volunteer. to many it was full pay for the sacrifice. many an expectant bride sadly but resolutely postponed marriage, and sent her affianced lover to the army. "wouldst thou have me love thee, dearest, with a woman's proudest heart, which shall ever hold thee nearest, shrined in its inmost part? "listen then! my country's calling on her sons to meet the foe! leave these groves of rose and myrtle; like young koerner, scorn the turtle when the eagle screams above." but there were many young men who did not want to hear koerner's war eagle scream. they wanted a battle, but they wanted to "smell it afar off." they believed in the righteousness of the war more strongly than anybody. yes, many of them were the first to don the blue cockade of the "minute men;" that is, the militia organized with the avowed object of fighting on a moment's warning. they were ever so ready to be soldiers at home for a "minute," but held back when it came to volunteering for six months, a year, or three years. then the young women would turn loose their little tongues, and their jeers and sarcasm would drive the skulker clear out of their society, and eventually in self-defense he would have to "jine the cavalry," or infantry one, to get away from the darts of woman's tongue. a hornet could not sting like that little tongue. one of these girls was a lone sister, with many brothers, in a very wealthy family, which we will call the delanceys, in one of the richest counties of alabama. a cavalry company had been organized and drilled for the war, but not a delancey's name was on the roll. the company was to leave the home camp for the front. the whole county gathered to cheer them and bid them good-bye. presents and honors were showered upon the young patriots. the sister mentioned above owned a very fine favorite horse, named "starlight," which she presented to the company in a touching little speech, which brought tears to many eyes, and which wound up with the following apostrophe, "farewell, starlight! i may never see you again; but, thank god, you are the bravest of the delanceys." all through the war cowards were between two fires, that of the federals at the front and that of the women in the rear. mrs. susan roy carter [thomas nelson page.] old mathews and gloucester, virginia, as they are affectionately termed by those who knew them in the old times, were filled with colonial families and were the home of a peculiarly refined and aristocratic society. miss roy was the daughter of william h. roy, esq., of "green plains," mathews county, and of anne seddon, a sister of hon. james a. seddon, secretary of war of the confederate states. she was a noted beauty and belle, even in a society that was known throughout virginia for its charming and beautiful women. her loveliness, radiant girlhood, and early womanhood is still talked of among the survivors of that time. old men, who have seen the whole order of society in which they spent their youths pass from the scene, still refresh themselves with the memory of her brilliant beauty and of her gracious charms. she was the centre and idol of that circle. in , on november th, she gave her hand and heart to dr. thomas h. carter, esq., of shirley, and from that time to the day of her death their life was one of the ideal unions which justify the saying that "marriages are made in heaven." "it has always been a honeymoon with us," he used to say. the young couple almost immediately settled at "pampatike," on the pamunkey, an old colonial estate. here mrs. carter lived for thirty-four years, occupied in the duties of mistress of a great plantation, dispensing that gracious hospitality which made it noted even in old virginia; shedding the light of a beautiful life on all about her, and exemplifying in herself the character to which the south points with pride and affection as a refutation of every adverse criticism. such a plantation was a world in itself, and the life upon it was such as to entail on the master and mistress labors and responsibilities such as are not often produced under any other conditions. in addition to the demands of hospitality, which were exacting and constant, the conduct of such a large establishment, with the care of over one hundred and fifty servants, whose eyes were ever turned to their mistress, called forth the exercise of the highest powers from those who felt themselves answerable to the great master of all for the full performance of their duty. no one ever performed this duty with more divine devotion than did this young mistress. she was at once the friend and the servant of every soul on the place. mrs. carter was a fine illustration of the rare quality of the character formed by such conditions. in sickness and in health she watched over, looked after, and cared for all within her province. it is the boast of the south, and one founded on truth, that when during the war the men were withdrawn from the plantations to do their duty on the field, the women rose to the full measure of every demand, filling often, under new conditions that would have tried the utmost powers of the men themselves, a place to which only men had been supposed equal. when, on the outbreak of war, her husband was among the first who took the field as a captain of artillery, mrs. carter took charge of the plantation and during all the stress of that trying period she conducted it with an ability that would have done honor to a man of the greatest experience. the pampatike plantation, lying not far from west point, the scene of so many operations during the war, was within the "debatable land" that lay between the lines and was alternately swept by both armies. the position was peculiarly delicate, and often called for the exercise of rare tact and courage on the part of the mistress. it was known to the enemy that her husband was a gallant and rising officer and a near relative of general lee, and the plantation was a marked one. on one occasion a small party of mounted federal troops on a foraging expedition visited the place and were engaged in looting, when a party of confederate cavalry suddenly appeared on the scene, and a brisk little skirmish took place in the garden and yard. the federals were caught by surprise, and getting the worst of it, broke and retreated across the lawn, with the enemy close to their heels in hot chase. a union trooper was shot from his horse and fell just in front of the house, but rising, tried to run on. mrs. carter, seeing his danger, rushed out, calling to him to come to her and she would protect him. turning, he staggered to her, but though she sheltered him, his wound was mortal, and he died at her feet. the surprise and defeat of this party having been reported at west point, a stronger force was sent up to wreak vengeance on the place. but on learning of mrs. carter's act in rushing out amid the flying bullets to save this man at the risk of her life, the officer in command posted a guard, and orders were given that the place should be henceforth respected. the hospital service on the confederate side during the war, as wretched as it was, without medicines or surgical appliances, would have been far more dreadful but for the devotion with which the southern women consecrated themselves to it. every woman was a nurse if she were within reach of wounds and sickness. every house was a hospital if it was needed; and to their honor be it said that the principle enunciated by dr. dunant, and finally established in the creation of the red cross society, found its exemplification here some time before the geneva congress. to them a wounded man of whatever side was sacred, and to his service they consecrated themselves. unhappily, devotion, even as divine as theirs, could not make up for all. at the battle of seven pines--"fair oaks"--captain carter's battery rendered such efficient service that the commanding general declared he would rather have commanded that battery that day than to have been president of the confederate states. but the fame of the battery was won at the expense of about sixty per cent of its officers and men killed and wounded. the carter plantation was within sound of the guns, and mrs. carter immediately constituted herself the nurse of the wounded men of her husband's battery. and from this time she was regarded by them as their guardian angel--an affection that was extended to her by all of the men of her husband's command, as he rose from rank to rank, until he became a colonel and acting chief of artillery in the last valley campaign. when the war closed nothing remained except the lands and a few buildings, but the energy of the master and mistress began from the first to build up the plantation again. the servants were free; the working force was broken up and scattered, yet large numbers of them, including all who were old and infirm, remained on the place and had to be cared for and fed. to this master and mistress alike applied all their abilities, with the result that defeat was turned into success and the place became known as one of the estates that had survived the destruction of war. having a family of young children, the best tutors were secured, and owing largely to the knowledge of the good influence to which the boys would be subjected under mrs. carter's roof, many applied to send their boys to them, and "pampatike school" soon became known far beyond the limits of virginia. among those who have testified to the influence upon them of their life at pampatike are men now nearing the top of every profession in many states. it was at this period that the writer came to know her. and he can never forget the impression made on him by her--an impression that time and fuller knowledge of her only served to deepen. of commanding and gracious presence, with a face of rare beauty and loveliness, and manners, whose charm can never be described, she might have been noble brunhilda, softened and made sweet by the chastening influence of christianity and unselfish love. no one that ever saw her could forget her. it was, indeed, the beautifying influences of a simple piety and devoted love that guided her life, which stamped their impress on that noble face. in every relation of life she was perfect. and the influence of such a life can never cease. many besides her children rise up and call her blessed. in closing this incomplete sketch of one whose life illustrated all that was best in life, and admits of justice in no sketch whatsoever, the writer feels that he cannot do better than to use the words of him who knew and loved her best: every day an anthem of love and praise swells up from all over the land to do her honor. old boys of pampatike schooling, new boys of the university, girls and old people, recall her delight to make them happy and to give them pleasure. it was her greatest happiness to make others happy; for she was absolutely the most unselfish and generous being on earth. her generosity was not always of abundance, for abundance was not always hers; but a generosity out of everything that she had. her beautiful life has passed away, and is now only a memory, but a memory fraught and fragrant with all that is sweetest and loveliest and purest and best in noblest womanhood. who that ever saw her can forget her noble and beautiful face, resplendent with all that was exalted and high-souled, gracious, and kindest to others--the master's index to the heart within! j. l. m. curry's women constituents [j. l. underwood.] hon. j. l. m. curry had ever since the war with mexico been the idol of his district in alabama, which kept him steadily in the united states congress and sent him to the confederate house of representatives. toward the latter part of the war in the congressional campaign mr. curry found an opponent in mayor cruickshank, of talladega. the latter skilfully played upon the hardships and hopelessness of the war and in some of the upper mountain counties considerable opposition to mr. curry was developed. at a gathering of the mountaineers, largely composed of women, mr. curry was appealing with his usual favor to his people to continue their efforts to secure the independence of the confederacy and not to listen to any suggestion of submission to the northern states. about the time his eloquence reached its highest point, up rose an old woman and hurled at him what struck him like a thunderbolt: "i think it time for you to hush all your war talk. you go yonder to richmond and sit up there in congress and have a good time while our poor boys are being all killed; and if you are going to do anything it's time for you to stop this war." in a moment up sprang another mountain woman. "go on, mr. curry," said she. "go on, you are right. we can never consent to give up our southern cause. don't listen to what this other woman says. i have sent five sons to the army. three of them have fallen on the battlefield. the other two are at their post in the virginia army and they will all stand by lee to the last. this woman here hasn't but two sons and they had to be conscripted. one of them has deserted and it takes all of lewis's cavalry to keep the other one in ranks. go on, mr. curry. we are with you." and curry went on, more edified by this last woman's speech, said he afterward, than any speech he ever heard in his life. nora mccarthy [in the gray jacket, pages - .] norah mccarthy won by her courage the name of the "jennie deans" of the west. she lived in the interior of missouri--a little, pretty, black-eyed girl, with a soul as huge as a mountain, and a form as frail as a fairy's, and the courage and pluck of a buccaneer into the bargain. her father was an old man--a secessionist. she had but a single brother, just growing from boyhood to youthhood, but sickly and lame. the family had lived in kansas during the troubles of ' , when norah was a mere girl of fourteen or thereabouts. but even then her beauty, wit and devil-may-care spirit were known far and wide; and many were the stories told along the border of her sayings and doings. among other charges laid at her door it is said that she broke all the hearts of the young bloods far and wide, and tradition goes even so far as to assert that, like bob acres, she killed a man once a week, keeping a private church-yard for the purpose of decently burying her dead. be this as it may, she was then, and is now, a dashing, fine-looking, lively girl, and a prettier heroine than will be found in a novel, as will be seen if the good-natured reader has a mind to follow us to the close of this sketch. not long after the federals came into her neighborhood, and after they had forced her father to take the oath, which he did partly because he was a very old man, unable to take the field, and hoped thereby to save the security of his household, and partly because he could not help himself; not long after these two important events in the history of our heroine, a body of men marched up one evening, while she was on a visit to a neighbor's, and arrested her sickly, weak brother, bearing him off to leavenworth city, where he was lodged in the military guard-house. it was nearly night before norah reached home. when she did so, and discovered the outrage which had been perpetrated, and the grief of her old father, her rage knew no bounds. although the mists were falling and the night was closing in, dark and dreary, she ordered her horse to be resaddled, put on a thick surtout, belted a sash round her waist, and sticking a pair of ivory-handled pistols in her bosom, started off after the soldiers. the post was many miles distant. but that she did not regard. over hill, through marsh, under cover of the darkness, she galloped on to the headquarters of the enemy. at last the call of a sentry brought her to stand, with a hoarse "who goes there?" "no matter," she replied. "i wish to see colonel prince, your commanding officer, and instantly, too." somewhat awed by the presence of a young female on horseback at that late hour, and perhaps struck by her imperious tone of command, the yankee guard, without hesitation, conducted her to the fortifications, and thence to the quarters of the colonel commanding, with whom she was left alone. "well, madam," said the federal officer, with bland politeness, "to what do i owe the honor of this visit?" "is this colonel prince?" replied the brave girl, quietly. "it is, and you are--" "no matter. i have come here to inquire whether you have a lad by the name of mccarthy a prisoner?" "there is such a prisoner." "may i ask why he is a prisoner?" "certainly! for being suspected of treasonable connection with the enemy." "treasonable connection with the enemy! why the boy is sick and lame. he is, besides, my brother; and i have come to ask his immediate release." the officer opened his eyes; was sorry he could not comply with the request of so winning a supplicant; and must "really beg her to desist and leave the fortress." "i demand his release," cried she, in reply. "that you cannot have. the boy is a rebel and a traitor, and unless you retire, madam, i shall be forced to arrest you on a similar suspicion." "suspicion! i am a rebel and a traitor, too, if you wish; young mccarthy is my brother, and i don't leave this tent until he goes with me. order his instant release or,"--here she drew one of the aforesaid ivory handles out of her bosom and levelled the muzzle of it directly at him--"i will put an ounce of lead in your brain before you can call a single sentry to your relief." a picture that! there stood the heroic girl; eyes flashing fire, cheek glowing with earnest will, lips firmly set with resolution, and hand outstretched with a loaded pistol ready to send the contents through the now thoroughly frightened, startled, aghast soldier, who cowered, like blank paper before flames, under her burning stare. "quick!" she repeated, "order his release, or you die." it was too much. prince could not stand it. he bade her lower her infernal weapon, for god's sake, and the boy should be forthwith liberated. "give the order first," she replied, unmoved. and the order was given; the lad was brought out; and drawing his arm in hers, the gallant sister marched out of the place, with one hand grasping one of his, and the other holding her trusty ivory handle. she mounted her horse, bade him get up behind, and rode off, reaching home without accident before midnight. now that is a fact stranger than fiction, which shows what sort of metal is in our women of the much abused and traduced nineteenth century. women in the battle of gainesville, fla. [from dickinson and his men, pages - .] as captain dickinson and our brave defenders charged the enemy through the streets, many of the ladies could be seen, whose inspiring tones and grateful plaudits cheered these noble heroes on to deeds of greater daring. while charging the enemy, near the residence of judge dawkins, mrs. dawkins and her lovely sister, miss lydia taylor, passed from their garden into the street, and in the excitement of the moment, actuated by the heroic spirit that ever animated our noble women, united their voices in repeating the captain's word of command. "charge, charge!" was heard with the musical rhythm of a benediction from their grateful hearts. the enemy, halting, made a stand a few yards below the entrance to their residence, firing up the street almost a hailstorm of minie balls from their spencer rifles. apparently indifferent to their danger, these heroic ladies stood unmoved, cheering on our gallant soldiers, among whom were many near and dear to them. captain dickinson earnestly entreated them to return to the house, as they were in imminent danger of being killed. many ladies brought buckets of water for the heated, famished soldiers who had no time to give even to this needed refreshment. through all the desperate fight not a citizen was hurt. the sweet incense of prayer arose from hundreds of agonized hearts to the mercy-seat, in behalf of husbands, sons, fathers, and brothers who were in the battle. "she would send ten more" [judge john h. reagan's address in .] to illustrate the character and devotion of the women of the confederacy, i will repeat a statement made to me during the war by governor letcher, of virginia. he had visited his home in the shenandoah valley, and on his return to the state capitol called at the house of an old friend who had a large family. he found no one but the good old mother at home, and inquired about the balance of the family. she told him that her husband, her husband's father and her ten sons were all in the army. and on his suggestion that she must feel lonesome, having had a large family with her and now to be left alone, her answer was that it was very hard, but if she had ten more sons they should all go to the army. can ancient or modern history show a nobler or more unselfish and patriotic devotion to any cause? women at vicksburg [j. l. underwood.] on first thought it would be expected that women would be greatly excited when under fire and amid other scenes of actual war. but almost invariably they exhibited during our war a calm fearlessness that was amazing. my girl wife and her war companion, mrs. lieutenant lockett, of marion, ala., a daughter of alabama's noble war governor, a. b. moore, spent several months of the spring of at vicksburg and its vicinity, to be near their husbands. they were boarding in the city the night when porter's fleet ran down the river by the batteries. the cannonading was terrific. i was with my regiment, the thirtieth alabama, some few miles away. next morning, as soon as regimental duties would allow, i hastened to the city. to my astonishment i found that neither "the girls" nor the ladies of the city had been at all alarmed. they seemed to look upon it as a sort of enjoyable episode. in may we were at warrenton, miles below the city, where the two ladies were quartered with old mr. withington and his good wife, in one of the most independent and comfortable plantation homes in the land. when our brigade, under command of the brave but ill-fated gen. ed. tracy, was ordered to grand gulf, i was left under orders to take the ladies to vicksburg and send them home out of danger. but before we could get away from mr. withington's news came that a battle was raging at bayou pierre. i told the ladies that i could not stay away from my command while it was engaged in battle and that they would just have to do the best they could where they were. their cheeks never blanched; nor was a protest uttered. after the battle i hurried back and got them to vicksburg, hoping to have them beyond jackson before grant's flanking army could reach it. the idea of having them shut up in vicksburg during a siege was a horror to me. what was my chagrin when, on reaching the railroad station, i was informed by the officials that not another train would be allowed to go out. there were numbers of officers' wives and other women all round the depot, eager to go. they bore their bitter disappointment even cheerfully. their courage and cheerfulness soon took another happy turn when under orders i passed around to whisper to them, "be ready to jump quickly and quietly on a train which has been provided to carry off soldiers' wives in a few minutes." away they went and reached their homes safely, though we at vicksburg never learned this until after the surrender. the siege lasted forty-seven days. day and night, not only the entrenchments but the entire city was exposed to artillery and rifle fire day and night. many a man was killed far away from the front lines. many a private house was torn by shells from grant's rifle cannon or porter's mortar fleet. while the shot and shell did not fall incessantly at any one point there was no place they did not reach. i knew several poor fellows to receive fresh wounds while lying on their cots in the hospitals. porter did not spare the city hospital, although carrying the yellow flag. in it i had an old college friend, capt. ben craig, of alabama, sick with fever, whose wife and venerable father had remained to nurse him. just before one of my visits a thirteen-inch shell came down through the roof, leaving an ugly hole in the floor within six inches of poor craig's bed. his brave little wife, (formerly miss eliza tucker, of milledgeville, ga.) never flinched. a great many families of the city had dug caves in the soft clay of the vicksburg hills and could hide in them in perfect safety. many did not avail themselves of this refuge, but bravely remained in their houses and took chances. even the cave dwellers had to come out to cook their food. nobly did these good women render whatever attention they could to our sick and wounded. they were as brave and as calm as the soldiers. "mother, tell him not to come" [major robert stiles, in four years under marse robert, pages - .] i sat in the porch, where were also sitting an old couple, evidently the joint head of the establishment, and a young woman dressed in black, apparently their daughter, and, as i soon learned, a soldier's widow. my coat was badly torn, and the young woman kindly offering to mend it i thanked her and, taking it off, handed it to her. while we were chatting, and groups of men sitting on the steps and lying about the yard, the door of the house opened and another young woman appeared. she was almost beautiful, was plainly but neatly dressed, and had her hat on. she had evidently been weeping and her face was deadly pale. turning to the old woman, as she came out, she said, cutting her words off short, "mother, tell him if he passes here he is no husband of mine," and turned again to leave the porch. i rose, and placing myself directly in front of her, extended my arm to prevent her escape. she drew back with surprise and indignation. the men were alert on the instant, and battle was joined. "what do you mean, sir?" she cried. "i mean, madam," i replied, "that you are sending your husband word to desert, and that i cannot permit you to do this in the presence of my men." "indeed! and who asked your permission, sir? and pray, sir, is he your husband or mine?" "he is your husband, madam, but these are my soldiers. they and i belong to the same army with your husband, and i cannot suffer you, or any one, unchallenged, to send such a demoralizing message in their hearing." "army! do you call this mob of retreating cowards an army? soldiers! if you are soldiers, why don't you stand and fight the savage wolves that are coming upon us defenceless women and children?" "we don't stand and fight, madam, because we are soldiers, and have to obey orders, but if the enemy should appear on that hill this moment i think you would find that these men are soldiers, and willing to die in defense of women and children." "quite a fine speech, sir, but rather cheap to utter, since you very well know the yankees are not here, and won't be, till you've had time to get your precious carcasses out of the way. besides, sir, this thing is over, and has been for some time. the government has now actually run off, bag and baggage,--the lord knows where,--and there is no longer any government or any country for my husband to owe allegiance to. he does owe allegiance to me and to his starving children, and if he doesn't observe this allegiance now, when i need him, he need not attempt it hereafter when he wants me." the woman was quick as a flash and cold as steel. she was getting the better of me. she saw it, and, worst of all, the men saw and felt it, too, and had gathered thick and pressed up close all round the porch. there must have been a hundred or more of them, all eagerly listening, and evidently strongly to the woman's side. this would never do. i tried every avenue of approach to that woman's heart. it was congealed by suffering, or else it was encased in adamant. she had parried every thrust, repelled every advance, and was now standing defiant, with her arms folded across her breast, rather courting further attack. i was desperate, and with the nonchalance of pure desperation--no stroke of genius--i asked the soldier-question: "what command does your husband belong to?" she started a little, and there was a trace of color in her face as she replied, with a slight tone of pride in her voice: "he belongs to the stonewall brigade, sir." i felt, rather than thought it--but, had i really found her heart? we would see. "when did he join it?" a little deeper flush, a little stronger emphasis of pride. "he joined in the spring of ' , sir." yes, i was sure of it now. her eyes had gazed straight into mine; her head inclined and her eyelids drooped a little now, and there was something in her face that was not pain and was not fight. so i let myself out a little, and turning to the men, said: "men, if her husband joined the stonewall brigade in ' , and has been in the army ever since, i reckon he's a good soldier." i turned to look at her. it was all over. her wifehood had conquered. she had not been addressed this time, yet she answered instantly, with head raised high, face blushing, eyes flashing: "general lee hasn't a better in his army!" as she uttered these words she put her hand in her bosom, and drawing out a folded paper, extended it toward me, saying: "if you doubt it, look at that." before her hand reached mine she drew it back, seeming to have changed her mind, but i caught her wrist, and without much resistance possessed myself of the paper. it had been much thumbed and was much worn. it was hardly legible, but i made it out. again i turned to the men. "take off your hats, boys, i want you to hear this with uncovered heads"--and then i read an endorsement on an application for furlough, in which general lee himself had signed a recommendation of this woman's husband for a furlough of special length on account of extraordinary gallantry in battle. during the reading of this paper the woman was transfigured, glorified. no madonna of old master was ever more sweetly radiant with all that appeals to what is best and holiest in man. her bosom rose and fell with deep, quiet sighs; her eyes rained gentle, happy tears. the men felt it all--all. they were all gazing upon her, but the dross was clean, purified out of them. there was not, upon any one of their faces, an expression that would have brought a blush to the cheek of the purest womanhood on earth. i turned once more to the soldier's wife. "this little paper is your most precious treasure, isn't it?" "it is." "and the love of him whose manly courage and devotion won this tribute is the best blessing god ever gave you, isn't it?" "it is." "and yet, for the brief ecstasy of one kiss, you would disgrace this hero-husband of yours, stain all his noble reputation, and turn this priceless paper to bitterness; for the rear-guard would hunt him from his own cottage, in half an hour, a deserter and a coward." not a sound could be heard save her hurried breathing. the rest of us held our breath. suddenly, with a gasp of recovered consciousness, she snatched the paper from my hand, put it back hurriedly in her bosom, and turning once more to her mother, said: "mother, tell him not to come." i stepped aside at once. she left the porch, glided down the path to the gate, crossed the road, surmounted the fence with easy grace, climbed the hill, and as she disappeared in the weedy pathway i caught up my hat and said: "now, men, give her three cheers." such cheers. oh, god, shall i ever again hear a cheer which bears a man's whole soul in it? for the first time i felt reasonably sure of my battalion. it would follow anywhere. brave woman in decatur, ga. [miss mary a. h. gay, in life in dixie, pages - .] garrad's cavalry selected our lot, consisting of several acres, for headquarters, and soon what appeared to us to be an immense army train of wagons commenced rolling into it. in less than two hours our barn was demolished and converted into tents, which were occupied by privates and noncommissioned officers, and to the balusters of our portico and other portions of the house were tied a number of large ropes, which, the other ends being secured to the trees and shrubbery, answered as a railing to which at short intervals apart a number of smaller ropes were tied, and to these were attached horses and mules, which were eating corn and oats out of troughs improvised for the occasion out of bureau, washstand, and wardrobe drawers. men in groups were playing cards on tables of every size and shape, and whisky and profanity held high carnival. thus surrounded, we could but be apprehensive of danger; and, to assure ourselves of as much safety as possible, we barricaded the doors and windows, and arranged to sit up all night; that is, my mother and myself. as we sat on a lounge, every chair having been taken to the camps, we heard the sound of footsteps entering the piazza, and in a moment, loud rapping, which meant business. going to the window nearest the door, i removed the fastenings, raised the sash, and opened the blinds. perceiving by the light of a brilliant moon that at least a half dozen men in uniforms were on the piazza, i asked: "who is there?" "gentlemen," was the laconic reply. "if so, you will not persist in your effort to come into the house. there is only a widow and one of her daughters, and two faithful servants in it," said i. "we have orders from headquarters to interview miss gay. is she the daughter of whom you speak?" "she is, and i am she." "well, miss gay, we demand seeing you, without intervening barriers. our orders are imperative," said he who seemed to be the spokesman of the delegation. "then wait a moment," i amiably responded. going to my mother, i repeated in substance the above colloquy, and asked her if she would go with me out of one of the back doors and around the house into the front yard. although greatly agitated and trembling, she readily assented, and we noiselessly went out. in a few moments we announced our presence, and our visitors descended the steps and joined us. and these men, occupying a belligerent attitude toward ourselves and all that was dear to us, stood face to face with us and in silence we contemplated each other. when the silence was broken, the aforesaid officer introduced himself as major campbell, a member of general schofield's staff. he also introduced the accompanying officers each by name and title. this ceremony over, major campbell said: "miss gay, our mission is a painful one, and yet we will carry it out unless you satisfactorily explain acts reported to us." "what is the nature of those acts?" "we have been told that it is your proudest boast that you are a rebel, and that you are ever on duty to aid and abet in every possible way the wouldbe destroyers of the united states government. if this be so, we can not permit you to remain within our lines. until atlanta surrenders, decatur will be our headquarters, and every consideration of interest to our cause requires that no one inimical to it should remain within our boundaries established by conquest." in reply to these charges, i said: "gentlemen, i have not been misrepresented, so far as the charges you mentioned are concerned. if i were a man, i should be in the foremost ranks of those who are fighting for rights guaranteed by the constitution of the united states. the southern people have never broken that compact, nor infringed upon it in any way. they have never organized mobs to assassinate any portion of people sharing the privileges granted by that compact. they have constructed no underground railroads to bring into our midst incendiaries and destroyers of the peace, and to carry off stolen property. they have never sought to array the subordinate element of the north in deadly hostility to the controlling element. no class of the women of the south have ever sought positions at the north which secured entrance into good households, and then betrayed the confidence reposed by corrupting the servants and alienating the relations between the master and the servant. no class of women in the south have ever mounted the rostrum and proclaimed falsehoods against the women of the north--falsehoods which must have crimsoned with shame the very cheeks of beelzebub. no class of the men of the south have ever tramped over the north with humbugs, extorting money either through sympathy or credulity, and engaged at the same time in the nefarious work of exciting the subordinate class to insurrection, arson, rapine, and murder. if the south is in rebellion, a well-organized mob at the north has brought it about. long years of patient endurance accomplished nothing. the party founded on falsehood and hate strengthened and grew to enormous proportions. and, by the way, mark the cunning of that party. finding that the abolition party made slow progress and had to work in the dark, it changed its name and took in new issues, and by a systematic course of lying in its institutions of learning, from the lowly school-house to yale college, and from its pulpits and rostrums, it inculcated lessons of hate toward the southern people, whom it would hurl into the crater of vesuvius if endowed with the power. what was left us to do but to try to relieve that portion of the country which had permitted this sentiment of hate to predominate of all connection with us, and of all responsibility for the sins of which it proclaimed us guilty? this effort the south has made, and i have aided and abetted in every possible manner, and will continue to do so as long as there is an armed man in the southern ranks. if this is sufficient cause to expel me from my home, i await your orders. i have no favors to ask." imagine my astonishment, admiration, and gratitude when that group of federal officers with unanimity said: "i glory in your spunk, and am proud of you as my countrywoman; and so far from banishing you from your home, we will vote for your retention within our lines." giving warning to mosby [from original manuscript, now in the confederate museum.] my dear friend: * * * soon after the yankees went into winter quarters in warrenton, i was requested by a soldier friend to avail myself of every opportunity to obtain and transmit information that might be of service to our scouts and guerrillas, and this of course i was most willing to do. our house was at that time within the lines in the day time, and beyond them at night. i walked up to warrenton one bright but very cold morning, (the d of december) and as soon as i arrived was informed by a lady friend, who was also on the lookout, that she had just seen a negro, who looked like a newcomer, escorted by several officers to the provost marshal's office. i immediately concluded that he was bearer of some tidings, most probably from "mosby's confederacy," and that i must know what it might be, but how could i accomplish it? a sentinel was placed always before the office. i had my purse with me. i fell into conversation with him. i offered him so much to let me pass into the basement of the house on pretense of wishing to transact some business with the negroes who occupied it. he accepted it, and i went--not into the room which the negroes occupied, but into the one adjoining it--a place very damp and dark, where i could hear, but not be seen, and suiting my purpose admirably, as it was immediately under the office. i listened; heard the negro questioned and heard him answer that he could and would guide a force to mosby's headquarters, to the houses where he knew many of his men boarded, to the place where the command had stored a quantity of corn. about the corn they seemed to care little, but oh! to catch mosby,--they waxed warm at the thought--they talked long and loudly (all for my convenience, no doubt) and the result of the consultation was a plan to go "riding on a raid" with the "reliable contraband" acting as guide--to go that very night if certain reinforcements arrived in time, or should they fail to do so, the next night. i had heard enough. i came out of my cell, walked through town to a picket post, with the remaining contents of my purse bribed the faithful soldier of the union to let me pass, then walked two miles to a neighbor's where i thought i could get a horse, which was most gladly furnished me when my errand was made known. by this time it was late in the afternoon; it had been turning colder all day, and was now intensely cold with a blustering wind, the sky covered with moving masses of black clouds. my friends wrapped me up as best they could. i mounted and rode three miles to a neighbor's house, where i took a little boy up behind me for escort. my object now was to ride in what seemed the right direction until i met some southern soldier to whom i could impart the information i gathered, and commission him to convey it to those whom it most nearly concerned. i rode on for miles--the country becoming entirely new to me--the cold increasing--the darkness deepening--the wind rising higher and higher. mosby's men were always hanging about the outposts of the enemy. why was it that i could not meet one of them? did they think the night too terrible to be out? oh! how i ached with cold, and when i thoughtlessly said as much, my gallant little escort, who was not less so, i am sure, begged that he might be allowed to take off his overcoat and put it around me. suddenly, just before me, i saw a large fire--the temptation was too great--i forgot that its light might reveal me to those whom the darkness hid, drew the reins--old kitty grey stood still, and i stretched out my hands toward the genial warmth. i then discovered that i was near the "view tree" to reach which, though only four miles from warrenton, i had traveled eight or ten. the fire, thought i to myself, was built by some southern scouts, but they left it as i came on lest it should endanger them. the thought aroused me. i started on, but had scarcely done so when the moon came out, and almost immediately walter called my attention to a body of men on my right, in the form of a v, each with his carbine levelled, and moving slowly toward me: i expected them to fire any moment, but i neither quickened nor slackened my pace. the moon went under a cloud and i passed into the sheltering darkness, wondering much why they did not fire. my curiosity on that point was afterwards satisfied. on i rode. it was not long before i saw a single horseman with his raised weapon just in front of me. "halt," he said. boldness alone i believed could save me. the cold wind made my voice hoarse; stern purpose made it strong. i tell you i was astonished at the manliness of its tone, as lifting my arm i said, "surrender or i'll blow your brains out." i only knew that a moment afterwards i heard his horse's retreating hoofs clattering on the stony road. now surely, thought i, i am safe; surely the last picket is passed, and my spirits rose. soon after this, deceived by the darkness and my ignorance of the mountain ways, i lost my direction and took a wrong road; but believing myself right and at last out of danger, i moved on as fast as i could over the rough, frozen ground, when on reaching the top of the hill, what was my amazement and horror on finding that instead of proceeding i was retracing my steps, though by a different route. i saw distinctly, perhaps three miles off, the lights of the town of warrenton. and this was all that i had accomplished after riding at least twelve miles. what should i do? was i to fail altogether of my mission? to keep going toward warrenton would inevitably lead me to the yankees. if i turned and lost my way entirely, what would become of me on such a night? just then there came into my mind those sweet quaint lines which i did not know that i could repeat: "god shall charge his angel legions watch and ward o'er thee to keep, tho' thou walk thro' hostile regions, tho' in desert wilds thou sleep." they were to me then an inspiration--a harbinger of safety and success. it would have been still further inspiration, could i have seen how just at the time, dear old mrs. ----, who had helped to wrap me up when i started, and had encouraged me by her sympathy and interest, was watching for my return, keeping up a big fire--warming some of her own clothes for me; and when at last she laid down, it was with her lamp still burning, a pillow arranged for me close by her kind heart, and with a prayer for me on her lips, that she slept. god bless her! turning my back to the lights once more, i rode on. i had only gone a few hundred yards when i saw just before me a horse and his dismounted rider. the man stepped out, laid his hand on my bridle and said: "stop, lady, you can go no further; but where are you going?" i answered in the very tone of candor: "i was trying to go to the neighborhood of salem to see a sick friend. it was later than i thought when i set off. my poor old borrowed horse traveled very slowly; night overtook me suddenly and i determined to make my way back to my home near warrenton, but have lost my way." he then said: "it is my painful duty to take you to the reserves, where you will be detained all night and taken to headquarters in the morning." i replied: "you can shoot me on the spot, but i will not spend this night unprotected among your soldiers. i cannot consent that you should perform your duty." "nor am i willing to perform it!" he exclaimed. after a few moments' hesitation, which seemed to me a century, he pointed out to me a light at some distance and said, "go to that house; no one will be so cruel as to turn you away on such a night." i turned into what i thought the right path, but presently he called out to me in a tone of earnest entreaty: "not that way, for god's sake; that leads to the reserves." he then came to me, and leading my horse into the right path said: "good-by, i shall be three hours on picket to think of a freezing lady." keeping the light in my eye, i soon reached the house, which was not far off, and although the inmates evidently looked upon me with suspicion, they agreed to let me stay all night and let me feed my horse. i gave them an assumed name, asked to go to bed immediately, had a hot brick put to my feet and plenty of cover; but i was too thoroughly cold to be warmed easily, so i lay and shivered and wept the live-long night. next morning six yankees, just off post, rode up to the house. at first i feared the kind picket had proved as treacherous as the rest, had informed on me, and that they had come to arrest me. i hurried down to meet them and was not a little relieved to find that they only wanted to buy milk and eggs. there was a captain among them. "we had an alarm last night," said he to me. "ah! how was it?" "why, the rebels wanted to attack our soldiers and they thought to fool us by sending one man on ahead as if he were alone, thinking we would all fire on him and not be ready for the rest when they came up; but we were too sharp for them, did not fire at all and the rascals were afraid to try it." ah! what mistakes we sometimes make! i learned from them by a little judicious questioning that no raiding party had passed up during the night, and hoped that i might still be in time. after they left i found that the mistress of the house was a true southern woman. i told her my real name and my errand; she went with me to a house in the mountains, where were some of mosby's men. we also met several on the way. i entreated them to give due notice and then joyfully turned my face homewards. gentle, faithful, old kitty grey stood me in good stead upon more than one occasion, but the yankees have since stolen her, too. i soon returned her to her owners and had nothing to do but get through the lines to our house. this i accomplished without difficulty, and when i got in sight of the camp, just about sundown, i saw every preparation making for a raid--the raid which was to catch mosby and his men. i had the satisfaction to learn in a few days that it met with very poor success. not a few soldiers have since told me that the warning saved them from capture. several were in bed when they received it. one had not left his boarding-house twenty minutes when it was surrounded by the enemy. they preferred one night in the mountains of virginia to a winter in a yankee dungeon. am i not more than repaid by their thanks? a few days after this, during christmas, some friends in the neighborhood came through the lines to spend the day and night with us. to show you how difficult it was to overcome a yankee sentinel's stern sense of duty, i must tell you that one of the young ladies of the party bribed the incumbent of the post on this occasion to let them all pass for the small consideration of two ginger-cakes and one turn-over pie. between and that night, as we girls were undressing and chatting around the fire, we heard a gentle tapping on the window below, and immediately mother came up and whispering as softly and mysteriously as if she feared the walls, which they so closely watched, or the winds, that whistled so keenly around the corners of the house, and also their ears might repeat her words to the pickets, informed me that colonel mosby and a few of his men were in the yard and wished to see me. i put on the first dress i came to and crept down noiselessly, lest i should arouse our spy of a guard. the colonel wanted to know the exact position of the pickets and videttes. i told him as well as i could, and in order to give him a more correct idea, i offered to go with any of them whom he might select to a certain hill, where i could point out their positions more definitely. capt. wm. r. smith begged leave to go with me. he led his horse and we walked along, talking in a low tone. there was a full moon, but she wore a veil of fleecy clouds. when we had gone about two hundred yards, very unexpectedly there rode out from behind a tree a yankee picket. "halt," he cried. it was but the work of an instant for captain smith to spring on his horse, and with an effort of his strong arm, "light to the croup the fair lady he swung." the next instant a bullet seemed to graze our ears; in quick succession six bullets came, but they soon fell far behind us. we heard the whole line take up the alarm. as we flew along, captain smith said, very calmly, "a little romance for you." we soon reached our reserve and after some further conversation, bade one another goodnight--they going forth to meet other adventures and i to my friends, who having heard the firing, were awaiting my return somewhat anxiously. when i took off the dress i had worn, i discovered a very jagged rent, evidently made by the spur of a cavalier. brave, brave captain smith! soon he gave his young life to our cause. "ain't you ashamed of you'uns?" [phoebe y. pember.] directly in front of me sat an old georgia up-country woman, placidly regarding the box cars full of men on the parallel rails, waiting, like ourselves, to start. she knitted and gazed, and at last inquired "who was them ar' soldiers, and whar' was they a-going to?" the information that they were yankee prisoners startled her considerably. the knitting ceased abruptly (all the old women in the southern states knitted socks for the soldiers while traveling), and the cracker bonnet of dark brown homespun was thrown back violently, for her whole nervous system seemed to have received a galvanic shock. then she caught her breath with a long gasp, lifted on high her thin, trembling hand, accompanied by the trembling voice, and made a speech: "ain't you ashamed of you'uns," she piped. "a-coming down here a-spiling our country, and a-robbing our hen-roosts? what did we ever do to you'uns that you should come a-killing our brothers and sons? ain't you ashamed of you'uns? what for do you want us to live with you'uns, you poor white trash? i ain't got a single nigger that would be so mean as to force himself where he warn't wanted, and what do we-uns want with you? ain't you--" but there came a roar of laughter from both cars, and, shaking with excitement, the old lady pulled down her spectacles, which in the excitement she had pushed up on her forehead, and tried in vain to resume her labors with uncertain fingers. false teeth [in richmond during the war, pages - .] in connection with the battle of the cross keys, we are just here reminded of an amusing stratagem of a rebel lady to conceal her age and charms from the enemy, who held possession of her house. she says: "mr. k., you know, was compelled to evacuate his premises when the federals took possession, and succeeding in making good their escape, left me here, with my three children, to encounter the consequences of their intrusion upon my premises. not wishing to appear quite as youthful as i really am, and desiring to destroy, if possible, any remains of my former beauty, i took from my mouth a set of false teeth, (which i was compelled to have put in before i was years old,) tied a handkerchief around my head, donned my most sloven apparel, and in every way made myself as hideous as possible. the disguise was perfect. i was sullen, morose, sententious. you could not have believed i could so long have kept up a manner so disagreeable; but it had the desired effect. the yankees called me 'old woman.' they took little thought i was not years of age. they took my house for a hospital for their sick and wounded, and allowed me only the use of a single room, and required of me many acts of assistance in nursing their men, which under any circumstances my own heart-promptings would have made a pleasure to me. but i did not feel disposed to be compelled to prepare food for those who had driven from me my husband, and afterwards robbed me of all my food and bed-furniture, with the exception of what they allowed me to have in my room. but they were not insulting in their language to the 'old woman,' and i endured all the inconveniences and unhappiness of my situation with as much fortitude as i could bring into operation, feeling that my dear husband, at least, was safe from harm. after they left," she continued, "i was forced to go into the woods, near by, and with my two little boys pick up fagots to cook the scanty food left to me." this is the story of one of the most luxuriously reared women of virginia, and is scarcely the faintest shadow of what many endured under similar circumstances. emma sansom [gen. t. jordan and j. p. pryor, in campaigns of general forrest, pages - .] the federal column under colonel streight was again overtaken by a. m., on the d; and the confederate general selected fifty of the best mounted men, with whom his escort charged swiftly upon its rear in the face of a hot fire. for ten miles now, to black creek, an affluent of the coosa, a sharp, running conflict occurred. the federals, however, effected the passage of the stream without hindrance, by a bridge, which, being old and very dry, was in flames and impassable as the confederates approached; besides which it was commanded by streight's artillery, planted on the opposite bank. black creek is deep and rapid, and its passage in the immediate presence of the federal force was an impossibility before which even forrest was forced to pause and ponder. but while reflecting upon the predicament, he was approached by a group of women, one of whom, a tall, comely girl of about years of age, stepped forward and inquired, "whose command?" the answer was, "the advance of general forrest's cavalry." she then requested that general forrest should be pointed out, which being done, advancing, she addressed him nearly in these words: "you are general forrest, i am told. i know of an old ford to which i could guide you, if i had a horse. the yankees have taken all of ours." her mother, stepping up, exclaimed: "no, emma; people would talk about you." "i am not afraid to trust myself with as brave a man as general forrest, and don't care for people's talk," was the prompt rejoinder of this southern girl, her face illuminated with emotion. the general then remarked, as he rode beside a log nearby: "well, miss ----, jump up behind me." quickly or without an instant of hesitation, she sprang from the log behind the redoubtable cavalry leader, and sat ready to guide him--under as noble an inspiration of unalloyed, courageous patriotism as that which has rendered the maid of zaragossa famous for all time. calling for a courier to follow, guided by miss sansom, forrest rode rapidly, leaping over fallen timber, to a point about half a mile above the bridge, where, at the foot of a ravine, she said there was a practicable ford. there, dismounting, they walked to the river-bank, opposite to which, on the other side, were found posted a federal detachment, who opened upon both immediately with some forty small arms, the balls of which whistled close by, and tore up the ground in their front as they approached. inquiring naively what caused the noise, and being answered that it was the sound of bullets, the intrepid girl stepped in front of her companion, saying, "general, stand behind me; they will not dare shoot me." gently putting her aside, forrest observed he could not possibly suffer her to do so, or to make a breastwork of herself, and gave her his arm so as to screen her as much as possible. by this time they had reached the ravine. placing her behind the shelter afforded by the roots of a fallen tree, he asked miss sansom to remain there until he could reconnoitre the ford, and proceeded at once to descend the ravine on his hands and knees. after having gone some fifty yards in this manner, looking back, to his surprise and regret, she was immediately at his back; and in reply to his remark that he had told her to remain under shelter, replied: "yes, general, but i was fearful that you might be wounded; and it is my purpose to be near you." the ford-mouth reached and examined, they then returned as they came, through the ravine, to the crown of the bank, under fire, when she took his arm as before--an open mark for the federal sharpshooters, whose fire for some instants was even heavier than at first; and several of their balls actually passed through her skirts, exciting the observation, "they have only wounded my crinoline." at the same time, withdrawing her arm, the dauntless girl, turning round, faced the enemy, and waved her sun-bonnet defiantly and repeatedly in the air. we are pleased to be able to record that, at this, the hostile fire was stopped; the federals took off their own caps, and, waving them, gave three hearty cheers of approbation. remounting, forrest and miss sansom returned to the command, who received her with unfeigned enthusiasm. the artillery was sent forward, and with a few shells, well thrown, quickly drove away the federal guard at the ford, which major mclemore was directed to seize with his regiment. the stream was boggy, with high, declivitous banks on both sides, and it was necessary to take the ammunition from the caissons by hand, and to force the animals down the steep slopes, and to take the ford, but, nevertheless, the passage was successfully effected in less than two hours. meantime, the confederate general delivered his fair, daring young guide back safely into the hands of her mother, took a knightly farewell, inspired by the romantic coloring of the occurrence, and dashed after his command to resume the chase, as soon as the passage of the creek was effected. president roosevelt's mother and grandmother [by j. l. underwood.] the story has often been told of mrs. roosevelt, formerly miss bulloch, of georgia, and mother of president roosevelt, that early in the war between the states, when a regiment of federal soldiers was marching past her residence in new york, she displayed a confederate flag at her window and refused to take it down when ordered to do so. in october, , a similar story was told by the philadelphia correspondent of the richmond _times-dispatch_ that mrs. bulloch, the grandmother of the president, at some period of the war did the same thing in that city. the author of this volume was about to insert both incidents when a moment's reflection caused him to hesitate. he remembered that both the ladies mentioned were typical southern women, of one of the best and most knightly families. the stories lack _vraisemblance_. whatever may have been their sympathies during the war between the states, such a needless display as that indicated in the stories does not sound like the bullochs of georgia. southern women were not given to showing their patriotism by waving flags. it is rather too cheap. southern women of the best type, while members of northern families or guests of northern friends, during the war, would not volunteer to flaunt before the public a family division of political sentiment under such sad circumstances. in addition to this, the author has too much regard for the sanctity of home, be it ever so humble or so highly exalted, to enter its portals for a striking story without knocking for admission. under the circumstances he felt it due to consult our magnanimous president himself as to the authenticity of either or both incidents. president roosevelt kindly forwarded the following reply: "the white house, washington, d. c., _nov. , _. personal. dear sir: it is always a pleasure to hear from an old confederate soldier, and i thank you for your letter and for the kind way in which you speak of me; but that incident about my mother never took place. this is the first time i ever heard the story about my grandmother and i am sure it is equally without basis. my grandmother was very infirm during the war and i do not believe she ever lived at philadelphia. she was with us in new york. sincerely yours, theodore roosevelt. rev. j. l. underwood, _kellam's hospital, richmond, va._" elsewhere in this volume it is shown that john g. whittier's famous story of barbara freitchie and the federal flag is a myth, pure and simple. this letter of the president consigns the two stories above mentioned to a similar fate. the southern people will thank him for it. they desire nothing but simple truth about their honored president and his family. the little girl at chancellorsville general fitz hugh lee loved to tell of the little girl in the house where stonewall jackson breathed his last, who said to her mother that she "wished that god would let her die instead of the general, for then only her mother would cry; but if jackson died all the people of the country would cry." saved her hams in mississippi a farmer's wife heard that a regiment of federal cavalry was coming. she had a smoke-house full of fine hams and shoulder meat. immediately she went to work, and when the soldiers came they found the meat lying all about the yard with a knife hole stuck deep into each piece. the yankees rushed in and began to pick it up. "what's the matter with this meat, madam? how came these holes in it?" "now, look here," said she, "you know the confederate cavalry has just been here, and if you all get poisoned by that meat you must not blame me." they left the meat. heroism of a widow [mrs. allie mcpeek, in southern historical papers, volume , page ; from the atlanta (ga.) _constitution_, november , .] it was on the first and second days of september, , general hardee of the southern forces was sent to jonesboro from atlanta with , men to head off a formidable flank movement of the enemy, which had for its purpose to cut off southern communication and thereby compel the evacuation of the city of atlanta. the flank movement consisted of , men, and was commanded chiefly by major-general john m. schofield, together with general sedgwick, who was also a corps commander, and consisted of the best fighters of the federal army. as the two armies confronted each other two miles to the north and northwest of jonesboro, it so happened that the little house and farm of a poor old widow was just between the two lines of battle when the conflict opened, and, having nowhere to go, she was necessarily caught between the fire of the two commanding lines of battle, which was at comparatively close range and doing fierce and deadly work. the house and home of this old lady was soon converted into a federal hospital, and with the varying fortunes she was alternately within the lines of each contending army, when not between them on disputed ground. during the whole of this eventful day this good and brave woman, exposed as she was to the incessant showers of shot and shell from both sides, moved fearlessly about among the wounded and dying of both sides alike, and without making the slightest distinction. finally night closed the scene with general schofield's army corps in possession of the ground, and when the morning dawned it found this grand old lady still at her post of duty, knowing, too, as she did, the fortunes, or rather misfortunes, of war had stripped her of the last vestige of property she had except her little tract of land which had been laid waste. now it was that general john m. schofield, having known her suffering and destitute condition, sent her, under escort and arms, a large wagon-load of provisions and supplies, and caused his adjutant-general to write her a long and touching letter of thanks, and wound up the letter with a special request that she keep it until the war was over and present it to the united states government, and they would repay all her losses. she kept the letter, and soon after the southern claims commission was established she brought it to the writer, who presented her claim in due form, and she was awarded about $ --all she claimed, but not being all she lost. the letter is now on file with other proofs of the exact truth of this statement with the files of the southern claims commission at washington. her name was allie mcpeek, and she died several years ago. winchester women [fremantle's three months in southern lines.] winchester used to be a most agreeable town, and its society extremely pleasant. many of its houses are now destroyed or converted into hospitals, the outlook miserable and dilapidated. its female inhabitants (for the able-bodied males are all absent in the army) are familiar with the bloody realities of war. as many as , wounded have been accommodated here at one time. all the ladies are accustomed to the bursting of shells and the sight of fighting, and all are turned into hospital nurses or cooks. sparta in mississippi [gen. j. b. gordon.] the heroines of sparta who gave their hair for bow-strings have been immortalized by the muse of history; but what tongue can speak or pen indite a tribute worthy of the mississippi woman who with her own hands applied the torch to more than half a million dollars' worth of cotton, reducing herself to poverty rather than have that cotton employed against her people. the day will come, and i believe it is rapidly approaching, when in all will be seen evidences of appreciation of these inspiring incidents; when all lips will unite in expressing gratitude to god that they belong to such a race of men and women. "woman's devotion"--a winchester heroine [gen. d. h. maury, in southern historical papers.] the history of winchester is replete with romantic and glorious memories of the late war. one of the most interesting of these has been perpetuated by the glowing pencil of oregon wilson, himself a native of this valley, and the fine picture he has made of the incident portrayed by him has drawn tears from many who loved their southern country and the devoted women who elated and sanctified by their heroic sacrifices the cause which, borne down for a time, now rises again to honor all who sustained it. that truth, which is stranger than fiction, is stronger, too. the simple historic facts which gave wilson the theme of his great picture gains nothing from the romantic glamour his beautiful art has thrown about the actors in the story. in , general ramseur, commanding a confederate force near winchester, was suddenly attacked by a federal force under general averell, and after a sharp encounter was forced back through the town. the battlefield was near the residence of mr. rutherford, about two miles distant, and the wounded were gathered in his house and yard. the confederate surgeons left in charge of these wounded men appealed to the women of winchester (the men had all gone off to the war) to come out and aid in dressing the wounds and nursing the wounded. as was always the way of these winchester women, they promptly responded to this appeal, and on the ---- day of july more than twenty ladies went out to mr. rutherford's to minister to their suffering countrymen. there were more than sixty severely wounded men who had been collected from the battlefield and were lying in the house and garden of mr. rutherford. the weather was warm, and those out of doors were as comfortable and as quiet as those within. amongst them was a beardless boy named randolph ridgely; he was severely hurt; his thigh was broken by a bullet, and his sufferings were very great; his nervous system was shocked and unstrung, and he could find no rest. the kind surgeon in charge of him had many others to care for; he felt that quiet sleep was all important for his young patient, and he placed him under charge of a young girl who had accompanied these ladies from winchester; told her his life depended on his having quiet sleep that night; showed her how best to support his head, and promised to return and see after his condition as soon and as often as his duties to the other wounded would permit. all through that anxious night the brave girl sat, sustaining the head of the wounded youth and carefully guarding him against everything that could disturb his rest or break the slumber into which he gently sank, and which was to save his life. she only knew and felt that a brave confederate life depended on her care. she had never seen him before, nor has she ever seen him since. and when at dawn the surgeon came to her, he found her still watching and faithful, just as he had left her at dark--as only a true woman, as we love to believe our virginia women, can be. the soldier had slept soundly. he awoke only once during the night, when tired nature forced his nurse to change her posture; and when after the morning came she was relieved of her charge, and she fell ill of the exhaustion and exposure of that night. her consolation during the weary weeks she lay suffering was that she had saved a brave soldier for her country. in the succeeding year, captain hancock, of the louisiana infantry, was brought to winchester, wounded and a prisoner. he lay many weeks in the hospital, and when nearly recovered of his wounds, was notified that he would be sent to fort delaware. as the time drew near for his consignment to this hopeless prison, he confided to miss lenie russell, the same young girl who had saved young ridgely's life, that he was engaged to be married to a lady of lower virginia, and was resolved to attempt to make his escape. she cordially entered into his plans, and aided in their successful accomplishment. the citizens of winchester were permitted sometimes to send articles of food and comfort to the sick and wounded confederates, and miss russell availed herself of this to procure the escape of the gallant captain. she caused him to don the badge of a hospital attendant, take a market basket on his arm and accompany her to a house, whence he might, with least danger of detection and arrest, effect his return to his own lines. captain hancock made good use of his opportunity and safely rejoined his comrades; survived the war; married his sweetheart, and to this day omits no occasion for showing his respect and gratitude for the generous woman to whose courage and address he owes his freedom and his happiness. spoken like cornelia [from the gray jacket, page .] a young lady of louisiana, whose father's plantation had been brought within the enemy's lines in their operations against vicksburg, was frequently constrained by the necessities of her situation to hold conversation with the federal officers. on one of these occasions, a yankee official inquired how she managed to preserve her equanimity and cheerfulness and so many trials and privations, and such severe reverses of fortune. "our army," said he, "has deprived your father of two hundred negroes, and literally desolated two magnificent plantations." she said to the officer--a leader of that army, which had, for months, hovered around vicksburg, powerless to take it with all their vast appliances of war, and mortified by their repeated failures: "i am not insensible to the comforts and elegances which fortune can secure, and of which your barbarian hordes have deprived me; but a true southern woman will not weep over them, while her country remains. if you wish to crush me, take vicksburg." a specimen mother [mrs. fannie a. beers' memories, pages - .] at the commencement of the war there lived in sharon, miss., mr. and mrs. o'leary, surrounded by a family of five stalwart sons. mrs. catherine o'leary was a fond and loving mother, but also an unfaltering patriot, and her heart was fired with love for the cause of southern liberty. therefore when her brave sons, one after another, went forth to battle for the right, she bade them god-speed. "be true to your god and your country," said this noble woman, "and never disgrace your mother by flinching from duty." her youngest and, perhaps, dearest, was at that time only . for a while she felt that his place was by her side; but in , when he was barely , she no longer tried to restrain him. her trembling hands, having arrayed the last beloved boy for the sacrifice, rested in blessings on his head ere he went forth. repressing the agony which swelled her heart, she calmly bade him, also, "do your duty. if you must die, let it be with your face to the foe." and so went forth james a. o'leary, at the tender age of , full of ardor and hope. he was at once assigned to courier duty under general loring. on the th of july, , at the battle of atlanta, he was shot through the hip, the bullet remaining in the wound, causing intense suffering, until , when it was extracted, and the wound healed for the first time. notwithstanding this wound, he insisted upon returning to his command, which, in the mean time, had joined wood's regiment of cavalry. this was in , and, so wounded, he served three months, surrendering with general wirt adams at gainesville. a short but very glorious record. mrs. o'leary still lives in sharon. the old fire is unquenched. mrs. rooney [mrs. fannie a. beers' memories, pages - .] there is one bright, shining record of a patriotic and tireless woman which remains undimmed when placed beside that of the most devoted confederate women. i refer to mrs. rose rooney, of company k, fifteenth louisiana regiment, who left new orleans in june, , and never deserted the "b'ys" for a day until the surrender. she was no hanger-on about camp, but in everything but actual fighting was as useful as any of the boys she loved with all her big, warm, irish heart, and served with the undaunted bravery which led her to risk the dangers of every battlefield where the regiment was engaged, unheeding havoc made by the solid shot, so that she might give timely succor to the wounded or comfort the dying. when in camp she looked after the comfort of the regiment, both sick and well, and many a one escaped being sent to the hospital because rose attended to him so well. she managed to keep on hand a stock of real coffee, paying at times $ per pound for it. the surrender almost broke her heart. her defiant ways caused her to be taken prisoner. i will give in her own words an account of what followed: "sure, the yankees took me prisoner along with the rest. the next day, when they were changing the camps to fix up for the wounded, i asked them what they would do with me. they tould me to 'go to the devil.' i tould them, 'i've been long in his company; i'd choose something better.' i then asked them where any confederates lived. they tould me about three miles through the woods. on my way i met some yankees. they asked me, 'what have you in that bag?' i said, 'some rags of my own.' i had a lot of rags on the top, but six new dresses at the bottom; and sure, i got off with them all. then they asked me if i had any money. i said no; but in my stocking i had two hundred dollars in confederate money. one of the yankees, a poor devil of a private soldier, handed me three twenty-five cents of yankee money. i said to him, 'sure, you must be an irishman.' 'yes,' said he. i then went on till i got to the house. mrs. crump and her sister were in the yard, and about twenty negro women--no men. i had not a bite for two days, nor any water, so i began to cry from weakness. mrs. crump said, 'don't cry; you are among friends.' she then gave me plenty to eat,--hot hoecakes and buttermilk. i stayed there fifteen days, superintending the cooking for the sick and wounded men. one half of the house was full of confederates and the other of yankees. they then brought us to burkesville, where all the yankees were gathered together. there was an ould doctor there, and he began to curse me, and to talk about all we had done to their prisoners. i tould him, 'and what have you to say to what you done to our poor fellows?' he tould me to shut up, and sure i did. they asked me fifty questions after, and i never opened me mouth. the next day was the day when all the confederate flags came to petersburg. i had some papers in my pocket that would have done harrum to some people, so i chewed them all up and ate them; but i wouldn't take the oath, and i never did take it. the flags were brought in on dirt-carts and as they passed the federal camps them yankees would unfurl them and shake them about to show them. my journey from burkesville to petersburg was from in the morning till at night, and i sitting on my bundle all the way. the yankee soldiers in the car were cursing me, and calling me a damn rebel, and more ugly talk. i said, 'mabbe some of you has got a mother or wife; if so, you'll show some respect for me.' then they were quiet. i had to walk three miles to captain buckner's headquarters. the family were in the house near the battle-ground, but the door was shut, and i didn't know who was inside, and i couldn't see any light. i sat down on the porch, and thought i would have to stay there all night. after a while i saw a light coming from under the door, and so i knocked; when the door was opened and they saw who it was, they were all delighted to see me because they were afraid i was dead. i wanted to go to richmond, but would not go on a yankee transportation. when the brigade came down, i cried me heart out because i was not let go on with them. i stayed three months with mrs. cloyd, and then major rawle sent me forty dollars and fifty more if i needed it, and that brought me home to new orleans." mrs. rooney is still cared for and cherished by the veterans of louisiana. at the soldiers' home she holds the position of matron, and her little room is a shrine never neglected by visitors to "camp nichols." warning by a brave girl [our women in the war, pages - .] i know of a girl who rode through the storm of a winter's night, many miles, to give information to our soldiers when sherman was on his way to atlanta. the country far and wide was filled with soldiers, and skirmishing was of constant occurrence. by her efforts many lives were saved, and as she returned homeward the shot and shell were falling thick and fast around her. later, a desperate encounter took place in her father's yard between contending armies, and her courage was wonderful in assisting the wounded and baffling inquiries from the yankee officers, who made headquarters in her home. she still managed to give important information, and defied detection. this girl is of an ancient family, and soldier blood is in her veins. her grandfather was a general in the united states army before her mother was grown. a plucky girl with a pistol [our women in the war, pages - .] charleston was under an iron heel, the heel of despair. every house had its shutters closed and darkened; all the rooms overlooking the streets were abandoned; the women endeavored to give a deserted and dreary aspect to every mansion, and lived as retiringly as possible in the back portions of their dwellings, hoping that the northern soldiery in the city would suppose such houses to be deserted and therefore would not search them. but this did not save mr. cunningham's house. by a strange coincidence it was again a company of black michigan troops, with a negro in command, that burst open the locked gate, tore up the flower garden, and finally streamed up the back piazza steps, armed with muskets and glittering bayonets that shone in the noonday sun, their faces blacker than ink, their eyes red with drink and malice. the three girls saw them from the dining-room and shivered, but not one moment was lost. cecil pushed the other two into the room, saying, "stay here, i will go close this door and meet them," and advancing quickly she reached the entrance to the piazza just as the captain set his foot on the last step, and would have entered, but that her slight person filled up the narrow space. "what do you want here?" she asked. "why do you and your troops rush into my house?" "we want quarters here, and quarters we will have. move aside and let us in." "i shall not; we don't take boarders, and i have not invited you as guests. go away at once, or i will report you to the general in command." "d----n you, move aside, or i will throw you down." "keep your hands off if you are wise," said cecil, instantly placing one of her own in her pocket, and never removing her steady eyes from his face. "by god! i believe you have got a pistol; let's search her person for arms." "i have a pistol and shall shoot the first person that touches me, even if you all strike and kill me afterwards. leave this yard, and do it at once. by o'clock i will give you an answer if you come here for quarters then; now go!" "you little rebel devil! we will be back, and we will stay next time, be sure; and will take that same pistol from you, too." with an extra volley of fearful curses they departed and the girls rushed to cecil, who, after the excitement was over and nerve no longer needed, turned white and faint. then they all sat down and cried, feeling like desolate orphans. mosby's men and two noble girls [in wearing of the gray, pages - .] the force at morgan's lane was too great to meet front to front, and the ground so unfavorable for receiving their assault, that mountjoy gave the order for his men to save themselves, and they abandoned the prisoners and horses, put spurs to their animals, and retreated at full gallop past the mill, across a little stream, and up the long hill upon which was situated the mansion above referred to. behind them the one hundred federal cavalrymen came on at full gallop, calling upon them to halt, and firing volleys into them as they retreated. we beg now to introduce upon the scene the female _dramatis personae_ of the incident--two young ladies who had hastened out to the fence as soon as the firing began, and now witnessed the whole. as they reached the fence, the fifteen men of captain mountjoy appeared, mounting the steep road like lightning, closely pursued by the federal cavalry, whose dense masses completely filled the narrow road. the scene at the moment was sufficient to try the nerves of the young ladies. the clash of hoofs, the crack of carbines, the loud cries of "halt! halt!! halt!!!"--this tramping, shouting, banging, to say nothing of the quick hiss of bullets filling the air, rendered the "place and time" more stirring than agreeable to one consulting the dictates of a prudent regard to his or her safety. nevertheless, the young ladies did not stir. they had half mounted the board fence, and in this elevated position were exposed to a close and dangerous fire; more than one bullet burying itself in the wood close to their persons. but they did not move--and this for a reason more creditable than mere curiosity to witness the engagement, which may, however, have counted for something. this attracted them, but they were engaged in "doing good," too. it was of the last importance that the men should know where they could cross the river. "where is the nearest ford?" they shouted. "in the woods there," was the reply of one of the young ladies, pointing with her hand, and not moving. "how can we reach it?" "through the gate," and waving her hand, the speaker directed the rest, amid a storm of bullets burying themselves in the fence close beside her. the men went at full gallop towards the ford. last of all came mountjoy--but mountjoy, furious, foaming almost at the mouth, on fire with indignation, and uttering oaths so frightful that they terrified the young ladies much more than the balls or the federal cavalry darting up the hill. the partisan had scarcely disappeared in the woods, when the enemy rushed up, and demanded which way the confederates had taken. "i will not tell you," was the reply of the youngest girl. the trooper drew a pistol, and cocking it, levelled it at her head. "which way?" he thundered. the young lady shrunk from the muzzle, and said: "how do i know?" "move on!" resounded from the lips of the officer in command, and the column rushed by, nearly trampling upon the ladies, who ran into the house. here a new incident greeted them, and one sufficiently tragic. before the door, sitting on his horse, was a trooper, clad in blue--and at sight of him the ladies shrunk back. a second glance showed them that he was bleeding to death from a mortal wound. the bullet had entered his side, traversed the body, issued from the opposite side, inflicting a wound which rendered death almost certain. "take me from my horse!" murmured the wounded man, stretching out his arms and tottering. the young girls ran to him. "who are you--one of the yankees?" they exclaimed. "oh, no!" was the faint reply. "i am one of mountjoy's men. tell him, when you see him, that i said, 'captain, this is the first time i have gone out with you, and the last!'" as they assisted him from the saddle, he murmured: "my name is william armistead braxton. i have a wife and three little children living in hanover--you must let them know--" the poor fellow fainted; and the young ladies were compelled to carry him in their arms into the house, where he was laid upon a couch, writhing in agony. they had then time to look at him, and saw before them a young man of gallant countenance, elegant figure--in every outline of his person betraying the gentleman born and bred. they afterwards discovered that he had just joined mosby, and that, as he had stated, this was his first scout. poor fellow! it was also his last. a spartan dame and her young [from the gray jacket, page .] "we were once," says general d. h. hill, "witness to a remarkable piece of coolness in virginia. a six-gun battery was shelling the woods furiously near which stood a humble hut. as we rode by, the shells were fortunately too high to strike the dwelling, but this might occur any moment by lowering the angle or shortening the fire. the husband was away, probably far off in the army, but the good housewife was busy at the wash-tub, regardless of all the roar and crash of shells and falling timber. our surprise at her coolness was lost in greater amazement at observing three children, the oldest not more than , on top of a fence, watching with great interest the flight of the shells. our curiosity was so much excited by the extraordinary spectacle that we could not refrain from stopping and asking the children if they were not afraid. 'oh, no,' replied they, 'the yankees ain't shooting at us, they are shooting at the soldiers.'" singing under fire [a rebel's recollections, pages - .] they [the women of petersburg] carried their efforts to cheer and help the troops into every act of their lives. when they could, they visited camp. along the lines of march they came out with water or coffee or tea--the best they had, whatever it might be; with flowers, or garlands of green when their flowers were gone. a bevy of girls stood under a sharp fire from the enemy's lines at petersburg one day, while they sang bayard taylor's "song of the camp," responding to an encore with the stanza: "ah! soldiers, to your honored rest, your truth and valor bearing; the bravest are the tenderest, the loving are the daring!" indeed, the coolness of women under fire was always a matter of surprise to me. a young girl, not more than years of age, acted as guide to a scouting party during the early years of the war, and when we urged her to go back after the enemy had opened a vigorous fire upon us, she declined, on the plea that she believed we were "going to charge those fellows," and she "wanted to see the fun." at petersburg women did their shopping and went about their duties under a most uncomfortable bombardment, without evincing the slightest fear or showing any nervousness whatever. a woman's last word [eggleston, in southern soldier stories, pages - .] the city of richmond was in flames. we were beginning that last terrible retreat which ended the war. fire had been set to the arsenal as a military possession, which must on no account fall into the enemy's hands. as the flames spread, because of a turn of the wind, other buildings caught. the whole business part of the city was on fire. to make things worse, some idiot had ordered that all the liquor in the city should be poured into the gutters. the rivers of alcohol had been ignited from the burning buildings. it was a time and scene of unutterable terror. as we marched up the fire-lined street, with the flames scorching the very hair off our horses, george goodsmith--the best cannoneer that ever wielded a rammer--came up to the headquarters squad, and said: "captain, my wife's in richmond. we've been married less than a year. she is soon to become a mother. i beg permission to bid her good-bye. i'll join the battery later." the permission was granted readily, and george goodsmith put spurs to his horse. he had just been made a sergeant, and was therefore mounted. it was in the gray of the morning that he hurriedly met his wife. with caresses of the tenderest kind, he bade her farewell. realizing for a moment the utter hopelessness of our making another stand on the roanoke, or any other line, he said in the bitterness of his soul: "why shouldn't i stay here and take care of you?" the woman straightened herself and replied: "i would rather be the widow of a brave man than the wife of a coward." that was their parting, for the time was very short. mayo's bridge across the james river was already in flames when goodsmith perilously galloped across it. three or four days later--for i never could keep tab on time at that period of the war--we went into the battle at farmville. goodsmith was in his place in command of the piece. just before fire opened he beckoned to me, and i rode up to hear what he had to say. "i'm going to be killed, i think," he said. "if i am, i want my wife to know that she is the widow of a--brave man. i want her to know that i did my duty to the last. and--and if you live long enough and this thing don't kill mary--i want you to tell the little one about his father." goodsmith's premonition of his death was one of many that were fulfilled during the war. a moment later a fearful struggle began. at the first fire george goodsmith's wife became the "widow of a brave man." his body was heavy with lead. his son, then unborn, is now a successful broker in a great city. there is nothing particularly knightly or heroic about him, for this is not a knightly or heroic age. but he takes very tender care of his mother--that "widow of a brave man." two mississippi girls hold yankees at pistol point [in richmond enquirer, july , , page .] a memphis correspondent of the _appeal_, in referring to the bad treatment of citizens by the federal soldiers, related the following: the most unmanly and brutal act that i know of is their treatment of two misses coe. levin coe, their brother, was at home, discharged from the army. they surrounded the house before the family knew they were on the place. fortunately young coe had gone fishing, and two of his sisters escaped to the garden and ran to warn him not to come home. the yankees saw the way they went, and followed them, but the sisters outran them and gave their brother the information of their coming. they came up with the ladies at a house in the vicinity of the creek, and attempted to arrest them, but they were both armed and dared the six big, strapping yankees to lay their hands on them. one would say to another, "she's got a pistol; take it away from her." and she, a weak woman, stood at bay and told them to touch her at their peril. and the craven wretches dared not do it. at last, to get them from the neighborhood of their brother, they agreed to go to headquarters with them. it was then noon, and these girls had run two miles, and then these scoundrels marched them off on foot four miles to town. at every step they tried to get their pistols from them, threatening them with instant death if they did not give them up. three times they placed their pistols at the girls' hearts with them cocked and their fingers on the trigger, telling them they would kill them. each time the girls replied, "shoot; i can shoot as quick as you can." and they never did give them up until their brother-in-law came up with them and told them to do so, and he gave himself up in their place. levin coe escaped. "war women" of petersburg [southern soldier stories, pages - .] during all those weary months the good women of petersburg went about their household affairs with fifteen-inch shells dropping occasionally into their boudoirs or uncomfortably near to their kitchen ranges. yet they paid no attention to any danger that threatened themselves. their deeds of mercy will never be adequately recorded until the angels report. but this much i want to say of them--they were "war women" of the most daring and devoted type. when there was need of their ministrations on the line, they were sure to be promptly there; and once, as i have recorded elsewhere in print, a bevy of them came out to the lines only to encourage us, and, under a fearful fire, sang bayard taylor's "song of the camp," giving as an encore the lines: "ah! soldiers, to your honored rest, your truth and valor bearing; the bravest are the tenderest, the loving are the daring." with inspiration such as these women gave us, it was no wonder that, as i heard general sherman say soon after the war: "it took us four years, with all our enormous superiority in resources, to overcome the stubborn resistance of those men." john allen's cow while general milroy was in possession of winchester he was extremely harsh and vindictive towards the people. a great many of them were reduced to the borders of starvation. miss allen, a -year-old southern girl, was a member of a family almost absolutely dependent on a good cow's milk for sustenance. in a short time the cow's food was exhausted and the prospect looked dark indeed. there was a good pasturage just outside the town, beyond the guard lines of the federal troops. the brave girl volunteered to lead the cow out and attend her while grazing. a permit to pass the lines from general milroy was necessary. she went to the general and laid her case before him and asked for a permit. he flatly refused her request and rudely insulted the poor girl. "i can't do anything for you rebels and i will not let you pass. the rebellion has got to be crushed," said he. "well," answered the girl, "if you think you can crush the rebellion by starving john allen's old cow, just crush away." the family that had no luck [eggleston, in southern soldier stories, pages - .] at the battle of fredericksburg, as we tumbled into the sunken road, an old man came in bearing an enfield rifle and wearing an old pot hat of the date of or thereabouts. with a gentle courtesy that was unusual in war, he apologized to the two men between whom he placed himself, saying: "i hope i don't crowd you, but i must find a place somewhere from which i can shoot." at that moment one of the great assaults occurred. the old man used his gun like an expert. he wasted no bullet. he took aim every time and fired only when he knew his aim to be effective. yet he fired rapidly. tom booker, who stood next to him, said as the advancing column was swept away: "you must have shot birds on the wing in your time." the old man answered: "i did up to twenty years ago; but then i sort o' lost my sight, you know, and my interest in shootin'." "well, you've got 'em both back again," called out billy goodwin, from down the line. "yes," said the old man. "you see i had to. it's this way: i had six boys and six gells. when the war broke out i thought the six boys could do my family's share o' the fightin'. well, they did their best, but they didn't have no luck. one of 'em was killed at manassas, two others in a cavalry raid, and the other three fell in different actions--'long the road, as you might say. we ain't seemed to a had no luck. but it's just come to this, that if the family is to be represented, the old man must git up his shootin' agin, or else one o' the gells would have to take a hand. so here i am." just then the third advance was made. a tremendous column of heroic fellows was hurled upon us, only to be swept away as its predecessors had been. two or three minutes did the work, but at the end of that time the old man fell backward, and tom booker caught him in his arms. "you're shot," he said. "yes. the family don't seem to have no luck. if one of my gells comes to you, you'll give her a fair chance to shoot straight, won't you, boys?" brave women at resaca, ga. [by j. l. underwood.] in a letter to mrs. e. j. simmons, of calhoun, ga., dated june , , rev. jno. c. portis, of union, miss., formerly of the eighteenth mississippi regiment, and now a congregational methodist minister, writes: "my good right arm lies about a mile south of resaca, ga., just north of a church at the root of a large oak or chestnut tree. it was put in a board box and buried by a comrade. hence you see i feel an interest in the wild hills of resaca. i was a private in company b, eighth mississippi volunteer inf., and was wounded in right shoulder and throat about dark in a charge on the enemy's works, may , , on the side of a hill just west of the village on the north side of the river. i was carried back to the bluff below the bridge, where about three or four hundred poor fellows were lying torn, bleeding, and some dying. after a time i crossed the bridge, and, faint and sick, i was trying to make my way to cheatham's division hospital, which was in the church. a man came into the road with an ox wagon loaded in part with beds which appeared to be very white. some one called him motes and asked him about his family (motes's family), and he said they had gone on to calhoun. mr. motes insisted that i should ride, and said his wife would not care if all her beds were dyed with rebel blood. he carried me to the old church. i would like to know what became of mr. motes; i could not see his face. the night was dark. sunday morning, may , about eight o'clock, my right arm was amputated at the shoulder joint. thirty-two years have passed since then, and strange it may seem that a boy soldier, that few thought could live, is writing this reminiscence of those two days of carnage. never shall i forget the morning of that fateful th of may, when at early dawn the signal guns told us in tones of thunder that both armies were ready for the work of death. bright rose the sun, tipping mountain peak with blooming rays of silver and bathing valley and woodland in a flood of golden light, a scene never to be witnessed again by hundreds of the boys who wore the blue and the gray. in the streets of resaca that day i saw enacted a deed of heroism which challenged the admiration of all who witnessed it. a wagon occupied by several ladies was passing along north of the river and just west of the railroad, when a yankee battery opened fire on it and, until it had passed over the bridge, poured a storm of shells around it. a young woman stood erect in the wagon waving her hat, which was dressed with red or had a red ribbon or plume on it, seemingly to defy the cowards who would make war on defenceless women. i felt then, as i do to-day, for that woman a man could freely die. many a rebel boy felt as i did that day. i was taken from the church to a bush-arbor on the west side of the railroad, where i expected to die. a middle-aged woman dressed in black came with nourishment and (god forever bless her) fed me, and during that awful day ministered to the wants of the wounded and dying. if i remember correctly she came often to me with food and drink. who she was i may never know, but she was a noble woman." the fearlessness of the southern women under cannon and rifle fire mentioned in the above incident was exhibited time and again during the war. the women seemed to have their souls and bodies keyed up for any and all emergencies. there may be something of an explanation in the fact that they belonged to a race of marksmen and expected bullets and cannon balls to hit what they were aimed to hit, and as they didn't think anybody was trying to kill them, they apprehended no danger. a woman's hair [southern soldier stories, pages - .] about o'clock in the morning the sharpshooters began. our captain instantly divided us into two squads, and without military formalities said: "now, boys, ride to the right and left and corner 'em." that was the only command we received, but we obeyed it with a will. the two sharpshooting citizens who were there that morning escaped on good horses, but we captured the pickets. among them was a woman--a juno in appearance, with a wealth of raven black hair twisted carelessly into a loose knot under the jockey cap she wore. she was mounted on a superb chestnut mare, and she knew how to ride. she might easily have escaped, and at one time seemed to do so, but at the critical moment she seemed to lose her head and so fell into our hands. when we brought her to charlie irving she was all smiles and graciousness, and charlie was all blushes. "you'd hang me to a tree, if i were a man, i suppose," she said. "and serve me right, too. as i'm only a woman, you'd better send me to general stuart, instead." this seemed so obviously the right way out of it charlie ordered ham seay and me to escort her to stuart's headquarters, which were under a tree some miles in the rear. when we got there stuart seemed to recognize the young woman. or perhaps it was only his habitual and constitutional gallantry that made him come forward with every manifestation of welcome, and himself help her off her horse, taking her by the waist for that purpose. ham seay and i, being mere privates, were ordered to another tree. but we could not help seeing that cordial relations were quickly established between our commander and this young woman. we saw her presently take down her magnificent black hair and remove from it some papers. they were not "curl papers," or that sort of stuffing which women call "rats." stuart was a very gallant man, and he received the papers with much fervor. he spread them out carefully on the ground, and seemed to be reading what was written or drawn upon them. then he talked long and earnestly with the young woman and seemed to be coming to some definite sort of understanding with her. then she dined with him on some fried salt pork and some hopelessly indigestible fried paste. then he mounted her on her mare again and summoned ham seay and me. "escort this young lady back to captain irving," he said. "tell him to send her to the federal lines under flag of truce, with the message that she was inadvertently captured in a picket charge, and that as general stuart does not make war on women and children, he begs to return her to her home and friends." we did all this. the next day, stuart with a strong force advanced to mason's and munson's mills. from there we could clearly see a certain house in washington. it had many windows, and each had a dark holland shade. when we stood guard we were ordered to observe minutely and report accurately the slidings up and down of those holland shades. we never knew what three shades up, two half up, and five down might signify. but we had to report it, nevertheless, and stuart seemed from that time to have an almost preternatural advance perception of the enemy's movements. that young woman certainly had a superb shock of hair. a breach of etiquette [eggleston, in southern soldier stories, pages - .] finally we went near to martinsburg, and came upon a farm-house. the farm gave no appearance of being a large one, or one more than ordinarily prosperous, yet we saw through the open door a dozen or fifteen "farm hands" eating dinner, all of them in their shirt-sleeves. stuart rode up, with a few of us at his back, to make inquiries, and we dismounted. just then a slip of a girl,--not over , i should say--accompanied by a thickset young bull-dog, with an abnormal development of teeth, ran up to meet us. she distinctly and unmistakably "sicked" that dog upon us. but as the beast assailed us, the young girl ran after him and restrained his ardor by throwing her arms around his neck. as she did so, she kept repeating in a low but very insistent tone to us: "make 'em put their coats on! make 'em put their coats on! make 'em put their coats on!" stuart was a peculiarly ready person. he said not one word to the young girl as she led her dog away, but with a word or two he directed a dozen or so of us to follow him with cocked carbines into the dining-room. there he said to the "farm hands:" "don't you know that a gentleman never dines without his coat? aren't you ashamed of yourselves? and ladies present, too! get up and put on your coats, every man jack of you, or i'll riddle you with bullets in five seconds." they sprang first of all into the hallway, where they had left their arms; but either the bull-dog or the -year-old girl had taken care of that. the arms were gone. then seeing the carbines levelled, they made a hasty search of the hiding-places in which they had bestowed their coats. a minute later they appeared as fully uniformed but helplessly unarmed pennsylvania volunteers. they were prisoners of war at once, without even an opportunity to finish that good dinner. as we left the house the young girl came up to stuart and said: "don't say anything about it, but the dog wouldn't have bit you. he knows which side we're on in this war." as we rode away this young girl--she of the bull-dog--cried out: "to think the wretches made us give 'em dinner; and in their shirt-sleeves, too." lola sanchez's ride [women in the war.] during the war for southern independence there lived just opposite palatka, on the east bank of the st. johns river, florida, a cuban gentleman, mauritia sanchez by name, who early in life had left the west indies to seek a home in the state of florida. many years had passed since then and mr. sanchez was at the time of the following incident an old man, infirm and in wretched health. the family consisted of an invalid wife, one son, who was in the service of the confederacy, and three daughters, panchita, lola, and eugenia. suspicion had long fastened upon mr. sanchez as a spy for the confederates, and at the time of this incident, the old man had been torn from his home and family and was a prisoner in the old spanish fort san marcos (now fort marion), at st. augustine. the girls occupied the old home with their mother and were entirely unprotected. many times at night their house was surrounded by white and negro soldiers expecting to surprise them and find confederates about the place, for the yankees knew some one was giving information, but thought it was mr. sanchez. the southern soldiers were higher up the st. johns, on the west side. it was usual for the yankee officers to visit frequently at the sanchez home, and the girls, for policy, (and information) were cordial in their reception of them, and thereby gained some protection from the thieving soldiery. one warm summer's night three yankee officers came to the sanchez home to spend the evening. after a short time the three sisters left the officers and went to the dining room to prepare supper. the soldiers, thinking themselves safe, entered into the discussion of a plan to surprise the confederates on sunday morning by sending the gunboats up the river, and also by planning that a foraging party should go out from st. augustine. on hearing this lola sanchez stopped her work and listened. after hearing of the road the foraging party would take and gaining all necessary information, she told panchita to entertain them until she returned. stealing softly from the house, she sped to the horse lot, and throwing a saddle on her horse rode for life to the ferry, a mile distant; there the ferryman took her horse, and gave her a boat. she rowed herself across the st. johns, met one confederate picket, who knew her and gave her his horse. out into the night through the woods she rode like the wind to camp davis, a mile and a half away. reaching the camp, she asked for captain dickinson, (afterwards general dickinson) and told him the yankees were coming up the river sunday morning and that the troop from st. augustine would go out foraging in a southerly direction. then leaving the camp, lola sanchez rode for her life indeed. she knew she must not be missed from home. giving the picket his horse, she recrossed the ferry, then mounting her waiting animal she struck out for home. dismounting some distance from the house, she turned her horse loose, and reached home in time for supper and pleasantly entertained her guests until a late hour. that night captain dickinson marched his men to intercept the yankees. he crossed from the west to the east side and surprised them on sunday. a severe fight ensued. the yankee general chatfield was killed and colonel nobles wounded and captured. on that same sunday morning the yankee gunboats went up the st. johns to surprise the confederates. they were very much surprised in turn. the confederates were ready for them, disabled a gunboat and captured a transport; also many prisoners were taken by the confederates. the foraging party lost all their wagons, and everything they had stolen, and again many prisoners were taken, and captain dickinson sent for the three sisters to be at the ferry (the one lola sanchez crossed) to see the prisoners and wagons that had been taken. time and again this daughter of the confederacy aided and abetted the southern cause. some time after a pontoon was captured, and renamed "the three sisters" in compliment to these brave young women. the pontoon was coming from picolata to orange mills. mr. sanchez still languished in fort san marco, however, and panchita grieved continuously over her father's unjust incarceration. the old man was truly innocent, his daughters were the informers, but he did not know this. panchita determined to obtain his release if possible. after some time spent in applying, she got a pass to go through the yankee lines, and boarding one of their transports, this young woman went alone to st. augustine, and gained her father's freedom, taking him with her back to the old homestead. there is the "emily geiger ride," and "lill servosse's ride," but none more daring than that of lola sanchez, the young floridian of the southern confederacy. the u. d. c. should look to it that one chapter at least should be lola sanchez chapter. lola sanchez married emanuel lopez, a confederate soldier of the st. augustine blues; eugenia married albert rogers, another soldier of the st. augustine blues; panchita is the widow of the late john r. miot, of columbia, s. c. lola sanchez died about seven years ago. may the memory of this southern woman never fade. these facts were recently related to me by mrs. eugenia rogers, of st. augustine. elizabeth w. mullings. the rebel sock a true episode in seward's raids on the old ladies of maryland by tenella. [the gray jacket, pages - .] in all the pride and pomp of war the lincolnite was dressed; high beat his patriotic heart beneath his armoured vest. his maiden sword hung by his side, his pistols both were right, his coat was buttoned tight. his shining spurs were on his heels; a firm resolve sat on his brow, for he to danger went. by seward's self that day he was on secret service sent. "mount and away!" he sternly cried unto the gallant band. who all equipped from head to heel awaited his command. "but halt, my boys--before we go these solemn words i'll say, lincoln expects that every man his duty'll do to-day!" "we will! we will!" the soldiers cried, "the president shall see that we will only run away from jackson or from lee!" and now they're off, just four score men, a picked and chosen troop. and like a hawk upon a dove on maryland they swoop. from right to left, from house to house, the little army rides. in every lady's wardrobe look to see that there she hides; they peep in closets, trunks, and drawers, examine every box; not rebel soldiers now they seek, but rebel soldiers' socks! but all in vain--too keen for them were those dear ladies there, and not a sock or flannel shirt was taken anywhere. the day wore on to afternoon, that warm and drowsy hour, when nature's self doth seem to feel a touch of morpheus' power. a farm-house door stood open wide, the men were all away, the ladies sleeping in their rooms, the children at their play; the house dog lay upon the steps, but never raised his head, though cracking on the gravel walk he heard a stranger's tread. old grandma, in her rocking chair, sat knitting in the hall, when suddenly upon her work a shadow seemed to fall. she raised her eyes and there she saw our fed'ral hero stand. his little cap was on his head; his sword was in his hand; while circling round and round the house his gallant soldiers ride to guard the open kitchen door and chicken coop beside. slowly the dear old lady rose and tottering forward came, and peering dimly through her "specks," said, "honey, what's your name?" then as she raised her withered hand to pat his sturdy arm-- "there's no one here but grandmamma, and she won't do you harm; come, take a seat and don't be scared; put up your sword, my child, i would not hurt you for the world," she gently said and smiled. "madam, my duty must be done, and i am firm as rock!" then pointing to her work he said, "is that a rebel sock!" "yes, honey, i am getting old, and for hard work ain't fit, but for confederate soldiers still i, thank the lord, can knit." "madam, your work is contraband, and congress confiscates this rebel sock, which i now seize, to the united states." "yes, honey, don't be scared, for i will give it up to you." then slowly from the half knit sock the dame her needles drew, broke off her thread, wound up her ball and stuck her needles in. "here, take it, child, and i to-night another will begin!" the soldier next his loyal heart the dear-bought trophy laid, and that was all that seward got by this "old woman's raid." chapter v their cause introductory note to "their cause" in no sense does the author offer the suggestions in this section as an apology for the course of southern women or men in the war between the states. they are presented simply as a part of history, showing the political principles which guided and moved the south in the momentous struggle. they explain the lofty zeal and heroic fortitude of the confederate women. they cannot be attributed to partisanship or sectional bias on the part of the author, for sufficient quotations are herewith presented from well-known northern, english, and continental public men to show that if there is an extreme southern view it is held by other people as well as by our own. right or wrong, each southern man in the field and each woman at home, toiled in that war with a _mens sibi conscia recti_. it was a movement of the people. in the ranks of the army were found hundreds of college graduates and men carrying muskets whose property was valued at a hundred thousand dollars, and at home the rich and the poor women toiled with equal zeal for the cause so dear to their hearts. "when this cruel war is over" mrs. w. w. gordon, of savannah, the wife of the brave ex-confederate officer who was commissioned brigadier general by president mckinley, and served with distinguished gallantry in the spanish war, had kindred in the federal army, which under sherman captured savannah. as the troops were entering the city she stood with her children watching them as they marched under the windows of her southern home. just then the splendid brass band at the head of one of the divisions began to play the old familiar air, "when this cruel war is over." just as soon as the notes struck the ear of her little daughter this enthusiastic young confederate exclaimed, "mamma, just listen to the yankees. they are playing, 'when this cruel war is over,' and they are just doing it themselves." northern men leaders of disunion in it was plain to the world that the people of the north were determined to spurn the compact of union with the southern states and to deny to those states all right to control their own affairs. here are the sentiments of the northern leaders: "there is a higher law than the constitution which regulates our authority over the domain. slavery must be abolished, and we must do it."--_wm. h. seward._ "the time is fast approaching when the cry will become too overpowering to resist. rather than tolerate national slavery as it now exists, let the union be dissolved at once, and then the sin of slavery will rest where it belongs."--_new york tribune._ "the union is a lie. the american union is an imposture--a covenant with death and an agreement with hell. we are for its overthrow! up with the flag of disunion, that we may have a free and glorious republic of our own."--_wm. lloyd garrison._ "i look forward to the day when there shall be a servile insurrection in the south; when the black man, armed with british bayonets, and led on by british officers, shall assert his freedom and wage a war of extermination against his master. and, though we may not mock at their calamity nor laugh when their fear cometh, yet we will hail it as the dawn of a political millennium."--_joshua giddings._ "in the alternative being presented of the continuance of slavery or a dissolution of the union, we are for a dissolution, and we care not how quick it comes."--_rufus p. spaulding._ "the fugitive-slave act is filled with horror; we are bound to disobey this act."--_charles sumner._ "the _advertiser_ has no hesitation in saying that it does not hold to the faithful observance of the fugitive-slave law of ."--_portland advertiser._ "i have no doubt but the free and slave states ought to be separated. * * * the union is not worth supporting in connection with the south."--_horace greeley._ "the times demand and we must have an anti-slavery constitution, an anti-slavery bible, and an anti-slavery god."--_anson p. burlingame._ "there is merit in the republican party. it is this: it is the first sectional party ever organized in this country. * * * it is not national; it is sectional. it is the north arrayed against the south. * * * the first crack in the iceberg is visible; you will yet hear it go with a crack through the center."--_wendell phillips._ "the cure prescribed for slavery by redpath is the only infallible remedy, and men must foment insurrection among the slaves in order to cure the evils. it can never be done by concessions and compromises. it is a great evil, and must be extinguished by still greater ones. it is positive and imperious in its approaches, and must be overcome with equally positive forces. you must commit an assault to arrest a burglar, and slavery is not arrested without a violation of law and the cry of fire."--_independent democrat_, leading republican paper in new hampshire. the union vs. a union [j. l. underwood.] early in the war a son of the emerald isle, but not himself green, was taken prisoner not far from manassas junction. in a word, pat was taking a quiet nap in the shade; and was aroused from his slumber by a confederate scouting party. he wore no special uniform of either army, but looked more like a spy than an alligator and on this was arrested. "who are you?" "what is your name?" and "where are you from?" were the first questions put to him by the armed party. pat rubbed his eyes, scratched his head, and answered: "be me faith, gintlemen, them is ugly questions to answer, anyhow; and before i answer any of them, i be after axing yo, by yer lave, the same thing." "well," said the leader, "we are out of scott's army and belong to washington." "all right," said pat. "i knowed ye was a gintleman, for i am that same. long life to general scott." "ah ha!" replied the scout. "now you rascal, you are our prisoner," and seized him by the shoulder. "how is that," inquired pat, "are we not friends?" "no," was the answer; "we belong to general beauregard's army." "then ye tould me a lie, me boys, and thinking it might be so, i told you another. an' now tell me the truth, an' i'll tell you the truth too." "well, we belong to the state of south carolina." "so do i," promptly responded pat, "and to all the other states uv the country, too, and there i am thinking, i hate the whole uv ye. do ye think i would come all the way from ireland to belong to one state when i have a right to belong to the whole of 'em?" this logic was rather a stumper; but they took him up, as before said, and carried him for further examination. this irishman's unionism is a fair sample of what sometimes passes in this country as broad patriotism. "we don't believe in so much state and state's right. we want a nation and we want it spelt with a big n." this is the merest twaddle. from the very nature of the formation of our government there can be no organized nation. alexander hamilton wrote, "the state governments are essentially necessary to the form and spirit of the general system. * * * they can never lose their powers till the whole of america are robbed of their liberties." it is a union of states and can be made nothing else. bancroft, the great historian, says: "but for staterights the union would perish from the paralysis of its limbs. the states, as they gave life to the union, are necessary to the continuance of that life." madison wrote as follows: "the assent and ratification of the people, not as individuals composing the entire nation, but as composing the distinct and independent states to which they belong, are the sources of the constitution. it is therefore not a national but a federal compact." the irishman could only belong to the "whole of 'em" by belonging to one of them. no man can love all the other states without loving his own state. a swiss loves schwyz or unterwalden or some other canton before he loves the confederation of cantons. the loyal scotchmen love scotland before they love the british empire. the union man loves the union through his immediate part of union. daniel webster loved the union, but his speeches show how he loved massachusetts first. calhoun loved the union, but he loved it as a federal union with his beloved carolina. many of the best people of the north loved their several states and in loyalty to them took sides against the south. the southern people, whigs and democrats, were devoted to the union of the fathers as long as it was a reality. but as soon as they realized that it had become only a confederation of the northern majority states, with the protecting features of the old constitution directly discarded, the love for their own states led them heart and soul into the confederate cause. our irishman might be satisfied with a union, but nothing but the union of the fathers could satisfy southern men. they loved the definite union of ; they fought the indefinite union of . the former was a union on a constitution without a flag; the latter was a mere sentimental union under a flag without a constitution. the constitution had been thrown away. the writer's father, a plain old farmer-merchant of alabama, was a fair specimen of the staunchest southern union man. a whig all his life, he almost adored henry clay and idolized the union. the great old union paper, the _national intelligencer_, of washington city, was his political bible, and he made it follow his son all through school and college. like all other whigs, he believed in the right of secession, but did not think the time had come for such a step. he opposed with all his might the secession of alabama. but when it was an accomplished fact, he wrote sadly to his son, who was then a student in a foreign land: alabama has seceded. she has the right to do so, but i didn't want her to exercise it. i belong to my state, and i secede with her. and i know the other states have no right to coerce her. my son, your old father is like a tennessee hog, he can be tolled, but he can't be driven. savoyard tells us truly that no state embraced secession with more reluctance than north carolina, and yet no state supported the southern cause with more heroism or fortitude. when the news flashed over the wires that president lincoln had issued a call for volunteers to coerce the sovereign southern states, zebulon b. vance was addressing an immense audience, pleading for the union and opposing the confederacy. his hand was raised aloft in appealing gesture when the fatal tidings came, and in relating the incident to a new england audience a quarter of a century later, he said: when my hand came down from that impassioned gesticulation it fell slowly and sadly by the side of a secessionist. i immediately, with altered voice and manner, called upon the assembled multitude to volunteer, not to fight against but for south carolina. if war must come, i preferred to be with my own people. if we had to shed blood i preferred to shed northern rather than southern blood. north carolina took her favorite son at his word, turned secessionist with him, and volunteered for the conflict. robert e. lee felt in virginia just like zeb vance felt in north carolina. the women of the south were the women of lee and vance and alex. stephens and judah p. benjamin, charles j. jenkins and ben hill. they loved the union, but when it was gone, they, with their states, opposed what, to them, was only a union of invading, coercing states. "we were not the first to break the peace that blessed our happy land; we loved the quiet calm and ease, too well to raise a hand, till fierce oppression stronger grew, and bitter were your sneers. then to our land we must be true, or show a coward's fears! we loved our banner while it waved an emblem of our union. the fiercest dangers we had braved to guard that sweet communion. but when it proved that 'stripes' alone were for our sunny south, and all the 'stars' in triumph shone above the chilly north, then, not till then, our voices rose in one tumultuous wave: 'we will the tyranny oppose, or find a bloody grave.'" it was southern devotion to the union which led so many men of kentucky and tennessee into the federal army. it was the same traditional love for the union of the fathers that held back virginia and the other border states from secession too long. it led them to make the mistake of the crisis. the writer, like nearly all the southern men of his ultra unionism, at the time thought south carolina made the mistake of too much haste in her secession. he does not think so now. he has not thought so since calmly and thoroughly studying the history of those times. the new party in the north was in a triumphant majority and was determined to deprive the minority states of the south of their share in the government. delay on the part of southern border states did no good. it did harm. it misled the northern people as to the true feeling in virginia and the other border states. had they all seceded on the same day with south carolina there would have been no war. now that the northern people, through the broad, patriotic administrations of cleveland, mckinley and roosevelt, have restored the union, and florida is again a coequal state with new york, and texans once more fellow-citizens with pennsylvanians, what section shows more loyalty to the union and the common country than the south? our patriot mothers and grandmothers of loved the union. those who yet survive, and their children, love the union in . no state is under the ban now. the captured battle flags of confederate states have been restored to the states by a republican congress. the federal government volunteers to take care of confederate soldiers' graves. president, and congress and army and navy follow general wheeler's coffin to an honored grave. a republican president publicly avows his attachment to confederate veterans and shows his faith by his appointments. thank god, our union to-day is again _the_ union of equal states. the northern states secede from the union [by j. l. underwood.] the denial of the equal rights of the southern states in the public territorial domain, and the nullification by the northern states of the acts of congress and the decisions of the supreme court on territorial questions, and the formation and triumph of a party pledged to hostility to the south, were not the only considerations that convinced the southern states that their only honorable course lay in secession. the compact of the written constitution was the only union that had existed. a breach or repudiation of that compact was a breach of the union. it was secession without its name. in , after a violent sectional agitation, which shook the country, over the admission of california as a free state, a compromise measure, proposed by mr. clay and advocated by webster and calhoun, was adopted by congress. it was known as the "omnibus bill." it provided, among other things, that california should be a free state; that the slave trade should be abolished in the district of columbia, and that slaves escaping from their owners, from one state into another, could be arrested anywhere and returned to their owners. article four, section two of the federal constitution makes this provision in the plainest of terms. it was similar to the new england fugitive slave law of enacted by massachusetts, connecticut, plymouth and new haven. mr. webster in his great speech in faneuil hall in boston, in defense of his vote for the "omnibus bill," read the words of the constitution and showed that the fugitive slave section of the omnibus bill was almost a literal reiteration of the constitutional provision. the majority of the northern states repudiated this feature of the act of congress and declared that it should not be enforced. here was the boldest nullification, the most direct breaking up of the old union. here was the arch rebellion of the century. the question was not what should be done with the fugitive slaves, but whether the northern states would do what, in the constitution, they had agreed to do. the south waited for the northern states to revoke such a flagrant disregard of their rights under the constitution and such a bold repudiation of the original terms of union. patriotic little rhode island did rescind her action in the matter, but she was alone. most of the other states had become desperate in their hostility to the south and, when the south, seeing all hope of justice, all vestige of the old union, all prospect of peace, hopelessly gone, resorted to quiet, peaceable withdrawal from these domineering states, the resolution was formed and carried out by the party in power, to subjugate the southern states to the will of the majority states, and keep them in what was called the union against their will. the south in seceding made no threat, and contemplated no attempt to invade a northern state in pursuit of slaves, but simply sought to sever all connection with the states and people who were so determined to ignore her rights, and who nullified their own plighted terms of union. she did not secede in the interest of slavery nor for the purpose of war. the southern states seceded to take care of the fragments of a broken union. slavery, it is true, was the occasion of the rupture. peaceable secession on the one hand and coercion on the other was the issue of the war. emancipation was adopted as a war measure two years later by the northern administration and finally consummated in as a punitive measure to further crush the conquered south. such was the public opinion at the time of the fall of fort sumter that not a regiment could have been raised at the north to invade virginia if it had been distinctly called out for the purpose of setting the negroes free. fanatics by the thousands made a demigod of the murderous john brown, but it was not fanatics who were in control at washington. it was the politicians, not working from humanitarian sentiment, true or false, but impelled by a determination to cripple the south and break up her controlling influence in national politics,--a preeminence which had existed from the first days of the government. the politicians shrewdly employed the anti-slavery excitement to gain power for themselves and especially to aggravate the south into secession, and then, smothering every whisper of war for the freedom of the negroes, they raised the rallying cry of "save the union" and marshalled the northern hosts for subjugation. president davis justly said to a self-constituted umpire visiting him in richmond, "we are not fighting for slavery; we are fighting for independence. the war will go on unless you acknowledge our right to self-government." frenzied finance and the war of [by j. l. underwood.] was the war between the states in a war in behalf of slavery on the one side and freedom on the other? not at all. after all the noisy and fanatical agitation on the subject, only a small minority of the northern people had expressed any desire to have the negroes of the south emancipated at that time, and no state nor people of the south had said that slavery should be perpetual. all the parties which in cast any electoral votes distinctly disavowed any intention to interfere with slavery where it existed. this was the declaration even of the republican party which was triumphant and was now in power. mr. lincoln, the president-elect, repeatedly declared that slavery was not to be disturbed in the states, although he said the country could not remain "half slave and half free." here, then, the north and the south were thoroughly agreed that slavery within the states should continue undisturbed. as to emancipation, both sections of the country and all parties except the ultra-abolitionists were pro-slavery. the abolitionists admitted that under the federal constitution there could be no power in the national government to free the slaves. they cursed and burned the constitution as "a compact with the devil and a league with hell," and defiantly repudiated all laws which carried out its provisions. under the plea of what they called "higher law," they defied law. they were really anarchists. the free soil party, which had assumed the name of republican for party purposes, secretly encouraged the abolitionists in their mad crusade and welcomed their votes, but persistently disavowed their aims. all rational men knew that the time had not come to turn loose millions of half-civilized africans in this country; while many, north and south, deplored the existence of slavery and would not advocate it in the abstract, yet they believed that emancipation was not best for the negro and would be accompanied by tremendous peril to the white people. the truth is that the abolitionists of the north kept up such a blatant and fanatical agitation against the south that it was out of the question, in the excitement of the times, for conservative men, north or south, to think or speak of such an alternative as the immediate freedom of the negroes. the republican party, now the dominant party, and its leader, mr. lincoln, stood against the immediate freedom of the slaves. but this party had come into power on two ground principles which made its triumph a direct attack on the rights and interests of the southern states in the territories. it gloried in its free-soil doctrine, which was a declaration that the southern states should no longer enjoy their share in the territories of the government. it never mounted the steed of abolitionism until when the emancipation of the slaves was adopted as a war measure, and was so declared by mr. lincoln himself. in defiance of the decisions of the supreme court, the triumphant party held that congress should not allow the southern people the right to take their slave property, although distinctly recognized as property by the constitution, into the territories. the northern legislatures deliberately defied the supreme court and its people denounced it and reiterated their free soil demand. of course this was a direct insult to the south and a public outlawry of the south that no self-respecting people ought to submit to. the territories were common property to all the states. the south held that while they were territories the southern people had as much right to enter and enjoy them as the people of the north, but the south was always willing that the people of the territory, in organizing a state government, should decide for themselves as a state whether it should be admitted as a slave or free state. the new party declared that under no circumstances should another slave state be admitted. the territorial demands of the new party had been endorsed by the formal acts of a majority of northern states in their legislatures. the catch-word of the new party was "no more extension of slavery." the south had never brought a slave into the country, and never did propose to add another slave to it, but its rights in the common property of the union it could not surrender to the dictation of the more numerous and populous northern states. then what? declare war? no. simply fall back on the right of original sovereignty, on their several constitutional rights, as the people of new england, when they were in the minority, had threatened to do, and withdraw from the union with states who declared so distinctly a purpose not to abide by the terms of union. then came secession, the only peaceable remedy. in it the south made no claim on territorial or other property. in fact, it was a voluntary surrender of everything not on its own soil to the remaining states. it was old abraham's alternative to lot. "let there be no strife, i pray thee, between me and thee, and between my herdsmen and thy herdsmen, for we be brethren. is not the whole land before thee? separate thyself, i pray thee, from me; if thou wilt take the left hand, then i will go to the right; or if thou depart to the right hand, then i will go to the left." then why should there be war? indeed, why? so natural and just was the step of secession that the more enlightened and conscientious abolitionists conceded the right of south carolina to withdraw from the union. horace greeley, the powerful editor of the great abolition organ, the new york _tribune_, boldly protested against any interference with her departure. wendell phillips, the great lawyer and abolition orator of boston, said in a public speech: "deck her brow with flowers, pave her way with gold, and let her go." but greeley and phillips were not the politicians nor the party in control of the country. we have shown how the free soil aim of the triumphant party led the northern states to adopt such a course as really to drive the southern states into secession. what was the main spring of the free soil crusade? this brings us to tell in one word what brought on the war. what was the ground issue which held the northern states so desperately on their crusade against the south? it was the "tariff." new england ideas dominated the thought of the north and northwest, and it was always a ruling new england idea to get all money possible from the government. new england never lost sight of business, and especially her own business interests. it was only by virginia's surrender of her vast territories that new england could be brought into the union and it took subsidies, appropriations for internal improvement, and fishing and tariff bounties to keep her in it. very soon she set up a persistent demand for high duties on imports to assist in building up her increasing manufactures. the moderate protective tariffs of the twenties, the tariff of henry clay, did not satisfy her. her cry up to the final passage of the trust-breeding dingley tariff bill of our day has been that of the horse leech, "give! give!" the southern states were agricultural and the prevailing doctrine as to tariff duties was a "tariff for revenue only." the old southern whigs, like clay, only favored a moderate protective tariff as a compromise sop to new england in behalf of her infant industries. but new england was not satisfied with the tariff of the twenties. a little taste of incidental protection had only increased her greed. in the thirties she demanded more. the tariff of was enacted and proved such a heavy tax on the consumers for the benefit of the manufacturers that south carolina took the bold stand of nullification against it. by the combined efforts of clay and calhoun a compromise was effected and the tariff modified and the country saved. in the moderate walker tariff, the "free-trade tariff," was adopted and under it the people of all classes and all sections enjoyed more general prosperity up to than the country has ever before or since seen. but new england "frenzied finance" was at work. the taste for public pap had grown by what it fed on. the "almighty dollar" idea in politics was sweeping the north. the _auri sacra fames_ had formed a league with a fanatical sectional party. the seed sowing was over; the harvest of financial politics had come. new england must have a higher tariff and votes from agricultural states meant more anti-tariff votes and the tariff advocates decreed that there should be no slave states carved out of the territories. to secure this the southern people with their property must be excluded from the occupancy of the territorial soil. frenzied finance triumphed, and in the election of mr. lincoln the north declared the national territory forbidden ground to the south. free soil exclusion from their property was openly flaunted in the face of the slave states. what could the southern states do under such an insulting ultimatum from the triumphant north? what did they do? why, they simply fell back on their original right of state sovereignty and, as the north had already broken the union, peaceably seceded from it. then why not, as greeley and phillips and thousands of northern patriots urged, why not let these states go? frenzied finance replied in the words of mr. lincoln, "if we let the south go, where will we get our revenues?" there it is. they were needed to furnish their cotton and their trade to support the north. it was the frenzied pharoah of finance that refused to let tribute-paying, brick-making israel go. hence the war of subjugation. it is a grotesque and sad bit of history that while patriots like crittenden, of kentucky, bayard, of delaware, black, of pennsylvania and seymour, of new york, were anxiously trying to avert war and save the old union, while the whole world was watching with bated breath the storm gathering around fort sumter, the party of frenzied finance, now in control of congress, defiantly discarded all propositions of peace compromise and concentrated all its mighty energies on the passage of its darling morrill tariff bill. the morrill tariff bill was enacted april , . fort sumter fell april , . there is the record of cold-blood-money worship. it was not nero "fiddling while rome was burning" but it was the legislators of the great american republic fiddling on a scheme for the financial gain of private business while the glorious union that we loved and our fathers loved was falling to pieces! the laborer's groans, the widow's sobs, the roar of cannon and the crash of states could not drown the mad new england cry for private subsidy from the public treasury. the right of secession [in southern historical papers, volume , pages - .] it may not be amiss, however, to call attention to the fact that the north already admits that the people of the south were honest in their contentions, and that they at least thought they were right. furthermore, it is even conceded that the south was not without great support for its contentions from legal, moral and historical points of view. for instance, professor goldwin, of canada, an englishman, a distinguished historian, resident of and sympathizing with the north during the civil war, recently said: few who have looked into the history can doubt that the union originally was, and was generally taken by the parties to it to be, a compact; dissoluble, perhaps most of them would have said, at pleasure, dissoluble certainly on breach of the articles of union. to the same effect, but in even stronger terms, are the words of mr. henry cabot lodge, now a senator from massachusetts, who said in one of his historic works: when the constitution was adopted by the votes of states at philadelphia, and accepted by the votes of states in popular conventions, it is safe to say that there was not a man in the country from washington and hamilton on the one side to george clinton and george mason on the other, who regarded the new system as anything but an experiment entered upon by the states and from which each and every state had the right peaceably to withdraw, a right which was very likely to be exercised. as far back as , general thomas c. ewing, of ohio, said in a speech in new york: the north craves a living and lasting peace with the south; it also asks no humiliating conditions; it recognizes the fact that the proximate cause of the war was the constitutional question of the right of secession--a question which, until it was settled by the war, had neither a right side nor a wrong side to it. our forefathers in framing the constitution purposely left the question unsettled; to have settled it distinctly in the constitution would have been to prevent the formation of the union of the thirteen states. they, therefore, committed that question to the future, and the war came on and settled it forever. and, right here, let me say that the south has accepted that settlement in good faith, and will forever abide by it as loyally as the north, although we will never admit that our people were wrong in making the contest. this question was calmly and logically discussed by mr. charles francis adams in a late speech delivered in charleston, s. c., when he said: when the federal constitution was framed and adopted, "an indestructible union of imperishable states," what was the law of treason, to what or to whom in case of final issue did the average citizen own allegiance? was it to the union or to his state? as a practical question, seeing things as they were then--sweeping aside all incontrovertible legal arguments and metaphysical disquisitions--i do not think the answer admits of doubt. if put in , or indeed at any time anterior to , the immediate reply of nine men out of ten in the northern states, and ninety-nine out of a hundred in the southern states, would have been that, as between the union and the state, ultimate allegiance was due to the state. the cause not lost [from memorial day, pages - .] a few weeks ago dr. e. benjamin andrews, president of brown university, a leading institution of learning in a new england state, in a lecture delivered in the city of new orleans upon the life and character of the general of the confederate armies, uttered this language: people are prone to allude to all lee fought for as the "lost cause." yet, like oliver cromwell, lee has accomplished what he fought for, and more than could have been accomplished had he been victorious. at the close of the war we find the supreme court of the united states deciding the status of individual states, and the result is found to be that while the union is declared to be indestructible, each state is regarded as an indestructible unit of that nation. who would dare to wipe out to-day a state's individuality? and do we not find to-day, instead of centralized power in congress adjudicating things pertaining to the states, the states themselves settling these matters? inasmuch as the war brought out these utterances with regard to the states of the union upon matters then in question, who can say that lee fought in vain? slavery as the south saw it [vice-president alexander h. stephens, in war between the states, page .] the matter of slavery, so called, which was the proximate cause of these irregular movements on both sides, and which ended in the general collision of war, was of infinitely less importance to the seceding states than the recognition of the great principles of constitutional liberty. there was with us no such thing as slavery in the true and proper sense of that word. no people ever lived more devoted to the principles of liberty, secured by free democratic institutions, than were the people of the south. none had ever given stronger proofs of this than they had done. what was called slavery amongst us was but a legal subordination of the african to the caucasian race. this relation was so regulated by law as to promote, according to the intent and design of the system, the best interests of both races, the black as well as the white, the inferior as well as the superior. both had rights secured and both had duties imposed. it was a system of reciprocal service and mutual bonds. but even the two thousand million dollars invested in the relations thus established between private capital and the labor of this class of population under system, was but the dust in the balance compared with the vital attributes of the rights of independence and sovereignty on the part of the several states. vindication of southern cause [in southern historical papers, pages - .] mr. percy greg, the justly famous english historian, says: "if the colonies were entitled to judge their own cause, much more were the southern states. their rights--not implied, assumed, or traditional, like those of the colonies, but expressly defined and solemnly guaranteed by law--had been flagrantly violated; the compact which alone bound them, had beyond question been systematically broken for more than forty years by the states which appealed to it." after showing the perfect regularity and legality of the secession movement, he then says: "it was in defence of this that the people of the south sprang to arms 'to defend their homes and families, their property and their rights, the honor and independence of their states to the last, against five fold numbers and resources a hundred fold greater than theirs.'" he says of the cause of the north: "the cause seems to me as bad as it well could be--the determination of a mere numerical majority to enforce a bond, which they themselves had flagrantly violated, to impose their own mere arbitrary will, their idea of national greatness, upon a distinct, independent, determined, and almost unanimous people." and then he says as lord russell did: "the north fought for empire which was not and never had been hers; the south for an independence she had won by the sword, and had enjoyed in law and fact ever since the recognition of the thirteen sovereign and independent states, if not since the foundation of virginia. slavery was but the occasion of the rupture, in no sense the object of the war." let me add a statement which will be confirmed by every veteran before me--no man ever saw a virginia soldier who was fighting for slavery. this letter then speaks of the conduct of the northern people as "unjust, aggressive, contemptuous of law and right," and as presenting a striking contrast to the "boundless devotion, uncalculating sacrifice, magnificent heroism, and unrivalled endurance of the southern people." but i must pass on to what a distinguished northern writer has to say of the people of the south, and their cause, twenty-one years after the close of the war. the writer is benjamin j. williams, esq., of lowell, mass., and the occasion which brought forth this paper (addressed to the lowell _sun_) was the demonstration to president davis when he went to assist in the dedication of a confederate monument at montgomery, ala. he says of mr. davis: "everywhere he receives from the people the most overwhelming manifestations of heartfelt affection, devotion, and reverence, exceeding even any of which he was the recipient in the time of its power; such manifestations as no existing ruler in the world can obtain from his people, and such as probably were never given before to a public man, old, out of office, with no favors to dispense, and disfranchised. such homage is significant; it is startling. it is given, as mr. davis himself has recognized, not to him alone, but to the cause whose chief representative he is, and it is useless to attempt to deny, disguise, or evade the conclusion that there must be something great and noble and true in him and in the cause to evoke this homage." mr. davis, in his speech on the occasion referred to, alluded to the fact that the monument then being erected was to commemorate the deeds of those "who gave their lives a free-will offering in defence of the rights of their sires, won in the war of the revolution, the state sovereignty, freedom and independence which were left to us as an inheritance to their posterity forever." mr. williams says of this definition: "these masterful words, 'the rights of their sires, won in the war of the revolution, the state sovereignty, freedom and independence which were left to us an inheritance to their posterity forever,' are the whole case, and they are not only a statement but a complete justification of the confederate cause to all who are acquainted with the origin and character of the american union." he then proceeds to tell how the constitution was adopted and the government formed by the individual states, each acting for itself, separately and independently of the others, and then says: "it appears, then, from this view of the origin and character of the american union, that when the southern states, deeming the constitutional compact broken, and their own safety and happiness in imminent danger in the union, withdrew therefrom and organized their new confederacy, they but asserted, in the language of mr. davis, the rights of their sires, won in the war of the revolution, the state sovereignty, freedom, and independence, which were left to us as an inheritance to their posterity forever,' and it was in defence of this high and sacred cause that the confederate soldiers sacrificed their lives. there was no need of war. the action of the southern states was legal and constitutional, and history will attest that it was reluctantly taken in the extremity." he now goes on to show how mr. lincoln precipitated the war, and describes the unequal struggle in which the south was engaged in these words: "after a glorious four years' struggle against such odds as have been depicted, during which independence was often almost secured, where successive levies of armies, amounting in all to nearly three millions of men, had been hurled against her, the south, shut off from all the world, wasted, rent, and desolate, bruised and bleeding, was at last overpowered by main strength; out-fought, never; for from first to last, she everywhere out-fought the foe. the confederacy fell, but she fell not until she had achieved immortal fame. few great established nations in all time have ever exhibited capacity and direction in government equal to hers, sustained as she was by the iron will and fixed persistence of the extraordinary man who was her chief; and few have ever won such a series of brilliant victories as that which illuminates forever the annals of her splendid armies, while the fortitude and patience of her people, and particularly of her noble women, under almost incredible trials and sufferings, have never been surpassed in the history of the world." and then he adds: "such exalted character and achievement are not all in vain. though the confederacy fell, as an actual physical power, she lives, illustrated by them, eternally in her just cause--the cause of constitutional liberty." northern view of secession [charles l. c. minor's real lincoln.] w. h. russell, the famous correspondent of the _london times_, in his diary (page ) quotes bancroft, the historian, afterwards minister to england, for the opinion, in , that the united states had no authority to coerce the people of the south; and russell reports the same opinion prevailing in march, , in new york and in washington. the life of charles francis adams, lincoln's minister to england, says that up to the very day of the firing on the flag the attitude of the northern states, even in case of hostilities, was open to grave question, while that of the border states did not admit of a doubt; that mr. seward, the member of the president's cabinet, repudiated not only the right but the wish even to use armed force in subjugating the southern states. morse's lincoln (volume i, page ) makes the following remarkable statement: "greeley and seward and wendell phillips, representative men, were little better than secessionists. the statement sounds ridiculous, yet the proof against each one comes from his own mouth. the _tribune_ had retracted none of these disunion sentiments of which examples have been given." even so late as april , , seward wrote officially to charles francis adams, minister to england: "only an imperial and despotic government could subjugate thoroughly disaffected and insurrectionary members of the state." on april th, the rumor of a fight at sumter being spread abroad, wendell phillips said: "here are a series of states girding the gulf who think that their peculiar institutions require that they should have a separate government; they have a right to decide the question without appealing to you and to me. * * * standing with the principles of ' behind us, who can deny them that right?" woodrow wilson's division and reunion says (page ) that president buchanan agreed with the attorney general (hon. jere black, of pennsylvania) that there was no constitutional means for coercing a state (as his last message shows beyond a doubt) and adds that such for the time seemed to be the general opinion of the country. major j. scheibert (of the prussian army) on confederate history [in southern historical papers, volume , pages - .] _tariff_ besides the differences of race and religion, nature itself, through the varied geographical position of the states, had created relations of varied character that not only must conflict ensue, but the least law affecting the whole union often aroused diametrically and sharply opposed interests; the consequences of which were to embitter sectional opinions to an intolerable degree. when the north demanded tariff protection for their industries as against european competition, the southern states insisted upon free trade, so as not to be compelled to buy costly products of the north. the new england states strove for concentration of power in the national government; the southerners believed that the independence of the individual states must be maintained, and when the southerners demanded protection for their labor, which was performed by imported negroes, the north answered with evasion of the laws, while, in direct opposition to these laws, it denied to the master the right to his escaped negroes. from any point of view, there existed, and exist to-day, interests almost irreconcilably opposed, which make it difficult for the most earnest student of american affairs to find a clew in such a tangled labyrinth. the difficulty in the present undertaking is to make good the fact that the so-called confederates, who have been by almost all the german writers represented as "rebels," stood firm upon a ground of right of law. if the central government at washington was the sovereign power, then the (southern) states were in the wrong, and their citizens were simply rebels. if, on the other hand, the individual states were separate and sovereign political bodies, then their secession, independent of consideration of expediency or selfishness, was a politically justifiable withdrawal from a previous limited alliance; and in this case it was the duty of citizens of the states to go with their states. as a proper consequence of these different views, the federals considered as a traitor every citizen who opposed the central government, however his individual state may have determined; while the confederates, after the declaration of war on the part of the union, looked on the federalists indeed as enemies, but considered as traitors only those citizens who, in opposition to the vote of their states, yet adhered to the union. * * * * instead of inquiring into emotion and sympathies, the question is an historical one as to the origin of the union; that is, to seek in the founding of the united states in what relation,--at that time, the states stood to the central government, the mode of their covenant, and how the relation of the several states to the common union was developed. the colonies, therefore, united not because the citizens in general were oppressed by the british government, but because one colony felt, whether rightly or not, that it was oppressed and insulted as an independent political body. in the first movement of independence was exhibited clearly the consciousness that the colonies felt themselves separate political bodies. even at that time the assembly of delegates designated itself "as a congress of twelve independent political bodies," and in the union each of the colonies issued its separate declaration. when the delegates of the thirteen colonies met in their first congress the first permanent union was founded; which was ratified by each colony as a separate body, as one by one they entered the union. _slavery_ with the question as to the origin of the war, the enemies of the south have mingled another--the slavery question--which strictly does not belong to it. this slavery question was inscribed on the banners of the war when it was seen that thereby could be enlisted on the side of the north the sympathies of the old world, and of a great part of their own inhabitants, especially of the german immigrants. this question could never legally be the cause of the war, for the constitution expressly says that the question of slavery should be regulated by the state legislatures. * * * * at the time of the founding of the union, eleven of the thirteen states were slave-holding, and it is a remarkable fact that it then occurred to no writer nor humanitarian in america or europe even to think that this ownership (of slaves) was a wrong or a crime. it is enough to say that the institution was accepted not only as a matter of course, but that it was also especially protected, the farming interest being granted an increased suffrage in proportion to the number of negroes on their plantations. * * * * * even in the last days, before the outbreak of war, when the press and demagogues raised the slavery question in order to inflame the masses, the statesman (of the north) carefully avoided such a blunder, since the slavery question was not the ground of the war, and could not be proclaimed as such. chapter vi mater rediviva introductory note [by j. l. underwood.] for twenty years after the close of the war most of the southern states, through the bayonet-enforced amendments to the constitution and the carpet-bag negro governments established under them, were kept under military rule. the men met the awful responsibility and their hideous trials with an amazing courage and sought to counteract, in every possible way, the work of congress at washington and the work of the union leagues and other secret societies among the negroes at home, and to build up the south in spite of the demoralization of labor. the ku klux klan, a secret vigilance committee, did much good in terrifying the carpet-bag deposits and breaking up the secret armed midnight meetings of the negroes. rowdy imitators of the ku klux afterwards in many instances did much harm. but the women kept on at work. they have never faltered, and never shown any weariness. thousands left penniless who were once wealthy, took up whatever work came to hand. the writer knew the daughter-in-law of a wealthy congressman and the daughter of a governor of two states to plow her own garden with a mule. he saw all over the country the members of the oldest and wealthiest families of the atlantic coast teaching school, even far in the west. not a murmur escaped their lips. they cheered each other as they strengthened the nerves of the men. but they kept up their work for the confederate soldiers, and keep it up to this day. soldiers' graves were everywhere looked after. memorial associations were organized all over the south. the two great societies of richmond, the hollywood and the oakwood, each looking after thousands of graves, the names of whose occupants are unknown, are doing the most sublime work the world ever saw. the southern women soon extended their efforts to building confederate monuments all over the south, providing soldiers' homes in the various states and securing what pensions the southern states could afford. as long as they live they work for the cause they loved; when they die their spirit lives on in their worthy daughters. the empty sleeve [by dr. g. w. bagby.] [in living writers of the south, pages - .] tom, old fellow, i grieve to see that sleeve hanging loose at your side. the arm you lost was worth to me every yankee that ever died. but you don't mind it at all. you swear you've a beautiful stump, and laugh at the damnable ball. tom, i knew you were always a trump! a good right arm, a nervy hand, a wrist as strong as a sapling oak, buried deep in the malvern sand-- to laugh at that is a sorry joke. never again your iron grip shall i feel in my shrinking palm. tom, tom, i see your trembling lip. how on earth can i be calm? well! the arm is gone, it is true; but the one nearest the heart is left, and that's as good as two. tom, old fellow, what makes you start? why, man, she thinks that empty sleeve a badge of honor; so do i and all of us,--i do believe the fellow is going to cry. "she deserves a perfect man," you say. you, "not worth her in your prime." tom, the arm that has turned to clay your whole body has made sublime; for you have placed in the malvern earth the proof and the pledge of a noble life, and the rest, henceforward of higher worth, will be dearer than all to your wife. i see the people in the street look at your sleeve with kindling eyes; and know you, tom, there's nought so sweet, as homage shown in mute surmise. bravely your arm in battle strove, freely for freedom's sake you gave it; it has perished, but a nation's love in proud remembrance will save it. as i look through the coming years, i see a one-armed married man; a little woman, with smiles and tears, is helping as hard as she can to put on his coat, and pin his sleeve, tie his cravat, and cut his food, and i say, as these fancies i weave, "that is tom, and the woman he wooed." the years roll on, and then i see a wedding picture, bright and fair; i look closer, and it's plain to me that is tom, with the silver hair. he gives away the lovely bride, and the guests linger, loth to leave the house of him in whom they pride,-- brave tom, old tom, with the empty sleeve. the old hoopskirt [j. l. underwood.] the only ante-bellum property which sherman and thad stevens left the confederate woman was her old hoopskirt. they could neither confiscate nor burn, nor set this free. like slavery, it was so closely connected with her life that it cannot be ignored in her history. the southern woman always kept well up with the latest fashions in dress. in the fifties the modistes of paris, whose word, however absurd, was law to the women of the civilized world, sent out the famous hoopskirt. it was not an article of dress, but a mere contrivance for sustaining and exhibiting the clothes that were worn over it. it was made of a succession of small but strong steel wires bent into circles and fastened to each other by cross bars of tape. the lower hoop was usually from four to eight feet in diameter, according to taste, and the top one but little larger than the woman's waist, from which the whole net-work was hung. it held whatever clothes were put over it in the shape of a church bell or a horizontal section of a balloon. like all new fashions, some carried this one to grotesque extremes. one of the bon-ton set of columbia, s. c., in was the remarkably beautiful and charming mrs. ----, the wife of one of the professors in south carolina college. it is a fact that, on average sidewalks in that beautiful city, wherever she was met by gentlemen they had to step into the street and give the whole pavement to her tremendous skirt. most of our southern beauties were more merciful. when the hoopskirt first came, it looked as if paris had sent out the greatest of all the absurdities. the men laughed, the boys jeered, and the newspapers poured out invectives against the monster. the country preachers anathematized it and urged its excommunication from the church. but the hoopskirt came to stay. _veni, vidi, vici._ it whipped the fight, and when the war between the states came on it was in control of the southern female wardrobe. it enlisted for "three years or the war." it clung to our mothers like ruth to naomi. "entreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee; for whither thou goest, i will go, and where thou lodgest i will lodge." it proved a godsend on account of the federal blockade of the ports. articles of clothing soon became scarce, and when the silks had all gone into flags and the gingham into shirts for the soldiers, with a dainty homespun skirt stretched over the hoopskirt, our mothers looked like they were dressed whether they were or not. it was a good umbrella as far as it went and it was a special convenience to the refugee women who had to camp in the woods. at night a short pole was set in the ground with a short horizontal cross piece tacked across its top. over this was stretched the hoopskirt and over it a sheet, and, behold a beautiful, cozy sibley tent for two or three children to sleep under. it was our mother's faithful friend and companion to the end of the war. like the old soldier's sword it came out very much battered and worn by long service. like the old soldier himself, it had been wounded and broken and mended and spliced until it was hardly its former self. in their fatigue outfit our mothers laid aside the hoopskirt and tucked up what was left. but on dress parade, in meeting, company, and attending church it was her constant friend and companion. the south embalms in its memories the deeds of its men and the toil of its women. father's old sword and john's gray jacket are sacred heirlooms. so are the old spinning wheel and hand loom, "and e'en the old hoopskirt which hung on the wall, the old hoopskirt the steel-ribbed shirt, the old hoopskirt which hung on the wall." one thing in the management of the hoopskirt the men never could understand. how in the world could all those steel wires be bundled and controlled when a woman rode horseback or had to be packed in a buggy or carriage? it was always a like wonder how the women could dance so nimbly and gracefully with long trains and never get tripped or tangled in them. our women managed the trains and the hoopskirts just as tactfully and thoroughly and gracefully as they did their hard-headed husbands and silly sweethearts. how they did it nobody can tell, but they did it. about the very last days of the war one of these old hoopskirts played a conspicuous part in a tragedy in the suburbs of camilla, then a very small village, the county seat of mitchell county, ga. a farmer by the name of taylor lived near the hoggard swamp. he had a friend living in the town by the name of o'brien. both of them often visited a very thrifty widow by the name of woolley. on her disappearance taylor had put out the report that she had moved back to south carolina, but the truth was he had murdered her for her money and buried her body under some peach trees near the swamp. no suspicion was aroused until taylor returned from a trip to albany without o'brien, who had gone off with him, and a report came down from albany that o'brien's dead body had been found near there in the woods. then suspicion put in its work. murder was in the air, but nowhere else as yet. people held their breath. some women late one afternoon happened to pass the peach trees mentioned and noticed the suspicious looking fresh soil under them. as soon as they reached home they reported the circumstance and a party was soon made up to go that night and make an examination. the women guided them to the spot. they were afraid to make a bright fire and they used only a dim light by burning corn cobs. their blood ran cold when in a very few moments they were satisfied that they were digging into the poor woman's grave. suddenly on the quick removal of a shovel or two more of dirt, up flew a woman's dress and white underclothing pretty high in the air. then there was a stampede for life. terror seized the men's very bones. after a while they mustered courage enough to return and find that the woman was dead and her hoopskirt had been weighted down by the soil and as soon as this was sufficiently removed, it flew up with all its fearful elasticity. there was life in it even in the grave. taylor was tried, convicted, and hung. the political crimes of the nineteenth century [by j. l. underwood.] the first of the great crimes of the last century was the great rebellion of the northern states against the federal constitutional union, "the best government the world ever saw." nine of these states in solemn legislative action, in the fifties, utterly repudiated their contract in the federal constitution. they nullified the acts of congress and repudiated and defied the decisions of the supreme court. this rebellion at the north broke up "the glorious union of our fathers," and drove the south, like poor hagar, into the wilderness to look out for herself, without a charge from any quarter that a southern state had committed one single act in violation of federal law or in hostility to the constitution. then came the second great crime, the crime so vigorously denounced at the time by william lloyd garrison, the most consistent and the most heroic of the northern abolitionists, horace greeley and wendell phillips, the crime of coercion of the weaker by the stronger states, the military invasion of the south under the prostituted flag of the union, and the final subjugation of her people by fire and sword. _o tempora! o mores!_ the acts of congress for years after the southern army had honorably laid down its arms and gone home to plow and plant the fields make the blackest pages in the history of modern times. the writer dreads to put in print his estimate of such a political monster as thad stevens, the misanthropic genius of reconstruction, the robespierre of america. robespierre's guillotine cut off the heads of its victims. thad stevens's guillotine cut off all hopes from southern hearts. he avowed it his purpose to exterminate the southern white people, to confiscate their property into the hands of the negroes, and with these negroes to keep the country forever under the dominion of his party. according to him and his followers to this day this party of (so-called) high moral ideas must be kept in power no matter what crimes are committed in securing the ascendency. this is political jesuitism run mad. the saddest, strangest part of the history is that it was twenty years before the northern people came to their reason and put a check on this ruinous fratricidal policy. if the writer shall go to his grave with a holy horror of the bald malignity, the reckless folly, the cowardly spite, the sweeping curse of the reconstruction measures of thad. stevens and his congress, he will find himself in good company. he once heard the great and good dr. john a. broadus, of the southern baptist theological seminary, say, "i can easily forgive and forget the war. it was war, and all the wrongs done in it died away with the cannon's roar. but i find it so hard to forgive the excuseless wrongs done to the southern people since the war." dr. broadus was a southern man, but rev. dr. h. m. field, the fair-minded and patriotic author of "bright skies and dark shadows," is not a southern man. hear what he says in his book: in south carolina and the gulf states negro government had a clean sweep, and if we are to believe the records of the times, it was a period of corruption such as had never been known in the history of the country. the blacks having nothing to lose, were ready to vote to impose any tax, or to issue any bonds of town, country or state provided they had a share in the booty; and this negro government manipulated by the carpet baggers, ran riot over the south. it was chaos come again. the former masters were governed by their servants, while the latter were governed by a set of adventurers and plunderers. the history of these days is one which we cannot recall without indignation and shame. after a time the moral sense of the north was so shocked by their performances that a republican administration had to withdraw its proconsuls, when things resumed their former condition and the management of affairs came back into the old hands. these national crimes which so woefully afflicted the people of the south after peace was made were: . the refusal to carry out mr. lincoln's cherished plan of reconstruction by immediate readmission of seceding states after an orderly and legal abolition of slavery. . the sudden emancipation of millions of african slaves. gradual emancipation would have been so much better for their interests and for the welfare of the country. . the conferring of civil rights so early upon the freedmen. if they had not been made citizens they could have been colonized in due time and provided for, as the indians have been, with land and homes. . enfranchisement of these grossly ignorant africans. . disfranchisement of the best people of the south. . arming the blacks and disarming the white people. . the un-american crime of uniting church and state and the employment of a religious society to carry out directly the schemes of a political faction. jesus christ never authorized any such work. he never gave the least authorization of any church machinery through which such a union could be effected. god wants the good lives of men, and not compact and imposing church organizations. they can be so easily perverted to unholy purposes and made so effective in destroying human liberty and crushing human rights. the union of church and state was the curse of the middle ages and the blight of modern europe. it was an ominous day for america and a woeful day for the south, when, upon the enfranchisement of the negroes, the politicians in power and the fanatical northern methodist episcopal church organized and transplanted in the south the african methodist episcopal church and employed it directly in manipulating the votes of the ignorant negroes. the great iron wheel controlling the whole machine was put into the hands of a political boss committee in washington. just within this was the wheel turned by an absolute bishop in each state. the most malignant of all the southern negro politicians, bishop h. m. turner, had the control of the georgia wheel and turns it to this day. then came the smaller wheels, turned by the presiding elder in each congressional district, enclosing the little wheels in the hands of the preachers and circuit riders and stewards. the ignorant negroes were wound tightly by the ropes into a solid mass, and voted like slaves by the officers of the new imported northern church and the strikers of the union league. it was enough to make a patriot despair of the country and a christian to despair of religion to witness these scenes. it made the white people of the south get together in self-defence. it inevitably set race against race in politics. this slimy trail of this union of church and state has done sad work for the south and dangerous work for the whole country. the church iron wheel organized a solid mass of ignorant negro voters on one side of the southern ballot box. this necessitated a "solid south" of white voters on the other side. . demoralizing the negroes for generations by making them believe themselves to be special wards of the nation and holding out to them the delusive promise of "forty acres and a mule" as a pension for slavery and a reward for party loyalty. . taking away by act of congress, without a dollar of compensation, the slave property of orphans, widows and union men, the property recognized by the constitution of the government. . by force of bayonets keeping in the southern high places of power the carpet-bag adventurer from the north and the irresponsible, unprincipled scalawag who had for the sake of office turned his back upon his native south. . unlawful confiscation of southern lands, much of it belonging to orphans and widows. . enormous and unjust tax on cotton, at that time the only marketable product of the southern farms. these were the woes which the "reconstruction" measures of the federal congress made for our southern people, a burden mountain-high, ossa on pelion, pelion upon ossa. but grimly, patiently, bravely did our men bear up under it. political crimes always hurt the women more than the men. our women stood by and cheered and comforted and helped as only such women can help through all the toil, the gloom and wrongs of those dark days. god bless their memories! brave to the last [eggleston's recollections, pages - .] but if the cheerfulness of the women during the war was remarkable, what shall we say of the way in which they met its final failure and the poverty that came with it? the end of the war completed the ruin which its progress had wrought. women who had always lived in luxury, and whose labors and sufferings during the war were lightened by the consciousness that in suffering and laboring they were doing their part toward the accomplishment of the end upon which all hearts were set, were now compelled to face not temporary but permanent poverty, and to endure, without a motive or a sustaining purpose, still sorer privations than they had known in the past. the country was exhausted, and nobody could foresee any future but one of abject wretchedness. everybody was poor except the speculators who had fattened upon the necessities of the women and children, and so poverty was essential to anything like good repute. the return of the soldiers made some sort of social festivity necessary, and "starvation parties" were given, at which it was understood that the givers were wholly unable to set out refreshments of any kind. in the matter of dress, too, the general poverty was recognized, and every one went clad in whatever he or she happened to have. the want of means became a jest, and nobody mourned over it; while all were laboring to repair their wasted fortunes as they best could. and all this was due solely to the unconquerable cheerfulness of the southern women. the men came home moody, worn out, discouraged, and but for the influence of woman's cheerfulness the southern states might have fallen into a lethargy from which they could not have recovered for generations. such prosperity as they have since achieved is largely due to the courage and spirit of their noble women. sallie durham [from life in dixie, pages - , by mary a. h. gay.] dr. durham came to decatur, ga., in . well do i remember the children--two handsome sons, john and william--two pretty brown-eyed girls, sarah and catherine. the durham residence, which was on sycamore street, then stood just eastward of where colonel g. w. scott now lives. the rear of the house faced the site where the depot had been before it was burned by the federals, the distance being about yards. hearing an incoming train, sallie went to the dining-room window to look at the cars, as she had learned in some way that they contained federal troops. while standing at the window, resting against the sash, she was struck by a bullet fired from the train. it was afterwards learned that the cars were filled with negro troops on their way to savannah, who were firing off their guns in a random, reckless manner. the ball entered the left breast of this dear young girl, ranging obliquely downward, coming out just below the waist, and lodging in the door of a safe, or cupboard, which stood on the opposite side of the room. this old safe, with the mark of the ball, is still in the village. the wounded girl fell, striking her head against the dining table, but arose, and, walking up a long hall, she threw open the door of her father's room, calling to him in a voice of distress. springing from the bed, he said: "what is it, my child?" "oh, father," she exclaimed, "the yankees have killed me!" every physician in the village and city and her father's three brothers were summoned, but nothing could be done except to alleviate her sufferings. she could only lie on her right side, with her left arm in a sling suspended from the ceiling. every attention was given by relatives and friends. her grandmother durham came and brought with her the old family nurse. sallie's schoolmates and friends were untiring in their attentions. during the week that her life slowly ebbed away, there was another who ever lingered near her, a sleepless and tireless watcher, a young man of a well known family, to whom this sweet young girl was engaged to be married. sallie was shot on friday at . a. m., and died the following friday at . a. m. general stephenson was in command of the federal post at atlanta. he was notified of this tragedy, and sent an officer to investigate. this officer refused to take anybody's word that sallie had been shot by a united states soldier from the train; but, dressed in full uniform, with spur and sabre rattling upon the bare floor, he advanced to the bed where the dying girl lay, and threw back the covering "to see if she had really been shot." this intrusion almost threw her into a spasm. this officer and the other at atlanta promised to do all in their power to bring the guilty party to justice, but nothing ever came of the promise, so far as we know. as a singular coincidence, as well as an illustration of the lovely character of sallie, i will relate a brief incident given by the gifted pen already quoted: "one of the most vivid pictures in my memory is that of sallie durham emptying her pail of blackberries into the hands of federal prisoners on a train that had just stopped for a moment at decatur, in . we had been gathering berries at moss's hill, and stopped on our way home for the train to pass." the negro and the miracle [in grady's new south, pages - .] what of the negro? this of him. i want no better friend than the black boy who was raised by my side, and who is now trudging patiently, with downcast eyes and shambling figure, through his lowly way in life. i want no sweeter music than the crooning of my old "mammy," now dead and gone to rest, as i heard it when she held me in her loving arms and bending her old black face above me stole the cares from my brain, and led me smiling into sleep. i want no truer soul than that which moved the trusty slave, who for four years, while my father fought with the armies that barred his freedom, slept every night at my mother's chamber door, holding her and her children as safe as if her husband stood guard, and ready to lay down his humble life for her household. history has no parallel to the faith kept by the negro in the south during the war. of five hundred negroes to a single white man, and yet through these dusky throngs the women and children walked in safety, and the unprotected homes rested in peace. unmarshalled, the black battalions moved patiently to the fields in the morning to feed the armies their idleness would have starved, and at night gathered anxiously at the big house to "hear the news from marster," though conscious that his victory made their chains enduring. everywhere humble and kindly; the body-guard of the helpless; the observant friend; the silent sentry in his lowly cabin; the shrewd counsellor; and when the dead came home, a mourner at the open grave. a thousand torches would have disbanded every southern army, but not one was lighted. when the master, going to a war in which slavery was involved, said to his slave, "i leave my home and loved ones in your charge," the tenderness between man and master stood disclosed. and when the slave held that charge sacred through storm and temptation he gave new meaning to faith and loyalty. i rejoice that when freedom came to him after years of waiting, it was all the sweeter, because the black hands from which the shackles fell were stainless of a single crime against the helpless ones confided to his care. this friendliness, the most important factor of the problem, the saving factor now as always, the north has never, and it appears will never, take account of. it explains that otherwise inexplicable thing--the fidelity and loyalty of the negro during the war to the women and children left in his care. had "uncle tom's cabin" portrayed the habit rather than the exception of slavery, the return of the confederate armies could not have stayed the horrors of arson and murder their departure would have invited. instead of that, witness the miracle of the slave in loyalty closing the fetters about his own limbs, maintaining the families of those who fought against his freedom, and at night on the far-off battlefield searching among the carnage for his young master, that he might lift the dying head to his humble breast and with rough hands wipe the blood away and bend his tender ear to catch the last words for the old ones at home, wrestling meanwhile in agony and love, that in vicarious sacrifice he would have laid down his life in his master's stead. this friendliness, thank god, survived the lapse of years, the interruption of factions and the violence of campaigns in which the bayonet fortified and the drum-beat inspired. though unsuspected in slavery, it explains the miracle of ; though not yet confessed, it must explain the miracle of . georgia refugees [mrs. w. h. felton, in georgia land and people, pages - .] from the time that oglethorpe planted his colony upon yamacraw bluff, georgia has never passed through such an ordeal as the present. nine-tenths of her sons were practically disfranchised because they had served the southern confederacy, and all the conditions of life were new; their servants were no longer subject to their control, and most of their property was scattered to the four winds of heaven. it tested the blood that had come down to them from cavalier and huguenot, from scotch and irish ancestry. the private life of many georgians for the first few years after the war beggars description; but the women rose to the occasion. the surrender found a gentle, shrinking georgia woman on the florida line, nearly four hundred miles from her luxurious home, from which she had fled in haste as sherman "marched to the sea." the husband was with general lee in virginia. the last tidings came from petersburg--before appomattox--and his fate was uncertain. hiring a dusky driver, with his old army mule and wagon, she loaded the latter with the remnant of goods and chattels that were left to her, and, placing her four children on top, this brave woman trudged the entire distance on foot, cheering, guiding, and protecting the driver and her little ones in the tedious journey. under an august sun through sand and dust she plodded along, footsore and anxious, until she reached the dismantled home and restored her little stock of earthly goods under their former shelter. when her soldier husband had walked from virginia to georgia, he found, besides his noble wife and precious children, the nucleus of a new start in life, glorified by woman's courage and fidelity under a most trying ordeal. for a twelve-month the exigencies of their situation deprived her of a decent pair of shoes; still she toiled in the kitchen, the garden, and, perhaps, the open fields, without a repining word or complaining murmur. the same material is found in a steel rail as in the watch spring, and the only difference between the soldier and his wife was physical strength. this was no exceptional case. the hardships of georgia women were extreme and long-continued. the negroes and new freedom [in last ninety days of the war, pages - .] the negroes, however, behaved much better, on the whole, than northern letter-writers represent them to have done. indeed, i do not know a race more studiously misrepresented than they have been and are at this present time. they behaved well during the war; if they had not, it could not have lasted eighteen months. they showed a fidelity and a steadiness which speaks not only well for themselves but well for their training and the system under which they lived. and when their liberators arrived, there was no indecent excitement on receiving the gift of liberty, nor displays of impertinence to their masters. in one or two instances they gave "missus" to understand that they desired present payment for their services in gold and silver, but, in general, the tide of domestic life flowed on externally as smoothly as ever. in fact, though of course few at the north will believe me, i am sure that they felt for their masters, and secretly sympathized with their ruin. they knew that they were absolutely penniless and conquered; and though they were glad to be free, yet they did not turn round, as new england letter-writers have represented, to exult over their owners, nor exhibit the least trace of new england malignity. so the bread was baked in those latter days, the clothes were washed and ironed, and the baby was nursed as zealously as ever, though both parties understood at once that the service was voluntary. the federal soldiers sat a good deal in the kitchens; but the division being chiefly composed of northwestern men, who had little love for the negro, (indeed i heard some d----n him as the cause of the war, and say that they would much rather put a bullet through an abolitionist than through a confederate soldier,) there was probably very little incendiary talk and instructions going on. in all of which, compared with other localities we were much favored. the confederate museum in the capital of the confederacy this house, built for a gentleman's private residence, was thus occupied until , when mr. lewis crenshaw, the owner, sold it to the city of richmond for the use of the confederate government. the city, having furnished it, offered it to mr. davis, but he refused to accept the gift. the confederate government then rented it for the "executive mansion" of the confederate states. president davis lived here with his family, using the house both in a private and official capacity. the present "mississippi" room was his study, where he often held important conferences with his great leaders. in this house, amid the cares of state, joy and sorrow visited him; "winnie," the cherished daughter, was born here, and here "little joe" died from the effects of a fall from the back porch. it remained mr. davis's home until the evacuation of the city of richmond. he left with the government officials on the night of april , . on the morning of april , , general godfrey witzel, in command of the federal troops, upon entering the city, made this house his headquarters. it was thus occupied by the united states government during the five years virginia was under military rule, and called "district no. ." in the present "georgia" room, a day or two after the evacuation, mr. lincoln was received. he was in the city only a few hours. when at last the military was removed and the house vacated, the city at once took possession, using it as a public school for more than twenty years. in order to make it more comfortable for school purposes, a few unimportant alterations were made. it was the first public school in the city. war had left its impress on the building, and the constant tread of little feet did almost as much damage. it was with great distress that our people (particularly the women), saw the "white house of the confederacy" put to such uses, and rapidly falling into decay. to save it from destruction, a mass-meeting was called to take steps for its restoration. a society was formed, called the "confederate memorial literary society," whose aim was the preservation of the mansion. their first act was to petition the city to place it in their hands, to be used as a memorial to president davis and a museum of those never-to-be-forgotten days, ' -' . it was amazing to see the wide-spread enthusiasm aroused by the plan. with as little delay as possible the city, acting through alderman and council, made the deed of conveyance, which was ratified by the then mayor of richmond, the hon. j. taylor ellyson. the dilapidation of the entire property was extreme, but to its restoration and preservation the society had pledged itself. they had no money--the city had already given its part--what could be done? to raise the needed funds it was decided to hold a "memorial bazaar" in richmond for the joint benefit of the museum and the monument to the private soldier and sailor. all through the south the plan of the museum and the bazaar was heartily endorsed; so that donations of every kind poured in. each state of the confederacy was represented by a booth, with the name, shield, and flag of her state. the whole sum realized was $ , . half of this was given to complete the monument to the private soldiers and sailors now standing on libby hill, and the other half went to the museum. the partition walls were already of brick, and the whole house had been strongly and well built, but the entire building was now made fireproof, and every other possible precaution taken for its safety. in every particular the old house in its entirety was preserved, the wood work (replaced by iron) being used for souvenirs. the repairs were so extensive that the building was not ready for occupancy until late in . on february , , the dedication service was held, and the museum formally thrown open to the public. but the house was entirely empty. rapidly the memorials were gathered from each loyal state and placed in their several rooms. from start to finish the whole work has been free-will offering to the beloved cause. the treasury had been nearly exhausted by the restoration of the building. the current expenses were met only by the strictest economy, and largely carried on by faith. in the past nine years much has been accomplished. the institution is free from debt; and the museum is now widely known. but much lies ahead in the ideal the patriotic women have set before them and the work grows larger, more important and far reaching as it is approached. such is the interest felt in the museum that during the past year they have had , visitors, of whom , were from the north. it is by these door-fees that the expenses are met. it would be quite impossible to enumerate all the articles of interest to be found here. the memorials gathered are not only interesting in themselves, but invaluable for the truth and lessons which they teach. historians in search of information can here obtain original data in regard to the "war between the states." the united states government has already made use of these records for its new navy register. each confederate state is hereby represented by a room, set apart in special honor of her sons and their deeds. a regent in that state has it in charge, and is responsible for its contents and appearance. a vice-regent (as far as possible a native of that state, but residing in richmond) gives her personal supervision to the room and its needs. the labor is incessant, and would be impossible, but for the fact that it is impelled by a sense of sacred love and duty. of the women of the confederacy, of our brave and uncomplaining soldiers, of their great leaders, as well as of our illustrious chief, it well may be said: "would you see their monument? look around." _the mary derenne collection_ the late dr. everard derenne bequeathed to the georgia room "the mary derenne (of georgia) collection." mrs. mary derenne, of savannah, ga., was his mother, an enthusiastic georgian, and patriotic confederate. soon after the close of the war between the states, finding that an officer of the northern army was making a collection of southern relics, she felt that there were few in the south who had the means to do the same, but that it ought to be done. she determined at once to begin, and while life lasted she spared neither effort nor expense in gathering relics, books, papers, and all that added to their value. mrs. derenne soon found that persons were glad to put together what made history, when isolated relics or papers told so little. the result tells an absorbing story. miss c. n. usina, of savannah, georgia, presented in a liberal addition to this library. federal decoration day--adoption from our memorial [taken from confederate dead in hollywood cemetery, page .] mrs. john a. logan witnessed observance in richmond and made the suggestion. the new york _herald_ contains the following contribution from mrs. john a. logan, in which she says that the "decoration day" in the north was an adoption from the south's "memorial day." _to the editor of the herald_: in the spring of , general logan and i were invited to visit the battle-grounds of the south with a party of friends. as certain important matters kept him from joining the party, however, i went alone, and the trip proved a most interesting and impressive one. the south had been desolated by the war. everywhere signs of privation and devastation were constantly presenting themselves to us. the graves of the soldiers, however, seemed as far as possible the objects of the greatest care and attention. one graveyard that struck me as being especially pathetic was in richmond. the graves were new, and just before our visit there had been a "memorial day" observance, and upon each grave had been placed a small confederate flag and wreaths of beautiful flowers. the scene seemed most impressive to me, and when i returned to washington i spoke of it to the general and said i wished there could be concerted action of this kind all over the north for the decoration of the graves of our own soldiers. the general thought it a capital idea, and with enthusiasm set out to secure its adoption. at that time he was commander-in-chief of the grand army. the next day he sent for adjutant-general chipman, and they conferred as to the best means of beginning a general observance. on the th day of may in that year the historic order was put out. general logan often spoke of the issuing of this order as the proudest act of his life. it was marvelous how popular the idea became. the papers all over the land copied the order, and the observance was a general one. the memorial ceremonies that took place at arlington that year were perfectly inspiring to all the old soldiers. generals grant, sherman, and sheridan and many of those who have since passed away attended the first solemn observance of that day. mrs. john a. logan. the daughters and the united daughters of the confederacy the following valuable bit of history is taken from the macon (ga.) _telegraph's_ account of the meeting of the united daughters of the confederacy in macon, october, . "in the presentation to mrs. l. h. raines of a gold pin, a testimonial from the united daughters of georgia, a very pretty climax to the morning's session was reached. the speech with which miss mildred rutherford presented the pin in behalf of the daughters will be memorable to every one present, for it was touched with emotion and instruction as a bit of history. miss rutherford explained that when the war between the states ended, the ladies' aid societies resolved themselves into associations whose work it was to care for the graves of the fallen heroes and to collect the bodies from far-off fields. "there was a woman in nashville, who had ever been foremost in confederate work--a mrs. m. c. goodlet, who in was president of the auxiliary to the cheatham bivouac. she had just aided in building the soldiers' home near nashville and felt that there was a work not included in the work of the auxiliaries as then constituted. so she resolved to form an organization to be called the 'daughters of the confederacy.' the purpose of this organization was to be the care of aged veterans and the wives and children of veterans, the building of monuments, the collection and preservation of records. "mrs. l. h. raines was one of the first to write for information to mrs. goodlet, and on reply she took the matter before the savannah auxiliary. this auxiliary, while not willing to lose its individuality in the new organization, quickly formed within its own ranks a chapter of the daughters of the confederacy. so the charter chapter of georgia came into existence." miss rutherford then related how the chapters grew in number until it occurred to mrs. raines that strength would come through union. she wrote to mrs. goodlet suggesting a "united daughters of the confederacy," and mrs. goodlet agreed with the idea, so that a constitution and by-laws were formulated and a convention of the various chapters called at nashville in , "mother" goodlet presiding. the convention of the united daughters at san francisco formally recognized mrs. goodlet as founder of the daughters of the confederacy and mrs. raines as founder of the united daughters. a daughter's plea the following is an extract from the macon (ga.) _telegraph's_ report of the proceedings of the united daughters of the confederacy in macon on the th of october, : mrs. plaine had not then learned that virginia opened last year a large and comfortable home for confederate women on grace street in the city of richmond. it is a noble monument to our mothers and grandmothers and a needed asylum for some of the very lonely. mrs. plaine among other things said: "we have corrected many falsehoods disseminated throughout the south in northern histories and readers, substituting impartial and truthful southern books; and we have children's chapters as auxiliaries to the united daughters of the confederacy that they may learn even more of the imperishable grandeur of the men and women of the old south. but, my dear friends, have we not failed in one paramount duty? should we not in all these years have made some organized effort for the succor and support of the aged women of the confederacy whose noble deeds we have been busily recording? texas is the only state which has made any decided move in this direction. the united daughters of the confederacy of that state have purchased a lot in austin and have several thousand dollars towards building a home to be known as 'heroines' home.' they propose to have for these precious old ladies pleasant and comfortable housing, good food cheerfully served, efficient attendants, nurses and physicians, books, and all the little pastimes with which cherished mothers should be provided to keep them satisfied and happy as the depressing shadows grow longer. "when we of atlanta were working so hard to have the state accept and maintain the soldiers' home which had been built by public subscription eight years before and was fast going to decay, the only opposition we had was from those who thought there were too few soldiers left to need such a home. but what has been the result of opening it to them? why, hundreds of old, infirm and needy veterans have found there a comfortable place in which to pass the remnant of their lives, and we feel more than repaid for our small share in opening it for their use. "now, in the effort to establish a home for the aged women of the confederacy, the same objection will be raised of 'so few to occupy it.' "where are the women who represented the six hundred thousand valiant soldiers who constituted the grandest army the world has yet known? "where are those who with unflinching courage sent forth husbands, sons, fathers, brothers and lovers to swell that immortal host which marched and suffered beneath the 'stars and bars?' where the little girls who carded and spun and knitted to help their mothers clothe the naked soldiers? where the young girls who stood by the wayside to feed the hungry and quench the thirst of the men on their long and weary marches? where the women who with tireless energy ministered night and day to the sick and wounded and spoke words of hope to the dying? where those who stood at the threshold of desolate homes to welcome with smiles and loving caresses their uncrowned heroes, and who by their courage and patient endurance, amidst want and poverty, saved from despair and even suicide the men by whose heroic efforts a new and greater south has arisen from the ashes of the old? "hundreds of these women, my dear friends, some of them once queens in the old southern society of which we still boast, and who would even now grace the court of the proudest monarch on earth, are still with us, but many of them in poverty and obscurity, suffering in silence rather than acknowledge their changed condition. "i know personally of four cultured, refined women, born and bred in luxury, who gave some of the best years of their lives to help the southern cause, and who for the love of it still work with their feeble hands to make the money with which to pay their dues as members of the united daughters of the confederacy. "i know of another, reared by aristocratic, wealthy parents in this city, who drove with her patriotic mother almost daily to take in their private carriage the sick and wounded from the trains to the hospitals, and who on one occasion retired behind one of the brick pillars of your depot and tore off her undergarments to furnish bandages for bleeding arteries. she is now quite advanced in years, nearly all her relatives dead, and she is in very straitened circumstances. but she is proud and brave still, and makes no moan. "a few years ago it was announced in an atlanta paper that a lady from sharpsburg, md., was visiting a friend in atlanta. a gentleman in griffin, after seeing the notice, took the next train to atlanta and called to see the lady without giving his name. as she entered the parlor he stared at her for a moment and then grasped both her hands in his and tears sprang to his eyes as he said with great emotion, 'yes, yes, this is miss julia, only grown older--the same sweet face that looked so compassionately into mine, and the same person who with her beautiful sister alice and her mother, worthy to have been the mother of napoleon, nursed me into life as you did so many poor fellows after that awful battle. i have come to take you home with me. my wife and children love you and all your family; your names are honored household words with us.' everything in the fine old mansion of that family was literally soaked in the blood of southern soldiers. to these two young girls, julia and alice, scores of southern families owe the recovery of the bodies of their dead upon the memorable and bloody field of antietam or sharpsburg. most of the people around there were northern sympathizers, and took pleasure in desecrating confederate graves, and these young ladies, with the assistance of a gentleman, who posed as a yankee, made, secretly, diagrams of the burial places of our dead, marking distances from trees, fences and other objects, and sometimes burying pieces of iron or other indestructible articles near by, that they might be able, if need be, to recover the bodies, and thus many were restored to their friends. so much was this family hated by the yankee element in the surrounding country it became unsafe for them to keep a light in the house after night, for fear of being fired into. i have myself seen since the war the bullets which lodged in the inside walls of the rooms. just at the close of the war these brave girls, in order to send the body of a noble confederate captain to his wife, then living in macon, drove with it in a wagon seventeen miles at night, crossing the broad potomac in a ferryboat, their only companion a boy of twelve, and delivered the casket to the express agent at leesburg, va. both of these southern heroines are still living. poverty long since overtook them; the dear old home has passed into strange hands, and they are left almost alone--one a widow, the other never married. "think you that such as these are not deserving the help of those of us who have been more fortunate? in the language of mrs. vincent, of texas, a native georgian, 'because they have stifled their cries, and in silent self-reliance labored all these years for subsistence, are we daughters to close our ears to their appeals, now that the patient hands and the feeble footsteps hesitate in the oncoming darkness?' "the time will come--is already here--when marble shafts will arise to commemorate the deeds of the spartan women of the south, but a better and more enduring monument would be a home for such of them as are still alive and in need, and for the benefit of the female descendants of the men and women of the confederacy who may yet become old and homeless, and are eligible to the united daughters of the confederacy. "memorial hall in course of erection by the daughters of the american revolution, commemorative of the deeds of our revolutionary ancestry, is a worthy and patriotic enterprise, but a home for the aged heroines of the confederacy would serve not alone as a memorial of our dead heroes and heroines, but what is still better, it would be a blessing to worthy, suffering humanity." home for confederate women [j. l. underwood.] these women of the south not only work for the men, but when the men undertake to work for them, they take up the work and do it for themselves. in march, , the ladies' auxiliary of the george e. pickett camp, confederate veterans, began a movement to establish a home for the wives, sisters, and daughters of dead and disabled confederate soldiers. of this auxiliary society mrs. r. n. northern was president, miss alice v. loehr, secretary. a call was made to the people of the state and a confederate festival, in charge of a committee of which mrs. mary a. burgess was chairman, was held in the regimental armory in richmond from the th to th of may for the purpose of raising funds. the movement was most heartily endorsed by the veterans, by governor c. t. o'ferrall, and the people generally, and was continued to complete success. a very desirable building was secured on grace street and the home dedicated and opened in and is now occupied by a number of grateful inmates. in all the historic memorials about noble old richmond there is no monument more touching than this practical offering to the women of the confederacy. a similar home has already been provided in texas and the r. a. smith camp of veterans at macon, ga., which recently laid the corner-stone of a monument to the confederate women, has already begun a movement for the establishment of a home in that city and the united daughters of the confederacy are at work for its accomplishment. jefferson davis monument [j. l. underwood.] the project to erect an appropriate monument to the great chieftain of the confederacy was undertaken by the veterans years ago. they raised about $ , . the daughters of the confederacy, just as they always do, then took hold of the matter and they have increased the fund to $ , . the georgia united daughters of the confederacy, who have built a winnie davis dormitory at the georgia normal school, have been very active in the work for the davis monument at richmond, and georgia has the credit of leading all the states in the amount contributed. the city of richmond has donated a very eligible lot at the crossing of franklin and cedar streets, near the splendid r. e. lee monument. it is fitting that the monuments to the leading civil and military heroes of the great cause shall be so near each other. very near to these will be monuments each to gen. j. e. b. stuart, and to gen. fitz hugh lee. these monuments will all stand in the lee district, the new and coming choice residence section of the glorious city. it is expected that the splendid monument to mr. davis will be unveiled at the confederate reunion in . work has already begun and the foundations are being laid. dirt was formally broken on the th of november, , by mrs. thomas mccullough, of staunton, president of the davis monument association. hon. j. taylor ellyson, lieutenant-governor elect, a noble veteran, and others, also took part in the historic ceremonies. the picks and shovels will be preserved in the confederate museum. the monument will be unique in its design and will worthily tell future generations of the great man and the great cause. the writer confesses to a great pleasure, while preparing this volume, of almost daily visits to see the foundation work of this monument going on. he spent five years of his life in mississippi in the old days, and he knows mr. davis before our war to have been a gentleman, a patriot, and a christian, and the kindest of masters to his slaves. he was a chevalier bayard, a knight _sans peur et sans reproche_, and yet, under the responsibility laid on him by the confederate states, he became the mark for all the abuse and slander that could be heaped on the confederate cause by the fanatics among our foes. his grave in hollywood cemetery and the confederate memorial museum building, which was mr. davis's home during the sad war, have been precious though mournful meccas to the author during many months of hospital suffering in richmond, and, by courtesy of the ladies' memorial literary society, a large part of the actual work on this memorial volume was done in the very rooms occupied by our great leader. may god bless our noble women for the monument which promises to be worthy of its mission. reciprocal slavery [j. l. underwood.] humanity and kindness were the rule which marked the treatment of the slaves in the south. for this the southern people have claimed no credit. a man deserves no credit for taking care of a $ cow. much more will his very self interest treat well a $ horse. how much more to his interest to feed, house, clothe and nurse a $ , negro. as in all things human, there were evils connected even with southern slavery, and southern patriots rejoice that it is all gone. but history will only render simple justice to the men and women of the south when it records that any real cruel treatment of the negro was very rare. the writer's life has nearly all been spent in the negro belts of alabama, mississippi, georgia and south carolina, and he knew of but three cases where slave owners were charged with habitual cruel treatment of the slaves. one of these, in the alabama canebrake, gave his slaves the best of medical attention, but they were evidently not supplied with the clothing they ought to have. the other two, one man and one woman, had the reputation of giving way to a cruel temper when chastising their slaves. all of them stood branded with public odium. the truth is that in southern slavery there was a sort of mutuality. the owner belonged to the negro as truly as the negro belonged to the white man. in many respects the master rendered service to the slave. the state laws, to say nothing of humanity and religion, made it so, but you say "it was a very pleasant sort of slavery for the master." yes, and a very pleasant sort of slavery for the negro. they were the jolliest set of working people the world ever saw. the chains of the negro were not the only shackles removed by the great revolution. when the time came the slave owners felt that a great burden had been rolled from their own shoulders. as far as the writer knows, the universal feeling of the slave owners was expressed in the language of a good old couple who had worked hard and finally become the owners of a hundred slaves. said the old man, "i didn't enslave the negroes, and i didn't set them free, and i am glad the whole of the great responsibility has been lifted from my shoulders." his wife, sitting by, said, "i feel like a new woman. i am now set free from a great burden." the truth is, while negro slavery was the most convenient property ever owned in america, it made heavy and constant exactions of care, attention, and worry on the part of the owner. the ignorant, childish africans needed a master more than any master needed them. there lived near the author's home in sumter county, ala., a mr. jere brown. he was of a fine family and a graduate of south carolina college. he was a splendid type of the intelligent, polished, christian gentleman of the old school. he owned at least a thousand negro slaves and kept them all near him. while he had overseers and foremen to direct the farm labor, he devoted all his time to attendance upon his slaves. he was their physician and their nurse and very rarely ever left the boundaries of his own land. his slaves all loved him, and it was long said of him that he wore himself out looking after the negroes. they belonged to him and he to them. this identity of interest, the closeness of relationship, the mutual, kind feeling between owners and slaves was never realized by the fanatics and party politicians of the north until since the emancipation. the eyes of the world have been opened to the fact that nearly all of the substantial help for the negro's school, his church and for himself and his family when in distress, has been rendered by the old slave owners and their children. this practical help has been rendered all over the south. alas! this mutual interest is growing weaker very fast. the slave owners and their children, the true friends to the negro, will soon be all dead. how much sympathy the negro is to get from the next generation is for the negro himself to say. he has used his ballot in such a way as to cut himself off from his neighbors, employers and life-long friends; and to bring down the contempt of the world. for years he used it as a bludgeon to beat the life out of what had been sovereign states and free people. later on he has made it a toy to be sold for a drink of whiskey or thrown into the gutter. the whole american people know this negro ballot to be a travesty on liberty. his natural civil rights are secure in the north and in the south. but his own folly has raised the question of the continuance of the privilege of voting. anglo saxons will continue to rule america. they are not a people who will long put up with child's play and stupidity in politics. they mean business. and if the negro expects to use the ballot, he must catch the step of a freeman. he must vote for the interest of his state and his section and through a prosperous united state, work for the well being of the whole union. in this christian land he has met with unbounded sympathy in his helplessness. that sympathy is being at times sorely tried. it is waning, sadly waning. if he expects the privilege of an american, he must act like an american. it saddens the confederate veterans of to see how far white and black have drifted apart within the last twenty years. the "friendliness" of which henry grady wrote in will not, it is feared, last to . god grant they may get closer together in all that makes for the good of both races. barbara frietchie [j. l. underwood.] here is a part of the story of the maryland woman and the federal flag in the famous poem of john g. whittier: "bravest of all in fredericktown she took up the flag the men hauled down; in her attic window the staff she set to show that one heart was loyal yet. up the street came the rebel tread, stonewall jackson riding ahead: under his slouch hat left and right he glanced; the old flag met his sight. 'halt!' the dust-brown ranks stood fast, 'fire!' out blazed the rifle blast, it shivered the window pane and sash, it rent the banner with seam and gash. quick as it fell from the broken staff, dame barbara snatched the silken scarf." this is poetry, but it is not history. it is not truth. it does not sound like it. nobody but men like whittier, blinded by new england prejudice and steeped in ignorance of southern people, would for a moment have thought stonewall jackson capable of giving an order to fire on a woman. none of the story sounds at all like "stonewall jackson's way." to their credit the later editions of whittier's poems cast a grave doubt on the truth of the story, and now mr. john mclean, an old next-door neighbor to the genuine barbara frietchie, has given to mr. smith clayton, of the atlanta _journal_, the true story showing whittier's tale to be nothing but a myth. mr. clayton says: "coming up to washington from richmond the other day i brushed up an acquaintance with a very pleasant, intelligent and, by the way, handsome gentleman, mr. john mclean, a conductor on the richmond, fredericksburg and washington railroad. in the course of conversation he mentioned frederick, md. i laughed and said: "did you ever meet barbara frietchie?" "why, my dear sir," he replied, "she lived just across the street from my father's home." "you don't say so?" "it's a fact; and let me tell you, that poem is a 'fake,' pure and simple. i was a child during the war, but i'll give you the truth about barbara frietchie as i got it from the lips of my father and mother." and then he told me this interesting story: "ever been to frederick?" "no." "well, just where the turnpike enters the town my father and mother lived in the old homestead. directly across the way lived mr. frietchie. he was a tailor, and a good, clever man and honest citizen. his house had two stories. on the ground, or street floor, was his shop. the family lived up stairs. there was a balcony to the upper story of the house facing the street. it was from that balcony that the flag was waved, but barbara frietchie had no more to do with it than you. general stonewall jackson, returning from monocacy, passed through frederick at the head of his army. he entered the town by the turnpike and marched between the house of mr. frietchie and the home of my parents. there was a united states flag in the tailor's house. his eldest daughter, mary quantrell, thinking that the union army was coming, mistaking jackson's men for the federals, seized this flag, ran out upon the balcony and waved it. observing her, general stonewall jackson, who was riding at the head of his troops, took off his hat, and ordered his men to uncover their heads. they did so, and general jackson said that he gave the order to uncover because he wanted his men to show proper appreciation of a woman who had the loyalty and patriotism to stand up for her side. those are the facts. my parents were there. they told me. i tell you. there was no sticking any flag staff in any window. no order by general jackson to 'halt' and 'fire;' no seizing of the flag and waving it after it had been shot from the staff; no begging general jackson to shoot anybody's grey head but to 'spare the flag of his country'--all of this is described in the poem--but none of it happened. very funny about barbara frietchie being four score and ten." "who was barbara frietchie?" "why she was the young daughter of mr. frietchie--the young sister of mary quantrell, who waved the flag--that's all." mr. mclean told me that he had three brothers in the federal army. his brother was doorkeeper of the maryland assembly, and his uncle a member during the stormy sessions held at frederick, when that body hotly discussed, for many days, the question as to whether maryland should secede. social equality between the races [j. l. underwood.] when the men of the writer's generation see or read of the growing sensitiveness in all parts of the country, at the north and south, as to negro social equality, there rush up memories from the days of slavery that make the present jealousy to some extent ridiculous. as to religious equality, the slaves joined the churches of their own choice. in the cities there were some churches composed entirely of negro slaves and nearly all had white preachers. the country has had few if any preachers more eloquent and accomplished than dr. giradeau, who in late years was professor in the presbyterian theological seminary at columbia, s. c. he spent all of his ministry up to the breaking out of the war as pastor of one of these negro churches in charleston. in the country towns and villages seats were provided for the negroes to attend the o'clock and night services of the whites. they shared in the ordinances and communed from the same plate and cup in perfect christian equality with the whites. in the afternoon the house was turned over to their exclusive use and the white pastor was required to preach to them and worthy preachers from among themselves were always encouraged. it always appeared to the writer, all through his boyhood days, that the white preachers preached better sermons to the negroes than they did to the whites. the negro was thus blessed with the most thorough and efficient evangelist work ever done for the benighted. the negroes trained under it have been the salt of the earth to their race in their churches since the war. in those days in the south the white evangelist phillip rode in the wagon with the ethiopian and taught him, and both were blessed. when the lamented good old deacon alex. smith, of thomasville, ga., was ordained a deacon, one of the ordaining elders was his negro slave. at bainbridge, ga., rev. jesse davis officiated as a member of the presbytery ordaining to the ministry his slave, ben. munson. what a calamity that this close brotherly association in religious matters should have been so rudely broken in many directions by the politics of the wild reconstruction which was forced on the south. at home some features of the life amounted to more than social equality. there was "mammy," for instance, the good old negro nurse, housekeeper, hospital matron, superintending cook, boss of the whole family, and what not. she was father's friend to counsel and cheer him, and she was mother's staff and companion. to us children she was just everything. those strong old arms supported us in babyhood and dandled us and fondled us in childhood. her old bosom was a city of refuge from even the pursuing father and mother. how quietly peach-tree switches dropped from parental hands when mammy begged for us. mammy's cabin was the white children's paradise. well does the writer remember that when his mother had to take a trip for her health away from home, he and a sister a little older than himself were left in the home of a neighboring kindred to be cared for. kinsfolk did very well till night approached, then our poor little hearts sighed for home and we ran away to mammy cynthia and remained in her cabin and slept in her arms in her nice clean bed until mother's return. the most cruel work done by the reconstruction politics was to enforce the orders of the carpet-baggers and scalawags in compelling these "mammies" to forsake their old "missus" and old homes. many of them never could be tempted or forced to leave the old home. then there was "daddy jacob," the nabob of the farm. like "mammy" he was given just enough work to keep up appearances and keep him in practice. but it was usually special work, like presiding at the gin or hauling with the two-ox wagon. many a meal has the little white boy eaten from old daddy's dinner bucket or from the blue-edged plates in his cabin. then there was "mandy," the young girl given by the parents to her young white mistress near her age. mandy caught miss mary's manners, fell heir to her dresses and bonnets, waited on the table, joined the children in their sports, and felt that she was about as good as anybody. and she was, until the devil came along with the bayonets and brought the monster curse to the negro, the "yankee school marm." these women were deluded, blind guides of the blind africans. reconstruction work has left the negro women, especially the young ones, the most giddy, most idle and aimless and the least virtuous of any set of women in any civilized country. the white yankee school teachers sent down south by the thousands, forty years ago, sowed the seed of false notions of life and duty and opportunity, and the country is now afflicted with the harvest. "jere" was the negro boy companion of young "mars henry." he and mars henry played marbles together, fished or swam the millpond, searched the woods for chinquapins or hickory nuts. they rode on the same lever at the old gin and leaped into the lint room together to pack back the loose cotton, and then mounted the mules and rode them to the barn. but the 'possum hunt was the glory of henry and jere's united life. after supper, in which henry had swapped biscuit from the table for jere's pork and roasted potatoes or sweet ash cake, they would put a few potatoes in their pockets, gather an axe, whistle up old "tige," the dog, and were soon away in the woods. when the game was captured, and a failure was a rare thing, with the nocturnal nimrods, a small short hickory pole was split and the tail of the 'possum inserted in the crack and soon each boy had a 'possum pole on his shoulder. but a boy gets sleepy quickly. worn out with their ramble they would rake up a pile of leaves on the south side of a big log, kindle a fire near their feet and put the potatoes to roasting. "tige" knew what it all meant and he enjoyed the camping too. he would lie next to the 'possums so that he could keep an eye on them. (the writer's tige had but one eye.) a 'possum is the meekest of all animals, when you get his tail in a vice and a dog in three feet of him. jere would lie next to tige, close enough to get some of his warmth, and mars henry would lie close to jere. with their feet to the fire they got a few hours of the sweetest sleep the world ever gave. it was mars henry's active, rollicking, rough and tumble open-air life with jere that gave such vigor, in camp and on the march, to the confederate soldier. the only man who has understood the negro, knew his wishes and his failings, knew how to be kind to him when a slave, and a safe counsellor now that he is free, is the man who, when a boy, played with jere and slept by his side in the midnight campfire. it is mammy's people, and daddy jacob's and mandy's and jere's people, that understand the negro and have always been his best friends. had the country abided by grant and sherman and lincoln and johnson as to the status of the restored union and left the rights of the emancipated slaves in the hands of their old owners and their interests to be regulated by the mars henrys of the south how much better it would have been for the poor negro and infinitely better for the white people. southern people know best how far the negro may go and where it is best for him to stop. now when the fearful problems which have been brought about by vindictive politics, personal demoralization and fanatical race prejudices, for which the people of the south are not responsible, the whole country is beginning to realize that if these problems are to be solved in the negro's favor he himself is to do the solving. "mars henry" and "jere" would once have died for each other. but "mars henry" can't help "jere" much now. reconstruction politics led "jere" too far away from "mars henry" and kept him too long. in a very few years there will be no "mars henry," no "jere." "mars henry's" children know how to take care of themselves. may god teach poor "jere's" children to work out their own good. dream of race superiority [j. l. underwood.] in a previous article the author has given an account of what was nearer social equality between the white and black races than will ever again be seen in the south or anywhere else. but the deluded negro has been led to look for something higher than social equality. the most awfully destructive work done by the northern attempt to reconstruct southern society has been seen in the complete demoralization of the generation of the negroes succeeding the playmates of the young southerners of - . they were thrown directly under northern teachers profoundly ignorant of the negro race, their condition, and their danger; but teachers supremely bent on injury, as far as possible, to the white people of the south. from them and the literature which they circulated, and his own folly, the young negroes became imbued with the idea, not of social equality with the white people, but of social superiority to them. they themselves were heralded in the highest places as the "wards of the nation;" the white people were branded as its enemies; they were the lions and the heroes of the revolution, the white people were its victims. they were the acknowledged pets of the triumphant northern people, while the whites were their doomed enemies. they were to have offices, endowments, and bounties from the government. this government gave them a freedmen's bank and a freedmen's bureau and they saw no bank nor bureau for white people. they saw the white people to whom nothing was promised with no prospect but that of poverty and degradation. the north gave them colleges and the south taxed itself to give them schools. they were lauded in congress, on the hustings, in the northern pulpits, and in the party newspapers, as the innocent uncle tom-like, angelic people who were to redeem the south and glorify america, while the white people, only living by northern sufferance, were branded as traitors and rebels and enemies of the government. to insure the triumph of the negro and the degradation of southern whites congress kept the ominous force bills before the public. who can wonder that the heads of these poor ignorant people were turned and their moral natures poisoned? then, with all this, came the awful lawlessness under which this young generation grew up. there was no longer "old massa and old missus" to see that they were controlled. their parents gave way to delusive dreams and devoted their energies to "going to town" by day "going to meetin'" by night. home life in the family was, and is to this day, almost a thing unknown. there was no parental control whatever. when undertaken much of it was so childish or so brutal as to do more harm than good. some of these boys went to school enough to learn to read a little and sign their names, and right there the most of them graduated. a large portion cannot read now. they seldom went to church, except just enough to be baptized and to join in a special revival shout of "we are all going to heaven, hallelujah!" at other times when they did go they stood out on the church grounds and smoked cigarettes. the negro preachers, in nine cases out of ten, knew nothing and could teach nothing. the aim of most of them seemed to be to have a happy sunday religion and enjoy the honor of religious office and prominence. what a passion this has been with the free negro. then the inevitable collection of the preacher, and all would scatter without a thought of a religion to make good their lives through the remaining six days of the week. mrs. stowe's topsy said she did not know anything about herself except, "i specs i growed." those young reconstruction negroes just "growed." they "growed" without law at their so-called homes; they "growed" ignorant of, or defiant of the laws of the state, and they "growed" without any aim except self-indulgence in ease and pleasure. then there before their eyes rose the paradise tree of the forbidden fruit--the white women beyond their reach. there was in every state the law against intermarriage of the white and black races which stood and will stand in median and persian unchangeableness. then came, wherever these young negroes were scattered, at the north as well as the south, the mighty resolve of passion, pride, and revenge--"these white women are ours, we are better than they are, they shall not be monopolized by white men." the record is awful and the blackest page of american history. this is the saddest chapter the author has ever written. he has been all his long life known and recognized by the negroes as one of their best friends. there is nothing but sorrow in his heart over the wide-spread demoralization of the negro race. he and all other true southern men rejoice over the great progress of the few. he deplores the enslavement and degradation of the many by whiskey, idleness, and lust. the strong, young african tiger has been found lurking, not in american jungles, but in american homes, highways, barns and fields. his arch crime woman cannot hear named. and to mention it to southern men is to make their blood boil in their veins and their brains to reel. the heroism of southern women cannot be told without this dark page. the trials of the war were nothing compared to the ordeal through which southern women have just passed. in the wreck of the south brought on by northern ballots and bayonets, the culminating damage is the demoralization of the generation of negroes now recently grown. in the face of the worse than gorgan horrors our women have borne themselves with a courage, a patience, and fortitude that are sublime. but let friends of the negro and friends of our women hope. thank god, the crime is on the decrease. white men somehow will protect such women as god has given our sunny land. the tiger is on the retreat, and thousands of the negro race are awakening to the fact that there must speedily be another emancipation, a redemption of their sons and daughters from their new slavery. the negro has had race emancipation; he needs family emancipation and personal emancipation from the chains of sense and appetite. good negroes are working and praying for it. the negroes must break their own chains this time. but let patriotic and christian white men help them everywhere. roosevelt at lee's monument "_come closer, comrades!_" [j. l. underwood.] when the victorious federal army marched home, at the close of the war between the states, the famous brooklyn preacher, henry ward beecher, said that in twenty-five years any man in america would be ashamed to admit that he was ever a confederate soldier. and yet in twenty-five years half of the cabinet at washington was composed of confederate soldiers. in little more than twenty-five years the country sees william mckinley, the republican president of the united states, himself a veteran of the federal army, down among the confederate veterans in georgia, wearing the confederate badge, and otherwise fraternizing as a soldier with those who wore the gray, and in his official capacity calling upon congress to care for the graves of the dead confederate soldiers just as the government provides for the dead who wore the blue. and the whole country, north and south, applauded the noble mckinley. here is president roosevelt, forty years after the war, making the same recommendations and congress actually restoring the captured battle flags to the several southern states. it is a pity beecher didn't live to be in richmond, va., on the th of october, , and see president roosevelt by special appointment meet the confederate veterans at the foot of the monument of general robert e. lee. when he began his talk he said, "come closer, comrades." the president of the united states calling those old "rebels" of beecher his comrades and all the way on his long southern tour, having at his own request a voluntary escort at every point composed of the veterans from both armies! shade of beecher! come back to washington and see president and cabinet and congress and army and navy gather in tears around the coffin and do the grand honors at the grave of the confederate general wheeler! the truth is the true comrades from both sides have been coming "closer" to each other ever since the bloodshed at gettysburg and vicksburg, whenever the politicians would let them. the old "vets" understand each other whether other people do or not. we are "comrades" indeed. now, comrades of the north, let an old "confederate vet" who has gloried in the privilege of frequently grasping your hands for forty years, say a parting word to you. your country is our country. your heroes are our heroes. we claim the honor of having such patriotic countrymen as lincoln, such heroes as thomas, meade and hancock, and mcclellan and grant, and mcpherson and farragut. if there were such men as butler and milroy and hunter, they were our countrymen, too, and if they did things worthy of condemnation, let southerners condemn them with a feeling of sorrow over the failings of erring countrymen--just as northern men should look truthfully at the lives of southern leaders and condemn, when it is just, but condemn in sorrow our erring countrymen. but, comrades, "come closer." read the humble tribute of this book to the memory of southern women of - . they were your countrywomen. their virtues are the glory of all america. we have tried to help you and the world to know them better. we have all come forth from the ashes now. we are rejoicing in a prosperous south and a prosperous north. our women nobly did their part in the war and nobly have they helped to rebuild the south, not only for our children, but for your sons and your daughters. our sunny south belongs to the whole country. our noble women and their children love their whole country. they have shown themselves true to principle and true to duty. "come closer, comrades," and study these southern women. if you find anything wrong in their spirit or conduct, hold it up to just retribution. if they have set a glorious example of courage, of sacrifice and of patriotism, help your children and our children to "come closer" in following their example. produced from images generously made available by the library of congress) transcriber's note: italic text is denoted by _underscores_ and bold text by =equal signs=. small capital text has been replaced with all capitals. minor typographical and punctuation errors have been corrected without note. irregularities and inconsistencies in the text have been retained as printed. mismatched quotes are not fixed if it's not sufficiently clear where the missing quote should be placed. the cover for the ebook version of this book was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain. * * * * * [illustration: photo by international news service belgian soldiers behind the entrenchment on the road to malines] stories and letters from the trenches compiled by f. b. ogilvie copyright by j. s. ogilvie publishing company new york j. s. ogilvie publishing company rose street acknowledgment our thanks are due and are hereby tendered to dr. mary merrit crawford of brooklyn, n. y., for her letters regarding the paris hospital patients, to the new york times for the article, "three months in the trenches," by bert hall, and for other letters; and to the new york sun and various other publications for the numerous items of intense human interest which help to make this collection an accurate record of conditions at the front in the colossal european war. the publishers preface. letters received from soldiers in the field describe many features of the various campaigns of the war, the descriptions coming from representatives of widely differing classes of society. unlike the rigid censorship imposed on the allied troopers by their official censors; the letters of germans in the field show that wide liberty of expression is allowed, with only the names of places, troop divisions, and commanders, and occasionally dates, deleted. at the front are many men of prominence in many walks of life. some of the greatest present-day poets and novelists are in the field, and that, too, serving in humble capacities, taking their risks side by side with the men in the ranks or as non-commissioned officers and sharing the daily routine of the common soldier's life. undemocratic as officialdom is in times of peace, and harsh as its discipline has been pictured in time of war, letters from notables at the front show a surprising spirit of democracy in the relations of high and low on the battlefield, in the trenches, and on the march. the letters from the front include missives penned or scribbled by nobles and members of the royal families, high military officials, authors, socialists, tradesmen, skilled workmen, and writers who, in peace times, have been more expert with the farmhand's scythe or manure fork, or with the street cleaner's broom than with the pen that is supposedly mightier, and certainly to them more unwieldy, than the sword. nevertheless, even among the privates, it is extremely rare that a letter shows illiteracy to any marked degree. in the letters written by high and low alike, there is to be noted a certain theatrical consciousness of the stage on which they are now engaged in battle before the world. war stories. three months in the trenches. american who served with the french foreign legion, now an airman, gives vivid account of "ditch" life. _bert hall, who wrote the article printed herewith, is an american, and has had experience both as a racing automobile driver and an airman. at the beginning of the war he joined the french foreign legion, but was afterward transferred to the french aviation corps._ by bert hall. there was no hands-across-the-sea lafayette stuff about us americans who joined the foreign legion in paris when the war broke out. we just wanted to get right close and see some of the fun, and we didn't mind taking a few risks, as most of us had led a pretty rough sort of life as long as we could remember. for my part, auto racing--including one peach of a smash-up in a famous race--followed by three years of flying, had taken the edge off my capacity for thrills, but i thought i'd get a new line of excitement with the legion in a big war, and i reckon most of the other boys had much the same idea. we got a little excitement, though not much, but as for fun--well, if i had to go through it again i'd sooner attend my own funeral. as a sporting proposition, this war game is overrated. altogether, i spent nearly three months in the trenches near craonne, and, believe me, i was mighty glad when they transferred me (with thaw and bach, two other americans who've done some flying) to the aviation corps, for all they wouldn't take us when we volunteered at the start because we weren't frenchmen, and have only done so now because they've lost such a lot of their own men, which isn't a very encouraging reason. but anyway if the germans do wing us, it's a decent, quick finish, and i for one prefer it to slow starvation or being frozen stiff in a stinking, muddy trench. why, i tell you, when i got wounded and had to leave, most of the boys were so sick of life in the trenches that they used to walk about outside in the daytime almost hoping the germans would hit them--anything to break the monotony of the ceaseless rain and cold and hunger and dirt! it wasn't so bad when we first got there, about the beginning of october, as the weather was warmer (though it had already begun to rain and has never stopped since), but we were almost suffocated by the stench from the thousands of corpses lying between the lines--the german trenches were about four hundred yards away--where it wasn't safe for either side to go out and bury them. they were french mostly, result of the first big offensive after the marne victory, and, believe me, that word just expresses it--they were the offensivest proposition in all my experience. well, as i was saying, we reached the firing line on october , after marching up from toulouse, where they'd moved us from rouen to finish our training. we went down there in a cattle truck at the end of august in a hurry, as they expected the germans any minute; the journey took sixty hours instead of ten, and was frightfully hot. that was our first experience of what service in the foreign legion really meant--just the sordidest, uncomfortablest road to glory ever trodden by american adventurers. after we'd been at toulouse about a month, they incorporated about two hundred of us recruits--thirty americans and the rest mostly britishers, all of whom had seen some sort of service before--in the second regiment etranger which had just come over from africa on its way to the front. they put us all together in one company, which was something to be thankful for, as i'd hate to leave a cur dog among some of the old-timers--you never saw such a lot of scoundrels. i'll bet a hundred dollars they have specimens of every sort of criminal in europe, and, what's more, lots of them spoke german, though they claimed to have left seventeen hundred of the real dutchies behind in africa. can you beat it? going out to fight for france against the kaiser among a lot of guys that looked and talked like a turn verein at st. louis! why, one day thaw and i captured a dutchie in a wood where we were hunting squirrel--as a necessary addition to our diet--and, believe me, when we brought him into camp he must have thought he was at home, for they all began jabbering german to him as friendly as possible, and every one was quite sad when he went off in a train with a lot of other prisoners bound for some fortress in the west of france. but that was only a detail, and now i'm telling you about our arrival in the trenches. the last hundred miles we did in five days, which is some of a hurry; but none of the americans fell out, though we were all mighty tired at the end of the last day's march. worse still, that country had all been fought over, and there were no inhabitants left to give us food and drinks as we had had before at every resting place, which helped us greatly. along the roadside lots of trees had been smashed by shell fire, and there were hundreds of graves with rough crosses or little flags to mark them, and every now and then we passed a broken auto or a dead horse lying in the gutter. at the end of the fifth day we got our first sample of war--quite suddenly, without any warning, as we didn't know we were near the firing line. we had just entered a devastated village when there came a shrill whistling noise like when white hot iron is plunged into cold water, then a terrific bang as a shell burst about thirty yards in front of our columns, making a hole in the road about five feet deep and ten in diameter, and sending a hail of shrapnel in all directions. one big splinter hit a man in the second rank and took his head off--i think he was a norwegian; anyway, that was our first casualty. no one else was injured. our boys took their baptism of fire pretty coolly, though most of us jumped at the bang and ducked involuntarily to dodge the shrapnel, which, by the way, isn't very dangerous at more than thirty yards, though it does a lot of harm at shorter range. personally, i wasn't as scared as i expected, and most of the others said the same. at first, one is too interested to be frightened, and by the time the novelty has worn off one has gotten fairly used to it all--at least that seemed to be our general opinion. there were no more shells after that one, and we continued our march till nightfall, when we camped in an abandoned village. next morning there were big auto trucks ready to take us to a point about forty miles along the lines, and we clambered aboard them and set off at a good speed--all but twenty unlucky lads, who were left to pad the hoof as a guard for our mules and baggage. my pal, william thaw, was among the number; he marched for thirteen hours practically without a stop, and when he reached our camp he lay right down in the mud by the roadside and went straight off to sleep, though it was raining like sixty and he was drenched to the skin. but he was all right again in the morning, though it was a man's job to wake him up. next day we set off before dawn, having received orders to take our place in the trenches about eight miles away. it soon got light, and after marching about half an hour we were unlucky enough to be seen by a german aeroplane which signaled us to their batteries. the first shell burst near, the second nearer, the third right among us, killing nearly a dozen old-timers; and we were forced to break ranks and take cover until nightfall, as they'd got the range and it would have been suicide to try and go on. pretty good shooting that at five or six miles' distance! the french talk a lot about their artillery, but, believe me, the dutchies are mighty fine gunners, especially with their cannon--even the very biggest. _no chance to rest._ why, one day when my company was having its usual weekly rest from the trenches, there were a couple of hundred of us bunking in a big barn fully eight miles behind our lines. about three in the afternoon along came a german aeroplane, and half an hour later they dropped a couple of shells between the barn and a church some thirty yards farther back, just by way of showing what they could do. we thought that was all, and settled down comfortably for the night; but not a bit of it! at ten o'clock sharp a shell dropped plump onto the barn itself and killed five or six and wounded a dozen more, none of them americans. we got out on the jump, though of course it was raining; and we were wise, for in the next half hour they hit the barn eleven times without a single miss, and at ten-thirty there weren't any big enough bits of it left to make matches of. the barn was perhaps thirty yards long by fifteen wide, but remember they were firing at a range of ten miles or so and in pitch darkness. of course, they had got their guns trained right in the afternoon and just waited till night to give us a pleasant surprise. i did hear those were austrian mortars, not german; anyway, they were good enough for us, i can tell you. but to go back to my story: we broke ranks and fled to cover, and remained in hiding all that day near a ruined farm with shells falling all about, though they didn't do much damage. but our old-timers didn't like it one little bit. they had not been used to that kind of thing in africa, and then the germans and austrians didn't at all fancy the idea of being fired upon by their own people. in our company all of the sergeants and most of the other non-coms were austrian--not that they turned out later to be any the worse fighters for that. there was one sergeant named wiedmann who fought like a lion; he was the bravest man in the regiment. poor chap, i've just heard he was killed the other day by a hand grenade, and i'm sorry. he was a real white man if ever i knew one. our lieutenant was a german named bloch, and only the captain was a frenchman. but all this mixture of races led to some rather curious results, as the following story will show: _"the corsican brothers."_ among the recruits who joined us at paris there were two young fellows from corsica--the corsican brothers, we called them, as they always stuck together--who said they belonged to the corsican militia, but preferred to volunteer, as they wanted to see some fighting right away. besides french, they spoke english fluently, and used to jabber away together in some local patois, but they were both very smart soldiers and were soon promoted corporals and got along fine. every one liked them, and they stood very well with the officers as well. after we had been in the trenches about ten days these two chaps disappeared one wet night and left behind a note for the colonel, which i was lucky enough to see. it ran something like this: most honored sir: though we have spent a most agreeable time in your regiment--of which we have a good opinion, although the discipline is sometimes rather more lax than we are accustomed to--we feel that the moment has come for us to join our friends, which we were unable to do at the mobilization, when we naturally preferred the foreign legion to a concentration camp. we will give a good account of you to our friends and hope to have the pleasure of meeting you again before long. otto x---- ober-lieutenant, potsdam guards. hermann y---- lieutenant, potsdam guards. wouldn't that fease you? the colonel nearly blew up. well, at nightfall we resumed our march by separate companies. our captain didn't know the country, so of course we got lost. it was raining heavily, and the mud was frequently knee deep. add to that incessant tumbles into numberless shell holes full of water, and you will realize that we were a pretty sad procession that finally at three a. m. scrambled into the stinking ditch where we were to spend the greater part of the next three months. for three or four days we had nothing to do but dodge the shrapnel and try and keep warm, as the enemy maintained a constant artillery fire--with a regular interval for luncheon--starting about six a. m. and stopping toward five p. m.; and they got the range. i tell you, one lies pretty flat when there's any shrapnel about. some of the english boys were killed the second day, but we americans have been fine and lucky--only one killed the whole time, though we have had some very narrow shaves. for instance, thaw had his bayonet knocked off his rifle by a "sniper" while on sentry-go, and another boy named merlac had his pipe taken clean out of his mouth by a shrapnel ball in the trenches. it didn't hurt him at all, but i never saw any one look so surprised in my life. shortly afterward jimmy bach (who is now in the aviation corps with thaw and me) had his head cut by a rifle bullet which just grazed it without doing more than make a deepish scratch. i myself had a close squeak the very day of our arrival in the trenches. a piece of shell weighing three or four pounds smashed to bits the pack on my back--including my best pipe, which i couldn't replace until i got back to paris--without so much as bruising me, though it scared me something dreadful. _farewell, whiskers!_ our company had an eight days' "shift" in the trenches, followed by three days' rest at a camp four miles in the rear. during the week's duty it was impossible to wash or take off one's clothes, and we quickly got into a horrible condition of filth. to begin with, there was a cake of mud from head to foot about half an inch thick; but what was worse was the vermin which infested our clothes almost immediately and were practically impossible to get rid of. they nearly broke the heart of lieutenant bloch. he had a wonderful crop of bright red whiskers, of which he was as proud as a kitten with its first mouse, because he thought they gave him a really warlike appearance, and he was always combing them and squinting at them in a little pocket mirror. well, one day the lice got into these whiskers and fairly gave him hades. he bore it for a week, scratching away at his chin until he was tearing out chunks of hair by the roots; but at last he could stand no more, and had to have the whole lot shaved off. he was the saddest thing you ever saw after that, with a little chinless face like a pink rabbit, and was so ashamed he hardly dared show himself in daylight. but mud and vermin were only minor worries, really; our proper serious troubles were cold and hunger. it's pretty cool in the middle of france toward the end of november, and for some reason--i guess because they were such a lot of infernal thieves at our depot--we never got any of the clothes and warm wraps sent up from paris for us. it was just throwing money away to try it. my wife mailed me three or four lots of woolen sweaters and underclothes, but i never received a single thing, and the rest of the boys had much the same experience. _running the gauntlet._ that was bad, but the hunger was something fierce. the foreign legion is not particularly well fed at any time--coffee and dry bread for breakfast, soup with lumps of meat in it for luncheon, with rice to follow, and the same plus coffee for dinner, and not too much of anything, either. but in our case all the grub had to be brought in buckets from the relief post, four miles away, by squads leaving the trenches at three a. m., ten a. m., and five p. m., and a tough job it was, what with the darkness and the mud and the shell holes and the german cannonade, to say nothing of occasional snipers taking pot shots at you with rifles. i got one bullet once right between my legs, which drilled a hole in the next bucket in line and wasted all our coffee. as you can imagine, quite a lot of the stuff used to get spilt on the way, and then the boys carrying it used to scrape it up off the ground and put it back again, so that nearly everything one ate was full of gravel and, of course, absolutely cold. more than once when the cannonade was especially violent we got nothing to eat all day but a couple of little old sardines; and, believe me, it takes a mighty strong stomach to stand that sort of treatment for any length of time. as far as we americans were concerned, who were mostly accustomed to man-sized meals, the net result was literally slow starvation. _repulsed with loss._ the second night in the trenches we had an alarm of a night attack. i crept out to a "funk-hole" some thirty yards ahead of our trench with a couple of friends. it was nearly ten o'clock and there was a thin drizzle. we stared out into the darkness, breathing hard in our excitement. the usual fireworks display of searchlights and rockets over the german trenches was missing--an invariable sign of a contemplated attack, we had been told. suddenly i glimpsed a line of dim figures advancing slowly through the darkness. "hold your fire, boys," i gasped. "let them get good and close before you loose off." they came nearer, stealthily, silently. we raised our rifles. suddenly my friend on the right rolled over, shaking with noiseless laughter. for a moment we thought he was mad. then we, too, realized the truth. the approaching column, instead of eager, bloodthirsty germans, was a dozen harmless domestic cows, strays, doubtless, from a deserted farm. there were considerable casualties among the attacking force, and for a week at least the american section of the foreign legion had an ample diet. the next night the three of us were out there again, but there was still no attack, though we had rather a nasty experience all the same. we were crawling back to our trench about midnight when suddenly we found ourselves under a heavy fire. one bullet went through thaw's kepi, but we soon saw that instead of coming from the germans, the fire was directed from a section of our own trenches who thought there was an attack. we yelled, but they went on shooting. i was so mad that i shot back at them, but luckily there was no damage done anywhere. _praise for germans._ two nights later there really did come an attack in considerable force. a lot of us crawled out into a hollow in front of our trench and, starting at about forty yards' distance, we let them have it hot and heavy. we had our bayonets fixed, but they didn't get near enough to charge. i think we kept up america's reputation for marksmanship; anyway, they melted away after about half an hour, and in the morning there were several hundred dead bodies in front of the trench--they had taken the wounded back with them. the bodies were still there when i left, nearly three months later. i crawled out a night or two afterward and had a look at them, and was lucky enough to get an iron cross as a souvenir off a young officer. he was lying flat on his back with a hole between the eyes, and he had the horriblest grin human face ever wore; his lips were drawn right back off the teeth so that he seemed to be snarling like a wild beast ready to bite. we took no prisoners at all; in fact, none of them got near enough, and our colonel didn't think it worth while risking a counter-charge. to tell the truth, we hardly took any prisoners any time, except here and there an occasional straggler. i've heard stories about the dutchies surrendering easily, but you can take it from me that's all bunk. i used to think that one irishman could lick seventeen dutchmen; but, believe me, when they get that old uniform on they are a very different proposition. on one occasion a company of the legion surrounded a lieutenant and eleven men. they called on them to surrender, but not a bit of it. they held out all day and fought to the last gasp. at last only the lieutenant and one soldier were left alive, both wounded. again they refused to give in, and they had to kill the lieutenant before the last survivor finally threw down his rifle and let them carry him off. i heard he died on the way to the station, and i'm mighty sorry; he was a white man, if he was a german. one remarkable thing about the prisoners we did get was their exceedingly thorough knowledge of everything going on, not only of the war in general, but of all that was taking place back of our trenches. their spy system is something marvelous. why, they knew the exact date our reinforcements were coming on one occasion nearly a week beforehand, when the majority of our fellows hadn't even an idea there were any expected! in some cases they got information from french villagers whom they had bought before they retreated. i saw one such case myself. we were bivouacked in a ruined village, and a lot of us were sleeping in and around a cottage that hadn't been damaged. we were downstairs, while the owner of the cottage and his wife and kid had the upstairs room. one of our boys happened to go outside in the night and, by jingo! he saw the fellow coolly signaling with a lamp behind his curtain. he went along and told the captain, who was at the schoolhouse, and they came back with a couple of under officers and arrested them red-handed. he tried to hide under the bed, and howled for mercy when they pulled him out. his wife never turned a hair--the sergeant told me she looked as if she was glad he'd been caught. they shot him there and then in his own yard, and his wife was around in the morning just as if nothing had happened. _"pluckiest thing in the war."_ after that we always used to be very suspicious of any house or village that wasn't devastated when everything round had been chewed up; there was nearly always a spy concealed somewhere not far off. to give you a case in point: there was a fine big château near craonelle, where our trenches were, that hadn't been bombarded, though they had stripped most of the furniture and stuff out of it. well, one fine day the general commanding our section thought it would be a convenient place to hold a big pow-wow. he and his staff had only been seated at the table about ten minutes when a whacking great -millimeter shell burst right on top of the darned place, followed by a perfect hail of others. the general and his staff ran for their lives; luckily none of them were badly hurt, though they got the deuce of a scare. after the bombardment some of us went along to look at what was left of the château, and--will you believe me?--we found a little old dutch sous-off half choked in the cellar, but still hanging on to the business end of a telephone. i call that the pluckiest thing i've seen at the war, and i can tell you we were mighty sorry to have to shoot him. he never turned a hair, either, and we didn't even suggest bandaging his eyes. he knew what was coming to him from the start; that he was as good as a dead man from the moment he got into the cellar. he told us he had been there a week, just waiting for some confiding bunch of french officers to come along and hold a meeting. it's funny how some men meet death, anyway. we had one nigger prize fighter along with us named bob scanlon. he was the blackest coon you ever saw, until one day there came a great big "marmite" that burst almost on top of him and buried him in the mud. we dug him out, and he wasn't even scratched, but ever afterward he has been a kind of mulatto color, he was so darned scared by the narrowness of his escape. _good way to die._ another boy, an englishman, got out of the trench one day to stretch his legs, as he said he was tired of sitting still. some one called to him to come down and not be a fool, as the germans were keeping up a constant rifle fire, and after a minute or two he jumped back into the trench. "they didn't get you, did they?" called out some one. "oh, no!" he answered, sitting down. then all of a sudden he just keeled over slowly sideways without a sound, and, believe me, when they went to pick him up he was as dead as david--plugged clean through the heart. he never even felt the shock of it. if they do ever get me, that's the way i hope to die. bert hall. frenchman meets that strange being, tommy atkins. latter's un-french ways amusingly depicted by parisian journalist for his readers. the thousands of english soldiers now on french soil are, to frenchmen, strange, exotic creatures, the study of which is full of delightful surprises. recently a french journalist traveled to the trenches, interviewed several specimens of the genus tommy atkins, and published the results in a paris newspaper. one tommy was "of the species crane," with thin legs and arms like telegraph wires, by no means as taciturn as the frenchman had believed englishmen to be. he told the frenchman some tall yarns. "in one fight our battalion lost five hundred men," he vouchsafed. "one bullet, which just scratched my nose, killed my pal beside me." another tommy dwelt on the awful fact that he had been "twenty-two days on water without any tea in it." he, too, had been in the thick of the fray and had killed several of the enemy with his own hand, which, recounts the frenchman, filled him with "a gentle joy." "are the inhabitants of this part of france hospitable?" the journalist inquired of another englishman. "awfully nice!" replied the soldier. these words the correspondent, after giving them in english, to show how strange they look, translates: "terriblement aimable"--a combination which must appear perfectly incomprehensible to frenchmen, who do not see how a thing can be "awful" and "nice" at the same time. at a village in northern france the newspaper man found some english soldiers instructing a lot of village boys in the rudiments of football. "when the french team scored a point," he writes, "i said to one of the englishmen: 'but aren't you ashamed to let them beat you at your own game?' to which the briton replied: 'ah, but we want to encourage the people of france to take up sports!'" football was being played wherever there were englishmen. often the games were between teams of english and french soldiers. where a ball was not to be had, the players were quite content to kick about a bundle of clothes. when not thus engaged, the english soldier finds time to enter the lists of cupid. the french writer tells of one tommy whom he saw "promenading proudly before the awe-struck glances of the villagers with three girls on his arm!" "the english? oh, they're good fellows!" remarked a villager in whose house a number of the allies of france were quartered. "they're in bed snoring every night at eight. they get together in my kitchen while i make their tea and sing sentimental songs. they're all musical." the journalist adds, in corroboration of this statement, that he himself heard tommies "singing discordantly to the accompaniment of the cannon." also he found that tommy had a sense of humor. on one occasion, he learned, a german officer came charging at the head of his men into an english trench. leaping over the edge of it, he fell headlong into a sea of black mud, from which he picked himself up, black and dripping, and exclaimed: "what a confounded nuisance this old war is, isn't it?" whereupon a tommy, about to run his bayonet through the intruder, burst into roars of laughter, and made him a prisoner instead. "and the tommies are philosophers, too," writes the frenchman. "i heard one of them say solemnly to a comrade: 'if you have any money, spend it all to-day. you may be dead to-morrow!'" one young soldier who proved a hero. "jean berger, 'simple soldat' of the second regiment of infantry, should, after the war, be jean berger, v. c. he is a frenchman--yes; but listen to this story: "he, a boy of about eighteen years of age, lies in hospital here, wounded badly, but not dangerously, in the side and also in the hand. "jean belongs to an old alsatian family. after the war against prussia, his grandfather refused to submit to the rule of the conquerors, and left the province to settle in normandy. he passed his hatred of the prussians on to his son, and the son instilled it in the four grandchildren. "when war broke out, two of the sons were already in the army, one as an officer, and the father, calling to him the two boys who were not yet of age to be called upon by the military authorities, said to them: 'go and enlist! and be sure to join regiments which will operate on the alsatian frontier.' "jean joined the second regiment of infantry, which was soon under orders for upper alsace. before it arrived at the scene of operations, however, fresh instructions were received, and the second went to operate with the english on the left. he went through the terrible ordeal of the battle of the marne, and, with his regiment, now sadly diminished in numbers, but with its dash and spirit as of old, he formed one of the stupendous line drawn up to face the germans in their tremendously strong positions on the aisne. "it was during one of the almost innumerable fights which, battles in themselves, are making up that homeric struggle of the nations on the river aisne that the colonel leading the gallant second was shot down. machine guns were raking the quickly thrown-up trenches; showers of rifle bullets were falling everywhere around. with that heroism which takes account of nothing save the object in view, jean rushed out of his shelter to carry his colonel to safety. "through a rain of leaden death he passed scatheless, reached his colonel, and carried him to safety. _back through hail of lead._ "as he was performing his glorious act, he passed an officer of the grenadier guards wounded severely in the leg who called out for water. "'all right!' cried jean. 'i'll be back in a minute or two.' "he put the colonel in the shelter of a trench where the red cross men were at work, procured some wine from one of the doctors, and set forth again to face the bullet showers. and again he went out untouched. "reaching the english officer, jean held up the flask to the wounded man's lips, but, before he could drink, a bullet struck the young frenchman in the hand, carrying away three fingers, and the flask fell to the ground. quickly, as though the flask had merely slipped out of one hand by accident, jean picked it up with the other; and, supported by the young frenchman, the english officer drank. "while he was doing so, a bullet drilled jean through the side. yet, in spite of the intense pain, he managed to take off his knapsack, and, searching in it, discovered some food, which he gave to his english comrade. "'but what about you, yourself?' asked the officer. "'oh,' replied jean brightly, 'it's not long since i had a good meal!' "as the guardsman was eating, he and jean discovered that near them was a wounded german soldier, who, recovering from the delirium of wounds, was crying out for food and drink. the englishman, taking the flask, which had still some wine in it, and also the remainder of the food from the frenchman's knapsack, managed, though suffering great pain, to roll himself along till he reached the spot where the german soldier lay. there, however, he found he was, by himself, too weak to give the poor fellow anything. "so he shouted to jean to come to his assistance, and, though movement could only be at the cost of great pain, the young frenchman managed, too, to reach the place, and together, englishman and frenchman, succored the dying german. one held him up while the other poured wine between his parched lips. _all fall in a heap._ "then human nature could stand no more, and all three fell, utterly exhausted, in a heap together. all through the long night, a night continuously broken by the roar of cannon, death watched over that strange sleeping place of the three comrades of three great warring nations. "in the morning, shells bursting near them aroused the english officer and the french soldier. their german neighbor was dead, and for a long time they could only wonder how the day of battle was going. when the forenoon was well advanced, they saw germans advancing. "jean, who can speak german, called out: 'we are thirsty; please give us something to drink.' he was heard by some officer of uhlans, who rode up, and, dismounting and covering them with his revolver, asked what was the matter. "'we are thirsty,' replied jean. "the german looked at the little group. he saw his countryman lying dead with an empty flask beside him, and guessed what was the scene of comradeship and bravery which the spot had witnessed. he gave instructions to an orderly, and wine was brought and given to the two wounded men. surely that is a scene and a deed which will wipe out many a bitter thought and memory of war! "just then the cannonade burst forth again with tremendous fury, and the german force which had come up had to retire. shells were soon bursting all around, and fragments struck the english officer. he became delirious with pain, and the young frenchman--stiff, feverish, and weak himself--saw that it was necessary to do something to bring the officer to a place where he would be safe and would receive attention. "jean tried to lift the englishman, but found that he had not sufficient strength left to take his comrade on his shoulder. so, half lifting him, and dragging and rolling him at times, the gallant little piou-piou brought the wounded english officer nearer and nearer to safety and help. the journey was two miles long! * * * but at last it was over." _may get victoria cross._ "the two men came upon some trenches occupied by the allied forces; they were recognized and taken in charge by an officer of the english red cross. they had both just enough strength left to shake hands and say good-by. "'if i live through this,' said the officer of the guards, 'i shall do my best to get you the british victoria cross. i've your number and that of your regiment. god bless you, mon camarade!' and the guardsman lost consciousness. "jean berger lies in hospital here in angers; he is expected to recover. "that is the story; and that is why i believe that england will think that jean berger, 'simple soldat' of the second regiment of infantry, should become jean berger, v. c. "for the two nations have become one by blood shed and bravery displayed, and, in addition, a little incident which i can relate will show that there is a precedent for a union of honors as there is evidence of a complete union of hearts. "in the british expeditionary force there is an english soldier, a member of a cyclist corps, who is proud to wear upon his breast the 'médaille militaire' of the french army. "the story of the stirring incident has been told to me by henri roger, a young soldier of the fifth infantry who saw it from the trenches and who is now lying wounded in hospital here. "during one of the engagements last week on the river aisne, the fifth was holding an intrenched position and was faced in the distance by a strong force of the enemy. to the right and left of the opposing forces were large clumps of trees, in one of which a force of english troops had taken up a position, a fact regarding which the germans were unaware. in the other wood, it was soon discovered, lay a considerable body of german infantry with several machine gun sections. _cyclist wins decoration._ "a road ran beside the wood in which the enemy lay hidden, and along it a force of french infantry was seen to be advancing. how were they to be saved from the ambush into which they were marching? that was the problem, and it was a difficult one. "every time the french troops in the trenches endeavored to signal to their oncoming comrades hidden german sharpshooters picked off the signalers. soon the position seemed to be almost desperate; every moment the intrenched french soldiers expected to hear the hideous swish of the maxims mowing down their unsuspecting comrades. "suddenly, however, something happened which attracted the attention of the french and german trenches. from the wood where the english lay hidden a cyclist dashed--the english, too, had seen the danger, and a cyclist had been ordered to carry a message of warning to the advancing french column, several hundreds strong. "the cyclist bent low in his saddle and darted forward; he had not gone a hundred yards before he fell, killed by a well-aimed german bullet. a minute later another cyclist appeared, only, in a second or two, to share his comrade's fate. "then a third--the thing had to be done! the bullets whizzed round him, but on he went over the fire-swept zone. the frenchmen held their breath as they watched the gallant cyclist speeding toward the french column; puffs of smoke from the wood where the germans were showed that the sharpshooters were redoubling their efforts. but the cyclist held on and soon passed beyond some high ground where he was sheltered from the germans, but could still be seen by the intrenched french. "the frenchmen could not resist a loud 'hurrah!' when they saw the daring cyclist dismount on reaching the officer in command of the troops which he had dared death to save. "the officer heard the message and took in the position at a glance. he gave an order or two instantly, and turned to the englishman. "then there was a fine but simple battle picture which should live. "the deed which had saved hundreds of lives was one of those which bring glory as of old back to the horror of modern warfare. courage, and courage alone, had triumphed, unsupported by any of the murderous machinery of the armies of to-day. "that was what the french officer recognized. he saluted the gallant fellow standing by the cycle. then, with a simple movement, took the 'médaille militaire'--the victoria cross of france--from his own tunic and pinned it on the coat of the englishman. "'i am glad,' young roger told me when he had finished relating the story, 'to have lived to see that deed. it was glorious!'" dr. mary crawford of brooklyn tells of american ambulance work in a paris hospital. tragedy and humor mixed. dr. mary merritt crawford, who in became widely known as brooklyn's first woman ambulance surgeon, and who has established for herself since that time an enviable reputation in the medical profession, served in the american ambulance hospital at neuilly-sur-seine under dr. du bouchet and dr. joseph blake. her letters recounting her experiences among the wounded describe in the most graphic manner the terrible nature of the wounds inflicted in modern warfare. she writes: "we have been getting so many men with frozen feet from the trenches. they have had much snow near ypres, they say, and the cold is terrible. last night one poor frenchman, who had been in the trenches for several weeks before he was wounded, was told he would be sent away to-morrow. his regiment is still up north and he would be sent there. he went almost mad with despair and tried to kill himself. this is the only case i've come directly in contact with, although i've heard of others. i wonder there aren't more. most of the little 'piou-pious' take it with wonderful stoicism. it is fate, and they accept it, but no one wants to go back to trench fighting. i don't blame them for anything they do. human flesh and blood cannot stand it beyond a certain point." * * * * * "two days ago we had a poor wretch admitted, who had, by actual count, shrapnel wounds on him. you never saw anything so ghastly as he was. the shell had burst so close that all his hair was singed, and he was literally peppered with pieces of shell. he died to-night and i couldn't help but be glad a little, for his suffering would have been so awful and long-drawn out had he lived. "to-day i'm dismissing one of my little zou-zous (zouaves). he gave me one of his buttons as a souvenir, and when i gave him francs he wouldn't take it until i told him to keep it as a souvenir, not as money. then he did finally consent. he had to go out in the same dirty uniform, all blood-stained and with the bullet hole in his coat. the french government is making the gray-blue clothes as fast as possible. i've seen a number when walking in paris. they are the same cut as before, not as trim and compact as our service clothes, but the men inside are splendid, and as patients, ideal." * * * * * _a dog that saved his master._ "i must write you just one story that came to me at the ambulance just before christmas, even though it is a little late. we had a french soldier brought in frightfully wounded. he came from the region around st. mihiel. one leg had to be amputated, and, besides that, he had half a dozen other wounds. his dog came with him--hunting dog of some kind. this dog had saved his master's life. they were in the trenches together, when a shell burst in such a way as to collapse the whole trench. every one in it was killed or buried in the collapse, and this dog dug and dug until he got his master's face free, so that he could breathe, and then he sat by him until some reinforcements came and dug them all out. every one was dead but this man. we have both the dog and the man with us. the dog has a little house all to himself in the court, and he has blankets and lots of petting, and every day he is allowed to be with his master for a little while." * * * * * "i am very tired to-night. for some time now i've had charge of the dental cases, in addition to my regular work. just now i have nine of them. they are the men who have fractures of the upper or lower jaws besides other wounds. the american dentists here are doing wonderful work--some of the most brilliant that is done in any department. such deformities you never saw. the whole front of one man's face is gone, and how we are going to build him a new one i don't see, but as soon as he is ready we'll begin grafting and plastic work generally. one of these men is a black boy, the saddest figure in the whole hospital to me. his identification tag was lost in transit. he doesn't read or write or speak a word of french and none of our senegalesi, moroccans, algerians, or tunisians can talk to him. he is utterly alone and lost. in the course of time the government will place him, but it will be a long process. his wound is ghastly. the bullet hit his front teeth, but as his lips must have been drawn back in a snarl or laugh at the time, no wound appears there. the whole of his left upper and lower teeth were blown out, upper and lower jaw fractured and literally his whole left cheek blown away. you can put your fingers right into his mouth from just in front of his ear and see the inner side of his lips. it is awful taking care of him, but he is as patient as some poor dog who knows you are trying to help him. * * * * * "next week i am going to have all my jaw cases photographed together. their deformities are frightful, but they are cheery. one man whose whole front face is almost gone is now radiant. you see he couldn't smoke because he couldn't suck in the air, having no upper teeth or lip. well, the dentists built him a kind of 'false front' of soft rubber, and now he is 'très gentil,' as he says, and can smoke nicely. my poor black boy is much better. dr. blake did a marvelous operation on his face and closed in most of the gap. suddenly to-day we discovered he was talking french. before he wouldn't say a word--couldn't, poor fellow!--and seemed not to understand. he says his name is hramess ben something or other. also he says that he fought for three days with that ghastly, blown-to-pieces face, and didn't give up until he got the bullet in his back. did i tell you we got the bullet out, and he has it as a souvenir? he nearly died of mortification because we had thought he was a senegalesi--he is so dark. he says he is an algerian, and has told us his regiment. [illustration: photo by international news service remarkable general view of the austrian trenches near jasionna, showing the covered shelters as well as open ditches and the winding lanes of circulation] "i must finish this letter with an attempted account of our wonderful fête de noël, which was held here this afternoon [this letter was written on christmas eve], and which will terminate at midnight with a mass in the chapel. a famous opera singer is to sing gounod's 'ave maria,' and i'm going to prop open my weary eyes and attend it. "we decorated the wards and halls with holly and mistletoe, which grows in great abundance and richness here in france. we had the tree all lighted by electric bulbs downstairs, with a beautiful santa claus giving out gifts. all walking cases filed in and received small gifts. many came in chairs, too. meantime a trained chorus was walking through the halls from floor to floor, singing christmas carols, and finally santa claus carried his gifts to all the bed patients. in the meanwhile the chapel was filled with soldiers and nurses, and many patriotic songs were sung. the singing made me so homesick that the tears came and i had to go back to my sick men. i bought each man a package of cigarettes and a box of matches, and i gave an enlargement of the group photo i sent you to each man in it. also i lent them my big silk american flag to help decorate. _the clown of the hospital._ "ahmed, the big turco, who came to me with seven shrapnel wounds, but is now almost well, and who i told you is the proud husband of two wives and the father of six sons--he does not count the daughters--got hold of the flag somehow, and now it hangs proudly over his bed. by the way, he heard this morning that one of his wives, fatima, has presented him with a son, so now he has seven. such joy! while i was down at noon buying the tobacco and a few little things for k---- i saw a little doll, chocolate in color, dressed as a baby. i bought it and put it on ahmed's pillow when he wasn't looking. the instant he spied it he let off a yell: 'mon fils de tunis!' and hugged that poupée and carried on most delightfully. "i also bought a wooden crane, whose head, neck, and feet move, for moosa, the black senegalesi. i told you about him a long time ago, but not by name. he is the one who said a prayer over his wound and tried to bite every one who came near him. he has become quite tame under the influence of dr. chauneau, who is the most charming old frenchman imaginable. moosa got toys exactly like a child and was just as delighted. he laughs just like a typical southern darky does, and is altogether funny. they keep him in a red jacket and cap, and the color effect is splendid. it reminds me of chocolate and strawberry ice cream. * * * * * "that turco, ahmed, whom i've spoken of several times, and who is absolutely devoted to me, keeps the ward in a perfect gale. last night the men had a regular circus there, and it was all fomented by that old rascal. i've told you how he insists on calling me 'maman' and is jealous as a spoiled child if i show any extra attention to any of the other patients in the ward. well, last night old ahmed was very much excited when i came in after supper. he has learned some english, which he now mixes with his french and arabic. when i asked him what was the trouble he said: 'spik, maman?' meaning might he talk. i graciously gave him permission, whereupon he burst into burning speech. "he said they were all french, both arabs and frenchmen, and the english were their allies, weren't they? yes. they were all wounded? yes. all in the same cause? yes. some had more than one wound; he had seven? yes. then why weren't they all fed alike? why should risbourg sit in bed, never walking, never going to the table to eat--in fact, never doing any of the things they all had to do--and yet have extra feeding? you see, risbourg is the case i told you of that nearly died of hemorrhage from a small arm wound. he had to be transfused and he is on extra feeding to make up his blood. he does eat enormously, and i love to see him do it. "well, i noticed that risbourg was the only one who wasn't laughing, so i called ahmed to attention and told him the story of the hemorrhage, whereupon he gave me a huge wink to show that it was all a joke. risbourg didn't regard it as such, so i went over and told him that i understood, and that i wanted him to eat as much as he wanted, and that it was all right. he is really very devoted to me, and said: 'you, doctor, you understand, but all the time ahmed tells the nurse to tell you that i eat too much.' "by this time they were all crowding around him trying to make up, and he added: 'i know why they say such things! it is because i am of the infantry of france, and they are zouaves and tirailleurs (artillerymen) of africa. i am alone among them.' "well, this was getting serious, so i made a speech and told them they were all frenchmen and brothers, and we all 'vived la france!' then old incorrigible had to pipe up again: 'mais, maman, risbourg said i didn't smell good. and he spat when i said i was a frenchman. and also he said he was a german.' "i said: 'risbourg, did you tell him you were a german?' risbourg smiled broadly (he has one tooth gone just like dave warfield) and said: 'yes, doctor, but because the irish boy told me to. je fais une plaisance.' so then i pointed out to him that he had had his little joke, and ahmed had had his, when he said that he ate too much. great applause from the arabs, who quickly got the ethical point. so we all made up and shook hands." royalty at the front. the following letter, written by prince joachim of prussia, the youngest son of the german emperor, was addressed to a wounded comrade in arms by the prince, himself at that time recovering from a wound suffered in battle. prince joachim, who is years old, is a lieutenant in the first prussian infantry guards. in a tone of easy-going comradeship, not usually associated with the stern and imperious hohenzollerns, the young prince wrote to his friend and fellow-guardsman, sergt. karl kummer, who had been sent, badly wounded, to the home of his sister at teplitz: my dear kummer: how sincerely i rejoiced to receive your very solicitous letter! i was sure of kummer for that; that no one could hold him back when the time came to do some thrashing! god grant that you may speedily recover, so that you can enter potsdam, crowned with glory, admired, and envied. who is nursing you? the old proud first guard regiment has proved that it was ready to conquer and to die. kummer, if i can in any way help you, i shall gladly do so, by providing anything that will make you comfortable. you know how happy i have always been for your devotion to the service, and how we two always were for action (schwung). i, too, am proud to have been wounded for our beloved fatherland, and i regret only that i am not permitted to be with the regiment. well, may god take care of you! your devoted joachim of prussia. * * * * * interesting, too, is a letter written on sept. by ernest ii., duke of saxe-altenburg, who, besides being a lieutenant of the prussian guard and chief of the eighth infantry regiment of thuringia, is duke of saxe-altenburg (since ), of juliers, cleves and berg, engern, and westphalia; landgrave in thuringia, margrave of misnia, count of henneberg, marche, ravensberg, and seigneur of ravenstein and tonna. in the duke married princess adelaide of schaumburg-lippe, thus uniting two great german houses. his own house was started in by ernst, duke of saxe-hildburghausen. his letter follows: we have lived through a great deal and done a great deal, marching, marching, continually, without rest or respite. on aug. we reached willdorf, near jülich, by train, and from the th of august we marched without a single day of rest except aug. , which we spent in a belgian village near liége, until to-day, when we reached ----. these have been army marches such as history has never known. the weather was fine, except that a broiling heat blazed down upon us. the regiment can point back to several days' marches of fifty kilometers ----. everywhere our arrival created great amazement, in louvain as well as in brussels, into which the entire ---- marched at one time. at first we were taken for englishmen in almost every village, and we still are, because the inhabitants cannot realize that we have arrived so early. the belgians, moreover, in the last few days almost invariably set fire to their own villages. on aug. we first entered battle; i led a combined brigade consisting of ----. the regiment fought splendidly, and in spite of the gigantic strain put upon it, it is still in the best of spirits and full of the joy of battle. on that day i was for a long time in the sharpest rifle and artillery fire. since that time there have been almost daily skirmishes and continual long marches; the enemy stalks ahead of us in seven-league boots. on aug. we put behind us a march of exactly twenty-three hours, from : o'clock in the morning until : the next morning. with all that, i was supposed to lead my regiment across a bridge to take a position guarding a new bridge in course of construction; but the bridge, as we discovered in the nick of time, was mined; twenty minutes later it flew into the air. after resting for three hours in a field of stubble, and after we had all eaten in common with the men in a field kitchen--as we usually do--we continued marching till dark. the spirit among our men is excellent. to-night i am to have a real bed--the fourth, i believe, since the war began. to-day i undressed for the first time in eight days. * * * * * the battle of lyck, the victory of which has heretofore been attributed solely to field marshal von hindenburg, would appear to have been won by his subordinate, gen. curt e. von morgen, according to the following letter, written by gen. von morgen to his friend dr. eschenburg, mayor of lübeck, the city where, in peace times, gen. von morgen was stationed as commander of the eighty-first infantry brigade. gen. von morgen is years old. he has been in the army since , when he was appointed lieutenant in the sixty-third infantry brigade. he served in the german campaign in the kamerun in and suppressed the rebellion there in and . in the latter year he served also in the thessaly campaign, attached to the headquarters of edhem pasha, and in he accompanied the german emperor on the latter's journey to palestine. the general wrote: suwalki, sept. . yesterday, after a short fight, i captured suwalki, and i am now seated in the government palace. this morning i marched into the city with my division, and was greeted at the city limits by a priest and the mayor, who offered me bread and salt. (the russian officials had fled.) it was a glorious moment for me. i have appointed a general staff officer as governor of the government of suwalki. to-morrow we continue to march against the enemy. the army of rennenkampf is completely destroyed. thirty thousand men captured. rennenkampf and the commander in chief, nicholas nicholaiewitch, fled from insterburg in civilian garb. the plan of the russians was to get us into a pot, but it was frustrated. the twelfth russian army corps, which was advancing from the south to flank our army, was beaten by me on sept. , at bialla, and on sept. at lyck and was forced back over the border. you know that i always yearned for martial achievements. i had never expected them to be as great and glorious as these, however. i owe them in the first place to the vigorous offensive and bravery of my troops. i was probably foolhardy on sept. , when i attacked a force thrice my superior in numbers, and in a fortified position; but even if i had been beaten i should have carried out the task assigned to me, for this russian corps could no longer take part in the decisive battle. and so, in the evening, i sent in my last battalion and attacked by storm the village of bobern, lying on the left wing. this, my last effort, must so have impressed the russians that they began the retirement that very night. on the morning of the th of september the last trenches were taken. my opponents were picked troops of the russian army--finnish sharpshooters. health conditions with me are tolerable. (in a later note, gen. von morgen added that gen. von hindenburg, his commander in chief, sent word that he would never forget the valorous deeds that had made possible these victories, and that even before the battle of lyck the iron cross of the second class had been accorded to gen. von morgen. when he entered lyck, gen. von morgen said, the inhabitants kissed his hands.) * * * * * a letter containing a personal touch was sent from the front in the early part of the war by rudolf herzog, one of germany's greatest living poets and novelists. the letter, as originally published, was in rhymed verse. the poet, who visited this country about a year ago and was fêted by germans in all the chief cities he visited, is the author of numerous novels and romances, dating from to the present. herzog lives in a fine old castle overlooking the rhine, mentioned in his letter, which is as follows: it had been a wild week. the storm-wind swept with its broom of rain. it lashed us and splashed us, thrashed noses and ears, whistled through our clothing, penetrated the pores of our skin. and in the deluge--sights that made us shudder--gaunt skeleton churches, cracked walls, smoking ruins piled hillock high; cities and villages--judged, annihilated. of twenty bridges, there remained but beams rolled up by the waters--and yawning gaps. not a thought remained for the distant homeland and dear ones far away; the only thought, by day and by night: on to the enemy, come what may! no mind intent on any other goal. no time to lose! no time to lose! haste! haste! and forward and backward and criss-cross through the gray ardennes the chief lieutenant and i, racing day after day. captain of the guard! you? from the staff headquarters? he shouts my name as he approaches: "congratulations! congratulations!" and he waves a paper above a hundred heads. "telegram from home! make way, there, you rascals! at the home of our poet--i've just learned it--a little war girl has arrived!" i hold the paper in my outstretched hand. has the sun broken suddenly into the enemy's land? light and life on all the ruins? * * * springtime scatters the shuddering autumn dreariness. my little girl! i have a little girl in my home! * * * you bring back my smile to me in a heavy time. * * * i gaze up at the sky and am silent. and far and near the busy, noisy swarm of workers is silent. every one looks up, seeking some point in the far sky. officers and men, for a single heart-throb, listen as to a distant song from the lips of children and from a mother's lips, stand there and smile around me in blissful pensiveness, as if there were no longer an enemy. every one seems to feel the sun, the sun of olden happiness. and yet it had merely chanced that on the german rhine, in an old castle lost amid trees, a dear little german girl was born. * * * * * the following is written from the front by corp. t. trainor: we have had german cavalry thrown at us six times in the last four hours, and each time it has been a different body, so that they must have plenty to spare. there is no eight hours for work, eight hours for sleep, and eight hours for play with us, whatever the germans may do. the strain is beginning to tell on them more than on us, and you can see by the weary faces and trembling hands that they are beginning to break down. one prisoner taken by the french near courtrai sobbed for an hour as though his heart were broken, his nerves were so much shaken by what he had been through. the french are fighting hard all round us with a grit and go that will carry them through. have you ever seen a little man fighting a great, big, hulking giant who keeps on forcing the little chap about the place until the giant tires himself out, and then the little one, who has kept his wind, knocks him over? that's how the fighting here strikes me. we are dancing about round the big german army, but our turn will come. our commanders know their business, and we shall come out on top all right. sergt. major mcdermott does not write under ideal literary conditions, but his style is none the worse for the inspiration furnished by the shrieking shell. i am writing to you with the enemy's shells bursting and screaming overhead; but god knows when it will be posted, if at all. we are waiting for something to turn up to be shot at, but up to now, though their artillery has been making a fiendish row all along our front, we haven't seen as much as a mosquito's eyelash to shoot at. that's why i am able to write, and some of us are able to take a bit of rest while the others keep "dick." there is a fine german airship hanging around like a great blue bottle up in the sky, and now and then our gunners are trying to bring it down, but they haven't done it yet. it's the quantity, not the quality of the german shells that is having effect on us, and it's not so much the actual damage to life as the nerve-racking row that counts for so much. townsmen who are used to the noise and roar of streets can stand it better than the countrymen, and i think you will find that by far the fittest men are those of regiments mainly recruited in the big cities. a london lad near me says it's no worse than the roar of motor 'buses and other traffic in the city on a busy day. gaelic spirit irrepressible. the gaelic spirit has not deserted sergt. t. cahill under fire. he writes: the red cross girleens with their purty faces and their sweet ways are as good men as most of us, and better than some of us. they are not supposed to venture into the firing line at all, but they get there all the same, and devil a one of us durst turn them away. mike clancy is that droll with his larking and bamboozling the germans that he makes us nearly split our sides laughing at him and his ways. yesterday he got a stick and put a cap on it so that it peeped up above the trench just like a man, and then the germans kept shooting away at it until they must have used up tons of ammunition. but mike clancy was not the only practical joker in the trenches, as the following from a wounded soldier shows: our men have just had their papers from home, and have noted, among other things, that "business as usual" is the motto of patriotic shopkeepers. in last week's hard fighting the wiltshires, holding an exposed position, ran out of ammunition, and had to suspend firing until a party brought fresh supplies across the open under a heavy fire. then the wag of the regiment, a cockney, produced a biscuit tin with "business as usual" crudely printed on it, and set it up before the trenches as a hint to the germans that the fight could now be resumed on more equal terms. finally the tin had to be taken in because it was proving such a good target for the german riflemen, but the joker was struck twice in rescuing it. a wounded private of the buffs relates how an infantryman got temporarily separated from his regiment at mons, and lay concealed in a trench while the germans prowled around. just when he thought they had left him for good ten troopers left their horses at a distance and came forward on foot to the trench. the hidden infantryman waited until they were half way up the slope, and then sprang out of his hiding place with a cry of "now, lads, give them hell!" without waiting to see the "lads" the germans took to their heels. highland kilt a poor uniform. why highland kilts are not the ideal uniform for modern warfare is concisely summed up by private barry: most of the highlanders are hit in the legs. * * * it is because of tartan trews and hose, which are more visible at a distance than any other part of their dress. bare calves also show up in sunlight. private mcglade, writing to his aged mother in county monaghan, bears witness to the oft-made assertion that the german soldiers object to a bayonet charge: i am out of it with a whole skin, though we were all beat up, as you might expect after four days of the hardest soldiering you ever dreamed of. we had our share of the fighting, and i am glad to say we accounted for our share of the german trash, who are a poor lot when it comes to a good, square ruction in the open. we tried hard to get at them many times, but they never would wait for us when they saw the bright bits of steel at the business end of our rifles. some of our finest lads are now sleeping their last sleep in belgium, but, mother dear, you can take your son's word for it that for every son of ireland who will never come back there are at least three germans who will never be heard of again. before leaving belgium we arranged with a priest to have masses said for the souls of our dead chums, and we scraped together what odd money we had, but his reverence wouldn't hear of it, taking our money for prayers for the relief of the brave lads who had died so far from the old land to rid belgian soil of the unmannerly german scrubs. some of the germans don't understand why irishmen should fight so hard for england, but that just shows how little they know about us. seven british soldiers who after the fighting round mons last week became detached from their regiments and got safely through the german lines arrived in folkestone to-day from boulogne. they belonged to the irish rifles, royal scots, somerset light infantry, middlesex and enniskillen fusiliers, and presented a bedraggled appearance, wearing old garments given them by the french to aid their disguise. one of the seven, a londoner, described the fight his regiment had with the germans at a village near maubeuge. the british forces were greatly outnumbered by the germans, but held their ground for twenty-four hours, inflicting very heavy loss on the enemy, although suffering severely itself. he declared that the germans held women up in front of them when attacking. "it was worse than savage warfare." paddy, an irishman, stated that the soldiers got little or no food during the fighting. "when we got our bacon cooking the germans attacked us." a scotsman of the party said he saw a hospital flying the red cross near mons destroyed by shrapnel. "when we were ordered to retire," he continued, "we did so very reluctantly. but we did not swear. things are so serious there, it makes you feel religious." from men in the fleet. equally interesting are some of the letters from men with the fleet. tom thorne, writing to his mother in sussex, says: before we started fighting we were all very nervous, but after we joined in we were all happy and most of us laughing till it was finished. then we all sobbed and cried. even if i never come back, don't think i've died a painful death. everything yesterday was as quick as lightning. we were in action on friday morning off heligoland. i had a piece of shell as big as the palm of my hand go through my trousers, and as my trouser legs were blowing in the breeze i think i was very lucky. * * * * * a gunroom officer in a battle cruiser writes: the particular ship we were engaged with was in a pitiful plight when we had finished with her--her funnels shot away, masts tottering, great gaps of daylight in her sides, smoke and flame belching from her everywhere. she speedily heeled over and sank like a stone, stern first. so far as is known, none of her crew was saved. she was game to the last, let it be said, her flag flying till she sank, her guns barking till they could bark no more. although we ourselves suffered no loss, we had some very narrow escapes. three torpedoes were observed to pass us, one within a few feet. four-inch shells, too, fell short or were ahead of us. the sea was alive with the enemy's submarines, which, however, did us no damage. they should not be underrated, these germans. that cruiser did not think, apparently, of surrender. what naval warfare seems like to the "black squad" imprisoned in the engineroom is described by an engineer of the _laurel_, who went through the "scrap" off heligoland. writing to his wife he says: it was a terribly anxious time for us, i can tell you, as we stayed down there keeping the engines going at their top speed in order to cut off the germans from their fleet. we could hear the awful din around and the scampering of the tars on deck as they rushed about from point to point, and we knew what was to the fore when we caught odd glimpses of the stretcher bearers with their ghastly burdens. we heard the shells crashing against the sides of the ship or shrieking overhead as they passed harmlessly into the water, and we knew that at any moment one might strike us in a vital part and send us below for good. it is ten times harder on the men whose duty is in the engineroom than for those on deck taking part in the fighting, for they, at least, have the excitement of the fight, and if the ship is struck they have more than a sporting chance of escape. we have none. from a dying frenchman. the most dramatic letters come from the french. on one of the fields of battle, when the red cross soldiers were collecting the wounded after a heavy engagement, there was found a half sheet of notepaper, on which was written a message for a woman, of which this is the translation: sweetheart: fate in this present war has treated us more cruelly than many others. if i have not lived to create for you the happiness of which both our hearts dreamed, remember that my sole wish is now that you should be happy. forget me. create for yourself some happy home that may restore to you some of the greater pleasures of life. for myself, i shall have died happy in the thought of your love. my last thought has been for you and for those i leave at home. accept this, the last kiss, from him who loved you. writing from a fortress on the frontier, a french officer says the colonel in command was asked to send a hundred men to stiffen some reservist artillery in the middle of france, far away from the war area. he called for volunteers. "some of you who have got wives and children, or old mothers, fall out," he said. not a man stirred. "come, come," the colonel went on. "no one will dream of saying you funked. nothing of that kind. fall out!" again the ranks were unbroken. the colonel blew his nose violently. he tried to speak severely, but his voice failed him. he fried to frown, but somehow it turned into a smile. "very well," he said, "you must draw lots." and that was what they did. * * * * * twenty-two grandsons and great-grandsons of queen victoria are under arms in the war, and all but five of them are fighting with the germans. * * * * * the cunard liners _saxonia_ and _ivernia_ were converted into prison ships by the british. the german prisoners were delighted with the transfer to the roomy cabins, where they could keep warm and dry in contrast to the unfavorable conditions under which they lived in the camps at the newbury race course. * * * * * reindeer meat and lamb, imported from iceland, found their way into the markets of berlin since the war began. the reindeer meat is a novelty and the supply is plentiful. the supply of game in the markets of berlin ran short long before, since hunting had almost ceased. poultry in the markets was still in great quantities, although eggs were not so plentiful, as the supply usually comes from galicia, which was then overrun by the russians. * * * * * a sale of small belgian flags in paris and throughout france brought about $ , for the benefit of the belgian refugees. the sale was prolonged in the outlying provinces. there was every manifestation of enthusiasm. * * * * * once gay ostend is desolated. the city lives in an atmosphere of fear. the spectre of famine is continually before the inhabitants, who subsist on wounded, emaciated horses purchased at $ a head from the germans. they are the only meat the people can buy. there are no vegetables, and scarcely any coffee and no tea. many convicts from prisons in germany, distinguished by their shorn heads, are employed in grave digging work about the city. * * * * * the hygiene committee of the french chamber of deputies has won over the veto of general joffre that a number of committeemen be allowed to inspect the hospitals at the front with a view to certain reforms. general joffre opposed the proposal. the minister of war, however, agreed that twelve of the committee should go on the inspection trip. * * * * * that the battle of crouy was one of the bloodiest engagements of the war is demonstrated by the stories told by wounded soldiers reaching paris to-day. an officer gives this thrilling account of the affray: "after our successful advantage the germans counter attacked with fearful violence. how strongly they were reinforced is shown by the fact that they were , against less than , french. they first drove us from vregny to crouy, then, because further reinforcements were still reaching them, we were compelled to quit crouy, bucy, moncel, sainte marguerite and missy. "these attacks certainly hit us hard, but our losses are not comparable with those of the germans, for we killed an inconceivable number of them. a battery covering our retreat alone annihilated two battalions of germans who advanced, as usual, in a mass. we could not resist, so we left a small rearguard force with the mission to hold on to the last man so that the bulk of our , men could recross the aisne. "this force took cover behind an old wall and belched fire on the advancing germans until its ammunition was exhausted. the germans managed to reach the other side of the wall, and even grasped the barrels of our rifles thrust through gaps. 'surrender!' they cried. 'we won't harm you.' but we continued mowing them down with six mitrailleuses. the carnage was frightful, and that moment a shell splinter struck me. "a shell fire directed on our positions in the valley de chivres was fearful. those of our troops who escaped said it was a continuous rain of jack johnsons, which are impossible to dodge. "next day the germans tried to pursue us across the aisne, but our artillery repulsed two determined attacks, decimating several regiments, which were forced to retreat to moncel." * * * * * it is a curious thing that shell explosions always make hens lay. just whether it's shock or not no one is able to say as yet, but as soon as the soldiers see a stray chicken after a fusillade they make a dash for it in hopes of finding an egg. some of the soldiers are suggesting running a poultry farm on the explosion system. * * * * * petrograd reports that the german officers in command of the turks induced the temperate osmanlis to drink cognac before going into battle. russian soldiers assert that many turks fell from dizziness before reaching the russian bayonets. so unused are many of the turks to alcohol that small quantities of the cognac completely befuddled them. * * * * * kaiser wilhelm has presented the turkish government with a series of motion picture films of the germans in battle along the western front. these pictures will be reproduced in constantinople in public and are hoped to be a stimulant to enthusiasm in the turkish capital. * * * * * switzerland's neutrality has thus far cost her $ , , . this includes the expenses of mobilization along the frontiers and other purely military expenditures. it is an enormous sacrifice for the swiss people, but the spirit in which it is being borne is the most striking proof of the determination of the country to remain neutral. * * * * * efforts are being made by the washington humane society to have laws enacted prohibiting the exportation of horses and mules to the war. the life of a horse or mule at the front in europe varies between three days and three weeks. the life of the beast depends upon the service to which it is put. * * * * * eight belgian heroes prevented the germans from piercing a weak spot in the allies' line near dixmude. a patrol of eight belgians with a machine gun saw a column of germans advancing. the patrol took shelter in a deserted farm house. not until the german column was one hundred yards away did the belgians open fire. then the machine gun shot a spray of death into the column, whose front rank just seemed to melt to the ground. the germans pressed on bravely, their officers urging them with hoarse cries. but discipline had to bow to death, and the first rush was stayed. behind their rough shelter the belgians fired steadily, though outnumbered twenty to one. for two hours the unequal fight continued, and still the belgians continued to pick off individual germans or melted down any threatening rush with a shower of flame and death from the machine guns. when relief finally came three of the belgians were dead and the other five desperately wounded. * * * * * an order has been issued expelling all german and austrian subjects between the ages of sixteen and sixty from petrograd and its environs, and from those russian provinces bordering on the gulf of finland and the baltic, including the gulf of riga. drastic measures will be taken with those who evade this order. all germans and austrians found in the forbidden districts will be dealt with as spies. * * * * * the british war office is now urging the women of the empire to send their husbands to war. london newspapers printed the following advertisement: "to the women: do you realize that one word, 'go,' from you may send another man to fight for our king and our country? when the war is over and your husband or your son is asked, 'what did you do in the great war?' is he going to hang his head because you would not let him go? women of england, do your duty! send your men to-day to join our glorious army. god save the king!" * * * * * a brave young wife travelled from paris to the belgian firing line to see her husband, but was told that such was impossible because he was in the trenches. noticing that she wept, a belgian officer nearby told the woman to dry her tears. he then telephoned to the trenches. in an hour the french artilleryman appeared and rushed into his wife's arms. "you must thank that belgian officer--he has a heart of gold," said the wife to her husband, pointing to the officer who had befriended her. "hush," whispered the soldier, "he is the king of the belgians." * * * * * one of italy's best known military critics, while manifesting high esteem for the strategy of general von hindenburg, severely criticized a certain feature of the marshal's tactics. some days later he received a parcel from germany containing a fine fac-simile of the famous general's baton, accompanied by a note asking the critic to accept the baton and come and have a try at the job of beating the russians if he thought himself more capable of doing it than von hindenburg. * * * * * a british soldier made somewhat of a name for himself by refusing to allow general joffre to enter the house used as headquarters owing to the fact that the famous french general had no permit from the english general, whose orders were to allow nobody whatever to enter without it. general joffre was not upset, and went off with his aide, who obtained the necessary permit. * * * * * the official aviation reports show that deaths occurred in the french aero service between the beginning of the war and january . this number includes observers, passengers, pupils and pilots. * * * * * every precaution has been taken to guard against possible attack by german aeroplanes on the palais bourbon during the session of parliament in paris. three french aeroplanes flew constantly in the vicinity of the building during the session. * * * * * a brilliant charge by french alpine troops on skis down the snow-covered slopes of bonhomme, on the alsatian frontier, is the latest thing in warfare. under a heavy fire from the germans the alpine troops climbed to the summit. then they charged down the side of the mountain with the speed of the wind, firing their rifles as they sped along. these alpine men are so skilful on skis that they can fight as they slide along at breakneck speed. many of them were dropped by german gunfire during the charge, but as the outrunners drew near the germans broke and fled. * * * * * that the kaiser has breton blood in his veins is the latest assertion of paris newspapers. to prove their assertion the kaiser's ancestry is traced back to to the head of a princely breton family. * * * * * five dollars for officers and $ . for non-commissioned officers are the bounties placed on the heads of french leaders, according to german prisoners. the soldiers receive these amounts for every officer killed. many bounties have been paid. * * * * * general grossetti, whose name matches his physical proportions, has won fame by his habit of sitting in an armchair when duty calls him to the firing line. his contempt for death has become proverbial and won for him the admiration of a japanese journalist, who compared him to the samurai. once he rallied a wavering regiment by taking a seat, amid a hail of shells, before the trenches the regiment was defending. * * * * * there are two plausible explanations of the mystery that still surrounds the deposal of general von moltke, former chief of staff in the kaiser's war council. one story is that when von kluck was making his fierce drive to the very gates of paris, von moltke was for having him continue on to the coast. the kaiser flatly decided against von moltke's strategy--which was thoroughly justified by subsequent events. it places von moltke, however, in the untenable position of one whose mere presence is the silent reproach of "i told you so." the other explanation is that von moltke was too lavish in squandering the lives of his men for petty gains, paying fancy prices in blood for a few yards. the over war lord finally called a halt. * * * * * the castle of the duke de tallyrand, husband of miss anna gould, of new york, in east prussia, has been occupied by russians. the duke is acting as a military chauffeur in the french army. * * * * * the new german super-submarine has just completed successful trial runs in the bay of heligoland. this giant submarine is of the type that carries three months' supplies, which does not necessitate her putting into port or having recourse to the parent ship. there have been rumors that the germans intended landing men on the coast of britain by means of this sort of submarine. * * * * * the fear of an attack by the germans has about worn out in paris. the gates are no longer closed and the parisians can hereafter take their strolls along the avenues of the bois. * * * * * following a mutiny in the turkish army seventeen officers who distinguished themselves in the balkan war have been shot. * * * * * through inoculation the ravages of typhoid fever among the british troops have been checked. not a single death has occurred among those thus inoculated. * * * * * that thousands of russian women are rejoicing over the fact that the sale of vodka has been prohibited by the russian government was the news brought by mrs. anna omohundro, who arrived on the scandinavian-american liner _oscar ii_. mrs. omohundro, who is an american woman and a widow, has been living for the last three years in petrograd and moscow, where her brother is the agent for the international harvester company. "for the first time," said she, "many russian wives find their homes livable. it appears that the prohibition on vodka has worked wonderful changes in a short time. i have heard of hundreds of cases where men became home loving and industrious because they were unable to get the fiery liquor which turned their brains. "there was one case in my own home in moscow. a woman servant came to me and fell on her knees and said she wished to leave our service. i asked her why she wished to go and she said: 'for the first time i am happy in my home and wish to go there. my husband is no longer made crazy by vodka. he is kind to me and i wish to keep the home for him.' "of course the cases of reformation that i know of personally are among the men who from one cause or another have not joined the russian armies. i believe, however, that the benefit extends throughout the nation." _twenty-seven miles in sleighs._ mrs. omohundro made a journey of several hundred miles to get out of russia from petrograd to stockholm, part of which was a trip in sleighs of twenty-seven miles from tornio, in finland, to korning, sweden. this trip took about four hours and the ride was through the rather weird twilight of midday in the northern latitudes. an amusing story was told of the stop at tornio, on the border, where the members of the party were searched. even the women did not escape inspection by the russian soldiers and all postcards and suspicious looking papers were confiscated. in the party was an english jew who was returning to london after selling out his business in moscow. it was noticed by some of the travellers that the returning merchant, whose name was cohen, frequently bought many boxes of matches. when the search took place at tornio the many boxes of matches in cohen's baggage did not seem to excite any suspicion among the russian troopers. after the party had passed over the border cohen opened up box after box and from the bottom of each took a compact roll of money. he had concealed about $ , in this way. "you see," he explained, "i could not afford to take any chances." * * * * * a french officer who came under heavy fire while carrying several cases of champagne across an exposed place in his lines to a hospital nearby wrote thus to a friend: "for the first time during the war i was afraid--terribly so. no one could have been more terrified. i wasn't afraid of being killed, but if i had been hit while carrying the champagne from a vacant house everyone would have said, 'served the looter right.' who would have believed that i was taking it to a hospital?" * * * * * a german living in st. louis has twenty-three nephews in the kaiser's army, three of whom have been decorated with the iron cross for bravery. two have been wounded in action. a french senator has given his three sons for france. one was killed in alsace, another storming breastworks on the aisne, and another in africa. a nine days' purgatory. a correspondent of the london _daily chronicle_ in flanders telegraphs the following: "the germans had been attacked and driven back during a certain engagement to their trenches yards from ours. between the lines a german officer fell, wounded by a bayonet. he was nearer the british trenches than the german, but whenever our men began to go out to carry in the wounded man the german snipers got busy. they would neither succor their tortured comrade nor let the british do it. "for nine days the wounded officer lingered. finally a british non-commissioned officer and one or two privates crawled to the fallen man at night and brought him in. for nine days he had lain there, pierced by a bayonet from breast to back, without food or drink. he was unconscious when rescued and died soon afterward. during his purgatory the gallant man, unable even to crawl, had kept a diary, a record of physical and mental anguish borne like a noble gentleman. on him was found a photograph of his wife and two little children. "a british officer translated the diary to our men and with a catch in his voice held up the german officer as a hero to whom they should bow their heads in reverence. the diary was sent to headquarters, and perhaps has by now found its way with the picture to the widow of this man." "a gallant foe." the german artillery is extremely efficient and accurate and german soldiers thoroughly trained, is the statement of an english brigadier-general published in the london _times_, in which he says: "we are having a hard time in the trenches, for we are cannonaded day and night. the infantry fire was devastating, since our opponents are sharpshooters who aim successfully at every moving head. the german artillery is better than i had thought possible. we are never safe from it and never know where we should conceal ourselves, our horses and other equipments. i have been attacked twice, and both times it cost me a large number of good men and officers. i am shocked about the newspaper reports which speak of the 'inferiority' of the german soldiers. do not believe it! the german soldier is splendid in every way. his courage, his thoroughness, his organization, as well as the equipment and bearing of the troops, challenge comparison. the german soldiers always take the offensive. i have the greatest admiration for them, and so has every one who knows them." not all hate! chancellor lloyd george has contributed a message to the london _methodist times_, in which he says: "i recently visited one of the battlefields of france. i saw in a village being shelled by german guns a prisoner of war just being brought into the french line. he was in a motor car under guard. he was wounded and looked ill and in pain. "the french general with whom i had gone to the front went up to the wounded prussian and told him he need not worry; he would be taken straight to the hospital and looked after as if he were one of our own men. the prussian replied, 'we treated your wounded in exactly the same way.' "it was a curious rivalry under these conditions; for you could hear the 'wizzle' of the german shells and the shuddering crack with which they exploded, dealing out death and destruction in the french trenches close by. we were in sight of a powerful french battery which was preparing to send its deadly messengers into the prussian ranks. "a little further on i marvelled that this exhibition of good will among men who were sworn foes should be possible amid such surroundings, until my eyes happened to wander down a lane where i saw a long row of wagons, each marked with a great red cross. then i knew who had taught these brave men the lesson of humanity that will gradually, surely overthrow the reign of hate. christ did not die in vain." fought to last man. an excellent idea of the vicious attack by the australian cruiser _sydney_ that ended the career of the german cruiser _emden_ is gained in a letter from an officer of the indian army in ceylon, where the _emden's_ wounded were taken. he writes: "the _sydney_ was warned by a wireless message from the cocos islands station to put on full speed; she made twenty-nine knots. when she sighted the _emden_ the latter was anchored, but came out to give battle. "the _emden_ got in the first three shots. only one landed, as after that the _sydney_ took care to keep out of range. the larger guns fired rounds, and after one and a half hours of action, during which the ships covered fifty-six miles in manoeuvring, the _sydney_ forced the _emden_ to beach herself, her steering gear having broken. "the _sydney_ then put up a signal to surrender, but as all on deck except three had been killed this was not done. the _sydney_ accordingly gave her two more broadsides as she lay on the beach. "when the germans succeeded in showing the white flag the _sydney_ went off to sink the collier. after this she returned to the _emden_ and sent parties to help the survivors. it is said the _emden_ was a perfect shambles. she had nearly killed. "the germans had torn up their flag and threw it into the sea." the smile is gone. entrained austrian and german troops who came from the yser, presumably on the way east, were a sight very comforting for the people of brussels, on account of the depressed bearing of the men. their uniforms were soiled and tattered, and they looked worried. the spectators remembered the former haughty and ardent look of the same men. the troops wore flowers in their helmets, and had written on the car sides "to st. petersburg," but they could not raise a single "hoch!" among them. the wounded continue to pour into ghent. the town council is so pressed for money it has imposed taxes on beer, fuel, petroleum, and yeast. whipped for robbing girl. when the cossacks raided ropezica, according to the cracow _nova reforma_, they robbed the house in which a polish girl was housekeeper. the girl hurried to the commander of the cossacks, who lived at a hotel. "i told him my trouble," she said, "whereupon he asked me: 'are you a pole or a jew?' i replied that i was a pole. 'well, then, i shall go and see these fellows myself.' "he took a nagaika (whip) and accompanied me to the house of my employer. "then he called to the cossacks, who had in the meantime broken open a trunk and were just in the act of taking various things away, to come upstairs and showed every one what position he was to take, after which he whipped their faces and chests until they began to bleed. i screamed with horror. he repeated the procedure. then he asked me: "'do you want these fellows shot?' to which i naturally answered 'no.' "thereupon he took the cossacks to a room, where he whipped them once more. "in the evening he sent for me, and asked me what articles had been ruined and what stolen, whereupon he commanded the cossacks to return all articles they had stolen. in order to prevent another theft, he gave me a cossack, who watched the house until the next morning. what would have been the fate of the house had i been a jewess i dare not imagine." the corporal's trophy. here is a little incident of the daily life of general pau, a hero of the franco-prussian war, in which he lost an arm: a dozen french infantrymen, mud-begrimed, were resting in a drizzling rain on the wayside under the dripping trees. the corporal sits and tries in vain to light his pipe, at intervals singing lustily. suddenly the corporal stands erect; his pipe is hidden behind his back, and he makes a hasty salute. through the fog and rain one of the three great leaders of the french army has appeared. "why do you not wear your cap?" asks general pau. "i have lost my cap, general." "where did you lose it?" "when we were attacked in the woods this morning. a branch knocked it off, and i was too much in a hurry to go back and get it. it is gone." "take my cap." the corporal fears the end of things; he will be punished for losing his cap. "take it, i tell you, and wear it," says the general. and the humble corporal does as he is told and becomes resplendent, like the sun in the cap, emblazoned with the glorious, golden oak leaves. the general draws rein and canters away. since that day the corporal marches along the country roads to the frontier, proudly wearing the cap of general pau. "the general himself told me to wear it," he says to those who protest. "i obey the general's orders, and the cap stays on my head." the general knows his soldiers, and the world may understand why this tired, bedraggled and weary army goes on marching and fighting and dying for its commanders. want more than "three cheers." the saxon minister of the interior has been obliged to direct the following warning to farmers of the south german kingdom, according to a dresden dispatch in the _frankfurter zeitung_: "the farmer has especial cause to thank the german army that he can still gather in his harvest and cultivate his fields, that his fields have not been laid waste, and that the walls of his farmhouse still remain standing and intact. for this reason, however, he ought all the more to show his gratitude by his acts and not grumble when sacrifices are demanded of him, as of all others. "thus, for instance, we hear of individual cases, such as at the time of the mustering of horses, when certain farmers demanded angrily why they were called upon to sacrifice anything, and gave expression to their anger because, in the interests of the common weal, they were asked to refrain from demanding exorbitant prices for their products. in this manner the patriotic sentiments of many farmers seem rather confusing. "it is indeed not enough merely to belong to a military society and wear a festive black coat on the occasion of celebrating the birthday of the kaiser and king, or to drink at comfortable ease in a cosy tavern an occasional glass of beer, pledging the health of our troops. the main thing is to give freely and gladly also of one's property and fortune." "william as jovial as ever." "if the emperor does not happen to be elsewhere, he is present at nearly every council without, however, showing the slightest desire of asserting his personal views," says cabasino-renda, an italian newspaper correspondent in a letter in the _giornale d'italia_. "he takes part in the council as any other general does, without laying claim to any decisive voice even in questions in which he is specially competent. "it is well known, for instance, that william ii. is a distinguished tactician. at a recent meeting of the great general staff a purely tactical problem was discussed and was solved in opposition to the kaiser's views. his majesty simply remarked: 'i think differently, but, after all, tactics are a matter of opinion.' "very frequently he goes to see the first line troops, and in such days and nights he has to suffer a great deal of privation, for he takes nothing with him and moves about like a simple general. his retinue comprises only eleven aides-de-camp and functionaries, and his physician in ordinary, dr. von ilberg. small, too, is the number of his riding and carriage horses, and of his autos, which are painted gray. "the kaiser and his villa are under the strictest police protection, yet william ii. likes to go out unattended, as if he were in potsdam. repeatedly i saw him having fun with the children, and he looked as jovial as ever." * * * * * the kaiser has published the following injunctions for economy in the use of food, especially bread: "respect your daily bread; then you will always have it, however long the war lasts. eat war bread known as letter k, which is satisfying and as nourishing as other kinds. cook potatoes in their skins. give animals no bread or corn, but save them the scraps." * * * * * according to a person who has the confidence of the belgian officials, a number of the art masterpieces of antwerp were placed in waterproof containers and sunk in the scheldt by the belgians before the capture of the city by the germans. * * * * * north of rheims the germans have built an underground town. ten thousand men live there and have constructed long corridors, huge halls, bedrooms, fully equipped offices, with typewriters and telephones, and a concert hall where wagnerian music is played daily for the officers. * * * * * at some points during the german retreat toward strykow, the german dead were piled not less than a yard high. polish peasants spent days burying the bodies. most of the dead were frozen. thousands of wounded germans froze to death before help could reach them. * * * * * the state of georgia has been stripped of mules for the british army in france. every negro who has a long-eared mule, not too antiquated, has offered the beast for sale to the agents of the british government. some southerners foresee danger in the heavy draft of mules from the south. * * * * * a french infantryman writing to a friend in this country says: "at night we crawl forward and dig ourselves in. during the day we hide behind the mounds of earth we have thrown up and we fight foot for foot any attempts they make to advance. they do not like our cold steel, and many times we must give it to them. i cannot write any longer; i must relieve a sentinel." * * * * * the belgians adore their brave king, and he adores them. the democratic friendship between king and the common soldiers is amazing. it is quite customary for him to hand his cigarettes to them and take a light from them in return. he spends a portion of each day in the trenches with them. * * * * * a cigar presented by the german emperor and by him to a gentleman living at hambledon, england, was sold by auction in aid of the local red cross hospital. the cigar brought $ . , and is now the property of a firm of local butchers. * * * * * wounded russian officers in the tiflis hospitals describe the extraordinary endurance of the turks, who march barefooted through the snow and shoot standing and kneeling, but rarely from trenches. they only dread bayonet charges. the turks are said to have lost very heavily. * * * * * great britain is provisioning gibraltar on a large scale. the shipments from this port of late include , bushels of wheat, , bags of refined sugar, and , bags of wheat flour. as yet, no explanation has appeared why england should make such plans. * * * * * a court-martial in france sentenced louise zach, a german woman, to serve six months in prison and pay a heavy fine, on the charge of using an american passport, which was obtained by a fraudulent declaration. the woman was a governess in the employ of an american family. she got a passport at geneva by representing herself as the wife of an american named appel, and on the strength of this came to paris. * * * * * russia has awarded the st. george cross to three boys, aged seventeen, fourteen, and thirteen. the youngest is the son of an engineer in warsaw, who has followed the army since the fighting at lublin and carried cartridges under fire to the men in the trenches. he finally became a wonderful scout, and his reconnoitering resulted in the capture of ten heavy guns. * * * * * the ledger of the national debt of france listing the names of the bondholders as distinguished from bonds payable to bearer, was brought to paris again to-day from bordeaux. it required ten cars to transport the ledger. the germans had planned to seize this vast book and use it to exact indemnity. * * * * * the international sunday school association plans to send a bible to every soldier in the warring armies in europe. an appeal will be sent to every sunday school in the country, each scholar being asked to contribute five cents he has earned. * * * * * the prince of wales often goes incognito among the soldiers. he likes to get among the men, and the other day he was found talking to a wounded sergeant and half a dozen privates to whom the sergeant was explaining the methods of snipers. a messenger came up and said something to the prince, who turned round and wished the men, "good-by and good luck!" and then went off. a minute later the soldiers who had been standing near by came up. "who was the grenadier chap?" asked the sergeant of one of the new arrivals. "why," replied the man, with a grin, "don't you know? it's only the prince of wales." * * * * * three of the foreign legion with the french army, all americans, were doing sentry duty in front of the trenches when some cows came along. in the darkness one of the americans crept forward to attack the cows, thinking they were germans. another section began firing and almost hit the americans, who made their way back. they were greeted with laughs. saved by aeroplane. a curious story of the kaiser's youngest son, prince joachim, wafted away in an aeroplane when in danger of capture is told by a wounded russian lieutenant. the officer says at the battle on november the prince was in command of a german force which occupied a village after driving the russians from it. the czar's troops, however, received reinforcements and reoccupied the place after a tough fight. when the prince heard of the recapture, he jumped on a horse and galloped off after the retiring troops. three aeroplanes were circling above to discover and rescue the prince. two of the aviators who attempted to descend came into the russian fire and were disabled. by this time the prince was with a number of german troops completely surrounded by russians. his position seemed very critical. just in the nick of time the third machine came down near him and the prince, taking a seat thereon, was borne away to safety. the deadly air bomb. a correspondent of the central news in northwestern france says: "in attempting to destroy a railroad station, a taube aeroplane dropped two bombs on hazebrouck. the first did no harm, but, on returning, the aeroplane dropped a bomb on a curious crowd gathered about a hole made by the first missile, killing ten and wounding five civilians, including women and children." a super-belgian. a quick command from general bertrand at haecht turned a retreat of the belgian forces into an attack in much the same manner as that in which general sheridan rallied the union forces at the battle of winchester in the civil war. the story is printed in the _currier des armes_, the official belgian soldiers' paper. general bertrand, who succeeded general leman in command of the division which withstood the germans at liége, suddenly found his troops in retreat. "friends," he shouted, "you've mistaken the road! the enemy is in the other direction!" electrified by their leader's words, the soldiers wheeled about and charged the german troops with renewed vigor. on another occasion the general is declared to have stopped an attack of two belgian companies upon each other by rushing between their lines and singing a popular ditty. until they heard the general's voice, the soldiers did not realize that they were firing on their own countrymen. the general is fifty-seven years old. he was a second lieutenant at twenty years, and became a major-general last march. rare honor for jews. while previously soldiers of the jewish faith have never attained any rank in the german army, now promotion is given wholesale. in the prussian army alone, twelve jews have just been promoted to be officers; in the bavarian army another twelve, and one each in the saxon and wurttemberg armies. seven hundred and ten jews have received the iron cross, which some have refused to wear because it is the emblem of the christian faith. horace stirs frenchmen. a remarkable incident occurred, says the paris _journal des débats_, at the opening matinée of the comedie française, when the old-fashioned roman tragedy, "horace," was presented. written in , when france was fighting germany, it contains numerous veiled allusions to the war and prophecies of successes afterward realized by louis xiii. one such is the sabine heroine's appeal to rome to spare her country and seek conquests further afield: "hurl your battalions against the east; plant your flags on the borders of the rhine!" the _journal des débats_ says: "at these words a shiver of excitement passed over the whole dense audience, which rose, cheering frantically, and continued the applause for several minutes." "they face a solid wall!" paul erco of the paris _journal_ says in a message from furnes: "it looks as if the germans were out of ammunition. yesterday we spotted several of their batteries along the yser, and as soon as the french and belgian guns opened fire they withdrew in a hurry, declining combat. "i asked one of general joffre's ablest lieutenants if he thought the enemy meant to give up the yser and yperlee lines. his reply was: "'for obvious reasons i can't tell you what i think on that point; but i will say that even if the germans resume the struggle on our left wing they cannot break through. from the lys to the sea they have a solid wall in front of them, which cannot be broken down and before which they will shatter themselves to pieces if they try it.'" * * * * * the late king charles of rumania left an estate of $ , , , of which $ , is bequeathed to the army and navy. the will states that the money be set apart for the purchase of quick-firing guns for the rumanian army. * * * * * a frenchman suggests the value of protective armor against shrapnel. he says that metallic disks attached inside the cap, so as to afford almost complete protection of the neck, back, and shoulders when soldiers are firing prone, would no doubt save seven or eight per cent. of the men. he cites the cases of two infantrymen who thus utilized zinc mess tins which showed numerous scratches where shrapnel had ricochetted and thus prevented wounds despite the feeble defensive qualities of the material. * * * * * the british government stopped the circulation of the _irish world_ of new york in ireland because of its attitude against recruiting in ireland. * * * * * a paris newspaper recently printed the following: "now begins the twilight of the german gods. the kaiser's expiation commences. it is not napoleon vanquished by his own conquests; it is not the eagle bowing his crest, but a wretched vulture with the stomach ache. in his sleepless nights, he must see, like belshazzar's writing on the wall, the words: 'the despicable little army of general french!'" * * * * * the tragedy of silence killed many of the women of europe. suicides occurred by thousands, especially in austria. women did not know whether their husbands and sons were alive or dead. they were given no news. wherever they turned for light they were confronted by an impenetrable pall of silence. they were not permitted to dress in mourning, nor were the bodies of their dead brought home for burial. insanity came to the relief of many. thousands of others went to suicides' graves. * * * * * the german army aviators discovered a method of making clouds to hide them when shelled by the french. a french officer was watching some german aeroplanes under fire when they suddenly disappeared into a cloud of brown smoke. in a few moments they became perfectly invisible. the french gunners were unable to find them again. * * * * * a former edinburgh newsboy in the british army was awarded the victoria cross for capturing a machine gun, an officer, and six men. dejected! a dispatch from flanders to the london _daily mail_, referring to the condition of the germans on the yser, said: "nine hundred and ninety-one prisoners bagged in the fighting in the neighborhood of ypres on december came to my notice to-day. if these are a sample of the men left behind, then the german army in western flanders is in a sorry state. they walked dejectedly and cursed the guards for hurrying them into anything more than a mile an hour. altogether, they were as sad a crew as ever surrendered. "i saw some with boots without heels or soles and trousers which were rotten to the knees from the constant wetness of the dikeland. many of the men had been indifferently fed for days, and many others had been for weeks fully dressed and had not been able to bathe in the filth-sodden trenches. one has to marvel at their endurance." "guided by heaven." copies of a proclamation which was to have been posted throughout servia by the austrians were received from vienna. "by the will of god, who guides the destinies of peoples and the strength of his majesty the emperor francis joseph," it reads, "your country had been subdued by force of the arms of the austro-hungarian army. you have submitted to a rule just and wise of the gospodar, who sent us, not to avenge and punish, but to inaugurate a reign of truth and justice. trust in his clemency, trust in the soldiers, who love justice and are conscious of their duty. they will be a strong guard for your country which will protect you devotedly." daring tommy. five motor lorries of the british army ordnance corps conveying ammunition were cut off by the germans, and the men in charge to escape capture made off across country after blowing up the ammunition. one, however, refused to leave, and remained hidden in a wood at the side of the road. the germans, finding the ammunition destroyed, went off, and as soon as the coast was clear the soldier who had remained hidden came out. seeing the wheels of the lorries were intact, he managed to get one of the motors going, and, hitching the other four behind, he succeeded in bringing his convoy into camp. "we are well treated." a frenchman from normandy writes as follows to his wife: "i must tell you that i am a prisoner of war. chance, the great master of all things, willed it that our battalion was to be annihilated and that a few survivors, all uninjured, among them i, fall into the hands of the germans. we were brought to p---- under guard. don't worry about my fate, sweetheart. the germans are treating us with extraordinary kindness; they look upon us as unfortunate enemies. we get our dinner--bread, coffee, apples, etc.--and when we have no tobacco they give us cigarettes." women and children first! the official investigations conducted at vienna with reference to the claim that the russians at tomaszow placed civilians in front of their troops during the engagement there disclose the following: "a battalion of the reserves under the direction of a cavalry regiment was engaged in a rearguard action while seeking to occupy certain positions near tomaszow. during the encounter the russians drove the inhabitants of tomaszow along the highways in front of them and directly in the path of the german fire. among these were women and children. similar action was taken by the russians at kipanen and sendrowen, in east prussia. since strong masses of russian troops in this manner approached our positions as close as or yards, we had to open fire. it was unavoidable that many of the innocent civilians thus had to be sacrificed." "pile dead yard high." an official russian statement describes as ridiculous the german claims of having captured enormous numbers of prisoners, cannons, and machine guns. it says the armies have been fighting continuously, and it is impossible to estimate the losses. "on the other hand, the german denial that they have lost a single gun is disproved by the fact that in the brzeziny district alone (near lodz) we took twenty-three guns and a large amount of spoils. as to german prisoners, , have passed one point alone of our front where prisoners are registered. "neither do the germans mention the supply columns which they burned, nor the cannon and ammunition which they abandoned and which we are gradually finding. "the germans also conceal the losses which they sustained in the november fighting, although witnesses state never has a field of battle presented such a sight as on the roads of the german retreat toward strykow--at some points where we attacked the german flanks the german dead were piled not less than a meter (over a yard) high." can't care for wounded. a letter received from a member of one of the foreign red cross missions in servia paints a gloomy picture of conditions in nish. the town was crowded with wounded, fresh batches were still pouring in, and here tobacco factories were being utilized for their reception. there was serious shortage of dressings and other appliances. at one hospital visited by the writer, the attendants were merely putting on bandages, the supply of proper dressings being exhausted. the number of surgeons and other workers, despite the arrival of foreign missions, was too small to deal with the enormous number of wounded. as a consequence, the work was taxing their powers to the utmost. the servians were meeting their difficulties with the greatest courage and cheerfulness, but the situation was extremely grave, and further assistance in the shape of personal service, money, and stores was urgently required. "forward, my children!" according to a letter received recently by the parents of lori g. periard, a french infantryman, when he wrote the letter on november , he was resting at montrol, a village back of tresne en oise for two days after a twenty-four-hour shift at "advance work," the driving back of the germans. "it is four o'clock in the afternoon," he writes. "we are at rest for two days in montrol, a small village a little back from tresne, where has been fought the frightful battle of october , of which mayhap you have heard. i was in that battle. "there i saw my captain killed at my side as he shouted to us, 'forward, my children! courage!' the poor one! he was indeed one brave! i saw my best friends killed beside me. myself, i got but a spent bullet in my pocket. "now we are advancing with caution. we take the advanced post every third day. that is to say this: we advance on tresne, where the germans are, with short dashes. "the prussians are only yards away from us. we sprint and fall flat, and then we work all night to make some trenches to shelter us. the charges are always made at dark. in the morning ave relieve ourselves by crawling back, while other soldiers who have had sheltered positions crawl to relieve us. i say crawl, because if the prussians should catch sight of us they would honor us with a fusillade en regle.... "during the day we hide behind mounds of earth which we throw up, and we fight foot for foot any attempt they make to advance. they do not like our cold steel, and many times we must give it to them." another record smashed. the london _standard's_ berlin correspondent says the berlin _tageblatt_ relates that in the belgian village of beveren bavarian soldiers who had taken part in the siege of antwerp drank , liters of beer within two hours. each bavarian soldier thus drank in round figures nearly twenty pints within two hours. the _tageblatt_ has no other comment than that it was satisfactory to find that belgian beer was fit for bavarian consumption. young germany. heinz skrohn, who attends the public school at prussian battau, near neukuhren, sent the following letter of congratulation, which the berlin _tageblatt_ publishes, to general von hindenburg on the occasion of his birthday anniversary: "dear gen. von hindenburg: i read in the paper that october is the anniversary of your birthday. the public school of battau, fischhausen county, sends its heartiest congratulations and hopes that you will continue to give the russians a good thrashing. we very often play soldier, but nobody wants to be the russ, saying that as such they get beaten up too much. i am also sending you a picture in this letter showing us lined up as soldiers. i am the leader, and have the iron cross on my chest. on another picture the girls are seen knitting socks for the soldiers. i would also like to have your picture, but a big one, please. we want to hang it up in our classroom alongside of the kaiser's picture. when a few days ago the russians were coming nearer and nearer to koenigsberg many people here became alarmed and moved away. we, however, stayed at home and went to school every day. our teacher here tells us every day what happens in the war. we had a big celebration here after the battle of tannenberg. we got all the flags together and marched through the village. we boys would like to go to war, too, but are too small yet. i am only twelve years old. please write me that you got the letter. if you have no time yourself, have somebody else write. the boys here are very anxious to know whether i will get a reply. "now, good luck once more to you and health from all the boys of the public school of prussian battau, especially from the captain. "heinz skrohn." the following reply was received by heinz in due time: "dear heinz: his excellency major general von hindenburg wishes me to thank you very much for your letter and the pictures. his excellency will have a picture sent to you, and hopes that you will always be industrious boys, despite the war. caemmerer, "captain and adjutant.", the invisible foe. a visit to the french trenches in flanders, under the auspices of the french general staff, is here described: standing in the shelter of a wonderfully ingenious and deep-dug trench on what undoubtedly is the bloodiest battlefield in european history, the most notable impression is one of utter surprise at the absence of movement and the lack of noise. within one's range of vision, with a strong field glass, there are probably concealed not fewer than , men, yet except for the few french soldiers with rifles in their hands standing or kneeling in the immediate vicinity and keenly peering over the flat land toward the positions held by the germans, no human presence was noticeable. a staff officer said that behind a slight slope yards away many german guns were hidden, but only an occasional burst of flame and a sharp whirring sound coming from an indefinite point told of this artillery. a little forest to the left bristles with machine guns backed by infantry in rifle pits and covered trenches. the approach to these positions has been made almost impossible by barbed-wire entanglements strewn with brush and branches of trees and having the appearance of a copse of heather. british, french, and belgian troops are greeted with cheers by the people as they march from spells of duty in the trenches to the villages in the rear. these men are jaded and worn. they stay in the trenches for days at a time and are constantly under artillery fire as well as being subjected to infantry attacks. as one group goes back to rest, another moves forward to take its place, and the men going into action cheer those who are retiring. traitor mayor shot. a british officer writes home from the front remarking on the curious avoidance by the germans, at first, of shelling the town hall at ypres. "some suspicions were aroused by it," he writes, "and the place was searched. in the vaults underneath it, which are of very great extent, was found an enormous quantity of german stores and ammunition sufficient to last them a month and serve as a depot for their attack on calais. "it had been put there with the connivance of the mayor at the time the germans were in occupation. this explains their desperate efforts to capture the town again. the traitor mayor was shot. immediately afterward the germans shelled the place and smashed up the building and set it on fire." he won't get hurt. a british prisoner of war named lonsdale, confined in the doeberitz camp, has been condemned by a german court-martial to ten years' imprisonment for striking one of his custodians. the incident is thus described by the _lokal anzeiger_: "when the occupants of one of the tents in the camp failed to turn out for work, a group of reservists in charge of the camp were ordered to drive them out. lonsdale struck one of the german soldiers. a sergeant major drew his sword and hit lonsdale several blows on the back. "at the trial the president of the court-martial told witnesses to speak the truth and not to be influenced by hatred of the english." real luxuries. the way in which the russian soldiers will risk their lives for comparatively small luxuries is evidenced by the following story: during the fighting in east prussia, a corporal asked permission to take a couple of his comrades and try to surprise one of the german scouting patrols. when he returned and reported that his effort had been successful, his officer asked him why he volunteered for such risky work. the corporal replied that the previous night a friend had relieved a german officer of a good supply of chocolate and a flask of brandy, and he wanted to "try his luck," too. "and what did you get?" asked the officer. the corporal grinned and showed two cakes of milk chocolate and five cigars. the grateful prince. a letter from prince joachim, the kaiser's youngest son, who was recently wounded in action against the russians in the east, to a non-commissioned officer who rendered first aid to him, was given out here by the german information service last night as follows: "my dear corporal: you surely must have thought me ungrateful for not having thanked you ere this for your kind aid. i would have done so long ago had it not been for my removal to berlin. to-day the empress read me your letter, which was a source of great joy to me and her majesty. at the time when you rushed on with your company i did not find an opportunity to thank you for your faithful aid. i shall always be grateful to you for it. that was true comradeship. i trust you are in good health when this letter reaches you. did private ewe get a new package of bandages? i have reproached myself for having taken his. and now farewell and remember me to all the boys of the d, my cassel friends, and tell them that i shall be back as soon as i am able to get on my feet again. your thankful comrade, joachim, "prince of prussia." "too awful to describe!" an eyewitness, a soldier who took part in that fearful siege, describes his impressions of the slaughter near przemysl: "the fury of the russians' attack was shown by examination of the battlefield. the bodies of fallen russians in the zone of our obstacles formed great piles many meters high. it was a terrible sight. i was one of a squad accompanying the examining officers. it was too sickening to repeat. those masses of dead and dying wounded men. the dead were not so terrible--so sad to me!--as those wounded. "it was the living--the writhing creatures, in that mass of humanity, causing the piles of flesh to quiver, as these helpless ones struggled feebly to escape." british and belgian kings met by roadside. a long handshake the first greeting; then they drove across the belgian frontier. the london _daily mail_ correspondent sends the following dispatch from dunkirk, the date being omitted: "there was a historic incident on the roadside in flanders to-day when king george met king albert. the king of the belgians, as the host, was first at the rendezvous. he was dressed in his usual quiet uniform of dark blue. "as he alighted from his motor and walked toward some old cottages here, he waited, and exchanged kindly words with some belgian soldiers who came out of a neighboring inn to touch their hats to their monarch. "noon struck from an old clock tower near at hand, and a moment later a motor cyclist flying the union jack was buzzing along the road toward ----. behind were three black limousine cars, all flying union jacks, and behind them was a second motor cyclist. "the cars and cyclists stopped, and from the first motor came king george and the prince of wales with him. he wore a khaki uniform, with a scarlet band round his hat. he looked fit and well. "the two kings moved forward with outstretched hands to greet each other there in the muddy road with none but a few officers, a few soldiers, and simple villagers looking on. "upon a canal barge on the water alongside the road a woman was hanging out her washing on the mainmast and boom. all she saw was two men shaking hands, but there was quiet earnestness about that greeting. the handshake was long and firm, and the accompanying smiles like those of men who meet on serious occasions. "their first talk was not long. after returning the salute of a soldier, who had come up close to look on, they entered king albert's motor car and passed on over the frontier into the little remnant of belgium that still remains out of the enemy's clutches. "the two kings stayed a short time to review the troops, belgian and others, drawn up in the village square, and then the monarchs drove on together to here. they dined and talked in friendly intimacy of the strange happenings that had befallen the kingdoms of both and of the great fights that have been fought." * * * * * fifteen hundred british men and officers are in the base hospital at boulogne suffering from frozen feet. fully one thousand of this number must have one or both feet severed, owing to the deadening of the nerves, which makes futile all attempts at treatment. chilblains and frostbites have been depleting the ranks worse than bullets and shrapnel, and once a man's foot is frozen he is through, as far as fighting is concerned, for the rest of the war. * * * * * says one british officer now in the hospital: "from the time i arrived at the front, three weeks ago, until i arrived at the hospital last night, i have not been warm for one moment." * * * * * while the men are away at the war, the women's freedom league of london has formed a corps of policewomen for duty on the streets, at railway stations and in public parks. the women have organized under the name of "women police volunteers." * * * * * the throne of egypt is going begging. great britain and the native government are finding it impossible to induce any of the native princes to accept it. it is now proposed to make the country a separate kingdom, independent of turkey. * * * * * one arms and ammunition company in this country is erecting a million-dollar building to supply the demand for its products created by the european war. this company has a contract that calls for the manufacture of fifteen hundred rifles per day. * * * * * many of the allied soldiers are in the hospitals "wounded without wounds." they have been so dazed by the shock of exploding shells that it was deemed best to invalid them for a while. in some cases the shells destroy a man's memory. one corporal was brought in who remembered his name and the events preceding the war, but has utterly forgotten anything subsequent to the mobilization. he even refused to believe a story of his own heroism. * * * * * the spy scare in london forced many innocent men out of the country. adolph boehm, who sold newspapers in piccadilly for more than thirty years, was forced to flee unless he wished to stand trial for being a german spy. rough on the prisoners. the paris _temps_ correspondent describes a meeting near soissons with a french infantry soldier who had just escaped from the germans. they had forced him, he said, with fifty others captured at the same time, to dig trenches after shooting those refusing. the soldier said: "under a french cannonade which killed many, we were compelled by blows to dig in the most exposed situation the trenches the germans now occupy, which are very wide and deep and cemented against damp at frequent intervals. we received only one meal, at p. m. we had no coverings and slept in the trenches. finally, when my comrades were most all killed, i crept from one end of the trench and crawled yards to a shell hole, where i spent the following day. then i crawled yards to the french trenches. "the germans received food and munitions regularly, but seemed dispirited, and suffered from rheumatism greatly. the majority are middle-aged. "during the last fortnight the germans have withdrawn many guns, which were replaced with trunks of trees as barrels to deceive aviators, and some were even mounted on wheels." handicapped. passing a building in glasgow where some of the belgian refugees were housed, two young girls were overheard arguing about the language of the guests, thus: "a wish we'd been gettin' french this year; we'd been able tae speak tae the wee belgians." "they widna understan' french, for a heard they speak flemish." "well, a heard the belgians speak better french than they dae in france, just the same's we speak better english than they dae in england." prince a fine soldier. the london _times_ military correspondent, giving an account of the life led by the prince of wales at the front, says: "he won golden opinions. personally of slight physique and almost fragile looking, the prince was but little known to the army until he joined it, and now that he is becoming known it is a revelation. he is among the keenest and hardest soldiers in the army. he walks more than six miles before breakfast every morning, drives his own car and spends every moment of the working day in acquainting himself with the situation of the troops and the service of the army. "although nominally attached to sir john french's staff, he is not chained there. he has been attached in turn to army corps, divisional and brigade headquarters and is undergoing an education which no books can ever give him. only last week he occupied a house rocking and shaking day and night with the bombardment, and he has visited the trenches, including those of the indian army. it will be difficult to keep him out of the firing line of his grenadiers. "a more zealous and indefatigable young officer does not serve with the king's troops. he has a quiet, confident dignity which is most attractive and his character and intelligence arouse the enthusiasm of all who meet him. it was not exactly the expression of a courtier, but it was the expression of a truth, when an old soldier looked wistfully after him and muttered, half to himself: 'that's a d----d good boy!'" "for your leetle amie." but for the honesty of a british "tommy," says a paris despatch, a famous french actress would have lost her satchel containing jewels valued at $ , . she had dropped the satchel as she was getting into a taxi, and the soldier, who was passing along, picked it up and restored it to her. so grateful was the actress that she took off a valuable ring from her finger and presented it to the finder, saying: "this ees for your leetle english amie." * * * * * bone grafting to save shattered limbs is being accomplished at bordeaux by the russian surgeon woronoff, who experimented with dr. alexis carrel at the rockefeller institute in this city. doctor woronoff is replacing as much as seven and one-half inches of missing bone by transplanting monkey's bone to the wounded limb. he also employs the bones of other men. * * * * * the latest charges against the british censor comes from germany, where it is asserted that the censor deleted entirely the message sent by the kaiser to the queen of spain at the death of her brother. the message, the germans declare, never reached its destination. * * * * * in a raid sixty cossacks captured three hundred german cavalrymen. the cossacks were sent out to learn what was going on in czenstochowa. they divided into sections and dashed into the sleeping town simultaneously. they killed a number of germans before they had time to crawl out of their blankets. then they drove three hundred germans ahead of them to their lines. when the prisoners were examined forty of them were found to be women dressed in soldiers' uniforms. * * * * * japan has transported two hundred big krupp guns, together with the men and officers for handling the guns, over the trans-siberian railway to the russian front. for this service japan is said to have been promised that half of the peninsula of saghalien which at the present belongs to russia. these guns were purchased by japan from germany last year. * * * * * the king of saxony has joined the troops in belgium. his presence greatly encourages the men. he is said to be taking the kaiser's place while the latter is in east prussia exhorting his warriors there. * * * * * when a wounded belgian soldier was examined in the hospital a leather purse was found in his pocket and in it a bent and broken belgian one-franc piece, part of which was missing. the purse itself was badly gashed by a bullet. the man's wound did not heal readily and the surgeon, probing deeper into the man's thigh, found the missing part of the coin imbedded near the bone. it was removed and the soldier speedily recovered. even the butler! "i have the honor to inform you that i have enlisted in the th queen's," wrote a butler resigning his position with a wealthy kent family by whom he had been employed for fifteen years. "i hope my leaving will not inconvenience you, but i feel that my obvious duty is to do my little share toward the defence of my king and country, especially as my work as an indoor servant is such as can be done--and in times like these i think should be done--by women. no single man with any patriotism can remain if he is able-bodied and otherwise eligible to serve in the army." "they are brave men!" "a hindu belonging to a lancer regiment to-day rebuked in my presence a man who spoke slightingly of the german people," cables a correspondent. "with amazing dignity he said: "'do not talk like that of the germans. it is a great country which can make war on five powers. they are brave men who can fight and die as the germans do. the pity for them is that they are not so well trained as we.'" thought kipling spy. how rudyard kipling narrowly escaped arrest on a charge of espionage is told in the following letter written by cycle sergeant callis of the fifth (loyal north lancashire) territorials, now training at sevenoaks: "our battalion turned out in full marching order and proceeded to our usual practice ground, knole park. the cycle section marched in the rear of the column and an ordinary looking man came to me and asked me a lot of particulars about the battalion. he told me he had seen a lot of soldiering in his time and said he must confess our men struck him as being about the smartest on the march he had ever seen outside the regulars. "he asked me for so many particulars about them, and also about their billets, that i thought i should detain him as a sort of spy. "i excused myself and rode off to the head of the column and informed one of our majors as to the nature of the conversation, etc., and later took the man to said major. "the officer stopped me to-day and laughingly asked me if i knew whom i had tried to put under arrest. i answered in the negative and he told me it was no less than rudyard kipling." kaiser's conscience clear. the berlin _lokalanzeiger_ publishes the following description of the kaiser by sven hedin: "i had the happiness of speaking to the kaiser in former years, and he has not altered. latterly i have met him frequently, and i can only say that he has lost nothing of his freshness and elasticity. his appearance has not altered in the least, and yet every day he puts in twenty-four hours of work. everything must be reported to him and he takes part in everything. "i am often asked: 'how is the kaiser able to bear this physical and mental strain?' i think the correct answer is that he is able to bear it because his conscience is clear; that he feels himself innocent before god and man of having caused this war and that he knows he has done everything in his power to prevent it. the germanic cause cannot wish for any better representative than the kaiser, and it would almost appear that he had been born for this crisis. for, just as he did all in his power to keep the peace, he feels now that he is responsible for the development of german destiny, and with this in view he devotes to the cause all his feelings, thoughts and acts." "a frightful hecatomb." the disadvantage of having a sovereign who insists upon being his own generalissimo must have weighed heavily of late upon the german armies in the west. a french soldier engaged in the district just south of the somme gives particulars, gathered from german prisoners, of the kaiser's recent visit to his lines in this region. he says: "to prove their zeal in his presence the german officers increased their daily quota of about shells for firing at the french to , in twenty-four hours. the next day the imperial traveller was five miles south of lihous, where the same ceremonial was organized for his reception. there was a regular debauch of shells from cannon, guns and mortars. there, again, the infantry showed little eagerness to attack us, but some blows and threats improved their sense of duty. "there was a frightful hecatomb. they again tried to capture the villages of dilrens and quesnayen santerre on the following day, but, although encouraged by the presence of emperor william, they failed ingloriously. one officer says german bodies already have been buried and many still are on the ground." will avenge belgium. "day and night the agony of antwerp is present with me," said the bishop of london, preaching at st. nicholas cole abbey, "but if there be a god in heaven the wrongs of belgium--absolutely innocent in this war--will one day be avenged. "for myself, when i have boys whom i love as my own sons killed every day, and my rooms filled daily with their sisters and their young widows, i feel that i should go mad but for my religion. "it is hardly to be expected that great britain can feel charitably toward germany, which has perpetrated diabolical acts of cruelty, but, nevertheless, we must fight this war with christian faith." hide dead from wounded. a correspondent of the _nieuwe rooterdamsche courant_ tells an amazing story of how the german dead are disposed of at quatricht, a little village in the neighborhood of ghent. every day people see huge pits dug, and every night they hear the rumble of wagons, but they must not even peep from their houses. each morning, however, shows fresh mounds of earth, and the people have come to the conclusion that bodies must be brought to the place of burial in tip wagons. the wounded are transported during the day so that they may not see the procession of the dead. close call in the clouds. the story of a thrilling airship raid by french officers comes from arras. the captain in command of the airship had received orders to try to destroy a railway junction where the germans were conveying troops. the line was well guarded, and it was necessary to cross the enemy's position for a considerable distance. the airship started at dusk, without lights, and succeeded in crossing the german lines without being perceived. it soon located the junction and dropped in rapid succession three dynamite charges upon the station, with considerable damage to the tracks. the airship by that time had been discovered by the germans' searchlights, and all the field guns and mortars in the neighborhood were aimed at it. the sky was ablaze with bursting shells, some coming dangerously near. by throwing over all the available ballast, the airship's crew was enabled to rise rapidly. as a departing salute it attempted to drop a fourth charge of dynamite. just then something went wrong which threatened the airship with instant destruction. the dynamite charge got stuck in the tube. the automatic detonator already had been set in motion. the captain seized a hatchet and climbed over the rigging. he struck a few desperate blows at the tube, at the risk of his life, and released the charge, saving the airship. the dynamite exploded with a terrific detonation long before it reached the ground, with a burst of flames. capt. von muller's gallantry. another tribute to the gallantry of capt. von muller of the german cruiser _emden_ is contained in a letter received by a glasgow woman from her son, a member of the crew of the steamship _kabinga_. the letter says: "the _emden_ captured the _kabinga_ in the bay of bengal, but when capt. von muller learned that our skipper's wife and children were aboard he presented the ship to the lady, remarking to the skipper, 'you can inform your owners that as far as they are concerned the _kabinga_ has been seized and sunk.'" "bombardment terrible!" an officer in the pay department of the french army, writing from ypres, says: "the town is being sprinkled with shells. in the earlier days of the attack only bombs from aeroplanes fell, but during the last forty-eight hours the town suffered from the attentions of big howitzers. "night before last a regular bombardment destroyed a score of houses and killed eight persons, of whom two were women. up to now the shells have spared the wonderful city hall, but will this delightful flemish city suffer after the manner of arras? "my letter has been interrupted by the bombardment, which is terrible. for two hours yesterday evening nearly all the houses in our neighborhood were struck. many are smashed. we sought refuge in the cellars of the hotel de ville, the only place capable of resisting the great shells. "profiting by a lull we went out in search of another shelter and found a vault under the ramparts of the town. there we spent the night, huddled up with a hundred men, women and children." a terrible experience. a mile and a half crawl with five bullets in his body under artillery and rifle fire was the experience of private dan hurst of the coldstream guards. writing to his wife, hurst says: "don't fret over me. i have five wounds, but i am a lucky chap to be here to tell the tale, for if the shell which hit me in the chest had exploded a bit lower i should have been killed outright. our ambulance men tried to get us away, but the germans fired upon them, so they had to leave us to take our chances. it rained in torrents all that night and the germans put sentries with bayonets over us. they took all our food and water away, and on tuesday afternoon some of them tried to make out that we had been firing upon them. we asked how that was possible when they had taken everything from us, but they were going to shoot us when an officer came up and stopped them. "on wednesday they removed us to the far side of a haystack out of their line of fire so we could not get hit, but one of the british shells exploded near us, and of course i got hit. we thought it best to make a dash for it. i could not walk and had to crawl on my hands and knees with my wounds bleeding, and while i was crawling away they started to fire on us. there were six of us who started but only two of us finished. our trenches were only a mile and a half away, but it took us four hours and a half to crawl there." the new war weapon. a french doctor, who has just returned from flanders, describing the effect of the "fleche d'aero," as the steel darts with which the french airmen are supplied are generally called, said: "among the , wounded whom we treated in forty-eight hours was a german who had been struck by an aeroplane dart. he was evidently bending over when hit, for the dart had entered the right thigh and traversed the whole leg, so that the point emerged just above the boot. the man was conscious when he was brought in, and said he felt no pain, only a heavy blow. he died soon afterward from shock and loss of blood." the darts resemble steel pencils. they are about five inches long with the unpointed end half-fluted to insure their falling head first. it is calculated that they strike with a hundred pounds force if thrown from an elevation of , metres. censoring the censor. as threats and entreaties have proved equally vain against censorship the paris _temps_ attacks it with ridicule. pierre mille, one of the best known contributors, writes a column article, beginning: "regarding the origin of the convulsion which is shaking europe, together with the least known diplomatic secrets and the most concealed strategic projects, i am going to make some most important revelations." before he can reveal anything here, however, the censor intervenes with a four-line cut. he continues: "it will be remembered that napoleon once cried before the pyramids----" (here is another slash.) the writer goes on: "but we do not need the support of history or the remembrance of the victories won by jeanne d'arc at (name excised) or at valmy by (another obliteration). one fact i will add----" (here follows a ten-line cut.) he continues: "his undaunted attitude at----" (this time ten lines more disappear.) the article proceeds: "she cried in a trembling voice, 'oh daughter, cruel----' (the woman's speech is all excised save the words 'the devourers fight among themselves,' although the passage appears to be taken from nothing more modern or harmful than a famous tragedy). the writer makes a last effort: "the adversary's position was now very serious. throwing himself upon his knees, he cried, 'our father, which art----' (even of the lord's prayer the censor allows only this beginning and the final 'amen.')" "hoch der czar!" during a fortnight's sojourn with his armies in the field the czar spoke to thousands of wounded, according to a petrograd correspondent. his majesty visited the germans and austrians in field hospitals, addressing kindly words to them. in one ward, entirely occupied by wounded germans, the men, who were unable to rise, spontaneously greeted the czar with a three-fold hoch! the czar inquired about the identity and direction of a column passing the imperial train. he was told they were officers and men recovered from wounds returning to their respective regiments. his majesty alighted and asked where and how they had been wounded. it appeared they all had participated in the early battles of the war. they were anxious again to go to the firing line. a holocaust. a wounded english officer describes the following incident of the german attack between dixmude and ypres: "a german regiment with the flag flying approached our trenches to about yards. it was met by a heavy discharge of our machine guns and rifle fire, and fell back in disorder. immediately it reassembled some distance away. once more we saw it advance, with the ranks already thinner. it came to within yards of us, when it was received as before and again beaten back. "this time the order was sent through our trenches to let them come on to twenty yards. we did so; then the order to fire at will was given. two-thirds of the regiment had already fallen in the first two attacks, and now the remainder was wiped out. not one of the assailants got to our trenches." fight with shovels. soldiers who have been fighting near roye say that the hostile trenches there are only fifteen yards apart at some points, so that the enemies can hear each other talking. last week a company of sappers were misled by the darkness right into a german trench, where a squad of teuton sappers were at work. the men fought in the dark with picks and shovels until rifles also began to crack, whereupon each side drew back. french cemeteries, with their strong stone tombs, sometimes play an important part in the hostilities. thus the germans have intrenched themselves on a cemetery height near roye and have made it a strong position. the vaults offer a safe shelter against rain and shrapnel, while metallic coffins have been placed along the edge of the trenches as a protection against rifle fire. "our luck was in." a thrilling incident in the wonderful retreat of the british from mons is described by sapper wells of the royal engineers, who passes lightly over his own part in an extraordinary act of heroism. "one of our officers asked for a man to go with him to blow up a bridge, so that the germans could not follow us, and i went with him," says wells. "well, to blow a bridge up we use guncotton and a wire fuse. it is safe enough if you take your wire well away, but this time it would not work. our men in running back had stepped on the wire, so we had to go nearer to the bridge and try again. even then it would not act, so the officer said to me, 'get out of the way, wells.' i said, 'no, i'll go with you.' we were the only two on the bridge and the germans were shooting at us, but our luck was in. well, we both lay down and i fired ten rounds at the guncotton with my rifle, and he did the same with a pistol, but it wouldn't work. if it had we should have gone with it, so you see what a shave we had. we made a dive back and got some more guncotton, and were making to have another go when an officer ordered us back, saying it was no use trying." "in honor bound." a photographer in southampton row showed outside his studio an apt comment on the war. last september the duke of westminster and other british sportsmen sent round a circular letter asking for subscriptions to the olympic games to be held in berlin, and in the request were the following words: "in honor bound, great britain must send a team to berlin, and ... this object can only be accomplished by efficient organization and adequate financial support." the photographer has written below by way of comment: "the response to the above appeal has been most successful. the money has been found and the team, most thoroughly equipped, is now on its way to berlin. very little doubt exists that all the prizes will fall into its arms." a heroic sacrifice. correspondents of finnish newspapers report the heroic sacrifice of the crew of a picket boat in order to save a russian cruiser, which was unwittingly approaching a mine in the gulf of finland. realizing that it was too late to signal the danger, the boat deliberately rushed at the mine at full speed. a terrific explosion followed. six of the crew of seven perished. to the survivor, who was severely wounded, was awarded the decoration of st. george. a terrible bayonet charge. a dispatch to the london _times_ from dunkirk, france, said: "it may be admitted that the position at ypres two days ago was serious. the town itself was bombarded by the germans with great violence and under the fierce cannonading the allies had to withdraw from the town, which became a 'no man's land,' shells from both sides bursting across it. "the germans made a final effort under cover of a fierce bombardment of the british positions. they had prepared a determined onslaught. masses of men were launched in succession at chosen points on the allied front. the assault was met in a supreme way. "two regiments, one scottish and one of the guards, went down with bayonets to stem the advance. it was the most terrible bayonet charge of the whole war. it succeeded, the break in the line was repaired and the german attack was once more driven back. "that was their last effort. the germans are now assailing the allied line at arras, forty miles further to the south, but not with the same fury as they exhibited in the onslaught of the past week. "so fierce has been the fighting around ypres that the casualties of the germans are believed to have reached , , though these figures may prove to have been exaggerated." colonel avenged insult. "at one time in berlin i saw two british officers guarded by twenty-four soldiers with fixed bayonets," writes a correspondent. "one of the officers was an officer of some importance, i think a colonel, a tremendous man about feet inches in height, with iron-gray hair and mustache. his companion was a younger man, with a red band around his cap, denoting, i believe, he belonged to the general staff. "the prisoners were surrounded by the usual hooting, jeering crowd. suddenly one of the guards deliberately prodded the big colonel in the back with the butt end of his rifle. it was a brutal act. the next moment the gray-haired officer turned around and struck his tormentor full in the face with his fist. it was a fine blow. "i saw no more, for the crowd in a paroxysm of rage closed in on the group, surging here and there. i heard afterward both prisoners were handcuffed and led away. their fate i do not know." work of new aerial bomb. the london _daily mail's_ paris correspondent reports an interview with a french airman on the new french air bomb. "i have used both the dynamite bomb and the new bomb," said the aviator. "the two are very similar in size and weight, but the effect as seen from above is very different. "when a dynamite bomb falls upon a body of men you can see the bodies leap up in air. it is like a small volcano in action. when the new bomb bursts it simply lays everything out flat within the area of its explosion. it seems to exert the whole of its force in waves like the ripples made when a large stone is thrown into a pond. the men go down like ninepins; buildings collapse like houses of playing cards; guns are turned over as if by some unseen hand. "the explosion raises practically no dust or smoke. even the earth disturbed by the case of the bomb striking the ground is instantly flattened out by the same extraordinary waves of force. extreme cold is produced at the moment of the explosion. it is so intense that i felt it myself when i dropped my first bomb at a height of about feet. "i was taking great chances in flying so low, but i wished to see the effect of the bomb. it fell on a section of germans bivouacking in a field. i estimate that at least thirty men were killed within the area of the explosion. death from these bombs comes instantly from intense cold and concussion." briton praises germans. the hon. aubrey herbert, m. p. for south somerset, a lieutenant in the irish guards, describing his experience in north france, says: "i was shot and was found by some german privates after about an hour and a half. "with other wounded men and officers i was taken away to a house that had been converted into a temporary hospital after nightfall. we remained prisoners in the hands of the germans for eleven days, until the french occupied the village where we lay and set us at liberty. "it is only fair to say that both on the battlefield and subsequently we were all shown courtesy and great kindness by the germans, from all ranks, from prussians and bavarians alike." he adds that from the general behavior of the british troops "one might have supposed that they were engaged in autumn manoeuvres." nearly put one over. "the germans are full of resources," writes an english correspondent, "and it is one of their favorite plans to lure the allied troops on to attack them by various devices, of which an indicated intention of surrendering is the most common. if this deception is successful, a skilfully concealed machine gun turns a murderous fire upon those who have advanced either to attack or to accept surrender. "the audacity of the enemy cannot better be illustrated than by a well-authenticated statement of what took place last night in a trench held by a gurkha regiment. a figure, silhouetted by the moonlight and wearing a complete gurkha uniform, approached the end of the trench and delivered the message. "'the gurkhas are to move further up the trench; another gurkha contingent is advancing in support.' "puzzled by this announcement, the officer in command replied, 'who are you? where do you come from?' to which the only answer was, 'you are to move up and make room for other gurkhas.' "the english was good, but something excited the officer's suspicions. "'answer, and answer quickly,' he said; 'if you are a gurkha, by what boat did you cross?' "this question, under the circumstances, was no easy one to answer, and the german (for such he was) turned and fled, but he had not gone five yards before he fell, riddled with bullets. "if the officer had been deceived the trench, of course, would have swarmed with germans almost before the gurkhas had made room for them." close call for airman. "roland garros had a narrow escape from death while engaged in an aerial duel with a german near amiens," cables a correspondent. "his motor broke down and garros made a corkscrew descent and feigned death, whereupon the german landed and approached. "the frenchman arose and shot the german dead with his revolver. he regained the french lines in the german aeroplane." fastidious sandy. news has come back to england of how the british soldiers taken prisoners are faring in germany. there are , in a caserne at daboritz. among them are some highlanders. it's getting to be cold weather in daboritz and a german officer, with the kindest of intentions, offered to provide them with trousers. the scots were indignant and rejected the gift. "but why do you prefer petticoats?" the german asked of one of the highlanders. "because they never bag at the knees," replied sandy. "is this the kaiser?" according to a despatch from petrograd to the london _daily news_, the russian soldiers pursuing the germans in western galicia are bringing "captured kaisers" into camp two or three times each day. it is the belief of the czar's force that the war can be easily terminated by making a prisoner of emperor william. for that reason nearly every german officer who wears a "kaiser" mustache and is caught by the russians is taken to headquarters. "is this he?" is the oft repeated query. the fact that the kaiser is still at liberty has not dampened the enthusiasm of the russians. "send on some more dishes!" appended to the french official communique recently was the following note: "the example of the german chiefs has influenced all the german troops to plunder systematically everywhere in belgium and france. a special train service is now admirably established to carry the chateau booty taken by the princes and lesser lords of the army back to germany. the whole plunder service is well organized. "a letter from gettenau, hesse, dated oct. , to a landwehr trooper at ste. croix-aux-mines shows the high development of the frenzy of plunder. it says: "'the shoes did not fit little hermann. all the other things pleased us very much. we have no need to hide them or be secret about what you send us because others at the front have sent much more stuff than you. among other things the french pots are very much appreciated. if you find more french dishes or ware send them along.'" a new foe enters. winter begins officially in russia with the closing of navigation on the neva, but already snow is lying on the ground on the western frontier, and in poland there are severe frosts at night. a new touch of horror is introduced by the freezing of the ground, which makes it practically impossible to dig graves for the great number of dead in the woods, where recent floods washed the bodies from the shallow graves in which they had been hastily buried. the villagers report the presence of an unparalleled number of wolves, and have petitioned the army authorities to detach soldiers to shoot them. the germans are suffering intensely from the cold. in every town which they occupied they carried off all the available winter clothing, furs, sheepskins and leather coats. at lodi and shiradow, where there are great cloth factories, they commandeered the whole of the stocks and kept the plants working day and night providing materials for export to germany. they failed, however, to bring away much of this owing to the destruction of the railway bridges by polish guerillas, whose activities are acknowledged to have contributed to the russian success. the brighter side. life in the trenches appears by no means to be the irksome and dreadful thing it is reported to be. according to soldiers just back in paris from the firing line troops that are supposed to face each other grimly across a fire-swept space only a few hundred yards wide are not the bloodthirsty fellows we all took them for. they carry chivalry into their work, and certain conventions, all making for comfort, have been tacitly established between them. for example, toward midday both sides suspend fire in order that they may eat luncheon in peace. they would undoubtedly oblige each other when the evening meal is due but for the unhappy fact that the dinner hours of the contending armies do not tally. obviously, says a facetious frenchman, it is somebody's duty to see that the meal hours of the opposing forces synchronize exactly. the soldiers entertain each other with music, the trenches on either side furnishing items turn and turn about. how the russians pay. "oh, yes, the russians pay for what they take," exclaims the koenigsberger _zeitung_, and adds: "the inspector of a great farm, who was riding a fine horse, his saddle and bridle ornamented with silver, encountered a troop of russians. "'we need that horse; dismount,' ordered the russian commander. 'but to prove to you that we russians are not so black as we are painted, i now pay you for the horse.' "so saying he handed a ruble ( . cents) to the inspector, who discovered later that the piece was coined in the eighteenth century and is not current now." kaiser's close call. further details are now at hand of the kaiser's narrow escape from death from bombs thrown by an airman attached to the allied army occupying the line from nieuport to ypres for five days. the emperor was present at the operations on that front, and it was because of his presence that the enemy made such persistent and vigorous attacks on the allies, regardless of the enormous sacrifice of life. the kaiser, with some of his aides, arrived by motor car at a tavern at thielt about p. m. apartments had been reserved for the emperor. dinner was ready and his personal baggage had already been deposited in the bedroom prepared for him. he was in a hurry and did not dress for dinner, but immediately sat down to dine. after the meal, instead of going to his room, he hurriedly left the tavern with two of his aides. he motored to the other end of the town, where fresh rooms were engaged. twenty minutes after the kaiser left the first tavern six bombs fell upon the building and the room where his baggage lay was destroyed. two of his aides, who had remained in the tavern, were killed and the motor car in the yard wrecked. extra! russia goes dry! the official bulletin of the prefect of petrograd published another addition to the prohibition of the sale of alcoholic drinks. up to that date restaurants of the first class had the privilege of selling vodka and all other spirituous liquors in unlimited quantities. it was thought these establishments would only provide for the wealthier classes, and there was no danger of the common people being able to secure strong drink. it seems, however, that habitual topers even of the lower classes arrayed themselves in clothes finer than they had ever worn before in their lives and, putting up a bold front, have entered first class restaurants and got what they wanted. the story goes that hatters and milliners had been doing a rushing business selling bowler hats to men and women who hitherto had worn caps and shawls. a bowler on a man and a hat on a woman being in russia a mark of superiority, if not of intelligence, there was no ban on champagne for the wearers. this reached the ears of the commander-in-chief of the army, who has absolute powers. he accordingly instructed prefects of police throughout russia to prohibit the sale of vodka and strong drink of every description, even in first-class restaurants. "he is not a priest!" the following story illustrates the versatility of german spies: a french battalion had just entered a village which for some time previously had been occupied by the germans. the place had been pillaged and devastated, the inhabitants had fled, but the church and priest's house were still intact. the aged curé came forth to greet the soldiers with open arms. that evening officers invited the venerable cleric to dinner, and, as a matter of course, they invited him to say grace. as he murmured a latin prayer one officer, a lieutenant, became strangely interested. he became absolutely astonished as the priest went on. the lieutenant whispered to the colonel, and before the company had quite realized what was happening, four men with fixed bayonets had ranged themselves behind the curé. "that man has never been a priest," exclaimed the officer. forthwith the man was searched. he was a german spy and had disguised himself as a priest in the deserted village. the real pastor was a hostage. thought shells fireworks. the london _morning post_ prints an extract from a letter of a cavalry officer, giving an account of how the indian troops behaved in their first encounter with shell fire. although a cavalry officer, the writer was serving in the trenches. in his letter, written from belgium, he says: "night before last we were told that the regiment was going to be relieved by the indians. i was delighted till i heard that my troops were to stay out to give them moral support, as it was their first go--a compliment, i suppose, although i didn't think so at the time. it was the most weird sight i've ever seen. "there were six farms and a windmill blazing, all set alight by shell fire, when these fellows with turbans and with flashing eyes and teeth came up out of the darkness. the undefeated dragoons, of course, became firm friends with them at once. french, belgians, indians--they make pals with them all. "well, these natives had hardly got into the trenches on either side of me when the germans opened fire. it was the worst half hour i've ever spent. as, of course, i couldn't make them understand and as they had never seen shells before i didn't know what they would do. they behaved splendidly, and i think they thought the shells were fireworks let off for their benefit. "the officer in charge of them told me that morning that he was most frightfully anxious as to how they'd do, but they shouted with glee when they saw a german and let him know what good shots they are. in the middle of the attack one native hurled himself into my trench and spoke excitedly to me. of course, i couldn't make out what he wanted, but thought he wanted a doctor for some one, as he kept pointing at a cartridge, so i sent down for him, but when he arrived i discovered it was more ammunition they wanted and not the doctor." "you are an angel!" a vivacious english woman, the wife of a very well known officer bearing a famous name, returned over the border into holland, after an adventurous day's tour behind the german lines. "i made up my mind to see for myself what was going on," she said, "so i disguised myself as a flemish peasant woman, with the assistance of the national costume--earrings, headdress, and everything complete, down to the very shoes--stained my face brown with a concoction of strong coffee, borrowed a pair of spectacles and a market basket and set off across country on foot. "on my way out of town i met a german soldier with his arm and hand dreadfully shattered. his bandages had slipped and he was trying vainly to replace them. i helped him redress his nasty wounds and rebandaged them with a pocket bandage i happened to have with me. the soldier fumbled in his pocket, and at last produced a crumpled five-franc note which he offered me. i refused it. "'why do you refuse good money for a good action, madame?' he said. "'because i am an english woman,' i replied, 'and english women do not take payment for good deeds, however great or small they may be.' "'i cannot believe you are english,' he said, 'but you are an angel, and angels have no nationality. may i kiss your hand?' "i held out my hand. he bent low and kissed it. there were tears in his eyes, and i rather wish now i had accepted the five-franc note to keep as a souvenir of prussian gratitude." kills for singing. "among the wounded was a young frenchman with a gold medal about which he refused to speak, and a slight wound in the foot about which he made considerable fuss," cables a correspondent. "disgusted by these complaints among so much suffering silently borne, my informant elicited from the youth's comrades the following story, which subsequently was verified: "at a point where the french trenches were barely fifty yards from the enemy's a party of germans sang songs during the night which infuriated the french--'they wouldn't let us sleep with their howling,' as one of the french soldiers put it. finally one little chasseur, crying, 'i will silence them,' seized a rifle and disappeared before any one could detain him. "after a moment's silence came the crackle of rapid firing, followed by german shrieks and wild volleys. the firing continued, accompanied by shouts in french as from an officer directing an attack; then in guttural tones: 'stop! stop! we surrender.' a few minutes later the little chasseur reappeared escorting several unarmed germans. he said: 'you can occupy the trench; there's nothing but corpses left to defend it.' "advancing, the french discovered forty dead germans in the trench, killed by the little chasseur, firing from the end, whither he had crawled unnoticed. in some cases the same bullet pierced several germans." russian airman's ruse. the story of the strategy of a russian aviator which got him out of a tight corner, is cabled from petrograd: a russian airman accompanied by an observation officer was flying over the enemy's territory when he was obliged to descend owing to engine trouble. the pilot and the officer were wearing leather clothes without any distinctive mark. they were working on the motor when suddenly seven austrian soldiers in charge of an under officer appeared over the crest of a little hill and approached them. resistance was impossible, for the russians had no weapons but revolvers. fortunately the officer knew german. calling loudly to the austrian officer he ordered him in a peremptory manner to come and help him mend the motor. the austrian, believing he was in the presence of a superior officer, hastened with his men to obey, and soon the engine had been put right. the aeroplane started off, and as it ascended in spirals to the clouds a paper fell at the feet of the gaping austrians. it contained a short message of thanks to the officer and his men for giving such timely aid to russian aviators. "it is lovely here!" the earl of kingston, who is an officer in the irish guards, in a letter to his wife at kildonin castle, county roscommon, from france, says: "we had a bad night last night in the trenches, as we are only yards from the germans, and both sides are as jumpy as fleas, loosing off at any moment, and the guns are keeping up a terrific fire on us, but doing little damage. we had two killed and two wounded yesterday. "they have a large gun here that was meant for the siege of paris. it throws a shell thirty-two inches long and makes a hole big enough to bury eighteen men in. this battle has been on for ten days and we hope for the best. "we have a farm here that has been taken and retaken, but we have it again at present. it is lovely at night, with hundreds of shells bursting all around, and if it were not for the death they bring they might be fireworks on a large scale. "i have lost my servant and all my kit. please send me out some cigarettes, tobacco and matches." they took his shoe. one of the british flying corps, lieut. rainey, crossed the channel from france in a much damaged machine, thus completing in a fitting manner a series of thrilling adventures which have befallen him since he last left english soil. lieut. rainey had been engaged for three weeks in reconnoitring at the front, and so little leisure had he been able to snatch that, as he told his friends here, in the whole of that time he could not remove his clothes, or even get a wash. he had two machines disabled by rifle and shell fire, while a third caught fire in midair. on each of these occasions he very narrowly escaped losing his life. once when he came down he was so exhausted that he lay with his head on his aeroplane and fell fast asleep. on waking he was astonished to find that the puttee, boot and sock of one leg had been removed by some one who, as the lieutenant himself suggested, took the opportunity of his slumber to get them as mementoes. lieut. rainey brought home with him a german helmet belonging to a man he shot, and he proudly asserted it was the first trophy of the kind taken by a british airman. "soldiers becoming rare." an official communication issued by the french war office said: "the following are extracts from a letter found on a german prisoner, dated dusseldorf, oct. : "'with us officers and soldiers are becoming rare. we have no more men than are adequate. volunteers and men of the landwehr are all we have to-day. if you saw these soldiers you would turn your head. "'everybody is being taken. it is germany's last hope. all the aged men are becoming soldiers. "'have you bread? many complain they have none.'" shells kill horses. the paris _la liberte's_ war correspondent says per cent. of the german shells fail to explode; shells fell on a single battery, killing only two horses. the extent of invisible fighting in the war is shown by the revelation of an artilleryman now resting with his regiment. he entered the battle line at the beginning of the war and after ten weeks of continuous fighting has not seen a single german. killed for insult to woman. proof that high german officers will not tolerate insults to women by their men is furnished in the following cable from a correspondent in antwerp: "gen. von beseler is a pleasant-looking old gentleman with a white mustache. he conducted himself most correctly toward every one in the hotel. on the other hand, one of his junior officers immediately asked for a hot bath and made exacting demands, culminating in a gross insult to the chambermaid. for this he was severely reprimanded by von beseler, who told the girl, patting her kindly on the shoulder, to report to him at once any further annoyance. "a drunken soldier grossly insulted a poor woman on the street. she complained to an officer, who at once emptied a revolver into the offender's body, killing him. this had a salutary effect on the attitude of the troops toward the female population, for i heard of no similar outrage." some fee! a fee of $ , was paid to a french surgeon of epernay for operating on the wounded german crown prince. there was a certain retributive justice on the size of the fee, for $ , was the precise amount the germans demanded as a war contribution from epernay. during the battling on the marne the crown prince was seriously wounded. no german surgeon was in epernay, so the germans asked a well-known paris surgeon, dr. veron, to operate, telling him they would pay any fee. dr. veron fixed the fee at an amount equal to the enforced war contribution, and that sum the german army treasurer paid in gold. calls foe treacherous. in a letter written to relatives in london corporal n. hastings of the guards accuses the germans of treachery. he writes: "if the papers were permitted to send their correspondents to the front they would have something to say which would open the eyes of the world about the germans. it is an insult to zulus to compare these squareheads to them for treachery. some of them fight fair and square, but there are thousands of them who are devoid of all human feeling. near the banks of the river aisne they had been attacked and driven down by rifles and machine guns. a small number of the northamptons were in a trench when or of the germans held their hands up. the 'cobblers' were ordered not to fire, and an officer asked in french and english if they surrendered. "they came on in skulking manner and some of them threw down their rifles. in every way they showed they were giving themselves up as prisoners. the 'cobblers' were priding themselves on the capture and the officer said, 'we have a haul here,' as they got near the trench. when they were three or four yards away they poured a murderous fire at the poor fellows. they had not a dog's chance and nearly all were knocked over. the devils then tried to get back and ran for their lives, but our battalion was soon after them. before they got many yards a machine gun ripped them up and scores of them rolled over. some of them got away, but our battalion got them in the rear. our lads were simply furious at such treachery. "i had a narrow shave as i fell over one of their wounded, and before i could get up again a bullet whizzed through the sleeve of my coat, but he who fired was shot through the head the next second. some of the german officers are low bred. they are not like ours--gentlemen--and when they get a chance they gorge themselves and get mad drunk, so what can you expect from their men? i have spoken to several prisoners--one seemed a decent chap and spoke english well, having worked in london--and they admit it. the one who spoke english was a sergeant and he said his officers were perfectly mad because they were unable to get into paris." how he won the v. c. the story of how the first recommendation for the victoria cross was won in the present war is told in two letters. the first is from the hero himself, an english soldier named dobson, to his wife in north shields. he says very modestly: "you will know by the time you receive this letter that i have been recommended for the victoria cross, an honor i never thought would come my way. i only took my chance and did my duty to save my comrades. it was really nothing." the second letter is by lady mildred follet, whose husband commands the company to which dobson belongs, and is addressed to mrs. dobson. it reads: "you will be glad to know that your husband is very well and has behaved with very great gallantry. capt. follet says: 'a thick fog came down, so i sent three men out yards to our front to give warning of an attack by the enemy. after they had been there an hour the fog suddenly lifted and they were fired on at close range. one man was killed, one badly wounded and one crawled back. i didn't know how to get the wounded man back, so i called for a volunteer, and reservist dobson at once responded and went out to fetch him. he was heavily fired at but not hit.'" * * * * * the big furor in books on the subject of war has been created by germany and the next war by general f. von bernhardi this book presents a clear exposition of the german attitude in the european war, and predicts with remarkable accuracy the plan of campaign of the german army in their attacks on belgium and france. general bernhardi claims that england is stationary or retrogressive in the world's progress, that germany is the coming world power, who by her rise will elevate the world's standard of civilization, art and commerce; that germany's rise is in fact =civilization's greatest asset=. the coolness with which the author assumes his views to be true, without argument or evidence, takes one's breath away. war all around is considered with composure: war with england; france overthrown; belgium conquered; and the balance of power in europe to be deliberately destroyed. the two chapters on the inevitable naval war with england are of great interest. the book is a mo., contains pages printed from new large type and is bound in substantial paper cover. =price, cents postpaid.= _j. s. ogilvie publishing company rose street, new york city_ * * * * * the war is the big thing in the public eye and mind today. it occupies all of the prominent space in newspapers and magazines everywhere, and will as long as it lasts; and for a number of years afterward literature, art and sculpture will show the war's effects in their general treatment. we have just issued the best stories of the european war _received from all sources_ correspondents at the front or marooned in obscure places while the great conflict rages, manage daily to get through the wary censors some little grimly humorous, or tragic side-lights of the war. these we have collected into book form illustrated with some unusual war photographs. the book contains pages paper bound, illustrated. price, sent by mail postpaid, cents. j. s. ogilvie publishing company rose street, new york * * * * * austria-hungary and the war by ernest ludwig i. & r. consul for austria-hungary, in cleveland, ohio, with preface by his excellency dr. konstantin theodor dumba austro-hungarian ambassador to the united states this book contains a comprehensive presentation of the political forces and historical developments which led to the initial clash of arms. it offers a graphic description of conditions in bosnia and herzegovina, the two austrian provinces coveted by servia, and throws an illuminating light upon the real, the underlying causes of the world-conflict. it gives detailed particulars of the serajevo trial in which the assassination of the crown prince and his consort is proved to have been committed by members of the notorious "narodna odbrana" society of servia, with the guilty fore-knowledge and complicity of the servian government and tells why servia's equivocal note regarding this was not acceptable, making necessary from the austro-hungarian standpoint, the declaration of war against servia which brought on the present european conflict. the chapter on the greater russian propaganda is based on confidential and official reports, now made known for the first time. the chapter dealing with economic conditions in austria-hungary contains entirely new facts, official and authentic. the book contains pages, size - / � inches, substantially bound in cloth. price, one dollar, net; postage cents additional. j. s. ogilvie publishing company. p. o. box . rose street, new york. [illustration: _the haunters of the silences_] [illustration: the leader of the caribou herd ... returned the stallion's inquiring stare with a glance of mild curiosity.--page .] the haunters of the silences a book of animal life by charles g. d. roberts _author of "the kindred of the wild," "red fox," "the heart of the ancient wood," "the forge in the forest," "the heart that knows," etc._ [illustration] _with many illustrations and decorations by_ charles livingston bull grosset & dunlap publishers new york [illustration] * * * * * _copyright, , , by_ the metropolitan magazine company _copyright, , by_ harper and brothers _copyright, , by_ perry mason company _copyright, , , by_ the ridgway company _copyright, , by_ the century company _copyright, , by_ the new york herald company _copyright, , by_ the s. s. mcclure co. _copyright, , by_ the new york times company _copyright, , by_ l. c. page & company (incorporated) * * * * * entered at stationer's hall, london _all rights reserved_ first impression, may, [illustration: to charles livingston bull] [illustration] prefatory note the present collection of stories dealing with creatures of the wilderness differs from its companion volumes, "the kindred of the wild" and "the watchers of the trails," in one important particular. it contains certain studies and depictions of a sphere of wild life which presents peculiar difficulties to the observer, viz.: the life of the dwellers in the deep sea. our investigation of these remote kindreds is at best spasmodic, and conducted always at the extreme of disadvantage; and the knowledge which we may gain from such investigation must always remain in a measure fragmentary. it is not easy for any observer to be intimate with a sawfish; and the most ardent naturalist's acquaintance with an _orca_, or "killer" whale, must be essentially a distant one, if he would hope to put his observations upon record. needless to say, my own knowledge of the orca, the shark, the narwhal, or the colossal cuttlefish of the ocean depths, is not of the same kind as my knowledge of the bear, the moose, the eagle, and others of the furtive folk of our new brunswick wilderness. when i write of these latter i build my stories upon a foundation of personal, intimate, sympathetic observation, the result of a boyhood passed in the backwoods, and of almost yearly visits, ever since my boyhood, to the wild forest regions of my native province. but when i write of the kindreds of the deep sea, i am relying upon the collated results of the observations of others. i have spared no pains to make these stories accord, as far as the facts of natural history are concerned, with the latest scientific information. but i have made no vain attempt at interpretation of the lives of creatures so remote from my personal knowledge; and for such tales as "a duel in the deep," "the terror of the sea caves," or "the prowlers," my utmost hope is that they may prove entertaining, without being open to any charge of misrepresenting facts. on the other hand, in certain of the stories dealing with the results of my own observation and experience, i have dared to hope that i might be contributing something of value to the final disputed question of animal psychology. for such stories, which offer in the form of fiction what my observations have compelled me to regard as fact, i have presented my case already, in the prefaces to "the watchers of the trails" and "red fox." to those prefaces i would add nothing here; and from the conclusions therein stated i have nothing to retract. i would merely take this occasion to reaffirm with confidence the belief, which i find shared by practically all observers whose lives are passed in the closest relationship with animals,--by such vitally interested observers, for instance, as keepers, trainers, hunters, and trappers,--that the actions of animals are governed not only by instinct, but also, in varying degree, by processes essentially akin to those of human reason. c. g. d. r. [illustration] [illustration] contents of the book [illustration] page the summons of the north the last barrier answerers to the call the prisoners of the pitcher-plant the prowlers a stranger to the wild when the logs come down a duel in the deep the little tyrant of the burrows the ringwaak buck the heron in the reeds in the deep of the silences on the night trail when the tide came over the marshes under the ice-roof the terror of the air in the unknown dark the terror of the sea caves [illustration] a list of the full-page drawings in the book [illustration] page "the leader of the caribou herd ... returned the stallion's inquiring stare with a glance of mild curiosity" (_see page _) _frontispiece_ "some inexperienced seal had been foolish enough to lie basking close beside an ice-cake" "she led him farther and farther across the ice" "would run gleefully to snap them up and eat them" "some one on deck discerned the crouching bear" "he saw a big sucker settle lazily where the thronging fry were thickest" "held firmly between the edges of his great beak" "leaping high out of the pools" "vanquished in their own element by the mink" "again he shot into the spray-thick air on the face of the fall" "scuttled off into the woods like a frightened woodchuck" "the moose came in sight up the brook channel" "at this moment a passing shrike swooped down" "lay motionless but for the easy waving of its fins" "only that sharp black fin, that prowled and prowled, kept always in sight" "directly beneath the shark the stranger came" "he struck out desperately, and soon cleared the turmoil of the breakers" "the southward journeying ducks, which would drop with loud quacking and splashing into the shallows" "it was the cow moose calling for her mate" "the plucky little animal jumped as far as he could" "then, with the largest prize in his jaws, he swam slowly to the rock" "lay down in sullen triumph to lick his wounds" "the baffled shrew jumped straight into the air" "with a frantic leap he shot through the air" "turn his narrow, snarling face to see what threatened" "when he stopped to drink at the glassy pool" "noiselessly faded back through the covert" "then he leaped the fence again" "he was in the iron clutch of a muskrat trap" "his course took him far out over the soundless spaces" "for all his seeming awkwardness he moved as delicately as a cat" "the water splashed high and white about him" "the shrew-mouse ... darted out into the light" "his round, sinister eyes glared palely into every covert" "he saw the gray forms of the pack" "a snipe which flew too low over the ditch" "madly joyous, he killed, and killed, and killed, for the joy of killing" "would whisk sharply into the mouth of the black tunnel" "confronting the two great cats with uplifted paw and mouth wide open" "once more the watchful sentinel appeared" "the noiseless wings were now just behind him" "his apprehensive ears caught a curious sound" "the big owl had been disturbed at its banquet" "which seemed to scrutinize him steadily" "those swift and implacable little whales who fear no living thing" "far offshore, one of these monsters came up and sprawled upon the surface" "up darted a livid tentacle, and fixed upon it" "a singular figure, descending slowly through the glimmering green" [illustration] the haunters of the silences the summons of the north i in the mystic gloom and the incalculable cold of the long arctic night, when death seemed the only inhabitant of the limitless vasts of ice and snow, the white bear cub was born. over the desolate expanses swept the awful polar wind, now thick with fine, crystalline snow which volleyed and whirled and bit like points of steel, now glassy clear, so that the great, unwavering arctic stars could preside unobscured over its destructive fury. when the wind was still, not less awful than the wind had been was the stillness, in which the unspeakable cold wrought secretly its will upon the abandoned world. sometimes the implacable starlight would pale suddenly, and the lovely, sinister, spectral flames of the aurora, electric blue, and violet, and thin, elusive red, would go dancing in terrible silence across the arch of sky. but the white cub--contrary to the custom of her kind his mother had borne but the one, instead of two--felt nothing of the cold and the unutterable desolation, saw nothing of the unchanging night, the implacable stars, the heatless and mirthless dancing flames. in a lair between two rocks, under seven or eight feet of snow, he lay snuggled against the warm, furry body of his mother, safe hidden from the world of night and cold. the mother, whose hot breathing kept open a little arched hollow in the sheltering snow, spent practically all her time in sleep, the ample layers of fat which the previous summer had stored upon her ribs supplying food and fuel to her giant frame. the cub, too, slept away most of the long unvarying hours, waking to nurse from time to time, and growing with marvellous rapidity on the inexhaustible nourishment which his mother's milk supplied. month followed month, as the night dragged slowly on toward spring and dawn; and still the mother slept, growing thinner day by day; and still the cub slept, and grew, and slept, day by day waxing fatter, and larger, and stronger for the great and terrible battle of life which awaited him beyond the threshold of the snow. except for the vast alternations of storm and calm, of starlight and auroral radiance, there was nothing to happen in that empty and frozen world. such life as dared the cold and dark in those regions kept along the edges of the sea, where the great waters kept air-holes open through the incumbent ice. thither frequented the walrus and the seals, and there hunted stealthily the savage old he-bears, who were too restless to yield themselves to the long winter sleep. but the wise mother had wandered far into the inland solitudes before retiring for her winter of sleep and motherhood. over the place of that safe sleep and secret motherhood no live thing passed, all winter long,--save once or twice a small white fox, who sniffed cautiously at a faint, menacing scent which stole up through the hard snow, and once or twice the wide, soundless wings of a great white arctic owl, winnowing southward to find the vanished ptarmigan. late and lagging came the beginnings of the dawn,--and then, much later, when dawn had grown into the long day, the beginnings of the arctic spring. something called to the heart of the old she-bear, and she heard in the deep of her lair. bursting through the softening and decaying snow, she led her sturdy cub forth into the white outer solitudes, and turned her steps eastward toward the seashore. she was gaunt, loose-pelted, and unspeakably hungry; but she went slowly, while the cub learned the new and interesting business of using his legs. along the shore the massive ice was still unbroken for miles out; but where the currents and tides and storms had begun to vanquish it, and the steel blue waves were eating into it hour by hour beneath the growing sunlight, there the life of the north was gathering. sea-birds clamoured, and mated, and dived, and flew in circles, or settled in flickering gray and white masses on every jutting promontory of black rock. along the blue-white ice-edge seals basked and barked, their soft eyes keeping incessant watch against the perils that always lurked about them. huge bulks of walrus wallowed heavily in the waves, or lifted their tusked heads menacingly to stare over the ice. [illustration: "some inexperienced seal had been foolish enough to lie basking close beside an ice-cake"] amid this teeming life, which the returning sun had brought back to the ice-fields, the old she-bear, with her cub close at her heels, moved craftily. she lurked behind piled-up ice-cakes, crept from shelter to shelter, and moved as noiselessly as a wraith of snow on the hair-tufted pads of her great feet. sometimes her tireless hunting was promptly rewarded, particularly when some inexperienced seal had been foolish enough to lie basking close beside an ice-cake large enough to give cover to the cunning hunter. sometimes her sudden rush would take unawares a full-fed gannet half-dozing on a rocky ledge. sometimes a lightning plunge and sweep of her armed paw would land a gleaming fish upon the ice, a pleasant variation to the diet of red-blooded seal-meat. and presently, as the long sunlight gathered warmth, and the brief, swift heat of the arctic summer approached, rushing down upon the ice as if it knew how short must be its reign, the melting of the snow on sheltered slopes and southward-facing hollows uncovered a wealth of mosses, and lichens, and sprouting roots, most grateful to the bears' flesh-wearied palates. but not always was foraging a matter so simple. the mother bear had two great appetites to supply, her own, and that of the vigorous youngster beside her, who kept draining unremittingly at her sources of vitality and strength. sometimes the seals were unusually alert and shy, the birds vituperative and restless, and the fish obstinate in their preference for the waters far offshore. at such times, if there were no greening hollows near by, where she might make a bloodless banquet, the old bear would call to her aid those great powers of swimming which made her almost as much at home in the water as the seal itself. marking some seals at rest by the edge of some far-jutting, naked ice-field, where there was no possibility of her creeping upon them unobserved, she would slip into the water in the seclusion of some little cove, and swim straight seaward, swimming so low that only the tip of her muzzle was to be seen. this moving speck upon the waters was not conspicuous even to the keenest and most suspicious eyes. it might pass for a fragment of ice with seaweed frozen into it, or for a bit of floating moss, save for the fact that it moved steadily through the dancing of the waves, paying no heed to tide or wind. as the seals were not expecting danger from the direction of the sea, they were not inclined to scrutinize a thing so insignificant as that steadily moving speck among the waves. arriving within well calculated distance of the unsuspecting baskers on the ice-field, the old bear would fill her lungs, sink beneath the surface, and swim forward with all speed. at the very edge of the ice she would rise up, lunge forward, and strike down with her savage paw the nearest seal, before any of them had time to realize the direction from which death had burst upon them. the old bear's triumph, however, was not always so complete. on one day in particular she was confronted by an experience which almost left her cub without a mother. the cub, watching solicitously from behind a jagged hummock of ice, received a lesson which never faded from his mind. he learned that in the wilds one must never let himself become so absorbed in any occupation as to forget to keep a watchful eye for what may be coming up behind one's back. it was on one of the lean days, when all game was wide awake and the lichen-beds far away. on the jagged ice off the mouth of an inlet lay two walrus calves sunning their round, glistening sides while their mothers wallowed and snorted in the water beside them. the old bear eyed the calves hungrily for a minute or two. then, ostentatiously turning her back upon the scene, she slouched off inland among the hummocks and rocks, the cub lurching along contentedly beside her. once hidden from the view of the walruses, she quickened her pace till the cub had to struggle to keep with her, swung around the head of the inlet, and crept stealthily down the other side toward the spot where the calves were lying. the wind blew softly from them, her padded feet made no sound, and she kept herself completely out of sight. peering warily from behind a tilted ice-cake, she saw that one of the cows had crawled out of the water and lain down beside its calf for a noonday doze. then she drew her head back, and continued her careful stalking by nose and ear alone. at last she found herself within rushing distance. not thirty yards away she could hear the loud breathing of the drowsy cow on the ice, the splashing of the one in the water. turning upon the cub, she made him understand that he was to stay where he was till she was ready for him. then gathering all the force of her muscles till she was like a great bow bent, she shot forth from her place of hiding and rushed upon the sleepers. as the white shape of doom came down upon them without warning, the cow and one calf awoke in intuitive panic and with astonishing and instantaneous agility rolled off into the water. but the other calf was not in time. one sprawling struggle it made toward safety, and gave utterance to one hoarse bleat of despair, as if it knew that fate had overtaken it. then a heavy stroke broke its neck; and as its clumsy legs spread out limp and unstrung upon the ice the bear clutched it and started to drag it back from the water's edge. at this moment she was aware of a huge lumbering bulk crawling up upon the ice behind her. she took it for granted it was the dead calf's mother, and paid no heed. walrus cows she despised as antagonists, though as game she held them in high consideration. she would attend to this one in a moment; and then her larder would be amply stocked for days. an instant later, however, if she had deigned to look back, she would have seen a gigantic gray and brown, warty-skinned bulk, surmounted by a hideous face and grim, perpendicular tusks, rearing itself on huge flippers just behind her. the cub, peering from his hiding-place, saw the peril but did not comprehend it. the next moment the bulk fell forward, crushing the bear's hind-quarters to the ice, while those long tusks, which, fortunately for her, had failed to strike directly, tore a great red gash across her right shoulder. with a grunting squeal of rage and pain the bear writhed herself free of the dripping mass of her assailant, and turned upon him madly. blow after blow she struck with that terrible fore paw of hers, armed with claws like steel chisels. but the hide of the giant walrus was like many thicknesses of seasoned leather for toughness; and though she drew blood in streams at every tearing stroke, she inflicted no disabling wound. his little, deep eyes red with fury, the bull rearing himself on his flippers and lunging forward with awkward but irresistible force, like a toppling mountain, seeking to crush his enemy and at the same time catch her under the terrific downward thrust of his tusks. as he fought he bellowed hoarsely, and panted with great windy, wheezy breaths, while the walrus cows swam slowly up and down by the edge of the ice, watching the struggle with their small, impassive eyes. [illustration: "she led him farther and farther across the ice."] the old bear was lame and aching from that first crushing assault, and her hind-quarters felt almost useless. nevertheless she was much too active for her clumsy adversary to succeed in catching her again at a disadvantage. as she yielded ground before his blundering charges she led him farther and farther across the ice, farther and farther from the element wherein he was at home and invincible. had she been herself unhurt she would eventually have vanquished his ill-directed valour, wearing him out and at last reaching his throat. but now she found herself wearing out, with loss of blood and the anguish of her bruised hind-quarters. as soon as she realized that her strength was failing, and that presently she might fail to avoid one of her enemy's great sprawling rushes, she was seized with fear. what would become of the cub if she were killed? she wheeled swiftly, ran to where the cub stood waiting and whimpering, nosed him solicitously, and led him away through the blue and sparkling hummocks. after this misadventure the mother bear did no more hunting for a week or two, but kept inland among the sunny valleys, and nursed her wounds, and fed on the young roots and tender herbage which sprouted hurriedly wherever the snow left bare a patch of earth. on such clean and blood-cooling diet her hurts speedily healed. then with renewed vigour and a whetted craving for red flesh-food, she went back to her keen hunting of the seals. but the walruses she haughtily ignored. the arctic summer, meanwhile, with its perpetual sun, poured down upon the world in swift, delicious heat; and the desolate world began to laugh, with vivid greenery about the bubbling sources of the springs, and sudden fringes of bloom, yellow and pink, along the edges of the perpetual ice, and the painted fluttering of butterflies in every southward-sloping hollow where there was earth enough to hold the roots of flowers. the little winged adventurers would sometimes flit abroad over the snow, questing perilously beyond the narrow confines of their home. these rash wanderers, as a rule, would fall chilled, and die on the snow before they could get back; and the cub, attracted by the flecks of gay colour on the expanse of gray-white barrenness, would run gleefully to snap them up and eat them. [illustration: "would run gleefully to snap them up and eat them."] throughout the summer the cub and his mother kept very much to themselves, seldom consorting with the other bears which roamed the rocks and floes or came to the sunny valleys to feed on the ephemeral herbage. the cub, meanwhile, having all the nourishment and care that was usually divided between two, was growing swiftly in stature and in the lore of the north. with his mother's example before him he learned to hunt seals, to creep up on the dozing sea-birds, to scoop the unwary fish from the sea, to waylay the stupid hare or the wary fox. but he was peculiarly averse to swimming, and never entered the water except under the compulsion of his mother's firm paw. the wise old bear, knowing how much his success in the battle of life must depend on his mastery of the water, would push him in from time to time, and keep him there in spite of every whimpering protest. in this way he learned his needed lessons. but his preference was all for land hunting, and it was obvious that only the extreme of hunger would ever lead him to follow the seals in their own element. as a matter of fact, since that memorable day when his mother had been beaten by the great walrus, the cub had grown to regard the sea as the peculiar domain of the walruses, and he felt a certain diffidence about trespassing. when the summer was beginning to fade away as hurriedly as it had come, the cub was suddenly left alone in his grim world. it happened in this way. on a certain hungry day, when his mother's hunting had been unsuccessful, the wind brought over a ridge of rock a pungent and ravishing smell of fresh blood. as cautiously as a cat the old bear crept around the ridge, the cub creeping at her heels. the sight that met them was one they had never seen before. close at the water's edge three men were busy skinning and cutting up a couple of seals. the cub stopped short. a natural, inborn caution warned him that man was a dangerous animal. but the old bear, to whom man was as unknown as to her cub, had her intuitions obscured at that moment by her too eager appetite. moreover, she was in a bad temper, and felt that the strangers were intruders upon her own hunting-ground. they were insignificant-looking intruders, too, any one of whom she felt that she could settle at a single stroke of her paw. a green gleam came into her eyes, as with narrow, snaky head thrust forward and jaws half-parted savagely, she stalked down upon the group, expecting to see it scatter at her approach and leave her in undisputed possession of the prey. as she drew near the men stopped work, stood up, and stared at her. for a moment they did nothing. then, seeing that she meant business, two of them stepped aside and picked up what looked to her like two long sticks, which glinted in the sun. one man took a stride forward and pointed the stick at her in a way which seemed like a challenge. with a grunt of anger she charged straight at him. from the point of the stick burst a flash and a roar, with a little puff of blue smoke that drifted off like a ghost over the waves. it might have been the ghost of the old bear herself, fading reluctantly back into the grim and desolate earth from which she had sprung; for at the instant of its appearing she plunged forward upon her nose and lay motionless, with a bullet through her brain. it was a perfect shot; but the man who had made it took it as a matter of course. in a few moments the limp and warm body was being treated like that of the seal, for the pelt was a fine one and fresh bear-meat was a delicacy not to be despised by arctic travellers. but the cub was not a witness of this red work of the shambles. when he saw his mother fall he shrank back in overwhelming terror behind the rocks, then turned and ran with all his might till he could run no longer. finding himself in a little sheltered valley where he and his mother had often fed together on the sweet herbage, he crouched down under a rock and lay shivering for hours, afraid even to whimper. at first the white cub suffered torments of loneliness and vague fear; but presently the more insistent torments of hunger gave him forgetfulness of his loss, and in hunting for his meals he gradually got himself adjusted to the new conditions. naturally keen-witted and adaptable, he prospered, and when the approach of the long arctic night began to throw its shadows over the ice and rocks his ribs were well covered with fat. when the herbage in the little valleys was all frozen to stone and sealed away under the first hard-driven snow, he yielded to a drowsiness which had been creeping into his nerves. with this drowsiness came a stirring of vague memory, and he turned his steps farther inland, far beyond the roar of waves and grinding floes, till he reached a place of tumbled rock, and cleft ravine, and imperishable ice. this was the place where he had been born; and here, in the very same sheltered crevice, he curled himself up for his winter's sleep. he was no more than fairly asleep, when the snow fell thick with the first of the unbroken night, and covered him away securely. ii through the months of dark, and storm, and ghostly, dancing lights, and immeasurable cold, the cub slept unstirring, and grew in his sleep. but when he woke, at the very first hint of awaking spring, he was wide awake all at once, and fiercely hungry. fiercely he burst out from the sheltering snow, and shook himself, and hurried through the mystic glimmer of dawn to the seashore, where he hoped to find the seals. he was trusting partly to memory, partly to instinct; but he did not know that this year he was a little ahead of the season. the ice inshore was still unbroken, and the journey to open water was leagues longer than he had anticipated. his cunning sharpened by his appetite, he stalked and killed an unwary seal beside its blow-hole, and lay there among the tumbled hummocks for some days, alternately eating and sleeping. then, his strength and craft and self-reliance increasing hourly, he pressed forward league upon league, under the ethereal, bubble-tinted, lonely arctic morning, seeking the open sea. when, at last, he heard the waves breaking along the blue ice brink, and the clamour of the sea-fowl, and the barking of the seals, he felt that he had come home again. he forgot the solid land, here upon what seemed as solid as any land. he forgot the little inland valleys, where presently the snow would be melting and the tender grasses beginning to sprout. here was good hunting, and easy; and here he stayed, making his lair among the up-tilted ice-floes, till the yellow and blue glory of full day was pouring over the waste. it happened that year that no storms came to shatter and eat away the ice-fields along their outer edges. only the tides and the slow assault of the sun did their work; and presently a vast area of unbroken ice parted from the land and went drifting southward in the grip of the polar current. for days the young bear was quite unaware of this accident. the ice-field was too vast and too solid for its motion to convey any warning. the sea-birds, of course, knew all about it; and in a few days they disappeared, requiring solid ground for their nesting business. as for the seals, if they knew they didn't care, holding the ice safer for their domestic arrangements than the perilous and hostile shore. the young bear found good hunting. no storms came to vex him. and the warmth of summer fairly rushed to meet him. for several weeks he was altogether content. meanwhile the sun and the sea were making inroads upon the strength of the ice-field. one day when the bear was prowling along its edges, a mass of perhaps a quarter-acre in area broke off, lurching on the long swell. astonished and a little alarmed, the bear hurried across, swam the narrow but rapidly widening strait, and clambered out upon the main field. the incident in some way stirred up a latent instinct, and he became uneasy. setting his pace northward and landward, he stalked straight ahead for hours,--and where he expected a familiar ridge of rocks he came upon open sea. much disturbed, he kept on his vain search for land, forgetting to eat, and soon had circumnavigated his voyaging domain. there was no land anywhere to swim to. there was nothing to be done but accept the situation with such composure as he could command. the seals were still with him, and he was not compelled to go hungry. then came a storm, with blinding flurries of snow out of the north, and huge waves piling upon the weakened ice; and the field began to break up. the seals fled away from the turmoil. frantic with terror, the bear was again and again overwhelmed among the warring floes, and only by sheer miracle of good luck escaped being crushed. clever swimmer that he was, again and again he succeeded in crawling out upon a larger floe, ploughing its way more steadily through the tumult. but every such refuge went to pieces after a time, crumbling into chaos under the shocks of pounding wave and battering ice. at last, and not too soon, when his young courage was almost worn out and his young strength all but gone, he was so fortunate as to gain a particularly tough and massive floe which withstood all the storm's assaults. it was almost a young berg in its dimensions and solidity; and in its centre, crouched in a crevice, the bear felt, for the first time since the uproar began, something like a sense of security. the drift of the current had by this time carried the ice so far south that the unchanging light of the arctic day was left behind. each night, for a little while, the sun dipped from sight below the naked horizon. for three days the great floe voyaged on through unrelenting storm, riding down the lesser ice-cakes, and taking the waves with ponderous lurch and slide. little by little the lesser ice disappeared, till the great floe rode alone. then the wind died down; and last of all the waves subsided. and the bear found himself sailing a steel-blue, sparkling, empty sea, under a cloudless sky and a sun that burned with a warmth he had never known. it was now came the terrific trial of hunger to the young bear. for days together he had no taste of food, no comfort to his throat but the licking of the ice and lapping of the fresh water in the pools. once only did he taste meat,--a blundering gannet which alighted within a foot of his motionless head and never knew the lightning doom that smote it. this made one meal; but no more birds came, and no seals appeared, and no fish came near enough for the bear to have any hope of striking them. day by day he grew thinner and weaker, till it was an effort to climb the slopes of icy domain; and day by day the floe diminished, till it grew to be a race between the ice and the animal, as to which should first fade back into the elements. but here fate intervened to stop this unnatural rivalry. by this time the ice had drifted down into the track of occasional ships; and one day, as a tramp steamer was passing near the floe, some one on deck discerned the crouching bear. the sea was calm, and the captain in a mood of leisure; so a boat was lowered and the crew set out for a bear hunt. having heard much of the ferocity of the polar bear, the men went well armed and full of excitement. but the reception which they met disarmed them. too hopeless for fear, or hate, or wonder, the despairing animal turned upon them a look of faint appeal which they could not misunderstand. with a not unnatural distrust of such amenability they lightly bound and muzzled him, and took him aboard ship. there the cook admitted him to his special favour, gave him a little warm broth, and gradually, by careful dieting, coaxed him back to health. [illustration: "some one on deck discerned the crouching bear."] the young bear, as soon as he recovered himself, became the admiration of the whole ship's company. his coat was rich and fine, its whiteness tinged with a faint golden dye. his teeth and claws were perfect, and in the small, inscrutable eyes with which he followed the business of the ship gleamed an unusual intelligence. nevertheless, though he showed no ill-temper, no one, not even his kind attendant the cook, could penetrate his impregnable reserve. to each individual who approached him he showed complete indifference, while, on the contrary, his interest in whatever was going on seemed unfailing. chained to an iron stanchion near the galley, he would stand swaying from side to side and swinging his narrow, snake-like head for hours. but nothing that took place, alow or aloft, escaped his keen observation. his indifference was plainly not stupidity, so every one on the ship, from the captain down, regarded him with vast respect. when at length, after a quiet voyage, the ship reached port, this respect was enhanced by the price which he commanded from the directors of the zoological gardens. now began for the young bear a life which, after the first annoying novelty of it had worn off, almost broke his spirit by its cramped monotony. his iron cage was spacious,--for a cage,--and built under the shadow of a leaning rock; and a spring-fed pool at the base of the rock kept the heat of the southern summer from growing utterly intolerable. but the staring, grinning crowds which passed endlessly before the bars of his cage filled him with weary rage; and day by day a fiercer homesickness clutched at his heart. the food which his keeper gave him he ate greedily enough, but through some inexplicable caprice he scorned the peanuts which the crowd kept throwing to him through the bars. he saw the other bears, in neighbouring cages, devour these small, dry things and beg for more; but he would have none of them. he was ceaselessly irritated, too, by the noisy sparrows which would flit impudently within a foot of his nose; and once in a while the stroke of his inescapable paw would descend upon one of them, easing for the moment his sense of injury. such small trophies he would eat with a relish which the choicest of his jailers' gifts could not excite. the only moments when his homesick heart could even pretend to forget its longing for the desolate spaces, the lifeless rock ridges, the little, snow-rimmed flower valleys, and the call of the eternal ice, were when, in the solitary lilac-gray of dawn, he wallowed unobserved in his sweetly chilly pool, and dreamed that the barking of the seals from their tank across the garden was the authentic voice of his lost home. but the coming of the first drowsy attendants would shatter this illusion, and send him back under his rock to stand sullenly swaying and swinging his head all day. in this way the summer dragged along, and then the fine, dry fall; and instead of becoming reconciled the young bear grew more moody. his appetite began to fail and his fine coat lose its live, elastic quality. the keepers were disappointed in him. at first they had expected to win him over easily, because of his apparent amenableness and that look of intelligence in his eyes. but now they gave him up as an irreconcilable, and set themselves to keep him from pining away. when winter came with raw rains, and sleet, and some sharp frosts, the exile sniffed the air hopefully for a few days, then relapsed into a deeper gloom. then came a flurry of snow. as the great flakes fell about him he grew wild with excitement, running with uplift head about his cage, plunging in and out of the pool, and rearing himself against the bars in a sort of play. while the flurry lasted he saw no one, and forgot to eat. but in a day this tender snow had vanished, and he found no sufficient consolation in the thin ice which came afterward to encrust the edges of his pool. he seemed to feel himself cheated in his dearest hopes, and grew more obstinately dejected than ever; till finally came days when nothing would persuade him from the deepest corner of his den. some of the attendants thought this meant no more than the drowsiness which, in his own home, might precede the desire for hibernation. but one, more understanding of the wild kindreds than the rest, declared that it was the very disease of homesickness, and that the exile was eating his own heart out for desire of his frozen north. the city of the young bear's exile was not so far south but that sometimes, once in a long while, it found itself in the track of a wandering northern blizzard. one day, with terrific suddenness, on the heels of a gusty thaw, such a blizzard came. in half an hour the pool was frozen and a fine snow was drifting in fierce whirls about the cage. the unhappy bear lifted his head and looked forth from his den. but he was not going to let himself again be cheated. he had no faith in this alien storm; and turning his back upon it, he once more buried his nose between his paws. meanwhile the cold deepened swiftly; the wind grew savage and shrieked over the cages and the roofs; and the snow, dry and hard like the driven needles of the arctic night, thickened so that one could not see ten paces before his nose. through the throbbing drift the attendants went hurrying about the open cages, fixing shelter for the animals that needed it. the cold, the savage noises of the wind, the sharp buffets of snow that struck into his den, at last brought the bear to his feet. he turned slowly, and came out into the storm. he found himself, now, actually alone, and in what seemed almost his own world. this storm was convincing. he could not refuse to believe in the icy driven crystals which cut so deliciously upon his tongue and against his open jaws. this was really snow, that whirled and heaped about him. this was really ice, which crashed about him as he plunged in and out of his pool. around and around his cage he romped, biting the snow in ecstasy, rolling in it, breathing it, whimpering to it. when his keeper came and looked in at him with wonder, and spoke to him with sympathetic comprehension, he neither saw nor heard. to his eyes the storm was volleying over the illimitable fields of the ice. in his ears the raving of the wind held the crash of grinding floes. to his heart it was the summons of the north,--and suddenly his heart answered. he stood still, with a strange bewilderment in his eyes, as if transfixed by some kind of tremendous shock. then he swayed on his legs; and sank in a lifeless heap by the drifted brink of his pool. the last barrier i in a circular hollow in the clean, bright gravel of the river-bar the tiny egg of the great quahdavic salmon stirred to life. for months it had lain there among its thousands of fellows, with the clear, cold, unsullied current streaming over it ceaselessly. through the autumn the wilderness sunshine and the bracing wilderness air, playing on the unshaded shallows of the wide stream, had kept the water highly vitalized,--though this was hardly necessary in that pure and spring-fed current. when the savage northern winter closed down upon the high valley of the quahdavic it found difficulty in freezing the swift current that ran rippling over the bar; and when, at last, the frost conquered, gripping and clutching through the long, windless nights, it was to form only a thin armour of transparent, steel-strong ice, through which, as through the mantle of snow which made haste to cover it, the light still filtered softly but radiantly at noon, with an ethereal cobalt tinge. the bar on which the parent salmon had hollowed their round gravel nest was far up the great south branch of the quahdavic, not many miles from the little cold spring lake that was its source. the great south branch was a stream much loved by the salmon, for its deep pools, its fine gravel spawning-beds, the purity and steady coldness of its current, and the remoteness which protected it from the visits of greedy poachers. in all its course there was but one serious obstruction, namely, the big falls, where the stream fell about twelve feet in one pitch, then roared down for half a mile over a succession of low ledges with deep pools between. the falls were such that vigorous fish had no real trouble in surmounting them. but they inexorably weeded out the weaklings. no feeble salmon ever got to the top of that straight and thunderous pitch. therefore, as the spawning-bars were all above the falls, it was a fine, long-finned, clean swimming breed of salmon that was bred in the great south branch. when the tiny egg in the gravel stirred to life,--as the thousands of other tiny eggs about it were doing at the same time,--there was no ice sheet imprisoning the current, which ran singing pleasantly under a soft spring sun. the deep hollow in the gravel sheltered the moving atoms, so that they were not swept away by the current streaming over them. but minute as they were, they speedily gathered a strength altogether miraculous for their size, as they absorbed the clinging sacs of egg-substance and assumed the forms of fish, almost microscopic, but perfect. this advance achieved, they began to venture from behind and beneath the sheltering pebbles, to dare the urgent stream, and to work their way shoreward toward shallower waters where the perils which beset young salmon would be fewer and less insistent. the egg from which he came having been one of the first to hatch, the tiny salmon mentioned in the opening paragraph was one of the first of the host to find his strength and to start the migration shoreward from the nest on the noisy bar. perhaps a score started with him, trying the current, darting back to shelter, then more boldly venturing again. a passing trout, hungry and fierce-eyed, darted above them, heading up against the current; but being so few and scattered, they escaped his fatal attentions. terrified, however, by the sudden shadow, they hid in the gravel and for some time made no further trial of the dangerous world. when again the salmon atom adventured forth, he found himself in a greater company. hundreds more of the tiny creatures had left the nest and were moving shoreward with him. as the defenceless throng advanced, he saw a couple of what seemed to him gigantic creatures dashing hither and thither among them, snapping them up greedily by twos and threes; and he himself barely escaped those greedy jaws by shooting forward in the nick of time. these seeming monsters were but young redfins, a couple of inches in length, whom he would soon come to despise and chase from his feeding-grounds. [illustration: "he saw a big sucker settle lazily where the thronging fry were thickest."] his superior development and speed having so well served him, he was now a foot or more in advance of the throng, and so escaped another and even more wide-ranging peril. a huge shadow, as vast as that of the trout, swept down upon them, and as he shrank beneath a sharpedged stone he saw a big sucker settle lazily where the thronging fry were thickest. with round, horribly dilating and contracting mouth turned down like an inverted snout, the big fish sucked up the little wrigglers greedily, even drawing them out by his power of suction from their hidings in the gravel. of the hundreds that had started on the first migration from the nest not more than three score were left to follow their frightened and panting mite of a leader into the shallows where the big sucker could not come. among the little stones close to shore, where the water was hardly more than an inch deep, even the greedy young redfins would not venture. nevertheless there were plenty of enemies waiting eagerly for the coming of the fry, and the little fellow whose one hour of seniority had made him the pioneer of the shoal found all his ability taxed to guard the speck of life which he had so lately achieved. keeping far enough from shore to avoid being stranded by some whimsical ripple, he nevertheless avoided the depths that were sufficient for the free hunting of the predatory minnows and redfins. such of his kinsfolk as stayed farther out soon served, the greater number of them, as food for the larger river dwellers, while those who went too close inshore got cast up on the sand to die, or were pounced upon, as they lay close to the surface, by ravenous and unerring mosquitoes, which managed to pierce them even through a film of water a sixteenth of an inch or more in thickness. so it came about in a very brief time that of the countless throng emerging from the nest on the bar there remained but a hundred or so of the tiny fry to sustain the fortunes of that particular salmon family. even at the safest and most cunningly chosen depth, however, the little pioneer had plenty of perils to guard against. secure from the suckers and redfins on the one hand, and from the mosquitoes on the other, he had yet for enemies certain predatory larvæ and water-beetles, as well as a few inch-long youngsters of the trout family, who were very active and rapacious. there was a water-beetle with hooked, pincer-like jaws and lightning rapidity of movement, which kept him almost ceaselessly on the alert, and filled him with wholesome terror as he saw it capture and devour numbers of his less nimble or less wary kin. and one day, when he had chanced, in the company of his diminished school of fry, to drift into a shallow cove where there was no current at all to disturb the water, he was chased by the terrible larva of a dragon-fly. the strange-looking creature, with what seemed a blank, featureless mask where its face and jaws ought to be, darted at him under the propulsion of jets of water sucked into its middle and spurted out behind. having taken alarm in time, he made good his escape between the stalks of a fine water-weed where the big larva could not penetrate. from this retreat he saw his pursuer turn and pounce upon a small basking minnow. the mask that covered the larva's face shot out as if on a hinge, developed into two powerful, grappling claws, and clutched the victim in the belly. after a brief struggle, which terrified all the tiny creatures within a radius of three feet, the minnow was dragged down to a clump of weed and the victor proceeded to make his feast. the little salmon stole in terror from his hiding-place and darted out into the more strenuous but for him far safer waters where a live current stirred among the gravel. to be sure the beetles were there, and the hungry young trout; but he had learned the ways of both these species of foe and knew pretty well how to elude them. meanwhile, as he was himself continually busy catching and devouring the tiny forms of life which abounded in those fruitful waters,--minute shell-fish, and the spawn of the water-snails that clung under the stones, gnats, and other small insects that fell on the water, and even other fry just from the egg,--he was growing at such a rate that presently the fierce water-beetles and the baby trout ceased to have any terrors for him. and at last, turning savagely as one of his old tormentors passed by, he caught a small beetle between his jaws and proceeded to make a meal of him. a few days later one of the baby trout was too slow in getting out of his way. he made a rush, caught his former tyrant, and, though the latter was more than an inch long, found no difficulty in swallowing him head first. by this time the little salmon was between two and three inches long. he was what those learned in matters pertaining to the salmon would have called a "parr". his colouring was very beautiful, in a higher key than the colouring of a trout, and more brilliant, if less showy. there was none of the pink of the trout, but a clear silvery tone on sides and belly, with a shining blue-black along the back. the sides were marked with a row of black dots, set far apart and accentuated by a yellow flush around them, and with another row of spots of most vivid scarlet. along the sides also ran a series of broad, vertical, bluish gray bars, the badge of the young of all the salmon tribe. he was a slender, strong-finned, finely moulded little fish, built to have his dwelling in swift currents and to conquer turbulent rapids. his jaws were strong and large, and he had no reason to fear anything of his size that swam the river. there were now not more than two score of his brothers and sisters left alive, and these scattered far and wide over the shoaling stream. it was high summer in the quahdavic country, and the great south branch was beginning to show its ledges and sandy bars above water. deep green the full-leaved boughs of elm and ash, poplar and cedar leaned above the current; and along the little wild-meadows which here and there bordered the stream, where the lumbermen had had camps or "landings", the misty pink-purple blossoms of the milkweed poured a wild sweetness upon the air. in a shallow run near the shore, where the sunlight, falling through an overhanging cedar "sweeper", dappled the clear ripples, and the current was about eight inches deep, and there was no pool near to tempt the larger fish, the active and wary little parr took up his home. the same run was chosen by three of his fellows also, and by a couple of small trout of about the same size. but there was room enough, and food enough, in that run for all of them, so the association was harmonious. lying with his head up-stream, his long fins and broad tail slowly waving to hold him in his position against the current, the little parr waited and watched while his food was brought down to him by the untiring flow. sometimes it was a luckless leaf-grub, or a caddis-worm torn from his moorings, that came tumbling and bumping down along the smooth pebbles of the bottom, to be gathered into the young salmon's eager maw. sometimes it was a fly or moth or bee or beetle that came bobbing with drenched, helpless wings along the tops of the ripples. and once in awhile a pink-shelled baby crawfish in its wanderings would come sidling across the run, and be promptly gobbled up in spite of the futile threatenings of its tiny claws. the river was liberal in its providing for its most favoured children, these aristocratic and beautiful parr, so the youngster grew apace in his bright run. happy though his life was now, in every kind of weather, he was still beset with perils. he had, of course, no longer anything to fear from the journeying suckers, with their small, toothless mouths, but now and then a big-mouthed, red-bellied, savage trout would pass up the run, and in passing make a dash at one of the little occupants. in this way two of the parr, and one of the little trout, disappeared,--the trout folk having no prejudice whatever against cannibalism. but our pioneer, ceaselessly on the watch and matchlessly nimble, always succeeded in keeping well out of the way. once he had a horrible scare, when a seven-pound salmon, astray from the main channel, made his way cautiously up the middle of the run and scraped over the bar. in this case, however, the alarm was groundless. the stranger was not seeking food, but only a way out of the embarrassing shallows. another peril that kept the young parr on the alert--an ever imminent and particularly appalling peril--was the foraging of the kingfishers. a pair of these noisy and diligent birds had their nest of six little ones in a hole in the red bluff just above the run, and they took ceaseless tribute from the finny tribes of the river. like an azure arrow one of them would dart down into the river with a loud splash, and flap up again, usually, with a gleaming trout or parr held firmly between the edges of his great beak. if he missed his shot and came up with empty beak, he would fly off up the river with a harsh, clattering, startlingly loud cry of indignation and protest. several times one or other of these troublesome foragers dropped into the run. the dappling of the shadow and sun, however, from the cedar, was a protection to the dwellers in this run; and only twice was the fishing there successful. the second little trout, and one more of the parr, were carried off. then the birds forsook that particular bit of ripple and hunted easier waters. in leaping at the flies which came down the surface of the run the little salmon one day got a severe but invaluable lesson. a large and gaudy fly, unlike anything that he had ever encountered before, appeared on the ripples over his head. still more unlike those which he had encountered before, it did not hurry downward with the water, but maintained its position in a most mysterious fashion. while the parr eyed it curiously, wondering whether to try it or not, it suddenly moved straight up against the current, and was followed at a short distance by another queer-looking big fly, green and brown like a grasshopper. excited by the strange behaviour of these two strangers, the parr rose sharply and hit the green fly with his tail, intending to drown it and investigate it at his leisure. to his astonishment both flies instantly disappeared. chagrined and puzzled, he dropped back to the tail of the run, sulking. [illustration: "held firmly between the edges of his great beak."] a moment later, however, the two flies reappeared, slipping very slowly down the current, mounting up again directly in the teeth of it, sometimes dancing on the surface, sometimes sinking a little below it, but always remaining the same distance apart, and always behaving in a manner mysteriously independent of the power of the stream. for a few seconds the parr eyed them with distrust. then growing excited by their strange actions, he dashed forward fiercely and caught the gaudy red fly in his jaws. there was a prick, a twitch, a frightful jerk,--and he found himself dragged forth into the strangling upper air, where he fell flopping on the dry gravel of the shore. as he lay gasping and struggling on the hot pebbles, which scorched off the delicate bloom from his tender skin, a tall shape stooped over him, and a great hand, its fingers as long as his whole body, picked him up. he heard a vague reverberation, which was the voice of the tall shape saying, "a poor little beggar of a salmon,--but not badly hooked! he'll be none the worse, and perhaps none the wiser!" then, with what seemed to him terrible and deadly violence, but what was really the most careful delicacy that the big hand was capable of, the hook was removed from his jaw, and he was tossed back into the water. dizzy and half-stunned, he turned over on his back, head downward, and for a moment or two was at the mercy of the current. then, recovering from the shock, he righted himself, and swam frantically to the shelter of an overhanging stone which he knew, where he lay with heaving sides, sore, aching, and trembling, till little by little his self-possession returned to him. but ever afterward, since he was by nature somewhat more wary and alert than his fellows, he viewed floating flies with suspicion and inspected them cautiously before seizing them in his jaws. [illustration: "leaping high out of the pools."] all through the summer and autumn the little parr was kept very busy, feeding, and dodging his enemies, and playing in the cheerful, shallow "run" beneath the cedar. when the early autumn rains swelled the volume of the great south branch, he first realized how numerous were the big salmon in the stream,--fish which had kept carefully clear of the shallow places wherein he had spent the summer. though he held himself well aloof from these big fish,--which never paid him any attention,--he noticed them playing tempestuously, leaping high out of the pools, and very busy night and morning on the gravel bars, where they seemed to be digging with their powerful snouts. still later, when, instead of flies and beetles, there fell upon the darkening surface of the river little pale specks which vanished as he snatched at them, he grew fiercely and inexplicably discontented. what he longed for he did not know; but he knew it was nowhere in the waters about him, neither along the edges of the shore, where now the ice was forming in crisp fringes. all about him he saw the big salmon,--their sides lean and flat, their brilliant colours darkened and faded,--swimming down languidly with the strenuous current. hitherto their movements had been all up-stream,--upward, upward incessantly and gladly. now the old energy and joy of life seemed all gone out of them. nevertheless, they seemed very anxious to go somewhere, and the way to that somewhere appeared to be down-stream. hardly knowing what he did, and not at all knowing why he did it, the parr found himself slipping down-stream with them. he had grown vastly in size and strength, while his vivid and varied hues had begun to soften appreciably. in fact, he was now no longer a parr, but a "smelt"; and after the ordained custom of his kind, he was on his way to the sea. ii long-finned and full of vigour, the smelt was not dismayed when he came to heavier water, exchanging the region of the gravelly bars for a space of broken ledges, where the great current roared hither and thither and lashed itself into foam. through these loud chutes and miniature falls he shot safely, though not at first without some trepidation. the lean, slab-sided salmon, or "slinks", who were his travelling companions, served as his involuntary guides. except to make use of them in this way once or twice, he paid them little attention; though now and again a big lantern-jawed fellow would rush at him with a sort of half-hearted fury, compelling him to make a hurried retreat. the great south branch, soon after the region of the wild ledges was past, fell into quiet ways, and crept for a few miles with deep, untroubled current through a land of alders. here the winter, which had by this time settled down upon the high quahdavic country, had its will, and the river was frozen and snow-covered from shore to shore. the smelt, as he journeyed beneath the ice, was puzzled and disturbed by the unusual dimness of the light that filtered down to him. this was a condition, however, which he soon left behind. swollen by the influx of several lesser streams, the great south now burst its fetters and thundered along through a series of tumultuous rapids. then above the thunder of these rapids came a louder, heavier roar, a trampling whose vibration carried a warning to the traveller. he paused for a moment; but seeing that the salmon swam on without hesitation or apparent misgiving, he dashed forward-confidently into the tumult. a moment more and he was hurled onward bewilderingly, dashed downward through a smother of broken water which held so much air in it that it almost choked him, and shot into a great, deep, swirling pool where many "slinks" and a few slim smelts like himself were swimming lazily hither and thither. he had successfully made the descent of the south branch falls, though, in his ignorance of the best channel, he had missed the solid water, and come down through the smother. after a very brief rest in the basin below the falls, to recover his self-possession, the smelt, with many other migrants, resumed his seaward journey. the great south presently, with a long rush, united its waters with those of the main quahdavic. down this full-flowing stream he swam steadily for three uneventful days, to find himself at length in a mighty river whose amber-brown current was a surprise to him after the clear, greenish floods in which he had been born. it took him several days, journeying leisurely, and feeding moderately as he went, to get accustomed to the change in the water. and barely had he become accustomed to it when another and more startling change confronted him. the current, flowing strongly in one direction, would change for a time and flow directly against him. this was confusing. but it was not by any means the worst. a strange, bitter taste was in the water. the great salt tides were rushing up to welcome him. he was nearing the sea. at first the brackishness in the water repelled him; but almost at once he found himself accepting it with avidity. at the same time he could not but observe a sudden awakening of interest in life among the languid "slinks". they began to show a better appetite, to move about more alertly, to make themselves more dangerous to the smaller fish that crossed their paths. the water grew more and more salt,--with an ever increasing zest to it which made the smelt amazingly keen for his food. then the shield of ice above him, beneath which he had so long travelled, suddenly vanished, and through long, free shoreless waves he felt the sunlight streaming down to him unimpeded. the water was now no longer tawny brown, but green. he had reached the sea. for some reason which he could never have explained,--for he certainly felt no affection for them,--the smelt, with others like himself, kept travelling more or less in the company of the reviving "slinks". like all the rest of the strong-*finned, silver-sided host, he was now feeding with a ravenousness of appetite unknown to him in the old days of rapid and pool. his food was chiefly the very tiny creatures of the sea, shell-fish from the deep-covered rocks and floating masses of weed, young fry swimming in schools, jellyfish of various sorts, and the myriad minute sea things which made certain belts and patches of the sea, at times, almost like a kind of soup ready to his eager palate. ever north and north swam the silver host, seeking those cold currents from the pole which are as thick with life as the lands they wash are lifeless. very deep they swam, so deep that, countless as their armies were, they left no trace to betray them to the nets or hooks of the fishing fleets. in those faintly glimmering depths the slow tide stirred softly, unmoved by whatever arctic storm might rave and shrink over its surface. in the gloom the tiny creatures of the sea shone by their own pale phosphorescence, and in such unimaginable millions did they swarm that the journeying salmon had but to open their mouths to be fed. at this depth, too, they had but little persecution from the more swift and powerful hunters of the sea, the big-mouthed whales, the sharks, and the porpoises. their most dangerous enemies generally lived and fought and ravaged nearer the surface, leaving to them the lordship of the twilight deeps. once in awhile, indeed, a sounding whale might drop its mighty bulk among them, and engulf a few scores in his huge maw before the pressure and the need of air forced him again to the surface. and once in awhile a shark or swordfish would rush down, as a hawk swoops from the upper sky, to harry their array. but for the most part now, as at no other period in their career, they went unmolested on their secret and mysterious northern drift. when the young salmon had been about three months in the sea, growing diligently all the time, a strange but potent influence impelled him, along with most of his companioning hordes, to turn and journey backward toward the coast whence he had come. he was now about five pounds in weight, and if he had fallen into the hands of a fisherman he would have been labelled a "grilse". his companions were nearly all grilse like himself, varying in weight from two and a half to four or five pounds, with here and there a big, adult salmon journeying majestically among them. the majority of the full-grown salmon had preceded them shoreward by anything from one month to four, under the urge of the homing and parental instinct. as the big grilse journeyed he went on growing daily, till by the time he found himself back in the waters of the gulf he was a good six pounds in weight. as he mounted nearer the surface and drew inshore he passed the mouths of various rivers and encountered swirling currents of brackish water. at each of these river-mouths numbers of the host would separate and turn up the freshening tide. but our grilse kept right on, making unerringly for his mighty native stream. and those that continued with him were more in number than those that turned aside. it was during this journey down offshore that perils once more began to assail the young salmon, perils which it took all his good luck and keen activities to evade. for one thing, there were dogfish. these miniature sharks, with their savage mouths set far under their snouts, were no match for the grilse, or any of his kind, in speed; but the latter, being unsuspicious, came very near being caught unawares. a swift surge of his long fins and powerful tail saved him, just in time. he shot away like a silver streak as the fierce jaws snapped sharply at his flank. after that he kept his eyes alert on the approach of any fish in the least degree larger than himself. and in the course of this watchfulness he saw many of his kinsmen caught and torn to pieces by the ravening dogfish, who are the very wolves of the sea. another and equally deadly peril was one that took several forms. once as he swam swiftly but easily onward, he saw a number of his companions, who chanced to be a little ahead of him, stop abruptly and engage in what seemed to him a meaningless struggle. ever suspicious, he checked himself and tried to make out what was the matter. the struggle was desperate, but the adversary at first invisible. in a moment, however, he detected a mesh of fine, brown lines, which seemed to surround and grapple with the unfortunate fish. not waiting to investigate further, he retreated with a nervous flurry of speed. then, since nothing could divert his homeward impulse, he dived almost to the bottom and continued his journey, not returning toward the dangerous surface till he was nearly a mile beyond the throttling peril of the drift-net. but there were yet other nets, and as he entered the great outrush of his native river he encountered them on every side, stretched on rows of stakes running far out into the channels. these "set nets", as they were termed, he was fortunate enough, or wary enough, to detect when he first entered the river, and he avoided them by keeping to the deepest parts of the channel; but he saw what cruel toll they took of the eager and heedless schools that swam with him. net after net they threatened him; but ever upward he urged his way against the tawny current, his long fins and powerful tail never pausing in their graceful, tireless effort. neither he nor his companions now lost time in foraging, for their appetite had mysteriously vanished since leaving the salt water. they had become engrossed in one idea, the quest of the clean-rushing rapids and the beds of bright gravel where they were born. leagues up the great river, after mounting several noisy but not difficult rapids, the grilse came to a halt for the first time in a deep and spacious pool which swarmed with his fellows. here he rested, and here he made light, casual meals, jumping at the little flies which fell upon the swirling surface of the pool. once the bright yellow body of a struggling wasp allured him,--but just as he was rising to gulp it in, a memory, vague but terrifying, swung dimly up into his brain from the far-off days when he had been a tiny, gay-coloured parr in the ripples of the great south branch. he remembered the sharp point piercing his jaw, his choking and gasping on the hot, dry bank; and refusing the bright titbit, he left it to be gobbled up by one of his less wary companions. after that revival of memory the crafty grilse inspected every fly before he rose to it, to see if any slender, almost invisible line were attached to it. his precautions were unnecessary, in that instance, the pool being a lonely and unnoted one in a broad, shallow reach of the river; but his awakened watchfulness was to stand him in good stead later on. a day's journey beyond the pool, a great outrush of colder water, green-white against the amber tide of the main river, greeted the returning grilse, and he found himself in the mouth of his native quahdavic. it was a scanter and shallower stream, however, than when he left it, for now the long heats of the summer had shrunken all the watercourses. as he mounted the clear current he now encountered fierce rapids, and ledges boiling with foam, which put his swimming prowess to the test. after a day of these rapids and ledges and shallow rips, he felt quite ready to halt once more in a great green pool where two lively brooks, tumbling in from either shore, kept the surface flecked with whirling foam. here the invigorating coolness of the water speedily refreshed him, and he fell to feeding on the various insects brought down by the meeting currents. the pool was thronged with grilse and full-grown salmon, with here and there a school of graceful whitefish or a group of sluggish suckers, whom he ignored. when the moon rose white over the black, serried masses of the fir woods, silvering the pool, the big grilse, obeying a sudden caprice, shot upwards with a mighty surge of fins and tail, and hurled himself high into the still air. falling back with a resounding splash, he repeated the feat again and again. he had discovered the fascination of diving upward into the unknown and alien element of the air. others of his kindred, large and small, had made the same discovery, and the wilderness silence was broken with splash after splash, as the tense, silver shapes shot up, gleamed for an instant, and fell back. as the noise of the mysterious play echoed on the night air, a black bear crept down to the water's edge on one side of the stream, and a lynx stole out to the end of a log on the other side, each hoping that some unwary player might come within reach of his paw. but all the salmon kept out in the safe deeps; and the keen-eyed watchers watched in vain as the round moon climbed the clean heights of sky. after a few days in this pool, he was surprised one early morning by the sight of a long, dark shape gliding over the surface. from its side, near the hinder end, a strange-looking, narrow fin thrust downward from time to time, and with heavy swirls propelled the dark shape. the strange apparition disturbed him, and he grew restless and watchful. a few minutes after it had passed there came a faint splash on the surface above him, and a big, curious-looking fly appeared. it sank an inch or two, moved against the current, and was then withdrawn. he eyed it with scorn, remembering his former experience with such. but when, a moment later, the strange fly appeared again, he was amazed to see one of the biggest salmon in the pool rise lazily and suck it down. the next instant there was a terrific commotion. he saw the great fish rush hither and thither up and down and around the pool, now scattering the whitefish on the bottom, now splashing upon the surface and leaping half his length into the air. very clearly the cunning grilse understood what it all meant. for many long minutes he watched the struggle, which showed no sign of ending. then disgusted and apprehensive, he forsook the pool, darting beneath the canoe as he did so, and continued his journey up-stream. late in the day the returning traveller came to the mouth of the big south branch. without hesitation he turned up that turbulent but shrunken stream, knowing it for his own; and he made no stop till he reached the deep, green, foamy pool at the foot of the falls. being still comparatively fresh, and very restless, he swam all round the pool, and took a crafty survey of the terrific obstacle before him. but among the sojourners in the pool were many fish with bleeding sides, who had essayed the leap in vain and were waiting to recuperate their energies for another effort. so he, too, paused a little, gathering his young strength. [illustration: "vanquished in their own element by the mink."] the falls of the big south were about twelve feet in total height. there were two leaps, the upper one, of about three feet, rolling down into a hollow shelf of sandstone some six or eight feet in width, and the lower, dropping nine feet sheer into the pool. most of the face of fall, at this stage of the water, was lashed into foam by fissures and projecting angles of rock, but on the right the main volume of the stream fell in a clear, green column. up the front of this column the grilse presently flung himself, striking the water about a foot from the top. as he struck, the impetus of his leap not yet exhausted, his powerful fins and tail took firm hold of the solid water and urged him upward. over the lip he shot, into the boiling turmoil of the shelf, then onward over the great surge of the upper dip. he had triumphed easily, and the way was clear before him to the shining gravel bars whereon he had been spawned. there were still some tough rapids--shallow, and tortuous, and grid-ironed with slaty rocks--to be climbed; but there were quiet pools to sojourn in, and no perils that his craft could not evade. one by one his fellow voyagershad dropped away, betrayed by the fisherman's luring fly, clutched by the skilful paw of wildcat or bear, or vanquished in their own element by the mink or the otter. but when he reached the wide spawning-beds he was still comraded by a fair remnant of the host which had entered the river with him; and the shallow run that swept the bars were noisy with their splashings through the twilight of evening and dawn. every day there were new arrivals at the spawning-beds, and among them the strong and wary grilse soon found a mate. she was considerably larger than he, a trim young salmon of the second year and perhaps nine pounds in weight. but his radiant colouring, his strength and his activity, as he swam around her and displayed his charms, appeared to content her. with his bony nose he dug her a circular nest in the gravel, where the current ran clear but not too strong; and in this nest she laid her countless eggs, while he rubbed his side caressingly against her shining flanks. when her eggs were all laid and fertilized he drifted away from her, dropped down to the nearest pool, and lay there sluggish and uninterested for awhile, until, seized once more by the longing for the great salt tide, he joined a returning company of "slinks" and hurried back down-river to the sea. iii when he reached the deep sea once more, and regained his appetite among the sweeping tides, he once more began to grow. his fins became smaller in proportion to his bulk, and he was no longer a grilse, but a salmon. his life, however, underwent no great change; his adventures, perils, interests, appetites, were all much the same as during his first season in the sea. only he now swam with a certain majesty, ignoring the grilse and smaller salmon who swam and fed beside him; for he was of splendid, constantly growing stature, of the lords of his kind. this time he let nearly the whole round of the year go by, feeding at leisure and lazily dodging the seals, among the icy but populous tides that swung beyond the mouth of hudson straits. then, late the following winter, long before the dark earth had any word of spring, spring stirred secretly in his veins, and he remembered the sunny gravel bars of the great south branch. the sudden urge of his desire turned him about, and he began to swim tirelessly southward, companioned by an ardent, silvery host into whose veins at the same time the same compelling summons had been flashed. it was late may when the returning salmon, having successfully eluded the snares of the nets and the assaults of harbour seal and dogfish, came again to the mouth of his native river and fanned his gills once more in its sweet, amber current. he was now a good forty pounds in weight, and his clean blue-and-silver body was adorned with fine markings of extraordinary brilliancy. his vigorous, wholesome, seasoned muscles propelled him irresistibly against the current of the river, which was now fierce with freshet; and being urged by a stronger and more insistent desire than that which had swayed him on his former visit, as a grilse, he now made more haste in his journeying, with briefer halts in the pools. the pools, at this season, were some of them indistinguishable in the flood, and others turbulent and difficult of access, so the fly-fishermen were not yet out in force. only once, in the great pool below the quahdavic mouth, did he see the bright fly whose treacherous lure he knew so well go dancing over his head. he rose lazily and slapped it with his tail in angry contempt, then returned to the bottom of the pool and watched it lazily, while for nearly an hour it went through its futile antics. then it vanished suddenly. perhaps ten minutes after the gaudy fly had disappeared, the big salmon saw a brown furry shape, more like a very young squirrel than anything else, go floating down the current. other salmon, who, like himself, had ignored the fly, observed this furry shape with interest, and half started to investigate. but when the big salmon rose to it they turned away with resignation. as for him, though he had not been once really hungry since entering the fresh water, he felt that that strange object was the very thing he wanted. gliding up to the surface on a long slant, very slowly, he opened his great jaws just below the object, sucked it in, and with a heavy splash turned back toward the bottom. the next instant there was a jerk, a prick, a fierce tug at his jaw which swerved him from his course; and he realized that he had been fooled. the furry shape was but the old treason of the fly in another form. his first impulse was to rush madly across the pool in an effort to escape the small tormentor. but memory and experience, added to that native cunning which had brought him safely through so many perils, now came to his rescue. instead of rushing to the surface and performing wild feats which would have soon worn him out while delighting the soul of his enemy, he turned resolutely back to his course and bored his way to the bottom against the exasperating pressure of rod and reel. here he set himself to nosing vigorously among the stones, in the hope of rubbing off this troublesome thing on his jaw. the thing tugged, and tugged, and pricked, and worried, as the fisherman at the other end of the line strove to rouse him into a lively and spectacular struggle. but for some minutes he refused to be diverted from his nosing among the stones, till the fisherman began to fear that the hook had got fast to a log. presently, however, the great salmon decided to change his tactics. though he did not know it, he had already loosened the hook appreciably, tearing the cartilage of his jaw. now, having craftily eyed for some seconds the fine, taut, almost invisible line of gut as it slanted off through the water, he made a long, swift rush straight in the direction in which the line was striving to pull him. instantly the pull ceased, the line fell slack. but he felt the hook, with its furry attachment, still clinging at the side of his mouth. he passed straight under the dark shape of the canoe, and heard a sharp, vibrant sound above him, something like the song of a locust, which was the noise of the big salmon reel as the fisherman made wild haste to take in the slack of the line. as he swam he shook his head savagely; but the hook still held. then, near the farther edge of the pool, he darted between the limbs of a sunken windfall, and back again on the other side, effectually fouling the line a few feet from his nose. the next moment there was a violent jerk at his jaw. the hook tore out, and he swam free. in tremendous indignation and trepidation the great salmon now darted from the pool and up against the wild current of the quahdavic. in the next pool he delayed for but a few minutes, not resting, but swimming about restlessly and stirring up the other salmon with his excitement. then, accompanied by three or four of those whom his nervous activity had aroused, he pressed onward. through rapid and chute and pool, and white-churned trough where rocks scored the bed of the river, he darted tirelessly, and up the clear torrent of the great south branch; and he never halted till he found himself in the boiling basin of green and foam at the foot of the falls. the basin was a very different place now from that which he had visited as a grilse. into its vexed deeps the flood fell with the heavy trampling of thunder, which was echoed back and forth between the high broken rocks enclosing the basin. but what was of most importance to the great salmon was a fact which, if he realized it at all, he realized but vaguely. the falls themselves had changed since his last visit. at the very first of spring there had been a landslide. the great, partly overhanging rock, seamed and split by the wedges of countless frosts, had all at once crumbled down beneath the tireless pressure of the cataract. the lower fall, thus retreating, had become one with the upper. the straight descent was now nearly five feet higher than before,--a barrier which no voyager those waters ever knew could hope to overcome. the great salmon did not understand what had happened. he knew that he had passed the barrier before, and had come to those bright, gravelled reaches of which he was desirous. he knew that a summons which he could not disobey was urging him on up-stream. he had no thought but to obey. after a short rest in the deepest part of the pool,--he was alone there, being the first of the returning migrants,--he suddenly aroused himself, darted like a flash of silver through the green flood, and shot straight up the face of the fall. within three feet of the crest he came, hung curved like a bow for a fraction of a second, glittering and splendid, then fell back into the white smother. again, and yet again, he essayed the leap, gaining perhaps a foot on the second trial, but falling far short on the third. then, exhausted and beaten by the great impact of the waters as he fell back defenceless, he retired to the quietest depth of the pool to recover his strength. he felt bewildered by his failure, and half stunned by the buffeting of the air-charged flood, which affected him somewhat as a tornado might affect a man who was fighting to make head against it. moreover, there was a long crimson gash slanting down his flank, where he had been driven against a jagged rock as he fell. of all these things, however, he thought little, as he lay there in the green deep which seethed from the turmoil passing above it. through the turmoil he saw the wide, clean-glittering, shallow-rippled gravel-bars of the upper stream, golden under the sun and blue-white under the moon. these he saw as he remembered them, and he saw the loud barrier to be passed before he could reach them. as he brooded, his courage summoned back his strength. again he flashed up, with a power and swiftness that seemed irresistible, and again he shot into the spray-thick air on the face of the fall. again he hung there for a half a heart-beat, spent, to fall back baffled and confused. again and again, however, he flashed back to the trial, undaunted in spirit though at each effort his strength grew less: again and again the rock teeth hidden in the foam caught and tore him as he fell. at last, all but stunned and altogether bewildered, he swam feebly into an eddy close to shore and half turned upon his side, his gills opening and closing violently. [illustration: "again he shot into the spray-thick air on the face of the fall."] just about this time a visitor from the hills had come shambling down to the river-edge,--one of the great black bears of the quahdavic valley. sitting contemplatively on her haunches, her little, cunning eyes had watched the vain leaps of the salmon. she knew a good deal about salmon and her watching was not mere curiosity. as the efforts of the brave fish grew feebler and feebler she drew down closer and closer to the edge of the water, till it frothed about her feet. when, at last, the salmon came blindly into the eddy and turned upon his side, the bear was but a few feet distant. she crept forward like a cat, crouched,--and a great black paw shot around with a clutching sweep. gasping and quivering, the salmon was thrown up upon the rocks. then white teeth, savage but merciful, bit through the back of his neck; and unstruggling he was carried to a thicket above the falls. answerers to the call the little lake, long and narrow, and set in a cleft of the deep forest, led off like a pathway of light to the full october moon. the surface of the lake was as still as glass, and the woods, rising from each shore in dense waves, billowy where the hardwoods crowded thick, or serrated and pinnacled where the fir and spruce and hemlock drew their ordered ranks, were as motionless as if an enchantment had been laid upon them. the air was magically clear, almost pungent with suggestion of frost, and tonic with autumn scents. in sharp contrast to the radiance of the open, the deep of the forest was filled with an extraordinarily liquid and transparent darkness, pierced with hard white lines and spots of light where the moon broke through. down along the shores of the lake, under the ragged fringe of mixed growths where forest and open met, ran a tangle of grotesque, exaggerated shadows, so solid of outline as to seem almost palpable. all these shadows were as motionless as if frozen--except one, a long, angular shadow, which projected itself spasmodically but noiselessly through the bushes, occasionally darting out upon the naked beach, but withdrawing again instantly, as if in dread of the exposure. the source of this erratic shadow was a lean backwoodsman, who, rifle in hand, was stealing on moccasined feet down the lake shore under cover of the fringing branches. suddenly across the water came a sound as if some one were thrashing the underbrush with a stick. the hunter stopped short, and listened intently from his place of concealment. very well he knew that sound. it was a bull moose eager for fight, thrashing the bushes with his great antlers as a challenge to any rival who might be within hearing. the woodsman's grizzled lips parted in a smile of satisfaction, and after a glance at his rifle to see that the cartridge was in place, he crept onward down the lake, well under cover and as soundless as his own shadow. he expected to come upon the challenger somewhere near the foot of the lake. he might, of course, have adopted a surer and lazier method of hunting by staying where he was and imitating the call of the big moose's mate; but this seemed to him gross treachery, and little short of murder. he would almost as willingly have condescended to snare the noble beast whom he gloried in overcoming in fair chase. the hunter had not gone far, however, when another strange sound disturbed the enchanted silence. it was harsh, wild, yet appealing, and seemed in some way the very voice of the untamed wilderness. it was the call of the shy cow moose. the woodsman crept down to the shore and peered cautiously through the screening boughs, to see whether the call was an authentic one or the cheat of some other hunter less scrupulous than himself. about a quarter of a mile down the shore a bare sand spit jutted out into the sheen of the lake; and near its point, an ungainly black silhouette against the bright water, stood the cow, calling, listening, and calling again. the hunter stood for a few moments, watching her with that deliberation which marks the man of the woods. as he watched, suddenly the cow wheeled half-round, as if startled, then dashed into the water, swam in haste to the next point, and vanished among the trees. the woodsman, much surprised, waited motionless where he was for a couple of minutes, to see if the cause of her alarm would reveal itself. then, as no sign of life appeared on the brilliantly lighted sand spit, he pressed on stealthily down the shore to investigate for himself. in a few minutes--forest and lake meanwhile as still as if no living thing breathed within the borders--the hunter found himself at the head of the sand spit. keeping within the deep shadow, he examined the ground carefully, but could detect no trail, except that of the cow which had been calling. puzzled, and nettled to find his woodcraft at fault, he continued his furtive progress toward the foot of the lake. he had gone not more than two or three hundred yards when, just as he was about to step out upon a little lighted glade, that subtle and unnamed sixth sense which the men of the woods sometimes develop warned him that something alive and hostile was hidden in the thicket just ahead. he stiffened in his tracks and waited, eyes and nostrils intently alert. he was so close to the edge of the thicket that his own concealment was very imperfect. in the thicket, just across the lighted space, nothing stirred; but he was sure that something was there. for fully five minutes he waited. then, just to see what would happen, he gave, very softly and alluringly, the call of the cow moose. what happened was something no previous experience had taught him to expect. no moose responded to the supposed voice of its mate; but a huge black bear fairly bounced into the open, and came at him in terrific leaps, evidently purposing to catch the cow before she could get started running. annoyed, because he was not hunting bear and did not want to scare the game he was seeking, the woodsman stepped out into the full light as he raised his rifle. but he did not have to shoot. if he was not hunting bear, neither was the bear hunting man. at this unlooked-for apparition of a man with a voice like a cow moose, the bear almost stopped in mid-jump, as if struck by an explosive bullet. fairly falling over in his desperate haste to stop himself, he clawed the turf wildly, wheeled about, and scuttled off into the woods like a frightened woodchuck. the hunter smiled grimly, and went on. he knew now what had startled the cow moose. [illustration: "scuttled off into the woods like a frightened woodchuck."] for nearly half an hour the great white moon seemed to possess the world alone. at the foot of the lake the hunter had to appear in the shining open for a second or two, while crossing the shallow but wide brook which formed the outlet. but he drifted across from stone to stone like a shadow, marked, as he knew well enough, by vigilant eyes, but not, he trusted, by the moose. on this point he was presently quite assured, for he had little more than reached cover again when he saw the cow reappear on the open beach a short distance up the lake. she walked out till her fore hoofs were at the very edge of the water, then called again and again. she knew that somewhere in these illimitable shades, bold but crafty, her mate was watching and listening. in answer to her call he was likely to come rushing up noisily, defying all peril, and flinging his challenge abroad for all whom it might interest. but to-night there was a vague suspicion in the air. it was probable that he would come silently, and give no hint of his coming until he stood beside her on the beach. the point of beach whereon the cow was standing was carefully chosen with reference to the scare which she had received a half-hour earlier. it was where a little stream flowed in through a space of wild meadow, so that there was ample open all about her, and no enemy could get nearer than forty or fifty yards without revealing himself. from the foot of the lake the woodsman approached with a stealth that none of the wild kindred themselves could surpass. skirting the back of the meadow, he drew near from the upper side, expecting that any response the call might bring would come from that direction. then he hid himself in a dense thicket of willows near the water. meanwhile there were others besides the woodsman for whom the calling of the lonely cow had interest. the great black bear, having recovered from his panic and put what he thought a safe distance between himself and the dangerous stranger, had slipped his huge bulk through the underbrush without a sound, and glared out savagely over the meadow to the solitary figure on the beach. he knew that he was no match in speed for a frightened cow moose, and he saw that the distance across the open was too great for him to carry the matter by a rush. that cow was not for him, apparently. his mouth watered, but he held himself firmly under cover, waiting in the hope that some whimsical fortune of the woods might throw opportunity in his way. suddenly his ears caught a tiny but suggestive sound. somewhere far up the course of the little brook a twig snapped sharply. he turned his attention away from the cow, and listened. that chance sound, so conspicuous on the expectant silence, might signify the coming of the antlered bull. the bear would much rather have spared himself exertion by hunting the cow; but a bull, although apt to prove a dangerous adversary to an inexperienced bear, was well enough for one who knew how to manage such matters. he slipped over to the edge of the brook, and crouched behind a huge stump which was veiled by a growth of vines. immediately before him was the narrow, grassy clearway occupied by the brook at high water, and now threaded by a winding, loitering rivulet. so narrow was the space that in one lunge of his long body and mighty forearm he could reach almost all the way across it. this white-lit path was fretted with black traceries of branch and leaf, but the shadow behind the rock was so thick that even the furry bulk of the bear was completely engulfed in it. the lonely figure out by the lake-side kept repeating its harsh calls from time to time, but neither the bear behind his brook-side rock nor the woodsman in his willow thicket up the shore any longer heeded her. both were waiting for a third to answer her summons. the third, indeed, was coming to answer; but with unwonted circumspection. he was a small but sturdy young bull, his antlers not yet perfect. it was he whom the hunter had heard thrashing the bushes in challenge; and when his mate first sent her call across the lake, he had stood silent behind the sheltering trees and watched her. but just as he was about to start on the long détour round the foot of the lake to join her, he had seen her sudden alarm and been puzzled by it. like the woodsman, he had rested for some time, motionless and watchful, looking for what else might happen. the absence of happening had left him vaguely apprehensive. when, therefore, he saw her reappear long afterward on his own side of the lake and begin her calls again, he was cautious about replying. instead of hurrying straight down the shore to meet her, he sank softly back, deeper and deeper, into the woods, till her voice could scarcely reach his ears. [illustration: "the moose came in sight up the brook channel."] then he made a wide swing round, and came stealthily down the channel of the little brook. in spite of his bulk, his spread of antlers, his broad and loose-hung hoofs, no mink or weasel could have come more silently than he. as the moose came in sight up the brook channel, a moving shadow, the muscles of the watching bear behind the rock grew tense, and a luminous green film seemed to come over his small eyes. one powerful hind leg lifted itself till its claws took firm grip on a projection near the top of the rock. he was like a catapult, bent and ready. when the moose came just opposite, the giant spring was loosed. the ponderous shape of the bear launched out over the top of the rock and seemed to shoot through the air. magnificent as the leap was, however, it just fell short of its mark; for the moose, taking instinctive alarm before any cause was actually perceptible, had swerved a yard aside from the place of ambush. instead of falling directly upon him, therefore, and bearing him to the ground with a broken back, the bear landed at his side, just close enough to strike him a savage blow on the neck. powerful as the neck of a bull moose is, had that blow struck true it would have ended the fight. but it fell rakingly, rending hide and muscle but breaking no bones. brave as he was cautious, the moose wheeled to strike back. jumping aside with the agility of a red buck, he gained room to lower his antlers, and lunged forward upon the foe with all the force of his seven hundred pounds behind these formidable weapons. the bear, skilful as a boxer at parrying, with his big fore paw turned aside the direct thrust; but owing to the spread of the antlers, one long, keen spike caught him right under the shoulder and drove home. then began a terrific uproar of crashing and growling and coughing and grunting, while the underbrush was beaten flat beneath the ponderous combatants. the bear clung to the antlers, wrenching and twisting, now trying to pull his antagonist to the ground, now striving to reach past his pronged defences and rend his throat. for a time the moose succeeded in keeping his feet, struggling to force his assailant backward and pierce his flank. then he was lucky enough to tear himself free. instantly he reared like a mad horse, and brought down his sharp hoofs on the enemy's shoulder. it was a terrific blow, battering like a sledge-hammer and cutting like an axe, and the bear roared under it. but it was not a finishing blow, and it let the foe reach close quarters. the bear got the bull's neck into the grip of his mighty forearms, and pulled him down. the moose struggled valiantly, thrashing backward with jagged antlers, and tearing up the ground in desperate efforts to regain his feet. but victory was now, beyond peradventure, within the clutch of the bear. at the first sound of the battle the cow had come trotting inland to see what was going on, under the impression that her mate had fallen foul of a rival. at the inner extremity of the meadow, however, she caught sight of the woodsman running in the same direction, whereupon her discretion overcame all other emotions, and she made haste to escape from a neighbourhood so full of the unexpected. the woodsman never gave her a glance, but ran on at a swift lope, a spark of excitement in his quiet gray eyes. when he reached the scene of combat the bear had just got his brave antagonist down. the hunter paused for a few seconds, to take in the situation thoroughly. then he raised his rifle. his sympathies were altogether with the moose. he waited till he got the chance he wanted, then he sent a heavy - expanding bullet through the bear's heart. the great black form collapsed in a limp heap upon his adversary; and the latter, struggling to his feet, threw the burden disdainfully aside. at first he paid no attention to the woodsman, who, taking it for granted that his injuries were hopeless, stood waiting compassionately to end his sufferings. but this young bull was made of astonishingly tough stuff. in his rage he had apparently not heard the sound of the rifle. as soon as he had fairly regained his feet, he reared to his full height, came down upon the bear's unresisting form, and trampled madly for several seconds. the woodsman stood watching with a grin of sympathetic approval, and muttered, "chuck full of ginger yet!" at last the panting beast turned his head, and saw the man. the sight sobered him. for a moment he stood staring and shaking his head, drunk with his imagined triumph. then discretion whispered in his ear. he turned away sullenly, with one last, regretful look at his foe's battered body, and trotted off into the mystic confusion of shine and shadow. the prisoners of the pitcher-plant at the edge of a rough piece of open, where the scrubby bushes which clothed the plain gave space a little to the weeds and harsh grasses, stood the clustering pitchers of a fine young sarracenia. these pitchers, which were its leaves, were of a light, cool green, vividly veined with crimson and shading into a bronzy red about the lip and throat. they were of all sizes, being at all stages of growth; and the largest, which had now, on the edge of summer, but barely attained maturity, were about six inches in length and an inch and a quarter in extreme diameter. down in the very heart of the cluster, hardly to be discerned, was a tiny red-tipped bud, destined to shoot up, later in the season, into a sturdy flower-stalk. [illustration: "at this moment a passing shrike swooped down."] against the fresh, warm green of the sunlit world surrounding it, the sarracenia's peculiar colouring stood out conspicuously, its streaks and splashes of red having the effect of blossoms. this effect, at a season when bright-hued blooms were scarce, made the plant very attractive to any insects that chanced within view of it. there was nearly always some flutterer or hummer poising above it, or touching it eagerly to dart away again in disappointment. but every once in awhile some little wasp, or fly, or shining-winged beetle, or gauzy ichneumon, would alight on the alluring lip, pause, and peer down into the pitcher. as a rule the small investigator would venture farther and farther, till it disappeared. then it never came out again. on a leaf of a huckleberry bush, overhanging the pitcher-plant, a little black ant was running about with the nimble curiosity of her kind. an orange and black butterfly, fluttering lazily in the sun, came close beside the leaf. at this moment a passing shrike swooped down and caught the butterfly in his beak. one of his long wings, chancing to strike the leaf, sent it whirling from its stem; and the ant fell directly upon one of the pitchers below. it was far down upon the red, shining lip of the pitcher that she fell; and there she clung resolutely, her feet sinking into a sort of fur of smooth, whitish hairs. when she had quite recovered her equanimity she started to explore her new surroundings; and, because that was the easiest way to go, she went in the direction toward which the hairs all pointed. in a moment, therefore, she found herself just on the edge of the precipitous slope from the lip to the throat of the pitcher. here, finding the slope strangely slippery, she thought it best to stop and retrace her steps. but when she attempted this she found it impossible. the little, innocent-looking hairs all pressed against her, thrusting her downward. the more she struggled, the more energetically and elastically they pushed back at her; till all at once she was forced over the round, smooth edge, and fell. to her terrified amazement, it was water she fell into. the pitcher was about half full of the chilly fluid. in her kickings and twistings she brought herself to the walls of her green prison, and tried to clamber out,--but here, again, were those cruel hairs on guard to foil her. she tried to evade them, to break them down, to bite them off with her strong, sharp mandibles. at last, by a supreme effort, she managed to drag herself almost clear,--but only to be at once hurled back, and far out into the water, by the sharp recoil of her tormentors. though pretty well exhausted by now, she would not give up the struggle; and presently her convulsive efforts brought her alongside of a refuge. it was only the floating body of a dead moth, but to the ant it was a safe and ample raft. eagerly she crept out upon it, and lay very still for awhile, recovering her strength. more fortunate than most shipwrecked voyagers, she had an edible raft and was therefore in no imminent peril of starvation. the light that came through the veined, translucent walls of this watery prison was of an exquisite cool beryl, very different from the warm daylight overhead. the ant had never been in any such surroundings before, and was bewildered by the strangeness of them. after a brief rest she investigated minutely every corner of her queer retreat, and then, finding that there was nothing she could do to better the situation, she resumed her attitude of repose, with only the slight waving of her antennæ to show that she was awake. for a long time nothing happened. no winds were astir that day, and no sounds came down into the pitcher save the shrill, happy chirping of birds in the surrounding bushes. but suddenly the pitcher began to tip and rock slightly, and the water to wash within its coloured walls. something had alighted on the pitcher's lip. it was something comparatively heavy, that was evident. a moment or two later it came sliding down those treacherous hairs, and fell into the water with a great splash which nearly swept the ant from her refuge. the new arrival was a bee. and now began a tremendous turmoil within the narrow prison. the bee struggled, whirled around on the surface with thrashing wings, and sent the water swashing in every direction, till the ant was nearly drowned. she hung to her raft, however, and waited philosophically for the hubbub to subside. at length the bee too, after half a dozen vain and exhausting struggles to climb out against the opposing array of hairs, encountered the body of the dead moth. instantly she tried to raise herself upon it, so as to escape the chill of the water and dry her wings for flight. but she was too heavy. the moth sank, and rolled over, at the same time being thrust against the wall of the pitcher. the ant, in high indignation clutched a bundle of the hostile hairs in her mandibles, and held herself at anchor against the wall. thoroughly used up, and stupid with panic and chill, the bee kept on futilely grappling with the moth's body, which, in its turn, kept on sinking and rolling beneath her. a very few minutes of such disastrous folly sufficed to end the struggle, and soon the bee was floating, drowned and motionless, beside the moth. then the ant, with satisfaction, returned to her refuge. when things get started happening, they are quite apt to keep it up for awhile, as if events invited events. a large hunting spider, creeping among the grass and weeds, discovered the handsome cluster of the sarracenia. she was one of the few creatures who had learned the secret of the pitcher-plant and knew how to turn it to account. more than once had she found easy prey in some trapped insect struggling near the top of a well-filled pitcher. selecting the largest pitcher as the one most likely to yield results, the spider climbed its stem. then she mounted the bright swell of the pitcher itself, whose smooth outer surface offered no obstacle to such visitors. the pitcher swayed and bowed. the water within washed heavily. and the ant, with new alarm, marked the big, black shadow of the spider creeping up the outside of her prison. having reached the lip of the leaf and cautiously crawled over upon it, the spider took no risks with those traitor hairs. she threw two or three stout cables of web across the lip; and then, with this secure anchorage by which to pull herself back, she ventured fearlessly down the steep of that perilous throat. one hooked claw, outstretched behind her, held aloft the cable which exuded from her spinnerets as she moved. on the extreme of the slope she stopped, and her red, jewelled cluster of eyes glared fiercely down upon the little black ant. the latter shrank and crouched, and tried to hide herself under the side of the dead moth to escape the light of those baleful eyes. this new peril was one which appalled her far more than all the others she had encountered. at this most critical of all crises in the destiny of the little black ant, the fickle fortune of the wild was seized with another whim. an overwhelming cataclysm descended suddenly upon the tiny world of the pitcher-plant. the soft, furry feet of some bounding monster--rabbit, fox, or wildcat--came down amongst the clustered pitchers, crushing several to bits and scattering wide the contents of all the rest. among these latter was that which contained the little black ant. drenched, astonished, but unhurt, she found herself lying in a tuft of splashed grass, once more free. above her, on a grass-top, clung the bewildered spider. as it hung there, conspicuous to all the foraging world, a great black-and-yellow wasp pounced upon it, stung it into helplessness, and carried it off on heavily humming wing. the prowlers heeling under a stiff breeze, the sloop rose joyously to the long caribbean rollers. soon after midnight mahoney awoke. he went to the tiller at once, and let the stalwart jamaican nigger, who constituted his crew, take a turn of sleep. the wind was steady, the sea was clear, there was no island, reef, or shoal between himself and cuba, and mahoney had little to do but hold the tiller and dream. presently clouds gathered, obscuring the moon, and thickened till the light which filtered through them was rather a deceit than an illumination. far-off waves seemed close at hand, and waves so near they were about to break over the bow appeared remote. strange shapes made and unmade themselves among the shifting surfaces, dark, solid forms which melted into flowing, hissing water. mahoney's eyes amused themselves with these fantastic wave-shadows and phantoms of the fluent deep. then, suddenly, one of the dark, submerged shapes broke the rules of the game. it refused to melt and flow. with a gasp mahoney jammed his helm hard round, and let go his sheet on the run. there was a shuddering shock. the boat reared, like a frightened horse struggling to climb a bank. then, with a kind of sickening deliberation, she turned clean over. there was a choking yell from the rudely awakened darky; and mahoney found himself plunged into the smother of the broken waves. when he came to the surface and shook the water out of his eyes, mahoney clutched the stern and pulled himself up to see what had happened. he had run upon a huge fragment of a broken-up wreck. from the heavy, steady motion, he concluded that the boat was caught on a sunken portion of the wreck. some fifteen feet away a space of deck, with a few feet of bulwarks, rose just clear of the waves. this seemed to offer a less precarious refuge than the keel to which he was clinging. he slipped back into the waves, struck out hurriedly, and dragged himself up to the highest point of the wet deck. here, holding to the broken bulwarks, he peered about for his assistant. taking for granted that the negro, whom he knew to be a magnificent swimmer, was clinging to the other side of the boat, he shouted to him, with angry solicitude, but got no answer. it was incomprehensible. starting to his feet he was about to plunge again into the smother and swim around the boat. then he checked himself. such a step was obviously futile. if the negro had been there, he would have lost no time in clambering out upon the bottom of the boat. there was a mystery in that sudden and complete disappearance. with a shiver mahoney crouched down again and clutched the lurching bulwarks. he had plenty of time now to think. he cursed himself bitterly for the rash impatience which had driven him to attempt the journey from kingston to santiago in a little sloop, instead of waiting for the regular steamer, just because he feared the rebellion might fizzle out before he could get there to make a story of it. his folly had cost the nigger's life, at least; and the account was not yet closed! well, the nigger was gone, poor beggar. his black hide had enclosed a man, all right; but there was no use worrying over him. the question was, how soon would a ship come along? this was a frequented sea, more or less. but the wreck was almost level with the water, and lamentably inconspicuous. mahoney knew that unless he were picked up right soon the tropic sun would drive him mad with thirst. he knew, too, that if any sort of a wind should blow up, he would promptly have forced upon him that knowledge of the other world which he was not yet ready to acquire. it was clear that he must find some means of flying a signal. he decided that when daylight came he would dive under the upturned boat, cut away either the gaff or the boom, lash it to the bulwarks, and hoist his shirt upon it as a flag of distress. just before dawn the breeze died away. by the time the east had begun to flame, and thin washes of red-orange to mottle the sky fantastically, the long swells were as smooth as glass. mahoney was impatient to get up his flagstaff, but he wanted plenty of light. he waited until the sky was blue, the sun clear of the horizon. then he stood up, set the hilt of his knife between his teeth, and prepared to plunge in. before doing so, however, he instinctively scanned the water all about him. then he removed the knife from his mouth and stared. "that accounts for it!" he muttered, his teeth baring themselves with a snarl of loathing as he thrust the knife back into his belt and sat down again. just behind him, and not a dozen feet away, a gigantic, triangular black fin was slowly cleaving the swells. there being nothing else to do, mahoney occupied himself in watching that great dorsal, as it prowled slowly this way and that. such a fin, he calculated, must mean a bigger shark than any that had hitherto come within his range of observation. he had a righteous hatred of all sharks, but this one in particular sickened him with vindictive loathing. he knew how lately, and how horridly, it had fed; yet here it was as ravenous as ever. presently it sank out of sight, and was gone for perhaps ten or fifteen minutes. then, on a sudden, there was the devilish black fin again, vigilant and deliberate. [illustration: "lay motionless but for the easy waving of its fins."] as the sun rose, and the light fell more steeply, the dazzling reflections disappeared and mahoney could look down into the transparent blue-green depths. he saw that the wreck on which he had taken refuge was an old one, long adrift in the teeming tropic seas. its under edges carried a dense, waving fringe of barnacles and coloured weed, swarming with sea-creatures. in its shadow life crowded riotously, and death held easy revel. among the looser fringes of the barnacle growth swam fish of the smaller species, many of them flashing with the radiance of sapphire and topaz, or shooting like pink flames. hither and thither darted a small school of blue and gold bonito, insatiable and swift, snatching down their prey from among the tips of the barnacles. about six feet below the barnacles a cavernous-jawed barracouta, perhaps five feet long, lay motionless but for the easy waving of its fins. it must have been gorged, for mahoney, in all his seafaring, had never before seen one of these ravenous and ferocious fish thus at rest. it must even have, for once, lapsed into something like sleep,--a perilous lapse in the strenuous life of the sea, for anything less formidable than a sperm whale or an orca, and not without its dangers even for them. its wide-set, staring eyes seemed to command a view in every direction. yet they did not see a huge, spectral form rise smoothly from below, turning belly upward with a sudden green-white gleam. then, the barracouta's powerful tail twisted with a violence that sent the water swirling as from a screw. but it was too late. the shark's triangular jaws snapped upon their prey, biting the big fish in halves. the two pieces were bolted instantly, as a hungry man bolts a "bluepoint." and the shark--the biggest "man-eater" that mahoney had ever seen--sank slowly out of sight, to reappear at the surface again in five minutes as ravenous as ever. by this time it was beginning to get hot, there on the shelterless wreck. a small steamer passed in the distance. mahoney tore off his shirt and waved it wildly, on the chance that some one on the steamer might at that moment have a telescope pointed in his direction. the steamer went its way. mahoney put on his shirt again, and wished he had not lost his hat. he had a handkerchief, however, and this he wound upon the top of his head like a turban. by wetting it frequently he kept his head and neck cool. as the morning wore on, no fewer than five sails appeared on the horizon, but none came near enough even to excite a thrill of hope. since there was nothing better to do, mahoney was wise enough to keep as still as possible, watching the strange life that went on beneath his refuge, and splashing water over himself from time to time that his skin might absorb some of the liquid, and so the dreaded torment of thirst be a little postponed. the blazing sun dragged slowly past the zenith, indifferent to mahoney's maledictions. along in the afternoon a three-masted schooner hove in sight. there was not enough wind, now, to ruffle the tops of the swells; but there was some breeze up aloft, apparently, and the schooner, with all her canvas spread, was catching it, for she moved along at a brisk pace. her course brought her so near that mahoney tore off his shirt in trembling anxiety and waved it at arm's length, jumping as high as he could in the struggle to make himself conspicuous. finding this fruitless, he then tied the shirt to the sleeves of his white duck coat, making a long streamer, which he thought the lookout could not fail to see. notwithstanding all this frantic effort the schooner sailed on unheeding. from its decks the waving white streamer, if seen at all, would have looked like nothing more than an agitated streak of foam. but to mahoney it seemed that he was being wantonly and brutally ignored. with a pang he realized that his excitement and his effort had accomplished but one thing. they had brought on the thirst! his throat was parching. he had an impulse to break out into a volley of hysterical curses against the retreating ship. but his self-respect withheld him. leaning over the bulwarks, he murmured to the great green prowling shape of his submarine jailer: "you're no worse than lots of men, you ain't, damn you!" as if in answer to this equivocal compliment the shark sailed in to within a little more than arm's length of the bulwark, and looked up at mahoney with cold, malignant eyes. mahoney kicked at him hysterically, then turned away and drenched himself where the little waves ran up shallow over the slope of the deck. the cool of the water on his skin, particularly on his throat and wrists, did actually, though slightly, ease his thirst. [illustration: "only that sharp black fin, that prowled and prowled, kept always in sight"] the night fell windless and clear; and for a time, so black were the shifting reflections on the swells, so confusing the phosphorescent gleams that shot up through the waters, that mahoney could no longer see the stealthy prowling of the great black fin. lashing himself to the bulwark by the sleeves of his shirt, he snatched an hour or two of troubled sleep. once he woke with a shock of disappointment from a dream that the bottom had fallen out of a jug of water which he was just raising to his lips. again he started up shouting, and struggling fiercely with the bonds that held him safely to the bulwark. he had dreamed that a glittering white steam-yacht was speeding close past his refuge,--so close that he had to look up at her rail,--yet the people on her deck most unaccountably failing to see him. from this waking he fell back weak and hopeless, and it was some minutes before he could get his nerves under their wonted cool control. he had no longer any desire for sleep, so he devoted himself again to soaking his wrists in the water and letting the lambent phosphorescence stream through his fingers. at last the moon rose over the waste of sea. across the shimmering silver pathway of its light sailed a far-off ship, small and black. mahoney gazed at it with longing. an hour or two later another ship crossed the radiant pathway. but none came near the wreck. only that sharp black fin, that prowled and prowled, kept always in sight, always near, till mahoney began to wonder if it were really possible that the tireless monster would get him in the end. he registered a vow that if he should find himself growing delirious with thirst he would lash himself so securely to the bulwark that, come what might, the shark should never get his body. comforted by this resolve, and the torment of his thirst mitigated a trifle by a drenching in the brine, mahoney fell asleep again, and did not wake till the sun was streaming savagely on his face. untying himself from the bulwark, mahoney stared about him wildly. a tall-masted brig, with royal and topgallant sails drawing full, was retreating in the distance. apparently, it had passed not far from the wreck. mahoney cursed himself wildly for having allowed himself to fall asleep. this had been perhaps, his one chance. no other sail was in sight. there was nothing but a wisp of smoke on the horizon, betraying the passage of an unseen steamer. mahoney found that he was babbling to himself about it, and the realization shocked him. he shook himself, pulled his courage and his nerve together sharply, then took off his clothes and splashed himself with water from head to foot. it was certain that his thirsty skin must absorb a good share of the liquid so generously applied to it; and thus assuring himself, his thirst became, or seemed to become less intolerable. when he had dressed again,--leaving off his shirt, which he kept tied to the bulwark ready for instant use,--he leaned over and peered down into the smooth water to look for the shark. grim and spectral, the great shape was just in sight, rising with strange indolence toward the surface. evidently, some good-sized victim had just been devoured. the shark came to rest within a few inches of the surface, where the sun could warm its rough back through the thin barrier of the water. there it lay, apparently basking, with the content of one that has well dined. the complacent malignity of its eyes, which seemed to meet the man's eyes with a peculiarly confident menace, filled mahoney with rage. he tore savagely at the bulwarks, in a foolish attempt to provide himself with a missile. in the midst of this futile effort, mahoney chanced to drop his glance into the depths. there he caught sight of something that arrested him, making him forget for the moment even the tortures of his thirst. in the deepest green, at the very confines of his vision, a gigantic shape came faintly into view. it stirred, and grew more distinct. motionless he peered down upon it, striving to make out what it was. his sea lore, more abundant than exact, did not inform him as to whether or not the shark had any enemies to fear; but his imagination, always finding free play in the mysteries of the deep sea, was hospitably ready for any marvel. with fantastic expectancy he watched the sinister form of the strange creature, as it slowly, and stealthily floated upward. presently he recognized it, having caught glimpse of its like once before in a deep lagoon of the ladrones. it was not altogether dissimilar to the great shark basking above it, but slenderer in build, and with a pair of curious lateral fins outspread like broad, blunt wings. the most conspicuous difference was in its head, which was broad and blunt like the fins, and armed with a kind of two-edged saw, perhaps eight inches in width, projecting from its snout to a length of about four feet. the tip of the saw looked as if it had been chopped off square. down both edges ran a series of keen, raking teeth. it was the mysterious and dreadful sawfish, perpetrator of fabulous horrors. [illustration: "directly beneath the shark the stranger came."] mahoney was afraid to move a muscle, lest he should arouse the shark and put it on its guard. the eyes of the stranger stared up with a dead coldness at the bulk of the sleeping monster on the surface. more rapidly now, but still almost without movement of fin or tail, the ominous form rose through the transparent flood, till mahoney could fairly count the teeth on its awkward-looking but hideous weapon. directly beneath the shark the stranger came, till at last there was no more than the space of a few feet between the two giant shapes. and still the shark slumbered. mahoney held his breath. then the sawfish rolled over on its side, turning one edge of the saw toward the surface. for an instant it hung so, poised and still. then the fins and flukes heaved together, the long bulk shot forward and upward, and the living saw cut straight across the belly of the shark, deeply and cleanly, under the urge of that tremendous thrust. mahoney cried out, shuddering at the horrible and unexpected sight. the shark was completely disembowelled. with a gigantic convulsion it sprang almost clear of the water, which was instantly dyed with blood. mahoney now looked for a battle of titans to follow. but in truth the battle was already over. the victim made no attempt at retaliation. it did not even seem to see its foe, or to know what had stricken it. for a few seconds it lashed the surface convulsively. then it dived, plunging straight downward to die unseen in some rayless cavern of the deeps. with a leisurely zest which turned mahoney sick, the monster guzzled its meal, then swam up and nosed inquiringly along the fringe of barnacles. nothing there seeming to interest him, he turned with a disdainful sweep of his huge flukes and bored his way slowly downwards toward the unknown deep whence he had so mysteriously come. unstirring, held fast as if in a hideous dream, mahoney watched the dull gray-black form grow green, and spectral, and faint till at last it vanished. for a brief space he continued to stare after it, picturing it in his fevered imagination when it had sunk far beyond any reach of sight. at last, as if tearing himself free from a horrid spell, he drew a long breath and lifted his eyes to the horizon. there, in full view, but too far away to notice such a speck among the waves as mahoney on his bit of wreck, was a small freight-boat, steaming past at a leisurely pace. mahoney was himself in an instant. he realized that the sawfish had freed him from his dreadful jailer. with his knife between his teeth he dived beneath the upturned sloop and fell to cutting ropes and lashings with a cool but savage haste. in half a minute he reappeared, gasping, but not discouraged. after two or three deep breaths he dived again, and this time when he came up, he brought the long slender pole of the gaff with him. with frantic eagerness he hoisted the white pennon of his shirt and coat, thanking heaven that the gaff was so long. he was about to lash the pole to the bulwarks with his belt, when he remembered that there was not wind enough to run out the signal. lifting it in both hands as high as he could, he waved the flag wildly over his head in great arcs and sudden violent dips. would the lookout on the steamer see? or seeing, would he understand? mahoney felt his strength suddenly failing, as a wave of despair sucked up at his heart. it was all he could do to keep the signal moving. then, at last, he saw that the long line of the steamer's broadside was shortening. yes,--she was coming, she was coming. tremblingly, with fingers that fumbled, he lashed the staff to the bulwark, and sank panting upon the deck. a stranger to the wild as the vessel, a big three-masted schooner, struck again and lurched forward, grinding heavily, she cleared the reef by somewhat more than half her length. then her back broke. the massive swells, pounding upon her from the rear, overwhelmed her stern and crushed it down inescapably upon the rock; and her forward half, hanging in ten fathoms, began to settle sickeningly into the loud hiss and chaos. around the reef, around the doomed schooner, the lead-coloured fog hung thick, impenetrable at half a ship's length. her crew, cool, swift, ready,--they were gaspé and new brunswick fishermen, for the most part,--kept grim silence, and took the sharp orders that came to them like gunshots through the din. the boats were cleared away forward, where the settling of the bow gave some poor shelter. at this moment the fog lifted, vanishing swiftly like a breath from the face of a mirror. straight ahead, not two miles away, loomed a high, black, menacing shore--black, scarred rock, with black woods along its crest and a sharp, white line of surf shuddering along its base. between that shore and the shattered schooner lay many other reefs, whereon the swells boiled white and broke in dull thunder; but off to the southward was clear water, and safety for the boats. at a glance the captain recognized the land as a cape on the south coast of the gaspé peninsula, so far from her course had the doomed schooner been driven. five minutes more, and the loaded boats, hurled up from the seething caldron behind the reef, swung out triumphantly on a long, oil-dark swell, and gained the comparative safety of the open. hardly had they done so when the broken bow of the schooner, with a final rending of timbers, settled in what seemed like a sudden hurry, pitched nose downward into the smother, and sank with a huge, startling sigh. the rear half of the hull was left lodged upon the reef, a kind of gaping cavern, with the surf plunging over it in cataracts, and a mad mob of boxes, bales, and wine-casks tumbling out from its black depths. presently the torrent ceased. then, in the yawning gloom, appeared the head and fore-quarters of a white horse, mane streaming, eyes starting with frantic terror at the terrific scene that met them. the vision sank back instantly into the darkness. a moment later a vast surge, mightier than any which had gone before, engulfed the reef. its gigantic front lifted the remnant of the wreck half-way across the barrier, tipping it forward, and letting it down with a final shattering crash; and the white horse, hurled violently forth, sank deep into the tumult behind the reef. the schooner which had fallen on such sudden doom among the st. lawrence reefs had sailed from oporto with a cargo, chiefly wine, for quebec. driven far south of her course by a terrific northeaster roaring down from labrador, she had run into a fog as the wind fell, and been swept to her fate in the grip of an unknown tide-drift. on board, as it chanced, travelling as an honoured passenger, was a finely bred, white spanish stallion of barb descent, who had been shipped to canada by one of the heads of the great house of robin, those fishing-princes of gaspé. when the vessel struck, and it was seen that her fate was imminent and inevitable, the captain had loosed the beautiful stallion from his stall, that at the last he might at least have a chance to fight his own fight for life. and so it came about that, partly through his own agile alertness, partly by the singular favour of fortune, he had avoided getting his slim legs broken in the hideous upheaval and confusion of the wreck. [illustration: "he struck out desperately, and soon cleared the turmoil of the breakers."] when the white stallion came to the surface, snorting with terror and blowing the salt from his wide nostrils, he struck out desperately, and soon cleared the turmoil of the breakers. over the vast, smooth swells he swam easily, his graceful, high head out of water. but at first, in his bewilderment and panic, he swam straight seaward. in a few moments, however, as he saw that he seemed to be overcoming disaster very well, his wits returned, and the nerve of his breeding came to his aid. keeping on the crest of a roller, he surveyed the situation keenly, observed the land, and noted the maze of reefs that tore the leaden surges into tumult. instead of heading directly shoreward, therefore,--for every boiling whiteness smote him with horror,--he shaped his course in on a long slant, where the way seemed clear. once well south of the loud herd of reefs, he swam straight inshore, until the raving and white convulsion of the surf along the base of the cliff again struck terror into his heart; and again he bore away southward, at a distance of about three hundred yards outside the breakers. strong, tough-sinewed, and endowed with the unfailing wind of his far-off desert ancestors, he was not aware of any fatigue from his long swim. presently, rounding a point of rock which thrust a low spur out into the surges, he came into a sheltered cove where there was no surf. the long waves rolled on past the point, while in the cove there was only a measured, moderate rise and fall of the gray water, like a quiet breathing, and only a gentle back-wash fringed the black-stoned, weedy beach with foam. at the head of the cove a shallow stream, running down through a narrow valley, emptied itself between two little red sand-spits. close beside the stream the white stallion came ashore. as soon as his feet were quite clear of the uppermost fringe of foam, as soon as he stood on ground that was not only firm, but dry, he shook himself violently, tossed his fine head with a whinny of exultation, and turned a long look of hate and defiance upon the element from which he had just made his escape. then at a determined trot he set off up the valley, eager to leave all sight and sound of the sea as far as possible behind him. reared as he had been on the windy and arid plateau of northern spain, the wanderer was filled with great loneliness in these dark woods of fir and spruce. an occasional maple in its blaze of autumn scarlet, or a clump of white birch in shimmering, aërial gold, seen unexpectedly upon the heavy-shadowed green, startled him like a sudden noise. nevertheless, strange though they were, they were trees, and so not altogether alien to his memory. and the brook, with its eddying pools and brawling, shallow cascades, that seemed to him a familiar, kindly thing. it was only the sea that he really feared and hated. so long as he was sure he was putting the huge surges and loud reefs farther and farther behind him, he felt a certain measure of content as he pushed onward deeper and deeper into the serried gloom and silence of the spruce woods. at last, coming to a little patch of brook-side meadow where the grass kept short and sweet and green even at this late season, he stopped his flight, and fell to pasturing. late in the afternoon, the even gray mass of cloud which for days had veiled the sky thinned away and scattered, showing the clear blue of the north. the sun, near setting, sent long rays of cheerful light down the narrow valley, bringing out warm, golden bronzes in the massive, dull green of the fir and spruce and hemlock, and striking sharp flame on the surfaces of the smooth pools. elated by the sudden brightness, the white stallion resumed his journey at a gallop, straight toward the sunset, his long mane and tail, now dry, streaming out on the light afternoon breeze that drew down between the hills. he kept on up the valley till the sun went down, and then, in the swiftly deepening twilight, came to a little grassy point backed by a steep rock. here where the rippling of the water enclosed him on three sides, and the rock, with a thick mass of hemlocks, surmounting it, shut him in on the fourth, he felt more secure, less desolate, than when surrounded by the endless corridors of the forest; and close to the foot of the rock he lay down, facing the mysterious gloom of the trees across the stream. just as he was settling himself, a strange voice, hollow yet muffled, cried across the open space "_hoo-hoo, hoo-hoo, woo-hoo-hoo!_" and he bounded to his feet, every nerve on the alert. he had never in his life before heard the voice of the great horned owl, and his apprehensive wonder was excusable. again and yet again came the hollow call out of the deep dark of the banked woods opposite. as he stood listening tensely, eyes and nostrils wide, a bat flitted past his ears, and he jumped half around, with a startled snort. the ominous sound, however, was not repeated, and in a couple of minutes he lay down again, still keeping watchful eyes upon the dark mass across the stream. then, at last, a broad-winged bird, taking shape softly above the open, as noiseless as a gigantic moth, floated over him, and looked down upon him under his rock with round, palely luminous eyes. by some quick intuition he knew that this visitor was the source of the mysterious call. it was only a bird, after all, and no great thing in comparison with the eagles of his own pyrenean heights. his apprehensions vanished, and he settled himself to sleep. worn out with days and nights of strain and terror, the exile slept soundly. soon, under the crisp autumn starlight, a red fox crept down circumspectly to hunt mice in the tangled dry grasses of the point. at sight of the strange white form sleeping carelessly at the foot of the rock he bounded back into cover, startled quite out of his philosophic composure. he had never before seen any such being as that; and the smell, too, was mysterious and hostile to his wrinkling fastidious nostrils. having eyed the newcomer for some time from his hiding-place under the branches, he crept around the rock and surveyed him stealthily from the other side. finding no enlightenment, or immediate prospect of it, he again drew back, and made a careful investigation of the stranger's tracks, which were quite unlike the tracks of any creature he knew. finally he made up his mind that he must confine his hunting to the immediate neighbourhood, keeping the stranger under surveillance till he could find out more about him. soon after the fox's going a tuft-eared lynx came out on the top of the rock, and with round, bright, cruel eyes glared down upon the grassy point, half-hoping to see some rabbits playing there. instead, she saw the dim white bulk of the sleeping stallion. in her astonishment at this unheard-of apparition, her eyes grew wider and whiter than before, her hair stood up along her back, her absurd little stub of a tail fluffed out to a fussy pompon, and she uttered a hasty, spitting growl as she drew back into the shelter of the hemlocks. in the dreaming ears of the sleeper this angry sound was only a growl of the seas which had for days been clamouring about the gloom of his stall on the ship. it disturbed him not at all. at about two o'clock in the morning, at that mystic hour when nature seems to send a message to all her animate children, preparing them for the advent of dawn, the white stallion got up, shook himself, stepped softly down to the brook's edge for a drink, and then fell to cropping the grass wherever it remained green. the forest, though to a careless ear it might have seemed as silent as before, had in reality stirred to a sudden, ephemeral life. far off, from some high rock, a she-fox barked sharply. faint, muffled chirps from the thick bushes told of junkos and chickadees waking up to see if all was well with the world. the mice set up a scurrying in the grass. and presently a high-antlered buck stepped out of the shadows and started across the open toward the brook. the dark buck, himself a moving shadow, saw the stallion first, and stopped with a loud snort of astonishment and defiance. the stallion wheeled about, eyed the intruder for a moment doubtfully, then trotted up with a whinny of pleased interrogation. he had no dread of the antlered visitor, but rather a hope of companionship in the vast and overpowering loneliness of the alien night. the buck, however, was in anything but a friendly mood. his veins aflame with the arrogant pugnacity of the rutting season, he saw in the white stranger only a possible rival, and grew hot with rage at his approach. with an impatient stamping of his slim fore hoofs, he gave challenge. but to the stallion this was an unknown language. innocently he came up, his nose stretched out in question, till he was within a few feet of the motionless buck. then, to his astonishment, the latter bounced suddenly aside like a ball, stood straight up on his hind legs, and struck at him like lightning with those keen-edged, slim fore hoofs. it was a savage assault, and two long, red furrows--one longer and deeper than the other--appeared on the stallion's silky, white flank. in that instant the wanderer's friendliness vanished, and an avenging fury took its place. his confidence had been cruelly betrayed. with a harsh squeal, his mouth wide open and lips drawn back from his formidable teeth, he sprang at his assailant. but the buck had no vain idea of standing up against this whirlwind of wrath which he had evoked. he bounded aside, lightly but hurriedly, and watched for an opportunity to repeat his attack. the stallion, however, was not to be caught again; and the dashing ferocity of his rushes kept his adversary ceaselessly on the move, bounding into the air and leaping aside to avoid those disastrous teeth. the buck was awaiting what he felt sure would come, the chance to strike again; and his confidence in his own supreme agility kept him from any apprehension as to the outcome of the fight. but the buck's great weakness lay in his ignorance, his insufficient knowledge of the game he was playing. he had no idea that his rushing white antagonist had any other tactics at command. when he gave way, therefore, he went just far enough to escape the stallion's teeth and battering fore feet. the stallion, on the other hand, soon realized the futility of his present method of attack against so nimble an adversary. on his next rush, therefore, just as the buck bounced aside, he wheeled in a short half-circle, and lashed out high and far with his steel-shod heels. the buck was just within the most deadly range of the blow. he caught the terrific impact on the base of the neck and the forward point of the shoulder, and went down as if an explosive bullet had struck him. before he could even stir to rise, the stallion was upon him, trampling, battering, squealing, biting madly; and the fight was done. when the wanderer had spent his vengeance, and paused, snorting and wild-eyed, to take breath, he looked down upon a mangled shape that no longer struggled or stirred or even breathed. then the last of his righteous fury faded out. the sight and smell of the blood sickened him, and in a kind of terror he turned away. for a few hesitating moments he stared about his little retreat and then, finding it had grown hateful to him, he forsook it, and pushed onward up the edge of the stream, between the black, impending walls of the forest. [illustration: "the southward journeying ducks, which would drop with loud quacking and splashing into the shallows"] about daybreak he came out on the flat, marshy shores of a shrunken lake, the unstirred waters of which gleamed violet and pale-gold beneath the twisting coils and drifting plumes of white vapour. all around the lake stood the grim, serried lines of the firs, under a sky of palpitating opal. the marshes, in their autumn colouring of burnt gold and pinky olive, with here and there a little patch of enduring emerald, caught the wanderer's fancy with a faint reminder of home. here was pasture, here was sweet water, here was room to get away from the oppressive mystery of the woods. he halted to rest and recover himself; and in the clear, tonic air, so cold that every morning the edges of the lake were crisped with ice, the aching red gashes on his flank speedily healed. he had been at the lake about ten days, and was beginning to grow restlessly impatient of the unchanging solitude, before anything new took place. a vividly conspicuous object in his gleaming whiteness as he roamed the marshes, pasturing or galloping up and down the shore with streaming mane and tail, he had been seen and watched and wondered at by all the wild kindreds who had their habitations in the woods about the lake. but they had all kept carefully out of his sight, regarding him with no less terror than wonder; and he imagined himself utterly alone, except for the fish-hawks, and the southward journeying ducks, which would drop with loud quacking and splashing into the shallows after sunset, and the owls, the sombre hooting of which disturbed him every night. several times, too, from the extreme head of the lake he heard a discordant call, a great braying bellow, which puzzled him, and brought him instantly to his feet by a note of challenge in it; but the issuer of this hoarse defiance never revealed himself. sometimes he heard a similar call, with a difference--a longer, less harshly blatant cry, the under note of which was one of appeal rather than of challenge. over both he puzzled in vain; for the moose, bulls and cows alike, had no wish to try the qualities of the great white stranger who seemed to have usurped the lordship of the lake. at last, one violet evening in the close of the sunset, as he stood fetlock-deep in the chill water, drinking, a light sound of many feet caught his alert ear. lifting his head quickly, he saw a herd of strange-looking, heavy-antlered, whitish-brown deer emerging in long line from the woods and crossing the open toward the foot of the lake. the leader of the caribou herd, a massive bull, nearly white, with antlers almost equal to those of a moose, returned the stallion's inquiring stare with a glance of mild curiosity, but did not halt an instant. it was plain that he considered his business urgent; for the caribou, as a rule, are nothing if not curious when confronted by any strange sight. but at present the whole herd, which journeyed, in the main, in single file, seemed to be in a kind of orderly haste. they turned questioning eyes upon the white stallion as they passed, then looked away indifferently, intent only upon following their leader on his quest. the stallion stood watching, his head high and his nostrils wide, till the very last of the herd had disappeared into the woods across the lake. then the loneliness of his spacious pasture all at once quite overwhelmed him. he did not want the company of the caribou, by any means, or he might have followed them as they turned their backs toward the sunset; but it was the dwellings of men he wanted, the human hand on his mane, the provendered stall, the voice of kindly command, and the fellowship of his kindred of the uncleft hoof. in some way he had got it into his head that men might be found most readily by travelling toward the southwest. toward the head of the lake, therefore, and just a little south of the sunset's deepest glow, he now took his way. he was done with the lake and the empty marshes. from the head of the lake he followed up a narrow still-water for perhaps half a mile, crashing his way through a difficult tangle of fallen, rotting trunks and dense underbrush, till he came out upon another and much smaller lake, very different from the one he had just left. here were no meadowy margins; but the shores were steep and thick-wooded to the water's edge. diagonally thrust out across the outlet, and about a hundred yards above it, ran a low, bare spit of white sand, evidently covered at high water. over the black line of the woods hung a yellow crescent moon, only a few nights old and near setting. coming suddenly from the difficult gloom of the woods, where the noise of his own movements kept his senses occupied to the exclusion of all else, the wanderer stopped and stood quite still for a long time under the shadow of a thick hemlock, investigating this new world with ear and eye and nostril. presently, a few hundred yards around the lake shore, to his left, almost opposite the jutting sand-spit, arose a noisy crashing and thrashing of the bushes. as he listened in wonder, his ears erect and eagerly interrogative, the noise stopped, and again the intense silence settled down upon the forest. a minute or two later a big, high-shouldered, shambling, hornless creature came out upon the sand-spit, stood blackly silhouetted against the moonlight, stretched its ungainly neck, and sent across the water that harsh, bleating cry of appeal which he had been hearing night after night. it was the cow moose calling for her mate. and in almost instant answer arose again that great crashing among the underbrush on the opposite shore. [illustration: "it was the cow moose calling for her mate."] with a certain nervousness added to his curiosity, the white stallion listened as the crashing noise drew near. at the same time something in his blood began to tingle with the lust of combat. there was menace in the approaching sounds, and his courage arose to meet it. all at once, within about fifty yards of him, and just across the outlet, the noise ceased absolutely. for perhaps ten minutes there was not a sound,--not the snap of a twig or the splash of a ripple,--except that twice again came the call of the solitary cow standing out against the moon. then, so suddenly that he gave an involuntary snort of amazement at the apparition, the wanderer grew aware of a tall, black bulk with enormous antlers which took shape among the undergrowth not ten paces distant. the wanderer's mane rose along his arched neck, his lips drew back savagely over his great white teeth, fire flamed into his eyes, and for a score of seconds he stared into the wicked, little, gleaming eyes of the bull moose. he was eager for the fight, but waiting for the enemy to begin. then, as noiselessly and miraculously as he had come, the great moose disappeared, simply fading into the darkness, and leaving the stallion all a-tremble with apprehension. for some minutes he peered anxiously into every black thicket within reach of his eyes, expecting a rushing assault from some unexpected quarter. then, glancing out again across the lake, he saw that the cow had vanished from the moonlit point. bewildered, and in the grasp of an inexplicable trepidation, he waded out into the lake belly-deep, skirted around the south shore, climbed the steep slope, and plunged straight into the dark of the woods. his impulse was to get away at once from the mysteries of that little, lonely lake. the deep woods, of course, for him were just as lonely as the lake, for his heedless trampling and conspicuous colouring made a solitude all about him as he went. at last, however, he stumbled upon a trail. this he adopted gladly as his path, for it led away from the lake and in a direction which his whim had elected to follow. moving now on the deep turf, with little sound save the occasional swish of branches that brushed his flanks, he began to realize that the woods were not as empty as he had thought. on each side, in the soft dark, he heard little squeaks and rustlings and scurryings. rabbits went bounding across the trail, just under his nose. once a fox trotted ahead of him, looking back coolly at the great, white stranger. once a small, stripe-backed animal passed leisurely before him, and a whiff of pungent smell annoyed his sensitive nose. wide wings winnowed over him now and then, making him jump nervously; and once a pouncing sound, followed by a snarl, a squeal, and a scuffle, moved him to so keen an excitement that he swerved a few steps from the trail in his anxiety to see what it was all about. he failed to see anything, however, and after much stumbling was relieved to get back to the easy trail again. with all these unusual interests the miles and the hours seemed short to him; and when the gray of dawn came filtering down among the trees, he saw before him a clearing with two low-roofed cabins in the middle of it. wild with delight at this evidence of man's presence, he neighed shrilly, and tore, up to the door of the nearest cabin at full gallop, his hoofs clattering on the old chips which strewed the open. to his bitter disappointment, he found the cabin, which was simply an old lumber-camp, deserted. the door being ajar, he nosed it open and entered. the damp, cheerless interior, with no furnishing but a rusty stove, a long bench hewn from a log, and a tier of bunks along one side, disheartened him. the smell of human occupation still lingered about the bunks, but all else savoured of desertion and decay. with drooping head he emerged, and crossed over to the log stable. that horses had occupied it once, though not recently, was plain to him through various unmistakable signs; but it was more in the hope of sniffing the scent of his own kind than from any expectation of finding the stable occupied that he poked his nose in through the open doorway. it was no scent of horses, however, which now greeted his startled nostrils. it was a scent quite unfamiliar to him, but one which, nevertheless, filled him with instinctive apprehension. at the first whiff of it he started back. then, impelled by his curiosity, he again looked in, peering into the gloom. the next instant he was aware of a huge black shape leaping straight at him. springing back with a loud snort, he wheeled like lightning, and lashed out madly with his heels. the bear caught the blow full in the ribs, and staggered against the door-post with a loud, grunting cough, while the stallion trotted off some twenty yards across the chips and paused, wondering. the blow, in all probability, had broken several of the bear's ribs, but without greatly impairing his capacity for a fight; and now, in a blind rage, he rushed again upon the intruder who had dealt him so rude a buffet. the stallion, however, was in no fighting mood. depressed as he was by the desolation of the cabin, and daunted by the mysterious character of this attack from the dark of the stable, he was now like a child frightened of ghosts. not the bear alone, but the whole place, terrified him. away he went at full gallop across the clearing, by good fortune struck the continuation of the loggers' road, and plunged onward into the shadowy forest. for a couple of miles he ran, then he slowed down to a trot, and at last dropped into a leisurely walk. this trail was much broader and clearer than the one which had led him to the camp, and a short, sweet grass grew along it, so that he pastured comfortably without much loss of time. the spirit of his quest, however, was now so strong upon him that he would not rest after feeding. mile after mile he pressed on, till the sun was high in the clear, blue heavens, and the shadows of the ancient firs were short and luminous. then suddenly the woods broke away before him. far below he saw the blue sea sparkling. but it was not the beauty of the sea that held his eyes. from his very feet the road dropped down through open, half-cleared burnt lands, a stretch of rough pasture-fields, and a belt of sloping meadow, to a little white village clustering about an inlet. the clutter of roofs was homelike to his eyes, hungry with long loneliness; the little white church, with shining spire and cross, was very homelike. but nearer, in the very first pasture-field, just across the burnt land, was a sight that came yet nearer to his heart. there, in a corner of the crooked snake-fence, stood two bay mares and a foal, their heads over the fence as they gazed up the hill in his direction. up went mane and tail, and loud and long he neighed to them his greeting. their answer was a whinny of welcome, and down across the fields he dashed at a wild gallop that took no heed of fences. when, a little later in the day, a swarthy french-canadian farmer came up from the village to lead his mares down to water, he was bewildered with delight to find himself the apparent master of a splendid white stallion, which insisted on claiming him, nosing him joyously, and following at his heels like a dog. when the logs come down it was april, and the time of freshet, when "again the last thin ice had gone to join the swinging sea." after the ice was all away the river had risen rapidly, flooding the intervale meadows, till in some places the banks, deep under water, were marked only by the tops of the alder and willow bushes, and by a line of elms growing, apparently, in the middle of a lake. behind these elms the water was as still as a lake; but in front of them it rushed in heavy swirls, swaying the alders and willows, and boiling with swish and gurgle around the resolutely opposing trunks. above the swollen flood of water,--the hurried retreat of the last snow from a thousand forest valleys converging around the river's far-off source,--washed softly the benign and illimitable flood of the april air. this air seemed to carry with reluctance a certain fluctuating chill, caught from the icy water. but in the main its burden was the breath of willows catkin and sprouting grass and the first shy bloom on the open edges of the uplands. it was the characteristic smell of the northern spring, tender and elusive, yet keenly penetrating. if gems had perfumes, just so might the opal smell. besides the fragrance and the faint chill, the air carried an april music, a confusion of delicate sounds that seemed striving to weave a tissue of light melody over the steady, muffled murmur of the freshet. in this melody the ear could differentiate certain notes,--the hum of bees and flies in the willow bloom, the staccato _chirr_, _chirr_ of the blackbirds in the elm-tops, the vibrant yet liquid _kong-kla-lee_ of the redwings in the alders, the intermittent ecstasy of a stray song-sparrow, the occasional long flute-call of a yellowhammer across the flood, and, once in awhile, a sudden clamour of crows, a jangle of irrelevant, broken chords. from time to time, as if at points in a great rhythm too wide for the ear to grasp, all these sounds would cease for a second or two, leaving the murmur of the flood strangely conspicuous. the colours of the world of freshet were as delicately thrilling as its scents and sounds. the veiled blue pallor of the sky and the milky, blue-gray pallor of the water served as neutral background to innumerable thin washes and stains of tint. over the alders a bloom of lavender and faint russet, over the willows a lacing of pale yellow, over the maples a veiling of rose-pink, over the open patches on the uplands a mist that hinted of green, and over the further hills of the forest, broad, smoky smudges of indigo. here and there, just above the reach of the freshet, a pine or spruce interrupted the picture emphatically with an intrusion of firm green-black. into this opalescent scene, some days before the freshet reached its height, the logs began to come down. in the upper country every tributary stream was pouring them out in shoals,--heavy, blind, butting, and blundering shoals,--to be carried by the great river down to the booms and saws above its mouth. some, caught in eddies, were thrust aside up the bank to lie and slowly rot among the living trees. but most, darting and wallowing through mad rapids, or shooting falls, or whirling and circling dully down the more tranquil reaches of the tide, made shift to accomplish their voyage. they would blacken the broad river for acres at a time; and then again straggle along singly, or by twos and threes. it was a good run of logs and the scattered dwellers along the river forgave the unusual excesses of the freshet, because to them it was chiefly important that all the logs of the winter's chopping should be got out. on a single log, at a most daunting distance from either shore, came voyaging a lonely and bedraggled little traveller. this particular red squirrel had been chattering gaily in the top of an old tree on the river-bank, when misfortune took him unawares. the tree was on a bluff just where a small but very turbulent and overswollen stream flowed in. the flood had stealthily undermined the bluff. suddenly the squirrel had felt the tree sway ominously beneath him. he had leaped for safety, but too late! the whole bank had melted into the current. by great luck, the squirrel had managed to swim to a passing log. breathless and all but drowned, he had clambered upon it. before he could recover his wits enough to make a venture for shore, the vehement lesser stream had swept his log clean out into mid-channel. though a bold enough swimmer, he had seen that he could not face that boiling tide with any hope of success; so he had clung to his unstable refuge and waited upon fate. for perhaps an hour the squirrel journeyed thus without incident or further adventure. then, in a wide, comparatively sluggish reach of the river, some whimsical cross-current had borne his log over to the neighbourhood of a whole, voyaging fleet of brown timbers. unable to see how far this group extended, the squirrel inferred that it might possibly afford him passage to the shore. with a tremendous leap he gained the nearest of the timber. thence he went skipping joyously, now up river and now down, skirting wide spaces of clear water, and twice swimming open lanes too broad to jump, till he was not more than a hundred yards from the line of trees that marked the flooded bank. some thirty feet beyond, and that much nearer safety, one more log floated alone. the plucky little animal jumped as far as he could, landed with a splash, and swam vigorously for this last log. he gained it, and was just dragging himself out upon it, when there was a rush and heavy break in the water, and a pair of big jaws snapped close behind him. an agonized spring saved him, and he clung flat, quivering, on the top of the log. but the hungry pickerel had captured nearly half his tail. [illustration: "the plucky little animal jumped as far as he could."] a minute or two later he had recovered from this shock; and thereupon he sat up and chattered shrill indignation, twitching defiantly the sore and bleeding stump. this outburst perhaps relieved his feelings a little; for apparently the red squirrel needs to give his emotions vent more than any other member of the wild kindreds. but he had learned a lesson. he would not again try swimming in a water which pickerel inhabited. then, a little later, he learned another. a fish-hawk passed overhead. the fish-hawk would not have harmed him under any circumstances. but the squirrel thought of other hawks, less gentle-mannered; and he realized that the loud volubility which in the security of his native trees he might indulge would never do out here on his shelterless log. he stopped his complaints, crouched flat, and scanned the sky anxiously for sign of other hawks. he had suddenly realized that he was now naked to the eyes of all his enemies. presently a new terror came to sap his courage. a little way ahead the banks were high and the channel narrow; and the river, no longer able to relieve the freshet strain by spreading itself over wide meadows, became a roaring rapid. the squirrel heard that terrifying roar. he noted how swiftly it was approaching. in a half-panic he stared about, almost ready to dare the pickerel and make a try for shore, rather than be carried through those rapids. in this extremity of terror he saw what, at other times, would have frightened him almost as much as hawk or pickerel. a rowboat slowly drew near, picking its way through the logs. the one rower, a grizzled old river-man, was surging vigorously, to avoid being swept down into the thunderous narrows. but as he approached, he noticed the trembling squirrel on the log. in a flash he took in the situation. with a sheepish grin, as if ashamed of himself for troubling about a "blame squirrel," he thrust out the tip of an oar toward the log, with a sort of shy invitation. the squirrel, fortunately for himself, was one of those animals which are sometimes open to a new idea. he did not trust the man, to be sure. but he trusted him more than he did the rapids ahead, and feared him less than he feared the pickerel. promptly he skipped aboard the boat, and perched himself on the bow, as far away as possible from his rescuer. the man wasted no time on sentimentalizing, but pulled as hard as he could for shore. when near the bank, however, and out of the stress of the current, he permitted himself what he considered a piece of foolishness. he turned the boat about, and backed in till the stern touched land. he wanted to see what the squirrel, up there in the bow, was going to do about it. the little animal made up his mind quickly. scared but resolute, he darted along the gunwale. the rower, with both arms outspread, was directly in his way. he hesitated, gave a nervous chirrup, then launched himself high into the air. his little feet struck smartly on the top of the man's head. then he was off up the bank as if hawk and pickerel and rapids were all after him together. a moment later from the thick top of a fir-tree came his shrill chatter of triumph and defiance. "sassy little varmint!" muttered the old river-man, looking up at him with indulgent eyes. a duel in the deep though there was no wind, the wide surface of the estuary was curiously disturbed. in from the open sea came swiftly as it were a wedge of roughness, its edges lightly dancing, sparkling with blue-and-silver flashes. the strange disturbance kept on straight up the channel, leaving the placid shoals along-shore to shine unruffled in the low, level-glancing arctic sun. down along the flat, interminable shore, picking his way watchfully among the ragged ice-cakes of the tempestuous spring, came a huge white bear. his small, snaky, cruel head was bent downwards, while his fierce little eyes peered among the tumbled ice blocks for possible dead fish. his long, loose-jointed body twisted sinuously as he moved--the only living creature to be seen up and down the level desolation of those bleak shores. the white bear was an old male, restless, and of savage temper. like many of his fellows among the older males, he had not been so fortunate as to slumber away the long, terrific, arctic winter in the shelter of a snow-buried rock. all through the months of dark and tempest, of ghostly auroras and cold unspeakable, he had roamed the dead world and fought his fight with hunger. his craft, his strength, his fierce desperation in attack, had pulled him through. lean and savage, he sniffed the oncoming of spring, and watched the ice go grinding out. presently his keen ears noted a faint sound, which seemed to blow in from the sea. as there was no wind, this was worthy of note. lifting his black nose high above the ice-cakes, he sniffed and peered intently at the inrushing wedge of tumbled water. his uncertainty was not for long. the salmon were returning. this was the vanguard of the spring run. for a few seconds the great white shape stood as if turned to stone, watching the radiant confusion. here and there he saw a slender body flash forth for an instant, half its length above the sparkling water, as if striving to escape some unseen enemy. the school was making for the main channel, which ran between two low, naked islets of rock, perhaps half a mile apart. the nearest of these was about three hundred yards from the shore. as soon as the bear made sure that the salmon were taking this course, he galloped at top speed--a long, loose, shambling, but rapid pace--down along the shore till just abreast of the islet. then he plunged in and swam for it, his sharp black muzzle and narrow white head cleaving the smooth flood with almost incredible swiftness, and throwing off an oily, trailing ripple on either side. when he reached the islet the front of the salmon school was still some forty or fifty paces distant. he crossed the rocks, slipped smoothly down into the water again, and waited for the shining turmoil to break upon him. for some reason known only to the hosts of the salmon themselves, however, the shining turmoil swerved as it approached the islet, crowding over toward the other side of the channel. the bear's hungry little eyes blazed savagely at this. he imagined the hordes had taken alarm at his dread presence,--a natural imagining on his part, since he knew of nothing but the old bull walrus that dared ever await his approach. but as a matter of fact the eager myriads of the salmon, thrilling with life and vigour and the mating fire of spring, were no more conscious of the savage animal than if he had been a rock or an ice-floe. the joy of the incoming rush was in their splendid sinews, and the lure of the shallow, singing rapids in their veins. to that exultant host an enemy, however formidable, was but an incident. the exhaustless fertility of their race derided fate. with a grunt the bear launched himself through the whitish flood. on the flanks of the flashing host he dived, swimming sinuously and with extraordinary swiftness like a seal. rising gradually toward the surface, he struck this way and that, with wide jaws and armed fore paws, among the crowded ranks of the salmon. his object was to kill, kill, kill, before the opportunity passed by, in order that there should be many dead fish to drift ashore and be picked up at his leisure. after a minute or two of this savage work, which turned the thronged tide crimson all about him, he came to the surface for breath. the upper ranks of the salmon were still flashing on every side, and half-leaping out of water within the very sweep of his deadly paw, heedless of his presence. his hunger being fierce upon him, he now seized a good-sized fish, bit its backbone through to put an end to its troublesome struggling, and devoured it as he swam along slowly with the host. suddenly, not a dozen feet ahead of his nose, a huge salmon seemed to be lifted horizontally almost clear of the water. it writhed and thrashed for a second in a sort of convulsion, then sank with a heavy swirl. the bear stared curiously. he had never seen anything like that before. the salmon had not jumped of its own accord, that was evident. it had apparently been held up from below, firmly and steadily sustained as it struggled, for that brief space of moments. to the wild creatures anything new, anything unknown, is always either interesting or terrifying. the white bear was unacquainted with terror, but he was interested instantly. he swam toward the spot where the salmon had sunk. the next moment something still more strange arrested him. a little to one side of the spot where the salmon had behaved so curiously, a great sharp-pointed spike of yellow horn, massive and twisted, was thrust up about three feet above the water and instantly withdrawn. blood clung thinly in the convolutions of the horn. it was a mysterious and menacing weapon. filled with a curiosity that was now warming into wrath, the bear made for the spot. there was something like defiance in that sudden upthrust. moreover, it seemed that some stranger was poaching on his fishing-grounds. the bear's wrath flamed into fury in a few seconds. unable to see down into the disturbed and discoloured tide, he dived deep, to get below the salmon and the blood, and see what manner of rival it was with which he had to deal. whatever it was, he was going to drive it off or kill it. he would share his salmon with no one. meanwhile, just beneath the lowermost ranks of the horde, a big, pallid-skinned, fish-like creature was swimming slowly this way and that. shaped something like a porpoise, with a big bluff head and tremendously powerful flukes, it belonged evidently to the great kinship of the whales. its massive body was about fourteen feet in length. but the strange thing about it, setting it wide apart from all its cetacean kin, was a long, heavy, twisted horn or tusk, of yellow ivory, jutting straight out from its upper jaw to a length of about four feet. it was that most peculiar of all the whales, a narwhal. from time to time this ominous shape would launch itself upward among the salmon, transfixing some of the largest fish with lightning thrusts of its tusk, and killing others by terrible, thrashing side-blows of the weapon. sometimes it would open its great mouth and engulf the most convenient victim; but it did not seem ravenous. its hunger was already all but glutted, and its purpose seemed to be, mainly, to kill, in order that food might still be abundant after the salmon had passed on up the river beyond his reach. when the white bear, swimming under water outstretched like an otter, saw this threatening form, his veins ran fire. darting downward, easily as a mink might have done, he struck the unsuspecting narwhal in the middle of the back just between the flippers. his mighty fore paws, armed with claws like knife-blades, tore two gaping wounds in the narwhal's hide, and the dark blood jetted forth. but the wounds went little below the blanket of blubber which enclosed the narwhal underneath his hide. beyond the pain of those two tearing buffets, the great sea-beast was little the worse of them. with a surge of his tail he lunged forward, and turned furiously upon his assailant. the bear, though rash in his arrogance and rage, was no mere headlong blunderer. though he mistook the narwhal for some kind of gigantic seal, and therefore scorned him, he had not missed the possibilities of that long, menacing horn. he was upon his foe again in an instant, not giving him time to charge, and successfully planted another rending stroke which disabled the narwhal's right flipper. then, however, finding that he could hold his breath no longer after such terrific exertion, he darted to the surface, and hurriedly refilled his lungs. to regain his breath took him but a moment, and instantly aware of his peril while at the surface, he dived again to renew his attack. as he dived, either his own craft or some subtle forewarning led him to twist sharply to one side. but for this, his fighting would have ended then and there, his heart split by the thrust of that giant tusk. as it was, the mad upward rush of the narwhal missed its aim. the bear felt a couple of salmon hurled in his face. then the horn shot past his neck; and a black mass smote him full in the chest, with a force that knocked the wind out of him, and bore him, clawing and biting passionately, back to the surface. his blows, of course, were delivered blindly, but one struck home just above the narwhal's sinister little eye, wiping it out of existence. as the bear got his head above water, he choked and gasped, swimming high for a few seconds in the struggle to recover his breath. realizing now to the full how dangerous an adversary he had challenged, he knew that every second he remained at the surface was a deadly peril. but, at first, the breath would not return to his buffeted lungs. with his nose high in air he gave a longing look away across the tumult of the journeying host, across the tranquil white water beyond, to the low, desolate shore with its dirty ice-cakes. for the moment, he wished himself back there. then, as he regained his breath, and his great, bellows-like lungs resumed their function, his courage and his fighting fury also returned. the red light of battle blazed up again in his eyes, and wheeling half-about with a violence that sent the water swirling and foaming from his mighty shoulders and hurled a score of salmon upon each other's backs, he dropped his head to dive once more into the fight. the narwhal, for his part, had fared badly in that last encounter. with one eye blinded, his head badly clawed, and the tough cartilage about his blow-holes torn deeply by his adversary's teeth, he was bewildered for the moment. but he was not daunted. his sluggish blood only boiled to a blacker fury. never before had he met anything like serious opposition. the colossal sperm-whale, undisputed lord of the ocean, never came into these cold northern waters; and the huge, blundering whalebone whales he despised. he had transfixed and slaughtered the helpless calves of this species under the very fins of their gigantic but timorous mothers. he had pierced seals, and even, once, a walrus. terribly armed as he was, and swift, and powerful, he had never yielded way to any other inhabitant of his cold and glimmering world. for a few moments of agitated confusion, flurried by the pain of his wounds, he swam straight ahead, just below the salmon. then, recovering his wits, he turned in a rage and looked about, with his one remaining eye, for the bear. at first, unable immediately to readjust his vision, he could not locate him; but presently, staring up vindictively through the straight-swimming, blue and silver ranks of the journeying fish, he saw the big white form swimming at the surface some little distance away. up through the thronged and swirling tide he darted on a long slant, straight and swift as a hungry trout rising to a may-fly. as the bear, with lowered head and great haunches uplifted began his dive, he felt a terrible, grinding thrust in his left flank, and it seemed as if a rock from the floor of the channel rose up and smote him, half-lifting him from the water. the narwhal, his aim confused by the blinding of one eye, had again failed to strike true. the point of his tusk had caught the bear's flank on such a slant that it did not penetrate to any vital organ, but ran up, perhaps an inch below the hide, between the outermost curve of two of the upper ribs, and reappeared a little behind the shoulder. the tremendous force of that upward rush carried the great twisted horn right through to its very base. having delivered what he felt must be a fatal and final blow, the narwhal at once backed downward with powerful surges of his tail, trying to withdraw his horn. but now he found himself in a deadly trap. the bear, mad with pain, and held firmly, proceeded to enwrap his adversary's whole head in a frightful embrace. slashing, tearing, ripping, with all four desperate paws at once, he was speedily shredding the narwhal's head to fragments. with mad thrashings the narwhal struggled to break loose, but in vain. down he sank, till he lay upon the bottom, that destroying bulk still fixed upon his head. when he felt the solid ground beneath him he bent his mighty body like a bow, and sprung it, with a force that nothing could resist. his horn tore itself free, the bear was flung loose, and he lurched to one side with a violence that threw the swimming salmon overhead into confusion and sent great surges boiling to the surface. then, blind, shattered, and jetting blood in torrents from his gaping throat, he settled upon the bottom, writhed feebly for a few minutes, and lay still. [illustration: "then, with the largest prize in his jaws, he swam slowly to the rock."] the bear, plunging upward through the close ranks of the salmon, began to cough hoarsely as soon as he got his head above water. it was some moments before he could do more than keep himself afloat while he regained his breath. then he began slowly swimming round and round in a circle, still full of battle rage, but not yet able to control his lungs. at last, he felt equal to seeking a renewal of the fight. once more he dived, expecting at any instant to feel again that grinding thrust, that resistless upward blow. below the salmon throng he peered about through the glimmer. far down, he made out the shape of his opponent, lying motionless on the bottom. obviously, there was nothing more to be feared from that still bulk, which seemed to sway gently in the current. the victor returned to the surface. lifting his head high above the water, he scanned the whole empty, pallid world. no enemy, no possible rival, was to be seen. weak as he was and weary, he killed two or three more of the ceaselessly passing salmon just to reassure himself. then, with the largest prize in his jaws, he swam slowly to the rock, crawled ashore, and lay down in sullen triumph to lick his wounds. [illustration: "lay down in sullen triumph to lick his wounds."] the little tyrant of the burrows along the edge of the woodland he found the young, green turf of the pasture close and soft. as he paused for a moment with his long, trunk-like nose thrust into it, his fine sense could detect nothing but the cool tang of the grass-stems, the light pungency and sweetness of the damp earth below. with a savage impatience of movement he jerked himself a foot or more to one side, and again thrust his nose into the turf. here he evidently detected something more to his taste than the sweetness of grass and earth, for he began to dig fiercely, biting the matted roots apart, and tearing up the soil with his powerful little fore paws. in a few seconds he dragged forth a fat, cream-coloured grub about an inch and a half in length, with a copper-coloured head. the grub twisted and lashed about, but was torn apart and eaten on the spot. the victor ate furiously, wrinkling his flexible snout away from his prey in a manner that gave him a peculiarly ferocious, snarling expression. nearly six inches in length, with a round, sturdy body, short tail, very short, sturdy legs, and fine fur of a clouded leaden gray, this fierce and implacable little forager might have been mistaken by the careless observer for an ordinary mole. but such a mistake on the part of any creature not larger than a ground-sparrow or wood-mouse or lizard would have resulted in instant doom; for this tiny beast, indomitable as a terrier and greedy for meat as a mink, was the mole-shrew. having devoured the fat grub, and finding his appetite still unappeased, the shrew at once resumed his vehement digging. his marvellously developed nostrils had assured him that a little farther on beneath the turf were more grubs, or well-conditioned earthworms, or the stupid, big red-brown beetles called "may-bugs." in a few seconds only his hind quarters were visible among the grass-roots. then, only a twitch of his short tail, or a kick of his hind claws. at this moment a broad, swift shadow appeared overhead; and a hungry marsh-hawk, dropping like a shot, clutched with eager claws at the mouth of the burrow. that deadly clutch tore up some grass-roots and some fresh earth, but just failed to reach the diligent burrower. tail and hind legs had been nimbly drawn in just in time, as if forewarned of the swooping peril; and the hawk flew off heavily, to resume his quartering of the pasture. unruffled by his narrow escape, the shrew went on with his burrowing. he ran his gallery very near the surface,--in fact, close under the roots of the turf, where the grubs and beetles were most numerous. sometimes he would dip an inch or more, to avoid a bit of difficult excavation; but more often he would press so closely to the surface that the thin layer of sod above him would heave with every surging motion. the loose earth, for the most part, was not thrust behind him, but jammed to either side or overhead, and so vigorously packed in the process as to make strong walls to the galleries, which zigzagged hither and thither as the moment's whim or the scent of some quarry might dictate. in the absolute darkness of his straitened underworld the shrew felt no consciousness of restriction. his eyes tight closed, the thick earth pressing upon him at every point, he felt nevertheless as free as if all the range of upper air were his. the earthy dark was nothing to him, for the nerves of his marvellous nose served all the purposes of sight and hearing. it was, indeed, as if he heard, felt, smelled, and saw, all with his nose. if the walls of the narrow tunnel pressed him too straitly, he could expand them by a few seconds of digging. in fact, his underground world, limited as it was, for the moment contented him utterly. from time to time he would scent, through perhaps a quarter-inch of earth, a worm or a grub ahead of him. then he would drive forward almost with a pounce, clutch the prey, and devour it delightedly there in the dark. suddenly the earth broke away before him, and his investigating nose poked itself through into another gallery, a shade larger than his own. the fact that the gallery was larger than his own might well have made him draw back, but his was not the drawing-back disposition. his nose told him that the rival digger was a mole, and had but recently gone by. without a second's hesitation he clawed through, and darted down the new tunnel, seeking either a fight or a feast, as fate might please to award. in his savage haste, however, the shrew was not discriminating; and all at once he realized that he had lost the fresh scent. this was still the mole's gallery, but there was no longer any sign that its owner had very lately traversed it. as a matter of fact, several yards back the shrew had blundered past the mouth of a branching tunnel, up which the mole, ignorant that he was being pursued, had taken leisurely way. the pursuer stopped, hesitating for a moment, then decided to push ahead and see what might turn up. in half a minute a breath of the upper air met him,--then a star of light glimmered before him,--and he came out at one of the exits which the mole had used for dumping earth. at this point the shrew seemed to decide that he had had enough of underground foraging. he stuck his head up through the opening, and looked over the green turf. the opening was close to a pile of stones in the fence corner, which promised both shelter and good hunting. having hastily dusted the loose earth from his face and whiskers, he emerged, ran to the stone heap, and whisked into the nearest crevice. on a warm gray stone near the top of the pile, gently waving its wings in the sunshine, glowed a gorgeous red-and-black butterfly. the intensity of its colouring seemed to vibrate in the unclouded radiance. suddenly, from just beneath the stone on which it rested, slipped forth the shrew, and darted at it with a swift, scrambling leap. the beautiful insect, however, was wide awake, and saw the danger in good time. one beat of its wide, gorgeous wings uplifted its light body as a breath softly uplifts a tuft of thistledown. the baffled shrew jumped straight into the air, but in vain; and the great butterfly went flickering off aimlessly and idly over the pasture to find some less perilous basking-place. angered by this failure, the shrew descended the stone heap and scurried over to the fence, poking his nose under every tussock of weeds in search of the nest of some ground-bird. along parallel with the fence he hunted, keeping out about a foot from the lowest rail. he found no nest; but suddenly the owners of a nest that was hidden somewhere in the neighbourhood found him. he felt himself buffeted by swift, elusive wings. sharp little beaks jabbed him again and again, and the air seemed full of angry twittering. for a few moments he stood his ground obstinately, wrinkling back his long snout and jumping at his bewildering assailants. then, realizing that he could do nothing against such nimble foes, he drew back and ran under the fence. he was not really hurt, and he was not at all terrified; but he was distinctly beaten, and therefore in a very bad temper. [illustration: "the baffled shrew jumped straight into the air."] since his return to the green upper world ill luck had persistently followed his ventures, and now his thoughts turned back to the burrows under the grass-roots. he remembered, also, that mole which had so inexplicably evaded him. keeping close to the fence, he hurried back to the stone heap, on the other side of which lay the entrance to the burrows. he was just about to make a hurried and final investigation of the pile, on the chance that it might conceal something to his taste, when his nose caught a strong scent which made him stop short and seem to shrink into his skin. at the same instant a slim, long, yellow-brown animal emerged from the stones, cast a quick, shifting glance this way and that, then darted at him as smoothly as a snake. with a frantic leap he shot through the air, alighting just beside the mouth of the burrow. the next instant he had vanished; and the weasel, arriving just a second too late, thrust his fierce, triangular face into the hole, but made no attempt to squeeze himself down a passage so restricted. the shrew had been terrified, indeed; but his dogged spirit was by no means cowed or given over to panic. he felt fairly confident that the weasel was too big to pursue him down the burrow, but presently he stopped, scraped away the earth on one side, and turned around to face the menace. small though he was, the weasel would have found him a troublesome and daring antagonist in such narrow quarters. when he saw a glimmer of light reappear at the entrance of the burrow, he understood that his big enemy was not going to attempt the impossible. reassured, but still hot with wrath, he turned again, and went racing through the black tunnel in search of something whereon to wreak his emotions. [illustration: "with a frantic leap he shot through the air."] now as the fates of the underworld would have it, at this moment the lazy old mole who owned these burrows was returning from his tour of investigation. he came to the fork where the shrew had gone by an hour before. the strong, disagreeable, musky smell of the intruder arrested him. his keen nose sniffed at it with resentment and alarm, and told him the whole story, there in the dark, more plainly than if it had passed in daylight before his purblind eyes. it told him that some time had gone by since the intruder's passing. but what it could not tell him was that the intruder was just now on his way back. after some moments of hesitation the long, cylindrical, limp body of the mole scuffled out into the main tunnel, and turned toward the exit. its movement was rather slow and awkward, owing to the fact that the fore legs were set on each side of the body, like flippers, which was an excellent arrangement for digging, but a very bad one for plain walking. the mole had not advanced more than a yard or so along the main tunnel when again that strong, musky smell smote his nostrils. this time it was fresh and warm. indeed, it was startlingly imminent. elongating his soft body till it was not more than half its usual thickness, the mole doubled in his tracks, intent upon the speediest possible retreat. in that very instant, while he was in the midst of this awkward effort to turn, the shrew fell upon him, gripping and tearing his soft, unprotected flank. the mole was not altogether deficient in character; and he was larger and heavier than his assailant. seeing that escape was impossible, and stung by the pain of his wounds, he flung himself with energy into the struggle, biting desperately and striving to bear down his lighter opponent. it was a blind smother of a fight, there in that pitch-black narrow tunnel whose walls pressed ceaselessly upon it and hemmed it in. from the smother came no sound but an occasional squeak of rage or pain, barely audible to the lurking spiders among the grass-stems just overhead. the thin turf heaved vaguely, and the grass-blades vibrated to the unseen struggle; but not even the low-flying marsh-hawk could guess the cause of these mysterious disturbances. for several minutes the mole made a good fight. then the indomitable savagery of his enemy's attack suddenly cowed him. he shrank and tried to draw away; and in that moment the enemy had him by the throat. in that moment the fight was ended; and in the next the invader was satisfying his ravenous appetite on the warm flesh which he craved. when this redoubtable little warrior had eaten his fill, he felt a pleasant sense of drowsiness. first he moved a few feet farther along the tunnel, till he reached the point where it was joined by the smaller gallery of his own digging. at this point of vantage, with exits open both ways, he hastily dug himself a little pocket or side chamber where he could curl himself up in comfort. here he licked his wounds for a minute or two, and carefully washed his face with his clever, hand-like fore paws. then with a sense of perfect security he went to sleep, his watchful nose, most trusty of sentinels, on guard at the threshold of his bedchamber. while he slept in this unseen retreat, among the short grasses just above his sleep went on the busy mingling of comedy and tragedy, of mirth and birth and death, which makes the sum of life on a summer day in the pastures. everywhere the grass, and the air above the grass, were thronged with insects. through the grass came gliding soundlessly a long, smooth, sinuous brown shape with a quick-darting head and a forked, amber-coloured, flickering tongue. the snake's body was about the thickness of a man's thumb, and his back was unobtrusively but exquisitely marked with a reticulation of fine lines. he seemed to be travelling rather aimlessly, doubtless on the watch for any small quarry he might catch sight of; but when he chanced upon the fresh-dug hole where the shrew had begun his burrowing, he stopped abruptly. his fixed, opaque-looking eyes grew strangely intent. with his head poised immediately over the hole he remained perfectly rigid for some seconds. then he glided slowly into the burrow. the black snake--for such he was called, in spite of his colour being brown--had an undiscriminating appetite for moles and shrews alike. it was of no concern to him that the flesh of the shrew was rank and tough; for his sense of taste was, to say the least of it, rudimentary, and to digestion so invincible as his, tough and tender were all one. he had learned, of course, that shrews were averse to being swallowed, and that they both could and would put up a stiff fight against such consummation. but he had never yet captured one in such a position that he could not get his coils around and crush it. what he expected to find in the burrow which he entered so confidently was a satisfying meal, followed by a long, safe sleep to companion digestion. as he trailed along the winding of the tunnel, his motion made a faint, dry, whispering sound. this delicate sound, together with his peculiar, sickly, elusive scent, travelled just before him, and reached the doorway of the little chamber where the shrew was sleeping. the sleeper awoke,--wide awake all at once, as it behoves the wild kindreds to be. instantly, too, he understood the whole peril, and that it was even now upon him. there was no time for flight. to do him justice, it was not flight he thought of, but fight. his little heart swelled with rage at this invasion of his rest. experienced fighter that he was, he fully understood the advantages of his situation. as the head of the invader stole past his doorway, he sprang, and sank his long, punishing teeth deep into the back of the snake's neck. with this hold the advantage was all his, so long as he could maintain it; and he hung to the grip like a bulldog, biting deeper and deeper every minute. fettered completely by the narrowness of the tunnel, unable to lash or coil or strike, the snake could only writhe impotently and struggle to drag his adversary farther down the burrow toward some roomier spot where his own tactics would have a chance. but the shrew was not to be dislodged from his point of vantage. he clung to his doorway no less doggedly than he clung to his hold; and all the while his deadly teeth were biting deeper in. at last, they found the backbone,--and bit it through. with a quiver the writhing of the big snake stopped. victor though he was, the shrew was slow to accept conviction of his victory over so mighty an antagonist. though all resistance had ceased, he kept on gnawing and worrying, till he had succeeded in completely severing the head from the trunk. then, feeling that his triumph was secured, he turned back into his chamber and curled up again to resume his rudely interrupted siesta. having thus effectually established his lordship of the burrows, this small champion might have reasonably expected to enjoy an undisturbed and unanxious slumber. but fate is pitilessly whimsical in its dealings with the wild kindreds. it chanced at this time that a red fox came trotting down along the pasture fence. he seemed to have a very vague idea of where he was going or what he wanted to do. presently he took it into his head that he wanted to cross the pasture, so he forsook the fence and started off over the grass; and as luck would have it, his keen, investigating nose sniffed the sod just at the point whereunder the sleeping shrew lay hidden. the turf that formed the little fighter's ceiling was not more than half an inch in thickness. the smell that came up through the grass-roots was strong, and not particularly savoury. but the red fox was not overparticular just then. he would have chosen rabbit or partridge had mother nature consulted his wishes more minutely. but as it was he saw no reason to turn up his sharp nose at shrew. after a few hasty but discreet sniffings, which enabled him to locate the careless slumberer, he pounced upon the exact spot and fell to clawing the sod ferociously. his long nails and powerful fore paws tore off the thin covering of turf in less time than it takes to tell of it, and the next instant the shrew was hurled out into the sunlight, dazzled and half stunned. almost before he touched the grass a pair of narrow jaws snapped him up. without a moment's delay the fox turned and trotted off up the pasture with his prey, toward his den on the other side of the hill; and as the discriminating sunlight peered down into the uncovered tunnel, in a few minutes flies came to investigate, and many industrious beetles. the body of the dead snake was soon a centre of teeming, hungry, busy life, toiling to remove all traces of what had happened. for nature, though she works out almost all her ends by tragedy, is ceaselessly attentive to conceal the red marks of her violence. the ringwaak buck down through the leafy tangle the sunlight fell in little irregular splotches, flecking the ruddy-brown floor of a thicket on the southward slope of ringwaak. in the very heart of the thicket, curled close and with its soft, fine muzzle resting flat on its upgathered hind legs, lay a young fawn. the ground, covered with a deep, elastic carpet of dead spruce and hemlock needles, was much the same colour as the little animal's coat. the latter, however, was diversified with spots of a lighter hue, which matched marvellously with the scattered splotches of sunlight--so marvellously, indeed, that only an eye that was initiated, as well as discriminating, could tell the patches of shine from the patches of colour or distinguish the outlines of the fawn's figure against the blending background. there was neither sound nor movement in the thicket. a tiny greenish-yellow worm, which had let itself down from a branch on a yard or more of delicate filament, hung motionless and crinkled, seeming to have forgotten the purpose of its descent. not a breath of wind disturbed the clear, balsamy fragrance of the shadowed air, and the fawn appeared to sleep, though its great liquid eyes were wide open. during the brief absence of its mild-eyed mother the little animal was accustomed to maintaining this voiceless and unwavering stillness, which, combined with its colouring, made its most effective concealment. enemies, hungry and savage, were all about it, searching coverts and pursuing trails. but the eyes of the hunting beasts seem to be less keen than we are wont to imagine them--certainly less keen than the eyes of skilled woodsmen--and an unwinking stillness may deceive the craftiest of them. whether because its mother had taught it to be thus motionless, or because it was coerced by instincts inherited from ten thousand cautious ancestors, the fawn obeyed so absolutely that even its long, sensitive ears were not permitted to twitch. its great eyes kept staring out in vague apprehension at the wide, shadowy, unknown world. suddenly into the limpid deeps of the little watcher's eyes came a flash of fear, like a sharp contraction in the back of the pupils. a stealthy-footed, moon-faced, fierce-eyed beast came soundlessly to the edge of the thicket and glared in searchingly. the fawn knew in some dim way that this was a deadly danger that confronted him. but he never winked or moved an anxious ear. he hardly dared to breathe. it was almost as if a hand of ice had clutched him and held him still beyond even the possibility of a tremor. for perhaps a full minute the huge lynx stood there half crouching, with one big, padded fore paw upheld, piercing the gloom with his implacable stare. he could discern nothing, however, except spaces of reddish-brown shadow, scored with the slim, perpendicular trunks of saplings, and spattered thicket with spots of infiltering sunlight. but the fawn, though in full view, was perfectly concealed--for he had that gift of fern-seed which, as the old romancers feign, makes its possessor invisible. no wandering puff of wind came by to tell the lynx's nose that his eyes were playing him false. at last the uplifted fore paw came softly to the ground and he crept off like a terrible gray shadow. for two or three seconds the fawn's sides moved violently. then he was once more as still as a stone. it chanced that on this particular occasion the mother doe was long away. the fawn got very hungry, as well as lonely, which strained his patience to the utmost. nevertheless, he remained obedient to the law which shielded him, while the forest, which seems so empty, but is in reality so populous, sent its furtive kindreds past his hiding-place. from time to time a dainty, bead-eyed wood-mouse scurried by; or a brooding partridge, unwilling to be long absent from her eggs, ran hither and thither to peck her hasty meal; or a red squirrel, with fluffy tail afloat, would dart swiftly and silently over the ground, dash up a tree, and from the top chatter shrill defiance to the perils which had lain wait for him below. all these things the fawn's wide eyes observed, unconsciously laying the foundations for that wisdom of the woods upon which his success in the merciless game of life would depend. once a large red fox, wary, but self-confident, trotted quietly across one end of the thicket, within ten feet of the fawn's nose; and once more that inward spasm which meant fear contracted the depths of the little watcher's eyes. but the fox was sniffing with his narrow, inquisitive snout at the places where the partridge hen had scratched, and he never saw the fawn. with all its advantages, however, this invisibility had certain defects of its own. about five minutes after the fox had gone there came a swishing of branches, a pounding of soft feet, a mysterious sound of haste and terror, at the back of the thicket where the fawn could not see. he did not dare to lift his head and look, but waited, quivering with apprehension. the next moment a furry bulk landed plump upon his flank, to bounce off again with a squeal of terror. in an uncontrollable panic the fawn bounded to his feet, and stood trembling, while a large hare, elongated to a straight line in the desperation of his flight, shot crashing through the screen of branches and disappeared. as the fawn shrank away from this incomprehensible apparition--which, as far as he knew, might return at any instant and thump him again--a thin, snarling, peculiarly malignant cry made him turn his head, and as he did so a small, dark-furred beast, the hare's pursuer, sprang upon him furiously and bore him down. for the first time he experienced the pang of physical anguish, as fierce teeth, small, but sharp, tore at the tender hide of his neck, feeling the way to his throat. he lay helplessly kicking under this onslaught, and bleated piteously for his mother. [illustration: "turn his narrow, snarling face to see what threatened."] at that same moment, and just in time, the mother arrived. her eyes, usually so gentle, were aflame with rage. before the fisher--for such the daring little assailant was--could do more than turn his narrow, snarling face to see what threatened, and while yet the first sweet trickle of blood was in his throat, a knife-edged hoof came down upon his back, smashing the spine. he squirmed aside and made one futile effort to drag himself away. a second later he was pounded and trampled into a shapeless mass. the fisher being small and his fangs not very long, the fawn's wounds were not serious. he picked himself up and crowded close against his mother's flank. tenderly the doe licked him over as he nursed, and then, when his slim legs had stopped trembling she led him away to another hiding-place. this experience so jarred the little animal's nerves that for a week or more his mother could not leave him alone, but had to snatch such pasturage as she could get near his hiding-place. his confidence in the tactics of invisibility had been so shaken that whenever his mother tried to leave him he would jump up and run after her. the patient old doe got thin under these conditions; but by the time her little one had recovered his nerves he was strong enough to follow her to her favoured feeding-grounds, and thereafter her problems grew daily less difficult. the summer passed with comparatively little event, and by autumn, when his mother began to develop other instincts, and occasionally, in the companionship of a tall, wide-antlered buck, seemed to forget him altogether, he was a very sturdy, self-reliant youngster, in many ways equipped to take care of himself. ignored by the tall buck, whom he eyed with vague disfavour, he still hung about his mother, pasturing with her usually, and always sleeping near her in the thickets. but his first summer had supplied him with the most important elements of that knowledge which a red deer's life in the wilderness of the north demands. the courses of the varied knowledge which the wild creatures must carry in their brains in order to survive in the struggle would seem to be threefold. the first, and most important, source is doubtless inherited instinct, which supplies the constant quantity, so to speak, or the knowledge common to all the individuals of a species. the second appears to be experience, which teaches varying lore, according to variation in circumstance and surrounding. in the amount of such knowledge which they possess the individuals of a species will be found to differ widely. but, after instinct and experience have accounted for everything that can reasonably be credited to them, there remains a considerable and well authenticated residuum of instances where wild creatures have displayed a knowledge which neither instinct nor experience could well furnish them with. in such cases observation and inference seem to agree in ascribing the knowledge to parental teaching. among the lessons learned that summer by the little red buck one of the most vital was how to keep out of the way of the bears. all the forests about ringwaak hill abounded in bears; for the slopes of ringwaak were rich in blueberries, and bears and blueberries go together when the wishes of the bears are at all considered. but the season of blueberries is short, and before the blueberries are ready there are few things more delicious to a bear's taste than a fawn or a moose calf. the bear, however, is not a very pertinacious trailer, nor does he excel in running long distances at top speed. when it is young moose or deer he is wanting, his way is to lie hidden behind some brush-screened stump or boulder till the victim comes by, then dart out a huge paw and settle the matter at one stroke. such might well have been the fate of the little red buck that summer but that he learned to look with wary eye on every ambush that might hide a bear. to all these perilous places he gave wide berth, sometimes avoiding them altogether and sometimes circling about at safe distances till he could get the wind of them and find out whether they held a menace or not. another important truth borne in upon him that first summer was that man, the most to be dreaded of all creatures, was, notwithstanding, capable of being most useful to the deer people. to the west of ringwaak lay a line of scattered settlements and lonely upland farms. along the edge of the forest were open fields, where the men had roots and grains which the deer found very good to eat. often the little red buck and his mother would break into one of these fields and feast riotously on the succulent crops. but at the first glimpse, smell, or sound of man, or of the noisy dogs who served man and dwelt with him, they would be off like swift shadows to their remotest retreats. the wise old doe knew a lot about man; and so, however it came about, the little red buck had a lot of useful information upon the same subject. at the same time, through some inexplicable caprice of his mother's, he acquired a dangerous habit that was in no way consistent with his prudent attitude toward man. the old doe had a whimsical liking for cows, and would sometimes lead her fawn into one of the remoter back-lot cow-pastures to feed among the cattle. she neither permitted nor offered any familiarities whatever to these heavy, alien beasts, but for some reason she liked to be among them. the little red buck, therefore, although he knew the cattle were associated with man and cared for by him, got into the way of visiting the cow-pastures occasionally and feeding on the sweet, close-cropped grasses. fortunately, he learned from the first that milking-time was a time when the pastures were to be avoided. yet another lesson the little buck learned that fall one day when he and his mother were crossing the road near the settlement. two of the village dogs--mongrels neither very keen of nose nor very resolute of temper--caught sight of them, and gave chase with noisy cry. away through the woods went doe and fawn together, bounding lightly, at a pace that soon left their pursuers far behind. for these pursuers the old doe had no very great respect--at a pinch, indeed, she would have faced them and fought them with her nimble fore hoofs, and she did not want to tire the fawn unnecessarily. when the yelping of the dogs grew faint in the distance she wheeled around a half-circle of perhaps fifty feet in diameter, ran back a little way, and lay down with the fawn beside her to watch the trail. by the time they were both thoroughly rested the dogs came panting by, noses to the ground. as soon as they were well past the two fugitives jumped up and made off again at full speed in another direction. after one repetition of this familiar manoeuvre the dogs gave up the game in disgust. the little red buck had learned a handy trick, but he had learned, at the same time, to take dogs too lightly. that winter the doe and fawn, with another doe, were in a manner taken in charge by the tall, wide-antlered buck, who, when the snow began to get deep, selected a sunny slope where groves of thick spruce were interspersed with clumps of young poplar and birch. hither he led his little herd, and here he established his winter quarters, treading out paths from grove to grove and from thicket to thicket, so that even when the snow lay from four to five feet deep the herd could move about freely from one feeding-place to another. the memory of all this fixed itself securely in the recesses of the little buck's brain, to serve him in good stead in later winters. when at last the snow vanished and the hillside brooks ran full and loud, and spring, with her cool colours and fresh scents, was in full possession of ringwaak, the little herd scattered. the old doe stole off by herself one day when he was not noticing, and the yearling found himself left solitary. for a few days he was lonely and spent much of his time looking for his mother. then, being of self-reliant disposition and very large and vigorous for his age, and well endowed with the joy of life, he forgot his loss and became pleasantly absorbed in the wilderness world of ringwaak, with its elations, and satisfactions, and breathless adventures, and thrilling escapes. that autumn he grew pugnacious, and get more than one thrashing from full-grown bucks whom he was so foolhardy as to offend. but his defeats were the best kind of instruction, and he was growing both in strength and stature beyond the ordinary custom of his kind. by the time another winter and another summer had gone over him he was ready to wipe out all past humiliations. when he stopped to drink at the glassy pool which lies in a granite pocket half-way up the western slope of ringwaak he saw a reflection of the most redoubtable buck on all that range, and when the other bucks responded to his challenge they one after another met defeat. that winter, when he established his yard and trod out his range of paths among the birch and poplar thickets, he had three does and two fawns under his leadership. during the next two years he became famous throughout the settlements. every one had heard of the big buck who was so bold about showing himself when no one was ready for him, but so crafty in eluding the hunters. he was seen from time to time in the pastures with the cattle, but never when there was a gun within reach. on many a field of earing grain he stamped the broad defiance of his ravages, till for miles about every backwoods sportsman began to dream of winning those noble antlers. [illustration: "when he stopped to drink at the glassy pool."] the last farm of the settlement toward the northwest, where the road leads off over wooded dips and rises to the valley of the turbulent ottanoonsis, belonged to an old bachelor farmer named ramsay. this farm the red buck seemed to have selected for his special and distinguished attention. he loved ramsay's bean-fields and his corn-patch. he loved his long, sea-green turnip rows. he loved even the little garden before the kitchen window, where he easily learned to like cabbages and cucumbers and tried vainly to acquire a taste for onions and peppergrass. the visits to the garden were invariably paid when ramsay was away at the crossroads store or during the dark hours of those particular nights when ramsay slept soundest. the gaunt old farmer vowed vengeance, and kept his long-barrelled duck gun loaded with buckshot, and wasted many days lying in wait for the marauder or following his trail through the tumbled, sweet-smelling autumn woods of ringwaak. at last, however, though his desire for vengeance had by no means slackened, the grim old farmer woodsman began to take a certain pride in his adversary's prowess, along with a certain jealous apprehension lest those daring antlers should fall a trophy to some other gun than his. when the buck would perpetrate some particularly audacious depredation on the corn or cabbages, ramsay's first burst of wrath would be succeeded by something akin to respectful appreciation. he would pull his scraggy and grizzled chin with his gnarled fingers contemplatively, and a twinkle of understanding humour would supplant the anger in his shrewd, blue, woods-wise eyes as he stood surveying the damage. such an antagonist was worth while, and ramsay registered a vow that that fine hide should keep him warm in winter, those illustrious antlers adorn no other walls but his. but there were many others who had similar views as to the destiny of the great ringwaak buck, whose fame by the opening of his fourth season had spread far beyond the limits of the ringwaak settlements. late in the fourth autumn a couple of new settlers on the lower river decided to make a trip up to ringwaak and try their luck. they had heard of the big buck's craft in foiling the trailers, of his almost inspired sagacity in avoiding ambuscade. but they were prepared to play an entirely new card against him. they brought with them two splendid dogs of mixed scotch deerhound and collie blood who were not only fierce but intelligent, not only tireless but swift. when these two long-legged, long-jawed, iron gray dogs were loosed upon his trail the big buck chanced to be watching them from the heart of a thicket on a knoll less than one hundred yards away. at least, as the crow flies, it was about that distance, but by the windings of the trail it was fully a mile. it was with equanimity, therefore, that the buck gazed down upon these two strange arrivals, till he perceived by their actions that it was his own trail they were following. then a spark of anger came into his great liquid eyes, and he stamped his sharp hoofs, as if he would like to wait and give battle. but these were antagonists too formidable for even so hardy a fighter as he; so he decided to get away in good time. he was only half in earnest about it, however, for after all, big as they were, these were only dogs, and dogs were easy to elude. he amused himself with three or four mighty leaps, first in one direction, then in another, to give his pursuers something to puzzle over. then he went bounding lightly away along the skirts of the mountains, northwestward, toward the more familiar and favoured section of his range. when he came to a brook he would run a little way up or down the channel before resuming his flight. and at last, when his velvet sides were beginning to heave from so much exercise, he made his accustomed loop in the trail and lay down, well satisfied to wait for the pursuers to go by. there was only one thing that made him a little nervous as he waited in the covert overlooking his back tracks. these dogs were so silent, compared with the curs he was used to. an occasional sharp yelp, just enough to let their masters know where they were, was all the noise they made. they attended strictly to business. the buck did not expect to hear anything of them for some time, but he had hardly been lying in his covert more than five minutes when those staccato yelps came faintly to his ears. he was startled. how had the creatures so quickly solved the complexities of his trail? he had no apprehension of the sure cunning with which those dogs could cut across curves and pick up the trail anew. still less did he realize their appalling speed. when next their voices struck upon his ear they were so close that for an instant his heart stood still. but his craft did not fail him. without waiting to see the lean, long shapes flash by, he arose and noiselessly faded back through the covert, moving as softly as a shadow till he felt himself out of ear-shot. then he dashed away at top speed, determined to put a safe distance between himself and these disconcerting adversaries. [illustration: "noiselessly faded back through the covert."] he kept on now till his heart was near bursting, and when at last he made his strategic loop and lay down to rest and watch he felt that he must have secured ample time to recover. but not so. before he had half got his wind, and while his flanks were yet heaving painfully, those meagre but terrible cries again drew near. this time, perforce, he let the pursuers run by, and saw that they seemed as fresh as ever. then he sprang up and resumed the flight, shaken by the first chill of real terror that he had known since that forgotten day in the thicket when the hare and the fisher jumped upon him. his flight now led him past the back lots of ramsay's farm, where the cattle were pasturing. either because his sudden fear made him seek companionship or with an idea of confusing his scent with that of the cattle, he leaped into the pasture and ran here and there among the mildly wondering cows. then he leaped the fence again at the farthest corner, plumped into the thick underbrush, and headed toward the fields with which he had been wont to make so free. he had just vanished in the leafage when his pursuers appeared at the other side of the pasture. they ran in at once among the cows, paying no heed whatever to angry snorts and levelled horns, unravelled the trail with perfect ease, dashed over the fence again, and darted into the underbrush with a new note of triumph in their yelpings. when the buck heard their voices so close behind him his knees almost gave way. he knew he could not run much farther, and he knew his shifts were all vain against such implacable foes as these. he half-paused, with a brave impulse to stand at bay. but some other impulse, undefined, but potent, urged him on toward ramsay's farm. it was familiar ground, and he had never suffered any hurt there. he knew that the old farmer was most dangerous, but he was not an instant, horrible, inevitable menace like this which was close upon his heels. moreover, he had seen the cattle go up to the barn-yard and take refuge there, and come away in safety. [illustration: "then he leaped the fence again."] with the last of his ebbing strength he burst forth into the open, ran across the corn-field, passed the corner of the garden, brushed against the end of the well-sweep, and paused before the open door of the stable. the heavy door was carelessly propped open with a stick. in contrast with the glare of the sunshine outside, the interior looked black and safe. but all about, though mixed with the smell of the cattle, was the dreaded smell of man. he wheeled aside, dimly intending to go around the stable and resume his hopeless flight, but as he did so the yelp of his pursuers broke louder upon his ears. he saw them break from the woods and dart into the corn-field. this decided him. he wheeled again, half-staggering, struck blunderingly against the stick which propped the door open, stumbled across the threshold, ran to the innermost depths of the stable, and fell gasping into a box stall which ramsay had once built for a colt. at the same moment the heavy door, no longer propped back, swung to with a slam, the big wooden latch rising smoothly and dropping securely into place. when the dogs arrived and found the door shut against them they broke into angry clamour. once around the building they ran to see if there was any other entrance. then they clawed savagely at the door, barking and growling in their balked fury. their noise brought ramsay on the run from the potato-field, over the rise, where he was working. he was surprised to see two strange dogs making such a fuss at his stable door. being a canny backwoodsman, however, instead of going straight to the door, he went around behind the stable and looked in the window. when ramsay saw the shivering, tawny form and great antlers on the floor of the stall his heart swelled with exultation. the coveted trophies were his. he ran into the kitchen for his gun. then he changed his mind and picked up, instead, his long hunting-knife. when he approached the stable door the dogs turned upon him threateningly. but the crisp voice of authority with which he ordered them aside was something they were quite too clever to defy. sullenly, with red eyes of wrath, they obeyed, waiting for their masters to arrive and support them. ramsay closed the door carefully behind him and strode to the box stall, knife in hand. on its threshold he paused and scrutinized the captive with triumphant admiration. sure, besides the trophies of hide and horns, there was meat enough there to do him all winter--tough, perhaps, but sweet, seeing that it had been fatted on his choicest crops. he looked at the animal's heaving sides and realized what a magnificent run he must have made. then as he stepped forward with his knife he wondered what could have induced the beast to flee to such a refuge. the buck was gazing up at him with wide eyes, reassured by the man's quiet. there was no terror in that gaze, but only a sort of anxious question; and he never flinched, though the laboured breath came quicker through his nostrils as the man approached his head. as ramsay met that anxious, questioning look, the eager triumph in his own eyes died away, and his grim mouth softened to a half-abashed, half-quizzical smile. the bright blade in his hand slipped furtively into his belt, as if he didn't want the buck to notice it. then, muttering approvingly, "ye've fooled 'em, ain't ye!" he picked up a little shallow tub that stood in a corner of the stall and started out to the well to get the beast a drink. as he closed the stable door behind him two perspiring men with guns entered the yard from the corn-field, and were eagerly greeted by the dogs. "good day," said one, politely. "we're after a big buck which our dogs here have run down for us. he must have hidden in your barn." ramsay eyed the visitors with ill disguised antagonism and fingered his scraggy chin before he answered. "ya-as," he drawled. "i've got a mighty fine buck in there--the old ringwaak buck himself, as everybody's heard tell of. but, beggin' your pardon, friends, i reckon he's goin' to stay in there for the present." the strangers studied the old man's strong face for a moment or two in silence, noted the latent fire in the depths of his eyes, and realized that there was nothing to be done. whistling the dogs to heel, they strode off, angry and disgusted. but before they had gone far the one who had spoken turned around. "i'll give you fifty dollars for those horns," he said abruptly. "ef they're wuth fifty dollars they're good enough for me to keep," drawled ramsay, never moving from where he stood. and with resentful eyes he watched them out of sight before he went to the well. during the next four days half the men and boys in the settlement, with not a few of the women, visited ramsay's barn to view the famous captive. the buck, well fed and watered, had recovered himself in a few hours, and seemed none the worse for his adventure. all his former arrogance, too, had returned, and visitors were careful to keep at a safe distance. but ramsay he recognized, apparently, as either protector or master, and ramsay could enter the stall at any time. the buck would sidle off and eye him anxiously, but show no sign of the furious anger which the visitors excited. to all inquiries as to what he would do with his captive ramsay would answer, "sell him to circus, maybe." but it was not till several weeks had passed and the settlement had got over its interest in the matter that he was able to quite make up his mind. then, one crisp autumn morning, when the woods were all yellow and red, he went over to the next farm and asked his neighbour, a handy young farmer, to come and help him get the captive aboard a hay-wagon. "got a chance to sell him up to the falls," he vouchsafed in brief explanation, and the explanation was one to content the whole settlement. there was a strenuous hour or two before the indignant animal was roped and trussed into helplessness. then the bruised and panting men hoisted the prisoner into the hay-wagon and tied him so he could not be bounced off; and ramsay started on the rough twenty-five mile drive to the falls. about seventeen miles from ringwaak the road crossed the ottanoonsis, whose wild current filled the valley with noise and formed an impassable northern frontier to the ringwaak region. it was generally believed that the wild creatures of the ringwaak region held little intercourse with those north of the ottanoonsis, by reason of that stream's turbulence. as soon as ramsay found himself across the bridge he stopped and once more drew his hunting-knife. at the flash of the blade the captive looked up wonderingly from his bonds. leaning over him, the old man's face broke into a sheepish grin. but he did not hesitate. three or four properly distributed strokes of the knife, and the ropes fell apart. the captive lifted his splendid head, kicked, and struggled to his feet, bewildered. "now," said ramsay, "git!" as he spoke he snapped his long whip sharply. with a magnificent leap the buck went out and over the wheels and vanished with great sailing bounds into the wild ottanoonsis forest. then ramsay turned slowly back toward home, thinking a thrilling story for the settlement about the cunning escape of the ringwaak buck. the heron in the reeds though haying was almost done on the uplands, over the wide, level, treeless meadow-island the heavy grass stood still uncut, its rank growth taking long to ripen. the warm wind that drew across it from time to time in a vague, elusive rhythm was burdened with rich summer scents, the mid-noon distillations from the vetch and clover and lily and yellow-daisy blooms which thronged among the grass-heads, and from the flaunting umbels of the wild parsnip which towered above them. over this radiant and pregnant luxuriance the air quivered softly, and hummed with the murmur of foraging bees and flies, glad in the heat. the island lay on the tranquil river like a splendid green enamel on blue porcelain. its level, at this season, lay several feet above that of the water, and its shores, fantastically looped with little, sweeping coves and jutting points, were fringed with deep rushes of intense, glaucous green. whenever the wind puffed lightly over them, the tops of the rushes bowed gravely together in long ranks, and turned silvery gray. here and there above them fluttered a snipe, signalling its hidden young, then winging off across the water to the next point, with a clear, two-noted whistle. on one of the little jutting points, where a log lay half-submerged in trailing water-weeds, stood a tall blue heron balanced motionless on one long, stilt-like leg. its head, drawn flat back between the high shoulders, came about ten inches above the tops of the sedge. its long, keen, javelin-like beak lay along its protruding breast, in readiness to dart in any direction. its round, gem-like eyes, hard as glass in their glitter, took in not only the wide, blue-and-green empty landscape, but equally every movement of the sedge-fringe and the weedy shallows along-shore. for some minutes the great bird was as still as a carven figure. then, for no apparent reason, the long neck uncoiled violently like a loosed crossbow, and the javelin beak shot downward with a movement almost too swift for the eye to follow. deep into the weeds and water it darted,--to return with a small, silvery chub securely transfixed. one smart, sidelong blow of the wriggling fish upon the log ended its struggles. then the skilful fisher threw his prize up in the air, caught it as it fell, swallowed it head foremost, and relapsed into his watchful immobility. this time he had not quite so long to wait. again the coiled spring of his neck was loosed, again that lightning lance darted downward into the water, and returned with a kicking trophy. now it was a large brown-and-green frog, which the victor had more difficulty in killing. for half a minute he whacked it savagely against the side of the log, before he could satisfy himself that the limp, bedragged form was past all effort to escape. then, picking it up between the tips of his beak, he stepped from his log, strode with awkward dignity some paces up the shore, and hid the prize safely in the heart of a tussock of sedge-grass. not only for himself was the big blue heron fishing, but also, and first of all, for certain extraordinarily hungry nestlings in a cedar swamp behind the neighbouring hills. having hidden the frog, the heron raised his head and steadily surveyed the shores. then he spread his long wings and flapped up to a height of seven or eight feet, where he commanded a comprehensive view of the meadows. assured that no peril was lurking near, he winnowed slowly along the shore, his legs trailing ludicrously, and dropped again to earth at the next point. the moment he touched ground and steadied himself he became once more the moveless image of a bird, as if just projected into solidity from the face of a japanese screen. at this point, however, fortune failed to smile upon his fishing. for full five minutes he waited, and neither fish nor frog came within reach. suddenly he unlimbered, and went stalking gravely up along the sloppy mud between the reeds and the shrunken water. as he went, his long neck craned alternately to one side and the other, and his eyes pierced every retreat among the rushes or the water-weeds. sometimes he snapped up a tiny shiner, or a big black water-beetle, which he promptly swallowed; but he got no more prizes worth carrying back to the nest behind the hills. he went forward somewhat briskly, therefore, being in haste to reach a bit of good frogging-ground a little farther on. at length, coming to the mouth of a sluggish rivulet, he started to wade across it, not carefully observing how he set down his feet in the tangle of weeds and eel-grass. from under the tangle came a muffled "click." with a startled squawk he lifted his wings, as something grabbed him by the toes, and held him fast. he was in the iron clutch of a muskrat trap. that one squawk was the only sound he uttered; but his powerful wings threshed the air desperately as he strained to wrench himself free. there was no such thing, of course, as relaxing the strong jaws of the trap, or wrenching his foot free; but he did succeed in pulling the trap up from its bed under the water-grass and dragging it out upon the shore to the full limit of the light chain which held it. having accomplished this much, he was quiet for some minutes, while his fierce eyes scrutinized with fear and wonder the incomprehensible creature which had fastened upon him. after three or four frantic efforts to stab it with his redoubtable beak, he was quick to realize that this was an invulnerable foe. he seemed to realize, also, that it was an inanimate foe; for after due consideration he set himself to pulling it and feeling it with the tip of his beak, seeking some way of getting rid of it. at last, finding all this temperate effort useless, he blazed out into a frantic rage. he would jump, and tug, and flop, and spring into the air, and almost wrench the captive toes from their sockets. but all he accomplished was to make his leg ache intolerably, clear up to the thigh. at length he desisted and stood trembling, so exhausted that he could hardly keep his feet. [illustration: "he was in the iron clutch of a muskrat trap."] meanwhile, it chanced that two boys in a birch-bark canoe were paddling up the river. the extraordinary antics of the blue heron caught their eyes. they had never heard that this most stately of birds was subject to fits; and they were filled with wonder. paddling ashore with all speed, they momently expected the great bird to recover himself at their approach and flop heavily away, as herons are wont to do when one seeks to observe them too closely. when near enough, however, to see what the trouble was, they were much elated, as they had long wanted to capture a blue heron and observe his habits in captivity. as the boys ran their canoe ashore the bird was just yielding to exhaustion. his dauntless spirit, however, was by no means broken by his misfortune. at sight of the intruders his fierce eyes hardened, and his head drew back warily between his shoulders. "look out! don't go near that beak!" shouted the elder boy, as the younger sprang forward to secure the coveted prize. the warning came barely in time. that long neck had flashed forward to its full length,--and just fallen short of the enemy's stockinged leg. "gee whizz!" exclaimed the lad, with a nervous laugh. "if that had struck, i guess it would have gone clean through! how are we going to disarm him?" "watch me!" said the elder, as he snatched up his coat from the canoe. this effective weapon he threw over the bird's head; and in a few moments the captive was so securely trussed up that he could do nothing but eye his captors with implacable and indomitable hate. the cruel trap was removed from his toes, and their bruises carefully washed. then very respectfully he was deposited in the bottom of the canoe, and in high elation the boys paddled off. they had not gone far, however, when a thought struck them both at the same time, and both stopped paddling. they looked at each other with misgivings. "well, what is it?" asked the younger, reluctantly. "i'm afraid," answered the elder, "it's a blame mean trick we're playing on the old bird, at this season! eh? what do you think?" "perhaps so!" assented the other with a sigh, looking wistfully down at their prize. "i never thought about the young ones." without a word more they proceeded to loose the bonds of their prisoner. the moment he was free he struck at them savagely; but they had been on guard against such ingratitude, and got out of the way in time. then he sprang into the air and flapped away indignantly; while the boys stared after him wistfully, half-repenting of their gentleness. in the deep of the silences i in the ancient wild there were three great silences that held their habitations unassailed. they were the silence of the deep of the lake, the silence of the dark heart of the cedar swamp, and the silence of the upper air, high above the splintered peak of the mountain. to this immeasurable quiet of upper air but one of all the earth sounds could come. that one sound was of such quality that it seemed rather to intensify the silence than disturb it. it was so absolutely alone, so naked of all that murmurous background which sustains yet obscures the individual sounds of earth's surface, that it served merely as an accent to the silence. it was the fine, vibrant hiss of the smitten air against the tense feathers of the soaring eagle. [illustration: "his course took him far out over the soundless spaces."] through the immense, unclouded solitude the eagle swung majestically in a great circle. at one point in the vast, deliberate swing he was directly above the bald, deep-riven peak of granite upthrust from its mantling forest of firs,--directly above it, at a height of not more than a few hundred feet. the rest of his course took him far out over the soundless spaces of the landscape, which formed an enormous bowl rimmed by the turquoise horizon. the bowl was all a many-shaded green, stains of the light green of birch and poplar blending with the austere green-black of fir, cedar, and hemlock. here and there through the dense colour gleamed sharply the loops and coils of three watercourses and at the centre of the bowl, glowing in the transparent brilliancy of the northern day, shone the clear mirror of the lake. at that point of his aërial path when the eagle swung farthest from the peak, he hung straight over the middle of the lake and looked down into its depths. though no lightest breath was astir far down on the lake surface and not a tree-top swayed in the forest, up here where the eagle was soaring streamed a viewless and soundless wind. so it came about that at some portions of his swing the eagle's wide, apparently moveless wings would tilt a little, careening ever so slightly, and their tense-webbed feathers would set themselves at a delicately different angle to the air-current. when this took place, there would be a different note in that strange whisper. the vibrant hiss would change to a faint, ghostly humming, which again would fade away as the rigid feathers readjusted themselves to another point of the gigantic curve. over the soaring black wings the intense sapphire of the zenith thrilled and melted; but the eyes of the eagle were not directed upward, since there was nothing above him but sky, and air, and the infinitude of silence. as he swung, his gleaming, snow-white head and neck were stretched downward toward the earth. his fierce yellow eyes, unwavering, brilliant, and clear like crystal, deep set beneath straight, overhanging brows, searched the far panorama with an incredibly piercing gaze. at such a distance that the most penetrating human eye--the eye of a sailor, a plains' ranger, a backwoods' huntsman, or an enumerator of the stars--could not discern him in his soundless altitude, he could mark the fall of a leaf or the scurry of a mouse in the sedge-grass. though the range of his marvellous vision was so vast, the eagle could not see beneath the surfaces of the lake except when he soared straight over it. at one point in his course the baffling reflections of the surface vanished, and his gaze pierced to the bottom. but from all other points the lake presented to him either a mirror of stainless blue, or a dazzling shield of bright steel. for an hour or more, on wide, untiring wings, the great bird sailed and watched. the furtive life of the wilderness, all unaware of that high impending doom, revealed itself to him, yet he saw nothing to draw him down out of his realm of silence. except for that mysterious whisper of the smitten air in his own wings, it was to the eagle as if all the action and movement of earth had been struck dumb. once he saw a black cow moose, tormented with flies, lurch out madly from the thickets and plunge wallowing into the lake. high splashed and flashed the water about her floundering bulk; but not a whisper of it came up to him. once he saw a pair of swimming loons stretching their necks alternately as high as they could above the water, and opening wide their straight, sharp beaks. he well knew the strident, wild cries with which they were answering each other, setting loose a rout of crazy echoes all up and down the shores. but not a ghost of an echo reached him. it was all dumb show. and once, on the lower slope of the mountain, an ancient fir-tree, its foothold on the rocks worn away by frost and flood of countless seasons, fell into the ravine. he saw the mighty downward sweep and plunge, the convulsion of branches below; but of the sullen roar that startled the mountainside no faintest sound arose to him. at last, as he was wheeling over the centre of the lake, his inescapable eye saw something which interested him. his great wings flapped heavily, checking his course. he tipped suddenly, half-shut his wings, and shot straight downward perhaps a thousand feet. here he stopped his descent with a sharp upward turn which made the wind whistle harshly in his wings. and here he hung, hovering, watching, waiting for the opportunity that now seemed close at hand. ii in the heart of the cedar swamp the silence was thick, brooding, and imperishable. one felt that if ever any wandering sound, any lost bird-cry or call of wayfaring beast, should drop into it, the intruding voice would be straightway engulfed, smothered, and forgotten. the ground beneath the stiff branches and between the gray, ragged, twisted trunks was grotesquely humped with moss-grown roots and pitted with pools of black water. here and there amid the heavy moss fat fungoid growths thrust up their heads, dead white, or cold red, or pink, or spotted orange. the few scattered herbs that flourished among the humped and dangerous pools were solitary in habit, broad of leaf, tall and succulent of stalk. not one of them bore any gay or perfumed blossom, to lure into the swamp the brightness of a butterfly or the homely humming of wild bees. the only bird that habitually endured the stillness and the gloom of the cedar swamp was a shadowy, silent, elusive little nuthatch, which spent its time slipping up and down the ragged trunks, uttering at wide intervals its faint, brief note. so furtive a being, and so shy and rare a voice, only made the silence more impressive, the solitude more profound. a great black bulk, moving noiselessly as a shadow hither and thither among the shadows, seemed the spirit of the swamp made palpable. the old bear, having learned that certain of the big toadstools growing in the swamp were very good to eat, had taken to haunting the silence of the glooms in the season when the fungoids flourished. the solitude and the stillness suited his morose temper; and for all his seeming awkwardness he moved as delicately as a cat. his great sharp-clawed feet seemed shod with velvet, and never a twig snapped under his stealthy tread. it was not through fear that he went thus softly, for he feared no creature of the wilderness. but the heavy silence was attuned to his mood; and besides, he never knew when he might surprise some mouse, water-rat, or mink that would furnish variety to his toadstool diet. such a fortunate surprise, however, could befall him but seldom in the empty solitude of the swamp. so it happened that, one day when he tired of the fat, insipid fungoids, his thought turned to the lake, on whose shores he had sometimes found dead fish. he remembered, with watering chops, that he had even once or twice been able to catch live fish, close in shore, by lying in wait for them with exhaustless patience and scooping them up at last with a lightning sweep of the paw. [illustration: "for all his seeming awkwardness he moved as delicately as a cat."] ignoring the toadstools, he turned straight south, and made his way toward the lake. he travelled swiftly, winding this way and that between the green, humped roots, the gray trunks, and the black water-pits. but swiftly as he went, his movement left no trail of sound behind it. a shadow could not have moved more noiselessly. it was as if the age-old silence simply seized and folded away for ever the impact of his great footfalls on the moss. when at length he caught the flash of the bright water ahead of him through the trees, he moved even more cautiously, so extreme was his circumspection. reaching the edge of the cedar growth, he slipped unseen into a thicket of red willows which afforded a convenient ambush, and peered out warily to assure himself as to what might be going on around the shores. for a long while he crouched there as moveless as a stone, that if by mischance his coming had given alarm to any of the wilderness folk, suspicion might have time to die away. iii in the mid-deep of the lake the silence was absolute. there was no hiss of tense feathers to accentuate it, as in the upper vast of air. there was no fading and elusive bird-note to measure it by, as in the gloom of the cedar swamp. down in the gold-brown glimmer the fine silt lay unstirred on the stones. there was no movement, except the delicate, almost imperceptible waving of the great trout's coloured fins. in the shallower water along the edges of the lake there was always a faint confusion of small sounds. the slow breathing of the lake, as it were, kept up a rhythmic, almost invisible motion among the smaller pebbles, making a crisp whisper which the water carried far beneath the surface while it could not be heard at all in the air above. but none of this stir reached the silent deeps where the big trout, morose and enamoured of his solitude, lay lazily opening and shutting his crimson gills. because the water of the lake was dark,--amber-tinted from the swamps about its shores,--the colours of the trout were dark, strong, and vivid. his strangely patterned back was almost black, yet brilliant, like some kinds of damascened steel. his belly was bright pink. his sides had a purplish hue, on which the rows of intense vermilion spots stood out almost incongruously. his fins were as gaudy as the petals of some red-and-white flower. the trout was staring upward with his blank, lidless eyes. he was hungry, and he felt that it was from that direction that food was like to come to him most easily. smaller fish had learned, from the fate of so many of their fellows, to shun the haunted stillness of this mid-lake depth; and the big trout was growing tired of caddis bait and such small game. the surface of the lake, as he looked up at it, presented to him a sort of semitransparent mirror, thronged with reflections, yet allowing the sky overhead, and the shadows of many dreaming insects, to show through. if a swallow, for instance, or a low-winged snipe, flew over, the trout could see not only the bird itself, and the shadow of the bird on the bottom, but also a dim, swift-moving reflection of the shadow, on the silvery mirror above. if a swallow's wing-tip flicked the surface, sending down a bright little jet of bubbles, these bubbles also would double themselves in reflections as they darted up again and vanished in the mirroring ripples. all this, however, was of little interest to the hungry trout, till he caught sight of a large butterfly zigzagging languidly close above the water. its flight was so feeble that the big fish's expectations were aroused. slowly he started upwards, to be on hand for whatever favour fortune might have in store for him. as he swam up out of the gloom, the butterfly flickered above him, and its big shadow danced along the bottom beside his own. a small beetle, its wings all outspread, struck the surface violently close by, shattering the mirror for a second, then starting a series of tiny ripples. the big trout paid no heed to the convulsive gyrations of the beetle. he was wholly intent upon the butterfly, whose faltering flight drooped ever nearer and nearer to the shining flood. at last, the splendid painted wings failed to flutter; and lightly, softly, like a leaf, the gorgeous insect sank upon the water, hardly marring the surface. without a struggle, without even a quiver. they rested,--for perhaps a second. then, there was a heavy boil in the water immediately beneath. a pair of black jaws opened. the dead butterfly was sucked down. with a wanton flick of his broad, powerful tail, just above the surface, the big trout turned to sink back into the watery silence with his spoils. [illustration: "the water splashed high and white about him."] iv there was a harsh, strong hissing in the air, and a dark body fell out of the sky. fell? rather it seemed to have been shot downward from a catapult. no mere falling could be so swift as that sheer yet governed descent. just at the surface of the water the wedge of the eagle's body turned, his snow-white head and neck bent upwards, his broad wings spread, and beat heavily. in spite of the terrific force of his descent, his body did not go wholly under water, but the water splashed high and white about him. the next instant he rose clear, flapping ponderously. in the iron clutch of his talons writhed the great trout, gripped behind the head and by the middle of the back, its tail thrashing spasmodically. never before had this fierce and majestic visitant from the upper silence fallen upon so difficult a prey. its weight, alone, was all that his mighty wings could lift; and its vehement writhings were so full of energy that it was all he could do to hold it. with his most strenuous flapping, he could hardly lift the victim clear of the water. to bear it off to his lonely rock-ledge on the peak was manifestly impossible. after a few moments of laborious indecision he beat his way heavily toward shore. nowhere, up and down the beach, in the thickets, or in the dark corridors of the forest, could his piercing eyes detect any foe. the nearest point of land was an arrow ribbon of clean white rock with a screen of indian willow close behind it. this point he made for. a few feet above the water's edge he alighted. for a moment he stood haughtily, his hard, implacable yellow eyes challenging the wilderness. then, his snake-like white head stooped quickly forward, and his powerful beak bit clear through to the victim's backbone, a little behind the spot where it joined the neck. the trout's body stiffened straight out, with a strong shudder, then lay limp and still. very deliberately, as if scorning to display his hunger, the royal bird began to make his meal. but one palpitating morsel had gone down his outstretched, snowy throat, when it seemed to him that a leaf whispered in the willow thicket behind him. there was no air stirring, so why should a leaf whisper? his claws relaxed their grip upon the prey; his wings shot out and gave one powerful flap; he bounced lightly upward and aside. at the same moment a black bulk burst out from the willow thicket, and a great black paw smote at him savagely. the eagle had sprung aside just in time. had that terrific buffet fairly reached him, never again would he have mounted to his aërial haunts of silence. but as it was, the sweep of the black paw just touched the bird's tail. two or three dark, regal feathers fluttered to the ground. his spacious pinions caught the air and winnowed out a few feet over the water. the bear, content at having captured the prize, paid no more attention to him, but greedily fell upon the prey. ordinarily, an eagle would no more think of interfering with a bear than of assailing a granite boulder. but in this case the aggravation was unprecedented. never before had the "king of the air" known what it was to have his lawful prey and hard-won spoils snatched from him. with a sudden sharp yelp of rage he whirled, shot upward, and swooped, with a twang of stiff-set feathers, straight at his adversary's head. totally unprepared for such a daring assault, the bear could not ward it off. several sudden red gashes on his head showed where those knife-like talons had struck. "_wah!_" he bawled, half-rising on his haunches and throwing up a great forearm in defence. the eagle, swooping upward out of reach, swung round and hovered as if about to repeat the attack. as the bear crouched, half-sitting, one paw on the mangled prey, the other uplifted in readiness for stroke or parry, the furious bird hesitated. he knew the full menace of that massive upraised paw, which, clumsy though it looked, could strike as swiftly as the darting head of a snake. for all his rage, he had no mind to risk a maimed wing. in a second or two he swooped again, this time as if to catch the foe in the back; but he took care not to come too close. the bear whirled on his haunches, and struck viciously; but his claws met nothing but empty air, while a stiff wing-tip brushed smartingly across his eyes. again, and yet again, the eagle swooped, never coming quite within reach. again and yet again the bear, boiling with embarrassed fury, whirled and struck, but in vain. he struck nothing more tangible than air. the sharp indignant yelps of the great bird flapping close above him were a defiance which he could not answer. he had the prize, but he could not enjoy it. for a few moments he hesitated. then doggedly he crouched down, with his head partly shielded between his fore paws, and fell to eating hurriedly. before he could fairly swallow one mouthful, the air again hissed ominously in his ears, and those clutching talons tore at his neck. with a roar of pain, and wrath, and discomfiture, he snatched the prey up in his jaws, and plunged into the thicket with his head well down between his legs. as he vanished the implacable talons struck once more, ripping red furrows in the black fur of his rump. smarting, and grumbling heavily, the bear lay down in the heart of the willow thicket, and finished devouring the great trout. still yelping, the eagle circled above the thicket. through the leafy branches he could see the black form of his adversary; but into the thicket he dared not swoop lest he should be caught at a disadvantage there. for a long time he circled, hoping that his enemy would come out and give him another opportunity of vengeance. then, seeing that the bear lay motionless, apparently asleep, his rage wore itself out. higher he whirled, and yet higher, while the wary beast in the thicket watched patiently for his going. then suddenly he changed his course. with long, splendid sweep of wing he made off in direct flight, slanting swiftly upward toward the blue silence above the peak. on the night trail the radiant, blue-white, midwinter moonlight, flooding the little open space of white in the blackness of the spruce forest, revealed the frozen fragments of a big lake trout scattered over the snow. they stood out sharply, so that no midnight forager of the wilds, prowling in the fringes of the shadow and peering forth in the watch for prey or foe, could by any possibility fail to sight them. the stillness of the solitude was intense, breathless, as if sealed to perpetual silence by the bitter cold. at last, at one corner of the open, a spruce branch that leaned upon the snow stirred ever so slightly; and from its shelter a little gray-brown nose, surmounted by a pair of tiny eyes like black beads, anxiously surveyed the perilous space of illumination. for perhaps half a minute there was not another movement. then the shrew-mouse, well aware that death might be watching him from under every tree, plucked up a desperate valour and darted out into the light. the goad of his winter hunger driving him, he seized the nearest bit of fish that was small enough for him to handle, and scurried back with it to his safe hole under a fir-root. it was brave adventure, and deserved its success. [illustration: "the shrew-mouse ... darted out into the light."] for ten minutes more nothing happened to break the stillness. then again the little shrew-mouse peered from the covert of his hanging branch. this time, however, he drew back instantly. he had caught sight of a pointed black head and snake-like neck stealthily reconnoitring from the opposite side of the open. a hungry mink was making ready to appropriate some of the fish; but since he knew that a forest glade, far from the water, was not a customary resort of fish, alive or frozen, he was inclined to be suspicious of some kind of trap or ambuscade. instead of looking at the delicious morsels, there in plain, alluring view, he scanned piercingly the shadows and drooping branches which encircled the glade. suddenly he seemed to detect something to his distaste. a red gleam of anger and ferocity flared into his eyes, and he sank back noiselessly into covert. a moment later came a huge lynx, padding softly but fearlessly straight out into the revealing light, as if he knew that at this season, when the bears were asleep and the bull moose, bereft of their antlers, had lost their interest in combat, there was none of all the forest kindreds to challenge his supremacy. he was stealthy, of course, in every movement, and his round, sinister eyes glared palely into every covert, but that was merely because he dreaded to frighten off a possible quarry, not because he feared a lurking foe. the frozen fish, however, showed no signs of flight at his approach; so he fell upon the nearest fragment and bolted it ravenously. having thus eagerly disposed of several substantial lumps, the great lynx became more critical, and went sniffing fastidiously from morsel to morsel as if he revelled in such unexpected abundance. suddenly there was a vicious _click_; and with a spit and a yowl the lynx started as if to jump into the air. instead of rising, however, some six or seven feet, under the propulsion of his mighty, spring-like muscles, he merely bowed his back and strained tremendously. in response, a small thing of dark steel emerged from the snow, followed closely by a log of heavy wood. the lynx was caught in a trap by his right fore foot. [illustration: "his round, sinister eyes glared palely into every covert."] for a minute or two the panic-stricken beast went through a number of more or less aimless contortions, spitting and screeching, biting at the trap, and clawing frantically at the log. presently, however, finding that his contortions only made the thing that had him grip the harder and hurt him the more savagely, he halted to consider his predicament. consideration not appearing to ease that urgent anguish in his paw, he began to strain steadily backward, hoping, if he could not free himself, at least to drag his captor into the woods and perhaps lose it among the trees. the log, however, was very heavy, and his best efforts could move it but a few inches at a time. when, at the end of an hour of fierce struggle, he lay down utterly exhausted, he was still in the full glare of the moon, still several feet from the shelter of the branches. but no sooner had he lain down, than the crunching of a footstep on the crisp snow brought him to his feet again; and with every hair on end along his back, his eyes ablaze with rage and fear, he turned to face the tall figure of a backwoodsman, who stood gazing at him with a smile of satisfaction from the other side of the glade. just about three hours earlier, on his way into the cross roads settlement, pete logan had set that trap with particular care, and with the definite purpose of capturing that particular lynx. with all his cunning, little did the great tuft-eared cat suspect that for weeks the backwoodsman had been watching him, noting his haunts and trails, observing his peculiarities, and laying plans for his capture. that very evening, at the cross roads, logan had boasted that single-handed he would bring the big lynx into the settlement, alive and undamaged. he wanted the splendid animal to sell to an american who was collecting wild beasts for menageries; and to avoid injuring the captive's fine gray fur he had partly muffled the cruel teeth of the trap, that they might take hold without tearing. having no dread of anything that inhabited the wilds, logan had left his rifle at home, and carried no weapon but the knife in his belt and his light, straight-hafted axe. in the pack on his back, however, he brought what he intended should serve him better than any weapon,--a thick blanket, and a heavy canvas sack. now, as he stood eying the frightened and furious captive, he undid the pack and shook the big blanket loose. the lynx glared with new terror at the ample folds. he had seen men before, but he had never seen one shaking out a blanket, which looked to him like a kind of gigantic and awful wings. logan had made his plans with careful foresight; and now it was with the deliberation of absolute confidence that he went about the execution of them. his axe gripped in readiness for any unforeseen piece of strategy on the part of the foe, he advanced with the blanket outspread before him like a shield. back and back, to the limit of his bonds, cowered the lynx, glaring defiance and inextinguishable hate. slowly the man drew near, till, just barely within reach of the beast's spring, he stopped. for perhaps half a minute more neither man nor beast stirred a muscle,--till the tension of the captive's nerves must have neared the breaking-point. then, as if his own nerves knew by sympathy the exactly proper moment for the next move in the game, logan made a swooping forward plunge with the blanket. with a screech of fury the lynx sprang to the grapple,--to find himself, in half a second, rolled over and tangled up and swathed helpless in the smothering woollen folds. in vain he bit, and spat, and yowled, and tore. his keen white fangs caught nothing but choking wool; his rending claws had no chance to do their work; and the crushing weight of the woodsman's sturdy body was bearing him down into the snow. in a few moments, daunted by the thick darkness over his eyes and exhausted by the impotence of his efforts, he lay still, quivering with rage. then, with the most delicate caution, working through a couple of folds of the blanket, logan released the jaws of the trap and slipped it warily from the imprisoned paw. to remove it from within the perilous paral was, of course, not to be thought of; but he feared to damage the joint by leaving it in that inexorable clutch a moment longer than was necessary. this done, he deftly whipped a lashing of cod-line about the bundle, binding the legs securely, but leaving a measure of freedom about the head and neck. then he thrust the bundle into the canvas bag, slung it over his back, and started on the five-mile tramp back to his camp. logan travelled without snow-shoes, because there was just now little snow on the trails, or even in the deep woods. what snow there was, moreover, was frozen almost as hard as rock, except for an inch or two of fluffy stuff which had fallen leisurely within a couple of days. an extraordinarily heavy and prolonged january thaw, followed by fierce and sudden frost, had brought about this unusual condition, making something like a famine among the hunting kindreds of the forest, whose light-footed quarry, the eaters of bark and twig and bud, now found flight easy over the frozen surfaces. the complacent trapper, ruminating pleasantly over his triumph and the handsome price his captive was to bring him, had covered perhaps a mile of his homeward journey when from far behind him came to his ears a novel sound, faintly pulsing down the still night air. without seeming to pay it any attention whatever, he nevertheless was instantly and keenly concerned; and he perceived that the uneasy bundle on his back was interested too, for it stopped its indignant wrigglings to listen. up to this moment logan had believed that there was no voice in all the wilderness unfamiliar to his ears, no speech of all the wild kindreds which he could not in rough fashion interpret. but this cry he did not understand. presently it was repeated, a little nearer, and a little more convincingly strange to him. he knotted his rugged brows. a few moments more and again it floated down the moonlight, high, quavering, musical, yet carrying in its mysterious cadences an unmistakable menace. logan knew now to a certainty that it was a sound he had never heard before; and he knew what it was, though he refused to acknowledge it to himself, because it was a refutation of many of his most dogmatic pronouncements. "it _ain't_ wolves!" he muttered to himself obstinately. "ther' ain't never been a wolf in new brunswick!" but even as he spoke, the sinister cry arose again, nearer and yet nearer; and he was obliged to confess to himself that, whatever it was, it was on his trail, and he was likely to know more about it within a few minutes. he was not alarmed, but he was annoyed, both at the upsetting of his theories and at the absence of his gun. undoubtedly, these charlotte county romancers had been right. there _were_ wolves in new brunswick. he was ready to apologize for having so sarcastically questioned it. in spite of the fact that his dignity as a woodsman would not permit him to be alarmed, he could not but recognize that the cry upon his trail was made up of a number of voices, and that a number of wolves might be capable of making things very unpleasant for him. he remembered, uncomfortably, that in this weather, with the snow so hard that the deer could run their fastest upon it, the wolves must be extremely hungry. the more he thought of this fact the more clearly he realized that the wolves must be very hungry indeed, to dare to trail a man. he had been walking as fast as he could; but now he broke into a long, swinging lope, his moccasined feet padding with a soft whisper upon the snow. for a moment he thought of ridding himself of the burden upon his back; but this idea he rejected resentfully and with scorn. he was not going to be robbed of his triumph by a bunch of rascally, interloping vermin like wolves. meanwhile, the quavering high-pitched chorus was sweeping swiftly nearer through the moonlight, and logan put on a burst of speed in order to get to a stretch of open burnt lands before his pursuers should come up with him. if he was to have a fight forced upon him, he wanted plenty of room and the chance to keep all his adversaries in plain view. he gained the open, with its scattered black stumps and gaunt, ghostly "rampikes" dotting the radiant silver of the snow, and was some eighty or a hundred paces beyond the edge of the woods before the wolves appeared. glancing over his shoulder, he saw the gray forms of the pack halt, come close together, then separate again, hesitating at the venture of the open. the hesitation was only for a moment, however. then, in formation so close that one might have covered the whole pack with a bedquilt, they came on again. his trained eye had counted six wolves in the pack; and he was relieved to find that there were not more. from their cries he had imagined there must have been thirty or forty. logan was too wise to run, now that he was in view of his foes. he stalked on with haughty indifference, till the pack was within twenty-five or thirty yards of his heels. then he turned, and spoke, with an air of sharp, confident authority. even through their hunger and their savage madness of pursuit the beasts felt the mastery of his voice. they paused, irresolutely, then opened out and sat down on their haunches to see what he would do. [illustration: "he saw the gray forms of the pack."] after surveying them superciliously for a few seconds, the woodsman turned again and stalked on, keeping, however, a keen watch over his shoulder and his axe poised ready for instant use. as soon as he moved on, the wolves followed, but no longer in their pack formation. not yet audacious enough to come within ten or twelve feet of this arrogantly confident being, whose voice had power to daunt them in the very heat of their onslaught, they spread out on either side of the trail, half-surrounding him, and keeping pace with him at a skulking trot. their jaws were half-open, their long white fangs were bared in a snarling grin, and their eyes, all fixed upon him unwinkingly, glinted a green light of ferocity and hunger. little by little they drew closer in, while logan pretended to ignore them contemptuously. all at once he felt, almost more than saw, one of the largest of the pack dart in to spring upon his back. out went the bright axe-blade like a flash of blue flame, as he whirled on his heel; and the wolf dropped with a choked-off yelp, shorn through the neck. thrice around him he wheeled the circle of the deadly blade; and the wolves deferentially slunk beyond reach of it, not yet ready to tempt the fate of their comrade. five minutes more, however, and the wary beasts again drew closer and logan found that the strain of guarding himself on all sides at once was overwhelming. at any moment, as he knew, those hungry eyes might all close in on him together. a few hundred yards ahead, as he bethought himself, the trail led under the foot of a high, almost perpendicular rock; and he made up his mind that he must reach that rock as speedily as possible. with his back against the steep face of it he could face the charge of the pack to better advantage. breaking into a long, unhurried trot, he pressed on, swinging the axe from side to side in swift, menacing sweeps, and uttering angry expletives which the wolves seemed to respect as much as they did the gleaming weapon. before he gained the foot of the rock, however, the beasts had grown more confident and more impatient, making little sudden leaps at him, from one side or the other, so incessantly that his arm had not a moment's rest; and he realized that the crisis of the adventure could not be much longer delayed. when he reached the foot of the rock and turned at bay, the wolves drew back once more and formed a half-circle before him, a moving, interweaving half-circle that drew closer and grew smaller stealthily. suddenly the wolf which seemed the leader sprang straight in. but the woodsman seemed to divine the move even before it began, so sharply did he meet it with a step forward and a savage axe-stroke; and the wolf sprang back just in time to save its skull. and now, in the clutch of the final trial, logan had an inspiration. with all the doggedness of the backwoods will he had vowed that he would not give up the rich booty on his back. but the question had at last, as he saw, become one of giving up his own life. in this crisis, his backwoods understanding and sympathy suddenly went out toward the plucky but helpless captive in the sack on his back. it would be quite too bad that the splendid lynx, with all his fighting equipment of fangs and claws, should be torn to pieces in his bonds without a chance to make a fight for life. moreover, as he realized with the next thought, here was perhaps a chance to create an effective diversion in his own favour. with a shout and a mad whirling of the axe, he once more drew back the narrowing crescent of the wolves. the next instant he swung the bag from his back, ripped open the mouth of it, and emptied out the writhing roll of blanket upon the snow at his feet,--while the wolves, eyeing this new procedure with suspicion, held back a few moments before again closing in. as the bundle fell, logan seized one corner of the blanket, and with a dexterous twist and throw unrolled it, landing the prisoner almost under the noses of the wolves. bewildered for an instant, the lynx had no time to bound back and scurry up the steep face of the rock to safety. he had no sooner gained his feet than the whole pack was upon him. with a screech of fury he proclaimed his understanding of the crisis, and turned every tooth and claw into the fray. his fangs, of course, were no match for those of any one of his assailants; but his claws were weapons of such quality that no single wolf could have withstood him. as it was, the wolves in their eagerness got in one another's way; and as the mass of them smothered the lynx down, more than one got eviscerating slashes that sent them yelping out of battle. for a few breathless seconds logan watched the fight, glowing with excited approval over his late captive's prowess. then he realized the time had come when he must take a hand, or find himself again at a disadvantage. silently he darted upon the screeching, growling heap with his light axe. so skilled was he in all the woodsman's sleights, that even in so brief time as takes to tell it, three more of the pack were down, kicking and dying silently on the snow. the leader of the pack, the side of his neck redly furrowed and the lust of battle hot in his veins, wheeled, and jumped madly at logan's throat. but the woodsman met him with a terrific short-handled upward stroke, which fairly split his ribs and hurled him over backwards. on the instant the remaining wolves, who had each suffered something in the mêlée, concluded that the game was up. leaping away from the reach of those deadly-ripping claws, they turned and ran off like whipped dogs. bleeding from a dozen gashes, bedraggled and battered, but still full of fight to every outspread claw, the lynx crouched and glared at the man, with ears flattened back and eyes shooting pallid flame. for some seconds the two faced each other, the man grinning with approval. then it occurred to him that the maddened beast, in despair of escape, might spring at him and compel him to strike, which, in his present sympathetic and grateful mood, he was most unwilling to do. cautiously, keeping his eyes on the sinister flaring orbs that faced him, he took a step backwards. still the lynx crouched, ready to spring. then logan spoke, in quiet expostulation. "don't ye go for to fight _me_, now! i never done ye no hurt!" he argued mendaciously. "it's them durn wolves, that was after the both of us; an' it was me got ye out of that scrape. don't ye come lookin' fer trouble, for i don't want to hurt ye!" at the sound of the quiet voice, soothing yet commanding, the tension of the beast's madness seemed to relax. the fixity of his glare wavered. then his eyes shifted; and the next moment, turning with a movement so quick that the woodsman's eyes could hardly follow it, he was away like a gray shadow among the stumps and trunks, not leaping, but running belly to ground like a cat. logan watched him out of sight, then nonchalantly put two wounded wolves out of their misery, whetted his knife on his larrigans, and settled down to the task of stripping the pelts. when the tide came over the marshes a perfect dome of palest blue, vapourous but luminous. to northward and southeastward a horizon line of low uplands, misty purple. along the farthest west a glimmer and sparkle of the sea. everywhere else, wide, wind-washed levels of marsh, pallid green or ochre yellow, cut here and there with winding tide-channels and mud-flats of glistening copper red. twisting this way and that in erratic curves, the unbroken, sodded lines of the dyke, fencing off the red flats and tide-channels, and dividing the green expanses of protected dyke-marsh from the ochre yellow stretches of the salt marsh, as yet but half-reclaimed from the sea. at this autumn season the hay had all been cut and cured and most of it hauled away to safe storage in far-off, upland barns. but on the remoter and wetter marshes some of it had been piled in huge yellow-gray, cone-peaked stacks, to await the easier hauling of winter. the solitary, snug-built stacks, towering above the dyke-tops and whistled over ceaselessly by the long marsh winds, were a favoured resort of the meadow-mice. these adaptable little animals were able to endure with equanimity the inevitable annual destruction of their homes in the deep grass, seeing that the haymakers were so thoughtful as to afford them much dryer and more secure abodes in the heart of the stacks, where neither the keen-nosed fox nor the keen-eyed marsh-owl could get at them. past the foot of a certain lonely stack by the outer dyke, within sound of the rushing tide, ran an old drainage ditch, at this time of year almost dry. its bottom, where tiny puddles were threaded on a trickle of running water, was now a thronged resort of water-loving insects, and small frogs, and imprisoned shiners. to a wandering mink, driven down by drought from the uplands, it was a wonderful and delightful place, which he adopted at once as his own particular range. the main ditch, with its system of lateral feeders, furnished several miles of runway, and the whole of this rich domain the newcomer preempted, patrolling it methodically, devoting his whole attention to it, and ready to defend it against any rival claimant who might appear. the mink was a male, about twenty inches long, with his rich dark coat in perfect condition. his pointed, sinister, quietly savage face and head were set on a long but heavy-muscled neck, almost as thick as the thickest part of his body. the body itself was altogether snake-like in its lithe sinuousness, and supported on legs so ridiculously short that when he was not leaping he seemed to writhe and dart along on his belly after the fashion of a snake. in spite of this shortness of the legs, however, his movements, when he had any reason for haste, were of an almost miraculous swiftness, his whole form seeming to be made up of subtle and tireless steel springs. when he did not care to writhe and dart along like a snake, he would arch his long back like a measuring-worm and go leaping over the ground in jumps of sometimes four or five feet in length. this method of progression he probably adopted for the fun of it, in the main; for his hunting tactics were usually those of stealthy advance and lightning-like attack. once in a long while, indeed, by lucky chance he would succeed in catching in one of these wild leaps, a snipe which flew too low over the ditch or paused on hovering wing before alighting to forage on the populous ooze. such an achievement would afford a pleasant variation to his customary diet of fish, frogs, beetles, and occasional muskrat. the mink had been nearly three weeks on his new range, and enjoying himself hugely in his devastating way, before he observed the big yellow stack beside the ditch. it was on a day of driving rain-squalls and premature cold that he first took note of its possibilities. gliding furtively around its base, his bright, fierce eyes detected a tiny hole, the imperfectly hidden entrance to a mouse-tunnel. he thrust in his head at once to investigate. it was a close squeeze; but where his head and neck could go his slender body could follow, and he dearly loved the exploring of just such narrow passages. a little way in, the tunnel branched; but the mink made no mistake. the gallery which he selected to follow ended in a mouse-nest, with the mice at home. there in the dry, warm, sweet-scented dark there was a brief tragedy, with shrill squeaks and a rustling struggle. two mice escaped the slaughter, but the other three were caught. the invader sucked the blood of all three while they were warm, ate one, and then curled himself up for sleep in his new and delightful quarters. this stack was all that the new range needed to make it the very choicest that a mink could possess. [illustration: "a snipe which flew too low over the ditch."] after this the mink occupied the stack in bad weather, but ranged the ditches, as usual, when it was pleasant. the stack was full of mouse-galleries, and when he wanted a change he hunted mice. but it was the outdoor, wide-ranging life that best contented him, so the mice were by no means all driven out. being a happy-go-lucky tribe, the survivors continued to occupy their nests in spite of their terrible new neighbour, trusting that doom would overlook them. but neither men nor mice nor minks can be prepared against all the caprices of nature. that fall, nature suddenly took it into her head to try the dykes, of which the men had for a generation or more been so boastful. she rolled in from the sea a succession of tremendous tides, backing them up with a mighty and unrelenting wind out of the southwest, and piled the tide-channels to the brim with buffeting floods. for a time the dykes withstood the assault valiantly. but again and again, ever fiercer and fiercer, came the besieging tides; and finally they made a breach. in rushed a red and foaming torrent, devouring the clay walls on either side with a roar, and drowning the long-protected dyke-marsh under a seething chaos of muddy waves and débris. the first breach occurred at daybreak; and the stack stood right in the way. the huge flood poured in in angry glory, almost blood-red in the first gush of a blazing crimson sunrise. in that unnatural and terrifying light, which swiftly softened to a mocking delicacy of pink and lilac, the stack was torn from its foundations and borne revolving up the tide. the nest of the mink, being low in the stack, was promptly flooded, driving the angry tenant out. he ran up to the dry top of the stack, and surveyed the wild scene with surprise. water, of course, had no terrors for him; but this tumultuous flood seemed a good thing to keep out of. he would stay by his refuge for the present, at least. meanwhile, there were mice! [illustration: "madly joyous, he killed, and killed, and killed, for the joy of killing."] the mice, indeed, panic-stricken and forced from their lower nests, were fairly swarming in the top of the stack. the mink first satiated his thirst with blood. next he glutted his hunger with the brains of his victims. then, seeing their numbers apparently undiminished, he got wild with excitement and blood-lust. darting hither and thither, madly joyous, he killed, and killed, and killed, for the joy of killing; while the stack, with its freight of terror and death, went whirling majestically along the now broader and quieter flood. how long the slaughter of the helpless mice would have continued, before the slaughterer tired of the game and crept into a nest to sleep, cannot be known. by another of nature's whims, concerned equally with great matters and with little, it was not left to the joyous mink to decide. his conspicuous dark body, darting over the light surface of the stack, caught the eye of a great hawk soaring high above the marshes. lower and lower sank the bird, considering,--for the mink was larger game than he usually chose to hunt. then, while still too high in the blue to attract attention from the busy slayer, he narrowed his wings, hardened his plumage, and shot downward. at a strange sound in the air the mink looked up,--but not in time to meet that appalling attack. one great set of talons, steel-strong and edged like knives, clutched him about the throat, strangling him to helplessness, while another set crushed his ribs and cut into his vitals. the wise hawk had struck with a thorough comprehension of the enemy's fighting powers; and had taken care that there should be no fight. flying heavily, he carried the long, limp body off to his high nest in the hills; and the stack drifted on with the tiny terrified remnant of the mouse-people, till the ebbing tide left it stranded on a meadow near the foot of the uplands. under the ice-roof i filtering thinly down through the roof of snow and clean blue ice, the sharp winter sunshine made almost a summer's glow upon the brown bottom of the pond. beneath the ice the water was almost as warm now as in summer, the pond being fed by springs from so deep a source that their temperature hardly varied with the seasons. here and there a bit of water-weed stood up from the bottom, green as in june. but in the upper world, meanwhile, the wind that drove over the ice and snow was so intensely cold that the hardy northern trees snapped under it, and few of the hardy northern creatures of the wilderness, though fierce with hunger, had the fortitude to face it. they crouched shivering in their lairs, under fallen trunks or in the heart of dense fir thickets, and waited anxiously for the rigour of cold and the savagery of wind to abate. only down in the pond, in the generous spaces of amber water beneath the ice-roof, life went on busily and securely. the wind might rage unbridled, the cold might lay its hand of death heavily on forest and hill; but the beavers in their unseen retreat knew nothing of it. all it could do was to add an inch or two of thickness to the icy shelter above them, making their peaceful security more secure. the pond was a large one, several acres in extent, with a depth of fully five feet in the deeper central portions, which were spacious enough to give the beavers room for play and exercise. around the shallow edges the ice, which was fully fifteen inches thick beneath its blanket of snow, lay solid on the bottom. the beavers of this pond occupied a lodge on the edge of the deep water, not far above the dam. this lodge was a broad-based, low-domed house of mud, turf, and sticks cunningly interwoven, and rising about four feet above the surface of the ice-roof. the dome, though covered deep with snow, was conspicuous to every prowler of the woods, who would come at times to sniff greedily at the warm smell of beaver steaming up from the minute air-vents in the apex. but however greedy, however ravenous, the prowling vagrants might be, the little dome-builders and dam-builders within neither knew nor cared about their greed. the dome was fully two feet thick, built solidly, and frozen almost to the hardness of granite. there were no claws among all the ravening forest kindred strong enough to tear their way through such defences. in the heart of the lodge, in a dry grass-lined chamber just above high-water level, the beavers dwelt warm and safe. but it was not from the scourge of the northern cold alone, and the ferocity of their enemies, that the beavers were protected by their ice-roof and their frozen dome. the winter's famine, too, they had well guarded themselves against. before the coming of the frost, they had gnawed down great quantities of birch, poplar, and willow, cut them into convenient, manageable lengths, and dragged them to a spot a little above the centre of the dam, where the water was deepest. here the store of logs, poles, and brush made a tangled mass from the bottom up to the ice. when it was feeding-time in the hidden chamber of the lodge, a beaver would swim to the brush pile, pull out a suitable stick, and drag it into the chamber. here the family would feast at their ease, in the dry, pungent gloom, eating the bark and the delicate outer layer of young wood. when the stick was stripped clean, another beaver would drag it out and tow it down to the dam, there to await its final use as material for repairs. every member of the colony was blest with a good appetite, and there was nearly always at least one beaver to be seen swimming through the amber gloom, either with a green stick from the brush pile, or a white stripped one to deposit on the base of the dam. for these most diligent of all the four-foot kindreds this was holiday time. under the ice-roof they had no dam-building, no tree-cutting, no house-repairing. there was nothing to do but eat, sleep, and play. there was not much variety to their play, to be sure; but the monotony of it did not trouble them. sometimes two would indulge in a sort of mad game of tag, swimming at marvellous speed close beneath the ice, their powerful hind legs propelling them, their tiny little fore paws held up demurely under their chins, and their broad, flat, hairless tails stretched straight out behind to act as rudders. as they swam this way and that, they loosed a trail of silvery bubbles behind them, from the air carried under their close fur. at last one of the players, unable to hold his breath any longer, would whisk sharply into the mouth of the black tunnel leading into the lodge, scurry up into the chamber, and lie there panting, to be joined a moment later by his equally breathless pursuer. one by one the other members of the colony would dip in, till the low chamber was full of furry, snuggling warmth and well-fed content. little cared the beavers whether it was night or day in the wide, frozen, perilous world above the ice-roof, whether the sun shone from the bitter blue, or the wolf-haunted moonlight lay upon the snow, or the madness of the blizzard made the woods cower before its fury. [illustration: "would whisk sharply into the mouth of the black tunnel."] as long as the cold endured and the snow lay deep upon the wilderness, the beavers lived their happy, uneventful life beneath the ice-roof. but in this particular winter the untempered cold of december and january, which slew many of the wood folk and drove the others wild with hunger, broke suddenly in an unprecedented thaw. not the oldest bear of the bald mountain caves could remember any such thaw. first there were days on days, and nights on nights, of bland, melting rain, softer than april's. the snow vanished swiftly from the laden branches of fir and spruce and hemlock, and the silent woods stood up black and terrible against the weeping sky. on the ground and on the ice of pond and stream the snow shrank, settled, and assumed a grayish complexion. water, presently, gathered in great spreading, leaden-coloured pools on the ice; and on the naked knolls the bare moss and petty shrubs began to emerge. every narrow watercourse soon carried two streams,--the temperate, fettered, summer-mindful stream below the ice, and the swollen, turbulent flood above. then the rain stopped. the sun came out warm and urgent as in latter may. and snow and ice together dwindled under the unnatural caress. the beavers, in their safe seclusion, had knowledge in two ways of this strange visitation upon the world. not all the soft flood of the melting snow ran over the surface of their ice, but a portion got beneath it, by way of the upper brooks. this extra flow disturbed both the colour and the temperature of the clear amber water of the pond. it lifted heavily against the ice, pressed up the tunnels to the very edge of the dry chamber of the lodge, and thrust ponderously at the outlets of the dam. understanding the peril, the wise little dam-builders sallied forth in a flurry, and with skilful tooth and claw lost no time in enlarging the outlets. they were much too intelligent to let the flood escape by a single outlet, lest the concentrated flow should become too heavy for them to control it. they knew the spirit of that ancient maxim of tyrants, "_divide et impera_." by dividing the overflow into many feeble streams they knew how to rule it. this done, they rested in no great anxiety, expecting the thaw to end with a stringent frost. then, however, came the second, and more significant, manifestation of peril. the snow on the ice-roof had vanished; and looking up through the ice they saw the flood eddying riotously over the naked expanse. it was a portent which the wiser elders understood. the whole colony fell to work strengthening the dam where the weight of the current bore down upon it, and increasing the outlet along the farther edges. a thaw so persistent, however, and at the same time so violent, overpassed their cunning calculations. one night, when all had done their best and, weary, but reassured, had withdrawn into the warm chamber of the lodge, something happened that they had never looked for. in their snug retreat they were falling to sleep, the rush of the overflow and the high clamour of the side vents coming dimly to their ears, when suddenly they were startled by the water being forced up over the dry floor of the chamber. the pressure of water beneath the ice had suddenly increased. they were more than startled. they were badly frightened. if the water should rise much higher they would be drowned helplessly, for the ice lay close all over the pond. the younger ones scurried this way and that with plaintive squeaks, and several dashed forth into the pond in a panic, forgetting that there was no escape in that direction. a moment later a low crashing penetrated to the dark chamber; and the invading water retreated down the tunnel. the ice-roof, worn thin, honey-combed, and upheaved by the pressure from below, had gone to pieces. it was the older and wiser beavers who had remained in the chamber, terrified, but not panic-stricken. when the water retreated to its normal level,--about two inches below the chamber floor,--they were satisfied. then, however, a louder and heavier note in the rush of the overflow came to their ears, and their anxiety returned with fresh force. thrusting their whiskered noses inquiringly down the tunnel, they observed that the water was sinking far below its proper level. well they knew what that meant. the dam was broken. the water, which was their one protection from the terrors of the forest, was escaping. this was the kind of an emergency which a beaver will always rise to. shy as they are, under ordinary circumstances, when the dam is attacked their courage is unfailing. in a moment every beaver in the colony was out among the swirling ice, under the broad, white moonlight which they had not seen for so long. it was at its very centre, where the channel was deepest and the thrust of the water most violent, that the dam had given way. the break was about ten feet wide, and not, as yet, of any great depth. it was the comparatively narrow and unsubstantial crust of the embankment which had yielded, disintegrated by the thaw and ripped by the broken edges of the ice. the vehemence of the torrent was rapidly cutting down into the firmer body of the dam, when the beavers flung themselves valiantly into the breach. in the face of the common danger they forgot all caution, and gave no heed to any hungry eyes that might be glaring at them from the woods on either shore. without any apparent leadership in the work, they all seemed to help each other in whatever way would be most effective. some dragged up the longest and heaviest poles from the pile of stripped stuff, floated them carefully into the break, butt end up-stream and parallel with the flow, and held them there doggedly with their teeth and fore paws till others could come with more timbers to hold the first lot down. meanwhile, from the soft bottom along the base of the dam, big lumps of mingled clay and grass-roots, together with small stones to add weight, were grabbed up and heaped solidly upon the layers of sticks for anchorage. this loose stuff, though deposited along the upper ends of the sticks where the flow was least violent, and swiftly packed down into the interstices, was mostly washed away in the process. it was seemingly an even struggle, for a time, and the beavers could do no more than hold the breach from deepening and widening. but they were quite undaunted; and they seemed to know no such thing as fatigue. little by little they gained upon the torrent, making good the hold of a mass of turf here, a few stones there, and everywhere the long straight sticks upon which the water could get but slight grip. the flood grew shallower and less destructive. more sticks were brought, more stones, and clay, and grass-roots; and then a layer of heavy, clean poles, over which the water slid thinly and smoothly without danger to the structure beneath. the dam was now strongest at this point, its crest being broader and formed of heavier timbers than elsewhere. but no sooner had the hard-won victory been secured, and the plucky little architects paused for breath, than there came an ominous crackling from far over to the extreme left of the dam, where a subsidiary channel had offered a new vantage to the baffled torrent. the crackling was mingled with a loud rushing noise. another section of the crest of the dam had been swept away. a white curtain of foam sprang into the moonlight, against the darkness of the trees. ii while the brave little dam-builders had been battling with the flood, out there in the wide-washing moonlight, hungry eyes had been watching them from the heart of a dense spruce thicket, a little below the left end of the dam. the watching had been hopeless enough, as the owner of those fierce, narrow eyes knew it was no use trying to surprise a beaver in the open, when the whole pond was right there for him to dive into. but now when the new break brought the whole colony swimming madly to the left-hand shore, and close to the darkness of the woods, those watching eyes glowed with a savage expectancy, and began slowly, noiselessly, steadily, floating nearer through the undisturbed underbrush. the tremendous thaw, loosing the springs and streams on the high flanks of bald mountain, had washed out the snow from the mouth of a shallow cave and rudely aroused a young bear from his winter sleep. as soon as he had shaken off his heaviness the bear found himself hungry. but his hunting thus far had not been successful. his training had not been in the winter woods. he hardly knew what to look for, and the soft slumping snow hampered him. one panic-stricken white rabbit, and a few ants from a rotten stump, were all that he had found to eat in three days. his white fangs in his red jaws had slavered with craving as he watched the plump beavers at their work, far out on the brightly moonlit dam. when, at last, they came hurrying toward him, and fell to work on the new break within thirty or forty yards of his hiding-place, he could hardly contain himself. he did contain himself, however; for he had hunted beaver before, and not with a success to make him overconfident. right by the termination of the dam, where the beavers were working, the woods came down thick and dark to within eight or ten feet of the water. toward this point he made his way patiently, and with such control of every muscle that, for all his apparent clumsiness, not a twig snapped, not a branch rustled, any more than if a shadow were gliding through them. he saw one old beaver sitting stiffly erect on the crest of the dam, a wary sentinel, sniffing the still air and scanning the perilous woods; but he planned to make his final rush so swift that the sentinel would have no time to give warning. but the fierce little eyes of the bear, dark and glinting red, were not the only ones that watched the beavers at their valorous toil. in the juniper scrub, a short distance up the bank of the pond, crouched two big gray lynxes, glaring down upon the scene with wide, round, pale greenish eyes, unspeakably sinister. the lynxes were gaunt with famine. fired with the savage hope that some chance might bring a beaver within reach of their mighty spring, they had crept down, on their great, furred, stealthy pads, to the patch of juniper scrub. here they had halted, biding their time with that long, painful patience which is the price of feeding--the price of life--among the winter-scourged kindreds. now, when the beavers had so considerately come over to the edge of the woods, and appeared to be engrossed in some incomprehensible pulling and splashing and mud-piling, the two lynxes felt that their opportunity had arrived. their bellies close to the snow, their broad, soft-padded feet stepping lightly as the fall of feathers, their light gray fur all but invisible among the confused moon-shadows, their round, bright eyes unwinking, they seemed almost to drift down through the thickets toward their expected prey. neither the bear creeping up from below the dam, nor the two lynxes stealing down from above it, had eyes or thought for anything in the world but the desperately toiling beavers. their hunger was gnawing at their lean stomachs, the fever of the hunt was in their veins, and the kill was all but within reach. a few moments more, and the rush would come, up from the fir thickets--the long, terrible spring and pounce, down from the juniper scrub. the work of repairing the breach was making good progress. already the roaring overflow was coming into subjection, its loud voice dwindling to a shallow clamour. then, something happened. perhaps the wary sentinel on the crest of the dam detected a darker shade stirring among the firs, or a lighter grayness moving inexplicably between the bushes up the bank. perhaps his quick nostrils caught a scent that meant danger. perhaps the warning came to him mysteriously, flashed upon that inner sense, sometimes alert and sometimes densely slumbering, which the forest furtiveness seems to develop in its creatures. however, it came, it came. dropping forward as if shot, the sentinel beaver brought his flat tail down upon the surface of the water with a smack that rang all up and around the borders of the pond, startling the quiet of the night. in a fraction of a second every beaver had vanished beneath the shining surface. at the same moment, or an eye-wink later, a strange thing happened--one of those violent surprises with which the vast repression of the forest sometimes betrays itself. maddened to see his prey escaping, the bear made his rush, launching himself, a black and uncouth mass, right down to the water's edge. simultaneously the two lynxes shot into the air from higher up the bank, frantic with disappointed hunger. with a screech of fury, and a harsh spitting and snarling, they landed a few feet distant from the bear, and crouched flat, their stub tails twitching, their eyes staring, their tufted ears laid back upon their skulls. like a flash the bear wheeled, confronting the two great cats with uplifted paw and mouth wide open. half-sitting back upon his haunches, he was ready for attack or defence. his little eyes glowed red with rage. to him it was clearly the lynxes who had frightened off the beavers and spoiled his hunting; and interference of this kind is what the wild kindreds will not tolerate. to the lynxes, on the other hand, it was obvious that the bear had caused the whole trouble. he was the clumsy interloper who had come between them and their quarry. they were on the verge of that blindness of fury which might hurl them, at any instant, tooth and claw, upon their formidable foe. for the moment, however, they had not quite lost sight of prudence. the bear was master of the forest, and they knew that even together they two were hardly a match for him. [illustration: "confronting the two great cats with uplifted paw and mouth wide open."] the bear, on the other hand, was not quite sure that he was willing to pay the price of vengeance. his blood surging in the swollen veins, he growled with heavy menace, and rocking forward upon his haunches he seemed on the point of rushing in. but he knew how those powerful knife-edged claws of the lynxes could rend. he knew that their light bodies were strong and swift and elusive, their teeth almost as punishing as his own. he felt himself the master; nevertheless he realized that it would cost dear to enforce that mastery. he hesitated. had he made the slightest forward move, the lynxes would have thrown caution to the winds, and sprung upon him. on the other hand, had the lynxes even tightened up their sinews to spring, he would have hurled himself with a roar into the battle. but as it was, both sides held themselves in leash, tense, ready, terrible in restraint. and as the moments dragged by, out on the bright surface of the pond small heads appeared, with little bright eyes watching curiously. for perhaps three or four long, intense minutes there was not a move made. then the round eyes of the lynxes shifted ever so little, while the bear's eyes never faltered. the bear's was the steadier purpose, the more tenacious and resolute temper. almost imperceptibly the lynxes shrank backward, gliding inch by inch. a swift side-glance showed them that the way of retreat was open. then, as if both were propelled by the one vehement impulse, they bounded into the air, one whirling aside and the other almost doubling back upon his own trail. quicker than it takes to tell it, they were fleeing like gray shadows, one over the bank and through the juniper bushes, the other up along the snowy shore of the pond, their discomfiture apparently driving them to part company. the bear, as if surprised, sat up on his haunches to stare after them. then, with a hungry look at the beavers, now swimming openly far out in the moonlight, he turned and shambled off to find some more profitable hunting. for a few minutes all was stillness, save for the rushing of the water over the dam. the solitude of the night had resumed its white and tranquil dominion as if nothing had ever occurred to jar its peace. then once more the watchful sentinel appeared, sitting erect on the dam, and the diligent builders busied themselves to complete the mending of the breach. [illustration: "once more the watchful sentinel appeared."] the terror of the air from all the lonely salt-flats and tide-washed, reedy shores of the wide estuary, the flocks of the sea-ducks had flown south. after feeding for days together amicably, golden-eyed and red-head, broad-bill and dipper, all hobnobbing and bobbing and guttering in company, without regard to difference of kin, they had at last assorted themselves into flocks of the like species and wing power, and gone off in strong-flying wedges to seek milder tides and softer skies. nevertheless, though the marshy levels were now stiffened with frost, and ice fringes lingered thin and brittle behind each retreating tide, and white flurries of snow went drifting over the vast, windy spaces of wave and plain, some bold, persistent waifs of life clung to these bleak solitudes. here and there a straggler from the flocks, or a belated arrival from farther north, fed solitary and seemed sufficient to himself; while here and there a few hardy coots, revelling in the loneliness and in the forbidding harshness of the season, swam and dived among the low, leaden-coloured waves. across ten level miles of naked marsh-land another estuary made in from the sea. on the shore of this estuary, so shallow that for leagues along its edge it was impossible to distinguish, at high tide, just where the water ended and the solid land began, a solitary surf-duck dabbled among the gray, half-frozen grasses. of a dull black all over, save for a patch of clear white on his head and another on the back of his neck, he made a sharp, conspicuous spot against the pallid colouring of the marshes. for all his loneliness, he seemed to be enjoying himself very well, active and engrossed, and to all appearances forgetful of the departed flocks. suddenly, however, he stopped feeding, and sat with head erect and watchful eyes, rising and falling gently with the pulse of the sedge-choked flood. either some unusual sight or sound had disturbed him, or some drift of memory had stirred his restlessness. for several minutes he floated, forgetful of the savoury shelled and squirming creatures which his discriminating bill had been gathering from among the oozy sedge-roots. then with an abrupt squawk, he flapped noisily along the surface of the water, rose into the air, and flew straight inland, mounting as he went to a height far above gunshot. the flight of the lonely drake was toward the shores of the other estuary, ten miles southward, where in all likelihood he had some hope of finding the companionship of his kin, if not a better feeding-ground. though his body was very heavy and massive and his wings ridiculously short for the bulk they had to sustain, he flew with tremendous speed and as straight as a bullet from a rifle. his wings, however small, were mightily muscled and as tough as steel springs, and they beat the air with such lightning strokes that the sturdy body, head and neck and legs and feet outstretched in a rigid line, was hurled through the air at a speed of something like a hundred miles an hour. as he flew, the flurries of snow gathered into a squall of whirling flakes, almost obscuring the waste of marsh-land that rushed past beneath his flight, and shutting him off alone in the upper heights of sky. alone indeed he imagined himself, while the cold air and the streaming snowflakes whistled past his flight. but keen as were his eyes, other eyes keener than his had marked him from a loftier height, where the air was clear above the storm strata. a great arctic goshawk, driven by some unknown whim to follow the edge of winter southward, was sailing on wide wings through the high, familiar cold. when he saw the black drake far below him, shooting through the snowflakes like a missile, his fierce eyes flamed and narrowed, his wings gave one mighty beat and then half-closed, and he dropped into the cloudy murk of the storm belt. the drake was now about a hundred yards ahead of the great hawk, and flying at perhaps ninety miles an hour under the mere impulse of his desire to reach the other estuary. when he caught sight of the white terror pursuing him, his sturdy little wings doubled the rapidity of their stroke, till he shot forward at a rate of, perhaps, two miles a minute, his wedge-shaped body and hard, oiled plumage offering small resistance to the air even at that enormous speed. his only chance of escape, as he well knew, was to reach the water and plunge beneath it. but he could not turn back, for the terror was behind him. straight ahead lay his only hope. there, not more than two or three minutes distant, lay his secure refuge. he could see the leaden gray expanse, touched by a gleam of cold and lonely sunlight which had pierced the obscurity of the squall. could he reach it? if he could, he would drop into the slow wave, dive to the bottom, and hold to the roots of the swaying weeds till the terror had gone by. a hundred yards behind came the hawk, moving like a dreadful ghost through the swirl and glimmer of the snow. his plumage was white, but pencilled with shadowy markings of pale brown. his narrowed eyes, fixed upon the fugitive, were fiercely bright and hard like glass. his hooked beak, his flat head, his strong, thick, smoothly modelled neck, were outstretched in a rigid line like those of the drake. the long, spectral wings of the great hawk beat the air, but not with haste and violence like those of the fleeing quarry. swift as his wingbeats were, there was a surging movement about them, an irresistible thrust, which made them seem slow and gave their working an air of absolute ease. for all this ease, however, he was flying faster than the fugitive. slowly, yard by yard, he crept up, the distance from his victim grew narrower. the drake's wings whistled upon the wind, a strange shrill note, as of terror and despair. but the wings of the pursuing destroyer were as noiseless as sleep. he seemed less a bird than a spirit of doom, the embodiment of the implacable arctic cold. the astounding speed at which the two were rushing through the sky on this race of life and death brought the gleam of the estuary water hurrying up from the horizon to meet them. the terrible seconds passed. the water was not half a mile ahead. the line of the drake's flight began to slope toward earth. a few moments more, and a sudden splash in the tide would proclaim that the fugitive was safe in a refuge where the destroyer could not follow. but the noiseless wings were now just behind him, just behind and above. [illustration: "the noiseless wings were now just behind him"] at this moment the fugitive opened his beak for one despairing squawk, his acknowledgment that the game of life was lost. the next instant the hawk's white body seemed to leap forward even out of the marvellous velocity with which it was already travelling. it leaped forward, and changed shape, spreading, and hanging imminent for the least fraction of a second. the head, with slightly open beak, reached down. a pair of great black talons, edged like knives, open and clutching, reached down and forward. the movement did not seem swift, yet it easily caught the drake in the midst of his flight. for an instant there was a slight confusion of winnowing and flapping wings, a dizzy dropping through the sky. then the great hawk recovered his balance, steadied himself, turned, and went winging steadily inland toward a crag which he had noted, where he might devour his prey at ease. in his claws was gripped the body of the black drake, its throat torn across, its long neck and webbed feet trailing limply in the air. in the unknown dark his long, awkward legs trembling with excitement, his long ears pointing stiffly forward, his distended nostrils sniffing and snorting, he stared anxiously this way and that from the swirling, treacherous current to the silent man poling the scow. the river, at this point nearly half a mile wide, daunted him now that he saw it at such close quarters, though all summer he had been viewing it with equanimity from the shore. a few hundred yards above the comparatively quiet course of the ferry he saw a long line of white leaping waves, stretching from bank to bank with menacing roar, and seeming as it were about to rush down upon the slow ferry and overwhelm it. when he looked toward the other side of the scow the prospect was equally threatening. the roar from below was worse than the roar from above, and the whole river, just here so radiant with the sunset glow, grew black with gloom and white with fury as it plunged through a rocky chasm strewn with ledges. the only thing that comforted him at all and kept his fears within bounds was the patient, sturdy figure of the man, poling the scow steadily toward shore. this nervous passenger on the primitive backwoods ferry was a colt about eight months old, whose mother had died the previous day. his owner, a busy lumberman, was now sending him across the river to a neighbour's farm to be cared for, because he was of good "morgan" strain. the ferryman had taken the precaution to hitch the end of his halter-rope to a thwart amidships, lest he should get wild and jump overboard; but the colt, though his dark brown coat was still woolly with the roughness of babyhood, had too much breadth between the eyes to be guilty of any such foolishness. he felt frightened, and strange, and very lonely; but he knew it was his business just to trust the man and keep still. when the animal trusts the man he generally comes out all right; but once in a long while fate interferes capriciously, and the utterly unexpected happens. hundreds of times, and with never a mishap, the ferryman had poled his clumsy scow across the dangerous passage between the rapids--the only possible crossing-place for miles in either direction. but this evening, when the scow was just about mid-channel, for some inexplicable reason the tough and well-tried pole of white spruce snapped. it broke short off in the middle of a mighty thrust. and overboard, head first, went the ferryman. as the man fell his foot caught in the hook of a heavy chain used for securing hay-carts and such vehicles on the scow; and as the clumsy craft swung free in the current the man was dragged beneath it. he would have been drowned in a few seconds, in such water; but at last, in the twisting, the captive foot fell clear. the man came to the surface on the upper side of the scow, made one despairing but successful clutch, got hold of the edge, and with his last strength drew himself aboard, all but suffocated, and with a broken ankle. tricked by years of security, he had left his spare pole on the shore. there was absolutely nothing to do but let the scow drift, and pray that by some succession of miracles she might survive nine miles of rapids and gain the placid reaches below. as the man, white and sullen, crouched on the bottom of the scow and held his ankle, the colt eyed him wonderingly. then he eyed the river, very anxiously, and presently braced his legs wide apart as the scow gave a strange, disconcerting lurch. the roar was growing swiftly louder, and those fierce white waves appeared to be rushing right up the middle of the river to meet the scow. daunted at the sight, he crowded as close as he could to the ferryman, and nosed him as if to call his attention to the peril. in a very few minutes the scow was in the rapids. but the current had carried her well inshore, where there chanced to be, for several miles, a comparatively free channel, few rocks, and no disastrous ledges. she swung and wallowed sickeningly, bumping so violently that once the colt's knees gave way beneath him and twice he was all but hurled overboard. and she took in great, sloshing crests of waves till she was half-full of water. but she was not built to sink, and her ribs were sound. for miles she pounded her terrible way in safety through the bewildering tumult. at last a long jutting promontory of rock started the current on a new slant, and she was swept staggering across to the other shore. here, for nearly two miles, she slipped with astonishing good luck down a narrow, sluice-like lane of almost smooth water. as if to compensate for this fortune, however, she was suddenly caught by a violent cross-current, snatched out of the clearway, and swept heavily over a ledge. at the foot of this ledge she was fairly smothered for some seconds. the man clung obstinately to the gunwales; and the colt, by sheer good luck, fell in the scow instead of over the side. by the time he had struggled to his feet again the scow had righted herself, and darted into a wild chaos of rocks and sluices close by the shore. here she caught on a boulder, tipped up till she was nearly on her gunwale, and pitched the little animal clear overboard. as the clumsy craft swung loose the very next instant, the colt was dragged along in her wake, and would have ended his adventures then and there but for the readiness of the man. forgetting for an instant his own terrible plight, he drew his knife and slashed the rope. thus released, the colt got his head above water and made a valiant struggle toward the shore, which was now not five yards away. all that he could do in the grip of that mad flood was, needless to say, very little, but it chanced to be enough, for it brought him within the grasp of a strong eddy. a moment later he was dashed violently into shoal water. as he fought to a footing he saw the scow wallowing away down the torrent. then he found himself, he knew not how, on dry land. the falls roared behind him. they might, it seemed, rush up at any instant and clutch him again. blind and sick with panic, he dashed into the woods, and went galloping and stumbling straight inland. at last he sank trembling in the deep grass of a little brookside meadow. being of sturdy stock, the brown colt soon recovered his wind. then, feeling nervous in the loneliness of the woods and the deepening shadows, he snatched a few mouthfuls of grass and started to try and find his way home. obeying some deep-seated instinct, he set his face aright, and pushed forward through the thick growths. his progress, however, was slow. among the trees the twilight was now gathering, and the dark places filled his young heart with vague but dreadful apprehensions, so that at every few steps he would stop and stare backward over his shoulder. presently he came out upon another open glade, and cheered by the light, he followed this glade as long as it seemed to lead in the right direction. once a wide-winged, noiseless shadow sailed over his head, and he shied with a loud snort of terror. he had never before seen an owl. and once he jumped back wildly, as a foraging mink rustled through the herbage just before him. but for all the alarms that kept his baby heart quivering, he pressed resolutely forward, longing for the comfort of his mother's flank, and the familiar stall in the barn above the ferry. as he reached the end of the glade his apprehensive ears caught a curious sound, a sort of dry rustling, which came from the fringe of the undergrowth. he halted, staring anxiously at the place the strange sound came from. immediately before him was the prostrate and rotting trunk of an elm-tree, its roots hidden in the brushwood, its upper end projecting into the grass and weeds of the glade. as the colt stood wondering, a thickset, short-legged, grayish coloured animal, covered with long, bristling quills, emerged from the leafage and came crawling down the trunk toward him. it looked no larger than the black-and-white dog which the colt was accustomed to seeing about the farmyard, but its fierce little eyes and its formidable quills made him extremely nervous. [illustration: "his apprehensive ears caught a curious sound."] the porcupine came directly at him, with an ill-natured squeaking grunt. the colt backed away a foot or two, snorting, then held his ground. he had never yielded ground to the black-and-white dog. why should he be afraid of this clumsy little creature? but when, at last, the porcupine drew so near that he could have touched it with his outstretched nose, instead of making any such great mistake as that he flung his head high in air, wheeled about, and lashed out furiously with his hinder hoofs. one hoof caught the porcupine fairly on the snout and sent it whirling end over end into the thicket, where it lay stretched out lifeless, as a feast for the first hungry prowler that might chance by. not greatly elated by his victory, the magnitude of which he in no way realized, the colt plunged again into the woods and continued his journey. by this time the sun had dropped completely behind the wooded hills, and here in the deep forest the dark seemed to come on all at once. the colt's fears now crowded upon him so thickly that he could hardly make any progress at all. he was kept busy staring this way and that, and particularly over his shoulders. a mass of shadow, denser than the rest,--a stump, a moss-grown boulder,--would seem to his frightened eyes a moving shape, just about to spring upon him. he would jump to one side, his baby heart pounding between his ribs, only to see another and huger shadow on the other side, and jump back again. the sudden scurrying of a wood-mouse over the dry spruce-needles made his knees tremble beneath him. at last, coming to two tall, straight-trunked saplings growing close together just before the perpendicular face of a great rock, he was vaguely reminded of the cow-stanchions near his mother's stall in the barn. to his quivering heart this was in some way a refuge, as compared with the terrible spaciousness of the forest. he could not make himself go any farther, but crowded up as close as possible against the friendly trees and waited. he had no idea, of course, what he was waiting for, unless he had some dim expectation that his dead mother, or his owner, or the man on the ferryboat would come and lead him home. his instinct taught him that the dark of the wilderness held unknown perils for him, though his guarded babyhood had afforded him no chance to learn by experience. young as he was, he took up the position which gave his peculiar weapons opportunity for exercise. instead of backing up against the trees and the rock, and facing such foes as the dread dark might send upon him, he stood with his back toward the danger and his formidable heels in readiness, while over first one shoulder, then the other, his eyes and ears kept guard. the situation was one that might well have cowed him completely; but the blood in his baby veins was that of mettled ancestors, and terrified though he was, and trembling, his fear did not conquer his spirit. [illustration: "the big owl had been disturbed at its banquet."] soon after he had taken his stand in this strange and desolate stabling, from a little way back in the underbrush there came a pounce, a scuffle, and a squeal, more scuffle, and then silence. he could not even guess what was happening, but whatever it was, it was terrible to him. for some moments there came, from the same spot, little, soft, ugly, thickish sounds. these stopped abruptly. immediately afterwards there was a hurried beating of wings, and something floated over him. the big owl had been disturbed at its banquet. a few seconds more and the watcher's ears caught a patter of light footsteps approaching. next he saw a faint gleam of eyes, which seemed to scrutinize him steadily, fearlessly, indifferently, for perhaps the greater part of a minute. then they vanished, with more patter of light footsteps; and as they disappeared a wandering puff of night air brought to the colt's nostrils a musky scent which he knew. it was the smell of a red fox, such as he had seen once prowling around his owner's barn-yard. this smell, from its associations, was comforting rather than otherwise, and he would have been glad if the fox had stayed near. for some time now there was stillness all about the big rock, the owl's kill and the passing of the fox having put all the small wild creatures on their guard. little by little the colt was beginning to get used to the situation. he was even beginning to relax the tense vigilance of his watching, when suddenly his heart gave a leap and seemed to stand still. just about ten paces behind him he saw a pair of pale, green-gleaming eyes, round, and set wider apart than those of the fox, slowly floating toward him. at the same time his nostrils caught a scent which was absolutely unknown to him, and peculiarly terrifying. [illustration: "which seemed to scrutinize him steadily."] as these two dreadful eyes drew near, the colt's muscles grew tense. then he distinguished a shadowy, crouching form behind the eyes; and he gathered his haunches under him for a desperate defense. but the big lynx was wary. this long-legged creature who stood thus with his back to him and eyed him with watchful, sidelong glances was something he did not understand. before he came within range of the colt's heels he swerved to one side and stole around at a safe distance, investigating. he was astonished, and at first discomfited, to find that, whichever way he circled, the unknown animal under the rock persisted in keeping his back to him. for perhaps half an hour, with occasional intervals of motionless crouching, he kept up this slow circling, unable to allay his suspicions. then, apparently making up his mind that the unknown was not a dangerous adversary, or perhaps in some subtle way detecting his youth, he crept closer. he crept so close, indeed, that he felt emboldened to spring; and he was just about to do so. just at this moment, luckily just the right moment, the colt let loose the catapult of his strong haunches. his hoofs struck the lynx fairly in the face, and hurled him backwards against a neighbouring tree. half-stunned, and his wind knocked out, the big cat picked himself up with a sharp spitting and snarling, and slunk behind the tree. then he turned tail and ran away, thoroughly beaten. the strange animal had a fashion in fighting which he did not know how to cope with; and he had no spirit left for further lessons. after this the night wore on without great event, though with frequent alarms which kept the colt's nerves ceaselessly on the rack. now it was the faint, almost imperceptible sound of a hunting weasel; now it was the erratic scurrying of the wood-mice; now it was the loud but muffled thumping of a hare, astonished at this long-limbed intruder upon the wilderness domains. the colt was accustomed to sleeping well through the night, and this protracted vigil upon his feet (for he was afraid to lie down) exhausted him. when the first spectral gray of dawn began to work its magic through the forest, his legs were trembling so that he could hardly stand. when the first pink rays crept in beneath the rock, he sank down and lay for half an hour, not sleeping, but resting. then he got up and resumed his homeward journey, very hungry, but too desperate with chill and homesickness to stop and eat. he had travelled perhaps a mile, when he caught the sound of heavy, careless footsteps, and stopped. staring anxiously through the trees, he saw a woodsman striding along the trail, with an axe over his shoulder. at sight of one of those beings that stood to him for protection, and kindly guidance, and shelter, his terror and loneliness all slipped away. he gave a shrill, loud whinny of delight, galloped forward with much crashing of underbrush, and snuggled a coaxing muzzle under the arm of the astonished woodsman. the terror of the sea caves i it was in singapore that big jan laurvik, the diver, heard about the lost pearls. as he was passing the head of a mean-looking alley near the waterside, late one sweltering afternoon, he was halted by a sudden uproar of cries and curses. the noise came from a courtyard about twenty paces up the alley. it was a fight, evidently, and jan's blood responded with a sympathetic thrill. but the curses which he caught were all in malay or chinese, and he curbed his natural desire to rush in and help somebody. though he knew both languages very well, he knew that he did not know, and never could know, the people who spoke those languages. interference on the part of a stranger might be resented by both parties to the quarrel. he shrugged his great shoulders, and walked on reluctantly. hardly three steps had he taken, however, when above the shrill cries a great voice shouted. "take that, you damned--" it began, in english. and at that it ended, with a kind of choking. jan laurvik wheeled round in a flash and ran furiously for the door of the courtyard, which stood half-open. he was a norwegian, but english was as a native tongue to him; and amid the jumble of races in the east he counted all of european speech his brothers. an englishman was being killed in there. the quarrel was clearly his. six feet two in height, swift, and of huge strength, with yellow hair, so light as to be almost white, waving thickly over a face that was sunburnt to a high red, his blue eyes flaming with the delight of battle, jan burst in upon the mob of fighters. several bodies lay on the floor. one dark-faced, low-browed fellow, a lascar apparently, with his back to the wall and a bloody kreese in his hand, was putting up a savage fight against five or six assailants, who seemed to be chinamen and malays. the body of the englishman whose voice jan had heard lay in an ugly heap against the wall, its head far back and almost severed. jan's practised eye took in everything at a glance. the heavy stick he carried was, for a mêlée like this, a better weapon than knife or gun. with a great bellowing roar he sprang upon the knot of fighters. the result was almost instantaneous. the two nearest rascals went down at his first two strokes. at the sound of that huge roar of his all had turned their eyes; and the man at bay, seizing his opportunity, had cut down two more of his foes with lightning slashes of his blade. the remaining two, scattering and ducking, had leaped for the door like rabbits. jan wheeled, and sprang after them. but they were too quick for him. as he reached the head of the alley they darted into a narrow doorway across the street which led into a regular warren of low structures. knowing it would be madness to follow, jan turned back to the courtyard, curious to find out what it had all been about. the silence was now startling. as he entered, there was no sound but the painful breathing of the lascar, whom he found sitting with his back against the wall, close beside the body of the englishman. he was desperately slashed. his eyes were half-closed; and jan saw that there was little chance of his recovery. besides that of the englishman, there were six bodies lying on the floor, all apparently quite lifeless. jan saw that the place was a kind of drinking den. the proprietor, a brutal-looking chinaman, lay dead beside his jugs and bottles. jan reached for a jug of familiar appearance, poured out a cup of arrack, and held it to the lips of the dying lascar. at the first gulp of the potent spirit his eyes opened again. he swallowed it all, eagerly, then straightened himself up, held out his hand in european fashion to jan, and thanked him in malayan. "who's that?" inquired jan in the same tongue, pointing to the dead white man. grief and rage convulsed the fierce face of the wounded lascar. "he was my friend," he answered. "the sons of filthy mothers, they killed him!" "too bad!" said jan sympathetically. "but you gave a pretty good account of yourselves, you two. i like a man that can fight like you were fighting when i came in. what can i do for you?" "i'm dead, pretty soon now!" said the fellow indifferently. and from the blood that was soaking down his shirt and spreading on the floor about him, jan saw that the words were true. anxious, however, to do something to show his good will, he pulled out his big red handkerchief, and knelt to bandage a gaping slash straight across the man's left forearm, from which the bright arterial blood was jumping hotly. as he bent, the fellow's eyes lifted and looked over his shoulder. "look out!" he screamed. before the words were fairly out of his mouth jan had thrown himself violently to one side and sprung to his feet. he was just in time. the knife of one of the chinamen whom he had supposed to be dead was sticking in the wall beside the lascar's arm. jan stared at the bodies--all, apparently, lifeless. "that's the one did it," cried the lascar excitedly, pointing to the one whom jan had struck on the head with his stick. "put your knife into the son of a dog!" but that was not the big norseman's way. he wanted to assure himself. he went and bent over the limp-looking, sprawling shape, to examine it. as he did so the slant eyes opened upon his with a flash of such maniacal hate that he started back. he was just in time to save his eyes, for the chinaman had clutched at them like lightning with his long nails. startled and furious at this novel attack, jan reached for his knife. but before he could get his hand on it the chinaman had leaped into the air like a wildcat, wound arms and legs about his body, and was struggling like a mad beast to set teeth into his throat. the attack was so miraculously swift, so disconcerting in its beast-like ferocity, that jan felt a strange qualm that was almost akin to panic. then a black rage swelled his muscles; and tearing the creature from him he dashed him down upon the floor, on the back of his neck, with a violence which left no need of pursuing the question further. not till he had examined each of the bodies carefully, and tried them with his knife, did he turn again to the wounded lascar leaning against the wall. "thank you, my friend!" he said simply. "you're a good fighting man. you're--like him," answered the lascar feebly, nodding toward the dead englishman. "give me more arrack. i will tell you something. hurry, for i go soon." jan brought him the liquor, and he gulped it. then from a pouch within his knotted silk waistband he hurriedly produced a bit of paper which he unfolded with trembling fingers, jan saw that it was a rough map sketched with india ink and marked with malayan characters. the lascar peered about him with fierce eyes already growing dim. "are you sure they are all gone?" he demanded. "certain!" answered jan, highly interested. "they'll try their best to kill you," went on the dying man. "don't let them. if you let them get the pearls, i'll come back and haunt you." "i won't let them kill me, and i won't let them get the pearls, if that's what it is that's made all the trouble. don't worry about that," responded jan confidently, reaching out his great hand for the paper, which was evidently so precious that men were giving up their lives for it. the man handed it over with a groping gesture, though his savage black eyes were wide open. "that'll show you where the wreck of the junk lies, in seven or eight fathom of water, close inshore. the pearls are in the deck-house. _he_ kept them. the steamer was on a reef, going to pieces, and we came up just as the boats were putting off. we sunk them all, and got the pearls. and next night, in a storm, the junk was carried on to the rocks by a current we didn't know about. only five of us got ashore--for the sharks were around, and the 'killers,' that night. _him_ and me, we were the only ones knew enough to make that map." here the dying pirate--for such he had declared himself--sank forward with his face upon his knees. but with a mighty effort he sat up again and fixed jan laurvik with terrible eyes. "don't let the sons of a dog get them, or i will come back and choke you in your sleep," he gasped, suddenly pointing a lean finger straight at the norseman's face. then his black eyes opened wide, a strange red light blazed up in them for an instant and faded. with a sigh he toppled over, dead, his head resting on the dead englishman's feet. ii jan laurvik looked down upon the slack form with a sort of grim indulgence. "he was game, and he loved his comrade, though he _was_ but a bloody-hearted pirate!" he muttered to himself. with the paper folded small and hidden in his great palm, he glanced again from the door to see if any of the routed scoundrels were coming back. satisfied on this point, he once more investigated the dead bodies on the floor, to assure himself that all were as dead as they appeared. then he set himself to examine the precious paper, which held out to his imagination all sorts of fascinating possibilities. he knew that the swift boats carrying the proceeds of the pearl-fisheries were always eagerly watched by the piratical junks infesting those waters, but carried an armament which secured them from all interference. in case of wreck, however, the pirates' opportunity would come. jan knew that the story he had just heard was no improbable one. the map proved to be rough, but very intelligible. it indicated a stretch of the eastern coast of java, which jan recognized; but the spot where the junk had gone down was one to which passing ships always gave a wide berth. it was a place of treacherous anchorage, of abrupt, forbidding, uninhabited shore, and of violent currents that shifted erratically. so much the better, thought jan, for his investigations, if only the pirate junk should prove to have been considerate enough to sink in water not too deep for a diver to work in. there would be so much the less danger of interruption. jan was on the point of hurrying away from the gruesome scene, which might at any moment become a scene of excitement and annoying investigation, when a new idea flashed into his mind. it was over this precious paper that all the trouble had been. the scoundrels who had fled would undoubtedly return as soon as they dared, and would search for it. finding it gone they would conclude that he had it; and they would be hot on his trail. he had no fancy for the sleepless vigilance that this would entail upon him. he had no fancy for the heavy armed expedition which it would force him to organize for the pearl hunt. he saw his airy palaces toppling ignominiously to earth. he saw that all he was likely to get was a slit throat. as he glanced about him for a way out of his dilemma his eyes fell on a bottle of india ink containing the fine-tipped brush with which these orientals did their writing. his resourcefulness awoke to this chance. the moments were becoming very pearls themselves for preciousness, but seizing the brush, he made a workable copy of the map on the back of a letter which he had in his pocket. then he made a minute and very careful correction in the original, in such a manner as to indicate that the position of the wreck was in a deep fiord some fifty miles east of where it actually was. this done to his critical satisfaction, he returned the map to its hiding-place in the dead pirate's belt, and made all haste away. not till he was back in the european quarter did he feel himself secure. once among his fellow whites, where he was a man of known standing and reputed to be the best diver in the archipelago, he knew that he would run no risk of being connected with a drinking brawl of lascars and pirates. as for the dead englishman, he knew the odds were that the singapore police would know all about him. jan laurvik had a little capital. but he needed a trusty partner with more. to his experienced wits his other needs were clear. there would have to be a very seaworthy little steamer, powerfully engined for service on that stormy coast, and armed to defend herself against prowling pirate junks. this small and fit craft would have to be manned by a crew equally fit, and at the same time as small as possible, for the reason that in a venture of this sort every one concerned would of necessity come in for a share of the winnings. moreover, the fewer there were to know, the fewer the chances of the secret leaking out; and jan was even more in dread of the dutch government getting wind of it than he was of the pirates picking up his trail. up to a certain point, he had no difficulty in verifying the dead pirate's story. he had heard of the wreck of the dutch steamer _viecht_ on a reef off the celebes, and of the massacre of all the crew and passengers, except one small boat-load, by pirates. this had happened about eight months ago. discreet inquiry developed the fact that the _viecht_ had carried about $ , worth of pearls. the evidence was sufficiently convincing and the prize was sufficiently alluring to make it worth his while to risk the adventure. it was with a certain amount of northern deliberation that jan laurvik thought these points all out, and made up his mind what to do. then he acted promptly. first he cabled to calcutta, to one captain jerry parsons, to join him in singapore without fail by the very next steamer. then he set himself unobtrusively to the task of finding the craft he wanted and looking up the equipment for her. captain jerry parsons was a new englander, from portland, me. he had been whaler, gold-hunter, filibuster, copra-trader, general-in-chief to a small central american republic, and sheepfarmer in the australian bush. at present he was conducting a more or less regular trade in precious stones among the lesser indian potentates. he loved gain much, but he loved adventure more. when he received the cable from his good friend jan laurvik, he knew that both were beckoning to him. with light-hearted zest he betook himself to the steamship offices, found a p. & o. boat sailing on the morrow, and booked his passage. throughout the journey he amused himself with trying to guess what jan laurvik was after; and, as it happened, almost the only thing he failed to think of was pearls. when captain jerry reached singapore jan laurvik told him the story of the dead pirate's map. "let's see the map!" said he, chewing hard on the butt of his unlighted manila. jan passed his copy over. the new englander inspected it carefully, in silence, for several minutes. "'tain't much of a map!" said he at length disparagingly. "you think the varmint was straight?" "in his way, yes," answered jan with conviction. "he had it in him to be straight in his way to a friend, which wouldn't hinder him cuttin' the throats of a thousand chaps he didn't take an interest in." "when shall we start?" asked captain jerry. now that his mind was quite made up he took out his match-box and carefully lighted his cheroot. the big norseman's face lighted up with pleasure, and he reached out his hand. the grip was all, in the way of a bargain, that was needed between them. "why, to-morrow night!" he answered. "well," said the new englander, "i'll draw some cash in the morning." the boat which jan had hired was a fast and sturdy seagoing tug, serviceable, but not designed for comfort. jan had retained her engineer, a shrewd and close-mouthed scotchman. her sailing-master would be captain jerry. for crew he had chosen a wiry little welshman and two lank leather-skinned yankees. to these four, for whose honesty and loyalty he trusted to his own insight as a reader of men, he explained, partially, the nature of the undertaking, and agreed to give them, over and above their wages, a substantial percentage of whatever treasure he might succeed in recovering. he had made his selection wisely, and every man of the four laid hold of the opportunity with ardour. the tug was swift enough to elude any of the junks infesting those waters, but the danger was that she might be taken by surprise at her anchorage while laurvik was under water. he fitted her, therefore, with a maxim gun on the roof of the deck-house, and armed the crew with repeating winchesters. thus equipped, he felt ready for any perils that might confront him above the surface of the water. as to what might lurk below he felt somewhat less confident, as these he should have to face alone, and he remembered the ominous warning of his pirate friend, about the sharks and the "killers." for sharks jan laurvik had comparatively small concern; but for the "killers," those swift and implacable little whales who fear no living thing, he entertained the highest respect. on the evening of the day after captain jerry's arrival, the tug _sarawak_ steamed quietly out of the harbour. as this was a customary thing for her to do, it excited no particular comment among the frequenters of the waterside. by the pirates' spies, who abounded in the city, it was not considered an event worth making note of. [illustration: "those swift and implacable little whales who fear no living thing."] the journey, across the straits, and down the treacherous javan sea, was so prosperous that jan laurvik, his blood steeped in norse superstition, began to feel uneasy. the sea was like a millpond all the way, and they were sighted by no one likely to interfere or ask questions. jan distrusted fortune when she seemed to smile too blandly. but captain jerry comforted him with the assurance that there'd be trouble enough ahead; and strangely enough this singular variety of comfort quite relieved jan's depression. the unusual calm made it easy to hold close inshore, when they reached that portion of the coast where they must keep watch for the landmarks indicated on the pirate's map. every reef and surface-ledge boiled ceaselessly in the smooth swell, and by that clear green sea they were saved the trouble of tedious soundings. when they came exactly abreast of a low headland which they had been watching for some time, it suddenly opened out into the semblance of a two-humped camel crouching sidewise to the sea, exactly as it was represented in jan's map. just beyond was a narrow bay, and across the middle of its mouth, with a dangerous passage on either side, stretched the reef on which the pirate junk had gone down. at this hour of low water the reef was showing its teeth and snarling with surf. at high tide it would be hidden, and a perfect snare of ships. according to the map, the wreck lay in some eight fathoms of water, midway of the outer crescent of the reef. behind the reef, where the latter might serve them as a partial shelter from the sweep of the seas if a northeaster should blow up, they found tolerable anchorage for the tug. for the preliminary soundings, and for the diving operations, of course, jan planned to use the launch. and, in order to take utmost advantage of the phenomenal calm, which seemed determined to smooth away every obstacle for the adventurers, jan got instantly to work. within a half-hour of the _sarawak's_ anchoring he had the launch outside the reef with all his diving apparatus aboard, with captain jerry to manage the air-pump, and the scotch engineer to run the motor. iii along the outer face of the reef, at a depth varying from eight to twelve fathoms, ran an irregular rocky shelf which dipped gradually seaward for several hundred yards, then dropped sheer to the ocean depths. in the warm water along this shelf swarmed a teeming life, of gay-coloured gigantic weeds, and of strange fish that outdid the brightest weeds in brilliancy and unexpectedness of hue. where the tropic sunlight filtered dimly down through the beryl tide it sank into a marvellous garden whose flowers, for the most part, were living and moving forms, some monstrous, many terrifying, and almost all as grotesque in shape as they were radiant in colour. but in that insufficient, glimmering light, which was rather, to a human eye, a vaguely translucent, greenish darkness, these colours were almost blotted out. it took eyes adapted to the depth and gloom to differentiate them clearly. in the great deeps, also, beyond the edge of the shelf, thronged life in swimming, crawling, or moveless forms, of every imagined and many unimagined shapes, from creatures so tiny that a whole colony could dwell at ease in the eye of a cambric needle, to the titanic squid, or cuttlefish, with oval bodies fifty feet in length and arms like writhing constrictors reaching twenty or thirty feet farther. it was a life of noiseless but terrific activity, of unrelenting and incessant death, in a darkness streaked fitfully with phosphorescent gleams from the bodies of the darting, writhing, or pouncing creatures that slew and were slain in the stupendous silence. down to these dwellers in the profound had come some mysterious message or exciting influence, no man knows what, from the prolonged calm on the surface. it affected individuals among various species, in such a way that they moved upward, into a twilight where they were aliens and intruders. among those so stung with unrest were several of the gigantic, pallid cuttles. far offshore, one of these monsters came up and sprawled upon the surface in the unfriendly sun, his dreadful arms curling and uncurling like snakes, till a great sperm-whale, of scarcely more than his own size, came by and fell upon him ravenously, and devoured him. another of the restless monsters, however, kept his restlessness within the bounds of discretion. slowly rising, a vast and spectral horror as he came up into the green light, he reached the rim of the ledge. the growing light had already made him uneasy, and he wanted no more of it. here on the ledge, where food, though novel in character, was unlimited in supply, was variety enough to content him. gorging himself as he went with everything that swam within reach of his darting tentacles, he moved over the rocky floor till he came to the wreck of the junk. [illustration: "far offshore, one of these monsters came up and sprawled upon the surface."] to his huge unwinking eyes of crystal black, which caught every tiniest ray of light in their smooth, appalling deeps, the wreck looked strange enough to attract his attention at once. it was quite unlike any rock-form which he had ever seen. rather cautiously he advanced a giant tentacle to investigate it. but at the touch of the unfamiliar and alien substance the tentacle recoiled in aversion. the pale monster backed away. but the wreck made no attempt to pounce upon him. it seemed to have no fight in it. possibly, on closer investigation, it might prove to be good to eat; and he was hungry. in fact, he was always hungry, for the irresistible corrosives in his great stomach--and he was nearly all stomach--were so swift in their action that whatever he swallowed was digested almost in the swallowing. since coming upon the ledge he had clutched and devoured two small basking sharks, from six to eight feet long, and a sawfish fully ten feet long, who had not been on their guard against the approach of such a peril. besides these substantial victims, countless small fry, of every kind, had been drawn deftly to the insatiable vortex of his maw. nevertheless, his appetite was again crying out. he tried the wreck again, first carefully, then boldly, till the writhing tentacles, with their sensitive tips and suckers, had enveloped it from stem to stern and searched it inside and out. a few lurking fish and mollusks were snatched from the dark interior by those insinuating and inexorable feelers; and a toothsome harvest of anchored crustaceans was gathered from the hidden surfaces along beside the keel. but of the bodies of the pirates that had gone down in the sudden foundering there was nothing left but bones, which the myriad scavengers of the sea had polished to the barren smoothness of ivory. while the pallid monster was occupied in the investigation of the wreck those two great bulging black mirrors of his eyes were sleeplessly alert to everything that passed above or about them. once a swordfish, about seven feet long, sailed carelessly though swiftly some ten feet overhead. up darted a livid tentacle, and fixed upon it with the deadly sucking disks. in vain the splendid and ferocious fish lashed out in the effort to wrench itself free. in vain it strove to plunge downward and pierce the puffy monster with its sword. in a second two more tentacles were wrapped about it. then, all force crushed out of it, it was dragged down and crammed into the conqueror's horrible mouth. [illustration: "up darted a livid tentacle, and fixed upon it."] while its mouth was yet working with the satisfaction of this meal, the monster saw a graceful but massive black shape, nearly half as long as himself, swimming slowly between his eyes and the shining surface. at the sight a shudder of fear passed over him. every waving tentacle shrank back and lay moveless, as if suddenly paralyzed, and he flattened himself down as best he could beside the dark hulk of the wreck. well he knew that dark shape was a whale--and a whale was the one being he knew of which he had cause to fear. against those rending jaws his cable-like tentacles and tearing beak were of no avail, his unarmoured body utterly defenceless. the whale, however,--not a sperm, but one of a much smaller, though more savage, species--the "killer,"--did not catch sight of the giant cuttlefish cringing below him. intent on other game, he passed swiftly on. his presence, however, had for the moment destroyed the monster's appetite. instead of continuing his search for food, he wanted a hiding-place. he could no longer be at ease for a moment there in the open. just behind the wreck the rock wall rose abruptly to the surface of the reef. its base was hollowed into a series of low caves, where masses of softer rock had been eaten out from beneath a slanting stratum of more enduring material. the most spacious of these caves was immediately behind the wreck. it was exactly what the monster craved. he backed into it with alacrity, completely filling it with his spectral and swollen body. in the doorway the convex inky lenses of his eyes kept watch, moveless and all-seeing. and his ten pale-spotted tentacles, each thicker at the base than a man's thigh, lay outspread and hidden among the seaweeds, waiting for such victims as might come within reach of their lightning snap and coil. [illustration: "a singular figure, descending slowly through the glimmering green."] the monster had no more than got himself fairly installed in his new quarters, when into the range of his awful eyes came a singular figure, descending slowly through the glimmering green directly over the wreck. it was not so long as the swordfish he had lately swallowed, but it was thick and massive-looking; and it was blunt at the ends, unlike any fish he had ever seen. its eyes were enormous, round and bulging. from its head and from one of its curious round, thick fins, extended two slender antennæ straight up toward the surface, and so long that their extremities were beyond the monster's vision. it was indeed a strange-looking creature, but he felt sure that it would be very good to eat. in their concealment among the many-coloured seaweeds his tentacles thrilled with expectancy, and he waited, like some stupendous nightmare of a spider, to spring the moment the prey came within reach. it chanced, however, that just as the strange creature, descending without any movement of its fins, did come within reach, there also appeared again, in the distance, the black form of the "killer" whale, swimming far overhead. the monster changed his plans instantly. his interest in the newcomer died out. he became intent on nothing but keeping himself inconspicuous. the newcomer, unconscious of the terror lying in wait so near him and of the dark form patrolling the upper green, alighted upon the wreck and groped his way lumberingly into the cabin, dragging those two slim antennæ behind him. iv when jan laurvik, in his up-to-date and well-tested diving-suit, went down through the green twilight of the sea, he was doing what it was his profession to do, and he had few misgivings. he had confidence in his equipment, in his skill, and in his mate at the rope and the air-pump, captain jerry. for defence against any obtrusive shark or sawfish he carried a heavy, long-bladed, two-edged knife, by far the most effective weapon in deep water. this knife he wore in a sheath at his waist, with a cord attached to the handle so that it could not get away from him. he carried also a tiny electric battery supplying a strong lamp on the front of his head-piece just above his eyes. from his long experience in sounding and in locating wrecks, jan laurvik had acquired an accuracy that seemed almost like divination. his soundings, in this instance, had been particularly thorough, because he did not wish to waste any more time than necessary at the depth in which he would have to work. he was not surprised, therefore, when he found himself descending upon the wreck of a junk. moreover, as it was not an old wreck, he concluded that it was the junk which he was looking for. the wreck had settled almost on an even keel; and as he was familiar with craft of her type, he had no difficulty in finding his way about. it was in the narrow, closet-like structure which served as the junk's cabin that the pirate had said the pearls would be found. the door was open. turning on his light, which struggled with the water and diffused a ghostly glow, he found himself confronted by a hideous little joss of red-and-gilt lacquer. he knew it was lacquer, and of the best, for nothing else, except gold itself, would have withstood the months of soaking in sea-water. jan grinned to himself, there within his rubber and copper shell, at this evidence of pirate piety. then it occurred to him that a man like the pirate captain would probably have turned his piety to practical use. what better guardian of the treasure than a god? dragging the gaudy deity from his altar, he found the altar hollow. in that secure receptacle lay a series of packages done up with careful precision in wrappings of oiled silk. he knew the style of wrapping very well. for all his coolness, his heart fell to thumping painfully at the sight of this vast wealth beneath his hand. then he realized that the pressure of the water, and of the compressed air in his helmet, was beginning to tell upon him. in fierce but orderly haste he corded the packages about his middle and turned to leave the cabin. he would make another trip for the lacquer god, and for such other articles of value or _vertu_ which the junk might contain. jan turned to leave the cabin. but in the doorway he started back with a shudder of dread and loathing. a slender, twisting thing, whitish in colour and minutely speckled with livid spots, reached in, and fastened upon his arm with soft-looking suckers which held like death. jan knew instantly what the pale, writhing thing was. out flashed his knife. with a swift stroke he slashed off the detaining tip, where it had a thickness of perhaps two inches. the raw stump shrank back, like a severed worm, and jan, leaping clear of the doorway, signalled furiously to be hauled up. but at the same instant two more of the curling white things came reaching over the bulwarks and fastened upon him--one upon his right arm, hampering him so that he was almost helpless, and the other upon his left leg just above the knee. he felt his signal promptly answered by a powerful tug on the rope. but he was anchored to the wreck as if he had grown to it. never before had jan laurvik felt the clutch of fear at his heart as he did at this moment. but not for an instant, in the horror, did he lose his presence of mind. he knew that in a pulling match with the giant devil-fish of the deeps his comrades in the boat far overhead would be nowhere. he had made a mistake in leaving the cabin. frantically he signalled with his left hand, to "slack away" on the rope; and at the same time, though hampered by the grip on his right arm, he managed to slash off the end of the feeler that had fixed upon his leg. on the instant, whipping the knife over to his left, he cut his right arm clear, and sprang back into the doorway. jan's idea was that by keeping just inside the cabin door he could defend himself from being surrounded by the assault of the writhing things. he knew that in the open he would speedily be enfolded and crushed, and engulfed between the jaws of the monstrous squid. but in the narrow doorway the swift play of his blade would have some chance. he gained the doorway. he got fairly inside it, indeed. but as he entered he was horrified to see the thick stump, whose tip he had shorn off, dart in with him and fix itself, by its bigger and more irresistible suckers, upon the middle of his breast. with a shiver he sliced off the fatal disks, in one long sweep of his blade; then turned like a flash to sever a pallid tip which had fastened upon his helmet. jan was now thankful enough that he had got himself into the narrow doorway. seemingly undisturbed by the slashings and slicings which some of them had received, the whole ten squirming horrors now darted at the doorway. jan's knife swooped this way and that; but as fast as he severed one clutch two more would make good. the cut tentacles grew to be the more terrifying, because their suckers were so big; and they themselves were so thick and hard to cut. presently no fewer than three of the diabolical things laid their loathsome hold upon his right leg, below the knee, and began to haul it out through the door. jan slashed at them madly, but not altogether effectually; for at this moment another tentacle had laid grip upon his arm below the elbow. he had just time to shift the knife again to his left and catch the jamb of the door, when he felt his helmet almost jerked from his head. this grip he dared not interfere with, lest he should cut, at the same time, the air-tube that fed his lungs, and drown like a rat in a hole. all he could do was hold on to the door-jamb, and carve away savagely at the tentacles which were within reach. if he could get free of those, he calculated that he could then reach the one which had fastened to his head-piece by throwing himself over on his back and so bringing it within range of his vision and his knife. at this moment, however, just as the pressure upon his neck was becoming intolerable, he felt his head suddenly released. one of the great sucking disks had crushed in the glass of the electric lamp and fastened upon the live wire. the sensation it experienced was evidently not pleasant, for it let go promptly, and secured a new hold upon jan's left arm. this hold left him almost helpless, because he could no longer wield the knife freely with either hand. he felt himself slowly being pulled out of the doorway by his right leg. throwing himself partly backward, and partly behind the door, he gained a firmer brace and at the same time brought his knife again into better play. he would fight to the very last gasp, but he felt that the odds had now gone overwhelmingly against him. the fear of death itself was not heavy upon him. he had faced it too often, and too coolly, for that. but at the manner of this death that confronted him his very soul sickened with loathing. as he thought of it, his horror was not lessened by the sight which now greeted his view. a colossal, swollen, leprous-looking bulk, pallid and spotted, was mounting over the bulwark. two great oval lenses of clear blackness, set close together, were in the front of the bulk, just over the spot where the tentacles started. these gigantic, appalling, expressionless eyes were fixed upon him. the monster was coming aboard to see what kind of creature it was that was giving him so much trouble. jan saw that the end of the fight was very near. the thought, however, did not unnerve him. rather, it put new fire into his nerves and muscles. by a tremendous wrench he succeeded in reaching with the knife the tentacle that bound his right arm. this freedom was like a new lease of life to him. he made swift play with his blade, so savagely that he was able to drag himself back almost completely into the cabin before the writhing horrors again closed upon him. but meanwhile, the monster's gigantic body had gained the deck. those two awful eyes were slowly drawing nearer; and below them he saw the viscid mouth opening and shutting in anticipation. at this a kind of madness began to surge up in jan laurvik's overtaxed brain. his veins seemed to surge with fresh power, as if there were nothing too tremendous for him to accomplish. he was on the very point of stopping his resistance, plunging straight in among the arms, and burying his big blade in those unspeakable eyes. it would be a satisfaction, at least, to force them to change their expression. and then, well, something might happen! before he could put this desperate scheme into execution, however, something did happen. jan was aware of a sudden darkness overhead. the monster was evidently aware of it, too, for every one of the twisting horrors suddenly shrank away, leaving jan to lean up against the doorway, free. the next moment a huge black shape descended perpendicularly upon the fleshy mountain of the monster's back, and a rush of water drove jan backward into the cabin. as the electric lamp had gone out when the glass was broken, jan could see but dimly the awful battle of giants now going on before him. so excited was he that he forgot his own new peril. the danger was now that in the struggle one or other of the battling bulks might well crush the cabin flat, or entangle the air-tube and life-line in either case jan's finish would be swift; but in comparison with the loathsome death from which he had just been so miraculously saved, such an end seemed no very dreadful thing. he was altogether absorbed in watching the prowess of his avenging rescuer. skilled in deep-sea lore as he was, he knew the dark fury which had swooped down upon the devilfish. it was a "killer" whale, or grampus, the most redoubtable and implacable fighter of all the kindreds of the sea. jan saw its wide jaws shear off three mighty tentacles at once, close at the base. the others writhed up hideously and fastened upon him, but under the surging of his resistless muscles their tissues tore apart like snapped cables. huge masses of the monster's ghastly flesh were bitten off, and thrown aside. then, gaining a grip that took in the monster's head and the roots of the tentacles, the killer shook his prey as a bulldog might shake a fat sheep. the tentacles straightened out slackly. jan saw that the fight was over; and that it was high time for him to remove from that too strenuous neighbourhood. he gave the signal vehemently, and was drawn up, without attracting his dangerous rescuer's notice. when captain jerry hauled him in over the boatside, he fell in an unconscious heap. when jan came to himself he was in his bunk on the _sarawak_. it was an utter physical and nervous exhaustion that had overcome him. his swoon had passed into a heavy sleep, and when he awoke he sat up with a start. captain jerry was at his side, bursting with suppressed curiosity; and the scotch engineer was standing by the bunk. "waal, partner, you've delivered the goods all right!" drawled captain jerry. "they're the stuff, not a doubt of it. but kind o' seemed to us up here you were having high jinks of one kind or another down there. what was it?" "it was hell!" responded jan with a shudder. then he took hold of captain jerry's hand, and felt it, as if to make sure it was real, or as if he needed the feel of honest human flesh again to bring him to his senses. "ugh!" he went on, swinging out of the bunk. "let me get out into the sunlight again! let me see the sky again! i'll tell you all about it by an' by, jerry. but wait. were all the packages on me, all right?" "i reckon!" responded captain jerry. "there was six of 'em tied on to you. i reckon they're worth the three hundred an' fifty thousand all right!" "well, let's get away from this place quick as we can get steam up again!" said jan. "there's more swag down there, i guess--lots of it. but i wouldn't go down again, nor send another man down, for all the millions we've all of us ever heard tell of. mr. mcwha, how soon can we be moving?" "ten meenutes, more or less!" replied the scotchman. "all right! when we're outside of this accursed bay, an' round the 'camel' yonder, i'll tell you what it's like down there under that shiny green." the end. * * * * * nature books with colored plates, and photographs from life. bird neighbors. an introductory acquaintance with birds commonly found in the woods, fields and gardens about our homes. by neltje blanchan. with an introduction by john burroughs, and many plates of birds in natural colors. large quarto, size - / Ã� - / , cloth. formerly published at $ . . our special price, $ . . as an aid to the elementary study of bird life nothing has ever been published more satisfactory than this most successful of nature books. this book makes the identification of our birds simple and positive, even to the uninitiated, through certain unique features. i. all the birds are grouped according to color, in the belief that a bird's coloring is the first and often the only characteristic noticed. ii. by another classification, the birds are grouped according to their season. iii. all the popular names by which a bird is known are given both in the descriptions and the index. the colored plates are the most beautiful and accurate ever given in a moderate-priced and popular book. the most successful and widely sold nature book yet published. birds that hunt and are hunted. life histories of birds of prey, game birds and waterfowls. by neltje blanchan. with introduction by g. o. shields (coquina). photographic illustrations in color. large quarto, size - / Ã� - / . formerly published at $ . . our special price, $ . . no work of its class has ever been issued that contains so much valuable information, presented with such felicity and charm. the colored plates are true to nature. by their aid alone any bird illustrated may be readily identified. sportsmen will especially relish the twenty-four color plates which show the more important birds in characteristic poses. they are probably the most valuable and artistic pictures of the kind available to-day. nature's garden. an aid to knowledge of our wild flowers and their insect visitors. colored plates, and many other illustrations photographed directly from nature. text by neltje blanchan. large quarto, size - / Ã� - / . cloth. formerly published at $ . net. our special price, $ . . superb color portraits of many familiar flowers in their living tints, and no less beautiful pictures in black and white of others--each blossom photographed directly from nature--form an unrivaled series. by their aid alone the novice can name the flowers met afield. intimate life-histories of over five hundred species of wild flowers, written in untechnical, vivid language, emphasize the marvelously interesting and vital relationship existing between these flowers and the special insect to which each is adapted. the flowers are divided into five color groups, because by this arrangement any one with no knowledge of botany whatever can readily identify the specimens met during a walk. the various popular names by which each species is known, its preferred dwelling-place, months of blooming and geographical distribution follow its description. lists of berry-bearing and other plants most conspicuous after the flowering season, of such as grow together in different kinds of soil, and finally of family groups arranged by that method of scientific classification adopted by the international botanical congress which has now superseded all others, combine to make "nature's garden" an indispensable guide. books on gardening and farming three acres and liberty. by bolton hall. shows the value gained by intensive culture. should be in the hands of every landholder. profusely illustrated. mo. cloth, cents. every chapter in the book has been revised by a specialist. the author clearly brings out the full value that is to be derived from intensive culture and intelligent methods given to small land holdings. given untrammelled opportunity, agriculture will not only care well for itself and for those intelligently engaged in it, but it will give stability to all other industries and pursuits. 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"mrs. ely is the wisest and most winsome teacher of the fascinating art of gardening that we have met in modern print. * * * a book to be welcomed with enthusiasm."--_new york tribune._ "let us sigh with gratitude and read the volume with delight. for here it all is: what we should plant, and when we should plant it: how to care for it after it is planted and growing; what to do if it does not grow and blossom; what will blossom, and when it will blossom, and what the blossom will be. it is full of garden lore; of the spirit of happy out-door life. a good and wholesome book."--_the dial._ heretofore published at $ . books by jack london mo., cloth, cents each, postpaid the call of the wild: with illustrations by philip r. goodwin and charles livingston bull. decorated by charles edward hooper. "a big story in sober english, and with thorough art in the construction ... a wonderfully perfect bit of work. the dog adventures are as exciting as any man's exploits could be, and mr. london's workmanship is wholly satisfying."--_the new york sun._ the sea wolf: illustrated by w. j. aylward. "this story surely has the pure stevenson ring, the adventurous glamour, the vertebrate stoicism. 'tis surely the story of the making of a man, the sculptor being captain larsen, and the clay, the ease-loving, well-to-do, half-drowned man, to all appearances his helpless prey."--_critic._ the people of the abyss: a vivid and intensely interesting picture of life, as the author found it, in the slums of london. not a survey of impressions formed on a slumming tour, but a most graphic account of real life from one who succeeded in getting on the "inside." more absorbing than a novel. a great and vital book. profusely illustrated from photographs. the son of the wolf: "even the most listless reader will be stirred by the virile force, the strong, sweeping strokes with which the pictures of the northern wilds and the life therein are painted, and the insight given into the soul of the primitive of nature."--_plain dealer, cleveland._ a daughter of the snows: it is a book about a woman, whose personality and plan in the story are likely to win for her a host of admirers. the story has the rapid movement, incident and romantic flavor which have interested so many in his tales. the illustrations are by f. c. yohn. the jungle, by upton sinclair: a book that startled the world and caused two hemispheres to sit up and think. intense in interest, the dramatic situations portrayed enthrall the reader, while its evident realism and truth to life and conditions have gained for it the title of "the 'uncle tom's cabin' of the twentieth century." "i should be afraid to trust myself to tell how it affects me. it is a great work; so simple, so true, so tragic, so human."--_david graham phillips._ cloth, mo. price, seventy-five cents, postpaid. new popular priced editions of important books on social and political economy. benjamin kidd, social evolution, principles of western civilisation. two volumes of special interest and importance, in view of the social unrest of the present time. henry george, jr. the menace of privilege. a study of the dangers to the republic from the existence of a favored class. robert hunter, poverty. an exhaustive study of present day conditions among the poorer classes. james bryce, social institutions of the united states. the author's recent appointment as the representative of the british empire at washington will lend additional interest to this timely and important work. richard t. ely, monopolies and trusts. a masterly presentation of the trust problem, by a most eminent authority. price, seventy-five cents each, postpaid. princess maritza a novel of rapid romance. by percy brebner with harrison fisher illustrations in color. offers more real entertainment and keen enjoyment than any book since "graustark." full of picturesque life and color and a delightful love-story. the scene of the story is wallaria, one of those mythical kingdoms in southern europe. maritza is the rightful heir to the throne, but is kept away from her own country. the hero is a young englishman of noble family. it is a pleasing book of fiction. large mo. size. handsomely bound in cloth. white coated wrapper, with harrison fisher portrait in colors. price cents, postpaid. books by george barr mccutcheon brewster's millions mr. montgomery brewster is required to spend a million dollars in one year in order to inherit seven millions. he must be absolutely penniless at that time, and yet have spent the million in a way that will commend him as fit to inherit the larger sum. how he does it forms the basis for one of the most crisp and breezy romances of recent years. castle craneycrow the story revolves around the abduction of a young american woman and the adventures created through her rescue. the title is taken from the name of an old castle on the continent, the scene of her imprisonment. graustark: a story of a love behind a throne. this work has been and is to-day one of the most popular works of fiction of this decade. the meeting of the princess of graustark with the hero, while travelling incognito in this country, his efforts to find her, his success, the defeat of conspiracies to dethrone her, and their happy marriage, provide entertainment which every type of reader will enjoy. the sherrods. with illustrations by c. d. williams a novel quite unlike mr. mccutcheon's previous works in the field of romantic fiction and yet possessing the charm inseparable from anything he writes. the scene is laid in indiana and the theme is best described in the words, "whom god hath joined, let no man put asunder." each volume handsomely bound in cloth. large mo. size. price cents per volume, postpaid. famous copyright books in popular priced editions re-issues of the great literary successes of the time. library size. printed on excellent paper--most of them with illustrations of marked beauty--and handsomely bound in cloth. price, cents a volume, postpaid. the affair at the inn. by kate douglas wiggin. with illustrations by martin justice. "as superlatively clever in the writing as it is entertaining in the reading. it is actual comedy of the most artistic sort, and it is handled with a freshness and originality that is unquestionably novel."--_boston transcript._ "a feast of humor and good cheer, yet subtly pervaded by special shades of feeling, fancy, tenderness, or whimsicality. a merry thing in prose."--_st. louis democrat._ rose o' the river. by kate douglas wiggin. with illustrations by george wright. "'rose o' the river,' a charming bit of sentiment, gracefully written and deftly touched with a gentle humor. it is a dainty book--daintily illustrated."--_new york tribune._ "a wholesome, bright, refreshing story, an ideal book to give a young girl."--_chicago record-herald._ "an idyllic story, replete with pathos and inimitable humor. as story-telling it is perfection, and as portrait-painting it is true to the life."--_london mail._ tillie: a mennonite maid. by helen r. martin. with illustrations by florence scovel shinn. the little "mennonite maid" who wanders through these pages is something quite new in fiction. tillie is hungry for books and beauty and love; and she comes into her inheritance at the end. "tillie is faulty, sensitive, big-hearted, eminently human, and first, last and always lovable. her charm glows warmly, the story is well handled, the characters skilfully developed."--_the book buyer._ lady rose's daughter. by mrs. humphry ward. with illustrations by howard chandler christy. "the most marvellous work of its wonderful author."--_new york world._ "we touch regions and attain altitudes which it is not given to the ordinary novelist even to approach."--london times. "in no other story has mrs. ward approached the brilliancy and vivacity of lady rose's daughter."--_north-american review._ the banker and the bear. by henry k. webster. "an exciting and absorbing story."--_new york times._ "intensely thrilling in parts, but an unusually good story all through. there is a love affair of real charm and most novel surroundings, there is a run on the bank which is almost worth a year's growth, and there is all manner of exhilarating men and deeds which should bring the book into high and permanent favor."--_chicago evening post._ the spirit of the service. by edith elmer wood. with illustrations by rufus zogbaum. the standards and life of "the new navy" are breezily set forth with a genuine ring impossible from the most gifted "outsider." "the story of the destruction of the 'maine,' and of the battle of manila, are very dramatic. the author is the daughter of one naval officer and the wife of another. naval folks will find much to interest them in 'the spirit of the service.'"--_the book buyer._ a spectre of power. by charles egbert craddock. miss murfree has pictured tennessee mountains and the mountain people in striking colors and with dramatic vividness, but goes back to the time of the struggles of the french and english in the early eighteenth century for possession of the cherokee territory. the story abounds in adventure, mystery, peril and suspense. the storm centre. by charles egbert craddock. a war story, but more of flirtation, love and courtship than of fighting or history. the tale is thoroughly readable and takes its readers again into golden tennessee, into the atmosphere which has distinguished all of miss murfree's novels. the adventuress. by coralie stanton. with color frontispiece by harrison fisher, and attractive inlay cover in colors. as a penalty for her crimes, her evil nature, her flint-like callousness, her more than inhuman cruelty, her contempt for the laws of god and man, she was condemned to bury her magnificent personalty, her transcendent beauty, her superhuman charms, in gilded obscurity at a king's left hand. a powerful story powerfully told. the golden greyhound. a novel by dwight tilton. with illustrations by e. pollak. a thoroughly good story that keeps you guessing to the very end, and never attempts to instruct or reform you. it is a strictly up-to-date story of love and mystery with wireless telegraphy and all the modern improvements. the events nearly all take place on a big atlantic liner and the romance of the deep is skilfully made to serve as a setting for the romance, old as mankind, yet always new, involving our hero. beverly of graustark. by george barr mccutcheon. with color frontispiece and other illustrations by harrison fisher. beautiful inlay picture in colors of beverly on the cover. "the most fascinating, engrossing and picturesque of the season's novels."--_boston herald._ "'beverly' is altogether charming--almost living flesh and blood."--_louisville times._ "better than 'graustark'."--_mail and express._ "a sequel quite as impossible as 'graustark' and quite as entertaining."--bookman. "a charming love story well told."--_boston transcript._ half a rogue. by harold macgrath. with illustrations and inlay cover picture by harrison fisher. "here are dexterity of plot, glancing play at witty talk, characters really human and humanly real, spirit and gladness, freshness and quick movement. 'half a rogue' is as brisk as a horseback ride on a glorious morning. it is as varied as an april day. it is as charming as two most charming girls can make it. love and honor and success and all the great things worth fighting for and living for the involved in 'half a rogue.'"--_phila. press._ the girl from tim's place. by charles clark munn. with illustrations by frank t. merrill. "figuring in the pages of this story there are several strong characters. typical new england folk and an especially sturdy one, old cy walker, through whose instrumentality chip comes to happiness and fortune. there is a chain of comedy, tragedy, pathos and love, which makes a dramatic story."--_boston herald._ the lion and the mouse. a story of american life. by charles klein, and arthur hornblow. with illustrations by stuart travis, and scenes from the play. the novel duplicated the success of the play; in fact the book is greater than the play. a portentous clash of dominant personalities that form the essence of the play are necessarily touched upon but briefly in the short space of four acts. all this is narrated in the novel with a wealth of fascinating and absorbing detail, making it one of the most powerfully written and exciting works of fiction given to the world in years. barbara winslow, rebel. by elizabeth ellis. with illustrations by john rae, and colored inlay cover. the following, taken from story, will best describe the heroine: a toast: "to the bravest comrade in misfortune, the sweetest companion in peace and at all times the most courageous of women."--_barbara winslow._ "a romantic story, buoyant, eventful, and in matters of love exactly what the heart could desire."--_new york sun._ susan. by ernest oldmeadow. with a color frontispiece by frank haviland. medallion in color on front cover. lord ruddington falls helplessly in love with miss langley, whom he sees in one of her walks accompanied by her maid, susan. through a misapprehension of personalities his lordship addresses a love missive to the maid. susan accepts in perfect good faith, and an epistolary love-making goes on till they are disillusioned. it naturally makes a droll and delightful little comedy; and is a story that is particularly clever in the telling. when patty went to college. by jean webster. with illustrations by c. d. williams. "the book is a treasure."--_chicago daily news._ "bright, whimsical, and thoroughly entertaining."--_buffalo express._ "one of the best stories of life in a girl's college that has ever been written."--_n. y. press._ "to any woman who has enjoyed the pleasures of a college life this book cannot fail to bring back many sweet recollections; and to those who have not been to college the wit, lightness, and charm of patty are sure to be no less delightful."--_public opinion._ the masquerader. by katherine cecil thurston. with illustrations by clarence f. underwood. "you can't drop it till you have turned the last page."--cleveland leader. "its very audacity of motive, of execution, of solution, almost takes one's breath away. the boldness of its denouement is sublime."--_boston transcript._ "the literary hit of a generation. the best of it is the story deserves all its success. a masterly story."--_st. louis dispatch._ "the story is ingeniously told, and cleverly constructed."--_the dial._ the gambler. by katherine cecil thurston. with illustrations by john campbell. "tells of a high strung young irish woman who has a passion for gambling, inherited from a long line of sporting ancestors. she has a high sense of honor, too, and that causes complications. she is a very human, lovable character, and love saves her."--_n. y. times._ grosset & dunlap,----new york the secret trails [illustration] the macmillan company new york · boston · chicago · dallas atlanta · san francisco macmillan & co., limited london · bombay · calcutta melbourne the macmillan co. of canada, ltd. toronto [illustration: he struggled frantically to drag himself up again upon the ledge.] the secret trails by charles g. d. roberts author of "the feet of the furtive," "kings in exile," etc. _illustrated_ new york the macmillan company _all rights reserved_ copyright, , by the associated sunday magazines. copyright, , by the national sunday magazine, by the red book corporation, and by the illustrated sunday magazine. copyright, , by the international magazine company. copyright, , by the macmillan company set up and electrotyped. published november, . contents page the black boar of lonesome water the dog that saved the bridge the calling of the lop-horned bull the aigrette the cabin in the flood the brothers of the yoke the trailers cock-crow the ledge on bald face the morning of the silver frost list of illustrations he struggled frantically to drag himself up again upon the ledge _frontispiece_ facing page the black boar had wandered so far into the wilderness that he was safe from pursuit he only knew his lines were close ahead, and he must reach them black and huge against the pallid radiance towered a moose bull the mother egret flapped blindly upon the top of the water "this ain't no menagerie we've got here, tom. it's a noah's ark, that's what it be!" he launched himself into the battle leaping upwards and striking downwards with his destroying heels the secret trails the black boar of lonesome water i the population of lonesome water--some fourscore families in all--acknowledged one sole fly in the ointment of its self-satisfaction. slowly, reluctantly, it had been brought to confess that the breed of its pigs was not the best on earth. they were small, wiry pigs, over-leisurely of growth, great feeders, yet hard to fatten; and in the end they brought but an inferior price in the far-off market town by the sea, to which their frozen, stiff-legged carcases were hauled on sleds over the winter's snow. it was decided by the village council that the breed must be severely improved. they were a peculiar people, the dwellers about the remote and lovely shores of lonesome water. they were the descendants of a company of welsh sectarians who, having invented a little creed of their own which was the sole repository of truth and righteousness, had emigrated to escape the contamination of their neighbours. they had come to canada because canada was not crowded; and they had chosen the lovely valley of lonesome water, not for its loveliness, but for its lonesomeness and its fertility, and for the fact that it was surrounded by tracts of barren land which might keep off the defilements of the world. here they devoted themselves to farming and to the contemplation of their own superiority; and having a national appreciation of the value of a half-penny, they prospered. as may easily be understood, it was no small thing for the people of lonesome water to be forced, by the unanswerable logic of the market price, to acknowledge that their pigs were inferior to the pigs of the ungodly. of course, there were many in the settlement who refused flatly to believe that this could be so. providence could not be so short-sighted as to permit it. but the majority faced the truth with solemn resolution. and morgan fluellyn, the hog reeve of lonesome water, was sent to k-ville, to interview the secretary of the provincial agricultural society, and to purchase--if it could be done at a bargain--some pigs of a pedigree worthy the end in view. in the eyes of morgan fluellyn--small, deep-set, choleric eyes--the town of k-ville, with its almost two thousand inhabitants, its busy picture show, its three pubs, its cheerful, friendly girls, who adorned their hats with lavish flowers and feathers, was a place upon which the fires of an outraged heaven might some day fall. he had no mind to be caught in k-ville at the moment of this merited catastrophe. he lost no time in putting through his business. when he found the secretary, and learned the price of pedigree pigs, his indignation nearly choked him. with righteous sternness he denounced the secretary, the society, and the government, and stalked from the office. but an hour in the air brought him to a clearer understanding, and his ambitions on behalf of his community revived. lonesome water had the truth. she had a monopoly of the virtues. she should also have pigs that would command these outrageous prices. why should the ungodly triumph? and they did not--at least, not altogether. morgan fluellyn was allowed to achieve a bargain. the mollified secretary consented to sell him, at a reduced figure, a big black berkshire boar, of unimpeachable breeding, but small success in the show-pen, and in temper not to be relied on. the great boar had a steel ring through his snout, and fluellyn set out with him proudly. fluellyn was delighted with his prize, but it appeared that his prize was not equally delighted with fluellyn. in fact, the great grunting beast was surly and cantankerous from the first. he would look at his purchaser with a malign cunning in his eyes, and sometimes make a slash at his leg with gnashing jaws. but fluellyn was by no means lacking in the valour and pugnacity of his race, and his patience was of the shortest. by means of that rope through his captive's snout, he had an advantage which he knew how to make the most of. the fringe of fiery whisker, which haloed his red, clean-shaven cheeks and chin like a ruff, fairly curled with wrath at the beast's presumption, and he administered such discipline with his cudgel as he felt sure would not soon be forgotten. after this, for mile upon mile of the lonely backwoods trail, there was peace, and even an apparent unanimity of purpose, between fluellyn and his sullenly grunting charge. but the great black boar was not really subdued. he was merely biding his time. and because he bided it cunningly, his time came. the trail was bad, the going hard, for there was no unnecessary travel either way between lonesome water and her neighbour settlements. fluellyn was tired. it was getting along in the afternoon. he sat down on a log which lay invitingly by the side of the trail. from the bag of feed which he carried on his back, he poured out a goodly allowance for the black boar, being not unwilling to keep the brute amiable. then he seated himself on the log, in the caressing spring sunshine, and pulled out his pipe. for fluellyn smoked. it was his one concession to human weakness, and it had almost lost him his election as hog-reeve. nevertheless, he smoked. the air was bland, and he, too, became almost bland. his choleric eyes grew visionary. he forgot to distrust the black boar. the perfidious beast devoured its feed with noisy enthusiasm, at the same time watching fluellyn out of the corner of its wicked little eye. when the feed was finished, it flashed about without a ghost of a warning and charged full upon fluellyn. behind the log on which fluellyn sat the ground fell away almost perpendicularly, perhaps, twelve or fifteen feet, to the edge of a foaming brown trout-brook fringed with alders. as the boar charged, fluellyn sprang to his feet. at the same time he tried to spring backwards. his heels failed to clear the log; and in this his luck was with him, for the boar this time meant murder. he plunged headlong, with a yell of indignation, over the steep. and the animal, checking itself at the brink, glared down upon him savagely, gnashing its tusks. fluellyn was quite seriously damaged by his fall. his head and forehead were badly cut, so that his face was bathed in blood and dirt, through which his eyes glared upward no less fiercely than those of his adversary. his left arm was broken and stabbing at him with keen anguish, but he was too enraged to notice his hurts, and if it had been suggested to him that his fall had saved his life, he would have blown up with fury. he flew at the face of the steep like a wild-cat, struggling to scramble up it and get at the foe. but in this purpose, luckily for him, he was foiled by his broken arm. the boar, too, though eager to follow up his triumph, durst not venture the descent. for some minutes, therefore, the antagonists faced each other, the boar leaning over as far as he could, with vicious squeals and grunts and slaverings and gnashings, while the indomitable fluellyn, with language which he had never guessed himself capable of, and which would have caused his instant expulsion from lonesome water, defied and reviled him, and strove to claw up to him. at last the boar, who, being the victor, could best afford it, grew tired of the game. tossing his armed snout in the air, he drew back from the brink and trotted off into the fir-woods on the other side of the trail. delighted with his first taste of freedom, he kept on for some miles without a halt, till at last he came to a pond full of lily leaves, with soft black mud about its edges. here he lay down and wallowed till his wrath cooled. then he stretched himself in the grass and went to sleep. as for fluellyn, his wrath had no excuse for cooling, for the anguish of his hurts at last diverted his attention from it, more or less. he stumbled on down the stream till he reached a spot where he could get up the bank. by this time he was feeling faint, and his angry eyes were half blinded with the blood which he kept wiping from them with his sleeve. nevertheless, he returned to the scene of his overthrow, and from that point, without a thought of prudence, took up the trail of the boar through the fir thickets. but he was no expert in woodcraft at the best of times, and the trail soon eluded him. forced at last to confess himself worsted for the moment, he made his way back to the log, snatched up the bag of feed, that his enemy might not return and enjoy it, and with dogged resolution set his face once more toward lonesome water. when he arrived there, he was babbling in a fever. his appearance was a scandal, and his language cleared the village street. there were many who held that he had gone astray under the wicked influence of k-ville--which was no more than they had always said would happen to a man who smoked tobacco. but the majority were for not condemning him when he was unable to defend himself. for three weeks he lay helpless. and by the time he was well enough to tell his story, which was convincing to all but the sternest of his censors, the black boar had wandered so far into the wilderness that he was safe from pursuit. there were no woodsmen in lonesome water cunning enough to follow up his obscure and devious trail. ii in spite of the allurements of the lily pool, the black boar forsook it after a couple of blissful days' wallowing. the _wanderlust_, choked back for generations, had awakened in his veins. he pushed on, not caring in what direction, for perhaps a fortnight. though food was everywhere abundant, he had always to work for it, so he grew lean and hard and swift. the memory of a thousand years of servitude slipped from him, as it were, in a night, and at the touch of the wilderness many of the instincts and aptitudes of a wild thing sprang up in him. only the instinct of concealment, of stealth, was lacking to this new equipment of his. he feared nothing, and he hunted nothing more elusive than lily-roots; so he took no care to disguise his movements. [illustration: the black boar had wandered so far into the wilderness that he was safe from pursuit.] at first, because of the noise he made, the forest seemed to him to be empty of all living things but birds. then one day, as he lay basking in the sun, he saw a wild-cat pounce upon a rabbit. at first he stared curiously. but when he saw the wild-cat feasting on her prey, he decided that he wanted the banquet for himself. as he burst through the bushes, the great cat stared for an instant in utter amazement, never having seen or dreamed of such an apparition. then, her eyes like moons, her six-inch bob-tail fluffed to a bottle-brush, and every hair stiffly on end, she bounced into the nearest tree. there in a crotch she crouched, spitting and yowling, while her enemy tranquilly devoured the rabbit. the tit-bit was not altogether to his taste, but he chose to eat it rather than let the great cat have it. and, after all, it was something of a change from roots and fungi. having thus discovered that rabbits were more or less edible, the black boar thenceforward chased them whenever they crossed his path. he never came anywhere near the catching of them, but, in spite of that, he was not discouraged. some day, perhaps, he would meet a rabbit that could not run so fast as the others. fond as the boar was of wallowing in the cool mud of the lily ponds, he was, in reality, a stickler for personal cleanliness. when the mud was dry, he would roll in the moss, and scratch himself till it was all rubbed off, leaving his black bristles in perfect condition. his habits were as dainty as a cat's, and his bed of dead leaves, in the heart of some dense thicket, was always kept dry and fastidiously clean. one day, as he lay asleep in one of these shadowy lairs, a bear came by, moving noiselessly in the hope of surprising a rabbit or a brooding partridge. a breath of air brought to the great prowler's nostrils a scent which seemed to him strongly out of place there in the depths of the forest. he stopped, lifted his muzzle, and sniffed critically. yes, that smell was unquestionably pig. once he had captured a fat young pig on the outskirts of a settler's farm, and his jaws watered at the delicious remembrance. crouching low, he crept up toward the thicket, led by his discriminating nose. his huge paws made no more sound than the gliding of a shadow. peering in through the tangle of twigs and leafage, he was able to make out some black creature asleep. he paused suspiciously. the pig of his remembrance was white and much smaller than the animal he saw before him. still, his nose assured him that this was pig all right. his appetite hushed his prudence, and, crashing into the thicket, he hurled himself upon the slumbering form. and then a strange thing--a most disconcerting thing--happened to him. that slumbering form heaved up beneath him, grunting, and shot out between his hind legs with a violence which pitched him forward on his nose. before he could recover himself, it wheeled about, looking many times larger than he had imagined it to be, and charged upon him with an ear-splitting squeal of rage. the shock bowled him clean over, so that he rolled out of the thicket, and at the same time he got a tearing slash down his flank. startled quite out of his customary pugnacious courage, he bawled like a yearling cub, scrambled to his feet, and took to flight ignominiously. but the unknown fury behind him could run as fast as he, and it clung to his heels, squealing horribly and rooting at his rump with murderous tusks. in a panic he clawed his way up the nearest tree. finding himself no longer pursued, he turned and stared down from among the branches. he saw that his victorious adversary was indeed a pig, but such a pig! he felt himself most treacherously ill-used--betrayed, in fact. it was out of all fitness that a pig should be so big, so black, and so abrupt in manners. had he dared to put the matter again to the test, he might have avenged his defeat, for he was much the heavier of the two, and immeasurably the better armed for battle. but he had no stomach to face that squealing fury again. he crawled on up to a convenient crotch, and lay there licking his scars and whimpering softly to himself, his appetite for pork entirely spoiled. the boar, after ramping about beneath the tree for a matter of perhaps a half hour, at last trotted off in disgust, confirmed in his arrogance. this easy victory over so large and formidable a foe convinced him, had he needed any convincing, that he was lord of the wilderness. had he chanced, about that time, to meet another bear, of sturdier resolution than the first, he would have had a rude disillusionment. as it was, however, no later than the following day he had an adventure which jarred his complacence. it taught him not exactly prudence, but, at least, a certain measure of circumspection, which was afterwards to profit him. it was just on the edge of evening, when the wilderness world was growing vague with violet shadows, and new, delicate scents were breathing from leaf and bush at the touch of the dew, that the confident wanderer caught sight of a little black-and-white striped animal. it was hardly as large as a rabbit. it was not the colour of a rabbit. it had by no means the watchful, timorous air of a rabbit. as a matter of fact, it was a skunk; but his far-off ancestors had neglected to hand down to him any informatory instinct about skunks. he jumped to the conclusion that it was a rabbit, all the same--perhaps the fat, slow rabbit which he had been hoping to come across. he hurled himself upon it with his utmost dash, determined that this time the elusive little beast should not escape him. and it didn't. in fact, it hardly tried to. when he was within a few feet of it, it jerked its long tail into the air, and at the same time something dreadful and incomprehensible struck him in the face. it struck him in the eyes, the nose, the mouth, all at the same time. it scalded him, it blinded him, it suffocated him, it sickened him. he tried to stop himself, but he was too late. his impetus carried him on so that he trod down and killed the little animal without being aware of it. in fact, he paid no attention whatever to his victory. all he cared about, for the moment, was breath. his outraged lungs had shut up tight to keep out the intolerable invader. at last they opened, with a hoarse gasp of protest at being forced to. having regained his breath, such as it was, he wanted to see. but his eyes were closed with a burning, clinging, oily stuff, which also clung foully in his nostrils and in his mouth. he strove clumsily to rub them clear with his fore-hooves, and, failing in this, he flung himself on his back with head outstretched and rolled frantically in the moss. achieving thus a measure of vision out of one inflamed and blurred eye, he caught sight of a marshy pool gleaming through the trees. gasping, coughing, blundering into tree and bush as he went, he rushed to the water's edge and plunged his outraged features as deep as he could into the cool slime. there he rooted and champed and wallowed till the torment grew less intolerable to all his senses, and his lungs once more performed their office without a spasm. but still that deadly taint clung nauseatingly to his nostrils and his palate; and at last, quite beside himself with the torment, he emerged from the water and started on a mad gallop through the woods, trying to run away from it. he ran till he sank exhausted and fell into a heavy sleep. when he woke up, there was the smell still with him, and for days he could scarcely eat for the loathing of it. gradually, however, the clean air and the deodorizing forest scents made him once more tolerable to himself. but the lesson was not forgotten. when, one bright and wind-swept morning, he came face to face with a young porcupine, he stopped politely. the porcupine also stopped and slowly erected its quills till its size was almost doubled. the boar was much surprised. this sudden enlargement, indeed, was so incomprehensible that it angered him. the strange absence of fear in the nonchalant little creature also angered him. he was inclined to rush upon it at once and chew it up. but the fact that its colour was more or less black-and-white gave him a painful reminder of his late experience. perhaps this was another of those slow rabbits! he checked himself and sniffed suspiciously. the stranger, with a little grumbling squeak, came straight at him--not swiftly, or, indeed, angrily, but with a confident deliberation that was most upsetting. the boar was big enough to have stamped the porcupine's life out with one stroke of his hoof. but instead of standing up to his tiny challenger, he turned tail and bolted off squealing through the undergrowth as if nothing less than a troop of lions were after him. iii the course of the black boar's wanderings brought him out at last upon the desolate northern shores of lonesome water. at night he could sometimes see, miles away across the lake, a gleam of the discreet lights of the settlement--perhaps, indeed, from the windows of morgan fluellyn himself, whose cottage was close down on the waterside. this northern shore, being mostly swamp and barren, was entirely ignored by the dwellers in lonesome water settlement, who were satisfied with their own fertile fields, and not of an inquiring temperament. but it offered the black boar just the retreat he was now in search of. tired of wandering, he found himself a lair in a dense and well-drained thicket near the bank of a lilied stream which here wound slowly through reeds and willows to the lake. here, with food abundant, and never skunk or smell of skunk to challenge his content, he wallowed and rooted the gold-and-green summer away and found life good. he was not troubled by forebodings of the winter, because he had never known anything of winter beyond the warmth of a well-provided pen. one dreamy and windless afternoon in late september, when a delicate bluish haze lay over the yellowing landscape, a birch canoe was pushed in among the reeds, and a woodsman in grey homespun stepped ashore. he was gaunt and rugged of feature, with quiet, keen, humorous eyes, and he moved in his soft hide "larrigans" as lightly as a cat. he knew of a little ice-cold spring in this neighbourhood not far from the river bank, and he never passed the spot without stopping to drink deep at its preternaturally crystal flow. he had not gone more than fifty yards up the shore when his eye was caught by a most unusual trail. he stopped to examine it. as he did so, a sudden crash in the bushes made him turn his head sharply. a massive black shape, unlike anything he had ever seen before, was charging down upon him. whatever it was--and he remembered a picture he had once seen of a wild boar charging a party of hunters--he knew it meant mischief of the worst kind. and he had left his gun in the canoe. under the circumstances, he was not too proud to run. he ran well, which was lucky for him. as he swung up his long legs into the branches, the black boar reared himself against the trunk, gnashing his tusks and squealing furiously. the man, from his safe perch, looked down upon him thoughtfully for perhaps a whole minute. "well, i'll be durned!" he ejaculated at last, getting out his pipe and slowly filling it. "ef 'tain't fluellyn's pig! to think jo peddler 'ld ever have to run from a pig!" for perhaps a half hour peddler sat there and smoked contentedly enough, with the patience which the wilderness teaches to all its children. he expected his gaoler to go away and let him make a dash for the canoe. but presently he concluded that the boar had no intention of going away. if so, it was time to do something if he wanted to get across the lake before dark. he cleaned the ashes out of his pipe and saved them carefully. then he refilled the pipe very loosely and smoked it violently half through, which yielded him another collection of pungent ash. he repeated the process several times, till he judged he had enough of the mixture--ash and dry, powdered tobacco. then, grinning, he let himself down till he was barely out of reach, and began to tease and taunt his gaoler till the surly beast was beside itself with rage, snorting and squealing and rearing itself against the trunk in its efforts to get at him. at length, with infinite pains and precision, he sifted the biting mixture into his adversary's eyes and wide, snorting nostrils. by great good luck he managed to hit the mark exactly. how he wished the stuff had been pepper! at the result he nearly fell out of the tree with ecstasy. the boar's squeal was cut short by a paroxysm of choking and coughing. the great animal nearly fell over backwards. then, remembering his ancient experience with the skunk, he rushed blindly for the water, his eyes, for the most part, screwed up tight, so that he crashed straight through everything that stood in his path. peddler dropped from his refuge and ran for his canoe, laughing delightedly as he ran. what little grudge he owed the animal for his temporary imprisonment, he felt to have been amply repaid, and he was glad he had not yielded to his first impulse and emptied the hot coals from his pipe into its nostrils. "i'll be givin' yer compliments to fluellyn," he shouted, as he paddled away, "an' likely he'll be over to call on ye afore long!" iv jo peddler had small love for the peculiar community of lonesome water. he never visited it except under the necessity of buying supplies for his camp. he used to swear that its very molasses was sour, that its tea was so self-righteous that it puckered his mouth. he never slept under one of its roofs, choosing, rather, to pitch his tent in the patch of dishevelled common on the outskirts of the village. on the morning after his interview with the black boar, he was making his purchases at the village grocery--a "general" shop which sold also hardware, dry goods, and patent medicines, and gave a sort of disapproving harbourage to the worldly postoffice--when morgan fluellyn dropped in, nodded non-committally, and sat down on a keg of nails. to peddler the bad-tempered little welshman was less obnoxious than most of his fellow-villagers, both because he was so far human as to smoke tobacco, and because his reputation and self-satisfaction had been damaged by the episode of the pedigree boar. there was little tenderness toward damaged goods, or anything else, in lonesome water, so the woodsman felt almost friendly toward fluellyn. "what'll ye be givin' me," he inquired, proffering his plug of choice tobacco, "ef i git yer pig back fer ye?" fluellyn so far forgot himself as to spring eagerly to his feet. his fringe of red whisker fairly curled forward to meet peddler's suggestion. if he could restore the precious animal to the community, his prestige would be re-established. moreover, his own sore shaken self-esteem would lift its head and flourish once again. "i'd pay ye right well, jo peddler," he declared, forgetting his native prudence in a bargain. "can ye do it, man?" "i can that," replied peddler. and the storekeeper, with a half-filled kerosene tin in his hand, came forward to listen. "i'm a poor man," went on fluellyn, recollecting himself with a jerk and sitting down again on the nail keg. "i'm a poor man, as mr. perley here'll tell ye, an' i've already had to pay for the pig out o' my own pocket. an' it's cost me a fearful sum for the doctor. but i've said i want the pig back, and i'd pay ye well. an' i won't go back on my word. what'll ye take now?" "i know ye've been playing in hard luck, fluellyn," said the woodsman genially, "an' i ain't a-drivin' no bargain. i know what that there pig cost ye down to k-ville. but he ain't no manner o' use to me. he ain't what ye'd call a household pet, as ye'll agree. i'll find him and ketch him an' deliver him to ye, sound in wind an' limb, down here at the landin', if ye'll promise to pay me four pound for my trouble when the job's rightly done. an' mr. perley here's my witness." fluellyn drew a sigh of relief. he thought the woodsman a fool to be so moderate, but he was not without an inkling of the truth that this moderation was due to generosity and kindness rather than to folly. to his amazement, he felt a prompting to be generous himself. "tell ye what i'll do," said he, springing up again and grasping peddler's hand. "if ye'll take me along an' let me help ye fix him, i'll make it five pound instead o' four. he done me bad, an' i'd like to git square." "all right," said peddler, with an understanding grin. on the following morning peddler and fluellyn set out for the north shore of the lake. they went in a roomy row-boat, and they carried with them an assortment of ropes and straps. they started very early, just on the edge of dawn; for even here, in lonesome water, were to be found certain spirits so imperfectly regenerate as to be not above curiosity, not above a worldly itching to see the outcome of the venture; and peddler would have no marplots about to risk the upsetting of his plans. when they set out, the unruffled surface of the lake lay gleaming in vast, irregular breadths and patches of polished steel-grey and ethereal ice-blue and miraculous violet-silver, so beautiful that peddler almost shrank from breaking the charmed stillness with his oars, and even fluellyn felt strange stirrings within him of a long-atrophied sense of beauty. the village of lonesome water slumbered heavily, with windows and hearts alike close shut. the sun was high in the hot blue when the boat, with stealthy oars, crept in among the reeds and made a noiseless landing. "if ye stir a foot outside the boat till i call to ye, fluellyn, the bargain's off, an' ye kin ketch the pig yerself," admonished peddler in a whisper, as he stole up the shore with a coil of ropes over his left arm and a steel-shod canoe-pole in his right hand. he kept a wary eye on the thicket which he judged to be the black boar's lair, until he was close to the foot of the tree in which he had previously taken refuge. then he coughed loudly, announcing his presence. but there was no response from the thicket. "come out o' that, ye black divil, an' i'll truss ye up like a bale o' hay!" he shouted. as if this inducement was something quite irresistible, came a sudden crashing, not in the thicket he was watching, but in the bushes directly behind him, not a dozen paces away. without stopping to look round, he dropped his pole and jumped for the tree. "bad luck to ye," he growled, as he gained his perch just in time, "taking a feller by surprise that way!" as the beast squealed and ramped below, peddler leaned down from his perch and flicked it smartly with one of his lengths of rope, till it was jumping up and down and almost bursting with rage. then, securing the rope to a stout branch, he made a slip-knot in the end of it and tried to throw it over the boar's fore-leg. after half a dozen failures, he made a lucky cast and instantly drew the noose tight. instead of being daunted at this, the boar again rushed furiously at the tree, rearing himself against it in a repetition of his former tactics. this gave peddler just the chance he wanted. "that's where ye've made the mistake, now," said he sympathetically, and dropped another noose well over the beast's snout, beyond the tusks. as he drew it tight, he took up the slack of both ropes in a deft hitch over the branch; and the boar found itself strung up against the trunk, dancing frantically on its hind legs, and no longer able even to squeal effectively. "maybe ye'll be a mite more civil now," mocked peddler, and dropped lightly from his branch to the ground. in half a minute he had whipped the frantic boar's two front legs together, also its two hind legs, run a sliding rope from the one pair to the other, and muzzled the formidable jaws more securely with a leather skate-strap. then he freed the ropes from above and lowered his prisoner carefully to the ground, where it struggled madly till he drew its fore legs and hind legs close together by means of the sliding rope. thus trussed up, it seemed at last to realize its defeat, and lay still upon its side, breathing heavily, which, indeed, was about the only form of activity left to it. peddler stood off and surveyed his captive benignantly as he filled his pipe. "fluellyn," he called, "ye kin come now an' have a talk with yer pig!" with a bound, fluellyn came up the bank, burning to avenge his humiliations, his cheeks glowing in their halo of crisp red whisker. but at sight of the great boar lying trussed up so ignobly his face fell. "why didn't ye let me have a hand in the job?" he demanded resentfully. "sorry," said peddler, "but it couldn't be done nohow. ye'd hev spiled the whole game, an' like as not got yer gizzard ripped. now ye've got him, i allow ye hain't got nawthin' to grumble at." and he waited curiously to see what the little welshman would do to relieve his feelings. but fluellyn, with all his faults, was not the man to kick a fallen foe. for some moments he eyed the helpless black monster with so sinister a gaze that peddler thought he was devising some cruel vengeance, and made ready to interfere, if necessary. but all fluellyn did, in the end, was to go over and seat himself comfortably on the great beast's panting flank and proceed to fill his pipe. "it's goin' to be a hefty job a-gettin' him into the boat," said he at length, sternly repressing the note of exultation that _would_ creep into his voice. the dog that saved the bridge i the old canal lay dreaming under the autumn sun, tranquil between its green banks and its two rows of stiffly-rimmed bordering poplars. once a busy highway for barges, it was now little more than a great drainage ditch, with swallow and dragon-flies darting and flashing over its seldom ruffled surface. scattered here and there over the fat, green meadows beyond its containing dykes, fat cows lay lazily chewing the cud. it was a scene of unmarred peace. to the cows nothing could have seemed more impregnable than their security. off south-westward and southward, to be sure, the horizon was columned, decoratively but ominously, by pillars of dense smoke, sharp against the turquoise sky. but such phenomena, however novel, failed to stir the cows to even the mildest curiosity. the spacious summer air, however, was entertaining a strange riot of noises. it thumped and throbbed and thundered. it seemed to be ripped across from time to time with a dry, leisurely sound of tearing. again, it would be suddenly shattered with enormous earth-shaking crashes. but all this foolish tumult was in the distance, and it gave the cows not the slightest concern. it had not interfered with the excellent quality of the pasturage; it had not disturbed the regularity of milking-time. strategically considered, the lazy old canal led from nowhere to nowhere, and the low levels through which it ran were aside from the track of the fighting. the peasant folk on their little farms still went about their business, but very quietly and with lowered voices, as if hoping thus to avoid the eye of fate. along the grass-grown towpath, marching in half-sections, came a tiny detachment of long-coated belgian riflemen with a machine-gun. the deadly little weapon, on its two-wheeled toy carriage, was drawn by a pair of sturdy, brindled dogs--mongrels, evidently, showing a dash of bull and a dash of retriever in their make-up. they were not as large as the dogs usually employed by the belgians in this kind of service, but they were strong, and keen on their job. digging their strong toes into the turf, they threw their weight valiantly into the straps, and pressed on, with tongues hanging out and what looked like a cordial grin on their panting jaws. they seemed desperately afraid of being left behind by their quick-marching comrades. the little band kept well under the trees as they went, lest some far-scouting aeroplane should catch sight of them. in the south-eastern sky, presently, an aeroplane--a taube--did appear; but it was so distant that the young lieutenant in command of the detachment, after examining it carefully with his field-glasses, concluded that it was little likely to detect his dark line moving under the trees. the taube, that execrated dove of death, was spying over the belgian trenches, and doubtless daring a hot fire from the belgian rifles. once it made a wide sweep north-westward, rapidly growing larger, and the little band under the trees lay down, hiding themselves and the gun behind the dyke. then its flight swerved back over the belgian lines, and the commander, lowering his glasses with a deep breath of relief, gave the order to march. two minutes later, around the questing aeroplane appeared a succession of sudden fleecy puffs of smoke, looking soft and harmless as cotton-wool. one of these came just before the nose of the aeroplane. next moment the machine gave a great swooping dive, righted itself, dived again, and dropped like a stone. "thank god for that!" muttered the young lieutenant, and his men cheered grimly under their breath. three minutes later the detachment came to an old stone bridge. here it halted. the men began hastily entrenching themselves where they could best command the approaches on the other side. the machine-gun, lifted from its little carriage, was placed cunningly behind a screen of reeds. the two dogs, panting, lay down in their harness under a thick bush. in an amazingly brief time the whole party was so hidden that no one approaching from the other side of the canal could have guessed there was anything more formidable in the neighbourhood than the ruminating cows. the neglected, almost forgotten, old bridge had suddenly leapt into importance. reinforcements for the sore-pressed division to the south-east were being sent around by the north of the canal, and were to cross by the bridge. the detachment had been sent to guard the bridge at all costs from any wide-roving patrols of uhlans who might take it into their heads to blow it up. in war it is a pretty safe principle to blow up any bridge if you are quite sure you won't be wanting it yourself. the fact that the other side has spared it is enough to damn it off-hand. the tumult of the far-off gunfire was so unremitting that the ears of the bridge-guard gradually came to accept it as a mere background, against which small, insignificant sounds, if sudden and unexpected, became strangely conspicuous. the crowing of a cock in the farmyard a few fields off, the sharp cry of a moorhen, the spasmodic gabbling of a flock of fat ducks in the canal--these small noises were almost as clearly differentiated as if heard in a stark silence. for perhaps an hour the detachment had lain concealed, when those ominous pillars of smoke against the sky were joined suddenly by swarms of the little white puffs of cotton-wool, and the confused noises redoubled in violence. the battle was swaying nearer and spreading around a swiftly widening arc of the low horizon. then another aeroplane--another bird-like taube--came in view, darting up from a little south of west. the young lieutenant, in his hiding-place beside the bridge-head clapped his glasses anxiously to his eyes. yes, the deadly flier was heading straight for this position. evidently the germans knew of that out-of-the-way bridge, and in their eyes also, for some reason, it had suddenly acquired importance. the taube was coming to see in what force it was held. "spies again!" he grunted savagely, turning to explain to his men. flying at a height of only five or six hundred metres, the taube flew straight over them. there was no longer any use in attempting concealment. the riflemen opened fire upon it furiously as soon as it came within range. it was hit several times; but the taube is a steel machine, well protected from below, and neither the pilot nor any vital part of the mechanism was damaged. it made haste, however, to climb and swerve away from so hot a neighbourhood. but first, as a message of defiance, it dropped a bomb. the bomb fell sixty or seventy yards away from the bridge back in the meadow, among a group of cows. the explosion killed one cow and wounded several. the survivors, thus rudely shocked out of their indifference, stamped off down the field, tails in air and bellowing frantically. "that cooks _our_ goose," snapped one of the riflemen concisely. "their shells'll be dead on to us in ten minutes' time," growled another. and all cursed soberly. "i don't think so," said the young lieutenant, after a moment's hesitation. "they want the bridge, so they won't shell it. but you'll see they'll be on to us shortly with their mitrailleuse and half a battalion or so, enough to eat us up. we've got to get word back _quick_ to the general for reinforcements, or the game's up." "i'll go, my lieutenant," said jean ferréol, an eager, dark walloon, springing to his feet. the lieutenant did not answer for some moments. he was examining through his glasses a number of mounted figures, scattering over the plains to the rear in groups of two and three. yes, they were uhlans unquestionably. the line of combat was shifting eastward. "no," said he, "you can't go, jean. you'd never get through. the bosches are all over the place back there now. and you wouldn't be in time, even if you did get through. i'll send one of the dogs." he tore a leaf out of his note-book and began scribbling. "better send both dogs, my lieutenant," said jan steen, the big, broad-built fleming who had charge of the machine-gun, unharnessing the dogs as he spoke. "leo's the cleverest, and he'll carry the message right; but he won't have his heart in the job unless you let dirck go along with him. they're like twins. moreover, the two together wouldn't excite suspicion like one alone. one alone the bosches would take for a messenger dog, sure, but two racing over the grass might seem to be just playing." "_bon!_" said the young lieutenant. "two strings to our bow." he hurriedly made a duplicate of his dispatch. the papers were folded small and tied under the dogs' collars. big jan spoke a few words crisply and decisively in flemish to leo, who watched his lips eagerly and wagged his tail as if to show he understood. then he spoke similarly, but with more emphasis and reiteration, to dirck, at the same time waving his arm toward the distant group of roofs from which the detachment had come. dirck looked anxiously at him and whined, and then glanced inquiringly at leo, to see if _he_ understood what was required of them. he was almost furiously willing, but not so quick to catch an idea as his more lively yoke-fellow. big jan repeated his injunctions yet again, with unhurried patience, while his leader fumed behind him. jan steen knew well that with a dog, in such circumstances, one must be patient though the skies fall. at last dirck's grin widened, his tail wagged violently, and his low whining gave way to a bark of elation. "he's got it," said jan, with slow satisfaction. he waved his arm, and the two dogs dashed off as if they had been shot out of a gun, keeping close along the inner base of the dyke. "dirck's got it," repeated jan, with conviction, "and nothing will put it out of his head till he's done the job." ii side by side, racing wildly like children just let out from school, the two dogs dashed off through the grass along the base of the dyke. leo, the lighter in build and in colour, and the more conspicuous by reason of a white fore-leg, was also the lighter in spirits. glad to be clear of the harness and proud of his errand, he was so ebullient in his gaiety that he could spare time to spring into the air now and again and snap at a low-fluttering butterfly. the more phlegmatic dirck, on the other hand, was too busy keeping his errand fixed in his mind to waste any interest on butterflies, though he was ready enough to gambol a bit whenever his volatile comrade frolicked into collision with him. soon--leo leading, as usual--they quitted the dyke and started off across the open meadows toward the hottest of the firing. a couple of patrolling uhlans, some distance off to the right, caught sight of them, and a bullet whined complainingly just over their heads. but the other uhlan, the one who had not fired, rebuked his companion for wasting ammunition. "can't you see they're just a couple of puppies larking round?" he asked scornfully. "suppose you thought they were red cross." "thought they might be dispatch dogs, herr sergeant," answered the trooper deprecatingly. "well, they're not, blockhead," grunted the cocksure sergeant. and the two rode on, heading diagonally toward the canal. the dogs, at the sound of the passing bullet, had crouched flat to the ground. when the sound was not repeated, however, they sprang up and continued their journey, leo, excited but not terrified, more inclined to frolic than ever, while dirck, who by some obscure instinct had realized that the shot was not a chance one, but a direct personal attack, kept looking back and growling at the pair of uhlans. but though leo, the exuberant, gambolled as he ran, he ran swiftly, none the less, so swiftly that plodding dirck had some trouble to keep up with him. ten minutes more, and they ran into the zone of fire. bullets hummed waspishly over them, but, after a moment's hesitation, they raced on, flattening themselves belly to earth. the german infantry were in position, quite hidden from view, some six or seven hundred yards to the right. they were firing at an equally invisible line of belgians, who were occupying a drainage ditch some three hundred yards to the left. the two dogs had no way of knowing that the force on their left was a friendly one, so they kept straight on beneath the crossfire. had they only known, their errand might have been quickly accomplished. a little farther on, the grass-land came to an end, and there was a naked, sun-baked stubble-field to cross. as the two raced out over this perilous open space, the battle deepened above them. the fire from the belgian side went high over the dogs' heads, seeking the far-off target of the enemy's prostrate lines. but the german fire was sighted for too close a range, and the bullets were falling short. here and there one struck with a vicious spat close to the runners' feet. here and there a small stone would fly into the air with a sudden inexplicable impulse, or a bunch of stubble would hop up as if startled from its root-hold. a ball just nicked the extreme tip or dirck's tail, making him think a hornet had stung him. with a surprised yelp, he turned and bit at his supposed assailant. realizing his mistake in a second, he drooped the injured member sheepishly and tore on after leo, who had by now got a score of paces ahead. next moment a shrapnel shell burst overhead with a shattering roar. both dogs cowered flat, shivering. there was a smart patter all about them, and little spurts of dust, straw, and dry earth darted upwards. the shrapnel shell was doubtless a mere stray, an ill-calculated shot exploding far from its target. but to leo it seemed a direct attack upon himself. and well he knew what was the proper thing to do under such circumstances. partly by instruction, partly by natural sagacity, he had assimilated the vital precept: "when the firing gets too hot, dig yourself in." with his powerful fore-paws he attacked the stubble, making the dry earth fly as if he were trying to dig out a badger. dirck watched him wonderingly for a moment or two, till a venomous swarm of bullets just over his head seemed to let light in upon his understanding. he fell to copying leo with vehement enthusiasm. in a brief space each dog had a burrow deep enough to shelter him. dirck promptly curled himself up in his, and fell to licking his wounded tail. but leo, burning to get on with his errand, kept bobbing up his head every other second to see how the bullets were striking. another shrapnel shell burst in the air, but farther away than the first, and leo marked where the little spurts of dust arose. they were well behind him. the rifle bullets pinging overhead were higher now, as the germans were getting the range of the belgian line. the coast seemed clear enough. he scrambled from his hole and dashed onward down the field, yelping for dirck to follow. and dirck was at his heels in half a second. the tiny canal-side village which was the goal of these two devoted messengers was by this time less than a mile away and straight ahead. when they left it with the machine-gun that morning, it had seemed a little haven of peace. now the battle was raging all about it. the tall church spire, which had risen serenely above its embosoming trees, had vanished, blown off by a shell. a cottage was burning merrily. those harmless-looking puffs of cotton-wool were opening out plenteously above the clustered roofs. but all these things made no difference to these two four-footed dispatch-bearers who carried the destiny of the bridge beneath their collars. they had been ordered to take their dispatches to the village, and to the village they would go, whether it had become an inferno or not. but now the spectacle of the two dogs racing desperately toward the village under the storm of lead and shell had caught the attention of both sides. there was no mistaking them now for frolicsome puppies. there was no question, either, as to which side they belonged to. the german bullets began to lash the ground like hail all about them. leo, true to his principles, stopped at a tiny depression and once more, with feverish eagerness, began to dig himself in. the earth flew from his desperate paws. in another minute he would have achieved something like cover. but a german sharpshooter got the range of him exactly. a bullet crashed through his sagacious brain, and he dropped, with his muzzle between his legs, into his half-dug burrow. but dirck, meanwhile, had for once refused to follow his leader's example. his goal was too near. he saw the familiar uniforms. above the din he could detect the cries and calls of encouragement from his people. every faculty in his valiant and faithful being bent itself to the accomplishment of his errand. the bullets raining about him concerned him not at all. the crash of a shrapnel shell just over him did not even make him cock an eye skyward. the shrapnel bullets raised jets of dust before and behind him and on either side. but not one touched him. he knew nothing of them. he only knew his lines were close ahead, and he must reach them. the belgians cheered and yelled, and poured in a concentrated fire on that section of the enemy which was attacking the dog. for a few seconds that small, insignificant, desperate four-footed shape drew upon itself the undivided attention of several thousand men. it focussed the battle for the moment. it was only a brindled dog, yet upon its fate hung immense and unknown issues. every one knew now that the devoted animal was carrying a message. the germans suddenly came to feel that to prevent the delivery of that message would be like winning a battle. the belgians turned a battery from harrying a far-off squadron of horse to shell the lines opposite, in defence of the little messenger. men fell by the score on both sides to decide that unexpected contest. [illustration: he only knew his lines were close ahead, and he must reach them.] and still dirck raced on, heedless of it all. then, within fifty yards of the goal, he fell. a bullet had smashed one of his legs. he picked himself up again instantly and hobbled forward, trailing the mangled limb. but the moment he fell, a score of riflemen had leapt from their lines and dashed out to rescue him. three dropped on the way out. half a dozen more fell on the way back. but dirck, whining and licking his rescuers' hands, was carried to shelter behind the massive stone wall of the inn yard, where the brigadier and his officers were receiving and sending out dispatches. an aide drew the message from under dirck's collar and handed it, with a word of explanation, to the general. the latter read it, glanced at the time on the dispatch and then at his watch, and gave hurried orders for strong reinforcements to be rushed up to the old bridge. then he looked at dirck, whose shattered leg was being dressed by an orderly. "that dog," he growled, "has been worth exactly three regiments to us. he's saved the bridge and he's saved three regiments from being cut off. see that he's well looked after, and cured as soon as possible. he's a good soldier, and we'll want him again." the calling of the lop-horned bull i the harvest moon hung globed and honey-coloured over the glassy wilderness lake. in the unclouded radiance the strip of beach and the sand-spit jutting out from it were like slabs of pure ivory between the mirroring steel-blue of the water and the brocaded dark of the richly-foliaged shore. behind a screen of this rich foliage--great drooping leaves of water-ash and maple--sat the figure of a man with his back against a tree, almost indistinguishable in the confusion of velvety shadows. his rifle leaning against the tree-trunk beside him, a long, trumpet roll of birch-bark in his hands, he peered forth through the leaves upon the shining stillness, while his ears listened so intently that every now and then they would seem to catch the whisper of his own blood rushing through his veins. but from the moonlit wilds came not a sound except, from time to time, that vast, faint, whispering sigh, inaudible to all but the finest ears, in which the ancient forest seems to breathe forth its content when there is no wind to jar its dreams. joe peddler had settled himself in a comfortable position in his hiding-place in order that he might not have to move. he was out to call moose, and he knew the need of stillness. he knew how far and how inexplicably the news of an intruder would travel through the wild; but he knew also how quickly the wild forgets that news, if only the intruder has craft enough to efface himself. if only he keeps quite still for a time, the vigilant life of the wild seems to conclude that he is dead, and goes once more about its furtive business. presently joe peddler reached out for his rifle and laid it across his knees. then he raised the trumpet of birch-bark to his lips and uttered through it the strange, hoarse cry of the cow-moose calling to her mate. it was a harsh note and discordant, a sort of long-drawn, bleating bellow; yet there was a magic in its uncouth appeal which made it seem the one appropriate voice of those rude but moon-enchanted wilds. joe peddler was such an expert with the birch-bark horn that his performance with it could deceive not only the bull, but also the wary cow, or a cow-stalking bear, or, at times, even an experienced and discriminating fellow-woodsman. he would call twice or thrice, and stop and listen for several minutes, confident that on such a glamorous night as this he would not have long to wait for a response to his lying call. and he had not. when the bull-moose comes to the call of the cow, he comes sometimes noisily and challengingly, with a crashing of underbrush and a defiant thrashing of his great antlers upon branch and tree as he pounds through them. at other times he comes as softly as the flight of an owl. peddler looked out upon the empty whiteness of the beach. he dropped his eyes for a second to the velvet shadows beside him, where a wood-mouse, blundering almost upon his outstretched leg, had fled with a tiny squeak of terror. when he looked out again, there in the centre of the beach, black and huge against the pallid radiance, towered a moose bull, with his great overhanging muzzle uplifted as he peered about him in search of the utterer of that call. the great bull had a noble pair of antlers, a head for any hunter to be proud of, but joe peddler never raised his rifle. instead of rejoicing at this response to his deceitful lure, a frown of impatience crossed his face. the strict new brunswick game laws allowed but one bull in a season to fall to the rifle of any one hunter. joe peddler was in search of one particular bull. he had no use for the great beast towering so arrogantly before him, and nothing was further from his thoughts than to put a bullet into that wide-antlered head. [illustration: black and huge against the pallid radiance towered a moose bull.] the bull was plainly puzzled at finding no cow upon the beach to greet him, after all those calls. presently he grew angry, perhaps thinking that a rival had reached the scene ahead of him. he fell to pawing the sand with one great, clacking hoof, grunting and snorting so loudly that any rival within half a mile of the spot would have heard him and hastened to accept the challenge. then he strode up to the nearest bush and began thrashing at it viciously with his antlers. the disappointed animal now had his back toward the thicket wherein peddler lay hidden. yielding to his humour, the woodsman once more lifted the birch-bark tube to his lips, with a sly grin, and gave another call. he was hardly prepared for the effect. the bull wheeled like a flash, and instantly, with not a half second's hesitation, came charging upon the thicket at full run. the situation was an awkward one, and peddler cursed himself for a blundering idiot. he sprang noiselessly to his feet and raised his rifle. but first he would try an experiment, in the hope of saving the beast from his bullet. "you git out o' that!" he ordered very sharply and clearly. "_git_, i tell ye!" the bull stopped so abruptly that his hooves ploughed up the sand. decidedly there was something very strange about that thicket. first it gave forth the call of his mate. then it spoke to him with the voice of a man. and there was something in that voice that chilled him. while one might, perhaps, count ten, he stood there motionless, staring at the inexplicable mass of foliage. the arrogant light in his eyes flickered down into fear. and then, his heart crumbling with panic, he leapt aside suddenly with a mighty spring and went crashing off through the woods as if all the fiends were clawing at his tail. peddler chuckled, stretched himself, and settled down to try his luck again. for another couple of hours he kept it up patiently, calling at intervals, and throwing his utmost art into the modulations of the raucous tube. but never a reply could he charm forth from the moonlit solitudes. at last he grew intolerably sleepy. "guess old lop-horn must be off on some other beat to-night," he muttered, getting to his feet with a mighty yawn. "it's me fer me bunk." and with the rifle under one arm, the birch-bark tube under the other, he strode off down the shining beach to the alder-fringed inlet where his canoe was hidden. as he paddled swiftly through the moonlight down toward the lower end of the lake, where he had his camp on a high, dry knoll beside the outlet, peddler mused upon the object of his quest. it was no ordinary moose, however noble of antler, that had brought him out here to the remote and all but unknown tangle of lakes and swamps which formed the source of the north fork of the ottanoonsis. this bull, according to the stories of two indian trappers, was of a size quite unprecedented in the annals of the modern moose; and peddler, who had seen its mighty hoof-prints in the mud beside the outlet, was quite ready to credit the tale. they were like the tracks of a prehistoric monster. but it was not for the stature of him that peddler was hunting the giant bull. according to the story of the indians, the beast's antlers were like those of no other bull-moose ever seen. the right antler was colossal in its reach and spread, a foot or more, at least, beyond the record, but quite normal in its shape. the left, on the contrary, was not only dwarfed to less than half the normal size, but was so fantastically deformed as to grow downwards instead of upwards. of a head such as this, joe peddler was determined to possess himself before some invading sportsman from england or the states should forestall him. arriving at the outlet of the lake, he pulled up the canoe at a natural grassy landing-place below his camp, and pushed his way some hundred yards or so along the shore through the bushes to a spring which he had discovered that morning. your woodsman will go far out of his way to drink at a cold spring, having a distaste for the rather vapid water of the lakes and streams. he threw himself flat upon the stony brink and reached down his thirsty lips. but just as he swallowed the first delicious gulp of coolness, there came a sudden huge crashing in the brushwood behind him. in one breath he was on his feet. in the next he had cleared the pool in a leap, and was fleeing madly for the nearest tree, with a moose that looked as big as an elephant at his heels. the nearest tree, a young birch, was not as big as he could have wished, but he was not taking time just then to pick and choose. he whirled himself round the trunk, sprang to the first branch, swung up, and scrambled desperately to gain a safe height. he gained it, but literally by no more than a hair's breadth. as the black monster reached the tree, it checked itself abruptly, and in almost the same instant lifted its right fore-hoof high above its head and struck like a flash at peddler's foot just disappearing over a branch. it missed the foot itself, but it shaved the stout cowhide larrigan that covered the foot, slicing it as if with a knife. peddler drew himself farther up and then looked down upon his assailant with interest. "i guess i've found ye all right, old lop-horn," he drawled, and spat downward, not scornfully, but contemplatively, as if in recognition, upon that strangely stunted and deformed left antler. "but gee! them injuns never said nothin' about yer bein' so black an' so almighty spry. i wisht, now, ye'd kindly let me go back to the canoe an' git me gun!" but any such quixotic courtesy seemed far from the giant's intention. as soon as he realized that his foe was beyond the reach of striking hoof or thrusting antler, he set himself, in the pride of his strength and weight, to the task of pushing the tree over. treating it as if it were a mere sapling, he reared himself against it, straddling it with his fore-legs, and thrust at it furiously in the effort to ride it down. as the slim young trunk shook and swayed beneath the passion of the onslaught, peddler clung to his perch with both arms and devoutly wished that he had had time to choose a sturdier refuge. for perhaps five minutes the giant pushed and battered furiously against the tree, grunting like a locomotive and tearing up the earth in furrows with his hinder hooves. at length, however, he seemed to conclude that this particular tree was too strong for him. he backed off a few yards and stood glaring up at peddler among the branches, snorting contemptuously and shaking his grotesquely misshapen antlers as if daring his antagonist to come down. peddler understood the challenge just as clearly as if it had been expressed in plainest king's english. "oh, yes," said he grimly, "i'll come down all right, bime-by. an' ye ain't agoin' to like it one leetle bit when i do; now, mind, i'm tellin' ye!" for perhaps a half-hour the giant bull continued to rave and grunt and paw about the tree with a tireless vindictiveness which filled his patient prisoner with admiration, and hardened him inexorably in his resolve to possess himself of that unparalleled pair of antlers. at last, however, the furious beast stopped short and stood motionless, listening intently. peddler wondered what he was listening to. but presently his own ears also caught it--the faint and far-off call of a cow-moose from the upper end of the lake. forgetting his rage against peddler, the bull wheeled about with the agility of a cat and went crashing off up the lake shore as fast as he could run. stiff and chilled--for the air of that crisp october night had a searching bite in it--peddler climbed down from his perch. first, being tenacious of purpose, he hurried to the spring and finished his interrupted drink. then, returning to the canoe, he stood for a few moments in hesitation. should he follow up the trail at once? but it was already near morning, and he was both dead-tired and famished. he believed that the bull, not being in any alarm, would not journey far that night after meeting his mate, but rather would seek some deep thicket for a few hours' sleep. he picked up the rifle and strode off to his camp, resolved to fortify himself well for a long trail on the morrow. ii wise though peddler was in the ways of the wild folk, he found himself at fault in regard to this particular bull, whose habits seemed to be no less unique than his stature and his antlers. taking up the trail soon after sunrise, he came in due time to the spot, near the head of the lake, where the bull had joined the calling cow. from this point the trail of the pair had struck straight back from the lake towards the range of low hills which formed the watershed between the eastern and south-westward flowing streams. about noon peddler came to the place where the cow, wearied out by so strenuous a pace, had lain down to sleep in a thicket. the bull, however, driven by his vehement spirit, had gone on without a pause. all day peddler followed doggedly upon that unwavering trail. he crossed the ridge, descended to the broken and desolate eastern levels, and came, towards sunset, upon another wide and tranquil lake. feeling sure that his quarry, unaware of the pursuit, would linger somewhere about this pleasant neighbourhood, peddler found himself a mossy nest on the cup-shaped top of a boulder and settled down for a couple of hours' sleep. he little guessed that the bull, having doubled back on a parallel with his own trail, had been following him stealthily for a good half hour, not raging now, but consumed with curiosity. just as the moon was rising over the low black skyline, jagged with fir-tops, peddler woke up. creeping through the bushes, he betook himself to a hiding-place which his quick eye had already marked down, close to the beach, a roomy, flat ledge at the foot of a rock, with a screen of young spruce before it. from behind another clump of spruce, not fifty paces distant, the lop-horned bull, standing moveless as a dead tree, watched him with an intense and inquiring interest. his fury of the preceding night, and even the memory of it, seemed to have been blotted from his mind. but when, a few minutes later, from that shadowy covert, where he could just make out the crouching form of the man, the call of a cow breathed forth upon the stillness, the great bull's eyes and nostrils opened wide in amazement. what could a moose-cow be thinking about to remain so near the dangerous neighbourhood of a man? but, no, his eyes assured him that there was no cow in the man's hiding-place. where, then, could she be? he stared around anxiously. she was nowhere in sight. he sniffed the windless night air. it bore no savour of her. he waved forward his great, sensitive ears to listen. and again came the call, the voice, undoubtedly, of the moose-cow. there could be no question about it this time. it came from the thicket. had there been any least note of fear in that call, the giant bull would have rushed at once to the rescue of the unseen fair, concluding that the man had her hidden. but now, the utterance was simply that of an untroubled cow. therefore, for the moment, the great bull was chiefly puzzled. keeping within the shadows, and moving as imperceptibly as if he were himself but one of the blackest of them, he stole nearer and nearer yet, till he could plainly see every detail within the man's hiding-place. there was assuredly nothing there but rock and moss and bush and the crouching figure of the man himself, staring forth upon the moonlit beach and holding a curious roll of bark to his mouth. nevertheless, in that same moment there came again the hoarse cry of the cow. it came indisputably from that crouching form of a man, from that roll of bark at the man's mouth. this was a mystery, and the wiry black hair along the neck and shoulders of the bull began to rise ominously. a slow, wondering rage awoke in his heart. it was that element of wonder alone which for the moment restrained him from rushing forward and trampling the mysterious cheat beneath his hooves. a red spark kindled in his eyes. all undreaming of the dread watcher so close behind him, peddler set his lips to the lying tube of bark and gave his call again and yet again, with all the persuasiveness of his backwoods art. he felt sure that his efforts were convincing. they were, indeed, all of that. they were so consummate a rendering of the cow-moose's voice that they perfectly convinced a huge and hungry bear, which was at that moment creeping up from the other side of the rock upon the unsuspecting hunter's hiding-place. the bear knew that its only chance of capturing so swift and nimble a quarry as the moose-cow lay in stealing upon her like a cat and taking her by surprise in one instantaneous rush. he never doubted for a moment that the cow was there behind the rock. when he was within a dozen feet of those persuasive sounds, his crouched form suddenly rose up, elongated itself like a dark and terrible jack-in-the-box, and launched itself with a swish through the encircling branches. before peddler's wits had time fully to take in what was happening, his trained instinct told him what to do. half rising to his feet as he snatched up his rifle, he swung about and fired from the hip at the vague but monstrous shape which hung for an instant above him. the shot went wide, for just as his finger pressed the trigger, a great black paw smote the weapon from his grasp and hurled it off among the bushes. with a contortion that nearly dislocated his neck, peddler hurled himself frantically backwards and aside, and so just escaped the pile-driver descent of the other paw. he escaped it for the instant; but in the effort he fell headlong, and jammed himself in a crevice of the rock so awkwardly that he could not at once extricate himself. he drew up his legs with an involuntary shudder, and held his breath, expecting to feel the merciless claws rake the flesh from his thighs. but nothing touched him; and the next moment there broke out an astounding uproar behind him, a very pandemonium of roars and windy gruntings, while the crashing of the bushes was as if the forest were being subdued beneath a steam-roller. consumed with amazement, he wrenched himself from the crevice and glanced round. the sight that met his eyes made him clamber hastily to the top of the rock, whence he might look down from a more or less safe distance upon a duel of giants such as he had never dared hope to witness. when the bear found that it was no cow-moose, but a man that he was springing upon, he was so taken aback that, for a second or two, he forbore to follow up his advantage. to those two seconds of hesitation joe peddler owed his escape. before the massive brute, now boiling with rage at having been so deceived, had sufficiently made up his mind to fall upon that prostrate figure in the crevice, something that seemed to him like a tornado of hooves and antlers burst out of the bushes and fell upon him. the next moment, with a long, red gash half-way down his flank, he was fighting for his life. the gigantic moose had been just upon the verge of rushing in to silence those incomprehensible and deceiving calls, when the towering form of the bear burst upon his vision. here at last was something to focus his wrath. already angry, but still dampened by bewilderment, his anger now exploded into a very madness of rage. there was the ancient, inherited feud between his tribe and all bears. as a youngster, he had more than once escaped, as by a miracle, from the neck-breaking paw of a bear, had more than once seen a young cow struck down and ripped to pieces. now to this deep-seated hate was added another incentive. his mind confused by fury to protect his mate, he dimly felt that the mystery which had been tormenting him was the fault of this particular bear. the man was forgotten. a cow had been calling to him. she had disappeared. here was the bear. the bear had probably done away with the cow. the cow should be terribly avenged. the bear--which was one of the biggest and fiercest of his kind in all the northern counties--had fought moose, both bulls and cows, before. but he had never before faced such an antagonist as this one, and that first slashing blow from the bull's knife-edged fore-hoof had somewhat flurried him. sitting back poised, with his immense hindquarters gathered under him, and his fore-paws uplifted, he parried the smashing strokes of his assailant with the lightning dexterity of a trained boxer. his strength of shoulder and forearm was so enormous that if he could have got a stroke in flat, at right angles to the bone, he would have shattered the bull's leg to splinters. but his parrying blows struck glancingly, and did no more than rip the hair and hide. after a few minutes of whirlwind effort to batter down that impregnable guard, the bull jumped back as nimbly, for all his bulk, as a young doe startled from her drinking. his usual method of attack, except when fighting a rival bull, was to depend upon his battering fore-hooves. but now he changed his tactics. lowering his head so that his vast right antler stood out before him like a charge of bayonets, he launched himself full upon his adversary. with all his weight and strength behind it, that charge was practically irresistible, if fairly faced. but the bear was too wise to face it fairly. he swung aside, clutched the lowered antler, and held fast, striving to pull his enemy down. but the bull's strength and impetus were too great, and the bear was himself thrown off his balance. even then, however, he might probably have recovered himself and once more established the battle upon even terms. but he had not reckoned--he could not have been expected to reckon--upon the unprecedented weapon of that little down-drooping left antler. not for nothing was the giant bull lop-horned. the dwarfed and distorted antler hung down like a plough-share. and the bear attempted no defence against it. keen-spiked, it caught him in the belly and ploughed upward. in a paroxysm he fell backwards. the bull, swinging his hindquarters around without yielding his advantage for a second, lunged forward with all his force, and the deadly little plough was driven home to the bear's heart. peddler, from his post on top of the rock, shouted and applauded in wild excitement, and showered encomiums, no less profane than heartfelt, upon the victorious bull. for a minute or two the bull paid no attention, being engrossed in goring and trampling his victim in an effort to make it look less like a bear than an ensanguined floor-rug. at last, as if quite satisfied with his triumph, he lifted his gory head and eyed that voluble figure on top of the rock. it looked harmless. "gee, but ye kin fight!" said peddler, glowing with admiration. "an' ye've saved my scalp fer me this night, fer sartain. guess i'll hev to let ye keep them lop-sided horns o' yourn, after all!" the bull snorted at him scornfully and turned his head to take another prod at the unresponsive remnants of his foe. then, paying no further heed to the man on the rock, and craving assuagement to the fiery smart of his wounds, he strode down into the lake and swam straight out, in the glitter of the moon-path, toward the black line of the farther shore. the aigrette the girl, sitting before her dressing-table, looked at the fair reflection in her great mirror and smiled happily. those searching lights at either side of the mirror could find no flaw in the tender colouring of her face, in the luminous whiteness of neck and arm and bosom. her wide-set eyes, like the red bow of her mouth, were kind and gay. the brightness of her high-coiffed hair was surmounted by a tuft of straight egret plumes, as firm, pearl-white, and delicate as a filigree of frost. the girl had never looked so lovely. never before had she worn anything that so became her as that ethereal plume. she knew it; and the glances of her maid, straying from her business with filmy garments and dainty adornments, told her so. she threw a wisp of silken gossamer over her arm and tripped eagerly down to the drawing-room. the man came forward to meet her, his eyes paying without stint the tribute she was craving of him. "there will be no one there to compare with you!" he said softly. "there is no one anywhere to compare with you." "it _is_ becoming, isn't it?" she answered, glowing at his praise, and nodding her bright head to indicate the ethereal white plume. "it is indeed," he asserted heartily. "but nothing could heighten your beauty. you did not need it, and i'm rather afraid the bird did." he kissed her finger-tips as he spoke, lest she should think he was being critical. the girl pouted a little, being very tenderhearted, and loth to be reminded of unpleasant things. "i know what you mean," said she quickly, withdrawing her hand in displeasure. "but the poor bird is dead, anyway; and if i didn't buy the thing, some other woman would. and it's horrid of you to speak of it now!" the man laughed. "it can't make you more beautiful, but if it makes you happier, that's quite enough for me," said he. "i'm afraid that a very little pleasure for you is of more consequence in my eyes than a thousand million birds." and upon this assurance the girl forgave him. * * * * * the wide lagoon lay windless, shining like milky-blue glass under the blaze of the southern sky. it was shallow, its surface broken here and there with patches of tall gold-green reeds. its shores seemed half afloat, fringed as they were with gnarled, squat bushes growing directly out of the water. this irregular bushy growth, with the green-shadowed water beneath its branches, stretched back for several hundred yards from the open lagoon to a dense wall of jungle, a banked mass of violently green leafage starred with cream-white and crimson bloom. not cream-white, but of a coldly pure silver-white, like new snow, some two or three score long-necked, long-legged birds flapped angularly between the milky blue of the water and the intense, vibrant blue of the sky, or stood half-leg deep in the shallows, motionless, watching for their prey. they looked like bits of a japanese screen brought to life and sown broadcast in this sun-steeped southern wilderness. high overhead, a black speck against the azure, a hawk wheeled slowly in vast spirals, staring down desirously upon the peaceful lagoon. that peace he durst not invade, for he knew and feared the lightning strokes of the long dagger-like beaks of the white egrets. in the top of one of the gnarled bushes at the edge of the open, right over the water, was built a spacious but rickety-looking nest of dead sticks. it was the most un-nestlike of nests, a mere crazy platform, with no apparent qualifications as a home except the most perfect ventilation. one might reasonably suppose that the first requirement in the nest of a bird should be that it would hold eggs securely. but this unsightly collection of sticks looked as if that was the last thing it could be depended on to do. it was so loose and open that the eggs ought to fall through into the water. it was so flat that any eggs which dodged falling through should surely, according to all known laws of nature, be blown off by the first vigorous gust. nevertheless, it was clear that the rude structure had held eggs, and proved not unworthy of its trust, for it was now occupied by four young egrets. they were grotesque and solemn babies, these nestlings, sitting up quite motionless on their leg-joints and half-feathered rumps, with their long legs thrust straight out before them over the sticks, their long beaks resting contemplatively on their nearly naked breasts, their round, bright, unwinking eyes staring out blankly upon their little world of gold and blue. scattered here and there over the sweep of fringing bushes were a dozen or so more of these rickety platforms of sticks, each with its solemn group of stilt-legged staring young, motionless as statues interested in nothing upon earth save the quantity of fish or frogs which their untiring parents could supply to their unassuageable appetites. above this outermost nest, with the four fledglings in it, hung for a moment, hovering on wide wings, the great white mother egret, with a shining orange fish in her beak. she dropped her long legs, as if feeling for a foothold, and alighted on the edge of the crazy platform so softly that not a stick protested. at her coming four long beaks were lifted into the air, gaping hungrily and squawking with eagerness. all four seemed equally ravenous. but the mother-bird knew well enough which she had fed last, and which was most in need. she jammed the prize, with what seemed scant ceremony, into the beak whose turn it was to get it. the fish was thicker than the youngster's long thin neck, but it was promptly swallowed head first. it went down slowly, with a succession of spasms which looked agonizing, but were, in fact, ecstatic. before flying off again to resume her quest of fish, the mother egret remained for a few moments on the edge of the nest, to rest and preen herself. her snow-pure plumage shone in the sunlight like spun silver. her neck feathers were prolonged in fine drooping lines far down over her breast. from the centre of her back, between the shoulders, grew a bunch of long, exquisitely delicate plumes, as white and apparently as fragile as the frost-flowers on a window. these were her festal adornment, worn, by herself and her mate alike, only in the nesting season. having preened herself well, and shaken her long, snaky neck as if to take the kinks out of it, she spread her shining wings and lifted herself into the air. she rose, however, but a few inches, and then, flapping and squawking wildly, she was dragged down again by some unseen force. her frantic struggles knocked off a corner of the nest, and swept off one of the awkward nestlings, which fell kicking and sprawling through the leafage and disappeared with a splash. a moment more and the mother, for all her wild fight against the unseen fate, was drawn down after him into the shadowed water. then a little flat-bottomed boat, or ducking-punt, with a man crouching in the bottom of it, came worming its way through the narrow lane of water between the stems of the bushes. the man seized her by the dangerous beak, jerked her into the punt, put his knee upon her neck, detached the noose of a copper-wire snare from her leg, drew a keen hunting-knife, and deftly sliced the snowy plumes from the flesh of her back. then he hurled her out into the open water, that she might not be in his way while he rearranged the snare upon the edge of the nest in order to catch her mate. half stunned, and altogether bewildered by her agony, the mother egret flapped blindly upon the top of the water, her snowy plumage crimsoned with her life-blood. after a few moments she succeeded in getting into the air. flying heavily, and lurching as she went, she flew across the lagoon, blundered in among the bushes, and fell with her legs in the water, her twitching wings entangled in the branches. there, after a few vain struggles, she lay still, dying slowly--very slowly--her beak half open, but her eyes wide and undaunted. [illustration: the mother egret flapped blindly upon the top of the water.] not long afterwards the male egret, who had been fishing far down the lagoon, and knew nothing of what had happened, came back to the nest with food. he, too, was caught in the fatal snare, dragged down, scalped of his nuptial plumes as the red savage of old scalped his enemies, and thrown away to die at his leisure. the law of that country forbade the shooting of the egrets in the nesting season, when alone they wore the plumes which women crave. the plume-hunter, therefore, felt that he was evading the law successfully if he hacked the prize from the living bird and released it while still alive and able to fly. if the bird died agonizingly afterwards, who was going to swear that he was the slayer? throughout the morning the like swift tragedy was enacted at one nest after the other. the deadly punt slid murderously, silently, up and down the hidden water-lanes among the bushes, and the man with the knife did his work noiselessly, save for the threshing and splashing of his victims. in the course of an hour, however, for all the marauder's stealth, the whole herony was in a state of desperate fear. half a dozen birds had been snared, and the others, flying high overhead and staring down with keen, terrified eyes, had detected the slaughterer in his hiding under the branches. they had seen him, too, resetting his snares upon the edges of the nests. and in spite of the fact that, after doing so, he withdrew to some distance among the bushes--as far as the cords attached to the snares would permit--they dreaded to approach their nests again. but there were their younglings, solemn and hungry, quite uncomprehending of the doom which hung over them, hoarsely and trustingly petitioning to be fed. the parent birds could not long resist those appeals. love and tenderness triumphed over fear, even over the clear view of mortal peril. one after another the great white birds came back, trembling but devoted, to their nests. one after another, sooner or later, got a foot into that implacable wire noose, was dragged down beneath the bushes, and thrown out weltering in its blood. there was no escaping a trap thus baited with the appeals of the young. and before the lagoon had taken the first of the sunset colour, there was not one adult egret in the whole herony which had not paid the bloody price of its devotion. at last, when the lagoon lay like a sheet of burnished copper, the man with the punt came out boldly from among the bushes and paddled off toward the outlet with his bleeding trophies. as he vanished, three or four birds, stronger and more tenacious of life than their fellows, came flapping back to their nests, their backs and wings and thighs caked with blood. swaying as they perched upon the stick platforms, they managed to feed the nestlings once more. then, dogged in their devotion, they flew off to continue their tasks. they never returned again, but fell in the shallows where they stood trying to fish: and if the fates of the wilderness elected to be merciful, they were drowned quickly. all night, through the star-strewn summer dark, the orphaned nestlings kept up their harshly plaintive cries of hunger and loneliness. a pair of owls, hearing these cries, and guessing that all could not be right with the egret colony, came winnowing up noiselessly and took toll of the defenceless nests. after daybreak, the wheeling hawk dropped low to investigate, then struck wherever he found the nestlings fattest and most tempting. toward noon, under the pitiless downpour of the unclouded sun, the little ones wilted like cut grass, thirst and hunger stilling their pitiful complaints. long before night there was not a nestling left alive on the whole lagoon. * * * * * the girl, with snowy aigrette in her bright hair, her gloved fingers resting on the man's arm, stood upon the kerb outside the theatre, waiting for a taxi. a light dogcart came by. the horse, sleek and spirited and spoilt, was in wayward humour, and took it into its head to give its driver trouble. the driver tried to soothe it, but it would not be soothed. it began backing capriciously. the driver cut it smartly with his light whip. "oh," cried the girl, "see how he's beating that poor horse! what a brute!" "it's hurting the horse about as much," said the man, "as if you struck it with your fan! moreover, the horse is behaving very badly, and must be made to mind. it's endangering the whole traffic." the girl flushed, bit her lip, and withdrew her hand from the man's arm. just then the summoned taxi drew up at the kerb. the girl stepped in. "what brutes men are!" she said. "perhaps they can't help being cruel! they have no intuition, so how can they understand?" the man glanced at the aigrette, smiled discreetly, and said nothing. the cabin in the flood stepping into the cabin, long jackson said: "if that there blame jam don't break inside o' twenty-four hour, the hull valley's goin' to be under water, an' i'll hev to be gittin' ye out o' this in the canoe. i've just been uncoverin' her an' rozenin' her up, an' she's as good as noo. that's a fine piece o' winter bark ye put on to her, tom." from his bunk in the dark corner beyond the stove, brannigan lifted his shaggy face and peered wistfully out into the sunshine with sunken but shining eyes. "i was _afeard_ there'd be a powerful freshet after this long spell o' thaw atop of all that rain, long, an' the snow layin' so deep in the woods this winter. i wisht ye'd lug me over an' lay me by the door in the sun fer a bit, long, ef 'tain't too much trouble. that 'ere sun'll put new life into me bones, in case the jam _don't_ break, an' we hev to git a move on." after this long speech, brannigan's head dropped wearily back on the roll of blanket that served him as pillow. he had been desperately ill with pneumonia, so ill that it had been impossible for long jackson to go in to the settlements for a doctor; and now, under jackson's assiduous nursing, he was just beginning the slow climb back to life. "think 'twon't be too cold fer ye by the door?" queried jackson anxiously. "no, no!" protested brannigan. "it's the sun i'm wantin', and the smell o' spring stirrin' in the buds. that's the med'cine fer me now, long." long jackson grumbled doubtfully, holding to the strange back-country superstition that fresh air is dangerous for sick folk. but he yielded, as he usually did where brannigan was concerned. he spread blankets on the floor by the door--a little to one side to avoid the draught--then carried his partner's gaunt form over to them, and rolled him up like a baby, with his head well propped on a pile of skins. then he seated himself on the chopping-log just outside the door, and proceeded to fill his pipe with that moist, black plug tobacco, good alike for smoking and for chewing, which is chiefly favoured by the backwoodsman. brannigan's face, drinking in the sunshine as a parched lawn drinks rain, freshened and picked up a tinge of colour. his eyes, long weary of the four grey walls of the cabin, roved eagerly the woods that fringed the tiny clearing. "anyways," said long jackson between puffs, as he sucked the damp tobacco alight, "this here knoll of ourn's the highest bit o' country fer ten miles round, and the cabin's on the highest p'int of it. 'tain't raly likely the water'll come clean over it, ef the jam _don't_ give inside o' twenty-four hour. but it makes one feel kind o' safe havin' the canoe ready." "yes, it's the highest bit o' country fer miles round," murmured brannigan dreamily, soaking in the sun. "an' i'm thinkin' we ain't the only ones as knows it, long. will ye look at them rabbits down yander? did ever ye see so many o' them together afore?" jackson looked, and involuntarily laid his pipe down on the log beside him to look again. the woods far down the slope--it was a slope so gentle as to be hardly perceptible--were swarming with rabbits, hopping and darting this way and that over the snow. for the snow still lingered under the trees, though only a few patches of it, yellowing and shrinking under the ardent sun, remained in the open of the clearing. after staring for some moments in silence, jackson took up his pipe again. "the water must be risin' mighty quick," said he. "them rabbits are gittin' sociable all of a sudden. they're comin' to pay ye a call, tom, this bein' yer fust day up." "we'll be havin' other callers besides rabbits, i'm thinkin'," said brannigan, the dreaminess in his voice and eyes giving way to a pleased excitement. this was better than his bunk in the dark corner of the cabin. "what's that, now, way down behind them yaller birch trunks?" he added eagerly. "i guess it's a bear, long." "it's two bear," corrected jackson. "so long as it's jest rabbits, all right, but we ain't entertainin' bears this mornin'. grub's too scarce, an' bears is hungry this time o' year. gee! there's two more down by the spring. guess i'd better git the gun." "wait a bit, long," expostulated brannigan. "they're so afeard o' the water, they'll be harmless as the rabbits. no good shootin' 'em now, when their pelts ain't worth the skinnin'. let 'em be, an' see what they'll do. they hain't got no place else to go to, to git out o' the water." "let 'em climb a tree!" grumbled jackson. but he sat down again on his log. "ye're right, anyhow, tom," he continued, after a moment's consideration. "what's the good o' spilin' good skins by shootin' 'em now? an' if they're not too skeered to death to know they're hungry, they kin eat the rabbits. an', anyhow, the ca'tridges is pretty nigh gone. come along, mr. bear, an' bring yer wife an' all yer relations!" as if in response to this invitation, the bears all moved a little nearer, whining uneasily and glancing back over their shoulders, and close behind them could now be seen gleams of the swiftly up-creeping flood, where the sunlight struck down upon it through the leafless hardwood trees. but around to the left and the rear of the cabin the trees were dense evergreens, spruce and fir, beneath whose shade the flood came on unseen. as the worried bears approached, the belt of rabbits swarmed out along the edges of the clearing, the hinder ranks pushing forward the reluctant front ones. these, fearing the open and the human form sitting before the cabin, tried to regain shelter by leaping back over the heads of those who thrust them on. but far more than that unmoving human figure they feared the whimpering bears and the silent, pursuing flood. so in a very few minutes the rabbits were all in the open, hopping about anxiously and waving their long ears, a few of the bolder ones even coming up to within forty or fifty feet of the cabin to stare curiously at long jackson on his log. presently from behind the cabin, stepping daintily, with heads held high and wide nostrils sniffing the air apprehensively, came two young does, and stopped short, glancing back and forth from jackson to the bears, from the bears to jackson. after a few seconds' hesitation, they seemed to make up their minds that they liked jackson better than the bears, for they came a few steps nearer and looked timidly in at brannigan. "this ain't north fork valley, long. it's barnum's menagerie, that's what it's gittin' to be!" remarked brannigan, speaking softly, lest he should alarm the does. "ay, an' still they come!" said jackson, pointing with his pipe down the slope to the right. brannigan lifted his head and craned his neck to see who "they" were. they were a huge bull-moose, followed by three cows and a couple of yearlings, who crowded close upon their leader's heels as they caught sight of the bears. the great bull, though without antlers at this season, haughtily ignored the bears, who, as he well knew, would have small inclination to venture within reach of his battering hoofs. the little herd had been swimming. with dripping flanks, they stalked up through the trees and out into the clearing, the swarm of rabbits parting before them like a wave. at sight of jackson on his log, the bull stopped and stood staring morosely. he was not afraid of bears, but men were another matter. after a heavy pondering of the situation, he led the way across the corner of the clearing, then down into the flood again and off, heading for the uplands at the foot of the valley, some five or six miles away. "he don't seem to like the looks o' ye, long," murmured brannigan. "no more'n i do his'n," answered jackson. "but i guess he'd 'a' been welcome to stop, seein' as we ain't standin' on ceremony, an' our cards is out to everybody. come one, come all! but, no, i bar mr. and mrs. skunk. ye're a soft-hearted old eejut, tom, an' never like to hurt nobody's feelin's, but i do hope now ye didn't go an' send cards to mr. and mrs. skunk." brannigan chuckled. he was feeling better and more like himself already. "i don't believe they'll be comin'," he answered, evading the point of the invitation. "like as not, they're cut off in their holes an' drownded, 'less they've took to the trees in time. they ain't no great travellers, ye know, long." "i ain't puttin' on no mournin' fer 'em," grunted jackson. "an' there's another varmint ye hadn't no call to invite, tom," he added, as the rabbits again scattered in consternation, and a big lynx emerged from a spruce thicket on which the flood was just beginning to encroach. the lynx, too frightened at the rising water to give even one look at the rabbits, glared about her with round, pale, savage eyes. as she caught sight of jackson, her fur fluffed up and she scrambled into the nearest tree, where she crouched behind a branch. brannigan spared but a glance for the terrified lynx, his interest being largely absorbed in the two does, whose trustfulness had won his heart. just inside the cabin door, and within reach of his arm, was a shelf, whereon stood a tin plate containing some cold buckwheat pancakes, or flap-jacks, left over from breakfast. a couple of these he tossed to the does. gentle as was the action, the nervous beasts bounded backwards, snorting with apprehension. in a few moments, however, as if coming to realize that the movement of brannigan's arm had not been a hostile one, they came forward again hesitatingly, and at length began to sniff at the pancakes. for some moments the sniffing was distinctly supercilious. then one of them ventured to nibble. half a minute more, and both flap-jacks had been greedily gobbled. their immense, mild eyes plainly asking for more of the novel provender, the pair stepped a little closer. brannigan reached for another cake, to divide between them. long jackson got up from his log, tapped the ashes from his pipe, and came into the cabin. "i'll be leavin' ye to entertain the ladies, tom," said he, "while i git dinner." ii a cloud passing over the sun, the air grew sharply cold on the instant. long jackson bundled brannigan away from the door, and shut it inexorably. but as brannigan refused to be put back into his bunk, jackson arranged him an awkward sort of couch of benches and boxes by the table, where he made his first "sitting-up" meal. after dinner, the sun having come out again, he insisted upon the door being once more thrown open, that he might drink in the medicine of the spring air and have another look at his menagerie. "holy je-hoshaphat!" exclaimed jackson, as the door swung back. "this ain't no menagerie we've got here, tom. it's a noah's ark, that's what it be!" the two does, trembling with fright, were huddled against the wall of the cabin, close beside the door, staring at an immense and gaunt-framed bear, which was sitting up on its haunches on jackson's chopping-block. more than half the clearing was under water. five more bears sat near the chopping-block, eyeing the water fearfully and whimpering like puppies. quite near them, and letting his shrewd eyes survey the whole scene with an air of lofty indifference, sat a red fox, his fur bedraggled as if from a long and hard swim. in two compact masses, on either side of the bears and the fox, and as far away from them as they could get, huddled the rabbits, their eyes fairly popping from their heads. further away, standing hock-deep in the water, were half a dozen more red deer, afraid to come any closer to the bears. in the branches of the one tree--a spreading rock-maple--which had been left standing near the cabin, crouched a lynx and a wild-cat, as far apart as possible, and eyeing each other jealously. one of the bears, restless in his anxiety, shifted his position and came a little nearer to the cabin. the two does, snorting at his approach, backed abruptly into the doorway, jamming jackson against the doorpost. "oh, don't mind me, ladies!" said jackson, with elaborate sarcasm. "come right along in an' set down!" whereupon the frightened animals, flying in the face of that tradition of the wild creatures which teaches them to dread anything like a _cul-de-sac_, took him at his word. stamping their delicate hoofs in a sort of timorous defiance to the bears, and ignoring both jackson and brannigan completely, they backed into the rear of the cabin, stared about the place curiously, and at length fell to nibbling the hay which formed the bedding of the bunks. "did ever ye see the likes o' that for nerve?" demanded jackson. [illustration: "this ain't no menagerie we've got here, tom. it's a noah's ark, that's what it be!"] "they've got sense, them two," said brannigan. "they know who'll stand up fer 'em if them bears begin to git ugly." "but we don't want the whole kit an' calabash pilin' in on us," said jackson with decision. "an' we don't want to shet the door and not be able to see what's goin' on, neether. guess i'd better fix up a kind o' barricade, so's i kin hold the pass in case of them there fee-rocious rabbits undertakin' to rush us." with a bench and some boxes, he built a waist-high barrier across the doorway, and then he arranged for brannigan a couch on the table, so that the invalid could look out comfortably over the barrier. "reserved seat in noah's ark for ye, tom," said he. "hadn't ye better be fetchin' the canoe round to the front, where ye kin keep an eye onto it?" suggested brannigan. "by jing, yes!" agreed jackson. "if one of them slick old bears 'd take a notion to h'ist it into the water an' make off in it, i guess we'd be in the porridge." he hitched his long legs over the barrier and stalked out coolly among the beasts. the wild-cat and the lynx in the branches overhead laid back their ears and showed their teeth in vicious snarls; and the rabbits huddled so close together that the two packs of them heaved convulsively as each strove to get behind or underneath his neighbours. the bears sullenly drew away to the water's edge, and the huge fellow perched on the chopping-block jumped down nimbly from his perch and joined the others with a protesting _woof_. the fox stood his ground and kept up his air of indifference, his native shrewdness telling him that the man was paying no heed to him whatever. the deer also did not seem greatly disturbed by jackson's appearance, merely waving their big ears and staring interrogatively. jackson picked up the canoe and turned it bottom side up across the doorway. then he stepped indoors again. about the middle of the afternoon it became evident that the water had stopped rising. it had apparently found an overflow somehow, and there was no longer any risk of the cabin being swept away. tired with the excitement, brannigan fell asleep. and jackson, with the backwoodsman's infinite capacity for doing nothing, when there is nothing to do, sat beside his barricade for hour after hour and smoked. and for hour after hour nothing happened. when night fell, he shut the door and secured it with special care. throughout the night it rained heavily, under a lashing wind which drove the rain in sheets against the rear of the cabin; but soon after dawn the sun came out again and shone with eager warmth. brannigan awoke so much better that he was able to sit up and help himself to the doorway instead of being carried. the two does, thoroughly at home in the cabin, swallowed the cold pancakes, and kept close to jackson's elbow, begging for more. when the door was opened, it was seen that the animals had all been driven round to the front of the cabin for shelter. the space under the upturned canoe was packed with rabbits. but the spirit of the bigger animals, with the exception of the deer, was now changed. since the rise of the flood had come to a halt--for the water was at the same mark as on the afternoon of the previous day--the predatory animals had begun to forget their fear of it and to remember that they were hungry. the truce of terror was wearing very thin. the fox, indeed, as jackson's alert eyes presently perceived, had already broken it. at the very edge of the water, as far away as possible from the cabin and the bears, he was sitting up demurely on his haunches and licking his chaps. but a tell-tale heap of bones and blood-stained fur gave him away. in the darkness he had stolen up to the rabbits, nipped one noiselessly by the neck, and carried it off without any of its fellows being any the wiser. he could afford to wait with equanimity for the flood to go down. the lynx had come down out of her tree and was crouching at the foot of it, eyeing first the bears and then the rabbits. she turned her tameless, moon-pale eyes upon jackson in the doorway, and bared her teeth in a soundless snarl. jackson, wondering what she was up to, kept perfectly still. the next moment she darted forward, belly to earth, and pounced upon the nearest rabbit. the victim screamed amazingly loud, and the packed mass of its companions seemed to boil as they trampled each other underfoot. growling harshly, the lynx sprang back to the tree with her prey, ran up the trunk with it, and crouched in a crotch to make her meal, keeping a malignant and jealous eye upon the wild-cat on her neighbouring branch. as if fired by this example, one of the bears made a rush upon the luckless rabbits. he struck down two with a deft stroke of his paw, dashed them to one side to remove them from the too close proximity of jackson, and lay down comfortably to devour them. at this second attack, the unfortunate rabbits seemed to wake up to the necessity of doing something radical. two or three of those nearest the cabin made a sudden dart for the door. they jumped upon the upturned canoe, stared fearfully for an instant at jackson, then leapt past him over the barrier and took refuge in the farthest corner of the cabin, under the bunk. jackson, according to his prearranged plan, had made an effort to stop them, but it was a half-hearted effort, and he shook his head at brannigan with a deprecating grin. "_'tain't_ exackly healthy for the blame little scuts, out there with the bear an' the wild-cats," said he apologetically. jackson was quite ready to shoot rabbits, of course, when they were needed for stew; but his soft, inconsistent heart had been moved at seeing the helpless things mangled by the lynx and the bear. perfect consistency, after all, would be an unpleasant thing to live with in this excellent but paradoxical world. the words were hardly out of jackson's mouth when the rest of the bears came stalking up, great, black, menacing forms, to levy toll upon the rabbits. instantly the frantic little animals began pouring in a tumultuous stream over the canoe and the barrier and into the cabin. seeing their dinners thus unexpectedly disappearing, the bears made a rush forward. jackson, fearing lest they should charge straight into the cabin, sprang for his gun, and was back in the doorway again in a flash, carelessly thrusting aside with his feet the incoming flood of furry, hopping figures, but making no effort to keep it out. the bears, reaching the packed and struggling rear rank of the fugitives before it could dissolve and gain the refuge, captured each a victim, and drew back again hastily with their prizes, still apprehensive of the silent grey figure of jackson in the doorway. and in two minutes more all the rabbits were inside the cabin, covering the floor and struggling with each other to keep from being pushed too close to the hot stove. the two does, resenting the invasion, snorted angrily and struck at them with their sharp, agile hoofs, killing several before the rest learned to keep out of the way. one enterprising little animal sprang into the lower bunk, and was straightway followed by the nearest of his fellows, till the bunk was filled to overflowing. "how'll ye like it, sleepin' along o' that bunch o' bed-fellers, tom?" inquired jackson derisively. "ye'll sleep with 'em yourself, long," retorted brannigan from his place on the table. "_i_ didn't let 'em in. they're _your_ visitors. me bein' an invalid, i'm goin' to take the top bunk!" long jackson scratched his head. "what's botherin' me," said he, grown suddenly serious, "is them bears. if _they_ take it into their heads to come in an' board along of us, i'm goin' to hev a job to stop 'em. i've only four ca'tridge left, an' ther's six bear. they've et ther rabbits, an' what's one small rabbit to a _rale_ hungry bear? here's the biggest an' hungriest comin' now! _scat!_" he yelled fiercely. "scat! you----!" and he added a string of backwoods objurgation that this modest page would never consent to record. apparently abashed at this reception, the bear backed away hastily and glanced around at the landscape as if he had had no least thought of intruding. brannigan laughed as he had not laughed for weeks. "that langwidge o' yourn's better'n any gun, long!" said he. "guess it's saved us one ca'tridge, that time!" he acknowledged modestly. "but i'm thinkin' it won't keep 'em off when they get a mite hungrier. ye kin curse like an androscoggin lumber jack, but y'ain't goin' to frizzle a single hair on a bear's hide. now, here they come agin! i'd better shoot one, an' mebbe that'll discourage 'em. anyhow, they kin eat the one i shoot, and that'll keep 'em from hankerin' so after rabbits." he raised his gun, but brannigan stopped him sharply. "jest _shet the door_, ye old eejut!" he cried. "ye know as well as i do that ef ye git a bear rale mad, an' he thinks he's cornered, there's goin' to be trouble. jest shet the door, that's all!" "_to_ be sure! why didn't i think o' that afore?" agreed jackson, kicking the boxes aside and slamming the heavy door without ceremony in the face of the nearest bear, who had already lifted his fore-paws upon the canoe and was peering in wistfully at the rabbits. with his feet in a foam of rabbits--the creatures seeming to have lost all fear of him--jackson sat down on a box and lit his pipe, while brannigan, leaning over from his couch on the table, tried to feed the rabbits with biscuits. the rabbits would have none of it, but the two does, greedy and jealous, came mincing forward at once to appropriate the attention and the tit-bits. presently the air grew unbearably hot and close, with the reek of the crowding animals and the heat of the stove. after the fashion of the backwoodsman, the men endured it till they were gasping. then jackson went to the little window--which was not made to open--and prised out the sash with the edge of his axe-blade. he filled his lungs with a deep breath, drew back from the window, then sprang forward again and thrust his head out for a better look. "_it's broke!_" he shouted. "the water's goin' down hand over fist!" "it'll save a lot o' trouble," said brannigan, with a sigh of relief. by noon the water had disappeared, and the bears, the wild-cat, and the fox had disappeared with it. after waiting another hour, that the hungry beasts might be well out of the way, jackson opened the door and began to turn the rabbits out. at first they refused obstinately to go, so that he had to seize them by the ears and throw them out. but presently some sign seemed to go round among them to the effect that their enemies were out of the way. then they all began to make for the door, but quite at their leisure, and soon were hopping off among the trees in every direction. after them at last, went the two does, without so much as once looking back. "durned if the place don't look kind o' lonesome without 'em!" murmured brannigan. "umph!" grunted jackson. "it's easy seein' 'tain't you that's got to do the cleanin' up after 'em. if ever ye go to hev another party like that, tom, i'm goin' to quit." the spring wind, mild and spicy from the spruce forests, breathed through the cabin from the open door to the open window, and a chickadee ran over his fine-drawn, bead-like refrain from the branches where the lynx and wild-cat had been crouching. the brothers of the yoke side by side, in the position in which they were accustomed to labour at the yoke--star on the off side, buck on the nigh--they stood waiting in the twilight beside the pasture bars. from the alder swamp behind the pasture, coolly fragrant under the first of the dew-fall, came the ethereal fluting of a hermit thrush, most tender and most poignant of all bird songs. in the vault of the pale sky--pale violet washes of thin colour over unfathomable deeps of palest green--a wide-swooping night-hawk sounded at intervals its long, twanging note, like a stricken harpstring. the dark spruce woods beyond the barn began to give off their aromatic balsam-scent upon the evening air. a frog croaked from somewhere under the alders where the hermit was at his fluting. one of the oxen at last began to low softly and anxiously. it was long past watering-time. immediately his mate repeated the complaint, but on a harsher, more insistent key. the watering trough, full to the brim, was there in full view before them, just at the other side of the cabin. it was an unheard-of thing that their master should not come at sundown to lower the bars and let them drink their fill. they were a splendid pair, these two steers, and splendidly matched. both dark red, deep and massive in the shoulder, with short, straight horns, and each with a clean white star in the centre of his broad forehead, they were so exactly alike in all external particulars, that the uninitiated eye would have been puzzled to distinguish them. both stood also with the patient, bowed necks of those who have toiled long under the burden of the yoke. but to one at all acquainted with animals, at all versed in the psychology of the animal mind, the difference between the two was obvious. the temperaments that looked out from their big, dark eyes were different. the very patience of their bowed heads was different in expression. the patience of star, the off ox, was an accepting, contented patience. curses, blows, the jabs of the ox-goad, he took mildly, as a matter of course, and, being his master's favourite, he got just as few of them as the exigencies of backwoods ploughing and hauling would permit. but with buck it was far otherwise. in his eyes flickered always the spark of a spirit unsubdued. he had a side glance, surly yet swift, that put the observant on their guard. he never accepted the goad without a snort of resentment, a threatening shake of his short, sharp horns. and he had command of a lightning kick which had taught discretion to more than one worrying cur. yet he was valued, even while distrusted, by his owner, because he was intelligent, well-trained, and a glutton for work, both quicker than his docile yoke-fellow and more untiring. between the two great red steers there was that close attachment which has been so often observed between animals long accustomed to working in the same harness. they become a habit to each other, and seem, therefore, essential to each other's peace of mind. but on the part of buck it was something more than this. ill-tempered and instinctively hostile toward every one else, man or beast, he showed signs of an active devotion to his tranquil yoke-fellow, and would sometimes spend hours licking star's neck while the latter went on chewing the cud in complacent acceptance of the attention. the twilight gathered deeper about the lonely backwoods clearing. the night-hawk, a soaring and swooping speck in the pallid spaces of the sky, became invisible, though his strange note still twanged sonorously from time to time. the hermit hushed his fluting in the alder thicket. an owl hooted solemnly from somewhere back in the spruce woods. but still the owner of the oxen did not come to lower the bars and give admittance to the brimming trough. he was lying dead beside the brawling trout-brook, a mile or so down the tote-road, his neck broken by a flying branch from a tree which he had felled too carelessly. his dog was standing over the sprawled body, whining and pawing at it in distracted solicitude. to the two thirsty oxen the cool smell of the waiting trough was cruelly tantalizing. to one of them it speedily became irresistible. buck was not, by instinct, any great respecter of bounds or barriers. he began hooking impatiently at the bars, while star gazed at him in placid wonder. the bars were solid and well set, and buck seemed to realize almost at once that there was little to be done in that quarter. feeling for a weak spot, he worked his way along beyond them to the first panel of the fence. it was the ordinary rough "snake" of the backwoods clearing, a zigzag structure of rough poles, supported at the angles by crossed stakes. never very substantial, it had been broken and somewhat carelessly mended at this particular point. the top rail lifted easily under the thrust of buck's aimlessly tossing horn. it fell down again at once into its place in the crotch of the crossed stakes, and, in falling, it struck the fumbling experimenter a sharp whack across the nose. the hot-tempered steer, already irritated, flared up at once, and butted heavily at the fence with his massive forehead. one of the cross-stakes, already half-rotted through, broke at once, and the two top rails went down with a crash. following up this push, he threw his ponderous weight against the remaining rails, now left unsupported, breasted them down almost without an effort, and went crashing and triumphing through into the yard. his mate, who would never himself have dreamed of such a venture as breaking bounds, stared irresolutely for a few seconds, then followed through the gap. and side by side the two slaked their thirst, plunging their broad muzzles into the cool of the trough and lifting them to blow the drops luxuriously from their nostrils. the impulse of star was now to turn back into the familiar pasture, according to custom. but buck, on the other hand, was used to being _driven_ back and that always more or less under protest. for the first time in his memory, there was now no one to drive him back. he had a strange, new sense of freedom, of restraint removed. he was accustomed to seeing a light in the cabin window about this hour. but there was no light. the whole place seemed empty with a new kind of emptiness. nothing was further from his fancy than to return to the pasture prison which he had just broken out of. he stood with head uplifted, as if already the galling memory of the yoke had slipped from off his neck. for a minute or two he stood sniffing with wide nostrils, drinking deep the chill, keen-scented air. it was the same air as he had been breathing on the other side of the pasture-bars, but it smelt very different to him. something there was in it which called him away irresistibly into the dark, unfenced depths of the forest which surrounded the clearing. he turned his great head and lowed coaxingly to his partner, who was standing beside the gap in the pasture fence and staring after him in placid question. then he started off with a brisk step down the shadowy, pale ribbon of the road. star's natural impulse, after drinking, was to return to the familiar, comfortable pasture; but not without his yoke-mate. the stronger impulse ruled. with some reluctance and a good deal of bovine wonder, he swung around and hastened after buck. the latter waited for him; and side by side, as if in yoke, though with less labouring steps, they turned off the deeply rutted highway and moved silently down a mossed old wood road into the glimmering dark of the forest. a sure instinct in buck's feet was leading them straight away from the settlements, straight into the heart of the wilderness. after perhaps an hour the wood-road led out of the thick forest across a little wild meadow with a shallow brook babbling softly through it. here the two grazed for a time, almost belly deep in the thick-flowered grass, while the bats flickered and zigzagged above them, and a couple of whip-poor-wills answered each other monotonously from opposite ends of the glade. then they lay down side by side to chew the cud and to sleep, surrounded by the pungent smell of the stalks of the wild parsnip which their huge bulks had crushed down. they lay in a corner of the glade, close to the dense thickets that formed the fringe of the woods. unaccustomed to vigilance, neither their eyes nor their ears were on the alert. a lynx crept up behind them, within a dozen paces, glared at them vindictively with its pale, malignant moon-eyes, and then ran up a tree to get a better look at these mighty intruders upon his hunting-ground. his claws made a loud rattling on the bark as he climbed, but neither of the oxen paid any attention whatever to the sound. of course, a lynx could not, under any circumstances, be anything more than an object of mild curiosity to them, but had it been a pair of hungry panthers, they would have been equally unconscious and unwarned. they lay with their backs to the forest, looking out across the open, chewing lazily, and from time to time heaving windy breaths of deep content. not a score of yards before their noses a trailing weasel ran down and killed a hare. at the cry of the victim buck opened his half-closed eyes and gave a snort of disapproval. but star paid no attention whatever to the little tragedy. all his faculties were engrossed upon his comfort and his cud. a little later a prowling fox came suddenly upon them. he was surprised to find the pair so far from their pasture, where he had several times observed them in the course of his wide wanderings. his shrewd mind jumped to the idea that perhaps the settler, their master, was out with them; and while he had no objection whatever to the oxen--stupid, harmless hulks in his eyes--he had the most profound objection to their master and his gun. he slipped back into cover, encircled the whole glade stealthily till he picked up their trail, and satisfied himself that they had come alone. then he returned and sat down on his tail deliberately in front of them, cocking his head to one side, as if inviting them to explain their presence. star returned his gaze with placid indifference, but buck was annoyed. in his eyes the fox was a little sharp-nosed dog with a bushy tail and an exasperating smell. he hated all dogs, but especially little ones, because they were so elusive when they yapped at his heels. he heaved himself up with an angry snort, and charged upon the intruder. the fox, without losing his dignity at all, seemed to drift easily out of reach, to this side or that, till the ox grew tired of the futile chase. moreover, as the fox made no sound and no demonstration of heel-snapping, buck's anger presently faded out, and he returned to his partner's side and lay down again. and the fox, his curiosity satisfied, trotted away. a little later there came a stealthy crashing through the darkness of the underbush in the rear. but the two oxen never turned their heads. to them the ominous sound had no significance whatever. a few paces behind them the crashing came to a sudden stop. a bear, lumbering down toward the brook-side, to grub in the soft earth for edible roots, had caught the sound of their breathing and chewing. he knew the sound, for he, too, like the fox, had prowled about the pasture fence at night. as noiselessly as a shadow he crept nearer, till he could make out the contented pair. he knew they belonged to the man, and it made him uneasy to see them there, so far from where they belonged. he sniffed the air cautiously, to see if the man was with them. no, the man was not there, that was soon obvious. he had no thought of attacking them; they were much too formidable to be meddled with. but why were they there? the circumstance was, therefore, dangerous. perhaps the man was designing some sort of trap for him. he drew back cautiously, and made off by the way he had come. he had a wholesome respect for the man, and for all his works and belongings. in the first, mysterious, glassy grey of dawn, when thin wisps of vapour clung curling among the grass-tops, the two wanderers got up and fell to grazing. then star, who was beginning to feel homesick for old pasture fields, strayed away irresolutely toward the road for home. buck, however, would have none of it. he marched off toward the brook, splashed through, and fell to pasturing again on the farther side. star, not enduring to be left alone, immediately joined him. that day the pair pressed onward, deeper and deeper into the wilds, buck ever eager on the unknown quest, star ever reluctant, but persuaded. as a matter of fact, had star been resolute enough in his reluctance, had he had the independence to lie down and refuse to go farther, he would have gained the day, for buck would never have forsaken him. but initiative ruled inertia, as is usually the case, and buck's adventuring spirit had its way. it was a rugged land, but hospitable enough to the wanderers in this affluent late june weather, through which buck so confidently led the way. the giant tangle of the forest was broken by frequent wild meadows, and foaming streams, and lonely little granite-bordered lakes, and stretches of sun-steeped barren, all bronze green with blueberry scrub. there was plenty to eat, plenty to drink, and when the flies and the heat grew troublesome, it was pleasant to wallow in the cold, amber-brown pools. even star began to forget the home pasture, and content himself with the freedom which he had never craved. how far and to what goal the urge in buck's untamed heart would have carried them before exhausting itself, there is no telling. but he had challenged without knowledge the old, implacable sphinx of the wilderness. and suddenly, to his undoing, the challenge was accepted. on the third day of their wanderings the pair came out upon a river too deep and wide for even buck's daring to attempt to cross. the banks were steep--a succession of rocky bluffs, broken by deep lateral bayous, and strips of interval meadows where brooks came in through a fringe of reeds and alders. buck turned northward, following the bank up stream, sometimes close to the edge, sometimes a little way back, wheresoever the easier path or the most tempting patches of pasturage might seem to lead. he was searching always for some feasible crossing, for his instinct led him always to get over any barrier. that his path toward the west had been barred only confirmed him in his impulse to work westward. late that afternoon, as they burst out, through thick bushes, into a little grassy glade, they surprised a bear-cub playing with a big yellow fungus, which he boxed and cuffed about--carefully, so as not to break his plaything--as a kitten boxes a ball. to buck, of course, the playful cub was only another dog, which might be expected to come yapping and snapping at his heels. with an indignant snort he charged it. the cub, at that ominous sound, looked up in astonishment. but when he saw the terrible red form dashing down upon him across the grass, he gave a squeal of terror and fled for the shelter of the trees. he was too young, however, for any great speed or agility, and he had none of the dog's artfulness in dodging. before he could gain cover he was overtaken. buck's massive front caught him on his haunches, smashing him into the ground. he gave one agonized squall, and then the life was crushed out of him. amazed at this easy success--the first of the kind he had ever had--but immensely proud of himself, the great red ox drew off and eyed his victim for a second or two, his tail lashing his sides in angry triumph. then he fell to goring the small black body, and tossing it into the air, and battering it again with his forehead as it came down. he was taking deep vengeance for all the yelping curs which had worried and eluded him in the past. in the midst of this congenial exercise he caught sight, out of the corner of his eye, of a big black shape just hurling itself upon him. the mother bear, a giant of her kind, had come to the cry of her little one. buck whirled with amazing nimbleness to meet the attack. he was in time to escape the blow which would have cracked even his mighty neck, but the long, steel-hard claws of his assailant fairly raked off one side of his face, destroying one eye completely. at the same time, with a shrill bellow, he lunged forward, driving a short, punishing horn deep into the bear's chest and hurling her back upon her haunches. dreadful as was his own injury, this fortunate thrust gave him the advantage for the moment. but, being unlearned in battle, he did not know enough to follow it up. he drew back to prepare for another charge, and paused to stamp the ground, and bellow, and shake his horribly wounded head. the mother, heedless of her own deep wound, turned to sniff, whimpering, at the body of her cub. seeing at once that it was quite dead, she wheeled like a flash and hurled herself again upon the slayer. as she wheeled she came upon buck's blinded side. he lunged forward once again, mad for the struggle. but this time, half blind as he was, he was easily eluded, for the old bear was a skilled fighter. a monstrous weight crashed down upon his neck, just behind the ears, and the bright green world grew black before him. he stumbled heavily forward on knees and muzzle, with a choking bellow. the bear struck again, and with the other paw tore out his throat, falling upon him and mauling him with silent fury as he rolled over upon his side. star, meanwhile, being ever slow of wit and of purpose, had been watching with startled eyes, unable to take in the situation, although a strange heat was beginning to stretch his veins. but when he saw his yoke-mate stumble forward on his muzzle, when he heard that choking bellow of anguish, then the unaccustomed fire found its way up into his brain. he saw red, and, with a nimbleness far beyond that of buck at his swiftest, he launched himself into the battle. [illustration: he launched himself into the battle.] the bear, absorbed in the fulness of her vengeance, was taken absolutely by surprise. it was as if a ton of rock had been hurled against her flank, rolling her over and crushing her at the same time. in his rage the great red ox seemed suddenly to develop an aptitude for the battle. twisting his head, he buried one horn deep in his adversary's belly, where he ripped and tore with the all-destructive fury of a mad rhinoceros. the bear's legs closed convulsively about his head and shoulders, but in the next instant they relaxed again, falling away loosely as that ploughing horn reached and pierced the heart. then star drew back, and stood shaking his head to clear the blood out of his eyes. for two days and nights star stood over his yoke-mate's body, leaving his post only for a few yards and for a few minutes, at long intervals, to crop a mouthful of grass or to drink at that cold stream which ran past the edge of the tragic glade. on the third day two woodsmen, passing down the river in a canoe, were surprised to hear the lowing of an ox in that desolate place, far from even the remotest settler's cabin. the lowing was persistent and appealing. they went ashore and investigated. at the scene which they came upon in the sunny little glade they stood marvelling. after a time their shrewd conjectures, initiated as they were in all the mysteries of the wild, arrived at a fairly accurate interpretation of it all. "it was sure some scrap, anyhow," was the final conclusion of one grizzled investigator; and "wish't we could 'a' seen it," of the other. then, the big red ox, with blood caked over head and horns, being too admired as well as too valuable to be left behind, they decided that one of them should stop on shore and drive him, while the other followed slowly in the canoe. at first star refused stolidly to budge from his dead comrade's side. but the woodsman was in winter a teamster, and what he did not know about driving oxen was not worth knowing. he cut a long white stick like an ox-goad, took his place at star's side, gave him a firm prod in the flank, and cried in a voice of authority: "haw, bright!" at the old command, although "bright" was not the right name, star seemed once more to feel the familiar, and to him not unpleasant, pressure of the yoke upon his neck. he swerved obediently to the left, lowering his head and throwing his weight forward to start the imaginary load, and moved away as his new master ordered. and gradually, as he went, directed this way or that by the sharp commands of "gee!" or "haw!" and the light reminder of the goad, his grief for his yoke-fellow began to dull its edge. it was comforting to be once more controlled, to be snatched back into servitude from a freedom which had proved so strenuous and so terrible. the trailers young stan murray turned on his heel and went into the house for his gun. his breast boiled with pity and indignation. the hired man, coming down from the upper field, had just told him that two more of his sheep had been killed by the bears. the sheep were of fine stock, only lately introduced to the out-settlements, and they were stan's special charge. these two last made seven that the bears had taken within six weeks. stan murray, with the robust confidence of his eighteen years, vowed that the marauder, or marauders, should be brought to an accounting without more ado, though it should take him a week to trail them down. he stuffed some hardtack biscuits and a generous lump of cheese into his pockets, saw that his winchester repeater was duly charged, buckled on his cartridge-belt, and started for the upper field. the hired man led him to the scene of the tragedy. the two victims--both full-grown sheep--had been struck down close to the edge of the field, within a dozen yards of each other. nothing was left of them there but their woolly skins and big sploshes of darkened blood on the stiff turf of the pasture. the carcases had evidently been dragged or carried off into the dark seclusion of the fir woods which bordered the top and farther side of the field. it was now just after midday, and stan and the hired man agreed, after examination of all the signs, that the killing must have taken place early the previous night. "it's a long ways from here them b'ar'll be by this time, i'm thinkin'," said the hired man. not a native of the backwoods, he was little versed in wilderness lore. "not at all," corrected murray. "like as not they're within a half mile or so of us now. they wouldn't lug those fat sheep far. they'd just eat what they wanted an' hide the rest in the bushes. and they'd come back an' finish it up when they'd slept off the first feed. what would they want to travel for, when they'd got such a dead easy thing right here?" "um-m-m!" grunted the hired man grudgingly. "mebbe you're right. but i'd like to know who's been here afore us, an' _rolled up_ this here skin so tidy-like? t'other skin's left all of a heap, mebbe because it's so torn 'tain't no good to nobody." the young woodsman laughed, for all his vexation of spirit. "lot you know about bears, tom," said he. "you see, there's been _two_ bears here on this job, curse their dirty hides! one's a youngster, an' don't know much about skinning a sheep. he's just clawed off the skin any old way, an' made a mess of it, as you see. but the other's an old hand, evidently, an' knows what he's about--an old she, likely, an' perhaps mother of the young one. _she's_ known how to _peel_ off the skin, rolling it up that way quite as a man might do. now, tom, you get along back home, an' take the skins with you. i'm going after those two, an' i'm not coming home till i've squared up with 'em over this here deal." for half a mile or more back into the woods the trail of the marauders was a plain one to follow. then murray found the remnants of the two victims hidden in a mass of thick underbush, several yards apart. the tracks of the two bears encircled the spot, a plain proclamation of ownership to any other of the wild creatures which might be inclined to trespass on that domain. and on the trunk of a tall spruce, standing close beside the hiding-place, the initiated eyes of young murray detected another warning to intruders. the bark at a considerable height was scored by the marks of mighty claws. the larger bear, after her meal, had stretched herself like a cat, rearing herself and digging in her claws against the trunk. and the great height of her reach was a pointed announcement that her displeasure would be a perilous thing to reckon with. as stan murray stood, estimating the stature of his foe, his eyes began to sparkle. this would be a trophy worth winning, the hide and head of such a bear. his wrath against the slayers of his sheep died away into the emulous zest of the hunter. the bears, their hunger satisfied, had gone on straight back into the wilderness, instead of hanging about the scene of their triumph or crawling into a neighbouring thicket, as murray had expected, to sleep off their heavy feast. murray thought he knew all about bears. as a matter of fact, he did know a lot about them. what he did _not_ know was that no one, however experienced and sympathetic an observer, ever does achieve to know _all_ about them. the bear is at the opposite pole from the sheep. he is an individualist. he does not care to do as his neighbour does. he is ever ready to adapt his habits, as well as his diet, to the varying of circumstance. he loves to depart from his rules and confound the naturalists. when you think you've got him, he turns out to be an old black stump, and laughs in his shaggy sleeve from some other hidden post of observation. he makes all the other kindred of the wild, except, perhaps, the shrewd fox, seem like foolish children beside him. for a good hour murray followed the trail of the two bears, at times with some difficulty, as the forest gave way in places to breadths of hard and stony barren, where the great pads left smaller trace. at last, to his annoyance, in a patch of swamp, where the trail was very clear, he realized that he was now following one bear only, and that the smaller of the two. he cast assiduously from side to side, but in vain. he harked back along the trail for several hundred yards, but he could find no sign of the other bear, nor of where she had branched off. and it was just that other that he wanted. however, he decided that as the two were working together, he would probably find the second by keeping on after the first, rather than by questing at large for a lost trail. in any case, as he now reminded himself, it was not a trophy, but vengeance for his slaughtered sheep that he was out for. the trail he had been following hitherto had been hours old. now, of a sudden, he noticed with a start that it had become amazingly fresh--so fresh, indeed, that he felt he might come upon his quarry at any instant. how did it happen that the trail had thus grown fresh all at once? decidedly puzzled, he halted abruptly and sat down upon a stump to consider the problem. at last he came to the conclusion that, somewhere to his rear, the quarry must have swerved off to one side or the other, either lain down for a brief siesta, or made a wide detour, then circled back into the old trail just a little way in advance of him. again, it seemed, he had overshot the important and revealing point of the trail. he was nettled, disappointed in himself. his first impulse was to retrace his steps minutely, and try to verify this conclusion. then he reflected that, after all, he had better content himself with the fact that he was now close on the heels of the fugitive, and vengeance, perhaps, almost within his grasp. to go back, for the mere sake of proving a theory, would be to lose his advantage. moreover, the afternoon was getting on. he decided to push forward. but now he went warily, peering to this side and to that, and scrutinizing every thicket, every stump and massive bole. he felt that he had been too confident, and made too much noise in his going. it was pretty certain that the quarry would by now be aware of the pursuit, and cunningly _on_ guard. twice he had been worsted in woodcraft. he was determined that the marauders should not score off him a third time. for another half-hour he kept on, moving now as noiselessly as a mink, and watchfully as a wood-mouse. yet the trail went on as before, and he could detect no sign that he was gaining on the elusive quarry. at last, grown suddenly conscious of hunger, he sat down upon a mossy stone and proceeded to munch his crackers and cheese. he was getting rather out of conceit with himself, and the meal, hungry though he was, seemed tasteless. as he sat there, gnawing discontentedly at his dry fare, he began to feel conscious of being watched. the short hairs on the back of his neck tingled and rose. he looked around sharply, but he could see nothing. very softly he rose to his feet. with minutest scrutiny his eyes searched every object within view. the mingled shadows of the forest were confusing, of course, but his trained eyes knew how to differentiate them. nevertheless, neither behind, nor before, nor on either side could he make out any living thing, except a little black-and-white woodpecker, which peered at him with unwinking curiosity from a gnarled trunk a dozen feet away. from the woodpecker his glance wandered upwards and interrogated the lower branches of the surrounding trees. at last he made out the gleam of a pair of pale, malevolent eyes glaring down upon him from a high branch. then he made out the shadowy shape, flattened close to the branch, of a large wild-cat. murray disliked the whole tribe of the wild-cats, as voracious destroyers of game and cunning depredators upon his poultry, and his rifle went instantly to his shoulder. but he lowered it again with a short laugh. he was not bothering just then with wild-cats. he cursed himself softly as "getting nervous," and sat down again to resume his meal, satisfied that the sensation at the back of his neck was now explained. but he had not found the true explanation, by any means. in fact, he was fooled yet again. from less than fifty yards ahead of him a little pair of red-rimmed eyes, half angry and half curious, were watching his every movement. crouching behind two great trunks, his quarry was keeping him under wary observation, ready to slip onward like a shadow, keeping to the shelter of the thicket and bole and rock, the moment he should show the least sign of taking up the trail again. moreover, from a slightly greater distance to his rear, another pair of little red-rimmed eyes, less curious and more angry, also held him under observation. for an hour or more, at least, the older bear had been trailing him in her turn with practised cunning. for all her immense bulk, she had never betrayed herself by so much as the crackling of a twig; and the unconscious, complacent hunter was being hunted with a woodcraft far beyond his own. whenever he stopped, or paused for the least moment, she came to a stop herself as instantly as if worked by the same nerve impulse, and stiffened into such stony immobility that she seemed at once to melt into her surroundings, and became invisible in the sense of being indistinguishable from them. among mossy rocks she seemed to become a rock, among stumps a stump, among thickets a portion of the dark, shaggy undergrowth. having finished his crackers and cheese, murray got up, brushed the crumbs from his jacket, flicked a hard flake of bark contemptuously at the wild-cat--which darted farther up the tree with an angry growl--and once more took up the trail. he was beginning now to wonder if he was going to accomplish anything before the light should fail him, and he hurried on at a swifter pace. a few hundred yards farther, to his considerable gratification, the trail swept around in a wide curve towards the right, and made back towards the settlement. "perhaps," he thought, "that fool of a bear does not know, after all, that i am on his track, and is going back for the remainder of his supper." encouraged by this idea, he pushed on faster still. then, some ten minutes later, he had reason to regret his haste. crossing a patch of soft, open ground, his attention was caught by the fact that the footprints he was following had miraculously increased in size. examination proved that this was no illusion. and now, for the first time, an unpleasant feeling crept over him. apparently he was being played with. the second bear, it was evident, had slipped in and taken the place of the first, copying an old game of the hunted foxes. murray suddenly felt himself alone and outwitted. if it had been earlier in the day, he would not have cared; but now it would soon be night. he had no great dread of bears, as a rule. he was willing to tackle several of them at once, as long as he had his winchester and a clear chance to use it--but after dark he would be at a grievous disadvantage. if the trail had still been leading away from home, he would probably have turned back and planned for an early start again next morning. but as his enemy was going in the right direction, he decided to follow on as fast as possible, and see if he might not succeed in obtaining a decision before dark. the trail was now almost insolently clear, and he followed it at a lope. he gained no glimpse of the quarry even at this pace; but at least he had the satisfaction of knowing, from the increased heaviness of the footprints and the lengthening of the stride, that he was forcing his adversary to make haste. presently it appeared that this was displeasing to the adversary. the trail went off to the left, at a sharp angle, and made for a dense cedar swamp, which murray had no desire to adventure into at that late hour. he decided to give up the chase for the day and keep straight for home. by this time murray felt that his knowledge of bears was not quite so profound as he had fancied it to be. nevertheless, he was sure of one thing. he was ready to gamble on it that, as soon as they realized he had given up trailing them, they would turn and trail him. the idea was more or less depressing to him in his present mood. he did not greatly care, however, so long as it was fairly light. he did not think that his adversaries would have the rashness to attack him even after dark, the black bear having a very just appreciation of man's power. still, there was the chance, and it gave him something to think of. he made a hurried estimate of the distance he had yet to go, and it was with a distinct sense of relief he concluded that he would make the open fields before the closing in of dark. the woods at this point were somewhat thick, an abundant second growth of spruce and fir. presently they fell away before him, revealing a few acres of windy grass-land surrounding a deserted cabin. at the sight of the space of open ground murray was seized with a new idea. his face brightened, his self-confidence returned. the bears had, so far, outdone him thoroughly in woodcraft. well, he would now show them that he was their master in tactics. he ran staggeringly out into the field, and fell as if exhausted. he lay for a few seconds, to make sure he was observed by his antagonists, then picked himself up, raced on across the open as fast as he could, and plunged into the thick woods on the opposite side. as soon as he was hidden, he turned and looked behind him. the growth of bushes and rank herbage which fringed the other side of the clearing whence he had come was waving and tossing with the movement of heavy bodies. for a few moments he thought that his pursuers, grown bold with his flight, would break forth from their concealment and follow across the clearing. in that case he might count on bagging them both. but no, they were too wary still for that. presently the tossing of the bushes began to separate, and moved rapidly both to right and left along the skirts of the clearing. a smile of triumph spread over murray's face. "my turn at last!" he muttered, and ran noiselessly, keeping well hidden, down toward the left-hand corner of the field. he had an idea that it was the bigger bear which was coming to meet him in that direction, because the movement of the bushes had seemed the more violent on that side. he was himself again fully now, the zest of the hunter swallowing up all other emotions. just at the corner of the field, behind a heap of stones half buried in herbage, he hid himself, and lay motionless, with his rifle at his shoulder and finger on the trigger. he could hear the bear coming, for she was running more carelessly now, under the impression that the enemy was in full flight. dry branches snapped, green branches swished and rustled, and occasionally his straining ears caught the sound of a heavy but muffled footfall. she was almost upon him, however, before he could actually get a view of her. she came out into a space between two clumps of young fir trees, not twenty-five yards from his hiding-place, and was just passing him diagonally, offering a perfect mark. murray's finger closed, softly and steadily, on the trigger. the heavy, soft-nosed bullet crashed through her neck, and she dropped, collapsing on the instant into nothing more than a heap of rusty-black fur. immensely elated, his dear sheep avenged, and his standing as a hunter vindicated at last, young murray strode over and examined his splendid prize. it was by far the biggest black bear he had ever seen. to the other of the pair he gave not a thought; he knew that the crack of his rifle would have cured it of any further curiosity it might have had about himself. he took out his handkerchief, tied it to the end of a stick, and stuck the stick into the ground beside the heap of fur, to serve both as a mark and as a warning to possible trespassers. then he made haste home, to fetch a lantern and the hired man, for he would not leave so splendid a skin all night to the mercies of fox and fisher and weasel and other foragers of the dark. cock-crow he was a splendid bird, a thoroughbred "black-breasted red" game-cock, his gorgeous plumage hard as mail, silken with perfect condition, and glowing like a flame against the darkness of the spruce forest. his snaky head--the comb and wattles had been trimmed close, after the mode laid down for his aristocratic kind--was sharp and keen, like a living spear-point. his eyes were fierce and piercing, ready ever to meet the gaze of bird, or beast, or man himself, with the unwinking challenge of their full, arrogant stare. perched upon a stump a few yards from the railway line, he turned that bold stare now, with an air of unperturbed superciliousness, upon the wreck of the big freight-car from which he had just escaped. he had escaped by a miracle, but little effect had that upon his bold and confident spirit. the ramshackle, overladen freight train, labouring up the too-steep gradient, had broken in two, thanks to a defective coupler, near the top of the incline a mile and a half away. the rear cars--heavy box-cars--had, of course, run back, gathering a terrific momentum as they went. the rear brakeman, his brakes failing to hold, had discreetly jumped before the speed became too great. at the foot of the incline a sharp curve had proved too much for the runaways to negotiate. with a screech of tortured metal they had jumped the track, and gone crashing down the high embankment. one car, landing on a granite boulder, had split apart like a cleft melon. the light crate in which our game-cock, a pedigree bird, was being carried to a fancier in the nearest town, some three score miles away, had survived by its very lightness. but its door had been snapped open. the cock walked out deliberately, uttered a long, low _krr-rr-ee_ of ironic comment upon the disturbance, hopped delicately over the tangle of boxes and crates and agricultural implements, and flew to the top of the nearest stump. there he shook himself, his plumage being disarrayed, though his spirit was not. he flapped his wings. then, eyeing the wreckage keenly, he gave a shrill, triumphant crow, which rang through the early morning stillness of the forest like a challenge. he felt that the smashed car, so lately his prison, was a foe which he had vanquished by his own unaided prowess. his pride was not altogether unnatural. the place where he stood preening the red glory of his plumage was in the very heart of the wilderness. the only human habitation within a dozen miles in either direction was a section-man's shanty, guarding a siding and a rusty water-tank. the woods--mostly spruce in that region, with patches of birch and poplar--had been gone over by the lumbermen some five years before, and still showed the ravages of the insatiable axe. their narrow "tote-roads," now deeply mossed and partly overgrown by small scrub, traversed the lonely spaces in every direction. one of these roads led straight back into the wilderness from the railway--almost from the stump whereon the red cock had his perch. the cock had no particular liking for the neighbourhood of the accident, and when his fierce, inquiring eye fell upon this road, he decided to investigate, hoping it might lead him to some flock of his own kind, over whom he would, as a matter of course, promptly establish his domination. that there would be other cocks there, already in charge, only added to his zest for the adventure. he was raising his wings to hop down from his perch, when a wide-winged shadow passed over him, and he checked himself, glancing upwards sharply. a foraging hawk had just flown overhead. the hawk had never before seen a bird like the bright figure standing on the stump, and he paused in his flight, hanging for a moment on motionless wing to scrutinise the strange apparition. but he was hungry, and he considered himself more than a match for anything in feathers except the eagle, the goshawk, and the great horned owl. his hesitation was but for a second, and, with a sudden mighty thrust of his wide wings, he swooped down upon this novel victim. the big hawk was accustomed to seeing every quarry he stooped at cower paralysed with terror or scurry for shelter in wild panic. but, to his surprise, this infatuated bird on the stump stood awaiting him, with wings half lifted, neck feathers raised in a defiant ruff, and one eye cocked upwards warily. he was so surprised, in fact, that at a distance of some dozen or fifteen feet he wavered and paused in his downward rush. but it was surprise only, fear having small place in his wild, marauding heart. in the next second he swooped again and struck downwards at his quarry with savage, steel-hard talons. he struck but empty air. at exactly the right fraction of the instant the cock had leapt upwards on his powerful wings, lightly as a thistle-seed, but swift as if shot from a catapult. he passed straight over his terrible assailant's back. in passing he struck downwards with his spurs, which were nearly three inches long, straight, and tapered almost to a needle-point. one of these deadly weapons found its mark, as luck would have it, fair in the joint of the hawk's shoulder, putting the wing clean out of action. the marauder turned completely over and fell in a wild flutter to the ground, the cock, at the same time, alighting gracefully six or eight feet away and wheeling like a flash to meet a second attack. the hawk, recovering with splendid nerve from the amazing shock of his overthrow, braced himself upright on his tail by the aid of the one sound wing--the other wing trailing helplessly--and faced his strange adversary with open beak and one clutching talon uplifted. the cock, fighting after the manner of his kind, rushed in to within a couple of feet of his foe and there paused, balanced for the next stroke or parry, legs slightly apart, wings lightly raised, neck feathers ruffed straight out, beak lowered and presented like a rapier point. seeing that his opponent made no demonstration, but simply waited, watching him with eyes as hard and bright and dauntless as his own, he tried to provoke him to a second attack. with scornful insolence he dropped his guard and pecked at a twig or a grass blade, jerking the unconsidered morsel aside and presenting his point again with lightning swiftness. the insult, however, was lost upon the hawk, who had no knowledge of the cock's duelling code. he simply waited, motionless as the stump beside him. [illustration: leaping upwards and striking downwards with his destroying heels.] the cock, perceiving that taunt and insolence were wasted, now began to circle warily toward the left, as if to take his opponent in the flank. the hawk at once shifted front to face him. but this was the side of his disabled wing. the sprawling member would not move, would not get out of the way. in the effort to manage it, he partly lost his precarious balance. the cock saw his advantage instantly. he dashed in like a feathered and flaming thunderbolt, leaping upwards and striking downwards with his destroying heels. the hawk was hurled over backwards, with one spur through his throat, the other through his lungs. as he fell he dragged his conqueror down with him, and one convulsive but blindly-clutching talon ripped away a strip of flesh and feathers from the victor's thigh. there was a moment's flapping, a few delicate red feathers floated off upon the morning air, then the hawk lay quite still, and the red cock, stepping haughtily off the body of his foe, crowed long and shrill, three times, as if challenging any other champions of the wilderness to come and dare a like fate. for a few minutes he stood waiting and listening for an answer to his challenge. as no answer came, he turned, without deigning to glance at his slain foe, and stalked off, stepping daintily, up the old wood-road and into the depths of the forest. to the raw, red gash in his thigh he paid no heed whatever. having no inkling of the fact that the wilderness, silent and deserted though it seemed, was full of hostile eyes and unknown perils, he took no care at all for the secrecy of his going. indeed, had he striven for concealment, his brilliant colouring, so out of key with the forest gloom, would have made it almost impossible. nevertheless, his keenness of sight and hearing, his practised and unsleeping vigilance as protector of his flock, stood him in good stead, and made up for his lack of wilderness lore. it was with an intense interest and curiosity, rather than with any apprehension, that his bold eyes questioned everything on either side of his path through the dark spruce woods. sometimes he would stop to peck the bright vermilion bunches of the pigeon-berry, which here and there starred the hillocks beside the road. but no matter how interesting he found the novel and delicious fare, his vigilance never relaxed. it was, indeed, almost automatic. the idea lurking in his subconscious processes was probably that he might at any moment be seen by some doughty rival of his own kind, and challenged to the great game of mortal combat. but whatever the object of his watchfulness, it served him as well against the unknown as it could have done against expected foes. presently he came to a spot where an old, half-rotted stump had been torn apart by a bear hunting for wood-ants. the raw earth about the up-torn roots tempted the wanderer to scratch for grubs. finding a fat white morsel, much too dainty to be devoured alone, he stood over it and began to call _kt-kt-kt_, _kt-kt-kt_, _kt-kt-kt_ in his most alluring tones, hoping that some coy young hen would come stealing out of the underbrush in response to his gallant invitation. there was no such response; but as he peered about hopefully, he caught sight of a sinister, reddish-yellow shape creeping towards him behind the shelter of a withe-wood bush. he gulped down the fat grub, and stood warily eyeing the approach of this new foe. it looked to him like a sharp-nosed, bushy-tailed yellow dog--a very savage and active one. he was not afraid, but he knew himself no match for a thoroughly ferocious dog of that size. this one, it was clear, had evil designs upon him. he half crouched, with wings loosed and every muscle tense for the spring. the next instant the fox pounced at him, darting through the green edges of the withe-wood bush with most disconcerting suddenness. the cock sprang into the air, but only just in time, for the fox, leaping up nimbly at him with snapping jaws, captured a mouthful of glossy tail feathers. the cock alighted on a branch overhead, some seven or eight feet from the ground, whipped around, stretched his neck downwards, and eyed his assailant with a glassy stare. "_kr-rr-rr-eee?_" he murmured softly, as if in sarcastic interrogation. the fox, exasperated at his failure, and hating, above all beasts, to be made a fool of, glanced around to see if there were any spectators. then, with an air of elaborate indifference, he pawed a feather from the corner of his mouth and trotted away as if he had just remembered something. he had not gone above thirty yards or so, when the cock flew down again to the exact spot where he had been scratching. he pretended to pick up another grub, all the time keeping an eye on the retiring foe. he crowed with studied insolence; but the fox, although that long and shrill defiance must have seemed a startling novelty, gave no sign of having heard it. the cock crowed again, with the same lack of result. he kept on crowing until the fox was out of sight. then he returned coolly to his scratching. when he had satisfied his appetite for fat white grubs, he flew up again to his safe perch and fell to pruning his feathers. five minutes later the fox reappeared, creeping up with infinite stealth from quite another direction. the cock, however, detected his approach at once, and proclaimed the fact with another mocking crow. disgusted and abashed, the fox turned in his tracks and crept away to stalk some less sophisticated quarry. the wanderer, for all his fearlessness, was wise. he suspected that the vicious yellow dog with the bushy tail might return yet again to the charge. for a time, therefore, he sat on his perch, digesting his meal and studying with keen, inquisitive eyes his strange surroundings. after ten minutes or so of stillness and emptiness, the forest began to come alive. he saw a pair of black-and-white woodpeckers running up and down the trunk of a half-dead tree, and listened with tense interest to their loud rat-tat-tattings. he watched the shy wood-mice come out from their snug holes under the tree-roots, and play about with timorous gaiety and light rustlings among the dead leaves. he scrutinised with appraising care a big brown rabbit which came bounding in a leisurely fashion down the tote-road and sat up on his hindquarters near the stump, staring about with its mild, bulging eyes, and waving its long ears this way and that, to question every minutest wilderness sound; and he decided that the rabbit, for all its bulk and apparent vigour of limb, would not be a dangerous opponent. in fact, he thought of hopping down from his perch and putting the big innocent to flight, just to compensate himself for having had to flee from the fox. but while he was meditating this venture, the rabbit went suddenly leaping off at a tremendous pace, evidently in great alarm. a few seconds later a slim little light-brownish creature, with short legs, long, sinuous body, short, triangular head, and cruel eyes that glowed like fire, came into view, following hard upon the rabbit's trail. it was nothing like half the rabbit's size, but the interested watcher on the branch overhead understood at once the rabbit's terror. he had never seen a weasel before, but he knew that the sinuous little beast with the eyes of death would be as dangerous almost as the fox. he noted that here was another enemy to look out for--to be avoided, if possible, to be fought with the utmost wariness if fighting should be forced upon him. not long after the weasel had vanished, the cock grew tired of waiting, and restless to renew the quest for the flock on which his dreams were set. he started by flying from tree to tree, still keeping along the course of the tote-road. but after he had covered perhaps a half-mile in this laborious fashion, he gave it up and hopped down again into the road. here he went now with new caution, but with the same old arrogance of eye and bearing. he went quickly, however, for the gloom of the spruce wood had grown oppressive to him, and he wanted open fields and the unrestricted sun. he had not gone far when he caught sight of a curious-looking animal advancing slowly down the path to meet him. it was nearly as big as the rabbit, but low on the legs; and instead of leaping along, it crawled with a certain heavy deliberation. its colour was a dingy, greyish black-and-white, and its short black head was crowned with what looked like a heavy iron-grey pompadour brushed well back. the cock stood still, eyeing its approach suspiciously. it did not look capable of any very swift demonstration, but he was on his guard. when it had come within three or four yards of him, he said "_kr-rr-rr-eee!_" sharply, just to see what it would do, at the same time lowering his snaky head and ruffing out his neck feathers in challenge. the stranger seemed then to notice him for the first time, and instantly, to the cock's vast surprise, it enlarged itself to fully twice its previous size. its fur, which was now seen to be quills rather than fur, stood up straight on end all over its head and body, and the quills were two or three inches in length. at this amazing spectacle the cock involuntarily backed away several paces. the stranger came straight on, however, without hastening his deliberate steps one jot. the cock waited, maintaining his attitude of challenge, till not more than three or four feet separated him from the incomprehensible apparition. then he sprang lightly over it and turned in a flash, expecting the stranger to turn also and again confront him. the stranger, however, did nothing of the kind, but simply continued stolidly on his way, not even troubling to look round. such stolidity was more than the cock could understand, having never encountered a porcupine before. he stared after it for some moments. then he crowed scornfully, turned about, and resumed his lonely quest. a little further on, to his great delight, he came out into a small clearing with a log cabin in the centre of it. a house! it was associated in his mind with an admiring, devoted flock of hens, and rivals to be ignominiously routed, and harmless necessary humans whose business it was to supply unlimited food. he rushed forward eagerly, careless as to whether he should encounter love or war. alas, the cabin was deserted! even to his inexperienced eye it was long deserted. the door hung on one hinge, half open. the one small window had no glass in it. untrodden weeds grew among the rotting chips up to and across the threshold. the roof--a rough affair of poles and bark--sagged in the middle, just ready to fall in at the smallest provocation. a red squirrel, his tail carried jauntily over his back, sat on the topmost peak of it and shrilled high derision at the wanderer as he approached. the cock was acquainted with squirrels, and thought less than nothing of them. ignoring the loud chatter, he tip-toed around the cabin, dejected but still inquisitive. returning at length to the doorway, he peered in, craning his neck and uttering a low _kr-rr_. finally, with head held high, he stalked in. the place was empty, save for a long bench with a broken leg and a joint of rust-eaten stove-pipe. along two of the walls ran a double tier of bunks, in which the lumbermen had formerly slept. the cock stalked all around the place, prying in every corner and murmuring softly to himself. at last he flew up to the highest bunk, perched upon the edge of it, flapped his wings, and crowed repeatedly, as if announcing to the wilderness at large that he had taken possession. this ceremony accomplished, he flew down again, stalked out into the sunlight, and fell to scratching among the chips with an air of assured possession. and all the while the red squirrel kept on hurling shrill, unheeded abuse at him, resenting him as an intruder in the wilds. whenever the cock found a particularly choice grub or worm or beetle, he would hold it aloft in his beak, then lay it down and call loudly _kt-kt-kt-kt-kt-kt_, as if hoping thus to lure some flock of hens to the fair domain which he had seized. he had now dropped his quest, and was trusting that his subjects would come to him. that afternoon his valiant calls caught the ear of a weasel--possibly the very one which he had seen in the morning trailing the panic-stricken rabbit. the weasel came rushing upon him at once, too ferocious in its blood-lust for any such emotions as surprise or curiosity, and expecting an easy conquest. the cock saw it coming, and knew well the danger. but he was now on his own ground, responsible for the protection of an imaginary flock. he faced the peril unwavering. fortunately for him, the weasel had no idea whatever of a fighting-cock's method of warfare. when the cock evaded the deadly rush by leaping straight at it and over it, instead of dodging aside or turning tail, the weasel was nonplussed for just a fraction of a second, and stood snarling. in that instant of hesitation the cock's keen spur struck it fairly behind the ear, and drove clean into the brain. the murderous little beast stiffened out, rolled gently over upon its side, and lay there with the soundless snarl fixed upon its half-opened jaws. surprised at such an easy victory, the cock spurred the carcase again, just to make sure of it. then he kicked it to one side, crowed, of course, and stared around wistfully for some appreciation of his triumph. he could not know with what changed eyes the squirrel--who feared weasels more than anything else on earth--was now regarding him. the killing of so redoubtable an adversary as the weasel must have become known, in some mysterious fashion, for thenceforward no more of the small marauders of the forest ventured to challenge the new lordship of the clearing. for a week the cock ruled his solitude unquestioned, very lonely, but sleeplessly alert, and ever hoping that followers of his own kind would come to him from somewhere. in time, doubtless, his loneliness would have driven him forth again upon his quest; but fate had other things in store for him. late one afternoon a grizzled woodsman in grey homespun, and carrying a bundle swung from the axe over his shoulder, came striding up to the cabin. the cock, pleased to see a human being once more, stalked forth from the cabin door to meet him. the woodsman was surprised at the sight of what he called a "reel barn-yard rooster" away off here in the wilds, but he was too tired and hungry to consider the question carefully. his first thought was that there would be a pleasant addition to his supper of bacon and biscuits. he dropped his axe and bundle, and made a swift grab at the unsuspecting bird. the latter dodged cleverly, ruffed his neck feathers with an angry _kr-rr-rr_, hopped up, and spurred the offending hand severely. the woodsman straightened himself up, taken by surprise, and sheepishly shook the blood from his hand. "well, i'll be damned!" he muttered, eyeing the intrepid cock with admiration. "you're some rooster, you are! i guess you're all right. guess i deserved that, for thinkin' of wringin' the neck o' sech a handsome an' gritty bird as you, an' me with plenty o' good bacon in me pack. guess we'll call it square, eh?" he felt in his pocket for some scraps of biscuits, and tossed them to the cock, who picked them up greedily and then strutted around him, plainly begging for more. the biscuit was a delightful change after an unvarying diet of grubs and grass. thereafter he followed his visitor about like his shadow, not with servility, of course, but with a certain condescending arrogance which the woodsman found hugely amusing. just outside the cabin door the woodsman lit a fire to cook his evening rasher and brew his tin of tea. the cock supped with him, striding with dignity to pick up the scraps which were thrown to him, and then resuming his place at the other side of the fire. by the time the man was done, dusk had fallen; and the cock, chuckling contentedly in his throat, tip-toed into the cabin, flew up to the top bunk, and settled himself on his perch for the night. he had always been taught to expect benefits from men, and he felt that this big stranger who had fed him so generously would find him a flock to preside over on the morrow. after a long smoke beside his dying fire, till the moon came up above the ghostly solitude, the woodsman turned in to sleep in one of the lower bunks, opposite to where the cock was roosting. he had heaped an armful of bracken and spruce branches into the bunk before spreading his blanket. and he slept very soundly. even the most experienced of woodsmen may make a slip at times. this one, this time, had forgotten to make quite sure that his fire was out. there was no wind when he went to bed, but soon afterwards a wind arose, blowing steadily toward the cabin. it blew the darkened embers to a glow, and little, harmless-looking flames began eating their way over the top layer of tinder-dry chips to the equally dry wall of the cabin. * * * * * the cock was awakened by a bright light in his eyes. a fiery glow, beyond the reddest of sunrises, was flooding the cabin. long tongues of flame were licking about the doorway. he crowed valiantly, to greet this splendid, blazing dawn. he crowed again and yet again, because he was anxious and disturbed. as a sunrise, this one did not act at all according to precedent. the piercing notes aroused the man, who was sleeping heavily. in one instant he was out of his bunk and grabbing up his blanket and his pack. in the next he had plunged out through the flaming doorway, and thrown down his armful at a safe distance, cursing acidly at such a disturbance to the most comfortable rest he had enjoyed for a week. from within the doomed cabin came once more the crow of the cock, shrilling dauntlessly above the crackle and venomous hiss of the flames. "gee whizz!" muttered the woodsman, or, rather, that may be taken as the polite equivalent of his untrammelled backwoods expletive. "that there red rooster's game. ye can't leave a pardner like that to roast!" with one arm shielding his face, he dashed in again, grabbed the cock by the legs, and darted forth once more into the sweet, chill air, none the worse except for frizzled eyelashes and an unceremonious trimming of hair and beard. the cock, highly insulted, was flapping and pecking savagely, but the man soon reduced him to impotence, if not submission, holding him under one elbow while he tied his armed heels together, and then swaddling him securely in his coat. "there," said he, "i guess we'll travel together from this out, pardner. ye've sure saved my life; an' to think i had the notion, for a minnit, o' makin' a meal offen ye! i'll give ye a good home, anyways, an' i guess ye'll lick the socks offen every other rooster in the whole blame settlement!" the ledge on bald face that one stark naked side of the mountain which gave it its name of old bald face fronted full south. scorched by sun and scourged by storm throughout the centuries, it was bleached to an ashen pallor that gleamed startlingly across the leagues of sombre, green-purple wilderness outspread below. from the base of the tremendous bald steep stretched off the interminable leagues of cedar swamp, only to be traversed in dry weather or in frost. all the region behind the mountain face was an impenetrable jumble of gorges, pinnacles, and chasms, with black woods clinging in crevice and ravine and struggling up desperately towards the light. in the time of spring and autumn floods, when the cedar swamps were impenetrable to all save mink, otter, and musk-rat, the only way from the western plateau to the group of lakes that formed the source of the ottanoonsis, on the east, was by a high, nerve-testing trail across the wind-swept brow of old bald face. the trail followed a curious ledge, sometimes wide enough to have accommodated an ox-wagon, at other times so narrow and so perilous that even the sure-eyed caribou went warily in traversing it. the only inhabitants of bald face were the eagles, three pairs of them, who had their nests, widely separated from each other in haughty isolation, on jutting shoulders and pinnacles accessible to no one without wings. though the ledge-path at its highest point was far above the nests, and commanded a clear view of one of them, the eagles had learned to know that those who traversed the pass were not troubling themselves about eagles' nests. they had also observed another thing--of interest to them only because their keen eyes and suspicious brains were wont to note and consider everything that came within their purview--and that was that the scanty traffic by the pass had its more or less regular times and seasons. in seasons of drought or hard frost it vanished altogether. in seasons of flood it increased the longer the floods lasted. and whenever there was any passing at all, the movement was from east to west in the morning, from west to east in the afternoon. this fact may have been due to some sort of dimly recognised convention among the wild kindreds, arrived at in some subtle way to avoid unnecessary--and necessarily deadly--misunderstanding and struggle. for the creatures of the wild seldom fight for fighting's sake. they fight for food, or, in the mating season, they fight in order that the best and strongest may carry off the prizes. but mere purposeless risk and slaughter they instinctively strive to avoid. the airy ledge across bald face, therefore, was not a place where the boldest of the wild kindred--the bear or the bull-moose, to say nothing of lesser champions--would wilfully invite the doubtful combat. if, therefore, it had been somehow arrived at that there should be no disastrous meetings, no face-to-face struggles for the right of way, at a spot where dreadful death was inevitable for one or both of the combatants, that would have been in no way inconsistent with the accepted laws and customs of the wilderness. on the other hand, it is possible that this alternate easterly and westerly drift of the wild creatures--a scanty affair enough at best of times--across the front of bald face was determined in the first place, on clear days, by their desire not to have the sun in their eyes in making the difficult passage, and afterwards hardened into custom. it was certainly better to have the sun behind one in treading the knife-edge pass above the eagles. joe peddler found it troublesome enough, that strong, searching glare from the unclouded sun of early morning full in his eyes, as he worked over toward the ottanoonsis lakes. he had never attempted the crossing of old bald face before, and he had always regarded with some scorn the stories told by indians of the perils of that passage. but already, though he had accomplished but a small portion of his journey, and was still far from the worst of the pass, he had been forced to the conclusion that report had not exaggerated the difficulties of his venture. however, he was steady of head and sure of foot, and the higher he went in that exquisitely clear, crisp air, the more pleased he felt with himself. his great lungs drank deep of the tonic wind which surged against him rhythmically, and seemed to him to come unbroken from the outermost edges of the world. his eyes widened and filled themselves, even as his lungs, with the ample panorama that unfolded before them. he imagined--for the woodsman, dwelling so much alone, is apt to indulge some strange imaginings--that he could feel his very spirit enlarging, as if to take full measure of these splendid breadths of sunlit, wind-washed space. presently, with a pleasant thrill, he observed that just ahead of him the ledge went round an abrupt shoulder of the rock-face at a point where there was a practically sheer drop of many hundreds of feet into what appeared a feather-soft carpet of tree-tops. he looked shrewdly to the security of his footing as he approached, and also to the roughnesses of the rock above the ledge, in case a sudden violent gust should chance to assail him just at the turn. he felt that at such a spot it would be so easy--indeed, quite natural--to be whisked off by the sportive wind, whirled out into space, and dropped into that green carpet so far below. in his flexible oil-tanned "larrigans" of thick cowhide, peddler moved noiselessly as a wild-cat, even over the bare stone of the ledge. he was like a grey shadow drifting slowly across the bleached face of the precipice. as he drew near the bend of the trail, of which not more than eight or ten paces were now visible to him, he felt every nerve grow tense with exhilarating expectation. yet, even so, what happened was the utterly unexpected. around the bend before him, stepping daintily on her fine hooves, came a young doe. she completely blocked the trail just on that dizzy edge. peddler stopped short, tried to squeeze himself to the rock like a limpet, and clutched with fingers of iron at a tiny projection. the doe, for one second, seemed petrified with amazement. it was contrary to all tradition that she should be confronted on that trail. then, her amazement instantly dissolving into sheer madness of panic, she wheeled about violently to flee. but there was no room for even her lithe body to make the turn. the inexorable rock-face bounced her off, and with an agonised bleat, legs sprawling and great eyes starting from their sockets, she went sailing down into the abyss. with a heart thumping in sympathy, peddler leaned outward and followed that dreadful flight, till she reached that treacherously soft-looking carpet of tree-tops and was engulfed by it. a muffled crash came up to peddler's ears. "poor leetle beggar!" he muttered. "i wish't i hadn't scared her so. but i'd a sight rather it was her than me!" peddler's exhilaration was now considerably damped. he crept cautiously to the dizzy turn of the ledge and peered around. the thought upon which his brain dwelt with unpleasant insistence was that if it had been a surly old bull-moose or a bear which had confronted him so unexpectedly, instead of that nervous little doe, he might now be lying beneath that deceitful green carpet in a state of dilapidation which he did not care to contemplate. beyond the turn the trail was clear to his view for perhaps a couple of hundred yards. it climbed steeply through a deep re-entrant, a mighty perpendicular corrugation of the rock-face, and then disappeared again around another jutting bastion. he hurried on rather feverishly, not liking that second interruption to his view, and regretting, for the first time, that he had no weapon with him but his long hunting-knife. he had left his rifle behind him as a useless burden to his climbing. no game was now in season, no skins in condition to be worth the shooting, and he had food enough for the journey in his light pack. he had not contemplated the possibility of any beast, even bear or bull-moose, daring to face him, because he knew that, except in mating-time, the boldest of them would give a man wide berth. but, as he now reflected, here on this narrow ledge even a buck or a lynx would become dangerous, finding itself suddenly at bay. the steepness of the rise in the trail at this point almost drove peddler to helping himself with his hands. as he neared the next turn, he was surprised to note, far out to his right, a soaring eagle, perhaps a hundred feet below him. he was surprised, too, by the fact that the eagle was paying no attention to him whatever, in spite of his invasion of the great bird's aerial domain. instinctively he inferred that the eagle's nest must be in some quite inaccessible spot at safe distance from the ledge. he paused to observe from above, and thus fairly near at hand, the slow flapping of those wide wings, as they employed the wind to serve the majesty of their flight. while he was studying this, another deduction from the bird's indifference to his presence flashed upon his mind. there must be a fairly abundant traffic of the wild creatures across this pass, or the eagle would not be so indifferent to his presence. at this thought he lost his interest in problems of flight, and hurried forward again, anxious to see what might be beyond the next turn of the trail. his curiosity was gratified all too abruptly for his satisfaction. he reached the turn, craned his head around it, and came face to face with an immense black bear. the bear was not a dozen feet away. at sight of peddler's gaunt dark face and sharp blue eyes appearing thus abruptly and without visible support around the rock, he shrank back upon his haunches with a startled "woof." as for peddler, he was equally startled, but he had too much discretion and self-control to show it. never moving a muscle, and keeping his body out of sight so that his face seemed to be suspended in mid-air, he held the great beast's eyes with a calm, unwinking gaze. the bear was plainly disconcerted. after a few seconds he glanced back over his shoulder, and seemed to contemplate a strategic movement to the rear. as the ledge at this point was sufficiently wide for him to turn with due care, peddler expected now to see him do so. but what peddler did not know was that dim but cogent "law of the ledge," which forbade all those who travelled by it to turn and retrace their steps, or to pass in the wrong direction at the wrong time. he did not know what the bear knew namely--that if that perturbed beast _should_ turn, he was sure to be met and opposed by other wayfarers, and thus to find himself caught between two fires. watching steadily, peddler was unpleasantly surprised to see the perturbation in the bear's eyes slowly change into a savage resentment--resentment at being baulked in his inalienable right to an unopposed passage over the ledge. to the bear's mind that grim, confronting face was a violation of the law which he himself obeyed loyally and without question. to be sure, it was the face of man, and therefore to be dreaded. it was also mysterious, and therefore still more to be dreaded. but the sense of bitter injustice, with the realisation that he was at bay and taken at a disadvantage, filled him with a frightened rage which swamped all other emotion. then he came on. his advance was slow and cautious by reason of the difficulty of the path and his dread lest that staring, motionless face should pounce upon him just at the perilous turn and hurl him over the brink. but peddler knew that his bluff was called, and that his only chance was to avoid the encounter. he might have fled by the way he had come, knowing that he would have every advantage in speed on that narrow trail. but before venturing up to the turn he had noted a number of little projections and crevices in the perpendicular wall above him. clutching at them with fingers of steel and unerring toes, he swarmed upwards as nimbly as a climbing cat. he was a dozen feet up before the bear came crawling and peering around the turn. elated at having so well extricated himself from so dubious a situation, peddler gazed down upon his opponent and laughed mockingly. the sound of that confident laughter from straight above his head seemed to daunt the bear and thoroughly damp his rage. he crouched low, and scurried past growling. as he hurried along the trail at a rash pace, he kept casting anxious glances over his shoulder, as if he feared the man were going to chase him. peddler lowered himself from his friendly perch and continued his journey, cursing himself more than ever for having been such a fool as not to bring his rifle. in the course of the next half-hour he gained the highest point of the ledge, which here was so broken and precarious that he had little attention to spare for the unparalleled sweep and splendour of the view. he was conscious, however, all the time, of the whirling eagles, now far below him, and his veins thrilled with intense exhilaration. his apprehensions had all vanished under the stimulus of that tonic atmosphere. he was on the constant watch, however, scanning not only the trail ahead--which was now never visible for more than a hundred yards or so at a time--and also the face of the rock above him, to see if it could be scaled in an emergency. he had no expectation of an emergency, because he knew nothing of the law of the ledge. having already met a doe and a bear, he naturally inferred that he would not be likely to meet any other of the elusive kindreds of the wild, even in a whole week of forest faring. the shy and wary beasts are not given to thrusting themselves upon man's dangerous notice, and it was hard enough to find them, with all his woodcraft, even when he was out to look for them. he was, therefore, so surprised that he could hardly believe his eyes when, on rounding another corrugation of the rock-face, he saw another bear coming to meet him. "gee!" muttered peddler to himself. "who's been lettin' loose the menagerie? or hev i got the nightmare, mebbe?" the bear was about fifty yards distant--a smaller one than its predecessor, and much younger also, as was obvious to peddler's initiated eye by the trim glossiness of its coat. it halted the instant it caught sight of peddler. but peddler, for his part, kept right on, without showing the least sign of hesitation or surprise. this bear, surely, would give way before him. the beast hesitated, however. it was manifestly afraid of the man. it backed a few paces, whimpering in a worried fashion, then stopped, staring up the rock-wall above it, as if seeking escape in that impossible direction. "if ye're so skeered o' me as ye look," demanded peddler, in a crisp voice, "why in h--ll don't ye turn an' vamoose, 'stead o' backin' an' fillin' that way? ye can't git up that there rock, 'less ye're a fly." the ledge at that point was a comparatively wide and easy path; and the bear at length, as if decided by the easy confidence of peddler's tones, turned and retreated. but it went off with such reluctance, whimpering anxiously the while, that peddler was forced to the conclusion there must be something coming up the trail which it was dreading to meet. at this idea peddler was delighted, and hurried on as closely as possible at the retreating animal's heels. the bear, he reflected, would serve him as an excellent advance guard, protecting him perfectly from surprise, and perhaps, if necessary, clearing the way for him. he chuckled to himself as he realised the situation, and the bear, catching the incomprehensible sound, glanced nervously over its shoulder and hastened its retreat as well as the difficulties of the path would allow. the trail was now descending rapidly, though irregularly, towards the eastern plateau. the descent was broken by here and there a stretch of comparatively level going, here and there a sharp though brief rise, and at one point the ledge was cut across by a crevice some four feet in width. as a jump, of course, it was nothing to peddler; but in spite of himself he took it with some trepidation, for the chasm looked infinitely deep, and the footing on the other side narrow and precarious. the bear, however, had seemed to take it quite carelessly, almost in its stride, and peddler, not to be outdone, assumed a similar indifference. it was not long, however, before the enigma of the bear's reluctance to retrace its steps was solved. the bear, with peddler some forty or fifty paces behind, was approaching one of those short steep rises which broke the general descent. from the other side of the rise came a series of heavy breathings and windy grunts. "moose, by gum!" exclaimed peddler. "now, i'd like to know if _all_ the critters hev took it into their heads to cross old bald face to-day!" the bear heard the gruntlings also, and halted unhappily, glancing back at peddler. "git on with it!" ordered peddler sharply. and the bear, dreading man more than moose, got on. the next moment a long, dark, ominous head, with massive, overhanging lip and small angry eyes, appeared over the rise. behind this formidable head laboured up the mighty humped shoulders and then the whole towering form of a moose-bull. close behind him followed two young cows and a yearling calf. "huh! i guess there's goin' to be some row!" muttered peddler, and cast his eyes up the rock-face, to look for a point of refuge in case his champion should get the worst of it. at sight of the bear the two cows and the yearling halted, and stood staring, with big ears thrust forward anxiously, at the foe that barred their path. but the arrogant old bull kept straight on, though slowly, and with the wariness of the practised duellist. at this season of the year his forehead wore no antlers, indeed, but in his great knife-edged fore-hooves he possessed terrible weapons which he could wield with deadly dexterity. marking the confidence of his advance, peddler grew solicitous for his own champion, and stood motionless, dreading to distract the bear's attention. but the bear, though frankly afraid to face man, whom he did not understand, had no such misgivings in regard to moose. he knew how to fight moose, and he had made more than one good meal, in his day, on moose calf. he was game for the encounter. reassured to see that the man was not coming any nearer, and possibly even sensing instinctively that the man was on his side in this matter, he crouched close against the rock and waited, with one huge paw upraised, like a boxer on guard, for the advancing bull to attack. he had not long to wait. the bull drew near very slowly, and with his head held high as if intending to ignore his opponent. peddler, watching intently, felt some surprise at this attitude, even though he knew that the deadliest weapon of a moose was its fore-hooves. he was wondering, indeed, if the majestic beast expected to press past the bear without a battle, and if the bear, on his part, would consent to this highly reasonable arrangement. then like a flash, without the slightest warning, the bull whipped up one great hoof to the height of his shoulder and struck at his crouching adversary. the blow was lightning swift, and with such power behind it that, had it reached its mark, it would have settled the whole matter then and there. but the bear's parry was equally swift. his mighty forearm fended the stroke so that it hissed down harmlessly past his head and clattered on the stone floor of the trail. at the same instant, before the bull could recover himself for another such pile-driving blow, the bear, who had been gathered up like a coiled spring, elongated his body with all the force of his gigantic hindquarters, thrusting himself irresistibly between his adversary and the face of the rock, and heaving outwards. these were tactics for which the great bull had no precedent in all his previous battles. he was thrown off his balance and shouldered clean over the brink. by a terrific effort he turned, captured a footing upon the edge with his fore-hooves, and struggled frantically to drag himself up again upon the ledge. but the bear's paw struck him a crashing buffet straight between the wildly staring eyes. he fell backwards, turning clean over, and went bouncing, in tremendous sprawling curves, down into the abyss. upon the defeat of their leader the two cows and the calf turned instantly--which the ledge at this point was wide enough to permit--and fled back down the trail at a pace which seemed to threaten their own destruction. the bear followed more prudently, with no apparent thought of trying to overtake them. and peddler kept on behind him, taking care, however, after this exhibition of his champion's powers, not to press him too closely. the fleeing herd soon disappeared from view. it seemed to have effectually cleared the trail before it, for the curious procession of the bear and peddler encountered no further obstacles. after about an hour the lower slopes of the mountain were reached. the ledge widened and presently broke up, with trails leading off here and there among the foothills. at the first of these that appeared to offer concealment the bear turned aside and vanished into a dense grove of spruce with a haste which seemed to peddler highly amusing in a beast of such capacity and courage. he was content, however, to be so easily quit of his dangerous advance guard. "a durn good thing for me," he mused, "that that there b'ar never got up the nerve to call my bluff, or i might 'a' been layin' now where that unlucky old bull-moose is layin', with a lot o' flies crawlin' over me." and as he trudged along the now easy and ordinary trail, he registered two discreet resolutions--first, that never again would he cross old bald face without his gun _and_ his axe; and second, that never again would he cross old bald face at all, unless he jolly well had to. the morning of the silver frost all night the big buck rabbit--he was really a hare, but the backwoodsman called him a rabbit--had been squatting on his form under the dense branches of a young fir tree. the branches grew so low that their tips touched the snow all round him, giving him almost perfect shelter from the drift of the storm. the storm was one of icy rain, which everywhere froze instantly as it fell. all night it had been busy encasing the whole wilderness--every tree and bush and stump, and the snow in every open meadow or patch of forest glade--in an armour of ice, thick and hard and glassy clear. and the rabbit, crouching motionless, save for an occasional forward thrust of his long, sensitive ears, had slept in unwonted security, knowing that none of his night-prowling foes would venture forth from their lairs on such a night. at dawn the rain stopped. the cold deepened to a still intensity. the clouds lifted along the eastern horizon, and a thin, icy flood of saffron and palest rose washed down across the glittering desolation. the wilderness was ablaze on the instant with elusive tongues and points of coloured light--jewelled flames, not of fire, but of frost. the world had become a palace of crystal and opal, a dream-palace that would vanish at a touch, a breath. and, indeed, had a wind arisen then to breathe upon it roughly, the immeasurable crystal would have shattered as swiftly as a dream, the too-rigid twigs and branches would have snapped and clattered down in ruin. the rabbit came out from under his little ice-clad fir tree, and, for all his caution, the brittle twigs broke about him as he emerged, and tinkled round him sharply. the thin, light sound was so loud upon the stillness that he gave a startled leap into the air, landing many feet away from his refuge. he slipped and sprawled, recovered his foothold, and stood quivering, his great, prominent eyes trying to look in every direction at once, his ears questioning anxiously to and fro, his nostrils twitching for any hint of danger. there was no sight, sound, or scent, however, to justify his alarm, and in a few seconds, growing bolder, he remembered that he was hungry. close by he noticed the tips of a little birch sapling sticking up above the snow. these birch-tips, in winter, were his favourite food. he hopped toward them, going circumspectly over the slippery surface, and sat up on his hindquarters to nibble at them. to his intense surprise and disappointment, each twig and aromatic bud was sealed away, inaccessible, though clearly visible, under a quarter inch of ice. twig after twig he investigated with his inquiring, sensitive cleft nostrils, which met everywhere the same chill reception. round and round the tantalising branch he hopped, unable to make out the situation. at last, thoroughly disgusted, he turned his back on the treacherous birch bush and made for another, some fifty yards down the glade. as he reached it he stopped short, suddenly rigid, his head half turned over his shoulder, every muscle gathered like a spring wound up to extreme tension. his bulging eyes had caught a movement somewhere behind him, beyond the clump of twigs which he had just left. only for a second did he remain thus rigid. then the spring was loosed. with a frantic bound he went over and through the top of the bush. the shattered and scattered crystals rang sharply on the shining snow-crust. and he sped away in panic terror among the silent trees. from behind the glassy twigs emerged another form, snow-white like the fleeting rabbit, and fled in pursuit--not so swiftly, indeed, as the rabbit--with an air of implacable purpose that made the quarry seem already doomed. the pursuer was much smaller than his intended victim, very low on the legs, long-bodied, slender, and sinuous, and he moved as if all compacted of whipcord muscle. the grace of his long, deliberate bounds was indescribable. his head was triangular in shape, the ears small and close-set, the black-tipped muzzle sharply pointed, with the thin, black lips upcurled to show the white fangs as if in a ferocious but soundless snarl, and the eyes glowed red with blood-lust. small as it was, there was something terrible about the tiny beast, and its pursuit seemed as inevitable as fate. at each bound its steel-hard claws scratched sharply on the crystal casing of the snow, and here and there an icicle from a snapped twig went ringing silverly across the gleaming surface. for perhaps fifty yards the weasel followed straight upon the rabbit's track. then he swerved to the right. he had lost sight of his quarry. but he knew its habits in flight. he knew it would run in a circle, and he took a chord of that circle, so as to head the fugitive off. he knew he might have to repeat this manoeuvre several times, but he had no doubts as to the result. in a second or two he also had disappeared among the azure shadows and pink-and-saffron gleams of the ice-clad forest. for several minutes the glade was empty, still as death, with the bitter but delicate glories of the winter dawn flooding ever more radiantly across it. on a sudden the rabbit appeared again, this time at the opposite side of the glade. he was running irresolutely now, with little aimless leaps to this side and to that, and his leaps were short and lifeless, as if his nerve-power were getting paralysed. about the middle of the glade he seemed to give up altogether, as if conquered by sheer panic. he stopped, hesitated, wheeled round, and crouched flat upon the naked snow, trembling violently, and staring, with eyes that started from his head, at the point in the woods which he had just emerged from. a second later the grim pursuer appeared. he saw his victim awaiting him, but he did not hurry his pace by a hair's-breadth. with the same terrible deliberation he approached. only his jaws opened, his long fangs glistened bare; a blood-red globule of light glowed redder at the back of his eyes. one more of those inexorable bounds, and he would have been at his victim's throat. the rabbit screamed. at that instant, with a hissing sound, a dark shadow dropped out of the air. it struck the rabbit. he was enveloped in a dreadful flapping of wings. iron talons, that clutched and bit like the jaws of a trap, seized him by the back. he felt himself partly lifted from the snow. he screamed again. but now he struggled convulsively, no longer submissive to his doom, the hypnotic spell cast upon him by the weasel being broken by the shock of the great hawk's unexpected attack. but the weasel was not of the stuff or temper to let his prey be snatched thus from his jaws. cruel and wanton assassin though he was, ever rejoicing to kill for the lust of killing, long after his hunger was satisfied, he had the courage of a wounded buffalo. a mere darting sliver of white, he sprang straight into the blinding confusion of those great wings. he secured a hold just under one wing, where the armour of feathers was thinnest, and began to gnaw inwards with his keen fangs. with a startled cry, the hawk freed her talons from the rabbit's back and clutched frantically at her assailant. the rabbit, writhing out from under the struggle, went leaping off into cover, bleeding copiously, but carrying no fatal hurt. he had recovered his wits, and had no idle curiosity as to how the battle between his enemies would turn out. the hawk, for all her great strength and the crushing superiority of her weapons, had a serious disadvantage of position. the weasel, maintaining his deadly grip and working inwards like a bull-dog, had hunched up his lithe little body so that she could not reach it with her talons. she tore furiously at his back with her rending beak, but the amazingly tough, rubbery muscles resisted even that weapon to a certain degree. at last, securing a grip with her beak upon her adversary's thigh, she managed to pull the curled-up body out almost straight, and so secured a grip upon it with one set of talons. that grip was crushing, irresistible, but it was too far back to be immediately fatal. the weasel's lithe body lengthened out under the agonising stress of it, but it could not pull his jaws from their grip. they continued inexorably their task of gnawing inwards, ever inwards, seeking a vital spot. the struggle went on in silence, as far as the voices of both combatants were concerned. but the beating of the hawk's wings resounded on the glassy-hard surface of the snow. as the struggle shifted ground, those flapping wings came suddenly in contact with a bush, whose iced twigs were brittle as glass and glittering like the prisms of a great crystal candelabra. there was a shrill crash and a thin, ringing clatter as the twigs shattered off and spun flying across the crust. the sound carried far through the still, iridescent spaces of the wilderness. it reached the ears of a foraging fox, who was tip-toeing with dainty care over the slippering crust. he turned hopefully to investigate, trusting to get a needed breakfast out of some fellow-marauder's difficulties. at the edge of the glade he paused, peering through a bush of crystal fire to size up the situation before committing himself to the venture. desperately preoccupied though she was, the hawk's all-seeing eyes detected the red outlines of the fox through the bush. with a frantic beating of her wings she lifted herself from the snow. the fox darted upon her with a lightning rush and a shattering of icicles. he was just too late. the great bird was already in the air, carrying her deadly burden with her. the fox leapt straight upwards, hoping to pull her down, but his clashing jaws just failed to reach her talons. labouring heavily in her flight, she made off, striving to gain a tree-top where she might perch and once more give her attention to the gnawing torment which clung beneath her wing. the fox, being wise, and seeing that the hawk was in extremest straits, ran on beneath her as she flew, gazing upwards expectantly. the weasel, meanwhile, with that deadly concentration of purpose which characterises his tribe, paid no heed to the fact that he was journeying through the air. and he knew nothing of what was going on below. his flaming eyes were buried in his foe's feathers, his jaws were steadily working inwards toward her vitals. just at the edge of the glade, immediately over the top of a branchy young paper-birch which shot a million coloured points of light in the sunrise, the end came. the fangs of the weasel met in the hawk's wildly throbbing heart. with a choking burst of scarlet blood it stopped. stone dead, the great marauder of the air crashed down through the slim birch-top, with a great scattering of gleams and crystals. with wide-sprawled wings she thudded down upon the snow-crust, almost under the fox's complacent jaws. the weasel's venomous head, covered with blood, emerged triumphant from the mass of feathers. as the victor writhed free, the fox, pouncing upon him with a careless air, seized him by the neck, snapped it neatly, and tossed the long, limp body aside upon the snow. he had no use for the rank, stringy meat of the weasel when better fare was at hand. then he drew the hawk close to the trunk of the young birch, and lay down to make a leisurely breakfast. the end printed in the united states of america the following pages contain advertisements of books by the same author or on kindred subjects. neighbors unknown by charles g. d. roberts author of "kings in exile," "hoof and claw," etc. _decorated cloth, illustrated, mo, $ . _ "mr. roberts knows his animals intimately and writes about them with understanding and reality."--_the continent._ "whether viewed as stories, as natural history, or as literature, young and old should lose no time in making the acquaintance of 'neighbors unknown.'"--_n. y. times._ "few stories about animals have as strong a power to interest and entertain or carry as deep a conviction of their truth and reasonableness as those by charles g. d. roberts, which comprise the volume 'neighbors unknown.'"--_chicago tribune._ "what observation, what power of description is displayed in charles g. d. roberts's latest volume of stories!"--_bellman._ hoof and claw by charles g. d. roberts author of "kings in exile," "neighbors unknown," etc. with illustrations by paul bransom _ill., decorated cloth, mo, $ . _ "whoever loves the wilderness and its furred and feathered inhabitants is always glad to know of a new book by charles g. d. roberts, whose knowledge and sympathy with wild things is profound, but who never falls into that danger of humanizing his characters."--_springfield republican._ "a great deal of keen observation has evidently gone into the making of these tales ... city dwellers owe to this sort of book a debt which they probably will never sufficiently pay, and that is to read them."--_chicago evening post._ by charles g. d. roberts the backwoodsmen _illustrated. cloth. mo, $ . _ juvenile library $. "'the backwoodsmen' shows that the writer knows the backwoods as the sailor knows the sea. indeed, his various studies of wild life in general, whether cast in the world of short sketch or story or full-length narrative, have always secured an interested public.... mr. roberts possesses a keen artistic sense which is especially marked when he is rounding some story to its end. there is never a word too much, and he invariably stops when the stop should be made.... few writers exhibit such entire sympathy with the nature of beasts and birds as he."--_boston herald._ "when placed by the side of the popular novel, the strength of these stories causes them to stand out like a huge primitive giant by the side of a simpering society miss, and while the grace and beauty of the girl may please the eye for a moment, it is to the rugged strength of the primitive man your eyes will turn to glory in his power and simplicity. in simple, forceful style mr. roberts takes the reader with him out into the cold, dark woods, through blizzards, stalking game, encountering all the dangers of the backwoodsmen's life, and enjoying the close contact with nature in all her moods. his descriptions are so vivid that you can almost feel the tang of the frosty air, the biting sting of the snowy sleet beating on your face, you can hear the crunch of the snow beneath your feet, and when, after heartlessly exposing you to the elements, he lets you wander into camp with the characters of the story, you stretch out and bask in the warmth and cheer of the fire."--_western review._ kings in exile the macmillan fiction library, ill., mo, $. _illustrated. cloth. mo, $ . _ "more wonderful animal tales such as only mr. roberts can relate. with accurate knowledge of the exiled beasts and a vivid imagination, the author writes stories that are even more than usually interesting."--_book news monthly._ "it is surprising how much of the wilderness his wistful eye discovers in a central park buffalo yard. for this gift of vision the book will be read, a vision with its reminder of the scent of dark forests of fir, the awful and majestic loneliness of sky-towering peaks, the roar of the breakers and salty smell of the sea, the whispering silences of the forests. we rise from its pages with the breath of the open spaces in our lungs."--_boston transcript._ by charles g. d. roberts author of "kings in exile," "the backwoodsmen," etc. children of the wild _with illustrations, cloth, mo_, $ . as might be inferred from the title of charles g. d. roberts' new book, "children of the wild," the reader is brought very close to nature. mr. roberts has written many stories about the wild, all of which have the atmosphere which few writers are able to breathe into their books--the atmosphere of outdoor life told with the sure touch of a recognized authority. here he writes for boys particularly, still of the creatures of the forests and streams, but with a boy as the central human figure. babe and his uncle andy and bill, the guide, are camping in the wilderness. what they see and hear there suggest stories about young animals, the "children of the wild." these tales are recounted by uncle andy. in them mr. roberts shows that he knows his fellowmen fully as well as he knows the lore of the woods and the haunts and habits of the animals of the forest. into his stories creep snatches of humor, glimpses of tragedy, and the poignant touch of pathos, all of which make his work natural. the present work should prove a most acceptable remembrance to every boy who cares, and what boy does not, for a hearty book of outdoor life. the feet of the furtive _decorated cloth, mo_, $ . illustrated by paul bransom it is to be doubted whether there is a more popular animal writer to-day than charles g. d. roberts, whose stories of forests and streams are read with pleasure by young and old alike. in his present book are tales of the bear, the bat, the seal, the moose, rabbit and other animals written in his usual vivid style. "a great book for boys of all ages, and one that could have been written only by charles g. d. roberts."--_boston times._ jack london's new book the turtles of tasman _$ . _ here are brought together some of mr. london's best short stories, stories of adventure, of character, of unusual experiences in unusual places. here will be found _the turtles of tasman_, a tale of two brothers as different in nature as it is possible for human beings to be, and raising the old question as to which got the most out of life, the one with possessions or the one with rich memories; here also _the eternity of forms_, a mystery story dealing with a crime and its expiation; here again _told in the drooling ward_, a masterly bit of writing which gives a human insight into the life of the inmates of a home for feebleminded people. among the other stories are noted _the hobo and the fairy_, _the prodigal father_, _the first poet_, _finis_ and _the end of the story_. gold must be tried by fire by richard aumerle maher author of "the shepherd of the north." from the opening chapter when daidie grattan revolts at the "eternal grind," defiantly destroys a valuable piece of machinery in the factory where she is employed, and runs out into the open, this story is brimful of action and character. in _the shepherd of the north_ mr. maher demonstrated his ability to create tense situations. here his skill is once again seen and in addition he makes the reader acquainted with a number of interesting people, not the least of whom are daidie herself and her ardent lover. the key to betsy's heart by sarah noble ives _cloth, mo, $ . _ this is the story of betsy and her dog. betsy is a little country girl who, after her mother's death, is taken into the family of her aunt kate, a wise and charming person whose duty it is to bring betsy up properly, while betsy in turn has to bring up van, a fox terrier. it is the dog, of course, that proves to be the key to the shy girl's heart--an extraordinarily nice "pup" whose education is carried on simultaneously with betsy's, only along different lines. both as a dog story and as a girl story _the key to betsy's heart_ is eminently satisfying, and it is safe to conjecture that there will be many little girls in real life and a few elders, too, who will be delighted with it. pilot by h. plunkett green pilot is a roguish and cunning dog who is an inveterate poacher and has a distinct sense of humor. he always gets the best of the gamekeepers and other enemies and laughs in their faces. about him mr. green has woven a thoroughly enjoyable--and humorous--story. in addition to this the book includes a number of other tales, one or two dealing with fairies, with real charm and imagination, and others having to do with boys and fishing. the macmillan company publishers - fifth avenue new york transcriber's note: text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). text enclosed by equal marks is in bold face (=bold=). small capital text has been replaced with all capitals. minor typographical and punctuation errors have been corrected without note. irregularities and inconsistencies in the text have been retained as printed. mismatched quotes are not fixed if it's not sufficiently clear where the missing quote should be placed. the cover for the ebook version of this book was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain. * * * * * nimmo's series of commonplace books. clergymen and doctors. clergymen and doctors: curious facts and characteristic sketches. edinburgh: w. p. nimmo. clergymen and doctors: curious facts and characteristic sketches. [illustration: decoration] edinburgh: william p. nimmo. murray and gibb, edinburgh, printers to her majesty's stationery office. contents. page abernethy and the duke of york, ; anecdotes of, ; conquered by curran, abstinence, precept and example of, agricultural defence of bigotry, an, andré boulanger, father, angel-worship, antics of the fanatics, application, a too personal, archbishop's installation feast, an, archdeacon? what is an, "atterbury's pad", awkward association, an, baptism, a sanitary view of, barrow, the exhaustive, ; his rhymes with reason, barrowby, dr., anecdotes of, baxter, addison's introduction to, ; cromwell and, berkeley's (bishop) bermuda scheme, bishops and the poor, blomfield's rebuke to non-resident rectors, blood-jewels, queen elizabeth's, bloodletters, blunders of, bottle-blind, bourdaloue, bold application of, "breaking-up" before the holidays, bunyan's successful and persistent preaching, burgess, daniel, pulpit jokes of, burnet, bishop, against pluralities, capacity of an abbé, the, charles ii. and his chaplain, christian names among the puritans, civil to the prince of evil, clergy, benefit of, commonwealth preachers, south on the, cooper's (sir astley) night-cap fee, crabbe, george, the apothecary poet, cucumber, how to dress a, curate and the duke, the, cure of souls, a desirable, dangers of too good company, the, da vinci a great anatomist, devotion of a catholic priest, diffidence in the pulpit, donne's (dr.) prayerful pun, drubbing-in religious feeling, fees, ancient, of magnitude, ; early english, ; in the reign of henry viii. and elizabeth, ; after the revolution, ; large royal, in later times, ; for a political consultation, ; generous refusal of, ; sticklers for, ; collectively irresistible, flavel's "day of heaven", footscrapers reproved, the, garrick's precepts for preachers, george ii. as an amateur surgeon, gibbon's retort on the physician, gilpin and the northumbrian brawlers, gospel, the, a novelty, gregory, dr., generosity of, harvey and the circulation of the blood, herrnhuters, the, extravagances of, hill, the rev. rowland, hour-glasses in church, how to be kept in health, hunter (william) and cullen, the partnership of, hunter, john, the anatomist, ; routing the rout, iconoclastic zeal in the north, indian commerce, origin of our, intercessor for himself, an, interpolation, a significant, jebb, sir richard, jenner, the discoverer of vaccination, kennet, bishop, on late repentance, kirwan, dr., dean of killala, knox, john, fearlessness of, leighton, archbishop, on time and eternity, lettsom's liberation of his slaves, licenced lay preaching, "make the most of him", mal-apropos quotation, a, masses transferred, massillon, eloquence of, mathews on his deathbed, mayerne, sir theodore, medicine, a royal, methodist dog, the, mild criticism, a, monsey, messenger, his dying jests, nash's (beau) treatment of a prescription, pacific she, a, paley's career, turning point in, ; economy of conscience, perkins' "tractors" exposed, perversion of scripture, a clever, peter the great as dentist, physicians and their fees, ; and clergymen, playing-cards, puritan re-christening of, pope's last epigram, prayer, a loyal and fata, preacher, a popular, ; a witty french, preaching for a crown, preaching to purpose, latimer's, preparing for the worst and best, prescription in disguise, a, ; prescription for long life, a, promotion, the way to, pulteney's cure by small beer, radcliffe's enmity to hannes, radcliffe and kneller, revival of "prophesying," lord bacon on the, revolution, the french, and the bible, rude truth for a queen, saint's bell, the, seaman bishop, the, sermon reading, charles ii. on, servant and master, shedding his blood for his country, slaps for sleepers in church, sloane, sir hans, smith, sydney, bon-mots of, sterne, a home thrust at, stillingfleet, charles ii. and bishop, sunday sports, james i. on, swift's (dean) contributory dinner, "tapping" a toper, tar-water, the power of, taylor, jeremy, on marriage, tillotson, archbishop, charity of, transfusion of blood, trump cards, two-edged accusation, a, two gates of heaven, the, unconcern in presence of death, unlucky coincidence, an, unmistakeable identity, unpreaching prelates, wasdale's (dr.) long ride, wesley and beau nash, whately, witticisms of archbishop, whitfield, persuasiveness of, ; his influence on the church, ; "improving" an execution in edinburgh, ; dr. johnson's opinion of, ; and the new york sailors, ; and the kingswood colliers, wolcot, dr. ("peter pindar") in jamaica, note. clergymen and doctors are so frequently associated, in connection with the most pleasant and the most grave necessities and occurrences of actual life, that if any apology is needed for uniting them on the present occasion, it is only because the abundant fund of anecdote and interest relating to both professions can therefore be drawn upon to the smaller extent. in this, as in the other volumes of this little series, the only plan followed has been that of striving to be brief and interesting in each selection or summary. much of the charm and value of a collection of this kind consists in the large admixture of personal incident, and liberal display of individual character--which the nature and duties of the clerical and medical professions render so easy. but it has also been sought to present, not of course in order or in complete series, a number of such curious facts as throw a side-light at once on professional and social history; and it is confidently hoped that thus the collection will not only amuse, but inform. clergymen and doctors. _curious facts and characteristic sketches._ sir astley cooper's nightcap fee. living as he long did in the city,--in broad street,--sir astley cooper, the most distinguished surgeon of his time, made a very large income; which, however, naturally enough rose and fell somewhat in sympathy with the state of the markets. in one year he made , guineas; and for many years his income was over £ , . from one mincing lane merchant, whom he usually visited at croydon, sir astley derived for a long period an annual revenue of £ . large individual fees, of course, were also paid by the wealthy traders and financiers on special occasions; and once, and once only, sir astley received--and received in a very whimsical fashion--the splendid _honorarium_ of a thousand guineas. a west indian millionaire, of the name of hyatt, during a painful and critical operation which he had to undergo, was attended by drs. lettsom and nelson as physicians, and by sir astley cooper as surgeon. the operation was successful, and the patient speedily felt in himself the promise of recovered health and spirits. he did not wait for his complete recovery to evince his sense of gratitude and joy; but promptly rewarded his physicians with a fee of guineas each. "as for you, sir," the millionaire said, sitting up in bed and addressing himself to sir astley,--"you, sir, shall have something better than that; there, sir, take that!"--and he flung his nightcap at the great surgeon. sir astley picked up the nightcap, saying, "sir, i pocket the affront;" and on reaching home he found in the cap a cheque for guineas. in his younger days, however, sir astley cooper had sowed, by anxious and ill-rewarded waiting, the seeds of his subsequent great renown and revenue: in his first year of practice his profits were but five guineas; in his second, twenty-six pounds; in his third, thirty-four; and only in the ninth year did his income mount above a thousand pounds. eloquence of massillon. jean baptiste massillon, born in at hyères, was one of the greatest pulpit orators of france. at the age of seventeen he entered the congregation of the oratory, at paris, and won very high favour; but, being enviously accused of some amours, he went into retirement for a short time. the eloquence by which his funeral sermon, at his retirement at st. fonds, on the archbishop de villars was characterized, led to his reluctant but triumphant return to paris. the applause with which his oratory met there, even at the court, was almost unparalleled. when he preached the first advent sermon at versailles, louis xiv. paid the following most happy and expressive testimony to the power of his preaching: "father, when i hear other preachers, i am very well satisfied with them; when i hear you, i am dissatisfied with myself." the effect of his first delivery of the sermon "on the small number of the elect," has been described as almost miraculous. at a certain powerful passage in it, the entire auditory was seized with such violent emotion, that almost every person half rose from his seat, as if to endeavour to shake off the horror of being one of those cast out into everlasting darkness. he spoke with that strong, earnest simplicity which is the surest key to the hearts of all but the utterly devoid of feeling. when asked once where a man like him, whose life was dedicated to retirement, could borrow his admirable descriptions of real life, he answered, "from the human heart; let us examine it ever so slightly, we find in it the seeds of every passion. when i compose a sermon, i imagine myself consulted upon some difficult piece of business. i give my whole application to determine the person who has recourse to me to act the good and proper part. i exhort him, i urge him, and i quit him not until he has yielded to my persuasions." addison's introduction to baxter. addison says that he once met with a page of mr. baxter under a christmas pie. "whether or no the pastry-cook had made use of it through chance or waggery, for the defence of that superstitious _viande_, i know not; but, upon the perusal of it, i conceived so good an idea of the author's piety that i bought the whole book." the partnership of hunter and cullen. dr. william cullen, the celebrated physician and medical writer, and dr. william hunter, the brother of the great anatomist, when young men formed a copartnery of as singular and noble a nature as any to be found in the records of their profession. they were both natives of the neighbourhood of glasgow, and hunter studied for the church at that university. but he accidentally became acquainted with cullen, who was some years his senior, and had settled in a medical practice at hamilton; and this friendship, strengthening his natural inclination, drew hunter away from the study of theology to that of medicine. he went to reside with cullen, and entered into partnership with him--neither of the young men being well to do, and both stimulated by the impulse of genius to take this step in order that they might the better overcome the obstacles presented by the narrowness of their fortunes to the prosecution of their studies. it was stipulated that each partner alternately should be allowed to study during the winter at what college he pleased, the other meantime conducting the joint business for the common advantage. cullen, as the senior partner, had the first winter, and he went to edinburgh. but next winter hunter's turn came: he preferred london to edinburgh, went thither, and did not return to scotland. his excellence as a dissector, singular dexterity in making anatomical preparations, assiduity in study, and agreeable manners, won him the warm regard of dr. douglas, to whom he had an introduction from foulis the printer; and in two or three years hunter became a lecturer on anatomy, and laid the foundations of a great fame and fortune. the scientific partnership was of course dissolved by hunter's success in london; but cullen freely consented to renounce his claim on his junior, and ever afterwards maintained a very cordial and friendly correspondence with hunter--though the two friends are believed never afterwards to have seen each other. the exhaustive barrow. charles ii., in his humorous fashion, was wont to say about his chaplain--that distinguished philosopher and divine, dr. isaac barrow--that he was the most unfair preacher in england, because he exhausted every subject, and left no room for others to come after him. this was indeed too much the doctor's characteristic; when he had once got hold of a topic, he knew not how to leave anything unsaid upon it. one of his best discourses, on the duty and reward of bounty to the poor, actually occupied between three and four hours in the delivery. although, however, his sermons are unusually long, they so abound in matter, that his language sometimes labours in the utterance of his thought; hence his style is at times involved and parenthetical, though passages of sublime and simple eloquence frequently occur. it is related that, in preaching the spital sermon before the lord mayor and corporation, he consumed three hours and a half. being asked, after he came down from the pulpit, if he was not tired, he replied, "yes, indeed, i begin to be weary in standing so long." a popular preacher. when father thomas conecte, who was afterwards burnt at rome, preached in the great towns of flanders and artois, the churches were so filled that he used to be hoisted in the middle of the church by a cord, in order to be heard! "atterbury's pad." during the debates on the occasional conformity and schism bills, in the house of lords, in december , these measures were very warmly opposed by atterbury, bishop of rochester; who said "he had prophesied last winter that this bill would be attempted in the next session, and he was very sorry to find that he had turned out a true prophet." lord coningsby, who always spoke in a passion, rose immediately after atterbury, and remarked that "one of the right reverends had set himself forth as a prophet; but, for his part, he did not know what prophet to liken him to, unless to that famous prophet balaam, who was reproved by his own ass." the bishop, in reply, with great calmness and wit met the attack of lord coningsby, thus concluding: "since the noble lord has discovered in our manners such a similitude, i am well content to be compared to the prophet balaam; but, my lords, i am at a loss to make out the other part of the parallel. i am sure that i have been _reproved by nobody but his lordship_." from that day forward, lord coningsby was known by the sobriquet of "atterbury's pad." the foot-scrapers reproved. when a preacher was very obnoxious to the students at cambridge, it was the custom for them to express disapprobation by scraping with their feet on the floor. a very eloquent but intriguing preacher, dr. james scott--known as a political partisan by the pamphleteer and newspaper signatures of "anti-sejanus" and "old slyboots"--being one day saluted thus, signified his intention to preach against the practice of scraping; and fulfilled his promise very shortly afterwards, taking for his text, "keep thy foot when thou goest to the house of god, and be more ready to hear than to give the sacrifice of fools; for they consider not that they do evil." on the text being read out, the galleries became one scene of confusion and uproar; but dr. scott called to the proctors to preserve silence. this being effected, he delivered a discourse so eloquent, as to extort universal approbation, even from those at whom the text was aimed. a prescription in disguise. general d---- was more distinguished for gallantry in the field than for the care he lavished upon his person. complaining, on a certain occasion, to chief justice bushe, of ireland, of the sufferings he endured from rheumatism, that learned and humorous judge undertook to prescribe a remedy. "you must desire your servant," he said to the general, "to place every morning by your bedside a tub three-parts filled with warm water. you will then get into the tub, and having previously provided yourself with a pound of yellow soap, you must rub your whole body with it, immersing yourself occasionally in the water, and at the end of a quarter of an hour, the process concludes by wiping yourself dry with towels, and scrubbing your person with a flesh-brush." "why," said the general, after reflecting for a minute or two, "this seems to be neither more nor less than washing one's self." "well, i must confess," rejoined the judge, "_it is open to that objection_." how to dress a cucumber. dr. glynn, of cambridge, being one day in attendance on a lady, in the quality of her physician, took occasion to lecture her on the impropriety of eating cucumbers, of which she was immoderately fond; and gave her the following humorous receipt for dressing them: "peel the cucumber with great care; then cut it into very thin slices; pepper and salt it well--and then throw it away." gilpin and the northumbrian brawlers. bernard gilpin, the great northern apostle, did not confine his labours to the church of houghton-le-spring, of which he was minister; but at his own expense, and with great risk and hardship, visited the then desolate churches of northumberland once every year, usually about christmas, to preach the gospel. the northumbrians about that time retained so much of the customs of our saxon ancestors, as to decide every dispute by the sword; they even went beyond them, and, not content with a duel, each contending party used to muster what adherents he could, and began a kind of petty war, so that a private grudge would often occasion much bloodshed. in one of his annual tours, mr. gilpin found a quarrel of this kind raging at rothbury. during the first two or three days of his preaching, the contending parties observed some decorum, and never came to church both at the same time. at last, however, they met; one party had come early, and just as mr. gilpin began the sermon the other entered. they did not stand long quiet, but, mutually enraged at the sight of each other, began to clash their arms. awed, however, by the sacredness of the place, the tumult somewhat fell, and mr. gilpin could proceed with his sermon. in a short time, however, the combatants anew brandished their weapons, and approached each other. mr. gilpin now came down from the pulpit, went between the two parties, and, appealing to the chiefs, stayed the quarrel for the time, though he could not perfectly reconcile them. they promised that until the sermon was over there should be no further disturbance. mr. gilpin then remounted the pulpit, and devoted the rest of the time to endeavour to make the combatants ashamed of their behaviour; and his courage and earnestness so much affected them, that at his further entreaty they agreed to abstain from all acts of hostility while he continued in the country. another time, when he entered the church, mr. gilpin saw a glove hanging up, and was told by the sexton that it was as a challenge to any one that should take it down. the sexton refusing to take it down, because he "dared not," mr. gilpin procured a long staff, took it down himself, and put it in his breast. when the congregation assembled, he went into the pulpit, and took occasion severely to rebuke these inhuman challenges, and especially this fashion of hanging up the glove in church. "i hear," said he, "that there is one among you who even in this sacred place hath hanged up a glove to this purpose, and threateneth to enter into combat with whosoever shall take it down. behold, i have taken it down myself!" and, plucking the glove out of his breast, he held it up before them all, and again proceeded to condemn such barbarous fashions, and to commend the practice of love and charity. so much did his faithfulness win for him respect, and soften the stern mood of the country folk, that so often as he came into the parts where he had administered these rebukes, if any man was in fear of a deadly foe, he resorted usually where mr. gilpin was, supposing himself to be more safe in his company than under an armed guard. masses transferred. bernal diaz relates, that while cortes was absent on his expedition against christoval d'oli, his death was reported by men who assumed the government at mexico; they ordered ceremonies and masses for his soul, and paid for them with his effects. when he returned in safety, juan de caceres, "the rich," bought all these acts of devotion for his own benefit--like some modern buyer of shares, expecting a regular entry of the transfer to be made in the books of the concern in which he invested. precept and example of abstinence. john wesley having learned that a wealthy tradesman of his neighbourhood indulged to excess in the pleasures of the table, paid him a visit, and, discussing the subject with him, urged every argument and every passage of scripture he could against the sin of gluttony. observing the tradesman silent and thoughtful, wesley flattered himself that he had gained his point and produced the desired reformation. the dinner cloth was by this time spread, and sumptuous elegance decorated the board. mr. wesley was asked to dine; and having consented, was thus addressed by his host: "sir, your conversation has made such an impression on me, that henceforward i shall live only on bread and water; and to show you that i am in good earnest, i will begin immediately." the dinner was then ordered to be removed, and bread and water introduced; to the disappointment of the preacher, who, although an abstemious man, wished for something better than an anchorite's fare. queen elizabeth's blood jewels. in the _parliamentary history_, under date of , the lord keeper is reported to say: "i have seen her majesty wear at her girdle the price of her blood; i mean, jewels which have been given to her physicians to have done that unto her which i hope god will ever keep from her. but she hath rather worn them in triumph, than for the price, which hath not been greatly valuable." the power of tar-water. doctor hill, a notorious wit, physician, and man of letters, having quarrelled with the members of the royal society, who had refused to admit him as an associate, resolved to avenge himself. at the time that bishop berkeley had issued his work on the marvellous virtues of tar-water, hill addressed to their secretary a letter, purporting to be from a country surgeon, and reciting the particulars of a cure which he had effected. "a sailor," he wrote, "broke his leg, and applied to me for help. i bound together the broken portions, and washed them with the celebrated tar-water. almost immediately the sailor felt the beneficial effects of this remedy, and it was not long before his leg was completely healed!" the letter was read and discussed at the meetings of the royal society, and caused considerable difference of opinion. papers were written for and against the tar-water and the restored leg, when a second letter arrived from the (pretended) country practitioner: "in my last i omitted to mention that the broken limb of the sailor was a wooden leg!" the curate and the duke. the duke of grafton, when hunting, was thrown into a ditch; at the same time a young curate, calling out, "lie still, your grace," leaped over him, and pursued his sport. on being assisted to remount by his attendants, the duke said, "that young man shall have the first good living that falls to my disposal; had he stopped to have taken care of me, i never would have patronised him"--being delighted with an ardour similar to his own, and with a spirit that would not stoop to flatter. a loyal and fatal prayer. it is related by thoresby that mr. john jackson, a good old puritan, and a member of the assembly of divines at westminster, "was yet so zealously affected for king charles i., when he heard of his being brought before a pretended high court of justice, that he prayed earnestly that god would please to prevent that horrid act, which would be a perpetual shame to the nation, and a reproach to the protestant religion; or, at least, would be pleased to remove him, that he might not see the woful day. his prayer was heard and answered as to himself, for he was buried the week before" the execution of charles took place. flavel's "day of heaven." this distinguished nonconformist divine, who lived about the end of the seventeenth century, in his _treatise on the soul of man_ relates of himself--so at least it is understood, though he speaks in the third person--that for a day he was wrapt in such intimate spiritual communion with heaven, as exhausted the powers of physical nature, and for a time appeared to leave him on the brink of the grave. this singular season of trance he used to style "one of the days of heaven;" and he affirmed, that in that time there came to him more insight into the heavenly life, than he had all his days gained from books or sermons. "being on a journey, he set himself to improve his time by meditation; when his mind grew intent, till at length he had such ravishing tastes of heavenly joys, and such full assurance of his interest therein, that he utterly lost the sight and sense of this world and all its concerns, so that for hours he knew not where he was. at last, perceiving himself faint through a great loss of blood from his nose, he alighted from his horse, and sat down at a spring, where he washed and refreshed himself, earnestly desiring, if it were the will of god, that he might then leave the world. his spirits reviving, he finished his journey in the same delightful frame. he passed all that night without a wink of sleep, the joy of the lord still overflowing him, so that he seemed an inhabitant of the other world." it was taken by his religious friends as a special promise of heavenly favour, that at the birth of flavel a pair of nightingales made their nest close to the chamber of his mother, and welcomed him into the world with their delightful warble. a royal medicine. even so late as the days of queen elizabeth, ignorance and superstition continued prime regulating powers in the practice of physic; accomplished as some of the physicians of the day were, it was, as lord bacon has affirmed, in every department excepting those that immediately touched their own profession. sir william bulleyn was not one of the least prominent and enlightened; but some of the prescriptions which he has left on record, attest a very deplorable state of things, existing little more than half a century before harvey achieved his great discovery. take for example this recipe for an "_electuarium de gemmis._" "take two drachms of white perles; two little peeces of saphyre; jacinth, corneline, emerauldes, granettes, of each an ounce; setwal, the sweate roote doronike, the rind of pomecitron, mace, basel seede, of each two drachms; of redde corall, amber, shaving of ivory, of each two drachms; rootes both of white and red behen, ginger, long peper, spicknard, folium indicum, saffron, cardamon, of each one drachm; of troch. diarodon, lignum aloes, of each half a small handful; cinnamon, galinga, zurubeth, which is a kind of setwal, of each one drachm and a half; thin pieces of gold and sylver, of each half a scruple; of musk, half a drachm. make your electuary with honey emblici, which is the fourth kind of mirobalans with roses, strained in equall partes, as much as will suffice. this healeth cold diseases of ye braine, harte, stomack. it is a medicine proved against the tremblynge of the harte, faynting and souning, the weaknes of the stomacke, pensivenes, solitarines. kings and noble men have used this for their comfort. it causeth them to be bold-spirited, the body to smell wel, and ingendreth to the face good coloure." a significant interpolation. the most celebrated wits and _bon vivants_ of the day graced the dinner table of dr. kitchener, and _inter aliis_ george colman, who was an especial favourite. his interpolation of a little monosyllable in a written admonition, which the doctor caused to be placed on the mantlepiece of the dining parlour, will never be forgotten, and was the origin of such a drinking bout as was seldom permitted under his roof. the caution ran thus: "come at seven, go at eleven." colman briefly altered the sense of it; for, upon the doctor's attention being directed to the card, he read, to his astonishment, "come at seven, _go it_ at eleven!" which the guests did, and the claret was punished accordingly. the seaman-bishop. dr. lyons, who was appointed to the bishopric of cork, cloyne, and ross, towards the end of the reign of queen elizabeth, held the see for twenty years, but only preached once--on the death of the queen. his aversion to preaching is ascribed to the fact that he was not educated for the church. he was, indeed, captain of a ship, and distinguished himself so gallantly in several actions with the spaniards, that, on his being introduced to the queen, she told him that he should have the first vacancy that offered. the simple captain understood the queen literally; and soon after, hearing of a vacancy in the see of cork, he immediately set out for court, and claimed the fulfilment of the royal promise. the queen, astonished at the request, for a time remonstrated against the impropriety of it, and said that she could never think it a suitable office for him. it was, however, in vain; he pleaded the royal promise, and relied on it. the queen then said she would take a few days to consider the matter; when, examining into his character, and finding that he was a sober, moral man, as well as an intrepid commander, she sent for him, and gave him the bishopric, saying that she "hoped he would take as good care of the church, as he had done of the state." unpreaching prelates. the appointment of bishops and other ecclesiastics to lay offices, and more especially to places in the mint, during the reign of edward vi., was severely censured from the pulpit by the intrepid and venerable bishop latimer. in his "sermon of the plough," he says, with equal humour and vigour: "but now for the fault of unpreaching prelates, methinks i could guess what might be said for excusing them. they are so troubled with lordly living, they be so placed in palaces, couched in courts, ruffling in their rents, dancing in their _dominions_, burdened with embassages, pampering of their paunches, like a monk that maketh his jubilee, munching in their mangers, and moiling in their gay manors and mansions, and so troubled with loitering in their lordships, that they cannot attend it. they are otherwise occupied, some in king's matters, some are ambassadors, some of the privy council, some to furnish the court, some are lords of the parliament, some are presidents, comptrollers of mints. well, well, is this their duty? is this their office? is this their calling? should we have ministers of the church to be comptrollers of mints? is this a meet office for a priest that hath the cure of souls? is this his charge? i would here ask one question: i would fain know who comptrolleth the devil at home at his parish, while he comptrolleth the mint? if the apostles might not leave the office of preaching to be deacons, shall one leave it for minting? i cannot tell you; but the saying is, that since priests have been minters, money hath been worse than it was before." in another part of this discourse the bishop proceeds to ask, "is there never a nobleman to be a lord president, but it must be a prelate? is there never a wise man in the realm to be a comptroller of the mint? i speak it to your shame, i speak it to your shame. if there be never a wise man, make a water-bearer, a tinker, a cobbler, a slave, a page, the comptrollers of the mint. make a mean gentleman, a groom, a yeoman; make a poor beggar, lord president. thus i speak, not that i would have it so, but to your shame, if there be never a gentleman meet nor able to be lord president. for why are not the noblemen and young gentlemen of england so brought up in knowledge of god and in learning, that they might be able to execute offices in the commonweal?" charles ii. and his chaplain. dr. hickringal, who was one of king charles the second's chaplains, whenever he preached before his majesty, was sure to tell him of his faults from the pulpit. one day his majesty met the doctor in the mall, and said to him, "doctor, what have i done to you that you are always quarrelling with me?" "i hope your majesty is not angry with me," quoth the doctor, "for telling the truth." "no, no," says the king; "but i would have us for the future be friends." "well, well," quoth the doctor, "i will make it up with your majesty on these terms: _as you mend i'll mend_." radcliffe's enmity to hannes. john radcliffe, the eccentric, niggardly, self-indulgent, ill-educated, and intensely jacobitish physician, who, at the end of the seventeenth century, rose to an eminent place in the capital and at court, was the son of a comfortable yorkshire yeoman. he resided for some years at oxford university, and afterwards practised there; but in he went up to london, and speedily made himself a great name and income. as, however, at oxford he had found enemies who, as was the fashion of these days, spoke very openly and bitterly against their rising rival--so was it also in london: gibbons, blackmore, and others, were hostile to the new-comer--the first expending his sarcasm on radcliffe's defects of scholarship. radcliffe replied, by fixing on gibbons, as is well known the epithet of "_nurse_;" ridiculing his mode of treatment by slops and gruels, and so forth,--radcliffe's faith being placed in fresh air and exercise, generous nourishment, and the use of cordials. sir edward hannes was, like radcliffe, an oxford man; and hence, perhaps, the peculiar jealousy and hatred with which he regarded radcliffe. hannes started in london, whither he followed radcliffe, a splendid carriage and four, that drew upon it the eyes of all the town, and provoked radcliffe, when told by a friend that the horses were the finest he had ever seen, to the savage reply, "then he'll be able to sell them for all the more!" hannes employed a stratagem that, in sundry shapes, has since been not quite unfamiliar in medical practice. he instructed his livery servants to run about the streets, and, putting their heads into every coach they met, to inquire in tones of anxiety and alarm, whether dr. hannes was there. once one of these servants entered on this advertising errand garraway's coffeehouse, in exchange alley--a great resort of the medical profession; and called out, all breathless with haste, "gentlemen, can any of your honours tell me if dr. hannes is here?" "who wants dr. hannes, fellow?" asked radcliffe, who was in the room. "lord a----, and lord b----," was the assurance of the servant. "no, no, my man," said radcliffe, in a voice deliberate and full of enjoyment of the irony; "no, no, you are mistaken; it isn't the lords that want your master, but he that wants them." hannes was reputed the son of a basket-maker; blackmore had been a schoolmaster--circumstances which furnished radcliffe with material for a savage attack on both, when called in to attend the young duke of gloucester, for whom they had prescribed until the illness took a fatal turn. he accused them to their faces, and with no particular gentleness of language, for having abominably mismanaged a mere attack of rash; and said, "it would have been happy for this nation had you, sir, been bred up a basket-maker, and you, sir, remained a country schoolmaster, rather than have ventured out of your reach, in the practice of an art to which you are an utter stranger, and for your blunders in which you ought to be whipped with one of your own rods." mathews oh his deathbed. a friend attending on charles mathews the elder, the celebrated comedian, in his last illness, intending to give him his medicine, gave in mistake some ink from a phial on a shelf. on discovering the error, his friend exclaimed, "good heavens! mathews, i have given you ink." "never--never mind, my boy--never mind," said mathews, faintly, "i'll swallow a bit of _blotting-paper_." bishop berkeley's bermuda scheme. dr. george berkeley, the bishop of cloyne--celebrated for his ideal theory, and by the praise of pope, his stedfast friend, who ascribes "to berkeley every virtue under heaven," as others ascribed to him all learning--in conceived and published his benevolent proposal for converting the american savages to christianity, by means of a colony to be established in the bermudas. the proposal was published in , the year after he had been appointed dean of derry; and he offered to resign that opulent preferment, worth £ a year, and to dedicate the remainder of his life to the instruction of the indians, on the moderate allowance of £ a-year. the project was very favourably received, and persons of the highest rank raised considerable sums by subscription in aid of it. berkeley having resigned his preferment, set sail for rhode island, to make arrangements for carrying out his views. such was the influence of his distinguished example, that three of the junior fellows of trinity college, dublin, abandoned with him all their flattering prospects in life in their own country, for a settlement in the atlantic ocean at £ a-year. the dean, not meeting with the support the ministry had promised him, and after spending nearly all his private property and seven of the best years of his life in the prosecution of his scheme, returned to europe. this, however, he did not do, until the bishop of london had informed him, that on application for funds to sir robert walpole, he had received the following honest answer: "if you put this question to me as a minister, i must and i can assure you, that the money shall most undoubtedly be paid as soon as suits with the public convenience; but if you ask me as a friend, whether dean berkeley should continue in america, expecting the payment of £ , , advise him, by all means, to return home to europe, and give up his present expectations." a home-thrust at sterne. sterne, the reverend author of the _sentimental journey_, had the credit of treating his wife very ill. he was one day talking to garrick, in a fine sentimental strain, in laudation of conjugal love and fidelity. "the husband," said he, "who behaves unkindly to his wife, deserves to have his house burnt over his head." "if you think so," replied garrick, "i hope _your_ house is insured." the gospel a novelty. when le torneau preached the lent sermon at st. benoit, at paris, louis xiv. inquired of boileau, "if he knew anything of a preacher called le tourneau, whom everybody was running after?" "sire," replied the poet, "your majesty knows that people always run after novelties; this man preaches the gospel." the king pressing him to speak seriously, boileau added: "when m. le tourneau first ascends the pulpit, his ugliness so disgusts the congregation that they wish he would go down again; but when he begins to speak, they dread the time of his descending." boileau's remark as to the "novelty" of preaching the gospel in his time, brings to mind the candid confession of a flemish preacher, who, in a sermon delivered before an audience wholly of his own order, said: "we are worse than judas; he sold and delivered his master; we sell him too, but deliver him not." somewhat akin was the remark, in an earlier age, of father fulgentio, the friend and biographer of paul sarpi, and, like him, a secret friend to the progress of religious reformation. preaching on pilate's question, "what is truth?" he told the audience that he had at last, after many searches, found it out; and, holding forth the new testament, said, "here it is, my friends; but," he added sorrowfully, as he returned it to his pocket, "it is _a sealed book_." harvey and the circulation of the blood. the discovery of the circulation of the blood was the most important ever made in the science of physiology, and led to a complete revolution throughout the whole circle of medical knowledge and practice. the renown of this splendid discovery, by all but universal consent, has been attributed to william harvey, an english physician, who was born at folkestone in , and in went to caius college, cambridge, where he remained four years. he then went abroad for several years, studying in the most famous medical schools; and in , having passed m.d. at cambridge, he set up in practice in london. in he was appointed lecturer at the college of physicians, on anatomy and surgery; and it was in the performance of these duties that he arrived at the important discovery that is inseparably associated with his name. "the merit of harvey," it has been justly observed, "is enhanced by considering the degraded state of medical knowledge at that time in england. while anatomical schools had been long established in italy, france, and germany, and several teachers had rendered their names illustrious by the successful pursuit of the science, anatomy was still unknown in england, and dissection had hitherto hardly begun; yet at this inauspicious period did harvey make a discovery, which amply justifies haller in ranking him as only second to hippocrates." in he promulgated his new doctrine of the circulation of the blood, in a treatise entitled _exercitatio anatomica de motu cordis et sanguinis in animalibus_; in the preface to which, addressed to the college of physicians, he states that frequently in his lectures he had declared his opinion touching the motion of the heart and the circulation of the blood, and had for more than nine years confirmed and illustrated that discovery by reasons and arguments grounded on ocular demonstration. the attention of all europe, and the keen opposition of many of its medical scholars, were at once aroused by harvey's publication; but his doctrine triumphed over all objections, and before he died he had the happiness of seeing it fully established. harvey was physician to james i. and charles i., the latter of whom had a high regard for him; and at the outbreak of the civil war he adhered to the royal side, and quitted london with the king, attending him at the battle of edgehill, and afterwards at oxford. he died in , it is said from the effects of opium which he had taken with suicidal intent, while suffering under the acute pangs of gout. posterity has been more faithful and grateful than his own age to the greatest modern discoverer in medical science; for his discovery rather tended to push him back than to advance him in professional position. it has been said that "perhaps his researches took him out of the common road to popular eminence, and they seem to have exposed him to the prejudice so commonly prevailing against an innovator; for we find him complaining to a friend, that his practice considerably declined after the publication of his discovery." sunday sports. rushworth relates that king james, in , in his _declaration concerning lawful sports_, said that in his progress through lancashire he did justly rebuke some puritans and precise people for the prohibiting and unlawful punishment of his good people for using their lawful recreations and honest exercises upon sundays and other holidays, after the afternoon sermon or service. "with his own ears he heard the general complaint of his people, that they were barred from all lawful recreations and exercise upon the sundays after noon;" which must produce two great evils,--the first, the hindering the conversion of many whom the clergy caused to believe that religion, and honest mirth and recreation, were incompatible. "the other inconvenience is, that this prohibition barreth the common and meaner sort of people from using such exercises as may make their bodies more able for war when his majesty, or his successors, shall have occasion to use them; and in place thereof, sets up tippling and filthy drunkenness, and breeds a number of idle and discontented speeches in alehouses. for when shall the common people have leave to exercise, if not upon the sundays and holidays, seeing they must apply their labour, and win their living, on all working days? therefore, the king said, his express pleasure was that no lawful recreation should be barred to his good people which did not tend to the breach of the laws of this kingdom and the canons of the church: that after the end of divine service his people be not disturbed, letted, or discouraged from any lawful recreation, such as dancing, either men or women; archery for men, leaping, vaulting, or any other such harmless recreation; nor from having of may-games, whitson-ales, and morice-dances; and the setting up of maypoles, and other sports therewith used, so as the same be had in due and convenient time, without impediment or neglect of divine service. and that women should have leave to carry rushes to the church for the decoring of it, according to their old custom." but bull and bear baiting, "interludes," and bowling (at all times prohibited to the meaner sort), were forbidden; all known recusants who abstained from coming to service were barred the liberty of recreation, "being unworthy of any lawful recreation after the service, that would not first come to the church and serve god;" as were also all who, though conforming in religion, had not been present in church. each person was to go to church, and join the sports, in his own parish; and no weapons of offence were to be carried or used. charles i., in , gave command for the reading of the _book of sports_ in the churches, which had not been done even by his father, and which gave great offence and stirred up much display of bad feeling. in london, after the reading, one clergyman went on immediately to read the ten commandments, and said, "dearly beloved brethren, you have now heard the commandments of god and man; obey which you please." another minister followed up the reading of the obnoxious ordinance by the delivery of a sermon on the fourth commandment. the saint's bell. in their description of westmoreland, nicholson and burn relate, that "in the old church at ravenstonedale there was a small bell, called the saint's bell, which was wont to be rung after the nicene creed, to call in the dissenters to sermon. and to this day the dissenters, besides frequenting the meeting-house, oftentimes attend the sermon in church." sir richard jebb. sir richard jebb, the famous physician, who was very rough and harsh in his manner, once observed to a patient to whom he had been extremely rude, "sir, it is my way." "then," returned his indignant patient, pointing to the door, "i beg you will make _that_ your way!" sir richard being called to see a patient who fancied himself very ill, told him ingenuously what he thought, and declined prescribing for him. "now you are here," said the patient, "i shall be obliged to you, sir richard, if you will tell me how i must live--what i may eat, and what i may not." "my directions as to that point," replied sir richard, "will be few and simple! you must not eat the poker, shovel, or tongs, for they are hard of digestion; nor the bellows, because they are windy; but eat anything else you please!" a sanitary view of baptism. crosby's _history of the english baptists_ preserves the opinion of sir john floyer, the physician, that immersion at baptism was of great value in a sanitary point of view, and that its discontinuance, about the year , had been attended with ill effects on the physical condition of the population. dealing with the question purely in a professional sense, he declared his belief that the english would return to the practice of immersion, when the medical faculty or the science of physic had plainly proved to them by experiment the safety and utility of cold bathing. "they did great injury to their own children and all posterity, who first introduced the alteration of this truly ancient ceremony of immersion, and were the occasion of a degenerate, sickly, tender race ever since. instead of prejudicing the health of their children, immersion would prevent many hereditary diseases if it were still practised." he tells, in support of his belief, that he had been assured by a man, eighty years old, whose father lived while immersion was still the practice, that parents at the baptism would ask the priest to dip well in the water that part of the child in which any disease used to afflict themselves, to prevent its descending to their posterity. and it had long been a proverbial saying among old people, if any one complained of pain in their limbs, that "surely that limb had not been dipt in the font." immersion, however, was far otherwise regarded in quarters where professional animus of another kind militated against its revival by the powerful dissenting body of the baptists. baxter vehemently and exaggeratedly denounced it as a breach of the sixth commandment, which says, "thou shalt not kill;" and called on the civil magistrate to interfere for its prevention, to save the lives of the lieges. "covetous physicians," he thought, should not be much against the anabaptists; for "catarrhs and obstructions, which are the two great fountains of most mortal diseases in man's body, could scarce have a more notable means to produce them where they are not, or to increase them where they are. apoplexies, lethargies, palsies, and all comatous diseases, would be promoted by it"--and then comes a long string of terrible maladies that would follow on the dipping. "in a word, it is good for nothing but to despatch men out of the world that are troublesome, and to ranken churchyards." again: "if murder be a sin, then dipping ordinarily in cold water over head in england is a sin. and if those that would make it men's religion to murder themselves, and urge it on their consciences as their duty, are not to be suffered in a commonwealth, any more than highway murderers; then judge how these anabaptists, that teach the necessity of such dippings, are to be suffered." had baxter lived in these cold water days, tubbing would probably have taught him a little more toleration. bishop kennet on late repentance. doctor, afterwards bishop, kennet preached the funeral sermon of the first duke of devonshire in . the sentiments of the sermon gave much umbrage; people complained that the preacher "had built a bridge to heaven for men of wit and parts, but excluded the duller part of mankind from any chance of passing it." the complaint was founded on this passage, in speaking of a late repentance: "this rarely happens but in men of distinguished sense and judgment. ordinary abilities may be altogether sunk by a long vicious course of life; the duller flame is easily extinguished. the meaner sinful wretches are commonly given up to a reprobate mind, and die as stupidly as they lived; while the nobler and brighter parts have an advantage of understanding the worth of their souls before they resign them. if they are allowed the benefit of sickness, they commonly awake out of their dream of sin, and reflect, and look upwards. they acknowledge an infinite being; they feel their own immortal part; they recollect and relish the holy scriptures; they call for the elders of the church; they think what to answer at a judgment-seat. not that god is a respecter of persons; but the difference is in men; and the more intelligent the nature is, the more susceptible of divine grace." the successor to the deceased duke did not think ill of the sermon; and recommended kennet to the deanery of peterborough, which he obtained in . a mal apropos quotation. in one of the debates in the house of lords, on the war with france in , a speaker quoted the following lines from bishop porteous' _poem on war_:-- "one murder makes a villain, millions a hero! princes are privileged to kill, and numbers sanctify the crime. ah! why will kings forget that they are men, and men that they are brethren? why delight in human sacrifice? why burst the ties of nature, that should knit their souls together in one soft bond of amity and love? they yet still breathe destruction, still go on, inhumanly ingenious to find out new pains for life; new terrors for the grave; artifices of death! still monarchs dream of universal empire growing up from universal ruin. blast the design, great god of hosts! nor let thy creatures fall unpitied victims at ambition's shrine." the bishop, who was present, and who generally voted with the ministry, was asked by an independent nobleman, if he were really the author of the lines that had been quoted. the bishop replied, "yes, my lord; but--they were not composed for the present war." charles ii. on sermon-reading. the practice of reading sermons, now so prevalent, was reproved by charles ii., in the following ordinance on the subject, issued by the chancellor of the university of cambridge:-- "_vice-chancellor and gentlemen_,--whereas his majesty is informed, that the practice of reading sermons is generally taken up by the preachers before the university, and therefore continues even before himself; his majesty hath commanded me to signify to you his pleasure, that the said practice, which took its beginning from the disorders of the late times, be wholly laid aside; and that the said preachers deliver their sermons, both in latin and english, by memory without book; as being a way of preaching which his majesty judgeth most agreeable to the use of foreign churches, to the custom of the university heretofore, and to the nature of that holy exercise. and that his majesty's command in these premises may be duly regarded and observed, his further pleasure is, that the names of all such ecclesiastical persons as shall continue the present supine and slothful way of preaching, be from time to time signified to me by the vice-chancellor for the time being, on pain of his majesty's displeasure. october , . "monmouth." south on the commonwealth preachers. dr. south, in one of his sermons, thus reflected on the untrained and fanatical preachers of the time of the commonwealth--many of whom but too well deserved the strictures:--"it may not be amiss to take occasion to utter a great truth, as both worthy to be now considered, and never to be forgot,--namely, that if we reflect upon the late times of confusion which passed upon the ministry, we shall find that the grand design of the fanatic crew was to persuade the world that a standing settled ministry was wholly useless. this, i say, was the main point which they then drove at. and the great engine to effect this was by engaging men of several callings (and those the meaner still the better) to hold forth and harangue the multitude, sometimes in the streets, sometimes in churches, sometimes in barns, and sometimes from pulpits, and sometimes from tubs, and, in a word, wheresoever and howsoever they could clock the senseless and unthinking babble about them. and with this practice well followed, they (and their friends the jesuits) concluded, that in some time it would be no hard matter to persuade the people, that if men of other professions were able to teach and preach the word, then to what purpose should there be a company of men brought up to it and maintained in it at the charge of a public allowance? especially when at the same time the truly godly so greedily gaped and grasped at it for their self-denying selves. so that preaching, we see, was their prime engine. but now what was it, which encouraged those men to set up for a work, which (if duly managed) was so difficult in itself, and which they were never bred to? why, no doubt it was, that low, cheap, illiterate way, then commonly used, and cried up for the only gospel soul-searching way (as the word then went), and which the craftier set of them saw well enough, that with a little exercise and much confidence, they might in a short time come to equal, if not exceed; as it cannot be denied, but that some few of them (with the help of a few friends in masquerade) accordingly did. but, on the contrary, had preaching been made and reckoned a matter of solid and true learning, of theological knowledge and long and severe study (as the nature of it required it to be), assuredly no preaching cobbler amongst them all would ever have ventured so far beyond his last, as to undertake it. and consequently this their most powerful engine for supplanting the church and clergy had never been attempted, nor perhaps so much as thought on; and therefore of most singular benefit, no question, would it be to the public, if those who have authority to second their advice, would counsel the ignorant and the forward to consider what divinity is, and what they themselves are, and so to put up their preaching tools, their medulla's note-books, their melleficiums, concordances, and all, and betake themselves to some useful trade, which nature had most particularly fitted them for." peter the great as dentist. the czar peter, impelled by natural curiosity and love of science, was very fond of witnessing dissections and operations. he first made these known in russia, and gave orders to be informed when anything of the kind was going on at the hospitals, that he might, if possible, be present to gratify his love for such spectacles. he frequently aided the operator, and was able to dissect properly, to bleed, draw teeth, and perform other operations as well as one of the faculty. along with a case of mathematical instruments, he always carried about with him a pouch furnished with surgical instruments. the wife of one of his valets had once a disagreeable experience of his skill. she was suspected of gallantry, and her husband vowed revenge. he sat in the ante-chamber with a sad and pensive face, provoking the czar to inquire the occasion of his gloom. the valet said that nothing was wrong, except that his wife refused to have a tooth drawn that caused her great pain. the czar desired that he should be allowed to cure her, and was at once taken to her apartment, where he made her sit down that he might examine her mouth, in spite of her earnest protestations that she had no toothache. the husband, however, alleging that she always said so when the physician was present, and renewed her lamentations when he departed, the czar ordered him to hold her head and arms; and, pulling forth his instruments, promptly extracted the tooth which he supposed to be the cause of the pain, disregarding the piteous cries of the persecuted lady. but in a few days the czar learned that the whole affair was a trick of the valet to torment his wife; and his majesty thereupon, as his manner was, administered to him a very severe chastisement with his own hands. a mild criticism. while sir busick harwood was professor of anatomy at cambridge, he was called in, in a case of some difficulty, by the friends of a patient, who were anxious for his opinion of the malady. being told the name of the medical man who had previously prescribed, sir busick exclaimed, "he! if he were to descend into the patient's stomach with a candle and lantern, when he ascended he would not be able to name the complaint!" hour-glasses in church. to restrain over-eloquent or over-zealous preachers in the length of their discourses, hour-glasses were introduced in churches about the period of the reformation. in the frontispiece prefixed to the bible of the bishops' translation, printed in , archbishop parker is represented with an hour-glass standing on his right hand. clocks and watches being then but rarely in use, the hour-glass was had recourse to as the only convenient public remembrancer which the state of the arts could then supply. the practice of using them became generally prevalent, and continued till the period of the revolution. the hour-glass was placed either on the side of the pulpit, or on a stand in front. "one whole houre-glasse," "one halfe houre-glasse," occur in an inventory taken about of the properties of the church of all saints at newcastle-on-tyne. daniel burgess, a nonconformist preacher at the commencement of last century, alike famous for the length of his pulpit harangues and the quaintness of his illustrations, was once vehemently declaiming against the sin of drunkenness. having exhausted the customary time, he turned the hour-glass, and said, "brethren, i have somewhat more to say on the nature and consequences of drunkenness; so let's have _the other glass and then_--" the jest, however, seems to have been borrowed from the frontispiece of a small book, entitled _england's shame, or a relation of the life and death of hugh peters_, published in ; where peters is represented preaching, and holding an hour-glass in his left hand, in the act of saying, "i know you are good fellows; so let's have another glass." the methodist dog. in the early days of methodism, meetings for preaching and prayer were held regularly about bristol, and usually well attended. the people who had frequented these meetings had repeatedly observed a dog that came from a distance; and as at the house to which he belonged the methodists were not respected, he always came alone. at that time, the preaching on sunday began immediately after the church service ended; and this singular animal, invariably attending on those occasions, received the name of the "methodist dog." he was generally met by the congregation returning from the church, and abused and pelted by the boys belonging to that party. his regular attendance had often been the subject of public debate; and, merely to prove the sagacity of the animal, the meeting, for one evening, was removed to another house. surprising as it may seem, at the proper and exact time he made his appearance. a few weeks after, his owner returning intoxicated from leeds market, was drowned in a narrow shallow stream; and from that day the "methodist dog" ceased to attend the preaching. concerning this odd fact, a good methodist (john nelson) used to say, "the frequent attendance of this dog at the meeting was designed to attract his master's curiosity, and engage him thereby to visit the place; where, hearing the gospel, he might have been enlightened, converted, and eternally saved. but the end to be answered being frustrated by the master's death, the means to secure it were no longer needful on the dog's part." the two gates of heaven. "god," says st. pierre, in his _harmonies of nature_, "god has placed upon earth two gates that lead to heaven; he has set them at the two extremities of life--one at the entrance, the other at the issue. the first is that of innocence; the second, that of repentance." gibbon's retort on the physician. a good story of gibbon the historian is told in moore's memoirs. gibbon and an eminent french physician were rivals in courting the favour of lady elizabeth foster. impatient at gibbon's occupying so much of her attention by his conversation, the doctor said crossly to him, "_quand milady elizabeth foster sera malade de vos fadaises, je la guérirai_." [when my lady elizabeth foster is made ill by your twaddle, i will cure her.] on which gibbon, drawing himself up grandly, and looking disdainfully at the physician, replied, "_quand milady elizabeth foster sera morte de vos recettes, je l'immortaliserai_." [when my lady elizabeth foster is dead from your prescriptions, i will immortalize her.] trump cards. mrs. bray relates the following instance of the power of a ruling passion or habit, concerning a devonshire physician, boasting the not untradesmanlike name of vial, who was a desperate lover of whist. one evening, in the midst of a deal, the doctor fell off his chair in a fit. consternation seized on the company, who knew not whether he was alive or dead. at length he showed signs of returning life; and, retaining the last fond idea that had possessed him at the moment he fell into the fit, he exclaimed, "_what is trumps?_" a _bon-vivant_, brought to his deathbed by an immoderate use of wine, after having been told that he could not in all human probability survive many hours, and would die before eight o'clock next morning, summoned the small remnants of his strength to call the doctor back, and said, with the true recklessness of a gambler, "doctor, i'll bet you a bottle that i live till nine!" persuasiveness of whitfield. benjamin franklin, in his memoirs, bears witness to the extraordinary effect that was produced by whitfield's preaching in america, and tells an anecdote equally characteristic of the preacher and of himself. "i happened," says franklin, "to attend one of his sermons, in the course of which i perceived that he intended to finish with a collection, and i silently resolved he should get nothing from me. i had in my pocket a handful of copper money, three or four silver dollars, and five pistoles in gold. as he proceeded, i began to soften, and concluded to give the copper. another stroke of his oratory made me ashamed of that, and determined me to give the silver; and he finished so admirably, that i emptied my pocket wholly into the collector's dish, gold and all. at this sermon there was also one of our club, who, being of my sentiments regarding the building in georgia (the subject of whitfield's appeal), and suspecting a collection might be intended, had by precaution emptied his pockets before he came from home. towards the conclusion of the discourse, however, he felt a strong inclination to give, and applied to a neighbour who stood near him to lend him some money for the purpose. the request was fortunately made to perhaps the only man in the company who had the firmness not to be affected by the preacher. his answer was: 'at any other time, friend hodgkinson, i would lend to thee freely; but not now, for thee seems to be out of thy right senses.'" "preaching for a crown." howell davies, who was whitfield's welsh coadjutor, walking one sunday morning to preach, was accosted by a clergyman on horseback, who was bound on the same errand, and who complained of the unprofitable drudgery of his profession, saying that he could never get more than half-a-guinea for preaching. the welshman replied that he for his part was content to preach _for a crown_. this so offended the mounted priest, that he upbraided the pedestrian for disgracing his cloth. "perhaps," said davies, "you will hold me still cheaper when i inform you that i am going nine miles to preach, and have only seven-pence in my pocket to bear my expenses out and in. but the crown for which i preach is a crown of glory." shedding his blood for his country. lord radnor, who lived in the middle of last century, had a singular liking for the amateur employment of the lancet on the veins of his friends, or of persons whom he induced by gifts of money to allow him to display his skill upon them. it is told of lord chesterfield, that, desiring the vote of lord radnor in some division impending in the house of lords, he went to him, and by and by, in the course of indifferent conversation, complained that he was suffering from a bad headache. lord radnor leaped at the opportunity of indulging his predilection for phlebotomy on such a _corpus nobile_; he told lord chesterfield that he ought to lose blood at once. "do you indeed think so, my dear lord? then do me the favour to add to the service of your advice that of your skill. i know that you are a clever surgeon." in a moment lord radnor had pulled out his lancet case, and opened a vein in his visitor's arm; who subsequently, when the bandage was being put on, as if casually, asked the operator, "by the by, does your lordship go down to the house to-day?" lord radnor answered that he had not intended going, not having information enough as to the question that was to be debated; "but on what side will you, that have considered the matter, vote?" lord chesterfield stated his views to his amateur surgeon, whose vanity he had so cleverly flattered; and left the house with the promise of lord radnor's vote--having literally, as he told an intensely amused party of his friends the same evening, "shed his blood for the good of his country." dr. kirwan, dean of killala. towards the end of last century, there arose in ireland an eminent preacher, who, to use the emphatic language of grattan, "broke through the slumbers of the pulpit." this was walter blake kirwan, originally a catholic priest and professor of philosophy at louvain, and afterwards chaplain to the neapolitan embassy at london. in he resolved to conform to the establishment, and preached for the first time to a protestant congregation in st. peter's church at dublin. he subsequently became prebend of howth, rector of st. nicholas, dublin, and ultimately dean of killala. wonders have been recorded of his attractiveness as a preacher. that he was a great orator, the manner in which he was attended abundantly proved. people crowded to hear him, who on no other occasion appeared within the walls of a church: men of the world, who had other pursuits, men of professions, physicians, lawyers, actors--in short, all to whom clergymen of the highest order had any charms. the pressure of the crowds was immense; guards were obliged to be stationed, and even palisades erected, to keep off from the largest churches the overflowing curiosity, which could not contribute adequately to the great charities for which he generally preached. the sums collected on these occasions exceeded anything ever before known. in one instance, such was the magical impression he produced, that many persons, ladies particularly, after contributing all the money they had about them, threw their watches, rings, and other valuable ornaments into the plate, and next day redeemed them with money. the produce of this triumph of pulpit oratory was indeed magnificent; it was no less than £ --a much larger sum at that day than the figures represent in ours. worn out by his labours, dr. kirwan died in ; and a book of sermons printed in is his sole literary memorial. jeremy taylor. jeremy taylor, bishop of down, from the fertility of his mind and the extent of his imagination, has been styled "the shakespeare of english divines." his sermons abound with some of the most brilliant passages; and embrace such a variety of matter, and such a mass of knowledge and of learning, that even the acute bishop warburton said of him: "i can fathom the understandings of most men, yet i am not certain that i can fathom the understanding of jeremy taylor." his comparison between a married and a single life, in his sermon on the blessedness of marriage, is rich in tender sentiments and exquisitely elegant imagery. "marriage," says the bishop, "is the mother of the world, and preserves kingdoms, and fills cities, churches, and even heaven itself. celibacy, like the fly in the heart of an apple, dwells in a perpetual sweetness; yet sits alone, and is confined, and dies in singularity. but marriage, like the useful bee, builds a house, and gathers sweetness from every flower, and labours and unites into societies and republics, and sends out colonies, and fills the world with delicacies, and obeys the king, keeps order, and exercises many virtues, and promotes the interest of mankind; and is that state of things to which god hath designed the present constitution of the world. marriage hath in it the labour of love, and the delicacies of friendship; the blessings of society, and the union of hands and hearts. it hath in it less of beauty, but more of safety, than a single life; it is more merry and more sad; is fuller of joy and fuller of sorrow; it lies under more burthens, but is supported by the strength of love and charity; and these burthens are delightful." a two-edged accusation. dr. freind, like too many of the physicians of his time--under queen anne--was not very careful to keep his head clear and hand steady by moderation in tavern potations; and more often than not he was tipsy when he visited his patients. once he entered the chamber of a lady of high rank in such a state of intoxicated confusion, that he could do nothing more than mutter to himself, "drunk--drunk--drunk, by ----!" happily, or unhappily, the lady, from the same cause, was not in any better case than the physician; and when she came to herself, she was informed by her maid that the doctor had briefly and gruffly described _her_ condition, and then abruptly taken his leave. freind next day was puzzling as to the apology he should offer to his patient for his unfitness to deal with her ailment, when to his great joy there came a note from the lady, enclosing a handsome fee, and entreating him to keep his own counsel as to what he had seen. radcliffe and kneller. sir godfrey kneller and dr. radcliffe lived next door to each other in bow street, just after the latter had come up to town, and were extremely intimate. kneller had a very fine garden, and as the doctor was fond of flowers, he permitted him to have a door into it. radcliffe's servants, however, gathering and destroying the flowers, kneller sent to inform him that he would nail up the door; to which radcliffe, in his rough manner, replied, "tell him he may do anything but paint it."--"well," retorted kneller, "he may say what he will; for tell him, i will take anything from him, except physic." slaps for sleepers in church. a methodist preacher once, observing that several of his congregation had fallen asleep, exclaimed with a loud voice, "a fire! a fire!" "where? where?" cried his auditors, whom the alarm had thoroughly aroused from their slumbers. "in the place of judgment," said the preacher, "for those who sleep under the ministry of the holy gospel." another preacher, of a different persuasion, more remarkable for drowsy hearers, finding himself in a like unpleasant situation with his auditory, or rather _dormitory_, suddenly stopped in his discourse, and, addressing himself in a whispering tone to a number of noisy children in the gallery, said, "silence! silence! children; if you keep up such a noise, you will waken all the old folks below." dr. south, chaplain of charles ii., once when preaching before the court--then composed, as every one knows, of the most profligate and dissolute men in the nation--saw, in the middle of his discourse, that sleep had gradually made a conquest of his hearers. he immediately stopped short, and, changing his tone, called out to lord lauderdale three times. his lordship standing up, dr. south said, with great composure, "my lord, i am sorry to interrupt your repose; but i must beg of you that you will not snore quite so loud, lest you awaken his majesty." lassenius, chaplain to the danish court in the end of the seventeenth century, for a long time, to his vexation, had seen that during his sermon the greater part of the congregation fell asleep. one day he suddenly stopped, and, pulling shuttlecock and battledore from his pocket, began to play with them in the pulpit. this odd behaviour naturally attracted the attention of the hearers who were still awake; they jogged the sleepers, and in a very short time everybody was lively, and looking to the pulpit with the greatest astonishment. then lassenius began a very severe castigatory discourse, saying, "when i announce to you sacred and important truths, you are not ashamed to go to sleep; but when i play the fool, you are all eye and ear." when fenelon, as almoner, attended louis xiv. to a sermon preached by a capuchin, he fell asleep. the capuchin perceived it, and breaking off his discourse, cried out, "awake that sleeping abbé, who comes here only to pay his court to the king;" a reproof which fenelon himself often related with pleasure after he became archbishop of cambray. a prescription for long life. in the reign of francis i. of france, the saying went-- "_lever à cinq, diner à neuf, souper à cinq, coucher à neuf, fait vivre d'ans nonante et neuf_;" which we thus translate-- "rising at five, and dining at nine, supping at five, and bedding at nine, brings the years of a man to ninety and nine." abernethy and the duke of york. the duke of york once consulted abernethy. during the time his highness was in the room, the doctor stood before him with his hands in his pockets, waiting to be addressed, and whistling with great coolness. the duke, naturally astonished at his conduct, said, "i suppose you know who i am?"--"suppose i do; what of that? if your highness of york wishes to be well, let me tell you," added the surgeon, "you must do as the duke of wellington often did in his campaigns,--_cut off the supplies_, and the enemy will quickly leave the citadel." an unlucky coincidence. dean ramsay "remembers in the parish church of fettercairn, though it must be sixty years ago, a custom, still lingering in some parts of the country, of the precentor reading out each single line before it was sung by the congregation. this practice gave rise to a somewhat unlucky introduction of a line from the first psalm. in most churches in scotland the communion tables are placed in the centre of the church. after sermon and prayer, the seats round these tables are occupied by the communicants while a psalm is being sung. one communion sunday, the precentor observed the noble family of eglantine approaching the tables, and likely to be kept out by those who pressed in before them. being very zealous for their accommodation, he called out to an individual whom he considered to be the principal obstacle in clearing the passage, 'come back, jock, and let in the noble family of eglantine;' and then, turning to his psalm-book, he took up his duty, and went on to read the line, '_nor stand in sinners' way_.'" licensed lay preaching. in , mr. tavernier, of bresley, in norfolk, had a special licence signed by edward vi., authorizing him to preach in any part of his majesty's dominions, though he was a layman; and he is said to have preached before the king at court, wearing a velvet bonnet or round cap, a damask gown, and a gold chain about his neck. in the reign of mary he appeared in the pulpit of st. mary's at oxford, with a sword by his side and a gold chain about his neck, and preached to the scholars, opening his discourse in this wise: "arriving at the mount of st. mary's, in the stony stage where i now stand, i have brought you some fine biscuits, baked in the oven of charity, carefully conserved for the chickens of the church." this sort of style, especially the alliteration, was much admired in those days, even by the most accomplished scholars; and was long afterwards in high favour both with speakers and hearers. at the time mr. tavernier first received commission as a preacher, good preaching was so very scarce, that not only the king's chaplains were obliged to make circuits round the country to instruct the people, and to fortify them against popery, but even laymen, who were scholars, were, as we have seen, employed for that purpose. dr. barrow's rhymes with reason. in the days of charles ii., candidates for holy orders were expected to respond in latin to the various interrogatories put to them by the bishop or his examining chaplain. when the celebrated barrow (who was fellow of trinity college, and tutor to the immortal newton) had taken his bachelor's degree, he presented himself before the bishop's chaplain, who, with the stiff stern visage of the times, said to barrow-- "_quid est fides?_" (what is faith?) "_quod non vides_" (what thou dost not see), answered barrow with the utmost promptitude. the chaplain, a little annoyed at barrow's laconic answer, continued-- "_quid est spes?_" (what is hope?) "_magna res_" (a great thing), replied the young candidate in the same breath. "_quid est caritas?_" (what is charity?) was the next question. "_magna raritas_" (a great rarity), was again the prompt reply of barrow, blending truth and rhyme with a precision that staggered the reverend examiner, who went direct to the bishop and told him that a young cantab had thought proper to give rhyming answers to three several moral questions, and added that he believed his name was isaac barrow, of trinity college, cambridge. "barrow! barrow!" said the bishop, who well knew the literary and moral worth of the young bachelor; "if that's the case, ask him no more questions, for he is much better qualified to examine us than we are to examine him." barrow received his letters of orders forthwith. how to be kept in health. sir g. staunton related a curious anecdote of old kien long, emperor of china. he was inquiring of sir george the manner in which physicians were paid in england. when, after some difficulty, his majesty was made to comprehend the system, he exclaimed, "is any man well in england, that can afford to be ill? now, i will inform you," said he, "how i manage my physicians. i have four, to whom the care of my health is committed: a certain weekly salary is allowed them, but the moment i am ill, the salary stops till i am well again. i need not inform you that my illnesses are usually short." john hunter routing the rout. mr. jeaffreson, in his amusing _book about doctors_, tells a good story about the great anatomist, john hunter. "his wife, though devoted in her attachment to him, and in every respect a lady worthy of esteem, caused her husband at times no little vexation by her fondness for society. she was in the habit of giving enormous routs, at which authors and artists, of all shades of merit and demerit, used to assemble to render homage to her literary powers, which were very far from commonplace. hunter had no sympathy with his wife's poetical aspirations, still less with the society which those aspirations led her to cultivate. grudging the time which the labours of practice prevented him from devoting to the pursuits of his museum and laboratory, he could not restrain his too irritable temper when mrs. hunter's frivolous amusements deprived him of the quiet requisite for study.... imagine the wrath of such a man, finding, on his return from a long day's work, his house full of musical professors, connoisseurs, and fashionable idlers--in fact, all the confusion and hubbub and heat of a grand party, which his lady had forgotten to inform him was that evening to come off! walking straight into the middle of the principal reception-room, he faced round and surveyed his unwelcome guests, who were not a little surprised to see him--dusty, toil-worn, and grim--so unlike what 'the man of the house' ought to be on such an occasion. 'i knew nothing,' was his brief address to the astounded crowd--'i knew nothing of this kick-up, and i ought to have been informed of it beforehand; but, as i have now returned home to study, i hope the present company will retire.' mrs. hunter's drawing-rooms were speedily empty." antics of the fanatics. in concord, yet in contrast, with dr. south's censure on the fanatics of the commonwealth, noticed on a former page, we take this from the _loyal satirist, or hudibras in prose_, published among _somers' tracts_:--"well, who's for aldermanbury? you would think a phoenix preached there; but the birds will flock after an owl as fast; and a foot-ball in cold weather is as much followed as calama (calamy) by all his rampant dog-day zealots. but 'tis worth the crouding to hear the baboon expound like the ape taught to play on the cittern. you would think the church, as well as religion, were inversed, and the anticks which were used to be without were removed into the pulpit. yet these apish tricks must be the motions of the spirit, his whimsie-meagrim must be an ecstatie, and dr. g----, his palsy make him the father of the sanctified shakers. thus, among turks, dizziness is a divine trance, changlings and idiots are the chiefest saints, and 'tis the greatest sign of revelation to be out of one's wits. "instead of a dumb-shew, enter the sermon dawbers. o what a gracious sight is a silver inkhorn! how blessed a gift is it to write shorthand! what necessary implements for a saint are cotton wool and blotting-paper! these dablers turn the church into a scrivener's shop. a country fellow last term mistook it for the six clerks' office. the parson looks like an offender upon the scaffold, and they penning his confession; or a spirit conjured up by their uncouth characters. by his cloak you would take him for the prologue to a play; but his sermon, by the length of it, should be a taylor's bill; and what treats it of but such buckram, fustian stuff? what a desperate green-sickness is the land fallen into, thus to doat on coals and dirt, and such rubbish divinity! must the french cook our sermons too! and are frogs, fungos, and toadstools the chiefest dish in a spiritual collation? strange israelites! that cannot distinguish betwixt mildew and manna. certainly in the brightest sunshine of the gospel clouds are the best guides; and woodcocks are the only birds of paradise. i wonder how the ignorant rabbies should differ so much, since most of their libraries consist only of a concordance. the wise men's star doubtless was an _ignis fatuus_ in a churchyard; and it was some such will-o'-th'-whisp steered prophetical saltmarsh, when, riding post to heaven, he lost his way in so much of revelation as not to be understood; like the musick of the spheres, which never was heard." pope's last epigram. during pope's last illness, it is said, a squabble happened in his chamber between his two physicians, dr. burton and dr. thomson, who mutually charged each other with hastening the death of the patient by improper treatment. pope at length silenced them by saying, "gentlemen, i only learn by your discourse that i am in a dangerous way; therefore, all i now ask is, that the following epigram may be added after my death to the next edition of the dunciad, by way of postscript:-- 'dunces rejoice, forgive all censures past, the greatest dunce has kill'd your foe at last.'" transfusion of blood. the experiment of transferring the blood of one animal into the vascular system of another, by means of a tube connected with a vein of the receiving animal and an artery of the other--which had been unsuccessfully attempted in in the hope of saving the life of pope innocent viii.--was first tried in england in the year by clarke, who failed in his attempts. lower, of oxford, succeeded in , and communicated his success to the royal society. this was on dogs. coxe did it on pigeons; and coxe and king afterwards exhibited the experiment on dogs before the society, transfusing the blood from vein to vein. it was again performed from a sheep to a dog, and the experiment was frequently repeated. the first attempts at transfusion appear to have been instigated merely by curiosity, or by a disposition to inquire into the powers of animal economy. but higher views soon opened themselves; it was conceived that inveterate diseases, such as epilepsy, gout, and others, supposed to reside in the blood, might be expelled with that fluid; while with the blood of a sheep or calf the health and strength of the animal might be transferred to the patient. the most sanguine anticipations were indulged, and the new process was almost expected to realize the alchemical reveries of an elixir of life and immortality. the experiment was first tried in france, where the blood of a sheep, the most stupid of all animals, according to buffon, was transfused into the veins of an idiotic youth, with the effect, as was asserted, of sharpening his wits; and a similar experiment was made without injury on a healthy man. lower and king transferred blood from a sheep into the system of a literary man, who had offered himself for the experiment, at first without inconvenience, but afterwards with a less favourable result; the royal society still recommending perseverance in the trials. these events were not calculated to maintain the expectation of brilliant results that had been raised; and other occurrences produced still more severe disappointment. the french youth first mentioned died lethargic soon after the second transfusion; the physicians incurred great disgrace, and were judicially prosecuted by the relations. not, however, discouraged by this unlucky event, they soon after transfused the blood of a calf into a youth related to the royal family, who died soon after of a local inflammation. the parliament of paris now interfered, and proscribed the practice; and two persons having died after transfusion at rome, the pope also issued a prohibitory edict. since the publication in , however, of dr. blundell's _physiological and pathological researches_, transfusion has been recognised as a legitimate operation in obstetric surgery--the object being to obviate the effects of exhaustion from extreme loss of blood by hæmorrhage. father andre boulanger. france has produced several entertaining preachers, among whom was andré boulanger, better known as "little father andré," who died about the middle of the seventeenth century. his character has been variously drawn. he is by some represented as a buffoon in the pulpit; but others more judiciously observe, that he only indulged his natural genius, and uttered humorous and lively things to keep the attention of his audience awake. "he told many a bold truth," says the author of _guerre des auteurs, anciens et modernes_, "that sent bishops to their dioceses, and made many a coquette blush. he possessed the art of biting while he smiled; and more ably combated vice by his ingenious satire, than by those vague apostrophes which no one takes to himself. while others were straining their minds to catch at sublime thoughts which no one understood, he lowered his talents to the most humble situations, and to the minutest things." in fact, father andré seems to have been a sort of seventeenth century spurgeon, as two samples may serve to show. in one of his sermons he compared the four doctors of the latin church to the four kings of cards. "st. augustine," said he, "is the king of hearts, for his great charity; st. ambrose is the king of clubs (_treflé_), by the flowers of his eloquence; st. gregory is the king of diamonds, for his strict regularity; and st. jerome is the king of spades (_pique_), for his piquant style." the duke of orleans once dared father andré to employ any ridiculous expression about him. this, however, the good father did, very adroitly. he addressed the duke thus: "_foin de vous, monseigneur; foin de moi; foin de tous les auditeurs_." he saved himself from the consequences of his jest, by taking for his text the seventh verse of the tenth chapter of isaiah, where it is said, "all the people are grass"--_foin_ in french signifying hay, and being also an interjection, "fie upon!" an intercessor for himself. a protestant renting a little farm under the second duke of gordon, a catholic, fell behind in his payments; and the steward, in his master's absence, seized the farmer's stock and advertised it to be rouped on a certain day. in the interval, the duke returned home, and the tenant went to him to entreat indulgence. "what is the matter, donald?" said the duke, seeing him enter with sad and downcast looks. donald told his sorrowful tale concisely and naturally: it touched the duke's heart, and produced a formal quittance of the debt. donald, as he cheerily withdrew, was seen staring at the pictures and images he saw in the duke's hall, and expressed to his grace, in a homely way, a wish to know who they were. "these," said the duke, "are the saints who intercede with god for me." "my lord duke," said the tenant, "would it not be better to apply yourself directly to god? i went to mickle sandy gordon, and to little sandy gordon; but if i had not come to your good grace's self, i could not have got my discharge, and baith i and my bairns had been harried out of house and hame." whitfield's influence on the church. toplady speaks thus, in a sermon, of the establishment to which he belonged, and the effect on its ministers of the work of whitfield beyond its pale:--"i believe no denomination of professing christians (the church of rome excepted) were so generally void of the light and life of godliness, so generally destitute of the doctrine and of the grace of the gospel, as was the church of england, considered as a body, about fifty years ago. at that period, a _converted_ minister in the establishment was as great a wonder as a comet; but now, blessed be god, since that precious, that great apostle of the english empire, the late dear mr. whitfield, was raised up in the spirit and power of elias, the word of god has run and been glorified; many have believed and been added to the lord all over the three kingdoms; and still, blessed be his name, the great shepherd and bishop of souls continues to issue his word; and great is the company of preachers, greater and greater every year." this was indeed a liberality far in advance of toplady's time. generosity of dr. gregory. it was the custom of the professors of edinburgh university, in the time of this amiable and learned man--as it is partly still--to receive at their own residences the fees from students intending to attend their lectures; some old students yet remembering that, when other material for the class-tickets failed, and sometimes even when it did not, the necessary formula was written on the back of a playing-card. while dr. gregory was one day at the receipt of fees, he left his room, in which was a single student, and went into an adjoining apartment for more admission cards. in this room there was a mirror, in which the doctor saw the student lift and pocket a portion of a pile of guineas that lay on the table. dr. gregory took no notice of what he had seen till he was showing the student out; but on the threshold he said, with a voice marked with deep emotion, "young man, i saw what you did just now. keep the money; i know what distress you must be in. but for god's sake never do it again; it can never succeed." the remorseful student sought in vain to persuade the professor to take back the money: "no, this must be your punishment, that you must keep it now that you have taken it." the kind warning was not lost; the student, we are assured, turned out a good and honest man. at another time gregory attended a poor medical student, ill of typhus fever, who offered him the customary fee of a guinea. the doctor refused it in silence, and with signs of annoyance and anger at the offer; whereupon the student hastily said, "i beg your pardon, dr. gregory; i did not know your rule. dr. a. has always taken a fee." "oh, he has, has he?" said gregory; "then, my young friend, ask him to meet me here in consultation--and offer me the fee first." the consultation took place, and the student offered the fee; whereupon the good gregory broke out: "sir, do you mean to insult me? is there a professor in this university who would so far degrade himself, as to take payment from one of his brotherhood, and a junior?" dr. a. did not enjoy the little scene that had been prepared for him; and that very day he returned the fees he had taken of the sick student. rude truth for a queen. it is well known to how great an extent queen elizabeth, with all her strength of mind, was beset by the weakness of her sex in what concerned her age and her personal appearance. "the majesty and gravity of a sceptre," says one of her contemporaries, "could not alter the nature of a woman in her. when bishop rudd was appointed to preach before her, he, wishing in a godly zeal, as well became him, that she should think sometimes of mortality, being then sixty-three years of age--he took his text fit for that purpose out of the psalms, xc. : 'teach us to _number_ our days, that we may incline our hearts unto wisdom;' which text he handled most learnedly. but when he spoke of some sacred and mystical numbers, as three for the trinity, three times three for the heavenly hierarchy, seven for the sabbath, and seven times seven for a jubilee; and lastly, nine times seven for the grand climacterical year (her age), she, perceiving whereto it tended, began to be troubled by it. the bishop, discovering that all was not well, for the pulpit stood opposite her majesty, he fell to treat of some more plausible (pleasing) numbers, as of the number , making _latinus_, with which, he said, he could prove pope to be antichrist, etc. he still, however, interlarded his sermon with scripture passages, touching the infirmities of age, as that in ecclesiastes: 'when the grinders shall be few in number, and they wax dark that look out of the windows,' etc.; 'and the daughters of singing shall be abased;' and more to that purpose. the queen, as the manner was, opened the window; but she was so far from giving him thanks or good countenance, that she said plainly: 'he might have kept his arithmetic for himself; but i see the greatest clerks are not the wisest men;' and so she went away discontented." an archbishop's installation feast. fuller, in his _church history_, relates that "george nevill, brother to the great earl of warwick, at his instalment into the archbishoprick of york, gave a prodigious feast to all the nobility, most of the prime clergy, and many of the great gentry, wherein, by his bill of fare, three hundred quarters of wheat, three hundred and thirty tuns of ale, one hundred and four tuns of wine, one pipe of spiced wine, eighty fat oxen, six wild bulls, one thousand and four wethers, three hundred hogs, three hundred calves, three thousand geese, three thousand capons, three hundred pigs, one hundred peacocks, two hundred cranes, two hundred kids, two thousand chickens, four thousand pigeons, four thousand rabbits, two hundred and four bitterns, four thousand ducks, two hundred pheasants, five hundred partridges, four thousand woodcocks, four hundred plovers, one hundred curlews, one hundred quails, one thousand egrets, two hundred roes, above four hundred bucks, does, and roebucks, one thousand five hundred and six hot venison pasties, four thousand cold venison pasties, one thousand dishes of jelly parted, four thousand dishes of plain jelly, four thousand cold custards, two thousand hot custards, three hundred pike, three hundred bream, eight seals, four porpoises, and four hundred tarts. at this feast the earl of warwick was steward, the earl of bedford, treasurer, the lord of hastings, comptroller, with many more noble officers; servitors, one thousand; cooks, sixty-two; kitcheners, five hundred and fifteen.... but," continues honest fuller, "seven years after, the king seized on all the estate of this archbishop, and sent him over prisoner to calais in france, where _vinctus jacuit in summa inopia_, he was kept bound in extreme poverty. justice thus punished his former prodigality." da vinci a great anatomist. leonardo da vinci, to his talents as a painter, added that of being the best anatomist and physiologist of his time, and was the first person who introduced the practice of making anatomical drawings. vassari, in his _lives of the painters_, says that leonardo made a book of studies, drawn with red chalk, and touched with a pen with great diligence, of such subjects as marc antonio de la torre, an excellent philosopher of that day, had dissected. "and concerning those from part to part, he wrote remarks in letters of an ugly form, which are written by the left hand backwards, and not to be understood but by those who knew the method of reading them; for they are not to be read without a looking-glass." those very drawings and writings alluded to by vassari, were happily found to be preserved in the royal collection of original drawings, where dr. hunter was permitted to examine them. the doctor, in noticing them, says: "i expected to see little more than such designs in anatomy as might be useful to the painter in his own profession; but i saw, and, indeed, with astonishment, that leonardo had been a general and a deep student. when i consider what pains he has taken upon every part of the body, the superiority of his universal genius, his particular excellence in mechanics and hydraulics, and the attention with which such a man would examine and see objects which he was to draw, i am fully persuaded that leonardo was the best anatomist at that time in the world." extravagances of the herrnhuters. in a letter to count zinzendorf--the founder of the community of moravian brethren at herrnhut, in upper lusatia--who visited england about , whitfield thus describes and rebukes some of the extravagant flummeries then practised by the moravians: "pray, my lord, what instances have we of the first christians walking round the graves of their deceased friends on easter day, attended with hautboys, trumpets, french horns, violins, and other kinds of musical instruments? or where have we the least mention made of pictures of particular persons being brought into the christian assemblies, and of candles being placed behind them in order to give a transparent view of the figures? where was it ever known that the picture of the apostle paul, representing him handing a gentleman and lady up to the side of jesus christ, was ever introduced into the primitive love-feasts?... again, my lord, i beg leave to inquire whether we hear anything in scripture of eldresses or deaconesses of the apostolical churches seating themselves before a table covered with artificial flowers, and against that a little altar surrounded with wax tapers, on which stood a cross, composed either of mock or real diamonds, or other glittering stones? and yet your lordship must be sensible this was done in fetter lane chapel, for mrs. hannah nitschman, the present general eldress of your congregation; with this addition, that all the sisters were seated, clothed in white, and with german caps; the organ also illuminated with three pyramids of wax tapers, each of which was tied with a red ribbon; and over the head of the general eldress was placed her own picture, and over that (_horresco referens_) the picture of the son of god. a goodly sight this, my lord, for a company of english protestants to behold!... a like scene to this was exhibited by the single brethren in a room of their house at hatton garden. the floor was covered with sand and moss, and in the middle of it was paved a star of different-coloured pebbles; upon that was placed a gilded dove, which spouted water out of its mouth into a vessel prepared for its reception, which was curiously decked with artificial leaves and flags; the room was hung with moss and shell; the count, his son, and son-in-law, in honour of whom all this was done, with mrs. hannah nitschman, and mr. peter boehlen, and some other labourers, were also present. these were seated under an alcove, supported by columns made of pasteboard, and over their heads was painted an oval in imitation of marble, containing cyphers of count zinzendorf's family. upon a side-table was a little altar covered with shells, and on each side of the altar was a bloody heart, out of, or near which, proceeded flames. the room was illuminated with wax tapers, and musicians played in an adjoining apartment, while the company performed their devotions, and regaled themselves with sweetmeats, coffee, tea, and wine." mr. whitfield also mentions a "singular expedient" made use of to raise the drooping spirits of one mr. bell, who had been induced to join the brethren. on his birthday, he was sent for by mr. peter boehlen, one of the bishops, and "was introduced into a hall, where was placed an artificial mountain, which, upon singing a particular verse, was made to fall down, and then behind it was discovered an illumination, representing jesus christ and mr. bell sitting very near, or embracing each other; and out of the clouds was also represented plenty of money falling round mr. bell and the saviour." towards the close of his career, count zinzendorf applied himself, and not without success, to undo a good deal of the extravagant and unseemly work of former years, both in his devotional hymns and forms. an awkward association. in his _jest-book_, mr. lemon tells the following capital story of awkward association:--"in a cause tried in the court of queen's bench, the plaintiff being a widow, and the defendants two medical men who had treated her for delirium tremens, and put her under restraint as a lunatic, witnesses were called on the part of the plaintiff to prove that she was not addicted to drinking. the last witness called by mr. montagu chambers, the leading counsel, on the part of the plaintiff, was dr. tunstal, who closed his evidence by describing a case of delirium tremens treated by him, in which the patient recovered in a single night. 'it was,' said the witness, 'a case of gradual drinking, sipping all day, from morning till night.' these words were scarcely uttered, than mr. chambers, turning to the bench, said, 'my lord, that is my case.'" turning-point in paley's career. when paley first went to cambridge, he fell into a society of young men far richer than himself, to whom his talents and conviviality made him an acceptable companion, and he was in a fair way for ruin. one morning one of these comrades came into his bedroom before he was up, and he, as usual, thought it was to propose some plan of pleasure for the day. his friend, however, said, "paley, i have not slept a wink this night for thinking of you. i am, as you know, heir to such and such a fortune, and whether i ever look in a book at cambridge does not signify a farthing. but this is not the case with you. you have only your abilities to look to; and no man has better, if you do but make the proper use of them. but if you go on in this way, you are ruined; and from this time forward i am determined not to associate with you, for your own sake. you know i like your company, and it is a great sacrifice to give it up; but give it up i will, as a matter of conscience." paley lay in bed the whole day, ruminating upon this. in the evening he rose and took his tea, ordered his bed-maker to make his fire overnight, and call him at five in the morning; and from that day forward he rose always at that hour. he went out first wrangler, and became the fortunate man he was. this story was told to southey in , by mr. brome, who had it from an intimate friend of paley. the dangers of too good company. george i. liked to temper the cares of royalty with the pleasures of private life, and commonly invited six or eight friends to pass the evening with him. his majesty seeing dr. lockier one day at court, desired the duchess of ancaster, who was almost always of the party, to ask the doctor to come that evening. when the company met in the evening, dr. lockier was not there; and the king inquired of the duchess if she had invited him. "yes," she said; "but the doctor presents his humble duty to your majesty, and hopes your majesty will have the goodness to excuse him at present; he is soliciting some preferment from your majesty's ministers, and fears it may be some obstacle to him, if it should be known that he had the honour of keeping such good company." the king laughed very heartily, and said he believed he was in the right. not many weeks after, dr. lockier kissed the king's hand as dean of peterborough; and as he was rising from kneeling, the king inclined forwards, and with great good-humour whispered in his ear, "well, now, doctor, you will not be afraid to come in an evening; i would have you come this evening;" an invitation which was very readily accepted. anecdotes of abernethy. john abernethy, the pupil and friend of john hunter, was remarkable for eccentricity and _brusquerie_ in his dealings with patients. but there are many instances to show that his roughness was only external, and that a very soft and gentle heart beat in his bosom. he was sometimes successfully combated with his own weapons. a lady on one occasion entered his consulting-room, and showed him an injured finger, without saying a word. in silence abernethy dressed the wound; silently the lady put the usual fee on the table, and retired. in a few days she came again, and offered the finger for inspection. "better?" asked the surgeon. "better," answered the lady, speaking for the first time. not another word followed during the interview. three or four visits were made, in the last of which the patient held out her finger perfectly healed. "well?" was abernethy's inquiry. "well," was the lady's answer. "upon my soul, madam," exclaimed the delighted surgeon, "_you are the most rational woman i ever met with_!" "i had heard of your rudeness before i came, sir," another and less fortunate lady said, taking his prescription; "but i was not prepared for such treatment. what am i to do with this?" "anything you like," the surgeon roughly answered. "put it on the fire if you please." taking him at his word, the lady put her fee on the table, and the prescription on the fire, and, making a bow, left the room. abernethy followed her, apologizing, and begging her to take back the fee or let him write another prescription; but the lady would not relent. when the bubble schemes were flourishing in , mr. abernethy met some friends who had risked large sums of money in one of those speculations; they informed him that they were going to partake of a most sumptuous dinner, the expenses of which would be defrayed by the company. "if i am not very much deceived," replied he, "you will have nothing but bubble and squeak in a short time." blomfield's rebuke to non-resident rectors. dr. blomfield, bishop of london, had occasion to call the attention of the essex incumbents to the necessity of residing in their parishes; and he reminded them that curates were, after all, of the same flesh and blood as rectors, and that the residence which was possible for the one, could not be quite impossible for the other. "besides," added he, "there are two well-known preservatives against ague: the one is, a good deal of care and a little port wine; the other, a little care and a good deal of port wine. i prefer the former; but if any of the clergy prefer the latter, it is at all events a remedy which incumbents can afford better than curates." devotion of a catholic priest. in a parish close to dublin, it is on record that a catholic priest was called on to administer the solemn rites of his religion to a family in the last stage of typhus fever. the family, six or seven in number, were found lying in a wretched hovel, on a little straw scattered on the damp earthen floor. the agonies of death were fast coming upon them. the confession of each one of them had to be heard. lest any should overhear the confession of another, the priest stretched himself on the straw, while the miserable sufferer breathed his or her confession into his ear. thus, inhaling the poison of their respiration, and separating them from each other successively, at the risk of his own life, he completed his sacred functions. pulpit jokes of daniel burgess. daniel burgess, the noted nonconformist minister, was by no means of puritan strictness, for he was the most facetious person of his day, and carried his wit so far as to retail it from the pulpit with more levity than decency. speaking of job's "robe of righteousness," he once said, "if any of you would have a suit for a twelvemonth, let him repair to monmouth street; if for his lifetime, let him apply to the court of chancery; but if for all eternity, let him put on the robe of righteousness." the sermons of burgess were adapted to the prejudices as well as the opinions of his hearers--wit and whiggism went hand in hand with scripture. he was strongly attached to the house of brunswick, and would not uphold the pretender's cause from the pulpit. he once preached a sermon, about that time, on the reason why the jews were called jacobites, in which he said, "god ever hated jacobites, and therefore jacob's sons were not so called, but israelites!" physicians and their fees. perhaps regarding nothing connected with the science and practice of medicine, or the lives of its professors, are there more stories told, more curious facts on record, more interesting exhibitions of character and touching displays of generosity to relate, than about the giving and taking--or not taking--of fees. in stringing together some memoranda and anecdotes on this head, it needs only to be said that they are but a few out of a crowd. at the outset, it may be explained that from very early times the fee of the physician (like that of the advocate or the university professor) was regarded in the light of a voluntary recognition or reward for services rendered out of pure love of science or humanity. dr. doran alleges, indeed, that "there is a religious reason why fees are supposed not to be taken by physicians. amongst the christian martyrs are reckoned the two eastern brothers, damian and cosmas. they practised as physicians in cilicia, and they were the first mortal practitioners who refused to take recompense for their work. hence they were called anargyri, or 'without money.' all physicians are pleasantly supposed to follow this example. they never take fees, like damian and cosmas; but they meekly receive what they know will be given out of christian humility, and with a certain or uncertain reluctance, which is the nearest approach that can be made in these times to the two brothers who were in partnership at egea in cilicia." it has very naturally, however, been objected that physicians act from no such lofty motives, but merely because they prefer that the gratitude or the fears of the patient should be the measure of their reward. and yet, as mr. wadd forcibly remarks, "it is a fact, not less singular than true, that the advancement of surgical science is a benefit conferred on society at the expense of the scientific practitioner, since in proportion as the mode of cure is _tuto et celeriter_, safe and speedy, remuneration is diminished. perhaps in no instance is this better exemplified than in the operation of the hydrocele, introduced by my late friend and master, sir james earle. compare the simplicity, safety, and celerity of this, with the bustle and bloody brutality of the old system; the business of six weeks reduced to so many days! but mark the consequence, _quâ honorarium_: does the patient increase the fee for the pain and misery he is spared? not a bit of it. here is little or no work done; no trouble to the doctor; no pain to the patient; therefore, nothing to pay for.... selden, who understood these failings in mankind vastly well, gives them a sly hit in his _table talk_:--'if a man had a sore leg, and he should go to an honest, judicious chirurgeon, and he should only bid him keep it warm, and anoint it with such an oil (an oil well known) that would do the cure, haply he would not much regard him, because he knows the medicine beforehand, an ordinary medicine. but if he should go to a surgeon that should tell him, your leg will gangrene within three days and it must be cut off, and you will die unless you do something that i could tell you, what listening there would be to this man! oh, for the lord's sake, tell me what this is, i will give you any content for your pains!'" not only has this loss of reward through the devising of new appliances for preventing human suffering, not made medical men, as a rule, one whit less anxious to devise them, or adopt them when devised; but it is in the experience of all, that in many cases physicians can render services gratuitously, which they would never have had the opportunity of rendering if it was not understood, both by themselves and the suffering, that they gave their skill cheerfully for god's sake as for gold's sake, to those who were unable to appeal to the latter power. _ancient fees of magnitude._--seleucus--the one of alexander's generals to whom the kingdom of syria fell at the break-up of the empire of macedonian conquest--gave to erasistratus , crowns "for discovering the disorder of his son antiochus." alcon, whose dexterity is celebrated in martial's _epigrams_, was repaid by the public, in the course of a few years' practice, the sum of , , sesterces (£ , ) which he had lost by a law-suit. four roman physicians, aruntius, calpetanus, rubrius, and albutius, for their attendance on augustus and his two immediate successors, enjoyed each an annual salary of , sesterces, equal to £ sterling. _early english fees._--in , edward iii. granted to his apothecary, coursus de gungeland, a pension of sixpence a-day; and "ricardus wye, chirurgicus," had twelve pence per day, and eight marks per year, for his services. under the same king, "willielmus holme, chirurgicus regis," is rewarded with the permission, during his lifetime, "to hunt, take, and carry off wild animals of all kinds, in any of the royal forests, chases, parks, and warrens." in the courts of the kings of wales, the physician or surgeon was the twelfth person in rank, and his fees seem to have been fixed by law. for a flesh wound, not of a dangerous character, he got nothing but such of the wounded man's garments as the blood had stained; but for any of the three classes of dangerous wounds, he had in addition pence, and his maintenance so long as his services might be in requisition. _fees in the reign of henry viii. and elizabeth._--in the record of expenses of the earl of cumberland, it is stated that he paid to a physician of cambridge £ ; but this fee was evidently, as shown by other entries, an exceptionally liberal one, even perhaps for a noble to pay. in the th year of henry viii., as is mentioned in burn's _history of westmoreland_, sir walter strickland made a bargain with a physician to cure him of an asthma for £ . stow, in the same reign, complimenting british physicians on their skill and learning, mentions "as the great grievance that the inferior people are undone by the exorbitance of their fees." half-a-crown, he avers, is in holland looked on as a large fee; whereas in england "a physician scorns to touch any metal but gold; and our surgeons are still more unreasonable." queen elizabeth's physician in ordinary received £ per annum, besides his sustenance, wine, wax, and other necessaries or perquisites. her apothecary, hugo morgan, for one quarter's bill had £ , s. d.; but this was not all for medicines, as such entries as this will show:--eleven shillings for a confection shaped like a _manus christi_, with bezoar stone and unicorn's horn; sixteenpence for a royal sweetmeat with incised rhubarb; six shillings for "a conserve of barberries, with preserved damascene plums, and other things for mr. ralegh;" two shillings and sixpence for sweet scent to be used at the christening of sir richard knightley's son; and so on. _fees after the revolution._--at the close of the sixteenth and opening of the seventeenth century, the fee of the physician had tended towards fixity, as regards the _minimum_ at least, which was ten shillings. this appears from several incidental contemporary statements, as in the satirical dialogue of "physick lies a-bleeding; or the apothecary turned doctor" (published in , during the war of the "dispensary"), in which one of the characters, called on to pay eighteen shillings for medicine for his wife and a crown by way of gratuity to the apothecary, says: "i wish you had called a doctor; perhaps he would have advised her to have forbore taking anything, at least as yet, so i had saved s. in my pocket." in , as appears from the _levamen infirmi_, the existence of _minimum_ and _maximum_ fees appears to have been quite recognised:--"to a graduate in physick, his due is about ten shillings, though he commonly expects or demands twenty. those that are only licensed physicians, their due is no more than six shillings and eightpence, though they commonly demand ten shillings. a surgeon's fee is twelve-pence a mile, be his journey far or near; ten groats to set a bone broke, or out of joint; and for letting blood, one shilling; the cutting off or amputation of any limb is five pounds, but there is no settled price for the cure." _sir theodore mayerne._--this eminent physician, who was a native of geneva, and attended james i. and the two charleses, once very neatly and deservedly rebuked a mean and ostentatious friend, who, after consulting him, laid on the table two broad pieces of gold (of the value of s. each). sir theodore quietly pocketed the fee; and, on his friend expressing or showing himself hurt at thus being taken at his money, said to him: "i made my will this morning; and if it should appear that i had refused a fee, i might be deemed _non compos_." mr. wadd caps this anecdote with another about dr. meyer schomberg, who was much in vogue about the middle of last century. mr. martin, the surgeon, used now and then to visit him; and was once shown in when a patient was with him. after the patient was gone, martin noticed two guineas lying on the table, and asked the doctor how it came that he left his money about in that way? said dr. schomberg: "i always have a couple of guineas before me, as an example, or broad hint, what they (the patients who consulted him) ought to give." _large royal fees in later times._--henry atkins was sent for to scotland by james the first (of england), to attend to the prince charles--afterwards charles i., but then in his infancy--who lay dangerously sick. for this journey and duty the king gave atkins the splendid fee of £ , which he invested in the purchase of the manor of clapham. in a very handsome fee was ordered to be paid--but it was never paid--to dr. king, for a brave breach of court etiquette that saved the life of charles ii. for a time. evelyn thus relates the incident, under date th february :--"i went to london, hearing his majesty had been, the monday before ( feb.), surprised in his bed-chamber with an apoplectic fit; so that if, by god's providence, dr. king (that excellent chirurgeon as well as physician) had not been actually present, to let him blood (having his lancet in his pocket), his majesty had certainly died that moment, which might have been of direful consequence, there being nobody else present with the king save this doctor and one more, as i am assured. it was a mark of the extraordinary dexterity, resolution, and presence of mind in the dr. to let him blood in the very paroxysm, without staying the coming of other physicians; which regularly should have been done, and for want of which he must have a regular pardon, as they tell me." the privy council ordered £ to be given to dr. king; but he never obtained the money. the physicians who attended queen caroline in had guineas, and the surgeons guineas, apiece. dr. willis, for his success in dealing with the malady of george iii., received £ a-year for twenty years, and £ was settled on his son for life; the subordinate physicians had thirty guineas for each visit to windsor, and ten for each visit to kew. the empress catherine of russia made dr. dimsdale--a hertfordshire physician--who, in , travelled to st. petersburg to inoculate her and her son, a baron of the empire; and presented him with a fee of £ , , and a life pension of £ . this sum of £ , is about the largest ever paid, in ancient times or modern, to one physician for one operation; although there are living surgeons who from private individuals have received fees that dwarf this imperial largess into comparative insignificance. perhaps even more remarkable, however, than catherine's liberal payment for good work, was the emperor joseph of austria's reward for bad news. on his deathbed his majesty asked quarin his opinion of his case, and was frankly assured, in reply, that he could not expect to live other forty-eight hours. for this uncourtly but really kind affirmation of the truth, the emperor created quarin a baron, and conferred on him an income of £ . louis xiv. gave his physician and surgeon , crowns each, after the successful performance of a painful, and at that time novel, operation. beside this, the fees paid by napoleon i. to the faculty who attended marie louise in march , when the emperor's son was born, are trifling. dubois, corvisart, bourdier, and ivan, had amongst them a remuneration of £ , £ being the portion assigned to dubois. _fee for a political consultation._--at the outbreak of the american war, grenville was desirous to ascertain what was the state of feeling that prevailed among the quaker colonists in america; and he could hit, as he thought, on no more effectual means of doing this, than by a conversation with dr. fothergill, who was a quaker, and enjoyed the hearty confidence of his brethren of that sect. fothergill was accordingly summoned to prescribe for the statesman--who, in reality, wanted to feel, through him, the pulse of transatlantic quakerism; and the visit, of course, was made to take the turn of a vivacious controversy on american politics. at the end, grenville put five guineas into the doctor's hand, and said to him, "really, i feel so much better, that i don't think it is necessary for you to prescribe." with a shrewd smile, fothergill, keeping a good hold of the money, said, "well, at this rate, friend, i can spare thee an hour now and then." _generous refusal of fees._--there are many anecdotes of refusal of physicians to take fees from persons whom the payment of them would have distressed; but they are all so nobly alike, that we need not quote any here. the benevolent and eccentric dr. smith, when established in a practice equal to that of any physician in london, did what perhaps few physicians in great practice would have done. he set apart _two days for the poor in each week_. from those who were really poor, he never took a fee; and from those who were of the middling ranks in life, he never would take above half a guinea! yet so great was the resort to him, that he has in one day received fifty guineas, at the rate of half a guinea only from each patient. _sticklers for fees._--sir richard jebb was once paid three guineas by a nobleman from whom he had a right to expect five. sir richard dropped the coins on the carpet, when a servant picked them up and restored them. sir richard continued his search. "are all the guineas found?" asked his lordship, looking round. "there must be two still on the floor," was jebb's answer; "for i have only three." the hint was taken, and the right sum put down. an eminent bristol doctor coming into his patient's bedroom immediately after death, found the right hand of the deceased tightly clenched. opening the fingers, he discovered within them a guinea. "ah! that was for me, clearly," said the doctor, putting the piece into his pocket. a physician, receiving two guineas when he expected three, from an old lady who used to give him the latter fee, had recourse to one part of sir richard jebb's artifice, and, assuming that the third guinea had been dropt through his carelessness on the floor, looked about for it. "nay, nay," said the lady, "you are not in fault. it is i who dropt it." _fees collectively irresistible._--radcliffe attended a friend for a twelvemonth gratuitously. on his last visit his friend said, "doctor, here is a purse in which i have put every day's fee; and your goodness must not get the better of my gratitude. take your money." radcliffe steeled himself to persevere in benevolence, just touched the purse to reject it, heard the chink of the gold, and put it into his pocket, saying "singly, sir, i could have refused them for a twelvemonth; but, all together, they are _irresistible_." paley's economy of conscience. the great controversy on the propriety of requiring a subscription to articles of faith, as practised by the church of england, excited in a very strong sensation amongst the members of the two universities. paley, when pressed to sign the clerical petition which was presented to the house of commons for relief, excused himself, saying, "he could not _afford_ to keep a conscience." diffidence in the pulpit. izaak walton relates about bishop sanderson, that once "his dear and most intimate friend, the learned dr. hammond, came to enjoy a quiet rest and conversation with him for some days at boothby pannel, and did so, and having formerly persuaded him to trust his excellent memory, and not read, but try to speak a sermon as he had writ it; dr. sanderson became so compliant as to promise that he would. and to that end they two went early the sunday following to a neighbour minister, and requested to exchange a sermon; and they did so. and at dr. sanderson's going into the pulpit, he gave his sermon (which was a very short one) into the hands of dr. hammond, intending to preach it as it was writ; but before he had preached a third part, dr. hammond (looking on his sermon as written) observed him to be out, and so lost as to the matter, especially the method, that he also became afraid for him; for it was discernible to many of that plain auditory. but when he had ended this short sermon, as they two walked homeward, dr. sanderson said with much earnestness, 'good doctor, give me my sermon, and know that neither you, nor any man living, shall ever persuade me to preach again without my books.' to which the reply was, 'good doctor, be not angry; for if ever i persuade you to preach again without book, i will give you leave to burn all the books that i am master of.'" elsewhere walton says:--"though they were much esteemed by them that procured and were fit to judge them, yet (dr. sanderson's sermons) were the less valued because he read them, which he was forced to do; for though he had an extraordinary memory (even the art of it), yet he was punished with such an innate, invincible fear and bashfulness, that his memory was wholly useless as to the repetition of his sermons, so as he had writ them; which gave occasion to say, when some of them were first printed and exposed to censure (which was in the year ), that the best sermons that ever were read were never preached." aubrey says, that when he was a freshman at college, and heard dr. sanderson read his first lecture, he was out in the lord's prayer. christian names among the puritans. in his _church history_, collins says:--"under the article of baptism, the book of discipline runs thus: 'let persuasions be used that such names that do savour either of paganism or popery be not given to children at their baptism, but principally those whereof there are examples in the scriptures.' the puritans were strict in keeping close to this rule, as may be collected from the odd names they gave their children; such as, 'the lord is near,' 'more trial,' 'reformation,' 'discipline,' 'joy again,' 'sufficient from above,' 'free-gifts,' 'more fruit,' 'dust,' etc. and here snape was remarkably scrupulous; for this minister refused to baptize one christopher hodgkinson's child, because he would have it christened richard. snape acquainted hodgkinson with his opinion beforehand. he told him he must change the name, and look out for one in the scripture; but the father, not thinking this fancy would be so strongly insisted on, brought his son to church. snape proceeded in the solemnity till he came to naming the child; but not being able to prevail for any other name than richard, refused to administer the sacrament, and thus the child was carried away, and afterwards baptized by a conforming clergyman." "what is an archdeacon?" lord althorp, when chancellor of the exchequer, having to propose to the house of commons a vote of £ a year for the salary of the archdeacon of bengal, was puzzled by a question from mr. hume, "what are the duties of an archdeacon?" so he sent one of the subordinate occupants of the treasury bench to the other house to obtain an answer to the question from one of the bishops. to dr. blomfield accordingly the messenger went, and repeated the question, "what is an archdeacon?" "an archdeacon," replied the bishop, in his quick way, "an archdeacon is an ecclesiastical officer, who performs archidiaconal functions;" and with this reply lord althorp and the house were perfectly satisfied. "tapping" a toper. a man who had never drunk water enough to warrant the disease, was reduced to such a state by dropsy, that the physicians decided that tapping was necessary; and the poor patient was invited to submit to the operation, which he seemed inclined to do, in spite of the entreaties of his son. "oh! father, father, do not let them _tap_ you," screamed the boy, in an agony of tears; "do anything, but do not let them tap you!" "why, my dear?" inquired the afflicted parent. "it will do me good, and i shall live long in health to make you happy." "no, father, no, you will not: there never was anything _tapped_ in our house that lasted longer than a week!" the capacity of an abbe. when the diminutive abbé de voisenon was ordered by his physician to drink a quart of ptisan per hour, he was horrified. on his next visit the doctor asked, "what effect has the ptisan produced?" "not any," answered the little abbé. "have you taken it all?" "i could not take more than half of it." the physician was angry that his directions had not been carried out, and frankly said so. "ah! my friend," pleaded the abbé, "how could you desire me to swallow a quart an hour? i hold but a pint!" benefit of clergy. in burnet's _history of the reformation_, we find it stated that "a law of henry vii. for burning in the hand clerks convicted of felony, did not prove a sufficient restraint. and when, in the fourth year of the following reign, it was enacted that all murderers and robbers should be denied the benefit of their clergy, two provisos were added to make the bill pass through the house of lords, the one for excepting all such as were within the holy orders of bishop, priest, or deacon, and the other, that the act should only be in force till the next parliament. pursuant to this act many murderers and felons were denied their clergy, and the law passed on them to the great satisfaction of the nation; but this gave great offence to the clergy, and the abbot of winchelcont said, in a sermon at paul's cross, that the act was contrary to the law of god, and to the liberties of the holy church, and that all who assented to it had by so doing incurred the censures of the church." dean swift's contributory dinner. dean swift once invited to dinner several of the first noblemen and gentlemen in dublin. a servant announced the dinner, and the dean led the way to the dining-room. to each chair was a servant, a bottle of wine, a roll, and an inverted plate. on taking his seat, the dean desired the guests to arrange themselves according to their own ideas of precedence, and fall to. the company were astonished to find the table without a dish, or any provisions. the lord chancellor, who was present, said, "mr. dean, we do not see the joke." "then i will show it you," answered the dean, turning up his plate, under which was half-a-crown, and a bill of fare from a neighbouring tavern. "here, sir," said he, to his servant, "bring me a plate of goose." the company caught the idea, and each man sent his plate and half-a-crown. covers, with everything that the appetites of the moment dictated, soon appeared. the novelty, the peculiarity of the manner, and the unexpected circumstances, altogether excited the plaudits of the noble guests, who declared themselves particularly gratified by the dean's entertainment. "well," said the dean, "gentlemen, if you have dined, i will order the _dessert_." a large roll of paper, presenting the particulars of a splendid dinner, was produced, with an estimate of the expense. the dean requested the accountant-general to deduct the half-crowns from the amount, observing, "that as his noble guests were pleased to express their satisfaction with the dinner, he begged their advice and assistance in disposing of the _fragments_ and _crumbs_," as he termed the balance mentioned by the accountant-general--which was two hundred and fifty pounds. the company said, that no person was capable of instructing the dean in things of that nature. after the circulation of the finest wines, the most judicious remarks on charity and its abuse were introduced, and it was agreed that the proper objects of liberal relief were well-educated families, who from affluence, or the expectation of it, were reduced through misfortune to silent despair. the dean then divided the sum by the number of his guests, and addressed them according to their respective private characters, with which no one was perhaps better acquainted. "you, my lords," said the dean to several young noblemen, "i wish to introduce to some new acquaintance, who will at least make their acknowledgment for your favours with sincerity." "you, my reverend lords," addressing the bishops present, "adhere so closely to the spirit of the scriptures, that your left hands are literally ignorant of the beneficence of your right. you, my lord of kildare, and the two noble lords near you, i will not entrust with any part of this money, as you have been long in the _usurious_ habits of lending your own on such occasions; but your assistance, my lord of kerry, i must entreat, as charity covereth a multitude of sins." "breaking up" before the holidays. it is related that dr. harrington of bath, the editor of _nugæ antiquæ_, for many years attended the dowager lady trevor, relict of lord trevor, and last surviving daughter of sir richard steele. "he spoke of this lady as possessing all the wit, humour, and gaiety of her father, together with most of his faults. she was extravagant, and always in debt; but she was generous, charitable, and humane. she was particularly partial to young people, whom she frequently entertained most liberally, and delighted them with the pleasantry and volubility of her discourse. her person was like that which her pleasant father described himself in the _spectator_, with his short face, etc. a little before her death (which was in the month of december) she sent for her doctor, and, on his entering her chamber, he said, 'how fares your ladyship?' she replied, 'oh, my dear doctor, ill fare! i am going to break up before the holidays!'" bottle blind. dean cowper, of durham, was very economical of his wine. one day at table he was descanting on the extraordinary performance of a man who was blind, and remarked that the poor fellow could see no more than "that bottle." "i do not wonder at that at all, sir," replied a minor canon; "for we have seen no more than _that bottle_ all the afternoon." fearlessness of john knox. when lord darnley, in , had married mary queen of scots, he was prevailed on by his friends to go and hear knox preach, in the hope that thereby he might conciliate the stem moralist and outspoken minister. but knox seized the occasion to declaim even more vehemently against the government of wicked princes, who, for the sins of the people, are sent as tyrants and scourges to torment them. darnley complained to the council of the insult; and the bold preacher was forbidden the use of his pulpit for several days. robertson thus remarks on his character:--"rigid and uncomplying himself, he showed no regard to the infirmities of others. regardless of the distinctions of rank and character, he uttered his admonitions with acrimony and vehemence, more apt to irritate than to reclaim. those very qualities, however, which now render his character less amiable, fitted him to be the instrument of providence for advancing the reformation among a fierce people, and enabled him to face dangers, and to surmount opposition, from which a person of a more gentle spirit would have been apt to shrink back." the shortest and perhaps the best funeral oration extant, is that pronounced by the earl of morton over the grave of knox: "here lies he who never feared the face of man." wesley and beau nash. wesley once preaching at bath, beau nash entered the room, came close up to the preacher, and demanded by what authority he was acting? wesley answered, "by the authority of jesus christ, conveyed to me by the present archbishop of canterbury, when he laid his hands upon me and said, 'take thou authority to preach the gospel.'" nash then affirmed that he was acting contrary to the law. "besides," said he, "your preaching frightens people out of their wits." "sir," replied wesley, "did you ever hear me preach?" "no," said the master of the ceremonies. "how, then, can you judge of what you have never heard?" "by common report," said nash. "sir," retorted wesley, "is not your name nash? i dare not judge of you by common report; i think it not enough to judge by." nash, right or wrong as to the extravagances of the methodists, was certainly proclaiming his opinions in the wrong place; and when he desired to know what the people came there for, one of the company cried out: "let an old woman answer him. you, mr. nash, take care of your body, we take care of our souls, and for the food of our souls we come here." nash found himself so different a man in the meeting-house, to what he was in the pump-room or the assembly, that he thought it best to withdraw. the french revolution and the bible. in silliman's _travels_ it is related that during the peace of amiens, in - , a committee of english gentlemen went over to paris for the purpose of taking measures to supply the french with the bible in their own language. one of these gentlemen, mr. hardcastle, subsequently gave the assurance that the fact which was published was literally true--that they searched paris for several days before a single bible could be found. edward jenner, the discoverer of vaccination. it is to a "country doctor" that england and the world owe one of the greatest benefits that modern medical science has conferred on the race, in the practice of vaccination. the youngest son of a gloucestershire clergyman, edward jenner was placed, about , as apprentice to a surgeon at sodbury; and it was there, it is stated, that first the possibility of arresting the then dreaded and dreadful ravages of small-pox entered his mind. he accidentally learned, from the conversation of a young serving woman--who boasted that she was safe from that disease because she had had "cow-pox"--that among servants in the country there prevailed a belief that the small-pox could not attack any one into whose system had been absorbed the virus from a diseased cow. from that time jenner never lost sight of the idea. he spent some time in london finishing his studies, under the prelections of john hunter; and then he settled, for life as it proved, at berkeley, in gloucestershire. pursuing inquiries and experiments on the subject of vaccination, he established the efficacy of the rural system of inducing "cow-pox" as a preventive against small-pox; which had originated by inoculation, accidental or designed, with some of the matter afforded by a peculiar disease of the udder of a cow, and which could be communicated by inoculation from one human being to another with the same preventive efficacy. in , a friend of jenner's, to whom he had communicated the results of his inquiry--mr. cline, surgeon to st. thomas's hospital--first employed vaccination in london; and the practice was speedily adopted in the army and navy, the government bestowing on jenner honours and rewards, and the university of oxford conferring on him the diploma of doctor of medicine. just, however, as blackmore and tanner had vehemently opposed inoculation, so did many members of the faculty, foremost among them moseley, birch, and woodville, oppose the new system of vaccination. the london mob were asked and induced to believe that if they submitted to vaccination they were in jeopardy of being converted into members of the canine species, and that the operation would infallibly be followed by the development of horns, and tail, and "thick natural fell" of hair. a child was said to have never ceased, since he received the matter into his system, to run about on all fours and imitate the lowing of a bull! in a caricature jenner was mounted on a cow. moseley indited verses, of which this is a sample:-- "o jenner! thy book, nightly phantasies rousing, full oft makes me quake for my heart's dearest treasure; for fancy, in dreams, oft presents them all browsing on commons, just like little nebuchadnezzar. _there_, nibbling at thistle, stand jem, joe, and mary, on their foreheads, oh, horrible! crumpled horns bud; there tom with his tail, and poor william all hairy, reclined in a corner, are chewing the cud." even in berkeley, jenner was pursued with ridicule and suspicion; but he went quietly on his rounds, waiting confidently till the storm was laid, plashing through the gloucestershire lanes in the garb that an acquaintance has thus described:--"he was dressed in a blue coat and yellow buttons, buckskins, well-polished jockey-boots, with handsome silver spurs, and he carried a smart whip with a silver handle. his hair, after the fashion, was done up in a club, and he wore a broad-brimmed hat." but jenner, says mr. jeaffreson, found also compensation for all the ridicule and opposition "in the enthusiastic support of rowland hill, who not only advocated vaccination in his ordinary conversation, but from the pulpit used to say, after his sermon to his congregation, wherever he preached, 'i am ready to vaccinate to-morrow morning as many children as you choose; and if you wish them to escape that horrid disease, the small-pox, you will bring them.' a vaccine board was also established at the surrey chapel--_i.e._ the octagon chapel, in blackfriars road. 'my lord,' said rowland hill once to a nobleman, 'allow me to present to your lordship my friend, dr. jenner, who has been the means of saving more lives than any other man.' 'ah!' observed jenner, 'would that i, like you, could say--souls.' there was no cant in this. jenner was a simple, unaffected, and devout man. his last words were, 'i do not marvel that men are grateful to me; but i am surprised that they do not feel gratitude to god for making me a medium of good.'" angel-worship. a now obsolete ecclesiastical custom in scotland was, dean ramsay says, that the minister should bow in succession to the heritors or proprietors in the parish, who occupied the front gallery seats; a custom, when the position of the heritors was tolerably well matched, that led to an unpleasant contest at times as to who was entitled to the precedence of getting the first bow. a clever and complimentary reply was made by dr. wightman of kirkmahoe, when rallied on one occasion for neglecting this usual act of courtesy one sunday. the heritor who was entitled to, and always received, this token of respect, was miller of dalswinton. one sunday, the dalswinton pew was filled by a bevy of ladies, but no gentleman was present; and the doctor--perhaps because he was a bachelor, and felt a delicacy in the circumstances--omitted the usual salaam in that direction. a few days after, meeting miss miller (who was widely famed for her beauty, and afterwards became countess of mar), she rallied him, in presence of her companions, for not bowing to her on the sunday. the doctor immediately replied, "i beg your pardon, miss miller; but you know, surely, that angel-worship is not allowed by the church of scotland;" and, lifting his hat, he bowed low and passed on. bunyan's successful and presistent preaching. a student of cambridge observing a multitude flock to a village church on a working day, inquired what was the cause. on being informed that "one bunyan, a tinker," was to preach there, he gave a boy a few halfpence to hold his horse, resolved, as he said, "to hear the tinker prate." the tinker _prated_ to such effect, that for some time the scholar wished to hear no other preacher; and, through his future life, gave proofs of the advantages he had received from the humble ministry of the author of the _pilgrim's progress_. bunyan, with rude but irresistible zeal, preached throughout the country, and formed the greater part of the baptist churches in bedfordshire; until, at the restoration, he was thrown into prison, where he remained twelve years. during his confinement he preached to all to whom he could gain access; and when liberty was offered to him on condition of promising to abstain from preaching, he constantly replied, "if you let me out to-day, i shall preach again to-morrow." bunyan, on being liberated, became pastor of the baptist church at bedford; and when the kingdom enjoyed more religious liberty, he enlarged the sphere of his usefulness by preaching every year in london, where he excited great attention. on one day's notice, such multitudes would assemble, that the places of worship could not hold them. "at a lecture at seven o'clock in the dark mornings of winter," says one of his contemporaries, "i have seen about twelve hundred; and i computed about three thousand that came to hear him on a lord's day, so that one-half of them were obliged to return for want of room." lettsom's liberation of his slaves. dr. lettsom, the founder of the sea-bathing infirmary at margate, and of the general dispensary, was left by his father a property, which happened to consist almost entirely of a number of slaves on an estate in jamaica. when the benevolent doctor went out to the west indies to take possession of his inheritance, he is said to have emancipated every one of the slaves on his arrival; so that, in the words of his biographer, "he became a voluntary beggar at the age of twenty-three." the doctor went afterwards to tortola, where, by his practice as a physician, he amassed a considerable sum of money, with which he returned to england in , and attained a distinguished position among the metropolitan practitioners. civil to the prince of evil. the devil, in his malignant wrestlings with the spirits of the righteous, has not always been so energetically and uncivilly received as by luther and his ink-bottle. it is related in all seriousness, that a minister who "used often to preach for mr. huntington, was talking one lord's day morning, at providence chapel, about a trial he underwent in his own parlour, wherein the devil had 'set in' with his unbelief to dispute him out of some truth that was essential to salvation. he said he was determined that the devil should not have his way, and he therefore 'drew a chair for him, and desired him to sit down that they might have it out together.' according to his own account, he gained a great victory over the empty chair." he did better in his confidence than barcena the jesuit did in the opposite spirit; who told another of his order that when the devil appeared to him one night, out of his profound humility he rose up to meet him, and prayed him to sit down in his chair, for he was more worthy to sit there than he! "perkins' tractors" exposed. faith in the medicinal potency of the properties of the loadstone was, for centuries after its discovery, a regular part of many physicians' mental stock-in-trade; and pulverized magnet was administered in the form of pills, and potions, and salves, even after dr. gilbert, of colchester, had in scientifically ascertained and published the fact, that when reduced to powder the loadstone ceases totally to possess its magnetic properties. the belief in the efficacy of magnets held its ground much later. even in and , the royal society of medicine at paris made experiments with the view of precisely ascertaining the influence of magnets on the human system; and the conclusion reached was, that they exerted a healing potency of no contemptible character. it was about this time that the instruments called "perkins' tractors," which were supposed to be endowed with magnetic power, came into vogue. perkins was an american citizen, from the shrewd state of connecticut; and only he could make, and only he sell, the painted nails, composed of an alloy of various metals, that were in great demand among the credulous and the wealthy. for a considerable time the wonderful tractors attracted and perplexed everybody; until dr. haygarth of bath, in the following manner, made it apparent that the efficacy of the tractors lay not in themselves, but in the mental condition of the person upon whom they were used:--"robert thomas, aged forty-three, who had been for some time under the care of dr. lovell, in the bristol infirmary, with a rheumatic affection of the shoulder, which rendered his arm perfectly useless, was pointed out as a proper object of trial by mr. j. w. dyer, apothecary to the house. tuesday, april th, having everything in readiness, i passed through the ward, and, in a way that he might suspect nothing, questioned him respecting his complaint. i then told him that i had an instrument in my pocket which had been very serviceable to many in his state; and when i had explained to him how simple it was, he consented to undergo the operation. in six minutes no other effect was produced than a warmth upon the skin, and i feared that this _coup d'essai_ had failed. the next day, however, he told me that 'he had received so much benefit that it had enabled him to lift his hand from his knee, which he had in vain several times attempted on monday evening, as the whole ward witnessed.' the tractors i used being made of lead, i thought it advisable to lay them aside, lest, being metallic points, the proof against the fraud might be less complete. thus much, however, was proved, that the patent tractors possessed no specific power independent of simple metals. two pieces of wood, properly shaped and painted, were next made use of; and in order to add solemnity to the farce, mr. barton held in his hand a stop-watch, whilst mr. lax minuted the effects produced. in four minutes the man raised his hand several inches, and he had lost also the pain in his shoulder, usually experienced when attempting to lift anything. he continued to undergo the operation daily, and with progressive good effect; for, on the twenty-fifth, he could touch the mantelpiece. on the twenty-seventh, in the presence of dr. lovell and mr. j. p. noble, two common iron nails, disguised with sealing-wax, were substituted for the pieces of mahogany before used. in three minutes he felt something moving from his arm to his hand, and soon after he touched the board of rules which hung a foot above the fire-place. this patient at length so far recovered that he could carry coals and use his arm sufficiently to help the nurse; yet, previous to the use of the spurious tractors, he could no more lift his hand from his knee than if a hundredweight were upon it, or a nail driven through it, as he declared in the presence of several gentlemen. the fame of this case brought applications in abundance; indeed, it must be confessed, that it was more than sufficient to act upon weak minds, and induce a belief that these pieces of wood and iron were endowed with some peculiar virtues." the prosecution and publication of the result of haygarth's experiments, led to the downfall of perkins and the discredit of the tractors; but it was not very long before mesmerism had established a yet stronger hold on the public credulity, which seems never to be content, if it is not fooled to the top of its bent. whitfield "improving" an execution in edinburgh. when whitfield first went to scotland, he was received in edinburgh with a kind of frantic joy by many of the citizens. the day after his arrival, an unhappy man, who had forfeited his life to the offended laws of his country, was to be executed. mr. whitfield mingled in the crowd on the occasion, and seemed highly pleased with the solemnity and decorum with which the awful scene was conducted. his appearance, however, drew the eyes of all around him, and raised a variety of opinions as to his motives. the next day being sunday, he preached to a very large congregation in a field near the city. in the course of his sermon, he adverted to the execution which had taken place on the preceding day. "i know," said he, "that many of you will find it difficult to reconcile my appearance yesterday with my character. many of you, i know, will say that my moments would have been better employed in praying for the unhappy man than in attending him to the fatal tree, and that perhaps curiosity was the only cause that converted me into a spectator on that occasion. but those who ascribe that uncharitable motive to me, are under a mistake. i went as an observer of human nature, and to see the effect that such an example would have on those who witnessed it. i watched the conduct of almost every one present on that awful occasion, and i was highly pleased with their demeanour, which has given me a very favourable opinion of the scottish nation. your sympathy was visible on your countenances, and reflected the goodness of your hearts, particularly when the moment arrived that your unhappy fellow-creature was to close his eyes on this world for ever; then you all, as if moved by one impulse, turned your heads aside, and wept. those tears were precious, and will be held in remembrance. how different was it when the saviour of mankind was extended on the cross! the jews, instead of sympathizing in his sorrows, triumphed in them. they reviled him with bitter expressions, with words even more bitter than the gall and vinegar which they handed him to drink. not one of all that witnessed his pains turned his head aside, even in the last pang. yes, my friends, there was one; that glorious luminary (pointing to the sun) veiled his brightness, and travelled on his course in tenfold night." dr. johnson's opinion of whitfield. boswell informs us that dr. johnson would not allow much merit to whitfield's oratory. "his popularity, sir," said he, "is chiefly owing to the peculiarity of his manner. he would be followed by crowds were he to wear a nightcap in the pulpit, or were he to preach from a tree." and again: "whitfield never drew as much attention as a mountebank does; he did not draw attention by doing better than others, but by doing what was strange. were astley to preach a sermon standing upon his head on a horse's back, he would collect a multitude to hear him; but no wise man would say he had made a better sermon for that. i never treated whitfield's ministry with contempt; i believe he did good. he had devoted himself to the lower classes of mankind, and among them he was of use. but when familiarity and noise claim the praise due to knowledge, art, and elegance, we must beat down such pretensions." dr. wolcot ("peter pindar") in jamaica. dr. wolcot, the patron of opie, and better known to fame as "peter pindar," practised medicine--descending from a family, members of which in several generations had followed the same profession in devon and cornwall. sir william trelawny, when he went as governor to jamaica, took wolcot out as surgeon to his household; and there he figured in several characters--as grand master of the ceremonies, private secretary, and chaplain. whether or not he ever received regular ordination, it is certain that wolcot acted as rector in the colony for some time; and odd stories of his behaviour as a parish priest were current among his friends as well as his enemies. he read prayers and preached when a congregation presented itself; but that was not oftener than about every fourth sunday. he was a capital shot, and, with his clerk, used to amuse himself with shooting pigeons. having shot their way to the church, the pair were wont to wait ten minutes in the porch for the arrival of the congregation; at the end of which time, if nobody appeared, the reverend sportsmen returned to their amusement. if a few negroes only presented themselves at the church, the rector bought them off with a little money; and one old negro, finding out wolcot's weakness, after a time attended every sunday, when the rector would address him: "what do you come here for, blackee?" "why, massa, for to hear your good sermon and all the prayer ob de church." "would not a _bit_ or two do you more good?" "yes, massa doctor; me lub prayer much, but me lub money too." the little transaction would then take place, and the darky retire grinning; and it is said that this man drew thus an income from wolcot for a whole year. when he returned to england, wolcot did not succeed in obtaining a practice, and abandoned both physic and divinity for satire--which yielded him a good income while he lived, and won him fame both with his own generation and with posterity. charity of archbishop tillotson. in , archbishop tillotson avowed himself a warm advocate for affording charitable relief to the french refugees, on the recall of the edict of nantes. dr. beveridge, the prebendary of canterbury, having objected to reading a brief for this purpose, as contrary to the rubric, the archbishop observed to him roughly, "doctor, doctor, charity is above all rubrics." while tillotson was in a private station, he always laid aside two-tenths of his income for charitable uses; and after his elevation to the mitre, he so constantly expended all that he could spare of his annual revenues in acts of beneficence, that the only legacy which he was able to leave to his family consisted of two volumes of sermons, the value of which, however, was such, that the copyright brought not less than £ . of tillotson it is told that once, when king william iii. complained of the shortness of his sermon, he replied, "sire, could i have bestowed more time upon it, it would not have been so long." drubbing-in religious feeling. pietro della valle, "who," says southey, "could be amused at the superstition of others," reports that when the _ecce homo_ was displayed during a sermon in the jesuit church at goa, the women used to beat their servants if they did not cry enough to please them. bon-mots of sydney smith. sydney smith was once dining in company with a french gentleman, who had before dinner indulged in a number of free-thinking speculations, and ended by avowing himself a materialist. "very good soup, this," said mr. smith. "yes, sir, it is excellent," was the reply. "pray, sir, do you _believe_ in a _cook_?" inquired mr. smith.--"do you believe in the apostolical succession?" inquired one of smith. "i do," he replied; "and my faith in that dogma dates from the moment i became acquainted with the bishop of ----, _who is so like judas!_"--in preaching a charity sermon, sydney smith frequently repeated the assertion that, of all nations, englishmen were most distinguished for their generosity, and the love of their _species_. the collection happening to be inferior to his expectation, provoked him to say, that he had evidently made a great mistake; for that his expression should have been, that they were distinguished for the love of their _specie_.--on the departure of bishop selwyn for his diocese, new zealand, smith, when taking his leave of him, said: "good-bye, my dear selwyn; i hope you will not _disagree_ with the man who eats you!"--a friend of smith inquired, "what is puseyism?" to which the witty canon replied: "puseyism, sir, is inflexion and genuflexion; posture and imposture; bowing to the east, and curtseying to the west." the origin of our indian commerce. it is perhaps not generally known, says wadd, in his _memoirs_, that it was an english surgeon of the name of broughton whose good fortune it was to open the commerce of india to his countrymen, by the following accident. having been sent from surat to agra in the year , to treat one of the daughters of the emperor shah jehan, he had the good fortune to cure the princess. by way of recompense, the emperor, among other favours, gave him the privilege of a free commerce throughout the whole extent of his dominions. broughton immediately returned to bengal, to purchase goods, and transmit them by sea to surat. scarcely had he returned when he was requested to attend the favourite of the nabob of the province, labouring under a very dangerous disease. having fortunately restored his patient to health, the nabob settled a pension upon him, confirmed the privilege of the emperor, and promised to allow the same to all the english who should come to bengal. broughton communicated all this to the english governor at surat, and it was by the advice of the latter that the company sent from england, in , two ships to bengal. such was the origin of a commerce that has since been carried to so great an extent--and made the foundation of a vast empire. charles ii. and bishop stillingfleet. charles the second once demanded of dr. stillingfleet, who was a preacher to the court, "why he read his sermons before him, when on every other occasion his sermons were delivered extempore?" the bishop answered, that, overawed by so many great and noble personages, and in the presence of his sovereign, he dared not to trust his powers. "and now," said the divine, "will your majesty permit me to ask a question?" "certainly," said the condescending monarch. "why, then, does your majesty read your speeches, when it may be presumed that _you_ can have no such reason?" "why, truly," said the king, "i have asked my subjects so often for money, that i am ashamed to look them in the face." a too personal application. when dr. beadon was rector of eltham, in kent, his text one day was, "who art thou?" after reading the text, he made a pause, for the congregation to reflect upon the words; when a gentleman, in a military dress, who at the instant was marching very sedately up the middle aisle of the church, supposing it a question addressed to him, to the surprise of all present replied, "i am, sir, an officer of the sixteenth regiment of foot, on a recruiting party here; and having brought my wife and family with me, i wish to be acquainted with the neighbouring clergy and gentry." this so deranged the divine, and astonished the congregation, that though they attempted to listen with decorum, the service was not continued without considerable difficulty. preaching to purpose. burnet records that "two entries made in the council books, show the good effects of latimer's zealous preaching. on the th of march he brought in £ recovered of one who had concealed it from the king, and a little after, £ of the king's money." the amount of this conscience-money must of course be multiplied manifold, to estimate aright the penetrating and persuading power of the preacher. latimer's style of preaching is said to have been extremely captivating; simple and familiar, often enlivened with anecdote, irony, and humour; and still oftener swelling into strains of most impassioned and awakening eloquence. of the earnestness of his manner, which could lead to the disgorgement of great plunder by unscrupulous men, the following, from a sermon against the corruptions of the age, may be taken as a sample:--"take heed and beware of covetousness; take heed and beware of covetousness; take heed and beware of covetousness. and what if i should say nothing else these three or four hours but these words? great complaints there are of it, and much crying out, and much preaching, but little amendment that i can see; covetousness is the root of all evil. then have at the root; out with your swords, ye preachers, and strike at the root. stand not ticking and toying at the branches, for new branches will spring out again, but strike at the root; and fear not these great men, these men of power, these oppressors of the needy--fear them not, but strike at the root." in another sermon, latimer himself gives some account of the restitutions he brought about:--"at my first preaching of restitution, one man took remorse of conscience, and acknowledged himself to me that he had deceived the king, and willing he was to make restitution; and so the first lent came to my hands £ to be restored to the king's use. i was promised £ more the same lent; but it could not be made, so that it came not. well, the next lent came £ more. i received it myself and paid it to the king's council. so i was asked what he was that made this restitution. but should i have named him? nay, they should as soon have this weasand of mine. well, now, this lent came £ , s. which i was paid, and delivered this present day to the king's council; and so this man hath made a godly restitution. and so, quoth i to a certain nobleman that is one of the king's council, if every man that hath beguiled the king should make restitution after this sort, it would cough the king £ , i think, said i. yea, that it would, quoth the other, a whole £ , . alack! alack! make restitution for god's sake; ye will cough in hell else, that all the devils there will laugh at your coughing. there is no remedy but restitution, open or secret, or else hell." servant and master. a preacher who differed in opinion with adolphus gunn, called upon him, and being known, was denied admittance, "mr. gunn being busy in his study." "tell him," said the importunate visitor, "that a servant of the lord wishes to speak to him." gunn sent back this answer: "tell the servant of the lord that i am engaged with his master." dr. barrowby, who lived about the middle of last century, when canvassing for a post in st. bartholomew's hospital, called upon a grocer in snow hill, one of the governors. the grocer was sitting in his counting-house, and thence saw the doctor enter the shop. knowing his person, and having little doubt that the object of his visit was to solicit his vote at the approaching election, the grocer immediately donned his hat and spectacles, and greatest parochial consequence, and, strutting into the shop with an insolent air of patronage, addressed the doctor with--"well, friend, and what is your business?" barrowby promptly and quietly said, "i want a pound of plums;" and after the abashed and mortified grocer had weighed them out and put them up, barrowby paid for them and walked off without saying a word. (this story has been erroneously told of abernethy.) of the same dr. barrowby, it is related that an irish gentleman, whom the college of physicians had declined to pass, called next day on him, and insisted upon fighting him, as being one of the censors who had been the authors of the rejection. barrowby, who was small of stature, declined to fight. "i am only the third censor," he said, "in point of age; you must first call out your countryman, sir hans sloane, our president, and when you have fought him and the two senior censors, then i shall be ready to meet you." a desirable cure of souls. southey copied the following from jackson's _oxford journal_:-- "next presentation. "to be sold by auction, by hoggart and philips, at the auction mart, opposite the bank of england, on thursday next, the th day of april , the next presentation to a most valuable living, in one of the first sporting counties. the vicinity affords the best coursing in england, also excellent fishing, an extensive cover for game, and numerous packs of fox-hounds, harriers, etc.; it is half-an-hour's ride from one of the first cities, and not far distant from several most fashionable watering-places; the surrounding country is beautiful and healthful, and the society elegant and fashionable. the incumbent is about fifty years of age. particulars may be had," etc. etc. beau nash's treatment of a prescription. when beau nash was ill, dr. cheyne wrote a prescription for him. next day the doctor, coming to see his patient, asked him if he had followed the prescription. "no, truly, doctor," was the answer of nash; "if i had i should have broken my neck, for i threw it out of a two pair of stairs' window." pulteney's cure by small beer. mr. pulteney, afterwards the earl of bath, lay (about ) for a long time at lord chetwynd's house of ingestre, in staffordshire, sick, very dangerously, of a pleuritic fever. this illness cost him an expense of guineas for physicians; and, after all, his cure was accomplished merely by a draught of small beer. dr. hope, dr. swynsen, and other physicians from stafford, lichfield, and derby, were called in, and carried off about guineas of the patient's money, leaving the malady just where they found it. dr. freind went down post from london, with mrs. pulteney, and received guineas for the journey. dr. broxholm went from oxford, and received guineas. when these two physicians, who were pulteney's particular friends, arrived, they found his case to be quite desperate, and gave him over, saying that everything had been done that could be done. they prescribed some few medicines, but without the least effect. he was still alive, and was heard to mutter, in a low voice, "small beer, small beer." they said, "give him small beer, or anything." accordingly, a great silver cup was brought, which held two quarts of small beer; they ordered an orange to be squeezed into it, and gave it to him. pulteney drank off the whole at a draught, and demanded another. another cupful was administered to him; and soon after that he fell into a profuse perspiration and a profound slumber for nearly twenty-four hours. in his case the saying was eminently verified, "if he sleep he shall do well." from that time forth, he recovered wonderfully, insomuch that in a few days the physicians took their leave. the joy over his recovery was diffused over the whole country; for he was then in the height of that popularity which, after his elevation to the peerage, he completely forfeited. a witty french preacher. a french preacher, called father andré, was nicknamed by his bishop _le petit fallot_ (the little lantern). having to preach before the prelate, andré determined to notice this, and took for his text, "ye are the light of the world." addressing himself to the bishop, he said, "vous etês, monseigneur, le grand fallot de l'église, nous ne sommes que de petits fallots." father andré, preaching before an archbishop, perceived him to be asleep during the sermon, and thought of the following method to awake him. turning to the beadle of the church, he said in a loud voice, "shut the doors, the shepherd is asleep, and the sheep are going out, to whom i am announcing the word of god." this sally caused a stir in the audience, which awoke the archbishop. being once to announce a collection for a young lady, to enable her to take the veil, he said, before the commencement of his sermon, "friends, i recommend to your charity a young lady, who has not enough to enable her to make a vow of poverty." preaching during the whole of lent in a town where he was never invited to dine, he said, in his farewell sermon, "i have preached against every vice except that of good living--which, i believe, is not to be found among you, and therefore needed not my reproach." cromwell and richard baxter. after cromwell had seized on the government, richard baxter, the celebrated nonconformist divine, once preached before the protector, when he made use of the following text: "now, i beseech you, brethren, by the name of our lord jesus the christ, that ye all speak the same thing, and that there be no division amongst you; but that ye be perfectly joined together in the same mind, and in the same judgment." the discourse on these words was levelled against the divisions and distractions which then prevailed, especially in the church. after the sermon, cromwell sent for mr. baxter, and made a long and serious speech to him, about god's providence in the change of the government, and the great things which had been done at home and abroad. mr. baxter answered, that it was too condescending in his highness to acquaint him so fully with all these matters, which were above his understanding; but that the honest people of the land took their ancient monarchy to be a blessing, and not an evil, and humbly craved his patience, that he might ask how they had forfeited that blessing? at this question cromwell became angry; he said, "there was no forfeiture; but god had changed things as it pleased him;" and after reviling the parliament which thwarted him, and especially by name four or five members who were particular friends of mr. baxter, he dismissed the worthy divine with signs of great displeasure. messenger monsey's dying jests. dr. messenger monsey, the great grandfather of lord cranworth (so at least mr. jeafferson affirms), was appointed physician to chelsea hospital through the influence of godolphin, and, after holding that office for about half a century, died in his rooms at chelsea in , in his ninety-fifth year. the eccentricities that had characterized his prime continued to distinguish him to the last. in consequence of his great age, many intending candidates for the office went down to chelsea, in order to contemplate the various advantages and _agrémens_ of the situation, and observe the progress of the tenacious incumbent towards final recumbency. monsey, who was at once a humorist, and possessed of a sharp eye for a visitor of this order, one day espied in the college walks a reconnoitring doctor, whom he thus accosted: "so, sir, i find you are one of the candidates to succeed me." the physician bowed. monsey proceeded: "but you will be confoundedly disappointed." "disappointed!" exclaimed the physician, with quivering lips. "yes," returned monsey; "you expect to outlive me; but i can discern from your countenance, and other concomitant circumstances, that you are deceiving yourself--you will certainly die first; though, as i have nothing to expect from that event, i shall not rejoice at your death, as i am persuaded you would at mine." it actually fell out as monsey (possibly only by way of a ghastly jest) had foretold; the candidate lived but a short time. the doctor was so diverted with checking the aspiring hopes of his brethren of the faculty, that whenever he saw a physician on the look-out, he was not content till he had gone down to comfort him in the same manner. he did so to several; and it is very remarkable--if it be true, as it is alleged--that his predictions were in every case verified. at last the medical speculators shrank in superstitious alarm from chelsea, and left monsey to die in peace; indeed, when his death happened, the minister of the day was not engaged by a single promise, nor had he had for some time a single application for the place of physician to the college. monsey got out of his own death as much grim fun as he had out of the poor prying place-hunters. a few days before he died, he wrote to mr. cruickshanks, the anatomist, begging to know whether it would suit his convenience to undertake the dissection of his body, as he felt that he could not live many hours, and mr. forster, his surgeon, was then out of town. the dissection was one of the instructions of his eccentric and rather brutal will; his body was not to be subjected to the insult of any funeral ceremony, but, after the surgeon had finished with it, "the remainder of my carcase may be put into a hole, or crammed into a box with holes, and thrown into the thames." his will was, so far as regards the dissection, faithfully carried out; mr. forster dissected the body, and delivered a lecture upon it to the medical students in the theatre of guy's hospital. before he had disposed of his body by will in the manner described, and when he meant to be buried in his garden, he had written an epitaph eminently characteristic of his violent cynicism and contempt of things sacred:-- monsey's epitaph, written by himself. "here lie my old bones; my vexation now ends; i have lived much too long for myself and my friends. as to churches and churchyards, which men may call holy, 'tis a rank piece of priestcraft, and founded on folly. what the next world may be, never troubled my pate; and be what it may, i beseech you, o fate! when the bodies of millions rise up in a riot, to let the old carcase of monsey be quiet." unmistakeable identity. a reverend doctor in london was what is usually termed a popular preacher. his reputation, however, had been gained not by his drawing largely on his own stores of knowledge or eloquence, but by the skill with which he appropriated the thoughts and language of the great divines who had gone before him. with fashionable audiences, lightly versed in pulpit lore, he passed for a miracle of erudition and pathos. it did, for all that, once happen to him to be detected in his larcenies. one sunday, as he was beginning to amaze and delight his admirers, a grave old gentleman seated himself close to the pulpit, and listened with close attention. the preacher had hardly finished his third sentence, before the old gentleman muttered, loud enough to be heard by those near, "that's sherlock!" the doctor frowned, but went on. he had not proceeded much further, when his tormentor broke out with, "that's tillotson!" the doctor bit his lips and paused, but, considering discretion the better part of valour, again proceeded. a third exclamation of "that's blair!" however, was too much, and fairly deprived him of patience. leaning over the pulpit, he cried, "fellow, if you do not hold your tongue, you shall be turned out!" without moving a muscle of his face, the grave old gentleman raised his head, and, looking the doctor full in the face, retorted, "_that's his own!_" whitfield and the new york sailors. when whitfield preached before the seamen at new york, he had the following bold apostrophe in his sermon:--"well, my boys, we have a clear sky, and are making fine headway over a smooth sea, before a light breeze, and we shall soon lose sight of land. but what means this sudden lowering of the heavens, and that dark cloud arising from beneath the western horizon? hark! don't you hear distant thunder? don't you see those flashes of lightning? there is a storm gathering! every man to his duty! how the waves rise, and dash against the ship! the air is dark! the tempest rages! our masts are gone! the ship is on her beam ends! what next?" it is said that the unsuspecting tars, reminded of former perils on the deep, as if struck by the power of magic, arose with united voices and minds, and shouted, "_take to the long boat._." clever perversion of scripture. dr. williamson, vicar of moulton, in lincolnshire, had a violent quarrel with one of his parishioners of the name of hardy, who showed considerable resentment. on the succeeding sunday the doctor preached from the following text, which he pronounced with much emphasis, and with a significant look at mr. hardy, who was present: "there is no fool like the fool _hardy_." dr. wasdale's long ride. dr. wasdale, who originally was an apothecary, resided at carlisle when george iii. came to the throne; and as he had some business to transact in london, he was desirous to see the pageant of the coronation at the same time. as he was very busy in his professional engagements at carlisle, he set out on a saturday after the market was over, about one in the afternoon, and got to london the next day, sunday, in the evening, having ridden miles in twenty-eight hours. he left london again on the following thursday about noon, and got home on friday in the evening. this is perhaps the greatest equestrian feat in medical annals; and, for the information of possible rivals, the doctor left the memorandum "that he made use of his own saddle the whole journey." dr. wasdale, in the later part of his life, resided in spring gardens, but did not engage in practice, acting as private secretary to the duke of norfolk. iconoclastic zeal in the north. "the high altar at aberdeen"--so we read in douglas's _east coast of scotland_, published at the end of last century--"a piece of the finest workmanship of anything of the kind in europe, was hewn to pieces in , by order of the parish minister. the carpenter employed for this infamous purpose, struck with the noble workmanship, refused to lay a tool on it; till the more than gothic priest took the hatchet from his hand, and struck the first blow." elsewhere douglas, who displays a heart hatred of the image-breakers, remarks that, "so violent was the zeal of that reforming period against all monuments of idolatry, that perhaps the sun and moon, very ancient objects of false worship, _owed their safety to their distance_." unconcern in presence of death. dr. woodville, the author of a work on medical botany, lived in lodgings at a carpenter's house in ely place, london; and a few days before he died, dr. adams brought about his removal, for better attendance, to the small-pox hospital. the carpenter with whom he lodged had not been always on the best terms with him. woodville said he should like to let the man see that he died at peace with him, and, as he never had had much occasion to employ him, desired that he might be sent for to come and measure him for his coffin. this was done; the carpenter came, and took measure of the doctor, who begged him not to be more than two days about it, "for," said he, "i shall not live beyond that time;" and he actually did die just before the end of the next day. a contemporary and friend of his, dr. george fordyce, also expired under similar circumstances. he desired his youngest daughter, who was sitting by his bedside, to take up a book and read to him; she read for about twenty minutes, when the doctor said, "stop, go out of the room; i am going to die." she put down the book, and went out of the room to call the attendant, who immediately went into the bedroom and found that fordyce had breathed his last. an agricultural defence of bigotry. in ryder's _history of england_, a singular reason is stated to have been alleged by the interlocutor, in support of a motion he had made in convocation against permitting the printing of cranmer's translation of the bible. "if," said the mover, "we give them the scriptures in their vernacular tongue, what ploughman who has read that 'no man having set his hand to the plough, and looking back, is fit for the kingdom of heaven,' will thenceforth make a straight furrow?" puritan rechristening of playing cards. the puritans objected to the use of "heathen" names, not only for children, but for the "court" cards of the pack. they complained, according to collier, of the appellations of hercules, alexander, julius cæsar, hector, and such like; and they wanted to have the kings called david, solomon, isaiah, and hezekiah; the queens, sarah, rachel, esther, and susannah; the knaves, balak, achitophel, tobit, and bel. there was, however, it must be confessed, considerable toleration in their permitting the use of cards at all. john hunter the anatomist. wadd, in his interesting collection of medical _mems., maxims, and memoirs_, says of john hunter:--"when hunter began practice, the town was in possession of hawkins, bromfield, sharpe, and pott; whilst adair and tomkins had the chief practice derived from the army. he remained in unenvied obscurity for many years; and so little was he considered, that some time after he began lecturing his class consisted of less than twenty. dr. denman used to say that william hunter was a man of order, and john hunter a man of genius; and, in truth, with all his cleverness, which was more than ordinary, the doctor always felt john's superiority. 'in this i am only my brother's interpreter.' 'i am simply the demonstrator of this discovery; it was my brother's'--were his constant expressions. hunter was a philosopher in more senses than one: he had philosophy enough to bear prosperity as well as adversity, and with a rough exterior was a very kind man. the poor could command his services more than the rich. he would see an industrious tradesman before a duke, when his house was full of grandees. 'you have no time to spare,' he would say; 'you live by it: most of these can wait; they have nothing to do when they go home.' no man cared less for the profits of the profession, or more for the honour of it. he cared not for money himself, and wished the doctor to estimate it by the same scale, when he sent a poor man with this laconic note:-- 'dear brother,--the bearer wants your advice. i do not know the nature of the case. he has no money, and you have plenty, so you are well met.--yours, 'j. hunter.' he was once applied to, to perform a serious operation on a tradesman's wife; the fee agreed upon was twenty guineas. he heard no more of the case for two months, at the end of which time he was called upon to perform it. in the course of his attendance he found out that the cause of the delay had been the difficulty under which the patient's husband had laboured to raise the money; and that they were worthy people, who had been unfortunate, and were by no means able to support the expense of such an affliction. 'i sent back to the husband nineteen guineas, and kept the twentieth,' said he, 'that they might not be hurt with an idea of too great an obligation. it somewhat more than paid me for the expense i had been at in the business.' he held the operative part of surgery in the lowest estimation. 'to perform an operation,' said he, 'is to mutilate the patient whom we are unable to cure; it should therefore be considered as an acknowledgment of the imperfection of our art.' among other characteristics of genius, was his simplicity of character and singleness of mind. his works were announced as the works of _john hunter_; and _john hunter_ on a plain brass plate announced his residence. his honour and his pride made him look with contempt on the unworthy arts by which ignorant and greedy men advance their fortunes. he contemplated the hallowed duties of his art with the feelings of a philanthropist and a philosopher; and although surgery had been cultivated more than years, this single individual did more towards establishing it as a _science_, than all who preceded him." lord bacon on the revival of "prophesying." lord bacon, in his _inquiry on the pacification of the church_, asks whether it might not be advantageous to renew the good service that was practised in the church of england for some years, and afterwards put down, against the advice and opinion of one of the greatest and gravest prelates of the land. the service in question was commonly called "prophesying;" and from this description of it by bacon it may be seen that it might have benefits of its own, not in the church of england alone or especially, if it were resumed at the present day:--"the ministers within a precinct did meet upon a week-day in some principal town, where there was some ancient grave minister that was president, and an auditory admitted of gentlemen, or other persons of leisure. then every minister successively, beginning with the youngest, did handle one and the same part of scripture, spending severally some quarter of an hour or better, and in the whole, some two hours; and so the exercise being begun and concluded with prayer, and the president giving a text for the next meeting, the assembly was dissolved; and this was, as i take it, a fortnight's exercise, which in my opinion was the best way to frame and train up preachers to handle the word of god as it ought to be handled, that hath been practised. for we see orators have their declamations; lawyers have their merits; logicians their sophisms; and every practice of science hath an exercise of erudition and imitation before men come to the life; only preaching, which is the worthiest, and wherein it is most dangerous to do amiss, wanteth an introduction, and is ventured and rushed upon at first." dr. donne's prayerful pun. dr. donne, the dean of st. paul's, having married a lady of a rich and noble family without the consent of the parents, was treated with great asperity. having been told by the father that he was to expect no money from him, the doctor went home and wrote the following note to him: "john donne, anne donne, _undone_." this quibble had the desired effect, and the distressed couple were restored to favour. preparing for the worst and best. the historians of dissent record with pride the sedulous preparation of dr. marryat, a tutor who belonged to the independent body, to make the best of either of the worlds to come. he was accustomed, we are told, to sit up at his studies two or three nights in the week, the whole year over. he learned by heart, at these times, the poets and prophets of the old testament, the epistles and apocalypse of the new; and what he had thus acquired, he sought to retain by careful recitation of them annually. he had begun to do this while he was yet a young man; when, "deeply convinced of his sinfulness and misery, he was afraid of falling into hell, and formed the resolution that if that should be the case, he would treasure up in his mind as much of the word of god as he possibly could, and carry it with him to the place of torment. when faith in his redeemer afterwards communicated to his soul the peace and consolations of the gospel, he still continued the practice, that he might have a larger measure to carry to a better place." george crabbe, the apothecary poet. not the least distinguished among the names of doctors who have distinguished themselves in the world of literature, is that of george crabbe. he was the son of the collector of salt dues at aldborough, in suffolk, where he was born on christmas eve, . his father strove to give his children an education somewhat above their station in life; and george was kept at school at bungay and stowmarket till his fourteenth year--his comparative delicacy of constitution inducing his father to destine him to a gentler pursuit than those followed by his brothers. leaving school, he was apprenticed to a country doctor, half farmer half physician, at wickham brook, near bury st. edmunds, where he shared the bed of his master's stable-boy. this and other _désagrémens_ of the situation, however, did not suit crabbe's likings or his father's honest pride; and in a couple of years he was removed, and placed with mr. page, a surgeon at woodbridge, and a gentleman of family and taste. here he found time and circumstances favouring to make his first essays in poetry; and in published his first work of consequence, _inebriety, a poem: in three parts_. at the expiry of his apprenticeship, crabbe vainly tried to raise funds for a regular course of study in london, and had to content himself with settling down in his native village in a small practice as surgeon and apothecary; but this proving an insufficient source of income, he resolved to venture his fortunes in london, in dependence on his poetic talent. "with this view he proceeded to london; and after a year spent in that most trying of all situations, that of a literary adventurer without money and without friends--a situation from the miseries of which the unfortunate chatterton, 'the wondrous boy,' escaped by suicide--when on the point of being thrown into jail for the little debts which he had unavoidably contracted, as a last resource, in an auspicious moment, he had applied to edmund burke for assistance, transmitting to him at the same time some verses as a specimen of his abilities. in these sketches burke at once recognised the hand of a master. he invited the poet to beaconsfield; installed him in a convenient apartment; opened up to him the stores of his library; watched over his progress, and afforded him the benefit of his taste and literary skill." "the library" soon appeared, and crabbe was famous. by burke's advice he went into holy orders; he was appointed chaplain to the household of the duke of rutland, obtained ample church preferment, and pursued his path to fame. the way to promotion. speed relates that guymond, chaplain to henry i., observing that for the most part ignorant men were advanced to the best dignities of the church, one day, as he was celebrating divine service before the king, and was about to read these words out of st. james, "it rained not upon the earth iii years and vi months," read it thus: "it rained not upon the earth one-one-one years and five-one months." the king noticed the singularity, and afterwards took occasion to blame the chaplain for it. "sire," answered guymond, "i did it on purpose, for such readers, i find, are sooner advanced by your majesty." the king smiled; and in a short time thereafter presented guymond to the benefice of st. frideswid's, in oxford. bold application of bourdaloue. louis bourdaloue--who claims the proud distinction of being "the reformer of the pulpit and the founder of genuine pulpit eloquence in france"--was sent for by louis xiv. to preach the advent sermon in . bourdaloue, at that time at the age of thirty-eight, acquitted himself before the court with so much success, that he was for many years afterwards retained as a preacher at court. he was called the king of preachers, and the preacher to kings; and louis himself said, that he would rather hear the repetitions of bourdaloue, than the novelties of another. with a collected air, he had little action; he kept his eyes generally half closed, and penetrated the hearts of his hearers by the tones of a voice uniform and solemn. on one occasion he turned the peculiarity of his external aspect to account in a very memorable fashion. after depicting in soul-awakening terms a sinner of the first magnitude, he suddenly opened his eyes, and, casting them full on the king, who sat opposite to him, he cried in a voice of thunder, "thou art the man!" the effect was magical, confounding. when bourdaloue had made an end of his discourse, he immediately went, and, throwing himself at the feet of his sovereign, said, "sire, behold at your feet one who is the most devoted of your servants; but punish him not, that in the pulpit he can own no other master than the king of kings!" this incident was characteristic of bourdaloue's style of preaching, for he gave his powers to attacking the vices, passions, and errors of mankind. in his later days he renounced the pulpit, and devoted himself to the care of hospitals, prisons, and religious institutions. he died in ; and his sermons have been translated into several tongues. garrick's precepts for preachers. the celebrated actor garrick having been requested by dr. stonehouse to favour him with his opinion as to the manner in which a sermon ought to be delivered, sent him the following judicious answer:-- "my dear pupil,--you know how you would feel and speak in a parlour concerning a friend who was in imminent danger of his life, and with what energetic pathos of diction and countenance you would enforce the observance of that which you really thought would be for his preservation. you could not think of playing the orator, of studying your emphases, cadences, and gestures; you would be yourself; and the interesting nature of your subject impressing your heart would furnish you with the most natural tone of voice, the most proper language, the most engaging features, and the most suitable and graceful gestures. what you would thus be in the parlour, be in the pulpit, and you will not fail to please, to affect, and to profit. adieu, my dear friend." george ii. as an amateur surgeon. it is related in the _percy anecdotes_, that a gentleman, after taking tea with a friend who lived in st. james's palace, took his leave, and stepping back, immediately fell down a whole flight of stairs, and with his head broke open a closet door. the unlucky visitor was completely stunned by the fall; and on his recovery, found himself sitting on the floor of a small room, and most kindly attended by a neat little old gentleman, who was carefully washing his head with a towel, and fitting with great exactness pieces of sticking plaster to the variegated cuts which the accident had occasioned. for some time his surprise kept him silent; but finding that the kind physician had completed his task, and had even picked up his wig, and replaced it on his head, he rose from the floor, and limping towards his benefactor, was going to utter a profusion of thanks for the attention he had received. these were, however, instantly checked by an intelligent frown, and significant motion of the hand towards the door. the patient understood the hint, but did not then know that for the kind assistance he had received he was indebted to george ii., king of england. blunders of blood-letters. a noble fee, in the interests of humanity, was given by a french lady to a surgeon, who used his lancet so clumsily that he cut an artery instead of a vein, in consequence of which the lady died. on her deathbed she made a will, bequeathing the operator a life annuity of eight hundred livres, on condition "that he never again bled anybody so long as he lived." in the _journal encyclopédique_ of may , a somewhat similar story is told of a polish princess, who lost her life in the same way. in her will, made _in extremis_, there was the following clause:--"convinced of the injury that my unfortunate accident will occasion to the unhappy surgeon who is the cause of my death, i bequeath to him a life annuity of two hundred ducats, secured by my estate, and forgive his mistake from my heart. i wish this may indemnify him for the discredit which my sorrowful catastrophe will bring upon him." a famous french maréchal reproved the awkwardness of a phlebotomist less agreeably. drawing himself away from the operator, just as the incision was about to be made, he displayed an unwillingness to put himself further in the power of a practitioner who, in affixing the fillet, had given him a blow with the elbow in the face. "my lord," said the surgeon, "it seems that you are afraid of the bleeding." "no," returned the maréchal, "not of the bleeding--but the bleeder." bishops and the poor. a nobleman once advising a french bishop to add to his house a new wing in modern style, received this answer:--"the difference, my lord, between your advice and that which the devil gave to our saviour is, that satan advised jesus to change the stones into bread, that the poor might be fed--and you desire me to turn the bread of the poor into stones!" ethelwold, bishop of winchester in the time of king edgar, sold the sacred gold and silver vessels belonging to the church, to relieve the poor during a famine,--saying that there was no reason that the senseless temples of god should abound in riches, while his living temples were perishing of hunger. butler, bishop of durham, being asked for a charitable subscription, asked his steward what money he had in the house. the steward informed him that there were five hundred pounds. "five hundred pounds!" cried the bishop; "it is a shame for a bishop to have so much in his possession!" and he ordered the whole sum to be immediately given to the poor. bishop burnet against pluralities. bishop burnet, in his charges to the clergy of his diocese, used to be extremely vehement in his exclamations against pluralities. in his first visitation to salisbury, he urged the authority of st. bernard; who, being consulted by one of his followers whether he might accept of two benefices, replied, "and how will you be able to serve them both?" "i intend," answered the priest, "to officiate in one of them by a deputy." "will your deputy suffer eternal punishment for you too?" asked the saint. "believe me, you may serve your cure by proxy, but you must suffer the penalty in person." this anecdote made such an impression on mr. kelsey, a pious and worthy clergyman then present, that he immediately resigned the rectory of bemerton, in berkshire, worth £ a year, which he then held with one of greater value. abernethy conquered by curran. to curb his tongue, out of respect to abernethy's humour, was an impossibility to john philpot curran. eight times curran (who was personally unknown to abernethy) had called on the great surgeon; and eight times abernethy had looked at the orator's tongue (telling him that it was the most unclean and utterly abominable tongue in the world); had curtly advised him to drink less, and not abuse his stomach with gormandizing; had taken a guinea, and had bowed him out of the room. on the ninth visit, just as he was about to be dismissed in the same summary fashion, curran said, "mr. abernethy, i have been here on eight different days, and i have paid you eight different guineas, but you have never yet listened to the symptoms of my complaint. i am resolved, sir, not to leave the room till you satisfy me by doing so." with a good-natured laugh, abernethy leaned back in his chair and said, "oh! very well, sir; i am ready to hear you out. go on, give me the whole--your birth, parentage, and education. i wait your pleasure. pray be as minute and tedious as you can." curran gravely began:--"sir, my name is john philpot curran. my parents were poor, but, i believe, honest people, of the province of munster, where also i was born, at newmarket, in the county of cork, in the year one thousand seven hundred and fifty. my father being employed to collect the rents of a protestant gentleman of small fortune, in that neighbourhood, procured my admission into one of the protestant free schools, where i obtained the first rudiments of my education. i was next enabled to enter trinity college, dublin, in the humble sphere of a sizar--." and so he went steadily on, till he had thrown abernethy into convulsions of laughter. witticisms of archbishop whately. "what is the difference," asked archbishop whately of a young clergyman he was examining, "between a form and a ceremony? the meaning seems nearly the same; yet there is a very nice distinction." various answers were given. "well," he said, "it lies in this: you sit upon a _form_, but you stand upon _ceremony_." "morrow's library" is the mudie's of dublin, and the rev. mr. day a popular preacher. "how inconsistent," said archbishop whately, "is the piety of certain ladies here! they go to _day_ for a sermon, and to _morrow_ for a novel!" at a dinner-party archbishop whately called out suddenly to the host: "mr. ----!" there was silence. "mr. ----, what is the proper female companion of this john dory?" after the usual number of guesses the answer came: "_anne chovy._" whitfield and the kingswood colliers. the crowds that attended the preaching of whitfield, first suggested to him the thought of preaching in the open air. when he mentioned this to some of his friends, they judged it was mere madness; nor did he begin to practise it until he went to bristol, when, finding the churches denied to him, he preached on a hill at kingswood to the colliers. after he had done this three or four times, his congregation is said to have amounted to twenty thousand persons. he effected a great moral reform among these colliers by his preaching. "the first discovery," he tells us, "of their being affected, was to see the white gutters made by their tears, which plentifully fell down their black cheeks, as they came out of their coal-pits." after this he preached frequently in the open air in the vicinity of london, and in other parts of the country, to thousands of auditors. sir hans sloane. this illustrious physician, president of the royal society and the college of physicians, and the founder of the british museum, was born at killaleagh, in the north of ireland, in . he settled in london in , and was in great repute as a practitioner in the time of radcliffe, with whom he was acquainted, though they were never friends. on his arrival in london, he waited on sydenham with a letter of introduction, in which a friend had set forth his qualifications in glowing language, as "a ripe scholar, a good botanist, a skilful anatomist." sydenham read the recommendation, and eyed the young man very narrowly; then he said, "all this is mighty fine, but it won't do. anatomy--botany--nonsense! sir, i know an old woman in covent garden who understands botany better; and as for anatomy, my butcher can dissect a joint just as well. no, no, young man, this is all stuff; you must go to the bedside,--it is there alone that you can learn disease." in spite of this mortifying reception, however, sydenham afterwards took the greatest interest in sloane, frequently making the young man accompany him in his chariot on his favourite airing. it was against the strongly expressed wish of sydenham that sloane went to jamaica--where he gathered abundant materials for the book on the natural history of that island, which he published at intervals from till . he neglected, when he was settled in successful practice in london, no means that could advance the interests of literature and science. he presented to the apothecaries' company the fee-simple of their gardens, on conditions as honourable to their fame as to his own. it was his public spirit and humanity that suggested the plan of the "dispensary," the opposition to which gave rise to the beautiful and famous poem of garth, which alone preserves the memory of the contest and the disputants on this much-vexed subject. sloane was made a baronet in ; but his greatest glory was his succession to sir isaac newton in the presidency of the royal society. sloane had previously acted as secretary; and an evidence is given of the high sense entertained by that body for his services and his virtues, by their expulsion of dr. woodward from the council, for affronting him by making grimaces, and by interrupting him, while reading a paper of his own composition, with a grossly insulting remark. sir isaac newton was in the chair when the expulsion of woodward came under discussion; and some one pleading in his favour that he was a good natural philosopher, newton interfered with the remark, that "in order to belong to that society, a man ought to be a good moral philosopher as well as a good natural one." in sloane retired from practice; and in he was visited by the prince of wales, the father of george iii., who went to see a collection and library that were the ornament of the nation. the prince duly estimated the value and excellence of the collection, and at the same time remarked "how much it must conduce to the benefit of learning, and how great an honour must redound to britain, to have it established for public use to the latest posterity." it is probable that by this time the intention of sir hans to bequeath his collection to the nation had transpired; at all events, when he died, in , it was found by his will that his collections, which had cost £ , , and included , books and manuscripts, had been left to the nation, on condition of the payment of £ , to his heirs. parliament voted £ , to fulfil the bargain and increase the collection; and in the british museum, founded on sir hans sloane's bequest, was first opened at montague house. sir hans had the reputation of being one of the most abstemious and parsimonious of eminent physicians--his absorbing love for his museum forbidding us to blame or sneer at a failing from which the country reaped such splendid fruit. he is said to have given up his winter soirees in bloomsbury square, to save the tea and bread and butter he had to dispense to the guests. at one of the latest of these entertainments, handel was present, and gave grave offence to the scientific baronet by laying a muffin on one of his books. "to be sure it was a gareless trick," said the composer, a little brutally, when telling the story, "bud it tid no monsdrous mischief; bud it pode the old poog-vorm treadfully oud of sorts. i offered my best apologies, bud the old miser would not have done with it. if it had been a biscuit it would not have mattered; but muffin and pudder! and i said, 'ah, mine gotd, that is the rub!--it is the pudder!' now, mine worthy friend, sir hans sloane, you have a nodable excuse, you may save your doast and pudder, and lay it to that unfeeling gormandizing german; and den i knows it will add something to your life by sparing your burse.'" the rev. rowland hill, while once travelling alone, was accosted by a footpad, who, by the agitation of his voice and manner, appeared to be new to his profession. after delivering to the assailant his watch and purse, curiosity prompted mr. hill to examine him as to the motives that had urged him to so desperate a course. the man candidly confessed, that being out of employment, with a wife and children who were perishing of want, despair had forced him to turn robber; but that this was the first act of the kind in which he had been engaged. mr. hill, struck with the apparent sincerity of the man, and feeling for his distress, gave his name and address, and asked him to call on him the next day. the man did so, and was immediately taken into the service of the humane divine, where he continued till his death. nor did mr. hill ever divulge the circumstance, until he related it in the funeral sermon which he preached on the death of his domestic. the same clergyman being called to visit a sick man, found a poor emaciated creature in a wretched bed, without anything to alleviate his misery. looking more narrowly, he observed that the man was actually without a shirt, on which mr. hill instantly stripped himself, and forced his own upon the reluctant but grateful object; then, buttoning himself up closely, he hastened homewards, sent all that was needed to relieve the destitute being he had left, provided medical aid, and had the satisfaction of restoring a fellow-creature to his family. "make the most of him." dr. moore, the author of _zeluco_, told the following little story, which suggests that physicians are not always disinclined to recoup themselves for their generosity, by making the rich and foolish pay through the nose:--"a wealthy tradesman, after drinking the bath waters, took a fancy to try the effect of the bristol hot wells. armed with an introduction from a bath physician to a professional brother at bristol, the invalid set out on his journey. on the road he gave way to his curiosity to read the doctor's letter of introduction, and cautiously prying into it read these instructive words: 'dear sir, the bearer is a fat wiltshire clothier--make the most of him.'" a pacific she. sir william dawes, archbishop of york, loved a pun very well. his clergy dining with him for the first time after he had lost his lady, he told them he feared they did not find things in so good order as they used to be in the time of poor mary; and, looking extremely sorrowful, he added with a deep sigh, "she was, indeed, _mare pacificum_." a curate, who knew pretty well what the deceased lady had been in her domestic relations, said, "aye, my lord, but she was _mare mortuum_ first!" time and eternity. when archbishop leighton was minister of a parish in scotland, the question was asked of the ministers in their synod or provincial meeting, whether they preached the duties of the times. when it was found that leighton did not, and he was blamed for his remissness, he made the answer and defence: "if all the brethren have preached on the _times_, may not one poor brother be suffered to preach on _eternity_?" physicians and clergymen. a peculiar sympathy has always existed between these two professions, when the second had need of the first; and the times were, and for some are not yet past, when the condition of the clergy gave them a very powerful claim on the generosity of the physicians. a poor clergyman, settled in london on a curacy of fifty pounds per annum, with a wife and numerous family, was known to the good quaker, dr. fothergill. an epidemic disease seized upon the curate's wife and five children. in his distress he looked to the doctor for his assistance, but dared not apply to him, not being able to pay him for his attendance. a friend, who knew his situation, kindly offered to accompany him to the doctor's house, and give him his fee. they took the advantage of his hour of audience; and, after a description of the several cases, the fee was offered, and rejected, but note was taken of the curate's place of residence. the doctor called assiduously the next and every succeeding day, until his attendance was no longer necessary. the curate, anxious to return some mark of the sense he entertained of the doctor's services, strained every nerve to accomplish it; but his astonishment was not to be described, when, instead of receiving the money he offered, with apologies for his situation, the doctor put ten guineas into his hand, desiring him to apply without diffidence in future difficulties.--dr. wilson, of bath, sent a present of £ to an indigent clergyman, whom he had met in the course of practice. the gentleman who had engaged to convey the gift to the unfortunate priest, said, "well, then, i'll take the money to him to-morrow." "oh, my dear sir," said the doctor, "take it to him to-night. only think of the importance to a sick man of one good night's rest!" murray and gibb, edinburgh, printers to her majesty's stationery office. catalogue of popular and standard books published by william p. nimmo, edinburgh, _and sold by all booksellers_. a superb gift-book. the 'edina' burns. _just ready_, beautifully printed on the finest toned paper, and elegantly bound in cloth extra, gilt edges, price one guinea; or turkey morocco extra, price two guineas; or in clan tartan enamelled, with photograph of the poet, price two guineas. _a handsome drawing-room edition of_ the poems and songs of robert burns. _with original illustrations by the most distinguished scottish artists._ the 'edina' edition of burns contains sixty-four entirely original illustrations, drawn expressly for it; and the names of the artists who have kindly given their assistance--comprising several of the most distinguished members of the royal scottish academy--are a sufficient guarantee that they are executed in the highest style of art. the engraving of the illustrations is executed by mr. r. paterson; and the volume is printed by mr. r. clark, edinburgh. opinions of the press on the 'edina burns.' the times. 'the arts of the printer and engraver show to advantage in this scotch edition of the poems and songs of burns. the artists who supply the illustrations are all of the land of burns, and the book owes nothing to handicraftsmen on this side the tweed. many of the engravings are excellent, particularly the landscape sketches. altogether the book is a handsome one, and to the "scot abroad" it would be difficult to make a more acceptable present.' pall mall gazette. 'mr. nimmo's illustrated edition of the "poems and songs of robert burns" is a book upon which the publisher has evidently bestowed great care. limiting himself to the art and industry of his own country, he has endeavoured to unite scotland's best draughtsmen, engravers, and printers in the production of a worthy edition of scotland's greatest and dearest poet. the result is very satisfactory. it is certainly a very meritorious production, and one which does great credit to the publisher.' the examiner. 'of all the handsome reprints of the works of "nature's own" bard, this "edina" edition of the poems and songs of burns is, perhaps, the handsomest yet produced. beautifully printed, and profusely illustrated by some of the most distinguished of the scotch academicians, it forms a shrine worthy of the genius of the "poet of the land of the mountain and the flood."' court circular. 'if we were asked what is the best and handsomest edition of burns extant, we should answer--and we call the special attention of the reader to the distinguishing title which the publisher has affixed to this volume--the "edina."' saturday review. 'this is, as it ought to be, a scotch edition. it is of scotland, decidedly scottish. scotch as to author, printer, publisher, and illustrator. the whole thing has a decidedly pretty and whiskyish look; or, rather, to speak more decorously, it recalls the land of the heather and the flood throughout.' illustrated london news. 'the magnificent "edina" edition of his works is a noble tribute rendered to the genius of burns by the graphic and typographic skill and taste of edinburgh, the city which gave him an admiring welcome in his lifetime, and where his monument has been erected.' court journal. 'if burns could have lived to see himself in such a jacket of gold and red as mr. nimmo of edinburgh puts upon him this year, he would, we think, have shed a tear of gratitude, for pride would have been foreign to so great a heart.' illustrated times. 'many editions of the works of the immortal scottish bard have passed under our notice within the last few years, but none equal to the "edina burns," just published by mr. nimmo.' nimmo's 'carmine' gift-books. _new and cheaper editions._ small to, beautifully printed within red lines on superior paper, handsomely bound in cloth extra, bevelled boards, gilt edges, price s. d., roses and holly: a gift-book for all the year. with original illustrations by gourlay steell, r.s.a.; sam. bough, a.r.s.a.; john m'whirter; r. herdman, r.s.a.; clark stanton, a.r.s.a.; j. lawson, and other eminent artists. 'this is really a collection of art and literary gems--the prettiest book, take it all in all, that we have seen this season.'--_illustrated times_. uniform with the above, price s. d., pen and pencil pictures from the poets. a series of forty beautiful illustrations on wood, with descriptive selections from the writings of the poets, elegantly printed within red lines, on superfine paper. uniform with the above, price s. d., gems of literature: elegant, rare, and suggestive. a collection of the most notable beauties of the english language, appropriately illustrated with upwards of one hundred original engravings, drawn expressly for this work. beautifully printed within red lines, on superfine paper. 'for really luxurious books, nimmo's "pen and pencil pictures from the poets" and "gems of literature" may be well recommended. they are luxurious in the binding, in the print, in the engravings, and in the paper.'--_morning post._ uniform with the above, price s. d., the book of elegant extracts. profusely illustrated by the most eminent artists. choicely printed on superfine paper, within red lines. second edition, imperial mo, cloth extra, gilt edges, price s. d., karl-of-the-locket and his three wishes. a tale. by david smith. 'to that portion of the public which cares about knowing such things, it has not been unknown for some time that mr. david smith, brother of the poet alexander, is likewise in possession of the literary faculty, and even of the gift of song; but this beautiful little book, which will be the delight of all boys and the admiration of many men, so for as we are aware, is the first substantive work from his pen. meant as it is for a boy's book, it presents a terseness in the style, a poetic tint in the language throughout, and a vividness in the descriptive passages, which we do not often find in such literature in england.'--_daily review._ crown to, cloth extra, gilt edges, price s., the national melodist. two hundred standard songs, with symphonies and accompaniments for the pianoforte. edited by j. c. kieser. demy to, cloth extra, gilt edges, price s. d., the scottish melodist. forty-eight scottish songs and ballads, with symphonies and accompaniments for the pianoforte. edited by j. c. kieser. the above two volumes are very excellent collections of first-class music. the arrangements and accompaniments, as the name of the editor will sufficiently testify, are admirable. they form handsome and suitable presentation volumes. demy vo, cloth, price s. d., jamieson's scottish dictionary. abridged from the dictionary and supplement (in vols. to), by john johnstone. an entirely new edition, revised and enlarged, by john longmuir, a.m., ll.d., formerly lecturer in king's college and university, aberdeen. nimmo's library edition of standard works, well adapted for prizes in upper classes and high schools. in large demy vo, with steel portrait and vignette, handsomely bound in cloth extra, in a new style, price s. each. the complete works of william shakespeare, based on the text of johnson, steevens, and reed; with a biographical sketch by mary c. clarke; and a copious glossary. the arabian nights' entertainments. translated from the arabic. an entirely new edition. illustrated with upwards of original engravings. the complete poetical and prose works of robert burns. with life and variorum notes. the miscellaneous works of oliver goldsmith. josephus: the whole works of flavius josephus, the jewish historian. translated by whiston. ten volumes, large crown vo, cloth, price £ , s., a handsome library edition of the history of scotland, from the accession of alexander iii. to the union. by patrick fraser tytler, f.r.s.e., f.a.s. also, four volumes, crown vo, cloth, price s., the people's edition of tytler's history of scotland. 'the most brilliant age of scotland is fortunate in having found a historian whose sound judgment is accompanied by a graceful liveliness of imagination. we venture to predict that this book will soon become, and long remain, the standard history of scotland.'--_quarterly review._ 'an accurate, well-digested, well-written history; evincing deliberation, research, judgment, and fidelity.'--_scotsman._ 'the tenor of the work in general reflects the highest honour on mr. tytler's talents and industry.'--_sir walter scott._ 'the want of a complete history of scotland has been long felt; and from the specimen which the volume before us gives of the author's talents and capacity for the task he has undertaken, it may be reasonably inferred that the deficiency will be very ably supplied. the descriptions of the battles are concise, but full of spirit. the events are themselves of the most romantic kind, and are detailed in a very picturesque and forcible style.'--_times._ *_* the library edition of tytler's history of scotland may be had in ten volumes, handsomely bound in tree calf extra; and the people's edition, four volumes in two, tree calf extra. nimmo's popular edition of the works of the poets. in fcap. vo, printed on toned paper, elegantly bound in cloth extra, gilt edges, price s. d. each; or in morocco antique, price s. d. each. each volume contains a memoir, and is illustrated with a portrait of the author, engraved on steel, and numerous full-page illustrations on wood, from designs by eminent artists. longfellow's poetical works. scott's poetical works. byron's poetical works. moore's poetical works. wordsworth's poetical works. cowper's poetical works. milton's poetical works. thomson's poetical works. pope's poetical works. beattie and goldsmith's poetical works. burns's poetical works. the casquet of gems. a volume of choice selections from the works of the poets. the book of humorous poetry. ballads: scottish and english. *_* this series of books, from the very superior manner in which it is produced, is at once the cheapest and handsomest edition of the poets in the market. the volumes form elegant and appropriate presents as school prizes and gift-books, either in cloth or morocco. 'they are a marvel of cheapness, some of the volumes extending to as many as , and even , pages, printed on toned paper in a beautifully clear type. add to this, that they are profusely illustrated with wood engravings, are elegantly and tastefully bound, and that they are published at s. d. each, and our recommendation of them is complete.'--_scotsman._ uniform with nimmo's popular edition of the works of the poets. _the complete works of shakespeare._ with biographical sketch by mary cowden clarke. two volumes, price s. d. each. _the arabian nights' entertainments._ with one hundred illustrations on wood. two volumes, price s. d. each. _bunyan's pilgrim's progress & holy war._ complete in one volume. _lives of the british poets_: biographies of the most eminent british poets, with specimens of their writings. twelve portraits on steel, and twelve full-page illustrations. _the prose works of robert burns._ correspondence complete, remarks on scottish song, letters to clarinda, commonplace books, etc. etc. crown vo, cloth extra, price s. d., family prayers for five weeks, with prayers for special occasions, and a table for reading the holy scriptures throughout the year. by william wilson, minister of kippen. 'this is an excellent compendium of family prayers. it will be found invaluable to parents and heads of families. the prayers are short, well expressed, and the book as a whole does the author great credit.'--_perth advertiser._ 'thoroughly evangelical and devotional in spirit, beautifully simple and scriptural in expression, and remarkably free from repetition or verbosity, these prayers are admirably adapted either for family use or for private reading.'--_kelso chronicle._ nimmo's presentation series of standard works. * * * * * in small crown vo, printed on toned paper, bound in cloth extra, gilt edges, bevelled boards, with portrait engraved on steel, price s. d. each. * * * * * =wisdom, wit, and allegory=. selected from 'the spectator.' * * * * * =benjamin franklin=: a biography. * * * * * =the world's way=. lays of life and labour. * * * * * travels in africa. the life and travels of =mungo park=. with a supplementary chapter, detailing the results of recent discovery in africa. * * * * * =wallace, the hero of scotland=: a biography. by james paterson. * * * * * =epoch men=, and the results of their lives. by samuel neil. =a book of characters=. selected from the writings of overbury, earle, and butler. * * * * * =men of history=. by eminent writers. * * * * * =old world worthies=; or, classical biography. selected from plutarch's lives. * * * * * =the man of business= considered in six aspects. a book for young men. * * * * * =the happy life=: lays of love and brotherhood. * * * * * =women of history=. by eminent writers. *_* this elegant and useful series of books has been specially prepared for school and college prizes: they are, however, equally suitable for general presentation. in selecting the works for this series, the aim of the publisher has been to produce books of a permanent value, interesting in manner and instructive in matter--books that youth will read eagerly and with profit, and which will be found equally attractive in after life. =nimmo's half-crown reward books.= extra foolscap vo, cloth elegant, gilt edges, illustrated, price s. d. each. i. =memorable wars of scotland.= by patrick fraser tytler, f.r.s.e., author of 'history of scotland,' etc. * * * * * ii. =seeing the world=: =a young sailor's own story=. by charles nordhoff, author of the 'young man-of-war's man.' * * * * * iii. =the martyr missionary: five years in china=. by rev. charles p. bush, m.a. iv. =my new home: a woman's diary.= by the author of 'win and wear,' etc. * * * * * v. =home heroines: tales for girls.= by t. s. arthur, author of 'life's crosses,' 'orange blossoms,' etc. * * * * * vi. =lessons from women's lives.= by sarah j. hale. * * * * * nimmo's favourite gift-books. in small vo, printed on toned paper, richly bound in cloth and gold and gilt edges, with new and original frontispiece, printed in colours by kronheim, price s. d. each. =the vicar of wakefield=. =poems and essays=. by oliver goldsmith. * * * * * =bunyan's pilgrim's progress=. * * * * * =the life and adventures of robinson crusoe=. =Æsop's fables, with instructive applications.= by dr. croxall. * * * * * =the history of sandford and merton=. * * * * * =evenings at home; or, the juvenile budget opened=. *_* the above are very elegant and remarkably cheap editions of these old favourite works. nimmo's two shilling reward books. foolscap vo, illustrated, elegantly bound in cloth extra, bevelled boards, gilt back and side, gilt edges, price s. each. i. =the far north=: explorations in the arctic regions. by elisha kent kane, m.d., commander second 'grinnell' expedition in search of sir john franklin. ii. =the young men of the bible=: a series of papers, biographical and suggestive. by rev. joseph a. collier. iii. =the blade and the ear=: a book for young men. iv. =monarchs of ocean=: narratives of maritime discovery and progress. v. =life's crosses, and how to meet them=. by t. s. arthur, author of 'anna lee,' 'orange blossoms,' etc. vi. =a father's legacy to his daughters; etc=. a book for young women. by dr. gregory. * * * * * nimmo's eighteenpenny reward books. demy mo, illustrated, cloth extra, gilt edges, price s. d. each. i. =the vicar of wakefield=. poems and essays. by oliver goldsmith. ii. =Æsop's fables=, with instructive applications. by dr. croxall. iii. =bunyan's pilgrim's progress=. iv. =the young man-of-war's man=; a boy's voyage round the world. v. =the treasury of anecdote=: moral and religious. vi. =the boy's own workshop=. by jacob abbott. vii. =the life and adventures of robinson crusoe=. viii. =the history of sandford and merton=. ix. =evenings at home=; or, the juvenile budget opened. *_* the above series of elegant and useful books are specially prepared for the entertainment and instruction of young persons. nimmo's sunday school reward books. fcap. vo, cloth extra, gilt edges, illustrated, price s. d. each. i. bible blessings. by rev. richard newton, author of 'the best things,' 'the safe compass,' 'the king's highway,' etc. ii. one hour a week: fifty-two bible lessons for the young. by the author of 'jesus on earth.' iii. the best things. by rev. richard newton. iv. grace harvey and her cousins. by the author of 'douglas farm.' v. lessons from rose hill; and little nannette. vi. great and good women: biographies for girls. by lydia h. sigourney. nimmo's one shilling juvenile books. foolscap vo, coloured frontispieces, handsomely bound in cloth, illuminated, price s. each. i. four little people and their friends. ii. elizabeth; or, the exiles of siberia. iii. paul and virginia. iv. little threads: tangle thread, golden thread, silver thread. v. the perils of greatness; or, the story of alexander menzikoff. vi. barton todd. vii. benjamin franklin: a biography for boys. viii. little crowns, and how to win them. ix. great riches: nelly rivers' story. x. the right way, and the contrast. xi. the daisy's first winter, and other stories. xii. the man of the mountain. nimmo's sixpenny juvenile books. demy mo, illustrated, handsomely bound in cloth, gilt side, gilt edges, price d. each. _pearls for little people._ _great lessons for little people._ _reason in rhyme_: a poetry book for the young. _Æsop's little fable book._ _grapes from the great vine._ _ways of doing good._ _story pictures from the bible._ _the tables of stone_: illustrations of the commandments. _the pot of gold._ _stories about our dogs._ by harriet beecher stowe. _the red-winged goose._ _the hermit of the hills._ nimmo's fourpenny juvenile books. the above series of books are also done up in elegant enamelled paper covers, beautifully printed in colours, price d. each. *_* the distinctive features of the new series of sixpenny and one shilling juvenile books are: the subjects of each volume have been selected with a due regard to instruction and entertainment; they are well printed on fine paper, in a superior manner; the shilling series is illustrated with frontispieces printed in colours; the sixpenny series has beautiful engravings; and they are elegantly bound. _the cheapest children's toy books published._ large to, with original large illustrations, beautifully printed in colours, illuminated wrapper, price sixpence each, nimmo's new juvenile tales. the children in the wood. little red riding hood. jack and the bean stalk. jack the giant killer. the white cat. john gilpin. cinderella. reynard the fox. nimmo's juvenile tales are, without exception, the cheapest children's toy books ever offered to the public. each book contains eight original full-page illustrations from designs by first-class artists, beautifully printed in colours. they are printed on superior paper, and sewed in an elegant coloured wrapper. nimmo's pocket treasuries. miniature to, beautifully bound in cloth extra, gilt edges, price s. d. each. i. a treasury of table talk. ii. epigrams and literary follies. iii. a treasury of poetic gems. iv. the table talk of samuel johnson, ll.d. v. gleanings from the comedies of shakespeare. vi. beauties of the british dramatists. 'a charming little series, well edited and printed. more thoroughly readable little books it would be hard to find; there is no padding in them, all is epigram, point, poetry, or sound common sense.'--_publisher's circular._ crown vo, cloth extra, price s., wayside thoughts of a professor: being a series of desultory essays on education. by d'arcy wentworth thompson, professor of greek, queen's college, galway; author of 'day dreams of a schoolmaster;' 'sales attici; or, the theology and ethics of athenian drama,' etc. etc. nimmo's popular religious gift-books. mo, finely printed on toned paper, handsomely bound in cloth extra, bevelled boards, gilt edges, price s. d. each. across the river: twelve views of heaven. by norman macleod, d.d.; r. w. hamilton, d.d.; robert s. candlish, d.d.; james hamilton, d.d.; etc. etc. etc. 'a more charming little work has rarely fallen under our notice, or one that will more faithfully direct the steps to that better land it should be the aim of all to seek.'--_bell's messenger._ emblems of jesus; or, illustrations of emmanuel's character and work. 'we have no hesitation in pronouncing this book worthy of high commendation. the metaphors are wrought out with great skill, beauty, freshness, and analytical power. the arrangement and treatment are admirable.'--_dundee courier._ life thoughts of eminent christians. comfort for the desponding; or, words to soothe and cheer troubled hearts. 'this work administers the balm of consolation to almost every class of weary and heavy-laden souls.'--_stirling journal._ the chastening of love; or, words of consolation to the christian mourner. by joseph parker, d.d., manchester. the cedar christian. by the rev. theodore l. cuyler. consolation for christian mothers bereaved of little children. by a friend of mourners. 'the essence of these pages is an unpretentious spirit, and an humble though holy mission. we doubt not that many a mother in her lonely anguish will feel relief in having this simple companion to share her tears.'--_stirling journal._ the orphan; or, words of comfort for the fatherless and motherless. gladdening streams; or, the waters of the sanctuary. a book for fragments of time on each lord's day of the year. spirit of the old divines. choice gleanings from sacred writers. popular works by the author of 'heaven our home.' i. ninety-sixth thousand. crown vo, cloth antique, price s. d., heaven our home. 'the author of the volume before us endeavours to describe what heaven is, as shown by the light of reason and scripture; and we promise the reader many charming pictures of heavenly bliss, founded upon undeniable authority, and described with the pen of a dramatist, which cannot fail to elevate the soul as well as to delight the imagination.... part second proves, in a manner as beautiful as it is convincing, the doctrine of the recognition of friends in heaven,--a subject of which the author makes much, introducing many touching scenes of scripture celebrities meeting in heaven and discoursing of their experience on earth. part third demonstrates the interest which those in heaven feel in earth, and proves, with remarkable clearness, that such an interest exists not only with the almighty and among the angels, but also among the spirits of departed souls. we unhesitatingly give our opinion that this volume is one of the most delightful productions of a religious character which has appeared for some time; and we would desire to see it pass into extensive circulation.'--_glasgow herald._ a cheap edition of heaven our home, in crown vo, cloth limp, price s. d., is also published. ii. twenty-ninth thousand. crown vo, cloth antique, price s. d., meet for heaven. 'the author, in his or her former work, "heaven our home," portrayed a social heaven, where scattered families meet at last in loving intercourse and in possession of perfect recognition, to spend a never-ending eternity of peace and love. in the present work the individual state of the children of god is attempted to be unfolded, and more especially the state of probation which is set apart for them on earth to fit and prepare erring mortals for the society of the saints.... the work, as a whole, displays an originality of conception, a flow of language, and a closeness of reasoning rarely found in religious publications.... the author combats the pleasing and generally accepted belief, that death will effect an entire change on the spiritual condition of our souls, and that all who enter into bliss will be placed on a common level.'--_glasgow herald._ a cheap edition of meet for heaven, in crown vo, cloth limp, price s. d., is also published. iii. twenty-first thousand. crown vo, cloth antique, price s. d., life in heaven. there, faith is changed into sight, and hope is passed into blissful fruition. 'this is certainly one of the most remarkable works which have been issued from the press during the present generation; and we have no doubt it will prove as acceptable to the public as the two attractive volumes to which it forms an appropriate and beautiful sequel.'--_cheltenham journal._ 'we think this work well calculated to remove many erroneous ideas respecting our future state, and to put before its readers such an idea of the reality of our existence there, as may tend to make a future world more desirable and more sought for than it is at present.'--_cambridge university chronicle._ 'this, like its companion works, "heaven our home," and "meet for heaven," needs no adventitious circumstances, no prestige of literary renown, to recommend it to the consideration of the reading public, and, like its predecessors, will no doubt circulate by tens of thousands throughout the land.'--_glasgow examiner._ a cheap edition of life in heaven, in crown vo, cloth limp, price s. d., is also published. iv. crown vo, cloth antique, price s. d., tabor's teachings; or, the veil lifted. 'the main subjects discussed in this new work are, christ's glory and eternal intercourse with his people. these are developed with great power of thought, and great beauty of language. the book is sure to meet with as flattering a reception as the author's former works.'--_the newsman._ 'the work opens up to view a heaven to be prized, and a home to be sought for, and presents it in a cheerful and attractive aspect. the beauty and elegance of the language adds grace and dignity to the subject, and will tend to secure to it the passport to public favour so deservedly merited and obtained by the author's former productions.'--_montrose standard._ 'a careful reading of this volume will add immensely to the interest of the new testament narrative of the transfiguration, and so far will greatly promote our personal interest in the will of god as revealed in his word.'--_wesleyan times._ a cheap edition of tabor's teachings, in crown vo, cloth limp, price s. d., is also published. uniform with 'heaven our home.' third edition, just ready, price s. d., the spirit disembodied. _when we die we do not fall asleep: we only change our place._ by herbert broughton. _opinions of the press._ 'this book will be read by thousands. it treats on all-important subjects in a simple and attractive style.'--_chronicle._ 'this is a book of very considerable merit, and destined, ere long, to attract attention in the literary world. the subject of which it treats is one of surpassing interest.'--_berwick warder._ 'this is a remarkable work, and well worth the study of all inquiring minds.'--_renfrew independent._ 'the last chapter supplies us with a few more instances of the deaths of pious men, in proof that angels do attend the deathbed scenes of the saints of god, to carry the disembodied spirit to heaven.'--_pall mall gazette._ 'the author shows as conclusively as it can be shown, not only that the soul is an immortal part of our being, but that there are mysterious links connecting us with those we love on earth, and that when "clothed upon" with immortality, we shall "recognise each other and be together in eternity."'--_exeter post._ 'we think the author has satisfactorily demonstrated both the immortality of man, and also that the spirit lives in a condition of conscious existence after death. his chapter on the recognition of friends in heaven, proves that point in a convincing manner. his narratives of the triumphant deathbeds, and the celestial visions of many departed saints, will be prized by not a few readers.'--_dundee courier._ nimmo's handy books of useful knowledge. foolscap vo, uniformly bound in cloth extra. price one shilling each. i. the earth's crust. a handy outline of geology. with numerous illustrations. third edition. by david page, ll.d., f.r.s.e., f.g.s., author of 'text-books of geology and physical geography,' etc. 'such a work as this was much wanted,--a work giving in clear and intelligible outline the leading facts of the science, without amplification or irksome details. it is admirable in arrangement, and clear, easy, and at the same time forcible, in style. it will lead, we hope, to the introduction of geology into many schools that have neither time nor room for the study of large treatises.'--_the museum._ ii. poultry as a meat supply: being hints to henwives how to rear and manage poultry economically and profitably. fourth edition. by the author of 'the poultry kalendar.' 'the author's excellent aim is to teach henwives how to make the poultry-yard a profitable as well as pleasant pursuit, and to popularize poultry-rearing among the rural population generally.'--_the globe._ iii. how to become a successful engineer: being hints to youths intending to adopt the profession. third edition. by bernard stuart, engineer. 'parents and guardians, with youths under their charge destined for the profession, as well as youths themselves, who intend to adopt it, will do well to study and obey the plain curriculum in this little book. its doctrine will, we hesitate not to say, if practised, tend to fill the ranks of the profession with men conscious of the heavy responsibilities placed in their charge.'--_practical mechanic's journal._ iv. rational cookery: cookery made practical and economical, in connection with the chemistry of food. fifth edition. by hartelaw reid. 'a thousand times more useful as a marriage-gift than the usual gewgaw presents, would be this very simple manual for the daily guidance of the youthful bride in one of her most important domestic duties.'--_glasgow citizen._ v. european history: in a series of biographies, from the beginning of the christian era till the present time. second edition. by david pryde, m.a. 'it is published with a view to the teaching of the history of europe since the christian era by the biographic method, recommended by mr. carlyle as the only proper method of teaching history. the style of the book is clear, elegant, and terse. the biographies are well, and, for the most part, graphically told.'--_the scotsman._ vi. domestic medicine: plain and brief directions for the treatment requisite before advice can be obtained. second edition. by offley bohun shore, doctor of medicine of the university of edinburgh, etc. etc. etc. 'this is one of the medicine books that ought to be published. it does not recommend any particular system, and it is not in any sense an advertisement for fees. it is from the pen of dr. shore, an eminent physician, and it is dedicated, by permission, to sir james y. simpson, bart., one of the first physicians of the age. we can recommend it to the attention of heads of families and to travellers.'--_the standard._ vii. domestic management: hints on the training and treatment of children and servants. by mrs. charles doig. 'a more valuable little treatise we have rarely seen.'--_illustrated times._ 'this is an excellent book of its kind, a handbook to family life which will do much towards promoting comfort and happiness.'--_the spectator._ viii. free-hand drawing: a guide to ornamental, figure, and landscape drawing. by an art student, author of 'ornamental and figure drawing.' profusely illustrated. 'this is an excellent and thoroughly practical guide to ornamental, figure, and landscape drawing. beginners could not make a better start than with this capital little book.'--_morning star._ ix. the metals used in construction: iron, steel, bessemer metal, etc. etc. by francis herbert joynson. illustrated. _other volumes in preparation._ popular religious works. suitable for presentation. foolscap vo, handsomely bound in cloth extra, antique, price s. d., christian comfort. by the author of 'emblems of jesus.' 'there is a fitness and adaptability in this book for the purpose it seeks to accomplish, which will most surely secure for it a wide and general acceptance, not only in the home circle, but wherever suffering may be found, whether mental, spiritual, or physical.'--_wesleyan times._ by the same author, uniform in style and price, light on the grave. 'this is a book for the mourner, and one full of consolation. even a heathen poet could say, "_non omnis moriar_;" and the object of this book is to show how little of the good man can die, and how thoroughly the sting of death, deprived of its poison, may be extracted. it is the work of one who has apparently suffered, and obviously reflected much; and, having traversed the vale of weeping, offers himself for a guide to the spots where the springs of comfort flow, and where the sob passes into the song.... the form and elegance of the book, we must add, make it peculiarly suitable as a gift.'--_daily review._ uniform in style and price, glimpses of the celestial city, and guide to the inheritance. with introduction by the rev. john macfarlane, ll.d., clapham, london. nimmo's series of commonplace books. small to, elegantly printed on superfine toned paper, and richly bound in cloth and gold and gilt edges, price s. d. each. books and authors. curious facts and characteristic sketches. law and lawyers. curious facts and characteristic sketches. art and artists. curious facts and characteristic sketches. invention and discovery. curious facts and characteristic sketches. omens and superstitions. curious facts and illustrative sketches. clergymen and doctors. curious facts and characteristic sketches. large to, strongly bound in enamelled boards, price s., good old stories: a nursery picture book. with sixty large coloured illustrations. being nimmo's juvenile tales complete in one volume, forming an admirable present for the young. ten volumes, fcap. vo, cloth, price s.; or, in twenty volumes, sewed, price s. each, wilson's tales of the borders and of scotland: _historical, traditionary, and imaginative_. edited by alexander leighton, one of the original editors and contributors. in announcing a new edition of the border tales, the publisher does not consider it necessary to say anything in recommendation of a work which has stood the test of a general competition, and which has increased in public favour with its years. equally suited to all classes of readers, it has been received with delight in the school-room, the drawing-room, the parlour, and the village reading-room. many of the tales have been publicly read. the high tone of its morality renders it an admirable small library for young members of the family. nimmo's popular tales. a series of interesting and amusing stories by eminent authors. six volumes, handsomely bound in cloth extra, price s. each; may also be had in twelve volumes, fcap. vo, illuminated wrapper, price one shilling each. _each volume complete in itself, and sold separately._ *_* this work is admirably adapted for village, lending, mechanics' institute, and ship libraries; and the single volumes are suitable for railway, seaside, and fireside reading. the cheapest schoolbooks published. the irish national schoolbooks. new and improved editions, uniform foolscap vo, strongly bound and lettered. _s._ _d._ =first book of lessons=, sewed, =second do.=, bound, =sequel to the second book=, no. , =do. do.=, no. , =third book of lessons=, =fourth do.=, =supplement to the fourth book=, =fifth book of lessons (boys)=, =reading-book for girls=, =selections from the british poets=, vol. i., =do. do.=, vol. ii., =english grammar=, =first arithmetic=, =key to first arithmetic=, =arithmetic in theory and practice=, =key to do.=, =bookkeeping=, =key to do.=, =a compendium of geography=, =elements of geometry=, =mensuration=, =appendix to do.=, =scripture lessons (o. t.)=, no. i., =do. do.=, no. ii., =do., (n. t.)=, no. i., =do. do.=, no. ii., foolscap vo, cloth, price s. d., arithmetic: the text-book of the irish national society. edited and adapted for middle-class schools; with answers, numerous illustrations, and additional examples. by a. k. isbister, head master of the stationers' school, london; author of 'the concise euclid,' etc. etc. etc. *_* =this work may also be had without the answers=, price s. nimmo's 'crown' library. a series of standard works. crown vo, beautifully printed on superfine paper, with illustrations by eminent artists, elegantly bound in cloth, price s. d. each. i. the crown burns. ii. the crown longfellow. iii. the crown scott. iv. the crown byron. v. the crown moore. vi. the crown wordsworth. vii. the crown book of humorous poetry. viii. the crown ballad book. crown vo, cloth extra, price s., a book about dominies: being the reflections and recollections of a member of the profession. john bull. 'a "book about dominies" is the work of no ordinary dominie, who feels the dignity of his profession, and relates his experience, which is by no means to be despised. the book merits perusal by all interested in the great question of education.' bell's weekly messenger. 'a more sensible book than this about boys has rarely been written, for it enters practically into all the particulars which have to be encountered amongst "the young ideas" who have to be trained for life, and are too often marred by the educational means adopted for their early mental development. the writer is evidently one of the arnold school--that "prince of schoolmasters"--who did more for the formation of the character of his pupils than any man that ever lived.' spectator. 'this is a manly, earnest book. the author describes in a series of essays the life and work of a schoolmaster; and as he has lived that life, and done that work from deliberate choice, his story is worth hearing. why does the writer of a book, so honest and thoughtful as this about dominies, come before the public anonymously? let us hope that a second edition will ere long be called for, and that thus an opportunity may be afforded of correcting this mistake.' edinburgh: william p. nimmo. transcriber note emphasized text is displayed as: _italic_. where music scores were included, [music] was inserted below the title and authors names and the verses and choruses were transcribed. lincoln day entertainments [illustration] flanagan company chicago * * * * * [illustration: _augustus st. gaudens_ statue of lincoln, lincoln park, chicago] * * * * * lincoln day entertainments recitations, plays, dialogues, drills, tableaux, pantomimes, quotations, songs, tributes, stories, facts edited by jos. c. sindelar a. flanagan company chicago copyright, by a. flanagan company preface it is especially fitting to issue this book--in fact, any book on the life and work of abraham lincoln--at this time, just preceding the centennial of his birth. insignificant as the little volume may seem, it will have earned its right to publication if it bring, in whatever small measure, before the growing mind of the country a better realization of the grand life of the noble lincoln--the loved and martyred president--inspired by god and divinely prepared for a great purpose: to guard and preserve a free and united country. one hundred years seem but a day! one thousand years hence a deeper feeling will be felt for everything concerning lincoln, as with each passing year he grows in the affections of the people. his body is dead, but his memory will live in the hearts of the people as long as our country shall cherish freedom and liberty. he was a born king of men, with an intense and yearning love for his fellows and their welfare, which knew neither rank, race, nor creed, but gathered within its boundless charity all mankind. what a shining example this simple but sublime life offers to our growing youth! born of humble parents, surrounded by poverty and hardships such as we seldom encounter today, his rise to the highest position in the gift of the american people--which position he not only ably filled but highly honored--is a grand illustration of persistence and ambition; ambition, though, tempered with foresight and wisdom. his was an exemplary character: a character which for quaint simplicity, earnestness, kindness, truthfulness and purity has never been surpassed among the historic personages of the world. his figure, too, more than any other in the history of our country, illustrates that america is the land of opportunity. in short, to us he is the representative and typical american. he missed the polish that higher education affords, polish though he needed not. what would not this country, with all its bright and polished men, give today for another man of rugged education, rugged honesty and rugged foresight and wisdom as was abraham lincoln? it is hard to measure the usefulness of the life of such a man, yet more hard to do his memory justice. great qualities of heart and head did he possess, of patience, patriotism, and piety, too. he occupies a unique place in our nation's history. though most of us never saw him, yet we feel daily the influence of his just and kindly life bound up in the two titles given him by his neighbors and those who knew him well: "honest old abe" and "father abraham." the matter in this book, the only one of its kind published, is intended not only for the entertainment of children but for their instruction also. the contents for the most part is new, much of it having been written especially for the book by marie irish, clara j. denton, and laura r. smith, and some gathered from various sources and adapted by the compiler. it is arranged as nearly as possible under the various headings in degree of difficulty, primary material being placed first. grateful acknowledgments are rendered to all magazines, periodicals and books from whose pages selections have been gleaned and without which the book could not have been complete. proper credit has been given wherever such matter appears. a few selections have been used of which the names of author or publisher are unknown. for these it has been impossible to give proper credit. in cases where unintentional infringements have been made, sincere apologies are tendered. j. c. s. contents readings, recitations, quotations page abraham lincoln _joel benton_ abraham lincoln _susie m. best_ abraham lincoln _william cullen bryant_ abraham lincoln _alice cary_ abraham lincoln _james russell lowell_ abraham lincoln _r. h. stoddard_ abraham lincoln _tom taylor_ at richmond _clara j. denton_ best tribute, the _sidney dayre_ blue and the gray, the _francis miles finch_ death of lincoln, the _charles g. halpin_ flag goes by, the _henry holcomb bennett_ grandson of the veteran, the _arthur e. parke_ jonathan to john _james russell lowell_ let us be like him _lydia avery coonley_ like lincoln _clara j. denton_ lincoln lincoln lincoln _henry tyrrell_ lincoln: a man called of god _john mellen thurston_ lincoln and the nestlings _clara j. denton_ lincoln, the man of the people _edwin markham_ no slave beneath the flag _george lansing taylor_ o captain! my captain! _walt whitman_ old flag _hubbard parker_ on the life-mask of abraham lincoln _richard watson gilder_ our abraham our lincoln quotations from lincoln some heroes story of lincoln, the _c. c. hassler_ 'tis splendid to live so grandly _margaret e. sangster_ tributes to lincoln was lincoln king? _ella m. bangs_ your flag and my flag _wilbur d. nesbit_ plays, dialogues, exercises captain lincoln. boys _clara j. denton_ flag exercise, a. girls and boys _l. f. armitage_ prophecy, the. girl, boys _clara j. denton_ savior of our flag and country, the. whole school _laura r. smith_ with fife and drum. girls, boys _clara j. denton_ wooden fire-shovel, the. girls, boys _clara j. denton_ suggestive program drills--by marie irish civil war daughters. girls blue and the gray on the rappahannock, the. to children old glory. girls, boys star-spangled banner, the. children pantomimes--by marie irish america auld lang syne blue and the gray, the columbia, the gem of the ocean home, sweet home star-spangled banner, the swanee ribber tableaux--by marie irish. liberty march of civilization, the peace scenes from the life of lincoln the student, the laborer, the emancipator, the pardoner, the martyr. soldier's farewell, the when i'm a man songs day we celebrate, the _clara j. denton_ his name _clara j. denton_ lincoln dear _laura r. smith and clarence l. riege_ lincoln's birthday _laura r. smith, f. f. churchill and mrs. clara grindell_ lincoln song _clara j. denton_ name we sing, the _clara j. denton_ song of rejoicing, a _clara j. denton_ sunny southland, the _laura r. smith and clarence l. riege_ when lincoln was a little boy _clara j. denton_ stories and facts events in the life of abraham lincoln gettysburg address, the granting a pardon how they sang "the star-spangled banner" when lincoln was inaugurated _thomas nast_ lincoln's autobiography lincoln's favorite poem lincoln's tenderness why dummy clocks mark : lincoln day entertainments readings, recitations, quotations some heroes this recitation is intended to be rendered by two little boys. one holds a book and shows the pictures while the other recites. now look, and some pictures of heroes i'll show, a hero is always a brave man, you know. here on this first page is washington grand, he fought for our liberty, our free, honored land. and next we see our loved lincoln so brave, you know he gave freedom to each poor old slave. and here's general grant! think what battles he won! he fought that all states be united as one. you see all these heroes are both good and great, and each gave his life for his country and state. the last is a hero,--now think who 'twill be! he, too, will be great; now look and see,--me. our lincoln our lincoln, when he was a boy, was very tall and slim. you see i'm just a little tall; i wonder if i look like him. our lincoln, when he was a boy, was very brave and very true. today i'm just a little brave; in this i'm like our lincoln, too. our lincoln, when he was a man, was loved and honored everywhere. i'll be the man that lincoln was, to do this i must now prepare. like lincoln clara j. denton when i'm a man, a great big man, like dear old abe i'll be. i mean to follow every plan to make me good as he. i'll study well, and tell the truth. and all my teachers mind; and i will be to every one, like him, so true and kind. i'll try to live in peace, because "quarrels don't pay," said he; and any rule of "honest abe's" is good enough for me. i'll make the best of everything, and never scold or whine; that was his way when trouble came, and so it shall be mine. i'll be a temperance man, like him. they say--what do you think!-- he gave some great men at his house, just water cold to drink! he did not muddle up his brains with any sort of stuff. and so, i think his way--don't you? is plenty good enough. i may not be a president if thus my life i plan. but i'll be something better still: a good and honest man. lincoln[a] only a baby, fair and small, like many another baby son, whose smiles and tears came swift at call, who ate, and slept, and grew, that's all,-- the infant abe lincoln. only a boy like other boys, with many a task, but little fun, fond of his books, though few he had, by his good mother's death made sad,-- the little abe lincoln. only a lad, awkward and shy, skilled in handling an ax or gun, mastering knowledge that, by and by, should aid him in duties great and high,-- the youthful abe lincoln. only a man of finest bent, a splendid man: a nation's son, rail-splitter, lawyer, president, who served his country and died content,-- the patriot, abe lincoln. only--ah! what was the secret, then, of his being america's honored son? why was he famed above other men, his name upon every tongue and pen,-- the illustrious abe lincoln? a mighty brain, a will to endure, kind to all, though a slave to none, a heart that was brave, and strong, and sure, a soul that was noble, and great, and pure, a faith in god that was held secure,-- this was abraham lincoln. [a] with apologies to the unknown writer of the pretty poem washington, of which this is an adaptation.--editor. the grandson of the veteran arthur e. parke i've got the finest grandpapa that ever lived, i b'lieve; he used to be a soldier boy-- he's got one empty sleeve. he tells the grandest tales to me, of battles that he fought; of how he marched, and how he charged, and how that he got shot. my papa was a soldier, too; no battles was he in, and when i ask him, "why?", he laughs and "guesses" he "was tin." i've tried to understand their talk, and b'lieve i have it right: my grandpa licked so many, there were none for pa to fight. --_youth's companion._ was lincoln king? ella m. bangs we talked of kings, little ned and i, as we sat in the firelight's glow; of alfred the great, in days gone by, and his kingdom of long ago. of norman william, who, brave and stern, his armies to victory led. then, after a pause, "at school we learn of another great man," said ned. "and this one was good to the oppressed, he was gentle and brave, and so wasn't he greater than all the rest? 'twas abraham lincoln, you know." "was lincoln a king?" i asked him then, and in waiting for his reply a long procession of noble men seemed to pass in the firelight by. when "no" came slowly from little ned, and thoughtfully; then, with a start, "he wasn't a king--_outside_," he said, "but i think he was in his heart." let us be like him[b] lydia avery coonley when we think of abraham lincoln then the angel voices call, saying: try to be just like him! be as noble, one and all. be as truthful, as unselfish; be as pure, as good, as kind; be as honest; never flatter; give to god your heart and mind. seek not praise, but do your duty, love the right and work for it; then the world will be the better because you have lived in it. [b] from lincoln and washington, by marian m. george and lydia avery coonley. copyrighted and published by a. flanagan company. price, twenty-five cents. lincoln and the nestlings clara j. denton i've heard the beautiful stories of lincoln so great and so good. he helped all people in trouble, and their grief so well understood; to many sad tales he listened, of heart-broken mothers and wives; and pausing 'mid all his worries, once more he brought hope to their lives. dearer than all other stories, is this little one of the day when he, with his friends, was riding on horseback along the roadway; there, in the dust, by a tree, he found one little bird, then another, from their nest the wind had blown them, and he was hunting for their mother. when at last he found the nest, and in it the birdies laid, 'mid the party's merry laughter his heart was glad, his manner grave: "seems to me," he said, "i couldn't tonight in bed with ease have slept had i left those creatures suffer and not restored them to their nest." wonderful heart; ever tender-- tender, yet _just_, with the rest. i think among all the stories, this shows his true nature the best. the best tribute sidney dayre my grandpa was a soldier. they tell about the day he said his very last good-by and bravely marched away, with flying flags and bayonets all gleaming in the sun. they never saw him march back when all the war was done. they brought him here and laid him where i can always bring the very brightest flowers that blossom in the spring; but sweeter far than flowers, as every one can tell, is the memory of the soldiers who loved their country well. i wish i could be like him--to try with all my might and do my loyal service for honor and for right and victory and glory! but children now, you know, have never any chance at all to war against a foe. and as i think upon it, the best that we can do to show our love and honor for a hero brave and true, is to resolve together always to be brave, to live our very noblest in the land he died to save. abraham lincoln susie m. best 'mid the names that fate has written on the deathless scroll of fame, we behold the name of lincoln, shining like a living flame. 'mid the deeds the world remembers, (deeds by dauntless heroes done), we behold the deeds of lincoln, blazing like a brilliant sun. 'mid the lives whose light illumines history's dark and dreadful page, we behold the life of lincoln, lighting up an awful age. when the storm of peril threatened his loved land to overwhelm, safe the ship of state he guided, with his hand upon the helm. statesman, ruler, hero, martyr-- fitting names for him, i say, wherefore, let us all as brothers, love his memory today. 'tis splendid to live so grandly[c] margaret e. sangster 'tis splendid to live so grandly that, long after you are gone, the things you did are remembered, and recounted under the sun; to live so bravely and purely that a nation stops on its way, and once a year, with banner and drum, keeps the thoughts of your natal day. 'tis splendid to have a record, so white and free from stain, that, held to the light, it shows no blot, though tested and tried again; that age to age forever repeats its story of love, and your birthday lives in a nation's heart all other days above. and this is our lincoln's glory, a steadfast soul and true, who stood for his country's union, when his country called him to. and now that we once more are one, and our flag of stars is flung to the breeze in defiant challenge, his name is on every tongue. yes, it's splendid to live so bravely, to be so great and strong, that your memory is ever a tocsin to rally the foes of the wrong; to live so proudly and purely that your people pause in their way, and year by year, with banner and drum, keep the thoughts of your natal day. [c] adapted by the editor from the author's excellent tribute to washington. the poem is equally true to the character and work of lincoln as well as the love for him. at richmond clara j. denton we have read the stories glowing, found in annals of old, of mighty conquerers marching, with cohorts strong and bold: we see the proud monarch, riding in grand and lofty state, we hear the clamor, extolling his skill and prowess great. but, grander by far the vision modern annals unclose: through the burning streets of richmond walks lincoln 'mong his foes. though no pride of state surrounds him, on every side we hear: "foh marsa linkum, bress de lawd." "de sabiour now am near." "o, honey chile, jes' tech him once!" "suah heben is 'mos' nigh." "i's on de mount, o, gawd, i is." "dis niggah now kin die." o, the poor untutored negroes! and yet i am sure, to him before those cries of joy and love earth's brightest gauds grew dim. and, i think, his heart that morning a throb exultant gave; for never more his countrymen could know the name of slave! lincoln from out the strong young west he came in those warlike days of yore, when freedom's cry had reached the sky and rung from shore to shore. he knew the world was watching him, he heard the words of scorn, he felt the weight of a severed state by cruel rebellion torn. but calling on jehovah, he seized his mighty pen and with a stroke, the chains he broke from a million bonded men. he was a dauntless leader as among the host he moved, and he gave his life in the time of strife to save the cause he loved. the flag goes by henry holcomb bennett hats off! along the street there comes a blare of bugles, a ruffle of drums, a flash of color beneath the sky; hats off! the flag is passing by! blue and crimson and white it shines, over the steel-tipped, ordered lines. hats off! the colors before us fly; but more than the flag is passing by: sea fights and land fights, grim and great, fought to make and save the state; weary marches and sinking ships; cheers of victory on dying lips; days of plenty and years of peace; march of a strong land's swift increase; equal justice, right, and law, stately honor and reverend awe; sign of a nation, great and strong to ward her people from foreign wrong; pride and glory and honor,--all live in the colors to stand or fall. hats off! along the street there comes a blare of bugles, a ruffle of drums; and loyal hearts are beating high. hats off! the flag is passing by! the story of lincoln c. c. hassler tell to the boys the story of lincoln, tell it to them when early in youth, tell of his struggles for knowledge to fit him, guide him thro' manhood in honored truth. tell them of lincoln; yes, tell them the story, none more worthy of honor than he; none was more proud of our national glory; none was more true to the flag of the free. tell to the boys the story of lincoln; tell of his loyalty, tell of his hate-- not toward men, but the infamous measures false to the nation, the home and the state. tell them; yes, tell them, his highest ambition was of all men in the nation to stand close to the hearts of the people who loved him-- loved him and chose him to rule in the land. tell to the boys the sad story of lincoln; tell of his trials when traitors defied and spurned the old flag; how the nation's defenders at his call rallied and sprang to his side; tell how he suffered when news of the battle told of disaster, of wounded and dead; tell how his great noble heart was oft gladdened when as proud victors our armies were led. tell them; yes, tell them the story and point them up to a standard he would applaud; loyal in life to the state and the nation, true to one country, one flag and one god. old flag hubbard parker what shall i say to you, old flag? you are so grand in every fold, so linked with mighty deeds of old, so steeped in blood where heroes fell, so torn and pierced by shot and shell, so calm, so still, so firm, so true, my throat swells at the sight of you, old flag. what of the men who lifted you, old flag, upon the top of bunker hill, who crushed the britons' cruel will, 'mid shock and roar and crash and scream, who crossed the delaware's frozen stream, who starved, who fought, who bled, who died, that you might float in glorious pride, old flag? what of the women brave and true, old flag, who, while the cannon thundered wild, sent forth a husband, lover, child, who labored in the field by day, who, all the night long, knelt to pray, and thought that god great mercy gave, if only freely you might wave, old flag? what is your mission now, old flag? what but to set all people free, to rid the world of misery, to guard the right, avenge the wrong, and gather in one joyful throng beneath your folds in close embrace all burdened ones of every race, old flag. right nobly do you lead the way, old flag. your stars shine out for liberty, your white stripes stand for purity, your crimson claims that courage high for honor's sake to fight and die. lead on against the alien shore! we'll follow you, e'en to death's door, old flag! abraham lincoln r. h. stoddard this man whose homely face you look upon, was one of nature's masterful, great men; born with strong arms that unfought victories won, direct of speech, and cunning with the pen, chosen for large designs, he had the art of winning with his humor, and he went straight to his mark, which was the human heart; wise, too, for what he could not break he bent. upon his back a more than atlas' load the burden of the commonwealth was laid; he stooped, and rose up with it, though the road shot suddenly downwards, not a whit dismayed. hold, warriors, councillors, kings! all now give place to this dead benefactor of the race! abraham lincoln william cullen bryant this ode was written for the funeral services held in new york city. oh, slow to smite and swift to spare, gentle and merciful and just! who in the fear of god, didst bear the sword of power, a nation's trust. in sorrow by thy bier we stand amid the awe that husheth all, and speak the anguish of a land that shook with horror at thy fall. thy task is done; the bonds are free; we bear thee to an honored grave, whose proudest monument shall be the broken fetters of the slave. pure was thy life; its bloody close has placed thee with the sons of light, among the noble host of those who perished in the cause of right. abraham lincoln alice cary inscribed to "punch" no glittering chaplet brought from other lands! as in his life, this man, in death, is ours; his own loved prairies o'er his "gaunt, gnarled hands" have fitly drawn their sheet of summer flowers! what need hath he now of a tardy crown, his name from mocking jest and sneer to save? when every ploughman turns his furrow down as soft as though it fell upon his grave. he was a man whose like the world again shall never see, to vex with blame or praise; the landmarks that attest his bright, brief reign are battles, not the pomps of gala days! the grandest leader of the grandest war that ever time in history gave a place; what were the tinsel flattery of a star to such a breast! or what a ribbon's grace! 'tis to th' _man_, and th' man's honest worth, the nation's loyalty in tears upsprings; through him the soil of labor shines henceforth high o'er the silken broideries of kings. the mechanism of external forms-- the shrifts that courtiers put their bodies through, were alien ways to him--his brawny arms had other work than posturing to do! born of the people, well he knew to grasp the wants and wishes of the weak and small; therefore we hold him with no shadowy clasp-- therefore his name is household to us all. therefore we love him with a love apart from any fawning love of pedigree-- his was the royal soul and mind and heart-- not the poor outward shows of royalty. forgive us then, o friends, if we are slow to meet your recognition of his worth-- we're jealous of the very tears that flow from eyes that never loved a humble hearth. your flag and my flag wilbur d. nesbit your flag and my flag, and how it flies today in your land and my land and half the world away! rose-red and blood-red the stripes forever gleam; snow-white and soul-white-- the good forefather's dream; sky-blue and true-blue, with stars to gleam aright-- the gloried guidon of the day; a shelter through the night. your flag and my flag! and, oh, how much it holds-- your land and my land-- secure within its folds! your heart and my heart beat quicker at the sight; sun-kissed and wind-tossed, red and blue and white. the one flag--the great flag--the flag for me and you-- glorified all else beside--the red and white and blue! your flag and my flag! to every star and stripe the drums beat as hearts beat and fifers shrilly pipe! your flag and my flag-- a blessing in the sky; your hope and my hope-- it never hid a lie! home land and far land and half the world around, old glory hears our glad salute and ripples to the sound! the death of lincoln charles g. halpin he filled the nation's eye and heart, an honored, loved, familiar name, so much a brother that his fame seemed of our lives a common part. his towering figure, sharp and spare, was with such nervous tension strung, as if on each strained sinew swung the burden of a people's care. he was his country's, not his own; he had no wish but for her weal; not for himself could think or feel, but as a laborer for her throne. o, loved and lost! thy patient toil had robed our cause in victory's light; our country stood redeemed and bright, with not a slave on all her soil. a martyr to the cause of man, his blood is freedom's eucharist, and in the world's great hero list, his name shall lead the van. o captain! my captain! walt whitman abraham lincoln was killed by john wilkes booth, almost exactly four years after the first shot was fired at fort sumter. this song and edwin markham's poem on lincoln are two of the greatest tributes ever paid to that hero. o captain! my captain! our fearful trip is done, the ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won, the port is near, the bells i hear, the people all exulting, while follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring; but o heart! heart! heart! o the bleeding drops of red, where on the deck my captain lies, fallen cold and dead! o captain! my captain! rise up and hear the bells; rise up--for you the flag is flung--for you the bugle trills, for you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths--for you the shores a-crowding, for you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning; here, captain! dear father! this arm beneath your head! it is some dream that on the deck you've fallen cold and dead. my captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still, my father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will, the ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done, from fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won; exult o shores, and ring o bells! but i, with mournful tread, walk the deck my captain lies, fallen cold and dead. abraham lincoln joel benton some opulent force of genius, soul, and race, some deep life-current from far centuries flowed to his mind and lighted his sad eyes, and gave his name, among great names, high place. but these are miracles we may not trace, nor say why from a source and lineage mean he rose to grandeur never dreamt or seen or told on the long scroll of history's space. the tragic fate of one broad hemisphere fell on stern days to his supreme control, all that the world and liberty held dear pressed like a nightmare on his patient soul. martyr beloved, on whom, when life was done, fame looked, and saw another washington! on the life-mask of abraham lincoln richard watson gilder this bronze doth keep the very form and mold of our great martyr's face. yes, this is he: that brow all wisdom, all benignity; that human humorous mouth; those cheeks that hold like some harsh landscape all the summer's gold; that spirit fit for sorrow, as the sea for storms to beat on; the lone agony those silent, patient lips too well foretold. yes, this is he who ruled a world of men as might some prophet of the elder day-- brooding above the tempest and the fray with deep-eyed thought and more than mortal ken. a power was his beyond the touch of art or armed strength--his pure and mighty heart. abraham lincoln james russell lowell this is a fragment of the noble commemoration ode delivered at harvard college to the memory of those of its students who fell in the war which kept the country whole. such was he, our martyr-chief, whom late the nation he had led, with ashes on her head, wept with the passion of an angry grief: forgive me, if from present things i turn to speak what in my heart will beat and burn, and hang my wreath on this world-honored urn. nature, they say, doth dote, and cannot make a man save on some worn-out plan, repeating us by rote: for him her old-world moulds aside she threw, and, choosing sweet clay from the breast of the unexhausted west, with stuff untainted shaped a hero new, wise, steadfast in the strength of god, and true. how beautiful to see once more a shepherd of mankind indeed, who loved his charge, but never loved to lead; one whose meek flock the people joyed to be, not lured by any cheat of birth, but by his clear-grained human worth, and brave old wisdom of sincerity! they knew that outward grace is dust; they could not choose but trust in that sure-footed mind's unfaltering skill, and supple-tempered will that bent like perfect steel to spring again and thrust. his was no lonely mountain-peak of mind, thrusting to thin air o'er our cloudy bars, a sea-mark now, now lost in vapors blind; broad prairie rather, genial, level-lined, fruitful and friendly for all human kind, yet also nigh to heaven and loved of loftiest stars. * * * * * i praise him not; it were too late; and some innative weakness there must be in him who condescends to victory such as the present gives, and cannot wait, safe in himself as in a fate. so always firmly he: he knew to bide his time, and can his fame abide, still patient in his simple faith sublime, till the wise years decide. great captains, with their guns and drums, disturb our judgment for the hour, but at last silence comes; these all are gone, and, standing like a tower, our children shall behold his fame. the kindly-earnest, brave, foreseeing man, sagacious, patient, dreading praise, not blame, new birth of our new soil, the first american. our abraham out of the mellow west there came a man whom neither praise nor blame could gild or tarnish; one who rose with fate-appointed swiftness far above his friends, above his foes; whose life shone like a splendid star, to fill his people's hearts with flame; who never sought for gold or fame; but gave himself without a price-- a willing, humble sacrifice-- an erring nation's paschal lamb-- the great, gaunt, patient abraham. i never saw his wrinkled face, where tears and smiles disputed place; i never touched his homely hand, that seemed in benediction raised, e'en when it emphasized command, what time the fires of battle blazed, the hand that signed the act of grace which freed a wronged and tortured race; and yet i feel that he is mine-- my country's; and that light divine streams from the saintly oriflamme of great, gaunt, patient abraham. he was our standard-bearer; he caught up the thread of destiny, and round the breaking union bound and wove it firmly. to his task he rose gigantic; nor could sound of menace daunt him. did he ask for homage when glad victory followed his flags from sea to sea? nay, but he staunched the wounds of war; and you owe all you have and are-- and i owe all i have and am to great, gaunt, patient abraham. the pillars of our temple rocked beneath the mighty wind that shocked foundations that the fathers laid; but he upheld the roof and stood fearless, while others were afraid; his sturdy strength and faith were good, while coward knees together knocked, and traitor hands the door unlocked, to let the unbeliever in. he bore the burden of our sin, while the rebel voices rose to damn the great, gaunt, patient abraham. and then he died a martyr's death-- forgiveness in his latest breath, and peace upon his dying lips. he died for me; he died for you; heaven help us if his memory slips out of our hearts! his soul was true and clean and beautiful. what saith dull history that reckoneth but coldly? that he was a man who loved his fellows as few can; and that he hated every sham-- our great, gaunt, patient abraham. majestic, sweet, was washington; and jefferson was like the sun-- he glorified the simplest thing he touched; and andrew jackson seems the impress of a fiery king to leave upon us: these in dreams are oft before us; but the one whose vast work was so simply done-- the lincoln of our war-tried years-- has all our deepest love; in tears, we chant the in memoriam of great, gaunt, patient abraham. lincoln, the man of the people[d] edwin markham this poem, which is considered one of the two best tributes ever paid to lincoln, the other being walt whitman's o captain! my captain! is a tremendously virile and earnest summing up of the meaning of the man (lincoln) and his life; a lesson in patriotism and a masterful piece of hero worship. when the norn-mother saw the whirlwind hour greatening and darkening as it hurried on, she left the heaven of heroes and came down to make a man to meet the mortal need. she took the tried clay of the common road-- clay warm yet with the genial heat of earth, dashed through it all a strain of prophecy; tempered the heap with thrill of mortal tears; then mixed a laughter with the serious stuff. it was a stuff to hold against the world, a man to match our mountains, and compel the stars to look our way and honor us. the color of the ground was in him, the red earth; the tang and odor of the primal things; the rectitude and patience of the rocks; the gladness of the wind that shakes the corn; the courage of the bird that dares the sea; the justice of the rain that loves all leaves; the pity of the snow that hides all scars; the loving-kindness of the wayside well; the tolerance and equity of light that gives as freely to the shrinking weed as to the great oak flaring to the wind-- to the grave's low hill as to the matterhorn that shoulders out the sky. and so he came. from prairie cabin up to capitol, one fair ideal led our chieftain on. forevermore he burned to do his deed with the fine stroke and gesture of a king. he built the rail-pile as he built the state, pouring his splendid strength through every blow, the conscience of him testing every stroke, to make his deed the measure of a man. so came the captain with the mighty heart; and when the step of earthquake shook the house, wrenching the rafters from their ancient hold, he held the ridgepole up, and spiked again the rafters of the home. he held his place-- held the long purpose like a growing tree-- held on through blame and faltered not at praise. and when he fell in whirlwind, he went down as when a kingly cedar green with boughs goes down with a great shout upon the hills, and leaves a lonesome place against the sky. [d] from lincoln and other poems by edwin markham. by permission of the mcclure company and the author. copyright, , by edwin markham. this poem was revised by mr. markham especially for use in this book. copyright, , by edwin markham. reprinting in whatever form is expressly forbidden, unless through special permission of the author. abraham lincoln tom taylor[e] you lay a wreath on murdered lincoln's bier, you, who with mocking pencil wont to trace, broad for the self-complacent british sneer, his length of shambling limb, his furrowed face, his gaunt, gnarled hands, his unkempt, bristling hair, his garb uncouth, his bearing ill at ease, his lack of all we prize as debonair, of power or will to shine, of art to please. you, whose smart pen backed up the pencil's laugh, judging each step as though the way were plain: reckless, so it could point its paragraph of chief's perplexity, or people's pain. beside this corpse that bears for winding-sheet the stars and stripes he lived to rear anew, between the mourner at his head and feet, say, scurril-jester, is there room for you? yes! he had lived to shame me from my sneer, to lame my pencil and confute my pen; to make me own this hind of princes peer, this rail-splitter, a true-born king of men. my shallow judgment i had learned to rue, noting how to occasion's height he rose, how his quaint wit made home truth seem more true, how, iron-like, his temper grew by blows. how humble, yet how hopeful, he could be: how in good fortune and in ill the same: nor bitter in success, nor boastful he, thirsty for gold, nor feverish for fame. he went about his work--such work as few ever had laid on head and heart and hand-- as one who knows, where there's a task to do, man's honest will must heaven's good grace command; who trusts the strength will with the burden grow, that god makes instruments to work his will, if but that will we can arrive to know, nor tamper with the weights of good and ill. so he went forth to battle, on the side that he felt clear was liberty's and right's, as in his peasant boyhood he had plied his warfare with rude nature's thwarting mights-- the uncleared forest, the unbroken soil, the iron-bark, that turns the lumberer's axe, the rapid that o'erbears the boatman's toil, the prairie hiding the mazed wanderer's tracks, the ambushed indian, and the prowling bear-- such were the deeds that helped his youth to train: rough culture--but such trees large fruit may bear, if but their stocks be of right girth and grain. so he grew up a destined work to do, and lived to do it: four long-suffering years. ill-fate, ill-feeling, ill-report lived through, and then he heard the hisses changed to cheers, the taunts to tribute, the abuse to praise, and took both with the same unwavering mood: till, as he came on light, from darkling days and seemed to touch the goal from where he stood, a felon hand, between the goal and him, reached from behind his back, a trigger prest, and those perplexed and patient eyes were dim, those gaunt, long-laboring limbs were laid to rest! the words of mercy were upon his lips, forgiveness in his heart and on his pen, when this vile murderer brought swift eclipse to thoughts of peace on earth, good will to men. the old world and the new, from sea to sea, utter one voice of sympathy and shame. sore heart, so stopped when it at last beat high! sad life, cut short just as its triumph came! a deed accurst! strokes have been struck before by the assassin's hand, whereof men doubt if more of horror or disgrace they bore; but thy foul crime, like cain's, stands darkly out, vile hand, that brandest murder on a strife, whate'er its grounds, stoutly and nobly striven, and with the martyr's crown crownest a life with much to praise, little to be forgiven. [e] the authorship of this poem seems to be surrounded by somewhat of a doubt. mark lemon, editor of punch at the time when this was written, is sometimes accredited with writing the tribute; then again, spielman's history of punch ascribes it to shirley brooks, who also was editor of punch for a few years. the poem first appeared anonymously in the london punch, may , . accompanying it was an engraving of brittania mourning at lincoln's bier and placing a wreath thereon. columbia was represented as weeping at the head of the president, and at the foot of the bier was a slave with broken shackles. underneath was the inscription, "brittania sympathizes with columbia." it is now generally believed that the author of the famous tribute was the journalist and dramatist, tom taylor, the author of the comedy, our american cousin, a performance of which president lincoln was witnessing at the time of his assassination. lincoln henry tyrrell lincoln arose! the masterful, great man, girt with rude grandeur, quelling doubt and fear,-- a more than king, yet in whose veins there ran the red blood of the people, warm, sincere, blending of puritan and cavalier. a will whose force stern warriors came to ask, a heart that melted at a mother's tear-- these brought he to his superhuman task: over a tragic soul he wore a comic mask. he was the south's child more than of the north! his soul was not compact of rock and snow, but such as old kentucky's soil gives forth,-- the splendid race of giants that we know, firm unto friend, and loyal unto foe, such birthrights all environment forestall, resistlessly their tides of impulse flow. this man who answered to his country's call was full of human faults, and nobler for them all. he is a life, and not a legend, yet: for thousands live who shook him by the hand, millions whose sympathies with his were set, whose hopes and griefs alike with his were grand, who deeply mourned his passing. they demand our homage to the greatest man they saw,-- they, his familiars; and throughout our land the years confirm them, over race and law: even of rancor now the voice is hush'd in awe. the blue and the gray francis miles finch the women of columbus, mississippi, had shown themselves impartial in the offerings made to the memory of the dead. they strewed flowers alike on the graves of the confederates and of the national soldiers. by the flow of the inland river, whence the fleets of iron have fled, where the blades of the grave-grass quiver, asleep are the ranks of the dead; under the sod and the dew, waiting the judgment day; under the one, the blue; under the other, the gray. these in the robings of glory, those in the gloom of defeat; all with the battle-blood gory, in the dusk of eternity meet; under the sod and the dew, waiting the judgment day; under the laurel, the blue; under the willow, the gray. from the silence of sorrowful hours, the desolate mourners go, lovingly laden with flowers, alike for the friend and the foe; under the sod and the dew, waiting the judgment day; under the roses, the blue; under the lilies, the gray. so, with an equal splendor, the morning sun-rays fall, with a touch impartially tender, on the blossoms blooming for all; under the sod and the dew, waiting the judgment day; broidered with gold, the blue, mellowed with gold, the gray. so, when the summer calleth, on forest and field of grain, with an equal murmur falleth the cooling drip of the rain; under the sod and the dew, waiting the judgment day; wet with the rain, the blue; wet with the rain, the gray. sadly, but not with upbraiding, the generous deed was done; in the storm of the years that are fading, no braver battle was won; under the sod and the dew, waiting the judgment day; under the blossoms, the blue; under the garlands, the gray. no more shall the war cry sever, or the winding rivers be red; they banish our anger forever, when they laurel the graves of our dead. under the sod and the dew, waiting the judgment day; love and tears for the blue, tears and love for the gray. lincoln: a man called of god john mellen thurston extract from an address delivered before the chicago lincoln association, february , . god's providence has raised up a leader in every time of a people's exceeding need. moses, reared in the family of pharaoh, initiated in the sublime mysteries of the priestcraft of egypt, partaking of the power and splendor of royal family and favor, himself a ruler and almost a king, was so moved by the degraded and helpless condition of his enslaved brethren that for their sake he undertook what to human understanding seemed the impossible problem of deliverance.... a peasant girl, a shepherdess, dreaming on the hills of france, feels her simple heart burn with the story of her country's wrongs. its army beaten, shattered and dispersed; its fields laid waste; its homes pillaged and burned; its people outraged and murdered; its prince fleeing for life before a triumphant and remorseless foe. hope for france was dead. heroes, there were none to save. what could a woman do? into the soul of this timid, unlettered mountain maid there swept a flood of glorious resolve. some power, unknown to man, drew back the curtain from the glass of fate and bade her look therein. as in a vision, she sees a new french army, courageous, hopeful, victorious, invincible. a girl, sword in hand, rides at its head; before it the invaders flee. she sees france restored, her fields in bloom, her cottages in peace, her people happy, her prince crowned. the rail-splitter of illinois became president of the united states in the darkest hour of the nation's peril. inexperienced and untrained in governmental affairs, he formulated national politics, overruled statesmen, directed armies, removed generals, and, when it became necessary to save the republic, set at naught the written constitution. he amazed the politicians and offended the leaders of his party; but the people loved him by instinct, and followed him blindly. the child leads the blind man through dangerous places, not by reason of controlling strength and intelligence, but by certainty of vision. abraham lincoln led the nation along its obscure pathway, for his vision was above the clouds, and he stood in the clear sunshine of god's indicated will. so stands the mountain while the murky shadows thicken at its base, beset by the tempest, lashed by the storm, darkness and desolation on every side; no gleam of hope in the lightning's lurid lances, nor voice of safety in the crashing thunder-bolts; but high above the top-most mist, vexed by no wave of angry sound, kissed by the sun of day, wooed by the stars at night, the eternal summit lifts its snowy crest, crowned with the infinite serenity of peace. "and god said--let there be light, and there was light." light on the ocean, light on the land. "and god said--let there be light, and there was light." light from the cross of calvary, light from the souls of men. "and god said--let there be light, and there was light'." light from the emancipation proclamation, light on the honor of the nation, light on the constitution of the united states, light on the black faces of patient bondmen, light on every standard of freedom throughout the world. from the hour in which the cause of the union became the cause of liberty, from the hour in which the flag of the republic became the flag of humanity, from the hour in which the stars and stripes no longer floated over a slave; yea, from the sacred hour of the nation's new birth, that dear old banner never faded from the sky, and the brave boys who bore it never wavered in their onward march to victory.... after a quarter of a century of peace and prosperity, all children of our common country kneel at the altar of a reunited faith. the blue and gray lie in eternal slumber side by side. heroes all, they fell face to face, brother against brother, to expiate a nation's sin. the lonely firesides and the unknown graves, the memory of the loved, the yearning for the lost, the desolated altars and the broken hopes, are past recall. the wings of our weak protests beat in vain against the iron doors of fate. but through the mingled tears that fall alike upon the honored dead of both, the north and south turn hopeful eyes to that new future of prosperity and power, possible only in the shelter of the dear old flag. to the conquerors and the conquered, to the white man and the black, to the master and the slave, abraham lincoln was god's providence. jonathan to john james russell lowell this poetic effusion of mr. hosea biglow was preceded by the idyl of the bridge and the monument, which set forth another side of american feeling at the british words and deeds consequent on the unauthorized capture, by commodore wilkes, of the trent, conveying to england two confederate commissioners. it don't seem hardly right, john, when both my hands was full, to stump me to a fight, john-- your cousin, tu, john bull! ole uncle s., sez he, "i guess we know it now," sez he, "the lion's paw is all the law, accordin' to j. b., thet's fit for you an' me!" you wonder why we're hot, john? your mark wuz on the guns, the neutral guns, thet shot, john, our brothers an' our sons: ole uncle s., sez he, "i guess there's human blood," sez he, "by fits an' starts, in yankee hearts, though 't may surprise j. b. more'n it would you an' me." ef _i_ turned mad dogs loose, john, on _your_ front-parlor stairs, would it jest meet your views, john, to wait and sue their heirs? ole uncle s., sez he, "i guess, i only guess," sez he, "thet ef vattel on _his_ toes fell, 't would kind o' rile j. b., ez wal ez you an' me!" who made the law thet hurts, john, _heads i win,--ditto tails_? "_j. b._" was on his shirts, john, onless my memory fails. ole uncle s., sez he, "i guess (i'm good at thet)," sez he, "thet sauce for goose ain't jest the juice for ganders with j. b., no more than you or me!" when your rights was our wrongs, john, you didn't stop for fuss,-- britanny's trident prongs, john, was good 'nough law for us. ole uncle s., sez he, "i guess, though physic's good," sez he, "it doesn't foller that he can swaller prescriptions signed '_j. b._,' put up by you an' me!" we own the ocean, tu, john: you mus'n' take it hard, if we can't think with you, john, it's jest your own back-yard. ole uncle s., sez he, "i guess, if _thet's_ his claim," sez he, "the fencin'-stuff 'll cost enough to bust up friend j. b., ez wal ez you an' me!" why talk so dreffle big, john, of honor when it meant you didn't care a fig, john, but jest for _ten per cent_? ole uncle s., sez he, "i guess he's like the rest," sez he: "when all is done, it's number one thet's nearest to j. b., ez wal ez you an' me!" we give the critters back, john, cos abram thought 't was right; it warn't your bullyin' clack, john, provokin' us to fight. ole uncle s., sez he, "i guess we've a hard row," sez he, "to hoe jest now; but thet somehow, may happen to j. b., ez wal ez you an' me!" we ain't so weak an' poor, john, with twenty million people, an' close to every door, john, a school-house an' a steeple. ole uncle s., sez he, "i guess it is a fact," sez he, "the surest plan to make a man is, think him so, j. b., ez much ez you an' me!" our folks believe in law, john; an' it's for her sake, now, they've left the ax an' saw, john, the anvil an' the plough. ole uncle s., sez he, "i guess, ef 't warn't for law," sez he, "there'd be one shindy from here to indy; an' thet don't suit j. b. (when 't ain't twixt you an' me!)" we know we've got a cause, john, thet's honest, just an' true; we thought 't would win applause, john, ef nowheres else, from you. ole uncle s., sez he, "i guess his love of right," sez he, "hangs by a rotten fibre o' cotton: there's nature in j. b., ez wal ez you an' me!" the south says, "_poor folks down!_" john, an' "_all men up!_" say we,-- white, yaller, black, an' brown, john: now which is your idee? ole uncle s., sez he, "i guess, john preaches wal," sez he; "but, sermon thru, an' come to _du_, why, there's the old j. b. a crowdin' you an' me!" shall it be love, or hate, john, it's you thet's to decide; ain't your bonds held by fate, john, like all the world's beside? ole uncle s., sez he, "i guess wise men forgive," sez he, "but not forget; an' some time yet thet truth may strike j. b., ez wal ez you an me!" god means to make this land, john, clear thru, from sea to sea, believe an' understand, john, the _wuth_ o' bein' free. ole uncle s., sez he, "i guess, god's price is high," sez he: "but nothin' else than wut he sells wears long, an' thet j. b. may larn, like you an' me!" no slave beneath the flag george lansing taylor no slave beneath that starry flag, the emblem of the free! no fettered hand shall wield the brand that smites for liberty: no tramp of servile armies shall shame columbia's shore, for he who fights for freedom's rights is free for evermore! * * * * * go tell the brave of every land, where'er that flag has flown-- the tyrant's fear, the patriot's cheer, through every clime and zone-- that now no more forever its stripes are slavery scars; no tear-drops stain its azure plain nor dim its golden stars. no slave beneath that grand old flag! forever let it fly, with lightning rolled in every fold, and flashing victory! god's blessing breathe around it! and when all strife is done, may freedom's light, that knows no night, make every star a sun! tributes to lincoln grave lincoln came, strong-handed, from afar-- the mighty homer of the lyre of war! 't was he who bade the raging tempest cease, wrenched from his strings the harmony of peace, muted the strings that made the discord--wrong, and gave his spirit up in thund'rous song, oh, mighty master of the mighty lyre! earth heard and trembled at thy strains of fire: earth learned of thee what heav'n already knew, and wrote thee down among the treasured few! --_paul laurence dunbar, _ from humble parentage and poverty, old nature reared him, and the world beheld her ablest, noblest man; few were his joys, many and terrible his trials, but grandly he met them as only truly great souls can! our nation's martyr, pure, honest, patient, tender-- thou who didst suffer agony e'en for the slave-- our flag's defender, our brave, immortal teacher! i lay this humble tribute on thy honored grave. --_paul devere, _ we rest in peace where these sad eyes saw peril, strife, and pain; his was the nation's sacrifice, and ours the priceless gain. --_john g. whittier_ his patriotism, his integrity, his purity, his moderation will contribute largely to make the american people patriotic, honest, and upright.... his life, his teaching, and his character will prolong the life of the republic. --_isaac n. arnold_ his mind was strong and deep, sincere and honest, patient and enduring: having no vices, and having only negative defects, with many positive virtues. his is a strong, honest, sagacious, manly, noble life. he stands in the foremost ranks of men in all ages--their equal--one of the best types of this christian civilization. --_w. h. herndon_ there is in the whole history of this republic not one man, from whom we all--wherever born and whatever our political opinions--can learn more instructive and more inspiring lessons as to what true patriotism is: and there is but one who is fully his peer in this respect. to be pitied is, indeed, the american whose way of feeling and thinking will not allow him to look with infinite patriotic pride upon abraham lincoln. --_h. e. vonholst_ lincoln was the grandest figure of the fiercest civil war.... wealth could not purchase, power could not awe, this divine, this loving man. he knew no fear except the fear of doing wrong. hating slavery, pitying the master--seeking to conquer not persons, but prejudices. he was the embodiment of the self-denial, the courage, the hope, and the nobility of the nation. he spoke, not to inflame, not to upbraid, but to convince. he raised his hands, not to strike, but in benediction. --_robert g. ingersoll_ lincoln was the humblest of the humble before his conscience, greatest of the great before history. --_castelar_ abraham lincoln was the vindication of poverty. he gave glory to the lowly. in the light of his life the cabin became conspicuous; the commonest toil no longer common, and the poor man's hardship a road to honor. it put shame on the prejudice of wealth and birth, and dignity on common manhood. the poor received from him inspiring hope; he taught the humblest youth that there was for him a path to power. --_luther laflin mills_ may one who fought in honor for the south uncovered stand and sing by lincoln's grave? * * * * * he was the north, the south, the east, the west, the thrall, the master, all of us in one; there was no section that he held the best; his love shone as impartial as the sun; and so revenge appealed to him in vain, he smiled at it, as at a thing forlorn, and gently put it from him, rose and stood a moment's space in pain, remembering the prairies and the corn and the glad voices of the field and wood. --_maurice thompson, _ they bowed before the bier of him who had been prophet, priest and king to his people, who had struck the shackles from the slave, who had taught a higher sense of duty to the free men, who had raised the nation to a loftier conception of faith and hope and charity. --_james g. blaine_ his was a name so pure, a life so grand, that lincoln's a magic name throughout the land. --_jos. c. sindelar_ in his mentality, he shone in judgment, common sense, consistency, persistence and in knowledge of men. in his words, he was candid and frank, but accurate and concise, speaking sturdy anglo-saxon unadorned, powerful in its simplicity and the subdued enthusiasm of earnest thought. in his sentiments, he was kind and patient and brave. no leader ever more completely combined in his personality the graces of gentleness with rugged determination. in his morals, truth was his star; honesty the vital air of his living. in his religion, he was faithful as a giant; providence was his stay; he walked with god. --_luther laflin mills_ his constant thought was his country and how to serve it. --_charles sumner_ his career teaches young men that every position of eminence is open before the diligent and worthy. --_bishop matthew simpson_ such a life and character will be treasured forever as the sacred possession of the american people and of mankind. --_james a. garfield_ by his fidelity to the true, the right, the good, he gained not only favor and applause, but what is better than all, love. --_w. d. howells_ he was warm-hearted; he was generous; he was magnanimous, he was most truly, as he afterwards said on a memorable occasion, "with malice toward none, with charity for all." --_alexander h. stephens_ let us build with reverent hands to the type of this simple, but sublime life, in which all types are honored. --_henry w. grady_ lincoln was the purest, the most generous, the most magnanimous of men. --_general w. t. sherman_ his chief object, the ideal to which his whole soul was devoted, was the preservation of the union. --_alexander h. stephens_ o honest face, which all men knew! o tender heart, but known to few! --_r. h. stoddard_ who can be what he was to the people, what he was to the state? shall the ages bring us another as good and as great? --_phoebe cary_ lincoln was the greatest president in american history, because in a time of revolution he comprehended the spirit of american institutions. --_lyman abbott_ he was one of the few great rulers whose wisdom increased with his power, and whose spirit grew gentler and tenderer as his triumphs were multiplied. --_james a. garfield_ with all his disappointments from failures on the part of those to whom he had trusted command, and treachery on the part of those who had gained his confidence but to betray it, i never heard him utter a complaint, nor cast a censure for bad conduct or bad faith. it was his nature to find excuses for his adversaries. in his death the nation lost its greatest hero. --_u. s. grant_ the best way to estimate the value of lincoln is to think what the condition of america would be today if he had never lived--never been president. --_walt whitman_ he had a face and manner which disarmed suspicion, which inspired confidence, which confirmed good will. --_r. w. emerson_ the life of lincoln should never be passed by in silence by old or young. he touched the log cabin and it became the palace in which greatness was nurtured. he touched the forest and it became to him a church in which the purest and noblest worship of god was observed. in lincoln there was always some quality which fastened him to the people and taught them to keep time to the music of his heart. he reveals to us the beauty of plain backwoods honesty. --_prof. david swing_ the shepherd of the people! that old name that the best rulers ever craved. what ruler ever won it like this dead president of ours? he fed us with counsel when we were in doubt, with inspiration when we faltered, with caution when we would be rash, with calm, trustful cheerfulness through many an hour when our hearts were dark. he fed hungry souls all over the country with sympathy and consolation. he spread before the whole land feasts of great duty, devotion and patriotism, on which the land grew strong. he taught us the sacredness of government, the wickedness of treason. he made our souls glad and vigorous with the love of liberty that was his. --_rev. phillips brooks_ quotations from lincoln with malice toward none, with charity for all, with firmness in the right, as god gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in; to bind up the nation's wounds; to care for him who shall have borne the battle, and for his widow, and his orphan; to do all which may achieve and cherish a just and lasting peace among ourselves and with all nations. i have one vote, and i shall always cast that against wrong as long as i live. in every event of life, it is right makes might. the mystic cords of memory, stretching from every battlefield and patriot grave, to every living heart and hearthstone, all over this broad land, will yet swell the chorus of the union, when again touched, as surely they will be, by the angels of our nature. let us have faith that right makes might, and in that faith let us to the end dare to do our duty as we understand it. gold is good in its place; but loving, brave, patriotic men are better than gold. god must like common people, or he would not have made so many of them. the reasonable man has long since agreed that intemperance is one of the greatest, if not the greatest, of all evils among mankind. the purposes of the almighty are perfect and must prevail, though we erring mortals may fail accurately to predict them in advance. no men living are more worthy to be trusted than those who toil up from poverty. of the people, when they rise in mass in behalf of the union and the liberties of their country, truly may it be said: 'the gates of hell cannot prevail against them.' no man is good enough to govern another man without that other man's consent. let not him who is homeless pull down the house of another, but let him labor diligently to build one for himself. you may fool all of the people some of the time, and some of the people all of the time, but you cannot fool all of the people all of the time. better give your path to the dog--even killing the dog would not cure the bite. the way for a young man to rise is to improve himself in every way he can, never suspecting that anybody is hindering him. i say "try," for if we never try, we never succeed. the pioneer in any movement is not generally the best man to bring that movement to a successful issue. have confidence in yourself, a valuable if not indispensable quality. let us judge not, that we be not judged. when you have an elephant on hand, and he wants to run away, better let him run. it is best not to swap horses in the middle of a stream. this country, with its institutions, belongs to the people who inhabit it. a nation may be said to consist of its territory, its people, and its laws. when you can't remove an obstacle, _plough around it!_ god bless my mother! all i am or hope to be i owe to her. i do not think much of a man who is not wiser today than he was yesterday. suspicion and jealousy never did help any man in any situation. dialogues, plays, exercises the savior of our flag and country laura r. smith a patriotic cantata, drill, and medley in three scenes for a whole school this entertainment is especially adapted for primary and intermediate grades, although pupils of all grades may participate. characters six sailor boys } six soldier boys } _scene i_ messenger } several drummer boys } any even number of soldiers } an army captain } _scene ii_ scott, _a sentinel_ } old soldier } several negro boys } three boys } two girls } scene iii seven small children } scene i--before the war six sailor boys enter from the right, six soldier boys enter from the left. they march forward in two lines, carrying flags, pause and sing. cross flags or wave them while singing the last four lines. sailor and soldier boys (_sing_): _tune_: columbia, the gem of the ocean the flag of our nation we're bringing, the banner for me and for you; as songs of dear lincoln we're singing, we stand 'neath the red, white and blue, o flag of a nation united, we love your bright folds and your stars, we march 'neath the bonnie bright banner, this good land of freedom is ours. we'll stand by the red, white and blue, we'll stand by the red, white and blue, the flag of our nation forever, we'll stand by the red, white and blue! see, the bonnie bright banners are streaming, we wave them all high in the air, the red, white and blue now is gleaming, beloved by all men everywhere. oh, long may the banner be waving, upheld by soldiers and sailors true; three cheers for the flag of our nation, we'll stand by the red, white and blue, we'll stand by the red, white and blue, we'll stand by the red, white and blue, the flag of our nation forever, we'll stand by the red, white and blue. (boys _march forward and back_, soldiers _in one line abreast_, sailors _in another, following_. _lines march right and left_, sailors _from one side of stage_, soldiers _from the other, pass each other several times at center of stage_. _halt at center of stage, the two lines facing each other, close ranks at back and spread out at front, forming an open triangle, thus_ [greek: lambda].) soldiers: _we're_ the boys of the land! we'll always be true to the flag of the union, the red, white and blue. sailors: we're the boys of the sea! wherever we sail the red, white and blue shall weather each gale. all (_waving flags_): the boys of the land and the boys of the sea, sing a song for our banner, the flag of the free, the union forever, for me and for you, three cheers for our banner, the red, white and blue. all (_sing, waving flags during chorus_): hurrah for the flag![f] there are many flags in many lands, there are flags of ev'ry hue, but there is no flag, however grand, like our own red, white and blue. _chorus_: then hurrah for the flag! our country's flag, its stripes and white stars, too; there is no flag in any land like our own red, white and blue! [f] by mary h. howliston. from cat tails and other tales, by this author, in which book music for words given here will be found. price, paper binding, twenty-five cents; cloth binding, forty cents. (_enter_ messenger _from the back, marches between the two lines to the front_. boys _form in semicircle behind him_.) messenger: what threatens the union in this land of ours? there appears a new flag, of the stars and bars. "united we stand, divided we fall." who now can save us? on whom shall we call? first soldier: from lincoln i have come today our lincoln! with justice he will take his place, our lincoln! with courage on his noble brow, he will protect the union now, we all salute; to him we bow, our lincoln! (all _give flag salute_.) messenger: from lincoln i have come today to call for volunteers! other messengers are on their way to call for volunteers. shall we now see our flag bowed low? no, to meet the southerners we'll go, marching while the bugles blow the call for volunteers! all: the time has come for strife and war, blow, bugles, blow! the soldier boys are called once more, blow, bugles, blow! bear your message far and wide, ring out through all the countryside, we are a nation's hope and pride, blow, bugles, blow! (_exit_ all, _as bugle call is heard_.) scene ii--the war several boys with drums march in front of tents, which have been arranged on the stage. they sing, beating drums softly during chorus, and march around the tents. _tune_: marching through georgia toward the battlefield, o, see the army come. rat-a-tat, a-rat-a-tat, so loudly beats the drum, while we are singing of lincoln. _chorus_: hurrah! hurrah! who'll be a volunteer? hurrah! hurrah! o what have we to fear? join the chorus every one, the army marches on, while we are singing of lincoln. marching on to victory, o, hear the drums beat low, marching on to victory, now see the army go. wave the bonnie stars and stripes, up high where all may see, while we are singing of lincoln. _chorus_: hurrah! hurrah! etc. (drummer boys _retire to tents. enter_ soldier boys, _carrying guns. they are led by a_ captain, _who gives the commands in the following drill_:) boys march by 's, 's or 's and line up for drill. drill salute! gun held in right hand, top resting on shoulder, raise left hand to forehead. present, arms! hold gun in front with right hand, grasp with left hand. order, arms! large end of gun on floor, gun held by right hand, left hand at side. shoulder, arms! guns on right shoulder. port, arms! grasp gun in center, with right hand, hold diagonally across chest. extend, arms right! hold with both hands, right arm extended, left hand resting on chest. extend, arms left! same with left arm extended, etc. aim! rest gun on shoulder, raised with both hands. about, face! face around. forward, march! march about tents, while tune of tramp, tramp, tramp, the boys are marching, is softly played. retire in or back of tents. (_a sentinel_, scott, _comes out to keep guard, walks up and down many times, and finally leans up against one of the tents and falls asleep. he is discovered by the_ captain, _who comes on stage_.) captain (_comes forward_): what ho! the guard is asleep! what, then, if the enemy come, creeping stealthily over the hill with never the sound of drum? by surprise our camp they'd take. sleeping guard, awake! awake! (scott _awakes and salutes_ captain.) captain: for this offense you shall be tried, 'twas indeed a sad mistake. who shall guard the camp tonight, if no guard here is awake? soldiers (_come forward_): 'tis wearisome the watch to keep, alas! alas! he fell asleep! (scott _is led off by_ soldiers _to be tried by court-martial_.) old soldier (_enters_): scott is a bonnie soldier boy: he's honest, brave and true; he is worthy still to bear the red and white and blue. alas! alas! he will come home, sentenced soon to die, beloved by all his comrades, now with bowed heads they march by. (_re-enter_ all, _singing one verse of_ just before the battle, mother.) captain (_to_ scott): there is but one who can save you now; from a cabin home he came, he is our honored president, and lincoln is his name! then to our honored president, for pardon we will go, we will march if there be hope no more with heads bowed low. (_exit_ all.) (boys, _in make-up of negroes enter. they sing the following song, and imitate banjo playing while singing the chorus._) the sunny southland[g] 'way down in the sunny southland, lives the little black boy, you know, his mother sings a lullaby, to the tune of the old banjo. _chorus_: plunkety-plunk, plunkety-plunk, down in the cotton-field we go. plunkety-plunk, plunkety-plunk, plunkety-plunk, plunk-plunk, banjo. 'way down in the sunny southland, where the sky is so bright and blue, the black boy on the banjo strings likes to play the same tune to you. _chorus_: plunkety-plunk, etc. 'way down in the sunny southland you will hear this sweet lullaby, the wee black boy must go to sleep, for the sandman is passing by. _chorus_: plunkety-plunk, etc. soldiers (_return, shouting_): hurrah! scott is pardoned. (_they repeat the last four lines of their first song and march off._) [g] music for this will be found under songs in another part of this book. scene iii--after the war lincoln's picture is placed on a ladder or easel, the children that recite placing flags and garlands of flowers about it. recitation by three boys with three flags first boy: the flag that speaks of men made free, the flag of sword and drum, 'tis the bonniest banner in all the world, the flag of battles won. second boy: the flag that speaks of gettysburg, upheld by faithful men amid the battle's storm and strife, shall wave for us again. third boy: the flag that waves o'er lincoln now, means freedom for the slave; so waves the bonnie stars and stripes o'er many a patriot's grave. all: no north, no south, no east, no west, a union of all states is best; one flag for all is a nation's pride, the blue and the gray lay side by side. a girl (_comes on stage and recites_): our hero today the flags are flying, for a hero that we love; we all sing of lincoln, while waves the flag above. bring out the bonnie banners, flags of shining stripes and stars, lincoln was our country's hero, and the victory is ours. another girl (_enters and recites_): our lincoln crown him with wreaths of evergreen, our lincoln. bring fairest flowers ever seen, for lincoln. crown him today with fragrant flowers, the war is o'er, the victory is ours, above all men this great man towers, our lincoln. crown him with gentle words of love, our lincoln; and place the banners high above for lincoln. raise high the flag of liberty, for one who set the slaves all free, ring out his praises from sea to sea, our lincoln. (children _carrying flags and flowers and having shields on their breasts, each bearing one letter to spell the word "lincoln," enter. the cards bearing the letters are hung from the neck, and when children enter are blank side toward audience. each child turns his letter to view of the audience after reciting his lines and disposing of his flowers and flag. they stand in order, and when through reciting, place the flowers and flags around the portrait of lincoln._) l: lincoln's name we all repeat, and bring for him our flowers sweet. i: in peace or war a nation's pride, we place our banners by his side. n: no north, no south today is seen, we bring our wreaths of evergreen. c: crown him with honest words of love, and place the stars and stripes above. o: one nation and one flag is best, place flowers where our hero rests. l: lincoln, we all love to bring tributes, while of thee we sing. n: no more he hears the bugle's call, we scatter flowers over all. all (_return, grouping themselves nicely and sing_): lincoln dear[h] wave the bonnie banners high, o lincoln dear! a host of children passing by, o lincoln dear, will sing to you their sweetest song, as they now proudly march along, for laurels unto you belong, o lincoln dear. _chorus_: wave the banners high, the red, the white, the blue; wave the banners high, to lincoln dear we're true. o wave the bonnie banners, how proudly they all sway, we wave the red, the white, the blue, for lincoln dear today. bonnie flags shall crown you now, o lincoln dear, we place them by your noble brow, o lincoln dear, and fairer far than monument, the love from our young hearts is sent, you were our honored president, o lincoln dear. _chorus_: wave the banners, etc. [h] music for this will be found under songs in another part of this book. a flag exercise l. f. armitage for eight little girls and boys, each carrying a flag first child: what flag is this? second: this is our country's flag, this flag so fine. it is my father's flag and it is mine. third: what are its colors? fourth: white stars in a field of blue, stripes white and red. see our "red, white and blue" waving o'erhead (_waving flags_). fifth: what do these colors mean? sixth: white means, be always pure! red means, be brave! blue means, be ever true! long may it wave. seventh: why are the flags up today? eighth: all these united states, many in one, honor this glorious name-- abraham lincoln. all (_sing_): _tune_: auld lang syne we wave[a] the flag, the bonny flag of red and white and blue. this flag that floats o'er land and sea, to it we will be true. then[i] hail the flag, this bonny flag, we'll give it three times three; god bless the land that owns this flag, the land of liberty. --_primary education_ [i] waving flags. the wooden fire-shovel clara j. denton a dialogue for three girls and two boys characters mrs. lincoln, _mother of the family_ mr. lincoln, _father of same_ sarah, _step-daughter of mrs. lincoln and sister to "abe"_ john johnson, } _mrs. lincoln's children_ matilda johnson, } costumes mrs. lincoln: dark calico gown very plainly made, wide gingham apron, hair parted in the middle, combed straight back from the face, and arranged in knot at back. let this character be taller than the other girls, if possible. mr. lincoln: blue overalls and blouse. this character should be taller than the other boys. sarah: short, plainly-made calico gown; hair arranged in two long braids, fastened together by dark thread. john johnston: blue overalls and blouse, battered fur cap. matilda johnston: gown like sarah's although different in color, hair also done up like sarah's. scene very plain interior. pine table at center. split-bottom rocker near it. two old-fashioned wooden chairs placed a few feet apart at right-front, the same at left-front. at left-rear is a pine cupboard, on the open shelves of which are some cheap earthen dishes. this cupboard must be placed so that the characters can pass behind it to reach the suggested fireplace. several skins of animals may be tacked about the walls; a pair of deer-antlers should also be in evidence. an old-fashioned gun with powder-horn might be hung in a conspicuous position. a wool spinning-wheel would add to the old-time effect. mrs. lincoln and sarah are discovered; the former, seated in the rocker, is mending a pair of ragged overalls, which, as she talks, she from time to time holds up and spreads out as if looking for holes. sarah, at rear of stage, is sweeping vigorously. mrs. lincoln: dear me, sarah! what a dust you do kick up (_coughs_); you'll choke me to death. sarah (_sweeping more gently_): excuse me, but you see, the dirt is all here, and i suppose the only way to get it out _is_ to kick it up; but i'll try to be more careful. voice (_behind scenes_): abe, abe, o, abe. mrs. lincoln: how strange it is that i just can't teach john not to stand and call out that way. i've tried ever since he was a baby to make him go to anyone that he wants. sarah: i suppose he thinks it doesn't matter as long as he's just calling abe. mrs. lincoln: but it does matter, because it's a bad habit, and a bad habit is mighty easy to get and mighty hard to lose. i don't have a bit of trouble teaching all those things to abe. dear me, he's such a good, obedient boy; i don't believe he'll live to grow up (_sighs_). sarah: o, yes he will, mother; he's too full of mischief to die; besides, he's the strongest boy for his age that there is anywhere around here. he picked matilda and me both up yesterday and carried us clear to the woods. we kicked and screamed (_laughs_) and squirmed, but oh my! we're just like a pair of dolls to him. he set us down at the edge of the woods, then started on a run. we started too, but he was in the barn and clear at the top of the corn-stalks stacked in the mow before we were half way to the house (_laughs_). don't worry about his dying, mother. voice (_again_): abe, abe, o, abe. mrs. lincoln: what shall i do with that boy? sarah: don't do anything. just let him keep right on howling until he gets tired of it. mrs. lincoln: but i'm tired of hearing him. sarah: shall i go and make him keep still? (_laughs and gesticulates._) john (_enters at right_): where's abe, mother? i've been calling and calling him. (_sits in chair at right-front._) sarah: yes, we thought we heard something. mrs. lincoln: take off your hat, my son. i do wish you didn't need telling that so often. john (_removes hat_): but i want abe. mrs. lincoln: what for? john: to help me carry in the wood. there's a big storm coming. mrs. lincoln: well, he isn't here. john: isn't here? what do you mean? i didn't see him go away. mrs. lincoln: no, he went away while you were gone to the woods with your father's lunch. this is his birthday, so i let him walk to gentryville to get me some thread. you folks wear out your clothes so fast that it takes a lot of thread to keep you from being bundles of rags. john (_sulkily_): and must i get that wood in all alone? mrs. lincoln: that won't hurt you. don't you remember the other day when you had the tooth-ache, abe got in all the wood and wouldn't let you do a thing? matilda (_enters at left from behind cupboard_): hurry up, john, and bring in some wood, the fire is getting low. don't you feel chilly, mother? mrs. lincoln: yes, it is getting cold here. run along, john, that's a good boy. abe will get it all in tomorrow night, i'm sure. sarah: yes, or else when he's rich and famous maybe he'll let you live with him. mother is so sure he's bound to be a great man. john (_rising_): o, well, abe's all right, i don't mind. mrs. lincoln: yes, you children like to laugh at the things i say about abe, but i know any boy--or girl either, for that matter--who's so anxious to learn, can't help amounting to something some day. you just wait and see. mr. lincoln (_enters at right_): what's that, mother? what shall we see if we wait? guess we'll have to wait a good while if we see anything very great around these diggings. sarah: o, ma's just bragging about abe again. mr. lincoln (_goes to_ mrs. lincoln _and lays hand on her shoulder_): you're good to the chap, sallie, that's a fact. i'm glad i brought you here to be a mother to him. but sometimes i wonder if it's just the thing for you to encourage him to do so much reading, for i know you do encourage him. matilda: i should say she does! why, the rest of us young ones have to go around on our tip-toes and talk in whispers when abe gets his nose in a book. mr. lincoln: isn't that a little hard on the others, sallie? matilda (_quickly_): oh, my! _we_ don't mind. we _like_ to have abe read, and we think he's mighty good to tell the rest of us all about what he reads. sarah: that he does. you just ought to hear him, pa, tell the story of pilgrim's progress. matilda: o, pa wouldn't like that as well as he would Ã�sop's fables; just get him to tell you some of _those_ stories some time. john: and all about robinson crusoe, too, pa, and the queer times he had. you'd like _that_, i know. mr. lincoln: well, it may be all right, but i don't like to see a big, strapping boy like abe spending his time over books, to say nothing of the hours he wastes running around borrowing them. why, i'll bet he has read every book in this county. mrs. lincoln: so he has! he was wishing just the other day that he knew of some more books that he could borrow: he said he had "read every book that he had heard of within a circuit of fifty miles." matilda: and, pa, if you could only hear him when he climbs on the table and makes speeches. i just tell you, abe is heaps of fun. mr. lincoln: i dare say he is, but that doesn't get the work done. it's all right for sickly fellows to be spending their time getting learning, but a big, strong fellow like abe will always be able to earn his living by hard work. mrs. lincoln: of course he'll be _able_ to, but you'll find out he'll not do it. i tell you there are other plans laid away in that big head of his. mr. lincoln: well, well, he'll have you to thank if he ever does amount to anything, that's sure. (_shivers._) but it's cold in here, what on earth is the matter with your fire? john (_aside_): time for me to run. (_exit at right, hurriedly._) mr. lincoln (_turning toward cupboard_): it's funny you young ones can't look after the fire when ma's busy. john, you go bring in some wood! (_looks around._) o, he's gone after it, i guess--about time. (_disappears behind cupboard._) mrs. lincoln (_to girls_): don't tell pa that john was waiting for abe to help him. if you do they'll both get a scolding, maybe. matilda: and you, too, for letting abe go away. (all _laugh_.) (john _enters at right, carrying wood, which he drops noisily behind cupboard_.) mrs. lincoln (_starting up_): john, why do you drop the wood in that noisy way? (john _re-appears and comes down_.) after all my talking to you, it does seem as if you might learn to be more quiet about it. matilda: yes, when abe---- sarah (_catching her by the arm_): hush, matilda! if you keep on (_they come down to right front_) you'll make john hate abe. don't hold him up to john _all_ the time as a pattern. matilda (_sighs_): but, you know, sarah, abe is so different. he never does any of those disagreeable things that john is always doing. i remember, when we first came here, ma told abe to take off his hat when he came into the house, and she never has had to tell him the second time; but she is still trying to hammer it into john. sarah: yes, dear, i know, and abe is so kind to everyone and so thoughtful of other people's comfort. i am so glad he is my brother, and i only wish i were half as good and kind as he. matilda: yes, and so jolly, too. sarah: only sometimes he looks so sad--that must be when he's hungry for more books. john (_coming towards them_): what are you two girls talking about over here? (mr. lincoln _appears from behind cupboard, carrying a large wooden shovel, the blade of which is covered with black figures. he comes down, confronting_ mrs. lincoln.) mr. lincoln: mother, what in the world is this? mrs. lincoln (_laughing_): o, those are abe's sums. mr. lincoln: sums! i vum! sums! what did he make them with? mrs. lincoln: a piece of burnt wood. mr. lincoln: i vum! sums! where did he learn to _do_ sums? mrs. lincoln: o, he picked it up. mr. lincoln: i bet you taught him! didn't you, sallie? come now, own up. mrs. lincoln: well, i helped him a little, but he's far ahead of me now; he's ciphered clear through that old ragged arithmetic that's been kicking around the house. mr. lincoln (_turning shovel over_): but both sides are covered. what's he going to do now? mrs. lincoln: o, he'll take the shaving knife and whittle it all off, then he'll have a "new slate," as he says. mr. lincoln (_holding up shovel_): a new slate! sums! well, i vum! (_whistle heard behind scenes._) mrs. lincoln (_rising_): there he comes now. put the shovel away, and don't scold him, pa. mr. lincoln: sums! i vum! (_exit quickly behind cupboard._) curtain the prophecy clara j. denton a dialogue for one girl and two boys characters john thomas helen costumes the characters wear suits made as nearly as possible in the style of seventy years ago. for hints as to proper styles consult pictures in old books--a brief description is, however, given. the boys' trousers are long and loose; the jackets are short and tight-fitting, with small sleeves. the jackets are made open in front, and short, close-fitting vests, buttoning to the neck, are worn under them. white turn-over collars surmount the whole. these suits may be made of the cheapest material. or, if preferred, the boys may be arrayed in blue overalls and "jumpers"; this will save much labor and inconvenience. the girl wears a short, full-skirted gown of pink calico, the waist made plain, fitting closely and buttoning up the back. the hair should hang in two long braids, the ends tied together with a green ribbon. scene the stage is set to represent a schoolroom, with blackboards and maps on the walls, and cheap plain benches and desks in an orderly arrangement. a small pine table, on which are some books and a hand-bell, is in the center. behind this table is an old-fashioned wooden chair for the teacher. shabby and battered books are piled neatly on the various desks. john (_enters at right, comes to one of the desks, seats himself, and opens a book_): here is this miserable sum again. i suppose i've just _got_ to get it done before the teacher comes; but i can't make head or tail of the thing. let me see (_reads_): "if the half of four be three, what will three-fourths of twenty be?" (_closes book with a bang._) was there ever any stuff like that? everybody knows that half of four can't be three, so what's the use of wearing out a fellow's brains, 'specially when he's like me and hasn't any to spare, over a silly thing like that? o, gee, i believe i'll run away. i hate this school, school, all the time. if father would only let me stay at home and plough. thomas (_enters at right_): what's that, jack? didn't i hear you say something about ploughing? john (_rises and leaves desk, both boys come down_): yes, i was just wishing i could stay at home and plough instead of coming to school and worrying my head over fractions. i hate them. thomas (_goes to another desk and takes up book_): i don't mind fractions, but here's this awful geography lesson. teacher said if i didn't have it this morning i'd have to stay in all the noon hour and learn it. what good will it ever do me, i'd like to know, to get the names of all these islands in my head? i don't mean to be a sailor, and if i should be i guess i'd learn the names of places fast enough when i came to them. john (_puts his hand on_ thomas' _shoulder_): say, tom, let's run away where they can't make us go to school. we know enough now. thomas: so we do; we can write our names, and say the multiplication table. what more need a fellow know? john: we can work for the farmers until we get a little money and then---- helen (_enters at right and comes down_): o boys, aren't you ashamed? i overheard your bad plans; how can you talk that way about going to school instead of being glad that you have the chance to go? john: _glad_ of the chance? ho, ho, that's funny. thomas: i should say so, as if anybody was ever _glad_ to go to school. (_both boys laugh heartily._ helen _stands silently gazing at them_.) john: why, that beats everything! "glad to go to school!" i don't believe there ever was such a thing as a fellow being _glad_ to go to school. helen: i'm sure i'm glad. thomas (_snapping his fingers scornfully and turning away_): yes, but you're a _girl_. i suppose it's all right for a _girl_ to be glad. john: i said i didn't believe there was such a thing as a _fellow_ being glad to go to school. you're not a fellow, are you? (_both boys laugh and cross over._) thomas: if i was a girl i dare say i'd like to go to school. of course, that's better than rocking the baby and washing the dishes--but _fellows_! i tell you they have better ways to pass their time, eh! jackie? (_pokes him in the ribs. both laugh._) helen: well, it's a lucky thing for the world that all boys aren't like you, else where would our great men come from if all the boys were as willing to remain great know-nothings as you two are? john: o, who wants to be great? great men have to work, and to sit up nights and worry about things. i'd rather be a plough-boy than a great man any time. thomas: so would i! nothing to worry about, just follow the horse and keep the plough straight. helen: well, there's one thing of which both of you may be pretty sure. both: what's that? helen: you are in a fair way to get what you want. you will both be plough-boys until you are too old to hold the plough, and then you can go to the poorhouse, where the "great men" whom you despise will make laws to take care of you. thomas: that's just it; now you are coming around to john's statement. we will not have to worry; others will do that, you see. helen (_impatiently_): boys, why don't you brace up and study as you ought to? what's the use of all this foolish talk? you know you don't mean a word of it! (_goes up stage._) john: we do mean it, too, don't we, tom? thomas: _you're_ the one that talks foolishness. you said some boys would be "glad of our chance to go to school." helen (_coming down quickly_): yes, and it's true, too. i heard my father telling last night about a boy living out in the woods beyond gentryville who'd give almost anything for your chance. he's never been to school but a few months in his whole life, and-- thomas: o, no wonder he thinks he'd like it, he doesn't know anything about it. i thought it was fun, too, when i was in the primer class. john: yes, so did i. helen: well, he's beyond the primer class, i tell you. he knows the old webster spelling book all by heart, father says. john: how'd he learn it if he hasn't been to school? your stories don't hitch very well, miss preachie. helen: he learned it all by himself, lying on the floor nights in front of the big fireplace. they are too poor to have even a grease light. thomas: must think a lot of that old spelling book. (_both laugh._) helen: of course he thinks a lot of it. he thinks a lot of _any_ book. father heard a man telling down at the store that this boy cut four cords of wood for some one, just to get a _piece_ of a book. john: o, wanted to read the arabian nights, probably. helen: but it wasn't the arabian nights that he bought; it was the life of washington. thomas: what's the use of _his_ reading the life of washington? he's nothing but poor, white trash--too poor, you say, even to have a grease light. he'll never be anybody. helen: don't you be too sure of that. i tell you that boy will be a great man. some day you'll hear of him yet. john: just because he was fool enough to cut four cords of wood for a _piece_ of a book? thomas: well, i'd have had the whole book or nothing. john: so would i (_sneering_). why he was a fool. o, yes, we'll hear of him, of course. we'll read about him in the back part of the spelling book where the blank leaves are. but what's his name, do you know? helen: yes, father told me. his name is abraham lincoln: remember it, boys, for i am quite sure you will hear it again some day. thomas: of course we'll remember it; couldn't forget it if we tried. a boy that was as big a greeny as that. john: i tell you, helen, the next time that you have to write one of those things which you like so well--a composition--you can write it about "the two cuts, or the wood that was cut for a cut book." my! but that will be fine. (_both laugh boisterously._) helen: well, you may laugh, boys, but you'll find there'll be plenty of people to write about him, and it may be it will be done while you are yet alive to read the books, and more than that-- (_shouts heard from behind scenes._) john (_running off at right_): come on, tom, i hear the boys forming for "there, old cat"; we'll be too late. thomas: but, how about your sum and my geography lesson? the teacher'll do something dreadful to us. john (_calling back over his shoulder_): bother on them, we'll have time to study after school calls: if we don't, who cares? let abraham lincoln do the studying while we are having fun. come on, come on. (_exit at right._) helen: don't go, tom; stay and have a perfect lesson for once. thomas: o, i've heard preaching enough for one morning. (_exit at right, running._) helen: that's the way it always ends. if i try to have them mend their ways, they just make fun of me for "preaching." (_goes to a desk and takes up book, opens it and sits at desk._) i'm only a girl, of course, but i am going to imitate poor abe by trying to get a little knowledge into my head. but what foolish boys _they_ are, and some day when abraham lincoln is a great man and everyone is talking about the wonderful things he is doing, john and tom will be standing around whittling sticks and growling because they couldn't be as "lucky as abraham lincoln." well, if _i_ am anywhere around, i'll tell them of the things they said this morning. i know i shall never forget them. (_becomes intent on book._) curtain captain lincoln clara j. denton a dialogue for five boys characters captain lincoln lieutenant dash private dunn sergeant free gerolomo, _the indian_ costumes soldiers: for the four soldiers, suitable military outfits. indian: if a wig of long black hair is obtainable, part the hair and make into two heavy braids, twisting yellow or red flannel through the braids which hang down close to the face on either side. if a wig is impossible, decorate a strip of pasteboard with chicken feathers and fasten it around the head. wear a brightly colored blanket thrown over a pair of overalls and dark cotton shirt. wear moccasins. carry old-fashioned gun. the character of lincoln must be taken by boy much taller than the others. scene camp; tent in foreground with flap up, showing rude bed, gun, knapsack, etc. lieutenant dash and sergeant free are discovered lying at full length not far from tent. lieutenant (_rising_): well, i must say, i'm mighty tired lying 'round here waiting for that boat to come. sergeant (_yawns and rolls over_): guess we'll never get where the indians are if we wait for that boat. wish we could all swim across the river. captain lincoln's getting mighty tired of waiting, too. lieutenant: no wonder! such an unruly lot as he has to hold in check here. sergeant: yes, think of his being blamed for that rowdy crowd breaking into the storehouse and drinking up all the whiskey. he didn't know a thing about it until it was all over. lieutenant (_walking up and down_): yes, but you see that's the way things go; he's at the head of the company and he just has to stand the blame for all their meannesses. i should think they'd be a little careful of their doings for they all like him, or seem to, anyway. sergeant: you see, they just didn't think, that's the trouble with them. lieutenant: perhaps they'll be more careful after this, that is if they like him as well as they pretend to. sergeant (_jumping up_): oh, that's all real; they like him, you can depend on that. didn't you ever hear how he came to be captain? lieutenant: no, i have often wondered about it, for he's young for that position. tell me all about it if you can. (_seats himself on ground near door of tent._) sergeant: well, it was this way; it's not a very long story, but i might as well sit down. (_sits on other side of door._) you see, there were two fellows put up: kirkpatrick and lincoln. the vote was taken in a field, by directing the fellows at the command "march," to gather around the one they wanted for captain. the other fellow was a good deal older than lincoln and i s'pose most folks would say he was better fitted to be captain, but's sure's you live a good big majority went over to lincoln's side. and i never saw a fellow so tickled as lincoln was! (_slapping his knee with his right hand._) lieutenant: well, now, they ought to stand by him and not cut up any more rowdy tricks, to have him disgraced by wearing a wooden sword. better talk to them just as soon as you get a chance. sergeant: i will, sir, that i will. (_enter_ private dunn _at left. he comes down and salutes._) private: you just ought to have been up the road with the boys a couple of hours ago. i tell you, we had heaps of fun. talk about indians! lieutenant (_jumping up_) } indians! sergeant (_rushing to him_) } private (_crossing over_): indians! (_waving his hands for them to remain calm._) no, just one poor lonesome, hungry indian--an old one at that. lieutenant } did they kill him? sergeant } private: i guess not! the captain was there. lieutenant: well, what _did_ they do to make any fun? private: well, they all ran at him with their guns, yelling "redskin! scalp him! kill him! he's what we're after." then the frightened old fellow drew from his belt a letter and whined out "me good injun, me no harm paleface. see--paper; from big white war chief." someone grabbed the letter and read it aloud. it was from general cass and said that the bearer gerolomo was a friendly indian and that he must be given food and shelter. lieutenant: forged letter, no doubt. sergeant: i bet he was a spy. private: that's just what the others said. they all got around him and yelled "shoot him! kill him!" till i didn't think the poor beggar's life was worth two bits. he thought so, too, i guess, for he was so scared that he was almost white. they were all around him so that he couldn't run--tell you it looked tough. (_draws long breath._) lieutenant: but go on; you said they didn't kill the worthless cur? private: "worthless cur!" well, i guess not! the captain heard the men and dashing in among them, he laid his hand on the indian's shoulder, and he just roared: "the first man that touches him dies!" o, boys, you'd orter been there. (_goes up._) sergeant: come back and tell the rest; what happened then? private (_comes down_): someone sung out, "o, you're a coward, afraid of an old indian. let _us_ have him!" whew! you'd orter seen him _then_. i never see the captain so mad. "who says i'm a coward?" he roared, rolling up his sleeves. lieutenant: well, did they fight him? (_laughs._) private: guess not--didn't want to tackle that job. so the captain after a minute or two took the old indian by the arm and led him off to feed. sergeant: that was just like the captain, but it may be the old fellow is a spy after all. lieutenant: well, i guess that's the only indian that we are likely to see and it's too bad of the captain to spoil the boys' fun. o, here comes the noble red man now. (gerolomo _enters at right, comes down slowly and timidly._) lieutenant: hullo, there, you redskin! what's your name? (_goes to him._) indian: gerolomo. me heap good injun; heap like paleface, bring paleface heap meat. (_shows gun and continues to move on slowly across stage._) lieutenant: stand still, there, and tell us where the rest of your people are; we'd like pretty well to kill a few hundred. indian (_stands_): big paleface tell gerolomo go bring venison, go bring duck. lieutenant: well, why don't you do it, then? better mind him, i tell you, or he'll have you shot. indian (_shaking head decidedly_): no, no, big paleface heap good, heap brave; no harm poor injun. sergeant (_going to_ indian): you're off now, i'll bet, to tell your people just where to find us and just how many palefaces there are here. indian (_repeats former business_): no, no, gerolomo go tell big paleface got venison, got duck, got squirrel. private (_going to him and shaking his fist at him_): none o' your lying now. if you go to the captain with that yarn he'll make short work o' you. the captain hates a liar, he does. indian (_whining_): me no lie, me good injun. me go tell big paleface me bring venison, me bring duck, me bring squirrel. lieutenant (_to the others_): listen to that, will you? he'll bring venison, he'll bring duck, he'll bring squirrel. my! but we'll be living high. (all _laugh._) sergeant: we'd like to _see_ your venison, your duck, and your squirrel. indian (_briskly_): all right, me bring 'em in, me bring heap meat. (_turns about and moves toward right exit._) lieutenant: better go with him, dunn, because if he is lying to us, which he probably is, he'll not come back. private: all right, come on you "heap good injun." we'll see what you've got out there. (_exeunt._) sergeant (_saluting_): hadn't i better go, too, lieutenant? he may get away from dunn. lieutenant: no, i think dunn can manage him. but hasn't he learned the trick of telling a good lie? sergeant: i should think so. venison, duck and squirrel, and he's only been in the woods a few hours. lieutenant: well, of course he may be telling the truth, because the woods are full of game, and i daresay the old fellow is a good shot. (_enter_ private dunn, _carrying a squirrel in one hand, a duck in the other, followed by_ gerolomo _dragging a dead deer. they stop at center._ lieutenant dash _and_ sergeant free _run to them._) lieutenant: well, really, you old redskin you have told the truth for once in your life. indian (_lifting his hands and eyes_): me shoot for big paleface. great spirit tell gerolomo where venison, where duck, where squirrel for big paleface. great spirit always take care of big paleface. (captain lincoln _enters at left and comes down slowly, unseen by_ gerolomo. _the others salute._) big paleface take care poor old gerolomo. captain lincoln (_goes to_ indian _and lays hand on his shoulder_): you have obeyed my orders and kept your promise, the whitest soldier among us all could have done no better. _tableau_ curtain with fife and drum clara j. denton a play in two acts for four girls and three boys characters mrs. mortimer, _mother of the family_ sally caroline, _the daughter_ albert, _the son_ mr. mortimer, _father_ (_this character has no lines_) auntie temp, _a negro slave_ george washington augustus, _her son_ clementina diana, _her daughter_ scene neat home interior. old-fashioned hair-cloth sofa at right of stage. hair-cloth rocking-chair at left. marble-topped table at center. easel with large picture of lincoln near center. cane seat rocking-chair at left-front, also another at right-front. crocheted tidies on sofa and all rocking-chairs, and any other minor accessories that will give to the room an old-fashioned appearance. costumes mrs. mortimer and sally caroline: for these two characters borrow dresses made during the ' 's. if this is impossible, make gowns of some cheap yet good-looking material to represent such. let the skirt be very full and worn over hoops; the waist plain and tight-fitting with wide flowing sleeves with white muslin undersleeves. wear a broad, flat, embroidered collar. mrs. mortimer wears her hair parted in the middle, two curls on either side of her face, held in place by side-combs; the remainder fastened in a knot at the back. sally caroline's hair hangs in curls. let these costumes be planned and overlooked by a skillful matron who is at least sixty years of age. albert: in first act he wears an ordinary suit for young man; in second act butternut-color suit, ragged and soiled. auntie temp: bright-colored print gown, wide gingham apron, bright bandanna kerchief tied on head. this character should be represented by a stout person, if possible. george washington augustus: overalls and "jumper" of blue denim. clementina diana: cotton gown. the two last named must wear negro wigs or wigs of black wool. the characters making-up for negroes should cover the faces with some sort of toilet cream before applying the burnt cork or "black-face" preparation. mr. mortimer: united states military uniform faded and ragged. act i auntie temp (_before the curtain rises_): gawge washington augustus. o, gawge washington augustus, gawge washington augustus, i say. (_curtain rises._ auntie temp _is seen leaving stage at right._) george (_enters at left_): i was jes' suah i yerd mammy callin' me in heah. wondah whar she went? mighty ha'd times dese is foh de niggahs, dat's suah. what wid ole marsa goin' off wid de linkum sojas an' young marsa stampin' 'round an' sayin' he foh suah cehtain am agoin' wid de fed'rates i mos' done wish i hain't nevah been bo'n. i is foh suah. (_singing behind scenes, a strain of any darkey melody that may be convenient, though the following, is especially appropriate._ george _pauses to listen._) george (_continues after the singing dies out, looking toward right_): dere comes dat worfless clementina diana, ef she is my sistah. 'peahs lak any niggah dat can sing now-a-days ain't got no heart, jes' all gizzahd lak a chicken. (clementina _enters at right, still singing._) shet up dere, clementina diana, how kin you go a-singin' 'round right in de midst o' dis yere wah when de folkses is a-shootin' each udder down, an' a--an' a---- clementina: o, pshaw! gawge washington augustus, i didn't make de wah, 'sides i hain't seen none o' it, so i might's well be gay and happy while i kin. mammy's been a-squawkin' foh ye dis yere long while. george: where's she gone ter? clementina: o! _i_ dunno. (_this in a slipshod way, shrugging her shoulders. continues singing and exits at left._) negro song this is a funny old song that the darkeys used to delight to sing in the days when they believed "father abraham" was coming to free them. [music] . say, darkeys, hab you seen de massa, wid de muffstas on his face, go 'long de road some time dis mornin', like he gwine to leav de place? he seen a smoke 'way up de ribber, whar de linkum gun-boats lay; he took his hat, an' lef berry sudden, an' i spec he's run away! . he six foot one way, two foot tudder, an' he weigh tree hundred pound; his coat so big he couldn't pay de tailor, an' it won't go half way 'round. he drill so much dey call him cap'an, an' he get so drefful tann'd, i spec he try an' fool dem yankees for to tink he's contraband. . de oberseer he make us trouble, an' he dribe us 'round a spell; we lock him up in de smoke-house cellar, wid de key trown in de well. de whip is lost, de han'cuff broken, but de massa'll hab his pay; he's ole enough, big enough, ought to known bet-ter dan to went an' run away. chorus: de massa run, ha! ha! de darkeys stay, ho! ho! it mus' be now de kingdom coming, an' de year ob jubilo! george: ef that hain't de most disrisponsible niggah gal dat eber breaved de bref o' life! if i's lak she am i'd run off tomowow and jine dem linkum sojas, but i jes' cain't do it. i jes' keep a-wonderin' what dey all will do at home widout me. well, i reckon i'll go hunt up mammy. (_exits at right._) sally (_enters at left carrying open letter_): poor cousin bessie helen, she has left her beautiful alabama home with all its grand furniture and has run away with her brothers and sisters to grandpa's home here in tennessee. what a foolish thing for her to do. (_reads from letter_): "when they told me the yankee soldiers were coming i couldn't think of anything but to get away safely with the children before the soldiers came in and butchered us all." how _foolish_ she was! i am sure the officers would have seen that she came to no harm. (_goes to lincoln's portrait and places her hand upon it._) it is plain that she has never looked upon _your_ noble face. if she had she would have felt, as i do, that at least some small measure of your beautiful spirit must be scattered abroad through your army to keep the men from harming helpless widows and children. but, poor bessie! she has only heard dreadful stories about you, and so, with her mother in her grave, and her father fighting against the yankees she could see no safety except in flight. i must write to her and tell her something of our beloved lincoln and the army which he controls. (albert _enters at left._) o, albert, i am so glad you have come in just now. i have here a letter from cousin bessie; she is at grandfather's here in tennessee. albert: in tennessee? sally: yes, read her letter; she was so afraid of the yankee soldiers. albert: and well she might be, the hounds! sally: hush! (_placing right-hand forefinger to lips_): albert, do you forget that our father is one of them? albert (_walking up and down excitedly_): indeed, i _don't_ forget! i think of it every hour, and it is _that_ which makes me so furious. how can he accept those low-down northerners as his associates? sally: brother, be still! look at that face! (_points to lincoln's portrait._) _he_ is a northerner, altho' he was born in kentucky, and for his sake i love them all. albert: then you must hate all your friends and relatives that are fighting against him. sally: no, no, dear brother, i do not. don't you remember how the grand lincoln closed his inaugural address? "we are not enemies, but friends. we must not be enemies. though passion may have strained, it must not break our bonds of affection. the mystic chords of memory, stretching from every battlefield and patriot grave, to every living heart and hearthstone,----" albert (_interrupting_): there, stop, i will not listen to any more of his stuff. sally (_continuing rapidly_): "all over this broad land, will yet swell the chorus of the union, when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature." are those not wonderful words? albert: stuff and sentimentalism, that's what they are! sally: o, albert, how can you talk so? think of it! today is his birthday; today you should delight to honor him. albert: his birthday! who cares? sally: everyone should give thanks for this day. albert (_laughing_): what nonsense you talk, sally caroline. sally: well, you will see. the time will come when the country will celebrate his birthday just as they now do washington's. albert: o, come now, that's too much. it's bad enough to know that we are to have another four years of his tyranny, without hearing you sing his praises. sally: but, you'll _have_ to hear it; the war will soon be over, and he will be proclaimed as the savior of his country. albert: o, stop! the war is not anywhere near over: it is but begun. i'll not listen to this talk any longer. i resent it. i'll not hear any more of abraham lincoln. (_goes up stage in great excitement._) sally (_excitedly_): why, albert! how can you talk so? why you sound just like a rebel. albert (_turns and coming to center stands_): and that is just what i am, a rebel! a rebel against the tyranny of abraham lincoln. (sally _drops into rocking-chair at left-front; buries her face in her handkerchief and sobs violently._) albert (_comes down_): there, there, little sister! don't take on so; surely you have known my sentiments before this. sally (_rising_): o, but you never talked quite so wickedly before. how could you say things like that with his noble, benign face looking straight at you? albert (_scornfully_): noble, benign face, indeed! i'll tear it into ribbons. i have put up with this thing long enough. (_he goes toward picture._ sally _runs quickly, intercepts him, and stands in front of picture, placing her arms protectingly across it._) albert: stand aside! sally: never! albert (_loudly_): stand aside, i say! sally: never! mrs. mortimer (_enters at right_): children, what in the world are you doing? albert, was that you speaking like that to your sister? i could hardly believe my ears. (albert _goes to sofa and buries his face in his hands._) what in the world are you doing, sally caroline? come and sit down. sally: no, mother, not until albert promises me that he will not molest this picture. mrs. mortimer: molest that picture! why should he? your father paid ten good dollars of united states money for that picture and i reckon albert doesn't want to waste money like that. come here, albert. (_she sits in rocking-chair at right-front._) do come away from that picture, sally caroline; how ridiculous you look spread out there. come away, i say! sally: no, mother; not until albert promises me that he will not harm this picture. mrs. mortimer: of course he will not harm it. i can answer for that. harm a picture which his father loves so well? i cannot imagine my son doing a deed like that. albert, come to me. albert (_rising_): mother, i see that i have no place here. i will get across the line some way this very day, and join the confederate army. (sally _runs to him._) mrs. mortimer (_rises_): what! my son fight against the old flag? sally: albert, albert; o, you cannot mean it! albert: mother, you are a southern woman; you ought to bid me godspeed. mrs. mortimer: yes, i am a southern woman, but i am the descendant of men who helped to bind these states together, and no child of mine shall, with my consent, help to sever them. you shall _not_ go, albert. albert: mother, i must! i shall--go. (_exit at right, running._ sally _and_ mrs. mortimer _throw their arms about each other and sink upon the sofa._) curtain here may be introduced a short drill of the blue and the gray if desirable. it would certainly have a pleasing effect and would tend to add variety and spice to the entertainment. act ii fife and drum heard playing yankee doodle, behind scenes. auntie temp discovered dusting the furniture. auntie temp: never seen nuthin' lak dem chilluns. dat dere clementina diana she's jes' nuthin' but a no-'count shif'less niggah eber sence dem linkum sojas come 'round heah. she found dat ole fife somewha's 'round an' she jes' blow on it all day long (_puffing in her excitement_); cain't get nuthin' else out'n her, an' gawge washington augustus! (_laughing_) golly, he's jes' 's bad, he des poun' de old drum. o, deah, mighty queah times when niggahs jes' tinks dey's got nuthin' to do but stan' 'round and make jig music. mrs. mortimer (_enters at right_): aunt temp, those children of yours can make pretty good music. i think we'll have to send them to that new fisk university, just founded. (_sits in rocking-chair at right-front._) auntie temp: lan' sakes alive, miss' em'line! what de wo'ld you-all do dat foh? suah dem chilluns ain't done nuthin' foh to shet dem up in de what ye call it, tentiarity. mrs. mortimer: o, aunt temp, i didn't say the _penitentiary_. i said the _university_; that's where they educate the darkies, you know, and when they are natural musicians like your children, they teach them all the branches of music. auntie temp: what! eddicate de niggahs! i hain't nevah seen no good come o' dat. i'll eddicate that gawge washington augustus to saw wood, and clementina diana has jes' nachually _got_ to lea'n to make a hoe-cake 's good 's her mammy kin. i cain't see no use o' nuthin' else. lan' sakes, i reckon what's good enough for dere ole niggah mammy 's good enough for dem two black niggahs. (_placing arms akimbo and holding head up proudly._) mrs. mortimer: but everything's changed now, you know, aunt temp: there aren't any slaves any more, and so we must teach you colored people to take care of yourselves. auntie temp: yes, i know, i yerd lots o' dat kin' o' talk jes' dese yere days, but i reckon i jes' stays right heah wif you-alls twell i dies. clementina (_running in from right_): o, mammy, did you-all heah de music? auntie temp: go 'long ye good-foh-nuthin' shif'less niggah; doan ye see de mist'ess? clementina (_turns and ducks her head and shoulders: a rude imitation of a curtsy_): o, 'scuse me miss' em'line. i was jes' plum' crazy ovah dat fife. golly, but dat's fine! mrs. mortimer: you can play as well as a man, clementina: come here. (mrs. mortimer _takes_ clementina's _hand and leads her to lincoln's picture._) do you know who this is? clementina (_looking very serious_): suah i duz, miss' em'line; dis heah (_lays her hand on picture_) is de good massa linkum what said to all de people eve'ywha's, up in the norf 'n' down in de souf, dat dere shouldn't nevah no moah be any slaves anywha's. (_joyfully and enthusiastically_): golly, but i's glad he done libed. mrs. mortimer (_bowing head sorrowfully and speaking slowly and softly_): yes, indeed, we are all glad of that: and now you may go, clementine. clementina (_comes down while_ mrs. mortimer _remains looking at picture._ clementina, _when near right exit, turns and runs back to_ mrs. mortimer): o, i say, miss' em'line, de good marsa linkum done gone dead now, an' won't dey take us all back foh slaves ag'in? mrs. mortimer (_coming down_): no, you poor child, don't be afraid, slavery is done with forever and forever. no one can ever undo the work of abraham lincoln. clementina: golly! i's glad o' dat. bress de lawd foh abraham linkum. (_dances a few steps and then exits at right, running._) auntie temp: she hain't got no sense miss' em'line, so you-all mus' jes' nachually fohgive her foh jes' fohgettin' 'bout what all dis yere wah cost you-all. (_bowing head and speaking softly and sadly._) but i knows, i knows, miss' em'line, an' i's powe'ful sorry foh you-all. (_exit at right, head still bowed._) mrs. mortimer (_sits in rocking-chair at right-front_): yes, the cost _has_ been great (_speaking slowly and weighing each word carefully_), o, how great! and our noble leader who said he now longed only to bind up the nation's wounds has been taken from us. how will it be now, i wonder? they tell me the war is over. lee has surrendered--but where, o where (_rises and walks up and down_) are my poor husband and our boy? it has been long since i have had a letter from either. perhaps they have both died fighting for the cause in which each believed. poor, misguided albert! how could he ever have gone against the flag of his forefathers? (_exit at left._) george (_enters at right_): dat air clementina diana's jes' too much for my institution. she dinks 'case miss' em'line told her she done play de fife's good as a man dat she's de bigges' pickanninny on dis yere plantation. but i'll show her she cain't come none o' her friskom-fa'i'cation ovah gawge washington augustus. dis yere niggah ain't no slave no moah, an' he's gwine show dat li'l' niggah gal what's what. (_fife behind scenes._) dah she's at it ag'in. (_enter_ clementina _at right, running and waving fife in air and shouting_, hurrah!) what's de matta, you crazy niggah gal? ye des done gone out o' yore senses (_runs to her and shakes her_). clementina: git yore dwum, gawge washington 'gustus, and come on wif me: de marsa's a-comin'! george: o, go 'long wif yore crazy talk, de massa's done gone de'd befoh dis yere. ye s'pose he lib an' not sen' a perscripshun to de mist'ess befoh dis yere? no, dem mis'able reb bullets get him foh dis yere. i knows. (_pointing finger at her_): go 'long wid ye now! (_goes up stage._) clementina: now, doan ye be so sma't, gawge washington 'gustus; he's comin' foh suah--i seed 'im. george (_comes down quickly_): seed 'im? ya mis'able good-foh-nuthin' lyin' niggah gal, how could ye seed 'im? clementina (_slowly and solemnly_): i seed a tramp comin' 'way obah de fields. i kin'a sca'd an' 'spishus. i tak miss' em'line's spy-glass and i looked and i seed 'twas marsa. (_dances a few steps, singing_, "marsa's come." _they both run out at right. fife and drum is heard, playing_ yankee doodle _behind scenes._) mrs. mortimer (_with_ sally, _run in at left_): i was sure i heard clem's voice singing, "marsa come," but there's no one here. o, why did she do it? (_drops into rocking-chair at left-front._ sally _runs to her._) it was wicked of her to do a thing like that. and that dreadful tune! sally caroline, i think you'll have to go out and make them keep still. (_music grows fainter._) sally: never mind, mother dear, they are going away now. they'll soon be out of hearing. i'll see what they are about. (_exits at right._) mrs. mortimer: i never, never, want to hear that tune again. i shall always associate it with this bitter disappointment. o, i was so sure my poor husband had come. i wonder what made the child think of singing that? but, then, she is only a child; she cannot understand (_buries her face in handkerchief and sobs_). auntie temp (_enters at left and goes to side of_ mrs. mortimer): o, now, miss' em'line! doan, honey, doan do dat, pore soul. yore ole mammy knows jes' how't feels--come, now, obah heah on de sofi, an' hab a good rest. (_puts arms about her and leads her to sofa, putting pillow under her head, etc., while talking to her._) dere, dere, honey, doan ye feel bad any moah. we-all tak de bes' caah of ye an' make ye des's happy as we kin. des tink, miss' em'line, dere's miss sally car'line, de lubliest angel anybuddy eber seed; she done tak des de bes' caah of ye, so des chirk up, chirk up, miss' em'line. come, now, honey, tu'n obah an' go a-sleep, yore ole mammy covah ye up. mrs. mortimer: and, auntie temp, don't ever let those children play yankee doodle around the house again. auntie temp: dat i won't, honey, i'll go this minnit an' see 'bout it. (_comes down stage._ sally _enters at right. they meet at right-front._) sally (_in excited undertone_): auntie temp, what do you think? (_catches her by the arm and dances and jumps around in glee._) father is coming across the field from the west! your children have gone to meet him. and as i was looking around, i saw another figure coming slowly from the south. i took the glass, which was lying on the porch, and it is albert! auntie temp (_excitedly_): laws honey, ye doan mean it? sally: hush! i am afraid the excitement will be too much for mother. o, what shall we do? they may come rushing in any minute. (_fife and drum heard._ mrs. mortimer _groans._) auntie temp: see to yore pore ma, miss sally car'line, i got ter make dem niggahs shet up. (_exit at right. music ceases in a moment._) mrs. mortimer (_sitting up_): o, good auntie temp! what a comfort she is to me; she promised to make those children stop that tune and she has done it. (_sighs._) sally (_kneeling beside her_): but, mother dear, wouldn't you like to hear the fife and drum playing yankee doodle if it was played for joy? mrs. mortimer (_jumping up_): for joy? what can you mean, sally caroline? sally (_rising and throwing arms about_ mrs. mortimer): don't get excited. it means, dearest mother, that you are to be happy again. mrs. mortimer: o, sally caroline, don't deceive me! do you mean---- sally (_interrupting_): yes, yes, it means that they (_leads her slowly toward right exit_) are both coming across the fields: one from the west and one from the south, and, even now, they may be in the door-yard. (mrs. mortimer _hurries._) there, there, dear, do not overtax your strength. remember, too, they are much changed, and you mustn't give 'way when you meet them. (_exeunt at right._) clementina (_enters at right, waving fife, followed by_ george, _carrying drum_): golly, wa'n't that fine? seems lak i cu'd jes' dance mah feet off. george: well, ye jes' keep still, ye good-foh-nuthin' niggah gal. nebah seed sich a crazy gal nowahs, dere, dey's comin' now, ye better go hide. (clementina _runs up and stands behind lincoln's portrait so that only her face is visible._ mrs. mortimer, mr. mortimer _and_ albert _enter at right._ mrs. mortimer _is between the two and their arms are linked._ sally _follows closely behind, and_ auntie temp, _who is behind the others, goes to_ george _and stands beside him._) mrs. mortimer: it seems too good to be true that i have _both_ my dear ones at home again. albert (_breaks away from his mother and runs to lincoln's portrait, laying his hand upon it_): and, mother, i am cured of my folly. i have seen him, and i am glad the old flag was victorious. all (_excitedly_): have _seen_ him? sally: o, tell us about him! albert (_coming down_): [j]it was at richmond. i had been taken prisoner with two other young fellows. we were shut up in an old store. the president came there with some of his friends and just a few of his sailors. he passed the store and saw us staring from the window. o, the look that came over his face i can never describe, as he called out: "break in that door and let those boys go home to their mothers." in a second we were free. [j] this incident is purely fictitious and is given only as what might have happened, being quite in keeping with lincoln's character. auntie temp: de lawd bress him! albert: and, mother, when i stood face to face with him i saw that not half had been told me of his goodness and his greatness. and when i heard of his death a day or two ago, as i was begging my way across the country, to get home, i wept like a child. i knew then, as others will know later, that this was the end of life for the greatest american this country ever had. auntie temp: de lawd save us! i's mighty scar'd o' what 'comes of us pore niggahs now. sally (_going to_ auntie temp _and putting hand on her shoulder_): you have nothing to fear from this time forth, auntie temp. although abraham lincoln is dead, his _spirit_ will live _forever_ in the land. albert (_comes to front-center_): yes, and he has taught the american nation, in his own immortal words, "that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth." curtain suggestive program recommended by the new york department of public instruction . salute to the flag school at a signal from the principal the pupils in ordered ranks, hands to the side, face the flag. at another signal every pupil gives the flag the military salute as follows: the right hand lifted, palm downward, the forefinger touching the forehead above the eye. standing thus all repeat slowly: "i pledge allegiance to my flag and the republic for which it stands, one nation, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all." at the words "to my flag," the right hand is extended gracefully, palm upward towards the flag, and remains in this gesture till the end of the affirmation, whereupon all hands immediately drop to the side. where a silent salute is given, the flag is borne between the standing lines or in front of a single line, and the hands remain at salute until the flag-bearer reaches the center of the room, when, at a given signal, every hand is dropped. . song--red, white and blue school . lincoln day: its observance a privilege for ourselves and a duty to the young people of the country reading . declamation--selected pupil . song--star-spangled banner pupil or school . quotations from the sayings of abraham lincoln and his eulogists by pupils rising in their places and repeating. . lincoln's gettysburg address pupil . essay on lincoln pupil . song school . tableaux or grouping representing some historical event in the life of lincoln group . lincoln as a model for the youth of the nation reading . song--battle hymn of the republic school . brief addresses by visiting veterans and other invited guests. . song--america school and visitors drills, pantomimes, tableaux old glory marie irish a primary flag drill for five little girls and five little boys costumes: each child carries a flag of fairly good size and wears a soldier cap. the caps are made of red, white and blue tissue paper and should be provided with an elastic cord that passes under the chin to hold them in place. children also wear on each shoulder an epaulet, made of strips of cambric, an inch wide, one white, one red and one blue, sewed up in a cluster. music: a patriotic march. children enter in two files, the boys coming on at the right corner of front of stage and the girls at the left corner of front. the boys march up the right side, across back and down the left side of stage, while the girls at the same time pass up the left side, across back and down the right side of stage. on reaching the corners of front the two lines pass diagonally to center of back, first boy and first girl form a couple, each two on reaching center of back do the same, and the couples march down the center of stage to the front. during the opening march the flag is held in right hand, resting against right side, but on forming couples each couple raises flags and holds them high, staffs crossed. at the front the boys turn to right, girls to left, pass to corners of front, up sides and on reaching the back they form two lines across back of stage, girls on front line with boys back of them. mark time, then march--five abreast--down to near-front of stage, where the lines halt, and as they do so they stand far enough apart to allow a person to pass between them. during this march the flags have been held again at right side, but now each one holds flag high. the boy nearest left of stage now leads the boys along the line of girls, going in front of the first one, back of the second, in front of the third, back of the fourth, etc. boys return to places and halt, then girl nearest the right of stage leads the line of girls along the line of boys, going behind the first boy, in front of second, back of third, etc. the girls return to places and halt, then all hold flags with staff standing upright and resting on left shoulder. all speak: in times of peace dear old glory doth wave o'er homes and schools in this land of the brave; (_hold flags out in front of bodies, staffs perpendicular._) in times of trouble it stands for the right, and says that justice is greater than might; (_raise flags and wave them above heads._) in times of battle, its colors so bright lead on to victory, though fierce be the fight. with flags held at right sides the girls now pass up the right side of stage while boys pass up the left side. at center of back form couples, raise flags and cross staffs, march in couples down center of stage to front. at front the first couple halts, second couple goes to right of first and halts in line, third couple to left of first, fourth couple to right of second, fifth to left of third. if stage is large enough let them stand in straight line across front, otherwise they can stand in curved line. the children now speak, one at a time. each one holds the flag in position at right side until he or she speaks. first child (holding flag extended, arm's length at right side): one little flag says children must be true; second child (holding staff of flag horizontal along left shoulder, flag hanging down lengthwise at left side; first child now holds flag in same way): two flags say that we must be honest, too. third child (holding staff of flag diagonally across chest, flag on left shoulder; first and second children hold flags the same): three flags say boys and girls must upright live; fourth child (staff of flag perpendicular and resting on left shoulder; first three hold flags the same): four flags say, "be unselfish when you give". fifth child (holding flag in left hand, extended at left side; first four hold flags the same): five flags teach us, "let justice be your song"; sixth child (holding flag same as no. , but on right shoulder; first five children holding flags the same): six flags say we must grow up brave and strong. seventh child (holding flag as no. , but on right shoulder; first six the same): seven flags say, "be loyal to the right"; eighth child (holding flag as no. , but on right shoulder, while first seven hold flags the same): eight flags say, "love your home with all your might". ninth child (holding flag out in front of body, staff perpendicular; first eight hold flags the same): nine flags say, "do not idle time away"; tenth child (raising flag and holding it a little to the right side of body; first nine hold flags the same): ten flags say we must study hard each day, all (in concert, waving flags above heads): so we may grow up wise, an honor to our land; fit subjects of old glory, our starry banner grand. the center couple now marches down to center of front, couple to its right follows, couple to left of first comes next, the couple to right of second, and fifth couple last. all march, in couples, to corner of right of stage, up right side, across to center of back, down center of stage to front, across to left corner of front and off stage. the star-spangled banner marie irish a flag salute, march and drill for eleven intermediate grade children one boy carries a flag considerably larger than the other ten carry. this boy we will call the color-bearer. this march may be given by eleven boys or by six boys and five girls. music: a patriotic march. the children enter in single file at left corner of the line, then, if girls take part, a girl next, then a back of stage, color-bearer with large flag leading boy, etc. file marches across back of stage, back again to left side, diagonally to right corner of front, back to left corner of back, down left side, across front of stage, back to left corner and up left side, thus: [illustration] then from left corner of back pass to center of back, down center of stage to front, where color-bearer turns to right, first girl to left, next boy to right, next girl to left, etc. pass to corners of front, up sides of stage, across to center of back, where the color-bearer remains standing, while the next boy and first girl form a couple, each two do the same, couples march down stage till first couple is near front. halt, couples face each other, standing about three feet apart. the color-bearer now passes down between the two lines and halts at front of stage, facing audience. the couple nearest back of stage now marches down between lines, goes to right and halts, next couple comes down and goes to left, etc., thus: [illustration] the file stands in curved line back of color-bearer. music changes to star-spangled banner. the children in the line stand with flags held at right side, as during the march, till the music gets to "oh! say, does the star-spangled banner still wave," when they raise flags and wave them slowly, till close of music. the piece is played through once and then music ceases, the color-bearer raises his flag, holding it quite high. the others take flags in left hands and hold at left sides. when the large flag is raised they all say: i pledge my head, (_touch head with right hand_) my heart, (_lay hand over heart_) and my hand, (_raise right hand_) to loyally serve my native land; (_drop hand at side_) i pledge my power, my honor, and my might (_step forward with right foot_) to keep my country's name forever bright. (_step back in line._) i pledge the zeal and strength of this right hand (_raise right hand_) to keep old glory floating o'er our land. (_point to flag._) the flags are now held in right hands, out in front of bodies: a flag for the sailor, skimming the sea, a flag for the soldier, guarding the lea, a flag for the patriot, proud to be free, a flag for you, (_flags extended to audience_) and a flag for me! (_at this flags are laid lovingly across chests and held with both hands._) flags are now waved above heads and the line exclaims: "america forever! (_flags held out at right_) one nation (_flags out at left_) one country, (_step forward and hold flags high, pointing toward audience_) one flag!" step back in line and hold flags at right sides while the chorus of columbia, the gem of the ocean, is played softly. at the conclusion of that the music changes to a march. the color-bearer leads and the others fall in line back of him in the same order as on entering the stage at beginning, passing in single file to right corner of front, up right side, across back, half way down left side, then across stage. the last four children halt in line, the others pass up right side, across to center of back and down center of stage. the color-bearer halts in center, the others take places and stand thus: [illustration] nos. and face back of stage; , and face left; and face front; , and face right; then lines march once around, no. (color-bearer) standing as the pivot on which others turn. keep lines perfectly straight while marching, those on outside going faster to preserve perfect movement. after rotating once, halt. color-bearer raises flag high, others raise flags and repeat: i pledge allegiance to my flag--the best in any land, and to the republic for which this flag doth stand; one nation, indivisible, the pride of great and small, one flag, emblem of liberty and justice for us all. color-bearer then marches to front of line, in front of no. , leads to right of stage, all following in order, up to back, across to center of back, down to center, where lines form thus: [illustration] lines march around, describing circle, those on outside a large one and others smaller, then color-bearer takes position at back of stage, the others form two lines of five each, across stage. color-bearer gives following orders, in sharp, quick tones: order, flag! rest flag on floor at right side, holding with right hand. carry, flag! raise flag and hold in right hand, staff nearly vertical, top resting against right shoulder, arm straight at side. present, flag! move flag to center of body, top in front of face, grasp staff with left hand, also. left shoulder, flag! flag placed on left shoulder. right shoulder, flag! flag placed on right shoulder. carry, flag! as before. port, flag! grasp staff a little below center, hold diagonally across chest, upper end resting on left shoulder. carry, flag! as before. parade, rest! right foot six inches to rear, left knee slightly bent, rest flag staff on floor in front of center of body and grasp it at top with both hands. carry, flag! as before. surrender, flag! lay flag on floor in front of body. recover, flag! bend forward, pick up flag, hold it in front of body, staff horizontal. carry, flag! as before. fix, flag! kneel on right knee and stand staff of flag upon left knee, staff vertical. triumph, flag! stand, wave flag high above head. color-bearer now marches down center of stage to front, members fall in line back of him in same order as on entering at beginning. at right corner of front second boy steps up by first girl, third boy by second girl, etc. form couples, color-bearer marching alone at head. pass up right side, across to center of back, down center of stage, across to left corner front, up left side and off stage. civil war daughters marie irish march, song and drill for twelve girls of the intermediate or grammar grades costumes: four girls wear red dresses, four wear white and four blue. each girl wears two streamers, about nine inches wide and a yard to a yard and a quarter long, depending on the size of the girl, pinned on left of chest, thus: [illustration] the girls in white wear one red and one blue streamer, those in red wear a blue and a white streamer, while those in blue wear a red and a white one. a bow in the hair, of the same colors as the streamers, is also pretty. march and song music: a march. girls enter at back of stage, in single file, reds first, then those in white and lastly the blues, one streamer held in each hand, arms hanging at full length at sides. march once around stage in a circle, then on reaching center of back come down center of stage to front, where first girl goes to right, second to left, etc., pass to corners of front, up sides, across to center of back, form couples and march down center of stage in couples. at front first couple turns to right, second to left, third to right, etc., go to corners of front, up sides, across to back, form fours and march down center to front. as they reach the front in lines of four each, the three girls nearest the right of stage--a red, a white and a blue--pass to the right. as the girl in blue comes to front before turning, the next three--a red, a white and a blue--follow her. at the same time the three nearest the left of stage pass to left corner and the next three follow them. this makes two files of red, white and blue, one from either side, which pass to corners of front, up sides, then those passing up left side on reaching corner of back march in a diagonal line to right corner of front, while the others pass from right corner of back to left corner of front. as the lines cross at center of stage first girl from right goes in front of first girl from the left, then second girl from right in front of second girl from left, and so on. each line crosses front of stage to opposite corner, those from the right corner keeping to the right of the other line as the files pass. march up sides of stage, then across to center of back, where the first three on the line that marched up right side form the first row, the first three on the line from the left side form the second row, second three from the right form the third row and the others the fourth row, and they march down center of stage three abreast, in the following order : b, w, r, leading; r, w, b; b, w, r; r, w, b. on reaching front of stage the three of first row pass toward left corner, second row passes toward right corner, next three follow the first row toward left and last row follows second row to right. they stand in curved line at front, thus: [illustration: r w b r w b b w r b w r] music now charges to columbia, the gem of the ocean and the girls sing the following verses. on opening line of each stanza girls bow low, and during chorus they all join hands, extending them to the front and swinging streamers from side to side. oh, we are the civil war daughters, with hearts that are loving and true; from maine to pacific's blue waters, we honor the soldiers in blue. we sing of their danger and suff'ring, we sing of their courage and might, when to save their flag from destruction, these boys stood so firm for the right. _chorus_: three cheers for the soldier in blue, three cheers for his loyalty true; let us honor his name with ovation, and give to the soldier his due. oh, we are the civil war daughters, we sing of the march to the sea; and we sing of vicksburg's close quarters, of shiloh where blood flowed so free. though years have gone by since that conflict, and the soldiers are passing away, we hold them in loving remembrance: true blue--once partly loyal gray. _chorus_: three cheers for the soldier, etc. march music is resumed, those nearest left of stage face left, the other six face the right of stage, lines march to right and left corners of front, up sides of stage, from corners of back in diagonal lines to center of front, where lines cross, first girl from the right going ahead of first girl from the left, second from the right goes ahead of second from left, etc. pass to corners of front, up sides, stop in lines six abreast along sides of stage, those on left facing right of stage and vice versa. mark time, then march six abreast to center, halt, couples facing each other. raise hands holding streamers high, fingers of each couple touching. stand thus for several measures of music, then those of the right-hand line march to front, the other line standing until the last one of the right line reaches front of stage, when the first one of the left-hand line leads that line to front and they follow the first six, making a single file which passes to right corner of stage, up to center of right, whence the line marches thus: [illustration] where they cross at center of stage no. goes in front of no. , no. in front of no. , etc. on returning to center of right side the file passes up to right corner of back, then across back of stage, forming in two lines of six each at center-back, march six abreast down to near-front and halt in lines for the drill. drill and song grasp streamers where hands touch them when arms hang full length, raise hands holding streamers and place on center of breast. a. right hand out at side, arm's length, and back, four times. b. left hand out at side, and back, four times. c. both hands at sides, and back, four times. d. right hand upward and outward, arm's length, and back, four times. e. left hand, same movement, and back, four times. f. both hands up, forming v, and back, four times. g. right hand down at side, arm's length, and back, four times. h. left hand down at side, and back, four times. i. both hands down at sides, and back, four times. j. right hand straight out in front of body, and back, four times. k. left hand in front of body, and back, four times. l. both hands in front of body, and back, four times. m. both hands on hips, down at sides and back to hips, four times. n. raise right hand above right shoulder and hold left hand down and out from side till streamers are stretched tight, then lower the right hand and raise the left, reversing position of streamers, four times. o. with hands at center of breast raise right hand straight up from shoulder and left down, arm's length at side, and back, four times, then left hand up above shoulder and right hand down, and back, four times. p. hands meet above head, arms curved, ends of streamers hanging back of head, and back, four times. q. all kneel on left knee, raise both hands up, arm's length, girls on first line touching hands together, back line the same, hold position for several measures, then rise and sing, to tune of yankee doodle: we are the civil war daughters, we're brave as all creation; and though we've never been to war, we stand up for our nation. while singing the chorus those of each line join hands, holding them just a little higher than shoulders, then step out with right foot and bring it back to place, once for each measure of music. _chorus_: honor to the soldier's name! sing the wond'rous story of the splendid fight he made when led on by old glory. our grandsires fought in that great war, fathers, and uncles, too, sir, and that's the very reason why we love red, white and blue, sir. _chorus_: honor to the soldier's name, etc. at close of song the march music is resumed, those on front line pass to right corner, others follow, all pass up right side of stage, in single file. from right corner of back the leader takes file around stage in a large circle, then a smaller circle, etc., until smallest circle possible for girls to march around is reached, thus: [illustration] when all are in a circle at center of stage, they raise hands on inside of circle and point upward towards center, hands touching, holding streamers. march once around this way, then all turn and march in opposite direction, once around in circle, raising the outside hands, and holding streamers high. then all turn and march in opposite direction once around circle, this time raising both hands up until fingers meet above head, lowering to side, raising again, etc. then those in red march to left corner of front of stage, those in blue to right corner of front, while those in white come down center to front. those in red pass across front to right corner as those in blue pass to left corner. those in white wait at front of stage and as the reds and blues cross front two girls in white follow the reds, the other two follow the blues, the two lines pass up sides of stage and off at back. the blue and the gray on the rappahannock marie irish a drill and medley for from twenty to forty children of various grades characters and costumes: the part of goddess of liberty should be taken by a young lady with strong voice who recites well. she should dress in white, hair flowing, gilt crown, drapery of red-white-and-blue, and carry a flag. if desired this part may be taken by a boy dressed in patriotic costume to represent uncle sam. or a good effect is obtained by having both take part, liberty and uncle sam taking turns in reciting. if possible to obtain so many, have twelve little girls take part in the call of the flag march. these girls should be dressed in white with patriotic sashes or red-white-and-blue streamers on left shoulder, and all carry flags. the response of the soldier march is given by twelve boys of various sizes, wearing dark suits, one of whom carries a drum and the others carry guns. if desired some of the same boys may take part in this who take part in the blue and gray drill. the latter drill is given by at least sixteen boys, grammar grade, eight of whom dress in blue and eight in gray. one of the boys in blue carries a u. s. flag, and one of those in gray carries a confederate flag; the rest carry guns. to the strains of yankee doodle the goddess of liberty comes onto stage, marches down left side, from left corner front in a diagonal line to center of back, down to right corner front, up right side, across to center of back and halts. music ceases and the little "flag girls" march in, half from each side of stage, half way between liberty and front of stage. the files pass across stage and off at opposite sides, turn and march on again, meet at center of stage, form couples, first couple turns and passes off at right side, second couple at left side, etc., thus: [illustration] the flag is carried in right hand, arm hanging at side, flag resting against right shoulder. while this march is being given as silently as possible, liberty recites in strong, clear voice and a great deal of feeling the following medley: the call of the flag "speed our republic, o father on high! lead us in pathways of justice and right; hail! three times hail to our country and flag! girdle with virtue the armor of might." "no refuge could save the hireling and slave, from the terror of flight or the gloom of the grave: and the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave o'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave." "'a song for our banner?' the watchword recall which gave the republic her station: 'united we stand--divided we fall'; it made and preserves us a nation." "up with our banner bright, sprinkled with starry light, spread its fair emblems from mountain to shore, while through the sounding sky loud rings the nation's cry-- union and liberty! one evermore!" the girls' march should be arranged to close about the time liberty finishes speaking. one verse and chorus of marching through georgia is then played and as music ceases the small boys come on and march in the same way as the girls did, the drummer boy beating time softly, occasionally. while the boys march liberty speaks: the response of the soldier "war! war! _war!_ heaven aid the right! god move the hero's arm in the fearful fight! god send the women sleep in the long, long night." "never or now! cries the blood of a nation, poured on the turf where the red rose should bloom. now is the day and the hour of salvation; never or now! peals the trumpet of doom!" "lay down the axe, fling by the spade, leave in its track the toiling plough; the rifle and the bayonet-blade for arms like yours are fitter now: "and let the hands that ply the pen quit the light task and learn to wield the horseman's crooked brand, and rein the charger on the battlefield." "and how can a man die better than facing fearful odds for the ashes of his fathers and the temple of his gods?" as liberty concludes the lines and the boys march off, one verse and chorus of columbia, the gem of the ocean, is played, then music changed to a patriotic march and the boys in blue and gray march on in two companies. grays come on at front corner of right and blues at front corner of left, march up sides of stage, across to near-center of back, down to front of stage, to corners, up sides and at corners of back second boy in each line steps up by first, fourth by third, etc., and form double files. march to near-center of stage, down center to front, up sides, and at corners of back each company forms fours, march half way down stage and halt in lines of four each, thus: liberty g g g g b b b b g g g g b b b b music stops and liberty recites: the contest . "and there was mounting in hot haste; the steed, . the mustering squadron, and the clattering car, . went pouring forward with impetuous speed, . and swiftly forming in the ranks of war." . "by torch and trumpet fast arrayed, . each horseman drew his battle-blade, . and furious every charger neighed, . to join the dreadful revelry. . then shook the hills with thunder riven, . then rushed the steed to battle driven, . and louder than the bolts of heaven . far flashed the red artillery." . "hark! hark ! there go the well-known crashing volleys, the long-continued roar . that swells and falls but never ceases wholly, until the fight is o'er. . up toward the crystal gates of heaven ascending, the mortal tempests beat, . as if they sought to try their cause together, before god's very feet." . "like the leaves of the forest when summer is green, that host with their banners at sunset were seen; like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown, that host on the morrow lay wither'd and strown." the above lines are recited rather rapidly until number is reached, the last four being given slowly and sadly. when marching in the boys hold guns in right hand, arm full length at side, gun resting against right shoulder. while liberty recites the boys go through following movements, corresponding to the numbers of the lines of the medley: . salute, by raising left hand until the forefinger touches forehead above left eye, thumb and fingers extended, palm to right. drop arm at side. . lines of grays face left of stage, and blues face the right. and . all mark time as if marching rapidly. . rest butt of gun on floor, arms hanging naturally at sides, right hand holding the barrel between thumb and fingers. . raise gun and move to position in front of body, barrel in front of face, hold with both hands, left above the right. . hold gun diagonally across chest, barrel resting on left shoulder and butt against right thigh. . blues take steady aim at grays, and vice versa. . arrange for some noise at side of stage to represent firing. and . blues kneel and aim at grays, and vice versa. . more "booming" behind scenes. . rise and each company retreats backward a step, holding guns at right sides. . come forward toward center, quickly, and aim. . rest guns. . bring guns to position and mark time as if marching rapidly. . each company faces front of stage, stack guns in lots of four each and then sit on floor in lines of four, facing front of stage. music is resumed and john brown's body is played through once, then liberty steps forward to front of stage and recites: "the sun had sunk into the distant west; the cannon ceased to roar, which tell of rest-- rest from the shedding of a nation's blood, rest to lay their comrades 'neath the sod. "'twas early spring, and calm and still the night; the moon had risen casting silvery light; on either side of stream the armies lay waiting for morn to renew the fray. "the rappahannock silently flowed on, between the hills so fair to look upon; whose dancing waters tingled with silvery light, vied in their beauty with the starry night. "but list! from northern hills there steal along the softest strains of music and of song----" a good effect is obtained by turning off lights during the music of john brown's body so stage is dim during the speaking and the singing. as liberty pauses the boys in blue sing a stanza of the star-spangled banner. when they finish, the boys in gray sing a stanza of dixie land. it is a good plan to have a chorus of voices behind the scenes help with the singing of both songs, to give more force to them. as last song is finished lights are turned on, liberty resumes her place at back of stage, boys rise, leave guns, boy in gray leaves his confederate flag, all march to near-front of stage and form across in two lines of eight each, thus: g b g b g b g b b g b g b g b g the little girls in white who carried flags now march in and stand in a row back of the boys, liberty stands just back of the line of girls. liberty recites: "the fiercest agonies have the shortest reign, and after dreams of horror comes again the welcome morning with its rays of peace." the little girls recite in concert: "peace! and no longer from its brazen portals the blast of war's great organ shakes the skies! but beautiful as songs of the immortals the holy melodies of love arise." all the boys recite together: "the union of lakes, the union of lands, the union of states none can sever; the union of hearts, the union of hands, and the flag of our union forever." liberty waves her flag, the girls with flags wave them above the heads of the boys in blue and gray, each boy in blue joins right hand with a boy in gray, and everyone sings the first stanza of my country, 'tis of thee. colored light may be thrown upon the scene for a tableau and then the curtain dropped, or liberty may come to front of stage, lead the boys (who follow in single file), and then the little girls last, once around the stage and then off. patriotic song pantomimes marie irish the star-spangled banner hang back of stage with dark cloth, cover a box with dark material and to back or center of it fasten a large flag. let the box stand four feet from wall so as to leave room to pass behind it. if possible have ten girls of good size, ten small girls and ten boys take part, though this number may be reduced if necessary. all the girls dress in white with trimmings of red, white and blue and each carries a flag. as the music of star-spangled banner begins the large girls march on in two lines, half coming from right and half from left. after them come the small girls, half from each side, all march and take places thus: [illustration] they stand motionless, with flags at right side until music reaches words, "oh! say, does the star-spangled banner still wave," then all raise flags and wave them. as music of second stanza begins, the girls hold flags again at sides, and the boys march in, each one carrying an air-gun or rifle. they come on stage, half from right and half from left, marching slowly and carefully. as the boys get nearly to center of stage each girl quickly raises her flag, takes aim with it as though it were a gun, pointing it at line of boys. the boys stop as if in fear, then pass quickly from stage, those from the right going off at left, and those from left going off at right. then as the music reaches the refrain, sing the words of third stanza instead of second, the boys helping behind scenes and all singing with spirit, "and the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave, o'er the land of the free and the home of the brave," the girls waving their flags. a fine effect may be obtained by burning colored light[k] during the singing. [k] the colored light referred to is what is known as tableaux light. it is put up in quarter-pound cans, each of one color, in red, green, blue, gold, and white. it may be had from the publishers of this book for per can, cents; two for cents; or four for $ . ; pre-paid. america hang back of stage with dark cloth, also cover with dark material a box that stands at center of back of stage. on this box, as curtain is drawn, stands a young lady dressed as columbia, wearing white gown, drapery of red, white and blue bunting, and gilt crown on head. she holds in one hand a large flag and in the other six streamers made of cambric: two white, two red, and two blue, three or four inches wide and nearly two yards long. on either side of columbia stand three girls, dressed in white and wearing sashes of red, white and blue, tied in a bow at side. columbia holds streamers by one end and each girl holds the end of one. they stand thus: [illustration] as music of second stanza is begun they kneel, taking position as marked by crosses in the diagram. as music of third stanza is begun the girls rise, raise hands holding streamers, point upward, and gaze reverently heavenward. all sing very softly the words of stanza, "our fathers' god, to thee, author of liberty," etc. swanee ribber have the words of the song sung by someone behind the scenes, the verse by one person and the chorus by a number of voices. across the stage hang a curtain, leaving room in front for a person to walk. a young man, or tall boy, comes on stage with face blackened and wig of curled hair (made by sewing curled hair onto a circular piece of black cloth, then running a rubber cord around edge and drawing up to fit head[l]), wearing stiff hat, common dark suit and a large bright necktie. he stands in front of curtain at right of stage as the words are sung: [l] these wigs may also be purchased, ready for use, from the publishers of this book. "'way down upon de swanee ribber, far, far away, dere's wha' my heart is turning ebber, dere's wha' de old folks stay." with head bent, hands in pockets and a dejected manner he walks slowly across stage to left and back to center during the words: "all up and down de whole creation sadly i roam, still longing for de old plantation and for de old folks at home." he stands at center of front during singing of chorus: "all de world am sad and dreary (_hands extended at sides, arm's length_) eb'rywhere i roam; (_hands brought together in front of body_) oh! darkies, how my heart grows weary (_right hand over heart_) far from de old folks at home!" (_left hand in pocket, head bowed on right hand, sad, dejected attitude_) at close of chorus the impersonator goes to right corner of front of stage and stands there during the second stanza. the curtain is now drawn, revealing two little darkey boys, scantily clothed, feet bare, and old hats on heads. they chase each other across back of stage during the words: "all round de little farm i wandered when i was young, den many happy days i squander'd, many de songs i sung; when i was playing with my brudder happy was i;" a girl with face blackened, bright cap on head, calico dress, large apron, and bright kerchief around neck comes on stage and one little darkey boy stands on either side of her as the words are sung: "oh! take me to my kind old mudder, dere let me live and die." the mother and little boys stand at back of stage during chorus, the young man comes out to near-center and acts chorus as before, except at the words, "far from de old folks at home!" he turns and extends both arms toward the group at back of stage. as third stanza is begun the mother and boys pass off and a young colored lady, gaily and gaudily dressed in bright colors, with a large, "much-trimmed" hat, comes on and stands at back of stage. she gazes off to side of stage and a young man, dressed about like one who does the acting, comes on carrying a banjo. she goes to meet him, they walk back to center of back, she sits on a stump of wood (or something to give an outdoor effect), and he sits at her feet and pretends to play the banjo. during the singing of this stanza the impersonator stands as before, at side of stage, but as chorus begins he comes toward center of front and acts as during second singing of chorus. the mother and two boys come back on and stand, tableau effect, beside the girl and boy with the banjo. the blue and the gray hang back of stage with black cloth and fasten on wall, staffs crossed, two good-sized flags. a few feet from the back, with about four feet aisle between them, arrange two graves by using small boxes covered with dark cloth for the mounds and nailing at the head of each a white board for a stone. if it is not desired to have the words sung they may be recited by someone at side of stage. a girl dressed as a woman, all in black, comes on slowly, passes across back of stage from left to right, down right side, up to aisle between two mounds and kneels beside one of them as the stanza is read: "by the flow of the inland river, whence the fleets of iron have fled, where the blades of the grave-grass quiver, asleep are the ranks of the dead; under the sod and the dew, waiting the judgment day; under the one, the blue, under the other, the gray." she rises and from a small basket which she carries she places a bouquet on the mound by which she knelt, then turns and places one on the other mound as the words are read: "from the silence of sorrowful hours, the desolate mourners go, lovingly laden with flowers, alike for the friend and the foe; under the sod and the dew, waiting the judgment day; under the roses, the blue, under the lilies, the gray." as stanza is finished she passes to back and stands by flags. six girls in white, each carrying a small basket of flowers, march on at left back, pass to center, then down aisle between mounds to front; three turn to each side, pass around and stand in two lines of three each, one line on outside of each mound, both lines facing center, while stanza is read: "so, with an equal splendor, the morning sun-rays fall, with a touch impartially tender, on the blossoms blooming for all; under the sod and the dew, waiting the judgment day; broidered with gold, the blue, mellowed with gold, the gray." as the next stanza is begun the girls cover the mounds with flowers, then march back up the aisle between mounds and stand three on each side of girl in black by flags, finally all marching off stage when stanza is finished: "no more shall the war cry sever, or the winding rivers be red; they banish our anger for ever when they laurel the graves of our dead. under the sod and the dew, waiting the judgment day; love and tears for the blue, tears and love for the gray." --_francis miles finch_ auld lang syne this should be given by two as small children as can act it nicely: a little girl with hair powdered, long dark dress, white kerchief and apron, small black lace cap and spectacles, and a boy with glasses, powdered hair, long trousers, coat fixed by sewing black "swallow tails" onto a short dark coat, a white cravat and a stiff hat. as song begins they sit at a small table on which are cups and saucers and a tea-pot of tea. the girl pours out a cup of tea for each during the words: "should auld acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind? should auld acquaintance be forgot, and days of auld lang syne?" then as the chorus is sung the boy rises and bows low, then sits and they raise cups, clink them and each takes a drink: "for auld lang syne, my dear, for auld lang syne; we'll tak' a cup o' kindness yet, for auld lang syne." they lean forward and appear to be talking during the words of second verse: "we twa ha'e run aboot the braes, and pu'd the gowans fine; but we've wandered mony a weary foot sin' auld lang syne." during singing of chorus second time the girl rises, makes a courtesy to boy, then sits and they drink as before. they stand and shake hands during the stanza: "and here's a hand, my trusty frien', and gi'e's a hand o' thine; we'll tak' a cup o' kindness yet, for auld lang syne." during the chorus each turns to table, takes up cup, both bow, clink cups and drink. columbia, the gem of the ocean words are sung by a chorus of voices off stage. at center of stage have a pedestal--box covered with dark cloth will do--on which a girl dressed as goddess of liberty stands, holding a large flag. a number of girls in white, each with a small flag, come in and march in circle around liberty as the words are sung: "oh, columbia, the gem of the ocean, the home of the brave and the free, the shrine of each patriot's devotion, a world offers homage to thee." six boys march in and stand three on each side of liberty, the line of girls standing back of the boys and waving flags during words: "thy mandates make heroes assemble, when liberty's form stands in view; thy banners make tyranny tremble, when borne by the red, white and blue." during the chorus the boys stand in line in front of liberty and the girls march around them, waving flags. liberty waves flag also. half of the boys and half of the girls stand in lines on either side of liberty and give salute to flag during the words[m]: "'old glory,' to greet now come hither, with eyes full of love to the brim; may the wreaths of our heroes ne'er wither, nor a star of their banner grow dim." [m] the words in these four lines have been somewhat changed to fit the occasion. then during the rest of the third stanza and the chorus the boys stand at back of liberty, three on either side, and the girls kneel in tableau effect in front of her. home, sweet home at back of stage arrange a family group around a small table on which are some flowers and a lamp. the mother is sewing, father reading, a little girl playing with a dolly, and a boy working examples. all look happy and cosy. as curtain is drawn revealing the scene, the first stanza of home, sweet home is sung, and a young man in soldier uniform, carrying a gun over shoulder, marches back and forth across front of stage as if on duty, looking sad and lonely. (if desired, instead of a family group the scene may disclose an elderly lady with bible on her knee.) tableaux marie irish when i'm a man a little boy wearing a soldier cap, a blue coat much too large for him, a sword buckled at his side, a gun in one hand and a flag in the other, stands in center of stage. as colored light[n] is thrown on the stage he speaks: "when i'm a man, a big, tall man, i'll be a soldier, brave and true, i will fight my country's battles, led on by the red, white and blue." [n] see footnote, p. . the soldier's farewell little boy dressed as in preceding scene stands with a little girl who has on a long dress and hair done on top of head. she stands half turned away from the boy, who has a hand on her shoulder as if trying to comfort her. her face is buried in her hands and she seems to weep as he recites: "how can i bear to leave thee? it breaks my heart to grieve thee, but now, whate'er befalls me, i go where duty calls me." the march of civilization a curtain is drawn, revealing at the back of a dimly-lighted stage an indian tepee with several indians standing near. a march is played and after several measures the others come onto stage. the line is led by boy dressed as uncle sam, who takes position at center of stage in front of tepee. on either side of him stands a soldier, and next to the soldiers stand sailors. the others arrange themselves in line, some on one side and some on other, some sitting on floor in front of line. one, with bible, dresses as minister, one as farmer with large straw hat and rake over shoulder. one as doctor, one as baker, one with tools as carpenter, etc. a girl dresses as nurse; another with gown and mortar-bored cap as a student; one has pen and scroll for writing; and another carries a typewriter, sits on floor with it in front of her and pretends to write on it. when all are in places colored light is thrown on scene and uncle sam recites: "onward, forward, with steady pace, progress leads the american race; and 'neath her penetrating ray new wonders come to light each day." liberty a colored boy, barefoot and scantily dressed in short trousers and colored shirt, with a white cloth around head for turban, stands fastened to a box with a chain. the box is covered with dark cloth and on it stands girl dressed as liberty--long white robe, crown, a drapery of red, white and blue, and in her hand a flag. as light is turned on she looks sadly at boy, then waves her flag above him, and the chain which was lightly fastened drops to floor as boy gives it a pull. he looks at fallen chain, then sinks on knees and, raising hands, clasps them and gazes at liberty as if asking help. liberty waves flag above him. peace on a dais at back of stage sits boy costumed as uncle sam, with a large flag. on one side of him stands liberty, in white with drapery of red, white and blue, and gilt crown. on other side is wisdom, wearing white dress with purple mantle fastened on right shoulder, bronze cap with plumes, sandals, and shield and spear by her side. to a side and a little in advance of liberty stands truth, all in white and carrying banner with "truth" printed on it. by wisdom stands justice, in blue with scarlet mantle fastened on right shoulder and thrown back over left arm. in her right hand she holds a pair of scales and her left rests on a sword. kneeling at right corner of dais is ceres, the goddess of corn and harvests, dressed in yellow trimmed with grain, her left hand on sheaf of wheat, her right holding a horn of grain extended to uncle sam. kneeling at left of dais is pomona, the goddess of fruits, dressed in red trimmed with vines and clusters of grapes. she holds up to uncle sam a basket of fruit. as light is turned on a stanza of america is played. scenes from the life of lincoln i. the student arrange a fireplace by nailing up boards covered with dark cloth in this shape |----|, piling some wood under it, pouring on some wood alcohol, which is set on fire as curtain is drawn. lying on the floor studying by light of fire is a tall, dark boy. ii. the laborer a tall, dark boy in common work clothes, trousers rather short, stands with axe upraised ready to strike. iii. the emancipator a tall, dark boy dressed in long black coat and rather ill-fitting clothes, dark hair rumpled and pushed back from forehead, sits writing as a rough-looking fellow with whip in one hand tries to pull a little boy, face blackened and poorly clothed, from his negro mother, who clings to child and weeps. a boy marches on stage, carrying large flag and recites: "no slave beneath that starry flag, the emblem of the free! no fettered hand shall wield the brand that smites for liberty: no tramp of servile armies shall shame columbia's shore, for he who fights for freedom's rights is free for evermore!" --_george l. taylor._ iv. the pardoner boy dressed as lincoln stands in center of stage. by his side kneels a young lady, looking imploringly at him, hands raised and clasped. lincoln shakes head sadly for "no." girl bows head on hands and weeps. lincoln goes hurriedly to desk, writes, gives her the paper. she kisses his hand, waves farewell and hurries from stage. v. the martyr on an easel at center of stage have a picture of lincoln, two large flags draped above it and smaller ones around it. on either side of picture stand girls dressed in white trimmed with red, white and blue bunting, each holding a flag. they repeat: "he went about his work--such work as few ever had laid on head and heart and hand-- as one who knows, where there's a task to do, man's honest will must heaven's good grace command. "so he went forth to battle, on the side that he felt clear was liberty's and right's, as in his peasant boyhood he had plied his warfare with rude nature's thwarting mights. "so he grew up, a destined work to do, and lived to do it: four long-suffering years. ill-fate, ill-feeling, ill-report lived through, and then he heard the hisses changed to cheers." --_tom taylor._ songs, stories, facts when lincoln was a little boy clara j. denton _tune_: yankee doodle when lincoln was a little boy, so fond was he of reading, his book was with him at the plough or in the garden weeding. his home was in the woods and so he couldn't have much schooling. he had to work the live-long day, and had no time for fooling. he understood the plough and hoe and with the ax was handy. he didn't care for dressing up, and never was a dandy. for all the while his head was filled with plans for gaining knowledge. a first-class lawyer he became, yet never went to college. he borrowed books from far and near, from every kindly neighbor, and studied them most faithfully when resting from his labor. _chorus_: keep on working, working on, daily knowledge claiming, and you at last will reach the heights at which you are aiming. the day we celebrate clara j. denton _tune_: work, for the night is coming[o] the day that gave us lincoln is one we all love well; the day which now we honor more than we can tell. o little old log cabin, afar in forest wild, we love your roof that sheltered this most wondrous child. and while we sing his praises we'll try like him to be: all upright, true and noble, from self-seeking free. and we will yet remember, however poor our state, there still is a chance, like lincoln, to grow good and great. this day we will remember in loyal love and joy; for time or change can never faith in him destroy. yes, wreathe this day with flowers forever in our thought; it gave the world a hero and sweet freedom brought. [o] music for this may be found in golden glees song book, by s. c. hanson. price, thirty-five cents, postpaid. lincoln song _tune_: tenting on the old camp ground we are thinking today of a loved one lost, lincoln, the true, the brave; of the strong one who came, when tempest tossed, our nation's bark to save. _chorus_: many are the hearts that are mourning today, mourning for the brave laid low; many are the eyes looking up to say, oh, why must this be so! help us to say, humbly we pray, father, may thy will be done! we are thinking today how he led us on, just as the lord led him, to the glorious victory well-nigh won; and our eyes with tears grow dim. _chorus_: many are the hearts, etc. we are weeping today, but the hour will come, come when we all shall see why the will of the lord hath called him home, no more with us to be. _chorus_: many are the hearts, etc. the name we sing clara j. denton _tune_: america of lincoln now we sing, loud let the welkin ring, the sound prolong. he broke the bondsman's thrall and freedom brought to all, his mighty blows let fall the shackles strong. this man of pure intent, whose every thought was bent sweet peace to bring. o eyes so keen of view, o mighty heart so true, o soul with courage new, of thee we sing. so long as human speech o'er this broad land shall reach from shore to shore, here will his noble name its high place always claim unequaled in its fame forever more. his name clara j. denton _tune_: marching through georgia in old kentucky's wilds in a cabin that we know, before this day of days just one hundred years ago, a blue-eyed baby came to this world of strife and woe, and plain "abraham" they called him. _chorus_: o yes, o yes, for truth will make you free, o yes, o yes, sweet truth gives liberty. we'll sing this chorus over, and shout from sea to sea 'tis now "honest abe" we honor. but later on, because he the truth would always tell, another name they gave him and it became him well; a name we'll always treasure, which none could buy or sell, and now "honest abe" we honor. _chorus_: o yes, o yes, etc. and, now, if we could choose a great blessing for each youth, a something that would last till the end of life forsooth, we know we'd choose at once "honest abe's" great love for truth, and now "honest abe" we honor. _chorus_: o yes, o yes, etc. to be the president is indeed an honor great, and most nobly did he bear his duty's heavy weight, but the name that first he won was more than royal state, and now "honest abe" we honor. _chorus_: o yes, o yes, etc. a song of rejoicing clara j. denton _tune_: the battle cry of freedom we are children of one flag, friends, yes, of the colors three, and proudly we're singing of lincoln. he it was who kept this country all safe for you and me, and proudly we're singing of lincoln. _chorus_: the old flag forever, hurrah! friends, hurrah! "to lincoln we owe it" shout from afar, while we rally 'round the flag, friends, rally once again, still proudly we're singing of lincoln. and today we'll not forget while our flag is waving high, and gladly we're singing of lincoln, all the soldier boys that fought and for us did bravely die. still gladly we're singing of lincoln. _chorus_: the old flag forever, etc. yes, the country that he saved we will honor ever more, while loudly we're singing of lincoln. and the dear old flag shall wave still on high from shore to shore, while loudly we're singing of lincoln. _chorus_: the old flag forever, etc. since for freedom did he live, and for freedom did he die, now proudly we're singing of lincoln. we will strive like him to keep all our standards pure and high, while proudly we're singing of lincoln. _chorus_: the old flag forever, etc. lincoln dear laura r. smith clarence l. riege [music] _lively_ . wave the bonnie banners high, o lincoln dear! a host of children passing by, lincoln dear, will sing to you their sweetest song, as they now proudly march along, for laurels unto you belong, o lincoln dear, . bonnie flags shall crown you now, o lincoln dear, we place them by your noble brow, o lincoln dear; and fairer far than monument, the love from our young march hearts is sent, you were our honored president, o lincoln dear. chorus: wave the banners high, the red, the white, the blue, wave the banners high, to lincoln dear we're true. o wave the bonnie banners, how proudly they all sway, we wave the red, the white, the blue, for lincoln dear today. lincoln's birthday laura r. smith f. f. churchill & mrs. clara grindell [music] . o dear lincoln, we are singing of your noble deeds to-day; ever fond will be your mem'ry; in our hearts you hold full sway. your last battle now is ended, your last victo-ry is o'er, but your dear name we will honor, and sing praises evermore. . o dear lincoin, we are bringing choicest flow'rs that ever grew; and we wave our royal banner, flag of red and white and blue. farewell, lincoln, we are singing, sweet indeed may be your rest; and you in our glorious country, take a place with he-roes blest. chorus: farewell, lincoln, we are trying to be, like you, true and brave, for we can but truly honor one who freedom to all gave. the sunny southland laura r. smith clarence l. riege [music] _allegretto_ . 'way down in the sunny southland lives the little black boy, you know; his mother sings a lullaby, to the tune of the old banjo.... . 'way down in the sun-ny southland, where the sky is so bright and blue, the black boy on the banjo strings likes to play the same tune to you.... . 'way down in the sunny southland you will hear this sweet lullaby, the wee black boy must go to sleep, for the sandman is passing by.... chorus: plunkety plunk, plunkety plunk, down in the cottonfield we go; plunkety plunk, plunkety plunk, plunkety plunk, plunk-plunk, banjo. why dummy clocks mark : there are few who have not seen the ordinary sign of a jeweler, an immense imitation of a watch hanging over the front of the store. but it is safe to say that the number who have ever detected anything curious in these same signs is small. at : p. m., april , , abraham lincoln was assassinated in ford's theatre at washington by john wilkes booth. since that fatal night every one of these watch-signs that has gone from the factory of the only man who makes them has shown the hour of : . the man who makes them said: "i was working on a sign for jeweler adams, who kept a store on broadway across the street from stewart's. he came running in while i was at work and told me the news. 'paint those hands at the hour lincoln was shot, that the deed may never be forgotten,' he said. i did so. since then every watch-sign that has gone out of here has been lettered the same as that one." --_journal of education_ lincoln's tenderness when lincoln was on his way to the national cemetery at gettysburg, an old gentleman told him that his only son fell on little round top at gettysburg and he was going to look at the spot. mr. lincoln replied: "you have been called on to make a terrible sacrifice for the union, and a visit to that spot, i fear, will open your wounds afresh. "but, oh, my dear sir, if we had reached the end of such sacrifices, and had nothing left for us to do but to place garlands on the graves of those who have already fallen, we could give thanks even amidst our tears; but when i think of the sacrifices of life yet to be offered, and the hearts and homes yet to be made desolate before this dreadful war is over, my heart is like lead within me, and i feel at times like hiding in deep darkness." at one of the stopping places of the train a beautiful little girl, having a bunch of rosebuds in her hand, was held up to an open window of the president's car, lisping, "flowerth for the prethident." the president stepped to the window, took the rosebuds, bent down and kissed the child, saying: "you are a sweet little rosebud yourself! i hope your life will open into perpetual beauty and goodness." granting a pardon this story, probably better than any other, illustrates the noble and sublime qualities of our great lincoln. it is a forceful illustration of his justice--justice tempered with mercy. "well, my child," he said, in his pleasant, cheerful tone, "what do you want so bright and early in the morning?" "bennie's life, please," faltered blossom. "bennie? who is bennie?" my brother, sir. they are going to shoot him for sleeping at his post. "oh, yes;" and mr. lincoln ran his eye over the papers before him. "i remember. it was a fatal sleep. you see, child, it was a time of special danger. thousands of lives might have been lost for his culpable negligence." "so my father said," replied blossom, gravely; "but poor bennie was so tired and jemmie so weak. he did the work of two, sir, and it was jemmie's night, not his; but jemmie was too tired, and bennie never thought about himself, that he was tired, too." "what is this you say, child? come here; i do not understand," and the kind man caught eagerly, as ever, at what seemed to be a justification of an offense. blossom went to him; he put his hand tenderly on her shoulder and turned up the pale, anxious face toward his. how tall he seemed! and he was the president of the united states, too. but blossom told her simple and straightforward story, and handed mr. lincoln bennie's letter to read. he read it carefully; then, taking up his pen, wrote a few hasty lines and rang his bell. blossom heard this order given: "send this dispatch at once." the president then turned to the girl and said: "go home, my child, and tell that father of yours, who could approve his country's sentence even when it took the life of a child like that, that abraham lincoln thinks the life far too precious to be lost. go back--or wait until tomorrow. bennie will need a change after he has so bravely faced death; he shall go with you." "god bless you, sir," said blossom; and who shall doubt that god heard and registered the request? two days after this interview the young soldier came to the white house with his little sister. he was called into the president's private office and a strap fastened upon his shoulder. mr. lincoln then said: "the soldier that could carry a sick comrade's baggage and die for the act so uncomplainingly deserves well of his country." then bennie and blossom took their way to their green mountain home. a crowd gathered at the mill depot to welcome them back; and as farmer owen's hand grasped that of his boy, tears flowed down his cheeks, and he was heard to say fervently: "the lord be praised!" lincoln's autobiography this is what abraham lincoln himself had to say of his own and his family history, in a letter to his friend, the hon. jesse w. fell, of bloomington, ill., under date of december , --the year preceding his election to the presidency, and about the time his friends were beginning to think seriously of his nomination: "i was born february , , in hardin county, kentucky. my parents were both born in virginia, of distinguished families--second families, perhaps i should say. my mother, who died in my tenth year, was of a family of the name of hanks, some of whom now reside in adams and others in macon county, illinois. my paternal grandfather, abraham lincoln, emigrated from rockingham county, virginia, to kentucky, about or , where, a year or two later, he was killed by indians, not in battle, but by stealth, when he was laboring to open a farm in the forest. his ancestors, who were quakers, went to virginia from berks county, pennsylvania. an effort to identify them with the new england family of the same name ended in nothing more than a similarity of christian names in both families, such as enoch, levi, mordecai, solomon, abraham, and the like. "my father, at the death of his father, was but six years of age, and he grew up literally without education. he removed from kentucky to what is now spencer county, indiana, in my eighth year. we reached our new home about the time the state came into the union ( ). it was a wild region, with many bears and other wild animals still in the woods. there i grew up. there were some schools, so-called, but no qualification was ever required of a teacher beyond 'reading, 'ritin', and 'cipherin' to the rule of three. if a straggler, supposed to understand latin, happened to sojourn in the neighborhood he was looked upon as a wizard. there was absolutely nothing to excite ambition for education. of course, when i came of age, i did not know much. still, somehow, i could read, write, and cipher to the rule of three, but that was all. i have not been to school since. the little advance i now have upon this store of education i have picked up from time to time under the pressure of necessity. "i was raised to farm-work, which i continued until i was twenty-two. at twenty-one i came to illinois and passed the first year in macon county. then i got to new salem, at that time in sangamon, now in menard county, where i remained a year as a sort of clerk in a store. then came the black hawk war and i was elected a captain of volunteers--a success which gave me more pleasure than any i have had since. i went through the campaign, was elected, ran for the legislature in the same year ( ), and was beaten--the only time i have ever been beaten by the people. the next, and three succeeding biennial elections, i was elected to the legislature. i was not a candidate afterwards. during this legislative period i had studied law and removed to springfield to practice it. in i was once elected to the lower house of congress, but was not a candidate for reëlection. from to , both inclusive, practiced law more assiduously than ever before. always a whig in politics, and generally on the whig electoral ticket making active canvasses. i was losing interest in politics when the repeal of the missouri compromise aroused me again. what i have done since then is pretty well known. "if any personal description of me is thought desirable it may be said i am, in height, six feet four inches, nearly; lean in flesh, weighing, on an average, one hundred and eighty pounds; dark complexion, with coarse black hair, and gray eyes. no other marks or brands recollected. "yours truly, "a. lincoln." how they sang the "star spangled banner" when lincoln was inaugurated thomas nast i was in washington a few days prior to the inauguration of lincoln in , having been sent by the harpers to take sketches when that event should come off. i did nothing but walk around the city and feel the public pulse, so to speak. there was no necessity of saying anything to anybody. you intuitively recognized that trouble was brewing. many people had sworn that lincoln should not be inaugurated. their utterances had fired the northern heart, and the people loyal to the old flag were just as determined that the lawfully elected president should be inaugurated, though blood should flow in the attempt. it was an awful time. people looked different then than they do now. little knots of men could be seen conversing together in whispers on street corners, and even the whispers ceased when a person unknown to them approached. everybody seemed to suspect everyone else. women looked askance at each other, and children obliged to be out would scurry home as if frightened, probably having been given warning by the parents. the streets at night, for several nights prior to the inaugural ceremonies, were practically deserted. there was a hush over everything. it seemed to me that the shadow of death was hovering near. i had constantly floating before my eyes sable plumes and trappings of woe. i could hear dirges constantly and thought for a while that i would have to leave the place or go crazy. i knew that all these somber thoughts were but imagination, but i also knew that the something which had influenced my imagination was tangible--really existed. the th of march came and mr. lincoln was inaugurated quietly and without ostentation. after the services were over and it became known that mr. lincoln had really been inducted into office there was a savage snarl went up from the disaffected ones. the snarl was infectious. it was answered by just as savage growls all over the city. but nothing was said. a single yell of defiance, a pistol-shot, or even an oath would have precipitated a conflict. men simply glared at each other and gnashed their teeth, but were careful not to grit them so it could be heard. i went to my room in the willard and sat down to do some work. i couldn't work. the stillness was oppressive. at least a dozen times i picked up my pencils, only to throw them down again. i got up and paced the floor nervously. i heard men on either side of me doing the same thing. walking didn't relieve the severe mental strain. i sat down in my chair and pressed my head in my hands. suddenly i heard a window go up and someone step out on the balcony of the ebbit house, directly opposite. everybody in the hotel had heard him. what is he going to do? i asked myself, and i suppose everyone else propounded the same mental interrogation. we hadn't to wait long. he began to sing the star-spangled banner in a clear, strong voice. the effect was magical, electrical. one window went up, and another, and heads popped out all over the neighborhood. people began to stir on the streets. a crowd soon gathered. the grand old song was taken up and sung by thousands. the spell was broken, and when the song was finished tongues were loosened, and cheer after cheer rent the air. the man rooming next to me rapped on my door and insisted that i should take a walk with him. as we passed along the corridors we were joined by others, men wild with joy, some of them weeping and throwing their arms around each other's neck. others were singing and all were happy. washington was itself again. the "star-spangled banner" had saved it. lincoln's favorite poem mortality (o why should the spirit of mortal be proud?) "the evening of march , ," says f. b. carpenter, "was a most interesting one to me. i was with the president alone in his office for several hours. busy with pen and papers when i went in, he presently threw them aside and commenced talking to me of shakespeare, of whom he was very fond. little tad, his son, coming in, he sent to the library for a copy of the plays, and then read to me several of his favorite passages. relapsing into a sadder strain, he laid the book aside, and leaning back in his chair said: "'there is a poem which has been a great favorite with me for years, which was first shown to me when a young man by a friend, and which i afterward saw and cut from a newspaper and learned by heart. i would,' he continued, 'give a great deal to know who wrote it,[p] but i have never been able to ascertain.' then, half-closing his eyes, he repeated the verses to me as follows:" [p] this poem was written by william knox, a scotchman. o why should the spirit of mortal be proud? like a fast-flitting meteor, a fast-flying cloud, a flash of the lightning, a break of the wave, he passes from life to his rest in the grave. the leaves of the oak and the willow shall fade, be scattered around, and together be laid; and the young and the old, and the low and the high, shall moulder to dust, and together shall lie. the child that a mother attended and loved, the mother that infant's affection that proved, the husband that mother and infant that blessed, each, all, are away to their dwelling of rest. the maid on whose cheek, on whose brow, in whose eye, shone beauty and pleasure,--her triumphs are by; and the memory of those that beloved her and praised are alike from the minds of the living erased. the hand of the king that the scepter hath borne, the brow of the priest that the miter hath worn, the eye of the sage, and the heart of the brave, are hidden and lost in the depths of the grave. the peasant whose lot was to sow and to reap, the herdsman who climbed with his goats to the steep, the beggar that wandered in search of his bread, have faded away like the grass that we tread. the saint that enjoyed the communion of heaven, the sinner that dared to remain unforgiven, the wise and the foolish, the guilty and just, have quietly mingled their bones in the dust. so the multitude goes, like the flower and the weed that wither away to let others succeed; so the multitude comes, even those we behold, to repeat every tale that has often been told. for we are the same that our fathers have been; we see the same sights that our fathers have seen,-- we drink the same stream, and we feel the same sun, and we run the same course that our fathers have run. the thoughts we are thinking, our fathers would think; from the death we are shrinking from, they too would shrink; to the life we are clinging to, they too would cling; but it speeds from the earth like a bird on the wing. they loved, but their story we cannot unfold; they scorned, but the heart of the haughty is cold; they grieved, but no wail from their slumbers will come; they enjoyed, but the voice of their gladness is dumb. they died, ay! they died! and we things that are now, that walk on the turf that lies over their brow, who make in their dwellings a transient abode, meet the changes they met on their pilgrimage road. yea! hope and despondence, and pleasure and pain, are mingled together in sunshine and rain; and the smile and the tear, and the song and the dirge, still follow each other, like surge upon surge. 'tis the wink of an eye, 'tis the draught of a breath, from the blossom of health to the paleness of death, from the gilded saloon to the bier and the shroud,-- o why should the spirit of mortal be proud? the gettysburg address this address of abraham lincoln's was delivered at the dedication of the national cemetery, gettysburg, pennsylvania, november , . the great battles fought at gettysburg, in july, , made that spot historic ground. it was early perceived that the battles were critical, and they are now looked upon as the turning-point of the war of the union. the ground where the fiercest conflict raged was taken for a national cemetery, and the dedication of the place was made an occasion of great solemnity. the orator of the day was edward everett, who was regarded as the most finished public speaker in the country. mr. everett made a long and eloquent address, and was followed by the president in a short and simple speech which deeply affected its hearers, and later the country, as a great speech. the impression created on the audience has deepened with time. mr. stanton's (secretary of war in lincoln's cabinet) prophecy as to the lasting qualities of the president's address has materialized. he said: "edward everett has made a speech that will make many columns in the newspapers, and mr. lincoln's perhaps forty or fifty lines. everett's is the speech of a scholar, polished to the last possibility. it is elegant and it is learned; but lincoln's speech will be read by a thousand men where one reads everett's, and will be remembered as long as anybody's speeches are remembered who speaks the english language." fourscore and seven years ago, our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal. now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. we are met on a great battlefield of that war. we have come to dedicate a portion of that field as a final resting-place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. it is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this. but in a larger sense we cannot dedicate, we cannot consecrate, we cannot hallow this ground. the brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it far above our poor power to add or detract. the world will little note, nor long remember, what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. it is for us, the living, rather to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. it is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us,--that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion,--that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain,--that this nation, under god, shall have a new birth of freedom,--and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth. events in the life of abraham lincoln a list of important facts chronologically arranged february . born in a log-cabin in hardin (now larue) county, kentucky. his father moves with his family into the wilderness near gentryville, ind. his mother (nancy hanks lincoln) dies, at the age of . his father's second marriage, to mrs. sarah johnston (johnson), widow with three children. makes a trip to new orleans and back, at work on a flat-boat. february and march. lincoln family remove to macon (not ma_s_on) county, illinois; log-house, near decatur, on the sangamon river. abraham of age, works independently; makes , fence rails under contract. may. makes another flat-boat trip to new orleans and back, on which trip he first sees negroes shackled together in chains, and forms his opinions concerning slavery. begins work in a store at new salem, ill. lincoln's first political address. enlists in the black hawk war; elected a captain of volunteers. storekeeper, postmaster, surveyor, at new salem. elected to state legislature. death of lincoln's betrothed, miss ann (or anne) rutledge, at new salem. lincoln deeply grieved. to . reëlected to the legislature. studies law in springfield and forms law partnership with john t. stuart. november . marries mary todd. elected to congress. declines reëlection to congress. returns to springfield to widen his law practice. engages in this until . january . thomas lincoln (abraham's father) dies in coles county, illinois. lincoln's family now consisted of three sons (one had died in his infancy); his law practice remunerative. debates with douglas at peoria and springfield. elected to state legislature; resigns to seek u. s. senatorship, but defeated by douglas, is reëlected. } aids in organizing republican party. } joint debates in illinois with stephen a. douglas. makes political speeches in ohio, kansas, etc. february. lincoln tours new england; visits new york, and speaks at cooper institute, being introduced by w. c. bryant. march - . chicago republican convention. unanimously nominated for president; hannibal hamlin, vice-president. november . elected president over j. c. breckenridge, stephen a. douglas, and john bell. march . inaugurated president (the sixteenth). april . issues first order for troops to put down the rebellion. february. president lincoln's son willie dies in the white house. march. the president as acting commander-in-chief overrules general mcclellan and council of war as to immediate forward movement. july . calls for , three-years troops. august . calls for , men, special, nine months. january . issues the emancipation proclamation. july - . victories for the union armies. battle of gettysburg, pa.; defeat for general lee's army. vicksburg captured by general grant. lincoln thanks grant for the capture. september . calls for , three-years troops. november . his address at gettysburg. february. calls for , volunteers. renominated and reëlected president. march . lincoln inaugurated, the second term. april . the president assassinated by j. wilkes booth, at washington. he dies the next morning. may . burial at springfield, ill. * * * * * transcriber note the illustration provided at the end of the internet archive was assumed to be the cover for this volume and was moved before the frontispiece. for those songs displayed in scores, the verses were rejoined. all footnotes were placed as near their anchors as possible. [illustration: cover art] [frontispiece: "the great dog shook his victim as a terrier shakes a rat." (page .)] the ledge on bald face by charles g. d. roberts _illustrated_ ward, lock & co., limited london and melbourne _copyright in the united states of america_ _by charles g. d. roberts_ printed in great britain by butler & tanner ltd., frome and london popular nature stories by chas. g. d. roberts published by ward, lock & co., limited the house in the water kings in exile the secret trails the ledge on bald face contents i the ledge on bald face ii the eagle iii cock-crow iv the morning of the silver frost v jim, the backwoods police dog part i how woolly billy came to brine's rip " ii the book agent and the buckskin belt " iii the hole in the tree " iv the trail of the bear " v the fire at brine's rip mills " vi the man with the dancing bear illustrations "the great dog shook his victim like a terrier shakes a rat" . . . _frontispiece_ "he was thrown off his balance and shouldered clean over the brink" "then he spread his wings wide and let go" "he flung his arms about jim's shaggy neck and buried his face in the wet fur" "'you keep right back, boys,' commanded the deputy in a voice of steel" "the door was flung open, and black dan with his hands held up, stalked forth into the moonlight" "he drew a long knife ... and slipped behind the canoe" "in the meantime, jim, travelling at a speed that the fugitive could not hope to rival, had come to the right spot" i the ledge on bald face the ledge on bald face that one stark naked side of the mountain which gave it its name of old bald face fronted full south. scorched by sun and scourged by storm throughout the centuries, it was bleached to an ashen pallor that gleamed startlingly across the leagues of sombre, green-purple wilderness outspread below. from the base of the tremendous bald steep stretched off the interminable leagues of cedar swamp, only to be traversed in dry weather or in frost. all the region behind the mountain face was an impenetrable jumble of gorges, pinnacles, and chasms, with black woods clinging in crevice and ravine and struggling up desperately towards the light. in the time of spring and autumn floods, when the cedar swamps were impenetrable to all save mink, otter, and musk-rat, the only way from the western plateau to the group of lakes that formed the source of the ottanoonsis, on the east, was by a high, nerve-testing trail across the wind-swept brow of old bald face. the trail followed a curious ledge, sometimes wide enough to have accommodated an ox-wagon, at other times so narrow and so perilous that even the sure-eyed caribou went warily in traversing it. the only inhabitants of bald face were the eagles, three pairs of them, who had their nests, widely separated from each other in haughty isolation, on jutting shoulders and pinnacles accessible to no one without wings. though the ledge-path at its highest point was far above the nests, and commanded a clear view of one of them, the eagles had learned to know that those who traversed the pass were not troubling themselves about eagles' nests. they had also observed another thing--of interest to them only because their keen eyes and suspicious brains were wont to note and consider everything that came within their purview--and that was that the scanty traffic by the pass had its more or less regular times and seasons. in seasons of drought or hard frost it vanished altogether. in seasons of flood it increased the longer the floods lasted. and whenever there was any passing at all, the movement was from east to west in the morning, from west to east in the afternoon. this fact may have been due to some sort of dimly recognized convention among the wild kindreds, arrived at in some subtle way to avoid unnecessary--and necessarily deadly--misunderstanding and struggle. for the creatures of the wild seldom fight for fighting's sake. they fight for food, or, in the mating season, they fight in order that the best and strongest may carry off the prizes. but mere purposeless risk and slaughter they instinctively strive to avoid. the airy ledge across bald face was not a place where the boldest of the wild kindred--the bear or the bull-moose, to say nothing of lesser champions--would wilfully invite the doubtful combat. if, therefore, it had been somehow arrived at that there should be no disastrous meetings, no face-to-face struggles for the right of way, at a spot where dreadful death was inevitable for one or both of the combatants, that would have been in no way inconsistent with the accepted laws and customs of the wilderness. on the other hand, it is possible that this alternate easterly and westerly drift of the wild creatures--a scanty affair enough at best of times--across the front of bald face was determined in the first place, on clear days, by their desire not to have the sun in their eyes in making the difficult passage, and afterwards hardened into custom. it was certainly better to have the sun behind one in treading the knife-edge pass above the eagles. joe peddler found it troublesome enough, that strong, searching glare from the unclouded sun of early morning full in his eyes, as he worked over toward the ottanoonsis lakes. he had never attempted the crossing of old bald face before, and he had always regarded with some scorn the stories told by indians of the perils of that passage. but already, though he had accomplished but a small portion of his journey and was still far from the worst of the pass, he had been forced to the conclusion that report had not exaggerated the difficulties of his venture. however, he was steady of head and sure of foot, and the higher he went in that exquisitely clear, crisp air, the more pleased he felt with himself. his great lungs drank deep of the tonic wind which surged against him rhythmically, and seemed to him to come unbroken from the outermost edges of the world. his eyes widened and filled themselves, even as his lungs, with the ample panorama that unfolded before them. he imagined--for the woodsman, dwelling so much alone, is apt to indulge some strange imaginings--that he could feel his very spirit enlarging, as if to take full measure of these splendid breadths of sunlit, wind-washed space. presently, with a pleasant thrill, he observed that just ahead of him the ledge went round an abrupt shoulder of the rockface at a point where there was a practically sheer drop of many hundreds of feet into what appeared a feather-soft carpet of treetops. he looked shrewdly to the security of his footing as he approached, and also to the roughnesses of the rock above the ledge, in case a sudden violent gust should chance to assail him just at the turn. he felt that at such a spot it would be so easy--indeed, quite natural--to be whisked off by the sportive wind, whirled out into space, and dropped into that green carpet so far below. in his flexible oil-tanned "larrigans" of thick cow-hide, peddler moved noiselessly as a wild-cat, even over the bare stone of the ledge. he was like a grey shadow drifting slowly across the bleached face of the precipice. as he drew near the bend of the trail, of which not more than eight or ten paces were now visible to him, he felt every nerve grow tense with exhilarating expectation. yet, even so, what happened was the utterly unexpected. around the bend before him, stepping daintily on her fine hooves, came a young doe. she completely blocked the trail just on that dizzy edge. peddler stopped short, tried to squeeze himself to the rock like a limpet, and clutched with fingers of iron at a tiny projection. the doe, for one second, seemed petrified with amazement. it was contrary to all tradition that she should be confronted on that trail. then, her amazement instantly dissolving into sheer madness of panic, she wheeled about violently to flee. but there was no room for even her lithe body to make the turn. the inexorable rock-face bounced her off, and with an agonized bleat, legs sprawling and great eyes starting from their sockets, she went sailing down into the abyss. with a heart thumping in sympathy, peddler leaned outward and followed that dreadful flight, till she reached that treacherously soft-looking carpet of treetops and was engulfed by it. a muffled crash came up to peddler's ears. "poor leetle beggar!" he muttered. "i wish't i hadn't scared her so. but i'd a sight rather it was her than me!" peddler's exhilaration was now considerably damped. he crept cautiously to the dizzy turn of the ledge and peered around. the thought upon which his brain dwelt with unpleasant insistence was that if it had been a surly old bull-moose or a bear which had confronted him so unexpectedly, instead of that nervous little doe, he might now be lying beneath that deceitful green carpet in a state of dilapidation which he did not care to contemplate. beyond the turn the trail was clear to his view for perhaps a couple of hundred yards. it climbed steeply through a deep re-entrant, a mighty perpendicular corrugation of the rock-face, and then disappeared again around another jutting bastion. he hurried on rather feverishly, not liking that second interruption to his view, and regretting, for the first time, that he had no weapon with him but his long hunting-knife. he had left his rifle behind him as a useless burden to his climbing. no game was now in season, no skins in condition to be worth the shooting, and he had food enough for the journey in his light pack. he had not contemplated the possibility of any beast, even bear or bull-moose, daring to face him, because he knew that, except in mating-time, the boldest of them would give a man wide berth. but, as he now reflected, here on this narrow ledge even a buck or a lynx would become dangerous, finding itself suddenly at bay. the steepness of the rise in the trail at this point almost drove peddler to helping himself with his hands. as he neared the next turn, he was surprised to note, far out to his right, a soaring eagle, perhaps a hundred feet below him. he was surprised, too, by the fact that the eagle was paying no attention to him whatever, in spite of his invasion of the great bird's aerial domain. instinctively he inferred that the eagle's nest must be in some quite inaccessible spot at safe distance from the ledge. he paused to observe from above, and thus fairly near at hand, the slow flapping of those wide wings, as they employed the wind to serve the majesty of their flight. while he was studying this, another deduction from the bird's indifference to his presence flashed upon his mind. there must be a fairly abundant traffic of the wild creatures across this pass, or the eagle would not be so indifferent to his presence. at this thought he lost his interest in problems of flight, and hurried forward again, anxious to see what might be beyond the next turn of the trail. his curiosity was gratified all too abruptly for his satisfaction. he reached the turn, craned his head around it, and came face to face with an immense black bear. the bear was not a dozen feet away. at sight of peddler's gaunt dark face and sharp blue eyes appearing thus abruptly and without visible support around the rock, he shrank back upon his haunches with a startled "woof!" as for peddler, he was equally startled, but he had too much discretion and self-control to show it. never moving a muscle, and keeping his body out of sight so that his face seemed to be suspended in mid-air, he held the great beast's eyes with a calm, unwinking gaze. the bear was plainly disconcerted. after a few seconds he glanced back over his shoulder, and seemed to contemplate a strategic movement to the rear. as the ledge at this point was sufficiently wide for him to turn with due care, peddler expected now to see him do so. but what peddler did not know was that dim but cogent "law of the ledge," which forbade all those who travelled by it to turn and retrace their steps, or to pass in the wrong direction at the wrong time. he did not know what the bear knew--namely, that if that perturbed beast should turn, he was sure to be met and opposed by other wayfarers, and thus to find himself caught between two fires. watching steadily, peddler was unpleasantly surprised to see the perturbation in the bear's eyes slowly change into a savage resentment--resentment at being baulked in his inalienable right to an unopposed passage over the ledge. to the bear's mind that grim, confronting face was a violation of the law which he himself obeyed loyally and without question. to be sure, it was the face of man, and therefore to be dreaded. it was also mysterious, and therefore still more to be dreaded. but the sense of bitter injustice, with the realization that he was at bay and taken at a disadvantage, filled him with a frightened rage which swamped all other emotion. then he came on. his advance was slow and cautious by reason of the difficulty of the path and his dread lest that staring, motionless face should pounce upon him just at the perilous turn and hurl him over the brink. but peddler knew that his bluff was called, and that his only chance was to avoid the encounter. he might have fled by the way he had come, knowing that he would have every advantage in speed on that narrow trail. but before venturing up to the turn he had noted a number of little projections and crevices in the perpendicular wall above him. clutching at them with fingers of steel and unerring toes, he swarmed upwards as nimbly as a climbing cat. he was a dozen feet up before the bear came crawling and peering around the turn. elated at having so well extricated himself from so dubious a situation, peddler gazed down upon his opponent and laughed mockingly. the sound of that confident laughter from straight above his head seemed to daunt the bear and thoroughly damp his rage. he crouched low, and scurried past growling. as he hurried along the trail at a rash pace, he kept casting anxious glances over his shoulder, as if he feared the man were going to chase him. peddler lowered himself from his friendly perch and continued his journey, cursing himself more than ever for having been such a fool as not to bring his rifle. in the course of the next half-hour he gained the highest point of the ledge, which here was so broken and precarious that he had little attention to spare for the unparalleled sweep and splendour of the view. he was conscious, however, all the time, of the whirling eagles, now far below him, and his veins thrilled with intense exhilaration. his apprehensions had all vanished under the stimulus of that tonic atmosphere. he was on the constant watch, however, scanning not only the trail ahead--which was now never visible for more than a hundred yards or so at a time--and also the face of the rock above him, to see if it could be scaled in an emergency. he had no expectation of an emergency, because he knew nothing of the law of the ledge. having already met a doe and a bear, he naturally inferred that he would not be likely to meet any other of the elusive kindreds of the wild, even in a whole week of forest faring. the shy and wary beasts are not given to thrusting themselves upon man's dangerous notice, and it was hard enough to find them, with all his woodcraft, even when he was out to look for them. he was, therefore, so surprised that he could hardly believe his eyes when, on rounding another corrugation of the rock-face, he saw another bear coming to meet him. "gee!" muttered peddler to himself. "who's been lettin' loose the menagerie? or hev i got the nightmare, mebbe?" the bear was about fifty yards distant--a smaller one than its predecessor, and much younger also, as was obvious to peddler's initiated eye by the trim glossiness of its coat. it halted the instant it caught sight of peddler. but peddler, for his part, kept right on, without showing the least sign of hesitation or surprise. this bear, surely, would give way before him. the beast hesitated, however. it was manifestly afraid of the man. it backed a few paces, whimpering in a worried fashion, then stopped, staring up the rock-wall above it, as if seeking escape in that impossible direction. "if ye're so skeered o' me as ye look," demanded peddler, in a crisp voice, "why don't ye turn an' vamoose, 'stead o' backin' an' fillin' that way? ye can't git up that there rock, 'less ye're a fly!" the ledge at that point was a comparatively wide and easy path, and the bear at length, as if decided by the easy confidence of peddler's tones, turned and retreated. but it went off with such reluctance, whimpering anxiously the while, that peddler was forced to the conclusion there must be something coming up the trail which it was dreading to meet. at this idea peddler was delighted, and hurried on as closely as possible at the retreating animal's heels. the bear, he reflected, would serve him as an excellent advance guard, protecting him perfectly from surprise, and perhaps, if necessary, clearing the way for him. he chuckled to himself as he realized the situation, and the bear, catching the incomprehensible sound, glanced nervously over its shoulder and hastened its retreat as well as the difficulties of the path would allow. the trail was now descending rapidly, though irregularly, towards the eastern plateau. the descent was broken by here and there a stretch of comparatively level going, here and there a sharp though brief rise, and at one point the ledge was cut across by a crevice some four feet in width. as a jump, of course, it was nothing to peddler; but in spite of himself he took it with some trepidation, for the chasm looked infinitely deep, and the footing on the other side narrow and precarious. the bear, however, had seemed to take it quite carelessly, almost in its stride, and peddler, not to be outdone, assumed a similar indifference. it was not long, however, before the enigma of the bear's reluctance to retrace its steps was solved. the bear, with peddler some forty or fifty paces behind, was approaching one of those short steep rises which broke the general descent. from the other side of the rise came a series of heavy breathings and windy grunts. "moose, by gum!" exclaimed peddler. "now, i'd like to know if all the critters hev took it into their heads to cross old bald face to-day!" the bear heard the gruntings also, and halted unhappily, glancing back at peddler. "git on with it!" ordered peddler sharply. and the bear, dreading man more than moose, got on. the next moment a long, dark, ominous head, with massive, overhanging lip and small angry eyes, appeared over the rise. behind this formidable head laboured up the mighty humped shoulders and then the whole towering form of a moose-bull. close behind him followed two young cows and a yearling calf. "huh! i guess there's goin' to be some row!" muttered peddler, and cast his eyes up the rock-face, to look for a point of refuge in case his champion should get the worst of it. at sight of the bear the two cows and the yearling halted, and stood staring, with big ears thrust forward anxiously, at the foe that barred their path. but the arrogant old bull kept straight on, though slowly, and with the wariness of the practised duellist. at this season of the year his forehead wore no antlers, indeed, but in his great knife-edged fore-hooves he possessed terrible weapons which he could wield with deadly dexterity. marking the confidence of his advance, peddler grew solicitous for his own champion, and stood motionless, dreading to distract the bear's attention. but the bear, though frankly afraid to face man, whom he did not understand, had no such misgivings in regard to moose. he knew how to fight moose, and he had made more than one good meal, in his day, on moose calf. he was game for the encounter. reassured to see that the man was not coming any nearer, and possibly even sensing instinctively that the man was on his side in this matter, he crouched close against the rock and waited, with one huge paw upraised, like a boxer on guard, for the advancing bull to attack. he had not long to wait. the bull drew near very slowly, and with his head held high as if intending to ignore his opponent. peddler, watching intently, felt some surprise at this attitude, even though he knew that the deadliest weapon of a moose was its fore-hooves. he was wondering, indeed, if the majestic beast expected to press past the bear without a battle, and if the bear, on his part, would consent to this highly reasonable arrangement. then like a flash, without the slightest warning, the bull whipped up one great hoof to the height of his shoulder and struck at his crouching adversary. the blow was lightning swift, and with such power behind it that, had it reached its mark, it would have settled the whole matter then and there. but the bear's parry was equally swift. his mighty forearm fended the stroke so that it hissed down harmlessly past his head and clattered on the stone floor of the trail. at the same instant, before the bull could recover himself for another such pile-driving blow, the bear, who had been gathered up like a coiled spring, elongated his body with all the force of his gigantic hindquarters, thrusting himself irresistibly between his adversary and the face of the rock, and heaving outwards. these were tactics for which the great bull had no precedent in all his previous battles. he was thrown off his balance and shouldered clean over the brink. by a terrific effort he turned, captured a footing upon the edge with his fore-hooves, and struggled frantically to drag himself up again upon the ledge. but the bear's paw struck him a crashing buffet straight between the wildly staring eyes. he fell backwards, turning clean over, and went bouncing, in tremendous sprawling curves, down into the abyss. [illustration: "he was thrown off his balance and shouldered clean over the brink."] upon the defeat of their leader the two cows and the calf turned instantly--which the ledge at their point was wide enough to permit--and fled back down the trail at a pace which seemed to threaten their own destruction. the bear followed more prudently, with no apparent thought of trying to overtake them. and pedler kept on behind him, taking care, however, after this exhibition of his champion's prowess, not to press him too closely. the fleeing herd soon disappeared from view. it seemed to have effectually cleared the trail before it, for the curious procession of the bear and peddler encountered no further obstacles. after about an hour the lower slopes of the mountain were reached. the ledge widened and presently broke up, with trails leading off here and there among the foothills. at the first of these that appeared to offer concealment the bear turned aside and vanished into a dense grove of spruce with a haste which seemed to peddler highly amusing in a beast of such capacity and courage. he was well content, however, to be so easily quit of his dangerous advance guard. "a durn good thing for me," he mused, "that that there b'ar never got up the nerve to call my bluff, or i might 'a' been layin' now where that onlucky old bull-moose is layin', with a lot o' flies crawlin' over me!" and as he trudged along the now easy and ordinary trail, he registered two discreet resolutions--first, that never again would he cross old bald face without his gun and his axe; and, second, that never again would he cross old bald face at all, unless he jolly well had to. ii the eagle the eagle he sat upon the very topmost perch under the open-work dome of his spacious and lofty cage. this perch was one of three or four lopped limbs jutting from a dead tree-trunk erected in the centre of the cage--a perch far other than that great branch of thunder-blasted pine, out-thrust from the seaward-facing cliff, whereon he had been wont to sit in his own land across the ocean. he sat with his snowy, gleaming, flat-crowned head drawn back between the dark shoulders of his slightly uplifted wings. his black and yellow eyes, unwinking, bright and hard like glass, stared out from under his overhanging brows with a kind of darting and defiant inquiry quite unlike their customary expression of tameless despair. that dull world outside the bars of his cage, that hated, gaping, inquisitive world which he had ever tried to ignore by staring at the sun or gazing into the deeps of sky overhead, how it had changed since yesterday! the curious crowds, the gabbling voices were gone. even the high buildings of red brick or whitish-grey stone, beyond the iron palings of the park, were going, toppling down with a slow, dizzy lurch, or leaping suddenly into the air with a roar and a huge belch of brown and orange smoke and scarlet flame. here and there he saw men running wildly. here and there he saw other men lying quite still--sprawling, inert shapes an the close-cropped grass, or the white asphalted walks, or the tossed pavement of the street. he knew that these inert, sprawling shapes were men, and that the men were dead; and the sight filled his exile heart with triumph. men were his enemies, his gaolers, his opponents, and now at last--he knew not how--he was tasting vengeance. the once smooth green turf around his cage was becoming pitted with strange yellow-brown holes. these holes, he had noticed, always appeared after a burst of terrific noise, and livid flame, and coloured smoke, followed by a shower of clods and pebbles, and hard fragments which sometimes flew right through his cage with a vicious hum. there was a deadly force in these humming fragments. he knew it, for his partner in captivity, a golden eagle of the alps, had been hit by one of them, and now lay dead on the littered floor below him, a mere heap of bloody feathers. certain of the iron bars of the cage, too, had been struck and cut through, as neatly as his own hooked beak would sever the paw of a rabbit. the air was full of tremendous crashing, buffeting sounds and sudden fierce gusts, which forced him to tighten the iron grip of his talons upon the perch. in the centre of the little park pond, some fifty feet from his cage, clustered a panic-stricken knot of eight or ten fancy ducks and two pairs of red-billed coot, all that remained of the flock of water-birds which had formerly screamed and gabbled over the pool. this little cluster was in a state of perpetual ferment, those on the outside struggling to get into the centre, those on the inside striving to keep their places. from time to time one or two on the outer ring would dive under and force their way up in the middle of the press, where they imagined themselves more secure. but presently they would find themselves on the outside again, whereupon, in frantic haste, they would repeat the manoeuvre. the piercing glance of the eagle took in and dismissed this futile panic with immeasurable scorn. with like scorn, too, he noted the three gaunt cranes which had been wont to stalk so arrogantly among the lesser fowl and drive them from their meals. these once domineering birds were now standing huddled, their drooped heads close together, beneath a dense laurel thicket just behind the cage, their long legs quaking at every explosion. amid all this destroying tumult and flying death the eagle had no fear. he was merely excited by it. if a fragment of shell sang past his head, he never flinched, his level stare never even filmed or wavered. the roar and crash, indeed, and the monstrous buffetings of tormented air, seemed to assuage the long ache of his home-sickness. they reminded him of the hurricane racing past his ancient pine, of the giant waves shattering themselves with thunderous jar upon the cliff below. from time to time, as if his nerves were straining with irresistible exultation, he would lift himself to his full height, half spread his wings, stretch forward his gleaming white neck, and give utterance to a short, strident, yelping cry. then he would settle back upon his perch again, and resume his fierce contemplation of the ruin that was falling on the city. suddenly an eleven-inch shell dropped straight in the centre of the pool and exploded on the concrete bottom which underlay the mud. half the pool went up in the colossal eruption of blown flame and steam and smoke. even here on his perch the eagle found himself spattered and drenched. when the shrunken surface of the pool had closed again over the awful vortex, and the smoke had drifted off to join itself to the dark cloud which hung over the city, the little flock of ducks and coot was nowhere to be seen. it simply was not. but a bleeding fragment of flesh, with some purple-and-chestnut feathers clinging to it, lay upon the bottom of the cage. this morsel caught the eagle's eye. he had been forgotten for the past two days--the old one-legged keeper of the cages having vanished--and he was ravenous with hunger. he hopped down briskly to the floor, grabbed the morsel, and gulped it. then he looked around hopefully for more. there were no more such opportune tit-bits within the cage, but just outside he saw the half of a big carp, which had been torn in twain by a caprice of the explosion and tossed up here upon the grass. this was just such a morsel as he was craving. he thrust one great talon out between the bars and clutched at the prize. but it was beyond his reach. disappointed, he tried the other claw, balancing himself on one leg with widespread wings. stretch and struggle as he would, it was all in vain. the fish lay too far off. then he tried reaching through the bars with his head. he elongated his neck till he almost thought he was a heron, and till his great beak was snapping hungrily within an inch or two of the prize. but not a hair's-breadth closer could he get. at last, in a cold fury, he gave it up, and drew back, and shook himself to rearrange the much dishevelled feathers of his neck. just at this moment, while he was still on the floor of the cage, a high-velocity shell came by. with its flat trajectory it passed just overhead, swept the dome of the cage clean out of existence, and whizzed onwards to explode, with a curious grunting crash, some hundreds of yards beyond. the eagle looked up and gazed for some seconds before realizing that his prison was no longer a prison. the path was clear above him to the free spaces of the air. but he was in no unseemly haste. his eye measured accurately the width of the exit, and saw that it was awkwardly narrow for his great spread of wing. he could not essay it directly from the ground, his quarters being too straitened for free flight. hopping upwards from limb to limb of the roosting-tree, he regained the topmost perch, and found that, though split by a stray splinter of the cage, it was still able to bear his weight. from this point he sprang straight upwards, with one beat of his wings. but the wing-tips struck violently against each side of the opening, and he was thrown back with such force that only by a furious flopping and struggle could he regain his footing on the perch. after this unexpected rebuff he sat quiet for perhaps half a minute, staring fixedly at the exit. he was not going to fail again through misjudgment. the straight top of the roosting-tree extended for about three feet above his perch, but this extension being of no use to him, he had never paid any heed to it hitherto. now, however, he marked it with new interest. it was close below the hole in the roof. he flopped up to it, balanced himself for a second, and once more sprang for the opening, but this time with a short, convulsive beat of wings only half spread. the leap carried him almost through, but not far enough for him to get another stroke of his wings. clutching out wildly with stretched talons, he succeeded in catching the end of a broken bar. desperately he clung to it, resisting the natural impulse to help himself by flapping his wings. reaching out with his beak, he gripped another bar, and so steadied himself till he could gain a foothold with both talons. then slowly, like a dog getting over a wall, he dragged himself forth, and stood at last free on the outer side of the bars which had been so long his prison. but the first thing he thought of was not freedom. it was fish. for perhaps a dozen seconds he gazed about him majestically, and scanned with calm the toppling and crashing world. then spreading his splendid wings to their fullest extent, with no longer any fear of them striking against iron bars, he dropped down to the grass beside the cage and clutched the body of the slain carp. he was no more than just in time, for a second later a pair of mink, released from their captivity in perhaps the same way as he had been, came gliding furtively around the base of the cage, intent upon the same booty. he turned his head over his shoulder and gave them one look, then fell to tearing and gulping his meal as unconcernedly as if the two savage little beasts had been field mice. the mink stopped short, flashed white fangs at him in a soundless snarl of hate, and whipped about to forage in some more auspicious direction. when the eagle had finished his meal--which took him, indeed, scarcely more time than takes to tell of it--he wiped his great beak meticulously on the turf. while he was doing so, a shell burst so near him that he was half smothered in dry earth. indignantly he shook himself, hopped a pace or two aside, ruffled up his feathers, and proceeded to make his toilet as scrupulously as if no shells or sudden death were within a thousand miles of him. the toilet completed to his satisfaction, he took a little flapping run and rose into the air. he flew straight for the highest point within his view, which chanced to be the slender, soaring spire of a church somewhere about the centre of the city. as he mounted on a long slant, he came into the level where most of the shells were travelling, for their objective was not the little park with its "zoo," but a line of fortifications some distance beyond. above, below, around him streamed the terrible projectiles, whinnying or whistling, shrieking or roaring, each according to its calibre and its type. it seemed a miracle that he should come through that zone unscathed; but his vision was so powerful and all-embracing, his judgment of speed and distance so instantaneous and unerring, that he was able to avoid, without apparent effort, all but the smallest and least visible shells, and these latter, by the favour of fate, did not come his way. he was more annoyed, indeed, by certain volleys of debris which occasionally spouted up at him with a disagreeable noise, and by the evil-smelling smoke clouds, which came volleying about him without any reason that he could discern. he flapped up to a higher level to escape these annoyances, and so found himself above the track of the shells. then he made for the church spire, and perched himself upon the tip of the great weather-vane. it was exactly what he wanted--a lofty observation post from which to view the country round about before deciding in which direction he would journey. from this high post he noticed that, while he was well above one zone of shells, there was still another zone of them screaming far overhead. these projectiles of the upper strata of air were travelling in the opposite direction. he marked that they came from a crowded line of smoke-bursts and blinding flashes just beyond the boundary of the city. he decided that, upon resuming his journey, he would fly at the present level, and so avoid traversing again either of the zones of death. much to his disappointment, he found that his present observation post did not give him as wide a view as he had hoped for. the city of his captivity, he now saw, was set upon the loop of a silver stream in the centre of a saucer-like valley. in every direction his view was limited by low, encircling hills. along one sector of this circuit--that from which the shells of the lower stratum seemed to him to be issuing--the hill-rim and the slopes below it were fringed with vomiting smoke-clouds and biting spurts of fire. this did not, however, influence in the least his choice of the direction in which to journey. instinct, little by little, as he sat there on the slowly veering vane, was deciding that point for him. his gaze was fixing itself more and more towards the north, or, rather, the north-west; for something seemed to whisper in his heart that there was where he would find the wild solitudes which he longed for. the rugged and mist-wreathed peaks of scotland or north wales, though he knew them not, were calling to him in his new-found freedom. the call, however, was not yet strong enough to be determining, so, having well fed and being beyond measure content with his liberty, he lingered on his skyey perch and watched the crash of the opposing bombardments. the quarter of the town immediately beneath him had so far suffered little from the shells, and the church showed no signs of damage except for one gaping hole in the roof. but along the line of the fortifications there seemed to be but one gigantic boiling of smoke and flames, with continual spouting fountains of debris. this inexplicable turmoil held his interest for a few moments. then, while he was wondering what it all meant, an eleven-inch shell struck the church spire squarely about thirty feet below him. the explosion almost stunned him. the tip of the spire--with the weather-cock, and the eagle still clinging to it--went rocketing straight up into the air amid a stifling cloud of black smoke, while the rest of the structure, down to a dozen feet below the point of impact, was blown to the four winds. half stunned though he was, the amazed bird kept his wits about him, and clutched firmly to his flying perch till it reached the end of its flight and turned to fall. then he spread his wings wide and let go. the erratic mass of wood and metal dropped away, and left him floating, half-blinded, in the heart of the smoke-cloud. a couple of violent wing-beats, however, carried him clear of the cloud; and at once he shaped his course upwards, as steeply as he could mount, smitten with a sudden desire for the calm and the solitude which were associated in his memory with the uppermost deeps of air. [illustration: "then he spread his wings wide and let go."] the fire from the city batteries had just now slackened for a little, and the great bird's progress carried him through the higher shell zone without mishap. in a minute or two he was far above those strange flocks which flew so straight and swift, and made such incomprehensible noises in their flight. presently, too, he was above the smoke, the very last wisps of it having thinned off into the clear, dry air. he now began to find that he had come once more into his own peculiar realm, the realm of the upper sky, so high that, as he thought, no other living creature could approach him. he arrested his ascent, and began to circle slowly on still wings, surveying the earth. but now he received, for the first time, a shock. hitherto the most astounding happenings had failed to startle him, but now a pang of something very like fear shot through his stout heart. a little to southward of the city he saw a vast pale-yellow elongated form rising swiftly, without any visible effort, straight into the sky. had he ever seen a sausage, he would have thought that this yellow monster was shaped like one. certain fine cords descended from it, reaching all the way to the earth, and below its middle hung a basket, with a man in it. it rose to a height some hundreds of feet beyond the level on which the eagle had been feeling himself supreme. then it came to rest, and hung there, swaying slowly in the mild wind. his apprehension speedily giving way to injured pride, the eagle flew upwards, in short, steep spirals, as fast as his wings could drive him. not till he could once more look down upon the fat back of the glistening yellow monster did he regain his mood of unruffled calm. but he regained it only to have it stripped from him, a minute later, with tenfold lack of ceremony. for far above him--so high that even his undaunted wings would never venture thither--he heard a fierce and terrible humming sound. he saw something like a colossal bird--or rather, it was more suggestive of a dragonfly than a bird--speeding towards him with never a single beat of its vast, pale wings. its speed was appalling. the eagle was afraid, but not with any foolish panic. he knew that even as a sparrow would be to him, so would he be to this unheard-of sovereign of the skies. therefore it was possible the sovereign of the skies would ignore him and seek a more worthy opponent. yes, it was heading towards the giant sausage. and the sausage, plainly, had no stomach for the encounter. it seemed to shrink suddenly; and with sickening lurches it began to descend, as if strong hands were tugging upon the cords which anchored it to earth. the eagle winged off modestly to one side, but not far enough to miss anything of the stupendous encounter which he felt was coming. here, at last, were events of a strangeness and a terror to move even his cool spirit out of its indifference. now the giant insect was near enough for the eagle to mark that it had eyes on the under-sides of its wings--immense, round, coloured eyes of red and white and blue. its shattering hum shook the eagle's nerves, steady and seasoned though they were. slanting slightly downwards, it darted straight toward the sausage, which was now wallowing fatly in its convulsive efforts to descend. at the same time the eagle caught sight of another of the giant birds, or insects, somewhat different in shape and colour from the first, darting up from the opposite direction. was it, too, he wondered, coming to attack the terrified sausage, or to defend it? before he could find an answer to this exciting question, the first monster had arrived directly above the sausage and was circling over it at some height, glaring down upon it with those great staring eyes of its wings. something struck the sausage fairly in the back. instantly, with a tremendous windy roar, the sausage vanished in a sheet of flame. the monster far above it rocked and plunged in the uprush of tormented air, the waves of which reached even to where the eagle hung poised, and forced him to flap violently in order to keep his balance against them. a few moments later the second monster arrived. the eagle saw at once that the two were enemies. the first dived headlong at the second, spitting fire, with a loud and dreadful rap-rap-rapping noise, from its strange blunt muzzle. the two circled around each other, and over and under each other, at a speed which made even the eagle dizzy with amazement; and he saw that it was something more deadly than fire which spurted from their blunt snouts; for every now and then small things, which travelled too fast for him to see, twanged past him with a vicious note which he knew for the voice of death. he edged discreetly farther away. evidently this battle of the giants was dangerous to spectators. his curiosity was beginning to get sated. he was on the point of leaving the danger area altogether, when the dreadful duel came suddenly to an end. he saw the second monster plunge drunkenly, in wild, ungoverned lurches, and then drop head first, down, down, down, straight as a stone, till it crashed into the earth and instantly burst into flame. he saw the great still eyes of the victor staring down inscrutably upon the wreck of its foe. then he saw it whirl sharply--tilting its rigid wings at so steep an angle that it almost seemed about to overturn--and dart away again in the direction from which it had come. he saw the reason for this swift departure. a flock of six more monsters, of the breed of the one just slain, came sweeping up from the south to take vengeance for their comrade's defeat. the eagle had no mind to await them. he had had enough of wonders, and the call in his heart had suddenly grown clear and intelligible. mounting still upward till he felt the air growing thin beneath his wing-beats, he headed northwards as fast as he could fly. he had no more interest now in the amazing panorama which unrolled beneath him, in the thundering and screaming flights of shell which sped past in the lower strata of the air. he was intent only upon gaining the wild solitudes of which he dreamed. he marked others of the monsters which he so dreaded, journeying sometimes alone, sometimes in flocks, but always with the same implacable directness of flight, always with that angry and menacing hum which, of all the sounds he had ever heard, alone had power to shake his bold heart. he noticed that sometimes the sky all about these monsters would be filled with sudden bursts of fleecy cloud, looking soft as wool; and once he saw one of these apparently harmless clouds burst full on the nose of one of the monsters, which instantly flew apart and went hurtling down to earth in revolving fragments. but he was no longer curious. he gave them all as wide a berth as possible, and sped on, without delaying to note their triumphs or their defeats. at last the earth grew green again below him. the monsters, the smoke, the shells, the flames, the thunders, were gradually left behind, and far ahead at last he saw the sea, flashing gold and sapphire beneath the summer sun. soon--for he flew swiftly--it was almost beneath him. his heart exulted at the sight. then across that stretch of gleaming tide he saw a dim line of cliffs--white cliffs, such cliffs as he desired. but at this point, when he was so near his goal, that fate which had always loved to juggle with him decided to show him a new one of her tricks. two more monsters appeared, diving steeply from the blue above him. one was pursuing the other. quite near him the pursuer overtook its quarry, and the two spat fire at each other with that strident rap-rap-rapping sound which he so disliked. he swerved as wide as possible from the path of their terrible combat, and paid no heed to its outcome. but, as he fled, something struck him near the tip of his left wing. the shock went through him like a needle of ice or fire, and he dropped, leaving a little cloud of feathers in the air above to settle slowly after him. he turned once completely over as he fell. but presently; with terrific effort, he succeeded in regaining a partial balance. he could no longer fully support himself, still less continue his direct flight; but he managed to keep on an even keel and to delay his fall. he knew that to drop into the sea below him was certain death. but he had marked that the sea was dotted with peculiar-looking ships--long, narrow, dark ships--which travelled furiously, vomiting black smoke and carrying a white mass of foam in their teeth, supporting himself, with the last ounce of his strength, till one of these rushing ships was just about to pass below him, he let himself drop, and landed sprawling on the deck. half stunned though he was, he recovered himself almost instantly, clawed up to his feet, steadied himself with one outstretched wing against the pitching of the deck, and defied, with hard, undaunted eye and threatening beak, a tall figure in blue, white-capped and gold-braided, which stood smiling down upon him. * * * * * "by jove," exclaimed sub-lieutenant james smith, "here's luck: uncle sam's own chicken, which he's sent us as a mascot till his ships can get over and take a hand in the game with us: delighted to see you, old bird: you've come to the right spot, you have, and we'll do the best we can to make you comfortable." iii cock-crow cock-crow he was a splendid bird, a thoroughbred "black-breasted red" game-cock, his gorgeous plumage hard as mail, silken with perfect condition, and glowing like a flame against the darkness of the spruce forest. his snaky head--the comb and wattles had been trimmed close, after the mode laid down for his aristocratic kind--was sharp and keen, like a living spearpoint. his eyes were fierce and piercing, ready ever to meet the gaze of bird, or beast, or man himself with the unwinking challenge of their full, arrogant stare. perched upon a stump a few yards from the railway line, he turned that bold stare now, with an air of unperturbed superciliousness, upon the wreck of the big freight-car from which he had just escaped. he had escaped by a miracle, but little effect had that upon his bold and confident spirit. the ramshackle, overladen freight train, labouring up the too-steep gradient, had broken in two, thanks to a defective coupler, near the top of the incline a mile and a half away. the rear cars--heavy box-cars--had, of course, run back, gathering a terrific momentum as they went. the rear brakeman, his brakes failing to hold, had discreetly jumped before the speed became too great. at the foot of the incline a sharp curve had proved too much for the runaways to negotiate. with a screech of tortured metal they had jumped the track and gone crashing down the high embankment. one car, landing on a granite boulder, had split apart like a cleft melon. the light crate in which our game-cock, a pedigree bird, was being carried to a fancier in the nearest town, some three score miles away, had survived by its very lightness. but its door had been snapped open. the cock walked out deliberately, uttered a long, low _krr-rr-ee_ of ironic comment upon the disturbance, hopped delicately over the tangle of boxes and crates and agricultural implements, and flew to the top of the nearest stump. there he shook himself, his plumage being disarrayed, though his spirit was not. he flapped his wings. then, eyeing the wreckage keenly, he gave a shrill, triumphant crow, which rang through the early morning stillness of the forest like a challenge. he felt that the smashed car, so lately his prison, was a foe which he had vanquished by his own unaided prowess. his pride was not altogether unnatural. the place where he stood, preening the red glory of his plumage, was in the very heart of the wilderness. the only human habitation within a dozen miles in either direction was a section-man's shanty, guarding a siding and a rusty water tank. the woods--mostly spruce in that region, with patches of birch and poplar--had been gone over by the lumbermen some five years before, and still showed the ravages of the insatiable axe. their narrow "tote-roads," now deeply mossed and partly overgrown by small scrub, traversed the lonely spaces in every direction. one of these roads led straight back into the wilderness from the railway--almost from the stump whereon the red cock had his perch. the cock had no particular liking for the neighbourhood of the accident, and when his fierce, inquiring eye fell upon this road, he decided to investigate, hoping it might lead him to some flock of his own kind, over whom he would, as a matter of course, promptly establish his domination. that there would be other cocks there, already in charge, only added to his zest for the adventure. he was raising his wings to hop down from his perch, when a wide-winged shadow passed over him, and he checked himself, glancing upwards sharply. a foraging hawk had just flown overhead. the hawk had never before seen a bird like the bright figure standing on the stump, and he paused in his flight, hanging for a moment on motionless wing to scrutinize the strange apparition. but he was hungry, and he considered himself more than a match for anything in feathers except the eagle, the goshawk, and the great horned owl. his hesitation was but for a second, and, with a sudden mighty thrust of his wide wings, he swooped down upon this novel victim. the big hawk was accustomed to seeing every quarry he stooped at cower paralysed with terror or scurry for shelter in wild panic. but, to his surprise, this infatuated bird on the stump stood awaiting him, with wings half lifted, neck feathers raised in defiant ruff, and one eye cocked upwards warily. he was so surprised, in fact, that at a distance of some dozen or fifteen feet he wavered and paused in his downward rush. but it was surprise only, fear having small place in his wild, marauding heart. in the next second he swooped again and struck downwards at his quarry with savage, steel-hard talons. he struck but empty air. at exactly the right fraction of the instant the cock had leapt upwards on his powerful wings, lightly as a thistle-seed, but swift as if shot from a catapult. he passed straight over his terrible assailant's back. in passing he struck downwards with his spurs, which were nearly three inches long, straight, and tapered almost to a needle-point. one of these deadly weapons found its mark, as luck would have it, fair in the joint of the hawk's shoulder, putting the wing clean out of action. the marauder turned completely over and fell in a wild flutter to the ground, the cock, at the same time, alighting gracefully six or eight feet away and wheeling like a flash to meet a second attack. the hawk, recovering with splendid nerve from the amazing shock of his overthrow, braced himself upright on his tail by the aid of the one sound wing--the other wing trailing helplessly--and faced his strange adversary with open beak and one clutching talon uplifted. the cock, fighting after the manner of his kind, rushed in to within a couple of feet of his foe and there paused, balanced for the next stroke or parry, legs slightly apart, wings lightly raised, neck feathers ruffed straight out, beak lowered and presented like a rapier point. seeing that his opponent made no demonstration, but simply waited, watching him with eyes as hard and bright and dauntless as his own, he tried to provoke him to a second attack. with scornful insolence he dropped his guard and pecked at a twig or a grass blade, jerking the unconsidered morsel aside and presenting his point again with lightning swiftness. the insult, however, was lost upon the hawk, who had no knowledge of the cock's duelling code. he simply waited, motionless as the stump beside him. the cock, perceiving that taunt and insolence were wasted, now began to circle warily toward the left, as if to take his opponent in the flank. the hawk at once shifted front to face him. but this was the side of his disabled wing. the sprawling member would not move, would not get out of the way. in the effort to manage it, he partly lost his precarious balance. the cock saw his advantage instantly. he dashed in like a feathered and flaming thunderbolt, leaping upwards and striking downwards with his destroying heels. the hawk was hurled over backwards, with one spur through his throat, the other through his lungs. as he fell he dragged his conqueror down with him, and one convulsive but blindly-clutching talon ripped away a strip of flesh and feathers from the victor's thigh. there was a moment's flapping, a few delicate red feathers floated off upon the morning air, then the hawk lay quite still, and the red cock, stepping haughtily off the body of his foe, crowed long and shrill, three times, as if challenging any other champions of the wilderness to come and dare a like fate. for a few minutes he stood waiting and listening for an answer to his challenge. as no answer came, he turned, without deigning to glance at his slain foe, and stalked off, stepping daintily, up the old wood-road and into the depths of the forest. to the raw, red gash in his thigh he paid no heed whatever. having no inkling of the fact that the wilderness, silent and deserted though it seemed, was full of hostile eyes and unknown perils, he took no care at all for the secrecy of his going. indeed, had he striven for concealment, his brilliant colouring, so out of key with the forest gloom, would have made it almost impossible. nevertheless, his keenness of sight and hearing, his practised and unsleeping vigilance as protector of his flock, stood him in good stead, and made up for his lack of wilderness lore. it was with an intense interest and curiosity, rather than with any apprehension, that his bold eyes questioned everything on either side of his path through the dark spruce woods. sometimes he would stop to peck the bright vermilion bunches of the pigeon-berry, which here and there starred the hillocks beside the road. but no matter how interesting he found the novel and delicious fare, his vigilance never relaxed. it was, indeed, almost automatic. the idea lurking in his subconscious processes was probably that he might at any moment be seen by some doughty rival of his own kind, and challenged to the great game of mortal combat. but whatever the object of his watchfulness, it served him as well against the unknown as it could have done against expected foes. presently he came to a spot where an old, half-rotted stump had been torn apart by a bear hunting for wood-ants. the raw earth about the up-torn roots tempted the wanderer to scratch for grubs. finding a fat white morsel, much too dainty to be devoured alone, he stood over it and began to call _kt-kt-kt, kt-kt-kt, kt-kt-kt,_ in his most alluring tones, hoping that some coy young hen would come stealing out of the underbrush in response to his gallant invitation. there was no such response; but as he peered about hopefully, he caught sight of a sinister, reddish-yellow shape creeping towards him behind the shelter of a withe-wood bush. he gulped down the fat grub, and stood warily eyeing the approach of this new foe. it looked to him like a sharp-nosed, bushy-tailed yellow dog--a very savage and active one. he was not afraid, but he knew himself no match for a thoroughly ferocious dog of that size. this one, it was clear, had evil designs upon him. he half crouched, with wings loosed and every muscle tense for the spring. the next instant the fox pounced at him, darting through the green edges of the withe-wood bush with most disconcerting suddenness. the cock sprang into the air, but only just in time, for the fox, leaping up nimbly at him with snapping jaws, captured a mouthful of glossy fail feathers. the cock alighted on a branch overhead, some seven or eight feet from the ground, whipped around, stretched his neck downwards, and eyed his assailant with a glassy stare. "_kr-rr-rr-eee?_" he murmured softly, as if in sarcastic interrogation. the fox, exasperated at his failure, and hating, above all beasts, to be made a fool of, glanced around to see if there were any spectators. then, with an air of elaborate indifference, he pawed a feather from the corner of his mouth and trotted away as if he had just remembered something. he had not gone above thirty yards or so, when the cock flew down again to the exact spot where he had been scratching. he pretended to pick up another grub, all the time keeping an eye on the retiring foe. he crowed with studied insolence; but the fox, although that long and shrill defiance must have seemed a startling novelty, gave no sign of having heard it. the cock crowed again, with the same lack of result. he kept on crowing until the fox was out of sight. then he returned coolly to his scratching. when he had satisfied his appetite for fat white grubs, he flew up again to his safe perch and fell to preening his feathers. five minutes later the fox reappeared, creeping up with infinite stealth from quite another direction. the cock, however, detected his approach at once, and proclaimed the fact with another mocking crow. disgusted and abashed, the fox turned in his tracks and crept away to stalk some less sophisticated quarry. the wanderer, for all his fearlessness, was wise. he suspected that the vicious yellow dog with the bushy tail might return yet again to the charge. for a time, therefore, he sat on his perch, digesting his meal and studying with keen, inquisitive eyes his strange surroundings. after ten minutes or so of stillness and emptiness, the forest began to come alive. he saw a pair of black-and-white woodpeckers running up and down the trunk of a half-dead tree, and listened with tense interest to their loud rat-tat-tattings. he watched the shy wood-mice come out from their snug holes under the tree-roots, and play about with timorous gaiety and light rustlings among the dead leaves. he scrutinized with appraising care a big brown rabbit which came bounding in a leisurely fashion down the tote-road and sat up on its hindquarters near the stump, staring about with its mild, bulging eyes, and waving its long ears this way and that, to question every minutest wilderness sound; and he decided that the rabbit, for all its bulk and apparent vigour of limb, would not be a dangerous opponent. in fact, he thought of hopping down from his perch and putting the big innocent to flight, just to compensate himself for having had to flee from the fox. but while he was meditating this venture, the rabbit went suddenly leaping off at a tremendous pace, evidently in great alarm. a few seconds later a slim little light-brownish creature, with short legs, long, sinuous body, short, triangular head, and cruel eyes that glowed like fire, came into view, following hard upon the rabbit's trail. it was nothing like half the rabbit's size, but the interested watcher on the branch overhead understood at once the rabbit's terror. he had never seen a weasel before, but he knew that the sinuous little beast with the eyes of death would be as dangerous almost as the fox. he noted that here was another enemy to look out for--to be avoided, if possible, to be fought with the utmost wariness if fighting should be forced upon him. not long after the weasel had vanished, the cock grew tired of waiting, and restless to renew the quest for the flock on which his dreams were set. he started by flying from tree to tree, still keeping along the course of the tote-road. but after he had covered perhaps a half-mile in this laborious fashion, he gave it up and hopped down again into the road. here he went now with new caution, but with the same old arrogance of eye and bearing. he went quickly, however, for the gloom of the spruce wood had grown oppressive to him, and he wanted open fields and the unrestricted sun. he had not gone far when he caught sight of a curious-looking animal advancing slowly down the path to meet him. it was nearly as big as the rabbit, but low on the legs; and instead of leaping along, it crawled with a certain heavy deliberation. its colour was a dingy, greyish black-and-white, and its short black head was crowned with what looked like a heavy iron-grey pompadour brushed well back. the cock stood still, eyeing its approach suspiciously. it did not look capable of any very swift demonstration, but he was on his guard. when it had come within three or four yards of him, he said "_kr-rr-rr-eee!_" sharply, just to see what it would do, at the same time lowering his snaky head and ruffing out his neck feathers in challenge. the stranger seemed then to notice him for the first time, and instantly, to the cock's vast surprise, it enlarged itself to fully twice its previous size. its fur, which was now seen to be quills rather than fur, stood up straight on end all over its head and body, and the quills were two or three inches in length. at this amazing spectacle the cock involuntarily backed away several paces. the stranger came straight on, however, without hastening his deliberate steps one jot. the cock waited, maintaining his attitude of challenge, till not more than three or four feet separated him from the incomprehensible apparition. then he sprang lightly over it and turned in a flash, expecting the stranger to turn also and again confront him. the stranger, however, did nothing of the kind, but simply continued stolidly on his way, not even troubling to look round. such stolidity was more than the cock could understand, having never encountered a porcupine before. he stared after it for some moments. then he crowed scornfully, turned about, and resumed his lonely quest. a little farther on, to his great delight, he came out into a small clearing with a log cabin in the centre of it. a house! it was associated in his mind with an admiring, devoted flock of hens, and rivals to be ignominiously routed, and harmless necessary humans whose business it was to supply unlimited food. he rushed forward eagerly, careless as to whether he should encounter love or war. alas, the cabin was deserted! even to his inexperienced eye it was long deserted. the door hung on one hinge, half open; the one small window had no glass in it. untrodden weeds grew among the rotting chips up to and across the threshold. the roof--a rough affair of poles and bark--sagged in the middle, just ready to fall in at the smallest provocation. a red squirrel, his tail carried jauntily over his back, sat on the topmost peak of it and shrilled high derision at the wanderer as he approached. the cock was acquainted with squirrels, and thought less than nothing of them. ignoring the loud chatter, he tip-toed around the cabin, dejected but still inquisitive. returning at length to the doorway, he peered in, craning his neck and uttering a low _kr-rr_. finally, with head held high, he stalked in. the place was empty, save for a long bench with a broken leg and a joint of rust-eaten stove-pipe. along two of the walls ran a double tier of bunks, in which the lumbermen had formerly slept. the cock stalked all around the place, prying in every corner and murmuring softly to himself. at last he flew up to the highest bunk, perched upon the edge of it, flapped his wings, and crowed repeatedly, as if announcing to the wilderness at large that he had taken possession. this ceremony accomplished, he flew down again, stalked out into the sunlight, and fell to scratching among the chips with an air of assured possession. and all the while the red squirrel kept on hurling shrill, unheeded abuse at him, resenting him as an intruder in the wilds. whenever the cock found a particularly choice grub or worm or beetle, he would hold it aloft in his beak, then lay it down and call loudly _kt-kt-kt-kt-kt-kt_, as if hoping thus to lure some flock of hens to the fair domain which he had seized. he had now dropped his quest, and was trusting that his subjects would come to him. that afternoon his valiant calls caught the ear of a weasel--possibly the very one which he had seen in the morning trailing the panic-stricken rabbit. the weasel came rushing upon him at once, too ferocious in its blood-lust for any such emotions as surprise or curiosity, and expecting an easy conquest. the cock saw it coming, and knew well the danger. but he was now on his own ground, responsible for the protection of an imaginary flock. he faced the peril unwavering. fortunately for him, the weasel had no idea whatever of a fighting-cock's method of warfare. when the cock evaded the deadly rush by leaping straight at it and over it, instead of dodging aside or turning tail, the weasel was nonplussed for just a fraction of a second, and stood snarling. in that instant of hesitation the cock's keen spur struck it fairly behind the ear, and drove clean into the brain. the murderous little beast stiffened out, rolled gently over upon its side, and lay there with the soundless snarl fixed upon its half-opened jaws. surprised at such an easy victory, the cock spurred the carcase again, just to make sure of it. then he kicked it to one side, crowed, of course, and stared around wistfully for some appreciation of his triumph. he could not know with what changed eyes the squirrel--who feared weasels more than anything else on earth--was now regarding him. the killing of so redoubtable an adversary as the weasel must have become known, in some mysterious fashion, for thenceforward no more of the small marauders of the forest ventured to challenge the new lordship of the clearing. for a week the cock ruled his solitude unquestioned, very lonely, but sleeplessly alert, and ever hoping that followers of his own kind would come to him from somewhere. in time, doubtless, his loneliness would have driven him forth again upon his quest; but fate had other things in store for him. late one afternoon a grizzled woodsman in grey homespun, and carrying a bundle swung from the axe over his shoulder, came striding up to the cabin. the cock, pleased to see a human being once more, stalked forth from the cabin door to meet him. the woodsman was surprised at the sight of what he called a "reel barn-yard rooster" away off here in the wilds, but he was too tired and hungry to consider the question carefully. his first thought was that there would be a pleasant addition to his supper of bacon and biscuits. he dropped his axe and bundle, and made a swift grab at the unsuspecting bird. the latter dodged cleverly, ruffed his neck feathers with an angry _kr-rr-rr_, hopped up, and spurred the offending hand severely. the woodsman straightened himself up, taken by surprise, and sheepishly shook the blood from his hand. "well, i'll be durned!" he muttered, eyeing the intrepid cock with admiration. "you're some rooster, you are! i guess you're all right. guess i deserved that, for thinkin' of wringin' the neck o' sech a handsome an' gritty bird as you, an' me with plenty o' good bacon in me pack. guess we'll call it square, eh?" he felt in his pocket for some scraps of biscuits, and tossed them to the cock, who picked them up greedily and then strutted around him, plainly begging for more. the biscuit was a delightful change after an unvarying diet of grubs and grass. thereafter he followed his visitor about like his shadow, not with servility, of course, but with a certain condescending arrogance which the woodsman found hugely amusing. just outside the cabin door the woodsman lit a fire to cook his evening rasher and brew his tin of tea. the cock supped with him, striding with dignity to pick up the scraps which were thrown to him, and then resuming his place at the other side of the fire. by the time the man was done, dusk had fallen; and the cock, chuckling contentedly in his throat, tip-toed into the cabin, flew up to the top bunk, and settled himself on his perch for the night. he had always been taught to expect benefits from men, and he felt that this big stranger who had fed him so generously would find him a flock to preside over on the morrow. after a long smoke beside his dying fire, till the moon came up above the ghostly solitude, the woodsman turned in to sleep in one of the lower bunks, opposite to where the cock was roosting. he had heaped an armful of bracken and spruce branches into the bunk before spreading his blanket. and he slept very soundly. even the most experienced of woodsmen may make a slip at times. this one, this time, had forgotten to make quite sure that his fire was out. there was no wind when he went to bed, but soon afterwards a wind arose, blowing steadily toward the cabin. it blew the darkened embers to a glow, and little, harmless-looking flames began eating their way over the top layer of tinder-dry chips to the equally dry wall of the cabin. * * * * * the cock was awakened by a bright light in his eyes. a fiery glow, beyond the reddest of sunrises, was flooding the cabin. long tongues of flame were licking about the doorway. he crowed valiantly, to greet this splendid, blazing dawn. he crowed again and yet again, because he was anxious and disturbed. as a sunrise, this one did not act at all according to precedent. the piercing notes aroused the man, who was sleeping heavily. in one instant he was out of his bunk and grabbing up his blanket and his pack. in the next he had plunged out through the flaming doorway, and thrown down his armful at a safe distance, cursing acidly at such a disturbance to the most comfortable rest he had enjoyed for a week. from within the doomed cabin came once more the crow of the cock, shrilling dauntlessly above the crackle and venomous hiss of the flames. "gee whizz!" muttered the woodsman, or, rather, that may be taken as the polite equivalent of his untrammelled backwoods expletive. "that there red rooster's game. ye can't leave a pardner like that to roast!" with one arm shielding his face, he dashed in again, grabbed the cock by the legs, and darted forth once more into the sweet, chill air, none the worse except for frizzled eyelashes and an unceremonious trimming of hair and beard. the cock, highly insulted, was flapping and pecking savagely, but the man soon reduced him to impotence, if not submission, holding him under one elbow while he tied his armed heels together, and then swaddling him securely in his coat. "there," said he, "i guess we'll travel together from this out, pardner. ye've sure saved my life; an' to think i had the notion, for a minnit, o' makin' a meal offen ye! i'll give ye a good home, anyways, an' i guess ye'll lick the socks offen every other rooster in the whole blame settlement!" iv the morning of the silver frost the morning of the silver frost all night the big buck rabbit--he was really a hare, but the backwoodsmen called him a rabbit--had been squatting on his form under the dense branches of a young fir tree. the branches grew so low that their tips touched the snow all round him, giving him almost perfect shelter from the drift of the storm. the storm was one of icy rain, which everywhere froze instantly as it fell. all night it had been busy encasing the whole wilderness--every tree and bush and stump, and the snow in every open meadow or patch of forest glade--in an armour of ice, thick and hard and glassy clear. and the rabbit, crouching motionless, save for an occasional forward thrust of his long, sensitive ears, had slept in unwonted security, knowing that none of his night-prowling foes would venture forth from their lairs on such a night. at dawn the rain stopped. the cold deepened to a still intensity. the clouds lifted along the eastern horizon, and a thin, icy flood of saffron and palest rose washed down across the glittering desolation. the wilderness was ablaze on the instant with elusive tongues and points of coloured light--jewelled flames, not of fire, but of frost. the world had become a palace of crystal and opal, a dream-palace that would vanish at a touch, a breath. and indeed, had a wind arisen then to breathe upon it roughly, the immeasurable crystal would have shattered as swiftly as a dream, the too-rigid twigs and branches would have snapped and clattered down in ruin. the rabbit came out from under his little ice-clad fir tree, and, for all his caution, the brittle twigs broke about him as he emerged, and tinkled round him sharply. the thin, light sound was so loud upon the stillness that he gave a startled leap into the air, landing many feet away from his refuge. he slipped and sprawled, recovered his foothold, and stood quivering, his great, prominent eyes trying to look in every direction at once, his ears questioning anxiously to and fro, his nostrils twitching for any hint of danger. there was no sight, sound, or scent, however, to justify his alarm, and in a few seconds, growing bolder, he remembered that he was hungry. close by he noticed the tips of a little birch sapling sticking up above the snow. these birch-tips, in winter, were his favourite food. he hopped toward them, going circumspectly over the slippery surface, and sat up on his hindquarters to nibble at them. to his intense surprise and disappointment, each twig and aromatic bud was sealed away, inaccessible, though clearly visible, under a quarter inch of ice. twig after twig he investigated with his inquiring, sensitive cleft nostrils, which met everywhere the same chill reception. round and round the tantalizing branch he hopped, unable to make out the situation. at last, thoroughly disgusted, he turned his back on the treacherous birch bush and made for another, some fifty yards down the glade. as he reached it he stopped short, suddenly rigid, his head half turned over his shoulder, every muscle gathered like a spring wound up to extreme tension. his bulging eyes had caught a movement somewhere behind him, beyond the clump of twigs which he had just left. only for a second did he remain thus rigid. then the spring was loosed. with a frantic bound he went over and through the top of the bush. the shattered and scattered crystals rang sharply on the shining snow-crust. and he sped away in panic terror among the silent trees. from behind the glassy twigs emerged another form, snow-white like the fleeting rabbit, and sped in pursuit--not so swiftly, indeed, as the rabbit, but with an air of implacable purpose that made the quarry seem already doomed. the pursuer was much smaller than his intended victim, very low on the legs, long-bodied, slender, and sinuous, and he moved as if all compacted of whipcord muscle. the grace of his long, deliberate bounds was indescribable. his head was triangular in shape, the ears small and close-set, the black-tipped muzzle sharply pointed, with the thin, black lips upcurled to show the white fangs; and the eyes glowed red with blood-lust. small as it was, there was something terrible about the tiny beast, and its pursuit seemed as inevitable as fate. at each bound its steel-hard claws scratched sharply on the crystal casing of the snow, and here and there an icicle from a snapped twig went ringing silverly across the gleaming surface. for perhaps fifty yards the weasel followed straight upon the rabbit's track. then he swerved to the right. he had lost sight of his quarry. but he knew its habits in flight. he knew it would run in a circle, and he took a chord of that circle, so as to head the fugitive off. he knew he might have to repeat this manoeuvre several times, but he had no doubts as to the result. in a second or two he also had disappeared among the azure shadows and pink-and-saffron gleams of the ice-clad forest. for several minutes the glade was empty, still as death, with the bitter but delicate glories of the winter dawn flooding ever more radiantly across it. on a sudden the rabbit appeared again, this time at the opposite side of the glade. he was running irresolutely now, with little aimless leaps to this side and to that, and his leaps were short and lifeless, as if his nerve-power were getting paralysed. about the middle of the glade he seemed to give up altogether, as if conquered by sheer panic. he stopped, hesitated, wheeled round, and crouched flat upon the naked snow, trembling violently, and staring, with eyes that started from his head, at the point in the woods which he had just emerged from. a second later the grim pursuer appeared. he saw his victim awaiting him, but he did not hurry his pace by a hair's-breadth. with the same terrible deliberation he approached. only his jaws opened, his long fangs glistened bare; a blood-red globule of light glowed redder at the back of his eyes. one more of those inexorable bounds, and he would have been at his victim's throat. the rabbit screamed. at that instant, with a hissing sound, a dark shadow dropped out of the air. it struck the rabbit. he was enveloped in a dreadful flapping of wings. iron talons, that clutched and bit like the jaws of a trap, seized him by the back. he felt himself partly lifted from the snow. he screamed again. but now he struggled convulsively, no longer submissive to his doom, the hypnotic spell cast upon him by the weasel being broken by the shock of the great hawk's unexpected attack. but the weasel was not of the stuff or temper to let his prey be snatched thus from his jaws. cruel and wanton assassin though he was, ever rejoicing to kill for the lust of killing long after his hunger was satisfied, he had the courage of a wounded buffalo. a mere darting silver of white, he sprang straight into the blinding confusion of those great wings. he secured a hold just under one wing, where the armour of feathers was thinnest, and began to gnaw inwards with his keen fangs. with a startled cry, the hawk freed her talons from the rabbit's back and clutched frantically at her assailant. the rabbit, writhing out from under the struggle, went leaping off into cover, bleeding copiously, but carrying no fatal hurt. he had recovered his wits, and had no idle curiosity as to how the battle between his enemies would turn out. the hawk, for all her great strength and the crushing superiority of her weapons, had a serious disadvantage of position. the weasel, maintaining his deadly grip and working inwards like a bull-dog, had hunched up his lithe little body so that she could not reach it with her talons. she tore furiously at his back with her rending beak, but the amazingly tough, rubbery muscles resisted even that weapon to a certain degree. at last, securing a grip with her beak upon her adversary's thigh, she managed to pull the curled-up body out almost straight, and so secured a grip upon it with one set of talons. that grip was crushing, irresistible, but it was too far back to be immediately fatal. the weasel's lithe body lengthened out under the agonizing stress of it, but it could not pull his jaws from their grip. they continued inexorably their task of gnawing inwards, ever inwards, seeking a vital spot. the struggle went on in silence, as far as the voices of both combatants were concerned. but the beating of the hawk's wings resounded on the glassy-hard surface of the snow. as the struggle shifted ground, those flapping wings came suddenly in contact with a bush, whose iced twigs were brittle as glass and glittering like the prisms of a great crystal candelabrum. there was a shrill crash and a thin, ringing clatter as the twigs shattered off and spun flying across the crust. the sound carried far through the still iridescent spaces of the wilderness. it reached the ears of a foraging fox, who was tiptoeing with dainty care over the slippery crust. he turned hopefully to investigate, trusting to get a needed breakfast out of some fellow-marauder's difficulties. at the edge of the glade he paused, peering through a bush of crystal fire to size up the situation before committing himself to the venture. desperately preoccupied though she was, the hawk's all-seeing eyes detected the red outlines of the fox through the bush. with a frantic beating of her wings she lifted herself from the snow. the fox darted upon her with a lightning rush and a shattering of icicles. he was just too late. the great bird was already in the air, carrying her deadly burden with her. the fox leapt straight upwards, hoping to pull her down, but his clashing jaws just failed to reach her talons. labouring heavily in her flight, she made off, striving to gain a tree-top, where she might perch and once more give her attention to the gnawing torment which clung beneath her wing. the fox, being wise, and seeing that the hawk was in extremest straits, ran on beneath her as she flew, gazing upwards expectantly. the weasel, meanwhile, with that deadly concentration of purpose which characterizes his tribe, paid no heed to the fact that he was journeying through the air. and he knew nothing of what was going on below. his flaming eyes were buried in his foe's feathers, his jaws were steadily working inwards toward her vitals. just at the edge of the glade, immediately over the top of a branchy young paper-birch which shot a million coloured points of light in the sunrise, the end came. the fangs of the weasel met in the hawk's wildly throbbing heart. with a choking burst of scarlet blood it stopped. stone dead, the great marauder of the air crashed down through the slim birch-top, with a great scattering of gleams and crystals. with wide-sprawled wings she thudded down upon the snow-crust, almost under the fox's complacent jaws. the weasel's venomous head, covered with blood, emerged triumphant from the mass of feathers. as the victor writhed free, the fox, pouncing upon him with a careless air, seized him by the neck, snapped it neatly, and tossed the long, limp body, aside upon the snow. he had no use for the rank, stringy meat of the weasel when better fare was at hand. then he drew the hawk close to the trunk of the young birch, and lay down to make a leisurely breakfast. v jim, the backwoods police dog how woolly billy came to brine's rip i jim's mother was a big cross-bred bitch, half newfoundland and half bloodhound, belonging to black saunders, one of the hands at the brine's rip mills. as the mills were always busy, saunders was always busy, and it was no place for a dog to be around, among the screeching saws, the thumping, wet logs, and the spurting sawdust. so the big bitch, with fiery energy thrilling her veins and sinews and the restraint of a master's hand seldom exercised upon her, practically ran wild. hunting on her own account in the deep wilderness which surrounded brine's rip settlement, she became a deadly menace to every wild thing less formidable than a bear or a bull moose, till at last, in the early prime of her adventurous career, she was shot by an angry game warden for her depredations among the deer and the young caribou. jim's father was a splendid and pedigreed specimen of the old english sheep-dog. from a litter of puppies of this uncommon parentage, tug blackstock, the deputy sheriff of nipsiwaska county, chose out the one that seemed to him the likeliest, paid black saunders a sovereign for him, and named him jim. to tug blackstock, for some unfathomed reason, the name of "jim" stood for self-contained efficiency. it was efficiency, in chief, that tug blackstock, as deputy sheriff, was after. he had been reading, in a stray magazine with torn cover and much-thumbed pages, an account of the wonderful doings of the trained police-dogs of paris. the story had fired his imagination and excited his envy. there was a lawless element in some of the outlying corners of nipsiwaska county, with a larger element of yet more audacious lawlessness beyond the county line from which to recruit. throughout the wide and mostly wilderness expanse of nipsiwaska county the responsibility for law and order rested almost solely upon the shoulders of tug blackstock. his chief, the sheriff, a prosperous shopkeeper who owed his appointment to his political pull, knew little and thought less of the duties of his office. as soon as jim was old enough to have an interest beyond his breakfast and the worrying of his rag ball, tug blackstock set about his training. it was a matter that could not be hurried. tug had much work to do and jim, as behoved a growing puppy, had a deal of play to get through in the course of each twenty-four hours. then so hard was the learning, so easy, alas! the forgetting. tug blackstock was kind to all creatures but timber thieves and other evil-doers of like kidney. he was patient, with the long patience of the forest. but he had a will like the granite of old bald face. jim was quick of wit, willing to learn, intent to please his master. but it was hard for him to concentrate. it was hard to keep his mind off cats, and squirrels, the worrying of old boots, and other doggish frivolities. hence, at times, some painful misunderstandings between teacher and pupil. in the main, however, the education of jim progressed to a marvel. they were a pair, indeed, to strike the most stolid imagination, let alone the sensitive, brooding, watchful imagination of the backwoods. tug blackstock was a tall, spare figure of a man, narrow of hip, deep of chest, with something of a stoop to his mighty shoulders, and his head thrust forward as if in ceaseless scrutiny of the unseen. his hair, worn somewhat short and pushed straight back, was faintly grizzled. his face, tanned and lean, was markedly wide at the eyes, with a big, well-modelled nose, a long, obstinate jaw, and a wide mouth whimsically uptwisted at one corner. except on the trail--and even then he usually carried a razor in his pack--he was always clean-shaven, just because he didn't like the curl of his beard. his jacket, shirt, and trousers were of browny-grey homespun, of much the same hue as his soft slouch hat, all as inconspicuous as possible. but at his throat, loosely knotted under his wide-rolling shirt collar, he wore usually an ample silk handkerchief of vivid green spattered with big yellow spots, like dandelions in a young june meadow. as for jim, at first glance he might almost have been taken for a slim, young black bear rather than a dog. the shaggy coat bequeathed to him by his sheep-dog sire gave to his legs and to his hindquarters an appearance of massiveness that was almost clumsy. but under this dense black fleece his lines were fine and clean-drawn as a bull-terrier's. the hair about his eyes grew so long and thick that, if left to itself, it would have seriously interfered with his vision. this his master could not think of permitting, so the riotous hair was trimmed down severely, till jim's large, sagacious eyes gazed out unimpeded from ferocious, brush-like rims of stubby fur about half an inch in length. ii for some ten miles above the long, white, furrowed race of brine's rip, where blue forks brook flows in, the main stream of the ottanoonsis is a succession of mad rapids and toothed ledges and treacherous, channel-splitting shoals. these ten miles are a trial of nerve and water-craft for the best canoists on the river. in the spring, when the river was in freshet and the freed logs were racing, battering, and jamming, the whole reach was such a death-trap for the stream-drivers that it had come to be known as dead man's run. now, in high summer, when the stream was shrunken in its channel and the sunshine lay golden over the roaring, creamy chutes and the dancing shallows, the place looked less perilous. but it was full of snares and hidden teeth. it was no place for the canoist, however expert with pole and paddle, unless he knew how to read the water unerringly for many yards ahead. it is this reading of the water, this instantaneous solving of the hieroglyphics of foam and surge and swirl and glassy lunge, that makes the skilled runner of the rapids. a light birch-bark canoe, with a man in the stern and a small child in the bow, was approaching the head of the rapids, which were hidden from the paddler's view by a high, densely-wooded bend of the shore. the canoe leapt forward swiftly on the smooth, quiet current, under the strong drive of the paddle. the paddler was a tall, big-limbed man, with fair hair fringing out under his tweed cap, and a face burnt red rather than tanned by the weather. he was dressed roughly but well, and not as a woodsman, and he had a subtle air of being foreign to the backwoods. he knew how to handle his paddle, however, the prow of his craft keeping true though his strokes were slow and powerful. the child who sat facing him on a cushion in the bow was a little boy of four or five years, in a short scarlet jacket and blue knickers. his fat, bare legs were covered with fly-bites and scratches, his baby face of the tenderest cream and pink, his round, interested eyes as blue as periwinkle blossoms. but the most conspicuous thing about him was his hair. he was bareheaded--his little cap lying in the bottom of the canoe among the luggage--and the hair, as white as tow, stood out like a fleece all over his head, enmeshing the sunlight in its silken tangle. when the canoe shot round the bend, the roar of the rapids smote suddenly upon the voyagers' ears. the child turned his bright head inquiringly, but from his low place could see nothing to explain the noise. his father, however, sitting up on the hinder bar of the canoe, could see a menacing white line of tossing crests, aflash in the sunlight, stretching from shore to shore. backing water vigorously to check his headway, he stood up to get a better view and choose his way through the surge. the stranger was master of his paddle, but he had had no adequate experience in running rapids. such light and unobstructed rips as he had gone through had merely sufficed to make him regard lightly the menace confronting him. he had heard of the perils of dead man's run, but that, of course, meant in time of freshet, when even the mildest streams are liable to go mad and run amuck. this was the season of dead low water, and it was hard for him to imagine there could be anything really to fear from this lively but shrunken stream. he was strong, clear-eyed, steady of nerve, and he anticipated no great trouble in getting through. as the light craft dipped into the turmoil; jumping as if buffeted from below, and the wave-tops slapped in on either side of the bow, the little lad gave a cry of fear. "sit tight, boy. don't be afraid," said the father, peering ahead with intent, narrowed eyes and surging fiercely on his blade to avoid a boiling rock just below the first chute. as he swept past in safety he laughed in triumph, for the passage had been close and exciting, and the conquest of a mad rapid is one of the thrilling things in life, and worth going far for. his laugh reassured the child, who laughed also, but cowered low in the canoe and stared over the gunwale with wide eyes of awe. but already the canoe was darting down toward a line of black rocks smothered in foam. the man paddled desperately to gain the other shore, where there seemed to be a clear passage. slanting sharply across the great current, surging with short terrific strokes upon his sturdy maple blade, his teeth set and his breath coming in grunts, he was swept on downward, sideways toward the rocks, with appalling speed. but he made the passage, swept the bow around, and raced through, shaving the rock so narrowly that his heart paused and the sweat jumped out suddenly cold on his forehead. immediately afterwards the current swept him to mid-stream. just here the channel was straight and clear of rocks, and though the rips were heavy the man had a few minutes' respite, with little to do but hold his course. with a stab at the heart he realized now into what peril he had brought his baby. eagerly he looked for a chance to land, but on neither side could he make shore with any chance of escaping shipwreck. a woodsman, expert with the canoe-pole, might have managed it, but the stranger had neither pole nor skill to handle one. he was in the grip of the wild current and could only race on, trusting to master each new emergency as it should hurl itself upon him. presently the little one took alarm again at his father's stern-set mouth and preoccupied eyes. the man had just time to shout once more, "don't be afraid, son. dad'll take care of you," when the canoe was once more in a yelling chaos of chutes and ledges. and now there was no respite. unable to read the signs of the water, he was full upon each new peril before he recognized it, and only his great muscular strength and instant decision saved them. again and again they barely, by a hair's-breadth, slipped through the jaws of death, and it seemed to the man that the gnashing ledges raved and yelled behind him at each miracle of escape. then hissing wave-crests cut themselves off and leapt over the racing gunwale, till he feared the canoe would be swamped. once they scraped so savagely that he thought the bottom was surely ripped from the canoe. but still he won onward, mile after roaring mile, his will fighting doggedly to keep his eyesight from growing hopelessly confused with the hellish, sliding dazzle and riot of waters. but at last the fiend of the flood, having played with its prey long enough, laid bare its claws and struck. the bow of the canoe, in swerving from one foam-curtained rock, grounded heavily upon another. in an instant the little craft was swung broadside on, and hung there. the waves piled upon her in a yelling pack. she was smothered down, and rolled over helplessly. as they shot out into the torrent the man, with a terrible cry, sprang toward the bow, striving to reach his son. he succeeded in catching the little one, with one hand, by the back of the scarlet jacket. the next moment he went under and the jacket came off over the child's head. a whimsical cross-current dragged the little boy twenty feet off to one side, and shot him into a shallow side channel. when the man came to the surface again his eyes were shut, his face stark white, his legs and arms flung about aimlessly as weeds; but fast in his unconscious grip he held the little red jacket. the canoe, its side stove in, and full of water, was hurrying off down the rapid amid a fleet of paddles, cushions, blankets, boxes, and bundles. the body of the man, heavy and inert and sprawling, followed more slowly. the waves rolled it over and trampled it down, shouldered it up again, and snatched it away viciously whenever it showed an inclination to hang itself up on some projecting ledge. it was long since they had had such a victim on whom to glut their rancour. the child, meanwhile, after being rolled through the laughing shallows of the side channel and playfully buffeted into a half-drowned unconsciousness, was stranded on a sand spit some eight or ten yards from the right-hand shore. there he lay, half in the water, half out of it, the silken white floss of his hair all plastered down to his head, the rippled current tugging at his scratched and bitten legs. the unclouded sun shone down warmly upon his face, slowly bringing back the rose to his baby lips, and a small, paper-blue butterfly hovered over his head for a few seconds, as if puzzled to make out what kind of being he was. the sand spit which had given the helpless little one refuge was close to the shore, but separated from it by a deep and turbulent current. a few minutes after the blue butterfly had flickered away across the foam, a large black bear came noiselessly forth from the fir woods and down to the water's edge. he gazed searchingly up and down the river to see if there were any other human creatures in sight, then stretched his savage black muzzle out over the water toward the sand spit, eyeing and sniffing at the little unconscious figure there in the sun. he could not make out whether it was dead or only asleep. in either case he wanted it. he stepped into the foaming edge of the sluice, and stood there whimpering with disappointed appetite, daunted by the snaky vehemence of the current. presently, as the warmth of the flooding sun crept into his veins, the child stirred, and opened his blue eyes. he sat up, noticed he was sitting in the water, crawled to a dry spot, and snuggled down into the hot sand. for the moment he was too dazed to realize where he was. then, as the life pulsed back into his veins, he remembered how his father's hand had caught him by the jacket just as he went plunging into the awful waves. now, the jacket was gone. his father was gone, too. "daddy! daddee-ee!" he wailed. and at the sound of that wailing cry, so unmistakably the cry of a youngling for its parent, the bear drew back discreetly behind a bush, and glanced uneasily up and down the stream to see if the parent would come in answer to the appeal. he had a wholesome respect for the grown-up man creature of either sex, and was ready to retire on the approach of one. but no one came. the child began to sob softly, in a lonesome, frightened, suppressed way. in a minute or two, however, he stopped this, and rose to his feet, and began repeating over and over the shrill wail of "daddy, daddee-ee, daddee-ee!" at the same time he peered about him in every direction, almost hopefully, as if he thought his father must be hiding somewhere near, to jump out presently for a game of bo-peep with him. his baby eyes were keen. they did not find his father, but they found the bear, its great black head staring at him from behind a bush. his cries stopped on the instant, in the middle of a syllable, frozen in his throat with terror. he cowered down again upon the sand, and stared, speechless, at the awful apparition. the bear, realizing that the little one's cries had brought no succour, came out from its hiding confidently, and down to the shore, and straight out into the water till the current began to drag too savagely at its legs. here it stopped, grumbling and baffled. the little one, unable any longer to endure the dreadful sight, backed to the extreme edge of the sand, covered his face with his hands, and fell to whimpering piteously, an unceasing, hopeless, monotonous little cry, as vague and inarticulate as the wind. the bear, convinced at length that the sluice just here was too strong for to cross, drew back to the shore reluctantly, it moved slowly up-stream some forty or fifty yards, looking for a feasible crossing. disappointed in this direction, it then explored the water's edge for a little distance down stream, but with a like result. but it would not give up. up and down, up and down, it continued to patrol the shore with hungry obstinacy. and the piteous whimpering of the little figure that cowered, with hidden face upon the sand spit, gradually died away. that white fleece of silken locks, dried in the sun and blown by the warm breeze, stood out once more in its radiance on the lonely little slumbering head. iii tug blackstock sat on a log, smoking and musing, on the shore of that wide, eddying pool, full of slow swirls and spent foam clusters, in which the tumbling riot of brine's rip came to a rest. from the mills behind him screeched the untiring saws. outstretched at his feet lay jim, indolently snapping at flies. the men of the village were busy in the mills, the women in their cottages, the children in their schools; and the stretch of rough shore gave tug blackstock the solitude which he loved. down through the last race of the rapids came a canoe paddle, and began revolving slowly in the eddies. blackstock pointed it out to jim, and sent him in after it. the dog swam for it gaily, grabbed it by the top so that it could trail at his side, and brought it to his master's feet. it was a good paddle, of clean bird's-eye maple and melicite pattern, and tug blackstock wondered who could have been so careless as to lose it. carelessness is a vice regarded with small leniency in the backwoods. a few minutes later down the rapids came wallowing a water-logged birch-canoe. the other things which had started out with it, the cushions and blankets and bundles, had got themselves tangled in the rocks and left behind. at sight of the wrecked canoe, tug blackstock rose to his feet. he began to suspect another of the tragedies of dead man's run. but what river-man would come to grief in the run at this stage of the water? blackstock turned to an old dug-out which lay hauled up on the shore, ran it down into the water and paddled out to salvage the wrecked canoe. he towed it to shore, emptied it, and scrutinized it. he thought he knew every canoe on the river, but this one was a stranger to him. it had evidently been brought across the portage from the east coast. then he found, burnt into the inside of the gunwale near the bow, the letters j.c.m.w. "the englishman," he muttered. "he's let the canoe git away from him at the head of the run, likely, when he's gone ashore. he'd never have tried to shoot the run alone, an' him with no experience of rapids." but he was uneasy. he decided that he would get his own canoe and pole up through the rapids, just to satisfy himself. tug blackstock's canoe, a strong and swift "fredericton" of polished canvas, built on the lines of a racing birch, was kept under cover in his wood shed at the end of the village street. he shouldered it, carrying it over his head with the mid bar across his shoulders, and bore it down to the water's edge. then he went back and fetched his two canoe poles and his paddles. waving jim into the bow, he was just about to push off when his narrowed eyes caught sight of something else rolling and threshing helplessly down the rapid. only too well he saw what it was. his face pale with concern, he thrust the canoe violently up into the tail of the rapid, just in time to catch the blindly sprawling shape before it could sink to the depths of the pool. tenderly he lifted it out upon the shore. it was battered almost out of recognition, but he knew it. "poor devil! poor devil!" he muttered sorrowfully. "he was a man all right, but he didn't understand rapids for shucks!" then he noticed that in the dead man's right hand was clutched a tiny child's jacket. he understood--he saw the whole scene, and he swore compassionately under his breath, as he unloosed the rigid fingers. alive or dead, the little one must be found at once. he called jim sharply, and showed him the soaked red jacket. jim sniffed at it, but the wearer's scent was long ago soaked out of it. he looked it over, and pawed it, wagging his tail doubtfully. he could see it was a small child's jacket, but what was he expected to do with it? after a few moments, tug blackstock patted the jacket vigorously, and then waved his arm up-stream. "go, find him, jim!" he ordered. jim, hanging upon each word and gesture, comprehended instantly. he was to find the owner of the little jacket--a child--somewhere up the river. with a series of eager yelps--which meant that he would do all that living dog could do--he started up the shore, on the full run. by this time the mill whistles had blown, the screaming of the saws had stopped, the men, powdered with yellow sawdust, were streaming out from the wide doors. they flocked down to the water. in hurried words blackstock explained the situation. then he stepped once more into his canoe, snatched his long, steel-shod pole, and thrust his prow up into the wild current, leaving the dead man to the care of the coroner and the village authorities. before he had battled his way more than a few hundred yards upwards through the raging smother, two more canoes, with expert polers standing poised in them like statues, had pushed out to follow him in his search. the rest of the crowd picked up the body and bore it away reverently to the court-room, with sympathetic women weeping beside it. racing along the open edge of the river where it was possible, tearing fiercely through thicket and underbrush where rapids or rocks made the river's edge impassable, the great black dog panted onwards with the sweat dripping from jaws and tongue. whenever he was forced away from the river, he would return to it at every fifty yards or so, and scan each rock, shoal or sand spit with keen, sagacious eyes. he had been told to search the river--that was the plain interpretation of the wet jacket and of tug blackstock's gesture--so he wasted no time upon the woods and the undergrowth. at last he caught sight of the little fluffy-headed figure huddled upon the sand spit far across the river. he stopped, stared intently, and then burst into loud, ecstatic barkings as an announcement that his search had been successful. but the noise did not carry across the tumult of the ledge, and the little one slept on, exhausted by his terror and his grief. it was not only the sleeping child that jim saw. he saw the bear, and his barking broke into shrill yelps of alarm and appeal. he could not see that the sluice between the sand spit and the bank was an effective barrier, and he was frantic with anxiety lest the bear should attack the little one before he could come to the rescue. his experienced eye told him in a moment that the river was impassable for him at this point. he dashed on up-stream for another couple of hundred yards, and then, where a breadth of comparatively slack water beneath a long ledge extended more than half-way across, he plunged in, undaunted by the clamour and the jumping, boiling foam. swimming mightily, he gained a point directly above the sand spit. then, fighting every inch of the way to get across the terrific draft of the main current, he was swept downward at a tremendous speed. but he had carried out his plan. he gained the shallow side channel, splashed down it, and darted up the sand spit with a menacing growl at the bear across the sluice. at the sound of that harsh growl close to his ears the little one woke up and raised his head. seeing jim, big and black and dripping, he thought it was the bear. with a piercing scream he once more hid his face in his hands, rigid with horror. puzzled at this reception, jim fell to licking his hands and his ears extravagantly, and whining and thrusting a coaxing wet nose under his arms. at last the little fellow began to realize that these were not the actions of a foe. timidly he lowered his hands from his face, and looked around. why, there was the bear, on the other side of the water, tremendous and terrible, but just where he had been this ever so long. this creature that was making such a fuss over him was plainly a dog--a kind, good dog, who was fond of little boys. with a sigh of inexpressible relief his terror slipped from him. he flung his arms about jim's shaggy neck and buried his face in the wet fur. and jim, his heart swelling with pride, stood up and barked furiously across at the bear. [illustration: "he flung his arms about jim's shaggy neck and buried his face in the wet fur."] tug blackstock, standing in the stern of his canoe, plied his pole with renewed effort. reaching the spit he strode forward, snatched the child up in his arms, and passed his great hand tenderly through that wonderful shock of whitey-gold silken curls. his eyes were moist, but his voice was hearty and gay, as if this meeting were the most ordinary thing in the world. "hullo, woolly billy!" he cried. "what are you doin' here?" "daddy left me here," answered the child, his lip beginning to quiver. "where's he gone to?" "oh," replied tug blackstock hurriedly, "yer dad was called away rather sudden, an' he sent me an' jim, here, to look after you till he gits back. an' we'll do it, too, woolly billy; don't you fret." "my name's george harold manners watson," explained the child politely. "but we'll just call you woolly billy for short," said tug blackstock. ii. the book agent and the buckskin belt i a big-framed, jaunty man with black side-whiskers, a long black frock coat, and a square, flat case of shiny black leather strapped upon his back, stepped into the corner store at brine's rip mills. he said: "hullo, boys! hot day!" in a big voice that was intentionally hearty, ran his bulging eyes appraisingly over every one present, then took off his wide-brimmed felt hat and mopped his glistening forehead with a big red and white handkerchief. receiving a more or less hospitable chorus of grunts and "hullos" in response, he seated himself on a keg of nails, removed the leather case from his back, and asked for ginger beer, which he drank noisily from the bottle. "name of byles," said he at length, introducing himself with a sweeping nod. "hot tramp in from cribb's ridge. thirsty, you bet. never drink nothing stronger'n ginger pop or soft cider. have a round o' pop on me, boys. a pop this o' yours, mister. a dozen more bottles, please, for these gentlemen." he looked around the circle with an air at once assured and persuasive. and the taciturn woodsmen, not wholly at ease under such sudden cordiality from a stranger, but too polite to rebuff him, muttered "thank ye, kindly," or "here's how," as they threw back their heads and poured the weak stuff down their gaunt and hairy throats. it was a slack time at brine's rip, the mills having shut down that morning because the river was so low that there were no more logs running. the shrieking saws being silent for a little, there was nothing for the mill hands to do but loaf and smoke. the hot air was heavily scented with the smell of fresh sawdust mixed with the strong honey-perfume of the flowering buckwheat fields beyond the village. the buzzing of flies in the windows of the store was like a fine arabesque of sound against the ceaseless, muffled thunder of the rapids. the dozen men gathered here at zeb smith's store--which was, in effect, the village club--found it hard to rouse themselves to a conversational effort in any way worthy the advances of the confident stranger. they all smoked a little harder than usual, and looked on with courteous but noncommittal interest while he proceeded to unstrap his shiny black leather case. in his stiff and sombre garb, so unsuited to the backwoods trails, the stranger had much the look of one of those itinerant preachers who sometimes busy themselves with the cure of souls in the remoter backwoods settlements. but his eye and his address were rather those of a shrewd and pushing commercial traveller. tug blackstock, the deputy sheriff of nipsiwaska county, felt a vague antagonism toward him, chiefly on the ground that his speech and bearing did not seem to consort with his habiliments. he rather liked a man to look what he was or be what he looked, and he did not like black side whiskers and long hair. this antagonism, however, he felt to be unreasonable. the man had evidently had a long and tiring tramp, and was entitled to a somewhat friendlier reception than he was getting. swinging his long legs against the counter, on which he sat between a pile of printed calicoes and a box of bright pink fancy soap, tug blackstock reached behind him and possessed himself of a box of long, black cigars. having selected one critically for himself, he proffered the box to the stranger. "have a weed?" said he cordially. "they ain't half bad." but the stranger waved the box aside with an air at once grand and gracious. "i never touch the weed, thank you kindly just the same," said he. "but i've nothing agin it. it goes agin my system, that's all. if it's all the same to you, i'll take a bite o' cheese an' a cracker 'stead o' the cigar." "sartain," agreed blackstock, jumping down to fetch the edibles from behind the counter. like most of the regular customers, he knew the store and its contents almost as well as zeb smith himself. during the last few minutes an immense, rough-haired black dog had been sniffing the stranger over with suspicious minuteness. the stranger at first paid no attention whatever, though it was an ordeal that many might have shrunk from. at last, seeming to notice the animal for the first time, he recognized his presence by indifferently laying his hand upon his neck. instead of instantly drawing off with a resentful growl, after his manner with strangers, the dog acknowledged the casual caress by a slight wag of the tail, and then, after a few moments, turned away amicably and lay down. "if jim finds him all right," thought blackstock to himself, "ther' can't be much wrong with him, though i can't say i take to him myself." and he weighed off a much bigger piece of cheese than he had at first intended to offer, marking down his indebtedness on a slate which served the proprietor as a sort of day-book. the stranger fell to devouring it with an eagerness which showed that his lunch must have been of the lightest. "ye was sayin' as how ye'd jest come up from cribb's ridge?" put in a long-legged, heavy-shouldered man who was sprawling on a cracker box behind the door. he had short sandy hair, rapidly thinning, eyes of a cold grey, set rather close together, and a face that suggested a cross between a fox and a fish-hawk. he was somewhat conspicuous among his fellows by the trimness of his dress, his shirt being of dark blue flannel with a rolled-up collar and a scarlet knotted kerchief, while the rest of the mill hands wore collarless shirts of grey homespun, with no thought of neckerchiefs. his trousers were of brown corduroy, and were held up by a broad belt of white dressed buckskin, elaborately decorated with navajo designs in black and red. he stuck to this adornment tenaciously as a sort of inoffensive proclamation of the fact that he was not an ordinary backwoods mill hand, but a wanderer, one who had travelled far, and tried his wits at many ventures in the wilder west. "right you are," assented the stranger, brushing some white cracker crumbs out of his black whiskers. "i was jest a-wonderin'," went on hawker, giving a hitch to the elaborate belt and leaning forward a little to spit out through the doorway, "if ye've seed anything o' jake sanderson on the road." the stranger, having his mouth full of cheese, did not answer for a moment. "the boys are lookin' for him rather anxious," explained blackstock with a grin. "he brings the leetle fat roll that pays their wages here at the mill, an' he's due some time to day." "i seen him at cribb's ridge this morning," answered the stranger at last. "said he'd hurt his foot, or strained his knee, or something, an' would have to come on a bit slow. he'll be along some time to-night, i guess. didn't seem to me to have much wrong with him. no, ye can't have none o' that cheese. go 'way an' lay down," he added suddenly to the great black dog, who had returned to his side and laid his head on the stranger's knee. with a disappointed air the dog obeyed. "'tain't often jim's so civil to a stranger," muttered blackstock to himself. a little boy in a scarlet jacket, with round eyes of china blue, and an immense mop of curly, fluffy, silky hair so palely flaxen as to be almost white, came hopping and skipping into the store. he was greeted with friendly grins, while several voices drawled, "hullo, woolly billy!" he beamed cheerfully upon the whole company, with a special gleam of intimate confidence for tug blackstock and the big black dog. then he stepped up to the stranger's knee, and stood staring with respectful admiration at those flowing jet-black side-whiskers. the stranger in return looked with a cold curiosity at the child's singular hair. neither children nor dogs had any particular appeal for him, but that hair was certainly queer. "most an albino, ain't he?" he suggested. "no, he ain't," replied tug blackstock curtly. the dog, detecting a note of resentment in his master's voice, got up and stood beside the child, and gazed about the circle with an air of anxious interrogation. had any one been disagreeable to woolly billy? and if so, who? but the little one was not in the least rebuffed by the stranger's unresponsiveness. "what's that?" he inquired, patting admiringly the stranger's shiny leather case. the stranger grew cordial to him at once. "ah, now ye're talkin'," said he enthusiastically, undoing the flap of the case. "it's a book, sonny. the greatest book, the most _interestin'_ book, the most useful book--and next to the bible the most high-toned, uplifting book that was ever written. ye can't read yet, sonny, but this book has the loveliest pictures ye ever seen, and the greatest lot of 'em for the money." he drew reverently forth from the case a large, fat volume, bound sumptuously in embossed sky-blue imitation leather, lavishly gilt, and opened it upon his knees with a spacious gesture. "there," he continued proudly. "it's called 'mother, home, and heaven!' ain't that a title for ye? don't it show ye right off the kind of book it is? with this book by ye, ye don't need any other book in the house at all, except maybe the almanack an' the bible--an' this book has lots o' the best bits out of the bible in it, scattered through among the receipts an' things to keep it all wholesome an' upliftin'. "it'll tell ye such useful things as how to get a cork out of a bottle without breakin' the bottle, when he haven't got a corkscrew, or what to do when the baby's got croup, and there ain't a doctor this side of tourdulac. an' it'll tell ye how to live, so as when things happen that no medicines an' no doctors and no receipts--not even such great receipts as these here ones" (and he slapped his hand on the counter) "can help ye through--such as when a tree falls on to ye, or you trip and stumble on to the saws, or git drawn down under half-a-mile o' raft--then ye'll be ready to go right up aloft, an' no questions asked ye at the great white gate. "an' it has po'try in it, too, reel heart po'try, such as'll take ye back to the time when ye was all white an' innocent o' sin at yer mother's knee, an' make ye wish ye was like that now. in fact, boys, this book i'm goin' to show ye, with your kind permission, is handier than a pocket in a shirt, an' at the same time the blessed fragrance of it is like a rose o' sharon in the household. it's in three styles o' bindin', all _reel_ handsome, but----" "i want to look at another picture now," protested woolly billy. "i'm tired of this one of the angels sayin' their prayers." his amazing shock of silver-gold curls was bent intently over the book in the stranger's lap. the woodsmen, on the other hand, kept on smoking with a far-off look, as if they heard not a word of the fluent harangue. they had a deep distrust and dread of this black-whiskered stranger, now that he stood revealed as the man-wanting-to-sell-something. the majority of them would not even glance in the direction of the gaudy book, lest by doing so they should find themselves involved in some expensive and complicated obligation. the stranger responded to woolly billy's appeal by shutting the book firmly. "there's lots more pictures purtier than that one, sonny," said he. "but ye must ask yer dad to buy it fer ye. he won't regret it." and he passed the volume on to hawker, who, having no dread of book-agents, began to turn over the leaves with a superior smile. "dad's gone away ever so far," answered woolly billy sadly. "it's an awfully pretty book." and he looked at tug blackstock appealingly. "look here, mister," drawled blackstock, "i don't take much stock myself in those kind of books, an' moreover (not meanin' no offence to you), any man that's sellin' 'em has got to larn to do a sight o' lyin'. but as woolly billy here wants it so bad i'll take a copy, if 'tain't too dear. all the same, it's only fair to warn ye that ye'll not do much business in brine's rip, for there was a book agent here last year as got about ha'f the folks in the village to sign a crooked contract, and we was all stung bad. i'd advise ye to move on, an' not really tackle brine's rip fer another year or so. now, what's the price?" the stranger's face had fallen during this speech, but it brightened at the concluding question. "six dollars, four dollars, an' two dollars an' a half, accordin' to style of bindin'," he answered, bringing out a handful of leaflets and order forms and passing them round briskly. "an' ye don't need to pay more'n fifty cents down, an' sign this order, an' ye pay the balance in a month's time, when the books are delivered. i'll give ye my receipt for the fifty cents, an' ye jest fill in this order accordin' to the bindin' ye choose. let me advise ye, as a friend, to take the six dollar one. it's the best value." "thanks jest the same," said blackstock drily, pulling out his wallet, "but i guess woolly billy'd jest as soon have the two-fifty one. an' i'll pay ye the cash right now. no signin' orders fer me. here's my name an' address." "right ye are," agreed the stranger cordially, pocketing the money and signing the receipt. "cash payments for me every time, if i could have my way. now, if some o' you other gentlemen will follow mr. blackstock's fine example, ye'll never regret it--an' neither will i." "come on, woolly billy. come on, jim," said blackstock, stepping out into the street with the child and the dog at his heels. "we'll be gittin' along home, an' leave this gentleman to argy with the boys." ii jake sanderson, with the pay for the mill-hands, did not arrive that night, nor yet the following morning. along toward noon, however, there arrived a breathless stripling, white-faced and wild-eyed, with news of him. the boy was young stephens, son of andy stephens, the game-warden. he and his father, coming up from cribb's ridge, had found the body of sanderson lying half in a pool beside the road, covered with blood. near at hand lay the bag, empty, slashed open with a bloody knife. stephens had sent his boy on into the settlement for help, while he himself had remained by the body, guarding it lest some possible clue should be interfered with. swift as a grass fire, the shocking news spread through the village. an excited crowd gathered in front of the store, every one talking at once, trying to question young stephens. the sheriff was away, down at fredericton for a holiday from his arduous duties. but nobody lamented his absence. it was his deputy they all turned to in such an emergency. "where's tug blackstock?" demanded half a dozen awed voices. and, as if in answer, the tall, lean figure of the deputy sheriff of nipsiwaska county came striding in haste up the sawdusty road, with the big, black dog crowding eagerly upon his heels. the clamour of the crowd was hushed as blackstock put a few questions, terse and pertinent, to the excited boy. the people of nipsiwaska county in general had the profoundest confidence in their deputy sheriff. they believed that his shrewd brain and keen eye could find a clue to the most baffling of mysteries. just now, however, his face was like a mask of marble, and his eyes, sunk back into his head, were like points of steel. the murdered man had been one of his best friends, a comrade and helper in many a hard enterprise. "come," said he to the lad, "we'll go an' see." and he started off down the road at that long loose stride of his, which was swifter than a trot and much less tiring. "hold on a minute, tug," drawled a rasping nasal voice. "what is it, hawker?" demanded blackstock, turning impatiently on his heel. "ye hain't asked no thin' yet about the book agent, mister byles, him as sold ye 'mother, home, an' heaven.' mebbe he could give us some information. he said as how he'd had some talk with poor old jake." blackstock's lips curled slightly. he had not read the voluble stranger as a likely highwayman in any circumstances, still less as one to try issues with a man like jake sanderson. but the crowd, eager to give tongue on any kind of a scent, and instinctively hostile to a book agent, seized greedily upon the suggestion. "where is he?" "send for him." "did anybody see him this mornin'?" "rout him out!" "fetch him along!" the babel of voices started afresh. "he's cleared out," cried a woman's shrill voice. it was the voice of mrs. stukeley, who kept the boarding-house. every one else was silent to hear what she had to say. "he quit my place jest about daylight this morning," continued the woman virulently. she had not liked the stranger's black whiskers, nor his ministerial garb, nor his efforts to get a subscription out of her, and she was therefore ready to believe him guilty without further proof. "he seemed in a powerful hurry to git away, sayin' as how the archangel gabriel himself couldn't do business in this town." seeing the effect her words produced, and that even the usually imperturbable and disdainful deputy sheriff was impressed by them, she could not refrain from embroidering her statement a little. "now ez i come to think of it," she went on, "i did notice as how he seemed kind of excited an' nervous like, so's he could hardly stop to finish his breakfus'. but he took time to make me knock half-a-dollar off his bill." "mac," said blackstock sharply, turning to red angus macdonald, the village constable, "you take two of the boys an' go after the book agent. find him, an' fetch him back. but no funny business with him, mind you. we hain't got a spark of evidence agin him. we jest want him as a witness, mind." the crowd's excitement was somewhat damped by this pronouncement, and hawker's exasperating voice was heard to drawl: "no _evidence_, hey? ef that ain't _evidence_, him skinnin' out that way afore sun-up, i'd like to know what is!" but to this and similar comments tug blackstock paid no heed whatever. he hurried on down the road toward the scene of the tragedy, his lean jaws working grimly upon a huge chew of tobacco, the big, black dog not now at his heels but trotting a little way ahead and casting from one side of the road to the other, nose to earth. the crowd came on behind, but blackstock waved them back. "i don't want none o' ye to come within fifty paces of me, afore i tell ye to," he announced with decision. "keep well back, all of ye, or ye'll mess up the tracks." but this proved a decree too hard to be enforced for any length of time. when he arrived at the place where the game-warden kept watch beside the murdered man, blackstock stood for a few moments in silence, looking down upon the body of his friend with stony face and brooding eyes. in spite of his grief, his practised observation took in the whole scene to the minutest detail, and photographed it upon his memory for reference. the body lay with face and shoulder and one leg and arm in a deep, stagnant pool by the roadside. the head was covered with black, clotted blood from a knife-wound in the neck. close by, in the middle of the road, lay a stout leather satchel, gaping open, and quite empty. two small memorandum books, one shut and the other with white leaves fluttering, lay near the bag. though the roadway at this point was dry and hard, it bore some signs of a struggle, and toward the edge of the water there were several little, dark, caked lumps of puddled dust. blackstock first examined the road minutely, all about the body, but the examination, even to such a practised eye as his, yielded little result. the ground was too hard and dusty to receive any legible trail, and, moreover, it had been carelessly over-trodden by the game-warden and his son. but whether he found anything of interest or not, blackstock's grim, impassive face gave no sign. at length he went over to the body, and lifted it gently. the coat and shirt were soaked with blood, and showed marks of a fierce struggle. blackstock opened the shirt, and found the fatal wound, a knife-thrust which had been driven upwards between the ribs. he laid the body down again, and at the same time picked up a piece of paper, crumpled and blood-stained, which had lain beneath it. he spread it open, and for a moment his brows contracted as if in surprise and doubt. it was one of the order forms for "mother, home and heaven." he folded it up and put it carefully between the leaves of the note-book which he always carried in his pocket. stephens, who was close beside him, had caught a glimpse of the paper, and recognized it. "say!" he exclaimed, under his breath. "i never thought o' _him_!" but blackstock only shook his head slowly, and called the big black dog, which had been waiting all this time in an attitude of keen expectancy, with mouth open and tail gently wagging. "take a good look at him, jim," said blackstock. the dog sniffed the body all over, and then looked up at his master as if for further directions. "an' now take a sniff at this." and he pointed to the rifled bag. "what do you make of it?" he inquired when the dog had smelt it all over minutely. jim stood motionless, with ears and tail drooping, the picture of irresolution and bewilderment. blackstock took out again the paper which he had just put away, and offered it to the clog, who nosed it carefully, then looked at the dead body beside the pool, and growled softly. "seek him, jim," said blackstock. at once the dog ran up again to the body, and back to the open book. then he fell to circling about the bag, nose to earth, seeking to pick up the elusive trail. at this point the crowd from the village, unable longer to restrain their eagerness, surged forward, led by hawker, and closed in, effectually obliterating all trails. jim growled angrily, showing his long white teeth, and drew back beside the body as if to guard it. blackstock stood watching his action with a brooding scrutiny. "what's that bit o' paper ye found under him, tug?" demanded hawker vehemently. "none o' yer business, sam," replied the deputy, putting the blood-stained paper back into his pocket. "i seen what it was," shouted hawker to the rest of the crowd. "it was one o' them there dokyments that the book agent had, up to the store. i always _said_ as how 'twas him." "we'll ketch him!" "we'll string him up!" yelled the crowd, starting back along the road at a run. "don't be sech fools!" shouted blackstock. "hold on! come back i tell ye!" but he might as well have shouted to a flock of wild geese on their clamorous voyage through the sky. fired by sam hawker's exhortations, they were ready to lynch the black-whiskered stranger on sight. blackstock cursed them in a cold fury. "i'll hev to go after them, andy," said he, "or there'll be trouble when they find that there book agent." "better give 'em their head, tug," protested the warden. "guess he done it all right. he'll git no more'n's good for him." "_maybe_ he did it, an' then agin, maybe he didn't," retorted the deputy, "an' anyways, they're jest plumb looney now. you stay here, an' i'll follow them up. send bob back to the ridge to fetch the coroner." he turned and started on the run in pursuit of the shouting crowd, whistling at the same time for the dog to follow him. but to his surprise jim did not obey instantly. he was very busy digging under a big whitish stone at the other side of the pool. blackstock halted. "jim," he commanded angrily, "git out o' that! what d'ye mean by foolin' about after woodchucks a time like this? come here!" jim lifted his head, his muzzle and paws loaded with fresh earth, and gazed at his master for a moment. then, with evident reluctance, he obeyed. but he kept looking back over his shoulder at the big white stone, as if he hated to leave it. "there's a lot o' ordinary pup left in that there dawg yet," explained blackstock apologetically to the game-warden. "there ain't a dawg ever lived that wouldn't want to dig out a woodchuck," answered stephens. iii the black-whiskered stranger had been overtaken by his pursuers about ten miles beyond brine's rip, sleeping away the heat of the day under a spreading birch tree a few paces off the road. he was sleeping soundly--too soundly indeed, as thought the experienced constable, for a man with murder on his soul. but when he was roughly aroused and seized, he seemed so terrified that his captors were all the more convinced of his guilt. he made no resistance as he was being hurried along the road, only clinging firmly to his black leather case, and glancing with wild eyes from side to side as if nerving himself to a desperate dash for liberty. when he had gathered, however, a notion of what he was wanted for, to the astonishment of his captors, his terror seemed to subside--a fact which the constable noted narrowly. he steadied his voice enough to ask several questions about the murder--questions to which reply was curtly refused. then he walked on in a stolid silence, the ruddy colour gradually returning to his face. a couple of miles before reaching brine's rip, the second search party came in sight, the deputy sheriff at the head of it and the shaggy black form of jim close at his heels. with a savage curse hawker sprang forward, and about half the party with him, as if to snatch the prisoner from his captors and take instant vengeance upon him. but blackstock was too quick for them. the swiftest sprinter in the county, he got to the other party ahead of the mob and whipped around to face them, with one hand on the big revolver at his hip and jim showing his teeth beside him. the constable and his party, hugely astonished, but confident that blackstock's side was the right one to be on, closed protectingly around the prisoner, whose eyes now almost bulged from his head. "you keep right back, boys," commanded the deputy in a voice of steel. "the law will look after this here prisoner, if he's the guilty one." [illustration: "'you keep right back, boys,' commanded the deputy in a voice of steel."] "fur as we kin see, there ain't no 'if' about it," shouted hawker, almost frothing at the mouth. "that's the man as done it, an' we're agoin' to string 'im up fer it right now, for fear he might git off some way atween the jedges an' the lawyers. you keep out of it now, tug." about half the crowd surged forward with hawker in front. up came blackstock's gun. "ye know me, boys," said he. "keep back." they kept back. they all fell back, indeed, some paces, except hawker, who held his ground, half crouching, his lips distorted in a snarl of rage. "aw now, quit it, sam," urged one of his followers. "'tain't worth it. an' tug's right, anyways. the law's good enough, with tug to the back of it." and putting forth a long arm he dragged hawker back into the crowd. "put away yer gun, tug," expostulated another. "seein's ye feel that way about it, we won't interfere." blackstock stuck the revolver back into his belt with a grin. "glad ye've come back to yer senses, boys," said he, perceiving that the crisis was over. "but keep an eye on hawker for a bit yet. seems to 'ave gone clean off his head." "don't fret, tug. we'll look after him," agreed several of his comrades from the mill, laying firmly persuasive hands upon the excited man, who cursed them for cowards till they began to chaff him roughly. "what's makin' you so sore, sam?" demanded one. "did the book agent try to make up to sis hopkins?" "no, it's tug that sis is making eyes at now," suggested another. "that's what's puttin' sam so off his nut." "leave the lady's name out of it, boys," interrupted blackstock, in a tone that carried conviction. "quit that jaw now, sam," interposed another, changing the subject, "an' tell us what ye've done with that fancy belt o' yourn 'at ye're so proud of. we hain't never seen ye without it afore." "that's so," chimed in the constable. "that accounts for his foolishness. sam ain't himself without that fancy belt." hawker stopped his cursing and pulled himself together with an effort, as if only now realizing that his followers had gone over completely to the side of the law and tug blackstock. "busted the buckle," he explained quickly. "mend it when i git time." "now, boys," said blackstock presently, "we'll git right back along to where poor jake's still layin', and there we'll ask this here stranger what he knows about it. it's there, if anywheres, where we're most likely to git some light on the subject. i've sent over to the ridge fer the coroner, an' poor jake can't be moved till he comes." the book agent, his confidence apparently restored by the attitude of blackstock, now let loose a torrent of eloquence to explain how glad he would be to tell all he knew, and how sorry he was that he knew nothing, having merely had a brief conversation with poor mr. sanderson on the morning of the previous day. "ye'll hev lots o' time to tell us all that when we're askin' ye," answered blackstock. "now, take my advice an' keep yer mouth shet." as blackstock was speaking, jim slipped in alongside the prisoner and rubbed against him with a friendly wag of the tail as if to say: "sorry to see you in such a hole, old chap." some of the men laughed, and one who was more or less a friend of hawker's, remarked sarcastically: "jim don't seem quite so discriminatin' as usual, tug." "oh, i don't know," replied the deputy drily, noting the dog's attitude with evident interest. "time will show. ye must remember a man ain't _necessarily_ a murderer jest because he wears black side-lights an' tries to sell ye a book that ain't no good." "no good!" burst out the prisoner, reddening with indignation. "you show me another book that's half as good, at double the price, an' i'll give you----" "shet up, you!" ordered the deputy, with a curious look. "this ain't no picnic ye're on, remember." then some one, as if for the first time, thought of the money for which sanderson had been murdered. "why don't ye search him, tug?" he demanded. "let's hev a look in that there black knapsack." "ye bloomin' fool," shouted hawker, again growing excited, "ye don't s'pose he'd be carryin' it on him, do ye? he'd hev it buried somewheres in the woods, where he could git it later." "right ye are, sam," agreed the deputy. "the man as done the deed ain't likely to carry the evidence around on him. but all the same, we'll search the prisoner bime-by." by the time the strange procession had got back to the scene of the tragedy it had been swelled by half the population of the village. at blackstock's request, zeb smith, the proprietor of the store, who was also a magistrate, swore in a score of special constables to keep back the crowd while awaiting the arrival of the coroner. under the magistrate's orders--which satisfied blackstock's demand for strict formality of procedure--the prisoner was searched, and could not refrain from showing a childish triumph when nothing was found upon him. passing from abject terror to a ridiculous over-confidence, he with difficulty restrained himself from seizing the opportunity to harangue the crowd on the merits of "mother, home, and heaven." his face was wreathed in fatuous smiles as he saw the precious book snatched from its case and passed around mockingly from hand to hand. he certainly did not look like a murderer, and several of the crowd, including stephens, the game-warden, began to wonder if they had not been barking up the wrong tree. "i've got the idee," remarked stephens, "it'd take a baker's dozen o' that chap to do in jake sanderson that way. the skate as killed jake was some man, anyways." "i'd like to know," sneered hawker, "how ye're going to account for that piece o' paper, the book-agent's paper, 'at tug blackstock found there under the body." "aw, shucks!" answered the game-warden, "that's easy. he's been a-sowin' 'em round the country so's anybody could git hold of 'em, same's you er me, sam!" this harmless, if ill-timed pleasantry appeared to hawker, in his excitement, a wanton insult. his lean face went black as thunder, and his lips worked with some savage retort that would not out. but at that instant came a strange diversion. the dog jim, who under blackstock's direction had been sniffing long and minutely at the clothes of the murdered man, at the rifled leather bag, and at the ground all about, came suddenly up to hawker and stood staring at him with a deep, menacing growl, while the thick hair rose stiffly along his back. for a moment there was dead silence save for that strange accusing growl. hawker's face went white to the lips. then, in a blaze, of fury he yelled! "git out o' that! i'll teach ye to come showin' yer teeth at me!" and he launched a savage kick at the animal. "jim!! come here!" rapped out the command of tug blackstock, sharp as a rifle shot. and jim, who had eluded the kick, trotted back, still growling, to his master. "whatever ye been doin' to jim, sam?" demanded one of the mill hands. "i ain't never seen him act like that afore." "he's _always_ had a grudge agin me," panted hawker, "coz i had to give him a lickin' once." "now ye're lyin', sam hawker," said blackstock quietly. "ye know right well as how you an' jim were good friends only yesterday at the store, where i saw ye feedin' him. an' i don't think likely ye've ever given jim a lickin'. it don't sound probable." "seems to me there's a lot of us has gone a bit off their nut over this thing, an' not much wonder, neither," commented the game-warden. "looks like sam hawker has gone plumb crazy. an' now there's jim, the sensiblest dog in the world, with lots more brains than most men-kind, foolin' away his time like a year-old pup a-tryin' dig out a darn old woodchuck hole." such, in fact, seemed to be jim's object. he was digging furiously with both forepaws beneath the big white stone on the opposite side of the pool. "he's bit me. i'll kill him," screamed hawker, his face distorted and foam at the corners of his lips. he plucked his hunting-knife from its sheath, and leapt forward wildly, with the evident intention of darting around the pool and knifing the dog. but blackstock, who had been watching him intently, was too quick for him. "no, ye don't, sam!" he snapped, catching him by the wrist with such a wrench that the bright blade fell to the ground. with a scream, hawker struck at his face, but blackstock parried the blow, tripped him neatly, and fell on him. "hold him fast, boys," he ordered. "seems like he's gone mad. don't let him hurt himself." in five seconds the raving man was trussed up helpless as a chicken, his hands tied behind his back, his legs lashed together at the knees, so that he could neither run nor kick. then he was lifted to his feet, and held thus, inexorably but with commiseration. "sorry to be rough with ye, sam," said one of the constables, "but ye've gone crazy as a bed-bug." "never knowed sam was such a friend o' jake's!" muttered another, with deepest pity. but blackstock stood close beside the body of the murdered man, and watched with a face of granite the efforts of jim to dig under the big white stone. his absorption in such an apparently frivolous matter attracted the notice of the crowd. a hush fell upon them all, broken only by the hoarse, half-smothered ravings of sam hawker. "'tain't no woodchuck jim's diggin' for, you see!" muttered one of the constables to the puzzled stephens. "tug don't seem to think so, neither," agreed stephens. "angus," said blackstock in a low, strained voice to the constable who had just spoken, "would ye mind stepping round an' givin' jim a lift with that there stone!" the constable hastened to obey. as he approached, jim looked up, his face covered thickly with earth, wagged his tail in greeting, then fell to work again with redoubled energy. the constable set both hands under the stone, and with a huge heave turned it over. with a yelp of delight jim plunged his head into the hole, grabbed something in his mouth, and tore around the pool with it. the something was long and whitish, and trailed as he ran. he laid it at blackstock's feet. blackstock held it up so that all might see it. it was a painted indian belt, and it was stained and smeared with blood. the constable picked out of the hole a package of bills. for some moments no one spoke, and even the ravings of hawker were stilled. then tug blackstock spoke, while every one, as if with one consent, turned his eyes away from the face of sam hawker, unwilling to see a comrade's shame and horror. "this is a matter now for jedge and jury, boys," said he in a voice that was grave and stern. "but i think you'll all agree that we hain't no call to detain this gentleman, who's been put to so much inconvenience all on account of our little mistake." "don't mention it, don't mention it," protested the book agent, as his guards, with profuse apologies, released him. "that's a mighty intelligent dawg o' yours, mr. blackstock." "he's sure done _you_ a good turn this day, mister," replied the deputy grimly. iii. the hole in the tree i it was woolly billy who discovered the pile--notes and silver, with a few stray gold pieces--so snugly hidden under the fishhawk's nest. the fish-hawk's nest was in the crotch of the old, half-dead rock-maple on the shore of the desolate little lake which lay basking in the flat-lands about a mile back, behind brine's rip mills. as the fish-hawk is one of the most estimable of all the wilderness folk, both brave and inoffensive, troubling no one except the fat and lazy fish that swarmed in the lake below, and as he is protected by a superstition of the backwoodsmen, who say it brings ill-luck to disturb the domestic arrangements of a fish-hawk, the big nest, conspicuous for miles about, was never disturbed by even the most amiable curiosity. but woolly billy, not fully acclimatized to the backwoods tradition and superstition, and uninformed as to the firmness and decision with which the fish-hawks are apt to resent any intrusion, had long hankered to explore the mysteries of that great nest. one morning he made up his mind to try it. tug blackstock, deputy-sheriff of nipsiwaska county, was away for a day or two, and old mrs. amos, his housekeeper, was too deaf and rheumatic to "fuss herself" greatly about the "goings-on" of so fantastic a child as woolly billy, so long as she knew he had jim to look after him. this serves to explain how a small boy like woolly billy, his seven-years-and-nine-months resting lightly on his amazingly fluffy shock of pale flaxen curls, could be trotting off down the lonely backwoods trail with no companion or guardian but a big, black dog. woolly billy was familiar with the mossy old trail to the lake, and did not linger upon it. reaching the shore, he wasted no time throwing sticks in for jim to retrieve, but, in spite of the dog's eager invitations to this pastime, made his way along the dry edge between undergrowth and water till he came to the bluff. pushing laboriously through the hot, aromatic-scented tangle of bushes, he climbed to the foot of the old maple, which looked dwarfed by the burden of the huge nest carried in its crotch. woolly billy was an expert tree-climber, but this great trunk presented new problems. twice he went round it, finding no likely spot to begin. then, certain roughnesses tempted him, and he succeeded in drawing himself up several feet. serene in the consciousness of his good intentions, he struggled on. he gained perhaps another foot. then he stuck. he pulled hard upon a ragged edge of bark, trying to work his way further around the trunk. a patch of bark came away suddenly in his grip and he fell backwards with a startled cry. he fell plump on jim, rolled off into the bushes, picked himself up, shook the hair out of his eyes and stood staring up at a round hole in the trunk where the patch of bark had been. a hole in a tree is always interesting. it suggests such possibilities. forgetting his scratches, woolly billy made haste to climb up again, in spite of jim's protests. he peered eagerly into the hole. but he could see nothing. and he was cautious--for one could never tell what lived in a hole like that--or what the occupant, if there happened to be any, might have to say to an intruder. he would not venture his hand into the unknown. he slipped down, got a bit of stick, and thrust that into the hole. there was no result, but he learnt that the hole was shallow. he stirred the stick about. there came a slight jingling sound in return. woolly billy withdrew the stick and thought for a moment. he reasoned that a thing that jingled was not at all likely to bite. he dropped the stick and cautiously inserted his hand to the full length of his little arm. his fingers grasped something which felt more or less familiar, and he drew forth a bank-note and several silver coins. woolly billy's eyes grew very round and large as he stared at his handful. he was sure that money did not grow in hollow trees. tug blackstock kept his money in an old black wallet. woolly billy liked money because it bought peppermints, and molasses candy, and gingerpop. but this money was plainly not his. he reluctantly put it back into the hole. thoughtfully he climbed down. he knew that money was such a desirable thing that it led some people--bad people whom tug blackstock hated--to steal what did not belong to them. he picked up the patch of bark and laboriously fitted it back into its place over the hole, lest some of these bad people should find the money and appropriate it. "not a word, now, not one single word," he admonished jim, "till tug comes home. we'll tell him all about it." ii it was five o'clock in the sleepy summer afternoon, and the flies buzzed drowsily among the miscellaneous articles that graced the windows of the corner store. the mills had shut down early, because the supply of logs was running low in the boom, and no more could be expected until there should be a rise of water. some half-dozen of the mill hands were sitting about the store on nail-kegs and soap-boxes, while zeb smith, the proprietor, swung his long legs lazily from the edge of the littered counter. woolly billy came in with a piece of silver in his little fist to buy a packet of tea for mrs. amos. jim, not liking the smoke, stayed outside on the plank sidewalk, and snapped at flies. the child, who was regarded as the mascot of brine's rip mills, was greeted with a fire of solemn chaff, which he received with an impartial urbanity. "oh, quit coddin' the kiddie, an' don't try to be so smart," growled long jackson, the magadavy river-man, lifting his gaunt length from a pile of axe-handles, and thrusting his fist deep into his trousers' pocket. "here, zeb, give me a box of peppermints for woolly billy. he hain't been in to see us this long while." he pulled out a handful of coins and dollar bills, and proceeded to select a silver bit from the collection. the sight was too much for woolly billy, bursting with his secret. "i know where there's lots more money like that," he blurted out proudly, "in a hole in a tree." during the past twelve months or more there had been thefts of money, usually of petty sums, in brine's rip mills and the neighbourhood, and all tug blackstock's detective skill had failed to gain the faintest clue to the perpetrator. suspicions there had been, but all had vanished into thin air at the touch of investigation. woolly billy's amazing statement, therefore, was like a little bombshell in the shop. every one of his audience stiffened up with intense interest. one swarthy, keen-featured, slim-waisted, half-indian-looking fellow, with the shapely hands and feet that mark so many of the indian mixed-bloods, was sitting on a bale of homespun behind long jackson, and smoking solemnly with half-closed lids. his eyes opened wide for a fraction of a second, and darted one searching glance at the child's face. then he dropped his lids slowly once more till the eyes were all but closed. the others all stared eagerly at woolly billy. pleased with the interest he had excited, woolly billy glanced about him, and shook back his mop of pale curls self-consciously. "lots more!" he repeated. "big handfuls." then he remembered his discretion, his resolve to tell no one but tug blackstock about his discovery. seeking to change the subject, he beamed upon long jackson. "thank you, long," he said politely. "i _love_ peppermints. an' jim loves them, too." "_where_ did you say that hole in the tree was?" asked long jackson, reaching for the box that held the peppermints, and ostentatiously filling a generous paper-bag. woolly billy looked apologetic and deprecating. "please, long, if you don't mind very much, i can't tell anybody but tug blackstock _that_." jackson laid the bag of peppermints a little to one side, as if to convey that their transfer was contingent upon woolly billy's behaviour. the child looked wistfully at the coveted sweets; then his red lips compressed themselves with decision and resentment. "i won't tell anybody but tug blackstock, _of course_," said he. "an' i don't want any peppermints, thank you, long." he picked up his package of tea and turned to leave the shop, angry at himself for having spoken of the secret and angry at jackson for trying to get ahead of tug blackstock. jackson, looking annoyed at the rebuff, extended his leg and closed the door. woolly billy's blue eyes blazed. one of the other men strove to propitiate him. "oh, come on, woolly billy," he urged coaxingly, "don't git riled at long. you an' him's pals, ye know. we're all pals o' yourn, an' of tug's. an' there ain't no harm _at all_, at all, in yer showin' us this 'ere traysure what you've lit on to. besides, you know there's likely some o' that there traysure belongs to us 'uns here. come on now, an' take us to yer hole in the tree." "ye ain't agoin' to git out o' this here store, woolly billy, i tell ye that, till ye promise to take us to it right off," said long jackson sharply. woolly billy was not alarmed in the least by this threat. but he was so furious that for a moment he could not speak. he could do nothing but stand glaring up at long jackson with such fiery defiance that the good-natured mill-hand almost relented. but it chanced that he was one of the sufferers, and he was in a hurry to get his money back. at this point the swarthy woodsman on the bale of homespun opened his narrow eyes once again, took the pipe from his mouth, and spoke up. "quit plaguin' the kid, long," he drawled. "the cash'll be all there when tug blackstock gits back, an' it'll save a lot of trouble an' misunderstandin', havin' him to see to dividin' it up fair an' square. let woolly billy out." long jackson shook his head obstinately, and opened his mouth to reply, but at this moment woolly billy found his voice. "let me out! let me out! _let me out!_" he screamed shrilly, stamping his feet and clenching his little fists. instantly a heavy body was hurled upon the outside of the door, striving to break it in. zeb smith swung his long legs down from the counter hurriedly. "the kid's right, an' black dan's right. open the door, long, an' do it quick. i don't want that there dawg comin' through the winder. an' he'll be doin' it, too, in half a jiff." "git along, then, woolly, if ye insist on it. but no more peppermints, mind," growled jackson, throwing open the door and stepping back discreetly. as he did so, jim came in with a rush, just saving himself from knocking woolly billy over. one swift glance assured him that the child was all right, but very angry about something. "it's all right, jim. come with me," said woolly billy, tugging at the animal's collar. and the pair stalked away haughtily side by side. iii tug blackstock arrived the next morning about eleven. before he had time to sit down for a cup of that strenuous black tea which the woodsmen consume at all hours, he had heard from woolly billy's eager lips the story of the hole in the tree beneath the fish-hawk's nest. he heard also of the episode at zeb smith's store, but woolly billy by this time had quite forgiven long jackson, so the incident was told in such a way that blackstock had no reason to take offence. "long tried _hard_," said the child, "to get me to tell where that hole was, but i _wouldn't_. and black dan was awful nice, an' made him stop botherin' me, an' said i was quite right not to tell _anybody_ till you came home, coz you'd know just what to do." "h'm!" said the deputy-sheriff thoughtfully, "long's had a lot of money stole from him, so, of course, he wanted to git his eyes on to that hole quick. but 'tain't like black dan to be that thoughtful. maybe he _hasn't_ had none taken." while he was speaking, a bunch of the mill-hands arrived at the door, word of blackstock's return having gone through the village. "we want to go an' help ye find that traysure, tug," said long jackson, glancing somewhat sheepishly at woolly billy. a friendly grin from the child reassured him, and he went on with more confidence: "we tried to git the kiddie to tell us where 'twas, but wild steers wouldn't drag it out o' him till you got back." "that's right, long," agreed blackstock, "but it don't need to be no expedition. we don't want the whole village traipsin' after us. you an' three or four more o' the boys that's lost money come along, with woolly billy an' me, an' the rest o' you meet us at the store in about a couple o' hours' time. tell any other folks you see that i don't want 'em follerin' after us, because it may mix up things--an' anyways, i don't want it, see!" after a few moments' hesitation and consultation the majority of the mill-hands turned away, leaving long jackson and big andy stevens, the blue-eyed giant from the oromocto (who had been one of the chief victims), and macdonald, and black saunders, and black dan (whose name had been dan black till the whim of the woodsmen turned it about). blackstock eyed them appraisingly. "i didn't know as _you'd_ bin one o' the victims too, dan," he remarked. "didn't ye, tug?" returned black with a short laugh. "well, i didn't say nawthin about it, coz i was after doin' a leetle detective work on me own, an' mebbe i'd 'ave got in ahead o' ye if woolly billy here hadn't 'a' been so smart. but i tell ye, tug, if that there traysure's the lot we're thinkin' it is, there'd ought ter be a five-dollar bill in it what i've marked." "h'm!" grunted the deputy, hastily gulping down the last of his tea, and rising to his feet. "but woolly billy an' me and jim's a combination pretty hard to git ahead of, i'm thinkin'." as the party neared the bluff whereon the tree of the fish-hawk's nest stood ragged against the sky, the air grew rank with the pungent odour of skunk. now skunks were too common in the region of brine's rip mills for that smell, as a rule, to excite any more comment than an occasional disgusted execration when it became too concentrated. but to-day it drew more than passing attention. macdonald sniffed intently. "it's deuced queer," said he, "but i've noticed that there's always been a smell of skunk round when anybody's lost anything. did it ever strike you that way, tug?" "yes, some!" assented the deputy curtly. "it's a skunk, all right, that's been takin' our money," said big andy, "ef he _don't_ carry his tail over his back." every one of the party was sniffing the tainted air as if the familiar stench were some rare perfume--all but jim. he had had an encounter with a skunk, once in his impulsive puppy days, and the memory was too painful to be dwelt upon. as they climbed the slope, one of the fish-hawks came swooping down from somewhere high in the blue, and began circling on slow wings about the nest. "that cross old bird doesn't like visitors," remarked woolly billy. "you wouldn't, neether, woolly billy, if you was a fish-hawk," said jackson. arrived at the tree, woolly billy pointed eagerly to a slightly broken piece of bark a little above the height of the deputy's head. "_there's_ the hole!" he cried, clapping his hands in his excitement as if relieved to find it had not vanished. "keep off a bit now, boys," cautioned blackstock. drawing his long hunting-knife, he carefully loosened the bark without letting his hand come in contact with it, and on the point of the blade laid it aside against the foot of the trunk. "don't any of you tech it," he admonished. then he slipped his hand into the hole, and felt about. a look of chagrin came over his face, and he withdrew his hand--empty. "nothin' there!" said he. "it was there yesterday morning," protested woolly billy, his blue eyes filling with tears. "yes, yes, of course," agreed blackstock, glancing slowly around the circle of disappointed faces. "somebody from the store's been blabbin'," exclaimed black dan, in a loud and angry voice. "an' why not?" protested big andy, with a guilty air. "we never said nawthin' about keepin' it a secret." in spite of their disappointment, the millhands laughed. big andy was not one to keep a secret in any case, and his weakness for a certain pretty widow who kept the postoffice was common comment. big andy responded by blushing to the roots of his blonde hair. "jim!" commanded the deputy. and the big black dog bounded up to him, his eyes bright with expectation. the deputy picked him up, and held him aloft with his muzzle to the edges of the hole. "smell that," he ordered, and jim sniffed intently. then he set him down, and directed him to the piece of bark. that, too, jim's nose investigated minutely, his feathered tail slowly wagging. "seek him," ordered blackstock. jim whined, looked puzzled, and sniffed again at the bark. the information which his subtle nose picked up there was extremely confusing. first, there was the smell of skunk--but that smell of skunk was everywhere, dulling the keenness of his discrimination. then, there was a faint, faint reminiscence of woolly billy. but there was woolly billy, at tug blackstock's side. certainly, there could be no reason for him to seek woolly billy. then there was an elusive, tangled scent, which for some moments defied him. at last, however, he got a clue to it. with a pleased bark--his way of saying "eureka!"--he whipped about, trotted over to big andy stevens, sat down in front of him, and gazed up at him, with tongue hanging and an air of friendly inquiry, as much as to say: "here i am, andy. but i don't know what tug blackstock wants me to seek you for, seein' as you're right here alongside him." big andy dropped his hand on the dog's head familiarly; then noticing the sudden tense silence of the party, his eyes grew very big and round. "what're you all starin' at me fer, boys?" he demanded, with a sort of uneasy wonder. "ax jim," responded black dan, harshly. "i reckon old jim's makin' a mistake fer once, tug," drawled long jackson, who was andy's special pal. the deputy rubbed his lean chin reflectively. there could be no one more above suspicion in his eyes than this transparently honest young giant from the oromocto. but jim's curious action had scattered to the winds, at least for a moment, a sort of hypothesis which he had been building up in his mind. at the same time, he felt dimly that a new clue was being held out to him, if he could only grasp it. he wanted time to think. "we kin all make mistakes," he announced sententiously. "come here, jim. seek 'im, boy, seek 'im." and he waved his hand at large. jim bounced off with a joyous yelp, and began quartering the ground, hither and thither, all about the tree. big andy, at a complete loss for words, stood staring from one to another with eyes of indignant and incredulous reproach. suddenly a yelp of triumph was heard in the bushes, a little way down towards the lake, and jim came racing back with a dark magenta article in his mouth. at the foot of the tree he stopped, and looked at blackstock interrogatively. receiving no sign whatever from his master, whose face had lit up for an instant, but was now as impassive as a hitching-post, he stared at black dan for a few seconds, and then let his eyes wander back to andy's face. in the midst of his obvious hesitation the oromocto man stepped forward. "durned ef that ain't one o' my old mittens," he exclaimed eagerly, "what sis knit fer me. i've been lookin' fer 'em everywheres. bring it here, jim." as the dog trotted up with it obediently, the deputy intervened and stopped him. "you shall have it bime-by, andy," said he, "ef it's yourn. but jest now i don't want nobody to tech it except jim. ef you acknowledge it's yourn----" "_of course_ it's mine," interrupted andy resentfully. "an' i want to find the other one." "so do i," said blackstock. "drop it, jim. go find the other mitt." as jim went ranging once more through the bushes, the whole party moved around to the other side of the tree to get out of the downpour of the noon sun. as they passed the magenta mitten black dan picked it up and examined it ostentatiously. "how do ye know it's yourn, andy?" he demanded. "there's lots of magenta mitts in the world, i reckon." tug blackstock turned upon him. "i said i didn't want no one to tech that mitt," he snapped. "oh, beg pardon, tug," said dan, dropping the mitt. "i forgot. 'spose it might kind o' confuse jim's scent, gittin' another smell besides andy's on to it." "it might," replied the deputy coolly, "an' then agin, it mightn't." for a little while every one was quiet, listening to jim as he crashed about through the bushes, and confidently but unreasonably expecting him to reappear with the other mitten. or, at least, that was what big andy and woolly billy expected. the deputy, at least, did not. at last he spoke. "i agree with mac here, boys," said he, "that there may be somethin' more'n skunk in this skunk smell. we'll jest look into it a bit. you all keep back a ways--an' you, long, jest keep an eye on woolly billy ef ye don't mind, while i go on with jim." he whistled to the dog, and directed his attention to a spot at the foot of the tree exactly beneath the hole. jim sniffed hard at the spot, then looked up at his master with tail drooping despondently. "yes, i know it's skunk, plain skunk," agreed the deputy. "but i want him. seek him, jim--_seek him_, boy." thus reassured, jim's tail went up again. he started off through the bushes, down towards the lake, with his master close behind him. the rest of the party followed thirty paces or so behind. the trail led straight down to the lake's edge. here jim stopped short. "_that_ skunk's a kind o' water-baby," remarked long jackson. "oh, do you think so?" queried woolly billy, much interested. "of course," answered jackson. "don't you see he's took to the water? now, yer common, no-account skunk hates wettin' his fur like pizen." the deputy examined the hard, white sand at the water's edge. it showed faint traces of moccasined feet. he pursed his lips. it was an old game, but a good one, this breaking a trail by going into the water. he had no way of deciding whether his quarry had turned up the lake shore or down towards the outlet. he guessed at the latter as the more likely alternative. jim trotted slowly ahead, sniffing every foot of ground along the water's edge. as they approached the outlet the shore became muddy, and jackson swung woolly billy up on to his shoulder. once in the outlet, the foreshore narrowed to a tiny strip of bare rock between the water and an almost perpendicular bank covered with shrubs and vines. all at once the smell of skunk, which had been almost left behind, returned upon the air with fresh pungency. blackstock stopped short and scanned the bank with narrowed eyes. a second or two later, jim yelped his signal, and his tail went up. he sniffed eagerly across the ribbon of rock, and then leapt at the face of the bank. the deputy called him off and hurried to the spot. the rest of the party, much excited, closed up to within four or five paces, when a wave of the deputy's hand checked them. "phew!" ejaculated black dan, holding his nose. "there's a skunk hole in that there bank. ye'll be gittin' somethin' in the eye, tug, ef ye don't keep off." blackstock, who was busy pulling apart the curtain of vines, paid no attention, but long jackson answered sarcastically: "ye call yerself a woodsman, dan," said he, "an' ye don't know that the hole where a skunk lives _don't_ smell any. yer _reel_ skunk's quite a gentleman and keeps his home always clean an' tidy. tug blackstock ain't a-goin' to git nawthin' in the eye." "well, i reckon we'd better smoke," said black dan amiably, pulling out his pipe and filling it. and the others followed his example. blackstock thrust his hand into a shallow hole in the bank quite hidden by the foliage. he drew out a pair of moccasins, water-soaked, and hurriedly set them down on the rock. for all their soaking, they reeked of skunk. he picked up one on the point of a stick and examined it minutely. in spite of all the soaking, the sole, to his initiated eye, still bore traces of that viscous, oily liquid which no water will wash off--the strangling exudation of the skunk's defensive gland. it was just what he had expected. the moccasin was neat and slim and of medium size--not more than seven at most. he held it up, that all might see it clearly. "does this belong to you, andy stevens?" he asked. there was a jeer from the group, and big andy held up an enormous foot, which might, by courtesy, have been numbered a thirteen. it was a point upon which the oromocto man was usually sensitive, but to-day he was proud of it. "ye'll hev to play cinderella, tug, an' find out what leetle foot it fits on to," suggested macdonald. the deputy fished again in the hole. he drew forth a magenta mitten, dropped it promptly, then held it up on the point of his stick at arm's length. it had been with the moccasins. big andy stepped forward to claim it, then checked himself. "it's a mite too strong fer me now," he protested. "i'll hev to git sis to knit me another pair, i guess." blackstock dropped the offensive thing beside the moccasins at his feet, and reached once more into the hole. "he ain't takin' no risks this time, boys," said blackstock. "he's took the swag with him." there was a growl of disappointment. long jackson could not refrain from a reproachful glance at woolly billy, but refrained from saying the obvious. "what are ye goin' to do about it, tug?" demanded black dan. "hev ye got any kind of a _reel_ clue, d'ye think, now?" "wait an' see," was blackstock's noncommittal reply. he picked up the moccasins and mitten again on the point of his stick, scanned the bank sharply to make sure his quarry had not gone that way, and led the procession once more down along the rocky shore of the stream. "seek him," he said again to jim, and the dog, as before, trotted on ahead, sniffing along by the water's edge to intercept the trail of whoever had stepped ashore. the party emerged at length upon the bank of the main stream, and turned upwards towards brine's rip. after they had gone about half a mile they rounded a bend and came in sight of a violent rapid which cut close inshore. at this point it would be obviously impossible for any one walking in the shallow water to avoid coming out upon dry ground. tug blackstock quickened his pace, and waved jim forward. a sharp oath broke from black dan's lips. "i've been an' gone an' left my 'baccy-pooch behind, by the skunk's hole," he announced. and grumbling under his breath he turned back down the shore. blackstock ran on, as if suddenly in a great hurry. just where the shallow water ended, at the foot of the rapid, jim gave his signal with voice and tail. he raced up the bank to a clump of bushes and began thrashing about in them. "what d'ye suppose he's found there?" asked big andy. "scent, and lots of it. no mistake this time," announced macdonald. "hain't ye caught on to jim's signs yet?" "jim," said the deputy, sharply but not loud, "_fetch him!_" jim, with nose in air instead of to the ground, set off at a gallop down the shore in the direction of the outlet. the deputy turned about. "dan," he shouted peremptorily. "come back here. i want ye!" instead of obeying, black dan dashed up the bank, running like a deer, and vanished into the bushes. "_i knew it_! that's the skunk, boys. go home, you billy!" cried blackstock, and started after the fugitive. the rest followed close on his heels. but jackson cried: "ye'd better call off jim quick. dan's got a gun on him." the deputy gave a shrill whistle, and jim, who was just vanishing into the bush, stopped short. at the same instant a shot rang out from the bushes, and the dog dropped in his tracks with a howl of anguish. blackstock's lean jaws set themselves like iron. he whipped out his own heavy "colt's," and the party tore on, till they met jim dragging himself towards them with a wounded hind-leg trailing pitifully. the deputy gave one look at the big black dog, heaved a breath of relief, and stopped. "'tain't no manner o' use chasin' him now, boys," he decreed, "because, as we all know, dan kin run right away from the best runner amongst us. but now i know him--an' i've suspicioned him this two month, only i couldn't git no clue--_i'll git him_, never you fear. jest now, ye'd better help me carry jim home, so's we kin git him doctored up in good shape. i reckon nipsiwaska county can't afford to lose mr. assistant-deputy sheriff. that there skunk-oil on dan's moccasins fooled _both_ jim an' me, good an' plenty, didn't it?" "but whatever did he want o' my mitts?" demanded big andy. "now ye _air_ a sap-head, andy stevens," growled macdonald, "ef ye can't see _that_!" iv. the trail of the bear i the deputy-sheriff of nipsiwaska county had spent half an hour at the telephone. in the backwoods the telephone wires go everywhere. in that half-hour every settlement, every river-crossing, every lumber-camp, and most of the wide-scattered pioneer cabins had been warned of the flight of the thief, dan black, nicknamed black dan, and how, in the effort to secure his escape, he had shot and wounded the deputy-sheriff's big black dog whose cleverness on the trail he had such cause to dread. as tug blackstock, the deputy-sheriff, came out of the booth he asked after jim. "oh, black dan's bullet broke no bones that time," replied the village doctor, who had tended the dog's wound as carefully as if his patient had been the deputy himself. "it's a biggish hole, but jim'll be all right in a few days, never fear." blackstock looked relieved. "ye don't seem to be worryin' much about black dan's gittin' away, tug," grumbled long jackson, who was not unnaturally sore over the loss of his money. "no, i ain't worryin' much," agreed the deputy, with a confident grin, "now i know jim ain't goin' to lose a leg. as for black dan's gittin' away, well, i've got me own notions about that. i've 'phoned all over the three counties, and given warnin' to every place he kin stop for a bite or a bed. he can't cross the river to get over the border, for i've sent word to hev every bridge an' ferry watched. black dan's cunnin' enough to know i'd do jest that, first thing, so he won't waste his time tryin' the river. he'll strike right back into the big timber, countin' on the start he's got of us, now he's put jim out of the game. but i guess i kin trail him myself--now i know what i'm trailin'--pretty nigh as well as jim could. i've took note of his tracks, and there ain't another pair o' boots in brine's rip mills like them he's wearin'." "and when air ye goin' to start?" demanded long jackson, still inclined to be resentful. "right now," replied blackstock cheerfully, "soon as ye kin git guns and stuff some crackers an' cheese into yer pockets. i'll want you to come along, macdonald, an' you, long, an' saunders, an' big andy, as my posse. meet me in fifteen minutes at the store an' i'll hev zeb smith swear ye in for the job. if black dan wants to do any shootin', it's jest as well to hev every thin' regular." there were not a few others among the mill-hands and the villagers who had lost by black dan's cunning pilferings, and who would gladly have joined in the hunt. in the backwoods not even a murderer--unless his victim has been a woman or a child--is hunted down with so much zest as a thief. but the deputy did not like too much volunteer assistance, and was apt to suppress it with scant ceremony. so his choice of a posse was accepted without protest or comment, and the chosen four slipped off to get their guns. as tug blackstock had foreseen, the trail of the fugitive was easily picked up. confident in his powers as a runaway, black dan's sole object, at first, had been to gain as much lead as possible over the expected pursuit, and he had run straight ahead, leaving a trail which any one of blackstock's posse--with the exception, perhaps, of big andy--could have followed with almost the speed and precision of the deputy himself. there had been no attempt at concealment. about five miles back, however, in the heavy woods beyond the head of the lake, it appeared that the fugitive had dropped into a walk and begun to go more circumspectly. the trail now grew so obscure that the other woodsmen would have had difficulty in deciphering it at all, and they were amazed at the ease and confidence with which blackstock followed it up, hardly diminishing his stride. "tug is sure some trailer," commented jackson, his good humour now quite restored by the progress they were making. "_jim_ couldn't 'a' done no better himself," declared big andy, the oromocto man. and just then blackstock came abruptly to a halt, and held up his hand for his followers to stop. "steady, boys. stop right where ye are, an' don't step out o' yer tracks," he commanded. the four stood rigid, and began searching the ground all about them with keen, initiated eyes. "oh, i've got him, so fur, all right," continued blackstock, pointing to a particularly clear and heavy impression of a boot-sole close behind his own feet. "but here it stops. it don't appear to go any further." he knelt down to examine the footprint. "p'raps he's doubled back on his tracks, to throw us off," suggested saunders, who was himself an expert on the trails of all the wild creatures. "no," replied blackstock, "i've watched out for that sharp." "p'raps he's give a big jump to one side or t'other, to break his trail," said macdonald. "no," said blackstock with decision, "nor that neither, mac. this here print is even. ef he'd jumped to one side or the other, it would be dug in on that side, and ef he'd jumped forrard, it would be hard down at the toe. it fair beats me!" stepping carefully, foot by foot, he examined the ground minutely over a half circle of a dozen yards to his front. he sent out his followers--all but big andy, who, being no trailer, was bidden to stand fast--to either side and to the rear, crawling like ferrets and interrogating every grass tuft, in vain. the trail had simply stopped with that one footprint. it was as if black dan had dissolved into a miasma, and floated off. at last blackstock called the party in, and around the solitary footprint they all sat down and smoked. one after another they made suggestions, but each suggestion had its futility revealed and sealed by a stony stare from blackstock, and was no more befriended by its author. at last blackstock rose to his feet, and gave a hitch to his belt. "i don't mind tellin' ye, boys," said he, "it beats me fair. but _one_ thing's plain enough, black dan ain't _here_, an' he ain't likely to come here lookin' for us. spread out now, an' we'll work on ahead, an' see ef we can't pick up somethin'. you, big andy, you keep right along behind me. there's an explanation to _everything_--an' we'll find this out afore along, or my name's dinnis." over the next three or four hundred yards, however, nothing of significance was discovered by any of the party. then, breaking through a dense screen of branches, blackstock came upon the face of a rocky knoll, so steep, at that point, that hands and feet together would be needed to climb it. casting his eyes upwards, he saw what looked like the entrance to a little cave. a whistle brought the rest of the party to his side. a cave always holds possibilities, if nothing else. blackstock spread his men out again, at intervals of three or four paces, and all went cautiously up the steep, converging on the entrance. blackstock, in the centre, shielding himself behind a knob of rock, peered in. the place was empty. it was hardly a cave, indeed, being little more than a shallow recess beneath an overhanging ledge. but it was well sheltered by a great branch which stretched upwards across the opening. blackstock sniffed critically. "a bear's den," he announced, stepping in and scrutinizing the floor. the floor was naked rock, scantily littered with dead leaves and twigs. these, blackstock concluded, had been recently disturbed, but he could find no clue to what had disturbed them. from the further side, however--to blackstock's right--a palpable trail, worn clear of moss and herbage, led off by a narrow ledge across the face of the knoll. half a dozen paces further on the rock ended in a stretch of stiff soil. here the trail declared itself. it was unmistakably that of a bear, and unmistakably, also, a fresh trail. waving the rest to stop where they were, blackstock followed the clear trail down from the knoll, and for a couple of hundred yards along the level, going very slowly, and searching it hawk-eyed for some sign other than that of bear. at length he returned, looking slightly crestfallen. "nawthin' at all but bear," he announced in an injured voice. "but that bear seems to have been in a bit of a hurry, as if he was gittin' out o' somebody's way--black dan's way, it's dollars to doughnuts. but where was black dan, that's what i want to know?" "ef _you_ don't know, tug," said macdonald, "who _kin_ know?" "jim!" said the deputy, rubbing his lean chin and biting off a big "chaw" of "black-jack." "jim's sure some dawg," agreed macdonald. "that was the only fool thing i ever know'd ye to do, tug--sendin' jim after black dan that way." blackstock swore, softly and intensely, though he was a man not given to that form of self-expression. "boys," said he, "i used to fancy myself quite a lot. but now i begin to think nipsiwaska county'd better be gittin' a noo deputy. i ain't no manner o' good." the men looked at him in frank astonishment. he had never before been seen in this mood of self-depreciation. "aw, shucks," exclaimed long jackson presently, "there ain't a man from here to the st. lawrence as kin _tech_ ye, an' ye know it, tug. quit yer jollyin' now. i believe ye've got somethin' up yer sleeve, only ye won't say so." at this expression of unbounded confidence blackstock braced up visibly. "well, boys, there's one thing i _kin_ do," said he. "i'm goin' back to git jim, ef i hev to fetch him in a wheelbarrow. we'll find out what he thinks o' the situation. i'll take saunders an' big andy with me. you, long, an' mac, you stop on here an' lay low an' see what turns up. but don't go mussin' up the trails." ii jim proved to be so far recovered that he was able to hobble about a little on three legs, the fourth being skilfully bandaged so that he could not put his foot to the ground. it was obvious, however, that he could not make a journey through the woods and be any use whatever at the end of it. blackstock, therefore, knocked together a handy litter for his benefit. and with very ill grace jim submitted to being borne upon it. some twenty paces from that solitary boot-print which marked the end of black dan's trail, jim was set free from his litter and his attention directed to a bruised tuft of moss. "seek him," said blackstock. the dog gave one sniff, and then with a growl of anger the hair lifted along his back, and he limped forward hurriedly. "he's got it in for black dan _now_," remarked macdonald. and the whole party followed with hopeful expectation, so great was their faith in jim's sagacity. the dog, in his haste, overshot the end of the trail. he stopped abruptly, whined, sniffed about, and came back to the deep boot-print. all about it he circled, whimpering with impatience, but never going more than a dozen feet away from it. then he returned, sniffed long and earnestly, and stood over it with drooping tail, evidently quite nonplussed. "he don't appear to make no more of it than you did, tug," said long jackson, much disappointed. "oh, give him time, long," retorted blackstock. then---- "seek him! seek him, good boy," he repeated, waving jim to the front. running with amazing briskness on his three sound legs, the dog began to quarter the undergrowth in ever-widening half-circles, while the men stood waiting and watching. at last, at a distance of several hundred yards, he gave a yelp and a growl, and sprang forward. "got it!" exclaimed big andy. "guess it's only the trail o' that there b'ar he's struck," suggested jackson pessimistically. "jim, stop!" ordered blackstock. and the dog stood rigid in his tracks while blackstock hastened forward to see what he had found. "sure enough. it's only the bear," cried blackstock, investigating the great footprint over which jim was standing. "come along back here, jim, an' don't go foolin' away yer time over a bear, jest _now_." the dog sniffed at the trail, gave another hostile growl, and reluctantly followed his master back. blackstock made him smell the boot-print again. then he said with emphasis, "_black dan_, jim, it's _black dan_ we're wantin'. seek him, boy. _fetch him_." jim started off on the same manoeuvres as before, and at the same point as before he again gave a growl and a yelp and bounded forward. "_jim_," shouted the deputy angrily, "come back here." the dog came limping back, looking puzzled. "what do you mean by that foolin'?" went on his master severely. "what's bears to you? smell that!" and he pointed again to the boot-print. "it's _black dan_ you're after." jim hung upon his words, but looked hopelessly at sea as to his meaning. he turned and gazed wistfully in the direction of the bear's trail. he seemed on the point of starting out for it again, but the tone of blackstock's rebuke withheld him. finally, he sat down upon his dejected tail and stared upwards into a great tree, one of whose lower branches stretched directly over his head. blackstock followed his gaze. the tree was an ancient rock maple, its branches large but comparatively few in number. blackstock could see clear to its top. it was obvious that the tree could afford no hiding-place to anything larger than a wild-cat. nevertheless, as blackstock studied it, a gleam of sudden insight passed over his face. "jim 'pears to think black dan's gone to heaven," remarked saunders drily. "ye can't always tell _what_ jim's thinkin'," retorted blackstock. "but i'll bet it's a clever idea he's got in his black head, whatever it is." he scanned the tree anew and the other trees nearest whose branches interlaced with it. then, with a sharp "come on, jim," he started towards the knoll, eyeing the branches overhead as he went. the rest of the party followed at a discreet distance. crippled as he was, jim could not climb the steep face of the knoll, but his master helped him up. the instant he entered the cave he growled savagely, and once more the stiff hair rose along his back. blackstock watched in silence for a moment. he had never before noticed, on jim's part, any special hostility toward bears, whom he was quite accustomed to trailing. he glanced up at the big branch that overhung the entrance, and conviction settled on his face. then he whispered, sharply, "seek him, jim." and jim set off at once, as fast as he could limp, along the trail of the bear. "come on, boys," called blackstock to his posse. "ef we can't find black dan we may as well hev a little bear-hunt to fill in the time. jim appears to hev a partic'lar grudge agin that bear." the men closed up eagerly, expecting to find that blackstock, with jim's help, had at last discovered some real signs of black dan. when they saw that there was still nothing more than that old bear's trail, which they had already examined, long jackson began to grumble. "we kin hunt bear any day," he growled. "i guess tug ain't no keener after bear this day than you be," commented macdonald. "he's got _somethin'_ up his sleeve, you see!" "mebbe it's a tame b'ar, a _trained_ b'ar, an' black dan's a-ridin' him horseback," suggested big andy. blackstock, who was close at jim's heels, a few paces ahead of the rest, turned with one of his rare, ruminative laughs. "that's quite an idea of yours, andy," he remarked, stooping to examine one of those great clawed footprints in a patch of soft soil. "but even _trained_ b'ar hain't got wings," commented macdonald again. "an' there's a good three hundred yards atween the spot where black dan's trail peters out an' the nearest b'ar track. i guess yer interestin' hipotheesis don't quite fill the bill--eh, andy?" "anyways," protested the big oromocto man, "ye'll all notice one thing queer about this here b'ar track. it goes _straight_. mostly a b'ar will go wanderin' off this way an' that, to nose at an old root, er grub up a bed o' toadstools. but _this_ b'ar keeps right on, as ef he had important business somewhere straight ahead. that's just the way he'd go ef some one _was_ a-ridin' him horseback." andy had advanced his proposition as a joke, but now he was inclined to take it seriously and to defend it with warmth. "well," said long jackson, "we'll all chip in, when we git our money back, an' buy ye a bear, andy, an' ye shall ride it up every day from the mills to the post office. it'll save ye quite a few minutes in gittin' to the post office. it don't matter about yer gittin' away." the big oromocto lad blushed, but laughed good-naturedly. he was so much in love with the little widow who kept the post office that nothing pleased him more than to be teased about her. for the deputy's trained eyes, as for jim's trained nose, that bear-track was an easy one to follow. nevertheless, progress was slow, for blackstock would halt from time to time to interrogate some claw-print with special minuteness, and from time to time jim would stop to lie down and lick gingerly at his bandage, tormented by the aching of his wound. late in the afternoon, when the level shadows were black upon the trail and the trailing had come to depend entirely on jim's nose, blackstock called a halt on the banks of a small brook and all sat down to eat their bread and cheese. then they sprawled about, smoking, for the deputy, apparently regarding the chase as a long one, was now in no great hurry. jim lay on the wet sand, close to the brook's edge, while blackstock, scooping up the water in double handfuls, let it fall in an icy stream on the dog's bandaged leg. "hev ye got any reel idee to come an' go on, tug?" demanded long jackson at last, blowing a long, slow jet of smoke from his lips, and watching it spiral upwards across a bar of light just over his head. "i hev," said blackstock. "an' air ye sure it's a good one--good enough to drag us 'way out here on?" persisted jackson. "i'm bankin' on it," answered blackstock. "an' so's jim, i'm thinkin'," suggested macdonald, tentatively. "jim's idee an' mine ain't the same, exackly," vouchsafed blackstock, after a pause, "but i guess they'll come to the same thing in the end. they're fittin' in with each other fine, so fur!" "what'll ye bet that ye're not mistaken, the both o' yez?" demanded jackson. "yer wages fur the whole summer!" answered blackstock promptly. long looked satisfied. he knocked the ashes out of his pipe and proceeded to refill it. "oh, ef ye're so sure as that, tug," he drawled, "i guess i ain't takin' any this time." for a couple of hours after sunset the party continued to follow the trail, depending now entirely upon jim's leadership. the dog, revived by his rest and his master's cold-water treatment, limped forward at a good pace, growling from time to time as a fresh pang in his wound reminded him anew of his enemy. "how jim 'pears to hate that bear!" remarked big andy once. "he does _that_!" agreed blackstock. "an' he's goin' to git his own back, too, i'm thinkin', afore long." presently the moon rose round and yellow through the tree-tops, and the going became less laborious. jim seemed untiring now. he pressed on so eagerly that blackstock concluded the object of his vindictive pursuit, whatever it was, must be now not far ahead. another hour, and the party came out suddenly upon the bank of a small pond. jim, his nose to earth, started to lead the way around it, towards the left. but blackstock stopped him, and halted his party in the dense shadows. the opposite shore was in the full glare of the moonlight. there, close to the water's edge, stood a little log hut, every detail of it standing out as clearly as in daylight. it was obviously old, but the roof had been repaired with new bark and poles and the door was shut, instead of sagging half open on broken hinges after the fashion of the doors of deserted cabins. blackstock slipped a leash from his pocket and clipped it onto jim's collar. "i'm thinkin', boys, we'll git some information yonder about that bear, ef we go the right way about inquirin'. now, saunders, you go round the pond to the right and steal up alongshore, through the bushes, to within forty paces of the hut. you, mac, an' big andy, you two go round same way, but git well back into the timber, and come up _behind_ the hut to within about the same distance. there'll be a winder on that side, likely. "when ye're in position give the call o' the big horned owl, not too loud. an' when i answer with the same call twice, then close in. but keep a good-sized tree atween you an' the winder, for ye never know what a bear kin do when he's trained. i'll bet big andy's seen bears that could shoulder a gun like a man! so look out for yourselves. long an' jim an' me, we'll follow the trail o' the bear right round this end o' the pond--an' ef i'm not mistaken it'll lead us right up to the door o' that there hut. some bears hev a taste in regard to where they sleep." as noiselessly as shadows the party melted away in opposite directions. the pond lay smooth as glass under the flooding moonlight, reflecting a pale star or two where the moon-path grudgingly gave it space. after some fifteen minutes a lazy, muffled hooting floated across the pond. five minutes later the same call, the very voice of the wilderness at midnight, came from the deep of the woods behind the hut. blackstock, with jackson close behind him and jim pulling eagerly on the leash, was now within twenty yards of the hut door, but hidden behind a thick young fir tree. he breathed the call of the horned owl--a mellow, musical call, which nevertheless brings terror to all the small creatures of the wilderness--and then, after a pause, repeated it softly. he waited for a couple of minutes motionless. his keen ears caught the snapping of a twig close behind the hut. "big andy's big feet that time," he muttered to himself. "that boy'll never be much good on the trail." then, leaving jim to the care of jackson, he slipped forward to another and bigger tree not more than a dozen paces from the cabin. standing close in the shadow of the trunk, and drawing his revolver, he called sharply as a gun-shot--"dan black." instantly there was a thud within the hut as of some one leaping from a bunk. "dan black," repeated the deputy, "the game's up. i've got ye surrounded. will ye come out quietly an' give yerself up, or do ye want trouble?" "waal, no, i guess i don't want no more trouble," drawled a cool voice from within the hut. "i guess i've got enough o' my own already. i'll come out, tug." the door was flung open, and black dan, with his hands held up, stalked forth into the moonlight. [illustration: "the door was flung open, and black dan, with his hands held up, stalked forth into the moonlight."] with a roar jim sprang out from behind the fir tree, dragging long jackson with him by the sudden violence of his rush. "down, jim, _down_!" ordered blackstock. "lay down an' shut up." and jim, grumbling in his throat, allowed jackson to pull him back by the collar. blackstock advanced and clicked the handcuffs on to black dan's wrists. then he took the revolver and knife from the prisoner's belt, and motioned him back into the hut. "bein' pretty late now," said blackstock, "i guess we'll accept yer hospitality for the rest o' the night." "right ye are, tug," assented dan. "ye'll find tea an' merlasses, an' a bite o' bacon in the cupboard yonder." as the rest of the party came in black dan nodded to them cordially, a greeting which they returned with more or less sheepish grins. "excuse me ef i don't shake hands with ye, boys," said he, "but tug here says the state o' me health makes it bad for me to use me arms." and he held up the handcuffs. "no apologies needed," said macdonald. last of all came in long jackson, with jim. blackstock slipped the leash, and the dog lay down in a corner, as far from the prisoner as he could get. in a few minutes the whole party were sitting about the tiny stove, drinking boiled tea and munching crackers and molasses--the prisoner joining in the feast as well as his manacled hands would permit. at length, with his mouth full of cracker, the deputy remarked: "that was clever of ye, dan--durn' clever. i didn't know it was in ye." "not half so clever as you seein' through it the way you did, tug," responded the prisoner handsomely. "but darned ef _i_ see through it _now_," protested big andy in a plaintive voice. "it's just about as clear as mud to _me_. where's your wings, dan? an' where in tarnation is that b'ar?" the prisoner laughed triumphantly. long jackson and the others looked relieved, the oromocto man having propounded the question which they had been ashamed to ask. "it's jest this way," explained blackstock. "when we'd puzzled jim yonder--an' he was puzzled at us bein' such fools--ye'll recollect he sat down on his tail by that boot-print, an' tried to work out what we wanted of him. i was tellin' him to seek black dan, an' yet i was callin' him back off that there bear-track. _he_ could smell black dan in the bear-track, but we couldn't. so we was doin' the best we could to mix him up. "well, he looked up into the big maple overhead. then i saw where black dan had gone to. he'd jumped (that's why the boot-print was so heavy), an' caught that there branch, an' swung himself up into the tree. then he worked his way along from tree to tree till he come to the cave. i saw by the way jim took on in the cave that black dan had been _there_ all right. for jim hain't got no special grudge agin bear. says i to myself, ef jim smells black dan in that bear trail, then black dan must _be_ in it, that's all! "then it comes over me that i'd once seen a big bear-skin in dan's room at the mills, an' as the picture of it come up agin in my mind, i noticed how the fore-paws and legs of it were missin'. with that i looked agin at the trail, as we went along jim an' me. an' sure enough, in all them tracks there wasn't one print of a hind-paw. _they were all fore-paws_. smart, very smart o' dan, says i to myself. let's see them ingenious socks o' yours, dan." "they're in the top bunk yonder," said black dan, with a weary air. "an' my belt and pouch, containin' the other stuff, that's all in the bunk, too. i may's well save ye the trouble o' lookin' for it, as ye'd find it anyways. i was _sure_ ye'd never succeed in trackin' me down, so i didn't bother to hide it. an' i see now ye _wouldn't_ 'a' got me, tug, ef it hadn't 'a' been fer jim. that's where i made the mistake o' my life, not stoppin' to make sure i'd done jim up." "no, dan," said blackstock, "ye're wrong there. ef you'd done jim up i'd have caught ye jest the same, in the long run, fer i'd never have quit the trail till i _did_ git ye. an' when i got ye--well, i'd hev forgot myself, mebbe, an' only remembered that ye'd killed my best friend. ef ye'd had as many lives as a cat, dan, they wouldn't hev been enough to pay fer that dawg." v. the fire at brine's rip mills i when pretty mary farrell came to brine's rip and set up a modest dressmaker's shop quite close to the mills (she said she loved the sound of the saws), all the unattached males of the village, to say nothing of too many of the attached ones, fell instant victims to her charms. they were her slaves from the first lifting of her long lashes in their direction. tug blackstock, the deputy-sheriff, to be sure, did not capitulate quite so promptly as the rest. mary had to flash her dark blue eyes upon him at least twice, dropping them again with shy admiration. then he was at her feet--which was a pleasant place to be, seeing that those same small feet were shod with a neatness which was a perpetual reproach to the untidy sawdust strewn roadways of brine's rip. even big andy, the boyish young giant from the oromocto, wavered for a few hours in his allegiance to the postmistress. but mary was much too tactful to draw upon her pretty shoulders the hostility of such a power as the postmistress, and big andy's enthusiasm was cold-douched in its first glow. as for the womenfolk of brine's rip, it was not to be expected that they would agree any too cordially with the men on the subject of mary farrell. but one instance of mary's tact made even the most irreconcilable of her own sex sheath their claws in dealing with her. she had come from harner's bend. the mills at harner's bend were anathema to brine's rip mills. a keen trade rivalry had grown, fed by a series of petty but exasperating incidents, into a hostility that blazed out on the least occasion. and pretty mary had come from harner's bend. brine's rip did not find it out till mary's spell had been cast and secured, of course. but the fact was a bitter one to swallow. no one else but mary farrell could have made brine's rip swallow it. one day big andy, greatly daring, and secure in his renovated allegiance to the postmistress, ventured to chaff mary about it. she turned upon him, half amused and half indignant. "well," she demanded, "isn't harner's bend a good place to come away from? do you think i'd ought to have stopped there? do i look like the kind of girl that _wouldn't_ come away from harner's bend? and me a dress-maker? i just couldn't _live_, let alone make a living, among such a dowdy lot of women-folk as they've got over there. it isn't dresses _they_ want, but oat-sacks, and you wouldn't know the difference, either, when they'd got them on." the implication was obvious; and the women of brine's rip began to allow for possible virtues in miss farrell. the post-mistress declared there was no harm in her, and even admitted that she might almost be called good-looking "if she hadn't such an _awful_ big mouth." i have said that all the male folk of brine's rip had capitulated immediately to the summons of mary farrell's eyes. but there were two notable exceptions--woolly billy and jim. both woolly billy's flaxen mop of curls and the great curly black head of jim, the dog, had turned away coldly from mary's first advances. woolly billy preferred men to women anyhow. and jim was jealous of tug blackstock's devotion to the petticoated stranger. but mary farrell knew how to manage children and dogs as well as men. she ignored both jim and woolly billy. she did it quite pointedly, yet with a gracious politeness that left no room for resentment. neither the child nor the dog was accustomed to being ignored. before long mary's amiable indifference began to make them feel as if they were being left out in the cold. they began to think they were losing something because she did not notice them. reluctantly at first, but by-and-by with eagerness, they courted her attention. at last they gained it. it was undeniably pleasant. from that moment the child and the dog were at mary's well-shod and self-reliant little feet. ii as summer wore on into autumn the dry weather turned to a veritable drought, and all the streams ran lower and lower. word came early that the mills at harner's bend, over in the next valley, had been compelled to shut down for lack of logs. but brine's rip exulted unkindly. the ottanoonsis, fed by a group of cold spring lakes, maintained a steady flow; there were plenty of logs, and the mills had every prospect of working full time all through the autumn. presently they began to gather in big orders which would have gone otherwise to harner's bend. brine's rip not only exulted, but took into itself merit. it felt that it must, on general principles, have deserved well of providence, for providence so obviously to take sides with it. as august drew to a dusty, choking end, mary farrell began to collect her accounts. her tact and sympathy made this easy for her, and women paid up civilly enough who had never been known to do such a thing before, unless at the point of a summons. mary said she was going to the states, perhaps as far as new york itself, to renew her stock and study up the latest fashions. every one was much interested. woolly billy's eyes brimmed over at the prospect of her absence, but he was consoled by the promise of her speedy return with an air-gun and also a toy steam-engine that would really go. as for jim, his feathery black tail drooped in premonition of a loss, but he could not gather exactly what was afoot. he was further troubled by an unusual depression on the part of tug blackstock. the deputy-sheriff seemed to have lost his zest in tracking down evil-doers. it was nearing ten o'clock on a hot and starless night. tug blackstock, too restless to sleep, wandered down to the silent mill with jim at his heels. as he approached, jim suddenly went bounding on ahead with a yelp of greeting. he fawned upon a small, shadowy figure which was seated on a pile of deals close to the water's edge. tug blackstock hurried up. "you here, mary, all alone, at this time o' night!" he exclaimed. "i come here often," answered mary, making room for him to sit beside her. "i wish i'd known it sooner," muttered the deputy. "i like to listen to the rapids, and catch glimpses of the water slipping away blindly in the dark," said mary. "it helps one not to think," she added with a faint catch in her voice. "why should _you_ not want to think, mary?" protested blackstock. "how dreadfully dry everything is," replied mary irrelevantly, as if heading blackstock off. "what if there should be a fire at the mill? wouldn't the whole village go, like a box of matches? people might get caught asleep in their beds. oughtn't there to be more than one night watchman in such dry weather as this? i've so often heard of mills catching fire--though i don't see why they should, any more than houses." "mills most generally git _set_ afire," answered the deputy grimly. "think what it would mean to harner's bend if these mills should git burnt down now! it would mean thousands and thousands to them. but you're dead right, mary, about the danger to the village. only it depends on the wind. this time o' year, an' as long as it keeps dry, what wind there is blows mostly away from the houses, so sparks and brands would just be carried out over the river. but if the wind should shift to the south'ard or thereabouts, yes, there'd be more watchmen needed. i s'pose you're thinkin' about your shop while ye're away?" "i was thinking about woolly billy," said mary gravely. "what do i care about the old shop? it's insured, anyway." "i'll look out for woolly billy," answered blackstock. "and i'll look out for the shop, whether _you_ care about it or not. it's yours, and your name's on the door, and anything of yours, anything you've touched, an' wherever you've put your little foot, that's something for me to care about. i ain't no hand at making pretty speeches, mary, or paying compliments, but i tell you these here old sawdust roads are just wonderful to me now, because your little feet have walked on 'em. ef only i could think that you could care--that i had anything, was anything, mary, worth offering you----" he had taken her hand, and she had yielded it to him. he had put his great arm around her shoulders and drawn her to him,--and for a moment, with a little shiver, she had leant against him, almost cowered against him, with the air of a frightened child craving protection. but as he spoke on, in his quiet, strong voice, she suddenly tore herself away, sprang off to the other end of the pile of deals, and began to sob violently. he followed her at once. but she thrust out both hands. "go away. _please_ don't come near me," she appealed, somewhat wildly. "you don't understand--_anything_." tug blackstock looked puzzled. he seated himself at a distance of several inches, and clasped his hands resolutely in his lap. "of course, i won't tech you, mary," said he, "if you don't want me to. i don't want to do _anything_ you don't want me to--_never_, mary. but i sure don't understand what you're crying for. _please_ don't. i'm so sorry i teched you, dear. but if you knew how i love you, how i would give my life for you, i think you'd forgive me, mary." mary gave a bitter little laugh, and choked her sobs. "it isn't that, oh no, it isn't _that_!" she said. "i--i _liked_ it. there!" she panted. then she sprang to her feet and faced him. and in the gloom he could see her eyes flaming with some intense excitement, from a face ghost-white. "but--i won't let you make me love you, tug blackstock. i won't!--i won't! i won't let you change all my plans, all my ambitions. i won't give up all i've worked for and schemed for and sold my very soul for, just because at last i've met a real man. oh, i'd soon spoil your life, no matter how much you love me. you'd soon find how cruel, and hard, and selfish i am. an' i'd ruin my own life, too. do you think i could settle down to spend my life in the backwoods? do you think i have no dreams beyond the spruce woods of nipsiwaska county? do you think you could imprison _me_ in brine's rip? i'd either kill your brave, clean soul, tug blackstock, or i'd kill myself!" utterly bewildered at this incomprehensible outburst, blackstock could only stammer lamely: "but--i thought--ye kind o' liked brine's rip." "_like_ it!" the uttermost of scorn was in her voice. "i hate, hate, hate it! i just live to get out into the great world, where i feel that i belong. but i must have money first. and i'm going to study, and i'm going to make myself somebody. i wasn't born for this." and she waved her hand with a sweep that took in all the backwoods world. "i'm getting out of it. it would drive me mad. oh, i sometimes think it has already driven me half mad." her tense voice trailed off wearily, and she sat down again--this time further away. blackstock sat quite still for a time. at last he said gently: "i do understand ye now, mary." "you _don't_," interrupted mary. "i felt, all along, i was somehow not good enough for you." "you're a million miles _too_ good for me," she interrupted again, energetically. "but," he went on without heeding the protest, "i hoped, somehow, that i might be able to make you happy. an' that's what i want, more'n anything else in the world. all i have is at your feet, mary, an' i could make' it more in time. but i'm not a big enough man for you. i'm all yours--an' always will be--but i can't make myself no more than i am." "yes, you could, tug blackstock," she cried. "real men are scarce, in the great world and everywhere. you could make yourself a master anywhere--if only you would tear yourself loose from here." he sprang up, and his arms went out as if to seize her. but, with an effort, he checked himself, and dropped them stiffly to his side. "i'm too old to change my spots, mary," said he. "i'm stamped for good an' all. i am some good here. i'd be no good there. an' i won't never resk bein' a drag on yer plans." "you could--you could!" urged mary almost desperately. but he turned away, with his lips set hard, not daring to look at her. "ef ever ye git tired of it all out there, an' yer own kind calls ye back--as it will, bein' in yer blood--i'll be waitin' for ye, mary, whatever happens." he strode off quickly up the shore. the girl stared after, him till he was quite out of sight, then buried her face in the fur of jim, who had willingly obeyed a sign from his master and remained at her side. "oh, my dear, if only you could have dared," she murmured. at last she jumped up, with an air of resolve, and wandered off, apparently aimlessly, into the recesses of the mill, with one hand resting firmly on jim's collar. iii two days later mary farrell left brine's rip. she hugged and kissed woolly billy very hard before she left, and cried a little with him, pretending to laugh, and she took her three big trunks with her, in the long-bodied express waggon which carried the mails, although she said she would not be gone more than a month at the outside. tug blackstock eyed those three trunks with a sinking heart. his only comfort was that he had in his pocket the key of mary's little shop, which she had sent to him by woolly billy. when the express waggon had rattled and bumped away out of sight there was a general feeling in brine's rip that the whole place had gone flat, like stale beer, and the saws did not seem to make as cheerful a shrieking as before, and black saunders, expert runner of logs as he was, fell in because he forgot to look where he was going, and knocked his head heavily in falling, and was almost drowned before they could fish him out. "there's goin' to be some bad luck comin' to brine's rip afore long," remarked long jackson in a voice of deepest pessimism. "it's come, long," said the deputy. that same day the wind changed, and blew steadily from the mills right across the village. but it brought no change in the weather, except a few light showers that did no more than lay the surface dust. about a week later it shifted back again, and blew steadily away from the village and straight across the river. and once more a single night-watchman was regarded as sufficient safeguard against fire. a little before daybreak on the second night following this change of wind, the watchman was startled by a shrill scream and a heavy splash from the upper end of the great pool where the logs were gathered before being fed up in the saws. it sounded like a woman's voice. as fast as he could stumble over the intervening deals and rubbish he made his way to the spot, waving his lantern and calling anxiously. there was no sign of any one in the water. as he searched he became conscious of a ruddy light at one corner of the mill. he turned and dashed back, yelling "fire! fire!" at the top of his lungs. a similar ruddy light was spreading upward in two other corners of the mill. frantically he turned on the nearest chemical extinguisher, yelling madly all the while. but he was already too late. the flames were licking up the dry wood with furious appetite. in almost as little time as it takes to tell of it the whole great structure was ablaze, with all brine's rip, in every varying stage of _déshabille_, out gaping at it. the little hand-fire-engine worked heroically, squirting a futile stream upon the flames for a while, and then turning its attention to the nearest houses in order to keep them drenched. "thank god the wind's in the right direction," muttered zeb smith, the storekeeper and magistrate. and the pious ejaculation was echoed fervently through the crowd. in the meantime tug blackstock, seeing that there was nothing to do in the way of fighting the fire--the mill being already devoured--was interviewing the distracted watchman. "sure," he agreed, "it was a trick to git you away long enough for the fires to git a start. somebody yelled, an' chucked in a big stick, that's all. an', o' course, you run to help. you couldn't naturally do nothin' else." the watchman heaved a huge sigh of relief. if blackstock exonerated him from the charge of negligence, other people would. and his heart had been very heavy at being so fatally fooled. "it's harner's bend all right, that's what it is!" he muttered. "ef only we could prove it," said blackstock, searching the damp ground about the edges of the pool, which was lighted now as by day. presently he saw jim sniffing excitedly at some tracks. he hurried over to examine them. jim looked up at him and wagged his tail, as much as to say, "so you've found them, too! interesting, ain't they!" "what d'ye make o' that?" demanded blackstock of the watchman. "_boy's_ tracks, sure," said the latter at once. the footprints were small and neat. they were of a double-soled larrigan, with a low heel of a single welt. "none of _our_ boys," said blackstock, "wear a larrigan like that, especially this time o' year. one could run light in that larrigan, an' the sole's thick enough to save the foot. an' it's good for a canoe, too." he rubbed his chin, thinking hard. "yesterday," said the watchman, "i mind seein' a young half-breed, he looked like a slip of a lad, very dark complected, crossin' the road half-a-mile up yonder. he was out o' sight in a second, like a shadder, but i mind noticin' he had on larrigans--an' a brown slouch hat down over his eyes, an' a dark red handkerchief roun' his neck. he was a stranger in these parts." "that would account for the voice, like a woman's," said blackstock, following the tracks till they plunged through a tangle of tall bush. "an' here's the handkerchief," he added triumphantly, grabbing up a dark red thing that fluttered from a branch. "harner's bend knows somethin' about that boy, i'm thinkin'. now, bill, you go along back, an' don't say nothin' about this, _mind_! me an' jim, we'll look into it. tell old mrs. amos and woolly billy not to fret. we'll be back soon." he slipped the leash into jim's collar, gave him the red handkerchief to smell, and said, "seek him, jim." and jim set off eagerly, tugging at the leash, because the trail was so fresh and plain to him, and he hated to be held back. the trail led around behind the village, and back to the river bank about a mile below. there it followed straight down the shore. it was evident to blackstock that his quarry would have a canoe in hiding some distance further down. there was no time to be lost. it was now almost full daybreak, and he could follow the trail by himself. after all, it was only a boy he had to deal with. he could trust jim to delay him, to hold him at bay. he loosed the leash, and jim bounded forward at top speed. he himself followed at a leisurely loping stride. as he trotted on, thinking of many things, he took out the red handkerchief and examined it again. he smelt it curiously. his nose was keen, like a wild animal's. as he sniffed, a pang went through him, clutching at his heart. he sniffed again. his long stride shortened. he dropped into a walk. he thought over, word by word, his conversation with mary that night beside the mill. his face went grey. after a brief struggle he shouted to jim, trying to call him back. but the eager dog was already far beyond hearing. then blackstock broke into a desperate run, shouting from time to time. he thought of jim's ferocity when on the trail. meanwhile, the figure of a slim boy, very light of foot, was speeding far down the river bank, clutching a brown slouch hat in one hand as he ran. he had an astonishing crop of hair, wound in tight coils about his head. he was panting heavily, and seemed nearly spent. at last he halted, drew a deep sigh of relief, pressed his hands to his heart, and plunged into a clump of bushes. in the depth of the bushes lay a small birch-bark canoe, carefully concealed. he tugged at it, but for the moment he was too weary to lift it. he flung himself down beside it to take breath. in the silence, his ears caught the sound of light feet padding down the shore. he jumped up, and peered through the bushes. a big black dog was galloping on his trail. he drew a long knife, and his mouth set itself so hard that the lips went white. the dog reached the edge of the bushes. the youth slipped behind the canoe. [illustration: "he drew a long knife ... and slipped behind the canoe."] "jim," said he softly. the dog whined, wagged his tail, and plunged in through the bushes. the youth's stern lips relaxed. he slipped the knife back into its sheath, and fondled the dog, which was fawning upon him eagerly. "you'd never go back on me, would you, jim, no matter what i'd done?" said he, in a gentle voice. then, with an expert twist of his lithe young body, he shouldered the canoe and bore it down to the water's edge. one of his swarthy hands had suddenly grown much whiter, where jim had been licking it. before stepping into the canoe, this peculiar youth took a scrap of paper from his shirt pocket, and an envelope. he scribbled something, sealed it up, addressed the envelope, marked it "private," and gave it to jim, who took it in his mouth. "give that to tug blackstock," ordered the youth clearly. then he kissed the top of jim's black head, pushed off, and paddled away swiftly down river. jim, proud of his commission, set off up the shore at a gallop to meet his master. half-a-mile back he met him. blackstock snatched the letter from jim's mouth, praising heaven that the dog had for once failed in his duty. he tore open the letter. it said! yes, i did it. i had to do it. but _you_ could have saved me, if you'd _dared_--for i do love you, tug blackstock.--mary. a month later, a parcel came from new york for woolly billy, containing an air-gun, and a toy steam-engine that would really go. but it contained no address. and brine's rip said that tug blackstock had been bested for once, because he never succeeded in finding out who burnt down the mills. vi. the man with the dancing bear i one day there arrived at brine's rip mills, driving in a smart trap which looked peculiarly unsuited to the rough backwoods roads, an imposing gentleman who wore a dark green homburg hat, heavy, tan, gauntletted gloves, immaculate linen, shining boots, and a well-fitting morning suit of dark pepper-and-salt, protected from the contaminations of travel by a long, fawn-coloured dust-coat. he also wore a monocle so securely screwed into his left eye that it looked as if it had been born there. his red and black wheels labouring noiselessly through the sawdust of the village road, he drove up to the front door of the barn-like wooden structure, which staggered under the name, in huge letters, of the continental hotel. there was no one in sight to hold the horse, so he sat in the trap and waited, with severe impatience, for some one to come out to him. in a few moments the landlord strolled forth in his shirt-sleeves, chewing tobacco, and inquired casually what he could do for his visitor. "i'm looking for mr. blackstock--mr. j. t. blackstock," said the stranger with lofty politeness. "will you be so good as to direct me to him?" the landlord spat thoughtfully into the sawdust, to show that he was not unduly impressed by the stranger's appearance. "you'll find him down to the furder end of the cross street yonder," he answered pointing with his thumb. "last house towards the river. lives with old mrs. amos--him an' woolly billy." the stranger found it without difficulty, and halted his trap in front of the door. before he could alight, a tall, rather gaunt woodsman, with kind but piercing eyes and brows knitted in an habitual concentration, appeared in the doorway and gave him courteous greeting. "mr. blackstock, i presume? the deputy sheriff, i should say," returned the stranger with extreme affability, descending from the trap. "the same," assented blackstock, stepping forward to hitch the horse to a fence post. a big black dog came from the house and, ignoring the resplendent stranger, went up to blackstock's side to superintend the hitching. a slender little boy, with big china-blue eyes and a shock of pale, flaxen curls, followed the dog from the house and stopped to stare at the visitor. the latter swept the child with a glance of scrutiny, swift and intent, then turned to his host. "i am extraordinarily glad to meet you, mr. blackstock," he said, holding out his hand. "if, as i surmise, the name of this little boy here is master george harold manners watson, then i owe you a debt of gratitude which nothing can repay. i hear that you not only saved his life, but have been as a father to him, ever since the death of his own unhappy father." blackstock's heart contracted. he accepted the stranger's hand cordially enough, but was in no hurry to reply. at last he said slowly: "yes, stranger, you've got woolly billy's reel name all o.k. but why should you thank me? whatever i've done, it's been for woolly billy's own sake--ain't it, billy?" for answer, woolly billy snuggled up against his side and clutched his great brown hand adoringly, while still keeping dubious eyes upon the stranger. the latter took off his gloves, laughing amiably. "well, you see, mr. blackstock, i'm only his uncle, and his only uncle at that. so i have a right to thank you, and i see by the way the child clings to you how good you've been to him. my name is j. heathington johnson, of heathington hall, cramley, blankshire. i'm his mother's brother. and i fear i shall have to tear him away from you in a great hurry, too." "come inside, mr. johnson," said blackstock, "an' sit down. we must talk this over a bit. it is kind o' sudden, you see." "i don't want to seem unsympathetic," said the visitor kindly, "and i know my little nephew is going to resent my carrying him off." (at these words woolly billy began to realize what was in the air, and clung to blackstock with a storm of frightened tears.) "but you will understand that i have to catch the next boat from new york--and i have a thirty-mile drive before me now to the nearest railway station. you know what the roads are! so i'm sure you won't think me unreasonable if i ask you to get my nephew ready as soon as possible." blackstock devoted a few precious moments to quieting the child's sobs before replying. he remembered having found out in some way, from some papers in the drowned englishman's pockets or somewhere, that the name of woolly billy's mother, before her marriage, was not johnson, but o'neill. of course that discrepancy, he realized, might be easily explained, but his quick suspicions, sharpened by his devotion to the child, were aroused. "we are not a rich family, by any means, mr. blackstock," continued the stranger, after a pause. "but we have enough to be able to reward handsomely those who have befriended us. all _possible_ expense that my nephew may have been to you, i want to reimburse you for at once. and i wish also to make you a present as an expression of my gratitude--not, i assure you, as a payment," he added, noticing that blackstock's face had hardened ominously. he took out a thick bill-book, well stuffed with banknotes. "put away your money, mr. johnson," said blackstock coldly. "i ain't taking any, thank you, for what i may have done for woolly billy. but what i want to know is, what authority have you to demand the child?" "i'm his uncle, his mother's brother," answered the stranger sharply, drawing himself up. "that may be, an' then again, it mayn't," said blackstock. "do you think i'm goin' to hand over the child to a perfect stranger, just because he comes and says he's the child's uncle? what proofs have you?" the visitor glared angrily, but restrained himself and handed blackstock his card. blackstock read it carefully. "what does that prove?" he demanded sarcastically. "it might not be your card! an' even if you are 'mr. johnson' all right, that's not proving that mr. johnson is the little feller's uncle! i want legal proof, that would hold in a court of law." "you insolent blockhead!" exclaimed the visitor. "how dare you interfere between my nephew and me? if you don't hand him over at once, i will make you smart for it. come, child, get your cap and coat, and come with me immediately. i have no more time to waste with this foolery, my man." and he stepped forward as if to lay hands on woolly billy. blackstock interposed an inexorable shoulder. the big dog growled, and stiffened up the hair on his neck ominously. "look here," said blackstock crisply, "you're goin' to git yourself into trouble before you go much further, my lad. you jest mind your manners. when you bring me them proofs, i'll talk to you, see!" he took woolly billy's hand, and turned towards the door. the stranger's righteous indignation, strangely enough, seemed to have been allayed by this speech. he followed eagerly. "_don't_ be unreasonable, mr. blackstock," he coaxed. "i'll send you the documents, from my solicitors, at once. i'm sure you don't want to stand in the dear child's light this way, and prevent him getting back to his own people, and the life that is his right, a day longer than is necessary. do listen to reason, now." and he patted his wad of bank-notes suggestively. but at this stage, woolly billy and the big dog having already entered the cottage, blackstock followed, and calmly shut the door. "you'll smart for this, you ignorant clod-hopper!" shouted mr. heathington johnson. he clutched the door-knob. but for all his rage, prudence came to his rescue. he did not turn the knob. after a moment's hesitation he ground his heel upon the doorstep, stalked back to his gig, and drove off furiously. the three at the window watched his going. "we won't see _him_ back here again," remarked the deputy. "_he_ wasn't no uncle o' yours, woolly billy." that same evening he wrote to a reliable firm of lawyers at exville, telling them all he knew about woolly billy and woolly billy's father, and also all he suspected, and instructed them to look into the matter fully. ii several weeks went by, and the imposing stranger, as blackstock had anticipated, failed to return with his proofs. then came a letter from the lawyers at exville, saying that they had something important to communicate, and blackstock hurried off to see them, planning to be away for about a week. on the day following his departure, to the delight of all the children and of most of the rest of the population as well, there arrived at brine's rip mills a man with a dancing bear. he was a black-eyed, swarthy, merry fellow, with a most infectious laugh, and besides his trained bear he possessed a pedlar's pack containing all sorts of up-to-date odds and ends, not by any means to be found in the very utilitarian miscellany of zeb smith's corner store. he talked a rather musical but very broken lingo that passed for english, flashing a mouthful of splendid white teeth as he did so. he appeared to be an italian, and the men of brine's rip christened him a "dago" at once. there was no resisting his childlike bonhomie, or the amiable antics of his great brown bear, which grinned through its muzzle as if dancing to its master's merry piccolo were its one delight in life. and the two did a roaring business from the moment they came strolling into brine's rip. "tony" was what the laughing vagabond called himself, and his bear answered to the name of beppo. business being so good, tony could afford to be generous, and he was continually pressing peppermint lozenges upon the rabble of children who formed a triumphal procession for him wherever he moved. when tony's eyes first fell on woolly billy, standing just outside the crowd, with one arm over the neck of the big black dog, he was delighted. "com-a here, bambino, com-a quick!" he cried, holding out some peppermints. woolly billy liked him at once, and adored the bear, but was too shy, or reserved, to push his way through the other children. so tony came to him, leading the bear. woolly billy stood his ground, with a welcoming smile. the big black dog growled doubtfully, and then lost his doubts in curious admiration of the bear, which plainly fascinated him. woolly billy accepted the peppermints politely, and put one into his mouth without delay. then, with an apologetic air, the italian laid one finger softly on woolly billy's curls, and drew back at once, as if fearing he had taken a liberty. "jim likes the bear, sir, _doesn't_ he?" suggested woolly billy, to make conversation. "everybody he like-a ze bear. him vaira good bear," asserted the bear's master, and laughed again, giving the bear a peppermint. "an' you one vaira good bambino. ze bear, he like-a you vaira much. see, he shak-a you ze hand--good frens now." encouraged by the warmth of his welcome, the italian had from the first made a practice of dropping in at certain houses of the village just at meal times--when he was received always with true backwoods hospitality. on woolly billy's invitation he had come to the house of mrs. amos. the old lady, too rheumatic to get about much out of doors, was delighted with such a unique and amusing guest. to all he said--which, indeed, she never more than half understood--she kept ejaculating. "well, i never!" and "did ye ever hear the likes o' that?" and the bear, chained to the gate-post and devouring her pancakes-and-molasses, thrilled her with a sense of "furrin parts." in fact, there was no other house at brine's rip where tony and his bear were made more warmly welcome than at mrs. amos'. the only member of the household who lacked cordiality was jim, whose coolness towards tony, however, was fully counter-balanced by his interest in the bear. towards tony his attitude was one of armed neutrality. on the fourth evening after the arrival of tony and beppo, jim discovered a most tempting lump of meat in the corner of mrs. amos' garden. having something of an appetite at the moment, he was just about to bolt the morsel. but no sooner had he set his teeth into it than he conceived a prejudice against it. he dropped it, and sniffed at it intently. the smell was quite all right. he turned it over with his paw and sniffed at the under side. no, there was nothing the matter with it. nevertheless, his appetite had quite vanished. well, it would do for another time. he dug a hole and buried the morsel, and then went back to the house to see what woolly billy and mrs. amos were doing. a little later, just as mrs. amos was lighting the lamps in the kitchen, the rattling of a chain was heard outside, followed by the whimpering of beppo, who objected to being tied up to the gate-post when he wanted to come in and beg for pancakes. woolly billy ran to the door and peered forth into the dusk. after a few moments tony entered, all his teeth agleam in his expansive smile. he had a little bag of bon-bons for woolly billy--something much more fascinating than peppermints--which he doled out to the child one by one, as a rare treat. and for himself he wanted a cup of tea, which hospitable mrs. amos was only too eager to brew for him. jim, seeing that woolly billy was too interested to need _his_ company, got up and went out to inspect the bear. tony was in gay spirits that evening. in his broken english, and helping out his meaning with eloquent gestures, he told of adventures which made woolly billy's eyes as round as saucers and reduced mrs. amos to admiring speechlessness. he made mrs. amos drink tea with him, pouring it out for her himself while she hobbled about to find him something to eat. and once in a while, at tantalizing intervals, he allowed woolly billy one more bon-bon. there was a chill in the night air, so tony, who was always politeness itself, asked leave to close the door. mrs. amos hastened also to close the window. or, rather, she tried to hasten, but made rather a poor attempt, and sat down heavily in the big arm-chair beside it. "my legs is that heavy," she explained, laughing apologetically. so tony closed the window himself, and at the same time drew the curtains. then he went on talking. but apparently his conversation was less interesting than it had been. there came a snore from mrs. amos' big chair. tony glanced aside at woolly billy, as if expecting the child to laugh. but woolly billy took no notice of the sound. he was fast asleep, his fluffy fair head fallen forward upon the red table-cloth. tony looked at the clock on the mantel-piece. it was not as late as he could have wished, but he had observed that brine's rip went to bed early. he turned the lamp low, softly raised the window, and looked out, listening. there were no lights in the village, and all was silence save for the soft roar of the rip. he extinguished the lamp, and waited a few moments till his eyes got quite accustomed to the gloom. at length he picked up the slight form of woolly billy (who was now in a drugged stupor from which he would not awake for hours), and slung him over his left shoulder. in his right hand he grasped his short bear-whip, with its loaded butt. he stepped noiselessly to the door, listened a few moments, and then opened it inch by inch with his left hand, standing behind it, and grasping the whip so as to be ready to strike with the butt. he was wondering where the big black dog was. the door was about half open, when a black shape, appearing suddenly, launched itself at the opening. the loaded butt came crashing down--and jim dropped sprawling across the threshold. from the back of the bear tony now unfastened a small pack, and strapped it over his right shoulder. then he unchained the great beast noiselessly, and led it off to the waterside, to a spot where a heavy log canoe was drawn up upon the beach. he hauled the canoe down, making much disarrangement in the gravel, launched it, thrust it far out into the water, and noted it being carried away by the current. he had no wish to journey by that route himself, knowing that as soon as the crime was discovered, which might chance at any moment, the telephone would give the alarm all down the river. next he undid the bear's chain, and took off its muzzle, and threw them both into the water, knowing that when freed from these badges of servitude the animal would wander further and more freely. at first the good-natured creature was unwilling to leave him. its master, from policy, had always treated it kindly, and fed it well, and it was in no hurry to profit by its freedom. however, the man ordered it off towards the woods, enforcing the command by a vigorous push and a stroke of the whip. shaking itself till it realized its freedom, it slouched away a few paces down stream, then turned into the woods. the man listened to its careless, crashing progress. "they'll find it easy following _that_ trail," he muttered with satisfaction. assured that he had thus thrown out two false trails to distract pursuers, the man now stepped into the water, and walked up stream for several hundred yards, till he reached the spot which served as a ferry landing. here, in the multiplicity of footprints, he knew his own would be indistinguishable to even the keenest of backwood eyes. he came ashore, slipped through the slumbering village, and plunged into the woods with the assurance of one to whom their mysteries were an open book. he was shaping his course--by the stars at present, but by compass when it should become necessary--for an inlet on the coast, where there would be a sturdy fishing-smack awaiting him and his rich prize. all was working smoothly--as most plans were apt to work under his swift, resourceful hands--and his hard lips relaxed in triumphant self-satisfaction. one of the most accomplished and relentless of the desperadoes of the great north-west, he had peculiarly enjoyed his pose as the childlike tony. for hour after hour he pushed on, till even his untiring sinews began to protest. about the edge of dawn woolly billy awoke, but, still stupid with the heavy drugging he had received, he did not seem to realize what had happened. he cried a little, asking for jim, and for tug blackstock, and for mrs. amos, but was pacified by the most trivial excuses. the man gave him some sweet biscuits, but he refused to eat them, leaving them on the moss beside him. he hardly protested even when the man cut off his bright hair, and proceeded to darken what was left with some queer-smelling dye. when the man undressed him and proceeded to stain his face and his whole body, he apparently thought he was being got ready for bed, and to certain terrible threats as to what would happen if he tried to get away, or to tell any one anything, he paid no attention whatever. he went to sleep again in the middle of it all. satisfied with his job, the man lay down beside him, knowing himself secure from pursuit, and went to sleep himself. meanwhile, after lying motionless for several hours, where he had dropped across the threshold, jim at last began to stir. that crashing blow, after all, had not fallen quite true. jim was not dead, by any means. he staggered to his feet, swayed a few moments, and then, for all the pain in his head, he was practically himself again. he went into the cottage, tried in vain to awaken mrs. amos in her chair, hunted for woolly billy in his bed, and at last, realizing something of what had happened, rushed forth in a panic of rage and fear and grief, and remorse for a trust betrayed. it was a matter of a few minutes to trail the party down to the waterside. then he darted off after the bear. the latter, grubbing delightedly in a rotten stump, greeted him with a friendly "woof." a glance and a sniff satisfied jim that woolly billy was not there, and his instinct assured him that the bear was void of offence in the whole matter. he knew the enemy. he darted back to the waterside, ran on up stream to the ferry-landing, picked up the trail of tony's feet, followed it unerringly through the confusion of other footprints, and darted silently into the woods in pursuit. at daybreak an early riser, seeing the door of mrs. amos' cottage standing open, looked in and saw the old lady still asleep in her chair. she was awakened with difficulty, and could give but a vague account of what had happened. the whole village turned out. under the leadership of long jackson, the big mill-hand who constituted himself woolly billy's special guardian in blackstock's absence, the "dago" and bear were traced down to the waterside. of course, it was clear to almost every one that the "dago"--who was now due for lynching when caught--had carried woolly billy off down river in the vanished canoe. instantly the telephones were brought into service, and half-a-dozen expert canoeists, in the swiftest canoes to be had, started off in pursuit. but the more astute of the woodsmen--including long jackson himself--held that this river clue was a false one, a ruse to put them off the track. this group went after the bear. in an hour or two they found him. and very glad to see them he appeared to be. he was getting hungry, and a bit lonely. so without waiting for an invitation, with touching confidence he attached himself to the party, and accompanied it back to the village. there big andy, who had always had a weakness for bears, took him home and fed him, and shut him up in the back yard. in the meantime jim, travelling at a speed that the fugitive could not hope to rival, had come soon after daybreak to the spot where the man and woolly billy lay asleep. [illustration: "in the meantime, jim, travelling at a speed that the fugitive could not hope to rival, had come to the right spot."] he arrived as soundlessly as a shadow. at sight of his enemy--for he knew well who had carried off the child, and who had dealt that almost fatal blow--his long white fangs bared in a silent snarl of hate. but he had learnt, well learnt, that this man was a dangerous antagonist. he crouched, stiffened as if to stone, and surveyed the situation. his sensitive nose prevented him from being quite deceived by the transformation in woolly billy's appearance. he was puzzled by it, but he had no doubt as to the child's identity. having satisfied himself that the little fellow was asleep, and therefore presumably safe for the moment, he turned his attention to his enemy. the man was sleeping almost on his back, one arm thrown above his head, his chin up, his brown, sinewy throat exposed. that bare throat riveted jim's vengeful gaze. he knew well that the man, though asleep and at an utter disadvantage, was the most dangerous adversary he could possibly tackle. step by step, so lightly, so smoothly, that not a twig crackled under his feet, he crept up, his muzzle outstretched, his fangs gleaming the hair rising along his back. when he was within a couple of paces of his goal, the sleeper stirred slightly, as if about to wake up, or growing conscious of danger. instantly jim sprang, and sank his fangs deep, deep, into his enemy's throat. with a shriek the sleeper awoke, flinging wide his arms and legs convulsively. but the shriek was strangled at its birth, as jim's implacable teeth crunched closer. the great dog shook his victim as a terrier shakes a rat. there was a choked gurgle, and the threshing arms and legs lay still. jim continued his savage shaking till satisfied his foe was quite dead. then he let go, and turned his attention to woolly billy. the child was sitting up, staring at him with round eyes of question and bewilderment. "where am i, jim?" he demanded. then he gazed at the transformation in himself--his clothes and his stained hands. he saw his old clothes tossed aside, his curls lying near them in a bright, fluffy heap. he felt his cropped head. and then his brain began to clear. he had a dim memory of the man cutting his hair and changing his clothes. upon his first glimpse of the man, lying there dead and covered with blood, he felt a sharp pang of sorrow. he had liked tony. but the pang passed, as he began to understand. if _jim_ had killed tony, tony must have been bad. it was evident that tony had carried him off, and that jim had come to save him. jim was licking his face now, rapturously, and evidently coaxing him to get up and come away. he flung his arms around jim's neck. then he saw the biscuits. he divided them evenly between himself and jim, and ate his portion with good appetite. jim would not touch his share, so woolly billy tucked them into his pocket. then he got up and followed where jim was trying to lead him, keeping his face averted from the terrible, bleeding thing sprawled there upon the moss. and jim led him safely home. when tug blackstock, two days later, returned from his visit to exville, he brought news which explained why a certain gang of criminals had planned to get possession of woolly billy. the child had fallen heir to an immense property in england, and an ancient title, and he was to have been held for ransom. from that moment blackstock never let him out of his sight, until, with a heavy heart, he handed him over to his own people. thereafter, as he sat brooding on a log beside the noisy river, with jim stretched at his feet, tug blackstock felt that brine's rip, for the lack of a childish voice and a head of flaxen curls, had lost all savour for him. and his thoughts turned more and more towards the arguments of a grey-eyed girl, who had urged him to seek a wider sphere for his energies than the confines of nipsiwaska county could afford. wild folk [illustration: the pincushion of the woods] wild folk by samuel scoville, jr. author of "everyday adventures" with illustrations by charles livingston bull and carton moorepark the atlantic monthly press boston copyright, , by samuel scoville, jr. printed in the united states of america _to my son gurdon trumbull scoville who has learned to know and love so many of our lesser brethren of earth and air and water this book is dedicated_ contents i. the cleanlys ii. blackbear iii. the seventh sleeper iv. high sky v. the little people vi. the path of the air vii. blackcat viii. little death ix. blackcross x. sea otter list of illustrations _the pincushion of the woods_ frontispiece _the first journey_ _bull moose and blackbear_ _the thief_ _the safe rabbit_ _the killers_ _the fox family_ _death in the dark_ wild folk i the cleanlys all winter long the barrens had slept still and white. rows and regiments of low pitch-pine trees, whose blue-green needles grow in threes instead of the fives of the white or the twos of the virginia pines, marched for miles and miles across the drifted snow. through their tops forever sounded the far-away roar of the surf of the upper air, like the rushing of mighty wings, while overhead hung a sky whose cold blue seemed flecked with frost. the air tingled with the spicery of myriads of pine trees. grim black buzzards, on fringed, motionless wings, wheeled and veered over this land of silence. then, with the suddenness of the south, spring came. the woods became a shimmering pool of changing greens. the down-folded leaves of the little lambskill stood erect again, like rabbits' ears, over claret-colored flowers, and the soft warm air was sweet with the heavy perfume of cream-white magnolia blossoms. on jade-green pools gleamed the buds of yellow pond-lilies, like lumps of floating gold, and the paler golden-club, whose blossoms look like the tongues of calla lilies. everywhere, as if set in snow, gleamed the green-and-gold of the barrens' heather above the white sand, which had been the bed of some sea, forgotten a million years ago. in the distance, at the edges of the barrens, were glimpses of far-away meadows, all hazy with blue toad-flax and rimmed with the pale gold of narrow-leaved sundrops with their deep orange centres. through the woods wound a deep creek, whose water was stained brown and steeped sweet with a million cedar roots. unlike the singing streams of the north, this brook ran stilly, cutting its deep way through gold-and-white sand, and meeting never rock nor stone to make it murmur. on its bank in the deepest part of the woods grew a vast sweet-gum tree, covered with star-shaped leaves. tangles of barbed greenbrier set with fierce curved thorns, and stretches of sphagnum bogs guarded the tree from the land side. in the enormous hollow trunk, some fifty feet above the ground, a black hole showed. there, one may afternoon, as the sun was westering far down the sky, a small face appeared suddenly, framed in the dark opening. it was a funny little face, surmounted by broad, pricked-up, pointed ears, and masked by a black band, which stretched from above a pair of twinkling golden eyes clear down to a small pointed muzzle. as the owner of the face came out of the hollow and began to creep slowly and cautiously down the side of the great tree, his fur showed in the sunlight a dull brownish-gray, with black-tipped hairs on the back, while those on the round little belly had white ends. last of all appeared the black-ringed, cylindrical tail which is the hall-mark of the aracoun, raccoon, or coon, as red, white, and black men have variously named the owner of said tail. this particular little coon was the youngest of four fuzzy, cuddly, blind babies, which had appeared in the old den-tree early in march. his father was a wary, battle-scarred giant among his kind, who weighed thirty pounds, measured three feet from the tip of his pointed nose to the end of his ringed tail, and was afraid of nothing that crawled, ran, swam, or flew. as the little coon walked carefully, head-first, down the tree, he showed his kinship to the bears by setting the naked black soles of his little hind feet flat, instead of walking on his toes as most of the flesh-eaters do. his forepaws were like tiny black hands, with a very short little finger and the thumb the same length as the other three long, supple fingers. it was the first time that this particular youngster had ever ventured out of the home-nest. a great bump in the middle of the trunk was his undoing. he crept over the edge, but in reaching down for a safe grip beyond, lost his hold and, with a wail of terror, fell headlong. fortunately for him, the gum was surrounded on three sides by shallow pools of standing water. into one of these the young climber fell with a splash, and a second later was swimming for dear life back to his family tree. at the very first sound of that little sos the head of mother coon appeared in the opening, with three other small heads peering out from behind her. seeing the little coon struggling in the water, she hurried down the tree, followed in procession by the rest of the family, who had evidently resolved not to miss anything. by the time she came to the bump, however, the small adventurer had reached the trunk from which he had fallen. fixing his sharp claws into the bark, he climbed up the tree, bedraggled, wet, and much shocked at the manifold dangers of life. seeing him safe, mrs. coon at once turned back. the three little coons turned with her, and the reversed procession started up to the hole. the littlest of the family climbed slowly and painfully as far as the bump, whimpering all the time. there his feelings overcame him. he was positive that never had any little coon suffered so before. he was wet and shaken and miserable and--his mother had deserted him. "err, err, err," he began to cry, softly, but exceeding sorrowfully. it was too much even for mother coon's stern ideals of child-training. once again she crept down the tree and, stopping on the bump, fixed her claws firmly into the bark. stretching far over the edge, she reached down and gripped the little coon firmly but gently by the loose skin of his neck and, turning around, swung him safely up in front of her between her forepaws. then, urging him on with little pokes from her pointed nose, she convoyed him up the tree toward the den, from which three little heads looked down. at times the memory of his grief would be too bitter to be borne, and he would stop and whimper and make little soft, sobbing noises. then mother coon would pat him comfortingly with her slim, graceful paws and urge him on until at last he was safely home again. so ended well, after all, the first journey into the world of any of this little family. [illustration: the first journey] by this time the sun was set, and the old coon climbed down the tree to the nearest pool, for a bit of supper. as she approached, there were squeaks and splashes, and several cricket frogs dived into the water ahead of her. wading in, she looked around at the woods and the tree-tops in the darkening light, in a vacant way, as if frogs were the very last thing she had in mind; but under the water her slim fingers were exploring every inch of the oozy bottom with such lightning-like speed, that in less than a minute three frogs had been caught, killed by a skillful nip, and thrown up on the dry bank. convinced that there were no more left in the pool, she approached her supper-table; but before she would eat came the ceremony and ritual of her tribe and blood. no raccoon, in winter or summer, by night or by day, at home or in captivity, will willingly eat any unwashed food except green corn. one by one the dead frogs were plunged under the water from which they had just been taken, and were washed and re-washed and rubbed and scrubbed, until they were clean enough to suit mrs. coon. then, and not until then, were they daintily eaten. thereafter soft little chirring calls from the tree-top said that her babies were ready for their supper, too; and she climbed back to the nest, where they snuggled against her and nuzzled and cuddled and drank of the warm milk which would not flow much longer for them, since mother raccoons wean their children early. while they were still at supper, there sounded from the black depths of the pine forest a long whickering "whoo-oo-oo-oo," much like the wailing call of the screech-owl. it was father coon on his way home from where he had been spending the night in one of his outlying hunting-lodges, of which he had several within a radius of a few miles; and a little later he joined the family. he brought mother coon a little tidbit in the shape of a fresh-water mussel, which, although the shell was still dripping, she climbed down and washed before she cracked and ate it like a nut. after supper, the two started off on a hunting-trip, while the babies curled up in a round ball, to sleep until they came back. the gray hour just before dawn found the hunters crouched in the long marshy grass at the very tip of a point of land that ran into a little pond, which was ringed around with the stunted pines of the barrens. just as the first light showed in the sky, a flock of mallards, headed by a magnificent drake with a bright green head, swung in to feed. never a sign nor sound betrayed the presence of the ambushers until the drake reached the edge of the shore. the startled bird had not even time for one quack before there was a splash, and old father coon had twisted that gay and gallant neck and was back on the shore again, with the quivering body thrown over his shoulder. part of the duck was washed and eaten then and there, and the rest was carried back to the den-tree, where the four little coons were taught to tear off little strips of the rich, dark meat, and to wash them repeatedly before eating. that first taste of flesh and blood forever barred them from the warm milky fountain which had been theirs before. from this time on, they had to hunt for themselves. the very next night their education began. in the warm fragrant dusk, the whole family trotted in a long, leisurely procession through the underbrush, until they came to a broad bank of warm, white sand that overhung the deep waters of the stream which wound its silent way like a brown snake through the barrens. here, in a half-circle, the whole family crouched and dozed comfortably, with their pointed, striped noses on their forepaws, while the dusk deepened into the soft-scented, velvet blackness of a summer night. for long they stayed there, in the still patience which only the wild folk possess. at last, over the tips of the pointed cedars the moon rose, and turned the white beach to silver. all at once, from where a sand spit sloped gradually into the water, sounded a tiny splash, and out into the moonlight crawled a monstrous, misshapen object. from under a vast black shell ridged with dull yellow a snaky neck stretched this way and that, surmounted by a fierce head, with a keen, edged beak and gleaming, cruel eyes which stared up and down the whole beach. it was a snapper, one of the largest of its kind, which weighed perhaps half-a-hundred pounds and would have filled a small washtub. as the great turtle crawled slowly up the bank, the little coons crouched tensely, and turned their heads to see how the veteran hunters of the family proposed to attack this demon of the stream. as if asleep, both of them crouched motionless; for long ago they had learned that watchful waiting is the best policy when mrs. snapper comes out of the water of a spring night. back and forth the monster crawled heavily, stopping to look and listen for minutes at a time. satisfied at last that no danger threatened her on that lonely beach, she chose a little ridge of loose sand not ten feet from the raccoon family, and scrabbling with her hind legs and thrusting with her thick, strong tail in the warm sand, dug herself in. there she stayed all the night through, until she had laid a couple of hundred parchment-covered, cylindrical eggs, the greatest delicacy on the whole bill of fare of the hunting folk. just before dawn, she pulled herself heavily out of the hole she had dug, and the loose sand poured in after her, filling the cavity and covering the eggs that were hidden there. not until the turtle had smoothed over the displaced sand and waddled back into the stream did the head of the raccoon family make a movement. he was no coward, but he knew too much to trust his slim paws or his pointed nose anywhere near mrs. snapper's shearing jaws. when the brown water at last closed over her monstrous body, father coon led his waiting family to the bank and deftly uncovered the newly laid eggs, on which they feasted until sunrise sent them back to bed. as the freshness of spring melted into the hot, green sweetness of summer, the education of the little cleanlys went on rapidly. they soon became experts in breakfast-botany, and learned to dig for the nutty tubers of the wild bean, with its brown purple blossoms, the spicy roots of the wild sarsaparilla, with its five ashlike leaves and fuzzy ball of white blossoms, the wild ginger, the spatterdock, and a score or so of other pleasant-tasting wild vegetables. they learned, too, how to hunt frogs, and to grub up mussels, and to catch those little fresh-water lobsters, the crawfish, without getting their fingers nipped. the cleanly children made few mistakes, and hardly ever disobeyed their parents. there was a reason. disobedience among the wild folk means death, and he who makes one mistake often never gets a chance to make another. the sister of the littlest coon was a sad example of this fact. she decided to become a reformer. it seemed to her that it would be pleasanter to hunt by daylight than after dark, so she tried it--once. on her first (and last) trip she met old sam carpenter, a piny, who always carried a shotgun with him. of course, accidents will happen in wild-folk families just as among us humans, only in a wild-folk family, an accident is more apt to be fatal. it was the oldest of the three little cleanlys, after the reformer had gone, who suffered first. he had been hunting in the wildest part of the five-mile circle, which the family used, and it was after sunrise when he scrambled out of the shallow pool where he had been frogging. suddenly from a dry dense thicket near by, there was a fierce hiss like escaping steam, and from a tangle of fern darted the mottled brown-and-white length of a great pine snake. its curious pointed head, with its golden, unwinking eyes, shot forward, and the next second a set of sharp teeth closed on the soft nose of the small coon. unlike the poison people, the pine snake has no fangs, and its teeth are used only to hold its prey for the grip of its choking, crushing coils. this particular snake was nearly eight feet long, and as thick around as a big man's wrist. luckily for the little coon, the thick bushes guarded him for an instant against the smothering coils. dragging back from the dreadful glare of the fixed, lidless eyes, he tried to tear loose, and squalled with all his might for his mother. fortunately for him, she was not far away. anyone who had ever watched mrs. coon climb carefully down a tree-trunk, or move deliberately through the thickets, would never have identified her with the furious figure which flashed through the bushes at the very first cry of the little coon. before the great snake had time to draw its coils clear of the branches, or even to disengage its head to meet the attack, the raccoon was upon it, and sank her sharp teeth through the reptile's spine just back of its head. at once the shut jaws gaped, and the little coon sprang back from the heavy body, which writhed and twisted and beat the bushes horribly in its death agony. mother coon was always practical, with an open mind in regard to matters of diet, and while her cub whimperingly licked, with a long, pink tongue, a much-abused little nose, she began to strip off the speckled skin of her late opponent, and to convert it into lengths of firm, white meat on which the whole raccoon family fed full that night. it was the youngest of the family who was the next victim. again it was mother coon whose love and wisdom and courage outweighed chance on the scales of life and death. he had been exploring the shallows of the stream near a deserted cranberry bog. all the raccoon people like to follow the shallows of a stream, on the chance of picking up frogs, mussels, crawfish, and other water-food. a solitary rock off a tiny island, in shallow water close to the bank, is always a favorite spot for a hunting coon. old sam carpenter knew all about raccoon habits, and also about one of their weaknesses. on this night the latest-born of the family came splashing down the warm shallows, and half waded and half swam out to a tiny sandbar some six feet from the bank. there he crouched and scanned the water in the moonlight, on the chance that he might catch a sluggish, red-finned sucker as it winnowed the water through its long wrinkled tube of a mouth. suddenly, against the yellow sand, he saw three or four gleaming, silver disks, brighter even than the silver-scaled shiners which he had often tried vainly to catch. old sam had begged from a traveling tinker a few scraps of bright tin and strewn them near the little islet. no raccoon can help investigating anything that glistens in the water, and this one felt that he must have his hands on that treasure-trove. wading carefully out into the shallows, he dabbled in the sand with his slim forepaws, trying to draw some of the shining pieces in to shore. suddenly there was a snap that sent the water flying, a horrible grinding pain, and the slender fingers of his right forepaw were caught between the wicked jaws of a hidden steel trap. "oo-oo-oo-oo!" he cried, with the sorrowful wail of a hurt baby coon. but this time mother coon was far away, around two bends of the crooked stream, investigating a newly found mussel bed. the little coon tried in vain to pull away from the cruel jaws, but they held him unrelentingly. then he attempted to gnaw his way loose, but only broke his keen little teeth on the stubborn iron. at first, he was easily able to keep himself above the water; yet, as the minutes went by, the unremitting weight of the trap forced him under more and more often, to rest from the weary, sagging pain. each time that he went down, it seemed easier and easier to stay there, and to slip into oblivion under the glimmering water and forget the torture that racked every nerve in his struggling little body. yet, in spite of his funny face and quiet ways, the little coon came of a battling breed which never gives up. once more he struggled up from the soothing coolness of the water, and for the last time his cry for help shuddered faintly across the barrens. at last and at last, far away down the stream, he heard the snap of a broken branch, and a minute later the rapid pad-pad of flying feet along the sand, as he fought weakly to stay above the surface, sure that the coming of his mother meant rescue from all the treacheries that beset him. in another minute she had reached the bank, and with a bound, her fur bristling, was beside her cub, ready to fight for him to the last drop of blood in her lithe, powerful body. fortunately for her cub, the years had brought to mother coon wisdom as well as courage. once certain as to what had happened, she decided instantly upon the stern and only answer which the wild folk have for the snares of their cruel human brethren. she waded out so that her back was under the exhausted little body of her cub, and, ducking under, gripped the trap with one of her flexible hands, strained the little paw away from it with the other and with a few quick slashes of her sharp teeth severed the three black, slim little fingers that the bitter jaws held fast. as she cut off one after the other, she could feel the warm furry body that rested upon hers thrill and quiver with the pain; but never a sound nor a struggle came from the littlest of the coons. another minute, and slowly and limpingly he was creeping back to the den-tree. better, alas, for any child of the wild folk to go maimed and halt through life than to fall alive into the hands of us humans! the weeks went by. summer waxed, until the barrens were green waves, starred and spangled with flowers, and echoing with bird-songs. all through the long, warm, flower-scented nights the raccoon family feasted and frolicked, and the little ones grew apace. one velvety warm night, when the crescent moon had sunk in the west, father coon led his family toward the farm lands, which year by year crept farther into the barrens. beyond the woods they came to a field of towering stalks, whose rustling leaves overshadowed plump ears of creamy corn, swathed in green husks and wound with soft silk. at the sight the leaders for once seemed to forget all their caution. into the field they rushed, like mad things, and, pulling down stalk after stalk, they stripped off the husks from an ear, and took a bite or so of the angel-food beneath, only to cast it aside and grasp another. the little coons followed their parents' example, and pulled and hauled and tore and chanked among the standing corn, until it looked as if a herd of hungry cows had been there. the feasting kept on until every coon, big and little, was brimming full of melting, creamy corn. as they ambled contentedly back toward the dense woods, there came a sound which made father coon hurry them forward. scarcely had they reached the edge of the first thicket, when across the field dashed three mongrel hounds, which belonged to sam carpenter, and were out hunting to-night on their own account. there was no time to gain the shelter of the trees. just ahead of them one edge of the stream touched the cleared country, while its farther bank was deep in the barrens. following their leader, the whole family took to the water. they had hardly reached the middle of the wide stream when, with a splash, the dogs plunged in, only a few yards behind. immediately father coon dropped back, for when it comes to matters of life and death it is always father coon who fights first. to-night, in spite of numbers, the odds were all in his favor; for the raccoon is the second cousin of those great water-weasels, the mink and the otter, and it is as dangerous to attack him in the water as to fight a porcupine in his tree or a bear in his den. the first of the pack was a yellow hound, who looked big and fierce enough to tackle anything. with a gasping bay, he ploughed forward, open-mouthed, to grip that silent, black-masked figure which floated so lightly in front of him--only to find it gone. at his plunge the raccoon had dived deep, a trick which no dog has yet learned. a second later, from behind, a slim sinewy hand closed like a clamp on the dog's foreleg, too far forward to be reached by his snapping jaws. as the hound lowered his head, vainly trying to bite, the raccoon reached across with his other paw, and gripped his opponent smotheringly by the muzzle. slowly, inexorably, he threw his weight against the dog's head, until it sank below the surface. as the other dogs approached, the coon manoeuvred so that the struggling body was always between himself and his attackers. never for an instant did he allow his prisoner's head to come to the surface. suddenly he released it, and flashed back into the shadows. the body of the great hound floated on the surface, with gaping jaws and unseeing eyes. once more the coon dived and dragged down, with the same deadly grip, the smaller of his remaining opponents. this time he went under water with him. the dog struggled desperately, but paws have no chance against hands. moreover, a raccoon can stay under water nearly five minutes, which is over a minute too long for any dog. when the coon at last appeared on the surface, he came up alone. at that moment old sam, aroused by the barking and baying of his dogs, hurried to the bank and called off his remaining hound, who was only too glad to swim away from the death in the dark, which had overtaken his pack mates. a moment later the victor was on his way back to the den-tree. the next morning, in a little inlet, where an eddy of the stream had cast them, sam found the bodies of the dogs who had dared to give a raccoon the odds of the stream; and he swore to himself to kill that coon before snow flew. many and many a time he tried. everywhere the old piny saw the tracks of the family, the front paws showing claw-marks, while the hind paws, set flat like those of a bear, made a print like a baby's bare foot. one track always showed three claws missing. yet, hunt as he would, he could never surprise any of them again by day or night, while the many traps he sowed everywhere caught nothing. one september night summer passed on, and the next morning there was the tang of frost in the air. the leaves of the sour-gum, the first tree to turn, showed blood-red. day by day the woods gleamed, as the frost-fire leaped from tree to tree. the blueberry bushes ran in waves of wine along the ground, the sassafras was all sunshine-yellow, the white oaks old-gold, while the poison-ivy flaunted the regal red and yellow of spain. before long, the hunter's moon of october was in the sky; and the night it was full, assembled the first coon-hunt of the season. sam carpenter was there, and mose butler came with his grip, while charlie rogers brought pet--famous coon dogs, which had never been known to run on a false scent. came also old hen pine, with his famous gun. it had a barrel only about a foot long, for once, while hunting, the old man had slipped into a bog, plugging the muzzle of his gun with mud. the result was that the next time hen fired it off, half the barrel disappeared. he claimed, however, that, barrel or no barrel, it was the best gun in the country, bar none. anyway, a gun was only needed to frighten a treed coon into coming down, since the etiquette of a coon-hunt is the same as that of a fox-hunt--only the dogs must do the killing. it was just before midnight when the party reached the dense woods where sam carpenter had so often seen the tracks of the cleanlys. early in the evening the little family had found a persimmon tree loaded down with sweet, puckery, orange-red fruit, and were ambling peacefully toward one of their father's hunting-lodges in an old crow's nest. they happened to pass the neck of woods nearest sam's cabin just as the whole party entered it. lanterns waved, men shouted, and dogs yipped and bayed among the trees, as they ran sniffing here and there, trying to locate a fresh trail. the fierce chorus came to the hunted ones like a message of death and doom. if they scattered, some of the little coons would inevitably be overtaken by this pack of trained dogs, directed by veteran hunters. if they kept together, sooner or later they would be treed, and perhaps all perish. once again the leader faced the last desperate duty of the father of a raccoon family. he dropped back to meet and hold the ranging pack until mother coon could hurry the little ones home by the tree-top route. in another minute nip, the last remaining dog of sam's pack, caught the scent, and with a bay that echoed through the tangled thickets and across the dark pools of the marshland woods, dashed along the fresh trail. then happened something which had never before befallen the luckless nip in all his days and nights of hunting. from out of the thickets toward which the trail led rushed a black-masked figure, hardly to be seen in the gloom. nip's triumphant bay changed to a dismayed yelp, as a set of sharp claws dug bloody furrows down his face and ripped his long silky ears to ribbons. before he could come to close grips his opponent had disappeared into the depths of a thicket, and nip decided to wait for the rest of the pack. in a moment they joined him, with grip and pet leading. as they approached the thicket they, too, had the surprise of their lives. contrary to all precedent a hunted coon, instead of running away, attacked them furiously. it was very irregular and disconcerting. even as they were disentangling themselves from the clinging greenbrier and matted branches, they were gashed and slashed by an enemy who flashed in and out from the bit of open ground where he had waited for them. the leaders of the pack yelped and howled, and stopped, until reinforced and pressed forward by the slower dogs as they came up. little by little the old raccoon was forced back and compelled to make desperate dashes here and there, to avoid being surrounded. at last, he found himself driven beyond the area of the tangled thickets and into a stretch of open ground. spreading out, the dogs hemmed him in on every side except one. guarded on his flank by a long swale of the spiked greenbrier, he rushed along the one line left open to him, only to find himself in the open again. just beyond him the cranberry growers had left a great sweet-gum tree which, with the lapse of years, had grown to an enormous size. as the pack closed around him, the coon made a dash for his refuge and scuttled up the trunk, while the dogs leaped high in the air, snapping at his very heels. by the time the hunters came up, the whole clamoring pack, in a circle, was pawing at the tree. when the men saw that pet and grip and nip, whose noses had never yet betrayed them, had their paws against the trunk with the rest, they decided that the coon had been treed, and was still treed, which did not always follow. the vast tree was too large around either to climb or to cut. raising the lighted lantern which he carried, old hen held it back of his head and stared straight up into the heart of the great gum. at last, sixty feet above the ground, against the blackness of the trunk showed two dots of flaming gold. they were the eyes of the raccoon, as it leaned out to stare down at the yellow blotch of light below. posting the dogs in a wide circle around the tree, the men built up a roaring fire and sat down to wait for the coming dawn. for long they talked and smoked and dozed over the fire, until at last a ghostly whiteness seemed to rise from the ground. little by little the shadows paled, and the spectral tree-trunks showed more distinctly against the brightening sky, while crimson bars gleamed across the gateway of the east. at the shouts of the men and the yelps and barks of the dogs below, the old coon stiffened and stared down at them unflinchingly. hen pine produced his cherished weapon. aiming carefully above the treed animal he fired, and the heavy load splashed and crashed through the upper branches of the tree. grimly the great raccoon faced his fate, as the scattering shot warned him that his only chance for life was on the ground. slowly but unhesitatingly he moved down the side of the tree, while the dogs below bayed and howled and leaped high in the air. beyond the dogs stood the men. in their faces showed no pity for the trapped animal, who must fight for his life against such fearful odds. for a moment the coon looked down impassively at his foes. then, just as the golden rim of the rising sun showed above the tree-tops, he turned like lightning and sprang out into mid-air, sideways, so that he would land close to the trunk of the tree. as he came through the air, spread out like a huge flying squirrel, his keen claws slashed back and forth as if he were limbering up for action. he struck the ground lightly and was met by a wave of dogs which swept him against the tree. there with his back guarded by the trunk he made his last stand. at first, it seemed as if he would be overwhelmed as the howling pack dashed at him, but it was science against numbers. perfectly balanced, he ducked and sidestepped like a lightweight champion in a street-fight, slashing with his long, keen claws so swiftly that not one of the worrying, crowded pack escaped. with flashing, tiny, imperceptible movements he avoided time and again the snaps and rushes of the best hounds there. occasionally he would be slashed by their sharp teeth, and his grizzled coat was flecked here and there with blood; but it was difficult to secure a firm grip on his tough loose hide, and none of the hounds were able to secure the fatal throat-hold, or to clamp their jaws on one of those slender flashing paws. for the most part, the old champion depended upon his long claws, which ripped bloody furrows every time they got home. only in the clinches, when held for a moment by one or more of his opponents, did he use the forty fighting teeth with which he was equipped. when this happened, the dog who exchanged bites with him invariably got the worst of the bargain. the fighting was as fast as it was furious. in less than a minute two or three of the pack limped out of the circle with dreadful gashed throats or crunched and shattered paws. then nothing could be seen but a many-colored mass, with the gray and black always on top. suddenly it broke, and the great raccoon, torn and bleeding, but with an air of grim confidence, was alone with his back against the tree, while around him in an ever-widening circle the hounds backed away, yelping with pain. the raccoon recovered his wind and, wily fighter that he was, changed his tactics. without giving the dogs time to get back their lost courage, he suddenly dashed forward with a grating, terrifying snarl, the first sound that had come from him throughout the battle. as he rushed at them, his hair bristled until he seemed to swell to double his size. for a second the ring held. then with a yelp the nearest dog dived out of the way and scuttled off. his example was too much for the others. a second more, and the ring was broken and the dogs scattered. in vain the men tried to rally them again. they had resolved to have no further part or lot with that coon, who, without a backward look, moved stiffly and limpingly toward the nearest thicket. not until he had plunged into a tangle of greenbrier, where no dog could follow, did that pack recover its morale. then indeed, safe outside the fierce thorns, they growled and barked and raved and told of the terrible things they would do to that coon--when they caught him. half an hour later, and half a league farther, from a great gum tree on the edge of a black silent stream, came the sound of soft, welcoming love-notes. father coon was home again. ii blackbear it was the high-water slack of summer. up on seven mountains the woods were waves of deep lush green; and in the hot september sunshine the birds sang again, now that the moulting-moon of august had set. yet there was an expectancy in the soft air. shrill, sweet insect-notes, unheard before, multiplied. when the trees and the grass were all dappled with patches of dark and moonshine, the still air throbbed with the pulsing notes of the white tree-crickets; while above their range the high lilt of their black brethren thrilled without a pause, the unnoticed background of all other night-notes. from the bushes, which dripped moonlight in the clearings, a harsh voice occasionally said, solemnly, "katy _did_!" a week later, all the open spaces on the fringe of the woods would be strident with the clicking choruses of the main host of the filmy green, long-winged insects, of which these stragglers were but the advance-guard. one morning, from the emerald-green of a swamp maple, a single branch flamed out a crimson-red. the ebb of the year had begun. as the days shortened, imperceptibly the air became golden, and tasted of frost. then through the lengthening nights the frost-fires began to blaze. the swamp maples deepened to a copper-red and ended a yolk-yellow. on the uplands, the sugar maples were all peach-red and yellow-ochre, and the antlers of the staghorn sumac were badged with old-gold and dragon's-blood red. the towering white ashes were vinous-purple, with an overlying bloom of slaty-violet, shading to a bronze-yellow. the scented trefoil leaves of the sassafras were all buttercup-yellow and peach-red, and the sturdy oaks were burnt-umber. richest of all were the robes of the red oaks. they were dyed a dull carmine-lake, while the narrow leaves of the beeches drifted down in sheaves of gamboge-yellow arrow-heads. closer to the ground was the arrow-wood, whose straight branches the indians used for arrow-shafts before the days of gunpowder. its serrated leaves were a dull garnet. lower still, the fleshy leaves of the pokeberry were all carmine-purple above and tyrian rose beneath. everywhere were the fragrant indian-yellow leaves of the spice-bush, sweeter than any incense of man's making; while its berries, which cure fevers, were a dark, glossy red, quite different from the coral-red and orange berries of the bittersweet, with its straw-yellow leaves. the fierce barbed cat-brier showed leaves varying from a morocco-red to the lightest shade of yolk-yellow, at times attaining to pure scarlet, the only leaf of the forest so honored. through this riot of color, and along a web of dim trails, a great animal passed swiftly and soundlessly, dull black in color, save for a brownish muzzle and a white diamond-shaped patch in the centre of its vast chest. this color, the humped hind quarters, and the head swinging low on a long neck could belong to none other than the blackbear, the last survivor of the three great carnivora of our eastern forests. it moved with a misleading loose-jointed gait, which seemed slow. yet no man can keep ahead of a bear, as many a hunter has found to his cost. not so wise as the wolf, nor so fierce as the panther, the blackbear has outlived them both. "when in doubt, _run_!" is his motto; and, like descartes, the wise blackbear founds his life on the doctrine of doubt. as for the unwise--they are dead. to be sure, even this saving rule of conduct would not keep him alive in these days of repeating rifles, were it not for his natural abilities. a bear can hear a hunter a quarter of a mile away, and scent one for over a mile if the wind be right. he may weigh three hundred pounds and be over two feet wide, yet he will slip like a shadow through tangled underbush, and feed all day safely in a berry-patch, with half a dozen hunters peering and hiding and lurking and looking for him. to-day, as this particular bear faced the wind, it was evident from her smaller size and more pointed head that she was of the attractive sex. her face was neither concave, like the grizzly bear, nor convex, like the polar bear, but showed almost straight lines; and as she stood there, black against the glowing background of the changing leaves, her legs, with their flat-set feet, seemed comically like the booted legs of some short fat man. the only part of the naming color-scheme which appealed to her was that which she could eat. purple plums of the sweet-viburnum, wild black bitter cherries, thick-skinned fox-grapes, shriveled rasping frost-grapes, huckleberries with their six crackling seeds, blueberries whose seeds are too small to be noticed--mrs. bear raked off quarts and gallons and barrels of them all with her great claws, yet never swallowed a green or imperfect one among the number. the fact that the bear is one of the seven sleepers accounted for the appetite of this one. although the blackbear wears a fur coat four inches thick, and a waistcoat of fat of the same thickness, it has found that rent is cheaper than board, and spends the winter underground, living on the fat which it has stored up during the fall. some of the sleepers, like the chipmunk, take a light lunch to bed with them, in case they may be hungry during the long night, and fill a little storehouse before they turn in for their long winter nap. the bear and the woodchuck, however, prefer to act the part of the storehouse personally; all of which accounted for the appetite of this bear through the crisp fall days. ordinarily a creature of the twilight and the early dawn, yet now she hunted through the broad daylight and far into the night, and devoured with the utmost enthusiasm food of all kinds by the hundredweight. some of the selections on her menu-card would have been impossible to any other animal than the leather-lined blackbear, the champion animal sword-swallower. one warm september morning, she began her day with a gallon of berries which about exhausted the blueberry-patch where she had been feeding. thereupon she started to wander along her fifteen-mile range, in search for stronger food. she found it. in a damp part of the woods she dug up, and swallowed without flinching, many of the wrinkled flat bulbs of the wild arum or jack-in-the-pulpit. the juice of these roots contains a multitude of keen microscopic crystals, which affect a human tongue like a mixture of sulphuric acid and powdered glass; nor does water assuage the pain in the least. beyond the jacks-in-the-pulpits grew clumps of the broad juicy, ill-smelling leaves of the skunk-cabbage, which bears the first flower of the year. mrs. bear ate these greedily, although the tiniest drop of their corroding juice will blister the mouth of any human. beyond the skunk-cabbage patch, on a limb of a shadbush, she discovered a gray cone somewhat larger than a rugby football, made of many layers of pulpy wood-fibre paper. in and out of an opening in the smaller end buzzed sullenly a procession of great, flat-faced, black-and-white hornets. no insect is treated with more respect by the wild folk than the hornet. horses, dogs, and even men, have been killed by enraged swarms. unlike the single-action bee, whose barbed sting can be used but once, the hornet is a repeater. it can and will sting as early and as often as circumstances demand, and is most liberal in its estimate. moreover, every sting is as painful as a bullet from a small-calibre revolver. yet the bear approached the nest without any hesitation and, rearing up on her hind quarters, with one scoop of her paw brought the oval to the ground and was instantly enshrouded in a furious, buzzing, stinging cloud. unmoved by their attacks, the imperturbable animal proceeded to gobble down both the nest and its contents, licking up grubs, half-grown hornets, and full-armed fighters alike, with her long flexible tongue, and swallowing great masses of the gray soft paper. when at last only a few scattered survivors were left, she lumbered off and followed a path which, like all bear-trails, led at last to one of the dry, pleasant, wind-swept hillsides that the bear-people love so well. there she spent a happy hour before a vast ant-hill erected by fierce red-and-black soldier ants. sinking first one forepaw and then the other deep into the loose earth, she would draw them out covered with swarming, biting ants, which she carefully licked off, evidently relishing their stinging, sour taste. thereafter, filled full of berries, bulbs, skunk-cabbage, hornets, and ants, mrs. bear decided to call it a day, and curled herself up to sleep under the roots of a fallen pine. another day she discovered groves of oak trees loaded down with acorns. better than any botanist she knew which were sweetest; and for a week she ate acorns from the white oaks, the tips of whose leaves are rounded, and the chestnut-oaks, whose leaves are serrated like those of the chestnut tree. then came a morning when, from a far-away valley, floated a sound which sent her hurrying down from her tree, although it was only the bell-like note of the flappy-eared hound which belonged to rashe weeden, the trapper, who lived in the hollow. yet the bear knew that a hound meant a hunter, and that a hunter meant death. only a straightaway run for miles and hours could save her, if the hound were on her trail. weeks of feasting had left her in no condition for any such marathon work. yet somewhere, during the hard-earned years of her long life, she had learned another answer to this attack of the trailing hound. down the mountainside, straight toward the approaching dog she hurried, following a deeply marked path. it led directly under the overhanging branch of a great red oak. she followed it beyond the tree, and then doubled and, directly under the limb, circled and confused the trail. then, still following her back track, she passed the tree and, returning to it by a long detour, climbed it from the farther side, and in a moment was hidden among the leaves. nearer and nearer came the tuneful note of the hunting dog who had betrayed so many and many of the wood-folk to their death. suddenly, as he caught the fresh scent, his voice went up half an octave, and he rushed along the faint path until he reached the red-oak tree. there he paused to puzzle out the tangled trail. as he sniffed back and forth under the overhanging limb, there was a tiny rustle in the leaves above him, hardly as loud as a squirrel would make. then a black mass shot down like a pile-driver, a sheer twenty feet. the hound never knew what struck him, and it was not until an hour later that rashe weeden found his flattened carcass. "looked as if he'd been stepped on by one of them circus elephants," he confided afterwards to old fred dean, who lived over on the barrack, near him. "elephants be mighty scurce on seven mountains," objected the old man; and the passing of that hound remains a mystery on the barrack to this day. one bitter gray afternoon, when the flaming leaves had died down to dull browns and ochres, word came to the wild folk that winter was on its way to seven mountains. little flurries of stinging snow whirled through the air, and the wind shrieked across the marshland where the bear was still hunting for food. as the long grass of the tussocks streamed out like tow-colored hair, she shambled deep into the nearest wood, until behind the massed tree-trunks she was safe from the fierce fingers of the north wind, which howled like a wolf overhead. from that day she stopped the search for food and started house-hunting. back and forth, up and down the mountains, in and out of the swamps, across the uplands and along the edges of the hills, she hurried for days at a time. at last, on a dry slope, she found what she wanted. deep in the withered grass showed a vast chestnut stump. starting above this on the slope, in the very centre of a tangled thicket she dug a slanting tunnel. the entrance was narrow, like the neck of a jug, and was so small that it did not seem possible that the bear could ever push her huge shoulders through. when it reached the stump, however, it widened out into an oval chamber partly walled in by buttressed roots. against the slope she dug a wide flat shelf, which she covered deep with dry leaves and soft grass, and sank beside the stump a small air-hole, which led into the lower end of the burrow. with the same skill with which she had picked and sorted berries, with her huge paws she removed every trace of the fresh earth displaced by her digging. then she piled loose brush neatly around the entrance to the burrow, and crawled in. turning around at the foot of the tunnel, she crept back head-first and, reaching out her paw, carefully corked the jug with the brush which she dragged deep over the opening. then, six feet underground, on her dry warm bed, she curled up for a four months' nap. as the winter days set in, the driving snow drifted deep against the stump, until even the thicket above it was hidden. then came the bitter cold. there were long days and nights when there was not a breath of wind, and the mercury went down below all readings in the settlements. in the forests and on the mountains great boulders burst apart, and in places the frozen ground split open in narrow cracks a hundred feet long. life was a bitter, losing fight against cold and hunger for many of the wood-dwellers; but, six feet underground, the bear slept safe, at truce with both of these ancient foes of the wild folk, while the warm vapor of her breath, freezing, sealed the sides of her cell with solid ice. not until spring unlocked the door, would she leave that little room again. yet, in january, although the door was still locked by the snow and barred by the ice, two tiny bearlings found their way in. they were blind and bare, and both of them could have been held at once on the palm of a man's hand. yet mrs. bear was convinced that there had never been such a beautiful and talented pair. she licked their pink little bodies and nursed them and cuddled them, and the long freezing months were all too short to show the full measure of her mother-love. as the weeks went by, they became bigger and bigger. when they were hungry, which was most of the time, they whimpered and nuzzled like little puppies, and pushed and hurried and crowded, lest they might starve to death before they could reach those fountains of warm milk which flowed so unfailingly for them. when they were both full-fed, mother bear would arch her vast bulk over them, and they would sleep through the long dreamy, happy hours, wrapped up warm in her soft fur. then, one day--the fortieth after their arrival--a great event occurred. both the cubs opened their eyes. there was not much to see, but the old bear licked them ecstatically, much impressed by this new proof of their genius. from that time on, they grew apace, and every day waxed stronger and friskier. sometimes they would stand up and box like flyweight champions, and clinch and wrestle and tumble around and over the old bear, until she would sweep them both off their feet with one turn of her great paw, and they would all cuddle down together for a long nap. then came the call. perhaps it was the contralto note of the bluebird from mid-sky, or the clanging cry of the wild geese going north; or it might have been the scent of the trailing arbutus that came through the solid walls of that little room. at any rate, deep underground, beneath snow and ice and frozen brush, the little family knew that spring had come. the cubs began to sniff and claw at the ice-bound walls, and the old bear heaved her great bulk up and circled the little cell uneasily. then, all in an hour, came the thaw. the ice melted and the snow disappeared, until, one april day, with a slash of her paw the old bear opened the door, and the whole family stumbled out into the blue dawn of a spring day. around then sounded the sweet minor notes of the white-throated sparrows, and the jingling songs of the snowbirds; while over on a sun-warmed slope a flock of tree-sparrows, on their way to the arctic circle, sang a chorus like the tinkling of icicles. the old bear stood long in the bright sunlight, sniffing and staring with unseeing eyes--then lurched down to a little mountain stream a hundred yards away, followed in small procession by her cubs. once arrived at the brook, she drank and drank and drank, until it seemed as if her legs would double under her. after she had filled herself to the bursting-point, the cubs had their first taste of water. it seemed to them thin, cold, unstable stuff compared with what they had been drinking. their birthplace once abandoned, they never returned to it. thereafter they slept wherever and whenever the old bear was sleepy, cuddled in her vast arms and against her warm fur. that day, as they turned away from the brook, mother bear stopped and stared long at the larger of her two cubs. unlike the dull black of his smaller sister, he was a rich cinnamon-brown in color. in years past there had been a red cub in her family, and once even a short-lived straw-yellow youngster; but this was her first experience with a brownie, and the old bear grunted doubtfully as she led the way up the mountainside. at last and at last came the golden month of the wild folk--honey-sweet may, when the birds come back, and the flowers come out, and the air is full of the sunrise scents and songs of the dawning year. the woods were white with the long snowy petals of the shad-blow, and purple with amethyst masses of rhodora, when the old bear began the education of her cubs. safety, food, more food comprised the courses in her curriculum. less and less often did she nurse them, as she taught them to find a variety of pleasant foods. because mother bear knew that disobedience was death, she was a stern disciplinarian. on their very first walk, blackie, the littlest of the family, found it difficult to keep up with the old bear's swinging gait. little bears that fall behind often disappear. accordingly, when blackie finally caught up, she received a cuff which, although it made her bawl, taught her not to lag. brownie erred in the opposite direction. big and strong and confident, he once pushed ahead of his mother, along a trail that led up a mountain-gorge where the soft deep mosses held the water like green sponges. suddenly, just as he was about to put his small paw into a great bear-print in the moss, he received a left-hand swing which sent him spinning off the trail into a tree-trunk, with the breath knocked clear out of his small body. then the old bear showed him what may happen to cubs who think they know more than their mothers. from deep under the moss, she had caught a whiff of the death-scent of man. reaching out beyond the trail, she raised without an effort, on a derrick-like forepaw, a section of a dead tree-trunk, a foot in diameter, and sent it squattering down full upon the paw-print. as the end of the log sank in the moss, there was a fierce snap, and a series of sharp and dreadful steel teeth clamped deep into the decayed wood. rashe weeden, the trapper, who trapped bears at all seasons of the year, had dug up a section of moss containing the bear-imprint, and underneath it had set a hellish double-spring bear-trap. let man or beast step ever so lightly on the print which rested on the broad pan of the trap, and two stiff springs were released. once locked in the living flesh, the teeth would cut through muscle and sinew, and crush the bones of anything living, while the double-spring held them locked. a vast clog chained to the trap kept the tortured animal from going far, and a week later the victim would welcome the coming of the trapper and the swift death he brought. a few days later the little family saw an object lesson of what humans do to bears, and what such a trap meant to them. they were following one of the bear-paths which always lead sooner or later to hillsides where there are berries and a view and no flies. suddenly the wind brought to the ears of the old bear the sound of sobbing. she stopped and winnowed the air carefully through her sensitive nose. there was the scent of bear, but no taint of man in the breeze, and she followed the trail toward where the strange noises came from, around a bend in the path. more and more slowly, and with every caution, she moved forward, while her two cubs kept close behind like little shadows. as the path opened into a little natural clearing, all three of them saw a horrifying sight. there in front of them lay another smaller, younger mother-bear. the cruel fanged jaws of a trap were sunk deep into her shattered left fore-shoulder, while the clog was caught under a stump. the prisoned animal had tugged and dragged and pulled, evidently for long days and nights, as the ground was torn up for yards and yards around her. at last, worn out by exhaustion and the unceasing, fretting, festering pain of the gripping jaws, the captive had sunk down hopelessly to the ground, and from time to time cried out with a shuddering sobbing note. her glazed, beseeching eyes had a bewildered look, as if she wondered why this horror had come to her. at her knees a little cub stood, and whimpered like a sorrowful baby and then raised his little paws trustingly against the huge bulk of his mother, who could help him no more. another cub had climbed into a little tree overhead, and looked down in wonder at the sorrowful sight below. the old bear took one long look while her cubs, terrified, crowded close up against her. then she turned, and plunged into the depths of the nearest thicket. there was nothing to be done for the trapped one, and she knew that, soon or late, death would stalk along the trail which she had just left. later that afternoon, when they were miles from the place, the old bear's keen ear heard two distant shots from far away across the mountain-ridges. as the twilight deepened, she led her little family out in a search for food. all at once there came from below them a strange little distress-note, which made mother bear stop and look anxiously around to see if both of her cubs were safe. again it sounded, much nearer, and then from among the trees a small dark animal hurried toward them. it was one of the cubs they had seen earlier in the afternoon, escaped from the death which had overtaken the others, running wailing and lonely through the darkening woods, looking for its lost mother. at the sight of mother bear, it gave a little whicker of relief and delight, and ran straight to her and nuzzled hungrily under her warm fur, quite as if it had a right to be there. although the old bear growled a little at first, she was not proof against the entreating whines of the little newcomer. as for her own cubs, after carefully sniffing this new sister over and finding her blacker even than blackie, with a funny white spot near the end of her small nose, they decided to recognize her as part of the family. in another minute spotty was feeding beside blackie, and from that day forward the old bear was trailed by three cubs instead of two. as summer approached, mother bear weaned her family and showed them how to get their living from the land, as she did. she taught them all about ants' nests and grubs, and showed them a score or so of sweet and succulent roots. only the root of the water-hemlock, with its swollen, purple-streaked stem which tastes so sweet and is so deadly, she taught them to avoid, as well as those fierce and fatal sisters among the mushrooms, the death-angel and the fly-mushroom, whose stems grow out of a socket, the danger-signal of their family. teaching the cubs to enjoy yellow-jackets' nests, one of the delicacies on bear-menus, was a more difficult affair. at first, blackie and spotty, after being stung on their soft little noses, would have no further traffic with any such red-hot dainties. brownie was made of sterner stuff. after he had once learned how good yellow-jacket grubs were, he hunted everywhere for the nests. when he found one, he would dig it out, while the yellow-jackets stung his nose until the pain became unendurable. then he would sit up and rub the end of it with both paws and bawl with all his might, only to start digging again when the smart became bearable. sometimes he would have to stop and squeal frantically three or four times, to relieve his feelings--but he always finished the very last grub. when the weather grew warmer, the old bear took all the cubs down to the edge of a hidden mountain-lake, and there taught them, one by one, to swim, hiding the others safely on the bank. at first, mother bear would allow each little swimmer to grip the end of her five-inch tail, and be towed through the water. as soon, however, as they learned the stroke, they had to paddle for themselves. one warm afternoon lazy brownie swam with her to the middle of the lake, and then tried to get a tow back, only to receive a cuff that sent him two feet under water. when he came to the surface again, he swam beside his mother as bravely as if he had been born an otter and not a bear-cub. when they were still a long distance from the shore, the old bear raised her big black head out of the water and stared over toward a little bay half a mile away. her keen nostrils had caught the scent of man across the still waters. then, to his surprise, brownie was again given the privilege of a tow, and found himself whirling shoreward at a tremendous rate. from the far-away inlet a lean, lithe canoe flashed toward them as fast as steve o'donnell, the lumberjack, could paddle. steve had come over to the lake to estimate on some lumber, and had seen the swimming bears. hurriedly pitching into the canoe the long, light, almost straight-handled axe, which was the article of faith of all the woodcutters of that region, he started out to overtake the fugitives. steve was not learned in bear-ways, or he would never have started in a canoe after a swimming bear, without a rifle. as he came nearer and nearer, and it became evident to the old bear that she would be overtaken before she could reach shore, she turned and swam unhesitatingly toward the canoe, while brownie made the best of his way ashore. steve dropped his paddle and seized his axe, and when the great head was close beside his craft, struck at it with all his strength. he had yet to learn that the bear is an unsurpassed boxer, and that few men are able to land a blow on one, even when swimming. as his axe whizzed downward, it was suddenly deflected by a left turn, given with such force that the axe was torn from the man's hands and disappeared in the deep water. the next instant both the bear's paws clutched the gunwale of the canoe, and a second later steve was swimming for his life in the cold water. mrs. bear paid no further attention to him, but started again for the nearest shore. overtaking brownie, she gave him another tow, and by the time steve, chilled to the bone, reached the farther shore, the whole bear family was miles away. by midsummer the cubs were half-grown, although they looked mostly legs. one summer twilight a strange thing happened. the family had reached one of their safe and pleasant hillsides, when there loomed up before them a vast black figure among the trees, and out into the open strode a blackbear of a size that none of the three little cubs had ever seen before. in their wanderings they had met many other bears. most of these the old bear passed unseeingly, in accordance with bear etiquette. sometimes, if the stranger came too close, the hair on mother bear's back would begin to bristle, and a deep, threatening rumble, that seemed to come from underground, would warn against any nearer approach. to-night, however, when this newcomer lumbered up to the cubs, who shrank behind their mother, mother bear made no protest. he sniffed at them thoughtfully, and then said loudly, "koff--koff--koff--koff." mother bear seemed entirely satisfied with this sentiment, and from that time on the stranger led the little band, and the cubs came to know that he was none other than father bear. bears mate only every other year; but often a couple will join forces in the odd year, and wander together as a family until winter. father bear was a giant among his kind. he would tip the scales at perhaps five hundred pounds, and stood over three feet high at his foreshoulders, and was between six and seven feet long. in all the emergencies and crises of everyday life, he showed himself always a very present help in every time of trouble. warier and wiser even than mother bear, he piloted his little family into the wildest and loneliest corners of all that wild and lonely land. not for many years had the old giant met his match. of panther, canada lynx, porcupine, wolf, wolverine, and all the bears, black and brown, for a hundred miles around, he was the acknowledged overlord. this sense of power gave him a certain grim confidence, and he hunted and foraged for his family, with none to hinder save only man, the king of beasts. crafty as he was powerful, the old bear fled into his most inaccessible fastnesses at the slightest taint or trace of that death-bringer. one curious custom he had. whenever he approached certain trees in his usual fifteen-mile range, he would examine them with great care for several minutes. these trees always stood in a prominent place, and were deeply scarred and furrowed with tooth-marks and claw-marks. father bear, after looking them all over carefully, would sniff every recent mark gravely. with his head on one side, he seemed to be receiving and considering messages from unseen senders. occasionally the news that the tree brought seemed to enrage him profoundly. thereupon he would claw and chew the unoffending tree frothingly, and then trot away growling deep in his throat. at other times, he would raise his ears politely, as if recognizing a friend; or wrinkle his nose doubtfully but courteously, as a well-bred bear might do who met a stranger. always, however, before leaving, he would stand up on his hind quarters and claw the tree as high as he could reach, at the same time drawing his teeth across it at right angles to the vertical claw-marks. the cubs soon learned that these lone, marked trees were bear-postoffices and that it was the duty of every he-bear of any real bearhood to leave a message there, with tooth and claw, for friend and foe to read. when september came again, the family found themselves ranging far to the north, in a country which the cubs had never seen before. there they saw in the soft moss the deep marks of great splay hoofs; while here and there the bark of the striped maple was torn off in long strips seven or eight feet from the ground, and always on only one side, so that the half-peeled tree never died, as did the girdled trees attacked by the porcupine. one of the slow migrations of the moose-folk, which take place only at intervals of many years, had set in. drifting down from the far north, scattered herds had invaded the old bear's northernmost range. like the witch-hazel, which blooms last of all the shrubs, the love-moon of the moose rises in the fall. the males of that folk take hardly the stress and strain of courtship. bad-tempered at the best, a bull-moose is a devil unchained in september. as the hunter's moon waxes in the frosty sky, he neither rests, eats, or sleeps, but wanders night and day through the woods in search of a mate. woe be to man or beast who meets him then! as the afterglow died out at the end of one of the shortening september days, the bear family heard faintly from a far-away hillside a short bellowing "oh-ah! oh-ah! oh-ah!" suddenly, not two hundred yards away, on a hardwood ridge, came back a long ringing, mooing call, which sounded like "who-are-you! who-are-you!" it was the answer of the cow-moose to her distant would-be lover. at the sound, the ears of the great bear pricked up, and his deep-set, little eyes twinkled fiercely in the fading light. without a sound, he shambled swiftly into the swamp toward the call. hesitating for a moment, mother bear followed him, and close behind her trailed the usual procession. the frost in the air and the call, vibrant and pulsing with warm life, had made the old bear hungry for fresh meat. unfortunately for him, as he approached the little ridge, a tiny breeze sprang up. as the sensitive nostrils of the young cow-moose caught the scent of danger, she drifted away into the woods like a shadow, and was gone. [illustration: bull moose and blackbear] when the bear reached the ridge, he could not be convinced that she had escaped. everywhere lingered the warm delicious scent, so fresh that his great jaws dripped as he glided silently and swiftly through the thickets. then, as he hunted, suddenly, silently, a vast bulk heaved into view, looming high and huge and black above the saplings and against the last red streak of the darkening sky. the cubs shrank close to their mother, and she discreetly retired into the far background, as into the clearing strode an enormous black beast with a brown head and white legs, and with a long tassel of hair swinging from its throat. seven feet high at the shoulder, and more than ten feet from tail to muzzle, stood the great bull-moose. the antlers measured seven feet from tip to tip. with their vast, flat, palmated spread, with eight curved, sharp prongs in front, a strong man could not have carried them. yet the moose switched them as easily as a girl might settle her hat with a toss of her head. at the sight of the prowling blackbear, all the devilish temper of the thwarted, seeking, brooding bull broke loose. his deep-set, wicked little eyes burned red, and with a roaring bellow he whirled up his vast bulk over the bear. ordinarily the bear would not have waited for any trouble with a bull-moose in the month of september. to-night, however, he was on his own range. behind him watched his mate and his cubs. the moose was a stranger and a trespasser. morever, the blood-hunger had seized upon the bear, and a bear that sees red is one of the most dangerous opponents on earth. throwing himself back upon his massive haunches, he prepared for a fight to the finish. a moose more experienced in bear-ways would have relied chiefly on his antlers, whose sharp, twisted prongs would cut and tear, while the immense flat plates of spreading horn were shields against any effective counter-stroke. this particular bull-moose, however, had never before met any opponent other than a moose who would await his attack, and he did not know what a deadly infighter a bear is. his only thought was to settle the battle before the other could escape. with a bellowing squeal of rage, he pivoted on his hind legs and struck two pile-driving blows, one after the other, with his ponderous keen-edged hoofs. such a blow would have disemboweled a wolf, or killed a man, or even have shattered the huge bulk of another moose, if once they had landed full and fair. just as the moose struck, the bear slipped forward and, sudden as the smashing leads came, they were not so swift as the lightning-like parries. as each fatal hoof came whizzing down, it was met at its side by a deft snap of a powerful shaggy forearm, and glanced harmlessly off the bear's mighty shoulders. the force of the leads and the drive of the parries threw the bull off his balance, and for a moment he staggered forward on his knees, pushing against the ground with antlers and forelegs, to regain his balance. that tiny tick of time, however, was all that the old bear needed. with the dreadful coughing roar that a bear gives when fighting for his life, he pivoted toward the right on his humped-up haunches. swinging back his enormous left paw, armed with a cestus of steel-like claws, he delivered the crashing, smashing swing that only a bear can give, one of the most terrible blows known to beasts or man. every ounce of strength in the ridged forepaw, every atom of force and spring from the coiled masses of humped muscles of the enormous hind quarters, went into that mighty blow. it landed full and fair on the long neck, just back of the flat cheek-bone. the weight of the moose approached a ton. yet that dreadful shattering smash whirled the great head around like a feather. there was a snap, a rending crack, and the whole vast beast toppled over on his side, and, with one long convulsive shudder, lay dead, his neck broken under the impact of that terrible counter. the old bear rolled forward, but the black bulk never quivered as he towered over his fallen foe, still the king of his range. all that fall the five kept together. then, one day in november, their leader disappeared. mother bear showed no anxiety, for she knew that late to bed and early to rise is the motto of all he-bears, and that her mate had left her only because he intended to stay up for weeks after his family were asleep for the winter. far up on the mountainside the four found a dry cave with a tiny entrance, and spent the winter there together. when spring came again, the cubs were cubs no longer. without mother bear's bulk or shagginess, yet all three of them were sleek, powerful, full-grown bears instead of the sprawly, leggy cubs of the season before. brownie was still the largest, but spotty, the starved, whimpering little cub of a year ago, was a close second to him. not so massive nor so powerful, yet she had a supple, sure swiftness that made her his equal in their unceasing hunts for food. hurry as he would, a slim black nose with a silver spot near the end would often be thrust in just ahead of him. there must have been some charm about that spot, because brownie never got angry, although usually any interference with a bear's food is a fighting act. as the weeks wore on toward summer, blackie became every day more snappish. she growled if brownie came near her. mother bear also began to develop a temper. then came a warm night in late spring, when both blackie and spotty disappeared. brownie sniffed and searched and hunted but no trace of either of them could he find. as the days lengthened into june, the old bear became restless and more and more irritable. one day in the middle of the month, she wandered back and forth, feeding but little, and so cross that brownie followed her only at a safe distance. he, too, was uneasy and unhappy. something, he knew not what, was lacking in his life. as the late twilight faded, a great honey-colored moon came up and made the woods so bright that the veeries began to sing again their strange rippling chords, as if the night-wind were blowing across golden harp-strings. there before them, in a little glade, suddenly towered the black figure of a giant bear. with a little whicker mother bear moved forward to meet her mate, and a moment later led the way toward the dim green fastnesses of the forest. poor, untactful, unhappy brownie started to follow as of old. both of them growled at him so fiercely that he stopped in his tracks. as he watched them disappear into the fragrant dark, he felt that the whole round table was dissolved. never again would the little family that had been so happy together be united. he turned and plunged into a near-by thicket, and hurried away lonely and unhappy. for long he followed a faint trail, until it widened into a green circle where some forgotten charcoal-pit had stamped its seal forever upon the forest. the air was heavy with the drugged perfume of chestnut tassels and the fragrance of wild grape, sweetest of all the scents of earth. then, under the love-moon of june, in the centre of the tiny circle, there was standing before him a lithe, black figure with a silver spot showing at the end of her slim tilted nose--and all at once brownie knew what his life had lacked. for long and long the two looked at each other, and he was lonely and unhappy no more. then slowly, slowly, the silver spot moved away, ahead of him, toward the soft scented blackness of the deep woods. as he followed, he stopped and rumbled out dreadful warnings to a large number of imaginary bears, to beware that silver spot. while the veeries, whose heartstrings are a lute, sang in the thicket, and a little owl crooned a love-song from overhead, and the last of the hylas piped like pixies from far away, the two followed the path of their honeymoon, until it was lost in the depths of that night of love. iii the seventh sleeper in a far northwestern corner of connecticut, the twenty-one named hills of cornwall slept deep under the snow. at the north lay the barrack, a lonely coffin-shaped hill, where, in the deep woods on the top, lived old rashe howe and his wife, snowbound from december until march. never since the day that he journeyed to new york to hear jenny lind sing, a half-century ago, had she spoken to him. two miles beyond, myron prindle and mrs. prindle lived on the bare top of prindle hill, where in summer the hermit thrushes sang, and in hidden bogs bloomed the pink-and-white lady-slipper, loveliest and loneliest of all of our orchids. then there were lion's head, and rattlesnake mountain, where that king of the dark places of the forest had a den. beyond towered the cobble, a steep cone-shaped hill, which, a century ago, great-great uncle samuel sedgwick used to plough clear to the top. he relied upon three yoke of oxen and the sedgwick temper; and on calm mornings could be heard discoursing to said oxen from the top of the cobble in three different towns. over beyond the cobble was dibble hill, with its lost settlement of five deserted houses crumbling in the woods. coltsfoot, green mountain, and ballyhack stretched away to the south and the west; and in the northwest was gold mountain, with its abandoned gold-mine, from which deacon wadsworth mined just enough gold to pay for sinking the shaft. then came blakesley hill, climbed by a winding road three miles long, and ford hill, populated by silas ford and twelve little fords, and bunker hill, traversed by the crooked s's, which drove motorists to madness. beyond them all was great hill, where grew the enormous tree which could be seen against the sky-line for ten miles around. six generations of cornwall people had planned to walk or drive or motor, on some day, that never dawned, and look at that tree and find out what it was. some claimed that it was an elm, like the vast boundary elm which marked a corner where four farms met. others believed it to be a red oak; while still others claimed the honor for a button-ball. but no one yet has ever known for certain. in the very centre and heart of all the other hills was cream hill, greenest, richest, and roundest of them all. on its flanks were cornwall plains, cornwall centre, and cornwall hollow; and at its foot nestled cream pond, with pond hill sloping straight skyward from its northern shore. ever since november, cream hill had been in the clutch of winter. there had been long nights when the cold stars flared and flamed in a black-violet sky, and the snow showed cobalt-blue against the dark tree-trunks. then came the storm. for three days the north wind swept, howling like a wolf, down from the far-away catskills, whirling the lashing, stinging snow into drifts ten feet deep. safe and warm in great white farmhouses, built to stand for centuries, human-folk stayed stormbound. in the morning, again at noon, and once more in the gray twilight, the men would plough their way through the drifts to the barns, and feed and water the patient oxen, the horses stamping in their stalls, the cows in stanchions, and the chickens, which stayed on their roosts all through the darkened days. in field and forest the seven sleepers slept safe and warm until spring, but the rest of the wild folk were not at truce with winter but, hunger-driven, must play at hide-and-seek with foe and food. everywhere on the surface of the snow the writings of their foot-prints appeared and reappeared, as they were swept away by the wind or blotted out by the falling flakes. finally, the storm raged itself out, and by the afternoon of the third day, the white unwritten page of the snow lay across hill and lake and valley. the next morning it was scribbled and scrawled all over with stories of the life which had pulsed and ebbed and passed among the silent trees and across the snowbound meadows. wherever the weed-stalks had spread a banquet of seeds, there were delicate trails and traceries. some of them were made up of tiny, trident tracks where the birds had fed--juncos with their white skirts and light beaks, tree-sparrows with red topknots and narrow white wing-bars, and flocks of redpolls down from the arctic circle, whose rosy breasts looked like peach-blossoms scattered upon the white snow. hundreds of larger patterns showed where the mice-folk had feasted and frolicked all the long night through. down under the snow, their tunnels ran in mazes and labyrinths, with openings at every weed-stalk up which they could climb in hurrying groups into the outside world. some of the trails were lines of little paw-prints separated by a long groove in the snow. these were the tracks of the deer-mice, whose backs are the color of pine-needles, and who wear white silk waistcoats and silk stockings and have pink paws and big flappy ears and lustrous black eyes. the groove was the mark of their long slender tails. near them were lines of slightly larger paw-prints, with only occasional tail-marks--the trail of the sturdy, short-tailed, round-headed meadow-mouse. here and there were double rows of tiny exclamation points, separated by a tail-mark. wherever this track approached the mazes of the mice paw-prints, the latter scattered out like the spokes of a wheel. this strange track was that of the masked shrew, the smallest mammal in the world, a tiny, blind death, whose doom it is to devour its own weight in flesh and blood every twenty-four hours. another track showed like a tunnel, with its concave surface stamped with zigzag paw-marks. it was the trail of the blarina shrew, which twisted here and there as if a snake had writhed its way through the powdered snow. again, all other tracks radiated away from it; for the blarina is braver and bigger and fiercer than its little blood-brother, the masked shrew. everywhere, across the fields and through the swamps and in and out of the woods, was another track, made up of four holes in the snow, two far-apart and two near-together. overhead at night in the cold sky, below those star-jewels, mintaka, alnilam, and alnita, which gleam in the belt of orion, the same track appears where four stars form the constellation of lepus the hare. down on connecticut earth, however, the mark was that of the cottontail rabbit. among the many snow-stories which showed that morning was one tragedy written red. it began with the trail of one of the cottontails. at first, the near-together holes were in front of the others. that marked where bunny had been hopping leisurely along, his short close-set forepaws making the near-together holes and his long far-apart hind paws the others. at times, where the trail led in the lee of thick bushes, a fifth mark would appear. this was the print of the powder-puff that the rabbit wears for a tail, and showed where he had sat down to rest or meditate in the snow. suddenly, the wide-apart marks appeared far in front of the other two. for some reason the rabbit had speeded up his pace, and with every spring his long hind legs had thrust themselves beyond and outside of the short forepaws. a little farther along, the tracks of the two forepaws showed close to each other, in a vertical instead of a horizontal line. this meant to him who could read the writing that the rabbit was running at a desperate speed. at the end of every bound he had twisted each forepaw inward, so as to thrust them out with the greatest possible leverage. the trail zigzagged here and there and doubled back upon itself and crossed and turned and circled. the snow said that the rabbit had been running for his life, and every twist and turn told of the desperation and dumb despair of his flight. yet nowhere was there the print of any pursuer. at last, in a little opening among the bushes, the trail ended in a circle of trampled, ridged, and reddened snow. at the very edge of the blood-stains a great x was stamped deep. farther on was the end of that snow-story--the torn, half-eaten body of the rabbit, which had run a losing race with death. again, to him who could read the writing on the snow the record was a plain one. the x is the sign and seal of the owl-folk, just as a k is the mark of the hawk-people. on silent, muffled wings, the great horned owl, fiercest of all the sky-pirates, had hunted down poor cottontail. all his speed, his twistings and turnings and crafty doublings, availed him not against the swift flight and cruel, curved talons of this winged death. around the trees were other series of tracks, which went in fours, something like the rabbit-tracks in miniature, except that they showed tiny claw-marks. these were where the gray squirrels had ventured out to dig under the snow, to find nuts which they had buried in the fall, or where their more thrifty cousins, the red squirrels, had sallied forth to look up hidden hoards in the lee of rocks and in hollow trees. crossing and recrossing fields and forests in long straight lines were the trails of hunting foxes. the neat, clearly stamped prints, with never a mark of a dragging paw, and the fact that they did not spraddle out from a straight line, distinguished them from dog-tracks. along the brooks were the four- and five-fingered prints of the muskrat, showing on either side of a tail-mark; and occasionally the double foot-prints of that killer, the weasel, and the rarer trail of his cousin, the mink. only the signatures of the seven sleepers were absent from the smooth page. the bear and the bat, the woodchuck and the chipmunk, the raccoon, the jumping-mouse, and the skunk were all in bed. as the sun rose higher and higher on the first day after the storm, the sky showed as blue and soft as in june, and at sunset the whole western heavens seemed to open in a blaze of fiery amber. there were strips of sapphire-blue and pools of beryl-green, while above was a spindrift of flame the color of the terrible crystal. that night the mercury crept up higher and higher in the thermometer that hung outside of silas dean's store at cornwall centre. a little screech-owl thought that spring had come, and changed his wailing call to the croon which belongs to the love-month of may, and the air was full of the tinkle and drip and gurgle of the thaw. the next morning, in the wet snow a new trail appeared--a long chain of slender delicate close-set tracks, like a pattern of intricate stitches. the last of the sleepers was awake, for the close-set paw-prints were none other than those of the unhasting skunk. "don't hurry, others will," is his motto. it was just at dawn of the second day of the thaw that he appeared in the sunlight. all night long he had wandered slowly and sedately in and out of a circle not over two hundred yards in diameter. in spite, however, of his preoccupied manner and unhurried ways, there was not much that was edible which he had overlooked throughout his range; and now, at sunrise, which was his bedtime, he was on his way home. the rays of the rising sun blazoned to the world the details of his impressive personality. his most noticeable and overshadowing feature was his huge, resplendent tail. it waved like a black and white banner over his broad back. throughout its long dark hair, coarse as tow, were set bunches of white hairs, some of them so long that, when they floated out to their full extent, the width of that marvelous tail exceeded its length. at the very tip was a white tuft which could be erected. wise wild folk, when they saw that tuft standing straight up, removed themselves elsewhere with exceeding rapidity. as for the unwise--they wished they had. between the small eyes, which were set nearer to the pointed nose than to the broad ears, was a fine white stripe running back to a white ruff at the back of the neck. from this a wide white stripe extended across the shoulders, and branched down either flank. as he ambled homewards in the sunlight, the skunk had such an air of innocence and helplessness, that a young fox, coming down the hillside after a night of unsuccessful hunting, decided that the decorative stranger must be some unusual kind of rabbit, and dashed forward to catch it with a quick sidelong snap of his narrow jaws. unfortunately for him, the skunk snapped first. his ancestors had learned the secret of the gas-attack a million years before the boche. as the fox rushed upon him, the skunk twisted its tail to one side bringing into action two glands near the base of its tail which secrete a clear golden fluid filled with tiny floating bubbles of a devastating gas, against which neither man nor beast can stand. moreover, the skunk's accurate breech-loading and repeating weapon has one other improvement not as yet found in any human-made artillery. each gland, beside the hole for long-range purposes, is pierced with a circle of smaller holes, through which the deadly gas can be sprayed in a cloud for work at close quarters. just as the jaws of the fox were opened to seize him, the skunk compressed the mat of powerful muscles that encircled the two conical scent-glands. from the circle of tiny openings a cloud of choking, blinding, corrosive gas poured full into the fox's astonished face. to human nostrils the very odor of the gas is appalling. a mixture of garlic, sewer-gas, sulphur-matches, musk, and a number of other indescribable smells only faintly defines it. a fox, however, is by no means squeamish about smells. many odors which are revolting and unbearable to human nostrils arouse only pleasurable sensations in a fox. what sent him rolling backwards over and over, and stiffened and contracted his throat-muscles in spasms, was the choking acrid gas itself. it strangled him just as the fumes of chlorine or ammonia gas will choke a man. only one thought remained in that fox's mind. air, air, fresh untainted air, preferably miles away. he departed to find it, at an initial velocity of something less than a mile a minute, while his adversary lowered his plumed tail and regarded him forgivingly. then, with mincing, deliberate steps, the skunk started leisurely back to his home on the hillside, which had once been the property of a grizzled old woodchuck. on a day, however, the woodchuck had come back to his burrow, only to find that he had been dispossessed. the woodchuck is a surly and dogged fighter, and always fully able and disposed to protect his rights. yet it took but a single sniff to make this one abandon his lands, tenements, and hereditaments, with all easements of ingress, egress, and regress. from thenceforth, to the skunk belonged the whole complicated system of tunnels and galleries. to him belonged the two public entrances and a third concealed from sight in a little thicket. to him came the cozy nest, with its three exits in the centre of a maze of passages, the storehouses, the sand-piles, and the sun-warmed slope where the former owner had been accustomed to take his ease. from that day forward he occupied them all in undisturbed possession. after the rout of the fox, the skunk slept until late in the afternoon, and an hour before sunset was out again. here and there, through the bushes and among the trees, he tacked and zigzagged in an apparently absent-minded way. yet nothing that he could eat escaped those small deep-set eyes or that long pointed nose. near the edge of the woods he passed under a sugar-maple tree. on a lower limb sat chickaree, the irritable, explosive red squirrel, nibbling away at a long cylindrical object which he held tightly clasped in his forepaws. as the skunk passed underneath, the squirrel stopped to scold at him on general principles, and became so emphatic in his remarks that he lost his hold of what he had been eating, and it fell directly in front of the plodding skunk. it was only an icicle, but after one sniff the skunk proceeded to crunch it down eagerly while the red squirrel raved overhead. the day before, the squirrel had nibbled a hole in the bark of one of the maple limbs, to taste the sweet sap which the thaw had started flowing; and during the night the running sap had frozen into a long sweet icicle, the candy of the wild folk, which heretofore only the squirrels had enjoyed. the last bit of frozen sweetness swallowed, the skunk ambled up the hillside. suddenly he stopped, and sniffed at a little ridge in the snow which hardly showed upon the surface. hardly had he poked his pointed nose into the hummock, before it burst like a bomb, and out from the snow started a magnificent cock grouse. during the storm he had plunged into the drift for shelter, and the warmth of his body had melted a snug little room for him under the snow. there, safe and warm, he had feasted on the store of rich, spicy seeds that he found on the sweet fern under the snow, and for long days and nights had been safe from cold and hunger. the thaw, however, had thinned his coverlet so that the fine nose of the skunk had scented him through the white crystals. as the partridge broke from the snow, his magnificent, iridescent, black-green ruff stood out a full three inches around his neck, and his strong wings began the whirring flight of his kind. the skunk shed his slowness like a mask and, with the lightning-like pounce of the weasel family, caught the escaping bird just back of the ruff and snapped his neck asunder. there was a tremendous fluttering and beating of brown mottled feathers against the white snow, and a minute later he was feeding full on the most delicious meat in the world. before he had finished, there came an interruption. down from the top of the hill trotted another skunk, an oldtimer whose range marched next to that of the first. as the newcomer caught sight of the dead partridge, he hurried down to join in the feast. the other skunk stopped eating at the sight of this unbidden guest, and made a kind of chirring, complaining noise, with an occasional low growl. according to skunk-standards that was a tremendous exhibition of rage, but the second skunk came on unmoved. under the skunk geneva convention, the use of aerial bombs or any form of gas-attack against skunk-kind is barred. in a battle between skunk and skunk the fighters must depend upon tooth and claw. accordingly, when the stranger sniffed approvingly at the half-eaten bird, he was promptly nipped by the owner of the same, just back of the forepaw. he, in turn, secured a grip on the first skunk's neck, and in a moment the atmosphere was full of flying snow and whirling fur. the teeth of each fighter were so fine and their fur so thick, that neither one could do much damage to the other; but they fought and rolled and chirred and growled, until they looked like a great black-and-white pinwheel. [illustration: the thief] the contest caught the eyes of an old red fox, who was loping around a ten-mile circle in search of any little unconsidered trifle that might come his way. he was a seasoned old veteran and, unlike the novice of the day before, was well acquainted with skunk-ways. not for any prize that the country round about held would he have attacked either one of that battling pair. his was a purely sporting interest in the fight, until he happened to catch a glimpse of the partridge half-covered by the loose snow. on the instant, he nobly resolved to play the peacemaker and remove the cause of all the trouble. step by step, he stole up closer to the fighters, all set to turn and run for his life if either one of them saw him. at last he was poised and taut on his tiptoes not six feet from the prize. as an extra whirl of the contestants carried them to the farthest circumference of the circle of which the partridge was the centre, the fox started like a sprinter from his marks, and reached the grouse in one desperate bound. just at that instant a disengaged eye of the first of the skunks came to the surface, in time to see his grouse departing toward the horizon, slung over the shoulder of the fox, nearly as fast as if it had gone under its own wing-power. instantly the skunk released his hold. his opponent did the same, and the two scrambled to their feet and for a long moment stood sombrely watching the vanishing partridge. then, without a sound, they turned their backs on each other and trotted away in opposite directions. a week later the thaw was over, and all that hill-country was once more in the grip of winter. when the temperature went down toward the zero-mark, the skunk went back to bed. rolled up in a round ball of fur, with his warm tail wrapped about him like a fleecy coverlet, he slept out the cold in the midmost chamber of his den on a bed of soft, dry grass. at the first sign of spring he was out again, the latest to bed and the earliest to rise of all the sleepers. at last the green banners of spring were planted on all the hills. underneath the dry leaves, close to the ground, the fragrant pink-and-white blossoms of the trailing arbutus showed here and there; while deeper in the woods leathery trefoil leaves, green above and dark violet beneath, vainly tried to hide the blue-and-white-porcelain petals of the hepatica. in bare spots the crowded tiny white blossoms of the saxifrage showed in the withered grass, and the bloodroot, with its golden heart and snowy, short-lived petals, and gnarled root which drips blood when broken. a little later the hillsides were blue with violets, and yellow with adder's-tongue with its drooping blossoms and spotted fawn-colored leaves. then came days of feasting, which made up for the long lean weeks that had gone before. there were droning, blundering june-bugs, crickets, grubs, grasshoppers, field-mice, snakes, strawberries, and so many other delicacies that the skunk's walk was fast becoming a waddle. it was on one of those late spring days that the artist and the skunk had their first and last meeting. said artist was none other than reginald de haven, whose water-colors were world-famous. reginald had a rosy face, and wore velvet knickerbockers and large chubby legs, and made the people of cornwall suspect his sanity by frequently telescoping his hands to look at color-values. this spring he was boarding with old mark hurlbutt, over on cream hill. on the day of the meeting, he had been sketching down by cream pond and had taken a wood-road home. where it entered one of mark's upper pastures, he saw a strange black-and-white animal moving leisurely toward him, and stood still lest he frighten it away. he might have spared his fears. the stranger moved toward him, silent, imperturbable, and with an assured air. as it came nearer, the artist was impressed with its color-scheme. the snowy stripe down the pointed black nose, the mass of white back of the black head, and, above all, the resplendent, waving pompon of a tail, made it a spectacular study in blacks and whites. with tiny mincing steps the little animal came straight on toward him. it seemed so tame and unconcerned, that de haven planned to catch it and carry it back to the farm wrapped up in his coat. as he took a step forward, the stranger seemed for the first time to notice him. it stopped and stamped with its forepaws, in what seemed to the artist a playful and attractive manner. this, if he had but known it, was signal number one of the prescribed three which a well-bred skunk always gives, if there be time, even to his bitterest enemies. as de haven moved toward the animal, he was again interested to see the latter hoist aloft the gorgeous black-and-white banner of its clan. rushing on to his ruin, he went unregardingly past this second danger-signal. by this time, he was within six feet of the skunk, which had now come to a full stop and was watching him intently out of its deep-set eyes. as he approached still nearer, he noticed that the white tip of the tail, which heretofore had hung dangling, suddenly stiffened and waved erect. "like a flag of truce," he observed whimsically to himself. never was there a more dreadful misapprehension. that raising of the white tail-tip is the skunk's ultimate warning. after that, remains nothing but war and carnage and chaos. if even then the artist had but stood stony still, there might have been room for repentance, for the skunk is long-suffering and loath to go into action. no country-bred guardian angel came to de haven's rescue. stepping quickly forward, he stooped to seize the motionless animal. even as he leaned forward, his fate overtook him. swinging his plumed tail to one side, the skunk bent its back at the shoulders, and brought its secondary batteries into action. a puff of what seemed like vapor shot toward the unfortunate artist, and a second later he had an experience in atmospheric values which had never come into his sheltered life before. from the crown of his velour hat with the little plume at the side, down to his suede shoes, he was maranatha and anathema to the whole world, including himself. coughing, sneezing, gasping, strangling, racked by nausea and wheezing for breath, his was the motto of the restless club: "anywhere but here." his last sight of the animal which had so influenced his life showed it demurely moving along the path from which it had never once swerved. the wind was blowing toward the farmhouse, and although it was half a mile away, old mark hurlbutt soon had advance reports of the battle. "a skunk b'gosh!" he remarked to himself, stopping on his way to the barn; "and an able-bodied one, too," he continued, sniffing the breeze. a minute later he saw someone running toward him, and recognized his boarder. even as he saw him, a certain aura which hung about the approaching figure made plain to mark what had happened. "hey! stop right where you be!" shouted the old man. "another step an' i'll shoot," he went on, aiming the shovel which he had in his hand directly at the distressed artist's head, and trying not to breathe. de haven halted in his tracks. "but--but--i require assistance," he pleaded. "you sure do," agreed his landlord; "somethin' tells me so. hustle over back of the smoke-house and get your clothes off an' i'll join you in a minute." mark hurried into the house, and was out again almost immediately with a large bottle of benzine, a wagon-sponge, a calico shirt, and a pair of overalls. as he came around the corner, the sight of the artist posing all pink and white against the smoke-house, with a pile of discarded clothes at his feet, was too much for the old man, and he cackled like a hen. "darned if you don't look like one of them fauns you're all the time paintin'," he gasped. "shut up!" snapped the artist. "you fix me up right away, or i'll put these clothes on again and walk through every room in your house." this threat brought immediate action, and a few moments later an expensive and artistic suit of clothes reposed in a lonely grave back of mark's smoke-house, where they remain even to this day. thereafter the artist, scrubbed with benzine until he smelt like a garage, left cornwall forever. he was wearing a mackintosh of his own. everything else belonged to mark. "it's lucky for you that he went when he did," said old hen root the next evening, when the story was told at silas dean's store at the centre. "you're gettin' on, mark," he continued solemnly. "if he'd a' stayed you might have got some kind of a stroke or other from over-laughin' yourself. i didn't dare to do any work for nigh a week after i first saw him telescopin' round in them velvet short pants." "that's right," agreed silas dean heartily; "an' you ain't done any since--nor before," he concluded, carefully closing the cracker-barrel next to hen. it was, perhaps, the meeting with an eminent artist that aroused a new ambition in the skunk's mind. at any rate, from that day he began to haunt the farmyard. the first news that mark had of his presence was when a motherly old hen, who had been sitting contentedly on twelve eggs for nearly a week, wandered around and around her empty nest clucking disconsolately. during the night some sly thief had slipped egg after egg out from under her brooding wings, so deftly that she never even clucked a protest. in the morning there were left only scattered egg-shells and a telltale track in the dust. "blamed old rascal," roared mark. "first he loses me a good boarder an' now he's ate up a full clutch of pedigree white wyandotte eggs. i'm goin' to shoot that skunk on sight." mark was mistaken. early the next morning he opened the spring-house to set in a pail of milk. there, right beside the magnificent spring which boiled and bubbled in the centre of the cement floor, a black-and-white stranger was contentedly drinking from a pan of milk that had been placed there to cool. as mark opened the door, the skunk looked at him calmly, and then quietly raised the banner which had waved over many a bloodless victory. whereupon the owner of the spring-house backed away, and waited until his visitor had finished his drink and disappeared in a patch of bushes back of the milk-house. "what about all that talk of shootin' that skunk at sight?" queried jonas, the hired man, that evening at supper. "the trouble was, jonas," returned mark confidentially, "he got the drop on me. if i'd shot i'd of lost one spring, six gallons of milk, an' a suit of clothes." "you men are a lot of cowards," scolded his wife. "i'd of found some way to stop that skunk a-drinkin' up a whole pan of good milk right in front of my eyes. he'd not bluff me." "mirandy," said mark solemnly, "you take it from me that skunk ain't no bluffer. if you don't believe it, telegraph mr. de haven." in spite of her threat, it was miranda herself who afterwards insisted that the skunk should continue to live on the farm without fear or reproach. late one afternoon she had been coming down pond hill on a search for a new-born calf which, as usual, had been hidden by its mother somewhere in the thick woods. the path was sunken deep between banks covered with the yellow blossoms of the hardhack. at one spot, where the way widened into a rude road, a crooked green stem stretched out across the pathway, and from it swayed a great rose-red flower like some exquisite carved shell. it was the moccasin flower, the most beautiful of our early orchids. miranda bent down to pick it with a little gasp of delight. suddenly, from just beyond, came a warning hiss, and in front of her reared the bloated swollen body of a fearsome snake. the reptile's head was flattened out until it was half as wide as her hand, and it swelled and hissed rhythmically like the exhaust of a steam-pipe, and repeatedly struck out in her direction, the very embodiment of blind, venomous rage. half paralyzed with fear, miranda moved backward and began to wonder what she would do. night was coming on, and if she went back over the hill, it would be dark before she could reach home. as for going around, no power on earth would have persuaded her to step into the thick bushes on either side of the path, convinced as she was that they must be swarming with snakes. at this psychological moment, ambling unconcernedly up the path, came the same black-and-white beast about which she had spoken so bitterly the day before. as it caught sight of the snake coiling and rearing and hissing, the skunk's gait quickened, and it approached the threatening figure with cheerful alacrity. the snake puffed and hissed and struck, but the skunk never even hesitated. holding the reptile down with its slim paws it nibbled off the threatening head, neatly skinned the squirming body, and before mrs. hurlbutt's delighted eyes ate it up. then, without apparently noticing her at all, it went on up the hill until lost to sight among the hardhacks. it would have been impossible to convince miranda that the snake was nothing but a harmless puff-adder, and that, in spite of its bluffing ways, it had no fangs and never was known to bite. from that day on the skunk was envisaged in her mind as the guardian angel of the farm, and the edict went out that on no account was it to be molested. not even when most of the bees from one of mark's cherished swarms disappeared into its leather-lined interior, would miranda permit any adverse action. "some skunk that!" jeered mark. "you let it get away with bees an' boarders an' milk an' eggs, an' never say a word. i wisht you cared as much for your husband." "i might, if he was as brave--an' good-looking," murmured miranda. it was the sweet influences of the month of june which settled the dispute. jonas had been down in the sap-works, where the vast sugar-maples grew below the milk-house meadow. as he came back up the slope, the great golden moon of june was showing its rim over pond hill. ahead of him he saw a familiar black-and-white shape moving toward the woods. even as he watched, a procession came down to meet him. at its head marched another full-grown skunk, while back of her was a long winding procession of little skunks. one, two, three, four, five, six--jonas counted them up to ten, and the last one of all was jet-black except for a tiny stripe of white on its muzzle. there was a long pause as the lone skunk met the band. then suddenly he was at the head of it, and the long procession trailed contentedly after him. separated from him by a winter and a spring, mrs. skunk had rejoined her mate, bringing her sheaves with her. away from the tame folk to return no more, the wild folk moved on and on into the heart of the summer woods. iv high sky "clang! clang! clang!"--the sound drifted down from mid-sky, as if the ice-cold gates of winter were opening. a gaggle of canada geese, wearing white bibs below their black heads and necks, came beating down the wind, shouting to earth as they flew. below them, although it was still fall, the tan-colored marsh showed ash-gray stretches of new ice, with here and there blue patches of snow. suddenly, faint and far sounded other notes, as of a distant horn, and a company of misty-white trumpeter swans swept along the sky, gleaming like silver in the sun. down from the arctic tundras they had come, where during the short summer their great nests had stood like watchtowers above the level sphagnum bogs; for the trumpeter swan, like the eagle, scorns to hide its nest and fears no foe of earth or air. as their trumpet notes pealed across the marsh, they were answered everywhere by the confused cries and calls of innumerable waterfowl; for when the swan starts south, it is no time for lesser breeds to linger. wisps of snipe and badlings of duck sprang into the air. the canvasback ducks, with their dark red heads and necks, grunted as they flew; the wings of the golden-eye whistled, the scaup purred, the black ducks, and the mallards with emerald-green heads, quacked, the pintails whimpered--the air was full of duck-notes. as they swept southward, the different families took their places according to their speed. well up in the van were the canvasbacks, who can travel at the rate of one hundred and sixty feet per second. next came the pintails, and the wood-ducks, whose drakes have wings of velvet-black, purple, and white. the mallards and the black ducks brought up the rear; while far behind a cloud of blue-winged teal whizzed down the sky, the lustrous light blue of their wings glinting like polished steel in the sunlight. flying in perfect unison, the distance between them and the main flock rapidly lessened; for the blue-winged teal, when it settles down to fly, can tick off two miles a minute. a few yards back of their close cloud followed a single green-winged teal, a tiny drake with a chestnut-brown head brightly striped with green, who wore an emerald patch on either wing. in a moment the blue-wings had passed the quacking mallards and black ducks as if they had been anchored in the sky. the whistlers and pintails were overtaken next, and then, more slowly, the little flock, flying in perfect form, began to cut down the lead of the canvasbacks in front. little by little, the tiny teal edged up, in complete silence, to the whizzing, grunting leaders, until at last they were flying right abreast of them. at first slowly, and then more and more rapidly, they drew away, until a clear space of sky showed between the two flocks, including the green-winged follower. then, for the first time, the blue-wings spoke, voicing their victory in soft, lisping notes, which were echoed by a mellow whistle from the green-wing. the sound of his own voice seemed suddenly to remind the latter that he was one of the speed-kings of the sky. an inch shorter than his blue-winged brother, the green-winged teal is yet a hardier and a swifter bird. unhampered by any flock-formation, the wing-beats of this lone flyer increased until he shot forward like a projectile. in a moment he was up to the leaders, then above them; and then, with a tremendous burst of speed, he passed and went slashing down the sky alone. farther and farther in front flashed the little green-striped head, and more and more faintly his short whistles came back to the flock behind. perhaps it was his call, or it might have been the green gleam of his speeding head, that caught the attention of a sky-pirate hovering in a reach of sky far above. like other pirates, this one wore a curling black moustache in the form of a black stripe around its beak which, with the long, rakish wings and hooked, toothed beak, marked it as the duck-hawk, one of the fiercest and swiftest of the falcons. as the hawk caught sight of the speeding little teal, his telescopic eyes gleamed like fire, and curving down through the sky, in a moment he was in its wake. every feather of the little drake's taut and tense body showed his speed, as he traveled at a two-mile-a-minute clip. not so with the lithe falcon who pursued him. the movements of his long, narrow wings and arrowy body were so effortless that it seemed impossible that he could overtake the other. yet every wing-beat brought him nearer and nearer, in a flight so swift and silent that not until the shadow of death fell upon the teal did the latter even know that he was being pursued. then, indeed, he squawked in mortal terror, and tried desperately to increase a speed which already seemed impossible. yet ever the shadow hung over him like a black shroud, and then, in a flash, the little green-wing's fate overtook him. almost too quickly for eye to follow, the duck-hawk delivered the terrible slash with which falcons kill their prey, and in an instant the teal changed from a live, vibrant, arrow-swift bird to a limp mass of fluttering feathers, which dropped like a plummet through the air. with a rush, the duck-hawk swung down after his dead quarry, and catching it in his claws, swooped down to earth to feast full at his leisure. far, far above the lower reaches of the sky, where the cloud of waterfowl were flying, above rain and storm and snow, was a solitude entered by only a few of the sky-pilgrims. there, three miles high, were naked space and a curved sky that shone like a great blue sun. in the north a cluster of black dots showed against the blue. swiftly they grew in size, until at last, under a sun far brighter than the one known to the earthbound, there flashed through the glittering air a flock of golden plover. they were still wearing their summer suits, with black breasts and sides, while every brown-black feather on back and crown was widely margined with pure gold. before they reached patagonia the black would be changed for gray; for the arctic summer of the golden plover is so short that he must moult, and even do his courting, on the wing. this company had nested up among the everlasting snows, and the mileage of their flight was to be measured by thousands instead of hundreds. to-day they were on their first lap of fifteen hundred miles to the shores of nova scotia. there they would rest before taking the water route which only kings of the air can follow. straight across the storm-swept atlantic and the treacherous gulf of mexico, two thousand four hundred miles, they would fly, on their way to their next stop on the pampas of the argentine. fainter-hearted flyers chose the circuitous island passage, across cuba, porto rico, and the antilles, to the northern shore of south america. the chuck-will's-widow of the gulf states, cuckoos from new england, gray-checked thrushes from quebec, bank-swallows from labrador, black-poll warblers from alaska, and hosts and myriads of bobolinks from everywhere took the bobolink route from florida to cuba, and the seven hundred miles across the gulf to south america. only a few of the highest-powered water-birds shared the water route with the plover. when this flock started, they had circled and wheeled and swooped in the wonderful evolutions of their kind, but had finally swung into their journey-gait--and when a plover settles down to straight flying, it would seem to be safe from anything slower than a bullet. far above the flock floated what seemed a fleck of white cloud blown up from the lower levels. as it drifted swiftly down toward the speeding plover, it grew into a great bird sparsely mottled with pearl-gray, whose pointed wings had a spread of nearly five feet. driven down from greenland by cold and famine, a white gyrfalcon was haunting these solitudes like some grim ghost of the upper sky. his fierce eyes were of a glittering black, as was the tip of his blue hooked beak. as the plover whizzed southward on their way to summer, some shadow of the coming of the falcon must have fallen upon them; for suddenly the whole flock broke and scattered through the sky, like a dropped handful of beads, each bird twisting and doubling through the air, yet still shooting ever southward at a speed which few other flyers could have equaled. unluckily for the plover, the gyrfalcon is perhaps the fastest bird that flies, and moreover it has all of that mysterious gift of the falcon family of following automatically every double and twist and turn of any bird which it elects to pursue. this one chose his victim, and in a flash was following it through the sky. here and there, back and forth, up and down, in dizzy circles and bewildering curves, the great hawk sped after the largest of the plover. as if driven in some invisible tandem, the white form of the falcon kept an exact distance from the plover, until at last the latter gave up circling and doubling for a stretch of straight flight. in an instant, the flashing white wings of the falcon were above it; there was the same arrowy pounce with which the lesser falcon had struck down the teal; and, a moment later, the gyrfalcon had caught the falling body, and was volplaning down to earth with the dead plover in its claws. for a time after this tragedy the sky seemed empty, as the scattered plover passed out of sight, to come together as a flock many miles beyond. then a multitude of tiny black specks showed for an instant in the blue. they seemed almost like motes in the sunlight, save that, instead of dancing up and down, they shot forward with an almost inconceivable swiftness. it was as if a stream of bullets had suddenly become visible. immeasurably faster than any bird of even twice its size, a flock of ruby-throated humming-birds, the smallest birds in the world, sped unfalteringly toward the sunland of the south. their buzzing flight had a dipping, rolling motion, as they disappeared in the distance on their way to the gulf of mexico, whose seven hundred miles of treacherous water they would cover without a rest. as the setting sun approached the rim of the world, the lower clouds changed from banks of snow into masses of fuming gold, splashed and blotched with an intolerable crimson. again the sky was full of birds. those last of the day-flyers were the swallow-folk. white-bellied tree swallows; barn swallows, with long forked tails; cliff swallows, with cream-white foreheads; bank and rough-winged swallows, with brown backs--the air was full of their whirling, curving flight. with them went their big brothers, the purple martins, and the night hawks, with their white-barred wings, which at times, as they whirled downward, made a hollow twanging noise. with the flock, too, were the swifts, who sleep and nest in chimneys, and whose winter home no man yet has discovered. as the turquoise of the curved sky deepened into sapphire, a shadowy figure came toward the circling, flashing throng of swifts and swallows. the newcomer's great bare wings seemed made of sections of brown parchment jointed together unlike those of any bird. nor did any bird ever wear soft brown fur frosted with silver, nor have wide flappy ears and a hobgoblin face. miles above the ground this earth-born mammal was beating the birds in their own element. none of the swallows showed any alarm as the stranger overtook them, for they recognized him as the hoary bat, the largest of north american bats, who migrates with the swallows and, like them, feeds only on insects. as the sun sank lower, the great company of the bird-folk swooped down toward the earth, for swallows, swifts, and martins are all day-flyers. not so with the bat. in the fading light, he flew steadily southward alone--but not for long. up from earth came again the great gyrfalcon, his fierce hunger unsatisfied with the few mouthfuls torn from the plover's plump breast. as his fierce eyes caught sight of the flitting bat, his wings flashed through the air with the same speed that had overtaken the plover. no bird that flies could have kept ahead of the rush of the great hawk through the air. a mammal, however, is farther along in the scale of life than a bird, and more efficient, even as a flyer. as the pricked-up ears of the bat caught the swish of the falcon's wings, the beats of its own skin-covered pair increased, and the bird suddenly ceased to gain. disdaining to double or zigzag, the great bat flew the straightaway race which the falcon loves, and which would have meant quick death to any bird who tried it. skin, however, makes a better flying surface than feathers, and slowly but unmistakably the bat began to draw away from its pursuer. the gyrfalcon is the speed-king among birds, but the hoary bat is faster still. five, ten, fifteen minutes passed before the hawk realized that he was being outflown. increase his speed as he would, the bat, in an effortless nonchalant manner, moved farther away. when only a streak of silver sky, with a shoal of little violet clouds, was left of the daylight the gyrfalcon gave up the chase. as he swooped down to earth like a white meteor, the brown figure of the bat disappeared in the violet twilight, beating, beating his way south. as the sky darkened to a peacock-blue, and a faint amber band in the west tried to bar the dark, suddenly the star-shine was full of soft pipings and chirpings. the night-flyers had begun their journey, and were calling back and forth heartening each other as they flew through the long dark hours. against the golden disc of the rising moon a continuous procession of tiny black figures showed the whole sky to be full of these pilgrims from the north. the "chink, chink" of the bobolinks dropped through the stillness like silver coins; and from higher up came the "tsip, tsip, tsip" of the black-poll warblers, all the way from the magdalen islands. with them were a score or so of others of the great warbler family. black-throated blues, cape mays, redstarts, golden-wings, yellow warblers, black-throated greens, magnolias, myrtles, and tiny parulas--myriads of this many-colored family were traveling together through the sky. with them went the vireos, the orioles, the tanagers, and four different kinds of thrushes, with a dozen or so other varieties of birds following. most of them had put on their traveling clothes for the long journey. the tanagers had laid aside their crimson and black, and wore yellowish-green suits. the indigo bird had lost his vivid blue, the rose stain of the rose-breasted grosbeak was gone, along with the white cheeks of the black-poll warbler and the black throat of the black-throated green, while the bobolinks wore sober coats of olive-buff streaked with black, in place of their cream-white and velvet black. once during the night, as the army crossed an atlantic cape, a lighthouse flashed its fatal eye at them. immediately the ranks of the flyers broke, and in confused groups they circled around and around the witch-fire which no bird may pass. for hours they flew in dizzying circles, until, weary and bewildered, some of the weaker ones began to sink toward the dark water. fortunately for them, at midnight the color of the light changed from white to red. instantly the prisoners were freed from the spell which only the white light lays upon them, and in a minute the air was filled with glad flight-calls, as the released ranks hurried on and away through the dark. all night long they flew steadily, and turned earthward only at sunrise. as the weary flyers sought the trees and fields for rest and food, overhead, against a crimson and gold dawn, passed the long-distance champion of the skies--the arctic tern, with its snow-white breast, black head, curved wings, and forked tail. nesting as far north as it can find land, only seven and a half degrees from the pole, it flies eleven thousand miles to the antarctic, and, ranging from pole to pole, sees more daylight than any other creature. for eight months of its year it never knows night, and during the other four has more daylight than dark. scorner of all lands, tireless, unresting, this dweller in the loneliest places of earth flashed white across the dawn-sky--and was gone. v the little people the swamp-maples showed rose-red and gold-green in the warm sunlight, and the woods were etched lavender-brown against a heliotrope sky. the bluebird, with the sky-color on his back and the red-brown of earth at his breast, called, "far-away! far-away! far-away!" in his soft sweet contralto. from a wet meadow a company of rusty blackbirds, with short tails and white eyes, sang together like a flock of creaking wheelbarrows, with single split notes sounding constantly above the squealing chorus. beyond the meadow was a little pool, where the air was vibrant with the music of the frogs. the hylas sang like a chest of whistles so shrill that the air quivered with their song. at intervals, a single clear flute-note rose above the chorus, the love-call of the little red salamander; while the drawling mutter of cricket-frogs, the trilled call of the wood-frogs, and the soft croon of the toad added delicate harmonies. near-by a song-sparrow sang wheezingly from a greening willow tree, but its note sounded flat compared with the shrill, high sweetness of the batrachian chorus. near the top of prindle hill was a dry warm slope, with stretches of underbrush, pasture, and ledges of rock rising to the patch of woods which crowned the crest of the hill. beyond was a tiny lake. everywhere along the sunny slope were small round holes bored through the tough turf. as the sun rose higher and higher, little waves of heat penetrated deep below the grass-roots. suddenly, from out of one of the holes, a little pointed nose was thrust, and a second later the first chipmunk of the year darted above ground from the burrow where he had slept out the long winter. his dark pepper-and-salt colored back had a black-brown stripe down the centre and four others in pairs along either side, separated by strips of cream-white. his cheeks, flanks, feet, and the underside of his black fringed tail were of a light fawn-color, and he wore a silky white waistcoat. erecting his white-tipped tail, he sat up on his haunches and tipping back his head, began to sing the spring song which every chipmunk must sing when he first comes above ground at the dawn of the year. "chuck-a-chuck-a-chuck-a-chuck-a-chuck," he chirped loudly, at the rate of two chirps per second. at the very first note sharp noses and bright black eyes appeared at every hole, and in a second a score or more other singers had whisked out and joined in the spring chorus, each one bent on proving that his notes were the loudest and clearest of any on the hill. one of the last to begin was a half-grown chipmunk, who had been crowded out of the family burrow by new arrivals the autumn before. fortunately for him, however, the next burrow was occupied by a chipmunk of an inquiring disposition. said disposition caused him to wait to investigate the habits of a passing red fox. thereafter his burrow was to let, and was immediately taken possession of by the young chipmunk aforesaid. this new tenant came out timidly, even when he felt the thrill of spring. once above ground, however, he simply had to sing. at his very first note, he sensed a difference between his voice and those of all the others. whereas they sang "chuck-a-chuck-a-chuck," he sang "chippy, chippy, chippy." to his delighted ear his own higher notes were far superior to those of his companions, and he shrilled away, ecstatically, with half-closed eyes. ten minutes went happily by. then a singer on the outskirts caught sight of a marsh-hawk quartering the hillside, and gave the alarm-squeal as he dove into his hole. the song broke in the middle, as every singer whisked underground and the annual spring song was over. thereafter the customary caution of a chipmunk-colony was resumed. at first, chippy ventured but seldom outside of his new burrow. far in under the turf was the storehouse, filled by its first owner full of hazel-nuts, cherry-pits, wild buckwheat, buttercup seeds, maple-keys, and other chipmunk staples, all carefully cleaned, dried, and stored. on these he lived largely during the first few weeks of spring. then came a day when he entered his front door with a flying leap, only to find a burly and determined stranger blocking his way. a bustling and lusty bachelor from another colony had spied the burrow from the stone wall, the broad highway of all chipmunks, and had decided to make it his own by right of conquest. in vain chippy fought for his home, at first desperately and then despairingly. the other chipmunk had the advantage of weight, experience, and position, and chippy was forced slowly out into the wide world. squealing and chirping with rage, with his soft fur fluffed up all over his sleek body, he came out into the sunlight. he saw nothing, heard nothing, scented nothing, hostile. yet, obeying the little alarm-bell that rings in every chipmunk's brain, he dashed desperately for the shelter of the stone wall. it was well for him that he did. as he crossed the wide stretch of turf like a tawny streak, there was a whirl of wing-beats, the flash of a gray-brown body balanced by a narrow black-barred tail, and the shadow of death fell upon him even as he neared his refuge. with a frightened squeal, chippy put every atom of the force which pulsed through his little vibrant body into one last spring. even as he disappeared headlong into a chink between two large stones, a set of keen claws clamped vainly through the long hairs of his vanishing tail, as a sharp-shinned hawk somersaulted with a backward sweep of its wings, to avoid dashing itself against the wall. for a moment it vibrated in the air with cruel, crooked beak half-open, searching the wall with unflinching golden eyes, and then skimmed sullenly away. in a minute a pointed nose was poked out from the stones and carefully winnowed the air. satisfied that the coast was clear, chippy at last scurried up to the top of the wall, where he could see on all sides, with a wide cranny conveniently near; for a chipmunk who desires to live out all his days must never be more than two jumps from a hole. sitting up on the stone, he produced from one of the pockets which he wore in either cheek a large hickory nut, which had been pouched there all through his fight and flight. holding it firmly in both his little three-fingered, double-thumbed forepaws, he nibbled an alternate hole in either side, through which he extracted every last fragment of the rich, brown kernel within. while he ate, there was never a second during which his sharp black eyes were not scanning every inch of the circumference of which his stone was the centre. there was not an instant that his sharp ears were not pricked up to catch the slightest sound, and his keen nostrils to sniff the faintest scent, that would indicate the approach of death in any of the many forms in which it comes to chipmunks. his meal finished, chippy turned his instantaneous mind to the next most important item of life. on his list of necessities, _home_ stared at him in capitals just under the item _food_. a stone wall makes a good lodging-house but a poor home, for it has too many doors. wherefore chippy scampered along the top of the wall, his tail erect like a plume, scanning the hillside as he ran for a good building-site. at last, he came to a dry bank covered with short twisted ringlets of tough grass, which sloped up from the stone wall and ended in a clump of sweet fern. with a flying leap, he struck the middle of the bank, and with another bound was safe in the depths of the sweet fern. from there he commenced to dig. no one has ever yet found a fleck or flake of loose earth near the entrance to a chipmunk home. this is because he always starts digging at the other end. working like a little steam-shovel, within a few days chippy had dug a series of intersecting tunnels, of which the main one ended between two stones at the base of the wall. far down among the roots of a rotting stump, he made a warm nest of leaves and grass. from this sleeping-room a twisted passage led to a rounded storeroom on the other side of the stump. no less than three emergency entrances and exits were made within a ten-foot circle; and beside the bedroom and storeroom he dug a kitchen midden, where all refuse and garbage could be deposited and covered with earth, in accordance with the custom of all properly brought-up chipmunks. when at last every grain of earth had been carried out through the first hole among the overshadowing ferns, he sealed it up from the outside, and covered the packed earth with leaves. then he took a day off. climbing to the top of the wall, he perched himself where a single bound would take him to the main entrance of his new home, and with his little nose pointed skyward told the world, at the rate of one hundred and thirty chirps per minute, what a wonderful home was his. thereafter began an unending search for food. on the far side of the slope he found a thicket of hazel bushes, which had been overlooked by the rest of the colony. thence he would return to his burrow, looking as if he had a bad attack of mumps. really it was only nuts. twelve hazel-nuts, or four acorns, were chippy's tonnage. by the time the flood-tide of summer had set in, chippy had reached the high watermark of his youth. larger, stronger, and swifter than any of the younger members of the colony, he soon began to rival the elders of the community in wisdom. then suddenly there came to the little people of the woods, a wandering demon of blood and carnage. one sunny afternoon, while every chipmunk on that hillside was abroad, playing, feasting, hoarding, singing, there flashed in among them a reddish animal, with a long black-tipped tail, white chin and cheeks, and a fierce pointed head. sniffing here and there like a trailing hound, it darted down upon the little colony. it was the long-tailed, or great, weasel, whose movements are so swift as to baffle even the quickest eye. caught too far from their burrows, the lives of four chipmunks went out like the puff of a candle. then the high alarm-squeal ran up and down the hillside, and every chipmunk within hearing dived underground where they were all safe; for the great weasel is just one size too large to enter a chipmunk's burrow. hither and there the weasel wound its way, like some fierce swift snake. with its flaming eyes, white cheeks dabbled red with blood, and flat triangular head swaying from side to side on a long neck, it looked the very personification of sudden death. farthest from home of all the others, chippy, the swift and wise, faced the death which had overtaken the slow and foolish. for the first time in his life he had climbed to the tiptop of an elm tree. there among the topmost slender sprays he was feasting on elm-seeds, and came hurrying down at the first alarm-note. just as he had nearly reached the ground, around the foot of the tree trunk was thrust the bloody face of the killer. there is something so devilish and implacable in the appearance of a hunting weasel, that it cows even the bravest of the smaller animals. a gray old rat, ordinarily a grim cynical fighter with no nerves to speak of, will run squealing in terror from before a weasel; while a rabbit, when it sees the red death on his trail, forgets his swiftness and cowers on the ground. something of the same spell came over chippy as, for the first time, he faced the demon of his tribe. yet he kept his head enough to realize that his only hope was aloft, and instantly whisked back up the great trunk. unfortunately for him the versatile weasel is at home on, under, and above ground. the chipmunk had hardly reached the topmost branch, when he felt it sway under the quick, darting motions of his pursuer. up and up he went, until he clung to the tiny swaying twigs at the very spire and summit of the elm, seventy-five feet from the ground. in a moment, the bloody muzzle of his pursuer was sniffing along his trail. hunting by scent, like all of its kind, the weasel wound his way up through the twigs, nearer and nearer to the trembling chipmunk. twelve inches away, the weasel stopped and, thrusting out its long neck, seemed for the first time to see the little animal just above. a green gleam showed in the depths of the malignant eyes. as it shifted its weight on the swaying twigs preparatory to the lightning-like pounce which would end the chase, the chipmunk, with a little wailing cry, let go his hold and fell like a stone down through the green screen of leaves and twigs that stretched between him and the ground far below. even as he whirled through space, his little brain was alert to seize upon every chance for life. as he struck twig after twig, he clutched at them with his forepaws but could get no firm hand-hold. fifty feet down, he managed to hook both of his little arms across a twig about the size of a man's thumb. a cross-twig kept his hold from slipping off, and swinging back and forth like a pendulum, he at last managed to clamber up into a crotch of this outer branch and crouched there, panting. in a moment there was a scratching noise along the tree trunk, and the weasel came down in long spirals instead of climbing straight down as would a squirrel. the branch at the end of which the chipmunk was perched ran out from the main trunk, then turned at right angles and grew down almost perpendicularly, making a sharp elbow. the weasel descended, weaving his broad, triangular head back and forth, with little looping movements of his long neck, and sniffing the air as he came. when he reached the branch where the chipmunk was, he stopped and crept along the limb to the elbow. this was too much for him, skillful climber as he was. the perpendicular drop of the branch, its small size and smooth bark, all combined against him. three times he tried to follow it down. each time he slipped so that it became evident to him that another step would break his hold and send him crashing to the ground. all this time the chipmunk was in full sight, yet the bloodshot eyes of his enemy seemed to overlook him entirely. again and again the weasel sniffed the air, and repeatedly returned to the limb, evidently convinced that his intended prey was there. throughout, the chipmunk clung to the branch, silent and motionless. only the throbbing of his silky white breast showed how his heart pounded as he watched the trailing death approaching. at last, the weasel seemed to give up the hunt and reluctantly wound his way down the main trunk and disappeared behind the tree. for a full half-hour the chipmunk clung to his refuge without the slightest movement. finally, when it seemed as if his pursuer were gone for good, the little animal moved cautiously up the branch, and managed to negotiate the elbow which had baffled his heavier pursuer. with the same caution he crept down the trunk and, after looking all around, finally leaped to the turf beyond. as he struck the ground, there was a rustle from the depths of a thicket a few rods away, and out darted the weasel, which, with the fierce patience of his kind, had been lurking there and came between the chipmunk and the scattered homes of the colony. over the hilltop was the only way of escape. there lay a patch of deep woods, where the trees grew thick and dark over a ledge of rock which stretched up to the very summit. there, too, was hidden some mystery as black as the shade above that lonely ledge. often there had been no return for chipmunks crossing that dark crest. instinctively the fugitive avoided the woods and circled the hill hoping to find some refuge on the farther side. long ago, the weasel-folk have learned that a straight line is the shortest distance between two points. wherefore to-day the hunter followed the diameter of the circle that the chipmunk was making around the wooded hilltop. like a flash, with tail up and head down, the weasel wound his way among the rocks and crowded trees which covered the hill's crest. as his triangular head thrust itself beyond a pointed rock which jutted out from the ledge, his quick nostrils caught a sinister, sickly scent, and he checked in his stride but--too late. his flaming red eyes looked directly into the fixed glare of two other eyes, black, lidless, with strange oval pupils, and set deep in a cruel heart-shaped head, which showed a curious hole between eye and nostril, the hall-mark of the fatal family of pit-vipers to which the rattlesnake, copperhead, and moccasin belong. for a second the fierce beast and the grim snake faced each other. the eyes of none of the mammals have a fiercer, more compelling gaze than those of the weasel-folk when red with the rage of slaughter. yet no beast can outstare that grim ruler of the dark places of the forest, the timber rattlesnake, and in a moment the weasel started to dodge back. not even his flashing speed, however, availed against the stroke of the snake. faster than any eye could follow, the flat head shot forward, gaping horribly, while two keen movable fangs were thrust straight out like spear-points. they looked like crooked white needles, each with a hole in the side below the point, from which oozed the yellow venom. before the darting weasel had time to gain the shelter of the rock, both fangs had pierced his side, and the great snake was back again in coil. tottering as the deadly virus touched the tide of his fierce blood, and knowing that his life was numbered by seconds, the weasel yet sprang forward to die at death-grips with his foe. as he came, the great snake struck again, but as it snapped back into coil, the needle-like teeth of the other met in its brain. the great reptile thrashed and rattled, but the grip of the red killer remained unbroken long after both were still and stark. beyond the black circle of the woods, away from the fatal ledge and through the sunlight, the chipmunk sped, expecting every minute to hear the fierce patter of his pursuer close behind. little by little he circled, until at last, hardly able to believe in his own escape, he found himself once more in the depths of his own burrow. as the spring lengthened into summer, chippy found himself strangely interested in another burrow which had been dug near to his own. so, too, were half a dozen other gay young bucks of the colony, who, with tails erect and with sleek and well-groomed fur, frequently tried to visit the owner of said burrow. she treated them all alike. every chipmunk who passed her front door received such a succession of nips and scratches that he was only too glad to back out again in a hurry. as time went by, with every new experience and with every new escape, chippy grew larger and wiser and stronger. then came the glittering summer afternoon when he won the right to rank with the bravest and best of the colony. the heat eddied across the hill in shimmering waves as he started home from where he had been foraging, his cheek-pockets full of samples for his storehouse. as he neared his front door by the stone wall he saw death itself entering his little neighbor's burrow. black, sinuous, terrible, a giant blacksnake over six feet in length had found its way from its den on the other side of the hill to the chipmunk colony. its smooth scales showed an absolute black in the sunlight, and made a crisp, rustling noise as it streamed over the dry leaves and grass of the hillside. except for that sound, there was silence. at times the great snake would stop and, raising its head two feet from the ground and swaying back and forth, would stare here and there with fixed lidless eyes while the white patch on its lower jaw gleamed in the sun, and its long, black forked tongue played in and out like the flicker of a flame. suddenly the snake shot into chippy's burrow. over a third of its length had disappeared from sight when chippy showed a flash of that instantaneous, unreckoning courage which carries man or beast into the front ranks of his kind. perhaps what he did was to save himself from future danger. yet who can say that it was not a spark of the same divine fire which glows in the heart of man that made him risk his life for another? as he saw the fatal head disappear down the burrow, with a lightning-like spring he leaped upon the disappearing body, casting out his cherished nuts from his cheeks in mid-air. opening his wide-set jaws, he clamped them shut where the supple, flexible spine of the snake ridged the smooth skin. the back of a blacksnake is a mass of tough muscles, and its spine has the strength of a steel spring. yet the tremendous jaw-muscles of the chipmunk drove the needle-pointed teeth deep into the twisted, over-lapping fibres. the black column stiffened like an iron bar. bracing his paws against the sides of the hole, the chipmunk gnawed away desperately. suddenly the keen teeth grated, and then locked in the sinuous spine itself. as they met, the great body surged forward and dragged the chipmunk into the burrow. once deep underground, there was danger that the snake might find space to double back on its length and gain a fatal head-hold with its sharp slanting teeth. yet chippy never loosed his grip for an instant. dragging back with all his strength, he forced his clamped teeth deeper and deeper into the twisting spine. at last through the cold, bubbling blood, he felt the fibres of the vertebrae slowly give, until with a final rending tug he bit clear through the spinal cord. by this time he was well below ground, and only the snake's tail thrashed and writhed ineffectually on the surface. suddenly, as chippy still gnawed and tugged, the lashings of the tail lessened, and through his clenched teeth he could feel something tugging and biting at it. little by little the struggles of the snake became fainter, and chippy no longer felt himself dragged forward. when at last they had died down to convulsive twists and shudders, which would last for hours, the battling chipmunk unlocked his jaws and backed out of the burrow. bloody, bruised and exhausted he found himself once more safe in the sunlight. right in front of him was nippy, worrying the wriggling tail with her sharp teeth like a little terrier. aroused far underground by the sounds of the struggle she had rushed up toward the entrance. while still a long distance from it, her quick little ears caught the fierce hiss that the great snake gave at the first pang from the piercing teeth; and though this was her first year alone in the world, she knew that the sound meant death. turning like a flash, she slipped into a by-passage and escaped to the upper air by an emergency exit concealed under a huckleberry bush. at her front door she found the tail of the crippled snake thrashing back and forth, and pouncing upon it, she helped her unseen ally by biting through the spine in two places at its narrowest point. when chippy appeared, she let go, and by degrees the writhing body disappeared from the sight of the sun. then, while chippy lay and panted, the little owner of the burrow began to seal up the entrance of the haunted home in token that it was hers no longer. the front door once shut and locked, she moved slowly toward the top of the hill and--looked back. then was the time for chippy to follow. instead, he stiffly and haltingly betook himself to his own burrow. when, two days later, he came out, there was no trace of the fair and fleeting nippy. for weeks he sought her everywhere, in the woods and pastures, and even to the shore of the little lake that cupped the farther side of the hill. then came a happening which drove all thoughts of anything but life and death from the minds of all the dwellers on the hillside. the doom which always hangs over the little people fell upon them. in the gray hour just before the dawn, one fatal day, what looked like a brown squirrel, with a white throat and paws and a short tail, came to the chipmunk colony. yet no squirrel ever had such bloodred eyes, such a serpent-like head, or a body so lithe and sinuous. the deadly visitor was none other than the lesser, or short-tailed, weasel, far more dangerous to the little people than his larger kinsman, since he was small enough to enter their burrows. to-day he slipped like a shadow into the first burrow he found. it happened to be the very one of which the stranger chipmunk had dispossessed chippy months before. this morning he had just waked up in his round sleeping-room when he heard the patter of the weasel down the long entrance tunnel. out of one of his many exits the chipmunk dashed, but as he came above ground, the weasel was hard on his heels, and he turned to do battle for his life. as he was nearly as large as the weasel, the fight did not seem an unequal one; yet the chipmunk never had a chance. for a second the two faced each other, the chipmunk crouched low, the weasel with its swaying head raised high. then the chipmunk lunged forward, desperately hoping to gain a grip with its two keen gnawing teeth. with a curve of its supple body, the weasel slipped the other's lead, and with almost the same motion gave that fatal counter which no animal has yet learned to parry. with a snap of the triangular muzzle, three of the long fighting teeth of the killer pierced with diabolical accuracy the chipmunk's skull at the exact point where it was thinnest, and crashed deep into its brain. stopping only to lap a little of the warm blood of its victim, the weasel flashed into the next burrow, where a mother chipmunk slept with her five babies, all rolled up in a round warm ball. to them all, death came mercifully swift. then into the next burrow and the next this death-in-the-dark hastened. none of the little people he met escaped. some fought, others fled, but neither courage nor fleetness availed. when, at last, the brown killer approached the burrow where chippy lived, it had left behind it a trail of nearly a score of dead and dying victims, and yet was as tireless and terrible as ever. each time that it slaked its vampire-thirst with fresh blood, it seemed to gain new strength and speed. as the sun showed over prindle hill, chippy started out of his front door. even as he thrust his head into the open, he caught the sound of a faint squeal from a near-by burrow and saw the blood-stained muzzle of the weasel show in the early sunlight. as he dived back, his instantaneous brain seized upon the one way of escape remaining. the weasel could outrun him, and with his unerring nose unravel any tangle of tunnels. yet the underground people have one last resource of their own, which a million years of being hunted to the death have taught them. to make use of this defense, however, the pursued must have a substantial start over the hunter, and to-day chippy had but a few scant seconds, since the weasel had glimpsed the whisk of his tail as he plunged headlong down his front entrance, and had instantly started for his burrow. with back humped high at every pattering plunge of its short legs, the weasel looked like a great inch-worm measuring its way toward its prey. yet, clumsy as its gait appeared, it was scarcely an instant before the bloody muzzle and red glaring eyes were thrust into the hole down which the chipmunk had disappeared. much can be done, however, even in seconds, with a hair-trigger brain and nerves and muscles tensed by the fear of death. like a flash, chippy traversed the main passage of his burrow, dashed into a tunnel that forked off to the right, and then dived into a smaller branch, which angled off sharply from the larger tube. then he suddenly doubled on his tracks, and popped into another passage, which ran in a long slant up to within a few inches of the surface of the hillside. once beyond the entrance to this last tunnel, the chipmunk dug for his very life's sake. with flashing strokes of his forepaws, he dislodged the soft earth at the sides of the passage, sweeping it back with his hind feet; and, even as the weasel writhed his way along the main passage, chippy had sealed the doorway to the last tube which he had entered, so carefully that the blocked entrance could not be told from the rest of the surface of the passage-wall. then he hurried swiftly and silently toward the surface. even as he dug his way up through the tough grass-roots, his fierce pursuer flashed into the tube from which the walled-up doorway led. with nose close to the ground, the weasel had followed the chipmunk's trail at full speed, nor had the branching and intersecting passages slowed his speed even for a moment. only when he came to the spot where the chipmunk had doubled back to the sealed-up doorway, was he checked. even his keen nostrils could not follow the trail through four inches of fresh earth. as he came to a standstill, his microphonic ears caught the sound of distant digging far above him. instantly, without wasting any time in hunting for the sealed tunnel, he turned and raced back to the entrance-hole, with such speed that, just as the chipmunk pushed his way to the surface well up the hillside, the weasel burst out of the main entrance below and dashed after him. if the weasel's speed had not been slowed by slaughter, the chase would have been a short one. as it was, the chipmunk went over the crest of the hill a few rods ahead; but the gap lessened as his pursuer struck his gait and shot forward like an uncoiling spring. this time it seemed as if the chipmunk's last chance for life were gone. above ground he was out-paced. to go underground again meant certain death. a miracle had saved him before from the other weasel--but nature seldom deals in miracles twice. yet the little animal never weakened. a rabbit so close to death would have quit and cowered down, crying piteously until the weasel's teeth were in its throat. a rat would have lost its head and, running itself to a standstill, met its death frothing and squealing in mortal terror. chippy, however, concealed under his gentle, sprightly exterior a cool little brain, nor did ever a braver heart beat than throbbed under his white waistcoat. although he seemed to be running at full speed, he was really holding something in reserve and already his flash-like mind had seized upon the one chance of life that was left. earth and air had betrayed him. perhaps water would be kinder. straight toward the little lake he headed. little by little the space between him and the killer behind lessened. by the time he had reached the roots of a black willow tree which stretched far out over the water, the snake-head of the weasel was not six feet behind the fluffy tail which chippy still flaunted, the unlowered banner of his courage. out upon the tree trunk he rushed, until he reached the farthest fork. then, gathering himself together, he sprang from all four feet as if driven by a released spring and struck far out in the still water. the sound of his splash had hardly died away before his brown pursuer launched himself into the air with a sort of double jump, starting with a spring from his short forelegs and ending with a tremendous drive from his squat hind legs. in spite of this clumsy take-off, the fierce force that shows in everything a weasel does, drove him a foot ahead of the chipmunk's mark. followed a desperate race. swimming high with jerky, uneven, rapid strokes, the weasel rushed through the water and foot by foot cut down the chipmunk's lead, until his teeth gnashed a scant yard back of the other's shoulder. there however the weasel hung. swimming deeper, and with slower and more powerful strokes, the chipmunk refused to break his stroke by looking back. only when the recurring ripples warned him that his pursuer was closing in on him did he put more power into the deep, regular beat of his strong little legs. slowly, very slowly, the better stroke began to tell. at first the weasel only stopped gaining. then, little by little, the gap between the two widened. when it had stretched out to ten feet, the chipmunk shot ahead as if the other were anchored. the weasel's strokes became slower, and at last stopped. flesh and blood, however fierce, has its limitations. the weasel had risked everything on his first desperate sprint. that failing, his reserves were gone, and he turned and slowly and pantingly swam back to the shore and passed out of chippy's life forever. strongly and steadily the chipmunk swam on, until the farther shore, a quarter of a mile away, was reached. wearily chippy dragged himself up the beach to the dry hillside, staggering from exhaustion. there was no stone wall near, nor had he the strength to dig even the beginning of a burrow. unprotected, in the open, he must take his chances until his strength came back. then it was that nature relented, and once more another miracle was wrought for one of her loved little people. out of a hole on the hillside half-hidden by the pink blossoms of a steeple-bush, popped a small head, and for a golden moment chippy gazed long and long into the eyes of nippy. then she turned back into her burrow, with a look that drew him totteringly after her. at the flood-tide of their lives they had met to become the founders of another colony, and to pass on undimmed the divine spark of courage and endurance and love. vi the path of the air deacon jimmy wadsworth was probably the most upright man in cornwall. it was he who drove five miles one bitter winter night and woke up silas smith, who kept the store at cornwall bridge, to give him back three cents over-change. silas's language, as he went back to bed, almost brought on a thaw. the deacon lived on the tiptop of the cobble, one of the twenty-seven named hills of cornwall, with aunt maria his wife, hen root his hired man, nip root his yellow dog and--the ducks. the deacon had rumpled white hair and a serene clear-cut face, and even when working, always wore a clean white shirt with a stiff bosom and no collar. aunt maria was of the salt of the earth. she was spry and short, with a little face all wrinkled with good-will and good works, and had twinkling eyes of horizon-blue. if anyone was sick, or had unexpected company, or a baby, or was getting married or buried, aunt maria was always on hand, helping. as for hen, he cared more for his dog than he did for any human. when a drive for the liberty loan was started in cornwall, he bought a bond for himself and one for nip, and had the latter wear a liberty loan button in his collar. of course, the farm was cluttered up with horses, cows, chickens, and similar bric-a-brac, but the ducks were part of the household. it came about this way: rashe howe, who hunted everything except work, had given the deacon a tamed decoy duck, who seemed to have passed her usefulness as a lure. it was evident, however, that she had been trifling with rashe, for before she had been on the farm a month, somewhere in sky or stream she found a mate. later, down by the ice-pond, she stole a nest--a beautiful basin made of leaves and edged with soft down from her black-and-buff breast. there she laid ten blunt-ended, brown eggs, which she brooded until she was carried off one night by a wandering fox. her mate went back to the wilds, and aunt maria put the eggs under a big clucking brahma hen, who hatched out six soft yellow ducklings. they had no more than come out of the shell when, with faint little quackings, they paddled out of the barnyard and started in single file for the pond. although just hatched, each little duck knew its place in the line, and from that day on, the order never changed. the old hen, clucking frantically, tried again and again to turn them back. each time they scattered and, waddling past her, fell into line once more. when at last they reached the bank, their foster-mother scurried back and forth squawking warnings at the top of her voice; but, one after another, each disobedient duckling plunged in with a bob of its turned-up tail, and the procession swam around and around the pond as if it would never stop. this was too much for the old hen. she stood for a long minute, watching the ungrateful brood, and then turned away and evidently disinherited them upon the spot. from that moment she gave up the duties of motherhood, stopped setting and clucking, and never again recognized her foster-children, as they found out to their sorrow after their swim. all the rest of that day they plopped sadly after her, only to be received with pecks whenever they came too near. she would neither feed nor brood them, and when night came, they had to huddle in their deserted coop in a soft little heap, shivering and quacking beseechingly until daylight. the next day aunt maria was moved by the sight of the six, weary but still pursuing the indifferent hen, keeping up the while a chorus of soft sorrowful little quackings, which ought to have touched her heart--but didn't. by this time they were so weak that, if aunt maria had not taken them into the kitchen and fed them and covered them up in a basket of flannel, they would never have lived through the second night. thereafter the old kitchen became a nursery. six human babies could hardly have called for more attention, or have made more trouble, or have been better loved than those six fuzzy, soft, yellow ducklings. in a few days, the whole home-life on top of the cobble centred around them. they needed so much nursing and petting and soothing, that it almost seemed to aunt maria as if a half-century had rolled back, and she was once more looking after babies long, long lost to her. even old hen became attached to them enough to cuff nip violently when that pampered animal growled at the newcomers, and showed signs of abolishing them. from that moment nip joined the brahma hen in ignoring the ducklings completely. if any attention was shown them in his presence, he would stalk away majestically, as if overcome with astonishment that humans would spend their time over six yellow ducks instead of one yellow dog. during the ducks' first days in the kitchen, someone had to be with them constantly. otherwise all six of them would go "yip, yip, yip," at the top of their voices. as soon as any one came to their cradle, or even spoke to them, they would snuggle down contentedly under the flannel, and sing like a lot of little tea-kettles, making the same kind of a sleepy hum that a flock of wild mallards gives when they are sleeping far out on the water. they liked the deacon and hen, but they loved aunt maria. in a few days they followed her everywhere around the house, and even out on the farm, paddling along just behind her, in single file, and quacking vigorously if she walked too fast. one day she tried to slip out and go down to the sewing-circle at mrs. miner rogers's at the foot of the hill; but they were on her trail before she had taken ten steps. they followed her all the way down, and stood with their beaks pressed against the bay-window, watching her as she sat in mrs. rogers's parlor. when they made up their minds that she had called long enough, they set up such a chorus of quackings that aunt maria had to come. "those pesky ducks will quack their heads off if i don't leave," she explained shamefacedly. the road up-hill was a long, long trail for the ducklings. every now and then they would stop and cry with their pathetic little yipping note, and lie down flat on their backs, and hold their soft little paddles straight up in the air, to show how sore they were. the last half of the journey they made in aunt maria's apron, singing away contentedly as she plodded up the hill. as they grew older, they took an interest in everyone who came; and if they did not approve of the visitor, would quack deafeningly until he went. once aunt maria happened to step suddenly around the corner of the house as a load of hay went past. finding her gone, the ducks started solemnly down the road, following the hay-wagon, evidently convinced that she was hidden somewhere beneath the load. they were almost out of sight when aunt maria called to them. at the first sound of her voice, they turned and hurried back, flapping their wings and paddling with all their might, quacking joyously as they came. aunt maria and the flock had various little private games of their own. whenever she sat down, they would tug at the neatly tied bows of her shoelaces, until they had loosened them; whereupon she would jump up and rush at them, pretending great wrath; whereupon they would scatter on all sides, quacking delightedly. when she turned back, they would form a circle around her, snuggling their soft necks against her gown until she scratched each uplifted head softly. if she wore button-shoes they would pry away at the loose buttons and attempt to swallow them. when she was working in her flower-garden, they would bother her by swallowing some of the smallest bulbs, and snatching up and running away with larger ones. at other times they would hide in dark corners and rush out at her with loud and terrifying quacks, at which aunt martha would pretend to be much frightened and scuttle away, pursued by the six. all three of the family were forever grumbling about the flock. to hear them, one would suppose that their whole lives were embittered by the trouble and expense of caring for a lot of useless, greedy ducks. yet when hen suggested roast duck for thanksgiving, deacon jimmy and aunt maria lectured him so severely for his cruelty, that he was glad to explain that he was only joking. once, when the ducks were sick, he dug angleworms for them all one winter afternoon, in the corner of the pigpen where the ground still remained unfrozen; and deacon jimmy nearly bankrupted himself buying pickled oysters, which he fed them as a tonic. it was not long before they outgrew their baby clothes, and wore the mottled brown of the mallard duck, with a dark steel-blue bar edged with white on either wing. the leader evidently had a strain of black duck in her blood. she was larger, and lacked the trim bearing of the aristocratic mallard. on the other hand, blackie had all the wariness and sagacity of the black duck, than whom there is no wiser bird. as the winter came on, a coop was fixed up for them not far from the kitchen, where they slept on warm straw in the coldest weather, with their heads tucked under their soft, down-lined wings up to their round, bright eyes. the first november snowstorm covered their coop out of sight; but when aunt maria called, they quacked a cheery answer back from under the drift. then came the drake, a gorgeous mallard with a head of emerald-green and a snow-white collar, and with black, white, gray, and violet wings, in all the pride and beauty of his prime. a few days and nights before he had been a part of the north. beyond the haunts of men, beyond the farthest forests, where the sullen green of the pines gleamed against a silver sky, a great waste-land stretched clear to the tundras, beyond which is the ice of the arctic. in this wilderness, where long leagues of rushes hissed and whispered to the wind, the drake had dwelt. here and there were pools of green-gray water, and beyond the rushes stretched the bleached brown reeds, deepening in the distance to a dark tan. in the summer a heavy, sweet scent had hung over the marshland, like the breath of a herd of sleeping cattle. here had lived uncounted multitudes of waterfowl. as the summer passed, a bitter wind howled like a wolf from the north with the hiss of snow in its wings. sometimes by day, when little flurries of snow whirled over the waving rushes; sometimes by night, when a misty moon struggled through a gray wrack of cloud, long lines and crowded masses of water-birds sprang into the air, and started on the far journey southward. there were gaggles of wild geese flying in long wedges, with the strongest and the wisest gander leading the converging lines; wisps of snipe, and badlings of duck of many kinds. the widgeons flew with whistling wings, in long black streamers. the scaup came down the sky in dark masses, giving a rippling purr as they flew. here and there scattered couples of blue-winged teal shot past groups of the slower ducks. then down the sky, in a whizzing parallelogram, came a band of canvasbacks, with long red heads and necks and gray-white backs. moving at the rate of a hundred and sixty feet a second, they passed pintails, black duck, and mergansers as if they had been anchored, grunting as they flew. when the rest of his folk sprang into the air, the mallard drake had refused to leave the cold pools and the whispering rushes. late that season he had lost his mate, and, lonely without her and hoping still for her return, he lingered among the last to leave. as the nights went by, the marshes became more and more deserted. then there dawned a cold, turquoise day. the winding streams showed sheets of sapphire and pools of molten silver. that afternoon the sun, a vast globe of molten red, sank through an old-rose sky, which slowly changed to a faint golden green. for a moment it hung on the knife-edge of the world, and then dipped down and was gone. through the violet twilight five gleaming, misty-white birds of an unearthly beauty, glorious trumpeter swans, flew across the western sky in strong, swift, majestic flight. as the shadows darkened like spilt ink, their clanging notes came down to the lonely drake. when the swans start south, it is no time for lesser folk to linger. the night was aflame with its million candles as he sprang into the air, circled once and again, and followed southward the moon path which lay like a long streamer of gold across the waste-lands. night and day and day and night and night and day again he flew, until, as he passed over the northwestern corner of connecticut, that strange food sense which a migrating bird has, brought him down from the upper sky into the one stretch of marshland that showed for miles around. it chanced to be close to the base of the cobble. all night long he fed full among the pools. just as the first faint light showed in the eastern sky, he climbed upon the top of an old muskrat house that showed above the reeds. at the first step, there was a sharp click, the fierce grip of steel, and he was fast in one of hen's traps. there the old man found him at sunrise, and brought him home wrapped up in his coat, quacking, flapping, and fighting every foot of the way. an examination showed his leg to be unbroken, and hen held him while aunt maria with a pair of long shears clipped his beautiful wings. then, all gleaming green and violet, he was set down among the six ducks, who had been watching him admiringly. the second he was loosed, he gave his strong wings a flap that should have lifted him high above the hateful earth, where tame folk set traps for wild folk. instead of swooping toward the clouds, the clipped wings beat the air impotently, and did not even raise his orange, webbed feet from the ground. again and again the drake tried to fly, only to realize at last that he was clipped and shamed and earthbound. then for the first time he seemed to notice the six who stood by, watching him in silence. to them he quacked, and quacked, and quacked fiercely, and aunt maria had an uneasy feeling that she and her shears were the subject of his remarks. suddenly he stopped, and all seven started toward their winter quarters; and lo and behold! at the head of the procession marched the gleaming drake, with the deposed blackie trailing meekly in second place. from that day forth he was their leader; nor did he forget his wrongs. the sight of aunt maria was always a signal for a burst of impassioned quackings. soon it became evident that the ducks were reluctantly convinced that the gentle little woman had been guilty of a great crime, and more and more they began to shun her. there were no more games and walks and caressings. instead the six followed the drake's lead in avoiding as far as possible humans who trapped and clipped the people of the air. at first the deacon put the whole flock in a great pen where the young calves were kept in spring, fearing lest the drake might wander away. this, of course, was no imprisonment to the ducks, who could fly over the highest fence. the first morning, after they had been penned, the ducks sprang over the fence and started for the pond, quacking to the drake to follow. when he quacked back that he could not, the flock returned and showed him again and again how easy it was to fly over the fence. at last he evidently made them understand that for him flying was impossible. several times they started for the pond, but each time at a quack from the drake they came back. it was blackie who finally solved the difficulty. flying back over the fence, she found a place where a box stood near one of the sides of the pen. climbing up on top of this, she fluttered to the top rail. the drake clambered up on the box, and tried to follow. as he was scrambling up the fence, with desperate flappings of his disabled wings, blackie and the others, who had joined her on the top rail, reached down and pulled him upward with tremendous tugs from their flat bills, until he finally scrambled to the top and was safely over. for several days this went on, and the flock would help him out of and into the pen every day, as they went to and from the pond. when at last aunt maria saw this experiment in prison-breaking, she threw open the gate wide, and thereafter the drake had the freedom of the farm with the others. as the days went by, he seemed to become more reconciled to his fate and at times would even take food from aunt maria's hand; yet certain reserves and withdrawings on the part of the whole flock were always apparent, to vex her. at last and at last, just when it seemed as if winter would never go, spring came. there were flocks of wild geese beating, beating, beating up the sky, never soaring, never resting, thrusting their way north in a great black-and-white wedge, outflying spring, and often finding lakes and marshes still locked against them. then came the strange, wild call from the sky of the killdeer, who wears two black rings around his white breast; and the air was full of robin notes and bluebird calls and the shrill high notes of the hylas. on the sides of the cobble the bloodroot bloomed, with its snowy petals and heart of gold and root dripping with burning, bitter blood--frail flowers which the wind kisses and kills. then the beech trees turned all lavender-brown and silver, and the fields of april wheat made patches of brilliant velvet green. at last there came a day blurred with glory, when the grass was a green blaze, and the woods dripped green, and the new leaves of the apple trees were like tiny jets of green flame among the pink and white blossoms. the sky was full of waterfowl going north. all that day the drake had been uneasy. one by one he had moulted his clipped wing-feathers, and the long curved quills which had been his glory had come back again. late in the afternoon, as he was leading his flock toward the kitchen, a great hubbub of calls and cries floated down from the afternoon sky. the whole upper air was black with ducks. there were teal, wood-ducks, baldpates, black duck, pintails, little bluebills, whistlers, and suddenly a great mass of mallards, the green heads of the drakes gleaming against the sky. as they flew they quacked down to the little earthbound group below. suddenly the great drake seemed to realize that his power was upon him once more. with a great sweep of his lustrous wings, he launched himself forth into the air in a long arrowy curve, and shot up through the sky toward the disappearing company--and not alone. even as he left the ground, before aunt maria's astonished eyes, faithful, clumsy, wary blackie sprang into the air after him, and with the strong awkward flight of the black duck, which ploughs its way through the air by main strength, she overtook her leader, and the two were lost in the distant sky. aunt maria took what comfort she could out of the five who remained, but only now that they had gone, did she realize how dear to her was greentop, the beautiful, wild, resentful drake, and blackie, awkward, wise, resourceful blackie. the flock too was lost without them, and took chances and overlooked dangers which they never would have been allowed to do under the reign of their lost king and queen. at last fate overtook them one dark night when they were sleeping out. that vampire of the darkness, a wandering mink, came upon them. with their passing went something of love and hope, which left the cobble a very lonely place for the three old people. as the nights grew longer, aunt maria would often dream that she heard the happy little flock singing like teakettles in their basket, or that she heard them quack from their coop, and would call out to comfort them. yet always it was only a dream. then the cold came, and one night a great storm of snow and sleet broke over the cobble, and the wind howled as it did the night before the drake was found. suddenly aunt maria started out of her warm bed, and listened. when she was sure she was not dreaming, she awakened the deacon, and through the darkness they hurried down to the door, from the other side of which sounded tumultuous and familiar quackings. with trembling hands she lighted the lamp, and as they threw open the door, in marched a procession. it was headed by greentop, resentful no more, but quacking joyously at the sight of light and shelter. back of him blackie's soft, dark head rubbed lovingly against aunt maria's trembling knees, with the little caressing, crooning noise which blackie always made when she wanted to be petted. back of her, quacking embarrassedly, waddled four more ducks who showed their youth by their size and the newness of their feathering. greentop and blackie had come back, bringing their family with them. the tumult and the shouting aroused old hen, who hurried down in his night clothes. these, by the way, were the same as his day clothes except for the shoes; for, as hen said, he could not be bothered with dressing and undressing except during the bathing season, which was long past. "durned if it ain't them pesky ducks again," he said, grinning happily. "that's what it be," responded deacon jimmy, "i don't suppose now we'll have a moment's peace." "yes, it's them good-for-nothin'--" began aunt maria; but she gulped and something warm and wet trickled down her wrinkled cheeks, as she stopped and pulled two dear-loved heads, one green and the other black, into her arms. vii blackcat above the afterglow gleamed a patch of beryl-green. etched against the color was the faintest, finest, and newest of crescent moons. it seemed almost as if a puff of wind would blow it, like a cobweb, out of the sky. as the shifting tints deepened into the unvarying peacock-blue of a northern night, the evening star flared like a lamp hung low in the west while the dark strode across the shadows of the forest, cobalt-blue against the drifted snow. as the winter stars flamed into the darkening sky, a tide of night-life flowed and throbbed under the silent trees. one by one the wild folk came forth, to live and love and die in this their day, even as we humans in ours. long after the twilight had dimmed into the jeweled darkness, opalescent with the changing colors of the northern lights, from the inner depths of the woods there came a threat to the life of nearly everyone of the forest folk. yet it seemed but the mournful wail of a little child. only to the moose, the blackbear and the wolverine was it other than the very voice of death. fifty feet above the ground, from a blasted and hollow white pine, the plaintive sound again shuddered down the wind. from a hollow under an overhanging bough, a brownish-black animal moved slowly down the tree trunk, headfirst, which position marked him as a past-master among the tree folk. only those climbers who are absolutely at home aloft go forward down a perpendicular tree trunk. as the beast came out of the shadow it resembled nothing so much as a big black cat, with a bushy tail and a round, grayish head. because of this appearance the trappers had named it the blackcat. others call it the fisher, although it never fishes, while to the indians it is the _pekan_--the killer-in-the-dark. in spite of its rounded head and mild doggy face, the fisher belongs to those killers, the weasels. next to the wolverine, he is the most powerful of his family, and he is far and away the most versatile. to-night, on reaching the ground, the pekan followed one of the many runways he had discovered in the ten-mile beat that formed his hunting-ground. like most of the weasels, he lived alone. his brief and dangerous family life lasted but a few days in the fall of every year. when his mate tried to kill him unawares, the blackcat knew that his honeymoon was over, and departed again to his hollow tree, many miles from mrs. blackcat. to-night, as he moved at a leisurely pace across the snow, in a series of easy bounds, his lithe black body looped itself along like a hunting snake, while his broad forehead gave him an innocent, open look. if in the tree he had resembled a cat, on the ground he looked more like a dog. there was one animal who was not misled by the frank openness of the fisher's face. that one was a hunting pine marten, who had just come across a red squirrel's nest made of woven sticks thatched with leaves, and set in the fork of a moose-wood sapling some thirty feet from the ground. cocking his head on one side, the marten regarded the swaying nest critically out of his bright black eyes. convinced that it was occupied, with a dart he dashed up the slender trunk, which bent and shook under his rush. but chickaree had craftily chosen a tree that would bend under the lightest weight, and signal the approach of any unwelcome visitor. before the marten had covered half the distance, four squirrels boiled out of the nest and, darting to the end of the farthest twigs, leaped to the nearest trees and scurried off into the darkness. the marten had poised himself for a spring when he saw the fisher gazing up at him. straightway he forgot that there were squirrels in the world. with a tremendous spring, he landed on the trunk of a near-by hemlock and slipped around it like a shadow. it was too late. with a couple of effortless bounds, the blackcat reached the trunk and slipped up it with the ease and speed of a blacksnake. the marten doubled and twisted and turned on his trail, and launched himself surely and swiftly from dizzy heights at arrowy speed. yet, spring and dash as he would, there was always a pattering rush just behind him. before the branches, which crackled and bent under the lithe golden-brown body, had stopped waving, they would crash and sag under the black weight of the fisher. with every easy bound the black came nearer to the gold. the pine marten is the swiftest tree-climber in the world, bar one. the blackcat is that one. as the two great weasels flashed through the trees, they seemed to be running tandem. every twist and turn of the golden leader was followed automatically by the black wheeler, as if the two were connected by an invisible, but unbreakable bond. under the strain it was the nerves of the marten which gave way first. not that he stopped, and cowered, helpless and shaking, like the rabbit-folk, nor ran frothing and amuck as do rat-kind when too hardly pressed. no weasel, while he lives, ever loses his head completely. only now the marten ran more and more wildly, relying on straight speed and overlooking many a chance for a puzzling double, which would have given him a breathing-space. the imperturbable blackcat noted this, and began to take short cuts, which might have lost him his prey at the beginning of the hunt. at last, the long and circling chase brought them both near an enormous white pine, which towered some forty feet away from the nearest tree. a bent spruce leaned out toward the lone pine. with a flying leap, the marten reached the spruce and flashed up the trunk, with never a look behind. his crafty pursuer saw his chance. landing in a lower crotch of the spruce, with a flying take-off he launched himself outward and downward into mid-air, with every ounce and atom of spring that his steel-wire muscles held. it seemed impossible that anything without wings could cover the great gap between the two trees; but the blackcat knew to an inch what he could do, and almost to an inch did the distance tax his powers. in a wide parabola his black body whizzed through the air half a hundred feet above the ground, beginning as a round ball of fur, which stretched out until the fisher hung full length at the crest of his spring. if the tree had been a scant six inches farther away, the blackcat would never have made it. as it was, the huge clutching, horn-colored claws of his forepaws just caught, and held long enough to allow him to clamp down his hold with his hind paws. the marten, who had started fifty feet ahead of the blackcat and had lost his distance by having to climb up, jump, and then climb down, passed along the trunk of the pine on his way to the ground just as the blackcat landed, his lead cut down to a scant ten feet. without a pause, the pekan deliberately sprang out into the air and disappeared in a snow bank full forty feet below. not many animals, even with a snow buffer, could stand a drop of that distance, but the great black weasel burst out of the snow, his steel-bound frame apparently unjarred, and stood at the foot of the tree. as the marten reached the ground and saw what was awaiting him, his playful face seemed to turn into a mask of rage and despair. the round black eyes flamed red, the lips curved back from the sharp teeth in a horrible grin, and with a shrieking snarl and a lightning-like snap he tried for the favorite throat-hold of the weasel-folk. he was battling, however, with one quite as quick and immeasurably more powerful. with a little bob the blackcat slipped the lead of his adversary, and the flashing teeth of the marten closed only on the loose tough skin of the fisher's shoulder. before he could strike again the blackcat had the smaller animal clutched in its fierce claws, with no play to parry the counter-thrust of the black muzzle. in another second, the golden throat was dabbled with blood, which the fisher drank in great gulps like the weasel that he was. according to human notions, the dreadful and uncanny part of the contest was that, throughout the whole fight and the blood-stained finish, the blackcat's face was the mild, reflective, round face of a gentle dog. his first blood-thirst slaked, the fisher slung the limp body of the marten over his shoulder with a single flirt of his black head, and winding his way up the tree trunk, cached it for a time in a convenient crotch, feeling sure that no prowler would meddle with a prey which bore upon its pelt the scent and seal of the blackcat. all through a two-day snowstorm, the fisher had kept to his tree, and his first kill that night only sharpened the blood-lust which swept raging through his tense body. following the nearest runway, he came to the shore of a wide, rapid, little forest river, which at this point had a fall which insured current enough to keep it from freezing. near its bank, the ranging blackcat came upon a fresh track in the soft snow. first there were five marks--one small, two large, and two small. the next track showed only four marks with the order reversed, the larger marks being in front, instead of behind the smaller. a little way farther on, and the smaller marks, instead of being side by side, showed one behind the other. the blackcat read this snow-riddle at a glance. the five marks showed where a northern hare, or snowshoe rabbit, had been sitting; the fifth mark being where its bobbed tail had touched the snow. the larger marks had been the marks of the fur snowshoes, which it wears in winter on its big hopping hind-legs, and the smaller the mark of the little forepaws which, when he was sitting, naturally touched the ground in front of the hind paws. when the hare hopped the position was reversed, as the big hind paws, with every hop, struck the ground in front of the others, the hare traveling in the direction of the larger marks. the last tracks showed that the hare had either scented or seen its pursuer; for a hare's eyes are so placed that it can see either forward or backward as it hops. as the little forelegs touched the ground, they were twisted one behind the other so as to secure the greatest leverage possible. the blackcat settled doggedly down to the chase. although far slower in a straightaway run than either the hare or the fox, it can and will run down either in a long chase, although it may take a day to do it. to-night the chase came to a sudden and unexpected end. the hare described a great circle nearly half a mile in diameter, at full speed, and then, whiter than the snow itself, squatted down to watch his back trail and determine whether his pursuer was really intending to follow him to a finish. before long, the squatting hare saw a black form on the other side of the circle, with humped back looping its way along. at such a sight the smaller cottontail rabbit would have run a short distance, and would then have crouched in the snow, squealing in fear of its approaching death. the hare is made of sterner stuff. moreover, this one was a patriarch fully seven years old--a great age for any hare to have accomplished in a world full of foes. wabasso, as hiawatha named him, had not attained to this length of years without encountering blackcats. in some unknown way, probably by a happy accident, he had learned the one defense which a hare may interpose to the attack of a fisher, and live. reaching full speed almost immediately, he cleared the snow in ten-foot bounds, four to the second, while the wide, hairy snowshoes, which nature fits to his white feet every winter, kept him from sinking much below the surface. the keen eyes of the blackcat caught sight of the hare's first bound in spite of his protective coloration, and he at once cut across the diameter of the circle. in spite of this short cut, the hare reached the bank of the open river many yards ahead. well out in the midst of the rushing icy water lay a sand bar, now covered with snow. to the blackcat's amazement and disgust, and contrary to every tradition of the chase, this unconventional hare plunged with a desperate bound fully ten feet out into the icy water. wabasso was no swimmer, and had evidently elected to travel by water in the same way which he had found successful by land. kicking mightily with his hind legs he hopped his way through the water, raising himself bodily at every kick, only to sink back until but the top of his white nose showed. nevertheless, in a wonderfully short time he had won his way through the wan water, and lay panting and safe on the sand bank. if pursued, he could take to the water again and hop his way to either shore, along which he could run and take to the water whenever it was necessary. to-night no such tactics were needed. the fisher, in spite of his name, hates water. he can swim, albeit slowly and clumsily, in the summer time. as for leaping into a raging torrent of ice-cold water--it was not to be considered. the blackcat raced up and down the bank furiously, and not until convinced that the rabbit was on that snow bank for the night, did he give up the hunt and go bounding along the bank of the river after other and easier prey. for the first time that night the mildness of his face was marred by a snarling curl of the lips, showing the full set of cruel fighting teeth with which every weasel, large or small, is equipped. as the blackcat followed the line of the river, his sharp ear caught a steady and monotonous sound, like someone using a peculiarly dull saw. around a bend the still water was frozen. against the side of the bank an empty pork-keg had drifted down from some lumberman's camp, and frozen into the ice. in front of the shattered keg crouched a large, blackish, hairy animal, gnawing as if paid by the hour. it was none other than the canada porcupine--"old man quillpig," as he is called by the lumberjacks, who hate him because he gnaws to sawdust every scrap of wood that has ever touched salt. the porcupine saw the blackcat, but never ceased gnawing. many and many an animal has thought that he could kill sluggish, stupid quillpig. the wolf, the lynx, the panther, and the wildcat all have tried--and died. so to-night the porcupine kept on with his gnawing, under the star-shine, convinced that no animal that lived could solve his defense. [illustration: the safe rabbit] but the blackcat is one of two animals which have no fear of the quillpig. blackbear is the other. with its swift, sinuous gait, the pekan came closer, whereupon quillpig unwillingly stopped his sawing and thrust his head under the broken, frozen staves of the barrel. his belly hugged the ground, and in an instant he seemed to swell to double his normal size as he erected his quills and lashed this way and that with his spiked tail. pure white, with dark tips, the quills were thickly barbed down to the extreme point, which is smooth and keen. the barbs are envenomed, and wherever they touch living flesh cause it to rankle, swell, and fester for all save the pekan, whose flesh is immune to the virus. to-night the blackcat wasted no time. disregarding the bristling quills and the lashing tail, the crafty weasel suddenly inserted a quick paw beneath the gnawer, and with a tremendous jerk tipped him over on his bristling back. before the quillpig could right himself, the fisher had torn open his unguarded belly, and proceeded to eat the quivering, flabby meat as if from the shell of an oyster, or to be more accurate, a sea urchin. throughout these proceedings he disregarded the quills entirely. many of them pierced his skin. others were swallowed along with the mouthfuls of warm flesh, which he tore out and greedily devoured. by reason of some unknown charm, the barbed quills work out of a blackcat without harm, and pass through his intestines in clusters, like packages of needles, without any inconvenience, although in any other animal save the bear they would inevitably cause death. as the pekan ate and ate, the stars began to dim in the blue-black sky, and a faint flush in the east announced the end of his hunting day. with a farewell mouthful, he started back through the snow for his hollow tree, making a long detour, to bring in the cached marten. as he approached the tree from whose crotch the slim golden body dangled, his leisurely lope changed into a series of swift bounds. for the first time, a snarl came from behind the pekan's mask. the dead marten was gone from the tree. in an open space which the wind had swept nearly clear of snow, it lay under the huge paws of a shadowy gray animal, with luminous pale yellow eyes, a curious bob of a tail, and black tufted ears. for all the world, it looked like a gray cat, but such a cat as never lived in a house. three feet long, and forty pounds in weight, the canada lynx is surpassed in size only among its north american relatives by that huger yellow cat, the puma or panther. at the snarl of the fisher, the cat looked up, and at the sight of the gliding black figure gave a low spitting growl and contemptuously dropped his great head to the marten's bloody throat. for a moment the big black weasel and the big gray cat faced each other. at first sight, it did not seem possible that the smaller animal would attack the larger, or that, if he did, he would last long. the fisher was less than half the size and weight of the lynx, who also outwardly seemed to have more of a fighting disposition. the tufted ears alert, the eyes gleaming like green fire, and the bristling hair and arched back, contrasted formidably with the broad forehead and round, honest face of the fisher. so, at least, it seemed to young jim linklater, who, with his uncle dave, the trapper, lay crouched close in a hemlock copse. long before daylight, the two had traveled on silent snowshoes up the river bank, laying a trap-line, carrying nothing but a back-load of steel traps. at the rasping growl of the lynx, they peered out of their covert only to find themselves not thirty feet away from the little arena. "that old lucifee'll rip that poor, little, black innocent to pieces in jig-time," whispered young jim. old dave shook his grizzled head. he pulled his nephew's ample ear firmly and painfully close to his mouth. "son," he hissed, "you and that lucifee are both goin' to have the surprise of your lives." unwitting of his audience, the weasel approached the cat swiftly. suddenly with a hoarse screech, the lynx sprang, hoping to land with all his weight on the humped-up black back, and then bring into play his ripping curved claws, while he sank his teeth deep into his opponent's spine. it was at once evident that lynx tactics have not yet been adapted to blackcat service. without a sound, the pekan swerved like a shadow to one side, and almost before the lynx had touched the ground, the fisher's fierce cutting teeth had severed the tendon of a hind leg, while its curved claws slashed deep into the soft inner flank. the great cat screeched with rage and pain and sheer astonishment. as he landed, the crippled leg bent under him. even yet he had one advantage which no amount of courage or speed on the part of the pekan could have overcome. if only the lynx had gripped the dead marten, and sprung out into the deep snow, the fisher would have had to fight a losing fight. like the hare, the lynx is shod with snowshoes in the winter, on which he can pad along on snow in which a fisher would sink deep at every step. in spite of his formidable appearance, however, the lynx has a plentiful lack of brains. as his leg doubled under his weight, this one in a panic threw himself on his back, the traditional cat attitude of defense, ready to bring into action all four of his sets of ripping claws, with his teeth in reserve. against another of the cat tribe such a defense would have been good. against the pekan it was fatal. no battler in the world is a better in-fighter than the blackcat, and any antagonist near his size, who invites a clinch, rarely comes out of it alive. the pekan first circled the spinning, yowling, slashing lynx more and more rapidly, until there came a time when the side of the gray throat lay before him for a second unguarded. it was enough. with a pounce like the stroke of a coiled rattler, the pekan sprang, and a double set of the most effective fighting teeth known among mammals met deep in the lynx's throat. with all of his sharp eviscerating claws, the great cat raked his opponent. but the blackcat, protected by his thick pelt and tough muscles, was content to exchange any number of surface slashes for the throat-hold. deeper and deeper the crooked teeth dug; and then with a burst of bright blood, they pierced the jugular vein itself. the struggles of the lynx became weaker and weaker, until, with a last convulsive shudder, the gray body stretched out stark in the snow. the weasel lay panting and lapping at the hot, welling blood, while his own ran down his black fur in unconsidered streams. it was young jim who first broke the silence. "those pelt'll bring all of twenty-five dollars," he remarked, stepping forward. "help yourself," suggested old dave, not stirring, however, from where he stood. at the voices the black weasel sprang up like a flash. with one paw on the dead lynx and another on the marten, he faced the two men in absolute silence. the eyes under the mild forehead flamed red and horrible and the dripping body quivered for another throat-hold. "seems like mr. blackcat wants 'em both," murmured the old man, discreetly withdrawing from the farther side of the copse. jim gazed into the flaming eyes a moment longer and then followed his uncle. "he don't look so blame innocent after all," he observed. viii little death for three long months the blue-white snow had lain over the gold-white sand among the dark-green pitch pines standing like trees from a noah's ark. to-day the woods were a vast sea of green, lapping at the white sand-land that had been thrust up, a wedge from the south, into the very heart of the north. a crooked stream had cut its course deep through the forest. on its high bank the ghost-like glory of a mountain laurel overhung the dark water. close to the water's edge were clumps of the hollow, crimson-streaked leaves of the pitcher plant, lined with thousands of tiny teeth all pointing downward, traps for unwary insects. all the winter these pitchers had been filled with clear cone-shaped lumps of ice; but to-day, above the fatal leaves, on long stems, swung great blossoms, wine-red, crimson, aquamarine, pearl-white, and pale gold. from overhead came the trilling song of the pine warbler, like a chipping sparrow lost in the woods; and here and there could be caught glimpses of his pale yellow breast and white wing-bars. below, among the tangled scrub oaks, flitted the brilliant yellow-and-black prairie warbler, while everywhere the chewinks called "drink your tea," and the maryland yellow-throat sang "witchery, witchery, witchery," while jays squalled in the distance, and crimson-crested cardinals whistled from the thickets. in the sky, like grim black aeroplanes, wheeled the turkey buzzards, sailing in circles without ever a wing stroke. gray pine-swifts, with brilliant blue patches on their sides, scurried up and down tree trunks and along fallen logs, and brown cottontail rabbits hopped across the paths, showing their white powder puffs at each jump. a huge, umber-brown-and-white pine snake, with a strange pointed head, crawled slowly through the brush while rows of painted turtles dotted the snags which thrust out here and there above the stream. earth, air, and water, all swarmed with life at this dawn of the year. the underground folk were awake, too. down below the surface, the industrious mole, with his plush fur and spade-like hands, dug incessantly his hunting-tunnels for earthworms. above him, in wet places, his cousin, the star-nosed mole, whose nose has twenty-two little fingers, drove passages through the lowest part of the moss beds and the soft upper mould. still nearer the surface, just under the leaf-carpet, sometimes digging his own way, sometimes using the tunnels of the meadow-mice and deer-mice, and occasionally flashing out into the open air, lived the smallest mammal. of all the tribes of earth, of all the bat-folk who fly the air, or the water-people who swim the seas and rivers and lakes, no mammal is so little. from the tip of his wee pointed muzzle to the base of his tiny tail, he was just about the length of a man's little finger, or about two and a half inches. nature had handicapped her smallest child heavily. blind, earless, and tiny, yet every twenty-four hours he must kill and eat his own weight in flesh and blood; for so fiercely swift are the functions of his strange, wee body, that, lacking food for even six hours, the blind killer starves and dies. to-day, near the edge of the stream, in the soft, white sand, his trail showed. it looked like a string of tiny exclamation points. suddenly, from a patch of dry leaves there sounded a long rustling, like the crawling of a snake. nothing could be seen, yet the leaves heaved and moved here and there, as something pushed its way under the surface of the leaf-carpet. then, the masked shrew--for so we humans have named this escape from lilliput--flashed out into the open. his glossy, silky fur was brown above and whitish-gray underneath; and between the hidden, unseeing eyes and the holes which took the place of ears was a dark smoky-gray mark, like a mask. his head angled into a long whiskered snout, so pointed that from above the shrew looked like a big pen. this flexible muzzle he twisted here and there, sniffing uncertainly, for the shrew has but little sense of smell. in fact, he seems to have traded the greater part of his other senses for a double portion of two--touch and hearing. not even the long-eared rabbit can detect the faintest shade of a sound quicker than the shrew, and only the bat equals his sense of touch. like that flyer, the shrew can detect an obstacle in time to avoid it, even when running at full speed, by becoming conscious of some subtle change in the air-pressure. among the great throng of little wild folk playing at hide-and-seek with death among the fallen logs, and in the labyrinth of passageways in the beds of sand and moss and fern, no one was swifter than this one, the smallest of them all. a flash here, a glimpse farther on, and he was gone, too fast to be followed by human eyes. in one of his rare pauses he might have been mistaken for a tiny mouse by reason of his general coloration; yet the shrew is as different from the mouse as a lynx from a wolf. no mouse has long, crooked, crocodile jaws, filled with perhaps the fiercest fighting teeth of any mammal; nor does any mouse have the tremendous jaw muscles which stood out under the soft fur of this beastling. to-day, as the shrew sniffed here and there, trying to locate trails which a weasel or a dog could have followed instantly, his quick ear caught some tiny sound from the near-by burrow of a meadow-mouse. with a curious pattering, burrowing run, unlike the leaps and bounds of the mice-people, he started unerringly toward a narrow opening almost hidden under an overhanging patch of yellow-green sphagnum moss. disappearing down the tunnel, he dashed along furiously, while his long widespread whiskers gave him instant notice of the turns and twists of the tunnel, which he threaded at full speed. [illustration: the killers] ahead of him fled a young meadow-mouse, on his way to join other members of the family who were having a light lunch on what was left in the storehouse of their winter's supplies. hearing the rapid pattering and sniffing behind him, the mouse made the fatal mistake of keeping on to the storeroom--a large chamber underground, where three grown mice were feasting. confident in the fighting ability of his family, he had yet to learn that odds are nothing to a shrew. in spite of his speed, the mouse dashed into the round room only a little ahead of his pursuer. the storehouse was large enough to make a good battleground, but, unfortunately for the mice, contained only one entrance. then followed a battle great and grim. the mice were on their own ground, four against one and that one only a tiny blind beastling less than half the size and weight of any one of them. it did not seem as if the shrew had a chance against the burly, round-headed meadow-voles, who are the best fighters of all the mice-folk. yet the issue was never in doubt. the shrew attacked with incredible swiftness. no one of his four foes could make a motion that his quick ear and uncanny sense of touch did not at once detect. moreover, throughout the whole fight, he never for an instant left the exit-tunnel unguarded. time and again, from out of the whirling mass of entangled bodies, a meadow-mouse would spring to the door to escape. always it ran against the fell jaws of the little blind death, and bounded back from the latter's rigid steel-like body. again and again the mice leaped high, and like little boxers thrust the shrew away from them by quick motions of their forepaws. at times they would jump clear over him, slashing and snapping as they went, with their two pairs of long curved sharp teeth. the shrew's snout, however, was of tough leathery cartilage. its tiny hidden and unseeing eyes needed no protection, while its thick fur and tough skin could be pierced only by a long grip, which he prevented by his tactics. never using his forefeet like the mice, he stood with feet outspread and firmly braced, head and snout pointing up, and constantly darted his jaws forward and downward with fierce tearing bites. with each one he brought no less than six pointed fighting teeth into play. these, driven by the great muscles of the shrew's neck and jaws, made ghastly ripping cuts through the thin skins of the mice. the latter kept up a continual squeaking as they moved, but the little killer fought in absolute silence. his wee body seemed to have an inexhaustible store of fierce strength and endurance, and throughout the battle it was always the shrew who attacked and the mice who retreated. like the raccoon, the shrew is perfectly balanced on all four feet, and can move forward, backward, or sidewise with equal readiness. with swift little springs this one constantly tried for a throat-hold; yet amid the tangle and confusion of the struggle, never once did he fail to guard the one way out. round and round the storehouse the battle surged for a long half hour, with the shrew always between the doorway and his struggling, leaping opponents. the grain-fed mice lacked the blood-bought endurance of their opponent. the young mouse who had led the shrew to the storehouse was the first to go. in the very middle of a leap, he staggered and fell at the feet of his enemy. instantly the long curved jaws closed on his head, and the fierce teeth of the shrew crunched into his brain. it was the beginning of the end. one by one the others fell before the automatic rushes and slashes of the little fighting-machine, until only one was left, a scarred, skilled veteran, who had held his own in many a fight. as he felt his strength ebbing, with a last desperate effort the mouse dodged one of the shrew's rushes, and managed to sink his two pairs of curved teeth into the tough muscles of the other's neck. then a horrifying thing happened. without even trying to break the mouse's grip, the shrew bent nearly double, and buried his pointed muzzle deep into the soft flesh below the other's foreleg. driven by the cruel hunger which ruled his life, he ate like fire through skin and flesh and bone. the mouse fought, the shrew ate, and the outcome was certain, as it must be when a fighter who depends on four teeth dares the clinch with one who uses twelve. even as the mouse unlocked his jaws for a better hold he tottered and fell dead under the feet of the other. for long days and nights the shrew stayed in the storeroom, until all that remained of the meadow-mice were four pelts neatly folded and four skeletons picked bare of even a shred of flesh. moreover, the store of seeds left by the mice was gone, too. finally, one morning, as the sun came up over the pines, the little masked death flashed out of the burrow with the same pattering rush with which he had entered, and hurried toward a near-by brook, to quench an overpowering thirst. as he approached the bank, he passed one of his larger brethren, the blarina, or mole shrew, whose track in the sand was like an uncovered tunnel filled with zigzag paw-prints. although both were blind, each felt the other's presence, and it was fortunate for the smaller of the two that the blarina had also just fed, since shrews allow no ties of blood to interfere with their eminently practical appetites. just before the little blind runner reached the bank, he encountered another wanderer, whom few of the smaller animals meet and live. it was that demon of the woods, the short-tailed weasel, going to and fro in the earth, seeking whom he might devour. behind him, as always, was a trail of dead and dying animals. into every hole large enough to admit his slim body, he wormed his way like a hunting snake, and passed, swift and silent as death itself, through brush-piles, hollow logs, and up and down trees, to peer into the round window of a woodpecker's home or a squirrel's nest. meadow-mice, deer-mice, chipmunks, rats, rabbits, and even squirrels in their trees the slayer ran down to their death; for, unlike the shrews, a weasel kills from blood-lust and not from hunger. like some great inch-worm, the weasel looped its way along, until its path crossed that of the shrew pattering toward the brook. even in the face of this incarnate terror of the wild folk the little shrew showed all the stubborn courage of his race and, refusing to turn aside, passed within an inch of the deadly jaws of the red killer. nothing in nature, save the stab of one of the coiled pit-vipers, is swifter than the pounce of the weasel. in his grip the shrew, despite all of his fierce courage, would have had no more chance than a man ground by the frightful teeth of a killer whale. against the larger mammals, however, this fierce fragment of flesh and blood has one last defense, which saved him that day. as the weasel caught a whiff of the pungent, evil odor of the shrew's fur, he drew aside, his lips curled back over his sharp teeth in a grimace of disgust, and the masked beastling passed unscathed. at a little cove by the edge of a stump, the shrew drank deep. the pointed snout had just come to the surface, when his quick hearing caught from overhead a tiny flutter of sound. long ages of sudden death from the air for the shrew-folk made the next movement of this one automatic. as if this sound-wave from overhead had touched some reflex, he dived into the water at the first vibration, like a frog, and swam deep down under the overhanging bank. a fraction of a second later a pair of sharp, cramped talons sank deep into the bank where he had stood, printing in the sand the "k" signature of the hawk-folk, and a buff-waistcoated sparrow hawk swooped into the air again, with a shrill disappointed, "killi, killi, killi!" as the little fugitive swam along the bank something long and sinuous passed him like a flash in the golden water. for a land animal a shrew is no mean swimmer; but the banded watersnake outswims the fish on which it feeds. this one went past the speeding mammal so fast, that it showed only a blur of dingy brown markings on its back and a gleam of marbled red blotches on its belly, as it disappeared in a hole which sloped under the bank. although not venomous, the banded watersnake has within its flat triangular head a mouthful of sharp teeth which it is always willing to use, and is an exceptionally active, powerful serpent. even one of the larger mammals might well have hesitated before attacking one in its own den. not so the shrew. by the swirl and suction of the water, he knew that something large and living had gone by. that was enough. food meant everything, size and odds nothing, in his life. the snake had scarcely time to turn around in its dark burrow, before its cold unwinking eyes saw a dark little figure come out of the water and rush up the long slope that led to the hollow under the bank. although less than two feet long, the watersnake was more than ten times the size of the shrew, and it seemed as unequal a combat as would be one between a man and any of the vast monsters spawned of the primeval ooze. the serpent threw itself into the figure-of-eight coil from which it fights, and to the advantages of size, weight, and strength added that of position, since the shrew had to fight uphill. yet, like the meadow-voles, the snake never had a chance. as the wide-open jaws touched the whiskered muzzle, the shrew swerved, and escaped the snapping teeth by the width of a hair, while the crooked crocodile jaws clinched in the large muscles at the angle of the snake's jaw. the barred serpent hissed fiercely, throwing off the sickening effluvium like decayed fruit, which is one of the defenses of a fighting watersnake, and threw its thick body into swift changing loops and coils, hurling the shrew back and forth. the little animal held on with its death grip, and the crooked jaws burrowed deeper and deeper, bringing into play the long rows of sharp cutting teeth. a watersnake is not a constrictor, and the sandy sides of the den were too soft and narrow to enable it to dislodge the shrew's grip by battering the animal against the walls of the burrow; but again and again it tried to throw its coils over its opponent's rigid body, so as to afford leverage enough to tear the punishing jaws loose. each time, by a swift movement, the shrew would escape the changing loops, and never for an instant ceased to drive its teeth deeper, until they cut clear through the snake's temporal muscles, and its lower jaw dangled limp and useless. freed then from any fear of attack, the shrew sank his long curved teeth deliberately into the reptile's brain, and although the snake still struggled, the battle was over. once more the ever-hungry little mammal claimed the spoils of victory. only when there was nothing left of the snake but a well-picked skeleton, did he leave the den. then again he drank deeply, plunged up through the water, and landed after dark on the same little beach from which he had dived days before. as he scurried across an open space in the woods, a dark shadow drifted down from the tree tops and two great wings hovered over him, so muffled by soft feathers that not even the shrew heard a single beat or flutter from them. a second longer above ground, and all his fierceness and courage and swiftness would have availed him nothing against the winged death that overshadowed him. at that instant, far and faint came a little twittering note from under the leaf carpet. it was only the shadow of a sound, but in a wink the shrew was gone, following the love call of his mate underground. overhead sounded the deep and dreadful voice of a barred owl, as it floated back to its tree top, disappointed for once of its prey. at midnight ben gunnison, the peddler, reached the little glade where the shrew had disappeared. trying for a short cut through the barrens, ben had followed the old cattle-trail from perth ambov, unused for more than a century. at first it stretched straight and plain through the pitch-pine woods. beyond double trouble and mount misery, it began to wind, and by the time he had reached four mile he was lost. for long he staggered under his heavy pack through thickets of scrub oak, white-cedar swamps, and tangles of greenthorn. by the time he had reached the little opening, he was exhausted, and putting his pack under his head for a pillow, lay down under a great sweet-gum tree to sleep out the night. just before dawn he was awakened by high-pitched, trilling, elfin music. opening his eyes, he saw in the light of the setting moon two tiny things chasing each other round and round his pack, singing as they ran. even as he listened, he heard from overhead an ominous cracking noise, and leaped to his feet just as a decayed stub whizzed down, landing with a crash on his pack. as long as he lives, ben will believe that two fairies saved his life. "don't tell me," he would say. "i _saw_ 'em. little weeny fellows half the size of a mouse callin' me to get up. an' i got up. that's the reason i'm here to-day, bless 'em." ix blackcross after running twenty miles, old raven road stopped to rest under a vast black-oak tree. beyond its sentinel bulk was wild-folk land. where hidden springs had kept the wet grass green all winter, the first flower of the year had forced its way through the cold ground. smooth as ivory, all crimson-lake and gold-green on the outside, the curved hollow showed a rich crimson within. cursed with an ill name and an evil savor, yet the skunk cabbage leads the year's procession of flowers. among the dry leaves of the thickets showed the porcelain petals of a colony of hepatica, snow-white, pale pink, violet, deep purple, pure blue, lilac, and lavender. beyond them was a patch of spice-bush, whose black fragrant branches snapped brittle as glass, and whose golden blossoms appear before the leaves. at the foot of a bank, hidden by the scented boughs, bubbled a deep unfailing spring, and from it a little trickle of water wound through the thicket into the swale beyond. growing wider and deeper with every rod, it ran through a little valley hidden between two round, green hills, which widened into a stretch of marshland filled with reeds and thickets of wild rose, elderberry, and buttonbush, laced and interlaced with the choking orange strands of that parasite, the dodder. beside the stream, and at times crossing it, a path, trodden deep, twisted in and out of the marsh. it was too narrow to have been made by human feet, nor could any man have found and followed so unerringly the little ridges of dry going hidden away between the bogs and under the lush growth. packed hard by long years of use, nowhere in the path's whole length did any paw-print show. only in snow-time was the white page printed deep with tracks like those of a dog, but cleaner cut and running in a straight line instead of spraddling to one side. nor was there ever in these trails the little furrow which a dragging paw makes. only a fox could have made that long straight line, where every paw-print was stamped in the soft snow as if with a die. from cold spring to darby creek the long narrow valley belonged to the fox-folk. close beside the spring itself, at the very edge of its fringe of bushes, was a deep burrow that ran out into the open field, and yet was so cunningly hidden by a rock and masked by bushes and long grass that few humans ever suspected that a sly, old, gray fox had lived there for a fox-lifetime, or nearly ten years. his range extended to the swamp on the south, and up through the tangle of little wooded hills and valleys to the north known throughout the countryside as the ridge. the other end of fox valley, and all the darby creek country from fern valley to blacksnake swamp was owned by a red-fox family. they were larger than the gray foxes and the blood of long-ago english foxes, brought over by fox-hunting colonial governors, ran in their veins. to the strength and size of the american fox they added the craft of a thousand generations of hunted foxes on english soil. both fox families kept, for the most part, strictly to their own range, for poaching in a fox country always means trouble. both ranges were well stocked with rabbits, three varieties of mice, birds, frogs, and the other small deer on which foxes live. occasionally the hunters of both families would make a foray on some far-away farm and bring back a plump hen, a pigeon, or sometimes a tame duck. never did the hunter rob a near-by farm, or go twice in succession to the same place; for it is a foolish fox who will make enemies for himself on his own home ranges--and foolish foxes are about as common as white crows. the red-fox range included a number of well-hidden homes. rarely did they occupy the same house two seasons in succession, for experience has taught foxes that long leases are neither sanitary nor safe. this year they were living on the slope of a dry hillside in the very heart of a beech wood. long years before they had fashioned their very first home, and during every succeeding year of occupancy had added improvements and repairs, until it was as complete a residence as any fox family could wish. the first burrow, which was some nine inches in diameter, ran straight into the hillside for about three feet; then it angled sharply along the side of a hidden rock, and ran back some twenty feet more. from off the main shaft branched different galleries. one led to a storehouse, and another to a chamber where the garbage of the den was buried; for there are no better housekeepers among the wild folk than the foxes. last and best hidden of all was the sleeping-room, fully twelve inches across, and carefully lined with soft, dry grass. the perpendicular air shaft ran from the deepest part of the tunnel to the centre of a dense thicket on the hillside. in an irregular curve of some twenty feet, two more entrances were dug. both of these joined the main shaft after describing an angle. last of all was the emergency exit, the final touch which makes a fox home complete. it is always concealed carefully, and is never used except in times of great danger. this one was dug down through a decayed chestnut stump some two feet high, hidden in a fringe of bushes some distance up the hillside, and wound itself among the roots, and connected with the sleeping-chamber. back of the main entrance lay a chestnut log fully three feet through, and screened from the hilltop by a thicket interlaced with greenbrier. this was the watchtower and sun-parlor of the fox family. from it they could survey the whole valley, while one bound would bring them to any one of the regular entrances. on a day in early april, full of sunshine and showers blowing across a soft spring sky, the old dog fox approached the den, carrying a cottontail rabbit slung over one shoulder. as he came to the main entrance, he suddenly stopped and, with one foot raised, stood motionless, sniffing a faint scent from the depths of the burrow. without entering, he laid the rabbit down at the lip of the opening and withdrew; for no dog fox may enter his burrow after the cubs arrive. there were three of them--blind, lead-colored little kittens, who nuzzled and whimpered against mother fox's warm body and fed frantically every hour or so during the first days of their new life. for the next three weeks father fox hunted for five. squirrels, red and gray, chipmunks, birds, rabbits, and scores and scores of mice, found their way into the den. the ninth day of the cubs' life on earth marked an event more important to mother fox than the declaration of independence, or the promulgation of the suffrage amendment. on that date, all three of her cubs opened their eyes! twelve nights later, when the may moonlight made a new heaven and a new earth, they took their first journey. it was only twenty feet, but it covered the distance from one world to another. for a moment three sharp little noses peered out wonderingly at the new world. it was roofed with a shimmering sky instead of damp earth, and was big and boundless and very, very beautiful. altogether the newcomers approved of it highly, although there did seem to be a great waste of air, and it was not so warm and cozy as the world underground. [illustration: the fox family] then the trio of little heads disappeared, and mother fox came out and winnowed the air through the marvelous mesh of her nostrils. convinced that all was safe, she called her cubs out with one of those wild-folk signals pitched below the range of human ears. a moment later, the cubs were out and about in the dangerous, delightful world of out-of-doors. with their long, sprawly legs and heads too big for their bodies, they had something of the lumbering, appealing looks that puppies have. their broad foreheads and pricked-up ears seemed enormous compared with their little faces. each one in turn put his head to one side and looked engagingly at the new world. with their soft woolly backs and round little stomachs, they seemed made to be patted and cuddled. yet, playful and confiding as they appeared, a profound wisdom and craft looked out from their young eyes, which is never seen in those of any other animal. mother fox watched them with much pride. forgotten were the nine cubs of the year before, and the quartettes and sextettes of many a yesteryear. never before, in her opinion, had there ever been three cubs so wise and beautiful and remarkable as these. suddenly she raised her voice in the squalling screech of a vixen. again and again the fierce uncanny sound shuddered away over the hills, and a pair of newly arrived summer boarders, who were strolling along raven road in the moonlight, returned with exceeding haste to old mose butler's farmhouse, and reported to their grinning host that they had heard the scream of a panther. from far down darby creek came the answering bark of the old fox. only the sudden explosive quality of the sound made it resemble in any way the bark of a dog. a curious screeching quality of tone ran through it, and it sounded as if made by some animal who was trying to bark but had never really learned how. then, with the disconcerting suddenness of a fox, father fox stood before his new family for the first time. from his narrow jaws swung a fringe of plump mice, with their tails ingeniously crossed so that they could all be carried by one grip of the narrow jaws. dropping them, the old fox stared solemnly at his family grouped in the moonlight, and then growled deep and approvingly in his throat. two of the cubs wore the usual clouded pale yellow of a young red fox. the third, however, showed, faintly outlined, a velvety black face, ears, muzzle, and legs, with a silky black streak down his back, crossed at the shoulders by a similar stripe shading into reddish and silver-gray, while his little black tail had the silver tip which is the hall-mark of the rare cross-fox, which is sometimes born into a red-fox family. from that night the training of the little fox family began. father fox no longer brought his kill directly to the den. instead, he hid it not too carefully some fifty yards away, and the cubs learned to know the scent of food--flesh or fowl--and to dig it out from under piles of leaves or brush, or even from under an inch or so of freshly dug earth. then, with tiny growls, they would crouch and steal forward and pounce upon the defenseless kill, with tremendous exhibitions of craft and ferocity. they went out on little hunting-trips by night, with mother fox, to lonely hillside pastures, where she taught them to hunt field-mice in the withered grass. in the starlight, they would steal up to some promising clump, and rising on their hind legs peer far forward, with ears pricked up to catch the faintest squeak and eyes alert to note the tiniest movement in the grass. they learned to spring and pounce like lightning, with outspread paws, just ahead of where the grass stirred ever so slightly. if successful, they would kill with one nip a plump, round-headed, short-tailed meadow-mouse. every night they went farther and farther, until at last with mother fox they covered the whole range, at the brisk walk which is the usual hunting-gait of a fox, with frequent pauses and sniffings and listenings. it was father fox who first took them into the sunlight, which was as strange and unnatural to fox children as midnight out-of-doors would be to a human child. he it was who taught them, when in danger, to stand still and keep on standing still--one of the most difficult courses in the wild-folk curriculum. sometimes they met man, whose approach through the woods or across the fields sounded as loud to the fox children as the rumble of an auto-truck would sound to the human child. crouched in the bleached tawny grass, absolutely immovable, the foxes looked so much like tussocks that it would have taken a trained eye indeed to have discovered them. just as the cubs had grown old and wise enough to be left in and about the burrows alone, the sword fell. that night both of the old foxes were abroad on a hunt too long for the untrained muscles of the cubs. awaiting their return, the little foxes were playing and frolicking silently around the den. they had learned that the scent of man or dog means death to foxes, and to seek safety in their burrow at any strange sound. no one of them knew that a shadow in the air, which drifted silently nearer to the den, might conceal any danger. suddenly the shadow fell, and seemed to blot out the little straw-colored cub farthest from the burrow. he had but time for a terrified whicker, when a double set of steel-like talons clamped through his soft fur clear to his heart, and in a second the little body shot up through the air and disappeared in the darkness. a few moments later, from a far-away clump of trees, sounded the deep sinister "hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo" of the great horned owl. once having found the fox family, death followed fast on its trail. one morning the largest cub awoke, and decided to take a stroll by himself in the sunlight, without waiting for father fox to come, and without waking the rest of the family, who slept curled up together in the sleeping-room of the den. stealing out of the main burrow, the little cub sniffed the air wisely, and examined the landscape from under wrinkled brows with an air of profound consideration. at first he followed a winding path which ran through a bit of woodland where mother fox had taken him once before by night. finding no trace of game there, he left the path and climbed up a rocky hillside half covered with brush and trees. just as he was turning a corner of a little rocky ledge which jutted out in front of him, he heard a low thick hiss. directly in front of him, in an irregular loop, lay a hazel-brown snake, dappled with blunt y's of a rich chestnut color, its head and neck being the color of rusty copper. [illustration: death in the dark] for a second the young fox looked into the lidless, deadly eyes of the copperhead, with their strange oval pupils, the hall-mark of the fatal pit-vipers. all in one flash, the grim jaws of the snake gaped open, the two movable fangs of the upper jaw unfolded and thrust straight out like tiny spearheads, and the fatal crooked needles stabbed deep in the cub's soft side. growling fiercely in his little throat, he clenched his sharp teeth through the snake's spine; but even as he closed his jaws, the fatal virus touched the tide of his life and he fell forward. the wild folk have no tears, nor may they show their sorrow by the sobs and wailing of humankind, yet there was something in the dumb despair of the two foxes who had followed the trail of their lost cub, as they hung over the soft little body, that showed that the love of our lesser brethren for their little ones is akin to the love of humankind. thereafter all the watchfulness and the love and the hope of the two were concentrated on the little fox with the black cross on his back. night and day mother fox guarded him. day and night father fox taught and trained him, until he had acquired much of the lore of fox-kind. he learned to catch birds and mice and frogs and squirrels, and even the keen-eared cottontail rabbit, whose eyes can see forward and backward equally well. he learned, too, the lessons of prudence and foresight which keep foxes alive when ice and snow have locked many of their larders. once, when he was crossing a pasture with father fox, the latter stopped and stood like a pointing dog, one velvety black bent forefoot in the air, while with outstretched muzzle he sniffed the faintest of warm scents, which seemed to float from a clump of tangled dry grass. stealing forward like a shadow, the old fox sprang at the tussock. before he landed, a plump quail buzzed out of the cover like a bullet, to be caught by the fox in mid-air. underneath a fringe of dry grass was a round nest of pure white, sharp-pointed eggs--so many of them that they were heaped up in layers. after eating the quail, the old fox carefully carried off the eggs and hid them under layers of damp moss, where they would keep indefinitely and be a resource in the famine days that were yet to come. another day the cub learned the advantage of teamwork. on that day the two old foxes were hunting together, and, as usual, blackcross tagged along. near the middle of a great field, a flock of killdeer were feeding--those loud-voiced plover, which wear two rings around their white necks. for a moment the two foxes stood motionless, staring at the distant birds. then, without a sound, mother fox turned back. for a moment blackcross could watch her as she made a wide detour around the field, and then she disappeared from sight. father fox lay still for several minutes, with his wise head resting on his forepaws. then, while blackcross stayed behind, the old fox started deliberately toward the flock of feeding birds. at times he would stop, and bound high in the air, and scurry up and down, waving his flaunting brush and cutting curious capers, moving gradually nearer and nearer to the flock. the killdeer, which are wise birds in spite of their loud voices, moved farther and farther away toward the end of the pasture, ready to spring into the air and flash away on their long narrow wings if the fox came too near, but evidently much interested in his antics as they fed. gradually the curveting fox edged the flock clear across the field, until they were close to a thicket that lay between the field and a patch of woods beyond. then he redoubled his efforts, prancing and bounding and rolling over and over, while his fluffy tail showed like a plume above the long grass, and the birds stopped feeding and watched him with evident curiosity. suddenly, when the attention of the whole flock was fixed on the performing fox, there was a rustle in the thicket, and out flashed a tawny shape. before the flock could spring into the air, mother fox had caught one bird in her teeth and beaten down another with her paws. another morning blackcross learned what happens to foxes who poach on their neighbor's preserves. in the early dawn-light, he was loping along the upper end of the valley with father fox. suddenly the fur bristled all along the latter's back, and he gave a little churring growl. right ahead of him, trotting along a path made by a generation of red-fox pads, came the old gray fox who lived by cold spring, a dead cottontail rabbit swung over one shoulder. the poacher was caught with the game. with another growl, the old red fox sprang at the trespasser. the gray fox was a mile from his burrow, and knowing that the red fox could outpace him, decided to fight for his booty. with a quick flirt of his head, he tossed the rabbit into a near-by bush, and with bristling back awaited the attack. walking stiff-legged like two dogs, and growling deep in their throats, the two came together, until they stood sidewise to each other, sparring for an opening. finally, the old red fox snapped at the other's foreleg, with a movement more like the slash of a wolf than the bite of a dog. the gray fox dropped his head, and the bared teeth of the two snicked together. again the red fox made the same lead, and met with the same block. the third time he feinted, and as the other dropped his head, whirled and brought his brush, with a blinding, stinging swish, across the eyes of the gray fox. before the latter could recover, the narrow jaws of the red fox had met in the soft flesh just above the gray hind leg. a wolf would have hamstrung his opponent and killed him at his leisure; but foxes rarely fight to the death. as the old gray fox felt the rending teeth tear through his soft skin, he yelped, tore himself loose, and started full-speed for his den. for two hundred yards the red fox pursued him, with such swiftness that he managed to nip his unprotected hind quarters several times. at each bite the fleeing gray fox yelped with the high, shrill, sorrowful note of a hurt little dog; and when father fox returned to claim the spoils of victory, all that could be seen of the other was a gray streak moving rapidly toward cold spring. as the cub reached his full stature, he ranged farther and farther afield with the two old foxes. he learned all the hiding and camping places of the range, and how to sleep out in a blaze of sunlight in some deserted field, looking for all the world like a tussock of tawny blackened grass, or, if so be that he hunted by day and slept by night, he found that he wore a blanket on his back which kept him warm even during the coldest nights. as for his unprotected nose and four paddies, he wrapped them up warm in the fluffy rug of his thick soft brush. by the time frost had come, his fur had grown long and glossy and very beautiful, with the velvet cross of midnight-black bordered with old-gold, silver, and tawny-pink, his black brush waving aloft like a white-tipped plume. death came with the frost, in the form of traps, hounds and hunters. old father fox taught him how to escape them all. many years ago he had lived across the hills on the lonely barrack, where the deans and the blakesleys and the howes and the baileys and the reeds have a far-away hill country of their own. old fred dean lived there, and prided himself on both the wild and the tame crops which he raised on his hill farm. he made the whitest, sweetest maple sugar in the world, and harvested hickories, chestnuts, butternuts, and even hazel-nuts. it was his fur crop, however, which was the most profitable. foxes, raccoons, skunks, muskrat, mink--the old man knew how to trap them all. in father fox's second year, he was caught in a trap which fred had cunningly hidden in the snow among a maze of cattle tracks--the last place where a fox would suspect danger. the fox finally managed to work his imprisoned foot out of the gripping jaws; but it had cost him four toes to learn that the scent of man or iron meant death to foxes. he never forgot, and he taught blackcross to fear the tiniest whiff of either. as for dogs, the old fox taught his cub that no dog can overtake a fox going uphill or in the rough, and that shifting sand and running water are the fox's friends, since his scent will lie in neither. he taught him all the cut-offs, the jumps, and the run-backs of the range, and finally the cherished fortresses where, as a last resort, he might take refuge. when it came to hunters, the young fox had to take his chances. in the last analysis a man's brain can outwit that of a fox. it was when the blaze and the glow of the crimson and gold frost-fires had died away to the russet of late fall that the fox family was most in danger, for the raven hunt club needed a fox. three times now the men had dressed themselves with great care, in wonderful scarlet coats and shiny top-boots, while the women wore comfortable breeches and uncomfortable collars; and they had all jumped fences and waded brooks and crashed through thickets; but never a fox could they find, so close had the dwellers in fox valley lain hidden. in fact, the last hunt had been a drag-hunt, and the pack had followed for hours the scent of a bag of anise which had been dragged the day before by a string, through the woods and across the fields, by a sleepy stable-boy on a broken-down hunter. but you cannot rise in your stirrups and shout "tally-ho!" or "stole away!" or any of the other proper hunting remarks, over a bag of anise. then, too, the hounds have nothing to worry and kill at the end of the hunt; nor can the brush be cut off for a trophy, for an anise bag hasn't any brush. thanksgiving was two scant weeks away, and it was absolutely necessary for the happiness of the hunt that a live fox be secured at once. accordingly the raven hunt club offered fifty dollars for a live red fox. grays were barred, because they prefer to hide in burrows and be safe rather than run and be killed. for a week all the farmers' boys for miles around fox valley trapped desperately, but without success. father fox had not paid four toes for nothing. then they sent for fred dean. thereafter, one night blackcross, while hunting over a hilltop pasture, noted a long, freshly turned furrow that ran straight across the field, which was filled with old chaff taken from deserted barns and smelt delightfully of mice. along the furrow and through the litter the young fox nosed his way, ready to pounce upon the first mouse which darted out. suddenly there was a snap, and blackcross was caught by his slim dark muzzle. there the old trapper found him the next morning, hardly alive; and when he saw that he had secured a cross-fox, demanded a hundred from the committee instead of the offered fifty. said committee took the fox, and advertised far and wide that the thanksgiving hunt would be after such a fox as had never been hunted before in the memory of man. the holiday turned out to be one of those rare and fleeting days of indian summer which autumn sometimes borrows from her sister. the pack was in fine fettle. the horses and the hunters were fit, and the hunt breakfast excellent. everybody was thankful--except the shivering little fox. for days he had been cooped in a dirty wire cage, and eaten tainted meat and drunk stale water, and he was stiff and sore from his night in the trap and from lack of exercise. just at sunrise on thanksgiving morning, he was crammed into a bag, and then let out two fields ahead of the pack. as he shot into the sunlight, there was a chorus of shouts, yells, and yelps, and a crowd of men, women, horses, and hounds rushed after him in a tremendous burst of speed. the young fox's legs tottered under him as he ran. moreover, for a mile around the country was level. as he crossed the first field, the pack was already at the farther wall, and would surely have overtaken him in the third field if it had not been for one of the old fox's lessons. the pasture sloped up to where a sand bank showed as a great crescent gash in the turf. springing to the side of the bank, the fox clung to it like a fly, scurried along its side, cleared the stone wall beyond, and headed for the thickets of fox valley. the shifting sand left no track or scent, and while the pack puzzled out the trail, blackcross won to the shelter of the nearest thicket. up and down the hillsides, across marshes and through tangles of underbrush, he doubled, checked, turned, and twisted. raven hunt, however, boasted the best pack of fox-hounds in the state, nor had blackcross either the strength or endurance for a long run. his pace became slower and slower, while the bell-like notes of the hounds and the shouts of the hunters sounded ever nearer and louder. only just in time the beset fox saw looming up before him the best hidden of all the fox fortresses in the valley. it seemed only an impenetrable tangle of greenbrier on the hillside--that vine whose stems are like slim, green wires, studded everywhere with up-curved thorns through which neither man nor beast can force a way. through the very middle of the tangle ran the naked trunk of a fallen chestnut, showing just above the barbed vines. as the pack scrambled through the barway at the foot of the hill, the little fox ran along the log, and with all his last remaining strength sprang far out across the interlaced tangle of vine and thorn, where the smooth needles under a little white pine made a tiny island in the thicket. from there the fox bounded over a narrow belt of greenbrier into a mass of wild honeysuckle, whose glossy green leaves and bending vine-stocks carpeted the hill at that point fully two feet deep. across the yielding surface he hurried, until he reached the entrance of a little tunnel beneath the vines, entirely hidden from sight by the drooping leaves. through this he crept noiselessly, beneath the green carpet, until he reached the entrance to a burrow which led far up the hillside and had no less than three well-concealed exits. for a long hour the pack and the hunters and the horses circled and beat and trampled back and forth through the thicket, and as far into the greenbrier tangle as they could force a way; but no one of them found the lost trail. a hundred dollars had been spent and nothing killed. everybody agreed that it was a most unfortunate ending to a good day--everybody, that is, except the fox. as the months wore on, blackcross hunted more and more by himself, nor did he use any of the family dens. this was partly because snow leaves a telltale trail, which he who hunts can read, and partly because of a difference in the attitude toward him of the old foxes. among the wild folk the love and care of parents cease when their children have become full-grown. this is part of nature's plan to scatter families, and prevent the in-breeding which will weaken the stock. at last the time came when mother fox no longer allowed him the freedom of the den in which he had been born, and father fox growled in his throat when he met him carrying his kill. then the love-moon of the foxes in february showed in the sky, and something drove blackcross far afield--something that called and cried, and would not let him sleep, and took away even the interest and joy of a successful hunt. across the ridges, through fern valley and beyond blacksnake swamp he journeyed, until, far beyond them all, he found a lonely valley shut in on all four sides by steep slopes, and untenanted by any of the fox-folk. on the crest of one of the hills stood an abandoned haystack, left by some thriftless farmer years before, and so bleached and weathered by sun and storm that it was useless as hay, but an ideal place for a fox-warren. under this blackcross dug a home with many entrances, all of them cunningly concealed by the overhanging hay. through the centre of the stack itself, he ran a series of tunnels and rooms, besides the safer ones far underground. finally, it was almost completed--almost but not quite. night after night the young fox barked from the top of the hill with a sharp staccato screech, which could be heard a long mile away. then came the night of the full moon. there was no snow and overhead in the crisp air wheeled orion the hunter, lepus the hare, the great and little dog, and all the other mighty constellations of winter. under the sheen and shimmer of the stars and through the still moonlight, blackcross sent his bark echoing and ringing, until at long last it was answered by a curious, high-pitched squall which to blackcross contained all the magic and music of sky and earth. nearer and nearer the sound approached, until finally, in the moonlight, a slim tawny figure stole up to the stack. for a moment black muzzle and tawny touched. then blackcross turned and disappeared down one of the entrances to his burrow, and the stranger followed. at last, his home was complete. x sea otter the short arctic summer had flung its flower fields among the glaciers of the siberian coast, like many-colored jewels set in crystal. flocks of skuas, jaegers, and little auks circled and screamed above the smoky green waters of the straits; and far out from shore a bed of kelp writhed and tossed like a mass of golden-brown sea snakes. there, cradled on the swaying stems, a water-baby was born. he had a funny little nose, with a padded cushion on top which made it look like the ace of spades, and his round, blunt head was of a dingy white color, while the rest of his fifteen inches was covered with a loose, kinky, gray-brown coat. its harsh outer surface, sprinkled with long white hairs, covered a velvet-like inner fur that gave promise of the glory that was yet to be. in spite of his insignificant appearance, the little cub was of blood royal, of the lineage of the sea otter, that king of fur-bearers, who wears a fortune on his back and is dogged by death every moment of his life. vitus behring and his shipwrecked crew discovered them in , in the surf and shallows around a barren island, in the sea which now bears his name. when they won their way back to asia, sly, wise chinese merchants paid their weight in silver for the new furs, so lustrous, silky, and durable, which the sailors had been using for coats and blankets. in russia they came to be worth their weight in gold, outranking even the royal sables, which none but the tsar and his nobles might wear. to-day the pelt of a sea otter is worth its weight in platinum or palladium. this last-born princeling soon learned how to float on his back, with his round little head just showing above the kelp. for the most part, however, he lived clasped in his mother's arms and wrapped in the silky folds of her fur, while he nuzzled and fed against her warm breast, making happy little chirps and grunts of satisfaction, quite like a human baby. to-day, as they rocked back and forth in the swinging water, the kelp-carpet in front of them parted, and a great, blunt, misshapen head thrust itself into the air a few yards away. it had little eyes set high in the skull, while the ears showed below the grinning mouth filled full of blunt teeth like white water-worn pebbles--the hallmark of a sea otter. the newcomer was none other than father otter, come to look over his son and heir. he did not come very close to his family, for mother otters do not permit even their mates to approach too near a newborn cub. as the old dog otter stretched himself out on the kelp-raft, his cylindrical body, all gleaming ebony and silver in the sunlight, showed nearly as long as that of a man, and weighed perhaps a hundred and twenty-five pounds. it was the great otter's pelt, however, that stamped him as the sea king that he was. lustrous as light on the water, the inner fur had a close pile like velvet and, frosted with long white hairs, showed a tinge of silver-purple gleaming through its long loose folds. for some time the old dog otter gravely surveyed his mate and his new cub, approvingly. then he scanned sea and sky and kelp, listening the while with a pair of the sharpest ears that ever guarded the life of one of the wild folk, at the same time winnowing the air through a pair of nostrils that could smell smoke--that danger-signal to all wild people--a mile away. there was no sign of danger anywhere, and a moment later he disappeared under the water, after the food which his vibrant body unceasingly required. for long after his disappearance the mother otter anxiously studied the horizon for the tiniest danger-signal. convinced at last that all was well, she stretched herself out on the slow-swinging kelp, for one of those periods of quiet happiness which come even into the lives of the hunted. while her cub snuggled against her soft fur, she tossed a kelp-bulb high into the air, catching it like a ball, first in one bare little palm, then in the other, while she sang the cradle-song which all little sea otters know. high and shrill she chirped and twittered like a bird, in the midst of that lonely sea, clasping her sleepy baby closer as she sang. there seemed no living thing near, yet death is never far from the sea otter. from mid-sky what seemed a dark wisp of cloud drifted toward the sea. driven down by hunger from the north, an eagle owl, all buff and gray and brown, was crossing from asia to america; for, unlike most of his fierce clan, he hunted by day. larger than that death-in-the-dark, the great-horned owl, or that fierce white ghost of the north, the snowy owl, he skimmed down toward the kelp-bed, his round, fixed eyes gleaming red and horrible in the sunlight. muffled by the softest of down, his great wings, although they had a spread of nearly five feet, were absolutely noiseless. not until the shadow of the bird, like the shadow of death itself, fell upon her cub, did the otter have the slightest warning of any danger. by that time it would have been too late for any other creature to escape. no animal, however, on land or sea can dive with the sea otter. just as the crooked talons were closing, she slipped through the kelp into the water, without a splash, like something fluid, her cub clasped close, while overhead the baffled owl snapped its beak like a pistol shot, and flew on toward the alaskan coast. down through the swaying tangles she twisted her way like an eel, until she passed clear through the floating bed of this strange growth of the sea, which grows with its roots in the air. there the water darkened, and as she neared the bottom a shape flashed ahead of her, lighted with that phosphorescence which all dwellers in the northern seas seem to acquire. the otter recognized the glowing figure as that of a sea bass, a bronze-green fish hardly to be distinguished from the small-mouthed black bass of fresh water. the bass was no mean swimmer, but the long, oar-like, webbed hind legs of the sea otter twisted over and over each other like the screw of a propeller, and drove her through the water with such tremendous speed that, in spite of the handicap of the cub, she soon swam down the fish, following its every twist and turn, and in less than a minute had caught it in her blunt teeth. then, with the plump fish in her jaws, she swam up again through the kelp, and fed full, never for a moment, however, loosening her grip of her cub--for the babies of the sea folk who wander only a few feet from their mothers may never return. the meal finished, the great otter climbed out on a pinnacle of rock just showing above the kelp. immediately from a miracle of lithe, swift grace, she changed into one of the slowest and most awkward of animals. the webbed flipper-like hind feet, which drove her with such speed through the water, were of very little use on land, and her tiny forepaws were so short that they seemed to have no wrists at all. slowly and painfully she waddled up on the rock, and there preened and cleaned and combed and licked every inch of her fur just as a cat would do, until it shone in the sunlight like a black opal. as the weeks went by, the cub was trained in the lessons of the sea. he learned to enjoy salads of kelp-sprouts, and to dive with his mother to the bottom of the shallows, and watch her grind her way through the great clams of the northwest, whose bivalves are a foot in width, or crunch with her pebble-like teeth into the white meat of the vast, armored crabs of those seas. another one of her favorite foods was the sea urchin--that chestnut burr of the sea. protected by a bristling hedge of steel-sharp spines, it would seem safe from any attack. yet, just as the squirrel on land opens without injury the real chestnut burr, so the sea otter had learned the combination which unlocked this little spiked safe of the sea, and devoured with much relish every one she could find. as the weeks went by, the larder of the kelp-bed began to empty. the clam-beds had been stripped, the sea urchins were gone, and the fish had learned to keep away. little by little, the mother otter hunted farther and farther from the safety of the kelp; until there came a day when, driven by hunger, she followed a fleeing pollock out into the open sea. the big gleaming fish, with the black line along its silver sides, swam far and fast. yet, if the otter had not been hampered by her clinging cub, the chase would have been a short one. as it was, she did not overtake the fugitive until it was fully a quarter of a mile away from the kelp. in desperation it swam down into the lower depth, until the dull green of the water changed to black; but always the weasel of the sea was hard on its track, following the phosphorescent trail which the fleeing fish left behind. suddenly, as the pollock dived to even lower depths, in the hope that the water-pressure might drive back its pursuer, a grotesquely horrible head thrust itself up from the darkness right in its path. dark, and shining like wet rubber, the shape resembled nothing so much as that of a great, double-headed sledgehammer. from either of the living hammer-heads gleamed a greenish, malignant eye. before the pollock could dart aside, the great hammer-head shark turned partly over, there was a flash of sharp teeth, and the fugitive fish disappeared. a second later the ridged, gray, fifteen-foot body shot toward the otter, with such speed that the water fairly hissed from the scimetar-shaped side-fins. the sea otter is among the swiftest swimmers of the mammals, but no air-breathing creature can compete in speed with a shark. almost instantly the hammerhead was upon her. the jaws of all the sharks are so undershot that, in order to grip their prey, they must perforce turn over on their sides. this peculiarity of their kind was all that saved the otter. for a second the grim head overshadowed her. then, with a twist of its long tail, shaped like the fluke of an anchor, the shark turned over and the vast mouth swung open, armed with six rows of inch-long, steel-sharp, triangular teeth, whose edges were serrated like a saw. each separate tooth was curved back toward the gullet, so that for any living thing caught in their dreadful grip there was no more chance of escape than there would be from the interlocking cogwheels of a stone-crusher. as the jaws of death gaped for the sea otter, with a writhe of her swift body she flashed to one side, while the little cub whimpered in her arms and the fatal teeth of the shark just grazed her trailing, flipper-like hind legs, so close they snapped behind her. swerving beneath the great bulk, the otter began a desperate flight for life. every foot of the shark's gaunt, stripped body was built for speed. there was not a bone anywhere under his drab and livid skin--only rings and strips and columns of tough, springy cartilage, which enabled him to cut through the water like a blade of tempered gray steel. with the rush of a torpedo the grim figure shot after the fleeing otter, who had but one advantage and that was in length. it takes a six-foot body less time to turn than one that measures fifteen feet. in a straightaway race, the fish would have overtaken the mammal in a few seconds; but when it came to twisting, turning, and doubling, the sea otter had an advantage, albeit of the slightest. again and again the desperate sea mother avoided death by an inch. more than once the ringing jaws of the great fish snapped together just behind her, and only the tiny tick of time which it took to turn over saved her. desperately she sought to win the refuge of the kelp-bed; but always the gray shape thrust itself between her and safety. at last an ally of the sea folk joined in the hunt. water was claiming her toll of oxygen from the alien within her depths. a sea otter can stay under for half an hour at a pinch--but not when swimming at full speed, with the laboring heart pumping blood at capacity; and this one realized despairingly that soon she must breathe or die. little by little she shaped her course toward the surface, dreadfully fearing lest the second she must spend in drawing one deep breath would be her last. she flashed upward through a whole gamut of greens--chrome, cedar, jasper, myrtle, malachite, emerald, ending with the pulsing, golden sap-green of the surface. swim as she would, however, the monstrous head was always just at her flank, and the slightest pause would give those fatal teeth their grip. once again she avoided by a hair's breadth a snap of the deadly jaws, and struggled despairingly toward the upper air. as the great fish turned to follow, out from the sunlight, through the gleaming water, shot a long dark body. away from the safety of the kelp to the head of horror with its implacable eyes came the old dog otter, for the creed of the sea otter is unchanging--one mate for life and death. with his round misshapen head bristling and his snaky black eyes gleaming like fire, this one crossed the vast back of the shark like a shadow. as the great fish turned to follow the fleeing mother, the blunt pebble-teeth of the dog otter, which can grind the flintiest shells to powder, fastened themselves with a bull-dog grip just behind the last fin of the shark, where its long, sinuous tail joined the body. with all the force of his tremendous jaws, the great sea otter clamped his teeth through the masses of muscles, deep into the cartilage column, crushing one of its ball-and-socket joints. like a steel spring, the shark bent almost double on itself. just as the gaping jaws were about to close, with a quick flirt of his body the otter swung across to the other side, without relaxing for an instant the grip of those punishing teeth. the undershot jaws of the great fish could not reach the head of its tormentor, fixed as it was in the central ridge of the shark's back. again and again the hammer-head bent from side to side; but each time the old dog otter evaded the clashing teeth and ground to bits joint after joint of the shark's spine, while the lashing tail-strokes became feebler and feebler. not until the mother otter and her cub were safe on their way to the kelp-bed, breathing great life-saving draughts of fresh air at the surface, did the grim jaws of the old otter relax. then, with an arrowy dive and double, he shot under and over the disabled fish, and sped away to join his mate in the hidden thickets of the kelp. the swift arctic summer soon passed, to be followed by the freezing gales of an arctic winter. with the storms would come an enemy from the land, fiercer and more fatal than any foe that menaced the otter family by sea or sky; for these sea otter were among the last of their race, and there was a price upon their pelts beyond the dreams of the avarice of a thousand murky aleuts and oily kolash and kadiakers, to say nothing of a horde of white adventurers from all the five continents of earth. only in storms, when the kelp-beds are broken and the otter are forced to seek the shelter of beaches and sea caves, do hunters still have a chance to secure these rarest of all the fur-bearers. at last came the first of the great winter gales. day after day the wind howled up from the southeast, the storm quarter of that coast, and the air throbbed with the boom of breakers, while all the way down the straits the white-caps foamed and roared among a tangle of cross-currents. out at sea, the great kelp-raft on which the otter family had lived since spring was at last broken and scattered under the pounding of the gale. otter need sleep as much as humans, and like them, too, must sleep where they can breathe. battered and blinded by the gale, the little family started to hunt for some refuge where they might slumber out the storm. along all the miles of coast, and among the myriads of barren islands, there seemed to be no place where they could find a yard of safety. at the first sign of bad weather every strip of beach was patrolled and every islet guarded. to lonely little saanak the dog otter first led them, hoping to find some tiny stretch of safe beach among the water-worn boulders piled high along the shore. a mile to windward he stopped, thrust his blunt muzzle high up into the gale, and winnowed the salt-laden air through the meshes of his wonderful nostrils. then he turned away at right angles, toward another island. a little band of indian hunters, starved with cold, had built far back among the rocks a tiny fire. smoke spells death to a sea otter. beyond saanak the wary veteran visited other beaches, only to detect the death-scent of human footprints, although they had been washed by waves and covered by tides. in far-away oonalaska, he sought the entrance of a sea cave in whose winding depths, many years before, he had found refuge. as he thrust his head into the hidden opening, his sturdy breast struck the strands of a net made of sea-lion sinews, so soaked and bleached by salt water that it bore even to his matchless nostrils no smell of danger. with a warning chirp, he halted his mate following close behind, and backed out carefully, without entangling himself among the wide meshes. agonizing for sleep, the little band turned back and journeyed wearily to the far-away islet of attoo, the westernmost point of land in north america. in its lee was a sheltered kelp-raft never broken by the waves, although too near shore to be a safe refuge except in a storm. there, in the very centre of the heaving bed, with the waves booming outside, the otter family slept the sleep of utter exhaustion, their heads buried under the kelp-stems and their shimmering bodies showing on the surface. at the foot of a high bluff on kadiak island crouched dick barrington, on his first otter-hunt. dick was the son of a factor of the hudson bay company, which, in spite of kings and parliaments, still rules arctic america. with him as a guide was oonga, the chief of a tribe of aleutian hunters. "stick to old oonga," the factor had advised. "he knows more about sea otter than any man in his tribe. at that there's only one chance in a thousand that you'll get one." the old chief had allowed the rest of the band to slip away one by one, each choosing the islet or bit of shore where he hoped to draw the winning number in this lottery of the sea. hour after hour went by, and still the old man sat huddled under the lee of the cliff. at last, he suddenly stood up. although the gale seemed still at its height, his practised eye saw signs that it was about to break, and in a moment, with dick's help, he had launched the triple-pointed, high-sterned _bidarka_, a little craft made of oiled sea-lion skins, and as unsinkable as any boat could be. a few quick strokes of the paddle, and they were beyond the breakers. then, straight across the bay, through the rush and smother of the storm, they shot toward attoo. steering by unknown ranges and glimpses of dim islands, old oonga held his course unfalteringly, until, just as the gale began to slacken, they reached the kelp-bed in the lee of the little island. across the hollow tendrils the old chief guided the bidarka silently, in a zigzag course. suddenly he stretched out his paddle, and, touching dick on the shoulder, pointed to a dark spot showing against the kelp a hundred yards away. with infinite care the two edged the canoe along, until there before them lay asleep the mother otter, her cub clasped tight in her arms. even as they watched, the little otter nuzzled its small white nose against its mother's warm breast. as she felt its touch, without opening her eyes she clasped the cub tighter in her arms, with a curiously human gesture, and wrapped it close in her long silky fur, which had a changing shimmer and ripple through it like watered silk--a pelt with which a man might ransom his life. as dick gripped the short heavy club which the old chief had placed at his feet at the beginning of the voyage, and looked down upon the pair, it seemed to him as if the great sea had taken him into her confidence and entrusted the sleeping mother and child to him. suddenly, in the silence, with sea and sky watching, he knew that he could no more strike down that mother sleeping before him with her dear-loved cub in her arms, than he could have killed a human child entrusted to his care. with a quick motion, he splashed the water over the sleeping otter with the end of his club. so swiftly that the eye could scarcely follow her motion, the great otter flashed out of sight under the kelp, with her cub still held close. once again, mother-love had been too strong for death. points of humour part i. by anonymous illustrated by the designs of george cruikshank. ten engravings on copper and twelve wood cuts london: published by c. baldwyn, newgate street . "let mee play the fool: with mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come; and let my liver rather heat with wine, than my heart cool with mortifying groans, why should a man, whose blood is warm through, sit like his grandsire, cut in alubaster? sleep when he wakes, and creep into the jaundice by being peevish?" shakspear preface. it will be readily perceived that the literary part of this work is of humble pretensions. one object alone has been aimed at and it is hoped with success--to select or to invent those incidents which' might be interesting or amusing in themselves, while they afforded scope for the peculiar talents of the artist who adorns them with his designs. the selection was more difficult than may at first sight be supposed. it is true, there is no paucity of subjects of wit and humour, but he who will take the trouble to examine them, will find how few are adapted for pictorial representation. no artist can embody a point of wit, and the humour of many of the most laughable stories would vanish at the touch of the pencil of the most ingenious designer in the world. those ludicrous subjects only which are rich in the humour of _situation_ are calculated for graphic illustration. to prove the following anecdotes are not deficient in this respect, no other appeal is necessary than to the plates themselves! look at the breadth of the humour, the point of the situation, the selection of the figures, the action, and its accompaniments, and deny (without a laugh on the face) that this portion of the work answers the end in view. in all this the writer or compiler, or whatever he may be called, claims little merit. that the whole effect is comic, that the persons are ludicrous, and engaged in laughable groups and surrounded with objects which tend to broaden the grin, all this, and a thousand times more, belongs to mr. cruikshank;--the writer only claims the merit of having suggested to him the materials. some of the ten points, now submitted to the public, arise out of a reprint of that admirable piece of humour, the jolly beggars of burns;--a part of his works almost unknown to the public, in consequence of the scrupulousness of the poet's biographer and editor, who withheld them from the world. lest we however should incur the charge, which dr. currie apprehended, we beg leave to prefix the observations on this subject by the first literary character in the kingdom, sir walter scott, as they appeared in the _quarterly review._ "yet applauding, as we do most highly applaud, the leading principles of dr. currie's selection, we are aware that they sometimes led him into fastidious and over-delicate rejection of the bard's most spirited and happy effusions. a thin octavo, published at glasgow in , under the title of 'poems ascribed to robert burns, the ayrshire bard,' furnishes valuable proofs of this assertion; it contains, among a good deal of rubbish, some of his most brilliant poetry. a cantata, in particular, called _the jolly beggars_, for humorous description and nice discrimination of character, is inferior to no poem of the same length in the whole range of english poetry. the scene, indeed, is laid in the very lowest department of low life, the actors being a set of strolling vagrants, met to carouse, and barter their rags and plunder for liquor in a hedge ale-house. yet even in describing the movements of such a group, the native taste of the poet has never suffered his pen to slide into any thing coarse or disgusting. the extravagant glee and outrageous frolic of the beggars are ridiculously contrasted with their maimed limbs, rags, and crutches--the sordid and squalid circumstances of their appearance are judiciously thrown into the shade. nor is the art of the poet less conspicuous in the individual figures, than in the general mass. the festive vagrants are distinguished from each other by personal appearance and character, as much as any fortuitous assembly in the higher orders of life. the group, it must be observed, is of scottish character, and doubtless our northern brethren are more familiar with its varieties than we are; yet the distinctions are too well marked to escape even the southern. the most prominent persons are a maimed soldier and his female companion, a hackneyed follower of the camp, a stroller, late the consort of an highland ketterer, or sturdy beggar--'but weary fa' the waefu' woodie!'--being now at liberty, she becomes an object of rivalry between a pigmy scraper with his fiddle' and a strolling tinker. the latter, a desperate bandit, like most of his profession, terrifies the musician out of the field, and is preferred by the damsel of course. a wandering ballad-singer, with a brace of doxies, is last introduced upon the stage. each of these mendicants sings a song in character, and such a collection of humorous lyrics, connected by vivid poetical description, is not perhaps to be paralleled in the english language. the ditty chaunted by the ballad singer is certainly far superior to any thing in the _beggar's opera_, where alone we could expect to find its parallel. "we are at a loss to conceive any good reason why dr. currie did not introduce this singular and humorous cantata into his collection. it is true, that in one or two passages the muse has trespassed slightly upon decorum, where, in the language of scottish song, "high kilted was she, "as she gaed owre the lea." "something, however, is to be allowed to the nature of the subject, and something to the education of the poet: and if from veneration to the names of swift and dryden, we tolerate the grossness of the one, and the indelicacy of the other, the respect due to that of burns, may surely claim indulgence for a few light strokes of broad humour.. "knowing that this, and hoping that other compositions of similar spirit and tenor, might yet be recovered, we were induced to think that some of them, at least, had found a place in the collection given to the public by mr. cromek. but he has neither risqued the censure, nor gained the applause, which might have belonged to such an undertaking." point i. the point of honour. when the american army was at valley forge in the winter of , a captain of the virginian line refused a challenge sent him by a brother officer, alleging that his life was devoted to the service of his country, and that he did not think it a point of duty to risk it to gratify the caprice of any man. this _point of duty_ gave occasion to _a point of humour_ which clearly displayed the brilliant _points_ of the officer's character, and exposed the weak ones of his brothers in the service in a very _pointed_ manner. his antagonist gave him the character of a coward through the whole army. conscious of not having merited the aspersion, and discovering the injury he should sustain in the minds of those unacquainted with him, he repaired one evening to a general meeting of the officers of that line. on his entrance, he was avoided by the company, and the officer who had challenged him, insolently ordered him to leave the room; a request which was loudly re-echoed from all parts. he refused, and asserted that he came there to vindicate his fame; and after mentioning the reasons which induced him not to accept the challenge, he applied a large hand grenade to the candle, and when the fuse had caught fire, threw it on the floor, saying, "here, gentlemen, this will quickly determine which of us all dare brave danger most." [illustration: ] at first they stared upon him for a moment in stupid astonishment, but their eyes soon fell upon the fusé of the grenade, which was fast burning down. away scampered colonel, general, ensign, and captain, and all made a rush at the door. "devil take the hindmost." some fell, and others made way over the bodies of their comrades; some succeeded in getting out, but for an instant there was a general heap of flesh sprawling at the entrance of the apartment. here was a colonel jostling with a subaltern, and there fat generals pressing lean lieutenants into the boards, and blustering majors, and squeaking ensigns wrestling for exit; the size of one and the feebleness of the other making their chance of departure pretty equal, until time, which does all things at last, cleared the room and left the noble captain standing over the grenade with his arms folded, and his countenance expressing every kind of scorn and contempt for the train of scrambling red coats, as they toiled and bustled and bored their way out of the door. after the explosion had taken place, some of them ventured to return, to take a peep at the mangled remains of their comrade, whom however to their great surprise they found alive and uninjured.--when they were all gone, the captain threw himself flat on the floor as the only possible means of escape, and fortunately came off with a whole skin, and a repaired reputation. point ii. the short courtship. as a gentleman was passing along one of the more retired streets of london late in the evening, he stumbled over the body of an old man, whom on examination he found in a state of excessive inebriation, and who had in consequence tumbled down and rolled into the kennel. he had not gone many yards farther when he found an old woman very nearly in the same circumstances. it immediately struck mr. l. that this was some poor old couple, who, overcome with the fatigues of the day, had indulged too freely in some restorative beverage, whether hodges' or deady's the historian does not say. full of this idea, and animated by his own charitable disposition, mr. l. soon made arrangements for the reception of the poor couple into a neighbouring public house, where the landlord promised that the senseless pair should be undressed and placed in a warm and comfortable bed. to bed they were put. mr. l. left them lying side by side, snoring in concert, and likely to pass together a more harmonious night than perhaps would have been the case had they possessed the full enjoyment of their senses. l. journeyed homewards filled with the satisfaction arising from the performance of a kind deed, and never reflected that there was a possibility of his having joined a pair whom the laws of god had not made one. the fact was, that the old man and the old woman were perfect strangers to each other, and their being found in a similar situation was purely accidental. in london, however extraordinary it may appear, many poor folks get drunk at night, especially saturday night, and what is not less wonderful, they are in this state often unable to preserve their balance--the laws of gravity exert their influence, and the patient rolls into the kennel. soundly--soundly did this late united pair sleep and snore till morning,--when the light broke in upon them and disclosed the secret.--imagine the consternation of the old lady when the fumes of intoxication were dissipated, and she opened her eyes upon her snoring partner--where she was or how she had been put there she knew not. it was clear she was in bed with a man, and that was an event which had never happened to her before,--so she set up a scream, and roused the old gentleman, whose astonishment was not a jot less than the lady's. [illustration: ] she sat upon end in bed staring at him, he moved himself into, a similar situation and riveted his eyes upon her, and so they remained for a few instant's both full of perfect wonderment;--at last it struck the poor lady that this was some monster of a man who had succeeded in some horrible design upon her honour; the idea in a moment gave her the look and manner of a fury, she flung out of bed and roared aloud to the admiration of all the inmates of the house, who attracted by her first scream were already peeping in at the door of the room,--"make me an honest woman, thou wretch," she cried--"villain that you are,--make an honest woman of me, or i'll be the death of thee"--down she sat upon the bed-stocks, and as she attempted to dress herself she interlarded her occupation with calling for vengeance upon her horrible seducer, who sat trembling at the other side of the bed, vainly attempting in his fright to insinuate his legs into his old tattered breeches. the landlord at last interfered with the authority of his station, and on inquiry found that no breach had been made which could not be easily repaired. the old gentleman was asked if he had any objection to take his fair bedfellow for a helpmate during the remainder of his life; he stammered out his acquiescence as well as he could, and the enraged virgin consented to smooth down her anger on satisfaction being made to her injured honour. the bargain was soon struck, the happy pair were bundled off to church, amidst the laughing shouts of the mob, where a parson waited to make good the match too precipitately formed by our charitable friend. point iii. yes or no? frederick the great, king of prussia, was so remarkably fond of children, that he suffered the sons of the prince royal to enter his apartment whenever they thought proper. one day, while he was writing in his closet, the eldest of these princes was playing at shuttlecock near him. the shuttlecock happened to fall upon the table at which the king sat, who threw it at the young prince and continued to write. the shuttlecock falling on the table a second time, the king threw it back, looking sternly at the child, who promised that no accident of the kind should happen again; the shuttlecock however fell a third time and even upon the paper on which the king was writing. frederick then took the shuttlecock and put it in his pocket: the little prince humbly asked pardon and begged the king to return him his shuttlecock. his majesty refused: the prince redoubled his entreaties, but no attention was paid to them; the young prince at length being tired of begging, advanced boldly towards the king, put his two hands on his side, and tossing back his little head with great haughtiness, said in a threatening tone, "will your majesty give me my shuttlecock, yes or no?" [illustration: ] the king burst into a fit of laughter, and taking the shuttlecock out of his pocket, returned it to the prince saying, "you are a brave boy, _you_ will never suffer silesia to be taken from you." [illustration: ] point iv. exchange no robbery. near taunton, in somersetshire, lived a sturdy fellow, by trade a miller, who possessed a handsome and buxom young woman for his wife. the said dame was many years the junior of her spouse, and thought that the neighbouring village contained not a few more agreeable companions, than the one whom heaven had given her for life. of this circumstance the miller had some suspicions, and determined to set them at rest one way or the other. accordingly, one day he pretended to set off to buy corn, and told his wife that he should not be at home that night. the miller departed, and when the shades of evening afforded some concealment, in glided, to supply his place at bed and board, a neighbouring country squire. as the village clock struck one that night, and as the loving pair were wrapped in sleep, a loud knocking was heard at the door. the miller had unexpectedly returned home, and the unfortunate couple within were reduced to despair. the wit of the female was however equal to the emergency; the gentleman's clothes were pushed under her own, and his person was conducted into the kitchen, by the frail fair one, and there enclosed in a singular place of security. the tall house clock, which always forms a part of the furniture of the "parlour, kitchen, and all," of men of our miller's rank, was at that time out of order, and the works had, on the very morning in question, been conveyed to taunton, to undergo a thorough repair. it immediately struck the damsel that her lover could abide in no safer place than this, until her husband was asleep, and she could return and let him out. now the country squire was a tall and a stout man, with a jolly rubicund physiognomy. he consequently enclosed himself in the clock-case with some difficulty, and when the good woman locked the door of it, as the only way of keeping it shut, it gave him a nip in the paunch, which would have extorted a cry under any other circumstances. as it was, the tightness below threw all the blood into his countenance, which, for such was his height, overtopped the wood work of the case, and appeared exactly at the spot where the clock usually shewed the hour. so that, had a light been held up to it, this portentous face would have borne the appearance of a dark red moon scowling, out of fog and vapours upon a stormy night. this despatched, the dame commenced her own part with confidence. she gaped and yawned, and only admitted the miller till he had cursed and sworn his wife into a conviction, that he was her lawful husband, and no deceiver who had mimicked his voice and manner for his own wicked purposes. much to the dismay of the parties already in possession of the house, the miller insisted upon striking a light, which at length obtaining, he drove his wife before him up to the bed-room, and then slily and under pretence of something else, examined the apartment; and concluded with a thorough conviction of the groundlessness of his suspicions. the wife, overjoyed at getting the candle out of the kitchen without discovery, was in high good humour, so that the miller became in excellent spirits too, both on account of his agreeable reception and the dispersion of his fears, and as a proof of his state of mind gave his wife a hearty kiss, and swore that they would go down and have a cozy bit of supper together before they went to bed. in vain the poor woman resisted, the slice of bacon must be broiled and the eggs poached. with trembling hand she bore the light into the kitchen, and durst not cast a glance upon the clock case where the prisoner, full of horror at the return of the candle, and reduced to a state of insufferable impatience by his miserable plight, uttered a deep low groan of despair as they entered the apartment. fortunately it was not loud enough to attract the miller's attention, but thrilled through the heart of his unfortunate spouse. the happy pair soon began their culinary operations, the male with a light heart and a hungry appetite, the female sick and trembling at the disclosure which she feared was inevitable. all she could do, she did. she tried to keep up a conversation, she shaded the light, and she spread rasher after rasher before the all-devouring miller, who seemed as if intent to display his prowess before his rival, who was most ruefully and intently gazing upon him from his window of observation. [illustration: ] by the lady's artful management, the miller sat with only a side view of the clock, and allowed a few sympathizing glances to be interchanged between the unhappy squire and his love, as she spread the tempting meal before her liege lord. doubtless they both thought the miller's appetite was enormous, and in the calculation of either of them, he had already eat a side of bacon, when he declared he had done. _now for good luck!_ inwardly exclaimed the dame, _fortune befriend me, and let me get him up stairs without casting a look upon that poor deplorable face_; which by the bye had lately been assuming all hues, and within the last two minutes had turned from a blue red to deadly pale, and back again to red black; and slight twitches and convulsive motions were observed in the muscles of his face, as if the poor unfortunate owner of them was tormented by some body below, who alternately pricked and pinched him. oh, what a weight was taken off the heart of the frail fair one, and how fervently did she offer up vows of chastity in the gratitude of the moment, when the miller, having eat and drank his fill, made a motion for the bed room. gladly was she attending him, when, as ill luck would have it, a _loud sneeze_ was heard in the room, which was followed by an equally loud; scream from the lady of the miller, who now gave all up for lost. it seemed that the dust of the clock-case had been disturbed by the body of the squire, and part of it being dislodged, had sought refuge in the intricacies of his nostrils. hence the wincings and writhings, which, over and above being abominably nipped, produced the awful changes recorded above, and at length ended in a sneeze, which he could no longer restrain. this event had not the expected issue, for the dame in her fright threw down the candlestick, which she held in her hand, and extinguished the light. the good miller, now drowsy and stupid, chid her for being alarmed at the sneezing of a _cat_; and, not waiting for the poking out of a light from the dying embers, pushed his wife and himself off to bed, bestowing upon her, by the way, many of those endearing caresses, which husbands in a good humour lavish upon their wives; which caresses were certainly as indifferent to her, as they were doubtless disagreeable to her friend in the clock. release was not so soon at hand as the parties sanguinely expected, for though the miller slept, he took as secure a hold of his faithful dame, as if he had really been aware of the gaol-delivery she intended to accomplish. to her last resource, therefore, she was compelled to fly, for the morning was fast coming on. the miller's sleep was broken by the loud cries of his wife, who declared she was so ill, she was sure she should die. she yelled and screamed till the poor man in despair knew not what to do, and could only cry out _what can i get you, what can i get you?_ now the wily dame well knew that _that_ would be the best for her complaint which was not in the house, so she vociferated _brandy, brandy, oh for some brandy_. the poor husband scrambled up some clothes, and set off for the nearest public house for some brandy, which was nearly a mile from his abode. arriving there, he knocked up the landlord, who administered the medicine to him. to pay for which, the distressed husband put his hand in his breeches' pocket, and much to his own surprise, pulled out a large bundle of bank notes, at which he stared in amazement; when the landlord cried out, lord! _you have got mr. farrer's breeches on_. buckskins, it seems, well known in the neighbourhood. "_the devil i have_," returned the miller, in a tone which came up like a groan, as he gazed upon his nether man. quickly comprehending the secret of the exchange, he pocketed the notes, drank up the brandy for his own consolation, and went home, moralizing his pensive path, and gave the hypocritical culprit the soundest beating she ever had in her life. she, poor soul! who had been charitably employed in the meanwhile, in letting the bird out of his cage, was not prepared for this reception; nor did she understand it until the next morning, when the breeches were cried round the town by her malignant husband, who also with no pleasant expression of countenance, made a point of turning over his newly-acquired riches in her presence. [illustration: ] point v. the jolly beggars; or love and liberty, a cantata. by robert burns. recitativo. when lyart leaves bestrow the yird, or wavering like the bauckie-bird *, bedim cauld boreas' blast; when hailstanes drive wi' bitter skyte, and infant frosts begin to bite, in hoary cranreuch drest; ae night at e'en a merry core o' randie, gangrel bodies, in posie-nansie's** held the splore*** to drink their orra duddies****: wi' quaffing, and laughing, they ranted an' they sang; wi' jumping, an' thumping, the vera girdle rang. * the "bat". ** a whiskey house. *** frolic. **** superfluous rags. first, neist the fire, in auld red rags, ane sat, weel brac'd wi' mealy bags, and knapsack a' in order; his doxy lay within his arm, wi' _usquebae_ an' blankets warm, she blinket on her sodger: an' ay he gies the tozie drab the tither skelpan kiss, while she held up her greedy gab just like an aumous* dish: ilk smack still, did crack still, just like a cadger's** whip; then staggering, an' swaggering, he roar'd this ditty up-- [illustration: ] air. _tune_--soldier's joy. i. i am a son of mars, who have been in many wars, and shew my cuts and scars wherever i come; this here was for a wench, and that other in a trench, when welcoming the french at the sound of the drum. _lai de daudle, &c._ ii. my prenticeship i past, where my leader breath'd his last, when the bloody die was cast on the heights of abram; i served out my trade, when the gallant _game_ was play'd, and the moro low was laid at the sound of the drum. * a plate for receiving alms. ** a man who travels the country, with his wares on the back of a horse or ass. iii. i lastly was with curtis, among the floating batt'ries, and there i left for witness, an arm and a limb; yet let my country need me, with elliot to head me, i'll clatter on my stumps at the sound of a drum. iv. and now tho' i must beg, with a wooden arm and leg, and many a tatter'd rag hanging over my------, i'm as happy with my wallet, my bottle and my callet*, as when i us'd in scarlet to follow a drum. v. what tho' with hoary locks, i must stand the winter shocks, beneath the woods and rocks oftentimes for a home, when the tother bag i sell, and the tother bottle tell, i could meet a troop of hell at the sound of a drum. recitativo. he ended; and the kebars** sheuk aboon the chorus roar; while frighted rattons backward leuk, an' seek the benmost bore***; a merry andrew i' the neuk, he skirl'd out, _encore!_ but up arose the martial chuck, an' laid the loud uproar. *wench. **rafters. ***deepest recess. air. _tune_--sodger laddie. i. i once was a maid, tho' i cannot tell when, and still my delight is in proper young men: some one of a troop of dragoons was my daddie, no wonder i'm fond of a _sodger laddie_. sing, _lal de lal, &c._ ii. the first of my loves was a swaggering blade, to rattle the thundering drum was his trade; his leg was so tight and his cheek was so ruddy, transported was i with my _sodger laddie._ iii. but the godly old chaplain left him in the lurch, the sword i forsook for the sake of the church; he ventur'd the soul, and i risked the body, 'twas then i prov'd false to my _sodger laddie._ iv. full soon i grew sick of my sanctified sot, the regiment at large for a husband i got; from the gilded spontoon to the fife i was ready, i asked no more but a _sodger laddie._ v. but the _peace_, it reduc'd me to beg in despair, till i met my old boy at a _cunningham_ fair; his rags regimental they flutter'd so gaudy, my heart it rejoic'd at my _sodger laddie._ vi. and now i have lived--i know not how long, and still i can join in a cup and a song: but whilst with both hands i can hold the glass steady, here's to thee, my hero, my _sodger laddie._ sing, _lal de dal, &c._ recitativo. poor merry andrew in the neuk sat guzzling wi' a tinkler hizzie; they mind't na wha the chorus teuk, between themsels they were sae busy. at length wi' drink and courting dizzy, he stoiter'd up an' made a face; then turn'd an' laid a smack on grizzy, syne tun'd his pipes wi' grave grimace. air. _tune_--auld sir simon. sir wisdom's a fool when he's fou, sir knave is a fool in a session; he's there but a prentice, i trow, but i am a fool by profession. my grannie she bought me a beuk, an' i held awa to the school; i fear i my talent misteuk, but what will ye hae of a fool. for drink i would venture my neck; a hizzie's the half of my craft; but what could ye other expect of ane that's avowedly daft. i ance was ty'd up like a stirk, for civilly swearing and quaffing; i ance was abus'd i' the kirk, for towzing a lass i' my daffin. poor andrew that tumbles for sport, let naebody name wi' a jeer; there's ev'n, i'm tauld, i' the court, a _tumbler_ ca'd the _premier_. observ'd ye yon reverend lad mak faces to tickle the mob; he rails at our mountebank squad, it's _rivalship_ just i' the job. and now my conclusion i'll tell, for faith i'm confoundedly dry, the chiel that's a fool for himsel, guid lord, he's far dafter than i. [illustration: ] point vi. recitativo. then neist outspak a raucle carlin*, wha kent fu' weel to cleek the sterlin'; for mony a pursie she had hooked, an' had in mony a well been douked: her love had been a _highland laddie_, but weary fa' the waefu' woodie**! wi' sighs and sobs she thus began, to wail her braw _john highlandman_. air. _tune_--o an ye were dead, gudeman. i. a highland lad my love was born, the lalland laws he held in scorn; but he still was faithfu' to his clan, my gallant, braw _john highlandman!_ chorus. _sing hey my braw john highlandman! sing ho my brazo john highlandman! there's not a lad in a' the lan' was match for my john highlandman!_ * a sturdy raw-boned dame. ** the gallows. ii. with his philibeg an' tartan plaid, an' guid claymore down by his side, the ladies' hearts he did trepan, my gallant, braw _john highlandman._ _sing, hey, &c._ iii. we ranged a' from tweed to spey, an' liv'd like lords an' ladies gay; for a lalland face he feared none, my gallant, braw _john highlandman._ _sing, hey, &c._ iv. they banish'd him beyond the sea, but ere the bud was on the tree, adown my cheeks the pearls ran, embracing my _john highlandman._ _sing, hey, &c._ v. but och! they catch'd him at the last, and bound him in a dungeon fast; my curse upon them every one, they've hang'd my braw _john highlandman._ _sing, hey, &c._ vi. and now a widow i must mourn, departed joys that ne'er return; no comfort but a hearty can, when i think on _john highlandman._ _sing, hey, &c._ recitativo. a pigmy scraper wi' his fiddle, wha us'd to trystes and fairs to driddle. her strappen limb an' gausy middle, (he reach'd na higher,) had hol'd his heartie like a riddle, an' blawn't on fire. w' hand on hainch, an' upward e'e, he croon'd his gamut, _one, two, three,_ then in an arioso key, the wee apollo set off wi' _allegretto_ glee his _giga solo._ air. _tune_--whistle owre the lave o't. let me ryke up to dight that tear, an' go wi' me an' be my dear; an' then your every _care_ and _fear_ may whistle owre the lave o't. chorus. _i am fidler to my trade, an' at the tunes that e'er i play'd, the sweetest still to wife or maid, was, whistle owre the lave o't._ at kirns an' weddins we'se be there, an' o sae nicely's we will fare! we'll bowse about till dadie care sing whistle owre the lave o't. _i am, &c._ sae merrily's the banes we'll pyke, an' sun oursells about the dyke; an' at our leisure when ye like we'll--whistle owre the lave o't.-- _i am, &c._ but bless me wi' your heav'n o' charms, and while i kittle * hair on thairms, hunger, cauld, an' a' sic harms may whistle owre the lave o't. _i am, &c._ recitativo. her charms had struck a sturdy _caird_ **, as weel as poor _gutscraper_; he taks the fiddler by the beard, an' draws a roosty rapier-- he swoor by a' was swearing worth, to speet him like a pli ver, unless he would from that time forth relinquish her for ever: [illustration: ] wi' ghastly e'e, poor _tweedle-dee_, upon his hunkers*** bended, an' pray'd for grace wi' ruefu' face, an' so the quarrel ended; but tho' his little heart did grieve, when round the _tinker_ prest her, he feign'd to snirtle in his sleeve, when thus the _caird_ address'd her * while i rub a horse-hair bow upon cat-gut. ** tinker. ***haunches. air. _tune_--clout the caudron. i.. my bonie lass i work in brass, a tinkler is my station; i've travell'd round all christian ground in this my occupation; i've ta'en the gold, i've been enroll'd in many a noble squadron; but vain they search'd, when off i march'd to go an' clout the caudron. _i've ta 'en the gold, &c._ ii. despise that shrimp, that wither'd imp, with a' his noise an' caprin; an' take a share with those that bear the budget an' the apron! an' by that stowp, my faith an' houpe, an' by that dear kilbaigie*! if e'er ye want, or meet with scant, may i ne'er weet my craigie. _an' by that stowp, &c._ recitativo. the caird prevail'd--th' unblushing fair in his embraces sunk; partly wi' love o'ercome sa sair, an' partly she was drunk: _sir violino_, with an air, that show'd a man o' spunk, wish'd unison between the pair, an' made the bottle clunk to their health that night. * a well known kind of whiskey. but hurchin cupid shot a shaft, that play'd a dame a shavie-- a sailor rak'd her fore and aft, behind the chicken cavie. her lord a wight o' homer's craft, tho' limpan wi' the spavie, he hirpl'd up an' lap like daft, an _shor'd_ * them _dainty davie_ o'boot that night. he was a care-defying blade, as ever bacchus listed! tho' fortune sair upon him laid, his heart, she ever miss'd it: he had no wish but--to be glad, nor want but--when he thirsted; he hated nought but--to be sad, an' thus the muse suggested his sang that night. air. _tune_--for a' that, an' a' that. i. i am a bard of no regard wi' gentle-folks, an' a' that; but homer-like, the glowran byke**, frae town to town i draw that. chorus. _for a' that, an' a' that, an' twice as muckle's a' that, i've lost but ane, i've twa behin' i've wife eneugh 'or a' that._ * promised. ** the multitude. ii. i never drank the muses' _tank_, castalia's burn an' a' that; but there it streams, an' richly reams my _helicon_ i ca' that. _for a' that, &c._ iii. great love i bear to all the fair, their humble slave, an' a' that; but lordly will, i hold it still a mortal sin to thraw that. _for a' that, &c._ iv. in raptures sweet, this hour we meet, wi' mutual love an' a' that; but for how lang the flie may stang, let inclination law that. _for a' that, &c._ v. their tricks an' craft hae put me daft, they've ta'en me in, an' a' that; but clear your decks, an' here's _the sex!_ i like the jads for a' that. _for a' that, an a' that,_ an' twice as muckle's a' that, my dearest bluid, to do them guid, _they're welcome till't for a' that._ point vii. recitativo. so sung the _bard_--and nansie's waws shook wi' a thunder of applause, re-echo'd from each mouth! they toom'd * their pokes, they pawn'd their duds**, they scarcely left to coor their fuds, to quench their lowan drouth. [illustration: ] then owre again, the jovial thrang, the poet did request, to lowse his pack an' wale a sang, a ballad o' the best.. he, rising, rejoicing, between his _two, deborahs_, looks round him, an' found them impatient for the chorus. * opened. **rags. point viii. air. _tune_--jolly mortals, fill your glasses. [illustration: ] i. see! the smoking bowl before us, mark our jovial, ragged ring! round and round take up the chorus, and in raptures let us sing-- _a fig for those by law protected,_ liberty's _a glorious feast! courts for cowards were erected, churches built to please the priest._ what is title, what is treasure, what is reputation's care? if we lead a life of pleasure, 'tis no matter how or where. _a fig, &c._ iii. with the ready trick and fable, round we wander all the day; and at night, in barn or stable, hug our doxies on the hay. _a fig, &c._ iv. does the train-attended carriage thrp' the country lighter rove? does the sober bed of marriage witness brighter scenes of love? _a fig, &c._ v. life is all a _variorum,_ we regard not how it goes; let them cant about, decorum who have character to lose. _a fig, &c._ vi. here's to _budgets, bags, and wallets!_ here's to all the wandering train! here's _our ragged brats and callets!_ one and all cry out, _amen!_ _a fig for those by law protected,_ liberty's _a glorious feast! courts for cowards were erected, churches built to please the priest._ [illustration: ] point ix. the downfall of holy church. in the year of , revel was governed by a general, whose name was john of mengden; a worthy old man, who loved his glass of wine, and had the gout; for wine and the gout are sister's children. it was his custom to ride out occasionally on a black horse down to the shores of the baltic, whence he continued his way to a convent of nuns consecrated to st. bridget. this nunnery, which was called marianthal, was situated about a mile from the town, and its ruins are inhabited by owls and ravens. on one of these excursions he was accompanied by the lord marshal, gothard of plettenberg. as they approached the convent wall, the marshal's horse became suddenly restive. "have you heard," said he, "the strange, stories of the subterraneous passage, and that it winds in intricate mazes round the cloister?"---- "no," replied john of mengden, "but i should like to hear them over a bottle; you shall relate them to me in the evening." "it may be done now, and in a few words," rejoined the other; "for we stand exactly before the subterraneous passage, or mouth of the cavern; but for fifty years, not a human foot has advanced beyond the bottom of the steps, there the torches are always blown out." the burgomaster of revel, who was then with them, made a cross on his breast, and confirmed the statement. "sometimes," continued gothard, "are heard, during the night, the sounds of soft music, arising slowly and melodiously from the cave, like the sweet tones of musical glasses, with an accompaniment of the songs of angels. the holy sisters of the convent are frequent listeners to this divine harmony, though none of the words can be understood." "let the venerable lady abbess come down to me," said the general, as he alighted from his horse, and placed his glove in his sword-belt. the abbess now appeared, veiled. she modestly curtsied to the knight, and presented him with a cup of spanish wine. the old general laid himself down on the grass, and asked the sainted lady if she could give him any information relative to the subterraneous passage? the abbess replied in the affirmative, adding a number of particulars concerning what she and her pious sisters had seen,--and fancied they had seen--heard, and fancied they had heard. "so god and st. vitus help me!" exclaimed the governor, "i will myself make an attempt to descend into the cavern; give me a lighted, consecrated torch." the burgomaster crossed himself all over. a cold shivering seized him; the only vault into which he had been accustomed to descend, was the town-cellar which was haunted by none but _choice spirits_, with which he was familiar. the lady abbess entreated the old man not to undertake so rash an enterprize; and assured him, that the spirits of former times, unlike those of the present day, would not allow themselves to be sported with. but in arguing with the brave old general, they talked to the wind which blew over the baltic. the consecrated torches were brought, the corpulent general repeated an ave-maria, recommended himself to st. vitus, his protecting saint, and courageously entered the mysterious passage. the sound of his feet was still heard on the steps; his breathing was still audible, and the glimmer of his torch played on the damp walls. on a sudden all was silent, and the light disappeared. the listeners above were on the stretch of attention. go-thard was stationed on the upper step; the burgomaster a few paces further back; and behind him stood the abbess, her rosary running through her fingers. they listened, but all was still! "holloa there, john of mengden!--how fare you?" thundered the voice of gothard; yet all was still as the grave. the listeners were alarmed; they inclined their ears; they stood lightly on tip-toe; they restrained their breath--not a sound ascended. the cavern yawned before them, and all was silent below; "holy st. bridget! what can have happened? let the priests be summoned, and mass be said, to appease the spirits!" the lady abbess hastened to the convent, rang the chapel-bell, when all the pious sisterhood hurried from their cells, fell upon their bare knees, chastizing themselves, and praying to heaven for mercy towards the old general. the burgomaster threw himself upon his horse, and trotted back to the town to impart the terrible news to his wife, children and domestics. gothard, who was a courageous knight, alone remained, absorbed in gloomy reflection, leaning against the wall, with his eyes fixed on the darkness beneath. thus he continued during two hours. at last he thought he heard on the steps, some one breathing and struggling.--"john of mengden!" he vociferated--"are you alive, or dead?"---"i am alive!" replied the general, half breathless, as he stumbled up the steps. "thanks to god and st. bridget!--we have been in agony on your account. where have you been? what have you heard or seen?" the general then related that he had quietly descended, with the consecrated taper in his hand; that his heart beat a little as he advanced; that a cold shiver had begun to seize him; but that he took courage, as his taper burnt always clear and bright: that at length he stood on the bottom step, and looked down an endless passage, doubtful whether, under the protection of st. bridget, he should move forward or backward; that suddenly he was surrounded by a lukewarm breeze, mild and fragrant, as if wafted over a bed of flowers, which in a moment extinguished his taper, and so clouded his senses, that he sunk like a dead man on the steps, and then lay a considerable time in a sort of trance; that at last he awoke again, and it appeared to him as if he were gently moved by a warm hand, though he knew not where he was, nor what had happened to him; that he stretched out his hands, and felt nothing but the cold stone; but that, as a little daylight glimmered upon him from above, he composed his spirits, and began to creep with difficulty up the steps; that when on them he was perfectly recovered, feeling only a slight oppression in the head, similar to the effect of intoxication. "well, brother," said he to the lord-marshal, "will not you also make the attempt, and try whether it will not succeed better with you." gothard of plettenberg demurred: notwithstanding he never feared, in former times, a knight of flesh and bone, as long as he was able to wield his sword; yet, with respect to ghosts, a very just exception was allowed; and a knight might tremble in the dark like an old woman, without any stain upon his honor, or impeachment of his valour. now a days, the matter is quite altered, and a man may fear any thing but ghosts. "by my sword," said the governor, as he was returning home, "i will investigate the causes of this mystery. i must know from whose mouth proceeded the gentle breath, that smelt fragrant as the plants of the east, and yet had force enough to extinguish the flame of the consecrated taper, and even to confuse my head, as though i had been drunk." he instantly sent for henry of uxkull, bishop of revel, and the abbot, of pardis. being arrived, they were entertained at a large oak table, and quaffed wine from the family goblet. they listened to the fearful story of their host, with their fat hands folded upon their huge bellies, and shook their heads with significant silence. having well weighed the matter, knitted their brows and assumed an air of importance, they finally agreed _that they knew not what to think of it_. each then waddled to his home and thought no more of the mysterious cavern. but it was not so with the general. he could not rest. his fancy was on the rack, to account for the mystery. on the next morning, he despatched letters to the archbishop of riga, to a learned canon, and two pious deans of the holy church of riga--stating "that a surprising incident had obliged him to have recourse to their piety and wisdom, and entreating that they would be at revel on st. egidius's day, to discuss in christian humility this weighty affair." they came on the appointed day: for they were aware that the cellar of the governor contained excellent wine, and that his was no niggard hospitality. the archbishop of revel, and the abbot of pardis, were likewise invited to assist, who failed not at the proper hour to present themselves at the castle. an elegant repast had been prepared for them, bumpers went cheerily round to the prosperity of holy church, and to the perpetual bloom of the german order of religion. when their spiritual stomachs were sufficiently gorged, the general thus addressed them: "reverend and pious fathers! thus and thus it happened to me and my friend here, gothard of plettenberg," recounting his story--"what is to be done to liberate the spirits who wander and breathe in the subterraneous passage?" "they must be driven out by force," replied the archbishop of riga, "and the power to do this was given to bishops from above." "a wisp of hay should be steeped in holy water," added the canon, "with which the steps of the dark passage should be sprinkled." one of the deans advised that "the little chest with the egyptian hieroglyphics, which was kept as a relic in the convent of st. bridget, should be taken to the cavern.". the other dean was of opinion that the spirits should be allowed to continue without molestation so long as they only wandered and breathed. the archbishop of revel was also of the same sentiment, but the abbot of pardis applauded this idea of the egyptian hieroglyphics. last of all, the old general proposed that they should immediately ride to the beach, and employ the arms of the church against the inhabitants of the subterraneous passage. the wine had imparted its spirit to the holy fathers; and they now felt courage to engage, if necessary, even with the fiends of hell. within half an hour they were at the convent gate! three times were the consecrated torches borne round by the archbishop, who, muttering between his teeth, dipped the wisp into a large ewer of holy water, and plentifully besprinkled all present; thus spiritually armed, they silently and cautiously approached the entrance of the cavern. here a question arose, "who should go down first?" those who were at home were unwilling to rob the strangers of the honor of precedence. the deans drew back, as being merely subalterns in the church, out of respect to their bishop. the archbishop bowed to the right learned canon, and he bowed to the rest. the general became impatient, and forced the archbishop down the steps. the rest followed with beating hearts and tottering knees. each carried in his hand a consecrated taper; and with a rosary hanging at his elbow, sprinkled the walls with drops of holy water. the last of the procession was the abbot of pardis, who, grown unwieldy by the luxurious diet of the church, could scarcely drag his short puffed legs after his fat and bulky paunch. the steps too were not only small, but damp and slippery; whence it happened, that on the second step the abbot lost his footing, and falling with his whole weight upon henry of uxkull, they both fell upon the last dean: all three on the first dean; all four on the canon; all five upon the archbishop of riga; when the whole troop rolled helter skelter down the steps, and plumped to the bottom like so many sacks, there remaining senseless! [illustration: ] the consecrated tapers were extinguished, and the venerable group were veiled by a sort of egyptian darkness. the general, who remained above, heard the tremendous rumbling, to which succeeded a dead silence. for two hours he listened, called on each by name, and waited in vain for a reply. his voice alone was returned to him in a dull and hollow echo. the only sound which met his eager listening, was that of the terrified bat, flitting in the depths of the cavern; or, at intervals, the scream of the frightened owl. he was a man of uncommon courage, and he resolved to descend once more himself, to see what was become of his guests; but as a prelude to this perilous expedition, he determined to enliven his natural spirits by a draught of generous wine. as he vociferated--"a cup of wine," to the groom who held his horse, the word wine reached the ears of the holy men--they disentangled themselves from each other, scrambled up, their foreheads bedewed with the sweat of terror, and when they had recovered themselves, they confessed unanimously _that they were not able to unravel the mystery._ thus ended the second attempt to gain a more intimate acquaintance with the spirits of the subterraneous passage, and thenceforward no one was bold enough to tread the magic ground. point x. a visit without form. when the cardinal bernis resided at rome in the capacity of ambassador from france, he bore the highest character for sanctity--yet the cardinal was a man, though a churchman; and churchmen are sometimes not invulnerable to the shafts of love. a pair of speaking black eyes like those of the princess b., have before now made sad havoc in the heart of the votary of celibacy. the lady was conscious of her own charms, but being married to the man she loved, instead of setting them off by certain little manouvres which some ladies perfectly understand how to put in practice, she carefully avoided giving any encouragement to the cardinal, whose constant attendance upon her began to give her some uneasiness. at length the cardinal, finding that his visits, attentions, _cadeaux_, and fine speeches had no effect, determined upon seeking an opportunity of making the lady sensible of the excess of his passion. one morning the princess, on returning from mass, in her haste to avoid a violent shower of rain, tripped as she was getting out of her carriage, and sprained her ancle. the cardinal, who by his spies was informed of every step the princess took, had attended at mass also; and as he was following the princess, unobserved, he saw the accident and ran to her assistance, raised her into the carriage, and very humbly entreated her to allow him the honour of seeing her safe home. his excellency was not to be refused consistently with etiquette, so the poor princess was under the necessity of hearing all the pretty things the ambassador had reserved for the occasion. all his protestations and entreaties proved fruitless, and the poor lady arrived at the palace almost exhausted with the alarm the conversation had caused her. she now endeavoured with all care to avoid receiving the cardinal's visits, but the old gentleman's amorous plans were not to be thwarted.--he still found means of seeing her, and again attacked her with his vows and protestations, so that the lady, unable to bear it any longer, determined to inform the prince, and related to him all the circumstances of the affair. the prince was enraged, and threatened all kinds of vengeance against the lover; but however, when the first burst of passion had a little subsided, he said to her, "we are, my love, in a very aukward situation, for the cardinal being ambassador his person is sacred; besides we should have the whole consistory and his holiness at their head, thundering excommunication upon us. however, i will think of some scheme of cooling the passion of this holy gentleman." he accordingly suggested that she should write word to the cardinal, that as her husband was going that evening to his villa near tivoli, to order some improvement to be made which would detain him the best part of next day, she had determined to admit a visit from him; but that in order to keep the matter a secret from the servants, she desired him to come at midnight; that she would fix a silken ladder at her room window which looked into the garden, whence he might easily ascend into the anti-room, where he would find the door open that led into her own room. the reader will naturally conceive the transports which this delicious billet excited in the worthy cardinal. he danced, and leaped and capered about for joy, rang the bell, gave contradictory orders, and convinced his valet that he was mad. he had the sense however to direct a suit of his finest linen to be prepared, and to countermand the order for his carriage, for he bethought himself he had better go privately. how tedious did the hours, which intervened before the time of appointment, appear to our ardent lover, and when the clock struck eleven he could no longer wait. it was a good distance, he must be there in time, not a second too late; therefore off he set after taking some precautions against his sacred person being discovered. he arrives, panting with love and hope; the burning of mongibello could scarcely exceed the conflagration within him. he gets to the garden-gate. one cannot think of every thing. the princess in her flurry had forgotten to order the garden-gate to be left open. what was to be done? the wall was not high; but must his eminence endanger his sacred person? love, however, the sovereign ruler, who makes even cowards heroes, animated him. it was dreadfully dark; but luckily, in feeling for the height of the wall, the anxious lover found an aperture in it large enough to admit the foot: into this he stepped, gave a spring, and got to the top; and then slid down the other side, not however without losing his hat and cloak, which owing to the darkness of the night he could not find again, nor was he aware, for the same reason, how he was daubed with mortar and brick-dust. in this pickle, our adonis made the best of his way to find the ladder, tumbling over orange-trees and rosebushes, to the manifest injury of his cassock, which began to hang about him in rags. at last he reached the ladder, seized hold of it, stopped, panted a while for breath, and then up he went. he had just got one leg through the window, when the two large folding doors of the apartment flew open, and fifteen or twenty servants with lighted torches in their hands presented themselves before him. [illustration: ] the prince, at their head, ran up to the window, and with all courtesy helped in the astonished cardinal, and turning to the servants said, "scoundrels! is it thus you pay respect to the sacred person of the cardinal bernis? is it thus, by your negligence, that you compel his eminence, when coming to my wife, to venture his precious life upon a slight ladder and force him through the window in this miserable plight?" conceive the situation of the bald-pated, cloakless, and tattered cardinal, as he stood ashamed and terrified before the jeering prince and his twenty torchbearers. his trembling knees could scarcely support him, as, half dead with fright, shame, and disappointment, he sneaked out of the room, still lighted by the torches and bowed out by the prince, who continued to apologize for the carelessness of his servants, much to the annoyance of the poor cardinal, whose misery was heightened by one stroke more; for, as he was huddling off, he just caught the face of the princess, peeping through the opening of a door with some friends, all almost convulsed with laughter. [illustration: ] generously made available by the internet archive.) [illustration] the funny side of physic: or, the mysteries of medicine, presenting the humorous and serious sides of medical practice. an exposÉ of medical humbugs, quacks, and charlatans in all ages and all countries. by a. d. crabtre, m. d. hartford: j. b. burr & hyde. chicago and cincinnati: j. b. burr, hyde & company. . entered according to act of congress, in the year , by j. b. burr and hyde, in the office of the librarian of congress, at washington. preface. the books which most please while instructing the reader, are those which mingle the lively and gay with the sedate spirit in the narration of important facts. the verdict of the reader of this work must be (it is modestly suggested), that the author has luckily hit the happy vein in its construction. of all facts which bear upon human happiness or sorrow, those which serve to increase the former, and alleviate or banish the latter, are most desirable for everybody to know; and of all professions which most intimately concern the personal well-being of the public at large, that of the physician is most important. the author of this book has spared no pains of research to collect the facts of which he discourses, and has endeavored to cover the whole ground embraced by his subject with pertinent and important suggestions, statements, scientific discoveries, incidents in the career of great physicians, etc., and to fix them in the reader's mind by _apt anecdotes, which will be found in abundance throughout the work_. there is no better man in the world than the true physician, and no more base wretch than the ordinary "quack," or medical charlatan. if the author has spared no pains of study to make his book acceptable, he may be said, also, to have as unsparingly visited his indignation upon the quacks who have all along the line of historic medicine disgraced the physician's and the surgeon's profession. the general public but little understand what a vast amount of ignorance has at times been cunningly concealed by medical practitioners, and how grossly the people of every city and village are even nowadays trifled with by some who arrogate to themselves the honorable title of doctor of medicine. herein not only the base and the good physician, but the honorable and the trifling apothecary, receive their due reward, or well-merited punishment, so far as the pen can give them. the reader will be utterly surprised when he comes to learn how the quacks of the past and the present have brought themselves into note by tricks and schemes very similar and equally infamous. the wanton trifling with the health and life of their patients, the greed of gain, and the perfect destitution of all moral nature, which some of these men have exhibited in their career, are astounding. the apothecaries, as well as physicians, are descanted on, and the miserable tricks to which the large majority of them resort, exposed. the public will be astonished to find what trash in the matter of drugs it pays for; how filthy, vile, and often poisonous and hurtful materials people buy for medicines at extortionate prices; how even the syrups which they drink in soda drawn from costly and splendid fountains are often made from the most filthy materials, and are not fit for the lower animals, not to say human beings, to drink. and this fact is only illustrative of hundreds of others set forth in this work. this work not only exposes the multifold frauds of quacks, apothecaries, travelling doctors, soothsayers, fortune-tellers, certain clairvoyants, and "spiritual mediums," and the like, who "practise medicine" to a more or less extent, or profess to discover and heal diseases,--but it points out to the reader the most approved rules for protecting the health, and recovering it when lost. in short, it is a work embodying the most sound advice, founded upon the judgment of the best physicians of the past and present, as tested in the author's experience for a period of twenty years' active practice. in other words, it is a compendium of sound medical advice, as well as a racy, lively, and incisive dissection and exposure of the villanies of quacks and other medical empirics, etc. persons of all ages will find the work not only interesting to read, but most valuable in a practical sense. to the young who would shun the crafts and villanies to which they must be exposed as they grow up,--for all are liable to be more or less ill at times,--it will prove invaluable, enabling them to detect the spurious from the reliable in medicine, and how to judge between the pretentious charlatan (even enjoying a large ride) and the true physician. and none are so old that they may not reap great advantages from the work. contents. i. medical humbugs. origin and application of "humbug."--a fifth avenue humbug.-- job's opinion of doctors.--early physicians.--priests as doctors.--wizards come to grief.--a "capital" operation.--a woman cut into twelve pieces.--anecdote.--robin hood's little joke.--tit for tat. english humbugs.--french ditto.--a fortune on dirty water.--american humbugs.--a first class "dodge."--a free ride.--a sharp interrogator.--doctor pusbelly.--a wicked stage-driver's story.--"old pilgarlic" takes a bath.--ludicrous scene.--professor brewster. ii. apothecaries. first mention of.--a poor specimen.--elizabethan.--king james i. [vi.].--allspice and aloes, sugar and tartar emetic.-- war.--physician vs. apothecary.--ignorance.--stealing a trade.--a laughable prescription.--"caster ile."--modern drug swallowing.--mistakes.--"steals the tools also."-- substitutes.--"a quid."--a "smell" of patent medicines.--"a sample clerk." iii. patent medicines. patent medicines.--how started.--how made.--the way immense fortunes are realized.--spalding's glue.--soured swill.-- sarsaparilla humbugs.--s. p. townsend.--"a down east farmer's story."--"wild cherry" expositions.--"captain wragge's pill" a fair sample of the whole.--how pill sales are started.--a slip of the pen.--"gripe pills."--shakspeare improved.--h. w. b. "fruit syrup."--hair tonics.--a bald bachelor's experience.--a ludicrous story.--a wolf in sheep's clothing. iv. manufactured doctors. a boston barber as m. d.--a barber "gone to pot."--fools made doctors.--bakers.--barbers.--"a lucky dog."--tinkers.--royal favors.--"little carver davy."--a butcher's blockhead.--a sweeping visit.--hop-ped from obscurity.--pedagogues turn doctors.--arbuthnot.--"a quaker."--"walks off on his ear."-- weavers and basket-makers.--a tough prince; required three m. d.'s to kill him.--marat a horse doctor.--a merry parson.-- black mail.--police as a midwife, etc., etc. v. woman as physician. her "mission."--no place in medical history.--one of them.-- mrs. stephens.--"crazy sally."--right to bear arms.--runs in the family.--anecdotes.--"which got thrashed?"--a wretched end.--american female physicians.--a pioneer.--a laughable anecdote.--"three wise men."--"a short horse," etc.--boston and new york female doctors.--a story.--"love and thoroughwort."--a gay beau.--up the penobscot.--dying for love.--"is he mad?"--thoroughwort wins. vi. quacks. anecdote in illustration.--derivation.--father of quacks.--a medical "bonfire."--the "samson" of the profession.--sir astley.--u. s. surveyor-general hammond.--homeopathic quacks, etc.--a muddled definition.--"stop thief!"--crippled for life!--two pounds calomel.--victims.--washington, jackson, harrison.--the country quack.--a true and ludicrous anecdote.--dyeing to die!--a scared doctor.--dropsy!--a hasty wedding!--a country consultation.--"scenes from western practice."--"twist root."--a jolly trio.--new "bust" of cupid.--an unwilling listener. vii. charlatans and impostors. definition.--advertising charlatans.--city impostors.--false names.--"advice free."--intimidations.--wholesale robbery.-- visiting their dens in disguise.--passing the cerberus.-- windings.--ins and outs.--the irish porter.--queer "twins," and a "triplet" doctor.--a history of a knave.--boot-black and bottle-washer.--perquisites.--purchased diplomas.-- "institutes."--wholesale slaughter of infants.--female harpies.--a boston harpy.--where our "lost children" go.-- end of a wretch. viii. anecdotes of physicians. a want supplied.--original anecdotes of abernethy.--a live irishman.--madam rothschild.--large feet.--a shanghai rooster.--spreading herself.--kerosene.--"saleratus."--his last joke.--an astonished darky.--old dr. k.'s mare.--a scared customer.--"what's trumps?"--"let go them halyards."-- medical titbits.--more mustard than meat.--"i want to be an angel."--tooth-drawing.--dr. beecher vs. dr. holmes.-- stealing time.--cholera fenced in.--"a joke that's not a joke."--a dry shower-bath.--parboiling an old lady. ix. fortune-tellers. past and present.--bible astrologers and fortune-tellers.-- arabian.--eastern.--english.--queen's favorite.--lilly.--a lucky guess.--the great london fire foretold.--how.--our "tidal wave" and agassiz.--a hall of fortune-tellers.-- present.--visit en masse.--"filliky milliky."--"charge bayonets!"--a fowl proceeding.--finding lost property.--the magic mirror exposÉ.--"one more unfortunate."--procuresses.-- boston museum.--"a nice old gentleman."--money does it.-- great sums of money.--"love powder" exposÉ.--hasheesh.--"does he love me?" x. eminent physicians and surgeons. their origin, boyhood, early struggles, etc.--doctors are public property.--dr. mott, of oyster bay.--dr. parker.--a "plough-boy."--the farmer's boy and the old doctor.--scene in bellevue hospital.--"leaves from the life of an unfledged Æsculapian."--first patient.--"nonplussed!"--all right at last.--professors eberle and dewees.--a hard start.--"footing it."--abernethy's boyhood.--"old squeers."--spare the boy and spoil the rod.--a digression.--skirting a bog.--an agreeable turn.--professor holmes.--a homeless student. xi. ghosts and witches. folly of belief in ghosts.--why ghosts are always white.--a true story.--the ghost of the camp.--a ghostly sentry-box.--a mystery.--the nagles family.--raising the dead.--a lively stampede.--holy water.--cÆsar's ghost at philippi.--lord byron and dr. johnson.--ghost of a guilty conscience.-- "jockeying a ghost."--the wounded bird.--a bishop sees a ghost.--musical ghosts.--a haunted house.--about witches.-- "witches in the cream."--horse-shoes.--woman of endor not a witch.--weighing flesh against the bible.--there are no ghosts, or witches. xii. medical superstitions. old and new.--the sign of jupiter.--modern idolatry.--origin of the days of the week.--how we perpetuate idolatry.-- singular fact.--christmas festivities.--"old nick."-- ridiculous superstitions.--golden herb.--house crickets.--a stool walks.--the bowing images at rhode island.--house spiders.--the house cat.--superstitious idolatries.-- wonderful knowledge.--naughty boys.--errors respecting cats.--sanitary qualities.--owls.--a scared boy.--holy water.--unlucky days.--thunder and lightning.--a kiss. xiii. travelling doctors. public confidence(?).--the eye of the public.--a bad specimen.--"remarkable tumor."--"the singing doctor."--caught in a storm.--big puffing.--a splendid "turnout."--who was he?--a sudden disappearance.--the "spanking doctor."--a fair victim.--loose laws.--dr. pulsefeel.--impudence.--a fiddling doctor.--an encore.--"cheek."--various ways of advertising. xiv. scenes from every-day practice. the beggar boy and the golden-haired heiress.--my midnight call.--the conscience-stricken mother.--"old serosity."--the illegitimate child.--death of the beautiful.--who is the heir?--a touching scene.--fate of the "beggar boy."--the terrible caller.--an irish scene, from dr. dixon's book.-- biddy on a rampage.--terry on his death bed.--the stomach pump.--biddy won't, and she will.--the betrayed and her betrayer.--"is there a god in israel?"--the husbandless mother.--the crisis and court.--answer.--there is a "god in israel." xv. doctors' fees and incomes. ancient fees.--large fees.--spanish priest-doctors.--a pig on penance.--small fees.--a "chop" postponed.--long fees.--short fees.--old fees.--a night-cap.--an old shoe for luck.--a black fee.--"heart's offering."--a stuffed cat.--the "great guns" of new york.--boston.--rotten eggs.--"catch what you can."--female doctors' fees.--above price.--"ask for a fee."--"pitch him overboard."--delicate fees.--making the most of them. xvi. generosity and meanness. the world unmasked.--a rough diamond.--decayed gentility.-- "three flight, back."--several anecdotes.--the old fox-hunter.--"stand on your head."--kindness to clergymen.-- rare charity.--old and homeless.--the "o'clo'" jew.--dr. hunter's generosity.--"what's the price of beef?"--a sad omission.--innate generosity.--a curb-stone money-maniac.--an eye-opener.--an avaricious doctor.--robbing the dead. xvii. love and lovers. xantippe, before jealousy.--a first love.--blasted hopes.--a doctor's story.--the flight from "the hounds of the law."-- the exile and return.--disguised as a peddler.--escapes with his love.--english beaus.--young coquettes.--a gay and dangerous beau.--handsome beaus.--leap year.--an old beau.-- beauty not all-potent.--offended royalty.--youth and age.--a stable boy.--poet-doctor. xviii. mind and matter. in which animal magnetism, mesmerism, and clairvoyance are explained.--"the ignorant monopoly."--yet room for discoveries.--a "gassy" subject.--drs. chapin and beecher.-- he "can't see it."--the royal touch.--gassner.--"the devil knows latin."--royalty in the shade.--the irish prophet; he visits london.--a comical crowd.--mesmerism.--a funny bed-fellow.--clairvoyance.--the gates of moscow.--the doctor of antwerp.--the old lady in the poke-bonnet.--visit to a clairvoyant.--"foretelling" the past.--the old woman of the penobscot mountains.--a secret kept.--cui bono?--visits to seventeen clairvoyants.--a bon-ton clairvoyant.--a bouncer.-- ridiculosity. xix. eccentricities. a one-eyed doctor and his horse.--a new edible.--"have them boiled."--"beauty and the beast."--a lovely stampede.--an eccentric philadelphian.--the poodles, drs. hunter and scipio.--silent eloquence.--consistent to the end.--when doctors disagree.--four blind men.--diet and sleep.--saxe and sancho panza.--mother goose as a doctor's book.--the tables turned on the doctors. xx. prescriptions remarkable and ridiculous. fig paste and fig leaves.--some of those old fellows.--they slightly disagree.--how to keep clean.--baxter vs. the doctor.--a cure for "rheumatiz."--old english doses.--cure for blues.--for hysteria.--heroic doses.--drowning a fever.-- an exact science.--sulphur and molasses.--a use for poor irish.--mineral springs.--cold drinks vs. warm.--the old lady and the air-pump.--saved by her bustle.--country prescriptions and a funny mistake.--are you drunk or sober? xxi. scenes from hospital and camp. "he fought mit siegel."--a hospital scene at night.-- administering angels.--"water! water!"--the soldier-boy's dying message.--the well-worn bible.--warm hearts in frozen bodies.--"pudding and milk."--the poetical and amusing side.--"to amelia."--my love and i.--a scriptural conundrum.--marrying a regiment. xxii. gluttons and wine-bibbers. good cheer and a cheerful heart.--a modern silenus.--a sad wreck.--delirium tremens.--fatal errors.--"eating like a glutton."--strength in weakness.--a hot place, even for a cook.--a hungry doctor.--the modern gilpin.--a change! a sow for a horse!--a duck pond.--the forlorn widow.--a scientific gormand.--another.--"doorn't go to 'im," etc.--dr. butler's beer and bath.--casts his last vote. xxiii. the doctor as poet, author, and musician. our patron, our pattern.--some writers.--some blunders.--an old smoker.--old greeks.--a duke answered by a country miss.--the pilgrims and the peas.--"little daisy."--"casa wappa!"--fine poetry.--more schoolmasters and tailors.-- napoleon's and washington's physicians.--a french "butcher."--a dif. of opinion.--some epitaphs.--dr. holmes' "one-hoss shay."--healthful influence of music.--saved by music.--a german touch-up.--music on animals.--"music among the mice."--music and health. xxiv. adulterations. bread, butter, and the bible.--"jack ashore."--buckwheat cakes are good.--what's in the bread, and how to detect it.-- butter.--how to tell good and bad.--milk.--analysis of good and "swill milk."--what's in the milk besides mice?--the cow with one teat.--"loud" cheese.--tea and coffee.--tannin, sawdust, and horses' livers.--alcoholic drinks.--church wine and bread.--beer and bitter herbs.--spanish flies and strychnine.--"nine men standin' at the door."--burton's ale; an astonishing fact.--fishy.--"fish on a spree."--to remedy impure water.--charcoal and the bishop.--hog-ish.--pork and scrofula.--notices of the press. xxv. all about tobacco. "how much?"--amount in the world.--"siamese twins."--a mighty army.--its name and nativity.--a donkey ride.--little breeches.--whipping school girls and boys to make them smoke.--tom's letter.--"pure society."--how a young man was "took in."--delicious morsels.--the street nuisance.--a squirter.--another.--it begets laziness.--national ruin.-- black eyes.--disease and insanity.--uses of the weed.--gets rid of superfluous population.--tobacco worse than rum.--the old farmer's dog and the woodchuck.--"what killed him." xxvi. dress and address of physicians. gossip is interesting.--comparative signs of greatness.--the great surgeons of the world.--address necessary.--"this is a bone."--dress not necessary.--country doctors' dress.--how the deacon swears.--a good many shirts.--only washed when found drunk.--little tommy mistaken for a green cabbage by the cow.--an insulted lady.--doctors' wigs.--"ain't she lovely?"--harvey and his habits.--the doctor and the valet.--a big wig.--ben franklin.--jenner's dress.--an animated wig; a laughable story.--a character.--"dosh, dosh." xxvii. medical facts and statistics. how many.--who they are.--how they die.--how much rum they consume.--how they live.--old age.--why we die.--get married.--old people's wedding.--a good one.--the origin of the honeymoon.--a sweet oblivion.--hold your tongue!--many men, many minds.--"allopathy."--lots of doctors.--the itch mite.--a horse-car ride.--keep cool!--knickknacks.--humble pie.--increase of insanity.--a cool student.--how to get rid of a mother-in-law. xxviii. bleeders and butchers. bleeding in .--earliest blood-letters.--a royal surgeon.--a drawing joke.--the pretty coquette.--tinkers as bleeders.--wholesale butchery.--the barbers of south america.--our forefathers bleed.--a french butcher.--cur?-- abernethy opposes blood-letting.--the misfortunes of a barber-surgeon (three scenes from douglass jerrold); job pippins and the wagoner; job and the highwaymen; job naked and job dressed. xxix. the omnium gatherum. ex-sell-sir!--"the object to be attained."--a notorious female doctor.--a white black man.--squashy.--mother's fool.--who it was.--the philosopher and his daughter.-- education and gibberish.--scottish hospitality.--the old lady with an animal in her stomach.--stories about little folks.-- the boy with a bullet in him.--case of small-pox.--not much to look at.--funeral anthems. xxx. the other side. put yourself in his place.--stealing from the profession.-- anecdote of rufus choate.--ingrates.--a night row.--"saving at the spigot and wasting at the bung."--shopping patients.-- an affectionate wife.--rum and tobacco patients.--the physician's widow and orphan, the summons, the tenement, the invalids, how they lived, her history, the unnatural father, how they died, the end.--a peter-funk doctor.--selling out. xxxi. "this is for your health." the inestimable value of health.--no blessing in comparison.--men and swine.--begin with the infant.--"baby on the porch."--in a strait jacket.--"two little shoes."-- youth.--impure literature and passions.--"our girls."--bare arms and busts.--how and what we breathe.--"the freedom of the street."--keep your eyes open and mouth closed.--the lungs and breathing.--a man full of holes.--seven million mouths to feed.--pure water.--cleanliness. soap vs. wrinkles.--god's sunshine. xxxii. health without medicine. cheerfulness.--good advice.--rev. francis j. collier on christian cheerfulness.--what god says about it.--whining.-- love and health.--affection and perfection.--separating the sheep and goats.--the fences up and fences down.--sixteen and sixty.--action and idleness.--idleness and crime.--beauty and development.--sleep.--day and night.--"what shall we eat?"--a stomach-mill and a stewing-pan.--"five minutes for refreshments."--ancient diet.--cooks in a "stew."--the green-groceries of the classics.--cabbages and artichokes.-- animal and vegetable diet. xxxiii. consumption. consumption a monster!--universal reign.--signs of his approach.--warnings.--bad positions.--school-houses.--english theory.--preventives.--air and sunshine.--scrofula.--a jolly fat grandmother.--"wasp waists."--change of climate.--"too late!"--what to avoid.--humbugs.--cod liver oil.--strychnine whiskey.--a matter-of-fact patient.--swallowing a prescription.--sit and lie straight.--feathers or curled hair.--a yankee disease.--catarrh and cold feet, how to remedy.--"give us some snuff, doctor."--other things to avoid.--a tender point. xxxiv. accidents. rules for machinists, mechanics, railroad men, etc., in cases of accident.--how to find an artery and stop the bleeding.-- drowning; to restore.--sun-stroke.--avoid ice.--"accidents will happen."--what to have in the house.--bruises.--burns.-- do the best you can and trust god for the rest. illustrations. . a. d. crabtre, m. d., frontispiece. . dr. anglicus ponto, . misfortunes never come singly, . the miser outwits himself, . commencing a practice in new york, . grace before meat, . old pilgarlic takes a bath, . professor brewster, . an infantry charge, . the "free pass" prescription, . the wrong patient, . a candidate for the presidency, . under full sail, . "it's all a humbug," . "barefooted on the top of his head," . old "sands of life," . refreshments, . the eye doctor, . the young surgeon's first experience, . healing the sick with a golden dose, . the parson buying off the "congregation," . a juvenile bacchus, . "don't you observe the arms of mrs. mapp?" . three wise students consulting a doctress, . "poh! you're a girl," . "here we go up-up-uppy," . "love among the roses," . the inquisitive countrymen, . curious effects of a fever, . marrying a family, . 'opathists in consultation, . a "hypo" patient discharging his physician, . too much hat, . convincing evidence of insolvency, . "an' who'll yeze like to see, sure?" . a boston quack examining a student, . ornamental tail-piece, . dr. abernethy in the hospital, . an extensive set, . "o, docther, dear, i've pizened me boy," . "lost marser! lost marser!" . not a stomach pump, . "lower tier, larboard side," . the farmer's escape from the cholera, . too much vapor, . a dry shower bath, . grapes and wine, . charge, infantry! . after the battle, . the fortune-teller's magic mirror, . children consulting a fortune-teller, . the huntress, . the onondaga farmer boy, . the polite quadruped, . young abernethy, . "pinny, sir? just one pinny," . the penniless physician, . the indian warrior, . believers in ghosts, . "hark! there's a fearful gust!" . a grave sentry, . a ghost in camp, . old nagles, . the nagles boys, . chief mourners, . the corpse that would not smoke, . prepare to die, . the bishop's ghostly visitor, . the musical puss, . a darkey bewitched, . boylston station, . weighing a witch by bible standard, . passing the fort, . the god of recipes, . sun-sunday, . moon-monday, . tuisco-tuesday, . woden-wednesday, . thor-thursday, . friga-friday, . seater-saturday, . gathering the mandrake, . "waiting to see the images bow," . sport for the boys but death to the cat, . "who-a'-yoo?" . the proper use of "holy water," . the modest kiss, . holding the plow, . the tumor doctor contemplates suicide, . mariam, the tumor doctor, . the singing doctor, . the sanatorian's turnout, . a new school of practice, . a victim of the spanker, . dr. pulsfeel leaving town, . the musical doctor, . enthusiasm, . all wool, . charity thrown away, . the beggar boy, . remorse, . the lost heir, . a morning caller, . "why did i taze ye?" . success of terry's courtship, . the betrayed, . sailing into port, . a san benito pig, . an old english clergyman and his family, . the king's physician and the executioner, . a slipper-y fee, . a living fee, . stuffed pets, . a pioneer of homoeopathy, . a sharp mule trade, . ornamental tail-piece, . physician's charity, . search for a patient, . an eccentric patient, . a woman's rebuke, . afraid of a polypus, . abernethy's surgical operation, . reckoning a doctor's fees, . patient number five, . the astonished butcher, . modern improvements in dentistry, . charity not solicited, . capture of a wall street bull, . death's fee, . the american sailor, . my first love, . ten years later, . flight of the doctor, . the lover as a peddler, . flight of the lovers, . an aged pupil, . birthplace of george crabbe, . "popping the question," . love's links, . the lion magnetized, . a hard subject, . gassner healing "by the grace of god," . no lack of patients, . "a bottle, a hen, or a woman," . effects of an earthquake, . a believer sees his grandmother, . the charmer divulges her secret, . "i perceive you are in love," . the farmer's daughters, . a "horse-slayer" indulging his opinion, . no time to lose, . beauty and the beast, . dr. hunter in consultation, . the russian general's drill, . what the elephant is like, . a doctor's solace, . how a lady procured a valuable prescription, . dose--one quart every hour, . pumping an old lady, . a dangerous prescription, . the farmer's emblems, . the dying message, . stuck! . commerce, . a good liver, . a doctor "killing the devils," . paying for his wine, . a bar-room doctor, . "the doctor on a sow!" . rescue of the doctor, . "only irish beer," . cure for the ague, . playing the reeds, . an embryo apollo, . the pilgrim cheat, . franklin's experiments with ether, . end of the wonderful one-hoss shay, . "music, the soul of life," . the musical mice, . fountain, . signs of civilization, . swill milk (magnified), . pure milk (magnified), . watered milk (magnified), . "what's in the milk?" . a champagne bath, . mother's milk--pure and healthy, . mother's milk after drinking whisky, . waiting for assistance, . a confectionery store, . tartaric acid for supper, . a street candy stand, . the newsboy's mother, . the idol of tobacco users, . punishment of the turk, . smokers of four generations, . "i want a chaw of terbacker," . young smokers, . examination of the smoker, . purifying his blood, . cleansing his bones, . the smoker, . the chewer, . sign of the times, . my lazy smoking friend, . "shall i assist you to alight?" . work for tongues and fingers, . what killed the dog? . the newsboy, . the great surgeons of the world, . a call on the village doctor, . physicians' costume in , . how poor tommy was lost, . bridget's method of mending stockings, . the undertakers' arms, . dispute of the doctor and valet, . a wig mouse, . the mystery explained, . meeting of the doctor and the curate, . doctor candee, . a german beer girl, . an indignant bride, . the itch mite, . the burglar and student, . harvested, . assistance from a royal surgeon, . peter the great as a surgeon, . job discharged by sir scipio, . "bleed him," . a borrowed watch, . job's decision, . squashy's surgical operation, . "will ye tak' a blast, noo?" . reptiles from the stomach, . "it isn't catchin'," . funeral of the canary, . my front street patient, . a shopping patient, . call at the tenement, . the widow's occupation, . the physician and the father, . the peter funk physician, . virtue, . the freedom of the park, . "it costs nothing," . a natural position, . an unnatural position, . correct position, . incorrect position, . how wasp waists are made, . a consumptive waist, . non-consumptive waist, . a healthy position, . position of artery in arm, . compressing an artery in arm, . position of artery in leg, . the doctor's queue, i. medical humbugs. _marina._ ... should i tell my history, 'twould seem like lies disdained in the reporting. _pericles._ pray thee, speak.--_shakspeare._ origin and application of "humbug."--a fifth avenue humbug.--job's opinion of doctors.--early physicians.--priests as doctors.--wizards come to grief.--a "capital" operation.--a woman cut into twelve pieces.--anecdote.--robin hood's little joke.--tit for tat.--english humbugs.--french ditto.--a fortune on dirty water.--american humbugs.--a first class "dodge."--a free ride.--a sharp interrogator.--doctor pusbelly.--a wicked stage-driver's story.--"old pilgarlic" takes a bath.--ludicrous scene.--professor brewster. medical humbugs began to exist with the first pretenders to the science of healing. quacks originated at a much later period. so materially different are the two classes, that i am compelled to treat of them separately. the word _humbug_ is a corruption of _hamburg_, germany, and seems to have originated in london. the following episode is in illustration of both its origin and meaning:-- "o, bridget, bridget!" exclaimed the fashionable mistress of a brown stone front in fifth avenue, new york, to her surprised servant girl, "what have you been doing at the front door?" "och, murther! nothin', ma'am." "nothing!" repeated the mistress. "yes'm--that is--" stammered bridget, greatly embarrassed. "what were you doing at the front door but a moment since?" "nothin', ma'am, but spakin' to me cousin; he's a p'leeceman, ma'am, if ye plaze, ma'am," replied bridget, dropping a low courtesy to the mistress. "no, no; i did not mean that. but haven't you been cleaning the door-knob and the bell-pull?" "yes'm," replied bridget, changing from embarrassment to surprise. "why, bridget, didn't i tell you never to polish the front door-knobs during the warm season? now my friends will think that i have returned from saratoga--" "and is it to saratogy ye've been, ma'am?" exclaimed bridget. "no, you dunce; but was not the front of the house closed, and the servants forbidden to polish the plates and glass, that my friends might be led to believe we had all gone to the watering-place?" that was true humbug. double humbuggery! for the servant girl was humbugging her mistress by pretending to polish the door-knobs, while she was really coqueting with a policeman; and the mistress was humbugging her friends into the belief that the house was closed, and the family gone to saratoga. so, hamburg, on the elbe, being a fashionable resort of the upper-ten-dom of london, those who would ape aristocracy, yet being unable to bear the expense of a trip to the continent, closed the front of their dwellings, moved into the rear, giving out word that they had gone to _hamburg_. when a house was observed so closed, with a notice on the door, the passers by would wag their heads, and exclaim, questionably, "ah, gone to hamburg!" or, "all gone to hamburg!" "it's all hamburg!" and so on. and, like a thousand other words in the english language, this became corrupted, and "humbug" followed. hence, taking the sense from the derivation of the word, humbug means "an imposition, under fair pretences;" cheat; hoax; a deception without malicious intent. webster says it is "a low word." the humbugs in medicine, we assert, began to exist with the first persons of whom we have any account in the history of the healing art. among the early egyptian physicians, Æsculapius was esteemed as the most celebrated. he was the first humbug in his line. however, nearly all the accounts we have of him are mythological. if we are to credit the early writers, this great healer restored so many to life, that he greatly interfered with undertaker pluto's occupation, who picked a quarrel with Æsculapius, and the two referred the matter to jupiter for adjudication. but we may go back of this "god of medicine." if he was physician to the argonauts, we must fix the date of his great exploits at about the year b. c. . it is claimed by good authority that the book of job dates back to b. c. , and is the oldest book extant. herein we find job saying, "ye are forgers of lies; ye are all physicians of no value." since his friends were trying their best to humbug him, job certainly intimates that physicians--some of them, at least--were looked upon as humbugs. but, then, job was only an arab prince; not an israelite, at all; nor does he condescend to mention that "peculiar people" in his book. and besides, what reliance can be based upon the opinion of a man respecting physicians, whose only surgical instrument consisted of a "piece or fragment of a broken pot"? therefore, leaving the "arab prince," we will turn for a moment to the early jewish physicians. josephus does not enlighten us much respecting them. the old testament makes mention of physicians in three instances,--the last figuratively. the first instance--a rather amusing one--where physicians are mentioned in the sacred writings, is in chron. xvi. : "and asa, in the thirty-ninth year of his reign, was diseased in his feet, until the disease was exceeding great; yet in his disease he sought not to the lord, but to the physicians." the compiler adds, very coolly, as though a natural consequence, "_and asa slept with his fathers_!" this reminds us of an anecdote by the late dr. waterhouse. an irishman obtained twenty grains of morphine, which, instead of quinine, he took at one dose, to cure the chills. the doctor, in relating it long afterwards, added, laconically, "he being a good catholic, his funeral was numerously attended." for generations nearly all the pretensions to healing were made by the priests and magicians, who humbugged and "bamboozled" the ignorant and superstitious rabble to their hearts' content. kings and subjects were alike believers in the magi. saul believed in the magic powers of the "witch of endor." the wicked king nebuchadnezzar classed daniel and his three companions with the magicians, although daniel (chap. xi. ) denied the imputation. joseph laid claim to the power of divination; for, having caused the silver cup to be placed in the sack of corn, and after having sent and brought his brother back, he said (gen. xliv. ), "what deed is this that ye have done? wot ye not that such a man as i can certainly divine?" it seemed necessary to deal with the people according to their belief. it was useless to dispute with them. as late as the preaching of paul and barnabas, the whole nations of jews and greeks were so tinctured with belief in magic and enchantment in healing, taught and promulgated by the priesthood, that when the apostles healed the cripple of lystra, the rabble, headed by the priests, cried out, "the gods are come down to us in the likeness of men." and they called barnabas jupiter, and paul mercurius. the town clerk in the theatre said to the excited crowd, "these men are neither robbers of churches, nor yet blasphemers of your goddess." diana was appealed to for women in childbirth; mercurius for the healing of cutaneous diseases (_herpes_), probably because he carried a _herpe_, or short sword, also, at times, the caduceus; and jupiter for various diseases. but to return to the times of saul and david. it seems that the business became overcrowded, and the vilest and most degraded of both sexes swelled the ranks of sorcerers, astrologers, and spiritualists, until every class and condition of people became impregnated with these beliefs, from kings to the lowest subject. finally, the strong arm of the law laid hold of them, and the edict went forth that "a witch shall not live," that "a wizard shall be put to death," and that "the soothsayer be stoned." nevertheless, the wretches continued to practise their deceptions, but less openly for a time, and they are made mention of throughout the sacred writings, until "the closing of the canon." but the scriptures are almost totally silent on surgery, and the remedies resorted to by those pretending to the science--as also by physicians and priests--were such as to lead us to believe that their _materia medica_ was very limited. under the head of ridiculous prescriptions, we shall mention these remedies:-- the earliest record we find of surgical operations in the old testament is in judges xix. ,--a "capital operation," we may judge, for the account informs us that the patient, a woman, "was divided into twelve pieces." turning to the profane writers for information, we plunge into an abyss of uncertainty, with this exception; that the practice of medicine--it could not be called a science--was still in the hands of the priesthood, and partook largely of the fabulous notions of the age, being connected almost entirely with idolatries and humbuggeries. the cunning priests caused the rabble, from first to last, to believe that all disease was inflicted, not from the violation of the laws of nature, but by some angry and outraged divinity, whose wrath must be appeased by bribes (_paid to the priests_), by incantations, and absurd ceremonies, or else the afflicted victim must die a painful death, and forever after suffer a more horrible eternity. the priests' receiving the pay reminds us of the following little anecdote. a very pious man, recently congratulating a convalescing patient upon his recovery, asked his friend who had been his physician. "dr. blank brought me safely through," was his reply. "no, no," said the friend, "god brought you out of this affliction, and healed you,--not the doctor." "well," replied the man, "may be he did; but i am sure that the doctor will charge me for it." the offices of priest and physician were united among the jews, heathens, greeks, egyptians, and romans. the druids (from _draoi_, magician) ruled and ruined the ancient celts, gauls, britons, and germans. the people of these nations looked up to the priests as though life and death and immortality hung only upon their lips. among our aborigines we have also examples of the double office of priest and "medicine man." and it is an astonishing fact, that notwithstanding the ignorance of the pretenders to healing, or the ridiculousness of the prescriptions, or the exorbitant fees, the rabble of the age relied upon them with the most implicit confidence. if the patient recovered, the priests--embodying the gods--had restored them by their great skill and the favor of some particular divinity, and so were worshipped, and again rewarded with other fees to offer sacrifices to the individual god who was supposed to favor the priest or wizard. if he died it was the will of the gods that it should so be, and the friends lost none of their faith in the abilities of their medical and spiritual advisers. the priests could not be disposed of so easily as the witches and wizards were supposed to have been, for they kept the people under greater fear, and held the balance of power in their own hands. the only difference between the priests and wizards was, that the former _claimed_ to exercise their arts by the power of the gods, while the latter were said to be assisted by the evil spirits. the priests claimed this in the times of christ, and tried to persuade the rabble that he was assisted by beelzebub. while the grasping priesthood professed poverty and self-denial, they were continually enriching themselves by robberies and extortions upon the ignorant and superstitious common people. a mirth-provoking anecdote is told of robin hood and two friars, which we cannot forbear relating here as illustrative of the above assertion. if our readers regard stories from such a source as very uncertain, we have only to reply that we are now dealing with "uncertainties." "one day, robin disguised himself as a friar, and went out on the highway. very soon he met two priests, to whom he appealed for charity in the blessed virgin's name. "'that we would do, were it in our power,' they replied. "'i fear you are so addicted to falsehood, i cannot believe that you have no money, as you say. however, let us all down on our marrow bones, and pray the virgin to send us some money.' "'no, no,' replied the priests; 'it is of no use.' "'what! have you no faith in your patron saint? down, i say, and pray.' "in fear, down fell the two priests, and robin by their side, and all prayed most lustily. "'now feel in your pockets,' said robin, rising. "'there is nothing,' they replied, plunging their hands deep into their cloaks. "'down again, and pray harder,' shouted robin, drawing his sword. "down they fell, and mumbled over their latin, but declared the gods had sent them nothing. "'i do not believe you,' said robin; 'you ever were a pack of liars. let each stand a search, that we deceive not each other.' so robin turned his own empty pockets wrong side out, then compelled the friars to follow suit, when lo! out fell five hundred pieces of gold. "when robin saw this glorious sight, he berated the priests soundly, and taking the gold, went away to sherwood, and made merry at the expense of the church." about b. c. we find among the grecians some traces of what was termed the healing art. but fact and fable, history and mythology, are so mixed and blended, that it is impossible to gain any reliable information so far back. chiron is made mention of as having acquired much celebrity as a physician. it is claimed that he was learned in the arts and sciences, that he taught astronomy to hercules, music to apollo, and medicine to Æsculapius, who came from egypt. from what can be gleaned, of reliability, it seems that he employed simple medicines, and possessed some knowledge of dressing wounds and reducing fractures and dislocations; but no doubt he pretended to greater things than the times would warrant, for, when shot by an arrow from the bow of hercules, his former pupil, he was unable to heal the wound, and begged jupiter to "set him up" among the stars, which request was complied with, and chiron was translated to the heavens, where he still shines in the constellation sagittarius, represented as a centaur, with drawn bow, driving before him the other eleven signs of the zodiac. we have alluded to Æsculapius, and, passing over all others of his class, we come to the times of hippocrates. hippocrates is rightly called the "father of medicine," for he was the first to raise medicine to a science. we mention him without classing him with humbugs; but menecrates, who flourished about the same time, arrived at great notoriety by ruse and deception. he was "famous for vanity and arrogance." he went about accompanied by some patients, whom he claimed to have cured, as proofs of his great ability. one he disguised as apollo, another he arrayed in the habit of Æsculapius, and sent them abroad to sound his praise, while he took upon himself the garb, and assumed the character, of jupiter. pliny says that medicine was the last of the sciences introduced into rome, and that the septimont city was six hundred years without a regular physician. archagathus, a grecian, settled in rome about b. c., and if he was a fair sample of those who followed him, it had been better for rome that it had remained another six hundred years "without a regular physician." he introduced cruel and painful escharotics, and made free use of the knife and the lancet. he was a humbug of the first water, and a quack besides, and as such he was banished in a few years. the christian era introduced some light into the medical, as well as the religious world; yet we learn, by both sacred and profane writers, that truth and knowledge were the exceptions, and ignorance and humbug were the rule by which medicine was practised by those who pretended to the art. names changed, characters remained the same. the priests still held their own, and were not, as already shown, to be gotten rid of, as the witches and wizards, their rivals and imitators, by litigation, nor was their power broken until the decree of the council of tours in a. d., which prohibited priests and deacons from performing certain surgical operations. after the reformation the vocations of spiritual and medical adviser diverged wider and wider, until now a priest or minister is seldom consulted for bodily infirmities, and only by persons of the most ignorant and superstitious denominations. setting the priesthood aside did not suppress humbugs in medicine. in fact the profession went into disrepute, which the priests hastened, and a lower order of people took upon themselves the practice of deceiving the sick and afflicted. now and then a greater humbug than common would spring up, and for a time draw the rabble after him, till the next arose to eclipse him. from the discovery of america to about , ambitious upstarts, humbugs, and seekers of fame and fortune were drawn away from the old world, and either for this reason, or because the biographers were attracted to a more interesting field, accounts of medical celebrities are very meagre; but from the latter period to the present day there has been no lack of records from which to draw our material. during the th and th centuries medical impostors had things all their own way. ignorance was no hinderance to advancement, socially or pecuniarily. some men published, in their own names, voluminous works, in both english and latin, which they themselves could not read. by soft words and cunning arts others gained high positions, and, without knowledge of the first branch of medical science, became "court physicians." from the lowest walks, they rose up on every side: from the cobbler's bench, and the tailor's board; from cutting up meat in the butcher's shop, to "cutting up" naughty boys in a pedagogue's capacity; from shaving the unwashed rabble behind the striped barber's pole, to shaving their wives behind counters, where they measured the cloth of the weaver, they became cobblers of poor healths, butchers of men, and shavers of the invalided public. but these will be discoursed of under another head. we here offer one proof of this state of affairs by a quotation from the original charter of the first college of physicians, granted by henry viii., which reads, "before this period a great multitude of ignorant persons, of which the greater part had no insight into physic, _nor into any other kind of learning_,--some could not even read the book,--so far forth that common artificers, as smiths, weavers, and women boldly and accustomedly took upon themselves great cures, to the high displeasure of god, great infamy of the faculty, and the grievous hurt, damage, and destruction of many of the king's liege people." the meetings of this august body (college of physicians) were held at the house of dr. linacre. "he was a gentleman of distinction, both as a physician and scholar." he became disgusted with physic, and took "holy orders" five years before his death. he was one of the original petitioners of the charter, which complained that the above rabble of doctors could not read the book (bible). now see the ignorance--the hypocrisy of the man! dr. caius, who wrote his epitaph, says of linacre, "he certainly was not a very profound theologian, for a short time before his death he read the new testament for the first time, when, so greatly was he astonished at finding the rules of christianity so widely at variance with their practice, that he threw down the sacred volume in a passion, saying, 'either this is not gospel, or we are not christians.'" this was just prior to . this dr. caius is supposed to be the same character whom shakspeare introduced in his "_merry wives of windsor_;" and as it is a fact patent to all that the great poet had no very exalted opinion of doctors, and would "throw physic to the dogs," it has been suggested that caius was produced by him on that ground. there are others of this and a later period, whom, though ranking amongst the greatest of humbugs, we defer mentioning here, but will notice in our chapter on quacks. mr. jeaffreson, in his excellent work, "book about doctors," to which work i am indebted for several anecdotes, says,-- "the lives of three physicians--sydenham, sir hans sloane, and heberden--completely bridge over the uncertain period between old empiricism and modern science." the former, dr. thomas sydenham, was born at windford eagle, dorsetshire, england, in , and was esteemed as an excellent physician and profound scholar of his day. nothing is known of his boyhood. for a time he was a soldier. he was about forty years old when admitted a member of the college of physicians. dr. richard blackmore, his contemporary, who was but a pedagogue at the outstart himself, but afterwards knighted as sir richard, says of dr. sydenham, "he was only a disbanded officer, who entered upon the practice of medicine for a maintenance, without any preparatory learning." the fact of his possessing a diploma went for nothing, since dr. meyersbach obtained his about this time for a few shillings, and without the rudiments of an education, made a splendid living out of the credulity even of the most learned and fashionable classes of english society, and arrived at the height of honor and distinction. the reader must admit that diplomas were cheap honors, when one was granted to a dog! a young english gentleman, for the sport of the thing, paid the price of a medical diploma soon after dr. meyersbach's was granted, and had it duly recorded in the archives of the college (erfurth) as having been awarded to anglicus ponto. "and who was anglicus ponto?" "none other than the gentleman's dog--a fine mastiff." but this question was not asked till too late to prevent the joke. it had the good effect, however, to raise at once the price of degrees. dr. sydenham published several medical works, copies of which are now extant, but his pretensions to skill availed him but little in time of need. his prescriptions--some of them, at least--were very absurd, and during his latter years, while enjoying a lucrative practice, and possessing the utmost confidence of the _bon ton_, he suffered excruciating pains from the gout, which, with other complications, ended his days. "physician, heal thyself." [illustration: dr. anglicus ponto.] dr. blackmore, an aspirant to medical fame, applied to dr. sydenham, while residing in pall mall, with the following inquiry:-- "what is the best course of study for a medical student?" "read don quixote," was sydenham's reply. "it is a very good book. i read it yet." i find this in a biographical dictionary of . while some biographers endeavor to pass this off as a joke, it is a well-known fact that the doctor was a sceptic in medicine, and those who knew him best believe that he meant just what he said. on the arrival of dr. sloane in london, he waited on dr. sydenham, as being the great gun of the town at that time, and presented a letter of introduction, in which an enthusiastic friend had set forth sloane's qualifications in glowing language, as being perfected in anatomy, botany, and the various branches of medicine. sydenham finished the letter, threw it on the table, eyed the young man very sharply, and said,-- "sir, this is all very fine, on paper--very fine; but it won't do. anatomy! botany! nonsense. why, sir, i know an old woman in covent garden who better understands botany; and as for anatomy, no doubt my butcher can dissect a joint quite as well. no, no, young man; this is all stuff. you must go to the bedside; it is only there that you can learn disease." in spite of this mortifying reception, however, sydenham afterwards took the greatest interest in dr. sloane, frequently taking the young man with him in his chariot on going his rounds. in "lives of english physicians," the author, in writing of dr. sydenham, says, "at the commencement of his practice, it is handed down to us, that it was his ordinary custom, when consulted by patients for the first time, to hear attentively their story, and then reply, "well, i will consider your case, and in a few days will prescribe something for you;" thereby gaining time to look up such a case. he soon learned that this deliberation would not do, as some forgot to return after "a few days," and to save his fees he was obliged, _nolens volens_, to prescribe on the spot. a further proof of his contemptible opinion of deriving knowledge from books, as expressed above to dr. blackmore, is exemplified and corroborated in an address to dr. mapletoft ( ). "the medical art could not be learned so well and surely as by use and experience, and that he who would pay the nicest and most accurate attention to the symptoms of distempers, would succeed best in finding out the true means of cure." "riding on horseback," he says, in one of his books, "will cure all diseases except confirmed consumption." how about curing gout? a very amusing, though painful picture, is drawn by dr. winslow, a reliable author of the seventeenth century, in his book, "physic and physicians:"-- "dr. sydenham suffered extremely from the gout. one day, during the latter part of his life, he was sitting near an open window, on the ground floor of his residence in st. james square, inspiring the cool breeze on a summer's afternoon, and reflecting, with a serene countenance and great complacency on the alleviation of human misery that his skill enabled him to give. whilst this divine man was enjoying this delicious reverie, and occasionally sipping his favorite beverage from a silver tankard, in which was immersed a sprig of rosemary, a sneak thief approached, and seeing the helpless condition of the old doctor, stole the cup, right before his eyes, and ran away with it. the doctor was too lame to run after him, and before he could stir to ring and give alarm the thief was well off." [illustration: misfortunes never come singly.] this reminds one of a story of an old man who stood in a highway, leaning on his staff, and crying, in a feeble, croaking voice, "stop thief! stop thief!" "what is the matter, sir?" inquired a fellow, approaching. "o, a villain has stolen my hat from my head, and run away." "your hat!" looking at the bare head; "why didn't you run after him?" "o, my dear sir, i can't run a step. i am very lame." "can't run! then here goes your wig." and so saying, the fellow caught the poor old man's wig, and scampered away at the top of his speed. dr. sydenham died december , . he could not be termed a quack, but certainly he was a consummate humbug. an author, before quoted, after copying a description of the "poor physician" of the age, adds,-- "how it calls to mind the image of dr. oliver goldsmith, when, with a smattering of medical knowledge and a german diploma, he tried to pick out of the miseries and ignorance of his fellow-creatures the means of keeping soul and body together! he, too, poet and doctor, would have sold a pot of rouge to a faded beauty, or a bottle of hair dye, or a nostrum warranted to cure the bite of a mad dog." "set a rogue to catch a rogue." and to this principle we are indebted for the exposition of many fallacies and humbugs pursued by early physicians in order to gain practice. "dr. radcliffe," says dr. hannes, "on his arrival in london, employed half of the porters in town to call for him at the coffee-houses (a famous resort of physicians of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries) and places of public resort, so that his name might become known." on the other hand, radcliffe accused dr. hannes of the same trick a few years later. doctors were doctors' own worst enemies. instead of standing by each other of the same school, in lip service, or passing by each other's errors and imperfections in silence, as they do nowadays, they quarrelled continually, accusing each other of the very tricks they practised themselves. of dr. meade it was confidently asserted, that without practice at first, he opened extensive correspondence with all the nurses and midwives in his vicinity, associated and conversed with apothecaries and gossips, who, hoping for his trade, would recommend him as a skilful practitioner. the ruse worked, and soon the doctor found his calls were _bona fide_. this is a trick that some american physicians we know of may have learned from dr. meade. certainly they know and practise the deception. when dr. hannes went to london, he opened the campaign with a coach and four. the carriage was of the most imposing appearance, the horses were the best bloods, sleek and high-spirited, the harnesses and caparisons of the richest mountings of silver and gold, with the most elegant trimmings. "by jove, radcliffe!" exclaimed meade, "dr. hannes' horses are the finest i have ever seen." "umph," growled radcliffe, "then he will be able to sell them for all the more." but dr. radcliffe's _prognosis_ was at fault for once; and notwithstanding all the prejudice that radcliffe and his friends could bring to bear against hannes, and the lampooning verses spread broadcast against him, he kept his "fine horses," and rode into a flourishing business. to make his name known, dr. hannes used to send liveried footmen running about the streets, with directions to poke their heads into every coach they met, and inquire anxiously, "is dr. hannes here?" "is this dr. hannes' carriage?" etc. acting upon these orders, one of these fellows, after looking into every carriage from whitehall to royal exchange, ran into a coffee-house, which was one of the great places of meeting for members of the medical profession. several physicians were present, among whom was radcliffe. "gentlemen," said the liveried servant, hat in hand, "can your honors tell me if dr. hannes is present?" "who wants dr. hannes, fellow?" demanded radcliffe. "lord a. and lord b., your honor," replied the man. "no, no, friend," responded the doctor, with pleasant irony; "those lords don't want _your master_; 'tis he who wants them." the humbug exploded, but hannes had got the start before this occurred. a worthy biographer begins thus, in writing of dr. radcliffe: "the jacobite partisan, the physician without learning, the luxurious _bon vivant_, radcliffe, who grudged the odd sixpence of his tavern score," etc., "was born in yorkshire, in the year ." but notwithstanding radcliffe's plebeian birth, he died rich, therefore respected--a fact which hides many sins and imperfections. he not only humbugged the people of his day into the belief that he was a learned and eminent physician, but by his shrewdness in disposing of his gains, in bestowing wealth where it would tell in after years, when his body had returned to the dust from whence it came,--such as giving fifty thousand dollars to the oxford university as a fund for the establishment of the great "radcliffe library," etc.,--he succeeded in humbugging subsequent generations into the same belief. certainly there is room for a few more such humbugs. dr. barnard de mandeville, in "essays on charity and charity schools," says of radcliffe, "that a man with small skill in physic, and hardly any learning, should by vile arts get into practice, and lay up wealth, is no mighty wonder; but that he should so deeply work himself into the good opinion of the world as to gain the general esteem of a nation, and establish a reputation beyond all contemporaries, with no other qualities but a perfect knowledge of mankind, and a capacity of making the most of it, is something extraordinary." mandeville further accuses him of "an insatiable greediness after wealth, no regard for religion, or affection for kindred, no compassion for the poor, and hardly any humanity to his fellow-creatures; gave no proofs that he loved his country, had a public spirit, or love of the arts, books, or literature;" and asks, in summing up all this, "what must we judge of his motives, the principle he acted from, when after his death we find that he left but a mere trifle among his (poor) relatives who stood in need, and left an immense treasure to a university that did not want it?" "radcliffe was not endowed with a kindly nature," says another writer. "meade, i love you," he is represented as saying to his fascinating adulator, "and i will tell you a secret to make your fortune. use all mankind ill." radcliffe had practised what he preached. though mean and penurious, he could not brook meanness in others. the rich miser, john tyson, approximating his end, magnanimously resolved to pay two of his three million guineas to dr. radcliffe for medical advice. the miserable old man, accompanied by his wife, came up to london, and tottered into the doctor's office at bloomsbury square. "i wish to consult you, sir; here are two guineas." "you may go, sir," exclaimed radcliffe. the old miser had trusted that he was unknown, and he might pass for a poor wretch, unable to pay the five guineas expected from the wealthy, as a single consultation fee. "you may go home and die, and be d----d; for the grave and the devil are ready for jack tyson of hackney, who has amassed riches out of the public and the tears of orphans and widows." as the miserable old man turned away, radcliffe exclaimed, "you'll be a dead man in less than ten days." it required little medical skill, in the feeble condition of the old man, in order to give this correct prognosis. radcliffe was the barnum of doctors. "_omnia mutantur, et nos mutamus in illis_," exclaimed lotharius the first. but that "all things are changed, and we change with them," did not apply to medical humbugs during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries--no, nor in the nineteenth century, as we will show, particularly in our articles on quacks and patent medicines. [illustration: the miser outwits himself.] the requisites essential to success are amusingly described by a writer of the former time, as follows:-- _first._ a decent black suit, and (if your credit will stretch so far), a plush jacket, not a pin the worse if threadbare as a tailor's cloak--it shows the more reverend antiquity. _second._ you must carry a caduceus, or cane, like mercury, capped with a civet-box (or snuff-box like sir richard's), and must walk with becoming gravity, as if in deep contemplation upon an arbitrament between life and death. _third._ you must hire convenient lodgings in a respectable neighborhood, with a hatch[ ] at the door; have your reception-room hung with pictures of some celebrated physicians, ancient historical scenes, and anatomical plates, and the floor belittered with gallipots and half-empty bottles. any sexton will furnish your window with a skull, in hope of your custom. _fourth._ let your desk never be without some old musty greek and arabic authors, and on your table some work on anatomy, open at a picture page, to amuse, if not astonish spectators, and carelessly thrown on the same a few gilt shillings, to represent so many guineas received that morning as fees. _fifth._ fail not to patronize neighboring alehouses, which may, in turn, recommend you to inquirers; and hold correspondence with all the nurses and midwives whose address you may obtain, to applaud your skill at gossiping. _sixth._ be not over modest in airy pretensions, not forgetting that loquaciousness and impudence are essentials to gaining a fool's confidence. in case you are naturally backward in language, or have an impediment of speech, you are recommended to persevere in a habit of mysterious and profound silence before patients, rendered impressive by grave nods and ahems. early french physicians. from what meagre biographies we have of french doctors of the past, we are led to believe that, as at the present time, the humbugs outnumbered the honest medical practitioners. in the days of clovis and the great charlemagne, before the power of rome was broken, before russia was a nation, and when england was subject to the caprices of many masters, there were many surgeons employed in the armies of these kings, but the priests and wizards were the physicians to the great public. the surgeons possessed all the knowledge there was to be attained at that distant day; yet they made the heart, not the brain, the centre of thought, and "the palace of the soul," knew little of anatomy, and nothing of the circulation of the blood. the physicians of later periods held court positions by flattery, not by merit. this was particularly true up to and inclusive of the reign of "louis le grand." those who attended as physicians upon the court of this remarkable monarch of france for seventy-two years, received no stipend whatever, except the honor of holding so exalted a position as court physician to such a mighty ruler; and, notwithstanding the outside practice that this elevated station necessarily brought them, but few physicians could long bear the enormous expense attending that position. louis resided at a distance from his capital. his changes of residence were continual, and not without a design, and chiefly made for the purpose of creating and maintaining a number of artificial distinctions. by these he kept the court in a state of constant anxiety, expense, and expectation. when the next proposed change was announced, he had made it the fashion for courtiers to accompany him,--to versailles, to st. germain, or marly,--and to occupy apartments near him, and the extravagance and magnificence in which he made it incumbent upon his followers to appear, with the frequent prescribed changes, rendered it too expensive a position for a man to sustain, unless possessed of a previous ample fortune. the surgeons of the armies were paid for their services. both drs. o'meara and antommarchi have testified to napoleon's scepticism in medicine and distrust of physicians. but "surgeons are godlike," he is represented as saying, and upon all worthy he bestowed the "legion of honor." at st. helena, dr. antommarchi was endeavoring to persuade the emperor to take a simple remedy which he had prepared for him. "bah!" exclaimed napoleon, "i cannot; it is beyond my power to take medicine." "i pray your majesty to try," entreated the doctor. "the aversion i have for the slightest preparation is inconceivable. i have exposed myself to the dangers of the battle-field with indifference; i have seen death without betraying emotion; but to take medicine, i cannot," was his reply. madame bertrand, who was present, tried also to persuade the emperor to take the physician's prescription. "how do you manage to take all those abominable pills and drugs, madame bertrand, which the doctor is continually prescribing for you?" asked the emperor. "o, i take them without stopping to think about it," was her reply; "and i beg your majesty will do the same." still the dying man shook his head, and appealed to general montholon, who gave a similar answer. "do you think it will relieve me from this oppression, doctor?" he finally asked of dr. antommarchi. "i do, my dear sire; and i entreat your majesty to drink it." "what is it?" asked napoleon, eying the glass suspiciously. "merely some orange water," was the reply. "give it me, then;" and the emperor seized the cup and drank the contents at one draught. "the emperor has no faith in medicine, and never takes any," said las cases, in his memoirs. about the year , a man sprang into notice in paris, styling himself dr. villars. he claimed relationship to the duke louis hector villars, and the abbe pons is represented as saying that "dr. villars is superior to the great marshal, louis hector. the duke kills men,--the doctor prolongs their existence." villars declared that his uncle, who had been killed at the age of one hundred years, and who might, but for his accidental death, have lived another half century, had confided to him the secret of his longevity. it consisted of a medicine, which, if taken according to directions accompanying each bottle, would prolong the life of the fortunate possessor _ad infinitum_. villars employed several assistants to stand on the corners of the streets, and who, when a funeral was seen passing, would exclaim,-- "ah! if the unfortunate deceased had but taken dr. villars' nostrum, he might now be riding in his own carriage, instead of in a hearse." "of course," says our authority, "the rabble believed the testimony of such respectable and _disinterested_ appearing witnesses, and made haste to obtain the doctor's nostrum--and instructions." and here is where the laugh comes in. the patient received positive instructions to live temperately, to eat moderately, bathe daily, to avoid all excesses, to take steady and moderate exercise, to rise early, and, in fact, to obey all the laws of nature. of course those who persevered in these instructions were greatly benefited thereby, and the dupes, attributing their recovery to the use of the nostrum, lauded the doctor. the medicine, put up in a small bottle, carefully labelled, and sold for the modest sum of five francs, consisted of water from the river seine, tinctured with a quantity of spirits of nitre. a few were wise enough to see the trick, but most people believed in the efficacy of the nostrum. unfortunately for villars, he intrusted his secret to another, the humbug leaked out, and othello's occupation was gone; but not, however, until villars had amassed a large fortune from the credulity of the public. this brings to mind a story, the truth of which can be vouched for, respecting a new england doctor. his labels contained the following instructions:-- "the doctor charges you to take care of the health god has given you. in eating and exercise be moderate. avoid bad habits and excesses that sap the life from you. use no salt pork, newly-baked fine bread, vinegar, coffee, strong tea, or spirits while taking this medicine. 'tis not in the power of man to restore you to health unless you regard these directions." "what do you think of this?" asked the editor of a journal of dr. p., former professor of h---- college, presenting a vial of the high dilution, as the medicine was, labelled as above. "all very well," the doctor replied, after having read the label; "for if the vial contains nothing but water, with just sufficient alcohol to keep it, a strict observance of these directions might restore you to health." "you have treated my case for a long time, doctor, and have never given me such instructions. pray why don't _you_ get up something similar?" "well, what was his reply?" i asked, as the editor hesitated. "o, he has not yet informed me." american humbugs. humbug is not necessarily synonymous with ignorance. so far from it, that doubtless a very perfect and successful man in the art of humbugging must be educated to his business. the following true statement is a case in point: a physician of new york, now in excellent standing, who "rolls in riches," and whose own carriage is drawn by a span of horses that bonner once might have envied, was but a few years ago as poor as a church mouse, and as unknown as scripture. he had graduated with honors in transylvania university, opened an office in a country town, where his knowledge and talents were unappreciated, and which place he abandoned after a twelve months' patient waiting for a practice which did not come. he had become poorer every month, and but for the kind assistance of early friends, must have perished of want. "either it is distressingly healthy here, or the good people are afraid to trust their lives and healths in the hands of an inexperienced physician," he remarked to a friend to whom he applied for means for a new start elsewhere. "and where will you try your luck next?" inquired his friend. "in new york city." "in new york city?" "yes, and i shall there succeed," he exclaimed, with great determination. "well, i hope in my heart of hearts you will," was his friend's reply, as he kindly loaned him the required sum of money. had his friend asked the advice of a third party before making the loan, doubtless the answer would have been something like the following, though it was respecting another case:-- "dr. j. wants me to loan him some money for thirty days; do you suppose he will refund it?" "what! lend him money?" was the reply. "he return it? no, sir; if you lend that man an emetic he would never _return_ it." on his borrowed funds,--neither principal nor interest of which his kind friend ever expected him to be able to return,--the doctor entered the great metropolis. he hired a house in a respectable locality, and hung out his sign. during his long quiet days in the country village he had read a great deal, and was "up to the tricks" of his predecessors. he had particularly posted himself on the ways and means resorted to by some of those physicians, of whom we have already made brief mention, for getting into practice. [illustration: commencing a practice in new york.] "what avails it that i know as much as other physicians who have entered upon a practice? what does my diploma amount to if i have no patients?" he asked himself over and again. practice was now his want, and this is the way he obtained it. having read of a celebrated physician, who kept his few patients a long time in waiting, under pretence that he was preoccupied by the many who fortunately had preceded, our young physician adopted that great man's tactics. for want of patients to keep in waiting, he hired some decently dressed lackeys to apply regularly at his front door, at specified times, and wait till the colored servant admitted them, one at a time. each was passed out after a half hour's supposed consultation, and the next admitted. the neighbors and others passing, seeing patients continually in waiting, some with a hand, a foot, face, or other parts bound up, were led to read his sign, and soon a _bona fide_ patient applied, who, in turn, was kept waiting a long time, notwithstanding the young doctor's anxiety to finger a real medical fee from his first new york patient. others followed, the lackeys were dismissed, and the physician's practice was established. his merit kept what his shrewdness had obtained. cannot the reader avouch for the reputed extensive rides of some country doctor, who, without a known patient, harnessed his bare-ribbed old horse to his crazy gig, and drove furiously about the country, returning by a roundabout way, without having made a single professional visit, thereby humbugging the honest country people into a belief that he had innumerable patients in his route? to quite another class of humbugs belongs the subject of the following sketch. i have had the pleasure of meeting him but twice--may i never meet him again. the first interview was at the board of a country hotel. [illustration: grace before meat.] i had arrived late at evening by rail, and ordered a light supper. when the tea-bell had summoned me, i found a large, phlegmatic individual seated opposite at the table, who possibly had arrived by the same conveyance as myself. his person was quite repulsive. he was probably fifty years of age, his eyes watery and restless, his thin stock of hair--indicating a corresponding poverty of brain--black, streaked by gray, was stuck back professionally (!) over a low bump of veneration, and high organs of firmness and self-esteem, which, with a roman nose, large, protruding under jaw, and wide, open mouth, gave him a striking appearance, at least. but what was most observable was his thin, uneven, scraggy whiskers, uncombed, and besmeared by tobacco juice and bits of the weed, drooling down over their uncertain length, over waistcoat, and so out of sight below the table. his coat sleeves had evidently been substituted for a handkerchief when too great a surplus of tobacco juice obstructed his face. he bent his great, watery eyes over towards me, and opened the ball by suggesting that i ask a blessing over the food so bountifully and temptingly laid before us. having too much compassion on the present exhausted state of my stomach to disregard its immediate demands, and too little confidence in the veneration of my _vis-a-vis_ to return the request, i went to eating, while he closed one eye, keeping the other on a plate of hot steak just placed before him by the table girl. i have since been strongly reminded of him by the character "bishopriggs," in wilkie collins's book, "_man and wife_." i think, however, for hypocrisy, the present subject exceeded bishopriggs. having wagged his enormous jaw a few times, by way of grace, he began eating and conversing alternately. "i take it, friend, you're a railroad conductor, coming in so late," he suggested, between mouthfuls. "no," was my brief reply. "perhaps, cap'n, you're a drummer. sell dry or wet goods?" "no." "a newspaper man?" i merely shook my head. "then a patent medicine vender?" "no!" emphatically. "not a minister," he asserted. "perhaps a doctor," he perseveringly continued. "yes, sir; i am a physician." "o! ah! indeed! i am rejoiced to learn it. give me your hand, sir," he exclaimed, rising and reaching his enormous palm across the table. "i am rejoiced, as i said before, to meet a brother." "a _brother_!" i repeated, with unfeigned surprise and disgust. "yes, a brother! i, too, am a doctor. i have the honor," etc., for the next ten minutes, while i hastened to finish my supper. his last interrogation was what a college boy would call a "stunner." "_do you think, sir, that the fillopian ducks are the same in a male as they are in a female?_" [dr. s., a quack living in winsted, conn., once said to an educated physician, that he sometimes found difficulty in introducing a female catheter on account of the "prostrate" (meaning _prostate_) gland,--which exists only in the male!] i saw him once after the above interesting interview. he entered the drug house of rust, bird, & brother, boston, just as i was about to go out. i could not refrain from turning my attention towards him, as i recognized his stentorian voice. "have you got any _bonyset arbs_?" was all i waited to hear. i subsequently learned that he was known in vermont and part of new york state by the _sobriquet_ of "dr. pusbelly." the following story respecting "dr. pusbelly," related in my hearing by a stage-driver, is in perfect keeping with the character of the man, as he impressed me in my first interview at the country hotel. dr. pusbelly. one sunny day in autumn i had occasion to take a long journey "away down in maine," when and where there was no railroad. i was seated on the outside of a four-horse stage-coach, with three or four other passengers, one of whom was a lady, who preferred riding in that elevated station to being cramped up inside the coach with eight persons, besides sundry babies, a poodle dog, and a parrot. "sam," our driver, was a sociable fellow, full of pleasant stories,--and medford rum, though he was considered a perfectly safe jehu. the greatest drawback to his otherwise agreeable yarns was his habit of swearing. notwithstanding the presence of the lady, he would occasionally round his periods and emphasize his sentences with an expletive which had better have been omitted. "can't you tell a story just as well without swearing, sam?" i inquired. "o, no; it comes second natur. why, cap'n, everybody swears sometimes. and that reminds me--git up, jerry" (to the horse). "there was an old doctor, pill--pilgarlic, i called him, on account of his pills, and the strong effluvia from his cataract mouth. he was up round champlain, where i drove before the d--d railroads ruined the great stage business. well, he was as religious as a cuss,--that ain't swearin', is it, cap'n? well, he came round there pill-peddling, you see, and in order to make the old women believe in his (expletive) medicines--" "don't swear, sam. you can tell the story better without. come, try," interrupted a passenger, with a twinkle of fun in his expressive eyes. "who's telling this story,--you or me?" exclaimed sam, with a wink. "yes, he talked pills by bible doctrine, swore his essences by the blood of the lamb, the ---- old hypocrite. i knowed he was a blamed old hypocrite, for i had to drive him round every onct in a while, and he never failed, in season and out of place, to exhort me to seek salvation, and a new heart, and pure understanding, while, all the time, the filthy tobacco juice slobbered all over his filthier mug, and down his scattering whiskers;--now and then one, like the scattering trees in yonder field,--all over his vest; and his coat sleeves were as bad, from frequent drawing across his face. yes, he said, 'jesus,' but he meant pills. he said, 'get wine and milk, without money and without price,' but he meant, buy his essences, _with_ money. the old gals went crazy over him, and the pill market was lively. the louder he prayed and exhorted, the faster he sold his medicines. "one sunday afternoon he wanted me to shy him over the lake; so, taking his hem-book and bible in his coat pockets, and his two tin trunks of medicine, he followed me to the shore. he seated his great carcass in the starn of the boat, while i rowed him over the lake. all the way he slobbered tobacco juice; and gabbled his religion at me, while occasionally i swore mine back at him. "when we got over, i jumped out, and told him to set steady till i hauled the boat up further; but he didn't mind, and rose up in the starn with his kit, a tin trunk in each hand, just as i gave the craft a yerk, when over backwards he went kerflounce into the water,--carcass, trunks, bible, pills, and essences, all into the lake. o, the d----! you ought to have seen him. up he came, puffin' and blowin' like a big whale! then i fished him out with the boat-hook, and went for his trunks. no sooner had he reached _terror firmer_ than, blowin' the surplus water and tobacco out of his throat, _he commenced swearin' at me_. religion went by the board! o, jerusalem! such a blessing as he gave me i never before heard. i knowed it was pent up in him, the ---- old sinner, and he only wanted the occasion to let it out. the bath done it! it was the cussidest baptism i ever witnessed in the hull course of my life." "was he called dr. pusbelly?" i suggested, at the close of the narrative. "yes, that was his name; but i called him old pilgarlic, blame him." "professor brewster." when i lived in hartford, conn., some years ago, there resided in that city a black man, then somewhat noted as a "seer" among various classes of whites, as well as blacks, and who resides there still, and has since become quite famous. in what category to place this man,--professor brewster, so called,--it is perhaps a little difficult to determine; whether among "clairvoyants," "animal magnetizers," "natural doctors," "fortune-tellers," or what, or all, it must be admitted that he is a "character," and wields great influence among certain classes. nature made him a superior man of his race, and what thorough, early education might have done for him, we are left to conjecture. so noted is professor brewster, that i have thought him a proper subject for comment here, as a living illustration of what a man of subtle genius may accomplish, though wholly without "book learning," or other approved instruction, in the field of medicine. [illustration: old pilgarlic takes a bath.] a reliable friend of mine has gathered the following facts and statements in regard to professor brewster, and taken pains to secure the accompanying engraving of the veritable professor, as he appears in the year . [illustration: professor brewster.] "the full name of this remarkable man, now residing in hartford, conn., is worthington hooker erasmus brewster, commonly called, by those who venture on familiarity, 'worthy' brewster, for short. worthy is of full medium height, powerfully built, and well knitted together. his head is very well moulded, and also extremely large, but not disproportionally large for his massive shoulders. he was born of 'poor but honest' (though undoubtedly black) parents, in the town of granby, conn., on the st day of january, . "the boy worthy, at the age of six years, went with his mother (his father having died) and her new husband to the hills of litchfield county to live, and was there brought up to youth's estate, enjoying the opportunities of education at the district school in what is now _west_ winsted. the places of the birth and early rearing of professor brewster are fixed beyond question, which fact will, it is hoped, forbid the contention of other towns, and of 'seven cities,' or more, over the question, after he shall have passed away. worthy was not attracted to literature and science, however. he seemed to spurn these, as unworthy of his natural gifts to waste their time upon. but he learned to read, and can write a 'fair hand.' seeing no special need of being cramped and confined by the narrow rules of spelling, worthy has invented a style of orthography for himself, and writes a compact, forcible, and even masterly letter. "but we must not linger on the details of his youth. suffice it that worthy grew up a powerful lad, and became the conquering athlete of all the region about his home. no man, of hundreds who tried, was able to successfully wrestle with him. the strongest men were no match for him. he was as agile as he was powerful, and to this day retains great elasticity of foot and limb. he was a mysterious fellow also, and, before he was sixteen years old, was regarded by his friends and acquaintances, of african descent, especially, as a sort of prophet, while many whites considered him a necromancer, and people all about declared he 'had the devil in him' to no ordinary extent. worthy claimed, in those days, to 'see visions,' and many stories are current among his contemporaries regarding his then being able to 'charm snakes,' and do other miraculous things. abundant witnesses, such as they are, can now be found ready to take their oaths that they have seen worthy, 'with their own eyes,' perform his miracles. it is certain that these believe in him. "at the age of twenty worthy went to new york city, where (in lawrence street) he lived for the period of a year, successfully practising the art of fortune-telling. while there worthy first discovered his powers as a 'mesmerizer,' or magnetic physician. a school-girl, knowing that worthy 'practised the healing art' somewhat, and suffering intensely with a toothache, jeeringly asked him, 'why can't you think of something to cure my toothache?' whereupon worthy clapped his hands to her head, and vigorously drew them down her cheeks, half in fun, half seriously, when, to his astonishment, he found that all his (sound) teeth ached terribly, while she declared that the pain had left hers. such is his story; and it is by no means an improbable one; for animal magnetism is a fixed fact (however it may be analyzed or defined), and diseases are often 'magnetically' alleviated; and worthy, with his powerful body and superb health, as well as native force of intellect, may be as naturally gifted, as a magnetic operator, as even mesmer himself. indeed, the writer is inclined to believe that worthy's great power over many people is largely due to his superior vital forces. "worthy now turned his attention considerably to diseases, but returned to litchfield county for a while. at the age of twenty-six, he resolved 'to see more of the world,' and in the capacity of steward embarked at new haven on board the brig marshal, captain brison, freighted with horses, and bound for a long trading voyage to the island of demarara, and to south america, where they coasted during the winters, and took in coffee, etc., in exchange for their cargo. worthy was gone from home on this voyage two years and two months, during which time he learned many mysteries. he was a foreign traveller now, and his polite and professional education may be said to have at that time become 'finished.' "since then worthy has practised medicine to considerable extent, told fortunes, 'looked' (in a crystal) for stolen property, and, if we are to believe half of what is attested by many astute people (such as police detectives, etc.), has, by force of his great sagacity, or in some way (he would say, through clairvoyance), managed to achieve great success in ferreting out lost or stolen treasures, and bringing thieves to grief. "people of all classes in society visit him with their troubles of mind and body. but the major part of his clientage is females. the wives and accomplished daughters of wealthy men, as well as poor and ignorant women, come from distant parts of the country to consult him, and a great number of the first ladies of hartford also consult him. worthy carries on the business of a 'chair-seater,' partly to occupy his time during the intervals of his divinations, and partly to provide an excuse for cautious persons to call on him for consultations. those who consult him do so mostly regarding secret matters, and they pretend to visit him to engage him to seat chairs! "he is consulted in respect to all sorts of diseases, and by unsuccessful, perplexed, or doubting lovers; by husbands whose wives have absconded, and who are anxious to call them back; by wives in regard to their wandering husbands; by hosts of superstitious people (and these are found in all classes), who believe themselves 'possessed by devils,' or demons. he is expected to cast out the devils (and he does so as surely as most doctors cure imaginary diseases). people who have lost property, and officers of the law in search of stolen goods, consult him; and bachelors and widowers in want of wives, and countless maids (both old and young), anxious to get married, visit him and receive his sweet consolations, or mourn over the ill luck which he prognosticates for them. his correspondence is large. a hasty glance through several hundred letters in 'professor brewster's' possession convinced the writer that the amount and character of the superstition and ignorance which exist in these days, in our very midst, are probably but little conjectured by the more cultivated classes. they are indeed astounding, but are not confined, as we have before intimated, to the wholly illiterate classes. people competent to write letters with grammatical precision, and observing what would ordinarily be called an 'excellent business style,' at least, in their composition, consult the professor; and so successful is worthy in his diagnoses of and prescriptions for various diseases, that many of his patients write him letters overflowing with gratitude, while others voluntarily and admiringly attest his skill as a 'seer.' to what talent, 'gift,' or what secret of good luck, 'professor brewster' owes the many successes he wins (even though he may fail ten times more often than he succeeds), we cannot, of course, decide. but certain it is that he, with all his claims to a knowledge of the 'occult,' exists, practises his arts, and through a period of years has retained his old patients, and the postulants before his supposed demigodship, while adding constantly to their number. in this he is a remarkable man. he has accumulated quite a respectable property, and is decidedly one of the 'institutions' of the enlightened and cultivated city of hartford. "it should be remarked here that worthy was, during the late civil war, a true patriot. he was attached to the twenty-ninth regiment connecticut volunteers, under colonel wooster (a 'colored' regiment), and was 'gone to the war' over two years. his powers as a 'clairvoyant,' or 'fore-seer,' served him in the war, and he 'always knew what was coming,' he says. as a part of the curious history of the war, serving to show how little the people of the north understood, in the first years of the contest, that they were fighting for a great humanitary end,--the abolition of chattel slavery,--it may be noted here, that worthy wrote to governor buckingham, in august, , proposing to raise a black regiment, and the governor, by his secretary, replied to worthy's proposition, that he then did 'not deem it expedient,'--which fact institutes a comparison between the judgments of the governor and worthy, not uncomplimentary to the latter." [illustration] ii. apothecaries. first mention of.--a poor specimen.--elizabethan.--king james i. [vi.].--allspice and aloes, sugar and tartar emetic.--war.--physician vs. apothecary.--ignorance.--stealing a trade.--a laughable prescription.--"caster ile."--modern drug swallowing.--mistakes.-- "steals the tools also."--substitutes.--"a quid."--a "smell" of patent medicines.--"a sample clerk." there are few occupations wherein old time has wrought so few changes as in that of the apothecary's. what it was four hundred years ago it is to-day! who first invented its weights, measures, and symbols, i am unable to say; but it is a fact that they remain the same as when first made mention of by the earliest writers on the subject. drop into the "corner drug store,"--and what corner has none!--examine the balances, the tables of weights and measures, the graduating glass, the signs for grains, scruples, ounces, and pounds, and you will find them the same as those used by the earliest known _medical_ apothecaries, by those of the elizabethan period, or when king lear (lyr) said, "give me an ounce of civet, good apothecary, to sweeten my imagination; there's money for thee." the money has changed; _names_ of drugs are somewhat altered; some new ones have taken the place of old ones; prescriptions changed in quality; but quantities, and modes of expressing them, are unchanged. "in the middle ages an apothecary was the keeper of any shop or warehouse, and an officer appointed to take charge of a magazine."--_webster._ we have good grounds for supposing this to have been the case in the time of the rebuilding of the wall of jerusalem, more that two thousand years ago. nehemiah informs us that the son of an apothecary assisted in "fortifying jerusalem unto the broad wall." was not this the office of an overseer, or "keeper of a magazine"? various artisans were employed to perform certain portions of the work, and who more appropriate or better qualified to oversee the rebuilding of the fortifications than "an officer appointed to take charge of the magazines"? one more reference we draw from scripture,[ ] viz., in exodus xxxvii. , where "the holy anointing oil" (not for medicine, but for the tabernacle), "and the pure incense of sweet spices" (not medical), "were made according to the work [book?] of the apothecary." this, however, no more implies that the said "apothecary" was a medical man, a dispenser of physic, or versed in medical lore, than that the maker of shewbread (lev. xxiv. ) was necessarily a pharmacist. in fact, there seems to have been no need of an apothecary, as medicine dispenser, until about the latter part of the thirteenth century. the oldest known work on compounding medicines was written by nicolaus mynepsus, who died in the commencement of the fourteenth century. the first apothecaries were merely growers and dispensers of herbs, and were but a poor and beggarly set. shakspeare's delineation of the "_poor apothecary of mantua_," in romeo and juliet, so completely answers the description of the whole "kit" of druggists of the times, that we may be pardoned in quoting him. romeo says,-- "i do remember an apothecary,-- and hereabouts he dwells,--whom late i noted in tattered weeds, with overwhelming brows, culling of simples (herbs). meagre were his looks; sharp misery had worn him to the bones; and in his needy shop a tortoise hung, an alligator stuffed, and other skins of ill-shaped fishes; and about his shelves a beggarly account of empty boxes, green earthen pots, bladders, and musty seeds; remnants of packthread, and old cakes of roses, were thinly scattered to make up a show. noting this penury, to myself i said,-- 'an' if a man did need a poison now, whose sale is present death in mantua, here lives a caitiff wretch would sell it him.' * * * * * what, ho! apothecary! _apothecary._ who calls so loud? _romeo._ come hither, man! i see that thou art poor. hold! there is forty ducats! [$ .] let me have a dram of poison. _apoth._ such mortal drugs i have, but mantua's law is death to any he that utters them. _rom._ art thou so bare, and full of wretchedness, and fear'st to die? famine is on thy cheeks; need and oppression starveth in thy eyes; upon thy back hangs ragged misery; the world is not thy friend, nor the world's law; the world affords no law to make thee rich; then be not poor, but break it, and take this. _apoth._ my poverty, but not my will, consents." when we behold the opulent druggists of the present day, we can hardly credit the fact that for nearly two hundred years the apothecary of mantua was a fair specimen of the wretches who represented that now important branch of business. the physician was the master, the apothecary the slave! the following were among the rules prescribed by dr. bullyn for the "apothecary's life and conduct" during the elizabethan era:-- " . he must serve god, be clenly, pity the poore. . must not be suborned for money to hurt mankind. . his garden must be at hand, with plenty of herbes, seedes, and rootes. . to sow, set, plant, gather, preserve, and keepe them in due time. . to read dioscorides, to learn ye nature of plants and herbes. (dioscorides published a work on vegetable remedies about , in greek. the _translation_ was referred to.) . to have his morters, stilles, pottes, filters, glasses, and boxes cleane and sweete. . that he neither increase nor diminish the physician's bill (prescription), nor keepe it for his own use. . that he peruse often his wares, that they corrupt not. . that he put not in _quid pro quo_ (i. e., substitute one drug for another.) (would not this be excellent advice to some of the apothecaries of the present day?) . that he meddle only in his vocation. . that he delight to reade nicolaus mynepsus, and a few other ancient authors. . that he remember his office is only ye physician's _cooke_. . that he use true waights and measures. . that he be not covetous or crafty, seeking his own lucre before other men's help and comfort." we may see the wisdom evinced by the author of the above advice, especially in articles nos. , , and , when we know of a druggist's clerk of modern times, who, having stolen the physician's prescriptions intrusted to his care, started out on borrowed capital, and, putting them up as his own wonderful discoveries, advertised them extensively, until his remedies, for all diseases which flesh is heir to, are now sold throughout the entire universe! as the doctors were accustomed to retain their most valuable recipes, and put up the medicines themselves, selling them as nostrums, and because of the heavy percentage demanded by them for those intrusted to the apothecaries, and the small profit accruing from the sale of medicines at the time, the poor wretched "cookes" were necessarily kept in extreme poverty. so, in order to eke out a living, the apothecaries were also grocers and small tradesmen. as at the present day, they were not required to possess any knowledge of medical science beyond the reading of a few books "relating to the nature of plants," hence very little honor or profit could accrue from the business alone. grocers kept a small stock of drugs, sometimes in a corner by themselves, but not unusually thrown about and jumbled amongst the articles kept for culinary and other purposes. as mineral medicines became more generally used, these were also added to the little stock, and not unfrequently was some poisonous substance dealt out by a green clerk (as is often the case nowadays) to the little errand girl, sent in haste for some culinary article. allspice and aloes, sugar and tartar emetic, lemon essence and laudanum, were thrown promiscuously together into drawers, or upon the most convenient shelves, and you need not go far into the country to witness the same lamentable spectacle in the enlightened nineteenth century. the apothecary gave the most attention, as now, to the exposition and sale of those articles which sold the most readily, and returned the greatest profit. all druggists at present sell cigars and tobacco, at the same time not unusually posting up a conspicuous sign-- no smoking allowed here. the following is a case in point:-- _druggist._ smoking not allowed here, sir. _customer._ why! i just bought this cigar from you. _druggist._ well, we also sell emetics and cathartics. that does not license customers to sit down and enjoy them on the premises. in the thirteenth year of the reign of james i. of england (and james vi. of scotland) the apothecaries and grocers were disunited. the charter, however, placed the former under the control of the college of physicians, who were endowed with the arbitrary powers of inspecting their shops and wares, and inflicting punishments for alleged neglects, deficiencies, and malpractices. the physicians knew so little, that the apothecaries soon were enabled to cope with them; "and before a generation had passed away the apothecaries had gained so much, socially and pecuniarily, that the more prosperous of them could afford to laugh in the face of the faculty, and by the commencement of the next century they were fawned upon by the younger physicians, and were in a position to quarrel with the old, which they soon improved." as it was a common occurrence for patients to apply at the apothecary's for a physician, the former either recommended the applicant to one who favored him, _or else prescribed for the patient himself_. the promulgation of this fact was the declaration of war with the old physicians, who heretofore had done their best to keep down the apothecaries. the former threatened punishment, as provided by law; the latter retaliated, by refusing to call them in to consult on difficult cases. "starving graduates of oxford and cambridge, with the certificate of the college in their pockets, were imbittered by having to trudge along on foot and see the mean 'medicine mixers,' who had scarce scholarship enough to construe a prescription, dashing by in their carriages." the war progressed,--physician _vs._ apothecary,--and the rabble joined. education sided with the physicians, interest sided with the apothecaries. "so modern 'pothecaries taught the art, by doctors' bills, to play the doctors' part; bold in the practice of mistaken rules, prescribe, apply, and call their masters fools." to circumvent the apothecaries, a dispensary was established in the college of physicians, where prescriptions were dispensed at cost. while this proceeding served to lessen the apothecary's income for a time, it could not greatly benefit the prescribing physician. the former might parallel his case with iago, and say of the physician, he "robs me of that which not enriches him, and makes me poor indeed." physicians were divided into two classes,--dispensarians and anti-dispensarians. charges of ignorance, extortion, and of double-dealing were preferred on both sides. the dispensary doctors charged their opponents with playing into the hands of the apothecaries by prescribing enormous doses, often changing their prescriptions uselessly to increase the druggists' revenues and _their own percentage_! on the other hand, the dispensarians were accused of charging a double profit on prescriptions whenever the ignorance of the patient, respecting the value of drugs, would admit of the extortion. had the physicians been united, the apothecaries would have had to succumb; but a divided house must fall, and the apothecaries won the day. a london apothecary, having been prosecuted by the college for prescribing for a patient without a regular physician's advice, carried the case up to the house of lords, where he obtained a verdict in his favor; and another apothecary, mr. goodwin, whose goods had been seized by some dispensary doctors, having obtained a large sum for damages, which being considered test cases, the doctors from this time (about ) discontinued the exercise of their authority over the apothecaries. thus emancipated from the supervision of the physicians, the apothecaries began to feel their own importance, and most of them prescribed boldly for patients, without consulting a doctor. the ignorance of many of them was only equalled by their impudence. it is not unusual, at the present day, for not only apothecaries, but their most ignorant clerks, to prescribe for persons, strangers perhaps, who call to inquire for a physician; and cases, too, where the utmost skill and experience are required. the following amusing anecdote is sufficiently in accordance with facts within our own knowledge to be true, notwithstanding its _seeming_ improbability:-- anecdote of macready, the actor. the handwriting of macready, the actor, was curiously illegible, and especially when writing a pass to the theatre. one day, at new orleans, mr. brougham obtained one of these orders for a friend. on handing it to the latter gentleman, he asked,-- "what is this, brougham?" "a pass to see macready." "why, i thought it was a physician's prescription, which it most resembles." "so it does," acquiesced mr. brougham, again looking over the queer hieroglyphics. "let us go to an apothecary's and have it made up." turning to the nearest druggist's, the paper was given to the clerk, who gave it a careless glance, and proceeded to get a vial ready. with a second look at the paper, down came a tincture bottle, and the vial was half filled. then there was a pause. brougham and his friend pretended not to notice the proceedings. the clerk was evidently puzzled, and finally broke down, and rang for the proprietor, an elderly and pompous looking individual, who issued from the inner sanctum. the clerk presented the paper, the old dispenser adjusted his eye-glasses, examined the document for a few seconds, and then, with a depreciating expression,--a compound of pity and contempt for the ignorance of the subordinate,--he proceeded to fill the vial with some apocryphal fluid, and, giving it a professional "shake up," duly corked and labelled it. [illustration: the "free pass" prescription.] "a cough mixture, gentlemen," he said, with a bland smile, as he handed it to the gentleman in waiting, "and a very excellent one, too. fifty cents, if you please." in a copy of the london lancet, , is reported dr. graham's bill. in the same number of which is a reply by an apothecary, who asks if "the old and respectable class of apothecaries are to be forever abolished;" and he quotes the assertion from one of the articles in the bill: "is it not a notorious fact that the masses of chemists and druggists know nothing of the business in which they are engaged?" dr. graham certainly ought to have known. druggists are liable to make mistakes,--as are all men; but carelesness and ignorance, one or both, are usually to be found at the bottom of the fatalities so common in the dispensing of prescriptions. i know an old and experienced druggist who sold a pot of extract belladonna for extract dandelion. in the same city, on the same street, i know another who was prosecuted for dispensing opium for taraxicum, which carelesness caused the death of two children. the following mistake was less fatal, but only think of the poor lady's feelings! a servant girl was sent to a certain drug store we know of, who, in a "rich brogue," which might have caused general scott's eyes to water with satisfaction, and his ears to lop like bottom's after his transformation by the mischievous fairy, she asked for some "caster ile," which she wished effectually disguised. "do you like soda water?" asked the druggist. "o, yis, thank ye, sir," was the prompt reply; "an' limmun, sir, if ye plaze; long life to yeze." the man then proceeded to draw a glass, strongly flavored with lemon, with a dose of oil cast upon its troubled waters. "drink it at one swallow," said he, presenting it to the smiling bridget. this she did, again thanking the gentlemanly clerk. "what are you waiting for?" he inquired, seeing that she still lingered. "i'm waitin' for the caster ile, sir," said the girl. "o! why you have just taken it," replied the soda-drug man. "och! murther! it was for a sick man i wanted it, an' not meself at all." [illustration: the wrong patient.] while there have been great changes in the drug trade during the last fifty years, necessary to the increasing demand for drugs, the establishment of wholesale houses and some specialties, and in cities, the substitution of cigars, soda water, patent medicines, etc., for groceries and provisions, the dispensing apothecary is nearer to what he was hundreds of years ago, as we asserted at the commencement of this chapter, than any other professional we know of. the paraphernalia of the shop is nearly the same. there is no improvement in pot, in jar, in tables, in spatula; the old, ungainly mortar is not _substituted_ by a mill; the signs of ounces and drachms remain the same, though so near alike that they are easily and often mistaken one for the other, and the prescription before the dispenser is prefixed by a relic of the astrological symbol of jupiter,--"the god of medicine to the ancient greeks and egyptians,"--as a species of superstitious invocation. in our largest cities even, in the shop windows, the mammoth flashing blue bottles, "a relic of empiric charlatanry," still brighten our street corners, and frighten our horses at night, as in the days of our forefathers. we intimated that "patent medicines" had added greatly to the trade. this we shall treat of under its proper head. many have arisen from penury to affluence, from obscurity to renown, in the drug trade of later years; but take away the tobacco trade, the soda fountain, and the outside patent nostrums, and wherein would the apothecary now differ from his predecessors? "the yankees bate the divil for swallowing drugs," said an irishman. "a paddy will take nothing but castor oil," replied the yankee. yankee or irish, english or scotch, french or german, they all rush to the drug store for pills, for powder, for whiskey (?), for tobacco, for patent medicines, and the druggists flourish. from the window near which i write this, i overlook a wholesale drug store on a "retail street." the front windows contain only _patent medicines_, and the flashy signs that announce their virtues. few prescriptions are dispensed within. before the door, piled nearly a story high, i have just counted ninety-eight boxes, and some barrels. there are hundreds of these drug houses scattered over this city; and every other city of america has its quota. yes, the irishman had the right of it; "the yankees _do_ bate the divil for swallowing drugs." further, it is my positive opinion that his infernal majesty beats a good many of them by the encouragement of their purchase; and, kind reader, if you have the ghost of a doubt of the truth of our intimation, don't, i pray, promulgate it, but, like a wise judge, withhold your decision until the evidence is in; until you hear our exposition of "patent medicines." a patient comes to the city for the purpose of consulting some experienced physician for a certain complaint. probably he gets a prescription, with instructions to go to a certain respectable druggist or apothecary in town to have the necessary medicines put up. of course a respectable physician knows of a reliable apothecary. the patient, in nine cases out of ten, desires to retain the prescription, and often does so. he goes to another drug store, more convenient, for a second quantity of the same; and now let me ask the patient,--no matter who or where he is,--did you ever get the same kind of medicine, in _look_, color, quantity, and taste,--all,--the second time, from the same prescription? i have often heard the patient complain that he could not get the same put up at the very store where he got the original prescription compounded. i once was called to visit a lady who was laboring under great prostration; "sickness at the stomach," with constipation. "what is the disease?" inquired the anxious husband, who had previously employed two regular physicians for the case, and discharged them both. "nux vomica," was the reply. i gathered up three of the vials on the table, and, taking them to the designated apothecary's, i demanded the prescriptions corresponding with the numbers on the vials. these were duplicates. he had made a mistake! that's all. he had compounded an ounce of tincture of nux instead of a drachm! not that a drachm could be taken at a dose with impunity; but whatever the dose was, the patient was continually taking eight times as much as the physician intended to prescribe. another reason of the failure of the prescribing physician meeting the expectation anticipated, is the use of old and inert medicines. where a man's treasure is, his heart is also. an apothecary's interest is more in nostrums, tobacco, _soda_, etc., than in medicines; how, then, can he follow the excellent advice of dr. bullyn, in article " , that he peruse often his wares, that they corrupt not." but the greatest cheat is in the "substituting" business; the "_quid pro quo_." horse aloes may be bought for ten cents a pound. podophyllin costs seventy-five cents an ounce. they each act as cathartic, and i have detected the former put in place of the latter. how is the physician to know the cheat? how is the patient to detect it? perhaps the former _stuff_--aloes--may have given the victim the hemorrhoids. one dose may be quite sufficient to produce that distressing disease. this only calls for another prescription! so it looks a deal like a "you tickle me, and i'll tickle you" profession, at best. thus the patient becomes disgusted, and resorts to our next--"patent medicines." in closing this chapter on apothecaries, i must relate a little scene to which i was an eye-witness. meantime, let me say to the "respectable druggist," don't be offended if i have slighted you by leaving you out, in my description of the various kinds of apothecaries enumerated above. there is a respectable class of druggists whom i have not mentioned, and doubtless you belong to that order. on going home one evening, not long since, i observed several boys, loud and boisterous, surrounding a lamp post. as i approached, i heard, among the cries and vociferations,-- "howld to it, jimmy; it'll be the makin' of ye." i drew nearer, and discovered a sickly-looking lad leaning up against the lamp post, with the stump of a cigar in his mouth, and a taller boy endeavoring to hold him up by his jacket collar, while a short-set urchin was stooping behind to assist in the task. they were evidently endeavoring to teach "jimmy" to smoke. the poor fellow was deathly sick, and faintly begged to be let off. "o, no, no. stick to it, jimmy; it'll be the makin' of yese," was repeated. "sure, ye'll niver do for a _sample clark in a potecary shop_," said another, as he blew a cloud of smoke from his own cigar stump into the pale face of the victim to modern accomplishments. [illustration: a candidate for the presidency.] "general grant smokes, jimmy, and you'll never be a man if you don't learn," added a voice minus the brogue. a policeman here interfered, and rescued the wretched "jimmy." "what is a sample clerk, my lad?" i asked of the boy who had used the above expression. "o, sir, he's the divil o' the 'potecary shop; the lean, pimply-faced urchin what tastes all the pizen drugs for the boss. if his constitution is tough enough to stand it the first year, then they makes a clark of him the nixt." [illustration] iii. patent medicines "expunge the whole."--pope. "these are terrible alarms to persons grown fat and wealthy."--south. patent medicines.--how started.--how made.--the way immense fortunes are realized.--spalding's glue.--soured swill.--sarsaparilla humbugs.--s. p. townsend.--"a down east farmer's story."--"wild cherry" expositions.--"captain wragge's pill" a fair sample of the whole.--how pill sales are started.--a slip of the pen.--"gripe pills."--shakspeare improved.--h. w. b. "fruit syrup."--hair tonics.--a bald bachelor's experience.--a ludicrous story.--a wolf in sheep's clothing. in the former chapters are shown some of the causes which led to the present immense _demand_ for proprietary nostrums, or patent medicines. the conflicting "_isms_" and "_opathies_" of the medical fraternity, their quarrels and depreciations of one and another, their expositions of each other's weaknesses, frauds, and duplicities, disgusted the common people, who finally resorted to the irregulars, to astrologers, and humbugs of various pretensions, and to the few advertised nostrums of those earlier periods. "while there is life there is hope," and invalids would, and still continue to seize upon almost any promised relief from present pain and anticipated death. speculative and unprincipled men have seldom been wanting, at any period, to profit by this misfortune of their fellow-creatures, and to play upon the credulity of the afflicted, by offering various compounds warranted to restore them to perfect health. at first such medicines were introduced by the owner going about personally and introducing them; subsequently, by employing equally unprincipled parties, of either sex, to go in advance, and tell of the wonderful cures that this particular nostrum had wrought upon them. and to listen to these lauders, one would be led to suppose that they had been afflicted with all the ills nameable, adapting themselves to the parties addressed,--yesterday, the gout; to-day, consumption, etc.,--regardless of truth or circumstance. the physician created the apothecary. the two opened the way for the less principled patent medicine vender. "are not physicians and apothecaries sometimes owners of patent medicines?" is the inquiry raised. yes, certainly; but the true physician, or honorable apothecary, is then sunk in the nostrum manufacturer. next we have the mountebanks. these were attendant upon fairs and in the marketplaces, who, mounted upon a bench,--hence the name,--cried the marvellous virtues of the medicine, and, by the assistance of a _decoy_ in the crowd, often drove a lucrative business. finally, upon the general introduction of printing, physician, apothecary, mountebank, speculator, all seized upon the "power of the press," to more extensively introduce their "wonderful discoveries." when you notice the name--and, o, ye gods, such names as are patched up to attract your attention!--to a new medicine, systematically and extensively advertised in every paper you chance to pick up, you wonder how any profit can accrue to the manufacturer of the compound after paying such enormous prices as column upon column in a thousand newspapers must necessarily cost. "if the articles cost anything at the outset," you go on to philosophize, "how can the manufacturers or proprietors make enough profit to pay for this colossal advertising?" the solution of the problem is embodied in your inquiry. they cost nothing, or as near to nothing as possible for worthless trash to cost. this is the secret of the fortunes made in advertised medicines. when we _know_ the complete worthlessness of the majority of the articles that are placed before the public,--yea, their more than worthlessness, for they are, many of them, highly injurious to the user,--the fact of their enormous consumption is truly astonishing. the drug-swallowing public has grown lean and poor in proportion as the manufacturers and venders of these villanous compounds have grown fat and wealthy. said the proprietor of "coe's cough balsam" and "dyspepsia cure" to the author, "if you have got a _good_ medicine, one of value, don't put it before the public. i can advertise _dish water_, and sell it, just as well as an article of merit. it is all in the advertising." as the above preparations were advertised on every board fence, and in every newspaper in new england at least, did his assertion imply that those articles were mere "_dish water_"? "spalding's glue." i was informed by a mr. johnston, who engineered the advertising of the preparation, that it cost but one eighth of a cent per bottle. if you want to make a liquid glue, dissolve a quantity of common glue in water at nearly boiling point, say one pound of glue to a gallon of water; add an ounce or less of nitric acid to hold it in solution, and bottle. the more glue, the stronger the preparation. the pain-killers and liniments are the most costly, on account of the alcohol necessary to their manufacture; and, in fact, the principal item of expense in all liquid medical articles put up for public sale, is in the alcohol essential to their preservation against the extremes of heat and cold to which they may be subjected. soured swill. there is an article which "smells to heaven," the acidiferous title of which glares in mammoth letters from every road-side, wherein the audacious proprietor obviates the necessity of alcohol for its preparation or preservation. it is merely fermented slops--"dish water," minus the alcohol. take a few handfuls of any bitter herbs, saturate them in any dirty pond water,--say a barrel full,--add some nitric acid, and bottle, without straining! here you have _vinegared bitters_! the cheeky proprietor informs the "ignorant public" that, "if the _medicine_ becomes sour (ferments), as it sometimes will, being its 'nature so to do,' it does not detract from its medical virtues." true, true! for it never possessed "medical virtues." the cost of this villanous decoction is _scarcely half a cent a bottle_! soured swill! it is recommended to cure fifty different complaints! it sells to fools for "one dollar a bottle," and will go through one like so much quicksilver. "try a bottle," if you doubt it. the "dodge" is in advertising it as a temperance bitter. having no alcoholic properties, it in no wise endangers the user in becoming addicted to _stimulants_. sarsaparilla humbugs are only second to the above. but a few years since an immense fortune was realized by a new york speculator in human flesh on a "sarsaparilla" which contained not one drop of that all but useless medicine; nor did it possess any real medical properties whatever. the down east farmer's story. to illustrate this point, we introduce the following conversation between the author and a "down east" farmer, in :-- "it's all a humbug, is saxferilla!" exclaimed the old farmer, rapping his fist "hard down on the old oaken table." "why, no; not _all_ sarsaparilla; you must admit--" "no difference. i tell you it's a pesky humbug, all of it." [illustration: "it's all a humbug."] withdrawing his tobacco pipe from his mouth, he laid it on the table, and standing his thumb end on the board, as a "point of departure," he turned to me, and said,-- "why, in the medical books it has been analyzed, and they say it's nothin' but sugar-house molasses, cheap whiskey, and a sprinkling of essence of wintergreen and saxafras. git the book, and see 'townsend's saxferilla,' and that is the article! but they are all alike. let me tell you about the great new york saxferilla speculation. one man, s. p. townsend, started a compound like this here--nothin' but molasses and whiskey, and essence to scent it nicely. when he had got it advertised from texas to the gut of canser (canso, provinces), from the atlantic to the specific, and was about to make his fortune off on it, some speculators see he was doin' a good thing, and, by zounds! they put their heads together, and their dollars, to have a finger in the pie; and they done it. this is the way they circumscribed him. they hired an old fellow,--i believe he was a porter in a store when they found him,--named jacob townsend, and a right rough old customer he was, all rags and dirt, hadn't but one reliable eye, and a regular old rumsucker. "well, they fixed him up with a fine suit of clothes, and, by zounds! they palmed him off for the original, simon pure saxferilla man. so they advertised him as the real ginuine townsend, and started a 'saxferilla,' with his ugly old face on the bottles, and said that the other was counterfeit, you see; and there he sat, with his one eye cocked on the crowd of customers that crowded round to see the ginuine thing, you know. so they blowed the other saxferilla as counterfeit, and finding in a store a bottle or two that had _fomented_, they made a great noise about the bogus saxferilla, 'busting the bottles,' and all that, and again asserting that the jacob townsend was the true blue, simon pure; and it took, by zounds! yes, the public swallowed the lie, the saxferilla, old jacob, and all. i hearn that both the parties made a fortune on it." stopping to take a whiff at his neglected pipe, he resumed:-- "saxferilla is all a humbug!" s. p. townsend, as is well known, amassed a fortune, at one time, on the profits of the "sarsaparilla," put up, as the reader may remember, in huge, square, black bottles. the boston medical and surgical journal, vol. xl. p. , says, "townsend's sarsaparilla, albany, n. y., in nearly black bottles," is "composed of molasses, extract of roots _or_ barks (sassafras bark is better than essence, because of body and color), and _probably_ senna and sarsaparilla. a. a. hayes, state assayer." the medical properties are all a _supposition_, even though dr. hayes was _hired_ to give the analysis of it to the public, in the interest of the proprietor, and consequently he would not detract from its _supposed_ merits. pectorals, wild cherry preparations, etc., are cheaply made. oil of almonds produces the _cherry_ flavor, _hydrocyanic acid_ (prussic acid, a virulent poison) and morphine, or opium, constitute the medical properties. i have not examined the exception to the above. _pills._ the bitter and cathartic properties of nearly every pill in the market,--advertised preparation,--whether "mandrake," "liver," "vegetable," or what else, are made up from aloes, the coarsest and cheapest of all bitter cathartics. one is as good as another. you pay your money, however; you can take your choice. one holds the ascendency in proportion to the money or cheek invested by the owner in its introduction. a great philadelphia pill, now sold in all the drug stores of america, was introduced by the following "dodge": the owner began small. he took his pills to the druggists, and, as he could not sell an unknown and unadvertised patent pill, he left a few boxes on commission. he then sent round and bought them up. their ready sale induced the druggists to purchase again, for cash. the proprietor invested the surplus cash in advertising their "rapid sale," as well as their "rare virtues," and by puffing, and a little more buying up, he got them started. he necessarily must keep them advertised, or they would become a _drug_ in market. wilkie collins, esq., in "no name," has the best written description of the _modus operandi_ of keeping a "pill before the people," and i cannot refrain from quoting captain wragge to magdalen in this connection. "my dear girl, i have been occupied, since we last saw each other, in slightly modifying my old professional habits. i have shifted from moral agriculture to medical agriculture. formerly i preyed on the public sympathy; now i prey on the public's stomach. stomach and sympathy, sympathy and stomach. the founders of my fortune are three in number: their names are aloes, scammony, and gamboge. in plainer words, i am now living--on a pill! i made a little money, if you remember, by my friendly connection with you. i made a little more by the happy decease (_requiescat in pace_) of that female relative of mrs. wragge's. very good! what do you think i did? i invested the whole of my capital, at one fell swoop, in advertising a pill, and purchased my drugs and pill boxes on credit. the result is before you. here i am, a grand financial fact, with my clothes positively paid for, and a balance at my banker's; with my servant in livery, and my gig at the door; solvent, popular, and all on a pill!" magdalen smiled. "it's no laughing matter for the public, my dear; they can't get rid of me and my pill; they must take us. there is not a single form of appeal in the whole range of human advertisement which i am not making to the unfortunate public at this moment. hire the last novel--there i am inside the covers of the book; send for the last song--the instant you open the leaves i drop out of it; take a cab--i fly in at the windows in red; buy a box of tooth-powders at the chemists--i wrap it up in blue; show yourself at the theatre--i flutter down from the galleries in yellow. the mere titles of my advertisements are quite irresistible. let me quote a few from last week's issue. proverbial title: 'a pill in time saves nine.' familiar title: 'excuse me, how is your stomach?' patriotic title: 'what are the three characteristics of a true-born englishman?--his hearth, his home, and his pill;' etc. "the place in which i make my pill is an advertisement in itself. i have one of the largest shops in london. behind the counter, visible to the public through the lucid medium of plate glass, are four and twenty young men, in white aprons, making the pill. behind another, four and twenty making the boxes. at the bottom of the shop are three elderly accountants, posting the vast financial transactions accruing from the pill, in three enormous ledgers. over the door are my name, portrait, and autograph, expanded to colossal proportions, and surrounded, in flowing letters, the motto of the establishment: 'down with the doctors.' mrs. wragge contributes her quota to this prodigious enterprise. she is the celebrated woman whom i have cured of indescribable agonies, from every complaint under the sun. her _portrait_ is engraved on all the wrappers, with the following inscription: 'before she took the pill,' etc." [in this country we are familiar with the ghostly looking picture of a man, the said proprietor of a medicine, "before he took the pill" (aloes), and "after;" the "after" being represented by a ridiculous extreme of muscular and adipose tissue.] "captain wragge's" is the style in which most medicines are placed before the public. we take up our morning journal: its columns are crowded by patent medicine advertisements. we turn in disgust from their glaring statements, and attempt to read a news item. we get half through, and find we are sold into reading a puff for the same trashy article. we take a horse-car for up or down town, and opposite, in bold and variegated letters, the persistent remedy (?) stares you continually in the face. we enter the post office: the lobbies are employed for the exposition, perhaps sale, of the patent medicines. we open our box: "o, we've a large mail to-day!" we exclaim; when, lo! half of the envelopes contain patent medicine advertisements, which have been run through the post office into every man's box in the department. and so it goes all day. we breakfast on aloes, dine on quassia, sup on logwood and myrrh, and sleep on morphine and prussic acid! "the humors of the press" sometimes inadvertently tell you the truth respecting this or that remedy advertised in their columns. a religious newspaper before me says of a proprietary medicine, "advertised in another column of our paper: it is a _hell-deserving_ article." probably the copy read, "well-deserving article." said a certain paper, "a correspondent, whose duty it was to 'read up' the religious weeklies, has concluded that the reason of those journals devoting so much space to patent medicine announcements is, 'that the object of religion and quackery are similar--both prepare us for another and better world.'" the proprietor of a pill,--not captain wragge,--threatened recently to prosecute a new hampshire newspaper publisher for a puff of his "gripe pills." as every fool, as well as some wise people, read the "personals" in the papers, an occasional notice of a tooth-paste, bitter, or tonic is inserted therein, thus:-- "augustus apolphus: i will deceive you no longer. my conscience upbraids me. those pearly white teeth you so much admire are false! false! they were made by dr. grinder, dentist. i use dr. scourer's tooth-paste, which keeps them clean and white. 'o, how sharper than a serpent's thanks it is to have a toothless child.' susan jane." great and public men are sometimes induced or inveigled into recommending a patent medicine. in london, one joshua ward, a drysalter, of thames street, about the year , introduced a pill, composed of the usual ingredients,--aloes and senna,--which, owing to some benefit he was supposed to have derived from their use, lord chief baron reynolds was led to praise in the highest terms. the result of this high dignitary's patronage was to give prominence to ward and his pills, which subsequently sold for the fabulous price of s. d. a pill! general churchill added his praise, and ward was called as a physician to prescribe for the king. either in consequence, or in spite of the treatment, the royal malady disappeared, and ward was _re_warded with a solemn vote of the house of commons protecting him from the interdiction of the college of physicians. in addition to the liberal fee, he asked for and obtained the privilege of driving his carriage through st. james park! notwithstanding the pill, reynolds died of his disease not long afterwards. henry fielding subscribed to the wonderful efficacy of "tar water," a nostrum of his day, but died of the disease for which it was recommended. some time prior to there was published in the newspapers a list of the patent nostrums, or advertised remedies, in london, which numbered upwards of two hundred. now there are known, in the united states alone, to be upwards of three hundred differently named hair preparations. dr. head, of whom we have made mention, "realized large sums from worthless quack nostrums," while at the same time another popular physician, with a cambridge (england) diploma in his office, was proprietor of a "gout mixture," which sold at the shops for two shillings a bottle. some of these shameless scoundrels, owners of advertised nostrums, with little or no sense of honor, have published the recommendations of great men, without the knowledge or permission of the parties whose names were so falsely affixed to their worthless stuff. a new york quack recently used the name of henry ward beecher in this manner. mr. beecher published him as a thief and forger of his name, which only served to bring the doctor (?) into universal notice. only to-day i read his impudent advertisement in a newspaper, with mr. beecher's name affixed as reference. if you prosecute one of the villains for issuing false certificates, even for forging your own name, it does him no great injury, you get no satisfaction, and in the end it only serves to call public attention to a worthless article, thereby increasing its sale. in the london _medical journal_ of , dr. lettsom attacked and exposed a "nervous cordial," stating that it was a deleterious article; "that it had killed its thousands;" and further asserted that brodum, its proprietor, was a jewish knave, having been a bootblack in copenhagen, and a wholesale murderer. brodum at once brought an action against the proprietor of the _journal_, laying the damages at twenty-five thousand dollars. brodum held the advantage, and the _journal_ proprietor asked for terms of settlement. brodum's terms were not modest. he, through his attorney, agreed to withdraw the action provided the name of the author was revealed, and that he should whitewash the quack in the next number of the _journal_, over the same signature! dr. lettsom consented to these terms, paid the lawyers' bills and costs, amounting to three hundred and ninety pounds, and wrote the required puff of brodum and his nostrum. soothing syrups, nervous cordials, etc., owe their soothing properties to opium, or its salt--morphine. from "opium and the opium appetite," by alonzo calkins, m. d., we are informed that an article sold as "mrs. winslow's soothing syrup," for children teething, contains nearly _one grain of the alkaloid_ (morphine) _to each ounce of the syrup_! taking one teaspoonful as the dose (that is, one drachm), and there being eight drachms to the ounce, consequently about one eighth of a grain of morphine is given to an infant at a dose! do you wonder it gives him a _quietus_? do you wonder that the mortality among children is greatly on the increase? that so many of the darling, helpless little innocents die from dropsy, brain fever, epileptic fits, and the like? fruit syrups for soda water. perhaps you take yours "plain." no! then you may want to know how the pure fruit syrup, which sweetens and flavors the soda, is made. the "soda" itself is a very harmless article. butyric ether is usually taken for a basis. butyric ether is manufactured from rancid butter, old rotten cheese, or limburger cheese. the latter is the "loudest," and affords the best flavor to the ether. the cheese is treated with sulphuric acid. old leather is known to give it a particularly fine flavor. any old boots and shoes will answer. pineapple syrup is made from butyric and formic ether. the latter is manufactured from soap or glycerine. sulphuric acid and red ants will do as well. strawberry is made of twelve parts of butyric ether and one of acetic ether, alcohol, and water. color with cochineal--a bug of the tick species, from mexico. sometimes a little real strawberry is added, but it is not deemed essential. raspberry is made from the same articles. if convenient, the druggist adds a little raspberry jam or syrup. if not, color a little deeper, add some strawberry, and change the label to raspberry. vanilla syrup is made of tonqua beans, such as boys sell on the street. peach is made from bitter almonds. wild cherry the same. nectar is formed by a compound of various syrups and madeira wine. you can easily make the madeira of neutral spirits, sugar, raisins, and logwood to color it. sarsaparilla. take the cheapest and nastiest molasses obtainable. strain it to remove dead bees, sticks, cockroaches, etc. flavor with essence sassafras and wintergreen. little extract sarsaparilla will do no harm if added to the mixture. it is very harmless. lemon is made of citric acid and sugar. coffee is made mostly of chiccory, burnt livers, sometimes a little coffee bean. horses' livers are said to be the best, giving it a _racy_ flavor, and more _body_. "they are all very good," the vender tells you; he takes his plain, however. you see how much cheaper these are than the _real_ fruit syrup itself; and as neither you nor i can tell the difference by _taste_, what inducement has the dealer in soda water to use the costlier articles? i have a friend who sells the "pure syrups," and i presume the reader has also; but i respectfully decline drinking soda water with "pure fruit syrups." poisonous hair tonics and cosmetics. extract from the report of professor c. f. chandler, ph. d., chemist to the metropolitan board of health. this report, which presents the results of the examination of a few of the articles in general use, was printed in full in the chemical news (american reprint) for may, . we present the following list of dangerous preparations, which gives the number of grains of lead, etc., in one fluid ounce. i. hair tonics, washes, and restoratives. grains of lead in one fluid ounce. . clark's distilled restorative for the hair, . . chevalier's life for the hair, . . circassian hair rejuvenator, . . ayer's hair vigor, . . professor wood's hair restorative, . . dr. j. j. o'brien's hair restorer, america, . . gray's celebrated hair restorative, . . phalon's vitalia, . . ring's vegetable ambrosia, . . mrs. s. a. allen's world's hair restorer, . . l. knittel's indian hair tonique, . . hall's vegetable sicilian hair renewer, . . dr. tebbet's physiological hair regenerator, . . martha washington hair restorative, . . singer's hair restorative, . ii. lotions or washes for the complexion. _perry's moth and freckle lotion._ mercury in solution, . gr. }equiv.{ corrosive sub., . gr. zinc in solution, . " } to { sulphate of zinc, . " the sediment contains mercury, lead, and bismuth. iii. enamels for the skin. grains of lead in one fluid ounce, after shaking. eugenie's favorite, . grains. phalon's snow-white enamel, . " phalon's snow-white oriental cream, . " conclusion.--it appears from the foregoing,-- . the hair tonics, washes, and restoratives contain lead in considerable quantities; that they owe their action to this metal, and that they are consequently highly dangerous to the health of persons using them. . with a single exception, perry's moth and freckle lotion, the lotions for the skin are free from lead and other injurious metals. . that the enamels are composed of either carbonate of lime, oxide of zinc, or carbonate of lead, suspended in water. the first two classes of enamels are comparatively harmless; as harmless as any other white dirt, when plastered over the skin to close the pores and prevent its healthy action. on the other hand, the enamels composed of carbonate of lead are highly dangerous, and their use is very certain to produce disastrous results to those who patronize them. hair restoratives: a bald bachelor's experience. a gentleman of perhaps thirty-five years of age once called upon the writer for advice relative to baldness, when he related the following experience, permitting me to make a note of it at leisure. "in my friends intimated to me that my hair was getting slightly thin on the crown of my head. i have always had a mortal terror of being bald, and daily examinations convinced me that my fears were about to be realized. my first inquiry was for a remedy. "'what shall i do to prevent its falling out?' i nervously inquired. "'get a bottle of dr. ----'s hair restorative,' one advised; another, some different preparation,--all advertised remedies,--till i had a list a yard long of various washes, preventives, restorers, etc., _ad infinitum_. "i obtained one of _the very best_. i used it as directed. it _stuck_ as though its virtue consisted in sticking the loose hairs firmly to the firmer-rooted ones. but alas! after a month's trial, sufficient hair had come out of my head to make a respectable _chignon_! "i next got some of mrs. a. s. s. allon's--or all--something; i forget the rest of the name; i'm sure of the a. s. s., however,--and that was worse than the _gum-stick-'em_ kind, for the hair came out faster than before. "in despair, i applied to a 'respectable apothecary,' who keeps the next corner drug store. 'for god's sake, mr. bilious, have you got any good preventive for falling of the hair?' i exclaimed. "'o, yes, just the article,' he replied, rubbing his palms vigorously. he then showed me his stock, consisting of _thirty-nine different kinds_! "'all very good--highly recommended,' he remarked, with commendable impartiality. "i selected one--with rather an ominous name, i admit:--_kat-hair-on_!--preferring cat's hair to none. "i used the kathairon according to directions." "'did the cat's hair grow?' i anxiously inquired. "'neither cat's hair nor human hair.' no. worse and worse. i was about to abandon all effort, when, stopping on a corner to get a young boot-black to shine my boots, preparatory to making a call on a lady acquaintance, before whom i was desirous of making a genteel appearance, a dirty, ragged little urchin peered around the block, and exclaimed, 'o, mister, you're barefooted on top o' yer head!' i had inadvertently removed my hat, to wipe my forehead. [illustration: "barefooted on the top of his head."] "this was the last feather. though coming from but a dirty boot-black, it stung me to the marrow. i kicked over the boy, box, blacking, and all, and rushed into the nearest drug shop. i bought another new hair preparation. another ominous name--'_bare-it_!' "this i also used, as directed on the label, for a month. 'i think,' i said, 'if i use it a second month, it will entirely _bare it_!' "i bought a wig, and had my head shaved. i didn't lock myself up in a coal-cellar, or hide under a tub, like diogenes, but i felt that i would have gladly done either, to hide myself from the eyes of the world. the girls all cast shy glances at me as they passed; as though the majority of _them_ did not wear false hair! "in utter desperation, i visited a dermatologist. what a name to make hair grow! well, he examined my scalp with a microscope, and said the hair could be made to grow anew. 'i discover myriads of germs, which only require the right treatment in order to spring up in an exuberant crop of wavy tresses.' i bought his preparations. bill, thirty-eight dollars. they were worthless. "soon after this failure, i heard of a new remedy--'a sure cure.' the proprietor possessed a world-wide reputation, from the manufacture of various other remedies for nearly all diseases to which we poor mortals are subject, and there might be something in this. it was recommended to cure baldness, and restore gray hair to its natural color. i would go and see the proprietor of this excellent hair restorer. i hastened to lowell. i was ushered into the doctor's sanctum--into the very presence of this napoleon of medicine-makers, the alexander of conquered worlds--of medical prejudices! "with hat in hand, i bowed low to the great doctor hair--or hair doctor. he beheld my veneration for himself. with a practised eye, he noted my genteel apparel. flattered by my obeisance, and not to be outdone in politeness, he arose, removed his tile, and bowed equally low in return to my profound salutation, when lo! _o tempora! o mores!_ he was both bald and gray! i retired without specifying the object of my visit." a wolf in sheep's clothing. when a man tells you, point blank, that he is selling an article for the profit of it, believe him; but when he asserts that he is advertising and offering a remedy solely for the public good, for the benefit of suffering humanity, he is a liar. beware of such. furthermore, when he publishes an advertisement in every paper in the land, announcing that himself having been miraculously or "providentially" cured of a _variety_ of diseases by a certain compound, the _prescription_ for which he will send free to any address, you should hesitate, until satisfied of the disinterestedness of the party, and meantime ask yourself the following question: "provided this be true, why don't the unparalleled benevolent gentleman _publish the recipe_, which would cost so much less than this persistent advertising 'that he will send it to any requiring it'? and you are next led to ask,-- "where is the 'dodge'? for money is what he is after." a reverend (?), a scoundrel, a "wolf in sheep's clothing," advertises in nearly every paper you chance to notice, especially _religious_ newspapers, a remedy he discovered while a missionary to some foreign country, that cured him of a _variety_ of diseases, the recipe for which medicine he will send to any address, _free of charge_. "here is the '_old sands of life_' dodge," i said, "which i had the satisfaction of exposing fourteen years ago." the reader may recollect the advertisement of "a retired physician, seventy-five years of age, whose sands of life had nearly run out," who advertised so extensively a remedy which cured his daughter, etc., which remedy he would send _free_, to the afflicted, on application. i investigated his "little fraud." i found, instead of an old man "seventy-five years of age," a young man of about twenty-eight or thirty. he was no reverend. he had no daughter. he was a tall, gaunt, profane, tobacco-chewing, foul-mouthed fellow, with a bad impediment in his speech from loss of palate, whose name _was_ oliver phipps brown, a printer by trade, who formerly worked as journeyman in the _courant_ office, hartford, conn. the police finally got hold of him, and broke up the swindle. [illustration: old "sands of life."] here is now a parallel case. the above _reverend_ says he will send the recipe free. i directed my student to write for it. the recipe came, with various articles named therein, supposed to be the latin names of plants. i assert that there are no such medicines in the materia medica, or the world. the _reverend_ don't want that there should be. why? because you would not then send to him for his "compound." he sends with his recipe a circular, in which he gives you the history of _his marvellous discovery_. further along, by some oversight, he says it was made known to him through a physician! the names are bogus. the whole remedy is a humbug. there are names in it as _species_ which sound something like some medical term; and the druggist may be deceived thereby. the reverend quack, foreseeing "the difficulty in obtaining the articles in their purity at any druggist's," advises you to send to him for them. do you begin to see the _dodge_? he "will furnish it at _cost_." only think! how benevolent! "my means make me independent." think again. an invalid from boyhood, his time and means exhausted in travelling "in europe two years," and was only "sent a missionary (?) through the kindness of friends," he assures us in his circular. here he _discovered through an old physician_--surely a new mode of discovery--this wonderful compound, which cured him in "six weeks," and forthwith, in gratitude, he proceeded to new york, and began putting up this marvellous remedy "_at cost_." let us examine the article sold for three dollars and a half a small package. dr. hall, of the "journal of health," examined the article which "old sands of life" sold as _canabis indica_, and found the cost "_but sixteen cents, bottle and all_." nevertheless, "the retired physician" sold it to his dupes for two dollars. i do not hesitate to say that the above compound cost even _less than sixteen cents a package_. "but," said a gentleman to me, "he is connected with the bible house. here is his address: 'station d, bible house, new york.'" "there is a post-station by that name. suppose i should give an address, ' museum building.' would that imply that i was a play-actor, or owner of the museum?" i replied. "then it is only another 'reverend' dodge--is it?" he asked. "precisely; it is to give character to his characterless address." "don't the newspaper publishers know it is a swindle?" he suggested. "there's not the least doubt that they know it." "then hereafter i shall have little faith in the religion or honesty of the newspaper that publishes such swindling advertisements." "admitting that they know the dishonesty of the thing,--and how can any man endowed with common sense but see that there is _swindle_ on the face of it?--the publisher of that advertisement is a _particeps criminis_ in the transaction." "why don't some of the thousand victims who have been swindled into buying this worthless stuff expose him?" "in exposing the _reverend wolf_, don't you see they would expose their own weakness? this is the reason of the fellow's selecting the peculiar class of diseases as curable by his great discovery. the poor sufferer does not wish the community to know that he is afflicted by such a disease." "it is truly a great dodge; and no doubt the knave has found fools enough to make him '_independent_.'" * * * * * rules. . take no patent or advertised medicines at all. they are of no earthly use! you never require them, as they are not conducive to your health, happiness, or longevity. there are physicians who can cure every disease that flesh is heir to--_excepting one_. . apply in your need only to a respectable physician. . give your preference to such as administer the smallest quantities of medicine--_and are successful in their practice_. * * * * * i have barely begun to exhaust the material i have been years collecting for this chapter; but i must desist, to give room for other important expositions. [illustration] iv. manufactured doctors. "one says, 'i'm not of any school; no living master gives me rule; nor do i in the old tracks tread; i scorn to learn aught from the dead.' which means, if i am not mistook, 'i am an ass on my own hook.'" a boston barber as m. d.--a barber "gone to pot."--fools made doctors.--bakers.--barbers.--"a lucky dog."--tinkers.--royal favors.--"little carver davy."--a butcher's blockhead.--a sweeping visit.--hop-ped from obscurity.--pedagogues turn doctors.--arbuthnot.--"a quaker."--"walks off on his ear."--weavers and basket-makers.--a tough prince; required three m. d.'s to kill him.--marat a horse doctor.--a merry parson.--black mail.--police as a midwife, etc., etc. "every man is either a physician or a fool at forty," says the old proverb. "may not a man be both?" suggested canning, in the presence of a circle of friends, before whom sir henry halford happened to quote the old saying. "there is generally a fool in every family, whom the parents select at once for a priest or a physician," said peter pindar. he was good authority. i am of the opinion that there are many whose mental capacity has been overrated, who have made doctors of themselves; but we are not to treat of fools in this chapter, but of men whom _circumstances_ have created physicians, and of men who, in spite of circumstances of birth or education, have made themselves doctors. in the choice of a trade or profession, every young man should weigh carefully his natural capacity to the pursuit selected. his parents or guardians should consult the youth's adaptability rather than their own convenience. how many have dragged out a miserable existence by ill choice of a calling! men who were destined by nature to be wood-sawyers and diggers of trenches, are found daily taking upon themselves the immense responsibility of teaching those whose mental calibre is far above their own, or assuming the greater responsibility of administering to the afflicted. if a man finds himself adapted to a higher calling than that originally selected for him by his friends, by all means let him "come up higher;" but too many by far have changed from a trade to a profession to which they had no adaptability. so we find men in the medical profession who were better as they were,--bakers, barbers, butchers, tailors, tinkers, pedagogues, cobblers, horse doctors, etc., etc. there used to be a fish-peddler going about boston, blowing a fish-horn, and crying his "fresh cod an' haddock," who, getting tired of that loud crying and loud smelling occupation, took to blowing his horn for his "wonderful discovery" of a "pasture weed," which cured every humor but a thundering humor (one can see the humor of the joke), and every eruption since the eruption of hecla in ,--which is a pity that he had not made his discovery in time to have tried it on old hecla's back when it was up. barbers as doctors. a barber of boston, accidentally overhearing a gentleman mention a certain remedy for the "barber's itch," seized upon the idea of speculating upon it, and at once sold out his shop, made up the ointment, clapped m. d. to his name, put out his circulars, and is now seeking whom he may devour, as a physician. with the looseness of morals and the laxity of our laws, one of these fellows "can make a doctor as quick as a tinker can make a tin kettle." probably more barbers have become doctors than any other artisans, for the reason that barbers were formerly nearly the only acknowledged "blood-letters." in the earlier days of abernethy, barber surgeons were recognized, and the great doctor said of himself, "i have often doffed my hat to those fellows, with a razor between their teeth and a lancet in their hands." doubtless some of them arrived to usefulness in the profession. dr. ambrose paré, a french barber surgeon, was called the father of french surgery, and enjoyed the confidence of charles ix. an eminent surgeon of london was mr. pott. he was contemporary with dr. hunter, and gave lectures at st. bartholomew hospital in hunter's presence. some person asking a wag one day where dr. hunter was, he replied that, "with barber surgeons he _had gone to pot_." this alliance of surgery and shaving, to say nothing of other qualifications with which they were sometimes associated, conceivably enough furnished some pretext for apprenticeships, since dickey gossip's definition of "shaving and tooth-drawing, bleeding, cabbaging, and sawing," was by no means always sufficiently comprehensive to include the multifarious accomplishments of "the doctor." "i have seen," says dr. macillwain, of england, "within twenty-five years, chemist, druggist, surgeon, apothecary, and the significant, '&c.,' followed by hatter, hosier, and linen draper, all in one establishment." i saw in new hampshire, in , doctor, barber, and apothecary represented by one man. william butts, another barber surgeon of london, was called to attend henry viii., and was rewarded for his professional services with the honor of knighthood in . another, who was knighted by henry viii., was john ayliffe, a sheriff, formerly a merchant of blackwell hall. royalty had a chronic habit of knighting quacks. queen anne became so charmed by a tailor, who had turned doctor, and who, by some hook or crook, was called to prescribe for the queen's weak eyes, that she had him sworn in, with another knave, as her own oculist. "this lucky gentleman," says a reliable author, "was william reade, a botching tailor of grub street, london. to the very last he was a great ignoramus, as a work entitled 'a short and exact account of all diseases incident to the eyes,' attests; yet he rose to knighthood, and the most lucrative and fashionable practice of the period." reade (_sir william_) was unable to read the book he had published (written by an _amanuensis_); nevertheless, aristocracy, and wise and worthy people at that, who listened to his dignified voice, viewed his pompous person, encased in rich garments, and adorned with jewelry and lace ruffles, _cap-a-pie_, resting his chin upon his enormous gold-headed cane, as, reclining in his splendid coach, drawn by a span of superb blood horses, up to st. james, considered him the most learned and eminent physician of that generation. in the british museum is deposited a copy of a poem to the great oculist. this poem reade himself had written, at the hand of a penny-a-liner, a "poet of grub street," immediately after he was knighted, which has been mainly instrumental in handing his name down to posterity. tinker as doctor. about the year , one roger grant rose into public notice in london, by his publication of his own "marvellous cures." this fellow was no fool, though a great knave. he was formerly a travelling tinker, subsequently a cobbler, and anabaptist preacher. from tinkering of pots, he became mender of soles of men's boots and shoes; thence saver of souls from perdition, a tinkerer of sore eyes, and lightener of the body. the following bit of poetry was written in for his benefit, the "picture" being one which grant, who was a very vain man, had gotten up from a copperplate likeness of himself, to distribute among his friends. the picture was found posted up conspicuously with the lines:-- "a tinker first, his scene of life began; that failing, he set up for a cunning man; but, wanting luck, puts on a new disguise, and now pretends that he can cure your eyes. but this expect, that, like a tinker true, where he repairs one eye, he puts out two." [illustration: the eye doctor.] he worked himself into notoriety by the publication, in pamphlet form, of his cures,--a mixture of truth strongly spiced with falsehood,--and scattering it over the community. "his plan was to get hold of some poor, ignorant person, of imperfect vision, and, after treating him with medicine and half-crowns for a few weeks, induce him to sign a testimonial, which he probably had never read, that he was born blind, and by the providential intervention of dr. grant, he had been entirely restored. to this certificate the clergyman and church-wardens of the parish, in which the patient had been known to wander in mendicancy, were asked to attest; and if they proved impregnable to the cunning representations of the importunate solicitors, and declined to sign the certificate, the doctor did not scruple to save them that trouble by signing their names himself." more than once was the charge of being a tinker preferred against him. the following satire was written and published for his benefit--with dr. reade's--after queen anne had dr. grant sworn in as her "oculist in ordinary":-- "her majesty sure was in a surprise, or else was very short-sighted, when a tinker was sworn to look to her eyes, and the mountebank reade was knighted." "the little carver davy." the distinguished chemical philosopher and physician of penzance, sir humphry davy, bart., was the son of a poor wood-carver, at which trade humphry worked in his earlier days, and was named by his familiar associates, the "little carver davy." on the death of his father, the widow established herself as a milliner at penzance, where she apprenticed her son to an apothecary. his mother was a woman of talent and great moral sense. when, as sir humphry, he had reached the summit of his fame, he looked back upon the facts of his humble origin, his father's plebeian occupation and associates, and his mother's mean pursuit, followed for his benefit, with mortification instead of regarding them as sources of pride. a butcher boy escapes the cleaver and becomes a great physician and poet. in a rickety old three story house, the lower part of which was occupied as a butcher's shop and trader's room, and the upper stories as a dwelling-house, at newcastle-upon-tyne, in , was born mark akenside. his father was a butcher, and one day, as the boy mark was assisting at the menial occupation of cutting up a calf, a cleaver fell from the shop block upon another "calf,"--that of young akenside's leg,--which lamed him for life. [illustration: the young surgeon's first experience.] akenside was a nonconformist, and by the aid of the dissenters' society young mark was sent to edinburgh to study theology. from theology he went to physic, his honest parent refunding the money to the society paid for his studies under their patronage, and he subsequently obtained his degree at cambridge, and became a fellow of the r. s. like davy, akenside became ashamed of his plebeian origin. his lameness, like lord byron's, was a continual source of mortification to him. he became a physician to st. thomas; and, as he went with the students the rounds of the hospital, the fastidiousness of the little bunch of dignity at having come so closely in contact with the vulgar rabble, induced him, at times, to make the strongest patients precede him with _brooms_, to clear a way for him through the crowd of diseased wretches, who, nevertheless, had wonderful faith in his wisdom, and would cry out, "_bravo for the butcher boy with a game leg!_" as they fell back before the fearful charge of corn brooms. by the assistance of friends, and his ever extensive practice, akenside was enabled, to the day of his death, in , to keep his carriage, wear his gold-hilted sword, and his huge well-powdered wig. how one hop-ped from obscurity. "dr. messenger monsey, in the heyday of his prosperity, used to assert to his friends that the first of his known ancestors was a baker and a retailer of hops. at a critical point of this worthy man's career, when hops were 'down,' and feathers 'up,' in order to raise the needful for present emergencies he ripped up his beds, sold the feathers, and refilled the ticks with hops. when a change occurred in the market soon afterwards the process was reversed; even the children's beds were reopened, and the hops sold for a large profit over the cost of replacing the feathers!" "that's the way, sirs, that my family hop-ped from obscurity," the doctor would conclude, with great gusto. the duke of leeds used, in the same manner, to delight in boasting of his lucky progenitor, jack osborn, the shop lad, who rescued his master's beautiful daughter from a watery grave at the bottom of the thames, and won her hand away from a score of noble suitors, who wanted, literally, the young lady's _pin_-money as much as herself. her father was a pin manufacturer, and had in his shop on london bridge amassed a considerable wealth in the business. the jolly old man, instead of disdaining to bestow the lovely and wealthy maid--his only child--on an apprentice, exclaimed,-- "jack osborn won her, and jack shall wear her." when lord bath vainly endeavored to effect a reconciliation between the doctor and garrick, who had fallen out, monsey said,-- "why will your lordship trouble yourself with the squabbles of a merry-andrew and a _quack_ doctor?" monsey continued his quarrel with garrick up to the day of the death of the great tragedian. the latter seldom retaliated, but when he did his sarcasm cut to the bone. garrick's style of satire may be inferred from his epigram on james quin, the celebrated actor, and illegitimate son of an irishman, "whose wife turned out a bigamist." when garrick make his debut on the london stage, at godman's fields playhouse, october , , as "richard the third," quin objected to garrick's original style, saying,-- "if this young fellow is right, myself and all the other actors are wrong." being told that the theatre was crowded to the dome nightly to hear the new actor, quin replied that "garrick was a new religion; whitefield was followed for a time, but they would all come to church again." hence garrick wrote the following epigram:-- "pope quin, who damns all churches but his own, complains that heresy infects the town; that whitefield-garrick has misled the age, and taints the sound religion of the stage. 'schism,' he cries, 'has turned the nation's brain, but eyes will open, and to church again!' thou great infallible, forbear to roar; thy bulls and errors are revered no more. when doctrines meet with general approbation, it is not _heresy_, but reformation." when confined to his bed in his last sickness, garrick had the advice of several of the best physicians, summoned to his villa near hampton, and monsey, in bad taste and worse temper, wrote a satire on the occurrence. he accused the actor of parsimony, among other mean qualities, and though, after the death of garrick, january , , he destroyed the verses, some portions of them got into print, of which the following is a sample:-- "seven wise doctors lately met to save a wretched sinner. 'come, tom,' said jack, 'pray let's be quick, or we shall lose _our_ dinner.' "some roared for rhubarb, jalap some, and others cried for dover;[ ] 'let's give him something,' each one said, 'and then let's give him over.'" at last, after much learned wrangling, one more learned than the others proposed to arouse the energies of the dying man by jingling a purse of gold in his ear. this suggestion was acted upon, and "soon as the favorite sound he heard, one faint effort he tried; he oped his eyes, he scratched his head, he gave one grasp--and died." riding on horseback through hyde park, monsey was accompanied by a mr. robinson, a trinitarian preacher, who knew that the doctor's religion was of the unitarian stamp. after deploring, in solemn tones, the corrupt state of morals, etc., the minister turned to monsey, and said,-- "and, doctor, i am addressing one who believes there is no god." "and i," replied monsey, "one who believes there are _three_." [illustration: healing the sick with a golden dose.] the good man, greatly shocked, put spurs to his horse, and, without vouchsafing a "good day," rode away at a high gallop. pedagogues turned out as doctors. some of the hundreds of respectable medical practitioners of this democratic country, who, between commencement and the following term, used to lengthen out their scanty means by "teaching the young idea how to shoot" in some far-off country village, will scarcely thank me for introducing the above-named subject to their present notice. however, it will depend somewhat upon the way they take it; whether, like sir davy, they are ashamed of their "small beginnings," or, like dr. monsey, they may independently snap their fingers in the face of their plebeian origin, and boast of their earlier common efforts for a better foothold among the great men of their generation. among english physicians, with whom it was, and still is, counted a disgrace to have been previously known in a more humble calling, we may find a long list of "doctors pedagogic," beginning with dr. john bond, who taught school until the age of forty, when he turned doctor. he was a man of great learning, however, and became a successful physician. even among the good people of taunton, where he had resided and labored as a pedagogue in former years, he was esteemed as a "wise physician." john arbuthnot was a "scotch pedagogue." he was distinguished as a man of letters and of wit; the associate of pope and swift, and of bolingbroke; a companion at the court of queen anne. arbuthnot owed his social elevation to his quick wit, rare conversational powers, and fascinating address, rather than to his family influence, professional knowledge, or medical success. "dorchester, where, as a young practitioner, he endeavored to establish himself, utterly refused to give him a living; but it doubtless," says jeaffreson, "maintained more than one dull empiric in opulence. failing to get a living among the rustic boors, who could appreciate no effort of the human voice but a fox-hunter's whoop, arbuthnot packed up and went to london." poverty for a while haunted his door in london, and to keep the wolf away he was compelled to resort to "the most hateful of all occupations--the personal instruction of the ignorant." arbuthnot was a brilliant writer as well as fluent talker, and by his literary hit, "examination of dr. woodward's account of the deluge," he was soon brought into notice. by the merest accident and the greatest fortune he was called to prince george of denmark, when his royal highness was suddenly taken sick, and, as all who fell within the circle of his magical private acquaintance were led to respect and love him, the doctor was retained in the good graces of the prince. on the death of dr. hannes, arbuthnot received the appointment of physician-in-ordinary to the queen. the polished manner of the fortunate doctor, his handsome person, and flattering, cordial seeming address, especially to ladies, made him a court favorite. to retain the good graces of his royal patient, the queen, "he adopted a tone of affection for her as an individual, as well as a loyal devotion to her as a queen." his conversation, while it had the semblance of the utmost frankness, was foaming over with flattery. "if the queen won't swallow my pills she will my flattery," he is said to have whispered to his friend swift; but this report is doubtful, as he stood in fear of the displeasure of the querulous, crotchety, weak-minded queen, who had but recently discharged dr. radcliffe for a slip of the tongue, when at the coffee-house he had said she had the "_vapors_." "what is the hour?" asked the queen of arbuthnot. "whatever hour it may please your majesty," was his characteristic reply, with his most winning smile and graceful obeisance. by this sort of flattery he retained his hold in the queen's favor till her death. by these facts one is reminded of the saying of oxenstierna, when, on concluding the peace of westphalia in , he sent his young son john as plenipotentiary to the powers on that occasion, remarking, in presence of those who expressed their surprise thereat,-- "you do not know with how little wisdom men are governed." with the loss of the queen's patronage at her death, and his wine-loving proclivities, dr. arbuthnot became sick and poor, and died in straitened circumstances. another poor pedagogue, who reached the acme of medical fame, and became court physician, was sir richard blackmer. he surely ought not to have been called an ignoramus (by dr. johnson), for he resided thirteen years in the university of oxford. after leaving oxford, his extreme poverty compelled him to adopt the profession of a schoolmaster. in the year there were collected upwards of forty sets of ribald verses, under the title of "commendary verses, or the author of two arthurs, and satyr against wit;" in which sir richard was taunted with his earlier poverty, and of having been a pedagogue! every man has his advertisement and his advertisers. the poets and lampooners were blackmer's. they assisted in bringing him into notoriety. among them were pope, steele, and the obscene dr. garth. while the authors of those filthy, licentious productions (which no bar-maid or kitchen-scullion at this day could read without blushing behind her pots and kettles) were flattering themselves that they were injuring the honest doctor, they were bringing him daily into the notice of better men than themselves, and heaping ignominy upon the authors of such vile lampoons. one satire opened thus:-- "by nature meant, by want a pedant made, blackmer at first professed the whipping trade. * * * * * in vain his pills as well as birch he tried; his boys grew blockheads, and his patients died." mr. jeaffreson says, "the same dull sarcasms about killing patients and whipping boys into blockheads are repeated over and again; and as if to show, with the greatest possible force, the pitch to which the evil of the times had risen, the coarsest and most disgusting of all these lampoon writers was a lady of rank,--the countess of sandwich!" wouldn't a young harvard or yale medical graduate, without money, friends, or a practice, leap for joy with the knowledge that he had two-score _disinterested_ writers advertising him into universal notice, since it is considered a burning disgrace for an honorable, upright, and educated physician to advertise himself! of course sir richard rose, in spite of his foes, to whom he seldom replied. he says, in one of his own works, "i am but a hard-working doctor, spending my days in coffee-houses (where physicians were wont to receive apothecaries, and, hearing the cases of their patients, prescribe for them without seeing them, at half price), receiving apothecaries, or driving over the stones in my carriage, visiting my patients." the honest, upright man who rises from nothing, and continues to ascend right in the teeth of immense opposition from his enemies, seldom relapses into obscurity in after life. though dr. blackmer failed as a poet, he died esteemed as an honest man, a consistent christian, and an excellent physician. a weaver and a quaker boy. many cases might be instanced of weavers becoming physicians, but let one suffice. john sutcliffe, a yorkshire weaver, with no early educational advantages, and with the broadest provincial dialect, became a respectable apothecary, and subsequently a first-class medical practitioner. he rose entirely by his own integrity, frugality, industry, and intelligence. amongst his apprentices was dr. john coakley lettsom, whose name must ever rank high as a literary man, and a benevolent and successful physician. lettsom was born in the west indies, and was a quaker. the place under the yorkshire apothecary was secured for the boy by mr. fothergill, a quaker minister of warrington, england. a senior drug clerk informed the rustic inhabitants of the arrival of a quaker from a far off county, where the people were _antipodes_,--whose feet were in a position exactly opposite to those of the english. having well circulated this startling information, the merry clerk and fellow-apprentices laid back to enjoy the joke all by themselves. the very day the new apprentice entered upon his duties, the apothecary shop became haunted by an immense and curious crowd of gaping rustics, old and young, male and female, to see the wonderful quaker who was accustomed to walking on his head! day after day the curious peasants came and went, and if the astonished sutcliffe closed his doors against the unprofitable rabble, they peered in at his windows, or hung about the entrances, hoping to see the remarkable phenomenon issue forth. but as the day of "walking off on his ear" had not then arrived, they were doomed to disappointment and lost faith in his ability to do what they had expected of him. john radcliffe. john radcliffe, the humbug, "the physician without learning," was the son of a yorkshire yeoman. when he had risen to intimacy with the leading nobility of london,--as he did by his "shrewdness, arrogant simplicity, and immeasurable insolence,"--he laid claim to aristocratic origin. the earl of derwenter recognized _sir_ john as a kinsman; but the heralds interfered with the little "corner" of the doctor and earl, after radcliffe's decease, by admonishing the university of oxford not to erect any escutcheon over his plebeian monument. of radcliffe's success in getting patronage we have spoken in another chapter. doubtless he, dr. hannes, and dr. mead all resorted to the same sharp tricks, of which they accused each other by turns, in order to gain notoriety and practice. dr. edward hannes was reputed a "_basket-maker_." at least, his father followed that humble calling. of the son's earlier life little is known. about the year -, he burst upon the london aristocracy with a magnificent equipage, consisting of coach and four, and handsome liveried servants and coachmen. these were _his_ advertisements, and he soon rode into a splendid practice, notwithstanding radcliffe's contrary prognostication. dr. hannes and dr. blackmer, being called to attend upon the young duke of gloucester, and the disease taking a fatal turn, sir john radcliffe was also called to examine into the case. radcliffe could not forego the opportunity here offered to lash his rivals, and turning to them in the presence of the royal household, he said,-- "it would have been happy for the nation had you, sir (to hannes), been bred a basket-maker, and you, sir (to blackmer), remained a country schoolmaster, rather than have ventured out of your reach in the practice of an art to which you are an utter stranger, and for your blunders in which you ought to be whipped with one of your own rods." as the case was simply one of rash, none of them had much to boast of. a horse doctor. there have been, and still are, thousands in the various walks of life, who, at some period, have attempted the practice of medicine. among the hundreds whom our colleges "grind out" annually, not more than one in twenty succeeds in medical practice so far as to gain any eminence, or the competence of a common laborer. marat was a horse doctor. the most remarkable thing respecting this noted man occurred at his birth. _he was born triplets!_ yes, though "born of parents entirely unknown to history," three different places have claimed themselves, or been claimed, as his birthplace. before his energies became perverted to political aims, he had endeavored to rise, by his own talent and energies, through the sciences. the year found him in the position of veterinary surgeon to the count d'artois, thoroughly disgusted with his failure to rise in society with the "quacks," as he termed them, "of the corps scientifique." miss mühlbach, in her "_maria antoinette and her son_," presents marat in conversation with the cobbler, simon, as follows:-- "the cobbler quickly turned round to confront the questioner. he saw, standing by his side, a little, remarkably crooked and dwarfed young man, whose unnaturally large head was set upon narrow, depressed shoulders, and whose whole (ludicrous) appearance made such an impression upon the cobbler that he laughed outright. "'not beautiful, am i?' asked the stranger, who tried to join in the laugh with the cobbler, but the result was a mere grimace; which made his unnaturally large mouth extend from ear to ear, displaying two fearful rows of long, greenish teeth. 'not beautiful at all, am i? dreadful ugly!' "'you are somewhat remarkable, at least,' replied the cobbler. 'if i did not hear you speak french, and see you standing upright, i should think you the monstrous toad in the fable.' "'i am the monstrous toad of the fable. i have merely disguised myself to-day as a man, in order to look at this austrian woman and her brood.' "'where do you live, and what is your name, sir?' asked the cobbler, with glowing curiosity. "'i live in the stables of the count d'artois, and my name is jean paul marat.' "'in the stable!' cried the cobbler. 'my faith, i had not supposed you a hostler or a coachman. it must be a funny sight, m. marat, to see _you_ mounted upon a horse.' "'you think that such a big toad does not belong there exactly. well, you are right, brother simon. my real business is not at all with the horses, but with the men of the stable. i am the horse doctor of the count d'artois, and i can assure you that i am a tolerably skilful doctor.'" we do not quote the above author as reliable authority in personal descriptions, beyond the "shrugging of shoulders," which habit she attributes to all of her characters (_vide_ "napoleon and queen louisa," where she uses the phrase some twenty-three times). at the time of his assuming the dictatorship, he resided in most squalid apartments, situated in one of the lowest back streets of paris, in criminal intimacy with the wife of his printer.... he sold their bed to get money to bring out the first number of his journal, and lived in extreme poverty at a time when he could have become immensely rich by selling his silence. the death of this wretch was hastened only a few days by his assassination, for he was already consumed by a disgusting disease, and it is melancholy to add that he was adored after his death, and his remains deposited in the pantheon with national honors, and an altar erected to his memory in the club of the cordeliers. "i killed one man to save a hundred thousand!" exclaimed the magnificent charlotte corday to her judges; "a villain to save innocents, a furious wild beast, to give repose to my country!" thus the "horse doctor" ignominiously perished at the hands of a woman,--a woman who immortalized herself by killing a "villain." peter pindar, the preacher. we find many cases where ministers have turned doctors, and _vice versa_. "peter pindar" is here worthy of a passing notice. his true name was wolcot. descended from a family of doctors for several generations, he nevertheless himself failed to gain a living practice. when king george iii. sent sir william trelawney out as governor of jamaica, about , he took young dr. wolcot with him, who acted in the treble capacity of physician, private secretary, and chaplain to the governor's household. dr. wolcot's professional knowledge had been acquired somewhat "irregularly," and it is very doubtful whether he ever received ordination at the hands of the bishops. it is true, however, that he acted as rector for the colony, reading prayers and preaching whenever a congregation of ten presented itself, which occurred only semi-occasionally. the doctor was fond of shooting, and 'tis gravely reported that he and his clerk used to amuse themselves on the way to church by shooting pigeons and other wild game, with which the wood abounded. having shot their way to the sacred edifice, the merry parson and jolly clerk would wait ten minutes for the congregation to convene, and if, at the expiration of that time, the quota had not arrived, the few were dismissed with a blessing, and the pair shot their way back home. if but a few negroes presented themselves, the rector ordered his clerk to give them a bit of silver, with which to buy them off. [illustration: the parson buying off the "congregation."] one old negro, more cunning than the rest, and who discovered that the parson's interest was rather in the discharge of his fowling-piece than the discharge of his priestly duties, used to present himself punctually every sunday at church. "what brings you here, blackie?" asked the parson. "to hear de prayer for sinners, and de sarmon, masser." "wouldn't a _bit_ or two serve you as well?" asked the rector, with a wink. "well, masser, dis chile lub de good sarmon ob yer rev'rence, but dis time de money might do," was the reply, with a significant scratch of his woolly head. the parson would then pay the price, the negro would grin his thanks, and, chuckling to himself, retire; and for a year or more this sort of _black_-mailing was continued. tiring of _acting_ as priest, wolcot returned to london, and vainly endeavored to establish himself in practice. neither preaching nor practising physic was his forte, and he resorted to the pen. here he discovered his genius. adopting the _nom de plume_ of "peter pindar," he became famous as a political satirist, and the author of numerous popular works. he died in london in . wolcot possessed a kindly heart, and a benevolence deeper than his pockets. policemen as doctors and surgeons. some very laughable scenes, as well as very touching and painful ones, might be recorded, had we space, where policemen have necessarily been unceremoniously summoned to act as physician or surgeon in absence of a "regular." in portland, the police have to turn their hand to most everything. circumstances beyond his control compelled one mr. j. s. to act the part of midwife to a strapping irish woman at the station-house, one evening, he being the sole "committee of reception" to a bouncing baby that came along somewhat precipitately. the account, which is well authenticated, closes by saying,-- "mother, baby, and officer are doing as well as can be expected!" we have seen the "officer." he did better than was "expected." the writer was on a fulton ferry boat in the winter of , when a similar scene occurred. a german woman was taken in pain. a whisper was passed to a female passenger; a policeman was summoned from outside the ladies' (?) cabin; the male occupants were ejected,--even myself and another medical student, and the husband of the patient. the latter remonstrated, and demonstrated his objection to the momentary separation by beating and shouting at the saloon door. "katharina! katharina!" he shouted, "keep up a steef upper lips!" this roaring attracted nearly all the men from the opposite side of the boat, who crowded around him and the door, to learn the cause of the teutonic demonstrations of alternate fear, anger, and encouragement. "got in himmel! vere you leefs ven you's t' home? vich a man can't come mit his vife, altogedder? hopen de door, unt i preaks him mit mine feest; don't it?" so he kept on, alternately cursing the policeman and encouraging "katharina," till we reached the brooklyn side, and left the ferry boat. [illustration] v. woman as physician. "angel of patience! sent to calm our feverish brow with cooling palm; to lay the storm of hope and fears, and reconcile life's smile and tears; the throb of wounded pride to still, and make our own our father's will."--whittier. her "mission."--no place in medical history.--one of them.--mrs. stephens.--"crazy sally."--right to bear arms.--runs in the family.--anecdotes.--"which got thrashed?"--a wretched end.--american female physicians.--a pioneer.--a laughable anecdote.--"three wise men."--"a short horse," etc.--boston and new york female doctors.--a story.--"love and thoroughwort."--a gay beau.--up the penobscot.--dying for love.--"is he mad?"--thoroughwort wins. "from the earliest ages the care of the sick has devolved on woman. a group by one of our sculptors, representing eve with the body of abel stretched upon her lap, bending over him in bewildered grief, and striving to restore the vital spirit which she can hardly believe to have departed, is a type of the province of the sex ever since pain and death entered the world. "to be first the vehicle for human life, and then its devoted guardian; to remove or alleviate the physical evils which afflict the race, or to watch their wasting, and tenderly care for all that remains when they have wrought their result--this is her divinely appointed and universally conceded mission. "were she to refuse it, to forsake her station beside the suffering, the office of medicine and the efforts of the physician would be more than half baffled. and yet, where her post is avowedly so important, she has generally been denied the liberty of understanding much that is involved in its intelligent occupancy. with the human body so largely in her charge from birth to death, she is not allowed to inquire into its marvellous mechanism. with the administering of remedies intrusted to her vigilance and faithfulness, she has not been allowed to investigate the qualities, or even know the names or the operations of those substances committed to her use. to be a student with scientific thoroughness, and to practise independently with what she has thus acquired, has been regarded as unseemly, or as beyond her capacity, or as an invasion of prerogatives claimed exclusively for men. "indeed, the whole domain of medicine has been '_pre-empted_' by men, and in their '_squatter sovereignty_' they have sturdily warned off the gentler sex."--rev. h. b. elliot, in "_eminent women of the age_." it seems to my mind, and ought to every thinking mind, to be ridiculously absurd that "man born of woman" should set up his authority against woman understanding "herself." "man, know thyself," is stereotyped, but if it ever was put in type form for "woman to know herself," it has long since been "_pied_." "search the scriptures," and you would never mistrust that "eternal life," or any other life, came, or existed a day, through woman. mythological writers, who come next to scriptural, give woman no credit in medical science. we will except hygeia, the goddess of health, the fabled daughter of Æsculapius. in the _medical_ history of no country does she occupy any prominence. there were "witches," "enchantresses," "wise women," "fortune-tellers," who in every age have existed to no small extent, and under various names have figured in the histories of all nations, receiving the countenance of prince and beggar--but females as physicians, _as a class_, have never been recognized by nations or governments, or scarcely by communities or individuals. in searching the memorials of english authors for two hundred years past, we can find but little to disprove the above assertions. in mr. jeaffreson's "book of doctors," the author fails to find memorials of their actions, as female physicians, sufficient to fill a single chapter; and those of whom he has made mention, he discourses of mostly in a ridiculous light, as though entirely out of their sphere, or as being of the coarser sort, and questions "if two score could be rescued from oblivion whom our ancestors intrusted with the care of their invalid wives and children." in this connection, let us briefly mention such as are better known in english literature, as doctresses especially as mentioned by mr. jeaffreson. two ladies, who are immortalized in "philosophical transactions for ," were sarah hastings and mrs. french. another, who received the support of bishops, dukes, lords, countesses, etc., in - , was mrs. joanna stephens, "an ignorant and vulgar creature." after enriching herself by her specifics, consisting of a "pill, a powder and a decoction," she bamboozled the english parliament into purchasing the secret, for the (then) enormous sum of £ . "the powder consists of _eggshells_ and _snails_, both calcined." "the decoction is made by boiling together alicant _soap_, swine's-cresses burnt to a blackness, honey, camomile, fennel, parsley, and burdock leaves." "the pill consists of snails, wild carrot and burdock seeds, ashen keys, hips, and haws, all burnt to a blackness; soap and honey." when we take into consideration the fact that there were no "medical schools for females," at that day, nor until within the last ten or twelve years, that every female applicant was rejected by the medical colleges of england, and that all female practitioners were held in disrepute by both physician and the public, the above repulsive remedies may not so greatly excite our surprise. "crazy sally." the most remarkable woman doctor made mention of in english literature, was mrs. mapp, _née_ sally wallin. we have collected these facts respecting her origin, character, and career, from _chambers' miscellany_ and the _gentlemen's magazine_, - . hogarth has immortalized her in his "undertaker's arms." she is placed at the top of that picture, between josh ward, the _pill_ doctor, and chevalier taylor, the quack oculist. (see page .) she was born in weltshire, in -. her father was a "bone-setter," which occupation "run in the family," like that of the sweets, of connecticut, or like the marine whom mrs. mapp saw one day, as she, in her carriage, was driving "along the strand, o." said sailor having a wooden leg, the doctress asked, "how does it happen, fellow, that you've a wooden leg." "o, easy enough, madam; my father had one before me. it sort o' runs in the family, marm," was the laconic reply. from a barefooted school-girl at weltshire, where sally obtained barely the rudiments of a common education, she became her father's assistant in bone-setting and manipulating. the next we hear of miss wallin, is at epsom, where she became known as "crazy sally." she has been described as a "very coarse, large, vulgar, illiterate, drunken, bawling woman," "known as a haunter of fairs, about which she loved to reel, screaming and abusive, in a state of roaring intoxication." it is astonishing as true, that this unattractive specimen of the female sex became so esteemed in epsom, where she set up as a physician, that the town offered her £ to remain there a year! the newspapers sounded her praise, the gentry, even, lauded her skill, and physicians witnessed her operations. "crazy sally" awoke one morning and found herself famous. patients of rank and wealth flocked from every quarter. attracted by her success and her accumulating wealth, rather than by her _beauty_ or _amiable_ disposition, an epsom swain made her an offer of marriage, which she, like a woman, accepted. this fellow's name was mapp, who lived with her but for a fortnight, during which time he "thrashed her" (or she him, it is not just clear which) "three times," and appropriating all of her spare change, amounting to five hundred dollars, he took to himself one half of the world, and quietly left her the other. our informant adds, "she found consolation for her wounded affections in the homage of the world. she became a notoriety of the first water; every day the public journals gave some interesting account of her, and her remarkable operations." the _grub street journal_ of that period said, "the remarkable cures of the woman bone-setter, mrs. mapp, are too numerous to enumerate. her bandages are extraordinarily neat, and her dexterity in reducing dislocations and fractures most wonderful. she has cured persons who have been twenty years disabled." her patients were both male and female. some of her most difficult operations were performed before physicians of eminence. her carriage was splendid, on the panels of which were emblazoned her coat of arms. regularly every week she visited london in this magnificent chariot drawn by four superb, cream-white horses, attended by servants, arrayed in gorgeous liveries. she put up at the grecian coffee-house, and forthwith her rooms would be thronged by invalids. notices of her were not always of the most complimentary sort. being one day detained by a cart of coal that was unloading in a narrow street of the metropolis, on which occasion she was arrayed in a loosely fitting robe-de-chambre, with large flowing sleeves, which set off her massive proportion most conspicuously, she let down the windows of her carriage, and leaning her bare arms upon the door, she impatiently exclaimed,-- "fellow, how dare you detain a lady of rank thus?" "a lady of rank!" sneered the coal-man. "yes, you villain!" screamed the enraged doctress. "don't you observe the arms of mrs. mapp on the carriage?" [illustration: "don't you observe the arms of mrs. mapp?"] "yes--i _do_ see the arms," replied the impudent fellow, "and a pair of durned coarse ones they are, to be sure." on another occasion she was riding up old kent road, dressed as above described. "her obesity, immodest attire, intoxication, and dazzling equipage were, in the eyes of the mob, so sure signs of royalty, that she was taken for a court lady, of german origin, and of unpopular repute. the crowd gathered about her carriage, and with oaths and yells were about to demolish the windows with clubs and stones, when the nowise alarmed occupant, like nellie gwynn, on a similar occasion, rose in her seat, and, with imprecations more emphatic than polite, exclaimed,-- "---- you! don't you know who i am? i am mrs. sally mapp, the celebrated bone-setter of epsom!" "this brief address so tickled the humor of the rabble that the lady was permitted to proceed on her way, amid deafening acclamations and laughter." this famous woman's career may be likened to a rocket. she flashed before the people as suddenly, ascended as brilliantly to the zenith of fame, and fell like the burned, blackened stick. mrs. mapp spent her last days in poverty, wretchedness, and obscurity, at "seven dials," where she died almost unattended, on the night of december , . her demise was thus briefly announced in the journals:-- "died at her lodgings, near seven dials, last week, mrs. mapp, the once much-talked-of bone-setter of epsom, so wretchedly poor that the parish was obliged to bury her." mr. jeaffreson makes mention of two more "female doctors;" one an honest widow, mother of "chevalier taylor," who, at norwich, carried on a respectable business as an apothecary and doctress, and mrs. colonel blood, who, at romford, supported herself and son by keeping an apothecary shop. american female physicians. perhaps english authors and english readers may be satisfied to allow the above meagre and unenviable array of pretenders to stand on record as the representatives of "female doctors" in their liberal and enlightened country! americans can boast of a better representative. while england claims a "female medical society," and one "female medical college," the united states has several of the former, and three regularly chartered "female medical colleges." in a recent announcement of the english college, it claims fifty students, "but the aim of the whole movement is at present only to furnish competent midwives." the "maternity hospital," of paris (which existed long before the late franco-prussian war, but which we can learn nothing of since the fall of that once beautiful city), "afforded some opportunity for observation, receiving females nominally as students, but they were not allowed to prescribe in the wards, nor were they instructed in regard to the use and properties of the remedies there prescribed. indeed, they can hardly rise above the position of proficient nurses," says our informant. some few medical colleges of the united states are admitting females on the same footing as the heretofore more favored "lords of creation." a female college has been in existence in philadelphia for above twenty years. the "new england female medical college" was chartered in ; but the "regular" colleges, as yale, harvard, etc., refuse all female applicants. new york has been more liberal towards the gentler sex. at geneva, rochester, syracuse, and elsewhere, as early as - , medical schools of the more liberal sort, but of undoubted respectability and legal charters, opened their doors to female students. in the new york female medical college was chartered, since which time more than two hundred ladies have therein received medical instruction. in all the principal cities of the union may be found from one to a dozen respectably educated and successful female practitioners, who have attained to some eminence in spite of the opposition of the "faculty," and the ignorant prejudices of the common people. it is surprising how early and persistently some men forget that they were "born of woman!" their contempt of the capabilities of womankind would lead one to suppose them to be ashamed of their own mothers. mark twain's facetious but instructive speech, once delivered before an editorial gathering in boston, ought to be rehearsed to them daily; yes, and enforced by petticoat government upon their notice till it became stereotyped into their stupid brains. mark says, "what, sir, would the peoples of the earth be without woman? they would be scarce, sir,--almighty scarce! (laughter.) then let us cherish her; let us protect her; let us give her our support, our encouragement, our sympathy,--our--selves, if we get a chance. "but, jesting aside, mr. president, woman is gracious, lovable, kind of heart, beautiful, worthy of all respect, of all esteem, of all deference. not any here will refuse to drink her health right cordially, for each and every one of us has personally known, and loved, and honored the very best of them all,--_his own mother_!" sarah b. chase, m. d., a respectable and successful female physician of ohio, gives the following excellent advice:-- "i would not encourage any woman to study medicine, with the expectation of practising, who is not ready and willing--ay, _anxious_ and _determined_--to go through the same severe drill of preparation, the same thorough discipline, as is required of man before he is crowned with the honors of an m. d." a female pioneer. among the first successful female physicians of boston, where she was born in , is harriot k. hunt, m. d. her father was a shipping merchant, who, by honesty and uprightness died comparatively poor, for riches are not always to the upright. her mother is described by rev. h. b. elliot, "as one possessing a mind of remarkable qualities, argumentative, practical, independent, and, withal, abounding in tenderness and genial brightness." in we find miss hunt not only thrown upon her resources for her own livelihood (her father having left but barely the house that gave them shelter to be called their own), but the support and care of an only and invalid sister, somewhat her junior, were also entirely dependent upon her labors. as a school teacher she met the former, as a student and nurse she finally surmounted the latter. "what! more pedagogues turned doctors?" after nearly three years' employment of various physicians on the part of the elder sister, and the extreme suffering from the "distressing and complicated disease," and, what was worse, the "severest forms of prescriptions of the old school of physic" for the same time by the younger sister, the misses hunt were led to investigate for themselves. they purchased medical works, which they read early and late. in harriot leased her house, and entered the office of a doctress, mrs. mott by name, in the double capacity of secretary and student. the younger sister became a patient of mrs. mott's. the husband of mrs. mott was an english physician, who, with his wife to attend the female portion of his patients, had established himself in boston. mrs. mott was without a thorough medical education. "she made extravagant claims to medical skill in the treatment of cases regarded as hopeless." in dr. mott died, and mrs. mott returned to england. under the treatment of the latter the invalid sister had so much improved in health as to be able to "walk the streets for the first time in three years;" yet where is the "old school doctor," or the veriest charlatan, that would give her the credit she so seemingly deserved in this case. both were her opponents. even the students of the neighboring medical school were "pitted against her." the old adage respecting his satanic majesty having the credit due him, did not seem to apply to her case. but mrs. mott was more than a match for their cunning, if not for their scientific theorizings, as the following anecdote will show. "three wise men of gotham," that amiable lady, mrs. goose, tells us, "went to sea in a bowl; and had the bowl been stronger, my song would have been longer." this has its parallel in the three wise students of h----, who laid their wise heads together, and went to _see_--mrs. mott, the doctress, of hanover street. one was to pretend that he had some peculiar disease, for which he, with his anxious friends, wished to consult the "wise woman." they entered the doctor's office, and demanded to see the doctress. this was an open insult to the woman, as she only gave her attention to females and children. nevertheless, mrs. mott, whose olfactory nerves were not so obtuse as to prevent her from distinguishing the aroma of that peculiar little animal quadruped of the genus _mus_, obeyed the summons, and entered the presence of the three wise Æsculapians. now the fun began. not the fun that _was to be_ at the expense of the "ignorant old female quack," however. one of the gentlemen arose, and after a profound bow, began, with some embarrassment, to state his case. "but wait just a moment," the doctress interrupted. "you intimate that it is a _peculiar_ case. my fee for consultation in such cases is _three dollars_. please hand over the money, and proceed." this was an unexpected demand. they had thought to have a little fun, expose the woman's ignorance, and have a "huge thing" to tell to their class-fellows, _and not pay for it_! mrs. mott was a woman, but she possessed powerful magnetic influence, and held fast to the point, viz., her fee for consultation; and to the chagrin of the patient (?), and the astonishment of his chums, the three dollars were paid over to the doctress. "now, sir, you will please state your case," said the lady, pocketing the fee, adjusting her eye-glasses, and seating herself for a consultation. "yes. well--it is a--a peculiar case," stammered the patient. "you have informed me of that point before. please proceed," remarked the doctress with great complacency to the embarrassed fellow. "it's a delicate case," he blushingly replied. "o, indeed; then step into this private consulting room;" and arising, she led the way to an inner office, where the young man involuntarily followed, greatly to the amusement of the two remaining students, who remarked, "it is getting blamed hot for us here." [illustration: three wise students consulting a doctress.] in a moment, the invalid--greatly improved, one might judge, from his agility,--rushed from the private sanctum with a bound, grasped his hat from the table, exclaiming, "come on, for god's sake!" and rushed from the house, followed by his now thoroughly affrighted companions. "what's the matter? what did the old tarantula say to you?" demanded the young man's chums, when well outside of the web into which they had so impudently intruded themselves. "don't you ever ask me," he vociferated. "a ---- pretty mess you got me into. but if either of you ever again mistake that old woman for a fool, i hope to god she'll take you into her private consulting room." but to return to miss hunt and her sister. in or ' the sisters opened an office in boston. as with all young physicians without "dead men's shoes," professional support, or wealthy and influential friends to back them, patients gathered slowly at first, but with a steady increase, the care of whom soon devolved entirely upon harriot, as her sister married, and retired from practice. in she had an extensive practice among a wealthy and influential class of people, which many an older physician of the sterner sex might envy. with a large practical knowledge, acquired in twelve years' experience, she applied to harvard college for permission to attend a course of medical lectures. she was refused admission. in she again applied. the officers consented this time, but the students offered such objections to the admission of females into their presence, that miss hunt generously declined to avail herself of the long-coveted opportunity. "the female medical college," at philadelphia, in , granted miss hunt an honorary degree.... she is now in the midst of an extensive practice. miss hunt has lived a glorious, self-denying life, upholding her sister co-laborers, and the "dignity of the profession," never demeaning herself by stooping to sell her knowledge, by any of those disreputable practices that mark the avaricious m. d., the charlatan, the parasites, and the leeches of the profession, both male and female. among eighty-five "female physicians" (?) of boston, eighteen claim to be graduates of some college. we know of several who deserve a favorable mention here, but present limits will not admit. new york female doctors. in new york city there are upwards of two hundred so-called "female physicians," about eighty per cent. of whom, according to the best authority,--police reports, etc.,--subsist by _vampirism_! here, in this chapter, i shall mention a few of the really meritorious ones, reserving the large majority to be "shown up" under the various chapters as "fortune-tellers," "clairvoyants," and "astrologers." the subject of the following imperfect, because brief, sketch,--mrs. c. s. lozier, m. d.,--late of new york city, was born in plainfield, new jersey, in . her maiden name was clemence s. harned. her father was a farmer by occupation, and a member of the methodist church. her amiable and excellent mother was a quakeress. "why should mrs. lozier, a gentle, modest, unambitious, home-loving woman, have chosen the calling of a physician?" asks her biographer. my answer would be, "she was a creature of circumstances." another, in view of the facts to be related, would say, "_it was her destiny_." the valuable information which mrs. lozier gained, as a quakeress, amongst that herbalistic people with which she was early associated, with study and practical observation enabled her to "act efficiently as a nurse and attendant upon the sick and afflicted of the neighborhood." the elder brother of miss clemence, william harned, was a physician, as also were two of her cousins. in she was married to mr. lozier, and removed to new york. her husband's health failing, and having no other support, mrs. lozier opened a select school, which she kept successfully till after the death of mr. lozier, in . "during this period she read medicine with her brother. when her pupils were sick, she would generally be called in before a physician. she also was connected with the 'moral reform society,' with mrs. margaret pryor, and visited the sick and abandoned, often prescribing for them in sickness." mrs. lozier graduated at the eclectic college, of syracuse, in , having attended her first course of lectures at the central college, rochester. from that time until her death, in , she continued to minister to the sick and afflicted in the city of new york. at the commencement of this article we stated that mrs. lozier was a modest woman. this she continued to be to the end. those leading physicians who often met her in consultation, with the thousands of patients who from time to time have been under her treatment, the students before whom she lectured during several years, the numerous friends who thronged her parlors, and the christian professors with whom she mingled,--all, _all_ testify to this fact. "she denied both the expediency and practicability of mingling the sexes" in deriving a medical education. "woman physician for women," was her motto. it was not always possible for her to refuse to prescribe for male patients, as many can testify. the efforts of some, far down in the scale of life, to connect the name of mrs. lozier with those disreputable practices by which the majority of female physicians--the parasites of the profession--subsist, yea, even gain a competence, in this city, and, consequently, _respectability_,--"for gold buys friends,"--have utterly failed, and her _name_ to-day, as it ever will, stands out boldly as belonging to one who was a self-denying, god-fearing, honorable, and successful female practitioner. mrs. lozier is said to have been a skilful surgeon, "having performed upwards of one hundred and twenty capital operations." in - mrs. l. visited europe, where she was received with great marks of esteem by eminent men, and admitted to the hospitals. her son, dr. a. w. lozier, is in practice in new york city. doctors elizabeth and emily blackwell. the first female who received a medical diploma from any college in the united states was miss elizabeth blackwell. this lady, who now stands only second in years of experience to miss hunt, of boston, and second to no female in medical knowledge and usefulness, came to this country from england in , when she was ten years of age. [a lady, of whom i made some inquiries respecting the above, assured me "it was only those females who were eligible as nurses, or prospective widowhood, which would make them eligible, were desirous of concealing their true age."] being persuaded that her "mission" was to heal the sick, miss elizabeth applied, by writing, to six different physicians for advice as to the best means to obtain an education, and received from all the reply that it was "impracticable," utterly impossible, for a female to obtain a medical education; "the proposition eccentric," "utopian," etc. it required just this sort of opposition to draw out the true character, and arouse the hidden abilities of such women as the misses blackwell. elizabeth, while supporting herself by giving music lessons in charleston, s. c., received regular medical instruction from s. h. dixon, m. d., a gentleman and scholar, well known to the entire profession of two continents; also from drs. john dixon, allen, and warrington, the two latter in philadelphia. being considered by these gentlemen competent, miss blackwell applied to the medical schools of philadelphia and new york for admission as a medical student, by all of which she was rejected "because she was a female." finally she gained admission to the college at geneva, n. y., and graduated in . are the _males_ the only "oppressors" of the gentler sex? no, no; woman is woman's own worst enemy. miss blackwell was two years in geneva, and so violent was the opposition of _her own sex_, that no lady in geneva would make her acquaintance while there. "common civilities at the table, even, were denied me." entirely different was the treatment which she received at the hands of the students and professors of the college. "here she found nothing but friendliness and decorum, and, on the eve of her graduation, the cordiality of the students in making way for her to receive her diploma, and pleasantly indicating their congratulations, was marked and respectful." the following morning her parlor was thronged with ladies. miss elizabeth blackwell visited london and paris, and was entered as student at st. bartholomew's, and also at "_la maternité_" (the maternity). she returned to new york, and, notwithstanding "she found a blank wall of social and professional antagonism facing the woman physician, which formed a situation of singular loneliness, leaving her without support, respect, or counsel," she gained a foothold, and a respectable and living practice soon began to flow in and crown her persistent efforts. now her sister emily commenced the study of medicine, first with elizabeth, subsequently with dr. davis, of cincinnati medical college. in she and her sister were permitted to attend upon some of the wards (female, we presume) of bellevue hospital. in emily graduated at cleveland college (eclectic, i think). through their united efforts the "new york infirmary for women and children" was established. "up to the present time over fifty thousand patients have received prescriptions and personal care by this means." contrary to mrs. lozier, "they are firm in their conviction of the expediency of mingling the sexes in _all_ scholastic training. in their mode of practice they adopt the main features of the 'regular' system." nearly all other physicians are rather of the _eclectic_ system. like miss hunt, "she was bound by no regular school, as none had indorsed her." there are many contemporaries of miss hunt and the sisters blackwell whom we might mention, but the history of one is the history of the whole, so far as early struggles, opposition of the profession, and neglect and disrespect of their own sex, is concerned. frances s. cooke, m. d., of the "female medical college," east concord street, boston, mrs. jackson, lucy sewall, m. d., recently returned from europe, and a half-score others of boston, much deserve more than a passing notice, but our limited space will not permit. also, hannah e. longshore, m. e. zakezewska, of new york, miss jane e. myers, m. d., mrs. mary f. thomas, m. d. (camden, ind.), miss ann preston, m. d., of philadelphia, mrs. annie bowen, of chicago, and others, "too numerous to mention," who, in spite of the opposition from their own sex, from the profession, and the public in general, have gained a name and a competency through their professional efforts. "a woman's intellectual incapacity and her physical weakness will ever disqualify her for the duties of the medical profession," wrote dr. ----, of pennsylvania. edward h. dixon, m. d., of new york, in an article published in the "_scalpel_" shows, by uncontroverted arguments and facts, that the male child, at birth, "in original organic strength," holds only an equal chance with the female; that "the chances of health for the two sexes at the outset are equal, and so continue till the period when they first attain the full use of their legs." ask the mother of a family if the labor pains show any respect of sex. does not the female show as strong lungs as the male in its _earliest_ disapprobation of this unceremonious world? how about the comparative strength exhibited in the demonstrations of each when the lacteal fluid is not forthcoming in proportion to the appetite? let us consult dr. dixon further,--and charge it to the females! "we give the girl two years' start of the boy,--we shall see why as we proceed. both have endured the torture of bandaging, pinning (pricking), and tight dressing; both have been rocked, jounced on the knee, papped, laudanumed, paregoricked, castor oiled, suffocated with blankets over the head, sweltered with cap and feather bed, roasted at a fire of anthracite, dosed according to the formula of some superannuated doctor or 'experienced nurse,' or both, for these people usually hunt in couples, and are very gracious to each other. we give the girl the start to make up for the benefit the boy has derived from chasing the cat, rolling on the floor, or sliding down the balustrade, and the torture _she_ had endured from her sampler, and being compelled to 'sit up straight, and not be _hoidenish_.'" [illustration: "poh! you're a girl."] "well, they are off to school. observe how circumspectly our little miss must walk, chiding her brother for being 'too rude.' he, nothing daunted, (with a '_poh! you're a girl_'), starts full tilt after an unlucky pig or a stray dog. if he tumbles into the mud and soils his clothes the result is soon visible in increase of lungs and ruddy cheeks." "in school the boy has the advantage. the girl 'mustn't loll,' must sit up erect, the limbs hanging down, her feet probably not reaching the floor, and the spinal column must bear the main support for three to six hours! the boy gets relief in 'shying' an occasional paper ball across the room, hitching about, and drawing his legs up on the seat, or sticking a pin in his neighbor, and a good run and jump at recess, changing the monotony of the recreation by an occasional fight after school. at dinner the girl has had no exercise to create an appetite, and her meal is made up of pastry and dessert. 'remember that her muscles move the limbs, and are composed chiefly of azote, and it is the red meat, or muscle of beef or mutton, that she would eat if she had any appetite for it, that is to say, if her stomach and blood-vessels would endure it. the fact is, _the child has fever and loathes meat_.'" while the boy, hat in hand, rushes to the common or rear yard to roll hoop, fly his kite, or, in winter, to skate or coast down hill, the girl is reminded that she has "one whole hour to practise at the piano," either in a darkened room, from whence all god's sunshine is excluded, cold and cheerless, or the other extreme--seated near a heated register, from which the dry, poisonous fumes belch forth, destroying the pure oxygen she requires to inflate her narrowing lungs, and increase the fibrine, the muscle, and strength necessary to the exhausting exercise. she closes the day by eating a bit of cake and a plate of preserves. the hungry, "neglected" boy has returned, and, with swift coursing blood, strength of muscle and brain, catches a glance at his neglected lesson, comprehending it all the quicker by the change he has enjoyed, bawls boisterously for some cold meat, or something hearty, and tumbles into his bed, forgetting to close the door or window; whereas the girl must be attended to her room, "she is so delicate," and, being tucked well in on a sweltering feather bed, and bound down by heavy blankets, the doors and windows are carefully secured, and, committed to the "care of providence," she is left to swelter till to-morrow. the period for a great change arrives, often catching the poor, uninformed girl completely by surprise. furthermore, the constant deprivation of her natural requirements--pure air, wholesome, nutritious food, unrestrained limbs and lungs--now become more apparent. in spite of the constant drilling which she has received, she feels exceedingly _gauche_. her face is alternately pale and flushed; she suffers from headache,--"a rush of blood to the head." stays and tight-lacing have weakened the action of the heart, cut off the circulation to the extremities, and deprived those parts of blood which now require the nutriment necessary to their strength and support in the time of their greatest need. the ignorant mother sends for a physician, perhaps almost as ignorant as herself; or, what is still worse, being a miserable time-server, seeing the admirable opportunity for making a bill, straightway commences a course of deception and quackery that, if it do not result in the death of the unfortunate patient, leaves her a miserable creature for life, with spinal curvature or consumption; or worse, by confinement and medication destroy her chance of restoration; and should some unlucky and ignorant young man take her as wife, and she become a mother, she surely will drag out a wretched existence as a victim to uterine displacement and its concomitant results. physically, morally, and intellectually woman is not born inferior to man. we have briefly shown where and how she has fallen behind in the race of life in a physical view of the matter. the intellectual sense has kept pace only with the physical. morally woman stands alone; by her own strength or weakness she stands or falls. man scarcely upholds or encourages her. her own sex, we have herein-before stated, is woman's own worst enemy! "be thou as chaste as ice, or pure as snow, thou shalt not escape calumny," and if she fall, who shall restore her? the whole world is against her; one half makes her what she is, the other's scorn and neglect keeps her thus! the "ballot" will not keep woman from falling, nor raise her when fallen. the "church" does not exempt woman from the wiles of men, nor its adherents raise the fallen to their pristine strength, beauty, and respectability! though christ, the lowly, the magnanimous, said, "_neither do i condemn thee_," his followers (?) cannot lay their hands upon their hearts and repeat his gracious words. where is the fallen woman whom the church (not roman catholic) ever took in with that good faith and spirit of sisterly love or brotherly affection, with which a fallen man can, and is, often received into the church and into society? echo answers, "where?" o, deny this who will! it is no "attack upon the church;" merely a lamentably truthful statement. the church, like society, withdraws her skirts from contact with the fallen sister. "she is a wreck, drifted upon our shore, for which god holds some one accountable. not a wreck that can be restored--not a wreck that money or repentance can atone for." (what! not money? then surely she is lost, and forever!) "the damage is beyond earthly knowledge to estimate, beyond human power of indemnification. if ever the erring soul shall retrace her steps, it will be _christ_ himself who shall lead her; if ever peace shall brood again over her spirit, it will be the comforter who shall send the white-winged dove. "but the merest lad detects the lost woman. she carries the evidences of her guilt (or misfortune?) in the very clothes she wears, whether she is the richly dressed courtesan of the bowery, or the beggarly street-walker of the village. there is a delicacy in, and a fine bloom on the nature of woman, which impurity smites with its first breath, and she cannot conceal the loss nor cover the shame!" "if there be but one spot upon thy name, one eye thou fearest to meet, one human voice whose tones thou shrinkest from, woman! veil thy face, and bow thy head and die!" then is there no help for woman's condition in this cold, uncharitable world? you ask, in view of these facts related above. yes; _but it rests with woman_. it must begin with the first breath the female infant draws. educate her from the cradle. give her the freedom of the boy, the pure air that the boy breathes; not the romping, rude, boisterous plays, perhaps (?), of the boy, but plenty of outdoor exercise, runs, slides, skates, rides; let her laugh, yea _shout_, if it be in a country place, till the woods ring again with the merry echoes, and the puzzled forest nymphs issue from their invaded retreats, endeavoring to solve the riddle by ocular demonstration which their ears have failed to unravel, viz., the sex, as revealed in the strength of voice and buoyancy of spirits, or expressed in unrestrained laughter! "o, shocking! how hoidenish!" who says to laugh is "_hoidenish_?" a female invariably! and this is just what we are explaining: women must change tactics as teachers. there is time enough to instruct the _young_ lady, after the girl or the miss has developed muscle, vitalized her blood, and capacitated her brain for the sterner realities of life. let women learn to be true teachers of women. begin at the beginning. this is the only way. stand by one another in the reform. never mind the ballot; don't try to wear the _breeches_. no--the male attire i mean. the superfluous boarding-school education must give place to something more substantial. mrs. dashaway is to the point:-- "no, pauline; home eddycation is perferable. if there is a requestred spot on this toad-stool i detest more'n another it is a female cemetery, where bread-and-butter girls are sent and quartered for a finished eddycation; and it does finish most of em." "o, no, no, aunty. you mean _sequestered_ spot, and sent _quarterly_ to a _seminary_." "well, well; you've got too many oceans in your head already of greek and zebra, of itchiology, and other humerous works; as for me, give me pure blood, sound teeth, and a good constitution, and let them what's got them sort of diseases see the good samaritan, and ten to eleven if he don't cure them in less than no time. land! if pauline ain't drummin' the piany!" shall women remain passively resigned to the lamentable physical condition of her sex? or will she see where lies the main difficulty, viz., in a _wrong start_,--in the superfluous, debilitating, _namby-pamby_ education of the female infant, miss, young lady? thoreau wrote that he believed resignation a _virtue_, but he "rather not practise it unless it became absolutely necessary." "resignation" is unnecessary in this case. only let every woman arouse her energies, and stand firmly in claiming her "rights" to rightly educate her children, girls as well as boys, showing no respect of sex in their _early_ training, thereby "commencing at the beginning." what is a house without a good foundation? you may build, and rebuild, and finally it will all topple over, overwhelming you in its ruins. there is no "right" that woman may claim for herself and sex in general but men must and will concede. man is not your master. "habit," "fashion," "opinion," these are your only masters. these shackle woman. do women dress for men? to please the opposite sex? or for each other's eye? "you know just how it is yourself." poh! what do men, generally speaking, know of woman's dress? absolutely nothing! i boldly assert that not one man in twenty, going out to a call, party, or even a concert or opera, knows the cut and color of the dress of his wife accompanying him. woman dresses for women's inspection. whatever she does for fear or favor of man else, woman dresses for her own sex. "what will mrs. codfish say when she sees this turned dress?" "old codfish," her husband, is worth at least fifty thousand dollars, and here is mrs. copyman, whose husband is as poor as "job's turkey," standing in dread of that woman's criticism! not one male in a thousand can detect a well turned dress, but i defy the most cunning dressmaker to alter, retrim, frill, and "furbelow" a dress that the female eye won't detect at a glance! "i rather pay the butcher's bill than the doctor's," says the father. "o, horrors! just see that girl swallow the meat! why, it will make your skin as rough as a grater and as greasy as an indian's!" exclaims the mother. miss primrose keeps our village school; she who wears the trailing skirts, and was seen to cut a cherry in two parts before eating it, at the party last week. she almost went into convulsions--not of laughter, as i did--to see kitty clover astride a plank, with her brother on the opposite end, playing at "see-saw." "here we go up--up--uppy; and here we go down--down--downy," they were singing in unison, when "ding, ding, ding!" went the school-bell, followed by a scream from miss primrose. with glowing cheeks--that's from the exercise--and downcast eye, from fear of miss primrose's anger, kitty came demurely into the school-room before recess was half over. after a long lecture about her "masculine behavior," "horrid red countenance," and "rumpled dress," and "dishevelled hair," poor kitty is sent to her form to "sit up straight, and not forget that she is a young lady hereafter." [illustration: "here we go up--up--uppy; and here we go down--down--downy."] and what of her brother who was on the other end of the plank? o, he is a boy! "that's what's the difference!" love and thoroughwort. "he'll never die for love, i know, he'll never die for love, nor wear upon his brow the marks of care." this is a true story, written for this work, but published, by permission of the author, in the "american union." "so you believe me totally incapable of truly loving _any_ girl, do you?" "i most assuredly do," was my positive answer. my friend, george brown, turned and walked away a few paces, looking thoughtfully to the ground. he was a splendid looking man, about twenty years of age; my late school-fellow, my present friend and confidant. he was, what i did not flatter myself as being, a great favorite with the ladies. handsome, tall, manly, of easy address, a fine singer and dancer, the only impediment to his physical perfection was, when the least excited, a hesitancy of speech--almost a stammer. finally he turned and walked back to me, saying,-- "now, ad, if you will agree to a proposition i have to offer, i will disprove your assertion, so oft repeated, that i never loved--not even that dear girl, jenny kingsbury." "first let me hear your proposition." "you have long desired to visit bangor?" "yes," i replied. "let us harness 'simon' early some fine morning for that delightful city; go by the way of b. and o., stop and see jenny, who i have learned by roundabout inquiry resides with her aunt in the latter place. and," he added, triumphantly, "see for yourself if she isn't a girl to be loved." "o, no doubt jenny kingsbury 'is a girl to be loved;' so was addie, and so was 'ria, and a dozen others, whom you have sworn you loved so devotedly. o george, out upon your affections." "will--will--you go? that's the question." "yes--i will go--because i wish to visit bangor very much," was my reply; and the time was at once set for the journey, which was to occupy two days. mrs. brown, the mother of my friend george, was a devout christian. she believed in her bible. moreover, she was an excellent _nurse_, and next to her bible, believed in _thoroughwort_. thoroughwort tea, or thoroughwort syrup, was her panacea for all the ills, physical or moral, that ever was, or could be, detailed upon poor humanity. "before you start, boys--" "boys! where are your _men_?" interrupted george. "hear me!" continued mrs. brown. "before you start for bangor to-morrow morning, do you take a good drink of that thoroughwort syrup in the large jar on the first shelf in the pantry. it'll keep out the cold; for there'll be frost to-night, i think, and at five o'clock in the morning the air will be sharp. o, there is nothing equal to _thoroughwort_ for keeping out the cold." "anything to eat in that pantry?" asked george, with a wink tipped to me. you see i was to sleep with him that night, preparatory to an early start for bangor. "yes, some cold meat, bread, and a pie. but don't forget to first take a dose of the thoroughwort syrup. addison, you bear it in mind, for george is awful forgetful, especially about taking his thoroughwort." and mrs. brown detained us fully fifteen minutes, as she rehearsed the remarkable qualities of her favorite remedy,--"particularly for keeping out cold." "mother thinks that condemnable stuff is meat, drink, and clothing," remarked george, as we sought the pantry at an early hour on the following morning, not for the thoroughwort, but for sandwiches, pies, and the like. "let me take a taste of the 'stuff,'" i said, as i noticed the jar so conveniently at hand. "o, no; not on an empty stomach. it will make you throw up jonah if you do," exclaimed george, with an expression of disgust distorting his features. "eat something first, and then, if you want to taste the condemned 'stuff,' do so, and the lord be with you," he added, pitching into the eatables. having made away with the pie, and much of the sandwiches, we turned our attention for a moment to the thoroughwort syrup. i took a taste, and george spilled a quantity on the shelf, "that mother may know we have been to the jar," he remarked, as we left the pantry. it was not yet five o'clock when we drove noiselessly away from the door. if i remember rightly, we were not _noiseless_ after that. the morning was delightful, slightly cool,--but that was no impediment to our warm blood, owing to the thoroughwort,--and we sped on in an exuberant flow of spirits. "simon" was in excellent travelling order, and went without whip or spur. we should have reached the village of b., where we were to breakfast, and bait simon, by eight o'clock, but george would insist on making the acquaintance, _nolens volens_, of half the farmers on the road, ostensibly to inquire the way to b. "hallo!" he shouted, reining up simon before a small farm-house. up flew a window, and out popped a nightcapped head. "what d'ye want?" called a feminine voice. it was now hardly daylight, and the person could not distinguish us. "excuse me, madam, for disturbing your slumbers; but can you inform a stranger if this is the right road to b.?" asked george, in his most pleasing manner. "o, yes; keep right on; take the first left hand road to the top o' the hill; then go on till yer--" we drove away, not waiting for the rest. "do you suppose that old woman is talking there now, with her nightcapped head poked out of the window?" asked george, as we reached the hotel at b. "for shame!" said i. "waking up all the people on the road, to inquire the way, with which you were perfectly familiar!" from b. our route lay along the western bank of the beautiful penobscot. i need not detain you while i rehearse the delightful scenery _en route_ to bangor; the variegated and gorgeous splendors of the autumnal leaves; the bending boughs, from the abundant ripened fruit, in colors of red, orange, and yellow on one hand, and on the other the bright, glassy waters of the broad river, dotted here and there by the white sails of boats and vessels lying becalmed in the morning sunshine. we reached the village of o., and george made inquiry for the residence of mr. kingsbury. "the large white house just across the bridge." "thank you." and we drove up to the front yard. "ne-ne-now, ad, you go up and knock, and call for miss kingsbury; ye-ye-you know i st-stutter when i get ex-ex-cited," said george, hitching simon to the horse-post. "what shall i say to her? and how shall i know miss kingsbury from any other lady?" "o, ask for her. i'll compose myself, and follow ri-right up. you'll know her from the description i have given you. black eyes and hair, full form--o, there is nobody else like her. come, go up and call for her." "well, i'll go; and if i get stuck, come quickly to my rescue," i said, turning to the house. "is _miss_ kingsbury at home?" i asked of the young lady who answered my knock. "this person is surely not miss jenny," i said to myself; "cross-eyed, blue at that, and light, almost red hair." she smiled, took a second look at me, and said,-- "who?" "miss jenny kingsbury," i repeated. "well--yes--i guess she is. will you walk in?" "no, thank you. will you please call her out?" and so saying, i beckoned to george. the girl closed the door, and i called to george "to make haste and change places with me." he came up just as the door reopened, and a beautiful dark-eyed woman appeared, whom he greeted as miss kingsbury. "i'll see to the horse," i said; and having taken a hurried glance at the young lady, i withdrew. for a full half hour i walked up and down beneath the maples in front of the house, watched the steamer penobscot, as she came up the river, and from thence turned my attention to a schooner that was endeavoring to enter the cove, not far from the house. a light breeze had sprung up from the westward, and the channel being narrow, there seemed much difficulty in gaining the harbor. finally george came to the door and beckoned me. i went in, and received an introduction to mrs. kingsbury and to jenny. "o, but she is beautiful," i whispered to george. he was flushed and excited, consequently stammered some, and i was compelled to keep up a conversation, but i did not feel easy. something was wrong. i detected more than one sly wink between aunt and niece, and when the cross-eyed miss came into the room, i could not tell whom she was glancing at, as her eyes "looked forty ways for sunday," but she leered perceptibly towards first one, then the other of the ladies. i hinted to george that we must not delay longer. still he tarried. mrs. kingsbury seemed interested in the movements of the schooner in the mouth of the cove. miss jenny was interested in george. i was interested in getting away from them all. finally the schooner was moored to the wharf, and, standing at the window, i noticed a sailor, with a bundle on a stick over his shoulder, approaching the house. a whisper passed between aunt and niece, and the latter asked george to accompany her into an adjoining room. it was now past noon. a pleasant, savory smell came up from the kitchen, but no one asked me to put up the horse, and stay to dinner. the man with the bundle came familiarly into the yard. soon george returned alone to the room, and seizing his hat, he stammered, "c-c-come, ad," and rushed from the house. mrs. kingsbury attended me to the door, and wished me a pleasant ride to bangor. george jumped into the buggy, seized the reins, and giving a cut upon the horse, bawled, "go on, simon." "hold on. first let me unhitch him," i cried, seizing the spirited beast by the bridle. i unfastened the halter, and jumped into the carriage; and away flew simon, snorting and irritated under the unnecessary cuts he had received from the whip. at the first corner george took the back road towards b. "not that way! hold on, and turn about," i exclaimed, catching at the reins. "now stop and tell me all about it. did you propose to jenny? has she accepted, and are you beside yourself with ecstatic joy? come, tell me." "ho! simon." and laying down the reins, george drew out his wallet, and taking therefrom a bit of silk goods, he turned upon my astonished gaze a woe-begone look, and said,-- "ad, she's mum-mum-married--" "married!" "yes, married; and there's a piece of her wedding gown. the fellow you saw come in while there, with the bundle on a stick,--the land-lubberish-looking fellow,--was her husband. o my god! did you ever?" and so relieving his mind, he caught the reins and whip, and away darted simon at a fearful rate of speed. at bangor i said to george,-- "well, there probably is no love lost on either side. she sold out at the first bid, and you never had the least hold on her affections." "ah, i have had her confidence in too many moonlight walks to believe that," was his reply. "and it was all moonshine,--that's evident," i said. "no, no; i wish it was. i never shall love again," said george, with a deep sigh, and a sorry-looking cast of countenance. "no, i suppose not," was my non-consoling reply. "still, do you believe i never loved that darling girl?" he asked, almost in a rage. "if that man--that _fellow_--should die with the autumn leaves, i would at once marry jenny, who loves me still," he exclaimed, pacing the room like an enraged lion. "he won't die, however. he looks healthy and robust, and will outlive you and your affection for his wife," i replied, with a derisive laugh. it rained the next afternoon, as we returned home by a shorter route than _via_ o. and b. george talked a great deal of jenny on the way back, and said he never should get over this fearful disappointment. "only think of the lovely jenny kingsbury marrying that fellow with the bundle and the stick! o, i shall be sick over it; i know i shall." "especially if you take a bad cold riding in this storm," i added, by way of consolation. "however, you can take some of your mother's good thoroughwort--" "confound the thoroughwort," he interrupted. * * * * * "did you know that george is sick?" asked his little brother of me the following day. "no. is he much sick?" i inquired, in alarm. "o, yes; he's awful sick--or was last night; and mother fooled him on a dose of fresh thererwort tea, which only made him sicker," replied the little chap, turning up his nose in disgust. "is he better now?" i inquired. "o, yes; ever so much _now_. i don't know what ma called the disease he's got; but howsomever she said thererwort was good for it, and i guess it is, 'cause he's better." i was called away, and did not see my friend george till a week after our return from the little trip to b. he never mentioned jenny afterwards, nor said a word about the thoroughwort tea. he took to horses after that, and eventually married a poor, unpretending girl, quite unlike the dark-eyed, beautiful, and wealthy miss jenny kingsbury. mrs. brown still recommends her favorite panacea for all ails, physical or moral; but whenever she mentions it in george's presence, he exclaims, with a look of disgust,-- "o, confound the thoroughwort!" [illustration] vi. quacks. "verily, i swear, 'tis better to be lowly born, and range with humble livers in content, than to be perked up in a glistening grief and wear a golden sorrow."--king henry viii. anecdote in illustration.--derivation.--father of quacks.--a medical "bonfire."--the "samson" of the profession.--sir astley.--u. s. surveyor-general hammond.--homeopathic quacks, etc.--a muddled definition.--"stop thief!"--crippled for life!--two pounds calomel.--victims.--washington, jackson, harrison.--the country quack.--a true and ludicrous anecdote.--dyeing to die!--a scared doctor.--dropsy!--a hasty wedding!--a country consultation.--"scenes from western practice."--"twist root."--a jolly trio.--new "bust" of cupid.--an unwilling listener. on looking over my "collection" on quacks and charlatans, i am so strongly reminded of a little anecdote which you may have already seen in print, but which so well illustrates painfully the facts to be adduced in this chapter, that i _must_ appropriate the story, which story a western engineer tells of himself. "one day our train stopped at a new watering-place, being a small station in indiana, where i observed two green-looking countrymen in 'homespun' curiously inspecting the locomotive, occasionally giving vent to expressions of astonishment. "finally one of them approached and said,-- "'stranger, are this 'ere a injine?' "'certainly. did you ever see one before?' "'no, never seen one o' the critters afore. me an' bill here comed down t' the station purpose to see one. them's the biler--ain't it?' "'yes, that is the boiler,' i answered. "'what you call that place you're in?' "'this we call a cab.' "'an' this big wheel, what's this fur?' "'that's the driving wheel.' "'that big, black thing on top i s'pose is the chimley.' "'precisely.' "'be you the engineer what runs the machine?' "'i am,' i replied, with the least bit of self-complacency. "he eyed me closely for a moment; then, turning to his companion, he remarked,-- "'bill, it don't take much of a man to be a engineer--do it?'" the reader will perceive the distinction which we make between humbugs, quacks, and charlatans, though one individual may comprehend the whole. "quacks comprehend not only those who enact the absurd impositions of ignorant pretenders, but also of _unbecoming acts of professional men themselves_."--_thomas' medical dictionary._ this is the view we propose to take of it in this chapter, in connection with the derivation of the word. the word _quack_ is derived from the german "_quack salber_," or mercury, which metal was introduced into the _materia medica_ by _philippus aureolus theophrastus paracelsus bombast ab hohenhein_! "so extensively was quicksilver used by paracelsus and his followers that they received the stigma of 'quacks.'"--see _parr's medical dictionary_. there is some controversy respecting the date of birth of paracelsus, but probably it was in the year . he was born in switzerland. [illustration: the inquisitive countrymen.] professor waterhouse ( ) says, "he was learned in greek, latin, and several other languages. that he introduced quicksilver," etc., "and was a vain, arrogant profligate, and died a confirmed sot." "paracelsus was a man of most dissolute habits and unprincipled character, and his works are filled with the highest flights of unintelligible bombastic jargon, unworthy of perusal, but such as might be expected from one who united in his person the qualities of a fanatic and a drunkard."--_r. d. t._ mercury was known to the early greek and roman physicians, who regarded it as a dangerous poison. they, however, used it externally in curing the _itch_, and john de vigo employed it to cure the plague. paracelsus used it internally first for _lues venerea_, which appeared in naples the year of his birth, though doubtless that disease reached far back, even into the camp of israel. the heroic doses of paracelsus either destroyed the disease at once, _or the patient_. paracelsus proclaimed to the world that there was no further need of the _materia medica_, especially the writings of galen, and burned them in public; his "elixir vitæ" would cure all diseases. but in spite of his wonderful knowledge and his life-saving elixir, he died of the diseases he professed to cure, at the early age of forty-eight, while galen lived to the age of seventy. so much for the "father of quacks." for nearly four centuries mercury has been exhibited in the _materia medica_ to a greater extent than any other remedy. doubtless it possesses great medicinal virtues, but its abuse--the "heroic doses" used by the ignorant and brainless quacks, both graduates of some medical college, and _soi-disant_ physicians--has made its name a terror to the people and a reproach to the profession. to assail it is to tread on dangerous ground; to invade the "rights" of a numerous host of worshippers; to uncover an ulcer, whose rottenness, though smelling to heaven, is protracted for the pecuniary advantage of the prescriber. eminent physicians in every age since its introduction, and in every enlightened country, have protested against its abuse; yea, even its use! they have called its users "_quacks_," the most contemptible epithet ever introduced into medical nomenclature,--the "_samson_" of the profession, because through the instrumentality of an ass and his adherents, "it has slain its thousands." i need not quote those distinguished practitioners who have recorded their testimony against its general and indiscriminate use. their name is legion, and every well-informed physician is aware of the fact. do not "well-informed physicians" prescribe calomel? certainly; but cautiously, and often under protest. it is recorded of sir astley cooper that he made serious objections to its free use in the wards of the borough hospitals, and forthwith the "smaller fry" made such a breeze about his ears that he seemed called upon to defend, and even palliate, his offence. dr. macilwain says that sir astley is reported to have said in reply to those who demurred,-- "why, gentlemen, was it likely that i should say anything unkind towards those gentlemen? is not mr. green (surgeon of st. thomas) my godson, mr. tusell my nephew, mr. travers my apprentice (surgeon of st. thomas), mr. key and mr. cooper (surgeons of guy's hospital) my nephews?" this was very _naïve_, and as good illustration of the value of evidence in relation to one thing (his provision for his relatives) which is stated in relation to another. herein sir astley exposed a weakness with which the democratic opponents of president grant have accused him, viz., of furnishing comfortable positions for his relatives. sir john forbes, when at the head of the medical profession of england in , wrote an earnest appeal to his brethren to rescue their art from the ruin into which it was falling, saying in relation to modes of curing diseases, "things have become so bad that they must mend or end." this was "dangerous ground," and some physicians of the day feared dr. forbes had done an immense mischief. after his death, be it remembered, some of the "medical magnates" of this country virtuously refused to subscribe to his monument fund, saying, "it was a misfortune to mankind (?) that he had ever lived." dr. w. a. hammond, surgeon general of the united states, also blundered when, by an order dated at _washington, may , _, he struck calomel from the supply table of the army. this proscription was on the ground that "it has so frequently been pushed to excess by military surgeons, as to call for prompt steps to correct its abuse.... _this is done with the more confidence, as modern pathology has proved the impropriety of the use of mercury in very many of those diseases in which it was formerly unfailingly administered._" _the american medical times_ (regular) said, "the order appeared not only expedient, but judicious and necessary, under the circumstances." _what_ circumstances? read on further, and the _times_ editor explains: "no evil can result to the sick soldier from the absence of calomel, however much he may need mercurialization, when such preparations as blue pill, bichloride and iodide of mercury, etc., remain. but, in prescribing these latter remedies, the practitioner generally has a very definite idea of the object he wishes to attain, which is not always the case in the use of calomel." by this timely order it was estimated that ten thousand soldiers were released from a morning dose of calomel! was this a blow aimed at "quackery"? was dr. hammond, "a member of the medical profession highly esteemed for scientific attainments," attempting a reform in medicine? any way, dr. hammond shared the fate of all medical reformers. he was suspended. he was disgraced. the american medical association met at chicago, and set up a strong opposition to the "order." certain persons brought charges against the surgeon general. a commission was appointed. the _times_ said, "the whole affair has the appearance of a secret and deliberate conspiracy against the surgeon general.... the commission is, in the first place, headed by a person known to be hostile to the surgeon general. this fact throws suspicion upon the _object_ of the investigation." just so. the "object" was to appoint some one instead of dr. hammond, who would repeal the obnoxious order. no matter what _pretence_ was set up beside, this is the fact of the case, and the people and the profession know this to be true. but how shall we judge of the motives of dr. hammond but by _appearances_? who so well knew the value, or injury, of calomel, as he who had used it for twenty odd years? admitting professor chapman, of philadelphia, was within twenty years of right when he said, "he who resigns the fate of his patient to calomel, ... if he has a tolerable practice, will, in a single season, lay the foundation of a good business for life," did not dr. h. exhibit a little selfishness in attempting to deprive young practitioners of the opportunity of laying for themselves a foundation for a prosperous future? "doubtless," said a medical journal of the day, "all _quacks_ and _irregulars_ are congratulating themselves upon the appearance of this 'order.'" this leads us to ask, "who are the quacks?" the governor of ohio, in , made inquiry of the united states surgeon general, to know if the regiments of that state could be allowed to choose between allopathic and homeopathic surgeons. "_no: i'll see them damned to hell first_," was the gracious reply. the resolutions drawn up and adopted by the new york academy of medicine as an offset against the appeal for admission of homeopathic surgeons into the army ( ), contained the following:-- " d. that it (homeopathy) is no more worthy of such introduction than other kindred methods of practice as closely allied to _quackery_." there were then some thirty-five hundred of that sort of "quacks" practising under diplomas--mostly obtained from regular colleges--in the united states. shame! the royal college, dublin, the same year, in a resolution passed, called mesmerism and homeopathy quackery. in an article in the "scalpel," from the able pen of dr. richmond,--about the time that the "swarm of vampires that was the first fruits of the tribe of rooters that swarmed the state of new york under the teachings of t. and b." (thompson and beach),--he calls botanics and eclectics quacks and paracelsuses! clear as--mud! so! the calomel practitioners are quacks. the homeopathics are quacks. the eclectics, and botanics, and mesmerics, are all quacks! any more, gentlemen? this is getting things somewhat mixed, and i rush to dunglison's medical dictionary for explanation. why, a quack is a _charlatan_! i turn to "charlatan." lo, it is quack! clear as mud, again. in my perplexity i consult webster. he refers me to a _goose_! so i rush to worcester, and he implies it is a _duck_! perhaps the _bill_ has something to do with the name; especially as i am reminded of a suit brought by a boston m. d. to recover the exorbitant sum of three hundred dollars for reducing a dislocation. therefore, summing up this "uncertainty," it seems to be a convenient word, expressive of contempt, which any professional man may hurl at any other whom he dislikes, or with whom he is not in fellowship. in its general use it is the _thief_ calling, "stop thief." it was no unusual practice for physicians of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries to use calomel in scruple, and even drachm doses. mazerne "habitually administered calomel in scruple doses." yandal gave it by the table-spoonful. i knew a physician in maine who usually administered it by the tea-spoonful, and i saw a woman at deer isle, me., suffering from true anchylosis of the jaw, in consequence of thus taking his prescription. in the same town was a man who was made completely imbecile by overdoses of mercury. in the town of b----l, same county and state, once lived an old quack, for convenience sake, near a large graveyard. _he "owned" it._ that is, he is said to have more victims laid away therein than all the other doctors who ever practised in town. "i knew him well." once he sent to boston for _two ounces_ of calomel. there was no steam conveyance in those days, and a sea captain took the order. by some mistake, _two pounds_ were sent. it was not returned. "o, never mind," said the doctor; "i shall use it all some time." every state, county, yes, every town, in the union has its victims to this quackery. in rochelle, ill., is a remarkable case, a merchant. almost every joint in his frame is rendered useless. he can speak, and his brain is active. he has a large store, and he is carried to it every day, and there, stretched upon a counter, he gives directions to his employés. though comparatively young, his hair is blanched like the snow-drift, falling upon his shoulders, and he is hopelessly crippled for life. "he does not speak in very flattering terms of the calomel doctors," said my informant. neither do the thousands of diseased and mutilated soldiers, the victims to quackery while in the army. "speaking facts.--a little boy, ten years of age, and having a paralyzed right leg, may be seen occasionally among his more able-bodied companions, the newsboys, unsuccessfully striving to 'hoe his row' with his rougher and more vigorous fellows. the limb is wholly dead, so far as its usefulness is concerned and it was caused by giving the little fellow overdoses of calomel, when he was an infant. "another victim to calomel lives in the city of hartford, in the person of a young lady of sixteen, who would be handsome but for deformities of face and mouth, occasioned by calomel given to her when a little child. she cannot open her mouth, and her food is always gruel, etc., introduced through the teeth. but the doctors stick to calomel as the sheet anchor of their faith." behold washington, who had passed through the battles of his country unharmed, and who in his last illness had, in the brief space of twelve hours, ninety ounces of blood drawn from his veins, and in the same space of time taken sixty grains of calomel! who wonders that he should request his physician to allow him to "_die in peace_"? andrew jackson was another victim to calomel, as well as to the lancet, as the following letter shows:-- "hermitage, october , . "my dear mr. blair: on the th inst., i had a return of hemorrhage, and two days after, a chill. with a lancet to correct the first, and calomel to check the second, i am _greatly debilitated_. andrew jackson." was not this double quackery? first, it was the _similia similibus curantur_ (like cures like), of the homeopathists, which the academy of medicine has termed quackery. second, it was exhibiting calomel to the injury (debilitating) of the patient. president harrison was another victim. are not these historical facts? nevertheless, it is treason to mention them. "and why should any truth be counted as treasonable?" the honest and intelligent reader is led to inquire. "for truth is mighty, and must prevail," eventually. yes, yes, truth will prevail. when bigotry and old-fogy notions are uprooted from the profession, and all educated and benevolent physicians strike hands and join fortunes to eradicate and discountenance all forms of quackery amongst themselves, they will then possess the power to suppress outside quackery. far too many make a _trade_ of the _profession_; and just so long as educated physicians countenance or practise any one form of quackery, so long will they be powerless to check the abominations of charlatans and impostors outside of the profession. we have not introduced the foregoing facts in the interest of any persuasion. with the bickerings of the various schools of medicine we propose to have nothing to do, except to seize upon such truths as those otherwise useless quarrels are continually revealing. opposition will not weaken a truth, nor strengthen a falsehood. you who are in the right need, therefore, have no fear as to final results. it is hard to kick against the pricks of custom, and custom has perverted the word which is the text of this chapter, and it is now more commonly applied to the ignorant, boastful _pretender_ to the science of medicine. now we will introduce a few facts obtained from without the profession. the country quack. in the town of p----, conn., there resided two doctors. one, old dr. b., a regular, and the other, dr. s--h, an irregular. it was in the autumn, and a fever was prevailing at this time, of a very malignant character. from over-exertion and exposure dr. b. was taken sick, and in a few days fever supervened. this news spread terror over the immediate community, and the old doctor becoming delirious, his wife and family soon partook of the terror. a neighboring physician was sent for, but being absent, he did not at once respond; and the invalid becoming, as they feared, rapidly worse, dr. s. was reluctantly called. he was known to be an ignoramus, formerly a peddler, a farmer, horse-jockey, a fifth-rate country lawyer, and, lastly, a doctor. had dr. b. retained his senses, he would have sooner died than have admitted his enemy, this "rooter," into his house. he came, however, with great pomposity, examined the patient, whose delirium prevented resistance, and ordered an immediate application of the juice of poke-berries rubbed over the entire skin of the old doctor, as a febrifuge. "but," inquired the wife, timidly, "is not this an unusual prescription, dr. s.?" the doctor replied that it was a new remedy, but very efficacious. "you see," he added, with many a hem and haw, "it will out-herod the blush of the skin, put to shame the fever, which retires in disgust, and so relieves the patient." "and won't he die, if we follow this strange prescription?" asked a friend, while the doctor was proceeding to deal out a large powder. "no, no; ahem! _you_ do the _dyeing_, to prevent the _dying_. haw, haw!" roared the vulgar old wretch, convulsed by his own pun, and the anticipation of the ludicrous corpse that he expected to see within a few days. there was no alternative. the prescription must be followed, and the children were sent to the woods to gather the ripe berries. the quack next proceeded to deal out a dose of lobelia and blood-root, which he left on the desk where dr. b. prepared medicines when in health, giving directions for its administration, and in high glee took his departure. the inspissated juice of the highly-colored berries was applied over the face, arms, and body of the unconscious doctor, the remarkable appearance of whom we leave the reader to imagine. by mistake, a large dose of camphorated dover's powders which lay on the table was substituted for the lobelia of dr. s., which with the warm liquid applied to the skin, checked the fever, and, contrary to the hope and expectation of dr. s., the following morning found his patient in a fine perspiration, and the neighboring physician arriving, he was soon placed in a condition of safety. notwithstanding dr. s. told some friends of the joke,--for the worst have their friends, you know,--he was known to have prescribed for dr. b., his sworn enemy; and as the patient was pronounced convalescent, s. received all the credit, and forthwith his services were in great demand. day and night he rode, till, by the time dr. b. got out, he was completely exhausted! he became alarmed lest he should take the fever. such fellows are ever cowards when anything ails their precious selves. he actually became feverish with fear and excitement, and took his bed--and his emetic. he took either an overdose, or not enough, and for hours remained in the greatest distress. finally, as a _dernier resort_, his wife sent for dr. b.! now came his turn to avenge the insult of the painting by poke-berries, which stain was yet scarcely removed from the skin of the old doctor. "i'll give him a dose; i'll put my mark on him--one that milk and water, or soap, cannot remove. o, i'll be avenged!" exclaimed dr. b., as he mounted his gig, and drove to dr. s. "o doctor, doctor! i am in fearful distress. can you help me? will i die?" whined s., on beholding his opponent. "no; not such good news. those born to hang don't die in their beds. but you are very sick, and must abide my directions." "yes, yes. thanks, doctor. this blamed lobelia is killing me, though." "then take this." and dr. b. administered a half tea-spoonful of ipecac, to bring up the lobelia. so far was good. "now a basin of water and a sponge," said dr. b., which being procured, he seemed to examine for a moment very curiously; then ordered the face, neck, arms, and hands of the patient bathed well with the fluid. on the following morning dr. b. was sent for, post haste, with the cheering message that "mortification had set in, and his patient was dying." off posted the doctor, calling several neighbors, _en route_, who thronged the apartment of the invalid doctor in speechless astonishment. [illustration: curious effect of a fever.] "i'm dying, dr. b.; o, i'm dying," groaned s., rolling to and fro on his bed. "no, you are not. i told you before, no such good news. your fever is all gone. you are scared--that's what's the matter," replied dr. b. "but look, just look at the color of my skin,--all mortifying," said s. "o, no; that is merely dyed with _nitrate of silver_. it's much better than poke-berries--much better," repeated dr. b. the recovered patient leaped from his bed, and, with an oath, made straight for the doctor; but the bystanders, though convulsed with laughter, caught the enraged victim, while, amid the cheers and laughter of the crowd, dr. b. made his escape, saying to himself,-- "the nitrate of silver i put in the basin worked like a charm." the story soon circulated, and dr. s., being unable to remove the deep stain from his skin, and the curious rabble from his door, left for parts unknown. dr. b., on revisiting his patients, who now rejoiced in his recovery, found that s. had not only dispensed lobelia and blood-root, but had bled and mercurialized several. remarkable dropsy. the writer was acquainted with a young physician who was unceremoniously discharged by the family of a beautiful young lady to whom he had been called to prescribe, in a country village, his offence being the discovery of the true source of the patient's (?) indisposition, which fact he _dared_ to intimate to the mother. "an older and more experienced physician" succeeded him, who reversed the diagnosis, and pronounced it "a clear case of _dropsy_," and the young m. d. went into disrepute. during the entire winter the old doctor made daily visits to his patient. daily had the old ladies of the neighborhood adjusted their "specs," smoothed down their aprons, and, watching the doctor's return, run out to the gate to inquire after the health of the lady, the belle of the town. "o, she's _convalescent_," was his usual reply, with due professional dignity; and thus the matter stood till a crisis came. [illustration: marrying a family.] there was a ball in the village one night. about eleven o'clock a messenger appeared in the room, who hastily summoned a certain young gentleman, a scion of one of the "first families" in town. at the same time the minister was called, and the young man, standing by the bed, holding the invalid lady by the right hand, while on his left arm he supported a beautiful babe but an hour old, was married to the "convalescent" patient. the old doctor had run a beautiful "bill," but it was his last in that village. a country consultation. the difficulty of obtaining competent counsel in the country can only be fully comprehended by the intelligent physician who has had experience therein. from dr. richmond's "_scenes in western practice_," i have selected the following lamentable incidents, which i have abbreviated as much as is consistent with the facts, related by the doctor, who in this case was called to a wealthy and influential family, two of whom, wife and child, were prostrated by epidemic dysentery. "as my credit was at stake, an old and very grave man was, at my suggestion, added to the consultation, to guard our reputation from the usual visitation of gossiping slander that always follows a fatal result in the country. he examined the child, and gave his opinion that the symptoms resembled those of ipecac!... but death was ahead of the doctors, and the little sufferer passed quickly away to a better world. "another child had died in the vicinity, and the _neighbors_ decided on a change of doctors for the lady. by my consent the inventor of the 'chingvang pill' was called, as i assured my friend his wife would now recover without either of us! "he came, and readily detected the fact that he was in luck. his patient and fees were both safe, and i was floored. "'of course, dr. r., you will call when _convenient_,' was a polite way of 'letting me down easily,' and i did call. "everything went on swimmingly for two days, when suddenly the scale turned; two other children were taken vomiting bile and blood. the doctor was in trouble, and on my friendly call his eye caught mine, and spoke plainly, 'my credit, too, is gone,--the children will both die.' "the children grew rapidly worse; the council of the _neighborhood_ decided to call further aid. another regular was called, and, being one of the heroes, he advised (it is solemn truth, dear reader) _one hundred grains of calomel at a dose_! his reason was, that he had given it to a child, and the patient recovered. his medical brother thought it a little too steep, and they compromised the matter by giving fifty grains! copious quantities of fresh blood followed the operation, and the little victim of disease and quackery slipped from his suffering into the peaceful and quiet grave! "one patient remained, and it was decided to call further counsel. "a simple but shrewd old quack was curing cancers in the neighborhood, who sent word to the afflicted family that he 'could cure the remaining child by cleansing the bowels with pills of butternut bark, aloes, camphor, and cayenne pepper;' he would feed the little fellow on twist-root tea that would at once stop the discharges. strange as it may seem, the wily old fool was called into the august presence of three m. d.'s, and a score of other counsellors. he gave his pills; fresh blood followed the raking over the inflamed and sensitive membrane; the child screamed with torture, and was only relieved from its horrible agony by enemas of morphine. the celebrated '_twist-root_' (an indian remedy, whose virtues could not be appreciated by the educated physician) followed, and death closed the scene. "the old cancer-killer escaped by saying the morphine given in his absence _killed the child_." [illustration: 'opathists in consultation.] the following brief consultation occurred in fulton, n. y., recently:-- two physicians were called, of opposite schools. after shaking hands over the sick man's bed, one said to the other,-- "i believe you are an --'opathist." "yes, i am; and you are a --'pathist; are you not?" "yes; and i can't break over the rules of my society by aiding or counselling with you ---- for the sake of _one_ patient. good day!" "sir, i mistook you for a christian, not a barbarian! good day!" a jolly trio of doctors. before entering upon an exposition of the viler and more reprehensible sort of quacks,--the city charlatans and impostors,--i must relate a diverting scene, also from a country consultation that occurred in new york state some years since, from the perusal of which, if the reader cannot deduce a "moral," he may derive some amusement. mr. h. was an invalid; he was the worst kind of an invalid--a hypochondriac. the visiting physician had made a pretty good thing of it, the neighbors affirmed, for "h. was in easy circumstances." finally he took to his bed, and declared he was about to shuffle off this mortal coil. two eminent physicians were summoned from a distance to consult with the attending physician. they arrived by rail, examined the patient, looked wise, and the learned trio withdrew to consult upon so "complicated and important a case." a tea-table had been set in an adjoining room, and to the abundance of eatables wherewith to refresh the distinguished professionals who were there to enter upon an "arbitrament of life or death," were added sundry bottles yet uncorked. a little son and daughter of mr. h. were amusing themselves, meantime, by a game at "hide-and-seek," and the former, having "played out" all the legitimate hiding-places, bethought himself of the top of a high secretary in the "banqueting-room." action followed thought, and, climbing upon a chair-back, he gained the dusty elevation, where he quietly seated himself just as the three wise Æsculapians entered the apartment. his only safety from discovery was to keep quiet. corks were drawn, supper was discussed, and conversation flowed merrily along. the weather, the news of the day, and the political crisis were discoursed, and the little fellow perched high on the secretary wondered when and what they would decide on his father's case. nearly an hour had passed, the doctors were merry, and the boy was tired; but still the little urchin kept his position. "well, dr. a., how is practice here, in general?" inquired one of the counsel. "dull; distressingly healthy. why, if there don't come a windfall in shape of an epidemic this fall, i shall _fall_ short for provender for my horse and bread for my family. how is it with you?" "o, quite the reverse from you. i have alive twenty daily patients now." "very sick, any of them?" asked the local physician. "no, no,--a little more wine, doctor,--some old women, whom any smart man can make think they are sick; some stout men, whom medicine will keep as patients when once under the weather; and silly girls, whom flattery will always bring again,--ha! ha!" and so saying he gulped down the wine. "why, there goes nine o'clock." "what, so late!" exclaimed one counsellor, looking at his gold repeater. "we must go or we'll miss the return train," remarked the other; "the doctor here will manage the patient h., who's only got the _hypo_ badly," he added. "is that a bust of pallas he has over his secretary yonder?" asked the first, discovering the boy for the first time. "i'm afraid dr. ---- has got a little muddled over this excellent 'old port,' that he can't see clearly. why, that's a bust of _cupid_." "well," exclaimed the local physician, "i have been here a hundred times, and never before observed that statue; but," eying the statue fixedly, he continued, "it looks neither like pallas nor cupid, but rather favors h., and i guess it is a cast he has had recently made of himself." through all this comment and inspection the boy sat as mute as a post; but the moment the door closed on the retiring doctors, he clambered down and ran into the sick room. [illustration: a "hypo" patient discharging his physician.] the old doctor had slipped the customary fee into the hands of his brethren as he bade them good night, and entered the room of his patient. the latter instantly inquired as to the result of the consultation. the doctor entered into an elaborate account of the "diagnosis" and "prognosis" of the case, which was suddenly brought to a close by the little boy, who, climbing into a chair on the opposite side of the bed, asked his father what a "hypo" was. "you must ask the doctor, my son," replied the father in a feeble voice. "hypo," said the unsuspecting doctor, "is an _imaginary_ disease,--the hypochondria, vapors, spleen; ha, ha, ha!" "well, papa, that's what the doctors said you've got, 'cause i was on top of the book-case an' heard all they said, an' that's all." the doctor looked blank. h. arose in his bed, trembling with rage. "by the heavens above us, i do believe you, my son; and this fellow, this quack, has never had the manliness to tell me so;" and leaping to the floor in his brief single garment, he caught the dumb and astonished "m. d." by the coat collar and another convenient portion of his wardrobe, and running him to the open door, through the hall, he pitched him out into the midnight darkness, saying, "there! i have demonstrated the truth of the assertion by pitching the doctor out of doors." h. recovered his health. the doctor recovered damages for assault and battery. [illustration] vii. charlatans and impostors. "every absurdity has a chance to defend itself, for error is always talkative."--goldsmith. definition.--advertising charlatans.--city impostors.--false names.--"advice free."--intimidations.--wholesale robbery.--visiting their dens in disguise.--passing the cerberus.--windings.--ins and outs.--the irish porter.--queer "twins," and a "triplet" doctor.--a history of a knave.--boot-black and bottle-washer.--perquisites.-- purchased diplomas.--"institutes."--wholesale slaughter of infants.-- female harpies.--a boston harpy.--where our "lost children" go.--end of a wretch. the city charlatan. a charlatan is necessarily an impostor. he is "one who prates much in his own favor, and makes unwarrantable pretensions to skill." he is "one who imposes on others; a person who assumes a character for the sole purpose of deception." originally the charlatan was one who circulated about the country, making false pretensions to extraordinary ability and miraculous cures; but he is now located in the larger cities, and is the most dangerous and insinuating of all medical impostors. you will find his name in the cheapest daily papers. name, did i say? no, never. of all the charlatans advertising in the papers of this city there is but one who has not advertised under an assumed name. this is _prima facie_ evidence of imposition. take up the daily paper,--the cheapest print is the one that the rabble patronize, a curse to any city,--and run your eye over the "_medical column_." of the scores of this class advertising therein none dare publish his real name. there is one impudent fellow, who, while he assumes respectability, and under his true name, has an up-town office, and obtains something bordering on an honorable practice, runs the vilest sort of business, under an assumed name, on a public thoroughfare down town. these fellows usually advertise, "advice free." this is not on the modest principle, that, having no brains, they are scrupulous in not charging for what they cannot give, however; but this is to get the unsuspecting into their dens, for they are shrewd enough to perceive that whatever is "free" the rabble will run after. [illustration: convincing evidence of insolvency.] when once the victim is within the web, flattering, intimidations, and extravagant promises, one or all, generally will accomplish their aim. as they never expect to see a special victim again, they squeeze the last dollar from the unfortunate wretch, giving therefor nothing--worse than nothing! i sent a pretended patient to one of these charlatans not long since, and, with crocodile tears in his eyes, he related his case to the _soi-disant_ doctor, who with great sympathy heard his case, and assured him it was "heart-rending, and, though very dangerous, he could cure him;" but the knave compelled the patient (!) to turn his pockets inside out to assure him they contained but the proffered dollar. a small vial of diluted spirits nitre was the prescription, for which the doctor assured the patient he usually received twenty to forty dollars! i have visited several of these places in disguise, including those of female doctors, and those advertising as "midwives," every one of whom agreed to perform a criminal operation upon the mythical lady for whom i was pretending to intercede. their prices ranged from five to two hundred dollars. the following painfully ludicrous scene i copy from manuscript notes which i made some years ago, respecting a visit to one of these impostors. i vouch for its truthfulness. "i next bought a penny paper of a loud-mouthed urchin on the street corner, and, reading it that evening, the words 'medical notice' attracted my attention. it was all news to me, and i resolved to visit this 'very celebrated' doctor on the following day, 'advice free.' "accordingly i repaired to his office, as designated in the advertisement. there were several doors wonderfully near each other, about which were several doctors' signs conspicuously displayed; and, since i had heard that 'two of a trade seldom agree,' i thought it remarkable that three or four of a profession should here be huddled together. "'step in the entry and ring the bell,' i read on a sign, in big yellow letters. i did so, when a big burly irishman answered the summons. "'an' who'll yeze like to see, sure?' he inquired, with a broad grin. "'dr. a.,' i replied, eying this cerberus with awakening suspicion. "'he's just in, sure. come, follow me.' "he led the way across a small room, and through a darkened hall, around which i cast a suspicious glance, noticing, among other things unusual, that the partitions did not reach the ceiling. thence we entered another room, which, from the roundabout way we had approached, i thought must be opposite the outer door of dr. b.'s or dr. c.'s office. "here pat left me, saying, 'the ixcillint doctor will be to see yeze ferninst he gits through wid the gintleman who was before your honor.' [illustration: "an' who'll yeze like to see, sure?"] "i took a look about the room. the partitions on two sides were temporary. on one side of the apartment stood an old mahogany secretary. through the dingy glass doors i took a peep. the shelves contained several volumes of 'patent office reports,' odd numbers of an old london magazine, and such like useless works. on the walls were a few soiled cheap anatomical plates, such as you will see in 'galleries' or 'museums' fitted up by quack doctors, to intimidate the beholder. i could look no farther, as the door opened, and a man entered, who, looking nervously around, at once asked my business. "'are you dr. a.?' i asked. "'i am. please be seated. you are sick--very sick,' he said hurriedly, and in a manner intended to frighten me. "five minutes' conversation satisfied us both--him that i had no money, and me that he had no skill. after vainly endeavoring to extort from me my present address, he unceremoniously showed me out. "as i closed the door i looked to the name and number, and, as i had anticipated, found myself at dr. b.'s entrance. "turning up my coat collar, and tying a large colored silk handkerchief over the lower part of my face, i knocked at the third door, dr c.'s. "the same irishman thrust out his uncombed head and unwashed face; the same words in the same vernacular language followed. "'i wish to see dr. c.,' i replied, changing my voice slightly. "'he's in, jist. it never rains but it pours. himself it is that has a bully crowd of patients the day; but coome in.' "he did not recognize me--that was certain; so i followed, and was led through a labyrinth of rooms and halls, as before, and ushered into a small room, where the polite and loquacious pat offered me a chair, and giving the right earlock a pull and his left foot a slip back, he said, with his broadest grin and most murderous english,-- "'i'll be shpaking the doctor to come to yeze at once intirely.' "'but he has others with whom he is engaged, you said but a moment ago.' "'ah, yeze niver mind. theyze ben't gintlemen like yerself, if yeze do come disguised;' and with a '_whist_' he tip-toed across the room, applied his ear to the keyhole of the door a moment, and returned in the same manner. "'it's all right; now i'll go for the doctor;' but still he lingered. "'well, why the d----l don't you go?' i said, impatiently. "'ah, gintlemen always come disguised to see dr. a.--no--dr. b., i mean.' "''tis dr. c. i asked for,' i interrupted. "'yis, yis,' he replied, collecting his muddled senses. 'yis, sure, you did, an' gintlemen always swear--two signs yeze a gintleman. could yeze spare a quarter for a poor divil? by the howly mither, i git narry a cint, bating what sich gintlemen as yeze gives me. i have a big family to ate at home. there's bridget' (counting his fingers by the way of a reminder), 'she's sick with the baby; then there's the twins,--two of thim, as i'm a sinner,--and little lame mike, what's got the rackabites, the doctor says--' "'got the what?' i interrupted. "'the rackabites, or some sich dumbed disease,' he replied, scratching his head. "'o, you mean rickets. but how old are the twins, and mike, and the baby?' "'will, let me see. the baby is tin days, and not christened yit, for we've not got the money for father prince, and there's mike is siven, and mary is four, and bridget junior is five.' "'and the twins?' i asked, not a little amused. "'yis, them's mary and bridget junior,--four and five.' "i interrupted him by a laugh, gave him the desired quarter, and told him to hasten the doctor, which request he proceeded to execute. "on the heels of retiring pat the door opened, and the same doctor i had before seen entered. "'i want to consult dr. c.,' i drawled out. "'i am dr. c.,' he replied, measuring me from head to foot sharply. "fearing he would penetrate my disguise, i hastened my errand. 'having an ulcerated and painful tooth i wish removed, or--' "'this ain't a dentist's office; but if you have any peculiar disease, i am the physician of all others to relieve you.' "i being sure now of my man, that this same villain was running three offices under as many different _aliases_, my next object was to get safely out of his den. "'i have no need of any such services as you intimate. 'tis only the tooth--' "here he interrupted me by an impatient gesture, intimating that only a descendant of the monosyllable animal once chastised by one balaam would have entered his office to have a tooth drawn. admitting the truth of his assertion, and offering my humblest apology, i hurriedly withdrew from this _triplet_ doctor. "safely away, i reflected as follows: here, now, is this scoundrel, by the assistance of an equally ignorant irishman, conducting at least three offices on a public thoroughfare, under as many assumed names. "'why, the fellow is a perfect chameleon!' i exclaimed, walking away. 'he changes his name to suit the applicants to the various rooms. you want dr. a.,--he is that individual. you desire to see dr. b.,--when, _presto!_ he is at once the identical man. and so it goes, while his amiable assistant seems to be making a nice little thing of it on his own account. why all these intricate passages? and why was i each time taken around through them, and out through a different door from that which i entered? did a legitimate business require such mazy windings as i had just passed through? did dr. a., b., or c., or whatever his name might be, rob his patients in one place and thrust them out at another, that they might not be able to testify where and by whom they had been victimized? was not the newspaper proprietor who advertised these several offices a _particeps criminis_ in the transaction? and with these facts and suggestions i leave the fellow, who by no means is a solitary example of this sort of fraud.'" on another street in this city is another branch from the upas tree. i do not wish to advertise for him, hence omit his _names_, which are legion. two of them begin with the letter d. the true name of this impostor commences with an m. he is old enough to be better. i know of patients who have been fleeced by him without receiving the least benefit, when the knowledge necessary to prescribe for their recovery, or of so simple a case, might be possessed by even the office boy. you go to his first office and inquire for the first _alias_. the usher, a boy sometimes, takes you in, and, slipping out the back door, he calls the old doctor from the next office. they are not connected. through a glass door he takes a survey of you, to assure himself that you have not been victimized by him already under his other _aliases_. if he so recognizes you, he summons a convenient "assistant" to personate the doctor, and thus you are robbed a second time. history of a knave. the following is a brief and true history of one of the vilest charlatans and impostors now practising in boston. he has amassed a fortune within a few years by the most barefaced villanies ever resorted to by man. he is one of the most abominable charlatans, who, for the almighty dollar, would willingly sacrifice the lives of his unfortunate victims, who, by glowing newspaper statements and seductive promises, have been drawn into his murderous den. by the side of such unprincipled villains, the highwaymen, the dick turpins, with their "stand and deliver!" or "your money or your life!" are angels of mercy, for the former rob you of your last dollar, and either endanger your life by giving you useless drugs that check not the disease, or hasten your demise by poisonous compounds given at random, the virulent properties of which the vampires know but little and care less. their boast that their remedies are "_purely vegetable_," "hence uninjurious", is as false as their pretensions to skill, and is counted for nothing when we know that vegetable poisons are more numerous, and often more rapid and violent in their action, than minerals. both calomel and other minerals are often _given_ by these charlatans. i say _given_, for few of them know enough to write a legible prescription, much less to write the voluminous works which they put forth on "manhood," "physiology of woman," etc., which are but so many advertisements for their vile trade and criminal practices, and are intended to alarm and corrupt the young and unwary into whose hands they may unfortunately fall. this fellow, whom i am now to describe, who sometimes prefixes "professor" to his name, was born in the state of new hampshire, and when a young man came to this city to seek his fortune. after various ups and downs, he became boot-black, porter, and general lackey in the pearl street house, then in full blast. he was said to be a youth of rather prepossessing, though insinuating address, and being constantly on the alert for odd pennies and "dimes," succeeded in keeping himself in pocket-money without committing theft, or otherwise compromising his liberty. but the odd change, and his meagre salary, did not long remain in pocket, for the courtesans, who are ever on the alert for unsophisticated youth who throng to the cities, managed to obtain the lion's share from this embryo doctor, whose future greatness he himself never half suspected. disease, the usual result of intercourse with such creatures, was the consequent inheritance of this young man. "what, in the name of heaven, shall i now do?" he asked himself, in his distress and despair. "money i have none. o god! what shall i do?" "drown yourself," replied the tempter. such fellows seldom drown. females, their victims, drown; but who ever heard of a natural-born villain committing suicide, unless to escape the threatening halter? no, he did not drown, though it had been better for humanity if he had. he went to an old advertising charlatan, who then kept an office in a lower street of this city, a mercenary old vampire, named stevens. into the august presence of the charlatan young m. entered, and, trembling and weeping, told his history. [illustration: a boston quack examining a student.] "have you got any money, young man?" growled the old doctor, wheeling around, and for the first time condescending to notice the poor wretch. "no," he sobbed in a pitiful voice. "then what do you come here for, sir?" roared the doctor, whose pity was a thing of the past. his soul was impenetrable to the appeal of suffering as the hide of the rhinoceros to a leaden bullet. the young man, fortunately, did not know this fact, and persevered. "i thought i might work for you to pay for treatment. o, i'll do anything--sweep your office, wash up the floors and bottles, black your boots, do anything and everything, if you'll only cure me. o, do! say you will, sir!" and the young man writhed in agony of suspense. "humph!" grunted the old doctor, contemplatingly. doubtless he was considering the advantages which might accrue from accepting the proposition of this earnest applicant, for, after eying him sharply, and beating the devil's tattoo for a few moments upon his table, the doctor condescended to "look into his case," and finally to treat the young man's disease upon the proposed terms. m. began his apprenticeship by sweeping the office, and the old doctor held him to the very letter of the agreement, keeping him at the most menial service,--boot-blacking, bottle-washing, door-tending, etc.,--protracting his disease as he found the young man useful, till the old knave dared no longer delay the cure, for thereby the victim might go elsewhere for help. when cured, m. engaged to continue work for the small compensation that the doctor offered, especially since he and the old man had begun to understand each other pretty well, and each was equally unscrupulous as to the sponging of the unfortunate victims who fell into their hands. when the doctor was observed to prescribe from any particular bottle, m. took a mental memorandum thereof till such time as he could take a look at the label, thereby learning the prescription for such disease; and the result was a decision that if this was the science of healing, "_it didn't take much of a man to be a_"--_doctor_. when the old doctor was absent, m. would prescribe on his own account, charge an extra dollar or two as perquisites, and deposit the balance in the doctor's till. in course of time, by this process of extortion, solicitations, and the increasing perquisites, m. was enabled to set up doctoring on his own account. the old doctor died, and m. had it all his own way. the young self-styled doctor saw no particular need of making effort to acquire medical knowledge, but a diploma to hang upon his office walls, with the few disgusting anatomical plates (appropriated from dr. s.), which were admirably adapted to intimidate his simple-minded dupes,--a diploma from some medical society would give character to the "institution," and such he would obtain. being cited to court as defendant in a certain case, this _soi-disant_ "m. d." was compelled to retract a former statement that he had attended medical lectures in pennsylvania college, where he graduated with honors, and come down to the truthful statement, _for once in his life_, and swear that he had obtained his diploma by _purchase_. his present rooms--house and office--are located in the heart of the city, and are not exceeded for convenience and neatness by those of the respectable practitioner. having amassed a great fortune out of the credulity, misfortunes, and passions of the unfortunate, he has settled down to the plane of the more respectable advertising doctors, and the terrifying plates no longer cover the walls of the _best_ reception-room; but a few valuable pictures and the philadelphia diploma are conspicuously displayed above the elegant furniture and valuable articles of _virtu_. the same extortions and reprehensible practices are still resorted to in order to keep up this "institution." his earlier history is gathered from _his own statements_, by piecemeal, by a confidential "student," the latter portion by _personal investigation_ of the writer. respecting the matter of purchasing diplomas, i will state that i have seen a "regular medical diploma" advertised in the new york _herald_ for one hundred dollars. the name originally written therein is extracted by oxalic acid, or other chemicals. i knew a physician who parted with his latin diploma for fifty dollars. i here warn the youth, and the public in general, against those advertised "_institutes_," though the name may be selected from that of some benevolent individual,--to give it a look of a benevolent character,--even though it be a "nightengale," or a "peabody," or a "st. mary," and managed, _ostensibly_, under the sanction of the church or state--beware of it. without, it is the whited sepulchre, within, the blood, flesh, and bones of dead men, women, and children. some years since there was found, after the flight of one dr. jaques (?), in a vault in the city of boston, the bones of some half score infants. the murderous charlatan escaped the halter he so richly deserved, and was practising in a new england village not above six years since. another impostor, who has been extensively advertised in this city under an assumed name--selected to correspond with the familiar name of a celebrated new york (also a late boston) physician and surgeon--who not only cheekily claims to be an "m. d.," but assumes the titles of f. r. s., etc., was but a short time before a dry goods seller on hanover street. he never read a standard medical work in his life. although the villain has gone to parts unknown to the writer, the concern he recently represented as "consulting physician" is in full blast, and the same name and titles are blazoned forth daily in the public prints. men get rich in these "institutes," take in an "assistant" for a few weeks, then sell out to the _novus homo_, and the thing goes on under the old name until the new man gains strength and confidence sufficient to carry it along under his own or his assumed title. female harpies. under the name of "female physician," "midwife," etc., the most illicit and nefarious atrocities are daily practised by the numerous harpies who infest all our principal cities. the mythological harpies were represented as having the faces of women, heartless, with filthy bodies, and claws sharp and strong for fingers, which, once fastened upon human flesh, never relaxed till the last drop of life's blood was wrung from their unfortunate victim. virgil thus expressively described them in the third book of the Æneid:-- "when from the mountain-tops, with hideous cry and clattering wings, the filthy harpies fly; monsters more fierce offending heaven ne'er sent from hell's abyss for human punishment; with virgin faces, but with ---- obscene, with claws for hands, and looks forever lean!" i will describe but one of the modern harpies of boston, appealing to the reader if our text above is too severe. more than forty years ago, a young, fair, and promising girl came to this city from the white mountains of new hampshire. from her maiden home, near meredith village, from under the humble roof of christian parents, she wandered into the haunts of vice and the abodes of wretchedness and disease in the lower part of boston. her maiden name was elizabeth leach. you will find her name in the city directory ( ) "_madam ester, midwife_." we have not space to write out her whole history, nor inclination to spread before the refined reader the first years of the gay life of this attractive damsel, the seductive and sinful debaucheries of the fascinating, unprincipled woman, nor the more repulsive declination of the diseased and malevolent _bawd_! the writer has seen a picture of her home in new hampshire, a daguerreotype of her in her virginity, and a painting, taken from her sittings, in middle life. in stature, she is tall and stout; in manner, coarse and repulsive. if ever i saw a woman carrying, stamped in every lineament of her countenance, a hard, heartless, soulless, murderous expression, that woman is madam ester. neither the tears, the heart-anguishes, nor the life's blood of the fatherless infant, the husbandless mother, the orphaned or friendless maiden, could draw a sympathizing look or expression from the hardened features of that wretched woman. _she is the john allen of boston._ for years she has carried on, under the cloak of a "midwife," the most cruel and reprehensible occupation which ever disgraced an outraged community. by extortionate prices she has gained no inconsiderable wealth, and her house, though located in a narrow, darkened alley, or court, is fitted up with an elegance equalling that of some of our best and wealthiest merchants. from parlor to attic, it is splendidly furnished. she assured me she hated mankind with inexpressible hatred; that man had been her ruin, the instrument of her disease, and would eventually be the cause of her death. she cursed both man and her maker! last spring there appeared an advertisement in a city paper of a young girl who was lost, or abducted from the home of her parents, in which the young lady was described as being but sixteen to seventeen years of age, of light complexion, blue eyes, of but medium height, named mary ----; and as she took no clothes but those she had on, never before went from home without her parents' consent, and had no trouble at home, her absence could not be accounted for. any information respecting her would be gratefully received by her distressed parents. she was all this time at the home of madam ester. the young man who completed her ruin, like the contemptible cur he was, deserted her in her distress, leaving her in the hands of the miserable wretch above described. the girl had one hundred and twenty dollars. a part of it was her own money; some she borrowed, having some influential friends, and the balance her father gave her, ostensibly for the purchase of clothing. the old vampire appropriated every cent of the sum, and in fourteen days turned the weak and wretched girl into the street, without sufficient money to pay her coach fare to her father's house. a young girl then in the employ of the unfeeling old wretch gave her five dollars, and she informed her kind benefactress that she should go home and say that she had been at service in a family on beacon street, but being sick, could earn no greater wages than the sum then in her possession. "the pale and sickly countenance of the poor girl, after the abuse and torture she had undergone," said my informant, "certainly would seem to corroborate her story." since the above was written the wicked old wretch has died--died a natural death, sitting in her chair! on the last day of july, , she sent a girl, a well-dressed and very lady-like appearing young woman, to my office, to know if i could be at liberty to give her a consultation that afternoon. she sent no address; merely a "woman with a cancer of the breast." she came. she introduced her business, not her name. i pronounced her case hopeless, advised her to "close up her worldly affairs, and make her peace with god and mankind, as she could live but a short time." this was given the more plainly, since she "demanded to know the worst," and because of her bold attempt to browbeat me into treating her hopeless case. the cancer was immense, had been cut once by dr. ----, of this city. her attendant told me that the old woman never ceased to berate me for my truthful prognosis, and that from that time she gave up all hope of recovery, and soon closed her nefarious practice. i have since gathered all the information respecting her that was possible. i knew at sight that i had a remarkable woman to deal with, and, agreeably to her invitation, i took another physician, a graduate of harvard college, and went to her house, ostensibly to consult over her case.... a woman who has known madam for many years told me that the old woman was familiar with chemicals, and by the use of acids and alkalies could completely destroy the flesh and bones of infants. she had never seen her do it, but had seen the chemicals, and referred me to persons who had seen the dead body of a female brought out from the house at midnight, and taken away in a wagon. she said she practised great cruelty upon the unfortunate victims who had been placed under her hands, and that their cries had often been heard by the neighbors living in the court. she said that madam claimed to have been the wife of a policeman who was killed at fort hill, and that she was also since married to a captain ----. the latter was untrue. madam told me she once _thought_ she was married, but it was a deception on her--a mock marriage. she possessed great quantities of magnificent clothing,--rich dresses of silk, satin, velvet, etc.,--and a beautiful wedding _trousseau_, which, but a short time before her death, she caused to be brought out and displayed before her. "o, take them away; i never shall wear them," she said. and she never did. there is another female physician now residing in this city, who i know has accumulated a considerable property as midwife; but if report, and assertions of victims, are true, she has gained it by threats and extortions. she is now out of practice, or nearly. her _modus operandi_ was to take the unfortunate female, treat her very tenderly, get hold of her secret, learn the gentleman's name, business, and wealth, and then--especially if he was a family man before--make him "come down," through fear of exposure. men have "come down" with thousands, little by little, till they were ruined pecuniarily under this fearful blackmailing. i doubt if money could hire her to perform a criminal operation. she can make more money by keeping the unfortunate girl, and blackmailing the seducer, _or any other individual_ who can be scared into the trap, provided the guilty one has no money. "blessed be nothing," said the arab. these people carry on their trade very quietly. their very next door neighbors may know nothing of the unlawful acts committed right under their noses. it is for the interest of all concerned to keep everything quiet. their customers, and even their victims, come and go after nightfall. there is still another class, mostly males, practising in this city, who, under fair pretences and great promises, get the patients' money, and give them no equivalent therefor. beyond the robbery,--for that is what it is; no more nor less,--and the protracting of a disease (or giving nature more time, as the case may be),--they do the applicant no injury. they receive a fee, calculating it to a nicety, according to the depth of your pocket, give some simple mixture, and bow you out. many an honest patient, seeing their high-flown advertisements in the dailies, weeklies, even religious (!) papers, from month to month, is induced to visit these impostors. their offices may be in a less public street, in a private residence, and have every outward appearance of respectability. there is a class of male practitioners, not unusually having a latin diploma, who never appear in the prints. they are the "nurse gibbon" class, who employ one or more females to drum patients for them. the following is a truthful statement respecting a visit to one in :-- "on my arrival on the steamer penobscot at boston, the lady met me, and, according to arrangement, took me to see 'her physician.' his office was on chambers street, left side, a few doors from cambridge street, boston. the doctor was an elderly, pompous individual, who wore gold spectacles, an immense fob chain, and chewed burgundy pitch. let this suffice for his description. poor man! for if his own theology is true, he has gone where burgundy pitch will be very likely to melt. excuse this passing tribute to his memory, my dear reader. "notwithstanding my friend's lavish praise of her doctor, the first sight of him failed to inspire me with confidence. i was introduced, and the doctor swelled up with his own importance, and said, impressively,-- "those physicians--amiable men, no doubt--who have treated your case-ah have been all wrong in their diagnosis-ah." this was his prelude, as he counted my pulse by a large gold watch, which he held conspicuously before me. "your kind friend and benefactress has saved your life-ah, by conducting you to me before too late-ah." he stopped to watch the effect of this bid for a high fee before proceeding. "ah, sir, had you but come to me first-ah, you would now be rejoicing in perfect health-ah; whereas you have narrowly escaped death and eternal torments-ah." he again took breath, looking very solemn. "but, sir, i never heard of you before this lady wrote to me," i said. "true-ah. i do not advertise myself. the veriest quack may advertise-ah. your case is very dangerous. _hepatitis, cum nephritis_-ah," he soliloquized, shaking his head very wisely, while my friend nodded, as if to say, "there! i told you so. he knows all about it." "yes, very dangerous-ah. but take my medicines; my pills--hepatica-lobus, and my neuropathicum-ah, and they will restore you to health and happiness-ah, in a few weeks-ah;" and he rubbed his palms complacently, as if in anticipation of a good fat fee for his prescription. "will they cure this?" i asked, turning my head, and placing a finger upon a tumor on the right hand side of my neck. "o-ah, let me see." and so saying, he took a brief survey of the protuberance, and coolly remarked that it was of no material importance. as that was, to my mind, of great consequence, i was dumbfounded by his indifference to its importance. selecting a box of pills, and a vial of transparent liquid, the doctor presented them to me with a flourish, saying, in his blandest manner,-- "all there; directions inside-ah; ten dollars-ah." "what!" and i arose in astonishment, gazing alternately at the doctor and my friend, but could not utter another word. i was but a country greenhorn, you know, and quite unused to city prices. my friend took the doctor aside, when, after a moment's conversation between them, he returned, and said that "in consideration of the recommendation of the lady, he would take but five dollars-ah." i paid the bill, and, quite disgusted, took my departure. that evening i carried the medicines to a druggist, requesting him to inform me what they were. after examining them, he replied,-- "the liquid is simply sweet spirits of nitre, diluted," looking over his glasses at me suspiciously, i thought. "these, i should say, are blue pills, a mild preparation of mercury," returning me the pills. a second druggist, to whom i applied, told me the same, and, knowing they were not what i required for a scrofulous tumor, i threw them into the gutter. _ah!_ [illustration] viii. anecdotes of physicians. "i find, dick, that you are in the habit of taking my best jokes, and passing them off as your own. do you call that the conduct of a gentleman?" "to be sure, tom. why, a true gentleman will always take a joke from a friend." a want supplied.--original anecdotes of abernethy.--a live irishman.--madam rothschild.--large feet.--a shanghai rooster.--spreading herself.--kerosene.--"saleratus."--his last joke.--an astonished darky.--old dr. k.'s mare.--a scared customer.--"what's trumps?"--"let go them halyards."--medical titbits.--more mustard than meat.--"i want to be an angel."--tooth-drawing.--dr. beecher vs. dr. holmes.--stealing time.--cholera fenced in.--"a joke that's not a joke."--a dry shower-bath.--parboiling an old lady. "there would be no difficulty in multiplying anecdotes attributed to abernethy (or other celebrated physicians) _ad libitum_, but there are three objections to such a course. first, there are many told of him which never happened; others, which may possibly have occurred, you find it impossible to authenticate; and lastly, there is a class which, if they happened to dr. abernethy, certainly happened to others before he was born. in fact, when a man once gets a reputation of doing or saying odd things, every story in which the chief person is unknown or unremembered, is given to the next man whose reputation for such is remarkable."--_memoirs of dr. abernethy, by george macilwain, f. r. c. s., etc., etc._ notwithstanding the great number of authentic anecdotes of physicians which might be collected together, mr. campbell, the experienced antiquarian bookseller, of boston, assures me there is no such book in print. i have been many years collecting such, and for this chapter i have selected therefrom those most chaste, amusing, instructive, and authentic. the following original anecdote of the great english surgeon i obtained verbally from mr. sladden, of chicago:-- "my grandmother once visited dr. abernethy, with her eldest son, my uncle, living in london, to consult the great physician respecting an inveterate humor of the scalp, with which the child was afflicted. "there were a great many patients in waiting, and when it came my grandmother's turn, she walked up to the great man, and removing the boy's cap, presented the case for his inspection in silence. he took a quick glance at the humory head, turned to the old lady, and said,-- "'madam, the best thing i can recommend for that disease is a plenty of warm water and soap. and, by the way, if that don't remove it, the next best thing is to apply freely soap and warm water. five guineas, if you please, ma'am.' "as my grandmother was the embodiment of neatness, she never forgave the doctor for this broad intimation of the questionableness of her neatness." dr. stowe told the following story of dr. abernethy and a live irishman:-- "it occurred at bath. a crowd of pupils, myself one of them, were following mr. abernethy through the crowded wards of the hospital, when the apparition of a poor irishman, with the scantiest shirt i ever saw, jumped from a bed, and literally throwing himself on his knees at the doctor's feet, presented itself. we were startled for a moment, but the poor fellow, with all his country's eloquence, poured out such a torrent of praise, prayers, and blessings, and illustrated it with such ludicrous pantomimic displays of his leg, all splintered and bandaged, that we were not long left in doubt. "'that's the leg, your hon-nor. glory be to god. yer honnor's the buy what saved it. may the heavens be yer bed. long life to yer honnor. to the divil with the spalpeens that wanted to cut it off!' etc. "with some difficulty the patient was replaced in bed, and the doctor said,-- "'i am glad your leg is doing well, but never kneel again, except to your maker.' "the doctor took the opportunity of giving us a clinical lecture about diseases and their constitutional treatment. every sentence abernethy uttered, pat confirmed. [illustration: dr. abernethy in the hospital.] "'thrue for yer honnor; divil a lie at all, at all. his honnor's the grathe doctor, entirely,' etc. "at the slightest allusion to his case, off went the bed-clothes, and up went the leg, as if taking aim at the ceiling. 'that's it, be gorra! and a betther leg than the villain's that wanted to slice it off, entirely.' "the students actually roared with laughter, but abernethy retained his usual gravity throughout the whole of the ludicrous scene." madam rothschild, mother of the mighty capitalists, attained the great age of ninety-eight. her wits, which were of no common order, were preserved to the end. during her last illness, when surrounded by her family and some friends, she turned to her physician, and said, in a suppliant tone,-- "my dear doctor, i pray you try to do something for me." "madam, what can i do? i cannot make you young again." "no, doctor; nor do i want to be young again. but i want to continue to grow old." large feet. dr. wood was a man of large "understanding." one day at a presidential reception he was standing in a large crowd, when he felt two feet pressing on his patent leathers. looking down, he discovered that the said feet belonged to a female. wood was a bachelor, and at first the sensation was delightful. it made inexpressibly delicious thrills run all up and down his body. but as the _impression_ was all on the lady's side, the above sensations became gradually superseded by those not quite so delightful, and finally the pressure became very uncomfortable. mustering courage, he said, very gently,-- "madam, if you please, you are standing on my feet--" "your feet, sir, did you say?" for the crowd was so dense that she could not possibly see to the ground. "yes, madam, on my feet--this last half hour," very politely. "o, i beg a thousand pardons, sir; i thought i was standing on a block. _they are quite large, sir_," trying to remove. "yes, ma'am, quite large; but _yours covered 'em, madam_." a shanghai rooster. many people suffer more from the anticipation of trouble than by the actual infliction. the world is full of "trouble-borrowers." they generally keep a stock on hand to lend to those who unfortunately are compelled to listen to them. the following is a mitigated case:-- "sir," said a physician visiting a patient in the suburbs of this city, to a neighbor, "your shanghai greatly disturbs my patient." "is it possible?" asked the neighbor, expressing surprise. "yes, the bird is a terrible nuisance, giving the patient no peace, day or night, he informs me; but he did not want to complain." "but," replied the sceptical owner, "i don't see how he can annoy neighbor b. why, he only crows twice in the night, and only two or three times at regular intervals during the day." "yes; but you don't take into consideration all the times the patient is _expecting_ him to crow." spreading herself. in a country town in maine the writer knew an elderly physician, who had married a wife much younger than himself, whose aristocratic notions hardly coincided with those of this democratic people, though she had now lived here several years. finally a young physician came into the place and commenced practice. among the patients that he obtained from the old doctor's former practice was one named higgins. mrs. higgins, whose daughter had just recovered from a fever, gave a party, to which the families of both doctors, with the two ministers, and others, were invited. "will you go to mrs. higgins's party?" asked a neighbor of the old doctor's wife. "yes, i intend to go, by all means, for i want to see old mother higgins and her new doctor spread themselves." this reminds me of the following story, which is too good to be lost:-- "'once upon a time,' an old lady sent her grandson to set a turkey,--not the gobbler, as did the parson in mrs. stowe's 'minister's wooing.' on his return, the following dialogue occurred:-- "'sammy, my dear, have you set her?' "'yes, grandma,' replied hopeful. [illustration: "an extensive set."] "'fixed the nest up all nice, sammy?' "'o, mighty fine, grandma.' "'did you count the eggs, sammy, and get an odd number?' "'yes, grandma.' "'how many eggs did you set her on, sammy, dear?' "'one hundred and twenty-one, grandma.' "'o, goodness gracious! why did you put so many eggs under her, sammy?' "'why, grandma, i wanted to see the old thing spread herself.'" kerosene. some editors are continually making themselves ridiculous, as well as endangering the life of some person as ignorant in the matter as themselves, by publishing at random "remedies" for certain complaints, of both of which--remedy and disease--they knew nothing. the following i cut from a paper:-- "one thing i will mention which may be useful to some one. kerosene oil has been found effective as a vermifuge. it is given by the mouth for round stomach worms, and as an enema for pin worms. it is free from the irritation which follows the use of spirits turpentine, and is equally as effective." (no directions as to quantity at a dose.) an irishwoman in hartford, conn., spelling out the above in a newspaper, concluded to give her child, a boy of ten, a dose, under the belief that "wurrums ailed the child," and as it was harmless (?), she would give him the benefit of its harmlessness, and her ignorance, and administered accordingly a _tea-cup full_! frightful symptoms supervened,--colic, vomiting, etc.,--when a doctor was sent for, who being absent, his student--who hardly understood the danger of the case, and was a bit of a wag, by the way--sent the following prescription:-- "[r]. run a wick down the child's throat; any lamp or candle wick will do, provided it is long enough; set fire to the end left outside, _and use him for a lamp till the doctor arrives_." selah. this may seem too ridiculous to believe, but it is the truth, nevertheless. saleratus vs. sugar. early one summer morning, while practising in plymouth, conn., the writer was startled by a loud knock at the front door, which i hastened to answer. there stood an irishman, well known as living in a little hut, down on the "meadows," whose name was fitzgibbon. he was all out of breath, and the great drops of sweat were rolling all down his rough face, which he was endeavoring to mop up with a huge bandanna handkerchief. as soon as he could possibly articulate, he exclaimed,-- "o, docther, docther! take yourself--down to that sha-anty as quick as ye conva-niantly can, plaze." [illustration: "o, docther, dear, i've pizened me boy."] "why, what's the matter at the shanty, fitzgibbon?" "o, docther, dear, i've pizened my boy; what will i do intirely?" "how did it happen? don't be alarmed, fitzgibbon." for his manner was frightful. "will, i'll till yeze. he's been sick wid the masles. will, he's ate nothin' for a hole wake, and in the night he wanted some bread an' sugar, do ye see? an' i had no candle, an' i wint in the dark, an' spread him some bread, an' he ate it intirely, an' it was saleratus i put on it, instead of sugar; an' it's now atin' him intirely! o, dear, dear, that i should iver give him saleratus instead o' sugar!" "well, fitzgibbon, if the boy is so big a fool that he don't know the difference between saleratus and sugar, let him die." "o, docther, don't say so!" exclaimed the poor fellow, in agony. then i suddenly recollected that the sense of taste was always vitiated in measles, and thus excused the matter, adding,-- "now, run home, 'gibbon, and give the little fellow a tea-spoonful of vinegar in a little sugar and water,--not saleratus and water, mind you." "no, by the great st. patrick, i'll niver mistake the likes again," he earnestly interrupted, when i went on, saying,-- "then in half an hour give him another tea-spoonful, and that will relieve the 'gnawing at his stomach,' and by an hour i'll drive round there and see him, on my way to watertown." "i'll trust to yeze to git it out of him. god bless yeze;" and away he darted, saying, "o, howly mother! that i should give him saleratus for sugar!" his last joke. a celebrated english physician, who was also a distinguished humorist, when about to die, requested that none of his friends be invited to his funeral. a friend inquired the reason of this remarkable request. "because," sighed the dying but polite humorist, "it is a courtesy which can never be returned." charles matthews, the celebrated comedian, who died in , put the above entirely in the shade by _his_ last joke. the attending physician had left mr. matthews some medicine in a vial, which a friend was to administer during the night. by mistake, he gave the patient some ink from a vial which stood near. on discovering the error, his friend exclaimed, "o, gracious heavens, matthews, i have given you ink, instead of medicine." "never--never mind, my dear boy," said the dying man faintly; "_i will swallow a piece of blotting paper_." an astonished negro. dr. robertson, of charleston, s. c., who attended the writer in , with the yellow fever, was as competent, benevolent, and faithful a physician as i ever had the pleasure of meeting. his services were in great demand during the raging of the "yellow jack," and on one occasion he was absent from his house and office two whole days and a night. his family became alarmed, and a faithful old negro was sent in search of his master. it was no uncommon occurrence to see a black man traversing the streets, ringing a bell, and crying a "lost child;" but to see a slave searching for his lost master, was almost a phenomenon. [illustration: "lost marser! lost marser!"] it was quite dark, and the old negro was shuffling along king street, crying, "masser rob'son lost, masser rob'son lost," when suddenly he was brought to a halt, and silenced by some one saying,-- "what's that you are crying, neb?" his name was nebuchadnezzar. "o, de lord! if masser dr. rob'son hain't been an' loss hisself!" "you old fool, neb, i am your master--dr. robertson. don't you know me now?" exclaimed a familiar voice. sure enough, it was the doctor, returning from his numerous visits, tired and dust-covered. the whole thing solemnly impressed the old darky, who, a day or two later, was met by a ranting methodist, vulgarly termed a "_carpet-bagger_," who, in a solemn voice, said,-- "my colored friend, have you yet found the lord jesus?" "o, golly, masser!" exclaimed the old negro in astonishment; "hab de lord done gone an' loss hisself?" (i have seen the last part of this anecdote floating about the newspapers; but did ever any one see the former connection, or even the latter before ?) the writer was but a poor medical student, and an invalid, seeking here a more salubrious climate, away from the frosts and snows of his northern home, and though twenty years have since flown, i have not forgotten, and never shall, the kindness and attention received at the hands of the benevolent dr. robertson. while many who went out with me that fall fell victims to the fearful endemic before jack frost put a stop to its ravages, i escaped the grim monster death; and to the superior knowledge and efficient treatment of dr. r., with the excellent care of the benevolent landlady, mrs. butterfield, i owe my life. morning and evening the doctor's patter-patter was heard on the stairs,--three flights to climb. the whole case was gone over, and then, if the good old doctor had a moment to spare, he would retail some little anecdote "with which to leave me in good spirits." the following is one:-- "mr. bacon, of edgefield, was once courting a lady who had frequently refused him; but he, with commendable perseverance, had as often renewed the suit, until at last she became so exceedingly annoyed at his importunities that she told him that she could never marry a man whose tastes, opinions, likes and dislikes were so completely in opposition to her own as were his. "'in fact, mr. bacon,' she is represented as having said, 'i do not think there is one subject on earth upon which we could agree.' "'i assure you, dear madam, that you are mistaken, which i can prove.' "'if you will mention one, i will agree to marry you,' replied the lady. "'well, i will do it,' replied mr. bacon. 'suppose now you and i were travelling together; we arrive at a hotel which is crowded; there are only two rooms not entirely occupied, in one of which there is a man, in the other a woman: with which would you prefer to sleep?' "the lady arose indignantly, and replied, 'with the woman, of course, sir.' "'so would i,' replied mr. bacon, triumphantly." (my room had two beds in it, which suggested the above story.) dr. k.'s mare. the outline of the following ludicrous "situation" was given me by a gentleman of framingham:-- old dr. k., of f., was represented as a rough and off-handed specimen of the genus _homo_, who liked a horse even better than a woman,--not that he was by any means unmindful of the charms and claims of the beautiful,--better than he loved money, though the latter passion bordered on avariciousness. an over-nice and sensitive spinster once was visiting the family of mr. t., in town, which employed a younger and more refined physician than dr. k.; and the spinster, being somewhat indisposed, requested mr. t. to call a physician. his own family doctor was suggested; but on close inquiry, she concluded to have "the oldest and most experienced physician that the town afforded," and old dr. k. was called. mr. t. had just purchased a beautiful mare, which the doctor was desirous of possessing; and the animal was the subject of conversation as the two entered the house, even to the parlor, where the spinster reclined upon a sofa. the old doctor examined the lady for a moment in silence, but his mind was all absorbed in the reputed qualities of the mare, as he timed the lady's pulse. "slightly nervous," he said to the spinster. "tongue? ah! coated. throat sore?" and turning towards t., he resumed the horse discussion, still holding the lady's wrist. "good wind, mr. t.? no spavins? nothing the matter? suppose you trot her out this afternoon." the spinster, supposing the conversation alluded to her, went into the most extreme kind of hysterics. "a scared customer." we give this incident for what it is worth. a man recently entered a restaurant in utica, n. y., and ordered a very elaborate dinner. he lingered long at the table, and finally wound up with a bottle of wine. then lighting a cigar, he sauntered up to the bar, and remarked to the proprietor,-- "very fine dinner, landlord. just charge it, for i haven't a cent." "but i don't know you," replied the proprietor, indignantly. "no, of course you don't, or you never would have let me have the dinner." "pay me for the dinner, i say," shouted the landlord. "and i say i can't," vociferated the customer. "then i'll see about it," exclaimed the proprietor, who snatched something from a drawer, leaped over the counter, and grasping the man by the collar, pointed something at his throat. "i'll see if you get away with that dinner without paying for it, you scoundrel." "what is that you hold in your hand?" demanded the now affrighted customer, trying to get a sight at the article. "that, sir, is a revolver; loaded, sir." [illustration: not a stomach-pump.] "o, d---- that; i don't care a continental for a revolver; i've got one myself. _i was afraid it was a stomach-pump!_" "what's trumps?" mrs. bray, in her book of _anecdotes_, relates a story illustrative of the power of the ruling passion. "a devonshire physician, boasting the not untradesman-like name of vial, was a desperate lover of the game of whist. one evening, during his opponent's deal, he fell to the floor in a fit. consternation seized on the company, who knew not if the doctor was dead or alive. finally he showed signs of returning life, and retaining the last cherished idea that had possessed him on falling into the fit, he resumed his chair, exclaiming, '_what's trumps, boys?_'" * * * * * the writer was present at a similar occurrence. there were a half score of boys seated upon some logs near the country school-house, during recess, listening to a story, something about "an old woman who had just reached a well, with a pitcher to obtain some water, when the old lady tripped her toe, and fell into the well head foremost." at this juncture one of the listeners fell forward from the log in a fit. we were greatly frightened, but mustered sufficient courage to throw some water in the boy's face, when he gradually came to his senses, exclaiming,-- "_did she break the pitcher, johnny?_" * * * * * to mrs. bray's book we are again indebted for the following:-- "a _bon-vivant_, brought to his death-bed by an immoderate use of wine, was one day informed by his physician that he could not, in all human probability, survive many hours, and that he would die before eight o'clock the following morning, summoned all his remaining strength to call the doctor back, and, when the physician had returned, made an ineffectual attempt to rise in bed, saying, with the true recklessness of an innate gambler,-- "'doctor, i'll bet you some bottles that i live till _nine_!'" "let go the halliards." a sailor was taken with the pleurisy on board a vessel that was hauling through the "seven bridges" that span the charles river from the navy yard to cambridgeport, and a well-known physician, rather of the falstaffian make-up, whom i may as well call dr. jones,--because that is _not_ his name,--was summoned. he prescribed for the patient, and when the schooner touched the pier of the bridge, he stepped ashore, as was supposed by the captain and crew, whose whole attention was required to keep the vessel from driving against the drawer; but "there's many a slip 'twixt cup and lip," and the old doctor had taken the "slip," and went plump overboard, unseen by any. in his descent he grasped at a rope, which happened to be the jib halliards, and as he came up, puffing and blowing the salt water from his mouth and nose, he began to haul "hand-over-hand" at the halliards. his corpulency overbalanced the jib, and gradually the sail began to ascend, to the astonishment of the cook, who stood near by, and to the wrath of the captain on the quarter-deck. "let go the jib halliards, there, you confounded _slush_," roared the captain. "i ain't h'isting the jib," replied the terrified cook, believing that the sail was bewitched, for sailors are quite superstitious, you know. "let go the halliards," shouted the mate. "we shall be across the draw, and all go to davy jones' locker. hear, d---- you, slush-bucket?" still the old doctor pulled for dear life, and still rose the ghost-like sail, while the affrighted cook and all hands ran aft, looking as pale as death. still the sail went up, up, and the captain and mate began to be astonished, when by this time--less time than it requires to tell it--the old doctor had reached the rail of the vessel, and shouted lustily for help. all ran forward to help the corpulent old doctor on deck, and by means of a man at each arm, and a boat-hook fast into the doctor's unmentionables, he was hauled safely on board, a wetter and a wiser man. if you want to get kicked out of his office, just say in his hearing, "_let go them 'ere halliards_," and it is done. "o, mermaids, is it cold and wet adown beneath the sea? it seems to me that rather chill must davy's locker be." medical titbits. _more mustard than meat._--a poor, emaciated irishman having called in a physician as a forlorn hope, the latter spread a large mustard plaster and applied it to the poor fellow's lean chest. "ah, docthor," said pat, looking down upon the huge plaster with tearful eyes, "it sames to me it's a dale of mustard for so little mate." * * * * * "_don't want to be an angel._"--"i want to be an angel," which has been so long shouted by _millions_ of darling little sunday school children, who hadn't the remotest idea for what they had been wishing (?), and whose parents would not voluntarily consent to the premature transformation, if the children did, has received a check in the following:-- a little sprite, who had been so very sick that her life was despaired of, was told one morning by the doctor that she would now get well. "o, i'm so glad, doctor!" she replied; "for i don't want to die and go to heaben, and be an angel, and wear fedders, like a hen." tooth drawing. a snobbish-appearing individual accosted a countryman in homespun with the following interrogation:-- "i say, ah, my fraand, are you sufficiently conversant with the topography of _this_ neighborhood to direct me to the nearest disciple of Æsculapius, eh?" "what?" exclaimed the astonished rustic. "can you familiarize me with the most direct course to a physician?" "hey?" "can you tell me where a doctor lives?" "o, a doctor's house. why didn't you say so before?" * * * * * the next is after the same sort. a sailor chap entered a dentist's office to have a tooth extracted. [illustration: "lower tier, larboard side."] _doctor (with great professional dignity, speaking very slowly)._ "well, mariner, what tooth do you require extracted? is it an incisor, bicuspid, or a molar?" _jack (brusque and loud)._ "it's here in the lower tier, larboard side. bear a hand, lively, you dumb'd swab, for it's nippin' my jaw like a lobster." * * * * * _the most astonished boy_ i ever beheld was a little country lad who came to have a tooth drawn. "he thought it must be fun," his mother said; "but he never had one drawn, and knows nothing of it." "o!" with a great, round mouth, was all he had time to say, but the expression of astonishment depicted on that striking countenance, glaring eyes, and by the expressive, spasmodic "o!" i never can forget or describe; and he caught his hat and ran home, a distance of two miles, without stopping, while his mother followed in the carriage by which they came. the boy's idea was summed up as follows:-- "the doctor hitched tight onto the tooth with his pinchers, then he pulled his first best, and just before it killed me, the tooth came out, and so i run home." * * * * * "_taking it out in trade_" is all very well when the arrangement is mutual; but there are occasions when the advantages are imperceptible, at least to one party, as thus:-- "what's the matter, jerry?" asked old mr. ----, as jeremiah was jogging by, growling most furiously. "matter 'nough," replied old jerry. "there i've been luggin' water all the morning for the doctor's wife to wash with, and what do you s'pose she give me for it?" "about ninepence." "ninepence? no! she told me the doctor would pull a tooth for me some time, when he got leisure." * * * * * apothecaries sometimes "come down" from the dignity of the professional man, and crack a joke. for instance,-- a humorous druggist on washington street recently exposed some cakes of soap in his window with the pertinent inscription, "cheaper than dirt." in the country, you know, they keep almost everything in the apothecaries' shops. we mentioned the fact in our chapter on apothecaries. a wag once entered one of these apotheco-groco-dry-goods-meat-and-fish-market-stores, and asked the keeper,-- "do you keep matches, sir?" "o, yes, all kinds," was the reply. "well, i'll take a trotting match," said the wag. the equally humorous druggist handed down a box of pills, saying,-- "here, take 'em and trot." * * * * * _a sure cure._--henry ward beecher is currently reported as having once written to dr. oliver wendell holmes as to the knowledge of the latter respecting a certain difficulty. the reply was characteristic, and _encouraging_. "gravel," wrote the doctor, "gravel is an effectual cure. it should be taken about four feet deep." the "remedy" was not, however, so remarkable as the following:-- * * * * * "_time and cure._"--a good-looking and gentlemanly-dressed fellow was arraigned on the charge of stealing a watch, which watch was found on his person. it was his first offence, and he pleaded, "guilty." the magistrate was struck with the calm deportment of the prisoner, and asked him what had induced him to take the watch. "having been out of health for some time," replied the young man, sorrowfully, "the doctor advised me to take something, which i accordingly did." the magistrate was rather amused with the humor of the explanation, and further inquired why he had been led to select so remarkable a remedy as a watch. "why," replied the prisoner, "i thought if i only had the _time_, nature might work the _cure_." * * * * * _dye-stuff._--during the cholera time of , in hartford, conn., a little girl was sent to a drug store to purchase some dye-stuff, and forgetting the name of the article, she said to the clerk, "john, what do folks dye with?" "die with? why, the cholera, mostly, nowadays." "well, i guess that's the name of what i want. i'll take three cents' worth." * * * * * the hartford courant told this story in :-- "_cholera fenced in._--you have noticed the flaming handbills setting forth the virtues of a cholera remedy, that are posted by the hundreds on the board fence enclosing the ground on main street, where roberts' opera house is being erected. well, there was a timid countryman, the other day, who had so far recovered from the 'cholera scare' as to venture into the city with a horse and wagon load of vegetables; and thereby hangs a tale. he drove moderately along the street, when he suddenly spied the word 'cholera,' in big letters on the new fence, and he staid to see no more. laying the lash on to his quadruped, he went past the handbills like a streak of lightning, went--'nor stood on the order of his going'--up past the tunnel, planting the vegetables along the entire route,--for the tail-board had loosened,--hardly taking breath, or allowing his beast to breathe, till he reached home at w. "safely there, he rushed wildly into the midst of his household, exclaiming,-- "'o, wife, wife, they _have_ got the cholera in hartford, _and have fenced it in_.'" * * * * * _a joke that's not a joke._--a funny limb of the law had an office, a few years since, on ---- street, next door to a doctor's shop. one day, an elderly gentleman, of the fogy school, blundered into the lawyer's office, and asked,-- "is the doctor in?" [illustration: the farmer's escape from the cholera.] "don't live here," replied the lawyer, scribbling over some legal documents. "o, i thought this was the doctor's office." "next door, sir;" short, and still writing. "i beg pardon, but can you tell me if the doctor has many patients?" "_not living_," was the brief reply. the old gentleman repeated the story in the vicinity, and the doctor threatened the lawyer with a libel. the latter apologized, saying, "it was only a joke, and that no man could sustain a libel against a lawyer," when the doctor acknowledged the joke, and satisfaction, saying he would send up a bottle of wine, in token of reconciliation. the wine came, and the lawyer invited in a few friends to laugh over the joke, and _smile_ over the doctor's wine. the seal was broken, the dust and cobwebs being removed, and the doctor's health drunk right cordially. the excellence of the doctor's wine was but half discussed, when the lawyer begged to be excused a moment, caught his hat, and rushed from the room. soon one of the guests repeated the request, and followed; then another, and another, till they had all gone out. the wine had been nicely "doctored" with _tartar emetic_, the seal replaced and well dusted over, before being sent to the lawyer. the doctor was now threatened with prosecution; but after some consideration, the following brief correspondence passed between the belligerents:-- "nolle prosequi." lawyer to doctor. "quits." doctor to lawyer. * * * * * _parboiling an old lady._--in rockland, me., then called east thomaston, several years ago, there resided an old thomsonian doctor, who had erected in one room of his dwelling a new steam bath. an old lady from the "meadows," concluding to try the virtues of the medicated steam, went down, was duly arrayed in a loose robe by the doctor's wife, and with much trepidation and many warnings not to keep her too long, she entered the bath--a sort of closet, with a door buttoned outside. the steam was kept up by a large boiler, fixed in the fireplace which the doctor was to regulate. the old lady took a book into the bath, "to occupy her mind, and keep her from getting too nervous." "now it's going all right," said the doctor, when ding, ding, ding! went the front door bell. the doctor stepped noiselessly out, and learned that a woman required his immediate attention at south thomaston, three miles away. he forgot all about the old lady fastened into the bath, and leaping into the carriage in waiting, he was whisked off to south thomaston. meantime the steam increased, and the old lady began to get anxious. the moisture gathered on her book; the leaves began to wilt. the dampness increased, and soon the book fell to pieces in her lap. great drops of sweat and steam rolled down over her face and body, and she arose, and tapping very gently at the door, said,-- "hadn't i better come out now, doctor?" [illustration: too much vapor.] no reply. she waited a moment longer, and repeated the knock louder. "let me come out, doctor. i am just melting in here." still the doctor, to her astonishment, did not reply, or open the door. "for god's sake, doctor, let me out." listening a few seconds, she screamed, "o, i believe he's gone, and left me here to parboil! open, open!" and she knocked louder and louder at the door, while the now almost scalding waters literally poured from her body. "o, i shall suffocate here." and giving a desperate kick, she set her foot through the panelled door, and, getting down on all fours, she crawled through the opening. just then the doctor's wife, hearing the thumping, hastened to the room, and with many apologies and excuses, rubbed down and dried the old lady, and begged her not to mention the affair. but never, to the day of her death, did the old lady again enter a "steam bath," or cease to tell how "_the doctor went off to attend a 'birth' leaving her in the bath to parboil_!" * * * * * _a dry shower bath._--when shower baths were all the rage, a few years ago, all sorts of plans were suggested to avoid getting wet. the following is to the point:-- _doctor._ well, deacon, how did your wife manage her new shower bath? [illustration: a dry shower bath.] _deacon._ o, she had real good luck. madam mooney told how she managed with hern. she had made a large oiled silk hood, with a large cape to it, like a fisherman's in a storm, that came all down over her shoulders. _doctor_ (impatiently). she's a fool for her pains. that's not the way. _deacon._ so my wife thought. _doctor._ and your wife did nothing of the kind, i hope. _deacon._ o, no, no. my wife, she used an umbrilly. [illustration] ix. fortune-tellers. _ st witch._ by the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes. _macbeth._ how now, you secret, black and midnight hags, what is't ye do? _all._ a deed without a name.--macbeth, act iv. sc. . past and present.--bible astrologers and fortune-tellers.--arabian.--eastern.--english.--queen's favorite.--lilly.--a lucky guess.--the great london fire foretold.--how.--our "tidal wave" and agassiz.--a haul of fortune-tellers.--present.--visit en masse.--"filliky milliky."--"charge bayonets!"--a fowl proceeding.--finding lost property.--the magic mirror exposÉ.--"one more unfortunate."--procuresses.--boston museum.--"a nice old gentleman."--money does it.--great sums of money.--"love powder" expose.--hasheesh.--"does he love me?" under the guise of fortune-telling and clairvoyance the most nefarious atrocities are daily enacted, not only in the larger cities, but in the villages and towns even, throughout the country. in this chapter i propose to ventilate them in a manner never before attempted, and the _exposé_ may be relied upon as correct in every particular. "why," exclaimed a friend, "i thought fortune-telling one of the follies of the past, and that there was little or none of it practised at the present." far from it. very few, comparatively, who practise the black art come out under the ancient name of fortune-tellers; but there are thousands of ignorant, characterless wretches, in our enlightened day and generation, who pretend to tell fortunes, if not under the open title above, as astrologers, seers, clairvoyants, or spiritualists, etc. there are some clairvoyants of whom we shall treat under the head of "mind and matter." the bible fortune-tellers practised their lesser deceptions under the various titles of "wise men," "soothsayers," the former being acknowledged as the more legitimate by the jews, and the latter mere heathenish prognosticators, without divine authority, as thus: is. ii. . "therefore thou hast forsaken thy people, the house of jacob, because they be replenished from the east, and are _soothsayers, like the philistines_." . "their land also is full of idols; they worship the work of their own hands, that which their own fingers have made." there were also wizards, astrologers, "star-gazers" (is. xlvii. ), spiritualists ( sam. xxviii. ), magicians, sorcerers, and "the well-favored harlot, the mistress of witchcrafts, that _selleth nations through her whoredoms, and families through her witchcrafts_." nahum iii. . all of these exist at the present day, carrying on the same sort of vile deceptions and heinous crimes, to the "selling of families and nations," and souls, in spite of law or gospel. even as those of nearly six thousand years ago were patronized by the great, the kings, and queens, and nobles of the earth, so are the fortune-tellers, under the more refined titles, visited by governors, representatives, and ladies and gentlemen of rank, of modern times. in visiting these pretenders, in order "to worm out the secrets of their trade," the writer has not only been assured by them in confidence that the above is true, but he has met distinguished characters there, face to face,--the minister of the gospel, the lawyer, the judge, the doctor, and what _ought_ to have been the representative intelligence of the land,--consulting and fellowshiping with ignorant fortune-tellers. "ignorant?" yes, out of the scores whom i have seen, there has not been one, male or female, possessing an intelligence above ordinary people in the unprofessional walks of life, while the majority of them were in comparison far below the mediocrity. if ignorance alone patronized ignorance, like a family intermarrying, the stock would eventually dwindle into nothingness, and entirely die out. before the "captivity" the jews had their wise men, and on their exodus they reported the existence of the magicians or magi of egypt. it seems that nearly everybody, and particularly the egyptians, regarded moses and aaron as but magicians in those days; and the magi of pharaoh's household--for all kings and rulers of ancient times and countries had their fortune-tellers about them--had a little "tilt" with moses and aaron, commencing with the changing of the rods into snakes. the egyptian magicians did very well at the snake "trick," as the modern magician calls it, also at producing frogs, and such like reptiles; but they were puzzled in the vermin business, and the boils troubled them, and they then gave up, and acknowledged that there _was_ a power beyond theirs, and that power was with god. well, that is not fortune-telling; but this was the class who professed the power of foretelling; and we find them, with women of the familiar spirits, made mention of all through the scriptural writing. isaiah testifies (chapter xix.) that the charmers, familiar spirits, and wizards ruined egypt as a nation. what advantage were they ever to king saul, the grass-eating king with the long name, or any other individuals, in their perplexities? they rather stood in the light of individuals, nations, and the cause of heaven. then jesus and the apostles had them to meet and overcome--for their power had become very great, even to the publication of books to promulgate their doctrines; for we read in acts xix. , that there were brought forth at ephesus, at one time, these books, to the amount of fifty thousand pieces of silver, or about twenty-six thousand five hundred dollars' worth, and burned in the public square or synagogue. there are some instances recorded in the bible, and by josephus, where the jews professed to foretell events. the curious case of barjesus, at paphos, who, for a time, hindered sergius, the deputy of the country, from embracing christianity, is cited in illustration of the injury that false prophets are to all advancement. paul testifies to that fact in the following words: "o, full of all subtlety, and all mischief, child of the devil, enemy to all righteousness," etc. arabian fortune-teller. the arabians, from time immemorial, have been implicit believers in fortune-telling, as well as believers in the efficacy of charms and all other mystic arts. "no species of knowledge is more highly venerated by them than that of the occult sciences, which affords maintenance to a vast number of quacks and impudent pretenders." the science of "isen allah" enables the possessor to discern what is passing in his absence, to expel evil spirits, and cure malignant diseases. others claim to control the winds and the weather, calm tempests, and to say their prayers in person at mecca, without stirring from their own abodes hundreds of miles away! the "sinia" is what is better known to us as jugglery and feats of illusion. the "ramle" is the more proper fortune-telling, and is believed in and practised by people of all ranks, male and female, and by the physicians. the eastern prince. fortune-telling is practised in all eastern countries, to a great extent, to the present day. some pretend to foretell events by the stars and planets, some by charms, cards, the palm of the hand, or a lock of hair; the latter is the most vulgar mode, and commonly followed by the gypsies. when the fortress of ismail was besieged, in , by the russians, prince potemkin, the commanding officer, began to grow impatient, after nearly two months' resistance, though he was surrounded by all the comforts and luxuries of an eastern prince--by courtiers and beautiful women, who employed the most exciting and voluptuous means to engage his attention. madame de witt, one of the females, pretended to read the decrees of fate by cards, and foretold that the prince would only take the place at the expiration of three more weeks. "ah," exclaimed the prince, with a smile, "i have a method of divination far more infallible, as you shall see;" and he immediately despatched orders to suwarof _to take ismail within three days_. the brave but barbarous hero obeyed the order to the very letter. the seer's wife. when richmond, afterwards henry vii., landed at milford-haven, on his memorable march to his successful encounter with richard iii., then at bosworth field, he consulted a celebrated welsh seer, who dwelt in magnificent style at a place called matha farm. to the duke's question as to whether he should succeed or not, the wily seer, whose name was davyd lloyd, requested a little time in which to consider so important a query. as richmond lodged that night with his friend davyd, he gave him till the following morning to make up his decision, when the seer assured richmond that he "would succeed gloriously." for this wonderful and timely information lloyd received immense rewards at the hand of his grateful prince when he became king henry vii. now for the secret of his success: during the time granted for the answer, davyd, in great perplexity and trepidation, consulted his wife, instead of the heavens, for an answer. see the wisdom of the reply. "there can be no difficulty about an answer. tell him he will certainly succeed. then, if he does, you will receive honors and rewards; and if he fails, depend on't he will never come here to punish you." dee, the astrologer. one of the most remarkable and successful fortune-tellers known to english history was john dee, who was born in london, , and died in . a biographer says, "he was an english divine and astrologer of great learning, celebrated in the history and science of necromancy, chancellor of st. paul's, and warden of manchester college, in the reign of queen elizabeth. he was also author of several published works on the subject of astrology, revelations of spirits, etc., which books are preserved in the cottonian library and elsewhere." dee enjoyed for a long time the confidence and patronage of elizabeth. he then resided in an elegant house at mortlake, which was still standing in , and was used for a female boarding school. "in two hundred years it necessarily had undergone some repairs and alterations; yet portions of it still exhibited the architecture of the sixteenth century. "from the front windows might be seen the doctor's garden, still attached to the house, down the central path of which the queen used to walk from her carriage from the shan road to consult the wily conjurer on affairs of love and war. "he was one of the few men of science who made use of his knowledge to induce the vulgar to believe him a conjurer, and one possessing the power to converse with spirits. lilly's memoirs recorded many of his impostures, and at one time the public mind was much agitated by his extravagances. the mob more than once destroyed his house (before residing at mortlake) for being too familiar with their devil. he pretended to see spirits in a stone, which is still preserved with his books and papers.... in his spiritual visions dee had a confederate in one kelley, who, of course, confirmed all his master's oracles. both, however, in spite of their spiritual friends, died miserably--kelley by leaping from a window and breaking his neck, and dee in great poverty and wretchedness. the remains of the impostor lie in mortlake church, without any memorial." he unfortunately had survived his royal patroness. queen mary had had dee imprisoned for practising by enchantment against her life; but her successor released him, and required him to name a lucky day for her coronation. "in view of this fact," asks the author of 'a morning's walk from london to kew,' "is it to be wondered at that a mere man, like tens of thousands of other fanatics, persuaded himself that he was possessed of supernatural powers?" another impostor.--the great fire. william lilly followed in the wake of, and was even a more successful impostor than the reverend dee. he was first known in london as a book-keeper, whose master, dying, gave him the opportunity of marrying his widow and her snug little fortune of one thousand pounds. the wife died in a few years, and lilly set up as an astrologer and fortune-teller. his first great attempt at a public demonstration of his art was about , which was to discover certain treasures which he claimed were buried in the cloister of westminster abbey. lilly had studied astronomy with a welsh clergyman, and doubtless may have been sufficiently "weather-wise" to anticipate a storm; but however that might have been, on the night of the attempt, there came up a most terrific storm of wind, rain, thunder and lightning, which threatened to bury the actors beneath the ruins of the abbey, and his companions fled, leaving lilly master of the situation. he unblushingly declared that he himself allayed the "storm spirit," and "attributed the failure to the lack of faith and want of better knowledge in his companions." "in lilly ventured a second marriage, with another woman of property, which was unfortunate as a commercial speculation, for the bride proved extravagant beyond her dowry and lilly's income. in he published his first almanac, which he continued thirty-six years. in he therein predicted the "great fire" of london, which immortalized his name. while lilly was known as a cheat, and was ridiculed for his absurdities, he received the credit for as lucky a guess as ever blessed the fortunes of a cunning rogue. "in the year ," said his prediction, "the aphelium of mars, the signification of england, will be in virgo, which is assuredly the ascendant of the english monarchy, but aries of the kingdom. when this absis, therefore, of mars shall appear in virgo, who shall expect less than a strange _catastrophe_ of human affairs in the commonwealth, monarchy, and kingdom of england?" he then further stated that it would be "_ominous to london, unto her merchants at sea, to her traffique_ at land, to her poor, to her rich, to all _sorts of people inhabiting her or her liberties, by reason of fire and plague_!" these he predicted would occur within ten years of that time. the great plague did occur in london in , and the great fire in ! the fire originated by incendiarism in a bakery on pudding lane, near the tower, in a section of the city where the buildings were all constructed of wood with pitched roofs, and also a section near the storehouses for shipping materials, and those of a highly combustible nature. it occurred also at a time when the water-pipes were empty. this fearful visitation destroyed nearly two thirds of the metropolis. four hundred and thirty-three acres were burned over. thirteen thousand houses, eighty-nine churches, and scores of public buildings were laid in ashes and ruins. there was no estimating the amount of property destroyed, nor the many souls who perished in the relentless, devouring flames. if this great fire originated at the instigation of lilly, in order to demonstrate his claims as a foreteller of events, as is believed to be the case by nearly all who were not themselves believers in the occult science, what punishment could be meted out to such a villain commensurate to his heinous crime? curran says, "there are two kinds of prophets, those who are inspired, and those who prophesy events which they themselves intend to bring about. upon this occasion, lilly had the ill luck to be deemed of the latter class." elihu rich says in his biography of lilly, "it is certain that he was a man of no character. he was a double-dealer and a liar, by his own showing, ... and perhaps as decent a man as a _trading_ prophet could well be, under the circumstances." lilly was cited before a committee of the house of commons, not, as was supposed by many, "that he might discover by the same planetary signs _who_ were the authors of the great fire," but because of the suspicion that he was already acquainted with them, and privy to the supposed machinations which brought about the catastrophe. at one time, - , parliament gave him one hundred pounds a year, and he was courted by royalty and nobility, at home and abroad, from whom he received an immense revenue. he died a natural death, in , "leaving some works of interest in the history of astrology," which, in connection with the important personages with whom he was associated, and the remarkable events above recorded, have immortalized his name. respecting the prediction of the plague, i presume that if any prominent personage should, at any time, predict a great calamity to a great metropolis, to take place "_within ten years, more or less_," there necessarily would be something during that time, of a calamitous nature, that might seem to verify their prediction. besides, we should take into consideration how many predictions are never verified. dr. lamb, dee, bell, and others prophesied earthquakes to shake up london at various times in , , , etc., which never occurred, to any great extent. supposing a great tidal wave should devastate our coast, within ten years even, would not professor agassiz be immortalized thereby, although he never predicted it, except in the imaginative and mulish brains of certain individuals, who will have it that he did so predict? a raid on fortune-tellers. in london, at the present day, it is estimated that nearly two thousand persons, male and female, gain a livelihood under the guise of fortune-telling. some of them are "seers," or "astrologers," "seventh sons," clairvoyants, etc. from the london telegraph of the year we gather the following description of a few of the most prominent of these, with their arrest and trial, as fortune-telling is there, as elsewhere, proscribed by law:-- "first was arraigned 'professor zendavesta,' otherwise john dean bryant, aged fifty, and described as a 'botanist.' he was charged with having told a woman's fortune, for the not very extravagant sum of thirteen cents. two married women, it seems, instructed by the police, went to no. homer street, marylebone, and paid sixpence each to a woman, who gave them a bone ticket in return. one might have imagined that it was a spiritualist's _seance_, but for the fact that the fee for admittance was sixpence, and not one guinea. professor zendavesta shook hands with one of the women, and warmly inquired after her health. she told him she was in trouble about her husband, which was false, and he bade her be of good cheer, and made an appointment to meet her on another day. subsequently, two constables went to bryant's house, and on going into a room on the ground floor, found thirty or forty young women seated there. the ladies began to scream, and there was a rush for the door; while the police, who seemed to labor under the impression that to attend an astrological lecture was as illegal an act as that of being present at a cock-fight or a common gambling-house, stopped several of the women, and made them give their names and addresses. the walls of the apartment were covered with pictures of life and death, with the 'nativities of several royal and illustrious personages, and of constance kent.' it is a wonder that the horoscopes of heliogabalus and jack the painter should have been lacking. then there was a medicine chest containing bottles and memoranda of nativities; also a 'magic mirror, with a revolving cylinder,' showing the figures of men and women, old and young. of course the collection included a 'book of fate.' this was the case against bryant. "one shepherd, alias 'professor cicero,' was next charged, and it was shown that the same 'instructed' women went to his house, paying sixpence for the usual bone ticket. they saw shepherd separately. when one of them said that she wanted her fortune told, 'professor cicero' took a yard tape and measured her hand. he gabbled the usual nonsense to her about love, marriage, and good luck, hinting that the price of a complete nativity would be half a crown, and before they left the place he gave them a circular, with their phrenological organs marked. indeed, the man's defence was, that he was a professor of phrenology, and not of the black art. a 'magic mirror' and a 'lawyer's gown' were, however, found at his house, and the last named item has certainly a very black look. the evidence against the next defendant, william henry, alias 'professor thalaby,' and against the fourth and last, frederick shipton, alias 'professor baretta,' did not differ to any great extent from the testimony given against zendavesta. the solicitor retained for this sage contended that if he had infringed the law, it was likewise violated at the crystal palace, where the 'magic mirror' was to be seen every day. mr. mansfield, however, had only to deal with the case and the culprits before him, and, convicting all the four fortune-tellers, he sent them to the house of correction, there to be kept, each and every one of them, to hard labor for three months." the fortune-tellers of to-day. before entering upon the _exposé_ of the viler practices of this vile art,--the "selling of families," and of virginity, and the abominable practices of the procuresses, who carry on their damnable treacheries, particularly in our large cities, at the present day,--i wish to enliven this chapter by one or more amusing instances relative to country fortune-tellers. _filliky milliky._--during the summer of -, the writer was one of a large party of excursionists to weymouth's point, in union bay. there was a large barge full of people, old and young, male and female, besides several sailboat loads, who, on the return in the afternoon, decided to stop at the hut of a fortune-teller called "filliky milliky." this old man, with his equally ignorant wife, professed to tell fortunes by means of a tea-cup. he claimed that he knew of our intended visit, and had set his house in order; but if that house was "in order" that day, deliver us from seeing it when out of order. there were some one hundred or more of us, and whilst but two could occupy the attention of the "millikies" at once, we sought other means of whiling away the time. the old man lived near the river side, and at his leisure had picked up a large pile of lath edgings which had floated down from a lath mill on the river. one captain joy took it upon himself to form "all the gentlemen who would enlist in so noble a cause" into a "home guard," and forthwith arming themselves with the aforesaid lath edgings, a company of volunteers was quickly raised, and drawn up in battle array. i do not recollect the glorious and patriotic speech by which our noble captain fired our "sluggish souls with due enthusiasm for the great cause in which we were about to embark," but we were put through a course of military tactics, "according to hardee," and took up our line of march. [illustration: charge, infantry!] there was no bunker hill on which to display our valor, but there was another hill, just in rear of the barn nearly, which had not been used in farming purposes that spring, and for this hill we charged at "double-quick." in this charge--the danger lay in the _swamping_ part of the hill--we unambushed a large flock of hens, chickens, and ducks, from the opposite side. "_charge bayonet!_" shouted our noble captain, with great presence of mind. we charged! the ducks quacked and fled. the hens cackled and ran. the noise was deafening, the chase enthusiastic, and above the dust and din of battle arose the stentorian cry, "charge bayonet!" the donnybrook fair advice of "wherever there's a head, hit it," was followed to the letter, until the last enemy lay dead on the gory field, or had hid so far under the barn that the small boys could not bring them forth. then orders came to withdraw, and gather up the dead and wounded. [illustration: after the battle.] there was an interesting string of hens, chickens, and ducks brought in and laid at the feet of our great commander, to represent the fowl products of that campaign. the captain's congratulatory speech was characteristic also of the _fowl proceedings_, at the close of which harangue he appointed the "orderly a committee of three to wait on the fortune-teller, and present him with the spoils of war," of which his "cups" had given him no previous intimation. what next? the captain informed us that "as the company was 'mutual,' it became necessary, in consideration of the losses, to draw on the _stock-holders_ (_gun-stock_), as he could see no other 'policy' under which to assess those 'damages.'" "filliky milliky" never carried fowl to a better market. the "fortunate" ones entertained us, on the barge, with the marvellous revelations that had transpired within the hut. one married lady was assured that she was yet single, but would marry in a six-month. a double-and-twisted old maid was told that her husband was in california. but the most absurd revelation was to a well-known respectable middle-aged lady, who was inclined to believe in the foreseeing powers of old mother milliky until now, who was told that she was "soon to receive a letter from her absent husband, also in california for the last five years; that he had become rich, and was soon to return; but that her youngest child, a year old, was inclined to worms, and might not live to see its father return!" all this wonderful information for a ninepence. * * * * * _secret of finding lost property._--in hopkinton, mass., there lived a man named sheffield, who professed to tell fortunes. the postmaster of that town told my informant that old sheffield received from seven to ten letters per day from the fools who believed in his foreseeing powers. once the surveyor, with a large gang of men, was working on the highway, and while they were at dinner an ox chain was stolen. the overseer, happening along before the rest of the men, saw some one unhook the chain, and steal away to a field adjoining, pull up a fence post, and deposit the chain in the hole, replace the post, and return. he "lay low," and as the thief passed he discovered him to be old sheffield, the fortune-teller. he kept his own counsel, and, the chain being missed, a committee of three was appointed to visit the seer, to discover by his art where the stolen property was secreted. mr. ----, the overseer, and others, called on sheffield, who got out his mysterious book, and figured away in an impressive manner, and finally chalked out a rough plan of the ground on the floor, and again consulting his book, he solemnly declared that he had discovered the property. "you follow this line from the spot where the chain was unhooked from the plough, so many rods to this line fence, go along the fence to the seventh post, draw it up, and the chain will be found beneath, in the post-hole." the two men were struck dumb with astonishment, for they believed in the mysterious powers of old sheffield; but the overseer exclaimed, in words more impressive than elegant,-- "yes, you infernal scoundrel, and you put it there, for i saw you with my own eyes." the magic mirror expose. not long ago the body of a once beautiful young woman was taken from the merrimack river, below the factories at l----. she was unknown at the time, and this was all there was given to the public. to the world she was merely-- "one more unfortunate, weary of breath, rashly importunate, gone to her death." now, these are the whole facts of the case. she was the daughter of respectable, christian parents, in a new england village, where she was highly esteemed as an amiable and virtuous young lady. but the tempter came. not in the form of a "serpent"--very harmless animals, comparatively!--nor that other old fellow, commonly descried as having clattering hoofs and forked tail, etc.--but in the flesh and semblance of a handsome young man! i think preachers and book-makers paint their devils too hideous and too far off! leave off the d, and look for your evils nearer home, and rather pleasant to look at, on the sly, and not (at first) very unpleasant to the senses in general. these are the dangerous (d)evils; escape _them_, and you avoid all! in the village there were two young men, rivals for the affections of this amiable young lady, and i know not but there were a dozen besides. one held the only advantage over the other of having been a native of the town, while the other was, comparatively, but little known. both were sober, industrious, and moral young men. one day miss ---- was going to the great city, and, for the "sport of the thing," agreed to visit a celebrated fortune-teller--a clairvoyant!--at the instigation of the young man, who, though least known to her, had recently distanced his rival by his assiduity in pressing his suit before the young lady. he assured her there could be no impropriety in a young lady's visiting a fortune-teller. it was only for fun; nobody believed in them, and she could keep her own secret if she chose! she went in broad daylight. the lady clairvoyant greeted her cordially, begged her to feel quite at her ease, as there was great fortune in store for her. she described her two lovers very minutely, and informed the girl that the one who was to marry her would come to her in a vision, if she would but look into a mirror hanging on the wall before her. "i see nothing but my own face," replied the young lady, when she had arisen and looked into the glass. the woman then turned it half around on the hinges, swung out the frame upon which the mirror was also hung, and, disclosing a plain black glass behind, fastened to the wall, said,-- "now, if you will step behind the glass, back to the wall, and again look into the mirror, you _may_ possibly see one of the two gentlemen--i cannot _say_ which." more amused than alarmed, the lady complied. [illustration: the fortune-teller's magic mirror.] "still i see nothing but myself and a dark glass behind me," she said. "look steadfastly into the glass. _now!_" exclaimed the woman. "o, what--what do i see?" cried the girl. "'tis he! 'tis mr. ----" "don't be alarmed; 'tis your future husband. no power can prevent it. it is fate--fate! but it will be a happy consummation," said the woman, closing the mirror. "why, i left him at home, surely; and i came by steam. that is a solid wall! ah, my fate is decreed, i believe!" can the reader suppose any sensible person would believe this to be magic? there are thousands who believe it. miss ---- was one. she had seen the spiritual representation of her future husband, and, finding him at home on her return, the same afternoon, she accepted him as her betrothed, and the other was dismissed. her ruin followed. in the flight of her lover, her hopes were forever blasted. to hide her shame, she went secretly from home; and to earn her daily bread, she labored in a cotton factory. when she could no longer cover her shame in the world, she went without--into outer darkness! her parents went down in sorrow to their untimely graves. now about the magic mirror. the young man went to the city by the same train with the girl he proposed to ruin. he had previously arranged with the fortune-teller--no unusual thing--to appear in person behind the darkened glass in the next room, and had returned in disguise by the same train with his victim. the fortune-teller died miserably, and was buried in the potter's field at the expense of the city of hartford, conn. "the thorns which i have reaped are of the tree i planted; they have torn me,--and i bleed: i should have known what fruit would spring from such a seed." byron. such is one of the results of patronizing fortune-tellers. i have seen this kind of mirror, and the first effect, even on a strong-minded person, seeing but faintly through the darkened glass, over your shoulder, the outlines of a face, and finally, as your eyes get familiar with the darkness, the very features of a person reflected therein, is truly impressive, if not startling. young ladies, for your own sakes, for the sake of your friends, and more for heaven's sake, keep away from fortune-tellers! _you cannot possibly see into futurity_, neither can any one, much less the ignorant wretches who profess the dark mysteries, tell for you what joys or sorrows are in store for the future! fortune-tellers as procuresses. an able reporter to the boston daily post, who devoted a considerable time in may, , to visiting and writing up the fortune-tellers of boston, which he reported in full in the above paper, and from which i shall copy more fully hereafter, says in conclusion,-- "from what we are able to learn in this direction, we have arrived at the conclusion that there are not _less than two hundred men and women_ in boston and vicinity who get a good livelihood by this profession, while many do a large and profitable business. "one lady, who has reduced her charges to the very lowest figure (fifty cents for an interview), candidly informed us that her receipts for the past year had not been less than twelve hundred dollars. another reported her receipts from ten to fifty dollars a day. "of course no reliable estimate, without better statistics, can be made of the magnitude of the business; but it seems not extravagant to estimate their receipts, on an average, at fifteen hundred dollars per annum! or an annual cost to the people of boston (and vicinity?) for fortune-telling, of the snug little sum of three hundred thousand dollars!" the price advertised for a sitting in was from twenty-five cents to one dollar. the post reporter says of "mrs. nellie richards" (_alias_ mrs. nelson), "not unfrequently her receipts are fifty dollars per day." again of one, "she has received fifty dollars for one sitting." the writer has visited the most celebrated fortune-tellers here, and been told by them that they have received five, ten, and twenty dollars for one sitting. what for? what was the value received? not from _females_ do they receive these liberal sums; but from middle-aged or old gentlemen and "married men," as one assured me. it is quite possible for a few sharp fortune-tellers to make fifteen hundred dollars per year at merely telling fools what they may expect from the future. "middle-aged, old, and married men" do not consult them, as a general rule, for that purpose. here is a true history illustrative of my meaning. i gathered the facts from the lady. on saturday, the th of december, , a young woman, residing with her parents on ---- street, went to the afternoon performance at the boston museum. a young man made three unsuccessful attempts to "flirt" with her. the third time she slightly shook her head. some one, seated immediately behind her, touched her on the shoulder, and said, "right, young lady; you did right not to notice him." "i turned my head," said my informant, "and just made the least bit of acknowledgment to a fine-looking, elderly gentleman, who, perhaps, was rising fifty. he was an utter stranger to me, and i did not observe him afterwards. on the following week i received a note--a very pretty, delicate letter--from the very gentleman. he explained that he saw me at the performance of "elfie," and was much struck by my lady-like appearance, and the rest, begging the privilege of calling on me privately. now, how could he have obtained my address?" "did the other party, the young 'flirt,' know it?" i asked. "no--not probable. i was not so astonished in receiving a letter from a stranger, as i was on learning that the nice-looking old gent at the theatre should have sent it, and that he possessed my address." "why not surprised by receiving the letter from a stranger?" i asked. "because i visited a fortune-teller, a day or two before, who told me i should receive a letter from a middle-aged man, and that it would be to my interest to cultivate his friendship, as he was a nice old covey, and was rich and liberal." "the secret is out! did the fortune-teller know your address?" "o, yes; she was an old friend of my mother's, _and asked me nothing for a sitting_. and would _she_ possibly betray the daughter of her old friend?" i have since learned that the young woman was married at the time, which fact the fortune-teller must have known when she advised her to "cultivate the friendship" of an old _roué_, "as he was rich and liberal." rich and liberal! no doubt! the light was astounding which broke in upon the young lady's mind from my intimating that the old viper, the fortune-teller (clairvoyant she calls herself), had betrayed her, and doubtless had received ocular demonstration of the "nice old gentleman's" liberality. doubtless there was a five, ten, or twenty dollar sitting! and the "friend of her mother" could well afford to give her sittings free! reader, if you doubt that such villanies are daily practised in this city, such "betrayals of confidence," and "selling of families," put up "five or ten dollars for a sitting," almost anywhere, and you can have proof. none of your fifty cents or dollar affairs--those are for the females; but "come down" with the v.'s and x.'s; those bring the "great information." let us "parable" a case. "a nice, middle-aged gentleman" calls on madam blank. "here, now, my good woman, take this fee. tell me a good future. let her have dark hair and eyes. if it is satisfactory, i double the fee." "call again next week, or in three or four days," is all the conversation necessary to pass for the first "sitting." before the expiration of the time, just such a young lady calls. the wily old fortune-teller--too old to sell herself any longer--sells out this, perhaps, unsuspecting lady with black hair and eyes, by mysteriously informing her of a certain nice gentleman whom she will meet at a designated place, at a specified hour, on a particular day! she is _very_ courteous to the girl, asks her nothing for a sitting, has taken a liking to her, worms from her the secrets of her birth, poverty, weaknesses, etc., and, with many smiles and fair promises, bows her out. she next proceeds to inform the "nice gentleman" that the job is cooked, and the victim is unsuspecting, states where he is to meet her, the signal by which he is to know her; takes the "double fee," and leaves the rest to the "nice middle-aged (and shrewd) gentleman" to manage for himself. how many young women in boston can avouch for the truth of this statement? i doubt not there are very many. _cui bono?_ while i know and confess that there are a few ladies who _profess_ to tell fortunes, find lost property, etc., and who do no greater deception, still, what positive advantage has ever been derived therefrom? love powders and drops.--french secret, etc. i have, by purchase and otherwise, obtained the secret of the compounds of the celebrated "spanish," _alias_ "turkish, love powders." i had previously considered them very harmless preparations. they are quite the reverse. the powder and drops are _spanish flies_ and _blood-root_! sometimes the former are mixed (pulverized) with fine sugar; but the spanish flies (cantharides), either in powder or liquid, is a very dangerous irritant, a very small dose sometimes producing painful and dangerous strangury. it is far more certain to produce this distressing complaint than to cause any sexual excitement. there may be some harmless powders sold as "love powders," but i have never seen any. i have a quantity of the former. any physician or chemist may see it, who is interested. a few drops of it will produce burning and excoriation of the mouth and stomach, and inflammation of the stomach, liver, and kidneys. and this dangerous stuff is sold by ignorant fortune-tellers to any equally ignorant, credulous creature who may send fifty cents therefor. _the french secret_ is only for fools. reader, _you_ have no occasion for it. it would be of no positive earthly benefit, provided i could so construe language as to explain to you what it is, in this connection. be assured that you cannot circumvent nature, except at the expense of health. _qui n'a sante n'a rien._ druggists' clerks sometimes sell to boys _tincture cantharis_ for evil purposes. _hasheesh_ is another dangerous article, sometimes sold at random, and purchased for no good purpose. a few years since, a great excitement was produced by the young ladies of p---- female seminary obtaining and using a quantity of _hasheesh_. "one girl took five grains, another _ten_ grains. the latter was rendered insensible, and with difficulty restored to consciousness, while the former was rushing around under the peculiar hallucinating effect of the drug, and in a manner bordering on indecency." i obtained this statement, with more that i cannot publish, from a physician who witnessed the scene. "does he love me?" young girls and children are seduced into visiting fortune-tellers. a boston fortune-teller, in , took a summer tour through eastern massachusetts and new hampshire. at manchester, one evening, some one knocked lightly at her reception-room door, when, on her answering the summons, there stood three little girls, of ten or twelve summers. "well," said the lady, "what do you children want?" "we came to have our fortunes told," replied the youngest, drawing her little form up to represent every half inch of her diminutive dimensions. with a smile of incredulity, the lady said, "it costs fifty cents. besides, you are too small to have a fortune told." "we've got the money," replied the little speaker; "and we're not too little. why, i am ten, and jenny, here, is twelve." [illustration: children consulting a fortune-teller.] "well, come in," replied the fortune-teller. there was a lady present, who also asked what those children came there for. the girls sat up in some chairs proffered. the younger one was so small that her little feet could not reach the floor, and sitting back in her chair, her little limbs stuck out straight, as such awkward little folks' will. the woman told them something, to seem to cover the money paid. it was not satisfactory, however, and the ten-year-old one put the following questions:-- "do you think, ma'am, that the young man who is keeping company with me loves me?" this was a poser, and the woman laughed outright. "what did she reply?" i asked, shocked, though amused, by the ridiculousness of the whole affair. "o, gad, if i know! i was too busy then to listen." the next question was more strange than the first:-- "will the young gentleman marry me, eventually?" "doubtless he will when you become older," was the reply; "and i advise you to think no more about it till you are much older." i obtained this item from the third party present, the husband of the fortune-teller. [illustration] x. eminent physicians and surgeons. _lord say._ why, heaven ne'er made the universe a level. some trees are loftier than the rest, some mountains o'erpeak their fellows, and some planets shine with brighter ray above the skyey route than others. nay, even at our feet, the rose outscents the lily; and the humblest flower is noble still o'er meaner plants. and thus some men are nobler than the mass, and should, by nature's order, shine above their brethren. _lord clifford._ 'tis true the noble should; but who is noble? heaven, and not heraldry, makes noble men. their origin, boyhood, early struggles, etc.--doctors are public property.--dr. mott, of oyster bay.--dr. parker.--a "plough-boy."--the farmer's boy and the old doctor.--scene in bellevue hospital.--"leaves from the life of an unfledged Æsculapian."--first patient.--"nonplussed!"--all right at last.--professors eberle and dewees.--a hard start.--"footing it."--abernethy's boyhood.--"old squeers."--spare the boy and spoil the rod.--a digression.--skirting a bog.--an agreeable turn.--professor holmes.--a homeless student. it is amusing, as well as instructive, to compare notes on the various circumstances which have led different young men to adopt the science of medicine as their profession. the advantages of birth and "noble blood" weigh lightly, when thrown into the balance, against circumstances of after life, and its necessities, in ourselves or fellow-creatures. in searching through biographies of famous people, of all ages and countries (to collect a chapter on "origin of great men"), i am peculiarly convinced of the correctness of this conclusion. the earlier histories and traits of character--no matter which way they point--of all great men are interesting to review; and yet it is a lamentable fact that the accounts of boyhood days, aspirations, hopes, and struggles, with the many little interesting items and episodes of the youth of most great men are very meagre, and, in many cases, entirely lost to the world. in the published biographies of physicians this is particularly the case. you read the biography of one, and it will suffice for the whole. it begins something like this:-- "dr. a. was born in blanktown, about the year --; entered the office of dr. bolus, where he studied physic; attended college at spoon haven, where he graduated with honors; arrived at eminence in his profession;" and, if defunct, ends, "he died at mortgrass, and sleeps with his fathers. _requiescat in pace._" in presenting to the public the following little sketches of physicians, i may only say that doctors, of all men, are considered public property, and have suffered more of the public's kicks and cuffs than any other class of men, from the time when hercules amused himself by setting up old dr. chiron, and shooting poisoned arrows at his vulnerable heel, to the little divertisement of the lovely st. calvin and his consistory in cooking michael servetus, the spanish physician; to the imprisonment of our army surgeons by their "brethren" of the south, that they might not be instrumental in restoring union soldiers to the ranks; or the more recent imprisonment of a physician without cause, and the wholesale slaughter of students, in the isle of cuba. "the quaker surgeon." dr. valentine mott gave no intimation, in his boyhood days, of the great ability that for a time seemed to lie dormant within the after-developed, massive, and well-balanced brain of the celebrated surgeon. except from the fact of his being the son of a country doctor, his schoolmates would as soon have expected to see him turn out a second-rate oyster-man,--suggested by the ominous name of the bay, at glen cove, where valentine was born,--as to believe that a boy of no more promise would develop into the greatest physician and surgeon of the age! he was reared amongst doctors,--his father, and dr. valentine searnen, and others. a "plough-boy" is as likely to become an eminent surgeon as is the son of a practising physician. dr. willard parker, one of the most prominent physicians and surgeons of new york city, was born in new hampshire, in , of humble though most respectable parents. when willard was but a few years old, his family removed to middlesex county, mass., evidently with a hope of bettering their circumstances. here mr. parker entered more fully upon the practical duties of an agricultural life, instructing his son willard, when not attending the village school, in the mysteries of "haw, buck, and gee up, dobbin." until he was sixteen years old, young parker was brought up a "plough-boy" and a tiller of the soil. from a "plough-boy" he became the "master" of a village school, "teaching the young idea how to shoot," which honest pursuit he continued for several years, until he had accumulated sufficient means to enter harvard. he was a hard-working student, and his books were not thrown aside when he had obtained a diploma, in .... as a lecturer and operator, dr. parker has been most successful.... since the death of dr. valentine mott, in april, , professor parker has been elected president of the new york inebriate asylum (binghamton). an onondaga farmer boy. imagine, dear reader, looking back over the space of nearly forty years, that you see an uncouth young man, twenty years of age, clad in the coarse clothes and cowhide boots of an onondaga farmer, who, straightening up from his laborious task of potato hoeing, stops for a moment, leaning with one hand upon his hoe, while he wipes the sweat from his handsome, intelligent, though sun-burned brow with a cotton handkerchief in the other. here is a picture for a painter! now he seems studiously observing the old village doctor, who, seated in his crazy old gig, drawn by his ancient sorrel mare, is leisurely jogging by on the main turnpike. [illustration: the onondaga farmer boy.] "good evening, stephen; p'taters doin' well?" says the doctor. receiving an affirmative answer, the doctor drives past, and is gone from the sight, but not from the memory, of the young farmer. "and _that_ is a representative of the science of medicine!" so saying, the young man "hoed out his row,"--which was his last,--picked up his coat, and returned to the parental mansion, but a few rods distant. this was the turning-point in his life. we pass over twenty years or more. it is operating-day at bellevue hospital, in new york city. a very serious and important operation is about to be performed. three hundred students and physicians are seated in a semicircle under the great dome of the hospital, in profound silence and intense interest, while the professor and attending surgeon is delivering a brief but comprehensive lecture relative to the forthcoming operation. the speaker is a man of middle age, medium height, deep, expressive eyes, well-developed brow, with that excellent quality of muscle and nerve that is only the result of earlier out-door exercise and development, with calm deportment and modest speech. "his conciseness of expression and quiet self-possession are evident to every beholder, and comprehensive and congenial to every listener." who is this splendid man before whom students and physicians bow in such profound respect and veneration, and to whom even professors mott, parker, elliott, clark, etc., give especial attention? it is stephen smith, m. d., once the onondaga farmer boy! says dr. francis, of new york, "when a youthful farmer is seen studying the works of learned authors during that portion of the day which is generally set aside for relaxation and pleasing pastime, one may easily predict for him ultimate success in the branch of life that he may choose, provided he follows out the higher instincts of his nature. the same zeal that caused stephen smith, farmer, to study at the risk of ease, and meet the fatigue of body with the energies of mind, has ever marked his course in after years." commencing practice. from that excellent work, "scenes in the practice of a new york surgeon," by dr. e. h. dixon, i copy, with some abbreviation, the following, which the author terms "leaves from the log-book of an unfledged Æsculapian:"-- "in the year i was sent forth, like our long-suffering and much-abused prototype,--old father noah's crow,--from the ark of safety, the old st. duane street college. i pitched my tent, and set up my trap, in what was then a fashionable up-town street. "i hired a modest house, and had my arm-chair, my midnight couch, and my few books in my melancholy little office, and i confess that i now and then left an amputating-knife, or some other awful-looking instrument, on the table, to impress the poor women who came to me for advice. "these little matters, although the 'academy' would frown upon them, i considered quite pardonable. god knows i would willingly have adopted their most approved method of a splendid residence, and silver-mounted harnesses for my bays; but they were yet in dream-land, eating moonbeams, and my vicious little nag had nearly all this time to eat his oats and nurse his bad temper in his comfortable stable. "in this miserable way i read over my old books, watered my rose-bushes,--sometimes with tears,--drank my tea and ate my toast, and occasionally listened to the complaint of an unfortunate irish damsel, with her customary account of 'a pain in me side an' a flutterin' about me heart.' at rare intervals i ministered to some of her countrywomen in their fulfilment of the great command when placed in the garden of eden. (what a dirty place it would have been if inhabited by irish women!) "and thus i spent nearly a year without a single call to any person of character. i think i should have left in despair if it had not been for a lovely creature up the street. she was the wife of a distinguished fish merchant down town. "this lovely woman was mrs. mackerel. i will explain how it was that i was summoned to her ladyship's mansion, and had the pleasure of seeing mr. mackerel, of the firm of 'mackerel, haddock & dun.' "one bitter cold night in january, just as i was about to retire, a furious ring at the front door made me feel particularly amiable! a servant announced the sudden and alarming illness of mrs. mackerel, with the assurance that as the family physician was out of town, mrs. m. would be obliged if i would immediately visit her. accordingly, i soon found myself in the presence of the accomplished lady, having--i confess it--given my hair an extra touch as i entered the beautiful chamber. "mrs. mackerel was not a bad-tempered lady; she was only a beautiful fool--nothing less, dear reader, or she would have never married old mackerel. her charms would have procured her a husband of at least a tolerable exterior. his physiognomy presented a remarkable resemblance to his namesake. besides, he chewed and smoked, and the combination of the aroma of his favorite luxuries with the articles of his merchandise must have been most uncongenial to the curve of such lips and such nostrils as mrs. mackerel's. "i was received by mr. mackerel in a manner that increased observation has since taught me is sufficiently indicative of the hysterical _finale_ of a domestic dialogue. he was not so obtuse as to let me directly into the true cause of his wife's nervous attack and his own collectedness, and yet he felt it would not answer to make too light of it before me. "mr. and mrs. m. had just returned from a party. (the party must be the 'scape-goat'!) he assured me that as the lady was in the full enjoyment of health previously, he felt obliged to attribute the cause of her attack and speechless condition--for she spoke not one word, or gave a sign--to the dancing, heated room, and the supper. "i was fully prepared to realize the powers of ice-cream, cake, oranges, chicken-salad, oysters, sugar-plums, punch, and champagne, and at one moment almost concluded to despatch a servant for an emetic of ipecac; but--i prudently avoided it. aside from the improbability of excess of appetite through the portal of such a mouth, the lovely color of the cheeks and lips utterly forbade a conclusion favorable to mr. mackerel's solution of the cause. "i placed my finger on her delicate and jewelled wrist. all seemed calm as the thought of an angel's breast! "i was nonplussed. 'could any tumultuous passion ever have agitated that bosom so gently swelling in repose?' "mackerel's curious questions touching my sagacity as to his wife's condition received about as satisfactory a solution as do most questions put to me on the cause and treatment of diseases; and having tolerably befogged him with opinions, and lulled his suspicions to rest, by the apparent innocent answers to his leading questions, he arrived at the conclusion most desirable to him, viz., that i was a fool--a conviction quite necessary in some nervous cases.... "so pleased was mr. m. with the soothing influences of my brief visit that he very courteously waited on me to the outside door, instead of ordering a servant to show me out, and astonished me by desiring me to call on the patient again in the morning. "after my usual diversion of investigating 'a pain an' a flutterin' about me heart,' and an 'o, i'm kilt intirely,' i visited mrs. mackerel, and had the extreme pleasure of finding her quite composed, and in conversation with her fashionable friend, mrs. tiptape. the latter was the daughter of a 'retired milliner,' and had formed a desirable union with tiptape, the eminent dry goods merchant. fortunately--for she was a woman of influence--i passed the critical examination of mrs. t. unscathed by her sharp black eyes, and, as the sequel will show, was considered by her 'quite an agreeable person.' "poor mrs. mackerel, notwithstanding her efforts to conceal it, had evidently received some cruel and stunning communication from her husband on the night of my summons; her agitated circulation during the fortnight of my attendance showed to my conviction some persistent and secret cause for her nervousness. "one evening she assured me that she felt she should now rapidly recover, as mr. mackerel had concluded to take her to saratoga. i, of course, acquiesced in the decision, though my previous opinion had not been asked. i took a final leave of the lovely woman, and the poor child soon departed for saratoga. "the ensuing week there was a sheriff's sale at mackerel's residence. the day following the mackerels' departure, mr. tiptape did me the honor to inquire after the health of my family; and a week later, master tiptape having fallen and bumped his dear nose on the floor, i had the felicity of soothing the anguish of his mamma in her magnificent _boudoir_, and holding to her lovely nose the smelling salts, and offering such consolation as her trying position required!" thus was commenced the practice of one of the first physicians of new york. the facts are avouched for. the names, of course, are manufactured, to cover the occupation of the parties. the doctor still lives, in the enjoyment of a lucrative and respectable practice, and the love and confidence of his numerous friends and patrons. quite as ludicrous scenes could be revealed by most physicians, if they would but take the time to think over their earlier efforts, and the various circumstances which were mainly instrumental in getting them into a respectable practice. how professor eberle started. the young man who has just squeezed through a medical college, and come out with his "sheepskin," who thinks all he then has to do is to put up his sign, and forthwith he will have a crowd of respectable patients, is to be pitied for his verdancy. the great professor john eberle "blessed his stars" when, after graduating as "doctor of medicine" in the university of pennsylvania, and making several unsuccessful attempts at practice in lancaster county, he received the appointment as physician of the "out-door poor" of philadelphia. after that, his writings, attracting public attention, were mostly contributive to his success and advancement. energy and determination are better property than even scholastic lore and a medical diploma, for unless you possess the former, talent and education fall to the earth. dr. william p. dewees, formerly professor of obstetrics in the university of pennsylvania, the celebrated author, physician, and surgeon, practised seventeen years before he obtained a diploma. he was of swedish descent on his father's side, and irish on his mother's. his father died in very limited circumstances, when william was a boy; hence he received no collegiate education until such time as he could earn means, by his own efforts, to pay for that coveted desideratum. we find him, with an ordinary school education, serving as an apothecary's clerk, a student of medicine, and at the early age of twenty-one years trying to practise medicine in a country town fourteen miles from philadelphia. young dewees possessed great talent and energy, but his personal appearance was scarcely such, at that early age, as to inspire the stoical country folks with the requisite confidence to speedily intrust him with their precious lives and more cherished coppers! "he was scarcely of medium stature, florid complexion, brown hair, and was remarkably youthful in his appearance," says professor hodge, m. d. i have before me an excellent likeness "of the embryo professor," which admirably corresponds with the description given above; but though "youthful," yea, bordering on "greenness," i can read in that frank, intelligent countenance the lines of deep thought, and a soul burning with desire for greater knowledge. the too florid countenance and narrow nostrils are sure indications of a consumptive predisposition. dr. dewees died may , . he was well read in french and latin, and also various sciences. a hard starting. _sketch of western practice._--the following interesting sketch is from the able pen of dr. richmond, of ohio, now a wealthy and eminent m. d. it was originally contributed, if i mistake not, to the "scalpel." "i set myself down with my household goods in a land of strangers. how i was to procure bread, or what i was to do, were shrouded in the mysterious future. memory came to my consolation; for, in spite of myself, the 'diary of a london physician,' read in other days, came, with its racy pictures, flitting before my mind's eye; and i knew not but i, too, might yet wish myself, my mary, and my child sleeping in the cold grave, to hide me from the persecution that seemed to follow me with such sleepless vigilance.... "my store of old watches now came into play. a gentleman wishing to sell out his land, i invested all the wealth i possessed in the purchase of a ten-acre lot, shouldered my axe, and by the aid of a brother i soon prepared logs for the mill sufficient to erect me a small dwelling. i never was happier than when preparing the ground and splitting the blocks of sandstone for the foundation of my house. one customer, whose wife i had carried through a lingering fever, furnished me a frame for a dwelling, and i fell in his debt for a pair of boots. another furnished nails and glass, and in the course of eight months i moved into my new house. "for two years i fed my cow, and raised my own provender to feed my gallant nag, which shared my toil and its profits. my first two years' labor barely returned sufficient profit to pay for my home and feed my little family. "my nag had died, and the terrible drought of forced me to relinquish the horse i had hired, and for five months i performed all my visits on foot, often travelling from six to ten miles to see one patient.... "these were trying times; but what if the elements were unpropitious? i had food and shelter for myself and family,--blessings about which i had often been in doubt,--and i was fully prepared to let 'the heathen rage, and the people imagine' what they chose!... the first winter was one of great severity; the weather was very changeable, and the most awful snow-storms were often succeeded by heavy rains, and the roads so horrid as to be impassable on horseback or in carriages. i had a patient five miles distant, sick with lung fever, and, in an attendance of forty days i made thirty journeys on foot (three hundred miles to attend one patient!) his recovery added much to my reputation, and i received for my services a new cloak and coat, which i much needed, and a hive of honey bees!... "an old horse which i again hired of a friend had a polite way of limping, and was a source of much merriment among my patrons. i persistently attributed what they deemed a fault entirely to the politeness of the quadruped; and this nag, with my plain and rustic appearance, endeared me to the laboring population, and thus my calamities became my greatest friends. my fortune changed, and the experience and name i had acquired now came in as capital in trade, and a flood of 'luck' soon followed." abernethy's boyhood. seated upon the outside of an ancient london stage-coach, to which were attached four raw-boned, old horses, just ready to start for wolverhaven one pleasant afternoon, you may easily imagine, kind reader,--for it is a fact,--a chubby-faced, commonplace little boy, some ten years old, with another like youthful companion,--"two londoners,"--while comfortably ensconced within, in one corner of the vehicle, is a large, stern-looking old gentleman, in "immense wig and ruffled shirt." [illustration: the polite quadruped.] the stage-horn is sounded, the driver cracks his whip, the sleepy old nags wake up, the coach rocks from side to side, and in a moment more the team is off for its destination. why! the reader is readily reminded of the scene of "_old squeers_," taking the wretched little boys down to his "academy," in yorkshire, "where youth were boarded, clothed, furnished with pocket-money," and taught everything, from "writing to trigonometry," "arithmetic to astronomy," languages of the "_living_ and _dead_" and "diet unparalleled!" nevertheless it is another case, far before "old squeers" time. the elderly gentleman, in top-wig and immense ruffles, was dr. robertson, teacher of wolverhampton grammar school, and the chubby little boy was master john abernethy. who the "other boy" was is not known, as he never made his mark in after life. says dr. macilwain,-- "we can quite imagine a little boy, careless in his dress, not slovenly, however, with both hands in his trousers pockets, some morning about the year , standing under the sunny side of the wall at wolverhampton school; his pockets containing, perhaps, a few shillings, some ha'pence, a knife with the point broken, a pencil, together with a tolerably accurate sketch of 'old robertson's wig,'--which article, shown in an accredited portrait now before us, was one of those enormous by-gone bushes, which represented a sort of impenetrable fence around the cranium, as if to guard the precious material within; the said boy just finishing a story to his laughing companions, though no sign of mirth appeared in him, save the least curl of the lip, and a smile that would creep out of the corner of his eye in spite of himself." [illustration: young abernethy.] "the doctor" was represented as being a passionate man. squeers again! one day young abernethy had to do some greek testament, when his glib translation aroused the suspicion of the watchful old doctor, who discovered the 'crib' in a greek-latin version, partially secreted under the boy's desk. no sooner did the doctor make this discovery than with his doubled fist he felled the culprit with one blow to the earth. squeers again! "'why, what an old plagiarist mr. dickens must have been!' you exclaim. "but the case in 'nicholas nickleby' is worse, far worse, for 'the little boy sitting on the trunk only sneezed.' "'hallo, sir,' growled the schoolmaster (squeers), 'what's that?' "'nothing, sir,' replied the little boy. "'nothing, sir!' exclaimed squeers. "'please, sir, i sneezed!' rejoined the boy, trembling till the little trunk shook under him. "'o, sneezed, did you?' retorted mr. squeers. 'then what did you say "nothing" for, sir?' "in default of a better answer to this question, the little boy screwed a couple of knuckles into his eyes, and began to cry; wherefore mr. squeers knocked him off the trunk with a blow on one side of the head, and knocked him on again with a blow on the other." robertson was a fact; squeers was a fable. that's the difference. as dr. robertson taught neither arithmetic nor writing in his school, the pupils went to king street, to a miss ready, to receive instruction in those branches. this lady, if report is true, wielded the quill and cowhide with equal grace and mercy, and when the case came to hand, did not accept the modern advice, to "spare the boy and spoil the rod." when the great surgeon was at the height of his fame, in london, many years afterwards, miss ready, still rejoicing in "single blessedness," called on her former pupil. in introducing his respected and venerable teacher to his wife, abernethy laconically remarked, "i beg to introduce you to a lady who has boxed my ears many a time." an old schoolmate, when eighty-five years old, wrote to the author of "memoirs of abernethy," saying, among other things, "in sports he took the first place, and usually made a strong side; was quick and active, and soon learned a new game." it was contrary to his own desire that john abernethy became a physician. "had my father let me be a lawyer, i should have known by heart every act of parliament," he repeatedly affirmed. this was not bragging, as the following anecdote will illustrate:-- on a birthday anniversary of mrs. abernethy, mother of john, a gentleman recited a long copy of verses, which he had composed for the occasion. "ah," said young abernethy, "that is a good joke, pretending you have written these verses in honor of my mother. why, sir, i know those lines well, and can say them by heart." "it is quite impossible, as no one has seen the copy but myself," rejoined the gentleman, the least annoyed by the accusation of plagiarism. upon this abernethy arose, and repeated them throughout, correctly, to the no small discomfiture of the author. abernethy had remembered them by hearing the gentleman recite them but once! "a boy thwarted in his choice of a profession is generally somewhat indifferent as to the course next presented to him." residing next door neighbor to abernethy's father was dr. charles blicke, a surgeon in extensive practice. this was very convenient. sir charles is represented as having been quick-sighted enough to discover that "the abernethy boy" was clever, a good scholar, and withal a "sharp fellow." thus, between the indifference of the parent, and the selfishness of the surgeon, the would-be lawyer, john abernethy, was apprenticed to the "barber-surgeon" for five years. he was then but fifteen years of age. "all that young abernethy probably knew of sir charles was, that he rode about in a fine carriage, saw a great many people, and took a great many fees; all of which, though presenting no further attractions for abernethy, made a _prima facie_ case not altogether repulsive." we must not forget to mention that young abernethy was of a very inquiring mind. "when i was a boy," he said in after years, "i half ruined myself in buying oranges and sweetmeats, in order to ascertain the effects of different kinds of diet on diseases." whether he tried said "oranges and other things" on himself or some unfortunate victim, my informant saith not; but i leave the reader to decide by his own earlier appetites and experiences. "when i was a boy," i think is significant of the probabilities that it was his own digestive organs that were "half ruined." be it as it may, it reminds me of the case of a little country boy, who, on his first advent to the city on a holiday, was chaperoned by his somewhat older and sharper city cousin,--"one of the b'hoy's,"--who exercised a sort of vigilance over the uninitiated rustic, that the little fellow might not surfeit himself by too great a rapacity for peanuts, gingerbread, candies, and oranges, often generously sharing the danger by partaking largely of the small boy's purchases in order to spare his more delicate stomach. finding the ignorant little rustic about to devour a nice-looking orange, his cousin pounced upon him just in time to prevent the rash act. "here, sammy; don't you know that is one of the nastiest and most indigestiblest things you could put into your stomach? give it here!" rustic, whose faith in the wisdom of his maturer cousin, though very great, was yet quite counterbalanced by the sweets in the orange, slightly held back, when the other continued,-- "leastwise, sammy, let's have a hold of it, and suck the abominable juice out for you." (for this digression i beg the pardon of the reader; for the idea i thank frank leslie.) george macilwain, m. d., f. r. c. s., etc., in prefacing the life of the great london surgeon, gives a brief and interesting sketch of his own boyhood, also his early impressions of abernethy, and his first attendance on his lectures. "my father practised on the border of a forest, and when he was called at night to visit a distant patient, it was the greatest treat to me, when a little boy, to be allowed to saddle my pony and accompany him. i used to wonder what he could find so 'disagreeable' in that which was to me the greatest possible pleasure; for whether we were skirting a bog on the darkest night, or cantering over the heather by moonlight, i certainly thought there could be nobody happier than i and my pony. it was on one of these occasions that i first heard the name of 'abernethy.' the next distinct impression i have of him was derived from hearing father say that a lady patient of his had gone up to london to have an operation performed by dr. abernethy, though my father did not think the operation necessary to a cure, and that abernethy entirely agreed with him; that the operation was not performed; that he sent the lady back, and she was recovering. this gave me a notion that dr. abernethy must be a good man, as well as a great physician. "as long as surgery meant riding across the forest with my father, holding his horse, or, if he stopped in too long, seeing if his horse rode as well as my pony, i thought it a very agreeable occupation; but when i found that it included many other things not so agreeable, i soon discovered that there was a profession i liked much better.... "disappointed in being allowed to follow the pursuit i had chosen, i looked on the one i was about to adopt with something approximating to repulsion; and thus one afternoon, about the year , and somewhat to my own surprise, i found myself walking down holborn hill on my way to dr. abernethy's lecture at st. bartholomew's. "when dr. abernethy entered, i was pleased with the expression of his countenance. i almost fancied he sympathized with the melancholy with which i felt oppressed. at first i listened with some attention; as he proceeded, i began even to feel pleasure; as he progressed, i found myself entertained; and before he concluded, i was delighted. what an agreeable, happy man he seems! what a fine profession! what wouldn't i give to know as much as he does! well, i will see what i can do. in short, i was converted." all who ever heard him lecture agree that dr. abernethy had a most happy way of addressing students. notwithstanding he has often been represented as rough in his every-day intercourse with men, he was easy, mild, and agreeable in the lecture-hall, and kind and compassionate in the operating-room. after having carefully studied all that has been written respecting his style and manner as a lecturer and delineator, and also studiously listened to and watched the ways and peculiarities of our most excellent lecturer on anatomy at harvard, i find many striking resemblances between dr. abernethy and professor oliver wendell holmes. "the position of abernethy was always easy and natural, sometimes almost homely. in the anatomical lecture he always stood, and either leaned against the wall, with his arms folded before him, or rested one hand on the table; sometimes one hand in his pocket. in his surgical lecture he usually sat. he was particularly happy in a kind of cosiness, or friendliness of manner, which seemed to identify him with his audience, as if we were about to investigate something interesting together, and not as though we were going to be 'lectured at,' at all. his voice seldom rose above what we term the conversational, and was always pleasing in quality, and enlivened by a sort of archness of expression." he always kept his eye on the audience, except slightly turning to one side to explain a diagram or subject, "turning his back on no man." "he had no offensive habits. we have known lecturers who never began without making faces;" we might add, "and with many a hem and haw, or nose-blowing." "not long ago we heard a very sensible lecturer, and a very estimable man, produce a most ludicrous effect by the above. he had been stating very clearly some important facts, and he then observed,-- "'the great importance of these i will now proceed to show--' when he immediately began to apply his pocket-handkerchief most vigorously to his nose, still facing his audience." the ludicrousness of this "illustration" may well be imagined. of course the students lost their gravity, and laughed and cheered vigorously. going in to hear dr. holmes lecture, at one o'clock one afternoon, recently, the writer was both shocked and astonished, on the occasion of the professor slipping in a pleasing innuendo, by hearing the students cheer with their hands, and stamp with their thick boots on the seats. i shall have occasion to refer to this splendid man, the pleasing lecturer, the skilful operator, the able author, the ripe scholar, the pride of harvard and the state,--dr. o. w. holmes,--in another chapter. the homeless student. (scene from the early life of a boston physician. by permission.) standing on the steps of the astor house, new york, one cheerless forenoon in early june, with my carpet-bag in one hand and my fresh medical diploma in the other, with a heavy weight of sorrow at my heart, and only sixteen cents in my pocket, i presented, to myself at least, a picture of such utter despair as words are inadequate to express.[ ] my home--no; i had none--the home, rather, of my kind old father-in-law, where dwelt, for the time being, my wife and child, was many hundred miles away. and how was i to reach it? i could not walk that distance, and sixteen cents would not carry me there. i looked up broadway, and i looked down towards the battery. i was alone amid an immense sea of humans, which ebbed and flowed continually past me. o, how wistfully i looked to see if there might be one face amongst the throng which i might recognize! but there was none. strange, passing strange, not one of that host did i ever gaze upon before! where--how--should i raise the money necessary to take me from this land of strangers? "pinny, sir? just one pinny. me father is broken up, and me mither is sick at home. for god's sake give me jist one pinny to buy me some bread." i turned my gaze upon the picture of squalor and wretchedness just by my side. i need not describe her; she was just like a thousand others in that great babel. "here is doubtless a case of distress, but it is not of the heart, like mine. such poor have no heart. skin, muscle, head, stomach! heart, none!" "where is your father, did you say?" i asked, mechanically. "in the slarter-house; broken up from a fall from a stagin' in twenty-sixth street, sir," replied the beggar-girl, still extending her hand for a penny. "what is he doing in a slaughter-house, sis?" i inquired. "the slarter-house is bellyvew horse-pittle, sir; that's what we irish call it, sir. will ye give me the pinny, sir?" [illustration: "pinny, sir? just one pinny."] "o, yes, to be sure. here are pennies for you. go!" i knew of a poor irishman who was brought in there at the hospital a few days before badly "broken up" from a fall on twenty-sixth street. his name was john murphy; they are all named murphy, or something similar; so it was useless to ask the child her father's name--probably it would have been murphy. the conversation had the good effect of arousing me from my lethargy to action. i must not stay in this metropolis and starve. i could not remain and beg, like the irish girl. i went to professor ----, the dean, and requested him to take back my diploma, and let me have sufficient money to carry me home. he complied--god bless him!--and i took the sound steamer that afternoon for the land of my nativity. what cared i if i was a second-class passenger; i would in two days see my wife and my child! * * * * * i had reached home, and was in the bosom of my family once more, and amongst my friends, in a christian land; for which i "thanked god, and took courage." "then pledged me the wine-cup, and fondly i swore ne'er from my home and my weeping friends to part; my children kissed me a thousand times o'er; my wife sobbed aloud in her fullness of heart." i had a "call" to practise in a country town twenty-five miles from e----, where my family was to remain a few days till i had secured a house to cover their heads amongst the good friends who were to become my future patrons, as a few of them had been previous to my going to college. the stage, a one-horse affair, called for my trunk, medicine-case, etc., and, having no money with which to pay my fare, i told the driver that "i would walk along," while he picked up another passenger in an opposite direction, "and if he overtook me on the road before i got a ride with some one going to s----, he could take me in." i walked bravely along a mile or more, and, hearing the stage coming, i stepped from the road-side, secreting myself beneath a friendly tree till he drove past. issuing from my hiding-place, i trudged along till noon. my darling little wife had taken the precaution to place in my oversack pocket some doughnuts and cheese, and, when i had reached a clear, running brook, i sat myself down upon a log, under the shade of the woods, and partook of my very frugal meal, quenching my thirst from the waters of the brook, which, like diogenes, i raised in the hollow of my hand. thus refreshed, i picked up my overcoat, and again walked along. before dark i reached s----, pretty tired and foot-sore from such a long walk. [illustration: the penniless physician.] the people, who were expecting me, were much surprised at my non-arrival in the mail; but the unsophisticated driver assured them i had probably secured a ride ahead of him, and i would put in an appearance before nightfall. about midnight the door-bell rang,--i stopped at the hotel that night,--and a young gentleman asked for dr. c. i answered the call at once, which was to the daughter of one of the most influential citizens of the place. the young man who called me was her intended. they had been to a party, and she had partaken freely of oysters, milk, and pickles. never did fifteen grains of ipecac prove a greater friend to me than it did on that occasion; and in an hour i was back to bed again. the news of the new doctor's arrival, fresh from a new york college, and his first "remarkable cure of the post-master's daughter" that same night, spread like wildfire, and my reputation was nearly established. [illustration] xi. ghosts and witches. "save and defend us from our _ghostly_ enemies."--common prayer. folly of belief in ghosts.--why ghosts are always white.--a true story.--the ghost of the camp.--a ghostly sentry-box.--a mystery.--the nagles family.--raising the dead.--a lively stampede.--holy water.--cÆsar's ghost at philippi.--lord byron and dr. johnson.--ghost of a guilty conscience.--"jockeying a ghost."--the wounded bird.--a bishop sees a ghost.--musical ghosts.--a haunted house.--about witches.--"witches in the cream."--horse-shoes.--woman of endor not a witch.--weighing flesh against the bible.--there are no ghosts, or witches. is it not quite time--i appeal to the sensible reader--that such folly was expunged from our literature? what is a ghost? who ever saw, heard, felt, tasted, or smelled one? must a person possess some miraculous quality of perception beyond the five senses commonly allotted to man in order to become cognizant of a ghostly presence? [illustration: believers in ghosts.] what stupid folly is ghost belief! yet there are very many individuals in this enlightened day and generation, who, from perverted spirituality, or great credulousness, will accept a ghost story, or a "spiritual revelation," without wincing. it would seem that many great men of the past, as calvin, bacon, milton, dante, lords byron and nelson, sir walter scott, wordsworth, and others, believed in the existence of ghosts and spirits on this mundane sphere. there are but two classes who believe in ghosts, viz., the ignorant as one class, and persons with large or perverted spirituality--phrenologically speaking--as the other. these are the believers in dreams, in ghosts, in spirits, and fortune-telling. these, too, are the religious (?) fanatics, etc. the origin of the word ghost is curious. "the first significance of the word, as well as 'spirit,' is breath, or wind." it is of anglo-saxon origin, and is from _gust_, the wind. hence, a _gust_ of _wind_. the irish word _goath_, wind, comes nearer to the modern english pronunciation, and shows how easily it could have been corrupted to _ghost_. it is easy to imagine the good old saxon ladies, sitting around the evening fireside, and just as one of them has finished some marvellous story of that superstitious age, they are startled by a sudden blast of wind, sweeping around the gabled cottage, and her listeners exclaim, in suppressed breath,-- "hark! there's a fearful gust!" the transit from _gust_ to _ghost_ is easily done. the clothes spread upon the bushes without, or pinned to the lines, flapping in the night air, are seen through the shutterless windows, and they become the object of attraction. the _effect_ supersedes the _cause_, and the clothes become the gust, goath, or ghost! the clothes, necessarily, must be white, or they _could not be seen in the night time_! hence a ghost is always clothed in white. therefore the wind (gust) is no longer the ghost, but any white object seen moving in the night air. [illustration: "hark! there's a fearful gust!"] "but i am a wandering ghost-- i am an idle breath, that the sweets of the things now lost are haunting unto death. pity me out in the cold, never to rest any more, because of my share in the purple and gold, lost from the world's great store. "i whirl through empty space, a hapless, hurried ghost; for me there is no place-- i'm weary, wandering, lost. safe from the night and cold, all else is sheltered--all, from the sheep at rest in the fold, to the black wasp on the wall." moffat says that a tribe of caffres formerly employed the word _morino_ to designate the supreme being; but as they sank into savagery, losing the idea of god, it came to mean only a fabulous ghost, of which they had great terror. having briefly shown the folly of the existence of the word in our vocabulary, i will proceed to explode a few of the best authenticated--so called--"ghost stories;" and if i leave anything unexplained in ghostology, let the reader attribute it to either my want of space in which to write so much, or the neglect of my early education in the _dead languages_. the ghost of the camp. i obtained the following story from one of the sentries:-- at portsmouth, r. i., there was a camp established during the late war, -. there was a graveyard in one corner of the enclosed grounds, where several soldier-boys had been buried from the hospital, and here a guard was nightly stationed. of course there were many stories told around the campfires, of ghosts and spirits that flitted about the mounds at the dead hours of the night, circulated particularly to frighten those stationed at that point on picket duty. the body of a soldier had recently been exhumed and placed in a new and more respectable coffin than the pine box coffin furnished by uncle sam, in which he had been buried, and the old one was left on the ground. partly to protect himself from the inclemency of the weather, and quite as much to show his utter disregard of all ghostly visitors, my informant secured the old pine coffin, "washed it out, though it was impossible to remove all the stains," and, driving a stake firmly into the ground, he stood the coffin on one end, and, removing the lid, used to stand therein on rainy nights. "when it did not rain, i turned it down, and my companion and myself used to sit on the bottom. "one day a soldier-boy had died in the hospital, and his friends came to take the body home for christian burial. it was necessary to remove him in a sheet to the place where they had an elegant casket, bought by his wealthy friends, to receive the remains. "that very night i was on duty with my friend charley s., when, near midnight, seated upon the empty coffin, with my gun resting against the side, and my head resting in the palms of my hands, i fell into a drowse. [illustration: a grave sentry.] "waking up suddenly, i saw something white through the darkness before me; for it was a fearfully dark night, i assure you. i rubbed my sleepy eyes to make sure of my sight, and took another look. i discerned a form, higher than a man, moving about over the mounds but a few yards distant. it had wide side-wings, but they did not seem to assist in the motion of the body part, which did not reach to the ground. i thought i must be asleep, and actually pinched my legs to awake myself before i took a final look at his ghostship. there he stood, stock still. i listened for my companion, without removing my eyes from the white object before me. still i was not scared, but meant to see it out. i knew i could not see a man far through that impenetrable darkness, for there were no stars nor moon to reveal him. i would not call for help, for if it was a farce to scare me, i should become the laughing-stock of the whole camp. [illustration: a ghost in camp.] "just then i heard the grass crackle, and i knew charley was approaching in the rear. still there hung the apparition. i arose from the coffin, my eyes fixed on the object before me, picked up my musket, took deliberate aim at the centre of the thing, and just as i cocked my rifle, i heard charley set back the hammer of his 'death-dealer.' he, too, had discovered the very remarkable appearance, whatever it was; and now the guns of two 'unfailing shots' covered the object. in another second it had suddenly disappeared! i then spoke, and we ran forward, but found nothing! where had it gone so very suddenly? it had vanished without sight or sound. we gave up the search; but still i did not believe we had seen anything supernatural. "there was no little discussion in camp on the following day on the subject. charley said but little. i could not explain the remarkable phenomenon, and a splendid ghost story was about established, in spite of me, before the mystery became unravelled. "a tall fellow, who worked about the hospital, and who assisted in taking away the corpse, was returning with the sheet, when he thought he would give the sentry a scare from his coffin by throwing the sheet over his head and stretching out his arms like wings. his clothes being black, his legs did not show; hence the appearance of a white object floating in the air. hearing the guns cocked, he instantly jerked the sheet from his head; winding it up, he turned and ran away. this accounted for it becoming so instantaneously invisible. "'yes,' said the sentry, 'and in a second more you would have been made a ghost!'" raising the dead. _the nagles family._--the following remarkable and ridiculous affair transpired in a village where the writer once resided. the nagleses were irish. the family consisted of old nagles, his wife,--who did washing for my mother,--john tom and tom john, besides mary. the reason of having the boys named as above was, that in case either died, the sainted names would still be in the family. this was old mrs. nagles' explanation of the matter. the old man worked about the wharves, wheeled wood and carried coal, and did such like jobs during summer, and chopped wood in the winter. i well remember of hearing stories of his greenness when he first came to town. he was early employed to wheel wood on board a coaster lying at the dock. the captain told him to wheel a load down the plank, cry "under!" to the men in the hold, and tip down the barrow of wood. all went well till old nagles got to the stopping-place, over the hold, when he dumped down the load, and cried out, "stand ferninst, there, down cellar!" to the imminent peril of breaking the heads of the wood-stevedores below. [illustration: old nagles.] i well remember also the first appearance of the two boys at the village school one winter. "what is your name?" inquired the master of the eldest. "me name, is it? john tom nagles, sir, is me name, and who comes after is the same." he always was called by us boys "john tom nagles, sir," thenceforward. he certainly was the rawest specimen i ever met. one day the old man was wheeling wood on board a vessel. it was at low water, and there was a distance of sixteen feet from the plank to the bottom of the vessel's hold. the poor old fellow, by some mishap or neglect, let go the barrow, when he called, "stand ferninst, there, below!" when wood, barrow, and old mr. nagles, all went down together. by the fall he broke his neck. i never shall forget the awful lamentation set up by the combined voices of the poor old woman, john tom, tom john, and mary, as they followed the corpse, borne on a wagon, past our house, on the way from the vessel to the nagles' residence. [illustration: the nagles boys.] on the following day great preparations were made to "wake" the old gentleman according to the most approved fashion in the old country. there were many irish living--_staying_, at least--in that town, and large quantities of pipes, tobacco, and whiskey were bought up, and the whole town knew that a "powerful time" was anticipated by the irish who were invited to old nagles' wake. it was an unusual occurrence, and several boys and young men of the village went to the locality of the nagles' house to get a look upon the scene when it got under full pressure. i certainly should have been there had not my parents forbidden me to go, and i regret the inability to give my personal testimony to the truth of the statement of what followed, as i do to what preceded, as related above. [illustration: chief mourners.] "when the wake was at its height, the room full of tobacco smoke, and the jovial mourners full of irish whiskey,--strychnine and fusel oil,--there was an alarm of fire in the neighborhood. there was a grand rush from the room, as well as from the windows where stood the listeners, and only one old and drunken woman remained to watch the corpse. the door was left open, and some of the young men outside, thinking it a good opportunity to play a joke on the drunken party, ran into the room, and, seeing only the old woman, who was too drunk to offer any objections, they removed the body from the board, depositing it behind the boxes on which the board was laid, and one of their number took the place of the corpse, barely having time to draw the sheet over his face, when the 'wakers' returned. "the candles burned dimly through the hazy atmosphere of the old room, and no one noticed the change. the pipes were relighted, the whiskey freely passed, and finally one fellow proposed to offer the corpse a lighted pipe and a glass of whiskey, 'for company's sake, through purgatory.' "suiting the action to the word, he approached, attempted to raise the head of the 'lively corpse,' and thrust the nasty pipe between his teeth. "the young man 'playing corpse' was no smoker, and in infinite disgust he motioned the fellow away, who, too drunk to notice it, stuck the pipe in his face, saying, 'here, ould man, take a shmoke for your ghost's sake.' "'bah! git away wid the div'lish nasty thing,' exclaimed the young man, rising and sitting up in the coffin. "there was an instantaneous stampede from the room of every waker who was capable of rising to his legs, followed by the fellow in the sheet, who, dropping the ghostly covering at the door, mingled with the rabble, and was not recognized. the priest and the doctor were speedily summoned. the former arrived, heard, outside the house, the wonderful story, and then proceeded to lay the spirit by sprinkling holy water on the door-stone, thence into the room. by this time the smoke had sufficiently subsided to allow a view of the room, when the stiff, frigid body of old nagles was discovered on the floor, where 'it had fallen,' as they supposed, 'in attempting to walk.' of course the doctor ridiculed the idea of a stark, cold body rising and speaking; but the irish, to this day, believe old nagles, for that once, refused a pipe and a glass of whiskey. the few young men dared not divulge the secret, and it never leaked out till the entire family of nagles had gone to parts unknown." [illustration: a corpse that would not smoke.] * * * * * i find a great many ghost stories in books, which are not explained; but since the writer knows nothing of their authenticity, nor the persons with whom they were connected, they are unworthy of notice here. the ghost of cÆsar at philippi. dr. robert macnish, of glasgow, in his "philosophy of sleep," says, "no doubt the apparition of cæsar which appeared to brutus, and declared it would meet him at philippi, was either a dream or a spectral illusion--probably the latter. brutus, in all likelihood, had some idea that the great battle which was to decide his fate would be fought at philippi. probably it was a good military position, which he had in his mind fixed upon as a fit place to make a final stand; and he had done enough to cæsar to account for his mind being painfully and constantly engrossed with the image of the assassinated dictator. hence the verification of this supposed warning; hence the easy explanation of a supposed supernatural event." * * * * * "the ghost of byron" may help to verify the above. sir walter scott was engaged in his study at abbotsford, not long after the death of lord byron, at about the twilight hour, in reading a sketch of the deceased poet. the room was quiet, his thoughts were intensely centred upon the person of his departed friend, when, as he laid down the volume, as he could see to read no longer, and passed into the hall, he saw before him the _eidolon_ of the deceased poet. he remained for some time impressed by the intensity of the illusion, which had thus created a phantom out of some clothes hanging on a screen at the farther end of the hall. this is not the first time that byron had appeared to his friends, as the following, from his own pen, will show:-- byron wrote to his friend, alexander murray, less than two years before the death of the latter, as follows:-- "in , my old schoolmate and form-fellow, robert peel, the irish secretary, told me that he saw me in st. james street. i was then in turkey. a day or two afterwards, he pointed out to his brother a person across the street, and said, 'there is the man i took for byron.' his brother answered, 'why, it is byron, and no one else.' i was at this time _seen_ (by them?) to write my name in the palace book! i was then ill of a malaria fever. if i had died," adds byron, "here would have been a ghost story established." dr. johnson says, "an honest old printer named edward cave had seen a ghost at st. john's gate." of course, the old man succumbed to the apparition. the ghost of conscience. i have yet to find the record of a good man seeing what he believed to be a ghostly manifestation. it is only the guilty in conscience who conjure up "horrible shadows," as pictured in shakspeare's ghost of banquo, as it appeared to macbeth. what deserving scorn, what scathing contempt, were conveyed in the language of lady macbeth to her cowardly, conscience-stricken lord, as she thus rebuked him!-- "o, proper stuff! this is the very painting of your fear; this is the air-drawn dagger which you said led you to duncan! o, these flaws and starts (impostors to true fear) would well become a woman's story at a winter's fire,[ ] authorized by her grandam. shame itself! ... when all's done, you look but on a stool!" there is a great truth embodied in a portion of the king's reply, that-- "if charnel-houses and our graves must send those that we bury, back, our monuments shall be the maws of kites." the gay and dissipated thomas lyttleton, son of lord george lyttleton, and his successor in the peerage, has been the subject of "a well-authenticated ghost story, which relates that he was warned of his death three days before it happened, in , while he was in a state of perfect health, and only thirty-five years of age." this is what says a biographer. now let us present the truth of the matter. he was a dissipated man. he was subject to fits. a gentleman present at the time of his seeing a vision, says "that he had been attacked several times by suffocative fits the month before." here, then, was a _body diseased_. the same authority says, "it happened that he dreamed, three days before his death, that he saw a _fluttering bird_; and afterwards, that he saw (dreamed) a woman in white apparel, who said to him, 'prepare to die; you will not exist three days.' [illustration: prepare to die!] "his lordship was much alarmed, and called his servant, who slept in an adjoining closet, who found his master in a state of great agitation, and in a profuse perspiration." fear blanches the cheek; perspiration is rather a symptom of bodily weakness, and the result of a laborious dream, or even a fit. he had no fear, for, on the third day, while his lordship was at breakfast with "the two misses amphlett, lord fortescue," and the narrator, he said, lightly,-- "'if i live over to-night, _i shall have jockeyed the ghost_, for this is the third day.' that day he had another fit. he dined at five, and retired at eleven, when his servant was about to give him some prescribed rhubarb and mint-water, but his lordship, seeing him about to stir the mixture with a toothpick, exclaimed,-- "'you slovenly dog, go and fetch a teaspoon.' "on the servant's return, he found his master in another fit, and, the pillow being high, his chin bore on his windpipe, when the servant, instead of relieving his lordship from his perilous position, ran away for help; but on his return, found his master dead." he had strangled. is it anything strange that a dissipated, weakened man should die after having a score of suffocative fits? it had been more surprising if he had survived them. then, as respecting the dream, it was the result of a "mind diseased." there was evidence that his lordship had seduced the misses amphlett, and prevailed upon them to leave their mother; and he is said to have admitted, before his death, that the woman seen in his dream was the mother of the unfortunate girls, and that she died of grief, through the disgrace and desertion of her children, about the time that the guilty seducer saw her in the vision. how could his dreams but have been disturbed, with the load of guilt and remorse that he ought to have had resting upon his conscience? the "fluttering bird" was the first form that the wretched mother assumed in his vision, as a bird might flutter about the prison bars that confined her darling offspring. the more natural form of the mother finally appeared to the guilty seducer, and to dream that he heard a voice is no unusual occurrence in the life of any person. the peculiar words amount to nothing. lyttleton gave them no serious thoughts, and it was an accident of bodily position that caused his sudden death. the whole thing seems to be too flimsy for even a respectable "ghost story." the bishop sees a ghost! an amusing as well as instructive ghost story is related by horace walpole, the indolent, luxurious satirist of fashionable and political contemporaries, whose twenty thousand a year enabled him to live at his ease, "coquetting haughtily with literature and literary men, at his tasty gothic toy-house at strawberry hill." [illustration: the bishop's ghostly visitor.] he relates that the good old bishop of chichester was awakened in his palace at an early hour in the morning by his chamber door opening, when a female figure, clothed in white, softly entered the apartment, and quietly took a seat near him. the prelate, who, with "his household, was a disbeliever in ghosts" and spirits, said he was not at all frightened, but, rising in his bed, said, in a tone of authority,-- "who are you?" "the presence in the room" made no reply. the bishop repeated the question,-- "who are you?" the ghost only heaved a deep sigh, and, while the bishop rang the bell, to call his slumbering servant, her ghostship quietly drew some old "papers from its ghost of a pocket," and commenced reading them to herself. after the bishop had kept on ringing for the stupid servant, the form arose, thrust the papers out of sight, and left as noiselessly and sedately as she had arrived. "well, what have you seen?" asked the bishop, when the servants were aroused. "seen, my lord?" "ay, seen! or who--what was the woman who has been here?" "woman, my lord?" (it is said one of the fellows smiled, that a woman should have been in the aged bishop's bed-chamber in the night.) when the bishop had related what he had seen, the domestics apprehended that his lordship had been dreaming, against which the good man protested, and only told what his eyes had beheld. the story that the bishop had been visited by a ghost soon got well circulated, which greatly "diverted the ungodly, at the good prelate's expense, till finally it reached the ears of the keeper of a mad-house in the diocese, who came and deposed that a female lunatic had escaped from his custody on that night" (in light apparel), who, finding the gates and doors of the palace open, had marched directly to his lordship's chamber. the deponent further stated that the lunatic was _always reading a bundle of papers_. "there are known," says walpole, "stories of ghosts, solemnly authenticated, less credible; and i hope you will believe this, attested by the father of our own church." musical ghosts. we occasionally _hear_ of this kind, but seldom, if ever, _see_ them. an old lady of adams, mass., came to the writer in a state bordering on monomania. she stated that at about _three o'clock_ in the night she would awake and distinctly hear bells ringing at a distance. she would awake her husband, and often compel him to arise and listen "till the poor man was almost out of patience with the annoyance;" not of the bells, for he heard none, but of being continually "wakened because of her whim," as he stated. a brief medical treatment for the disease which caused the vibration of the tympanum dispelled the illusion of bells. the piano-forte ghost. a family residing, three years since, but a few miles out of boston, used to occasionally, during summer only, hear a note or two of the piano strike at the dead hour of the night. a catholic servant girl and an excellent cook left their situations in consequence of the ghostly music. in vain the family removed the instrument to another position in the room. the musical sounds would startle them from their midnight slumbers. one thing very remarkable occurred after changing the piano: the sound, which only transpired occasionally, with no regularity as to time, would always begin with the high notes, and end with the lower. finally, the family--i cannot say why--removed to the city, and the house was sold. the deed of conveyance did not include the ghost, but he remained with the premises, nevertheless. the writer has seen him! "o, what a pretty cat!" exclaimed a child of the new occupant of the haunted house, on discovering the domestic animal which the late possessor had left. "yes; and she looks so very domestic and knowing, she may stay, if no one comes for her, and you'll have her for a playfellow," replied the mother. a few nights after their settlement, the new family were startled by hearing the piano sound! no particular tune, but it was surely the piano notes that had been distinctly and repeatedly heard. a search revealed nothing. the piano was kept closed thereafter, and no further annoyance occurred, until one night when the company had lingered till nearly midnight, and the instrument had been left open, the sound again occurred. the gentleman quickly lighted a lamp, ran down stairs, and closing the door leading to the connecting room, he found the cat secreted beneath the piano. the instrument was purposely left open the following night, and a watch set, when, no sooner was all quiet, than the cat entered, and leaped upon the piano keys. after touching them a few times with her fore paws, she jumped down, and hid beneath the instrument. "the cat was out." only one thing remained for explanation, viz., why the change of sound occurred after removing the piano by the first occupants of the house. it occurred in summer. they removed the piano so that the cat, entering a side window, usually left a little raised, had necessarily jumped upon the high keys. if anybody has got a good ghost, spirit, or witch about his premises, the writer would like to investigate it. the following silly item is just going the rounds of the press:-- "a haunted house. "the first floor of mrs. roundy's house, at lynn, in which the recent murder occurred, is occupied by an apparently intelligent family bearing the name of conway, who assert that they have heard supernatural noises every night since the tragedy; and they are so sincere in their belief that they are preparing to vacate in favor of their 'uncanny' visitors." there's nothing to it to investigate. a few words about witches. my colored boy, dennis, assures me that an old woman in norfolk, va., having some spite against him, "did something to him that sort o' bewitched him; got some animal into him, like." the symptoms are those of _ascarides_, but i could not persuade him to take medicine therefor. "'tain't no use, sir," he replied, solemnly; "i knowed she done it; i feels it kinder workin' in yer (placing his hand on his stomach); what med'cine neber'll reach." neither reason nor ridicule will "budge" him. he knows he's bewitched! [illustration: the musical puss.] [illustration: a darkey bewitched.] witches in the cream. through all the long, long winter's day, and half the dreary night, we churned, and yet no butter came: the cream looked thin and white. next morning, with our hopes renewed, the task began again; we churned, and churned, till back and arms and head did ache with pain. the cream rose up, then sulking fell, grew thick, and then grew thin; it splashed and spattered in our eyes, on clothes, and nose, and chin. we churned it fast, and churned it slow, and stirred it round and round; yet all the livelong, weary day, was heard the dasher's sound. the sun sank in the gloomy west, the moon rose ghastly pale; and still we churned, with courage low, and hopes about to fail,-- when in walked granny dean, who heard, with wonder and amaze, our troubles, as she crossed herself, and in the fire did gaze. "lord, help us all!" she quickly said, and covered up her face; "lord, help us all! for, as you live, there's witches in the place! "there's witches here within this churn, that have possessed the cream. go, bring the horse-shoe that i saw hang on the cellar-beam." the shoe was brought, when, round and round, she twirled it o'er her head; "go, drive the witches from that cream!" in solemn voice she said;-- then tossed it in the fire, till red with heat it soon did turn, and dropped among the witches dread, that hid within the churn. once more the dasher's sound was heard,-- have patience with my rhyme,-- for, sure enough, the butter came in twenty minutes' time. some say the temperature was changed with horse-shoe glowing red; but when we ask old granny dean, she only shakes her head.--_hearth and home._ horse-shoes. one would suppose the folly of putting horse-shoes into cream, "fish-skins into coffee, to settle it," and forcing filthy molasses and water down the throats of new-born babes, were amongst the follies of the past; but they are not yet, with many other superstitious, and even cruel and dangerous notions, done away with. for some prominent instances of this course of proceedings the reader may consult next chapter. riding through the rural districts of almost any portion of the union, one will sometimes find the horse-shoe nailed over the stable, porch, or even house front door, to keep away the witches. as in gay's fable of "the old woman and her cats:"-- "straws laid across my path retard, the horse-shoes nailed each threshold guard," in aubrey's time, he tells us that "most houses of the west end of london have the horse-shoe at the threshold." the nice little old gentleman who keeps the depot at boylston station is a dry joker, in his way. over each door of the station he has an old horse-shoe nailed. "what have you got these nailed up over the door for?" a stranger asks. [illustration: boylston station.] "to keep away witches. i sleep here nights," solemnly replies the station-master; and one must be familiar with that ever agreeable face to detect the sly, enjoyable humor with which he is so often led to repeat this assertion. in numerous towns within more than half of the states,--i state from personal inquiry,--there are at this day old women, who children, at least, are taught to believe have the power of bewitching! my first fright, when a little boy on my way to school, was from being told that an old woman, whose house we were passing, was a witch. these modern witches may not have arrived at the dignity of floating through the air on a broomstick, or crossing the water in a cockle-shell, as they were said to in ancient times; but the belief in their existence at this enlightened period of the world is more disgraceful than in the darker ages, and the frightening of children and the naturally superstitious is far more reprehensible. there is no such thing as a ghost. there are no witches. "the bible teaches that there were witches," has often been wrongly asserted. that "choice young man and goodly," whose abilities his doting parent over-estimated when he sent him out _in search of the three stray asses_, and whose idleness prompted him to consult the seer samuel, and by whose indolence and procrastination the asses got home first, was a very suitable personage to consult a "_woman of a familiar spirit_" (or any other woman, save his own wife), from which arose the great modern misnomer of the "_witch of endor_." "to the jewish writers, trained to seek counsel only of jehovah (not even from christ), the 'woman of endor' was a dealer with spirits of evil. with us, who have imbibed truth through a thousand channels made turbid by prejudice and error, she is become a distorted being, allied to the hags of a wild and fatal delusion. we confound her with the (fabled) witches of macbeth, the victims of salem, and the modern moll pitchers. "the woman of endor! that is a strange perversion of taste that would represent her in hideous aspect. to me she seemeth all that is genial and lovely in womanhood." "hearken thou unto the voice of thine handmaid, and let me set a morsel of bread before thee, and eat, that thou mayest have strength when thou goest on thy way." then she made and baked the bread, killed and cooked the meat,--all she had in the house,--and saul did eat, and his servants. i see nought in this but an exhibition of rare domestic ability and commendable hospitality; in the previous act (revelation), nothing more than a manifestation of the power of mind over mind (possibly the power of god, manifested through her mind?), wherein she divined the object of saul's visit, and, through the same channel, surmised who he was that consulted her. [illustration: weighing a witch by bible standard.] witches are said to be "light weight." but a little above a hundred years ago, a woman was accused in wingrove, england, by another, of "bewitching her spinning-wheel, so it would turn _neither the one way nor the other_." to this she took oath, and the magistrate, with pomp and dignity, "followed by a great concourse of people, took the woman to the parish church, her husband also being present, and having stripped the accused to her nether garment, put her into the great scales brought for that purpose, with the bible in the opposite balance, which was the lawful test of a witch, when, to the no small astonishment and mortification of her maligner, she actually outweighed the book, and was honorably acquitted of the charge!" just imagine the picture. in an enlightened age, a christian people, in possession of the bible, that gives no intimation of such things as witches, stripping and weighing a female in public, to ascertain if she really was heavier than a common bible! [illustration] xii. medical superstitions. "when cats run home, and light is come, and dew is cold upon the ground, and the far-off stream is dumb, and the whirling sail goes round, and the whirling sail goes round; alone and warming his five wits the white owl in the belfry sits."--tennyson. old and new.--the sign of jupiter.--modern idolatry.--origin of the days of the week.--how we perpetuate idolatry.--singular fact.--christmas festivities.--"old nick."--ridiculous superstitions.--golden herb.--house crickets.--a stool walks!--the bowing images at rhode island.--house spiders.--the house cat.--superstitious idolatries.--wonderful knowledge.--naughty boys.--errors respecting cats.--sanitary qualities.--owls.--a scared boy.--holy water.--unlucky days.--thunder and lightning.--a kiss. medicine, above all the other sciences, was founded upon superstition. medicine, more than all the other arts, has been practised by superstitions. stretching far back through the vista of time to the remotest antiquity, reaching forward into the more enlightened present, it has partaken of all that was superstitious in barbarism, in heathenism, in mythology, and in religion. in showing the alpha i am compelled to reveal the omega. let us begin with jupiter. i know that some wise Æsculapian--no jupiterite--will turn up his nose at this page, while to-morrow, if he gets a patient, he will demonstrate what i am saying, and further, help to perpetuate the ignorant absurdities which originated with the old mythologists, by placing "[r]"--the ill-drawn sign of jupiter--before his recipe. [illustration: the god of recipes.] de paris tells us that the physician of the present day continues to prefix to his prescriptions the letter "[r]," which is generally supposed to mean "recipe," but which is, in truth, a relic of the astrological symbol of jupiter, formerly used as a species of superstitious invocation, or to propitiate the king of the gods that the compound might act favorably. there are still in use many other things which present _prima facie_ evidence of having been introduced when the users placed more faith in mythological or planetary influence than in any innate virtue of the article itself. for instance, at a very early period all diseases were regarded as the effects of certain planetary actions; and not only diseases, but our lives, fortunes, conduct, and the various qualities that constitute one's character, were the consequences of certain planetary control under which we existed. are there not many who now believe this? "in ancient medicine pharmacy was at one period only the application of the dreams of astrology to the vegetable world. the herb which put an ague or madness to flight did so by reason of a mystic power imparted to it by a particular constellation, the outward signs of which quality were to be found in its color or shape." red objects had a mysterious influence on inflammatory diseases, and yellow ones on persons discolored by jaundice. corals were introduced as a medicine, also to wear about the neck on the same principle. these notions are not yet obsolete. certain diseases are still attributed to the action of the moon. certain yellow herbs are used for the jaundice and other diseases. the _hepatica triloba_ (three-lobed) is recommended for diseases of the lungs as well as liver (as its first name, _hepatica_, indicates), and some other medicines for other complaints, without the least regard to their innate qualities. corals are still worn for nose-bleed, red articles kept about the bed and apartments of the small-pox patient, and the red flag hung out at the door of the house, though few may know why a _red_ flag is so hung, or that it originated in superstition. the announcement of an approaching comet strikes terror to the hearts of thousands; the invalid has the sash raised that he may avoid first seeing the new moon through the glass, and the traveller is rejoiced to catch his first glimpse of the young queen of the night over his right shoulder, "for there is misfortune in seeing it over the left." but we are not yet done with ancient symbols. "the stick came down from heaven," says the egyptian proverb. "the physician's cane is a very ancient part of his insignia. it has nearly gone into disuse; but until very recently no doctor of medicine would have presumed to pay a visit, or even be seen in public, without this mystic wand. long as a footman's stick, smooth, and varnished, with a heavy gold head, or a cross-bar, it was an instrument with which, down to the present century, every prudent aspirant to medical practice was provided. the celebrated gold-headed cane which radcliffe, mead, askew, pitcairn, and baillie successively bore, is preserved in the college of physicians, london. it has a cross-bar, almost like a crook, in place of a knob. the knob in olden times was hollow, and contained a vinaigrette, which the man of science held to his nose when he approached a sick person, so that its fumes might protect him from the disease." the cane, doubtless, came from the wand or caduceus of mercurius, and was a "relic of the conjuring paraphernalia with which the healer, in ignorant and superstitious times, always worked upon the imagination of the credulous." the present barber's pole originated with surgeons. the red stripe represented the arterial blood; the blue, the venous blood; the white, the bandages. the superstitious ancients showed more wisdom in their selections of names, as well as in emblems, than we do in retaining them. heathen worship and mythological signs are mixed and interwoven with all our arts, sciences, and literature. our days of the week were named by the old saxons, who worshipped idols--the sun, moon, stars, earth, etc., and to their god's, perpetual honor gave to each day a name from some principal deity. thus we are idolaters, daily, though unconsciously. i think not one person in a thousand is aware of this fact; therefore i give a sketch of each. sunday. the name of our first day of the week, sunday, is derived from the saxon _sunna-dæg_, which they named for the sun. it was also called _sun's-dæg_. [illustration: sun--sunday.] as the glorious sunlight brought day and warmth, and caused vegetation to spring forth in its season, warmed the blood, and made the heart of man to rejoice, they made that dazzling orb the primary object of their worship. when its absence brought night and darkness, and the storm-clouds shrouded its face in gloom, or the occasional eclipse suddenly cut off its shining, which they superstitiously attributed to the wrath of their chief deity, it then became the object of their supplication. with them, and all superstitious people, all passions, themes, and worships must be embodied--must assume form and dimensions, and as they could not gaze upon the dazzling sun, they personified it in the figure of a man--as being superior to woman with them--arrayed in a primitive garment, holding in his hand a flaming wheel. one day was specially devoted to sun worship. the modern sunday is the day, according to historical accounts of the early christians, on which christ rose from the dead. it does not appear to have been the same day as, or to have superseded, the jewish sabbath, although the christians early celebrated the day, devoting it to religious services. with the christians, labor was suspended on this "first day of the week," and constantine, about the year , established an edict which suspended all labor, except agricultural, and forbade also all court proceedings. in a. d. the third council of orleans published a decree forbidding all labor on sunday. the sabbath (hebrew _shabbath_) of the jews, meaning a day of rest, originated as far back as moses--probably farther. it was merely a day of rest, which was commanded by jehovah; and if considered only on physiological grounds, it evinces the wisdom and economy of god in setting apart one day in seven to be observed by man as a season of rest and recuperation. as such it only seems to have been regarded till after the forty years of exile, when it changed to a day of religious rites and ceremonies, which is continued till the present day by "that peculiar people." that particular day, given in the "law of moses," corresponds--it is believed by the jews--to our saturday. christ seemed to teach that the jewish sabbath was no more sacred than any other day, and he accused the pharisees with hypocrisy in their too formal observance thereof. he attended their service on the sabbath, on the seeming principle that he did other meetings, and as he paid the accustomed tax, because it was best to adapt one's self to the laws and customs of the country. we do not purpose to enter into any theological discussion as to which of the two days should be observed for rest and religious observances; for who shall decide? physiologically considered, it makes no difference. there should be one day set apart for rest in seven at the most, and all men should respect it. without a sabbath (day of rest) we should soon relapse into a state of barbarism, and also wear out before our allotted time. "in the hurry and bustle of every-day life and labor, we allow ourselves too little relaxation, too little scope for moral, social, and religious sentiments; therefore it is well to set apart times and seasons when all cares and labors may be laid aside, and communion held with nature and nature's god." and it were better if we all could agree upon one day for our sabbath; and let us call it "sabbath," and not help to perpetuate any heathen dogmas and worship by calling god's holy day after the idolatrous customs of the ancient saxons. monday. the second day of the week the saxons called _monandæg_, or moon's day; hence our monday. this day was set apart by that idolatrous people for the worship of their second god in power. in their business pursuits, as well as devotional exercises, they devoted themselves to the moon worship. the name _monandæg_ was written at the top of all communications, and remembrance had to their god in all transactions of the day. each _monath_ (new moon or month) religious (?) exercises were celebrated. the idol monandæg had the semblance of a female, crowned or capped with a hood-like covering, surmounted by two horns, while a basque and long robe covered the remainder of her person. in her right hand she held the image of the moon. [illustration: moon--monday.] [illustration: tuisco--tuesday.] tuesday. the third object of their worship was tuisco--corresponding with german _tuisto_--the son of _terra_ (earth), the deified founder of the teutonic race. he seems to have been the deity who presided over combats and litigations; "hence tuesday is now, as then, court-day, or the day for commencing litigations." in some dialects it was called _dings-dag_, or things-day--to plead, attempt, cheapen: hence it is often selected as market-day, as well as a time for opening assizes. hence the god _tuisco_ was worshipped in the semblance of a venerable sage, with uncovered head, clothed in skins of fierce animals, touching the earth, while he held in his right hand a sceptre, the appropriate ensign of his authority. thus originated the name of our third day of the week, and some of its customs. [illustration: woden--wednesday.] wednesday. this day was named for _woden_,--the same as _odin_,--and was sacred to the divinity of the northern and eastern nations. he was the anglo-saxons' god of war, "who came to them from the east in a very mysterious manner, and enacted more wonderful and brilliant exploits of prowess and valor than the greek mythologists ascribed to their powerful god hercules." as _odin_, this deity was said to have been a monarch (in the flesh) of ancient germany, denmark, scandinavia, etc., and a mighty conqueror. all those tribes, in going into battle, invoked his aid and blessing upon their arms. he was idolized as a fierce and powerful man, with helmet, shield, a drawn sword, a _gyrdan_ about his loins, and feet and legs protected by sandals and knee-high fastenings of iron, ornamented with a death's head. [illustration: thor--thursday.] [illustration: friga--friday.] thursday. from the deity _thor_ our thursday is derived. this saxon god was the son of woden, or odin, and his wife friga. he was the god of thunder, the bravest and most powerful, after his father, of the danish and saxon deities. thor is represented as sitting in majestic grandeur upon a golden throne, his head surmounted by a golden crown, richly ornamented by a circle in front, in which were set twelve brilliant stars. in his right hand he grasped the regal sceptre. friday. the sixth day of the week was named in honor of _friga_, or frigga, the wife of woden and the mother of thor. in most ancient times she was the same as venus, the goddess of hertha, or earth. she was the most revered of the female divinities of the danes and saxons. friga is represented draped in a light robe suspended from the shoulder, low neck and bare arms. she held in her right hand a drawn sword, and a long bow in the left. her hair is long and flowing, while a golden band, adorned by ostrich feathers, encircle her snowy brow. there is nothing in the name or attributes to indicate the ill luck which superstition has attached to the day. [illustration: seater--saturday.] saturday. the god _seater_, for whom the last day of the week is named, is the same as saturn, which is from greek--_time_. he is pictured, unlike saturn, with long, flowing hair and beard, thin features, clothed in person with one entire garment to his ankles and wrists, with his waist girded by a linen scarf. in his right hand he carries a wheel, to represent rolling time. in his left hand he holds a pail of fruit and flowers, to indicate young time as well as old. the fish which is his pedestal represents his power over the abundance of even the sea. christmas festivals. amongst the very pleasant and harmless customs which have been handed down to us from the idolatrous rites and superstitions of the ancient saxons, scandinavians, etc., are those connected with our christmas festivities. the whole observance and connections form a strange mixture of christian and heathen ceremonies, illustrative of the unwillingness with which a people abandon pagan rites to the adoption of those more consistent with the spirit of a christianized and enlightened faith. now, little folks and big, i am not going to ridicule or deny your right to christmas and st. nicholas enjoyments; i will merely hint at their origin, for your own benefit. the day brings more happiness--and folks--to the homes and firesides of the people of the _whole world_ than any other holiday we celebrate.[ ] thanksgiving, you know, is mostly a new england custom. the th of december is just as good as any other day on which to have a good time. ancient people used to celebrate the first and sixth of january. the first three months of the year are named after heathen gods. the _name_ of the day we celebrate is derived from a christian source: the rest from pagan. a good feeling was always engendered amongst the most ancient people at the commencement of the lengthening of days in winter, and the approach of a new year. the hanging up of the mistletoe, with the ceremony of gathering it, the kindling of the yule log, and giving of presents, we trace to the druids, who were the priests, doctors, and judges of the ancient celts, gauls, britons, and germans. our modern stoves and furnaces have shut out the pleasant old log fires, and the candles only remain. the gifts originated in the giving away of pieces of the mistletoe by the grizzly old priests. who st. nicholas was, is only conjectured, _not known_, any more than who st. patrick was. it makes no difference where he sprang from; he is a good, jolly, benevolent fellow, who brings lots of presents, and, with the little folks, we are bound to defend him. it is supposed that the original st. nicholas lived in lycia, in asia minor, during the fourth century, and was early adopted as a saint of the catholic church, and also by the russians and ancient germans, celts, and others. "he has ever been regarded as a very charitable personage, and as the particular guardian of children. great stories are told of his charity and benevolence. one of these, and that, perhaps, which attaches him to the peculiar festivities of christmas, is to the effect that a certain nobleman had three lovely daughters, but was so reduced to poverty that he was unable to give them a marriage portion, as was the indispensable custom, and was about to give them over to a life of shame. st. nicholas was aware of this, and determined in a secret way to assist the nobleman. "he wended his way towards the nobleman's house, thinking how he could best do this, when he espied an open window, into which he threw a purse of gold, which dropped at the nobleman's feet, and he was enabled to give his daughter a marriage portion. this was repeated upon the second daughter and the third daughter; but the nobleman, being upon the watch, detected his generous benefactor, and thus the affair was made public. from this rose the custom upon st. nicholas day, december , for parents and friends to secretly put little presents into the stockings of the children. doubtless this custom, so near the festivities of christmas, gradually approximated to that day, and become identical with christmas festivities throughout the world. st. nicholas is often represented bearing three purses, or golden balls, and these form the pawn-broker's well-known sign, which is traced to this source as its origin--not, we should judge, from their resemblance to the charity of st. nicholas, but emblematic of his lending in time of need." popular notions and whims. there was a superstition in scotland against spinning or ploughing on christmas; but the calvinistic clergy, in contempt for all such superstitions, compelled their wives and daughters to spin, and their tenants to plough, on that day. it is a popular notion to the present time in devonshire that if the sun shines bright at noon on christmas day, there will be a plentiful crop of apples the following year. bees were thought to sing in their hives on christmas eve, and it was believed that bread baked then would never mould. so prevalent was the idea that all nature unites in celebrating the great event of christ's birth, that it was a well received opinion in some sections of the old world that the cattle fell on their knees at midnight on christmas eve. ridiculous superstitions. "merlin! merlin! turn again; leave the oak-branch where it grew. seek no more the cress to gain, nor the herb of golden hue." merlin, the reputed great enchanter, flourished in britain about the fifth century. he is said to have resided in great pomp at the court of "good king arthur." you all know the beautiful rhyme about the latter, if not about "merlin! merlin!" etc. "when good king arthur ruled the land,-- he was a goodly king,-- he stole three pecks of barley-meal to make a bag pudding." sublime poetry! easy mode of obtaining the barley-meal (or scotch territory). merlin attached many superstitious beliefs to some of our medicinal plants. the "cress" is supposed to be the mistletoe. "the herb of gold"--golden herb--was a rare plant, held in great esteem by the peasant women of brittany, who affirmed that it shone like gold at a distance. it must be gathered by or before daybreak. the most ridiculous part of the affair was in the searching for the "herb of golden hue." none but devout females, blessed by the priests for the occasion, were permitted the great privilege of gathering it. in order to be successful in the search, the privileged person started before daylight, barefooted, bareheaded, and _en chemise_. (of course the priest knew the individual, and when she was going.) the root must not be cut or broken, but pulled up entire. if any one trod upon the plant, he or she would fall into a trance, when they could understand the language of fowls and animals--a belief not half as ridiculous as that of the present day, that a person may fall into a trance, and understand the language of the dead; yes, dead and decayed, the organs of speech gone! yet thousands believe such stuff to-day. _the mandrake._--great superstition was formerly attached to this root, and even now is, in some rural districts. the root often resembles the lower half of a human being, and it was credulously believed it would shriek and groan when pulled from its mother earth. this notion is expressed in romeo and juliet:-- "mandrakes, torn out of the earth, that mortals, hearing them, run mad." again, in henry vi.:-- "would curses kill, as doth the bitter mandrake's groans." [illustration: gathering the mandrake.] a favorite mode of uprooting this coveted plant--because of its defensive properties, when once gained--was to fasten cords to a dog's neck, thence to the base of the stem of the plant, and sealing their own ears with wax to prevent hearing the groans, which was death or madness, they whipped the unfortunate dog till he drew out the roots, or was killed in the attempt; for the dog usually died then or soon after the cruel beating, and the shrieks of the mandrake were supposed to have caused his death. the scabious, or "devil's bit," was regarded with great superstition. "the old fantastic charmers," said the quaint gerarde, "say that the devil bit away the greater part of this root for envy, because of its many virtues and benefits to mankind." dr. james smith ( ) as quaintly observes, "the malice of the devil has unfortunately been so successful, that no virtue can now be found in the remainder of the root or herb." _house crickets._--the superstition respecting these cheerful and harmless little _chirpers_ is remarkable. some consider their presence a lucky sign, others their absence more fortunate. to kill one, with some persons, is a sign of death in the house. very strange! they, blind fools, do not see that the saying originated in the death of the poor little cricket. the following very remarkable occurrence was related to the writer, as having actually taken place at providence, r. i., a few years since. mrs. d., a respectable lady, residing in the city, was reported to have been followed about the house and up stairs by a "cricket,"--a wooden one, used for a foot-stool. people called at her residence to inquire into the truth of the matter; others even requested to see the remarkable phenomenon of a cricket or stool walking off on all fours, until the lady became so annoyed by the continual stream of credulous callers, that she inserted a notice in the city journals denying the truth of the strange rumor. it was supposed to have started from some neighbor's seeing or hearing a house cricket when on a visit at the lady's house. _the bowing images._--a still more amusing story is related respecting the two images surmounting the wall each side of the gate at the residence of professor gammel, of providence. a report became current among the school-boys of the city, that when the images _heard_ the clock strike nine in the forenoon they bowed their heads. my informant said it was no unusual thing to see a dozen boys waiting, with books and slates, in front of the professor's gate, to see the images bow at nine. being late at school, the teacher would inquire,-- "where have you been lingering, that you are behind time at school?" [illustration: "waiting to see the images bow".] "been down to professor gammel's, waitin' to see the images bow." then the teacher drew his ferule or rod, and made them "bow" in submission to a smart whipping--a sequel anticipated by the older scholars who instituted the story. _house spiders._--was there ever a child who was not taught, directly or indirectly, that house spiders were poisonous,--that their bite was instantaneous death? was there ever a greater mistake? many people have a superstitious terror of these harmless creatures. the bite of spiders is only poisonous to those insects which the divine economy seems to have created for them to destroy. it is possible, as by a fly, sometimes for a slight skin inflammation, less than a mosquito's bite, to follow the sting of a spider on a very small child. let me hereby disabuse the public mind of the repugnance or horror with which these little creatures are regarded. the creator has evidently placed them here for the destruction of flies and other insects, which otherwise would completely overrun us. the fly is such a domestic creature, that he soon deserts a house where the family is long absent. the spider then removes also. (i have watched this proceeding, with no little interest, in the absence of my own family.) therefore the spider was created to suppress a superabundance of insect life. when i have before stated this fact, the listener has been led to inquire why the flies were then made. we will not answer the suggestion of this "riddle" as the irishman did (you know that he said, "to feed the spiders, to be sure"), but reply, that if this question is to arise in this connection, we may as well keep on our inquiry till we arrive at the greater riddle, "why are _we_ created?"--to which we have no space for reply. it is said that manufacturers of quill pens in london, being greatly annoyed by a species of moth which infests their quills and devours the feathers, and the common spider being endowed with an inordinate appetite for those same moths, the penmakers and spiders are on the best of terms, and an army of these much-maligned and persecuted insects encamp in each pen factory, and do good service to the cause of literature as well as trade, by protecting the quills. we may yet find that even mosquitos and bedbugs have their uses in the wise economy of nature. now, when tidy housewifery requires that brush and broom should ruthlessly demolish the webs,--the wonderful work and mechanism of the one species of house spider,--let it be done as a necessity, not with a feeling of repugnance to the harmless little insect; and let children be taught the truthful lesson that nothing is made in vain. _the house cat_, with many, is regarded with unaccountable superstition. it goes with the witch, particularly the black cat. no witch ever could exist without one. this is usually the species that haunts naughty boys in their dreams after they have eaten too heartily of cake, and other indigestible stuff, at evening. cats are as old as time. at least their existence dates back as far as man's in history, and they were formerly regarded as a sacred animal. in ancient egypt we find that master tomas, with his round face and rugged whiskers, symbolized the sun. preserved in the british museum are abundant proofs of the reverence and superstition with which the feline race was regarded by the egyptians. here several of these revered grimalkins are mummied in spices, and perfumes, and balsams, in which they have survived the unknown centuries of the past, "to contrast the value of a dead cat in the land of the pharaohs with the fate of such relics in modern times, ignominiously consigned to the scavenger's cart, or feloniously hanging upon a tree, the scarecrow of the orchard." diodorus, the greek writer, st century b. c., informs us that such was the superstitious veneration with which the egyptians regarded cats, that no one could ruffle the fur of tom or tabby with impunity, and that any man killing a cat was put to death. (o, what a country it must have been to sleep in!) in ptolemy's time, while the roman army was established in egypt, one of the romans killed a cat, when the people flew to his house, and dragged him forth, and neither the fear of the soldiers nor the influence of the prince could deliver the unfortunate cat-slayer from the wrath of the infuriated mob. mohammed had a superstition for cats, and was said to have been constantly attended by one. a cat hospital was founded at damascus in respect to the prophet's predilection, which baumgarten, the german professor ( to ) found filled with feline inmates. turkey maintained several public establishments of this kind. howell the good, king of wales, th century, legislated for the cat propagation, and it would seem that the race was limited, since a week old kitten sold for a penny,--a great deal of money in those days,--and fourpence for one old enough to catch a mouse. the following ludicrous penalty was attached to a cat-stealer:-- "if any person stole a cat that guarded the prince's granaries he was to forfeit a milch ewe, fleece, and lamb; or, in lieu of these, as much wheat as, when poured upon the cat, suspended by the tail, her head touching the floor, would form a heap high enough to bury her to the tail tip." this would seem rather hard on poor pussy, even to threatening her suffocation. huc, in his "chinese empire," tells us that the chinese peasantry are accustomed to tell the noon hour from the narrowing and dilation of the pupils of pussy's eyes; they are said to be drawn down to a hair's-breadth precisely at twelve o'clock. this horological utility, however, by no means gives her a fixed tenure in a chinese home. there she enters into the category of edible animals, and, having served the purpose of a cat-clock, is seen hanging side by side with the carcasses of dogs, rats, and mice in the shambles of every city and town of the celestial empire. descending to the middle ages, a mal-odor of magic taints the fair fame of our _protégés_, more especially attaching itself to black or brindled cats, which were commonly found to be the "familiars" of witches; or, rather, their "familiars" were supposed to take the form of these animals; and hence, in nearly all judicial records of these unhappy delusionists, demons in the shape of cats are sure to figure. the witches in "macbeth" (for what impression of the times he lived in has shakspeare lost?) awaited the triple mewing of the brindled cat to begin their incantations; and more scientific pretenders to a knowledge of the occult arts are usually represented as attended in their laboratories by a feline companion. fragments of a superstitious faith in the magical, or what was till comparatively recent times so nearly allied with it, the medicinal attributes of the animal, still surviving in certain rustic and remote districts of england, where the brains of a cat of the proper color (black, of course) are esteemed a cure for epilepsy; and where, within our memory, such a faith induced a wretched being, in the shape of woman, mad with despair and rage, to tear the living heart from one of these animals, that, by sticking it full of pins and roasting it, she might bring back the regard of a man, brutal and perfidious as herself. such formulæ are frequently to be met with in the works of ancient naturalists and physicians, and were, doubtlessly, handed down from generation to generation, and locally acted upon in desperate cases. it is on evidence that more than one old woman has been condemned by our wise ancestors to pay the penalty of her presumed league with satan in a fiery death, upon no better testimony than the fact that harper, rutterkin, or robin had been seen entering her dwelling in the shape of a black cat. but if, in ancient times, old women, and young ones, too, have been brought to grief through the cats they fostered, certain it is that these creatures have suffered horrible reprisal at the hands of certain vagrants of the sex in our own. our _felis domestica_ has, for a long time, labored under the serious disadvantage of a traditional character. buffon sums her up as a "faithless friend, brought in to oppose a still more insidious enemy;" and goldsmith--who, it is well known, became a writer of natural history "upon compulsion," and had neither time nor opportunity for personal observation of the habits and instincts of the creatures he so charmingly describes--followed in the track of the great naturalist, and echoes this ungracious definition. boys have a natural contempt for cats, and picking them up by the tail, tossing them over the wall, or tying old tin pots to their caudal end, to see how fast they can run, are among their most trifling sports at the expense of tom and tabby. i have known a cruel boy to roll a cat in turpentine, and set fire to her. few men have any feeling but repugnance towards the feline race. the exceptions are in the past. cardinal wolsey's cat sat on the arm of his chair of state, or took up her position at the back of his throne when he held audiences; and the cat of the poet petrarch, after death, occupied, embalmed, a niche in his studio; indeed, poets appear to be more susceptible of pussy's virtues and graces than other persons; and she has, on many occasions, been made the subject of their verse, the sentiment of which fully expresses a sense of the maligned animal's faithfulness and affection. tasso, reduced to such a strait of poverty as to be obliged to borrow a crown from a friend to subsist on through a week, turns for mute sympathy to his faithful cat, and disburdens his case in a charming sonnet, in which he entreats her to assist him through the night with the lustre of her moon-like eyes, having no candles by which he could see to write his verses. [illustration: sport for the boys but death for the cat.] an editor facetiously says, "we have here among us at this time an addition to the m. d.'s in the shape of two cat doctors, who have the terrible idea that they were put upon this earth for the sole object of doctoring cats, and now the mortality list shows, at the least calculation, that no less than eighteen cats and two kittens have travelled to that bourn from which no passengers have ever yet returned, and all because they were the unlucky sons and daughters of ye night prowlers who had been sacrificed for the good of the future cat generation." present errors. i think some reason for the present errors and superstitions attached to cats, may be attributed to the _cat_-adioptric qualities of their eyes and fur. at night their eyes often shine with phosphoric light, and rubbing their fur with the human hand causes it to emit electric sparks, particularly in very cold weather. they are supposed to partake of ghostly, or witch-like qualities, because they can see in the night time. fish scales, as well as the flesh of fish, contain a phosphoric principle--there is no witchery about such--which can be seen best through the dark. the fur of other animals besides the cat contain electric qualities. humans possess it to a greater or lesser extent. the eye of the cat--as also the owl--is made, in the divine economy, expressly for night prowling. the back, or reflecting coat (retina), is white, or light, that it may reflect dark objects. in man, and most animals, it is dark. a light-complexioned person can (_cæteris paribus_) see better at night than one who is dark. in a strong light, it is reversed. so much for cat-optrics. our cat-alogue would be incomplete without this cat-agraph, and we should "cat-ch it," hereafter, from some cat-echist, if we here discontinued our cat-enary cat-egory, without some little cat-ch relative to the domestic and redeeming qualities of this unappreciated cat-tle (excuse the cat-achresis). webster says the cat is a deceitful animal. webster don't know. she certainly has large cautiousness and secretiveness. man, with the same secretiveness, with the same neglect and abuse that tom receives, will become doubly deceitful. treat him kindly and affectionately, and he will return it. subject to everybody's kicks, cuffs, and suspicion, the cat necessarily becomes shy, ugly, and appears deceitful. so does a child. the cat is fond of sweet scents, and pries into drawers and cupboards, oftener to gratify her sense of smell than taste. cats are very fond of music, and occasionally go upon the piano keys to make the strings vibrate. depending upon their own exertions for a livelihood, they become thieves. they may, by kind instruction, soon be taught to know and keep their own places. the healthy cat is neat and systematic. children may be taught a useful lesson by noticing that the tabby washes her face and hands after meals, and never comes to her repast with them dirty. cats are sometimes good fish-catchers, as well as mousers and bird-catchers, often plunging into water to secure their favorite aliment. their love of praise is exhibited in their general tendency to bring in their prey, and place it at your feet for your approbation. give them the notice due them, and they will redouble their efforts. it is a vulgar error to suppose their washing over the head is a sign of rain, or that you can tell the time of tide by their eye-pupils, or that they can go through a solid wall, have nine lives, or suck away a child's breath. the cat, as a sanitary means, should be domesticated, especially with scrofulous children and females. either by their absorbent or repelling powers they assist nature in eradicating that almost universal disease--scrofula. teach children that "god has created nothing in vain," and nothing which will harm them if rightly used. here we bid good by to tom and tabby. _the owl._--the superstition which has hung about this very harmless bird is liable to soon cease in the extermination of the creature itself. "was you born in the woods to be scared by an owl?" my grandmother once sarcastically inquired when i was frightened from the barn by an old owl inquiring,-- "who--a'--yoo?" [illustration: "who--a'--yoo?"] i acknowledge i was a great coward; but i had heard the old women affirm more than once that it was a sign of ill luck or death to hear one of these cat-faced, cat-seeing, mousing creatures cry by day; so i fled from the barn, while the old owl turned his head sidewise, as he sat on a beam, trying to penetrate the light, repeating, "who--a'--yoo?" it was a sign of death, for my uncle shot the owl. magpies are made the subject of superstition. to see a single one strutting across your path is a sad mishap. there is luck in three, or more, however. _holy water._--church superstitions and rites are not within our province, unless they are objectionable in a sanitary point of view. if the holy water is clean, it is just as good as any other pure water; but i have seen it poured upon my irish patients--years ago in hartford and elsewhere--when there were "wrigglers" in it from long exposure in an unstopped bottle or tea-cup. i approve of holy water, therefore, in large quantities, with other rites, tending to a sanitary object. have plenty of water--with soap. [illustration: the proper use of "holy water."] _bells._--few useful articles have been held in greater reverence and superstition. their origin is of great antiquity. the first jewish priests adorned their blue tunics with golden bells, as also did the persian kings. the greeks put bells upon criminals going to execution, as a warning, as it was an ill omen to see a criminal and his executioner walking. the superstition respecting bells began more particularly with the tenth century, when the priests exorcised and blessed them, giving them the names of saints, making the rabble believe that when they were rung for those ceremonies they had the power to drive devils out of the air, making them quake and tremble; also to restrain the power of the devil over a corpse; hence bell-ringing at funerals. there are many legends wherein the evil spirits' dislike to bells is promulgated. as "the devil hates holy water," so he does bell-ringing. dr. warner, a clergyman of the church of england, in his "hampshire," enumerates the virtues of a bell, by translating some lines from the "helpe to discourse." "men's deaths i tell by doleful knell; lightning and thunder i break asunder; on sabbath all to church i call; the sleepy head i raise from bed; the winds so fierce i doe disperse; men's cruel rage i do asswage." i think the beautiful music discoursed by a chime of bells would be more effectual "men's cruel rage" to tranquillize, than a battery of seven cannons. aside from all superstitious notions, there is an irresistible charm about the music of bells, and i rejoice that they are gradually being redeemed from the superstition and monopoly of one ignorant denomination, as the sacred cross may be, to the use and blessing of all mankind. _fear of thunder and lightning._--these have ever been sources of superstitious terror. the ancients considered thunder and lightning as direct manifestations of divine wrath; hence whatever the lightning struck was accursed. the corpses of persons so killed were allowed to remain where they fell, to the great inconvenience, often, of the living. the electricity which plays about high poles and spires was formerly attributed to spirits. "fiery spirits or devils," says old burton, "are such as commonly work by blazing stars, fire-drakes," etc. "likewise they counterfeit suns and moons ofttimes, and sit on ships' masts." the electric sparks upon the metal points of soldiers' spears were regarded as omens of no small importance. in some parts of europe, up to the last century, it was a custom to ring bells during a thunder-storm, to drive away evil spirits; but this act often was the cause of death, by the exposure of persons to the points of attraction, and the conducting power of moist ropes and metallic wires. on the night of april , , the lightning struck twenty-four steeples while the bells were ringing. in july of the following year, while the bells were tolling at a funeral celebration in the chateau vieux, lightning struck the steeple, killing nine persons and injuring twenty-two. statistics show that numerous deaths were caused by bell-ringing in england and france, during the last century, to drive away imaginary spirits. the saint usually invoked on these occasions was st. barnabas. the houseleek and bay tree were supposed to afford protection from lightning. "the thunder has soured the beer," or the milk, is a common saying; and i once saw a piece of iron lying across the beer-barrel to keep away thunder. a heavy atmosphere may suddenly sour beer or milk. creeping three times under the communion table while the chimes were striking, at midnight, was believed to cure fits, as late as . glass, stone, and feathers are non-conductors to electricity. persons very susceptible to electric currents need give themselves no fear, and no more caution need be taken than we take to protect ourselves against other objects of danger. lightning will not strike one out of doors, unless he is near a point of high attraction,--under a tree, or pole,--or has about him, exposed, some metallic substance, or some very wet article. houses under or near tall trees, or with suitable lightning-rods, are safe enough. a feather bed, particularly one insulated by glass-rollers, or plates, under the posts, and not touching the wall, is a perfectly safe place for invalids and nervous people who are susceptible to electricity. the pulse of such is often increased in frequency before a thunder-storm. let such first have no fear. see god in the storm and lightning as only a saving power. i know a girl who "tears around like mad" for a man at the approach of a thunder-storm. when finding one, she feels perfectly safe. if not, she hides in the cellar till the storm abates. _unlucky days._--the superstition respecting unlucky friday is well known. some cynical bachelors say it is unlucky because named for a woman. monday was also so named. i can find no account of this superstition until after the first century a. d. it is said that our saviour was crucified on friday--a day of fear and trembling, of earthquakes and divers remarkable phenomena; but that day is now as uncertain as the day of his birth, in the various changes of the calendar, heathen naming of the days to suit their notions, and the great uncertainty of chronology. no doubt christ arose from the dead on the then first day of the week, and was crucified the third day before the resurrection; but what day of our present week who can tell? if on friday, it should be counted far from an unlucky day. sailors are particularly superstitious as to sailing on friday, notwithstanding columbus sailed on friday, and discovered america on that day. the french believe in unlucky friday. lord byron, dr. johnson, and other authors and poets, are said to have so believed. shakspeare, scott, goldsmith, bacon, sir francis drake, napoleon, and many other great men, were pretty thoroughly tinged with superstition; the latter, it is said, believed in "luck," or destiny. the future of children is yet believed to depend much upon the day of the week on which they are born. "monday's child is fair in face; tuesday's child is full of grace; wednesday's child is full of woe; thursday's child has far to go; friday's child works hard for its living; saturday's child is loving and giving; and a child that's born on christmas day is fair, and wise, and good, and gay."[ ] this, of course, is all nonsense--or rather the belief in such signs--and one day is equally as good as another for nature's work, or in which to fulfil the requirements of god and nature. let no mother, or her who is about to become a mother, put faith in old nurses' whims. their brains are full of all such fantastic notions, which are too often revealed in the sick room, and the effect is often detrimental to the peace and happiness of the mother, and at times dangerous to the life of the invalid. superstition of a kiss. the monks of the middle ages--great theorists--divided the kiss into fifteen distinct and separate orders. . the decorous or modest kiss. . the diplomatic, or kiss of policy. . the spying kiss, to ascertain if a woman had drank wine. . the slave kiss. . the kiss infamous--a church penance. . the slipper kiss, practised towards tyrants. . the judicial kiss. . the feudal kiss. . the religious kiss (kissing the cross). . the academical kiss (on joining a solemn brotherhood). . the hand kiss. . the judas kiss. . the medical kiss--for the purpose of healing some sickness. . the kiss of etiquette. . the kiss of love--the only real kiss. but this was also to be variously considered; viz., given by ardent enthusiasm, as by lovers; by matrimonial affection; or, lastly, between two men--an awful kiss, tasting like sandwiches without butter or meat. [illustration: the modest kiss.] the end is not yet. the reign of superstition is not yet ended. it is impossible for any great catastrophe, involving loss of property or life, to occur without a certain superstitious class harping upon the event as a judgment of god upon the wickedness of the victims. if a great city is swept away by the devouring elements, we hear the cry that "an offended deity has visited the 'babylon of the west' with his vengeance for her wickedness." some penurious wretch takes it up, and says, "i'll give nothing, then, to the victims of the fire. it is god's judgment; i won't interfere." a rich man is murdered in cold blood, and the same howl goes up, "it is the judgment of god upon him for heaping up riches." the fact of his riches going to thousands of poor artisans, actors, musicians, widows, orphans, and "western babylonian sufferers," goes for nothing with such people. these same superstitious wretches have not yet done asserting that the assassination of president lincoln was in judgment for his attending a theatre. twenty-five persons were killed in a church at bologna, recently, while kneeling in prayer. was this an expression of god's wrath upon church-goers? "the laws by which god governs the universe are inexorable. the frost will blight, the fire destroy, the storms will ravage, disease and death will do their appointed work, though narrow-mindedness and bigotry misconstrue their intent. all things are for good. if natural laws are violated, the known and inevitable result follows." * * * * * i have already exceeded the space to which this chapter was limited, and there are a thousand superstitious beliefs and practices which are not herein enumerated nor explained. but rest assured that nothing exists without its uses, without the knowledge of the divine author, and nothing supernatural does or ever did exist amongst natural beings. there is nothing within this world but what god has placed for man's good. there is nothing here past man's ability to fathom. god is love. what there is beyond this world, we shall find out quite soon enough. [illustration] xiii. travelling doctors. "his fancy lay to travelling."--l'estrange. public confidence(?).--the eye of the public.--a bad specimen.--"remarkable tumor."--"the singing doctor."--caught in a storm.--big puffing.--a splendid "turnout."--who was he?--a sudden disappearance.--the "spanking doctor."--a fair victim.--loose laws.--dr. pulsefeel.--impudence.--a fiddling doctor.--an encore.--"cheek."--various ways of advertising. one might say, with some propriety, that these characters--travelling doctors--should have been classed under the heading of our first chapter, as "humbugs;" but if we should put all under that head that belong there, o, where would the chapter end? as "all is not gold that glitters," so neither, on the other hand, is there anything so bad that no virtue can be found in it. no heart is so utterly depraved as to prevent any good thought or deed from emanating therefrom, though sometimes the good is quite imperceptible to us short-sighted mortals. as the majority of physicians "turned" out of our medical colleges, or of those in practice in our cities, are unfit to have intrusted to their care the health and lives of our families, friends, or ourselves, so the majority of travelling doctors are to be reckoned equally untrustworthy; no more so. if the blessed saviour should return to earth, and travel from town to city, as he did eighteen hundred years ago, healing the sick, i really think there would be a less number believing in him now than then. less gratitude for his marvellous cures there could not be; for then some of the miserable wretches, whom he healed free of charge, did not so much as return him thanks. this may be said of some of our patients at this day. let a medical man of ever so great reputation travel, and he is lost. a band of angels, on a healing mission, would stand no chance with a people who only expect humbugs to visit them. the shakspearian inquiry would at once and repeatedly be put,-- "how chance it they travel? their _residence_, both in reputation and profit, was better both ways!" let us view a few travelling doctors through the _public_ eye:-- "so shall i dare to give him shape and hue, and bring his mazy-running tricks to view; from humbug's minions catch the scattered rays, that in one focus they may brightly blaze. "i'd give our (nameless) knight, before he starts, a tireless mind, where never conscience smarts; an oily tongue, which word should never speak to call a blush to satan's brazen cheek; with, yet, a power of lungs the weak to move, which lung-quiescent ... might approve; a changing face, which e'en might homer feign, a ton of brass for every ounce of brain. "then launch him forth, right cunningly to rage through the thin shams of this enlightened age; to tell the people they are lords of earth, and pick their pockets while he lauds their worth; drug men with folly, which no clime engrosses, and sense deal out in homeopathic doses; and making goodness to his projects bend, with all right aims an ultra spirit blend. * * * * * "he leagues with those who number in their trade a falsehood told for every sixpence made; to mammon mortgage all they have of heart, to keep their wealth, with priceless honor part. the fear of god the smallest of their fears, rolling in wealth, but bankrupt in ideas; to save their purse, their souls contented lose, and count all right, if worldly gain accrues; who, when they die, no memory leave behind, but in the curses of their cheated kind! "with these sir humbug riches seeks to gain, and feels his way through lab'rinths of chicane; embezzles, swindles, lies, until at last the eye of justice on his crime is cast, when, drugged with wealth, he quits our plundered shore, and texas boasts one fiery hero more." [illustration: the tumor doctor contemplates suicide.] [illustration: mariam, the tumor doctor.] the worst specimen of a travelling doctor i ever knew first appeared at r., one of the principal towns of vermont, a few years ago. his name was mariam; or that was what he called himself. he was a canadian by birth, about twenty-five years of age, short, dark-complexioned, and claimed to be the seventh son of somebody. he was very illiterate, not being able to write a prescription, or his name, for that matter, when he came to r. i visited his rooms at the hotel, after he had been in town some weeks, and noticed, among other things, that his table was strewn with sheets of paper, upon which he had been practising writing his signature. he opened here boldly. he sent out thousands of circulars in the various trains of cars running from r., distributing them in person, on the poor richard's principle, that "if you want your work done, do it; if not, send." he inserted cards in the two village papers, containing the most illiterate and preposterous statements, and hundreds flocked to see him. imagine his knowledge, for he assured me, to whom he opened his heart in confidence, that he never read a page of a medical work in his life. he first claimed to cure by the laying on of hands; but as he possessed no magnetic powers, he gradually abandoned that deception. as he could not write a prescription, and knew nothing of compounding medicines, he would go with a patient to a druggist's, and looking over the names of drugs on the bottles exposed on the shelves, order two or three articles at random, and, as one druggist assured me, of the most opposite properties; such as tincture of iron and iodide of potash, etc. (note. the acid in the m. tinct. iron sets the iodine free.) his clothes were very seedy, "and the crown of his hat went flip flap," and his toes were healthy, "being able to get out to the air," when he came to r. soon he was "in luck," and a nice suit of clothes, a new silk hat, and boots, speedily graced his not inelegant person. i saw him both before and after the transformation. the following is a true copy of one of his certificates, taken from his circular:-- "a great cure of an ovarian tumor! "this is to certify that dr. mariam cured me of an immense _ovarian tumor of the left shoulder_, weighing five pounds and a half, from which i suffered," etc., etc. (signed) mrs. ---- ----. "malone, n. y." on this item being ridiculed in the papers of r., mariam changed it to a "rose cancer," and continued the certificate. mariam had been practising in malone, n. y., also at whitehall, where, i was informed by a newspaper man, he was arrested for obtaining money under false pretences. he, however, escaped and fled, to practise his deceptions elsewhere. it was reported that he shuffled off his mortal coil by finally taking two ounces of laudanum, after the civil authorities had placed him comfortably in the county jail, where he had the pleasure of passing many days in viewing the world through an iron-barred window, and reflecting on his eventful career. the singing doctor. in remarkable contrast with the above described ignoramus, we present the following description, from two contributors, of an extraordinary personage, known for a time as "the singing doctor." the "hoosac valley news" tells this story:-- "one day late in the autumn of , while the rain poured in torrents, and the wind howled fearfully along the hills of old plymouth, i was obliged to drive to watertown. the 'branch' was swollen to the river's size, and foamed madly down over the sombre rocks, while above my head, on the other side of the road, the trees rocked and swayed, as though about to fall into the seething, roaring waters below. "above, or mingled with the clashing of the elements, i heard some voice, as if singing. it struck me with wonder. i stopped to listen. it became more distinct, as if approaching. what was it? who could it be, singing amid the fearful tempest? "in the midst of my surmising, the object of my wonder came in sight, around a turn in the road just ahead of me. "it was the singing doctor, whom i instantly recognized by his little old white horse, as well as by his own voice, to which i had before listened. the little animal was drenched like a 'drowned rat.' the doctor, in his open buggy, with no umbrella,--for the sweeping wind precluded the possibility of holding one,--and the driving rain pelting mercilessly upon his face and head, was singing. "'you must be a happy man,' i exclaimed, 'to be singing amid this awful storm.' "'why not?' he replied. 'it is always better to be singing than sighing;' and we passed on through the dangerous defile, and separated.... "last summer, as i journeyed through the green mountain state on a pleasure excursion, i met, on a romantic mountain pass, a magnificent turnout,--a splendid top carriage, drawn by four beautiful, jet black morgan mares,--which did not attract my attention so much, however, as the music within the carriage. it was the singing doctor again, with his two little daughters, singing. "the handsome and good-natured driver offered me the best half of the road; but still i lingered till the last notes of the song died away, when i drove past the 'sanatorian,' wondering to myself what singing had to do with his increasing prosperity." the remainder of the sketch is from the pen of a lady in vermont:-- "i think it was during the spring of that our little 'city on the lake' was visited by the above remarkable character. we are often visited by migratory physicians, who are usually of the 'come-and-go' order; but this one burst upon us like a comet, with dazzling splendor, briefly announced, but at once proclaimed his determination of returning with the regularity of the full moon--repeating his visits every month. few believed his last arrangement could be carried out, as his predecessors had generally fleeced the invalid public to their utmost at one visit, and if they ever again appeared, it would be under another name and phase. it soon became evident that one visit could not repay the outlay, for no ready posting-board was large enough to hold the agent's posters, which were printed in strips some twenty-five feet in length, and his advertisements occupied one, two, or more columns of the public journals, while he flooded the houses with his pictorial circulars. [illustration: the singing doctor.] "he was merely announced as 'the sanatorian,' but was indorsed (true or false?) by some of new england's most respectable people. he came in grand style, as the papers briefly announced, thus:-- "'_the sanatorian._ this distinguished physician proposes visiting us on the th inst.... the doctor comes in great style.... he has the finest carriage, and the gayest four black morgan horses we have ever had the pleasure of riding after.' [illustration: the sanatorian's turnout.] "the driver, a handsome fellow, with full brown whiskers, curling hair, and a 'heavenly blue eye,' had taken the editor and writer of this last paragraph out to an airing. the team was photographed by the artists, and many of the best citizens had the pleasure of a ride in the easy carriage, and behind the swift ponies. "the doctor usually remained _incog._ to the public. if they wished to see him, they must go to his 'parlors' at the best hotels. they did go. and now the most remarkable part of the affair remains to be recorded. an editor who interviewed him reports thus: 'the doctor rocks in a rocking-chair,--in fact, never sits in anything else,--or arises and walks the floor, and instantly, _at a glance_, tells every patient each pain and ache better than the patient could describe them himself. 'are you a clairvoyant?' the editor asked. "'_faugh! no, sir._ clairvoyancy is a humbug; merely power of mind over mind. a clairvoyant can go no farther than your _own_ knowledge leads him, unless he guesses the rest,' was his emphatic reply. "the same patients, disguised, visited him twice, but he would tell the same story to them as before. his diagnosis was truly wonderful. "'what is your mode of treatment, or what school do you represent?' "'there hangs my "school,"' he would reply, pointing to a new york college diploma. 'that, however, cures nobody. what cures one patient kills another. my opathy is to cure my patient by _any means_, regardless of "schools."' "to some he gave 'nothing but water,' the patients affirmed; to others, pills, powders, syrups, or prescriptions. well, he came the next month, to our surprise, and to the joy of most of his patients. he did the greatest amount of advertising on the first visit, doing less and less puffing each time. the rich, as well as the poor, visited him. he charged all one dollar. then, if they declined treatment, he was satisfied; but if they doubted, or were sceptical, he refused all prescription. he advertised quite as much by telling one man he was past all help, and would die in eight weeks, which he did, as by curing the mayor of the city of a cough that jeoparded his life. if a poor woman had no money, he treated her just as cheerfully. men he would not. his cures are said to have been remarkable. he made some eleven visits, and his patrons increased at each visit; but the novelty wore off before he disappeared. he was said to be an excellent musician, an author and composer, a man who was well read (a physician here who often conversed with him so informed the writer), could translate latin and french, and converse with the mutes. when the day closed, he would see no more patients, but devoted his time to friends, to writing, or to music. often the hotel parlor would be thronged at evening with the musical portion of the community. in personal appearance he was nothing remarkable,--medium size, wore full beard, had a sharp black eye, a quick, nervous movement, and his voice was not unpleasing to the ear. "why he--such a man--should travel, no one knew. he had an object, doubtless, to accomplish, realized it, and retired upon his true name, and from whence he came." "youran, the spanker." the writer has many times seen a fellow who travelled the country, nicknamed "the spanker." he was a tall, lean, lank-looking yankee, with red hair and whiskers, a light gray eye, and claimed to cure all diseases by "spatting" the patient, or the diseased part thereof, with cold water on his bare palm, the use of a battery, and a pill. he had served as door-keeper to a famous doctor, who created a _furore_, a few years since, by the exercise of his magnetic powers, making cripples to throw down their crutches, and walk off; the deaf to hear, the blind to see; or, at least, many of them _thought_ they did, for the time being, which answered the doctor's immediate purpose. but one fine morning the magnetic doctor found his door-keeper was among the "missing." he had learned the trade, and set up on his own account. this fellow was as ignorant of physic as jack reynolds was of scripture. reynolds, who killed townsend in , when under sentence of death, listened attentively for the first time to the story of the saviour's crucifixion in atonement for our sins, when he rather startled the visitors, as well as the eminent divine, with the inquiry, "did that affair happen lately?" he was not, it is evident, conversant with scripture. "the spanker" was not read in medicine. his treatment was the most ridiculous and repulsive of the absurdities of the nineteenth century. the patient was stripped of his clothes, and often so severely spanked as to compel him, or her, to cry out with pain. [illustration: a new school of practice.] the beautiful young wife of the rev. mr. f., of vermont, was brought to the writer for medical advice. the patient was carefully examined, and the minister taken aside, and assured that the lady was past all help; she was in the last stages of consumption; that she would, in all probability, die with the falling of the autumn leaves, or within two months. the following day the minister carried the patient to the spanker doctor, who declared her case quite curable. the minister employed him to treat the patient. a few weeks later i saw the minister, seated on the doorstep of his house, bowed in grief. he was on the lookout for me, as i was expected that way. he called to me, and asked if i would view the corpse of his once beautiful wife. i dismounted, and entered the house of mourning. there lay the poor, fair young face, within the narrow confines of the coffin. the cheeks were hollow, the eyes sunken, and the nostrils closed, and i doubt if any air had passed through the left one for weeks--pathognomonic indications of that fell disease, consumption. "she did not live as long, doctor, as you thought she would, in august," said mr. f. "no, sir: i did not then make allowance for the harsh treatment of dr. ----, that, i am advised, soon followed." [illustration: a victim of the spanker.] "o, sir," he exclaimed, in agony of soul, while the tears coursed freely down his cheeks, and fell upon the coffin,--"o, sir, god only knows what the poor thing suffered. dr. youran said the spatting and cold water treatment would save her, and i was anxious to try it, and did, till the poor, dear soul begged us, with tearful eyes, not to punish her further, but to let her die in peace." the ignorant scoundrel is still at large, preying upon the invalid public. it is a burning shame that the laxity of our laws permits such ignorant, heartless wretches to go about the country, imposing upon the credulity of invalidity. the invalids, as we said in our opening, expect to be humbugged, and will believe no honest statement of a case and its probabilities, but will too often swallow the lies and braggadocio, and finally the prescriptions, of ignorant charlatans and impostors. [illustration: dr. pulsfeel leaving town.] mr. jeaffreson, in the "book about doctors," before often quoted, says of the english travelling doctor of the last century,-- "when dr. pulsfeel was tired of london, or felt the want of country air, he adopted the pleasant occupation of fleecing rustic simplicity. for his journeys he provided himself with a stout and fast-trotting hack--stout, that it might bear weighty parcels of medical composition; fast, that in case the ungrateful rabble should commit the indecorum of stoning their benefactor as an impostor,--a mishap that would occasionally occur,--escape might be effected. "in his circuit the doctor took in all the fairs, markets, wakes, and public festivals, not disdaining to stop an entire week, or even month, at an assize town, where he found the sick anxious to benefit by his marvellous wisdom. "his manner of making himself known in a new place was to ride boldly into the thickest crowd of a town, and inform his listeners that he had come straight from the duke of so-and-so, or the emperor of wallachia, out of an innate desire to do good to his fellow-creatures. he was born in that very town. he had left it when an orphan boy, to seek his fortune in the great world. his adventures had been wonderful. he had visited the sultan and the great mogul; and the king of mesopotamia had tried to persuade him to tarry and keep the mesopotamians out of the devil's clutches by the offer of a thousand pieces of gold a month. he had cured thousands of emperors, kings, queens, princes, grand duchesses, and generalissimos. he sold all kinds of medicaments--dyes for the hair, washes for the complexion, lotions, rings, and love charms, powders to stay the palsy, fevers, croup, and jaundice. his powder was expensive; he couldn't help that; it was made of pearl-dust and dried violet leaves from the middle of tartary. still, he would sell his friends a package at bare cost,--one crown,--as he did not want to make money out of them. "nothing could surpass the impudence of the fellow's lies, save the admiration with which his credulous auditors swallowed his assertions. there they stood--stout yeomen, drunken squires, gay peasant girls, gawky hinds and gabbling crones, deeming themselves in luck to have lived to behold such a miracle of wisdom. possibly a young student, home from oxford, with the rashness of inexperience, would smile scornfully, and cry out, 'quack!' (quack-salver, from the article he used to cure wens); but such interruption was usually frowned down by the orthodox friends of the student, and he was warned that he would come to no good end, if he went on as he had begun, a contemptuous unbeliever, and a mocker of wise men." a musical doctor. mr. dayton, vocalist, told me of a fellow who cut a swell in various capacities a few years ago. he first knew him as a fiddler at fairs. the next time he turned up was under the following circumstances:-- "with madam l. and some other renowned vocalist, he was giving concerts, when one day their pianist was taken suddenly sick. madam was in great trepidation. [illustration: the musical doctor.] "'what shall i do? the concert cannot be postponed, and we cannot sing unless we have an accompaniment,' exclaimed the lady. "i looked about, made some inquiry,--it was in a small town,--but no competent piano player could be found. "'we must abandon the concert,' i said, which seemed inevitable, when there came a sharp knock at the door. "'come in,' i called. "the door opened, and instead of a servant, as i had expected, there appeared a tall, stout specimen of the _genus homo_, with large black eyes, and long, dark hair flowing down on to his shoulders, making his best bow, and what he doubtless intended as his sweetest smile. "i offered him a chair, and inquired how i could serve him. "'you want a piano player?' "'yes.' "'well, i will undertake to assist you in your strait. allow me to see your programme,' he continued, very patronizingly, waiting for us to make no reply whatever. "'are you--that is, do you play rapidly, and at sight?' asked madam. "he replied only by a gesture, a sort of pitiful contempt for the ignorance of any person who should ask _him_ such a question.... "half past seven came, and we went on the stage. i do not know what the fellow's prelude was; i was otherwise engaged; but his accompaniments were made up, and after he had heard the note sung to which he should have accompanied,--o, it was a horrid jargon, a consecutive blast of discords, a tempest of incomprehensibleness. [illustration: enthusiasm.] "madam caught her breath at the first pausing-place, and signalled him to stop. he took a side glance at her, misinterpreted her, and played on the louder. it became ludicrous in the extreme. he played the minor strains, or what should have been minor, in the major key. he only stopped when he saw us leave the stage. the audience cheered. he took it all as a compliment to himself as a pianist, stopped, and made his most profound obeisance to the house. they laughed and cheered the harder. he mistook it for an _encore_, bowed again, and returned to the piano. then the house came down. they stamped, they laughed, they shouted. the boys in the gallery cat-called; the building fairly shook. i ran back to see what it was all about, and there was the pianist (?) beating furiously at the keys, the perspiration pouring in streams from his face. but his playing could only be _seen_ to be appreciated; it could not be heard for the stamping of the audience. he finally desisted, and with repeated halts and smiles, he bowed himself off the stage. "his grand _debut_ and retirement upon the stage occurred the same night. madam would not permit him to go on again, and we sang the duets from ---- without accompaniment. i think the fellow knew nothing of music; he had 'cheeked' it right through. "perhaps it was two years afterwards--i was staying at the b. hotel, maine--when i heard a deal of talk about a great doctor then in town. after dinner the first day, i noticed a man sauntering leisurely from the dining-hall in embroidered slippers, white silk stockings, black pants, gaudy dressing-gown, with long hair falling down over his shoulders. i thought i recognized that face. i approached him after a while, and called him by name. "'what? why, i think you are mistaken. i do not know you, sir,' he stammered; and then i knew he had recognized me. "'o, yes; i am dayton. you remember you were our pianist once in a strait, in s.' "'o, ah! come up to my room,' he said, leading the way. "i followed, when he told me he was doing a good thing at the practice of medicine about the principal towns of the state, and begged i would say nothing about his former occupation. he stated to me that he had been to europe, and had been studying medicine meantime, which i have since ascertained was entirely untrue." and this was the fellow over whom the town was running wild. the idea of some men trying to become good physicians is as ridiculously absurd as horace greeley's farming, or trying to ascertain if "cundurango is explosive." the requisite qualities are not in them. they may keep along a few years, or possibly, in communities where there is no competition, succeed in making the people believe they are as good as the common run, and thus succeed on brass instead of brains. some of these brainless travelling impostors employ a female or two to precede them from place to place, and make diligent inquiry when the great doctor who performed such marvellous cures in some adjoining town mentioned was coming there. thus putting it in the shape of an inquiry, it was less likely to excite suspicion. two females--one an elderly, lady-like looking woman, the other younger, and anything but lady-like--travelled for a doctor, on a salary, during the summer and autumn of . a lady whose occupation took her from town to town, seeing the two females at various hotels where the doctor was advertised, inveigled the younger one into the confession, in her bad temper, and thus i got my evidence. another travels on his hair; another on his face; and a fourth on his free advice and treatment; while a fifth succeeds by absurdity of dress. [illustration] xiv. scenes from every-day practice. "history, so warm on meaner themes, is cold on this."--cowper's task. "let no one say that his task is o'er, that bonds of earth are for him no more, until by some kind or holy deed his name from forgetfulness is freed; until by words from his lips or pen, dying, he's 'missed' from the ranks of men." alice lee. the beggar boy and the golden-haired heiress.--my midnight call.--the conscience-stricken mother.--"old serosity."--the illegitimate child.--death of the beautiful.--who is the heir?--a touching scene.--fate of the "beggar boy."--the terrible caller.--an irish scene, from dr. dixon's book.--biddy on a rampage.--terry on his death bed.--the stomach pump.--biddy won't, and she will.--the betrayed and her betrayer.--"is there a god in israel?"--the husbandless mother.--the crisis and court.--answer.--there is a "god in israel." ill-clad poverty, benumbed with cold, was abroad alone, exposed to that winter's night, as the white snow fleeced the frost-hardened ground. but never mind earth's cold bosom. the rich man's heart warms _him_, making him merry, however blows the wind or rages the storm. shiver, shiver on, beggar poor! starvation and sense-dulling cold alone belong to you. through the crunching snow-drifts trudged a weary boy, with alms-basket on his shivering arm. from his figure, he seemed not over ten years old; but his face was so wan and melancholy, that it was difficult to tell how many year-blights the beggar child had experienced. summer clothes were still clinging to him; a tattered comforter was the only winter article he wore. [illustration: charity thrown away.] a gay carriage rolled noiselessly by, with a beautiful girl within, well wrapped in fur and cloak, whilst the snow was dashed from the rapid wheels like white dust. she saw, through the dim light, the weary, thin-clad boy, as he stopped, with face bent aside to the flake-burdened blast, to gaze at the smoking horses, as they plunged through the fast-deepening sheet. she dropped the sash, and threw the boy a coin. it sank from her warm hand deep into the drifted snow. it might have brought him bread and a cheering fagot, but the smitten child never found it. the snow closed over the coveted prize, while the blast grew keener. on, on toiled the beggar boy, through drift and darkness, more weary as night gathered on. thus is it ever with the humble poor; their load grows heavier as life lessens. no light or warming hearth is there--things that make house a home--to welcome the wandering boy. the clock had just struck two as i was summoned to the house of mrs. t. the same carriage that, in the evening, had borne the beautiful young girl, awaited at my door, with its impatient horses snorting against the frosted air. a few minutes later i entered the house. mrs. t. met me in the hall, with her face deadly pale, and manner much excited. her singular nervousness had before struck me on my visits, whenever her daughter ailed. she informed me that her "darling emily" was very ill with a high fever. we entered the chamber. the young girl lay with her head turned aside upon the pillow, her golden-brown hair scattered in wild profusion upon its white cover, while the nurse was gently moistening the fevered palm of her outstretched hand. the pulse was beating wildly at the wrist and temples, and fever heat glowed from her lustrous eyes. whilst the nurse held the light to her face, the traces of dried tears were revealed upon her suffused cheeks. "heartache surely is here," i said to myself. there was something in the whole appearance of my patient that excited my curiosity and surprise. only eight or ten hours had passed since she, from her carriage, had thrown the snow-claimed alms to the beggar boy, and _now_ a high fever was running hot through every artery of her body. silently seated by the bedside, after administering a cooling draught i awaited and watched for the changes that might ensue. her mother sat near the fire, its blaze lighting up every feature of her once beautiful face, which still remained very pale. in all my intercourse with mrs. t., i never before had so prolonged an opportunity of examining in detail the expression of her countenance. the longer i gazed on her, the more satisfied i became that she had not passed through life without a fearful history. it was this sensation which struck me when i first became acquainted with her. a few vague rumors had floated about relative to her history; that a strange desertion of her husband had taken place, and that he afterwards was found drowned in the river, near his residence, and that by his death mrs. t. had become possessed of an immense estate. these stories had, however, soon subsided; and as her means were ample, and her charities liberal, the gossips of the town quietly dropped the past, and speculated upon the future, as should all respectable gossips. the voice of the patient diverted my thoughts; a few words were murmured, and then the lips pressed tremblingly together, and the tear-drops again started to her cheeks. suddenly springing up in bed, and threading her long, curling hair through her slender fingers, she exclaimed, in a thrilling, delirious tone,-- "it cannot be true! o, mother--tell me, mother!" mrs. t. fairly leaped to the bedside, and placing her hand over the daughter's mouth, with affrighted gestures, she exclaimed,-- "what is it? what does she mean? my god, doctor, she raves!" the girl fell back on her pillow; the mother stood, pale and trembling, by the bedside, with a nameless terror depicted on every feature. turning to me, in a quick, restless voice, she bade me hasten to give her child a quieting draught. "o, anything that will keep her from raving!" the room was not over warm for such a bitter night, yet the perspiration stood upon the brow of the excited mother like the fallen dew. "conscience must lie here," i thought to myself. in the course of an hour the sufferer slumbered heavily; her breathing was hurried and oppressed, the fever had increased, and her moanings were constant. day was breaking, as i left my young patient to return home through the falling snow. as i looked out of the carriage window, i saw a little boy sitting on the cold walk. it was the poor beggar boy of yesterday, as thinly clad, with his pale cheek as white as the snowdrifts through which he had toiled. i ordered the coachman to stop. [illustration: the beggar boy.] "what brought you out, and where are you going, on this cold winter morning, my poor boy?" i exclaimed. he raised his beautiful dark eyes to my face, and my heart grieved at their look of utter hopelessness, as he faintly answered, "to beg for me and old grandma." "are you not very cold, in those thin clothes?" i asked. his little teeth chattered, as he replied, "o, i am very--cold--sir." the impatient horses plunged violently in the traces, and the coachman asked to be allowed to drive on. i gave the poor boy the few silver coins that were in my pocket, and we passed on. i never saw that boy but once again; his look haunts me to this day. as i rode on, memory was busy tracing where i had ever seen features like his. the dark hair, that lay in uncombed curls upon his forehead, and clustered warmly about his neck, as though in protection against the bitter cold; his large, black eyes, with their long lashes; the finely-chiselled outlines of his mouth and nose,--these all impressed me that i had somewhere seen a face which strikingly resembled his. poor boy! beauty was his only possession. at breakfast a letter was handed me, summoning me immediately to one of my own children, who lay sick in a distant town. before leaving i wrote a hurried note to mrs. t., stating the cause of my sudden departure, desiring her to call another physician, during my absence. the young girl's fate and the poor beggar boy's face were almost forgotten in my own cares. on the sixth day following, i again found myself at home. my first thought was for poor emily. i dreaded to ask; there was something whispering to my heart that all was not well. my suspense was not long; a messenger had just left, stating that the dear girl was fast failing; that her physician had pronounced her laboring under typhus fever. my god, how my heart sank under these words! i had dreaded this mistake after i left. alas! how many have fallen by the name of a disease, and not by the disease itself! after a hurried meal, i drove rapidly to mr. t.'s residence. the house door was quietly opened by a servant, and in another minute i stood in the chamber of the invalid. the mantel was crowded with numerous vials. the close atmosphere of the sick-room was sickening. by the bedside, with her face bowed over one of the pale hands of the daughter, which she held in both of her own, sat the wretched mother. it seemed to me as though ten years had passed over her faded and care-worn countenance, since i last gazed upon it. i could not stir; my heart stood still. _her hair had become entirely gray._ [illustration: remorse.] i gained heart to approach; the desolate mother heard me, and turning quickly she sprang from her chair, and placing her hands on my shoulders, she bowed her head: she sobbed wildly, as though her heart would break. "look, look, doctor! would you have known her? o, my god, she is leaving me! save her--o, save her!" and the wretched mother fell fainting to the floor. we gently raised and bore her to her own chamber. in a few moments i returned to emily. she turned her head languidly towards me, while her right hand moved as if to take mine. how dry was the palm! her color had faded away; the once rounded cheeks were sunken. o, i will not describe her! the physician who had been called, after my departure, had found her with high fever and delirium. he mistook the excitement of the brain for its inflammation. o, fatal error! a consultation was called. the second comer was notedly a man who viewed every excitement as caused by "an over-action of the vessels," and bleeding was its only relief. the nervous system he entirely ignored. from his theory, man was a mere combination of blood, blood-vessels, and biliary secretions, more or less deranged. calomel, salts, and the lancet were his hercules. the grand _causa mortis_ amongst the human family was "serosity." hence some evil-minded wag amongst his brethren had named him "old serosity." the poor child had been bled, cupped, and purged, in order to subdue this "over-action of the blood-vessels." verily it may cure the vessels, but it certainly kills the patient. the life current was nigh exhausted; there was no blood left for renewal of brain, nerve, or vital tissue. my heart was bitter against this murderous adherence to a false principle. here a human life, that of a young and spotless girl, was the forfeit. but to return to the thread of the narrative. "o, i am glad you have come back to me. do try to save me, doctor," she said, with great effort. sending the nurse from the room, i quickly pressed the young girl's hand within my own, and said to her,-- "do you really wish to live, emily?" "yes, yes," she murmured; "i am very young to die." "then, my dear, tell me truly what has so terribly shocked your nervous system; tell me." with a strength that startled me, she searched under the mattress side, and drew forth a small note, which she silently placed in my hand. it was discolored by time. i opened it; the date was above twelve years back. it ran thus:-- "when you receive this, mira (mrs. t.'s given name), my career will have ended. by my death you will inherit all. let my unborn child have its just, legal claim. your child, emily, take to your home as though she were an adopted orphan. let not her youth be blighted by the knowledge of her unblest birth. i forgive you. adieu, forever. h. t." "o my god, the doomed child is illegitimate," i said. i stooped down and kissed the sufferer's forehead, and promised that i would be a father to her. "come, cheer up," i whispered, "for your mother's sake. if she has sinned she has suffered much for your sake; forgive her." "i do forgive her," she whispered, "but can i forget myself, unblessed as i am? but i must know the whole truth. o, where is the right heir of all this wealth? my memory returns now, indistinctly, to my earlier days. a cloud intervenes. i remember but a small cottage, in a deep wood, where mother often came to see me, and a tall woman took care of me. then came a gay carriage, and took me to a large house; but i never again returned to the cottage in the wood. there, at the large house, mother left me a long time; and when she came back--o, doctor, i can speak no longer. do give me something to strengthen me, and i will try yet to live." a cordial was administered by my own hands, and in a short time sleep overcame her. night again closed in; the wind had sunk to rest with the setting sun. another night of bitter cold was ushered in. woe to the poor! woe to the hungry and the fireless. * * * * * as i entered the mother's apartments i found her sitting by a private secretary, which had been brought from the library. its lid was open, and as i seated myself she took from a package of tied letters a sealed paper, and placing it in my hands, said,-- "read this at your leisure, doctor. my pilgrimage of life is nigh ended. you will judge how great my sin, and how severe has been my punishment. i ask no forgiveness, _for there will be none left to forgive me_." well, i knew her heart was nigh crushed! i sought the daughter's chamber. how still was everything! the very candle, with its long flame, parted by the thickened wick-char, seemed not to flicker, as it burned dimly on. i looked at the bed; the sweet girl lay with both hands crossed upon her bosom, as though in prayer. an orange-blossom had dropped from her grasp, and lay neglected by her side; her life-hand never touched it more! death had claimed his bride! a wild shriek sounded through the house. the erring mother now knew that she was alone in the great world. whilst the shrouding of the dead took place i retired and opened the sealed package. it briefly told its tale of sin and sorrow. it told how from the first love emily was the fruit, and how, unknown to all, the child had been secreted; how, about three years after emily's birth, the mother was married to harold t., whom _she never loved_; and how, by a singular accident, the knowledge of her transgression became known to her husband; that, after violently cursing her for her sin and deception, he left her, and shortly afterwards committed suicide; that the letter (written by him just before his death), which was so fatal to the peace and life of emily, had accidentally dropped from the secretary, and was picked up by her (that night after her return in the carriage), unknown to the mother until the sixth day after my return, when she missed it. the narrative went on to state that a male child was born after t.'s death, and that, seized with an insane fury, she resolved that he never should inherit its father's name and wealth; and that, through the assistance of a nurse, it was placed with a sum of money at a beggar's door, and a dead child laid beside the mother instead; that before sending the infant away, the nurse tattooed its father's initials on its left arm. the beggar had died, and all traces of the child had been lost. at length her guilty conscience so reproached her that the mother had instituted search for the child, but all in vain. as i read this tale of crime and repentance, busy memory traced out the features of the _beggar boy_! like a sudden light it burst upon me--those features that had so tormented my memory to recall were those of the unhappy mother. quickly i went to her room. she was not there. i hastened to emily's. the mother was wildly clasping the enshrouded form of her daughter, and weeping as though her heart would break asunder. gently removing her to her own chamber, i intimated that another child, long lost, might yet be restored to her. she listened as one bewildered. i then informed her of my adventure with the beggar boy. it was hardly day-dawn as i entered the carriage. my breath froze against the window panes. after a short ride the horses stopped before the wretched snow-covered hovel (where he had seen the beggar child once enter). i opened the carriage door, leaped out, and placed my hand on the latch. the door opened. it was neither bolted nor locked; for no thief would enter there. in the corner of the room lay a bundle of rugs, with some straw, but it was unoccupied. near the fireplace, where nought but a little well-charred bark remained upon the cold ashes, half reclining in a large wooden chair, lay the beggar boy. [illustration: the lost heir.] his cap had fallen on the ground, and his dark, curling hair fell clustering over his extended arm, as his head rested upon it. he had seemingly fallen asleep the night before, for his thin summer clothes were on his person, and his basket, yet filled with the fragments of broken feasts, remained untouched at his feet. i placed my hand upon his beautiful head; it was icy cold. quickly brushing back the fallen ringlets from his face, the unmistakable evidence of death met my gaze. he had apparently fallen asleep weeping, for a tear-drop lay frozen between the long lashes that fringed the eyelids. i raised the stiffened body of the ill-fated youth, and tearing away the thin sleeve from his left arm, i distinctly discovered the letters 'h. t.' thereon. deserted, famished, and frozen, death had claimed the darling, lone boy before he knew a mother's love! this sad tale is taken from "_scenes in northern practice by dr. dewees_, n. y."--_scalpel_, . (and like all the stories herein, it has the merit of being true to the letter.) the terrible caller. it was about half past nine in the morning. my office door suddenly opened, and looking up from my writing, i saw, standing in the passage-way, a very tall man, in a long white frock, reaching to his knees, sleeves rolled to his elbows, a slouched hat set back on his head, his face painted or bedaubed with some white substance, and his eyes gleaming upon me most intensely! there he stood, looking almost fiercely upon me, while he held the door-knob with his left hand, and grasped with his right a long carving-knife, which was thrust through his belt. "are you the doctor?" he shouted with excitement. "i am the doctor," i replied, calmly awaiting my fate. he instantly stepped inside the room, when close behind him was revealed the form of a very short man, who held a kossuth hat in one hand, while with a handkerchief in the other, he stanched the blood that had evidently been flowing pretty freely from his head. "this man has cut himself very bad on the head; big iron wheel come down on him: can you fix him up?" asked the first. this accounted for his excited manner. but how about the bedaubed face and the huge knife? [illustration: a morning caller.] i examined the wound, only through the scalp, less than three inches in length; and washing away the surplus clotted blood, i clipped off the hair, and soon secured the edges of the gaping wound by taking a stitch or two through the scalp. while so doing, the young man rolled his eyes up to his tall companion,--who had explained that they were cooks at young's hotel, and that the spit wheel and shaft used for turning meat had fallen eight feet; by which the assistant had barely escaped being killed,--and with a commendable show of thought for his employer's interest, rather than his own comfort or safety, he anxiously exclaimed,-- "jim, do you think that gentleman's 'order,' what i had in the spit, is overdone yet?" an irish scene. a young irish girl, with a wild shriek, an "och, hone!" and "ah, murther!" and "hulla-boo--a--hulla-boo, poor terry! ah, why did i taze ye?" burst into my office one evening, upsetting the servant, and actually laying hold on me with her hands, as she exclaimed,-- "ah, docther, docther, come now, for the love o' the moother that bore ye; come this blessed minute. i've killed poor terry, an' niver shall see him again. ah, murther, murther! why did i taze ye?" [illustration: "why did i taze ye?"] trying in vain to calm her, i hastily drew on my boots, and almost ran after her to a wretched tenement, some quarter of a mile off, and found the object of the girl's solicitude alive and kicking, with his lungs in the best of order, standing on the stairs that led to his miserable chamber, with a broken scissors in his hand, stirring busily the contents of a tea-cup. it seems that he had been courting my fair guide, and after the period she had fixed for her final answer to his declaration, she had bantered him with a refusal, which her solicitude for his life plainly showed was far enough from her real intentions. in his despair he had swallowed an ounce of laudanum, which he had procured from some injudicious druggist, which act had sent biddy off after me in such terror. he was now mixing a powder which he had obtained from another druggist, who, knowing of his love affair, it will be seen acted with more wisdom than the first, as terry let slip enough in his hearing to show what he wanted to do with the "ratsbane" for which he inquired; and biddy, like a true daughter of eve, had made no secret in the neighborhood that she valued her charms beyond the poor fellow's bid. as soon as she approached, he, by some inopportune remark, re-excited her wrath, and she again declared she wouldn't have him, "if he wint to the divil." poor terry, in his red shirt and blue stockings, and an attitude of the grandest kind, but covering, as we soon found, a desperate purpose, flourished his tea-cup, and stirred its contents with the scissors, constantly exclaiming,-- "ah, biddy, will ye have me? ye'll have me now--will ye not?" still biddy refused. "divil a bit will i let the docther come near me till ye say yis! sure, weren't we children together in the ould counthry? and didn't we take our potaties and butthermilk out o' the same bowl? and yer mother, that's now dead, always said ye were to be me wife; and now ye're kapin' coompany with that dirty blackguard, jim o'connor,--divil take him for a spalpeen. ah, biddy, will ye have me?" and he flourished the cup, and stirred away vigorously with the scissors. biddy's blood was up at the disrespectful mention made of jimmy's name, for "he had a winnin' way wid him," and she shouted at the top of her voice,-- "no, be the st. patrick, i'll niver have ye." with an awful gulp, terry drained the cup, rolled up his eyes, and with one most impassioned yet ludicrous look at her, he fell upon his knees on the step. biddy followed, in strong hysterics. the whole affair was so irresistibly ludicrous that i scarce could keep from laughing; but on observing the bottle, labelled "laudanum," and looking into the bottom of the tea-cup, and discovering a white powder, i changed my prognosis, and hastened to the druggist's near, to see what it was, and procure an antidote, should it really prove "ratsbane." to my great relief, the man of drugs informed me, laughingly, that he had given terry a quantity of chalk and _eight grains of tartar emetic_, as he learned that terry was already in possession of the ounce of laudanum, and all the neighbors knew that biddy had driven him to desperation by flirting with his rival, jim o'connor. the young man had judiciously told terry that the powder would make the laudanum sure to operate more effectually. "how long will it take?" he asked, and bagged all for use when the refusal should come. my course was now clear. i was in for sport. sending the druggist's clerk for my stomach-pump, to be in readiness in case the emetic should not operate,--which was scarcely impossible, for eight grains of tartar emetic, taken at a dose, would almost vomit the potatoes out of a bag,--i waited the result. as for biddy, i let her lie; for i thought she deserved her punishment. my heart was always tender towards the sex, and i generally expected a "fellow-feeling." [illustration: success of terry's courtship.] in a short time it became evident that terry's stomach was not so tough as his will, and he began to intermingle long and portentous sighs with his prayers, and to perspire freely. i gave him a wide berth, in anticipation of the jonah that was to come up shortly. i was anxious now that biddy should revive in time to witness his grand effort. terry was tough, and held out. shortly she revived, and suddenly starting up, and recollecting the situation, she made one bound for terry, crying,-- "ah, terry, terry, dear terry! i'll have ye now. yis, i will; and i don't care who hears me. i always loved ye, but that divil's baby, mag, always kept tellin' me ye'd love me the betther if i didn't give in to ye too soon. ah, terry, dear, only live, and i'll go to the ends of the world for ye. ah, an' what would me poor mother say, if she was here? och, hone! och, hone! docther, now what are ye doin'? a purty docther ye are; an' ye pumped out yer own counthryman, that didn't die, sure, an' he tuk twice as much as poor terry." meantime the boy had arrived with the pump. "up wid ye now, and use the black pipe ye put down the poor fellow's throat over the way last summer. i'd take it mesilf, if it would do; but god knows whether i'd be worth the throuble." as terry had not yet cast up his accounts, and the stomach-pump was at hand, i determined to make a little more capital out of the case, and thrusting the long, flexible india rubber tube down poor terry's throat, having separated his teeth by means of a stick, and holding his head between my knees, i soon had the satisfaction of depositing the laudanum and tartar emetic in a swill pail, the only article of the toilet the place afforded. after years proved terry and biddy most loving companions. he never, even when drunk, more than threatened her "wid a batin', which she was desarvin'," and she never forgave "that divil's baby, mag," for her cruel experiment on her heroic and devoted terry.--_practice of a new york surgeon._ a life scene. _the situation._--i was young, but, with a wife and child dependent upon my practice for food, raiment, and shelter, i was striving manfully; with my household gods and goods i had located here, in a small village, a year before. my beginning was encouraging, my success in practice more than flattering. but an immense opposition had met and nearly overthrown me, in the form of a man, a deacon of the ---- church. he was one of those "rule or ruin" men whom you will find in every one-horse village. i did not at first know my man,--he did not know me,--or i should have avoided his ill will. i did not know his tenaciousness of titles--he was an esquire also--which was my first unpardonable offence. he swore--"as deacons do"--that i should not practise in that town. i swore, as doctors will, that "so long as i could obtain a potato and a clam a day i would remain while he was my opposer." clams could be dug at low water, within a few rods of my house; potatoes i grew on the quarter acre of ground given me as partial inducement to settle in that town. his two drunken sons were his emissaries of evil, set on for my overthrow, in addition to the father's voice and known opposition, which few dared to meet. my practice dwindled. a few nicodemuses came by night, but my darling wife trembled for my very life when i had a night call. my provision was often short, my poor horse was mere skin and bones, standing, day after day, gnawing his empty manger. "o, is there a god in israel?" i cried, in my anguish, more than once. yes, the reply came to my prayers; there is a god of recompense. * * * * * _the betrayed._--my patient was a young girl, over whose golden head but seventeen summers had flown, on rosy wings. her form was sylph-like, and face as beautiful as the opening flower in the golden sunshine of early day. she was an attendant at _his_ church, a member of _his_ sabbath school class, and a singer in the choir.... [illustration: the betrayed.] i was shown to her room. sorrow, and not disease, had left its impress upon her fair young face. rumor had already given me a hint on which to diagnose my case. "who has done this wicked thing?" i asked, holding her hand, and looking kindly into her eyes. "o, my god! o, i must not tell," she cried, springing up from her couch. i never shall forget the terror depicted on that fair young countenance, as she pronounced these words. "you must tell. you should not suffer this shame and burden alone. tell me truly. who has done it? i must know. there may be a chance to cover the shame and make your babe legitimate. come," i said. "o, sir, dear doctor, it can never be;" and she fell back on her pillow, weeping and wringing her hands in awful anguish. "come, it shall be done;" and i firmly held to the point. she arose. i gave her a bowl and napkin that were near; she bathed her inflamed and swollen eyes, then, with surprising calmness and fortitude, took a pencil and a bit of paper from the light-stand at her bedside, and wrote a name. she then handed it to me, saying "'tis he." i read the name. i jumped to my feet. i forgot my tender patient. i forgot all but my own sufferings, and those of my dear little wife and darling babe, and their enemy, as i cried out,-- "o, my god in israel! i have got him! i shall be avenged!" "o, don't, doctor! what is the matter?" exclaimed the affrighted girl, rising in bed. i had rushed, almost frantically across the room and back. "forgive me," i said, "i--i forgot myself. pardon me." "o, sir, i thought you were mad." "i was, dear girl. it is past. now to your case." and i proceeded to unfold to her unsophisticated mind the true state of affairs. here was a pure, respectable, though poor young girl, under age, who had been betrayed, locked into an office, and seduced by a son of the squire, and deserted, threatened--left to bear the burden and disgrace alone. she dared not divulge the name of her destroyer, because of the position of his family in the community. i dared. but to bring her mind up above her fears, to compel the young man to make restitution, as far as lay in his power, was a severe task. it was my duty to do this; sweeter then than duty, it was my revenge! by implicating the real villain, i released several other young men from suspicion, particularly one young man with red hair. the girl was taken away from the sight of dear sister's sinister looks, and the influence and threats of the seducer, and secret offers of bribery of the deacon, his father. the law took its course. no eye could see the hand that worked the machinery. the time was counted almost to a day, as the result proved. the young man was arrested, and gave bonds. it became the theme of general conversation. i was interviewed. i was dumb--deaf--blind! threats and bribes proved equally ineffectual to induce me to give an opinion, or a pledge not to appear in the coming trial at the next term of the superior court. to marry the poor, unfortunate girl was beneath the dignity of the seducer and family. they would pay their last farthing first, or the young man would sooner go to prison for the crime. his two sisters carried their heads higher than ever. the two sons threatened my life. but i kept on the even tenor of my way. the girl became a mother. "next tuesday court sits," whispered everybody, and nothing in town was discussed but the probabilities of the pending lawsuit. the lawsuit was nothing, the fine was nothing, which the justice might impose; even imprisonment was nothing in comparison to acknowledgment of an illegitimate child by the deacon's family, notwithstanding the child was not red-haired, but much resembled its reputed father, the deacon's son. there was no trial. the squire paid a sum of money to the idiotic old father of the beautiful young mother, and agreed, orally, to support the child, and the suit was withdrawn. but this virtually acknowledged the child, and the girl returned to her father's roof for shelter, and a place wherein to weep alone over her so-called fatherless child, and hide her shame (?) from the uncharitable world. the town became too cramped for the squire and his beautiful family. he sold out, but not before he had lost his rule there, and was hanged in effigy as being "too secesh." the seducer married a frail beauty, who mourns a drunken, brutish husband. the other son became steady, and married a lovely girl--my first patient. the daughters never wedded. too proud to marry a poor man, too poor and destitute of real beauty or accomplishments for a wealthy or refined man to desire to wed them, they became servants and lackeys. if i desire a lunch at a certain saloon, one of them awaits my order. no matter about the other unfortunate, unloved girl. the father is an imbecile invalid. god is my witness, my judge, i long ago buried my hard feelings against them; they have only my commiseration. [illustration] xv. doctors' fees and incomes. "three faces wears the doctor; when first sought, an angel's and a god's, the cure half wrought; but, when, the cure complete, he seeks his fee, the d----l looks then less terrible than he." euricus cordus, . ancient fees.--large fees.--spanish priest-doctors.--a pig on penance.--small fees.--a "chop" postponed.--long fees.--short fees.--old fees.--a night-cap.--an old shoe for luck.--a black fee.--"heart's offering."--a stuffed cat.--the "great guns" of new york.--boston.--rotten eggs.--"catch what you can."--female doctors' fees.--above price.--"ask for a fee."--"pitch him overboard."--delicate fees.--making the most of them. the great german physician who wrote the above died (as he ought, for putting so much truth into four lines) in . he, of all physicians of his day, earned his fees; but it is often the case that the most deserving get the least reward, and cordus was not an exception to the rule. a good physician, or surgeon, is seldom a sharp financier, and _vice versa_. "it is hard to serve two masters." ancient physicians' fees were much larger, considering the difference in the value of money, than modern. erasistratus, in the year b. c., received from general seleucus, of alexander's army, to whom the kingdom of syria fell at the termination of the macedonian conquest, the enormous sum of , crowns as a fee for his discovery of the disorder of the general's son, antiochus. the emperor augustus employed four physicians, viz., albutus, arantius, calpetanus, and rubrius, to each of whom he paid an annual salary of , sesterces, equal to $ , . martialis, the spanish epigramist, who was born in a. d. says alconius received , , sesterces ($ , ) for a few years' practice. large fees. french physicians were never very well paid. the surgeons of charlemagne were tolerably well recompensed. ambrose pare, the great surgeon, and inventor of ligatures (for peculiar arteries),--previous to whose time the arteries were seared with a hot iron; otherwise the patient bled to death,--received , francs for ligaturing one artery. louis xiv. gave his surgeons , crowns each for successfully performing upon him a surgical operation. upon the confinement of maria louise, second wife of the great napoleon, four physicians--bourdier, corvisat, dubois, and ivan--received the sum of $ , . dubois was the principal, and received one half of the amount,--not a very extravagant remuneration; but then napoleon held a mean opinion of physicians in general, and this fee was not to be wondered at. dupuytren, the distinguished french surgeon, left a property of $ , , . hahnemann, who, in , at dresden, abandoned physic in disgust, afterwards went to paris, and at the time of his death was literally besieged with patients, reaping a reward for his labors of not less than $ , per annum. boerhaave was a successful practitioner, born at leyden, and left, at his death, $ , from private practice. john stow, the eminent antiquarian writer, whose misfortunes compelled him to beg his daily bread at the age of eighty, informs us that "half a crown (english) was looked upon as a large fee in holland, while in england, at that same time, a physician scorned to touch any fee but gold, and surgeons were still more exorbitant." in spain, until a very remote period, the priests continued to exercise the double office of priest and physician, and some of them were proficient in surgery; and though they fixed no stipulated price for their medical services, they usually managed to get two fleeces from the one shearing, and on certain occasions dispose of the carcass also, for their own pecuniary advantages, as the following will show:-- anthony gavin, formerly a catholic priest of spain, says, "i saw fran. alfaro, a jew, in lisbon, who told me that he was known to be very rich, when in seville, where the priests finally stripped him of all his wealth, and cast him into the inquisition, where they kept him four years, under some pretence, and finally liberated him, that he might accumulate more property. after three years' trade, having again collected considerable wealth, he was again imprisoned and his wealth confiscated by the priest-doctors, but let off, with the order to wear the mark of san benito (picture of a man in the midst of the fire of hell) for six months. [illustration: a san benito pig.] "but alfaro fled from the city, and finding a pig near the gate, he slipped the san benito over the pig's neck, and, sending him into the town, made his escape. 'now i am poor,' he added, 'nobody wants to imprison me.'" english fees and incomes. in no other country have physicians' fees varied so much as in england. the protestant divine and the physician have kept step together to the music of civilization and enlightenment. both of these professions were held at a low estimation up to the elizabethan era, when a young, unfledged m. d. from oxford would gladly accept a situation in a lord's family for five or ten pounds a year, with his board, and lodgings in the garret, while, in addition to professional services he might act as sort of wise clown, "and be a patient listener, the solver of riddles, and the butt of ridicule for the family and guests. he might save the expense of a gardener--nail up the apricots; or a groom, and sometimes curry down and harness the horses; cast up the farrier's or butler's accounts, or carry a parcel or message across the country." as was said also of the divine, "not one living in fifty enabled the incumbent to bring up a family comfortably. as the children multiplied, the household became more beggarly. often it was only by toiling on his glebe, by feeding swine and by loading dung-carts, that he could gain his daily bread.... his sons followed the plough, and his daughters went out to service." queen elizabeth's physician in ordinary received one hundred pounds per annum and perquisites--"sustenance, wine, wax, and etceteras." morgan, her apothecary, for one quarter's bill was paid £ _s._ _d._ a one pound fee, paid by the earl of cumberland to a cambridge physician, was considered as exceptionally liberal, even for a nobleman to pay. edward iii. granted to his apothecary, who acted in the capacity of physician in those days, a salary amounting to six pence a day, and to ricardus wye, his surgeon, twelve pence per day, besides eight marks. (a mark was _s._ _d._) in the courts of the kings of wales, the physicians and surgeons were the twelfth in rank, and whose fees were fixed by law. dr. caius was fortunate in holding position as physician to edward vi., mary, and elizabeth. sir theodore mayerne was still more fortunate in having the honor of serving henry iv. and louis xiii. of france, and subsequently king james i., charles i. and ii. of england. mayerne has been the subject of many anecdotes, of which the following is a sample:-- [illustration: an old english clergyman and his family.] a parsimonious friend, consulting mayerne, laid two broad pieces of gold (sixty shillings) on the doctor's table, to express his generosity, as he felt safe that they would be immediately returned to him. but mayerne quietly pocketed them, saying,-- "i made my will this morning, and if it became known that i had refused a fee, i might be deemed _non compos mentis_." [illustration: the king's physician and the executioner.] in , graduated physicians' dues were ten shillings, licensed doctors, six shillings eight pence. a surgeon's fee was twelve pence per mile, be his journey long or short, and five shillings for setting a bone or dislocated joint, one shilling for bleeding, and five pounds for an amputation. all after attendance extra. anecdote of james coythier. this jolly doctor was employed by louis xi., and was said to have sponged immense sums from his royal master, beyond a regular salary. "he wrung favor upon favor from the king, and if he resisted the modest demands of his physician, the latter threatened him with speedy dissolution. on this menace, the king, succumbing to the fear of death, which weakness characterized his family, would at once surrender at discretion." finally, to rid himself of such despotic demands, the king ordered the executioner to behead the physician. the requisite officer waited on coythier, and in a courteous and considerate manner, as became the occasion, said to him,-- "i deeply regret, my dear sir, the circumstance, but i must kill you. the king can stand you no longer, and here are my orders." "all right," replied the doctor, with surprising unconcern; "i am ready whenever you are. what time would you find it most convenient to perform the little operation?" while the officer was trying to decide, coythier continued,-- "but i am very sorry to leave his majesty only for a few days; for i have ascertained by occult science that he can't survive me more than four days." the officer stood struck with amazement, but finally returned and imparted the astounding information to the king. "o, liberate him instantly. hurt not a hair of his head," exclaimed the terrified monarch. coythier was of course speedily restored to his place in the king's confidence--and treasury. a long fee. here is what may be called a _long fee_:-- an english surgeon, named broughton, had the good fortune to open the commerce of the east indies to his countrymen through a medical fee. having been sent from surat to agra, in the year , to treat a daughter of the emperor shah jehan, he had the great fortune to restore the princess. beyond the present reward to the physician for his great services, the emperor gave him the privilege of a free commerce throughout the whole extent of his domains. scarcely had broughton returned than the favorite nabob of the province--bengal--sent for the doctor to treat him for a very dangerous disease. having fortunately restored this patient also, the nabob settled a pension upon the physician, and confirmed the privilege of the emperor, extending it to all englishmen who should come to bengal. broughton at once communicated this important treaty, as it was, to the english governor at surat, and, by the advice of the latter, the company sent from england, in , the first ship to trade at bengal. such was the origin of the great indian commerce, which has been continued to the present day,--the longest continued doctor's fee ever given. another long fee was that given to dr. th. dinsdale, who travelled from england to st. petersburg by order of catharine of russia, to inoculate her son, the baron of the empire. the empress presented him with a fee of twelve thousand pounds, and a life pension of five hundred pounds. this is the largest sum ever paid to any physician since the world began, for a single operation, and i know of no physician who ever made a longer journey to attend a patient. a short fee. this is how a physician fell short of his fee. charles ii. was taken suddenly and dangerously ill with apoplexy. the court physician being out of town, dr. king, who only being present, with one attendant, instantly bled his majesty, to which "breach of court etiquette" john evelyn attributes his salvation for the time; for he would certainly have died, had dr. king staid the coming of the regular physician--for which act he must have a regular pardon! the privy council ordered a handsome fee to be paid dr. king for his great presence of mind and prompt action, but it never was paid. charles died soon afterwards, and poor king fell short of a fat fee. odd fees. amongst the many funny things told about sir astley cooper, the eminent english surgeon, none is better authenticated than that respecting the "night-cap fee." in his earlier practice, he had to pass through all the trials and tribulations, "anxious and ill-rewarded waitings," that lesser stars have before and since, and ever will, before he became "established." in his first year's practice in london, his profits were but five guineas; his second reached the encouraging sum of twenty-five pounds, and increased in this ratio till the ninth year, when it was one thousand pounds. in one year he made twenty-one thousand guineas. it is said that one merchant of london paid him annually six hundred pounds. it wouldn't require but a few such lucrative patients to keep a doctor in pocket money even at this day. a west india millionnaire, named hyatt, had been to london, and undergone a severe and dangerous surgical operation at the hands of sir astley, assisted by drs. lettsom and nelson. the operation proved a success, and the grateful patient only waited till he could sit up in bed a little while at a time before expressing in some measure his gratitude to the physicians. all three being present one day, hyatt arose in bed and presented the two physicians with a fee of three hundred gold guineas, and, turning to sir astley, who seemed for a moment to have been slighted, the millionnaire said,-- "and as for you, sir astley, you shall have nothing better than that," catching off his night-cap, and flinging it almost into sir astley's handsome face--he was said to be the handsomest man in england; "there, take it, sir." "sir," exclaimed the surgeon, with a smile, "i pocket the affront." on reaching home, and examining the night-cap, he found it contained one thousand guineas--nearly five thousand dollars. an old shoe. quite as odd a fee was that presented to a celebrated new york surgeon about the year . an eccentric old merchant, a descendant of one of the early dutch families of manhattan island, was sick at his summer residence on the hudson, where his family physician attended him. the doctor gave him no encouragement that he ever would recover. a most celebrated surgeon, since deceased, was called as counsel, who, after careful examination of the case, and considering the merchant's age, coincided with the opinion of the family physician, and so expressed himself to the patient. "well, if that is all the good you can do, you may return to new york," said the doomed man. but as the astonished surgeon was going out of the house, the invalid sent a servant after him, in haste, saying,-- "here, throw this old shoe after him, telling him that i wish him better luck on the next patient;" and drawing off his embroidered slipper, he gave it to the servant, who, well used to his master's whims, as well as confident of his generosity, ran after the doctor, flinging the shoe, and giving the message, as directed. the surgeon felt sure of his fee, well knowing the ability of the eccentric merchant; but he picked up the shoe, and placing it in his coat pocket, said to his brother physician, who accompanied him, "i'll keep it, and i may get something, to _boot_." [illustration: a slipper-y fee.] it contained, stuffed into the toe, a draft for five hundred dollars. a black fee. dr. robert glynn, of cambridge, england, who died nearly eighty years ago, was a most benevolent man, as well as a successful medical practitioner, with a large revenue. mr. jeaffreson tells the following amusing story about him:-- "on one occasion a poor peasant woman, the widowed mother of an only son, trudged from the heart of the fens (ten miles) into cambridge, to consult the good doctor about her boy, who was very sick with the ague. her manner so interested the doctor that, though it was during an inclement winter, and the roads almost impassable by carriages, he ordered horses harnessed, and taking in the old lady, went to see the sick lad. "after a tedious attendance, and the exhibition of much port wine and bark, bought at the physician's expense, the patient recovered. a few days after the doctor had taken his discharge, without fees, the poor woman presented herself at the consulting-room, bearing in her hands a large basket. "'i hope, my good woman, your son is not ill again,' said the doctor. "'o, no, sir; he was never better,' replied the woman, her face beaming with gratitude; 'but he can't rest quiet for thinking of all the trouble you have had, and so he resolved this morning to send you this;' and she began undoing the cover of the large wicker basket which she had set on the floor. the doctor stood overlooking the transaction in no little concern. egress being afforded, out hopped an enormous magpie, that strutted around the room, chattering away as independent as a lord. "'there, doctor, it is his favorite magpie he has sent you,' exclaimed the woman, looking proudly upon the piece of chattering ebony. it was a fee to be proud of." a heart's offering. the gratitude of the poor country lad for his recovery did not exceed, probably, that of a young girl, as related in the montpelier papers, from one of which i cut the following:-- "a young girl, fourteen years of age, named celia ----, called at the hotel to-day where dr. c., with his family, is stopping, and presenting him with a bouquet of mayflowers, said, 'i have no money to pay you for curing my head of scrofula, and i thought these flowers might please you.' this was truly the offering of a grateful heart; for her head _had been entirely covered by sores, from her birth_, and the doctor had cured it. another journal said, in commenting upon it, 'this heart's offering deeply affected the doctor, to whom it was a greater reward than any money recompense could have been.' the doctor has the withered and blackened flowers and leaves pressed, and hung in a frame in his office, but the memory of the touching scene of their presentation will remain fresh within his heart forever." [illustration: a living fee.] a stuffed cat-skin. an eccentric and parsimonious old lady, who died in a small village in the state of maine, some twenty years ago, always kept a half dozen cats about the house. she was a dried-up-looking old crone, and some ill-minded people had gone so far as to call her a witch, doubtless because of her oddities and her cats, "black, white, and brindled." when one of these delightful night-prowlers departed this life, the old lady would have the skin of the animal stuffed, to adorn her mantel shelf. my informant said he had once seen them with his own eyes, arranged along on the shelf, some half score of them, looking as demure and comfortable as a stuffed cat could, while the old woman sat by the fireplace, croning over her knitting work. [illustration: stuffed pets.] the woman paid no bills that she could avoid, always pleading poverty as her excuse for the non-fulfilment of her responsibilities. one dark and stormy night she was taken very sick, and by a preconcerted signal to a neighbor,--the placing of a light in a certain window,--help was summoned, including the village doctor, to whom she owed a fee for each visit he had ever made her. but this was fated to be the doctor's last call to that patient. "o, doctor, then i am dying at last--am i?" the physician assured her such was the case. "then, doctor, i must tell you that you've been very patient with me, and have hastened day or night to see me, in my whims, as well as my real sickness, and you shall be rewarded. i have no money, but you see all my treasures arranged along on the mantel-piece there?" "what!" exclaimed the doctor; "you don't call those cats treasures, i hope!" "yes, they are my only treasures, doctor. now, i want to be just to _you_, above all others, because you've not only served me as i said, but you've often sent me wood and provisions during the cold winters--" here she became too feeble to go on, and the doctor revived her with some cordial from his saddle-bags, when she took breath, and continued,-- "see them, doctor; eleven of them. which will you choose?" the doctor, with as much grace as possible, declined selecting any one of the useless stuffed skins; when the old lady, by much effort, raised her head from the pillow, and said, "well, i will select for you. take the black one--take--the black--cat--doctor!" and died. her dying words so impressed him, that he took the cat home, and, on opening her,--for it was very heavy,--he found that the skin contained nearly a hundred dollars, in gold. american fees and incomes. there is a surgeon in new york city whose income from practice outside of the hospital is said to be twenty-five thousand dollars per annum. dr. valentine mott, the celebrated new york surgeon, who died april , , at the age of eighty-one years, had a very large income, but less than that enjoyed by several surgeons in the metropolis at the present time. there are some specialists in new york, philadelphia, and boston, who receive greater sums annually than the regular medical or surgical practitioners. there is no law particularly controlling the prices of the former. the fee for a visit, by the established usage of the medical societies in these cities, is from three to ten dollars. a specialist sometimes receives fifty to one hundred dollars for prescribing in a case, for which another physician, in ordinary practice, would charge but an office fee of two to ten dollars. a quack specialist--and an impostor--in the latter city makes his brags that he has received twelve hundred dollars for one prescription. but then this same lying braggadocio says he has read medicine with ricard, and had various honors conferred upon him. dr. pulte, of ohio, one of the western pioneers in homeopathy, who has often been greeted, in his earlier professional rounds, by a shower of dirt, rotten eggs, stones, brickbats, and had rails and sticks thrust through his carriage wheels at night, and been otherwise insulted, until, finally, he had to carry his wife about with him, as a protective measure,--for his revilers would not insult a lady,--has since made as high as twenty thousand dollars a year, and has amassed a fortune of two hundred thousand dollars. there is a boston homeopathist whose income from practice is not less than twenty to twenty-five thousand dollars annually. some of the surgeons (allopathic) do better, but hardly reach the figures of dr. nelaton, the great french surgeon, who, in , earned four hundred thousand francs, equal to about eighty thousand dollars. [illustration: a pioneer of homeopathy.] dr. bigelow, the very celebrated surgeon of harvard college, has probably received the largest fee for a surgical operation of any new england practitioner. he is said to be worth nearly a million. dr. buckingham, the eminent medical practitioner, of boston, who probably earns as much as any physician in the city, a few years ago stated to the graduating class of harvard college--so i am informed by a physician then present--that he received for his first year's practice in boston _but fifty-seven dollars_. he then had a little office up stairs, where he slept, dined,--often on bread and cheese, or a few crackers; sometimes he did not dine,--and received his few patients. but he was a great student, and a hard worker, and often, and usually, stuck to his post during those hours when more prosperous physicians were seeking amusement or relaxation. he was one of the "_hold-fast_" kind, who always win, in the end. "_catch what you can._"--there is a class of wretches in every city who have no established fee for prescribing for the sick. they go on the principle of "catch what i can." if they cannot get a fee of twenty dollars, they will take two, provided the patient has no more. a young man who visited one of these medical shave-shops was charged a fee of thirty-five dollars in a very simple case; but the benevolent doctor concluded to accept two dollars and a half instead, since the man had no more money. the shamefulness of such jewing reminds one of the story of a negro trading off a worn-out old mule:-- "i say, dar, what will you take for dat yer mule, cuffy?" "o, i axes thirty-five dollars for him, mr. sambo." "o, go way, dar. i gibs you five dollars for him," said the first. "well, you can take him, sambo. i won't stand for thirty dollars on a mule trade, nohow." there is a female practitioner in st. louis who earns above ten thousand dollars a year, and her individual fees are moderate at that. another doctress, mrs. ormsby, of orange, n. j., accumulates some fifteen thousand a year, and is in turn outstripped by another woman practising in new york, who gets nearly twenty thousand dollars a year. such certainly possess great business tact, with or without professional merit, and for such let all men give them credit. several female doctors in boston receive from three to five thousand dollars each, yearly. it is too often the case that a physician's success is reckoned, like a tradesman's, by what he has gained in a pecuniary point of view. there are, however, thousands of worthy men, successful with their cases, who, from less acquisitiveness than benevolence, have failed in securing more than a bare competence, through a life devoted to their profession. [illustration: a sharp mule trade.] i presume nearly every physician who has experienced a dozen years in practice has some mementos of his poor patients' gratitude, in the form, if not of an ebony bird, or a black cat-skin, of something possessing more beauty, and, to the benevolent heart, which always beats within the breast of every true physician, keepsakes prized above gold and silver. "who has not kept some trifling thing, more prized, more prized, than jewels rare, a faded flower, a broken ring, a tress of golden hair, a tress of golden hair?" a very benevolent physician, and a sexagenarian, of new york city, wrote, twenty years ago, "i even yet enjoy a sort of melancholy satisfaction in hastening to relieve the suffering poor of my neighborhood, though i know that my reward will be very small, or, what is far more frequent, that i shall be paid with ingratitude, if not slander. "sometimes there are bright spots in my horizon, and i think myself more than repaid by a new shirt, or a couple of handkerchiefs--the gift of some poor, though grateful sewing girl. a few of these little treasures i prize with peculiar tenderness." "a tress of hair and a faded leaf are paltry things to a cynic's eyes: but to me they are keys that open the gates of a paradise of memories." asking for a fee. a boston m. d., who had been in practice fourteen years without accumulating any property, was about to abandon the profession, and, with this view, he applied to fowler, the phrenologist, with the question, "what pursuit am i best adapted to follow?" mr. fowler, with whom he was unacquainted, said, "the practice of medicine;" but, at the same time, he assured the doctor that he ought to do business on a _cash_ principle,--"_accipe dum dolet_,"--or employ a collector, as he would never collect his fees. acting on this hint, the doctor returned to his practice, and in a few years was out of debt, and owned a fine residence. in the matter of collecting fees only he was deficient. a new york student--if report is true--began earlier to be impressed with the propriety of getting his fee in advance, as the following will show. he went before the censors for examination. one of the board was a well-known penurious, fee-loving doctor, who, looking over the list of names of the applicants, said,-- "mr. ----, if a patient came to your office, what would you first do?" "i would ask him for a fee, sir," was the prompt reply. an old navy surgeon relates the following regarding examinations:-- "i was shown into the examining-room. large table, and a half dozen old gentlemen at it. 'big wigs, no doubt,' i thought, 'and, sure as my name is symonds, they'll pluck me like a pigeon.' "'well, sir, what do you know about the science of medicine?' asked the stout man in the head seat. "'more than he does of the practice, i'll be bound,' tittered a little wasp-like dandy--a west end ladies' doctor. "i trembled in my shoes. "'well, sir,' continued the first, 'what would you do if during an action a man was brought to you with both arms and legs shot off? now, sir, speak out; don't keep the board waiting. what would you do?' "'by jove, sir,' i answered, 'i would pitch him overboard, and go on to some one else to whom i could be of more service.' "by thunder! every one present burst out laughing, and they passed me directly--passed me directly." delicate fees. there are certain delicate cases, usually terminating in "good news," in which it has long been an established custom for the physician to receive a double fee. "a father just presented with an heir, or a lucky fellow just made one, is expected to bleed freely for the benefit of the faculty." even the irish, who, in about all other cases, calculate on "cheating the doctor to pay the priest," will usually lay by a little sum from their penury, or their bank hoardings, as the case may be, "to pay the doctor for the babbie." we insert the following poetry (!) for the fun of the thing; nevertheless, it is within the experience of more than one physician, who, after doing his duty, exhibiting his best professional ability, and saving the wife of some miserable, worthless fellow, who never deserved such a godsend for a companion, has cheated the doctor out of his fees from spite, when, if the poor woman had died, he would have liberally paid the physician. let no man take this to himself. "a woman who scolded one day so long quite suddenly lost all use of her tongue! the doctor arrived, who, with 'hem and haw,' pronounced the affection a true locked jaw. "'what hopes, good doctor?' 'very small, i see.' the husband (quite sad) slips a double fee. 'no hopes, _dear_ doctor?' 'ahem! none, i fear.' gives another fee for an issue clear. "the madam deceased. 'pray, sir, do not grieve.' 'my friends, one comfort i surely receive-- a fatal locked jaw was the only case from which my dear wife could have died--in peace.'" "make the most of him." it has been said that physicians have been known to benevolently play a fee into a brother's hand when their own palm failed to be broad enough to hold them all. perhaps the reader may derive amusement or instruction from the following, in which case the writer is well repaid for their insertion:-- "a wealthy tradesman, after drinking the waters of the bath springs a long time, under advice of his physician, took a fancy to try those of bristol. armed with an introductory letter from his bath doctor to a professional brother at bristol, the old gentleman set off on his journey. on the way he said to himself,-- "'i wonder what dr. ---- has advised the bristol physician respecting my case;' and giving way to his curiosity, or anxiety, he opened the letter, and read,-- "'dear doctor: the bearer is a fat wiltshire clothier; _make the most of him_. yours, professionally, ----.'" clutterbuck, the historian, and a pleasant writer, tells the following of his uncle, who was a physician:-- "a nervous old lady, a patient of his, took it into her crotchety old head to try the bath waters, and applied to her physician for permission. "'the very thing i have been thinking to recommend,' he replied; 'and i know an excellent physician at the wells, to whom i will give you a letter of introduction.'" with her letter and a companion, she started for the springs. _en route_ she took out the letter, and, after looking at the address some time, her curiosity overcame her, and she said to her friend, "so long as the doctor has treated me, he has never told me what my case is, and i have a mind to just look into this letter and see what he has told the bath physician about it." in vain her friend remonstrated against such a breach of trust. the old lady opened the epistle, and read the following instructive words:-- "dear sir: keep the old woman three weeks, and send her back." [illustration] xvi. generosity and meanness. "life's better joys spring up thus by the wayside, and the world calls them trifles. 'tis not so. heaven is not prodigal, nor pours its joys in unregarded torrents upon man: they fall, as fall the riches of the clouds upon the parched earth, gently, drop by drop. nothing is trifling which love consecrates."--aylmere. "the art of our necessities is strange."--king lear. the world unmasked.--a rough diamond.--decayed gentility.--"three flight, back."--several anecdotes.--the old fox-hunter.--"stand on your head."--kindness to clergymen.--rare charity.--old and homeless.--the "o'clo'" jew.--dr. hunter's generosity.--"what's the price of beef?"--a sad omission.--innate generosity.--a curb-stone money-maniac.--an eye-opener.--an avaricious doctor.--robbing the dead. side by side, hand in hand, through the world, go generosity and meanness. if these could but be personified, and the individuals compelled to stand before men in broad daylight, o, what a staring would there be! those whom we thought the very embodiment of generosity and kindness would "crop out" in their true hideousness of character--unmasked meanness and selfishness; yes, men too high in the estimation of the world, in church and in state. on the other hand, we should be equally astonished to find amongst those in the humbler walks of life, as well as some in the more exalted, people, whom the world counted as mean and penurious, now standing forth adorned in robes bleached like the snow-drift, shining bright as the golden sunrise, yet blushing to find that their hidden charities, and secret, self-denying generosities, had been suddenly brought to light. and when the secret works of this world shall be revealed, no class of men will stand forth more blessed in deeds of generosity and self-sacrifice than the physicians. there is an occasional black sheep in the great flock. a rough diamond. there is no better authority for the truth of the many queer stories told about the rough benevolence of dr. abernethy, the great english surgeon, than the author of his memoirs--sir george macilwain. [illustration: physicians' charity.] "his manner [dr. abernethy's], as we shall admit, was occasionally rough, and sometimes rather prematurely truthful. one day he was called in consultation by a physician to give an opinion in a case of a pulsating tumor, which was pretty plainly an aneurism. on proceeding to examine the tumor, he found a plaster covering it. "'what is this you have on it?' asked abernethy. "'o, that is only a plaster.' "'pooh!' exclaimed the doctor, pulling it off and flinging it aside. "'the "pooh" was all well enough,' said the attending physician, afterwards, 'but it took several guineas out of my pocket.'" "up three pair, back." a surgeon--pupil of the above--was requested to visit a patient in a low quarter of the suburbs of the metropolis. when he arrived, and mounted several flights of crazy stairs, he began searching for the designated number, which was so defaced by time that he was only enabled to determine it by the more legible condition of the next number. [illustration: search for a patient.] an old woman answered the shake of the dilapidated knocker. "does captain blank live here?" "yes, sir,"--trying to penetrate the darkness. "is he at home?" "yes, sir. please, may i make so bold as to ask, are you the doctor?" "yes." "o, then please to walk in, sir." in the ill-furnished, narrow room sat an old man, in a very shabby and variegated _déshabille_, who rose from his chair, and, with a grace worthy of a count, welcomed the stranger. his manner was extremely gentlemanly, his language well chosen, and the statement of his complaint particularly clear and concise. the surgeon, who like most of us see strange things, was puzzled to make out his new patient, but concluded that he was one of the many who, having been born to better things, had become reduced by misfortune to these apparently very narrow circumstances. accordingly, having prescribed, the surgeon was about taking his leave, when the gentleman said,-- "sir, i thank you very much for your attention," at the same time offering his hand with a fee. the benevolent surgeon declined the fee, simply saying,-- "no, i thank you, sir. i hope you will soon be better. good morning." "stay, sir!" exclaimed the old gentleman. "i shall insist on this, if you please," in a tone which at once convinced the surgeon that it would be more painful to refuse than accept the fee; he accordingly took it. "i am very much obliged to you, sir," the old gentleman then said; "for had you not taken your fee i could not have again had the advantage of your advice. i sent for you because i had understood that you were a pupil of dr. abernethy's, for whom i could not again send, _because he would not take his fee_, and i was so hurt that i am afraid i was rude to the good man. i suppose he, judging from the appearances of things here, thought i could not afford it, hence refused the fee, on which i begged him not to be deceived by appearances, but take the fee. however, he kept retreating and declining, till, forgetting myself a little, and feeling vexed, i said, 'by g----, sir, i insist on your taking it,' when he replied as fiercely, 'by g----, sir, i will not,' and hastily left the room, closing the door after him." this gentleman lived to the age of ninety. he was really in very good circumstances, but lived in this humble manner to enable him to assist very efficiently some poor relatives. the surgeon, after a while, changed his professional visits to friendly ones, and continued them up to the old man's death. when, however, the gentleman died, about four hundred guineas were found in his boxes. sometimes dr. abernethy would meet with a patient who would afford a useful lesson. a lady, wife of a distinguished musician, consulted him, and, finding him uncourteous, said,-- "sir, i had heard of your rudeness before i came, but i did not expect this." when dr. abernethy gave her the prescription, she asked,-- "what am i to do with this, sir?" "anything you like. put it into the fire if you choose." the lady laid the fee on the table, went to the grate, threw the prescription on to the fire, and hastily left the room. the doctor followed her to the hall, earnestly pressing her to take back the fee, or permit him to write her another prescription; but the lady would not yield her vantage-ground, and so withdrew. the foregoing is well authenticated. mr. stowe, the informant, knows the lady well. [illustration: an eccentric patient.] [illustration: a woman's rebuke.] the old fox-hunter. sometimes, again, the ill usage was all on one side. we know a hard-drinking old fox-hunter who abused dr. abernethy roundly; but all that he could say against him was this:-- "why, sir,--will you believe me?--almost the first words he said, as he entered my room, was, 'i perceive you drink a good deal.' "now," continued the patient, very _naïvely_, "supposing i did, what the devil was that to him?" another gentleman, who had a most unfortunate appearance on his nose, exactly like that which accompanies dram-drinking, used to be exceedingly irate against dr. a. because, when he told the doctor that his stomach was out of order, abernethy would reply,-- "ay, i see that by your nose." the duke, or the poor gentleman. one day, just as dr. abernethy was stepping into his carriage to make a professional visit to the duke of w., to whom he had been called in a hurry, a gentleman stopped him to say that the ----, at somers town (mentioning a poor gentleman whom he had visited without fee), would be glad to have him visit him again at his leisure. "why, i cannot go now," dr. abernethy replied, "for i am going in haste to see the duke of w." then, pausing a moment before stepping into his carriage, he looked up to the coachman, and quietly said, "to somers town." the fidgety irritability of his first impression at interference, and the beneficence of his second thought, were very characteristic of dr. abernethy. a pupil, who wished to consult him one day, took the very inauspicious moment when the doctor (and professor) was looking over his papers, but a few moments before lecture, in the museum. "i am fearful, sir, that i have a polypus in my nose, and want you to look at it," said the student. the doctor made no reply; but when he had completed the sorting of his preparations, he said, looking up,-- "eh?" to which the pupil repeated his request. [illustration: afraid of a polypus.] "then stand on your head; don't you see that all the light here comes from the skylight? how am i to look into your nose?" (this was true, for there were no side-lights in the amphitheatre.) "where do you live?" continued the doctor. "bartholomew close, sir." "at what time do you get up?" "at eight." "you can't be at bedford row" (where abernethy resided) "at nine, then?" "yes, sir, i can." "to-morrow morning, then." "yes, sir; thank you." the pupil was punctual. dr. abernethy made a very careful examination of his nose, found nothing of the nature of polypus, made the pupil promise never to look into his nose again, and he, in after years, said, that there never was anything the matter. dr. abernethy never took a fee from a student, brother doctor, nor full fee from a clergyman. his great labors seemed to be in the hospitals, and on his resignation as surgeon to st. bartholomew, he presented for its use five hundred dollars. he never neglected his poor hospital patients for the richer ones outside. one morning, on leaving his house for a visit to the hospital patients, some one wished to detain him, when he exclaimed, in terms more earnest than elegant,-- "private patients may go to the devil" (or elsewhere, another reports), "but the poor fellows in the hospital i am bound to care for." to poor students whose funds were "doubtful," he presented free tickets to his college lectures, afterwards showing them marked attention. everybody has heard of his rude kindness to a young fashionable miss, whom her mother took to abernethy for treatment. it is said that the doctor ran a knife under her belt, in presence of the mother, instantly severing it, and exclaiming,-- "why, madam, don't you know there are upwards of thirty yards of ----" (what are more elegantly termed bowels) "squeezed under that girdle? go home, give nature fair play, and you'll have no need of a prescription." [illustration: abernethy's surgical operation.] kindness to clergymen. "cynics have been found in plenty to rail at physicians for loving their fees; and one might justly retort that the railers love nothing but their fees. who does not love--and who is not entitled to--the sweet money earned by labor, be it labor of hand, brain, or cloth? one thing is sure--doctors are unpaid."--_a lawyer._ the above kind-hearted physician, having attended the child of a clergyman's widow, without knowing her situation, returned all the fees he had received from her when he learned who she was, and added, in a letter, fifty pounds besides, with instructions to expend it in daily rides in the open air, for her health. to a clergyman he sent a receipt for his long services, and also enclosing ten pounds. the generosity of dr. wilson, of bath (now deceased), has before been recorded. he had been attending a clergyman, who, wilson had learned, was in indigent circumstances, and he afterwards sent fifty pounds in gold to the minister, by a friend. "yes, i will take it to him to-morrow," said the gentleman. "o, my dear sir," exclaimed dr. wilson, "take it to him to-night. only think of the importance to an invalid of one good night's rest." rare charity. another case of "three pair, back," occurs in the memoirs of dr. lettsom, who is already made mention of in this work. on one of his benevolent excursions, the doctor found his way into the squalid garret of a poor old woman who had evidently seen better days. with the refined language and the easy deportment of a well-bred lady, she begged the physician to examine her case, and give her a prescription. (alas! how often is poverty mistaken for disease, and does want foster malady!) but the kind doctor, after a careful inquiry, formed a correct diagnosis, and wrote on a slip of paper he chanced to have about him, the following brief note to the overseers of the parish:-- "a shilling per diem for mrs. moreton. money, not physic, can cure her. lettsom." a shilling, in those days, was considered no mean sum per day. "alas for the rarity of christian charity under the sun! o, it was pitiful! near a whole city full, home she had none. "sisterly, brotherly, fatherly, motherly feelings had changed; love, by harsh evidence, thrown from its eminence, even god's providence seeming estranged." "alas, doctor," said an unfortunate old gentleman, some seventy-four years old,--a merchant ruined by the american war, bowed down by the weight of his misfortunes, and by disease,--to dr. lettsom, "those beautiful trees you may see out of my bedroom window i planted with these now feeble hands. i have lived to see them bear fruit; they have become as part of my family. but with my children still dearer to me, i must quit this dear old home, which was the delight of my youth and the hope of my declining years, and become a homeless, joyless wanderer in my old age." the benevolent quaker doctor was deeply affected by these words, and the utter despair and hopelessness with which the weeping old man uttered them; and, speaking a few words of consolation to his unfortunate patient, he wrote a prescription, and hastily retired. on the old gentleman's examination of the remarkable looking recipe, he found it to be a check for a large sum of money. the benevolence of the physician did not end here. he purchased the residence and grounds of the old man's creditors, and prescribed them to him for life. (he is our young quaker antipode, mentioned in another chapter.) the old apothecary, sutcliff, was right when he said of young lettsom, while his apprentice, "thou may'st make a good physician, but i think not a good apothecary." an apothecary is not expected to give away his time or medicine. (they seldom disappoint one's expectations.) a grocer is not expected to give away flour, rice, sugar, tea, to even a starving, languishing neighbor; nor the baker, nor the butcher, to give bread or meat to the perishing. why, such demands upon them daily would be laughed to scorn. but the physician! these very same niggardly men (individually) would berate the doctor, be he ever so needy, or be his family ever so large, who would accept a fee for even cold-night services to any but the richest patients. all physicians do not have access to the "richest patients." many a good physician has been compelled to quit practice because of his too large "bump" of benevolence, and because of the limited amount of that article in his first few patients, while thousands of practitioners in this country struggle and labor on through a life of self-denial, wearing themselves out, dying prematurely, leaving their families penniless to the cold charities of an uncharitable world. (see chapter xxx.) the old jew. "ah me," exclaimed a jew, one day, as he reluctantly drew out his wallet to pay three dollars for his examination, prescription, and advice, "if i could only make money like the doctors of mede_cene_! ah me." then, taking two dollars from his purse, he asked, "won't that do?" this jew was a merchant, reputed rich, and penurious as he was wealthy, and i demanded the accustomed fee. "let me see," said he; "how many patients have you seen to-day?" "nine," i replied. "let me see," counting his fingers as a tally. "at least twenty-seven dollars a day, and nothing out but a bit of paper. ah, i wish i had been a doctor in mede_cene_," he added, with a sigh, and a woful look at the money, as he reluctantly handed it over. this was casting pearls before worse than swine, prescribing for such a wretch. brains, education, anxiety, all went for nought, with him. _money_ was his all. a shilling before his eyes would shut out even god's sunlight. if the shilling only _shone_, _glistened_,--sunlight enough for such a wretch. [illustration: reckoning a doctor's fees.] "let _me_ see," i said, after his miserable body had taken his penurious soul out of my office; "nine patients, one three miles away. horse-tire and carriage-wear, time, advice, and medicine given, because the patient was a widow. no. patient, the sick child of an invalid mother; no fee. no. , an irishman. the irish never wish to pay anything; did pay one dollar. no. , a merchant. "charge it." that was _his_ fee. no. , a young sewing girl, who, in sewing on army cloth, had sewed her life's blood into the seams. in consumption. could i take her fee? god forbid. no. , a "lady," who, having so much upon her back, had nothing in her purse. i may get my fee at the end of the quarter. "you know my husband. good morning." it was near two o'clock then. she had occupied my time a whole hour. my dinner was cold; my wife was out of sorts, waiting so long. nos. and , two sick children. visit them daily; pay uncertain. the ninth was the wealthy jew. nine patients; four dollars! don't i sometimes wish i kept an "o' clo'" store, like the old jew? this actually occurred when i practised medicine in hartford. [illustration: patient number five.] dr. hunter's generosity. no man cared _less_ for the profits of the medical profession, or _more_ for the honor thereof, than the great dr. john hunter. he was honest, honorable, and simple in his every day life. his works, which contributed more to the science of medicine than any other writings during a thousand years, were simply announced as by john hunter. a plain door plate, with the same name, announced his residence. money was a secondary consideration to him. the following shows that he desired a professional brother to so consider it:-- "dear brother: the bearer needs your advice. he has no money, and you have plenty; so you are well met. "yours, john hunter." to a poor tradesman from whom he had received twenty guineas for performing a surgical operation upon his wife, he returned nineteen guineas, having learned with what difficulty and extreme self-denial the husband had raised the money. "i sent back nineteen guineas, and kept the twentieth," said he, in apology for retaining even the one, "that they might not be hurt with an idea of too great an obligation." where is the other man, or class of men, who would have returned the money, honestly earned, as agreed upon beforehand, unasked? generous at another's expense. it is all very nice when one can exercise a benevolent spirit, and not draw upon his own pocket. a well-authenticated story is repeated in this line of dr. m. monsey. passing through a market one day, he noticed a miserable old woman looking wistfully at a piece of meat hanging just within a stall. "what is the price of this meat, sir?" she timidly inquired. "a penny a pound, old woman," replied the butcher, sneeringly, disdaining a civil answer to the wretched-looking woman, who probably had not a penny to pay for the chop. "just weigh that piece of meat, my friend," said the doctor, who had been attentively watching the proceedings. the butcher cheerfully complied with the request of so respectable-looking a customer. "ten pounds and a half, sir," replied the butcher. "there, my good woman," said the doctor, "hold up your apron;" and he dumped the whole into it, saying, "now make haste home and cook it for your family." after blessing the very eccentric but benevolent old man over and again for the timely provision, she drew up the corners of the apron, and ran speedily down the market. "here, my man," said the doctor, turning to the smiling butcher, "here is ten pence ha'penny, the price of your meat." "what? what do you mean?" asked the butcher. "i mean, sir, that i take you at your word. you said the meat was a penny a pound. at that price i bought it for the poor old woman. it's all i'll pay you. good morning, sir." [illustration: the astonished butcher.] i can imagine the "chop-fallen" butcher, standing, in his long frock, with a _beaten_ expression of countenance, alternating his gaze between the pence in his palm and the retreating form of the wigged and laughing old doctor. a report on teeth. many stories are told of the eccentricities of dr. monsey, and "no man could better gild a pill, or make a bill, or mix a draught, or bleed, or blister, or draw a tooth out of your head, or chatter scandal by your bed, or tell a twister." amongst the vagaries of dr. monsey, says mr. jeaffreson, was the way in which he proceeded to extract his decaying teeth. around the tooth sentenced to be uprooted he fastened securely a strong piece of cord, or violin string, to the other end of which he attached a bullet. he then proceeded to load a pistol with powder and the bullet. by merely pulling the trigger of the pistol, the operation was speedily and effectually performed. it was seldom, however, that the doctor could induce his patients to adopt this original mode of extracting undesirable achers. one gentleman, who had agreed to try this novel process upon a tooth, got so far as to allow the whole apparatus to be adjusted, when, at the very last instant, he exclaimed,-- "stop, stop! i have changed my mind--" "i haven't, though; and you're a fool and a coward, and here's go," which saying, the doctor pulled the trigger. "bang!" went the pistol, and out flew the tooth, to the delight and astonishment of the patient. taking this anecdote alone, it is scarcely credible; but considered in connection with what we have already selected from the life of dr. monsey, and what we may write of his eccentricities in our chapter under that head, this may be believed as being nearly correct. [illustration: modern improvements in dentistry.] [illustration: charity not solicited.] a sad omission. believing, as i do, that every reader of these pages is personally cognizant of the fact of the true benevolence of our present american physicians, and because of the silence of the few biographers respecting the generosities and benevolent deeds of those "who have gone before," i have devoted more space to anecdotes of english surgeons and physicians than i otherwise would. i have searched throughout four volumes of biographies of american physicians without being able to find a single anecdote of generosity recorded therein worthy of notice. also in the "lives of surgeons ----" i have to regret this almost unpardonable neglect. i am assured from my personal knowledge of some of these latter that there are a thousand instances, which, in justice to their benevolence, ought to be put upon record, as they are engraven upon the hearts of their suffering fellow-creatures, and not for the aggrandizement of the generous bestower so much as an example for the cynical and the uncharitable world. a physician has just left my presence who has given away more than he has ever received from his practice. the good physician is always generous. a mean-souled man cannot become a successful practitioner. his success with his patients depends as much, or more, upon the kindly influences that beam from his eye, that flow from his soul, as upon the medicine that he deals out from his "saddle-bags." generosity and kindness are innate to the man. they require little cultivation. the following amusing anecdote from "every saturday," i have reason to believe, has reference to one of our best physicians, who is also a man of letters, and illustrates my assertion:-- "innate generosity." "one hot august afternoon a gentleman, whose name attached to a check would be more valuable to the reader than if written here, was standing in front of the revere house, waiting for a washington street car. he was a slim, venerable gentleman, with long white hair, and a certain dignity about him which we suppose comes of always having a handsome balance in the bank, for we never knew a poor man to have this particular air. it was a sultry afternoon, and the millionaire, standing on the curb-stone in the shade, had removed his hat, and was cooling his forehead with his handkerchief, like any common person, when the cambridge horse-car stopped at the crossing at his feet. from this car hastily descended a well-known man of letters, whose pre-occupied expression showed at once that he was wrestling with an insubordinate hexameter, or laying out the points of a new lecture. suddenly he found himself face to face with a white-haired old man, dejectedly holding a hat in one hand. as quick as thought the poet--to whom neither old age nor young appeals in vain--thrust his hand into his vest pocket, and, dropping a handful of nickel and fractional currency into the extended hat, passed on. the millionaire gazed aghast into the hat for an instant, and then inverted it spasmodically, allowing the money to drop into the gutter, much to the amusement of a gentleman and a tooth-pick on the steps of the revere house, and very much more to the amusement of another party, who chanced to know that the supposed mendicant and the man of letters had been on terms of personal intimacy these twenty years." a curb-stone money-maniac. a man may possess large acquisitiveness and benevolence at the same time, like sir astley cooper, and succeed both pecuniarily and professionally. such are, however, scarce. those with an excess of the grasping principle in their composition illustrate the truth that "where the treasure is the heart will be also." asleep or awake, drunk or sober, such men never lose sight of the almighty dollar. the annexed story, though irreverent to the doctors, is not irrelevant to the case:-- during the late "panic," a fellow, whose prominent feature was in his jewish nose, which presented the sign of acquisitiveness by the bridge widening on to the cheeks above the _alæ_,--all men noted for accumulating have this sign, hung out by nature as a warning to the unwary,--was making a great noise, as he clung to a friendly lamp-post, to which he was arguing the state of the money market. "come, sir, you are making too much noise," said a policeman. [illustration: capture of a wall street bull.] "me? no, 'tain't me that's--hic--making the noise; it's the bulls--the bulls, sir; them's what's making all the noise," replied the fellow, skewing first one side of the post, then the other, trying to get a view of his new intruder. "you are tight, sir--tight as a peep," continued the watchman. "me tight? no, sir; it's the money-market what's--ti--tight," replied the gentlemanly dressed individual, though much the worse for bad whiskey. "go down wall street, and fisk and vanderbuilt--all of 'em--will tell you so. everybody says money is--hic--tight. i never was more loose in my--hic--life;" and he demonstrated the assertion by swinging very loosely around the lamp-post, and falling down. "there, you are down. too drunk to stand up;" and the policeman helped him to his feet again, and walked him along towards the station. "no, sir. there you are wrong again; it's stocks that's down. it's the stockholders--hic--that's staggering along; they've fallen and skinned their noses on the curb-stone of adversity. there! don't you see them--crawling along?" "o, you've got the tremens. come on," exclaimed the policeman. "me? no; it's the shorts and bears what's got the dol--hic--lar--tremens. i've caught the pan--hics--panics, sir; that's all." the policeman thrust the money-maniac into a cell, and the last seen of him he leaned back against the wall, his feet braced out, while, hatless and the knot of his cravat round under his left ear, he stood arguing the money-market with an imaginary broker on the opposite side of his cell. an "eye-opener." "how much do you charge, sir?" asked a poor farmer, from framingham, of a city doctor, who had just wiped a bit of dust from the eye of his son. "twenty-five dollars, if you please," was the modest reply. "i cannot pay it, sir," said the poor man. "it only took you a half minute. our doctor was not at home; but i didn't think you would charge me much, sir." so the m. d. very benevolently (?) accepted ten dollars--all the poor man had. can you wonder, after reading this statement, the truth of which is easily avouched for, that this doctor owns a whole block--stores, hotel--and is immensely rich? from the english book "about doctors," here are three anecdotes:-- radcliffe, the humbug, with a great effort at generosity, had refused his fees for visiting a poor friend a whole year. on making a final visit, the gentleman said, presenting a purse,-- "doctor, here i have put aside a fee for every day's visit. let not your goodness get the better of your judgment. take your money." the doctor took a look, resolved to carry out his attempt at benevolence, just touched the purse to restore it to his friend, when he heard "the chink of gold" within, and--put it into his pocket, saying,-- "singly, i could have refused the fees for a twelvemonth, but collectively, they are irresistible. good day, sir;" and the greedy doctor walked away with a heavier pocket and a lighter heart than he came with. on visiting a nobleman, sir richard jebb was paid in hand three guineas when he, by right, expected five. the doctor purposely dropped the three gold pieces on the carpet, when the nobleman directed the servant to find and restore them; but sir richard still continued the search after receiving the three coins. "are they not all found?" inquired the nobleman, looking about. "no, there must be two more on the carpet, as i have only three restored," replied the wily doctor. his lordship took the hint, and said, "never mind; here are two others." [illustration: death's fee.] this sticking for a fee was all cast into the shade by the act of an "eminent physician of bristol." the doctor, entering the bedroom immediately after the death of his patient, found the right hand clinched tightly, and, pulling open the fingers of the dead man, the doctor discovered that the hand contained a guinea. "ah!" exclaimed the doctor to the servant and friends around him, "this was doubtless intended for me;" and so saying he pocketed the coin. "three hungry travellers found a bag of gold. one ran into the town where bread was sold. he thought, 'i will poison the bread i buy, and seize the treasure when my comrades die.' but they, too, thought, when back his feet have hied, we will destroy him, and the gold divide. they killed him, and, partaking of the bread, in a few moments all were lying dead. o world, behold what ill thy goods have done! thy gold thus poisoned two and murdered one." [illustration] xvii. love and lovers. "no task is harder than that of writing to the ideas of another."--johnson. _duke._ "if ever thou shalt love, in the sweet pangs of it, remember me; for such as i am all true lovers are; unstaid and skittish in all things else, save in the constant image of the creature that is beloved.... my life upon it, young as thou art, thine eye hath stayed upon some face that it loves; hath it not, boy?" xantippe, before jealousy.--a first love--blasted hopes.--a doctor's story.--the flight from "the hounds of the law."--the exile and return.--disguised as a peddler.--escapes with his love.--english beaus.--young coquettes.--a gay and dangerous beau.--handsome beaus.--leap year.--an old beau.--beauty not all-potent.--offended royalty.--youth and age.--a stable boy.--poet-doctor. an old lady once said, "i've hearn say that doctors either are, or are not, great experts in love affairs; i've forgotten which." just so! "i would not be a doctor's wife for the world," i have heard many a lady affirm. true; for few doctors have had the misfortune (or folly) to select a jealous woman for a life companion. socrates, the great philosopher, and physician of the mind, seems to have had the ugliest tempered woman in the world, whose very name, _xantippe_, has passed into a proverb for a scolding wife; yet she was not jealous of her spouse, but was said to have sincerely loved him; and he bore her outbursts of temper only as a great philosopher could, which seemed not to have disturbed the equanimity of his living nor the humor of his dying. "crito,"--these were his last words,--"crito, forget not the cock that i promised to esculapius!" alas! an affecting satire on philosophy and physic. [illustration: my first love.] no; we find no cases to record of the jealousies of physicians, or their wives. all the jealousies of the former are spent on their professional brethren. it is a philosophical fact that physicians, of all men, seldom are involved in disgrace, quarrels, or litigations on account of love affairs. yet they have affections, like other men, and above all men know how to appreciate affection and virtue in woman. first love--blasted hopes. i know of a little episode in the early life of a doctor, whose name modesty forbids me to mention. let me briefly state it in the first person. ah, friend, if you and i should meet beneath the boughs of the bending lime, and you in the same low voice repeat the tender words of the old love-rhyme, it could not bring back the same old time-- no, never. i was young when i first fell in love,--not above six years of age; but love is without reason, blind to age. the object of my first affection was my school-_mischief_, as i then called her, who was about twenty. the disparagement of years never entered my innocent noddle. i used to start for school a half hour before nine, and stop on the way at the squire's house, where miss ---- boarded. o, with what joy i always met her! in summer she gave me roses from the beautiful great white rose-bushes in the squire's front yard; in autumn and winter, splendid red and green apples, from the orchard and cellar, and candy and kisses at all times. so i fell desperately in love with her. i was greatly shocked, and not a little piqued, when one day she, in cold blood, bade me good by, and went away with a tall man, with shocking red whiskers. that is all i remember about him. i, however, mourned her loss for years, although my appetite remained unimpaired--my parents said. "like a still serpent, basking in the sun, with subtle eyes, and back of russet gold, her gentle tones and quiet sweetness won a coil upon her victims: fold on fold she wove around them with her graceful wiles, till, serpent-like, she stung amid her smiles." the next time i saw her was about ten years afterwards. o, with what pleasant anticipations i hastened to her house! i remembered her every look--her fair, intelligent face; her wavy black hair; her heavenly dark-blue eyes. o, i should know her anywhere! her i never could forget. [illustration: ten years later.] with these thoughts i confidently knocked at the door. "is miss ---- at home?" i inquired of the--servant, i supposed, who opened the door. just then three or four dirty-looking little children ran screaming after the woman, calling out, "marm, marm!" "hush, children, hush!" said the female, and, turning again to me, said,-- "whom did you inquire for?" pushing back one of the red-headed urchins. "miss mary ----, ma'am," i answered. "she once lived at blue hill." she gave a sickly-looking smile. she looked sick before; her cheeks all fallen in; her skimmed-milk colored eyes had a weary, anxious expression; and her thin, bony hands, resting on the door-latch, looked like a consumptive's, as she said,-- "when did you know her?" "o, but a few years ago, ma'am. is she here? does she live in _this house_?" i eagerly inquired. "well," she replied, with another more sepulchral smile, "i was once miss mary ----. i married mr. ---- ----, over ten years ago. my baby, here,"--presenting the second in size of the children to my view, a reddish-brown haired girl, quite unlike any one i had ever seen before, and wiping its nose with her calico apron,--"she is named for me, mary ----. won't you come in, sir?" no, i thought i would not stop. i didn't stop till i reached the hotel, where i had begged the stage-driver to wait for me but a half hour before, while i called upon the lovely miss mary ----. "o, sunny dreams of childhood, how soon they pass away! like flowers within the wild wood, they perish and decay." a handy doctor. a young physician was supposed to be "keepin' company" with a young lady. the matronly friend of the latter, having praised the young man from all points of view, returned one day from the death-bed of a friend, at which the physician had been present. she eulogized the living fully as much as the dead man, and finally turning to the girl, as if she had reached the _ne plus ultra_ of enthusiasm, she said, "jane, he's the handsomest man i ever see fixin' round a corpse." a doctor's story. the writer is acquainted with a young physician, who read medicine with an old doctor, named gitchel, or twichel, of portland, and commenced practice in his native village,--a great mistake for any practitioner to make,--and where he met with consequences natural to even a prophet, opposition and scandal. by some mistake, or, as his opponents charged, mal-practice, he lost a patient. being, a few days later, in a shop in the next village, he was secretly informed that the "hounds of the law were after him--even at the next door, that very moment." terrified beyond necessity, he caught up his medicine chest, and, climbing out of the back window, fled to the woods. in the village, at home, he had courted a lovely young girl, with whom he had exchanged vows. she knew the talk that was going on respecting the young doctor, but she believed it not, or, believing, clung the firmer to her pledges. [illustration: flight of the doctor.] "after night fell i left the woods, and took to the highway. to go home i was afraid. o, had i but braved the doctors, and defied the lawyers, all would have been well," he told me afterwards. "but i had received such ill treatment, been scandalized so severely, that i was cowed to the earth. i knew not if my life, my angie, had also turned against me, when the news was spread that i had tacitly admitted my crime by fleeing. "i went to w., hundreds of miles away. i took a new name, and put out my shingle. i was at once patronized, and soon extensively; but i was morose and unhappy. i was offered a home and a wife. i had as good as a wife away in my far-off home; i was bound to her, and i _loved_ her as i _hated my own soul_! i dared not write to her, nor go to her. 'o, my god, what shall i do?' i cried, in my misery. he did not hear me, and i came to believe that _he was not_! "thus a whole year wore away, and i had not heard from home. finally, i determined to make an attempt to see my angie. i had, after going to w., allowed my heavy beard to go uncropped, which i had never done at home. i wore no clothes that i brought away with me from home. i purchased a few knickknacks, put on a slouched hat, and appeared in my native village as a peddler. unless my voice betrayed me, i had no fears of detection. to prevent this mishap i kept a silver coin in my mouth when talking. "i had called at several houses, but could learn nothing of my betrothed, without fear of exciting suspicion by too close inquiries. i therefore, unable longer to stand the suspense, entered her father's house. she and her mother only were at home. i could scarcely suppress my feelings as i beheld her, the idol of my heart. when i spoke, she started to her feet, and with staring countenance gazed fixedly upon me. then she fell back into her chair. [illustration: flight of the lovers.] [illustration: the lover as a peddler.] "my god, she did not know me. "the mother noticed how pale the girl looked, and proposed to get her a drink of water from the porch. "'no, no, i am not faint.' "'yes, yes,' i articulated, with the coin in my mouth; 'get her some water.' "away went the old lady, and, dropping my basket and spitting out the coin, i cried, 'angie, angie, bless you, my darling,' and fell kneeling at her feet. "'o, charley, it is you,--the lord be praised!--come at last.' "i sprang to my feet. there was time to say no more. the mother returned and looked wistfully about. "'i thought i heard some one saying, "charley, charley,"' she said, presenting the water to angie, who was now flushed and excited. i was searching for my coin. "'o, the water is warm. mother, dear, do go to the well in the yard, and get some fresh; and look to see if there is anybody outside calling.' and away went the old lady. "'now, charley, what brought you back? and why did you stay? and--' "'wait, wait. number nine boots brought me. i've come for you, angie.' "'you will be arrested if you are seen here, i am afraid,' she said. "'then meet me to-night at ---- crossing, and fly with me.' "i then told her how i had lived, how i had suffered, and how much i loved her; and she consented to marry me, and secretly go away with me. but the difficulty now lay in getting a lawful man to marry us. the license could be bought; i was certain of that. so i went away and obtained it. i next hired a horse and carriage, and paid for it in advance, to go twelve miles. "'aren't you charley ----?' asked the stable man, eying me sharply, as i was about to drive away to get angie, that night. "'take this,'--and i gave him a gold piece,--'and ask no questions, nor answer any, till you see your horse and carriage safely back,' was my reply. "as we drove out of the village, i heard wagon wheels far behind us. reaching the woods, i drove into a wood road, and the 'hounds of the ---- doctors' rode fiercely past. angie trembled for my safety. i reached a cross road. the moon shone quite brightly, and, jumping from the buggy, i soon found, by the fresh track, which road they had taken. i took a different. so i reached a train that night, and rode till morning; arrived at w. the next, and was married." it was at w. that i found him first. he was smart. he had a good memory. he was a handsome man, full six feet in his stockings. in all, his address was not excelled by any physician with whom i have ever met. he is now an excellent physician and surgeon, in a large city, in good practice. when he returned on a visit to his native village, as he did last year, the affair had blown over; for after a man is honored abroad, he may become so at home,--seldom before. i wish him happiness and prosperity. "there is no greater rogue than he who marries only for money; no greater fool than he who marries only for love. i could marry any lady i like, if i would only take the trouble," dr. macilvain heard an old fellow say. of course, nobody but a conceited old bachelor would have said that, who needs a woman to just take some of the self-conceit out of him. english doctors as beaus. some of the old english doctors were gay fellows amongst the ladies, according to the best authorities. nevertheless, few men have arrived at eminence in the medical profession who were known to be afflicted with an overplus of romantic or sentimental qualities in their composition. it may be interesting, particularly to ladies, to know that the majority of those physicians who have arrived at the dignity of knighthood owe their elevation rather to the smiles of love than the rewards of professional efforts. "considering the opportunities that medical men have for pressing a suit in love, and the many temptations to gentle emotion that they experience in the aspect of female suffering, and the confiding gratitude of their fair patients, it is to be wondered at that only one medical duke is to be found in the annals of the peerage." but the physician usually has quite sufficient self-control and honor about him, not only to keep his own tender sensibilities in subjection, but often to check those of his grateful and emotional female patient. thackeray has said that "girls of rank make love in the nursery, and practise the arts of coquetry upon the page boy who brings up the coals and kindlings." in this connection mr. jeaffreson, whose narratives have the virtue of being true as well as interesting, says, "i could point to a fair matron who now enjoys rank and wealth among the highest, who not only aimed tender glances, and sighed amorously upon a young, waxen-faced, blue-eyed apothecary, but even went so far as to write him a letter proposing an elopement, and other merry arrangements, in which a 'carriage and four,' to speed them over the country, bore a conspicuous part." the "silly maiden" had, like dinah, a "fortune in silver and gold," of about two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, and her tall, blue-eyed adonis, to whom she made this _almost_ resistless proposal, was twice her age. but he was a gentleman of honor, and, being in the confidence of the family, he generously, without divulging the mad proposition of the fair young lady, induced the father to take her to the continent, for a twelvemonth's change of air and scenery. "what a cold-blooded wretch!" will some fair reader exclaim. "what a fool he was, to be sure!" says the bachelor fortune-seeker. well, she didn't die for her first unrequited love, but married a "very great man," and became the mother of several children. and this is the way the fair heroine of this little story avenged herself upon this "joseph amongst doctors." very recently she manifested her good will to the man who had offered her what is generally regarded as the greatest insult a woman can experience, by procuring a commission in the army for his eldest son. it is interesting to note the various qualities which have attracted the attention, or love, of different sons of Æsculapius to female beauties. sometimes it has been her hair, the "pride of a woman," that was the point of attraction, as it was with dr. mead, "whose highest delight was to comb the luxuriant tresses of the lady on whom he lavished his affections;" or the "eyes of heavenly blue," like the lady love's of dr. elliot, senior; or the tiny footprint in the sand, like that which first attracted dr. robert ames to the woman of his choice. what the point of attraction was in the man is not easily ascertained. a gay and dangerous beau among the "high ladies" was dr. hugh smithson, the father of james smithson (his illegitimate son), the founder of the "smithsonian institution" at washington. sir hugh's forte lay in his remarkably handsome person, said to be only second to sir astley cooper in beauty of form and features. however, he had the address which secured to him one of the handsomest and proudest heiresses of england, and this is how he accomplished it. he was but the grandson of a yorkshire baronet, "with no prospects," and was apprenticed to an apothecary, and for a long time paid court to mortar and pestle at hutton garden. the story runs, that the handsome doctor had been mittened by a "belle of private rank and modest wealth," and that the only child and heiress of seymour, duke of somerset, and an acquaintance of sir hugh's, heard of his rejection, when she publicly observed that "the beauty who had disdained such a man was guilty of a folly that no other woman in england would have been." sir hugh would have been unwise not to have taken this broad hint, and he did what none of the heiress's suitors, even of high rank, had yet aspired to,--proposed, and was accepted. sixteen years later he was created duke of northumberland, and could well afford to laugh in his sleeve at the proposition that "his coronet should be surrounded with _senna_ leaves, instead of strawberry," since he had reached a rank that no other m. d. had previously done, and possessed the "_loveliest woman in england_," and a great fortune, to boot. lord glenbervie, who from the druggist's counter reached the peerage, was taunted by sheridan with his plebeian origin, from which a patrician wife had redeemed him, in the following amusing verse:-- "glenbervie, glenbervie! what's good for the scurvy? but why is the doctor forgot? in his arms he should quarter a pestle and mortar, for his crest an immense gallipot." sir john elliot was another handsome doctor of that period, who, notwithstanding his being disliked by king george, could, with small effort and large impudence, "capture the hearts of half the prettiest women amongst the king's subjects, and then shrug his shoulders with chagrin at his success." "one lady, the daughter of a nobleman, ignorant that he was otherwise occupied, made him an offer, and on learning, to her surprise and mortification, that he was already married, vowed she would not rest till she had assassinated his wife." dr. arbuthnot, whose courtly address, sparkling wit, ready flow of language, innate cordiality, and polished manners made him a great favorite about london, was one of the finest looking gentlemen of his time. the doctor was contemporary with dean swift, with whom he used to enjoy flirtations with the queen's maids of honor about st. james. "arm in arm with the dean, he used to peer about st. james, jesting, laughing, causing matronly dowagers to smile at 'that dear mr. dean,' and young girls, out for their first season at court, green and unsophisticated, to blush with annoyance at his coarse, shameless badinage,--bowing to this great man, from whom he hoped for countenance; staring insolently at that one, from whom he expected nothing; quoting martial to the prelate, who could not understand latin; whispering french to a youthful diplomatist, who knew no tongue but english; and continually angling for the bishopric, which he never got." from flattering court beauties, arbuthnot became flatterer to the gouty, hypochondriacal old queen. but wine and women made sad havoc with poor arbuthnot, who died in very straitened circumstances. dr. mead, before mentioned, was twice married. he was fifty-one years old when married the second time, to a baronet's daughter. fortunate beyond fortunate men, he had the great _mis_-fortune of outliving his usefulness. his sight failed, and his powers underwent that gradual decay which is the saddest of all possible conclusions to a vigorous and dignified existence. even his valets domineered over him. long before this his second childhood, he excited the ridicule of the town by his vanity and absurd pretensions as a "lady-killer." "the extravagances of his amorous senility were not only whispered about, but some contemptible fellow seized upon the unpleasant rumors, and published them in a scandalous novelette, wherein the doctor was represented as a 'cornuter of seventy-five,' when, to please the damsel who 'warmed his aged heart,'--she was a blacksmith's daughter,--the doctor, long past threescore and ten, went to paris, and learned to dance." [illustration: an aged pupil.] dr. richard mead died aged eighty-one. the sale of his library, pictures, and statues brought the heirs eighty thousand dollars. his other effects amounted to one hundred and seventy-five thousand dollars. another dr. mead, uncle to the above, lived to the age of one hundred and forty-nine years. both of these physicians were remarkable for their kindness and liberality. the latter left five pounds a year to the poor, to continue forever. beauty not potent with ladies. a handsome person is not alone requisite to win the affections of a sensible lady. radcliffe, who was as great a humbug in affairs matrimonial as in all other matters, was represented as being "handsome and imposing in person;" but his overbearing manner, and his coarse flings at the softer sex, made him anything but a favorite with the ladies. while he professed to be a misogynist, he made several unsuccessful attempts, particularly late in life, to commit himself to matrimony. a lady, with "a singing noise in her head," asked what she should do for it. "curl your hair at night with a ballad," was the coarse reply. once, when sitting over a bottle of wine at a public house, queen anne sent her servant for dr. radcliffe to hasten to her royal highness, who was taken suddenly ill with what was vulgarly called "the blue devils," to which gormandizers are subject, but more properly termed indigestion. "when the wine is in, the wits are out," was readily demonstrated in this case; for, on a second messenger arriving from the queen for her physician to make all haste, radcliffe banged his fist down on the board, at which other physicians also sat, and exclaimed,-- "go tell her royal highness that she has nothing but the vapors." when, on the following morning, the process being reversed,--the "wine was out, and wits were in"--the doctor presented himself, with pomp and a show of dignity, at st. james', judge of his mortification, when the chamberlain stopped him in the anteroom, and informed him that he was already succeeded by dr. gibbons. the queen never forgave him for saying she had the "vapors." radcliffe never forgave dr. gibbons for superseding him. "nurse gibbons," he would bitterly exclaim, "is only fit to look after nervous women, who only fancy sickness." when the doctor was forty-three years of age, he made love to a lady of half his years, and followed with an offer of marriage, which was accepted. as the fact became public, the doctor was warmly congratulated upon his good fortune, for the lady was not only young, but was a beauty, and an heiress to seventy-five thousand dollars. the wedding day was set, which was to crown radcliffe's happiness, when a little drawback arose, which was not previously mentioned in the bills. the peculiar condition of the beauty's health rendered it expedient that, instead of the doctor, she should marry her father's book-keeper. the doctor's acetous temper towards the fair sex was not lessened by this mishap, nor were the ladies backward in giving him an occasional reminder of the fact. nevertheless, unlike the burnt child, that avoided the fire, radcliffe, sixteen years afterwards, made a second conspicuous throw of the dice. he was then about sixty. he came out with a new and elegant equipage, employed the most fashionable tailors, hatters, and wig-makers, "who arrayed him in the newest modes of foppery, which threw all london into fits of laughter, while he paid his addresses, with the greatest possible publicity, to a lady who possessed every requisite charm,--youth, beauty, and wealth,--except a tenderness for her aged suitor. "behold, love has taken the place of avarice [the affair was thus aired in a public print]; "or, rather, is become avarice of another kind, which still urges him to pursue what he does not want. but behold the metamorphosis! the anxious, mean cares of a usurer are turned into the languishments and complaints of a lover. 'behold,' says the aged Æsculapian, 'i submit; i own, great love, thy empire. pity, hebe, the fop you have made. what have i to do with gilding but on pills? yet, o fate, for thee i sit amidst a crowd of painted deities on my chariot, buttoned in gold, clasped in gold, without having any value for that beloved metal, but as it adorns the hat, person, and laces of the dying lover. i ask not to live, o hebe! give me gentle death. euthanasia, euthanasia! that is all i implore.' "o wealth, how impotent art thou, and how little dost thou supply us with real happiness, when the usurer himself cannot forget thee for the love of what is foreign to his felicity, as thou art!" although radcliffe denied his own sisters during his life, "lest they should show their affection for him by dipping their hands in his pockets," some stories of his benevolence are told, one of which is, that finding one dr. james drake, when "each had done the utmost to injure the other," broken down and in distressed circumstances, he sent by a lady fifty guineas to his unfortunate enemy, saying,-- "let him by no means learn who sent it. he is a gentleman who has often done his best to hurt me, and would by no means accept a benefit from one whom he had striven to make an enemy." a stable-boy, poet, and doctor. poor george crabbe, the poet-doctor-apothecary, had a very hard time in this cold, unappreciative world, until love smiled upon his unhappy lot. he was born in the old sea-side town of aldoborough, where his father was salt inspector,--not an over-lucrative office in those days. george was the eldest of a numerous family. from the common school he went to apprenticeship with a rough old country doctor, who lodged him with the stable-boy. from this indignity he was, however, soon released, and went to live with a kind gentleman, a surgeon of woodbridge. here he began to write poetry. here, also, he became acquainted with a young surgeon, named leavett, who introduced crabbe to a lovely young lady, with whom he fell desperately in love. this inestimable young lady resided at parham lodge with her uncle, john tovell, yeoman, and her name was sarah elmy. mr. tovell possessed an estate worth four thousand dollars per annum, and, without assuming any "airs," was a first-class "yeoman" of that period--"one that already began to be styled, by courtesy, an esquire." "on crabbe's first introduction to parham lodge, he was received with cordiality; but when it became known that he had fallen in love with the squire's niece, it was only natural that his presumption should at first meet with the disapproval of mrs. tovell and the squire." [illustration: birthplace of george crabbe.] after closing his term of apprenticeship with dr. page, young crabbe returned to his native village, where he furnished a little shop with "a pound's worth of drugs," and an array of empty bottles, and set himself up as an apothecary. his few patients were only amongst the poorer class of the town. although he had plighted troth with the lovely sarah at parham lodge, with starvation staring him in the face at aldoborough, and the opposition of the lady's family at the lodge, there was little prospect of bettering his condition in life. the temporary military appointments which he received brought him no nearer his desired object. the lady remained true to her vows; and long after his friend leavett had quitted the shores of time, and his new and true friend burke had extended to the promising author his patronage, she received the reward for her faithful waiting. the union of crabbe with miss elmy conferred eventually upon the poet, doctor, and apothecary, the possession of the estate of "yeoman" tovell--parham lodge. a maiden sister of the squire's, dying, left him a considerable sum of money. the loving, waiting sarah proved a faithful, though some might say a somewhat domineering, wife, as the following quotation intimates:-- "i can screw crabbe up or down, just like an old fiddle," this amiable woman was wont to say; and throughout her life she amply demonstrated the assertion. "but her last will and testament was a handsome apology for all her past little tiffs." the right man. a curious story is told, and vouched for, respecting the manner in which dr. and rev. thomas dawson obtained a rich and pious wife. this gentleman combined the two professions of preacher and doctor. if, during divine services, he was called upon to prescribe for an invalid, he wound up his sermon, requested his audience to pray for the sick, and repaired forthwith to administer to the body. i presume the congregation to whom the reasonable request was made did not take it in the same light as did an "m. d." of whom we heard, who made a point to be called out of church every sabbath. once the minister, who had a bit of humor in his manner, stopped on a certain occasion in his "thirdly," and said, "dr. b. is wanted to attend upon mr. ----, and may the lord have mercy upon him." the doctor was so enraged at this "insinuation" that he called upon the parson, and demanded an "apology to the congregation, before whom he felt he had been grossly slandered." the parson agreed to this proposal, and in the afternoon he arose and said,-- "as dr. b. feels aggrieved at my remark of this morning, and demands an apology, i hereby offer the same; and as that was the first case, i trust it may be the last in which i am ever called upon in his behalf to supplicate divine intervention." but to return to dr. dawson. amongst his patients was a miss mary corbett, said to be one of the wealthiest and most pious of his flock, whom, on his calling upon her one day, he found bending in reverence over the bible. the doctor approached, and as she raised her eyes to his she held her finger upon the passage which occupied her immediate attention. the doctor bent down and read the words at which her finger pointed--"thou art the man." the doctor was not slow to take the hint. thus he obtained a pious wife, she a devout husband.--_see "book about doctors."_ a great deal has been reported respecting the "off-hand" manner in which abernethy "popped the question" to miss anne threlfall. the fact of the case is given by dr. macilwain. the lady was visiting at a place where the doctor was attending a patient--of all places the best to learn the true merits of a lady. he was at once interested in her, and ere long there seemed a tacit understanding between them. "the doctor was shy and sensitive; which was the real rubicon he felt a difficulty in passing; and this was the method he adopted: he wrote her a brief note, pleading professional occupation, etc., and requesting the lady to take a fortnight in which to consider her reply." from these facts a great falsehood has oft been repeated how he "couldn't afford time to make love," etc., and that she must decide to marry him in a week, or not at all. he was married to her january , , and attended lectures the same day. [illustration: "popping the question."] "many years after, i met him coming out of the hospital, and said,-- "'you are looking very gay to-day, sir.' "'yes,' he replied, looking at his white vest and smart attire, 'one of the girls was married this morning.' "'indeed, sir? you should have given yourself a holiday on such an occasion, and not come down to lecture.' "'nay,' he replied, 'egad, i came down to lecture the same day i was married myself.'"--_memoirs of abernethy._ [illustration] xviii. mind and matter. "the evidence of sense is the first and highest kind of evidence of which human nature is capable."--wilkins. "they choose darkness rather than light because their deeds are evil."--scripture. in which animal magnetism, mesmerism, and clairvoyance are explained.--"the ignorant monopoly."--yet room for discoveries.--a "gassy" subject.--drs. chapin and beecher.--he "can't see it."--the royal touch.--gassner.--"the devil knows latin."--royalty in the shade.--the irish prophet; he visits london.--a comical crowd.--mesmerism.--a funny bed-fellow.--clairvoyance.--the gates of moscow.--the doctor of antwerp.--the old lady in the poke-bonnet.--visit to a clairvoyant.--"foretelling" the past.--the old woman of the penobscot mountains.--a secret kept.--cui bono?--visits to seventeen clairvoyants.--a bon-ton clairvoyant.--a bouncer.--ridiculosity. mind and matter! what is the connection? why does one's yawning set a whole room full to yawning? what is the unseen power, appropriated mostly by the ignorant, which at times controls another weaker mind, or, for the time being, controls disease? the majority of medical men "get around" this question by denying the whole proposition. but that does not satisfy the jury--the people. the great community know that there is some unseen power, which is partially developed in certain persons, which has great controlling influence over certain other persons; hence over their diseases, especially mental or nervous diseases. i hope to be able to explain something of this "phenomenon." those who practise it know nothing of its _modus operandi_, any more than the bird that sings on yonder willow knows of the science of music. to the common suggestion, "it's spirits," i say, no, _no_! if it were "spirits," why does the spirit always seek a _low organization_ through which to manifest itself? there are few exceptions to this rule. it is unnatural, inconsistent with the divine attributes for the supernatural to mingle with the natural. the circulation of the blood was once attributed to the action of the sun--hence a man fell asleep at sunset--and to supernatural causes. science has done away with these absurd notions. "it is a manifestation of divine power," say others. well, for that matter, everything is; but _directly_ it is not, for what answers the "spirit" suggestion answers this one also. divine power cannot be limited. for want of a better name, let us call this power "animal magnetism." the man who controls the mind of another, or another's disease, through his mind, must possess the following requisites: first, health; second, will; third, faith that he can control the subject. no _reasoning_ is necessary. the less causality he possesses, the better. the less reasoning faculties, the better he can perform. why? animal magnetism is an animal power--not a spiritual. all the animal qualities--organs--are located in the back and lower part of the brain. they act independent of reason. passions have no reason. the affections have no reason. anger and hate have none. the force, driving power of man is centred back of the ears. the cerebellum, or lower brain, acts independent of reason. birds, and most of the animals, possess all the qualities that the cerebellum of man contains. the upper brain--the cerebrum--is the instrument of our thoughts--our reason. in sleep, it is still; its action is suspended. hence there is no reason in our dreams. the motive power is in the lower brain; hence somnambulism. if there is anything of a "trance" nature, it means shutting off the action of the cerebrum, and concentring the power in the cerebellum. some persons have but little upper brain. if they have the other requisites, they may become good clairvoyants, or magnetizers, according to the manner in which they exercise the animal power. i have yet to find a professional clairvoyant with large or active reasoning (intellectual) qualities. yet room for more discoveries. the _living_ blood has not yet been analyzed. it contains a vitalizing element which chemistry has not yet been adequate to detect. there is yet as much to be discovered in the science of life as has already been revealed to man. it will yet be found out. how is the power, or force, conveyed from the operator to the person operated upon? through what medium does it act? let us begin with the brain. let us take a ball of cotton for our illustration. we draw out a piece from it, and spin it out to our fancy. it is a thread, but _cotton_ still, twisted to a fine string. the brain is located at the top of man. by means of fine threads, called nerves, the brain is distributed over the entire body, so completely that you cannot stick a pin in the flesh without touching a nerve, wounding the brain. suspend the entire action of the brain, as by ether, chloroform, or nitrous oxygen gas, and sticking the pin is not felt. partially suspend the action, as by a small quantity of the nitrous oxygen gas, and the force of the brain (or active force) is centred upon the lower brain, and the man under its influence acts out his animal nature in spite of reason. a man, i hold, who magnetizes or mesmerizes another, uses only the force of the lower brain. like begets like. he cannot affect a person of large intellectual organs; only one with the animal organs active. you cannot _see_ the gas, yet it affects the person. you cannot see the subtile power conveyed from one man to a weaker. he conveys it by touch--nerve to nerve. i believe science will yet discover just what this subtile agent is--both in the blood and nerves; for it is in both, or why does the suspension of it in one destroy the other? destroy the nerve, and the corresponding blood-vessel is inactive. destroy the blood-vessel, and the corresponding nerve suffers. it is the power that the mother exercises to hush her sobbing babe to slumber. as the child gathers strength of mind, she loses that control. a person may be used as a mesmeric subject until he becomes a mere idiotic machine. educate a clairvoyant doctor, and what becomes of his clairvoyant power? it is lost with the increase of intellectual power. now, is this a "divine" quality, that only ignorance can make use of? is it really "hidden from the wise and prudent, and given to babes?" all sciences were practised by the uneducated first, before being reduced to a _science_. i think this will be yet reduced to a useful science. as it now stands, it is useless. if it is a spirit power, the spirits are mighty silent as to the fact. we come into this world by natural causes. we live, grow, exist, and we die by natural causes. we brought no knowledge with us; we carry none out. all the qualities yet developed in man are natural, and adapted to this life. millions upon millions have so lived and so died, and a spirit power in _this_ world is no nearer to being established than it was when adam was a little boy. all that heretofore has been attributed to spirit, or supernatural causes, has been proven to be but natural. i claim that magnetism and the undiscovered sciences are natural, and have no connection with the next world, to which we tend. the human eye, to some extent, is magnetic. a blind man cannot thrill an audience; hardly can an orator with glasses over his eyes. dr. chapin approaches the nearest to it. dr. beecher's great magnetic power is in his eyes, and is also let off at the ends of his fingers. but to _thoroughly_ magnetize a person, he must be _touched_. power of the human eye. a wild animal has only small reasoning organs. the influence of the human eye is potent over him. lichtenstein says, "the african hunters avail themselves of the circumstance that the lion does not attempt to spring upon his prey until he has measured the ground, and has reached the distance of ten or twelve paces, when he lies crouching on the ground, gathering himself up for the effort. the hunters," he says, "make it a rule never to fire on the lion until he lies down at this short distance, so that they can aim directly at his head with the most perfect certainty. if one meets a lion, his only safety is to stand still, though the animal crouches to make his spring; that spring will not be hazarded if the man remain motionless, and look him steadfastly in the eyes. the animal hesitates, rises, slowly retreats some steps, looks earnestly about him, lies down, again retreats, till, getting by degrees quite out of the magic circle of man's influence, he takes flight in the utmost haste." it is said of valentine greatrakes, the great magnetizer and forerunner of mesmer, that the glance of his eye had a marvellously fascinating influence upon people of a susceptible or nervous organization. all magnetizers, etc., who have tried their powers upon the writer, first bent a sharp, scrutinizing gaze upon the eye of their unruly subject. yet they have exercised no _reason_ in selecting the subject. [illustration: the lion magnetized.] i attended the exhibitions of professor cadwell, night after night, in boston. i went on the stage. i examined the subjects whom he controlled "like an old fiddle," and, physiognomically and phrenologically, not one of them was above mediocrity intellectually, and the most of them were far below. the best subjects had the least intellectuality. his control over them was astonishing. in some he could suspend the power of memory, others all the reasoning faculties. some he could control muscularly, some mentally. "this is a hot stove," he said, setting an empty chair before the row of men, boys, and girls sitting along the wall side of the stage. "_it is very hot_;" and they began drawing back--all but one. "don't you see the stove, and feel the awful heat, frank?" he asked of one hard subject. [illustration: a hard subject.] "i can feel the heat, but i can't see the stove in that chair," was his droll reply. the professor could make this gentleman forget his name, but could not make him believe that "a silk hat was a basin of water." the royal touch. the old ignorant kings and queens were said to remove the scrofula (king's evil) by the touch. gouty old queen anne was the last to exercise the royal prerogative to any extent. a scrofulous _development_ is the result of imperfect action, and obstruction of some one or more of the five excretory organs of the human system. these are the skin (or glands of the same), the lungs, the liver, the kidneys, and the colon. the most that the regular physician does in scrofula (or one who is not a specialist in this branch of physic) is to attend to the general health of the patient of a scrofulous diathesis, build up the strength, and endeavor to increase the vitality. this _in a measure_ tends to reduce the scrofulous development. now, will not a child sleeping continually with an aged person or invalid tend to reduce the vitality of the child? yes, it absorbs the disease of the one, while the vitality is thrown off for the benefit of the weaker person. here, you see, one person may partake of the vitality of another by touch. then may not the continued touch of a healthy person (king or subject) affect the health of a weaker, on the principle of increased vitality? but it really removes no cause, hence cannot take the place of an alterative, or anti-scrofulous medicine. the "crew of wretched souls" who waited the king's touch really believed that he "solicits heaven." hence the cure. the coin which he hung about the neck of these "strangely visited people, all swollen and ulcerous, pitiful to the eye," called their attention continually to "the healing benediction." pyrrhus, who was placed upon the throne by force of arms b. c. , was said to cure the "evil" by the "grace of god." valentine, who only held his throne--a. d. --by the help of theodosius, not by the "grace of god"--claimed to cure scrofula by the latter power, as did valentine ii., whose wicked temper ended his life in a "fit of passion." the subject of the following sketch claimed also divine power:-- herr gassner. "the devil understands latin." it seems from the following truthful account of herr gassner, a clergyman at elwangen, that the devil can understand latin, as well as "quote scripture." about the year this clergyman became so celebrated in curing diseases by animal magnetism, that the people came flocking from switzerland, the tyrol, and swabia, in great numbers, to be cured of all sorts of ailments, a thousand persons arriving at a time, who had to lodge in tents, as the town could not lodge them all. [illustration: gassner healing "by the grace of god."] his _modus operandi_ was as follows. dressed in a long scarlet cloak, a silken sash about his loins, a chain about his neck, and wearing, or holding in one hand, a crucifix, and touching with the other the diseased part, and in the latin tongue commanding the disease, or the evil spirit, whichever the case was termed, to depart, in the name of jesus christ, the patient was usually healed. dr. schlisel says, that gassner "spoke chiefly in latin, in his operations, and the devil is said to have understood him perfectly." the austrian government gave him its assistance. the excitement became great. elwangen was overcrowded by people, rich and poor. riches flowed into the coffers of its trades-people, though gassner took nothing directly for his cures. hundreds of patients arrived daily; the apothecary gained a great revenue from dispensing simples ordered by gassner, principally powder of _blessed thistle_, oils, and washes. the printers labored day and night at their presses in order to furnish sufficient pamphlets, prayers, pictures, etc., for the eager horde of admirers. the goldsmiths were crowded, also, to furnish all kinds of _agni dei_, crosses, charms, hearts, and rings. even the beggars had their harvest, as well as bakers, hotel-keepers, and the rest. during seven years he carried on his public cures. hundreds of physicians went to see him. mesmer, in answer to the inquiry of the elector of bavaria, declared his astonishing cures were produced merely by the exercise of magnetic spiritual excitement, of which he himself (claiming no god-like power) gave to the elector convincing proofs on the spot. on the contrary, gassner claimed that he could heal none unless they exercised faith. his surroundings, trappings, dress, crucifixes, appeals to jesus christ, and latin mummery, had the effect to impress the patient with faith in gassner's christ-like powers. "some," says dr. schlisel, "described him as a prophetic and holy man; others accused him of being a fantastic fellow, an impostor, and leagued with the devil. some accused him of dealing in the black art; others attributed his cures to the magnet, to electricity, to sympathy, to imagination; and some attributed the whole to the omnipotent power of the name of christ." having touched or rubbed the affected part of the patient, gassner, in a "loud, proud voice," commanded the disease to come forth, or to manifest itself. sometimes he had to repeat this command ten times. then, when the part was presented, he seized it with both hands; he inspired the patient to himself repel the disease, by saying, "depart from me, in the name of jesus christ." "he then gave the patient his blessing by spreading his cloak over the head, grasping his neck or head in both hands, repeating a silent, earnest prayer, making the sign of the cross, ordering some simple from the apothecary's, which he consecrates, compels the patient to wash his hands clean, when he is permitted to 'depart in peace.' "most diseases he cured instantly. some required months, and others he could not affect in the least." there is but one philosophical way to account for these cures. to say there is nothing in it, or, "it is all humbug," will not satisfy the people. to affirm it is the arts of the devil is merely nonsensical. it is _influence_. of what? of one powerful mind over another. and when gassner found a mind equally as powerful as his own, the disease refused to depart. there you have the whole of it, "in a nutshell,"--the exercising of one mind over another; and mind (not unusually) controls matter in the living body. for about seven years gassner was a public healer, and then he suddenly and forever disappeared. royalty in the shade. sir john fortesque, the learned legal writer of the time of edward iv., spoke of the gift of healing by touch as a "time immemorial privilege of the kings of england." he very seriously attributed the virtue to the unction imparted to the hands in the coronation. elizabeth was not superior to this superstition, and she frequently appeared before the people in the character of a miraculous healer. there was formerly a regular office in the english book of common prayer for the performance of this ceremony. the curious reader is referred to macbeth, scene iii. of act iv. for further particulars. with the rise of valentine greatrakes, the "royal prerogative" received a staggering blow. the marvellous cures of this man, living in ireland, reached england, and the king invited him to come to london; and along his journey, whither he was preceded by the returning messenger, we are told that the magistrates of the towns and cities waited upon valentine, and begged him to remain and heal their sick. on his arrival, the king, "though not fully persuaded of his wonderful gift, recommended him to the care of his physician, and permitted him to practise his power as much as he pleased in london." greatrakes had no medical education, nor claimed aught beyond a gift of healing most diseases by "stroking the parts with his hand." he is described as being a man of "commanding address, frank and pleasing, having a brilliant eye, gallant bearing, fine figure, and a remarkably handsome face. with a hearty and musical voice, and a natural stock of high _animal_ spirits, he was the delight of all festive assemblies. yet he was a devout man." daily there assembled a great number of people, invalids from all parts of the kingdom, to be healed, and to see the wonderful miracles performed by a _man_! here congregated the dropsical, those afflicted by unsightly sores, tumors, and swellings, the lame, the halt, and the blind. "some he could not affect, but the most of them he cured." the only visible means he took was to stroke, or at times violently rub, the part affected. lord conway wrote in his praise, but added, "after all, i am far from thinking his cures miraculous. i believe it is by a _sanative virtue_ and a _natural efficiency_, which extend not to all diseases." the viscountess conway was afflicted by an inveterate headache, which he could not remove. this lady was a positive character. the failure was attributed to the _peculiar_ disease, when it should have been assigned to the peculiarity of the person. sir evremond, then at court, wrote a sarcastic novel on the subject of "the irish prophet." the royal society held a meeting on the subject, and, unable to refute the facts of his cures, accounted for them as being "produced by a sanative contagion in mr. greatrakes' body, which had an antipathy to some peculiar diseases, and not to others." they demanded (particularly dr. loyd, in a "severe pamphlet") how he cured, and why he cured some, and could not others. greatrakes replied that he was not able to tell. and "let them," he said, "tell me what substance that is which removes and goes out with such expedition, and it will be more easy to resolve their questions." to the scandalous reports respecting his operations upon female patients, without referring directly to such report, he says, attributing the diseases to evil spirits, "which kind of pains cannot endure my hand, nay, not with gloves, but fly immediately, though six or eight coats or cloaks be between the person and my hand, as at the lady ranelagh's," etc. the clergy had previously taken alarm, and cited valentine before the bishop's court to account for his proceedings, and when he took a scriptural view of his cures, he was forbidden to practise more; which was as preposterous as the decree of louis xiv., which commanded that no more miracles should be performed at the tomb of the abbé paris. neither the clergy nor the faculty could prevent him, and daily the crowd of representatives of heterogeneous diseases made pilgrimages to the squire of affam. the scene was said to be ludicrously painful. they came in crowds from everywhere; on foot and in carriages; the young and the aged; some hobbling upon crutches, others literally crawling along; the blind carrying the cripple upon his back, while the latter directed the way, and the deaf and dumb followed in their wake. [illustration: no lack of patients.] while the lord mayor and the chief justice, with great physicians, were among his vehement supporters of the sterner sex, the majority of his real admirers were the ladies. the lovely countess of devonshire entertained him in her palace, and other high ladies lionized him nightly in their parlors, where he "performed his pleasant operations, with wonderful results, on the prettiest and most hysterical ladies present." "but his triumph was of short duration. his professions were made the butts of ridicule, to which his presence of mind and volubility were unable to effectually respond. his tone of conversation was represented by his enemies as compounded of the blasphemy of the religious enthusiast and the obscene profligate. his boast that he never received a fee for remedial services was met by a square contradiction, and a statement that he received five hundred dollars at once." finally, the tide of opposition and slander became too strong for him, and he returned to his native land, and to oblivion. we are indebted to several authorities for the foregoing sketch of greatrakes, particularly chambers' miscellany, lord conway, e. rich, and jeaffreson. mesmerism. frederick anthony mesmer, to whose name the above _ism_ is affixed, was born in werseburg, in . he neither discovered, developed, nor understood anything of the art which has immortalized him. he was a designing, audacious man. if gassner, prince hohenloe, and greatrakes were falsely accused of dealing with the devil, mesmer was truly leagued with a father hell. father hell was professor of astronomy at vienna, where mesmer obtained a medical diploma, and where he was connected at first with maximilian hell in magnetic instruments. having a falling out with the latter, mesmer resorted to the arts of his great predecessor, greatrakes, but professed to cure, without the help of god or man, all curable diseases. he produced marvellous effects (but only temporary, however) in both vienna and paris, to which latter place he repaired to practise animal magnetism. among the little episodes relative to his treatment is one of madame campan, a lady of the royal household, author of "memoires de marie antoinette." the husband of this celebrated lady sent for dr. mesmer--for all paris was running mad after him--to cure him of lung fever. he came with great pomp, and having timed the pulse, and made certain inquiries respecting the case, he gravely informed the husband and wife that it was not in the way of magnetism, and the only mode of cure lay in the following: "you must lay by his side"--for he was confined to his bed--"one of three things, an old empty bottle, a black hen, or a young woman of brown complexion." [illustration: "a bottle, a hen, or a woman."] "'sir,' exclaimed the wife, 'let us try the empty bottle first.' "the bottle was tried, with what result is easily imagined. monsieur campan grew worse. improving the opportunity of the lady's absence, mesmer bled and blistered the patient, who recovered. "imagine the lady's astonishment when mesmer asked for and actually obtained a written certificate of cure by magnetism" (mesmerism). this is more easily believed when one learns that mesmer obtained his degree on an address, or thesis, relating to "planetary influence on the human body," and that afterwards, in answer to the inquiry by a learned paris physician, who asked him why he ordered his patients to bathe in the seine, instead of spring water, as the waters of the seine were always dirty, mesmer replied,-- "why, my dear doctor, the cause of the water which is exposed to the sun's rays being superior to all other water is, that it is magnetized by the sun. i myself magnetized the sun some twenty years ago." all that sort of fellows have ever a short course. mesmer reached his zenith in paris about the year , when, for one year's practice, he received the enormous sum of four hundred thousand francs. the government, at the instigation of count maurepas, had previously offered him an annuity of twenty thousand francs, with ten thousand francs additional, to support a college hospital, if he would remain and practise only in france. "one unpleasant condition was attached to this offer, which prevented its acceptance; viz., three nominees of the crown were to watch the proceedings." the government appointed a commission, consisting of dr. guillotin, and three other physicians, and five members of the academy,--franklin, bailly, borey, leroi, and lavoisier,--to examine the means employed by mesmer. the result of the investigation--the discovery of his battery, which he termed the _baquet_, around which his patients assembled, and his windy pretensions to the self-possession of some animal magnetism beyond even his disciples, bergasse and deslon--was unfavorable to the truth of animal magnetism and morality, and the enthusiasm in his favor rapidly subsided. mesmer soon found it convenient to repair to london. here he made no great impression; his day had gone by. he died in his native town, in all but penury and obscurity, in . clairvoyance now made its appearance, which was but a different phase of magnetism, and mesmerism was soon but indifferently practised in france. in england the faculty entirely ignored it. clairvoyance. what is it? the word is french, meaning, literally, clear-sightedness. it is a power attributed to certain persons, or claimed by certain persons, of seeing things not visible to the eye, or things at a distance. it is the action of mind over mind,--the seeing, mentally, of one mind through another. by personal experiment with clairvoyants, i am positively convinced that they follow the mind (thoughts) of the subject or patient. i have laid out my programme before visiting one, and the operator, whether pretending or not to a "trance" state, has followed that course to the end, but usually adding something which was conjectural. practice helps them very much. but the most of those persons, male and female, who proclaim themselves clairvoyants, are humbugs and impostors. let any clear-headed man, who has good intellectual qualities, go to a good clairvoyant, and try the above plan. think out just the places and persons you wish the clairvoyant (or spiritualist, if he or she choose to call themselves such) to bring up. stick firmly to your text, and the operator will follow it, if he or she is a clairvoyant. they can tell you nothing that you do not already know. if they go beyond that, it is guessed at. no person of large causality can be a clairvoyant. the moment they employ cause and effect, they are lost in doubt. how else can you account for nearly all the professional clairvoyants (and spiritualists) being persons of low intellectuality? of course they deny this; but a fact is a fact, and _it can't be rubbed out_! there is a magnetizing feature in clairvoyance. the operator can make some persons _think_ they see a thing, when it is an impossibility to see it. this influence is sometimes passed from one person to another imperceptibly. when the earthquake shook up the minds of the bostonians, in , there was one grand illustration of this fact. a gentleman standing in front of the old state house, on washington street, soon after the shock, asserted that the earthquake had started a stone in the front end of the sears building. "there! don't you see it?" he exclaimed to the people on the sidewalk, who are always ready to stop and look at any new or curious object, as he pointed towards an imaginary crack in the marble. "it is just above the corner of that window there"--pointing--"a crack in the stone a foot long." "o, yes, i see it," said one and another; and the gentleman moved on, leaving the gaping crowd to gaze after the imaginary rent in the wall. "where is it?" inquired a new comer. "right up there over the door," replied one. "no, over that third window," said another. some "saw it," and others didn't "see it," but all day long the tide of curious humans ebbed and flowed. at eight o'clock in the morning i took a look--not at the broken stone in the marble front, but at the magnetized crowd looking upon an imaginary break. people with large causality looked, exclaimed, "pooh!" and went on. the credulous stood gazing, and pointing out the rent to the "blind ones, who wouldn't see," hour after hour. at noon i again visited the scene. the crowd had shifted, but the same class, male and female, stood gazing at the "calico building," and the same sort of people "saw the crack over the window." [illustration: effects of an earthquake.] [illustration: a believer sees his grandmother.] at six p. m., i again visited the old state house, and at dusk still again, to behold the crowd straining to get a last look at the rent before darkness shut out the view. on the following day, the scene was repeated, with no mitigation. the fact of the papers denying that there was any rent went for nothing. the crowd came and went, from morning till evening. the gates of moscow. some readers may remember the story of the great wizard of the north, who performed such marvellous feats before the czar, receiving from his highness a splendid present in money, and finally wound up by announcing that he would leave the city of moscow on the following day, at twelve m., _by all the gates of the city at the same time_! the watchmen were doubled at all the gates, to whom a description of the man was sent, and a sharp lookout was commanded, when, lo! just at noon the wizard was seen leaving the city at each separate outlet at the same moment. of course he could not have left by but one gate, but which of the twelve no one could tell, for he was seen at all, or the watchmen were made to believe that they saw him, as he passed out. to this the watchmen of the several gates testified, and that he uncovered his head to them, as he went past. at which gate did he really make his exit? the beautiful gate spass voratu, or gate of the redeemer, has over the archway a picture of the saviour. all who pass out here are compelled to uncover. hence it is my belief, as he was seen uncovered, that this was the gate at which he really went out, and at all the rest the watchmen imagined they saw the wizard make his marvellous exit from moscow. the doctor of antwerp. townsend, on mesmerism, tells an instructing and amusing anecdote of a test, by a learned doctor of antwerp, upon a clairvoyant girl. the doctor was allowed, at a seance, to select his own test, when he said,-- "if the somnambulist"--that was what he termed her--"tells me what is in my pocket, i will believe." then to her he put the question,-- "what is in my pocket?" "a case of lancets," was the reply. "true," said the doctor, somewhat startled. "but the young lady may know that i am a medical man; hence her guess that i carry a case of instruments in my pocket. but if she will tell me the number of lancets in the case, i will believe." "ten," was the correct answer. still the doctor was sceptical, and said,-- "i cannot yet believe but if the form of the case is described i must yield to conviction." and the form of the case was given. "this certainly is very singular," said the doctor, "but still i cannot believe. now, if the young lady will give the color of the velvet lining of the case, i really _must_ believe." "the color is dark blue," was her prompt reply. "true, true!" said the puzzled doctor, and he went away, saying, "it is very curious, very, but still i cannot believe." now, if the doctor had not known that the case was in his pocket, or no one present had known beforehand, no clairvoyant could have described it. what does this prove? that her mind was led by his inquiry to his mind, thence to the article on his mind at the moment. "this is a book" i say. the fact of my saying it, or thinking it, leads my mind to the book. as a person may look towards an object, as out of the window towards a tree, and not see it till his mind is directed to it, so, on the other hand, he may have his mind (thoughts) directed to a thing that his eyes cannot see, and in a person whose superior brain is susceptible, it maybe reflected so vividly as to permit a description of the object. one may walk over a stream, upon stones, or ground, and not realize the fact till the mind is directed to it; and the thing may be reversed, and a susceptible person may be led to think that he or she is walking over or through water when none is present. the mind must be directed to an object in order to see it mentally. a gentleman recently told me that a "medium brought up his old grandmother." "how did she describe the old lady as appearing?" i asked. "in woollen dress and poke bonnet, with specs on, just as she used to appear when i was a boy, forty years ago." "i should have thought the fashions would have changed in the unseen world, even if the clothes had not worn out in forty years' service," i suggested. this slightly staggered him, but he replied, "perhaps fashions do not change in the spirit-world." "then ladies can never be happy there. besides, what a jolly, comical set they must be down there; the newer fashions appearing hourly in beautiful contrast with the ancient styles; especially the janty, little, precious morsels called hats of to-day, all covered with magnificent ribbons, and flowers, and laces, in contrast with the great ark-like, sombre poke bonnets of forty and a hundred years ago!" "sir," i said, when he did not reply to this last poser,--"sir, bring your stock of common sense to bear upon the matter, and see that the mind of the medium controlled yours, and led you to believe you saw, as the medium did, through your thoughts, your ancient grandmother; for how else would you imagine her, but as you remembered her, in woollen gown, poke bonnet, and spectacles." visits to a clairvoyant. twenty-five years ago, i visited madam young, in ellsworth, me. "you are going a journey," she soon said, after i was seated, and she had examined my "bumps" to learn that i was a rolling stone. "you are going south-west from here." "marvellous!" one might say, who had little reflective qualities of brain, for that was the very thing i was about to do. but from ellsworth, maine, which way else could one go, without going "south-west," unless he really went to the "jumping-off place, away down east?" again i visited her in charleston, s. c. "you are going a journey soon," she informed me. "which way?" i amusingly inquired. "towards the north," was the necessary reply. charleston is at the extremity of a neck of land. i was not expected to jump off into the bay, by going southward, and her answer was the only rational one. she would minutely describe any person, "good, bad, or indifferent," whom i would fix my mind upon. i was suffering at the time with bronchitis, which she correctly stated. she was the best clairvoyant i have ever tested. she died at hartford, in . the following item of the press does not refer to madam young:-- a clairvoyant doctor of hartford proclaims his superiority over other seers on the ground that he "foretells the past and present as well as the future." we should say he would probably "foretell" them much better. as the irishman said, one gets on better when one goes backward or stands still. i noticed his advertisement in a providence paper, recently, where "dr. ---- foretold the past, present, and future." a night in the penobscot mountains. at castine i heard of an old lady residing high up in the penobscot mountains, who could magnetize a sore or a painful limb at sight. such marvellous stories were told of her "charming," that i decided to go over the mountain and see her. she was not a "professional," however, and objected to being made too public. therefore i made an excuse for calling at the house "on my way afoot across the country," and was cordially received by the family, of whom there were four generations residing under one roof. the house was a story and half brown cottage, large on the ground, and surrounded by numerous out-houses and barns. the view from the western slope of the mountain where she lived was most magnificent. i reached the farm before sunset. here i lingered to overlook the beautiful penobscot as it flowed at my feet, and the far-off islands of the sea. here one could "gaze and never tire," out over the grand old forests, down to the sea-side, and upon countless little white specks, the whitened sails of the fishermen and coasting vessels, with an occasional ship or steamboat flitting up and down the noble penobscot river and bay. still above me the eagle built her nest in the rocking pines, on the mountain top, and still far below sung the nightingale and wheeled the hungry osprey in his belated piscatorial occupations. the sun sank behind the western hills, tinging the soft, fleecy clouds with its golden glory. slowly changing from purple and gold to faint yellow, to dark blue, the clouds gradually assumed the night hue, and sombre shadows crept adown the western mountains' sides, flinging their dark mantle over the waters, from shore to shore. the sturdy farmer has shouldered his scythe, and reluctantly he leaves the half-mown lot to seek his evening repast at the family table. then he discovers me, leaning over the gate-bar, rapt in dreamy forgetfulness, and with a hearty salutation extends to me the hospitality, so proverbially cordial, of the old new england farmer. he shows me his pigs in the pen, and his "stock" in the barn-yard, and reaching the house, he calls "mother," who, appearing in calico and homespun, though with a cheerful and smiling face, is introduced to me as his wife. "a stranger, belated, and i guess pretty tired-like, climbing up here; and i won't take no excuses from him; so he stays with us to-night." [illustration: the charmer divulges her secret.] i talk with the lady, i play with the babies, i even toy with towser and tabby, till tea is set. now i am introduced to the old lady. i thought i would get to it at last. she was seventy odd years of age, a deaf, but devout old lady, who was easily wheedled into divulging to me her secret of "charming." she told me she had the "rheumatiz," and by my tender sympathies and a roll of plaster for her lame back, i got into her own room before bed-time. o, but i came out soon after! she was very deaf. "you see," said she, "a woman can't learn it to another woman--only to a male. he must be a _good_ man." i nodded assent. "yes; well, you must have faith." again i nodded--she was very deaf. "you must touch the painful part and say--" here she bent down her lips to my ear and whispered something in seven words which she said i must never tell, and she compelled me to promise never to divulge the secret while i lived, under pain of god's great displeasure. perhaps i had better keep my promise, though the good old lady has long since "gone to her reward." cui bono? the question is repeated every time there is a great robbery or a murder committed,-- "why do not the clairvoyants tell who has committed this crime?" simply because those who consult them do not know. if a person knew where the stolen property was secreted, and he consulted a true clairvoyant, he or she _might_ describe the property and the place where it is secreted. not otherwise. the same with the murderer. therefore, of what good is it? in order to do justice to this subject, to present and explain it in all its various phases, we would require a volume, instead of the space allotted in this chapter. but whatever name one may apply to it,--animal magnetism, mesmerism, clairvoyance, spiritual or trance mediumship,--its success depends mostly upon the credulity of the person. during the five days preceding may , , a reporter of the boston post visited seventeen of these clairvoyants, mediums, etc., and some curious facts and startling contradictions were revealed therein. "putting it together," he says, "and carefully epitomizing the amount of fortune that we have in this way been able to purchase, we present our readers with the following balance sheet:" and this, he says, is from the "most experienced and trustworthy fortune-tellers in the good city of boston, where everything like _humbug_ is most scrupulously avoided. "four times we have been told that we were engaged in no business at all, and as many more that our affairs and prospects were never more flourishing. repeatedly we have been told that we should speedily change our business and abode. on the other hand, we were destined to be a fixture in boston, and were so well satisfied with our present calling that we should never change. we are not married, but a great many pretty maidens stood ready to help us out of that difficulty." again, "we were married, and the father of several roguish boys and bright-eyed girls. thus far in life we had enjoyed good health, were free from all infirmities, and stood a good chance to reach fourscore and ten." "in less than twenty-four hours this sweet hope was buried, and we were advised that death would overtake us suddenly and soon." there are various grades of clairvoyants, as of everything else. here is one class. "after ascending a rickety, dirty, greasy stairway, you find the madam quartered in a small, square bedroom, poorly and miserably furnished. the room is dirty, dark, and dingy. portions of the walls are covered with a cheap and quaint paper, patched, here and there, with some of another figure and quality. pictures of a cheap class are hanging on two sides of the room,--of columbus, webster, and three or four love and courtship scenes in france and germany. the furniture consists of a cheap bed, a dilapidated parlor cooking-stove, a small pine table, three common chairs, and a rocking-chair, cane-bottomed, a big box, covered with a remnant of the national flag, and a few cheap mantel ornaments. "the madam is a woman under thirty, very stoutly built, weighs one hundred and sixty pounds, has quite fair complexion, with pretty blue eyes, light hair, and withal not bad-looking. she was attired in a loose and rather soiled calico dress, wore no ornaments, and looked rather uninviting." a bon ton clairvoyant. the writer visited a special seance at one of the most aristocratic and _recherché_ abodes of the marvellous in this city, not long since. i was ushered into the brilliantly lighted hall by a janty-looking little biddy in white and embroidered apron. that was all i saw of her, as she disappeared and was substituted by the lady of the house, the medium. she was a pretty, pleasant little lady, with brilliant, dancing, light eyes, hair golden brown, and was dressed in a black silk dress, with blue overskirt, a rich lace collar, and flowing sleeves of the same material. depositing hat, coat, and cane on the hall rack, i was introduced to the assembled guests in the great parlors. these rooms were united by a wide, open archway, were high, and brilliantly lighted by rich chandeliers in each room. an elegant piano occupied the west side of the front parlor, upon which was a pile of the latest music. the furniture was of black walnut, and richly upholstered in green and gold rep. the mantel was adorned with vases of porcelain, images of marble and terra-cotta, and little knickknacks of foreign production. the walls were hung with a few of prang's chromos, oil paintings, and two "spirit" photographs. the most beautiful, as well as the most remarkable, feature of the rooms was the magnificent bouquets of native hot-house flowers, which covered the two marble-topped centre-tables and sideboard. these were presents to the spirits! they did not take them away; the only one i saw removed was knocked over by a careless elbow. i regret to add, that there was no "manifestation," nor anything revealed, worth recording. a bouncer. a scene that occurred at another place where i previously visited may be considered worthy of notice. i clambered two flights of stairs, and found myself face to face with a very large woman, answering to the alias of madam ----. she was very fleshy, weighing probably two hundred and thirty-five pounds avoirdupois. her face was pleasant, and conversation easy. i handing over the required "picture paper," she tumbled into a great easy-chair, and, without any pretence to a trance, began,-- [illustration: "i perceive you are in love."] "i perceive that you are in love." this was startling news to a bachelor. "there are two pretty females, one dark-complexioned, the other light." (this is the usual "dodge," for, if there is a woman in the question, one of the two is bound to answer this general description.) "which shall we follow?" she very teasingly inquired. "either that comes handiest," was my indifferent reply. "well, the dark one, then. she is tall, fair, and is looking anxiously for you to propose. do you know a lady of this description whom you like?" i regretted that i did not. my "notion" ran to small ladies, of the opposite complexion. "well," she said, not the least flurried, "here is one of that kind." i instantly placed my mind on one of this class,--my sister,--and she ran on. "she is soon to meet you. she is very rich." (nellie will be glad to learn this.) "and i perceive a short-like man looking after her fortune. but have no concern; she loves you fondly, and you will marry her very soon. you are going a voyage, or across some water." (how far can one travel, in this country, without crossing water?) "you will meet an enemy, who will try to injure you in business." "what business?" i inquired. "you are a--yes--mechanic, though your hand is soft. i reckon you've been sick. yes--machinist; make coffee-mills. yes" (looking sharply into my face). (i was _leading her_!) "corn poppers are in your line." (i nodded, and smiled, for how could i refrain from smiling?) "you trade in tin and earthen ware--chamber ware--spoons--and old boots." (true.) "you own a splendid house in the city--a large block"-(head). "where was i born? can you see?" "yes; you were reared in the country; where there were deep, dark woods--all woods; in a log house, with thatched roof, and clay and stick chimney. a pig--am i right?--yes, a pig and a dog are kept in the same house. the windows are wooden, and--" "where was it?" i suggested. "i should say in ireland," she replied. "enough, i believe. now about the other lady," i said. "the dark one? yes. she loves you, but is poor. since you are rich, and a--" here i tried to impress her that i was married. "you are married, but your wife will not survive you. no, she will soon go to heaven, and you will marry the dark-complexioned lady." "good," i exclaimed. "yes; and will have five boys and three girls." "who?" "why, the lady, of course." "o!" "yes, and they will be happy and healthy." here she informed me i had got my money's worth. i think i had. [illustration] xix. eccentricities. "they'll not show their teeth in way of smile, though nestor swear the jest be laughable." "democritus, dear droll, revisit earth, and with our follies glut thy heightened mirth."--prior. a one-eyed doctor and his horse.--a new edible.--"have them boiled."--"beauty and the beast."--a lovely stampede.--an eccentric philadelphian.--the poodles, drs. hunter and scipio.--silent eloquence.--consistent to the end.--when doctors disagree.--four blind men.--diet and sleep.--saxe and sancho panza.--mother goose as a doctor's book.--the tables turned on the doctors. we love to see an eccentric individual--something out of the common routine of every-day, humdrum life. but what is often taken for an eccentricity is sometimes put on for an advertisement. nearly all great men have their oddities or peculiarities. i might give many little interesting sketches of some physicians' oddities right among us, but for too great personality. i may, however, work in a few. the eccentricities of some doctors lie in their dress. of this, i shall speak under the head of "dress and address." others lie in personal acts, in their walk, manners, and conversation. i know of one physician who delights in the worst looking old horse he can obtain. the doctor himself has but one eye. his old donkey-like beast corresponded. report said that he cut out the left eye of the horse to gain that desired end, which, however, is discredited. the beast was also lame, which defect the doctor would never admit. "what _you_ ignorantly term 'limping' is only an expression of good breeding--which i cannot attach to all whom i meet on the road. it's bowing,--merely bowing. you never see him do it unless somebody is in sight. gid-dap!" and so delivering himself, the old doctor would drive on, chuckling softly to himself. when his old horse died, he was presented with a fine young beast, which he declined to accept, but scoured the country till he found a high-boned, rib-bared, foundered, and half-blind old roadster. a new dish. dr. james wood was an oddity. he was a bachelor, between thirty and forty, large and attractive. he was remarkably neat in dress and person, but delighted in "an old rip of a horse." once he was on a tour through new brunswick, and, in company with a friend, drove up to a tavern at evening, and called for the landlord. "he ain't t' home, but i'm the horse-slayer," replied a voice, followed by the person of a tall, lean yankee, who issued from the smoke of the bar-room, and approached our friends, still sitting in the open buggy. "here, put up my horse; take good care of him, and feed him well." "hoss?" said the impudent fellow. "o, yes, i see him now; he's inside that ere frame, i s'pose. climb down, gentlemen, and go inter the house. landlord and the santipede (xantippe?) has gone to st. johns; but i guess dolly in the kitchin, and me in the bar-room, can eat and drink yer, though you're two putty big fellows, well's myself." so saying, the gentlemen having alighted, he drove the animal to the stable. [illustration: a "horse-slayer" indulging his opinion.] at supper, the doctor and his friend and two ladies were the only guests. just what part the "horse-slayer" had had in its preparation was not obvious, since he had, after caring for the horse, only sat with a pipe in his mouth and his heels elevated on the bar-room stove, or following to the sitting-room, and continually plied the doctor with questions. however, the supper was ample, thanks to "dolly." "is there anything more wanted?" inquired the table girl,--a round-faced, round-headed country specimen in neat calico. "yes," replied the doctor, "we would like some napkins, seeing there are none on the table." away hastened the girl, who, quickly returning, asked in very primitive simplicity,-- "how will you have them cooked?" "o, boiled, if you please," replied the doctor, without changing a muscle about his sober-looking face. the girl disappeared at full trot, followed by jeers of laughter from the gentlemen present, and suppressed titters from the ladies. in a few moments "dolly" made her appearance, and after searching in vain through the side-table drawer and a cupboard in the dining-room, she said they had none in the house, and intimated that the table girl could not be induced to return, after being laughed at for her ignorance of what a napkin was, and that "herself would wait upon the guests." when the doctor returned, the "horse-slayer" called out that the napkin doctor was coming, upon which the terrified table-girl ran away and hid. my informant says, "you're only to say, any time, 'here comes that napkin doctor,' and the table girl nearly goes wild, dropping everything, and hiding away in her chamber till assured it is only a false alarm." the writer is well acquainted with w., who assured him this was true. beauty and the beast. i heard, while in the south, of a doctor, a little, short man, who rode a canadian horse, a scraggy little specimen, and who, in yellow fever time, used to ride right straight into a drug store, and order his prescription, catch it up, wheel his pony round on his hind legs, stick in the spurs into the flanks of the animal, and go out in a clean gallop. [illustration: no time to lose.] though the writer never saw this remarkable feat, there is one more ludicrous, to which he was an eye-witness. one fine day, while in charleston, sitting musing in the window of the victoria hotel, i saw an african, with bare feet and legs, his whole attire consisting of a coarse shirt and brief trousers, drive a mule attached to a dray, on which was a box, up towards a milliner's store, opposite. the negro jumped from the dray, and, with whip in hand, ran into the store to ascertain if that was the place to leave the box. [illustration: beauty and the beast.] the faithful donkey followed his master directly into the store, nor stopped till the wheels of the cart brought up against the door-jambs. the ladies, with whom the front store was crowded, screamed with terror, and fled towards the back room, where the pretty milliner girls were sewing. they caught the panic and sight of the donkey's head and ears in the front shop, and screeched in chorus. a more lively and lovely stampede i never witnessed. it was "beauty and the beast," and the beast stood pulling his best to get the cart through; but since a six-foot cart never could go through a four foot doorway, he backed out with the negro's assistance, and beauty was rescued from the perilous situation. "golly!" exclaimed the buckee, when himself, mule and cart were back into the street. "i fought de ladies were scared ob dis chile, first sight; but i never knowed de ladies to be scared ob a hansum darky like me; and when i looked round an' see dat ar' mules coming into der mill'ner's store--o, yah, yah, yah! i shall die--o, yah, yah, yah!--de lor'--to only fink ob it, a mule in a mill'ner's shop--he wants muslin--o, yah, yah! i shall die, sure." then, after a few more outbursts, he stopped short--for the milliner was looking after the box--he rolled up his eyes very solemnly, and said to the donkey,-- "yer ought to be 'shamed ob yerself to go into dat yer store--dar, take dat!" levelling a blow at the donkey's head with the whip. then taking the box into the store, he returned, gave the donkey another solemn lecture on his impropriety, and mounted the dray and drove away. the consulting poodles. a gentleman well known to the writer assured me that he once had occasion to repeatedly consult a physician in philadelphia, a most excellent practitioner, who owned two pet poodle dogs. they were pure white, and occupied a portion of his office. when i first entered the doctor's presence, i was quite astonished to see, sitting on a corner of his desk, at his left, a beautiful poodle. i thought, at first sight, it was a stuffed specimen; but after inquiring the nature of my visit, the doctor said, "you can retire, sir." "what!" said i, in surprise at this summary dismissal, when i was startled to see the manikin jump from the desk and run away to a crib beside a book-case. [illustration: dr. hunter in consultation.] "i was speaking to dr. scipio," the doctor quietly remarked. then adding, "dr. hunter, you can come instead," when another like poodle came and leaped upon the desk, and sat looking very wisely at his master. while examining my case, he occasionally cast a glance at "dr. hunter," sitting as quiet as a marble dog might, but seeming to understand the look which his master gave him, acknowledging it by a pricking up of the ears. i received my prescription, and what proved to be most excellent advice, and retired. the next time i visited the eccentric doctor, both drs. scipio and hunter were in full consultation, sitting side by side on the desk. "now, sirs," said the doctor, after motioning me to a seat near him, "sirs scipio and hunter, keep very still, and give attention." a yawning noise and expression was their simultaneous reply. "what is the object of the two canine specimens being always present when i have consulted you?" i ventured to inquire, on my last visit to the doctor. "some physicians consult two-legged pups, in complicated cases. i prefer quadrupeds. have we not been very successful--myself, drs. hunter and scipio--in your case, sir?" this he said with a pleasant, half-serious countenance. "indeed, you have, sir," i replied, to which the dogs gave a gap! (a smile?) "you'll find every successful man with some seeming useless habit or appendage, which, nevertheless, is essential to his success, in absorbing or distracting the superfluities of his nature. a sing-song, every-day man, whom you can see right through, and understand all his moves, seldom amounts to anything. i ape nobody, however, but i feel almost lost, in my examinations, without my dogs." well, there may be much to this, after all. a good singer will seldom go forward to master a difficult piece of music without something in his hand. eccentricities in some persons take the place of a vile, injurious habit, as the eccentric man is usually free from debasing habits. i am particularly reminded of suwaroff, the great russian general, who was so remarkable for his energy, valor, and headlong fighting propensities. this wonderful man was very small in stature, being only five feet and a half inch in height, miserably thin in flesh, with an aquiline nose, a wide mouth, wrinkled brow, and bald head--an eagle look and character. "his contempt of dress could only be equalled by his disregard of every form of politeness, and some idea may be formed of both from the fact that he was washed mornings by several buckets of water thrown over him, and that he drilled his men in his shirt sleeves, with his stockings hanging down about his heels, and proudly dispensing with the use of a pocket handkerchief." [illustration: the russian general's drill.] his favorite signal of attack was a shrill "_cock-a-doodle-doo!_" "to-morrow"--this was his harangue to his men before a great battle--"to-morrow morning i mean to be up one hour before daybreak. i shall wash and dress myself, then say my prayers, give one good _cock-crow_, and capture ismail!" which he did to the letter. after catharine's death, paul, her son and successor, could not brook the eccentric habits of "old forward and strike," whose personal appearance was ill suited to court, and when compelled to "change or retire," suwaroff chose the latter. again in he was given a command, but would not change his principles, and was dismissed; and died in , neglected by the imperial paul, who was assassinated the same year. silent eloquence. there is a physician doing an office practice in boston, who, when you enter his office, by one gesture and movement of his head, with the accompanying expression of his countenance, says to you, as plainly as words, "take a seat; how do you do? state your case." he is a man of few words, professionally. through with his business, he becomes one of the most sociable men with whom one need wish to meet. john abernethy was remarkable for his eccentricity, and brevity in his dealings with patients. sometimes he met his match. the following has been told about him often enough to be true. on one occasion a lady, who doubtless had heard of his _brusque_ characteristic, entered his consulting-room, at bedford row, and silently presented a sore finger. as silently the doctor examined and dressed the wound. in the same manner the lady deposited the accustomed fee upon the table, and withdrew. again she presented the finger for inspection. "better?" grunted the great surgeon. "better," quietly answered the lady, deposited the fee, and left, without saying another word. several visits were thus made, when, on presenting it for the last time, abernethy said,-- "well?" "well," was the lady's only answer, and deposited her last fee. "well, madam, upon my soul, you are the most sensible lady with whom i ever met," he exclaimed, and very politely bowed her out. consistent to the end. the most eccentric physician who ever lived, and the only one i have read of who carried his odd notions beyond this life, was messenger monsey, of whom i have before written in this book. he died at the age of ninety-five. he wrote his own will,--having eighty thousand dollars to dispose of,--and his epitaph. the will was remarkable, and is still preserved. "to a beautiful young lady, named ----," he gave an old battered snuff-box, not containing a shilling, lavishing upon her, at the same time, the most extravagant encomiums on her wit, taste, and elegance; and to another, whom he says he intends to enrich with a handsome legacy, he leaves the gratifying assurance that he changed his mind on finding her "a pert, conceited minx." after railing at bishops, deans, and clergymen, he left an annuity to two of the latter, who did not preach. "my body shall not be insulted with any funeral ceremonies, but after being dissected in the theatre of guy's hospital, by the surgeons, for the benefit of themselves and students, the remainder of my carcass may be put into a hole, or crammed into a box with holes, and thrown into the thames." the main part of his property went to his only daughter. [illustration: what the elephant is like.] [illustration: a doctor's solace.] this is a true copy of his epitaph:-- "here lie my old bones; my vexation now ends; i have lived much too long for myself and my friends. as to churches and churchyards, which men may call holy, 'tis a rank piece of priestcraft, and founded on folly. what the next world may be never troubled my pate; and, be what it may, i beseech you, o fate, when the bodies of millions rise up in a riot, to let the old carcase of monsey lie quiet." the above reminds me of another epitaph in greenwood: "underneath this turf do lie, back to back, my wife and i. generous stranger, spare the tear, for could she speak, i cannot hear. happier far than when in life, free from noise and free from strife, when the last trump the air shall fill, if she gets up, i'll just lie still!" "when doctors disagree." the eccentricities of some doctors lie in their abuse of their brothers; especially those of a different school, of which they necessarily know little or nothing. there is a hindoo story illustrative of the folly of this _ex parte_ decision. four blind men went to examine an elephant, to ascertain what it was like. one felt of its foot, the second its trunk, the third its ear, and the last felt of its tail. then they held a consultation, and began to talk it up. "the elephant is very much like a mortar," said the one who had felt of the foot. "it is like a pestle," said the one who had felt of its trunk. "no; you are both wrong. it's like a fan," said he who had felt of the ears. "you are all mistaken; it is like a broom," vehemently exclaimed the man who had felt of the tail. the dispute grew warm. each was sure he was right, because he had personally examined for himself. then they waxed angry, and a lasting quarrel grew out of it; so, in the end, they were all as ignorant of the truth as when they began the investigation. the diversity of medical opinion on diet is equally as great as on prescription, and often partakes largely of the notion or eccentricity of the individual physician, rather than the requirements of the patient. one is an advocate of animal diet; another is a strict grahamite, or vegetarian, and a third is an animo-vegetarian, which, according to the two kinds of teeth given to man,--the tearing, or canine, and the grinding teeth,--seems to be the most rational decision. then there is the slop-doctor. i know of one in connecticut. he weighs about two hundred and fifty pounds. he breakfasts on the richest steak, dines on roast beef, and sups on a fowl. every patient he has is a victim to "typhoid fever: the result is inflammation of the glands of the stomach, and induced by too hearty food;" hence the patient is starved a month on slop or gruel. this doctor was formerly a methodist preacher, and-- "exhausting all _persuasive_ means to light our fallen race to virtue's glorious height, to medicine gives his comprehensive mind, and fills his pockets while he cures mankind. he scorns m. d.'s, at all hard study sneers, and soon the science of its mystery clears. _his_ knowledge springs intuitive and plain, as pallas issued from the thunderer's brain. he takes a patent for some potent pill whose cure is certain--for it cures to kill. such mighty powers in its materials lurk, it grows, like gibbon's rome, a standard _work_! pill-militant, he storms the forts of pain, where grim disease has long entrenchéd lain, routs fevers, agues, colics, colds, and gouts, nor ends the war till life itself he routs. if of his skill you wish some pregnant hints, peruse the gravestones, not the public prints! to aid his work, and fame immortal win, brings steam from physics into medicine; from speeding packets o'er th' atlantic waste, o'er styx's stream old charon's boat to haste, proving that steam for double use is fit-- to whirl men _through_ the world, and _out_ of it!" the difference in the item of sleep is amusing. i know a poor, worn-out doctor who finds all health in early rising. let us refer him to the following, by john g. saxe:-- early rising. "god bless the man who first invented sleep!" so sancho panza said, and so say i: and bless him also that he didn't keep his great discovery to himself, nor try to make it--as the lucky fellow might-- a close monopoly by patent right. yes, bless the man who first invented sleep (i really can't avoid the iteration); but blast the man, with curses loud and deep, whate'er the rascal's name, or age, or station, who first invented, and went round advising, that artificial cut-off--early rising. "rise with the lark, and with the lark to bed," observes some solemn, sentimental owl: maxims like these are very cheaply said; but ere you make yourself a fool or fowl, pray, just inquire about his rise and fall, and whether larks have any beds at all. the time for honest folks to be abed is in the morning, if i reason right; and he who cannot keep his precious head upon his pillow till it's fairly light, and so enjoy his forty morning winks, is up to knavery; or else--he drinks. thomson, who sung about the "seasons," said it was a glorious thing to _rise_ in season; but then he said it--lying--in his bed, at ten o'clock a. m.,--the very reason he wrote so charmingly. the simple fact is, his preaching wasn't sanctioned by his practice. 'tis doubtless well to be sometimes awake,-- awake to duty and awake to truth,-- but when, alas! a nice review we take of our best deeds and days, we find, in sooth, the hours that leave the slightest cause to weep are those we passed in childhood, or asleep! 'tis beautiful to leave the world a while for the soft visions of the gentle night; and free at last from mortal care or guile, to live as only in the angels' sight, in sleep's sweet realm so cosily shut in, where, at the worst, we only _dream_ of sin. so let us sleep, and give the maker praise. i like the lad who, when his father thought to clip his morning nap by hackneyed phrase of vagrant worm by early songster caught, cried, "served him right!--it's not at all surprising; the worm was punished, sir, for early rising." mother goose. "gabriel betteredge," in "moonstone," was doubtless a true character from life, picked up by the author, wilkie collins, somewhere in his travels. i think the best authors seldom have made up so good a character "out of whole cloth," but have gone to the highways and byways for them. betteredge's forte lay in robinson crusoe. that book was his guidance and solace in all his trials and perplexities. but what would you think of a doctor, a respectable graduate of a medical college, who sought, if not advice, recreation and solace in mother goose? this m. d. resided a few years ago in a., new york state. he owned a large library, enjoyed the confidence of a large list of friends and patrons, and was a man of education and refinement. his eccentricity lay in his love of mother goose's melodies. he kept a copy of these nursery rhymes at his very elbow, and often turned from a perplexing case, and sought solace in the jingling rhymes of old mother goose! well, that was certainly better than relieving his brain by the use of narcotic stimulants, as opium, tobacco, or ardent spirits, which use can only be followed at the expense of nerve, tissue, and membrane. i have here before me an account of another physician, whose solace and relief from business cares were in his cats, of which he had several, all of which answered to their names. his attachment to these creatures was only equalled by theirs for him. sometimes one or two perched on his shoulders and sang to him while he rested in his easy-chair. he seemed to drink in lethean comforts, as thus he would remain for a half hour or more at a time, or till business broke the spell. when a patient came, or a servant announced a call, he would arise and say, "pets, vamose!" and the cats would all scamper away to their nests, and the doctor, seemingly refreshed in body and mind, would return to the reality of life and its labors. one's solace is in his children, another's in his wife, a third in his flower-garden; and others' in opium, rum, or tobacco. the tables turned. sometimes the doctor's oddity seemed to be in his silence, again in asking "outlandish" questions. often they get a good return; for instance,-- dr. g., of sycamore, ill., riding in the country one day, saw a sign upon a gate-post, reading thus: "this farm for sail." stopping his horse, he hailed a little old woman, who stood on tiptoe, hanging out clothes. "i say, madam, when is this farm going to _sail_?" "just as soon, sir," replied the old lady, placing her thumb to her nose, "as anybody comes along who can raise the wind." the doctor drove thoughtfully on. the difference. "a priest who was jogging along on an ass was overtaken by a loquacious doctor, and, after some preliminary conversation as to the destination, etc., the doctor proposed that they each should ask a question, and the one who proposed the best should receive hospitality at the other's expense at the next town. the priest agreed, for he was a fat, jolly little fellow, who could enjoy a laugh and "some bottles," even at a doctor's expense. so the doctor proposed the following:-- "what is the difference between a priest and a jackass?" "that's old," replied the priest. "one wears his cross on his breast, the other on his back.--now for my turn. what is the difference between the doctor and the ass?" "i cannot tell," replied the doctor; "what is the difference?" "i see none," quietly replied the priest. "not by bread alone." a physician in p., who had the reputation of being a high liver, was quite publicly reprimanded for his gluttony by an advent preacher of some note, not a thousand miles from boston. the doctor bore his abuse without flinching, though he believed the man a hypocrite. a long time afterwards, he met the adventist in his town, and, after some conversation, invited him to dine at his own house. the hungry grahamite accepted, and at an early moment found himself at the doctor's board. "will you ask a blessing?" said the doctor; which request being complied with, he uncovered one of the only two dishes on the table, which contained nothing but bread. the preacher saw the point, and said, with a disappointed grin, "you shall not live by bread alone." "yes; i know that much scripture," replied the doctor; "so i have provided some butter," uncovering the other dish! xx. prescriptions remarkable and ridiculous. "he finds out what stuff they're made of."--shakspeare. "by setting brother against brother, to claw and curry one another."--butler. fig paste and fig leaves.--some of those old fellows.--they slightly disagree.--how to keep clean.--baxter vs. the doctor.--a cure for "rheumatiz."--old english doses.--cure for blues.--for hysteria.--heroic doses.--drowning a fever.--an exact science.--sulphur and molasses.--a use for poor irish.--mineral springs.--cold drinks vs. warm.--the old lady and the air pump.--saved by her bustle.--country prescriptions and a funny mistake.--are you drunk or sober? mythology informs us that heraclitus, the melancholy philosopher of ephesus, fixed his residence in a manure heap, by the advice of his physicians, in hopes of thereby being cured of the dropsy. the remedy proved worse than the disease, and the philosopher died. from that time till the present, medical prescriptions have rather partaken of the extravagant and the ridiculous, than of the rational and beneficial. in biblical times the real remedies consisted of a few simples, and were almost totally confined to external uses. fig paste was a favorite remedy for swellings, boils, and ulcers, and an ointment made of olives and some spices was used for wounds, etc. mrs. eve, it is said, took to fig leaves. the myrrh and hyssop were used chiefly among the jews for purification. the former was obtained from egypt and arabia east. the original name was, in arabic, _marra_, meaning bitter. the history of medicine is referable to about before christ, from which time to hippocrates, b. c., it could not lay claim to the name of science. it was confined almost entirely to the priestcraft, and partook largely of the fabulous notions of that superstitious age, and was connected with their gods and heroes. then, necessarily with such a belief, the remedies lay in ceremonies and incantations, as before mentioned in chapter first, and the priests had it all their own way. chiron, according to grecian bibliographers, was about the first who practised medicine to any extent, and who, with apollo, claimed to have received his knowledge direct from jupiter. Æsculapius was a son of apollo. Æsculapius had two sons, who became celebrated physicians, and one daughter, hygeia, the goddess of health. for a long time the practice of medicine was confined to the descendants of Æsculapius, who was worshipped in the temples of epidaurus, the ruins of one of which is said to still be seen. hippocrates claimed to be a descendant of Æsculapius ( b. c.). the remedies used by his predecessors were a few vegetable medicines, accelerated by a good many mystical rites. it would seem that medicinal springs were patronized at this early date, as temples of health were established near such wells, in greece. theophrastus, of lesbos, was a fuller's son, and wrote a book on plants. he was a pupil to plato and aristotle. podalirius was going to cure every disease by bleeding, herodicus by gymnastics, and archagathus by burning and gouging out the diseased parts. then arose chrysippus, who reversed the blood-letting theory, and would allay the venous excitement by simple medications (not having discovered the difference between veins and arteries, and when they did, it was supposed the latter contained only air; hence the name); asclepiades, who "kicked hippocrates' nature out of doors," and the thermo-therapeutists, who turned out the latter. after the followers of archagathus, or archegenus, were driven out of rome, the hot baths were established, which were the earliest mentioned. there was a very celebrated cold water bath established somewhat earlier, for which mr. noah, who owned the right, got up a very large tub, for the exclusive use of himself, family, and household pets. the bath--like nearly all cold water baths _extensively used since_--was a complete success, killing off all who ventured into the water. during the reign of the roman emperor caracalla ( - ) thermal baths were extensively established at rome, and gibbon informs us that they were open for the reception of both senators and people; that they would accommodate three thousand persons at once. the enclosure exceeded a mile in circumference. at one end there was a magnificent temple, dedicated to the god apollo, and at the reverse another, sacred to Æsculapius, the tutelary divinities of the thermæ. the grecians also established cold, warm, and hot baths; and in turkey the bathing was a religious rite until a very recent period. more recently, it is a source of diversion. "cleanliness is akin to godliness," and recreation is a religious duty; therefore the warm bath, whether followed as a superstitious rite or as a source of amusement, is nevertheless commendable as a sanitary measure. dr. dio lewis, of boston, has a grand warm (turkish) bathing establishment. there are several hot, champooing, and cooling rooms for ladies or gentlemen, and a grand plunge bath, containing sixteen thousand gallons of water, warmed by a steam apparatus. if the bostonians are dirty hereafter, they must not blame the doctor. no man knows how dirty he is till he tries one of these baths. "crosby's history of the english baptists preserves the opinion of sir john floyer, physician, that immersion was of great sanitary value, and that its discontinuance, about the year , had been attended with ill effects on the physical condition of the population. 'immersion would prevent many hereditary diseases if it were still practised,' he said. an old man, eighty years of age, whose father lived at the time while immersion was the practice, said that parents would ask the priest to dip well into the water that part of the child which was diseased, to prevent its descending to posterity. "baxter vehemently and exaggeratedly denounced it as a breach of the sixth commandment. it produced catarrh, etc., and, in a word, was good for nothing but to despatch men out of the world." "if murder be sin, then dipping ordinarily in cold water over head is a sin." so much for dr. floyer vs. baxter. surely the latter ought to have been "dipped." a western paper of respectability is responsible for the statement, that an old lady followed up a bishop as he travelled through his diocese, in that vicinity, and was confirmed several times before detected. "why did you do such a remarkable deed?" asked the bishop. "did you feel that your sins were so great as to require a frequent repetition of the ordinance?" "o, no," replied the old lady, complacently; "but i heerd say it was good for the rheumatiz." the bishop didn't confirm her any more. she was really going to baptism as the voters go to the polls and vote in new york--"early and often." old english prescriptions. the prescriptions and doses of the old english doctors were "stunning." billy atkins, a gout doctor of charles ii.'s time, who resided in the old bailey, did an immense business in his specialty. his remarkable wig and dress will find a place in our chapter on "dress." he made a nostrum on the authority of swift, compounded of thirty different promiscuous ingredients. the apothecary to queen elizabeth brought in his quarter-bill, £ , s. d. amongst the items were the following: "a confection made like a manus christi, with bezoar stone, and unicorn's horn, s. sweet scent for christening of sir richard knightly's son, s. d. a conserve of barberries, damascene plums, and others, for mr. ralegh, s. rose water for the king of navarre's ambassador, s. a royal sweetmeat, with rhubarb, d." a sweet preparation, and a favorite of dr. theodore mayerne, was "balsam of bats." a cure for hypochondria was composed of "adders, bats, angle-worms, sucking whelps, ox-bones, marrow, and hog's grease." nice! after perusing--without swallowing--his medical prescriptions, the reader would scarcely desire to follow the directions in his "excellent and well-approved receipts in cooking." i should rather, to run my risk, breakfast on boarding-house or hotel hash, than partake of food prepared from dr. mayerne's "cook book." according to dr. sherley, mayerne gave violent drugs, calomel in scruple doses, mixed sugar of lead with conserves, and fed gouty kings on pulverized human bones. "a small, young mouse roasted," is recommended by dr. bullyn, as a cure for restlessness and nervousness in children. for cold, cough, and tightness of the lungs, he says, "snayles (snails) broken from the shells and sodden in whyte wyne, with olyv oyle and sugar, are very holsome." snails were long a favorite remedy, and given in consumption for no other reason than that "it was a _slow_ disease." a young puppy's skin (warm and fresh) was applied to the chest of a child with croup, because he _barked_! fish-worms, sow-bugs, crab's eyes, fish-oil, sheep-droppings, and such delicious stuff were, and still are, favorite remedies with some physicians and country people. the following was one of dr. boleyn's royal remedies:-- "_electuarium de gemmis._ take two drachms of white perles; two little peeces of saphyre; jacinth, corneline, emerauldes, garnettes, of each an ounce; setwal, the sweate roote doronike, the rind of pomecitron, mace, basel seede, of each two drachms; of redde corall, amber, shaving of ivory, of each two drachms; rootes both of white and red behen, ginger, long peper, spicknard, folium indicum, saffron, cardamon, of each one drachm; of troch. diarodon, lignum aloes, of each half a small handful; cinnamon, galinga, zurubeth, which is a kind of setwal, of each one drachm and a half; thin pieces of gold and sylver, of each half a scruple; of musk, half a drachm. make your electuary with honey emblici, which is the fourth kind of mirobalans with roses, strained in equall partes, as much as will suffice. this healeth cold, diseases of ye braine, harte, stomack. it is a medicine proved against the tremblynge of the harte, faynting, and sounin, the weakness of the stomacke, pensivenes, solitarines. kings and noblemen have used this for their comfort. it causeth them to be bold-spirited, the body to smell wel, and ingendreth to the face good coloure." "truly a medicine for kings and noblemen," says jeaffreson, who gives the following:-- "during the railroad panic of england ( ), an unfortunate physician prescribed the following for a nervous lady:-- [r]. great western, shares. eastern counties,} north middlesex, } a. a. . m. haust. . om. noc. cap. "this direction for a delicate lady to swallow nightly (noc.) railway shares was cited as proof of the doctor's insanity, and the management of his private affairs was placed in other hands." [illustration: how a lady procured a valuable prescription.] "a humersome doctor," as mrs. partington would say, gives the following cure for the blues. tinc. peruvii barki bitters, oz. sugari albi, vel sweetningus, considerabilibus. spiritus frumenti, vel old repeus, ad lib. waterus pumpus, non multum. nutmegus, sprinklibus. a sure cure. a physician of our acquaintance was called to a lady patient after she had enjoyed a season of unusual domestic quarrels, who was not over long in "turning herself wrong-side out"--as some females will insist upon doing, for the edification of the medical man--telling, not only all about her pains and aches, but her "trials with that man," her husband--her brutal usage, her scanty wardrobe, her mortification on seeing mrs. outsprout appear in a new blue silk, and a "love of a bonnet," and (after entertaining the doctor with wine and good things) finally wind up in hysterical sobs--for which he prescribed, as follows:-- [r]. one new silk dress--first quality. one hat and feather. one diamond--solitaire--aq. prim. apply to patient. and coach and span, to central park, p. m. the husband enjoyed the joke; the wife enjoyed the clothes, the diamond pin, and the ride; and the doctor heard no more of their quarrels. heroic doses. just prior to the year , two brothers, named taylor, emerged from obscurity in yorkshire, and set up for doctors. they were farriers, and from shoeing they advanced to doctoring and bleeding horses, thence to drugging and butchering those of their fellow-creatures who naturally preferred brute doctors to respectable physicians. their system of practice was a wholesale one. [illustration: dose--one quart every hour.] "soft chirurgions make foul sores," said boleyn, the grandfather of the beautiful and unfortunate anne boleyn. the taylors struck no soft blows, "but opened the warfare against disease by bombardment of shot and shell in all directions. they bled their patients by the gallon, and drugged them, as they did the cattle, by the stone. their druggists, ewbank & wallis, of york, supplied them with a ton of glauber's salts at a time. scales and weights in their dispensary were regarded as bugbears of ignoble minds. everything was mixed by the scoop or handful. if they ordered broth for a delicate patient, they directed the nurse to boil a large leg of mutton in a copper of water, down to a strong decoction, and administer a quart at stated intervals," _nolens volens?_ the little abbe de voisenon, the celebrated wit and dramatic writer ( - ), was once sick at the chateau near melum, and his physician ordered him to drink a quart of ptisan (a decoction of barley and other ingredients) every hour. "what was the effect of the ptisan?" asked the doctor, on his next visit. "none," replied the abbe. "have you swallowed it all?" "no; i could not take but half of it at once." "no more than half! my order was the whole," exclaimed the doctor. "ah! now, friend," said the abbe, "how could you expect me to swallow a quart at a time, when i hold only a pint?" drowning a fever. as the next anecdote has had to do service for more than one physician, it is immaterial which doctor it was. he was an irascible old fellow, at least, and not at all careful in leaving orders. "your husband is very sick, woman," said the doctor to the wife of an irish laborer. "his fever is high, and skin as dry as a fish, or a parish contribution box. you must give him plenty of cold water, all he will drink, and to-night i'll see him again. there, don't come snivelling around me. my heart is steeled against that sort of thing. but, as you want something to cry for, just hear me. your husband isn't going to die! there, now, i know you are disappointed, but you brought it on to yourself." going away--"mind, lots of water--" "wather, sir! hoo much wather, docther dear? he shall have it, but, yer honor didn't tell me hoo much wather i must give him." "zounds, woman, haven't i told you to give him all he will take? hoo much? give him a couple of buckets full, if he will swallow them. do you hear now? two buckets full." "the lord bless yer honor," cried the woman; and the doctor made his escape. at evening the doctor stopped, on his return, to ask after the patient. "how is he, woman?" asked the doctor. "o, he's been tuck away, save yer honor," cried the widow. "the wather did him no good, only we couldn't get down the right quantity. we did our best, doctor dear, and got down him better nor a pailful and a half, when he slipped away from us. ah, if we could oonly ha' got him to swaller the other half pailful, he might not have died, yer honor." an exact science. it is sometimes painfully amusing to observe, not only the difference of opinion expressed by medical men from one generation to another, but by those of the same period, and same school. in the "london lancet" of july, , there appeared a curious table. a medical practitioner, who had long suffered from hay fever, had from time to time consulted various other medical men by letter, and he gives us in a tabular survey the opinions they gave him of the causes of this disease, and the remedies, as follows:-- "herewith," writes dr. jones, "i forward a synopsis of the opinions of a few of the most eminent men, in various countries, that i have consulted. i have substituted a letter for the name, as i do not think it prudent to place before the general reader the names of those who have so disagreed." consulted. opinion of cause. recommended. dr. a. a predisposition to phthisis. quinine and sea voyage. dr. b. disease of pneumogastric nerve. arsen., bell., and cinchona. dr. c. disease of the caruncula. apply bell. and zinc. dr. d. inflammation of schneiderian to paint with nitrate of membrane. silver. dr. e. strumous diathesis. quinine, cod liver oil, and wine. dr. f. dyspepsia. kreosote, henbane, quinine. dr. g. vapor of chlorophyll. remain in a room from a. m. to p. m. dr. h. light debility, hay pollen. do., port wine, snuff, salt, and opium, and wear blue glasses. dr. l. from large doses of iodine. (never took any iodine.) try quinine and opium. dr. m. disease of iris. avoid the sun's rays from a. m. to p. m. dr. n. want of red corpuscles. try iron, port wine, and soups. dr. o. disease of optic nerve. phosph. ac. and quinine. dr. p. asthma from hay pollen. chlorodyne and quinine. dr. q. phrenitis. small doses of opium. dr. r. nervous debility, from heat. turkish baths. this needs no comment. the different opinions on doses of medicine is more absurd. we have already mentioned cases wherein certain physicians administered calomel in scruple, and even drachm doses. before us is a work wherein it is seriously asserted that a medicinal action was obtained from the two hundredth trituration,--a dose so small, in comparison with the scruple doses, as to be counted only by the _millionths_. how many of us have had to wake up mornings, and swallow a table-spoonful of sulphur and molasses, with mingled feelings of disgust at the sulphur, and exquisite delight from the molasses, as we retired, lapping our mouths, to get the last taste! now, l. b. wells, m. d., of new york, informs us that he has cured an eruption of the skin by the use of the four thousandth dilution of sulphur,--so comparatively small that i cannot express it by figures. well, these extremes have their uses, and we may look for relief in the mediate ground. the smaller we can get the dose, and still be reliable, the better we shall suit the people,--though we shall seriously offend the apothecaries. dr. francis, in his book, "surgeons of new york," tells the following, which illustrates how a desperate remedy may apply to a desperate disease. the cases in reference were "peritonitis." dr. smith (our "plough-boy") had charge of the lying-in wards, under professor clark. "dr. smith, have you ever attended a common school?" asked professor clark. "yes, sir." "did you ever hear a teacher say, 'i will whip you within an inch of your life?'" pursued dr. clark. "yes, sir; i have." "well, that is the way i wish you to give opium to these patients,--'to within an inch of their lives.'" dr. smith determined to follow implicitly his instructions, and gave to one as high as twelve grains of opium an hour. "at this extreme point the remedy was maintained for several days. "the patient recovered, and remained in the hospital, attached to kitchen service, for several months." certainly, the poor irish, even, have their uses in new york city. mineral springs. the writer, having spent much time at the various mineral springs throughout the united states, and partaken of the water of some for weeks in succession, is competent to give an opinion as to their merits. collectively, they are commendable, especially those located in country places, away from scenes of dissipation and profligacy. the only reliable way to expect benefit from spring waters is to select one by the advice of your physician, and go direct to the spring. much of the bottled waters sold are "doctored," either by the retailer, the wholesaler, or often at the springs from where they are exported. who is to know whether vichy, kissengen, saratoga, or even vermont mineral water, as sold by the package, ever saw the respective springs from which they are named? the various mineral waters are easily made, by adding to carbonized water such peculiar minerals, or salts, as analysis has shown exists in the natural springs. i knew a man who affirmed that he ruined a suit of clothes, while employed at a certain spring, by the acids with which he "doctored" the water, before it was shipped. sulphuret of potassium covers the properties of many springs; iron others. it has been intimated that the waters of a celebrated spring which i visited is indebted for its peculiar flavor to an old tannery, which, within the memory of that mythical being, "the oldest inhabitant," occupied the site where this favorite spring "gushes forth." having no desire to be tanned inside,--after my boyhood's experience in that delightful external process,--i respectfully declined drinking from this spring. by the immense quantities of "spring water" gulped down hourly and daily by visitors, one is led to suppose the cure lies in a thorough washing out. there is an excellent spring near nashville, tenn., from which i drank for a week; also another at sheldon, vt. there are three different springs at this latter place, but i prefer the "sheldon" to either of the other two. i discovered a good spring at newport, vt., and there are others in that vicinity. cold drinks vs. warm drinks. "drink freely of cold water," says an author of no small repute, to persons of a weak stomach, viz., dyspeptics. when i was an apprentice, my master (sir charles blicke) used to say, "o, sir, you are faint: pray drink this water." "and what do you think was the effect of putting cold water into a man's stomach, under these circumstances?" asks the great dr. abernethy. "why, of course, that it was often rejected in his face." never put cold water, or cold victuals, into a weak stomach. the above surgeon is responsible for the following advice. an irishman called in great haste upon the doctor, saying,-- "o, dochter--be jabers, me b'y tim has swallowed a mouse." "then, paddy, be jabers, let your boy tim swallow a cat." the old lady and the pump. one can readily conceive the utility of a warm bath--even a cold water bath, if the bather is robust--or a steam bath, a vapor, or a sun bath; but the advantage of the absurdity which the nineteenth century has introduced from antiquity, viz., the dry cupping, or pumping treatment, is not so self-evident. an old lady, suffering from "rheumatism, and a humor of the blood," was persuaded to visit a "pump-doctor's" rooms. "what's that hollow thing for?" she nervously inquired. "that is a limb-receiver," replied the polite operator. "if the disease is in the limb, we enclose it within this; the rubber excludes the air, and to this faucet we affix the pump, and remove the air from the limb." "yes, yes; but i thought air was necessary to health; besides, i don't see how that is going to cure the limb. does it add anything to, or take anything from the limb?" she inquired. "well--no--yes; that is, it draws the disease out from that part." "yes, yes; but suppose the disease is all over the person, as mine is." "then we place them in this," putting his hand upon an article which she had not before discovered. "that? why, that looks like the case to a dutchman's pipe, only a sight times larger. and do tell if you shet folks up in that box," cautiously approaching and examining it. the operator assured her such was the case. "is the disease left in the box when you are done pumping? does it really suck all the disease into the thing by the process?" she inquired. "well, madam, you put your questions in a remarkable manner. but it displaces the air around the person, and the vital principle within forces out the disease. it is certain to benefit all diseases," he replied. "well, i don't see how it can, if it can't be seen. does it act as physic, emetic, a bath, or do the sores follow right out of the blood into the box?" "neither, madam." the operator was very patient. "just try the limb-receiver first; then you can tell better about the whole treatment." after much persuasion, and by the assistance of the female operator, the old lady was seated, and the limb-receiver adjusted. now the man in the next room began to pump. the old lady was very nervous, and felt for her snuff-box, and while so doing the man was still pumping. having taken the snuff, her mind again referred to the limb in the box, and the pressure (suction) having naturally increased, her nervousness overcame her, and with a scream and a bound she left the chair and rushed for the door, dragging the receiver, which clung tight to the one limb, rather outweighing the boot and hose of the other, drawing the gutta-percha pipe after her, which only added to her fright, and with another scream for "help," and "o, will nobody save me?--o, murder, murder!" she, like a bound lion, went the length of her chain, and tumbled over in a heap on the floor. the woman rushed from behind the screen, the man from the pump-room, and rescued the old lady, who fled to her carriage in waiting; and doubtless to her dying day she will continue to tell of how narrowly she escaped "being sucked entirely through that gutta-percha pipe--only for her having on a bustle." country mistakes. a canadian, of a nervous, consumptive diathesis, went down to portland, maine, to consult a physician, and fell in with old dr. f., whom he found busily engaged in examining some papers. the old doctor heard his case, and hurriedly wrote him a prescription. the chirography of the doctor was none of the best, yet the portland druggists, who were familiar with his scrawls, could easily decipher his prescriptions. not so the country apothecary, to whom the patient took the recipe, to save expense, which was something as follows: "spiritus frumenti et valerianum," etc.; then followed the directions for taking. after much delay and consultation with the green-grocer boy, it was put up as a painter's article, viz., "spirits turpentine and varnish." the first glass-full satisfied the invalid. drunk, or sober. a gentleman, knowing the parties in his boyhood, rehearsed to me the following anecdote:-- old dr. gallup, of ----, n. h., was an excellent physician, whose failing lay in his propensity to imbibe more spirits then he could carry off. "are you drunk, or sober?" was no unusual question, put by those requiring his services, before permitting the old doctor to prescribe. [illustration: "pumping" an old lady.] [illustration: a dangerous prescription.] "sober as a judge. what--hic--do you want?" he would reply. mr. b., who had been a long time confined to his house, under the care of an old fogy doctor, one of the "gods of medicine," with whom all knowledge remains, and with whom all knowledge dies, after taking nearly all the drugs contained in his materia medica, decided to change, and sent for dr. gallup. "are you drunk, or sober, doctor?" was the first salutation. "sober as a judge. what's wanted?" was the reply, omitting the "hic." "can you cure me? i've been blistered and parboiled, puked and physicked, bled in vein and pocket for the last three months. now, can you cure me?" gallup looked over the case, and the medicine left by the other doctor, threw the latter all out of the window, ordered a nourishing diet, told mr. b. to take no more drugs, took his fee, and left. mr. b. recovered without another visit. [illustration] xxi. scenes from hospital and camp. "he fought mit siegel."--a hospital scene at night.--administering angels.--"water! water!"--the soldier-boy's dying message.--the well-worn bible.--warm hearts in frozen bodies.--"pudding and milk."--the poetical and amusing side.--"to amelia."--my love and i.--a scriptural conundrum.--marrying a regiment. i met him again; he was trudging along, his knapsack with chickens was swelling; he'd "blenkered" these dainties, and thought it no wrong, from some secessionist's dwelling. "what regiment's yours, and under whose flag do you fight?" said i, touching his shoulder; turning slowly about, he smilingly said,-- for the thought made him stronger and bolder,-- "i fights mit siegel." the next time i saw him, his knapsack was gone, his cap and his canteen were missing; shell, shrapnell, and grape, and the swift rifle-ball, around him and o'er him were hissing. "how are you, my friend, and where have you been? and for what, and for whom, are you fighting?" he said, as a shell from the enemy's gun sent his arm and his musket a-kiting, "i fights mit siegel." we scraped out his grave, and he dreamlessly sleeps on the bank of the shenandoah river; his home and his kindred alike are unknown, his reward in the hands of the giver. we placed a rough board at the head of his grave, "and we left him alone in his glory," but on it we cut, ere we turned from the spot, the little we knew of his story-- "i fights mit siegel."--grant p. robinson. if any of the little "life stories" which i here relate in this brief chapter, have perchance before met the reader's eye, i can only say that they cannot be read too often. we need no longer go back to remotest history--to joan d'arc, grace darling, florence nightingale, nor to revolutionary scenes--to find "cases of courage and devotion, for no annals are so rich as ours in these deliberate acts of unquestioning self-sacrifice, which at once ennoble our estimate of human nature, and increase the homage we pay to the virtues of women." a hospital scene at night. night gathered her sable mantle about earth and sky, and the cold, wintry wind swept around the temporary hospital with a mournful wail, a rude lullaby, and a sad requiem to the wounded and dying soldier boys who crowded its rankling wards. through the dark, sickly atmosphere, by the flickering lamp-lights, are just discernible the long rows of suffering, dying humanity. as the wind lulls, the sighs and groans of the unfortunate sufferers greet your ears on every side. "water, water!" is the general request. every moment new ones are added to the mangled and suffering throng, as they are brought in from the battle-field and the amputating-room. the surgeons are busily at work. every able-bodied soldier must be at the front, for the emergency is great. ah! who shall give the "water" which raging thirst momentarily demands? who is to soothe the fearful anguish, from lacerated nerve and muscle, by cruel shot and shell? and who shall smooth the dying pillow, hear the last prayer, for self, and for loved ones far away in the northern homes? and who will kindly receive the dying messages for those dear ones,--wife, children, father, mother,--whom he never will see again, and kiss the pallid cheek, commend the soul to god, and close the eyes forever of the poor soldier boy, who died away from home and friends, in the hospital? god himself had raised up those to fill this sacred office, in the form of frail women--woman, because no man could fill the hallowed sphere. flitting from couch to couch, like a fairy thing, noiselessly; like an angel of mercy, administering, soothing; but like a _woman_, beautiful, frail, and slender, with a cheering smile, and sympathy, as much expressed in the light of the eye as the sound of the voice, she moistened the parched lips, lightened the pillows, and the hearts, and seemed never to tire in deeds of love and kindness to the distressed soldiers. next to the soldiers, the physicians know how to appreciate the true women at the hospital couch. after the manifestations of skill, labor, anxiety, and devotion to the cause by the physicians, thousands of men would have perished but for the hand and heart of woman, and who now live to speak her praise and cherish her memory forever. "ain't she an angel?" said a gray-haired veteran, as she gave the boys their breakfast. "she never seems to tire; she is always smiling, and don't seem to walk, but flies from one to another. god bless her." "ma'am, where did you come from?" asked a fair boy of seventeen summers, as she smoothed his hair, and told him, with gleaming eyes, he would soon see his mother, and the old homestead, and be won back to life and health. "how could such a lady as you come way down here to take care of us poor, sick, dirty boys?" "i consider it an honor," she said, "to wait on you, and wash off the mud you have waded through for me." said another, "lady, please write down your name, that i may look at it, and take it home, and show my wife who wrote my letters, combed my hair, and fed me. i don't believe you're like other people." "god bless her, and spare her life," they would say, with devotion, as she passed on. (these things were written of miss breckenbridge by mrs. hoge, of chicago.) the soldier boy's dying message. she sat by the couch of a fair-haired boy, who was that day mortally wounded. it was night now, and in the hospital before described. the poor boy knew he must go, but before he died he wanted to leave a message of love for his mother, away in the northern home. "tell me all you wish to have her know; i will convey your message to her," said the lady, as she bent her slender young form over the dying boy, and tenderly smoothed back the fleecy locks from his pallid brow. [illustration: the dying message.] "o, bless you, dear lady. you speak words of such joy to me. but it is this. i left a good mother, and sister susie, in the dear old home in a. o, so much i have longed to see them during these last few hours! to see them but for one moment! o god, but for one moment!" and while he took breath she turned away her beautiful face to hide the falling tears, which she must not let the poor boy see. "tell her," he pursued,--"my mother,--that i never found out how much i loved her till i came away from her side to fight for my country. o, lady, tell her this, and susie, and poor father. i see it all now. and the old home comes back to my mind as clear as though i left it but yesterday. there is the old house, with its gabled roof, and the porch, all covered with clinging jessamines, and the big house-dog lying under the porch, and the great old well-sweep; and off in the meadow are the trees i used to climb. o, i never, never shall see them again. i feel very weak. can't i have some more of that drink?" "yes, poor, dear boy. here; the surgeon said you could have all you wanted." "o, thank you. i wish i could write. o, there; that is so refreshing. if i could but write and tell her how good you have been to me! but write your name to her, the whole of it. she will understand, if you don't tell her how good you are. well, i won't say any more, for you shake your head; but tell her how i love her, and them all. am i fainting?" she arose from her knees, and taking some water, with her hand she moistened his brow and his silky hair, and offered him some more of the strengthening cordial. but he declined taking it. the boy was dying. he made one more effort, and said,-- "mother! tell her, too, how i have kept her little bible; and she can see how it has been read, and marked, and worn. o for one sight of her dear face, one look from her loving eyes, one kiss from her lips! i'd then die in peace." the beautiful lady softly smoothed his hair, wiped his face, whispered words too sacred for sterner hearts, and kissed away her own tears from his pallid cheeks. "mother! was it you? then good by. i die--happy, mother!" thus he expired. the good lady wrote the above to the mother of the brave lad, and thus i obtained the original. warm hearts in frozen bodies. "a lady in one of the hospitals of the west was much attracted by two young men, lying side by side, all splintered and bandaged, so that they could not move hand or foot, but so cheerful and happy looking, that she said,-- "'why, boys, you are looking very bright to-day.' "'o, yes,' they replied, 'we're all right now; we've been turned this morning.' "and she found that for six long weeks they had lain in one position, and for the first time that morning had been moved to the other side of their cot. "'and were you among those poor boys who were left lying where you fell, that bitter cold morning, till you froze fast to the ground?' "'yes, ma'am; we were lying there two days. you know they had no time to attend to us. they had to go and take the fort.' "'and didn't you think it was very cruel in them to leave you there to suffer so long?' she inquired. "'why, no, ma'am; we wanted them to go and take the fort.' "'but when it was taken, you were in too great agony to know or care for it?' "'o, no, ma'am,' they replied, with flashing eyes. 'there was a whole lot of us wounded fellows on the hill-side, watching to see if they would get the fort; and when we saw they had it, every one of us who had a whole arm, or leg, waved it in the air, and hurrahed till the air rang again.'" this is from a letter by miss m. e. breckenbridge, a lady who laid down her life for the sick soldiers. pudding and milk. under dr. vanderkieft's supervision, in sedgwick's corps, there was one of the noblest self-sacrificing women of the army of the potomac. this lady was unwearied in her efforts for the good of the soldiers. while at smoketown hospital, there was a poor, emaciated soldier, whose weak and pitiable condition attracted her attention. he could retain nothing on his stomach. mrs. lee--for that was the lady--had tried all the various dishes for which the meagre hospital supplies afforded materials, but nothing afforded the patient relief and nourishment, until one day, in overhauling the stores, she found a quantity of indian corn meal. "o, i have found a prize," she cried, in delight. "what is it?" inquired the little fellow detailed as orderly. "indian meal," was her reply. "pshaw! i thought you had found a bag of dollars." "better than dollars. bring it along." and she hastened away to the tent where lay her poor patient. "sanburn," said she,--for that was the invalid's name,--"could you eat some mush?" "i don't know what that is. i don't like any of your fancy dishes." "why, it's pudding and milk," said a boy on the next cot. "o, yes," exclaimed the starving soldier. "i think i could eat a bucket full of pudding and milk." mrs. lee was not long in giving him an opportunity for the trial. she at first brought him a small quantity, with some sweet milk, and to her joy, as well as that of the lean, hungry patient, it suited him. he ate it three times a day, and recovered. indeed, the sack of meal was worth more than a sack of dollars, as she had said. as strange as this may seem, there are instances on record where very remarkable, yea, absurd articles of diet have cured where medicine failed. small beer. the earl of bath, when he was mr. pulteney, was very sick of the pleuristic fever, in staffordshire. doctor after doctor had been called down from london, till his secretary had paid out the sum of three thousand seven hundred and fifty dollars. the last two physicians had given him up. "he must die," said drs. friend and broxholm. they, however prescribed some simple remedies, and were about to leave, when the invalid, just alive, was heard to mutter, "small beer." "he asks for small beer," said the attendants. "shall we give him some?" "yes, give him 'small beer,' or anything," replied the doctors. a great two-quart silver pitcher full was brought, and he drank the whole contents, and demanded more. the request was granted, and, after drinking the gallon, he fell asleep, perspired freely, and recovered. the poetical and amusing side. there is a poetical side, as well as a prosy side, to the camp and hospital. the following effusion of confusion was sent to the writer by a brother who gave his life for his country. it was written by a rebel soldier, who never realized his dream, and doubtless his "amelia" mourns his loss as sincerely as though he had fought in a better cause. to amelia. . o, come, my love, and go away to the land up north; for there, they say, it's rite good picketin' for rebel boys. and we'll take the land, and sweep the band of new yorkers into the bay. . i've heered of delmonico's, and barnum's shows, and how many hotels the land only knows. and we'll steer our bark for centre park. here's a health to ourselves, and away she goes. (here i drank.) . then come with your knight so true, and down with the boys that's dressed in blue. farewell to hoe-cake an' hominy, richmond and montgomery. i'll lick the damn yankees, an' marry you. . here's a heart, i reckon, as firm's a rock; no truer ever beat neath a gray or blue frock. so come, my love, and haste away. we'll moor our bark in new york bay, when i end this fighting work. your true lover, j. parsloe. the next has been in print, and was written by major mcknight, while a prisoner. "he was a poet, musician, and joker, and used to run from grave to gay, from lively to severe, on almost all mottoes. he was an especial favorite with his guard, the union boys." my love and i. my love reposes in a rosewood frame; a bunk have i; a couch of feath'ry down fills up the same; mine's straw, but dry. she sinks to rest at night without a sigh; with waking eyes i watch the hours creep by. my love her daily dinner takes in state; and so do i; the richest viands flank her plate; coarse grub have i. pure wines she sips at ease her thirst to slake; i pump my drink from erie's limpid lake. my love has all the world at will to roam; three acres i; she goes abroad, or quiet sits at home; so cannot i. bright angels watch around her couch at night; a yank, with loaded gun, keeps me in sight. a thousand weary miles stretch between my love and i; to her, this wintry night, cold, calm, serene, i waft a sigh, and hope, with all my earnestness of soul, to-morrow's mail may bring me my parole. there's hope ahead: we'll one day meet again, my love and i; we'll wipe away all tears of sorrow then; her love-lit eye will all my many troubles then beguile, and keep this wayward reb from johnson's isle. [illustration: stuck!] a scriptural conundrum. the georgia contrabands were great on conundrums, says a soldier of sherman's army. one day one of these human "charcoal sketches" was driving a pair of contrary mules hitched to a cart loaded with foraging stuff. he was sitting on the load, saying to himself, "now dat clem ax me dat cundrum to bodder dis nigger, and i done just make it out. 'why ar moses like er cotton-gin?' i done see. i mighty 'fraid i hab to gib dat up. whoa! git up? what de debble you doin'?" while "cudgelling his brains" for a solution of clem's conundrum, the mules had strayed from the cart road, and were stuck hard and fast in the mud. "git up dar yer balum's cusses!" piling on the whip and using some "swear words" not to be repeated. "dar, take dat, and dat, yer!" just then chaplain c. rode up, and hearing the contraband swearing, said,-- "do you know what the great i am said?" "look'er yer, masser," interrupted the negro; "done yer ax me none of yer cundrums till i git out ob dis d---- hole; and i answer clem's fust--'why am moses like er gin-cotton?'" wouldn't marry a regiment. when general kelley was after mosby's guerrillas, he captured a girl named sally dusky, whose two brothers were officers in the guerrilla band. the general tried in vain to induce the girl--who was not bad looking, by the way--to reveal the rebs' hiding-places. having failed in all other ways, the general said,-- "if you will make a clean breast of it, and tell us truly, i will give you the chances for a husband of all the men and officers of my command." with this bait he turned her over to captain baggs. after some deliberation she asked that officer if the general meant what he said. "o, most assuredly; the general was sincere," was his reply. the girl assumed a thoughtful mood for some moments, and then said,-- "well, i wouldn't like to marry the whole regiment, or staff, but i'd as lief have the old general as any of them." [illustration] xxii. gluttons and wine-bibbers. "full well he knew, where food does not refresh, the shrivelled soul sinks inward with the flesh; that he's best armed for danger's rash career, _who's crammed so full there is no room for fear_." "strange! that a creature rational, and cast in human mould, should brutalize by choice his nature."--cowper. good cheer and a cheerful heart.--a modern silenus.--a sad wreck.--delirium tremens.--fatal errors.--"eating like a glutton."--strength in weakness.--a hot place, even for a cook.--a hungry doctor.--the modern gilpin.--a change! a sow for a horse!--a duck pond.--the forlorn widow.--a scientific gormand.--another.--"doorn't go to 'im," etc.--dr. butler's beer and bath.--casts his last vote. if i confine this chapter to modern physicians, it will be brief. though doctors are usually pretty good livers, they, at this day of the world, too well know the deadly properties of the villanous concoctions sold as liquors to risk much of it in their own systems. there is a whole sermon on eating in our first text above, and, while we admit that gluttony is reprehensible, we detest "the shrivelled soul" who starves wittingly his body to heap up riches, or under the idle delusion of starving out disease, or "mortifying the flesh." if not very "mortifying," it is very depressing, to be bored by one of these "lean, lank hypochondriacs,"--to have to entertain, or be entertained by, such. o, give me the wide-mouthed, the round-faced, or abdomened, the cheerful, laughing man, especially if he's a doctor. [illustration: a good liver.] "ah, doctor," said a poor, emaciated invalid to me during my first year's practice at ----, "you do me good like a medicine by your presence. why, the blue devils leave the house the moment you enter. i don't believe you was ever blue." "hereafter my patients shall never know that i am." nor is it necessary to gulp down ardent spirits to keep the spirits up. stimulants produce an unnatural buoyancy of spirits, and the unnatural destroys the natural habit of the system. a good and natural habit does not grow upon a person to his injury; an unnatural one always does, ending in his destruction. a good living gives good spirits; _cæteris paribus_, a poor living low spirits. a modern silenus. silenus, of the mythologists, was a demigod, who became the nurse, the preceptor, and finally the attendant, of bacchus. he was represented as a fat, bloated old fellow, riding on an ass, and drunk every day in the year. i knew a "bright and shining light" in the medical profession who turned out a modern silenus. this was dr. g., of plymouth, conn. his father had given him the best medical education which this country afforded. he was a gentleman of superior address, as well as talent, tall, straight, and handsome as an apollo, with a dark, flashing eye, a massive brow, shaded by a profusion of jet-black locks. how long he had practised medicine i do not know. throughout the county he had an excellent professional reputation, particularly as a surgeon. his instruments were numerous, and of the best and latest improvements. alas that such a man should be lost to the community, and to humanity! but his appetite for intoxicating drink knew no bounds. his thirst was as insatiable as tantalus'. when i first knew him, he still was in practice, but the better portion of the community had ceased to trust him. he never was sober for a day. he occupied then a little office in the square, containing a front and a back room. in the latter were his few medicines,--there was no apothecary in town,--and a number of large glass jars, containing excellent anatomical and foetal specimens. this room was not finished inside, and the walls were full of nails, projecting through from the clapboards outside. one day a mr. hotchkiss went after him, hoping to find the doctor sufficiently sober to prescribe for a patient, in a case of emergency. "what do you suppose i found him doing?" said mr. hotchkiss to me. "hiding from the snakes in his back room?" i suggested. "no, sir; he had the tremens, and with his coat off, his hair standing every way, his eyes glaring like a demon's, he had his case of forceps strewn over the floor, and was diving at the ends of the clapboard nails, which he called devils, that came through the boards, in the back office." "ah, there you are! another devil staring at me!" he shouted; and with the bright, gleaming forceps he dove at a nail, wrenched it from the wall, and flinging it on the floor, he stamped on it, crying, "another dead devil! come on. ah, ha! there you are again!" and he dove at another. when he broke a forceps he flung it on the floor, and caught a new pair. i tried to stop him, but he only accused me of being leagued with his evil majesty to destroy him. [illustration: a doctor killing the devils.] [illustration: paying for his wine.] another day, after having pawned nearly all his instruments for money with which to buy liquor to appease his raving appetite, he was seen to unseal one of the jars containing a foetal specimen, pour out a quantity of the diluted alcohol in which it had long been preserved, and drink it down with the avidity of a starving man. his last instrument and case pawned, he sold the coat from his back to buy liquors. he could no longer get practice, no longer pay his board, and he became an outcast from all respectable society, and a frequenter of bar-rooms. a poor and simple old woman in the remote part of the town took compassion on him, and gave him a home. but nothing could chain his uncontrollable passion for intoxicating drinks. [illustration: a bar-room doctor.] the last time i saw him was in the month of december. he was in a grocery, warming himself by the store fire. he wore a crownless hat, a woman's shawl over his shoulders, and a pair of boy's pants partially covered his legs; no stockings covered his ankles, and a pair of old, low shoes encased his feet. the light had fled from his once beautiful, lustrous eyes; great wrinkles furrowed his once manly brow; his hair, once dark and glossy as the raven's wing, was now streaked with gray, uncombed and unkempt, hanging, knotted and snarled, over his neck and bloated face. "don't you recollect me?" he asked, with a shaking voice and a distressing effort at a smile. ah, it was sickening to the senses. alas! such another wreck may i never behold. what power shall awaken him from his awful condition, and "picture a happy past, gone from his sight, bring back his early youth, cloudless and bright; tell how a mother's eye watched while he slept, tell how she prayed for him, sorrowed and wept. "point to the better land, home of the blest, where she has passed away, gone to her rest. o'er the departed one memory will yearn; god, in his mercy, grant he may return." fatal errors. unfortunately, it is much easier to copy a great man's imperfections than those qualities which give him his greatness. too often, also, are their defects mistaken for their marks of distinction,--vice for virtue,--and copied by the young, who have not the ability to imitate their greatness. "general grant smokes!" "_president_ grant drinks!" these two sentences, with the lamentable fact of their probable truth, have made more smokers of young men in the military and civil walks of life than all other texts in the english language. general or president grant is not responsible for the lack of brains in the community, to be sure; but if "great men" will persist in bad habits, young men should be taught the difference between them and their virtues, and cautioned to shun them, or their bark will be stranded far out of sight of their desired haven,--the port of their ambition,--and nothing but a worthless wreck remains to tell what better piloting might have done for them. the voyage ended cannot be re-commenced. a student of medicine, in new york, brought a bottle of liquor to our room. i told him where that bottle would carry him. "pshaw! it's only a pint of wine. dr. abernethy, the great english surgeon, bought one hundred and twenty-six gallons at once, and he did not _die a drunkard_," was his contemptuous reply. "but you must remember that abernethy lived in the days of _good_ port wine, when every man had something to say of the sample his hospitality produced of his popular beverage. the doctor, who never was intemperate, was very hospitable. "'honest john lloyd!'--what an anomaly when applied to a rum-seller--was a great wine merchant of london, a particular friend of abernethy's, and of all great men of his day, who loved wines and brandies. "one day i went to lloyd's just as dr. abernethy left. "'well,' said mr. lloyd, 'what a funny man your master is.' "'who?' said i. "why, mr. abernethy. he has just been here and paid me for a pipe of wine, and threw down a handful of notes and pieces of paper, with fees. i wanted him to stop to see if they were all right, and said, 'some of those fees may be more than you think, perhaps.' 'never mind,' said he; 'i can't stop; you have them as i took them,' and hastily went his way. "in occasional habits we may most safely recollect that faults are no less faults (as mirabeau said of frederick the great) because they have the shadow of a great name; and we believe that no good man would desire to leave a better expiation of any weakness than that it should deter others from a similar error." in fact, the doctor was opposed to drunkenness, and also gluttony, although he himself "was a good liver," as the following anecdote will show:-- a wealthy merchant who resided in the country had been very sick, and barely recovered, when, from the same cause, he was again threatened with a return of the like disease. "i went to see him at home, and dined with him. he seemed to think that if he did not drink deeply, he might _eat like a glutton_," said the doctor. "well, i saw he was at his old tricks again, and i said to him, 'sir, what would you think of a merchant, who, having been prosperous in business and amassed a comfortable fortune, went and risked it all in what he knew was an imprudent speculation?' "why, sir," he exclaimed, "i should say he was a great ass." "'nay, then, thou art the man,' said abernethy." the leopard does not change his spots. for the truth of this read the life and fall of uniac. o, it is a fearful thing to become a drunkard. the habit once acquired is never gotten entirely rid of. it sleeps--it never dies, but with the death of the victim. young men, avoid the first drink. never take that first fatal glass; thus, and only thus, are you safe from a drunkard's grave, and the curse entailed upon your progeny. strength in weakness. "sir, i am advised that you have a barrel of beer in your room," said the president of one of our new england colleges to a student, who, contrary to rule and usage, had actually purchased a barrel of the delightful stuff made from brewed hops, copperas, and filthy slops, and deposited it under the bed, convenient for use. "yes, sir; such is the fact," replied the student. "what explanation can you give for such conduct, sir?" "well," began the student with the boldest confidence, "the truth is, my physician, in consideration of my ill health, advised me to take a little ale daily; and not wishing to be seen visiting the beer-shops where the beverage is retailed, i decided to buy a barrel, and take it quietly at my room." "indeed! and have you derived the anticipated benefit therefrom, sir?" inquired the president. "o, yes, sir; indeed i have. why, when i first had the barrel placed in my room two weeks ago, i could not move it. now, sir, i can carry it with the greatest of ease." the president _smiled_, and ordered the barrel removed, saying that "in consideration of his rapid convalescence the treatment could safely be discontinued." a warm place for a cook. soon after the completion of the roberts opera house, in hartford, conn., the putnam phalanx held a grand ball within its walls. the music was exquisite; the prompters the best in the state; the ladies were the most beautiful and dressy in the land; and all went splendidly, till the supper was discussed. there had been a misunderstanding about the number for whom supper was to be prepared, and it was found out, when too late, that there were a hundred more guests than plates. the supper was spread in the basement. when the writer went down with friends, the tables, which had already been twice occupied, presented a disgusting scene--all heaped up with dirty dishes, debris of "fowl, fish, and dessert," and great complaint was made by the hungry dancers, while some unpleasant epithets, and uncomplimentary remarks were hurled at the heads of the innocent caterers. with our party were dr. c., a great joker, and dr. d., his match. "if you don't like this fare you can go through into the restaurant," said one of the waiters. "it is all the same," he added. we required no second invitation. we did ample justice to the fare provided, and retired, leaving dr. c. to bring up the rear. in a half minute he came running after us, saying,-- "the fellow told me i must pay for the supper in there, extra!" "well, what did you tell him?" "why, i told him to go to h----." "well, you did right; let him go; that is just the place for him." on another occasion, the dinner not being forthcoming at a hotel where we dined, the doctor "fell to," and soon demolished the best part of a blanc-mange pudding before him. "that, sir, is dessert," politely interrupted the waiter, in dismay at seeing his dessert so rapidly disappearing. "no matter," said the doctor, finishing it; "i could eat it if it were the great sahara!" a modern gilpin. the widow wealthy lived in the country. she was a blooming widow, fair, plump, and--sickly. she owned a valuable farm, just turning off from the main thoroughfare,--broad acres, nice cottage house, great barn and granary, and she was considered, by certain eligible old bachelors, and a widower or two, as "a mighty good catch." dr. filley practised in the country. he was a bachelor, above forty. he was a short, thick-set man, with a fair practice, which might have been better, but for certain whispers about a growing propensity to--drinking! that's the word. of course he denied the insinuation, and defied any one to prove that he was ever the worse for liquor. the doctor was attendant, professionally, upon the widow, and--well you know how the gossips manage that sort of a thing in the country. but who was to know whether "the doctor made more visits per week to the widow wealthy than her state of health seemed to warrant"? or who knew that "the widow was 'sweet' towards the little doctor, and that she intended he should throw the bill all in at the end of the year--himself to boot?" never mind his rivals; they do not come into our amusing story. john, the widow's hired man, was sent very unexpectedly, one day in autumn, for the doctor to call that afternoon, to see the invalid. very unexpectedly to the widow, and greatly to her mortification, two gossiping neighbors called at her residence just as the doctor was expected to arrive. "o, she was so glad to see mrs. ---- and mrs. ----!" dr. filley rode a scraggy little canadian horse,--a fiery, headstrong beast, but a good saddle horse. somehow, the unexpected call, at that hour, slightly "flustered" the little doctor; but he threw his saddle-bags over his shoulder, mounted the beast, and turned his head towards the widow's residence. "i b'lieve i am a little nervous over this colt; i wonder what's the matter!" and he tried to rein up the headstrong little beast, to give himself time to--sober off! "i reary bl'eve i'm a little--taken by surprise--ho, charley! why, what's got inter--pony? goes like 'r devil. ho, ho, boy." pretty soon the beast struck into a gallop; and now he reached the lane that led into mrs. wealthy's farm. the pony knew the lane as well as his master, and the barn better. the said lane led by the barn-yard and out-buildings, the house being beyond. the barn-yard bars were down, and the pony made for the opening, in a clean gallop, over the fallen bars, right in amongst the cattle, the sheep, and the swine. a big ox gave a bellow at the sudden arrival, and, with tail and head in air, ran to the opposite side of the yard, intruding upon the comfort of a big old sow, that was dozing in the mud. with a loud snort, the discomfited porker rushed from the mire just in time to meet the horse, and in attempting to pass on both sides at once, she went between the short fore legs of the pony, and brought up with a loud squeal, and a shock that sent the rider over the horse's head, down astride the hog. the pony reared, wheeled, and ran out of the yard at one pair of bars, and the sow went pell-mell out of the other, bearing the doctor and saddle-bags swiftly along towards the house. the hired man witnessed the sudden change of steeds, and gave the alarm. the widow--not so very sick--was just graciously showing her two unwelcome lady callers out, after being worried nearly an hour by their company; and taking an anxious look towards the lane, she saw the doctor coming on a clean--no, dirty--gallop, on her old sow. she lost no time in giving a loud scream. what else should she do? "o, goodness gracious! what is that?" "o lord, save and defend us! what is it?" exclaimed the two ladies, in chorus. "a man on a hog!" "the doctor on a sow!" again in chorus. now the pony and the swine met, the doctor still clinging to the sow's ear with one hand, and to the tail with the other; of course, having turned a clean summersault from the pony, facing towards the sow's hind quarters. the swine, beset on all sides, sheered off, and made directly through a large duck-pond in the field, scattering the geese and ducks every way, which, crying out, "quack, quack!" made off as fast as feet and wings could carry them. half way across the pond the doctor lost his balance, and, with his saddle-bags, fell splashing into the water. another scream from the ladies,--only two of them. the widow, like a sensible woman, when she saw the doctor's danger, ran for the well-pole. "here, john, here! take this well-hook, and fish him out quick, before he drowns." john obeyed, and in an instant the doctor was safely landed. the doctor was sobered. the widow, seeing no further danger, like a true woman, fainted. [illustration: the doctor on a sow.] [illustration: rescue of the doctor.] leaving the muddy and half-drowned doctor, who looked like a well-wet-down bantam cock, john turned to his mistress, whom he picked up from the grass, and carried into the house. the two ladies, who had witnessed her discomfiture, assisted in loosening the stays, and administering some salts, which revived the widow. "o, did you ever see such a comical sight?" "never. o, wasn't it horrid? the little doctor riding backward, on a horrid, dirty, old pig! o, if i ever!" and the ladies laughed in unison, in which the widow actually joined. "but what has become of the poor, wet fellow? and did john rescue the saddle-bags?" inquired the widow. john, meantime, had returned to the doctor's assistance. he now fished out the saddle-bags, and the unfortunate doctor started on foot for home, whither the pony had long since fled. the story, in the mouth of one servant and three ladies, was anything but a secret, and--you know how it is in the country. * * * * * the widow still holds the farm in her own name, in a town in new england. dr. filley practises physic in california. a scientific gourmand. our familiar friend, "a book about doctors," which we have before introduced to your notice as the only amusing work in the english language, upon the subject, gives a long list of _bon vivants_ of the old school, amongst whom are some eminent names in the medical profession. in fact, the abstemious doctors during the past centuries would seem to have been far in the minority. even harvey was accused of being fond of brandy. "dr. george fordyce was fond of substantial fare, like radcliffe, who was a _gormand_. for above twenty years fordyce dined at dolly's chop-house. the dinner he there consumed was his only meal during the four and twenty hours. "four o'clock was his dinner hour. before him was set a silver tankard of strongest ale, a bottle of port wine, and a quarter pint of brandy. "the dinner was preluded by a dish of broiled fowl, or a few whitings. having leisurely devoured this plate, the doctor took a glass of brandy, and ordered his steak, which was always a prime one, _weighing one and a half pounds_. of course, vegetables, etc., accompanied the steak. "when the man of science had devoured the whole of this, the bulk of which would have kept a boa constrictor happy a twelvemonth, he took the rest of his brandy, drank off the tankard of ale, and topped off by sipping down his bottle of port wine. "having thus brought his intellects, up or down, to the standard of his pupils, he rose, and walked down to essex street, and delivered his six o'clock lecture on chemistry." (he lived to the age of sixty-six.) another glutton, in contrast with whom fordyce was an abstinent, was dr. beauford. in he was summoned to appear before the privy council, to answer some questions relative to lord b., with whom the doctor was intimate. "do you know lord barrymore?" asked one of the lords. "intimately, _most_ intimately," replied the doctor. "you were often with him?" "we dine together almost daily when his lordship is in town," answered the doctor, with expressions of delight. "what do you talk about?" "eating and drinking." "eating and drinking! what else?" asked his lordship. "o, my lord, we never talk about anything but eating and drinking,--except--" "except what, sir?" "_except drinking and eating_, my lord." the council retired, greatly disappointed, for they had expected to worm some important secret from the doctor. at finch lane tavern, where dr. beauford used to receive the apothecaries at half fee, he was represented as sitting over his bottles and glasses, from which he drank deeply, never offering one of his clients a drop, though they often sat opposite, at the same table, looking with anxious countenances and watering mouths upon the tempting cordials, as the doctor tossed them off. "doorn't go to 'im," etc. "not many years since, in a fishing village on the eastern coast, there flourished a doctor in great repute amongst the poor, and his influence over the humble patients literally depended on the fact that he was sure, once in the twenty-four hours, to be handsomely intoxicated. "dickens has told us how, when he bought the raven immortalized in 'barnaby rudge,' the vender of that sagacious bird, after enumerating his various accomplishments, said, in conclusion,-- "'but, sir, if you want him to come out strong, you must show him a man drunk.' "the simple villagers of flintbeach had a firm faith in the strengthening effect of looking at a tipsy doctor. they usually postponed their visits to dr. mutchkins till evening, because they then had the benefit of the learned man in his highest intellectual condition. "'doorn't go to 'im i' the morning; he can't doctor no ways to speak on till he's had a glass,' was the advice usually given to strangers not aware of the doctor's little peculiarities." dr. butler's beer and bath. an amusing description is given of one dr. butler, of london, who, like the above, used to get drunk nightly. he was the inventor of a beer which bore his name, something like our ottawa, "with a stick in it," by one dr. irish. we once saw a drunken fellow holding on to a lamp post, while he held out one hand, and was arguing with an imaginary policeman that he was not drunk,--only had been taking a "little of that--hic--beverage, dr. waterwa's irish beer, by the advice of his physician." [illustration: "only irish beer."] dr. butler had an old female servant named nell boler. at ten o'clock, nightly, she used to go to the tavern where the doctor was, by that hour, too drunk to go home alone, when, after some argument and a deal of scolding from nell for his "beastly drunkenness," she would carry the inebriated doctor home, and put him to bed. "notwithstanding that dr. butler was fond of beer and wine for himself, he was said to approve of water for his patients. once he occupied rooms bordering on the thames. a gentleman afflicted by the ague came to see him. butler tipped the wink to his assistant, who tumbled the invalid out of the window, slap into the river. we are asked to believe that the surprise actually cured the patient of his disease." [illustration: cure for the ague.] water did not cure the doctor, however, but beer did. dr. burrowly was stricken down in his prime, and just as he was about to succeed to the most elevated position in the medical profession. the doctor was a politician, as well as an excellent surgeon. when lords gower and vandeput were contesting the election for westminster, in , the doctor was supporting the latter. one weatherly, who kept a tavern, and whose wife wore the ---- belt, was very sick. mrs. weatherly deeply regretted the fact of the sickness, as she wanted her husband to vote for lord t. late on election day, dr. burrowly called round to see his patient, quite willing that he should be sufficiently sick to keep him from going to the polls. to his surprise he found him up, and dressed. "heyday! how's this?" exclaimed the doctor, in anger. "why are you up, without my permission?" "o, doctor," replied joe weatherly, feebly, "i am going to vote." "vote!" roared the doctor, not doubting that his wife had urged him to attempt to go to the polls to vote for lord j. "to bed. the cold air would kill you. to bed instantly, or you're a dead man before nightfall." "i'll do as you say, doctor; but as my wife was away, i thought i could get as far as covent garden church, and vote for sir george vandeput." "for sir george, did you say, joe?" "o, yes, sir; i don't agree with my wife. she's for lord trentham." the doctor changed his prognosis. "wait. let me see; nurse, don't remove his stockings;" feeling the man's pulse. "humph! a good firm stroke. better than i expected. you took the pills? yes; they made you sick? nurse, did he sleep well?" "charmingly, sir;" with a knowing twinkle of the eye. "well, joe, if you are bent on going to the polls, it will set your mind better at ease to go. it's a fine sunny afternoon. the ride will do you good. so, bedad, i'll take you along in my chariot." weatherly was delighted with the doctor's urbanity, resumed his coat, went to the election, and voted for sir george, rode back in the chariot, _and died two hours afterwards_, amidst the reproaches of his amiable spouse. "called away from a dinner table, where he was eating, laughing, and drinking deeply, dr. b. was found dead in the coach from apoplexy, on the arrival at the place of destination." [illustration] xxiii. the doctor as poet, author, and musician. "here comes the trout that must be caught with tickling." "to patient study, and unwearied thought, and wise and watchful nurture of his powers, must the true poet consecrate his hours: thus, and thus only, may the crown be bought which his great brethren all their lives have sought; for not to careless wreathers of chance-flowers openeth the muse her amaranthine bowers, but to the few, who worthily have fought the toilsome fight, and won their way to fame. with such as these i may not cast my lot, with such as these i must not seek a name; content to please a while and be forgot; winning from daily toil--which irks me not-- rare and brief leisure my poor song to frame." our patron, our pattern.--some writers.--some blunders.--an old smoker.--old greeks.--a duke answered by a country miss.--the pilgrims and the peas.--"little daisy."--"casa wappa!"--fine poetry.--more schoolmasters and tailors.--napoleon's and washington's physicians.--a french "butcher."--a dif. of opinion.--some epitaphs.--dr. holmes' "one-hoss shay."--healthful influence of music.--saved by music.--a german touch-up.--music on animals.--music among the mice.--music and health. apollo,--the father of Æsculapius, the "father of physicians"--was the god of poetry and of music, as well as the patron of physicians. he presented to mercurius the famous caduceus, which has descended in the semblance of the shepherd's crook--he being the protector of shepherds and the muses--and the physician's cane and surgeon's pole. apollo is represented with flowing hair,--which the romans loved to imitate, with an effort also at his graces of person and mind. students at this day who court the muses begin by allowing, or coaxing their hair to grow long, forgetting, as they nurse a sickly goatee or mustache, assisting its show by an occasional dose of nitrate of silver, that their god was further represented as a tall, _beardless_ youth, and instead of a bottle or cigar, he held a lyre in his hand and discoursed music. [illustration: an embryo apollo.] i think dr. apollo a very safe pattern for our students to imitate, those particularly who are "fast," and who only think, with _bobby burns_,-- "just now we're living sound and hale; then top and maintop crowd the sail; heave care owre side! and large, before enjoyment's gale, let's tak the tide." it is quite impossible to mention all, even of the most celebrated of our physicians, who have contributed to the literary and musical world. but i shall quote a sufficient number to disprove the assertion that "literary physicians have not, as a rule, prospered as medical practitioners." who has developed and promulgated the knowledge relative to anatomy, chemistry, physiology, botany, etc., but the physicians? the true representation of sculpture, of painting, of engraving, and most of the arts, depends upon the learned writing of the doctors. da vinci owed his success as a portrait painter to his knowledge of anatomy and physiology derived from study under a physician, as also did michael angelo. how would our powers have succeeded as a sculptor, without this knowledge, or miss bonheur as a painter of animals? dr. hunter says "vinci (l.) was at the time the best anatomist in the world." crabbe, to be sure, failed as a physician, but succeeded as a literary man; but then crabbe was no physician, and was unread in medicine and surgery. arbuthnot also failed in the same manner, and for the same cause. all who have so failed may attribute it to the fact they _did not succeed in what they were not, but did succeed in what they were_--as oliver goldsmith. he squandered at the gaming table the money given him by his kind uncle to get him through trinity college, and though spending two years afterwards in edinburgh, and passing one year at leyden, ostensibly reading medicine, he totally failed to pass an examination before the surgeons of the college at london, and was rejected "as being insufficiently informed." he had previously been writing for the unappreciative booksellers, and authorship now became, per force, his only means of livelihood. goldsmith was an excellent, kind-hearted man; and if he had only got married and had a good wife to develop him, he would have been a greater man than he was. it has been intimated in these pages that shakspeare was prejudiced against medicine,--throwing "physic to the dogs;" but it is evident from a careful perusal of his works that shakspeare was ignorant, and also superstitious, as respects this much abused science. of the superstitions we need not further treat, but refer the intelligent reader to any of his plays for the truth of our intimation. in act ii., scene , of coriolanus, he says by menenius agrippa, the friend of coriolanus, "it gives me an estate of seven years' health, in which time i will make a lip at the physician; the most sovereign prescription of galen is but empirical," etc. coriolanus was banished from rome, and died in the fifth century before christ (about ), and galen was not born till six hundred years afterwards, viz.,--a. d. . we should smile to see the apollo belvedere with "glasses on his nose,"--as many of our young ape-ollos now wear for _effect_; but it would scarcely be less ridiculous than gloster saying in lear, "i shall not want spectacles." king lyr reigned during the earliest period of the anglo-saxon history, and spectacles were not introduced into england until the beginning of the fourteenth century. it is said that the painter cigoli in his representation of the aged simeon at the circumcision of christ, made this same error by placing spectacles on the patriarch's nose. more ludicrous than either of the above is the painting by albert durer, the german artist (about ), of his scene, "peter denying christ," wherein he represents a roman soldier leaning against the door-post comfortably smoking a tobacco pipe. the pipe, to which germans are particularly partial, was just being introduced during durer's latter years. the tobacco was not introduced into europe until , and was, when first burned, twisted together.[ ] the spaniards, in their report on their return from the first voyage of columbus said that "the savages would twist up long rolls of tobacco leaves, _and lighting one end, smoke away like devils_." (the primitive cigar.) ancient greek authors. nearly all the ancient greek physicians were authors of no mean calibre, considering the age in which they lived. pherecydes, a greek philosopher and physician, wrote a book on diet during the sixth century before christ. pythagoras, his illustrious pupil, was said to be the first who dissected animals. he wrote, and taught anatomy and physiology, in the school of crotona. herodotus was a great teacher and writer; also herophilus, his pupil. (b. c. th century.) there were four physicians named hippocrates. the second of that name has nearly eclipsed all the others. the period in which he lived was highly favorable to the development of the qualities of the great hippocrates. he was contemporary with plato, herodotus, who was his teacher, pericles, socrates, thucydides, etc. the most notable works of hippocrates are st and d "books on epidemics," "prognostics," "treatise on air and water," "regime of acute diseases," and "treatise on wounds." heraclitus, of ephesus, is conjectured to be the first who dissected the human body. "the principle of his theory is the recognition of the fire of life and the ethereal element of wisdom as the ground of all visible existence." fragments of his writings, only, have been preserved. he imitated pythagoras. theophrastus wrote a book on plants. he lived to be one hundred and seven years old. herophilus first made diagnosis by the pulse, upon which he wrote a book. celsus was the author of eight works, yet pliny makes no mention of him. galen spoke of him as an excellent physician and writer; also bostock. galen was a man of great talent and education. suidas-- th century--says he wrote no less than five hundred books on medicine, and half as many on other subjects. his native tongue was greek, but he also wrote in latin and persic. besides medicine, the above famous physicians wrote on philosophy, history, religion, etc. poetry in those days was little more than heroic, or epic, prose. the duke answered by a country miss. since i am not writing a medical history, i need not go on to quote the long list of the names of those who from the old greek days to the present time have been both authors and successful medical practitioners. their bare names would fill a large volume, and who would care to read them? to the general reader they would be quite unwelcome. the reason why medical authors are so little known is, that their writings have been too wearisome for the general reader. such english authors as the satirical wolcot (peter pindar), the courteous essayist drake, the poetical and nature-loving davy, and the "single-hearted, affectionate" dr. moir, are remembered, while greater and deeper thinkers and writers are, with their works, buried in oblivion. when the duke of kent was last in america ( ), he was one day taking observations in the country, when he entered a cosy little farm-house, where he noticed a pretty young girl, reading a book. "do you have books here, my dear?" he asked, contemptuously. "o, yes, sir," replied the girl naively, "_we have the bible and peter pindar_." that was a model house. the bible and fun-provoking "peter pindar!" under such a roof you will find no guile. here you will avoid the extremes of "_all_ work and no play," for the mind, "that makes jack a dull boy," and "all play and no work," which "makes him a mere toy." i have visited some houses in new england where the bible, and "baxter's call to the unconverted," were the only books to be seen; others where nothing was to be found upon the shelves but a vile collection of novels, such as mrs. partington has termed "yaller-cupboard literature." these need no comment, in either case. the pilgrims and the peas. our only excuse for copying this from pindar will be found in reading the poem, slightly abbreviated. the pilgrims were ordered by the priest to do penance by walking fifty miles with peas in their shoes. "the knaves set off upon the same day, peas in their shoes, to go and pray; but very different their speed, i wot; one of the sinners galloped on, light as a bullet from a gun, _the other limped as though he'd been shot_. "one saw the virgin soon, '_peccavi!_' cried, had his soul whitewashed, all so clever, when home again he nimbly hied, made fit with saints above to live forever! in coming back, however, let me say, he met his brother rogue about half way, hobbling with outstretched hand and bending knees, cursing the souls and bodies of the peas! his eyes in tears, his cheeks and brows in sweat, deep sympathizing with his groaning feet. 'how now?' the light-toed, whitewashed pilgrim broke; 'you lazy lubber!' 'you see it,' cried the other. ''tis no joke. my feet, once hard as any rock, are now as soft as blubber.' "'but, brother sinner, do explain how 'tis that you are not in pain; how is't that you can like a greyhound go, merry as if nought had happened, burn ye?' 'why,' cried the other, grinning, 'you must know that just before i ventured on my journey, to walk a little more at ease, _i took the liberty to boil my peas_!'" [illustration: the pilgrim cheat.] little davy again. sir humphry davy lived from to . coleridge said of him, "had not davy been the first chemist, he probably would have been the first poet of the age." he made some important chemical discoveries, overworked his body and brain, and took the pen "to amuse" and recreate himself, but too late, telling us of "the pleasures and advantages of fishing," etc. the following verses are from the poem of dr. david macbeth moir, on the death of his darling little boy, who died at the age of five years:-- "gem of our hearth, our household pride, earth's undefiled, could love have saved, thou hadst not died, our dear, sweet child! humbly we bow to fate's decree; yet had we hoped that time should see thee mourn for us, not us for thee, casa wappy![ ] "the nursery shows thy pictured wall, thy bat, thy bow, thy cloak, thy bonnet, club, and ball; but where art thou? a corner holds thine empty chair; thy playthings, idly scattered there, but speak to us of our despair, casa wappy! "yet 'tis a sweet balm to our despair, fond, fairest boy, that heaven is god's, and thou art there, with him in joy! there past are death and all its woes, there beauty's stream forever flows, and pleasure's day no sunset knows, casa wappy!" "the sole purpose of poetry," says the author of the above beautiful poem, "is to delight and instruct; and no one can be either pleased or profited by what is unintelligible. mysticism in law is quibbling; mysticism in religion is the jugglery of priestcraft; mysticism in medicine is quackery; and these often serve their crooked purposes well. but mysticism in poetry can have no attainable triumph." again he says,-- "the finest poetry is that which is most patent to the general understanding, and hence to the approval or disapproval of the common sense of mankind." dr. moir enriched the pages of blackwood's magazine for thirty years with his beautiful poems, and occasional prose, which, according to professor wilson, "breathed the simplest and purest pathos." he practised medicine and surgery in his native village, six miles from edinburgh, till the day of his death, which occurred in consequence of a wound caused by the upsetting of his carriage. i find four physicians by the name of abercromby, who were excellent physicians, and authors of no little note. one, patrick, a scotchman, and physician to james ii., had a library second to few physicians of his day. lancisi, an italian physician who lived at the same time, possessed a splendid library consisting of thirty thousand volumes. he discovered a set of lost plates of eustachius, from which he published tables. lancisi was physician to several popes, and was a master of polite literature, and an author of great distinction. more schoolmasters and tailors. dr. richard blackmore (sir)--our "schoolmaster turned doctor"--was an author of no small note. "a poet of the time of dryden in better repute as an honest man and a physician," says a biographer. he should have been a man of importance, since swift was pitted against him in "brutal verse." steele and pope scribbled about the pedagogue blackmore. dryden, who was unable to answer him, called him "a pedant, an ass, a quack, and a cant preacher," and he was ridiculed by the whole set of "petty scribblers, professional libellers, coffee-house rakes, and literary amateurs of the temple who formed the rabble of the vast army against which the doctor had pitted himself in defence of public decency and domestic morality." we have already referred to the "forty sets of ribald verses taunting him of his early poverty, which caused him to become a schoolmaster." amongst his works were "alfred," a poem of twenty books; another of twelve books; "hymn to light," "satire against wit," "the nature of man;" "creation," in seven books; "redemption," in six books, etc. dr. johnson says of dr. blackmore, "and let it be remembered for his honor that to have been a schoolmaster is the only reproach which all the perspicacity of malice animated by wit has ever fixed upon his private life." heinrich stilling, "a pseudonyme adopted by heinrich jung, in one of the most remarkable autobiographies ever written," was born about the year , in nassau. he was bred a tailor, and with his father followed his occupation until the son, by his own efforts and by the aid of his remarkable natural abilities, raised him to a more exalted position. by great efforts and diligent study he acquired a knowledge of latin and greek, and something of medicine, when he proceeded to the university of strasburg. here he remained prosecuting his studies with much diligence and zeal until he obtained not only his degree, but succeeded to the appointment of a professorship, and raised himself to eminence both by his ability as a lecturer and as an operator. he was also an author of considerable renown, not only on medical subjects, but as a miscellaneous writer. his novel named "theobold" is still read. he wrote a treatise on minerals. his most remarkable production, however, was his autobiography entitled "jugend, junglingjahre, wanderschaft und alter von heinrich stilling." cabanis, physician to napoleon i., was a writer of note, particularly on physiology and philosophy. his complete works were recently published in paris, and a portion of them have been translated into english. bard (samuel), physician to washington, was an author, but his writings were principally on medicine. his father was dr. john bard, who, with dr. middleton, made at poughkeepsie the first dissection in america. dr. valentine mott, of new york, was not only the first surgeon in america, but he was an excellent lecturer and a voluminous writer, but, as far as i can learn, having before me a complete list of his writings, almost entirely on medical subjects. having been to europe repeatedly, a book of travels ought to have been added to the list. one day, in paris, the celebrated surgeon dr. r. ---- asked dr. mott to visit his hospital and see him perform his peculiar operation. dr. mott assured the surgeon that he accepted with great pleasure. "but," said the frenchman, "on reflection i find there is no patient there requiring such an operation. however, that makes no difference, my dear sir. you shall see. there is a poor devil in one of the wards who is of no use to us, himself, or friends; and so come along, and i will operate upon him beautifully, beautifully," said the famous butcher. dr. mott, being a humane man, declined seeing the operation on such barbarous terms. a difference of opinion. in "surgeons of new york" dr. francis gives the following:-- "on asking dr. batchelder (then eighty-one years of age), if he had to live over his eventful life, if he would again be a doctor, he replied,-- "yes, sir;" most positively. dr. hosack's favorite branch of practice has been general surgery. on asking him the question if he would again be a surgeon, his reply was condensed into a comprehensive "never!" dr. hosack was present as examining physician to colt, who committed suicide in the city prison. it is believed to this day, in certain circles, that colt escaped, leaving another body smuggled into prison over night to represent him. the writer was induced once in hartford to believe this to be true, as persons stated that they had really seen colt in california. dr. hosack's testimony makes the case clear. colt did not escape. "it seems that when the prisoner found, at the last moment, that there was neither possibility of escaping nor the least probability of a reprieve, he induced some friend to send him a coffee-pot of hot coffee in which the dagger was concealed, and which he drove into his heart even _beyond the handle_." dr. hosack (alex. eddy) was also physician to aaron burr. [illustration: franklin's experiments with ether.] "do you never experience any contrition, at times, for the deed?" (viz., shooting hamilton), asked dr. h. of his patient. "no, sir; i could not regret it. twice he crossed my path. he brought it upon himself," was burr's reply. mrs. h., the doctor's mother, not unfrequently took tea and played chess of an evening with benjamin franklin. franklin was a funny old gentleman. he used to amuse himself by giving ether to the children of the neighborhood and letting them out under its influence to laugh at their fellow-playmates. some puritanic epitaphs. the most ingenious of the puritan poets was the rev. michael wigglesworth, whose "day of doom" is the most remarkable curiosity in american literature. "he was as skilled," says one of his biographers, "in physic and surgery as in diviner things;" and when he could neither preach nor prescribe for the physical sufferings of his neighbors,-- "in costly verse, and most laborious rhymes, he dished up truths right worthy our regard." he was buried in malden, near boston, and his epitaph was written by mather. the excellent michael wigglesworth. _remembered by some good tokens._ "his pen did once _meat from the eater fetch_; and now he's gone beyond the _eater's_ reach. his body, once so _thin_, was next to _none_; from hence he's to _unbodied spirits_ flown. once his rare skill did all _diseases_ heal; and he does nothing now uneasy feel. he to his paradise is joyful come, and waits with joy to see his _day of doom_." the last epitaph for which we have now space is from the monument of dr. clark, a grandson of the celebrated dr. john clark, who came to new england in . "he who among physicians shone so late, and by his wise prescriptions conquered fate, now lies extended in the silent grave; nor him alive would his vast merit save. but still his fame shall last, his virtues live, and all sepulchral monuments survive: still flourish shall his name: nor shall this stone long as his piety and love be known." and "such graves as his are pilgrim shrines, shrines to no code or creed confined-- _the delphian vales, the palestines, the meccas of the mind_." the one-hoss shay. mr. mundella, of the british parliament, recently said,-- "american authors are now among the best writers in the english language. among the poets were longfellow, holmes, whittier, bryant, and lowell--five men whom no other country in the same generation could surpass, if, indeed, they could match. never were purer or nobler men than they." he had the honor of knowing some of the greatest literary men in england, and could say that the american authors could compare with them in every way. o. w. holmes was the most brilliant conversationalist it was ever his good fortune to meet. as a poet, "his style is brilliant, sparkling, and terse," says hillard. i can only find space for the following from the pen of dr. holmes:-- have you heard of the wonderful one-hoss shay, that was built in such a logical way, to run a hundred years to a day, and then, of a sudden, it--ah, but stay, i'll tell you what happened without delay: scaring the parson into fits, frightening people out of their wits, have you heard of that, i say? seventeen hundred and fifty-five, _georgius secundus_ was then alive,-- snuffy old drone from the german hive! that was the year when lisbon town saw the earth open and gulp her down, and braddock's army was done so brown, left without a scalp to its crown. it was on the terrible earthquake day, that the deacon finished the one-hoss shay. now, in building of chaises, i tell you what, there is always _somewhere_ a weakest spot; in hub, tire, felloe, in spring or thill, in panel or cross-bar, or floor or sill, in screw, bolt, thoroughbrace, lurking still, find it somewhere you must and will, above or below, or within or without; and that's the reason, beyond a doubt, a chaise _breaks down_, but doesn't _wear out_. but the deacon swore (as deacons do, with an "i dew vum," or an "i tell yeou") he would build one shay to beat the taown, 'n' the keounty, 'n' all the kentry raoun'; it should be so built that it _couldn't_ break down: "fur," said the deacon, "'tis mighty plain that the weakes' place mus' stan' the strain; 'n' the way t' fix it, uz i maintain, is only jest t' make that place uz strong uz the rest." so the deacon inquired of the village folk where he could find the strongest oak, that couldn't be split, nor bent, nor broke,-- that was for spokes, and floor, and sills; he sent for lancewood to make the thills; the cross-bars were ash, from the straightest trees; the panels of white-wood, that cuts like cheese, but lasts like iron for things like these; the hubs of logs from the "settler's ellum,"-- last of its timber--they couldn't sell 'em; never an axe had seen their chips, and the wedges flew from between their lips, their blunt ends frizzled like celery-tips; step and prop-iron, bolt and screw, spring, tire, axle, and linchpin too, steel of the finest, bright and blue; thoroughbrace bison skin, thick and wide; boot, top, dasher, from tough old hide found in the pit when the tanner died. that was the way he "put her through." "there!" said the deacon, "naow she'll dew!" do! i tell you, i rather guess she was a wonder, and nothing less! colts grew horses, beards turned gray, deacon and deaconess dropped away; children and grandchildren--where were they? but there stood the stout old one-hoss shay as fresh as on lisbon earthquake day! eighteen hundred: it came and found the deacon's masterpiece strong and sound. eighteen hundred increased by ten: "hansum kerridge" they called it then. eighteen hundred and twenty came,-- running as usual; much the same. thirty and forty at last arrive, and then came fifty and _fifty-five_. little of all we value here wakes on the morn of its hundredth year without both feeling and looking queer. in fact, there's nothing that keeps its youth, so far as i know, but a tree and truth. (this is a moral that runs at large; take it. you're welcome. no extra charge.) _first of november_,--the earthquake day,-- there are traces of age in the one-hoss shay, a general flavor of mild decay, but nothing local, as one may say. there couldn't be,--for the deacon's art had made it so like in every part that there wasn't a chance for one to start. for the wheels were just as strong as the thills, and the floor was just as strong as the sills, and the panels just as strong as the floor, and the whippletree neither less nor more, and the back cross-bar as strong as the fore, and spring, and axle, and hub _encore_. and yet, _as a whole_, it is past no doubt, in another hour it will be _worn out_. first of november, fifty-five! this morning the parson takes a drive. now, small boys, get out of the way! here comes the wonderful one-hoss shay, drawn by a rat-tailed, ewe-necked bay. "huddup!" said the parson. off went they. the parson was working his sunday's text, had got to _fifthly_, and stopped perplexed, and what the--moses--was coming next? all at once the horse stood still, close by the meet'n'-house on the hill. first a shiver, and then a thrill, then something decidedly like a spill,-- and the parson was sitting upon a rock, at half past nine by the meet'n'-house clock,-- just the hour of the earthquake shock! what do you think the parson found, when he got up and stared around? the poor old chaise in a heap or mound, as if it had been to the mill and ground! you see, of course, if you're not a dunce, how it went to pieces all at once,-- all at once and nothing first,-- just as bubbles do when they burst. end of the wonderful one-hoss shay. logic is logic. that's all i say. [illustration: end of the wonderful one-horse shay.] healthful influence of music. the curative power of music is little understood. our medical men would do well to devote more time and attention to music and its beneficial influences upon themselves and patients. in paris, music is being introduced at the chief asylum for the benefit of the insane, the hypochondriacs, and such like patients. its introduction at the "retreat," at hartford, conn., has been attended with happy results. the writer attributes the primary step towards recovery of several patients of his, suffering under great mental, nervous, and bodily prostration, to his ordering the piano or melodeon reopened. not long since i visited a patient at a distance. she was young and fair, and "supposed to be in consumption," which is usually a flattering disease, while this patient was laboring under great despondency, bordering on despair. her parents could not account for her dejection. determined not to hurry over the case, and seeing a closed piano in the room, i asked if it was not used. "no," replied the mother; "she has not touched it for more than three months; she takes no interest in anything." i looked upon the sad, fair face, and thought i had never seen a picture of such utter hopelessness in a young maiden. i approached the piano, and raised its lid. the ivory keys were all dusty. the mother dusted them off, and with a great, deep sigh, whispered to me, "the dust will soon gather on her coffin. she will never touch these keys again." "pooh!" i exclaimed. "you, madam, discourage her. let me sing something that will awaken her from her lethargy." no matter how i played, or what i sang. it was the right key, the sympathetic chord. the first notes aroused her. she lifted her great, dark eyes for the first time. great tears burst their bonds, thawing out the winter-locked senses, awakening the spring-time flowers of hope, that led to a summer season of health and happiness.... i know this was decidedly unprofessional; but what care i? the young girl was aroused from her despondency, and her precious life saved. medicine, which before was of no avail, now took effect. o, i pity the poor fool who _only_ has learned to cram drugs by the scruple, dram, and ounce down the unwilling throats of his more pitiful patients because musty books tell him to. dr. mason f. cogswell, a graduate of yale, was a man eminent for piety and benevolence, a scholar, and a successful practitioner, which none can gainsay. "in music he was a proficient," said professor knight. while practising medicine in stamford, conn., he was said to have instructed the choir in psalm tunes and anthems, and other music, and adapted one to every sabbath in the year. he possessed a great library, and was for ten years president of the state medical society. dr. cogswell had a deaf and dumb daughter, and he originated the design of an asylum, which was more fully developed by mr. gallaudet, in the hartford asylum for the deaf and dumb. he died in , at the age of seventy. i know of a great many excellent physicians who are musicians and lovers of music. guilmette is a first-class primo basso. who does not love to listen to the beautiful heart and home songs of dr. j. p. ordway, such as "home delights," "come to the spirit land," etc.? "the twinkling stars are laughing, love," has been sung in every land, and arranged into band music by all the best leaders of the world. a boston musician said to the writer recently, "after the audience had been disgusted a whole hour by classic music, the house came down enthusiastically on hearing one of dr. ordway's touching melodies." the germans seldom die of consumption. they are all musicians. there are many authors and poets among the german doctors. the following gem, it is needless to add, is not by one of the best authors:-- "december's came, and now der breezes howls vay up amidst der dreeses; now der boy mit ragged drouses shivering feeches home der cowses. his boots vas old, und dorn his gloze is, und bless my shdars, how blue his nose is!" influence of music upon animals. some wild animals are easily caught and readily tamed by the assistance, of music. "whistle the rabbit and he'll stop," is as true as trite. the most common exhibition of the influence of music on animals is, perhaps, that witnessed in circuses, and other equestrian entertainments, where the horse is affected in a lively and exhilarating manner by the performances of the band, often waltzing and prancing, and keeping perfect time with the music. dogs are affected by music, but it is difficult to determine whether agreeably or otherwise. many naturalists believe it to be disagreeable to them. owls have been known to die from the effect of music. on the other hand, it is well known that many kinds of birds are affected in a very agreeable manner, often approaching as near as possible the instruments, or persons, and remaining as long as the music continues, and then flapping their wings, as we should clap our hands, in approbation of the performance. many of the wild animals are said to be fond of, and even charmed by, music. the hunters in the tyrol, and some parts of germany, often entice stags by singing, and the female deer by playing the flute. beavers and rats have been taught to dance the rope, keeping time to music. among the insects, spiders are found to be very fond of music. as soon as the sounds reach them, they descend along their web to the point nearest to that from which the music originates, and there remain motionless as long as it continues. prisoners sometimes tame them by singing or whistling, and make companions of them. [illustration: "music, the soul of life."] [illustration: the musical mice.] but perhaps the most remarkable instance of the influence of music on animals occurred at a menagerie in paris a few years ago, when a concert was given, and two elephants were among the auditors. the orchestra being placed out of their sight, they could not perceive whence the harmony came. the first sensation was that of surprise. at one moment they gazed eagerly, at the spectators; the next they ran at their keeper to caress him, and seemed to inquire what these strange sounds meant; but at length, perceiving that nothing was amiss, they gave themselves up to the impression which the music communicated. each new tune seemed to produce a change of feeling, causing their gestures and cries to assume an expression in accordance with it. but it was still more remarkable that, after a piece had produced an agreeable effect upon them, if it was incorrectly played, they would remain cold and unmoved. music among the mice. the writer used to amuse himself and friends by attracting a pair of mice into his room by means of a guitar. the following, relating to the same, is from the "american," :-- "we called upon our friend, and found him alone in his room, 'touching the guitar lightly.' he arose, greeted us with his bland smile, and said,-- "'perhaps you would like to see my pupils. if you will be seated, and remain very quiet, i will call them out.' "we did so. he resumed his seat, and, taking his splendid-toned guitar, touched some beautiful chords from an opera, and, in a moment, two or three mice ran out from the corner of the room, pointed on a 'bee line' towards the sound of the instrument. they stopped and listened for a moment or two, and, as the music glided up and down, they would move to and fro some inches on the floor, reminding one of a schottische. in various passages of the music i saw one jump up two or three inches from the floor. thus they manoeuvred till the music ceased, when they scampered away to their holes again." music and health. let patients amuse themselves by music. it is conducive to health. i cannot select music for you; choose for yourself, only don't get the "hark! from the tombs a doleful sound" style. get church music, if you like, but select a cheering class. o, it is a very mistaken idea that all music and mirth must cease in a house because a member of the household is an invalid. try my suggestion. re-open the piano or organ; or, if you haven't an instrument, re-tune your voices, and let music again "flow joyfully along," and see if happy results do not follow. physicians, i pray you, if you have never investigated this matter personally, do so. it is not adopted by any particular school of physic. it is not secured by letters patent. you will not be accounted outside of the asclepiadæ, nor sued for infringement, if you prescribe music for the despondent patient. you need not turn "minstrels," burnt-cork fellows, etc., nor make comic actors of yourselves by so doing. your judgment will suggest the kind of patient who most needs this sort of "soul and spirit" stimulus. it is better than slop porter; better than sulphuric acid brandy, or strychnine whiskey, and you well know the basis of those liquors. don't think me officious in these strong suggestions. try my advice, and you will agree with me. "prove all things; hold fast to that which is good." [illustration] xxiv. adulterations. bread, butter, and the bible.--"jack ashore."--buckwheat cakes are good.--what's in the bread, and how to detect it.--butter.--how to tell good and bad.--milk.--analysis of good and "swill milk."--what's in the milk besides mice?--the cow with one teat.--"loud" cheese.--tea and coffee.--tannin, sawdust, and horses' livers.--alcoholic drinks.--church wine and bread.--beer and bitter herbs.--spanish flies and strychnine.--"nine men standin' at the door."--burton's ale; an astonishing fact.--fishy.--"fish on a spree."--to remedy impure water.--charcoal and the bishop.--hog-ish.--pork and scrofula.--notices of the press. bread. bread and butter and the bible are synonymous with civilization and christianity. bread and the bible, civilization and christianity, have kept step together since the history of each began. two shipwrecked sailors, floating on a spar, after long privation and suffering, were thrown upon an unknown land. after looking about very shyly,--for every thing looked wild and uncivilized,--they came suddenly upon a hut. jack was afraid to advance, but his hungry companion cautiously approached, and finally entered the hut. in a moment he came rushing out, exclaiming,-- "come on, jack. it's all right. nobody at home; but it's civilized land we're grounded on. i found a loaf of bread." this was conclusive evidence, next to finding a bible, that it was a civilized country; and jack waited for no further proof, but followed captain duncan into the cabin, where the two soon appeased their hunger. wheaten bread was never an article of diet amongst savages. "take away wheat bread and butter from our families for a few generations, and who is prepared to say that civilization would not glide easily to a state of barbarism? there is sound philosophy in this suggestion, because there is no other kind of human food that is so admirably adapted to the development of the human frame, including a noble brain, as good wheat bread." it contains phosphates in just sufficient quantities to keep up a healthful supply for brain work. fish contains more phosphorus; but are fish-eating esquimaux,[ ] or coast-men, the more intellectual for having made fish their principal diet? in five hundred pounds of wheat, there are,-- muscle material, pounds. bone (and teeth) material, " fat principle, " ground to a fine flour:-- muscle material, " bone material, " fat principle, " cereal food will keep off hunger longer than animal food. by experience i have found that buckwheat will satisfy the cravings of hunger longer than wheat, rye, or corn. dr. r. b. welton, of boston, says,-- "a lady of culture, refinement, and unusual powers of observation and comparison, became a widow. reduced from affluence to poverty, with a large family of small children dependent on her manual labor for daily food, she made a variety of experiments to ascertain what articles could be purchased for the least money, and would, at the same time, "go the farthest," by keeping her children longest from crying for something to eat. she soon discovered that when they ate buckwheat cakes and molasses, they were quiet for a longer time than after eating any other kind of food. [illustration: signs of civilization.] "a distinguished judge of the united states district court observed that when he took buckwheat cakes for breakfast, he could sit on the bench the whole day without being uncomfortably hungry. if the cakes were omitted, he felt obliged to take a lunch about noon. buckwheat cakes are a universal favorite at the winter breakfast table, and scientific investigation and analysis have shown that they abound in the heat-forming principle; hence nature takes away our appetite for them in summer." another writer says,-- "we find the lowest order of intelligences standing on a potato. only one step above this class, another order is found on a hoe-cake. one degree above this we meet with the class that has risen in the scale of being as high as it is possible for mortals to rise on a pancake. head and shoulders above all of these classes we find the highest order of intelligences, with large and well-developed brains, and noble characters, standing securely on their wheaten loaf." since bread, then, is the "staff of life," the sin of its adulteration is the greatest of all wrongs to the human family. flour is often adulterated with plaster, white earth, alum, magnesia, etc. to detect plaster, burn some of the bread to ashes, and the white grains will be discovered. alum is a very pernicious ingredient of adulteration, intended to make the bread white and light. it is often mixed in inferior flour. it is detected thus: soak the loaf till soft in water, adding sufficient warm water to make it thin; stir it well, and set it a few hours; then strain it and boil it, to evaporate most of the water. after it stands a while, and cools, the crystals of alum will be precipitated. you may then tell it by taste. magnesia, so often mixed with inferior flour, to make the bread appear light, is injurious to children and invalids. you may detect it by burning the bread, and finding the magnesia in the ashes. soda, or potash. much soda produces dyspepsia, sour stomach, and burning. to find potash, or soda, break up the bread, and pour upon it sufficient hot water to cover it. when it is cool, take a piece of litmus paper (obtained at the apothecary's), wet it in vinegar, and put it into the dish with the bread and water. the potash will turn the litmus blue again. the more potash, the sooner it changes. in some countries it is known that bread is adulterated by copper. butter. butter stands next to bread, as an article of diet. it is adulterated, with difficulty, with lard; but the usual way is to mix very cheap butter with a quantity of good butter. butter is colored by carrots, yellow ochre, and yolks of eggs, and "adulterated by sand and chalk." to detect all of these, melt the butter in hot water. the coloring will separate and join the water, and the other adulterations settle to the bottom. milk. "there's chalk in the milk," is all nonsense. chalk will not remain in solution, but will settle. hence milk is not adulterated with chalk. milk is reduced by water, and if the body is again made up which the water has reduced, it is done by adding corn starch, or calves' brains! _pure milk contains_ water, . solid particles, . ----- to parts butter, . sugar, . caseine, . saline, . ----- solid matter, . _grass-fed cows' milk._ water, solid, ---- to parts butter, sugar, caseine, salt, --- solid matter, _swill milk of new york._ water, solid particles, ---- to parts butter, sugar, caseine, salt, -- solid matter, [illustration: swill milk (magnified).] the reader will perceive by these quotations (from dr. samuel r. percy's report to the academy of medicine, new york), that it requires twice as much swill milk to give the same amount of nourishment as of a pure article. furthermore, the swill milk is diseased, and, when magnified, appears as represented in the illustration. it contains corrupt matter, and pieces of _diseased udder_, with broken-down rotten globules. the result of feeding children on this pernicious article of diet is to generate scrofula, skin diseases, rickets, diarrhoea, cholera infantum, and consumption, or marasmus--wasting away. [illustration: pure milk.] [illustration: watered milk.] [illustration: "what's in the milk?"] some children in cities literally starve to death on this sort of milk. starch in milk may be detected by putting a drop of iodine into a glass of milk, when the starch will give off a blue color; or, by boiling such milk, it will thicken. _animals' brains_, which are sometimes mixed in milk, may be detected with the microscope. soda is often put in cans of milk that are to be transported, to keep the milk sweet. we once saw a milkman _picking a pair of mice out of his big milk can_; but these little accidents, with hairs and dirt from the animals, are not to be mentioned, in view of the above greater facts of "what's in the milk"? during the late run on the ---- bank, new york, a gentleman said that a westchester milkman named thompson w. decker had purchased sixteen thousand dollars worth of books at a discount, not because he wanted to speculate, as he was a millionnaire, but to show he had confidence in the institution, and wished to enhance its credit. profitable business! the cow with one teat. a cute old dairyman, who lived on a farm,-- to tell you the place is no good, nor no harm,-- kept three or four cows--"fan," "molly," and "bess," with one not yet mentioned, whose name you can't guess. two teams he kept running by night and by day, but where all the milk came from nobody could say; his cows were no better than those of his neighbor, who kept just as many with equal the labor. and as for paying! he built a great house, and barns, and granaries that would keep out a mouse; he drove fast horses, and was said to live high, but his neighbors looked on, and couldn't tell why. "_old bess kicked the bucket!_ now let's see," said they, "if he runs his two carts in the same style to-day." but the 'cute old farmer was not to be beat, for the best to give down was the cow with one teat! but since old "bess" died the milk had grown thinner, and the fact _leaked_ out now that the old sinner had a cow with one teat, and fixed near the rump was a handle which worked like any good pump! cheese. "poison is sometimes generated in curds, and cheese prepared too damp, without sufficient salt." hall, of the recorder, has been presented with some limburger cheese; and this is how he acknowledges it: "our friend, wm. f. belknap, of watertown, sends us some _choice_, _fragrant_, limburger cheese. although of dutch _descent_, we 'pass.' _our_ 'offence is _not_ rank!' and does not 'smell to heaven.' that _distinct_ package of limburger could give the ninety and nine little 'stinks of cologne' ten points, and 'skunk' 'em--just as e-a-s-y. we generously offered the package to a man who slaughters skunks for their hide and ile; but he said he didn't admire the odor, and guessed he'd worry along without it; and we finally passed it on a german, who lives over the hill five miles to leeward of the village. we suppose there _are_ some people who eat limburger. it's just as a man is brought up. 'none for joseph,' thank you." tea and coffee. tea was introduced into england in the year , and sold for sixty shillings per pound. it was first boiled till tender, and sauced up with butter in large dishes, the "broth" being thrown away: an excellent way for using the article! all imported tea is black, unless colored before leaving china, and is colored by prussiate of potash--a poison so deleterious as to require labelling in drug stores as "poison." it makes one very nervous,--good tea does not, unless used to excess,--and acts as a slow poison on the system. by its over-action on the liver, it makes one yellow, and will spoil the fairest complexion. all teas contain tannic acid, which, combining with milk, makes excellent leather of one. black teas are sometimes colored with gypsum and prussian blue. i obtained these facts from a retired tea merchant of philadelphia. he spent some time in china. coffee is adulterated with mahogany sawdust, acorns, peas, beans, roasted carrots, but more commonly with dandelion root and chiccory. i have obtained some samples of these from a large coffee-grinder in this city. but what is more repulsive still, baked horses' and bullocks' livers are often mixed with cheap coffees, to _give them more body_! pure coffee is the less injurious. all these substances may be detected, _as they become soft by boiling, which coffee-bean does not_. coffee browned in silver-lined cylinders retains its flavor more perfectly than in iron. alcoholic drinks. this is not a temperance lecture. i have only to tell you of impure liquors. excepting alcohol i know of no pure liquors. i can find none. i have offered one hundred dollars for an ounce of pure brandy. _wines._--the following articles are used to make or adulterate wine: water, sugar, arsenic, alum, cochineal and other coloring matter, chalk, lime, sulphur, lead, corrosive sublimate, etc. to detect arsenic, put some pure lime-water in a glass, and drop the wine,--say a teaspoonful,--into it. if white clouds arise, expect that it contains arsenic. a positive test of arsenic in liquids is the ammonio-nitrate of silver, which precipitates a rich yellow matter, the _arseniate of silver_, and this quickly changes to a greenish-brown color. no elder or deacon should use wine, unless domestic, without having a sample of it analyzed by a disinterested chemist. the thought to me is perfectly shocking, that the villanous concoctions sold by even honest and christian druggists, and used for communion purposes, to represent the blood of christ, should be composed of _alum, arsenic, and bugs_! (cochineal). of bread i say the same. a deacon's wife, not a hundred miles from lowell, buys baker's bread, _sour and yellow_, for communion purposes. a lady showed me a sample of it, very unlike what my old grandmother, a deaconess, used to make for that purpose. it requires too much space to give tests of the various poisons in wines. i have no confidence in _any_ foreign wines. alcohol has been distilled from the brain and other parts of the dead body of drunkards. a wine bath. an american traveller in the streets of paris, seeing the words, "wine baths given here," exclaimed,-- "well, these french are a luxurious people;" when, with true yankee curiosity and the feeling that he could afford whatever any one else did, he walked in and demanded a "wine bath." feeling wonderfully refreshed after it, and having to pay but five francs, he asked, in some astonishment, how a wine bath could be afforded so cheaply. his sable attendant, who had been a slave in virginia, and enjoyed a sly bit of humor, replied,-- "o, massa, we just pass it along into anudder room, where we gib bath at four francs." "then you throw it away, i suppose." "no, massa; den we send it lower down, and charge three francs a bath. dar's plenty of people who ain't so berry particular, who will bathe in it after this at two francs a head. den, massa, we let the common people have it at a franc apiece." "then, of course, you throw it away," exclaimed the traveller, who thought this was going even beyond yankee profit. [illustration: a champagne bath.] "no, indeed, massa," was the indignant reply, accompanied by a profound bow; "no, indeed, massa; we are not so stravagant as dat comes to; we just bottle it up den, and send it to 'meriky for champagne." a chemist's testimony. dr. hiram cox, an eminent chemist of ohio, states that during two years he has made five hundred and seventy-nine inspections of various kinds of liquors, and has found nine tenths of them imitations, and a quarter portion of them poisonous concoctions. of brandy, he found one gallon in one hundred pure; of wine, not a gallon in a thousand, but generally made of whiskey as a basis, with poisonous articles for condiments. not a drop of madeira wine had been made in that island since . some of the whiskey he inspected contained sulphuric acid enough in a quart to eat a hole through a man's stomach. [illustration: mother's milk pure and healthy.] [illustration: mother's milk after drinking whiskey.] brandy usually contains sulphuric acid. i obtained a "pure article" yesterday, from an honest, christian druggist. in an hour i found sulphuric acid in it. acids are easily detected in liquors, by placing in it for an hour a bright steel spatula. the acids have an affinity to steel, and the spatula soon turns black, separating the acid from the liquid supposed to be brandy. if the brandy is sharp to the throat on swallowing it, be sure that it is not pure, but contains capsicum, horseradish, or fusel oil. good brandy will be smooth and oily to the throat. to detect lead in wine or brandy, suspend a piece of pure zinc in the glass, and if the lead is present, delicate fibrils of that metal will form on the zinc. all malt liquors may be adulterated. bitter herbs are used instead of hops. copperas is used in lager beer; tobacco, nux vomica, and cocculus indicus in london porter--brown stout. to avoid them, _drink no beer_. it is of no earthly or heavenly use. a patient who would die without beer will certainly die with its use. _spanish flies_ are said to be used in liquors sometimes. the strychnine--of whiskey--directs its action to the superior portion of the spinal cord: hence paralysis, insanity, and sudden death of whiskey drinkers. drinkers often suffer from gravel, from the lime, or chalk, or other minerals contained in liquors. alcohol itself will _not digest_, yet ignorant physicians prescribe alcoholic drinks for dyspeptics. vinegar is often made from sulphuric acid. good vinegar will not burn on your lips. to detect acid-sulphuric, drop a little of solution of sugar of lead in your vinegar; the lead precipitates a whitish sediment. a short sermon. "there's nine men standin' at the dore, an they all sed they'd take sugar in there'n. sich, friends and brethering, was the talk in a wurldli' cens, wonst common in this our ainshunt land, but the dais is gone by and the sans run dry, and no man can say to his nabur, thou art the man, and will you take enny more shugar in your kaughey? but the words of our tex has a difrunt and more pertikelur meenin than this. thar they stood at the dore on a cold winter's mornin, two baptiss and two methodies and five lutharians, and the tother was a publikin, and they all with one vois sed they wouldn't dirty their feet in a dram shop, but if the publikin would go and get the drinks they'd pay for 'em. and they all cried out and sed, 'i'll take mine with shugar--for it won't feel good to drink the stuff without sweetenin'.' so the publikin he marched in, and the bar-keeper said, 'what want ye?' and he answered and sed, 'a drink.' 'how will ye have it?' 'plain and strate,' says he, 'for it ain't no use in wastin' shugar to circumsalvate akafortis. but there's nine more standin' at the dore, and they all sed they'd take shugar in ther'n.' friends and brethering, it ain't only the likker or the spirits that is drunk in this roundabout and underhanded way, but it's the likker of all sorts of human wickedness in like manner. there's the likker of mallis that menny of you drinks to the drugs; but you're sure to sweetin' it with the shugar of self-justification. ther's the likker of avris that some keeps behind the curtain for constant use, but they always has it well mixt with the sweetin' uv prudens and ekonimy. ther's the likker of self-luv that sum men drinks by the gallon, but they always puts in lots of the shugar of take keer of number one. "an' lastly, ther's the likker uv oxtorshun, which the man sweetins according to circumstances.... and ther's nine men at the dore, and they all sed they'd take shugar in ther'n. but, friends and brethering, thar's a time comin' and a place fixin' whar thar'll be no 'standin' at the door,' to call for 'shugar in ther'n.' but they'll have to go rite in and take the drink square up to the front, and the bar-keeper'll be old satun, and nobody else; and he'll give 'em 'shugar in ther'n,' you'd better believe it; and it'll be shugar of lead, and red-hot at that, as shure as my name's conshunce dodger." * * * * * alcohol contains no life-supporting principle. it has no iron or salts for the blood, no lime for bone, phosphorus for brain, no nitrogen for vital tissue. burton's "_old pale ale_" is given to invalids, but (by dr. hassal's analysis of one gallon), one must swallow , parts (grains) of water, of vinegar, , of malt gum, etc., in order to get of sugar, which is the only nourishing quality therein. fish is a good and wholesome article of diet, and salt water fish are never poisonous, if fresh. i once knew of fresh water fish being poisonous. the following article appeared in the daily courant of hartford in . the fish in little river on a spree. something got into the fish in little river yesterday morning, "and raised the mischief" with them. they came to the top of the water, hundreds of them, and acted as if they were in the last stages of a premature decline. "want of breath," such as boys say dogs die with, seemed to be the trouble. never were the finny tribe so anxious to get out of water, and they poked their noses above the surface in the most beseeching way possible. the appeal was too strong to resist, and hundreds of men, women, and children, with sudden inventions for furnishing relief, such as baskets, coal-sifters, bags, etc., fixed at the end of long poles, lined the banks of the stream, and such luck in fishing has not been witnessed in this vicinity for years. what produced all this commotion among the inhabitants of the deep, is only conjectured. some say a beer brewery, whose flavoring extracts (one of which is said to be cockle), after being relieved of their choicest qualities, are sent through a sewer into the stream, was the fountain head from which the trouble flowed. but beer drinkers look upon the idea as preposterous; they say it casts an unwarranted reflection upon a most respectable article of beverage. perhaps so. another claim is that somebody had thrown acid into the water; and another that decayed vegetable matter, occasioned by the long drought, has been liberally distributed in the river, from small streams which the late rains have swollen. we express no opinion about it, for, as the sensationist would say in speaking of something on a grander scale, "the whole matter is wrapped in the most profound mystery." it is a sure thing, however, that the fish had a high old time, and were considerably puzzled themselves to know what was up. wouldn't advise anybody to invest in dressed suckers for a day or two, at least. since writing the above, dr. crabtre, coroner, informs us that he has secured several of the fish, and finds, by analyzing, that they were poisoned by sulphuric acid. the evidence of it is very strong in the fish that died before being taken from the water. acid is used at sharp's factory, and is thrown in considerable quantities into the river. it will not be very healthy business to eat fish which have been thus "tampered with," and, as we are informed that many were dressed yesterday and sent into market, we caution the public against buying "small fry," unless they know where they were caught. water. foul wells, from an accumulation of carbonic acid gas, may be purified by a horse-shoe. but the horse-shoe, or other iron, or a brick, must be red hot. the vapor thus immediately absorbs the poison gas. "drink no water from streams or rivers on which, above, there are manufactories, etc.," says a medical writer. but if such water is filtered through charcoal, it will be tolerably pure. even stagnant water may be purified by pulverized charcoal. dead rats, cats, and dogs are sometimes found in wells. the taste of the water soon reveals such offensive presence. clean out the well, and sift in some charcoal and dry earth, and the water will be all right again. * * * * * charcoal will purify, but it will also defile, as the following will show:-- "a small boy, not yet in his teens, had charge of a donkey laden with coals, on a recent day in spring; and in a midland lane, far away from any human habitation, the wicked ass threw off his load--a load too heavy for the youngster to replace. he sat down in despair, looking alternately at the sack and the cuddy--the latter (unfeeling brute!) calmly cropping the roadside grass. at last a horseman hove in sight, and gradually drew nearer and nearer. [illustration: waiting for assistance.] "'halloa, thee big fellow!' cried the lad to the six-feet archdeacon of ----, 'i wish thee'dst get off thy 'oss, and give us a lift with this here bag of coals.' "the venerable rider had delivered many a charge in his life, but never received such a one as this himself--so brief and so brusque. he was taken aback at first, and drew himself up; but his good nature overcame his offended dignity, and dismounting, he played the part, not of the levite, but of the samaritan. the big priest and the small boy tugged and tumbled the sack, and hugged and lifted it, till the coals were fairly _in statu quo_--the archdeacon retiring from his task with blackened hands and soiled neck-tie. "'well,' exclaimed the small boy as his venerable friend remounted his horse, 'for such a big chap as thee art, thee's the awkwardest at a bag o' coals i ever seed in all my born days! come op, neddy!'" hogish. pork is one of the vilest articles ever introduced into the dietetic world. it is a food for the generation and development of scrofula. the word _scrofa_ (latin), from which _scrofula_ is derived, means a breeding sow. pork is the jew's abomination. i have never seen but one jew with the scrofula. the irish worship a pig. they die by the wholesale of scrofula and consumption. tubercles are often found in pork, sometimes in beef. we had the gratification of adding to the health of hartford for two summers by abating the swine nuisance. previous to our war on them, the hogs _rooted and wallowed in the streets_! adulterations of sugar and confectionery. it is pleasantly supposed that sugar is the basis of all candies; and originally this was doubtless true. it would be better for the rising generation if the original prescription was still carried out, and nothing of a more injurious nature than sugar was added to it, in the innumerable varieties of confectionery which are daily sold in our shops, or in richly decorated stores, "gotten up regardless of expense," over elegant marble counters, and from tempting cut and stained glass jars, or from little stands upon the street corners, to our children, old and young. sugar, pure and in moderate quantities, is a very harmless confection. professor morchand and others affirm that a solution of pure sugar has no injurious effect upon the teeth, the popular notion to the contrary notwithstanding. neither is pure or refined sugar, taken in moderate quantities, injurious to the blood, or the stomach, _unless the stomach be very weak_. in order to cure my children of an inordinate appetite for sugar, i have repeatedly obtained a pound of pure white lump, and set it before each, respectively, allowing it to eat as much as it chose. failing, in one case out of three, to surfeit the child with one pound, i purchased six pounds in a box, and taking off the cover, i placed the whole temptingly before her. this cloyed her, and now she does not take sugar in her tea. [illustration: a confectionery store.] i have never known serious results accruing from children eating large quantities of purified sugar; yet i would not advise it to be given them in excess, excepting for the above purpose, viz., "to cure them of an inordinate appetite for sugar." now try to break the child of an excessive appetite for candy by giving it large quantities at once, and nine times out of ten you will have a sick or dead child in the house for your rash experiment. hence your candies, "nine times out of ten," will be found to contain injurious or poisonous substances. refined sugar. sugar is an aliment and condiment. it is also, medically, an alterative and a demulcent. finely pulverized loaf sugar and gum arabic, in equal proportions, form an excellent and soothing compound for inflamed throats, catarrh, and nasal irritations, to be taken dry, by mouth and nostrils, and often repeated. pure loaf sugar is white, brittle, inodorous, permanent in the air, and of a specific gravity of . . it is chemically expressed thus: c , h , o . it is nutritious to a certain extent, but alone will not support life for an unlimited length of time. this is owing to the entire absence of nitrogen in its composition. by analysis, sugar is resolved into carbon, oxygen, and hydrogen. pulverized sugar is often adulterated with starch, flour, magnesia, and sometimes silex and terra alba. loaf sugar, however, is usually found to be pure. brown or unrefined sugar. brown sugar changes under atmospheric influences, and loses its sweetness. this change is attributed to the lime it contains. the best grade of brown sugar is nearly dry, of yellowish color, and emits less odor than the lower grades. it consists of cane sugar, vegetable and gummy matter, tannic acid, and lime. put your hand into a barrel containing damp brown sugar, press a quantity, and suddenly relax your grasp, and it moves as though it was alive. it is alive! place a few grains under a powerful microscope, and lo! you see organized animals, with bodies, heads, eyes, legs, and claws! poor people, who purchase brown sugar in preference to white, miss a figure in their selection, by the sand, water, and other foreign substances which the former contains. brown sugar is not so wholesome as the refined. i have attributed several cases of gravel that have come under my observation to the patients' habitual use of low grades of brown sugar. confectionery. the first step in its adulteration. confectionery and sweetmeats used to be manufactured from sugar, flour, fruit, nuts, etc., and flavored with sassafras, lemon, orange, vanilla, rose, and the extracts of various other plants or vegetables. when competition came in the way of profits on these articles, the avaricious and dishonest manufacturer began to substitute or add something of a cheaper or heavier nature to these compositions, which would enable him to sell at a lower price, with even a greater profit. candy cheats were not easily detected, the sweets and flavors hiding the multitude of sins of the confectioner. it seemed all but useless for the would-be honest manufacturer to attempt to either compete with his rival or to expose his rascalities, which latter would only serve to advertise the wares of his competitor. hence he, too, adopted the same practice of adulterating his manufactures. one dishonest man makes a thousand. i do not affirm that there are no honest confectioners,--this would be as ungenerous as untrue,--or that we must use no confectionery. but let us hereby learn to avoid that which is impure. gypsum, terra alba, or plaster of paris. this is the principal article used in the manufacture of impure candies. the first intimation that the writer had of terra alba being mixed with sugar in candy, was when one confectioner placed a sample of the _white earth_ in a dish upon his counter, with a sample of confectionery made therefrom, to expose the cheat of his rivals. "but as for me, i make only pure candies," etc., was his affirmation. well, perhaps he did. what is the nature of gypsum, terra alba, or white earth? gypsum, or sulphate of lime, is a white, crystalline mineral, found in the excrement of most animals. hence gypsum is extensively used as an artificial manure. it is found in peat soil, also used for manure, and is a natural production, occurring in rocky masses, under various names, as alabaster, anhydrate, and selenite. the natural gypsum, or plaster of commerce, consists of water, per cent. lime, " sulphuric acid, " --- plaster was used as a fertilizer by the early roman and british farmers. it was introduced into america in . it may here be worthy of notice, that when dr. franklin desired to exhibit its utility to his unbelieving countrymen, he sowed upon a field near washington, in large letters, with pulverized gypsum, the following words: "this has been plastered." the result is supposed to have been highly convincing. but this was as a manure. dr. franklin did not recommend it as a condiment. you may know children who have been sown with plaster--though that plaster was modified by the smaller admixture of sugar--by their pale, puny, weakly appearance. sugar has a tendency to increase the fatty and warming matter of the system; gypsum, or terra alba, to destroy it. gypsum is used in confectionery without being calcined. calcined plaster, after being wet, readily "sets," or hardens. heating gypsum deprives it of the percentage of water, when it is known to commerce as "plaster of paris." it is cheap as manure; hence it is used instead of sugar. terra alba taken into the system absorbs the moisture essential to health, and disposes the child to weakness of the joints and spinal column, to rickets, marasmus, and consumption. there are other diseases to which its habitual use exposes the user; but if parents will not heed the above warning, it is useless to multiply reasons for not feeding children upon cheap or adulterated confectionery. to detect mineral substance. take no man's _ipse dixit_ when the health or lives of your precious ones are at stake. "prove all things." to detect mineral substances in candy, put a quantity--particularly of lozenges, peppermints, or cream candy--into a bowl, pour on sufficient hot water to cover it well. sugar is soluble in boiling water to any extent. terra alba is not. the sugar will all disappear; the plaster, sand, etc., will settle to the bottom; the coloring matter will mix in or rise to the top of the water. _pure candies leave no sediment when dissolved in hot water._ i have seen some "chocolate cream drops" which were half terra alba; nor were these purchased upon the street corners, where the worst sorts are said to be exhibited. boston dealers complain that some new york houses send drummers to boston who offer confectionery at a less price, at wholesale, than it costs to manufacture a fair grade of the same by any process yet known, in boston. chocolate drops are made by a patent process at about seventeen cents per pound when sugar is fourteen, and chocolate thirty-five cents per pound. gum arabic drops have been sold for seventeen cents when sugar cost almost twice that sum, and pure gum arabic nearly three times seventeen cents. i asked an extensive confectioner how this could be explained, and he said, "by using glucose in place of gum arabic." now, glucose is a sugar obtained from grapes, a very nice substitute for the above, though less sweet than other sugars--as cane, beet, etc. "what do you call glucose?" i asked this confectioner. "it is mucilage made from glue," was his reply. glue is a nasty substance, at best. it is extracted by no very neat process from the refuse of skins, parings, hoofs, entrails, etc., of animals, particularly of oxen, calves, and sheep. it usually lies till it becomes stale and corrupt before being made into glue. a confectioner showed me some "gum arabic drops" made from this patent "glucose" which cost but thirteen cents per pound. jessop exhibited some extra pure gum drops which actually cost fifty cents to manufacture. i found all his costlier candies to be pure. gum drops are a luxury, and are excellent for bronchial difficulties, inflammation of the throat, larynx, and stomach. how shall we, then, tell a pure gum arabic drop from those nasty glue drops? first, the cheap article is usually of a darker color. the pure gum arabic drops are light color, like the gum. take one in your fingers and double it over. if it possesses sufficient elasticity to bend on itself thus without breaking the grain, you may feel pretty sure it is gum arabic. the glue drop is brittle, and breaks up rough as it bends. do not purchase the colored drops. pure sugar and gum arabic are white, or nearly so, and require no coloring. purchase only of a reliable party. avoid colored confectionery, also all cheap candies. even maple sugar makers _have heard_ of sand and gypsum. poisonous coloring matter, etc. the following poisonous coloring materials are sometimes used in confectionery, says "the art of confectionery," but should be avoided: scheele's green, a deadly poison, composed of arsenic and copper; verdigris (green), or acetate of copper--another deadly poison; red oxide of lead; brown oxide of lead; massicot, or, yellow oxide of lead; oxide of copper, etc.; vermilion, or sulphuret of mercury; gamboge, chromic acid, and naples yellow. "litmus, also, should be avoided, as it is frequently incorporated with arsenic and the per-oxide of mercury." ultramarine blue is barely admissible, and blue candies are less liable to be injurious than green, yellow, or red. marigolds and saffron are sometimes used for coloring; but the cost of these, particularly the latter, compared with the minerals, as french and chrome yellows, is so high, rendering the temptation to substitute the latter so great, that purchasers should give themselves the benefit of the fear, and use no yellow candies of a cheap quality. green candy is the most dangerous. buy none, use none; they are mostly very dangerous confections. licorice, gum drops, etc. about the nastiest of all candies are the licorice and the chocolate conglomerations. glue, molasses, brown sugar, plaster, and lampblack, are among their beauties, with, for the latter, just sufficient real chocolate to give them a possible flavor. licorice is cheap enough and nasty enough, but the addition of refuse molasses, glue, and lampblack, which is no unusual matter, makes it still more repulsive. metcalf & company, extensive wholesale and retail druggists, kindly gave me the figures of cost on the first, second, and lower grades of gum arabic, glucose, etc. the first quality of gum arabic costs, by the cask, about sixty to seventy-five cents per pound; the lowest about twenty-two. there is a new manufacture in new york, with a "side issue," wherein they necessarily turn out large quantities of glucose,--refuse from grain,--and this is sold for eight to thirteen cents a pound, to confectioners. it is much better than glue, but still the glue is used to-day, and i have on my table at this moment a sample of "gum drops" made this week in boston from cheap glue, brown sugar, and a little tonka bean flavor. the tonka bean represents vanilla. these cost thirteen cents a pound, and are sometimes known, with the mucilage or glucose drops, to wholesale buyers, as "a. b." drops, to distinguish them from pure gum arabic. the unfortunate consumer, however, is not informed regarding the difference. dangerous acids. "sour drops," or lemon drops, are sometimes flavored with lemon; but oil of lemon is costly, and sulphuric and nitric acids are cheap, and more extensively used in confectionery. i recently sat down with a friend, in a first-class restaurant, to a piece of "lemon pie," etc. i took st. paul's advice, and partook of what was set before me, asking no questions for conscience' sake. the next morning, meeting the friend,--a physician, by the way,--i asked him how he liked tartaric acid. he replied, "very well in a drink, but not in pies." these acids are not only injurious to the teeth, but to the tender mucous membranes of the throat and stomach, engendering headache, colic-like pains, diarrhoea, and painful urinary diseases. spirits of turpentine, or oil of turpentine, is extensively used in "peppermints;" also in essence of peppermint, often sold by peddlers, and in shops, as "pure essence." i question if any druggist would retail such impure and dangerous articles, since he would know it at sight, and ought to be familiar with its evil effects when used freely, as people use essence of peppermint. what i have stated respecting the flavoring of soda syrups is applicable to confectionery. [illustration: tartaric acid for supper.] [illustration: a street candy stand.] hydrocyanic acid, or prussic acid, which is mentioned as being used to represent "wild cherry," in syrup or medicines, is employed in candies to give an "almond" flavor. oil of bitter almonds is very costly, which is the excuse for substituting the much cheaper article, prussic acid. the temptations set in the way of children to purchase candies are so great, and the adulterations so common, that i have devoted more space to the _exposé_ of these cheats than i at first intended; but i hope that the public will hereby take warning, and mark the beneficial results which will accrue from an avoidance of cheap, painted, and adulterated confectioneries. these are sold everywhere, but most commonly upon the streets. near a stand upon a public street of this city, sandwiched by the thick flying dust on the one hand, and the warning, "dust thou art," on the other, my attention was attracted to a little ragged urchin, who stood holding under his left arm a few dirty copies of a daily paper, while the right hand wandered furtively about in his trousers pocket, and his eyes looked longingly upon the tempting confectionery spread upon the dusty board and boxes before him. indecision dwelt upon his pale, thin countenance, and drawing nearer, i awaited this conflict of mind and matter with a feeling of no little curiosity. finally, he seemed to have decided upon a purchase of some variegated candy, and making a desperate dive with the hand deeper into the pocket, he drew forth some pennies, which were quickly exchanged for the coveted painted poison,--none the more poisonous for having been sold upon a street stand, however. his sharp, bluish-pale face lighted up with an unnatural glow of delight as he seized the tempting prize; and as he turned away, i said, kindly,-- "have you been selling papers, sonny?" "yes, sir; buy one?" he replied, with an eye yet to business. "yes; and have you any more pennies?" "no, sir." and he dropped his head in confusion. "how much have you made to-day?" i next inquired. "seventeen cents, sir." "and expended it all for candy, i suppose." receiving an affirmative reply, i next kindly questioned him respecting his family. his mother was a widow, very poor, and i asked him,-- "what will she say when you return with no money to show for your day's work?" the tears started from his blue eyes, and i knew that i had made a "point." after some further conversation, i persuaded him to show me where he lived. up the usual "three flight, back," in a low attic room, i beheld a picture of abject misery. the mother was sick, and lay uncomfortably upon an old sofa, which, with two rickety chairs and a large box, which served the double purpose of table and cupboard, were the only furniture of the apartment. she was totally dependent upon her little son's earnings for a sustenance. she had nothing in the house to eat; no money with which to obtain anything. her boy's earnings had fallen off unaccountably, and for two days they had not tasted food. when she learned that he had brought in no money (for it was now near nightfall), she fell to weeping and upbraiding "the lazy, idle wretch for not bringing home something to eat." the boy began to cry bitterly, and acknowledged his error in spending his earnings for confectionery. i then exacted a solemn promise from him that he never would buy another penny's worth of the poison, gave him some change to purchase a bountiful meal, and left with a determination to ventilate street candy stands. [illustration: the newsboy's mother.] xxv. all about tobacco. "the doctors admit snuff's a hurtful thing, and troubles the brain and sight, but it helps their trade; so they do not say quite as much as they otherwise might."--l. h. s. "how much?"--amount in the world.--"siamese twins."--a mighty army.--its name and nativity.--a donkey ride.--little breeches.--whipping school girls and boys to make them smoke.--tom's letter.--"pure society."--how a young man was "took in."--delicious morsels.--the street nuisance.--a squirter.--another.--it begets laziness.--national ruin.--black eyes.--disease and insanity.--uses of the weed.--gets rid of superfluous population.--tobacco worse than rum.--the old farmer's dog and the woodchuck.--"what killed him." how much? do you know how much money is being squandered to-day, in the united states, in the filthy, health-destroying use of tobacco? no. only $ , ! that's all. in commissioner wells's report, it is shown that in the fiscal year ending june , , the amount received from the tax on chewing and smoking tobacco was, in round numbers, fifteen million dollars. add to this the cost of production, and dealers' profits, which are five times more than the revenue tax, amounting to seventy-five million dollars. the number of cigars taxed was six hundred millions. it is calculated as many more are used through smuggling, making a grand total yearly expenditure in the united states of one hundred and fifty millions of dollars for tobacco alone! [illustration: the idol of tobacco users.] give me $ , a day, and i will go into the pauper houses of these united states, and bring forth every pauper child; i will go down into the dark, damp cellars, and away into the cobweb-hung attics, and bring forth every ragged child of crime and poverty. i will take all these little bread-and-gospel-starved children, feed, clothe, and send them to school and sabbath school, the year round, with $ , a day. christian ministers and professors, think of it! young men and boys, think of it! yes, the americans smoke, snuff, and chew one hundred and fifty million dollars in tobacco annually. the chinamen consume $ , , worth of opium in a year. the russians stuff and glut over an unmerciful amount of lard and candles in a year; and the frenchmen disgust the rest of mankind by eating all the frogs they can catch. then there are the cannibals of the south seas--they love tender babies to eat, but not an old tobacco-soaked sailor will they masticate. tobacco kills lice, bugs, fops, small boys, and other vermin. tobacco fees doctors, and fills hospitals. tobacco fills insane asylums and jails. tobacco fills pauper houses and graveyards. tobacco makes drunkards. tobacco and rum go hand and hand; they are one, inseparable; they are twins, yea, siamese twins, the chang and eng of all villanies. i never saw a drunkard who did not first use tobacco. did you? john h. hawkins, the father of washingtonians, said he never was able to find a drunkard who had not first used tobacco. too low a figure. since writing the above i have been variously informed that my figures are too low. the national revenue derived from tobacco in the states for the year ending june, , was $ , , . cigars. "according to general pleasonton, who collected the tax on them, there were , , , cigars used in the united states last year. this one billion three hundred and thirty-two million two hundred and forty-six thousand cigars were undoubtedly retailed at ten cents apiece. so we smoked up in this country, last year, $ , , worth of tobacco." this does not include pipe-smoking nor chewing tobacco. the total amount of the vile weed produced in the world annually is as follows:-- asia, , , pounds. europe, , , " america, , , " africa, , , " australia, , " ----------- making a total of, , , " the mighty army of invasion. it is estimated that there are two hundred millions of tobacco-users in the world. what a splendid regiment of sneezers, spewers, smokers, and spitters they would make! they would form a phalanx of five deep, reaching entirely around the world. wouldn't they look gay? forty millions, with filthy old tobacco pipes stuck in their mouths, "smoking away 'like devils!'" eighty millions, with best havana cigars, made in connecticut and new york, from cabbage leaf, waste stumps of cigars, and "old soldiers," thrown away by irish, dutch, italians, french, and chinese, out of cancerous mouths, whiskey mouths, syphilitic and ulcerous mouths, rotten-toothed mouths--splendid!--protruding from between their sweet lips! forty millions with pigtail and fine cut, sweet "honey dew," made as above, scented, grinding away in their forty million human mills! forty millions, including five millions in petticoats, holding cartridge boxes (of snuff) in their delicate hands, from which they distribute death-dealing ammunition to--their lovely noses! see them "marching along, marching along," to the tune that never an "old cow died on" yet, or hogs, or any animal, except he unfortunately became mixed up involuntarily with viler humans,--with jolly banners, blacked in the smoke and stench of great battles, bearing the words "death to purity!" "war to the hilt with health!" "all hail, disease, drunkenness, and death!" splendid picture! alas! true picture! and what do they leave in their wake? death to all animal and vegetable life! the vile spittle and debris dropped by the way have killed all vegetable life. there's nothing vile and filthy that they have not cursed the ground with. the following are a few of the articles mixed with various brands of tobacco, as though the original poisonous weed was not sufficiently deleterious: opium, copperas, iron, licorice,--blacked with lampblack,--the dirtiest refuse molasses, the offal of urine, etc. the effluvia and smoke arising have killed the foliage and the birds by the wayside, and miles of beautiful forests have been burned away. nothing but a broad strip of blackened, cursed, and barren waste, remains. to offset this evil there is--nothing. now, this army is daily on its march through our land, and i have only _begun_ to mention its depredations. who will stop it? its names and nativity. tobacco is a native of the west indies. romanus paine, who accompanied columbus on his second voyage, seems to have been the first to introduce tobacco into europe as an article of luxury. paine is said to have lived a vagabond life, and died a miserable death. the natives called it _peterna_. the name tobacco is derived from the town of tabaco, new spain. the latin name, nicotiana tabacum, is from jean nicot, who was a french ambassador from the court of francis i. (born the year tobacco was introduced by paine) to portugal. on the return of nicot, he brought and introduced to the french court the narcotic plant, and popularized it in france. thence it was introduced all over europe, but encountered great opposition. sir walter raleigh introduced tobacco into england about . history informs us that a persian king so strongly prohibited its use, and visited such severe penalties upon its votaries, that many of his subjects fled away to the caves, forests, and mountains, where they might worship this matchless deity free from persecution. the czar prohibited its use in russia under penalty of death to smokers, mitigating snuff takers' penalty to _merely slitting open their noses_. [illustration: punishment of the turk.] in constantinople a turk found smoking was placed upon a donkey, facing the beast's rump, and with a pipe-stem run through his nose, was rode about the public streets, a sad warning to all tobacco smokers. king james thundered against it. the government of switzerland sounded its voice against it till the alps echoed again. but in spite of opposition and the vileness of the article, it has worked itself into a general use,--next to that of table salt,--and to-day a majority of the adult male population of our christianized and enlightened united states are its acknowledged votaries. [illustration: smokers of four generations.] in the year i saw in a house in sedgwick, me., individuals of four different generations smoking. the old grandmother was eighty-five years old. she smoked. a grandmother, sixty-three, with her husband, smoked. their son smoked, and had very weak eyes. his two nephews smoked and chewed tobacco. the elder lady died with scrofulous sore eyes, not having, for years before her death, a single eyelash, and her swollen, inflamed eyelids were a sight disgusting to view. all her grand and great grandchildren whom i saw were scrofulous. some suffered with rheumatism, and all were yellowish or tawny. little children learn to smoke. i once saw a father teaching his little three-year-old boy to smoke. i knew a boy at ellsworth who learned to smoke before he could light his pipe. his father, who taught him the wicked habit, was not at all respectable, and had often been jailed for selling rum. * * * * * the following is a sample of the modern john hay's style of teaching:-- little-breeches. "i come into town with some turnips, and my little gabe come along-- no four-year-old in the county could beat him for pretty and strong; peart, and chipper, and sassy, always ready to swear and fight, and i'd larnt him to chaw terbacker, jest to keep his milk teeth white. "the snow come down like a blanket as i passed by taggart's store; i went in for a jug of molasses, and left the team at the door. they scared at something and started-- i heard one little squall, and hell-to-split over the prairie went team, little-breeches and all. "hell-to-split over the prairie! i was almost froze with skeer; but we rousted up some torches, and sarched for 'em far and near. at last we struck hosses and wagon, snowed under a soft white mound: upsot, dead beat--but of little gabe no hide nor hair was found. "and here all hopes soured on me of my fellow-critters' aid-- i jest flopped down on my marrow bones, crotch-deep in the snow, and prayed. by this the torches was played out, and me and isrul parr went off for some wood to a sheep-fold, that he said was somewhar thar. "we found it at last, and a little shed where they shut up the lambs at night; we looked in, and seen them huddled thar, so warm, and sleepy, and white. "and thar sot little-breeches, and chirped as peart as ever you see: 'i want a chaw of terbacker, and that's what's the matter of me.'" [illustration: "i want a chaw of terbacker."] whipping school boys and girls to make them smoke. in london, in , thomas hearne tells us school children were compelled to smoke. "and i remember," he says, "that i heard tom rogers say that when he was yeoman beadle that year, when the plague raged, being a boy at eaton, all the boys of his school were obliged to smoke in the school-room every morning, and that he never was whipped so much in his life as he was one morning for not smoking." [illustration: young smokers.] some boys, nowadays, would gladly undergo the "flogging" if they could be permitted to enjoy a smoke afterwards. there are but few people inhabiting the eastern coast, and following fishing for a vocation, who do not smoke or chew tobacco; and their wives and children also smoke. sailors are proverbially addicted to smoking and chewing. their love of tobacco far exceeds their appetite for grog. * * * * * the following letter from a sailor below port to his brother in london explains itself:-- near gravesend, on board belotropen. to dear brother bob. dear bob: this comes hopin' to find you well, as it leaves me safe anchored here yester arternoon. voyge short an' few squalls. hopes to find old father stout, and am out of pigtail. sight o' pigtail at gravesend but unfortinately unfit for a dog to chor. i send this by capt'n's boy, and buy me pound best pigtail and let it be good--best at diles (dials), sign of black boy, and am short of shirts--only took two, whereof one is wored out and tother most. capt'n's boy loves pigtail, so tie it up when bort an' put in his pocket. aint so partick'ler about the shirts as present can be washed, but be sure to go to diles sign of black boy and git the pigtail as i haint had a cud to chor since thursday. pound'll do as i spect to be up tomorrow or day arter. an' remember the pigtail--so i am your lovin' brother tom ----. p. s. dont forget the pigtail. pure society.--how a young man was "took in." when a young man is about to be "taken into society," the question naturally arises, is the young man, or the society, to be benefited by the accession? as the young man seems anxious to make his _debut_ there, we presume _he_ is to be benefited by the initiation into pure society. [illustration: examination of the smoker.] since nine tenths of the young men are tobacco-users, we will presume safely enough that this young man is one of them. he has used it from five to seven years,--sufficient time to admit of its becoming part and parcel of him. the young man--"john" is his name--is before the examining committee, who, not being blind or obtuse from the use of the weed themselves, and knowing no young man is fit to enter pure society who uses, or has used, tobacco, without being purified, they submit him to the test, with the following results:-- "his clothes are impregnated with tobacco," the examiner reports. "let them be removed and purified," is the command. [illustration: purifying his blood.] they are soaked in alkalies, and soap, and water. they are washed, and boiled, dried, aired, and pressed and pronounced clean, and fit for society. the committee next examine john's skin. "it is full of nicotine. it must be cleansed." so john is taken to the turkish bath, the most likely place to remove the filth permeating his every pore. dr. dio diogenes puts him through; he is "sweated," and the great room is scented throughout by the tobacco aroma arising from the ten thousand before clogged-up pores of his skin. he is all but parboiled, then soaped and scrubbed, rubbed, and then goes into the plunge bath. the fishes are instantly killed. the canary bird in the next room is suffocated by the effluvia penetrating to his cage. the young man is wiped again, dried, and cooled. again the committee smell. john is not yet pure. the nicotine is "in his blood," says dr. chemistry. a faucet is introduced into john's aorta, and his blood drawn off into a bucket for the chemist to analyze and purify of tobacco. still the flesh is full of nicotine, and it must be removed and purified. it is too late for john to object, and the fact cannot be denied that the poison _is_ in his muscle; so he is stripped of the integuments to his framework. [illustration: cleansing his bones.] the committee now examine the bony structure. in germany they have recently dug up the bones of tobacco-users who have been dead years, and found nicotine (tobacco principle) in them. may not this man's bones be full of nicotine, which will come out through, if we replace the integuments, blood, and garments? "the bones must be subjected to purification," said the judge. they are soaked in alkalies, boiled in acids, and sufficient nicotine is extracted to kill five men not hardened in the tobacco service. thus, and only thus, could john have been purified from his vile habit and its results, and fitted for decent male society, female society, and christian society. there is said to be one other place where john can possibly have the nicotine of seven years' deposit taken out of him. it is a very warm place, and the principal chemical ingredient used is said to be sulphuric, and kept up to a boiling point by means of infernal great fires. delicious morsels. nicotine is the active principle of tobacco, expressed chemically thus: c h n. one fourth of a drop will kill a rabbit, one drop will kill a large dog. it is a virulent poison, the intoxicating principle of _prepared_ tobacco. it is not in the natural leaf. _it results from fermentation._ two little boys were overheard discussing tobacco merits and demerits. one was in favor of tobacco, the other "anti." "why," said anti, "it's so poisonous that a drop of the oil, put on a dog's tail, will kill a man in a minute." it is the opium in the best havanas which enslaves the smokers more than the tobacco. those cigars, also american manufactured cigars, are dipped in a solution of opium. it is said that twenty thousand dollars' worth of opium is used annually in one cigar manufactory in havana. the street nuisance. "i knew, by the smoke that so lazily curled from his lips, 'twas a loafer i happened to meet; and i said, "if a nuisance there be in the world, 'tis the smoke of cigars on a frequented street." "it was night, and the ladies were gliding around, and in many an eye shone the glittering tear; but the loafer puffed on, and i heard not a sound, save the sharp, barking cough of each smoke-stricken dear." [illustration: the smoker.] here is a "blow" from horace greeley. "i do not say that every chewer or smoker is a blackguard; but show me a blackguard who is not a lover of tobacco, and i will show you two white blackbirds." good enough for horace. now, admitting that there are gentlemen who smoke and chew on the streets, how are ladies, or the people, to know that they are such, since the loafer, the blackguard, the thief, the pickpocket, the profaners of god's name (all), the blackleg, the murderers bear the same insignia of their profession? at one time, every man incarcerated in the connecticut state prison was a tobacco-user; nearly all, also, at the maine, vermont, and massachusetts prisons. it is quite lamentable to see how liable tobacco-using is to convert a thorough gentleman into a selfish, dirty blackguard, who will promenade the streets, chatting with some boon companion, while the pair go recklessly along, blowing their offensive smoke directly into ladies' faces, their ashes into their beautiful eyes, and spitting their filthy saliva directly or indirectly over costly dresses, thinking only of self! the man who chews. behold the picture of the man who chews! a human squirt-gun on the world let loose. a foe to neatness, see him in the streets, his surcharged mouth endangering all he meets. the dark saliva, drizzling from his chin, betrays the nature of the flood within. where, then, o where, shall neatness hope to hide from this o'erwhelming of the blackened tide? shall she seek shelter in the house of prayer? a hundred squirting mouths await her there. the same foul scene she's witnessed oft before,-- a _solemn cud_ is laid at every door! the vile spittoon finds place in many a pew, as if one part of worship were to _chew_! [illustration: the chewer.] another street nuisance. speaking of president grant and his cigar, a writer says,-- "not only do smoky editors take advantage of this weakness of our president, but tobacconists, greedy of gain, are subjecting it to their sordid purposes. hitherto these gentlemen have insulted the public taste by posting at their shop doors some savage, some filthy squaw, or some unearthly image, to invite attention to their cigars and 'negro head tobacco.' and all this seemed appropriate. but cupidity is audacious, and they now insult american pride by installing at their doors a full, life-like, wooden bust of general grant offering to passing travellers a cigar. emblems of majesty are not rare. we have jupiter with his thunderbolt, hercules with his club, ahasuerus with his sceptre, washington with his declaration of independence, lincoln with his proclamation of liberty to four millions, and now, in this year of our lord, we have president grant and his cigar! [illustration: sign of the times.] it begets laziness and national ruin. sir benjamin brodie, a distinguished physician of london, says, "a large proportion of habitual smokers are rendered lazy and listless, indisposed to bodily and incapable of much mental exertion. others suffer from depression of the spirits, amounting to hypochondriasis, which smoking relieves for the time, though it aggravates the evil afterwards.... "what will be the result, if this habit be continued by future generations?" tobacco is ruining our nation. its tendency is to make the individual user idle, listless, and imbecile. individuals make up the nation. those nations using the most tobacco are the most rapidly deteriorating. once the ships of holland ploughed the waters with a broom at the mast-head, emblematic of her power to sweep the ocean. behold her now! "her people self-satisfied, content with their pipes, and the glories once achieved by their grandfathers." look at the mexicans, and the lazzaroni of italy. "spain took the lead of civilized nations in the use of tobacco; but since its introduction into that country, the noble castilian has become degenerated, his moral, intellectual, and physical energies weakened, paralyzed, and debased. the turks, descendants of the warlike saracens, are notoriously known as inveterate smokers. and to-day they are characterized as an enervated, lazy, worthless, degenerate people." go about the shops, and bar-rooms, and billiard-halls of our own community, and see _our_ lazzaroni. what class do they principally represent--the active and virtuous, or the idle and vicious? [illustration: my lazy smoking friend.] a young man greatly addicted to smoking, and who, to my knowledge, was exceedingly lazy, was seated by the writer's fireside, listless and idle, save barely drawing slowly in and out the tobacco smoke of an old pipe, when, after repeated requests of his sister that he should go out to the shed and bring in some wood to replenish the dying embers, she got out of patience with him, and exclaimed,-- "there, ed, you're the laziest fellow i ever saw, sitting there and smoking till the fire has nearly gone out, on a cold day like this." "ugh!" he grunted, and slowly added, "i once heard tell of a lazier boy than i am, sister." "how could that be possible? do tell me," she exclaimed, impatiently. "well, you see,"--spitting on the floor,--"when he came to die, he couldn't do it. he was too lazy to draw his last breath, and they had to get a corkscrew to draw it for him." [illustration: "shall i assist you to alight?"] [illustration: work for tongues and fingers.] "you think it smart and cunning, john, to use the nauseous weed; to make your mouth so filthy then, it were a shame indeed. to smoke and chew tobacco, john, till your teeth are coated brown, making a chimney of your nose, and of yourself a clown,-- "yes, that would be so cunning, john,-- the girls will love you so; your breath will smell so sweet, they'll want you for a beau. because you use tobacco, john, you think yourself a man; but the girls will find it out, john, disguise it all you can." "shall i assist you to alight?" asked one of those nice young men who loaf about country hotel doors, smoking a villanous cigar, of a buxom country lass, on arrival of the stage. "thank you, sir," said the girl, with irony, and a jump, "but i never smoke." black eyes and fingers. an american traveller visiting the greatest cigar manufactory in seville, spain, says, amongst other things,-- "here were five thousand young girls, all in one room,--and sevillians, too,--in the factory. they are all old enough to be mischievous, and 'put on airs.' i doubt if as many black eyes can be seen in any one place as in this factory. their fingers move rapidly, and their tongues a little faster. the manufactories consume ten thousand pounds of tobacco per day. "i have often heard that a woman's weapon is her tongue, and that the sex were notorious for using it; but, like many other unkind statements against heaven's best, last gift to man, i doubted it until i peeped into the fabrico de tabacos of seville. what must be the weight of mischief manufactured each day along with the cigars, i don't know, but i feel safe in stating that it is at least equal with the tobacco. this factory was erected in , is six hundred and sixty feet long by five hundred and twenty-five wide, and is surrounded by a mole. it is the principal factory in the kingdom, as every one uses tobacco in some shape in andalusia, not excepting the ladies; but it is when they are on the shady side of forty that they puff and cogitate. snuff, cigars, and cigarettes are all manufactured here. the best workers among the girls earn about forty cents per day, the poorest about half that amount. every night they are all searched." disease and insanity. tobacco helps to fill our insane asylums. dr. butler, of hartford, and others, have assured me of the fact. "i am personally acquainted with several individuals, now at lunatic asylums, whose minds first became impaired by the use of tobacco." "in france, the increase in cases of lunacy and paralysis keeps pace, almost in exact ratio, with the increase of the revenue from tobacco. from to , the tobacco tax yielded , , f., and there were lunatic patients. now the tobacco revenue is , , f., and there are , paralytic and lunatic patients in french asylums. napoleon and eugenie, assisted by their subjects, smoked out five million pounds of tobacco the year before they went on their travels. take notice. as ye sow, so also reap." sir benjamin brodie, before quoted, says, "occasionally tobacco produces a general nervous excitability, which in a degree partakes of the nature of _delirium tremens_." the meerschaum. a sonnet. "the gorgeous glories of autumnal dyes; the golden glow that haloes rare old wine; the dying hectic of the day's decline; the rainbow radiance of auroral skies; the blush of beauty, smit with love's surprise; the unimagined hues in gems that shine,-- all these, o nicotina, _may_ be thine! but what of thy bewildered votaries? how fares it with the more precious human clay? keeps the _lip_ pure, while wood and ivory stains? stays the _sight_ clear, while smoke obscures the day? works the _brain_ true, while poison fills the veins? shines the _soul_ fair where tophet-blackness reigns? let shattered nerves declare! let palsied manhood say!" j. ives pease. uses and abuses of tobacco. in our opening remarks on tobacco, we stated some of the uses of tobacco, such as killing bugs and lice on plants, vermin on cattle, etc. it prevents cannibals from eating up our poor sailors; and, in the mexican war, it was ascertained that the turkey buzzards would not eat our dead soldiers who were impregnated with tobacco! dean swift published a pamphlet, in his day, showing how the superfluity of poor children could be made an article of diet for landlords who had already consumed the parents' substance. all may not admit that there _is_ a superfluity of children and youth in the larger towns and cities of our country. a new york paper says that "five thousand young men might leave new york city without being missed." now for our argument. "like begets like." the lamb feeds upon pure hay or sweet grass. it is the emblem of purity; it represented christ. the lion and tiger have _only_ tearing teeth, and subsist upon animal food, and they are of a wild, ferocious nature. man stuffs himself with tobacco poison. it becomes a part of him,--muscle, blood, bone! like begets like, and behold the tobacco-user's children, puny, yellow, pale, scrofulous, rickety, and consumptive. many years ago it was estimated that twenty thousand persons died annually in the united states from the use of tobacco. nine tenths begin with tobacco catarrh, go on to consumption, and death. "the diseased, enfeebled, impaired, and rotten constitution of the parent is transmitted to the child, which comes into the world an invalid, and then, being exposed more directly to the poisonous effects of this pernicious habit of the parent, its struggle for life is exceedingly short, and in less than twelve months from its birth it sickens, droops, and dies, and the milkman's adulterated milk, especially in cities, is often made the scape-goat for this uncleanly, if not sinful habit of the parent." if it is true that the wicked mostly make up the tobacco-consumers, you perceive by this, that like the prisons and gallows, tobacco catches and kills off the superfluous wicked population and their offspring. the sins of the parents are visited upon their children, and what a host of puny, wretched, and wicked little children tobacco helps to rid the world of. selah! tobacco worse than rum. tobacco is worse than rum because, by its begetting a dryness of the throat and fauces, it creates an appetite for strong drink. it is too evident to need corroboration. . "rum intoxicates." so does tobacco. "intoxication" is from the greek _en_ (in) and _toxicon_ (poison). therefore, when any perceptible poison is in the person, he is intoxicated. . "alcohol blunts the senses, and ruins many a fair intellect." so does tobacco. but since the ruined drunkard used tobacco, how do you know it was not tobacco which ruined him? come, tell me! . "rum makes a man miserable." so does tobacco. the user is in tophet the day he is out of the weed. . "whiskey makes paupers." so does tobacco. i knew a whole family who went to the brooklyn, me., pauper house one winter, when, if the father and mother had not used tobacco, they could have been in health and prosperity. . "rum makes thieves." so does tobacco. men have been known to steal tobacco when they would not have stolen bread. . "it makes murderers." where is the murderer of the nineteenth century who was not a tobacco-user, and an excessive user at that, from george dennison, who on the drop asked the sheriff for a chew of tobacco, to stokes, in his new york cell, surrounded by a cloud of tobacco smoke, awaiting the decision of the jury to ascertain if it was really he who shot the "prince of erie"? * * * * * [illustration: what killed the dog?] you can't always tell just what kills a man, or a dog, as the following story proves:-- "an old farmer was out one fine day looking over his broad acres, with an axe on his shoulder, and a small dog at his heels. they espied a woodchuck. the dog gave chase, and drove him into a stone wall, where action immediately commenced. the dog would draw the woodchuck partly out from the wall, and the woodchuck would take the dog back. the old farmer's sympathy getting high on the side of the dog, he thought he must help him. so, putting himself in position, with the axe above the dog, he waited the extraction of the woodchuck, when he would cut him down. soon an opportunity offered, and the old man struck; but the woodchuck gathered up at the same time, took the dog in far enough to receive the blow, and the dog's head was chopped off on the spot. forty years after, the old man, in relating the story, would always add, with a chuckle of satisfaction, 'and that dog don't know, to this day, but what the woodchuck killed him!'" we regret our want of space to ventilate tobacco more thoroughly. [illustration] xxvi. dress and address of physicians. the fish called the flounder, perhaps you may know, has one side for use, and another for show; one side for the public, a delicate brown, and one that is white, which he always keeps down. * * * * * then said an old sculpin--"my freedom excuse, but you're playing the cobbler with holes in your shoes; your brown side is up,--but just wait till you're _fried_, and you'll find that all flounders are white on one side." dr. o. w. holmes. . gossip is interesting.--comparative signs of greatness.--the great surgeons of the world.--address necessary.--"this is a bone."--dress _not_ necessary.--country doctors' dress.--how the deacon swears.--a good many shirts.--only washed when found drunk.--little tommy mistaken for a green cabbage by the cow.--an insulted lady.--doctors' wigs.--"ain't she lovely?"--harvey and his habits.--the doctor and the valet.--a big wig.--ben franklin.--jenner's dress.--an animated wig; a laughable story.--a character.--"dash, dash." "all personal gossip is interesting, and all of us like to know something of the men whom we hear talked of day by day, and whose works have delighted or instructed us; how they dressed, talked, or walked, and amused themselves; what they loved to eat and drink, and how they looked when their bows were unbent." most famous men have had some peculiarity of dress or address, or both. our first impression of goliah--by what we heard of his size--was that he was as high as a church steeple; and of napoleon, that he was as short as tom thumb. but when we read for ourselves, we found that goliah was much less in stature than xerxes and some modern giants, and napoleon was of medium size. no man can become truly great in any capacity unless he has the innate qualities of greatness within his composition. these qualities, if possessed, will appear in his face,--for face, as well as acts, indicate the character. there seem to be elements of character in all great men--almost the identical basis of character in the one as in the other, the different vocations explaining any minor differences that are to be found in them. thus we find precisely the same features in the character of michael angelo and the duke of wellington--two men living three centuries apart, in different countries--one a great artist, and the other a great warrior. compare washington and julius cæsar; you will find them surprisingly alike in many particulars. in them, as in every instance i have yet studied, the distinguishing feature is an intense love of work--work of the kind that fell to the lot of each to do. another feature is indomitable courage; and the last is a never-dying perseverance. though i have carefully studied the histories of many of the greatest men, in order, if i could, to discover the source of their greatness, i have never yet come upon one great life that has lacked these three features--love of work, unfailing courage, and perseverance. "to be a good surgeon one should be a complete man. he should have a strong intellect to give him judgment and enable him to understand the case to be operated on in all its bearings. he needs strong perceptive faculties especially, through which to render him practical, to enable him not only to know and remember all parts, but to use instruments and tools successfully; also large constructiveness, to give him a mechanical cast of mind. more than this, he must have inventive power to discover and apply the necessary mechanical means for the performance of the duties of his profession. he must have large firmness, destructiveness, and benevolence, to give stability, fortitude, and kindness. he must have enough of cautiousness to make him careful where he cuts, but not so much as to make him timid, irresolute, and hesitating; self-esteem, to give assurance; hope, to inspire in his patients confidence, and genial good-nature, to make him liked at the bedside. [illustration: the great surgeons of the world.] "in the group of eminent men whose likenesses are herewith presented, we find strongly marked physiognomies in each. there is nothing weak or wanting about them. all seem full and complete. take their features separately--eyes, nose, mouth, chin, cheeks, lips--analyze closely as you can, and you will discover strength in every lineament and in every line. in harvey we have the large perceptives of the observer and discoverer. he was pre-eminently practical in all things. in abernethy there is naturally more of the author and physician than of the surgeon, and you feel that he would be more likely to give you advice than to apply the knife. in hunter, strong, practical common sense, with great constructiveness, predominates. see how broad the head between the ears. his expression indicates 'business.' sir astley cooper looks the scholar, the operator, and the very dignified gentleman which he was. (he was the handsomest man of his day.) carnochan, the resolute, the prompt, the expert, is large in intellect, high in the crown, and broad at the base; he has perhaps the best natural endowment, and by education is the one best fitted for his profession, among ten thousand. he is, in all respects, 'the right man in the right place.' "dr. mott, the quaker surgeon, has a large and well-formed brain, and strong body, with the vital-motive temperament, good mechanical skill, and great self-control, resolution, courage, and sound common sense. jenner, the thoughtful, the kindly, the sympathetical, and scholarly, has less of the qualities of a surgeon than any of the others." for the above interesting facts we are indebted to the "phrenological journal." professor bigelow, of harvard, has all the requisites in his "make up" of a great surgeon. as a lecturer, dr. bigelow is easy and off-handed. he comes into the room without any fuss or airs. he takes up a bone, a femur, perhaps, and after looking at it and turning it round and upside down as though he never saw it before, he finally says, "this is a bone--yes, a bone." you want to laugh outright at the quaintness of the whole prelude. then he goes on to tell all about "the bone." we have not space for more than a mere line sketch of even great men like the above, and but few of those. the old country doctor's dress. the country doctor of the past is interesting in both dress and address. he is almost always, somehow, an elderly gentleman. he devotes little time and attention to dress. we have one in our "mind's eye" at this moment,--the dear old soul! his head was as white as--horace greeley's; not so bald. his hair he combed by running his fingers though it mornings. his eyes, ears, and mouth were ever open to the call of the needy. his clothes looked as though they belonged to another man, or as if he had lodged in a hotel and there had been a fire, and every man had put on the first clothes he found. his coat belonged to a taller and bigger man, also his pants, while the vest was a boy's overcoat. his boots were not mates. his lean old spouse looked neat and prim, but as though she had been used for trying every new sample of pill which the doctor's prolific brain invented. [illustration: a call on the village doctor.] i knew another, kind, benevolent old doctor, who started off immediately on a call, without adding to or changing his dress. i once saw him seven miles from home in his shirt sleeves in november, driving fiercely along in his gig, as dignified as though dressed in his sunday coat. if a friend reminded him of his omission, he would smile benevolently, swear as cordially, and drive on. he did not mean to be odd, he did not mean to swear; and the minister, who had talked with him on the subject more than once, had come to that charitable conclusion--for the doctor always made due acknowledgment, and did not forget the contributions and salaries. the doctor was like an innocent old backwoods deacon we have heard of, who, chancing at a village tavern for the first time, heard some extraordinary swearing; and being fascinated by this new accomplishment, he went home, and looking about for an opportunity to put to practical use the new vocabulary, he finally electrified his amiable wife by exclaiming,-- "lord-all-hell, wife; shut the doors by a dam' sight!" * * * * * [illustration: physicians costume in .] in regard to shirts, a reliable author tells us that dr. h. davy adopted the following plan _to save time_. "he affected not to have time for the ordinary decencies of the toilet. cold ablutions neither his constitution nor his philosophic temperament required; so he rarely ever washed himself. but the most remarkable fact was on the plea of saving time. when one shirt became too indecently dirty to be seen longer he used to put a clean one on over it; also the same with stockings and drawers. by spring he would look like the 'metamorphosis man' in the circus--big and rotund. "on rare occasions he would divest himself of his superfluous stock of linen, which occasion was a feast to the washerwoman, but it was a source of perplexity to his less intimate friends, who could not account for his sudden transition from corpulency to tenuity." the doctor's stock of shirts must have equalled stanford's. a california paper tells us that "twenty years ago leland stanford arrived in that state with only one shirt to his back. since then, by close attention to business, he has contrived to accumulate a trifle of ten million." what possible use can a man have for _ten million shirts_? the earl of surrey, afterwards eleventh duke of norfolk, who was a notorious gormand and hard drinker, and a leading member of the beefsteak club, was so far from cleanly in his person that his servants used to avail themselves of his fits of drunkenness--which were pretty frequent, by the way, for the purpose of washing him. on these occasions they stripped him as they would a corpse, and performed the needful ablutions. he was equally notorious for his horror of clean linen. one day, on his complaining to his physician that he had become a perfect martyr to rheumatism, and had tried every possible remedy without success, the latter wittily replied, "pray, my lord, did you ever try a clean shirt?" dr. davy's remarkable oddity of dress did not end here. he took to fishing: we have noticed his writing on angling elsewhere. he was often seen on the river's banks, in season and out of season, "in a costume that must have been a source of no common amusement to the river nymphs. his coat and breeches were of a bright green cloth. his hat was what dr. paris describes as 'having been intended for a coal-heaver, but as having been dyed green, in its raw state, by some sort of pigment.' in this attire davy flattered himself that he closely resembled vegetable life"--which was not intended to scare away the fishes. [illustration: how poor tommy was lost.] this reminds me of mrs. pettigrew's little boy "tommy." never heard of it? "well," says mrs. pettigrew, "i never again will dress a child in green. you see,"--very affectedly,--"i used to put a jacket and hood on little tommy all of beautiful green color, till one day he was playing out on the grass, looking so green and innocent, when along came a cow, and eat poor little tommy all up, mistaking him for a cabbage." mrs. h. davy was as curious in dress as the doctor. "one day"--it is told for the truth--"the lady accompanied her husband to paris, and walking in the tuileries, wearing the fashionable london bonnet of the period,--shaped like a cockle-shell,--and the doctor dressed in his green, they were mistaken for _masqueraders_, and a great crowd of astonished parisians began staring at the couple. "their discomfiture had hardly commenced when the garden inspector informed the lady that nothing of the kind could be permitted on the grounds, and requested a withdrawal. "the rabble increased, and it became necessary to order a guard of infantry to remove '_la belle anglaise_' safely, surrounded by french bayonets." [illustration: bridget's method of mending stockings.] a portland paper tells how a servant girl there mended her stockings. "when a hole appeared in the toe, bridget tied a string around the stocking below the aperture and cut off the projecting portion. this operation was repeated as often as necessary, each time pulling the stocking down a little, until at last it was nearly all cut away, when bridget sewed on new legs, and thus kept her stockings always in repair." doctors' wigs. for the space of about three centuries the physician's wig was his most prominent insignia of office. who invented it, or why it was invented, i am unable to learn. the name _wig_ is anglo-saxon. hogarth, in his "undertaker's arms," has given us some correct samples of doctors' wigs. of the fifteen heads the only unwigged one is that of a woman--mrs. mapp, the bone-setter. the one at her left is taylor, the "quack oculist;" the other at her right is ward, who got rich on a pill. mrs. mapp is sketched in our chapter on female doctors. isn't she lovely? and how taylor and ward lean towards her! ye ancient doctor. "each son of sol, to make him look more big, wore an enormous, grave, three-tailed wig; his clothes full trimmed, with button-holes behind; stiff were the skirts, with buckram stoutly lined; the cloth-cut velvet, or more reverend black, full made and powdered half way down his back; large muslin cuffs, which near the ground did reach, with half a dozen buttons fixed to each. grave were their faces--fixed in solemn state; these men struck awe; their children carried weight. in reverend wigs old heads young shoulders bore; and twenty-five or thirty seemed threescore." harvey's habits. i think harvey should have been represented in a wig. they were worn by doctors in his day, though john aubrey makes no mention of dr. harvey's wearing one. he (aubrey) says, "harvey was not tall, but of a lowly stature; round faced, olive complexion, little eyes, round, black, and very full of spirit. his hair was black as a raven, but quite white twenty years before he died. i remember he was wont to drink coffee with his brother eliab before coffee-houses were in fashion in london. "he, with all his brothers, was very choleric, and in younger days wore a dagger, as the fashion then was; but this doctor would be apt to draw out his dagger upon very slight occasions. [illustration: the undertaker's arms.] "he rode _on horseback, with a foot-cloth, to visit his patients, his footman following, which was then a very decent fashion, now quite discontinued_." it was not unusual to see a doctor cantering along at a high rate of speed, and his footman running hard at his side, with whom the doctor was keeping up a _lively_ conversation. [illustration: dispute of the doctor and valet.] jeaffreson tells the following story of dr. brocklesby, also the proprietor of an immense wig. the doctor was suddenly called by the duchess of richmond to visit her maid. the doctor was met by the husband of the fair patient, and valet to the duke. in the hall the doctor and valet fell into a sharp discussion. on the stairs the argument became hotter, for the valet was an intelligent fellow. they became more excited as they neared the sick chamber, which they entered, declaiming at the top of their voices. the patient was forgotten, though no doubt she lifted her fair head from the pillow to see her undutiful lord disputing with her negligent doctor. the valet poured in sarcasm and irony by the broadside. the doctor, with true johnny bull pluck, replied volley for volley, and the battle lasted for above an hour. the doctor went down stairs, the loquacious valet courteously showing him out, when the two separated on the most amiable terms. judge of the doctor's consternation, when, on reaching his own door, the truth flashed across his mind that he had neglected to look at the patient's tongue, feel her pulse, or, more strange, look for his fee. the valet was so ashamed, when he returned to the chamber, that his invalid wife, instead of scolding him, as he deserved, fell into a laughing fit, and forthwith recovered from her sickness. i have seen many a patient for whom i thought a right hearty laugh would do more good than all the medicine in the shops. one william--known as "bill"--atkins, a gout doctor, used to strut about the streets of london, about , with a huge gold-headed cane in his hand, and a "stunning" big three-tailed wig on his otherwise bare head. gout doctoring was profitable in charles ii.'s time. "dr. henry reynolds, physician to george iii., was the beau brummell of the faculty, and was the last of the big-wigged and silk-coated doctors. his dress was superb, consisting of a well-powdered wig, silk coat, velvet breeches, white silk stockings, gold-buckled shoes, gold-headed cane, and immaculate lace ruffles." benjamin franklin had often met and conversed with reynolds. franklin's court dress. nathaniel hawthorne relates an anecdote of the origin of franklin's adoption of the customary civil dress, when going to court as a diplomatist. it was simply that his tailor had disappointed him of his court suit, and he wore his plain one, with great reluctance, because he had no other. afterwards, gaining great success and praise by his mishap, he continued to wear it from policy. the great american philosopher was as big a humbug as the rest of us. dr. jenner's dress. "when i first saw him," says a writer of his day, "he was dressed in blue coat, yellow buttons and waistcoat, buskins, well-polished boots, with handsome silver spurs. his wig, after the fashion, was done up in a club, and he wore a broad-brimmed hat." an animated queue. an old english gentleman told me an amusing story of a wig. a dr. wing, who wore a big wig and a long queue, visited a great lady, who was confined to her bed. the lady's maid was present, having just brought in a bowl of hot gruel. as the old doctor was about to make some remark to the maid, as she held the bowl in her hands, he felt his queue, or tail to his wig, moving, when he turned suddenly round towards the lady, and looking with astonishment at his patient, he said,-- "madam, were you pulling my tail?" "sir!" replied the lady, in equal astonishment and indignation. just then the tail gave another flop. whirling about like a top whipped by a school-boy, the doctor cried to the maid,-- "zounds, woman, it was _you_ who pulled my wig!" "me, sir!" exclaimed the affrighted lady's maid. "yes, you, you hussy!" "but, i beg your pardon--" "thunder and great guns, madam!" and the doctor whirled back on his pivoted heels towards the more astonished lady, who now had risen from her pillow by great effort, and sat in her night dress, gazing in profound terror upon the supposed drunken or insane doctor. again the wig swung to and fro, like a clock pendulum. again the old doctor, now all of a lather of sweat, spun round, and accused the girl of playing a "scaly trick" upon his dignified person. [illustration: a wig mouse.] "sir, do you see that i have both hands full?" away went the tail again. the lady saw it moving as though bewitched, and called loudly for help. the greatest consternation prevailed, the doctor alternating his astounded gaze between the two females; when the queue gave a powerful jerk, and out leaped a big mouse, which went plump into the hot porridge. the maid gave a shrill scream, and dropped the hot liquid upon the doctor's silk hose, and fled. the poor, innocent mouse was dead; the doctor was scalded; the lady was in convulsions--of laughter; when the room was suddenly filled by alarmed domestics, from scullion to valet, and all the ladies and gentlemen of the household. [illustration: the mystery explained.] "what's the matter?" sternly inquired the master of the house, approaching the bed. "o, dear, dear!" cried the convalescent, "a mouse was in the doctor's wig, and--" "a mouse!" exclaimed the doctor, jerking the offensive wig from his bald pate. "a d--d mouse! i beg a thousand pardons, madam," turning to the lady, holding the wig by the tail, and giving it a violent shake. he had not seen the mouse jump, and till this moment thought that the lady and maid had conspired to insult him. a "character." old dr. standish was represented by our authority as "a huge, burly, surly, churlish old fellow, who died at an extremely advanced age in the year . "he was as unsociable, hoggish an old curmudgeon as ever rode a stout hack. without a companion, save, occasionally, 'poor tom, a thetford breeches maker,' 'he sat every night, for fifty years, in the chief parlor of the holmnook, in drinking brandy and water, and smoking a "church warden."' occasionally his wife, 'a quiet, inoffensive little body,' would object to the doctor's ways, and, forgetting that she was a woman, offer an opinion of her own. "on such occasions, dr. standish thrashed her soundly with a dog-whip." in consequence of too oft repetition of this unpleasantness, she ran away. "standish's mode of riding was characteristic of the man. straight on he went, at a lumbering, six-miles-an-hour gait, _dash, dash, dash_, through the muddy roads, sitting loosely in his saddle, heavy and shapeless as a bag of potatoes, looking down at his slouchy brown corduroy breeches and clay-colored boots, the toes of which pointed in opposite directions, with a perpetual scowl on his brow, never vouchsafing a word to a living creature. "'good morning to you, doctor; 'tis a nice day,' a friendly voice would exclaim. "'ugh!' standish would grunt, while on, _dash, dash, dash!_ he rode. "he never turned out for a wayfarer. "a frolicsome curate, who had met old standish, and received nothing but a grunt in reply to his urbane greeting, arranged the following plan to make the doctor speak. [illustration: meeting of the doctor and the curate.] "when riding out one day, he observed standish coming on with his usual '_dash, dash, dash_,' and stoical look. the clerical gentleman put spurs to his beast, and charged the man of pills and pukes at full tilt. within three feet of standish's horse's nose, the young curate reined suddenly up. the doctor's horse, as anticipated, came to a dead halt, when the burly body of old standish rolled into the muddy highway, going clean over the horse's head. "'ugh!' grunted the doctor. "'good morning,' said the curate, good-humoredly. "the doctor picked himself out of the mire, and, with a volley of expletives 'too numerous to mention,' clambered on to his beast, and trotted on, _dash, dash, dash!_ as though nothing had happened." * * * * * [illustration: dr. candee.] the dress of the modern physician is a plain black suit, throughout, with immaculate linen, and possibly a white cravat. occasionally one will "crop out" in some oddity of dress, but usually as a medium for advertising his business. with the better portion of the community, such monstrosities do not pass as indications of intelligence in the exhibitor. this engraving represents dr. candee, a western magnetic doctor. he was formerly from the "nutmeg state," and is a fair specimen of the travelling doctors who secure custom from their oddities and eccentricities of dress. xxvii. medical facts and statistics. how many.--who they are.--how they die.--how much rum they consume.--how they live.--old age.--why we die.--get married.--old people's wedding.--a good one.--the origin of the honeymoon.--a sweet oblivion.--hold your tongue!--many men, many minds.--"allopathy."--lots of doctors.--the itch mite.--a horse car ride.--keep cool!--knickknacks.--humble pie.--increase of insanity.--a cool student.--how to get rid of a mother-in-law. the population. there are on the earth about one billion of inhabitants. they speak four thousand and sixty-four languages. only one person in a thousand reaches his allotted years,--threescore and ten. between the ages of sixteen and forty-five, there are more females than males. lawyers live the longest, doctors next, ministers least of the three professions. there are more insane among farmers than of any other laborers. caucasians live longer than malays, hindoos, chinese, or negroes. light-skinned, dark-haired persons with dark or blue eyes live the longest. red or florid complexioned, gray or hazel eyes, shortest. one half of the people die before the age of seventeen; one fourth before seven. about , die each day; one every second. the married live longer than the single. tall men live longer than short ones. (no pun.) short women live longer than tall ones. three quarters of the adults are married. births and deaths are more frequent by night than day. the cost of the clergy of the united states is six million dollars yearly. lawyers receive about thirty-five million dollars. crime costs the united states about nineteen million dollars. tobacco one hundred and fifty million dollars. (that's crime, also.) liquors one billion four hundred and eighty-three million four hundred and ninety-one thousand eight hundred and sixty-five dollars. (text-book of temperance, p. .) opium is eaten in the world by one hundred and twenty million people. hasheesh is used by some twenty millions. the temperate live longer than the intemperate. self-destruction. [illustration: a german beer girl.] the hon. francis gillette, in a speech in hartford, conn., in , said that there was "in connecticut, on an average, one liquor shop to every forty voters, and three to every christian church. in this city, as stated in the _hartford times_, recently, we have five hundred liquor shops, and one million eight hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars were, last year, paid for intoxicating drinks. a cry, an appeal, came to me from the city, a few days since, after this wise: 'our young men are going to destruction, and we want your influence, counsel, and prayers, to help save them.'" in new london, report says, the young men are falling into drinking habits as never before. so in new haven, bridgeport, and the other cities and large places of the state. "the pulse of a person in health beats about seventy strokes a minute, and the ordinary term of life is about seventy years. in these seventy years, the pulse of a temperate person beats two billion five hundred and seventy-four million four hundred and forty thousand times. if no actual disorganization should happen, a drunken person might live until his pulse beat this number of times; but by the constant stimulus of ardent spirits, or by pulse-quickening food, or tobacco, the pulse becomes greatly accelerated, and the two billion five hundred and seventy-four million four hundred and forty thousand pulsations are performed in little more than half the ordinary term of human life, and life goes out in forty or forty-five years, instead of seventy. this application of numbers is given to show that the acceleration of those forces diminishes the term of human life." "in new york, mr. greeley states that 'a much larger proportion of adult males in the state drink now than did in - .' after speaking of the adverse demonstrations all over the country, he adds, 'i cannot recall a single decisive, cheering success, to offset these many reverses.' "massachusetts is moving to build an asylum for her twenty-five thousand drunkards. lager beer brewers at boston highlands have three millions of dollars invested in the business, manufactured four hundred and ninety-five thousand barrels last year, and paid a tax of half a million to the general government. the city of chicago, last year, received into her treasury one hundred and ten thousand dollars for the sale of indulgences to sell intoxicating drinks. "the same rate of fearful expenditure for intoxicating drinks extends across the ocean. in a speech before the trades' union congress, last october, at birmingham, 'on the disorganization of labor,' mr. potter shows drunkenness to be the great disorganizer of the labor of great britain, at a yearly cost of two hundred and twenty-eight million pounds, equal to one billion one hundred and forty million dollars; enough," he adds, "to pay the public debt of great britain in less than five years, and greatly diminish taxation forever." how they live. in one block near the new bowery, new york, are huddled fifteen hundred and twenty persons. eight hundred and twelve are irish, two hundred and eighteen germans, one hundred and eighty-nine poles, one hundred and eighty-six italians, thirty-nine negroes, sixty-four french, two welsh, only ten american. of these, ten hundred and sixty-two are catholic, two hundred and eighty-seven jews, etc. there are twenty grog-shops and fifty degraded women. of six hundred and thirteen children, but one hundred and sixty-six went to school. new york city consumes nine thousand six hundred dollars' worth of flour a day (twelve hundred barrels), and uses ten thousand dollars' worth of tobacco per day. old age. we have mentioned some physicians who lived to an extreme old age--the doctors meade; one lived to be one hundred and forty-eight years and nine months. thomas parr, an english yeoman, lived to the remarkable age of _one hundred and fifty-three years_; and even then dr. harvey, who held a _post mortem_ on the body, found no internal indication of decay. one of his descendants lived to be one hundred and twenty. the rev. henry reade, northampton, england, reached the age of one hundred and thirty-two. there was a female in lancashire, whose death was noticed in the times, called the "cricket of the hedge," who lived to be one hundred and forty-one years, less a few days. the countess desmond arrived at the remarkable age of one hundred and forty years. one might suppose the allotted threescore and ten years a sufficiently long time to satisfy one to live in poverty in this world; but henry jenkins lived and died at the age of _one hundred and sixty-nine years_, in abject penury. he was a native of yorkshire, and died in . why we die. but few of the human race die of old age. besides the thousand and one diseases flesh is heir to, and the disease which mrs. o'flannagan said her husband died of, viz., "of a saturday 'tis that poor mike died," very many die of disappointment. more _fret_ out. mr. beecher said, "it is the fretting that wears out the machinery; friction, not the real wear." "choked with passion" is no chimera; for passion often kills the unfortunate possessor of an irritable temper, sometimes suddenly. care and over-anxiety sweep away thousands annually. let us see how long a man should live. the horse lives twenty-five years; the ox fifteen or twenty; the lion about twenty; the dog ten or twelve; the rabbit eight; the guinea-pig six or seven years. these numbers all bear a similar proportion to the time the animal takes to grow to its full size. but man, of all animals, is the one that seldom comes up to his average. he ought to live a hundred years, according to this physiological law, for five times twenty are one hundred; but instead of that, he scarcely reaches, on the average, four times his growing period; the cat six times; and the rabbit even eight times the standard of measurement. the reason is obvious. man is not only the most irregular and the most intemperate, but the most laborious and hard-worked of all animals. he is also the most irritable of all animals; and there is reason to believe, though we cannot tell what an animal secretly feels, that, more than any other animal, man cherishes wrath to keep it warm, and consumes himself with the fire of his secret reflections. "age dims the lustre of the eye, and pales the roses on beauty's cheek; while crows' feet, and furrows, and wrinkles, and lost teeth, and gray hairs, and bald head, and tottering limbs, and limping, most sadly mar the human form divine. but dim as the eye is, pallid and sunken as may be the face of beauty, and frail and feeble that once strong, erect, and manly body, the immortal soul, just fledging its wings for its home in heaven, may look out through those faded windows as beautiful as the dewdrop of summer's morning, as melting as the tears that glisten in affection's eye, by growing kindly, by cultivating sympathy with all human kind, by cherishing forbearance towards the follies and foibles of our race, and feeding, day by day, on that love to god and man which lifts us from the brute, and makes us akin to angels." get married. there's nothing like it. get married early. the majority of men save nothing, amount to nothing, until they are married. don't get married _too much_. there was a man up in court recently for being too much married. a well-matched, temperate couple grow old, to be sure, but they "grow old gracefully." when people venture the second and third time in the "marriage lottery," it is fair to presume the first experience was a happy one. here is a case:-- an old people's wedding. "married, in gerry, chautauqua county, new york, november , , by elder jonathan wilson, aged eighty-eight, silvanus fisher, a widower, aged eighty-two, to priscilla cowder, a widow, aged seventy-six, all of gerry." what were their habits? did they drink, smoke, or chew? did they dissipate in any way? who will tell us how these aged people managed to keep up their youthful spirits so long?. we should like to publish the recipe for "the benefit of whom it concerns." a good one. a maryland paper tells the story of a marriage under difficulties, where first the bridegroom failed to appear at the appointed time through bashfulness, and was discovered, pursued, and only "brought to" with a shot gun. the bride then became indignant, and refused to marry so faint-hearted a swain. and finally, the clergyman, who is something of a wag, settled the matter by threatening to have them both arrested for breach of promise unless the ceremony was immediately performed--which it was. [illustration: an indignant bride.] the honeymoon. the origin of the honeymoon is not generally known. the saxons long and long ago got up the delightful occasion. amongst the ancient saxons and teutons a beverage was made of honey and water, and sometimes flavored with mulberries. this drink was used especially at weddings and the after festivals. these festivals were kept up among the nobility sometimes for a month--"monath." the "hunig monath" was thus established, and the next moon after the marriage was called the honeymoon. alaric, about the fifth century king of the saxons and western goths, is said to have actually died on his wedding night from drinking too freely of the honeyed beverage,--at least he died before morning,--and it certainly would seem to be a charitable inference to draw, since he partook very deeply of the "festive drink." it was certainly a sweet oblivion, "yet it should be a warning to posterity, as showing that even bridegrooms may make too merry." dr. blanchet recently read a paper before the academy of science, paris, relative to some cases of "long sleep," or lethargic slumber. one of them related to a lady twenty years of age, who took a sleeping fit during her _honeymoon_, which lasted fifty days. "during this long period a false front tooth had to be taken out in order to introduce milk and broth into her mouth. this was her only food; she remained motionless, insensible, and all her muscles were in a state of contraction. her pulse was low, her breathing scarcely perceptible; there was no evacuation, no leanness; her complexion was florid and healthy. the other cases were exactly similar. dr. blanchet is of opinion that in such cases no stimulants or forced motion ought to be employed. "the report did not say whether the husband was pleased or not with her long silence." there is too much talk in the world about woman's "_jaw_." as for me, give me the woman who can _talk_; the faster and more sense the better. "many men, many minds." there are in the united states about thirty-five thousand physicians. of this number about five thousand are homeopathists, and nearly thirty thousand are what is wrongly termed allopathists. allopathic--allopathy.--the dictionaries say this term means "the employment of medicines in order to produce effects different from those resulting from the disease--a term invented by hahnemann to designate the ordinary practice as opposed to homeopathy." the term is not acknowledged by physicians, only as a nick, or false one, given by the hahnemannites to regular practitioners. "never allow yourself," says professor wood, author of the american or u. s. dispensatory, "to be called an allopath. it is an opprobrious name, given by the enemies of regular physicians." it is, moreover, very inappropriate, for we give other remedies besides those of counter-irritation; as, for instance, an emetic for nausea. the first regular physicians of boston were dr. john walon, dr. john cutler, and dr. zabdal boylston. some of the earlier doctors had acted in the double capacity of minister and physician, as previously mentioned. massachusetts has now twelve hundred "regular" doctors, three hundred, or more, homeopathists, and some hundred botanics, etc. boston has three hundred and twenty "allopathics," about fifty homeopathists, a dozen "eclectics," one hundred and twenty of miscellaneous, and eighty-four female doctors. surely some of them must needs "scratch for a living;" yet there is always room for a first-class practitioner anywhere. the itch mite. as we are speaking of "scratching" we will mention the itch mite, which we propose to give particular--sulphur--in this chapter. [illustration: the itch mite.] the animal which makes one love to scratch is from one sixteenth to one seventeenth of an inch in length, and may be seen with the naked eye if the eye is sharp enough to "see it." the luxury of scratching is said to greatly compensate for the filthy disease known as the "itch." dr. ellitson says "a scotch king--viz., james i.--is alleged to have said that no subject deserved to have the itch--none but royalty--on account of the great pleasure derived from scratching." the king was said to have spoken from experience. in these days of filthy horse-cars (we are speaking of new york), this fact may be interesting to passengers. a horse-car ride. never full; pack 'em in; move up, fat men, squeeze in, thin; trunks, valises, boxes, bundles, fill up gaps as on she tumbles. market baskets without number; owners easy nod in slumber; thirty seated, forty standing, a dozen more on either landing. old man lifts his signal finger, car slacks up, but not a linger; he's jerked aboard by sleeve or shoulder, shoved inside to sweat and moulder. toes are trod on, hats are smashed, dresses soiled, hoop skirts crashed, thieves are busy, bent on plunder; still we rattle on like thunder. packed together, unwashed bodies bathed in fumes of whiskey toddies; tobacco, garlic, cheese, and lager beer perfume the heated atmosphere; old boots, pipes, leather, and tan, and, if in luck, a "soap-fat man;" ar'n't we jolly? what a blessing! a horse-car hash, with such a dressing! how to keep cool. . _don't fan yourself._ those persons who are continually using a fan are ever telling you "how awful hot it is." look at their faces! red hot! human nature is a contrary jade. the more you blow with a fan that warm air on your face, the more blood it calls to that part, and the more blood the more heat. so don't fan. . _don't drink ice-water._ cold, iced water is excellent for a fever, perhaps (_similia similibus curantur_); but if you drink it down when you are merely warm from outward heat, you get up an internal fever, which is increased in proportion as you take that unnatural beverage into the stomach. i drink tea, chocolate, coffee. some persons cannot drink the latter. _then don't_; but take black tea; not too strong, nor scalding hot. if very thirsty after, take small quantities of cold (not iced) water. don't take ice-cream. it increases heat and thirst. soda-water is less objectionable. sprinkling the carpet with water several times a day keeps the room cooler. if there are small children or invalids, this may be objectionable. . _with the hand_ apply cool or tepid water to the entire person every six to twenty-four hours. the electricity from the hand _equalizes_ the circulation. rub dry with a soft towel. a coarse scrubbing-cloth (even a hemlock board) does nicely for a hog, but do not apply such to human beings. it is quite unnatural. . do not sleep in any garment at night worn during the day. have your windows open as wide as you will, and bars to keep out flies and mosquitos. keep a sheet over the limbs, to exclude the hot air from the surface. . eat fruits, and but little meats. you will find, as a general rule, all ripe fruit healthy in its season. i have lived in the south several years, and know whereof i affirm. . and above all--_keep cool_! knickknacks. _more truth than poetry._--the following conversation between a colored prisoner and a temperance lecturer who was in search of facts to fortify his positions and illustrate his subject, explains itself:-- "what brought you to prison, my colored friend?" "two constables, sah." "yes; but i mean, had intemperance anything to do with it?" "yes, sah; dey wuz bofe uv 'em drunk, sah." * * * * * _humble pie._--the humble pie of former times was a pie made out of the "umbles" or entrails of the deer; a dish of the second table, inferior, of course, to the venison pastry which smoked upon the dais, and therefore not inexpressive of that humiliation which the term "eating humble pie" now painfully describes. the "umbles" of the deer are usually the perquisites of the gamekeeper. * * * * * _increase of insanity._--insanity in england is rapidly increasing. in , when the population was , , , there were , lunatics, being nineteen in every ten thousand persons. in , with a population of , , , there were , lunatics, or twenty-five out of every ten thousand persons. of these lunatics , were private patients. * * * * * _error of diagnosis._--"doctor," said a hard-looking, brandy-faced customer a few days ago to a physician! "doctor, i'm troubled with an oppression and uneasiness about the breast. what do you suppose the matter is?" "all very easily accounted for," said the physician; "you have water on the chest." "water! come, that'll do very well for a joke; but how could i get water on my chest when i haven't touched a drop in twenty years? if you had said brandy, you might have hit it." * * * * * _ferocity of a wasp._--a lady at grantham observed a wasp tearing a common fly to pieces on the breakfast table. when first noticed the wasp grasped the fly firmly, and had cut off a leg and a wing, so that its rescue would have been no kindness. the wasp was covered with a basin until it should receive a murderer's doom; and when the basin was removed for its execution, nothing was seen of the fly but the wings and a number of little black pieces. * * * * * madame regina dal cin, a famous surgeon of austria, having performed one hundred and fifty successful operations in the city hospital at trieste, was rewarded by the municipal authorities with a letter of thanks and a purse of gold. * * * * * _a cool student._--in the quartier latin, paris, a student was lying in bed, to which he had gone supperless, trying to devise some means to raise the wind; suddenly, in the dead of night, his reveries were disturbed by a "click." stealthily raising himself in bed, he saw a burglar endeavoring to open his desk with skeleton keys. the student burst into fits of laughter; the frightened thief, astounded, inquired the cause of his glee. "why, i am laughing to see you take so much trouble to force open my desk and pick the lock to find the money which i cannot find though i have the key." the thief picked up his implements, politely expressed his regret for having uselessly disturbed him, and transferred his talents and implements to some more californian quarter. [illustration: the burglar and student.] * * * * * _how to get rid of a mother-in-law._--during the recent small-pox excitement in indianapolis, an excited individual rushed into a telegraph office, hurriedly wrote a despatch, and handed the same to the able and talented clerk. the message bore the startling intelligence that the sender's wife was down with the small-pox, and closed with the request that his mother-in-law come "immediately." while making change, the telegraph man said, "my friend, are you not afraid your mother-in-law will take the small-pox?" without vouchsafing an immediate reply to the query, the dutiful son-in-law remarked, "sir, are you a married man?" "no, sir, i am not." "then, sir, take my word for it, it's all right. just bring the old woman along." * * * * * _a dying request._--a kind physician living near boston, wishing to smooth the last hours of a poor woman whom he was attending, asked her if there was anything he could do for her before she died. the poor soul, looking up, replied, "doctor, i have always thought i should like to have a glass butter-dish before i died." [illustration] xxviii. bleeders and butchers. "three special months, september, april, may, there are in which 'tis good to ope a vein: in these three months the moon bears greatest sway; then old or young that store of blood contain. september, april, may, have daies apiece that bleeding do forbid, _and eating geese_." bleeding in .--earliest blood-letters.--a royal surgeon.--a drawing joke.--the pretty coquette.--tinkers as bleeders.--wholesale butchery.--the barbers of south america.--our forefathers bleed.--a french butcher.--cur?--abernethy opposes blood-letting.--the misfortunes of a barber-surgeon (three scenes from douglas jerrold) job pippins and the wagoner; job and the highwaymen; job naked and job dressed. when, in the year of our lord , a full half dozen educated physicians meet around the dying bed of a _rich_ man in this city to quarrel over him, and in the absence of one branch of the faction, the other assume charge of the patient, whom they _bleed_ and leave _in articulo mortis_, it is not too late to take up the subject of venesection. podalirius is supposed to have been the first man who employed blood-letting, since whose time the lancet is said to have slain more than the sword; and, notwithstanding the many lives that have been sacrificed to this bloody absurdity, it is still practised by those who claim to have all science and wisdom for its sanction. it is useless to bring one learned man's opinion against it, because another's can be found equally wise to offset him: the great public has condemned the practice. it early fell into disrepute with the more refined, notwithstanding some kings took to bleeding as naturally as butchers. a royal surgeon. a gentleman who was about retiring, after having dined with a friend at st. james's, fell down a flight of stairs, which fall completely stunned him. on his recovery he found himself sitting on the floor, while a little old gentleman was busily attending to his wants, washing the blood from his head, and sticking a piece of plaster on to some variegated cuts for which he could not account. his surprise kept him silent till the kind and very convenient surgeon was through with the operation, when the patient arose from the floor, limped forward with extended hand, to offer his profound thanks, if not fees, to his benefactor, when an attendant instantly checked him with such intimation as to further astonish the gentleman by the knowledge that for his kind assistance he was indebted to george ii., king of england.--_percy's anecdotes._ [illustration: assistance from a royal surgeon.] a drawing joke. several kings and great lords are made mention of as being particularly fond of using the lancet. peter the great of russia was remarkably fond of witnessing dissections and surgical operations. he even used to carry a case of instruments in his pocket. he often visited the hospitals to witness capital operations, at times assisting in person, and was able to dissect properly, to bleed a patient, and extract a tooth as well as one of the faculty. [illustration: peter the great as a surgeon.] the pretty wife of one of the czar's valets had the following unpleasant experience of his skill. the husband of the "maid" accused her of flirting, and vowed revenge. the czar noticed the valet seated in the ante-room, looking forlorn, and asked the cause of his dejection. the wicked valet replied that his wife had a tooth which gave her great pain, keeping them both awake day and night, but would not have it drawn. "send her to me," said the czar. the woman was brought, but persisted in affirming that her teeth were sound, and never ached. the valet alleged that this was always the way she did when the physician was called; therefore, in spite of her cries and remonstrances, the king ordered her husband to hold her head between his knees, when the czar drew out his instruments and instantly extracted the tooth designated by the husband, disregarding the cries of the unfortunate victim. in a few days the czar was informed that the thing was a put-up job by the jealous husband, in order to punish, if not mar the beauty of, his gallant wife, whereupon the instruments were again brought into requisition; and this time the naughty valet was the sufferer, to the extent of losing a sound and valuable tooth. every tinker has his day. during a long period, and in several countries, the barbers were the only acknowledged blood-letters. some of them were educated to the trade of bleeding. dr. meade was once lecturer to the barber-surgeons, and, if i mistake not, dr. abernethy; but the majority of them were as ignorant as the tinkers, who also went about the country bleeding the people at both vein and pocket. in one nicolas gyer published a work entitled "the english phlebotomy, or method of healing by letting of blood." its motto was, "the horse-leech hath two daughters, which crye, '_give, give_.'" the author thus complains: "phlebotomy is greatly abused by vagabond horse-leeches and travelling tinkers, who find work in almost every village, who have, in truth, neither knowledge, wit, or honesty; hence the sober practitioner and cunning chirurgeon liveth basely, is despised, and counted a very abject amongst the vulgar sort." many of the abbeys of europe and asia had a "phlebotomaria," or bleeding-room, connected, in which the sacred (?) inmates underwent bleeding at certain seasons. the monks of the order of st. victor, and others, underwent five venesections per year; for the "salerne schoole," , says,-- "to bleed doth cheare the pensive, and remove _the raging furies fed by burning love_." the priests seem to have overlooked paul's advice, for such to marry, as it was "better to marry than to burn." if the writer could unfold the secrets of his "prison-house,"--as doubtless is the experience of most physicians,--he could tell of worse habits of some modern priests than this quinarial venesection. "to bleed in may is still the custom with ignorant people in a few remote districts" of england. in marchland a woman used to bleed patients for a few pence per arm. steele tells of a bleeder of his time who advertised to bleed, at certain hours, "all who came, for three pence a head"--he meant arm, doubtless! mention is made of the drs. taylor (horse doctors), who drew blood from the rabble as they would claret from a pipe. "every sunday morning they bled _gratis_ all who liked a prick from their lancets. on such occasions a hundred poor wretches could be seen seated on the long benches of the surgery, waiting venesection. when ready, the two brothers would pass rapidly along the lines of bared arms, one applying the white strip of cloth above the elbow, the other following and immediately opening the vein. the crimson stream was directed into a wooden trough that ran along in front of the seats where the operation was performed." it scarcely seems possible that such wholesale butchery could have been openly performed but a hundred years ago! yet it is still practised, but with a little more decency. in south america venesection is still performed by the barbers, who are nearly all natives. "a surgeon in ecuador would consider it an injury to his dignity to bleed a patient; so he deputes that duty to the indian phlebotomist, who does the work in a most barbarous manner, with a blunt and jagged instrument, after causing considerable pain, and even danger, to the patient. "these barbers and bleeders are considered to be the leaders of their _caste_, as from their ranks are drawn the native _alcaldes_, or magistrates; and so proud are they of their position, that they would not exchange their badge of office (a silver-headed cane) for the cross of a bishop. "the most prominent figures at the easter celebration are the barbers, who are almost always indians. they dress in a kind of plaited cape, and wear collars of a ridiculous height, and starched to an extreme degree of stiffness. in this class are also to be found the _sangradores_, or bleeders, who, as of old, unite the two professions." a curious scene is presented during each successive day of the "holy week," when the effigies of the titular saints are brought out, and with the priests, music, and banners, and the barbers to bear burning incense, they are paraded before the superstitious, gaping, and priest-ridden people. bleeding our forefathers. dr. fuller, the first physician amongst the colonists of new england, wrote to governor bradford, june, , saying,-- "i have been to matapan (now dorchester), and let some twenty of those people's blood." what disease demanded, in the estimation of the good and wise doctor, this seemingly bloody visit, we are not informed. "the _mercure de france_, april, , and december, , gives an account of a french woman, the wife of a hussar named gignoult, whom, under the direction of monsieur theveneau, dr. palmery bled _three thousand nine hundred and four times_, and that within the space of nine months. again the bleeding was renewed, and in the course of a few years, from to the end of , she had been bled twenty-six thousand two hundred and thirty times." no wonder our informant asks, "did this really occur? or was the editor of the _mercure_ the original baron munchausen?" "once, in the duchy of wurtemberg, the public executioner, after having sent a certain number of his fellow-creatures out of this troublesome world, was dignified by the title of 'doctor.' would it not be well to reverse the thing, and make such murderous physicians as theveneau and m. palmery rank as hangmen-extraordinary?" a french butcher-surgeon. but, then, some of those french surgeons are worse than hangmen. dr. mott, when once in paris, was invited by m. ---- to witness a private operation, which was simply the removal of a tumor from the neck of an elderly gentleman. "dr. mott informed me," says dr. s. francis, "that never in his life had he seen anybody but a _butcher_ cut and slash as did this french surgeon. he cut the jugular vein. dr. mott instantly compressed it. in a moment more he severed it again. by this time, the patient being feeble, and having, by these two successive accidents, lost much blood, a portion of the tumor was cut off, the hole plugged up by lint, and the patient left." a week after, dr. m. met the surgeon, and inquired after the patient. "o, _oui_," said the butcher, shrugging his shoulders. "poor old fellow! he grew pious, and suddenly died." and this was by one of the first surgeons of france, on the authority of dr. valentine mott. cases are cited in paget's "surgical pathology," of tumors being removed by the knife from four to nine times, and returning, proving fatal, in every instance. cur? yes, "why?" a man's strength is in his blood, samson notwithstanding. then if you take away his blood, you lessen his chances of recovery, because you have lessened his strength. "_cum sanguinem detrahere oportet, deliberatione indiget_," said aretæus, a greek physician of the first century. ("when bleeding is required, there is need of deliberation.") "_cur?_" (why) was a favorite inquiry of dr. abernethy's. "we recollect a surgeon being called to a gentleman who was taken suddenly ill. the medical attendant, being present, asked the surgeon,-- "'shall i bleed him at once, sir?' "'_why_ should you desire to bleed him?' "'o, exactly. you prefer cupping?' "'why should he be cupped?' "'then shall i apply some leeches?' "this, too, was declined. in short, it never seemed to have occurred to the physician that neither might be necessary; still less that either might therefore prove mischievous." the misfortunes of a barber-bleeder. three scenes from a story by douglas jerrold--rewritten. _scene ._--job pippins, a handsome barber, is discharged from sir scipio manikin's, for kissing that gentleman's young and pretty wife. he meets a scotch wagoner. [illustration: job discharged by sir scipio.] "i say, i ha' got a dead mun in the wagon." "a dead man?" cried job. "ay; picked him up i' the muddle o' the road. the bay cob wor standin' loike a lamb beside um. i shall take um to the 'barley mow' yonder." (an inn.) [illustration: "bleed him."] "but stop, for god's sake," exclaimed job, jumping upon the wagon. instantly he recognized the features of sir scipio. struck by apoplexy, he had fallen from his horse. instantly job tore off sir scipio's coat, rolled up his sleeves, bound the arm, and produced a razor. "ha! what wilt ye do, mun?" cried the wagoner, seeing the razor. "bleed him," replied job, with exquisite composure; "i fear his heart is stopped." "loikely. i do think it be grinders, the lawyer. cut um deep, deep;" and the fellow opened wide his eyes to see if the lawyer had red blood or japan ink in his veins. "cut um deep; though if it be old grinders, by what i hear, it be a shame to disturb him, ony way," said the wagoner. "grinders! pshaw! it's sir scipio manikin." "wounds!" roared the scared wagoner. "no, man, no! don't meddle wi' such gentry folks in my wagon." so saying, he sought to stay the hand of the bleeder at the moment he was applying the sharp blade of the razor to the bared arm, but only succeeded in driving the instrument deep into the limb. job turned pale. the wagoner groaned and trembled. "we shall be hanged for this job--hanged, hanged!" "providentially," as the knight afterwards affirmed, the landlord of the "barley mow," in chastising his wife, had broken his leg, and had called in dr. saffron, who, now returning, came upon the wagon containing the bulky body of sir scipio, mangled and bleeding. the apoplectic squire began to return to dim consciousness, and beholding job, with a razor between his teeth, standing over him, timing his pulse, he gave an involuntary shudder, particularly as he now recalled the late scene, which had terminated in his kicking job penniless into the highway. dr. saffron took the wounded arm, looked at job, and said,-- "is this your doings?" job looked, "yes," but spoke not. "bleeding!" repeated the doctor, fiercely; "i call it capital carving." then turning to the wagoner, he said, "and you found sir scipio lying in the road?" "ay, sir; rolled up like a hedge pig," replied the wagoner. job wiped his razor, and slipped silently away. * * * * * _scene ._--job, half starved and half dead from the fatigues of his long walk, finds his way into an old woman's hut, which unfortunately is the rendezvous of three highwaymen. "moll, the stool," said one of the men. the stool ordered was thrown towards job, who sank resignedly upon it. "what's o'clock?" asked bats, one of the robbers. [illustration: a borrowed watch.] job leaped from the stool in amazement, clapped his hand to his waistcoat pocket, and drew forth a splendid gold watch, the late property of sir scipio. job had merely borrowed it to time the pulse of the apoplectic knight, and forgot to return it. the eyes of the highwayman were fixed leeringly upon the chronometer. they gave no heed to the embarrassment of the possessor. "i say, friend, time must be worth something to you to score it by such a watch." "it isn't mine," cried job, the perspiration starting from every pore of his body. "ha, ha, ha!" laughed the three at this unnecessary information. "a mistake; i got it in the oddest way." "ha, ha, ha!" again roared his hearers in chorus. "o lord! i shall be hanged for this," cried job. "in course you will," said mortlake, comfortingly. job now hastily felt in his other pockets to see if he unwittingly possessed any other property not his own, when he pulled out a large handkerchief well saturated with sir scipio's blood. mortlake gave an expressive cluck. bats uttered a low, accusing whistle. "what! he was game--was he? well, it is all over now; tell us how it happened, and what you did with the body," said the third. in vain job persisted in the truth. he was only laughed at.... "moll, the gin." such a gamy highwayman as job presented evidence of being deserves to be treated! let us see in the next scene _how_ he was treated. * * * * * _scene ._--job was drank dead drunk. stripped of not only sir manikin's watch and chain, but of everything save one brief garment, and under cover of night deposited in an adjoining meadow. "job pippins slept." "job pippins awoke." an insect ticked its little note in job's ear. "the watch!" cried the bewildered job, springing to his feet and gaspingly applying his hands to his flesh. who can depict his utter amazement when he had become convinced of his own identity, and found himself standing out in the broad world, reduced to the brief wardrobe, which is summed up in the one single word--"shirt"? hatless, shoeless, hoseless, he stood upon the grass, the bold zephyrs playing with his garment--a bloody, tattered flag of terrible distress. job looked timidly about. he resolved, and he re-resolved. should he turn back to the house from whence he had been so ruthlessly ejected? should he hide behind the hedge and solicit the help of some male passer? who would put faith in a man with no recommendation, and possessing such a small wardrobe? o, indecision! how many better men have gone to ruin because of thee! [illustration: job's decision.] decision came to job's help--at least help out of that field. at this very moment of need for some one to help him decide what course to pursue, a ferocious bull, feeding in the next meadow, annoyed or scandalized by the appearance of job, scaled the low fence, and with one bellow, ran full tilt after job, who hesitated no longer, but leaped the rail fence just as the animal made a lunge at him. job reached the highway in safety of person, though the bull retreated with a full square yard of the false flag of truce upon his horns. job's destitution seemed perfect without this last affliction. the sound of carriage wheels startled him, but to where should he flee? he was at the zero of his fortunes. he was naked, hungry, penniless. where should he find one friend. "ah! the river!" that would hide him forever from the uncharitable world!... job crawled across the field, and was already near the stream. what! had some pitying angel, softened by job's utter destitution and despair, alighted amongst the bushes! or was it a temptation of the devil? reader, "put yourself in"--no! but imagine job reduced to the moiety of a shirt, about to take the fatal plunge, when lo! he discovers just before him, lying,--a golden waif,--a very handsome suit of clothes,--hat, breeches, hose, shoes, gloves, cane, cravat! and no visible second person near. job's perplexity was brief. he seated himself on the grass. he changed his equivocal shirt for the ample piece of ruffled "aired-snow" in the twinkling of an eye; donned the stockings and breeches,--"just a fit,"--waistcoat, and coat, seized the hat, gloves, cravat, and cane, and in three minutes he was back on the main road. the swimmer must have been just job's size, so admirably did the whole wardrobe fit and become him. again job passed the five-barred gate, where stood the bull, with glaring eyes, waving in vain the flag of truce upon his horns. job journeyed onward, waving his cane, and smiling in supreme contempt at the bit of rag which so recently proclaimed his crime and wretchedness. he put his hand into _his_ pocket, and pulled out a _purse_! it contained eight guineas! this was too much. job fell upon his knees in the highway, overcome with gratitude, and holding up the purse in his left hand, placing the other over his stomach, he "blessed his lucky stars" for his propitious change of fortunes. here we bid adieu to the barber-bleeders. those who wish to know how the swimmer came out, must consult "men of character," by jerrold. the use of brains. mr. g. h. lewes tells a story of a gentleman who, under the scissors, said something about his thinning locks being caused by the development of his brains. "excuse me, sir," remarked the barber, "but you are laboring under a mistake. the brains permeate the skull, and encourage the growth of the hair--_that's what they're for, sir_." [illustration] xxix. the omnium gatherum. ex-sell-sir!--"the object to be attained."--a notorious female doctor.--a white black man.--squashy.--mother's fool.--who it was.--the philosopher and his daughter.--education and gibberish.--scottish hospitality.--the old lady with an animal in her stomach.--stories about little folks.--the boy with a bullet in him.--case of small-pox.--not much to look at.--funeral anthems. ex-sell-sir. the morning sun was shining bright, as lone upon old georgetown's height, a bliss-ful doctor, clad in brown, desiring wealth and great renown, displayed aloft to wondering eyes a shrub which bore this strange device, cundurango! a maiden fair, with pallid cheek, with ardent haste his aid did seek to stay the progress and the pain of carcinoma of the brain; while still aloft the shrub he bore, the answer came, with windy roar, to cundurango! a matron old, with long unrest from carcinoma of the breast, this bliss-ful doctor rushed to see, and begged his aid on bended knee. the magic shrub waved still on high, and rushed through air the well-known cry, try cundurango! the evening sun went down in red-- the maid and matron both were dead; and yet, through all the realms around, this worthless shrub, of mighty sound, will serve to fill the purse forlorn, and the cancer succumb "in a horn" to cundurango. the object to be attained. a doctor was called in to see a patient whose native land was ireland, and whose native drink was whiskey. water was prescribed as the only cure. pat said it was out of the question; he could never drink it. then milk was proposed, and pat agreed to get well on milk. the doctor was soon summoned again. near the bed on which the sick man lay was a table, and on the table a large bowl, and in the bowl was milk, but strongly flavored with whiskey. "what have you here?" said the doctor. "milk, doctor; just what you orthered." "but there's whiskey in it; i smell it." "well, doctor," sighed the patient, "there may be whiskey in it, but milk is my object." the laugh wins. an old lady reduced in circumstances applied to a physician to know if she might conscientiously sell some quack pills. the physician rather recommended that she should sell some pills made of bread, observing that, if they did no good, they would certainly do no harm. the old lady commenced business, and performed many cures with her pills, till at last she had great confidence in them. at length the physician, whom she called her benefactor, became ill by a bone sticking in his throat, which he could not pass up or down. in this situation the old lady visited him, and recommended her pills in his own language. the physician, upon this expression, burst out laughing, and in the act of laughing brought up the bone. a notorious female doctor. washington, january , . from an account of the "women's national suffrage association," reported to the press, i cut the following description of a noted female doctress who dresses in a garb as near to a man's as the cramped laws of the land will admit. "ten minutes after the opening ... a curly, crinkly feminine, in very large walking boots, came to the front, being followed, after a brief pause, by the rest of the sisters. this lady was new, even to the reporters, and one of them, handing up a pencilled inquiry to mrs. dr. walker, was informed that she was 'mrs. ricker, a beautiful, charming, and good widow, fair, forty, and rich.' this bit of interesting news started on its travels. * * * * * "the doctor, who has the usual manly proclivity for hugging the girls, threw her arms around a pretty and modest-looking girl standing by, and enthusiastically shouted, "you are a dear, sweet little creature." the frightened young woman drew hastily back, and faltered out that she was not in the habit of being hugged by men. this turned the laugh on the doctor; but she gained her lost ground by quickly replying to the inquiry of the secretary as to what place he should put her down from as a delegate, to put her down "from all the world;" but he objected, anxious for the completeness of his roster. "you must have a local habitation, you know." "put me down from washington, then, for that is the home of everybody who has none other." unmindful of the eloquent protest of her coat and pantaloons against feminine distinctions, he wrote her down as "mrs. mary walker;" but seizing the pencil from his fingers, she spitefully erased the "mrs." and wrote "doctor." "i never was mrs.; i never will be." a white man turning black. the san francisco examiner says a gentleman of that city, about twenty-five years of age, ruddy complexion, curly red hair, who had an intractable and painful ulcer on the left arm, resisting all previous modes of treatment, yielded to the request of trying the effect of transplanting a piece of skin to the ulcer from another person. the ulcer was prepared in the usual manner by his physician, and a bit of skin, about an inch square, was taken from the arm of a fine healthy negro man and immediately spread over the ugly ulcer, and then carefully dressed and bandaged. the skin transplantation had the desired effect. healthy granulation sprang up, and the unsightly ulcer soon healed. a few months afterwards he went to his physician and told him that ever since the sore healed the black skin commenced to spread, and it was increasing. about one third of his arm was completely negroed. the doctor himself was alarmed. the high probability is, that the whole skin of this white man will become negro. * * * * * an officer had a wooden leg so exceedingly well made that it could scarcely be distinguished from a real one. a cannon ball carried it off. a soldier who saw him fall called out, "quick, run for the surgeon." "no," replied the officer, coolly; "it is the joiner i want." "squashy." squashy was a contraband. he came from north carolina. he was looking about washington for "a new masser," when dr. ----, of ---- regiment c. v., took him for a body servant. [illustration: squashy's surgical operation on the doctor.] the doctor was out on horseback at parade that very day, and the most that squashy had as yet learned of his master was, that he was handsome. "dat's him! dar's my new masser! see um! see um! ridin' on hoss-back, dar!" exclaimed the contraband to a host of other negroes watching the parade. that night, when the doctor returned to his quarters, squashy came to assist in removing some of the superfluous and dirt-covered garments of his new master, amongst which were his heavy and mud-splashed boots. the doctor was a joker. "now, what's your name, boy?" "squashy, sar; dat's what dey called me, sar," replied the contraband, showing a gorgeous row of ivories, and the whites of two great, globular eyes. "well, squashy,--that's a very appropriate name,--just pull off these boots. left one first. there--pull! hard! harder!--there she comes! now the other; now pull; it always comes the hardest; pull strong--stronger--now it's coming--o, murder! you've pulled my whole leg out!" sure enough, the boot, leg and all, came off at the thigh, and slap! crash! bang! over backwards, over a camp-stool, on to the floor, went squashy, with the boot and wooden leg of the doctor grasped tightly in his brawny hands. "o, de lord!" cried squashy, rising. "i didn't go for to do it! o, lord, see um bleed!" he continued, as in the uncertain light he saw a bit of red flannel round the stump; and, dropping the leg, he turned, and with a look of the utmost terror depicted on his countenance, he fled from the apartment. on the following day the doctor made diligent inquiry for squashy; but he never was found, and probably to this day thinks he pulled out the leg of his "new and hansum masser." * * * * * we do not know who wrote the following which is too good to be lost; hence we give it anonymously. mother's fool. "'tis plain enough to see," said a farmer's wife, "these boys will make their marks in life; they never were made to handle a hoe, and at once to college ought to go. there's fred, he's little better than a fool, but john and henry must go to school." "well, really, wife," quoth farmer brown, as he set his mug of cider down, "fred does more work in a day for me than both his brothers do in three. book larnin' will never plant one's corn, nor hoe potatoes, sure's you're born, nor mend a rod of broken fence: for my part, give me common sense." but his wife was bound the roost to rule, and john and henry were sent to school, while fred, of course, was left behind, because his mother said he had no mind. five years at school the students spent, then into business each one went. john learned to play the flute and fiddle, and parted his hair, of course, in the middle, while his brother looked rather higher than he, and hung out a sign, "h. brown, m. d." meanwhile, at home, their brother fred had taken a notion into his head; but he quietly trimmed his apple trees, milked the cows and hived the bees; while somehow, either by hook or crook, he managed to read full many a book, until at last his father said he was getting "book larnin'" into his head; "but for all that," added farmer brown, "he's the smartest boy there is in town." the war broke out, and captain fred a hundred men to battle led, and, when the rebel flag came down, went marching home as general brown. but he went to work on the farm again, and planted corn and sowed his grain; he shingled the barn and mended the fence, till people declared he had common sense. now common sense was very rare, and the state house needed a portion there; so the "family dunce" moved into town, the people called him governor brown; and his brothers, who went to the city school, came home to live with "mother's fool." who it was. there is an anecdote told of dr. emmons, one of the most able of new england divines, meeting a pantheistical physician at the house of a sick parishioner. it was no place for a dispute. it was no place for any unbecoming familiarity with the minister. it was no place for a physician to inquire into the age of the minister, especially with any intent of entangling him in a debate; and, above all, where the querist was too visionary for any logical discussion. but the abrupt question of the pantheist was, "mr. emmons, how old are you?" "sixty, sir; and how old are you?" came the quick reply. "as old as creation, sir," was the triumphant response. "then you are of the same age with adam and eve." "certainly; i was in the garden when they were." "i have always heard that there was a third party in the garden with them, but i never knew before that it was you." a heavy doctor. dr. stone, of savannah, walked into the river at savannah, and, like other stones, was about to sink, when he was romantically rescued by a brave lady. scottish hospitality. the scotch people--even the females--are great smokers, and female tobacco-users are not considered the embodiment of neatness. [illustration: "will ye tak' a blast noo?"] the countess of a., with a laudable desire to promote tidiness in the various cottages on her estate, used to visit them periodically, and exhort the inmates to cleanliness. one cottage was always found especially untidy; and getting, perhaps, the least out of patience, the countess took up a brush-broom, and having by its dexterous use made the room much improved, she turned to the housewife, who, with pipe between her lips, had been sitting on a stool, with body bent forward, her elbows on her knees, and her chin resting in the palms of her hands, watching the proceeding. the countess said,-- "there, my good woman, is it not much better?" "ay, my leddy," said the woman, nodding her head, and rising, she stepped towards the countess, drew the pipe from her mouth, and wiping it with her brawny palm, presented it, saying,-- "an' will ye tak' a blast noo, my leddy?" animals in the stomach. most physicians scout the idea of terrestrial animals or reptiles living in one's stomach. the wife of captain hodgden, of mount desert, presented the writer with a singular looking reptile some three inches in length, looking not unlike an earwig, excepting having two horns on its head, which animal she said crawled from her mouth the night previous. she declared for years that there was a live animal in her stomach, and attributed its dislodgment to the use of some bitters (chelone glabra). a nice old lady called at our office one day, some years ago, during my absence, and informed dr. colley, who was attending my patients temporarily, that she had a live animal in her stomach. the doctor tells the story as follows:-- "'now don't you laugh at me, doctor, 'cause all the doctors do, and i know it ain't no whim nor notion i've got in my _head_, but a real live animal i've got into my stomach,' she said. "i looked at the good old lady, and could not find it in my heart to tell her she was laboring under a delusion, therefore i replied, very sympathetically,-- [illustration: reptiles from the stomach.] "'o, no doubt you are right, and all the doctors have been wrong. why, just sit quiet a moment, and i will show you a whole bottle full that the doctor has from time to time taken from the stomachs of patients.' so saying, i went into the laboratory, and got down a bottle of centipedes, lizards, and a big, black, southern horn-bug, which the doctor's brother had collected in the south, and, dusting off the bottle, took it to the old lady, who sat comfortably in a rocking-chair, taking snuff, and nervously humming a little pennyroyal tune. "'there, madam--there is a host of various kinds of reptiles, which the doctor has compelled to abandon the living stomach.' "'du tell,' she exclaimed, readjusting her glasses, 'if them all come out of folks' stomachs! let me take the bottle.' "'i suppose they really did, marm.' "'and the big black one; who did that come out of?' she asked, turning the bottle around to get a view of the ugly monster--horns two inches long! "'o, let me see. that came out of a colored man--awful appetite, madam.' "'du tell! well, i'm much obleeged to you for showing them to me. now i'll go right home, and pitch into them doctors. i knowed they're all wrong.' and so saying, the old lady arose, buzzed round and round like a bee in a bottle, got her reticule, and started for the door. "'o, i forgot,' she exclaimed, coming back. 'give me some of the medicine to get this animal out of my system, doctor.' "i gave her a quantity of gentian, told her to use no snuff for two months, and she would have no further trouble with the animal; that she must not expect to see him, as they seldom came away whole, like those in the bottle. she promised, with a sigh, and a sorry look at the snuff-box, and went away. i have no doubt _but i did the best thing possible for her case_." stories about little folks. as ludicrous as the above may seem, it is true; but we cannot vouch for the truth of the following story:-- * * * * * _the boy with a bullet in him._--a lad swallowed a small bullet. his friends were very much alarmed about it; and his father thinking no pains should be spared to save his darling boy's life, sent post haste to a surgeon of skill, directing the messenger to tell the circumstances and urge his coming without delay. the doctor was found, heard the dismal tale, and with as much unconcern as he would manifest in a case of common headache, wrote the following laconic reply:-- sir: don't alarm yourself. if after three weeks the bullet is not removed, give the boy a charge of powder. yours, &c., ---- p. s. _do not aim the boy at anybody._--m. d. * * * * * [illustration: "it isn't catchin'."] _case of small-pox._--a lady school teacher in omaha, having an inordinate dread of the small-pox, sent home a little girl because she said her mother was sick and had marks on her face. the next day the girl presented herself at the school-house, with her finger in her mouth, and her little bonnet swinging by the strings, and said to the teacher,-- "miss ----, we've got a baby at our house; but mother told me to tell you that 'it isn't catchin'.'" * * * * * "_not much to look at._"--the late eminent dr. wallaston was introduced, at an evening party, to a rather pert young lady. "o, doctor," she said, "i am delighted to meet you; i have so long wished to see you." "well," said the man of science, "and pray what do you think of me now you have seen me?" "you may be very clever," was the answer, "_but you are nothing to look at_." * * * * * [illustration: funeral of the canary.] _funeral anthems._--reading in a western paper that at funerals out in terre haute they closed the solemn ceremony by singing very impressively "_the ham-fat man_," reminds me of the following, which actually occurred at portsmouth, n. h., last year:-- three little girls, who had carefully and tenderly buried a pet canary-bird in the garden, were seen holding a consultation, which terminated by sending one of the trio into the house, with the inquiry, "do they sing at funerals?" being answered in the affirmative, the little messenger ran back, and in a few moments the three were observed standing, hand in hand, around the little mound gravely singing,-- "_shoo, fly! don't bodder me._" [illustration] xxx. the other side. it's a very good rule in all things of life, when judging a friend or brother, not to look at the question alone on one side, but always to turn to the other. we are apt to be selfish in all our views, in the jostling, headlong race, and so, to be right, ere you censure a man, just "put yourself in his place."--anon. put yourself in his place.--stealing from the profession.--anecdote of rufus choate.--ingrates.--a night row.--"saving at the spigot and wasting at the bung."--shopping patients.--an affectionate wife.--rum and tobacco patients.--the physician's widow and orphans, the summons, the tenement, the invalids, how they lived, her history, the unnatural father, how they died, the end.--a peter-funk doctor.--selling out. while i trust that respectable, educated physicians will take no offence at the _exposé_ in the foregoing chapters, as nothing therein is _intended_ to lessen them in public opinion, or detract from the merit of the true physician of any school, i cannot leave the subject without presenting some facts to show that the people are not blameless in creating and maintaining so many humbugs and impositions, to the damage and scandal of respectable practitioners and legitimate medicine. stealing from the profession. i need not tell men of any profession, that there are those, even in the respectable walks of life, who will watch their opportunity to button-hole the lawyer or the doctor, in the public streets, to "just ask him a question," rather than call at his office, where a fee would certainly be a just compensation for the expected advice. one of these highway robbers once overtook mr. choate, the great boston lawyer, on a public street, and asked him if he should sue mr. jones, so and so, briefly stating his case, if he, the lawyer, thought he, smith, would win the suit. "o, yes," replied the great lawyer; and smith went on his way rejoicing. the case went to trial, smith _vs._ jones. smith employed a cheap pettifogger. jones employed mr. choate to defend him, and gained the suit. "didn't you tell me i had a good case?" demanded the irascible plaintiff of mr. choate, when he found that the case had gone against him. "well, i think you did say something to me about it," replied mr. choate, very indifferently. "yes, and didn't you advise me to sue him?" cried the infuriated smith. "let me see, mr. smith: how much did you pay me for that advice?" "nothing, sir! nothing!" roared smith. "well, that was all it was worth," remarked mr. choate, quietly. another of these free advice fellows detained the author at the post-office last week, and very patronizingly asked,-- "what would you take for a code id de ed, docdor?" "take? take two pocket handkerchiefs," was the cheap prescription for a cheap patient. ingrates. "what, then! doth charity fail? is faith of no avail? is hope blown out like a light by a gust of wind in the night? the clashing of creeds, and the strife of the many beliefs, that in vain perplex man's heart and brain, are nought but the rustle of leaves, when the breath of god upheaves the boughs of the tree of life, and they subside again! and i remember still the words, and from whom they came, not he that repeateth the name, but he that doeth the will!" "of all men, the physician is most likely to discover the leading traits of character in his fellow-beings; on no other condition than that of sickness do they present themselves without those guards upon the countenance and tongue that an artificial mode of life has rendered almost indispensable to their existence; in city life, more especially." "the confiding patient often hangs, as it were, with an oppressive weight upon the conscientious physician, and if he be afflicted with a generous, sympathizing soul, farewell to his happiness. his heart will bleed for distress, both bodily and pecuniary, that he cannot alleviate, and he gives up in despair a profession which will so severely tax his nervous system as to render the best medical talent comparatively useless.... "those who speak of the gratitude of the low catholic irish in this (new york) city, or any other city, as they present their true characters to the young practitioner, will find but one opinion,--a more improvident, heartless, and dishonest class of people never defiled the fair face of the earth. they are indeed a bitter curse to the young and humane physician." and this from the pen of one of the most noble and humane physicians of the great metropolis, whose generosity forbids him ever to refuse a visit, day or night, to the distressed, even amongst the lowest of the class he so bitterly condemns. the above is the experience of other physicians besides dr. dixon, and in other cities besides new york. during my days of extreme poverty in h., an irish woman, whose child, suffering with cholera infantum, i snatched from the very jaws of death, cheated me out of my fees, when i afterwards learned that she owned two tenements, and had money in the savings bank. while i was practising in h., one cold winter's night, an irishman came for me to go to front street, as a man had fallen down stairs, and was "kilt intirely." "then it is mr. roberts, the undertaker, whom you want," i replied. "o, no, he isn't kilt intirely, but broke his arrum, doctor." therefore i drew on my boots, took my hat and case, and was soon at the designated number. a drunken row, as usual. it was near midnight, saturday night. a big, burly fellow lay on the bed in a large front room, surrounded by a dozen men and women, nearly all drunk, except the patient. his arm was dislocated at the shoulder downward. i drew off my coat, jumped upon the bed, set the man up, raised the limb, clapped my knee under the limb, raised the arm, and using it for a lever, the bone snapped into the socket as quickly as i am telling the story. "ah, that gives me aise; ah, god bless you, docther. how mooch is the damage? get the wallet, woman, and let me pay the good docther," said the grateful patient. "how mooch? say it asy, noo." "two dollars." a very modest fee for such a job at midnight. "o, the divil!" cried the woman. "and is it two dollars for the snap of a job likes to that, noo, ye'll be axin' a poor man?" i made no reply. the man asked for the money. "will yeze be axin' that much?" asked a six and a half foot irishman who stood by the opposite side of the bed. "do you have to pay the bill, sir?" i demanded. "noo," he replied. "then mind your own business," i exclaimed, with a clincher, and a flash of the eyes that somehow caused him to cower like the miserable drunken coward he was, amid the laughs and jeers of the bystanders. [illustration: my front street patient.] "there, take the money," said the woman (boarding mistress). "dr. b. would come ferninst the railroad over for half of it, he would," she added. "woman," said i, "when next any of your kind want a doctor, do you go ferninst the railroad for dr. b." (i knew she lied), "and get him for a dollar. as for me, _i never, for love or money, will come to your call again_." i never heard of money enough to induce me to visit front or charles street after that night, and i have seen some anxious faces looking about for a doctor, in case of emergency, in that locality. "saving at the spigot, and wasting at the bung." again, there is a class in every city who, to avoid a physician's fee, go to an apothecary, briefly and imperfectly state their case, perhaps to a green clerk, or a proprietor who is as ignorant of the pathology of the disease as the miserable applicant; and who ever knew of a druggist too ignorant to prescribe for a case over the counter? the result is often the administration of harsh remedies, which aggravate the present, or produce some other disease worse than the original, and in the end the patient is obliged to seek the advice of a physician. now the patient is ashamed to tell the whole truth, the doctor has yet to learn what drugs are rankling in the system, and the disease is often protracted thereby ten times as long as it need have been, had the man at the outset sought the advice of a respectable physician. this is an every-day occurrence. i knew a young man who recently went into consumption from having a comparatively simple case prolonged by this apotheco-medical interference. shopping patients. "a queer kind of patients!" you exclaim. yes, very queer. one class of them go round from office to office, to "just inquire about a friend" (themselves), "if they could be cured," how long it would require, and, ten to one, even ask what medicines "you would give for such a case." such persons, if females, usually come into the city for the double purpose of seeing a doctor, or a dozen, and shopping,--doing the shopping first; tramping from one end of the city to the other, visiting the doctor last, with bundles and boxes by the score, "in a great hurry; must catch a certain train; all tired out;" making the opportunity for diagnosis an unfavorable one, and not unusually asking the doctor--a stranger, perhaps--to trust them till they come again. [illustration: a shopping patient.] whoever "o. shaw" may be, he knows a thing or two. hear him. an affectionate wife. a poor mechanic, three weeks after marriage, was addressed by his wife thus:-- "harry, don't you think a new silk dress would become my beauty?" he answered affirmatively, of course, and promised that when his present job was completed, which would be in about a fortnight, the necessary stamps would be forthcoming, and that she might then array her loveliness in the wished-for dress. the affectionate wife kissed him, and thus rewarded his generosity. three days afterwards the man met with an accident, and was brought home on a shutter, and it was evident that for weeks he would be confined to his bed. on beholding him, his wife gave vent to repeated outbursts of agony, as an affectionate woman should, considering the cause. this touched the unfortunate man, and he said, consolingly,-- "dry your tears, dear nettie; i'll be all right again in a few weeks." "perhaps you may," she answered; "but all your earnings for a long time after you resume work will be required to pay your doctor's bill, and you won't be able to get me _that new silk dress_."--o. shaw. a sensible prescription. a doctor up town recently gave the following prescription for a lady: "a new bonnet, a cashmere shawl, and a new pair of gaiter boots." the lady, it is needless to say, has entirely recovered. rum and tobacco patients. then there is a large class,--men, mostly; males, at least,--who, having spent all their substance and much of their health in excess of tobacco-using and whiskey-drinking, apply to the physician for aid, "in charity, for god's sake," as they have nothing with which to pay him, and usually a numerous family dependent upon their miserable labor for sustenance. woe to the physician who gets a reputation for benevolence at this day and generation of "cheek." "doctor, i hope you _will_ do something for my distress," said a gentlemanly-dressed individual, not many months ago. "i have but sixteen cents in my pocket, and i owe for four weeks' board, and am out of employment." he was a play actor. could i say no to so honest a statement of his low state of finance? i treated him faithfully, without a penny. not many weeks afterwards i knew of his going away and stopping two days at a hotel with a strange woman. still there are others who are quite able, but who think it no sin to cheat a doctor by misrepresenting their inability to pay. they work upon the sympathies of the benevolent doctor; they "would willingly pay a hundred dollars, if they had it," etc.; and thus slip off without compensating him for his services. every physician knows that i have not overstated the above. there is also a large class of patients, with whom, like the "old clo' jew," wisdom, brain work, advice, go for nothing. you must represent their case as perfectly fearful, and do something perfectly awful for them, or you are of no account. selden, who understood these failings in mankind vastly well, gives them a sly hit in his "table talk." if a man had a sore leg, and he should go to an honest, judicious surgeon, and he should only bid him keep it warm, and anoint it with such an oil (an oil well known), that would do the cure, haply he would not much regard him, because he knows the medicine to be an ordinary one. but if he should go to a surgeon that should tell him, "your leg will gangrene within three days, and it must be cut off; and you will die unless you do something that i could tell you," what listening there would be to this man! "o, for the lord's sake, tell me what this is; i will give you any content for your pains." the physician's widow and orphan. scenes from "practice of a new york surgeon." i have abridged the following truthful story from the above work, which book i recommend to the perusal of all lovers of moral and entertaining literature. _the summons._--the experienced physician knows, from the sound of the door bell, whether it is the representative of wealth or penury who is outside at the bell-pull. the doctor opened the door to the _timid_ summons. "will you please come and see my mother?" asked a little delicate and thinly-dressed girl. "she has been very ill for nearly a year, and i'm afraid she's going to die." the poor little heart was swelling with grief. almost ashamed as i donned my heavy coat, for the night was bitter cold, and the shivering little girl pattered after me with her well-worn shoes and scanty dress, i hurried along to the abode of poverty. _the tenement._--the faint rays of a candle issuing from an upper window of one of those wretched wooden buildings, guided us to the invalid's tenement, and as we approached the house the little girl ran ahead of me, and stood shivering in the doorway, while i carefully walked up the rickety steps. poor as the tenement was, its cleanliness was noticeable, from the fact that it was isolated from the loathsome irish neighbors, whose superior means and brutal habits allowed them to occupy the lower and more accessible apartments almost in common with the swine which are fed from their very doorsteps. _the invalid._--a violent paroxysm of coughing had just seized the lady, and i waited some moments before i could observe her features. she had surely seen better days. there were about her and the little apartment evidences of refinement, from her own tidy person to the little sweet rosebush in full bloom, and the faultless white board, and the scanty, though snowy curtains that shaded the attic window, which produced a melancholy effect upon me, which was not lessened when good breeding required me to address my patient. [illustration: call at the tenement.] her countenance had evidently been beautiful; an immense mass of auburn hair, such as titian loved to paint, yet shaded her brow; the eyes were large and lustrous; the nose was slightly aquiline, the lips thin; and every feature bespoke the woman of a highly refined and intellectual nature. when her gaze met mine for an instant, i felt that pity was misplaced in the emotions which swelled my heart, for the lofty dignity, almost _hauteur_, in that look, would have become an empress in reduced circumstances. "go, dearest, to your little bed, and close the door, my love," she said, turning to the child. the girl lingered an instant. i stood between the dying mother and her child. i turned aside whilst their lips met in that holy kiss that a dying mother only can give, ay, and a prayer that she alone can breathe. when the little creature had withdrawn, by a narrow door scarcely distinguishable from the rest of the rough, whitewashed boards that divided her little closet from the main room, the mother turned her earnest gaze upon me, and said,-- "i have troubled you, doctor, not with the view of taxing your kindness to any extent, but to ask how long i may yet linger,"--placing her hand on her wasted bosom,--"depending for every service upon that little fragile creature, for whom alone i have, i fear, a selfish desire to live." i could not answer immediately. my heart was too full. i had recognized the dreadful malady at a glance. she was far gone with consumption. "i have a duty to perform, connected with her, that depends upon your answer--one that i have selfishly, alas! too long deferred." * * * * * as i arose to take my departure, she requested me to open the door to the little chamber. i did so, and there lay the poor, pale child, with her clothes unremoved. merciful god! an infant watching its dying mother, a refined, delicate and intellectual woman, the wife of an educated physician, in a wretched tenement, surrounded by palaces! _how they lived._--o, my god, what a discovery was made on my next visit, the following morning! then i saw what had before excited my curiosity, viz., the manner in which my patient contrived to support herself and child, for i was quite sure that she would never condescend to beg. [illustration: the widow at work.] i had observed, during my visit the previous evening, a very large package, tied up in commercial form, and by its side a large square board. the widow was now sitting up in bed, propped up with some coarse straw pillows, her cheeks burning with hectic, and the square board resting upon a couple of cross-pieces to keep it from her wasted limbs, and she and the child were at work putting up soda and seidlitz powders. several dozen boxes had been filled during the morning, placed in envelopes, and labelled. "'tis the lot of humanity to labor," she said, when i had detected her at the task which taxed the last mite of her remaining strength, and i stood horrified looking on; "and why should i be exempt?" she asked, actually smiling gracefully. i removed the board, but allowed the girl to resume her work by the little table near, saying that her remark was applicable only to those able to labor. she assured me that their contracted circumstances had "compelled her to make this exhibition of her industry." _her history._--twelve years before, this beautiful and refined lady had left a home of wealth and affluence to share the fortunes of her husband, dr. ----, who was worthy of all the love that a pure and affectionate woman could bestow. he struggled on manfully and hopefully against misfortune until two years ago.... i had once met her husband. it was under the following circumstances. a child had been run over, and much injured. i was called, but found, on my arrival, that this young doctor had been before me, and done all that was required; but the gentleman whose duty it was said if i would attend the case he would pay all charges, and the young physician, on learning this fact on the next visit, retired in my favor. that evening i called at his office, and insisted upon his accepting one half of the fees which i knew i should receive. he hesitatingly accepted, after much persuasion on my part; and i remember that it was my impression at the time that he was excessively proud. now, the poor wife informed me that, at the time, their means were entirely exhausted, and when he came home that evening with a large basket of necessaries, and some little delicacies to which they had long been unaccustomed, and upon her expressing her astonishment, he _sat down and wept like a child_. "great god," he cried, in agony of soul, "why did i take you from your father's house, where you had plenty? what a reward for devoting the flower of life to such a profession! to hear a wife, and the mother of my child, expressing astonishment and joy at the unwonted sight of the very necessaries of life!" it was only when the note-books and manuscripts of this truly meritorious and unfortunate young man fell into my hands, that i discovered what a loss his family and the profession had sustained. he was too proud to ask assistance. even in his fatal sickness, he continued, until a late period, to decline medical treatment, rather than expose his poverty to his brethren. finally he became known to dr. ----, who devoted his time and purse to him until he died. that season dr. ---- died also. after his death, the lady with her child had removed to these miserable quarters. the needle, and coloring of prints, had sustained them both for a year, when, finding it impossible, with her failing health, to earn a living at that employment, she resumed the one by which her noble husband had been compelled to eke out his miserable income,--putting up seidlitz powders,--in order to sustain them. often, she told me, had she sat by his side till late in the night reading to him, whilst he plied his fingers industriously at this employment, so utterly repulsive to an intellectual man; and when she would beg him to retire, he would often cheerfully obey the summons to an all-night visit to some wretched and dishonest irishman--who could not get the service of a more knowing (pecuniarily) physician without an advanced fee--in the remote hope of obtaining a few dollars, which his refinement taught these wretchedly dishonest people they had only to refuse, as they almost invariably do, in order to escape entirely the obligation! this is the gratitude (!) of which we have spoken before. it was whilst attending one of these miserable people that he imbibed the fatal disease which swept him from the earth, and left his poor wife and child to struggle on alone in their cheerless journey. it is needless to say that from the time of the visits of the benevolent physician, the widow wanted for nothing that earth could bestow, to the day of her death, which soon occurred; else she would have died at her task! _the unnatural father._--on the fifth day, evening, a man entered my office and inquired for me. he was plainly dressed in black, and possessed one of those hard, immovable countenances which admit of no particular definition. "i received a letter from you relative to my daughter." this was said in such a perfectly business-like manner, without the least emotion, that i was shocked, and my countenance must have expressed my astonishment, for he immediately added,-- "a sad business, my dear sir. well, well, i will not detain you. the corpse is here?" "no, sir. i will accompany you to the late abode of your daughter." i was glad that she had not been removed; i thought it might do his moral nature some good to see the condition to which his unnatural conduct had brought her. [illustration: the physician and the father.] not a muscle of his countenance changed, as we ascended the wretched steps. the watcher admitted us to the poor, low room, and handing him a letter from my pocket, i said, "these are your daughter's last words to you, which she intrusted to my keeping for you. i will not intrude upon your privacy, but will await you at my office;" and bowing, i retired, leaving him beside the corpse of his neglected child. in less than fifteen minutes he returned, and, without any allusion to the event, thanked me for my attentions, declining a chair, saying,-- "you will please make out your bill. i wish to be ready to start early in the morning, and take the corpse with me." he inquired for the address of an undertaker, and the present abode of _her_ child! i stood speechless! he was an anomaly. i measured him with my eyes; he cast his own for an instant to the floor, and then said,-- "my business habits, i fear, shock you, sir. i have been in a hurry all my life. i have never had time to think. i owe you an apology, sir--pardon me." i thought of the future fate of the poor child, and i must acknowledge i hypocritically, for once in my adult life, took the _hand of the man i totally despised_, as i asked him mildly if his daughter had not requested to be buried by the side of her husband, whom she loved so well. "no, sir," he sharply replied; "his name was not mentioned in the letter; very properly too. i had no respect for him, sir, none whatever; nor should i have acceded to such, had she made the request." i gave him the address of the grandchild, and also an undertaker's. "i am much obliged to you," he said, hurriedly. "i will trouble you no further. i will send for the bill in the morning. good evening, sir." i wanted the man (_brute!_) to love the poor little orphan, his grandchild, and that night i prepared a letter--instead of a bill--which i hoped would benefit him, without aggravating his feelings towards her. i said that i deemed such a privilege a sacred one, not to be soiled by a pecuniary return. i said other things to him, in the note, which i need not repeat. near spring, in a kind, almost affectionate letter, he announced to me the death of his grandchild. she had fulfilled her mission. she had greatly subdued his nature by her lovely character.... i learned that the remains of dr. ---- were afterwards interred by the side of his wife and child, and i received but lately the assurance that the wretched father, before his death, admitted that money was not the chief good. thus perished a noble physician, a devoted wife, and their lovely offspring, because of the selfish ingratitude of one to whom they were and still might have been an inestimable blessing. the physician. "honor a physician with the honor due unto him, for the uses which ye may have of him: for the lord hath created him; for of the most high cometh healing, and he shall receive honor of the king. the skill of the physician shall lift up his head: and in the sight of great men he shall be in admiration."--_ecclesiasticus_ xxxviii. if there is one class of men in the world who deserves the gratitude of their fellow-creatures above another, it is the physicians. by physician i mean not him who alone can theorize garrulously upon anatomy and physiology, chemistry and therapeutics, but who can render assistance, in time of need, to the sick and distressed. in ancient days physicians were reckoned "as the gods." i much wonder, as i turn the leaves of the testament, at the abuse heaped upon the saviour; for he went about healing the sick, and casting out devils (evil diseases). surely society was at a very low ebb in those times. who has greater, firmer friends than the physician! the good physician is sure to prosper. certainly "envy increases in exact proportion with fame; the man who is successful in his undertakings, and builds up a character, makes enemies, and calls forth swarms of stinging, peevish, biting insects, just as the sunshine awakens the world of flies;" but the true physician, having the desire at heart to benefit his fellow-creatures, is strong, is beloved, is blessed! he calls forth hosts of friends on every side, just as the pure morning air calls fragrance from every lovely flower. would you have the prayers and blessing of the good? then "go to the pillow of disease, where night gives no repose, and on the cheek where sickness preys bid health to plant the rose. go where the sufferer ready lies to perish in his doom, snatch from the grave his closing eyes, and bring a blessing home." a peter-funk doctor. one day, passing up washington street, boston, i detected a familiar voice issuing from a store, on the window-panes of which lately vacated premises was pasted "removal," and, looking in, i saw a man mounted on a box selling a pinchbeck watch. the place _looked_ a deal like a new york peter-funk shop. however that may have been, i recognized the hired auctioneer as once having been a medical practitioner. he was a graduate of c---- medical college. owing to his honesty and lack of acquisitiveness among dishonest and niggardly creatures in ----, whom he faithfully served in his earlier efforts at his profession, he was compelled to resort to other means of gaining a support for himself and family, and finally was reduced to clerking and selling goods for those whose business tact exceeded his own. [illustration: the peter-funk physician.] selling out. everybody has heard of leavitt, the dry little joker, the humorous and popular auctioneer of hartford, who sells everybody, and everything, from a riddled sauce-pan to a nine-acre lot in the suburbs. one fine day he was selling, in front of the state house, a various collection of articles, with a lot of ancient and modern household furniture and traps that would have made mrs. toodles happy for a six months, and was "looking sharp" for some one to help him over a tough place on an odd lot, when he discovered in the crowd a pleasant, open, upturned countenance,--a sort of oasis in the desert,--to whom he at once appealed for assistance. a knowing wink from young rusticus was the response, a return from the auctioneer, and the bids went on with astonishing rapidity, till down went a big lot of goods, which everybody seemed to have wanted--a truckle-bed and fixings, with earthen ware, etc. "yours, sir--what's your name?" said l. to the young man from the agricultural district. "mine? o, no; i didn't bid on 'em," said rustic. "yes, you did," replied the auctioneer. "well, i guess not, much." "but you did--the whole lot. you winked every time i looked towards you." "winked?" "yes, and kept winking; and a wink is a bid always," said l., the least taken aback at the prospect of losing a good sale. "wal--as for that--so did you keep winkin' at me. i thought you was winkin' as much as to say, 'keep dark; i'll stick somebody onto this lot of stuff;' and i kept winkin' back, as if to reply, 'well, i'll be hanged if you don't, mister.'" [illustration] xxxi. "this is for your health." "like leaves on trees the race of man is found, now green in youth, now withering on the ground; another race the following spring supplies; they fall successive, and successive rise; so generations in their course decay, so flourish these when those have passed away." the inestimable value of health.--no blessing in comparison.--men and swine.--begin with the infant.--"baby on the porch."--in a strait jacket.--"two little shoes."--youth.--impure literature and passions.--"our girls."--bare arms and busts.--how and what we breathe.--"the freedom of the street."--keep your eyes open and mouth closed.--the lungs and breathing.--a man full of holes.--seven million mouths to feed.--pure water.--cleanliness.--soap vs. wrinkles.--god's sunshine. health is above all things. health is that which makes our meat and drink both savory and pleasant, else nature's injunction of eating and drinking were a hard task and a slavish custom. it makes our beds lie easy and our sleep sweet and refreshing. it renews our strength with the morning's sun, and makes us cheerful at the light of another day. it makes the soul take delight in her mansion and pleasures, a pleasure indeed, without which we solace ourselves in nothing of terrene felicity or enjoyment.--_mainwaring._ without health there is no earthly blessing. in comparison with health all other blessings dwindle into insignificance. life is a burden to the perpetual invalid, for whom the only solace is in the silent grave. nor can such always look forward with perfect confidence to rest even beyond the dark portals of the tomb; for the infirm body is not unusually attended by an enfeebled mind which often jeopardizes hope:-- "and hope, like the rainbow of summer, gives a promise of lethe at last." if, then, health is so essential to our earthly happiness, and to our hope of peace in immortality, o, let us who possess the boon strive to retain it, and we who have it not seek diligently to regain that which is lost. the farmer does not consider it a compromise of his dignity to search out the best modes and means for increasing the quality as well as the quantity of his stock--his horses, his oxen, his sheep, and his swine,--and is man, the most noble work of his maker,--man, created but a little below the angels,--is man an exception to this rule, that he should cease to be the study of mankind? is humanity below the animals? mankind deteriorates while domesticated live stock improves. god has given us bodies formed in his own likeness, and has pronounced them "good," hence, not diseased; and it is evidently our most imperative duty to regard it as a great gift, and preserve these bodies as the inestimable boon of the almighty. it is very evident that man has fallen far short of the requirements of his maker. from adam to the flood--a space of time estimated at upwards of fifteen hundred years, according to hebrew chronographers--the average of man's years was nine hundred. from noah to jacob, by the same chronology, it had dwindled to one hundred and forty-seven years. in the ninetieth psalm we read, "the days of our years are threescore years and ten." from actual statistics it is shown to average now less than one fourth of threescore and ten years. and this fact in the face of civilization, enlightenment, and christianity! why so? how shall we account for the evil? the psalmist above quoted says further, "and if by reason of _strength_ they be fourscore years," etc., which implies that strength prolongs, and weakness--reversing the matter--shortens our days. let us begin at the beginning. about the babies.--how they are reared and how they should be. baby on the porch. out on the porch, by the open door, sweet with roses and cool with shade, baby is creeping over the floor-- dear little winsome blue-eyed maid! all about her the shadows dance, all above her the roses swing, sunbeams in the lattice glance, robins up in the branches sing. up at the blossoms her fingers reach, lisping her pleading in broken words, cooing away, in her tender speech, songs like the twitter of nestling birds. creeping, creeping over the floor, soon my birdie will find her wings, fluttering out at the open door into the wonderful world of things. bloom of roses and balm of dew, brooks that bubble and winds that call, all things lovely, and glad, and new, and the father watching us over it all! "select the best sprouts for transplanting," says the "old farmer's almanac." and here you have the whole root of the matter in a nut shell; for sickly-looking sprouts produce only sickly-looking plants. like begets like. now, how about the babies? women's rights are advocated. men take their rights. but who shall defend the babies' rights? poor, helpless little non-combatants! let me say a few words in their behalf. children, from the cradle, are wrongfully treated. their first rights are here curtailed. look at the baby that is permitted to creep out "on the porch," or over nature's green carpet, and there bask in the sunshine and frolic in the open air; then look in pity upon the pale weekly house-plant child. the contrast is as striking as lamentable. "o, he'll get his death's cold if the air blows upon him," hysterically screams the ignorant mother. yes, "ignorant"--that is the adjective i want to describe her. the young mother has doubtless been sent to a fashionable boarding-school, where she was taught algebra, french, (?) the art of adornment, how to walk fashionably, eat delicately, and dress _à la mode_, and even how to make a good "catch," but never how to preserve her health or rear an offspring. o, this would be shockingly immodest, or "counting chickens before they are hatched," i once heard a lady affirm. nine tenths of our american wives are totally ignorant of everything that pertains to their own health, or that of the healthful rearing of an infant. baby in a strait jacket. at first the infant is usually bound tightly in swaddling clothes, lest it move a limb, or for fear (like the down east orator) that it will "bust," and thus kept from air and exercise the first year or two, till it not unusually becomes a stunted, rickety thing, hardly worth "transplanting" or raising. haven't you and i, kind reader, been subjected to something of this sort of strait jacket insanity?--insanity of parents! and having been tolerably strongly constituted from a "tough stock," we survived that first wrong, whereas thousands of "nicer" babies have succumbed to the swaddling and stifling process. this is wrong, all wrong. the infant should be left free, at least as to its chest and limbs, in order to breathe, kick, and expand. how happy the little fellows are at evening to get rid of the murderous clothes which have been bundled about them all day, and how they will fight and squirm to get down on the carpet all stripped, and creep, or, if old enough, run about in freedom! how they crow and prattle! now, don't swaddle them--a simple, easy bandage is early admissible,--or cover their heads and faces with caps, sheets, or blankets. inure them to the air early and continually, and they will have less colds and "snuffles" than if you confined them within doors. give them air and sunlight, and away with your "goose-grease." yes, i have even known some country people to apply skunk's oil, and others who larded the infant's nose and chest for the "snuffles." croup delights in such babies! then from the strait jacket, baby is taken to the other extreme--bare arms, neck, and chest. old dr. warren once said, "boston sacrifices hundreds of children annually by not clothing their arms and chests." once, when in remonstrating with a mother against this barbarous practice of thus exposing her little one-year-old to a chilling atmosphere when my arms and chest were not over warm as wrapped in an overcoat, she replied to me,-- "o, the little dear looks so pretty with its little white arms and neck all bare!" "yes," i replied, sorrowfully, "it will look pretty, also, laid out in its coffin." she was greatly shocked by the remark, which, however, too soon proved true. "doctor's stuff" cannot counteract the fatal results of such ignorance and exposures. two little shoes. two little shoes laid away in the drawer, treasured so fondly--never to be worn; two little feet laid away in the tomb, cold and all lifeless--sadly we mourn. what trifling things does not a mother keep, tokens of love the swelling heart to ease; useless little toys--a lock of golden hair; something to fondle--to cherish like these two little shoes laid away in the drawer, treasured so fondly, never to be worn! these little shoes are only left us now; gone is our "darling," ever to remain; dear little feet, so plump and all dimpled, never will press them--never again! but heavenly thoughts shall cheer me on my way: death is but life, in fairer, sunnier view; busy little feet but just run on before; this is my solace as my tears bedew two little shoes laid away in the drawer, treasured so fondly, never to be worn. impure literature and passions. it is as marvellous as true that some children survive this treatment; besides the stuffing with meat victuals, candies, and cookies, inducing colic and dysentery; then dosing with rhubarb, paregoric, peppermint, and worse. soothing syrups! eternal quietuses! yes, in spite of extremes of heat and cold, stuffing and dosing with crude and poisonous articles, some babies actually reach the next stage--youth! from chilled blood, indigestion, poisonous air and drugs, repeated attacks of croup, bronchitis, dysentery, etc., the majority who have reached puberty are afflicted by some scrofulous taint, or development, or broken constitutions. now, they have appetites and passions to grapple. we have already, in chapter fifth, shown how the school-girl is cheated out of health by the deprivation of her "rights," among which are air, freedom, and exercise. here is another evil, which must not be passed over unnoticed. a new york physician, who wields an abler pen than myself, thus expresses my ideas. what he applies to females is not limited by copyright. males, help yourselves; it belongs to you quite as much as to the beautiful. "it sickens the heart to contemplate the education of female children in this city." (and let me add, in this country.) "should nature even triumph over all the evils above enumerated, no sooner has the poor girl attained the age of puberty, than her mind and nervous system are placed upon the rack of novel-reading and sentimental love stories. there is just enough of truth in some of these mawkish productions to excite the passions and distract the attention of the young girl from the love of nature and its teachings, and all rational ideas of real life, and to cause her to despise the commonplace parents whose every hour may be occupied for her consideration and welfare." this writer goes on to condemn those selfish, money-grasping wretches "professors of religion, too," in our city, who publish this impure and overstrained literature, to the great injury of the morals of the young; adding, "what language can be too strong for such disgusting hypocrisy? we punish a poor wretch for the publication of an obscene book or print, and give honor and preferment to those who instil poison into the minds of our children by a book prepared with devilish ingenuity, and in every possible style of attraction and excitement. "it is the premature excitement of the nervous and sexual system that should be avoided. the licentious characters presented in all the glowing tints of a depraved imagination cannot fail to injuriously affect the youthful organism." the dissolute and immoral characters whom we debar from the personal friendship of our sons and daughters, whom we exclude from our parlors, and even street recognition, are sugared over, and, between gilded covers, passed freely into the _boudoirs_, school-rooms, and seminaries of our children, for their companionship at their leisure. the vile characters in person would be far less injurious, for in that case their hideousness would the surer be revealed. "nothing can be more certain than the production of these works of a precocious evidence of puberty. the forces of the young heart and vascular system are thus prematurely goaded into ephemeral action by the stimulus of an imagination alternately moved to laughter, and tears, and sexual passion." mr. baxter, in part , ch. xxi., direction , of his _christian directory_, which is a direction for reading other books than the bible, says, "i pre-suppose that you keep the devil's books out of your hands and house. i mean cards, and idle tales, and play-books, and romances or love-books, and false, bewitching stories, and the seducting books of false teachers.... for where these are suffered to corrupt the mind, all grave and useful writings are forestalled; and it is a wonder to see how powerfully these poison the minds of children, and many other empty heads." it would astonish and shame some parents if they would take pains to look over the books which are daily and nightly perused by their children. it is not enough for you to know that such books were obtained from a "dear friend," or from a respectable publisher, or pious bookseller, or that they are lawful publications. parents and guardians, i pray you take warning. "our girls." i want everybody, male and female, old and young, to read that most excellent book, "our girls," by dr. dio lewis. it will do you good. for humanity's sake, and particularly for the benefit of females, i recommend it. lest some of my readers should not follow this advice, i want to tell you what it says about low neck and short sleeves. "many a modest woman appears at a party with her arms nude, and so much of her chest exposed that you can see nearly half of the mammal glands. many a modest mother permits her daughters to make this model-artist exhibition of themselves. "one beautiful woman said, in answer to my complaints, 'you should not look.' "'but,' i said, 'do you not adjust your dress in this way on purpose to give us a chance to look?' "she was greatly shocked at my way of putting it. "'well,' i said, 'this assurance is perfectly stunning. you strip yourselves, go to a public party, parade yourselves for hours in a glare of gas-light, saying to the crowd, "look here, gentlemen," and then you are shocked because we put your unmistakable actions into words.' "in discussing this subject before an audience of ladies in this city (boston), the other evening, i said, 'ladies, suppose i had entered this hall with my arms and bust bare; what would you have done? you would have made a rush for the door, and, as you jostled against each other in hurrying out, you would have exclaimed to each other, "o, the unconscionable scallawag!" may i ask if it is not right that we should demand of you as much modesty as you demand of us?' but you exclaim, 'custom! it is the custom, and fashion is everything.'" again the author says,-- "this exposure of the naked bosom before men belongs not to the highest type of christian civilization, but to those dark ages when women sought nothing higher than the gratification of the passions of man, and were content to be mere slaves and toys. "boston contains its proportion of the refined women of the country. we have here a few score of the old families, inheriting culture and wealth, and who can take rank with the best. a matron who knows their habits assures me that she never saw a member of one of those families in 'low neck and short sleeves.' "in the future free and christian america, the very dress of women will proclaim a high, pure womanhood.... we shall then discard the costumes devised by the dissolute capitals of europe. "what a strange spectacle we witness in america to-day! free, brave american women hold out to the world the bible of social, political, and religious freedom, and anon we see them down on their knees, waiting the arrival of the latest steamer from france, to learn how they may dress their bodies for the next month." well, he does not censure ladies in the above manner all through; but yet, in a most earnest and interesting way he divulges the most startling truths, and even very young misses are delighted with the whole argument. "why, it's just like a story," exclaimed my twelve-year-old katie on reading it. what dr. lewis objects to on the score of immodesty, i also oppose on the ground of unhealthfulness. the idea of preventing or curing the laryngitis, or consumption, in a lady, when there is nothing but gauze, or a bit of ribbon and a galvanized bosom pin, between her neck and the cold and changeable atmosphere of the north or east, is ridiculously absurd. no doctors or doctors' pectorals can save such. "high necks," warm flannels, or make your wills. how and what we should breathe. it would disgust the reader if i should enter into the details of telling him what people--respectable people, even, in nice houses--breathe over. air is life. the purer the air, the purer the life-stream that courses through our hearts. you cannot get too much of it. take it in freely. have only pure air in your houses, in your sleeping-rooms and cellars. particularly see that the children have the freedom of the air, day and night, at home, at school, everywhere. it is free--costs nothing! the freedom of the street. "i dwell amid the city, and hear the flow of souls; i do not hear the several contraries, i do not hear the separate tone that rolls in art or speech. "for pomp or trade, for merry-make or folly, i hear the confidence and sum of each, and what is melancholy. thy voice is a complaint, o crowded city, the blue sky covering thee, like god's great pity." "heaven bless the freedom of the park," has exclaimed a child of song; and he might also have invoked the same blessing upon "the freedom of the street." the street is free to all; to high and low, young and old, rich and poor. it recognizes no distinctions or castes; it is the very expressiveness of democracy. the child of fashion, arrayed in silks, ribbons, and furbelows; the child of penury and want, in rags, filth, and semi-nakedness; the shaver of notes and the shaver of faces; the college professor and the chiffonier, all mingle in common on the street. now walking side by side, now brushing past each other, now stopping to look at the same cause of excitement, now each jostled into the gutter. no distinction in wealth, birth, or intellect is recognized; no one dare attempt to restrict the freedom of the thoroughfare, and none dare say to another, "stand aside, for i am better than thou." the little boy trundles his hoop against the shins of the thoughtful student; the little girl knocks the spectacles from the nose of the man of science with her rope, while the preacher runs against an awning-post to make way for a red-faced nurse with a willow carriage; the antiquated apple woman, and the child with its huge chunk of bread and butter, sit on the curb; the painter digs the end of his ladder rather uncomfortably into some pursy old gentleman's stomach; while the sweep, with the soot trembling upon his eyelashes, strolls along as independently and leisurely as the dandy in tights, and with the sweeter consciousness that he is doing something for the public good. [illustration: the freedom of the park.] the street is a world in miniature, a vanity fair in motion, a shifting panorama of society, painted with the pencil of folly and fancy. it is the only plane upon which society, "the field which men sow thick with friendships," meets on a common level. it does not flaunt in aristocracy, and never dares to be pretentious. "keep your eyes open and mouths closed." there's true philosophy in the above saying of a wise _savant_. but there is more wisdom in the latter clause than he even dreamed of in his philosophy. the book informs us that god breathed the breath of life (air) into man's _nostrils_. nothing is more injurious, save continually breathing foul air, than the habit of breathing through the mouth. keep the mouth closed. a great many diseases of the teeth, mouth, throat, head, and lungs may be traced directly to the pernicious and general habit of breathing with the mouth open--inhaling and exhaling cold air directly into the mouth and throat, inflaming and chilling the mucous membrane and the blood. the nostrils are the only proper passages for the air to the lungs. here are filterers to exclude particles of dust and foreign matter, and various ramifications, whereby the air is properly warmed before reaching the lining of the throat and lungs. in infected air you are less injured, and less liable to contract contagious diseases, when inhaling only through the natural channel, the nostrils. i think it was dr. good, of london, who wrote a book on the subject, which carlyle pronounced "a sane voice in a world of chaos." george catlin says he learned the secret of keeping the mouth closed while among the north american indians. they would not allow themselves or their children to sleep with the mouth open (though their reasoning is questionable), because the evil spirit would creep in them at night. hence the parent went around after the pappooses were asleep, and closed their mouths. pulmonary diseases are seldom found in the "close-mouthed." kant, the philosopher, claims to have cured himself of consumption by this discovery. persons never snore except by breathing through the open mouth. o, give us quiet, you snorers, by keeping your mouths shut, even at the expense of "keeping your eyes open" to watch yourself, and thus deliver the world from the disturbance of snoring. the lungs.--breathing. all that live, down even to vegetables and trees, breathe, _must_ breathe, in order to live; live in proportion as they breathe; begin life's first function with breathing, and end its last in their last breath. and breathing is the _most important_ function of life, from first to last, because the grand stimulator and sustainer of all. would you get and keep warm when cold, breathe copiously, for this renews that carbonic consumption all through the system which creates all animal warmth. would you cool off, and keep cool, in hot weather, deep, copious breathing will burst open all those myriads of pores, each of which, by converting the water in the system into insensible perspiration, casts out heat, and refreshes mind and body. would you labor long and hard, with intellect or muscle, without exhaustion or injury, breathe abundantly; for breath is the great re-invigorator of life and all its functions. would you keep well, breath is your great preventive of fevers, of consumption, of "all the ills that flesh is heir to." would you break up fevers, or colds, or unload the system of morbid matter, or save both your constitution and doctor's fee, cover up warm, drink soft water--cold, if you have a robust constitution sufficient to produce a reaction; if not, hot water should be used. then let in the fresh air, and breathe, breathe, breathe, just as deep and much as possible, and in a few hours you can "forestall and prevent" the worst attack of disease you ever will have; for this will both unload disease at every pore of skin and lungs, and infuse into the system that _vis animæ_ which will both grapple in with and expel disease in all its forms, and restore health, strength, and life. nature has no panacea like it. _try the experiment_, and it will revolutionize your condition. and the longer you try, the more will it regenerate your body and your mind. even if you have the blues, deep breathing will soon dispel them, especially if you add vigorous exercise. would you even put forth your greatest mental exertions in speaking or writing, keep your lungs clear up to their fullest, liveliest action. would you even breathe forth your highest, holiest orisons of thanksgiving and worship, deepening your inspiration of fresh air will likewise deepen and quicken your _divine_ inspiration. nor can even bodily pleasures be fully enjoyed except in and by copious breathing. in short, proper breathing is the alpha and omega of all physical, and thereby of all mental and moral function and enjoyment. a man full of holes. yes, made of holes! a gentleman once told me a story, as follows. we were travelling on the ohio river, on board of a steamer. "you see that bank over opposite?" "yes," i replied. "well, thereby hangs a little story. i always laugh when i think of it, or pass the spot, which is often. a fellow sat looking at that spot, watching the thousands of swallows that were continually flitting to and fro, in and out of their nests, and laughing immoderately to himself. i approached, and ventured to inquire the cause of his mirth, that i might partake of it. "well, you see that bank and all them nests? well, one day i went down on the boat and noticed them. when i came back, there had meantime been a heavy rain storm which washed the bank away, and left the holes all sticking out;" and the fellow continued to laugh as though he would split himself, probably from the _idea_ of the holes "sticking out." i wondered how he could see them if the bank around was washed away. still the man full of holes is a fact. according to krause, quoted in gray's and wilson's works on anatomy, there are twenty-eight hundred ( ) pores in the skin of the human body to the square inch; and the number of square inches to an average-sized man is twenty-five hundred ( ). this would give some _seven million pores in the whole body_. these pores, or tubes, are one fourth of an inch in length; hence, the entire length of them all is _twenty-eight miles_. that part of the skin is the healthiest which is the most exposed to the air, as the face and hands. that part the most diseased from which the air is most excluded, as the _feet_. three fourths of all persons over fourteen years of age have diseased feet; either corns, chilblains, or diseased joints or nails. seven million mouths to feed. these seven million mouths must be fed daily and hourly. their food is light and air. man is not only fed and nourished through the portal of his mouth, but through all the pores of his body, by drawing in nutriment from the surrounding elements, even from the viewless air. these little mouths also need moisture. this fact is revealed to the senses through the medium of the nerves; for, how grateful to the dry, parched skin, is a bath of cold water! or, if the blood is in a "low state,"--impoverished by disease,--let it be a tepid bath. let it feel comfortable and grateful to the user. this is a good rule to direct you. the little children love it--love to paddle and splash in it. if they cry and fight against washing, it is usually because of the rudeness of the operator, who, with brawny palm or rough sponge takes the child unawares, nearly suffocating it, and briskly and rudely rubbing over the surface of the tender face, regardless of such small obstructions as nose, chin, and lips, and not unusually dashing a quantity of yellow soap suds into the infantile eyes. the next time the little fellow is requested to be washed, he, remembering the last _scouring_, naturally objects to a repetition of the unpleasant process. as the nostrils inhale pure air beneficially, they also exhale impurities. the pores also excrete, or throw off impurities. a healthy skin will throw out, by the pores, from two to three pounds of impure matter every twenty-four hours. to be sure a greater quantity of this impurity is a vapory substance, yet that holds in solution solid particles of corrupt matter, which greatly tend to clog the pores if left to obstruct free perspiration. water. then, aside from cooling and nourishing the skin and the system through the pores, cleanliness and health demand oft and repeated ablutions of the whole body. in order that the perspiration may be unobstructed, it is absolutely necessary to wash the whole surface of the body in water, and on account of the _acid_ and oily substance collecting on the skin, using a small quantity of alkali, as soap or soda in the water, and thus, by good brisk rubbing, using the hand in preference to a cloth or sponge, thoroughly cleansing the little mouths referred to, else their action is retarded and suspended. this should be done daily during the summer season. this is a simple process, indispensable to health, and the unwashed can hardly believe what beneficial results follow such a plain course, or know the healthful influence or the comfort derived from a frequent use of pure water. those who bathe thus daily seldom take colds. during the winter, in cold climates, weekly or semi-weekly bathing may suffice. [illustration: "it costs nothing."] a statesman, in seeking an illustration of the difference between price and value, very happily hit upon water, which costs nothing, and yet is of inestimable worth. water, next to air, is the most indispensable of all the productions of nature. "unlike most good things providentially supplied for our use, it is hardly capable of abuse. the more common danger to be feared is from too little, not too much, water. "simple a thing, however, as it may be to quench the thirst from the running stream, or the mountain spring, there are but few people who know how to drink. most people, in the eagerness of thirst, swallow with such avidity the welcome draught, that they deluge their stomachs without proportionately refreshing themselves. the slowly sipping of a single goblet of water will do more to alleviate thirst than the sudden gulping down of a gallon. it is more frequently the dryness of the mouth, during hot weather, than the want of the system, which calls for the supply of fluid. when larger quantities, moreover, are poured into the stomach than are required, that organ becomes oppressed mechanically by the distention, and the digestion is consequently weakened." the prescribed ablutions of the jews and mohammedans have not only a spiritual but a hygienic value. "the washing of the body not only whitens the outside of the sepulchre, but purifies the internal organs, and renews the spiritual man as well.... hence, when the body becomes foul by the retention of worn-out and corrupt material accumulated on the surface and the interior of the structure, it becomes a cage suitable only for the dwelling of unclean birds, and no others will descend and make their nests therein. it is a vessel fitted to receive only the lower passions and feelings of human nature. "public bathing-houses are as important a means of grace as our poorly ventilated churches, and many an unhappy soul would be brought nearer to heaven by a judicious application of soap and water than he could be by listening to a sermon about that of which he comprehends little and cares less."--_rev. w. f. evans's "mental cure."_ soap vs. wrinkles. how much younger and fresher the wayworn traveller or the outdoor laborer looks after a thorough washing of the face and hands only. many who complain of "bird's claws" and wrinkles might murmur less if they made a thorough use of warm water and "old brown windsor soap," or better, the true castile soap. nearly all the soap sold at groceries for castile is spurious. a good druggist will have the desired article, and for rough, chapped skin nothing is better, not even glycerine. then wash out the furrows of fine dirt that gather in the _little_ wrinkles, and it will surprise some folks to see how, thereby, they have reduced the size of their wrinkles. it is like cleansing an old coat! god's sunshine. next to air and water in importance to health and happiness is sunlight. o, "let there be light" in your houses, that there may be light in your hearts also! our houses should be so constructed and located that the sun may shine into every room some time during the day. too many build houses and live in the rear. the hall and large parlors are usually situated in front, to the south or west, throwing the sitting, dining, and working-room--kitchen--in the shade. let the cheering, life-giving influences of god's dear blessed sunshine flood the working, sitting, and, particularly, the sleeping rooms. he or she who sleeps in a room from which the sunshine is totally excluded will be pale, weak, tired, and die prematurely of consumption. try a plant in such a room. it soon turns pale and sickly. just so your children and yourself. i have such patients daily. medicine cannot substitute sunshine. throw open the blinds, dash aside the curtains, and let in the light and sunshine to your homes and hearts. never mind the carpets; they may be replaced, but you and your children, never! save your health, if _you ruin an old carpet in so doing_! cholera, dysentery, scrofula, nervous diseases, and consumption prevail more extensively in narrow and darkened, as also in the shady side of streets; also in darkened prisons and hospitals. a heavy heart walks in dark and cheerless apartments. the cheerful, happy man, the joyous, contented wife, the beautiful, healthy children, dwell and rejoice in homes where flows full and free the pure air and the life-keeping, health-giving sunshine. christianity is more likely to take up its abode with the latter. there only green leaves and beautiful flowers can gladden the sight and exhilarate the senses. air, water, sunlight! "these three." don't neglect them. so shall you live long, live healthy, and at last die happily! xxxii. health without medicine. how shall i stay life's sunny hours? for though the summer skies are clear, foreboding thoughts steal o'er my heart, and autumn sounds oppress my ear. while heart with hope beats warm and high, and pleasures drink in summer bowers, i know that autumn frosts will come-- how shall i stay life's sunny hours? cheerfulness.--good advice.--rev. francis j. collier on christian cheerfulness.--what god says about it.--whining.--love and health.--affection and perfection.--separating the sheep and goats.--the fences up and fences down.--sixteen and sixty.--action and idleness.--idleness and crime.--beauty and development.--sleep.--day and night.--"what shall we eat?"--a stomach-mill and a stewing-pan.--"five minutes for refreshments."--ancient diet.--cooks in a "stew."--the green-groceries of the classics.--cabbages and artichokes.--animal and vegetable diet. cheerfulness. i place cheerfulness next, in the catalogue of essentials to long life and happiness; before "diet," for, unless a man eats cheerfully, nothing will agree with him; and if he be constantly cheerful, nothing that he eats will injure him. "how shall i be cheerful when all the world goes wrong with me?" asks the diseased and despondent man or woman. put on cheerfulness as a garment. assume it. try my suggestion. use a little hypocrisy with yourself. go before your glass, if necessary, and assume a cheerful countenance. keep it up, and before long you will be astonished to find that mr. melancholy don't like it, and begins to withdraw his sombre person. keep on "keeping it up," and the most happy results will soon follow your exertions. try the reverse, and melancholy will return. this is cheap medicine. "[r]--a cheerful face, taken daily, feasting." christian cheerfulness. the following prize essay was written by rev. francis j. collier:-- "_cheerfulness as a medicine._--perhaps nothing has a greater tendency to cast gloom over the spirit than _disease_. the mind sympathizes with the body as much as the body with the mind. their union is so intimate, so delicate, so sensitive, that what affects the one necessarily affects the other. each to a certain degree determines the other's condition. if the mind is joyful, its emotion is betrayed by the expression of the body. 'a merry heart maketh a cheerful countenance.' but if the body is injured, or the physical system deranged, the mind at once suffers, and forthwith droops into sadness. it becomes, therefore, your christian duty, if you have health, to study the laws of your physical being; to compel yourself both to labor and to rest; to avoid unnecessary risks or exposure; to abstain from injurious indulgences; to be prudent, temperate, chaste, and, by every proper means, to try to preserve what is so essential to your spiritual comfort. if you have lost this boon, strive to regain it. think not, speak not, all the while about your malady. suppress moans and complaints. they are always disagreeable to others; they can never be beneficial to you. count your mercies, and not your miseries. try upon your body the stimulus of a cheerful spirit. it may not insure your recovery, but it will certainly produce a pleasant alleviation. 'a merry heart doeth good like a medicine; but a broken spirit dryeth the bones.' "_borrowing trouble._--forebodings of evil rob the mind of cheerfulness. 'ills that never happened have mostly made men wretched,' says tupper. casting our glance ahead, we see 'lions' in the way; difficulties which we are sure we can never overcome; griefs under whose heavy weight we shall be utterly crushed. not satisfied with our present troubles, we borrow misery from the future. the holy scripture instructs us to do otherwise. 'thou knowest not what a day may bring forth.'--prov. xxvii. . 'take therefore no thought for the morrow, for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself. sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.'--matt. vi. . and then it gives us a golden promise, 'as thy days, so shall thy strength be.' "the life of many christians is a life of constant sadness and gloom. they seem to be entire strangers to all the happiness of earth and all the hopes of heaven. their faces commonly appear as sombre as the stones which mark the dwelling-places of the dead. their feelings are better expressed in sighs than in songs. unhappy themselves, they make others unhappy. they come and go like clouds, shutting out the sunshine from cheerful hearts, and for a while casting upon them shadows cold and dark. "arise, o, desponding one! quit your tearful abode in the valley of gloom, and come and make your dwelling on the bright hill-top of cheerfulness. look up! look up! and behold the sun shining through the clouds, and the stars through the darkness." whining. this is a habit opposed to cheerfulness, and producing contrary results. it is half-sister to scolding, and equally as obnoxious. don't fret and whine. it makes you look old and cross. the disease soon becomes chronic if indulged in. it is a disease that not only the doctors know at sight, but every one can read it in the face of those thus afflicted. "o, what a cross face that lady has got!" i heard another female exclaim but yesterday, as they passed on the street. you cannot hide it; then don't induce such a look. somebody has written the following, which so completely expresses my ideas of the matter, that i quote the item verbatim:-- "there is a class of persons in this world, by no means small, whose prominent peculiarity is whining. they whine because they are poor; or, if rich, because they have no health to enjoy their riches; they whine because it is too shiny; they whine because it is too rainy; they whine because they have 'no luck,' and others' prosperity exceeds theirs; they whine because some friends have died, and they are still living; they whine because they have aches and pains, and they have aches and pains because they whine, no one can tell why. "now, we would like to say a word to these whining persons. stop whining. it's of no use, this everlasting complaining, fretting, fault-finding, scolding, and whining. why, you are the most deluded set of creatures that ever lived. "do you not know that it is a well-settled principle of physiology and common sense that these habits are more exhausting to nervous vitality than almost any other violation of physiological law? and do you not know that life is pretty much what you make it and take it? you can make it bright and sunshiny, or you can make it dark and shadowy. this life is only meant to discipline us, to fit us for a higher and nobler state of being. then stop whining and fretting, and go on your way rejoicing." love. "well, what has that to do with health and long life?" ask the cynic, the bachelor, the old maid possibly, and the plodders. everything, i reply. the man, woman, or child who loves well and wisely, who loves the most, is the happiest, healthiest, and will live the longest. "that is a bold assertion," says my quizzer. yes, and true as bold. now listen in silence to my statement. who loves, what loves, and what is the result? "god is love." here is the first, the fundamental principle. he is the oldest of all beings. to be like him is to love,--to love all things which he has created. this is godlike. if you are not thus, you are like the ungodly, who "shall not live out half their days." "love god, and keep his commandments." "love thy neighbor as thyself." is there not more happiness and health in the obeying of this command, than in disobedience to it? whatever is conducive to happiness is healthful. whatever produces unhappiness is injurious to health. love is undefinable. "there is a fragrant blossom that maketh glad the garden of the heart. its root lieth deep; it is delicate, yet lasting as the lilac-crocus of autumn. * * * * * i saw, and asked not its name; i knew no language was so wealthy. though every heart of every clime findeth its echo within. and yet, what shall i say? is a sordid man capable of love? hath a seducer known it? can an adulterer perceive it? * * * * * chaste, and looking up to god, as the fountain of tenderness and joy. quiet, yet flowing deep, as the rhine among rivers. lasting, and knowing not change, it walketh in truth and sincerity. love never grows old, love never perisheth." affection and perfection. love is so closely connected with our lives, and all that makes or mars our peace and pleasure, health and beauty, that i should feel guilty of a sin of omission by excluding this item from my chapter on health and happiness. to be unloved is to be unhappy. do not forget the connection between health and happiness. they are all but synonymous terms. you may know the unloved and unlovely by the lines of care, dissipation, or crime that are furrowed upon their brows. go into the highways, and you may readily pick out the unloved child by its unsatisfied expression of countenance. it lifts its great, hungry eyes to yours instinctively, and asks for love and sympathy as plainly by that searching look, as the child of penury, the bread-starveling asks for alms when it presents its scrawny hand, and in pitiful tones says, "please give me a penny, for god's sake." o, give the child "love," for god's sake; for he so loved the world that he gave us his only begotten son, who only in turn taught us to love. physical perfection is never found in the unloved. the unloved wife is not long beautiful, nor the child of such. there is a marked difference between them and the wife and child that the husband and father cherishes and caresses with unrestrained affection. in sickness love divides the burden, as in the common toils of life. disguise or deny the truth of the assertion if you will, woman must love somebody or some thing. she were not otherwise a true woman, nor made in the image of her maker. if the husband denies her that affection which truly belongs to her nature, he must not blame her, but himself, if she loves another. she will cling to something. if she has no children upon whom to lavish her affections, she will love some other's, or a pet canary, or even a cat, or lapdog; but love she will. separating the sheep and goats. i place cheerfulness before love, because angry and melancholy people are unlovable. if you wish to be loved and happy, be lovable. strive to please, to make those about you happy, and then you will be lovable. cheerfulness is the first step. a very sensible writer in the _phrenological journal_ says,-- "there is not enough thought, and time, and consideration devoted to this inevitable requisite, love. it is kept too much in the background. how many years are given to preparing young people for professions, trades, and occupations; how much counsel and advice are heaped around these topics; and yet how little importance is attached to the very influence which will probably be the turning-point of their lives. no wonder there are so many unhappy marriages. if we could only remember that boys and girls are not to be educated for lawyers, merchants, school-teachers, or housekeepers alone, but for husbands and wives, as well." those girls are the most chaste and ladylike who have been brought up with a family, or neighborhood, or school of boys; and on the other hand, those boys who have from their earliest days been accustomed to female restraint and girlhood's influences, make the best men, and most faithful, loving husbands and fathers. what shall i say of those demoralizing institutions where the "young ladies" are taught algebra, languages, and ill manners? where they are forbidden to recognize a gentleman in the school-room, prayer-room, or street? can you, honest reader, believe there are such institutions in our enlightened land? yet there are; where the sexes are denied not only the association with, but are forbidden the common courtesies of life; where, if a friend or brother lifts his hat to the young lady, while belonging to that institution, she is forbidden to acknowledge the courtesy. i remember mrs. brandyball, in one of theodore hook's novels of society, boasting of her seminary for young ladies as one of the _safest_ in the world, being entirely surrounded by a dense wall, eight feet high, surmounted by sharp spikes and broken glass bottles. i reckon all the virtue preserved in this way was not worth the cost of its defences. fences broken down. the writer passed some time in a town where these discourtesies were promulgated. i boarded with a pious family, where a large number of male students boarded also. there was one class of influences and _passions_ pervading that place. all female influence and restraint were withdrawn. and what was the result? the boys were forbidden to smoke, or chew tobacco, or play at cards. they reckoned me as a "right jolly good fellow," because i could be induced to play a game of euchre with them; but they occasionally smoked me out of their rooms, and i was repeatedly compelled to check their wonted flow of licentious conversation. cards, as an innocent amusement, i could stand, but the "accomplishments" referred to i could not endure. shall i, as a physician, mention the positive evidence, the pathognomonic indications which were revealed to me in the faces of many of those young men; of vulgar habits, which are less often or seldom revealed in those who customarily associate in pure female society? they had little or no respect for the opposite sex. their ideas of them, thoughts and conversations, were most gross. if some now and then, as they occasionally would, took a stolen interview, a walk at night, when "old prof." was asleep, it was with no more exalted views of purity than any other midnight criminal prowlers are supposed to cherish. and the girls? alas! they were ready to flirt with every strange man, drummer, or else, who came into the village. the aforesaid pious landlord assured me further, what my eyes did not see, that he knew of girls climbing out of the windows at night, and partaking of stolen rides and interviews as late as midnight; and he pointed out to me one coy, plump little miss, who he knew "had been out as late as one or two a. m., taking a ride with a gentleman scholar." the scholars all met in the "chapel" for prayers. are sly glances, winks, or billets-doux prayers? if so, they prayed fervently. any well read, observing physician will tell you of the ruined healths of the majority of females educated at such exclusive seminaries. and what is the reverse of this exclusiveness? bring the sexes up together. teach them together, as much as is consistent. they will each have better manners, be more graceful, and possess clearer ideas of propriety, more beauty and better health, than by the plan of a separate education. we all dread to grow old. don't talk of second childhood. keep the first youthfulness fresh till the last. love will do much towards continuing this desirable state. says the _phrenological journal_, beauty comes and goes with health. the bad habits and false conditions which destroy the latter, render the former impossible. youthfulness of form and features depends on youthfulness of feeling. "spring still makes spring in the mind, when sixty years are told; love wakes anew the throbbing heart, and we are never old." if, then, we would retain youthful looks, we must do nothing that will make us _feel old_. o, the folly of parents in some things! the nonsense of sixty is the sweetest kind of sense to sixteen; and the father and mother who renew their own youths in that of their children may be said to experience a second blossoming of their lives. teach them to talk to you of their friends and companions. let the girls chat freely about gentlemen if they wish. it is far better to control the subject than to forbid it. don't make fun of your boy's shamefaced first love, but help him to judge the article properly. you would hardly send him by himself to select a coat or a hat--has he not equal need of your counsel and assistance in selecting that much more uncertain piece of goods, a sweetheart? there is a great deal of popular nonsense talked and written about the folly of our girls contracting early marriages. it is not the early marriage that is in fault, it is the premature choice of a husband. only take time enough about selecting the proper person, and it is not of much consequence how soon the minister is called in. keep him on trial a little while, girls; look at him from every possible point of view, domestic or foreign. don't be deluded by the hollow glitter of handsome features and prepossessing manners. a greek nose or a graceful brow will not insure conjugal happiness by any means. a husband ought to be like a watertight roof, equally serviceable in sunny or rainy weather. action and idleness. while action is surely essential to our physical and moral being, all extremes should be avoided. excessive labor, even out of door, in the air and sunshine, may be injurious. on this point i quote the _scientific american_:-- "it has oftentimes been asserted that those exposed to severe labor in the open atmosphere were the least subject to sickness. this has been proven a fallacy. of persons engaged at heavy labor in outdoor exposure, the percentage of sickness in the year is . . of those engaged at heavy labor in-doors, such as blacksmiths, etc., the percentage of sickness is . --not much to be sure; but of those engaged at light occupations in-doors and out, the percentage of sickness is only . - . . for every three cases of sickness in those engaged in light labor, there are four cases among those whose lot is heavy labor. the mortality, however, is greater among those engaged in light toil, and in-door labor is less favorable to longevity than laboring in the open atmosphere. it is established clearly that the quantum of sickness annually falling to the lot of man is in direct proportion to demands on his muscular power. "how true this makes the assertion,--'every inventor who abridges labor, and relieves man from the drudgery of severe toil, is a benefactor of his race.' there were many who looked upon labor-saving machines as great evils, because they supplanted the hand toil of many operatives. we have helped to cure the laboring and toiling classes of such absurd notions. a more enlightened spirit is now abroad, for all experience proves that labor-saving machines do not destroy the occupations of men, but merely change them." idleness induces crime. this fact cannot be too strongly or repeatedly impressed upon parents and children. warden haynes, of the massachusetts state prison, lately uttered these emphatic and significant words, which are worthy to be written in letters of gold: "eight out of every ten come here by liquor; and a great curse is, not learning a trade. young men get the notion that it is not genteel to learn a trade; they idle away their time, get into saloons, acquire the habits of drinking, and then gambling, and then they are ready for any crime." how many young men we see every day who are in the pathway to this end. fathers and mothers who hold the dangerous view that it is not genteel for their children to learn a trade, can see where such ideas lead. the words of wisdom quoted above are full of weighty import for both parents and children. beauty and development. activity of body and mind are conducive to health. everybody ought to know that moderate exercise develops the muscular and nervous power, hence the vitality of all creatures. is the active, prancing steed, or the inactive, sluggish swine, the better representative of beauty, strength, and long life? "the horse," answers everybody. then avoid the habits of the other, and you will be very unlike that indolent, unclean, and gluttonous animal. when you see a man who reminds you of a hog, be assured he has swinish habits. mental activity, unless it is excessive, is conducive to beauty, to strength, and health. a writer in the american odd fellow has some good ideas illustrative of my argument, that i may be pardoned for quoting him:-- "we were speaking of handsome men the other evening, and i was wondering why k. had so lost the beauty for which five years ago he was so famous. 'o, it's because he never did anything,' said b.; 'he never worked, thought, or suffered. you must have the mind chiselling away at the features, if you want handsome middle-aged men.' since hearing that remark, i have been on the watch to see whether it is generally true--and it is. a handsome man who does nothing but eat and drink grows flabby, and the fine lines of his features are lost; but the hard thinker has an admirable sculptor at work, keeping his fine lines in repair, and constantly going over his face to improve, if possible, the original design." therefore, we infer that this moderate (outdoor) exercise is conducive to beauty, health, and longevity. moderate activity of the mind the same. idleness begets licentious thoughts and deeds. activity of body and mind in honorable pursuits calls away the nervous power from the lower to the higher organs. a lively, cheerful, clean man or woman, is seldom wicked or licentious. sleep. by the assistance of john g. saxe, we have already given those "early to bed, and early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise," fellows a touch of our opinion on too early rising. i base my judgment upon careful and continued observation during many years. the scriptures teach that the day is for work, and night for sleep. this turning day into night, sitting up till near midnight, is all wrong. it is ruinous to health and beauty. this other extreme, of rising at four or five o'clock and pitching into hard labor, is wearing and tearing to the constitution; and though nature for a while adapts herself to the necessity, by browning and unnaturally developing the exposed parts of such deluded or unfortunate persons, _it does it at the expense of his length of days_. he will not live so long for his over-doing. begin by retiring earlier, at the first indication after nightfall of fatigue and sleepiness. if sweaty, wash the skin quickly, as previously directed, with warm water, _rubbing dry and warm_, and cover up. lie on one side. do not sleep on your back. you are more liable to dream laborious or frightful dreams, snore, or have nightmare. do not sleep in clothes worn during the day. unfortunate is the man or woman, who, from necessity, arises before six or seven in winter, or five to seven in summer. literary persons require more sleep than laborers. children require more than adults. do not lie in bed long after awaking at morning. open your window wide as soon as you arise--it is supposed to be partially open at the top all night. in inhaling air at night or morning, do it only through the nostrils. night air is _not_ injurious any more than day air if so inhaled. sleep when sleepy--this is a good rule, unless disease induces unnatural sleep. what shall we eat? _eat what relishes well, and agrees with you afterwards._ this is the best general rule i have been able to adopt for eating. there has been so much ridiculous stuff written upon "diet" that most sensible people have given up trying to follow the prescribed rules of writers, if not their physician's directions on that score. take the following, by one celebrated dr. brown, of england, for an example, although we may find others quite as ridiculous nearer home:-- "for breakfast, toast and rich soup made on a slow fire, a walk before breakfast, and a good deal after it; a glass of wine in the forenoon, _from time to time_; good broth or soup to dinner, with meat of any kind he likes, but always the most nourishing; several glasses of port or punch to be taken after dinner, till some enlivening effect is perceived from them, and a dram after everything heavy; one hour and a half after dinner another walk; between tea-time and supper a game with cheerful company at cards or any other play, never too prolonged; a little light reading; jocose, humorous company, avoiding that of popular presbyterian ministers and their admirers, and all hypocrites and thieves of every description.... lastly, the company of amiable, handsome, and delightful young women and an enlivening glass." dr. russell, to whom we are indebted for the quotation, might well say that "john brown's prescriptions seem a caricature of his system." a "stomach-mill" and a "stewing-pot." there have been many speculations about the nature of the digestive process, and in relation to them the celebrated hunter remarked, playfully, "to account for digestion, some have made the stomach a mill; some would have it to be a stewing-pot, and some a brewing-trough; yet all the while one would have thought that it must have been very evident that the stomach was neither a mill, nor a stewing-pot, nor a brewing-trough, nor anything but a _stomach_." all that can be said is, that digestion is a chemical process, the mechanical agency spoken of being of service only in thoroughly mixing the gastric juice with the food. "five minutes for refreshments." "murder! murder!" the conductor might as well cry to passengers, as "five minutes for refreshments." now it makes less difference what we eat than how we eat. cold hash, eaten slowly, therefore, well masticated, and mixed with the saliva, is more likely to "set well" than a light cake or a cracker, though it be "bond's best," if hurried down the throat. what the english call the "blarsted yankee style" of gulping down the food half masticated, washing it down with drinks, will ruin anything but a sheet-iron stomach in a cast-iron constitution. talk about "mills." why, that most excellently contrived mill in the mouth is not suffered to perform its duty. the hopper is too crammed; it clogs the whole machinery. eating between meals destroys the regular periods naturally established by the stomach for digestion. three meals should be sufficient for twenty-four hours. "much has been said about exercising after eating, and the truth has been often over-stated. the famous experiment with the two dogs is cited to show that exercise after eating interferes with the process of digestion. observe just how much was proved by the experiment. two dogs were fed to the full, and while one was left to lie still, the other was made to run about very briskly. in an hour or two both dogs were killed, and it was found that the food was well digested in the dog that remained quiet, but not in the other. (i have seen it stated the reverse.) this proves simply that _violent_ exercise, taken _immediately_ after eating, interferes with digestion. other facts show that light exercise rather promotes than impedes the process, and that even very strong exercise does not interfere with it if a short interval of rest be allowed, so that the process may be fairly commenced. "the same is to some extent true of exercise of mind. it seems to be necessary that there should be some measure of concentration of energy in the stomach for the due performance of digestion, and any very decided exercise, bodily or mental, tends to prevent this. in the dyspeptic, even a slight amount of effort, either of body or mind, often suffices to do it. "it is very commonly said that it is wrong to eat just before going to bed. is this true? cattle are apt to go to sleep after eating fully. do sleep and digestion agree well in their case, and not so in the case of man? in some seasons of the year the farmer takes his heartiest meal at the close of the labors of the day, and soon retires. is this a bad custom? our opinion is that food may be taken properly at a late hour, provided, first, that the individual has not already eaten enough for the twenty-four hours,--that he has done so being true, probably, in most cases; and provided, secondly, that he is in such a state of health that digestion will not so act upon his nerves as to disturb his sleep. if it will thus act, it is clear that he had better be disturbed when awake, for he can bear the disturbance then with less of injury to his system." ancient diet. "how did them old _anti-delusion_ fellows live?" once asked an honest old farmer of the writer. "they must have lived differently than we live, or they would not have told so many years as they did." true, true. the difference between ancient and modern diet is remarkable. the ancient greeks and romans used no tea, coffee, tobacco, chocolate, sugar, lard, or butter. they had but few spices, no "nutmeg, cinnamon, ginger, or cloves," no cayenne pepper, no sage, sweet marjoram, spinach, tapioca, irish moss, arrow-root, potato, corn starch, common beans; no oranges, tamarinds, or candies, or the yankee invention, "buckwheat cakes and molasses." what would our modern cooks do without the above enumerated articles in the culinary department? and the butter! down to the saviour's time butter was unknown. dr. galen ( - , a. d.) saw the first butter only a short time before his death. tea is comparatively a modern introduction. the green grocery of the classics. the cabbage has had a singular destiny--in one country an object of worship, in another of contempt. the egyptians made of it a god, and it was the first dish they touched at their repasts. the greeks and romans took it as a remedy for the languor following inebriation. cato said that in the cabbage was a panacea for the ills of man. erasistratus recommended it as a specific in paralysis. hippocrates accounted it a sovereign remedy, boiled with salt, for the colic. and athenian medical men prescribed it to young nursing mothers, who wished to see lusty babies lying in their arms. diphilus preferred the beet to the cabbage, both as food and as medicine,--in the latter case, as a vermifuge. (horace greeley prefers the latter, for he says that "a cabbage will beat a beet if the cabbage gets a-head.") the same physician extols mallows, not for fomentation, but as a good edible vegetable, appeasing hunger and curing the sore throat at the same time. the asparagus, as we are accustomed to see it, has derogated from its ancient magnificence. the original "grass" was from twelve to twenty feet high; and a dish of them could only have been served to the brobdignagians. under the romans, stems of asparagus were raised of three pounds' weight, heavy enough to knock down a slave in waiting with. the greeks ate them of more moderate dimensions, or would have eaten them, but that the publishing doctors of their day denounced asparagus as injurious to the sight. but then it was also said that a slice or two of boiled pumpkin would reinvigorate the sight which had been deteriorated by asparagus! "do that as quickly as you should asparagus!" is a proverb descended to us from augustus, and illustrative of the mode in which the vegetable was prepared for the table. a still more favorite dish, at athens, was turnips from thebes. carrots, too, formed a distinguished dish at greek and roman tables. purslain was rather honored as a cure against poisons, whether in the blood by wounds, or in the stomach from beverage. i have heard it asserted in france, that if you briskly rub a glass with fingers which have been previously rubbed with purslain or parsley, the glass will certainly break. i have tried the experiment, but only to find that the glass resisted the pretended charm. broccoli was the favorite vegetable food of drusus. he ate greedily thereof; and as his father, tiberius, was as fond of it as he, the master of the roman world and his illustrious heir were constantly quarrelling, like two clowns, when a dish of broccoli stood between them. artichokes grew less rapidly into aristocratic favor; the _dictum_ of galen was against them, and for a long time they were only used by drinkers against headache, and by singers to strengthen their voice. pliny pronounced artichokes excellent food for poor people and donkeys. for nobler stomachs he preferred the cucumber--the nemesis of vegetables. but people were at issue touching the merits of the cucumber. not so regarding the lettuce, which has been universally honored. it was the most highly esteemed dish of the beautiful adonis. it was prescribed as provocative to sleep; and it cured augustus of the malady which sits so heavily on the soul of leopold of belgium--hypochondriasis. science and rank eulogized the lettuce, and philosophy sanctioned the eulogy in the person of aristoxenus, who not only grew lettuces as the pride of his garden, but irrigated them with wine, in order to increase their flavor. but we must not place too much trust in the stories, either of sages or apothecaries. these pagans recommended the seductive but indigestible endive as good against the headache, and young onions and honey as admirable preservers of health, when taken fasting; but this was a prescription for rustic swains and nymphs. the higher classes, in town or country, would hardly venture on it. and yet the mother of apollo ate raw leeks, and loved them of gigantic dimensions. for this reason, perhaps, was the leek accounted not only as salubrious, but as a beautifier. the love for melons was derived, in similar fashion probably, from tiberius, who cared for them even more than he did for broccoli. the german cæsars inherited the taste of their roman predecessor, carrying it, indeed, to excess; for more than one of them submitted to die after eating melons, rather than live by renouncing them. i have spoken of gigantic asparagus: the jews had radishes that could vie with them, if it be true that a fox and cubs could burrow in the hollow of one, and that it was not uncommon to grow them of a hundred pounds in weight. it must have been such radishes as those that were employed by seditious mobs of old, as weapons in insurrections. in such case, a rebellious people were always well victualled, and had peculiar facilities, not only to beat their adversaries, but _to eat their own arms_! the horseradish is probably a descendant of this gigantic ancestor. it had at one period a gigantic reputation. dipped in poison, it rendered the draught innocuous, and rubbed on the hands, it made an encounter with venomed serpents mere play. in short, it was celebrated as being a cure for every evil in life, the only exception being that it destroyed the teeth. there was far more difference of opinion touching garlic than there was touching the radish. the egyptians deified it, as they did the leek and the cabbage; the greeks devoted it to gehenna, and to soldiers, sailors, and cocks that were not "game." medicinally, it was held to be useful in many diseases, if the root used were originally sown when the moon was below the horizon. no one who had eaten of it, however, could presume to enter the temple of cybele. alphonso of castile was as particular as this goddess; and a knight of castile, "detected as being guilty of garlic," suffered banishment from the royal presence during the entire month. it is long since the above instructive article on the "green groceries of the classics," by dr. doran, was in print, and i think it will be new to most of my readers. i hope it will prove interesting as well as instructive. animal or vegetable diet? both, if considered in regard to health. with an eye to economy only, i should recommend vegetable diet. i think that poor people lay out more, in proportion, than the rich, for the purchase of animal food. they often buy extravagantly, on the credit system, purchasing on saturday nights, when there is a rush at the stalls, and less opportunities for good bargains than when there is more time. again, the lower classes fry their meats, losing much of their flavor and substance, by its going up chimney; or by boiling, and throwing away much of the nutriment with the water, which stewing in a covered dish would obviate. i have been into various markets, and observed the poor as they made their purchases. i have seen them count into the butcher's hand their last penny for a rib roast, a piece of pork to fry, a hind quarter of lamb to bake, or beef to boil, when a piece to stew, with nourishing vegetables, would cost far less, and return double the nutritive principle. beefsteak, which contains seventy-five per cent. of water, is poor economy of both money and health. the flank and neck pieces are better. the more fatty and nutritive fore quarters are better than the hind quarters. ask the jews. coarse vegetables, as carrots, cabbages, turnips, and potatoes, contain more nourishment than beef, though far less than the cereals, as wheat, barley, corn, and buckwheat. beans, peas, rice, cracked wheat or hominy, cooked with meat, make a most wholesome and nourishing diet for laborers, for the sedentary, and for invalids. meat should never be given to toothless infants. milk, or bread and milk, is all they require until they have teeth. a cheap, innutritious regimen is scarcely conducive to longevity, any more than a stimulating and high living is contributive to that end. a great quantity of hot roast meats is objectionable. also hot fine flour bread. let those particularly interested in the matter see our article on bread, etc., in chapter on adulterations. also, as respects coarse sugar against the refined. see, also, nutriment for consumptives, in next chapter. xxxiii. consumption (phthisis pulmonalis). consumption a monster!--universal reign.--signs of his approach.--warnings.--bad positions.--school-houses.--english theory.--preventives.--air and sunshine.--scrofula.--a jolly fat grandmother.--"wasp waists."--change of climate.--"too late!"--what to avoid.--humbugs.--cod-liver oil.--strychnine whiskey.--a matter-of-fact patient.--swallowing a prescription.--sit and lie straight.--feathers or curled hair.--a yankee disease.--catarrh and cold feet, how to remedy.--"give us some snuff, doctor."--other things to avoid.--a tender point. phthisis pulmonalis is consumption of the lungs, which is the common acceptation of the term consumption. _phthisis_ is from the greek, meaning _to consume_. this fearful disease, from the earliest period in the history of medicine to the present day, has proved more destructive of human life than any other in the entire catalogue of ills to which frail humanity is heir. in great britain, one in every four dies of consumption; in france, one in five. in the united states, especially in new england, the number who die annually by this fearful disease is truly startling! one in every three! one reason for this fatality is because of the prevailing and erroneous idea that it is inevitably a fatal disease. consumption is a relentless monster, and insidious in his approaches. he spares not the high or the low. oftener known in the hovel, he fails not to visit dwellers in palaces. he paints the cheek of the infant, youth, maiden, the middle-aged, and the aged with the false glow of health. the delicate and beautiful are his common subjects. tupper wrote with an understanding when he penned the following:-- "behold that fragile form of delicate, transparent beauty, whose light blue eye and hectic cheek are lit by the bale-fires of decline; all droopingly she lieth, as a dew-laden lily, her flaxen tresses rashly luxuriant, dank with unhealthy moisture; hath not thy heart said of her, 'alas! poor child of weakness'?" yes, the monster "decline" seeks particularly the fair-skinned, of "transparent beauty," and those of the "light blue eye and flaxen hair," for his victims. nor are the illiterate alone his subjects, but men of the most talented minds, men versed in arts, sciences, and _belles-lettres_, professors of hygiene and physiology, and the very practitioners of the art of medicine themselves, are often the shining marks of the insidious monster whom they by erudition diligently seek to repel. because of the too prevalent belief of the invincibleness of consumption, it has been neglected more than any other disease. the victims to its wiles have hoped against hope, while the enemy has woven his web quietly and flatteringly around them. you must first be warned of his earliest aggression. signs of his approach. he is a deceiver. let us be wary of him. we have been too negligent in this matter. let us remember that prevention is far better than cure. the slight fatigue on the least exertion we have counted as "nothing." the hectic flush of the cheeks is too often mistaken for a sign of health. the cursory pains of the chest, or left side, or under the shoulder-blades, are disregarded, or, if noticed at all, are mentioned as though "of no account." the slight hacking cough is scarcely heeded; for do not people often cough without having consumption, and without raising blood? true, true; and this is the stronghold of the deceiver. consumption is a disease which is not entirely confined to the lungs. it is often a depraved condition of the system, particularly the blood. there is a "consumption of the blood," and a variety of morbid phenomena, which cannot be expressed in the single word consumption. it not unusually results in a scrofulous predisposition. an hereditary predisposition may or may not be the cause. if the former, its development must depend upon some exciting cause, which will be mentioned hereafter. the intermarrying of persons of like temperaments and constitutional dispositions inevitably results in children of scrofulous and consumptive diathesis. [illustration: a natural position.] [illustration: an unnatural position.] a neglected cold, cough, or catarrh may soon develop this fatality. the peculiar changes in females at certain periods of life often awaken the slumbering enemy. teething in infancy not unfrequently develops the scrofulous element, and a wasting of the system--either _marasmus_ or _tabes mesenterica_--follows, which, under the best treatment, may prove fatal. the slip-shod, doubled-up way that many people have of lying, sitting, and standing, are conducive to consumption. badly-ventilated school-houses have heretofore been a source of great injury to children, developing scrofula and consumption in constitutions where it might have remained latent during their lifetime. every reflecting parent should rejoice in the improvements which have been made during the last few years in the matter of ventilation in buildings, particularly in churches and school-rooms, although janitors, porters, and teachers have as yet too limited ideas on the subject of wholesome air. the dry furnaces are a very objectionable feature, and not conducive to health. _early symptoms._--fatigue on the least exertion; a languid, tired feeling in the morning; rosy tint of one or both cheeks during the latter part of the day, caused by unoxygenized blood rushing to the surface; swelling of the glands of the neck, or elsewhere; enlarged joints; paleness of the lips; areola under the eyes; sensitiveness to the air; chills running over the body; taking cold easily; catarrhal symptoms; premature development of the intellect; and early physical maturity, are among its initiatory indications. also, when the disease is located in the lungs, spitting of white, frothy mucus, or blood, with catarrhal symptoms; cough, which is noticed by others before by the patient; hacking on retiring, or early in the morning; varied appetite; tickling in the throat; short breath on exertion, with rapid pulse. _second stage._--cough, and difficult breathing; increased difficulty of lying on one side; sharp, short pains; diminution of monthly period; swelling of the lower extremities, leaving corrugation on removing the hose and garters at night; raising greenish yellow matter, with (at times) hard, curd-like substance; sweating easily (sometimes the reverse); night sweats; restless, feverish, either dull or sharp bright cast to the eyes. sputa increases to the _third stage._--diarrhoea not unusually supervenes; spitting of blood; the person emaciates rapidly; the face changes from a bloated to a cadaverous appearance, with hectic fever; the patient faints easily; debility increases with the cough, or hæmoptosis occurs often, until death finally closes the scene. these are merely some of the external symptoms. let the patient mark them, not so much to fear, as to provide against them. to be forewarned is to be forearmed. i caution you against the causes, and give you the benefit of my extensive experience with this disease, both in new england and three years in the south, that you may avoid its development by attention to rules for health and longevity. if this fearful disease was better understood by the people, it would prove far less destructive of human life. undomesticated animals do not die of it; domesticated ones do. what does that imply? that the people have engendered the disease! let the "people," then, take the first step in preventing its ravages. theory of consumption. at a sitting of the academy of medicine at london, dr. priory read a paper on the treatment of phthisis, in which he developed the following propositions:-- . pulmonary phthisis is a combination of multifarious variable phenomena, and not a morbid unity. . hence there does not and cannot exist a specific medicine against it. . therefore neither iodine nor its tincture, neither chlorine, nor sea salt, nor tar, can be considered in the light of anti-phthisical remedies. . _there are no specifics against phthisis, but there are systems of treatment to be followed in order to conquer the pathological states which constitute the disorder._ . in order to cure consumptive patients, the peculiar affections under which they labor must be studied, and appreciated, and counteracted by appropriate means. . the tubercle cannot be cured by the use of remedies, but good hygienic precautions may prevent its development. . the real way to relieve, cure, or prolong the life of consumptive patients, is to treat their various pathological states, which ought to receive different names, according to their nature. . consumption, thus treated, has often been cured, and oftener still life has been considerably prolonged. . phthisis should never be left to itself, but always treated as stated above. . the old methods, founded on the general idea of a single illness called phthisis, are neither scientific nor rational. . the exact diagnosis of the various pathological states which constitute the malady will dictate the most useful treatment for it. preventives of consumption. if a man desires a house erected, he consults a carpenter, or if a first class residence, he employs an architect. if our watch gets out of repair, we take it to a skilful jeweller. if our boots become worn, want tapping, they are sent to the cobbler. but how many people there are, who, when the complicated mechanism of the system gets out of order,--which they cannot look into as they can their watch or old boots,--first try to patch themselves up, instead of employing a professional "cobbler of poor health and broken constitutions." before me are wistar's, wilson's, and gray's works on anatomy. i have read them, or krause's, more than twenty years. they contain all that has been discovered relative to the human system. but i do not know it all. i never can. i doubt if the man lives who knows it all. then here is "physiology," which treats of the offices or various functions of the system. i do not comprehend it all. "great ignoramus!" nobody is perfected in it. next is pathology, which treats of diseases, their causes, nature, and symptoms. then there are materia medica, chemistry, and much more to be learned before one can become competent to prescribe for diseases safely. [illustration: correct position.] [illustration: incorrect position.] can a carpenter, or any mechanic, a lawyer, minister, or other than he who devotes his whole powers to the theory and practice of medicine, be intrusted with the precious healths and lives of individuals, about which he knows little or nothing? or can i, in a few chapters, instruct such in the art of curing complicated diseases? o, no, no. but i can do something better for such. i can tell you how to avoid diseases. i am quite positive of it. i should wrong you, and endanger your lives by the deception thus put forth. there are some books written on the subject which are useful to the masses in the same manner in which i trust this will prove, by instructing in the ways of health, and warnings against that which is injurious; but there are far too many issued which are but a damage to the public by their false claims of posting everybody in the knowledge of curing all diseases, particularly that complicated one termed consumption. among the preventives of this fell destroyer i enumerate,-- _first_, plenty of god's pure, free air; and _second_, sunshine. these are indispensable. he who prescribes for a patient without looking into this matter has yet to learn the first principle of the healing art. a lady recently came to my office with her son for medical advice. she was a robust, matronly looking individual, who might turn the scale at one hundred and eighty pounds, while the twelve-year-old boy was almost a dwarf, pale and delicate. the contrast was astounding. "madam," i said, "i perceive that your son sleeps in a room where no sunshine permeates by day;" for i could liken the pale, sickly-looking fellow to nothing but a vegetable which had sprouted in a dark, damp cellar. a gardener can tell such a vegetable, or plant, which has been prematurely developed away from air and sunshine. and though she looked astonished at my oedipean proclivity in solving riddles, it was nothing marvellous that a physician should detect a result in a patient which a clodhopper might discover in a cabbage. "yes, sir," she finally answered, "he always sleeps in a room where the sunlight don't enter; but i did not think it was that which made him so pale-like; besides, i have taken him to several doctors, and they said nothing about it; but their prescriptions did him no good, and i am discouraged." such stoicism was unpardonable, but i said in reply,-- "take your son into a light airy room, to sleep. try a healthy plant in the cell where you have so wrongfully intombed him, and observe how speedily the color and strength will depart from it. when you can come back and assure me of his change of apartment, i will prescribe for him." she went away, repeating to herself, as if to impress it firmly upon her mind,-- "put a plant into his room--plant into johnny's room." the lady afterwards returned, saying that she was sorry that the plant had died, but was glad to say that johnny was better. it is a daily occurrence for physicians to see patients who are dying by inches from the above cause; nor are they the low foreigners alone, but, like my stoical one hundred and eighty pounder, of american birth, and without excuse for their ignorance. do not sleep or live in apartments unventilated, or where the life-giving sunshine does not penetrate during some portion of the day. it is living a lingering death. if the patient is scrofulous, let him or her employ such remedies as are known to remove the predisposition, or seek aid from some physician who has cured scrofula. the regular practitioner seldom desires such cases. one who has devoted much time to scrofula and chronic diseases should be preferred. i think chronic practice should become a separate branch in medicine as much as surgery is fast becoming. take the disease in season. do not neglect colds, coughs, and catarrh. persons of a low state of blood, who are weak and debilitated, should wear flannels the year round--thinner in summer than in winter; keep the feet dry--avoid "wafer soles,"--and the body clean, but beware of what artemus ward termed "too much baths." employ soap and a small quantity of water, with a plenty of dry rubbing, till you get a healthy circulation to the surface. mothers, see to the solitary and other habits of your daughters. fathers, instruct your sons in the laws of nature, and of their bodies. do you understand? see our youth swept off by the thousands annually, for want of proper care and instruction!... a jolly fat grandmother. "_wasp waists._"--this is what i heard a fine-looking though tobacco-sucking gentleman utter, as with his companion he passed two young and fashionably dressed ladies on the street recently. [illustration: how wasp waists are made.] so i fell into a reverie, in which i called up the image of a fat, jolly old lady whom i knew as my "grandmarm." she had a waist half as large around as a flour barrel. "o, horrid creature!" exclaims a modern belle. but, then, my grandmother could breathe! you cannot--_only half breathe_! and my "grandmarm" had a fresh color to her cheeks and lips, and a good bust, till she was over sixty years of age, and she lived to be almost a hundred years old. you won't live to see a third of that time. did our grandfathers or mothers die of consumption? o, no. still they lived well--mine did. when i see a modern mince pie, it quickly carries my mind back to childhood days, when i think of a little boy who thought grandmothers were gotten up expressly to furnish nice cakes and mince pies for the rising generation. o, but she was jolly--and so were her pies! an irish blunderer once said, "ah, ye don't see any of the young gals of the present day fourscore and tin years ould;" and probably we should not see many of our present "crop" if _we_ should survive that age. drs. a., b., and c., tell me how many ladies who visit your offices can take a full, deep breath. "not one in a score or two!" so i thought. [illustration: a consumptive waist. cause, tight corsets.] [illustration: non-consumptive waist. never wore corsets.] lungs which are not used in full become weak and tender. do you have sore places about your chest? practise inflating your lungs with pure air through the nostrils,--where god first breathed the breath of life,--and give room for the lungs to expand, and the "sore places" will all disappear after a time. see my article on breathing. put it into steady, moderate practice, and the result will be beneficial beyond all conception. consumption is curable. "is it true that consumption of the lungs is ever cured?" is a question which is often seriously asked. "o, yes," i reply. "what are the proofs?" where on dissection we find cicatrices,--places in the lungs where tubercles have existed, sloughing out great cavities, which have healed all sound, the scar only remaining--what then? here is positive proof that consumption had been at work, was repelled by some means, and the patient had recovered, subsequently dying of some other disease, or from accident. such is the fact in many cases. it is an error--fatal to thousands--to suppose that the lungs, of all substance in the body, cannot be healed. yet it is a fact patent to most educated physicians, that many cases of consumption are cured in this country, while others are prolonged, and the patient made comfortable during many years. change of climate may be much towards saving a patient. before deciding upon such change, consult your physician. ought not he to know best? a climate adapted to one constitution may be quite unsuited to another. what a wise provision in providence in giving this little world a variety of climates! there are certain portions of the states and world where consumption seldom prevails. the climate of california and the western prairies, as also some portions of the south away from the coast, is less conducive of lung and throat diseases than the more bleak and changeable climate of new england and the northern states. a change is only beneficial in those cases where there is a mere deficiency of vitality in the system. if the disease depends upon a scrofulous or other taint in the system, one gains little by going from home. change of climate does not alter the condition of the system materially, so much as it relieves one from atmospheric pressure, reducing thereby the demands upon his small stock of vitality,--just as some places are less expensive in which to live, and your funds hold out longer. the writer resided in the southern states during three cold seasons, and carefully studied the effects of changes. he has two brothers in california, who, during the past ten years, have often written respecting the climate west of the rocky mountains. if ever called upon to decide on a climate for a friend or patient who had determined to change from this, i would advise him, or her, to select california. do not change too late! going away from home and friends to die among strangers.... avoid humbugs. do not run to clairvoyants and spiritual humbugs for advice. a clairvoyant physician once said to me,-- "mr. so-and-so has just called upon me to learn where he shall spend the winter. he thinks he has the consumption, and that i can tell him where he will pass the winter safely. what confounded fools some of these men are, to be sure!" she exclaimed. "why, i have got that disease myself (not the foolish disease, but consumption), and don't know what to do to save my own life." that lady is living in boston to-day. the gentleman went to st. thomas, dying in the hospital in january, amongst strangers, where every dollar he possessed was stolen from him. nearly all patent medicines are humbugs. avoid them. dr. dio lewis says that "the bath-tub is a humbug." i believe him. while you avoid drowning inside by pouring down drugs, do not exhaust your vitality externally in a bath-tub. the hand-bath is all-sufficient for consumptives. cod-liver oil and whiskey. "take cod-liver oil and die!" has become proverbial. the oil is utterly worthless as a medicine, and the whiskey usually recommended to be taken in connection is decidedly injurious. it is poisonous. i defy one to obtain a pure article of whiskey in this country. if it could by any means be obtained in its purity, it would not cure this disease any more than the nasty oil from fishes' livers. the oil is often given, not as a medicine, but as an article of nourishment. if the patient so understands it, all right; it will do no harm; but if he thinks that he is taking a remedial agent, he is deceived thereby, and losing the precious time in which he ought to be employing some remedy for his recovery. the statements that cod-liver oil contains iodine, lime, phosphorus, etc., is all bosh. a most reliable druggist of this city, who has sold a _ton or two_ of the oil, told me that "all the iodine or phosphorus that it contains you might put into your eye, and not injure that organ." if good, wholesome bread, butter, milk, eggs, and beef, will not give nutriment to the wasting system, cod-liver oil will not, and the patient must die--provided he has trusted to nutriment alone. i have never known a consumptive patient to recover upon cod-liver oil. i have known them to recover by other treatment, particularly by the use of the phosphates, as "phosphate of lime," and iron, soda, and other combinations. i have intimated that a patient should be advised by "his physician;" but if that physician is one of the old-fogy style who insists upon cod-liver oil and whiskey as a cure, why, you had better "change horses in crossing a river," than to perish on an old, worn-out hobby! there are two classes of patients which the doctor has to deal with; one will follow no instructions accurately, the other swallows everything literally. i remember a story illustrative of the latter. a dyspeptic applied to dr. c. for treatment. the doctor looked into the case, gave a prescription, telling the patient to take it, and return in a fortnight. at the designated time he returned, radiant and happy. "did you follow my directions?" inquired the physician. "o, yes, to the letter, doctor; and see--i am well!" "i have forgotten just what i gave you; let me see the prescription," said the doctor, delighted at his success. "i haven't it. why, i took it, sir." "took it--the medicine, you mean," explained the man of pills and powders. "medicine? no. you gave me no medicine--nothing but a paper, and i took that according to directions. that's what cured me." the clown had swallowed the recipe! the consumptive requires nourishment. he must derive it from wholesome food,--even fat meats are beneficial,--not from medicines. let food be one thing, medicine another. i believe that a man would starve upon cod-liver oil. he would not upon bread or beef. sit and lie straight. go into one of our school-houses, and you may there see subjects preparing for consumption. our illustrations will give the reader a correct idea of our meaning, without any explanation. the sewing-machines, or rather the position which many girls assume while sitting at their work by them from three to twelve hours a day, tend to depression of the lungs, obstruction of circulation, reduction of the vitality, dyspepsia, and sooner or later lead to consumption. [illustration: a healthy position.] let everybody when walking stand erect, with shoulders slightly thrown back rather than inclined towards the chest, then outward, and keep the mouth closed. when sitting, keep the body erect, or lean back slightly, resting the shoulders, rather than the spinal column, against any substance excepting feathers, changing the limbs from time to time to any easy position. if tired, and one can consistently "loll," recline to one side, resting the cheek upon the hand. if one is very tired, and desires to "rest fast," sit with the feet and hands crossed or arms folded. [illustration: a consumptive position.] if you lie crooked in bed, do it on the side. "to bend up double, man never was made," says the song. do not bolster up the head so as to get a square look at your toes, or, being in a feather bed, till you resemble a letter c. rather use but one light curled-hair pillow. it is cool and healthy. avoid feather beds and pillows. "didn't your 'grandma sleep during nearly a hundred years' on a feather bed?" my quizzer has returned, peeped over my shoulder, and asked this question. now see me quench him at a swoop. "yes, she did; and i think it probable that if she had not she would have been living now. my grandmother's good habits, free use of muscle, sunshine, and air, more than offset the use of mince pies, and the evil of sleeping on a feather bed in winter." i sleep on a hair mattress and pillow the year round. they are the best. catarrh and cold feet.--how to cure both. catarrh is peculiarly a yankee disease. now, how does a yankee differ in his habits from the rest of the world's people? let me tell you wherein he differs. the "five minutes for refreshments" is an illustration. he hurries, he rushes, he's a talker; and having hurried unnecessarily, and got himself all in a perspiration, he stops to talk with a friend on the street, in a current of air, possibly in a puddle of water, the consequence of which is checked perspiration, a cold, the catarrh. if the circulation to the skin is checked, that excretory organ ceases to throw off the waste and worn-out matter of the system, and the work is thrown upon the mucous membrane, which if failing to perform the unnatural office, the patient goes into a decline. set this down as reason no. for the catarrh being peculiarly a "yankee disease." chronic catarrh necessarily must be connected with a bad circulation of the blood, a want of action in the skin, and usually with cold feet. i must take time to explain these causes of a disease which usually leads to the more fatal one--consumption. now we have cold feet and loss of action in the skin. result, catarrh, terminating fatal in consumption. to keep the feet warm is to restore the circulation. has your doctor failed to do this? i fear he did not understand the connection, or the patient did not follow his instructions. dip the cold feet into a little cold water! is that "too homeopathic?"--cold to cure cold! never mind, do it. it feels cold at first. well, catch them out, rub them vigorously with a towel, then with the hands, and when quite red, cover them up in bed, or in stockings and boots. repeat it daily till cured. wear thick-soled boots and shoes always. meantime, take a dose of the third dilution of sulphur mornings, or at ten a. m., and the third trituration of calcarea-carbonica at early bedtime. to restore the loss of circulation to the skin, meantime--for they must both be cured together--take a daily hand-bath; that is, with the hand and in a comfortable room, apply a dose of castile or windsor soap to the skin, half of the person at a time, if the weather is cool,--avoiding a current of air,--then, with cool or cold water, _and the hand only_, wash rapidly over the surface, following quickly with a dry towel and the dry hand, till warm. cover the upper extremity, and proceed to wash the other portion of the body in the same manner. i really believe that there are individuals with such peculiar temperaments, or low state of the blood, that they cannot bear cold water. see to it that it is not fear, or habit, which prevents its use, before abandoning a remedy of such curative powers. now, there is no other way under heaven whereby man can be saved from catarrh than this which i have here given. if the patient requires further medical treatment, he or she surely requires this, else there is no catarrh in the case. "but can't you give me some snuff, doctor?" snuffs and nasal injections are humbugs. they will not cure a chronic catarrh. the sugar and gum arabic powder is excellent for the local irritation. that is all any local remedy can reach. thousands of dollars are expended annually for "catarrh remedies," which never cured a case yet, but have been the death of thousands, by aggravating and prolonging the disease. indigestion and "a goneness at the stomach" not unusually accompany the above disease. in addition to the instructions here given, rubbing and slapping the region of the stomach with water and the hand, and taking small quantities of extract gentian, orange-peel, dock, and ginger, equal parts, twice daily, following the directions regarding slow eating and cheerfulness, will eventually remove the distressing disease. other things to be avoided. for consumption, the old-fogy treatment by squills, ipecac, laudanum, and the host of expectorants, is worthless. one of the fatalities in this disease has been the sticking to these useless medicines by a certain class of physicians and patients. use no tobacco. if tight-lacing and confined habits, as want of air and exercise, have been conducive to the development of consumption in females, more repulsive habits have led to catarrhal affections, destruction of the vitality, and finally to consumption in many of the opposite sex. does the mother, by habits which injure her health, jeopardize the life and health of her offspring? the husband and father, by the debasing and health-destroying habit of tobacco-using, injures both mother and child. the description which i have given in the article on tobacco, respecting cleansing the young man, and purifying him fit for society, is no joke! the clothes, skin, blood, muscle, and bones,--even the seminal fluid,--of the confirmed tobacco-user, all are impregnated with tobacco poison. does any one question but something of this virus is transmitted to the offspring? further, i have known many a wife to become tobacco-diseased,--nervous, yellow, sick at the stomach, dyspeptic, neuralgic, etc.,--suffering untold horrors, from lying, night after night, during year in and year out, beside a great, filthy, tobacco-plant of a husband! perhaps some sensitive gentleman--user of the weed of course--may object to my way of putting it. sound truths, like sound meat, require no mincing. we know that children, sleeping constantly with elderly people, become prematurely old and infirm. we know also that nurses and others, sleeping with perpetual invalids, imbibe their diseases. the skin of the tobacco-user is continually giving off the tobacco poison--_nicotine_--and the more susceptible skin of the female, or child, by its absorbent powers, is as continually taking in this poison. there are many tobacco-users, who, if they knew this fact, would for this reason, if no other, abandon the injurious and sinful habit; would not want to continue a habit--be it never so slavish--which, aside from its injury to themselves, was destroying the health and lives of his wife and his children. tobacco exhausts the saliva, the fluids, the blood, often the muscle, _and destroys the recuperative powers of the human system_. it weakens the power of the heart. nine tenths of the reported deaths from "heart disease" really originate, or result directly from the effects of tobacco-using. and, finally, it destroys the good effects of nearly all medicines. i positively affirm that no patient afflicted with a chronic disease can recover by the use of medicines if he continues the excessive use of tobacco. i think these are good and conclusive reasons why one should not use that pernicious weed--tobacco. avoid all excesses, particularly of coition. consumptives should husband all their resources. one other way of doing this is to keep from wasting the breath and caloric of the system through the mouth. again, i say, breathe only through the nostrils. keep out of crowded and unventilated halls, school-rooms, churches, and houses. air! air and sunshine! don't forget them. avoid patent medicines. they are worthless. even if one in a thousand were adapted to the _disease_ in question, it might not be to the peculiar constitution of the invalid. people are so differently constituted that one kind of food, clothing, or medicine cannot be adapted to all. i wish that i could tell every reader of these pages what remedies are adapted to persons suffering from not only consumption, but from a hundred other diseases. but it is impossible, as intimated in the fore part of this chapter. not only the quality of a medicine suited to one constitution may not be at all suited to another, but the quantity is even as uncertain. it requires much knowledge and long experience in the disease, and its various peculiarities, as also of the varied constitution and idiosyncrasies of different patients, in order to prescribe successfully. as the majority of the readers of this work are predisposed to consumption, let them seek to prevent its development in their systems. the writer has done this; he has told you in plain terms how it was done, how it still can be; but it is you who must believe in and abide by these instructions. do this, and you will scarcely require to obtain and retain the knowledge of a thousand remedies and a complete knowledge of yourself, which it requires a lifetime of practice and study to possess. dr. worcester beach, of new york, in one of his botanical works, tells of a country-woman who, having been given up as incurable with consumption, gathered and boiled together all the different kinds of herbs and barks which she could find upon the farm, and making this decoction into a syrup, drank of it freely, and was cured thereby! i would not recommend this empirical sort of practice, but quote it to show the uncertainty of what medicine was adapted to the case. [illustration] xxxiv. accidents. rules for machinists, mechanics, railroad men, etc., in cases of accident.--how to find an artery and stop the bleeding.--drowning; to restore.--sun-stroke.--avoid ice.--"accidents will happen."--what to have in the house.--bruises.--burns.--do the best you can, and trust god for the rest. mechanics, machinists, railroad men, etc., may find the following rules of the most vital importance in case of accidents, whereby valuable lives may be saved:-- . when a person is seriously injured, do not crowd around him; give him air. . send for a surgeon or physician at once. [illustration: fig. .] . lay the patient on his back, and ascertain whether he is bleeding. if it is from the artery of the fore-arm, it must be compressed immediately. if from the _artery_, the blood will _spurt out in jets_. do not try to stanch the blood at the wound, but find the main artery. strip the arm, feel for the artery, a little below the arm-pit, _just inside_ of the _large muscle_. (fig. .) _you can feel it throb._ press it with your thumbs or fingers, while an assistant folds a large handkerchief, or piece of shirt, if necessary, and ties a knot in the middle, or places a _flat_, _round_ stone in it, puts this over the artery, ties the handkerchief below the thumbs, puts a stick through, and twists it just tight enough to stop the bleeding. (fig. .) the first man may relax his grasp, to ascertain if the compress is sufficiently tight. if you get the knot (or stone) on the artery, a few twists will check the blood. if the limb becomes cold and purple, you have got it too tight. one end of the stick may be tucked under the bandage to hold it from untwisting. the surgeon will arrive and take up the bleeding vessel and tie it. [illustration: fig. .] . if it be the leg which is cut or mangled and bleeding, find the artery, inside the thigh, quite high up, back of the large muscle. (fig. .) bear on quite hard, for it is deeper than in the arm, till you feel it throb. compress it hard, and proceed with the bandage as above directed for the arm. the large artery (femoral) bleeds fast. work quickly, and do not get excited. [illustration: fig. .] a schoolmate of mine died in a few moments, in a blacksmith shop, from a piece of steel flying into his leg. if the smith had known this simple process, stripped the boy, and compressed the artery till help arrived, he would have saved a life, an only son, the support and solace of a widowed mother. . if the wound is much below the knee, find the artery (fig. .) in the hollow back of the knee (_popliteal space_), and proceed as above directed. [illustration: fig. .] . if a wound is not of an artery, that is, if the blood does not spurt out, bandaging the wound may do till the doctor arrives. . if the shock has prostrated the patient, give him a teaspoonful of brandy or other liquor--always provided he has not been drinking. many accidents occur in consequence of liquor-drinking. if the patient is cold, faint, and prostrate, wrap him or her up warm, placing hot bricks, or jugs of hot water, at the feet. when he can swallow, some hot tea, or soup, may be given, if necessary. . if the patient has delirium tremens, give him strong coffee. . to remove an injured person, do not call a carriage, but take a shutter, or board, or door, throw your coats upon it, and tenderly place him thereon. carry him carefully. don't keep step in walking; he will ride easier without. . if a patient faints, give him air. let him lie on the back. wipe the face with a little water. a little camphor in water may be applied to the face and temples, provided he has not been using it already to excess. camphor, used excessively, may keep one faint a long time. let the clothes be loosened. keep cool, and wait. . avoid all rude and alarming conversation around the patient. when he recovers a little, do not press around and confuse him with questions of "what can i do for you?" etc. _let him rest._ . if a person has been under water, _don't roll him to get the water out of him. there is no water there beyond the mouth._ the life has been rolled out of many a poor wretch, over a barrel, under this foolish delusion of "getting the water out of him." lay him on his side, in a warm room, or in the sun. try to inflate the lungs. don't get a "bellows," and blow him full of wind. he is not like a bladder, or a balloon, that he needs inflating thus. to breathe is what he needs. let the water, if any, in the mouth, run out. wrap him warm--hot water at feet. rub the limbs, if cold, for a long time. persevere. do not give him up until a good physician has arrived, and pronounced him beyond all hope of recovery. sun-stroke (coup de soleil). the "ounce of prevention" must first be considered in this case. . all who can should keep in the shade during the extreme heat of the summer days. you who must "bear the heat and burden of the day" may not be able always to avoid the direct rays of the scorching sun. wide-rimmed palm or straw hats should be worn, and when the noonday sun pours down its sultry beams, wet the hair, or keep a green leaf, or wet handkerchief, in your hat. this will surely prevent sun-stroke, by the evaporation of moisture. if away in the field, swinging the scythe, or with spade levelling the "everlasting hills," and no water is near, place some green grass or damp earth in the hat,--any way to avoid sun-stroke and sudden death! . you will see, every summer, a paragraph in the newspapers recommending the application of ice to the head in case of threatened sun-stroke, or after sun-stroke. do not believe all you see in the papers. just sit down and reason a moment. think of the great, extreme transition from the powerful heat of the sun's rays on the brain to that of the application of _ice_! it requires but little thought to convince one that the extreme contrast must give such a shock to the brain (or blood therein) as nature cannot resist. did you ever know a patient to recover from sun-stroke when ice had been applied to his head? _i think not._ i have known one to recover from warm, moist applications. let the head be kept wet (moist) with tepid water, and covered over by a dry cloth. he cannot swallow. do not choke him by villanous whiskey poured into the mouth. having placed him in a warm bed, removed his clothes, and made him comfortable, send for a physician. "accidents will happen." yes, and every family should be prepared for them. . as a remedy against fatal results, in severe cases, and for deliverance from pain, even in smaller accidents, every family should keep in the house an ounce bottle of tincture of arnica, the cost of which is trifling. keep it well labelled, and out of the reach of children. to drink it is injurious. . for a bruise, or any injury, put half a teaspoonful of the arnica into a teacupful of tepid water, and bathe tenderly the wound. then wet a cloth in the liquid, bind it on with a dry cloth outside to exclude the air. when dry, if pain or tenderness remains, renew the application. this will soon reduce any "bump" on your little ones' heads, except a real phrenological "bump." a woman once brought a boy to my office, to have me give her some "liniment for a bad bump on the child's head," showing me the place. "madam," i said, "i think a considerable persuasion, with plenty of patient kindness, will do more than medicine to reduce that bump. it is called, by phrenologists, 'firmness.' by the development, i should judge that the boy was very stubborn." . for burns and scalds, keep in the house a vial of tincture of urtica urens. apply it to burns as above directed for wounds. when the smarting ceases, and the wound is whitish, omit it, and dress the wound with a little mutton tallow on a linen cloth. keep no patent medicines about; then you will be less likely to be dosing with them. it is hard to tell what are good, and do not make a medical depot of your stomach to ascertain. the individual who is continually dabbling in medicines is a perpetual invalid, from the result of such everlasting dosing. if you regard the concise, yet sufficient, instructions for preserving health laid down herein, particularly after noting the hints thrown out all through the body of the book, you will annually have less and less occasion for the use of medicines. when you actually think you require a physician, get the best,--the best article is the cheapest in the end,--and abide by his counsel. i have told you of some remarkable characters in the history of medicine; but the harp and flowing locks of apollo, the caduceus of mercury, the staff of Æsculapius, the hoary beard of hippocrates, the baton of de sault, the three-tailed wig of atkins, the silken coat and charming address of dr. reynolds, the gay equipage of hannes, the library of radcliffe, or the knowing nods and significant silence of some of the more modern doctors, will avail nothing in the time of great danger and distress. it is the truly kind-hearted, humane, and educated physician upon whom you must depend in your time of need. seek such. there are yet many; humanity is not a thing entirely of the past. who loses faith in humanity has lost it in god. do the best your circumstances allow in all things,-- "angels can no more,"-- receiving all afflictions cheerfully, looking hopefully to god for his blessing, which faileth not, in all the walks of "this life and in that which is to come." [illustration] footnotes: [ ] small door or window, through which to receive night calls, etc. [ ] the art of embalming was known, and even practised by "servants," translated or called physicians, or sometimes apothecaries (or "by his arts"), four thousand years ago. jacob, joseph, asa, and others were embalmed. the egyptians were early versed in this art, which now is almost, or entirely, lost. [ ] dover's powder. [ ] see frontispiece. [ ] this illustrates our "origin of ghosts." [ ] an irishman, who was once asked why the parents of christ were obliged to lodge in a stable on the night of the saviour's birth, replied, "and weren't the inns full of the crowd, who had gone up before to celebrate christmas?" [ ] the writer was fortunately born on christmas (sabbath) day. he hopes the publishers will present his picture in this book to prove his "fairness," and let the wisdom of these pages prove the remainder. [ ] the medical man in quest of a curiosity will be gratified by looking on page of hastings' surgery, where he will find the head and face of a female engraved on the nude body of a male. i discovered it accidentally, but how such an _error_ (?) could have occurred i cannot say. [ ] casa wappy, a self-conferred, pet name of the little boy. [ ] esquimaux hospitality.--dr. kane relates that one day, worn out by fatigue, he turned into an esquimaux hut to get a little sleep. his good-natured hostess covered him up with some of her own habiliments, and gave him her baby for a pillow; which, dr. spooner says, was a living illustration of the kindness of woman. transcriber's notes: passages in italics are indicated by _italics_. the original text includes the prescription symbol that is represented as [r] in this text version. points of humour, part ii. by anonymous by the designs of george cruikshank ten engravings of copper, twelve wood cuts " let me play the fool: with mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come; and let my liver rather heat with wine, than my heart cool with mortifying groans. why should a man, whose blood is warm within, sit like his grandsire, cut in alabaster? sleep when he wakes? and creep into the jaundice by being peevish?" shakspeare preface. the best preface to _this_ set of the points of humour is the _former_ set, which, we are credibly informed, has favorably disposed the muscles of our readers for repeating a certain cackling sound, which is heart-food to our friend george cruikshank. one individual, for certain, has laughed over these points, and he is a very worthy gentleman, who may be, discerned wedging his way through sundry piles of books in a remarkable part of newgate-street, being opposite to the huge prison of that name. no one ever asked him after the sale of this little work, without observing an instantaneous distension of that feature of the face which is used for more purposes than merely grinning. it is to be devoutly hoped that this second set will not spoil his merriment, and that, as rather a coarse saying goes, "he will not be made to sing to another tune." the author, collector, compiler, editor, writer, or whatever name the daily or weekly critics may give him, for they have given him all these, will, undoubtedly, be heartily sorry should this change take place, for he avows that since the publication of the points, the face of the worthy gentleman alluded to has been illuminated by one unclouded sunshine, so much so, indeed, that to enter his shop has been a constant resource against melancholy during this gloomy weather. a face lighted up with good humour in a dark shop, is like a blaze of light in the middle of one of rembrandt's murky pictures. it will be seen that the compiler has taken a hint, or rather _followed_ a hint of one of the critics upon this little book. he has resorted for part of his materials, to the author, who is the richest of all in the humour of _situation_. fielding has been suggested; but though some things, excellent in their kind, might be found in him, yet it will be observed, on a more accurate consideration, that this admirable author is infinitely less adapted to the pencil of cruikshank, than his successor in the walk of humour. fielding is a master in the power of laying open all the springs which regulate the motion of that curious piece of mechanism, the human heart. he wrote with the inspiration of genius, and is true to nature in her minutest circumstances. he involuntarily and unconsciously catches the look, the word, the gesture, which would undoubtedly have manifested itself, and which is in itself a strong gleam of light upon the whole character. his _dramatis personae_ are not, generally, very extraordinary people.--he dealt in that which is _common_ to all. while, on the contrary, smollett is rich in that which is uncommon and eccentric. his field is among oddities, hobby-horses, foibles, and singularities of all kinds, which he groups in the most extraordinary manner, and colours for the most striking effect. we read fielding with a satisfied smile, but it is over the page of smollett that the loud laugh is heard to break forth.--how much at home our artist is in the conception of smollett may be seen in the following, plates. it has been said that it is a pity mr. cruikshank should waste his talents upon ephemeral anecdotes, and not hand down his name by illustrating the works of our great novelists. as well might it have been said to these great novelists, "confine yourselves to commenting upon, or translating cervantes or le sage." genius consecrates and immortalizes all it touches.--if the tales or anecdotes be ephemeral, the plates will stamp them for a good old age. hogarth did not paint his _rake's progress_ in illustration of any immortal work, nor does it require a set of octavo volumes to remind posterity of his existence. a similar excuse may apply to cruikshank, who, generally, would chuse rather to exalt the humble, than endow the rich. we have an observation to make respecting one of the plates, the last in the order. it will be seen that the costume of the characters there pourtrayed, is essentially different from that adopted by every illustrator of shakspeare. this has not been done unadvisedly. the proper authorities have been in this, as in other cases, diligently consulted, and it has appeared that these artists, in their endeayour to discover the dress of our ancestors, have stopped short at the reign of charles ii., instead of penetrating to that of henry v. march, . point i. the three hunchbacks. at a short distance from douai, there stood a castle on the bank of a river near a bridge. the master of this castle was hunchbacked. nature had exhausted her ingenuity in the formation of his whimsical figure. in place of understanding, she had given him an immense head, which nevertheless was lost between his two shoulders: he had thick hair, a short neck, and a horrible visage. spite of his deformity, this bugbear bethought himself of falling in love with a beautiful young woman, the daughter of a poor but respectable burgess of douai. he sought her in marriage, and as he was the richest person in the district, the poor girl was delivered up to him. after the nuptials he was as much an object of pity as she, for, being devoured by jealousy, he had no tranquillity night nor day, but went prying and rambling every where, and suffered no stranger to enter the castle. one day during the christmas festival, while standing sentinel at his gate, he was accosted by three humpbacked minstrels. they saluted him as a brother, as such asked him for refreshments, and at the same time, to establish the fraternity, they ostentatiously shouldered their humps at him. contrary to expectation, he conducted them to his kitchen, gave them a capon with peas, and to each a piece of money over and above. before their departure, however, he warned them never to return on pain of being thrown into the river. at this threat of the chatelain the minstrels laughed heartily and took the road to the town, singing in full chorus, and dancing in a grotesque manner, in derision of their brother-hump of the castle. he, on his part, without paying farther attention, went to walk in the fields. [illustration: ] the lady, who saw her husband cross the bridge, and had heard the minstrels, called them back to amuse her. they had not been long returned to the castle, when her husband knocked at the gate, by which she and the minstrels were equally alarmed. fortunately, the lady perceived in a neighbouring room three empty coffers. into each of these she stuffed a minstrel, shut the covers, and then opened the gate to her husband. he had only come back to espy the conduct of his wife as usual, and, after a short stay, went out anew, at which you may believe his wife was not dissatisfied. she instantly ran to the coffers to release her prisoners, for night was approaching and her husband would not probably be long absent. but what was her dismay, when she found them all three suffocated! [illustration: ] lamentation, however, was useless. the main object now was to get rid of the dead bodies, and she had not a moment to lose. she ran then to the gate, and seeing a peasant go by, she offered him a reward of thirty livres, and leading him into the castle, she took him to one of the coffers, and shewing him its contents, told him he must throw the dead body into the river: he asked for a sack, put the carcase into it, pitched it over the bridge, and then returned quite out of breath to claim the promised reward. "i certainly intended to satisfy you," said the lady, "but you ought first to fulfil the condition of the bargain--you have agreed to rid me of the dead body, have you not? there, however, it is still." saying this, she showed him the other coffer in which, the second humpbacked minstrel had expired. at this sight the clown was perfectly confounded--"how the devil! come back! a sorcerer!"--he then stuffed the body into the sack and threw it, like the other, over the bridge, taking care to put the head down and to observe that it sank. meanwhile the lady had again changed the position of the coffers, so that the third was now in the place which had been successively occupied by the two others. when the peasant returned, she shewed him the remaining dead body--"you are right, friend," said she, "he must be a magician, for there he is again." the rustic gnashed his teeth with rage. "what the devil! am i to do nothing but carry about this humpback?" he then lifted him up, with dreadful imprecations, and having tied a stone round the neck, threw him into the middle of the current, threatening, if he came out a third time, to despatch him with a cudgel. the first object that presented itself to the clown, on his way back for his reward, was the hunchbacked master of the castle returning from his evening walk, and making towards the gate. at this sight the peasant could no longer restrain his fury. "dog of a humpback, are you there again?" so saying, he sprung on the chatelain, threw him over his shoulders, and hurled him headlong into the river after the minstrels. [illustration: ] "i'll venture a wager you have not seen him this last time," said the peasant, entering the room where the lady was seated. she answered, she had not. "you were not far from it," replied he: "the sorcerer was already at the gate, but i have taken care of him--be at your ease--he will not come back now." the lady instantly comprehended what had occurred, and recompensed the peasant with much satisfaction. [illustration: ] point ii. a relish before dinner. when charles gustavus, king of sweden, was besieging prague, a boor, of a most extraordinary visage, desired admittance to his tent; and being allowed to enter, he offered, by way of amusement, to devour a large hog in his presence. the old general konigsmark, who stood by the king's side, notwithstanding his bravery, had not got rid of the prejudices of his childhood, and hinted to his royal master, that the peasant ought to be burnt as a sorcerer. "sir," said the fellow, irritated at the remark, "if your majesty will but make that old gentleman take off his sword and spurs, i will eat him before i begin the pig." general konigsmark, who had, at the head of a body of swedes, performed wonders against the austrians, could not stand this proposal, especially as it was accompanied by a most hideous expansion of the jaws and mouth. without uttering a word, the veteran turned pale and suddenly ran out of the tent, and did not think himself safe till he arrived at his quarters, where he remained above twenty-four hours, locked securely, before he got rid of the panic which had so strongly seized him. [illustration: ] [illustration: ] point iii. the haunted physicians. a lover, whose mistress was dangerously ill, sought every where for a skilful physician in whom he could place confidence, and to whose care he might confide a life so dear to him. in the course of his search he met with a talisman, by the aid of which spirits might be rendered visible. the young man exchanged, for this talisman, half his possessions, and having secured his treasure, ran with it to the house of a famous physician. flocking round the door he beheld a crowd of shades, the ghosts of those persons whom this physician had killed. some old, some young; some the skeletons of fat old men; some gigantic frames of gaunt fellows; some little puling infants and squalling women; all joined in menaces and threats against the house of the physician--the den of their destroyer--who however peacefully marched through them with his cane to his chin, and a grave and solemn air. [illustration: ] the same vision presented itself, more or less, at the house of every physician of eminence. one at length was pointed out to him in a distant quarter of the city, at whose door he only perceived two little ghosts. "behold," exclaimed he, with a joyful cry, "the good physician of whom i have been so long in search!" the doctor, astonished, asked him how he had been able to discover this? "pardon me," said the afflicted lover complacently, "your ability and your reputation are well known to me." "my reputation!" said the physician, "why i have been in paris but eight days, and in that time i have had but two patients." "good god!" involuntarily exclaimed the young man, "and there they are!" [illustration: ] point iv. the four blind beggars. there was a man, whose name was backbac; he was blind, and his evil destiny reduced him to beg from door to door. he had been so long accustomed to walk through the streets alone, that he wanted none to lead him: he had a custom to knock at people's doors, and not answer till they opened to him. one day he knocked thus, and the master of the house, who was alone, cried, "who is there?" backbac made no answer, and knocked a second time: the master of the house asked again and again, "who is there?" but to no purpose, no one answered; upon which he came down, opened the door, and asked the man what he wanted? "give me something, for heaven's sake," said backbac; "you seem to be blind," replied the master of the house; "yes, to my sorrow," answered backbac. "give me your hand," resumed the master of the house; he did so, thinking he was going to give him alms; but he only took him by the hand to lead him up to his chamber. backbac thought he had been carrying him to dine with him, as many people had done. when they reached the chamber, the man let go his hand, and sitting down, asked him again what he wanted? "i have already told you," said backbac, "that i want something for god's sake." "good blind man," replied the master of the house, "all that i can do for you is to wish that god may restore your sight." "you might have told me that at the door," replied backbac, "and not have given me the trouble to come up stairs." "and why, fool," said the man of the house, "do not you answer at first, when people ask you who is there? why do you give any body the trouble to come and open the door when they speak to you?"--"what will you do with me then?" asked backbac; "i tell you again," said the man of the house, "i have nothing to give you." "help me down the stairs then, as you brought me up."--"the stairs are before you," said the man of the house, "and you may go down by yourself if you will." the blind man attempted to descend, but missing a step, about the middle of the stairs, fell to the bottom and hurt his head and his back: he got up again with much difficulty, and went out, cursing the master of the house, who laughed at his fall. as backbac went out of the house, three blind men, his companions, were going by, knew him by his voice, and asked him what was the matter? he told them what had happened; and afterwards said, "i have eaten nothing to day; i conjure you to go along with me to my house, that i may take some of this money that we four have in common, to buy me something for supper." the blind men agreed, and they went home with him. you must know that the master of the house where backbac was so ill used, was a robber, and of a cunning and malicious disposition; he overheard from his window what backbac had said to his companions, and came down and followed them to backbac's house. the blind men being seated, backbac said to them, "brothers, we must shut the door, and take care there be no stranger with us." at this the robber was much perplexed; but perceiving a rope hanging down from a beam, he caught hold of it, and hung by it while the blind men shut the door, and felt about the room with their sticks. when they had done, and had sat down again in their places, the robber left his rope, and seated himself softly by backbac: who, thinking himself alone with his blind comrades, said to them, "brothers, since you have trusted me with the money, which we have been a long time gathering, i will shew you that i am not unworthy of the confidence you repose in me. the last time we reckoned, you know that we had ten thousand dirhems, and that we put them into ten bags: i will shew you that i have not touched one of them;" having so said, he put his hand among some old clothes, and taking out the bags one after another, gave them to his comrades, saying, "there they are: you may judge by their weight that they are whole, or you may tell them if you please." his comrades answered, "there was no need, they did not mistrust him;" so he opened one of the bags, and took out ten dirhems, and each of the other blind men did the like. backbac put the bags into their place again; after which, one of the blind men said to him, "there is no need to lay out any thing for supper, for i have collected as much victuals from good people as will serve us all;" at the same time he took out of his bag bread and cheese, and some fruit, and putting all upon the table, they began to eat. the robber, who sat at backbac's right hand, picked out the best, and eat with them; but, whatever care he took to make no noise, backbac heard his chaps going, and cried out immediately, "we are undone, there is a stranger among us!" having so said, he stretched out his hand, and caught hold of the robber by the arm, cried out "_thieves!_" fell upon him, and struck him. the other blind men fell upon him in like manner; the robber defended himself as well as he could, and being young and vigorous, besides having the advantage of his eyes, he swung by the hanging rope, and gave furious kicks, sometimes to one, sometimes to another, and cried out "_thieves!_" louder than they did. [illustration: ] the neighbours came running at the noise, broke open the door, and had much ado to separate the combatants; but having at last succeeded, they asked the cause of their quarrel. backbac, who still had hold of the robber, cried out, "gentlemen, this man i have hold of is a thief, and stole in with us on purpose to rob us of the little money we have." the thief, who shut his eyes as soon as the neighbours came, feigned himself blind, and exclaimed, "gentlemen, he is a liar. i swear to you by heavens, and by the life of the caliph, that i am their companion, and they, refuse to give me my just share. they have all four fallen upon me, and i demand justice." the neighbours would not interfere in their quarrel, but carried them all before the judge. when they came before the magistrate, the robber, without staying to be examined, cried out, still feigning to be blind, "sir, since you are deputed to administer justice by the caliph, whom god prosper, i declare to you that we are equally criminal, my four comrades and i; but we have all engaged, upon oath, to confess nothing except we be bastinadoed; so that if you would know our crime, you need only order us to be bastinadoed, and begin with me." backbac would have spoken, but was not allowed to do so, and the robber was put under the bastinado. the robber, being under the bastinado, had the courage to bear twenty or thirty blows: when, pretending to be overcome with pain, he first opened one eye, and then the other, and crying out for mercy, begged the judge would put a stop to the blows. the judge, perceiving that he looked upon him with his eyes open, was much surprised, and said to him, "rogue, what is the meaning of this miracle?" "sir," replied the robber, "i will discover to you an important secret, if you will pardon me, and give me, as a pledge that you will keep your word, the seal-ring which you have on your finger." the judge consented, gave him his ring, and promised him pardon. "under this promise," continued the robber, "i must confess to you, sir, that i and my four comrades do all see very well. we feigned ourselves to be blind, that we might freely enter people's houses, and women's apartments, where we abuse their weakness. i must farther confess to you, that by this trick we have gained together ten thousand dirhems: this day i demanded of my partners two thousand that belonged to my share, but they refused, because i told them i would leave them, and they were afraid i should accuse them. upon my pressing still to have my share, they fell upon me; for which i appeal to those people who brought us before you. i expect from your justice, sir, that you will make them deliver me the two thousand dirhems which are my due; and if you have a mind that my comrades should confess the truth, you must order them three times as many blows as i have had, and you will find they will open their eyes as well as i have done." backbac, and the other three blind men, would have cleared themselves of this horrid charge, but the judge would not hear them; "villains," said he, "do you feign yourselves blind then, and, under that pretext of moving their compassion, cheat people, and commit such crimes?" "he is an impostor," cried backbac, "and we take god to witness that none of us can see." all that backbac could say was in vain, his comrades and he received each of them two hundred blows. the judge expected them to open their eyes, and ascribed to their obstinacy what really they could not do; all the while the robber said to the blind men, "_poor fools that you are, open your eyes, and do not suffer yourselves to be beaten to death_." then addressing himself to the judge, said, "i perceive, sir, that they will be maliciously obstinate to the last, and will never open their eyes. they wish certainly to avoid the shame of reading their own condemnation in the face of every one that looks upon them; it were better, if you think fit, to pardon them, and to send some person along with me for the ten thousand dirhems they have hidden." the judge consented to give the robber two thousand dirhems, and kept the rest himself; and as for backbac and his three companions, he thought he shewed them pity by sentencing them only to be banished. [illustration: ] point v. the consultation. _a scene from "peregrine pickle"_ among those who frequented the pump-room at bath, was an old officer, whose temper, naturally impatient, was, by repeated attacks of the gout, which had almost deprived him of the use of his limbs, sublimated into a remarkable degree of virulence and perverseness: he imputed the inveteracy of his distemper to the mal-practice of a surgeon who had administered to him, while he laboured under the consequences of an unfortunate amour; and this supposition had inspired him with an insurmountable antipathy to all the professors of the medical art, which was more and more confirmed by the information of a friend at london, who had told him, that it was a common practice among the physicians at bath to dissuade their patients from drinking the water, that the cure, and in consequence their attendance, might be longer protracted. thus prepossessed, he had come to bath, and, conformable to a few general instructions he had received, used the waters without any farther direction, taking all occasions of manifesting his hatred and contempt of the sons of Ã�sculapius, both by speech and gesticulations, and even by pursuing a regimen quite contrary to that which he knew they prescribed to others who seemed to be exactly in his condition. but he did not find his account in this method, how successful soever it may have been in other cases. his complaints, instead of vanishing, were every day more and more enraged; and at length he was confined to his bed, where he lay blaspheming from morn to night, and from night to morn, though still more determined than ever to adhere to his former maxims. in the midst of his torture, which was become the common joke of the town, being circulated through the industry of the physicians, who triumphed in his disaster, peregrine, by means of mr. pipes, employed a country fellow, who had come to market, to run with great haste, early one morning, to the lodgings of all the doctors in town, and desire them to attend the colonel with all imaginable despatch. in consequence of this summons, the whole faculty put themselves in motion; and three of the foremost arriving at the same instant of time, far from complimenting one another with the door, each separately essayed to enter, and the whole triumvirate stuck in the passage; while they remained thus wedged together, they descried two of their brethren posting towards the same goal, with all the speed that god had enabled them to exert; upon which they came to a parley, and agreed to stand by one another. this covenant being made, they disentangled themselves, and, inquiring about the patient, were told by the servant that he had just fallen asleep. having received this intelligence, they took possession of his antichamber, and shut the door, while the rest of the tribe posted themselves on the outside as they arrived; so that the whole passage was filled, from the top of the stair-case to the street-door; and the people of the house, together with the colonel's servant, struck dumb with astonishment. the three leaders of this learned gang had no sooner made their lodgement good, than they began to consult about the patient's malady, which every one of them pretended to have considered with great care and assiduity. the first who gave his opinion said, the distemper was an obstinate arthritis; the second affirmed, that it was no other than a confirmed lues; and the third swore it was an inveterate scurvy. this diversity of opinions was supported by a variety of quotations from medical authors, ancient as well as modern; but these were not of sufficient authority, or at least not explicit enough, to decide the dispute; for there are many schisms in medicine, as well as in religion, and each set can quote the fathers in support of the tenets they profess. in short, the contention rose to such a pitch of clamour, as not only alarmed the brethren on the stair, but also awaked the patient from the first nap he had enjoyed in the space of ten whole days. had it been simply waking, he would have been obliged to them for the noise that disturbed him; for, in that case, he would have been relieved from the tortures of hell fire, to which, in his dream, he fancied himself exposed: but this dreadful vision had been the result of that impression which was made upon his brain by the intolerable anguish of his joints; so that when he waked, the pain, instead of being allayed, was rather aggravated, by a great acuteness of sensation; and the confused vociferation in the next room invading his ears at the same time, he began to think his dream was realized, and, in the pangs of despair, applied himself to a bell that stood by his bedside, which he rung with great violence and perseverance. this alarm put an immediate stop to the disputation of the three doctors, who, upon this notice of his being awake, rushed into his chamber without ceremony; and two of them seizing his arms, the third made the like application to one of his temples. before the patient could recollect himself from the amazement which had laid hold on him at this unexpected irruption, the room was filled by the rest of the faculty, who followed the servant that entered in obedience to his master's call; and the bed was in a moment surrounded by these gaunt ministers of death. the colonel seeing himself beset with such an assemblage of solemn visages and figures, which he had always considered with the utmost detestation and abhorrence, was incensed to a most inexpressible degree of indignation; and so inspirited by his rage, that, though his tongue denied its office, his other limbs performed their functions: he disengaged himself from the triumvirate, who had taken possession of his body, sprung out of bed with incredible agility, and, seizing one of his crutches, applied it so effectually to one of the three, just as he stooped to examine the patient's water, that his tye-periwig dropped into the pot, while he himself fell motionless on the floor. this significant explanation disconcerted the whole fraternity; every man turned his face, as if it were by instinct, towards the door; and the retreat of the community being obstructed by the efforts of individuals, confusion and tumultuous uproar ensued: for the colonel, far from limiting his prowess to the first exploit, handled his weapon with astonishing vigour and dexterity, without respect of persons; so that few or none of them had escaped without marks of his displeasure, when his spirits failed, and he sunk down again quite exhausted on his bed. [illustration: ] favoured by this respite, the discomfited faculty collected their hats and wigs, which had fallen off in the fray; and perceiving the assailant too much enfeebled to renew the attack, set up their throats altogether, and loudly threatened to prosecute him severely for such an outrageous assault. by this time the landlord had interposed; and inquiring into the cause of the disturbance, was informed of what had happened by the complainants, who, at the same time, giving him to understand that they had been severally summoned to attend the colonel that morning, he assured them, that they had been imposed upon by some wag, for his lodger had never dreamed of consulting any one of their profession. thunderstruck at this declaration, the general clamour instantaneously ceased; and each, in particular, at once comprehending the nature of the joke, they sneaked silently off with the loss they had sustained, in unutterable shame and mortification, while peregrine and his friend, who took care to be passing that way by accident, made a full stop at sight of such an extraordinary efflux, and enjoyed the countenance and condition of every one as he appeared; nay, even made up to some of those who seemed most affected with their situation, and mischievously tormented them with questions touching this unusual congregation; then, in consequence of the information they received from the landlord and the colonel's valet, subjected the sufferers to the ridicule of all the company in town. as it would have been impossible for the authors of the farce to keep themselves concealed from the indefatigable inquiries of the physicians, they made no secret of their having directed the whole; though they took care to own it in such an ambiguous manner as afforded no handle of prosecution. [illustration: ] point vi. the dinner. _a scene from "peregrine pickle."_ peregrine, by his insinuating behaviour, acquired the full confidence of the doctor, who invited him to an entertainment, which he intended to prepare in the manner of the ancients. pickle, struck with this idea, eagerly embraced the proposal, which he honoured with many encomiums, as a plan in all respects worthy of his genius and apprehension; and the day was appointed at some distance of time, that the treater might have leisure to compose certain pickles and confections, which were not to be found among the culinary preparations of these degenerate days. with a view of rendering the physician's taste more conspicuous, and extracting from it more diversion, peregrine proposed that some foreigners should partake of the banquet; and the task being left to his care and discretion, he actually bespoke the company of a french marquis, an italian count, and a german baron, whom he knew to be most egregious coxcombs, and therefore more likely to enhance the joy of the entertainment. accordingly, the hour being arrived, he conducted them to the hotel where the physician lodged, after having regaled their expectations with an elegant meal in the genuine old roman taste; and they were received by mr. pallet, who did the honours of the house, while his friend superintended the cook below. by this communicative painter, the guests understood that the doctor had met with numerous difficulties in the execution of his design; that no fewer than five cooks had been dismissed, because they could not prevail upon their own consciences to obey his directions in things that were contrary to the present practice of their art; and that although he had at last engaged a person, by an extraordinary premium, to comply with his orders, the fellow was so astonished, mortified, and incensed, at the commands he had received, that his hair stood on end, and he begged on his knees to be released from the agreement he had made; but finding that his employer insisted upon the performance of his contract, and threatened to introduce him to the commissaire, if he should flinch from the bargain, he had, in the discharge of his office, wept, sung, cursed, and capered, for two hours without intermission. while the company listened to this odd information, by which they were prepossessed with strange notions of the dinner, their ears were invaded by a piteous voice, that exclaimed in french, "for the love of god! dear sir! for the passion of jesus christ! spare me the mortification of the honey and oil!" their ears still vibrated with the sound, when the doctor entering, was by peregrine made acquainted with the strangers, to whom he, in the transports of his wrath, could not help complaining of the want of complaisance he had found in the parisian vulgar, by which his plan had been almost entirely ruined and set aside. the french marquis, who thought the honour of his nation was concerned at this declaration, professed his sorrow for what had happened, so contrary to the established character of the people, and undertook to see the delinquents severely punished, provided he could be informed of their names or places of abode. the mutual compliments that passed on this occasion were scarce finished, when a servant coming into the room, announced dinner; and the entertainer led the way into another apartment, where they found a long table, or rather two boards joined together, and furnished with a variety of dishes, the steams of which had such evident effect upon the nerves of the company, that the marquis made frightful grimaces, under pretence of taking snuff; the italian's eyes watered, the german's visage underwent several distortions of feature; our hero found means to exclude the odour from his sense of smelling, by breathing only through his mouth; and the poor painter, running into another room, plugged his nostrils with, tobacco. the doctor himself, who was the only person then present whose organs were not discomposed, pointing to a couple of couches placed on each side of the table, told his guests that he was sorry he could not procure the exact triclinia of the ancients, which were somewhat different from these conveniences, and desired they would have the goodness to repose themselves without ceremony, each in his respective couchette, while he and his friend mr. pallet would place themselves upright at the ends, that they might have the pleasure of serving those that lay along. this disposition, of which the strangers had no previous idea, disconcerted and perplexed them in a most ridiculous manner; the marquis and baron stood bowing to each other, on pretence of disputing the lower seat, but, in reality, with a view of profiting by the example of each other: for neither of them understood the manner in which they were to loll; and peregrine, who enjoyed their confusion, handed the count to the other side, where, with the most mischievous politeness, he insisted upon his taking possession of the upper place. in this disagreeable and ludicrous suspense, they continued acting a pantomime of gesticulations, until the doctor earnestly entreated them to wave all compliment and form, lest the dinner should be spoiled before the ceremonial could be adjusted. thus conjured, peregrine took the lower couch on the left-hand side, laying himself gently down, with his face towards the table. the marquis, in imitation of this pattern, (though he would have much rather fasted three days than run the risk of discomposing his dress by such an attitude,) stretched himself, upon the opposite place, reclining upon his elbow in a most painful and awkward situation, with his head raised above the end of the couch, that the economy of his hair might not suffer by the projection of his body. the italian, being a thin limber creature, planted himself next to pickle, without sustaining any misfortune, but that of his stocking being tom by a ragged nail of the seat, as he raised his legs on a level with the rest of his limbs. but the baron, who was neither so wieldy nor supple in his joints as his companions, flounced himself down with such precipitation, that his feet, suddenly tilting up, came in furious contact with the head of the marquis, and demolished every curl in a twinkling, while his own skull, at the same instant, descended upon the side of his couch with such violence, that his periwig was struck off, and the whole room filled with pulvilio. the drollery of distress that attended this disaster entirely vanquished the affected gravity of our young gentleman, who was obliged to suppress his laughter by cramming his handkerchief into his mouth; for the bareheaded german asked pardon with such ridiculous confusion, and the marquis admitted his apology with such rueful complaisance, as were sufficient to awaken the mirth of a quietist. this misfortune being repaired, as well as the circumstances of the occasion would permit, and every one settled according to the arrangement already described, the doctor graciously undertook to give some account of the dishes as they occurred, that the company might be directed in their choice; and, with an air of infinite satisfaction, thus began:--"this here, gentlemen, is a boiled goose, served up in a sauce composed of pepper, lovage, coriander, mint, rue, anchovies, and oil. i wish for your sakes, gentlemen, it was one of the geese of ferrara, so much celebrated among the ancients for the magnitude of their livers, one of which is said to have weighed upwards of two pounds; with this food, exquisite as it was, did the tyrant heliogabalus regale his hounds. but i beg pardon, i had almost forgot the soup, which i hear is so necessary an article at all tables in france. at each end there are dishes of the salacacabia of the romans; one is made of parsley, pennyroyal, cheese, pine-tops, honey, vinegar, brine, eggs, cucumbers, onions, and hen livers; the other is much the same as the soup-maigre of this country. then there is a loin of boiled veal with fennel and carraway seed, on a pottage composed of pickle, oil, honey, and flour, and a curious hashis of the lights, liver, and blood of a hare, together with a dish of roasted pigeons. monsieur le baron, shall i help you to a plate of this soup?" the german, who did not at all disapprove of the ingredients, assented to the proposal, and seemed to relish the composition; while the marquis, being asked by the painter which of the sillykickabys he chose, was, in consequence of his desire, accommodated with a portion of the soup-maigre; and the count, in lieu of spoon meat, of which he said he was no great admirer, supplied himself with a pigeon, therein conforming to the choice of our young gentleman, whose example he determined to follow through the whole course of the entertainment. the frenchman, having swallowed the first spoonful, made a full pause, his throat swelled as if an egg had stuck in his gullet, his eyes rolled, and his mouth underwent a series of involuntary contractions and dilations. pallet, who looked steadfastly at this connoisseur, with a view of consulting his taste, before he himself would venture upon the soup, began to be disturbed at these emotions, and observed, with some concern, that the poor gentleman seemed to be going into a fit; when peregrine assured him, that these were symptoms of ecstacy, and, for further confirmation, asked the marquis how he found the soup. it was with infinite difficulty that his complaisance could so far master his disgust, as to enable him to answer, "altogether excellent, upon my honour!" and the painter, being certified of his approbation, lifted the spoon to his mouth without scruple; but far from justifying the eulogium of his taster, when this precious composition diffused itself upon his palate; he seemed to be deprived of all sense and motion, and sat like the leaden statue of some river god, with the liquor flowing out at both sides of his mouth. the doctor, alarmed at this indecent phenomenon, earnestly inquired into the cause of it; and when pallet recovered his recollection, and swore that he would rather swallow porridge made of burning brimstone than such an infernal mess as that which he had tasted, the physician, in his own vindication, assured the company, that, except the usual ingredients, he had mixed nothing in the soup but some sal ammoniac, instead of the ancient nitrum, which could not now be procured; and appealed to the marquis, whether such a succedaneum was not an improvement on the whole. the unfortunate petit maître, driven to the extremity of his condescension, acknowledged it to be a masterly refinement; and deeming himself obliged, in point of honour, to evince his sentiments by his practice, forced a few more mouthfuls of this disagreeable potion down his throat, till his stomach was so much offended, that he was compelled to start up of a sudden; and, in the hurry of his elevation, overturned his plate into the bosom of the baron. the emergency of his occasions would not permit him to stay and make apologies for this abrupt behaviour; so that he flew into another apartment, where pickle found him puking, and crossing himself with great devotion; and a chair, at his desire, being brought to the door, he slipped into it more dead than alive, conjuring his friend pickle to make his peace with the company, and in particular excuse him to the baron, on account of the violent fit of illness with which he had been seized. it was not without reason that he employed a mediator; for when our hero returned to the dining-room, the german had got up, and was under the hands of his own lacquey, who wiped the grease from a rich embroidered waistcoat, while he, almost frantic with his misfortune, stamped upon the ground, and in high dutch cursed the unlucky banquet, and the impertinent entertainer, who all this time, with great deliberation, consoled him for the disaster, by assuring him, that the damage might be repaired with some oil of turpentine and a hot iron. peregrine, who could scarce refrain from laughing in his face, appeased his indignation, by telling him how much the whole company, and especially the marquis, was mortified at the accident; and the unhappy salacacabia being removed, the places were filled with two pyes, one of dormice, liquored with syrup of white poppies, which the doctor had substituted in the room of roasted poppy-seed, formerly eaten with honey, as a dessert; and the other composed of a hock of pork baked in honey. pallet, hearing the first of these dishes described, lifted up his hands and eyes, and, with signs of loathing and amazement, pronounced, "a pye made of dormice and syrup of poppies! lord in heaven! what beastly fellows those romans were!" his friend checked him for his irreverent exclamation with a severe look, and recommended the veal, of which he himself cheerfully ate, with such encomiums to the company, that the baron resolved to imitate his example, after having called for abumper of burgundy, which the physician, for his sake, wished to have been the true wine of falernum. the painter, seeing nothing else upon the table which he would venture to touch, made a merit of necessity, and had recourse to the veal also; although he could not help saying, that he would not give one slice of the roast beef of old england for all the dainties of a roman emperor's table. but all the doctor's invitations and assurances could not prevail upon his guests to honour the hashis and the goose; and that course was succeeded by another, in which he told them there were divers of those dishes, which, among the ancients, had obtained the appellation of _politeles_, or magnificent. "that which smokes in the middle," said he, "is a sow's stomach, filled with a composition of minced pork, hog's brains, eggs, pepper, cloves, garlic, aniseed, rue, ginger, oil, wine, and pickle. on the right-hand side are the teats and belly of a sow, just farrowed, fried with sweet wine, oil, flour, lovage, and pepper. on the left is a fricassee of snails, fed, or rather purged, with milk. at that end next mr. pallet, are fritters of pompions, lovage, origanum, and oil; and here are a couple of pullets. roasted and stuffed in the manner of apicius." [illustration: ] the painter, who had by wry faces testified his abhorrence of the sow's stomach, which he compared to a bagpipe, and the snails which had undergone purgation, no sooner heard him mention the roasted pullets, than he eagerly solicited a wing of the fowl; upon which the doctor desired he would take the trouble of cutting them up, and accordingly sent them round, while mr. pallet tucked the table-cloth under his chin, and brandished his knife, and, fork with singular address; but scarce were they set down before him, when the tears ran down his cheeks, and he called aloud, in manifest disorder,--"zounds! this is the essence, of a whole bed of garlic!" that he might not, however, disappoint or disgrace the entertainer, he applied his instruments to one of the birds; and, when he opened up the cavity, was assaulted by such an irruption of intolerable smells, that, without staying to disengage himself from the cloth, he sprung away, with an exclamation of "lord jesus!" and involved the whole table in havoc, ruin, and confusion. before pickle could accomplish his escape, he was sauced with a syrup of the dormice pye, which went to-pieces in the general wreck: and as for the italian count, he was overwhelmed by the sow's stomach, which, bursting in the fall, discharged its contents upon his leg and thigh, and scalded him so miserably, that he shrieked with anguish, and grinned with a most ghastly and horrible aspect. the baron, who sat secure without the vortex of this tumult, was not at all displeased at seeing his companions involved in such a calamity as that which he had already shared; but the doctor was confounded with shame and vexation. after having prescribed an application of oil to the count's leg, he expressed his sorrow for the misadventure, which he openly ascribed to want of taste and prudence in the painter, who did not think proper to return, and make an apology in person; and protested that there was nothing in the fowls which could give offence to a sensible nose, the stuffing being a mixture of pepper, loyage, and assafotida, and the sauce consisting of wine and herring-pickle, which he had used instead of the celebrated _garum_ of the romans; that famous pickle having been prepared sometimes of the _scombri_, which were a sort of tunny fish, and sometimes of the _silurus_, or shad fish; nay, he observed, that there was a third kind called _garum homation_, made of the guts, gills, and blood of the _thynnus_. the physician, finding it would be impracticable to re-establish the order of the banquet, by presenting again the dishes which had been discomposed, ordered every thing to be removed, a clean cloth to be laid, and the dessert to be brought in. meanwhile, he regretted his incapacity to give them a specimen of the _alieus_, or fish-meals of the ancients, such as the _jus diabaton_, the conger-eel, which, in galen's opinion, is hard of digestion; the _cornuta_, or gurnard, described by pliny in his natural history, who says, the horns of many were a foot and a half in length; the mullet and lamprey, that were in the highest estimation of old, of which last julius cæsar borrowed six thousand for one triumphal supper. he observed, that the manner of dressing them was described by horace, in the account he gives of the entertainment to which maecenas was invited by the epicure nasiedenus, affertur squillas inter muraena natantes, &c. and told them, that they were commonly eaten with the _thus syriacum_, a certain anodyne and astringent seed, which qualified the purgative nature of the fish. finally, this learned physician gave them to understand, that, though this was reckoned a luxurious dish in the zenith of the roman taste, it was by no means comparable, in point of expense, to some preparations in vogue about the time of that absurd voluptuary heliogabalus, who ordered the brains of six hundred ostriches to be compounded in one mess. by this time the dessert appeared, and the company were not a little rejoiced to see plain olives in salt and water: but what the master of the feast valued himself upon was a sort of jelly, which he affirmed to be preferable to the _hypotrimma_ of hesychius, being a mixture of vinegar, pickle, and honey, boiled to a proper consistence, and candied assafotida, which he asserted, in contradiction to aumelbergius and lister, was no other than the _laser syriacum_, so precious as to be sold among the ancients to the weight of a silver penny. the gentlemen took his word for the excellency of this gum, but contented themselves with the olives, which gave such an agreeable relish to the wine, that they seemed very well disposed to console themselves for the disgraces they had endured; and pickle, unwilling to lose the least circumstance of entertainment that could be enjoyed in their company, went in quest of the painter, who remained in his penitentials in another apartment, and could not be persuaded to re-enter the banqueting-room, until peregrine undertook to procure his pardon from those whom he had injured. having assured him of this indulgence, our young gentleman led him in like a criminal, bowing on all hands with an air of humility and contrition; and particularly addressing himself to the count, to whom he swore in english, as god was his saviour, he had no intent to affront man, woman, or child; but was fain to make the best of his way, that he might not give the honourable company cause of offence, by obeying the dictates of nature in their presence. when pickle interpreted this apology to the italian, pallet was forgiven in very polite terms, and even received into favour by his friend the doctor, in consequence of our hero's intercession; so that all the guests forgot their chagrin, and paid their respects so piously to the bottle, that, in a short time, the champaign produced very evident effects in the behaviour of all present. [illustration: ] point vii. the duel. _a scene from "peregrine pickle"_ the painter betook himself to the house of the flemish raphael, and the rest of the company went back to their lodgings; where peregrine, taking the advantage of being alone with the physician, recapitulated all the affronts he had sustained from the painter's petulance, aggravating every circumstance of the disgrace, and advising him, in the capacity of a friend, to take care of his honour, which could not fail to suffer in the opinion of the world, if he allowed himself to be insulted with impunity by one so much his inferior in every degree of consideration. the physician assured him, that pallet had hitherto escaped chastisement, by being deemed an object unworthy his resentment, and in consideration of the wretch's family, for which his compassion was interested; but that repeated injuries would inflame the most benevolent disposition; and although he could find no precedent of duelling among the greeks and romans, whom he considered as the patterns of demeanour, pallet should no longer avail himself of his veneration for the ancients, but be punished for the very, next offence he should commit. having thus spirited up the doctor to a resolution from which he could not decently swerve, our adventurer acted the incendiary with the other party also; giving him to understand, that the physician treated his character with such contempt, and behaved to him with such insolence, as no gentleman ought to bear: that, for his own part, he was every day put out of countenance by their mutual animosity, which appeared in nothing but vulgar expressions, more becoming shoe-boys and oyster-women than men of honour and education; and therefore he should be obliged, contrary to his inclination, to break off all correspondence with them both, if they would not fall upon some method to retrieve the dignity of their characters. these representations would have had little effect upon the timidity of the painter, who was likewise too much of a grecian to approve of single combat, in any other way than that of boxing, an exercise in which he was well skilled, had they not been accompanied with an insinuation, that his antagonist was no hector, and that he might humble him into any concession, without running the least personal risk. animated by this assurance, our second rubens set the trumpet of defiance to his mouth, swore he valued not his life a rush, when his honour was concerned, and entreated mr. pickle to be the bearer of a challenge, which he would instantly commit to writing. the mischievous fomenter highly applauded this manifestation of courage, by which he was at liberty to cultivate his friendship and society, but declined the office of carrying the billet, that his tenderness of pallet's reputation might not be misinterpreted into an officious desire of promoting quarrels. at the same time he recommended tom pipes, not only as a very proper messenger on this occasion, but also as a trusty second in the field. the magnanimous painter took his advice, and, retiring to his chamber, penned a challenge in these terms,-- sir,--when i am heartily provoked, i fear not the devil himself; much less----i will not call you a pedantic coxcomb, nor an unmannerly fellow, because these are the hippythets of the wulgar: but, remember, such as you are, i nyther love you nor fear you; but, on the contrary, expect satisfaction for your audacious behaviour to me on divers occasions; and will, this evening, in the twilight, meet you on the ramparts with sword and pistol, where the lord have mercy on the soul of one of us, for your body shall find no favour with your incensed defier, till death. 'layman pallet' this resolute defiance, after having been submitted to the perusal, and honoured with the approbation of our youth, was committed to the charge of pipes, who, according to his orders, delivered it in the afternoon; and brought for answer, that the physician would attend him at the appointed time and place. the challenger was evidently discomposed at the unexpected news of this acceptance, and ran about the house in great disorder, in quest of peregrine, to beg his further advice and assistance: but understanding that the youth was engaged in private with his adversary, he began to suspect some collusion, and cursed himself for his folly and precipitation. he even entertained some thoughts of retracting his invitation, and submitting to the triumph of his antagonist: but before he would stoop to this opprobrious condescension, he resolved to try another expedient, which might be the means of saving both his character and person. in this hope he visited mr. jolter, and very gravely desired he would be so good as to undertake the office of his second in a duel which he was to fight that evening with the physician. the governor, instead of answering his expectation, in expressing fear and concern, and breaking forth into exclamations of, 'good god! gentlemen! what d'ye mean? you shall not murder one another while it is in my power to prevent your purpose.' i will go directly to the governor of the place, who shall interpose his authority,' i say, instead of these and other friendly menaces of prevention, jolter heard the proposal with the most phlegmatic tranquillity, and excused himself from accepting the honour intended for him, on account of his character and situation, which would not permit him to be concerned in any such rencounters. indeed this mortifying reception was owing to a previous hint from peregrine, who, dreading some sort of interruption from his governor, had made him acquainted with his design, and assured him, that the affair should not be brought to any dangerous issue. thus disappointed, the dejected challenger was overwhelmed with perplexity and dismay; and, in the terrors of death or mutilation, resolved to deprecate the wrath of his enemy, and conform to any submission he should propose, when he was accidentally encountered by our adventurer, who, with demonstrations of infinite satisfaction, told him, in confidence, that his billet had thrown the doctor into an agony of consternation; that his acceptance of his challenge was a mere effort of despair, calculated, to confound the ferocity of the sender, and dispose him to listen to terms of accommodation; that he had imparted the letter to him, with fear and trembling, on pretence of engaging him as a second, but, in reality, with a view of obtaining his good offices in promoting a reconciliation; but perceiving the situation of his mind,' added our hero, 'i thought it would be more for your honour to baffle his expectation, and therefore i readily undertook the task of attending him to the field, in full assurance that he will there humble himself before you, even to prostration. in this security you may go and prepare your arms, and bespeak the assistance of pipes, who will squire you to the field, while i keep myself up, that our correspondence may not be suspected by the physician.' pallet's spirits, that were sunk to dejection; rose at this encouragement to all the insolence of triumph; he again declared his contempt of danger; and his pistols being loaded and accommodated with new flints, by his trusty armour-bearer, he waited, without flinching, for the hour of battle. on the first approach of twilight, somebody knocked at his door, and pipes having opened it at his desire, he heard the voice of his antagonist pronounce,--'tell mr. pallet, that i am going to the place of appointment.' the painter was not a little surprised at this anticipation, which, so ill agreed with the information he had received from pickle; and his concern beginning to recur, he fortified himself with a large bumper of brandy, which, however, did not overcome the anxiety of his thoughts. nevertheless, he set out on the expedition with his second, betwixt whom and himself the following dialogue passed, in their way to the ramparts.-- 'mr. pipes,' said the painter, with disordered accent, 'methinks the doctor was in a pestilent hurry with that message of his.'--'ey, ey,' answered tom, 'i do suppose he longs to be foul of you.' 'what!' replied the other, 'd'ye think he thirsts after my blood?' 'to be sure a does,' (said pipes, thrusting a large quid of tobacco into his cheek with great deliberation). 'if that be the case,' cried pallet, beginning to shake, 'he is no better than a cannibal, and no christian ought to fight him on equal footing.' tom observing his emotion, eyed him with a frown of indignation, saying, 'you an't afraid, are you?' 'god forbid!' replied the challenger, stammering with fear, 'what should i be afraid of? the worst he can do is to 'take my life, and then he'll be answerable both to god and man for the murder: don't you think he will?'--'i think no such matter,' answered the second: 'if so be as how he puts a brace of bullets through your bows, and kills you fairly, it is no more murder than if i was to bring down a noddy from the main-top-sail-yard.' by this time pallet's teeth chattered with such violence, that he could scarce pronounce this reply.--'mr. thomas, you seem to make very light of a man's life; but i trust in the almighty i shall not be so easily brought down. sure many a man has fought a duel without losing his life. do you imagine that i run such a hazard of falling by the hand of my adversary?' 'you may or you may not,' said the unconcerned pipes, 'just as it happens. what then! death is a debt that every man owes, according to the song; and if you set foot to foot, i think one of you must go to pot,' 'foot to foot!' exclaimed the terrified painter, 'that's downright butchery; and i'll be damned before i fight any man on earth in such a barbarous way. what! d'ye take me to be a savage beast?' this declaration he made while they ascended the ramparts. his attendant, perceiving the physician and his second at the distance of an hundred paces before them, gave him notice of their appearance, and advised him to make ready, and behave like a man. pallet in vain endeavoured to conceal his panic, which discovered itself in an universal trepidation of body, and the lamentable tone in which he answered this exhortation of pipes, saying,--'i do behave like a man; but you would have me act the part of a brute.--are they coming this way?' when tom told him that they had faced about, and admonished him to advance, the nerves of his arm refused, their office, he could not hold out his pistol, and instead of going forward, retreated with an insensibility of motion; till pipes, placing himself in the rear, set his own back to that of his principal, and swore he should not budge an inch farther in that direction. while the valet thus tutored the painter, his master enjoyed the terrors of the physician, which were more ridiculous than those of pallet, because he was more intent upon disguising them. his declaration to pickle in the morning would not suffer him to start any objections when he received the challenge; and finding that the young gentleman made no offer of mediating the affair, but rather congratulated him on the occasion, when he communicated the painter's billet, all his efforts consisted in oblique hints, and general reflexions, upon the absurdity of duelling, which was first introduced among civilized nations by the barbarous huns and longobards. he likewise pretended to ridicule the use of fire-arms, which confounded all the distinctions of skill and address, and deprived a combatant of the opportunity of signalizing his personal prowess. pickle assented to the justness of his observations; but, at the same time, represented the necessity of complying with the customs of this world (ridiculous as they were), on which a man's honour and reputation depend. so that, seeing no hopes of profiting by that artifice, the republican's agitation became more and more remarkable; and he proposed, in plain terms, that they should contend in armour, like the combatants of ancient days; for it was but reasonable, that they should practise the manner of fighting, since they adopted the disposition of those iron times. nothing could have afforded more diversion to our hero than the sight of two such duellists cased in iron; and he wished that he had promoted the quarrel in brussels, where he could have hired the armour of charles the fifth, and the valiant duke of parma, for their accommodation; but as there was no possibility of furnishing them cap-à-pee at antwerp, he persuaded him to conform to the modern use of the sword, and meet the painter on his own terms; and suspecting that his fear would supply him with other excuses for declining, the combat, he comforted him with some distant insinuations, to the prejudice of his adversary's courage, which would, in all probability, evaporate before any mischief could happen. notwithstanding this encouragement, he could not suppress the reluctance with which he went to the field, and cast many a wishful look over his left shoulder, to see whether or not his adversary was at his heels. when, by the advice of his second, he took possession of the ground, and turned about with his face to the enemy, it was not so dark, but that peregrine could perceive the unusual paleness of his countenance, and the sweat standing in large drops upon his forehead; nay, there was a manifest disorder in his speech, when he regretted his want of the _pila_ and _parma_, with which he would have made a rattling noise, to astonish his foe, in springing forward, and singing the hymn to battle, in the manner of the ancients. in the mean time, observing the hesitation of his antagonist, who, far from advancing, seemed to recoil, and even struggle with his second, he guessed the situation of the painter's thoughts, and collecting all the manhood that he possessed, seized the opportunity of profiting by his enemy's consternation. striking his sword and pistol together, he advanced in a sort of a trot, raising a loud howl, in which he repeated, in lieu of the spartan song, part of the strophe from one of pindar's pythia, beginning with _ek theon gar mekanai pasai broteais aretais, &c_. this imitation of the greeks had all the desired effect upon the painter, who seeing the physician running towards him like a fury, with a pistol in his right hand, which was extended, and hearing the dreadful yell he uttered, and the outlandish words he produced, was seized with an universal palsy of his limbs. he would have dropped down upon the ground, had not pipes supported and encouraged him to stand upon his defence. the doctor, contrary to his expectation, finding that he had not flinched from the spot, though he had now performed one half of his career, put in practice the last effort, by firing his pistol, the noise of which no sooner reached the ears of the affrighted painter, than he recommended his soul to god, and roared for mercy with great vociferation. [illustration: ] the republican, overjoyed at this exclamation, commanded him to yield, and surrender his arms, on pain of immediate death; upon which he threw away his pistols and sword, in spite of all the admonitions and even threats of his second, who left him to his fate, and went up to his master, stopping his nose with signs of loathing and abhorrence. the victor, having won the _spolia opima_, granted him his life, on condition that he would on his knees supplicate his pardon, acknowledging him inferior to his conqueror in every virtue and qualification, and promise for the future to merit his favour by submission and respect. these insolent terms were readily embraced by the unfortunate challenger, who fairly owned, that he was not at all calculated for the purposes of war, and that henceforth he would contend with no weapon but his pencil. he begged, with great humility, that mr. pickle would not think the worse of his morals for this defect of courage, which was a natural infirmity inherited from his father, and suspend his opinion of his talents, until he should have an opportunity of contemplating the charms of his cleopatra, which would be finished in less than three months. our hero observed, with an affected air of displeasure, that no man could be justly condemned for being subject to the impressions of fear; and therefore his cowardice might easily be forgiven: but there was something so presumptuous, dishonest, and disingenuous, in arrogating a quality to which he knew he had not the smallest pretension, that he could not forget his misbehaviour all at once, though he would condescend to communicate with him as formerly, in hopes of seeing a reformation in his conduct. pallet protested that there was no dissimulation in the case: for he was ignorant of his own weakness, until his resolution was put to the trial: he faithfully promised to demean himself, during the remaining part of the tour, with that conscious modesty and penitence which became a person in his condition: and, for the present, implored the assistance of mr. pipes, in disembarrassing him from the disagreeable consequence of his fear. point viii. the quack doctor. the town of ashbourn, being a great thoroughfare to buxton wells, to the high-peak, and many parts of the north; and being inhabited by many substantial people concerned in the mines, and having also three or four of the greatest horse-fairs in that part of england, every year; is a very populous town. there appeared at ashbourn, for some market-days, a very extraordinary person, in a character, and with an equipage, somewhat singular and paradoxical: this was one dr. stubbs, a physician of the itinerant kind. the doctor came to town on horseback, yet dressed in a plaid night gown and red velvet cap. he had a small reading-desk fixed upon the pummel of his saddle, that supported a large folio, in which, by the help of a monstrous pair of spectacles, the doctor seemed to read, as the horse moved slowly on, with a profound attention. a portmanteau behind him contained his cargo of sovereign medicines, which, as brick-dust was probably the principal ingredient, must have been no small burden to his lean steed. the 'squire, or assistant, led the doctor's horse slowly along, in a dress less solemn, but not less remarkable, than that of his master. the doctor, from his rozinante, attended by his merry-andrew (mounted on a horse-block before the principal inn), had just begun to harangue the multitude, and the speech with which he introduced himself each market-day was to this effect-- "my friends and countrymen! you have frequently been imposed upon, no doubt, by, quacks and ignorant pretenders to the noble art of physic; who, in order to gain your attention, have boasted of their many years' travels into foreign parts, and even the most remote regions of the habitable globe. one has been physician to the sophi of persia, to the great mogul, or the empress of russia; and displayed his skill at moscow, constantinople, delhi, or ispahan. another, perhaps, has been tooth-drawer to the king of morocco, or corn-cutter to the sultan of egypt, or to the grand turk; or has administered a clyster to the queen of trebisond, or to prester john, or the lord, knows who--as if the wandering about from place to place (supposing it to be true) could make a man a jot the wiser. no, gentlemen, don't be imposed upon by pompous words and magnificent pretensions. he that goes abroad a fool will come home a coxcomb. "gentlemen! i am no high german or unborn doctor--but here i am--your own countryman--your fellow subject--your neighbour, as i may say. why, gentlemen, eminent as i am now become, i was born but at coventry, where my mother now lives--mary stubbs by name. "one thing, indeed, i must boast of, without which i would not presume to practise the sublime art and mystery of physic. i am the seventh son of a seventh, son. seven days was i before i sucked the breast. seven months before i was seen to laugh or cry. seven years before i was heard to utter seven words; and twice seven years have i studied, night and day, for the benefit of you, my friends and countrymen: and now here i am, ready to assist the afflicted, and to cure all manner of diseases, past, present, and to come; and that out of pure love to my country and fellow creatures, without fee or reward--except a trifling gratuity, the prime cost of my medicines; or what you may choose voluntarily to contribute hereafter, out of gratitude for the great benefit, which, i am convinced, you will receive from the use of them. "but come, gentlemen, here is my famous, * antifebrifuge tincture; that cures all internal disorders whatsoever; the whole bottle for one poor shilling. * a celebrated quack made this blunder; that is, in plain english, a tincture that will bring on a fever. "here's my cataplasma diabolicum, or my diabolical cataplasm; that will cure all external disorders, cuts, bruises, contusions, excoriations, and dislocations; and all for sixpence. "but here, gentlemen, here's my famous balsamum stubbianum, or dr. stubbs's sovereign balsam; renowned over the whole christian world, as an universal remedy, which no family ought to be without: it will keep seven years, and--be as good as it is now. here's this large bottle, gentlemen, for the trifling sum of eighteen-pence. "i am aware that your physical gentlemen here have called me quack, and ignorant pretender, and the like. but here i am.--let dr. pestle or dr. clyster come forth. i challenge the whole faculty of the town of ashbourn, to appear before this good company, and dispute with me in seven languages, ancient or modern; in latin, greek, or hebrew--in high-dutch, french, italian, or portuguese. let them ask me any question in hebrew or arabic, and then it will appear who are men of solid learning, and who are quacks and ignorant pretenders. "you see, gentlemen, i challenge them to a fair trial of skill, but not one of them dares show his face; they confess their ignorance by their silence. "but come, gentlemen, who buys my elixir cephalicum, asthmaticum, arthriticum, diureticum, emeticum, diaphoriticum, nephriticum, catharticum.--come, gentlemen, seize the golden opportunity, whilst health is so cheaply to be purchased." after having disposed of a few packets, the doctor told the company, that as this was the last time of his appearing at ashbourn (other parts of the kingdom claiming a part in his patriotic labours), he was determined to make a present to all those who had been his patients, of a shilling a-piece. he therefore called upon all those who could produce any one of dr. stubbs's bottles, pill-boxes, plaisters, or even his hand-bills, to make their appearance, and partake of his generosity. this produced no small degree of expectation amongst those that had been the doctor's customers, who gathered round him, with their hands stretched out, and with wishful looks. "here, gentlemen," says the doctor, "stand forth! hold up your hands. i promised to give you a shilling a-piece. i will immediately per-; form my promise. here's my balsamum stubbianum; which i have hitherto sold at eighteen-pence the bottle, you shall now have it for sixpence." "come! gemmen," says the merry-andrew, "where are you? be quick! don't stand in your own light. you'll never have such another opportunity--as long as you live." the people looked upon each other with an air of disappointment. some shook their heads, some grinned at the conceit, and others uttered their execrations--some few, however, who had been unwilling to throw away eighteen-pence upon the experiment, ventured to give a single sixpence; and the doctor picked up eight or nine shillings more by this stratagem, which was more than the intrinsic value of his horse-load of medicines. [illustration: ] this egregious quack conceiving that he had now squeezed the last farthing out of his audience, commenced his retreat from the crowd with his usual solemnity of deportment, and mock-heroic dignity; when a sly countryman, who had stood near him for some time, and had listened with a less than ordinary portion of credulity, nay, who had, indeed, more than once lifted up his eyes in token of disbelief, and curved his mouth into an arch of humourous contempt--raised a pitchfork which he had been leaning upon, and urged it into the posterior of the poor beast, who was condemned to crawl underneath the doctor and his baggage.--this rozinante no sooner felt the insidious prick, than; bent on revenge, she raised her heels with deadly intent; but in order to raise her heels, the old creature found it necessary to lower her head, when the doctor took that opportunity, which to say the truth, he could not avoid, of toppling over her shoulders. while the medical gentleman was performing his somerset in the air, amidst a shower of his own bottles, to the manifest delight of the multitude, who shouted and screamed with joy, and pelted him with stones, and mud, and filth--purely out of the extacy of their gratification, another well disposed patient taking advantage of the moment, presented a besom to the merry andrew, and fairly swept him from the horse-block, on which he was capering, among his master's bottles, gallipots, and nostrums, which now bestrewed the pavement.--after a few minutes floundering, the faithful pair regained their legs, and gathering up the remnants of their trade, retreated to their inn with all convenient speed, amidst the huzzas and laughter of the mob. [illustration: ] point ix. a new way to pay old debts, _a scene from "les barons de felsheim."_ one evening that those heroes, the baron of felsheim and brandt, were reclined on their beds, beginning to drink freely, relating their high feats, and, with becoming modesty, comparing themselves to nothing less than an eugene or a marlborough, brandt was on a sudden struck with a sort of inspiration.--"we are very comfortable here," said he to the baron.--"very well indeed," replied ferdinand xv. with a slight symptom of ebriety.--"no more guard at night."--"no longer compelled to drink water."--"no more black bread, colonel."--"no more frenchmen, brandt, though we beat them sometimes, eh?"--"aye, but with the loss of an eye." --"and my poor arm, you have not forgot that?"--"no more than i have your leg."--"my leg, my leg, ah! that was a sad affair."--"your health, colonel." "your's, brandt."--"i foresee but one little accident, my lord, that can disturb our present felicity."--"what's that?"--"o nothing, a mere trifle.--i was thinking that the good jews of franckfort may, if they please, turn the baron of felsheim out of his own castle."--"faith! i had forgot those scoundrels," answered the baron, drinking a bumper; "however, you shall go to franckfort to-morrow morning, collect the rabble together, and bring them here. i will receive them in that famous tower, where witikind, with only thirty saxons, stopped, for three days, an army of one hundred thousand men, led by charlemagne in person. the place will inspire them with that veneration for my person which its shattered state no longer enforces."--"i will go, colonel."--"if they are reasonable--we will pay them."--"if they are not--we must sabre them."--"that is well said, brandt,--bravo!"--"let us drink, colonel."--"with all my heart." the next morning, at break of day, brandt saddled his horse, gallopped towards franckfort, assembled the israelites, imparted to them the good intentions of his master, appointed a day the colonel would be ready to receive them, and then returned to the castle. the punctuality of a good soldier to be at his post in the hour of battle, of a lover in keeping the first appointment of his mistress, or of a courtier at the levee, is not to be compared with the precision of a jew, who has money to receive. those of franckfort arrived on the appointed day, at the appointed hour, and long before the baron had slept himself sober. brandt went to inform him of the arrival of his creditors, assisted him in putting on a dressing-gown of blue velvet lined with green stuff, which descended from ferdinand xiii. and which ferdinand xiv. had never worn but to give his public audiences; tied his sabre over the said gown, placed his double-barrelled pistols in his belt, combed his whiskers, and put a white cap over that of dirty brown, which he commonly wore. the baron, thus accoutred, came forth from his bed-chamber, leaning on his squire's shoulder; walked majestically through two rows, formed by his creditors, and was followed by them to the tower of witikind. after depositing, on a worm-eaten table, his naked sword and his pistols, the baron seated himself in an immense arm-chair, stroked his whiskers, and spoke in the following terms:-- "rogues that you are; i have summoned you here to free myself from your importunities."--the jews made a profound reverence. "i have served the descendant of cæsar, who is no better than the descendant of witikind:--but, no matter, i have served him. i have been in want of money, and have subscribed to your own terms; now i hold the purse, and dictate in my turn. i will give you half what i owe you, provided you sign a receipt for the whole." the jews were shocked at this proposal, and were about to expostulate, but brandt, giving them a fierce look, imposed silence, and the baron repeated his offer. the creditors shook their heads, in token of discontent. ferdinand xv. swore, by his ancestors, that he would cause all the bailiffs, who should dare to approach his castle, to be thrown into the ditch, and brandt swore, by prince eugene, that he would immediately treat the saxon jews, as the arabian jews had treated the amalekites, if they did not agree to a compromise; on saying which, he brandished his sabre over the heads of the israelites, who continued, however, unintimidated. a jew has no fear for his head, when he trembles for his money. [illustration: ] the baron began to be uneasy, swore between his teeth, and was a little embarrassed, when brandt, who loved gentle means as well as any body, when he found nothing else would succeed, advised the colonel to leave the room, took up the pistols, went out himself by a postern door, threatened to blow out the brains of the first who should dare to move, and shut up the israelites in the tower. although they passed a great part of the day without food, they still continued obstinate. at length their physical thirst equalled their thirst for gold, and they endeavoured to move the iron bars, which ferdinand xi. had fixed to the windows. the relentless brandt, who was armed with a double-barrelled gun, and who kept a sharp look-out, opposed himself so warmly to their attempt that they were obliged to abandon it. they then asked for quarter, but brandt's only reply was, "will you take the half of your money?" the jews signified their dissent by withdrawing from the window. when night approached, brandt, fearing to be surprised, lighted a fire at the foot of the tower, and he and the jews spent the hours in watching each other's motions. the next morning, the prisoners began to feel the cravings of nature, and one of them demanded a parley. "will you have half?" was again the demand of the inflexible brandt. "we will take two thirds," said a voice. brandt pretended not to hear it, and continued to walk to and fro, with his musket on his shoulder. at twelve o'clock, the jews, no longer able to resist the hunger which tormented them, requested another conference; and, with seeming reluctance, agreed to take the half of their debt. "you shall have but one third," replied brandt; "and, if you do not capitulate instantly, you shall have nothing." about four, a jew, almost fainting, said, "give us the half."--"you shall have but a quarter," said brandt. "well, let us conclude for a quarter," replied the israelite: "there are christians possessed of less mercy than jews." brandt ran immediately to fetch some paper and a small ink-stand, tied the whole at the end of a long pole, which he presented to the prisoners, and ordered them to give a receipt for three parts of the debt, which was executed instantly, and he received it back by the same conveyance. he carried this valuable acquisition to the baron, from whom he received a small bag of imperial florins, came back to the tower, paid the remaining quarter, and was particularly careful in obtaining the title-deeds. he then conducted the jews to the door, with great civility, and they departed, wishing him most heartily at the devil. by way of rejoicing, for the very economical manner in which the baron had discharged his debts, brandt placed upon the table a large piece of smoked bacon, and an old cock roasted; and it was agreed, for once, that they should begin to drink at five o'clock, even at the risk of not finding their way to bed until the next morning. point x. _a scene from shakspeare._ _enter fluellen and gower._ _gow._ nay, that's right: but why wear you your leek to day? st. david's day is past. _flu_. there is occasions and causes why and wherefore in all things; i will tell you as a friend, captain gower; the rascally, scauld, beggarly, lowsie, pragging knave pistol, which you and yourself and all the world know to be no petter than a fellow (look you now) of no merits; he is come to me and prings me pread and salt yesterday, look you, and bid me eat my leek. it was in a place where i could breed no contentions with him; but i will be so pold as to wear it in my cap, till i see him once again; and then i will tell him a little piece of my desires. _enter pistol._ _gow_. why, here he comes, swelling like a turky-cock. _flu._ 'tis no matter for his swelling, nor his turky-cocks. god plesse you, aunchient pistol: you scurvy, lowsie knave, god plesse you. _pist_. ha! art thou bedlam? dost thou thirst, base trojan, to have me fold up parca's fatal web? hence, i am qualmish at the smell of leek. _flu._ i peseech you heartily, scurvy, lowsie knave, at my desires, and my requests, and my petitions, to eat, look you, this leek: because, look you, you do not love it; and your affections, and your appetites, and your digestions, does not agree with it; i would desire you to eat it. [illustration: ] _pist._ not for cadwallader and all his goats. _flu_. there is one goat for you, [strikes him.] will you be so good, scald knave, as eat it? _pist_. base trojan, thou shalt die. _flu._ you say very true, scald knave, when god's will is: i will desire you to live in the mean time and eat your victuals; come, there is sawce for it---- [strikes him] you call'd me yesterday, mountain-squire, but i will make you to day a squire of low degree. i pray you, fall to; if you can mock a leek, you can eat a leek. _gow_. enough, captain; you have astonish'd him. _flu_. i say, i will make him eat some part of my leek, or i will peat his pate four days and four nights. pite, i pray you; it is good for your green wound and your ploody coxcomb. _pist._ must i bite? _flu_. yes, out of doubt, and out of questions too, and ambiguities.-- _pist_. by this leek, i will most horribly revenge; i eat and swear---- _flu_. eat, i pray you; will you have some more sawce to your leek? there is not enough leek to swear by. . _pist._ quiet thy cudgel; thou dost see, i eat. _flu._ much good do you, scald knave, heartily. nay, pray you, throw none away, the skin is good for your proken coxcomb: when you take occasions to see leeks hereafter, i pray you, mock at 'em, that's all. _pist_. good. _flu._ ay, leeks is good; hold you, there is a groat to heal your pate. _pist._ me a groat! _flu_. yes, verily, and in truth, you shall take it; or i have another leek in my pocket, which you shall eat. _pist._ i take thy groat in earnest of revenge. _flu_. if i owe you any thing, i will pay you in cudgels; you shall be a woodmonger, and buy nothing of me but cudgels; god pe wi' you, and keep you, and heal your pate. [exit.] _pist._ all hell shall stir for this. _gore_. go, go, you are a counterfeit cowardly knave: will you mock at an antient tradition, began upon an honourable respect, and worn as a memorable trophy of predeceased valour, and dare not avouch in your deeds any of your words? i have seen you gleeking and galling at this gentleman twice or thrice. you thought, because he could not speak english in the native garb, he could not therefore handle an english cudgel; you find it otherwise; and henceforth let a welsh correction teach you a good english condition: fare you well. [exit.] [illustration: ] [illustration: lobo, rag, and vixen] lobo, rag, and vixen and pictures by ernest seton-thompson author of "wild animals i have known," "art anatomy of animals," etc. being the personal histories of lobo redruff raggylug & vixen new york charles scribner's sons _note to the reader_ _these stories, selected from those published in "wild animals i have known," are true histories of the animals described, and are intended to show how their lives are lived. though the lower animals have no language in the full sense as we understand it, they have a system of sounds, signs, touches, tastes, and smells that answers the purpose of language, and i merely translate this, when necessary, into english._ _ernest seton-thompson fifth avenue, new york may , _ illustrations facing page lobo and blanca . . . . . . redruff saving runtie . . . mammy! mammy! . . . . . . . they tussled and fought . . lobo the king of currumpaw i currumpaw is a vast cattle range in northern new mexico. it is a land of rich pastures and teeming flocks and herds, a land of rolling mesas and precious running waters that at length unite in the currumpaw river, from which the whole region is named. and the king whose despotic power was felt over its entire extent was an old gray wolf. old lobo, or the king, as the mexicans called him, was the gigantic leader of a remarkable pack of gray wolves, that had ravaged the currumpaw valley for a number of years. all the shepherds and ranchmen knew him well, and, wherever he appeared with his trusty band, terror reigned supreme among the cattle, and wrath and despair among their owners. old lobo was a giant among wolves, and was cunning and strong in proportion to his size. his voice at night was well-known and easily distinguished from that of any of his fellows. an ordinary wolf might howl half the night about the herdsman's bivouac without attracting more than a passing notice, but when the deep roar of the old king came booming down the cañon, the watcher bestirred himself and prepared to learn in the morning that fresh and serious inroads had been made among the herds. old lobo's band was but a small one. this i never quite understood, for usually, when a wolf rises to the position and power that he had, he attracts a numerous following. it may be that he had as many as he desired, or perhaps his ferocious temper prevented the increase of his pack. certain is it that lobo had only five followers during the latter part of his reign. each of these, however, was a wolf of renown, most of them were above the ordinary size, one in particular, the second in command, was a veritable giant, but even he was far below the leader in size and prowess. several of the band, besides the two leaders, were especially noted. one of those was a beautiful white wolf, that the mexicans called blanca; this was supposed to be a female, possibly lobo's mate. another was a yellow wolf of remarkable swiftness, which, according to current stories, had, on several occasions, captured an antelope for the pack. it will be seen, then, that these wolves were thoroughly well-known to the cowboys and shepherds. they were frequently seen and oftener heard, and their lives were intimately associated with those of the cattlemen, who would so gladly have destroyed them. there was not a stockman on the currumpaw who would not readily have given the value of many steers for the scalp of any one of lobo's band, but they seemed to possess charmed lives, and defied all manner of devices to kill them. they scorned all hunters, derided all poisons, and continued, for at least five years, to exact their tribute from the currumpaw ranchers to the extent, many said, of a cow each day. according to this estimate, therefore, the band had killed more than two thousand of the finest stock, for, as was only too well-known, they selected the best in every instance. the old idea that a wolf was constantly in a starving state, and therefore ready to eat anything, was as far as possible from the truth in this case, for these freebooters were always sleek and well-conditioned, and were in fact most fastidious about what they ate. any animal that had died from natural causes, or that was diseased or tainted, they would not touch, and they even rejected anything that had been killed by the stockmen. their choice and daily food was the tenderer part of a freshly killed yearling heifer. an old bull or cow they disdained, and though they occasionally took a young calf or colt, it was quite clear that veal or horseflesh was not their favorite diet. it was also known that they were not fond of mutton, although they often amused themselves by killing sheep. one night in november, , blanca and the yellow wolf killed two hundred and fifty sheep, apparently for the fun of it, and did not eat an ounce of their flesh. these are examples of many stories which i might repeat, to show the ravages of this destructive band. many new devices for their extinction were tried each year, but still they lived and throve in spite of all the efforts of their foes. a great price was set on lobo's head, and in consequence poison in a score of subtle forms was put out for him, but he never failed to detect and avoid it. one thing only he feared--that was firearms, and knowing full well that all men in this region carried them, he never was known to attack or face a human being. indeed, the set policy of his band was to take refuge in flight whenever, in the daytime, a man was descried, no matter at what distance. lobo's habit of permitting the pack to eat only that which they themselves had killed, was in numerous cases their salvation, and the keenness of his scent to detect the taint of human hands or the poison itself, completed their immunity. on one occasion, one of the cowboys heard the too familiar rallying-cry of old lobo, and stealthily approaching, he found the currumpaw pack in a hollow, where they had 'rounded up' a small herd of cattle. lobo sat apart on a knoll, while blanca with the rest was endeavoring to 'cut out' a young cow, which they had selected; but the cattle were standing in a compact mass with their heads outward, and presented to the foe a line of horns, unbroken save when some cow, frightened by a fresh onset of the wolves, tried to retreat into the middle of the herd. it was only by taking advantage of these breaks that the wolves had succeeded at all in wounding the selected cow, but she was far from being disabled, and it seemed that lobo at length lost patience with his followers, for he left his position on the hill, and, uttering a deep roar, dashed toward the herd. the terrified rank broke at his charge, and he sprang in among them. then the cattle scattered like the pieces of a bursting bomb. away went the chosen victim, but ere she had gone twenty-five yards lobo was upon her. seizing her by the neck he suddenly held back with all his force and so threw her heavily to the ground. the shock must have been tremendous, for the heifer was thrown heels over head. lobo also turned a somersault, but immediately recovered himself, and his followers falling on the poor cow, killed her in a few seconds. lobo took no part in the killing--after having thrown the victim, he seemed to say, "now, why could not some of you have done that at once without wasting so much time?" the man now rode up shouting, the wolves as usual retired, and he, having a bottle of strychnine, quickly poisoned the carcass in three places, then went away, knowing they would return to feed, as they had killed the animals themselves. but next morning, on going to look for his expected victims, he found that, although the wolves had eaten the heifer, they had carefully cut out and thrown aside all those parts that had been poisoned. the dread of this great wolf spread yearly among the ranchmen, and each year a larger price was set on his head, until at last it reached $ , , an unparalleled wolf-bounty, surely; many a good man has been hunted down for less. tempted by the promised reward, a texan ranger named tannerey came one day galloping up the cañon of the currumpaw. he had a superb outfit for wolf-hunting--the best of guns and horses, and a pack of enormous wolf-hounds. far out on the plains of the panhandle, he and his dogs had killed many a wolf, and now he never doubted that, within a few days, old lobo's scalp would dangle at his saddle-bow. away they went bravely on their hunt in the gray dawn of a summer morning, and soon the great dogs gave joyous tongue to say that they were already on the track of their quarry. within two miles, the grizzly band of currumpaw leaped into view, and the chase grew fast and furious. the part of the wolf-hounds was merely to hold the wolves at bay till the hunter could ride up and shoot them, and this usually was easy on the open plains of texas; but here a new feature of the country came into play, and showed how well lobo had chosen his range; for the rocky cañons of the currumpaw and its tributaries intersect the prairies in every direction. the old wolf at once made for the nearest of these and by crossing it got rid of the horsemen. his band then scattered and thereby scattered the dogs, and when they reunited at a distant point of course all of the dogs did not turn up, and the wolves, no longer outnumbered, turned on their pursuers and killed or desperately wounded them all. that night when tannerey mustered his dogs, only six of them returned, and of these, two were terribly lacerated. this hunter made two other attempts to capture the royal scalp, but neither of them was more successful than the first, and on the last occasion his best horse met its death by a fall; so he gave up the chase in disgust and went back to texas, leaving lobo more than ever the despot of the region. next year, two other hunters appeared, determined to win the promised bounty. each believed he could destroy this noted wolf, the first by means of a newly devised poison, which was to be laid out in an entirely new manner; the other a french canadian, by poison assisted with certain spells and charms, for he firmly believed that lobo was a veritable 'loup-garou,' and could not be killed by ordinary means. but cunningly compounded poisons, charms, and incantations were all of no avail against this grizzly devastator. he made his weekly rounds and daily banquets as aforetime, and before many weeks had passed, calone and laloche gave up in despair and went elsewhere to hunt. in the spring of , after his unsuccessful attempt to capture lobo, joe calone had a humiliating experience, which seems to show that the big wolf simply scorned his enemies, and had absolute confidence in himself. calone's farm was on a small tributary of the currumpaw, in a picturesque cañon, and among the rocks of this very cañon, within a thousand yards of the house, old lobo and his mate selected their den and raised their family that season. there they lived all summer, and killed joe's cattle, sheep, and dogs, but laughed at all his poisons and traps, and rested securely among the recesses of the cavernous cliffs, while joe vainly racked his brain for some method of smoking them out, or of reaching them with dynamite. but they escaped entirely unscathed, and continued their ravages as before. "there's where he lived all last summer," said joe, pointing to the face of the cliff, "and i couldn't do a thing with him. i was like a fool to him." ii this history, gathered so far from the cowboys, i found hard to believe until, in the fall of , i made the acquaintance of the wily marauder, and at length came to know him more thoroughly than anyone else. some years before, in the bingo days, i had been a wolf-hunter, but my occupations since then had been of another sort, chaining me to stool and desk. i was much in need of a change, and when a friend, who was also a ranch-owner on the currumpaw, asked me to come to new mexico and try if i could do anything with this predatory pack, i accepted the invitation and, eager to make the acquaintance of its king, was as soon as possible among the mesas of that region. i spent some time riding about to learn the country, and at intervals, my guide would point to the skeleton of a cow to which the hide still adhered, and remark, "that's some of his work." it became quite clear to me that, in this rough country, it was useless to think of pursuing lobo with hounds and horses, so that poison or traps were the only available expedients. at present we had no traps large enough, so i set to work with poison. i need not enter into the details of a hundred devices that i employed to circumvent this 'loup-garou'; there was no combination of strychnine, arsenic, cyanide, or prussic acid, that i did not essay; there was no manner of flesh that i did not try as bait; but morning after morning, as i rode forth to learn the result, i found that all my efforts had been useless. the old king was too cunning for me. a single instance will show his wonderful sagacity. acting on the hint of an old trapper, i melted some cheese together with the kidney fat of a freshly killed heifer, stewing it in a china dish, and cutting it with a bone knife to avoid the taint of metal. when the mixture was cool, i cut it into lumps, and making a hole in one side of each lump, i inserted a large dose of strychnine and cyanide, contained in a capsule that was impermeable by any odor; finally i sealed the holes up with pieces of the cheese itself. during the whole process, i wore a pair of gloves steeped in the hot blood of the heifer, and even avoided breathing on the baits. when all was ready, i put them in a raw-hide bag rubbed all over with blood, and rode forth dragging the liver and kidneys of the beef at the end of a rope. with this i made a ten-mile circuit, dropping a bait at each quarter of a mile, and taking the utmost care, always, not to touch any with my hands. lobo, generally, came into this part of the range in the early part of each week, and passed the latter part, it was supposed, around the base of sierra grande. this was monday, and that same evening, as we were about to retire, i heard the deep bass howl of his majesty. on hearing it one of the boys briefly remarked, "there he is, we'll see." the next morning i went forth, eager to know the result. i soon came on the fresh trail of the robbers, with lobo in the lead--his track was always easily distinguished. an ordinary wolf's forefoot is - / inches long, that of a large wolf - / inches, but lobo's, as measured a number of times, was - / inches from claw to heel; i afterward found that his other proportions were commensurate, for he stood three feet high at the shoulder, and weighed pounds. his trail, therefore, though obscured by those of his followers, was never difficult to trace. the pack had soon found the track of my drag, and as usual followed it. i could see that lobo had come to the first bait, sniffed about it, and had finally picked it up. then i could not conceal my delight. "i've got him at last," i exclaimed; "i shall find him stark within a mile," and i galloped on with eager eyes fixed on the great broad track in the dust. it led me to the second bait and that also was gone. how i exulted--i surely have him now and perhaps several of his band. but there was the broad paw-mark still on the drag; and though i stood in the stirrup and scanned the plain i saw nothing that looked like a dead wolf. again i followed--to find now that the third bait was gone--and the king-wolf's track led on to the fourth, there to learn that he had not really taken a bait at all, but had merely carried them in his mouth. then having piled the three on the fourth, he scattered filth over them to express his utter contempt for my devices. after this he left my drag and went about his business with the pack he guarded so effectively. this is only one of many similar experiences which convinced me that poison would never avail to destroy this robber, and though i continued to use it while awaiting the arrival of the traps, it was only because it was meanwhile a sure means of killing many prairie wolves and other destructive vermin. about this time there came under my observation an incident that will illustrate lobo's diabolic cunning. these wolves had at least one pursuit which was merely an amusement, it was stampeding and killing sheep, though they rarely ate them. the sheep are usually kept in flocks of from one thousand to three thousand under one or more shepherds. at night they are gathered in the most sheltered place available, and a herdsman sleeps on each side of the flock to give additional protection. sheep are such senseless creatures that they are liable to be stampeded by the veriest trifle, but they have deeply ingrained in their nature one, and perhaps only one, strong weakness, namely, to follow their leader. and this the shepherds turn to good account by putting half a dozen goats in the flock of sheep. the latter recognize the superior intelligence of their bearded cousins, and when a night alarm occurs they crowd around them, and usually, are thus saved from a stampede and are easily protected. but it was not always so. one night late in last november, two perico shepherds were aroused by an onset of wolves. their flocks huddled around the goats, which being neither fools nor cowards, stood their ground and were bravely defiant; but alas for them, no common wolf was heading this attack. old lobo, the weir-wolf, knew as well as the shepherds that the goats were the moral force of the flock, so hastily running over the backs of the densely packed sheep, he fell on these leaders, slew them all in a few minutes, and soon had the luckless sheep stampeding in a thousand different directions. for weeks afterward i was almost daily accosted by some anxious shepherd, who asked, "have you seen any stray oto sheep lately?" and usually i was obliged to say i had; one day it was, "yes, i came on some five or six carcasses by diamond springs;" or another, it was to the effect that i had seen a small 'bunch' running on the malpai mesa; or again, "no, but juan meira saw about twenty, freshly killed, on the cedra monte two days ago." at length the wolf traps arrived, and with two men i worked a whole week to get them properly set out. we spared no labor or pains, i adopted every device i could think of that might help to insure success. the second day after the traps arrived, i rode around to inspect, and soon came upon lobo's trail running from trap to trap. in the dust i could read the whole story of his doings that night. he had trotted along in the darkness, and although the traps were so carefully concealed, he had instantly detected the first one. stopping the onward march of the pack, he had cautiously scratched around it until he had disclosed the trap, the chain, and the log, then left them wholly exposed to view with the trap still unsprung, and passing on he treated over a dozen traps in the same fashion. very soon i noticed that he stopped and turned aside as soon as he detected suspicious signs on the trail, and a new plan to outwit him at once suggested itself. i set the traps in the form of an h; that is, with a row of traps on each side of the trail, and one on the trail for the cross-bar of the h. before long, i had an opportunity to count another failure. lobo came trotting along the trail, and was fairly between the parallel lines before he detected the single trap in the trail, but he stopped in time, and why and how he knew enough i cannot tell; the angel of the wild things must have been with him, but without turning an inch to the right or left, he slowly and cautiously backed on his own tracks, putting each paw exactly in its old track until he was off the dangerous ground. then returning at one side he scratched clods and stones with his hind feet till he had sprung every trap. this he did on many other occasions, and although i varied my methods and redoubled my precautions, he was never deceived, his sagacity seemed never at fault, and he might have been pursuing his career of rapine to-day, but for an unfortunate alliance that proved his ruin and added his name to the long list of heroes who, unassailable when alone, have fallen through the indiscretion of a trusted ally. [illustration: lobo and blanca.] iii once or twice, i had found indications that everything was not quite right in the currumpaw pack. there were signs of irregularity, i thought; for instance there was clearly the trail of a smaller wolf running ahead of the leader, at times, and this i could not understand until a cowboy made a remark which explained the matter. "i saw them to-day," he said, "and the wild one that breaks away is blanca." then the truth dawned upon me, and i added, "now, i know that blanca is a she-wolf, because were a he-wolf to act thus, lobo would kill him at once." this suggested a new plan. i killed a heifer, and set one or two rather obvious traps about the carcass. then cutting off the head, which is considered useless offal, and quite beneath the notice of a wolf, i set it a little apart and around it placed six powerful steel traps properly deodorized and concealed with the utmost care. during my operations i kept my hands, boots, and implements smeared with fresh blood, and afterward sprinkled the ground with the same, as though it had flowed from the head; and when the traps were buried in the dust i brushed the place over with the skin of a coyote, and with a foot of the same animal made a number of tracks over the traps. the head was so placed that there was a narrow passage between it and some tussocks, and in this passage i buried two of my best traps, fastening them to the head itself. wolves have the habit of approaching every carcass they get the wind of, in order to examine it, even when they have no intention of eating it, and i hoped that this habit would bring the currumpaw pack within reach of my latest stratagem. i did not doubt that lobo would detect my handiwork about the meat, and prevent the pack approaching it, but i did build some hopes on the head, for it looked as though it had been thrown aside as useless. next morning, i sallied forth to inspect the traps, and there, oh, joy! were the tracks of the pack, and the place where the beef-head and its traps had been was empty. a hasty study of the trail showed that lobo had kept the pack from approaching the meat, but one, a small wolf, had evidently gone on to examine the head as it lay apart and had walked right into one of the traps. we set out on the trail, and within a mile discovered that the hapless wolf was blanca. away she went, however, at a gallop, and although encumbered by the beef-head, which weighed over fifty pounds, she speedily distanced my companion who was on foot. but we overtook her when she reached the rocks, for the horns of the cow's head became caught and held her fast. she was the handsomest wolf i had ever seen. her coat was in perfect condition and nearly white. she turned to fight, and raising her voice in the rallying cry of her race, sent a long howl rolling over the cañon. from far away upon the mesa came a deep response, the cry of old lobo. that was her last call, for now we had closed in on her, and all her energy and breath were devoted to combat. then followed the inevitable tragedy, the idea of which i shrank from afterward more than at the time. we each threw a lasso over the neck of the doomed wolf, and strained our horses in opposite directions until the blood burst from her mouth, her eyes glazed, her limbs stiffened and then fell limp. homeward then we rode, carrying the dead wolf, and exulting over this, the first death-blow we had been able to inflict on the currumpaw pack. at intervals during the tragedy, and afterward as we rode homeward, we heard the roar of lobo as he wandered about on the distant mesas, where he seemed to be searching for blanca. he had never really deserted her, but knowing that he could not save her, his deep-rooted dread of firearms had been too much for him when he saw us approaching. all that day we heard him wailing as he roamed in his quest, and i remarked at length to one of the boys, "now, indeed, i truly know that blanca was his mate." as evening fell he seemed to be coming toward the home cañon, for his voice sounded continually nearer. there was an unmistakable note of sorrow in it now. it was no longer the loud, defiant howl, but a long, plaintive wail: "blanca! blanca!" he seemed to call. and as night came down, i noticed that he was not far from the place where we had overtaken her. at length he seemed to find the trail, and when he came to the spot where we had killed her, his heart-broken wailing was piteous to hear. it was sadder than i could possibly have believed. even the stolid cowboys noticed it, and said they had "never heard a wolf carry on like that before." he seemed to know exactly what had taken place, for her blood had stained the place of her death. then he took up the trail of the horses and followed it to the ranch-house. whether in hopes of finding her there, or in quest of revenge, i know not, but the latter was what he found, for he surprised our unfortunate watchdog outside and tore him to little bits within fifty yards of the door. he evidently came alone this time, for i found but one trail next morning, and he had galloped about in a reckless manner that was very unusual with him. i had half expected this, and had set a number of additional traps about the pasture. afterward i found that he had indeed fallen into one of these, but such was his strength, he had torn himself loose and cast it aside. i believed that he would continue in the neighborhood until he found her body at least, so i concentrated all my energies on this one enterprise of catching him before he left the region, and while yet in this reckless mood. then i realized what a mistake i had made in killing blanca, for by using her as a decoy i might have secured him the next night. i gathered in all the traps i could command, one hundred and thirty strong steel wolf-traps, and set them in fours in every trail that led into the cañon; each trap was separately fastened to a log, and each log was separately buried. in burying them, i carefully removed the sod and every particle of earth that was lifted we put in blankets, so that after the sod was replaced and all was finished the eye could detect no trace of human handiwork. when the traps were concealed i trailed the body of poor blanca over each place, and made of it a drag that circled all about the ranch, and finally i took off one of her paws and made with it a line of tracks over each trap. every precaution and device known to me i used, and retired at a late hour to await the result. once during the night i thought i heard old lobo, but was not sure of it. next day i rode around, but darkness came on before i completed the circuit of the north cañon, and i had nothing to report. at supper one of the cowboys said, "there was a great row among the cattle in the north cañon this morning, maybe there is something in the traps there." it was afternoon of the next day before i got to the place referred to, and as i drew near a great grizzly form arose from the ground, vainly endeavoring to escape, and there revealed before me stood lobo, king of the currumpaw, firmly held in the traps. poor old hero, he had never ceased to search for his darling, and when he found the trail her body had made he followed it recklessly, and so fell into the snare prepared for him. there he lay in the iron grasp of all four traps, perfectly helpless, and all around him were numerous tracks showing how the cattle had gathered about him to insult the fallen despot, without daring to approach within his reach. for two days and two nights he had lain there, and now was worn out with struggling. yet, when i went near him, he rose up with bristling mane and raised his voice, and for the last time made the cañon reverberate with his deep bass roar, a call for help, the muster call of his band. but there was none to answer him, and, left alone in his extremity, he whirled about with all his strength and made a desperate effort to get at me. all in vain, each trap was a dead drag of over three hundred pounds, and in their relentless fourfold grasp, with great steel jaws on every foot, and the heavy logs and chains all entangled together, he was absolutely powerless. how his huge ivory tusks did grind on those cruel chains, and when i ventured to touch him with my rifle-barrel he left grooves on it which are there to this day. his eyes glared green with hate and fury, and his jaws snapped with a hollow 'chop,' as he vainly endeavored to reach me and my trembling horse. but he was worn out with hunger and struggling and loss of blood, and he soon sank exhausted to the ground. something like compunction came over me, as i prepared to deal out to him that which so many had suffered at his hands. "grand old outlaw, hero of a thousand lawless raids, in a few minutes you will be but a great load of carrion. it cannot be otherwise." then i swung my lasso and sent it whistling over his head. but not so fast; he was yet far from being subdued, and, before the supple coils had fallen on his neck he seized the noose and, with one fierce chop, cut through its hard thick strands, and dropped it in two pieces at his feet. of course i had my rifle as a last resource, but i did not wish to spoil his royal hide, so i galloped back to the camp and returned with a cowboy and a fresh lasso. we threw to our victim a stick of wood which he seized in his teeth, and before he could relinquish it our lassoes whistled through the air and tightened on his neck. yet before the light had died from his fierce eyes, i cried, "stay, we will not kill him; let us take him alive to the camp." he was so completely powerless now that it was easy to put a stout stick through his mouth, behind his tusks, and then lash his jaws with a heavy cord which was also fastened to the stick. the stick kept the cord in, and the cord kept the stick in, so he was harmless. as soon as he felt his jaws were tied he made no further resistance, and uttered no sound, but looked calmly at us and seemed to say, "well, you have got me at last, do as you please with me." and from that time he took no more notice of us. we tied his feet securely, but he never groaned, nor growled, nor turned his head. then with our united strength we were just able to put him on my horse. his breath came evenly as though sleeping, and his eyes were bright and clear again, but did not rest on us. afar on the great rolling mesas they were fixed, his passing kingdom, where his famous band was now scattered. and he gazed till the pony descended the pathway into the cañon, and the rocks cut off the view. by travelling slowly we reached the ranch in safety, and after securing him with a collar and a strong chain, we staked him out in the pasture and removed the cords. then for the first time i could examine him closely, and proved how unreliable is vulgar report where a living hero or tyrant is concerned. he had _not_ a collar of gold about his neck, nor was there on his shoulders an inverted cross to denote that he had leagued himself with satan. but i did find on one haunch a great broad scar, that tradition says was the fang-mark of juno, the leader of tannerey's wolf-hounds--a mark which she gave him the moment before he stretched her lifeless on the sand of the cañon. * * * * * i set meat and water beside him, but he paid no heed. he lay calmly on his breast, and gazed with those steadfast yellow eyes away past me down through the gateway of the cañon, over the open plains--his plains--nor moved a muscle when i touched him. when the sun went down he was still gazing fixedly across the prairie. i expected he would call up his band when night came, and prepared for them, but he had called once in his extremity, and none had come; he would never call again. * * * * * a lion shorn of his strength, an eagle robbed of his freedom, or a dove bereft of his mate, all die, it is said, of a broken heart; and who will aver that this grim bandit could bear the threefold brunt, heart-whole? this only i know, that when the morning dawned, he was lying there still in his position of calm repose, but his spirit was gone-the old king-wolf was dead. * * * * * i took the chain from his neck, a cowboy helped me to carry him to the shed where lay the remains of blanca, and as we laid him beside her, the cattle-man exclaimed: "there, you _would_ come to her, now you are together again." redruff the story of the don valley partridge i down the wooded slope of taylor's hill the mother partridge led her brood; down toward the crystal brook that by some strange whim was called mud creek. her little ones were one day old but already quick on foot, and she was taking them for the first time to drink. she walked slowly, crouching low as she went, for the woods were full of enemies. she was uttering a soft little cluck in her throat, a call to the little balls of mottled down that on their tiny pink legs came toddling after, and peeping softly and plaintively if left even a few inches behind, and seeming so fragile they made the very chicadees look big and coarse. there were twelve of them, but mother grouse watched them all, and she watched every bush and tree and thicket, and the whole woods and the sky itself. always for enemies she seemed seeking--friends were too scarce to be looked for--and an enemy she found. away across the level beaver meadow was a great brute of a fox. he was coming their way, and in a few moments would surely wind them or strike their trail. there was no time to lose. '_krrr_! _krrr_! (hide! hide!) cried the mother in a low, firm voice, and the little bits of things, scarcely bigger than acorns and but a day old, scattered far (a few inches) apart to hide. one dived under a leaf, another between two roots, a third crawled into a curl of birch-bark, a fourth into a hole, and so on, till all were hidden but one who could find no cover, so squatted on a broad yellow chip and lay very flat, and closed his eyes very tight, sure that now he was safe from being seen. they ceased their frightened peeping and all was still. mother partridge flew straight toward the dreaded beast, alighted fearlessly a few yards to one side of him, and then flung herself on the ground, flopping as though winged and lame--oh, so dreadfully lame-and whining like a distressed puppy. was she begging for mercy--mercy from a bloodthirsty, cruel fox? oh, dear, no! she was no fool. one often hears of the cunning of the fox. wait and see what a fool he is compared with a mother-partridge. elated at the prize so suddenly within his reach, the fox turned with a dash and caught--at least, no, he didn't quite catch the bird; she flopped by chance just a foot out of reach. he followed with another jump and would have seized her this time surely, but somehow a sapling came just between, and the partridge dragged herself awkwardly away and under a log, but the great brute snapped his jaws and bounded over the log, while she, seeming a trifle less lame, made another clumsy forward spring and tumbled down a bank, and reynard, keenly following, almost caught her tail, but, oddly enough, fast as he went and leaped, she still seemed just a trifle faster. it was most extraordinary. a winged partridge and he, reynard, the swift-foot, had not caught her in five minutes' racing. it was really shameful. but the partridge seemed to gain strength as the fox put forth his, and after a quarter of a mile race, racing that was somehow all away from taylor's hill, the bird got unaccountably quite well, and, rising with a decisive whirr, flew off through the woods, leaving the fox utterly dumfounded to realize that he had been made a fool of, and, worst of all, he now remembered that this was not the first time he had been served this very trick, though he never knew the reason for it. meanwhile mother partridge skimmed in a great circle and came by a roundabout way back to the little fuzz-balls she had left hidden in the woods. with a wild bird's keen memory for places, she went to the very grass-blade she last trod on, and stood for a moment fondly to admire the perfect stillness of her children. even at her step not one had stirred, and the little fellow on the chip, not so very badly concealed after all, had not budged, nor did he now; he only closed his eyes a tiny little bit harder, till the mother said: '_k-reet_,' (come, children) and instantly, like a fairy story, every hole gave up its little baby-partridge, and the wee fellow on the chip, the biggest of them all really, opened his big-little eyes and ran to the shelter of her broad tail, with a sweet little '_peep peep_' which an enemy could not have heard three feet away, but which his mother could not have missed thrice as far, and all the other thimblefuls of down joined in, and no doubt thought themselves dreadfully noisy, and were proportionately happy. the sun was hot now. there was an open space to cross on the road to the water, and, after a careful lookout for enemies, the mother gathered the little things under the shadow of her spread fantail and kept off all danger of sunstroke until they reached the brier thicket by the stream. here a cottontail rabbit leaped out and gave them a great scare. but the flag of truce he carried behind was enough. he was an old friend; and among other things the little ones learned that day that bunny always sails under a flag of truce, and lives up to it too. and then came the drink, the purest of living water, though silly men had called it mud creek. at first the little fellows didn't know how to drink, but they copied their mother, and soon learned to drink like her and give thanks after every sip. there they stood in a row along the edge, twelve little brown and golden balls on twenty-four little pink-toed, in-turned feet, with twelve sweet little golden heads gravely bowing, drinking, and giving thanks like their mother. then she led them by short stages, keeping the cover, to the far side of the beaver-meadow, where was a great, grassy dome. the mother had made a note of this dome some time before. it takes a number of such domes to raise a brood of partridges. for this was an ant's nest. the old one stepped on top, looked about a moment, then gave half a dozen vigorous rakes with her claws. the friable ant-hilt was broken open, and the earthen galleries scattered in ruins down the slope. the ants swarmed out and quarrelled with each other for lack of a better plan. some ran around the hill with vast energy and little purpose, while a few of the more sensible began to carry away fat white eggs. but the old partridge, coming to the little ones, picked up one of these juicy-looking bags and clucked and dropped it, and picked it up again and again and clucked, then swallowed it. the young ones stood around, then one little yellow fellow, the one that sat on the chip, picked up an ant-egg, dropped it a few times, then yielding to a sudden impulse, swallowed it, and so had learned to eat. within twenty minutes even the runt had learned, and a merry time they had scrambling after the delicious eggs as their mother broke open more ant-galleries, and sent them and their contents rolling down the bank, till every little partridge had so crammed his little crop that he was positively misshapen and could eat no more. then all went cautiously up the stream, and on a sandy bank, well screened by brambles, they lay for all that afternoon, and learned how pleasant it was to feel the cool, powdery dust running between their hot little toes. with their strong bent for copying, they lay on their sides like their mother and scratched with their tiny feet and flopped with their wings, though they had no wings to flop with, only a little tag among the down on each side, to show where the wings would come. that night she took them to a dry thicket near by, and there among the crisp, dead leaves that would prevent an enemy's silent approach on foot, and under the interlacing briers that kept off all foes of the air, she cradled them in their feather-shingled nursery and rejoiced in the fulness of a mother's joy over the wee cuddling things that peeped in their steep and snuggled so trustfully against her warm body. ii the third day the chicks were much stronger on their feet. they no longer had to go around an acorn; they could even scramble over pine-cones, and on the little tags that marked the places for their wings, were now to be seen blue rows of fat blood-quills. their start in life was a good mother, good legs, a few reliable instincts, and a germ of reason. it was instinct, that is, inherited habit, which taught them to hide at the word from their mother; it was instinct that taught them to follow her, but it was reason which made them keep under the shadow of her tail when the sun was smiting down, and from that day reason entered more and more into their expanding lives. next day the blood-quills had sprouted the tips of feathers. on the next, the feathers were well out, and a week later the whole family of down-clad babies were strong on the wing. and yet not all--poor little runtie had been sickly from the first. he bore his half-shell on his back for hours after he came out; he ran less and cheeped more than his brothers, and when one evening at the onset of a skunk the mother gave the word '_kwit, kwit_' (fly, fly), runtie was left behind, and when she gathered her brood on the piney hill he was missing, and they saw him no more. meanwhile, their training had gone on. they knew that the finest grasshoppers abounded in the long grass by the brook; they knew that the currant-bushes dropped fatness in the form of smooth, green worms; they knew that the dome of an ant-hill rising against the distant woods stood for a garner of plenty; they knew that strawberries, though not really insects, were almost as delicious; they knew that the huge danaid butterflies were good, safe game, if they could only catch them, and that a slab of bark dropping from the side of a rotten log was sure to abound in good things of many different kinds; and they had learned, also, the yellow-jackets, mud-wasps, woolly worms, and hundred-leggers were better let alone. it was now july, the moon of berries. the chicks had grown and flourished amazingly during this last month, and were now so large that in her efforts to cover them the mother was kept standing all night. they took their daily dust-bath, but of late had changed to another higher on the hill. it was one in use by many different birds, and at first the mother disliked the idea of such a second-hand bath. but the dust was of such a fine, agreeable quality, and the children led the way with such enthusiasm, that she forgot her mistrust. after a fortnight the little ones began to droop and she herself did not feel very well. they were always hungry, and though they ate enormously, they one and all grew thinner and thinner. the mother was the last to be affected. but when it came, it came as hard on her--a ravenous hunger, a feverish headache, and a wasting weakness. she never knew the cause. she could not know that the dust of the much-used dust-bath, that her true instinct taught her to mistrust at first, and now again to shun, was sown with parasitic worms, and that all of the family were infested. no natural impulse is without a purpose. the mother-bird's knowledge of healing was only to follow natural impulse. the eager, feverish craving for something, she knew not what, led her to eat, or try, everything that looked eatable and to seek the coolest woods. and there she found a deadly sumach laden with its poison fruit. a month ago she would have passed it by, but now she tried the unattractive berries. the acrid burning juice seemed to answer some strange demand of her body; she ate and ate, and all her family joined in the strange feast of physic. no human doctor could have hit it better; it proved a biting, drastic purge, the dreadful secret foe was downed, the danger passed. but not for all--nature, the old nurse, had come too late for two of them. the weakest, by inexorable law, dropped out. enfeebled by the disease, the remedy was too severe for them. they drank and drank by the stream, and next morning did not move when the others followed the mother. strange vengeance was theirs now, for a skunk, the same that could have told where runtie went, found and devoured their bodies and died of the poison they had eaten. seven little partridges now obeyed the mother's call. their individual characters were early shown and now developed fast. the weaklings were gone, but there was still a fool and a lazy one. the mother could not help caring for some more than for others, and her favorite was the biggest, he who once sat on the yellow chip for concealment. he was not only the biggest, strongest, and handsomest of the brood, the best of all, the most obedient. his mother's warning '_rrrrr_' (danger) did not always keep the others from a risky path or a doubtful food, but obedience seemed natural to him, and he never failed to respond to her soft '_k-reet_' (come), and of this obedience he reaped the reward, for his days were longest in the land. august, the molting moon, went by; the young ones were now three parts grown. they knew just enough to think themselves wonderfully wise. when they were small it was necessary to sleep on the ground so their mother could shelter them, but now they were too big to need that, and the mother began to introduce grown-up ways of life. it was time to roost in the trees. the young weasels, foxes, skunks, and minks were beginning to run. the ground grew more dangerous each night, so at sundown mother partridge called '_k-reet_' and flew into a thick, low tree. the little ones followed, except one, an obstinate little fool who persisted in sleeping on the ground as heretofore. it was all right that time, but the next night his brothers were awakened by his cries. there was a slight scuffle, then stillness, broken only by a horrid sound of crunching bones and a smacking of lips. they peered down into the terrible darkness below, where the glint of two close-set eyes and a peculiar musty smell told them that a mink was the killer of their fool brother. six little partridges now sat in a row at night, with their mother in the middle, though it was not unusual for some little one with cold feet to perch on her back. their education went on, and about this time they were taught 'whirring.' a partridge can rise on the wing silently if it wishes, but whirring is so important at times that all are taught how and when to rise on thundering wings. many ends are gained by the whirr. it warns all other partridges near that danger is at hand, it unnerves the gunner, or it fixes the foe's attention on the whirrer, while the others sneak off in silence, or by squatting, escape notice. a partridge adage might well be 'foes and food for every moon.' september came, with seeds and grain in place of berries and ant-eggs, and gunners in place of skunks and minks. the partridges knew well what a fox was, but had scarcely seen a dog. a fox they knew they could easily baffle by taking to a tree, but when in the gunner moon old cuddy came prowling through the ravine with his bob-tailed yellow cur, the mother spied the dog and cried out _kwit! kwit_!" (fly, fly). two of the brood thought it a pity their mother should lose her wits so easily over a fox, and were pleased to show their superior nerve by springing into a tree in spite of her earnestly repeated '_kwit! kwit!_' and her example of speeding away on silent wings. meanwhile, the strange bob-tailed fox came under the tree and yapped and yapped at them. they were much amused at him and at their mother and brothers, so much so that they never noticed a rustling in the bushes till there was a loud _bang! bang!_ and down fell two bloody, flopping partridges, to be seized and mangled by the yellow cur until the gunner ran from the bushes and rescued the remains. iii cuddy lived in a wretched shanty near the don, north of toronto. his was what greek philosophy would have demonstrated to be an ideal existence. he had no wealth, no taxes, no social pretensions, and no property to speak of. his life was made up of a very little work and a great deal of play, with as much out-door life as he chose. he considered himself a true sportsman because he was 'fond o' huntin',' and 'took a sight o' comfort out of seein' the critters hit the mud' when his gun was fired. the neighbors called him a squatter, and looked on him merely as an anchored tramp. he shot and trapped the year round, and varied his game somewhat with the season perforce, but had been heard to remark he could tell the month by the 'taste o' the patridges,' if he didn't happen to know by the almanac. this, no doubt, showed keen observation, but was also unfortunate proof of something not so creditable. the lawful season for murdering partridges began september th, but there was nothing surprising in cuddy's being out a fortnight ahead of time. yet he managed to escape punishment year after year, and even contrived to pose in a newspaper interview as an interesting character. he rarely shot on the wing, preferring to pot his birds, which was not easy to do when the leaves were on, and accounted for the brood in the third ravine going so long unharmed; but the near prospect of other gunners finding them now, had stirred him to go after 'a mess of birds.' he had heard no roar of wings when the mother-bird led off her four survivors, so pocketed the two he had killed and returned to the shanty. the little grouse thus learned that a dog is not a fox, and must be differently played; and an old lesson was yet more deeply graven--'obedience is long life.' the rest of september was passed in keeping quietly out of the way of gunners as well as some old enemies. they still roosted on the long, thin branches of the hardwood trees among the thickest leaves, which protected them from foes in the air; the height saved them from foes on the ground, and left them nothing to fear but coons, whose slow, heavy tread on the limber boughs never failed to give them timely warning. but the leaves were falling now--every month its foes and its food. this was nut time, and it was owl time, too. barred owls coming down from the north doubled or trebled the owl population. the nights were getting frosty and the coons less dangerous, so the mother changed the place of roosting to the thickest foliage of a hemlock-tree. only one of the brood disregarded the warning _'kreet, kreet_.' he stuck to his swinging elm-bough, now nearly naked, and a great yellow-eyed owl bore him off before morning. mother and three young ones now were left, but they were as big as she was; indeed one, the eldest, he of the chip, was bigger. their ruffs had begun to show. just the tips, to tell what they would be like when grown, and not a little proud they were of them. the ruff is to the partridge what the train is to the peacock--his chief beauty and his pride. a hen's ruff is black with a slight green gloss. a cock's is much larger and blacker and is glossed with more vivid bottle-green. once in a while a partridge is born of unusual size and vigor, whose ruff is not only larger, but by a peculiar kind of intensification is of a deep coppery red, iridescent with violet, green, and gold. such a bird is sure to be a wonder to all who know him, and the little one who had squatted on the chip, and had always done what he was told, developed before the acorn moon had changed, into all the glory of a gold and copper ruff-for this was redruff, the famous partridge of the don valley. iv one day late in the acorn moon, that is, about mid-october, as the grouse family were basking with full crops near a great pine log on the sunlit edge of the beaver-meadow, they heard the far-away bang of a gun, and redruff, acting on some impulse from within, leaped on the log, strutted up and down a couple of times, then, yielding to the elation of the bright, clear, bracing air, he whirred his wings in loud defiance. then, giving fuller vent to this expression of vigor, just as a colt frisks to show how well he feels, he whirred yet more loudly, until, unwittingly, he found himself drumming, and tickled with the discovery of his new power, thumped the air again and again till he filled the near woods with the loud tattoo of the fully grown cock-partridge. his brother and sister heard and looked on with admiration and surprise; so did his mother, but from that time she began to be a little afraid of him. in early november comes the moon of a weird foe. by a strange law of nature, not wholly without parallel among mankind, all partridges go crazy in the november moon of their first year. they become possessed of a mad hankering to get away somewhere, it does not matter much where. and the wisest of them do all sorts of foolish things at this period. they go drifting, perhaps, at speed over the country by night, and are cut in two by wires, or dash into lighthouses, or locomotive headlights. daylight finds them in all sorts of absurd places, in buildings, in open marshes, perched on telephone wires in a great city, or even on board of coasting vessels. the craze seems to be a relic of a bygone habit of migration, and it has at least one good effect, it breaks up the families and prevents the constant intermarrying, which would surely be fatal to their race. it always takes the young badly their first year, and they may have it again the second fall, for it is very catching; but in the third season it is practically unknown. redruff's mother knew it was coming as soon as she saw the frost grapes blackening, and the maples shedding their crimson and gold. there was nothing to do but care for their health and keep them in the quietest part of the woods. the first sign of it came when a flock of wild geese went _honking_ southward overhead. the young ones had never before seen such long-necked hawks, and were afraid of them. but seeing that their mother had no fear, they took courage, and watched them with intense interest. was it the wild, clanging cry that moved them, or was it solely the inner prompting then come to the surface? a strange longing to follow took possession of each of the young ones. they watched those arrowy trumpeters fading away to the south, and sought out higher perches to watch them farther yet, and from that time things were no more the same. the november moon was waxing, and when it was full, the november madness came. the least vigorous of the flock were most affected. the little family was scattered. redruff himself flew on several long erratic night journeys. the impulse took him southward, out there lay the boundless stretch of lake ontario, so he turned again, and the waning of the mad moon found him once more in the mud creek glen, but absolutely alone. v food grew scarce as winter wore on. redruff clung to the old ravine and the piney sides of taylor's hill, but every month brought its food and its foes. the mad moon brought madness, solitude, and grapes; the snow moon came with rosehips; and the stormy moon brought browse of birch and silver storms that sheathed the woods in ice, and made it hard to keep one's perch while pulling off the frozen buds. redruff's beak grew terribly worn with the work, so that even when closed there was still an opening through behind the hook. but nature had prepared him for the slippery footing; his toes, so slim and trim in september, had sprouted rows of sharp, horny points, and these grew with the growing cold, till the first snow had found him fully equipped with snowshoes and ice-creepers. the cold weather had driven away most of the hawks and owls, and made it impossible for his four-footed enemies to approach unseen, so that things were nearly balanced. his flight in search of food had daily led him farther on, till he had discovered and explored the rosedale creek, with its banks of silver-birch, and castle frank, with its grapes and rowan berries, as well as chester woods, where amelanchier and virginia-creeper swung their fruit-bunches, and checkerberries glowed beneath the snow. he soon found out that for some strange reason men with guns did not go within the high fence of castle-frank. so among these scenes he lived his life, learning new places, new foods, and grew wiser and more beautiful every day. he was quite alone so far as kindred were concerned, but that scarcely seemed a hardship. wherever he went he could see the jolly chickadees scrambling merrily about, and he remembered the time when they had seemed such big, important creatures. they were the most absurdly cheerful things in the woods. before the autumn was fairly over they had begun to sing their famous refrain, '_spring soon_,' and kept it up with good heart more or less all through the winter's direst storms, till at length the waning of the hungry moon, our february, seemed really to lend some point to the ditty, and they redoubled their optimistic announcement to the world in an 'i-told-you-so' mood. soon good support was found, for the sun gained strength and melted the snow from the southern slope of castle frank hill, and exposed great banks of fragrant wintergreen, whose berries were a bounteous feast for redruff, and, ending the hard work of pulling frozen browse, gave his bill the needed chance to grow into its proper shape again. very soon the first bluebird came flying over and warbled as he flew '_the spring is coming_.' the sun kept gaining, and early one day in the dark of the wakening moon of march there was a loud '_caw, caw_,' and old silverspot, the king-crow, came swinging along from the south at the head of his troops and officially announced 'the spring has come.' all nature seemed to respond to this, the opening of the birds' new year, and yet it was something within that chiefly seemed to move them. the chickadees went simply wild; they sang their '_spring now, spring now now--spring now now_,' so persistently that one wondered how they found time to get a living. and redruff felt it thrill him through and through. he sprang with joyous vigor on a stump and sent rolling down the little valley, again and again, a thundering '_thump, thump, thump, thunderrrrrrrrr_,' that wakened dull echoes as it rolled, and voiced his gladness in the coming of the spring. away down the valley was cuddy's shanty. he heard the drum-call on the still morning air and 'reckoned there was a cock patridge to git,' and came sneaking up the ravine with his gun. but redruff skimmed away in silence, nor rested till once more in mud creek glen. and there he mounted the very log where first he had drummed and rolled his loud tattoo again and again, till a small boy who had taken a short cut to the mill through the woods, ran home, badly scared, to tell his mother he was sure the indians were on the war-path, for he heard their war-drums beating in the glen. why does a happy boy holla? why does a lonesome youth sigh? they don't know any more than redruff knew why every day now he mounted some dead log and thumped and thundered to the woods; then strutted and admired his gorgeous blazing ruffs as they flashed their jewels in the sunlight, and then thundered out again. whence now came the strange wish for someone else to admire the plumes? and why had such a notion never come till the pussywillow moon? _'thump, thump, thunder-r-r.r-r-r-rrrr'_ _'thump, thump, thunder-r-r-r-r-r-rrrr'_ he rumbled again and again. day after day he sought the favorite log, and a new beauty, a rose-red comb, grew out above each clear, keen eye, and the clumsy snow-*shoes were wholly shed from his feet. his ruff grew finer, his eye brighter, and his whole appearance splendid to behold, as he strutted and flashed in the sun. but-oh! he was _so lonesome now_. yet what could he do but blindly vent his hankering in this daily drum-parade, till on a day early in loveliest may, when the trilliums had fringed his log with silver stars, and he had drummed and longed, then drummed again, his keen ear caught a sound, a gentle footfall in the brush. he turned to a statue and watched; he knew he had been watched. could it be possible? yes! there it was--a form--another--a shy little lady grouse, now bashfully seeking to hide. in a moment he was by her side. his whole nature swamped by a new feeling--burnt up with thirst--a cooling spring in sight. and how he spread and flashed his proud array! how came he to know that that would please? he puffed his plumes and contrived to stand just right to catch the sun, and strutted and uttered a low, soft chuckle that must have been just as good as the 'sweet nothings' of another race, for clearly now her heart was won. won, really, days ago, if only he had known. for full three days she had come at the loud tattoo and coyly admired him from afar, and felt a little piqued that he had not yet found her out, so close at hand. so it was not quite all mischance, perhaps, that that little stamp had caught his ear. but now she meekly bowed her head with sweet, submissive grace--the desert passed, the parch-burnt wanderer found the spring at last. * * * * * oh, those were bright, glad days in the lovely glen of the unlovely name. the sun was never so bright, and the piney air was balmier sweet than dreams. and that great noble bird came daily on his log, sometimes with her and sometimes quite alone, and drummed for very joy of being alive. but why sometimes alone? why not forever with his brownie bride? why should she stay to feast and play with him for hours, then take some stealthy chance to slip away and see him no more for hours or till next day, when his martial music from the log announced him restless for her quick return? there was a woodland mystery here he could not clear. why should her stay with him grow daily less till it was down to minutes, and one day at last she never came at all. nor the next, nor the next, and redruff, wild, careered on lightning wing and drummed on the old log, then away up-stream on another log, and skimmed the hill to another ravine to drum and drum. but on the fourth day, when he came and loudly called her, as of old, at their earliest tryst, he heard a sound in the bushes, as at first, and there was his missing brownie bride with ten little peeping partridges following after. redruff skimmed to her side, terribly frightening the bright-eyed downlings, and was just a little dashed to find the brood with claims far stronger than his own. but he soon accepted the change, and thenceforth joined himself to the brood, caring for them as his father never had for him. vi good fathers are rare in the grouse world. the mother-grouse builds her nest and hatches out her young without help. she even hides the place of the nest from the father and meets him only at the drum-log and the feeding-ground, or perhaps the dusting-place, which is the club-house of the grouse kind. when brownie's little ones came out they had filled her every thought, even to the forgetting of their splendid father. but on the third day, when they were strong enough, she had taken them with her at the father's call. some fathers take no interest in their little ones, but redruff joined at once to help brownie in the task of rearing the brood. they had learned to eat and drink just as their father had learned long ago, and could toddle along, with their mother leading the way, while the father ranged near by or followed far behind. the very next day, as they went from the hill-side down toward the creek in a somewhat drawn-out string, like beads with a big one at each end, a red squirrel, peeping around a pine-trunk, watched the processing of downlings with the runtie straggling far in the rear. redruff, yards behind, preening his feathers on a high log, had escaped the eye of the squirrel, whose strange, perverted thirst for birdling blood was roused at what seemed so fair a chance. with murderous intent to cut off the hindmost straggler, he made a dash. brownie could not have seen him until too late, but redruff did. he flew for that red-haired cutthroat; his weapons were his fists, that is, the knob-joints of the wings, and what a blow he could strike! at the first onset he struck the squirrel square on the end of the nose, his weakest spot, and sent him reeling; he staggered and wriggled into a brush-pile, where he had expected to carry the little grouse, and there lay gasping with red drops trickling down his wicked snout. the partridges left him lying there, and what became of him they never knew, but he troubled them no more. the family went on toward the water, but a cow had left deep tracks in the sandy loam, and into one of these fell one of the chicks and peeped in dire distress when he found he could not get out. this was a fix. neither old one seemed to know what to do, but as they trampled vainly round the edge, the sandy bank caved in, and, running down, formed a long slope, up which the young one ran and rejoined his brothers under the broad veranda of their mother's tail. brownie was a bright little mother, of small stature, but keen of wit and sense, and was, night and day, alert to care for her darling chicks. how proudly she stepped and clucked through the arching woods with her dainty brood behind her; how she strained her little brown tail almost to a half-circle to give them a broader shade, and never flinched at sight of any foe, but held ready to fight or fly, whichever seemed the best for her little ones. [illustration: redruff saving runtie.] before the chicks could fly they had a meeting with old cuddy; though it was june, he was out with his gun. up the third ravine he went, and tike, his dog, ranging ahead, came so dangerously near the brownie brood that redruff ran to meet him, and by the old but never-failing trick led him on a foolish chase away back down the valley of the don. but cuddy, as it chanced, came right along, straight for the brood, and brownie, giving the signal to the children, '_krrr, krrr_' (hide, hide), ran to lead the man away just as her mate had led the dog. full of a mother's devoted love, and skilled in the learning of the woods she ran in silence till quite near, then sprang with a roar of wings right in his face, and tumbling on the leaves she shammed a lameness that for a moment deceived the poacher. but when she dragged one wing and whined about his feet, then slowly crawled away, he knew just what it meant--that it was all a trick to lead him from her brood, and he struck at her a savage blow; but little brownie was quick, she avoided the blow and limped behind a sapling, there to beat herself upon the leaves again in sore distress, and seem so lame that cuddy made another try to strike her down with a stick. but she moved in time to balk him, and bravely, steadfast still to lead him from her helpless little ones, she flung herself before him and beat her gentle breast upon the ground, and moaned as though begging for mercy. and cuddy, failing again to strike her, raised his gun, and firing charge enough to kill a bear, he blew poor brave, devoted brownie into quivering, bloody rags. this gunner brute knew the young must be hiding near, so looked about to find them. but no one moved or peeped. he saw not one, but as he tramped about with heedless, hateful feet, he crossed and crossed again their hiding-ground, and more than one of the silent little sufferers he trampled to death, and neither knew nor cared. redruff had taken the yellow brute away off down-stream, and now returned to where he left his mate. the murderer had gone, taking her remains, to be thrown to the dog. redruff sought about and found the bloody spot with feathers, brownie's feathers, scattered around, and now he knew the meaning of that shot. who can tell what his horror and his mourning were? the outward signs were few, some minutes dumbly gazing at the place with downcast, draggled look, and then a change at the thought of their helpless brood. back to the hiding-place he went, and called the well-known '_kreet, kreet_.' did every grave give up its little inmate at the magic word? no, barely more than half; six little balls of down unveiled their lustrous eyes, and, rising, ran to meet him, but four feathered little bodies had found their graves indeed. redruff called again and again, till he was sure that all who could respond had come, then led them from that dreadful place, far, far away up-stream, where barbed-wire fences and bramble thickets were found to offer a less grateful, but more reliable, shelter. here the brood grew and were trained by their father just as his mother had trained him; though wider knowledge and experience gave him many advantages. he knew so well the country round and all the feeding-grounds, and how to meet the ills that harass partridge-life, that the summer passed and not a chick was lost. they grew and flourished, and when the gunner moon arrived they were a fine family of six grown-up grouse with redruff, splendid in his gleaming copper feathers, at their head. he had ceased to drum during the summer after the loss of brownie, but drumming is to the partridge what singing is to the lark; while it is his love-song, it is also an expression of exuberance born of health, and when the molt was over and september food and weather had renewed his splendid plumes and braced him up again, his spirits revived, and finding himself one day near the old log he mounted impulsively, and drummed again and again. from that time he often drummed, while his children sat around, or one who showed his father's blood would mount some nearby stump or stone, and beat the air in the loud tattoo. the black grapes and the mad moon now came on. but redruff's brood were of a vigorous stock; their robust health meant robust wits, and though they got the craze, it passed within a week, and only three had flown away for good. redruff, with his remaining three, was living in the glen when the snow came. it was light, flaky snow, and as the weather was not very cold, the family squatted for the night under the low, flat boughs of a cedar-tree. but next day the storm continued, it grew colder, and the drifts piled up all day. at night the snowfall ceased, but the frost grew harder still, so redruff, leading the family to a birch-tree above a deep drift, dived into the snow, and the others did the same. then into the holes the wind blew the loose snow--their pure white bed-*clothes, and thus tucked in they slept in comfort, for the snow is a warm wrap, and the air passes through it easily enough for breathing. next morning each partridge found a solid wall of ice before him from his frozen breath, but easily turned to one side and rose on the wing at redruff's morning '_kreet, kreet, kwit_.' (come children, come children, fly.) this was the first night for them in a snowdrift, though it was an old story to redruff, and next night they merrily dived again into bed, and the north wind tucked them in as before. but a change of weather was brewing. the night wind veered to the east. a fall of heavy flakes gave place to sleet, and that to silver rain. the whole wide world was sheathed in ice, and when the grouse awoke to quit their beds, they found themselves sealed in with a great, cruel sheet of edgeless ice. the deeper snow was still quite soft, and redruff bored his way to the top, but there the hard, white sheet defied his strength. hammer and struggle as he might he could make no impression, and only bruised his wings and head. his life had been made up of keen joys and dull hardships, with frequent sudden desperate straits, but this seemed the hardest brunt of all, as the slow hours wore on and found him weakening with his struggles, but no nearer to freedom. he could hear the struggling of his family, too, or sometimes heard them calling to him for help with their long-drawn plaintive '_p-e-e-e-e-e-t-e, p-e-e-e-e-e-t-e_.' they were hidden from many of their enemies, but not from the pangs of hunger, and when the night came down the weary prisoners, worn out with hunger and useless toil, grew quiet in despair. at first they had been afraid the fox would come and find them imprisoned there at his mercy, but as the second night went slowly by they no longer cared, and even wished he would come and break the crusted snow, and so give them at least a fighting chance for life. but when the fox really did come padding over the frozen drift, the deep-laid love of life revived, and they crouched in utter stillness till he passed. the second day was one of driving storm. the north wind sent his snow-horses, hissing and careering over the white earth, tossing and curling their white manes and kicking up more snow as they dashed on. the long, hard grinding of the granular snow seemed to be thinning the snow-crust, for though far from dark below, it kept on growing lighter. redruff had pecked and pecked at the under side all day, till his head ached and his bill was wearing blunt, but when the sun went down he seemed as far as ever from escape. the night passed like the others, except no fox went trotting overhead. in the morning he renewed his pecking, though now with scarcely any force, and the voices or struggles of the others were no more heard. as the daylight grew stronger he could see that his long efforts had made a brighter spot above him in the snow, and he continued feebly pecking. outside, the storm-horses kept on trampling all day, the crust was really growing thin under their heels, and late that afternoon his bill went through into the open air. new life came with this gain, and he pecked away, till just before the sun went down he had made a hole that his head, his neck, and his ever-beautiful ruffs could pass. his great, broad shoulders were too large, but he could now strike downward, which gave him fourfold force; the snow-crust crumbled quickly, and in a little while he sprang from his icy prison once more free. but the young ones! redruff flew to the nearest bank, hastily gathered a few red hips to stay his gnawing hunger, then returned to the prison-drift and clucked and stamped. he got only one reply, a feeble '_peete, peete_,' and scratching with his sharp claws on the thinned granular sheet he soon broke through, and graytail feebly crawled out of the hole. but that was all; the others, scattered he could not tell where in the drift, made no reply, gave no sign of life, and he was forced to leave them. when the snow melted in the spring their bodies came to view, skin, bones, and feathers--nothing more. vii it was long before redruff and graytail fully recovered, but food and rest in plenty are sure cure-alls, and a bright, clear day in midwinter had the usual effect of setting the vigorous redruff to drumming on the log. was it the drumming, or the tell-tale tracks of their snowshoes on the omnipresent snow, that betrayed them to cuddy? he came prowling again and again up the ravine, with dog and gun, intent to hunt the partridges down. they knew him of old, and he was coming now to know them well. that great copper-ruffed cock was becoming famous up and down the valley. during the gunner moon many a one had tried to end his splendid life, just as a worthless wretch of old sought fame by burning the ephesian wonder of the world. but redruff was deep in woodcraft. he knew just where to hide, and when to rise on silent wing, and when to squat till overstepped, then rise on thunder wing within a yard to shield himself at once behind some mighty tree-trunk and speed away. but cuddy never ceased to follow with his gun that red-ruffed cock; many a long snap-shot he tried, but somehow always found a tree, a bank, or some safe shield between, and redruff lived and throve and drummed. when the snow moon came he moved with graytail to the castle frank woods, where food was plenty as well as grand old trees. there was in particular, on the east slope among the creeping hemlocks, a splendid pine. it was six feet through, and its first branches began at the tops of the other trees. its top in summer-time was a famous resort for the bluejay and his bride. here, far beyond the reach of shot, in warm spring days the jay would sing and dance before his mate, spread his bright blue plumes and warble the sweetest fairyland music, so sweet and soft that few hear it but the one for whom it is meant, and books know nothing at all about it. this great pine had an especial interest for redruff, now living near with his remaining young one, but its base, not its far-away crown, concerned him. all around were low, creeping hemlocks, and among them the partridge-vine and the wintergreen grew, and the sweet black acorns could be scratched from under the snow. there was no better feeding-ground, for when that insatiable gunner came on them there it was easy to run low among the hemlock to the great pine, then rise with a derisive _whirr_ behind its bulk, and keeping the huge trunk in line with the deadly gun, skim off in safety. a dozen times at least the pine had saved them during the lawful murder season, and here it was that cuddy, knowing their feeding habits, laid a new trap. under the bank he sneaked and watched in ambush while an accomplice went around the sugar loaf to drive the birds. he came trampling through the low thicket where redruff and graytail were feeding, and long before the gunner was dangerously near redruff gave a low warning '_rrr-rrr_' (danger) and walked quickly toward the great pine in case they had to rise. graytail was some distance up the hill, and suddenly caught sight of a new foe close at hand, the yellow cur, coming right on. redruff, much farther off, could not see him for the bushes, and graytail became greatly alarmed. '_kwit, kwit_' (fly, fly), she cried, running down the hill for a start. '_kreet, k-r-r-r_' (this way, hide), cried the cooler redruff, for he saw that now the man with the gun was getting in range. he gained the great trunk, and behind it, as he paused a moment to call earnestly to graytail, 'this way, this way,' he heard a slight noise under the bank before him that betrayed the ambush, then there was a terrified cry from graytail as the dog sprang at her, she rose in air and skimmed behind the shielding trunk, away from the gunner in the open, right into the power of the miserable wretch under the bank. _whirr_, and up she went, a beautiful, sentient, noble being. _bang_, and down she fell--battered and bleeding, to gasp her life out and to lie a rumpled mass of carrion in the snow. it was a perilous place for redruff. there was no chance for a safe rise, so he squatted low. the dog came within ten feet of him, and the stranger, coming across to cuddy, passed at five feet, but he never moved till a chance came to slip behind the great trunk away from both. then he safely rose and flew to the lonely glen by taylor's hill. one by one the deadly cruel gun had stricken his near ones down, till now, once more, he was alone. the snow moon slowly passed with many a narrow escape, and redruff, now known to be the only survivor of his kind, was relentlessly pursued, and grew wilder every day. it seemed, at length, a waste of time to follow him with a gun, so when the snow was deepest, and food scarcest, cuddy hatched a new plot. right across the feeding-ground, almost the only good one now in the stormy moon, he set a row of snares. a cottontail rabbit, an old friend, cut several of these with his sharp teeth, but some remained, and redruff, watching a far-off speck that might turn out a hawk, trod right in one of them, and in an instant was jerked into the air to dangle by one foot. have the wild things no moral or legal rights? what right has man to inflict such long and fearful agony on a fellow-creature, simply because that creature does not speak his language? all that day, with growing, racking pains, poor redruff hung and beat his great, strong wings in helpless struggles to be free. all day, all night, with growing torture, until he only longed for death. but no one came. the morning broke, the day wore on, and still he hung there, slowly dying; his very strength a curse. the second night crawled slowly down, and when, in the dawdling hours of darkness, a great horned owl, drawn by the feeble flutter of a dying wing, cut short the pain, the deed was wholly kind. * * * * * the wind blew down the valley from the north. the snow-horses went racing over the wrinkled ice, over the don flats, and over the marsh toward the lake, white, for they were driven snow, but on them, scattered dark, were riding plumy fragments of partridge ruffs--the famous rainbow ruffs. and they rode on the wind that night, away, away to the south, over the dark lake, as they rode in the gloom of his mad moon flight, riding and riding on till they were engulfed, the last trace of the last of the don valley race. for no partridge is heard in castle frank now--and in mud creek ravine the old pine drum-log, unused, has rotted in silence away. raggylug the story of a cottontail rabbit raggylug, or rag, was the name of a young cottontail rabbit. it was given him from his torn and ragged ear, a life-mark that he got in his first adventure. he lived with his mother in olifant's swamp, where i made their acquaintance and gathered, in a hundred different ways, the little bits of proof and scraps of truth that at length enabled me to write this history. those who do not know the animals well may think i have humanized them, but those who have lived so near them as to know somewhat of their ways and their minds will not think so. truly rabbits have no speech as we understand it, but they have a way of conveying ideas by a system of sounds, signs, scents, whisker-touches, movements, and example that answers the purpose of speech; and it must be remembered that though in telling this story i freely translate from rabbit into english, _i repeat nothing that they did not say_. i the rank swamp grass bent over and concealed the snug nest where raggylug's mother had hidden him. she had partly covered him with some of the bedding, and, as always, her last warning was to 'lay low and say nothing, whatever happens.' though tucked in bed, he was wide awake and his bright eyes were taking in that part of his little green world that was straight above. a bluejay and a red-squirrel, two notorious thieves, were loudly berating each other for stealing, and at one time rag's home bush was the centre of their fight; a yellow warbler caught a blue butterfly but six inches from his nose, and a scarlet and black ladybug, serenely waving her knobbed feelers, took a long walk up one grassblade, down another, and across the nest and over rag's face--and yet he never moved nor even winked. [illustration: 'mammy, mammy!' he screamed, in mortal terror.] after awhile he heard a strange rustling of the leaves in the near thicket. it was an odd, continuous sound, and though it went this way and that way and came ever nearer, there was no patter of feet with it. rag had lived his whole life in the swamp (he was three weeks old) and yet had never heard anything like this. of course his curiosity was greatly aroused. his mother had cautioned him to lay low, but that was understood to be in case of danger, and this strange sound without footfalls could not be any to fear. the low rasping went past close at hand, then to the right, then back, and seemed going away. rag felt he knew what he was about, he wasn't a baby; it was his duty to learn what it was. he slowly raised his roly-poly body on his short, fluffy legs, lifted his little round head above the covering of his nest and peeped out into the woods. the sound had ceased as soon as he moved. he saw nothing, so took one step forward to a clear view, and instantly found himself face to face with an enormous black serpent. "mammy," he screamed in mortal terror as the monster darted at him. with all the strength of his tiny limbs he tried to run. but in a flash the snake had him by one ear and whipped around him with his coils to gloat over the helpless little baby bunny he had secured for dinner. "mammy--mammy," gasped poor little raggylug as the cruel monster began slowly choking him to death. very soon the little one's cry would have ceased, but bounding through the woods straight as an arrow came mammy. no longer a shy, helpless little molly cottontail, ready to fly from a shadow: the mother's love was strong in her. the cry of her baby had filled her with the courage of a hero, and-hop, she went over that horrible reptile. whack, she struck down at him with her sharp hind claws as she passed, giving him such a stinging blow that he squirmed with pain and hissed with anger. "m-a-m-m-y," came feebly from the little one. and mammy came leaping again and again and struck harder and fiercer until the loathsome reptile let go the little one's ear and tried to bite the old one as she leaped over. but all he got was a mouthful of wool each time, and molly's fierce blows began to tell, as long bloody rips were torn in the black snake's scaly armor. things were now looking bad for the snake; and bracing himself for the next charge, he lost his tight hold on baby bunny, who at once wriggled out of the coils and away into the underbrush, breathless and terribly frightened, but unhurt save that his left ear was much torn by the teeth of that dreadful serpent. molly had now gained all she wanted. she had no notion of fighting for glory or revenge. away she went into the woods and the little one followed the shining beacon of her snow-white tail until she led him to a safe corner of the swamp. ii old olifant's swamp was a rough, brambly tract of second-growth woods, with a marshy pond and a stream through the middle. a few ragged remnants of the old forest still stood in it and a few of the still older trunks were lying about as dead logs in the brushwood. the land about the pond was of that willow-grown, sedgy kind that cats and horses avoid, but that cattle do not fear. the drier zones were overgrown with briars and young trees. the outermost belt of all, that next the fields, was of thrifty, gummy-trunked young pines whose living needles in air and dead ones on earth offer so delicious an odor to the nostrils of the passer-by, and so deadly a breath to those seedlings that would compete with them for the worthless waste they grow on. all around for a long way were smooth fields, and the only wild tracks that ever crossed these fields were those of a thoroughly bad and unscrupulous fox that lived only too near. the chief indwellers of the swamp were molly and rag. their nearest neighbors were far away, and their nearest kin were dead. this was their home, and here they lived together, and here rag received the training that made his success in life. molly was a good little mother and gave him a careful bringing up. the first thing he learned was 'to lay low and say nothing.' his adventure with the snake taught him the wisdom of this. rag never forgot that lesson; afterward he did as he was told, and it made the other things come more easily. the second lesson he learned was 'freeze.' it grows out of the first, and rag was taught it as soon as he could run. 'freezing' is simply doing nothing, turning into a statue. as soon as he finds a foe near, no matter what he is doing, a well-trained cottontail keeps just as he is and stops all movement, for the creatures of the woods are of the same color as the things in the woods and catch the eye only while moving. so when enemies chance together, the one who first sees the other can keep himself unseen by 'freezing' and thus have all the advantage of choosing the time for attack or escape. only those who live in the woods know the importance of this; every wild creature and every hunter must learn it; all learn to do it well, but not one of them can beat molly cottontail in the doing. rag's mother taught him this trick by example. when the white cotton cushion that she always carried to sit on went bobbing away through the woods, of course rag ran his hardest to keep up. but when molly stopped and 'froze,' the natural wish to copy made him do the same. * * * * * but the best lesson of all that rag learned from his mother was the secret of the brierbrush. it is a very old secret now, and to make it plain you must first hear why the brierbrush quarrelled with the beasts. _long ago the roses used to grow on bushes that had no thorns. but the squirrels and mice used to climb after them, the cattle used to knock them off with their horns, the possum would twitch them off with his long tail, and the deer, with his sharp hoofs, would break them down. so the brierbrush armed itself with spikes to protect its roses and declared eternal war on all creatures that climbed trees, or had horns, or hoofs, or long tails. this left the brierbrush at peace with none but molly cottontail, who could not climb, was hornless, hoof-less and had scarcely any tail at all. in truth the cottontail had never harmed a brierrose, and having now so many enemies the rose took the rabbit into especial friendship, and when dangers are threatening poor bunny he flies to the nearest brierbrush, certain that it is ready, with a million keen and poisoned daggers, to defend him._ so the secret that rag learned from his mother was, 'the brierbrush is your best friend.' much of the time that season was spent in learning the lay of the land, and the bramble and brier mazes. and rag learned them so well that he could go all around the swamp by two different ways and never leave the friendly briers at any place for more than five hops. it is not long since the foes of the cottontails were disgusted to find that man had brought a new kind of bramble and planted it in long lines throughout the country. it was so strong that no creatures could break it down, and so sharp that the toughest skin was torn by it. each year there was more of it and each year it became a more serious matter to the wild creatures. but molly cottontail had no fear of it. she was not brought up in the briers for nothing. dogs and foxes, cattle and sheep, and even man himself might be torn by those fearful spikes: but molly understands it and lives and thrives under it. and the further it spreads the more safe country there is for the cottontail. and the name of this new and dreaded bramble is--_the barbed-wire fence_. iii molly had no other children to look after now, so rag had all her care. he was unusually quick and bright as well as strong, and he had uncommonly good chances; so he got on remarkably well. all the season she kept him busy learning the tricks of the trail, and what to eat and drink and what not to touch. day by day she worked to train him; little by little she taught him, putting into his mind hundreds of ideas that her own life or early training had stored in hers, and so equipped him with the knowledge that makes life possible to their kind. close by her side in the clover-field or the thicket he would sit and copy her when she wobbled her nose 'to keep her smeller clear,' and pull the bite from her mouth or taste her lips to make sure he was getting the same kind of fodder. still copying her, he learned to comb his ears with his claws and to dress his coat and to bite the burrs out of his vest and socks. he learned, too, that nothing but clear dewdrops from the briers were fit for a rabbit to drink, as water which has once touched the earth must surely bear some taint. thus he began the study of woodcraft, the oldest of all sciences. as soon as rag was big enough to go out alone, his mother taught him the signal code. rabbits telegraph each other by thumping on the ground with their hind feet. along the ground sound carries far; a thump that at six feet from the earth is not heard at twenty yards will, near the ground, be heard at least one hundred yards. rabbits have very keen hearing, and so might hear this same thump at two hundred yards, and that would reach from end to end of olifant's swamp. a single _thump_ means 'look out' or 'freeze.' a slow _thump thump_ means 'come.' a fast _thump thump_ means 'danger;' and a very fast _thump thump thump_ means 'run for dear life.' at another time, when the weather was fine and the bluejays were quarrelling among themselves, a sure sign that no dangerous foe was about, rag began a new study. molly, by flattening her ears, gave the sign to squat. then she ran far away in the thicket and gave the thumping signal for 'come.' rag set out at a run to the place but could not find molly. he thumped, but got no reply. setting carefully about his search he found her foot-scent, and following this strange guide, that the beasts all know so well and man does not know at all, he worked out the trail and found her where she was hidden. thus he got his first lesson in trailing, and thus it was that the games of hide and seek they played became the schooling for the serious chase of which there was so much in his after-life. before that first season of schooling was over he had learnt all the principal tricks by which a rabbit lives, and in not a few problems showed himself a veritable genius. he was an adept at 'tree,' 'dodge,' and 'squat;' he could play 'log-lump' with 'wind,' and 'baulk' with 'back-track' so well that he scarcely needed any other tricks. he had not yet tried it, but he knew just how to play 'barb-wire,' which is a new trick of the brilliant order; he had made a special study of 'sand,' which burns up all scent, and he was deeply versed in 'change-off,' 'fence,' and 'double,' as well as 'hole-up,' which is a trick requiring longer notice, and yet he never forgot that 'lay-low' is the beginning of all wisdom and 'brierbrush' the only trick that is always safe. he was taught the signs by which to know all his foes and then the way to baffle them. for hawks, owls, foxes, hounds, curs, minks, weasels, cats, skunks, coons, and men, each have a different plan of pursuit, and for each and all of these evils he was taught a remedy. and for knowledge of the enemy's approach he learnt to depend first on himself and his mother, and then on the bluejay. "never neglect the bluejay's warning," said molly; "he is a mischief-maker, a marplot, and a thief all the time, but nothing escapes him. he wouldn't mind harming us, but he cannot, thanks to the briers, and his enemies are ours, so it is well to heed him. if the woodpecker cries a warning you can trust him, he is honest; but he is a fool beside the bluejay, and though the bluejay often tells lies for mischief you are safe to believe him when he brings ill news." the barbed-wire trick takes a deal of nerve and the best of legs. it was long before rag ventured to play it, but as he came to his full powers it became one of his favorites. "it's fine play for those who can do it," said molly. "first you lead off your dog on a straightaway and warm him up a bit by nearly letting him catch you. then keeping just one hop ahead, you lead him at a long slant full tilt into a breast-high barb-wire. i've seen many a dog and fox crippled, and one big hound killed outright this way. but i've also seen more than one rabbit lose his life in trying it." rag early learnt what some rabbits never learn at all, that 'hole-up' is not such a fine ruse as it seems; it may be the certain safety of a wise rabbit, but soon or late is a sure death-trap to a fool. a young rabbit always thinks of it first, an old rabbit never tries it till all others fail. it means escape from a man or dog, a fox or a bird of prey, but it means sudden death if the foe is a ferret, mink, skunk, or weasel. there were but two ground-holes in the swamp. one on the sunning bank, which was a dry sheltered knoll in the south-end. it was open and sloping to the sun, and here on fine days the cottontails took their sunbaths. they stretched out among the fragrant pine needles and winter-green in odd, cat-like positions, and turned slowly over as though roasting and wishing all sides well done. and they blinked and panted, and squirmed as if in dreadful pain; yet this was one of the keenest enjoyments they knew. just over the brow of the knoll was a large pine stump. its grotesque roots wriggled out above the yellow sand-bank like dragons, and under their protecting claws a sulky old woodchuck had digged a den long ago. he became more sour and ill-tempered as weeks went by, and one day waited to quarrel with olifant's dog instead of going in, so that molly cottontail was able to take possession of the den an hour later. this, the pine-root hole, was afterward very coolly taken by a self-sufficient young skunk, who with less valor might have enjoyed greater longevity, for he imagined that even man with a gun would fly from him. instead of keeping molly from the den for good, therefore, his reign, like that of a certain hebrew king, was over in four days. the other, the fern-hole, was in a fern thicket next the clover field. it was small and damp, and useless except as a last retreat. it also was the work of a woodchuck, a well-meaning, friendly neighbor, but a hare-brained youngster whose skin in the form of a whip-lash was now developing higher horse-power in the olifant working team. "simple justice," said the old man, "for that hide was raised on stolen feed that the team would 'a' turned into horse-power anyway." the cottontails were now sole owners of the holes, and did not go near them when they could help it, lest anything like a path should be made that might betray these last retreats to an enemy. there was also the hollow hickory, which, though nearly fallen, was still green, and had the great advantage of being open at both ends. this had long been the residence of one lotor, a solitary old coon whose ostensible calling was frog-hunting, and who, like the monks of old, was supposed to abstain from all flesh food. but it was shrewdly suspected that he needed but a chance to indulge in a diet of rabbit. when at last one dark night he was killed while raiding olifant's hen-house, molly, so far from feeling a pang of regret, took possession of his cosy nest with a sense of unbounded relief. iv bright august sunlight was flooding the swamp in the morning. everything seemed soaking in the warm radiance. a little brown swamp-sparrow was teetering on a long rush in the pond. beneath him there were open spaces of dirty water that brought down a few scraps of the blue sky, and worked it and the yellow duckweed into an exquisite mosaic, with a little wrong-side picture of the bird in the middle. on the bank behind was a great vigorous growth of golden green skunk-cabbage, that cast a dense shadow over the brown swamp tussocks. the eyes of the swamp-sparrow were not trained to take in the color glories, but he saw what we might have missed; that two of the numberless leafy brown bumps under the broad cabbage-leaves were furry, living things, with noses that never ceased to move up and down whatever else was still. it was molly and rag. they were stretched under the skunk-cabbage, not because they liked its rank smell, but because the winged ticks could not stand it at all and so left them in peace. rabbits have no set time for lessons, they are always learning; but what the lesson is depends on the present stress, and that must arrive before it is known. they went to this place for a quiet rest, but had not been long there when suddenly a warning note from the ever-watchful bluejay caused molly's nose and ears to go up and her tail to tighten to her back. away across the swamp was olifant's big black and white dog, coming straight toward them. "now," said molly, "squat while i go and keep that fool out of mischief." away she went to meet him and she fearlessly dashed across the dog's path. "bow-ow-ow," he fairly yelled as he bounded after molly, but she kept just beyond his reach and led him where the million daggers struck fast and deep, till his tender ears were scratched raw, and guided him at last plump into a hidden barbed-wire fence, where he got such a gashing that he went homeward howling with pain. after making a short double, a loop and a baulk in case the dog should come back, molly returned to find that rag in his eagerness was standing bolt upright and craning his neck to see the sport. this disobedience made her so angry that she struck him with her hind foot and knocked him over in the mud. one day as they fed on the near clover field a red-tailed hawk came swooping after them. molly kicked up her hind legs to make fun of him and skipped into the briers along one of their old pathways, where of course the hawk could not follow. it was the main path from the creekside thicket to the stove-pipe brush-pile. several creepers had grown across it, and molly, keeping one eye on the hawk, set to work and cut the creepers off. rag watched her, then ran on ahead, and cut some more that were across the path. "that's right," said molly, "always keep the runways clear, you will need them often enough. not wide, but clear. cut everything like a creeper across them and some day you will find you have cut a snare. "a what?" asked rag, as he scratched his right ear with his left hind foot. "a snare is something that looks like a creeper, but it doesn't grow and it's worse than all the hawks in the world," said molly, glancing at the now far-away red-tail, "for there it hides night and day in the runway till the chance to catch you comes." "i don't believe it could catch me," said rag, with the pride of youth as he rose on his heels to rub his chin and whiskers high up on a smooth sapling. rag did not know he was doing this, but his mother saw and knew it was a sign, like the changing of a boy's voice, that her little one was no longer a baby but would soon be a grown-up cottontail. v there is magic in running water. who does not know it and feel it? the railroad builder fearlessly throws his bank across the wide bog or lake, or the sea itself, but the tiniest rill of running water he treats with great respect, studies its wish and its way and gives it all it seems to ask. the thirst-parched traveller in the poisonous alkali deserts holds back in deadly fear from the sedgy ponds till he finds one down whose centre is a thin, clear line, and a faint flow, the sign of running, living water, and joyfully he drinks. there is magic in running water, no evil spell can cross it. tam o'shanter proved its potency in time of sorest need. the wild-wood creature with its deadly foe following tireless on the trail scent, realizes its nearing doom and feels an awful spell. its strength is spent, its every trick is tried in vain till the good angel leads it to the water, the running, living water, and dashing in it follows the cooling stream, and then with force renewed takes to the woods again. there is magic in running water. the hounds come to the very spot and halt and cast about; and halt and cast in vain. their spell is broken by the merry stream, and the wild thing lives its life. and this was one of the great secrets that raggylug learned from his mother--"after the brierrose, the water is your friend." one hot, muggy night in august, molly led rag through the woods. the cotton-white cushion she wore under her tail twinkled ahead and was his guiding lantern, though it went out as soon as she stopped and sat on it. after a few runs and stops to listen, they came to the edge of the pond. the hylas in the trees above them were singing '_sleep, sleep,_' and away out on a sunken log in the deep water, up to his chin in the cooling bath, a bloated bullfrog was singing the praises of a '_jug o' rum._' "follow me still," said molly, in rabbit, and 'flop' she went into the pond and struck out for the sunken log in the middle. rag flinched but plunged with a little 'ouch,' gasping and wobbling his nose very fast but still copying his mother. the same movements as on land sent him through the water, and thus he found he could swim. on he went till he reached the sunken log and scrambled up by his dripping mother on the high dry end, with a rushy screen around them and the water that tells no tales. after this in warm, black nights, when that old fox from springfield came prowling through the swamp, rag would note the place of the bullfrog's voice, for in case of direst need it might be a guide to safety. and thenceforth the words of the song that the bullfrog sang were, '_come, come, in danger come_.' this was the latest study that rag took up with his mother-it was really a post-graduate course, for many little rabbits never learn it at all. vi no wild animal dies of old age. its life has soon or late a tragic end. it is only a question of how long it can hold out against its foes. but rag's life was proof that once a rabbit passes out of his youth he is likely to outlive his prime and be killed only in the last third of life, the downhill third we call old age. the cottontails had enemies on every side. their daily life was a series of escapes. for dogs, foxes, cats, skunks, coons, weasels, minks, snakes, hawks, owls, and men, and even insects were all plotting to kill them. they had hundreds of adventures, and at least once a day they had to fly for their lives and save themselves by their legs and wits. more than once that hateful fox from springfield drove them to taking refuge under the wreck of a barbed-wire hog-pen by the spring. but once there they could look calmly at him while he spiked his legs in vain attempts to reach them. once or twice rag when hunted had played off the hound against a skunk that had seemed likely to be quite as dangerous as the dog. once he was caught alive by a hunter who had a hound and a ferret to help him. but rag had the luck to escape next day, with a yet deeper distrust of ground holes. he was several times run into the water by the cat, and many times was chased by hawks and owls, but for each kind of danger there was a safeguard. his mother taught him the principal dodges, and he improved on them and made many new ones as he grew older. and the older and wiser he grew the less he trusted to his legs, and the more to his wits for safety. ranger was the name of a young hound in the neighborhood. to train him his master used to put him on the trail of one of the cottontails. it was nearly always rag that they ran, for the young buck enjoyed the runs as much as they did, the spice of danger in them being just enough for zest. he would say: "oh, mother! here comes the dog again, i must have a run to-day." "you are too bold, raggy, my son!" she might reply. "i fear you will run once too often." "but, mother, it is such glorious fun to tease that fool dog, and it's all good training. i'll thump if i am too hard pressed, then you can come and change off while i get my second wind." on he would come, and ranger would take the trail and follow till rag got tired of it. then he either sent a thumping telegram for help, which brought molly to take charge of the dog, or he got rid of the dog by some clever trick. a description of one of these shows how well rag had learned the arts of the woods. he knew that his scent lay best near the ground, and was strongest when he was warm. so if he could get off the ground, and be left in peace for half an hour to cool off, and for the trail to stale, he knew he would be safe. when, therefore, he tired of the chase, he made for the creekside brier-patch, where he 'wound'--that is, zigzagged--till he left a course so crooked that the dog was sure to be greatly delayed in working it out. he then went straight to d in the woods, passing one hop to windward of the high log e. stopping at d, he followed his back trail to f, here he leaped aside and ran toward g. then, returning on his trail to j, he waited till the hound passed on his trail at i. rag then got back on his old [illustration] trail at h, and followed it to e, where, with a scent-baulk or great leap aside, he reached the high log, and running to its higher end, he sat like a bump. ranger lost much time in the bramble maize, and the scent was very poor when he got it straightened out and came to d. here he began to circle to pick it up, and after losing much time, struck the trail which ended suddenly at g. again he was at fault, and had to circle to find the trail. wider and wider the circles, until at last, he passed right under the log rag was on. but a cold scent, on a cold day, does not go downward much. rag never budged nor winked, and the hound passed. again the dog came round. this time he crossed the low part of the log, and stopped to smell it. 'yes, clearly it was rabbity,' but it was a stale scent now; still he mounted the log. it was a trying moment for rag, as the great hound came sniff-sniffing along the log. but his nerve did not forsake him; the wind was right; he had his mind made up to bolt as soon as ranger came half way up. but he didn't come. a yellow cur would have seen the rabbit sitting there, but the hound did not, and the scent seemed stale, so he leaped off the log, and rag had won. vii rag had never seen any other rabbit than his mother. indeed he had scarcely thought about there being any other. he was more and more away from her now, and yet he never felt lonely, for rabbits do not hanker for company. but one day in december, while he was among the red dogwood brush, cutting a new path to the great creekside thicket, he saw all at once against the sky over the sunning bank the head and ears of a strange rabbit. the new-comer had the air of a well-pleased discoverer and soon came hopping rag's way along one of _his_ paths into _his_ swamp. a new feeling rushed over him, that boiling mixture of anger and hatred called jealousy. the stranger stopped at one of rag's rubbing-trees--that is, a tree against which he used to stand on his heels and rub his chin as far up as he could reach. he thought he did this simply because he liked it; but all buck-rabbits do so, and several ends are served. it makes the tree rabbity, so that other rabbits know that this swamp already belongs to a rabbit family and is not open for settlement. it also lets the next one know by the scent if the last caller was an acquaintance, and the height from the ground of the rubbing-places shows how tall the rabbit is. now to his disgust rag noticed that the new-comer was a head taller than himself, and a big, stout buck at that. this was a wholly new experience and filled rag with a wholly new feeling. the spirit of murder entered his heart; he chewed very hard with nothing in his mouth, and hopping forward onto a smooth piece of hard ground he struck slowly: '_thump--thump--thump_,' which is a rabbit telegram for 'get out of my swamp, or fight.' the new-comer made a big v with his ears, sat upright for a few seconds, then, dropping on his fore-feet, sent along the ground a louder, stronger, '_thump--thump--thump_.' and so war was declared. they came together by short runs sidewise, each one trying to get the wind of the other and watching for a chance advantage. the stranger was a big, heavy buck with plenty of muscle, but one or two trifles such as treading on a turnover and failing to close when rag was on low ground showed that he had not much cunning and counted on winning his battles by his weight. on he came at last and rag met him like a little fury. as they came together they leaped up and struck out with their hind feet. _thud, thud_ they came, and down went poor little rag. in a moment the stranger was on him with his teeth and rag was bitten, and lost several tufts of hair before he could get up. but he was swift of foot and got out of reach. again he charged and again he was knocked down and bitten severely. he was no match for his foe, and it soon became a question of saving his own life. hurt as he was he sprang away, with the stranger in full chase, and bound to kill him as well as to oust him from the swamp where he was born. rag's legs were good and so was his wind. the stranger was big and so heavy that he soon gave up the chase, and it was well for poor rag that he did, for he was getting stiff from his wounds as well as tired. from that day began a reign of terror for rag. his training had been against owls, dogs, weasels, men, and so on, but what to do when chased by another rabbit, he did not know. all he knew was to lay low till he was found, then run. poor little molly was completely terrorized; she could not help rag and sought only to hide. but the big buck soon found her out. she tried to run from him, but she was not now so swift as rag. the stranger made no attempt to kill her, but he made love to her, and because she hated him and tried to get away, he treated her shamefully. day after day he worried her by following her about, and often, furious at her lasting hatred, he would knock her down and tear out mouthfuls of her soft fur till his rage cooled somewhat, when he would let her go for awhile. but his fixed purpose was to kill rag, whose escape seemed hopeless. there was no other swamp he could go to, and whenever he took a nap now he had to be ready at any moment to dash for his life. a dozen times a day the big stranger came creeping up to where he slept, but each time the watchful rag awoke in time to escape. to escape yet not to escape. he saved his life indeed, but oh! what a miserable life it had become. how maddening to be thus helpless, to see his little mother daily beaten and torn, as well as to see all his favorite feeding-grounds, the cosey nooks, and the pathways he had made with so much labor, forced from him by this hateful brute. unhappy rag realized that to the victor belong the spoils, and he hated him more than ever he did fox or ferret. how was it to end? he was wearing out with running and watching and bad food, and little molly's strength and spirit were breaking down under the long persecution. the stranger was ready to go to all lengths to destroy poor rag, and at last stooped to the worst crime known among rabbits. however much they may hate each other, all good rabbits forget their feuds when their common enemy appears. yet one day when a great goshawk came swooping over the swamp, the stranger, keeping well under cover himself, tried again and again to drive rag into the open. once or twice the hawk nearly had him, but still the briers saved him, and it was only when the big buck himself came near being caught that he gave it up. and again rag escaped, but was no better off. he made up his mind to leave, with his mother, if possible, next night and go into the world in quest of some new home when he heard old thunder, the hound, sniffing and searching about the outskirts of the swamp, and he resolved on playing a desperate game. he deliberately crossed the hound's view, and the chase that then began was fast and furious. thrice around the swamp they went till rag had made sure that his mother was hidden safely and that his hated foe was in his usual nest. then right into that nest and plump over him he jumped, giving him a rap with one hind foot as he passed over his head. "you miserable fool, i kill you yet," cried the stranger, and up he jumped only to find himself between rag and the dog and heir to all the peril of the chase. on came the hound baying hotly on the straight-away scent. the buck's weight and size were great advantages in a rabbit fight, but now they were fatal. he did not know many tricks. just the simple ones like 'double,' 'wind,' and 'hole-up,' that every baby bunny knows. but the chase was too close for doubling and winding, and he didn't know where the holes were. it was a straight race. the brier-rose, kind to all rabbits alike, did its best, but it was no use. the baying of the hound was fast and steady. the crashing of the brush and the yelping of the hound each time the briers tore his tender ears were borne to the two rabbits where they crouched in hiding. but suddenly these sounds stopped, there was a scuffle, then loud and terrible screaming. rag knew what it meant and it sent a shiver through him, but he soon forgot that when all was over and rejoiced to be once more the master of the dear old swamp. viii old olifant had doubtless a right to burn all those brush-piles in the east and south of the swamp and to clear up the wreck of the old barbed-wire hog-pen just below the spring. but it was none the less hard on rag and his mother. the first were their various residences and outposts, and the second their grand fastness and safe retreat. they had so long held the swamp and felt it to be their very own in every part and suburb--including olifant's grounds and buildings--that they would have resented the appearance of another rabbit even about the adjoining barnyard. their claim, that of long, successful occupancy, was exactly the same as that by which most nations hold their land, and it would be hard to find a better right. during the time of the january thaw the olifants had cut the rest of the large wood about the pond and curtailed the cottontails' domain on all sides. but they still clung to the dwindling swamp, for it was their home and they were loath to move to foreign parts. their life of daily perils went on, but they were still fleet of foot, long of wind, and bright of wit. of late they had been somewhat troubled by a mink that had wandered up-stream to their quiet nook. a little judicious guidance had transferred the uncomfortable visitor to olifant's hen-house. but they were not yet quite sure that he had been properly looked after. so for the present they gave up using the ground-holes, which were, of course, dangerous blind-alleys, and stuck closer than ever to the briers and the brush-piles that were left. that first snow had quite gone and the weather was bright and warm until now. molly, feeling a touch of rheumatism, was somewhere in the lower thicket seeking a tea-berry tonic. rag was sitting in the weak sunlight on a bank in the east side. the smoke from the familiar gable chimney of olifant's house came fitfully drifting a pale blue haze through the under-woods and showing as a dull brown against the brightness of the sky. the sun-gilt gable was cut off midway by the banks of brier-brush, that purple in shadow shone like rods of blazing crimson and gold in the light. beyond the house the barn with its gable and roof, new gilt as the house, stood up like a noah's ark. the sounds that came from it, and yet more the delicious smell that mingled with the smoke, told rag that the animals were being fed cabbage in the yard. rag's mouth watered at the idea of the feast. he blinked and blinked as he snuffed its odorous promises, for he loved cabbage dearly. but then he had been to the barnyard the night before after a few paltry clover-tops, and no wise rabbit would go two nights running to the same place. therefore he did the wise thing. he moved across where he could not smell the cabbage and made his supper of a bundle of hay that had been blown from the stack. later, when about to settle for the night, he was joined by molly, who had taken her tea-berry and then eaten her frugal meal of sweet birch near the sunning bank. meanwhile the sun had gone about his business elsewhere, taking all his gold and glory with him. off in the east a big black shutter came pushing up and rising higher and higher; it spread over the whole sky, shut out all light, and left the world a very gloomy place indeed. then another mischief-maker, the wind, taking advantage of the sun's absence, came on the scene and set about brewing trouble. the weather turned colder and colder; it seemed worse than when the ground had been covered with snow. "isn't this terribly cold? how i wish we had our stove-pipe brush-pile," said rag. "a good night for the pine-root hole," replied molly, "but we have not yet seen the pelt of that mink on the end of the barn, and it is not safe till we do." the hollow hickory was gone--in fact at this very moment its trunk, lying in the wood-yard, was harboring the mink they feared. so the cottontails hopped to the south side of the pond and, choosing a brush-pile, they crept under and snuggled down for the night, facing the wind but with their noses in different directions so as to go out different ways in case of alarm. the wind blew harder and colder as the hours went by, and about midnight a fine, icy snow came ticking down on the dead leaves and hissing through the brush heap. it might seem a poor night for hunting, but that old fox from springfield was out. he came pointing up the wind in the shelter of the swamp and chanced in the lee of the brush-pile, where he scented the sleeping cottontails. he halted for a moment, then came stealthily sneaking up toward the brush under which his nose told him the rabbits were crouching. the noise of the wind and the sleet enabled him to come quite close before molly heard the faint crunch of a dry leaf under his paw. she touched rag's whiskers, and both were fully awake just as the fox sprang on them; but they always slept with their legs ready for a jump. molly darted out into the blinding storm. the fox missed his spring, but followed like a racer, while rag dashed off to one side. there was only one road for molly; that was straight up the wind, and bounding for her life she gained a little over the unfrozen mud that would not carry the fox, till she reached the margin of the pond. no chance to turn now, on she must go. splash! splash! through the weeds she went, then plunge into the deep water. and plunge went the fox close behind. but it was too much for reynard on such a night. he turned back, and molly, seeing only one course, struggled through the reeds into the deep water and struck out for the other shore. but there was a strong headwind. the little waves, icy cold, broke over her head as she swam, and the water was full of snow that blocked her way like soft ice, or floating mud. the dark line of the other shore seemed far, far away, with perhaps the fox waiting for her there. but she laid her ears flat to be out of the gale, and bravely put forth all her strength with wind and tide against her. after a long, weary swim in the cold water, she had nearly reached the farther reeds when a great mass of floating snow barred her road; then the wind on the bank made strange, fox-like sounds that robbed her of all force, and she was drifted far backward before she could get free from the floating bar. again she struck out, but slowly--oh so slowly now. and when at last she reached the lee of the tall reeds, her limbs were numbed, her strength spent, her brave little heart was sinking, and she cared no more whether the fox were there or not. through the reeds she did indeed pass, but once in the weeds her course wavered and slowed, her feeble strokes no longer sent her landward, and the ice forming around her, stopped her altogether. in a little while the cold, weak limbs ceased to move, the furry nose-tip of the little mother cottontail wobbled no more, and the soft brown eyes were closed in death. * * * * * but there was no fox waiting to tear her with ravenous jaws. rag had escaped the first onset of the foe, and as soon as he regained his wits he came running back to change-off and so help his mother. he met the old fox going round the pond to meet molly and led him far and away, then dismissed him with a barbed-wire gash on his head, and came to the bank and sought about and trailed and thumped, but all his searching was in vain; he could not find his little mother. he never saw her again, and never knew whither she went, for she slept her never-waking sleep in the ice-arms of her friend the water that tells no tales. poor little molly cottontail! she was a true heroine, yet only one of unnumbered millions that without a thought of heroism have lived and done their best in their little world, and died. she fought a good fight in the battle of life. she was good stuff; the stuff that never dies. for flesh of her flesh and brain of her brain was rag. she lives in him, and through him transmits a finer fibre to her race. and rag still lives in the swamp. old olifant died that winter, and the unthrifty sons ceased to clear the swamp or mend the wire fences. within a single year it was a wilder place than ever; fresh trees and brambles grew, and falling wires made many cottontail castles and last retreats that dogs and foxes dared not storm. and there to this day lives rag. he is a big, strong buck now and fears no rivals. he has a large family of his own, and a pretty brown wife that he got no one knows where. there, no doubt, he and his children's children will flourish for many years to come, and there you may see them any sunny evening if you have learnt their signal code, and choosing a good spot on the ground, know just how and when to thump it. vixen the springfield fox i the hens had been mysteriously disappearing for over a month; and when i came home to springfield for the summer holidays it was my duty to find the cause. this was soon done. the fowls were carried away bodily one at a time, before going to roost, or else after leaving, which put tramps and neighbors out of court; they were not taken from the high perches, which cleared all coons and owls; or left partly eaten, so that weasels, skunks, or minks were not the guilty ones, and the blame, therefore, was surely left at reynard's door. the great pine wood of erindale was on the other bank of the river, and on looking carefully about the lower ford i saw a few fox-tracks and a barred feather from one of our plymouth rock chickens. on climbing the farther bank in search of more clews, i heard a great outcry of crows behind me, and turning, saw a number of these birds darting down at something in the ford. a better view showed that it was the old story, thief catch thief, for there in the middle of the ford was a fox with something in his jaws--he was returning from our barnyard with another hen. the crows, though shameless robbers themselves, are ever first to cry 'stop thief,' and yet more than ready to take 'hush-money' in the form of a share in the plunder. and this was their game now. the fox to get back home must cross the river, where he was exposed to the full brunt of the crow mob. he made a dash for it, and would doubtless have gotten across with his booty had i not joined in the attack, whereupon he dropped the hen, scarce dead, and disappeared in the woods. this large and regular levy of provisions wholly carried off could mean but one thing, a family of little foxes at home; and to find them i now was bound. that evening i went with ranger, my hound, across the river into the erindale woods. as soon as the hound began to circle, we heard the short, sharp bark of a fox from a thickly wooded ravine close by. ranger dashed in at once, struck a hot scent and went off on a lively straight-away till his voice was lost in the distance away over the upland. after nearly an hour he came back, panting and warm, for it was baking august weather, and lay down at my feet. but almost immediately the same foxy '_yap yurrr_' was heard close at hand and off dashed the dog on another chase. away he went in the darkness, baying like a foghorn, straight away to the north. and the loud '_boo, boo_,' became a low '_oo, oo_,' and that a feeble 'o-o' and then was lost. they must have gone some miles away, for even with ear to the ground i heard nothing of them, though a mile was easy distance for ranger's brazen voice. as i waited in the black woods i heard a sweet sound of dripping water: '_tink tank tenk tink, ta tink tank tenk tonk_.' i did not know of any spring so near, and in the hot night it was a glad find. but the sound led me to the bough of an oak-tree, where i found its source. such a soft, sweet song; full of delightful suggestion on such a night: tonk tank tenk tink ta tink a tonk a tank a tink a ta ta tink tank ta ta tonk tink drink a tank a drink a drunk. it was the 'water-dripping' song of the saw-whet owl. but suddenly a deep raucous breathing and a rustle of leaves showed that ranger was back. he was completely fagged out. his tongue hung almost to the ground and was dripping with foam, his flanks were heaving and spume-flecks dribbled from his breast and sides. he stopped panting a moment to give my hand a dutiful lick, then flung himself flop on the leaves to drown all other sounds with his noisy panting. but again that tantalizing '_yap yurrr_' was heard a few feet away, and the meaning of it all dawned on me. we were close to the den where the little foxes were, and the old ones were taking turns in trying to lead us away. it was late night now, so we went home feeling sure that the problem was nearly solved. ii it was well known that there was an old fox with his family living in the neighborhood, but no one supposed them so near. this fox had been called 'scarface,' because of a scar reaching from his eye through and back of his ear; this was supposed to have been given him by a barbed-wire fence during a rabbit hunt, and as the hair came in white after it healed, it was always a strong mark. the winter before i had met with him and had had a sample of his craftiness. i was out shooting, after a fall of snow, and had crossed the open fields to the edge of the brushy hollow back of the old mill. as my head rose to a view of the hollow i caught sight of a fox trotting at long range down the other side, in line to cross my course. instantly i held motionless, and did not even lower or turn my head lest i should catch his eye by moving, until he went on out of sight in the thick cover at the bottom. as soon as he was hidden i bobbed down and ran to head him off where he should leave the cover on the other side, and was there in good time awaiting, but no fox came forth. a careful took showed the fresh track of a fox that had bounded from the cover, and following it with my eye i saw old scarface himself far out of range behind me, sitting on his haunches and grinning as though much amused. a study of the trail made all clear. he had seen me at the moment i saw him, but he, also like a true hunter, had concealed the fact, putting on an air of unconcern till out of sight, when he had run for his life around behind me and amused himself by watching my stillborn trick. in the springtime i had yet another instance of scarface's cunning. i was walking with a friend along the road over the high pasture. we passed within thirty feet of a ridge on which were several gray and brown bowlders. when at the nearest point my friend said: "stone number three looks to me very much like a fox curled up." but i could not see it, and we passed. we had not gone many yards farther when the wind blew on this bowlder as on fur. my friend said, "i am sure that is a fox, lying asleep." "we'll soon settle that," i replied, and turned back, but as soon as i had taken one step from the road, up jumped scarface, for it was he, and ran. a fire had swept the middle of the pasture, leaving a broad belt of black; over this he skurried till he came to the unburnt yellow grass again, where he squatted down and was lost to view. he had been watching us all the time, and would not have moved had we kept to the road. the wonderful part of this is, not that he resembled the round stones and dry grass, but that he _knew he did_, and was ready to profit by it. we soon found that it was scarface and his wife vixen that had made our woods their home and our barnyard their base of supplies. next morning a search in the pines showed a great bank of earth that had been scratched up within a few months. it must have come from a hole, and yet there was none to be seen. it is well known that a really cute fox, on digging a new den, brings all the earth out at the first hole made, but carries on a tunnel into some distant thicket. then closing up for good the first made and too well-marked door, uses only the entrance hidden in the thicket. so after a little search at the other side of a knoll, i found the real entry and good proof that there was a nest of little foxes inside. rising above the brush on the hillside was a great hollow basswood. it leaned a good deal and had a large hole at the bottom, and a smaller one at top. we boys had often used this tree in playing swiss family robinson, and by cutting steps in its soft punky walls had made it easy to go up and down in the hollow. now it came in handy, for next day when the sun was warm i went there to watch, and from this perch on the roof, i soon saw the interesting family that lived in the cellar near by. there were four little foxes; they looked curiously like little lambs, with their woolly coats, their long, thick legs and innocent expressions, and yet a second glance at their broad, sharp-nosed, sharp-eyed visages showed that each of these innocents was the makings of a crafty old fox. they played about, basking in the sun, or wrestling with each other till a slight sound made them skurry under ground. but their alarm was needless, for the cause of it was their mother; she stepped from the bushes bringing another hen--number seventeen as i remember. a low call from her and the little fellows came tumbling out. then began a scene that i thought charming, but which my uncle would not have enjoyed at all. they rushed on the hen, and tussled and fought with it, and each other, while the mother, keeping a sharp eye for enemies, looked on with fond delight. the expression on her face was remarkable. it was first a grinning of delight, but her usual look of wildness and cunning was there, nor were cruelty and nervousness lacking, but over all was the unmistakable look of the mother's pride and love. the base of my tree was hidden in bushes and much lower than the knoll where the den was. so i could come and go at will without scaring the foxes. [illustration: they tussled and fought while their mother looked on with fond delight.] for many days i went there and saw much of the training of the young ones. they early learned to turn to statuettes at any strange sound, and then on hearing it again or finding other cause for fear, to run for shelter. some animals have so much mother-love that it overflows and benefits outsiders. not so old vixen it would seem. her pleasure in the cubs led to most refined cruelty. for she often brought home to them mice and birds alive, and with diabolical gentleness would avoid doing them serious hurt so that the cubs might have larger scope to torment them. there was a woodchuck that lived over in the hill orchard. he was neither handsome nor interesting, but he knew how to take care of himself. he had digged a den between the roots of an old pine-stump, so that the foxes could not follow him by digging. but hard work was not their way of life; wits they believed worth more than elbow-grease. this woodchuck usually sunned himself on the stump each morning. if he saw a fox near he went down in the door of his den, or if the enemy was very near he went inside and stayed long enough for the danger to pass. one morning vixen and her mate seemed to decide that it was time the children knew something about the broad subject of woodchucks, and further that this orchard woodchuck would serve nicely for an object-lesson. so they went together to the orchard-fence unseen by old chuckie on his stump. scarface then showed himself in the orchard and quietly walked in a line so as to, pass by the stump at a distance, but never once turned his head or allowed the ever-watchful woodchuck to think himself seen. when the fox entered the field the woodchuck quietly dropped down to the mouth of his den; here he waited as the fox passed, but concluding that after all wisdom is the better part, went into his hole. this was what the foxes wanted. vixen had kept out of sight, but now ran swiftly to the stump and hid behind it. scarface had kept straight on, going very slowly. the woodchuck had not been frightened, so before long his head popped up between the roots and he looked around. there was that fox still going on, farther and farther away. the woodchuck grew bold as the fox went, and came out farther, and then seeing the coast clear, he scrambled onto the stump, and with one spring vixen had him and shook him till he lay senseless. scarface had watched out of the corner of his eye and now came running back. but vixen took the chuck in her jaws and made for the den, so he saw he wasn't needed. back to the den came vix, and carried the chuck so carefully that he was able to struggle a little when she got there. a low '_woof_' at the den brought the little fellows out like school-boys to play. she threw the wounded animal to them and they set on him like four little furies, uttering little growls and biting little bites with all the strength of their baby jaws, but the woodchuck fought for his life and beating them off slowly hobbled to the shelter of a thicket. the little ones pursued like a pack of hounds and dragged at his tail and flanks, but could not hold him back. so vix overtook him with a couple of bounds and dragged him again into the open for the children to worry. again and again this rough sport went on till one of the little ones was badly bitten, and his squeal of pain roused vix to end the woodchuck's misery and serve him up at once. not far from the den was a hollow overgrown with coarse grass, the playground of a colony of field-mice. the earliest lesson in woodcraft that the little ones took, away from the den, was in this hollow. here they had their first course of mice, the easiest of all game. in teaching, the main thing was example, aided by a deep-set instinct. the old fox, also, had one or two signs meaning "lie still and watch," "come, do as i do," and so on, that were much used. so the merry lot went to this hollow one calm evening and mother fox made them lie still in the grass. presently a faint squeak showed that the game was astir. vix rose up and went on tip-toe into the grass--not crouching, but as high as she could stand, sometimes on her hind legs so as to get a better view. the runs that the mice follow are hidden under the grass tangle, and the only way to know the whereabouts of a mouse is by seeing the slight shaking of the grass, which is the reason why mice are hunted only on calm days. and the trick is to locate the mouse and seize him first and see him afterward. vix soon made a spring, and in the middle of the bunch of dead grass that she grabbed was a field-mouse squeaking his last squeak. he was soon gobbled, and the four awkward little foxes tried to do the same as their mother, and when at length the eldest for the first time in his life caught game, he quivered with excitement and ground his pearly little milk-teeth into the mouse with a rush of inborn savageness that must have surprised even himself. another home lesson was on the red-squirrel. one of these noisy, vulgar creatures, lived close by and used to waste part of each day scolding the foxes, from some safe perch. the cubs made many vain attempts to catch him as he ran across their glade from one tree to another, or spluttered and scolded at them a foot or so out of reach. but old vixen was up in natural history--she knew squirrel nature and took the case in hand when the proper time came. she hid the children and lay down flat in the middle of the open glade. the saucy low-minded squirrel came and scolded as usual. but she moved no hair. he came nearer and at last right overhead to chatter: "you brute you, you brute you." but vix lay as dead. this was very perplexing, so the squirrel came down the trunk and peeping about made a nervous dash across the grass, to another tree, again to scold from a safe perch. "you brute you, you useless brute, scarrr-scarrrrr." but flat and lifeless on the grass lay vix. this was most tantalizing to the squirrel. he was naturally curious and disposed to be venturesome, so again he came to the ground and skurried across the glade nearer than before. still as death lay vix, "surely she was dead." and the little foxes began to wonder if their mother wasn't asleep. but the squirrel was working himself into a little craze of foolhardy curiosity. he had dropped a piece of bark on vix's head; he had used up his list of bad words, and he had done it all over again, without getting a sign of life. so after a couple more dashes across the glade he ventured within a few feet of the really watchful vix, who sprang to her feet and pinned him in a twinkling. "and the little ones picked the bones e-oh." thus the rudiments of their education were laid, and afterward, as they grew stronger, they were taken farther afield to begin the higher branches of trailing and scenting. for each kind of prey they were taught a way to hunt, for every animal has some great strength or it could not live, and some great weakness or the others could not live. the squirrel's weakness was foolish curiosity; the fox's that he can't climb a tree. and the training of the little foxes was all shaped to take advantage of the weakness of the other creatures and to make up for their own by defter play where they are strong. from their parents they learned the chief axioms of the fox world. how, is not easy to say. but that they learned this in company with their parents was clear. here are some that foxes taught me, without saying a word:-- never sleep on your straight track. your nose is before your eyes, then trust it first. a fool runs down the wind. running rills cure many ills. never take the open if you can keep the cover. never leave a straight trail if a crooked one will do. if it's strange, it's hostile. dust and water burn the scent. never hunt mice in a rabbit-woods, or rabbits in a henyard. keep off the grass. inklings of the meanings of these were already entering the little ones' minds--thus, 'never follow what you can't smell,' was wise, they could see, because if you can't smell it, then the wind is so that it must smell you. one by one they learned the birds and beasts of their home woods, and then as they were able to go abroad with their parents they learned new animals. they were beginning to think they knew the scent of everything that moved. but one night the mother took them to a field where was a strange black flat thing on the ground. she brought them on purpose to smell it, but at the first whiff their every hair stood on end, they trembled, they knew not why-it seemed to tingle through their blood and fill them with instinctive hate and fear. and when she saw its full effect she told them-- "_that is man-scent_." [illustration] iii meanwhile the hens continued to disappear. i had not betrayed the den of cubs. indeed, i thought a good deal more of the little rascals than i did of the hens; but uncle was dreadfully wrought up and made most disparaging remarks about my woodcraft. to please him i one day took the hound across to the woods and seating myself on a stump on the open hillside, i bade the dog go on. within three minutes he sang out in the tongue all hunters know so well, "fox! fox! fox! straight away down the valley." after awhile i heard them coming back. there i saw the fox--scarface--loping lightly across the river-bottom to the stream. in he went and trotted along in the shallow water near the margin for two hundred yards, then came out straight toward me. though in full view, he saw me not, but came up the hill watching over his shoulder for the hound. within ten feet of me he turned and sat with his back to me while he craned his neck and showed an eager interest in the doings of the hound. ranger came bawling along the trail till he came to the running water, the killer of scent, and here he was puzzled; but there was only one thing to do; that was by going up and down both banks find where the fox had left the river. the fox before me shifted his position a little to get a better view and watched with a most human interest all the circling of the hound. he was so close that i saw the hair of his shoulder bristle a little when the dog came in sight. i could see the jumping of his heart on his ribs, and the gleam of his yellow eye. when the dog was wholly baulked by the water trick it was comical to see:--he could not sit still, but rocked up and down in glee, and reared on his hind feet to get a better view of the slow-plodding hound. with mouth opened nearly to his ears, though not at all winded, he panted noisily for a moment, or rather he laughed gleefully just as a dog laughs by grinning and panting. old scarface wriggled in huge enjoyment as the hound puzzled over the trail so long that when he did find it, it was so stale he could barely follow it, and did not feel justified in tonguing on it at all. as soon as the hound was working up the hill, the fox quietly went into the woods. i had been sitting in plain view only ten feet away, but i had the wind and kept still and the fox never knew that his life had for twenty minutes been in the power of the foe he most feared. ranger would also have passed me as near as the fox, but i spoke to him, and with a little nervous start he quit the trail and looking sheepish lay down by my feet. this little comedy was played with variations for several days, but it was all in plain view from the house across the river. my uncle, impatient at the daily loss of hens, went out himself, sat on the open knoll, and when old scarface trotted to his lookout to watch the dull hound on the river flat below, my uncle remorselessly shot him in the back, at the very moment when he was grinning over a new triumph. iv but still the hens were disappearing. my uncle was wrathy. he determined to conduct the war himself, and sowed the woods with poison baits, trusting to luck that our own dogs would not get them. he indulged in contemptuous remarks on my by-gone woodcraft, and went out evenings with a gun and the two dogs, to see what he could destroy. vix knew right well what a poison bait was; she passed them by or else treated them with active contempt, but one she dropped down the hole, of an old enemy, a skunk, who was never afterward seen. formerly old scarface was always ready to take charge of the dogs, and keep them out of mischief. but now that vix had the whole burden of the brood, she could no longer spend time in breaking every track to the den, and was not always at hand to meet and mislead the foes that might be coming too near. the end is easily foreseen. ranger followed a hot trail to the den, and spot, the fox-terrier, announced that the family was at home, and then did his best to go in after them. the whole secret was now out, and the whole family doomed. the hired man came around with pick and shovel to dig them out, while we and the dogs stood by. old vix soon showed herself in the near woods, and led the dogs away off down the river, where she shook them off when she thought proper, by the simple device of springing on a sheep's back. the frightened animal ran for several hundred yards; then vix got off, knowing that there was now a hopeless gap in the scent, and returned to the den. but the dogs, baffled by the break in the trail, soon did the same, to find vix hanging about in despair, vainly trying to decoy us away from her treasures. meanwhile paddy plied both pick and shovel with vigor and effect. the yellow, gravelly sand was heaping on both sides, and the shoulders of the sturdy digger were sinking below the level. after an hour's digging, enlivened by frantic rushes of the dogs after the old fox, who hovered near in the woods, pat called: "here they are, sor!" it was the den at the end of the burrow, and cowering as far back as they could, were the four little woolly cubs. before i could interfere, a murderous blow from the shovel, and a sudden rush for the fierce little terrier, ended the lives of three. the fourth and smallest was barely saved by holding him by his tail high out of reach of the excited dogs. he gave one short squeal, and his poor mother came at the cry, and circled so near that she would have been shot but for the accidental protection of the dogs, who somehow always seemed to get between, and whom she once more led away on a fruitless chase. the little one saved alive was dropped into a bag, where he lay quite still. his unfortunate brothers were thrown back into their nursery bed, and buried under a few shovelfuls of earth. we guilty ones then went back into the house, and the little fox was soon chained in the yard. no one knew just why he was kept alive, but in all a change of feeling had set in, and the idea of killing him was without a supporter. he was a pretty little fellow, like a cross between a fox and a lamb. his woolly visage and form were strangely lamb-like and innocent, but one could find in his yellow eyes a gleam of cunning and savageness as unlamb-like as it possibly could be. as long as anyone was near he crouched sullen and cowed in his shelter-box, and it was a full hour after being left alone before he ventured to look out. my window now took the place of the hollow basswood. a number of hens of the breed he knew so well were about the cub in the yard. late that afternoon as they strayed near the captive there was a sudden rattle of the chain, and the youngster dashed at the nearest one and would have caught him but for the chain which brought him up with a jerk. he got on his feet and slunk back to his box, and though he afterward made several rushes he so gauged his leap as to win or fail within the length of the chain and never again was brought up by its cruel jerk. as night came down the little fellow became very uneasy, sneaking out of his box, but going back at each slight alarm, tugging at his chain, or at times biting it in fury while he held it down with his fore-paws. suddenly he paused as though listening, then raising his little black nose he poured out a short, quavering cry. once or twice this was repeated, the time between being occupied in worrying the chain and running about. then an answer came. the far-away _yap yurrr_ of the old fox. a few minutes later a shadowy form appeared on the wood-pile. the little one slunk into his box, but at once returned and ran to meet his mother with all the gladness that a fox could show. quick as a flash she seized him and turned to bear him away by the road she came. but the moment the end of the chain was reached the cub was rudely jerked from the old one's mouth, and she, scared by the opening of a window, fled over the wood-pile. an hour afterward the cub had ceased to run about or cry. i peeped out, and by the light of the moon saw the form of the mother at full length on the ground by the little one gnawing at something--the clank of iron told what, it was that cruel chain. and tip, the little one, meanwhile was helping himself to a warm drink. on my going out she fled into the dark woods, but there by the shelter-box were two little mice, bloody and still warm, food for the cub brought by the devoted mother. and in the morning i found the chain was very bright for a foot or two next the little one's collar. on walking across the woods to the ruined den, i again found signs of vixen. the poor heart-broken mother had come and dug out the bedraggled bodies of her little ones. there lay the three little baby foxes all licked smooth now, and by them were two of our hens fresh killed. the newly heaved earth was printed all over with tell-tale signs--signs that told me that here by the side of her dead she had watched like rizpah. here she had brought their usual meal, the spoil of her nightly hunt. here she had stretched herself beside them and vainly offered them their natural drink and yearned to feed and warm them as of old; but only stiff little bodies under their soft wool she found, and little cold noses still and unresponsive. a deep impress of elbows, breast, and hocks showed where she had laid in silent grief and watched them for long and mourned as a wild mother can mourn for its young. but from that time she came no more to the ruined den, for now she surely knew that her little ones were dead. v tip, the captive, the weakling of the brood, was now the heir to all her love. the dogs were loosed to guard the hens. the hired man had orders to shoot the old fox on sight--so had i, but was resolved never to see her. chicken-heads, that a fox loves and a dog will not touch, had been poisoned and scattered through the woods; and the only way to the yard where tip was tied was by climbing the wood-pile after braving all other dangers. and yet each night old vix was there to nurse her baby and bring it fresh-killed hens and game. again and again i saw her, although she came now without awaiting the querulous cry of the captive. the second night of the captivity i heard the rattle of the chain, and then made out that the old fox was there, hard at work digging a hole by the little one's kennel. when it was deep enough to half bury her, she gathered into it all the slack of the chain, and filled it again with earth. then in triumph thinking she had gotten rid of the chain, she seized little tip by the neck and turned to dash off up the woodpile, but alas only to have him jerked roughly from her grasp. poor little fellow, he whimpered sadly as he crawled into his box. after half an hour there was a great outcry among the dogs, and by their straight-away tonguing through the far woods i knew they were chasing vix. away up north they went in the direction of the railway and their noise faded from hearing. next morning the hound had not come back. we soon knew why. foxes long ago learned what a railroad is; they soon devised several ways of turning it to account. one way is when hunted to walk the rails for a long distance just before a train comes. the scent, always poor on iron, is destroyed by the train and there is always a chance of hounds being killed by the engine. but another way more sure, but harder to play, is to lead the hounds straight to a high trestle just ahead of the train, so that the engine overtakes them on it and they are surely dashed to destruction. this trick was skilfully played, and down below we found the mangled remains of old ranger and learned that vix was already wreaking her revenge. that same night she returned to the yard before spot's weary limbs could bring him back and killed another hen and brought it to tip, and stretched her panting length beside him that he might quench his thirst. for she seemed to think he had no food but what she brought. it was that hen that betrayed to my uncle the nightly visits. my own sympathies were all turning to vix, and i would have no hand in planning further murders. next night my uncle himself watched, gun in hand, for an hour. then when it became cold and the moon clouded over he remembered other important business elsewhere, and left paddy in his place. but paddy was "onaisy" as the stillness and anxiety of watching worked on his nerves. and the loud bang! bang! an hour later left us sure only that powder had been burned. in the morning we found vix had not failed her young one. again next night found my uncle on guard, for another hen had been taken. soon after dark a single shot was heard, but vix dropped the game she was bringing and escaped. another attempt made that night called forth another gun-shot. yet next day it was seen by the brightness of the chain that she had come again and vainly tried for hours to cut that hateful bond. such courage and stanch fidelity were bound to win respect, if not toleration. at any rate, there was no gunner in wait next night, when all was still. could it be of any use? driven off thrice with gun-shots, would she make another try to feed or free her captive young one? would she? hers was a mother's love. there was but one to watch them this time, the fourth night, when the quavering whine of the little one was followed by that shadowy form above the wood-pile. but carrying no fowl or food that could be seen. had the keen huntress failed at last? had she no head of game for this her only charge, or had she learned to trust his captors for his food? no, far from all this. the wild-wood mother's heart and hate were true. her only thought had been to set him free. all means she knew she tried, and every danger braved to tend him well and help him to be free. but all had failed. like a shadow she came and in a moment was gone, and tip seized on something dropped, and crunched and chewed with relish what she brought. but even as he ate, a knife-like pang shot through and a scream of pain escaped him. then there was a momentary struggle and the little fox was dead. the mother's love was strong in vix, but a higher thought was stronger. she knew right well the poison's power; she knew the poison bait, and would have taught him had he lived to know and shun it too. but now at last when she must choose for him a wretched prisoner's life or sudden death, she quenched the mother in her breast and freed him by the one remaining door. * * * * * it is when the snow is on the ground that we take the census of the woods, and when the winter came it told me that vix no longer roamed the woods of erindale. where she went it never told, but only this, that she was gone. gone, perhaps, to some other far-off haunt to leave behind the sad remembrance of her murdered little ones and mate. or gone, may be, deliberately, from the scene of a sorrowful life, as many a wild-wood mother has gone, by the means that she herself had used to free her young one, the last of all her brood. _camp fire yarns of the lost legion_ [illustration] [illustration: t. f. kynnersley, esq., of leighton, salop, d.l., j.p., and late captain and s.o. lonsdale's horse.] camp fire yarns of the lost legion by colonel g. hamilton-browne "maori browne" late commandant in colonial forces author of "with the lost legion in new zealand" "a lost legionary in south africa" london t. werner laurie ltd. clifford's inn this skein of yarns is dedicated to my old friend and comrade in arms during - - thomas f. kynnersley of leighton, co. salop d.l., j.p. and late capt. and staff officer in lonsdale's horse whose fondness for a good story is as keen now as it was in the days of yore when in bivouac or camp we used to spin them preface in introducing these yarns let me state that now i am laid up on the shelf my thoughts go back to those days and nights of the veld and bush, and i frequently feel i would give all the rest of the map if i could again find myself on the open lands of the frontier with a good horse between my knees and a few score of the old boys behind me. now i hold pen instead of carbine and revolver, but why should memories of the old days pass away? let me fancy i sit by the camp fire again, telling yarns as we used to under the dark blue skies and blazing stars of south africa. let me spin you some yarns of the lost legion. contents part i chapter page i. the maori as i knew him ii. how matene failed to convert the lower wanganui iii. how a scout won the new zealand cross iv. a hau hau martyr v. a brush with bushrangers vi. the scout that failed vii. some miraculous escapes i have known viii. a tough swim in bad company ix. held up by a bushranger x. on the scout in new zealand xi. the colonel's fiery tot xii. lost in the new zealand bush xiii. the trooper's regard for his trust and horse xiv. a gruesome flute xv. the doctor and the sentry xvi. how kiwi saved his clothes and the governor lost his dinner xvii. a south sea bubble part ii i. the dÉbut of the lost legion in natal ii. a queer card iii. a conversion that failed iv. jack ashore in v. the conversion of mike o'leary vi. bushed vii. the non-com.'s revenge list of illustrations t. f. kynnersley of leighton salop, capt. and s.o. of l.h., _frontispiece_ rewi fighting chief of the waikatos _to face page_ gateway to maori kianga " a maori girl " yarn spinning in south africa " te tarata, the white terrace, rotomahana " the conversion of mike o'leary " the neglected soldier fame is but a fleeting shadow, glory but an empty name; spite of all that i have gone through, 'tis, i find, a losing game: without interest, without money, nothing can a soldier gain; though he be the sole survivor of a host of comrades slain: what avail these glitt'ring honours, which a queen laid on my breast; though i've sought them from my childhood, would i'd fallen with the rest: then my heart had not been broken life had fled without a sigh; hunger presses--i am fainting-- ought a soldier thus to die? the old shekarry. camp-fire yarns of the lost legion part i chapter i the maori as i knew him camped in a london flat, sick of the turmoil, rows and worries of the big city, with its pushing, hurrying and ill-mannered crowds, can it be wondered at that i let my thoughts often wander far away to the days of my early manhood, when i passed over ten years in the dense and silent, though beautiful, bush of new zealand, or rode across the wild, open and breezy plains of its inland plateaus? during this time i had ample opportunities for observing and studying the natives, both in war and peace: in the former especially, as i not only fought against them, but i also fought side by side with the brothers, cousins and quondam friends of the very men we were engaged against. queer, very queer, people they were, and, to describe them in a few words, i should pronounce them to be bundles of contradictions, whose faults made them hateful, but whose many good qualities rendered them one of the most charming race of people it has ever been my lot to meet. they have been described by numerous writers far more capable than myself, and whose pens are far more graphic than my own, but yet perhaps a few traits in their many-sided characters, that i have experienced myself, may interest you. to begin with, let me speak of their courage, which was displayed in such a marked degree during the long wars that lasted from to , for the whole of which period the maoris were hopelessly outnumbered and, as far as armament went, were equally outclassed. yet these brave fellows fought on and on, and even when the end came, and the shattered remnants of the so-called rebels took refuge in the king country, the new zealand government, fearing to risk further war with the powerful waikato tribes, resorted to what was called the blanket-and-sugar policy, rather than follow te kooti or demand his extradition from king tawhiao, who at that time was just as independent of english rule as france was. the first fighting took place in , and soon general sir duncan cameron had over imperial troops under his command, as well as an equal number of colonial militia and irregulars, and also a powerful naval brigade. he had also a strong force of artillery, and was well supplied with ammunition and stores of all kinds. yet perhaps you will scarcely credit me when i tell you that never at any single moment had he more than natives in arms against him, and that he was never opposed in any single action by even men. it must be borne in mind that sir duncan's force was one of the most powerful that england, up to that time, without the assistance of allies, had ever put into the field; that the men who composed it were all of them good, seasoned men, many of them being veterans of the crimea and mutiny; that the militia were highly trained, most of them old soldiers, under the command of ex-imperial officers; that the irregulars proved themselves to be second to none in the field, and that the natives only possessed old muskets and fowling-pieces. now these numbers are staggering, but absolutely correct, as it is also that the above force made but small headway against this handful of savages; for although sir duncan forced his way into the waikato and held a chain of forts there, yet on the west coast, especially in the districts of taranaki and wanganui, the settlers had to abandon their homesteads, the women and children being sent for safety to the south island, and no man's life was safe beyond rifle range of the forts. this was the state of new zealand in , after six years of incessant war, and it can only be accounted for in the following way:-- to commence, the general and his officers were hidebound with the old traditions and maxims of the british army. they simply would not or could not adapt themselves to the exigencies or tactics of irregular warfare, nor could they be made to understand or believe that a regiment that could march in line like a brick wall might easily be worsted by a mob of savages in a new zealand bush. then again when attacking pahs: the general considered that the correct way to do so was, after a sharp bombardment, to rush the place with the bayonet. who could imagine for a moment that natives could hold their flimsy stockades against men who had stormed the redan and taken delhi at the point of the bayonet. yet they did. rangiriri was assaulted three times, and on each occasion, notwithstanding the splendid devotion and courage of our gallant tommies, they were driven back with great loss. yet on the following day the defenders marched out and laid down their arms. why? for three days they had been without one drop of water. the general knew they had no water, then why did he risk the lives of his splendid men by ordering futile assaults? rangiriri took place in november , and one would have thought that the general might have learned something, by its lesson, of the ways how best to deal with a maori pah; but he had neglected to do so, for in april, the following year, he invested orakau pah, the defenders of which exhibited gallantry seldom equalled and never surpassed in all the annals of human warfare. let me try and give you a brief account, as i heard it some years afterwards from the mouth of one of its defenders: "listen, te parione, i will tell you how i first saw white men and fought against them. it was at orakau, in the land of the waikato tribes, and the fight happened in this manner: "we of the taupo tribes must pay a visit of ceremony to the chiefs and people of the waikatos, and at the same time the uriwera people wished to do the same. our intention was to discuss many things with the waikatos, and to hold a big runanga (deliberation) concerning the war. we journeyed there, although we knew much war was going on, and we were most anxious to hear about and see something of this war, so that we could judge for ourselves the might and fighting customs of the white men. it was necessary for us to do this, as at that time we knew but little of the white man, or the war customs of the soldiers; and as we might have to fight them later on, it was well for us to know their manners in war. we travelled together, in two parties, as our love is not great for the uriwera, and reached the land of the waikatos. these could give us but a short tangi (reception ceremony), as the war was hot in the land and the people much engaged in fighting; but they gave us the orakau pah to dwell in, until such time as the runanga could be held. some chiefs of the waikatos also stayed with us in the pah, as hosts, and food was sent us daily, our women, some forty in number, having to fetch water from a distance, as there was none close to the pah. "we heard daily of the advance of the white men, and we hoped to see them, but did not go near them. it would not have been right to do so: we were on a visit of ceremony, we had no anger against them, and no cause to fight with them. "one day we heard they were quite near, and our hearts were glad, as perhaps we should get our desire and gaze on them. next day they came in sight, long columns of them, each man in his place. and it was good to look at them. they were in great numbers. we had never seen so many men at one time, and our hearts grew dark within us at their might and order. instead of passing on their way as we expected, some of them turned to the right and some moved to our left, until we were quite surrounded; and when they were all placed they stood still and remained quiet. we were surprised and in great wonder; nor could we understand the meaning of this, until there came to us, as herald, the mouth (interpreter) of their war chief, who told us, in the name of the great white queen, to give up the pah, lay down our arms, and render ourselves prisoners to the white men. our head chief told him that we could not do this, that we were not there to fight against the white man, but that we were taupo and uriwera maoris, that we were on a visit of ceremony to the waikatos, and that we had no anger or cause against the soldiers. but the white chief was mad, and sent the mouth again, saying we must give up the pah to him or he would attack us. "our hearts were very dark with fear at the might and number of the soldiers, and we discussed the situation. how could we give up the pah? had not the waikatos lent us their pah to live in? and were we not responsible for the honour of it? how could we give it up? no, we must guard the pah with our lives, or our disgrace would resound through the land and our shame live for ever. we had no wish to fight the soldiers, but we must. now the white man is not ceremonious, for he gave us no time to dress for war, dance the war-dance, nor even to utter our war-cries; for as soon as the herald returned to his chief we saw a taua (war party) leave their army and come straight for the outer fence, and we had to hasten, so as to get into the trench and flanking angles. "very great is the courage of the soldiers, but great is their folly; for this taua moved all in a body, close together, with a young chief walking in front of them with his sword in his hand. soon they came near, and the young chief raised his sword and shouted. the taua at once rushed at us, all of them shouting loud. "our hearts were dark with fear, for the anger of the white man was very great. rewi (a great fighting chief of the waikatos') had told us before to harden ourselves against the anger and shouts of the white men, and had given us orders not to fire until he gave the signal, then all to fire at one time. when the taua was within six fathoms of us he gave the signal, and our fire darted out from under the fence. many of the white men fell, but the rest rushed on, some of them trying to pull down the fence with their hands, others firing through it with their guns, and some thrusting at us with their bayonets. none of them seemed to fear death, though they fell fast. we now fired our second barrels, reloading as fast as we could, the women helping us, the men in the flanking angles also firing, so that the smoke rose in clouds, and the sky resounded with the shouting of the white men and our war-cries. all fear had fallen away from us, and we now saw that the great white chief was ceremonious, as he had only sent such a number of men as we could cope with, all his other men remaining where they had first stopped and not interfering with us. but it was otherwise with the men with whom we were fighting, as they swore at us and called us many bad names. and this was wrong, and filled us with wonder, as we had done them no evil. but perhaps it is the custom of the soldiers to do so. "the fight had lasted but a short time. i had loaded my tupara (double-barrelled gun) twice when a bugle called out, and the soldiers, leaving us, went back. no, they did not run away, they went slowly, looking back at us as if sorry to leave the fight and taking their wounded men with them. "we were greatly elated that we had saved the pah, and thought that now the white men, having no cause of war against us, and having done all that was necessary for both their own honour and ours, would pass on their way, leaving us in peace. "it was also near the time for our evening meal. the waikato women had not, according to their custom, brought us any provisions that day, this having been delayed, we thought, on account of the fight. but as that was now over, there could be no further cause for their not coming, and if our women were to fetch water, it would be ready for the food when it presently arrived. "our women left the pah for this purpose, and had been gone but a short time when they returned and told us that the soldiers would not allow them to pass, and that, on their insisting on doing so, telling the interpreter that there was no water or food in the pah and that they must get some, the mouth had told them that the big chief had given orders that no food or water should be carried into the pah and that if they passed through the soldiers they would be prevented from coming back. so they had returned. "this news filled us with wonder. surely the white chief must be mad. enough fighting had been done for the honour of ourselves and the soldiers. even should he require more, how could he expect our hearts to be strong and for us to be able to fight well if he was to stop us obtaining food and water? it was folly. no man can fight as he should do when he is weak and famished. he had very many men. there had not been maoris, including women, in the pah from the beginning, and some of us had been killed and wounded; so we felt bitter towards the white chief, for our thirst with fighting, shouting and the powder smoke, was great. "next morning we saw many more soldiers had arrived, bringing with them several big guns, and the herald again approached us. this time he told us that if we would not render up the pah the big guns would fire on us. he also said we should have no food or water. to this rewi made answer: 'we will not render up the pah and our honour. enough, we will fight right on for ever.' and we all shouted, 'aké, aké, aké' (for ever, for ever, for ever). "then the white chief sent word: 'save your women, let them come out, they shall pass in safety and honour through the soldiers.' "but the women refused, and rewi answered: 'the women will fight with us.' "no sooner had the herald left us than the big guns began to shoot, also some short, fat guns (cohorns) that threw iron balls up into the air, so that they dropped inside the pah. and these balls, being filled with powder, burst, inside the pah, with great noise, and pieces of iron flew all around, while a great number of soldiers, drawing near, began to fire at the pah, so that soon the whole place was filled with dust and confusion, while the air was torn with the shrieking of the pieces of iron and the whistling of bullets. we were stricken with fear, and were glad to take refuge in the underground houses of the waikatos. and now we understood their reason for building these, and our fear soon left us, when we discovered that all this noise and trouble did us no harm. after this had gone on some time, rewi called to us that a taua was getting ready to attack us, and ordered us to make ready for it. and just then the fire from the big guns ceased, so as to enable us to do so. "this was quite right, for, if they had continued to fire, we could not have left the underground houses, and then should not have had time to get into the trenches to welcome the soldiers. this made us think better of the white chief, who, we now saw, was most ceremonious, as he again only sent as many men against us as we could contend with on equal terms. and in all things, except the matter of food and water, he proved himself to be a great and wise war chief. "the hapu (tribe) of soldiers sent against us this time was not the same tribe as that which had attacked us previously, as they wore another number on their head-dress. and this was as it should be, for the chief had many different tribes in his army, and each of these must be given a chance of honour. but he must have been blind in his great folly, as if he wished to send all his tribes, each in its turn, against us, at the same time refusing us food and water, how could he expect us to keep our hearts strong, so as to be able to resist in a befitting manner those whose turn came later on? then again our powder would fail. but this he had provided against, as i will tell you shortly. "now this new taua acted just the same as the other had done. they all moved in a body, and when the chief, who walked in front, raised his weapon they all ran forward to try and tear down the outer fence. some of them had also brought with them large tomahawks with which to cut it down, and rewi called to us to use our second shots on these men. shouting loudly, the taua charged at us, and when they reached within six fathoms of us our fire rushed to meet them. many of them fell, and those who reached the fence failed to break in, though they did all that brave men could do. the men with the tomahawks were soon shot down, and the fight waxed very hot, although our war-cries were small, our thirst being very great. "soon the bugle again called, and the white men went back slowly and in great anger, some of them shaking their hands at us and swearing loudly. but this we did not heed greatly, as we had decided, among ourselves, that this was their custom and that they did so with no intent to insult us, who had done them no wrong. "soon the big guns began to shoot again: this time at the pekaranga (outer fence), so as to try and break it down. but the fence was made of very many slender manuka poles, lashed firmly to many cross-pieces, these being made fast to stout posts set firmly in the ground, the lower part of the fence being just clear of the ground, so that we could fire under it from the trench that was just behind it. and behind this trench, in which we stood, were the earthworks and heavy palisading of the pah. "now the outer fence being composed in this way, the shot from the big guns only broke one or at the most two sticks of the fence, and then buried themselves in the earth. this did but little harm to us, as the holes made in the fence could be easily repaired and were not nearly large enough for a soldier to pass through. the short, fat guns also began to throw their balls into the pah. but as long as we remained in the underground houses these did us no harm. and it was by them the white chief showed his wisdom, insomuch as he employed these balls to furnish us with powder, so as to enable us to continue fighting, as we quickly discovered that very many of these balls did not burst and from them we extracted very many charges of powder. all these big guns fired with great fury at us for some time, and then ceased, so as to give us the opportunity of getting into the trenches to receive another taua. "this came in the same manner as the previous ones, and went back as they did, not being able to break through the fence, and losing many men. "all the rest of that day the big guns continued to shoot at us and the soldiers to fire into the pah, while we suffered much from the want of food and water. "that evening the mouth came to us again with word from the chief to render the pah and ourselves to him. "this we again refused to do. true, we had fought enough to save the honour of the pah, and we should have left it before, had we been able to do so; but we were, on all sides, surrounded by soldiers, so could not escape. and if we rendered ourselves up as prisoners, we, who were, with but few exceptions, all well-born rangitera (gentlemen), would lose caste and become slaves. therefore we must fight for ever, even if we should have to die from thirst. all that evening, and also at intervals during the night, the big guns fired at us; and we had to take the time between these to lick with our tongues the dew that fell from the sky, so as to try and cool our parched throats, as by now our thirst was very great. "we could get no rest that night, as the white men frequently fired these powder-filled balls into the pah. and we discovered another reason for their use: one being to bring us powder, the other to keep us awake, so as to be ready to resist an attack should the chief desire one to be made. we had thought, at first, they had been intended to kill and injure us, but as they had hurt no one, we now understood their proper use. and we again wondered at a chief who, being so wise in some matters, should be so foolish as to keep us without food and water, as he still had many more tribes to send to fight us. "next morning we saw that the white men had dug, during the night, many rifle pits, and had begun to dig trenches, so as to be able to approach us closely, without our being able to fire at them. escape we had deemed impossible before, but when the mouth came to call us to render ourselves prisoners, we again cried, as loud as our thirst allowed us: 'we fight on; aké, aké, aké.' "that day the big guns fired frequently, and tauas attacked us twice, always in the same manner as i have already told you; but the last taua were very full of anger, and the bugle had to call twice before they left us. "the soldiers also kept on digging their trenches, and kept on firing both from big guns and muskets. "during the night we again tried to quench our thirst with the dew, for we were getting weak and suffering greatly; and rewi with the rest of us chiefs consulted as to what we should do, for we saw that by the next evening the soldiers would have dug their trenches up to the outer fence and that the pah must fall. these were the words of rewi, and we all agreed with them: "'o ye chiefs of taupo and uriwera, we have done all that brave men can do. we have saved the honour of the pah, we must now look to ourselves. the soldiers will enter the pah to-morrow, and we, through the folly of the white chief, will be too weak from famine and thirst to resist them. it is unbecoming that we, who are gentlemen, should render ourselves prisoners; therefore only one thing remains for us to do. we must charge the enemy and try to escape by breaking through them. perchance some of us will succeed, the remainder must die as it befits warriors to die.' "he then told us his plan. 'at midday the soldiers take their meal, leaving only guards in the trenches. we will leave the pah quietly in a body and rush those who are behind the bank--that is, in front of the gate--and we will break through them there. they will be eating. perchance we may find them unprepared.' to this we all agreed, each man determining to escape or die. "next morning we saw the trenches had approached us closely, and so near were they that the soldiers were able to throw great numbers of small balls filled with powder into our trench and the pah itself. these balls burst on reaching us, and were thrown by the hands of the soldiers themselves, not by the big guns, though these also kept firing all the time, and we saw before night came again the pah must fall. "no taua attacked us this morning, as they wished the big guns to break down our defences, as much as possible, before they again assailed us. the sun reached its height and the firing somewhat ceased. rewi said the time was come, and we gathered together at the gate of the pah, all the women being with us. yes, it was certainly the time for the soldiers' meal, and we, who had neither eaten nor drunk for more than three days, tried to laugh when we thought how we were shortly to disturb their eating it. "now, parion, so that you may understand fully how these matters took place, i must tell you that about fathoms from the gate of the pah was a bank, behind which were one of the tribes of soldiers, who bore the number on their head-coverings. this bank had not been dug by them but was natural. it was not a high bank, and it sloped towards us, but was steeper on the other side and afforded the soldiers good protection from such of us as possessed rifles. there had been no trenches dug on this side of the pah, as the ground was hard and rocky, so there was nothing between us and this bank. when we were all ready the gate of the pah was removed, and we all rushed out, but without noise, and ran as fast as we could for the bank; and we had crossed more than half the distance before the soldiers seemed to notice us, as the smoke and dust lay heavy on the pah and around the spots from which the big guns fired. then we were seen, and immediately many bugles gave their calls. there was much shouting, and many soldiers in the trenches jumped out and fired at us, many others running to take their allotted places. there was much confusion. we, however, ran steadily on, turning neither to our right nor our left; nor did we return the fire. we soon came to the bank, and as we ran up the slope we could see the soldiers rising from the ground, on which they were eating, and who, when they saw us running towards them, ran to the bank, fixing their bayonets on their guns. only a few had time to fire at us before we were on them, and with our rush we jumped from the top of the bank right over their heads. some of them thrust bayonets at us, but as they were in confusion we broke through them, or jumped over them, without trouble, only very few of us falling here, and continued to run towards the hills that were not far off. we should have reached these, and most of us would have escaped, but all at once we were cut off and attacked by other men, not soldiers, some of them mounted (colonial irregulars). these men do not have the fine appearance of soldiers, but know more about war, and are greatly to be feared; for they did not wait to get each man into his right place, but attacked us each man as he could, and being, moreover, good fighting men, they killed many of us and delayed us so much that the soldiers, having had time to regulate themselves, reached the hill almost as soon as we did. they were in great numbers and fired heavily on us as we struggled up the hills, all of us so weak that we could scarcely surmount them. the big guns also fired at us, but the horses could not follow us, and so of us escaped, rewi and myself being among these, the remainder dying as it became them. very many of us, however, were wounded; and i must not omit to tell you that thirty of the others who did not escape, through being wounded severely, were taken by the soldiers. these the soldiers treated with honour; nor did they make them slaves or kill them, but conveyed them carefully to big tents, where their wounds were made whole, and they were attended with much care. the women, of whom some were taken, were also treated with honour. but this was the custom of the soldiers once the fighting was finished. they bore no anger towards the maori prisoners, but brought them much tobacco and waipero (rum) to show their good will and appreciation for the trouble the maoris had taken to fight them five times. but on the medicine men learning of this good will on the part of the soldiers, they were angry, and drove them away; which i myself consider to be wrong. but perchance it is the custom of the medicine men. "and now, te parione, i desire your explanation on some matters; for my heart is darkened with indecision as to the reasons the great white chief had in carrying the war on against us in the manner he did. you, who are a fighting man, belonging to the tribes of soldiers, for i have been told your ancestors have all been chiefs among these tribes, may be able to clear my mind on these matters. i will place my ideas before you, then you can make my mind light. "first, why did the chief attack us? we were on a visit of ceremony, not of war. yet he, having a big army, and the waikatos at the time avoiding him, must find war for his men. in so much he was right, and that i understand. again, he showed great knowledge of war, by only sending small bodies of men against us, he having so many that we should have been crushed at once had he sent them all at the same time. he also showed his great wisdom by sending us powder in the iron balls, which also kept us awake at night, so that we might be ready in case he attacked us. but as he did not attack us during the night, it was folly, as a fighting man needs rest. that he did not want to kill us we know, or he would not have made whole the wounded men. again, he could not have wanted the pah itself, to dwell in, or he would not have tried to destroy it with his big guns. and he knew we had no food or water, so must all perish from thirst, in a few days, when he could gain the pah without losing any men at all. he could not want our arms, as his men do not use double-barrelled guns, and if he took them from us we should have been unable to fight him, in case he saw fit to come to taupo from the waikato, seeking war. no, he must have wanted to let each of his tribes enjoy the honour of fighting us in their proper turn. but then why, o te parione, did he forbid us food and water? how could he expect us to render full justice to his men when our great thirst even prevented us from crying our war-cries, or fighting in such a manner as would confer honour on his men whose turn came late. as it was, we could only manage to hold out long enough to fight five of his tribes: and he had many. "and now, te parione, the night grows old, and i have talked much. thinking of orakau excites my thirst and the rum bottle is empty. at daylight you go to shoot ducks, and it is needful to sleep. think over what i have asked you, and to-morrow night, when we talk once again on war, you will be able to set my mind at rest on these matters. war is a great art, and we are never too old to acquire wisdom. perchance that white chief had reasons that, if i understood, would exalt my name should i practise them when we fight again. till then, my guest, rest in peace." the above yarn is greatly epitomised, as my old host not only described most of the blows struck during the fight, but also gave me the roll-call of the maoris, and most of their pedigrees. a maori considers it to be a waste of words not to describe minutely every circumstance of an event, and by doing so differs from our ideas of yarn-spinning, as we consider brevity to be the soul of wit. nor did the brave old warrior lay claim to any special merit that his band of men, armed with old fowling-pieces and muskets, should have resisted the attack of over british troops, should have repulsed five desperate assaults, and for three days have braved the fire of a powerful train of artillery, while at the same time undergoing the torture of thirst. surely their heroic answer to the general's summons to surrender, "ka whawhai tonu, aké, aké, aké" (we fight right on, for ever, for ever, for ever), is worthy of a place among the mottoes of the proudest regiments the world has ever contained. as for their desperate and somewhat successful attempt to escape: the fact that this handful of famished men and women, in broad daylight, should charge and break through the investing lines of their enemies and, but for the intervention of the colonial irregulars, would have nearly all got away, is a wonderful instance of unconquerable courage. perhaps i may be excused for recounting one or two more instances of maori chivalry. during the negotiations that took place at the end of the waikato war, the general asked wirimu thomihana, through his interpreter, how it was that the maoris had not attempted to cut off his convoys at a place called the hog's back?--the said place having such natural difficulties as to render its passage almost impossible, had it been obstructed by a hostile force. thomihana's reply was: "what a foolish question for a great war chief to ask. if we had prevented you from obtaining food, how could you have continued to fight?" [illustration: rewi.] on another occasion two companies of soldiers, while on the line of march, piled their arms, sat down to rest and eat their dinners. not far away a body of maoris were lying _perdus_. these crept up, through the long fern, to the unsuspecting tommies. then, jumping to their feet, rushed through them, seizing _en route_ all the rifles, belts and pouches, they disappeared with them again into the fern. the maori chief presently informed the discomfited and helpless troops that he would not allow his men to injure them, as he considered that both themselves and their officers were far too ignorant of war to be treated as warriors, and that they might therefore return in peace to their camp, where he advised them to learn how to take care of themselves before they again came out to fight. the th regiment had been stationed very many years in new zealand, it being supposed that their existence had been forgotten by the war office, who had most probably lost their postal address. some of the officers and very many of the men had married maori women, so that the regiment was on very friendly terms with the natives. war broke out, and, naturally, the white man and maori were on opposite sides and fought bravely against one another. this did not, however, affect their mutual esteem, for when at sunset the firing ceased numbers of maoris used to leave their rifle pits and stroll over to their opponents' shelter trenches to exchange compliments, while the maori women brought over plentiful supplies of pork and potatoes with which to regale their husbands, who, during the day, had been trying their best to pot their fathers and brothers. these latter, with plenty of quiet chaff, would quietly discuss the prominent events of the past day's fighting, and the possible occurrences of the coming one, with no more animus than teams of cricketers discuss together, at dinner, the events of that day's play. at guard-mounting these friendly enemies would part, and at daylight next morning each would do his level best to put out of action his relative by marriage. this sporting relationship was kept up for some time, until, reinforcements pouring into the country, another regiment was sent to strengthen the haki-hakis (the th), when the maoris, thinking that the new-comers might be enemies to the th, promptly left their rifle pits and, coming over to their opponents, proffered their assistance to drive away the supposed undesirable new-comers, and then continue their own fight. i have frequently talked to maori warriors of their old-time wars, tribe against tribe, when they have related accounts of the awful raids of hongi, heki, rauparaha and others. and these stories not only teem with incidents of splendid courage, but are also blackened by the recital of as many acts of brutality, treachery and cold-blooded slaughter sufficient to satisfy moloch himself: and relate to men who would on one occasion perform feats of heroic chivalry worthy to stand beside those of bayard or sir walter manny, while on the next day they would commit acts that would have been considered bad form in hades even by tilly and cromwell. chivalry was to disappear entirely when the natives adopted the extraordinary and debased form of nonconformist christianity called the pai marire or hau hau faith: at which time, retaining only their courage, they relinquished every other good quality they may ever have possessed. during the bitter and savage fighting of the later sixties, splendid actions were done by these men while attempting to carry off, from the field of battle, their wounded or dead comrades; and their determined resistance, offered up to the last, threw a halo of glory round them that even their cold-blooded murders and torturing atrocities could scarcely obliterate. well i think i have said enough about their courage; let me turn to the next greatest virtue possessed by man--viz. hospitality. the hospitality of the maori was unbounded. the best of everything he had was readily placed at the disposal of his guest, and even should he be so circumstanced as to have only a few potatoes between himself and starvation, these would be cheerfully surrendered for his visitor's consumption; nor was any payment expected, and if offered would have been indignantly refused; notwithstanding the fact that the recipient of the bounty might be a perfect stranger. in those good old days, when the inmates of a pah or kainga saw a white man, of any rank or position, approaching the place, all the women, girls and children would seize mats, or anything else that came handy, and, waving these, cry as loud as they could the greetings of welcome: "hacre mai! hacre mai!" (come to us! come to us!). and these cries would continue, and be joined in by all the inhabitants, until the stranger had entered the village. on doing so, the visitor, provided he were acquainted with strict maori etiquette, would pay no attention to anyone, but, handing his horse over to the nearest boy, pass through the screaming, gesticulating crowd, and seat himself in front of the guest hut, usually the best whare in the village. here he would be faced by all the principal men of the place, who would squat down, in a semicircle, in front of him, the women, boys, girls and men of low degree standing in rear of them, when with one accord the whole multitude would lift up their voices and weep--and when i say weep it was weeping, real weeping, and no make-believe about it. this weeping, known as a tangi, was to me always a matter of wonder, as i could never understand how a maori should be able to turn on the water-tap of his emotions at any moment he might desire to do so. i have frequently seen scores of grand old kai tangatas (man-eaters) squat down and, at will, cry and sob, with big tears hopping down their tattooed cheeks, as bitterly as some tender-hearted little girls would do if their favourite cat had just murdered their pet canary; and these grim old warriors, in less than a minute, would be in more urgent need of a big bandana handkerchief than a small boy with a bad attack of influenza. old men and women would crawl out of their huts, stragglers would hurry up to join the throng, until every man, woman and child belonging to the tribe would be rocking and wailing as if their very heart-strings had been wrung with woe by the most personal disaster. after these lamentations had lasted a few minutes, one of the principal chiefs would rise to his feet and make a short oration, somewhat in this fashion: "you have come to us, o stranger, welcome! welcome! welcome!" then, turning to his people, he would say: "what is the use of this crying? dry your tears. our friend is with us, make him welcome. he is hungry, prepare food for him. he is fatigued, let him rest. bring him water, let him drink. our friend is with us, cease this foolish weeping. our hearts grow light at seeing him." he would then advance to the visitor and offer his hand, in the case of a white man; but if the said stranger should be a native, of rank or family, he would squat down in front of him and rub noses. then, placing their hands each on the other's shoulders, they would dissolve once more into tears, mussle their noses together, and for a minute or two mingle their weepings: this process having to be gone through by the stranger with every man in the village, whose rank entitled him to approach the guest. the salutations having been finished, the stranger was left in peace, everyone retiring, with the exception of a chief, or some particular friend, who would remain to see to his comfort. and here at once the innate good-breeding of the maori came to the front: insomuch as, no matter how anxious the natives were to hear the news, or the purport of the visit, the guest was never pestered with questions, not even as from whence he came, or whither he was going, and it remained entirely to his own discretion as to whether he gave them any information or not. in the meantime, girls brought him water to drink and wash with, others had swept out the whare, brought in fresh fern and laid down new mats for his use. presently the sound of singing would be heard, and a group of girls, carrying small open trays made from the broad, glazed leaves of the flax plant, would, with a dancing step and a little song, approach him and place them in front of him. these trays contained food, such as pork, eels, enunga (fresh-water whitebait), kora (the delicious fresh-water crayfish), potatoes, pigeons, and sweet potatoes, or any of them the village contained. anyhow, the guest might be quite sure it was the very best his hosts had to offer. on their arrival the man who had been looking after him would take a morsel of food from one dish and eat it; then, rising to his feet, he would retire, at the same time wishing his guest a good appetite. everyone else would depart with him, with the exception of one or, perhaps, two girls, who would remain on their knees beside him, to wait on him and tempt him to eat. the evening meal being over, the chiefs would gather round their guest, and, if he should happen to be a man of any importance, long and deep would be the conversation: the subjects ranging from the health and doings of the great white queen and her governor, to the most trivial topics of the day. each man in his turn would state his ideas and reasons, and was listened to with attention; while the guest's words were carefully weighed, and even, if his hearers disagreed with him, the arguments adduced to refute his statements were always expressed in a manner so polite, and in words so carefully chosen, that it was impossible for him to feel personally hurt in regard to his _amour propre_. of course if the visit had been premeditated the stranger would have come amply supplied with tobacco, which would be passed round, and accepted with a _bien aise_ that quite disguised, or rather hid, their intense longing for it, and would be enjoyed with many a hearty grunt of satisfaction and approbation. then the girls would haka (dance with songs) in the moonlight, some of them having placed glow-worms and fireflies in their hair. and the sight of flashing eyes, gleaming white teeth, flowing locks and lovely, swaying figures was sufficient to have made old saint anthony himself sit up; although the words of the songs that accompanied the dances, and the gestures that in part composed them, were of a nature to shock a far less austere saint, and would perhaps have even extracted a blush from an habitué of the old-time jardin mabille. late night would put an end to the festivities, and the stranger, all his comforts well seen to, might retire to his fern bed in peace. it was a point of honour among the maoris to protect their guest, as it was a point of honour, on the part of the guest, to stand by his hosts. in the yarn i spun about orakau, i pointed out how the taupo and uriwera tribes refused to render up the pah lent to them to dwell in by the waikatos, and that sooner than do so they fought to the bitter end. again, in , when te kooti, flying from us, took refuge in the king country, and demanded the protection of the waikatos, this was readily granted him; and the waikato tribes, although they had no personal esteem for him, much less love or even family ties, would have gone to war with us rather than have surrendered him, had the new zealand government demanded him from them. a maori tribe considered it most unfortunate should even an accident befall a guest while dwelling in one of their villages; for if such an occurrence should happen, they ran the risk of being chaffed and held up to ridicule, by the surrounding tribes, for their inability to take care of a visitor. much more so was this the case during war-time. should a white officer be detailed for duty to a native contingent, he would be looked after and his safety guarded in ways almost ludicrous and by no means congenial to himself. this was done, because if that officer were killed or wounded, it would reflect the deepest disgrace on the tribe with whom he served; they would never hear the last of it, not only from their friends, but also from their enemies. and these would continually rate them, and charge them with the accusation that it was through their carelessness or cowardice that the misfortune had happened to the man who had been entrusted to them. the maori was very superstitious. he firmly believed in dreams, visions, omens of all sorts and the gift of prophecy, while the number of unlucky acts he might involuntarily commit during one day was quite sufficient to account for a whole chapter of accidents on the morrow. he regarded the tohungas (magicians) with great respect, so long as their divinations and prophecies panned out; but there are plenty of well-authenticated cases where a warrior has wreaked his vengeance on a tohunga through whose false prognostications the tribe has got into a mess. nor are incidents lacking to show that prophets, who had earned a reputation for themselves, would not rather commit suicide than allow themselves to be proved wrong in their divinations. let me spin you a couple of yarns to illustrate what i have just written. it was in march that the hau hau apostle kereopa, in the course of a few hours, converted the swagger flock of red-hot christians, who, under the guidance of bishop williams, had earned a mighty reputation for sanctity, to the new faith of pai marire. the good bishop and his family, barely escaping with their lives from his own sheep, departed to napier, leaving the hau haus in possession of his residence at waerengahika, at which place they built a pah that was, in november of the same year, attacked by the colonial forces. the hau haus were superior in numbers, but during the first few days the colonials gained some trivial advantages, and on the fourth day began to sap up to the works, which they had surrounded. this day chanced to be a saturday, and the working party were surprised by an attack, in their rear, from a body of the enemy's reinforcements seeking to enter the pah, which they succeeded in doing, the working party having to beat a retreat, with the loss of six men killed and five wounded. this trivial success greatly elated the natives and so bucked up one of the apostles that he at once started in and prophesied nineteen to the dozen. now this johnny possessed that small amount of knowledge that is so dangerous to its owner. he had been brought up at a mission station, and accustomed to going to church, with great regularity, every sunday. he therefore thought that all christians acted in the same way, and that the colonial irregulars would be just as methodical in their religious observance as the goody-goody hangers-on at the various mission stations he was acquainted with. here of course he made a blooming error, for what member of the lost legion ever allowed preaching to interfere with fighting, or carried devotional books about with him when he had to hump his own swag. now this josser, thinking he knew all about the customs of the white man, considered he was quite safe in turning on his prophetic tap. so on the evening after the small success already spoken about he started in and informed his hearers that he had received a revelation, directing the hau haus that on the following day, which was sunday, they were to leave the pah an hour before noon and advance on the white men's shelter trenches, which they would find empty, and that the majority of the latter who had not been turned into stone by the angel gabriel would be surprised at their devotions and fall a prey, without any resistance, to the tender mercies of the hau haus, who, he guaranteed, were to escape, scathless, from wounds or death. these promises seem absurd to white men, but they were implicitly believed by the maoris, who next day acted on the strength of them. the main position of the colonials was in the rear of three strong thorn hedges, two of which flanked the third, and these had all been well trenched and were, of course, held, day and night, by a strong guard; in fact the men lived and slept in them. between the centre hedge and the pah, a distance of less that yards, stretched a smooth meadow, without a particle of cover, and the astonishment of our men was intense when, at o'clock a.m., they saw some hundreds of the hau haus quietly leave the pah and advance in two wedge-shaped columns against the centre of their position. at first they thought it was a general surrender, but the war flags the enemy carried rapidly dispersed that idea; and when the two columns were well between the three hedges, and not yards from any of them, the bugle sounded and a tremendous volley was poured into the misguided maoris, who fell in heaps of dead and wounded men. notwithstanding the awful shock their nerves must have received from this quite unexpected slaughter, these gallant though fanatical warriors at once charged home and tried to force their way through the strong thorn fence, only to be swept away like flies. and soon the survivors had to beat a hasty retreat back to the pah, lashed the whole way by the heavy fire of the white men, who did not go to church. it was during the advance that the incident i originally alluded to took place. the first volley had smashed the hau haus' leading column, the advance of which the apostle led in person; for, to give these prophets only their just due, they never hung back from taking the post of the greatest danger in any of the crazy enterprises that they persuaded their disciples to undertake. well, the first volley knocked over the prophet, who fell badly wounded, but succeeded in regaining his feet, whereupon one of the chiefs, disengaging himself from the mass of stricken and shaken men, deliberately walked up to him, drew his tomahawk and cleft his skull, then, springing forward, led his surviving followers to almost certain death. this might be called an instance of sharp and ready reckoning, but it was by no means a singular case of rough and rapid retribution; so that, taking into consideration the number of apostles who were knocked over, in a legitimate manner, fighting, and those who were tomahawked by furious and disappointed votaries, the trade could scarcely be called a healthy one, and it must have required a great amount of pluck on the man's part who took on himself the prophetic rôle. but, then, what will not some men risk for notoriety? now, having finished with this johnny, let me tell you about another of a somewhat similar kidney. the friendly tribes of the wanganui sent a contingent to the east coast, to assist us during the opotiki expedition, and among them was a first-class, up-to-date prophet named pitau. the wanganui, at this time, were not strong in prophets, so that this man was made much of by his tribe, for although some of the young men had begun to deride prophecy, yet the old warriors still implicitly believed in the ancient cult, and regarded pitau as a valuable adjunct to the field force. now it was the usual custom of the various tribes, when they went to war, to hold deep consultations with their tribal prophets, who for a consideration would advise and foretell what was going to happen, and if the war was going to prove successful or otherwise. it was so in this case. pitau was called on to lift the veil of futurity, and, having gone through the necessary incantations, the oracle spoke as follows:--"you will be successful in all things, o wanganui: only one man will die, and that man will be pitau." now this was distinctly rough on pitau, who must either die or be declared an impostor. anyhow, the oracle had spoken, and the war party started. the wanganui reached opotiki, did their duty well, and on the completion of their service were to take ship for home. up to this time nearly everything had panned out all right for the soothsayer, with regard to his prophecy: the wanganui had been successful and had not lost a single man; but the oracle had distinctly stated pitau was to die himself, yet here he was still alive. it certainly was not his fault, for at the fight at the kiori-kino, and also in other skirmishes, he had done his best to get killed, but seemed to bear a charmed life; yet if he returned home alive, his name and reputation as a high-toned prophet would be gone for ever. the fates, however, gave him one more chance, and he grasped it. canoes, heavily ladened, were pushing off from the shore to the ship: he sprang into one of these, and by his extra weight swamped the canoe. the amphibious natives easily swam ashore, but so did not pitau, for, raising his arms above his head, he allowed himself to sink down to his rest, among the eels and crabs, rather than allow his prophecy to be unfulfilled. surely there are many names on the scroll of martyrs who have laid down their lives, to prove the truth of their convictions, less worthy of fame than that of pitau. and now i think i may spin you a yarn about a personal experience i had of the superstitious fears of the maoris, although by doing so i must confess to a _mauvaise plaisanterie_ i was guilty of perpetrating, and of which i am thoroughly ashamed, that created a greater emotion, among a party of highly respectable old cannibals, than any convulsion of nature would have caused. it happened in this way: i was well aware of the great superstitious dread the maoris had of the green lizard. these, although they exist in new zealand, are rare birds, and during the years i was there i saw but few of them. the maoris, however, believe that at death one of these lizards enters a man's body, and consequently look on them with horror and abhorrence. at the period i am yarning about, i was located at ohinimutu, in the hot lake district, and had made a short visit to the town of napier. during my stay there, while wandering about the streets, i noticed that a speculative storekeeper had added some children's toys to his stock in trade, perhaps the very first that had ever been imported into the country, and as they attracted my attention i stopped to examine them. we are told that old nick is ever ready to prompt an idle man, and he must have been mighty adjacent to me that day, for on my spotting one of those old-fashioned, wooden crocodiles, painted a vivid green with bright-red spots on it, i immediately went into the shop and purchased it. the thing was constructed of small blocks of wood, sawn in such a way, and connected together with string, that when you held it in your hand it wriggled, and looked alive, while it also possessed a gaping red mouth and staring eyes. the confounded insect would not have raised a squall out of a nervous european babe of a year old; but, such as it was, i put it into my kit and, on my return up country, took it with me. in due course of time i reached ohinimutu, where, after a swim in the hot water and a good dinner, i retired to my private abode, a large hut built maori fashion, but with european door and window, as i knew i should have to give audience to some dozen chiefs of the arawa tribe, who would call on me to welcome my return and hear the news. it did not take me long to prepare for their reception, and getting the toy out of my kit, i slipped it up my left sleeve, so that it was hidden. i then sat down in a low camp-chair and awaited my victims, who soon arrived, giving me their words of welcome as they entered, and squatting down in a semicircle in front of the fire, all of them as keen as mustard to hear the news. they were a fine-looking lot of old chaps, ten in number, and some of them almost gigantic in size. old hori haupapa must have stood over seven foot high, when in his prime; and the rest were all big men. anxious as they were to hear the news, still they were far too well-bred to ask any questions, and, as i pretended to be in very low spirits and sat speechless, heaving an occasional deep sigh, they squatted there, conversing in low whispers, with looks full of commiseration for my unhappy state. for a few minutes we sat quiet, then i made signs to the girl who attended on us to hand round the rum and tobacco: which she did. and after each man had been served, letting go a dismal groan, i said: "friends, i thank you for your words of welcome. my heart is very dark. i have dreamed a dream." here i paused to let the poison work; for a dream to a maori audience is always a safe draw, and the muttered grunts and ejaculations, passed round with nudges, showed me they were quite ripe to believe anything. so i continued: "yes, friends, last night i dreamed a dream, and the interpretation of that dream is hidden from me." here i paused again, and slipped the toy into my left hand, which rested on my left knee, while i held their eyes with my own, so that, in the firelit whare, none of them noticed my sleight of hand. then i continued: "i dreamed, o chiefs of the arawa, that we all sat, as we are doing now, by this fire, when lo! out of my left hand crept a ngaraka" (green lizard). here again i paused, but so did not my hearers, for old taupua, glancing nervously at my left hand, at once spotted what he thought to be a dreaded lizard. the grim old warrior let go a howl of consternation and promptly turned a back somersault, thereby drawing the attention of all the others to the noxious reptile; and in one moment these dignified old savages, who would have faced without flinching the fire of a battery of artillery sooner than have committed a gaucherie, were trying to push and struggle through the door, with no more regard to manners or manhood than the ordinary well-dressed englishman displays who pushes ladies on one side while boarding a tram. the first one to reach the door was an ancient, who did not understand the mechanism of a white man's lock, so failed to open it; and in a moment they were climbing over one another's backs, in their frantic endeavours to escape until the end of the whare gave way, and the big chiefs of the arawa tribe precipitated themselves, door and all, into outer darkness, where they formed a confused heap of writhing, howling humanity. at last they struggled free, and each man made for his own hut, all fully convinced that something dreadful was going to happen and that the whole community was past praying for. nor did the panic end here; for in a moment the tribe was roused up and, the awful news being promulgated, in two flirts of a cat's tail, every man, woman and child had cleared out of the kainga. yes, those who had canoes took to them, and those who had none used their legs, and used them to some advantage, for in less time than it takes me to write it the whole of that congregation of peaceful natives had abandoned their happy homes and fled. well, after my first burst of laughter was over, i began to count up the cost of my stupid joke, and at once saw i was likely to have to pay dearly for my fun. to commence with, my hut would have to be rebuilt; but that was a trifle. what i had to fear was the censure of the government, as the defence minister was an old scotsman, without a particle of fun in his whole corpus, so was not likely to view the scatterment of his most pampered tribe with equanimity, and visions of reasons in writing and prosecutions danced before my eyes. it was clear that the first thing to be done was to get the natives to come back to their kainga; but how? i knew full well they would not suffer me to approach within a mile of any of them, and although i had some sterling friends among the fighting chiefs, yet, if i could not get speech with them, so as to explain matters to them, their good will would be of no use to me. fortunately, among the men dwelling at ohinimutu was a ngapuhi native, and i engaged him to act as messenger; but, although he was a red-hot christian, nothing would persuade him to come near, much less touch, the wretched toy. i, however, induced this man to go over to mokoia island, see the principal tribal tohunga, and get him to come across and interview me. fitting him out with a gallon of rum and plenty of tobacco, i despatched my mercury and awaited his return in trepidation. on the morning of the second day he reported himself, and informed me that the tohunga awaited me, but that, as nothing would induce the limb of satan to land, i must go down to the lake, and he would discourse with me from his canoe. so i had to go to the lake and collogue with the old sinner from the point of a jutting-out cape. after i had tried to make him understand the true state of affairs, i produced the toy; but nothing i could say would induce him to believe that it was composed of inanimate wood. no, he could see it move, swore it was alive, and sternly refused to touch it, or even come closer to me, so that he could examine it. at last, happy thought, i suggested i should burn it. to this he consented. so, putting the unfortunate crocodile on the top of a flat stone, i collected some dry sticks and, with him watching every movement, constructed a funeral pyre, and cremated the wretched toy to ashes. then he consented to land and came up to my hut, where he went through many incantations and gesticulations, although he avoided touching or entering it. presently he turned to me and said: "this and all it contains must be at once burned. have you removed anything from it?" i had not; though, expecting something of this sort to happen, i had taken every care that my servant should do so, and that absolutely nothing of value remained within it; so, like a radical minister, i only told half the truth. "set it on fire," quoth he, and this i did with equanimity, as it would only give the maoris the trouble of building me a better one, so that in a few minutes not a vestige of my late mansion remained. as everything that had been contaminated by the penny toy was now supposed to be destroyed, the old tohunga consented to discuss terms of peace, which consisted as follows:--first, that i should hand over, privately, to the tohunga himself, one gallon of rum, three pounds of tobacco and twenty-five pounds of flour, the said tohunga guaranteeing to at once dream a dream directing the natives to rebuild my house, with great rapidity. secondly, that at the general tangi, to be held next day, on the return of the natives, i was to provide ten gallons of rum, twenty pounds of tobacco and half-a-ton of flour, all of which was to be consumed thereat. and lastly, should i on any future occasion go to napier, and discover any more instruments of white man's devilry, i was to bring them to him, when, with a little judicious management, we could work many miracles to our mutual advantage. all these terms having been agreed to, satan's representative among the arawa departed, and the next morning all his congregation, accompanied by many of their country friends, returned, when a big tangi with much feasting and dancing took place; but even my very best friends looked askance at me for a long time, while for some weeks the majority of the women, girls and children would fly from me as if i had the plague. you must not think for a moment that this avoidance was caused by ill will, or that the old chiefs bore me any malice for the shameful trick i had played them, or that i was fined the rum, flour, etc., for the evil i had done. not a bit of it. i was mulct for my misfortune, not for my fault. in their eyes no fault had been committed. if moses himself had returned to tell them i had played them a trick, they would not have believed him. no; had they not seen the beast come out of my hand at the very moment i was relating my dream? trick indeed, not much. they looked on me as an awful example of misfortune, and therefore as a fit and proper personage to be politely robbed. yes, robbed. had i been a maori, not only myself but all my family would have been robbed of every single article we possessed in the world, in payment for the affliction of bad luck that had fallen on me; but as i was a white man this could not be done, so i was fined. for is not this in accordance with the ancient custom or law of muru, which authorises a man smitten by a sudden calamity to be plundered of all he possesses? and what greater calamity was possible to mortal man than to have an obscene lizard grow out of his hand? therefore i was fined. as for trick, nonsense! what man dare make fun of, or render ridiculous, the dignity and majesty of the head chiefs of the arawa tribe? i think i may say a few more words on this extraordinary law of muru--a law that europeans regarded with laughter and contempt; yet it worked very well among the natives, and should any family have met with misfortune and the law not have been put in force against them, they would have considered themselves not only slighted, but insulted. it also, among others, contained one salient good quality, as it caused all personal portable property constantly to change hands, for the family that was plundered one day would, in the ordinary course of events, rob some other family a few days afterwards, so that a canoe, blanket or any household utensil might pass through many hands and, if not worn out during its transits, might at last return to its original possessor. yet to a white man it did seem funny that a party of natives _en route_ to visit another family, and whose canoe should be capsized when landing, were not only robbed of their canoe, but that the unlucky ones would have considered themselves insulted had not their friends immediately annexed it. i remember well that once, while on a journey to visit a pah, accompanied by a chief of some importance, in fact he was a native assessor--_i.e._ a sort of maori j.p. appointed by government--a very queer illustration of the law of muru cropped up. we were to inquire into some trivial case, the defendant being the son of the chief of the place, and the utmost penalty not more than five shillings. just as we reached the pah my companion, who was riding a fine, high-spirited horse, was bucked off, and while in the act of rising received a severe kick on the croup. he was picked up with much solicitude, all the natives condoling with him. the case was tried and settled, the defendant being mulct two shillings and sixpence, and next day, when about to depart, the horses being brought to the gate of the pah, my companion's horse was not forthcoming. at once i demanded the reasons why, and was informed it had been annexed as muru, for throwing and kicking my unfortunate friend, who at once acquiesced in the judgment and thanked the chief of the pah for his courtesy in paying him such an honour. again i was on a visit to a pah situated close to the mouth of a river, on the other side of which was another pah. one day my hosts started out to shoot a huge seine net, and of course the whole population turned out to assist or give advice. the noise, as everyone yelled at the top of his or her gamut, was deafening. however, two large canoes eventually got away with the net on board, and after taking a bold sweep returned to shore and landed the sea end. immediately all hands, redoubling their yells, tailed on to the hauling ropes and pulled and howled with all their might. just as the bag of the net came in view, a huge shark, that had been encompassed in its toils, made a bold dash, broke the net and escaped, letting out, at the same time, many large fish. the excited and disappointed natives were just dragging the net and the still great remainder of the catch up on to the sand, when their neighbours, apprised by the yells that something unfortunate had occurred, dashed across the river in their canoes, and after a sham resistance of a few minutes swept up and carried off all the remaining fish. they might also have confiscated the net, but did not, an old chief confiding to me that the other side of the river was full of rocks, and not suitable for seine netting; moreover, the net was broken and would require repairing. such was the law of muru. of course to yarn about new zealand without saying anything about the custom of tapu would be on all fours with yarning about rome and not mentioning the pope. so here goes for a few remarks about the ancient but very confusing custom of tapu. anything animate or inanimate could be rendered tapu by the will, or even touch, of a man who was tapu himself. tapu might also render a thing so sacred, or might render it so unclean, that to touch that thing would constitute an act of unpardonable sacrilege, or cause the toucher to be looked upon as so defiled as to be ostracised by the whole community, although the act was done innocently and in ignorance. to break a tapu was looked upon, by the superstitious natives, as a direct challenge to the greatly dreaded spiritual powers, and was certain to bring swift and awful punishment. a big chief was tapu, and if he went to war the essence of tapu became doubly distilled, so much so that he could not feed himself, nor even touch food with his hands. nor could he even touch a cup or utensil that did not actually belong to himself, for if he did so, the article he used at once became so tapu that no one else could use it; consequently it became either his personal property, or had to be destroyed. this in a country where there were neither shops nor manufactories was an impossibility, so that at meal-time a chief had to eat apart, and be fed by either a girl or slave. truly the sublime approached the ridiculous, to see a grim, tattooed old warrior squatting down, with a small girl throwing morsels of food into his mouth, or with his head thrown back, and his jaws extended to their full width, receiving a stream of water, poured down his throat, from the spout of an ancient tea-kettle. even an ordinary warrior, not being a slave, lost his back when on the warpath--_i.e._ his back became so tapu that he could carry nothing, much less provisions, on it; and this was also very inconvenient when having to march through a rough, bushed country, without waggons or pack-horses. food could even become tapu, especially that which remained from the portion served out for the use of the chief, even though no part of his body had touched it; and there is a well-authenticated case, that on one occasion a slave, being on the warpath, found some food and ate it. no sooner had he done so than he was informed it was the remains of the dinner of the fighting chief. this news so horrified the poor superstitious wretch that he was at once taken ill with sharp internal pains, and died. the maoris always made their plantations in the bush, frequently at a considerable distance from their kaingas, and these, after the potatoes had been planted, would only be occasionally visited by their owners, who, to protect them, would get the chief or tohunga to tapu the plantation; and this being done, the produce would be quite safe from the depredations of others. about the year some six brace of pheasants were turned loose in the waikato district, and the principal chief put his tapu on them for seven years. these birds increased and throve in a manner truly wonderful. not a maori dare touch one, although long before the period of protection had expired the birds had not only spread all over the waikato district, but also over all the adjoining ones. and they carried their protection with them, for notwithstanding the fact that they had become somewhat of a nuisance to the arawa tribe, who were not in any way subordinate to the waikato chief, yet they respected his tapu, and would have starved sooner than eaten them. it was by making use of this tapu that the wonderful head of game and fish at present in new zealand has been reared and acclimatised. should a chief die within his whare, that hut and everything it contained at once became tapu and was lost to use; for as soon as his body had been removed, the door was at once blocked up, and the hut with its contents allowed to moulder away, no one daring to touch, much less remove, one single article. tapu, therefore, in a manner of speaking, was the antipoise of the law of muru, for if the enforcement of the latter rendered the portable property of an individual or tribe precarious, yet tapu made his title indissoluble; so the two laws or customs got on very well together, and may exist to the present day. i cannot leave my friends the maoris without speaking about their awful cruelty in torturing and killing their prisoners, and in the foul massacres of helpless women and children. yet even in this there may be something said in their favour, especially should you compare them, savages as they were, with the human monsters that every christian european country has produced, when they would be found no more cruel or bloodthirsty. now i don't want to draw parallels in history, but it rather disgusts me to hear alva, tilly, nana sahib, or even te kooti, run down, while such a cold-blooded villain as cromwell is extolled. i was taught as a schoolboy to regard tilly and alva as the incarnations of satan; i suppose because they made it sultry for protestants; but it was not pointed out to me that at the very same time alva and his spanish troops were making it hot for lutherans in the netherlands, the english troops of protestant queen bess were perpetrating infinitely worse brutalities on the helpless irish, while the fiendish cruelties of tilly's wild croats and pandours, at the sack of magdeburg, were equalled, if not surpassed, at drogheda, by oliver cromwell and his canting hypocritical puritans. i am myself an irishman, a protestant, a unionist and an imperialist, just as ready to fight for our king and flag as ever i was during the forty years i passed on the colonial frontiers, but i can blame none of my countrymen for the hatred they feel towards england, provided they fight like men and eschew all cowardly, underhand, secret societies; and i am convinced it will require many centuries to roll past before the recollection of the penal laws and the foul, savage treachery of past english rule is obliterated, while the curse of cromwell will remain for ever. nana sahib and te kooti did not, combined, kill as many helpless women and children as either alva, tilly or cromwell; yet, as they killed all they could, they cannot be blamed for that, and i have no doubt that on their arrival in hades they were assigned just as honourable entertainment and particular attentions as the aristocratic fiend, the priestly murderer or the puritan cut-throat. it must also be remembered that the atrocities committed by te kooti and his fanatical followers might be blamed upon the fiendish faith they had adopted and had never been practised by the maoris during the previous six years of the war, also that they were more or less fighting in defence of their country against invaders. again, te kooti had been the victim of gross injustice, at the hands of the colonial government, insomuch as he had been transported without trial, and that the evidence against him was not only insufficient, but was also of such a nature that the law officers of the crown could find no excuse even to bring him to a trial, so that many of his brutalities were prompted by a desire for utu, a custom universally practised by the maoris. please don't think i have written the above for the purpose of deifying england's enemy, or to slander my own countrymen like a radical little englander, for i would have, at any time, blown the roof off te kooti's head, or that of one of his followers, with as little compunction as i have since shot a mangy jackal; but i have written it simply to show that, if savage new zealand produced one fiend, in the shape of te kooti, christian england produced a worse one in the shape of that sanctimonious hypocrite, oliver cromwell, and that therefore we should not endanger our own glass by throwing stones. i alluded just now to the custom of utu, which means payment or revenge, and is very similar to the law of the jews, that laid down the maxim of an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth--an axiom which the maoris believe in thoroughly. it was the practice of this custom that led to many of the sanguinary combats and massacres that took place between the armed traders and the natives during the first half of the past century. these traders visited new zealand and exchanged muskets, powder, ironware, etc., for flax, whale oil, curios and men's heads. they were a hard-fisted, lawless crowd, who, in their brigs or schooners, well armed with musket, pike and carronade, would anchor in one of the splendid natural harbours and begin their traffic with the haughty, warlike savages. business carried on between such men as these often brought about a row, which a musket shot or a slash from cutlass or tomahawk would not improve, and the ship would then sail away, after most likely the killing or wounding of some natives. the remembrance of the blood spilt would be treasured by the maoris, and the next trader who visited that place would have to pay for the evil deeds of the previous visitor. now the maori looked on all white men as belonging to the same tribe, and the custom of utu allowed any man injured by an individual to wreak his vengeance upon any member of the said individual's tribe, provided his particular enemy were absent. in this he was backed up by all the members of his own tribe, especially if blood had been drawn; for tribal blood must be paid for with blood, and no sicilian clan ever carried out a vendetta more thoroughly than a maori hapu. this being so, the maoris eagerly looked for the next vessel, to take their blood payment for the blood spilt. knowing full well that their canoes and spears were no match for the well-armed ship, they would bide their time and have recourse to treachery. the white men would be received with apparent good will, and, if foolish enough, might be lulled into a mistaken sense of security. this being done, the majority of the crew would be enticed ashore, where, taken off their guard, or separated, they would be attacked, killed and eaten, while the ship, weakened by the loss of so many men, was sometimes boarded and captured, the natives thereby obtaining utu for the original injury done them. maoris were very punctilious about the honour of their tribes and ancestors, this being carried to an extent almost ludicrous. _par exemple_, a year or two before i left new zealand an old woman belonging to one tribe was planting potatoes, and as she shoved each tuber into the ground she called it by the name of one of the principal living chiefs or dead heroes of an adjoining tribe. this came to the ears of the said tribe, who immediately prepared for war, despatching an ultimatum that, unless the plantation and all the spuds it contained were at once destroyed, they would attack their insulting neighbours. the _casus belli_ must seem very absurd to a white man; but it was different to the offended tribe, as when, in the course of events, the murphies became ready for the pot, the scandalous old dame would be able to declare that she was not only devouring their living chiefs, but that, vampire-like, she was feeding upon their defunct ones. i mentioned that the maoris performed many splendid acts of courage in getting away their wounded and even their dead. this was done not only for love or comradeship, but to prevent the enemy from using their flesh in lieu of butcher's meat, and also to save their bones being turned into useful and ornamental articles by their opponents. for instance, let us suppose that during some ancient war, the waikato tribe fighting against the taranaki, the former should have killed and captured the body of a great war chief whom we will call te rawa. the flesh of the dead man, in the first place, would be eaten--a great indignity--but that would not be the end of him, for the bones would be preserved, and turned into fish-hooks, flutes and ornaments, the teeth strung nicely on flax, making a necklace; and it was not pleasant for the victim's descendants to hear that their revered though unfortunate ancestor was still furnishing food and bijouterie for the offspring of his slayer. now all the aforementioned useful articles were called by the name of the man they had, in the first place, belonged to--in this case te rawa. the owner of the fish-hook could boast that he was still eating te rawa, as he would call all the fish caught by that special hook te rawa. then, pointing to the necklace, he might brag he was wearing te rawa, and when inclined for music he would tootle on his flute and proudly declare he was playing te rawa; so that the unfortunate descendants of the poor old defunct, whenever they heard of this, would have to blush under their tattooed skins at the very name of their much-deplored ancestor. it was therefore a most sacred duty to rescue a dead or wounded comrade from the enemy, even when fighting against the white men; for although the natives well knew that we did not use their defunct relatives for rations, nor turn them into musical instruments, yet it had become so strong a custom among themselves to guard against such a possible catastrophe, that they still practised it although unnecessarily. i must revert once more to the custom of utu so as to point out the fair-mindedness of the natives should this law be used against themselves. let me give you just one instance. the circumstance took place after the capture of ngatapa. some hau haus had been taken prisoners, these being shot out of hand and their bodies thrown over a precipice; but six or eight of them remained alive, in our hands, as it was not certain they had participated in the poverty bay massacre. they were confined in a hut awaiting trial and, as all the murdered people were dead, it was a moot point whether these fellows would not get off for want of evidence. one of the men, however, whose relations had been murdered, determined that they should not slip through the clumsy fingers of the law, as alas so many of the blood-stained villains had succeeded in doing. he volunteered to act as one of the guard round the hut and, borrowing another revolver from a mate, he took the first opportunity to enter the hut and deliberately blew out the brains of all the inmates. this act of summary justice was fully approved of by the maoris, as it bore out the custom of utu; for if the defunct hau haus had not murdered the man's family themselves, yet their tribes had done so; and they considered it a square deal, as blood had been paid for by blood. i could yarn on about these queer people for hours and tell you of plenty of other quaint customs, such as their wakes, marriages, etc., also about their industry and other qualities, good and bad, for, faith! they have them mixed like all other people. but if you have followed and appreciated my first attempt it will encourage me to write more of my humble experiences on the frontiers of the empire with the old lost legion i love so well. chapter ii how matene failed to convert the lower wanganui it was in april that te ua, the crazy founder of the pai marire faith, despatched his apostle and prophet, matene rangitanira, to convert the tribes of the wanganui river to the new religion. now these tribes were divided into two sections, who, although closely connected by blood, lived under separate chiefs, and notwithstanding the fact that they were allied for mutual support against outsiders still, like many european families, harboured jealousies among themselves. there was also this difference between them: the lower river tribes had from the first always been friendly disposed towards the settlers, or at all events had tolerated them, while the upper river natives detested the white man, although the latter had in no way encroached on them, nor had they ever had much to do with them, as their country was at a considerable distance from the english settlements, the only means of communication being the river. the upper river natives were also, at this time, greatly enraged against the white man and desirous of utu (revenge), on account of the death of one of their principal chiefs, who had been killed the previous year, together with thirty-six of his men, at the storming of kotikara. matene, who was a member of the wanganui tribes, arrived in april , accompanied by a party of taranaki fanatics, at pipiriki, an important native village situated on the upper waters of the wanganui river, and began his mission. at this place mr booth, the resident magistrate for the district, dwelt, and although at the moment he was absent in the township of wanganui his wife and family, together with his brother and his family, were there. mr booth was a most popular official with the maoris, and it is quite possible that, had he been at his post, he might have been able to put a stop to the apostle's preaching before it became too late; but unfortunately he was absent on duty and was much delayed during his return journey by the paucity of water in the river, so that it was the end of the month before he reached pipiriki, and the evil teaching had taken a firm hold on the natives. matene made such good use of mr booth's absence that in a few days he had converted the great majority of the upper river natives and had erected a niu (hau hau worship pole), on which captain lloyd's head was suspended, and the tribe's men and women, mad with fanaticism, danced furiously round it. during mr booth's slow progress up the river the reports he received at every village he passed grew worse and worse, while at hiruharama the chiefs begged him not to go on, as they warned him that the people farther up had joined the hau haus and were all stark raving mad. mr booth, however, was grit right through; his brother and their families were in direful danger and he considered it to be his duty, both as a relation and also as an official, to risk everything in trying to save them. he therefore pushed on, trusting to his great influence and friendship with the principal chiefs and tribes to pull him through, so as to enable him to save his brother and their respective families. on his reaching the landing-place at pipiriki he immediately saw that whatever influence and friendship he may have, at one time, held over the people was a thing of the past, as, instead of the shouts and songs of welcome by the women, and the gladful rush of young warriors to haul his canoe up the bank so that he could land dryshod, all the population lined the high river bank, making hideous grimaces at him and howling like a lot of wild beasts. giving up all hope and expecting immediate death, mr booth sat quietly in his canoe waiting to receive it with the calm courage of a british pioneer, when suddenly a young but important chief, hori patene by name, forced his way through the crowd of yelling savages and, jumping into the canoe, started to tangi (shed tears of welcome) and rubbed noses with him. when this ceremony was over hori persuaded mr booth to go home, and although he fully expected to be cut to pieces every yard of the road, still accompanied and protected by the gallant hori, he succeeded in reaching his house, where he found his wife and children more than half dead with horror and fear, expecting to be tortured and brutally murdered every minute. no sooner had mr booth reached his house than hori started off and crossed the river, returning with mr booth's brother and his family, so that all the whites might be together, under his (hori's) protection, or, if the worst came to the worst, they could all die in company. it was now sunset and the hau haus began their devotions, and, as the niu had been erected in front of mr booth's house, the unfortunate inmates could not help seeing the awful cantrips nor hearing the foul incantations. huge fires were lit, and by their light hundreds of men and women, in parties of about fifty at a time, danced round the pole on which hung poor captain lloyd's head. starting slowly and with low-pitched but deep voices they began to chant the mystic words, hau hau pai marire, while circling round the ring; but gradually, as the spirit got hold of them, they put on the pace until, like a mob of drunken demoniacs, they leaped, stamped and cavorted round the niu with foul, indecent gestures, grimaces and contortions of body, far beyond the conception of an ordinary human being, while the mystic words were howled out at the top of their gamuts, so that they resembled a hideous phantasmagoria such as might be seen by a lunatic suffering from a bad dose of d.t. [illustration: gateway to maori pah.] hideous and disgusting as the contortions of the men were, those of the women were worse; for no sooner had the spirit entered into them than in their mad gyrations they leaped at the suspended head, trying, with their teeth, to bite and worry the smoke-dried flesh and hair of the unfortunate officer; and this they continued to do until at length, foaming at the mouth and worn out with their crazy frenzy, they either staggered from the ring or fell in convulsions on the ground, to be dragged away by the next batch of worshippers who were anxiously awaiting their turn. and this awful pandemonium went on all through the night. just think, my home-staying countrymen and women, who sleep in peace under the guardianship of our splendid police, what must have been the feelings of those english ladies and men who, with their helpless children, had to witness such scenes, knowing and fully expecting, as they did, that at any moment they might be dragged out and, after they had all been subjected to prolonged torture, should then be brutally murdered, with every barbarity and indignity that fiends could invent or devils could inflict. during the night a council was held and mr booth could hear the taranaki men who had accompanied matene urging the wanganui to torture and kill himself and family. nor did the latter seem to want such urging, as of all his whilom friends only hori and one other man spoke on his behalf, contesting right manfully that the honour of the upper river tribes would be for ever disgraced should the white people not be allowed to depart in safety, as they were tribal guests. for two more days and another night the unfortunate whites were kept in suspense, hori and a few other young chiefs, whom he had persuaded to join him, standing between the would-be murderers and their prey. and these noble young savages eventually saved them. it was near sunset on the last of these days, and after a very stormy meeting had been held, that hori rushed into mr booth's house, saying: "at last they have consented to let you go. come at once; leave all your property to me; for they may change their minds any moment." immediately they jumped up and followed him down to the canoe landing-place. _en route_ they had to pass through a swarm of armed hau haus who had lined the high river bank, and while doing so mr booth heard some of them say: "wait till they get into the canoe and then we will fire a volley so as to shoot them down in a heap." hori overheard the same remarks and said to mr booth: "take no notice of them. go slowly until you are out of sight; i and my friends will keep in the line of fire between you and the hau haus." this the gallant young fellow did, and, as the murderous brutes dare not run the risk of killing a wanganui chief, mr booth and his party paddled out of shot and reached the township of wanganui safely the following night. the above yarn is a true though short narrative of one of the numerous attempts made by chivalrous maoris to protect helpless white men from the blind, ferocious fanaticism of te ua's prophets. alas! it was one of the very few successful ones, though many brave natives lost their lives and suffered torture rather than give information to the hau haus as to the whereabouts of white fugitives. surely their names and actions should be remembered. immediately after mr booth's escape matene and the taranaki hau haus persuaded the tribes of the upper wanganui to attack, with the intention of utterly destroying, the white settlers and thriving township of wanganui, situated close to the mouth of the river, and at once all hands turned to, to prepare their war canoes for that purpose. before, however, starting on this expedition, they sent ambassadors to their relations, the lower river natives, so as to inform them of their purpose, and ask for their co-operation; announcing at the same time that, should their relations not care to join in and make a family party of the expedition, they (the upper river natives) would still carry out their programme--viz. descend the river and wipe out every white man, woman and child in the district! these emissaries, arriving at hiruharama, a village that may be called the frontier post of the river tribes, delivered their cheeky message, which to the recipients was intolerable, as the lower river tribes claimed the right-of-way on the river to the westward of hiruharama, and although it had been frequently attempted in times past, no war party had ever, up to date, succeeded in forcing a passage, and none ever should succeed, so long as a lower river native warrior could handle musket or swing tomahawk. this being the well-known determination of the lower river tribes, the chiefs at hiruharama returned an evasive answer to the hau haus, at the same time despatching a fast canoe downstream, so as to warn all their friends of the threatened eruption and give the tip to the white men of their imminent danger. then, not being in sufficient strength to withstand the brunt of the encounter, the village was immediately abandoned, all the inhabitants retiring downstream, collecting _en route_ the people belonging to the pahs kanaeroa and tawhitinui; but on reaching ranana they halted, being joined at that place by the bulk of the warriors of the lower river. close to ranana was the island of moutoa, a classic battle-ground, every square yard of which had been drenched with blood, shed in old-time wars, and on this island they determined, should their relations attempt to carry out their threats and try to force their way down the river, to resist them to the last gasp. in the meantime the hau haus, uncertain as to what sort of reception they would receive, were cautiously descending the river, and as they found every village deserted they halted at and occupied tawhitinui, which was situated some two miles above ranana and on the other bank, and from this place opened negotiations with their relations. the last few days had been passed by the white population in consternation almost amounting to despair. the outlying farmers and settlers, abandoning homes, stock and everything they owned, rushed into town, where each man anxiously asked his friends: "can we trust the lower river natives?" "will they become converted and join the hau haus?" "if so, what then?" true, they possessed one great factor in their favour, and that was the firm and undeviating friendship of old hori kingi te anaua (the paramount chief of the lower waikato), whose name should be remembered and treasured by every white man, woman and child on the west coast of new zealand. for when the first settlers landed at wanganui, hori, then the most renowned warrior on the coast, had taken their leader by the hand, and declared himself to be the friend and protector of the white man, and this promise the pagan cannibal warrior carried out both in letter and spirit till the day of his death. but then, alas! hori by this time was a very old man, and although the glamour of his great deeds enveloped the aged chief like a halo, and his people regarded him as a being something more than human; still, taking into consideration the astonishing way the crazy pai marire faith had been accepted by the upper river natives as well as by many other tribes, it was very doubtful whether old hori would be able to restrain them at such a crisis. moreover, all the lower wanganui natives were strong supporters of the maori king movement, and many of their important sub-chiefs, especially mete kingi te anaua, a chief only second to hori in influence, hated the white men; so that the settlers may well be pardoned for their consternation; as, in case the lower river natives saw fit to join their relations and become hau haus, even should they (the settlers) successfully repulse the combined native attack, and save their own lives, still the township and all the outlying farms must go up in smoke. they therefore made what preparations they could for defence and anxiously waited the termination of the native runanga (meeting). as i have previously stated, the lower river tribes had massed at ranana, the hau haus occupying the adjacent pah tawhitinui, and on th may the prophet matene, with a numerous deputation of his newly made converts, paddled over to ranana to open negotiations. now it is quite possible, nay, even probable, that had matene opened the proceedings of the runanga with prayer and incantations, as does the british house of parliament, he would have succeeded in converting the opposition party and so have gained his nefarious ends; but this he did not do, as no sooner had the deputation been announced than matene issued this insolent ultimatum--viz. that they (the hau haus) were determined to descend the river, peacefully if allowed to do so, but otherwise would win through by force. whoop, hullabaloo, that ultimatum, short as it was, upset the fat into the fire and brought haimona, chief of the ngatipa-moana and a mighty fighting man before the lord, on to his feet, who replied: "och it's force the river ye'll be after, is it? well, divil a drop of it ye'll mix wid yer whisky beyand the island of moutoa; mind yez that, ye black-advised, audacious hau haus; but av it's a fight ye want, sure there's that same island moutoa, that's moighty convanient, and maybe ye'll not want to go furder whin we've finished wid ye; so come on now, m'matene, esq., an trid on the tail of me mat, ye ruddy heretic, or get back to the ould te ua, an' may the cuss of cromel rest on him and his pai marire monkey tricks." now, as i am trying to be a truthful narrator, i am bound to confess that the above is not a verbatim report of the oration spoken by haimona, although the sentiments expressed in it are exactly similar and both contained a direct challenge; which challenge was immediately accepted, and as there was nothing further to squabble about, both parties went into committee to amicably discuss the coming fight, settle the details and sign the articles, which were as follows:-- . that a fight should take place the following day on the island of moutoa. . that the freedom of the right of road on the river should be the stake. . seeing that the combatants were closely connected by blood relationship as well as by alliance, and that it would be bad policy to weaken the fighting strength of the combined wanganui tribes by indiscriminate slaughter, it was therefore agreed that only men a side should take part in the combat. . that as the lower river natives were the owners of the island, they should land on the lower end before daylight. that the hau haus should land at the top end at daylight and that their disembarkation should be unopposed. . that both sides bound themselves to refrain from all ambuscades, tricks or trickery, but were to meet and fairly fight it out to the bitter end. next morning at grey dawn picked men, of the lower river tribes, were ferried over to moutoa, landed and arranged themselves in order of battle, divided into two companies of equal strength, and each company was told off into three subdivisions, these being led by renowned warriors. the leading company or van was commanded by tamehana te aewa, who was also c.o. of the whole outfit, who had under him hemi napi as leader of the right subdivision, riwai tawhitorangi leader of the centre and kereti of the left. the supporting company was commanded by haimona, but, through an error in tactics, it had been located yards in rear of the van, a distance far too great for men armed with double-barrelled guns to render effective aid; and this error nearly caused disaster. to the tick of time the hau haus disembarked at the top end of the island but, alas! their pristine chivalry had been already tainted by their infernal religion, as they landed men instead of the stipulated number, which was not cricket. they had also a powerful moral factor in their favour--viz. they (the hau haus) believed themselves to be invulnerable, while most of their opponents more than half believed the same thing, so that, notwithstanding their splendid courage and determination, very many of the latter considered themselves to be hopelessly handicapped in having to fight against men who were aided by angels. this nervousness must have increased as tamehana led the leading company on to the attack, for when within thirty yards of the hau haus the centre and left subdivisions fired a volley, of which every bullet flew wide, not one single hau hau being hurt; of course this vile shooting had the effect of confirming the fears of the lower river natives and exhilarating their opponents. the latter made haste to return the volley, and just as they did so a roman catholic lay brother rushed in between the combatants, exhorting them to terminate this fratricidal strife. poor devil, he met with the end that many men who interfere with family jars do meet with, as the volley finished him off before he could finish his first argument; and it has often been a matter of speculation to me as to whether he was a martyr or only an interfering busybody. this same volley also was a most disastrous one for the lower river natives: riwai and kereti with many of their men fell dead, while the survivors of their own subdivisions, disheartened by the loss of their leaders, and now fully convinced of the invulnerability of the hau haus, broke their ranks and fell back in disorder. hemi nape and his men, however, refused to fly and in a few moments proved that at all events some of the hau haus were far from being immortal, much less invulnerable. fine fighters hemi nape and his boys, were and well they bore themselves, but alas! how could they, less than twenty in number, withstand such overwhelming odds?--so that though they fought like fiends incarnate still they were driven back and must have been quickly wiped out. help, however, was at hand, for suddenly old tamehana te aewa, with the roar of a wild bull, threw himself into the vortex of the combat and, begorra! he made things lively. you see, when the centre and left subdivisions gave way he tried to rally them, but failing to do so he returned alone to the fight, so as to throw in his lot with the lads who scorned to fly. just at the moment he arrived hemi had ordered his men to take cover, but that did not suit tamehana, who charged the hau haus like a whirlwind and killed two of them with a clean right and left; then, throwing away his empty gun, he picked up a spear dropped by one of the dead men and drove it through a third one's body, grabbing, as the dying man fell, his gun and tomahawk. the gun was unfortunately not loaded, but he made use of it by braining a fourth man with the butt and then sank the blade of the tomahawk so deep into a fifth man's skull that as he tried to wrench it out the tough handle went to splinters. immediately he seized his last victim's gun and was about to use it when a bullet struck him in the arm, and he had just time to shoot the man who had wounded him when another smashed his right knee to pieces and put a termination to his day's sport. when he fell the hau haus made a rush to finish him off, which rush was met by a counter-charge of hemi nape's men, who, although they were all wounded, determined to die rather than allow old tamehana to be killed or captured. led by marino, hemi's son, for hemi himself had been shot dead a moment before, they threw themselves on the hau haus and made such a determined stand that it gave time to haimona with his supporting company to come into action. this grim old warrior had been originally posted too far in rear of the van and had lost some time in rallying the fugitives, whom he tongue-lashed out of their cowardly nervousness, his endeavours being helped by the scornful yells and entreaties of the men and women spectators, who, mad with excitement, watched the apparently lost battle from the bank of the river. then promptly adding the whilom runaways to his own party, he rapidly advanced to make his effort. there was no fear now of the late fugitives turning tail again, for nigh crazy with shame and contrition, they would far sooner face a thousand deaths than be branded as cowards through the length and breadth of new zealand. deflecting his advance to the right, he cleared the expiring struggle in which the remnant of hemi's men were still dying hard, and then by a quick change of front to the left he outflanked the hau haus and at close quarters poured in two death-dealing volleys that decimated the fanatics. then without a moment's delay "out tomahawks" was the order and, led by haimona himself, the new-comers rushed madly into the fray. immediately the aspect of the combat changed. up to this time the hau haus had had much the best of it, but now fickle fortune turned her back upon them and old tamehana's bearsark rush, together with the glorious stand made by hemi nape's men, were to reap their reward; as from the moment haimona's party took a hand in the game the upper river natives had to fight, not for conquest, but for their lives. the volleys they had received had killed several important chiefs and many men, while the furious charge of haimona's party on their left flank all but routed them; still they were maori warriors, as brave as any men on earth, and although broken and confused they turned to meet the attack with the greatest courage. now began the last phase of a fight that homer himself would have loved to sing about. howling for blood, haimona's men rushed into hand-to-hand combat. both sides had discarded their guns, both sides ceased from yelling as they came chest to chest, but the tomahawks gave out a sharp click, as they clashed against one another in the air, that provided the alto part to the sickening scrunch of the inflicting wound, the guttural grunt of the wounder and the sobbing groan of the wounded. faith! it was a fine fight. the impetuosity of the desperate charge bore the hau haus backwards, and in spite of their furious efforts they were forced to continue the retrograde movement, for the lower river maoris, fighting as they were with their tribesmen and women looking on, outdid their best, while the men who had previously fled, madly anxious to obliterate their shame, and who, careless of wounds and death, only strove to kill, fought like demons. the hau haus were therefore steadily driven back, and as the bloody tussle continued they at last reached the shore of the island, when, unable to make a stand, or retire farther, those that remained on their feet were forced to plunge into the rapid current and attempt to escape by swimming. of these but few reached the opposite bank, and of those who were lucky enough to do so twenty were captured by mete kingi, who, with lower river warriors, had watched the fight. the end of the prophet matene brought the whole show to a tragical finale. he had fought bravely through the fight; for, as it is only right to give the devil his due, i may here state that all of te ua's prophets were game to lead any cracked-brained exploit they might have persuaded their misguided disciples to undertake, and consequently vacancies frequently occurred in the apostolic ranks. well, matene was still alive when the remnant of his men were forced into the river, so he had to frog it with them, and was swimming away for all he was worth when the eagle eye of haimona spotted him. the chief turned to his aide-de-camp, te moro, and handed him his bone mere (a short battle-axe made out of whalebone and greatly used by the natives before the introduction of steel-bladed tomahawks), at the same time pointing out the fugitive and remarking: "there is your fish." in plunged te moro, who, swimming rapidly, overtook his prey and grabbed him just as he reached the bank. in vain the prophet tried to save himself by his incantations: "hau hau, pai marire. hau----" he gasped the remainder of his discourse, being interrupted by a smashing cut from the mere, and te moro swam back, towing the dead body, which he threw down at haimona's feet. the fight being over, it was now necessary to count the cost. out of the hau haus who had landed lay dead, badly wounded and were prisoners, all the balance, with the exception of one who was known to have made his escape, being probably more or less disabled, were drowned. the loss of the lower river natives was killed and badly wounded; so that it may be called a very good fight indeed, second only to that remarkable combat between the two kilkenny tom cats--but then they were irish, you know. the result of this family fall-out effectually saved the white settlers, as, in the first place, it put a limit to the spread of the pai marire religion on the wanganui river and prevented the lower river natives from casting in their lot with the hau haus, which, probably, they would have done had matene approached them in a conciliatory manner instead of rubbing them up the wrong way, by threatening to force the right-of-way on the river. the township was saved, as were also the outlying farms and much stock, and the settlers showed their appreciation of the lower river natives' gallant conduct by attending _en masse_ the obsequies of the chiefs and warriors killed in the fight. this side show, as one may call it, to the general war that was then raging all over the country was kept up in a desultory sort of way and ended in so quaint a manner that i think i may be pardoned for relating the facts. after the gentle passage-at-arms on moutoa, the discomfited, but still bigoted, upper river natives retired to their own country, halting when they reached ohotahi, a pah situated higher up the river but close to hiruharama. here they fortified themselves, being allowed ample time to do so by their chivalrous opponents, as it would have been bad form and quite foreign to maori war etiquette for one enemy to attack another until the defenders had made everything ready for their assailants' reception. it was therefore not until february that a strong party of the lower river maoris, under the command of honi hipango, advanced up the river and commenced the siege. at the first honi gained some advantages, and a few men were killed on either side, though much time was lost in ceremonious sparring; but at last they really got to work, and honi was preparing to rush the place when he was mortally wounded. his death enraged his men, and the final charge was moving forward when a woman came out of the gate, waving a white flag; she was quickly recognised as being the wife of pehi turoa, who in reality was the great ancestral chief of both sections of the wanganui tribe. the appearance of this aristocratic old dame at once caused an immediate cessation of hostilities, the firing ceased, and both sides, quitting their shelter trenches, met together, squatted down and commenced an elaborate tangi (ceremonious weeping), in which they mutually bewailed the killed on both sides; for the reader must remember that both factions were closely connected by blood. the lower river natives were now on the horns of a dilemma; eighty hau haus were at their mercy, among them being pehi turoa himself, and these unfortunates should, by all the rules of the game, be at once immolated as utu for the death of honi hipango, esq. but it was impossible for them to slaughter, in cold blood, their own relations; neither could they make their own kinsmen prisoners, especially old pehi, for that would smother themselves with dishonour, as it would degrade their own great hereditary chief and a number of their own blood relations to the status of slavery, which would entail shameful ignominy on the whole of the wanganui tribe. what then should be done with pehi and his party? it was a very hard nut to crack, and all hands went into committee to solve the problem, which was at last done in this way, pehi himself being the fount of wisdom from which the adopted suggestion emanated: the old chief propounded that whereas, for reasons stated above, it was inexpedient that himself and party should be knocked on the head, or degraded to slaves, the only other course open was to let them go; and that, as it was unseemly for warriors to promenade around the country unarmed, it would be necessary for them to take their weapons with them. and to this suggestion both parties gave a cordial assent. a treaty was therefore made in which both factions resolved that they would allow no religious rancour to disunite again the wanganui tribe, and that although each party retained the right to fight on the side of either white man or hau hau, yet that said fighting must be enjoyed outside their own country: and this compact was honourably kept to the end of the war. up till the upper river natives as a whole sat tight, then joined us so as to exact utu on te kooti for the murder of one of turoa's relations. the lower river natives became our most staunch allies, for being men of discernment they quickly tumbled to the fact that it was far more humorous and better sport to fight their old-time enemies, the taranaki hau haus, and draw pay and rations while enjoying their favourite "divarsion," than to stay at home, or, like their misguided relatives, dance round a pole and howl, "hau hau, pai marire." i think before i terminate this yarn i may tell you about a rather quaint incident that happened during the siege of ohotaki, and as it portrays an idiosyncrasy or trait in maori character you will pardon my doing so. well, one night a party of lower river natives attempted to surprise an outlying detached post they knew to be weakly held. they crawled up to the place, and were about to rush it when a woman's voice called out: "take care what you do; te miere and te mokena are here"--these being the names of two aged men at that time quite past fighting, but who, in their prime, had been mighty warriors of great and bloody renown. at once the storming party retired, for to have captured a place the garrison of which contained two such notable veterans would have injured the prestige of both parties in the eyes of the fighting population throughout new zealand. chapter iii how a scout won the new zealand cross up to the year the victoria cross was not to be won by any officer or man of h.m. colonial forces, although one civilian (cavanagh) had received it during the indian mutiny, yet in new zealand the greatest honour to be won by a britisher was denied to all but those actually serving in h.m. regular army or navy. this being so, the new zealand government obtained royal sanction to issue a similar cross, only manufactured out of gold and silver instead of bronze, to be won by the colonial troops, and this decoration is designated the new zealand cross. the yarn i am now going to spin you is how trooper george hill won his while employed as a scout on the east coast. in march the great hardships, the bitter weather, the large number of wounded and, above all, the cowardice of our allies, the arawa tribe, by far the most pampered by government, and the only new zealand tribe that can be called cowards, necessitated the colonial field force falling back from the high plateau of taupo to fort galatea to recuperate and refit. this gave te kooti leisure to look around for more devilments, and he determined to strike another blow at the settlements on the east coast. calling a meeting of the hau hau tribes at ruatahuna, he proposed to attack the friendly natives and the white settlers at mohaka or te wairoa. the former place was chosen and te kooti, with bloodthirsty fiends, started to carry out the raid. crossing the huiarau ranges they came to the waikare moana lake. here one of those chance occurrences happened that enabled the astute te kooti to keep his hold over the superstitious natives. on reaching the lake he issued orders that no man was to cross over before he did so himself. this order was disobeyed, for a canoe full of warriors at once started. the lake, a very large one and, like all others, surrounded by high mountains, is subject to being swept by sudden and heavy squalls. one of these overtook the disobedient warriors, capsized their canoe and although all managed to get ashore, yet one died from exhaustion, the remainder losing all their arms, food, etc. te kooti took advantage of this disaster and made capital out of it. he informed his men that the order he had promulgated had been issued direct from god, and that the disobedient warriors had been punished for non-compliance with it. then, seeing the weather was propitious, he entered a canoe and crossed in safety, his men following without further misadventure. te kooti by doing so gained much credit in the prophet line and stricter obedience from his superstitious followers. the lake being crossed, they pushed on without delay to the upper mohaka, surprised before daylight the arakaihi village, and butchered every soul in it, man, woman and child, with the tomahawk, so as not to alarm some settlers on the other side of the river. when daylight came they crossed the river and murdered with the greatest brutality two white men with their wives and three little children, as also they did another white settler who was unfortunate enough to fall into their hands alive. not satisfied with his morning's successful battue, te kooti and his gang, now increased to men, hurried on to the lower mohaka, which consisted of two friendly pahs, with a sprinkling of white settlers, a public-house, store, etc. they arrived there early in the day and at once attacked the smallest pah, known as the huke pah. the mohaka friendlies had received news of te kooti's rapid approach and had sent messengers to warn the troops stationed at te wairoa, only nineteen miles away, and the authorities at napier fifty miles distant (of this more anon). nearly all the mohaka warriors were absent, and the garrison of the huke pah consisted of six men and a large number of women and children. one of the defenders, however, named heta, was a grand specimen of a maori warrior, and under his influence they kept the hau haus at bay all that day and night, and might have held out, had not te kooti resorted to stratagem and by a foul piece of treachery succeeded in entering the works early the following morning, when he caused every living being, regardless of sex and age, to be massacred in cold blood. he then turned his attention to the other pah, hiruharama, which was garrisoned by only ten men, but also contained many women and children. here he again tried treachery, but this time failed, as the defenders had seen what had happened at huke and were determined to die fighting. he therefore had to commence to sap up to the palisades, which were old and rotten, but the nature of the ground, very hard limestone, delayed him. it was now that trooper george hill chipped in and took a hand. te kooti's lightning raid had been well conceived and brilliantly carried out, but luck was decidedly in his favour, as unfortunately it so chanced that the officers in charge of the safety of hawke's bay district were on the whole a very poor lot, as far as efficiency went. many of the regular colonial officers had been killed or rendered _hors de combat_ during the previous twelve months, the remainder were with the field forces at the front, so that the duty of guarding the settlements was left in the hands of the militia or volunteer officers, and these were quite unfit to cope with te kooti. they had plenty of good men, both friendly natives and volunteers, with a sufficiency of armed constabulary (the colonial regulars) to give them backbone, but the officers (unfortunately) considered discretion to be the better part of valour and mistook timidity for prudence, so much so that they missed their chance and covered themselves with something like disgrace. at te wairoa the o.c. had at his disposal mounted men, of whom were armed constabulary, splendidly trained and mounted, the other armed settlers, all good men. he also had friendly natives, and the whole of these men were simply spoiling for a fight. with one half of them he could have saved the huke pah, and cut up the hau haus, very many of whom had sacked the public-house and were lying about dead drunk; but he did nothing, for on receipt of the news, which was quickly confirmed, and although he was quite aware of the weakness of the pah's garrison, he asserted he still had doubts as to the truth of his information and only despatched trooper george hill, of the armed constabulary, to see if te kooti was really playing high jinks at the mohaka. trooper hill left te wairoa, on horseback, and rode in the direction of the mohaka. about half-way he met two mounted settlers, lamplough and burton, who, having heard of te kooti's advent, were doing a scout on their own; these men at once offered to accompany him, and did so. on reaching the vicinity of the mohaka they dismounted, tied up their horses and crept up a ridge from which they could observe the place. from this point of vantage they could see the huke pah, with the flag still flying, and also the puffs of smoke from the rifle pits of the enemy, so that they were fairly able to judge the number of the attackers and locate the positions they occupied. as there could now be no longer any doubt that te kooti and his gang were on the warpath, trooper hill, leaving the two settlers, both of them good men, on the ridge to observe the enemy, mounted his horse and returned towards the camp as fast as he could get his horse to go. unfortunately his horse knocked up, but just then he met three of his comrades, who had been sent out to look for him. despatching one of them to te wairoa with his report, hill and the other two men, tew and mitchell, returned to mohaka. here they tied up their horses and joined the settlers on the ridge, so as to keep the enemy under observation and be able to supply the o.c. of the relieving force with information. of course the a.c. troopers never doubted that a relieving force would be sent at once, probably wondered why there was not one on the job already; but they were not accustomed to militia officers. their own officers had no use for timidity, and regarded prudence and discretion as very good horses only to be trotted out at long intervals; anyhow, not one of the men on the ridge would have believed an angel, had he informed them that no relieving party would be sent at all. the five men remained on the ridge till after dark, and then descended to the flat where they had tied up their horses. they had, however, been guilty of an act of folly, insomuch that they had not left one of their number in charge of their mounts, for on reaching the place where they had left them tied up they found one of them had broken his tether rope and had levanted. as it was necessary to find the brute, hill and tew started away on foot to do so, each man taking his own line of search. the other men, instead of remaining quiet, waited a few minutes, then mounted their horses and rode over the flat to assist in the hunt. while doing so, in the pitch darkness, they stumbled over tew and foolishly challenged him in maori. he promptly answered with a carbine shot that killed lamplough's horse. burton, fancying tew to be a hau hau, returned the fire, his horse at once bucking him off and galloping away. the third man, trooper mitchell, hearing the firing and the galloping of the horses, thought they were attacked by the enemy, so, shouting to hill to run, he rode as hard as he could in the direction he fancied his comrade had taken, in order to assist him. he had not gone far when his horse turned turtle over a flax bush, fell with him, getting away and galloping off. all of the five men were now dismounted, each man thinking he was surrounded by hau haus, so they all bolted for an adjacent flax swamp and hid in the water all the remainder of the night--a just punishment for their carelessness and folly. daylight revealed the fiasco, and as they were dismounted they took cover and waited for the relief party that did not come. towards midday maoris turned up under the command of a grand old fighting chief, ihaka whanga, but less than of them were to be relied on, the rest semi hau haus, as much to be feared as trusted. at once the ridge was lined and hill saw that the huke pah had fallen, but that the hiruharama pah still held out though closely invested. the garrison, seeing friends on the ridge, shouted to them for assistance, as there were not enough men to hold the place should it be rushed. among ihaka whanga's party were twenty-five mohaka men, and these were the boys ready and willing to grasp at any plan, no matter how desperate, to relieve their relations and save the honour of their pah. george hill was the man for the emergency. he explained the only plan was to cut their way through the besiegers. he was game to lead, were the twenty-five game to follow? of course they were. so, without any thought of prudence, discretion, or even modesty, hill whipped off his boots, tunic, and riding breeches, so as to be able to run the better, and the gallant twenty-six, shouting their war-cry, charged the hau hau rifle pits. yes, they charged and charged home, for they broke their way, by sheer pluck and hard hitting, right through the ranks of the enemy (hill killing his man _en route_) and reached the gate of the pah, which they entered, only two of them being wounded during the rush. the men left on the ridge opened fire on the hau hau rifle pits, until te kooti sent a party to take them in the rear, when the untrustworthy natives all bolted, the four white men retired, and only old ihaka with two of his men were left. these three splendid warriors held the position to the last gasp, then ihaka gave the word to scatter and try to get away. the two men were caught and killed, but the old veteran managed to elude his pursuers and reach te wairoa in safety, where he gave the o.c. his opinion of his conduct. on hill entering the pah he found it to be manned by small boys and girls, standing on mounds of earth and stones to enable them to fire over the parapet, and that even with his twenty-five men he had not nearly enough hands to man the works. he at once went to the point of the greatest danger, a bastion, and could hear the hau haus sapping through the hard ground. he quickly noticed that the palisades were rotten, so much so that if the enemy could sap near enough to throw a pole, attached to a long rope, over the fence, a strong pull on the rope would cause such a breach that a storming party could at once enter, when numbers must gain the day. fortunately there was in the pah a number of oxen chains; the ends of these he made fast to the big corner posts of the work, and passed the chains outside the weak palisades, so rendering that style of attack abortive. [illustration: a maori girl.] in the bastion with him he had only two men, two small boys and three little girls, supplemented occasionally by the maori clergyman, who, between long prayers for the safety of his flock, hurled all the vituperations and cuss words to be found in the sacred writings at the heads of te kooti and his followers. hill, when he entered the pah, was famished for want of food; he naturally asked for some, and was furnished with a cup of tea, one biscuit and one apple. surprised at such meagre fare, tendered by the most hospitable people on earth, he asked for more and then ascertained that the food he had just eaten was the very last particles of provisions the place contained. but the garrison swore that before they surrendered they would eat their own children rather than let them fall into the hands of te kooti. all the remainder of that day and the ensuing night heavy firing was kept up, the hau haus attempting to tear down the palisades; but they were, thanks to hill's dodge with the oxen chains, unable to gain an entrance, although the defenders had frequently to rush from side to side of the works to oppose them. at daylight next morning it was discovered the enemy had constructed a line of rifle pits, close to the front face of the pah, on which were hoisted flags, and at sunrise, with much bugling, volley after volley was poured into the defenders' works. hill mustered his scanty and tired garrison to repel the expected rush, and lay quiet, having directed his men to reserve their fire till the rush was made. after some considerable time had passed the flags were suddenly withdrawn, the bugling and volleys ceased, and a dead silence ensued. the defenders, on the qui vive for some fresh devilry, sat tight, until one of them, unable to stand the suspense any longer, crept out and crawled to the edge of the cliff to reconnoitre. he reached the edge, took one glance, and was on his feet in a second, letting out a wild whoop of triumph. out tumbled man, woman and child; they lined the edge of the cliff, and with one accord broke into a wild war-dance (the parson leading), for still close, but in full retreat, they saw te kooti and his baffled gang of murderers. oh, but it was a glorious triumph, and must be celebrated with befitting honours, that the great false prophet with his much-feared, blood-smeared warriors had to turn their backs on a nearly defenceless pah, whose garrison consisted chiefly of women and children. trooper george hill, however, had his duty to perform; he had no time for feasts nor triumphs, for although the maoris begged him to remain, assuring him the roads would be ambuscaded, he caught one of te kooti's knocked-up horses and started along the napier road, so as to convey the intelligence that the hau haus had retreated. twelve miles along the track he met with the advance guard of the relieving column, who had taken three days to do a journey that should have been completed in eight hours. the men, mad with the procrastination and incompetency of their officers, were nearly in a state of mutiny, but it was of no avail; for although trooper hill reported te kooti had retreated, and offered to guide the mounted men on his track, and at all events regain the plunder, nothing was done, and the hau haus were allowed to retire in peace. there is no need for me to say any more about the officers, plenty was said about them at the time they were incapable; let them rip. trooper hill, however, did not think he had yet finished his work, for as soon as he had snatched a bite of food he volunteered to go out and scout for some of the unfortunate white women and children who were known to be fugitives or hidden in the wild bush and fern ranges. this he did, and succeeded in finding, relieving and bringing into safety several of the wretched, starving creatures, who otherwise must have died from privations. trooper george hill received the new zealand cross, and i for one say he richly deserved it, not only for the courage he displayed in action, but also his gallant conduct saved the honour and repute of the white man amongst the friendly maoris who were disgusted by the unfortunate behaviour of the officers. chapter iv a hau hau martyr let me spin you a yarn of how a maori was so imbued with fanaticism that he faced in cold blood extinction for the same. many of the hau haus, bloodthirsty, cruel fanatics as they were, whom the colonial forces ruthlessly knocked on the head during the latter half of the new zealand wars, are just as much entitled to be enrolled in the army of martyrs as are the early christians or any other poor devils who have perished by fire or sword for believing and sticking to their faith. again, there are many instances of hau haus who were so strong in their convictions that they of their own free will deliberately offered themselves up to undergo the fiery ordeal by leaving their harbours of safety and, unarmed, trusting alone to spiritual aid, faced certain death; and i have never read of any persecuted communities doing the same. when in the pai marire religion was promulgated by a demented maori named te ua, the two principal promises held out to induce the maoris to join the new religion were: first, that they should be rendered invulnerable in action; and, secondly, that they should be granted the gift of tongues. they were also promised the assistance of legions of angels, and that those white soldiers who were not turned into stone should with the rest of the settlers be driven into the sea, after which the natives should be given the knowledge of all the european arts and sciences. please note he made no promise about a future state, nor, like mahomet, did he invent any gorgeous paradise, thronged with pretty girls, where free drinks would be served out _ad libitum_. now these were queer promises to captivate a maori warrior, as after the first excitement there was but little in them to induce him to abandon christianity and cling to hau hauism. let us take them _seriatim_, remembering at the same time that the maori is an astute reasoner. first of all the promise of invulnerability. well, that would be all right so long as they only had to fight against the white man, but the pakeha was to be driven out, and what would follow then? war was the maori's greatest pleasure, and each tribe hated his neighbour quite as much as he hated the white man. yet his neighbour was to become just as invulnerable as he was to be himself. where, therefore, would be the fun if he could not kill his enemy, eat him, nor turn his bones into useful and ornamental articles? bah! the zest of war would be gone. then again the second promise. what on earth use could the gift of tongues be to a man when there was not to be a single foreigner left in the country with whom to collogue? as for the other promises, they were not worth a row of pins, for if the warriors became invulnerable they wanted no further angelic aid; and as far as acquiring the arts and sciences went, so long as they could learn how to make rum and grow tobacco, all the rest could go swing, they being willing to live as their fathers had lived before them. now i am sure that if the natives had only reasoned as i have just done they would not have thrown off their christianity in such a hurry and become stark raving hau haus; but they seem on this occasion to have lost their wits altogether, for, carried away by the crazy incantations of te ua's apostles, they not only embraced the new faith, but believed in the truth of it, so much so that there are plenty of instances of their laying down their lives for it--and no man can do more. another wonderful thing is that even after four years' continuous fighting, during which period the angel had not only failed to bear a hand, but had not even rendered one man invulnerable, as apostle, priest and warrior had been put out of mess by the white man's bullet, still they were strong in their faith, and there are plenty of instances of hau haus, believing in the promise of the angel, offering their bodies as a target so as to prove the truth of their religion. and now for the yarn. the scene is a maori kainga on the east coast of new zealand, date , time of day about a.m. the village, composed of some twenty huts, stands in a clearing surrounded by dense bush, and in the foreground stands the niu, the sacred pole round which the fanatics perform their mad dances and mystic incantations. i said it was a maori kainga; so it had been, though the only maoris at present inside it are perhaps a score, and these lie about very dead indeed. the remainder of its whilom inhabitants have fled away into the depths of the bush and are safe from the pursuit of the strong party of colonial irregulars, who, having, after a long, wearying night's march, surprised and rushed the place at daybreak, are now in occupation of it. these men, having eaten their frugal meal, and worn out by their overnight's march, with the exception of the guard lie around booted and belted and with their carbines by their sides, trying to get what sleep they can, as at any moment they may again be called upon for active service. on the low fence surrounding the niu ring, which is about thirty feet in diameter, the ground within the magic circle being trampled as hard and smooth as stone pavement by the feet of its former worshippers, lounge some half-dozen officers smoking and dozing. the day is a fine one, the sun shines hot, the white men rest, the hau haus, far away in the recesses of the bush, bind up their wounds and talk of utu (revenge). no, not all of them, for the undergrowth parts and out into the clearing strides a big, stark-naked maori, who, without paying the slightest attention to any of the astonished and by now wideawake men, passes through them and, without apparently seeing the group of officers, enters the niu ring, where, after saluting the pole, he prances slowly round it, chanting in a minor key the words: "hau hau, pai marire" (wind, wind, good, peaceful), over and over again. gradually he gets up steam and, paying no attention to the throng of armed enemies who now surround the mystic circle, he cavorts higher and faster, while his monotonous chant is raised to the full gamut of his deep, bass voice. presently he foams at the mouth, his features become distorted, sweat pours through his skin like water, on his hands held rigid his fingers quiver, while with leaps and bounds his stamping feet beat time to the chant of "hau hau, pai marire." how long this exhibition would have continued the lord only knows, for it was brought to a sudden termination by a big scotch presbyterian sergeant, who, being as bigoted as they make them, could not tolerate the ritual of a foreign denomination, so he stepped out of the crowd of men and, as the fanatic devotee pranced past him, he with a leg as brawny as that of a highland stot let fly a kick, at the same time exclaiming: "hae done, ye pagan, wi yer satanic cantrips." out flew the no. boot, which, catching the unfortunate bounder fair and square on the crupper bone, launched him through space till, the momentum being expended, he landed on his nose at the colonel's feet. "get up," quoth the o.c. in maori, at the same time giving the officious non-com. a look that made the ower-guid mon wilt. "now, what made you come here?" the colonel spoke the language like a native, and what he did not know about hau haus was not worth learning, so he was not in the least bit surprised when the somewhat blown native staggered to his feet and answered him in perfect english: "i came here among you to turn you all into stone, and should have done so had not that man, whose head is fit to be boiled, interrupted me." "ah," replied the o.c., "i know you; you assisted nama to torture women and children at poverty bay." "i did," triumphantly exclaimed the fanatic. "sweet is the blood of women and children." (note this fellow had been mission bred and educated, in fact had acted as a lay bible reader.) "ah, is it," growled the colonel. "sergeant o'halloran, detail four men, take this fellow to that tree and do your duty." the sergeant saluted smartly, quickly told off four men, advanced to his prisoner, whose arm he grasped with a shoulder-of-mutton fist, at the same time exclaiming: "come along wid me, ye bloody-minded fanian." a few steps took them to the huge tortara-tree that had been pointed out, against the trunk of which the sergeant, drawing his revolver, placed the hau hau. "and now," said he, "a christian ye were wance, and a bloody pagan ye are now, bad luck to the likes of ye, but ave ye wist to recant and make yer sowl, sure it's foive minutes i'll give ye to make it.--fall in, boys, tin yards forninst us." now no good soldier man, be he regular or irregular, likes to make one of a firing party, told off to shoot a man in cold blood, law or no law, and it is usual in such cases to detail the worst characters in a regiment to perform that obnoxious duty; but when it comes to letting daylight into a fiend who brags of having tortured helpless women and children, then no frontiersman jibs at making one of a party to do so. therefore, no matter how distasteful the job might be to any of the four men told off on this special occasion, they fell in with great alacrity and brought their carbines to the shoulder like one man. "hurry up, ye spalpeen, and make yer sowl," quoth the sergeant. "you can't shoot me," replied the fanatic, "the great gabriel and all his angels protect me; you can't kill me." "nabocklish" (maybe not), answered the imperturbable non-com., "but by the holy poker we'll have a darned good try. will yez call on the blessed saints or not, ye contumacious blaggard?" "hau hau, pai marire," shouted the fanatic, raising his arms, stretching them to the full extent and turning the hands, palms outwards, towards the firing party. "ah, thin ye won't," growled the now somewhat enraged non-com., "thin go to hell yer own way. ready!" "hau hau, pai marire," yelled the fanatic. "present!" ordered the sergeant. "hau hau, pai marire," triumphantly shrieked the maori. "fire!" "hau hau" bang came all together, and the misguided fanatic, smote full in the chest by four sneider bullets, collapsed and fell on his face as dead as julius cæsar. now was that hau hau, blood-stained brute as he undoubtedly was, a martyr or only a bally fool? remember, he had only a few hours previously escaped from out of a sharp fight in which many of his co-religionists had been killed, and after winning through to safety himself he is so strong in his faith that he voluntarily returns alone and unarmed to justify the truth of his conviction, although he well knows he is facing certain death providing he be wrong in his belief. you may call him which or what you please, but i maintain that he is just as much to be enrolled in the army of martyrs as any of the poor devils who were stretched on red-hot gridirons, or were put to death in other unpleasant ways, for testifying to what they believed to be the truth. chapter v a brush with bushrangers (_told by the old identity_) in australia, during the early seventies, bushrangers were still to the fore, who with cattle-thieves and hostile blacks made the squatters on the back blocks keep their eyes skinned, and the banker in the bush townships cash a cheque with one hand, while he kept the other on his revolver. true the mounted police were very good, none better, but, like the british army, there were not enough of them, and the amount of work in covering, protecting and patrolling such enormous areas of country was far beyond what their limited number could properly do. indeed, there are plenty of well-known cases where the bushrangers have overcome the police, handcuffed them in their own station, then stuck up the bank and, after raiding the town, started off on the best horses in the place and disappeared into the bush, not to be heard of again until they bailed up a coach, or stuck up some station, perhaps miles away. well, to get on with my yarn. some six and thirty years ago i was on leave in australia, and was putting in some of it as a guest on a large cattle run and sheep station owned by two old friends of mine who had already become wealthy men, and who owned an enormous number of cattle and sheep. the house, like most of its sort at that time in australia, was built of split slabs of wood, with a shingle roof. it contained four good-sized rooms and a very wide hall running right through it, which was used as a dining-room and lounge. the kitchen and offices were close to, in rear of the house, and the men's quarters, stables, store and outhouses were near by. the whole block of buildings stood in the open, and was surrounded by wire-fenced paddocks, so that no one could approach within a long distance of the house on any side without being seen. my friends' home staff at that time consisted of six white men, all good and to be relied upon, also two china boy-cooks, and a few aborigines (black fellows) who were used as trackers and stock-riders. all of these men were well armed, so that with our three selves we made a garrison quite able to beat off any attack of bushrangers or blacks. i had come up from brisbane with one of the partners to join in mustering semi-wild cattle, cutting them off from the bush by moonlight and driving them into a mob of tame cattle driven along for the purpose, and then forcing them into a run that led to the stockyards, where they would be drafted and disposed of. there is no more exciting work in the world for a good horseman who is well mounted, can use a stock whip, and who puts no excessive value on his neck or bones. the cutting-out was to begin next week, and some of the best of my friends' numerous and splendid stud of horses had been brought in from the paddocks and fed up on hard food, so as to get them into good fettle and wind for the work. at brisbane and all the way up by cob & co.'s coach we had heard plenty of shaves about bushrangers, especially of one gang led by a scoundrel called ginger, who, having been hunted over the border from new south wales, was making things lively in queensland; as if that colony had not sufficient blackguards of her own growth to look after. these shaves were confirmed at the small bush township, where we left the coach, by the solitary trooper in charge there, who informed my companion that the sergeant and other troopers were away on patrol after this bounder. there was no telegraphic communication in those days, and all the information we could get was that ginger's gang consisted of four, or it might be eight, men. so our traps having been placed in a light cart that had been sent for them, we mounted two slashing horses and rode the forty miles to the station, my friend hearing the news from his head stock-rider, named blake, who had brought over the horses. this man, a splendid stamp of a sidney-side colonial, was convinced we should hear more of mr ginger, but feared we should be disappointed in our muster, as our neighbours, having to look after their own homes, would not come in for it. well, we reached the station, and i put in two days very contentedly indeed, picking and trying my horses, selecting a stock-whip and kit, and amusing myself generally, so much so that on the evening of the second day, after a good dinner, when we were sitting smoking under the verandah, i bothered my head not at all about ginger. presently one of my friends looked up and said: "hallo, here's someone coming, and in no end of a hurry too." we looked and saw the township trooper riding as fast as he could get his horse to travel towards us. he reached us and dismounted, giving his pumped-out horse to one of the blacks who had come for it, and took and drank thankfully the proffered drink, then said: "mr--ginger is in the district, and i have been riding since yesterday morning giving the squatters notice to be on the qui vive. i left your station to the last, as the inspector knows you are well armed and your men are to be relied on." "come and have something to eat first and tell your yarn afterwards," quoth my host, and we adjourned to the hall, where, after the trooper had eaten with the appetite of a half-starved dingo, he informed us that ginger had reached the district, sticking up stations on his way, and that the inspector with fifteen men were on his track. he had evidently intended to stick up the township, but the arrival of the police had prevented this, so he disappeared, and the inspector thought he would make the attempt to break south again. he therefore requested my friend for the loan of as many men and horses as he could spare, so as to accompany the trooper and stop a gap called the divide, through which the scoundrels might try to break, and where he promised to meet them, during the next twenty-four hours, but at the same time warned them not to leave their station short-handed, as it was quite possible ginger, close pressed, might try to stick them up so as to steal fresh horses and food. blake was sent for, a short council of war was held and his proposal that himself, two of the white men and two black trackers should accompany the trooper was decided on. "and perhaps," said he, "the captain here would like to come with us; fighting is in his line, and, my word! if we corner ginger we shall have some." now ginger was no business of mine, unless he attacked me; but, being an irishman, i could not let the chance of a fight pass, and although my friends tried to dissuade me, i determined to go. we were to start at midnight, so we who were to go lay down to get what rest we could, leaving the others to get the horses ready for us. at midnight we were roused up, and after swallowing a mug of tea and some food, a hurried glance over my horse and kit, to see that my water-bag was well filled and properly slung to the d's of my saddle, we started. we were all superbly mounted and well armed, each man carrying two revolvers; i would sooner have carried a carbine, but i was dissuaded, and we had cause to regret it. the fight might have finished much sooner had i done as i judged best; but i was in what was to me a foreign country and, having no official status, gave in to the others. so we started, the blacks leading; and they did lead us. no sooner were we clear of the paddock fences than we broke into a canter, and made for a dense line of bushes about five miles off, and just as we reached it the moon went down. i expected to see the blacks pull up and walk their horses, but not a bit of it. on they went at the same pace. the bush was some miles through, but no crow could have crossed it in a straighter line than they did. on reaching the open ground on the other side we halted and dismounted, for a short time, so as to give our steeds a blow. it was now pitch dark, with not even the glimmer of a star, yet no sooner had we mounted than we broke into a canter again, and rode through open park-like country and bush till the east began to lighten, when we pulled up at a small water-hole. this was the spot our guides had aimed for, and it was at least twenty miles from our starting-point, so it will give you some idea of the marvellous abilities of these creatures. to be able to ride twenty miles at a sharp pace, through trackless country, on a dark night, and exactly strike the spot they aimed for, was to me wonderful. it may not strike you so, but try it. we off-saddled, rubbed down, watered and fed our horses out of their nose-bags, then ate some cold mutton and damper, and dozed for a couple of hours, leaving the blacks to keep watch over us and our horses. saddling up again we rode through clumps of bush and up gently rising ground towards a range of heavily bushed mountains, some ten miles off, through which ran the divide, or pass, we were to guard. we halted when we reached the foot of the range, and took cover in a small clump of bush, off-saddled and sent one black on foot to scout the pass and find by the spoor if anyone had crossed it during the last twenty-four hours. of course, being an utter stranger in the land, i knew nothing of the lay of the country, nor even where the pass was; but a rather acrid discussion took place between the stockriders, who declared we were badly posted, and the trooper, who asserted we were not. unable to give an opinion either way, i was lying down with my head on my saddle when we were roused by some shots. i jumped to my feet just in time to see our scout burst out of a clump of bush and run like a hare towards us, closely followed by four mounted men firing at him. they were about yards off, and had i had my carbine i could easily have covered the black, and perhaps have ended the job there and then; but my carbine was like the dutchman's anchor, left at home, so there was nothing to do but throw our saddles on and try to save him. quick and smart as we were, we were too late to save poor tarpot, who was ridden down and riddled. as each of us got into his saddle he charged, and the bushrangers, seeing us coming, turned and galloped back to the bush from which they had issued. i was the fourth to mount, and as i galloped out of the bush i saw the three men in front of me riding in file as hard as they could gallop, with as much as from twenty to thirty yards between them. this was rot; as, if the bushrangers made a stand on reaching their bush, as they were certain to do, they would simply shoot us down from behind cover, one after the other. i therefore shouted to the leading men to rein in and let us get into line; but their blood was up, and on they went. i pulled out to their left, and blake and the remaining black pulled out to my left. we were therefore in extended line, some fifty yards to the left rear of the last man of the leading three who were in file. the distance was short, and as we were all riding like fiends we soon crossed the open ground between the two clumps of bush. the trooper, who was the leading man, was within thirty yards of entering it when i saw him throw up his hands and fall headlong from his horse. in a second no. had done the same, and a moment later no. went down, horse and man. myself and the other two, riding wide of the line of fire, escaped and, although several shots were fired at us, gained the bush unhurt. then, being on equal terms with the bushrangers, we wheeled our horses to the right and rode at them. just at this moment i heard shouts and shots going on close to, at the other side of the bush, but had no time to inquire if it were friends or foes. i spotted a horse's head coming round a tree-trunk, and was ready for the rider. he appeared, and saw me; but i had him already covered, and had the pleasure of seeing him lurch out of his saddle and come a heavy crumpler. my mates were alongside of me, and we were just going after another bounder, whose horse's hindquarters were disappearing, when an officer and three troopers broke out on us, and called on us to bail up. in less than a minute we explained who we were, and i was just starting off after the fugitives when the officer called on me to halt, and in a rather haughty manner informed me that he was in command of the party, and that he intended to halt until he had collected his scattered men, some of whom were wounded. as he only stated the truth, i was not such a fool as to feel offended with him, so i went with blake to see if anything could be done for our fallen mates. the trooper and the first stockman were both dead, the third man was unwounded, but his horse had been killed, and he had been knocked stiff and silly by the heavy fall. however, after some water and a stiff nip he was soon all right, and swearing he would make the blank-blank-blankety-blank bounders who had killed his pet stock horse and his mate sit up. we quickly caught the loose horses and were soon joined by the officer and his troopers, who were a very fine, smart-looking crowd, but, to my mind, far too big and too heavy for this sort of game. they had two of their number badly wounded, but had wounded and captured three bushrangers, so that, with the one i had put out of mess, ginger could now have only three men with him. the officer, therefore, determined to follow their spoor with our party and four of his own men. messengers were despatched to other patrols and to the nearest station to obtain a conveyance for the wounded men, and we started under the guidance of jampot, our remaining black. "do you think he will be able to track them?" i asked blake. "my word," he replied, "jampot has now a blood feud against ginger, and will follow him to the death. ginger may turn and twist how he likes, but unless he can grow wings, or kill jampot, jampot will kill him." i had seen plenty of tracking in my time--i even had the cheek to fancy myself a bit at it--and had seen good work done both by white men and maoris. i had even seen a tame black fellow after stray cattle; but i was now to see a real warrior black, with a blood feud, at the game. i expected a great deal, and i was not disappointed--in fact i saw more than i had ever imagined to be possible. well, we were ready to start. jampot had made use of the time in transmogrifying himself into a fiend, and he certainly looked a hideous nightmare in his war paint. jumping on his horse, he rode to the end of the bush, circled once or twice to take note of the different spoors, then broke into a canter and rode nearly due south. mile after mile he kept on, over all sorts of ground, through bush and over hard land, never pausing for an instant. "do you mean to tell me that that black fellow can see spoor going at this pace and over such ground as we are now on?" said i to blake. he only nodded his head and muttered: "my word!" this is a great australian expression, and will signify almost anything. we came to a creek, and jampot was off his horse in a second and was examining the rocks round the water-holes. all at once he held up his hand; blake and myself went carefully to him. blake and he talked gibberish for a minute, then, turning to me, the former said: "jampot tells me one of them is badly hit and can't go far." "how on earth does he know that?" "he has seen blood on the trail and can tell by the tracks on these rocks." "tracks?" i said. "where are they?" he spoke to jampot, who immediately put his finger on several places on the rocks. i examined the spots closely, but could see nothing, not even when i used a prospecting-glass i had in my pocket. yet this marvellous savage could distinguish spoor with his naked eye, and had spotted blood-marks on the trail while going at a smart canter in blazing sunshine, where i could only now and then just barely see hoof-marks. jampot was now very keen to go on, so after we had given our horses a blow and a few go-downs of water it was a case of mount and canter. away we went, jampot leading; but now he went slower, and occasionally swerved from his line, bending down and regarding the ground intently. we had only gone a couple of miles or so when he turned in his saddle and, with a grin on his face a fiend would have envied, pointed at a small clump of bushes to his right front, and made directly for them. drawing our revolvers, we followed, to find him dismounted, bending over the body of a dead man. he was a fine-looking, clean-built young fellow, and seemed far too good for the game he had been playing. but there was no time for moralising; so, preventing jampot from mutilating the remains, we again mounted, broke into a canter, and went on. the weight they carried had now begun to tell on the troopers' horses, and they showed signs of having had enough of it: and presently we came to a dead horse. he had been wantonly shot, and it made my blood boil to see the poor brute lie there. we were now approaching a long bare line of hills, and suddenly jampot let a yell out of him and pointed at them. i unslung my field-glasses, and could see three men, dismounted, leading their horses, nearly at the top of the range, and about three miles in front of us. we at once gave our horses the spur and went for them. they reached the summit, paused for a minute or two to give their horses a blow, mounted and disappeared over the sky-line. we reached the hill, jumped off, and hurried up it, leading our horses; but the gallop had finished the troopers' nags, and when we got to the top the officer found, with the exception of my party, he was alone. his horse was done, and even the hard-fed, splendid mounts of myself and mates had begun to show symptoms of distress. quickly unscrewing the top of my flask, i emptied the spirits into my water-bag, and forced my horse to drink the contents. my comrades immediately followed my example and the noble beasts soon bucked up. in the meantime the sergeant had reached the top, and with the officer and blake held a consultation as to where we were, jampot being called on to assist. he spoke to blake, who turned round and ejaculated: "my word, those hounds are making for edwards' station. it's only six miles off. the men are away; there are women and children there, and fresh horses." the officer at once said to me: "you and your party are the best mounted and the lightest weights. jampot may be able to take you a short cut. ride like fury. you may be just in time, and if it comes to fighting you know all about that; but on no account leave there till i come." he said something more about not letting the bushrangers get fresh horses; but his words of wisdom were left behind us, for we were off, and i had the wildest ride i ever had in my life. the slope of the hill was steep and rough, but we tore down it at full pace. our horses, maddened with the spur, almost seemed to fly, clearing rocks and fallen timber as if they were simply straws, while we, rendered desperate by the thought of the danger of the women and children, urged them on with voice and spur, though we wisely gave them their heads and let their mouths alone. they were all bush-bred horses, knew their work and did it without a fault or fall, which would have been certain death to both man and beast. well, we came to the foot of the hill and each man, taking his own line, although jampot still led, galloped through the bush, every man riding all he knew. soon we came to the open and saw the house; yes, and we saw something else, for in front of it stood three knocked-up horses with hanging heads. a paddock with a heavy post-and-rail fence lay between us, so, catching hold of our horses' heads, we sent them at it. over we went, in line, and charged for the house, a woman's scream causing us, if possible, to put on pace. just then we saw a man coming from the stable leading three horses, and he saw us at the same time. our appearance, from an unexpected direction, must have rattled him a bit. the horses he led, excited by the sound of our galloping hoofs, became restive and started plunging, so he let them go as blake rode for him. i heard the pistol shots, but could pay no attention, as out from the french windows rushed two men. they made for the horses, then, seeing they had no chance, turned and opened fire on us. the man nearest me had a big red beard, and i knew he must be ginger, so i rode at him. jampot rode at him too, firing as fast as he could; and this most likely upset ginger's aim as, although i heard bullets whistle past me as i lay on my horse's neck, i was unwounded. when i was within twenty yards of him i fired twice and circled left, so as not to crash into the house. both shots took effect. he fell, and was still trying to cover me when jampot, jumping off his horse, rushed up to him and shot him through the head. blake now joined us, slightly wounded, having accounted for his man, and we found our other mate on the ground badly hurt; he had succeeded in also dropping his man, who, preferring to be hung instead of shot, surrendered. i entered the house and found the ladies unhurt but badly frightened. they, however, with the self-control and handiness of colonial women, at once set to work to tend the wounded. jampot was still amusing himself with the remains of ginger, but, as it is against my principles to allow heathen ceremonies to be performed on a white man, no matter how big a blackguard he has been, i made him desist and help me to look after the horses, the real heroes of the play. the china boy-cook came out of his hiding-place and started to cook huge supplies of food for ourselves and the troopers, who turned up soon afterwards. a swim in a water-hole, a good dinner, a long sleep, and on the following morning myself, blake and jampot returned home. chapter vi the scout that failed (_told by the kia tangata_) scouting, like every other sort of business, has its ups and downs, and a scout may often fail to obtain the information he has gone out to gain, through no fault of his own. he may even lose the number of his mess, be captured, or have to ride or run for his life, notwithstanding the fact that he has played the right game from the start, until something happens, and he fails, frequently through bad luck, or because the vigilance of the enemy renders it impossible to achieve success. it has been my lot, as it has been the lot of many a better man, to fail frequently while scouting, and on more than one occasion i have been spotted by the enemy and have had to ride or run hard to save my bacon, without completing the duty on which i had been despatched. a yarn about one of these occasions may amuse you, although there is but little information as regards scouting in it. it was in the year that we were after te kooti and the rebel hau haus in the taupo district, and were building a chain of forts from napier to lake taupo, so as to cut off the uriwera and east-coast hau haus from the king country and taupo rebels. lake taupo is a huge expanse of water on the high plateau in the centre of the north island of new zealand, and is fed by many rivers, creeks and boiling springs; but there is only one outlet to drain off its superfluous water, and this is called the river waikato, which debouches out of the north-east corner of the lake in a deep and very rapid stream, running east, then bends north and north-west, forming a big bow; then turning to the north it eventually makes a sharp turn to the west, and flows into the pacific ocean south of manakau harbour. this river, fed as it is from the big lake and also by innumerable tributaries, is, although not very broad, a most dangerous one to cross, especially while it is descending from the high plateau, as it either rushes through high banks or tumbles in foaming cataracts among large rocks until at last, as if tired with its exertions, it becomes a well-behaved, navigable river, and forms what was in early times one of the only roads into the interior of new zealand; but during its whole course from the lake to the ocean it is a dangerous one to play with. on the precipitous south bank of this river, some yards from the lake, we were, in , building a redoubt called tapuaeharuru (the place of sounding footsteps), and it was from this fort that i was ordered to ride to te-niho-te-kiori (the rat's tooth), an enormous pinnacle of rock that springs from the ground just where the river starts on its long flow to the north. i was therefore, as it were, to ride along the string of a bent bow and, if successful in reaching this rock, to try and open communications with another column supposed to be in its vicinity. it was not what some people might call a safe journey: road there was none, and the route i had to take was through country that, although it could not be called mountainous nor thickly bushed, was covered with manuka scrub and wire grass, with here and there a clump of heavy timber, while an occasional column of snowwhite steam, rising into the air, denoted a boiling spring. these columns were of different magnitude, and as i knew which side of the river the principal geysers were on, and their situation, as seen from the river and fort, they proved most useful landmarks to me later on in the day. at daybreak one lovely morning i plumped my saddle into a canoe and was ferried across the stream, my horse swimming astern, and on gaining the bank, after drying his back, i carefully saddled-up, lit my pipe and, with a cheery "so long" to the men who had paddled me over, mounted and rode away. as soon as i was out of rifle-range of the camp i was in no man's land, and every native i met would be an enemy. i had twenty-five miles to ride to get to the rat's tooth, and had to depend entirely on my own wit and the good qualities of my horse to save my hair, in case i fell across any parties of wandering hau haus. my orders also directed me to look out for any signs of the enemy, and in case i cut a spoor i was to prospect it and try to ascertain if it were the track of a taua (war party) or not. the horse i rode was indeed a noble brute. standing fifteen hands, he possessed every quality that a scout's horse should. not only was he very well bred, fast and strong, but he combined the manners of a lady with the courage of the lion, could scramble like a cat and swim like a fish; and all these qualities he was destined to display before that day was over. as, if possible, i was to return the same day, i rode light, carrying nothing on my saddle except half-a-feed for my horse and a couple of biscuits for myself. i wore neither tunic nor sword, but carried a carbine, with the usual revolver and knife, while my dress consisted only of a smasher hat, shirt, breeches and boots, with very short-necked spurs. "there is nothing half so sweet in life as love's young dream," sings the poet, but i'll gamble that a smart canter on a high-bred, free-going horse beats dreaming all to fits, and is much better for you. anyhow i thoroughly enjoyed the first part of that ride through the sharp, clear air, notwithstanding that i had to keep every sense on deck, and my thoughts, concentrated by looking out for an enemy or for hostile spoor, were occupied with far sterner matters than love or dalliance. for the first six miles or so i made good progress, the ground being fairly open and the obstacles quite insignificant; but then i reached a part where a chain of heavily bushed hills ran on my left hand for some miles, the river being six miles to my right. the pumice-stone flat over which i was riding was here much cut up by gullies running from the hills to the river; some of them containing creeks, the remainder being dry, but all of them with nearly perpendicular sides, which, except in places, were not to be negotiated by horse or man. as the depth of them varied so did the direction, some of them running into one another, while the others ran direct to the river. these i had to cross, and it was very nasty, dangerous work, in more ways than one. first of all i had to look for a place where my horse could descend into the bed of the gully, at the same time looking out for a place on the other side up which we could scramble. this took time, as occasionally i had to ride a considerable distance up or down the edge before i could find a place suitable either to descend or to get out again; and it would have been an act of madness for me to have gone down into one of these ravines without having spotted a way of getting out again. yet, at the same time, cross them i must. again i had to make mental notes of every crossing, and take bearings, so that i should remember each gully and how to get back. i never forgot for a moment i was in an enemy's country and that perhaps my return journey might be expedited by a taua; besides, i had to keep my eyes open for an ambush, as it was quite possible i had already been spotted from the hills, among which many hau haus might be lurking, as the maoris always make their plantations in the bush. i had crossed some ten of these gullies when i came to a very big one, about forty feet deep and perhaps fifty yards broad. with trouble i could get down into this, but could not see, although i rode a considerable distance along its edge, any way of getting out on the other side. there was, however, another gully running into it that apparently took a northerly direction--the way i wanted to go--and if i entered this one and followed it i might be able to regain the level of the plain farther on. it was a very grave risk to run, but it was a case of hobson's choice, that or none; so, after a long look at the hills, to see if i could spot any signs of danger from them, i hardened my heart, descended with a nasty scramble and made for the entrance of the gully i had seen from the plain. i had no sooner reached the mouth of it than i reined up sharply, for there, clearly defined, and not twenty-four hours old, were the tracks of at least twenty, perhaps thirty, horses that, coming from the north, had turned to the right on reaching the big gully and proceeded towards the hills. as there was no spoor returning, it was evident that a number of the enemy must be located in their bushed recesses, and, in case they should have spotted me, they would most certainly do their best to cut me off. yet, as their horses had used the gully, there must be a way out of it, and if i made a push for it i could take advantage of it to regain the level of the plain; anyhow it was no use staying where i was. i must go back, or go on. naturally, i was keen to complete my duty; so as soon as i had taken a good look at my carbine and revolver i entered the gully and rode forward at a steady pace. for nearly a mile it ran with a few bends due north, the bottom of it being smooth and the sides perpendicular. then the bed began to rise with a gentle slope, until it eventually rose to the level of the plain. its width was in no place more than ten yards across, and it had been formed by some convulsion of nature that had caused the surface to sink, and it looked as if it had been gouged out of the earth. there are plenty of these freaks of nature on the taupo and kaingaroa plains, sometimes like the one i was in, accessible at the ends, and others with precipitous sides all round. well, i had just got to where the gradual slope began when i heard a row behind me and, looking round, saw over twenty natives riding as hard as they could in pursuit. they were still some yards away, and as soon as they saw i had spotted them they started yelling like over-tortured fiends. it was certainly time for me to hump myself, and i increased my pace so as to put a greater distance between us, while i rapidly thought out the best plan to shake off this undesirable company. had i been on open ground i should have regarded the contretemps with placidity, and perhaps have enjoyed picking off a few of these howling sinners, but, mixed up as i was among the network of vile gullies, it was no joke, and the sun was on their side of the hedge. the only feasible plan i could think of, was to follow the enemy's own tracks, as where they had travelled with horses so could i, until i was clear of these confounded gullies. you must remember i was quite ignorant of this part of the country, never having crossed the river before, and only knowing that if i kept due north i should cut the river; and on its banks was the rat's tooth i had to find. the hau haus, on the other hand, would know the country, and all the spots where they could cross the gullies thoroughly, and would, of course, try to cut me off. with these fiends in pursuit i should have no time to look for crossing-places whenever i came across a ravine, and i was sure these existed as far as the range of hills, which still extended for some miles on my left, ran. therefore i must follow the natives' spoor, so as to strike their crossing-places, and make use of them. of course i might fall in with a fresh gang of hau haus, but i had to risk that; needs must when the devil drives; and although i had not old nick behind me in _propriâ personâ_, yet those who were, so remarkably resembled him as to quite make up by quantity any deficiency they lacked in quality. i had not the least fear, bar accidents, of their being able to catch me by riding me down, as my hard-fed, splendid-conditioned horse for pace and staying powers was far and away superior to their half-starved, grass-fed nags; and even if they had a good animal or two, looted from settlers, among them, yet these would have so deteriorated in their brutal hands as to be quite unfit to cope with my gallant mount; besides, in a long chase, like this might be, riding and handling would count a lot, and even if one or two did press me i could back my carbine against their guns, as a maori is a vile shot. all these thoughts passed through my brain during the few minutes i was galloping along the gully and gradually ascending to the level of the plain. but bobby burns speaks the truth when he remarks that the schemes of both mice and men are liable to go crooked; for my hastily and maybe well-thought-out plan was all blown to blue blazes the moment i emerged from the gully, as it was all i could do to swing my horse to the right to prevent riding slap-bang into a big gang of maoris, some of whom were mounted. this party were making for the entry i had just left, for as i shot out of it the nearest of them was within ten yards of me. they straggled in a diagonal line, about yards long, across to what was evidently the outlet to another gully, as in the hurried glance i took of them i saw a horseman emerging as if from the ground. the presence of these bounders, although not exactly astonishing, was most undesirable, and i sent my horse along, so as to escape nearer acquaintance with them; nor did they seem to be quite pleased with me, as they all started yelling like fiends, and those who carried their fire-locks capped at once fired them off in my direction, while with one accord they all began to chase me. it was high time for me to get out of that, but my horse's pace soon carried me clear out of gun-shot danger, and i quickly edged away to my left to try and find, when i reached the gully, which i knew must be close in that direction, a crossing-place, so that i could get round the enemy's flank and still carry out my duty. one thing i was sure of, the hau haus would never give up the pursuit so long as there was the ghost of a chance of catching me. as i expected, i soon came to a ravine running east, towards the river, and at the first glance saw that it was a teaser. over twenty feet in depth, its sides, composed of hard pumice-stone, were quite perpendicular and unnegotiable, even by a monkey. i therefore had to continue along the brink, while a loud, jeering yell made me understand that the natives well knew there was no possibility of my being able to cross it. i was annoyed, more than annoyed, and i determined to solace myself by picking off one of the hilarious bounders, but decided first of all to try the other flank. letting my horse go, i again crossed, diagonally, the enemy's front, only to find myself, after a gallop of not more than yards, brought up by a similar gully. again the jeering yell broke out, and i knew i was cornered between these infernal ravines and the waikato river. i halted and turned so as to take a good look at the pursuing hau haus, and determined to make it hot for the leading man, but was sold again, as i found they had extended in line between the two ravines. they were over a hundred in number, including at least forty mounted men, these latter being scattered among the footmen, with the exception of some eight or ten, who rode together about a hundred yards in rear of the line, with the evident intention of strengthening any part of it, should i charge and try to break through. this for a moment i thought of doing, but on looking towards the spots where the only two outlets i knew of were situated, i saw clumps of men stationed at them, so i was convinced it was no use charging, at least not at this period of the game. the deliberate way the hau haus were advancing showed me that they knew it was impossible for me to break away to either flank, and that they were systematically going to pen me up against the river and try to capture me alive. this i determined they should not do; somehow i was convinced that my day had not yet come, and i had such an inner conviction i was going to wriggle out of my scrape that i felt quite easy about myself and only anxious about my horse. the moment i halted the enemy began to poke fun at me. one shouted: "get fins, like a fish, for yourself and horse, then swim the river." another wag roared out: "grow wings like a pigeon and fly back to your home." this was advice which, although not solicited, could scarcely be called rude. but another ribald ruffian was not only rude but grossly personal, for, running out in front of the line, he howled out, with the most insulting gestures: "render yourself up to us; the women are making ready the ovens, and i hunger for your flesh." i shouted back, and my voice carried far in those days: "you whose head is fit to be boiled" (the most awful insult in the maori tongue), "thou at least shalt not partake of the feast; go feed on the spirits of your fathers." the old sneider carbine, though laughed at nowadays, was true up to yards, and the maori was not more than yards from me. he had just begun to make some nasty, uncalled-for remarks when i proved the correctness of my prophecy to him, by dropping him in his tracks, thereby cutting short what might have been a most eloquent oration. a wild yell with a wilder volley answered my shot, and the line made a kokiri (short charge) in my direction. i only lingered long enough to shout in maori, "i have caught the first man" (a most important and lucky omen in maori warfare), then turned and cantered away out of rifle-range, as it would never do to have my horse wounded. it was high time i should put on my considering cap and think out the situation and my future movements. it would have been far more to my advantage had they followed me in a straggling mob, as then i could have picked off the leaders, and it would have denoted anxiety, on their part, lest i should find some possible crossing by which i could escape; but the quiet, methodical way they were going about their business showed me that they considered my chance of getting away was nil, and that they had made up their minds to risk nothing, that the gullies could not be crossed, so that their intention was to drive me before them to the river's bank, and hive me there at their own convenience, the river being uncrossable. but halt! was the river uncrossable? i knew it to be a very dangerous one, even for such swimmers as my horse and self, who together had crossed many a bad river before; but i was also aware that the natives' great dread of it was caused by superstitious nervousness, just as much as it was caused by its actual dangers. of course there were very many parts of it quite impossible, but perhaps i might find a place where a determined attempt would have a chance of success. anyhow i would go and have a look at it. the river was not more than three miles from me and i cantered steadily towards it, so as not to tire my horse, but still give me time to examine the banks and select the best places to enter, and get out of it, provided i should make up my mind to risk the crossing. it did not take me long to reach the bank, and i rode along it from one gully to the other. both of these ran down to the water's edge, and the bank of the river near both of them was fully twenty feet high, and perpendicular; but half-way between them was a natural depression in the plain, that ran at a gentle slope down to the bank, where it was only four or five feet above the water, which was very deep right up to the bank. this depression slanted upstream, a point in my favour, and this was evidently the place i must take-off from. the river was indeed a noble one, quite yards broad, and evidently of great depth. its enormous volume of water, forcing itself along, confined by the high banks, reminded me of a big fat boy buttoned up tight in a suit of clothes far too small for him, wriggling and writhing about, trying to make them more comfortable. i next turned my attention to the other side, to see if i could spot a place up which we could scramble. the far bank, though lower than the one i was on, was still very steep, and i knew there must be a great depth of water under it; but some yards downstream the land ran out to a point, and there was just the possibility of my horse finding footing there. the current also seemed to set from my side of the river towards this point, and if so it would help me enormously. i tested this by tearing off a branch from a bush and throwing it in, when i saw it rapidly swept towards the spot i hoped to make. the rate at which it was carried also gave me some idea of the tremendous rush of water, the surface of which seemed to writhe and winkle as if in mortal anguish, while the numerous whirlpools informed me what a furious undertow there must be. great was the risk we should run in attempting to cross, yet under the circumstances i determined to run it. i felt certain i was not going under that day, and anyhow a clean death in the sweet, cool water of the river was far preferable to being turned into long pig by my brutal pursuers. then again they might kill my horse and catch me with sufficient life remaining in me to make it worth their trouble to torture it out of me. no fear, i wanted none of that; the river was my dart, especially as my old nurse had always assured me of quite another kind of death than drowning, and, sure, she was known in my part of the world as a knowledgable woman. the few minutes i had sat and watched the stream at the taking-off place, i had talked to and explained matters to my glorious horse. what's that you say? a horse can't understand you? rot! you taxi-cab, motor-busing new chum. a horse you have treated as a pal, and not as a slave, will understand any simple matter you explain to him, far better than the ordinary englishman can understand the beauties of tariff reform. bear that in mind, you mud-splashing, dust-creating greenhorn, if you ever want to become worth your salt on the frontier. anyhow, my horse understood me, and i rode up to the plain again. the hau haus were not far off, and when they saw me regain the level they evidently thought i had funked the river and was going to try to escape on terra firma, for they saluted me with loud laughter and jeers. unbuckling my wallet straps, for i had them on my saddle, although i had left the wallets themselves behind me, i carefully fastened my carbine across the pommel of the saddle and also crossed the stirrups. then, as a farewell to my pursuers, i shouted: "o ye slaves and dogs, i go to bathe in the waikato; come with me, if ye be not afraid." i turned my horse and, gripping my saddle, with thighs and legs like a vice, i started at a canter down the slope, increasing my pace and urging him on with my voice, until at last we charged the river at full gallop. the noble animal knew well what i expected from him, for as soon as i gave him his head he pointed his ears and, gathering himself together at every bound, without a swerve, the slightest balk, or the least hesitation, measured his take-off to a nicety, and leaped far out into the air. i was quite prepared for the plunge. i had twisted my hand well into his mane, and had taken a deep breath as we made the spring. i felt the rush through the air, and saw the shining water below us, that seemed to rise and meet us, but i felt no shock; for although we must have raised the deuce of a splash, and must have sunk somewhat, yet we seemed to come to the surface immediately, and the first sensation i noticed was the current tugging at me, as if trying to pull me out of my saddle. we had taken the water exactly as i hoped we should do--that is, with the horse's head turned well upstream--so that the tremendous force of the current, although it swept us rapidly downstream, yet carried us diagonally across it. my horse was swimming deep but magnificently, and was not a bit flurried or nervous, and although the current kept tugging at me i had small trouble in retaining my seat, while i eased him in every way i could, talking to him and encouraging him the whole passage. the crossing seemed to take but a very short time, and i saw we should reach the bank above the point. i was very glad of this, as the current ran round the point like a mill sluice, and i did not know how it set on the other side, or what sort of a bank there was round it. we neared the shore, and i turned the good nag's head towards it, for him to make his effort, but feared the water would be too deep, as although the bank sloped, yet from the water it looked very, very steep. just as we reached it i felt the noble animal give a tremendous heave, with a mighty rearing plunge; his hind feet must have touched bottom, for he landed with both fore feet on the bank. like a flash i was over his withers, taking the reins with me, and scrambled to my feet on the slope. it was with difficulty i could keep my footing, but i managed somehow, and, tugging at the reins, i shouted his name and encouraged him all i knew. gathering himself together, he made another tremendous spring and, with me scrambling in front of him, in a few bounds he reached the top, where i lavished much praise and many endearments on him, these being cut short by the song of an enfield bullet as it whistled over us; so i led him under cover, loosed his girths, unbuckled my carbine and returned at once to the bank. we had crossed, they might try, and as i had had more of their company than i desired, i intended my carbine to dissuade them; i examined its breech and found that, notwithstanding its bath, it was in good working order, so that was all right. my appearance was greeted with yells, a straggling volley and a frantic war-dance. i never lack in politeness, so, to return their compliments, i danced a step or two myself, shouting, "come to me, come to me"; then, dropping to a prone position, i took careful aim at a johnny who was executing a _pas seul_. my shot spoiled his performance, for he sat down suddenly and was quickly removed by his friends. i have heard that actors retire gracefully from the stage when the gods express their disapproval by heaving defunct cats and doubtful eggs at them, but i should think they would greatly expedite their movements if a man opened out with a carbine. yes, they would quickly leave a clear stage; at least it was so in this case, as the company i disapproved of, cutting their dances short, dispersed in a moment, taking their wounded man with them, and hastened in their exits by two more bullets, both of which, i fancy, touched meat. the hau haus having retired, i returned to my horse, removed the saddle and gave him a good rub-down with a handful of fern; then we lunched together. his oats were none the worse for their ducking, while my biscuits, if pulpy, were palatable, and we enjoyed them. the sun quickly dried me and we made for home. there was no chance of reaching the rat's tooth from the side i was on; besides, i considered it my duty to inform my colonel of the presence of the maoris. another thing, what were they doing there? i suspected they had large plantations of potatoes in that bush, and that when they blundered up against me they were on their way to dig them up and had brought their horses to carry them away on. if my conjectures were right, i now knew where to find them. after a hard, scrambling journey over fern ridges we reached the fort, and i reported to the colonel, who babbled a bit at my failure to complete my duty, but was quite pacified when i told him my conjectures about the potatoes. he was not an irishman, true, but he dearly loved a spud, and if my ideas about them turned out correct, the capture of these potatoes would be of enormous value to us, as the government were at their wits' end how to keep us and our horses supplied with rations, while the loss of them, to the enemy, would be very severe. that night a strong force, on foot, under my guidance, crossed the river and made for the big gully where i had first seen the spoor. we made a smart night's march, hoping to surprise the enemy and catch them on the hop. in that we failed, their outposts being well on the alert; but in the ensuing skirmish we killed a few of them, captured all their horses and an immense quantity of potatoes, large numbers of these having been already dug up and packed ready for transport, so that my friends the hau haus had worked hard for nothing, except our benefit, and i felt very pleased. was i spiteful? i wonder. but somehow, now i have spun the yarn out, something seems to have gone wrong with it; for when i come to look at the heading it distinctly states that the tale is to be a yarn about the scout that failed. and now i come to think it over, i was really not scouting at all, but only trying to open communications with another column, though to do that is certainly the work of a scout, and i moreover was a scout, but yet i was not scouting. then as to failure. sure if i did fail to find the rat's tooth, faith! i found the spuds. therefore the title is a misnomer or i've put the wrong yarn to the right title, or the wrong title to the right yarn, but anyhow, failure or not, you've the yarn, so digest it and make the best of it, as we did the potatoes; and i assure you there was no failure about them. and as now this finale has bothered me as much as those confounded gullies did, i must confess that after partaking of perhaps too many of those spuds, and very good they were, i broke out into poetry in honour of my glorious horse. i will only give you one verse, so don't run away: "a man may love a bow-wow, or a man may love a girl, he may prate on points of pedigree, or rave about a curl, but a trooper can love both of these, in a tiny way of course, for most of his affections are lavished on his horse. oh, some men love a steamer yacht, and some love jaunting cars, and i hear that in a big balloon men soon will visit mars; but here's a toast you all must drink, refuse it if you can, a health to the noble warhorse, god's greatest gift to man." don't throw pannikins at me, but blame potatoes and ration rum taken on an empty stomach. good-night. chapter vii some miraculous escapes i have known "there's a sweet little cherub who sits up aloft and looks after the life of poor jack." dibdin. by miraculous escapes i mean those escapes from death that have been entirely engineered by the power above, who has preserved the life of human beings when they were utterly helpless, and who, for some inscrutable reason, saves one life and allows others to be destroyed. the yarns i am now going to spin will illustrate, i think, what i have written above. about midnight on th september a new zealand field force, under the command of colonel mcdonnell, consisting of white men and friendly natives, left camp, crossed the deep, rapid and icy-cold river waingongora, and started to attack tetokowaru in his stronghold te-ngutu-o-te-manu. i am not going to inflict on you the miserable yarn of the unfortunate fight, as i have written it elsewhere; suffice it to say that the great majority of the white men were untrained new chums, and that over of them bolted at the first volley. the remainder stood their ground, although they refused to extend; so we lost one-third of our number, killed and wounded, in less than a quarter of an hour, and had to retreat, leaving our dead and many wounded men behind us. so that you can understand the position of affairs, i may tell you that colonel mcdonnell, retaining the command of of the white men, had sent the remaining under major von tempsky, to act on the right of his own party, and, as soon as he saw that nothing but a retreat could save the remainder of his force, he sent captain mcdonnell, his brother, to von tempsky with orders for the major to retreat at once, and join up with his own party. this order was delivered, but a few seconds later the major was shot dead. captain mcdonnell then gave the order to captain buck, who promised to carry it out. captain mcdonnell returned to his brother, and the retreat began. instead of immediately obeying the order, captain buck endeavoured to recover the major's body, and was at once shot dead, without having passed the order on to anyone else. the next senior officer, captain roberts, took command of the party; but, as he was ignorant of the order to retreat, he still continued to hold his ground, until he was informed by some of his men that the colonel had retreated. joined by a few friendly natives, he retired by another route, and led the remains of his shattered and worn-out party into camp next morning. having given you a rough idea how things stood with our men on the afternoon of the th (please remember the date), i will now start the yarn. it was late in the afternoon when captain roberts began his retreat, pursued by a party of hau haus. his men, nearly all new chums, behaved badly; but with a few good men, and the friendly natives who had joined him, he kept the enemy at bay till nightfall, when they drew off. now among his party he had a man named dore, one of the wellington rangers, and a new chum. this poor fellow had his arm, just below the shoulder, smashed to pieces by a bullet, fell, fainted from loss of blood, and was abandoned. when he came to, he found himself stripped of everything, with the exception of his tattered and blood-stained shirt. he must have been discovered by the pursuing hau haus, who had evidently thought him dead, but who, although they stripped him, forbore to tomahawk him or mutilate his body. this in itself was a marvel, and shows that that sweet little cherub must have taken his case in hand, as, with one other exception, the hau haus were never known to omit tomahawking and mutilating a dead body. the poor chap hid in a hollow rata-tree, and when it was quite dark attempted to find his way back to camp. he, however, was a new chum, knew nothing of bush work, and consequently lost his way, wandering in a circle, and always returning to the vicinity of the blood-stained pah and ferocious hau haus. this he continued to do for three days; but on the evening of the th he managed to get out of the bush into the open country, and made for the camp. all this time he had been without a bite of food, with a severe raw wound, with only the fragment of a shirt to protect him against the icy-cold sleet and frost, and although all that time in the close vicinity of the hau hau pah, he miraculously escaped being spotted. as i said before, on the evening of the th he found himself in the open country, and struck out for the drift across the flooded waingongora river. he remembered reaching it, then lost recollection. how he crossed that drift, a very bad one even for a strong and healthy man to tackle alone, is more than a miracle; but he always asserted he was fired on while doing so, and fainted on reaching the bank. here he was only two miles from the camp; but his mind became a blank, for he wandered about till the evening of the th, when he was discovered by a patrol, coming out of a clump of bush, and he was brought into camp. now, just consider for a moment what this man dore went through, and what awful dangers he escaped. badly wounded and found by the most savage fanatics on the earth, yet, against their custom, they neither tomahawk nor mutilate him. then he wanders for over five days, through bitter frost and cold, with an open and untended wound; he escapes the notice of the enemy, crosses, while weak from the loss of blood, starvation and pain, a most dangerous river, and yet, when brought into camp, his wound heals long before those of men who are not nearly so badly hurt, and who have not been through his awful experiences. you may call it luck. i maintain it was the work of that sweet little cherub, who, for his own reasons, "bossed up the whole show!" in many of my yarns i have mentioned the massacre at poverty bay that was engineered by that arch-devil, te kooti, and his gang of fiends, called hau haus. on th july te kooti and some hau haus landed at whare-onga-onga, having escaped from the chatham islands. they had overpowered the guard there, seized the schooner _rifleman_, forced the crew to sail them to poverty bay, and had landed some fifteen miles south of the white settlements. owing to the criminal negligence of the government, who, because they wished for peace, persuaded themselves they had got it, the defence force had been disbanded, and even the arms and ammunition removed from the adjacent districts, so that the settlers were almost helpless, while te kooti was soon joined by all the restless fanatics in the country. major biggs, who was in charge of the poverty bay district, made head against te kooti, with whatever men and arms he could scrape together, but with small success. he was also guilty of an unpardonable piece of folly, as he allowed the settlers to remain on their scattered homesteads, and delayed collecting them together for mutual support, although warned to do so by friendly natives, who offered to assist in building defensive works. for this delay he paid dearly, as he and the whole of his family were surprised and, with the exception of one boy, brutally murdered. it was on the night of th november that te kooti made his raid on poverty bay. on that night captain wilson, second in command, was sitting in his house writing, when a party of hau haus, under a fiend called nama, knocked at the door and informed him they had a letter for him from hirini-te-kani, the head chief of the district. the captain, however, had his suspicions, and told them to pass the letter under the door, at the same time arming himself and calling his servant moran to come to his assistance. moran slept in an outhouse; but he succeeded in breaking through the enemy, and joined his master. the hau haus, seeing they could not deceive the captain, tried to force the door open with the trunk of a tree. the captain at once opened fire on them, and forced them to drop it; so they then set fire to the house. the white men fought on until the house was in full flare, when captain wilson accepted the hau hau offer of life for himself and family, provided he surrendered. it was a choice of that, or being all burned alive; and as there was a slight possibility of the hau haus keeping their promise, captain wilson surrendered. carrying a little boy in his arms, and followed by his wife and moran, with the other children, three in number, if i remember rightly, they were surrounded by the hau haus, who led them towards the river. _en route_ he asked one of the natives where they were being taken to, and was at once shot, from behind, through the back. staggering to a bit of manuka scrub, the captain threw the child into it, telling him to run, and in the confusion the youngster was not noticed and hid in the scrub. at the same moment moran was tomahawked, and mrs wilson and the children were savagely treated, bayoneted and left for dead. the children were dead, but mrs wilson still lived. te kooti and his gang remained in the settlement till the morning of the th--mark the date--plundering and murdering all the women and children who had escaped the night of the th, and whom his men found in hiding. on the afternoon of the th a small patrol from tauranganui visited the blood-stained settlement and found little james wilson hidden with a dog in his arms. the boy told them how he was trying to get to tauranganui to bring help for his mother, who was lying wounded in an outhouse at their late home, but he had lost his way. as well as he could, poor child, he also described his miraculous escape. he had hid in the scrub, but next day came back to the spot where his family had been murdered. here he found the bodies of his father, his brothers, his sister and moran, but not that of his mother. he had then wandered back to his old home, hiding whenever he saw anyone, and there, in an outhouse, had found his mother lying dreadfully wounded. the patrol went on to the house and found the poor lady in a dreadful state, but quite conscious. she told them that after the murder of her husband and children she had been most brutally ill-treated and then left for dead. when she came to herself she struggled back to what had been her home, and had taken refuge in an outhouse, where she had been found by her little son, who had kept her alive by scouting for hens' eggs or anything else he could find. now i call the escape of that child miraculous. for a helpless youngster to get away in the first place is wonderful; but that he should have been successful in evading the maori search, of five days, for stragglers, and after finding his mother, to have been able to feed himself and her for seven days, with the food he scouted for, is a bit more than miraculous, and i put it down entirely to that sweet little cherub who sits up aloft. mrs wilson and her son were removed to tauranganui and afterwards to napier. for nine days after she had been found it was hoped she might recover, but her injuries were too great, and she died shortly after she reached the latter place. the above short and very incomplete yarn may give you some idea of the reason why we, members of the lost legion, so cheerfully underwent the great hardships we did to revenge the poverty bay massacre of november . folly, pluck and endurance it is wonderful what a great number of good scouts and men have jeopardised and even lost their lives and the valuable information they have obtained, by a small act of folly, or by refusing to endure hardships for a few hours longer, when by doing so they might have won through safely and have brought to their o.c. the information he so badly wanted. i have known men who, despite years of experience, have rushed out of their camp to tackle a lion with only the one cartridge that was in their rifle; and there are plenty of men who go prospecting or even big-game hunting and have their rifle and ammunition carried for them by a kafir boy. trouble comes, the boy bolts, and they are in a mess. again, i have known men throw away ammunition and rations, rather than endure the fatigue of carrying them on the line of march, and how often has not a night's march or a premeditated attack on an enemy's position been spoilt by some man lighting his pipe or letting off his rifle that he has been told to carry unloaded? the yarn i am going to spin you now will perhaps bear out what i have just written, and though the man who committed the folly extricated himself by a deed of heroism never surpassed and seldom equalled, yet the act of folly he and his mate perpetrated might have led to the loss of three lives, their own included. it was in november . the hau haus (fanatical and rebel maoris) had received a severe defeat at the hands of the colonial forces and friendly natives at waerenga-a-hika, which so broke them up that they were unable to face the music in that district (poverty bay) for a few years. over of them had surrendered. of these some had been transported to the chatham islands, the remainder settling down peacefully for a long time. there were, however, still a large number of the most fanatical and bloodthirsty of the savages who, although unable to make a stand, yet roved about the country in small bands, seeking opportunity to destroy any white man or friendly native whom they might come across. now among the defence force, scattered at posts built for the protection of the settlers, was a big, raw-boned irish sergeant named walsh, who had heard very many extraordinary yarns about some petroleum springs at a place called pakake-a-whirikoka, situated some thirty miles from the post he was in charge of. i do not know what his reasons were; perhaps it was only curiosity, or perchance he had ideas of becoming an oil king. but as things looked quiet and peaceful, he determined to visit them, and persuaded an old settler and his son, named espic, to guide him to the locality. well, they started early in the morning, the time being summer and the weather very hot, and after a long ride of nearly thirty miles reached the steep hill leading to the springs. here they dismounted, and, because they had seen no signs of the enemy, decided to leave their horses in charge of the boy, while they went up the hill, on foot, to examine the springs. this in itself was an act of folly; but they went one worse, for, the weather being hot, and meaning only to be absent a very short time, they left their carbines, coats and all their ammunition at the foot of the hill, rather than endure the slight trouble of carrying them, and started the ascent with only their revolvers. now they had been spotted by one of these bands of hau haus, who, as soon as they saw the two white men go up the hill, crawled up to the horses and captured them, with the arms and ammunition. the boy, however, although fired at, escaped and got away. the hau haus, thinking they had their prey secure, tied up the horses to a tree, and went up the hill after the white men, who, having heard the shots, were returning. as soon as they met, the natives fired a volley, which broke espic's arm and wounded walsh on the forehead and hand. the white men returned the fire, and in the skirmish that followed walsh was again wounded and, the white men's revolvers being now empty, the hau haus, nine in number, rushed them with the tomahawk, to finish them off. in the hand-to-hand scrap that ensued walsh was again twice wounded; but he still fought on, and a hau hau, determining to finish him, put his cut-down gun to walsh's chest and fired. fortunately the bullet must have fallen out of the gun, as walsh only sustained a bad burn on the chest. springing in, he felled his assailant with a tremendous blow from the butt-end of his revolver. this was too much for maori superstition. that a man whom they had badly wounded five times should be able to continue to put up a fight was bad enough; but that he should be able to floor their best man just after that best man had shot him through the chest was more than any decent hau hau could understand. leaving the horses and the stricken man behind them, away they fled, only too anxious to put as great a distance as they could between themselves and the awful tohunga (magician), who refused to be killed. so much for folly and pluck. now i will go on to endurance. no sooner had the astonished and affrighted hau haus bolted than walsh and his mate kicked their prisoner into convalescence and proceeded down the hill, where they found their horses tied to a tree, but the carbines, ammunition, and even saddles, taken away. both men were badly wounded, walsh in five places; but he would neither kill his prisoner nor let him go. passing a rope round his neck, they made shift to mount their horses, bare-backed, and, forcing him to accompany them, they led him that long, hot ride of thirty miles, back to tauranganui, where they arrived that night. yes, faint though they were with the loss of blood, racked with the pain of untended wounds, without a round of ammunition, and hampered by an evil brute of a hau hau, who did everything in his power to retard their progress. yet they would neither kill him nor let him go. that i think is a yarn that illustrates folly, pluck and endurance. chapter viii a tough swim in bad company if you look at the map of the middle island of new zealand you will see the north coast of it, washed by cook's straits, is deeply indented by fiords running inland, and that tory channel and queen charlotte's sound are two of the principal ones. these run in separately for some miles, and then join together and form one sound, which continues for a considerable distance, having on one side, some miles farther south, the important seaport of picton. the island, surrounded by the water of the aforementioned fiords, is known as alapawa or arapawa island, and in the year was divided into two sheep runs and occupied by two firms of squatters who had already acquired a large number of sheep. the scenery up these fiords is magnificent, the densely bushed mountains coming down to the water, which is deep to the very shore, so much so that the largest ship can sail close in and, if her skipper wants to, can make fast to the big trees growing down to the water's edge. the tide runs up and down these fiords at a tremendous rate, and this must be remembered when you read the yarn i am now going to spin you. arapawa island is a range of high mountains, and on the side facing queen charlotte's sound i was staying at one of the sheep stations for the purpose of recuperating my health after a rather long spell in hospital. the year before i had foolishly got in the way of a small piece of lead that, being in a hurry, was travelling very fast. i had stopped it, and had been punished for my imprudence by having to lay up while doctors sunk shafts and drove drives in my corpus and generally prospected me for a lead mine. true, they had not struck the reef; but then they had not succeeded in killing me, and when i got out of their hands i called it a drawn game, and started to get well in my own way. the shafts and the drives had filled up, and i had finished the cure by staying two months in the glorious climate of the sounds, first knocking about in a sailing-boat in the management of which i was a dab, and then assisting my friends by running over the hills after sheep. this exercise, with plenty of good mutton and damper, turning-in just after dark, and turning-out just before sunrise, had perfected my cure, and i was as strong as ever, and in good training. at that time i neither used spirits nor tobacco; i was as hard as iron and as tough as whipcord, and had, moreover, practised swimming, boxing, fencing and other gymnastics from early childhood. the awful hardships of the past wars had done me no harm, but rather good, as they had squeezed the last soft drop out of me, and i was fit for anything. i should have rejoined my troop on the frontier of the north island a fortnight before, but waited to help my friends through with their yearly mustering and sheep-shearing. hands were scarce, and i had never before seen a muster or sheep-shearing, so, my traps having been sent on to picton, i waited for it. well, the shearing was over and the men temporarily taken on for it were paid off. in those days, on the last night before the extra hands were dismissed it was considered the right thing to do for everyone to go on a big burst, and men who had worked hard for weeks, and not touched a drop of spirits, would get blind drunk. so it was at this station, with the exception of myself, who did not touch grog; all hands, masters and men, had a tremendous burst, drinking up every drop of strong rum laid in for the occasion. the following morning at daylight i started for picton in a boat, accompanied by one of the partners and four of the extra hands, all of whom were what is known as suffering a recovery, which means they were very ill from the effects of the previous night's debauch. i had roused them up, got the boat out, and we started on as lovely a morning as i ever saw in my life. my crew, very ill and sulky, lay down in the bottom of the boat, a roomy craft of about twenty-three feet in length, and tried to sleep. well, we made our offing, the sun rose very hot and the wind died away. it was by this time slack water, and, as the men refused to pull an oar, we lay motionless. suddenly i noticed the day darken and the mountains of arapawa island covered with a dense black cloud that was rolling rapidly down them, and knew in a moment we were in for a southerly buster. the air grew rapidly colder, and i shouted to the men to get up and shorten sail; but they would not move. i saw what resembled a dense cloud of dust raised off a very dry road in summer-time coming at us. in a moment it was on us; it was a spray torn from the sea by the force of the squall, and it stung and blinded me. as the squall struck us broadside on, it simply sunk us, turning us over at the same time. i stuck to the tiller until the boat turned turtle, when i was, of course, thrown out, and was swimming at her stern as the keel rose from the water. the boat had a very deep false keel, and i saw that everyone had got hold of it. just as the squall was thinning the boat rolled over and righted herself, and in the lull i shouted to the men to leave go their hold on the gunwale and join me, so that we could try and swing the stern to the wind, when perhaps one man could get in and bail her out. but they would not listen. they all tried to scramble into her at once, and over she went again. this happened twice, and i could not get the men to obey me, or try to do anything to save themselves. they all seemed to be mad with fright; one even kicked savagely at me as i tried to get him to leave go his hold on the keel. i saw the only chance to save my own and their lives was to try to swim ashore, and get help and another boat from the station. i had at least two miles to swim; and that in the teeth of a southerly buster, which i could see was now coming on in full force. i was dressed only in a thin flannel shirt and trousers; the latter i easily tore off, but i determined to keep on my canvas shoes, as i would have a long run round the beach to get to the house--that is to say, if i ever got on shore. this was very problematical, as not only had i the gale to contend against, but i knew the bay and sound swarmed with sharks; and the evening before i had sat on a rock and shot at the brutes as they were tearing to pieces the bodies of a lot of old and worthless sheep that had been killed and thrown into the sea. well, the sharks would have their chance at me now, and turn and turn about is only fair play. in tearing my trousers off i sank a bit, and on coming up i shouted to the men i would try to bring them help, and started. just then down came the true gale. the wind rushing through the tops of the mountains struck the water as if forced through a funnel, and tore it into foam and spray, which not only blinded me, but simply drove me under the water, and i quickly saw i must dodge the fierce blasts by diving. i was a very powerful swimmer and had the lungs and wind of an ostrich, so that, whenever i saw a cloud of water dust coming at me, down i went and swam under water for all i was worth. then, when i had to come up for air, if there was a lull in between the squalls, i would strike out with a good long side-stroke, and make all the way i could. this sort of thing went on for a long time, and i thought of and used every dodge i had ever learned or heard of to save my strength and use it to the very best advantage. my long experience in scouting and despatch-riding had trained me to think quickly and to act decisively. i was as cool as a cucumber and as hopeful as a boy setting out to rob an orchard. the water was warm. i was in splendid fettle, and i had a wild feeling of elation, as i dodged the squalls, that was simply grand, although my eyes ached and smarted with the spray. if it had not been for the danger of my helpless mates i should have simply revelled in my struggle against the elements. as i rose for air, during a lull, i took a good look at the land, and was surprised at the very rapid progress i was making. for a minute i could not understand it. i was certainly drawing more under the lee of the land, and the squalls were not so fierce as at the first start, but still i was quite a mile off, and they were bad enough; but all at once i understood what was befriending me; it was the tide. it had been slack water when the accident had happened, and the tide had turned and was simply helping me all it knew; now i felt certain of getting ashore, bar accidents. yet, bar accidents, i was all right; but there were other things also, as i quickly discovered, for when i determined it was no longer necessary for me to dodge the squalls, and had settled down to a long, steady side-stroke, i glanced to my right, and there, not thirty feet from me, was a long, triangular fin sticking out of the water, which i knew belonged to a shark of the largest size. instinctively i turned to the left. there was another one; and as i raised myself in the water and looked astern of me, there was a third. to say i was in a funk is not to tell the truth; funk does not fully describe my feelings. i knew what funk was; i had been in a funk before, plenty of times. i had been in many a tight and hot corner before. i had often looked at what might be certain death, but then i had weapons in my hand and the prospect of a good fight before i went under; but now i was helpless. there was to be no fight, there could be no fight. i had not even a knife, and had i possessed one i was outnumbered and outclassed. as i trod water for a few moments i knew what real fear was. i had never felt it before, and, thank heaven! i have never felt it since. i can't describe my feelings, and i would not if i could. certainly it was not the fear of death that caused these sensations; but it seemed so hard that i, who had almost overcome my danger, should be turned into long pig for a beastly shark. but my cowardice did not last long. i was still at least three-quarters of a mile from shore; the good tide was still sweeping me in, and my wild irish blood all at once boiled up in me. my duty to myself and mates required me to get on shore, and get on shore i would. if a shark took me, well and good, kismet. stick to my work i would, shark or no shark; so i fell into my stroke, and swam as if there had not been a shark within a degree of latitude of me, escorted by a guard of honour i never want again. yes, i got ashore, those d--d sharks keeping company all the way; and when my foot hit bottom and i stumbled through the shallow water and fell on the sand there they still were, cruising about, not a stone's-throw away, as if they were the most harmless beasts in the ocean. why did they not go for me? i don't know; certainly my time had not yet come, kismet. as soon as i had taken a few breaths i looked for the boat, but could not see her for the dense spray which the gale, now at its worst, was kicking up; so i started to run the four miles round the bay to the station. the rough beach and rocks soon cut my soaked shoes to pieces and, as the soles became detached, i had to run with bare feet, and suffered awfully. fain would i have halted and rested, but my mates' danger spurred me on, and i ran as if a maori, with his tomahawk, were after me. i came to the head of the bay and suddenly remembered that between me and the house there was another very deep indent of the sea. at the mouth it was not more than yards across, but it ran very far inland, and with my feet in the state they were it would take me hours to get round. no, i must swim it; and i was just plunging in, notwithstanding the squalls, which were tearing the surface of the water into dust, when i was struck with the horrid thought of sharks, and for a moment i paused like a coward on the brink. it was only for a moment. curse the sharks! my mates were on the boat; and in i went and crossed after a hard swim. to get to the house, rouse up the other partner and the one remaining man, and to get out a small whale-boat did not take many minutes. we manned the boat, peaked the oars and ran before the gale. we came up to the derelict in mid-sound, rolling over and over, but not a sign of a man was on her, nor was a single body ever found. we ran across the sound, beached the boat, and, when the gale subsided, pulled back. this is, i think, the nearest call i have ever had, and if there is any moral in my yarn it is to leave drink alone, keep in training, do your duty by yourself and mates, and trust to your luck while doing so. since then i have always hated sharks. the curse of cromwell be on them. chapter ix held up by a bushranger (_told by the old identity_) it took place in the early seventies. i was in australia, and was temporarily in command of a body of mounted police, doing duty as gold escort--a very necessary precaution in those days. on one occasion i was travelling up-country, accompanied by four troopers, when a big squatter, a friend of mine, asked leave to ride with my small party, as he was carrying a quantity of gold up-country with him to his station. of course i was delighted to have his company, and we set out. all along the road there were plenty of shaves (rumours) of bushrangers, but for three days we never saw one. at noon on the fourth day we halted at a bush shanty to feed, water and rest our horses. the bush shanties, in those days, were as a rule vile poison shops, the owners and their employees being usually hand in glove with every scoundrel, cattle thief and bushranger in the country, giving them information as to the movements of the police, and in many cases sharing with them their plunder. however, with a party like ours there was nothing to fear, at least so i thought; so when we dismounted and handed over our horses to the troopers to lead to the stockyards, some little distance from the house, myself and my friend entered. it was a long, one-roomed building, with a bar running the whole length of it, and the only door at one end. there was no one inside but the bar-tender, as hang-dog-looking a ruffian as i have ever set eyes on. foolishly, as it proved, as i entered i unbuckled my belt with sword and revolver attached and threw them on a bench by the door. then we strolled together to the far end of the bar and, hot and thirsty with our long ride in the burning sun, called for drinks. glasses in hand, we stood with our backs to the door, and were just about to sample our poison when we heard the ominous words: "bail up!" turning round, i saw a wicked-looking devil standing in the doorway. he had me covered with the heavy revolver he carried in his right hand, while its mate, ready for action, was gripped in his left by his side. he was a well-made, tough-looking chap, very muscular and strong, without carrying an ounce of superfluous flesh, and dressed in the ordinary up-country dress. his face, clean-shaven, was covered by a black mask, but i noticed a well-cut mouth, a determined chin, and his eyes gleamed through the holes of his visor with a glint there was no mistaking, while the hand that held the gun was as steady as a rock. then i realised that he was between me and my weapons, which lay on the bench by the door. a man who has passed years in bush-fighting, scouting and despatch-riding thinks quickly and acts decisively. had there been the slightest tremor in wrist or lips i should have slung my glass at him, and risked a rush; but there was not a sign of a tremble, and i knew that the slightest hostile movement on my part would not only lead to my certain death, but would be quite useless. my friend and the villainous bar-tender, the latter with a broad grin on his ugly mug, had at once bailed up, and as there was no chance of help from my troopers, who by that time must have off-saddled and be attending to the horses at the stock-yard, some way off, i knew we were cornered and beaten. "captain," said the bounder, "i guess i've got you. bail up." "i'll see you d----d first," i replied. "i've got you," he retorted, "and i'm on the shoot. sling your money on the counter, and"--this to my friend--"sling that bag down too." the squatter was standing with his hands above his head, so evidently could not do so, and the bushranger said to me: "captain, sling that bag over here." "rot!" was my discourteous reply; so he turned to the blackguard behind the bar, who was probably in league with him, and said, "joe, you do it." and the bag was promptly thrown to him. then he said to me, and i noticed he changed his voice, dropping the yankee slang and idiom he had previously used, and speaking with a well-modulated and refined accent: "captain, i don't want anything from you." (this was just as well, as i had nothing.) "but," he continued, "how long start will you give me?" i said: "five minutes." "word of honour?" "yes." "so long." and with that he backed out, and in a moment i heard the beat of a horse's hoofs starting at a gallop. my friend was raving mad, and wanted me at once to alarm my troopers, but i said: "no; you'd got your gun with you just now, why did you not use it?" when five minutes had passed i gave the order to saddle up; but of course the man had got clear away. i never knew who he was, but a man shot shortly afterwards by one of my troopers was believed to be he, and most probably was. chapter x on the scout in new zealand (_told by the old kai tongata_) it was in june that te kooti, chief of the rebel hau haus, caught a party of mounted volunteers on the hop, at a place called opepe, on the high plateau near lake taupo. the men, worn out by a long march, and soaked through by the cold winter rain and sleet, had taken shelter on some old whares (huts) and were trying to dry themselves when a few maoris came up, and, declaring themselves to be friendlies, joined them at their fires. more and more of them gradually arrived, until the volunteers were outnumbered, and then, on a signal being given, the natives sprang on their unsuspecting victims, and the tomahawk did the rest. the victors did not stay long at the blood-stained spot. they knew that colonel mcdonnell, colonel st john and, worse than anyone, major ropata te wahawaha, with his friendly ngatiporou, were not far away, and that it behoved them to hump themselves and travel before the avengers could reach them. some of the volunteers had escaped, and two of them joined up with colonel st john's column, with which i was serving, the same evening as the massacre took place. it was at once boot and saddle, and before nightfall we had marched to opepe. colonel st john had reached the spot before us, in fact the men cut up belonged to his column, and he had only left them the morning of the massacre to rest themselves and horses, while he went on to visit a maori chief about ten miles away. next morning we were on the spoor, and followed it through rough pumice-stone gullies for some miles, in pouring rain and sleet, then lost all trace of them in a dense scrub of manuka bush, so we returned to opepe for the night. the following day it was determined to send scouts out to find where the enemy had retreated to. we had followed te kooti since july , when he had escaped with fighting men from chatham islands, had landed at whare-onga-onga, close to poverty bay, and had gathered all the disaffected maoris in the country to him. he had sacked poverty bay, murdering about ninety helpless settlers. he had fought us twice at makaretu and innumerable other places, had captured a convoy of ammunition, had fortified himself at ngatapa, where he had repulsed, with heavy loss, two assaults and had only evacuated the pah when starved out for want of food and water. and although we had, in the pursuit, captured and killed of his men, yet he himself escaped and reached the fastnesses of the uriwera country. in april he had swooped down on the mohaka settlement and had murdered in cold blood seventy whites and friendly natives, and then retreated to taupo country with us at his heels. in fact he had kept us lively for a year, and was going to prevent us getting rusty for two more, until, having lost nearly all his men, he retired into the king country, where we could not follow him; and he lived there quietly for twenty years, and at last died in the odour of sanctity, highly respected by all who knew him. for nearly four years we were on his track: his escapes were numerous and miraculous, we destroyed band after band of the desperate savages who joined him, but although he was wounded twice we never got him. bad luck to it, i'm off the spoor. to get back. it was determined to send out scouts to locate te kooti, and i was chosen with two men to do the job. it was a big contract to handle. one glance at the map will show you lake taupo. we were at the north-east corner, about ten miles from the semi-friendly pah at tapuacharuru (sounding footsteps), our base was at opotiki, eighty miles away, on the bay of plenty coast. there were at that time no roads, no bridle-tracks, no paths; no game existed in new zealand, and there was no food to be procured for man, and but little for horses. no white man, with the exception, perhaps, of a stray missionary, had ever penetrated to that part of the country, which was composed of dense bush, mountains and broken ground covered with manuka scrub, or long fern, which grew from six to ten feet high, and it was in the depth of winter, bitterly cold and wet. the enemy had retreated in the direction of the great volcanoes ruapehu and tongeriro, at the south-east end of the lake, about thirty-five miles from where we were camped, and in an awful country, quite unknown and hostile to us. this country had to be searched, te kooti found and attacked before he established himself in another stronghold and recruited his murderous band of bloodthirsty savages. the columns could not advance and look for him; they had no food to feed man or horse during the time it would take to find him. no, they must fall back nearer the base, and the scouts must find him, and then the troops and horses, well fed, could make a rush for him and perhaps put an end to his career. my orders were that i was to find te kooti and return to opepe, the colonel promising he and the column would meet me there on the sixteenth day, when i was to guide him up to the quarry. how i was to find the bounder, and how we were to live while we were looking for him, was left to me. it was certain that te kooti would be looking out for anyone who might be impudent enough to look for him, and if he caught us our fate was certain, though, of course, we could only guess at the nature of the torture to which we should be subjected. even if we were lucky enough to be able to blow our own brains out before we were captured, the colonel would lose the information he required, and more men would have to be sent; so that it behoved us to keep ourselves and our tracks hidden, and to see without being seen. how we were to live i left to providence; it was beyond me. we were all hardened bushfighters, and we must take our chance. my two companions were queer characters; both of them had been sailors: one of them, pierre de feugeron, a frenchman, the other a kantuarius greek. they had been mates for years, were both splendid scouts, expert bushmen, good shots, and utterly fearless. well, no sooner had i got my orders than we started. our field kit consisted of smasher hats, dark blue serge jumpers that reached to the knee, but during the day were drawn up and fastened round the waist; we wore no trousers, but had shawls round us like kilts. i wore shooting boots and socks; the others went barefooted with sandals. our arms consisted of carbines and revolvers, and we each wore in our belts a tomahawk and sheath knife. on our backs we carried a blanket rolled up, in which was some very bad bacon and worse biscuit, four pounds of each; and with this we were to penetrate thirty-five miles or more into an unknown country, as rough as any in the world, find a wily enemy and, above all, get back with our information. it may not seem much to the man who has never been out of britain, but a colonial will appreciate the job at its true value. we left the camp from the north side, and made a wide detour to the north-east, before we struck to the south-west, to touch the lake. the enemy had retreated almost due south, through a number of rough pumice-stone gullies, and it was more than likely that a sly old bird like te kooti would leave an ambush on his spoor to cut off any scouts that might be sent after him, or, in case a strong party followed him, to give him news of their movements. i did not want to fall into that ambush. i had been in a few before, and did not like them; and so went round to try and cut his spoor a good way south of where we had abandoned it on the previous day. all that day we tramped across deep gullies and through manuka scrub, very often having to head off our road to examine the ground on either side of us, and to take bearings to our rear as well as to our front. a good scout should always do this, as he may have to return a sight faster than he went; and he must remember which way he came; he has no time to think much when a war party is after him. well, as night fell we came to a range of mountains covered with bush, and i reckoned that, with our detour, we had made quite ten miles to the south of opepe, and were well on our way. it had rained all day, except when it sleeted, and of course we were wet through, yet we dare not light a fire. for all we knew we might have been spotted and followed; so we entered the bush, and as soon as it was quite dark moved carefully a mile away and, eating a small handful of biscuits, wrapped ourselves in our shawls and blankets and slept as well as we could. it froze hard that night and the cold was intense; in the morning we were up as soon as a glimmer of day came, and started to cross the range of mountains. the bush was a regular new zealand one, composed of trees of gigantic size, and with a dense undergrowth that nothing but a pig or an elephant could get through. we therefore had to take to the bed of a creek and follow it up to the ridge. the water was icy cold, and the cold drip from the trees and bushes wet us through, although it did not rain. with nothing but a few bits of flint-like biscuit to chew, up we went, and came to the top of the range, and there we rested and got a view of the country. to our west was the lake, and to the south was the cone of tongeriro and the three peaks of ruapehu; between us and them was range after range of hills, below us lay a deep valley, and, tough as we were, i almost feared the job was too tough for us. to despond is one of the last things a scout should do; so after more biscuit off we went again, and, striking another creek, we descended the bed of it till we came to the river that ran through the valley and entered the lake at the foot of it. i determined to descend the bed of this river, as i thought i might cut te kooti's spoor on the beach of the lake, which i determined to examine next morning. i feared to do so that evening, as they might have ambushed the drift, and there was also the dread of the ambuscade he most likely had left behind to watch our camp. this party, after they had watched the column move away, would most likely, provided they had not seen us, be on the march to catch up te kooti. we therefore hid on a fern ridge with the drift in view of us, and fortunate it was for us we did so. we had not been there long when we saw coming from the north, along the beach, a party of twelve natives; and i felt much relieved, for i knew at once that they had not seen us, or they would have been after us, and that i had been quite right to make the detour i had done. they marched quite carelessly, evidently thinking no white man was nearer them than the retreating column, and when they had crossed the drift lit a big fire, cooked food and warmed themselves; then, leaving the fire burning, started at a rapid pace for the south. we watched them round a far cape of the lake, then down we went to their fire and warmed ourselves and cooked a bit of bacon. thankful we were for the warmth and food; but we dare not stay long. i wanted to get the benefit of the open beach, and also to spot their camp fire that night; so, as soon as our frozen limbs were thawed and our food swallowed, we were off, hiding our spoor as well as we could. that night we saw their camp, and envied them as we lay hid in the fern shivering with cold; for again we had a hard frost, and our clothes were far from dry; but a scout must put up with cold, heat, hunger, thirst, and be ready to face, smiling, anything that falls to his lot. the earlier in life he hardens himself to do without rotten sweetstuff the better, and always remember that cigarettes are the invention of the evil one. well, day after day this sort of life went on. if i were to try to describe our adventures day by day they would fill a book; let it suffice that for ten days we lurked through tangled and dripping bush, waded up the bed of mountain torrents, crossed snowclad ranges, and struggled through matted fern, soaked with rain and sleet during the day, and frozen stiff during the bitter nights. our miserable rations were gone. sometimes we found a rotten matti-tree, and from it extracted the white grubs, which we ate thankfully. once we found some potatoes. at last we discovered te kooti, and where he was building his new pah. for one night i prowled round it, and long before morning we were on our way back. for the first two days the same care had to be taken to hide our spoor; it would never do to be caught or killed after all our troubles and sufferings. on the third day i moved down to the lake. we were starving: not just hungry, but absolutely starving. as the evening was coming on, in a small bay i saw the smoke of a fire; that meant maoris camping. they had food of some sort, and we decided to have it. the bay was an inlet, into which a small creek emptied itself, between two low ridges of fern. a short detour led us to the bed of the creek, down which we descended as quietly as otters, while the noise of the stream drowned any slight noise we might make in wading down it. the creek ran into a small clump of tree ferns, and we crept on till we came to where the party was encamped at the mouth of the creek. there were four fine-looking big maoris. their canoe was drawn up on the bank of the creek with the paddles leaning against it. had there been more than four paddles it would have meant that some of the party were absent; but now we knew we had only the four in front to tackle. we dare not use our fire-arms on account of the report. no, the job must be done with tomahawk and knife. we were within twenty feet of them. a glance at my companions and we laid down our carbines, slipped off our blankets and drew our tomahawks and knives. one more look. the four maoris were sitting by their fire, unconscious of our presence. a nod to my mates and we sprang at them. whiz, whiz went my men's knives--they were both past masters at the art of knife-throwing--and over went two maoris with the knives buried up to the hafts in their bodies. i rushed my man, but, surprised as he was, he was a splendid, tough old warrior, and jumped at me, his tomahawk swinging loosely in the air above his head. i had practised hard with the tomahawk for the last two years, but i knew i was no match for the old man. i therefore determined to rush in on him, guard his first blow and use my left fist. (i was very strong in those days, and a good boxer.) throwing up my tomahawk, i guarded a smashing cut at the left of my neck, and although i felt the keen edge of the blade cut my flesh on the left shoulder, the impetus of my charge carried me in, and lashing out with my left i struck him full on the throat. down he went, astonished by this novel mode of attack, and in another moment the head of my tomahawk was buried up to the eye in his brains. when i looked round the fight was over, the only unwounded maori falling an easy prey to the combined attack of my two desperadoes. pierre, a splendid cook, was already looking into the pot that was on the fire, and, declaring the contents to be good pork, not long pig, we were soon enjoying it. to get rid of the bodies did not take long. the marks of the struggle were obliterated, and we were off. two days more and we reached opepe; and, true to his word, my colonel met us with a strong patrol. we were thin, footsore, our legs torn, our kit in rags; but what mattered that? we had done our duty and had got back with valuable information, and as we swallowed some hot tea we did not care for the past--it was past. my wound was nothing--pierre had stitched it up--and as i once more donned my breeches and boots, a clean shirt, and threw my leg over my dear old horse, i was as happy as the day was wet. chapter xi the colonel's fiery tot (_told by the old kai tongata_) during the east coast war the division in which i was serving landed on the beach to seize a "pah," or native stronghold, two days' march inland. as usual we carried four days' rations, including rum. we were led by a fine old colonel, a distinguished crimean officer, who was much liked by the men. he was one of the old "two-bottle men"--or, rather, he was contented with two bottles when he could not get three. at that time i had not acquired a liking for ration rum--raw, fiery stuff--but by the end of the second day's march the colonel had consumed his own allowance and mine too. at daylight on the third day, when we had fallen in beside a creek, and were preparing to attack, he said to me: "give me a tot" (calling me by a nickname i acquired early and retained throughout my active career). "i haven't any rum, sir; you finished mine last night." he bubbled like a furious turkey-cock, and swore i'd drunk more than my share. as i had not tasted a drop, i thought this unfair, but wisely said nothing. it is bad policy to argue with a liverish colonel, when he is two days' march from the nearest drink. then he said: "i must have a tot. i wonder whether the men have any left." i was just promising to inquire when he exclaimed excitedly: "look there!" and lo and behold, a man stepped out of the ranks, then standing easy, and took from his haversack a bottle containing something that looked like rum. he poured some into a pannikin, poured in some water and drank it off. "by heavens," said the old colonel, "i've struck oil." just then i called the men to "attention," and as we went down the ranks inspecting the colonel kept saying: "deuced bad pain in my stomach." as we got opposite the man with the bottle--he was, by the way, the most temperate man in the corps--the colonel's groans became heart-rending. the man thereupon brought out the bottle from his haversack, and said to him: "do you think this would do you any good, sir?" the colonel's face was wreathed in smiles. "aha, my man, just what i wanted," he exclaimed. "give me your pannikin." and he proceeded to pour out for himself a strong "tot." "be careful, sir," said the man, "it's very strong." "ah!" said the colonel, "when you're as old a soldier as i am you'll be able to take your 'tot' neat." and with that he tossed it down. the change that came over his face was marvellous! the smiles were replaced by a look of agonised surprise. he coughed and spluttered, and ejaculated: "shoot the blackguard; he's poisoned me!" then he rushed to the creek and drank more water in ten minutes than he had drunk in the ten previous years. "what have you given the colonel?" i asked the man. "perry & davis's pain-killer," he replied. "will you try some, sir?" i put my tongue to the mouth of the bottle and then said, "no, i'm blowed if i do." for the stuff was like liquid fire, and was hot enough to burn the entrails out of a brass monkey, and if applied externally would have blistered the halo from a plaster saint. it also claimed to cure everything. in that it lied, for it did not cure the colonel's propensity for ration rum, although i must admit it made him very careful for some time to sample his tot before he swallowed it. chapter xii lost in the new zealand bush in spinning this yarn i wish to warn all new chums that, no matter how clever you may fancy yourself to be, you must, when you enter a bush, keep all your senses on deck, or you will run the chance of finding yourself bushed just as easily as the greenest tenderfoot ever exported. true, an old hand will, as a rule, pull through, while the greenhorn will go under; but yet the number of old bushmen who have been lost and who have died is very great, and no one, no matter how experienced he is, or what his training has been, has a right to enter the bush without taking every precaution. this was driven into me very early in my frontier education, and i have saved myself frequently if not from death, yet from many hardships, by always ascertaining i had sufficient of the indispensable articles about me, without which no man should enter the forest or wilderness. perhaps, right here, i may enumerate them. in a dry country a man should always carry a water-bag or bottle, and see that it is in good order and full; he should never stir without plenty of matches, carried in a damp-proof box or well-corked bottle, a flint and steel, a burning-glass, or some means of making a fire. a tomahawk and sheath knife are indispensable; and of course, in africa and countries where there are lions, etc., see that you have plenty of ammunition with you--remember you may want to signal with your rifle--and if possible shove a couple of ship biscuits into your haversack: you may want them, and they do not weigh much. now for the yarn. in i was located at a place called wai-tangi (murmuring water), a native kainga, on lake tarawera, and one day determined to go pigeon and kaka (new zealand parrot) shooting in the densely bushed ranges on the east side of the lake. the lake is a very beautiful one, of large size, surrounded by mountains, among which is the volcano mount tarawera, and at the south-west corner is the creek that leads up to rotomahana and the wonderful terraces. at the date i write about mount tarawera was quiet, and everyone thought it had retired from the volcano business; but some years afterwards, , it took a fit, broke out, blew the terraces galley west, destroyed a great deal of property and killed a good few people, among others my quondam hosts at wai-tangi. now the new zealand kaka and pigeon are, in the fall of the year, very toothsome birds indeed; they get very fat on the berries of the gigantic trees, and the maoris have a very good way of preserving them. i mention these last facts, as, previous to my departure from the kainga, i had told my host, the chief of the place, that i was going to try to kill a great many birds, had requested him to order a woman to make a couple of large bark buckets to preserve them in, and had also intimated i might camp out or stay for a night or two at one or other village on the lake. this was unfortunate, as, subsequently, the maoris took no notice of my prolonged absence and did not come to look for me, as they concluded i was staying somewhere else; and it was only on the day of my return the old chief, having become anxious, started a party of young warriors to paddle round the lake to find out if i were all right. well, i started off in a canoe, taking with me my gun, fifty no. shot cartridges, some tea and sugar, a couple of blankets and half-a-dozen ship biscuits. i should also have taken a young warrior, but as all the natives were engaged on their plantations, i went alone. it was a lovely day, the lake as calm as a millpond and the splendid scenery most entrancing. i paddled slowly out of the little bay at the head of which the kainga stood, and after a few minutes' contemplation of the glorious bushed mountains, whose beauties were reflected as in a mirror on the glass-like water, i struck out across the north-east corner of the lake and made for the east shore, where i meant to beach my canoe in some small bay at the mouth of one of the numerous creeks that ran into the lake, then ascend the bed of the creek, get on the top of the high ranges, where there is comparatively little undergrowth, and shoot my game. after a few miles steady paddling i reached the shore, where there was rather a deep inlet, grounded my canoe on the beach at the head of it, where a fair-sized creek entered the lake, and landed. now i mentioned before that i had made the best use of my frontier education; so at once i dragged my canoe out of the water as far as i could and made fast the painter to a stout tree, then overhauled my belongings. i was dressed in proper bush outfit: a serge jumper, flannel shirt, smasher hat, good strong shooting boots and a shawl round my waist instead of trousers. in my belt i wore a tomahawk and sheath knife, and slung on to the back of it was a strong tin pannikin. i also carried on my belt a leather pouch containing a metal damp-proof box full of matches, a burning-glass, a plug of tobacco and my pipe. my cartridges i wore in a bandoleer over one shoulder, and over the other i wore one of the old-fashioned game bags. i was very strong in those days and did not mind a little extra weight; so after i had lunched on a biscuit and a lump of cold pork i put the remaining biscuits, a tin containing tea and sugar mixed, and a small one holding salt and pepper mixed, into my bag, hid my blankets and paddle, and after a glance to see that my canoe was all right, i entered the creek and started up the range. for some distance the brushwood and undergrowth were too thick for me to be able to see a bird on the tree-tops, but as i got higher up the range the bush thinned out, so that i could occasionally get a shot, and i found when i came to the summit i had bagged three brace of birds. these i hung up on a rata-tree and i out tomahawk and blazed it well, so as to let me know, on my return, it was the point at which i was to descend to the lake. the country i found myself in was very broken, and what had appeared from the lake to be a straight range of mountains running from north to south i found to be a regular jumble of broken ridges, cliffs and spurs that seemed to be mixed into several ranges that took no definite direction at all. this sort of country is very dangerous to explore and, knowing the fact, i ought to have taken precautions and exercised the greatest care. i did neither; for i wandered on after the birds and presently began thinking about some important letters i had lately received from home, and other matters, without even noting any of the salient landmarks, or the turnings and twistings of the broken ridges and spurs i was walking among. nor did i turn round and spot landmarks to guide my return journey. this was an act of folly unpardonable for a scout who knew his work and who was quite aware of the danger he was running. yet the very best and most experienced bushmen sometimes commit an act of folly, and, not being infallible, i had in my turn committed a very grave one. for when the approaching dusk warned me it was time to regain my canoe i turned round, and in a moment knew i was lost. you may ask how it was i knew at once i was lost. i will tell you. every scout worth his salt should carry in his head a map of the road he has been traversing that day, and when he is about to return on the back track he should at once be able to see that road with his mind's eye, its salient points, its landmarks, its difficulties, and everything worthy of note along it. well, when i turned i naturally cast my mind's eye on to my map and found a blank. i had noted nothing from the time i had hung up the birds and blazed the first tree; and i cussed myself for my folly. it was now i felt bush fear; for a desperate longing came over me _to run_ and try to find my way; but this i combated with all my will-power, and after a minute's struggle forced myself to sit down under a tree and think if i could not remember anything that might recall the road to mind; but in vain. the only thing to guide me was that i had shot a pigeon which had fallen into a fork of a tree and stuck there; that incident could be of but little use to me, yet i treasured it. again the desire, stronger than ever, came over me to run and look for the tree i had blazed; and again i had to fight it away. was i, fool as i had been, to lose my head and run mad through the bush like an untrained new chum? not by a jugful. i would camp where i was, and next morning, with a clear head, would try to unravel the puzzle. work was the thing for me, and i turned to. it did not take me long to collect plenty of firewood and make down a good fern bed. water i could hear close by, and when i had filled my pannikin i lit my fire, for night falls quickly in the new zealand bush, and overhauled my stores. i had my gun and over thirty cartridges left, and, besides what food i had brought with me, i had ten fat birds; so there was no fear of starvation for a long time. i had also no fear of thirst, as there is always plenty of water to be found in a new zealand bush; so i was well off, though i could not disguise the danger. anyhow i would have supper and think matters out, over a pipe, afterwards. in next door to no time i had two birds plucked, cleaned, and spitted on a splinter of wood, with a biscuit on a clean piece of bark under them. my pannikin, full of water, on some embers, soon boiled; to this was added some tea and sugar mixed, and i had a feast for the gods. true, i only had my sheath knife and fingers to eat with, but what of that? i was an old campaigner and could dispense with luxuries. then, my meal over, i lit my pipe and thought out my position. i was in a hole, that i knew, and i should require all my bushcraft to get out of it. it was not as if i was in a forest on a plain, but i was in a regular jumble of broken ridges, valleys and spurs, all of them heavily bushed. the only thing i had to look for was a blazed tree with some birds hanging on to it, and i did not know if i were north, south or east of it; nor could i judge my distance from it; for although i knew i had walked about four hours and a half, and that i had turned south when i left the tree, yet, for all i knew, i might have worked round in a circle and at the present moment be due north of it, or have turned farther to the east. my pipe finished, i determined to sleep if i could, so as to be fresh in the morning, and also to try to get rid of the feeling of solitude that now attacked and surprised me. i had frequently had to pass the night alone, aye, many a time, without fire or food, not daring to light the one and having none of the other; yet i had never felt so lonely or deserted before; for although i well knew there was nothing in the new zealand bush that could hurt me, still i kept on looking over my shoulder, or glancing to right and left into the darkness, and i could now realise the feelings that men who had been lost and found had tried to describe to me. they had been tenderfoots. faugh! i was an old hand; i had never funked the hau haus when they had been on the warpath after me. why now should i let these childish qualms assail me and funk shadows? yet they were there; and i confess them to you so that you may know how absolutely necessary it is for you, in case you should ever be in the same fix, no matter how experienced you are, to keep a tight hold over yourself, and not let your nerves get away with you. rolling myself up in my shawl, i lay down on my fern bed (a very comfortable bed it is too, if you know how to make it properly) and, thinking over my plans for the morrow, went to sleep. i awoke at daybreak refreshed and fit. a cold bath in the creek. a good breakfast. then selecting a huge tree, i climbed it by shinning up one of the big pendent vines, and had a good look round. i had hoped to be able to see the lake, but could see nothing of it; nor could i recognise any of the loftier mountains; but i knew the lake must be to the westward of me, and as there seemed to be a higher range in that direction i determined to make for it, though i could see no spur running in a direct line towards it. i therefore descended and, carefully blazing the big tree under which i had camped, started, taking care to blaze all the trees on my line. my reason for doing so (and bear it in mind) was, i had reached the spot where i found myself lost, without going down into any of the deep valleys that surrounded me. had i done so, i must have remembered the fact, as all the valleys were full of dense undergrowth, and i should have had to cut a road through it. i had not used my tomahawk on the previous day, except to blaze the first tree, therefore there must be some way of getting back without using it--if i could only find that way. i was making for the west. suppose after a time i should be certain i was going wrong, i could return with ease along the blazed track back to my camp, and start a new line, which i should also blaze, using a new tomahawk cut on the trees, and if that line failed, return and try again, always using the tree under which i had camped as a starting-point. i might fail half-a-dozen times or more, yet, with patience, i had a good chance to come out right in the end. again, although i did not reckon on it in my case, as i had no hopes of a search party coming to look for me, if you should ever be bushed, and you think it possible for a search to be sent to find you, it is a very good thing to carry out the above plan, and always return to your first camp, as most probably it will be the nearest spot to help; and if you pass your time in blazing lines (being careful to keep your lines distinct) the party looking for you will most likely strike one of your tracks and easily follow it to your assistance. knowing all this, i started, taking a course due west. i had no compass, but as a trained bushman i wanted none, and with all my senses on deck i began blazing trees on my line, taking care to spot every noticeable thing _en route_, and frequently looking back to see my track ran straight. sometimes i fancied i was going right and i felt the impulse to run; but this feeling i at once suppressed, and determined i would play the game to the end. past midday i knew i was wrong, as i came to a steep cliff descending perpendicularly into a deep valley, so i knew i could not have crossed it before. i was disappointed but by no means disheartened; so after a good look around i turned in my tracks and easily regained my camp, where i cooked more birds, had a good supper and slept without any bogeys coming to trouble me. on the morning of the third day i started again and blazed a new line, in a north-west direction; but again i met with disappointment and returned to my base. you may ask how it was that, as a trained scout, i did not try to follow my own spoor back to my starting-point. i will tell you at once. i was far too old at the game to waste my time by doing so. of course i was always on the look-out for any trace i had left; but there is very little soft ground on the top of new zealand ranges, and although i was in a daydream on the first afternoon, yet i knew that, instinctively, i should have avoided any soft or damp ground, also the gloom in a bush is not a good light to track by. an australian black fellow might have been able to follow my spoor, but no one else, so i did not try to. on the morning of the fourth day i started on what i thought to be a hopeless line nearly due north, as i expected to be shut off quickly by a deep valley i had noticed on the previous day; still it was the right game to play and i played it. strange as it may appear, i was not shut off as i had expected, but continued on till i came to a couple of large trees growing so close together that they seemed to spring from the same root. these attracted my attention, and although they were out of my line i went to them. i seemed to remember them in a dim sort of way, and i examined the ground carefully, going on my hands and knees to do so. i also took a good steady look at the country i had just passed over, to see if any glimmer of remembrance would dawn on me; and it did, but so faint that i feared the wish was father to the thought. but yet, those trees! a certainty came to me that i had seen them before, and i crawled round to the other side of them, scanning every foot of ground, and found what might be the spoor of one of my boots. at once i began to feel elated, and again the mad impulse to run came on; but i crushed it back, marked the spoor and forced myself to sit down and smoke a pipe. when i was quite cool i again examined the spoor, determined to restart my line from there and use the trees as a base. i started a new line and had not gone very far when under a tree i saw a lot of pigeon feathers. i at once went on my hands and knees and after a few minutes' search found undoubted spoor; so i knew i was on the right track; and again the desire to run came on, but i squashed it and, blazing the tree well, had a good look round, but could get no certainty as to my route, so went on with my line and during the afternoon found myself blocked, and had to turn back. that evening i shot three birds, and camped at the tree where i had found the feathers. next morning i was off, after a good breakfast, taking a new line west of north, thinking it would only be a short one; but yet i got on farther than i expected, and with my eyes glancing everywhere, all of a sudden i spotted something in the stunted fern, and going up to it found a dead pigeon. looking up, i noticed a fork in the tree close by and recognised it, as the one in which my bird had lodged. i at once tore the feathers off the bird. yes, there could be no doubt, it had been killed by no. shot; and now i was certain i was more than half-way out of the fix. again the crazy desire to run, this time crushed with more difficulty and requiring a pipe. then more blazing, until i began to think i must again be wrong and found myself unduly hastening my steps, and had to use the curb of my will to rein in. i had reached a place where i was thinking seriously of turning back, as i was convinced i had gone wrong, and had in fact halted when i noticed something waving in the wind about yards away to the south. i could only now and then catch a glimmer of it through the trees, but i went towards it. i lost sight of it in the bush, then saw it again, and in a few minutes was standing in front of a blazed rata-tree with six pigeons hanging on it. here was my starting-point; but i was so convinced i had gone wrong that for a minute or two i could not believe my eyesight, and fancied i had gone mad, in fact was so surprised that i had to argue with myself that someone had not moved the tree and the birds. this folly did not last long, and i was quickly in the bed of the creek, descending to the lake. i had just reached the foot of the hill when my foot slipped on a boulder and i came an awful cropper. in a moment i realised i had sprained my left ankle badly and had hurt my left side and shoulder. groaning and cursing with pain, i managed to crawl the remaining way to my canoe, untied the painter, crawled to the place where i had hidden my paddle and blankets, and with much agony got my right shoulder to the bow of the canoe and launched her. it made me shudder with pain to use the paddle--for a maori paddle requires both hands--but it had to be done, and i slowly worked out of the inlet, when to my horror i found i had a strong head wind to contend against. i could never do it, and was painfully turning my canoe to get back to the beach when i heard a deep-chested maori shout come pealing over the water, and looking in the direction from whence it came, i saw a large canoe with a dozen sturdy paddlers bearing down on me. in a few minutes i was in it, lying down on a heap of fern; and i must have fainted, but soon came to, to find the canoe tearing through the water, while fourteen stalwart warriors howled a canoe song to bring me back to life and give time to the paddles. we soon reached wai-tangi, and i was carried up to my hut, all the maoris holding a big tangi (weeping match) over my accident and blaming themselves for the misadventure that had happened to their guest. "te parione" (my maori name) quoth the chief, "your mana (luck) is very great. if you had fallen three days ago where would you have been now?" it was not a nice conundrum to puzzle over, so i went to sleep instead. chapter xiii a trooper's regard for his trust and horse years ago on the taupo line (the road running from napier to lake taupo) everything used by the men garrisoning the forts on the line had to be carried on pack-horses from the town of napier up to the headquarters (opepe), and this necessitated hard work and required hard language on the part of the troopers escorting the pack train, which consisted of some sixty horses and mules. of course the men were held responsible for the goods or valuables entrusted to them, and they regarded this trust as a point of honour that must be guarded even with life. now why a pack-mule or a transport ox won't go without the strongest language i don't know; but they won't; and in making this assertion i am only stating a well-known and proven fact. no matter how good a man may be with a stock-whip, or a waggon-whip, he will not get a journey or trek out of his beasts unless he beguiles them with the most powerful and sultry talk. i have never known a man to love a pack-mule, nor to caress one, and although you will find a trooper fond of and kind to most animals, yet somehow he draws the line at a mule. for his horse he will do anything--beg for it, lie for it, steal for it, halve his last bit of bread with it, and willingly risk his life for it--but not for a pack-mule. no, a pack-mule has few friends, and though men do their duty by them they don't give up their only blanket to them on a bitter cold night; and i have known many a trooper do that for his horse. however, i am getting off the right spoor, so must try back for the yarn. on the taupo line, at the time i mention, about ---the exact date i forget, and is of no consequence---the forces were rationed by a firm of contractors who had the right to run a canteen at each of the forts. the rations were good, but the liquor was bad; and when an old campaigner calls liquor bad, it must be very bad indeed. there were plenty of rows about it, and changes were promised, but somehow it never improved. this being so, it was the usual thing, when the pack train went down-country, for two or three of us who could not face the filth supplied by the contractors to send down a private horse and get up a couple of cases of spirits fit to drink. i was quartered at the time at an outlying station that the pack train did not pass, and one day received a note telling me to come to fort tarawera and get my share of two cases of brandy that had reached there. this i did, and rode over next day, accompanied by a very smart trooper named steve--at least that name will do for him, as he left the lost legion and has been for years a parson in the church of england. good luck to him! now the road, or rather the bridle-track, was a sinful one, partly through bush and partly along the bank of the waipunga river. at one place the path had been scraped out of a very steep hill of loose shale sloping down to the river, which ran about eighty to one hundred feet below it, and it was so narrow that, once on it, you could not turn your horse, nor even dismount. the length of this very bad bit was not more than two hundred yards, but there was a nasty turn half-way, so that it was necessary for you before you entered on it to give a loud shout in case anyone was approaching from the other end; and altogether it was not the sort of road to entice a nervous old gentleman to ride a restive horse along for a constitutional. we reached fort tarawera in safety, and i put in a very pleasant afternoon, hearing the news and yarning with my pals there. towards evening we left with my share of the plunder, which consisted of four bottles of brandy, to ride back the fourteen miles to my station. these bottles we carried in our wallets in front of our saddles, and after a parting drink and cheery good-night we rode gaily away. it was quite dark when we reached the worst part of the road; but in those days neither of us cared for anything, so that after a loud coo-ee we filed on to the bad track, myself leading. previous to our quitting the firm ground, i had said to my companion, in a joking manner: "take care you don't tumble over, steve; remember you are carrying precious brandy." he answered: "all right, i'll look after it." and we started the crossing. just as we got to the very worst part of the road i heard a scuffle, an oath, a rattling crash, and knew in a moment that steve with his horse had gone over the cliff, and rolled down the slope into the river. i was close to the end of the bad part; so, pressing my horse on to the firm ground, dismounted, and led him back to the place of the catastrophe. peering over, i could see nothing, so shouted: "steve, are you much hurt?" the answer came back and there was an exultant ring in the voice: "the brandy is quite safe." "d--- the brandy! are you much hurt?" a mournful reply came back: "poor darkie [his horse] is dead." "but yourself?" "oh, i've only broken my leg," was the answer, given in a tone of the most utter indifference; "i'm all right." "is your head well above water, and can you hang on till i get help from the fort?" "oh yes; i'm all right." so i told him to open one of the bottles and have a nip when he felt he required it, then led my horse to the firm ground, mounted and rode back to tarawera at a gallop. on my return with a party of troopers, ropes and torches, it took us a long time to extricate the poor fellow from his dangerous position, and he must have suffered great agony in being hauled up the steep bank of shifting shale; but at last we managed it, and got him back to the fort, where he soon become convalescent, his only regret, which was very deep--viz. the loss of his horse--being tempered by the fact that he had saved the brandy which had been entrusted to him. as for his own severe and painful injury, he cared nothing: it was certainly a nuisance; but it came in the day's march, and, as there was no fighting going on at the time, was not to be grumbled at. well, as i said before, good luck to him. if he is half as good in the pulpit as he was in the pigskin, the church gained what the legion lost, by his exchange of regiments. chapter xiv a gruesome flute (_told by the old kai tongata_) there was nothing of a picnic about the wars in new zealand. the cold-blooded massacres at poverty bay, mohaka, and scores of other places, as well as the vile tortures practised on any of our men who were unfortunate enough to fall alive into their hands, made us treat the hau haus with very scant mercy; and this savagery was not diminished by the brutal hardships, hunger, cold and toil we underwent while in pursuit of te kooti and his bands of bloodthirsty and fanatical followers. among these was a half-caste, the son of a very prominent white official. as a boy he had been sent to school by his father, and had been highly educated. he had then been entered for the law, but, committing a forgery, had fled to the bush and joined his mother's tribe, then in rebellion. to show and prove his maori blood, on joining them he had murdered, with his own hand, in cold blood, a number of helpless white women and children who had been taken prisoners; and this horrible crime, together with his ferocious courage in action, and further murders, perpetrated whenever he had the chance, caused him to be held in high repute by the hau haus and in bitter detestation by us. to such an evil notoriety had this fiend attained that his father, then high in the government, sent the unnecessary and quite superfluous order, that if his son were captured he was to receive no mercy. this order i carried myself to the officer commanding one of the flying columns that was then operating against rebels who by that time were getting considerably knocked about. it was most dangerous work, despatch-riding in new zealand. you had to travel through a rough and hostile country to find a moving column, or perchance a place the position of which was not known, and even the direction to it most uncertain. the hau haus, always on the look-out to catch the unfortunates employed on this job, would lay ambuscades in the long fern, alongside the footpaths, in such places as it was impossible to avoid passing, or at a ford you were obliged to cross. their dart was to kill your horse and take you alive, if possible, and then god help you if you were unable to blow your brains out--your death would be a very, very hard one. we lost numbers of men this way; and although no officer or man was ever known to shrink the duty, yet we hated it. on the arrival of this most unnecessary order to the column with which i was serving, being first for duty, it was my fate to have to carry it on to another column and then, provided i lived, to rejoin my colonel at the earliest possible moment. now i was aware of the contents of the despatch, and it did not make me more pleased with the job, as i knew i was running the most desperate risks to carry an order absolutely superfluous. long before the despatch had even been penned, had either of the three white columns been lucky enough to catch the bounder whose name was mentioned in it, he would have been shot on the spot; while if rapata and his friendly natives had rounded him up his end would have been quite as certain, though probably more complicated; and any orders on the subject were quite superfluous. well, i was warned to go, and went. i started at daylight, and after a long day's ride, during which i had a few squeaks for my bacon, i fortunately, just as evening was coming on, fell in with the column i was in search of, and delivered my despatches to the o.c. this column was composed of friendly natives, of course on foot, so i dismounted and joined the o.c., who was making for a camping-ground on which to pass the night. we had nearly reached the desired spot when a body of the enemy who, unaware of our presence, were making for the same place opened fire on us. the o.c. and myself were some short distance ahead of the majority of his men, who, after the usual way of native contingents, straggled a good deal when marching into camp. we, however, at once charged, and the enemy gave ground until we came to a long natural opening in the manuka scrub, through which we were moving, and which was about twenty yards across. here we halted and took cover, as we heard the hau hau leader shout to his men to turn and come back quickly, as there were only two white men by themselves and they, the hau haus, could kill them before the others came up. we stood our ground, as we knew our men were close up, and we both carried carbines. all at once i saw a man on the other side of the opening aiming at my companion, and i at once fired and knocked him over; at the same moment my companion fired and hit a man i could not see, but who was aiming at me. our men just then rushed up, and we continued the charge; but the enemy had bolted, and as night was falling fast we did not pursue them, but went up to the two men we had put out of mess. my man was quite dead, and was quickly recognised as a man of no great consequence, though of some reputation as a fighting man. the other one, however, was only wounded, but refused to tell us who he was, and to our questions replied by using the greatest insult in the maori language--_i.e._ called us boiled heads. having a suspicion as to his identity, the o.c. tore the breast of his shirt open, and there across his breast was tattooed the much-cursed name. well, if he had lived like a beast, he met the death of a beast without flinching. two years later, after the wars were over, i was again crossing that part of the country and rode a little out of my way to the scene of the fight, to see if there were any traces of the men we had killed. sure enough the skeleton of the half-caste was at the very spot on which he had fallen. dismounting, i picked up a leg-bone, slipped it under my wallet straps and rode away. later, i had it made up into a maori flute by an old native--they used to make all sorts of useful and ornamental instruments out of human bones--and hung it on the wall of my quarters among other trophies and curios. some time after i was visited by the very official who had been father to this half-caste. he examined my collection of curiosities with some interest, and catching sight of the flute, said: "oh, i used to tootle a bit on a maori flute in my young days." then taking it down he tootled a "wyetta" (a maori song). little did he think he was playing a tune on the leg-bone of his own son; and i was not such a bally fool as to tell him. let sleeping dogs lie is an old and true aphorism, and i did not wish to stir up bitter family recollections by reminding him of a dead one; besides, he was a very big pot indeed, and the head of my department, so that a discreet silence as to who had been the original owner of that flute was sound policy. chapter xv the doctor and the sentry years ago in new zealand there was a chain of forts stretching from the sea to the centre of the island. these forts were intended to keep open the road that had been constructed at great trouble and expense, on which a coach ran every week, conveying the mails and passengers to and from the wonderlands of taupo and rotomahana. the headquarters of the district was at a place called opepe, and consisted of a strong stockaded fort on the top of a pumice-stone hill, or, rather, i should say on a flat piece of ground surrounded by steep-sided gullies, which made it into a hill, and contained sufficient area for the fort and a parade ground. through the gully in front ran the road, and on the other side of the road were the troopers' stables and a hotel for coach passengers, which also held the troopers' canteen. the fort was approached by a zigzag path cut out of the hill, which was here perpendicular, and on the top of the path was posted a sentry. now among the officers stationed at headquarters was a doctor who had medical charge of the district. as far as his profession went, he had scarcely anything to do. the men were all picked men, most of them young; and in that splendid climate, with plenty of good, healthy work to do, sickness was almost unknown. this was very fortunately the case, as the doctor, having, perhaps, too much spare time on his hands, and caring nothing for sport, devoted that time to the worship of bacchus and, at the time i write about, had become scarcely fit to attend to a crocodile, much less a human being. had he not given the regimental sergeant-major a dose for a cold that made that ancient warrior tie himself into complicated knots, then dance and squirm for a week, and even curse him for a year afterwards with a fervency that made the atmosphere tingle and the blue sky grow cloudy? yes, it was fortunate the men were a healthy lot, and the doctor's medicine was not in demand. the medico's appearance was also decidedly against him. he wore his hair and whiskers, which were white, very long. his face was very red, and his nose, bulbous in shape, was purple in colour. he was, moreover, very slovenly in dress and dirty in his habits. it was strange he, being an irishman by birth, should be morose and ill-tempered when sober (i beg his pardon. i don't think i ever saw him really sober), and far from amusing when drunk. so, taking him in the large, he was neither popular nor respected by his brother-officers nor by the men. he had never been on active service, was very nervous of being sent on it, and had a holy dread of fire-arms of all sorts. well, this beauty made it his habit to go down to the hotel every night and booze there by himself. the men's canteen was closed at . p.m., and lights-out was blown at ten. the doctor would leave the hotel at . and proceed up the hill to his quarters; and as by this time he was quite full up, he would climb the steep zigzag path on his hands and knees, and refuse to answer the challenge of the sentry. this caused trouble; he was reported over and over again and the o.c. reprimanded him once or twice, till at last, determining to give him a fright, he ordered the sentry to be served out with some blank ammunition, and that if the doctor again refused to answer the challenge, he was to let rip at him with a blank charge. the following night the doctor began his crab-like ascent. "halt, who goes there?" rang out the challenge. no answer. twice again the challenge was repeated. still no answer. bang went the carbine. a loud yell from the medico, and he rolled over and over to the foot of the hill. promptly the guard turned out. down the hill they ran and found the doctor much shaken by his roll, and sobered by his fright. they brought him up, and next morning at office he complained to the o.c., and charged the sentry with trying to murder him, swore that he had heard the bullet whiz just past his ear, and that it was dangerous to trust a sentry with such a thing as a carbine. the o.c. listened to him and told him he could not punish the sentry for firing at him, as he was performing his duty by doing so, but he would severely reprimand him for making such a bad shot, and the next sentry who missed him would be severely punished. this put the fear of the lord into the doctor; but the force of habit was too strong for him, and the following night he was down at his usual haunt, filled up, and started at . , his usual time, to return in his usual manner; but he took unusual precautions. no sooner had he crept across the road than he started howling at the top of his voice: "friend, friend, friend"; and so on up the hill, past the laughing sentry and guard, across the parade ground and crawled into his quarters, still yelping his protecting cry. this went on for a few nights, until one day he had to visit an out-station. he stayed there that day, got full up and started to return home that night. he must have fallen off his old pony and slept in the fern, for he did not turn up till a.m. next morning. then, having handed over his nag to the stable orderly, he immediately made for the hotel, and began to freshen his nip with more liquor. that day there was a commanding officer's parade, and at o'clock all the officers and men fell in. by . the inspection was over and the men standing at ease, previous to the drill commencing, when the howl of "friend, friend!" was heard coming nearer and nearer. it seems that the doctor, true to the clock, had filled up, and at his usual time, but, oblivious to the fact that it was . a.m., and not . p.m., was making the best of his way to his lair and, by way of protection against the possible murderous attack of the sentry, was singing his usual ditty of "friend, friend!" presently he appeared over the crest of the hill on his hands and knees, crawling across the parade ground towards the quarters, still uttering his doleful howl, when, glancing up, he saw the long line of men looking at him. he staggered to his feet and gazed at them for a full minute, with horror and consternation depicted on his face, then yelled out, "o blessed st bridget, they mean to kill me this night. sure, they've mounted one hundred bally sentries, and they can't all miss me." with that he reeled away, looking over his shoulder and, still yelling his shibboleth of "friend, friend!" ran to earth in the welcome portal of his stronghold. this spectacle was too much for the risibility of the parade; officers and men went into a roar of laughter, which could not be checked for some time. next morning the doctor was informed he must resign or stand a court-martial. he did the former, and we got rid of him, while he retired to some place where he could indulge in his favourite pastime without running into danger from a murderous sentry or of the unkind remarks of a censorious commanding officer. chapter xvi how kiwi saved his clothes new zealand is, of course, famous for its natural beauties and wonders, among them the hot lakes and the terraces of pink and gleaming white stone. the latter, unfortunately, were destroyed by volcanic eruption in the eighties, but, i believe, are forming again. on one occasion when i was located in the hot lake district several prominent colonial officials, with their wives, came up, and i had to show them round. on lake rotorua we had two large whale-boats, and it was arranged that the party should be taken along the lake in these, to the island mokoia, the scene of the romantic story of o hinemoa and tutanekai (the maori hero and leander). the maori yarn differs from the greek, as it was the young lady who did the swimming part of the business, and the hussy was not drowned. mokoia has also been the scene of ruddy war, for it was on this island the arawa tribe took refuge from a dreadful raid of the ngapuhi tribe, under that bloodthirsty monster hongi, who, from the year - , raged through the north island of new zealand like a plague, and destroyed over one-fourth of its inhabitants. [illustration: te tarata: the famous white terraces, rotomahana.] he was one of the first maoris who visited england, having been brought there by kendal to help professor lee with his maori grammar and dictionary. while in england he was much lionised, and received many valuable gifts. he was presented to george iv., who made him presents of a suit of armour and other valuable articles. on his return to sidney he sold all his presents, with the exception of the suit of armour, and bought muskets with ammunition. while in sidney a grim story is told of him. at kendal's dinner-table he met another maori chief belonging to a tribe hostile to the ngapuhi. quoth he to his fellow-guest: "go home, make ready for war, and prepare to be killed and eaten." landing in new zealand, he swept the country bare, killing thousands and eating all he could. at last came the turn of the arawa. sweeping down the east coast, he landed at maketu and twice defeated the arawa, who retired inland and took refuge in their stronghold, the island of mokoia. he followed them and camped on the edge of the lake. every morning the arawa, confident in their fancied security, used to paddle past his camp and cheek him. i do not know if they used to place their thumbs to their noses and stretch their fingers out at him, but they poked fun at him and asked him rude questions, such as: how did he expect to come to makoia? was he growing wings like a duck, or, perchance, fins like a fish? etc., etc. naught would reply the grim old warrior, as he sat, surrounded by his cannibal chiefs, on the high bank of the lake, to his enemy's ribaldry; but he took the opportunity to tapu the splendid canoes as they dashed past him, the jeering crews showing them off to the best advantage. "my skull is the bailing pot of that canoe," said hongi, pointing to the largest and best one. this was a most awful assertion, but it rendered that canoe sacred to hongi, as who, at the division of spoil, could claim a canoe the bailing pot of which was hongi's skull, the most tapu part of his body. this went on day after day, while hongi was having his big war canoes transported from the sea, up creeks, across land, over a range of bushed hills, and through lakes to the scene of action. first of all up a creek, then he had a road cut through a forest, covering a range of hills, until he launched them on lake roto ehu. again, he cut a road through a forest, and launched them on lake roto iti and then up a rapid creek till they emerged on lake roto rua. now, poor arawa, you will find out to your cost how hongi is coming to mokoia! one morning, as the arawa were preparing for their usual daily amusement, they saw, to their horror and consternation, the advancing fleet of their bloodthirsty enemies. the time for jeering and laughter had passed, some tried to escape and a few succeeded, the others stood and fought the hopeless fight of spears and stones versus muskets. the canoes drew near the island and hongi opening fire on the hapless defenders, shot them down in heaps, then, landing, killed or enslaved all that remained of the arawa tribe. the ovens, surrounded with the crumbling bones of the victims, remain still to mark the spot where scores of the unfortunate arawa were cooked and eaten; and these, with ohinemoa's natural hot bath, are the two show places on the beautiful green hill that sits like a gem on the bosom of the dark blue lake. after we had visited mokoia we were to descend the rapid creek up which hongi had brought his canoes and inspect roto iti. the boats were manned by young maoris of splendid physique, whom i dressed for the occasion very prettily, in shirts and trousers of white cotton, with black silk neckerchiefs. they were very proud of themselves in these smart, unaccustomed clothes. when we came to the shallow water, at the head of the creek, it would be necessary for these fellows to jump out of the boat to lighten her, and drag her over into deep water; and i warned them that as english ladies did not like to see men without clothes on they must jump overboard in their smart suits. the three officials went into one of the boats by themselves, with a crew that knew no english, as they wanted to discuss important business, and i escorted the ladies in the other boat. we landed at mokoia, and i showed them the bath and the gruesome ovens, and told them the tales of love and war, and then we re-embarked to visit roto iti. all went well till we reached the shallows at the head of the creek; here the boat grounded and i ordered the crew overboard to push her along. all obeyed and plunged in with their clothes on, as instructed, with one exception. this was the stroke oar, a fine young maori named kiwi, who spoke broken english and was the son of a principal chief. he was very proud of his smart new clothes, and when the other fellows sprang into the water he sat tight. his mates called to him for help, and seeing he did not move i ordered him overboard. but he meant to preserve that suit. with a deep sigh he took off the black silk neckerchief, next he stripped off that immaculate white shirt. he looked at the water, and then at his lovely white trousers. then, with sudden inspiration, he touched the principal lady on the shoulder and said in a deep whisper of despair: "you no like to see me: you look that way." and in another moment he had whipped off his last thread of clothing and joined his comrades in the water. the lost dinner some time after the new zealand wars ended pierre de feugeron settled down at a maori village called wairoa, situated at the head of lake tarawera, and there built himself a two-roomed shanty, which he called the maison de repos, and offered to entertain any tourists visiting the wonders of rotomahana. now pierre was a miraculous cook. he could make a good dinner out of anything, and there is no doubt he would have done well but for his great failing, drink--in his case spelt with a very, very big d. for no sooner had he been remunerated by one lot of tourists than he would at once make off to ohinimutu, where there was a drink shanty, and blow the lot. he was indeed a queer character. in appearance, he was big enough, and looked ferocious enough, for a stage brigand, wearing his hair long and a huge beard. in reality he was as kind-hearted and simple as a child, and, notwithstanding his past life of bloodshed and adventure, he was just as harmless as one. pierre was also great on politics, in more ways than one, for his special brand would depend on the number of tots he had absorbed. when sober he was a legitimist, after he had had a drink or two an imperialist, a few more made a republican of him, and as he got full up he became a communist, an anarchist and a ruddy red. at this stage he would become an awe-inspiring object indeed. armed with a tomahawk in one hand and a huge knife in the other, he would dance a war-dance of the most blood-curdling description, and with rolling r's emit horrible wild yells, in french, broken english and maori, sufficient, unless you had known him, to daunt the courage of bayard himself. yet when the non-com. on duty considered that pierre had _ranged_ himself enough, he only had to send a maori kid to him, with the intimation that the guardroom required him, and pierre, dropping the bombastes furioso business, would immediately make a bee-line for that hospitable abode and fall asleep, sobbing over the sorrows of la belle france. well, it was my duty to escort round the hot lakes any big pot the government chose to send up to me, and the governor, once a year, used to come round, with a large party, and visit the wonders of the district, which, of course, included the marvellous terraces. a noble marquis was at this time proconsul in new zealand, and when i received warning of his advent i also received the straight tip that his excellency, a _bon-vivant_, dearly loved a good dinner, so i determined he should have nothing to complain of while under my care. now it was customary for the governor to camp a night at wairoa _en route_ to the terraces, and also to stay another night there on the return journey, so i determined, albeit with grave doubts, to engage pierre to take charge of the culinary department for the two nights we should be there. for the first night i had no anxieties, as i had kept pierre closely confined to the guardroom for the preceding fortnight; but i was very nervous about the day that i should be at the terraces with the party, when pierre, perchance getting hold of some of the liquor, might raise cain and wreck the dinner. however, i put my trust in providence, and also in the discretion and vigilance of the reliable old non-com. who would be left in charge of the camp during my absence, and to whom i gave instructions to keep a very sharp eye on pierre and his movements; so, hoping for the best, i received his excellency with equanimity. the first night all went well. pierre served up such a _recherché_ dinner that the governor sent for him to be congratulated, and in his enthusiasm offered the old chap a drink. alas! i dare not interfere, though well i knew this meant trouble; for the first tot to pierre was like the first taste of blood to a tiger. pierre picked up a bottle of brandy, and pouring out a bosu'n's nip, drank it off to the health of ze governor, ze great queen victoria, and ze great napoleon, and then took himself off, but, _horrible dictu_, he also took the bottle with him. unfortunately, just at that moment my whole attention was drawn from him by a lady questioning me about his adventures, so he escaped with his plunder without my observing the act. i left the table as soon as possible, and sought out pierre, whom i found walking about on his tiptoes, looking scornfully at the troopers, while he informed them that he himself was pierre de feugeron, ze grand scout. he also demanded their attention, that he himself, and no other man, was pierre de feugeron, ze grand _cordon-bleu_, who had cooked dinners for the emperor, and that the great reine victoria had sent for him to cook ze dinner for herself. le bon dieu save ze queen, ip ip---- he had just reached this stage when i reached for him, and ze grand _cordon-bleu_ retired at the double to his hut; but, alas! i knew nothing about that plundered bottle, which he had planted before my advent. the next morning, after an early breakfast, and after i had reiterated my cautions to the non-com., and my warnings and threats to pierre, we started in canoes for rotomahana, where the governor and his party enjoyed themselves thoroughly, returning in the evening to wairoa. now i must confess that although i placed great faith in both providence and the non-com., yet black care sat on my soul like a wet blanket; and this would have been considerably enhanced had i but known that a sudden stampede of the horses had forced away the non-com. and his men, leaving pierre alone in camp to work his wicked will. all the way back in the canoes the conversation turned on gastronomy, and his excellency, well pleased with the day and having a forty-dollar appetite, looked forward to his dinner, and hoped it would be as good as the one on the previous night. i hoped so too; but coming events cast their shadows before them, and i had my doubts. at last we landed and climbed the steep hill that led to the flat on which the camp was pitched. alas! while still afar off i heard the wild war-whoops and blood-curdling yells i knew so well, and was assured that my very worst apprehensions were more than justified. i at once pushed on, the governor accompanying me, and on our reaching the camp there was our _cordon-bleu_, armed as per usual, dancing a war-dance that would have excited the envious admiration of a crazy hau hau. the governor paused for a moment, and stood aghast in astonishment at the horrible-looking object before us, then full of pluck, for of course he did not know how utterly harmless the old fellow was, rushed up to him and said soothingly: "pierre, how goes the dinner?" pierre briefly answered that the dinner had gone to a place where it must have been overcooked and spoilt long ago. but quoth his excellency: "i am so hungry." "and a ruddy good job too," howled pierre. "it is good for kings and governors to be hungry. i myself am pierre de feugeron, the great communist. i myself am pierre de feugeron, the noble anarchist, and i scorn to cook the dinners of kings and governors." then seeing the rest of the party, who by this time had arrived and were regarding him with awe and astonishment, he at once consigned the governor and the rest of us to the same place as he had committed the dinner, and was proceeding with his _pas seul_ when some maoris, acting on my instructions, took a hand in the game. exit the noble anarchist, to be tied to a tree for the night, to regain his loyalty, while i had to bustle about to knock up an impromptu dinner for my sorrowing and shocked guests. chapter xvii a south sea bubble "so we found no copper island, nor rapid fortunes made, but by strictly honest trading a dividend we paid. and maori browne converted, with an ancient flint-lock gun, a mob of ruddy pagans, beneath the southern sun." i was in auckland with a lot of spare time on my hands. i had come down-country intending to go over to australia, but, having been stuck up by a flooded river for two days, i had missed my boat, and consequently was planted there, as boats at that time were neither so numerous nor ran so often as they do now. on the morning after my arrival i was strolling down queen's street, wondering what i was to do with myself, when i was hailed from the other side of the road, and, looking in the direction from which the coo-ee came, i at once recognised the long red nose and brilliant scarlet hair of a man who had been our regimental surgeon during the past wars. his had been a hard case. out and out the best medical man we had in our service, as far as professional knowledge and skill went, he was still a born fighting man, and was always more anxious, while under fire, to damage the enemy than to repair friends. this inclination was somewhat held in check and restrained by the roman catholic chaplain, a great pal of his who was always in the firing line doing the best he could for any wounded man, be he papist or heretic. well, one day while on a patrol along the east coast, we had a scrap with a few maoris, and the doctor, who happened to be with us, to his huge delight, killed one. now i do not for a moment want to assert that this was the first man the doctor had ever killed. he had, doubtless, during the practice of his profession, killed very many, but it was the first hau hau who had ever fallen to his carbine; for, although a brilliant medico, he was a vile shot, and the dear doctor was greatly elated, so much so that he determined to have a trophy in commemoration of the event. now the maori was a fine big fellow of some rank, and had the skin on his thighs magnificently tattooed, so the doctor, wanting a _spolia opima, faute de mieux_ flayed off and preserved the tattooed portions of the bounder's epidermis, which he cured and subsequently had made into a tobacco pouch. he was very proud of this pouch, and was fond of exhibiting it and making people to whom he showed it guess from what material it was manufactured. he did so once too often; for one night after dining well, though not wisely, he exhibited it in the smoking-room of the club at wellington. the same official was present whose son's leg-bone was afterwards annexed and turned into a flute. he was at that time posing as a goody-goody minister; and, pretending to be shocked, brought such pressure to bear that he forced the medico to resign; and so we lost the services of our best doctor, and the company of a thundering good fellow. all this had happened some time before, and i had not seen him for over a year. we had been great friends, and i was under great obligations to him, as he had on several occasions mended me after i had been broken, and had even saved me my left leg when two other sawbones wanted to amputate it. so you can easily understand i was delighted to meet him, and we at once adjourned to perkins's saloon and proceeded to wet this auspicious meeting. well, no sooner had we lowered our first cocktail than the doctor demanded what i was doing in auckland, and on my telling him i had lost my boat he expressed unfeeling delight and thanked providence for sending and detaining me, as i was the very man he wanted, and i must take charge of a party he had raised to search the south seas for a copper island. now i had not lost a copper island, and should not have known what to do with it if i found one, yet the very mention of the south seas allured me like a honey-pot to a wasp. then as he went on to open out his plans, and tell me the names of the men who had joined him in his scheme, most of whom i knew well, i saw at once, copper island or no copper island, there was every chance of a rollicking good time. so when the men dropped in by twos and threes, perkins's saloon being their rendezvous, and all of them joining the doctor in persuading me, i quite gave way and consented to join with them and take command. a case of champagne was quickly ordered and consumed, drinking luck to the venture, and i found myself chief of forty as reckless, devil-may-care filibusters as ever banded themselves together. do not think, dear reader, we were going to hoist jolly roger, or anything of that sort. no, we were going to search through some of the least-frequented groups of islands to find one of pure copper, and we were all to return fabulously rich. if we could not find the copper island, we might yet find something else of value, and even failing that we would trade with the islanders, gentle or otherwise, for bêche-de-mer, whales' teeth, or anything else we thought could be disposed of to our advantage. trade, i say, not take; we signed articles as gentlemen adventurers with every liberty but no licence. we were, moreover, all of us highly respectable, very moral and well-brought-up young men. every one of us had served and seen years of active service, so all knew the value of discipline. most of us were public school boys, and although we might have found ourselves _de trop_ at an exeter hall spring meeting tea-party, yet we were quite fit to take our places and shine in the beau-monde that at that period graced the south seas. our party for the above purpose had chartered a very large and powerful american schooner, with a skipper, a yankee who knew the south seas well, and who turned out to be a rattling good fellow, two mates, a brace of cooks, a few china boys as flunkeys, and we worked her ourselves. strict discipline was to be maintained. every one of us had put a considerable sum of money into the venture; we all knew one another well, and two days after i had met the doctor we went to sea well armed, well found, and as good a crowd as ever set sail, without a single rotter amongst us. well, one lovely morning we got our anchor and glided out of the splendid harbour before a fine, fair wind, made our offing, then, setting every inch of muslin, started on our quest. the schooner proved herself to be very fast, and also, a few days afterwards, in a bit of a blow, showed herself, although a trifle wet, yet on the whole to be a really good sea boat. the skipper and mates not only proved themselves good seamen, but good fellows; so we were all well contented and looked forward to great profit and more fun. those were the days when a man yearning for excitement could have his fill in the south seas. everyone there did what he liked, unless a stronger man prevented him. those were the days when bully hayes, in his lovely brigantine, _leonora_, swept the seas and established a funk in everyone not too strong or too poor to fear him. bully bragg was still to the fore. the infamous brig, _karl_, and the psalm-singing scotch scoundrel who owned her had not yet been found out, and there were plenty more black bird-catchers, sandalwood traders and others always ready to grab and take anything, provided they were strong enough to do so. we had, however, nothing to fear from savage or picaroon: we were a strong party, with plenty of arms, and all of us well able to use them. we wished to interfere with no one, and whoever interfered with us must take the consequence. so we sailed on, enjoying the day and careless of the morrow. if i were to write half of what happened to us on that glorious trip it would fill books. we met bully hayes and hobnobbed with him, finding him the most obliging and courteous of men. but then we carried two twelve-pounders and fifty good rifles, so we deserved fair treatment, and received it. we landed on very many of the islands, and saw a good deal of the natives. their conduct was mixed. so was ours. we paid well for everything we required in the way of wood, water and fresh provisions, when they were civil to us, and when they were the other thing we still took our requirements, and they took the other thing. so we sailed on, strong in the knowledge of our rectitude and integrity, and confident in our ability to take care of ourselves. well, we had a rollicking good time of it. but we did not find that copper island, nor anything else we wanted of any great value. we therefore turned our attention to trading, in which peaceful pursuit we were very successful. our strength in numbers, our discipline, and our skill with our weapons, overawing most of the savage islanders, enabled us to put in with impunity to places where smaller parties dared not have ventured, and also ensured us fair treatment, a good market and prompt payment. so we prospered as gentlemen adventurers of a highly moral tone deserve to. one day we put in to an island where half the people, under the guidance of an old american missionary, had turned into what they called christians, the remaining half still retaining their ancient superstitions. the missionary was a dear, good old chap, as simple and confiding as a child, and it was very difficult to understand how such a cute nation as america could have produced such a man. i do not know to what brand of fancy religion he belonged, but he was not church of england or roman catholic. anyhow, he was a good man, and we respected him accordingly. now in a bit of a blow we had had a few days before we had been somewhat damaged, and seeing that the lagoon in which we were anchored was a very safe one, and the natives fairly civil, our skipper determined to remain a few days to complete the necessary repairs. so we landed a lot of stores, and started trading for bêche-de-mer, which animal the natives caught in large quantities. during our trading i made the acquaintance of the head devil dodger of the pagan crowd, and found him to be not half a bad old fellow. he was, naturally, rather bitter at the desertion of the half of his parishioners, and gave me to understand that his tithes had so decreased that he could barely make a living, and that the island was not, in his opinion, large enough to support two rival churches. so, judging i was a knowledgeable man, he asked my advice on this point. he also requested my active assistance to aid him in his endeavours to regain his rightful emoluments and status. his first proposal was that he should kill his rival sky-pilot; but that i forbade, and impressed on him the fact that if he hurt the missionary a ship of war would quickly come and blow him and his island galley west. he next proposed that i, to show my friendship, should oblige him so far as to kill the missionary for him. this proposition was, of course, decidedly negatived. then he suggested that i should at least shoot the boss convert, the next cause of my old friend's trouble. again i had to refuse, and explained to him that the quarrel was not mine, and that the white man's god only allowed us to kill one another in pukka (war). then he requested the loan of my rifle to do the deed with himself; but i opened the breech and let him look down the barrel, explaining to him that only a christian could use that weapon, as a heathen, not possessing the spirit of the true faith, might receive damage from the breech. he shook his head and intimated that it was a weary, weary world and full of disappointments. but an old flint-lock musket among the trade goods catching his eye, he begged to examine it, and seeing it had no opening at the breech he at once said that it was the very weapon he had dreamed of with which to right his wrongs. would i give it him? i am not a business man, but yet i suggested that i should like payment for it in bêche-de-mer or whales' teeth. alas! he was a poor man, he had none; but would i not lend him the gun, just to shoot one christian with? i pointed out the dangers he ran in attempting to do such a thing. the mana (spirit) of the christian god was far stronger than the mana of his pagan ancestors, and most likely if i lent him the musket it would only bring trouble on himself, and he would be sorry for it. he, however, refused to grasp my reasoning, sound as it was; so knowing quite well what would happen, i lent him the old flint-lock. he was delighted, and promptly borrowed two handfuls of coarse black powder to feed it with. these he carefully poured down it, then rammed home various chunks of coral, pebbles, etc., topping up with a fid of rag. at my earnest request he moved a short distance from my camp, to a spot where he dug a shallow hole in the sand, in which he lay dogo, and waited with great patience for his christian friend to come along. towards evening come along he did. i knew the bounder by sight and i did not admire him. christianity, as a rule, does not improve the manners of the gentle savage, and it certainly had not added to this johnny's stock of humility, for he swaggered along with as much side as a new-made lance jack, bumptious cheek being written all over him, in fact he looked the very quintessence of insolence and cheap pride. presently he arrived within a few yards of the spot where nemesis awaited him, and where he was to receive a shock that was to fill him with the fear of the lord for a considerable period of time. yes, indeed he was just within a yard or two of the little heap of sand that masked the old devil dodger's ambush when that ancient worthy rose up and, holding the old gun out at the full stretch of both arms, shut his eyes, pulled the trigger and let go. for a moment the powder fizzled in the touch hole, then off it went with the report and recoil of a -pounder. where the charge went the lord only knows, but the report, flame and smoke were quite enough for the christian. he turned and fled, and went round the bay, at a pace that would have won him any marathon race record in the world; and the last thing i saw of him was a black dot on the white beach, disappearing round a far cape and still travelling as if the devil had kicked him edgeways. if the report had upset the equanimity of the convert, the recoil had been equally deadly to the equilibrium of the pagan. struck full in the face by the heel-plate of the old gun, he turned at least three back somersaults; and when he came to the conviction that he was still on this planet he rose up, and after straightening out and arranging his scattered features, he went and looked at the old musket, and solemnly cursed it for at least ten minutes. then seeing it was now in a state of quietude, he gingerly picked it up and, holding it at arm's-length, brought it to me and handed it back, remarking sadly, with a shake of his head: "this gun is no good." here i joined issue with him, and declared it to be a very good gun indeed. had it not knocked him over and over again, and that with the peaceful end of it? had it not made him see more stars in a few minutes than he had ever before seen in his whole life? and if that was the case to himself, had not even the talk of it caused his enemy to run faster and farther than any mortal man had ever been known to run before? well, then, how much more damage would it not have done, with its business end, had it only been directed by a man who possessed proper mana in proportion to the strength of the gun? no, the gun was a good gun, and the fault clearly lay with himself. again i not pointed him out the dangers he ran in attacking a christian? had i not assured him that the mana of the white man's god was far stronger than the mana of his pagan deities? had he believed me and taken my advice? no. then who was to blame? why, undoubtedly himself; and consequently he had suffered for it. this he was forced to allow, but then the same question cropped up again. what was to be done? could i not give him some sound advice? why, certainly. the best course he could pursue would be for himself and people to at once turn christians, and then, if they obeyed the missionary implicitly, they would soon make up the leeway of mana that the others had acquired, and he would be on the same plane as the other josser. to this he agreed, and swore he and his people would be converted right away, and started off hot-toe to summon them. i had just finished telling my comrades about my first attempt at converting the heathen when who should appear but his reverence himself, in a terrible state of fluster. approaching me, he said sorrowfully: "surely i am misinformed: surely you did not lend a musket to one of these heathens with which to kill one of my dear christian converts." i pleaded guilty. "is it not written," i said, "'he that lendeth to the poor giveth to the lord'? this poor chap hadn't a musket of his own so i lent him one." the dear old fellow was very much shocked, but i convinced him that i was fully aware no harm would come from my perhaps injudicious kindness; and finally, on the appearance of my old friend, the knight of the rueful countenance, with his leading people, who one and all declared that they were convinced of the power of the christian god, and that they were all both anxious and willing to join his flock, his sorrow turned to gladness, and he declared that providence worked in wondrous ways, and that now he was convinced that our visit had been a great blessing to his community, although he had had at first grave doubts upon the subject. he also returned thanks for the sudden and wonderful conversion of the heathen, and declared that now the whole island would become the home of one happy family, living together in peace and harmony. i had my doubts; but he was such a good old fellow that we all turned to and built him a swagger church, and endowed it with a spare ship's bell we had on board. so that when we left the dear old innocent took a tearful farewell of us and gave us his blessing; and a really good man's blessing, like a tinker's cuss, does no one any harm. he also prophesied we should all meet again in heaven; but there again i have grave doubts, as i fancy most of our crew were making for a more tropical latitude. well, i have never heard of that island since the day we left it, and i have even forgotten its name; but i have always felt uncertain about the happy-family part of the business, and fear his reverence was premature in the thanks he gave concerning it. for on the day we left, on my presenting the exdevil dodger with an american axe, as a parting gift, he gravely informed me that he felt the mana of the christians rising so strongly within him that as soon as he had acquired a few more hymns and prayers he should feel strong enough to have another go at his enemy, and he thought, this time, he would fetch him, especially as my beautiful present would provide him with a beau-ideal weapon that would do its work quietly and not kick back and destroy its innocent proprietor. i may therefore be forgiven for my doubts on the brotherhood, peace and harmony of that happy family. i have never tried to convert any heathens since, but i sincerely hope that my one attempt proved, in the long run, as profitable as our trip to the south seas did for us. but may i again remark, i hae ma doots. [illustration: yarning around the camp fire] part ii chapter i the dÉbut of the lost legion in natal "there were giants in the earth in those days." moses. of course ninety-nine out of every hundred old war dogs who have the misfortune to retain their pristine longing for hard work and an active life, when they are rapidly approaching the allotted threescore years and ten of their existence, and maybe, like the writer, are incapacitated by rheumatism, sciatica, tic-doloreux, housemaid's knee, liver and the hump from ever participating again in such sports as their hearts yearn for but their age and infirmities render impracticable, sit down, and, instead of employing their remaining years in making their souls, grouse and grumble at their bad luck, blaming everyone except themselves (_bien entendu_) for their bad luck, and maybe poverty, entirely forgetting the glorious years they put in when they were able to lead a charge, rush a kopje, or back a bucking horse with the best. yes, and they are prone to belittle, and perhaps to undervalue, the men who have shouldered them out and taken their places in the fighting line, and who are at present responsible for and are upholding the honour of our gracious king and glorious old flag on the frontiers of our splendid empire. "yes, by gad, sir," growls one old war dog to another, "these present men are not worth their salt, sir. they should have been with us, sir, fifty years ago, then they would have known what privations and hand-to-hand fighting meant. nowadays they are fitted out with flat trajectory magazine rifles, maxim guns, pom-poms, and the lord only knows what else, while we had to fight with old muzzle-loading rifles, sneiders or martini-henry's that were always jamming, etc., etc., etc." grouse, grumble, grouse: and so they go on _ad infinitum_. yes, it is very true men who are approaching the age-limit of threescore years and ten had in their early manhood to fight with inferior rifles to those that our gallant troops are armed with at present, and, speaking from personal experience, deuced good weapons we thought them, and were always game and happy enough to use them when luck sent any fighting our way. well, i have no doubt that in those days our seniors were making the same remarks and passing similar strictures on us, that we nowadays are passing on our successors, and as they in their turn will bestow on theirs. still there is no doubt that, thanks to science and the enormous expenditure of cash, the lot of the present-day fighting-man is infinitely better than it was fifty years ago, while far more men and much better material were employed on a war of conquest during the sixties and the seventies of the last century than were deemed necessary fifty years previously; in fact you may say it has been so way back to the days of romance, when samson used to play a lone hand against the philistines, or even when sir galahad and his compeers used to start out holy-grailing, giant-killing, dragon-hunting or lovely-maiden-rescuing. true, there are nothing like the hardships in modern wars there were in those of the past, although i opine that the turks have just had about as bad a time of it as ever men wanted to face; but then it has been sharp, quick and soon over, and entirely due to their rotten government allowing them to be caught on the hop. (please god the precious gang who at present misrule our country will not put us into a like hole.) still i doubt very much at the present day if you could get troops of any nation to voluntarily face the hardships that pizarro's men had to undergo during the conquest of peru, or any of our young sybaritic loungers to don aluminium waistcoats (much less steel ones) and go for a jaunt crusading as their hardy ancestors did. but, mark time, the majority of the progenitors of our nowadays gilded youths were in those times trading in old clo's or doing a bit of stiff and not wearing metal vests and unmentionables at all at all. however, we will pass over the good ould toimes, when a rale fighting-man had no need to insure himself with lloyd george against unemployment, and comedown to the nineteenth century--in fact the years - , when there were but few english in natal, and the black fiend, dingaan, who had murdered his brother tshaka, ruled the roost in zululand with his army of , bloodthirsty warriors. i am not writing a book on the history of natal, but, as out of every englishmen have probably never heard of tshaka or dingaan, and are just as ignorant of the struggles of the early settlers in the garden colony of south africa, i may state that, although natal was not officially occupied by british troops till , when captain smith of the th regiment marched there with a portion of his corps and a detachment of artillery and built a fort near kongella, in which he was speedily surrounded and besieged by the trek boers under pretorius: yet small parties of englishmen (good lost legionaries every one of them) had years previously taken root in the vicinity of where durban now stands, where they carried on the usual pioneer pursuits, such as hunting and trading with the natives. yes; they had taken root, and meant to hold their own and stick to their foothold in the country, notwithstanding the jealousy and secret enmity of large parties of trek boers, who were crowding into natal for the purpose of forming a dutch republic there. well, the year had been a hot one for the boer trekkers, as in the early part of it pieter retief, a chief, one of their most influential commandants, together with seventy picked boers and from thirty to forty picked hottentots, having visited dingaan's kraal for the purpose of making a treaty, were inveigled, unarmed, into the cattle enclosure, overpowered and brutally murdered. this act of treachery the savage monster quickly followed up with a lightning raid into natal, during which over boers, men, women and children, were butchered with fiendish barbarity. this raid he continued down to port natal, where the aforementioned few englishmen were forced to take refuge on board two ships that, providentially, happened to be in the harbour. later on in the year the boer war punitive expedition, under the celebrated commandant piet uys, were ambushed and badly worsted, having to fall back, with the loss of their o.c. and many men, so that the year is still regarded by the dutch inhabitants of south africa as a very black year indeed. now the zulu raid to port natal had upset the equilibrium of the english settlers, who, being moreover very savage at the losses they had sustained, determined to pay back the zulu potentate in his own coin. first of all they volunteered to join piet uys' commando, but as he entered zululand from the north they were left behind, and so determined to form a punitive column of their own. and, now i have reeled off this prosy prelude, let me tell you how it was i first heard of the exploits of the first band of english lost legionaries, who, although fighting for their own hand, made the english pioneers in natal respected and feared by both boer and savage, while the story also convinced your humble servant that, no matter how good he fancied himself and his lambs to be, still, in the near past, there were better and more daring men tailing on to the halyards of the old rag than either he individually or all his flock collectively were. and now let me trek. it was during the latter end of december , just previous to the zulu war, and forty years after the aforementioned incidents had occurred in natal history, that i was trekking through the thorn country from grey town to rourke's drift, together with the staff of the rd n.n.c., and we were camped for the day on the banks of the tugela river, when there arrived, at the same outspan, an old interior trader, trekking out of zululand. now, as i was particularly anxious to gain all the information i could about that country, i entered into conversation with him, and eventually he accepted my invitation to come over to my waggon, have some lunch and a yarn. tiffin having been discussed and pipes lit we were chatting on the probabilities of the coming war when he noticed my m.h. sporting carbine and heavy b.l. revolver that my servant had just cleaned, and at once requested permission to examine them. after he had done so, and i had explained to him the mechanism of the carbine and the flatness of its trajectory in comparison with the sneider with which he himself was armed, he heaved a sigh, and handing back the weapon said: "ah, if the first english army that invaded zululand had been provided with such guns, instead of old flint muskets, they might have won the day." smelling a yarn i replied: "i thought no english army had ever invaded zululand up to date." my guest smole the pitying smile that an old-timer usually employs when a new chum exhibits his ignorance or puts his foot into it and queried: "did you ever hear of cane?" "oh yes," quoth i; "if you mean the cockatoo agriculturist who had the first row with the boss of the original sheep-raising industry, i have heard of him." "no," responded my companion; "the party i allude to was no relation of his--did not even spell his name the same way, though both of them were handy with their dukes, and prone to go for their neighbours when riled. by the way, what is the strength of your invading force?" "oh," said i, "about white men and an equal number of natives." "and i suppose," queried he, "all your white men are armed with m.h. rifles, and that you will take three or four batteries of artillery, rockets, etc., and that a percentage of your natives will be armed with rifles?" i nodded assent. "well," he continued, "the first english army which invaded zululand, when dingaan was at the zenith of his power, consisted of englishmen, perhaps half-a-dozen dutchmen, hottentots and about natal kafirs, and they had only old m.l. muskets to the whole outfit." "oh, come," said i; "you're trying to pull my leg." "devil a bit," said he. then he spun me the following yarn, which anyone may verify by perusing the late mr d. c. f. moodie's book, "the history of the battles and adventures of the british, the boers and the zulus in south africa," from which volume i have not only refreshed my memory, but have cribbed many paragraphs, which i shall quote during my narration, as i consider the whole story to be so incredible that it requires the evidence of an historian who, although not present himself at the battle, was yet alive at that time and who both knew and conversed with the survivors of the invasion. after the raid made by dingaan on port natal, in , two englishmen, named john cane and robert biggar, together with a few other british adventurers smarting under the losses they had sustained, determined to retrieve them and avenge their injured feeling by making a raid into zululand, for which purpose they mustered britishers, or dutchmen, hottentots who were first-class, up-to-date fighting men and less than kafirs. the number of fire-arms this motley outfit possessed was old-fashioned muskets, which number included a few rifles and sporting guns of that epoch, the great majority of the kafirs carrying only their shields and assegais, and this expeditionary force they called the grand army of natal. thus equipped, these daring lost legionaries crossed the tugela in february , and entered a mountainous broken country, where one of the most bloodthirsty despots that providence ever allowed to exist awaited them, with an army of over , highly trained warriors who had never before been beaten. long odds, my gentle reader? yes; too long odds even for a bellicose irishman wid his back teeth awash wid the crater. still, they did it, and now i am going to quote moodie. having crossed the tugela river the advance guard encountered some zulu spies, and fired upon them, thus opening the ball. ascending the opposite hill they came upon the kraal of "endonda kusuka"--that is, tardy in starting--and surrounded it before daylight. a detachment of dingaan's army was lying there, upon whom they opened fire with their guns; when the inmates of the huts, finding the firing directed low, took hold on the tops of the huts, holding by the sticks which formed the wattle-work. this plan was, however, quickly detected, on account of the huts sinking with the pressure, when the settlers directed their fire higher up, and the people fell, wounded or dead. the whole kraal was destroyed, the people being killed and the huts burnt. as the morning of this awful day dawned, many of those who were attacked lying dead and others being in the pangs of death, one of them said: "you may do with me as you please, and kill me; but you will soon see and feel the great elephant"--meaning dingaan's army. the elephant soon appeared, and crushed them to death under his ponderous feet. the land was very hilly, the hills stretching out something like the fingers of a man's hand when extended, rising to ridges in the centre, and descending to deep ravines on each side; the kraal being near the top of one of these ridges and reaching down the slopes on each side. it was at a short distance from this kraal that the great elephant presented himself and uttered his piercing cry and terrific scream, which, coming from thousands of infuriated savages, wrought to the highest pitch of frenzy, must have had an appalling effect, being enough to make the stoutest heart quail. dingaan did not appear in person in this notable battle, nor were the old warriors allowed to fight, the young men being destined to win the highest honours, and take the weapons of their foes as trophies to perpetuate the memory of their conquest. the zulu captains commanding were umahlebe, zulu and nongalazi. these, with the old warriors, took their stand on the hill, from whence they could see all that passed, and issue their commands accordingly. seven zulu regiments were brought into the field of action. they were flushed with three successive victories--first, the cutting-off of relief and his party at the great place; second, the slaughter of the boers in the weenen district; and third, the defeat of uys and the dispersion of his people. besides they were full of rage at the loss of their cattle, women and children at utunjambeli, and the destruction of the kraal before their eyes, for which they were burning to be revenged. these circumstances led them to fight with a fury which could only be quenched in death. when they were shot down, if they could crawl, they would take an assegai and try to inflict a fatal stab on one of their bitter foes, rendering it needful to fire upon them again and again until dead. the natal army had therefore to fight with the vigour of men whose lives were in a fearful balance, and who were made desperate by the greatness of the impending danger. they were drawn up near the kraal in question, the english and hottentots with muskets in front, and the native aids with assegais in the rear. the first division of the zulu army came on with a fearful rush, but were met by the steady fire and deadly shots of their foes, which cut them down like grass. they were checked, broken, driven back and defeated, many lying dead and dying at the feet of the settlers. robert joyce, or, as he was called, bob joyce, a deserter from the nd regiment, had ten men under him with guns, besides kafirs; and such fearful execution did they do that they cut a pathway through the zulu regiment as they approached, until the zulu commanders ordered a change in the mode of attack. the first division, however, only retreated to make way for the zulu forces to come from different points favoured by the formation of the hill. cane sent ogle's kafirs to attack the zulus on the south-west, whilst he, with the main body of the natal army, took the north-east. when ogle's kafirs had dispersed these, they were to come round and take the zulus in the flank; instead of which, the hour of revenge being come for some affront which they received at cane's hands, when they had dispersed the zulus they fled to the drift, on which the zulu chiefs exclaimed: "o ganti baka balegane"--_i.e._ "they can run, can they?" the sight of them running inspired fresh courage into the zulus, who now closed in from all quarters upon the diminished natal army, coming down as an overwhelming flood, the mighty masses of which it was impossible to resist. the strife was deadly in the extreme. the zulus lost thousands of their people: they were cut down until they formed banks over which those who were advancing had to climb, as well as over the wounded, crawling and stabbing, tenacious of life, and selling it dearly. cane fought hard and died of his wounds. a fine old kafir who was present gave me a description of his death. he was questioned about other matters, but as soon as he came to this his eyes appeared to flash with excitement and his hands moved in all forms to express the firing of the guns and the stabbing with the assegais. he took a stick and held one point to his breast to show where the assegai entered cane's chest. he then gave his companion another stick, to show how a second assegai was buried between cane's shoulders, cane's gun was lying on his left arm, his pipe in his mouth, his head nodding until he fell from his horse and died. his horse was killed close by. the last deed of this man was tragical. one of his own people who had thrown away his badge was coming to snatch the assegai from his back when cane, supposing him to be a zulu, shot him at once over his shoulder. stubbs, another of the englishmen, was stabbed by a boy, and when he felt it was his death wound exclaimed: "am i to be killed by a boy like you?" biggar fell close by. the natal army being surrounded and cut up, heaps of slain lay dead upon the field, to be devoured by beasts of prey, their bones being left to bleach under many summer suns. the work of destruction was, however, not yet complete. no sooner had the leaders fallen than the natal kafirs threw away their badges and shields, and seized the shields of the zulus in order to favour their escape, whilst the swiftness with which they could run was their best defence. but in making their escape the zulus knew their ground, and that the river must be crossed, and they therefore so surrounded them as to compel them to take one only course. in flight then these wretched beings had no alternative but to take a path at the bottom of which there is a descent of feet perpendicular to the river, having deep water at the bottom, and so numerous were the bodies heaped upon each other in this great grave that at length, instead of leaping, they walked over the bodies of those who filled the chasm. one of those who made the leap was upepe, who was stabbed as he went under water by a zulu, who cursed him and said: "i have finished you"; but the death wound was not given, for the man escaped. in order to complete the dire destruction of this day of blood and death, a division of zulus were sent round to cut off those who might escape by the river. these men were to be seen up to the armpits in the stream, stabbing any who might be in danger of escaping; and very few gained the opposite bank and lived. it was here that another leader, blankenburg, was killed. of the few who escaped, some swam, some dived, and some floated along, feigning to be dead. one goba crossed the river four times and was saved at last. petrus roetrzie, or "piet elias" as better known by many, entered the river lower than most of the others, and got into the long reeds of the opposite bank, where the zulus searched for him in vain. in this terrible battle fell john cane, robert biggar, john stubbs, thomas carden, john russell,--blankenburg, richard wood, william wood, henry batt, john campbell,--lovedale and thomas campbell, with two or three other white men, leaving not a dozen to return and tell the tale of woe. of the hottentots three or four returned; and of the kafirs very few except ogle's. the few who escaped arrived at home singly, many of them having been pursued nearly to the bay of durban, owing their deliverance to the shelter of the bush and the darkness of the night. most of the particulars herein recorded i can vouch for as being correct, having conversed with several who were engaged in the transaction, and others who were residing in natal at the time. here endeth the extract that i have taken from moodie's aforementioned history. now, judging by the foregoing account of the battle of the tugela--which it must be remembered has been extracted, word for word, from a history written by a knowledgeable gentleman of undoubted veracity, who not only knew the survivors of the action, but had heard the yarn from their own lips, and that the story told me by the old trader who also had been acquainted with the majority of the men composing the english army, he being a full-grown boy at the time, and resident in port natal, coincided and agreed with mr moodie's narrative in all the principal details--i think i am not far wrong when i assert that the battle of the tugela was a scrumptious one, in which every man engaged must have enjoyed himself to the utmost of his ability, and no one could subsequently grumble at not getting his fair share of the fighting. yet when you come to consider the numbers and equipment of that invading force, and compare them with the resources at lord chelmsford's disposal when he began to play the same game, just forty years afterwards, and which were then declared to be inadequate, you are forced to come to the conclusion that cane and his lost legionaries were a bit over-venturesome. for looking back at my own experience in the legion, i do not think i could ever have found twenty men daring enough to undertake the same contract, and i am quite certain that, even had the men been willing, i individually should never have possessed sufficient pluck to have bossed the show. the story of cane and his daring companions, unheard of in england, is, i fear, being rapidly forgotten in south africa, but should any patriotic natalian with imperialistic convictions wish to perpetuate the memory of those gallant adventurers, who, in despite of boers, savages, the devil, and the gasbags of downing street, formed the advance guard of the settlers in his lovely country, and see fit to raise a subscription to build a cairn in commemoration of the pluck, or call it foolhardiness--if you like--of the first army of natal, i, poor old sinner as i am, will gladly plank down my mite. yes, by gad! i will, even if i have to forgo my baccy for a month to raise the oof. for, by the great gun of athlone! those men were men, and died like men, and may the british empire never run short of lost legionaries of like kidney! and now, before the call of "lights out" is sounded, let me relate briefly another deed of daring, performed by one of the old-time natal settlers, and as i am not writing a history of natal, but only recounting a few well-authenticated facts of heroic bravery, carried through by a handful of lost legionaries, it will suffice to remind my reader that port natal was occupied for the first time by british regular troops in may , when captain smith ( th regiment), with men and two field pieces, arrived there. he at once entrenched himself on the flat ground near where the city of durban now stands, in which camp he was speedily surrounded, and cooped up by an overwhelming number of trek boers. this rendered it absolutely necessary for the beleaguered o.c. to communicate with his superiors at the cape, so as to warn them of his dangerous position, and to request immediate reinforcements. but how to communicate was the problem that required solving, and it was solved, thanks to the devotion and undauntable courage of one of the early settlers, who promptly volunteered to carry the despatch. now despatch-carrying during war-time is by no means a salutary occupation, even when the distance is short, and the country over which it has to be carried is open, with decent roads. what then is the said duty to be called, when the bearer has to traverse a distance of miles, through thick bush, dangerous swamps, rugged mountains, and across innumerable rivers, very many of which have to be negotiated by swimming. also please bear in mind that this delectable country through which the orderly must travel swarmed with hostile tribes, and was infested with wild animals, such as lions, leopards, elephants, etc. troth, i call such a contract a decidedly unhealthy one. yet such was the nature of the road richard king had to travel alone, and bedad! he did it so successfully, for after being ferried across the harbour with two horses, on the night of the th may , he slipped past the boer pickets, and overcoming all the difficulties, and passing through all the manifold dangers met with on the journey, he delivered his despatches ten days after his start. i regret exceedingly i am unable to recount the details of that wonderful feat of skill, pluck and endurance, although i was told them by one of king's relatives, nor am i aware that the yarn has ever been written; for i remember, having done a bit of despatch-riding myself, how much i was entranced by the narrative, and have always considered richard king's exploit to be a record worthy to be treasured in the annals of the "legion that never was listed," and i am sure that most of my readers will allow i am right when i again assert "there were giants on the earth in those days." chapter ii a queer card yes, you are quite right in saying that there must have been many queer as well as hard cases in south africa during the seventies and eighties of the last century. some of these i met, and knew well, and if i had been asked, during that period, to assign the biscuit to anyone of them in particular, i should without hesitation have handed it to one whom i shall call mad conway: a sobriquet he had earned by his wild pranks and escapades. as i said, this was not his name, but anyone who resided either in kimberley, free state or transvaal, during those years, will at once recognise who is hereby designated, or at all events will do so when they have read a few lines further. now mad conway had also another nickname, as he was likewise called, especially by the boers, vrei stadt conway; the prefix having been earned by his numerous deeds of reckless gallantry, performed while fighting for the free state against the basutos, during the war of - . yes; mad conway was a caution, and in his own line of business stood out unique. let me describe him, and recount a few incidents in his wild career. to begin with, he was a cadet of a fine old english county family, some of the members of which were celebrated in the world of english sport during the early part of the nineteenth century, and whose name, like that of osbaldistone, is still treasured by all true votaries of diana. well, conway in no way disgraced the family reputation as a horseman, he being one of the very best i have ever seen, and would, provided his lot had been cast in the shires, have gained a place in sporting song and story as well as his ancestors. after having been sent home from eton for some mad escapade, he joined a crack cavalry corps, and had to send in his papers, owing to his having mistaken his colonel's pet charger for a horse belonging to a newly joined cornet. now this charger was held as sacred in the corps as the mares of mahomet were held by the moslems, but conway, after a heavy night in the mess, converted it, with considerable artistic taste and skill, and a couple of pots of paint, into a zebra. on leaving the service--as he was over head and ears in debt to the jew sharks, who in those days battened on the follies of young officers--troth! they do it still, when not more lucratively employed in the art of bogus company promoting, and other congenial pursuits--his people thought a _tour du monde_ would be a salutary exercise for him, and that if he could pick out some salubrious spot about half-way round, and make a permanent camp there, why, so much the better for them. so mad conway landed in south africa some time in the fifties. now what he originally intended to do there i don't know, and i don't think he knew himself; but he certainly wandered all over the country, taking a hand wherever the chance occurred in any kafir fighting that might be going on, and putting in his spare time big-game hunting and exploring. in both these congenial occupations he quickly gained the reputation of being a man utterly devoid of fear, while the wild and fantastic pranks he would play when he happened to be in a town made him an object of wonder and astonishment to both the phlegmatic boers and the lazy portuguese, some of them even causing his own more up-to-date and reckless countrymen to open their eyes. during this period of his existence he accompanied two successive expeditions that were organised for the purpose of searching the lower reaches and delta of the zambesi for a gold-laden dhow that the portuguese had sunk in the early part of the century, so as to prevent her capture by an english cruiser. on both these occasions conway was the only european who survived the attacks of fever and wild beasts, and although, on the second trip, they actually located the dhow, still, before they could clear the drifted sand from off her his last surviving mate died. conway always declared that, notwithstanding the awful hardships he had undergone, he would have stuck to the job, lone handed, and would have scooped the jack pot himself, but the dop (common boer-made peach-brandy) cask gave out, and as that and quinine were his sole diet, he had to chuck the contract before he could touch the geldt. darned bad luck, he called it, especially as the long war waged by the zambesi natives against the portuguese, at that time breaking out, prevented him from having another try for the plunder. reaching delagoa bay, thanks to the kindness of the officers of one of h.m. cruisers, he wandered up to the transvaal, and took a turn on the early goldfields. doing no good, he drifted away to the free state, where, as aforementioned, he earned the name of vrei stadt conway by his feats of reckless daring. let me recount one of them. during one of the numerous unsuccessful attacks made on the impregnable mountain thaba bosigo, the principal stronghold of the great basuto chief moshesh, a gallant dutchman was wounded and captured by the natives. this poor chap, having been duly tortured, was crucified on the very summit of the mountain. moshesh at once declared that the poor remains were to be regarded as his standard, and at the same time sent an insolent message to the boers, stating the fact, and challenging them to come and pull it down. this brutal and contemptuous message deeply enraged the boers, and was all the more galling as the poor fellow's remains hung in full view of the dutch laagers. something must be done at once; so the farmers' war council determined to recover the body, and called for volunteers to do so. these being forthcoming, the attempt was made, but the party, after fighting its way about half the distance up the mountain, having suffered heavy loss, halted. they caved in, declared the undertaking to be impossible, and point-blank refused to make any further effort. this sensible determination, or pusillanimity--call it which you like, but remember a boer is no coward--did not coincide with conway's temperament, he being one of the leaders. he had declared he would bring that crucified corpse down, or would bust in the attempt, and if his men refused to come any further, why, he and his hottentot arter-rider would go on alone; and, faith! the two of them went. troth, i forgot to tell you before that his mother was irish, and when the best of english hunting blood is crossed with the best of irish fighting blood it is deuced hard to stop the owner when on the warpath. well, subjected to a _feu d'enfer_, these two beauties scaled the almost perpendicular cliffs, and reached the cross, which they pulled down, and removed from it the battered remains. they then turned to descend the mountain, only to find their one path down it blocked by a strong party of the enemy, who had allowed them to do so much, to make sure of capturing them alive, and then the following morning there would be three crosses on the mountain instead of one. this strategy on the part of the natives would have caused most men to despair, and even the bravest of the brave, if cornered in a like manner, could have only hoped to enjoy a last good fight, and sell his life as dearly as possible. mad conway, however, thought otherwise. he had declared he would bring the body down the mountain or bust, and as the basutos had blocked the only path down which he could carry it, why naturally he could only keep his word by throwing it over the krantz, and then, by following it himself, he would at all events balk the enemy of their anticipated fun, and save himself from the horrors of the torture stick. he and his faithful tottie boy, therefore, expended their remaining cartridges, and then, bundling the corpse over the edge of the precipice, jumped after it themselves. no one looking at thaba bosego would believe the possibility of a man going over the edge of its perpendicular krantzes ever reaching the bottom with a semblance of humanity left, much less that he could survive the awful fall without every bone in his body being broken and life crushed out of him. yet mad conway and his tottie boy did so, and miraculously reached the foot of the beetling precipice, not only alive, but comparatively unhurt. then picking up the corpse they carried it, under a hail of bullets, back to the schanze, where the rest of the party awaited them. now these men must have been blessed with charmed lives, for although their scanty clothing was nearly shot off their bodies they only received a few slight flesh wounds, until they were just reaching the safety zone, when conway was knocked over with a bullet through his left leg. well, now i have given you a glance at the heroic side of this queer card, let me turn the tables and spin you another yarn, so as to give you some idea of the mad pranks he was capable of playing. here goes. at one time, during the long protracted struggle between the free state farmers and the basutos, conway was commandant of a small dutch dorp situated close to the border which, like all other free state villages, during war-time was laagered. now conway's commando had in their possession an ancient six-pounder ship's cannon so honeycombed that, had they fired it off, the probability is they would have made a considerable hash of the gun's crew that served it. still, it was a real cannon that, when polished up and mounted on a pair of waggon wheels, looked formidable. well, mad conway had this piece of antique ordnance in charge, and being in his usual state of impecuniosity, and the said cannon being the only available asset he could lay his hand on, he one fine day determined to raise the gentle breeze of affluence and also to remove a possible danger to himself and men by disposing of the ancient bombard to the enemy, whose paramount chief, moshesh, was most anxious to obtain artillery at any price, be it ancient or modern. this nefarious idea having been conceived, he at once sent a message over the border to moshesh offering to sell it for head of prime cattle. moshesh was delighted. all the preliminaries were arranged: the time and place for the transfer of old scrap iron for live stock was fixed upon, and the transaction was carried out, a small party of basutos bringing head of splendid oxen across the border, which they handed over, receiving the old carronade in return. mad conway, many years afterwards, declared to me that it was only when the cattle were safely in his hands that the shameful wickedness of his act struck him, and he realised that, no matter how worthless the cannon might be, still he was an officer in the service of the free state, that he had sold their war material to their enemy, and that by doing so he had forfeited his last shred of honour as an english gentleman. in fact his conscience reminded him that he had placed himself on the same low level as mr judas iscariot, so he at once turned-to, like the hebrew traitor, to purge himself of his shame. now, my gentle reader, don't, please, imagine that conway handed back the cattle, or expended a shilling in buying a rope wherewith to hang himself. no, not by a jugful; for he differed in very many respects from the hebrew gent and when his qualms of conscience became too poignant for him to bear he turned out his commando, made a tremendous forced march, overtook the gun escort, which he surprised and routed, on their own side of the border, and brought back the old thunderer in triumph. now some people may say that conway had been guilty of decided sharp practice over this gun deal, but he always asserted that if old moshesh could not keep possession of a purchased article after it had been delivered to him, and he had taken it across the border into his own territory, then he (moshesh) was the only one to blame, and that he had no cause to grumble. anyhow, the recapture of the gun reinstated conway in his own self-respect, and as the sale of the cattle brought him in some £ , i think you will agree with me that he fared much better than the late judas iscariot, esq. through the unjustifiable interference of the british government, the long war between the free state farmers and the basutos was brought to an end in march , so that mad conway must needs look out for something else to do. he had gained great kudos in the field, and the free state government not only passed a vote of thanks to him, but also determined to add a more substantial token of appreciation, by presenting to him a large farm, the title deeds of which were to be delivered into his hands on the occasion of the last parade of the bloemfontein burghers, previous to their disbandment. well, the function was held, president brand made his speech, and at the end of it commander conway's name was called. the hero of the hour rode to the front, to be welcomed by the plaudits of the men, and the handkerchief-waving of the women. a fine figure of a man, and a superb horseman, mad conway looked well as he reined up beside the president, and one would have thought that the bestowal of such an honour would have made even the most reckless dare-devil in the world conduct himself with decorum. moreover, mr brand was perhaps the one man in south africa who was highly respected, both by briton and boer, and had frequently befriended conway in many ways. but alas! the fates willed otherwise, for the reckless child of impulse, prompted by ate or old nick, as usual, fell away and behaved in a most shocking manner. i said prompted by either ate or old nick. well, maybe they were the original instigators, but they used deputies to carry out their designs, for you see conway had that morning imbibed many klein soupjies, and president brand was wearing a tall bell-topper hat. of course you will understand in a moment that a multifarious number of tots might excite a hot-tempered, reckless fellow such as our friend, but it may puzzle you why the hat of a respectable old gentleman should arouse the somnolent devil in mad conway. let me explain. a tall bell-topper hat was, at that time, and for many years afterwards, an aggression that up-countrymen, be they boers or britons, could not stomach, for even in the latter eighties only two men were allowed to wear them in kimberley--one, as old hands will remember, being chief justice buchanan, and the other donald mckai, the de toits pan market master. no one else, no matter what his status might be, possessed the temerity to appear in public wearing one; for, had he done so, it would have suffered the same fate as the presidential golgotha did, on the occasion of which i am writing. yes, bedad! and it did suffer, for mad conway had no sooner been given the title deeds of the farm, and had uttered a few words of thanks for the complimentary speech, and the honorarium he had received, than he waved his right arm wildly over his head and brought his fist down flop on the presidential bell-topper, which after emitting a drum-like thud, collapsed over the ears of its portly wearer. then there was the deuce to pay and no pitch hot. had anybody else been in conway's boots he would have been massacred at once by the infuriated burghers, but seeing it was conway, and being accustomed to his crazy vagaries, they sat on their horses and stared open-mouthed at the extraordinary spectacle, while the president attempted to struggle out of the ruins of his battered _chapeau_. in a moment conway was himself again, was off his horse and assisting the president in getting rid of his encumbrance, at the same time pouring out a volume of excuses, and censuring himself for his confounded clumsiness. these excuses the dear old man accepted, and, in fact, in a few moments was acting as comforter to the brazen scallywag, so that the latter emerged from what might have been a desperate fix with honour and emolument. now let me tell you how i fell across this queer character. i think it must have been about the end of the year that i, who was at that time working as a digger in bullfontein, received an invitation to dinner from an old brother officer residing at the new rush, for the purpose of meeting mad conway, who had drifted down to the diamond fields from the transvaal. of course, like everyone else in south africa at that time, i had heard heaps of yarns about him, but although we had both served in the same wars we had somehow or other never met; so i joyously accepted the invitation. on my arrival at my friend's house i was introduced to this noted madcap, who turned out to be a well-dressed, well-groomed, well-set-up man, who, although past middle age, looked as hard as iron and tough as whipcord. the dinner passed off well, myself and others being kept in a roar of laughter by the extraordinary yarns he related, together with the inimitable pantomime with which he illustrated them. mad conway had sojourned on the diamond-fields in the earlier days, and had literally been hunted from off them, his exodus being so thoroughly in keeping with the man's whole career that i think you will pardon me should i digress and recount it. you see, it was in this way. conway was as usual over head and ears in debt, and one fine morning he heard that writs were out against him for civil imprisonment. this was an indignity that sent him hopping mad, so jumping on to his horse he galloped to the court house. _en route_ he encountered the bum-bailiff, who, mounted on an old pony, was looking for him, and who was fool enough to try and stop him. waving a sheaf of blue papers in his hand, he called on conway to pull up, at the same time turning his nag athwart the road in an attempt to stop him. it was only an attempt, for the next moment the messenger of the court and his gee-gee were heaped up in the sluit, while his scattered documents were being rapidly torn up by a mob of laughing, cheering diggers. after his successful charge, conway cantered on to the court house, through the sacred portals of which he rode his excited and plunging horse. scattering the limbs of satan and the grimy scum usually to be found in such establishments to the four winds of heaven. "----" shouted he to the horrified magistrate. "i heard you had been signing some d----d arrest papers against me, so i just dropped in to tell you, you can shove them where the monkey shoved the nuts. so long." "stop him! arrest him!" cried his outraged worship, as conway swung his horse round, and two policemen made a half-hearted attempt to do so, but were ridden over and dispersed. "whoop, gone away," yelled conway, as he emerged into the free state road and burst through a squad of mounted police. "if you want to catch me try to." they wanted to catch him very badly, and tried very hard to do so, but the veld was close handy and, lord bless you! they might as well have tried to rope a sunbeam as to round up mad conway once he had gained the open plains; so that after he had played with them until, i presume, he got thirsty, he just turned his horse's head for the free state and cantered across the frontier, leaving his baffled pursuers to ride their knocked-up horses back to the disgruntled beak. this escapade took place just before he joined the irregular forces who were carrying on a desultory sort of warfare with sekukuni. it was while serving with this disorganised crowd that conway mated with an ex-naval lieutenant as like himself in character as two peas are in appearance. faith, they made a bonny half-section, for what one did not know in the way of devilment, the other could teach him. well, it was just before the time when the aforesaid irregular forces were to be reorganised. sir garnet wolseley was on his way up country, so were strong reinforcements, and the atmosphere was thick with shaves as to what was going to happen. now, it was just at this moment this brace of beauties found themselves to be in a dilemma: they were both stonybroke. true, they were accustomed to be so, and as they had both been appointed to irregular corps about to be embodied, possessed smart uniforms and first-rate horses, they thought it would be a hard matter if they could not manage to raise a fortnight's board and lodging of the best, together with the necessary liquid, in liberal quantities, _bien entendu_, from somewhere or other. now half-a-day's ride from where they were located was an up-country dorp, in which was a canteen of such pretensions that the owner, a leery old scotsman, called it a hotel. he was, like many of his countrymen, exceedingly avaricious, and prided himself on his cuteness, making a brag that no one could impose upon him. for many years he had enjoyed the monopoly of such trade as passed through the little township, but latterly another individual had opened an opposition shop, which, as it was slightly more up-to-date, filled the old sinner with apprehension, and rage, especially as hard cash was very scarce in the transvaal at that date. well, it was this close-fisted old boniface that our brace of worthies determined to victimise, although to anyone else an attempt to do so would have looked very hopeless indeed. now mad conway was so well known in the dorp, especially by the said boniface, that it was utterly useless for him to try to obtain credit for a tot of dop, as the publican would sooner see the liquor on his shelves than trust anyone for a shilling. but at the same time he was well aware that conway had held, and was likely again to hold, a fairly high position in military circles. the other partner, however, was a perfect stranger. so this was the way the two scamps worked the oracle. one fine morning conway cantered up to the old scotsman's hotel, into which he strode with a bustling, dutified air. "swan," quoth he, "colonel ---- (mentioning the well-known name of one of sir garnet's principal staff officers) will be here in a few minutes. he is riding in advance of the general, so as to make arrangements for the accommodation of sir garnet and his whole staff, who will be staying in this dorp for some considerable time. the colonel was recommended to go to the new hotel, but i, who am acting as his guide, have persuaded him to try you first of all, to see if you can furnish the necessary requirements. of course you will have to do your very best, furnish the best rooms, supply the very best food and liquor, and all that sort of thing, and the colonel will require a private sitting-room, in which to carry on his correspondence, while he is awaiting the general's arrival." old swan nosed what he thought was going to turn out to be a most profitable bit of business. he had heard of the enormous sums of money squandered by the imperial government during the late zulu war, and his fingers fairly itched at the chance of being thrust into the plunder pot. in a moment he was all smiles and attention, even going so far as to promise to turn out, at a moment's notice, all his usual guests and to reserve the whole of the house for the great man and his staff. throwing open the door of his own cosy sitting-room, he inquired if conway thought that would do until a better one could be provided, and also asked if he should be doing right to invite the colonel to have a drink on his dismounting. "well," said conway, "i should hardly do that, as perhaps colonel ---- may be one of those rabid teetotallers who do not like to drink in public, but you had better place a bottle of whisky, one of brandy, yes, and perhaps one of gin, together with some soda-water, and a box of your very best cigars on that buffet, and if he should help himself you will then know whether he drinks or not. ah, by jove! here he comes." a fine stalwart figure, clothed in undress uniform, rode slowly across the big market square and, reining up at the front door, leisurely dismounted. handing his horse over to the grinning tottie hostler, he coolly scanned the front of the premises and the surroundings. out rushed the obsequious host, more leisurely followed by the debonair but still respectful conway. "ah, conway," drawled the new-comer, "so we have arrived at last, and this is the hotel you recommended, is it? well, perhaps it will do, though i must confess i like the appearance of the other one better. still, i have no doubt our worthy host here will do his best to make us all comfortable, especially as our stay here may be rather a long one. let us step inside and see what accommodation he has to offer, as you know how particular sir garnet is." enter the bandits, who are shown over the house by the palpitating innkeeper, whose ears at the illusion about the more attractive appearance of the rival house are aching as if struck by an acute pang of tic doloreux and he forthwith promises at once to carry out the most frivolous suggestions, and there were many of them, of the somewhat haughty and exacting s.o. "and now you have shown me the house," quoth the latter, "perhaps you will be good enough to show me my private sitting-room, in which i think, conway, as i am somewhat fatigued by my long ride, we might indulge in a biscuit, and on this occasion, although i hardly ever take anything stronger than tea, i think i will venture, mr swan, on a glass of your best sherry or pontac; and by the way, mr swan, at two o'clock you will be good enough to let us have the best and most substantial lunch you can furnish at such a short notice. ah, this will do very nicely"--as the deluded innkeeper threw open the door of his own snuggery and ushered his stonybroke guests inside. the room looked like a cosy miniature bar, for the the small buffet was loaded with bottles, plates of delicately cut sandwiches, biscuits, and a big box of extra-special prime cigars, while the canvas water-cooler was full of bottled ale and soda water. well, our two adventurers were in clover, and so well did they employ their opportunity that old swan, who had been bragging to all his usual bar frequenters about having secured the general's custom, and chuckling to himself over the huge bill that, in the future, he would present, which would be duly paid in bright english gold instead of in worthless transvaalian greenbacks, was fairly wild with greed and pride. there was, however, one small cloud on the horizon: the colonel had stated that he rarely touched anything stronger than tea, and the tea-drinker is not nearly so profitable a customer to an up-country innkeeper as one who imbibes expensive drinks at short intervals during the day. this gloomy conjecture he confided to his circle of cronies, who condoned with him, but the cloud, however, was to be quickly blown away, for after he had summoned his guests to their lunch he rushed back into the bar and exclaimed: "tea-drinker, does he call himself? tea-drinker, ma certes! why, they have finished the sherry; they've finished the pontac; they've finished the brandy and more than half finished the whisky, and the colonel has ordered two big bottles of champagne for their tiffin. yes, and i'm blest if they've turned a single hair. tea-drinker indeed! my word, if the general and the remainder of the staff drink tea like the colonel, and are half as drouthy, they will drink the dorp dry in less than a week." and the old fellow rubbed his hands as he booked the amount for the liquor consumed and chortled over the anticipated profits. well, to cut a long story short, our two penniless heroes lived for over a week on the very fat of the land, their gargantuan repasts and the amount of liquor they consumed causing wonder and astonishment in the quiet dorp. but the end of their bean-feast was at hand. sir garnet, they knew, was in the vicinity. prudence warned them to absquatulate, and they determined to cut their lucky, before the inevitable _dénouement_. one evening, therefore, they informed old swan that the expected great man would arrive the next day, that they were riding out in the morning to meet him, and they conjured him to have things ready for his reception. next morning, with their wallets filled with the best cigars, and their flasks full of the best cognac, they rode gaily away on their quest, and, bedad! it was high time for them to do so, as they had not proceeded two miles out of the dorp before they met the real simon pure, with all his staff, escort and mule waggons _en route_ to the village they had just quitted. well, they were all right: the paymaster had arrived, all arrears would be paid up, the war would start again, they had had a high old time of it, and they lapsed into roars of laughter when they thought of old swan and the fury he would be in when he found out he had been hoaxed. yes, old swan's consternation and rage were beyond description when the general's cavalcade, instead of pulling up at his highly decorated house, proceeded to that of his hated rival, from whence, after a short interview between sir garnet and the landrost, it continued its way to parts unknown. truly the old fellow's provocation was great. not only had he been put to much expense by the alterations to his house, but the bill run up by the two marauders was a very big one, and then the chaff that he would have to submit to, because he, who fancied himself to be more than cute, had allowed himself to be taken in and done down by a well-known bad hat like mad conway. no; it was not to be tolerated, so he called for his horse and his two-shot scatter gun, for the purpose of going in pursuit, but on second thoughts that was far too risky a job, so he got drunk, and goaded at last to desperation by his wife's clacking tongue tried to beat her, but she, being a strong-armed suffragette, took the contract out of his hands and gave him the devil's own thumping. so the poor old fellow subsided and submitted to having his leg pulled with the best grace he could muster. there was, however, a little balm in store for him, as after the two freebooters had had some financial dealings with the paymaster they sent him a good round sum of money; for they were both men who did not object to paying their debts when they had the coin, and remembered to do so. this remittance, although it brought relief to his avarice, still did nothing to assuage his injured self-respect. he had been taken in and hoaxed. the yarn spread all over the country, and he was unmercifully chaffed to the day of his death about the way he had entertained mad conway and the counterfeit colonel. it was, however, to be the last escapade of the latter, as the poor fellow was shortly afterwards killed while gallantly leading a desperate rush at sekukuni's mountains. i, however, had started telling you about my personal experiences with mad conway. well, after i met him at dinner, i saw a good deal of him, and one day he asked me to come for a drive with two of his friends, who owned a very smart turn-out, to a well-known drift across the vaal river, where there was an hotel. we were to start on a saturday afternoon, stay there the night, and return the next day. he promised me a lively time, as two of the team of four horses were unbroken, and the other two, although splendid animals, possessed all the vices that gee-gees can be either born with or acquire. the distance was about twenty-five miles, the road was good, across a dead-level flat, which, like most of those in grigualand west, was thickly sprinkled with ant-heaps, from about a foot to two and a half feet high. well, perhaps the characters of the horses and that of the two other men who were to accompany us, both roaring blades, to say nothing about the well-known recklessness of our jehu, might have made a nervous old gentleman give pause and refuse the invite; but then you see at that time i was not a nervous old party, and although i have no wish to claim an inordinate amount of pluck or recklessness still as i was blue mouldy for the want of a bit of divarsion, and knew conway to be one of the best whips in africa, i gladly accepted. the start was a trifle exciting, our two companions turning up just about half-seas over, while the horses promised to act up to their evil reputations. however, the trap was a brand-new cape cart, and the harness of the very best, so that after some little circus play conway managed to get the nags to move off, and we started. the drive through the diggings was accomplished, thanks to conway's masterly management, in safety, for although we scattered like chaff many groups of niggers, we only upset two parsee pedlars and one chinaman, the balance of the damage done being the demolishment of a coolie's habitation, which was constructed out of material that at one time had been paraffin and sardine tins. this accident caused the pious hindoo who owned the shattered tin-heap to swear horribly and spit just like an angry cat; but i don't think we killed anybody. when we reached the veld and were on the broad, open waggon road, the horses, thanks to the splendid handling of our charioteer, settled down to a swinging pace. there was but little chance of our meeting anyone, the scores of high-heaped produce and wood waggons trekking into kimberley being, at that time of day, all drawn off the road and outspanned, as were also the empty waggons homeward bound, and i firmly believe we should have reached our destination in safety had it not been for the conduct of the other two passengers. the drive was most exhilarating as we rushed through the glorious air, and there was plenty of excitement in it too for a man who was not a glutton; for although the road was a first-class one, and quite flat, yet frequently, when we passed a group of outspanned waggons, the dutchmen's dogs would rush out and bark at us, a proceeding that drove our unbroken and vicious horses nearly mad. yet i thoroughly enjoyed the drive, and no doubt should have done so to the end, as the change from the slogging hard work of the mine, with its dust and dirt, was delightful, while the slashing pace we were going and the wild, fresh, veld wind roused my animal spirits till i felt as exhilarated as a penniless small boy does when he is presented with an unexpected half-crown. but, alas! we had other spirits on board, and our two companions, who occupied the back seat in the cart, partook of them freely, nor did they partake of them in the orthodox manner, as the motion of the swinging cart made the use of a glass and a mixing of _aqua fortis_ with _aqua fontis_ a somewhat difficult matter; so they dispensed with the usual accessories and swigged the whisky neat out of the bottle. now this was a very dangerous proceeding, especially as they had imbibed a fair skinful previous to starting, and what with the natural high spirits engendered by the drive, and the other spirits they loaded up in the aforementioned manner, they became very tight indeed, and decidedly uproarious. first of all they began to sing a song. that was a failure. then they began to chaff old conway, which was dangerous; and then they began to rattle and stamp their feet on the floor of the cart, so as to make the horses more restive, which was both unnecessary and foolish. conway, the muscles of whose arms were swollen to nigh breaking-point, took no notice of their crazy antics, except to order them to stop monkeying, as it was all he could do to hold and guide the half-maddened animals, but they paid no heed to his admonitions. then he cursed them with unction, but that succeeded no better, till at last, thoroughly angry, he shouted out: "oh, you want a smash, do you? well! by gad, you shall have one." and without another word he bundled up the reins, which he threw on to the leaders' backs, at the same time letting go a letter "s" cut with his whip which impartially stung up every horse in the team, and then sitting back he let go one of his well-known wild bursts of laughter. at the moment this happened we were about five miles from the drift. the road was perfect, but some two miles or more farther on there was a sharp bend in it, and the problem to me was, would the maddened horses keep to the road or take to the veld when they came to it. i had not to wait long for the solution. the horses, the moment they felt the whip, and found their heads loose, at once broke into a tearing gallop. reaching the bend in next door to no time, they took to the veld and tore wildly across it, making straight for the long line of willows that marked the river's bank. here we were bound to come a most unholy smash, provided we ever reached it, but i knew there were far too many ant-heaps on the way, and to run against any one of these, which we were sure to do, would be quite enough to upset our apple-cart. from the moment conway threw away the ribbons i knew i must come an awful mucker, and had philosophically prepared myself for the inevitable smash. he simply leant back in his seat, giving vent to his peculiar bursts of laughter, while the other two, sobered up by the danger, howled curses, entreaties and pious ejaculations in a duet that would have been highly diverting under other circumstances. now events that are inevitable usually happen--at least, that is my experience--and we had not travelled far across the veld when the off-side wheel of the cart struck an ant-heap, some two feet high, bang in the middle, when i immediately and involuntarily vacated my seat. yes; i left it in the same manner as a war rocket should leave its trough, and i described the same sort of a flight as one of those infernal machines very often used to do, for when i had described a parabola through the air, and had reached the full height of the trajectory, i turned a complete somersault. then my specific gravity bringing me back to mother earth, i landed on my feet, ran a few yards so as to ease off the momentum of my flight, and came to a halt, devil a cent the worse. this was luck, and i turned round to see what had become of my companions, one or more of whom i feared must be badly hurt. conway was all right, that was evident, as he was sitting on an ant-heap taking a pull at a bottle of whisky that had somehow escaped the debacle. looking round, i saw the horses still galloping, dragging the remains of the cart, smashed to flinders, behind them. they disappeared among the willows, and i could conjecture the awful mess there must be at the foot of the river's bank. i longed to go to their assistance, for i dearly love a horse, but i first turned to our two mates, for although they were, in my opinion, far the worse brutes, still they were human brutes, and fashion makes us serve them first. going to them as they lay amidst a debris of lamps, cushions, karosses, etc., i saw one of them was not only knocked silly but had broken his left arm and, by the way he breathed and looked, i diagnosed concussion of the brain. the other had broken his left leg, had acquired a beautiful gravel rash all over his face and was swearing at old conway with much volubility. i was rendering the poor devils first aid, and begging conway to walk on to the hotel to get more help, when we were hailed from the road by a well-known kimberley sawbones, who, having providentially viewed the smash-up from a cross-road, had borne down to our assistance. a mob of dutchmen and waggon boys were also on their way from the hotel, so i was able to go and look after the horses, borrowing a boer's rifle _en route_. on reaching the poor beasts i found them lying in a tangled heap at the bottom of a steep bank. the cart was smashed to matchwood, and i had to shoot two of the nags, while the others we extricated with great trouble, both of them being badly hurt. this was the finale of my first joy ride with mad conway, and though i enjoyed many subsequent ones, none of them were so exciting as the first. i could yarn to you all night about this extraordinary critter, and on some future date may give you further reminiscences about him; but i think you will allow, from what i have told you, that he was a very queer card indeed. chapter iii a conversion that failed it has always been a source of wonder to me why so many people change their religion, for, although i have never had the time, opportunity, or perhaps the inclination, to study theology in any part of its ramifications, and have never even read the thirty-nine articles which caused the fancy religionists not only to desert their church, but has now enabled them, through their co-operation with rebels, atheists, socialists and a gang of men who, so long as they can hang on to power, are ready to play any dishonourable game, to gratify their rancorous spite in looting the said church, my astonishment still remains. yet very many people of all classes are frequently chucking up the faith of their fathers and joining another. no doubt some of these are actuated by sincere religious convictions, but i think the majority of them are prompted by the desire in some way to better themselves in this life. for instance, to remove an obstacle that prevents them from making an advantageous marriage, to succeed to property, to advance themselves in society or to make money. still, there are plenty of people who swap their fire insurance policy for other motives, not even so respectable as the few i have enumerated, and one sinner told me that, having been a very bad hat during early manhood, he had joined the r.c. church as he had been assured that by doing so he had cleaned his slate of the accumulation of his past sins and had thereby choused old nick. this may or may not have been the case, but anyhow he was very ready to contract fresh obligations with the old gentleman, as before we parted he managed to swindle me out of a fiver; so that after mature consideration i came to the conclusion that he was not a brand that was likely to be snatched from the burning, thanks to his change of religion, but was still a very bad hat indeed. now anyone can understand, although he may not admire, a man who, prompted by greed, love or interest, changes his mode of worship. but the man who i am going to yarn to you about was not an individual of this class, and, moreover, although he was most charitably disposed, and always ready to plank down a cheque for any good purpose, yet as a rule he did not pan out on religious matters at all, and knew as much about dogma as a chimpanzee does about snowballing. but let me start the yarn from the beginning. during the latter eighties, when i was adjutant of the d.f.h., and was located at de toits pan, there lived on the same diamond diggings a man who carried on the trade of baker, and whom i shall designate by his boer name of davy. now davy had begun life as a ship's baker, and having followed the sea for many years had drifted up to the diamond fields in the early times, had started in at his trade and had prospered exceedingly, so that when i knew him he was a rich man, and justly very popular with the diggers. in person he was of medium height, thick-set, with great rounded shoulders, on which was stuck, for he had not much neck to boast of, a huge round head that, owing perhaps to the effects of early piety, was as devoid of hair as a little englander is of patriotism. as regards manners, he was rather brusque, and until he came to know you was a bit repellent, and was totally uneducated. but he was a white man right through, and many a score of women and children would have had to go hungry to roost, during hard times, had good old davy cut off supplying bread, although the betting might be decidedly against his ever pouching a single ticky (threepenny piece) of their money. now, this old worthy, who as a rule never attended any gospel mill, and was as devoid of theologic controversy as one of his loaves of bread, nevertheless, whenever he indulged in an occasional burst always developed the idiosyncrasy that he must change his religion, and would promptly set to work to do so. what faith he had been brought up in originally (if any) i know not, and i doubt if he knew himself, but he tried all there were on the diamond fields (and owing to the polyglot crowd located on the diggings there were many), with the exception of the hebrew, from which ancient cult davy shied, as he always affirmed there was an obstacle in the way, which required to be removed before he could become a proselyte in the synagogue. well, one fine day shortly after davy had exhausted the last available religion, de toits pan was invaded by a commercial traveller in a brand-new fancy faith, the name of which i forget, but it was one freshly imported from america, and was guaranteed to be something quite new, slick and up-to-date. in fact, its votaries might reckon on a first-class ticket up to heaven, without any detention at the custom-house, while, provided they subscribed liberally, they might even expect to be transmitted there in a private fiery balloon. now i never knew the ritual of the band of brothers, as they called themselves, but i knew it was necessary for a recruit, upon his initiation, to be soused over head and ears in water, which was meant to typify that all past sins would be washed away, although i guess it would have taken more than one ducking in cold water to have made an impression on the case-hardened iniquities of some of the converts who joined the movement. yes, by gad! it would have required scalding water, soft soap, soda, and a wire scrubbing-brush to have shifted their moral delinquencies. still, if the tubbing did not purify their immortal souls, it had a salutary effect on their hides, so we can pass that part of the performance as o.k. now, this missionary, spiritual bagman, or call him what you like, was at the first go-off of his raid very successful, doing a great business and roping in very many proselytes, so many, in fact it made the sky-pilots in the older established firms buck up, and look askance. he laboured, however, under one very great disadvantage--viz. there was no building in de toits pan procurable, large enough to contain the necessary water tank, so that until one could be built the numerous recruits had to be taken on the sunday to the modder river, and be ducked therein. well, just as the new movement was in the hey-day of its popularity, good old davy went on one of his rare jamborees, and, _faute de mieux_, at once fell into line, signed on as a brother, and on the following day (sunday) went to the modder river with a number of other neophytes, male and female, to undergo their preliminary water cure. now it chanced that, on the same sunday evening, i happened to be chatting in the de toits pan club, when all of a sudden in dashed davy in a great state of perturbation. rushing up to the bar he demanded a double-headed whisky straight, which he swallowed like an oyster, then promptly held out his glass for another supply. "hullo, davy," quoth one of those present, "you seem to be gulping down the cratur with unction. i thought you would have been nursing your new religious doctrines at this time of night." davy answered him not, but with a growl ordered the barman to refill his glass. "why, davy, what's the matter?" queried another. "what have they been doing to you to capsize you in this fashion, and why don't you take water with your pongello?" "water, indeed," snarled davy. "i sha'n't want no water for another month." and he made a motion to the barman to pass the bottle. "here, ease up, davy," said i. "you've had enough. leave the whisky alone, and come over here. sit down and tell us how you got on this afternoon at the washing fête." "whoi," grumbled the old fellow, whom, it seemed, the third nobbler had somewhat pacified, as he took the offered chair and proceeded to light his pipe, "i didn't get on at all, and this new-fangled religion ain't worth a cuss. 'tain't one as any man with any common-sense 'ud cotton to, and as for the sky-pilot, he's jist as hignorant as a howl." "well, well, tell us all about it. did you imbibe the faith?" "faith, be d----d!" he growled. "i didn't imbibe nothing except a gallon or two of modder river water." and he expectorated with disgust. however, after he had been smoothed down a bit, and had had another tot, he bucked up and related his tribulations as follows:-- "you see, boys," said he, "i went down to the modder river this afternoon, with a large party of other converts. the shepherd, as 'e calls his blooming self, 'e comes along too, and brings two or three of the sharps as 'elps 'im. well, when we got there we finds a couple of tents pitched: one for the ladies, and one for us men, to take off our duds in. well, after a bit, one of the sharps, he comes to me, and sez he: 'brother, we's going to commence along with you.' so 'e shows me into the tent, and sez he: 'brother, remove your gaudy 'abiliments and put on this 'ere garb of simplicity.' and with that 'e 'ands me a sort of a nightgown which came to about me knees. as soon as i was togged out, feelin' a bit ashamed of meself rigged out like that, he leads me down to the river bank and there was the shepherd, as 'e calls hisself, long, thin, herring-gutted devil, standing up to his middle in the water. 'enter, brother,' he sings out to me, 'and 'ave your manifold sins swabbed away.' i wades in and whin i reaches 'im the water took me up to the chin. he begins his palaver, and before i knowed where i was 'e puts his two hands on me shoulders and ducks me bloomin 'ead under. he fair took me by surprise 'e did, or i'd 'ave took an extra breath of air. as it was, i lost me footin', and 'ad to struggle to come up. me old skull-cap comes off and i got me 'ead above water, but no sooner did 'e see me old bald pate appear than he shoved it down agin, and kep' on a-doing so until i was near drownded. should 'ave bin, i believe, 'ad i not managed to giv' 'im a punch in the bread-basket which shut 'im hup like a pair of scissors, and then i scrambles out and runs to the tent nigh water-logged. presently along 'e comes, and sez 'e to me, sez 'e: 'brother, wherefore did you assault me while in the water?' and i sez to 'im: 'you ain't no brother of mine. what for did yer try to drown me?' 'brother,' sez 'e, 'i knew not you was so bald, and when yer 'ead appeared above the surface of the river i laboured under the delusion it was another portion of yer hanatomy, and so as to prevent what might 'ave become an indecent hexhibition i pressed it hunder agin and continued to do so.' 'well,' sez i, 'yer religion may be a darned foine one, and yer may be a darned foine shepherd, but whin yer don't know the difference between a conwert's bows and 'is starnpost 'tain't no religion for me, and i 'ud scorn to belong to it or own yer as a brother or shepherd, so ye and yer 'ole gang can go to h----.' and with that i left 'im and came 'ome as fast as i could git." now although i think that on this one occasion old davy's plea, like himself, was a good un, and that he, under the aforementioned circumstances, was fully justified in doubting the _bona fides_ of this fancy religion through the lack of acumen and also the gross ignorance on the part of the shepherd, still, as one swallow does not make a summer, this one legitimate case of perversion does not, in my eyes, justify the large number of people who chop or change their faith and are always thronging to hear some half-crazy tub-thumper, be he a long-haired, red-nosed revivalist, unctuous mormon or any other hypocritical expounder of a new cult. chapter iv jack ashore in yes, i've had the honour and pleasure of serving in the same outfit as h.m. bluejackets, and i will maintain that the british sailor is second to none either as a fighting man or love-maker, the only man, in my unbiassed opinion, to equal him in the above pursuits being the irish soldier. now jack and pat both keenly appreciate a bit of fun and devilment, but i think, in pursuit of divarsion, jack must be assigned the cake, as during his hours of relaxation, while at liberty, on shore, he frequently displays a bit of originality in his pranks that, in fairness i must confess, land him ahead of my dear, reckless, light-hearted countrymen. during the new zealand wars the maoris called the naval brigade te ngati jacks, and they insisted that they belonged to a different people from the remainder of h.m. forces; for you never could convince the old-time maori warrior that the loose-clad, rollicking, gallant sailor was of the same blood as the tight-buttoned-up, stiff and more stolid, though equally brave, soldier. this erroneous idea was, i think, also in a great measure due to the fantastic capers jack cut while enjoying his well-earned liberty on shore, during which treasured moments he strove to cram into twenty-four hours all the fun, and also as many of the minor vices, as he could manage to indulge in, and i am only doing him justice when i state he usually succeeded in participating in as much devilment during those few hours as would satisfy an ordinary healthy tommy for a year. times, customs and manners have greatly altered since , and although there can be no doubt that, changed as in many respects our fleet men are from the sailors of the past generation, still the same courage and devotion exists in our present-day, highly trained, splendid naval seamen as ever instigated the grand old hearts of oak, who boxed yards about, pulled on bits of string called halyards, braces, etc.; and, totally ignorant of electricity, cursed steam. moreover, there has been a great change for the better in the conduct and sobriety of our ever-popular and much-loved bluejackets when ashore on short leave. settlers, old identities, in colonial seaport towns, will, i am sure, endorse what i have written above, for although during the forty years i lived in the colonies i never heard of one of h.m. bluejackets committing a crime, still some of their sprees were rather alarming to nervous people, while they shocked the puritanical, hypocritical humbugs, of whom there is always a superfluity wherever the union jack flies. for these cattle, being able to indulge in their pet vices _sub rosa_, or else being too narrowminded to make allowance for the festive pranks of high-spirited men, let loose for a few short hours after being cooped up on board ship for months at a stretch, where they have been subjected to the most severe discipline in the world, hold up hands in horror at poor jack's frolics, and call the brave fellow, whose mess tins they are not worthy to swab out, a drunken, profligate sailor-man, unfit to be at large in this world, and sure to be damned in the next. yet many of jack's sprees were most diverting to the looker-on, as he would frequently introduce into his frolics some originality that, simple in itself, and most probably quite unpremeditated, still compelled anyone with the smallest spark of humour in his composition to thoroughly appreciate. i am now going to spin you a yarn about one bluejacket's spree that, if it does not amuse you, at all events afforded myself and some of my comrades, just down from the frontier, a hearty laugh. the scene was wellington, new zealand, the date somewhere about the end of , when, the long war having burnt itself out, and the sharp fighting having smouldered itself away to the ordinary frontier defence work, myself and a few of my comrades had, for the first time for nearly six years, the chance of returning for a period to civilisation and enjoying such comforts and luxuries as were at that time to be obtained in the capital of new zealand. this we were doing with a relish only to be enjoyed by men who have for years been living, or rather enduring, a hard bush life, utterly debarred from the ordinary pleasures of society, and the refinement of ladies' companionship. we were doing ourselves well, and going very strong, when the fun was enhanced by the arrival of a squadron of h.m. ships, with whose officers we fraternised, notwithstanding the fact that they ran us very close, if they did not quite cut us out, in the favour of the fair new zealand ladies, for both officers and men of h.m. royal navy are as hard to contend against in the rosy lists of love as they are to beat in the ruddy game of war. no matter if there may have been a trifle of jealousy between us in those days it did not matter a row of pins, and we all enjoyed rattling good times. but hold hard, i am off the trail of my yarn, and so must try back. well, the squadron anchored, squared yards, and, after the ships had been put into apple-pie order, in due course of time, leave was given to the crews, and the starboard watches came ashore to enjoy themselves for twenty-four hours. this they did; and my word they made the town of wellington lively, opening the eyes and elevating the hands of the unco guid in a way that, to such lost sinners as ourselves, was most exhilarating. in those days, i know not if such be the case now, every sailor had the fixed conviction that he was a perfect master of equitation, and no sooner did he get ashore than he yearned to ride a horse, or, failing to obtain one, a mule, a donkey, a cow or even a goat came not amiss. some four-footed beast must be obtained by hook or by crook, or, if saddle animals were quite unobtainable, then he must drive or be driven. well, the starbowlins came ashore and painted the town a vivid red, and the streets soon became full of bluejackets, mounted on every description of animal, some of the poor beasts having to carry double, while now and again you would see some cart-horse, very long in the back, ridden by three laughing, shouting sailors, the whole of the cavalcades galloping and sidling up and down the main roads cheered to the echo by their admiring messmates, while the riders, with their bell-bottomed slacks rucked up above the knees, their elbows square with their ears, and a rein, or as jack termed it a yoke-line, in either hand, held on like grim death to a dead nigger. yet numerous were the falls and collisions that took place, and it appeared to be fully understood that, should a rider be pipped, his loose horse and empty saddle should be the lawful prize of the lucky shipmate who first captured them, and sometimes you could see half-a-dozen or more jacks trying to board the said prize from both sides and ends of the unfortunate quadruped at one and the same time. many of the horses could and did buck a bit, but this did not seem to daunt jack one iota; in fact, buck-jumping appeared to rather enhance the value of the mount, and i saw some wonderful and determined attempts to stick on viciously bucking animals, the rider hanging on manfully by gullet plate and cantle, yea, you might say with teeth and toe-nails, yelling, "whoa, whoa, you----!" at the top of his gamut, while his admiring comrades howled their applause, every man-jack of them anxious to try his luck the moment the temporary horseman should be grassed. of course it must be remembered that all of these men had been accustomed to jockey the yard-arm of a plunging ship, and as jack is by nature and training utterly fearless, i should have bet my bottom dollar that any one of them would have unhesitatingly tried to have ridden old nick himself, had he chanced to have come along on four legs. here i'm off the right spoor of my yarn again, so must circle and pick it up. it was on the afternoon of the said day, a number of us were gathered together in the billiard-room of the club, when a tremendous cheer from the crowded street caused us to make for the verandah, to see what had caused such an uproar. and this is what we spotted. but mark time, as i must digress again for a moment. years before cobb & co. introduced into new zealand their american coaches some speculative settler had imported one of the original london omnibuses, a vehicle of great length, on which the top passengers sat back to back, with their knees up to their chins on what was known as knife-boards, and gained these perches by crawling up perpendicular iron ladders fastened to either side of the door. a more unsuitable trap could not have been invented for new zealand roads, so that shortly after its arrival it was stowed away and forgotten by the general public. its owner, however, was a cute fellow, for hearing of the probable invasion of sailors, he had the old ramshackle caravan made roadworthy, horsed it, and, on the landing of jack, promptly chartered it to a large party of them, so that it was the sudden appearance of this prehistoric tramcar, rumbling along the street, that had evoked the burst of applause which had attracted our attention. truly jack had rigged and fitted out the old shandrydan handsomely, as flags, streamers and wreaths decorated it wherever it was possible to make them fast. nor was she indifferently manned, as even musicians had been provided, for, perched along the driver's footboard, two more than half drunk fiddlers and a half-section of equally intoxicated fifers sawed and blew for all they were worth. the coachman sat on the usual raised seat in the centre of the fore cross-bench, and on either side of him lolled two huge quartermasters who, cigar in mouth and arms crossed, tried to appear quite at their ease and preterhumanly sober. the roof of the vehicle was overcrowded with brawny bluejackets all rollicking drunk, who demonstrated their good will to the passers-by and the laughing spectators in the windows by holding out to them bottles of liquor, while at the same time they exchanged badinage of a saline nature with their messmates thronging the side-walks. the inside of the old omnibus was occupied by only two men, who ostentatiously sniffed at and frequently tasted huge bottles of make-believe medicine, while at intervals they exhibited to the onlookers grotesque imitations of surgical instruments, and, in case it required any further explanation as to what the interior of the vehicle was intended to represent, over the windows and doors were chalked such notices as--sick-bay, dead-house, boozers-locker, etc. all this was funny enough, but although the appearance of the old rattle-trap somewhat surprised us, still there was nothing, after all, extraordinary in its existence, nor in its festive crew, and we should merely have laughed and forgotten the circumstance had we not spotted, the moment it came abreast of us, a wondrous appendage to the vehicle itself, for at the tail-end over the door protruded two stout poles, from which was suspended a large-sized stable wheelbarrow. now what in the name of comus could jack want with a wheelbarrow? its presence roused our curiosity, so that we at once made for the stables, where our horses were carefully locked up, mounted and followed the festive show that had taken the road towards the hut (a small village a short distance along the sea coast from wellington and a very pretty drive). our journey in search of knowledge was not to take us far, for we had only just caught up to the slowly moving caravan when, as it turned a sharp corner, one of the crew, rather more drunk than the others, lost his balance, tumbled off the top and landed on the road, which fortunately for him was at this spot heavy sand, with a concussion that would have killed or seriously maimed any sober landlubber. in a moment a shout of "man overboard" was raised and a stentorian voice howled out: "hard down with your helm, back the main yard, heave to," and in almost the same breath: "pipe away the jolly-boat." out rang a shrill pipe: "jolly-boats away," and in a second down was lowered the wheelbarrow, down slid two men, and before even a woman could get breath for a squeal, or any of the horrified spectators could gather round the unfortunate, who lay on the road striking out with his arms and legs as if swimming, they ran the wheelbarrow up to him, dumped him in, ran him back to the door of the sick-bay, into which he was promptly hauled and administered to by the attendants. "hook on and hoist jolly-boat" was the next order, the crew of which, disdaining the use of ladders, scrambled up the side, and the wheelbarrow was run up and made fast. then came the order, "square away the main yard," the coachman whipped up his horses and away they went before the gaping populace could remember or make use of a single pious ejaculation. now this was very funny, and we all enjoyed a hearty laugh, but jack was far from the end of his farcical frolic, as there was, not far ahead, a house, half inn, half farm, owned by a fine, bluff old sea-dog who had himself served as bos'n in the royal navy, and as they were sure to halt--i beg pardon, heave to--there, thither, expecting more fun, we determined to follow them, and were not sorry we did so, as no sooner were they abreast of the house, which was situated a few feet from the roadway, than h.m.s. _shandrydan_ was again skilfully hove to, the jolly-boat was lowered and manned, and the strident voice sang out: "pipe all hands ashore to lay in wood and water." then as a combined movement took place to vacate the roof: "vast heaving, you thirsty swabs; see the sick-bay cleared first, the fiddlers and idlers, and then the rest of you take your blooming turn." the order was carried out to the letter, each man as he got into the barrow being run up to and shot out on to the verandah, every one of them on recovering his feet touching his cap to the host, who stood beside the open door, and saluting him with the words: "come on board, sir." we had seen enough, so cantered gaily back to the club, myself thinking how extremely useful the jolly-boat would be later on, always provided the crew of it were teetotallers, in assisting their messmates to their quarters when h.m.s. _shandrydan_ had finished her cruise and her gallant crew's back teeth were awash with their potations. yes, the idea of carting along the wheelbarrow was not only humorous but it demonstrated profound forethought on the part of the jacks, and i maintain that no soldier in the world, not even my beloved countrymen, would ever have the nous to devise such a whimsical, and at the same time provident, entertainment, so i therefore declare that her late majesty's bluejackets were the first in devilment as they ran the irish tommy neck and neck in war. "here's good luck to the crowd of them!" chapter v the conversion of mike o'leary "whin a man's that cross and crabbed that his sowle's as black as paint, an' his contrary conversation wud petrify a saint, and he will ate mate on fast days, an scornes the praste as well, ould nick will soon be after him, to escort him straight to (the guard room)." quin. years ago i was soldiering in south africa, and at that time owned a few horses, my own private property and nothing to do with the government. i used to race a bit in a small way, just for the sport, and it became necessary for me to employ a groom who must be my own private servant. now grooms were hard to get, especially at the price i could afford to pay, and i did not want a man of the sundowner stamp. one evening my servant came to me and informed me that a man had come into camp who was looking out for a job and he thought he would do. on my asking him why he thought he would do (for quin, though an irishman, was, wonderful to relate, no horseman and had no knowledge of horses) replied: "the man is an irishman, a small man, a knowledgeable man, and also a townie of my own." so i decided to see him, and mike o'leary was ushered in. directly i saw him i seemed to know him, but for a time could not place him, till at last it flashed through my mind he must be charles lever's corney delaney come to life again, or at all events the creature in front of me must be a descendant of his. not that the dress was similar, for my man wore breeches and boots, both of which wanted renewing, but the head, the face, the cross, crabbed expression and the general appearance were exactly like the immortal corney as depicted by phiz in "jack hinton." he was a tough, wiry little fellow, showing, as we say out in the colonies, the marks of the whalaby. he stood rigidly to attention, after glancing at myself and belongings with a sneering grin that would have excited the envy of satan himself. so i opened fire with the remark: "you are an old soldier." "i am," quoth he; "and served in the th, god bless them! they wor a rigimint you could be proud of, not a tearing lot of divils the likes of what you've got here. bad scran to them! it's neither soldiers or peelers they be." "well, well," i said, "leave the men alone. i want a groom. are you one?" "it's a lot of grooms you do be wanting, judging by the look of your troop horses," he snarled. "leave the troop horses alone. i want a man as my own private servant. do you want work of that sort?" "i may take you on trial," he rejoined, "for did i not serve under your honourable father, sir george brown, in the crimee." now sir george brown was not my father, nor any relation to me, but mike o'leary would have it so, and sir george was trotted out of his grave and thrown in my teeth as long as mike lived. well, he was not a promising lot, but i was so hard up for a man, and the horses wanted so much looking after, that i took him on. as a groom he was perfect; never have i seen a man his equal. the horses took to him, and he was devoted to them. but, by the lord harry! he was a blister to everyone else on the station. how he had ever been enlisted in the th the lord only knows, and how he had ever existed in the regiment is a mystery to me to this day. his tongue was as sharp as a double-edged sword, and as bitter as gall, but the little fiend could fight like a gamecock, and was as hard as iron, so that when his remarks were resented he was always ready to back his words up with his hands, until at last most of the troopers were only too glad to leave mike alone. as regards myself, he showed me neither deference nor respect, would never say sir when addressing me, and would openly and audibly criticise my riding, my personal appearance, my drill, and my dress, and none of these to my credit. poor sir george was also brought to the fore every day, and the difference between us as to morals, manners, sport, or anything else that might be on the tapis, was pointed out and expatiated upon, and never in my favour. the little beast became quite obnoxious to me, but he did so well by the horses that i could not part with him, and came at last to look on him as a trial sent by providence to humiliate me, and as a punishment for my sins; so i was bound to accept him as such, and put up with him. well, things went on like this till one day, when i came in from a long patrol, i found quin on the sick list and that mike o'leary had installed himself in his place as servant. now if i had wanted him to come and look after me, nothing on earth would have made him come, but as he knew he was the last man on the station whose presence i desired in my rooms, of course there he was and there he evidently intended to stick. in vain i told him he would be overworked looking after both myself and the horses. "sure, and don't i know that?" he snarled. "it's little thanks i'll get from the likes of you, who spends your money on debauchery and blaggardism, and pays your servants, who works their fingers to the bone, as little as ye can; but i knows my duty to your honourable father, god rest his sowle, and while that useless baste quin is skulking, i'll be here to see you to bed when you come home drunk every night." what was to be done? i though matters over, and at last determined to attack mike on his only weak spot. mike i knew to be a rigid r.c., but he was also saturated with superstitions. he had all those of the usual irish peasant, and a good many more of his own. he firmly believed in witches, ghosts and fairies, good and bad, and was convinced that the devil himself was frequently knocking around looking for someone to transport to tropical regions. as to his religion, mike was very devout, with one exception--he would eat meat on fridays. "fast, is it?" he would say. "a soldier may ate his rations." "but you are not a soldier now, mike." "well, and whose fault is that now? did not i put my pride in my pocket and offer to join your blackguards, and did not that t.s.m. tell me i was too small? bad luck to the lout! was i not fighting in the crimee with your honourable father before he was breeched? it's little the likes of him is fit to be t.s.m., but what can you expect when the captain ought to be at skule learning manners! it's little of an officer you'll ever make." exit mike, with a well-directed boot after him. it was an uphill job, but i worked and worked away at him. i even persuaded the good father de rohan to go for him and preach abstinence to him, and even threaten him with pains and penalties if he did not put the muzzle on. but no good. then i began to pretend that the rooms were haunted, and that rather fetched him, but yet, though he was uncomfortable, it did not quite hit the right spot. at last fortune played into my hands. a lieutenant who had been away on long leave rejoined and was sent up to my station. he was a very tall, thin man, very dark, with straight features, large eyebrows and moustache, and mike had never seen him before. the first night he joined we were talking over our pipes, after dinner, when he mentioned a very swell fancy-dress ball he had been to. at once i asked him in what character he had gone. of course he replied: "mephistopheles." had he brought his dress out with him? yes, he had it in his kit. would he do me a very great favour? why, certainly. then i told him about my incubus, mike, and i earnestly requested him to put his dress on the next night and play the devil for mike's benefit. of course he was only too delighted to assist, and the plot was duly laid. that night i went to my quarters. there was mike, with his usual pleasant remarks and sneer. i stopped short and said sternly: "you have been smoking." "begorra i've not," said he. "then you have been lighting those beastly sulphur matches." "i've not," said he. i walked over to the dressing-table, looked in the glass, then started back, and let out at him. "have done with your fooling tricks. how dare you grin over my shoulder like that?" "i did not," he replied. "if it was not you it must have been the devil then," i said sternly. "and i don't wonder at it, when such a cross-grained ugly beggar as you sits in my quarters alone at this time of night. take care, mike," i said impressively; "take care. remember what father de rohan told you. if you will eat meat on friday, and will quarrel and insult everyone, the devil will be after you in earnest. "what's that?" i cried, looking hard past him. "get out of this, mike; the company you keep here when i'm out is not safe for a christian man." he turned very white, was evidently very uncomfortable, crossed himself over and over again, and bolted. next morning he brought two sticks, when he came to my room, which he crossed on the fire hearth, and when he turned up at night-time he had evidently been to the canteen, for he was pot-valiant and i could see he had a bottle with him. "i suppose you will be afraid to stay in the rooms alone," i said, as i left for dinner. [illustration: the divil, bedad!] "i will not," said he; but i saw the blue funk rising in him. it was a friday. "did you eat meat to-day?" i asked. "i did that," he replied, "and i will." "well, god help you," i said. "it's great danger you are in this night." it was midnight when the lieutenant, fully got up in a most perfect fancy dress, and looking his part to perfection, appeared in the mess hut. in his hand he carried a few inches of time fuse, and also a huge fork, known in the service as the tormentor. the cook uses it to take the men's meat out of the boilers. we all crept up to my quarters, which consisted of a hut with two rooms in it, in the front one of which was the victim. to light the fuse and pass it under the door was the work of a moment, then to open the latter and step in took no longer. mike, who had been absorbing courage from the bottle, had fallen asleep, but was waked up by a prod from the tormentor. he woke with a growl of rage, that changed into a yell of consternation, when he saw the terrific figure regarding him through the sulphury smoke of the fuse. "mike o'leary," said a deep voice, "i've come for you." poor mike, who had fallen back open-mouthed, with the sweat of fear trickling off him, whimpered: "oh no, good mr devil; wait for the master." "no," thundered the voice; "it's you i want, not your good, kind master, who's been a friend to you, and who you sneer at, insult and deride, and who, protestant as he is, tries to stop your greedy sin of eating meat on fast days. come on!" and he made a pass at mike with the tormentor, which mike dodged by going over backwards, chair and all. "i'll never cheek him again, by this, and by that, i won't!" yelled mike, as he got another prod in a fleshy part, "and i'll never touch meat again, i won't." but at that he fainted. he soon came round, and was on his knees telling his beads when we entered the room, as if we were going to have a parting smoke before turning in. "what the deuce have you been up to, mike?" i said. "who has been here? what is the cause of this awful smell, and what have you been making such a row about?" "o holy mary! sor," whined mike; "he's been here." "who the devil has been here, you drunken blackguard?" i shouted. "oh, dear sor, oh, kind sor, don't spake disrespectfully of the ould gentleman; shure he's been here, and has just left. oh, sor; i'll repent, i will. for god's sake send for the holy father. what will i do? what will i do?" we got him to his quarters at last, and next morning mike was a changed man. although still by nature cross-grained, yet a more respectful servant or a better comrade could not be found on a month's trek, and he stayed with me till he died, two years afterwards, regretted by everyone who knew him. _r.i.p._ chapter vi bushed in very many parts of the world, which on the map are painted red and collectively called the british empire, there are huge tracts of country covered with forests of all sorts, which are known to the inhabitants of the different colonies by various names, and these have exacted a heavy toll of human life from the venturesome traveller, prospector, hunter, or others, who have entered their recesses on their own business or pleasure. if the scrub of australia, the bush of new zealand, the forests of canada, and the wilds of africa could only be examined with a microscope, the remains of thousands of men would be discovered who, having been bushed (_i.e._ lost in the forest), have died of hunger, thirst or exhaustion, and whose remains, unfound, have wasted away until only a few mouldering bones, some tattered rags, and a few fragments of rusty metal remain to tell the tale and act as a warning to others. i have on two occasions been the finder of the remains of men who have been lost. one on the taupo plains, who disappeared and who, although he was missed and looked for, was not found until three years after his disappearance, when i, quite by chance, stumbled on the poor chap's bones, which were identified by a glass eye. the other case was the bones of a white man i found while shooting in south africa. who or what he had been never transpired. that he had been a white man was evident, but when or how he had been lost i never found out. i remember well that after i had searched the vicinity for anything that could have been used as a clue to his identity, i stood over the poor bones and moralised. this poor chap must have belonged to someone in the world who cared for him. yet here he lay nameless, and unknown, his bones to be buried, as soon as my hunting boys with knife and tomahawk could scoop out a hole, by a man who was a perfect stranger to him, or, for all i knew to the contrary, we might have been comrades in two or three wars, or have hobnobbed together scores of times. however, there, under a tree, his bones lie, and i have no doubt that all marks of his grave, even the cross i cut out on the tree, to mark the spot, have long ago disappeared, and yet it is quite possible to this day there are people hoping and wondering if he will turn up. in the colonies men disappear very rapidly, and they are not readily missed. so they do in this great wilderness, london, whose hidden mysteries far and away outnumber all the frontier mysteries of the british empire put together, but yet somehow the picture of a man lost in the bush, dying, alone, of starvation, thirst and exhaustion seems, if not so pathetic, at least more romantic than the scores of hungry, ragged and homeless creatures who wander about the embankment, or the slums of the mighty city. very many times during my life on the frontiers of the various colonies in which i have served i have been called on to assist in the search for a missing man; sometimes we have been successful, and have found our man alive, sometimes we have found him dead, and often we have searched in vain, the poor chap having disappeared, as if taken from earth in a chariot of fire. i could fill a book with yarns of cases of people being lost and found, and of being lost and not found, but the most wonderful case i know of is that of a young colonial, who was lost for forty days, yet was found alive, and who i believe to be still living. in i had taken command of the de beer's company expedition to mashonaland, consisting of sixty white men, forty colonial boys (natives), and eighteen waggons. the above i was to conduct from kimberley to salisbury, a trek of about miles. it was no joke. very many of my men were quite raw hands, and just after we had left kimberley the heaviest rains ever known in south africa came on, so that the rivers became flooded, the swamps impassable, and the roads, such as they were, so rotten that the heavily laden waggons sank to their bed plates every few minutes. however, i at last passed tuli, and proceeded some eighteen miles on the umzinguani river, where i determined to halt for a fortnight, so as to rest and recuperate my worn-out oxen. in tuli the o.c. of the b.s.a. police had told me that some days before i reached that place a man had been lost from some waggons that had been outspanned at the umzinguani river. up to date he had not been heard of, so he requested me to make a careful search and try to discover any trace of the missing man. i promised to do so, and asked for all the particulars. the man was a colonial of dutch descent, who was acting as orderly to some dominican nursing sisters _en route_ to salisbury. they had outspanned across the river, in the early morning. after breakfast the man had taken his rifle, had entered the bush on the down-river side of the road, to try and shoot a buck for fresh meat, but had never returned. the waggons had waited three days for him, and then trekked on. i also ascertained that some twelve miles farther on the road was crossed by a big creek, that ran into the river some miles below the drift. this being the case, i failed to see how a colonial man, _provided he kept his head_, could be lost, as the area in which the occurrence happened was surrounded on all sides by good landmarks. it was in fact an irregular triangle, bounded on one side by the river, on another by the creek, and on the third by the road. provided he struck the road, he had only to turn to his left to reach the outspan. if he struck the river he would only have to follow it up and find his waggons, and if he came across the creek he would only have to follow it to the road or river. this seems easy enough; but, as an old and experienced scout, i knew there were fifty sorts of trouble that might have happened to him, or he might have been guilty of a score of follies, all inexcusable but all committed frequently, even by old hands. he had gone away without his coat, that we knew; he might also have gone without matches--this was quite likely--and probably with only two or three rounds of ammunition. it was a very bad lion country: he might have tackled one and got the worst of the encounter; he might have been hurt by a wounded buck, sprained his ankle, broken his leg or otherwise hurt himself. it is folly, a man going shooting alone in a south african bush. anything may happen in a moment, and then a man by himself is helpless and unable to send for assistance. we reached the umzinguani river at daylight, crossed the drift and outspanned. after breakfast i collected the men, explained my plans to them and drew them a rough map of the area over which our search was to be made. i selected seventy men, black and white, for the job, and my plan was to extend these men some ten or twelve yards apart and, keeping our right on the river's bank, to move down in line till we came to the spot where the creek ran into the river. then, if we found no trace or spoor of him, to swing round and return to the road, taking, of course, a new line parallel to, and touching, the first one; and to enable us to do this correctly i ordered the man on the left flank to blaze the trees on his line, so that we should know we were not going over the same ground twice, nor leave a gap between the lines of search. i had plenty of old hands among my men, both black and white, and on reaching the junction of the river and creek i was certain the work had been done thoroughly, although nothing had been found. at the junction i found a lot of dutchmen, some twenty in number, who were outspanned there. they were trek riders, who, after delivering their loads in salisbury, had hauled off the road and camped for the purpose of resting their oxen and shooting big game to make biltong. they had heard nothing of the lost man, but insisted on helping me to look for him. that afternoon we searched the new line of country back to the road, the right-hand man blazing the trees _en route_, but found nothing except game and lion spoor. the next day we started from where we had left off and took a new line, the left-hand man blazing the trees, while the right-flank man worked down the line of the previous afternoon. i did not rush the men, as i had no hopes of finding the poor fellow alive, but yet i hoped to find his rifle--a lion could not eat that--or some trace of him, so i told the men to search carefully and not hurry. i had two bugles with me, and the men shouting to one another, so as to keep in touch, made plenty of noise, that the poor chap must have heard if alive. the bush was an open one, with little undergrowth, so we had a good chance of finding anything out of the common. we kept up this search ten days, until i was convinced every bit of ground in the triangle had been prospected; but we found absolutely nothing. then we said good-bye to the dutchmen and continued our journey. some weeks afterwards a post cart passed me going to salisbury and the corporal in charge of it told me a wonderful tale. the dutchmen had remained at their camp some time after my departure, and the day before they moved off one of them, while out shooting, had found a white man concealed in an ant-bear hole. he was stark naked, and in a dreadfully emaciated condition, the nails torn off his hands and his teeth actually worn down to his gums. he was quite mad, but the dutchman carried him to his waggon, and trekked into tuli; where he was taken into the hospital, and with careful nursing restored to reason and health. he afterwards came up to salisbury, where i was staff officer. i knew him well, and held frequent conversations with him regarding his woeful experiences. his story is a very short one. he had left the waggons after breakfast for a stroll, with his rifle, three cartridges and no matches. all at once it dawned on him he was lost, so he started running (_a fatal mistake_), and remembers no more. up to the time he was found, quite close to the dutchman's camp, over forty days had elapsed. how he had lived he had no idea. the state of his hands and teeth showed he must have grubbed roots and gnawed them; but he must have obtained water from either the creek or river, and, mad as he was, one of them should have guided him to safety. again, how did he escape my search and that of other parties who had looked for him? what became of his rifle, boots and clothes? and, above all, why did not a lion skoff him? to these and heaps of other queries i can only say that truth is stranger than fiction, that i have told the yarn as it happened, and can't answer conundrums. in the above yarn i have told you that the lost man began to run, and have noted it was a fatal mistake. yes, it is a fatal mistake to begin to run when you discover you are lost, for i can assure you that it is not a difficult matter for even an old and experienced scout to lose himself, if he lets his mind and attention wander. but now i will spin you a yarn about one of my men who was lost on the same trek to mashonaland. this man was a fine, strapping fellow about thirty years of age. he was a well-educated mechanic, a good athlete and football-player, but a new chum in the bush and at frontier work. we were at the time trekking along the limpopo river, a very bad bit of country indeed, and i had given my men warning not to leave the waggons. i had also tried to teach the new chums some simple facts in bushcraft. the country here swarmed with feathered game: partridges, pheasants, and guinea-fowls. it was my custom to walk on before the train of waggons, on the trek, with my gun, and shoot plenty of these birds sunning themselves on the road. one evening when the men were inspanning, a very noisy job when you have eighteen waggons, i took my gun and strolled along as usual. the road was about thirty yards broad, and well-defined, the wide river running some one hundred yards on the right-hand side of it. i had progressed about two hundred yards from the outspan, but was still well within earshot and sight of it, when i saw the man i have mentioned come rushing through the trees and thorn bushes, down the slope on the left-hand side of the road. at first i thought he had gone mad, and so, for a time, he was. he had lost his hat, his khaki clothes were torn to rags, his face worked convulsively, with his eyes bulging out of his head, while the perspiration ran down him in streams. he reached the road within a yard or two of me; but he neither saw me, the road, nor the river in front of him. i jumped forward and seized him, saying: "what's the matter with you? what are you doing here?" he struggled for a moment, as if to try and break away; then some expression came into his face, and he gasped out: "oh, thank god, major, you have found me. i knew you would look for me." [illustration: bush track.] [illustration: punga (tree fern).] "look for you?" i said. "why, what's gone wrong with you?" "oh, sir," he cried--and, strong man as he was, he shook with fear--"i'm lost in the bush." "lost in the bush?" i said. "what do you mean? don't you see you are on the road? don't you see the waggons? don't you hear the row the boys are making inspanning, or see the river in front of you?" "i do now, sir; but i saw nothing, and heard nothing, when you caught hold of me. oh, thank god you found me." as he was quite unnerved, i took him back to my waggon, and gave him a tot, at the same time making inquiries as to the time he had left the camp; and i found out he had not been absent more than an hour. so much for the rapidity with which bush fear unnerves a new chum, no matter how strong he is, unless he has the will-power to fight against it. on questioning this man, subsequently, he told me he had only strolled into the bush for a few minutes, then tried to find the waggons, had failed to do so, started running, and remembered no more. fortunately he had run in a circle that crossed the road; had he circled in the other direction, nothing could have saved him, and another case of the bush having claimed a white man's life would have been registered. now anyone would think that one experience of that sort would have been enough for that man, but it was not, for, some time afterwards, he again went off by himself, and again got lost. at this time we were trekking through very rough country, full of steep, high granite kopjes, and, notwithstanding my strict orders to the contrary, he left the waggons, and went into the bush alone. on his absence that night being reported to me, i took a party of colonial blacks with a couple of mashonas and ascended a big kopje, at the foot of which we were outspanned, and from that height examined the country. it was not long before i spotted a fire, about two miles away, that was evidently a white man's fire; so i at once had an answering fire lit, and carefully took the bearings of the one i saw. at daybreak i sent a party of men, under an experienced old hand, to bring in the straggler. they reached the place and found the remains of the fire, but he had gone. not content with his first folly, the stupid fellow had evidently tried to find his way back to us, and lost himself again. for two days we looked for him, and on the third the late mr alfred beit, who was travelling up to mashonaland, brought him into my camp, having come across him, in a dazed condition, quite by chance, some miles back on the road. you may depend that the reception he got from me was a very warm one, and that i took most effectual precautions to prevent him leaving the waggons again. chapter vii the non-com.'s revenge, or the curate and the snake i was proceeding up-country in south africa with a small party of troopers and led horses. the day before i was to start the bishop came to me and said: "one of my young men has to go up to headquarters. do you mind taking him with you? he is quite new to the country and, as he is not well off, he can't afford the heavy coach fare. you are taking up led horses. he tells me he can ride a little, and you would be doing a very great kindness if you would take him." now the bishop and myself were rather pals in our way; for although, as a rule, i did not trouble the church much, yet i have always had the greatest respect for the cloth, and perhaps, as this youngster might be a varsity or public school man, he would be company for me on my -mile ride. so i said: "all right, bishop; trot him round to the lines to-morrow morning with his traps, an hour before sunrise, and he will find us ready to start. remember, it is a hard ride, roads bad, rivers full, horses only half broken, and warn him to be punctual." next morning the two light mule waggons that were to accompany us were inspanned and ready to load, the horses saddled, early coffee drank, but no curate. now this was bad. nothing ever goes quite right the first trek. mules are new to their places in the span; men, with their last night's heads on them, are sulky; the officer a bit sharp, so as to knock them into shape; the half-broken horses restive; while the non-com. in charge of the waggons is anxious to pack them, and can't do so, to his satisfaction, until he has all the baggage to his hand. consequently the curate, or, as the men profanely termed him, the bally sky-pilot, not having turned up to time, he was being growled at and cursed. at last he came, his kit consisting of paper bags, parcels and band-boxes. how he ever expected them to stand the rough usage of the road the lord only knows. then he paraded in a field kit composed of a long black coat, short black trousers, low shoes and white socks. such a get-up to ride miles in i had never seen, and my men eyed him with wonder and astonishment. he came up to me and introduced himself, though he evidently did not think it worth while to apologise for keeping us waiting, but trusted we were going to have fine weather, that he would have a quiet horse, that the men did not swear, that we should meet no wild animals, above all, snakes. in fact he was so full of trust that i had to cut him short, and when he suggested the advisability of saying a few prayers before we started on this very dangerous journey i told him sharply to get on his horse, as smart as he could, and then he could pray there as long as he liked. this was not perhaps quite polite; but no officer likes to be kept waiting when he is on the point of starting on a journey, and, as i said before, tempers are crisp for the first trek. i had selected for him a quiet old troop horse; and it was well i had done so, as when he started to mount he tumbled over on the other side, and when at last we got him into his saddle he gave endless trouble: first of all his stirrup leathers were too long, then too short, and he was such a noodle, unable to do anything for himself, that a man had to keep on dismounting every few minutes to render him assistance. now there is no class of men in the world more respectful to clergy, of any denomination, than the up-country man, be he miner, farmer or trooper. a parson or priest is always made welcome at any camp he may choose to call at, and the best in that camp is placed at his disposal. the men, no matter how wild and godless, will listen to him with attention, so long as the time is fit and the homily straight; but the minister must have tact. it is by no means wise for a pastor to preach a sermon against bad language when the waggon is stuck in a drift, or when the cook's mate upsets the bucket of tea into the fire; no, it is better for him, under these circumstances, to bide his time, close his ears, retire a short distance and commune with himself. now this johnny had not the tact of an ostrich. he had already made a bad impression on us by being late, his wonderful get-up, and by his utter helplessness. this would have been looked over, and the men, thoroughly good-natured, would have done their best for him, and have taken all the care in the world of him, provided he would have left their souls alone, at least during the trek. leading unbroken horses, for the first day or two, is no joke. they try to break away, and sometimes do so, when they at once head back for their old feed-grounds, have to be rounded-up and recaught; and it does not improve men's tempers when this occurs, and they drop a big d, to have a useless new chum, who, sitting like a monkey on his horse, with his trousers rucked up to his knees, raises his hands and says: "oh, my dear, dear man, where do you expect to go if you use such horrid language? oh, how can you say that? please don't be so profane," etc., etc. likewise at the first drift, a very bad one, with a rotten bottom, a very steep pull-out, mules jibbing and waggons sticking, it is not pleasant to have an ignorant josser interfering and making himself more objectionable every minute, by praying out loud that evil should not happen to him for being in the company of such godless men. this he did, and before we reached the first outspan he had made himself decidedly unpopular; and he did not improve matters there. i have always made it a rule, when i am trekking with a small party, to take my food in company and at the same camp fire with the men, who will never take a liberty with an officer doing this--it draws the feeling of comradeship tighter, and also only one man is required to do the cooking. now the new chum objected to this, and that in an audible voice. he informed me he did not care to sit at the same fire as troopers, most of whom were low fellows. by the same token, most of them were gentlemen by birth, while some of them were varsity and public school men to boot, and all of them thorough good fellows. i lost my temper with the ass, and told him he could light a fire for himself, or, if he preferred it, could sit with the kafirs, but if he required food he had better come and have it. this he did with a very bad grace, and noticing the old waggon non-com. (a strict roman catholic) cross himself before beginning his food, had the worse taste to attack the old fellow's religion and preach at him for his bad language at the drift. the grizzled old warrior said nothing, but i could see a grin come over his face that i knew predicted danger to the new chum; and presently he began to talk about snakes and lions. the curate opened his ears wide, taking in all that was said, and by the time we were ready to inspan for the evening trek he had become very nervous. that afternoon he rode with two or three of the troopers, who filled him up to the chin with wonderful and awful yarns about snake bites and lion stories; so that when we halted for the night he dare not move out of the light thrown by the camp fire. he did not object to sharing the evening meal with the men, but again made himself very offensive to the non-com., and, on the latter serving out the evening ration of rum, made most uncalled-for remarks, and preached us a sermon on temperance, and the evils of strong drink. well, the ration was drunk, the last pipe smoked, the sentry posted and the blankets laid down. again he started to fuss. where was he to sleep? he had never slept out in the open before. he could not sleep without undressing. was there not great danger from wild animals and snakes? and he had no blankets in his kit to begin with. the old non-com. looked after him like a mother, the men gave up blankets for his use, and at last all turned in; but as i fell off to sleep i saw the non-com. go to a thorn-tree and select, with much care, a branch. the new chum had undressed, said most voluminous prayers and, tired out by the journey, fallen asleep. everything was quite quiet, when suddenly we were all roused by the most piercing yells. a frontier man is awake and on the alert in a moment, and i at once demanded what the row was about. the parson, nearly mad with terror, screamed out he had been bitten by a serpent and must die; he also held out to me his naked arm, on which i saw two small punctures with drops of blood oozing out of them. to tie a piece of rhimpie round his arm above the wound, and twist it tight with a cleaning rod, jab a penknife into the punctures, and suck them, at the same time ordering the patient to hold his bally row, and the non-com. to bring a pannikin of rum, did not take long, and i at once administered a tot that would have made an old bos'n cough and splutter. then i had him walked about and in a few minutes gave him another quartermaster's nip, which got well home on him, and he became very drunk indeed. of course as soon as i saw him drunk i knew he was safe, and told him to stop whimpering, get into his blankets and go to sleep. he did certainly stop whimpering, but he refused to go to bed, or go to sleep. no, he declared he would not go home till morning. his holiness sloughed off him like a serpent's skin, and in a few minutes, to the huge delight of my godless troopers, he began to tell very naughty stories and to sing very ribald songs. he likewise, in his nightgown (a garment never before seen in that part of the world), began to show us some can-can steps, and at last behaved in such a manner that i was forced to tell him i would have him pegged out and gagged if he did not hold his row. on this he consigned us all to the place it was his duty to guide us away from, got into bed, burst into tears, and sobbed himself to sleep. i saw by the chuckling of the men, and the unholy grin of the non-com., some joke had been perpetrated; but as i could see i was not to be informed of it i gave the order "lights out," turned over and went to sleep. next morning, an hour before daybreak, the rouse went, blankets were bundled up, horses were quickly rubbed over, saddled, and while they were eating their half-ration of mealies the waggons were packed and early coffee served out. but oh! the wretched new chum! he was stiff from the ride of the previous day, yet, sore as his body was from the unaccustomed saddle, his head was much worse. he groaned when he was roused up and told to turn out. could he not be allowed to sleep longer? what had happened? was there no soda water? oh dear, oh dear. the non-com. proffered a pannikin of hot coffee and recommended a tot in it. the curate took the coffee but refused the tot, although the non-com. swore it was the best medicine in the world for anyone who had been on the bust the night before, and assured the poor wretch that he himself always doctored himself with one, after he had had a wet night. anyhow he must get up, as the waggons had to be packed, and we should move off the moment the horses and mules had finished their feed. he could not or would not, so i was called, and went to him. i saw in a moment the miserable wretch was unable to ride, so ordered the non-com. to make a place for him on one of the waggons, which was done, and, making him dress, we put him on to it. at the midday halt he was better, and at the night outspan he was so well that he began to get aggressive again. the men stood it for a bit, and then one of them repeated one of his own stories, and another started to sing one of his songs. he rushed to me and complained; but i pointed out to him that the song and story were his own, which he had favoured us with the night before, and therefore he could not grumble. this sort of thing went on all night, and when the rum ration was served out, and he indignantly refused to share it, he was politely requested to favour the men with a discourse on the evils of drink, and bad company. of course the men treated him with the greatest respect in my presence, but when they could get him alone he caught it, and even at the camp fire sly shots were fired at him, such as low fellows, get drunk, shocking language, filthy songs, etc., etc., until the poor wretch was nearly driven mad with shame and contrition, and hung on to me so much that he became a perfect nuisance. this went on for a couple of days, when at a wayside house where the mail coach stopped i had become so sick of him, and also, i must confess, sorry for him, that i paid his coach fare and persuaded him to continue his journey by it, an offer he thankfully accepted. and so i got rid of him, with equal pleasure. it was after he had left us i was let into the joke that had so amused the men on the night of the catastrophe. the old non-com., incensed by the new chum's tactless interference with his mules, his language and his religion, and knowing full well the course i should pursue in counteracting a case of snake bite, had taken advantage of the camp being asleep to jam into his victim's arm the thorns i had seen him go to the tree to get, and then on the alarm being given had declared he had seen a snake, so in this crafty way had gained his revenge. the new chum proved no good up-country, and in a few months was sent back to england, where it is to be hoped he has found a better sphere for his talents than in trying to convert members of the lost legion. and now this skein is ended it is the profound hope of an old lost legionary that the perusal of them has not bored you, and he only wishes he had been in better form to do justice to the kind support he has received from the press and public. _salue!_ the riverside press limited, edinburgh * * * * * extracts from reviews of a lost legionary in south africa _demy vo. s. d. net. fully illustrated_ _the nation_, _ th august _.--"the book is full of adventure and anecdote, and colonel brown's simple unaffected style is well suited to the story he tells." _illustrated london news_, _ st august _.--"from cover to cover the book is packed full of lively incidents, told in a quick, easy and vivid style, which holds the reader from the first page to the last.... it should find many readers all the empire over." _evening standard_, _ th july _.--"a more natural writer never published a book. for strong epithet allied to pungent diction he has not his superior outside rabelais." _yorkshire weekly post_, _ th august_ (or _ th august_) _ _.--"the new book is as good reading as the one before, which is saying a great deal for it." _glasgow herald_, _ th july _.--"the book is to be commended for its real interest and exciting narrative, combined with humour and plain-speaking." _dublin times_, _ th august _.--"to those who wish to know something of the life of a soldier and the kind of fighting that was done in those early days for the aggrandisement of the empire, we can give no better advice than to procure this book. it is full of candid criticism and genuine information." _the graphic_, _ th july _.--"'a lost legionary in south africa,' by colonel g. hamilton-browne, known as maori browne, contains some excellent stories." _review of reviews_, _july _.--"a book with the right ring; mainly concerned with fighting. the author preaches with rough and ready eloquence an impromptu sermon which will amuse, arrest and convince." _belfast news letter_, _ th august _.--"the book is written in the same attractive style as its predecessor, and there are many striking passages in it." books of travel _demy vo. cloth bindings. all fully illustrated_ through india and burma with pen and brush by a. hugh fisher. s. net alone in west africa by mary gaunt. s. net china revolutionised by j. s. thompson. s. d. net new zealand by dr max herz. s. d. net the diary of a soldier of fortune by stanley portal hyatt. s. d. net off the main track by stanley portal hyatt. s. d. net with the lost legion in new zealand by colonel g. hamilton-browne ("maori browne"). s. d. net a lost legionary in south africa by colonel g. hamilton-browne ("maori browne"). s. d. my bohemian days in paris by julius m. price. s. d. net with gun and guide in n.b. columbia by t. martindale. s. d. net siam by pierre loti. s. d. net "abe" lincoln's anecdotes and stories a collection of the best stories told by lincoln which made him famous as america's best story teller compiled by r. d. wordsworth the mutual book company publishers boston, mass. compiled, , for the mutual book company "abe" lincoln's anecdotes and stories [illustration] =a fun-loving and humor-loving man= it was once said of shakespeare that the great mind that conceived the tragedies of "hamlet," "macbeth," etc., would have lost its reason if it had not found vent in the sparkling humor of such comedies as "the merry wives of windsor" and "the comedy of errors." the great strain on the mind of abraham lincoln produced by four years of civil war might likewise have overcome his reason had it not found vent in the yarns and stories he constantly told. no more fun-loving or humor-loving man than abraham lincoln ever lived. he enjoyed a joke even when it was on himself, and probably, while he got his greatest enjoyment from telling stories, he had a keen appreciation of the humor in those that were told him. =matrimonial advice= for a while during the civil war, general fremont was without a command. one day in discussing fremont's case with george w. julian, president lincoln said he did not know where to place him, and that it reminded him of the old man who advised his son to take a wife, to which the young man responded: "all right; whose wife shall i take?" =a slow horse= on one occasion when mr. lincoln was going to attend a political convention one of his rivals, a liveryman, provided him with a slow horse, hoping that he would not reach his destination in time. mr. lincoln got there, however, and when he returned with the horse he said: "you keep this horse for funerals, don't you?" "oh, no," replied the liveryman. "well, i'm glad of that, for if you did you'd never get a corpse to the grave in time for the resurrection." =a vain general= in an interview between president lincoln and petroleum v. nasby, the name came up of a recently deceased politician of illinois whose merit was blemished by great vanity. his funeral was very largely attended. "if general ---- had known how big a funeral he would have had," said mr. lincoln, "he would have died years ago." =had confidence in him--"but"--= "general blank asks for more men," said secretary of war stanton to the president one day, showing the latter a telegram from the commander named, appealing for re-enforcements. "i guess he's killed off enough men, hasn't he?" queried the president. "i don't mean confederates--our own men. what's the use in sending volunteers down to him if they're only used to fill graves?" "his dispatch seems to imply that, in his opinion, you have not the confidence in him he thinks he deserves," the war secretary went on to say, as he looked over the telegram again. "oh," was the president's reply, "he needn't lose any of his sleep on that account. just telegraph him to that effect; also, that i don't propose to send him any more men." =hardtack better than generals= secretary of war stanton told the president the following story, which greatly amused the latter, as he was especially fond of a joke at the expense of some high military or civil dignitary. stanton had little or no sense of humor. when secretary stanton was making a trip up the broad river in north carolina, in a tugboat, a federal picket yelled out, "what have you got on board of that tug?" the severe and dignified answer was, "the secretary of war and major-general foster." instantly the picket roared back, "we've got major-generals enough up here. why don't you bring us up some hardtack?" =douglas held lincoln's hat= when mr. lincoln delivered his first inaugural he was introduced by his friend, united states senator e. d. baker, of oregon. he carried a cane and a little roll--the manuscript of his inaugural address. there was a moment's pause after the introduction, as he vainly looked for a spot where he might place his high silk hat. stephen a. douglas, the political antagonist of his whole public life, the man who had pressed him hardest in the campaign of , was seated just behind him. douglas stepped forward quickly, and took the hat which mr. lincoln held helplessly in his hand. "if i can't be president," douglas whispered smilingly to mrs. brown, a cousin of mrs. lincoln and a member of the president's party, "i at least can hold his hat." =his passes to richmond not honored= a man called upon the president and solicited a pass for richmond. "well," said the president, "i would be very happy to oblige, if my passes were respected; but the fact is, sir, i have, within the past two years, given passes to two hundred and fifty thousand men to go to richmond, and not one has got there yet." the applicant quietly and respectfully withdrew on his tiptoes. =lincoln as a dancer= lincoln made his first appearance in society when he was first sent to springfield, ill., as a member of the state legislature. it was not an imposing figure which he cut in a ballroom, but still he was occasionally to be found there. miss mary todd, who afterward became his wife, was the magnet which drew the tall, awkward young man from his den. one evening lincoln approached miss todd, and said, in his peculiar idiom: "miss todd, i should like to dance with you the worst way." the young woman accepted the inevitable, and hobbled around the room with him. when she returned to her seat, one of her companions asked mischievously: "well, mary, did he dance with you the worst way?" "yes," she answered, "the very worst." =loved soldiers' humor= lincoln loved anything that savored of wit or humor among the soldiers. he used to relate two stories to show, he said, that neither death nor danger could quench the grim humor of the american soldier: "a soldier of the army of the potomac was being carried to the rear of battle with both legs shot off, who, seeing a pie-woman, called out, 'say, old lady, are them pies sewed or pegged?' "and there was another one of the soldiers at the battle of chancellorsville, whose regiment, waiting to be called into the fight, was taking coffee. the hero of the story put to his lips a crockery mug which he had carried with care through several campaigns. a stray bullet, just missing the drinker's head, dashed the mug into fragments and left only the handle on his finger. turning his head in that direction, he scowled, 'johnny, you can't do that again!'" =wanted to "borrow" the army= during one of the periods when things were at a standstill, the washington authorities, being unable to force general mcclellan to assume an aggressive attitude, president lincoln went to the general's headquarters to have a talk with him, but for some reason he was unable to get an audience. mr. lincoln returned to the white house much disturbed at his failure to see the commander of the union forces, and immediately sent for two general officers, to have a consultation. on their arrival, he told them he must have some one to talk to about the situation, and as he had failed to see general mcclellan, he wished their views as to the possibility or probability of commencing active operations with the army of the potomac. "something's got to be done," said the president, emphatically, "and done right away, or the bottom will fall out of the whole thing. now, if mcclellan doesn't want to use the army for a while, i'd like to borrow it from him and see if i can't do something or other with it. "if mcclellan can't fish, he ought at least to be cutting bait at a time like this." ="fixed up" a bit for the "city folks"= mrs. lincoln knew her husband was not "pretty," but she liked to have him presentable when he appeared before the public. stephen fiske, in "when lincoln was first inaugurated," tells of mrs. lincoln's anxiety to have the president-elect "smoothed down" a little when receiving a delegation that was to greet them upon reaching new york city. "the train stopped," writes mr. fiske, "and through the windows immense crowds could be seen; the cheering drowning the blowing off of steam of the locomotive. then mrs. lincoln opened her handbag and said: "'abraham, i must fix you up a bit for these city folks.' "mr. lincoln gently lifted her upon the seat before him; she parted, combed and brushed his hair and arranged his black necktie. "'do i look nice now, mother?' he affectionately asked. "'well, you'll do, abraham,' replied mrs. lincoln critically. so he kissed her and lifted her down from the seat, and turned to meet mayor wood, courtly and suave, and to have his hand shaken by the other new york officials." ="find out for yourselves"= "several of us lawyers," remarked one of his colleagues, "in the eastern end of the circuit, annoyed lincoln once while he was holding court for davis by attempting to defend against a note to which there were many makers. we had no legal, but a good moral defense, but what we wanted most of all was to stave it off till the next term of court by one expedient or another. "we bothered 'the court' about it till late on saturday, the day of adjournment. he adjourned for supper with nothing left but this case to dispose of. after supper he heard our twaddle for nearly an hour, and then made this odd entry: "'l. d. chaddon vs. j. d. beasley et al., april term, . champaign county court. plea in abatement by b. z. green, a defendant not served, filed saturday at o'clock a.m., april , , stricken from the files by order of court. demurrer to declaration, if there ever was one, overruled. defendants who are served now, at o'clock p.m., of the last day of the term, ask to plead to the merits, which is denied by the court on the ground that the offer comes too late, and therefore, as by nil dicet, judgment is rendered for pl'ff. clerk assess damages. a. lincoln, judge pro tem.' "the lawyer who reads this singular entry will appreciate its oddity if no one else does. after making it, one of the lawyers, on recovering from his astonishment, ventured to inquire: 'well, lincoln, how can we get this case up again?' "lincoln eyed him quizzically for a moment, and then answered, 'you have all been so mighty smart about this case, you can find out how to take it up again yourselves.'" =cold molasses was swifter= "old pap," as the soldiers called general george h. thomas, was aggravatingly slow at a time when the president wanted him to "get a move on"; in fact, the gallant "rock of chickamauga" was evidently entered in a snail-race. "some of my generals are so slow," regretfully remarked lincoln one day, "that molasses in the coldest days of winter is a race horse compared to them. "they're brave enough, but somehow or other they get fastened in a fence corner, and can't figure their way out." ="don't kill him with your fist"= ward lamon, marshal of the district of columbia during lincoln's time in washington, was a powerful man; his strength was phenomenal, and a blow from his fist was like unto that coming from the business end of a sledge. lamon tells this story, the hero of which is not mentioned by name, but in all probability his identity can be guessed: "on one occasion, when the fears of the loyal element of the city (washington) were excited to fever-heat, a free fight near the old national theatre occurred about eleven o'clock one night. an officer, in passing the place, observed what was going on, and seeing the great number of persons engaged, he felt it to be his duty to command the peace. "the imperative tone of his voice stopped the fighting for a moment, but the leader, a great bully, roughly pushed back the officer and told him to go away or he would whip him. the officer again advanced and said, 'i arrest you,' attempting to place his hand on the man's shoulder, when the bully struck a fearful blow at the officer's face. "this was parried, and instantly followed by a blow from the fist of the officer, striking the fellow under the chin and knocking him senseless. blood issued from his mouth, nose and ears. it was believed that the man's neck was broken. a surgeon was called, who pronounced the case a critical one, and the wounded man was hurried away on a litter to the hospital. "there the physicians said there was concussion of the brain, and that the man would die. all the medical skill the officer could procure was employed in the hope of saving the life of the man. his conscience smote him for having, as he believed, taken the life of a fellow-creature, and he was inconsolable. "being on terms of intimacy with the president, about two o'clock that night the officer went to the white house, woke up mr. lincoln, and requested him to come into his office, where he told him his story. mr. lincoln listened with great interest until the narrative was completed, and then asked a few questions, after which he remarked: "'i am sorry you had to kill the man, but these are times of war, and a great many men deserve killing. this one, according to your story, is one of them; so give yourself no uneasiness about the matter. i will stand by you.' "'that is not why i came to you. i knew i did my duty, and had no fears of your disapproval of what i did,' replied the officer; and then he added: 'why i came to you was, i felt great grief over the unfortunate affair, and i wanted to talk to you about it.' "mr. lincoln then said, with a smile, placing his hand on the officer's shoulder: 'you go home now and get some sleep; but let me give you this piece of advice--hereafter, when you have occasion to strike a man, don't hit him with your fist; strike him with a club, a crowbar, or with something that won't kill him.'" ="and--here i am!"= an old acquaintance of the president visited him in washington. lincoln desired to give him a place. thus encouraged, the visitor, who was an honest man, but wholly inexperienced in public affairs or business, asked for a high office, superintendent of the mint. the president was aghast, and said: "good gracious! why didn't he ask to be the secretary of the treasury, and have done with it?" afterward, he said: "well, now, i never thought mr. ---- had anything more than average ability, when we were young men together. but, then, i suppose he thought the same thing about me, and--here i am!" =praises his rival for office= when mr. lincoln was a candidate for the legislature, it was the practice at that date in illinois for two rival candidates to travel over the district together. the custom led to much good-natured raillery between them; and in such contests lincoln was rarely, if ever, worsted. he could even turn the generosity of a rival to account by his whimsical treatment. on one occasion, says mr. weir, a former resident of sangamon county, he had driven out from springfield in company with a political opponent to engage in joint debate. the carriage, it seems, belonged to his opponent. in addressing the gathering of farmers that met them, lincoln was lavish in praise of the generosity of his friend. "i am too poor to own a carriage," he said, "but my friend has generously invited me to ride with him. i want you to vote for me if you will; but if not, then vote for my opponent, for he is a fine man." his extravagant and persistent praise of his opponent appealed to the sense of humor in his rural audience, to whom his inability to own a carriage was by no means a disqualification. =had to wait for him= president lincoln, having arranged to go to new york, was late for his train, much to the disgust of those who were to accompany him, and all were compelled to wait several hours until the next train steamed out of the station. president lincoln was much amused at the dissatisfaction displayed, and then ventured the remark that the situation reminded him of "a little story." said he: "out in illinois, a convict who had murdered his cellmate was sentenced to be hanged. on the day set for the execution, crowds lined the roads leading to the spot where the scaffold had been erected, and there was much jostling and excitement. the condemned man took matters coolly, and as one batch of perspiring, anxious men rushed past the cart in which he was riding, he called out, 'don't be in a hurry, boys. you've got plenty of time. there won't be any fun until i get there.' "that's the condition of things now," concluded the president; "there won't be any fun at new york until i get there." =make something out of it, anyway= from the day of his nomination by the chicago convention, gifts poured in upon lincoln. many of these came in the form of wearing apparel. mr. george lincoln, of brooklyn, who brought to springfield, in january, , a handsome silk hat to the president-elect, the gift of a new york hatter, told some friends that in receiving the hat lincoln laughed heartily over the gifts of clothing, and remarked to mrs. lincoln: "well, wife, if nothing else comes out of this scrape, we are going to have some new clothes, are we not?" =sorry for the horses= when president lincoln heard of the confederate raid at fairfax, in which a brigadier-general and a number of valuable horses were captured, he gravely observed: "well, i am sorry for the horses." "sorry for the horses, mr. president!" exclaimed the secretary of war, raising his spectacles and throwing himself back in his chair in astonishment. "yes," replied mr. lincoln, "i can make a brigadier-general in five minutes, but it is not easy to replace a hundred and ten horses." =noise like a turnip= "every man has his own peculiar and particular way of getting at and doing things," said president lincoln one day, "and he is often criticised because that way is not the one adopted by others. the great idea is to accomplish what you set out to do. when a man is successful in whatever he attempts, he has many imitators, and the methods used are not so closely scrutinized, although no man who is of good intent will resort to mean, underhanded, scurvy tricks. "that reminds me of a fellow out in illinois, who had better luck in getting prairie chickens than any one in the neighborhood. he had a rusty old gun no other man dared to handle; he never seemed to exert himself, being listless and indifferent when out after game, but he always brought home all the chickens he could carry, while some of the others, with their finely trained dogs and latest improved fowling-pieces, came home alone. "'how is it, jake?' inquired one sportsman, who, although a good shot, and knew something about hunting, was often unfortunate, 'that you never come home without a lot of birds?' "jake grinned, half closed his eyes, and replied: 'oh, i don't know that there's anything queer about it. i jes' go ahead an' git 'em.' "'yes, i know you do; but how do you do it?' "'you'll tell.' "'honest, jake, i won't say a word. hope to drop dead this minute.' "'never say nothing, if i tell you?' "'cross my heart three times.' "this reassured jake, who put his mouth close to the ear of his eager questioner, and said, in a whisper: "'all you got to do is jes' to hide in a fence corner an' make a noise like a turnip. that'll bring the chickens every time.'" =let six skunks go= the president had decided to select a new war minister, and the leading republican senators thought the occasion was opportune to change the whole seven cabinet ministers. they, therefore, earnestly advised him to make a clean sweep, and select seven new men, and so restore the waning confidence of the country. the president listened with patient courtesy, and when the senators had concluded, he said, with a characteristic gleam of humor in his eye: "gentlemen, your request for a change of the whole cabinet because i have made one change reminds me of a story i once heard in illinois, of a farmer who was much troubled by skunks. his wife insisted on his trying to get rid of them. "he loaded his shotgun one moonlight night and awaited developments. after some time the wife heard the shotgun go off, and in a few minutes the farmer entered the house. "'what luck have you?' asked she. "'i hid myself behind the wood-pile,' said the old man, 'with the shotgun pointed towards the hen roost, and before long there appeared not one skunk, but seven. i took aim, blazed away, killed one, and he raised such a fearful smell that i concluded it was best to let the other six go.'" the senators laughed and retired. =one thing "abe" didn't love= lincoln admitted that he was not particularly energetic when it came to real hard work. "my father," said he one day, "taught me how to work, but not to love it. i never did like to work, and i don't deny it. i'd rather read, tell stories, crack jokes, talk, laugh--anything but work." =the man he was looking for= judge kelly, of pennsylvania, who was one of the committee to advise lincoln of his nomination, and who was himself a great many feet high, had been eyeing lincoln's lofty form with a mixture of admiration and possibly jealousy. this had not escaped lincoln, and as he shook hands with the judge he inquired, "what is your height?" "six feet three. what is yours, mr. lincoln?" "six feet four." "then," said the judge, "pennsylvania bows to illinois. my dear man, for years my heart has been aching for a president that i could look up to, and i've at last found him." =wanted stanton spanked= old dennis hanks was sent to washington at one time by persons interested in securing the release from jail of several men accused of being copperheads. it was thought old dennis might have some influence with the president. the latter heard dennis' story and then said: "i will send for mr. stanton. it is his business." secretary stanton came into the room, stormed up and down, and said the men ought to be punished more than they were. mr. lincoln sat quietly in his chair and waited for the tempest to subside, and then quietly said to stanton he would like to have the papers next day. when he had gone, dennis said: "'abe,' if i was as big and as ugly as you are, i would take him over my knee and spank him." the president replied: "no, stanton is an able and valuable man for this nation, and i am glad to bear his anger for the service he can give the nation." =six feet four at seventeen= "abe's" school teacher, crawford, endeavored to teach his pupils some of the manners of the "polite society" of indiana-- or so. this was a part of his system: one of the pupils would retire, and then come in as a stranger, and another pupil would have to introduce him to all the members of the school in what was considered "good manners." as "abe" wore a linsey-woolsey shirt, buckskin breeches which were too short and very tight, and low shoes, and was tall and awkward, he no doubt created considerable merriment when his turn came. he was growing at a fearful rate; he was fifteen years of age, and two years later attained his full height of six feet four inches. =just like seward= the first corps of the army commanded by general reynolds was once reviewed by the president on a beautiful plain at the north of potomac creek, about eight miles from hooker's headquarters. the party rode thither in an ambulance over a rough corduroy road, and as they passed over some of the more difficult portions of the jolting way the ambulance driver, who sat well in front, occasionally let fly a volley of suppressed oaths at his wild team of six mules. finally, mr. lincoln, leaning forward, touched the man on the shoulder and said: "excuse me, my friend, are you an episcopalian?" the man, greatly startled, looked around and replied: "no, mr. president; i am a methodist." "well," said lincoln, "i thought you must be an episcopalian, because you swear just like governor seward, who is a church warden." ="abe" got the worst of it= when lincoln was a young lawyer in illinois, he and a certain judge once got to bantering one another about trading horses; and it was agreed that the next morning at nine o'clock they should make a trade, the horses to be unseen up to that hour, and no backing out, under a forfeiture of $ . at the hour appointed, the judge came up, leading the sorriest-looking specimen of a horse ever seen in those parts. in a few minutes mr. lincoln was seen approaching with a wooden saw-horse upon his shoulders. great were the shouts and laughter of the crowd, and both were greatly increased when lincoln, on surveying the judge's animal, set down his saw-horse and exclaimed: "well, judge, this is the first time i ever got the worst of it in a horse trade." =he "set 'em up"= immediately after mr. lincoln's nomination for president at the chicago convention, a committee, of which governor morgan, of new york, was chairman, visited him in springfield, ill., where he was officially informed of his nomination. after this ceremony had passed, mr. lincoln remarked to the company that as a fit ending to an interview so important and interesting as that which had just taken place, he supposed good manners would require that he should treat the committee with something to drink; and opening the door that led into the rear, he called out, "mary! mary!" a girl responded to the call, to whom mr. lincoln spoke a few words in an undertone, and, closing the door, returned again and talked with his guests. in a few minutes the maid entered, bearing a large waiter, containing several glass tumblers, and a large pitcher, and placed them upon the center-table. mr. lincoln arose, and gravely addressing the company, said: "gentlemen, we must pledge our mutual health in the most healthy beverage that god has given to man--it is the only beverage i have ever used or allowed my family to use, and i cannot conscientiously depart from it on the present occasion. it is pure adam's ale from the spring." and, taking the tumbler, he touched it to his lips, and pledged them his highest respects in a cup of cold water. of course, all his guests admired his consistency, and joined in his example. =god with a little "g"= abraham lincoln his hand and pen he will be good but god knows when these lines were found written in young lincoln's own hand at the bottom of a page whereon he had been ciphering. lincoln always wrote a clear, regular "fist." in this instance he evidently did not appreciate the sacredness of the name of the deity, when he used a little "g." lincoln once said he did not remember the time when he could not write. =what ailed the boys= mr. roland diller, who was one of mr. lincoln's neighbors in springfield, tells the following: "i was called to the door one day by the cries of children in the street, and there was mr. lincoln, striding by with two of his boys, both of whom were wailing aloud. 'why, mr. lincoln, what's the matter with the boys?' i asked. "'just what's the matter with the whole world,' lincoln replied. 'i've got three walnuts, and each wants two.'" ="major-general, i reckon"= at one time the president had the appointment of a large additional number of brigadier and major-generals. among the immense number of applications, mr. lincoln came upon one wherein the claims of a certain worthy (not in the service at all) "for a generalship" were glowingly set forth. but the applicant didn't specify whether he wanted to be brigadier or major-general. the president observed this difficulty, and solved it by a lucid indorsement. the clerk, on receiving the paper again, found written across its back, "major-general, i reckon. a. lincoln." =it tickled the little woman= lincoln had been in the telegraph office at springfield during the casting of the first and second ballots in the republican national convention at chicago, and then left and went over to the office of the state journal, where he was sitting conversing with friends while the third ballot was being taken. in a few moments came across the wires the announcement of the result. the superintendent of the telegraph company wrote on a scrap of paper: "mr. lincoln, you are nominated on the third ballot," and a boy ran with the message to lincoln. he looked at it in silence, amid the shouts of those around him; then rising and putting it in his pocket, he said quietly: "there's a little woman down at our house would like to hear this; i'll go down and tell her." =he'd see it again= about two years before lincoln was nominated for the presidency he went to bloomington, illinois, to try a case of some importance. his opponent--who afterward reached a high place in his profession--was a young man of ability, sensible but sensitive, and one to whom the loss of a case was a great blow. he therefore studied hard and made much preparation. this particular case was submitted to the jury late at night, and, although anticipating a favorable verdict, the young attorney spent a sleepless night in anxiety. early next morning he learned, to his great chagrin, that he had lost the case. lincoln met him at the court-house some time after the jury had come in, and asked him what had become of his case. with lugubrious countenance and in a melancholy tone the young man replied, "it's gone to hell." "oh, well," replied lincoln, "then you will see it again." =sure cure for boils= president lincoln and postmaster-general blair were talking of the war. "blair," said the president, "did you ever know that fright has sometimes proven a cure for boils?" "no, mr. president, how is that?" "i'll tell you. not long ago when a colonel, with his cavalry, was at the front, and the rebs were making things rather lively for us, the colonel was ordered out to a reconnoissance. he was troubled at the time with a big boil where it made horseback riding decidedly uncomfortable. he finally dismounted and ordered the troops forward without him. soon he was startled by the rapid reports of pistols and the helter-skelter approach of his troops in full retreat before a yelling rebel force. he forgot everything but the yells, sprang into his saddle, and made capital time over the fences and ditches till safe within the lines. the pain from his boil was gone, and the boil too, and the colonel swore that there was no cure for boils so sure as fright from rebel yells." =justice vs. numbers= lincoln was constantly bothered by members of delegations of "goody-goodies," who knew all about running the war, but had no inside information as to what was going on. yet they poured out their advice in streams, until the president was heartily sick of the whole business, and wished the war would find some way to kill off these nuisances. "how many men have the confederates now in the field?" asked one of these bores one day. "about one million two hundred thousand," replied the president. "oh, my! not so many as that, surely, mr. lincoln." "they have fully twelve hundred thousand, no doubt of it. you see, all of our generals when they get whipped say the enemy outnumbers them from three or five to one, and i must believe them. we have four hundred thousand men in the field, and three times four make twelve,--don't you see it? it is as plain to be seen as the nose on a man's face; and at the rate things are now going, with the great amount of speculation and the small crop of fighting, it will take a long time to overcome twelve hundred thousand rebels in arms. "if they can get subsistence they have everything else, except a just cause. yet it is said that 'thrice is he armed that hath his quarrel just.' i am willing, however, to risk our advantage of thrice in justice against their thrice in numbers." =lincoln saw stanton about it= mr. lovejoy, heading a committee of western men, discussed an important scheme with the president, and the gentlemen were then directed to explain it to secretary of war stanton. upon presenting themselves to the secretary, and showing the president's order, the secretary said: "did lincoln give you an order of that kind?" "he did, sir." "then he is a d--d fool," said the angry secretary. "do you mean to say that the president is a d--d fool?" asked lovejoy in amazement. "yes, sir, if he gave you such an order as that." the bewildered illinoisan betook himself at once to the president and related the result of the conference. "did stanton say i was a d--d fool?" asked lincoln at the close of the recital. "he did, sir, and repeated it." after a moment's pause, and looking up, the president said: "if stanton said i was a d--d fool, then i must be one, for he is nearly always right, and generally says what he means. i will slip over and see him." =sleep standing up= mcclellan was a thorn in lincoln's side--"always up in the air," as the president put it--and yet he hesitated to remove him. "the young napoleon" was a good organizer, but no fighter. lincoln sent him everything necessary in the way of men, ammunition, artillery and equipments, but he was forever unready. instead of making a forward movement at the time expected, he would notify the president that he must have more men. these were given him as rapidly as possible, and then would come a demand for more horses, more this and that, usually winding up with a demand for still "more men." lincoln bore it all in patience for a long time, but one day, when he had received another request for more men, he made a vigorous protest. "if i gave mcclellan all the men he asks for," said the president, "they couldn't find room to lie down. they'd have to sleep standing up." ="abe's" little joke= when general w. t. sherman, november th, , severed all communication with the north and started for savannah with his magnificent army of sixty thousand men, there was much anxiety for a month as to his whereabouts. president lincoln, in response to an inquiry, said: "i know what hole sherman went in at, but i don't know what hole he'll come out at." colonel mcclure had been in consultation with the president one day, about two weeks after sherman's disappearance, and in this connection related this incident: "i was leaving the room, and just as i reached the door the president turned around, and, with a merry twinkling of the eye, inquired, 'mcclure, wouldn't you like to hear something from sherman?' "the inquiry electrified me at the instant, as it seemed to imply that lincoln had some information on the subject. i immediately answered, 'yes, most of all, i should like to hear from sherman.' "to this president lincoln answered, with a hearty laugh: 'well, i'll be hanged if i wouldn't myself.'" =how "fighting joe" was appointed= general "joe" hooker, the fourth commander of the noble but unfortunate army of the potomac, was appointed to that position by president lincoln in january, . general scott, for some reason, disliked hooker and would not appoint him. hooker, after some months of discouraging waiting, decided to return to california, and called to pay his respects to president lincoln. he was introduced as captain hooker, and to the surprise of the president began the following speech: "mr. president, my friend makes a mistake. i am not captain hooker, but was once lieutenant-colonel hooker of the regular army. i was lately a farmer in california, but since the rebellion broke out i have been trying to get into service, but i find i am not wanted. "i am about to return home; but before going, i was anxious to pay my respects to you, and express my wishes for your personal welfare and success in quelling this rebellion. and i want to say to you a word more. "i was at bull run the other day, mr. president, and it is no vanity in me to say, i am a darned sight better general than you had on the field." this was said, not in the tone of a braggart, but of a man who knew what he was talking about. hooker did not return to california, but in a few weeks captain hooker received from the president a commission as brigadier-general hooker. =no others like them= one day an old lady from the country called on president lincoln, her tanned face peering up to his through a pair of spectacles. her errand was to present mr. lincoln a pair of stockings of her own make a yard long. kind tears came to his eyes as she spoke to him, and then, holding the stockings one in each hand, dangling wide apart for general inspection, he assured her that he should take them with him to washington, where (and here his eyes twinkled) he was sure he should not be able to find any like them. quite a number of well-known men were in the room with the president when the old lady made her presentation. among them was george s. boutwell, who afterwards became secretary of the treasury. the amusement of the company was not at all diminished by mr. boutwell's remark, that the lady had evidently made a very correct estimate of mr. lincoln's latitude and longitude. =the dandy and the boys= president lincoln appointed as consul to a south american country a young man from ohio who was a dandy. a wag met the new appointee on his way to the white house to thank the president. he was dressed in the most extravagant style. the wag horrified him by telling him that the country to which he was assigned was noted chiefly for the bugs that abounded there and made life unbearable. "they'll bore a hole clean through you before a week has passed," was the comforting assurance of the wag as they parted at the white house steps. the new consul approached lincoln with disappointment clearly written all over his face. instead of joyously thanking the president, he told him the wag's story of the bugs. "i am informed, mr. president," he said, "that the place is full of vermin and that they could eat me up in a week's time." "well, young man," replied lincoln, "if that's true, all i've got to say is that if such a thing happened they would leave a mighty good suit of clothes behind." =boat had to stop= lincoln never failed to take part in all political campaigns in illinois, as his reputation as a speaker caused his services to be in great demand. as was natural, he was often the target at which many of the "smart alecks" of that period shot their feeble bolts, but lincoln was so ready with his answers that few of them cared to engage him a second time. in one campaign lincoln was frequently annoyed by a young man who entertained the idea that he was a born orator. he had a loud voice, was full of language, and so conceited that he could not understand why the people did not recognize and appreciate his abilities. this callow politician delighted in interrupting public speakers, and at last lincoln determined to squelch him. one night while addressing a large meeting at springfield, the fellow became so offensive that "abe" dropped the threads of his speech and turned his attention to the tormentor. "i don't object," said lincoln, "to being interrupted with sensible questions, but i must say that my boisterous friend does not always make inquiries which properly come under that head. he says he is afflicted with headaches, at which i don't wonder, as it is a well-known fact that nature abhors a vacuum, and takes her own way of demonstrating it. "this noisy friend reminds me of a certain steamboat that used to run on the illinois river. it was an energetic boat, was always busy. when they built it, however, they made one serious mistake, this error being in the relative sizes of the boiler and the whistle. the latter was usually busy too, and people were aware that it was in existence. "this particular boiler to which i have reference was a six-foot one, and did all that was required of it in the way of pushing the boat along; but as the builders of the vessel had made the whistle a six-foot one, the consequence was that every time the whistle blew the boat had to stop." =ran away when victorious= three or four days after the battle of bull run, some gentlemen who had been on the field called upon the president. he inquired very minutely regarding all the circumstances of the affair, and, after listening with the utmost attention, said, with a touch of humor: "so it is your notion that we whipped the rebels and then ran away from them!" =he "skewed" the line= when a surveyor, mr. lincoln first platted the town of petersburg, ill. some twenty or thirty years afterward the property-owners along one of the outlying streets had trouble in fixing their boundaries. they consulted the official plat and got no relief. a committee was sent to springfield to consult the distinguished surveyor, but he failed to recall anything that would give them aid, and could only refer them to the record. the dispute therefore went into the courts. while the trial was pending, an old irishman named mcguire, who had worked for some farmer during the summer, returned to town for the winter. the case being mentioned in his presence, he promptly said: "i can tell you all about it. i helped carry the chain when abe lincoln laid out this town. over there where they are quarreling about the lines, when he was locating the street, he straightened up from his instrument and said: 'if i run that street right through, it will cut three or four feet off the end of ----'s house. it's all he's got in the world and he could never get another. i reckon it won't hurt anything out here if i skew the line a little and miss him.'" the line was "skewed," and hence the trouble, and more testimony furnished as to lincoln's abounding kindness of heart, that would not willingly harm any human being. ="how do you get out of this place?"= "it seems to me," remarked the president one day while reading over some of the appealing telegrams sent to the war department by general mcclellan, "that mcclellan has been wandering around and has sort of got lost. he's been hollering for help ever since he went south--wants somebody to come to his deliverance and get him out of the place he's got into. "he reminds me of the story of a man out in illinois who, in company with a number of friends, visited the state penitentiary. they wandered all through the institution and saw everything, but just about the time to depart this particular man became separated from his friends and couldn't find his way out. "he roamed up and down one corridor after another, becoming more desperate all the time, when, at last, he came across a convict who was looking out from between the bars of his cell-door. here was salvation at last. hurrying up to the prisoner he hastily asked: "'say! how do you get out of this place?'" =hell a mile from the white house= ward lamon told this story of president lincoln, whom he found one day in a particularly gloomy frame of mind. lamon said: "the president remarked, as i came in, 'i fear i have made senator wade, of ohio, my enemy for life.' "'how?' i asked. "'well,' continued the president, 'wade was here just now urging me to dismiss grant, and, in response to something he said, i remarked, "senator, that reminds me of a story."' "'what did wade say,' i inquired of the president. "'he said, in a petulant way,' the president responded, '"it is with you, sir, all story, story! you are the father of every military blunder that has been made during the war. you are on your road to hell, sir, with this government, by your obstinacy, and you are not a mile off this minute."' "'what did you say then?' "'i good-naturedly said to him,' the president replied, '"senator, that is just about from here to the capitol, is it not?" he was very angry, grabbed up his hat and cane, and went away.'" ='twas "moving day"= speed, who was a prosperous young merchant of springfield, reports that lincoln's personal effects consisted of a pair of saddle-bags, containing two or three lawbooks, and a few pieces of clothing. riding on a borrowed horse, he thus made his appearance in springfield. when he discovered that a single bedstead would cost seventeen dollars he said, "it is probably cheap enough, but i have not enough money to pay for it." when speed offered to trust him, he said: "if i fail here as a lawyer, i will probably never pay you at all." then speed offered to share a large double bed with him. "where is your room?" lincoln asked. "upstairs," said speed, pointing from the store leading to his room. without saying a word, he took his saddle-bags on his arm, went upstairs, set them down on the floor, came down again, and with a face beaming with pleasure and smiles, exclaimed: "well, speed, i'm moved." ="abe's" hair needed combing= "by the way," remarked president lincoln one day to colonel cannon, a close personal friend, "i can tell you a good story about my hair. when i was nominated at chicago, an enterprising fellow thought that a great many people would like to see how 'abe' lincoln looked, and, as i had not long before sat for a photograph, the fellow, having seen it, rushed over and bought the negative. "he at once got no end of wood-cuts, and so active was their circulation that they were soon selling in all parts of the country. "soon after they reached springfield, i heard a boy crying them for sale on the streets. 'here's your likeness of "abe" lincoln!' he shouted. 'buy one; price only two shillings! will look a great deal better when he gets his hair combed!'" =right for once, anyhow= where men bred in courts, accustomed to the world, or versed in diplomacy, would use some subterfuge, or would make a polite speech, or give a shrug of the shoulders, as the means of getting out of an embarrassing position, lincoln raised a laugh by some bold west-country anecdote, and moved off in the cloud of merriment produced by the joke. when attorney-general bates was remonstrating apparently against the appointment of some indifferent lawyer to a place of judicial importance, the president interposed with: "come now, bates, he's not half as bad as you think. besides that, i must tell you, he did me a good turn long ago. when i took to the law i was going to court one morning, with some ten or twelve miles of bad road before me, and i had no horse. "the judge overtook me in his carriage. "'hallo, lincoln! are you not going to the court-house? come in and i will give you a seat!' "well, i got in, and the judge went on reading his papers. presently the carriage struck a stump on one side of the road, then it hopped off to the other. i looked out, and i saw the driver was jerking from side to side in his seat, so i says: "'judge, i think your coachman has been taking a little too much this morning.' "'well, i declare, lincoln,' said he, 'i should not much wonder if you were right, for he has nearly upset me half a dozen times since starting.' "so, putting his head out of the window, he shouted, 'why, you infernal scoundrel, you are drunk!' "upon which, pulling up his horses, and turning around with great gravity, the coachman said: "'begorra! that's the first rightful decision that you have given for the last twelvemonth.'" while the company were laughing, the president beat a quiet retreat from the neighborhood. ="smelt no royalty in our carriage"= on one occasion, in going to meet an appointment in the southern part of the sucker state--that section of illinois called egypt--lincoln, with other friends, was traveling in the "caboose" of a freight train, when the freight was switched off the main track to allow a special train to pass. lincoln's more aristocratic rival (stephen a. douglas) was being conveyed to the same town in this special. the passing train was decorated with banners and flags, and carried a band of music, which was playing "hail to the chief." as the train whistled past, lincoln broke out in a fit of laughter, and said: "boys, the gentleman in that car evidently smelt no royalty in our carriage." =something for everyone= it was the president's overweening desire to accommodate all persons who came to him soliciting favors, but the opportunity was never offered until an untimely and unthinking disease, which possessed many of the characteristics of one of the most dreaded maladies, confined him to his bed at the white house. the rumor spread that the president was afflicted with this disease, while the truth was that it was merely a very mild attack of varioloid. the office-seekers didn't know the facts, and for once the executive mansion was clear of them. one day, a man from the west, who didn't read the papers, but wanted the postoffice in his town, called at the white house. the president, being then practically a well man, saw him. the caller was engaged in a voluble endeavor to put his capabilities in the most favorable light, when the president interrupted him with the remark that he would be compelled to make the interview short, as his doctor was due. "why, mr. president, are you sick?" queried the visitor. "oh, nothing much," replied mr. lincoln, "but the physician says he fears the worst." "what worst, may i ask?" "smallpox," was the answer; "but you needn't be scared. i'm only in the first stages now." the visitor grabbed his hat, sprang from his chair, and without a word bolted for the door. "don't be in a hurry," said the president placidly; "sit down and talk awhile." "thank you, sir; i'll call again," shouted the westerner, as he disappeared through the opening in the wall. "now, that's the way with people," the president said, when relating the story afterward. "when i can't give them what they want, they're dissatisfied, and say harsh things about me; but when i've something to give to everybody they scamper off." =reminded him of "a little story"= when lincoln's attention was called to the fact that, at one time in his boyhood, he had spelled the name of the deity with a small "g," he replied: "that reminds me of a little story. it came about that a lot of confederate mail was captured by the union forces, and, while it was not exactly the proper thing to do, some of our soldiers opened several letters written by the southerners at the front to their people at home. "in one of these missives the writer, in a postscript, jotted down this assertion: "'we'll lick the yanks termorrer, if goddlemity (god almighty) spares our lives.' "that fellow was in earnest, too, as the letter was written the day before the second battle of manassas." =big enough hog for him= to a curiosity-seeker who desired a permit to pass the lines to visit the field of bull run, after the first battle, lincoln made the following reply: "a man in cortlandt county raised a porker of such unusual size that strangers went out of their way to see it. "one of them the other day met the old gentleman and inquired about the animal. "'wall, yes,' the old fellow said, 'i've got such a critter, mi'ty big un; but i guess i'll have to charge you about a shillin' for lookin' at him.' "the stranger looked at the old man for a minute or so, pulled out the desired coin, handed it to him, and started to go off. 'hold on,' said the other, 'don't you want to see the hog?' "'no,' said the stranger; 'i have seen as big a hog as i want to see!' "and you will find that fact the case with yourself, if you should happen to see a few live rebels there as well as dead ones." =how "jake" got away= one of the last, if not the very last story told by president lincoln, was to one of his cabinet who came to see him, to ask if it would be proper to permit "jake" thompson to slip through maine in disguise and embark for portland. the president, as usual, was disposed to be merciful, and to permit the arch-rebel to pass unmolested, but secretary stanton urged that he should be arrested as a traitor. "by permitting him to escape the penalties of treason," persisted the war secretary, "you sanction it." "well," replied mr. lincoln, "let me tell you a story. there was an irish soldier here last summer, who wanted something to drink stronger than water, and stopped at a drug-shop, where he espied a soda-fountain. 'mr. doctor,' said he, 'give me, plase, a glass of soda-wather, an' if yez can put in a few drops of whiskey unbeknown to any one, i'll be obleeged.' now," continued mr. lincoln, "if 'jake' thompson is permitted to go through maine unbeknown to any one, what's the harm? so don't have him arrested." ="abe" resented the insult= a cashiered officer, seeking to be restored through the power of the executive, became insolent, because the president, who believed the man guilty, would not accede to his repeated requests, at last said, "well, mr. president, i see you are fully determined not to do me justice!" this was too aggravating even for mr. lincoln; rising, he suddenly seized the disgraced officer by the coat collar, and marched him forcibly to the door, saying as he ejected him into the passage: "sir, i give you fair warning never to show your face in this room again. i can bear censure, but not insult. i never wish to see your face again." =stories better than doctors= a gentleman, visiting a hospital at washington, heard an occupant of one of the beds laughing and talking about the president, who had been there a short time before and gladdened the wounded with some of his stories. the soldier seemed in such good spirits that the gentleman inquired: "you must be very slightly wounded?" "yes," replied the brave fellow, "very slightly--i have only lost one leg, and i'd be glad enough to lose the other, if i could hear some more of 'old abe's' stories." ="all sicker'n your man"= a commissioner to the hawaiian islands was to be appointed, and eight applicants had filed their papers, when a delegation from the south appeared at the white house on behalf of a ninth. not only was their man fit--so the delegation urged--but was also in bad health, and a residence in that balmy climate would be of great benefit to him. the president was rather impatient that day, and before the members of the delegation had fairly started in, suddenly closed the interview with this remark: "gentlemen, i am sorry to say that there are eight other applicants for that place, and they are all 'sicker'n' your man." ="did ye ask morrissey yet?"= john morrissey, the noted prize fighter, was the "boss" of tammany hall during the civil war period. it pleased his fancy to go to congress, and his obedient constituents sent him there. morrissey was such an absolute despot that the new york city democracy could not make a move without his consent, and many of the tammanyites were so afraid of him that they would not even enter into business ventures without consulting the autocrat. president lincoln had been seriously annoyed by some of his generals, who were afraid to make the slightest move before asking advice from washington. one commander, in particular, was so cautious that he telegraphed the war department upon the slightest pretext, the result being that his troops were lying in camp doing nothing, when they should have been in the field. "this general reminds me," the president said one day, while talking to secretary stanton, at the war department, "of a story i once heard about a tammany man. he happened to meet a friend, also a member of tammany, on the street, and in the course of the talk the friend, who was beaming with smiles and good nature, told the other tammanyite that he was going to be married. "this first tammany man looked more serious than men usually do upon hearing of the impending happiness of a friend. in fact, his face seemed to take on a look of anxiety and worry. "'ain't you glad to know that i'm to get married?' demanded the second tammanyite, somewhat in a huff. "'of course i am,' was the reply; 'but,' putting his mouth close to the ear of the other, 'have ye asked morrissey yet?' "now this general of whom we are speaking, wouldn't dare order out the guard without asking morrissey," concluded the president. =lincoln asked to be shot= lincoln was, naturally enough, much surprised one day, when a man of rather forbidding countenance drew a revolver and thrust the weapon into his face. in such circumstances "abe" at once concluded that any attempt at debate or argument was a waste of time and words. "what seems to be the matter?" inquired lincoln with all the calmness and self-possession he could muster. "well," replied the stranger, who did not appear at all excited, "some years ago i swore an oath that if i ever came across an uglier man than myself i'd shoot him on the spot." a feeling of relief evidently took possession of lincoln at this rejoinder, as the expression upon his countenance lost all suggestion of anxiety. "shoot me," he said to the stranger; "for if i am an uglier man than you i don't want to live." =he couldn't wait for the colonel= general fisk, attending a reception at the white house, saw waiting in the anteroom a poor old man from tennessee, and learned that he had been waiting three or four days to get an audience, on which probably depended the life of his son, under sentence of death for some military offense. general fisk wrote his case in outline on a card and sent it in, with a special request that the president would see the man. in a moment the order came; and past impatient senators, governors and generals, the old man went. he showed his papers to mr. lincoln, who said he would look into the case and give him the result next day. the old man, in an agony of apprehension, looked up into the president's sympathetic face and actually cried out: "tomorrow may be too late! my son is under sentence of death. it ought to be decided now!" his streaming tears told how much he was moved. "come," said mr. lincoln, "wait a bit and i'll tell you a story;" and then he told the old man general fisk's story about the swearing driver, as follows: "the general had begun his military life as a colonel, and when he raised his regiment in missouri he proposed to his men that he should do all the swearing of the regiment. they assented; and for months no instance was known of the violation of the promise. "the colonel had a teamster named john todd, who, as roads were not always the best, had some difficulty in commanding his temper and his tongue. "john happened to be driving a mule team through a series of mudholes a little worse than usual, when, unable to restrain himself any longer, he burst forth into a volley of energetic oaths. "the colonel took notice of the offense and brought john to account. "'john,' said he, 'didn't you promise to let me do all the swearing of the regiment?' "'yes, i did, colonel,' he replied, 'but the fact was, the swearing had to be done then or not at all, and you weren't there to do it.'" as he told the story the old man forgot his boy, and both the president and his listener had a hearty laugh together at its conclusion. then he wrote a few words which the old man read, and in which he found new occasion for tears; but the tears were tears of joy, for the words saved the life of his son. =he loved a good story= judge breese, of the supreme bench, one of the most distinguished of american jurists, and a man of great personal dignity, was about to open court at springfield, when lincoln called out in his hearty way: "hold on, breese! don't open court yet! here's bob blackwell just going to tell a story!" the judge passed on without replying, evidently regarding it as beneath the dignity of the supreme court to delay proceedings for the sake of a story. =the dead man spoke= mr. lincoln once said in a speech: "fellow citizens, my friend, mr. douglas, made the startling announcement today that the whigs are all dead. "if that be so, fellow-citizens, you will now experience the novelty of hearing a speech from a dead man; and i suppose you might properly say, in the language of the old hymn: "'hark! from the tombs a doleful sound.'" =lincoln pronounced this story funny= the president was heard to declare one day that the story given below was one of the funniest he ever heard. one of general fremont's batteries of eight parrott guns, supported by a squadron of horse commanded by major richards, was in sharp conflict with a battery of the enemy near at hand. shells and shot were flying thick and fast, when the commander of the battery, a german, one of fremont's staff, rode suddenly up to the cavalry, exclaiming, in loud and excited terms, "pring up de shackasses! pring up de shackasses! for cot's sake, hurry up the shackasses, im-me-di-ate-ly!" the necessity of this order, though not quite apparent, will be more obvious when it is remembered that "shackasses" are mules, carry mountain howitzers, which are fired from the back of that much-abused but valuable animal; and the immediate occasion for the "shackasses" was that two regiments of rebel infantry were at that moment discovered ascending a hill immediately behind our batteries. the "shackasses," with the howitzers loaded with grape and canister, were soon on the ground. the mules squared themselves, as they well knew how, for the shock. a terrific volley was poured into the advancing column, which immediately broke and retreated. two hundred and seventy-eight dead bodies were found in the ravine next day, piled closely together as they fell, the effects of that volley from the backs of the "shackasses." ="plough all 'round him"= governor blank went to the war department one day in a towering rage: "i suppose you found it necessary to make large concessions to him, as he returned from you perfectly satisfied," suggested a friend. "oh, no," the president replied, "i did not concede anything. you have heard how that illinois farmer got rid of a big log that was too big to haul out, too knotty to split, and too wet and soggy to burn. "'well, now,' said he, in response to the inquiries of his neighbors one sunday, as to how he got rid of it, 'well, now, boys, if you won't divulge the secret, i'll tell you how i got rid of it--i ploughed around it.' "now," remarked lincoln, in conclusion, "don't tell anybody, but that's the way i got rid of governor blank. i ploughed all round him, but it took me three mortal hours to do it, and i was afraid every minute he'd see what i was at." ="i've lost my apple"= during a public "reception," a farmer from one of the border counties of virginia told the president that the union soldiers, in passing his farm, had helped themselves not only to hay, but to his horse, and he hoped the president would urge the proper officer to consider his claim immediately. mr. lincoln said that this reminded him of an old acquaintance of his, "jack" chase, a lumberman on the illinois, a steady, sober man, and the best raftsman on the river. it was quite a trick to take the logs over the rapids; but he was skilful with a raft and always kept her straight in her channel. finally a steamer was put on, and "jack" was made captain of her. he always used to take the wheel, going through the rapids. one day when the boat was plunging and wallowing along the boiling current, and "jack's" utmost vigilance was being exercised to keep her in the narrow channel, a boy pulled his coat-tail and hailed him with: "say, mister captain! i wish you would just stop your boat a minute--i've lost my apple overboard!" =lincoln's apology to grant= "general grant is a copious worker and fighter," president lincoln wrote to general burnside in july, , "but a meagre writer or telegrapher." grant never wrote a report until the battle was over. president lincoln wrote a letter to grant on july th, , which indicated the strength of the hold the successful fighter had upon the man in the white house. it ran as follows: "i do not remember that you and i ever met personally. "i write this now as a grateful acknowledgment for the almost inestimable service you have done the country. "i write to say a word further. "when you first reached the vicinity of vicksburg, i thought you should do what you finally did--march the troops across the neck, run the batteries with the transports, and thus go below; and i never had any faith, except a general hope, that you knew better than i, that the yazoo pass expedition, and the like, could succeed. "when you got below and took port gibson, grand gulf and vicinity, i thought you should go down the river and join general banks; and when you turned northward, east of big black, i feared it was a mistake. "i now wish to make the personal acknowledgment that you were right and i was wrong." =a useless dog= when hood's army had been scattered into fragments, president lincoln, elated by the defeat of what had so long been a menacing force on the borders of tennessee, was reminded by its collapse of the fate of a savage dog belonging to one of his neighbors in the frontier settlements in which he lived in his youth. "the dog," he said, "was the terror of the neighborhood, and its owner, a churlish and quarrelsome fellow, took pleasure in the brute's forcible attitude. "finally, all other means having failed to subdue the creature, a man loaded a lump of meat with a charge of powder, to which was attached a slow fuse; this was dropped where the dreaded dog would find it, and the animal gulped down the tempting bait. "there was a dull rumbling, a muffled explosion, and fragments of the dog were seen flying in every direction. the grieved owner, picking up the shattered remains of his cruel favorite, said: 'he was a good dog, but as a dog, his days of usefulness are over.' hood's army was a good army," said lincoln by way of comment, "and we were all afraid of it, but as an army, its usefulness is gone." =he'd ruin all the other convicts= one of the droll stories brought into play by the president as an ally in support of his contention, proved most effective. politics was rife among the generals of the union army, and there was more "wire-pulling" to prevent the advancement of fellow commanders than the laying of plans to defeat the confederates in battle. however, when it so happened that the name of a particularly unpopular general was sent to the senate for confirmation, the protest against his promotion was almost unanimous. the nomination didn't seem to please anyone. generals who were enemies before conferred together for the purpose of bringing every possible influence to bear upon the senate and securing the rejection of the hated leader's name. the president was surprised. he had never known such unanimity before. "you remind me," said the president to a delegation of officers which called upon him one day to present a fresh protest to him regarding the nomination, "of a visit a certain governor paid to the penitentiary of his state. it had been announced that the governor would hear the story of every inmate of the institution, and was prepared to rectify, either by commutation or pardon, any wrongs that had been done to any prisoner. "one by one the convicts appeared before his excellency, and each one maintained that he was an innocent man, who had been sent to prison because the police didn't like him, or his friends and relatives wanted his property, or he was too popular, etc., etc. the last prisoner to appear was an individual who was not at all prepossessing. his face was against him; his eyes were shifty; he didn't have the appearance of an honest man, and he didn't act like one. "'well,' asked the governor, impatiently, 'i suppose you're innocent like the rest of these fellows?' "'no, governor,' was the unexpected answer; 'i was guilty of the crime they charged against me, and i got just what i deserved.' "when he had recovered from his astonishment, the governor, looking the fellow squarely in the face, remarked with emphasis: 'i'll have to pardon you, because i don't want to leave so bad a man as you are in the company of such innocent sufferers as i have discovered your fellow-convicts to be. you might corrupt them and teach them wicked tricks. as soon as i get back to the capital, i'll have the papers made out.' "you gentlemen," continued the president, "ought to be glad that so bad a man, as you represent this officer to be, is to get his promotion, for then you won't be forced to associate with him and suffer the contamination of his presence and influence. i will do all i can to have the senate confirm him." and he was confirmed. =it was up-hill work= two young men called on the president from springfield, illinois. lincoln shook hands with them, and asked about the crops, the weather, etc. finally one of the young men said, "mother is not well, and she sent me up to inquire of you how the suit about the wells property is getting on." lincoln, in the same even tone with which he had asked the question, said: "give my best wishes and respects to your mother, and tell her i have so many outside matters to attend to now that i have put that case, and others, in the hand of a lawyer friend of mine, and if you will call on him (giving name and address) he will give you all the information you want." after they had gone, a friend who was present, said: "mr. lincoln, you did not seem to know the young men?" he laughed and replied: "no, i had never seen them before, and i had to beat around the bush until i found who they were. it was up-hill work, but i topped it at last." =his "glass hack"= president lincoln had not been in the white house very long before mrs. lincoln became seized with the idea that a fine new barouche was about the proper thing for "the first lady in the land." the president did not care particularly about it one way or the other, and told his wife to order whatever she wanted. lincoln forgot all about the new vehicle, and was overcome with astonishment one afternoon when, having acceded to mrs. lincoln's desire to go driving, he found a beautiful barouche standing in front of the door of the white house. his wife watched him with an amused smile, but the only remark he made was, "well, mary, that's about the slickest 'glass hack' in town, isn't it?" =could lick any man in the crowd= when the enemies of general grant were bothering the president with emphatic and repeated demands that the "silent man" be removed from command, mr. lincoln remained firm. he would not consent to lose the services of so valuable a soldier. "grant fights," said he in response to the charges made that grant was a butcher, a drunkard, an incompetent and a general who did not know his business. "that reminds me of a story," president lincoln said one day to a delegation of the "grant-is-no-good" style. "out in my state of illinois there was a man nominated for sheriff of the county. he was a good man for the office, brave, determined and honest, but not much of an orator. in fact, he couldn't talk at all; he couldn't make a speech to save his life. "his friends knew he was a man who would preserve the peace of the county and perform the duties devolving upon him all right, but the people of the county didn't know it. they wanted him to come out boldly on the platform at political meetings and state his convictions and principles; they had been used to speeches from candidates, and were somewhat suspicious of a man who was afraid to open his mouth. "at last the candidate consented to make a speech, and his friends were delighted. the candidate was on hand, and, when he was called upon, advanced to the front and faced the crowd. there was a glitter in his eye that wasn't pleasing, and the way he walked out to the front of the stand showed that he knew just what he wanted to say. "'feller citizens,' was his beginning, the words spoken quietly, 'i'm not a speakin' man; i ain't no orator, an' i never stood up before a lot of people in my life before; i'm not goin' to make no speech, 'xcept to say that i can lick any man in the crowd!'" =no deaths in his house= a gentleman was relating to the president how a friend of his had been driven away from new orleans as a unionist, and how, on his expulsion, when he asked to see the writ by which he was expelled, the deputation which called on him told him the government would do nothing illegal, and so they had issued no illegal writs, and simply meant to make him go of his own free will. "well," said mr. lincoln, "that reminds me of a hotel-keeper down at st. louis, who boasted that he never had a death in his hotel, for whenever a guest was dying in his house, he carried him out to die in the gutter." =lincoln's name for "weeping water"= "i was speaking one time to mr. lincoln," said governor saunders, of nebraska, "of a little nebraskan settlement on the weeping water, a stream in our state." "'weeping water!' said he. "then with a twinkle in his eye, he continued: "'i suppose the indians out there call it minneboohoo, don't they? they ought to, if laughing water is minnehaha in their language.'" =easier to empty the potomac= an officer of low volunteer rank persisted in telling and re-telling his troubles to the president on a summer afternoon when lincoln was tired and careworn. after listening patiently, he finally turned upon the broad potomac in the distance, said in a peremptory tone that ended the interview: "now, my man, go away, go away. i cannot meddle in your case. i could as easily bail out the potomac river with a teaspoon as attend to all the details of the army." =a "free for all"= lincoln made a political speech at pappsville, illinois, when a candidate for the legislature the first time. a free-for-all fight began soon after the opening of the meeting, and lincoln, noticing one of his friends about to succumb to the energetic attack of an infuriated ruffian, edged his way through the crowd, and, seizing the bully by the neck and the seat of his trousers, threw him, by means of his strength and long arms, as one witness stoutly insists, "twelve feet away." returning to the stand, and throwing aside his hat, he inaugurated his campaign with the following brief but pertinent declaration: "fellow-citizens, i presume you all know who i am. i am humble abraham lincoln. i have been solicited by many friends to become a candidate for the legislature. my politics are short and sweet, like the old woman's dance. i am in favor of the national bank; i am in favor of the internal improvement system and a high protective tariff. these are my sentiments; if elected, i shall be thankful; if not, it will be all the same." =the other one was worse= it so happened that an official of the war department had escaped serious punishment for a rather flagrant offense, by showing where grosser irregularities existed in the management of a certain bureau of the department. so valuable was the information furnished that the culprit who "gave the snap away" was not even discharged. "that reminds me," the president said, when the case was laid before him, "of a story about daniel webster, when the latter was a boy. "when quite young, at school, daniel was one day guilty of a gross violation of the rules. he was detected in the act, and called up by the teacher for punishment. "this was to be the old-fashioned 'feruling' of the hand. his hands happened to be very dirty. "knowing this, on the way to the teacher's desk, he spit upon the palm of his right hand, wiping it off upon the side of his pantaloons. "'give me your hand, sir,' said the teacher, very sternly. "out went the right hand, partly cleansed. the teacher looked at it a moment, and said: "'daniel, if you will find another hand in this school-room as filthy as that, i will let you off this time!' "instantly from behind his back came the left hand. "'here it is, sir,' was the ready reply. "'that will do,' said the teacher, 'for this time; you can take your seat, sir.'" =could make "rabbit-tracks"= when a grocery clerk at new salem, the annual election came around. a mr. graham was clerk, but his assistant was absent, and it was necessary to find a man to fill his place. lincoln, a "tall young man," had already concentrated on himself the attention of the people of the town, and graham easily discovered him. asking him if he could write, "abe" modestly replied, "i can make a few rabbit-tracks." his rabbit-tracks proving to be legible and even graceful, he was employed. the voters soon discovered that the new assistant clerk was honest and fair, and performed his duties satisfactorily, and when, the work done, he began to "entertain them with stories," they found that their town had made a valuable personal and social acquisition. =peter cartwright's description of lincoln= peter cartwright, the famous and eccentric old methodist preacher, who used to ride a church circuit, as mr. lincoln and others did the court circuit, did not like lincoln very well, probably because mr. lincoln was not a member of his flock and once defeated the preacher for congress. this was cartwright's description of lincoln: "this lincoln is a man six feet four inches tall, but so angular that if you should drop a plummet from the center of his head it would cut him three times before it touched his feet." =wished the army charged like that= a prominent volunteer officer who, early in the war, was on duty in washington and often carried reports to secretary stanton at the war department, told a characteristic story on president lincoln. said he: "i was with several other young officers, also carrying reports to the war department, and one morning we were late. in this instance we were in a desperate hurry to deliver the papers, in order to be able to catch the train returning to camp. "on the winding, dark staircase of the old war department, which many will remember, it was our misfortune, while taking about three stairs at a time, to run a certain head like a catapult into the body of the president, striking him in the region of the right lower vest pocket. "the usual surprised and relaxed grunt of a man thus assailed came promptly. "we quickly sent an apology in the direction of the dimly seen form, feeling that the ungracious shock was expensive, even to the humblest clerk in the department. "a second glance revealed to us the president as the victim of the collision. then followed a special tender of 'ten thousand pardons,' and the president's reply: "'one's enough; i wish the whole army would charge like that.'" ="uncle abraham" had everything ready= "you can't do anything with them southern fellows," the old man at the table was saying. "if they get whipped, they'll retreat to them southern swamps and bayous along with the fishes and crocodiles. you haven't got the fish-nets made that'll catch 'em." "look here, old gentleman," remarked president lincoln, who was sitting alongside, "we've got just the nets for traitors, in the bayous or anywhere." "hey? what nets?" "bayou-nets!" and "uncle abraham" pointed his joke with his fork, spearing a fishball savagely. =didn't trust the court= in one of his many stories of lincoln, his law partner, w. h. herndon, told this as illustrating lincoln's shrewdness as a lawyer: "i was with lincoln once and listened to an oral argument by him in which he rehearsed an extended history of the law. it was a carefully prepared and masterly discourse, but, as i thought, entirely useless. after he was through and we were walking home, i asked him why he went so far back in the history of the law. i presumed the court knew enough history. "'that's where you're mistaken,' was his instant rejoinder. 'i dared not trust the case on the presumption that the court knows everything--in fact i argued it on the presumption that the court didn't know anything,' a statement, which, when one reviews the decision of our appellate courts, is not so extravagant as one would at first suppose." ="tad" got his dollar= no matter who was with the president, or how intently absorbed, his little son "tad" was always welcome. he almost always accompanied his father. once, on the way to fortress monroe, he became very troublesome. the president was much engaged in conversation with the party who accompanied him, and he at length said: "'tad,' if you will be a good boy, and not disturb me any more until we get to fortress monroe, i will give you a dollar." the hope of reward was effectual for a while in securing silence, but, boylike, "tad" soon forgot his promise, and was as noisy as ever. upon reaching their destination, however, he said, very promptly: "father, i want my dollar." mr. lincoln looked at him half-reproachfully for an instant, and then, taking from his pocketbook a dollar note, he said: "well, my son, at any rate, i will keep my part of the bargain." =rough on the negro= mr. lincoln, one day, was talking with the rev. dr. sunderland about the emancipation proclamation and the future of the negro. suddenly a ripple of amusement broke the solemn tone of his voice. "as for the negroes, doctor, and what is going to become of them: i told ben wade the other day, that it made me think of a story i read in one of my first books, 'Ã�sop's fables.' it was an old edition, and had curious rough wood cuts, one of which showed three white men scrubbing a negro in a potash kettle filled with cold water. the text explained that the men thought that by scrubbing the negro they might make him white. just about the time they thought they were succeeding, he took cold and died. now, i am afraid that by the time we get through this war the negro will catch cold and die." ="long abe's" feet "protruded over"= george m. pullman, the great sleeping car builder, once told a joke in which lincoln was the prominent figure. in fact, there wouldn't have been any joke had it not been for "long abe." at the time of the occurrence, which was the foundation for the joke--and pullman admitted that the latter was on him--pullman was the conductor of his only sleeping-car. the latter was an experiment, and pullman was doing everything possible to get the railroads to take hold of it. "one night," said pullman in telling the story, "as we were about going out of chicago--this was long before lincoln was what you might call a renowned man--a long, lean, ugly man, with a wart on his cheek, came into the depot. he paid me fifty cents, and half a berth was assigned him. then he took off his coat and vest and hung them up, and they fitted the peg about as well as they fitted him. then he kicked off his boots, which were of surprising length, turned into the berth, and, undoubtedly having an easy conscience, was sleeping like a healthy baby before the car left the depot. "pretty soon along came another passenger and paid his fifty cents. in two minutes he was back at me, angry as a wet hen. "'there's a man in that berth of mine,' said he hotly, 'and he's about ten feet high. how am i going to sleep there, i'd like to know? go and look at him.' "in i went--mad, too. the tall, lank man's knees were under his chin, his arms were stretched across the bed and his feet were stored comfortably--for him. i shook him until he awoke, and then told him if he wanted the whole berth he would have to pay $ . "'my dear sir,' said the tall man, 'a contract is a contract. i have paid you fifty cents for half this berth, and, as you see, i'm occupying it. there's the other half,' pointing to a strip about six inches wide. 'sell that and don't disturb me again.' "and so saying, the man with a wart on his face went to sleep again. he was abraham lincoln, and he never grew any shorter afterward. we became great friends, and often laughed over the incident." ="i'd a been missed by myse'f"= the president did not consider that every soldier who ran away in battle, or did not stand firmly to receive a bayonet charge, was a coward. he was of opinion that self-preservation was the first law of nature, but he didn't want this statute construed too liberally by the troops. at the same time he took occasion to illustrate a point he wished to make by a story in connection with a darky who was a member of the ninth illinois infantry regiment. this regiment was one of those engaged at the capture of fort donelson. it behaved gallantly, and lost as heavily as any. "upon the hurricane-deck of one of our gunboats," said the president in telling the story, "i saw an elderly darky, with a very philosophical and retrospective cast of countenance, squatted upon his bundle, toasting his shins against the chimney, and apparently plunged into a state of profound meditation. "as the negro rather interested me, i made some inquiries, and found that he had really been with the ninth illinois infantry at donelson, and began to ask him some questions about the capture of the place. "'were you in the fight?' "'had a little taste of it, sa.' "'stood your ground, did you?' "'no, sa, i runs.' "'run at the first fire, did you?' "'yes, sa, and would hab run soona, had i knowd it war comin'.' "'why, that wasn't very creditable to your courage.' "'dat isn't in my line, sa--cookin's my profeshun.' "'well, but have you no regard for your reputation?' "'reputation's nuffin to me by de side ob life.' "'do you consider your life worth more than other people's?' "'it's worth more to me, sa.' "'then you must value it very highly?' "'yes, sa, i does, more dan all dis wuld, more dan a million ob dollars, sa, for what would dat be wuth to a man wid de bref out ob him? self-preserbation am de fust law wid me.' "'but why should you act upon a different rule from other men?' "'different men set different values on their lives; mine is not in de market.' "'but if you lost it you would have the satisfaction of knowing that you died for your country.' "'dat no satisfaction when feelin's gone.' "'then patriotism and honor are nothing to you?' "'nufin whatever, sa--i regard them as among the vanities.' "'if our soldiers were like you, traitors might have broken up the government without resistance.' "'yes, sa, dar would hab been no help for it. i wouldn't put my life in de scale 'g'inst any gobernment dat eber existed, for no gobernment could replace de loss to me.' "'do you think any of your company would have missed you if you had been killed?' "'maybe not, sa; a dead white man ain't much to dese sojers, let alone a dead nigga--but i'd a missed myse'f, and dat was de p'int wid me.' "i only tell this story," concluded the president, "in order to illustrate the result of the tactics of some of the union generals who would be sadly 'missed' by themselves, if by no one else, if they ever got out of the army." =lost his certificate of character= mr. lincoln prepared his first inaugural address in a room over a store in springfield. his only reference works were henry clay's great compromise speech of , andrew jackson's proclamation against nullification, webster's great reply to hayne, and a copy of the constitution. when mr. lincoln started for washington, to be inaugurated, the inaugural address was placed in a special satchel and guarded with special care. at harrisburg the satchel was given in charge of robert t. lincoln, who accompanied his father. before the train started from harrisburg the precious satchel was missing. robert thought he had given it to a waiter at the hotel, but a long search failed to reveal the missing satchel with its precious document. lincoln was annoyed, angry, and finally in despair. he felt certain that the address was lost beyond recovery, and, as it lacked only ten days until the inauguration, he had no time to prepare another. he had not even preserved the notes from which the original copy had been written. mr. lincoln went to ward lamon, his former law partner, then one of his body-guards, and informed him of the loss in the following words: "lamon, i guess i have lost my certificate of moral character, written by myself. bob has lost my gripsack containing my inaugural address." of course the misfortune reminded him of a story. "i feel," said mr. lincoln, "a good deal as the old member of the methodist church did when he lost his wife at the camp meeting, and went up to an old elder of the church and asked him if he could tell him whereabouts in h--l his wife was. in fact, i am in a worse fix than my methodist friend, for if it were only a wife that were missing, mine would be sure to bob up somewhere." the clerk at the hotel told mr. lincoln that he would probably find his missing satchel in the baggage-room. arriving there, mr. lincoln saw a satchel which he thought was his, and it was passed out to him. his key fitted the lock, but alas! when it was opened the satchel contained only a soiled shirt, some paper collars, a pack of cards and a bottle of whisky. a few minutes later the satchel containing the inaugural address was found among the pile of baggage. the recovery of the address also reminded mr. lincoln of a story, which is thus narrated by ward lamon in his "recollections of abraham lincoln": the loss of the address and the search for it was the subject of a great deal of amusement. mr. lincoln said many funny things in connection with the incident. one of them was that he knew a fellow once who had saved up fifteen hundred dollars, and had placed it in a private banking establishment. the bank soon failed, and he afterward received ten per cent of his investment. he then took his one hundred and fifty dollars and deposited it in a savings bank, where he was sure it would be safe. in a short time this bank also failed, and he received at the final settlement ten per cent on the amount deposited. when the fifteen dollars was paid over to him, he held it in his hand and looked at it thoughtfully; then he said, "now, darn you, i have got you reduced to a portable shape, so i'll put you in my pocket." suiting the action to the word, mr. lincoln took his address from the bag and carefully placed it in the inside pocket of his vest, but held on to the satchel with as much interest as if it still contained his "certificate of moral character." =the case of betsy ann dougherty= many requests and petitions made to mr. lincoln when he was president were ludicrous and trifling, but he always entered into them with that humor-loving spirit that was such a relief from the grave duties of his great office. once a party of southerners called on him in behalf of one betsy ann dougherty. the spokesman, who was an ex-governor, said: "mr. president, betsy ann dougherty is a good woman. she lived in my county and did my washing for a long time. her husband went off and joined the rebel army, and i wish you would give her a protection paper." the solemnity of this appeal struck mr. lincoln as uncommonly ridiculous. the two men looked at each other--the governor desperately in earnest, and the president masking his humor behind the gravest exterior. at last mr. lincoln asked, with inimitable gravity, "was betsy ann a good washerwoman?" "oh, yes, sir, she was, indeed." "was your betsy ann an obliging woman?" "yes, she was certainly very kind," responded the governor, soberly. "could she do other things than wash?" continued mr. lincoln with the same portentous gravity. "oh, yes; she was very kind--very." "where is betsy ann?" "she is now in new york, and wants to come back to missouri, but she is afraid of banishment." "is anybody meddling with her?" "no; but she is afraid to come back unless you will give her a protection paper." thereupon mr. lincoln wrote on a visiting card the following: "let betsy ann dougherty alone as long as she behaves herself. "a. lincoln." he handed this card to her advocate, saying, "give this to betsy ann." "but, mr. president, couldn't you write a few words to the officers that would insure her protection?" "no," said mr. lincoln, "officers have no time now to read letters. tell betsy ann to put a string in this card and hang it around her neck. when the officers see this, they will keep their hands off your betsy ann." ="fooling" the people= lincoln was a strong believer in the virtue of dealing honestly with the people. "if you once forfeit the confidence of your fellow-citizens," he said to a caller at the white house, "you can never regain their respect and esteem. "it is true that you may fool all the people some of the time; you can even fool some of the people all the time; but you can't fool all of the people all the time." =her only imperfection= at one time a certain major hill charged lincoln with making defamatory remarks regarding mrs. hill. hill was insulting in his language to lincoln, who never lost his temper. when he saw his chance to edge a word in, lincoln denied emphatically using the language or anything like that attributed to him. he entertained, he insisted, a high regard for mrs. hill, and the only thing he knew to her discredit was the fact that she was major hill's wife. =he "broke" to win= a lawyer, who was a stranger to mr. lincoln, once expressed to general linder the opinion that mr. lincoln's practice of telling stories to the jury was a waste of time. "don't lay that flattering unction to your soul," linder answered; "lincoln is like tansey's horse, he 'breaks to win.'" ="bap." mcnabb's rooster= it is true that lincoln did not drink, never swore, was a stranger to smoking and lived a moral life generally, but he did like horse-racing and chicken fighting. new salem, illinois, where lincoln was "clerking," was known the neighborhood around as a "fast" town, and the average young man made no very desperate resistance when tempted to join in the drinking and gambling bouts. "bap." mcnabb was famous for his ability in both the raising and the purchase of roosters of prime fighting quality, and when his birds fought the attendance was large. it was because of the "flunking" of one of "bap.'s" roosters that lincoln was enabled to make a point when criticising mcclellan's unreadiness and lack of energy. one night there was a fight on the schedule, one of "bap." mcnabb's birds being a contestant. "bap." brought a little red rooster, whose fighting qualities had been well advertised for days in advance, and much interest was manifested in the outcome. as the result of these contests was generally a quarrel, in which each man, charging foul play, seized his victim, they chose lincoln umpire, relying not only on his fairness but his ability to enforce his decisions. judge herndon, in his "abraham lincoln," says of this notable event: "i cannot improve on the description furnished me in february, , by one who was present. "they formed a ring, and the time having arrived, lincoln, with one hand on each hip and in a squatting position, cried, 'ready.' into the ring they toss their fowls, 'bap.'s' red rooster along with the rest. but no sooner had the little beauty discovered what was to be done than he dropped his tail and ran. "the crowd cheered, while 'bap.' in disappointment, picked him up and started away, losing his quarter (entrance fee) and carrying home his dishonored fowl. once arrived at the latter place he threw his pet down with a feeling of indignation and chagrin. "the little fellow, out of sight of all rivals, mounted a woodpile and proudly flirting out his feathers, crowed with all his might. 'bap.' looked on in disgust. "'yes, you little cuss,' he exclaimed, irreverently, 'you're great on dress parade, but not worth a darn in a fight.'" it is said, according to judge herndon, that lincoln considered mcclellan as "great on dress parade," but not so much in a fight. =lincoln's first speech= lincoln made his first speech when he was a mere boy, going barefoot, his trousers held up by one suspender, and his shock of hair sticking through a hole in the crown of his cheap straw hat. "abe," in company with dennis hanks, attended a political meeting, which was addressed by a typical stump speaker--one of those loud-voiced fellows who shouted at the top of his voice, and waved his arms wildly. at the conclusion of the speech, which did not meet the views either of "abe" or dennis, the latter declared that "abe" could make a better speech than that. whereupon he got a dry-goods box and called on "abe" to reply to the campaign orator. lincoln threw his old straw hat on the ground, and, mounting the dry-goods box, delivered a speech which held the attention of the crowd and won him considerable applause. even the campaign orator admitted that it was a fine speech and answered every point in his own "oration." dennis hanks, who thought "abe" was about the greatest man that ever lived, was delighted, and he often told how young "abe" got the better of the trained campaign speaker. =too many pigs for the teats= an applicant for a sutlership in the army relates this story: "in the winter of , after serving three years in the union army, and being honorably discharged, i made application for the post sutlership at point lookout. my father being interested, we made application to mr. stanton, the secretary of war. we obtained an audience, and were ushered into the presence of the most pompous man i ever met. as i entered he waved his hand for me to stop at a given distance from him, and then he put these questions, viz.: "'did you serve three years in the army?' "'i did sir.' "'were you honorably discharged?' "'i was, sir.' "'let me see your discharge.' "i gave it to him. he looked it over, then said: 'were you ever wounded?' i told him yes, at the battle of williamsburg, may , . "he then said: 'i think we can give this position to a soldier who has lost an arm or leg, he being more deserving;' and he then said i looked hearty and healthy enough to serve three years more. he would not give me a chance to argue my case. "the audience was at an end. he waved his hand to me. i was then dismissed from the august presence of the honorable secretary of war. "my father was waiting for me in the hallway, who saw by my countenance that i was not successful. i said to my father: "'let us go over to mr. lincoln; he may give us more satisfaction.' "he said it would do me no good, but we went over. mr. lincoln's reception room was full of ladies and gentlemen when we entered. "my turn soon came. lincoln turned to my father and said: "'now, gentlemen, be pleased to be as quick as possible with your business, as it is growing late.' "my father then stepped up to lincoln and introduced me to him. lincoln then said: "'take a seat, gentlemen, and state your business as quickly as possible.' "there was but one chair by lincoln, so he motioned my father to sit, while i stood. my father stated the business to him as stated above. he then said: "'have you seen mr. stanton?' "we told him yes, that he had refused. he (mr. lincoln) then said: "'gentlemen, this is mr. stanton's business; i cannot interfere with him; he attends to all these matters and i am sorry i cannot help you.' "he saw that we were disappointed, and did his best to revive our spirits. he succeeded well with my father, who was a lincoln man, and who was a staunch republican. "mr. lincoln then said: "'now, gentlemen, i will tell you what it is; i have thousands of applications like this every day, but we cannot satisfy all for this reason, that these positions are like office seekers--there are too many pigs for the teats.' "the ladies who were listening to the conversation placed their handkerchiefs to their faces and turned away. but the joke of 'old abe' put us all in a good humor. we then left the presence of the greatest and most just man who ever lived to fill the presidential chair." =more pegs than holes= some gentlemen were once finding fault with the president because certain generals were not given commands. "the fact is," replied president lincoln, "i have got more pegs than i have holes to put them in." =few, but boisterous= lincoln was a very quiet man, and went about his business in a quiet way, making the least noise possible. he heartily disliked those boisterous people who were constantly deluging him with advice, and shouting at the tops of their voices whenever they appeared at the white house. "these noisy people create a great clamor," said he one day, in conversation with some personal friends, "and remind me, by the way, of a good story i heard out in illinois while i was practicing, or trying to practice, some law there. i will say, though, that i practiced more law than i ever got paid for. "a fellow who lived just out of town, on the bank of a large marsh, conceived a big idea in the money-making line. he took it to a prominent merchant, and began to develop his plans and specifications. 'there are at least ten million frogs in that marsh near me, an' i'll just arrest a couple of carloads of them and hand them over to you. you can send them to the big cities and make lots of money for both of us. frogs' legs are great delicacies in the big towns, an' not very plentiful. it won't take me more'n two or three days to pick 'em. they make so much noise my family can't sleep, and by this deal, i'll get rid of a nuisance and gather in some cash.' "the merchant agreed to the proposition, promised the fellow he would pay him well for the two carloads. two days passed, then three, and finally two weeks were gone before the fellow showed up again, carrying a small basket. he looked weary and 'done up,' and he wasn't talkative a bit. he threw the basket on the counter with the remark, 'there's your frogs.' "'you haven't two carloads in that basket, have you?' inquired the merchant. "'no,' was the reply, 'and there ain't two carloads in this blasted world.' "'i thought you said there were at least ten millions of 'em in that marsh near you, according to the noise they made,' observed the merchant. 'your people couldn't sleep because of 'em.' "'well,' said the fellow, 'accordin' to the noise they made, there was, i thought, a hundred million of 'em, but when i had waded and swum that there marsh day and night for two blessed weeks, i couldn't harvest but six. there's two or three left yet, an' the marsh is as noisy as it uster be. we haven't catched up on any of our lost sleep yet. now, you can have these here six, an' i won't charge you a cent fer 'em.' "you can see by this little yarn," remarked the president, "that these boisterous people make too much noise in proportion to their numbers." =the presidential "chin-fly"= some of mr. lincoln's intimate friends once called his attention to a certain member of his cabinet who was quietly working to secure a nomination for the presidency, although knowing that mr. lincoln was to be a candidate for re-election. his friends insisted that the cabinet officer ought to be made to give up his presidential aspirations or be removed from office. the situation reminded mr. lincoln of a story: "my brother and i," he said, "were once plowing corn, i driving the horse and he holding the plow. the horse was lazy, but on one occasion he rushed across the field so that i, with my long legs, could scarcely keep pace with him. on reaching the end of the furrow, i found an enormous chin-fly fastened upon him, and knocked him off. my brother asked me what i did that for. i told him i didn't want the old horse bitten in that way. 'why,' said my brother, 'that's all that made him go.' now," said mr. lincoln, "if mr. ---- has a presidential chin-fly biting him, i'm not going to knock him off, if it will only make his department go." ="webster couldn't have done more"= lincoln "got even" with the illinois central railroad company, in , in a most substantial way, at the same time secured sweet revenge for an insult, unwarranted in every way, put upon him by one of the officials of that corporation. lincoln and herndon defended the illinois central railroad in an action brought by mclean county, illinois, in august, , to recover taxes alleged to be due the county from the road. the legislature had granted the road immunity from taxation, and this was a case intended to test the constitutionality of the law. the road sent a retainer fee of $ . in the lower court the case was decided in favor of the railroad. an appeal to the supreme court followed, was argued twice, and finally decided in favor of the road. this last decision was rendered some time in . lincoln then went to chicago, and presented the bill for legal services. lincoln and herndon only asked for $ , more. the official to whom he was referred, after looking at the bill, expressed great surprise. "why, sir," he exclaimed, "this is as much as daniel webster himself would have charged. we cannot allow such a claim." "why not?" asked lincoln. "we could have hired first-class lawyers at that figure," was the response. "we won the case, didn't we?" queried lincoln. "certainly," replied the official. "daniel webster, then," retorted lincoln in no amiable tone, "couldn't have done more," and "abe" walked out of the official's office. lincoln withdrew the bill, and started for home. on the way he stopped at bloomington, where he met grant goodrich, archibald williams, norman b. judd, o. h. browning, and other attorneys, who, on learning of his modest charge for the valuable services rendered the railroad, induced him to increase the demand to $ , , and to bring suit for that sum. this was done at once. on the trial six lawyers certified that the bill was reasonable, and judgment for that sum went by default; the judgment was promptly paid, and, of course, his partner, herndon, got "your half, billy" without delay. =long and short of it= on the occasion of a serenade, the president was called for by the crowd assembled. he appeared at a window with his wife (who was somewhat below the medium height), and made the following "brief remarks": "here i am, and here is mrs. lincoln. that's the long and the short of it." ='squire bagly's precedent= mr. t. w. s. kidd, of springfield, says that he once heard a lawyer opposed to lincoln trying to convince a jury that precedent was superior to law, and that custom made things legal in all cases. when lincoln arose to answer him he told the jury he would argue his case in the same way. "old 'squire bagly, from menard, came into my office and said, 'lincoln, i want your advice as a lawyer. has a man what's been elected justice of the peace a right to issue a marriage license?' i told him he had not; when the old 'squire threw himself back in his chair very indignantly, and said, 'lincoln, i thought you was a lawyer. now bob thomas and me had a bet on this thing, and we agreed to let you decide; but if this is your opinion i don't want it, for i know a thunderin' sight better, for i have been 'squire now for eight years and have done it all the time.'" =tom corwin's latest story= one of mr. lincoln's warm friends was dr. robert boal, of lacon, illinois. telling of a visit he paid to the white house soon after mr. lincoln's inauguration, he said: "i found him the same lincoln as a struggling lawyer and politician that i did in washington as president of the united states, yet there was a dignity and self-possession about him in his high official authority. i paid him a second call in the evening. he had thrown off his reserve somewhat, and would walk up and down the room with his hands to his sides and laugh at the joke he was telling, or at one that was told to him. i remember one story he told to me on this occasion. "tom corwin, of ohio, had been down to alexandria, va., that day and had come back and told lincoln a story which pleased him so much that he broke out in a hearty laugh and said: 'i must tell you tom corwin's latest. tom met an old man at alexandria who knew george washington, and he told tom that george washington often swore. now, corwin's father had always held the father of our country up as a faultless person and told his son to follow in his footsteps. "'"well," said corwin, "when i heard that george washington was addicted to the vices and infirmities of man, i felt so relieved that i just shouted for joy."'" =the cabinet was a-settin'= being in washington one day, the rev. robert collyer thought he'd take a look around. in passing through the grounds surrounding the white house, he cast a glance toward the presidential residence, and was astonished to see three pairs of feet resting on the ledge of an open window in one of the apartments of the second story. the divine paused for a moment, calmly surveyed the unique spectacle, and then resumed his walk toward the war department. seeing a laborer at work not far from the executive mansion, mr. collyer asked him what it all meant. to whom, did the feet belong, and particularly, the mammoth ones? "you old fool," answered the workman, "that's the cabinet, which is a-settin', an' them thar big feet belongs to 'old abe.'" ="massa linkum like de lord!"= by the act of emancipation president lincoln built for himself forever the first place in the affections of the african race in this country. the love and reverence manifested for him by many of these people has, on some occasions, almost reached adoration. one day, colonel mckaye, of new york, who had been one of a committee to investigate the condition of the freedmen, upon his return from hilton head and beaufort called upon the president, and in the course of the interview said that up to the time of the arrival among them in the south of the union forces they had no knowledge of any other power. their masters fled upon the approach of our soldiers, and this gave the slaves the conception of a power greater than their masters exercised. this power they called "massa linkum." colonel mckaye said their place of worship was a large building they called "the praise house," and the leader of the "meeting," a venerable black man, was known as "the praise man." on a certain day, when there was quite a large gathering of the people, considerable confusion was created by different persons attempting to tell who and what "massa linkum" was. in the midst of the excitement the white-headed leader commanded silence. "brederen," said he, "you don't know nosen' what you'se talkin' 'bout. now, you just listen to me. massa linkum, he ebery whar. he know ebery ting." then, solemnly looking up, he added: "he walk de earf like de lord!" =a bullet through his hat= a soldier tells the following story of an attempt upon the life of mr. lincoln: "one night i was doing sentinel duty at the entrance to the soldiers' home. this was about the middle of august, . about eleven o'clock i heard a rifle shot, in the direction of the city, and shortly afterwards i heard approaching hoof-beats. in two or three minutes a horse came dashing up. i recognized the belated president. the president was bare-headed. the president simply thought his horse had taken fright at the discharge of the firearms. "on going back to the place where the shot had been heard, we found the president's hat. it was a plain silk hat, and upon examination we discovered a bullet hole through the crown. "the next day, upon receiving the hat, the president remarked that it was made by some foolish marksman, and was not intended for him; but added that he wished nothing said about the matter. "the president said, philosophically: 'i long ago made up my mind that if anybody wants to kill me, he will do it. besides, in this case, it seems to me, the man who would succeed me would be just as objectionable to my enemies--if i have any.' "one dark night, as he was going out with a friend, he took along a heavy cane, remarking, good-naturedly: "'mother (mrs. lincoln) has got a notion into her head that i shall be assassinated, and to please her i take a cane when i go over to the war department at night--when i don't forget it.'" =the general was "headed in"= a union general, operating with his command in west virginia, allowed himself and his men to be trapped, and it was feared his force would be captured by the confederates. the president heard the report read by the operator, as it came over the wire, and remarked: "once there was a man out west who was 'heading' a barrel, as they used to call it. he worked like a good fellow in driving down the hoops, but just about the time he thought he had the job done, the head would fall in. then he had to do the work all over again. "all at once a bright idea entered his brain, and he wondered how it was he hadn't figured it out before. his boy, a bright, smart lad, was standing by, very much interested in the business, and, lifting the young one up, he put him inside the barrel, telling him to hold the head in its proper place, while he pounded down the hoops on the sides. this worked like a charm, and he soon had the 'heading' done. "then he realized that his boy was inside the barrel, and how to get him out he couldn't for his life figure out. general blank is now inside the barrel, 'headed in,' and the job now is to get him out." ="mixing" and "mingling"= an eastern newspaper writer told how lincoln, after his first nomination, received callers, the majority of them at his law office: "while talking to two or three gentlemen and standing up, a very hard looking customer rolled in and tumbled into the only vacant chair and the one lately occupied by mr. lincoln. mr. lincoln's keen eye took in the fact, but gave no evidence of the notice. "turning around at last he spoke to the odd specimen, holding out his hand at such a distance that our friend had to vacate the chair if he accepted the proffered shake. mr. lincoln quietly resumed his chair. "it was a small matter, yet one giving proof more positively than a larger event of that peculiar way the man has of mingling with a mixed crowd." =wanted to burn him down to the stump= preston king once introduced a. j. bleeker to the president, and the latter, being an applicant for office, was about to hand mr. lincoln his vouchers, when he was asked to read them. bleeker had not read very far when the president disconcerted him by the exclamation, "stop a minute! you remind me exactly of the man who killed the dog; in fact, you are just like him." "in what respect?" asked bleeker, not feeling he had received a compliment. "well," replied the president, "this man had made up his mind to kill his dog, an ugly brute, and proceeded to knock out his brains with a club. he continued striking the dog after the latter was dead until a friend protested, exclaiming, 'you needn't strike him any more; the dog is dead; you killed him at the first blow.' "'oh, yes,' said he, 'i know that; but i believe in punishment after death.' so, i see, do you." bleeker acknowledged it was possible to overdo a good thing, and then came back at the president with an anecdote of a good priest who converted an indian from heathenism to christianity; the only difficulty he had with him was to get him to pray for his enemies. "this indian had been taught to overcome and destroy all his friends he didn't like," said bleeker, "but the priest told him that while that might be the indian method, it was not the doctrine of christianity of the bible. 'saint paul distinctly says,' the priest told him, 'if thine enemy hunger, feed him; if he thirst, give him drink.' "the indian shook his head at this, but when the priest added, 'for in so doing thou shalt heap coals of fire on his head,' poor lo was overcome with emotion, fell on his knees, and with outstretched hands and uplifted eyes invoked all sorts of blessings on the heads of all his enemies, supplicating for pleasant hunting-grounds, a large supply of squaws, lots of pappooses and all other indian comforts. "finally the good priest interrupted him (as you did me, mr. president), exclaiming, 'stop, my son! you have discharged your christian duty, and have done more than enough.' "'oh, no, father,' replied the indian; 'let me pray. i want to burn him down to the stump!'" =challenged all comers= personal encounters were of frequent occurrence in gentryville in early days, and the prestige of having thrashed an opponent gave the victor marked social distinction. green b. taylor, with whom "abe" worked the greater part of one winter on a farm, furnished an account of the noted fight between john johnston, "abe's" step-brother, and william grigsby, in which stirring drama "abe" himself played an important role before the curtain was rung down. taylor's father was the second for johnston, and william whitten officiated in a similar capacity for grigsby. "they had a terrible fight," related taylor, "and it soon became apparent that grigsby was too much for lincoln's man, johnston. after they had fought a long time without interference, it having been agreed not to break the ring, 'abe' burst through, caught grigsby, threw him off and some feet away. there grigsby stood, proud as lucifer, and, swinging a bottle of liquor over his head, swore he was 'the big buck of the lick.' "'if any one doubts it,' he shouted, 'he has only to come on and whet his horns.'" a general engagement followed this challenge, but at the end of hostilities the field was cleared and the wounded retired amid the exultant shouts of their victors. =withdrew the colt= mr. alcott, of elgin, ill., tells of seeing mr. lincoln coming away from church unusually early one sunday morning. "the sermon could not have been more than half way through," says mr. alcott. "'tad' was hung across his left arm like a pair of saddle bags, and mr. lincoln was striding along with long, deliberate steps toward his home. on one of the street corners he encountered a group of his fellow-townsmen. mr. lincoln anticipated the question which was about to be put by the group, and, taking his figure of speech from practices with which they were only too familiar, said: 'gentlemen, i entered this colt, but he kicked around so i had to withdraw him.'" =sweet, but mild revenge= when the united states found that a war with black hawk could not be dodged, governor reynolds, of illinois, issued a call for volunteers, and among the companies that immediately responded was one from menard county, illinois. many of these volunteers were from new salem and clary's grove, and lincoln, being out of business, was the first to enlist. the company being full, the men held a meeting at richland for the election of officers. lincoln had won many hearts, and they told him that he must be their captain. it was an office to which he did not aspire, and for which he felt he had no special fitness; but he finally consented to be a candidate. there was but one other candidate, a mr. kirkpatrick, who was one of the most influential men of the region. previously, kirkpatrick had been an employer of lincoln, and was so overbearing in his treatment of the young man that the latter left him. the simple mode of electing a captain adopted by the company was by placing the candidates apart, and telling the men to go and stand with the one they preferred. lincoln and his competitor took their positions, and then the word was given. at least three out of every four went to lincoln at once. when it was seen by those who had arranged themselves with the other candidate that lincoln was the choice of the majority of the company, they left their places, one by one, and came over to the successful side, until lincoln's opponent in the friendly strife was left standing almost alone. "i felt badly to see him cut so," says a witness of the scene. here was an opportunity for revenge. the humble laborer was his employer's captain, but the opportunity was never improved. mr. lincoln frequently confessed that no subsequent success of his life had given him half the satisfaction that this election did. ="catch 'em and cheat 'em"= the lawyers on the circuit traveled by lincoln got together one night and tried him on the charge of accepting fees which tended to lower the established rates. it was the understood rule that a lawyer should accept all the client could be induced to pay. the tribunal was known as "the ogmathorial court." ward lamon, his law partner at the time, tells about it: "lincoln was found guilty and fined for his awful crime against the pockets of his brethren of the bar. the fine he paid with great good humor, and then kept the crowd of lawyers in uproarious laughter until after midnight. "he persisted in his revolt, however, declaring that with his consent his firm should never during its life, or after its dissolution, deserve the reputation enjoyed by those shining lights of the profession, 'catch 'em and cheat 'em.'" =a juryman's scorn= lincoln had assisted in the prosecution of a man who had robbed his neighbor's hen roosts. jogging home along the highway with the foreman of the jury that had convicted the hen stealer, he was complimented by lincoln on the zeal and ability of the prosecution, and remarked: "why, when the country was young, and i was stronger than i am now, i didn't mind packing off a sheep now and again, but stealing hens!" the good man's scorn could not find words to express his opinion of a man who would steal hens. ="tad" introduces "our friends"= president lincoln often avoided interviews with delegations representing various states, especially when he knew the objects of their errands, and was aware he could not grant their requests. this was the case with several commissioners from kentucky, who were put off from day to day. they were about to give up in despair, and were leaving the white house lobby, their speech being interspersed with vehement and uncomplimentary terms concerning "old abe," when "tad" happened along. he caught at these words, and asked one of them if they wanted to see "old abe," laughing at the same time. "yes," he replied. "wait a minute," said "tad," and rushed into his father's office. said he, "papa, may i introduce some friends to you?" his father, always indulgent and ready to make him happy, kindly said, "yes, my son, i will see your friends." "tad" went to the kentuckians again, and asked a very dignified looking gentleman of the party his name. he was told his name. he then said, "come, gentlemen," and they followed him. leading them up to the president, "tad," with much dignity, said, "papa, let me introduce to you judge ----, of kentucky;" and quickly added, "now, judge, you introduce the other gentlemen." the introductions were gone through with, and they turned out to be the gentlemen mr. lincoln had been avoiding for a week. mr. lincoln reached for the boy, took him in his lap, kissed him, and told him it was all right, and that he had introduced his friend like a little gentleman as he was. tad was eleven years old at this time. the president was pleased with tad's diplomacy, and often laughed at the incident as he told others of it. one day while caressing the boy, he asked him why he called those gentlemen "his friends." "well," said tad, "i had seen them so often, and they looked so good and sorry, and said they were from kentucky, that i thought they must be our friends." "that is right, my son," said mr. lincoln; "i would have the whole human race your friends and mine, if it were possible." =stood up the longest= there was a rough gallantry among the young people; and lincoln's old comrades and friends in indiana have left many tales of how he "went to see the girls;" of how he brought in the biggest back-log and made the brightest fire; of how the young people, sitting around it, watching the way the sparks flew, told their fortunes. he helped pare apples, shell corn and crack nuts. he took the girls to meeting and to spelling school, though he was not often allowed to take part in the spelling-match, for the one who "chose first" always chose "abe" lincoln, and that was equivalent to winning, as the others knew that "he would stand up the longest." =admired the strong man= governor hoyt of wisconsin tells a story of mr. lincoln's great admiration for physical strength. mr. lincoln, in , made a speech at the wisconsin state agricultural fair. after the speech, in company with the governor, he strolled about the grounds, looking at the exhibits. they came to a place where a professional "strong man" was tossing cannon balls in the air and catching them on his arms and juggling with them as though they were as light as baseballs. mr. lincoln had never before seen such an exhibition, and he was greatly surprised and interested. when the performance was over, governor hoyt, seeing mr. lincoln's interest, asked him to go up and be introduced to the athlete. he did so, and, as he stood looking down musingly on the man, who was very short, and evidently wondering that one so much smaller than he could be so much stronger, he suddenly broke out with one of his quaint speeches. "why," he said, "why, i could lick salt off the top of your hat." =saved lincoln's life= when mr. lincoln was quite a small boy he met with an accident that almost cost him his life. he was saved by austin gollaher, a young playmate. mr. gollaher lived to be more than ninety years of age, and to the day of his death related with great pride his boyhood association with lincoln. "yes," mr. gollaher once said, "the story that i once saved abraham lincoln's life is true. he and i had been going to school together for a year or more, and had become greatly attached to each other. then school disbanded on account of there being so few scholars, and we did not see each other much for a long while. "one sunday my mother visited the lincolns, and i was taken along. 'abe' and i played around all day. finally, we concluded to cross the creek to hunt for some partridges young lincoln had seen the day before. the creek was swollen by a recent rain, and, in crossing on the narrow footlog, 'abe' fell in. neither of us could swim. i got a long pole and held it out to 'abe,' who grabbed it. then i pulled him ashore. "he was almost dead, and i was badly scared. i rolled and pounded him in good earnest. then i got him by the arms and shook him, the water meanwhile pouring out of his mouth. by this means i succeeded in bringing him to, and he was soon all right. "then a new difficulty confronted us. if our mothers discovered our wet clothes they would whip us. this we dreaded from experience, and determined to avoid. it was june, the sun was very warm, and we soon dried our clothing by spreading it on the rocks about us. we promised never to tell the story, and i never did until after lincoln's tragic end." =would blow them to h----.= mr. lincoln had advised lieutenant-general winfield scott, commanding the united states army, of the threats of violence on inauguration day, . general scott was sick in bed at washington when adjutant-general thomas mather, of illinois, called upon him in president-elect lincoln's behalf, and the veteran commander was much wrought up. said he to general mather: "present my compliments to mr. lincoln when you return to springfield, and tell him i expect him to come on to washington as soon as he is ready; say to him that i will look after those maryland and virginia rangers myself. i will plant cannon at both ends of pennsylvania avenue, and if any of them show their heads or raise a finger, i'll blow them to h----." ="i can stand it if they can"= united states senator benjamin wade, of ohio, henry winter davis, of maryland, and wendell phillips were strongly opposed to president lincoln's re-election, and wade and davis issued a manifesto. phillips made several warm speeches against lincoln and his policy. when asked if he had read the manifesto or any of phillips' speeches, the president replied: "i have not seen them, nor do i care to see them. i have seen enough to satisfy me that i am a failure, not only in the opinion of the people in rebellion, but of many distinguished politicians of my own party. but time will show whether i am right or they are right, and i am content to abide its decision. "i have enough to look after without giving much of my time to the consideration of the subject of who shall be my successor in office. the position is not an easy one, and the occupant, whoever he may be, for the next four years, will have little leisure to pluck a thorn or plant a rose in his own pathway." it was urged that this opposition must be embarrassing to his administration, as well as damaging to the party. he replied: "yes, that is true; but our friends, wade, davis, phillips, and others are hard to please. i am not capable of doing so. i cannot please them without wantonly violating not only my oath, but the most vital principles upon which our government was founded. "as to those who, like wade and the rest, see fit to depreciate my policy and cavil at my official acts, i shall not complain of them. i accord them the utmost freedom of speech and liberty of the press, but shall not change the policy i have adopted in the full belief that i am right. "i feel on this subject as an old illinois farmer once expressed himself while eating cheese. he was interrupted in the midst of his repast by the entrance of his son, who exclaimed, 'hold on, dad! there's skippers in that cheese you're eating!' "'never mind, tom,' said he, as he kept on munching his cheese, 'if they can stand it i can.'" =a mortifying experience= a lady reader or elocutionist came to springfield in . a large crowd greeted her. among other things she recited "nothing to wear," a piece in which is described the perplexities that beset "miss flora mcflimsey" in her efforts to appear fashionable. in the midst of one stanza in which no effort is made to say anything particularly amusing, and during the reading of which the audience manifested the most respectful silence and attention, some one in the rear seats burst out with a loud, coarse laugh, a sudden and explosive guffaw. it startled the speaker and audience, and kindled a storm of unsuppressed laughter and applause. everybody looked back to ascertain the cause of the demonstration, and were greatly surprised to find that it was mr. lincoln. he blushed and squirmed with the awkward diffidence of a schoolboy. what caused him to laugh, no one was able to explain. he was doubtless wrapped up in a brown study, and recalling some amusing episode indulged in laughter without realizing his surroundings. the experience mortified him greatly. =grant held on all the time= (dispatch to general grant, august th, .) "i have seen your dispatch expressing your unwillingness to break your hold where you are. neither am i willing. "hold on with a bulldog grip." =every little helped= as the time drew near at which mr. lincoln said he would issue the emancipation proclamation, some clergymen, who feared the president might change his mind, called on him to urge him to keep his promise. "we were ushered into the cabinet room," says dr. sunderland. "it was very dim, but one gas jet burning. as we entered, mr. lincoln was standing at the farther end of the long table, which filled the center of the room. as i stood by the door, i am so very short that i was obliged to look up to see the president. mr. robbins introduced me, and i began at once by saying: 'i have come, mr. president, to anticipate the new year with my respects, and if i may, to say to you a word about the serious condition of this country.' "'go ahead, doctor,' replied the president; 'every little helps.' but i was too much in earnest to laugh at his sally at my smallness." =kept up the argument= judge t. lyle dickey of illinois related that when the excitement over the kansas-nebraska bill first broke out, he was with lincoln and several friends attending court. one evening several persons, including himself and lincoln, were discussing the slavery question. judge dickey contended that slavery was an institution which the constitution recognized, and which could not be disturbed. lincoln argued that ultimately slavery must become extinct. "after a while," said judge dickey, "we went upstairs to bed. there were two beds in our room, and i remember that lincoln sat up in his night shirt on the edge of the bed arguing the point with me. at last we went to sleep. early in the morning i woke up and there was lincoln half sitting up in bed. 'dickey', said he, 'i tell you this nation cannot exist half slave and half free.' 'oh, lincoln,' said i, 'go to sleep.'" =thought of learning a trade= lincoln at one time thought seriously of learning the blacksmith's trade. he was without means, and felt the immediate necessity of undertaking some business that would give him bread. while entertaining this project an event occurred which, in his undetermined state of mind, seemed to open a way to success in another quarter. reuben radford, keeper of a small store in the village of new salem, had incurred the displeasure of the "clary grove boys," who exercised their "regulating" prerogatives by irregularly breaking his windows. william g. greene, a friend of young lincoln, riding by radford's store soon afterward, was hailed by him and told that he intended to sell out. mr. greene went into the store, and offered him at random $ for his stock, which offer was immediately accepted. lincoln "happened in" the next day, and being familiar with the value of the goods, mr. greene proposed to him to take an inventory of the stock, and see what sort of a bargain he had made. this he did, and it was found that the goods were worth $ . lincoln then made an offer of $ for his bargain, with the proposition that he and a man named berry, as his partner, take over greene's notes given to radford. mr. greene agreed to the arrangement, but radford declined it, except on condition that greene would be their security. greene at last assented. lincoln was not afraid of the "clary grove boys"; on the contrary, they had been his most ardent friends since the time he thrashed "jack" armstrong, champion bully of "the grove"--but their custom was not heavy. the business soon became a wreck; greene had to not only assist in closing it up, but pay radford's notes as well. lincoln afterwards spoke of these notes which he finally made good to greene, as "the national debt." =the same old rum= one of president lincoln's friends, visiting at the white house, was finding considerable fault with the constant agitation in congress of the slavery question. he remarked that, after the adoption of the emancipation policy, he had hoped for something new. "there was a man down in maine," said the president, in reply, "who kept a grocery store, and a lot of fellows used to loaf around for their toddy. he only gave 'em new england rum, and they drank pretty considerable of it. but after a while they began to get tired of that, and kept asking for something new--something new--all the time. well, one night, when the whole crowd were around, the grocer brought out his glasses, and says he, 'i've got something new for you to drink, boys, now.' "'honor bright?' says they. "'honor bright,' says he, and with that he sets out a jug. 'thar,' says he, 'that's something new; it's new england rum!' says he. "now," remarked the president, in conclusion, "i guess we're a good deal like that crowd, and congress is a good deal like that store-keeper!" =couldn't let go the hog= when governor custer of pennsylvania described the terrible butchery at the battle of fredericksburg, mr. lincoln was almost broken-hearted. the governor regretted that his description had so sadly affected the president. he remarked: "i would give all i possess to know how to rescue you from this terrible war." then mr. lincoln's wonderful recuperative powers asserted themselves and this marvelous man was himself. lincoln's whole aspect suddenly changed, and he relieved his mind by telling a story. "this reminds me, governor," he said, "of an old farmer out in illinois that i used to know. "he took it into his head to go into hog-raising. he sent out to europe and imported the finest breed of hogs he could buy. "the prize hog was put in a pen, and the farmer's two mischievous boys, james and john, were told to be sure not to let it out. but james, the worst of the two, let the brute out the next day. the hog went straight for the boys, and drove john up a tree; then the hog went for the seat of james' trousers, and the only way the boy could save himself was by holding on to the hog's tail. "the hog would not give up his hunt, nor the boy his hold! after they had made a good many circles around the tree, the boy's courage began to give out, and he shouted to his brother, 'i say, john, come down quick, and help me let go this hog!' "now, governor, that is exactly my case. i wish some one would come and help me to let the hog go." =his knowledge of human nature= once, when lincoln was pleading a case, the opposing lawyer had all the advantage of the law; the weather was warm, and his opponent, as was admissible in frontier courts, pulled off his coat and vest as he grew warm in the argument. at that time, shirts with buttons behind were unusual. lincoln took in the situation at once. knowing the prejudices of the primitive people against pretension of all sorts, or any affectation of superior social rank, arising, he said: "gentlemen of the jury, having justice on my side, i don't think you will be at all influenced by the gentleman's pretended knowledge of the law, when you see he does not even know which side of his shirt should be in front." there was a general laugh, and lincoln's case was won. =took nothing but money= during the war congress appropriated $ , to be expended by the president in defending united states marshals in cases of arrests and seizures where the legality of their actions was tested in the courts. previously the marshals sought the assistance of the attorney-general in defending them, but when they found that the president had a fund for that purpose they sought to control the money. in speaking of these marshals one day, mr. lincoln said: "they are like a man in illinois, whose cabin was burned down, and, according to the kindly custom of early days in the west, his neighbors all contributed something to start him again. in his case they had been so liberal that he soon found himself better off than before the fire, and he got proud. one day a neighbor brought him a bag of oats, but the fellow refused it with scorn. "'no,' said he, 'i'm not taking oats now. i take nothing but money.'" =creditor paid debtor's debt= a certain rich man in springfield, illinois, sued a poor attorney for $ . , and lincoln was asked to prosecute the case. lincoln urged the creditor to let the matter drop, adding, "you can make nothing out of him, and it will cost you a good deal more than the debt to bring suit." the creditor was still determined to have his way, and threatened to seek some other attorney. lincoln then said, "well, if you are determined that suit should be brought, i will bring it; but my charge will be $ ." the money was paid him, and peremptory orders were given that the suit be brought that day. after the client's departure, lincoln went out of the office, returning in about an hour with an amused look on his face. asked what pleased him, he replied, "i brought suit against ----, and then hunted him up, told him what i had done, handed him half of the $ , and we went over to the squire's office. he confessed judgment and paid the bill." lincoln added that he didn't see any other way to make things satisfactory for his client as well as the other. =conscripting dead men= mr. lincoln being found fault with for making another "call," said that if the country required it, he would continue to do so until the matter stood as described by a western provost marshal, who says: "i listened a short time since to a butternut-clad individual, who succeeded in making good his escape, expatiate most eloquently on the rigidness with which the conscription was enforced south of the tennessee river. his response to a question propounded by a citizen ran somewhat in this wise: "'do they conscript close over the river?' "'stranger, i should think they did! they take every man who hasn't been dead more than two days!' "if this is correct, the confederacy has at least a ghost of a chance left." and of another, a methodist minister in kansas, living on a small salary, who was greatly troubled to get his quarterly instalment. he at last told the non-paying trustees that he must have his money, as he was suffering for the necessaries of life. "money!" replied the trustees; "you preach for money? we thought you preached for the good of souls!" "souls!" responded the reverend; "i can't eat souls; and if i could it would take a thousand such as yours to make a meal!" "that soul is the point, sir," said the president. =major anderson's bad memory= among the men whom captain lincoln met in the black hawk campaign were lieutenant-colonel zachary taylor, lieutenant jefferson davis, president of the confederacy, and lieutenant robert anderson, all of the united states army. judge arnold, in his "life of abraham lincoln," relates that lincoln and anderson did not meet again until some time in . after anderson had evacuated fort sumter, on visiting washington, he called at the white house to pay his respects to the president. lincoln expressed his thanks to anderson for his conduct at fort sumter, and then said: "major, do you remember of ever meeting me before?" "no, mr. president, i have no recollection of ever having had that pleasure." "my memory is better than yours," said lincoln; "you mustered me into the service of the united states in , at dixon's ferry, in the black hawk war." =settled out of court= when abe lincoln used to be drifting around the country, practicing law in fulton and menard counties, illinois, an old fellow met him going to lewiston, riding a horse which, while it was a serviceable enough animal, was not of the kind to be truthfully called a fine saddler. it was a weatherbeaten nag, patient and plodding, and it toiled along with abe--and abe's books, tucked away in saddle-bags, lay heavy on the horse's flank. "hello, uncle tommy," said abe. "hello, abe," responded uncle tommy. "i'm powerful glad to see ye, abe, fer i'm gwyne to have sumthin' fer ye at lewiston co't, i reckon." "how's that, uncle tommy?" said abe. "well, jim adams, his land runs 'long o' mine, he's pesterin' me a heap, an' i got to get the law on jim, i reckon." "uncle tommy, you haven't had any fights with jim, have you?" "no." "he's a fair to middling neighbor, isn't he?" "only tollable, abe." "he's been a neighbor of yours for a long time, hasn't he?" "nigh on to fifteen year." "part of the time you get along all right, don't you?" "i reckon we do, abe." "well, now, uncle tommy, you see this horse of mine? he isn't as good a horse as i could straddle, and i sometimes get out of patience with him, but i know his faults. he does fairly well as horses go, and it might take me a long time to get used to some other horse's faults. for all horses have faults. you and uncle jimmy must put up with each other, as i and my horse do with one another." "i reckon, abe," said uncle tommy, as he bit off about four ounces of missouri plug, "i reckon you're about right." and abe lincoln, with a smile on his gaunt face, rode on toward lewiston. =no vanderbilt= in february, , not long before his nomination for the presidency, lincoln made several speeches in eastern cities. to an illinois acquaintance, whom he met at the astor house, in new york, he said: "i have the cottage at springfield, and about three thousand dollars in money. if they make me vice-president with seward, as some say they will, i hope i shall be able to increase it to twenty thousand, and that is as much as any man ought to want." =lincoln mistaken for once= president lincoln was compelled to acknowledge that he made at least one mistake in "sizing up" men. one day a very dignified man called at the white house, and lincoln's heart fell when his visitor approached. the latter was portly, his face was full of apparent anxiety, and lincoln was willing to wager a year's salary that he represented some society for the easy and speedy repression of rebellions. the caller talked fluently, but at no time did he give advice or suggest a way to put down the confederacy. he was full of humor, told a clever story or two, and was entirely self-possessed. at length the president inquired, "you are a clergyman, are you not, sir?" "not by a jug full," returned the stranger heartily. grasping him by the hand lincoln shook it until the visitor squirmed. "you must lunch with us. i am glad to see you. i was afraid you were a preacher." "i went to the chicago convention," the caller said, "as a friend of mr. seward. i have watched you narrowly ever since your inauguration, and i called merely to pay my respects. what i want to say is this: i think you are doing everything for the good of the country that is in the power of man to do. you are on the right track. as one of your constituents i now say to you, do in future as you d---- please, and i will support you!" this was spoken with tremendous effect. "why," said mr. lincoln, in great astonishment, "i took you to be a preacher. i thought you had come here to tell me how to take richmond," and he again grasped the hand of his strange visitor. accurate and penetrating as mr. lincoln's judgment was concerning men, for once he had been wholly mistaken. the scene was comical in the extreme. the two men stood gazing at each other. a smile broke from the lips of the solemn wag and rippled over the wide expanse of his homely face like sunlight overspreading a continent, and mr. lincoln was convulsed with laughter. he stayed to lunch. ="done with the bible"= lincoln never told a better story than this: a country meeting-house, that was used once a month, was quite a distance from any other house. the preacher, an old-line baptist, was dressed in coarse linen pantaloons, and shirt of the same material. the pants, manufactured after the old fashion, with baggy legs, and a flap in the front, were made to attach to his frame without the aid of suspenders. a single button held his shirt in position, and that was at the collar. he rose up in the pulpit, and with a loud voice announced his text thus: "i am the christ whom i shall represent today." about this time a little blue lizard ran up his roomy pantaloons. the old preacher, not wishing to interrupt the steady flow of his sermon, slapped away on his leg, expecting to arrest the intruder, but his efforts were unavailing, and the little fellow kept on ascending higher and higher. continuing the sermon, the preacher loosened the central button which graced the waistband of his pantaloons, and with a kick off came that easy-fitting garment. but, meanwhile, mr. lizard had passed the equatorial line of the waistband, and was calmly exploring that part of the preacher's anatomy which lay underneath the back of his shirt. things were now growing interesting, but the sermon was still grinding on. the next movement on the preacher's part was for the collar button, and with one sweep of his arm off came the tow linen shirt. the congregation sat for an instant as if dazed; at length one old lady in the rear part of the room rose up, and, glancing at the excited object in the pulpit, shouted at the top of her voice: "if you represent christ, then i'm done with the bible." =satisfaction to the soul= in the far-away days when "abe" went to school in indiana, they had exercises, exhibitions and speaking-meetings in the schoolhouse or the church, and "abe" was the "star." his father was a democrat, and at that time "abe" agreed with his parent. he would frequently make political and other speeches to the boys and explain tangled questions. booneville was the county seat of warrick county, situated about fifteen miles from gentryville. thither "abe" walked to be present at the sittings of the court, and listened attentively to the trials and the speeches of the lawyers. one of the trials was that of a murderer. he was defended by mr. john breckenridge, and at the conclusion of his speech "abe" was so enthusiastic that he ventured to compliment him. breckenridge looked at the shabby boy, thanked him and passed on his way. many years afterwards, in , breckenridge called on the president, and he was told, "it was the best speech that i, up to that time, had ever heard. if i could, as i then thought, make as good a speech as that, my soul would be satisfied." =his teeth chattered= during the lincoln-douglas debates of , the latter accused lincoln of having, when in congress, voted against the appropriation for supplies to be sent the united states soldiers in mexico. in reply, lincoln said: "this is a perversion of the facts. i was opposed to the policy of the administration in declaring war against mexico; but when war was declared i never failed to vote for the support of any proposition looking to the comfort of our poor fellows who were maintaining the dignity of our flag in a war that i thought unnecessary and unjust." he gradually became more and more excited; his voice thrilled and his whole frame shook. sitting on the stand was o. b. ficklin, who had served in congress with lincoln in . lincoln reached back, took ficklin by the coat-collar, back of his neck, and in no gentle manner lifted him from his seat as if he had been a kitten, and roared: "fellow-citizens, here is ficklin, who was at that time in congress with me, and he knows it is a lie." he shook ficklin until his teeth chattered. fearing he would shake ficklin's head off, ward lamon grasped lincoln's hand and broke his grip. after the speaking was over, ficklin, who had warm personal friendship with him, said: "lincoln, you nearly shook all the democracy out of me today." =profanity as a safety-valve= lincoln never indulged in profanity, but confessed that when lee was beaten at malvern hill, after seven days of fighting, and richmond, but twelve miles away, was at mcclellan's mercy, he felt very much like swearing when he learned that the union general had retired to harrison's landing. lee was so confident his opponent would not go to richmond that he took his army into maryland--a move he would not have made had an energetic fighting man been in mcclellan's place. it is true mcclellan followed and defeated lee in the bloodiest battle of the war--antietam--afterwards following him into virginia; but lincoln could not bring himself to forgive the general's inaction before richmond. =a stage-coach story= the following is told by thomas h. nelson, of terre haute, indiana, who was appointed minister to chili by lincoln: judge abram hammond, afterwards governor of indiana, and myself, had arranged to go from terre haute to indianapolis in a stage-coach. as we stepped in we discovered that the entire back seat was occupied by a long, lank individual, whose head seemed to protrude from one end of the coach and his feet from the other. he was the sole occupant and was sleeping soundly. hammond slapped him familiarly on the shoulder, and asked him if he had chartered the coach that day. "certainty not," and he at once took the front seat, politely giving us the place of honor and comfort. an odd-looking fellow he was, with a twenty-five cent hat, without vest or cravat. regarding him as a good subject for merriment, we perpetrated several jokes. he took them all with utmost innocence and good nature, and joined in the laugh, although at his own expense. after an astounding display of wordy pyrotechnics, the dazed and bewildered stranger asked: "what will be the upshot of this comet business?" late in the evening we reached indianapolis, and hurried to browning's hotel, losing sight of the stranger altogether. we retired to our room to brush our clothes. in a few minutes i descended to the portico, and there descried our long, gloomy fellow traveler in the center of an admiring group of lawyers, among whom were judges mclean and huntington, albert s. white and richard w. thompson, who seemed to be amused and interested in a story he was telling. i inquired of browning, the landlord, who he was. "abraham lincoln, of illinois, a member of congress," was his response. i was thunderstruck at the announcement. i hastened upstairs and told hammond the startling news, and together we emerged from the hotel by a back door, and went down an alley to another house, thus avoiding further contact with our distinguished fellow traveler. years afterward, when the president-elect was on his way to washington, i was in the same hotel looking over the distinguished party, when a long arm reached to my shoulder and a shrill voice exclaimed, "hello, nelson! do you think, after all, the whole world is going to follow the darned thing off?" the words were my own in answer to his question in the stage-coach. the speaker was abraham lincoln. =sentinel obeyed orders= a slight variation of the traditional sentry story is related by c. c. buel. it was a cold, blusterous winter night. says mr. buel: "mr. lincoln emerged from the front door, his lank figure bent over as he drew tightly about his shoulders the shawl which he employed for such protection; for he was on his way to the war department, at the west corner of the grounds, where in times of battle he was wont to get the midnight dispatches from the field. as the blast struck him he thought of the numbness of the pacing sentry, and, turning to him, said: 'young man, you've got a cold job tonight; step inside, and stand guard there.' "'my orders keep me out here,' the soldier replied. "'yes,' said the president, in his argumentative tone; 'but your duty can be performed just as well inside as out here, and you'll oblige me by going in.' "'i have been stationed outside,' the soldier answered, and resumed his beat. "'hold on there!' said mr. lincoln, as he turned back again; 'it occurs to me that i am commander-in-chief of the army, and i order you to go inside.'" ="wuz goin' ter be 'hitched'"= "abe's" nephew--or one of them--related a story in connection with lincoln's first love (anne rutledge), and his subsequent marriage to miss mary todd. this nephew was a plain, every-day farmer, and thought everything of his uncle, whose greatness he quite thoroughly appreciated, although he did not pose to any extreme as the relative of a president of the united states. said he one day, in telling his story: "us child'en, w'en we heerd uncle 'abe' wuz a-goin' to be married, axed gran'ma ef uncle 'abe' never hed a gal afore, an' she says, sez she, 'well, "abe" wuz never a han' nohow to run 'round visitin' much, or go with the gals, neither, but he did fall in love with a anne rutledge, who lived out near springfield, an' after she died he'd come home an' ev'ry time he'd talk 'bout her, he cried dreadful. he never could talk of her nohow 'thout he'd jes' cry an' cry, like a young feller.' "onct he tol' gran'ma they wuz goin; ter be hitched, they havin' promised each other, an' thet is all we ever heered 'bout it. but, so it wuz, that arter uncle 'abe' hed got over his mournin', he wuz married ter a woman w'ich hed lived down in kentuck. "uncle 'abe' hisself tol' us he wuz married the nex' time he come up ter our place, an' w'en we ast him why he didn't bring his wife up to see us, he said: 'she's very busy and can't come.' "but we knowed better'n that. he wuz too proud to bring her up, 'cause nothin' would suit her, nohow. she wuzn't raised the way we wuz, an' wuz different from us, and we heerd, tu, she wuz as proud as cud be. "no, an' he never brought none uv the child'en, neither. "but then, uncle 'abe,' he wuzn't to blame. we never thought he wuz stuck up." * * * * * transcriber's notes minor punctuation errors have been silently corrected. page : changed "lincon" to "lincoln." (orig: lincon said: "this is a perversion of the facts.) page : changed "yoice" to "voice." (orig: his voice thrilled and his whole frame shook) of the digital library@villanova university (http://digital.library.villanova.edu/)) s&s humor library no. price cents jiglets [illustration] a series of sidesplitting gyrations reeled off by walter jones illustrated street & smith · publishers · new york "jiglets" a series of sidesplitting gyrations reeled off.. by walter jones [illustration] street & smith, publishers william street, .. new york copyright, by street & smith jiglets important dear reader: while an artist has been engaged at a great expense to illustrate this volume of funniness, i want it distinctly understood that the illustrations are purely ornamental and are not intended to be diagrams of or keys to the jokes. between you and me, any one of the jokes--if you like it--is worth eleven times the price asked for the book. but, like the filigree work on a lemon merangue pie, the decoration may not make the pie any more palatable--but, it looks a whole lot better. confidentially yours, walter jones jiglets ha! ha! ha! i am astonished. i didn't expect to find more than ten persons in the house to-night, and i see there are eleven. [illustration] i want to thank that gentleman in the first row--the man with the vigorous growth of hair. it's such a relief to see a man with some hair, in the front row. say, i don't think i ever told you of the time i went with a shakespearian company to tour the new england states. never knew i was an actor? why, of course. wouldn't have thought it? neither would i, if i didn't know to what extremes a man of my attainments may be driven, when his bread-basket is empty. well, i signed for a hundred a week and all expenses. i got expenses all right, part of the time, and had to employ one of pinkerton's men to look after the salary. [illustration] up to yesterday, he hadn't found it; but no actor who goes out of new york town ever expects to get any salary, and i didn't. i played hamlet, egglet, eyelet, omelet and to let. every time i played hamlet, i got an egglet in the eyelet, and i saved them up and made an omelet, which caused such a disturbance among the other boarders, that my landlady told me my room was to let. i was in hard luck all around. the worst blow that ever struck yours truly, was when we hit a little town in maine called haystack mountain. people there didn't appreciate good acting and the show went busted. well, the manager had an urgent engagement with a sick friend in new york, and he left us high and dry. [illustration] some of the girls wept a little and asked how far it was to the railroad station. i didn't ask how far it was to the station. i knew what to do. i began to walk. do you know, i never struck such a confounded lot of ties in all my life. the railroad must have employed non-union help. you couldn't judge them at all. you'd strike a lot that were three feet apart and think they were all that way. you'd go to sleep until you struck one at a four-foot interval; then you'd wake up pretty quick and murmur gentle nothings about the company. about the second day out, i landed at the town of bridgewater. i walked into the only hotel of the place and thought i'd bluff 'em a little. "what are the rates?" says i. "five dollars a day and up," says the clerk. "oh, come off," says i, "i'm an actor." "in that case," says he, "it's five dollars a day, down." toward evening, i came to a siding where a lot of box-cars were stalled. i crept on one of the trucks and went to sleep. i woke up to find i was traveling at the rate of forty miles an hour. [illustration] suddenly i became aware that i had a visitor, and i knew my visitor had visitors, too--because i could hear him scratching. "say," says i, "who the dickens are you and what do you want?" "look here, young feller," says the visitor, "i'm cornelius vanderbilt out for a spin in my new automobile, and i won't be disturbed by the likes of you." "where do you come from?" says i. "maryland," says he. "my father is a great farmer down there. he raised a cabbage last year that weighed four hundred pounds. now, who are you?" "why," says i, "i'm admiral dewey on a tour of inspection in my private car. i'm going back to brooklyn navy yard to superintend the manufacture of a boiler, so large that it takes two hundred and fifty men to drive one of the rivets." "go slow, there," says he. "what could they do with a boiler so large as that?" [illustration] "why," says i, "they're going to boil that cabbage your father raised." after a little while he told me his name was percival reginald van dusenberry. he was an actor, but he had been walking longer than i. when we struck the town of grafton, we got off our pullman, and began looking for the graft. percy went up to a cottage and rapped at the door, intending to ask for some cold victuals. a hand shoved out and gave him a roll of green-backs. percy was dumfounded, but took to his heels. when we were about two miles away, percy looked at me, and said: "those lobsters took me for the landlord." we located a restaurant presently, and sat waiting at a table for an hour and a half. finally, percy said to the fellow behind the desk: "are you the proprietor of this hash house?" "yes," says he. "well, then i want to know if you sent your waiter away, when you saw us coming, so you could charge us for a night's lodging." just then the waiter came in. "say," says i, "do you know we have been waiting here for an hour and a half?" "that's nothing," says he, "i've been waiting here for ten years." he placed a carafe of water on the table. [illustration] "look here," says percy, "i never drink water unless it's absolutely pure and healthy. is this all right?" "sure," says the waiter. percy took a glassful, and most of it was pollywogs. "look here," says he, "i thought you said this water was healthy. look at those bugs." "that only proves what i said," says the waiter. "if it wasn't healthy the bugs couldn't live in it." just then percy's eye caught a sign that read: "all the pancakes you can eat for ten cents." "i'm going to have some pancakes," says he. "what's yours?" "chicken," says i. percy kept eating pancakes. when he had eaten twenty plates the boss of the joint began to get interested. [illustration] percy was certainly getting the biggest ten cents' worth i ever saw, when he stepped over and says: "don't you think you have had enough?" "just one more plate and then--" says percy. "then what?" says the boss. "then you can tell the cook to make them a little bit thicker," says percy. i tried to chew my chicken, but couldn't get it down. i managed to catch the waiter on his fifteenth lap between the kitchen and percy's plate, and says: "waiter, this chicken is awfully tough." "have some pancakes, then," says percy. "they're good and come cheap." "well," says the waiter, "that chicken always was a jonah. when we tried to kill it, the darned thing flew to the top of the house and we had to shoot it." "oh, that accounts for it," says i. "your aim was bad and you shot the weather cock by mistake." percy finally got enough pancakes and paid his ten cents like a man. [illustration] we traveled along the road that leads from the hash house, and met a farmer with a gun. "say," says i, "have you seen anything worth shooting around here?" "not until you came," says he. i don't blame him though. talking of shooting, i don't think i ever told you of the time i went shooting with teddy. teddy is a great shot, but he can't compare with me. i'm going to sing you a song about it, entitled: "snap shot, half shot, all shot; or, it costs money to get loaded." [illustration] on the farms there's consternation, and there's wide-spread agitation, for the hunting season's opened up again. in the paths and in the by-ways, in the woods and in the highways, there are packs of dogs and scores of shooting men. now and then a pig is squealing, or a hen or rooster keeling over suddenly in some sequestered spot. upon a close examination, you may glean the information, that by some lobster of a gunner it was shot. now and then a cow is snorting, and around a field cavorting, all because a load of shot has come its way. now and then a horse is rearing, and in greatest pain appearing, for it stopped another charge that went astray. 'tis no wonder that the granger growls each time he sees a stranger, prowling through the woods and fooling with a gun; for the shooting is alarming, to the man who does the farming, and he won't rest easy till the season's done. [illustration] that's a very fine song, i'll admit. percy is just dead in love with it. he makes me sing it about ten times a day. he says he can sympathize with the horses and cows, for he has "stopped many a charge that went astray" and knows how it feels. we left the farmer with the gun, and percy began to get woefully dry. "great scott," says he, "i'd give almost anything for a drink of whiskey." he spied an old gent with a kind face, tottering along the road. [illustration] "just wait a minute," says percy, "i'll see if that old gent carries a pocket flask." so he went over and says: "kind sir, can you give a poor man who has heart trouble a drop of whiskey?" "you should not drink that stuff," says the old man, "why do you do it?" "because i'm thirsty," says percy. "then why don't you drink milk?" says he. "milk, you know, makes blood." "but," says percy, "i'm not blood-thirsty." "the doctors," continued the old man, "say that whiskey ruins the coat of the stomach. what would you do if that happened in your case?" "i'd mighty soon make the darn thing work in its shirt-sleeves," says percy. we walked on and saw a farmhouse through the trees. percy went up to ask for some cold victuals and actually got the cold shoulder. then we struck the town of freysburg. there's where poor percy got fried to a rich, golden brown. [illustration] it happened this way. we saw a large tent in which a revival meeting was going on. "i'm going to take part," says percy. i tried to dissuade him, but it wouldn't go. the deacon looked him over and says: "will the brother relate his experiences?" i judged that percy would have a very large contract on his hands, but he went at it like a man. everybody was shouting something, so every time percy said anything, i shouted: "thank heaven for that." "ladies and gentlemen," says he, "i've been a villain of the deepest dye." "thank heaven for that," says i. percy looked at me and continued: "often i have felt tempted to commit suicide." "thank heaven for that," says i. "i'm heart and soul in the noble cause, but i'm penniless." "thank heaven for that," says i. percy went on: "i know that these noble men and women will raise a subscription to enable me to carry out my aims." "thank heaven for that," says i. say, the way percy got money surprised me. [illustration] finally, we got clear of the tent and just sloped for it. the next town a constable was waiting for us. he spotted percy right away. "you're wanted for obtaining money under false pretenses," says he. he took percy to the court, which was held in the rear of a grocery store. going in, i knocked a big cheese off the counter and stooped to pick it up. "that's all right," says the grocer, "it knows its own way around the counter by this time." the judge asked percy what his profession was. "i'm an actor," says percy. "when i'm on the stage i become so absorbed in my part that the theatre vanishes, the audience disappears----" "yes," commented the judge, "they go out and ask for their money back. what were you before you became a loafer?" asked the judge. "i was a gentleman," says percy. "that's a good business, but you're not the only one who failed in it," says the judge. "now what have you to say in your defense?" "i must wait till my lawyer arrives," says he. "why," says the judge, "you were caught red-handed with the goods on. what could your lawyer say that would influence my decision?" "that's just what i want to find out," says percy. "but give me a little time and i will explain all." "all right," says the judge. "six years at hard labor. i hope you will be able to explain when you get out, or back you'll go for another six." [illustration] i was so afraid that the judge would give me time to explain why i was with percy that i started to run and didn't stop until i got to boston. now i'm going to sing you a little song, entitled: "he made a foolish break and got the laugh; or, wedded persons' compliments." said a young and tactless husband to his inexperienced wife: "if you would but give up leading such a fashionable life, and devote more time to cooking-- how to mix and when to bake-- then, perhaps you might make pastry such as mother used to make." and the wife, resenting, answered (for the worm will turn, you know): "if you would but give up horses and a score of clubs or so, to devote more time to business-- when to buy and what to stake-- then, perhaps, you might make money, such as father used to make." [illustration] there! i'm greatly relieved now that i've got that song off my mind. i was afraid i might break down, because it's so touching. talking of relief, puts me in mind of a friend of mine who wanted to be relieved, in the worst way, of a barrel of over-ripe sauerkraut. when i heard his tale of woe, i laughed so that i had to go and buy a new pair of suspenders. you see, he had a german friend who had the kraut and didn't know what to do with it, so he offered to send it home to my friend jenkins. jenkins accepted and stored it in his cellar. [illustration] the next day, the fellow upstairs, named mccarthy, came down and raised thunder with his wife. when jenkins came home he heard all about it. he went upstairs and saw the offender. "say," says he, "i understand you object to the smell down in my cellar." "no," says mccarthy, "i don't object to it down there, but when it opens the cellar door and creeps upstairs i do object. it kept me awake all last night." "well," said jenkins, "i'll put it out in the yard behind the dog house." [illustration] and he did. the next morning he went out to feed the dog and found him--dead. that day nine families moved out of jenkins' flat, and the tenth was just going when he donated the kraut to an orphan asylum. the orphans broke loose and took leg bail. there wasn't any one but the janitor to feed it to and he threatened to quit. the last jenkins heard of the kraut, it was about to be shipped to dick croker to sod his lawn at wantage. i came near being put under the sod myself the other day. i heard that one of my best and oldest friends, j. fishpond o'morgan, was down with rheumatism in his arm, so i went around to see him. as soon as i showed my face in the door, fishpond howled: "i'm saved." i did not know what he was driving at, so i said: "sure." "i want you to do me a favor," says he. "go around to prof. sockem's and tell him to give you some of the usual medicine." i went to old sockem's, and just caught him in. "doctor," says i, "my friend o'morgan sent me around for some of the usual for gout." "all right," says he. "arm, i suppose. just roll up your sleeve." i thought i had struck a maniac, so i tried to humor him. [illustration] he came back with a suspicious-looking black bottle and i thought i was a gone goose sure. you see, i had heard so much about the black bottle. he grabbed my wrist in a grip of iron, poured some of the black bottle stuff on my arm and began to rub it, gently. then he began to rub harder and faster, and i could see my arm swell up like a pillow under the fearful treatment. i kicked, and finally managed to break loose. "you confounded scoundrel," i says, "what do you mean by assulting me?" "assulting you?" says he; "you wanted some of the usual and you got it good and hard, but let me sell you some of my medicine for swollen arms. it's the best thing in the world for such cases." did you ever notice what a lot of trouble a simple, little girl may make? oh! you girls. you're never happy unless you're making some poor lobster show how much money he has, by blowing it in on you. [illustration] you know, though, girls, i appreciate you, if no one else does. if it weren't for you, i'll bet a dollar to rockfeller's oil-can that none of the young fellows i see here to-night would have ever thought of coming here. now i'm going to sing you a little warble entitled: "what a surprisingly fresh man that jones is; or, i'd like to meet him outside." [illustration] [illustration] many a man has often cussed, for only an innocent maid; many a bank has gone in the dust, for just an innocent maid; many a judge has not been just, to only an innocent maid; many a saint went on a bust, for just an innocent maid. cho. when johnny goes to his lady's house she greets him with a smile; at once she starts the glim to douse so he can propose in style. many a milkman has got the sack, for only an innocent maid; many a dude has been knocked on his back, for just an innocent maid; many a doctor has had to quack, for only an innocent maid; many a dollar is won on the track, for just an innocent maid. cho. when johnny takes her to the altar, he may think it's for his good, in his opinion soon he'll falter, when she makes him split the wood. many a cop has left his beat, for only an innocent maid; many a gambler has had to cheat, for just an innocent maid; many a commuter has given his seat, to only an innocent maid; many a lover has known pa's foot, for just an innocent maid. cho. johnny thinks he's caught a prize, when he's only been married a week; but when she feeds him on apple pies, he feels like taking a sneak. [illustration] did you hear that peculiar toot the fellow with the big horn gave when i finished up? that means "rotten" in his low vocabulary. he's got a grudge against me. once, when he didn't occupy his present high position, he came to me and wanted me to stake him the price of the horn he just insulted me with. "what!" says i. "are you going to learn to be a blower? don't you think you are nuisance enough already?" you see, i wanted to save the money. he stood firm though, and i had to cough up. about a week later he came around looking a perfect wreck. his eye was closed, his head bandaged, and his clothes in shreds. [illustration] "what's the matter?" says i. "couldn't you manage the horn." "well, you see, brother jones," says he, "i could manage the horn all right, but i could not manage the neighbors." this same fellow is a bird fancier. he breeds all kinds of birds. i asked him to blow me to a small hot bird and a cold bottle now that he was so wealthy, and the stare he gave me was so cold that it froze the highball i carry in my pocket flask. i don't care, though, if i didn't have the hot bird i had a cold bottle. he has a great flock of homing pigeons. the other day he bet a fellow named robinson, that he could select two out of the bunch that would come home no matter where they were taken. [illustration] robinson thought a while, and then said he'd bet they couldn't come home from coney island. i held the stakes. when the birds were selected and put in the basket, robinson slyly clipped their wings. the next day the fellow came to me and claimed the bet. "what!" says i. "did those birds come home?" "sure," says he. "but their feet are awfully sore." say, the other night i was coming down from yonkers in a trolley car. no, i wasn't loaded. do you think every fellow who goes to yonkers, has to get loaded to drown his sorrow? no, i was quite sober. one fellow got up in a hurry to leave and brought up plump against a stunning fire-island cinnamon-bear blond, on the platform. [illustration] "it's a wonder you wouldn't be careful," says she of the red cranium. "i am," says he, "but i was dazzled by your head-light." the ruddy complexioned damsel came in and sat beside me. in the natural course of events we got to talking and swapped childhood memories. she told me that she was married, but didn't live with her husband. "in that case," says i, "you must be a grass widow." "why, yes," she assented. "by the way, are you a lawn mower?" [illustration] i hastened to assure her that i was a married man. "do you know," she says, as we were crossing the harlem river, "i was walking over this bridge one time and suddenly a man ran up, seized me, and before i could cry out, hurled me over the rail." "can you swim?" says i. "no," says she. "then how were you saved?" "well, you see, i walked ashore." "walked ashore," says i. "how could you walk ashore?" "well, i had rubber boots on." i thought that was pretty hard on the harlem. say, that reminds me of a friend of mine who is the most spiteful cuss alive. the other day he went to visit his uncle whose name is john smith. he hadn't been to see him in so long that he mistook the house, went up the stoop of the house next door, and rang the bell. a maid came to the door, evidently very much out of humor. "is this john smith's house?" he asked. "no, it ain't," she snapped, and slammed the door in his face. smith walked the distance of several doors, then went back and rang the same bell. the identical girl came to the door, and smith up and said: "who the devil said it was john smith's?" and walked away. smith has a wife who is dead stuck on fortune tellers and palmists. the other day she called upon an east indian prince on thompson street and had her fortune told. among other things, he told her that she would have visitors soon who would come to stay. she couldn't think who it could be. one night smith came home, and his wife rushed up to him and cried: "now, don't say again there is nothing in fortune telling. he told me that we would have visitors who'd come to stay, and we have. our cat has just had kittens." [illustration] another time she went to a palmist, who rambled on telling her the usual stuff they tell every one. finally, she says: "there is a line on your hand that indicates you are a very beautiful woman." "does my hand tell that?" says smith's wife. "sure," says the palmist. "you don't suppose i could tell that by looking at your face, do you?" yeow--by james, i thought i heard a cat that time. [illustration] say, i had an accident with a cat the other night, and i'm nervous for fear the s. p. c. a. will get after me. you see i came home pretty early and, just as i got my key in the door, i heard something behind me. i didn't pay any attention, and as i opened the door that something scooted past me and slipped upstairs. [illustration] i took off my boot, got a light, and--the rest i'll tell you in my latest sonata, entitled: "oh, bring back my tabby to me." not a mew was heard, not a feline note, as his corpse to the back yard i hurried; for i laid him low with my trusty boot, and thought it was time he was buried. so i sallied forth, in the dead of the night, my head meanwhile cautiously turning, for i feared that his mistress, the old maid next door, might catch on and give me a burning. no orthodox coffin enclosed the defunct, not in paper or rag did i wind him; but i shoveled him into his cold, narrow bed, where no one was likely to find him. yes, softly she'll call to the spirit that's gone, from his new home in vain to allure. but little he'll care; for tom will sleep on-- he has an illness no doctor can cure. [illustration] that's a pretty good song, if i do say so myself. i always feel like laughing when i sing it, though. it reminds me of my dear departed friend, tom o'moore. this tom was the brightest fellow that ever lived. one day he was greatly troubled with an aching tooth. he went to the dentist and exhibited his swollen jaw. "which tooth do you want extracted?" asked the dentist. tom pointed to a tooth opposite the swelling. "why," says the dentist, "the swelling is on the other side." [illustration] "och," says tom, "is it that small lump you mane, that's nothin'. that's only where bridget hit me with the lifter." tom had the troublesome tooth taken out and left the place. outside, he met his dear friend o'holleran who, as he saw tom, yelled: "i say, tom, did you hear of the frightful miscarriage of justice that mccarthy was the victim of?" "no," says tom, "what was it?" "well," says o'holleran, "they locked poor mac up for being drunk when he was clane sober." "begob," says tom, "i don't belave it at all, at all. mac must have been drunk to let them lock him up when he was sober." "i say, tom," says o'holleran, "do you believe in drames?" "sure, i do," says tom. "whoi?" "then what's it a sign of when a married man drames he's a bachelor?" "begob," says tom, "it's a sign of disappointment--when he wakes up." "do you know, tom," says o'holleran, "i'd give a hundred dollars to know the exact spot i'm going to die on." "whoi?" says tom. "whoi, you gossoon, i'd never go near the ould spot at all, at all." [illustration] tom and o'holleran took a walk through the suburbs, and came upon some blackberry bushes laden with half-ripe fruit. "i say," says o'holleran, "what kind of bushes do you call those, tom?" "whoi, you fule," says tom, "they're blackberries." "get out," says o'holleran, "they're red." "sure," says tom, "but every fule knows that blackberries are always red when they're green." a little way beyond, they came to a crossroad. tom said they ought to go to the right and o'holleran said to the left. they argued for a while, and tom says: "i'll tell you what we'll do. you go by one and i'll take the other. if i get home first, i'll put a chalk mark on the door, and if you get there first you rub it out." [illustration] tom recently imported one of his poor relatives to this country. his name was pat sullivan. pat was a very thick irishman, and as he had never seen a railroad in erin-go-bra-a-a-a-ha, he couldn't get it into his head how it worked. finally tom took him up a railroad track to explain the matter to him. when they were rounding a curve, between two high embankments, a train came thundering behind them. [illustration] "run up the bank for your life," cried tom, and set a good example by doing it himself. pat, however, dug straight down the track, and it was not long before the train overtook him and hurled him forty feet away. "ye lobster," says tom, "whoi didn't you run up the bank as i told you?" "begob," says pat, "if i couldn't beat that bloomin' thing on the level, what chance did i stand running uphill?" by the way, did you ever get into one of those lunch counter, go-outside-and-get-something-fit-to-eat restaurants? i did, and it's a regular circus. if you've never been, you want to take it in. the other day i had sixteen cents with which to get something to eat, and i thought i'd chance it. [illustration] i stepped into one of these holy terrors and sat down on a revolving stool similar to those they have in dry goods stores. these seats are placed so closely together that your neighbor's business is your own. you try to eat your soup. he nudges you and sends it back in your plate. he tries to eat his pork and beans. you nudge him and he fishes in his vest pocket for pork, and down his shirt front for beans. well, i picked up the bill of fare and glanced over it. really, i hadn't been out late for a week and i didn't know what to make of it. [illustration] the first entree was: "omelette a la creole." "good heavens!" i thought. "do they slice creoles and serve them as omelettes?" i wasn't very anxious to find out. the next was: "rice soup a la bellevue." "holy smoke, i have the rum habit so bad, i imagine i see bellevue everywhere i go. i wonder what would happen if i were to take that?" i got nervous and prepared to leave. the last thing i saw on the calender was "croquettes a la d'esprit." "that's it exactly," i thought, "they get so desperate in these places that they hash up all the leavings and call them by their right name." when i passed the manager of the shebang, he says: "what's the matter? are you dissatisfied with what you've had?" "not a bit of it," says i, "it's what i haven't had that i am dissatisfied with." when i got outside of the restaurant, who should i run into but my dear friend, rufus sage. "hello, rufus," says i, "how's business?" "candidly," says he, "it's rotten. i made only three millions this morning, and i've got to get a new suit this afternoon that will cost all the way from ten to fifteen dollars." "too bad," says i. [illustration] "then, besides, i'm liable to be inconvenienced any time," he says, "through an argument i had with a friend of mine this morning. he said i was extravagant, and i said i wasn't." "well," says i, "did you succeed in getting him to think the same as yourself?" "yes," says he, "but i may get arrested any minute for assult and battery, and they'll fine me not less than five dollars." i don't think i ever told you of the awful time i had, when i went yachting with my friend rufus sage, did i? oh! it was a swell time, indeed. it began to swell the minute we struck the swell outside the harbor, and my poetic soul swelled up within me in great shape. i was leaning over the rail looking at the beautiful green waves and the reflection of my beautiful face in them (no, i wasn't doing anything else), when my dear friend, rufus, came to me and said: "cheer up, old man, things will get pleasanter, when the moon comes up." "darnation," says i, "it has come up, if i ever swallowed it." right after that, we encountered a most terrific gale. the wind blew, the storm howled, the ship tossed, and the lightning flashed. in fact, we were in a devil of a mess all around. [illustration] i found my ear in the captain's mouth and he was telling me something i didn't want to know. the captain found my right boot exactly where it should have been under the circumstances. the last thing i saw was rufus running to his cabin to get a two-for-five collar button he had left in his trunk. all hands got safely into the boat but me. there was so much of me overboard already that i didn't care how soon my skeleton followed. finally the ship sank and i found myself astride a big hogshead. i was in an awful situation. suddenly, i sighted a flagstaff with a flag attached, and within an hour was in grabbing distance. [illustration] "this," i says, "is all right. i'll put the staff in the bung-hole of the barrel and fly a signal of distress." it flew fine, until a gust of wind took it away. but, as you know, i am a man of resource. i took off my jacket and hoisted it in the place of the flag. another gust of wind came and blew my jacket away. then i hoisted my shirt. that blew away and i hoisted my socks. those followed, and i hoisted my trousers. say, but it was good i had that barrel. those pajamas saved my life, though. a week later a passing steamer caught sight of my signal of distress and rescued me. the first thing i asked the captain was if rufus had been saved. "why," says he, "haven't you heard? he landed at savannah and cornered the cotton market to the tune of ten million dollars, but he says he's a ruined man because he lost his yacht." say, how do you stand on the servant question? i had a girl that beat all outdoors for intelligence. the other day my wife went out to do some shopping and left bridget in charge of the house. when she returned she asked bridget if any one had called for her. "sure, mum," says she, "the babbie called for you all the while you were gone." [illustration] that night, when i came home to dinner, i couldn't eat a thing. everything that wasn't glowing embers, was charcoal. i gave my wife a lecture and told her to fire the girl at once. my wife went down to bridget's stronghold and said: "bridget, i'm sorry, but i'm afraid you'll have to find another place." "whoy so, mum?" asked bridget. "well, my husband thinks there's too much waste in the kitchen." "for the land's sakes, if you'll only let me stay, mum, i'll get a twenty-two corset and lace it until i can't breathe." one day a friend of mine came to me and says: "i see you have bridget harrohan around the house." "yes," says i. "do you know that she was in her last situation five years." "no," says i; "where was that?" [illustration] "sing sing," says he. i went home and sent bridget away. my wife, in sympathy, recommended her to one of her dearest friends. that sympathy was beautiful to see. a little later bridget came back and announced that the friend had engaged her. "so the lady engaged you, at once, when you told her you had been with me," says she. "oh, yes!" says bridget. "she said any one who could stay with you three months, must be an angel." say, i picked up a newspaper this morning, and i was astonished at the great events that are taking place. i see that george washington, colored, was appointed postmaster of the town of gooseberry, n. c., at : yesterday morning, took up his situation at : , and was lynched at : . i see that mark hanna has donated two millions to be spent in buying ice-cream and ginger snaps for the w-o-r-k-i-n-g-m-a-n. [illustration] i had a terrible dream about mark, last night. it was so terrible that i got right up and dedicated a song to it. it's entitled: "what did i have for supper; or, if i knew what it was i'd eat it again." a low key, professor. not a latchkey. [illustration] i dreamt i dwelt in marble halls, and lived in regal state; that aldermanic feasts were mine, served up in rogers' plate. i dreamt i once met dear old ted, and shook him by the hand; he said he'd make the niggers the first men in the land. i dreamt i saw mark hanna in the presidential chair; he had j. p. morgan seated right beside him there. i dreamt i saw coal king baer stand out upon the street, giving tons of coal to all within a hundred feet. i dreamt i saw good russell sage give millions by the score, to every poor man in the land, and some came back for more. i dreamt that all the vanderbilts had reduced the railroad fare, and were giving round-trip tickets to almost everywhere. i dreamt i had a fortune left by dear old harold payne; a hundred thousand down, or so, the lawyers did explain. i dreamt the senate quickly passed the anti-combine laws; and sent the trusts all limping off with dislocated jaws. i dreamt that william jennings bryan was eventually elected; they couldn't tell by just what means, but dave hill was suspected. i dreamt i saw shrewd tommy platt give doughnuts to the poor, and when they wouldn't take them he threw them down the sewer. i dreamt our friends at congress were running ten-round bouts; that mclaurin went on with tillman, and scored some clean knockouts. i dreamt there was no grafting, that politics were clean; but then, you bet, i just woke up, i knew that was a dream. [illustration] verily, verily, republics and friends are ungrateful. do you know, all the gentlemen i mentioned in that song i just sang are my friends? talking of friends, puts me in mind of an ungrateful cuss i once called by this over-worked figure of speech. he met me on the street, slapped me on the back, and said: "hello, old man!" "hello!" says i, "what do you want?" "what do i want?" says he. "i want ten dollars." "that's an awful large sum of money, and i'm afraid i haven't got it to lend," says i. "you've got it in the bank?" says he. "yes," says i. "now, look here," says he. "the good book teaches us that we are all brothers." "granted," says i. "well," says he, "if i am your brother, by moral right what's yours is mine, and what's mine is yours. if i had the money i'd give it to you so quick it would take your breath away. now, what you ought to do is to draw that money from the bank." [illustration] i rushed down to the bank, and says to the teller: "is the cashier in?" "no," says he, "he's out. are you a depositor?" "yes," says i. "then you're out, too; the police are on the trail now." i went back to harris, and gave him the last cent i had. he promised to pay me back in an hour. a month after i met him. "say," says i, "how about that money i lent you? you said you only wanted it for a short time." "that's right," says he, "i only had it for ten minutes. i went into a faro game." some time ago, harris visited a tailor and had an overcoat made. he wanted trust, and the tailor, of course, wanted references. harris put up such a bluff that the tailor gave him the overcoat. he certainly played his game to perfection. then harris wouldn't pay. the tailor came around and said: "see here, harris, wasn't i kind enough to let you have that coat on tick? and now you won't pay. i'm sure it was the best that i could make, and it must have worn well." "certainly," says harris, "all my nephews wore it." "there, didn't i tell you it--" began the tailor. "yes," said harris, "every time it got wet it shrunk so that the next youngest one could wear it." then the fun began. [illustration] the tailor put the bill into a collector's hands. the collector called upon harris. "i'm sorry for you, old man," said the collector, "but your tailor has put your account into my hands for collection." "indeed, i'm so sorry for you. and you say you're going to try to collect it eh?" says harris. "well, i am so sorry for you." the collector couldn't get a cent. every time he called after that, harris threw him downstairs. why, he got so after a while, that as soon as harris appeared at the door, he would rush to the stairs and throw himself down. harris had him trained. the tailor hit upon a brilliant scheme. he hired a woman to collect the bill. harris was in a dilemma. he couldn't throw a woman downstairs. he told me about it, and asked my advice, but i had none to give. the next time i met him he shook me by the hand and said: "i got around that woman-collector business all right. she never went back to the bloomin' tailor after the second time she called." "why," says i, "how did you manage it?" "oh!" says he, "that was dead easy. i just married her." [illustration] did you ever strike one of those people who are dead stuck on their lineage and have charts tacked on their bedroom door, showing how many thousand years they can trace their ancestors? i struck a "she" specimen the other day. [illustration] as soon as we were introduced, she says: "jones, jones, surely you are a descendant of the famous family of joneses, who had their origin in the stone age and lived in a cave on the palisades, about a mile from hoboken?" "i can't remember," says i, "it's so long ago and i have a poor memory." "yes, but let us come nearer to the present generation," says she. "you surely are a relative of the joneses, the milwaukee millionaires of the same name." "yes," i says, "a distant relative." "how distant?" she says. "as distant as they can keep me," says i. "have you any poor relatives?" says she. "none that know me," says i. that got her mad. she says: "if i were your wife, i would put poison in your coffee." "and if i was your husband," says i, "i'd drink it." the other day i met charlie de hopen dagen, the scotchman, who had just enlisted for service in the philippines. "hello, old man!" says he, "come and have a drink." i wasn't feeling very thirsty, but i went. it seemed to me that i had about ten thousand manhattans, and then we had nine thousand and forty-eight whiskey sours to counterbalance them and try to sober up. [illustration] something made charlie rampageous, and he began to scrap with the barkeeper and almost killed him. i finally got charlie, seeing four moons and ten gangplanks, on board his vessel which was just about to leave. the next day i met his brother jim. "hello, walter, i hear you saw charlie off last night," says he. "yes," says i, "he was very much off." "was he in good spirits when you left him?" says he. "sure," says i, "the best that money could buy. he was a little sick, though." "i hope it wasn't anything contagious," says he. "if you could see the barkeeper up in dan mulligan's place," says i, "you'd thought it was." say, every one says lakewood is so healthy, know why? i heard only the other day, from a man who knew all about it. i went down there, and the first thing i struck was one of those watering carts, plastered over with a patent medicine ad. [illustration] "holy smoke!" says a fellow who stood beside me on the station. "no wonder lakewood is so healthy. they water the streets with fakir's sarsaparilla." did you ever notice that when you have been taking liquid refreshments and are feeling good, and can't walk straight, then is the time you meet all your dearly beloved friends who like to talk about you? the other night i went to a beer party, and when it got time to go home, i felt pretty much so-so. i started out and the very first fellow i met was jenkins. "why, my dear walter," says he, "i am surprised. don't give way to strong drink. verily, verily, put it behind you." "why, parson," says i, "i am very much surprised that you can't see that i've got it behind me now. [illustration] "say," says i, "i fell down stairs last night, parson, with twenty bottles of beer, and didn't break one of them." "verily, verily," says he, "that was indeed marvelous. how did you accomplish that extraordinary feat?" "i had them inside me," says i. the parson passed on and the next fellow i met was dr. brown of spotless town. "what!" says he, "drinking beer again, friend jones? i thought i told you that every glass of beer you took put a nail in your coffin." "can't give it up, doctor," says i. "then, too, what does it matter after you're dead and gone if your coffin is as full of nails as the new east river bridge is full of rivets." i began to get a little confused, and couldn't see very clearly. i met a friend and says: "say, tom, can you tell me what has become of walter jones?" "why," says he, "you're walter jones yourself, ain't you?" "i know it," says i, "but i want to know where he's got to." he took me home. the next morning my wife thought i was down-hearted. so i was. she tried to cheer me up. "oh, walter! look here, the morning paper says that in yumyami, africa, a wife may be bought for twenty yards of cotton cloth." "well," says i, "i guess a good wife is worth it." then she started on another tack. "by the way, you know charlie benson, don't you?" i admitted that i did. "well," says she, "of late he has become quite attentive. i really think he means to run away with me." "i'd like to see him do it," says i. "why," says she, "here's an account of a very intrepid photographer, who took a picture of a wildcat, just as it was about to spring at him." "that's nothing," says i. "jimmy peck has a snap shot of his wife coming at him with a kettle of boiling water." [illustration] "it says here that lightning never strikes twice in the same place. i wonder why?" "any fool knows that," says i. "when the lightning comes again the place isn't there to strike." "say," says she, "i heard that you spoke to that ugly mrs. de fashion yesterday." "yes," i assented. "she had a new hat on; did you notice what it was like?" says she. "well," says i, "it had a cowcatcher front, a battered-down funnel, a tailboard behind, a flower garden on top, and a job lot of ribbons streaming down in back. you can easily make one like it." she soon got tired of trying to cheer me up and quit in disgust. it's a pretty hard job to cheer me up when i'm down-hearted. [illustration] just then the bell rang, and the maid announced the doctor. he came in looking like a big sunflower. "sorry, old man, to see you in such a condition last night," says he. "bad condition, doctor," says i. "why, that wasn't a flea bite to the condition i'm in this morning." "i called upon rollins this morning," says he, "and i never saw a man in such a complete state of mental depression. he says he was out with you last night. can't you go around and convince him that his life still holds some future brightness for him?" "doctor," says i, "that's impossible. he's drawn his salary three weeks in advance and spent it all last night." "do you know," says the doctor, "i had a very remarkable experience last night. a young fellow came to me and said he had swallowed a cent and i made him cough up two dollars." [illustration] that doctor has a son that beats anything you ever heard tell of. he has made all his money on apples. no, he don't grow them. he's a doctor. it's little green apples i'm talking about now. when leaving, the doctor told me i must take to automobiling and i would soon get well. i told my wife about it. "doc is simple to throw money away like that," says she. "don't worry about that," says i. "he charges double price for surgical visits." "well," says she, "with all his faults, dr. brown has never had a patient die on his hands." [illustration] "get out," says i, "is that so?" "yes," says she. "when he sees that they are doomed, he sends them to a specialist. "oh, walter!" says she. "by the way, are we all out of debt?" "thank heaven, we are," i replied. "then let's give a swell dinner." "but that would throw us into debt again." "of course it would, but what is the use of having good credit unless you can use it?" i suppose after that i ought to sing you my latest howling success, entitled "no new proverbs for your willie boy; or, some of the fifty-seven." [illustration] they say that if you have too many cooks you ruin your sunday joint; but if you give them nothing to cook the proverb loses its point. they say that if you're a rolling stone you'll pass through the poorhouse door; but germany's doing a roaring trade, and her travelers say they'll do more. they say that if you go early to bed you'll prosper, if early you'll rise; but if you held gas shares, and other folks did the same, would that be so wise? they say that you shouldn't throw stones about if your house is made of glass; but if it's insured for more than its worth the proverb will hardly pass. the point is just this: that proverbs, though wise, are changed by modern inventions; and to add to this bushel of old-time lies would give rise to mighty dissentions. [illustration] say, do you know i'm always afraid to carry that song about with me, for fear that some burglar will follow me home and steal it while i'm asleep. the truth is i'm somewhat afraid of burglars. the other night my wife woke me up and said: "walter, walter, there are burglars in the house." "all right, just take a light and turn them out," says i. "i'm afraid they might run away with me," says she. "no fear of that if you take a light," says i. "by the way, dear, do you knew that a washington man was shot by a burglar and his life was saved by a pajama button, which the bullet struck?" "well, what of it?" says she. "nothing," says i, "except that the button must have been on." well, she wailed and went on so bad, that i had to go down and see what the racket was. i went into the dining-room and there stood the burglar. "hold up your hands," says he. "i'm darned if i do," says i. "my wife rules me by day, and you're not going to butt in and do it by night." [illustration] i grabbed a chair and went at him. we finally compromised. he was to take everything of any value if he would only let me--i mean if i would only let him up. he took all the silverware off the sideboard and began to pack it up. just then my little josephine called from the cradle. "say," says my visitor, "i've spotted this house for two weeks and didn't know you had a baby. if you call that sharp-nosed woman, wifie, and that kid yonder, baby, i guess you're blessed enough and in need of sleep. let's call it a draw. thank heaven i ain't married." "you'll be sorry you didn't get married, if you don't," says i. "that's all right," says he, "i'd a heap rather that i wasn't, than be married and sorry that i was." well, after much mutual congratulation, the midnight visitor finally took his leave. i was about to go upstairs, when i heard talking down in the basement. i thought that perhaps there were a few more poor devils down there who would sympathize with me, and went down to make their acquaintance. i was mistaken. it was only my servant, bridget, talking to a policeman stationed on the beat. i have a friend who had a very wild son about sixteen years of age. he could do absolutely nothing with him. one day the youngster was offered a job in a big tinware factory. his father, thinking it might tone him down a bit, consented to let him go. the first saturday night the kid lost his week's wages in a crap game and was afraid to go home. finally he hit upon a bright scheme. he took his trousers, turned them inside out and had them galvanized. that night he went home and his father prepared to give him a spanking. [illustration] he used his hand first, but the blow almost killed his father. then he used a club, but failed to make any impression upon his son. then he got out of patience and said to his wife: "maria, confound it, get me a can opener." now this same billy got so educated in that factory, that he wanted to go west and shoot millionaires, so he just sloped. his father telegraphed all over the country, and then, as a last resort, rang up police headquarters. "well," says the chief, "it ought to be easy to find him. has he any marks by which he can be identified?" "n-o-o!" says the father. "but confound him, just let me get a hold of him and he will have." they finally located willie comfortably settled on a farm. there was a job open and he advised his father to come out and take it, and make a few million growing wheat for the food trust. his father went and they got along swimmingly. [illustration] one day a neighbor came across willie hustling like old sam hill to reload a wagon of hay which had overturned. "well, willie, i see you are in trouble." "yes," says willie, working for dear life. "suppose you come to the house and have dinner with me," says the neighbor. willie wouldn't hear of it. the man finally persuaded him to go. all the way to the house and at dinner willie kept saying: "i shouldn't have come. i know dad won't like it." "why," says the neighbor, "your father will never know unless you tell him." "i know, i know," says willie, "but i'm sure father won't like my going to dinner with you." "darnation," says the neighbor, now thoroughly worked up. "why won't he?" "well, you see," says willie, "dad's under the load of hay on the road." speaking of willie puts me in mind of another boy i know. he's the brightest chap for his years to be found in a day's walk. why, when the boy was six months old, he howled all night and slept all day. they fooled him though, by putting an electric light in front of his parent's door, while he slept one day. when he woke up to give his usual nightly concert, he found the room as bright as day. he just turned over and went to sleep again. [illustration] that boy is a genius though, in his way. why, do you know that they have had thirty-four examinations since he's been going to school, and he's managed to dodge every one of them. i went down to one of the big department stores the other day and met my old friend matt wheeler looking over some furniture. [illustration] "hello, matt," says i, "how's mamie?" mamie is his sweetheart, you know. "oh!" says matt, "i've thrown her over." "well, that was a foolish thing to do," says i. "mamie was a good and beautiful girl." "i know it," says he, "but her father offered to give us enough money to furnish a home, if we got married. i'm going with another girl now." "what sort of a girl is she," says i, and that started him off. have you ever noticed how easy it is to start a fellow extolling the virtues and graces of his chosen before he is married? if you ask him how his wife is after the ceremony, all you get out of him is something resembling a grunt. well, this fellow rambled. "she's an angel. she isn't like other girls. she's got the loveliest complexion. the handsomest face, the finest figure, the sweetest nature that ever woman had." "good," says i, "but how about her feet?" [illustration] "feet, man," says he, "what are you talking about? are you demented?" "no," says i, "but you ought to have looked at her feet." "what has her feet got to do with it?" says he, "i'm marrying the girl, not her feet." "that's right," says i, "but you'll get her feet thrown into the bargain. never marry a club-footed girl, because she's always got something to hit you with in case of an argument." even that didn't shut him up. "let me tell you how i got engaged to her," says he. "go ahead," says i. "i was down to her house one night and stayed until almost one o'clock. "finally her old man hollered downstairs and asked the girl if i didn't think it was about time to go to bed. "i hollered up that it was all right, i'd excuse him if he wanted to go. "then we got talking about birds, birdlets and birdies. "i said i loved birdies of all kinds. "she tore over to the piano and began to play: 'i wish i were a birdie.' yes, we're looking for a nest now." now i'm going to sing you a song about this foolish couple. just sit back and hold tight. [illustration] it's entitled "what a difference when the preacher says you're wed; or, i wonder why mary jones married a man twice her age." he has ceased to call her "darling," she has ceased to call him "dear"; he has ceased composing sonnets to her "shell-like little ear." she has ceased to hurry madly to the mirror when he calls; he has ceased to buy her chocolates and ice cream at high-toned balls. this is not because these lovers have been mixed up in a row-- no, the plain truth is that they are a married couple now. that song always makes me sad. it's founded upon one of my actual experiences. i was a married man, once, though i may not look it. one night i came home late and knocked at the door. [illustration] my wife shoved her head out of the window, and says: "is that you, billy, dear?" my name's not billy. i got divorced. talking of graveyards, i took a trip to philly last week. say, i never had such fun since i sold my automobile. the circus began at hoboken and continued all the way down. when i got to the station i noticed an irishman sitting out of harm's way, holding his jaw. "what's the matter, old man?" says i; "toothache?" "yes, bedad," says he, "but i'm going to get rid of it." he got a strong piece of twine, tied one end to the offending molar, and the other to the rail of the last car of the washington express. soon the train started. [illustration] the twine held and so did the tooth. you never saw any one run to beat that fool irishman. he had duffy beaten to death. finally after he had run a two-mile straight-away, the cord snapped, but the tooth stayed in. pat came back. "be jabbers," says he, "the dum thing fooled me that time, but i'll get even. i'll go to a dentist." i got on my train and took a seat in the forward car. just opposite, a very stylish, rather beautiful lady sat next to a clerical-looking chap. when the conductor came around for her ticket, she fumbled for her purse, then grew pale and gasped: "i've been robbed. there is nothing in my pocket but a piece of orange peel, some cloves, and a bottle of whiskey." then she began to throw the articles on the floor. "madam," said the deep bass voice of the clerical-looking chap, "i'll thank you to take your hands out of my pocket and leave its contents alone." then i began to look around for some other diversion, and got it. in front of me sat an old gentleman with a man-servant in attendance. [illustration] he was greatly bothered by a fly, which used to go in one ear and out the other. you know how they do, sometimes. the fly had made ten laps, and was comfortably along on its eleventh, when the old fellow called his servant. "john," says he, quietly, "catch the little creature as gently as possible and put it out of the window. don't hurt it, though, or i shall be angry." john, who evidently knew his master's weakness, caught the bothersome fly and carried it to an open window. "ah, master," pleaded he, "just look, it is beginning to rain. shall i not give the poor little fly a mackintosh and an umbrella?" just then the train stopped at a way station and i got off to get a bite to eat. as usual, i got left. while waiting, my attention was attracted to an elderly couple, who had approached the ticket agent as he came out of his coop. "say, boss," says the old man, "can you tell me if the three-fifteen has left?" "oh, yes," says the agent, "it went by ten minutes ago." "and when will the four-thirty be along, do you think?" "not for some time, of course," was the answer. "are there any expresses before then?" "not one." "any freight trains?" "no." "nothing at all?" "nothing whatsoever." "are you quite sure?" "of course i am, or i wouldn't have said so," yelled the agent. "then, maria," says the old man, "if we're quite careful, i guess we can cross the tracks." my train arrived a minute before it was scheduled to leave. a kid stepped up to the conductor. [illustration] "say, mister, there are two men on this train who came all the way from new york, and didn't pay any fare." the conductor thought that some fellows were beating the company and went through the whole train, but couldn't find any one who didn't have his proper ticket. so, seeing the kid, he says: "hey, where are the two men?" "on the engine. the engineer and fireman," shrieked the kid. after the train got in motion, i suddenly espied my old friend joe dempsey, who is an insurance agent. "hello, joe," says i, "why so glum?" "well, you see, walter," says he, "i proposed to old billion's daughter and she refused to have me." "well," says i, "that's nothing. there are other girls." "yes, of course," says he, "but i can't help feeling sorry for the poor girl." i looked around for something to throw. "yes," he continued, "especially after the beautiful dream i had about her the other night. i dreamt that i had married her and that she had settled $ , , on me." "yes, and then you woke up," says i. "no," says he, "that's the funny part of it. i put that money in the bank." "well, that's all right," says i, "but you'll have a dickens of a time in getting it out again." "that's easy," says he, "i'll just go to sleep again. i guess i'll do that now and draw some of the interest." we got to the city of the dead and, having nothing else to do, i went with joe on a scout for business. while we were out in the suburbs, he struck a man putting up some kind of a building, for he had a large pile of bricks. "good-morning, neighbor," says joe. "i'd like to insure this new cottage you are putting up." [illustration] "it isn't a cottage at all," began the man. "ah, well, my good man," says joe, "if it's only a dog-house, you'd better have it insured." "confound you," says the suburbanite, now in a rage, "get out of this. i'm rebuilding my well." joe, soon after this, decided to stay in the carpetbaggers' city and take the agency of a large insurance company. one day there was a very destructive fire at cohen & wosislosmitdewhiskey's clothing store. joe took the company's adjuster and went down to investigate. a good deal of discussion resulted, in which the cause of the fire figured principally. cohen said it was due to the electric wiring, and his partner claimed it was the gas-light. finally the adjuster called upon joe to render his opinion. "look here, joe," says he. "this man claims it was the arc-light and this fellow that it was the gas-light. now what do you think it was?" "well," says joe, "if you want my candid opinion, i think it was neither. i'll bet a dollar that it was the israelite." [illustration] joe at last got married and, when his son was still quite young, it bothered him somewhat to know just what trade or profession he ought to select for him. so at last he told his wife to get the boy a box of paints, a toy steam engine, a printing press, and see what the boy would take to most readily. when joe got home at night, he asked his wife how the plan had succeeded. "well, i'm a bit puzzled," says she, "he has smashed the whole lot to atoms." "the very thing," says joe. "we'll make him a furniture mover." [illustration] that didn't suit mrs. dempsey though, and she said they ought to have the boy a musician. "all right," says joe, "we'll let him learn the clarionette." "why, joe!" says his wife. "whoever heard of such a thing. i say, let him learn to play the violin. think what an unhandy thing a clarionette is to carry." "that's right, my dear," says joe, "but think what a darn handy thing it is in case of a scrap." now i'll try to amuse you by singing my latest dead march, entitled "the moth and the flame; or, my kingdom for a fire." they howl of the creature who uses the hoe, of the farmer behind the plow; they warble a song to the horny palm, and they garland the sunburned brow. there's praise for the soldier behind the gun, who fights after others tire; but here's to the victim of fate's worst blow, the hebrew who don't have a fire. there's flame in his optic that bodeth ill, there's a dangerous set of jaw; there's a mighty unrest in his heaving chest, and he scoffs at the moral law. then woe to the creature--or man, or beast-- that rouseth the smoldering ire of the jew who heavily insures his place, then finds he can't have a fire. [illustration] that song always gives my friend rosensky a bad attack of indigestion. all the time i'm singing it he keeps moaning: "dink if that vas me. dink!" the time i was boarding, my landlady's name was mrs. closefist. one day she went to the grocery store and says: "i'd like to have some more of that bad butter you sold me last week." "why," says the grocer, "if it was bad, what do you want more for?" "well, you see," says she, "it lasts longer." this same woman had a calf. that calf was taken sick and died. we had veal for the next three weeks. [illustration] she had a pig and that pig died. we had pork for the next four weeks. she had a mother-in-law. that mother-in-law was taken sick--but we fooled her, we all moved. one morning my egg wasn't fried right, so i blew the girl up. she blew the servant up, the servant blew the cook up, and the gasoline stove blew the frying pan up. it was a case of blow-up all around. mrs. closefist had a daughter named jane, who was taking painting lessons at the time. she also took pains to let every one within a hundred miles know about it. one day she brought down a thing that looked to me like a green shutter in a cloud of steam. "look here," says she, "isn't this pretty?" [illustration] "i'm enraptured," says i. "such a wealth of detail, such a display of budding genius! the perspective is simply perfect. it-it-it--is--so--clever. oh! confound it, i can't find words to express my admiration. by the way, what is it?" "why," says she, "i am surprised. it represents a green field on a cloudy day. can't i paint well?" "fine," says i. "in fact you have done so well, i am going to recommend you to a friend of mine who wants a fence whitewashed." mrs. closefist, whose reputation for meanness was well known, was in the habit of giving a soiree once a year, "just to liven the boarders up." i don't know whether it made any of the other fellows particularly lively, but i know that on such occasions was the only time i ever managed to get any sleep. there were very few outsiders who attended, because the "racket" usually partook very much of the chief trait of the hostess. once, when she was making preparations for one of these soul-stirring affairs, she says to me: "i'd like to give my guests a pleasant surprise. something distinctly original." i thought a moment and then says: "madam, countermand the invitations." that woman was the meanest thing in the form of a human being i ever struck. no, i'm wrong; for meanness i give the palm to a certain car driver. once, when i was a kid, i footed it out to a resort near my home. the only cars that ran out there were those little "jiggers." well, i was pretty tired when i got out, and didn't feel like walking back. so i asked one of the drivers to let me hitch behind. "where's your fare?" says he. "ain't got none," says i. "then you can't ride," says he. "but look here, i'll tell you what i'll do. take those buckets and go to that well up the road, and water that horse and i'll let you ride free." and he pointed to a skinny-looking little horse. [illustration] i got two buckets and the horse drank them off quick as a wink. i got four, i got six, i got ten, a dozen, always with the same result. finally the fellow who owned the well refused to let me have any more water, and i went back and told the driver that the man who leased the great lakes from st. peter had locked them up and gone to bed. "well," says he, "you didn't fill your contract and i can't let you ride." as i was going away, a fellow stepped up to me and says: "you darn fool, they brought all the horses in the stable out and you've watered them one by one." [illustration] say, i don't think i ever told you of the time i went to england. you see, i arrived at liverpool and took the train for london. the train seemed to me to be going remarkably fast for that country and i got sort of uneasy. at the first stop, i went to the guard and said: "say, this is pretty fast traveling, isn't it?" "oh, no, you needn't be alarmed, we never run off the line here." "oh, it's not that i'm afraid of," says i. "i'm afraid you'll run off your blamed little island." [illustration] while out for a stroll the other afternoon, i reached the foot of a steep hill just in time to see a fellow with an automobile come skating down faster than he intended. when he had reached the bottom and the dust had settled, i walked over and asked him if he was hurt. he said he wasn't, but looked ruefully at his auto. "this darned thing cost a cool two thousand the other day, but i'd be willing to sell it for fifty now," says he. i looked it over and it seemed a pretty likely sort of machine and not very much hurt, so i took him up. he got out of the way mighty quick, and three minutes after he disappeared two mounted policemen came dashing up. "ha!" says one of them, "we've got you. come right along." do you know, i had a deuce of a time in convincing them that it was not i who had stolen the machine? i went to a real old-fashioned wake the other night. it was the most entertaining innovation i ever attended. i got there pretty late and all the beer had flown down where the wurzburger usually flows. i sat down beside my old friend, mcgarrigan. "what, mac, you one of the mourners, too?" "whoi not?" says he. "didn't the corpse owe me ten dollars?" "well," says i, "cheer up." "i can't," says he, "the beer is all gone." just then i saw his face brighten up. i followed the direction of his glance and saw it rested on a gallon jug. mac got up quietly and took the jug into the hallway. he came back in ten seconds looking more mournful than ever. "what's the matter, mac," says i, "was the jug empty?" [illustration] "no," says he. "wasn't the wine good?" says i. "it wasn't wine," says he. "what was in the jug, mac?" says i. he gave me a sheepish, sidelong glance and says: "water." [illustration] mac is a boss carpenter. the other day he called his assistant and says: "here, jim, i'm going out for a few minutes and you can plane down this beam until i return." he pointed to a big beam about eighteen inches square. but, alas! when poor mac got out on the street, he slipped and sprained his ankle. they took him home and it was the next day, toward evening, before he could hobble around to his shop. his assistant was nowhere in sight. the only thing that met his gaze, was an enormous pile of shavings. so he bawled out: "james!" "hello," came the far off response. "where are you?" says mac. "here under this pile of shavings," says jim. "what are you up to, anyway?" says mac. "planing that beam. you told me to plane it until you came back. if you had come an hour later there wouldn't have been anything left of it." poor mac sprained his ankle again. say, did you ever go to a dime museum? if not you want to take it in by all means. it's a sure cure for glanders. i went to one last week, and had more fun than if i came here and listened to these dispensers of heavenly harmony. say, wasn't that last part fine? i'm coming up, i am! i hope to be in the same class as chuck conners some day. [illustration] well, as i said, i went to this shelter for freaks and looked them over. there was the fat lady who was blown up twice a day with the air pump. a kid in front of me stuck a pin in her arm and punctured her. [illustration] there was the living skeleton who was fed on pork and beans three times a day. there was the circassian girl who paid twelve dollars for her wig. when we got to the glass eater, the real fun began. there was a yap and his wife standing where they could get a good view of the performance. they watched him, enraptured for a time, and finally the woman says: "hiram, just look at that fellow eating window glass." "that's nothing," says hiram, "our little reuben can do the same thing." "g'wan," says the woman, "how's that?" "why, if he eats little green apples, won't he have pains on the inside?" then we passed on to the ventriloquist. "what's a ventriloquist, hiram?" says mandy. "why," says hiram, "it's a fellow what stands on one side of the room and talks to hisself from the other." but the climax came when we got to the wonderful wax figure, recently imported from paris at the unheard of price of ten thousand dollars. [illustration] i looked that wax figure over and something about it struck me as being familiar. finally it came to me all at once. it was sim johnson, who borrowed twenty dollars from me out in chicago. so i went over. "hello, sim," says i. he never moved a muscle. "don't you know me, sim?" says i. "go 'way," says he, without moving his lips. that made me mad as a hornet, and i says: "go 'way? not much. who is the wall-eyed, bandy-legged, beer-guzzling harp, who borrowed twenty dollars from me, out in chicago?" he never said a word. that got me madder. i continued to pay my respects in this fashion: "you miserable, consumptive-looking ingrate. you sea-sick-looking, despicable turkey hen; i'd like to kill you. you mean to rob me." "you lie," shrieked sim, now warmed up. then i had to run. he caught up a big glass case of butterflies and heaved it in my direction. but the way the butterflies flew wasn't a patch to the way i flew when the porters got hold of me. [illustration] talking of wax men, puts me in mind of a fellow who lives in the flat opposite mine. he's about the most miserable specimen of a man i ever struck. his wife is always quarreling with him; he's always quarreling with his wife. when he proposed to her he said, as we all have said: "darling, if you will only marry me, i will make you the best husband in the world." "never fear, sweet," says she, "if i marry you, i'll make you that all right, all right." one afternoon, i heard her giving him a sam hill of a blow-up and met him in the hall soon afterward. "say," says i, "why in thunder don't you assert your independence?" "independence," he wailed, "why she won't even grant me home rule." "what were you scrapping about just now?" says i. "well, you see," says he, "when i married her i told her i delighted in cleanliness. when i got home to-day, she told me she had just paid a dollar to have the coal bin scrubbed out and we expect a load of coal to-morrow. then, too, she told me she had bought a dream of a hat at a bargain, and i asked her whether there ever was a time she didn't get a bargain, and she says: 'yes, when i married you.'" [illustration] well, late that night the unhappy couple got to scrapping again, and the worm turned and gave his wife a most unmerciful beating. i thought he was going to kill her, so i went in search of a policeman. i looked around for about an hour and finally located one talking to billyon's cook. [illustration] "say," says i, "you're wanted around the corner. a man has nearly killed his wife." "how big is the man?" says he. "oh, he's bigger than you." "well," says he, "i'm sorry, old man, but it's off my beat." [illustration] i went to the race track the other day and met a bookmaker i know. "hello," says he. "what brings you here? do you know anything?" "no," says i, "if i did, i wouldn't be here." i finally placed a small bet on a couple of horses, and when the first race was run off, anxiously watched the ponies. they soon got so far away that i couldn't keep track of them, and noticing a fellow with a pair of field glasses next to me, who seemed to be seeing everything going on, i says: "how does sunflower stand?" sunflower was the horse i bet on, you know. "i don't know," says he, "i'm only watching the first ten horses." just to liven things up a bit, i'll sing you a song entitled "music on the installment plan; or, how would you like to be the piano man?" [illustration] "i love thee, ah, yes, i love thee," she sang in notes of joy; and like a darned big fool he married the maiden coy. but now she never shrieks the song she howled in days of yore; she never thumps the keyboard now until her thumbs are sore. alas! upon her latest grand, she never more will play; she failed with the installments, and they've taken it away. i don't know whether to laugh or cry when i sing that song, but i guess i'll laugh. crying doesn't suit my complexion; then, too, i've enough to be sad about already. i live in the suburbs. you see if a man lives in the city, his wife always wants to go to some show or other, and that costs money. we have a fine lot of neighbors out our way, i can tell you. they're so friendly. the other day the woman next door stepped in, as i was coming to new york, and wanted to know if i wouldn't stop at cooper & siegel's and get her goods for a dress. i promised i would. when i got there, i found an old maid ahead of me. the shop-girl had evidently taken down almost every roll of cloth in the place, but as each new one was unfolded, the old maid would say: "no, no, i don't think that would do." [illustration] all the rolls had been exhibited except one, when the old maid says: "never mind taking that down, i won't buy any cloth to-day. i was only looking for a friend." "but, madam," says the girl, "if you think there's any possibility of her being in this roll, i'll open it up." just as i was about to say that i wanted some kind of cloth that would suit a red-headed woman, a little dapper chap butted in and says to the girl: "ah, darling louisa, i have thought of you all week. how i love you dear. will you give me your heart?" i was just drawing back my foot to give him a number eight where it would wake him up, when the girl says: "certainly, dearest harold. cash! cash!! cash!!! where will you have it sent?" [illustration] i was just about to say what i wanted, when another tall, lanky, moth-eaten-looking fellow stepped in and engaged the girl's attention for half an hour. finally he turned and went out without buying anything. the floorwalker stepped up to the girl and says: "you let that man go out without buying anything." "yes, sir." "he was at your counter for a half hour." "i know it," says the girl. "in spite of all the questions he asked, you rarely answered him." "i know it," says the girl, "but then, you see, i didn't have what he wanted." "and what's that?" asked the floorwalker. "five dollars. he wanted me to subscribe to a life of mark hanna, compiled by a workingman." i finally got what i wanted and left the store. it was a very pleasant day and i thought i'd take a short walk. i came to a large building in the course of construction. just outside was a crowd of workingmen who had some argument. i crossed over to see what was the matter and found two men pummeling each other unmercifully. [illustration] finally the one who was getting the worst of it cried out: "say, i thought this was to be a fair, stand-up fight?" "that's right," said a number of his companions. "well, how the devil can it be a fair, stand-up fight if he keeps knocking me down all the time?" all at once a cop put in an appearance and arrested the principals, and some of the bystanders as witnesses. i thought i would see the thing out, so i went to court where one of the men entered the charge of assault against the other. [illustration] the whole crowd wanted to explain, but they only succeeded in getting the judge sadly mixed up. he told them to be quiet and addressed himself to one of the witnesses. "now, look here," he says. "as the court understands it, the defendant here began the quarrel, because the plaintiff hurled a vile epithet at him. was that the way of it?" [illustration] "no, your honor," says the man. "nobody chucked an epithet. mike called john a bad name and john heaved a brick at him. nobody hurled nothing else." after leaving court one of my teeth pained me dreadfully, so i went to the dentist to have it attended to. he advised me to take gas. "all right," says i. "what is the effect of gas?" "why," says he, "it simply makes you totally insensible. you don't know anything that's taking place." "go ahead," says i, and i put my hand in my pocket and pulled out all the money i had. the dentist, thinking that i was about to pay him, says: "oh, don't bother about that now. you have plenty of time." "that's all right," says i. "i just wanted to see how much money i had before the gas took effect." i took a walk up broadway the other night and ran into my old friend jenkins. [illustration] after numerous liquid greetings, i asked him how mrs. jenkins was. "well," says he, "she isn't well at all. you see, she had an awful experience last night. "i was out and she was all alone in the house. suddenly she heard muffled footsteps on the porch. they came nearer and finally sounded in the dining-room. "bravely she faced the midnight marauder, who pointed a pistol at her head. [illustration] "'tell me where the money is hid,' he hissed, 'or i'll fire.' "'never,' she answered determinedly. 'villain, do your worst.' "'i will,' snarled the scoundrel, baffled but not beaten. 'tell me instantly where that money is hid, or i'll drop this big woolly caterpillar down your neck.' "two minutes later that darned burglar crept out of the house with my hard-earned money. i tell you, jones, he was a genius." i left jenkins. i had walked only a block when i met old bilgewater, an english sea captain. he was delighted to see me and insisted that i take luncheon with him. we went to a nearby restaurant and sat down at a table near the door. i noticed as old bilgewater sat down, he did it very stiffly. he didn't act as though he was at all comfortable. pretty soon he reached into his hip pocket and brought out a large telescope. [illustration] "that's a pretty hefty thing to sit on, ain't it?" says he, by way of introduction. i said it was. "well, i never let that 'scope out of my sight," says he. "why?" says i. "valuable?" "yes," says he, "werry. it were given me by my old friend nelson, in return for services rendered in licking the french." [illustration] "why, man," says i, astounded at the barefaced lie, "nelson has been dead for over a hundred years!" "well, well," says he, "so he has. how time does fly." i think it's almost time i warbled something. how's this? she was a maid of high degree, to her came wooing, suitors three, the first was rich, as rich could be, the second nobly born was he. but nothing in the world had three, in fact he was a nobody; and this fair maid of high degree could not decide between the three. so to their every sigh and plea, she only answered, "wait and see." until the rich one, off went he, to wed in the nobility! the poor young lord then met, you see, a girl with hundred thousands three! and this fair maid of high degree, was left with one instead of three. so lonely and deserted, she was bound to smile on number three. "he's nobody, of course," said she, "i'll take and make him somebody." so they were married, he and she, and wisely, too, it seems to me. 'twas hobson's choice, as you can see, 'twas either he, or nobody. [illustration] now, considering that i've got to do some hundred-yard dashes up and down a twenty-foot flat with my youngest son, i think i'll say good-night. may your slumbers be more peaceful than mine. [illustration] the end. transcriber's notes: the copy used as the basis for this digital edition was missing its back cover, so some advertising is omitted. some questionable spelling (e.g. merangue, assult) has been retained from the original where other contemporary uses of the same spelling have been found. some inconsistent hyphenation retained (working-man vs. workingman). page , changed "shakesperian" to "shakespearian." page , added missing comma after "then" in "have some pancakes, then," and fixed punctuation in: "i'm going to have some pancakes," says he. page , changed "it's way" to "its way." page , changed "it's shirt-sleeves" to "its shirt-sleeves" and "vituals" to "victuals." page , changed "it's own way" to "its own way." page , changed "decendant" to "descendant." page , changed comma to question mark after "left him" and changed "so healthy. know why" to "so healthy, know why?" page , changed "mame" to "mamie" and period at end of page to question mark. page , added missing period after "whiskey." punch library of humour edited by j. a. hammerton designed to provide in a series of volumes, each complete in itself, the cream of our national humour, contributed by the masters of comic draughtsmanship and the leading wits of the age to "punch," from its beginning in to the present day. * * * * * mr. punch's book of sports [illustration] * * * * * [illustration: _boy_ (_reassuringly_). "it's all right, miss, i'm only looking for our cricket-ball!"] * * * * * mr. punch's book of sports the humours of cricket, football, tennis, polo, croquet, hockey, racing, &c. [illustration] as pictured by linley sambourne, phil may, l. raven-hill, f. h. townsend, e. t. reed, george du maurier, charles keene, frank reynolds, lewis baumer, gunning king, g. d. armour, arthur hopkins, everard hopkins, j. a. shepherd, and others. _with illustrations_ published by arrangement with the proprietors of "punch" the educational book co. ltd. * * * * * the punch library of humour _twenty-five volumes, crown vo, pages fully illustrated_ life in london country life in the highlands scottish humour irish humour cockney humour in society after dinner stories in bohemia at the play mr. punch at home on the continong railway book at the seaside mr. punch afloat in the hunting field mr. punch on tour with rod and gun mr. punch awheel book of sports golf stories in wig and gown on the warpath book of love with the children [illustration] * * * * * [illustration] mr. punch is nothing if not typical of his fellow countrymen in his interest in sport. if there be any truth in the assertion that englishmen are neglecting the more serious affairs of life in their devotion to all forms of athletic sports, mr. punch would seem to be determined that there shall be no lack of humour in the process; for an immense proportion of his merry pages have been occupied with the humour of sport. indeed, there is no kind of open-air pastime which has escaped the kindly attention of our national humorist, and the fact that he never tires of poking good-natured fun at these hobbies of his countrymen, making merry over their misadventures, indicates in some degree that, whatever our social critics may think of the national taste for outdoor games, these must have a humanising influence and make for manliness, when their devotees can thus with good grace look upon themselves in mr. punch's mirror, and join in the laughter at their own expense. but it must not be assumed that mr. punch's attitude is one of satirical criticism; on the contrary, his sympathies are with every form of sportsmanship, and it is chiefly because his jovial knights of the pencil delight to illustrate the mishaps incidental to all games that we are entitled to look upon him as a great patron of our sports. and is not he always ready to pillory the cad and the incompetent as further proof of the soundness of his heart? certain volumes of this library are devoted entirely to one or other of our popular pastimes, determined mainly on their varying richness in humour, but in this "book of sports" we have brought together a carefully chosen selection of mr. punch's wittiest sayings on a variety of games and pastimes. cricket might of itself have furnished forth a volume, football, and racing also; but we have sought after variety rather than repletion, and to this end even the passing craze for ping-pong has not been ignored, as it is not the least of the merits of the punch library of humour that within these volumes is enshrined a comic chronicle of the passing time. [illustration] * * * * * mr. punch's book of sports [illustration] the british "sphere of influence."--the cricket ball. * * * * * cricketers who ought to be good hands at playing a tie.--"the eleven of notts." * * * * * nomenclature.--the professional cricketer who makes a "duck's egg" ought surely to be dubbed a "quack." * * * * * a model cricket match.--one that begins with a "draw," but does not end with one. * * * * * epitaph on a cricketer.--"over!" * * * * * a cricketing paradox.--any eleven can make a score. * * * * * lord's! [illustration] there's a glorious sanctum of cricket, away in the wood of st. john; no spot in creation can lick it for the game at which grace is the "don." though melbourne may claim a "medina," the "mecca" of cricket must be in the beautiful classic arena, the home of the "old" m. c. c. home, sweet home of the m. c. c., ever my fancy is turning to thee! up with king willow and down with the dumps hark to the rattle of leather and stumps. oh, what a rapturous thrill it affords! give yourself up to the magic of "lord's." * * * * * scoring for dr. grace.--"a running commentary." * * * * * all work and no play.--the umpire's part. * * * * * the irrepressible joker again (on bail.)-- _q._ where ought ducks' eggs to be most readily found? _a._ at the oval. [_bail estreated._ * * * * * [illustration: _hairdresser_ (_about to part customer`s hair_). "centre, sir?" _flannelled fool_ (_rather an absent-minded beggar_). "oh--er--_middle an' 'eg_!"] * * * * * all the year round; _or, keeping up the ball._ [illustration: a straight tip and a new sensation.] when september soaks the fields, and the leaves begin to fall, cricket unto football yields,-- that is all! yes--in hot or humid weather, at all seasons of the year, life is little without leather in a sphere. in the scrimmage, at the stumps, 'neath the goal, behind the sticks, life's a ball, which summer thumps, winter kicks. our "terrestrial ball" is round, (is it an idea chimerical?) man, by hidden instincts bound, loves the spherical. in rotund, elastic bounders, plainly the great joy of men is, witness cricket, billiards, rounders, and lawn-tennis. * * * * * classic title for dr. grace.--"the centurion." * * * * * [illustration: _he._ "you're fond of cricket, then?" _she._ "oh, i'm passionately devoted to it!" _he._ "what part of a match do you enjoy the most?" _she._ "oh, this part--the promenade!"] * * * * * [illustration: mr. punch keeps his eye on cricket then ( ) and now ( ).] * * * * * toast for tavern landlords.--the cricketer, who always runs up a score by his innings. * * * * * appropriate cricket ground.--battersy-park. * * * * * things to which cricketing members of the anti-gambling league are addicted.--"pitch" and "toss." * * * * * dr. w. g. grace's favourite dish.--"batter pudding." * * * * * [illustration] at the eton and harrow match.--_simperton._ what, you in light blue, miss gloriosa! i thought you were harrovian to the core! _miss gloriosa._ so i am, but i'm also cambridge, and as i can't possibly afford two new dresses in one week, i decided to choose the most becoming colour! [_and_ simperton _of the dark blue was quite satisfied with the explanation_. * * * * * "follow on!" (_a cricketer's_ "_catch_" air--"_come follow_!") _first voice._ come follow, follow, follow, follow, follow, follow on! _second voice._ why then should i follow, follow, follow, why then must i follow, follow on? _third voice._ when you're eighty runs or more behind our score you follow on! * * * * * [illustration: "train up your parents the way they should go." --"you know papa has been asked to play in the 'fathers against the boys' match?" "yes, mother. but i hope the boys will win this year. if the fathers win again they'll be so beastly cocky!"] * * * * * [illustration: "'collapse of essex.' dear, dear! i wonder if my property at ilford is safe?" [_buys paper to see._ ] * * * * * cricketer's favourite fish.--slips. * * * * * the coup de grace.--leg hit for six. * * * * * riddle made "on the ground."--why are cricket matches like the backs of cheap chairs? because they're "fixed to come off". * * * * * seasonable field sport.--leather-hunting. * * * * * [illustration: prehistoric peeps. (_a cricket match._) "how's that, umpire?"] * * * * * wet-willow a song of a sloppy season. (_by a washed-out willow-wielder._) air--"_titwillow._" in the dull, damp pavilion a popular "bat" sang "willow, wet-willow, wet-willow!" and i said "oh! great slogger, pray what are you at, singing 'willow, wet-willow, wet-willow'? is it lowness of average, batsman," i cried; "or a bad 'brace of ducks' that has lowered your pride?" with a low-muttered swear-word or two he replied, "oh willow, wet-willow, wet-willow!" he said "in the mud one can't score, anyhow, singing willow, wet-willow, wet-willow! the people are raising a deuce of a row, oh willow, wet-willow, wet-willow! i've been waiting all day in these flannels--they're damp!-- the spectators impatiently shout, shriek, and stamp, but a batsman, you see, cannot play with a gamp, oh willow, wet-willow, wet-willow!" "now i feel just as sure as i am that my name isn't willow, wet-willow, wet-willow, the people will swear that i don't play the game, oh willow, wet-willow, wet-willow! my spirits are low and my scores are not high, but day after day, we've soaked turf and grey sky, and i sha'n't have a chance till the wickets get dry. oh willow, wet-willow, wet-willow!!!" * * * * * cricket prospects (_from dumb-crambo junior's point of view._) [illustration: marrow-bone club] [illustration: a domestic fixture] [illustration: a rising player] [illustration: a promising young bowler] [illustration: trial matches] [illustration: batter and bawl] * * * * * the ladies at lord's old style--early sixties. scene--_the ground and its accessories._ _superior creature._ really very pleasant. _weaker sex._ oh! charming. so delightful having luncheon _al fresco_. the lobster salad was capital. _s. c._ very good. and the champagne really drinkable. _w. s._ and our chat has been so interesting, captain smorltork. _s. c._ so pleased. and now, what do you think of the cricket? _w. s._ oh! i haven't time to think of the cricket. * * * new style--late nineties. scene--_the same._ _mere man._ really rather nice. _stronger sex._ quite nice. capital game, too. up to county form. that last over was perfect bowling. _m. m._ yes; and the batting was well above the average. _s. s._ tol-lish. and really, when i come to think of it, mr. smorltork-gossip, you have been also entertaining. _m. m._ proud and honoured! and now, what do you think about the luncheon? _s. s._ oh! i haven't time to think about the luncheon. [illustration] * * * * * [illustration: fair batter (ætat. ). "now, just look here, algy jones--none of your patronage! you dare to bowl to me with your left hand again, and i'll box your ears!"] * * * * * a match miscalled.--considering the style and number of the turn-outs on the ground, and the amount of champagne-cups consumed at lord's during the great public school cricket encounter, suppose it were re-christened the _drag_ and _drinking_, instead of the _harrow_ and _eton_, match? * * * * * at the village cricket match.--_umpire_ (_carried away by enthusiasm on seeing the young squire send a ball hard to leg_). well hit, master arthur, well hit! (_remembering himself._) but don't make no short runs! * * * * * cricket at lord's (_hits by dumb-crambo, jun._) [illustration: a patient innings] [illustration: a cut in front of point] [illustration: over!] [illustration: last man. his usual form] * * * * * bait appreciated by both cricketers and fishermen.--lobs. * * * * * a tie.--("_ladies v. gentlemen._") the ladies came out as they had gone in, all "ducks." and what did the gentlemen make?--love. * * * * * the lady cricketer (_directions for attaining perfection._) get up a match by saying to some local subaltern that it would be such fun to have a game, and you know a girl who could give points to grace. agree with the youthful warrior that the fun would be increased by allowing the men to play with broom-sticks, and left-handed, and the girls, of course, with bats, and unrestricted. arrange your eleven in such a fashion that you come out as captain in the most picturesque costume. be careful to "kill" your colleagues' appearance by an artful combination of discordant hues. carry out the above scheme with the assistance of a joint committee consisting of two, yourself and the local subaltern. arrange, at the last moment, that the men shall only send out six of their team to field. manage to put yourself in first, and play with confidence the initial ball. amidst the applause of the six fielders you will be clean bowled. retire gracefully, and devote the rest of the afternoon to tea and mild flirtation with the five men who have been weeded out. * * * * * curious cricket anomaly. when a batsman has piled up a hundred, or more, though five twenties he's hit, he has made but "a score." * * * * * cricket catches (_by d. crambo, junior._) [illustration: a forward style] [illustration: out with a beautiful bailer] [illustration: collaring the bowling] [illustration: a prominent player] [illustration: sent back with a shooter] [illustration: a difficult wicket] * * * * * fair cricketers [illustration] ["the growing favour with which athletic exercises are being regarded by those who are still 'the gentler sex,' is evidenced by the rapid adoption of cricket into the roll of those games which may be practised by ladies without the sober world being shocked. in the course of the past summer there have been several matches."--_standard._] you may play the game of cricket, like the men well known to fame, and be good "all round," like some folks at that fascinating game; you may bowl like mr. spofforth at the demon's deadly pace, you may lead a team like harris, and may bat like doctor grace; but in vain your skill and prowess--can you dare to win the day, although hope may spring eternal, when the ladies come to play? they have conquered us at croquet, though philosophers might scoff, and the masculine intelligence was beaten by "two off." as a vehicle for flirting we acknowledged all its charms, and gay soldiers fell before it, although used to war's alarms; but they held me-thinks their cricket-bats as doughty as their swords, and they never dreamt of ladies at the oval or at lord's. then we turned to roller-skating, how the god of love must wink as he ponders o'er the havoc wrought on many a pleasant rink; there the ladies, as their wont is, held indubitable sway, as they circled like the seagull in as fair and facile way; and we yielded, though at prince's woman held all hearts in thrall, for we thought of our one empire, that of cricket--bat and ball. comes the era of lawn tennis, when the balls spin o'er the net, what avail the "renshaw smashes" when the ladies win the "sett," and the boldest of all volleys will be found of little use when the women gain "advantage," their opponents at the "deuce." so we leave the lawn to ladies, it were graceful there to yield; but we thought that still at cricket we were masters of the field. vain the hope, for lo! the ladies give poor men no hour of peace. can we dare to "pop the question" when they front the "popping-crease"? though with "leg before the wicket" your short innings may be o'er, will the umpire be as truthful when it's "petticoat before"? so lay down "the willow," batsmen, and, oh, bowler, leave the wicket, ye must yield once more to woman, for the ladies now play cricket! * * * * * [illustration: the last ball of the season] * * * * * [illustration: uninvited.--we had bowled out their best men, and should have won the match, but somebody came on the ground with a confounded hyæna-coloured bull-terrier, who ran after the ball, and wouldn't give it up.] * * * * * [illustration: "boots and chambermaid."--_robin_ (_the morning after the cricket supper_). "what does this 'b' and 'c' mean, dick?" _richard_ (_with a headache_). "o, brandy an' soda, of course. ring 'em both, there's a good fellow!"] * * * * * at the 'varsity cricket match.--_newcomer_ (_to gent in front_). if you would kindly move your head an eighth of an inch, i think that by standing on tip-toe i might be able, between the box-seat and body of that carriage, to ascertain the colour of long leg's cap. * * * * * pudding it plainly.--why is a promising cricketer like flour and eggs? because he's calculated to make a good batter. * * * * * the most remarkable instance of a hybrid animal is the cricket-bat. * * * * * the real "triple alliance."--a three-figure innings at cricket. * * * * * [illustration: our village cricket club.--we had thirty seconds left before the time for drawing stumps. our two last men were in, and we wanted one run to tie and two to win. it was the most exciting finish on record.] * * * * * the useful cricketer (_a candid veteran's confession._) i am rather a "pootlesome" bat-- i seldom, indeed, make a run; but i'm rather the gainer by that, for it's bad to work hard in the sun. as a "field" i am not worth a jot, and no one expects me to be; my run is an adipose trot, my "chances" i never can see. i am never invited to bowl, and though, p'r'aps, this seems like a slight, in the depths of my innermost soul i've a notion the captain is right. in short, i may freely admit i am not what you'd call a great catch but yet my initials are writ in the book against every match! for although--ay, and there is the rub-- i am forty and running to fat, i have made it all right with the club, by presenting an average bat! * * * * * another title!! supplemental gazette of birthday honours.--dr. w. g. grace to be cricket-field-marshal. * * * * * [illustration: _muscular high church curate._ "wonderful things 'grace' does!" _low church vicar_ (_surprised at the serious observation from his volatile friend_). "ah, my dear sir, true----" _high church curate._ "yes. only fancy, y'know!--ninety-two, and not out!!"] * * * * * "le cricquette" _how he will be played--shortly._ _offices of the athletic congress, paris._ [illustration: crick-it] monsieur, i am overwhelmed with my gratitude to you and to the generous dignitaries the chancellors of your universities, the heads of your great public seminaries, and the principal of your renowned mary-le-bone college club for the information they have given me concerning "le criquette," your unique national game, and i thank you in the name of my committee for your present of implements--_les wickettes_, _le boule de canon_, _les gros bois_ (the batsman's weapons), _le cuirasse pour les jambes de longstoppe_, and other necessaries for the dangers of the contest that you have so kindly forwarded for our inspection. but most of all are we indebted to you for sending over a 'ome team of your brave professionals to play the match against our parisian "_onze_," for you rightly conjectured that by our experience of the formidable game in action, we should be able to judge of its risks and dangers, and after mature investigation be able so to revise and ameliorate the manner of its playing as to bring it into harmony with the taste and feeling of the athletic ambition of the rising generation of our young france. a match has taken place, as you will see by "le score" subjoined, which i enclose for your inspection. it was not without its fruits. it disclosed to us, as you will remark by referring to "le score," very practically the dangerous, and i must add, the murderous capabilities that "le cricquette" manifestly possesses. our revising committee has already the matter in hand, and when their report is fully drawn up, i shall have much satisfaction in forwarding it to you. meantime, i must say that the substitution of a light large ball of silk, or some other soft material for the deadly "_boule de canon_" as used by your countrymen, has been decided upon as absolutely necessary to deprive the game of barbarism, and harmonise it with the instincts which modern and republican france associates with the pursuit of a harmless pastime. _les wickettes_, as being too small for the bowlsman to reach them, should be raised to six feet high, and the umpire, a grave anomaly in a game cherished by a liberty-loving people, should be instantly suppressed. the "overre," too, should consist of sixteen balls. but this and many other matters are under the consideration of the committee. i now subjoin "le score" i mentioned; a brief perusal of it will show you what excellent grounds the committee have for making the humanising alterations at which i have hinted. all france v. an english 'ome-team. all france. m. de boissy (struck with murderous force on the front of his forehead by the _boule de canon_, and obliged to retire), b. jones-johnson.... m. naudin (hit on his fingers, which are pinched blue with the _boule de canon_, and incapacitated), b. jones-johnson.... le marquis de carousel (receives a blow from the _boule de canon_ on the front bone of his leg, and is compelled to relinquish the contest), b. jones-johnson.... m. busson (receives a severe contusion of the cheek-bone from the _boule de canon_, which is delivered with murderous intent by a swift "round-and bowlsman"), b. jones-johnson.... le général grex (hits his three _wickettes_ into the air, in a daring attempt to stop the _boule de canon_ with his batsman's club), b. jones-johnson.... le duc de septfaces (has his _pince-nez_ shattered to atoms by the _boule de canon_, and, being unable to see, withdraws from the "innings"), b. jones-johnson.... m. carillon, m. le docteur giroflÉ, le professeur d'equitation (all the three being given, in turn, "out, legs in front of the _wickette_," leave the ground to arrange a duel with the umpire), b. jones-johnson.... m. de montmorency (on reaching the _wickette_ and seeing the terrible approach of the _boule de canon_, has a shivering fit which obliges him to sit down), b. jones-johnson.... m. jolibois, coming in last, triumphantly avoids the "overre," and is, in consequence, _not out_.... the english 'ome team. jones-johnson, not out brown-smith, not out so the game stood at the end of the fifth day, when, spite all the efforts of "all france," even the putting on of three "bowlsmen" at once, it was found impossible to take even one of the "'ome-team" _wickettes_. yet the contest was maintained by the "outside" with a wonderful heroism and _élan_, for though by degrees, in nobly attempting to stop the flight of the _boule de canon_ as it sped on its murderous course, driven by the furious and savage blows of the batsmen in all directions over the field, the fieldsmen, one by one, struck in the arms, legs, head and back, began to grow feeble under their unceasing blows and contusions, still one and all from the "long-leg-off" to the indomitable "longstoppe," faced the dangers of their situation with a proud smile, indicative of the noble calm of an admirable spirit. so, monsieur, the game, which was not finished, and which, in consequence, the umpire, with a chivalrous generosity, announced as "drawn," came to its conclusion. you will understand, from the perusal of the above, the direction in which my committee will be likely to modify the rules of the game, and simplify the apparatus for playing it, so as to give your "cricquette" a chance of finding itself permanently acclimatised in this country. accept, monsieur, the assurance of my most distinguished consideration, the secretary of the paris athletic congress. * * * * * [illustration: the "leviathan bat." _or many-centuried marvel of the modern_ (_cricket_) _world, in his high-soaring, top-scoring, summer-day flight._ (_dr. william gilbert grace._) as champion him the whole world hails, lords! how he smites and thumps! it takes a week to reach the bails when he's before the stumps. "_chevy chase_" (_revised_).] * * * * * [illustration: caught at lord's.--_cambridge swell._ "aw, public schools' match! aw, nevar was at one before! not so bad!" _stumpy oxonian._ "ours in miniatu-are! ours in miniatu-are!!"] * * * * * [illustration: eatin' _v._ harrow] * * * * * [illustration: delightful out-door exercise in warm weather running after "another four!" at cricket, amidst derisive shouts of "now then, butter-fingers!"--"oh! oh"--"throw it in! look sharp!"--"quick! in with it!" &c. &c.] * * * * * [illustration: suggestion for the cricket season the new pneumatic leg guard. (_mr. punch's_ patent.)] * * * * * [illustration: form _public school boy_ (_to general sir george, g.c.b., g.s.i., v.c., &c., &c., &c._). i say, grandpapa,--a--would you mind just putting on your hat _a little straighter_? here comes _codgers_--he's awfully particular--and he's the _captain of our eleven, you know_!"] * * * * * _laura_ (_who wishes to master the mysteries of cricket_). "but then, emily, what happens if the bowler gets out before the batter?" [_emily gives it up!_ * * * * * [illustration: eatin' boy at lord's] * * * * * small boy cricket.--_father._ well, and how did you get on? _small boy._ oh, i kept wicket and caught one out. it came off his foot. _father._ but that wouldn't be out. _small boy._ oh, yes, it was. the umpire gave it out. you see, it hit him "below the elbow." * * * * * to cricketers.--what would you give a thirsty batsman? why, a _full pitcher_. * * * * * cricketing and fashionable intelligence.--we hear that a distinguished member of the cricketing eleven of all england is going to be married. it is said that the object of his affections is a beautiful catch. * * * * * wicket jokes _by dumb-crambo junior._ [illustration: winning the toss] [illustration: following on, and opening with a wide] [illustration: excellent fielding] [illustration: long stop] [illustration: bowling his off stump] [illustration: caught at the wicket] * * * * * [illustration: precedence at battersea "garn! the treasurer goes in before the bloomin' seckertary!"] * * * * * the cry of the cricketer (_in a pluvial autumn._) rain, rain, go away, come again before next may! the driving shower and chilling raw gust are most inopportune in august. rain has a chance to reign, remember, till early summer from september. why come and spoil cricket's last pages, our wickets--and our averages? * * * * * [illustration: lord's in danger. the m. c. c. go out to meet the enemy ["sir edward watkin proposes to construct a railway passing through lord's cricket ground."] ] * * * * * [illustration: our opening match.--"i say, bill, you've got that pad on the wrong leg." "yus, i know. i thought as i were goin' in t' other end!"] * * * * * [illustration: "cricketing intelligence."--_sporting old parson_ (_to professional player_). "why is a ball like that called a 'yorker,' sir?" _professional player._ "a 'yorker,' sir? oh, when the ball's pitched right up to the block----" _sporting parson._ "yes, yes--i didn't ask you what a 'yorker' was"--(_with dignity_)--"i know that as well as you do. but why is it called a 'yorker'?" _professional player._ "well, i can't say, sir. i don't know what else you could call it!"] * * * * * king cricket the canny scot may talk a lot of golf and its attraction, and "putt" and "tee" for him may be a source of satisfaction; while maidens meek with rapture speak of croquet's fascination, tho' i suspect 'twere more correct to call their game "flirtation." but cricket's the thing for summer and spring! three cheers for cricket, of all games the king! the man who boats his time devotes to rowing or to sailing, in shine or rain he has to train, with energy unfailing. a tennis set finds favour yet with merry men and matrons. in lazy souls the game of bowls is not without its patrons. a day that's fine i do opine is much to be desired; an "even pitch" i ask for, which is certainly required; then add to that a "steady bat," a bowler "on the wicket," a "field" that's "smart," then we can start the noble game of cricket. * * * * * cricket _drawn with a stump by dumb-crambo junior._ [illustration: bowling started with a maiden] [illustration: a cut for three] [illustration: a drive to the off for a couple] [illustration: caught at slip] [illustration: taken at point] [illustration: wide bawl and buy] * * * * * the lady cricketer's guide bowling. . should you desire to bowl leg-breaks, close the right eye. . off-breaks are obtained by closing the left eye. . to bowl straight, close both. batting. . don't be afraid to leave the "popping" crease--there is another at the other end. . county cricketers use the curved side of the bat for driving. . a "leg glance" is not football. . when "over" is called, don't cross the wicket. fielding. . stop the ball with your feet. if you are unable to find it, step on one side. . to catch a ball, sit down gracefully and wait. . when throwing in from the country, aim half-way up the pitch; you may then hit one of the wickets--which one i don't know. _postscript._ the spirit in which the game should be played is best shown by the following extract from the _leicester daily mercury_:-- barrow ladies _v._ thrussington ladies. "barrow went in first, but were dismissed for sixteen. only three thrussington ladies batted, owing to the barrow team refusing to field, because the umpire gave miss reid in for an appeal for run out." * * * * * what is the companion game to parlour croquet? cricket on the hearth. * * * * * epitaph on an old cricketer's tombstone.--"out at ." * * * * * operatic song for a cricketer.--"_batti, batti!_" * * * * * sentiment for a cricket club dinner.--may the british umpire rule the wide world over. * * * * * cricket hits _by dumb-crambo, off his own bat._ [illustration: long leg and short leg] [illustration: short mid off] [illustration: cutting for four] [illustration: a clean bowl] * * * * * the battle of the sexes.--_middlesex_ v. _sussex_. * * * * * cricket match to come off.--the teetotallers' eleven _v._ the licensed victuallers'. * * * * * stump orations.--speeches at cricket-club dinners. * * * * * our village eleven [illustration: tom bowling] except at lunch, i cannot say with truth that we are stayers; yet, though on village greens we play, we're far from common players. the mason blocks with careful eye; we dub him "old stonewall." the blacksmith hammers hard and high, and the spreading chestnuts fall. sheer terror strikes our enemies when comes the postman's knock, whereas his slow deliveries would suit the veriest crock. the butcher prides himself on chops; his leg-cuts are a joke; but when he lambs the slow long-hops there's beef behind his stroke. the grocer seldom cracks his egg: he cannot catch; he butters. the gardener mows each ball to leg, and trundles daisy-cutters. our tailor's cut is world-renowned; the coachman's drives are rare; he'll either cart you from the ground or go home with a pair. the village constable is stout, yet tries short runs to win; they say he's run more people out than ever he ran in. the curate (captain) every match bowls piffle doomed to slaughter, but still is thought a splendid catch-- by the vicar's elderly daughter. the watchmaker winds up the side, but fails to time his pulls; by now he must be well supplied with pairs of spectacles. our umpire's fair; he says "not out," or "out," just as he thinks; and gives the benefit of the doubt to all who stand him drinks. no beatings (beatings are the rule) can make our pride diminish; last week we downed the blind boys' school after a glorious finish! * * * * * [illustration: "animal spirits" the great cricket match. "england _v._ australia." umpires, the two wombats.] * * * * * cockney motto for a feeble cricketer.--"take 'art of grace!" * * * * * good news after the last cricket match.--rest for the wicket. * * * * * cricket hits _by dumb-crambo, off his own bat._ [illustration: stumped] [illustration: caught out] [illustration: run out] [illustration: drawing the stumps] * * * * * at the gentlemen v. players return match.--_new yorker._ say, can i get a square meal here? _waiter_ (_with dignity_). this, sir, is the oval _s._ _d._ luncheon. * * * * * dramatic duet _sharp person_ (_asks, singing_). in what hand should a cricketer write? _dull person_ (_answers, also singing_). i don't quite understand. _sharp person_ (_annoyed_). shall i repeat-- _sharper person_ (_briskly sings_). oh no! i see't, he'll write in a _bowl'd round hand_. [_exit_ sharp person l.h. sharper person _dances off_ r.h. dull person _is left thinking_. * * * * * a hundred up _tommy_ (_reading daily paper_). what's a centenarian, bill? _bill_ (_promptly_). a cricketer, of course, who makes a hundred runs. _tommy._ you don't say so. _i_ thought he was called a centurion. * * * * * a well-known cricketer was expecting an interesting family event. suddenly the nurse rushed into his smoking-room. "well, nurse?" he said, "what is it?" "two fine byes," announced the nurse. * * * * * cricket hits _by dumb-crambo, off his own bat._ [illustration: pitching the wicket] [illustration: a maiden over----?] [illustration: a drive to the pavilion] [illustration: holding a catch] * * * * * to be seen for nothing.--the play of the features. * * * * * motto for british cricketers.--strike only at the ball! * * * * * a few questions on cricket _q._ what is "fielding"? _a._ the author of _tom jones_. _q._ how do you stop a ball? _a._ by putting out the lights. _q._ when does a party change sides? _a._ when he's in bed, and got the fidgets. _q._ what do you call "a long slip"? _a._ a hundred songs for a halfpenny. _q._ how much is game? _a._ it depends whether it's in season. * * * * * fancy our dear old lady's horror when she heard that last week, at lord's, a cricketer had bowled a maiden over. "poor thing!" exclaimed mrs. r., "i hope she was picked up again quickly, and wasn't much hurt." * * * * * philosophy at the popping crease "the glorious uncertainty?" why, to be sure, that it _must_ be the slowest should see at a glance, for cricket, as long as the sport shall endure, _must_ be in its nature a mere game of chance, "'tis all pitch and toss"; one can show it is so;-- 't isn't science or strength rules its losses or winnings. half depends on the "pitch"--of the wickets, you know, the rest on the "toss"--for first innings. * * * * * [illustration: _bowler_ (_his sixth appeal for an obvious leg-before_). "'ow's that?" _umpire_ (_drawing out watch_). "well, he's been in ten minutes now--hout!"] * * * * * [illustration: our village cricket club.--tom huggins, of the local fire brigade, umpires for the visiting team in an emergency. laden, as is usual, with their wealth, watches, etc., he hears the fire-bell, and obeys duty's call without loss of time!] * * * * * [illustration: the limitations of fame.--"and what are you?" "oh, i'm the wicket-keeper." "then why aren't you busy taking the gate-money?"] * * * * * con. for a cricketer miss nelly sits cool in the cricketer's booth and watches the game, about which, in good sooth, her curious interest ne'er ceases. she now wants to know of the flannel-clad youth, however the wickets can well be kept smooth, when she hears they are always _in creases_! * * * * * miltonic meditation (_by a looker-on at lawn-tennis_).--"they also _serve_ who only stand and wait." * * * * * appropriate to the season.--_q._ what is double as good a game as fives?--_a._ (_evident_) tennis. * * * * * going to the deuce.--getting thirty to forty at lawn-tennis. * * * * * suggestion to provincial lawn-tennis club.--why not give lawn-tennis balls in costume during the winter? * * * * * most appropriate attire.--a "grass-lawn" tennis costume. * * * * * the game for rackety bishops.--lawn-tennis. * * * * * [illustration: _miss delamode_ (_of belgravia_). "well, dear, i must be off. don't you love lord's?" _miss dowdesley_ (_of far-west kensingtonia_). "i'm sure i should, only----" (_immersed in her own dreams_)--"we don't know any!"] * * * * * our village cricket club i at our opening match, spinner, the demon left-hander, was again in great form. his masterly skill in placing the field, and his sound knowledge of the game, really won the match for us. [illustration: "about three feet nine to the right, please, colonel--that is to say, your right. that's it. back a little, just where the buff orpington's feeding. thanks."] ii [illustration: "you, mr. stewart, by this thistle. just to save the one, you know."] iii [illustration: his ruses were magnificent. when the squire came in, spinner (who had previously held a private consultation with the other bowler) shouted, "you won't want a fine leg for this man. put him deep and square." and then----] iv [illustration: the squire was neatly taken first ball off a glance at fine leg by spinner himself, who had crossed over (exactly as arranged) from his place at slip.] * * * * * a trill for tennis now lawn-tennis is beginning, and we'll set the balls a-spinning o'er the net and on the greensward with a very careful aim; you must work, as i'm a sinner, if you wish to prove a winner, for we're getting scientific at this fascinating game. you must know when it is folly to attempt a clever "volley," or to give the ball when "serving" it an aggravating twist; though a neatly-made backhander may arouse a rival's dander, you'll remember when you try it that it's very often missed. though your play thrown in the shade is by the prowess of the ladies, you must take your beating kindly with a smile upon your face; and 'twill often be the duty of some tennis-playing beauty to console you by remarking that defeat is not disgrace. for you doubtless find flirtation at this pleasant occupation is as easy as at croquet; when you're "serving" by _her_ side, you can hint your tender feeling, all your state of mind revealing, and, when winning "sets" together, you may find you've won a bride. so we'll don the flannel jacket, and take out the trusty racket, and though other folks slay pigeons, we'll forswear that cruel sport, and through summer seek a haven on the sward so smoothly shaven, with the whitened lines _en règle_ for a neat lawn-tennis court. * * * * * the place for lawn-tennis.--"_way down in tennessee._" * * * * * [illustration: a sketch at lord's _eva_ (_for the benefit of maud, who is not so well-informed_). "--and those upright sticks you see are the _wickets_. harrow's in at one end, and eton's in at the other, you know!"] * * * * * a polonaise "_nemo me on pony lacessit._" mad bards, i hear, have gaily trolled the boundless joys of cricket; have praised the bowler and the bowled and keeper of the wicket. i cannot join their merry song-- _non valeo sed volo_-- but really i can come out strong, whene'er i sing of polo! let golfophiles delight to air their putter-niblick learning; and, scarlet-coated, swipe and swear when summer sun is burning! let _artful cards_ sit up and pass their nights in playing bolo; but let me gambol--o'er the grass-- and make my game at polo! on chequered chess-boards students gaze o'er futile moves oft grieving; with knights content to pass their days, and constant checks receiving. 'mid kings and queens i have no place, _espiscopari nolo_-- i'd rather o'er the greensward race, and find no check in polo! then let me have my supple steed-- good-tempered, uncomplaining-- so sure of foot, so rare in speed, in perfect polo training. and let me toast in rare old port, in heidsieck or barolo, in shady-gaff or something short-- the keen delights of polo! * * * * * motto for croquet.--"she stoops to conquer." * * * * * in-door amusement for old people.--the game of croakey. * * * * * how to learn to love your enemies.--play at croquet. * * * * * for the drawing-room (_when there's a dead silence._)--my first is a bird; my second's a letter of the alphabet: my whole is some game. _explanation._ crow. k. (_croquet._) * * * * * [illustration: _lucy mildmay_ (_who is fond of technical terms_). "by the way--a--are they playing '_rugby_' or '_association_'?"] * * * * * [illustration: "out! first ball! a catch!!"] * * * * * a player who sprained his wrist at lawn-tennis explained that "he had been trying a regular _wrenchaw_, and did it effectually." * * * * * sportive song an old croquet-player ruminates i like to see a game revive like flower refreshed by rain, and so i say, "may croquet thrive, and may it live again!" it brings back thoughts of long ago, and memories most sweet, when amy loved her feet to show in shoes too small, but neat. i think i can see amy now, her vengeful arm upraised to croquet me to where a cow unheeding chewed and grazed. and amy's prowess with the ball reminds me that her style was not so taking after all as fanny's skill _plus_ smile. yes! fanny had a winsome laugh, that round her mouth would wreath, and make me wonder if her chaff was shaped to show her teeth. they were so pretty, just like pearls set fast in carmine case; still in the match between the girls selina won the race. selina had such lustrous eyes of real sapphire blue, they seemed one's soul to mesmerise, and looked one through and through. yet agnes i cannot forget, she brought me joy with pain. i would that we had never met---- "your stroke!" that voice! my jane! * * * * * [illustration: _bowler._ "how's that?" _umpire._ "wasn't looking. but if 'e does it again, 'e's out!"] * * * * * croquet o feeblest game, how strange if you should rise to favour, _vice_ tennis superseded! and yet beneath such glowing summer skies when wildest energy is invalided, mere hitting balls through little hoops seems work enough. one merely stoops, and lounges round; no other toil is needed. upon a breezy lawn beneath the shade of rustling trees that hide the sky so sunny, i'll play, no steady game as would be played by solemn, earnest folks as though for money-- for love is better. simply stoop, and hit the ball. it's through the hoop! my partner smiles; she seems to think it funny. my pretty partner, whose bright, laughing eyes gaze at me while i aim another blow; lo, i've missed because i looked at her! with sighs i murmur an apologetic solo. the proudest athlete here might stoop, to hit a ball just through a hoop, and say the game--with her--beats golf and polo. * * * * * [illustration: cricket--the pride of the village "good match, old fellow?" "oh, yes; awfully jolly!" "what did you do?" "i 'ad a hover of jackson; the first ball 'it me on the 'and, the second 'ad me on the knee; the third was in my eye; and the fourth bowled me out!" [_jolly game._ ] * * * * * advice to young croquet-players [illustration] . always take your own mallet to a garden party. this will impress everyone with the idea that you are a fine player. or an alternative plan is to play with one provided by your host, and then throughout the game to attribute every bad stroke to the fact that you have not your own implement with you. [illustration] . use as many technical terms as you can, eking them out with a few borrowed from golf. thus it will always impress your partner if you say that you are "stimied," especially as she won't know what it means. but a carefully-nurtured reputation may be destroyed at once if you confuse "roquet" with "croquet," so be very careful that you get these words right. . aim for at least three minutes before striking the ball, and appear overcome with amazement when you miss. if you have done so many times in succession, it may be well to remark on the unevenness of the ground. if you hit a ball by mistake always pretend that you aimed at it. . it is a great point to give your partner advice in a loud and authoritative tone--it doesn't matter in the least whether it is feasible or not. something like the following, said very quickly, always sounds well:--"hit one red, take two off him and make your hoop; send two red towards me and get into position." in a game of croquet there is always one on each side who gives advice, and one who receives (and disregards) it. all the lookers-on naturally regard the former as the finer player, therefore begin giving advice on your partner's first stroke. if she happens to be a good player this may annoy her, but that is no consequence. . remember that "a mallet's length from the boundary" varies considerably. if you play next, it means three yards, if your opponent does so, it means three inches. so, too, with the other "rules," which no one really knows. when in an awkward position, the best course is to invent a new rule on the spur of the moment, and to allege (which will be perfectly true) that "it has just been introduced." [illustration: genuine enthusiasm] . much may be done by giving your ball a gentle kick when the backs of the other players happen to be turned. many an apparently hopeless game has been saved by this method. leave your conscience behind when you come to a croquet-party. [illustration] * * * * * sweet name for young ladies playing croquet.--hammerdryads. [illustration] * * * * * the poet of croquet.--mallet. * * * * * [illustration: lawn-tennis costume (_designed by mr. punch._)] * * * * * [illustration: "nouvelles couches sociales!" "i say, uncle, that was young baldock that went by,--wilmington baldock, you know----!" "who the dickens is _he_?" "what! haven't you heard of him? hang it! he's making himself a very first-rate position in the _lawn-tennis_ world, i can _tell_ you!"] * * * * * [illustration: "sporting."--_cabby_ (_on the rank at the top of our square_.) "beg your pardon, miss!--'takin' the liberty--but--'ow does the game stand now, miss? 'cause me and this 'ere 'ansom's gota dollar on it!"] * * * * * [illustration: honi soit qui mal y pense _auntie._ "archie, run up to the house, and fetch my racket. there's a dear!" _archie_ (_preparing to depart_). "all right. but i say, auntie, don't let anybody take my seat, will you?"] * * * * * [illustration: barbarous technicalities of lawn-tennis.--_woolwich cadet_ (_suddenly, to his poor grandmother, who has had army on the brain ever since he passed his exam._). "the service is awfully severe, by jove! look at colonel pendragon--he invariably _shoots or hangs_!" _his poor grandmother._ "good heavens, algy! i hope you won't be in _his_ regiment!"] * * * * * [illustration: comforting _proud mother._ "did you _ever_ see anybody so light and slender as dear algernon, jack?" _uncle jack_ (_at thirty-five_). "oh, you mustn't trouble about _that_, maria. i was _exactly_ his build at eighteen!"] * * * * * [illustration: "donkeys have ears."--_emily_ (_playing at lawn-tennis with the new curate_). "what's the game, now, mr. miniver?" _curate._ "forty--love." _irreverent gardener_ (_overhearing_). "did y'ever hear such imperence! 'love,' indeed! and him not been in the parish above a week! just like them parsons!"] * * * * * [illustration: lawn-tennis under difficulties--"play!" if space is limited, there is no reason why one shouldn't play with one's next-door neighbours, over the garden wall. (one needn't visit them, you know!)] * * * * * [illustration: _stout gentleman_ (_whose play had been conspicuously bad_). "i'm such a wretched feeder, you see, mrs. klipper--a wretched feeder! always was!" _mrs. klipper_ (_who doesn't understand lawn-tennis_). "indeed! well, i should never have thought it!"] * * * * * [illustration: _she._ "what a fine looking man mr. o'brien is!" _he._ "h'm--hah--rather rough-hewn, i think. can't say i admire that loud-laughing, strong-voiced, robust kind of man. now that's a fine-looking woman he's talking to!" _she._ "well--er--somewhat _effeminate_, you know. confess i don't admire _effeminate_ women!"] * * * * * lawn-tennis lobs (_served by dumb-crambo junior._) [illustration: gentlemen's doubles] [illustration: smart service] [illustration: ladies singles] [illustration: back play] [illustration: a splendid rally] [illustration: smothering the bawl] [illustration: deuce!] [illustration: two sets to one] [illustration: playing up to the net] [illustration: love game] * * * * * the sport of the future ["the lawns that were erstwhile cumbered with tennis nets now bristle with croquet hoops, and the sedate mallet has driven out the frisky racquet."--_the world._] welcome, reason, on the scene, milder influences reviving! far too long have pastimes been senseless, useless, arduous striving, brutalising men of strength, dangerous to those who lack it: lo! it speaks their doom at length-- the decadence of the racket. purged from customs fierce and rude soon shall sports become more gentle, (as the grosser kinds of food yield the palm to bean and lentil), roller skates long since are "off," tennis is no longer o.k., rivals threaten even golf as the fashion sets for croquet. hence, then, cricket, young and vain, football, fraught with brutal bustle, you at reason's light shall wane-- modern upstart cult of muscle; so may purer tastes begin all our fiercer games refining, till, when spelicans come in, _i_ may get a chance of shining. [illustration: line ball] [illustration: out of court] * * * * * more lawn tennis lobs (_served by dumb-crambo junior._) [illustration: a let] [illustration: 'vaunt-age] [illustration: serving caught] [illustration: screw and twister] [illustration: the "wrencher (renshaw) smash"] [illustration: smart returns.] * * * * * [illustration: golden memories.--"i wonder why mr. poppstein serves with three balls?" "old associations, i suppose."] * * * * * [illustration: _smith._ "let me put your name down for this tournament?" _jones_ (_who thinks himself another renshaw, and doesn't care to play with a scratch lot_). "a--thanks--no! i'd _rather_ not!" _smith._ "oh, they're frightful duffers, _all_ of them! you'll stand a very fair chance! _do!_"] * * * * * [illustration: professional jealousy.--_miss matilda_ (_referring to her new lawn tennis shoes, black, with india-rubber soles_). "the worst of it is, they _draw_ the feet so!" _our artist_ (_an ingenuous and captivating youth_). "ah, they _may_ draw the feet; but they'll _never do justice to yours_, miss matilda!" [_sighs deeply._ ] * * * * * [illustration: trials of the umpire at a ladies' double _lilian and claribel._ "it was out, _wasn't_ it, captain standish?" _adeline and eleanore._ "oh, it _wasn't_ out, captain standish, was it?"] * * * * * [illustration: things one would rather have left unsaid _she._ "would you mind putting my lawn tennis shoes in your pockets, mr. green?" _he._ "i'm afraid my pockets are hardly big enough, miss gladys; but i shall be delighted to _carry_ them for you!"] * * * * * [illustration: _excited young lady._ "father, directly this set is over get introduced to the little man by the fireplace, and make him come to our party on tuesday. _her father._ "certainly, my dear, if you wish it. but--er--he's rather a scrubby little person, isn't he?" _excited young lady._ "father, do you know _who_ he is? they tell me he is the amateur champion of peckham! i don't suppose he'll play; but if you can get him just to look in, that will be _something_!"] * * * * * [illustration: a nice quiet game for the home.--this is only a little game of "ping-pong" in progress, and some of the balls are missing!] * * * * * [illustration: ping-pong in the stone age] * * * * * [illustration: the first time captain f. tried to play that pony he picked up so cheaply, he found it true to the description given of it by the late owner, who guaranteed it _not in the least afraid of the stick_]. * * * * * [illustration: a long shot. (_before the commencement of the polo match_).--_young lady_ (_making her first acquaintance with the game_). "oh, i wish you would begin. i'm so anxious to see the sweet ponie kick the ball about!" [_her only excuse is that she hails from a great football county._ ] * * * * * [illustration: our local polo match _excited drummer._ "vat! he iss your only ball? ach, donner und blitzen! he haf proke insides my only drum! you pay ze drum, you haf ze ball!"] * * * * * [illustration: "if you have any raw ponies, always play them in big matches; it gets them accustomed to the crowd, and the band, and things."] * * * * * [illustration: at hurlingham.--_captain smith_ (_who is showing his cousins polo for the first time_). "well, what do you think of it?" _millicent._ "oh, we think it is a _ripping_ game. it must be such _awfully_ good practice for croquet!"] * * * * * [illustration: the possibilities of croquet the above represents the game of "all against all," as played by brown, miss jones, and the major.] * * * * * ejaculations _on being asked to play croquet, a.d. ._ ["it is impossible to visit any part of the country without realising the fact that the long-discredited game of croquet is fast coming into vogue again.... this is partly owing to the abolition of 'tight croqueting.'"--_pall mall gazette._] eh? what? why? how? are we back in the sixties again? i am rubbing my eyes--is it _then_, or now? i'm a _rip van winkle_, it's plain! hoop, ball, stick, cage? eh, fetch them all out once more? why, look, they're begrimed and cracked with age, and their playing days are o'er! well--yes--here goes for a primitive chaste delight! let us soberly, solemnly beat our foes, for croquet's no longer "tight"! [illustration] * * * * * [illustration: charles keenesque croquet period. ] * * * * * [illustration: an objectionable old man.--_young ladies._ "going to make a flower-bed here, smithers? why, it'll quite spoil our croquet ground!" _gardener._ "well, that's yer pa's orders, miss! he'll hev' it laid out for 'orticultur', not for 'usbandry'".] * * * * * [illustration: sweet delusion.--_chorus of young ladies_ (_speaking technically_). "no _spooning_, mr. lovel! no _spooning_ allowed _here_!" _miss tabitha_ (_with the long curls_). "those naughty, _n-n-naughty_ girls! i suppose they allude to you and me, mr. lovel. but, lor'! never mind them!--_i_ don't."] * * * * * [illustration: so ready!--_snooks_ (_coming out conversationally_). "i think that every woman who is not out-and-out plain considers herself a beauty." _miss rinkle._ "does that include _me_?" _snooks._ "oh, of course not!"] * * * * * [illustration: the momentous question _eligible bachelor._ "shall i follow you up, annie; or leave myself for lizzie?"] * * * * * [illustration: [according to _country life_, croquet, which was revived last summer, is likely to increase in popularity this year. a splendid opportunity to revive the pastime and the costumes of the early sixties at the same time.] ] * * * * * the wooing [the sporting instinct is now so keen among girls that a man who gallantly moderates his hitting in mixed hockey is merely regarded as an _incapable slacker_ by his fair opponents.] when first i played hockey with kitty, i was right off my usual game, for she looked so bewitchingly pretty when straight for the circle she came; as a rule i'm not backward, or chary, of hitting and harassing too, but who can be rough with a fairy-- not i--so i let her go through. she scored, and we couldn't get equal; the others all thought me a fool, and kitty herself, in the sequel, grew most unexpectedly cool. they gave us a licking, as stated, i was sick at the sight of the ball, she thought me a lot over-rated, and wondered they played me at all. but she frankly approved percy waters, who uses his stick like a flail, and always impartially slaughters both sexes, the strong and the frail; a mutual friendliness followed, i watched its career with dismay-- next match-day my feelings i swallowed. and hit in my orthodox way. i caught her a crunch on the knuckle, a clip on the knee and the cheek, she said, with a rapturous chuckle, "i see--you weren't trying last week." such conduct its cruelty loses when it brings consolation to both, for after she'd counted her bruises that evening we plighted our troth. * * * * * [illustration: an alarming threat.--_miss dora_ (_debating her stroke_). "i have a great mind to knock you into the bushes mr. pipps!" [_mr. pipps (who is a complete novice at the game) contemplates instant flight. he was just on the point of proposing, too._ ] * * * * * [illustration: ladies at hockey (_from an old print._)] * * * * * the pursuit of beauty i saw an aged, aged man one morning near the row, who sat, dejected and forlorn, till it was time to go. it made me quite depressed and bad to see a man so wholly sad-- i went and told him so. i asked him why he sat and stared at all the passers-by, and why on ladies young and fair he turned his watery eye. he looked at me without a word, and then--it really was absurd-- the man began to cry. but when his rugged sobs were stayed-- it made my heart rejoice-- he said that of the young and fair he sought to make a choice. he was an artist, it appeared-- i might have guessed it by his beard, or by his gurgling voice. his aim in life was to procure a model fit to paint as "beauty on a pedestal," or "figure of a saint." but every woman seemed to be as crooked as a willow tree-- his metaphors were quaint. "and have you not observed," he asked, "that all the girls you meet have either 'hockey elbows' or ungainly 'cycling feet'? their backs are bent, their faces red, from 'cricket stoop,' or 'football head.'" he spoke to me with heat. "but have you never found," i said, "some girl without a fault? are all the women in the world misshapen, lame or halt?" he gazed at me with eyes aglow, and, though the tears had ceased to flow, his beard was fringed with salt. "there was a day, i mind it well, a lady passed me by in whose physique my searching glance no blemish could descry. i followed her at headlong pace, but when i saw her, face to face, _she had the 'billiard eye'!_" * * * * * [illustration: di got me to play hockey. never again!] * * * * * [illustration: "our great hockey match was in full swing, when a horrid cow, from the adjoining meadow, strolled on the ground. play was by general consent postponed."] * * * * * mixed hockey you came down the field like a shaft from a bow the vision remains with me yet. i hastened to check you: the sequel you know: alas! we unluckily met. you rushed at the ball, whirled your stick like a flail, and you hit with the vigour of two: a knight in his armour had surely turned pale, if he had played hockey with you. they gathered me up, and they took me to bed: they called for a doctor and lint: with ice in a bag they enveloped my head; my arm they enclosed in a splint. my ankles are swelled to a terrible size; my shins are a wonderful blue; i have lain here a cripple, unable to rise, since the day i played hockey with you. yet still, in the cloud hanging o'er me so black, a silvery lining i spy: a man who's unhappily laid on his back can yet have a solace. may i? an angel is woman in moments of pain, sang scott: clever poet, _he_ knew: it may, i perceive, be distinctly a gain to have fallen at hockey with you. for if you'll but nurse me (come quickly, come now), if you'll but administer balm, and press at my bidding my feverish brow with a cool but affectionate palm; if you'll sit by my side, it is possible, quite, that i may be induced to review with a feeling more nearly akin to delight that day i played hockey with you. [illustration] * * * * * [illustration: _major bunker_ (_who has been persuaded to join in a game of hockey for the first time, absent-mindedly preparing to drive_). "fore."] * * * * * [illustration: our ladies' hockey club miss hopper cannot understand how it is she is always put "in goal." but really the explanation is so simple. there's no room for a ball to get past her.] * * * * * [illustration: _extract from mabel's correspondence._--"we had a scratch game with the 'black and blue' club yesterday, but had an awful job to get any men. enid's brother and a friend of his turned up at the last moment; but they didn't do much except call 'offside' or 'foul' every other minute, and they were both as nervous as cats!"] * * * * * [illustration: our ladies' hockey club one of the inferior sex who volunteered to umpire soon discovered his office was no sinecure.] * * * * * [illustration: hare and hounds--and may their shadows never grow less.--_mrs. miniver._ "how exhausted they look, poor fellows! fancy doing that sort of thing for mere pleasure!" _little timpkins_ (_his bosom swelling with national pride_). "ah, but it's all through doing that sort of thing for _mere pleasure_, mind you, that we english are--_what we are_!" [_bully for little timpkins!_ ] * * * * * [illustration: hare and hounds--and donkey "seen two men with bags of paper pass this way?"--"no!" "did they tell you to say no?"--"yes."] * * * * * [illustration: happy thought.--the good old game of "hare and hounds," or "paper-chase," is still played in the northern suburbs of london during the winter. why should not young ladies be the hares?] * * * * * [illustration: a meeting of the "bandy" association for the promotion of "hockey on the ice."] * * * * * an idyl on the ice fur-apparelled for the skating, comes the pond's acknowledged belle: i am duly there in waiting, for i'll lose no time in stating that i love the lady well. then to don her skates, and surely mine the task to fit them tight, strap and fasten them securely, while she offers me, demurely, first the left foot then the right. off she circles, swiftly flying to the pond's extremest verge; then returning, and replying with disdain to all my sighing, and the love i dare not urge. vainly do i follow after, she's surrounded in a trice, other men have come and chaffed her, and the echo of her laughter comes across the ringing ice. still i've hope, a hope that never in my patient heart is dead; though fate for a time might sever, though she skated on for ever, i would follow where she fled. * * * * * [illustration: shakspeare illustrated "i am down again!"--_cymbeline_, act v., sc. .] * * * * * to football farewell to thee, cricket, thy last match is o'er; thy bat, ball, and wicket are needed no more. to thy sister we turn, for her coming we pray; her worshippers burn for the heat of the fray. hail! goddess of battle, yet hated of ma(r)s, how ceaseless their tattle of tumbles and scars! such warnings are vain, for thy rites we prepare, youth is yearning again in thy perils to share. broken limbs and black eyes may, perchance, be our lot; but grant goals and ties and we care not a jot. too sacred to name with thy posts, ball, and field, there is no winter game to which thou canst yield. * * * * * motto for an impecunious football club.--"more kicks than halfpence." * * * * * [illustration: prehistoric peeps during a considerable portion of the year the skating was excellent, and was much enjoyed by all classes.] * * * * * [illustration: _little jones_ (_to lady who has just collided with him_). "i-i-i-i beg your pardon! i-i-i hope i haven't hurt you!"] * * * * * [illustration: genuine enthusiasm (_a thaw picture._) what matter an inch or two of surface-water, if the ice be still sound underneath!] * * * * * "le foote-balle" _offices of the athletic convention, paris._ monsieur,--having already expressed my views as to the capabilities possessed by "le cricquette" for becoming a national game worthy the attention of the young sporting gentlemen of our modern france, i now turn me to the consideration of your "foote-balle." i have examined the apparatus for the play you have so kindly sent over,--the great leathern bag of wind which is kicked, "_les_ goalpoles", and the regulations for the playing of the game, and have seen your fifteen professional county "kicksmen" engage,--i shudder as i recall the terrible sight,--in a contest, horrible, murderous, and demoniacal, with an equal number of my unhappy compatriots, alas! in their enthusiasm and _élan_, ignorant of the deadly struggle that awaited them in the game in which they were about innocently to join. to witness the savage rush of your professional kicksmen was terrifying, and when, in displaying "_le scrimmage_", they scattered, with the kicks of their legs, my fainting compatriots, who fell lamed and wounded in all directions, i said to myself, this "foote-balle" is not a pastime, it is an encounter of wild beasts, "_un vrai carnage_," fit to be played, not by civilised sporting gentlemen, but by cannibals. but let me explain that it is not the kick to which i object, for is not _le coup de pied_ the national defence of france? indeed, in your own fist contest in "le boxe-match," is not to deliver a kick in the jaw of your antagonist considered a meritorious _coup_, showing great skill in the boxeman? and do not our own _garçons de collège_ kick a _confrère_ when he is "down," and point to the circumstance with a legitimate pride and satisfaction? no, it is not _le coup de pied_ which makes horrible "le foote-balle," but the conspiracy organised of the kicksmen--_les demidos_ (the 'alf-backs), _les en avants_ (the forwards), and the "goal-keepers"--all to kick the leathern bag of wind at once, and so produce a murderous _mêlée_ in which arms, legs, ribs, thighs, necks, and spines are all broken together, and may be heard simultaneously cracking by any of the terror-struck but helpless spectators who are watching the ghastly contest. viewing the game under this aspect, you will not be surprised to hear that my committee have, as they did in dealing with "le cricquette," revised the rules and regulations for the playing of your "foote-balle," so as to suit it to the tastes and requirements of the rising generation of our modern france. i cannot at present furnish you with full details of the suggested modifications, but i may inform you that it has been unanimously decided that the "balle," which is to be of "some light, airy, floating material, and three times its present size," is not to be touched by the foot at all, but struck lightly by the palm of the hand, and thus wafted harmlessly, with a smart smack, over the heads of the combatants. as to costume, the game is to be played in white satin bed-room slippers, with (as a protection in the event, spite every possible precaution, of "_le scrimmage_" arising) feather pillows strapped over the knees and chest. it is calculated by our committee that the savage proclivities of the game, as fostered by the terrible rules of your murderous "rugby association," will be thus, in some measure, counteracted. hoping soon to hear from you on the subject of your _courses d'eau_, as i shall doubtless have some suggestions to make in reference to the conduct of your aquatic contests, receive, monsieur, the assurance of my most distinguished consideration, the secretary to the congress. * * * * * [illustration: "oh, i say, they're gone for a rope or something. awfully sorry, you know, i can't come any nearer, but i'll stay here and talk to you."] * * * * * [illustration: nemesis.--inquisitive old gentleman. "who's won?" first football player. "we've lost!" inquisitive old gentleman. "what have you got in that bag?" second football player. "the umpire!"] * * * * * professionals of the floor and field. exactly the same, though not so in name, are dancing and football "pros." for both money make and salaries take for supporting the ball with their toes. * * * * * eton football (_special report by dumb-crambo junior._) [illustration: corner] [illustration: flying man] [illustration: post and back up post] [illustration: long behind and short behind] [illustration: old eat-onions] [illustration: the usual bully] [illustration: after the kick-off james effected a fine run,] [illustration: which he finished up by sending the ball just over the cross bar] [illustration: change was announced] [illustration: a scrim-age] [illustration: time was then called] [illustration: they made one rouge] * * * * * [illustration: how the goal-keeper appears to the opposing forward, who is about to shoot.] [illustration: and how the goal-keeper _feels_ when the opposing forward is about to shoot.] * * * * * that foot-ball _an athletic father's lament._ what was it made me cricket snub, and force my seven sons to sub- sidize a local "rugby" club? that foot-ball! yet, what first drew from me a sigh, when tom, my eldest, missed a "try," but got instead a broken thigh? that foot-ball! what in my second, stalwart jack, caused some inside machine to crack, and kept him ten months on his back--? that foot-ball! what brought my third, unhappy ted, to fade and sink, and keep his bed, and finally go off his head?-- that foot-ball! my fourth and fifth, poor john and jim, what made the sight of one so dim? what made the other lack a limb? that foot-ball! then frank, my sixth, who cannot touch the ground unaided by a crutch, alas! of what had he too much? that foot-ball! the seventh ends the mournful line, poor stephen with his fractured spine, a debt owe these good sons of mine, that foot-ball! and as we pass the street-boys cry, "look at them cripples!" i but sigh, "you're right, my friends. but would you fly a lot like ours; oh, do not try that foot-ball!" * * * * * [illustration: _uncle dick._ "ah yes, cricket is a fine game, no doubt--a very fine game. but football now! that's the game to make your hair curl!"] _miss dulcie_ (_meditatively_). "do you play football much, uncle?"] * * * * * eton football (_by dumb-crambo junior._) [illustration: mixed wall "game"] [illustration: four shies to love] [illustration: the "demons" took part in the game.--_newspaper report_] [illustration: furking out the _bawl_ from the bullies] * * * * * [illustration: animal spirits football. "the zambesi scorchers."] * * * * * foot-ball À la mode [hardly a week passes without our hearing of one or more dangerous accidents at football.] a manly game it is, i think, although in private be it spoken, while at a scrimmage i don't shrink, that bones may be too often broken. i snapped my clavicle last week, just like the rib of an umbrella; and sprained my ankle, not to speak of something wrong with my _patella_. last season, too, my leg i broke, and lay at home an idle dreamer, it's not considered quite a joke to contemplate a broken _femur_. and when, despite the doctor's hints, again at foot-ball i had tussles, i found myself once more in splints, with damaged gastronomic muscles. some three times every week my head, is cut, contused, or sorely shaken; my friends expect me brought home dead, but up to now i've saved my bacon. but what are broken bones, my boys, compared with noble recreation? the scrimmages and all the joys of rugby or association! * * * * * [illustration: association _v._ rugby _she_ (_plaintively--to famous rugby half-back_). "_would_ it get you very much out of practice if we were to dance 'socker' a little."] * * * * * open letter to a pair of football boots (_with acknowledgments to mr. c. b. fry in the "daily express"_) dear old pals,--i want to speak to you seriously and as man to man, because you're not mere dead hide, are you? no, no, you are intelligent, sentient soles, and to be treated as such by every player. ah! booties, booties, you little beauties, what a lot you mean to us, don't you? and how hardly we use you. i've known men to take you off after a game, hurl you--as jove hurled his thunderbolts--into a corner of the pav. and there leave you till you are next required. ah! old men, that's not right, is it? how would we great machines of bone, muscle, and nerve-centre (ah! those nerve-centres, what tricky things they are!), how would we be for the next match if we were treated like that? pretty stiff and stale, eh, old booties? now, look here, when we come in after a hard, slogging game, our bodies and the grey matter in our brains thoroughly exhausted, immediately we've had our bath, our rub-down, and our cup of steaming hot hercubos (i find hercubos the finest thing to keep fit on during a hard season) we must turn our attention to you, booties. first, out from our little bag must come our piece of clean, sweet selvyt. with it all that nasty black slime that gets into your pores and makes you crack must be wiped off. now, before a good blazing fire of coal--not coke, mind, the fumes of a coke fire pale and de-oxygenate the red corpuscles of our blood, you know--we must carefully warm you till you are ripe to receive a real good dousing of our porpo (i find porpo the finest thing for keeping boots soft and pliable). finally, with a white silk handkerchief we must give you a soft polishing, and there you are, sweet and trim against our next match. every morning you may be sure we will, like boreas, drive away the clouds of dust that collect on you. and then there are the laces to attend to. oh, yes, your laces are like our nerve-fibres, the little threads that keep the whole big body taut and sound. they, too, must have a good rubbing of porpo and a rest if they need it. ah! and won't you repay our trouble, booties, when next we slip you on? how tightly you will clasp us just above the tubercles of our tibiæ, how firmly you will grip our pliant toes, how you will help us to send the ball swishing--low and swift--into the well-tarred net! good-night, booties. * * * * * the "ball of the season."--foot-ball. * * * * * appropriate football fixture for the fifth of november.--a match against guy's. [illustration: "the shinner quartette;" or, musical football.] * * * * * [illustration: researches in ancient sports.--football match. romulus rovers _v_. nero half-backs.] * * * * * [illustration: prehistoric peeps.--the annual football match between the old red sandstone rovers and the pliocene wanderers was immensely and deservedly popular!!] * * * * * [illustration: sunday football.--"just look what your boys have done to my hat, mrs. jones!" "oh, the dears! oh, i _am_ so sorry! now, tom and harry, say how sorry _you_ are, and mr. lambourne won't mind!"] * * * * * [illustration: "socker" on the brain.--_harry._ "smart sort that on the right--forward." _tom_ (_a devoted "footer"_). "right forward? oh! no good forward; but looks like making a fair 'half-back'!"] * * * * * [illustration: exchange! _togswell (in the washing room at the office, proceeding to dress for the de browncy's dinner-party)._ "hullo! what the dooce"--(_pulling out, in dismay, from black bag, a pair of blue flannel tights, a pink striped jersey, and a spiked canvas shoe_).--"confound it! yes!--i must have taken that fellow's bag who said he was going to the athletic sports this afternoon, and he's got mine with my dress clothes!!"] * * * * * a derby dialogue scene--_in town._ jones _meets_ brown. [illustration] _jones._ going to epsom? _brown._ no, i think not. fact is, the place gets duller year by year. the train has knocked the fun out of the road. _jones._ such a waste of time. why go in a crowd to see some horses race, when you can read all about it in the evening papers? _brown._ just so. no fun. no excitement. and the downs are wretched if it rains or snows. _jones._ certainly. the luncheon, too, is all very well; but, after all, it spoils one's dinner. _brown._ distinctly. and champagne at two o'clock is premature. _jones._ and lobster-salad undoubtedly indigestible. so it's much better not to go to the derby--in spite of the luncheon. _brown._ yes,--in spite of the luncheon. [illustration] (_two hours pass. scene changes to epsom._) _jones._ hullo! you here? _brown._ hullo! and if it comes to that, you here, too? _jones._ well, i really found so little doing in town that i thought i might be here as well as anywhere else. _brown._ just my case. not that there's much to see or do. silly as usual. _jones._ quite. always said the derby was a fraud. but i am afraid, my dear fellow, i must hurry away, as i have got to get back to my party for luncheon. _brown._ so have i. [exeunt severally. * * * * * maxim for the derby day there's many a slip 'twixt the race and the tip. * * * * * [illustration: "last, but not least" "why do you call him a good jockey! he never rides a winner." "that just proves it. he can finish last on the best horse in the race!"] * * * * * [illustration: in search of a "certainty."--_cautious gambler._ "four to one be blowed! i want a chaunce of gettin' a bit for my money." _bookmaker._ "tell you what you want. you ought to join a burial society. sure to get somethin' out o' that!"] * * * * * [illustration: an echo from epsom.--"wot's the matter, chawley?" "matter! see that hinnercent babby there? 'e's got 'is pockets full o' tin tacks!"] * * * * * [illustration: what shall we do with our girls? (_why not give them a few lessons in the science of book-making?_) _mr. professor._ "and now, ladies, having closed our book on the favourite, and the betting being seven to three bar one, i will show you how to work out the odds against the double event."] * * * * * [illustration: cold comfort.--scene--_badly beaten horse walking in with crowd. first sporting gent (to second ditto, who has plunged disastrously on his advice)._ "told yer he was a foregorne conclusion for this race, did i? well, and what more d'yer want? ain't he jolly well the conclusion of it?"] * * * * * [illustration: derby day. down the road.--matches that strike upon the box.] * * * * * how to win the derby (_by one who has all but done it._) [illustration] take great care in purchasing a really good colt. don't let expense stand in your way, but be sure you get for money money's worth. obtain the most experienced trainer in the market, and confide your colt to his care. but, at the same time, let him have the advantage of your personal encouragement and the opinion of those of your sporting friends upon whose judgment you can place reliance. when the day of the great race draws near, secure the most reliable jockey and every other advantage that you can obtain for your valuable animal. then, having taken every precaution to win the derby, why--win it! * * * * * [illustration: at the post.--_first gentleman rider._ "who is the swell on the lame horse?" _second gentleman rider._ "oh--forget his name--he's the son of the great furniture man, don'tcherknow." _first gentleman rider._ "goes as if he had a caster off, eh?" * * * * * [illustration: ascot week racing note going in for a sweep.] * * * * * on the course.--_angelina._ what do they mean, dear, by the outside ring? _edwin._ oh! that's the place where we always back outsiders. a splendid institution! [_so it was, till edwin fell among gentlemen from wales._ * * * * * at the close of the racing season.--_owner (to friend, pointing to disappointing colt)._ there he is, as well bred as any horse in the world, but can't win a race. now what's to be done with him? _friend (suddenly inspired)._ harness the beast in front of a motor-car. he'll _have_ to travel, then. * * * * * real autumn handy-cap.--a deerstalker. * * * * * [illustration: _uncle._ "ah, milly, i'm afraid you've lost your money over that one. he's gone the wrong way!" _milly (at her first race-meeting)._ "oh, no, uncle, i'm all right. george told me to back it 'both ways.'"] * * * * * [illustration: the joys of a gentleman rider _trainer (to g. r., who has taken a chance mount)._ "so glad you turned up. this horse is such a rocky jumper you know, i can't get a professional to ride him."] * * * * * very racy.--_q._ when a parent gives his son the "straight tip" about a race, what vegetable does he recall to one's mind? _a._ pa ('s)-snip, of course. * * * * * [illustration: easy problem picture. "name the winner!" judging from their countenances, which of these two, who have just returned from a race meeting, has "made a bit"?] * * * * * [illustration: respice finem scene--_a little race meeting, under local rules and management._ _starter._ "'ere's a pretty mess! two runners--the favourite won't start--and if i let the other win, the crowd 'll just about murder me!"] * * * * * [illustration: his first book. (_at a provincial race meeting_).--_novice._ "look here, i've taken ten to one against _blueglass_, and i've given twelve to one against him! what do i stand to win?"] * * * * * [illustration: the hunt steeple-chase season _the joys of a gentleman rider._ _voice from the crowd._ "now, then, guv'nor, take care you don't get sunburnt!"] * * * * * racy sketches (_by d. crambo, junior_) [illustration: sire (sigher)] and [illustration: dam!] [illustration: maiden allowance] [illustration: settling at the clubs] [illustration: an objection on the ground of "boring"] [illustration: winning by a clever head] * * * * * [illustration: _owner._ "why didn't you ride as i told you? didn't i tell you to force the pace early and come away at the corner?" _jockey._ "yes, m'lord, but i couldn't very well leave the horse behind."] * * * * * at newmarket.--_lady plongère (to sir charles hamidoot)._ oh! sir charles, please put me a tenner each way on the favourite. _sir charles._ but will you repay me the money laid out? _lady p. (sweetly)._ of course i will, if i win. [_sir c. forgets to execute the commission._ * * * * * [illustration: heard at newmarket _jockey (whose horse has broken down)._ "thought you said it was as good as a walk over?" _trainer_. "well, ain't you _walkin_' over?"] * * * * * [illustration: a motor-horse steeple-chase] * * * * * [illustration: prehistoric peeps even the "derby" had its primeval counterpart.] * * * * * [illustration: _brown._ "confound it! done again! i lose on every race. (_to barber._) here's your shilling." _barber._ "couldn't think of taking it, sir. just won £ on the hascot cup!"] * * * * * [illustration: sporting event--a record she won the sweep!] * * * * * amusements for ascot (_provided for the better sex_) after taking infinite trouble to secure a dream of a dress, to wait expectantly to see whether it will rain or keep up. after arriving on the course to find one's only duchess monopolised by the buckingham-browns, to dismay of all semi-outsiders. between the races to notice one's hated rivals in the sacred enclosure, to which one has no admittance. at luncheon, to contrast the men of this year who have remained at home with those of last season who are now at the front. [illustration] and--perhaps safest of all--to leave the doubts and fears, the heart-burnings and disappointment of the meeting to others, and to learn all about ascot by reading the papers. * * * * * [illustration: "non est inventus" (_a derby problem._) _ostler_ (_on the downs, after the races_). "don't you even remember 'is colour, guv'nor?"] * * * * * the prevailing passion.--_father_ (_reading newspaper_). i see another rugby man has been appointed archbishop of canterbury. that's the third rugby man in succession. _son_ (_a football enthusiast_). well, i think it is time one of the association had a turn. [illustration] bradbury, agnew, & co. ld., printers, london and tonbridge. the jest book [illustration] university press: welch, bigelow, & co. [illustration] the jest book the choicest anecdotes and sayings selected and arranged by mark lemon [illustration] cambridge sever and francis [illustration] preface. the compiler of this new jest book is desirous to make known that it is composed mainly of old jokes,--some older than joe miller himself,--with a liberal sprinkling of new jests gathered from books and hearsay. in the course of his researches he has been surprised to find how many jests, impromptus, and repartees have passed current, century after century, until their original utterer is lost in the "mist of ages"; a good joke being transferred from one reputed wit to another, thus resembling certain rare wines which are continually being rebottled but are never consumed. dr. darwin and sir charles lyell, when they have satisfied themselves as to the _origin of species_ and the _antiquity of man_, could not better employ their speculative minds than in determining the origin and antiquity of the venerable "joes" which have been in circulation beyond the remembrance of that mythical personage, "the oldest inhabitant." a true briton loves a good joke, and regards it like "a thing of beauty," "a joy forever," therefore we may opine that yorick's "flashes of merriment, which were wont to set the table in a roar," when hamlet was king in denmark, were transported hither by our danish invaders, and descended to wamba, will somers, killigrew, and other accredited jesters, until mr. joseph miller reiterated many of them over his pipe and tankard, when seated with his delighted auditory at the _black jack_ in clare market. modern research has been busy with honest joe's fame, decreeing the collection of his jests to captain motley, who wrote short-lived plays in the time of the first and second georges; but the same false medium has affected to discover that dick whittington did not come to london city at the tail of a road wagon, neither was he be-ladled by a cross cook, and driven forth to highgate, when bow bells invited him to return and make venture of his cat, marry fitzalwyn's daughter, and be thrice lord mayor of london, albeit it is written in city chronicles, that whittington's statue and the effigy of his gold-compelling grimalkin long stood over the door of new gate prison-house. we would not have destroyed the faith of the rising generation and those who are to succeed it in that golden legend, to have been thought as wise as the ptolemies, or to have been made president of all the dryasdusts in europe. no. let us not part with our old belief in honest joe miller, but trust rather to mr. morley, the historian of bartlemy fair, and visit the great theatrical booth over against the hospital gate of st. bartholomew, where joe, probably, is to dance "the english maggot dance," and after the appearance of "two harlequins, conclude with a grand dance and chorus, accompanied with kettledrums and trumpets." and when the fair is over, and we are no longer invited to "walk up," let us march in the train of the great mime, until he takes his ease in his inn,--the _black jack_ aforesaid,--and laugh at his jibes and flashes of merriment, before the mad wag shall be silenced by the great killjoy, death, and the jester's boon companions shall lay him in the graveyard in portugal fields, placing over him a friendly record of his social virtues. joe miller was a fact, and modern research shall not rob us of that conviction! the compiler of this volume has felt the importance of his task, and diligently sought how to distinguish true wit from false,--the pure gold from brummagem brass. he has carefully perused the eight learned chapters on "thoughts on jesting," by frederick meier, professor of philosophy at halle, and member of the royal academy of berlin, wherein it is declared that a jest "is an extreme fine thought, the result of a great wit and acumen, which are eminent perfections of the soul." ... "hypocrites, with the appearance but without the reality of virtue, condemn from the teeth outwardly the laughter and jesting which they sincerely approve in their hearts; and many sincere virtuous persons also account them criminal, either from temperament, melancholy, or erroneous principles of morality. as the censure of such persons gives me pain, so their approbation would give me great pleasure. but as long as they consider the suggestions of their temperament, deep melancholy, and erroneous principles as so many dictates of real virtue, so long they must not take it amiss if, while i revere their virtue, i despise their judgment." nor has he disregarded mr. locke, who asserts that "wit lies in an assemblage of ideas, and putting them together with quickness and vivacity, whenever can be found any resemblance and congruity whereby to make up pleasant pictures and agreeable visions of fancy." neither has mr. addison been overlooked, who limits his definition by observing that "an assemblage of ideas productive merely of pleasure does not constitute wit, but of those only which to delight add surprise." nor has he forgotten mr. pope, who declares wit "to consist in a quick conception of thought and an easy delivery"; nor the many other definitions by inferior hands, "too numerous to mention." the result of an anxious consideration of these various opinions, was a conviction that to define wit was like the attempt to define beauty, "which," said the philosopher, "was the question of a blind man"; and despairing, therefore, of finding a standard of value, the compiler of the following pages has gathered from every available source the odd sayings of all times, carefully eschewing, however, the coarse and the irreverent, so that of the seventeen hundred jests here collected, not one need be excluded from family utterance. of course, every one will miss some pet jest from this collection, and, as a consequence, declare it to be miserably incomplete. the compiler mentions this probability to show that he has not been among the critics for nothing. "_the gravest beast is an ass; the gravest bird is an owl; the gravest fish is an oyster; and the gravest man is a fool_!" says honest joe miller; and with that apophthegm the compiler doffs his cap and bells, and leaves you, gentle reader, in the merry company he has brought together. m.l. [illustration] [illustration] the jest book. i.--the rising son. pope dining once with frederic, prince of wales, paid the prince many compliments. "i wonder, pope," said the prince, "that you, who are so severe on kings, should be so complaisant to me."--"it is," said the wily bard, "because i like the lion before his claws are grown." ii.--something for dr. darwin. sir watkin williams wynne talking to a friend about the antiquity of his family, which he carried up to noah, was told that he was a mere mushroom of yesterday. "how so, pray?" said the baronet. "why," continued the other, "when i was in wales, a pedigree of a particular family was shown to me: it filled five large skins of parchment, and near the middle of it was a note in the margin: '_about this time the world was created_.'" iii.--a bad example. a certain noble lord being in his early years much addicted to dissipation, his mother advised him to take example by a gentleman, whose food was herbs and his drink water. "what! madam," said he, "would you have me to imitate a man who _eats like a beast, and drinks like a fish_?" iv.--a confirmed invalid. a poor woman, who had attended several confirmations, was at length recognized by the bishop. "pray, have i not seen you here before?" said his lordship. "yes," replied the woman, "i get me conform'd as often as i can; they tell me it is _good for the rheumatis_." v.--comparisons are odious. lord chancellor hardwick's bailiff, having been ordered by his lady to procure a sow of a particular description, came one day into the dining-room when full of company, proclaiming with a burst of joy he could not suppress, "i have been at royston fair, my lady, and i have got a sow exactly of _your ladyship's size_." vi.--an inscription on inscriptions. the following lines were written on seeing a farrago of rhymes that had been scribbled with a diamond on the window of an inn:-- "ye who on windows thus prolong your shames, and to such arrant nonsense sign your names, the diamond quit--with me the pencil take, so shall _your shame_ but short duration make; for lo, the housemaid comes, in dreadful pet, with red right hand, and with a dishclout wet, dashes out all, nor leaves a wreck to tell who 't was that _wrote so ill!--and loved so well_!" vii.--no harm done. a man of sagacity, being informed of a serious quarrel between two of his female relations, asked the persons if in their quarrels either had called the other ugly? on receiving an answer in the negative, "o, then, i shall soon make up the quarrel." viii.--bearding a barber. a highlander, who sold brooms, went into a barber's shop in glasgow to get shaved. the barber bought one of his brooms, and, after having shaved him, asked the price of it. "tippence," said the highlander. "no, no," says the shaver; "i'll give you a penny, and if that does not satisfy you, take your broom again." the highlander took it, and asked what he had to pay. "a penny," says strap. "i'll gie ye a baubee," says duncan, "and if that dinna satisfy ye, _pit on_ my beard again." ix.--changing his coat. a wealthy merchant of fenchurch street, lamenting to a confidential friend that his daughter had eloped with one of his footmen, concluded, by saying, "yet i wish to forgive the girl, and receive her husband, as it is now too late to part them. but then his condition; how can i introduce him?"--"nonsense," replied his companion; "introduce him as a _liveryman_ of the _city of london_. _what_ is more honorable?" x.--good advice. lady ---- spoke to the butler to be saving of an excellent cask of small beer, and asked him how it might be best preserved. "i know no method so effectual, my lady," replied the butler, "as placing a barrel of _good_ ale by it." xi.--new relationship. a stranger to law courts hearing a judge call a sergeant "brother," expressed his surprise. "oh," said one present, "they are brothers--_brothers-in-law_." xii.--a small inheritance. it was the habit of lord eldon, when attorney-general, to close his speeches with some remarks justifying his own character. at the trial of horne tooke, speaking of his own reputation, he said: "it is the little inheritance i have to leave my children, and, by god's help, i will leave it unimpaired." here he shed tears; and, to the astonishment of those present, mitford, the solicitor-general, began to weep. "just look at mitford," said a by-stander to horne tooke; "what on earth is he crying for?" tooke replied, "he is crying to think what a _small_ inheritance eldon's children are likely to get." xiii.--a difference. jerrold one day met a scotch gentleman, whose name was leitch, and who explained that he was not the popular caricaturist, john leech. "i'm aware of that; you're the scotchman with the _i-t-c-h_ in your name," said jerrold. xiv.--the light subject. the government, having threatened to proceed rigorously against those who refused to pay the assessed taxes, offered to them a remission of _one fourth_. "this at least," said a sufferer, "may be called, giving them some _quarter_." xv.--complimentary. lord north, who was very corpulent before a severe sickness, said to his physician after it, "sir, i am obliged to you for introducing me to some old acquaintances."--"who are they, my lord?"--"_my ribs_," replied his lordship, "which i have not felt for many years until now." xvi.--a fair substitute. when lord sandwich was to present admiral campbell, he told him, that probably the king would knight him. the admiral did not much relish the honor. "well, but," said lord s., "perhaps mrs. campbell will like it."--"then let the king _knight her_," answered the rough seaman. xvii.--a constitutional pun. daniel purcell, the famous punster, was desired to make a pun extempore. "upon what subject?" said daniel. "the king," answered the other. "o, sir," said he, "the _king_ is no _subject_." xviii.--a convert. a notorious miser having heard a very eloquent charity sermon, exclaimed, "this sermon strongly proves the necessity of alms. i have almost a mind to turn _beggar_." xix.--incredible. sheridan made his appearance one day in a pair of new boots; these attracting the notice of some of his friends, "now guess," said he, "how i came by these boots?" many _probable_ guesses then took place. "no!" said sheridan, "no, you've not hit it, nor ever will,--i bought them, and paid for them!" xx.--all the difference. in a large party, one evening, the conversation turned upon young men's allowance at college. tom sheridan lamented the ill-judging parsimony of many parents in that respect. "i am sure, tom," said his father, "you need not complain; i always allowed you eight hundred a year."--"yes, father, i must confess you _allowed_ it; but then it was never paid." xxi.--spiritual and spirituous. dr. pitcairn had one sunday stumbled into a presbyterian church, probably to beguile a few idle moments (for few will accuse that gentleman of having been a warm admirer of _calvinism_), and seeing the parson apparently overwhelmed by the importance of his subject: "what makes the man _greet_?" said pitcairn to a fellow that stood near him. "by my faith, sir," answered the other, "you would perhaps greet, too, if you were in his place, _and had as little to say_."--"come along with me, friend, and let's have a glass together; you are too good a fellow to be here," said pitcairn, delighted with the man's repartee. xxii.--a wonderful woman. when a late duchess of bedford was last at buxton, and then in her eighty-fifth year, it was the medical farce of the day for the faculty to resolve every complaint of whim and caprice into "a shock of the nervous system." her grace, after inquiring of many of her friends in the rooms what brought them there, and being generally answered for a nervous complaint, was asked in her turn, "what brought her to buxton?"--"i came only for pleasure," answered the healthy duchess; "for, thank god, i was born before _nerves came into fashion_." xxiii.--a wise son who knew his own father. sheridan was very desirous that his son tom should marry a young woman of large fortune, but knew that miss callander had won his son's heart. sheridan, expatiating on the folly of his son, at length exclaimed, "tom, if you marry caroline callander, i'll cut you off with a shilling!" tom could not resist the opportunity of replying, and looking archly at his father said, "then, sir, you must _borrow_ it." sheridan was tickled at the wit, and dropped the subject. xxiv.--a written character. george iii. having purchased a horse, the dealer put into his hands a large sheet of paper, completely written over. "what's this?" said his majesty. "the pedigree of the horse, sire, which you have just bought," was the answer. "take it back, take it back," said the king, laughing; "it will do very well for the _next horse you sell_." xxv.--well matched. dr. busby, whose figure was beneath the common size, was one day accosted in a public coffee-room by an irish baronet of colossal stature, with, "may i pass to my seat, o giant?" when the doctor, politely making way, replied, "pass, o pigmy!"--"o, sir," said the baronet, "my expression alluded to the _size of your intellect_."--"and my expression, sir," said the doctor, "to the _size of yours_." xxvi.--a pardonable mistake. a butcher of some eminence was lately in company with several ladies at a game of whist, where, having lost two or three rubbers, one of the ladies addressing him, asked, "pray, sir, what are the stakes now?" to which, ever mindful of his occupation, he immediately replied, "madam, the best rump i cannot _sell_ lower than tenpence halfpenny _a pound_." xxvii.--three causes. three gentlemen being in a coffee-house, one called for a dram, _because he was hot_. "bring me another," says his companion, "_because i am cold_." the third, who sat by and heard them, very quietly called out, "here, boy, bring me a glass, _because i like it_." xxviii.--the connoisseur. a person to whom the curiosities, buildings, &c., in oxford were shown one very hot day, was asked by his companion if he would see the remainder of the university. "my dear sir," replied the connoisseur, "i am _stone blind_ already." xxix.--a symbol. a satiric poet underwent a severe drubbing, and was observed to walk ever afterwards with a stick. "mr. p. reminds me," says a wag, "of some of the saints, who are always painted with _the symbols_ of their martyrdom." xxx.--the one thing wanting. in a small party, the subject turning on matrimony, a lady said to her sister, "i wonder, my dear, you have never made a _match_; i think you want the _brimstone_";--she replied, "no, not the _brimstone_, only the _spark_." xxxi.--a horse laugh. a coachman, extolling the sagacity of one of his horses, observed, that "if anybody was to go for to use him ill, he would _bear malice_ like a _christian_." xxxii.--one good turn deserves another. dr. a., physician at newcastle, being summoned to a vestry, in order to reprimand the sexton for drunkenness, he dwelt so long on the sexton's misconduct, as to draw from him this expression: "sir, i thought you would have been the last man alive to appear against me, as _i have covered so many blunders of yours_!" xxxiii.--a novel complaint. a rich man sent to call a physician for a slight disorder. the physician felt his pulse, and said, "do you eat well?"--"yes," said the patient. "do you sleep well?"--"i do."--"then," said the physician, "i shall give you something to take away _all that_!" xxxiv.--a conjugal caution. sir george etherege, having run up a score at lockit's, absented himself from the ordinary. in consequence of this, mrs. lockit was sent to dun him and threaten him with an action. he told the messenger that he would certainly kiss her if she stirred a step in it! on this, the message being brought, she called for her hood and scarf, and told her husband, who interposed, "that she should see if there was any fellow alive that had the impudence!"--"pr'ythee, my dear, don't be so rash," replied the good man; "you don't know what a man may do _in a passion_." xxxv.--a portrait capitally executed. in a bookseller's catalogue lately appeared the following article: "memoirs of charles the first,--with, a _head capitally executed_." xxxvi.--matter in his madness. a lunatic in bedlam was asked how he came there? he answered, "by a dispute."--"what dispute?" the bedlamite replied, "the world said i was _mad_; i said the world was _mad_, and they _outwitted me_." xxxvii.--pleasant invitation. some years ago, says richardson, in his anecdotes of painting, a gentleman came to me to invite me to his house. "i have," says he, "a picture of rubens, and it is a rare good one. little h. the other day came to see it, and says it is _a copy_. if any one says so again, i'll _break his head_. pray, mr. richardson, will you do me the favor to come, and give me _your real opinion of it_?" xxxviii.--well-bred horse. "how does your new-purchased horse _answer_?" said the late duke of cumberland to george selwyn. "i _really_ don't know," replied george, "for i never _asked him a question_." xxxix.--"one for his nob." a barrister entered the hall with his wig very much awry, of which he was not at all apprised, but was obliged to endure from almost every observer some remark on its appearance, till at last, addressing himself to mr. curran, he asked him, "do you see anything ridiculous in this wig."--"nothing but _the head_," was the answer. xl.--sound and fury. a lady, after performing, with the most brilliant execution, a sonato on the pianoforte, in the presence of dr. johnson, turning to the philosopher, took the liberty of asking him if he was fond of music? "no, madam," replied the doctor; "but of all _noises_, i think music is the least disagreeable." xli.--come of age. a young man met a rival who was somewhat advanced in years, and, wishing to annoy him, inquired how old he was? "i can't exactly tell," replied the other; "but i can inform you that _an ass_ is older at twenty than a man at sixty!" xlii.--a striking notice. the following admonition was addressed by a quaker to a man who was pouring forth a volley of ill language against him: "have a care, friend, thou mayest run _thy face_ against _my fist_." xliii.--up in the world. a fellow boasting in company of his family, declared even his own father died in an exalted situation. some of the company looking incredulous, another observed, "i can bear testimony to the gentleman's veracity, as my father was sheriff for the county when his was _hanged_ for horse-stealing." xliv.--reverse of circumstances. when general v---- was quartered in a small town in ireland, he and his lady were regularly besieged as they got into their carriage by an old beggar-woman, who kept her post at the door, assailing them daily with fresh importunities. one morning, as mrs. v. stepped into the carriage, the woman began: "oh, my lady! success to your ladyship, and success to your honor's honor: for sure i did not _dream_ last night that her ladyship gave me a pound of tea, and your honor gave me a pound of tobacco."--"my good woman," said the general, "dreams go by the rule of contrary."--"do they so?" rejoined the old woman; "then it must mean, that your honor will give me _the tea_, and her ladyship _the tobacco_." xlv.--a dogged answer. boswell, dining one day with dr. johnson, asked him if he did not think that a good cook was more essential to the community than a good poet. "i don't suppose," said the doctor, "that there's a _dog_ in the town but what thinks so." xlvi.--visible darkness. a gentleman at an inn, seeing that the lights were so dim as only to render the darkness visible, called out, "here, waiter, let me have a couple of _decent_ candles to _see_ how these others _burn_." xlvii.--hic-cupping. a gentleman, at whose house swift was dining in ireland, after dinner introduced remarkably small hock-glasses, and at length turning to swift addressed him: "mr. dean, i shall be happy to take a glass of hic, hæc, hoc, with you."--"sir," rejoined the doctor, "i shall be happy to comply, but it must be out of a _hujus_ glass." xlviii.--words that burn. dr. robertson observed, that johnson's jokes were the rebukes of the righteous, described in scripture as being like excellent oil. "yes," exclaimed burke, "_oil of vitriol_!" xlix.--passing the bottle. foote being in company, and the wine producing more riot than concord, he observed one gentleman so far gone in debate as to throw the bottle at his antagonist's head; upon which, catching the missile in his hand, he restored the harmony of the company by observing, that "if _the bottle was passed so quickly_, not one of them would be able to stand out the evening." l.--"junius" discovered. mr. rogers was requested by lady holland to ask sir philip francis whether he was the author of junius. the poet approached the knight, "will you, sir philip,--will your kindness excuse my addressing to you a single question?"--"at your peril, sir!" was the harsh and the laconic answer. the intimidated bard retreated to his friends, who eagerly asked him the result of his application. "i don't know," he answered, "whether he is _junius_; but, if he be, he is certainly _junius brutus_." li.--a weak woman. a loving husband once waited on a physician to request him to prescribe for his wife's eyes, which were very sore. "let her wash them," said the doctor, "every morning with a small glass of brandy." a few weeks after, the doctor chanced to meet the husband. "well, my friend, has your wife followed my advice?"--"she has done everything in her power to do it, doctor"; said the spouse, "but she never could get the glass _higher than her mouth_." lii.--too many cooks. elwes, the noted miser, used to say, "if you keep one servant, your work is done; if you keep two, it is half done; and if you keep three, you may _do it yourself_." liii.--look in his face. admiral lord howe, when a captain, was once hastily awakened in the middle of the night by the lieutenant of the watch, who informed him with great agitation that the ship was on fire near the magazine. "if that be the case," said he, rising leisurely to put on his clothes, "we shall soon know it." the lieutenant flew back to the scene of danger, and almost instantly returning, exclaimed, "you need not, sir, be afraid, the fire is extinguished."--"afraid!" exclaimed howe, "what do you mean by that, sir? i never was afraid in my life"; and looking the lieutenant full in the face, he added, "pray, how does a man feel, sir, when he is afraid? _i need not ask how he looks_." liv.--nothing but the "bill." john horne tooke's opinion upon the subject of law was admirable. "law," he said, "ought to be, not a luxury for the rich, but a remedy, to be easily, cheaply, and speedily obtained by the poor." a person observed to him, how excellent are the english laws, because they are impartial, and our courts of justice are open to all persons without distinction. "and so," said tooke, "is the _london tavern_, to such as can afford to _pay for their entertainment_." lv.--an extinguisher. while commodore anson's ship, the centurion, was engaged in close fight, with the rich spanish galleon, which he afterwards took, a sailor came running to him, and cried out, "sir, our ship is on fire very near the powder magazine."--"then pray, friend," said the commodore, not in the least degree discomposed, "_run back and assist in putting it out_." lvi.--a bad shot. a cockney being out one day amusing himself with shooting, happened to fire through a hedge, on the other side of which was a man standing. the shot passed through the man's hat, but missed the bird. "did you fire at me, sir?" he hastily asked. "o! no, sir," said the shrewd sportsman, "i _never hit_ what i fire at." lvii.--wise precaution. it is related of the great dr. clarke, that when in one of his leisure hours he was unbending himself with a few friends in the most playful and frolicsome manner, he observed beau nash approaching; upon which he suddenly stopped: "my boys," said he, "let us be _grave_: here comes a _fool_." lviii.--a trump card. at one of the holland-house sunday dinner-parties, a year or two ago, crockford's club, then forming, was talked of; and the noble hostess observed, that the female passion for diamonds was surely less ruinous than the rage for play among men. "in short, you think," said mr. rogers, "that _clubs_ are worse than _diamonds_." this joke excited a laugh; and when it had subsided, sydney smith wrote the following _impromptu_ sermonet--most appropriately _on a card_:-- thoughtless that "all that's brightest fades," unmindful of that _knave of spades_, the sexton and his subs: how foolishly we play our parts! our _wives_ on _diamonds_ set their _hearts_, _we_ set our _hearts_ on _clubs_! lix.--mistaken identity. a physician attending a lady several times, had received a couple of guineas each visit; at last, when he was going away, she gave him but one; at which he was surprised, and looking on the floor, "i believe, madam," said he, "i have _dropt a guinea_."--"no, sir," replied the lady, "it is i that have _dropt it_." lx.--alone in his glory. a facetious fellow having unwittingly offended a conceited puppy, the latter told him he was no "gentleman."--"are _you_ a gentleman?" asked the droll one. "yes, sir," bounced the fop. "then, i am very glad _i am not_," replied the other. lxi.--a capital letter. dr. lloyd, bishop of worcester, so eminent for his prophecies, when by his solicitations and compliance at court he got removed from a poor welsh bishopric to a rich english one, a reverend dean of the church said, that he found his brother lloyd spelt _prophet_ with an f. lxii.--a good parson. dr. hickringal, who was one of king charles the second's chaplains, whenever he preached before his majesty, was sure to tell him of his faults from the pulpit. one day his majesty met the doctor in the mall, and said to him, "doctor, what have i done to you that you are always quarrelling with me?"--"i hope your majesty is not angry with me," quoth the doctor, "for telling the truth."--"no, no," says the king, "but i would have us for the future be friends."--"well, well," quoth the doctor, "i will make it up with your majesty on these terms,--as _you mend i'll mend_." lxiii.--subtraction and addition. a chimney-sweeper's boy went into a baker's shop for a twopenny loaf, and conceiving it to be diminutive in size, remarked to the baker that he did not believe it was weight. "never mind that," said the man of dough, "you will have _the less to carry_."--"true," replied the lad, and throwing three half-pence on the counter left the shop. the baker called after him that he had not left money enough. "never mind that," said young sooty, "you will have _the less to count_." lxiv.--the doctrine of chances. lord kames used to relate a story of a man who claimed the honor of his acquaintance on rather singular grounds. his lordship, when one of the justiciary judges, returning from the north circuit to perth, happened one night to sleep at dunkeld. the next morning, walking towards the ferry, but apprehending he had missed his way, he asked a man whom he met to conduct him. the other answered with much cordiality: "that i will do, with all my heart, my lord; does not your lordship remember me? my name's john ----; i have had the honor to be before your lordship for stealing sheep?"--"oh, john, i remember you well; and how is your wife? she had the honor to be before me, too, for receiving them, knowing them to be stolen."--"at your lordship's service. we were very lucky, we got off for want of evidence; and i am still going on in the butcher trade."--"then," replied his lordship, "we may have the honor of _meeting again_." lxv.--a late edition. it was with as much delicacy as satire that porson returned, with the manuscript of a friend, the answer, "that it would be read when homer and virgil were forgotten, _but not till then_." lxvi.--verses written on a window in the highlands of scotland. scotland! thy weather's like a modish wife, thy winds and rains for ever are at strife; so termagant awhile her thunder tries, and when she can no longer scold, she cries. lxvii.--three touchstones. an ancient sage uttered the following apothegm:--"the goodness of gold is tried by fire, the goodness of women by gold, and the goodness of men by the ordeal of women." lxviii.--a dialogue. _pope._ since my old friend is grown so great, as to be minister of state, i'm told (but 'tis not true i hope) that craggs will be ashamed of pope. _craggs._ alas! if i am such a creature, to grow the worse for growing greater, why, faith, in spite of all my brags, 'tis pope must be ashamed of craggs. lxix.--bear and van. the facetious mr. bearcroft told his friend mr. vansittart, "your name is such a long one, i shall drop the _sittart_, and call you _van_ for the future."--"with all my heart," said he: "by the same rule, i shall drop _croft_, and call you _bear_!" lxx.--epitaph for sir john vanbrugh. lie heavy on him, earth! for he laid many heavy loads on thee! lxxi.--proving their metal. when the prince of orange, afterwards william the third, came over to this country, five of the seven bishops who were sent to the tower declared for his highness; but the other two would not come into the measures. upon which dryden said, that "the seven golden candlesticks them proved _prince's metal_." lxxii.--a distant prospect. through an avenue of trees, at the back of trinity college, a church may be seen at a considerable distance, the approach to which affords no very pleasing scenery. porson, walking that way with a friend, and observing the church, remarked, "that it put him in mind of a _fellowship_, which was a long dreary walk, with a church _at the end of it_." lxxiii.--sound sleeper. a man meeting his friend, said, "i spoke to you last night in a dream."--"pardon me," replied the other, "i did not _hear you_." lxxiv.--a cheap cure. "pray, mr. abernethy, what is the cure for gout?" asked an indolent and luxurious citizen. "live upon sixpence a day, and _earn it_!" was the pithy answer. lxxv.--epigram. you say, without reward or fee, your uncle cur'd me of a dang'rous ill; i say he never did prescribe for me, the proof is plain,--_i'm living still_. lxxvi.--a grammatical distinction. several young gentlemen once got up a play at cambridge. on the day of representation one of the performers took it into his head to make an excuse, and his part was obliged to be read. hobhouse came forward to apologize to the audience, and told them that _a_ mr. ---- had declined to perform his part. the gentleman was highly indignant at the "_a_," and had a great inclination to pick a quarrel with scrope davies, who replied that he supposed mr. ---- wanted to be called _the_ mr. so-and-so. he ever afterwards went by the name of the "_definite article_." lxxvii.--a banker's check. rogers, when a certain m.p., in a review of his poems, said "he wrote very well for a banker," wrote, in return, the following:-- "they say he has no heart, and i deny it: he has a heart, and--_gets his speeches by it_." lxxviii.--a fillip for him. the present lord chancellor remarked of a young barrister who had just made a speech of more poetry than law, "poor young man, he has studied the _wrong phillips_." lxxix.--black oils. "what's the matter?" inquired a passer-by, observing a crowd collected around a black fellow, whom an officer was attempting to secure, to put on board an outward-bound whale ship, from which he had deserted. "matter! matter enough," exclaimed the delinquent, "pressing a poor negro _to get oil_." lxxx.--a bad crop. a seedsman being lately held to bail for using inflammatory language respecting the reform bill, a wag observed, it was probably in the line of his profession--to promote business, he wished to _sow sedition_. lxxxi.--a grave doctor. counsellor crips being on a party at castle-martyr, one of the company, a physician, strolled out before dinner into the churchyard. dinner being served, and the doctor not returned, some one expressed his surprise where he could be gone to. "oh," says the counsellor, "he is but just stept out to pay a visit to some of his _old patients_." lxxxii.--waste powder. dr. johnson being asked his opinion of the title of a very small volume remarkable for its pomposity, replied, "that it was similar to placing an eight-and-forty pounder at the _door of a pigsty_." lxxxiii.--the saddle on the right horse. as a man who, deeply involved in debt, was walking in the street with a very melancholy air, one of his acquaintance asked him why he was so sorrowful. "alas!" said he, "i am in a state of insolvency."--"well," said his friend, "if that is the case, it is not you, but your _creditors_, who ought to wear a woful countenance." lxxxiv.--black and white. during the short time that lord byron was in parliament, a petition, setting forth the wretched condition of the irish peasantry, was one evening presented, and very coldly received by the "hereditary legislative wisdom."--"ah," said lord byron, "what a misfortune it was for the irish that they were not _born black_! they would then have had plenty of friends in both houses." lxxxv.--home is home. "i live in julia's eyes," said an affected dandy in colman's hearing. "i don't wonder at it," replied george; "since i observed she had a _sty_ in them when i saw her last." lxxxvi.--a light study. as a worthy city baronet was gazing one evening at the gas lights in front of the mansion-house, an old acquaintance came up to him and said, "well, sir william, are you studying astronomy?"--"no, sir," replied the alderman, "i am studying _gas-tronomy_." lxxxvii.--a climax. a very volatile young lord, whose conquests in the female world were numberless, at last married. "now, my lord," said the countess, "i hope you'll mend."--"madam," says he, "you may depend on it this is _my last folly_." lxxxviii.--simple division. when the earl of bradford was brought before the lord chancellor, to be examined upon application for a statute of lunacy against him, the chancellor asked him, "how many legs has a sheep?"--"does your lordship mean," answered lord bradford, "a live sheep or a dead sheep?"--"is it not the same thing?" said the chancellor. "no, my lord," said lord bradford, "there is much difference; a live sheep may have four legs; a dead sheep has only two: the two fore legs are shoulders; but there are but _two legs of mutton_." lxxxix.--hero-phobia. when george ii. was once expressing his admiration of general wolfe, some one observed that the general was mad. "oh! he is mad, is he!" said the king, with great quickness, "then i wish he would _bite_ some other of my generals." xc.--lying consistently. two old ladies, who were known to be of the same age, had the same desire to keep the real number concealed; one therefore used upon a new-year's-day to go to the other, and say, "madam, i am come to know how _old_ we are to be this year." xci.--not right. a prisoner being called on to plead to an indictment for larceny, was told by the clerk to hold up his right hand. the man immediately held up his left hand. "hold up your _right_ hand," said the clerk. "please your honor," said the culprit, still keeping up his left hand, "i am _left-handed_." xcii.--light-headed. dr. burney, who wrote the celebrated anagram on lord nelson, after his victory of the nile, "honor est a nilo" (horatio nelson), was shortly after on a visit to his lordship, at his beautiful villa at merton. from his usual absence of mind, he neglected to put a nightcap into his portmanteau, and consequently borrowed one from his lordship. before retiring to rest, he sat down to study, as was his common practice, having first put on the cap, and was shortly after alarmed by finding it in flames; he immediately collected the burnt remains, and returned them with the following lines:-- "take your nightcap again, my good lord, i desire, i would not retain it a minute; what belongs to a nelson, wherever there's _fire_, is sure to be instantly _in it_." xciii.--"he lies like truth." a person who had resided for some time on the coast of africa was asked if he thought it possible to civilize the natives. "as a proof of the possibility of it," said he, "i have known some negroes that thought as little of a _lie_ or an _oath_ as any european." xciv.--hand and glove. a dyer, in a court of justice, being ordered to hold up his hand, that was all black; "take off your _glove_, friend," said the judge to him. "put on your _spectacles_, my lord," answered the dyer. xcv.--vast domain. a gentleman having a servant with a very thick skull, used often to call him the king of fools. "i wish," said the fellow one day, "you could make your words good, i should then be the _greatest_ monarch in the world." xcvi.--money returned. a lawyer being sick, made his last will, and gave all his estate to fools and madmen: being asked the reason for so doing; "from such," said he, "i _had_ it, and to such i _give_ it again." xcvii.--cheese and dessert. two city ladies meeting at a visit, one a grocer's wife, and the other a cheesemonger's, when they had risen up and took their departure, the cheesemonger's wife was going out of the room first, upon which the grocer's lady, pulling her back by the tail of her gown, and stepping before her, said, "no, madam, nothing comes after _cheese_." xcviii.--very pointed. sir john hamilton, who had severely suffered from the persecutions of the law, used to say, that an attorney was like a hedgehog, it was impossible to touch him anywhere without _pricking_ one's fingers. xcix.--"the mixture as before." a gentleman who had an irish servant, having stopped at an inn for several days, desired to have a bill, and found a large quantity of port placed to his servant's account, and questioned him about it. "please your honor," cried pat, "do read how many they charge me." the gentleman began, "one bottle _port_, one _ditto_, one _ditto_, one _ditto_,"--"stop, stop, stop, master," exclaimed paddy, "they are cheating you. i know i had some bottles of their _port_, but i did not taste a drop of their _ditto_." c.--computation. an irish counsellor having lost his cause, which had been tried before three judges, one of whom was esteemed a very able lawyer, and the other two but indifferent, some of the other barristers were very merry on the occasion. "well, now," says he, "i have lost. but who could help it, when there were an hundred judges on the bench?--_one_ and _two ciphers_." ci.--primogeniture. an irish clergyman having gone to visit the portraits of the scottish kings in holyrood house, observed one of the monarchs of a very youthful appearance, while _his son_ was depicted with a long beard, and wore the traits of extreme old age. "sancta maria," exclaimed the good hibernian, "is it possible that this gentleman was an _old man_ when his father _was born_!!" cii.--check to the king. one day james the second, in the middle of his courtiers, made use of this assertion: "i never knew a modest man make his way at court." to this observation one of the gentlemen present boldly replied: "and, please your majesty, _whose fault is that_?" the king was struck, and remained silent. ciii.--a fall in mitres. one of the wooden _mitres_, carved by grinly gibbons over a prebend's stall in the cathedral church of canterbury, happening to become loose, jessy white, the surveyor of that edifice, inquired of the dean whether he should make it fast: "for, perhaps," said jessy, "it may fall on your reverence's head."--"well! jessy," answered the humorous cantab, "suppose it does fall on my head, i don't know that _a mitre falling on my head_ would hurt it." civ.--false delicacy. a person, disputing with peter pindar, said, in great heat, that he did not like to be thought a scoundrel. "i wish," replied peter, "that you had as great a dislike _to being a scoundrel_." cv.--a bad harvest. there was much sound palpable argument in the speech of a country lad to an idler, who boasted his ancient family: "so much the worse for you," said the peasant; "as we ploughmen say, '_the older the seed the worse the crop_.'" cvi.--proof impression. mr. bethel, an irish barrister, when the question of the union was in debate, like all the junior barristers published pamphlets upon the subject. mr. lysaght met this pamphleteer in the hall of the four courts, and in a friendly way, said, "zounds! bethel, i wonder you never told me you had published a pamphlet on the union. the one i saw contained some of the best things i have yet seen in any pamphlet upon the subject."--"i'm very proud you think so," said the other, rubbing his hands with satisfaction; "and pray, what are the things that pleased you so much?"--"why," replied lysaght, "as i passed by a pastry-cook's shop this morning, i saw a girl come out with three _hot mince-pies_ wrapped up in one of your works." cvii.--neck or nothing. a right reverend prelate, himself a man of extreme good-nature, was frequently much vexed in the spirit by the proud, froward, perverse, and untractable temper of his next vicar. the latter, after an absence much longer than usual, one day paid a visit to the bishop, who kindly inquired the cause of his absence, and was answered by the vicar, that he had been confined to his house for some time past by an obstinate _stiffness_ in his _knee_. "i am glad of that," replied the prelate; "'tis a good symptom that the disorder has changed place, for i had a long time thought it _immovably settled_ in your neck." cviii.--arcadia. a farm was lately advertised in a newspaper, in which all the beauty of the situation, fertility of the soil, and salubrity of the air were detailed in the richest flow of rural description, which was further enhanced with this,--n.b. there is not _an attorney_ within fifteen miles of the neighborhood. cix.--quite perfection. a painter in the waterloo road had the following announcement displayed on the front of his house: "the acme of stencil!" a "learned theban" in the same line in an adjoining street, in order to outdo the "old original" stenciller, thus set forth his pretensions: "stencilling in all its branches performed in the very height _of acme_!" cx.--the late mr. collins. collins the poet, coming into a town the day after a young lady, of whom he was fond, had left it, said, how unlucky he was that he had come _a day after the fair_. cxi.--a family party. a certain lodging-house was very much infested by vermin. a gentleman who slept there one night, told the landlady so in the morning, when she said, "la, sir, we haven't a _single_ bug in the house."--"no ma'am," said he, "they're all _married_, and have large families too." cxii.--calf's head surprised. a stupid person one day seeing a man of learning enjoying the pleasures of the table, said, "so, sir, philosophers, i see, can indulge in the greatest delicacies."--"why not," replied the other, "do you think providence intended all the _good things_ for fools?" cxiii.--popping the question. a girl forced by her parents into a disagreeable match with an old man, whom she detested, when the clergyman came to that part of the service where the bride is asked if she consents to take the bridegroom for her husband, said, with great simplicity, "oh dear, no, sir; but you are the first person who has asked _my opinion_ about the matter." cxiv.--scandalous. it was said of a great calumniator, and a frequenter of other person's tables, that he never _opened his mouth_ but at another man's expense. cxv.--the prince of orange and judge jefferies. when jefferies was told that the prince of orange would very soon land, and that a manifesto, stating his inducements, objects, &c., was already written, "pray, my lord chief justice," said a gentleman present, "what do you think will be the heads of this manifesto?"--"_mine_ will be one," replied he. cxvi.--modest request. a gentleman travelling, was accosted by a man walking along the road, who begged the favor of him to put his great coat, which he found very heavy, into his carriage. "with all my heart," said the gentleman; "but if we should not be travelling to the same place, how will you get your coat?"--"monsieur," answered the man with great _naïveté_, "_i shall be in it_." cxvii.--cap this. sir thomas more, the famous chancellor, who preserved his humor and wit to the last moment, when he came to be executed on tower-hill, the headsman demanded his upper garment as his fee; "ah! friend," said he, taking off his cap, "that, i think, is my _upper_ garment." cxviii.--a pretty metaphor. a young lady marrying a man she loved, and leaving many friends in town, to retire with him into the country, mrs. d. said prettily, "she has turned one-and-twenty shillings into a guinea." cxix.--on a stone thrown at a very great man, but which missed him. talk no more of the lucky escape of the _head_ from a flint so unluckily thrown; i think very diff'rent, with thousands indeed, 'twas a lucky escape for the _stone_. cxx.--a man of letters. when mr. wilkes was in the meridian of his popularity, a man in a porter-house, classing himself as an eminent literary character, was asked by one of his companions what right he had to assume such a title. "sir," says he, "i'd have you know, i had the honor of _chalking_ number upon every door between temple bar and hyde park-corner." cxxi.--welsh wig-ging. an englishman and a welshman, disputing in whose country was the best living, said the welshman, "there is such noble housekeeping in wales, that i have known above a dozen cooks employed at one wedding dinner."--"ay," answered the englishman, "that was because every man _toasted_ his own cheese." cxxii.--a sprig of shillalah. a fellow on the quay, thinking to _quiz_ a poor irishman, asked him, "how do the potatoes eat now, pat?" the irish lad, who happened to have a _shillalah_ in his hand, answered, "o! they eat very well, my jewel, would you like to taste the _stalk_?" and knocking the inquirer down, coolly walked off. cxxiii.--dog-matic. in the great dispute between south and sherlock, the latter, who was a great courtier, said, "his adversary reasoned well, but he barked like a cur." to which the other replied, "that _fawning_ was the property of a cur as well as barking." cxxiv.--false quantity. a learned counsel in the exchequer spoke of a _nolle prosequi_. "consider, sir," said baron alderson, "that this is the last day of term, and don't make things _unnecessarily long_." cxxv.--in suspense. the sloth, in its wild state, spends its life in trees, and never leaves them but from force or accident. the eagle to the sky, the mole to the ground, the sloth to the tree; but what is most extraordinary, he lives not _upon_ the branches, but _under_ them. he moves suspended, rests suspended, sleeps suspended, and passes his life in suspense,--like a young clergyman _distantly related_ to a bishop. cxxvi.--porson's visit to the continent. soon after professor porson returned from a visit to the continent, at a party where he happened to be present, a gentleman solicited a sketch of his journey. porson immediately gave the following extemporaneous one: "i went to frankfort and got drunk with that most learned professor, brunck; i went to worts and got more drunken with that more learned professor, ruhnken." cxxvii.--artificial heat. the late lord kelly had a very red face. "pray, my lord," said foote to him, "come and _look over_ my garden-wall,--my cucumbers are very backward." cxxviii.--outward appearance. man is a sort of tree which we are too apt to judge of by the bark. cxxix.--the two smiths. a gentleman, with the same christian and surname, took lodgings in the same house with james smith. the consequence was, eternal confusion of calls and letters. indeed, the postman had no alternative but to share the letters equally between the two. "this is intolerable, sir," said our friend, "and you must quit."--"why am i to quit more than you?"--"because you are james the second--and must _abdicate_." cxxx.--sage advice. the advice given by an irishman to his english friend, on introducing him to a regular tipperary row, was, "wherever you see a head, _hit it_." cxxxi.--the purser. lady hardwicke, the lady of the chancellor, loved money as well as he did, and what _he_ got _she_ saved. the purse in which the great seal is carried is of very expensive embroidery, and was provided, during his time, every year. lady hardwicke took care that it should not be provided for the seal-bearer's profit, for she annually retained them herself, having previously ordered that the velvet should be of the length of one of the state rooms at wimpole. so many of them were saved, that at length she had enough to hang the state-room, and make curtains for the bed. lord hardwicke used to say, "there was not such a _purser_ in the navy." cxxxii.--a foreign accent. when maurice margarot was tried at edinburgh for sedition, the lord justice asked him, "hae you ony counsel, mon?"--"no."--"do you want to hae ony appointed?"--"i only want an interpreter to make me _understand_ what your lordships say." cxxxiii--easy as lying. erskine, examining a bumptious fellow, asked him, if he were not a rider? "i'm a traveller, sir," replied the witness, with an air of offended importance. "indeed, sir. and, pray, are you addicted to the _failing_ usually attributed to travellers?" cxxxiv.--new way to pay old debts. a prisoner in the fleet sent to his creditor to let him know that he had a proposal to make, which he believed would be for their mutual benefit. accordingly, the creditor calling on him to hear it: "i have been thinking," said he, "that it is a very idle thing for me to lie here, and put you to the expense of seven groats a week. my being so chargeable to you has given me great uneasiness, and who knows what it may cost you in the end! therefore, what i propose is this: you shall let me out of prison, and, instead of _seven_ groats, you shall allow me only _eighteenpence_ a week, and the other _tenpence_ shall go towards the discharging of the debt." cxxxv.--epigram. (on the column to the duke of york's memory.) in former times the illustrious dead were burned, their hearts preserved in sepulchre inurned; this column, then, commemorates the part which custom makes us single out--the heart; you ask, "how by a column this is done?" i answer, "_'tis a hollow thing of stone_." cxxxvi.--flattery turned to advantage. a dependant was praising his patron for many virtues which he did not possess. "i will do all in my power to prevent you _lying_," answered he. cxxxvii.--the intruder rebuked. jerrold and some friends were dining in a private room at a tavern. after dinner the landlord informed the company that the house was partly under repair, and requested that a stranger might be allowed to take a chop at a separate table in the apartment. the company assented, and the stranger, a person of commonplace appearance, was introduced, ate his chop in silence, and then fell asleep, snoring so loudly and inharmoniously that conversation was disturbed. some gentlemen of the party made a noise, and the stranger, starting from his sleep, shouted to jerrold, "i know you, mr. jerrold; but you shall not make a butt of me!"--"then don't bring your _hog's head_ in here," was the prompt reply. cxxxviii.--critical politeness. a young author reading a tragedy, perceived his auditor very often pull off his hat at the end of a line, and asked him the reason. "i cannot pass a very _old_ acquaintance," replied the critic, "without that civility." cxxxix.--a good place. a nobleman taking leave when going as ambassador, the king said to him, "the principal instruction you require is, to observe a line of conduct exactly the reverse to that of your predecessor."--"sire," replied he, "i will endeavor so to act that you shall not have occasion to give _my_ successor the like advice." cxl.--a cabal. the attempt to run over the king of the french with a cab, looked like a conspiracy to overturn _monarchy_ by a _common-wheel_. cxli.--the fire of london. one speaking of the fire of london, said, "cannon street roared, bread street was burnt to a crust, crooked lane was burnt straight, addle hill staggered, creed lane would not believe it till it came, distaff lane had sprung a fine thread, ironmonger lane was redhot, seacoal lane was burnt to a cinder, soper lane was in the suds, the poultry was too much singed, thames street was dried up, wood street was burnt to ashes, shoe lane was burnt to boot, snow hill was melted down, pudding lane and pye corner were over baked." cxlii.--a doubtful compliment. the speeches made by p---- are _sound_, it cannot be denied; granted; and then it will be found, they're _little else_ beside. cxliii.--an honest horse. a dealer once, selling a nag to a gentleman, frequently observed, with emphatic earnestness, that "he was an _honest_ horse." after the purchase the gentleman asked him what he meant by an honest horse. "why, sir," replied the seller, "whenever i rode him he always threatened to _throw_ me, and he certainly never _deceived_ me." cxliv.--the retort cutting. bishops sherlock and hoadly were both freshmen of the same year, at catherine hall, cambridge. the classical subject in which they were first lectured was tully's offices, and one morning hoadly received a compliment from the tutor for the excellence of his construing. sherlock, a little vexed at the preference shown to his rival, said, when they left the lecture-room, "ben, you made good use of l'estrange's _translation_ to-day."--"why, no, tom," retorted hoadly, "i did not, for i had not got one; and i forgot to borrow yours, which, i am told, is the only one in the college." cxlv.--elegant compliment. mr. henry erskine, being one day in london, in company with the duchess of gordon, said to her, "are we never again to enjoy the honor and pleasure of your grace's society at edinburgh?"--"o!" answered her grace, "edinburgh is a vile dull place--i hate it."--"madam," replied the gallant barrister, "the sun might as well say, there's a vile dark morning,--i _won't rise_ to-day." cxlvi.--a love song, by dean swift. a pud in is almi de si re, mimis tres ine ver require, alo veri find it a gestis, his miseri ne ver at restis. cxlvii.--by the same. mollis abuti, has an acuti, no lasso finis, molli divinis. o mi de armis tres, imi nadis tres, cantu disco ver meas alo ver? cxlviii.--a happy suggestion. when jenny lind, the swedish nightingale, gave a concert to the consumption hospital, the proceeds of which concert amounted to , l. s., and were to be devoted to the completion of the building, jerrold suggested that the new part of the hospital should be called "the nightingale's wing." cxlix.--playing on a word. lord orford was present in a large company at dinner, when bruce, the celebrated traveller, was talking in his usual style of exaggeration. some one asked him what musical instruments were used in abyssinia. bruce hesitated, not being prepared for the question, and at last said, "i think i saw a _lyre_ there." george selwyn, who was of the party, whispered his next man, "yes, and there is _one less_ since he left the country." cl.--an eye to profit. a person speaking of an acquaintance, who, though extremely avaricious, was always abusing the avarice of others, added, "is it not strange that this man will not take the _beam out of his own eye_ before he attempts the _mote_ in other people's?"--"why, so i daresay he would," cried sheridan, "if he was sure of _selling the timber_." cli.--"out, brief candle." a very small officer struck an old grenadier of his company for some supposed fault in performing his evolutions. the grenadier gravely took off his cap, and, holding it over the officer by the tip, said, "sir, if you were not my officer, i would _extinguish_ you." clii.--a.i. a learned barrister, quoting latin verses to a brother "wig," who did not appear to understand them, added, "don't you know the lines? they are in martial."--"marshall. oh, yes; marshall, who wrote on underwriting."--"not so bad," replied the other. "after all, there is not so much difference between an _under writer_ and a _minor_ poet." cliii.--qualifying for bail. a gentleman once appeared in the court of king's bench to give bail in the sum of , l. serjeant davy, wanting to display his wit, said to him, sternly, "and pray, sir, how do you make out that you are worth , l.?" the gentleman stated the particulars of his property up to , . "that's all very good," said the serjeant, "but you want l. more to be worth , ."--"for that sum," replied the gentleman, in no ways disconcerted, "i have a note of hand of one mr. serjeant davy, and i hope he will have the honesty soon to settle it." the serjeant looked abashed, and lord mansfield observed, in his usual urbane tone, "well, brother davy, i _think_ we may accept the bail." cliv.--barry's powers of pleasing. spranger barry, to his silver-toned voice, added all the powers of persuasion. a carpenter, to whom he owed some money for work at the dublin theatre, called at barry's house, and was very clamorous in demanding payment. mr. barry overhearing him, said from above, "don't be in a passion; but do me the favor to walk upstairs, and we'll speak on the business."--"not i," answered the man; "you owe me one hundred pounds already, and if you get me upstairs, you won't let me leave you till you owe me _two_." clv.--epigram. "it is rumored that a certain royal duke has expressed a determination never to shave until the reform bill is crushed entirely."--_court journal_. 'tis right that cumberland should be in this resolve so steady, for all the world declare that he is _too bare-faced_ already! clvi.--sentence of death. the following is a literal copy of a notice served by a worthy inhabitant of gravesend upon his neighbor, whose fowl had eaten his pig's victuals. "sir,--i have sent to you as coashon a gences leting your fouls coming eting and destrowing my pegs vettles and if so be you let them com on my premses hafter this noddes i will kil them. "rd. gold." clvii.--native wit. john was thought to be very stupid. he was sent to a mill one day, and the miller said, "john, some people say you are a fool! now, tell me what you do know, and what you don't know."--"well," replied john, "i know millers' hogs are fat!"--"yes, that's well, john! now, what don't you know?"--"i don't know _whose corn_ fats 'em!" clviii.--worth the money. sir robert walpole having misquoted a passage in horace, mr. pulteney said the honorable gentleman's latin was as bad as his politics. sir robert adhered to his version, and bet his opponent a guinea that he was right, proposing mr. harding as arbiter. the bet being accepted, harding rose, and with ludicrous solemnity gave his decision against his patron. the guinea was thrown across the house; and when pulteney stooped to pick it up, he observed, that "it was the first _public money_ he had touched for a long time." after his death, the guinea was found wrapped up in a piece of paper on which the circumstance was recorded. clix.--suited to his subject. the ballot was, it seems, first proposed in , by major _cart-wright_, who somewhat appropriately wrote a book upon the _common-wheel_. clx.--not _versus_ nott. a gentleman of maudlin, whose name was _nott_, returning late from his friend's rooms, attracted the attention of the proctor, who demanded his name and college. "i am _nott_ of maudlin," was the reply, hiccupping. "sir," said the proctor, in an angry tone, "i did not ask of what college you are _not_, but of what college you are."--"i am _nott_ of maudlin," was again the broken reply. the proctor, enraged at what he considered contumely, insisted on accompanying him to maudlin, and demanded of the porter, "whether he knew the gentleman."--"know him, sir," said the porter, "yes, it is mr. _nott_ of this college." the proctor now perceived his error in _not_ understanding the gentleman, and wished him a good night. clxi.--a cockney epigram. in parliament, it's plain enough, no reverence for age appears; for they who hear each speaker's _stuff_, find there is no respect for _(y) ears_. clxii.--the pink of politeness. lord berkeley was once dining with lord chesterfield (the pink of politeness) and a large party, when it was usual to drink wine until they were mellow. berkeley had by accident shot one of his gamekeepers, and chesterfield, under the warmth of wine, said, "pray, my lord berkeley, how long is it since you shot a gamekeeper?"--"not since you hanged _your tutor_, my lord!" was the reply. you know that lord chesterfield brought dr. dodd to trial, in consequence of which he was hanged. clxiii.--high and low. "i expect six clergymen to dine with me on such a day," said a gentleman to his butler. "very good, sir," said the butler. "are they high church or low church, sir?"--"what on earth can that signify to you?" asked the astonished master. "every thing, sir," was the reply. "if they are high church, they'll drink; if they are low church, _they'll eat_!" clxiv.--city love. in making love let poor men sigh, but love that's ready-made is better for men of business;--so i, if madam will be cruel, let her. but should she wish that i should wait and miss the 'change,--oh no, i thank her, i court by _deed_, or after _date_, through my solicitor or banker. clxv.--ingenious reply of a soldier. a soldier in the army of the duke of marlborough took the name of that general, who reprimanded him for it. "how am i to blame, general?" said the soldier. "i have the choice of names; if i had known one more illustrious _than yours_, i should have taken it." clxvi.--lord chesterfield. when lord chesterfield was in administration, he proposed a person to his late majesty as proper to fill a place of great trust, but which the king himself was determined should be filled by another. the council, however, resolved not to indulge the king, for fear of a dangerous precedent, and it was lord chesterfield's business to present the grant of office for the king's signature. not to incense his majesty by asking him abruptly, he, with accents of great humility, begged to know with whose name his majesty would be pleased to have the blanks filled up. "with the _devil's_!" replied the king, in a paroxysm of rage. "and shall the instrument," said the earl, coolly, "run as usual, _our trusty and well-beloved cousin and counsellor_?"--a repartee at which the king laughed heartily, and with great good-humor signed the grant. clxvii.--special pleading. when a very eminent special pleader was asked by a country gentleman if he considered that his son was likely to succeed as a special pleader, he replied, "pray, sir, can your son _eat saw-dust without butter_?" clxviii.--on a new duke. ask you why gold and velvet bind the temples of that cringing thief? is it so strange a thing to find a toad beneath a strawberry leaf? clxix.--the zodiac club. on the occasion of starting a convivial club, somebody proposed that it should consist of twelve members, and be called "the zodiac," each member to be named after a sign. "and what shall i be?" inquired a somewhat solemn man, who was afraid that his name would be forgotten. _jerrold._--"oh, we'll bring you in as the _weight_ in libra." clxx.--quin's soliloquy on seeing the embalmed body of duke humphrey, at st. alban's. "a plague on egypt's arts, i say-- embalm the dead--on senseless clay rich wine and spices waste: like sturgeon, or like brawn, shall i, bound in a precious pickle lie, which i can never taste! let me embalm this flesh of mine, with turtle fat, and bourdeaux wine, and spoil the egyptian trade, than glo'ster's duke, more happy i, embalm'd alive, old quin shall lie a mummy ready made." clxxi.--striking reproof. it being reported that lady caroline lamb had, in a moment of passion, knocked down one of her pages with a stool, the poet moore, to whom this was told by lord strangford, observed: "oh! nothing is more natural for a literary lady than to double down a page."--"i would rather," replied his lordship, "advise caroline to _turn over a new leaf_." clxxii.--a pretty picture. e---- taking the portrait of a lady, perceived that when he was working at her mouth she was trying to render it smaller by contracting her lips. "do not trouble yourself so much, madam," exclaimed the painter; "if you please, i will draw your face _without any mouth_ at all." clxxiii.--unknown tongue. during the long french war, two old ladies in stranraer were going to the kirk, the one said to the other, "was it no a wonderfu' thing that the breetish were aye victorious ower the french in battle?"--"not a bit," said the other old lady, "dinna ye ken the breetish aye say their prayers before ga'in into battle?" the other replied, "but canna the french say their prayers as weel?" the reply was most characteristic, "hoot! jabbering bodies, wha could _understan'_ them?" clxxiv.--dunning and lord mansfield. whilst the celebrated mr. dunning, afterwards lord ashburton, was at the bar, he by his conduct did much to support the character and dignity of a barrister, which was frequently disregarded by lord mansfield, at that time chief justice. the attempts of the chief justice to brow-beat the counsel were on many occasions kept in check by the manly and dignified conduct of mr. dunning. lord mansfield possessed great quickness in discovering the gist of a cause, and having done so, used to amuse himself by taking up a book or a newspaper, whilst counsel was addressing the court. whenever mr. dunning was speaking, and his lordship seemed thus to hold his argument as of no consequence, the advocate would stop suddenly in his address, and on his lordship observing, "pray go on, mr. dunning," he would reply, "i beg your pardon, my lord, but i fear i shall interrupt your lordship's _more important_ occupations. i will wait until your lordship has leisure to attend to my client and his humble advocate." clxxv.--epigram. (a good word for ministers.) the whigs 'tis said have often broke their promises which end in smoke; thus their defence i build; granted in office they have slept, yet sure those _promises_ are _kept_ which never are fulfilled. clxxvi.--changing his line. a gentleman, inquiring of jack bannister respecting a man who had been hanged, was told that he was dead. "and did he continue in the _grocery line_?" said the former. "oh no," replied jack; "he was quite in a _different line_ when he died." clxxvii.--tall and short. at an evening party, jerrold was looking at the dancers. seeing a very tall gentleman waltzing with a remarkably short lady, he said to a friend at hand, "humph! there's the mile dancing with the mile-stone." clxxviii.--an odd comparison. sir william b---- being at a parish meeting, made some proposals, which were objected to by a farmer. highly enraged, "sir," says he to the farmer, "do you know, sir, that i have been at the two universities, and at two colleges in each university?"--"well, sir," said the farmer, "what of that? i had a calf that sucked two cows, and the observation i made was, the more he sucked, the greater _calf_ he grew." clxxix.--on the right side. it was said of one that remembered everything that he lent, but nothing that he borrowed, "that he had _lost half_ of his memory." clxxx.--cause of absence. when the late lord campbell married miss scarlett, and departed on his wedding trip, mr. justice abbott observed, when a cause was called on in the bench, "i thought, mr. brougham, that mr. campbell was in this case?"--"yes, my lord," replied brougham, "but i understand he is ill--suffering from _scarlett fever_." clxxxi.--the scold's vocabulary. the copiousness of the english language perhaps was never more apparent than in the following character, by a lady, of her own husband:-- "he is," says she, "an abhorred, barbarous, capricious, detestable, envious, fastidious, hard-hearted, illiberal, ill-natured, jealous, keen, loathsome, malevolent, nauseous, obstinate, passionate, quarrelsome, raging, saucy, tantalizing, uncomfortable, vexatious, abominable, bitter, captious, disagreeable, execrable, fierce, grating, gross, hasty, malicious, nefarious, obstreperous, peevish, restless, savage, tart, unpleasant, violent, waspish, worrying, acrimonious, blustering, careless, discontented, fretful, growling, hateful, inattentive, malignant, noisy, odious, perverse, rigid, severe, teasing, unsuitable, angry, boisterous, choleric, disgusting, gruff, hectoring, incorrigible, mischievous, negligent, offensive, pettish, roaring, sharp, sluggish, snapping, snarling, sneaking, sour, testy, tiresome, tormenting, touchy, arrogant, austere, awkward, boorish, brawling, brutal, bullying, churlish, clamorous, crabbed, cross, currish, dismal, dull, dry, drowsy, grumbling, horrid, huffish, insolent, intractable, irascible, ireful, morose, murmuring, opinionated, oppressive, outrageous, overbearing, petulant, plaguy, rough, rude, rugged, spiteful, splenetic, stern, stubborn, stupid, sulky, sullen, surly, suspicious, treacherous, troublesome, turbulent, tyrannical, virulent, wrangling, yelping dog-in-a-manger." clxxxii.--a familiar illustration. a medical student under examination, being asked the different effects of heat and cold, replied: "heat expands and cold contracts."--"quite right; can you give me an example?"--"yes, sir, in summer, which is hot, the days are longer; but in winter, which is _cold_, the days are _shorter_." clxxxiii.--happiness. happiness grows at our own firesides, and is not to be picked in strangers' gardens. clxxxiv.--transposing a compliment. it was said of a work (which had been inspected by a severe critic), in terms which at first appeared very flattering, "there is a great deal in this book which is new, and a great deal that is true." so far good, the author would think; but then came the negation: "but it unfortunately happens, that those portions which are _new_ are not _true_, and those which are _true_ are not _new_!" clxxxv.--a handsome contribution. a gentleman waited upon jerrold one morning to enlist his sympathies in behalf of a mutual friend, who was constantly in want of a round sum of money. "well," said jerrold, who had contributed on former occasions, "how much does ---- want this time?" "why, just a four and two noughts will, i think, put him straight," the bearer of the hat replied. _jerrold._--"well, put me down for one of the noughts this time." clxxxvi.--waste of time. an old man of ninety having recovered from a very dangerous illness, his friends congratulated him, and encouraged him to get up. "alas!" said he to them, "it is hardly worth while to _dress_ myself again." clxxxvii.--scotch simplicity. at hawick, the people used to wear wooden clogs, which made a _clanking_ noise on the pavement. a dying old woman had some friends by her bedside, who said to her, "weel, jenny, ye are gaun to heeven, an' gin you should see our folks, ye can tell them that we're a weel." to which jenny replied. "weel, gin i shud see them i 'se tell them, but you manna expect that i am to gang clank clanking through heeven looking for your folk." clxxxviii.--twofold illustration. sir fletcher norton was noted for his want of courtesy. when pleading before lord mansfield on some question of manorial right, he chanced unfortunately to say, "my lord, i can illustrate the point in an instant in my own person: i myself have two little manors." the judge immediately interposed, with one of his blandest smiles, "we all _know_ it, sir fletcher." clxxxix.--nat lee and sir roger l'estrange. the author of "alexander the great," whilst confined in a madhouse, was visited by sir roger l'estrange, of whose political abilities lee entertained no very high opinion. upon the knight inquiring whether the poet knew him, lee answered:-- "custom may alter men, and manners change: but i am still _strange lee_, and you l'estrange: i'm poor in purse as you are poor in brains." cxc.--maids and wives. women are all alike. when they're maids they're mild as milk: once make 'em wives, and they lean their backs against their marriage certificates, and defy you.--d.j. cxci.--tragedy ms. liston, seeing a parcel lying on the table in the entrance-hall of drury lane theatre, one side of which, from its having travelled to town by the side of some game, was smeared with blood, observed, "that parcel contains a manuscript tragedy." and on being asked why, replied, "because the _fifth_ act is peeping out at one corner of it." cxcii.--a true courtier. one day, when sir isaac heard was in company with george iii., it was announced that his majesty's horse was ready for hunting. "sir isaac," said the king, "are you a judge of horses?"--"in my younger days, please your majesty, i was a great deal among them," was the reply. "what do you think of this, then?" said the king, who was by this time preparing to mount his favorite: and, without waiting for an answer, added, "we call him. _perfection_."--"a most appropriate name," replied the courtly herald, bowing as his majesty reached the saddle, "for he _bears_ the best of characters." cxciii.--rare virtue. the paucity of some persons' good actions reminds one of jonathan wild, who was once induced to be guilty of a good action, after fully satisfying himself, upon the maturest deliberation, that he could _gain nothing_ by refraining from it. cxciv.--a poser. a coxcomb in a coffee-house boasted that he had written a certain popular song, just as the true author entered the room. a friend of his pointed to the coxcomb: "see, sir, the real author of your favorite song."--"well," replied the other, "the gentleman _might_ have made it, for i assure him i found no difficulty in doing it myself." cxcv.--a sheepish compliment. lord cockburn, the proprietor of bonaly, was sitting on the hillside with a shepherd, and, observing the sheep reposing in the coldest situation, he remarked to him, "john, if i were a sheep, i would lie on the other side of the hill." the shepherd answered, "ah, my lord, but if ye had been a _sheep_ ye would hae had mair sense." cxcvi.--considerable latitude. sir richard jebb being called to see a patient who fancied himself very ill, told him ingenuously what he thought, and declined prescribing for him. "now you are here," said the patient, "i shall be obliged to you, sir richard, if you will tell me how i must live; what i may eat, and what i may not."--"my directions as to that point," replied sir richard, "will be few and simple! you must not eat the poker, shovel, or tongs, for they are hard of digestion; nor the bellows, because they are _windy_; but eat anything else you please!" cxcvii.--farmer and attorney. an opulent farmer applied to an attorney about a lawsuit, but was told he could not undertake it, being already engaged on the other side; at the same time he gave him a letter of recommendation to a professional friend. the farmer, out of curiosity, opened it, and read as follows:-- "here are two fat wethers fallen out together, if you'll fleece one, i'll fleece the other, and make 'em agree like brother and brother." the perusal of this epistle cured both parties, and terminated the dispute. cxcviii.--a wife at forty. "my notion of a wife at forty," said jerrold, "is, that a man should be able to change her, like a bank-note, for two twenties." cxcix.--disapprobation. an actor played a season at richmond theatre for the privilege only of having a benefit. when his night came, and having to sustain a principal part in the piece, the whole of his audience (thirty in number), hissed him whenever he appeared. when the piece ended, he came forward and said, "ladies and gentlemen, i return you my sincere thanks for your kindness, but when you mean to hiss me again on my benefit night, i hope you will be at least _six times_ as many as are here to-night." cc.--novel offence. cooke and dibdin went, at a tolerably steady quick-step, as far as the middle of greek street, when cooke, who had passed his hand along all the palisades and shutters as he marched, came in contact with the recently-painted new front of a coachmaker's shop, from which he obtained a complete handful of wet color. without any explanation as to the cause of his anger, he rushed suddenly into the middle of the street, and raised a stone to hurl against the unoffending windows; but dibdin was in time to save them from destruction, and him from the watch-house. on being asked the cause of his hostility to the premises of a man who could not have offended him, he replied, with a hiccup, "what! not offend? a ---- ignorant coachmaker, to leave his _house out_, new-painted, at this time of night!" cci.--measuring his distance. a browbeating counsel asked a witness how far he had been from a certain place. "just four yards, two feet, and six inches," was the reply. "how came you to be so exact, my friend?"--"because i expected _some fool_ or other would ask me, and so i measured it." ccii.--very clear. "what is light?" asked a schoolmaster of the booby of a class. "a sovereign that isn't full weight is light," was the prompt reply. cciii.--brotherly love. "ah!" said a conceited young parson, "i have this afternoon been preaching to a congregation of asses."--"then that was the reason why you always called them _beloved brethren_," replied a strong-minded lady. cciv.--epigram. by a friend of sir turncoat 'twas lately averr'd, the electors would find him as good as his word! "_as good as his word_," did you say, "gracious me! _what a terrible scamp little turncoat must be_!" ccv.--modest. it has been said that a lady once asked lord b--g--m who was the best debater in the house of lords. his lordship modestly replied, "lord stanley is the _second_, madam." ccvi.--a joint concern. a stupid fellow employed in blowing a cathedral organ, said after the performance of a fine anthem, "i think we performed very well to-day."--"_we_ performed!" answered the organist; "i think it was _i_ performed, or i am much mistaken." shortly after another celebrated piece of music was to be played. in the middle of the anthem the organ stopped; the organist cried out in a passion, "why don't you blow?" the fellow popped out his head from behind the organ, and said, "shall it be _we_ then?" ccvii.--professional. an editor at a dinner-table being asked if he would take some pudding, replied, in a fit of abstraction, "owing to a crowd of other matter, we are unable to find room for it." ccviii.--a good reason. a rich peer resolved to make his will; and having remembered all his domestics except his steward, the omission was respectfully pointed out to him by the lawyer. "i shall leave him nothing," said the nobleman, "because he has _served me_ these twenty years." ccix.--on a bad man. by imbecility and fears will is restrain'd from doing ill; his mind a porcupine appears, a porcupine _without a quill_. ccx.--a clever dog. after witnessing the first representation of a dog-piece by reynolds, called the "caravan," sheridan suddenly came into the green-room, on purpose, it was imagined, to wish the author joy. "where is he?" was the first question: "where is my guardian angel?"--"here i am," answered reynolds. "pooh!" replied sheridan, "i don't mean _you_, i mean _the dog_." ccxi.--a knotty point. the bristol magistrates were at the time of the great riots _scattered_ through the town. they argued that under the circumstances it was impossible they could have been _collected_. ccxii.--george selwyn. this gentleman, travelling in a stage-coach, was interrupted by the frequent impertinence of a companion, who was constantly teazing him with questions and asking him how he did. "how are you now, sir?" said the impertinent. george, in order to get rid of his importunity, replied, "very well; and i intend to continue so _all the rest_ of the journey." ccxiii.--emperor of china. sir g. staunton related a curious anecdote of old kien long, emperor of china. he was inquiring of sir george the manner in which physicians were paid in england. when, after some difficulty, his majesty was made to comprehend the system, he exclaimed, "is any man well in england, that can afford to be ill? now, i will inform you," said he, "how i manage my physicians. i have four, to whom the care of my health is committed: a certain weekly salary is allowed them, but the moment i am ill, the salary stops till i am well again. i need not inform you my illnesses are _usually short_." ccxiv.--landlord and tenants. says his landlord to thomas, "your rent i must raise, i'm so plaguily pinch'd for the pelf." "raise my rent!" replies thomas; "your honor's main good; for i never can _raise it_ myself." ccxv.--an ugly dog. jerrold had a favorite dog that followed him everywhere. one day in the country, a lady who was passing turned round and said, audibly, "what an ugly little brute!" whereupon jerrold, addressing the lady, replied, "oh, madam! i wonder what he thinks _about us_ at this moment!" ccxvi.--the wrong leg. mathews being invited by d'egville to dine one day with him at brighton, d'egville inquired what was mathews's favorite dish? a roasted leg of pork, with sage and onions. this was provided; and d'egville, carving, could not find the stuffing. he turned the joint about, but in vain. poole was at table, and, in his quiet way, said, "don't make yourself unhappy, d'egville; _perhaps it is in the other leg_." ccxvii.--female talkers. it was customary in some parish churches for the men to be placed on one side, and the women on the other. a clergyman, in the midst of his sermon, found himself interrupted by the talking of some of the congregation, of which he was obliged to take notice. a woman immediately rose, and wishing to clear her own sex from the aspersion, said: "observe, at least, your reverence, it is not on our side."--"so much the better, good woman, so much the better," answered the clergyman; "it will be the _sooner over_." ccxviii.--fighting by measure. the usual place of resort for dublin duellists was called the fifteen acres. an attorney of that city, in penning a challenge, thought most likely he was drawing a lease, and invited his antagonist to meet him at "the place called fifteen acres--'be the same more or less.'" ccxix.--suggestion. "do you know what made my voice so melodious?" said a celebrated vocal performer, of awkward manners, to charles bannister. "no," replied the other. "why, then, i'll tell you: when i was about fifteen, i swallowed, by accident, some train oil."--"i don't think," rejoined bannister, "it would have done you any harm if, at the same time, you had _swallowed a dancing-master_!" ccxx.--the force of satire. jacob johnson, the publisher, having refused to advance dryden a sum of money for a work upon which he was engaged, the incensed bard sent a message to him, and the following lines, adding, "tell the dog that he who wrote these can write more":-- "with leering looks, bull-necked, and freckled face, with two left legs, and judas-colored hair, and frowsy pores, that taint the ambient air!" johnson felt the force of the description; and, to avoid, a completion of the portrait, immediately sent the money. ccxxi.--the anglo-french alliance. jerrold was in france, and with a frenchman who was enthusiastic on the subject of the anglo-french alliance. he said that he was proud to see the english and french such good friends at last. "tut! the best thing i know between france and england is--_the sea_," said jerrold. ccxxii.--quin's saying. on the th of january (the martyrdom of king charles the first), quin used to say, "every king in europe would rise with a _crick in his neck_." ccxxiii.--a good reason. a certain minister going to visit one of his sick parishioners, asked him how he had rested during the night. "oh, wondrous ill, sir," replied he, "for mine eyes have not come together these three nights."--"what is the reason of that?" said the other. "alas! sir," said he, "because _my nose_ was betwixt them." ccxxiv.--billy brown and the counsellor. when mr. sheridan pleaded in court his own cause, and that of the drury lane theatre, an irish laborer, known amongst the actors by the name of billy brown, was called upon to give his evidence. previous to his going into court, the counsellor, shocked at the shabby dress of the witness, began to remonstrate with him on this point: "you should have put on your sunday clothes, and not think of coming into court covered with lime and brick-dust; it detracts from the credit of your evidence."--"_be cool, mr. counsellor_," said billy, "_only be cool, you're in your working-dress, and i am in mine; and that's that_." ccxxv.--the ruling passion after death. a drunken witness leaving the box, blurted out, "my lord, i never cared for anything but women and horseflesh!" mr. justice maule: "oh, you never cared for anything but women and horseflesh? then i advise you to go home and make your will, or, if you have made it, put a codicil to it, and direct your executors, as soon as you are dead, to have you flayed, and to have your skin made into side-saddles, and then, whatever happens, you will have the satisfaction of reflecting that, after death, some part of you will be constantly in contact with what, in life, were the _dearest objects_ of your affections." ccxxvi.--cut and come again. a gentleman who was on a tour, attended by an irish servant-man, who drove the vehicle, was several times puzzled with the appearance of a charge in the man's daily account, entered as "refreshment for the horse, d." at length he asked dennis about it. "och! sure," said he, "it's _whipcord_ it is!" ccxxvii.--caliban's looking-glass. a remarkably ugly and disagreeable man sat opposite jerrold at a dinner-party. before the cloth was removed, jerrold accidentally broke a glass. whereupon the ugly gentleman, thinking to twit his opposite neighbor with great effect, said slily, "what, already, jerrold! now i never break a glass."--"i wonder at that," was jerrold's instant reply, "you ought whenever _you look in one_." ccxxviii.--union is strength. a kind-hearted, but somewhat weak-headed, parishioner in the far north got into the pulpit of the parish church one sunday before the minister, who happened on that day to be rather behind time. "come down, jamie," said the minister, "that's my place."--"come ye up, sir," replied jamie; "they are a stiff-necked and rebellious generation the people o' this place, and it will _take us baith_ to manage them." ccxxix.--french precipitation. the late mr. pétion, who was sent over into this country to acquire a knowledge of our criminal law, is said to have declared himself thoroughly informed upon the subject, after remaining precisely _two-and-thirty minutes_ in the old bailey. ccxxx.--making it up. an attorney being informed by his cook that there was not dinner enough provided, upon one occasion when _company_ were expected, he asked if she had _brothed_ the clerks. she replied that she had done so. "well then," said he, "broth 'em _again_." ccxxxi.--old stories over again. bubb doddington was very lethargic. falling asleep one day, after dinner with sir richard temple and lord cobham, the latter reproached doddington with his drowsiness. doddington denied having been asleep; and to prove he had not, offered to repeat all lord cobham had been saying. cobham challenged him to do so. doddington repeated a story; and lord cobham owned he had been telling it. "well," said doddington, "and yet i did not hear a word of it; but i went to sleep, because i knew that about this time of day _you would tell that story_." ccxxxii.--humor under difficulties. a critic one day talked to jerrold about the humor of a celebrated novelist, dramatist, and poet, who was certainly no humorist. "humor!" exclaimed jerrold, "why he sweats at a joke, like a titan at a thunderbolt!" ccxxxiii.--equality. some one was praising our public schools to charles landseer, and said, "all our best men were public school men. look at our poets. there's byron, he was a harrow boy--"--"yes," interrupted charles, "and there's burns,--he was a _ploughboy_." ccxxxiv.--quite natural. "did any of you ever see an elephant's skin?" asked the master of an infant school in a fast neighborhood.--"_i_ have!" shouted a six-year-old at the foot of the class. "where?" inquired old spectacles, amused by his earnestness. "_on the elephant_!" was the reply. ccxxxv.--miser's charity. an illiterate person, who always volunteered to "go round with the hat," but was suspected of sparing his own pocket, overhearing once a hint to that effect, replied, "other gentlemen puts down what they thinks proper, and so do i. charity's a private concern, and what i give is _nothing to nobody_." ccxxxvi.--shaking hands. at a duel the parties discharged their pistols without effect, whereupon one of the seconds interfered, and proposed that the combatants should shake hands. to this the other second objected, as unnecessary,--"for," said he, "their hands have been _shaking_ this half-hour." ccxxxvii.--milton on woman. milton was asked by a friend whether he would instruct his daughters in the different languages: to which he replied, "no, sir; one tongue is sufficient for a woman." ccxxxviii.--epigram. (on bank notes being made a legal tender.) the privilege _hard_ money to demand, it seems but fair the public should surrender; for i confess i ne'er could understand why cash called _hard_, should be a legal _tender_. ccxxxix.--a good reason. "that's a pretty bird, grandma," said a little boy. "yes," replied the old dame, "and _he_ never cries."--"that's because he's never washed," rejoined the youngster. ccxl.--on farren, the actor. if farren, cleverest of men, should go to the right about, what part of town will he be then? why, "farren-done-without!" ccxli.--paddy's logic. "the sun is all very well," said an irishman, "but the moon is worth two of it; for the moon affords us light in the night-time, when we _want it_, whereas the sun's with us in the day-time, when we have _no occasion for it_." ccxlii.--warning to ladies. beware of falling in love with a pair of moustaches, till you have ascertained whether their wearer is the original proprietor. ccxliii.--a mot of de foe. when sir richard steele was made a member of the commons, it was expected from his writings that he would have been an admirable orator; but not proving so, de foe said, "he had better have continued the _spectator_ than the _tatler_." ccxliv.--a fair repulse. at the time of the threatened invasion, the laird of logan had been taunted at a meeting at ayr with want of a loyal spirit at cumnock, as at that place no volunteer corps had been raised to meet the coming danger; cumnock, it should be recollected, being on a high situation, and ten or twelve miles from the coast. "what sort of people are you, up at cumnock?" said an ayr gentleman; "you have not a single volunteer!"--"never you heed," says logan, very quietly; "if the french land at ayr, there will soon be _plenty of volunteers up at cumnock_." ccxlv.--claw and claw. lord erskine and dr. parr, who were both remarkably conceited, were in the habit of conversing together, and complimenting each other on their respective abilities. on one of these occasions, parr promised that he would write erskine's epitaph; to which the other replied, that "such an intention on the doctor's part was almost a temptation to commit suicide." ccxlvi.--the bishop and his portmanteau. the other day, a certain bishop lost his portmanteau. the circumstance has given rise to the following:-- i have lost my portmanteau-- "i pity your grief;" it contained all my sermons-- "i pity the thief." ccxlvii.--force of nature. s----'s head appears to be placed in most accurate conformity with the law of nature, in obedience to which that which is most _empty_ is generally _uppermost_. ccxlviii.--blowing a nose. sir william chere had a very long nose, and was playing at backgammon with old general brown. during this time, sir william, who was a snuff-taker, was continually using his snuff-box. observing him leaning continually over the table, and being at the same time in a very bad humor with the game, the general said, "sir william, blow your nose!"--"blow it _yourself_!" said sir william; "'tis as near you as me!" ccxlix.--too civil. macklin one night sitting at the back of the front boxes, with a gentleman of his acquaintance, an underbred lounger stood up immediately before him, and covered the sight of the stage entirely from him. macklin patted him gently on the shoulder with his cane, and, with much seeming civility, requested "that when he saw or heard anything that was entertaining on the stage, to let him and the gentleman with him know of it, as at present we must totally depend on _your kindness_." this had the desired effect,--and the lounger walked off. ccl.--tory liberality. a certain anti-illuminating marquis, since the memorable night of the passing of the reform bill, has constantly kept _open house_, at least, so we are informed by a person who lately looked in at his windows. ccli.--a capital joke. lord braxfield (a scotch judge) once said to an eloquent culprit at the bar, "you're a vera clever chiel, mon, but i'm thinking ye wad be nane _the waur_ o' a hanging." cclii.--pig-headed. mr. justice p----, a well-meaning but particularly prosing judge, on one of his country circuits had to try a man for stealing a quantity of copper. in his charge he had frequent occasion to mention the "copper," which he uniformly called "lead," adding, "i beg your pardon, gentlemen,--_copper_; but _i can't get the lead out of my head_!" at this candid confession the whole court shouted with laughter. ccliii.--buried worth. sir thomas overbury says, that the man who has not anything to boast of but his illustrious ancestors, is like a potato,--the only good belonging to him is _underground_. ccliv.--a just debtor. on one occasion lord alvanley had promised a person l. as a bribe, to conceal something which would have involved the reputation of a lady. on that person's application for the money, his lordship wrote a check for l. and presented it to him. "but, my lord, you promised me l."--"true," said his lordship, "i did so; but you know, mr. ----, that i am now making arrangements with all my creditors _at s. in the pound_. now you must see, mr. ----, that if i were to pay you at a higher rate than i pay them, i should be doing my creditors an injustice!" cclv.--a sound conclusion. sir william curtis sat near a gentleman at a civic dinner, who alluded to the excellence of the knives, adding, that "articles manufactured from _cast steel_ were of a very superior quality, such as razors, forks, &c."--"ay," replied the facetious baronet, "and soap too--there's no soap like _castile_ soap." cclvi.--cutting his coat. when brummell was the great oracle on coats, the duke of leinster was very anxious to bespeak the approbation of the "emperor of the dandies" for a "cut" which he had just patronized. the duke, in the course of his eulogy on his schneider, had frequent occasion to use the words "my coat."--"your coat, my dear fellow," said brummell: "what coat?"--"why, _this_ coat," said leinster; "this coat that i have on." brummell, after regarding the vestment with an air of infinite scorn, walked up to the duke, and taking the collar between his finger and thumb, as if fearful of contamination,--"what, duke, do you call _that thing_ a coat?" cclvii.--non sequitur. one of sir boyle roche's children asked him one day, "who was the father of george iii.?"--"my darling," he answered, "it was frederick, prince of wales, who would have been george iii. if he had lived." cclviii.--any port in a storm. a very worthy, though not particularly erudite, under-writer at lloyd's was conversing one day with a friend on the subject of a ship they had mutually insured. his friend observed, "do you know that i suspect our ship is in _jeopardy_?"--"well, i am glad that she has got _into some port at last_," replied the other. cclix.--ingratitude. when brennan, the noted highwayman, was taken in the south of ireland, a banker, whose notes at that time were not held in the highest estimation, assured the prisoner that he was very glad to see him there at last. brennan, looking up, replied, "ah! sir! i did not expect that from _you_: for you know that, when all the country refused your notes, i _took_ them." cclx.--not so bad for a king. george iv., on hearing some one declare that moore had murdered sheridan, in his late life of that statesman, observed, "i won't say that mr. moore has _murdered_ sheridan, but he has certainly _attempted his life_." cclxi.--a bad crop. after a long drought, there fell a torrent of rain; and a country gentleman observed to sir john hamilton, "this is a most delightful rain; i hope it will bring up _everything out of the ground_."--"by jove, sir," said sir john, "i hope not; for i have sowed three wives in it, and i should be very sorry to see them come up again." cclxii.--"none so blind," etc. daniel purcell, who was a non-juror, was telling a friend, when king george the first landed at greenwich, that he had a full view of him: "then," said his friend, "you know him by sight."--"yes," replied daniel, "i think i know him, _but i can't swear to him_." cclxiii.--duplex movement. a worthy alderman, captain of a volunteer corps, was ordering his company to fall back, in order to dress with the line, and gave the word, "_advance_ three paces _back-wards_! march!" cclxiv.--couleur de rose. an officer in full regimentals, apprehensive lest he should come in contact with a chimney-sweep that was pressing towards him, exclaimed, "keep off, you black rascal."--"you were as black as me before you were _boiled_," cried sooty. cclxv.--a feeling witness. a lawyer, upon a circuit in ireland, who was pleading the cause of an infant plaintiff, took the child up in his arms, and presented it to the jury, suffused with tears. this had a great effect, until the opposite lawyer asked the child, "what made him cry?"--"_he pinched me_!" answered the little innocent. the whole court was convulsed with laughter. cclxvi.--extremes meet. an irish gardener seeing a boy stealing some fruit, swore, if he caught him there again, he'd lock him up in the _ice-house_ and _warm_ his jacket. cclxvii.--dr. weather-eye. an irish gentleman was relating in company that he _saw_ a terrible wind the other night. "_saw_ a wind!" said another, "i never heard of a wind being seen. but, pray, what was it like!"--"_like_ to have blown my house about my ears," replied the first. cclxviii.--hesitation in his writing. an old woman received a letter, and, supposing it to be from one of her absent sons, she called on a person near to read it to her. he accordingly began and read, "charleston, june , . dear mother," then making a stop to find out what followed (as the writing was rather bad), the old lady exclaimed, "_oh, 'tis my poor jerry; he always stuttered_!" cclxix.--a guide to government situations. dr. henniker, being engaged in private conversation with the great earl of chatham, his lordship asked him how he defined wit. "my lord," said the doctor, "wit is like what a pension would be, given by your lordship to your humble servant, _a good thing well applied_." cclxx.--natural transmutation. the house of mr. dundas, late president of the court of session in scotland, having after his death been converted into a blacksmith's shop, a gentleman wrote upon its door the following impromptu:-- "the house a lawyer once enjoy'd, now to a smith doth pass; how naturally the _iron age_ succeeds the _age of brass_!" cclxxi.--critics. lord bacon, speaking of commentators, critics, &c., said, "with all their pretensions, they were only _brushers_ of noblemen's clothes." cclxxii.--question and answer. a quaker was examined before the board of excise, respecting certain duties; the commissioners thinking themselves disrespectfully treated by his _theeing_ and _thouing_, one of them with a stern countenance asked him, "pray, sir, do you know what _we sit here for_?"--"yea," replied nathan, "i do; some of thee for a thousand, and others for seventeen hundred and fifty pounds a year." cclxxiii.--a true joke. a man having been capitally convicted at the old bailey, was, as usual, asked what he had to say why judgment of death should not pass against him? "say!" replied he, "why, i think the joke has been carried far enough already, and the less that is said about it the better: if you please, my lord, _we'll drop the subject_." cclxxiv.--the cart before the horse. a judge asked a man what age he was. "i am eight and fourscore, my lord," says he. "and why not fourscore and eight?" says the judge. "because," replied he, "i was _eight_ before i was fourscore." cclxxv.--a city varnish. it being remarked of a picture of "the lord mayor and court of aldermen," in the shakespeare gallery, that the varnish was chilled and the figures rather sunk, the proprietors directed one of their assistants to give it a fresh coat of varnish. "must i use copal or mastic?" said the young man. "neither one nor the other," said a gentleman present; "if you wish to _bring the figures out_, varnish it with _turtle soup_." cclxxvi.--a rub at a rascal. george colman being once told that a man whose character was not very immaculate had grossly abused him, pointedly remarked, that "the scandal and ill report of some persons that might be mentioned was like fuller's earth, it _daubs your coat_ a little for a time, but when it is _rubbed off_ your coat is so much the cleaner." cclxxvii.--a sage simile. mr. thackeray once designated a certain noisy tragedian "macready and _onions_." cclxxviii.--an architectural pun. _on the statue of george i. being placed on the top of bloomsbury church._ the king of great britain was reckoned before the _head of the church_ by all protestant people; his bloomsbury subjects have made him still more, for with them he is now made the _head of the steeple_. cclxxix.--the majesty of mud. during the rage of republican principles in england, and whilst the corresponding society was in full vigor, mr. selwyn one may-day met a troop of chimney-sweepers, dressed out in all their gaudy trappings; and observed to mr. fox, who was walking with him, "i say, charles, i have often heard you and others talk of the _majesty_ of the people; but i never saw any of the young _princes and princesses_ till now." cclxxx.--a provident boy. an avaricious fenman, who kept a very scanty table, dining one saturday with his son at an ordinary in cambridge, whispered in his ear, "tom, you must eat for to-day and to-morrow."--"o yes," retorted the half-starved lad, "but i han't eaten for _yesterday_ and _to-day_ yet, father." cclxxxi.--a query answered. "why, pray, of late do europe's kings no jester to their courts admit?" "they're grown such stately solemn things, to bear a joke they think not fit. but though each court a jester lacks, to laugh at monarchs to their faces, yet all mankind, behind their backs, supply the honest jesters' places." cclxxxii.--a woman's promises. anger may sometimes make dull men witty, but it keeps them poor. queen elizabeth seeing a disappointed courtier walking with a melancholy face in one of her gardens, asked him, "what does a man think of when he thinks of nothing?"--"of a woman's promises!" was the reply; to which the queen returned, "i must not _confute_ you, sir edward," and she left him. cclxxxiii.--the medicine must be of use. sarah, duchess of marlborough, once pressing the duke to take a medicine, with her usual warmth said, "i'll be hanged if it do not prove serviceable." dr. garth, who was present, exclaimed, "do take it, then, my lord duke, for it must be of _service_ one way or the other." cclxxxiv.--royal favor. a low fellow boasted in very hyperbolical terms that the king had spoken to him; and being asked what his majesty had said, replied, "he bade me _stand out of the way_." cclxxxv.--black and white. the tories vow the whigs are black as night, and boast that they are only blessed with light. peel's politics to both sides so incline, he may be called the _equinoctial line_. cclxxxvi.--the worst of all crimes. an old offender being asked whether he had committed all the crimes laid to his charge, answered, "i have done still worse! i suffered myself to be apprehended." cclxxxvii.--a phenomenon accounted for. dr. byron, of manchester, eminent for his promptitude at an epigram, being once asked how it could happen that a lady rather stricken in years looked so much better in an evening than a morning, thus replied:-- "ancient phyllis has young graces, 'tis a strange thing, but a true one. shall i tell you how? she herself makes her own faces, and each morning wears a new one! _where's the wonder now_?" cclxxxviii.--bright and sharp. a little boy having been much praised for his quickness of reply, a gentleman present observed, that when children were keen in their youth, they were generally stupid and dull when they were advanced in years, and _vice versâ_. "what a _very sensible boy_, sir, must _you_ have been!" returned the child. cclxxxix.--a woodman. a young man, boasting of his health and constitutional stamina, was asked to what he chiefly attributed so great a happiness. "to laying in a good foundation, to be sure. i make a point, sir, to eat a great _deal_ every morning."--"then i presume, sir, you usually breakfast in a _timber-yard_," was the rejoinder. ccxc.--human happiness. a captain in the navy, meeting a friend as he landed at portsmouth, boasted that he had left his whole ship's company the _happiest_ fellows in the world. "how so?" asked his friend. "why, i have just flogged seventeen, and they are happy it is over; and all the rest are happy that they have escaped." ccxci.--measure for measure. a fellow stole lord chatham's large gouty shoes: his servant, not finding them, began to curse the thief. "never mind," said his lordship, "all the harm i wish the rogue is, that the shoes may _fit him_!" ccxcii.--a deserved retort. a spendthrift, who had nearly wasted all his patrimony, seeing an acquaintance in a coat not of the newest cut, told him that he thought it had been his great-grandfather's coat. "so it was," said the gentleman, "and i have also my great-grandfather's _lands_, which is more than you can say." ccxciii.--a poetical shape. when mr. pope once dined at lord chesterfield's, some one observed that he should have known pope was a great poet by his very shape; for it was _in and out_, like the lines of _a pindaric ode_. ccxciv.--a common case. a sailor meeting an old acquaintance, whom the world had frowned upon a little, asked him where he lived? "where i _live_," said he, "i don't know; but i _starve_ towards wapping, and that way." ccxcv.--epigram. you beat your pate, and fancy wit will come: knock as you will, there's nobody at home. ccxcvi.--too cold to change. a lady reproving a gentleman during a hard frost for swearing, advised him to leave it off, saying it was a very bad habit. "very true, madam," answered he, "but at present it is too cold to think of parting with any _habit_, be it ever so bad." ccxcvii.--sealing an oath. "do you," said fanny, t' other day, "in earnest love me as you say; or are those tender words applied alike to fifty girls beside?" "dear, cruel girl," cried i, "forbear, for by those eyes,--those _lips_ i swear!" she stopped me as the oath i took, and cried, "you've sworn,--_now kiss the book_." ccxcviii.--a neat quotation. lord norbury asking the reason of the delay that happened in a cause, was told that mr. serjeant _joy_, who was to lead, was absent, but mr. _hope_, the solicitor, had said that he would return immediately. his lordship humorously repeated the well-known lines:-- "_hope_ told a flattering tale, that _joy_ would soon return." ccxcix.--good sport. a gentleman on circuit narrating to lord norbury some extravagant feat in sporting, mentioned that he had lately shot thirty-three hares before breakfast. "thirty-three _hairs_!" exclaimed lord norbury: "zounds, sir! then you must have been firing at a _wig_." ccc.--an unre-hearsed effect. a noble lord, not over courageous, was once so far engaged in an affair of honor, as to be drawn to hyde park to fight a duel. but just as he arrived at the porter's lodge, an empty _hearse_ came by; on which his lordship's antagonist called out to the driver, "stop here, my good fellow, a few minutes, and i'll send _you a fare_." this operated so strongly on his lordship's nerves, that he begged his opponent's pardon, and returned home in a whole skin. ccci.--a good servant. "i can't conceive," said one nobleman to another, "how it is that you manage. though your estate is less than mine, i could not afford to live at the rate you do."--"my lord," said the other, "i have a place."--"a place? you amaze me, i never heard of it till now,--pray what place?"--"_i am my own steward_." cccii.--balancing accounts. theophilus cibber, who was very extravagant, one day asked his father for a hundred pounds. "zounds, sir," said colly, "can't you live upon your salary? when i was your age, i never spent a farthing of my father's money."--"but you have spent a great deal of _my father's_," replied theophilus. this retort had the desired effect. ccciii.--a novelty. a person was boasting that he had never spoken the truth. "then," added another, "you have _now_ done it for the first time." ccciv.--scotch understanding. a lady asked a very silly scotch nobleman, how it happened that the scots who came out of their own country were, generally speaking, men of more abilities than those who remained at home. "o madam," said he, "the reason is obvious. at every outlet there are persons stationed to examine all who pass, that, for the honor of the country, no one be permitted to leave it who is not a man of understanding."--"then," said she, "i suppose your lordship was _smuggled_." cccv.--brutal affections. the attachment of some ladies to their lap-dogs amounts, in some instances, to infatuation. an ill-tempered lap-dog biting a piece out of a male visitor's leg, his mistress thus expressed her _compassion_: "poor little dear creature! i hope it will not make him sick!" cccvi.--an introductory ceremony. an alderman of london once requested an author to write a speech for him to speak at guildhall. "i must first dine with you," replied he, "and see how you open your mouth, _that i may know what sort of words will fit it_." cccvii.--whig and tory. whig and tory scratch and bite, just as hungry dogs we see; toss a bone 'twixt two, they fight; throw a couple, they agree. cccviii.--contraband scotchman. a person was complimenting mrs. ---- on her acting a certain female character so well. "to do justice to that character," replied the lady, modestly, "one should be young and handsome."--"nay, madam," replied the gentleman, "you are a complete proof of the _contrary_." cccix.--a placebo. when mr. canning was about giving up gloucester lodge, brompton, he said to his gardener, as he took a farewell look of the grounds, "i am sorry, fraser, to leave this _old_ place."--"psha, sir," said george, "don't fret; when you had this _old_ place, you were _out_ of place; now you are _in place_, you can get both _yourself and me a better place_." the hint was taken, and old george provided for. cccx.--a place wanted. a gentleman, who did not live very happily with his wife, on the maid telling him that she was about to give her mistress warning, as she kept scolding her from morning till night. "happy girl!" said the master, "i wish i could give _warning_ too." cccxi.--not to be bought. a common-councilman's lady paying her daughter a visit at school, and inquiring what progress she had made in her education, the governess answered, "pretty good, madam, she is very attentive: if she wants anything it is a _capacity_: but for _that_ deficiency you know we must not blame _her_."--"no madam," replied the mother, "but i blame _you_ for not having mentioned it before. her father can afford his daughter a _capacity_; and i beg she may have one immediately, cost what it may." cccxii.--sign of being cracked. in a cause respecting a will, evidence was given to prove the testatrix, an apothecary's widow, a lunatic; amongst other things, it was deposed that she had swept a quantity of pots, lotions, potions, &c., into the street as rubbish. "i doubt," said the learned judge, "whether sweeping _physic_ into the street be any proof of insanity."--"true, my lord," replied the counsel, "but sweeping the _pots_ away, certainly was." cccxiii.--cruel suggestion. lord stanley came plainly dressed to request a private audience of king james i., but was refused admittance into the royal closet by a sprucely-dressed countryman of the king's. james hearing the altercation between the two, came out and inquired the cause. "my liege," said lord stanley, "this gay countryman of yours has refused me admittance to your presence."--"cousin," said the king, "how shall i punish him? shall i send him to the tower?"--"o no, my liege," replied lord stanley, "inflict a severer punishment,--_send him back to scotland_!" cccxiv.--an odd fellow. lord willoughby de broke was a very singular character, and had more peculiarities than any nobleman of his day. coming once out of the house of peers, and not seeing his servant among those who were waiting at the door, he called out in a very loud voice, "where can my _fellow be_?"--"not in europe, my lord," said anthony henley, who happened to be near him, "_not in europe_." cccxv.--post-mortem. one of cromwell's granddaughters was remarkable for her vivacity and humor. one summer, being in company at tunbridge wells, a gentleman having taken great offence at some sarcastic observation she made, intending to insult her, said, "you need not give yourself such airs, madam; you know your grandfather was hanged."--to which she instantly replied, "but not till he was _dead_." cccxvi.--knowing his place. at a grand review by george iii. of the portsmouth fleet in , there was a boy who mounted the shrouds with so much agility as to surprise every spectator. the king particularly noticed it, and said to lord lothian, "lothian, i have heard much of your agility; let us see you run up after that boy."--"sire," replied lord lothian, "it is my duty to _follow your majesty_." cccxvii.--an attic jest. sheridan inquiring of his son what side of politics he should espouse on his inauguration to st. stephen's, the son replied, that he intended to vote for those who offered best, and that he should wear on his forehead a label, "to let."--"i suppose, tom, you mean to add, _unfurnished_," rejoined the father. cccxviii.--cutting on both sides. lord b----, who sported a ferocious pair of whiskers, meeting mr. o'connell in dublin, the latter said, "when do you mean to place your whiskers on the _peace establishment_?"--"when you place your tongue on the _civil list_!" was the rejoinder. cccxix.--a ready reckoner. a mathematician being asked by a wag, "if a pig weighs pounds, how much will a great boar (_bore_?) weigh?" he replied, "jump into the scales, and i will _tell you immediately_." cccxx.--catching him up. an irishman being asked which was oldest, he or his brother, "i am eldest," said he, "but if my brother lives three years longer, we shall be _both_ of an age." cccxxi.--a stopper. a gentleman describing a person who often visited him for the sole purpose of having a long gossip, called him mr. jones the _stay_-maker. cccxxii.--a book case. there is a celebrated reply of mr. curran to a remark of lord clare, who curtly exclaimed at one of his legal positions, "o! if that be law, mr. curran, i may burn my law-books!"--"better _read_ them, my lord," was the sarcastic and appropriate rejoinder. cccxxiii.--hinc ille lachrymÃ�. "the mortality among byron's mistresses," said the late lady a----ll, "is really alarming. i think he generally buries, in verse, a first love every fortnight."--"madam," replied curran, "mistresses are not so mortal. the fact is, my lord weeps for the _press_, and wipes his eyes with _the public_." cccxxiv.--reason for going to church. it was observed of an old citizen that he was the most regular man in london in his attendance at church, and no man in the kingdom was more punctual in his prayers. "he has a very good reason for it," replied john wilkes, "for, as he never gave a shilling, did a kindness, or conferred a favor on any man living, _no one would pray for him_." cccxxv.--a bishop and churchwarden. bishop warburton, going to cirencester to confirm, he was supplied at the altar with an elbow-chair and a cushion, which he did not much like, and calling to the churchwarden said, "i suppose, sir, your fattest butcher has sat in this chair, and your most violent methodist preacher thumped the cushion." cccxxvi.--stone blind. lord byron's valet (mr. fletcher) grievously excited his master's ire by observing, while byron was examining the remains of athens, "la me, my lord, what capital _mantelpieces_ that marble would make in england!" cccxxvii.--agreeable and not complimentary. in king william's time a mr. tredenham was taken before the earl of nottingham on suspicion of having treasonable papers in his possession. "i am only a poet," said the captive, "and those papers are my roughly-sketched play." the earl examined the papers, however, and then returned them, saying, "i have heard your statement and read your play, and as i can find _no trace_ of _a plot_ in either, you may go free." cccxxviii.--dr. johnson without variation. dr. johnson was observed by a musical friend of his to be extremely inattentive at a concert, whilst a celebrated solo player was running up the divisions and sub-divisions of notes upon his violin. his friend, to induce him to take greater notice of what was going on, told him how extremely difficult it was. "difficult, do you call it, sir?" replied the doctor; "i wish it were _impossible_." cccxxix.--mr. canning's parasites. nature descends down to infinite smallness. mr. canning has his parasites; and if you take a large buzzing blue-bottle fly, and look at it in a microscope, you may see twenty or thirty little ugly insects crawling about it, which doubtless think their fly to be the bluest, grandest, merriest, most important animal in the universe, and are convinced that the world would be at an end if it ceased to buzz.--s.s. cccxxx.--pleasant deserts. a certain physician was so fond of administering medicine, that, seeing all the phials and pill-boxes of his patient completely emptied, and ranged in order on the table, he said, "ah, sir, it gives me pleasure to attend you,--you _deserve_ to be ill." cccxxxi.--a home argument. by one decisive argument tom gained his lovely kate's consent, to fix the bridal day. "why in such haste, dear tom, to wed? i shall not change my mind," she said. "but then," says he, "i _may_." cccxxxii.--a bad pen. "nature has written 'honest man' on his face," said a friend to jerrold, speaking of a person in whom jerrold's faith was not altogether blind. "humph!" jerrold replied, "then the pen must have been a very bad one." cccxxxiii.--wignell the actor. one of old mr. sheridan's favorite characters was _cato_: and on its revival at covent garden theatre, a mr. wignell assumed his old-established part of _portius_; and having stepped forward with a prodigious though accustomed strut, began:-- "the dawn is overcast; the morning lowers, and heavily, in clouds, brings on the day." the audience upon this began to vociferate "prologue! prologue! prologue!" when wignell, finding them resolute, without betraying any emotion, pause, or change in his voice and manner, proceeded as if it were part of the play:-- "ladies and gentlemen, there has been no prologue spoken to this play these twenty years-- the great, the important day, big with the fate of cato and of rome." this wonderful effusion put the audience in good humor: they laughed immoderately, clapped, and shouted "_bravo_!" and wignell still continued with his usual composure and stateliness. cccxxxiv.--candor. a notorious egotist, indirectly praising himself for a number of good qualities which it was well known he had not, asked macklin the reason why he should have this propensity of interfering in the good of others when he frequently met with very unsuitable returns. "the cause is plain enough," said macklin; "_impudence_,--nothing but stark-staring impudence!" cccxxxv.--a "cold" compliment. a coxcomb, teasing dr. parr with an account of his petty ailments, complained that he could never go out without catching cold in his head. "no wonder," returned the doctor; "you always go out without _anything_ in it." cccxxxvi.--ready reply. the grass-plots in the college courts or quadrangles are not for the unhallowed feet of the under-graduates. some, however, are hardy enough to venture, in despite of all remonstrance. a master of trinity had often observed a student of his college invariably to cross the green, when, in obedience to the calls of his appetite, he went to hall to dine. one day the master determined to reprove the delinquent for invading the rights of his superiors, and for that purpose he threw up the sash at which he was sitting, and called to the student,--"sir, i never look out of my window but i see you walking across the grass-plot". "my lord," replied the offender instantly, "i never walk across the grass-plot, but i _see you_ looking out of your window." the master, pleased at the readiness of the reply, closed his window, convulsed with laughter. cccxxxvii.--full proof. lord peterborough was once taken by the mob for the great duke of marlborough (who was then in disgrace with them); and being about to be roughly treated, said,--"gentlemen, i can convince you by two reasons that i am not the duke of marlborough. in the first place, i have only _five guineas_ in my pocket; and in the second, they are heartily at your service." he got out of their hands with loud huzzas and acclamations. cccxxxviii.--epigram on cibber. in merry old england it once was the rule, the king had his poet and also his fool; but now we're so frugal, i'd have you to know it, that cibber can serve both for _fool_ and for _poet_. cccxxxix.--a prophecy. charles mathews, the elder, being asked what he was going to do with his son (the young man's profession was to be that of an architect), "why," answered the comedian, "he is going to _draw houses_, like his father." cccxl.--a fixture. dr. roger long, the celebrated astronomer, was walking, one dark evening, with a gentleman in cambridge, when the latter came to a short post fixed in the pavement, but which, in the earnestness of conversation, taking to be a boy standing in the path, he said hastily, "get out of the way, boy."--"that boy," said the doctor, very seriously, "is a _post-boy_, who never turns out of the way for anybody." cccxli.--family pride. a young lady visiting in the family asked john at dinner for a potato. john made no response. the request was repeated; when john, putting his mouth to her ear, said, very audibly, "there's jist _twa_ in the dish, and they maun be _keepit_ for the strangers." cccxlii.--evidence of a jockey. the following dialogue was lately heard at an assize:--counsel: "what was the height of the horse?" witness: "sixteen feet." counsel: "how old was he?" witness: "six years." counsel: "how high did you say he was?" witness: "sixteen hands." counsel: "you said just now sixteen _feet_." witness: "sixteen _feet_! did i say sixteen _feet_?" counsel: "you did." witness: "_if i did say sixteen feet, it was sixteen feet_!--you don't catch me crossing myself!" cccxliii.--way of the world. determined beforehand, we gravely pretend to ask the opinion and thoughts of a friend; should his differ from ours on any pretence, we pity his want both of judgment and sense; but if he falls into and flatters our plan, why, really we think him a sensible man. cccxliv.--a broad-sheet hint. in the parlor of a public-house in fleet street, there used to be written over the chimney-piece the following notice: "gentlemen learning to _spell_ are requested to use _yesterday's paper_." cccxlv.--modest merit. a player applied to the manager of a respectable company for an engagement for himself and his wife, stating that his lady was capable of playing all the first line of business; but as for himself he was "the worst actor in the world." they were engaged, and the lady answered the character which he had given of her. the gentleman having the part of a mere walking gentleman sent him for his first appearance, he asked the manager, indignantly, how could he put him in such a paltry part. "sir," answered the other, "here is your own letter, stating that you were the _worst_ actor in the world."--"true," replied the other, "but then i had not _seen you_." cccxlvi.--soft, very! some one had written upon a pane in the window of an inn on the chester road, "lord m----ms has the softest lips in the universe.--phillis." mrs. abingdon saw this inscription, and wrote under it,-- "then as like as two chips are his head and his lips.--amarillis." cccxlvii.--cambridge etiquette. cambridge etiquette has been very happily caricatured by the following anecdote. a gownsman, one day walking along the banks of the cam, observing a luckless son of his alma mater in the agonies of _drowning_, "what a pity," he exclaimed, "that i have not had the honor of being _introduced_ to the gentleman; i might have saved him;" and walked on, leaving the poor fellow to his fate. cccxlviii.--epigram. (on interminable harangues.) ye fates that hold the vital shears, if ye be troubled with remorse, and will not cut ----'s _thread of life_, cut then the _thread of his discourse_. cccxlix.--half-way. a horseman crossing a moor, asked a countryman, if it was safe riding. "ay," answered the countryman, "it is hard enough at the _bottom_, i'll warrant you;" but in half-a-dozen steps the horse sunk up to the girths. "you story-telling rascal, you said it was hard at the bottom!"--"ay," replied the other, "but you are not _half-way_ to the bottom yet." cccl.--self-knowledge. "----," said one of his eulogists, "always knows his own mind." we will cede the point, for it amounts to an admission that he _knows nothing_. cccli.--two of a trade. when bannister was asked his opinion of a new singer that had appeared at covent garden, "why," said charles, "he may be robin hood this season, but he will be _robbing_ harris (the manager) the next." ccclii.--a stray shot. an officer, in battle, happening to _bow_, a cannon-ball passed over his head, and took off that of the soldier who stood behind him. "you see," said he, "that a man never loses by politeness." cccliii.--milesian advice. "never be critical upon the ladies," was the maxim of an old irish peer, remarkable for his homage to the sex; "the only way in the world that a true gentleman ever will attempt to look at the faults of a pretty woman, is _to shut his eyes_." cccliv.--mr. abernethy. a lady who went to consult mr. abernethy, began describing her complaint, which is what he very much disliked. among other things she said, "whenever i lift my arm, it pains me exceedingly."--"why then, ma'am," answered mr. a., "you area great fool for _doing so_." ccclv.--the debt paid. to john i owed great obligation, but john, unhappily, thought fit to publish it to all the nation; sure john and i are more than quit. ccclvi.--extremes meet. a clever literary friend of jerrold, and one who could take a joke, told him he had just had "some calf's-tail soup."--"extremes meet sometimes," said jerrold. ccclvii.--a compliment ill-received. a person who dined in company with dr. johnson endeavored to make his court to him by laughing immoderately at everything he said. the doctor bore it for some time with philosophical indifference; but the impertinent _ha, ha, ha!_ becoming intolerable, "pray, sir," said the doctor, "what is the matter? i hope i have not said anything that _you_ can comprehend." ccclviii.--truth not to be spoken at all times. garrick was on a visit at hagley, when news came that a company of players were going to perform at birmingham. lord lyttelton said to garrick, "they will hear you are in the neighborhood, and will ask you to write an address to the birmingham audience."--"suppose, then," said garrick, without the least hesitation, "i begin thus:-- ye sons of iron, copper, brass, and steel, who have not heads to think, nor hearts to feel--" "oh!" cried his lordship, "if you begin thus, they will hiss the players off the stage and pull the house down."--"my lord," said garrick, "what is the use of an address if it does not come home to the _business_ and _bosoms_ of the audience?" ccclix.--a good reason. a gentleman, talking with his gardener, expressed his admiration at the rapid growth of the trees. "why, yes, sir," says the man; "please to consider that they have _nothing_ else to do." ccclx.--following a leader. franklin, when ambassador to france, being at a meeting of a literary society, and not well understanding the french when declaimed, determined to applaud when he saw a lady of his acquaintance express satisfaction. when they had ceased, a little child, who understood the french, said to him, "but, grandpapa, you always applauded the loudest when they were _praising you_!" franklin laughed heartily and explained the matter. ccclxi.--idolatry. the toilette of a woman is an altar erected by self-love to vanity. ccclxii.--twice ruined. "i never was ruined but twice," said a wit; "once when i _lost_ a lawsuit, and once when i _gained_ one." ccclxiii.--q.e.d. a country schoolmaster was met by a certain nobleman, who asked his name and vocation. having declared his name, he added, "and i am master of this parish."--"master of this parish," observed the peer, "how can that be?"--"i am master of the children of the parish," said the man; "the children are masters of their mothers, the mothers are rulers of the fathers, and consequently _i am master_ of the whole parish." ccclxiv.--short stories. sir walter scott once stated that he kept a lowland laird waiting for him in the library at abbotsford, and that when he came in he found the laird deep in a book which sir walter perceived to be johnson's dictionary. "well, mr. ----," said sir walter, "how do you like your book?"--"they're vera pretty stories, sir walter," replied the laird; "but they're unco' _short_." ccclxv.--on a lady who squinted. if ancient poets argus prize, who boasted of a hundred eyes, sure greater praise to her is due, who looks a hundred ways with two. ccclxvi.--an original attraction. foote one evening announced, for representation at the haymarket theatre, "the fair penitent," to be performed, for that night only, by a _black lady of great accomplishments_. ccclxvii.--democratic vision. horne tooke, being asked by george iii. whether he played at cards, replied, "i cannot, your majesty, tell a _king_ from a _knave_." ccclxviii.--fishy, rather. lord ellenborough, on his return from hone's trial, suddenly stopped his carriage at charing cross, and said, "it occurs to me that they sell the best herrings in london at that shop. buy six." ccclxix.--light bread. a baker has invented a new kind of yeast. it makes bread so light that a _pound_ of it weighs only _twelve_ ounces. ccclxx.--something like an insult. the late judge c---- one day had occasion to examine a witness who stuttered very much in delivering his testimony. "i believe," said his lordship, "you are a very great rogue."--"not so great a rogue as _you_ my lord,--t-t-t-take me to be." ccclxxi.--on charles kean, the actor. as romeo, kean, with awkward grace, on velvet rests, 'tis said; ah! did he seek a softer place, he'd rest upon his head. ccclxxii.--political corruption. curran, when opposed to lord clare, said that he reminded him of a chimney-sweep, who had raised himself by dark and dusky ways, and then called aloud to his neighbors to witness his _dirty_ elevation. ccclxxiii.--a quakerly objection. a quaker being asked his opinion of phrenology, replied indignantly, "friend, there can be no good in a science that compels a man to _take off_ his hat!" ccclxxiv.--a good-hearted fellow. in a valedictory address an editor wrote: "if we have offended any man in the short but brilliant course of our public career, let him send us a _new hat_, and we will then forget the past." a cool chap that! ccclxxv.--epigram on the death of foote. foote, from his earthly stage, alas! is hurled, death _took him off, who took off all_ the world. ccclxxvi.--the angry ocean. "mother, this book tells about the angry waves of the ocean. now, what makes the ocean get angry?"--"because it has been _crossed_ so often, my son." ccclxxvii.--brevity. dr. abernethy, the celebrated physician, was never more displeased than by hearing a patient detail a long account of troubles. a woman, knowing abernethy's love of the laconic, having burned her hand, called at his house. showing him her hand, she said, "a burn."--"a poultice," quietly answered the learned doctor. the next day she returned, and said, "better."--"continue the poultice," replied dr. a. in a week she made her last call and her speech was lengthened to three words, "well,--your fee?"--"nothing," said the physician; "you are the most sensible woman i ever saw." ccclxxviii.--epigram. if l--d--d--y has a grain of sense, he can be only half a lord 'tis clear; for from the fact we draw the inference, he's that which never has been made _a peer_. ccclxxix.--a broad-brim hint. a quaker said to a gunner, "friend, i counsel no bloodshed; but if it be thy design _to hit_ the little man in the blue jacket, point thine engine three inches lower." ccclxxx.--an order for two. at the last rehearsal of "joanna," mr. wild, the prompter, asked the author for an order to admit two friends to the boxes; and whether mr. cumberland was thinking of the probable proceeds of his play, or whether his anxiety otherwise bewildered him, cannot be ascertained; but he wrote, instead of the usual "two to the boxes"--"admit _two pounds two_." ccclxxxi.--epigram from the italian. his hair so black,--his beard so gray, 'tis strange! but would you know the cause? 'tis that his labors always lay, less on his brain than on his _jaws_. ccclxxxii.--marriage. a widower, having taken another wife, was, nevertheless, always paying some panegyric to the memory of his late spouse, in the presence of his present one; who one day added, with great feeling, "believe me, my dear, nobody regrets _her loss_ more than i do." ccclxxxiii.--fishing for a compliment. a young man having preached for the doctor one day, was anxious to get a word of applause for his labor of love. the grave doctor, however, did not introduce the subject, and his younger brother was obliged to bait the hook for him. "i hope, sir, i did not weary your people by the _length_ of my sermon to-day?"--"no, sir, not at all; nor by the _depth_ either!" the young man was silent. ccclxxxiv.--visible proof. an irishman being asked on a late trial for a certificate of his marriage, exhibited a _huge scar_ on his head, which looked as though it might have been made with a fire-shovel. the evidence was satisfactory. ccclxxxv.--simplicity of the learned porson. the great scholar had a horror of the east wind; and tom sheridan once kept him prisoner in the house for a fortnight by _fixing_ the weathercock in that direction. ccclxxxvi.--epigram addressed to miss edgeworth. we every-day bards may "anonymous" sign: that refuge, miss edgeworth, can never be thine: thy writings, where satire and moral unite, must bring forth the name of their author to light. good and bad join in telling the source of their birth, the bad own their _edge_ and the good own their _worth_. ccclxxxvii.--keen reply. a retired vocalist, who had acquired a large fortune by marriage, was asked to sing in company. "allow me," said he, "to imitate the nightingale, which does not sing after it has _made its nest_." ccclxxxviii.--a good example. in the house of commons, the grand characteristic of the office of the speaker is silence; and he fills the place best who best holds his tongue. there are other _speakers_ in the house (not official) who would show their sagacity by following the example of their president. ccclxxxix.--a certainty. a physician passing by a stone-mason's shop bawled out, "good morning, mr. d.! hard at work, i see. you finish your gravestones as far as 'in the memory of,' and then wait, i suppose, to see who wants a monument next?"--"why, yes," replied the old man, "unless somebody's sick, and _you_ are doctoring him; then i _keep right on_." cccxc.--nominal rhymes. the court of aldermen at fishmongers' hall. is that dace or perch? said alderman birch; i take it for herring, said alderman perring. this jack's very good, said alderman wood; but its bones might a man slay, said alderman ansley. i'll butter what i get, said alderman heygate. give me some stewed carp, said alderman thorp; the roe's dry as pith, said alder_men_ smith. don't cut so far down, said alderman brown; but nearer the fin, said alderman glyn. i've finished, i'faith, man, said alderman waithman: and i too, i'fatkins, said alderman atkins. they've crimped this cod drolly, said alderman scholey; 't is bruised at the ridges, said alderman brydges. was it caught in a drag? nay, said alderman magnay. 't was brought by two men, said alderman ven- ables: yes, in a box, said alderman cox. they care not how _fur 'tis_, said alderman curtis; from air kept, and from sun, said alderman thompson; packed neatly in straw, said alderman shaw: in ice got from gunter, said alderman hunter. this ketchup is sour, said alderman flower; then steep it in claret, said alderman garret. cccxci.--a broad hint. charles ii. playing at tennis with a dean, who struck the ball well, the king said, "that's a good stroke for a _dean_."--"i'll give it the stroke of a _bishop_ if your majesty pleases," was the suggestive rejoinder. cccxcii.--vails to servants. to such a height had arrived the custom of giving vails, or visiting-fees, to servants, in , that jonas hanway published upon the subject eight letters to the duke of n----, supposed to be the duke of newcastle. sir thomas waldo related to hanway, that, on leaving the house of the duke alluded to, after having feed a train of other servants, he (sir thomas) put a crown into the hand of the cook, who returned it, saying, "sir, i do not take _silver_."--"don't you, indeed!" said the baronet, putting it into his pocket; "then _i do_." cccxciii.--quite true. avarice is criminal poverty. cccxciv.--congratulation to one who curled his hair. "i'm very glad," to e--b--h said his brother exquisite, macassar draper, "that 'tis the outer product of your head, and not the _inner_, you _commit to paper_!" cccxcv.--the polite scholar. a scholar and a courtier meeting in the street, seemed to contest the wall. says the courtier, "i do not use to give every _coxcomb_ the wall." the scholar answered, "but _i do, sir_;" and so passed by him. cccxcvi.--a cool hand. an old deaf beggar, whom collins the painter was once engaged in sketching at hendon, exhibited great self-possession. finding, from certain indications, that the body and garments of this english edie ochiltree afforded a sort of pasture-ground to a herd of many animals of minute size, he hinted his fears to the old man that he might leave some of his small body-guard, behind him. "no fear, sir; no fear," replied this deaf and venerable vagrant, contemplating the artist with serious serenity; "i don't think they are any of them likely to leave _me_ for _you_." cccxcvii.--quid pro quo. a physician of an acrimonious disposition, and having a thorough hatred of lawyers, reproached a barrister with the use of phrases utterly unintelligible. "for example," said he, "i never could understand what you lawyers mean by docking an entail."--"that is very likely," answered the lawyer, "but i will explain it to you: it is doing what you doctors never consent to,--_suffering a recovery_." cccxcviii.--recruiting serjeant and countryman. a recruiting serjeant addressing an honest country bumpkin with,--"come, my lad, thou'lt fight for thy king, won't thou?"--"voight for my king," answered hodge, "why, has he _fawn out_ wi' ony body?" cccxcix.--an anecdote. e--d--n was asked by one of note, why merit he did not promote; "for this good reason," answered he, "'cause _merit ne'er promoted me_." cd.--dido. of this tragedy, the production of joseph reed, author of the "register office," mr. nicholls, in his "literary anecdotes," gives some curious particulars. he also relates an anecdote of johnson concerning it: "it happened that i was in bolt court on the day that henderson, the justly celebrated actor, was first introduced to dr. johnson: and the conversation turning on dramatic subjects, henderson asked the doctor's opinion of "dido" and its author. "sir," said johnson, "i never did the man an injury, yet _he would read his tragedy to me_." cdi.--extreme simplicity. a countryman took his seat at a tavern-table opposite to a gentleman who was indulging in a bottle of wine. supposing the wine to be common property, our unsophisticated country friend helped himself to it with the gentleman's glass. "that's cool!" exclaimed the owner of the wine, indignantly. "yes," replied the other; "i should think there was _ice_ in it." cdii.--not to be trifled with. during a recent representation of king lear at one of our metropolitan theatres, an old gentleman from the country, who was visibly affected by the pathos of some of the scenes, electrified the house by roaring out, "mr. manager! sir! alter the play! i didn't pay my money to be made _wretched_ in this way. give us something funny, or i'll _summons_ you, sir!" cdiii.--as you like it. an old sea captain used to say he didn't care how he dressed when abroad, "because _nobody_ knew him." and he didn't care how he dressed when at home, "because _everybody_ knew him." cdiv.--an upright man. erskine was once retained for a mr. bolt, whose character was impugned by mr. mingay, the counsel on the other side. "gentlemen," said erskine, in reply, "the plaintiff's counsel has taken unwarrantable liberties with my client's good name, representing him as litigious and unjust. so far, however, from this being his character, he goes by the name of _bolt upright_." cdv.--the duke of wellington and the aurist. on one occasion the duke's deafness was alluded to by lady a----, who asked if she was sitting on his right side, and if he had benefited by the operations which she heard had been performed, and had been so painful to him. he said, in reply, that the gentleman had been bold enough to ask him for a certificate, but that he had really been of no service to him, and that he could only answer him by saying, "i tell you what, i _won't say_ a word about it." cdvi.--truth not always to be spoken. if a man were to set out calling everything by its right name, he would be knocked down before he got to the corner of the street. cdvii.--advertisement extraordinary. (to those in want of employment.) whoe'er will at the "gloucester's head" apply, is always sure to find a _vacancy_. cdviii.--a "double times." a huge, double-sheeted copy of the _times_ newspaper was put into the hands of a member of the union club by one of the waiters. "oh, what a bore all this is," said the member, surveying the gigantic journal. "ah," answered another member, who overheard him, "it is all very well for you who are occupied all day with business bore; but to a man living in the country,--it is equal to a _day's fishing_." cdix.--partnership dissolved. dr. parr had a high opinion of his own skill at whist, and could not even patiently tolerate the want of it in his partner. being engaged with a party in which he was unequally matched, he was asked by a lady how the fortune of the game turned, when he replied, "pretty well, madam, considering that i have _three_ adversaries." cdx.--epigram. (on the depth of lord ---- arguments.) yes, in debate we must admit, his argument is quite profound; his reasoning's _deep_, for _deuce a bit_ can anybody _see the ground_. cdxi.--a seasonable joke. theodore hook, being in company, where he said something humorous in rhyme to every person present, on mr. winter, the late solicitor of taxes, being announced, made the following impromptu:-- here comes mr. winter, collector of taxes, i advise you to give him whatever he axes; i advise you to give it without any flummery, for though his name's _winter_, his actions are _summary_. cdxii.--epigram. (on the immortality of ----'s speeches.) thy speeches are immortal, o my friend, for he that hears them--hears them to _no end_. cdxiii.--a considerate son. a witch, being at the stake to be burnt, saw her son there, and desired him to give her some drink. "no, mother," said he, "it would do you wrong, for the _drier_ you are, the better you will burn." cdxiv.--dangerously well. lord byron, in reference to a lady he thought ill of, writes, "lady ---- has been dangerously ill; but it may console you to learn that she is _dangerously well_ again." cdxv.--epigram. (on lord e--nb----h's pericranium.) let none because of its abundant _locks_, deceive themselves by thinking for a minute, that dandy e--nb----h's "knowledge-box" has anything worth larceny within it. cdxvi.--a new scholar. a californian gold digger having become rich, desired a friend to procure for him a library of books. the friend obeyed, and received a letter of thanks thus worded: "i am obliged to you for the pains of your selection. i particularly admire a grand religious poem about paradise, by a mr. milton, and a set of plays (quite delightful) by a mr. shakespeare. _if these gentlemen should write and publish anything more, be sure and send me their new works_." cdxvii.--putting a stop to pilgrim's progress. jemmy gordon, meeting the prosecutor of a felon, named _pilgrim_, who was convicted and sentenced to be transported at the cambridge assizes, exclaimed, "you have done, sir, what the pope of rome could never do; you have put a stop to _pilgrim's progress_!" cdxviii.--epigram. life is a lottery where we find that fortune plays full many a prank; and when poor ---- got his mind, 'twas fortune made him _draw a blank_. cdxix.--a sudden change. one drinking some beer at a petty ale-house in the country, which was very strong of the hops and hardly any taste of the malt, was asked by the landlord, if it was not well hopped. "yes," answered he, "if it had hopped a little farther, it would have _hopped into the water_." cdxx.--valuable discovery. a recent philosopher discovered a method to avoid being dunned! "how--how--how?" we hear everybody asking. he _never_ run in debt. cdxxi.--a useful ally. "_cracked_ china mended!" zounds, man, off this minute! there's work for you, or else the deuce is in it! cdxxii.--two sides to a speech. charles lamb sitting next some chattering woman at dinner, observing he didn't attend to her, "you don't seem," said the lady, "to be at all the better for what i am saying to you!"--"no, ma'am," he answered, "but this gentleman on the other side of me must, for it all came in at _one ear_ and went out at _the other_!" cdxxiii.--wilkie's simplicity. on the birth of a friend's son (now a well-known novelist), sir david wilkie was requested to become one of the sponsors for his child. sir david, whose studies of human nature extended to everything but infant human nature, had evidently been refreshing his boyish recollections of puppies and kittens; for, after looking intently into the child's eyes, as it was held up for his inspection, he exclaimed to the father, with serious astonishment and satisfaction, "he _sees_!" cdxxiv.--ringing the changes. at a tavern one night, messrs. _more_, _strange_, and _wright_ met to drink, and good thoughts to exchange: says more, "of us three, the whole town will agree, there is only one knave, and that's _strange_." "yes," says strange (rather sore), "i'm sure there's one _more_, a most terrible knave and a bite, who cheated his mother, his sister and brother."-- "o yes," replied more, "that is _wright_." cdxxv.--knowing his man. a man was brought before lord mansfield, charged with stealing a silver ladle, and the counsel for the crown was rather severe upon the prisoner for being an attorney. "come, come," said his lordship, "don't exaggerate matters; if the fellow had been an _attorney_, he would have _stolen the bowl_ as well as the ladle." cdxxvi.--a small glass. the manager of a scotch theatre, at which f.g. cooke was playing _macbeth_, seeing him greatly exhausted towards the close of the performance, offered him some whiskey in a very small thistle-glass, saying at the same time, by way of encouragement, "take that, mr. cooke; take that, sir; it is the real mountain dew; that will never hurt you, sir!"--"_not if it was vitriol_!" was the rejoinder. cdxxvii.--domestic economy. the following bill of fare (which consists of a dish of fish, a joint of meat, a couple of fowls, vegetables, and a pudding, being in all seven dishes for sevenpence!) had its rise in an invitation which a _young_ lady of forty-seven sent to her lover to dine with her on christmas day. to unite taste and economy is no easy thing; but to show her lover she had learned that difficult art, she gave him the following dinner:-- £ s. d. at top, fish, two herrings middle, one ounce and a half of butter, melted - / bottom, a mutton chop, divided on one side, one pound of small potatoes - / on the other side, pickled cabbage - / first remove, two larks, plenty of crumbs - / mutton removed, french-roll boiled for a pudding - / parsley for garnish - / ---------- £ --seven dishes for sevenpence! cdxxviii.--an empty head. of a light, frivolous, flighty girl, whom jerrold met frequently, he said, "that girl has no more head than a periwinkle." cdxxix.--a bad label. tom bought a gallon of gin to take home; and, by way of a label, wrote his name upon a card, which happened to be the seven of clubs, and tied it to the handle. a friend coming along, and observing the jug, quietly remarked: "that's an awful careless way to leave that liquor!"--"why?" said tom. "because somebody might come along with the _eight_ of clubs and take it!" cdxxx.--"aye! there's the rub." a gentleman, playing at piquet, was much teased by a looker-on who was short-sighted, and, having a very long nose, greatly incommoded the player. to get rid of the annoyance, the player took out his handkerchief, and applied it to the nose of his officious neighbor. "ah! sir," said he, "i beg your pardon, but i really took it for _my own_." cdxxxi.--moral equality of man. all honest men, whether counts or cobblers, are of the same rank, if classed by moral distinctions. cdxxxii.--a silk gown. grattan said of hussey burgh, who had been a great liberal, but, on getting his silk gown, became a ministerialist, that all men knew silk to be a non-conducting body, and that since the honorable member had been enveloped _in silk_, no spark of _patriotism_ had reached his heart. cdxxxiii.--epigram by a plucked man. every cantab, it is presumed, knows where shelford fen is, and that it is famous for rearing geese. a luckless wight, who had the misfortune to be _plucked_ at his examination for the degree of b.a., when the rev. t. shelford was his examiner, made the following extemporaneous epigram:-- "i have heard they _plucked_ geese upon _shelford_ fen, but never till now knew that _shelford_ plucked men." cdxxxiv.--the measure of a brain. one afternoon, when jerrold was in his garden at putney, enjoying a glass of claret, a friend called upon him. the conversation ran on a certain dull fellow, whose wealth made him prominent at that time. "yes," said jerrold, drawing his finger round the edge of his wineglass, "that's the range of his intellect, only it had never anything half so good in it." cdxxxv.--foote and lord townsend. foote, dining one day with lord townsend, after his duel with lord bellamont, the wine being bad, and the dinner ill-dressed, made foote observe, that he could not discover what reason could compel his lordship to fight, when he might have effected his purpose with much more ease to himself. "how?" asked his lordship. "how?" replied the wit, "why you should have given him a _dinner_ like this, and _poisoned him_." cdxxxvi.--unreasonable. "tom," said a colonel to one of his men, "how can so good and brave a soldier as you get drunk so often?"--"colonel," replied he, "how can you expect all the _virtues_ that adorn the human character for _sixpence_ a-day?" cdxxxvii.--an honest warranty. a gentleman once bought a horse of a country-dealer. the bargain concluded, and the money paid, the gentleman said, "now, my friend, i have bought your horse, what are his faults?"--"i know of no faults that he has, except two," replied the man; "and _one_ is, that he is hard to catch."--"oh! never mind that," said the buyer, "i will contrive to catch him at any time, i will engage; but what is the other?"--"ah, sir! that is the worst," answered the fellow; "he is good for nothing when you _have_ caught him." cdxxxviii.--the reason why. a man said the only reason why his dwelling was not blown away in a late storm was, because there was a _heavy mortgage_ on it. cdxxxix.--blotting it out. mathews's attendant, in his last illness, intending to give him his medicine, gave in mistake some ink from a phial on a shelf. on discovering the error, his friend exclaimed, "good heavens! mathews, i have given you ink."--"never--never mind, my boy--never mind," said mathews, faintly, "i'll swallow a bit--of _blotting-paper_." cdxl.--clerical wit. an old gentleman of eighty-four having taken to the altar a young damsel of about sixteen, the clergyman said to him, "the _font_ is at the other end of the church."--"what do i want with the font?" said the old gentleman. "oh! i beg your pardon," said the clerical wit, "i thought you had brought _this child to be christened_." cdxli.--a nice distinction. ned shuter thus explained his reasons for preferring to wear stockings with holes to having them darned:--"a hole," said he, "may be the _accident_ of a day, and will pass upon the best gentleman, but _a darn_ is premeditated poverty." cdxlii.--wit and quackery. a celebrated quack, while holding forth on a stage of chelmsford, in order to promote the sale of his medicine, told the people that he came there for their good, and not for want. and then addressing his merry andrew, "andrew," said he, "do we come here _for want_?"--"no faith, sir," replied andrew, "we have _enough_ of that at home." cdxliii.--wit defined. dryden's description of wit is excellent. he says:-- "a thousand different shapes wit wears, comely in thousand shapes appears; 'tis not a tale, 'tis not a jest, admired with laughter at a feast; nor florid talk, which can this title gain,-- the proofs of wit for ever must remain." cdxliv.--a vain search. sir francis blake delaval's death had such an effect on foote that he burst into tears, retired to his room, and saw no company for two days; the third day, jewel, his treasurer, calling in upon him, he asked him, with swollen eyes, what time would the burial be? "not till next week, sir," replied the other, "as i hear the surgeons are first to dissect his head." this last word restored foote's fancy, and, repeating it with some surprise, he asked, "and what will they get there? i am sure i have known poor frank these five-and-twenty years, and i never could find anything in it." cdxlv.--a bad customer. "we don't sell spirits," said a law-evading beer-seller; "we will give you a glass; and then, if you want a biscuit, we'll sell it to you for three ha'pence." the "good creature" was handed down, a stiff glass swallowed, and the landlord handed his customer a biscuit. "well, no, i think not," said the customer; "you sell 'em too dear. i can get lots of 'em _five or six_ for a penny anywhere else." cdxlvi.--a reflection. an overbearing barrister, endeavoring to brow-beat a witness, told him he could plainly see a _rogue_ in his face. "i never knew till now," said the witness, "that my _face_ was a _looking-glass_." cdxlvii.--foote. an artist named forfeit, having some job to do for foote, got into a foolish scrape about _the antiquity of family_ with another artist, who gave him such a drubbing as confined him to his bed for a considerable time. "forfeit! forfeit!" said foote, "why, surely you have the best of the argument; your family is not only _several thousand years old_, but at the same time _the most numerous_ of any on the face of the globe, on the authority of shakespeare:-- "all the souls that are, were _forfeit_ once." cdxlviii.--inquest extraordinary. died from fatigue, three laundresses together all, verdict,--had tried to wash a shirt marked wetherall.[a] [a] sir charles wetherall was noted for want of cleanliness. cdxlix.--a base one. a friend was one day reading to jerrold an account of a case in which a person named ure was reproached with having suddenly jilted a young lady to whom he was engaged. "ure seems to have turned out to be a _base 'un_," said jerrold. cdl.--profitable juggling. a professor of legerdemain entertained an audience in a village, which was principally composed of colliers. after "astonishing the natives" with various tricks, he asked the loan of a halfpenny. a collier, with a little hesitation, handed out the coin, which the juggler speedily exhibited, as he said, transformed into a sovereign. "an' is that my bawbee?" exclaimed the collier. "undoubtedly," answered the juggler. "let's see 't," said the collier; and turning it round and round with an ecstasy of delight, thanked the juggler for his kindness, and putting it into his pocket, said, "i'se war'nt ye'll _no turn't_ into a bawbee again." cdli.--pickpocketing. the baron de béranger relates, that, having secured a pickpocket in the very act of irregular abstraction, he took the liberty of inquiring whether there was anything in his face that had procured him the honor of being singled out for such an attempt. "why, sir," said the fellow, "your face is well enough, but you had on thin shoes and white stockings in dirty weather, and so i made sure you were a _flat_." cdlii.--dunning and lord thurlow. when it was the custom for barristers to leave chambers early, and to finish their evenings at the coffee-houses in the neighborhood of the inns of court, lord thurlow on some occasion wanted to see dunning privately. he went to the coffee-house frequented by him, and asked a waiter if mr. dunning was there. the waiter, who was new in his place, said he did not know him. "not know him!" exclaimed thurlow, with his usual oaths; "go into the room up stairs, and if you see any gentleman _like the knave of clubs_, tell him he is particularly wanted." the waiter went up, and forthwith reappeared followed by dunning. cdliii.--affectation. delia is twenty-two, and yet so weak, poor thing, she's learning still to walk and speak. cdliv.--warm friendships. some people were talking with jerrold about a gentleman as celebrated for the intensity as for the shortness of his friendships. "yes," said jerrold, "his friendships are so warm that he no sooner takes them up than he puts them down again." cdlv.--theatrical mistakes. a laughable blunder was made by mrs. gibbs, at covent garden theatre, in the season of , in the part of _miss stirling_, in "the clandestine marriage." when speaking of the conduct of _betty_, who had locked the door of _miss fanny's_ room, and walked away with the key, mrs. g. said, "_she had locked the key, and carried away the door in her pocket_." mrs. davenport, as _mrs. heidelberg_, had previously excited a hearty laugh, by substituting for the original dialogue, "_i protest there's a candle coming along the gallery with a man in his hand_;" but the mistake by mrs. gibbs seemed to be so unintentional, so unpremeditated, that the effect was irresistible; and the audience, celebrated the joke with three rounds of applause. cdlvi.--a broken head. "i am the only man in europe, sir," said the colonel, "that ever had a broken head,--to live after it. i was hunting near my place in yorkshire; my horse threw me, and i was pitched, head-foremost, upon a scythe which had been left upon the ground. when i was taken up my head was found to be literally cut in two, and was spread over my shoulders like a pair of epaulettes. _that_ was a broken head, if you please, sir." cdlvii.--caledonian comfort. two pedestrian travellers, natives of the north, had taken up their quarters for the night at a _highland hotel_ in breadalbane: one of them next morning complained to his friend that he had a very indifferent bed, and asked him how he had slept. "troth, man," replied donald, "nea vera well, either; but i was muckle better aff than the _bugs_, for de'il ane of them closed an e'e the hale night!" cdlviii.--an odd family. blayney said, in reference to several persons, all relations to each other, but who happened to have no descendants, that "it seemed to be _hereditary_ in their family to have no children." cdlix.--a lawyer's opinion of law. counsellor m----t, after he retired from practice, being one day in company where the uncertainty of the law became the topic of conversation, was applied to for his opinion, upon which he laconically observed, "if any man were to claim the _coat_ upon my back, and threaten my refusal with a lawsuit, he should certainly have it, lest in defending my _coat_ i should too late find that i was deprived of my _waistcoat_ also." cdlx.--ben jonson. when the archbishop of york sent him from his table an excellent dish of fish, but without drink, said:-- "in a dish came fish from the arch-bis- hop was not there, because there was no _beer_." cdlxi.--unremitting kindness. "call that a kind man," said an actor, speaking of an absent acquaintance; "a man who is away from his family, and never sends them a farthing! call that kindness?" "yes, unremitting kindness," jerrold replied. cdlxii.--kean's impromptu. at birmingham, one of kean's "benefits" was a total failure. in the last scene of the play ("a new way to pay old debts"), wherein allusion is made to the marriage of a lady, "take her, sir," kean suddenly added, "and the birmingham _audience_ into the bargain." cdlxiii.--a truth for the ladies. a learned doctor has given his opinion that tight lacing is a public benefit, inasmuch as it _kills off_ all the foolish girls, and leaves the wise only to grow into women. cdlxiv.--a mark of respect. congreve was disputing a point of fact with a man of a very positive disposition, but one who was not overburdened with sense. the latter said to him, "if the fact is not as i have stated, i'll give you my head."--"i accept it," said congreve; "for _trifles_ show respect." cdlxv.--a gretna customer. a runaway couple were married at gretna green. the smith demanded five guineas for his services. "how is this?" said the bridegroom, "the gentleman you last married assured me that he only gave you a guinea."--"true," said the smith, "but _he_ was an irishman. i have married him six times. _he is a good customer_, and _you_ i may never see again." cdlxvi.--leaving his verdict. "i remember," says lord biden, "mr. justice gould trying a case at york, and when he had proceeded for about two hours, he observed, 'here are only eleven jurymen in the box, where is the twelfth?'--'please you, my lord,' said one of the eleven, 'he has gone away about some other business--but _he has left his verdict with me_!'" cdlxvii.--over-wise. in a lecture-room of st. john's college, cambridge, a student one morning, construing the medea of euripides came to the following passage:-- [greek: all ouk arisophos eimi.] to which he gave the proper sense,-- "i am not _over-wise_;" but pausing as if he doubted its correctness,--"_you_ are quite right, sir," observed the lecturer; "go on." cdlxviii.--impromptu. 'tis said that walls have ears; if this be true, st stephen's walls the gift must often rue. cdlxix.--independence. jemmy gordon, the cambridge eccentric, when he happened to be without shoes or stockings, one day came in contact with a person of very indifferent character. the gentleman, pitying his condition, told him, if he called at his house, he would give him a pair of shoes. "excuse me, sir," replied jemmy, assuming a contemptuous air, "i would not stand in _your shoes_ for all the world!" cdlxx.--on pride. fitsmall, who drinks with knights and lords, to steal a share of notoriety, will tell you in important words, he _mixes_ in the best society. cdlxxi.--black letter. an old friend of charles lamb having been in vain trying to make out a black-letter text of chaucer in the temple library, laid down the precious volume, and with an erudite look told lamb that "in those old books, charley, there is sometimes a deal of very _indifferent spelling_." cdlxxii.--a hiatus. "did you not on going down find a _party_ in your kitchen?" asked an underbred barrister of a witness. "a _tea-party_, mr. ----?" mildly interposed judge maule. cdlxxiii.--a reasonable request. an officer advising his general to capture a post, said: "it will only cost a few men."--"will _you_ make one of the few?" remarked the general. cdlxxiv.--a striking point. when mr. gulley, the ex-pugilist, was elected member for pontefract, gilbert a'beckett said: "should any opposition be manifested in the house of commons towards mr. gulley, it is very probable the _noes_ (_nose_) will have it." cdlxxv.--very pretty. one day, just as an english officer had arrived at vienna, the empress knowing that he had seen a certain princess much celebrated for her beauty, asked him if it was really true that she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. "i thought so _yesterday_," he replied. cdlxxvi.--an odd bird. a late duke of norfolk had a fancy for owls, of which he kept several. he called one, from the resemblance to the chancellor, lord thurlow. the duke's solicitor was once in conversation with his grace, when, to his surprise, the owl-keeper came up and said, "please you, my lord, lord thurlow's _laid an egg_." cdlxxvii.--inquests extraordinary. found dead, a rat--no case could sure be harder; verdict--confined a week in eldon's larder. died, sir charles wetherall's laundress, honest sue; verdict--ennui--so little work to do. cdlxxviii.--"i've done the same thing often." a mr. john smith, who is described, evidently not without reason, as a "fast" talker, gave the following description of the blowing up of a steamboat on the mississippi: "i had landed at helena for a minute to drop some letters into the post-office, when all of a sudden i heard a tremendous explosion, and, looking up, saw that the sky was for a minute darkened with arms, legs, and other small bits and scraps of my fellow-travellers. amongst an uncommonly ugly medley, i spied the second clerk, about one hundred and fifty feet above my own level. i recognized him at once, for ten minutes before i had been sucking a sherry-cobbler with him out of the same rummer. well, i watched him. he came down through the roof of a shoemaker's shop, and landed on the floor close by the shoemaker, who was at work. the clerk, being in a hurry, jumped up to go to the assistance of the other sufferers, when the 'man of wax' demanded five hundred dollars for the damage done to his roof. 'too high,' replied the clerk; 'never paid more than two hundred and fifty dollars in my life, _and i've done the same thing often_.'" cdlxxix.--confidence. "why," said a country clergyman to one of his flock, "do you always sleep in your pew when i am in the pulpit, while you are all attention to every stranger i invite?"--"because, sir," was the reply, "when _you_ preach i'm sure all's right, but i can't trust _a stranger_ without keeping a good look-out." cdlxxx.--the cut infernal. said wetherall the other night of ----: "he's the silliest elf i ever _knew_." sir charles was right, for no one ever _knows himself_. cdlxxxi.--feeling his way. "uncle," said a young man (who thought that his guardian supplied him rather sparingly with pocket-money), "is the queen's head _still_ on the sovereign?"--"of course it is, you stupid lad! why do you ask that?"--"because it is now such a length of time since _i saw one_." cdlxxxii.--the will. jerry dying intestate, his relatives claimed, whilst his widow most vilely his mem'ry defam'd: "what!" cries she, "must i suffer because the old knave without leaving a will, is laid snug in the grave?" "that's no wonder," says one, "for 'tis very well known, since he married, poor man, he'd _no will of his own_." cdlxxxiii.--ingenuousness. two young officers, after a mess-dinner, had very much ridiculed their general. he sent for them, and asked them if what was reported to him was true. "general," said one of them, "_it is_; and we should have said much more if our _wine_ had not failed." cdlxxxiv.--a new sport. quin thought angling a very barbarous diversion; and on being asked why, gave this reason: "suppose some superior being should bait a hook with venison, and go a-_quinning_, i should certainly bite; and what a sight should i be dangling in the air!" cdlxxxv.--sydney smith. sydney smith was once dining in company with a french gentleman, who had been before dinner indulging in a number of free-thinking speculations, and had ended by avowing himself a materialist. "very good soup, this," said mr. smith. "_oui, monsieur, c'est excellente_," was the reply. "pray, sir, do you _believe_ in a _cook_?" inquired mr. smith. cdlxxxvi.--epigram on the duke of ----'s consistency. that he's ne'er known to change his mind, is surely nothing strange; for no one yet could ever find he'd any mind to change. cdlxxxvii.--a fair proposal. "why don't you take off your hat?" said lord f---- to a boy struggling with a calf. "so i wull, sir," replied the lad; "if your lordship will _hold_ my calf, i'll pull off my hat." cdlxxxviii.--a doubtful creed. judge maule, in summing up a case of libel, and speaking of a defendant who had exhibited a spiteful piety, observed, "one of these defendants, mr. blank, is, it seems, a minister of religion--of _what_ religion does not appear, but, to judge by his conduct, it cannot be any form of christianity." severe. cdlxxxix.--a satisfactory total. a scotch minister, after a hard day's labor, and while at a "denner tea," as he called it, kept incessantly praising the "haam," and stating that "mrs. dunlop at hame was as fond o' haam like that as he was," when the mistress kindly offered to send her the present of a ham. "it's unco kin' o' ye, unco kin', but i'll no pit ye to the trouble; i'll just tak' it hame on the horse afore me." when, on leaving, he mounted, and the ham was put into a sack, but some difficulty was experienced in getting it to lie properly. his inventive genius soon cut the gordian-knot. "i think, mistress, _a cheese_ in the ither en' wad mak' _a gran' balance_." the hint was immediately acted on, and, like another john gilpin, he moved away with his "balance true." cdxc.--good riddance. a certain well-known provincial bore having left a tavern-party, of which burns was one, the bard immediately demanded a bumper, and, addressing himself to the chairman, said, "i give you the health, gentlemen all, of the _waiter_ that called my lord ---- out of the room." cdxci.--calculation. says giles, "my wife and i are _two_, yet, faith, i know not why, sir." quoth jack, "you're _ten_, if i speak true; she 's _one_ and you're a _cipher_." cdxcii.--george ii. and the recorder. when that vacancy happened on the exchequer bench which was afterwards filled by mr. adams, the ministry could not agree among themselves whom to appoint. it was debated in council, the king, george ii., being present; till, the dispute growing very warm, his majesty put an end to the contest by calling out, in broken english, "i will have none of dese, give me the man wid de _dying speech_," meaning mr. adams, who was then recorder of london, and whose business it therefore was to make the report to his majesty of the convicts under sentence of death. cdxciii.--sleeping round. the celebrated quin had this faculty. "what sort of a morning is it, john?"--"very wet, sir."--"any mullet in the market?"--"no, sir."--"then, john, you may call me this time to-morrow." so saying, he composed himself to sleep, and got rid of the _ennui_ of a dull day. cdxciv.--at his fingers' ends. "i suppose," said a quack, while feeling the pulse of his patient, "that you think me a _humbug_?"--"sir," replied the sick man, "i perceive that you can _discover_ a man's thoughts by your touch." cdxcv.--not so easy. a certain learned serjeant, who is apt to be testy in argument, was advised by the court not to _show temper_, but to _show cause_. cdxcvi.--a point. pope was one evening at button's coffee-house, where he and a set of literati had got poring over a latin manuscript, in which they had found a passage that none of them could comprehend. a young officer, who heard their conference, begged that he might be permitted to look at the passage. "oh," says pope, sarcastically, "by all means; pray let the young gentleman look at it." upon which the officer took up the manuscript, and, considering it a while, said there only wanted a note of interrogation to make the whole intelligible: which was really the case. "and pray, master," says pope, with a sneer, "what is a _note of interrogation_?"--"a note of interrogation," replied the young fellow, with a look of great contempt, "is a little _crooked thing_ that asks questions." cdxcvii.--the republic of learning. one asked another why learning was always called a republic. "forsooth," quoth the other, "because scholars are _so poor_ that they have _not a sovereign_ amongst them." cdxcviii.--challenging a jury. an irish fire-eater, previous to a trial in which he was the defendant, was informed by his counsel, that if there were any of the jury to whom he objected, he might legally _challenge_ them. "faith, and so i will," replied he; "if they do not acquit me i will _challenge_ every man of them." cdxcix.--walpoliana. when mr. naylor's father married his second wife, naylor said, "father, they say you are to be married to-day; are you?"--"well," replied the bishop, "and what is that to you?"--"nay, nothing; only if you had told me, i would have _powdered_ my hair." a tutor at cambridge had been examining some lads in latin; but in a little while excused himself, and said he must speak english, for his mouth was _very sore_. after going out of the commons, and fighting a duel with mr. chetwynd, whom he wounded, "my uncle" (says walpole) "returned to the house, and was so little moved as to speak immediately upon the _cambric bill_;" which made swinny say, that "it was a sign he was not _ruffled_." d.--minding his business. murphy was asked how it was so difficult to waken him in the morning: "indeed, master, it's because of taking your own advice, always to attind to what i'm about; so whenever i _sleeps_, i pays _attintion_ to it." di.--pence table. a schoolboy going into the village without leave, his master called after him, "where are you going, sir?"--"i am going to buy a ha'porth of nails."--"what do you want a ha'porth of nails for?"--"for a _halfpenny_," replied the urchin. dii.--satisfaction. lord william poulat was said to be the author of a pamphlet called "the snake in the grass." a gentleman abused in it sent him a challenge. lord william protested his innocence, but the gentleman insisted upon a denial under his own hand. lord william took a pen and began: "this is to scratify that the buk called 'the snak'"--"oh! my lord," said the person, "i am satisfied; your lordship has already convinced me _you did not_ write the book." diii.--a safe appeal. a physician once defended himself from raillery by saying, "i defy any person whom i ever attended, to accuse me of ignorance or neglect."--"that you may do safely," replied an auditor, "for you know, doctor, _dead_ men tell no tales." div.--a cautious lover. "when i courted her," said spreadweasel, "i took lawyer's advice, and signed every letter to my love,--'yours, without prejudice!'"--d.j. dv.--the sword and the scabbard. a wag, on seeing his friend with something under his cloak, asked him what it was. "a poniard," answered he; but he observed that it was a bottle: taking it from him, and drinking the contents, he returned it, saying, "there, i give you the _scabbard_ back again." dvi.--touching. when lord eldon resigned the great seal, a small barrister said, "to me his loss is irreparable. lord eldon always behaved to me like _a father_."--"yes," remarked brougham, "i understand he always treated you like _a child_." dvii.--the college bell! at a party of college grandees, one of the big-wigs proposed that each gentleman should toast his favorite _belle_. when it came to the turn of dr. barrett (who happened to be one of the _quorum_) to be called on for the name of the fair object of his admiration, he very facetiously gave, "the college bell!" _vivat collegium sancti petri_! dviii.--french language. when some one was expatiating on the merits of the french language to mr. canning, he exclaimed: "why, what on earth, sir, can be expected of a language which has but one word for _liking_ and _loving_, and puts a fine woman and a leg of mutton on a par:--_j'aime julie; j'aime un gigot_!" dix.--epigram. (on the alleged disinterestedness of a certain prelate.) he says he don't think of himself, and i'm to believe him inclined; for by the confession, the elf admits that he's _out_ of his _mind_. dx.--certainly not asleep. a country schoolmaster had two pupils, to one of whom he was partial, and to the other severe. one morning it happened that these two boys were late, and were called up to account for it. "you must have heard the bell, boys; why did you not come?"--"please, sir," said the favorite, "i was dreaming that i was going to margate, and i thought the school-bell was the steamboat-bell."--"very well," said the master, glad of any pretext to excuse his favorite. "and now, sir," turning to the other, "what have you to say?"--"please, sir," said the puzzled boy, "_i--i--was waiting to see tom off_!" dxi.--anticipation. lord avondale, chief baron of the exchequer, was much given to anticipation. a lawyer once observed in his presence, "coming through the market just now i saw a butcher, with his knife, going to kill a calf; at that moment a child ran across him, and he killed ----" "o, my goodness!--he killed _the child_!" exclaimed his lordship. "no, my lord, _the calf_; but you will always anticipate." dxii.--the best judge. a lady said to her husband, in jerrold's presence:-- "my dear, you certainly want some new trousers."--"no, i think not," replied the husband. "well," jerrold interposed, "i think the lady who always wears them ought to know." dxiii.--the rivals. a good story of gibbon is told in the last volume of moore's memoirs. the _dramatis personæ_ were lady elizabeth foster, gibbon the historian, and an eminent french physician,--the historian and doctor being rivals in courting the lady's favor. impatient at gibbon's occupying so much of her attention by his conversation, the doctor said crossly to him, "_quand milady elizabeth foster sera malade de vos fadaises, je la guérirai_." [when my lady elizabeth foster is made ill by your twaddle, i will cure her.] on which gibbon, drawing himself up grandly, and looking disdainfully at the physician, replied, "_quand milady elizabeth foster sera morte de vos recettes, je l'im-mor-taliserai_." [when my lady elizabeth foster is dead from your recipes i will immortalize her.] dxiv.--dead language. among the many english who visited paris in was alderman wood, who had previously filled the office of lord mayor of london. he ordered a hundred visiting cards, inscribing upon them. "alderman wood, _feu lord maire de londres_," which he distributed amongst people of rank, having translated the word "late" into "_feu_," which we need hardly state means "dead." dxv.--walpoliana. sir john germain was so ignorant, that he is said to have left a legacy to sir matthew decker, as the _author_ of st. matthew's gospel. churchill (general c----, a natural son of the marlborough family) asked pulteney the other day, "well, mr. pulteney, will you break me, too?"--"no, charles," replied he, "_you break_ fast enough of yourself!" don't you think it hurt him more than the other breaking would? walpole was plagued one morning with that oaf of unlicked antiquity, prideaux, and his great boy. he talked through all italy, and everything in all italy. upon mentioning stosch, walpole asked if he had seen his collection. he replied, very few of his things, for he did not like his company; that he never heard so much _heathenish talk_ in his days. walpole inquired what it was, and found that stosch had one day said before him, _that the soul was only a little glue_. dxvi.--a slight difference. a clergyman, who had to preach before archbishop whately, begged to be let off, saying, "i hope your grace will excuse my preaching next sunday."--"certainly," said the other indulgently. sunday came, and the archbishop said to him, "well! mr. ----, what became of you? we expected you to preach to-day."--"oh, your grace said you would excuse my preaching to-day."--"exactly; but i did not say i would excuse you _from_ preaching." dxvii.--epigram. (on mr. croker's reputation for being a wag.) they say his _wit's refined_! thus is explained the seeming mystery--_his wit is strained_. dxviii.--a nice distinction. "what is the difference," asked archbishop whately of a young clergyman he was examining, "between a form and a ceremony? the meaning seems nearly the same; yet there is a very nice distinction." various answers were given. "well," he said, "it lies in this: you sit upon a _form_, but you stand upon _ceremony_." dxix.--late dinner. some one remarking that the dinner hour was always getting later and later, "ay," quoth rogers, "it will soon end in our not dining till _to-morrow_." dxx.--an old joke. as a wag at a ball, to a nymph on each arm alternately turning, and thinking to charm, exclaimed in these words, of which quin was the giver-- "you're my gizzard, my dear; and, my love, you're my liver." "alas!" cried the fair on his left--"to what use? for you never saw _either served up_ with a goose!" dxxi.--time works wonders. a gentleman dining at a hotel, whose servants were "few and far between," despatched a lad among them for a cut of beef. after a long time the lad returned, and was asked by the faint and hungry gentleman, "are you the lad who took away my plate for this beef?"--"yes, sir."--"bless me," resumed the hungry wit, "how _you have grown_!" dxxii.--a novel idea. "morrow's library" is the mudie of dublin; and the rev. mr. day, a popular preacher. "how inconsistent," said archbishop whately, "is the piety of certain ladies here. they go to _day_ for a sermon and to _morrow_ for a novel!" dxxiii.--the spirit and the letter. a man was described in a plea as "i. jones," and the pleader referred in another part of the plea to "i" as an "initial." the plaintiff said that the plea was bad, because "i" was not a name. sir w. maule said that there was no reason why a man might not be christened "i" as well as isaac, inasmuch as either could be pronounced alone. the counsel for the plaintiff then objected that the plea admitted that "i" was not a name by describing it as "an initial."--"yes," retorted the judge, "but it does not aver that it is not a _final_ as well as an _initial_ letter." dxxiv.--losing an i. a man being interrogated on a trial, spoke several words with much impropriety; and at last saying the word _curosity_, a counsellor exclaimed, "how that fellow murders the english language!"--"nay," returned another, "he has only knocked an _i_ out." dxxv.--driving it home. the late james fergusson, clerk of session, a most genial and amiable man, of whose periodical fits of absence most edifying stories are still repeated by his friends, was an excellent and eloquent speaker, but in truth, there was often more sound than matter in his orations. he had a habit of lending emphasis to his arguments by violently beating with his clenched hand the bar before which he pleaded. once when stating a case to lord polkemmet, with great energy of action, his lordship interposed, and exclaimed, "maister jemmy, dinna dunt; ye think ye're duntin't _into_ me, and ye're just duntin't _out o' me_." dxxvi.--the empty gun. as dick and tom in fierce dispute engage, and, face to face, the noisy contest wage; "don't _cock_ your chin at me," dick smartly cries. "fear not--his head's not _charged_," a friend replies. dxxvii.--a piece of plate. a young actor having played a part tolerably well, elliston one evening called him into the green-room, and addressed him to this effect: "young man, you have not only pleased the public, but you have pleased me; and, as a slight token of my regard and good wishes, i beg your acceptance of a small _piece of plate_." it was, beyond all question, a _very_ small piece, for it was a silver toothpick! dxxviii.--episcopal sauce. at a dinner-party archbishop whately called out suddenly to the host, "mr. ----!" there was silence. "mr. ----, what is the proper female companion of this john dory?" after the usual number of guesses an answer came, "_anne chovy_." dxxix.--a good critic. a friend of an artist was endeavoring to persuade him not to bestow so much time upon his works. "you do not know, then," said he, "that i have a master very difficult to please?"--"who?"--"_myself_." dxxx.--wilkes's tergiversation. wilkes, one day in his later life, went to court, when george iii. asked him, in a good-natured tone of banter, how his friend serjeant glynn was. glynn had been one of his most furious partisans. wilkes replied, with affected gravity, "nay, sire, don't call serjeant glynn a friend of mine; the fellow was a _wilkite_, which your majesty knows _i never was_." dxxxi.--a slight eruption. a person came almost breathless to lord thurlow, and exclaimed, "my lord, i bring tidings of calamity to the nation!"--"what has happened, man?" said the astonished chancellor. "my lord, a rebellion has broken out."--"where? where?"--"in the _isle of man_."--"in the isle of man," repeated the enraged chancellor. "a tempest in a teapot!" dxxxii.--smoking an m.p. an honorable member, speaking about the tax on _tobacco_, somewhat ludicrously called for certain _returns_. dxxxiii.--a timely reproof. a young chaplain had preached a sermon of great length. "sir," said lord mulgrave, bowing to him, "there were some things in your sermon of to-day i never heard before."--"o, my lord!" said the flattered chaplain, "it is a common text, and i could not have hoped to have said anything new on the subject."--"i heard the clock _strike twice_," said lord mulgrave. dxxxiv.--reproof. "i can't find bread for my family," said a lazy fellow in company. "nor i," replied an industrious miller; "i am obliged to _work_ for it." dxxxv.--a satisfactory reason. mr. alexander, the architect of several fine buildings in the county of kent, was under cross-examination at maidstone, by serjeant (afterwards baron) garrow, who wished to detract from the weight of his testimony. "you are a builder, i believe?"--"no, sir: i am not a builder; i am an architect!"--"ah, well! architect or builder, builder or architect, they are much the same, i suppose?"--"i beg your pardon, sir; i cannot admit that: i consider them to be totally different!"--"o, indeed! perhaps you will state wherein this great difference consists?"--"an architect, sir, prepares the plans, conceives the design, draws out the specifications,--in short, supplies the mind. the builder is merely the bricklayer or the carpenter: the builder, in fact, is the machine,--the architect the power that puts the machine together, and sets it going!"--"o, very well, mr. architect, that will do! and now, after your very ingenious distinction without a difference, perhaps you can inform the court who was the architect for the tower of babel!"--"there was _no_ architect, sir, and hence _the confusion_!" dxxxvi.--the tanner; an epigram. a bermondsey tanner would often engage, in a long _tête-à-tête_ with his dame, while trotting to town in the kennington stage, about giving their villa a name. a neighbor, thus hearing the skin-dresser talk, stole out, half an hour after dark, picked up in the roadway a fragment of chalk, and wrote on the palings,--"_hide_ park!" dxxxvii.--an absent man. a conceited young man asked foote what apology he should make for not being one of a party the day before, to which he had been invited. "o, my dear sir," replied the wit, "say nothing about it, you were not _missed_." dxxxviii.--a double knock. on dr. k----'s promotion to the bishopric of down, an appointment in some quarters unpopular, archbishop whately observed, "the irish government will not be able to stand many more such _knocks down_ as this!" dxxxix.--a proper retort. a certain dramatic translator, introducing a well-known comedian to madame vestris, said: "madame, this is mr. b----, who is not such a fool as he looks."--"true, madame," said the comedian; "and that is the great _difference_ between me and my friend." dxl.--foraging. during the interregnum after the death of king charles i., the soldiers were accustomed to visit the theatres and rob the audience, so that it was said to be part of the stage directions,--"_enter_ the red coat: _exeunt_ hat and cloak." dxli.--on jekyll nearly being thrown down by a very small pig. as jekyll walked out in his gown and his wig, he happened to tread on a very small pig: "pig of science," he said, "or else i'm mistaken, for surely thou art an _abridgment of bacon_." dxlii.--unkind. "pray, sir," said lady wallace to david hume, "i am often asked what age i am; what answer should i make?" mr. hume, immediately guessing her ladyship's meaning, said, "madam, when you are asked that question again, answer that you are not yet come to the years of _discretion_." dxliii.--dean swift and king william. the motto which was inserted under the arms of william, prince of orange, on his accession to the english crown, was, _non rapui sed recepi_ ["i did not _steal_ it, but i _received_ it"]. this being shown to dean swift, he said, with a sarcastic smile, "the _receiver_ is as bad as the _thief_." dxliv.--epigram. (on ----'s declaring his detestation of all meanness). if really ---- do but loathe things base or mean, i must confess i'd very freely take my oath, self-love's a fault he don't possess. dxlv.--eloquent silence. "you have already read that section four times, mr. ----," said maule to a prosing counsel. "it's iteration! it's ----, i use no _epithet_, it is iteration;" his look implying _the anathema_. dxlvi.--keeping a promise. thus, with kind words, fairface cajoled his friend: "dear dick! on me thou may'st assured depend; i know thy fortune is but very scant, but never will i see my friend in want." dick soon in gaol, believed his friend would free him; he kept his word,--in want he ne'er would see him! dxlvii.--naval oratory. when admiral cornwallis commanded the canada, a mutiny broke out in the ship, on account of some accidental delay in paying the crew. the men signed _a round robin_, wherein they declared that they would not fire a gun till they were paid. captain cornwallis, on receiving this declaration, caused all hands to be called on deck, and thus addressed them: "my lads, the money cannot be paid till we return to port, and as to your not fighting, that is mere nonsense:--i'll clap you alongside the first large ship of the enemy i see, and i know that the devil himself will not be able to _keep you from it_." the men all returned to their duty, better satisfied than if they had been paid the money ten times over. dxlviii.--verse and worse. among a company of cheerful irishmen, in the neighborhood of st. giles, it was proposed by the host to make a gift of a couple of fowls to him that, off-hand, should write six lines in poetry of his own composing. several of the merry crew attempted unsuccessfully to gain the prize. at length the _wittiest_ among them thus ended the contest:-- "good friends, as i'm to make a po'm, excuse me, if i just step home; two lines already!--be not cru'l, consider, honeys,--i'm a fool. there's four lines!--now i'll gain the fowls, with which i soon shall fill my bow'ls." dxlix.--the iron duke. it is said the duke of wellington bought a book of the "hunchback" at covent garden theatre, for which he gave a pound in gold, refusing to receive the difference. his grace seemed very ready to sacrifice a _sovereign_, which he probably would have done had he at the time refused to take _no change_. the reform bill was under consideration. dl.--clear the court. an irish crier at ballinasloe being ordered to clear the court, did so by this announcement: "now, then, all ye _blackguards_ that isn't _lawyers_, must lave the coort." dli--scotch caution. an old shoemaker in glasgow was sitting by the bedside of his wife, who was dying. she took him by the hand. "weel, john, we're gawin to part. i hae been a gude wife to you, john."--"o, just middling, just middling, jenny," said john, not disposed to commit himself. "john," says she, "ye maun promise to bury me in the auld kirk-yard at stra'von beside my mither. i couldna rest in peace among unco folk, in the dirt and smoke o' glasgow."--"weel, weel, jenny, my woman," said john soothingly, "we'll just pit you in the gorbals _first_, and gin ye dinna lie quiet, we'll try you sine in stra'von." dlii.--walpoliana. sir charles wager always said, "that if a sea-fight lasted three days, he was sure the english suffered the most for the two first, for no other nation would stand _beating_ for two days together." yesterday we had another hearing of the petition of the merchants, when sir robert godschall (then lord mayor) shone brighter than even his usual. there was a copy of a letter produced, the original being lost; he asked whether the copy had been taken _before_ the original was lost, or _after_! this gold-chain came into parliament, cried up for his parts, but proves so dull, one would think he chewed opium. earl says, "i have heard an _oyster_ speak as well twenty times." dliii.--not polite. mr. p----, a candidate for berkshire, was said to have admitted his want of _head_, by demanding a _poll_. dliv.--extenuating circumstances. a case of some great offence was tried before lord hermand (who was a great toper), and the counsel pleaded extenuation for his client in that he was _drunk_ when he committed the offence. "drunk!" exclaimed lord hermand, in great indignation; "if he could do such a thing when he was drunk, what might he not have done when he was _sober_?" evidently implying that the normal condition of human nature and its most hopeful one, was a condition of intoxication. dlv.--on mr. husband's marriage. this case is the strangest we've known in our life, the husband's a husband, and so is the wife. dlvi.--confidence. the first time jerrold saw a celebrated song-writer, the latter said to him:-- "youngster, have you sufficient confidence in me to lend me a guinea?" _jerrold._--"o yes; i've all the confidence, but i have n't the guinea." dlvii.--lady anne. at portsmouth, during the representation of _richard the third_, on richard exclaiming, "o, take more pity in thine eyes, and see him here," miss white, who was in lady anne, indignantly exclaimed, "would they were _battle-axes_ (basilisks) to strike _thee dead_." dlviii.--nice language. a man being tried for sheep-stealing, evidence was given that he had been seen washing tripe. the counsel for the crown, in examining the witness, observed with ill-timed indelicacy, "he was washing _bowels_?"--"yes, sir."--"the bowels of an animal, i suppose?"--"yes, sir." the counsel sits down. justice maule: "pray, was it _a wren's_ stomach?" dlix.--unpoetical reply. a hardy seaman, who had escaped one of the recent shipwrecks upon our coast, was asked by a good lady how he felt when the waves broke over him. he replied, "_wet_, ma'am,--_very wet_." dlx.--imitation of a cow. mr. james boswell, the friend and biographer of dr. johnson, when a youth, went to the pit of covent garden theatre in company with dr. blair, and, in a frolic, imitated the lowing of a cow; and the universal cry in the galleries was, "encore the cow! encore the cow!" this was complied with, and, in the pride of success, mr. boswell attempted to imitate some other animals, but with less success. dr. blair, anxious for the fame of his friend, addressed him thus: "my dear sir, i would confine myself to _the cow_." dlxi.--taking his measure. a conceited packman called at a farm-house in the west of scotland, in order to dispose of some of his wares. the goodwife was startled by his southern accent, and his high talk about york, london, and other big places. "an' whaur come ye frae yersel?" was the question of the gude wife. "ou! i am from the border!"--"the border. oh! i thocht that; for we aye think the _selvidge_ is the wakest bit o' the wab!" dlxii.--thurlow and pitt. when the lord chancellor thurlow was supposed to be on no very friendly terms with the minister (mr. pitt), a friend asked the latter how thurlow drew with them. "i don't know," said the premier, "how he _draws_, but he has not refused _his oats_ yet." dlxiii.--epigram. (on lord ----'s delivering his speeches in a sitting position, owing to excessive gout.) in asserting that z. is with villany rife, i very much doubt if the whigs misreport him; since _two_ members _attached to his person through life_, have, on recent occasions, _refused to support him_. dlxiv.--a happy man. lord m---- had a very exalted opinion of his own cleverness, and once made the following pointed remark: "when i happen to say a foolish thing, i always burst out a laughing!"--"i envy you your happiness, my lord, then," said charles townshend, "for you must certainly live the _merriest_ life of any man in europe." dlxv.--vulgar arguments. at a club, of which jerrold was a member, a fierce jacobite, and a friend, as fierce, of the cause of william the third, were arguing noisily, and disturbing less excitable conversationalists. at length the jacobite, a brawny scot, brought his fist down heavily upon the table, and roared at his adversary:-- "i tell you what it is, sir, i spit upon your king william!" the friend of the prince of orange was not to be out-mastered by mere lungs. he rose, and roared back to the jacobite:-- "and i, sir, spit upon your james the second!" jerrold, who had been listening to the uproar in silence, hereupon rung the bell, and shouted:-- "waiter, _spittoons for two_!" dlxvi.--a clear case. mr. justice maule would occasionally tax the powers of country juries. _ex. gr._ "gentlemen," said the judge, "the learned counsel is perfectly right in his law, there is _some_ evidence upon that point; but he's a lawyer, and you're not, and you don't know what he means by _some_ evidence, so i'll tell you. suppose there was an action on a bill of exchange, and six people swore they saw the defendant accept it, and six others swore they heard him say he should have to pay it, and six others knew him intimately, and swore to his handwriting; and suppose on the other side they called a poor old man who had been at school with the defendant forty years before and had not seen him since, and he said he rather thought the acceptance was not his writing, why there'd be _some_ evidence that it was not, and that's what mr. ---- means in this case." need we add that the jury retired to consider their verdict? dlxvii.--the latin for cold. a schoolmaster asked one of his scholars in the winter time, what was the latin for cold. "o sir," answered the lad, "i forget at this moment, although i have it at my _fingers' ends_." dlxviii.--piece de resistance. "do come and dine with me," said john to pat: "you must; though i have only a nice piece of beef and some potatoes for you."--"o my dear fellow! don't make the laist apology about the dinner, it's the very same i should have had at home, _barrin' the beef_." dlxix.--lamb and erskine. counsellor lamb, an old man when lord erskine was in the height of his reputation, was of timid and nervous disposition, usually prefacing his pleadings with an apology to that effect; and on one occasion, when opposed, in some cause, to erskine, he happened to remark that "he felt himself growing more and more timid as he grew older."--"no wonder," replied the relentless barrister; "every one knows the older a _lamb_ grows, the more _sheepish_ he becomes." dlxx.--true wit. true wit is like the brilliant stone dug from golconda's mine; which boasts two various powers in one, to cut as well as shine. genius, like that, if polished right, with the same gifts abounds; appears at once both keen and bright, and sparkles while it wounds. dlxxi.--order! order! a barrister opened a case somewhat confusedly. mr. justice maule interrupted him. "i wish, mr. ----, you would put your facts in some order; chronological order is the best, but i am not particular. any order you like--_alphabetical_ order." dlxxii.--theatrical wit. hatton, who was a considerable favorite at the haymarket theatre, and particularly in the part of _jack junk_, was one night at gosport, performing the character of _barbarossa_. in the scene where the tyrant makes love to _zapphira_, and reminds her of his services against the enemies of her kingdom, he was at a loss, and could not catch the word from the prompter, when, seeing the house crowded with sailors, and regardless of the gross anachronism, he exclaimed, with all the energy of tragedy-- "did not i, by that brave knight sir sidney smith assisted, and in conjunction with the gallant nelson, drive bonaparte and his fierce marauders from egypt's shores?" the jolly tars thought that it was all in his part, and cheered the actor with three rounds of applause. dlxxiii.--the cut direct. a gentleman having his hair cut, was asked by the garrulous operator "how he would have it done?"--"if possible," replied the gentleman, "_in silence_." dlxxiv.--busy bodies. a master of a ship called out, "who is below?" a boy answered, "will, sir."--"what are you doing?"--"nothing, sir."--"is tom there?"--"yes," said tom. "what are _you_ doing?"--"helping will, sir." dlxxv.--the hopeful pupil. when the comedy of "she stoops to conquer" was in rehearsal, goldsmith took great pains to give the performers his ideas of their several parts. on the first representation he was not a little displeased to hear the representative of _young marlow_ play it as an irishman. as soon as _marlow_ came off the stage, goldsmith asked him the meaning of this, as it was by no means intended as an irish character. "sir," replied the comedian, "i spoke it as nearly as i could to the manner in which you instructed me, except that i did not give it quite so strong a _brogue_." dlxxvi.--the force of habit. a toping bookseller presented a check at the banking-house of sir w. curtis and co., and upon the cashier putting the usual question, "how will you have it?" replied, "_cold, without sugar_." dlxxvii.--notice to quit. an ayrshire gentleman, when out on the st of september, having failed time after time in bringing down a single bird, had at last pointed out to him by his attendant bag-carrier, a large covey, thick and close on the stubbles. "noo! mr. jeems, let drive at them, just as they are!" mr. jeems did let drive, as advised, but all flew off, safe and sound. "hech, sir (remarks his friend), but ye've made thae yins shift _their quarters_." dlxxviii.--a literal joke. lord eldon always pronounced the word _lien_ as though it were _lyon_; and sir arthur pigot pronounced the same word _lean_. on this jekyll wrote the following epigram:-- "sir arthur, sir arthur, why, what do you mean, by saying the chancellor's _lion_ is _lean_? d'ye think that his kitchen's so bad as all that, that nothing within it will ever get fat?" dlxxix.--an argument. says p--l--s, "why the bishops are by nature meant the _soil_ to share, i'll quickly make you understand; for can we not deduct with ease, that nature has designed the _seas_ expressly to _divide the land_?" dlxxx.--the candle and lantern. during the period sir busick harwood was professor of anatomy in the university of cambridge, he was called in, in a case of some difficulty, by the friends of a patient, who were anxious for his opinion of the malady. being told the name of the medical man who had previously prescribed, sir busick exclaimed, "he! if he were to descend into the patient's stomach with a _candle and lantern_, when he ascended he would not be able to name the complaint." dlxxxi.--one head better than a dozen. king henry viii., designing to send an embassy to francis i. at a very dangerous juncture, the nobleman selected begged to be excused, saying, "such a threatening message to so hot a prince as francis i. might go near to cost him his life."--"fear not," said old harry, "if the french king should take away your life, i will take off the heads of a dozen frenchmen now in my power."--"but of all these heads," replied the nobleman, "there may not be _one to fit_ my shoulders." dlxxxii.--keeping a conscience. the great controversy on the propriety of requiring a subscription to articles of faith, as practised by the church of england, excited at this time ( ) a very strong sensation amongst the members of the two universities. paley, when pressed to sign the clerical petition which was presented to the house of commons for relief, excused himself, saying, "he could not _afford_ to keep a conscience." dlxxxiii.--debtor and creditor. a tradesman having dunned a customer for a long time, the debtor at last desired his servant one morning to admit him. "my friend," said he to him, "i think you are a very honest fellow, and i have a great regard for you; therefore, i take this opportunity to tell you, that as i shall never pay you a farthing, you had better go home, mind your business, and don't lose your time by calling here. as for the others, they are a set of vagabonds, for whom _i have no affection_, and they may waste their time as they please." dlxxxiv.--portmanteau _v._ trunk. serjeant whitaker, one of the most eminent lawyers of his day, was an eccentric. a friend, at one of the assize towns, offered him a bed, and the next morning asked him if he had found himself comfortable and warm. "yes, madam," replied the serjeant; "yes, pretty well, on the whole. at first i felt a little queer for want of mrs. whitaker; but recollecting that my portmanteau was in the room, i threw it behind my back, and it _did every bit_ as well." dlxxxv.--seeing a coronation. a sad mistake was once made at court by the beautiful and celebrated duchess of hamilton. shortly before the death of george ii., and whilst he was greatly indisposed, miss gunning, upon becoming duchess of hamilton, was presented to his majesty. the king, who was particularly pleased with the natural elegance and artlessness of her manner, indulged in a long conversation with her grace. in the course of this _tête-à-tête_ the duchess said, with great animation, "i have seen everything! there is only one thing in this world i wish to see, and i do long so much to see that!" the curiosity of the monarch was so greatly excited to know what this wonderful thing could be, that he eagerly asked her what it was. "a coronation," replied the thoughtless duchess; nor was she at all conscious of the mistake she had made, till the king took her hand with a sigh, and with a melancholy expression replied, "i apprehend you have not long to wait; you will soon have _your wish_." her grace was overwhelmed with confusion. dlxxxvi.--hook's politeness. hook was once observed, during dinner, nodding like a chinese mandarin in a tea-shop. on being asked the reason, he replied, "why when no one else asks me to take champagne, i take sherry with the épergne, and bow to the flowers." dlxxxvii.--on napoleon's statue at boulogne turned, by design or accident, with its back to england. upon its lofty column's stand napoleon takes his place: his back still turned upon that land that never saw his face. dlxxxviii.--old times. a gentleman in company with foote, took up a newspaper, saying, "he wanted to see what the ministry were about." foote, with a smile, replied, "look among _the robberies_." dlxxxix.--an arcadian. a lazy fellow lying down on the grass said, "o, how i do wish that this was called _work_, and well paid!" dxc.--johnson and mrs. siddons. in spite of the ill-founded contempt dr. johnson professed to entertain for actors, he persuaded himself to treat mrs. siddons with great politeness, and said, when she called on him at bolt court, and frank, his servant, could not immediately provide her with a chair, "you see, madam, wherever _you_ go there are _no seats_ to be got." dxci.--rowing in the same boat. "we row in the same boat, you know," said a literary friend to jerrold. this literary friend was a comic writer, and a comic writer only. jerrold replied, "true, my good fellow, we _do_ row in the same boat, but with very different skulls." dxcii.--a genuine irish bull. sir boyle roche said, "single misfortunes never come alone, and the greatest of all possible misfortunes is generally followed by a much greater." dxciii.--the ruling passion. in the last illness of george colman, the doctor being late in an appointment, apologized to his patient, saying that he had been called in to see a man who had fallen down a well. "did he kick the bucket, doctor?" groaned out poor george. dxciv.--epigram. (on ----'s late neglect of his judicial duties.) lord ----'s left his circuit for a day, which is to me a mystery profound; he leaves the _circuit_! he, of whom they say, that he delights in constant _turning round_. dxcv.--shakespeare illustrated. dignum and moses kean the mimic were both tailors. charles bannister met them under the piazza in covent garden, arm-in-arm. "i never see those men together," said he, "but they put me in mind of shakespeare's comedy, _measure for measure_!" dxcvi.--degeneracy. there had been a carousing party at colonel grant's, the late lord seafield, and two highlanders were in attendance to carry the guests up stairs, it being understood that none could by any other means arrive at their sleeping apartments. one or two of the guests, however, were walking up stairs and declined the proffered assistance. the attendants were utterly astonished, and indignantly exclaimed, "aigh, it's sare cheenged times at castle grant, when gentlemens can gang to bed on their _ain feet_." dxcvii.--worthy of credit. a gentleman was applied to by a crossing-sweeper for charity. the gentleman replied, "i will remember you when i return."--"please your honor," says the man, "i'm ruined by the _credit_ i give in that way." dxcviii.--paying in kind. a farmer, having lost some ducks, was asked by the counsel for the prisoner accused of stealing them to describe their peculiarity. after he had done so, the counsel remarked, "they can't be such a rare breed, as i have some like them in my yard."--"that's very likely," said the farmer; "these are not the _only ducks_ of the same sort i've had stolen lately." dxcix.--very serious. a regular physician being sent for by a quack, expressed his surprise at being called in on an occasion apparently trifling. "not so trifling, neither," replied the quack; "for, to tell you the truth, i have, by mistake, taken some of my own pills." dc.--the late lord audley. mr. philip thicknesse, father of the late lord audley, being in want of money, applied to his son for assistance. this being denied, he immediately hired a cobbler's stall, directly opposite his lordship's house, and put up a board, on which was inscribed, in large letters, "boots and shoes mended in the best and cheapest manner, by philip thicknesse, _father_ of lord audley." his lordship took the hint, and the board was removed. dci.--delicate hint. queen caroline, when princess of wales, in one of her shrewd letters, says, "_my better half_, or my worse, which you choose, has been ill, i hear, but nothing to make me hope or fear." dcii.--a scotch medium. after giving sandy certain directions about kirk matters, the minister sniffed once or twice, and remarked, "saunders, i fear you have been 'tasting' (taking a glass) this morning."--"'deed, sir," replied sandy, with the coolest effrontery, set off with a droll glance of his brown eyes; "'deed, sir, i was just ga'in' to observe i thocht there was a smell o' speerits _amang us_ this mornin'!" dciii.--epigram. a watch lost in a tavern! that's a crime; then see how men by drinking lose their time. the watch kept time; and if time will away, i see no reason why the watch should stay. you say the key hung out, and you failed to lock it; time will not be kept pris'ner in a pocket. henceforth, if you will keep your watch, this do, pocket your watch, and watch your pocket, too. dciv.--perfect discontent. an old lady was in the habit of talking to jerrold in a gloomy depressing manner, presenting to him only the sad side of life. "hang it!" said jerrold, one day, after a long and sombre interview, "she wouldn't allow there was a bright side to the moon." dcv.--a bad bargain. a man bought a horse on condition that he should pay half down, and be in debt for the remainder. a short time after, the seller demanding payment of the balance, the other answered, "no; it was agreed that i should be _in your debt_ for the _remainder_; how can that be if i _pay_ it?" dcvi.--a pious minister. if it be true that the heads of the country should set religious example to their inferiors, the e---- of r----, in his observance of one of the commandments, is a pattern to the community; for, not only on the sabbath, but through the week, he takes care as postmaster-general to do _no manner of work_. dcvii.--sterne. some person remarked to him that apothecaries bore the same relation to physicians that attorneys do to barristers. "so they do," said sterne; "but apothecaries and attorneys are not alike, for the latter do not deal in _scruples_." dcviii.--who's the fool? mr. sergeant parry, in illustration of a case, told the following anecdote:-- some merchants went to an eastern sovereign, and exhibited for sale several very fine horses. the king admired them, and bought them; he, moreover, gave the merchants a lac of rupees to purchase more horses for him. the king one day, in a sportive humor, ordered the vizier to make out a list of all the fools in his dominions. he did so, and put his majesty's name at the head of them. the king asked why. he replied, "because you entrusted a lac of rupees to men you don't know, and who will never come back."--"ay, but suppose they should come back?"--"then i shall erase _your_ name and insert _theirs_." dcix.--cold comfort. a juryman, kept several days at his own expense, sent a friend to the judge to complain that he had been paid nothing for his attendance. "o, tell him," said the witty judge, "that if ever he should have to go before a jury himself he will get one for nothing." dcx.--a great difference. "the friends and opponents of the bill," said a'beckett, "are divided into two very distinct classes,--the a-bility and the no-bility." dcxi.--oxford and cambridge actors. king james had two comedies acted before him, the one at cambridge, the other at oxford; that at cambridge was called _ignoramus_, an ingenious thing, wherein one mr. sleep was a principal actor; the other at oxford was but a dull piece, and therein mr. wake was a prime actor. which made his majesty merrily to say, that in cambridge one _sleep_ made him _wake_, and in oxford one _wake_ made him _sleep_. dcxii.--inquest--not extraordinary. great bulwer's works fell on miss basbleu's head, and in a moment, lo! the maid was dead! a jury sat, and found the verdict plain-- "she died of _milk and water on the brain_." dcxiii.--strange jetsum. a thin old man, with a rag-bag in his hand, was picking up a number of small pieces of whalebone which lay on the street. the deposit was of such a singular nature, that we asked the quaint-looking gatherer how he supposed they came there. "don't know," he replied, in a squeaking voice; "but i 'spect some unfortunate female was _wrecked_ hereabout somewhere." dcxiv.--the truth at last. a good instance of absence of mind was an editor quoting from a rival paper one of his own articles, and heading it, "wretched attempt at wit." dcxv.--a pill gratis. a person desirous of impressing lord ellenborough with his importance, said, "i sometimes employ myself as a doctor."--"very likely," remarked his lordship; "but is any one fool enough to _employ you_ in that capacity?" dcxvi.--rather hard. we are told that a member for old sarum (consisting of one large mansion) was once in danger of being pelted with stones; he would have found it _hard_ to have been assailed with his _own constituents_. dcxvii.--scotch penetration. an old lady who lived not far from abbotsford, and from whom the "great unknown" had derived many an ancient tale, was waited upon one day by the author of "waverley." on scott endeavoring to conceal the authorship, the old dame protested, "d'ye think, sir, i dinna ken my _ain_ groats in ither folk's kail?" dcxviii.--a question of time. when jeremy taylor was introduced to the archbishop of canterbury, he was told by the prelate, that his extreme youth was a bar to his present employment. "if your grace," replied taylor, "will _excuse_ me this _fault_, i promise, if i live, to mend it." dcxix.--epigram. (on the sincerity of a certain prelate.) ---- ----'s discourses from his _heart_ proceed, as everybody owns; and thus they prove the poet's art, who says that "sermons are in _stones_." dcxx.--concurrent events. a young fellow, very confident in his abilities, lamented one day that he had _lost_ all his greek. "i believe it happened at the same time, sir," said dr. johnson, "that i _lost_ all my large estate in yorkshire." dcxxi.--a good excuse. an attorney on being called to account for having acted unprofessionally in taking less than the usual fees from his client, pleaded that he had taken _all_ the man had. he was thereupon honorably acquitted. dcxxii.--short and sharp. "why, mr. b.," said a tall youth to a little person who was in company with half-a-dozen huge men, "i protest you are so very small i did not see you before." "very likely," replied the little gentleman; "i am like a sixpence among six copper pennies,--not easily perceived, but worth the _whole_ of them." dcxxiii.--ireland's forgery. says kemble to lewis, "pray what is your play?" cries lewis to kemble, "the _lie of the day_!" "say you so?" replied kemble; "why, we _act the same_; but to cozen the town we adopt a _new name_; for that _vortigern's_ shakespeare's we some of us say, which you very well know is a _lie_ of the day." dcxxiv.--a good one. lamb and coleridge were talking together on the incidents of coleridge's early life, when he was beginning his career in the church, and coleridge was describing some of the facts in his usual tone, when he paused, and said, "pray, mr. lamb, did you ever hear me preach?"--"i _never_ heard you do anything else!" said lamb. dcxxv.--"write me down an ass." a very stupid foreman asked a judge how they were to _ignore_ a bill. "write _ignoramus for self and fellows_ on the back of it," said curran. dcxxvi.--a word to the wise. dr. balguy, a preacher of great celebrity, after having preached an excellent discourse at winchester cathedral, the text of which was, "all wisdom is sorrow," received the following elegant compliment from dr. wharton, then at winchester school:-- if what you advance, dear doctor, be true, that "wisdom is sorrow," how wretched are you. dcxxvii.--liberal gift. a comedian at covent garden advised one of the scene-shifters, who had met with an accident, to try a subscription; and a few days afterwards he asked for the list of names, which, when he had read over, he returned. "why, sir," says the poor fellow, "won't you give me something?"--"why, zounds, man," replied the comedian, "didn't i _give_ you the _hint_?" dcxxviii.--easily answered. a certain lord mayor hearing of a gentleman who had had the small-pox twice, and died of it, asked, if he died the first time or the second. dcxxix.--on the latin gerunds. when dido mourned, Ã�neas would not come, she wept in silence, and was _di-do-dumb_. dcxxx.--dodging a creditor. a creditor, whom he was anxious to avoid, met sheridan coming out of pall mall. there was no possibility of avoiding him, but he did not lose his presence of mind. "that's a beautiful mare you are on!" said sheridan. "do you think so?"--"yes, indeed! how does she trot?" the creditor, highly flattered, put her into full trot. sheridan bolted round the corner, and was _out of sight_ in a moment. dcxxxi.--bad habit. sir frederick flood had a droll habit, of which he could never effectually break himself. whenever a person at his back whispered or suggested anything to him whilst he was speaking in public, without a moment's reflection, he always repeated the suggestion _literatim_. sir frederick was once making a long speech in the irish parliament, lauding the transcendent merits of the wexford magistracy, on a motion for extending the criminal jurisdiction in that county, to keep down the disaffected. as he was closing a most turgid oration by declaring "that the said magistracy ought to receive some signal mark of the lord-lieutenant's favor," john egan, who was rather mellow, and sitting behind him, jocularly whispered, "_and be whipped at the cart's tail_."--"and be whipped at the cart's tail!" repeated sir frederick unconsciously, amidst peals of uncontrollable laughter. dcxxxii.--who's to blame. king james used to say, that he never knew a modest man make his way in a court. as he was repeating this expression one day, a david floyd, who was then in waiting at his majesty's elbow, replied bluntly, "pray, sir, whose _fault_ is that!" the king stood corrected, and was silent. dcxxxiii.--the letter h. sir james scarlett, when at the bar, had to cross-examine a witness whose evidence it was thought would be very damaging, unless he could be bothered a little, and his only vulnerable point was said to be his self-esteem. the witness presented himself in the box,--a portly, overdressed person,--and scarlett took him in hand. _q._ mr. john tomkins, i believe? _a._ yes. _q._ you are a stock-broker? _a._ i _ham_! scarlett regarded him attentively for a few moments, and then said: "and a very fine, well-dressed _ham_ you are, sir?" the shouts of laughter which followed completely disconcerted the witness, and the counsel's point was gained. dcxxxiv.--truth and rhyme. in the days of charles ii., candidates for holy orders were expected to respond in latin to the various interrogatories put to them by the bishop or his examining chaplain. when the celebrated dr. isaac barrow (who was fellow of trinity college, and tutor to the immortal newton) had taken his bachelor's degree, he presented himself before the bishop's chaplain, who, with the stiff stern visage of the times, said to barrow,-- "_quid est fides_?" (what is faith?) "_quod non vides_" (what thou dost not see), answered barrow with the utmost promptitude. the chaplain, a little vexed at barrow's laconic answer, continued,-- "_quid est spes_?" (what is hope?) "_magna res_" (a great thing), replied the young candidate in the same breath. "_quid est charitas_?" (what is charity?) was the next question. "_magna raritas_" (a great rarity), was again the prompt reply of barrow, blending truth and rhyme with a precision that staggered the reverend examiner, who went direct to the bishop and told him that a young cantab had thought proper to give rhyming answers to three several moral questions, and added that he believed his name was barrow, of trinity college, cambridge. "barrow, barrow!" said the bishop, who well knew the literary and moral worth of the young cantab, "if that's the case, ask him no more questions, for he is much better qualified," continued his lordship, "to _examine us than we him_." barrow received his letters of orders forthwith. dcxxxv.--a good translation. "pistor erat quondam, laborando qui fregit collum: qui fregit collum, collum fregitque suum." thus translated-- "there was a baker heretofore, with labor and great pain: did break his neck, and break his neck, and break his neck again." dcxxxvi.--mad quakers. a mad quaker belongs to a small and rich sect; and is, therefore, of greater importance than any _other_ mad person of the same degree in life. dcxxxvii.--bacon. a malefactor, under sentence of death, pretending that he was related to him, on that account petitioned lord chancellor bacon for a _reprieve_. to which petition his lordship answered, "that he could not possibly be _bacon_ till he had first been _hung_." dcxxxviii.--a letter wanting. said vain andrew scalp, "my initials, i guess, are known, so i sign all my poems, a.s." said jerrold, "i own you're a reticent youth, for that's telling only two thirds of the truth." dcxxxix.--advice to the young. jerrold said to an ardent young gentleman, who burned with a desire to see himself in print, "be advised by me, young man: don't take down the shutters before there is something in the window." dcxl.--a promise to pay. joe haines was more remarkable for his practical jokes than for his acting. he was seized one morning by two bailiffs, for a debt of l., as the bishop of ely was passing by in his coach. "gentlemen," said joe, "here's my cousin the bishop of ely going by his house; let me but speak to him, and he'll pay the debt and charges." the bailiffs thought they might venture this, as they were within three or four yards of him. joe went boldly up to the coach, and pulled his hat off to the bishop. his lordship ordered the coach to stop, when joe whispered him gently, "my lord, here are two men who have such great _scruples of conscience_, that i fear they'll hang themselves."--"very well," said the bishop; so, calling to the bailiffs, he said, "you two men come to me to-morrow morning, and _i will satisfy you_." the men bowed, and went away pleased. early on the following day, the bailiffs, expecting the debt and charges, paid a visit to the bishop; when, being introduced, his lordship addressed them. "well, my men, what are your scruples of conscience?"--"scruples!" echoed the bailiff; "we have _no scruples_. we are bailiffs, my lord, who yesterday arrested your cousin, joe haines, for a debt of l.; and your lordship kindly promised to satisfy us to-day." the bishop, reflecting that his honor and name would be exposed were he not to comply, paid the debt and charges. dcxli.--punctuation. some gentlemen talking on the inattention of writers to punctuation, it was observed that the lawyers used no stops in their writings. "i should not mind that," said one of the party, "but they put no _periods_ to their works." dcxlii.--con-cider-ate. lord bottetot, in passing through gloucester, soon after the cider tax, in which he was very unpopular, observing himself burning in effigy, he stopped his coach, and giving a purse of guineas to the mob, said, "pray, gentlemen, if you will burn me, burn me like a gentleman; do not let me linger; i see you have _not faggots enough_." this good-humored speech appeased the people, who gave him three cheers, and let him pass. dcxliii.--fear of educating women. there is a very general notion, that if you once suffer women to eat of the tree of knowledge, the rest of the family will very soon be reduced to the same kind of aerial and unsatisfactory diet. dcxliv.--a-liquid. porson, once conversing with a party of congenial friends, seemed at a loss for _something_ to cheer the inward man, and drawing his glass mechanically towards him, he took up one bottle, and then another, without finding wherewithal to replenish. a friend observing this, he inquired what the professor was in search of. "only _a-liquid_!" answered porson. dcxlv.--top and bottom. the following playful colloquy in verse took place at a dinner-table between sir george rose and james smith, in allusion to craven street, strand, where he resided:-- _j.s._--"at the top of the street ten attorneys find place, and ten dark coal barges are moored: fly, honesty, fly, to some safer retreat, for there's _craft_ in the river, and _craft_ in the street." _sir g.r._--"why should honesty fly to some safer retreat, from attorneys and barges, od rot 'em? for the attorneys are _just_ at the top of the street, and the barges are _just_ at the bottom." dcxlvi.--a suggestive present. jerrold and a company of literary friends were out in the country. in the course of their walk, they stopped to notice the gambols of an ass's foal. a very sentimental poet present vowed that he should like to send the little thing as a present to his mother. "do," jerrold replied, "and tie a piece of paper round its neck, bearing this motto,--'when this you see, remember me.'" dcxlvii.--a new disguise. the duke of norfolk of foote's time was much addicted to the bottle. on a masquerade night, he asked foote what _new_ character he should go in. "go sober!" said foote. dcxlviii.--wet and dry. dr. macknight, who was a better commentator than preacher, having been caught in a shower of rain, entered the vestry soaked with wet. as the time drew on for divine service he became much distressed, and ejaculated over and over, "o, i wish that i was dry! do you think i'm dry? do you think i'm dry eneuch noo?" to this his jocose colleague, dr. henry, the historian, returned: "bide a wee, doctor, and ye'se be _dry eneuch_ when ye get into the _pu'pit_." dcxlix.--rum and water. a certain scotchman, who is not a member of any temperance society, being asked by a dealer to purchase some fine old jamaica, dryly answered, "to tell you the truth, mr. ----, i canna' say i'm very fond of rum; for if i tak' mair than _six_ tum'lers, it's very apt to gi'e me a headache." dcl.--a budget of blunders. perhaps the best concentrated specimen of blunders, such as occur in all nations, but which, of course, are fathered upon paddy wholesale, as if by common consent, is the following:-- _copy of a letter, written during the rebellion by sir ----, an irish member of parliament, to his friend in london._ my dear sir,-- having now a little peace and quietness, i sit down to inform you of the dreadful bustle and confusion we are in from these blood-thirsty rebels, most of whom are, i'm glad to say, killed and dispersed. we are in a pretty mess, can get nothing to eat, nor wine to drink, except whiskey, and when we sit down to dinner we are obliged to keep both hands armed. whilst i write this, i hold a sword in each hand and a pistol in the other. i concluded from the beginning that this would be the end of it, and i see i was right, for it is not half over yet. at present there are such goings on that everything is at a standstill. i should have answered your letter a fortnight ago, but i did not receive it till this morning. indeed, scarcely a mail arrives safe without being robbed. no longer ago than yesterday the coach with the mails from dublin was robbed near this town; the bags had been judiciously left behind for fear of accident, and by good luck there was nobody in it but two outside passengers, who had nothing for the thieves to take. last thursday notice was given that a gang of rebels was advancing here under the french standard, but they had no colors, nor any drums except bagpipes. immediately every man in the place, including women and children, ran out to meet them. we soon found our force much too little; we were far too near to think of retreating. death was in every face, but to it we went, and, by the time half our little party were killed, we began to be all alive again. fortunately the rebels had no guns, except pistols, cutlasses, and pikes, and as we had plenty of muskets and ammunition, we put them all to the sword. not a soul of them escaped, except some that were drowned in an adjacent bog, and, in a very short time, nothing was to be heard but silence. their uniforms were all different colors, but mostly green. after the action we went to rummage a sort of camp, which they had left behind them. all we found was a few pikes, without heads, a parcel of empty bottles full of water, and a bundle of french commissions filled up with irish names. troops are now stationed all round the country, which exactly squares with my ideas. i have only time to add that i am in great haste. yours truly, ---- ----. p.s.--if you do not receive this, of course it must have miscarried, therefore i beg you will write to let me know. dcli.--impromptu. (spoken between the third and fourth acts of cowley's tragedy "the fall of sparta.") so great thy art, that while we viewed, of sparta's sons the lot severe, we caught the spartan fortitude, and saw their woes without _a tear_! dclii.--wilkes and a liberty. so ungrateful was the sound of "wilkes and no. " (the famous number of the "north briton") to george iii., that about , george iv., then a mere boy, having been chid for some fault, and wishing to take his boyish revenge, stole to the king's apartment, and shouting at the door, "wilkes and no. for ever!" ran away. dcliii.--a strange objection. a great drinker being at table, they offered him grapes at dessert. "thank you!" said he, pushing back the plate, "i don't take my _wine in pills_!" dcliv.--the timidity of beauty. it's a great comfort for timid men, that beauty, like the elephant, doesn't know its strength. otherwise, how it would trample upon us!--d.j. dclv.--making a clearance. at glasgow forty years ago, when the time had come for the _bowl_ to be introduced, some jovial and thirsty member of the company proposed as a toast, "the trade of glasgow and _the outward bound_;" the hint was taken, and silks and satins moved off to the drawing-room. dclvi.--a smart one-pounder. while the "beggar's opera" was under rehearsal at the haymarket theatre, in , miss paton, who was to play the part of _polly_, expressed a wish to sing the air of "the miser thus a shilling sees," a note higher; to which the stage-manager immediately replied, "then, miss, you must sing, 'the miser thus a _guinea_ sees.'" dclvii.--resignation. an actor, on his benefit night, having a very limited audience, when he came to the often-quoted passage, "'tis not in mortals to command success, we'll do more, sempronius--we'll deserve it," heaved a deep sigh, and substituted for the last line, "we'll do more, sempronius,--we'll do _without_ it." dclviii.--delpini's remonstrance. delpini had repeatedly applied to the prince of wales to speak to the lord chamberlain to grant him a license for a play at the little theatre in the haymarket, always pleading poverty: at last, when he once met his royal highness coming out of carlton house, he exclaimed, "ah, votre altesse! mon prince! if you do not speak to milor chamberlain for pauvre delpini, i must go to your _papa's_ bench." dclix.--a phonetic joke. a little girl playing at the game of "i love my love with an a," &c., having arrived at the letter z, displayed her orthographical acquirements by taking her lover to the sign of the zebra, and treating him to _zeidlitz_ powders. dclx.--pure folks. very pure folks won't be held up to the light and shown to be very dirty bottles, without paying back hard abuse for the impertinence. dclxi.--good news for the chancellor. we have to congratulate the right honorable lord brougham on the following piece of intelligence: "_yarn_ has risen one farthing a pound." his lordship's long speeches are of course at a premium.--g. a'b. dclxii.--justice not always blind. westmacott, of the _age_ paper, having libelled a gentleman, was well thrashed for his pains. declaring afterwards that he would have justice done him, a person present remarked, "that has been done _already_." a similar story is told of voltaire and the regent of france. dclxiii.--kitchener and colman. the most celebrated wits and _bon vivants_ of the day graced the dinner-table of the late dr. kitchener, and, _inter alia_, the late george colman, who was an especial favorite; his interpolation of a little monosyllable in a written admonition which the doctor caused to be placed on the mantlepiece of the dining parlor will never be forgotten, and was the origin of such a drinking bout as was seldom permitted under his roof. the caution ran thus: "come at seven, go at eleven." colman briefly altered the sense of it; for, upon the doctor's attention being directed to the card, he read, to his astonishment, "come at seven, _go it_ at eleven!" which the guests did, and the claret was punished accordingly. dclxiv.--a spare man. jerrold said to a very thin man, "sir, you are like a pin, but without the head or the point." dclxv.--a long bill. when foote was at salt hill, he dined at the castle inn, and when partridge, the host, produced his bill, which was rather exorbitant, the comedian asked him his name. "partridge, sir," said he. "partridge! it should have been woodcock, _by the length of your bill_!" dclxvi.--royal pun. when a noble admiral of the white, well known for his gallant spirit, his gentlemanly manners, and real goodness of heart, was introduced to william the fourth, to return thanks for his promotion, the cheerful and affable monarch, looking at his hair, which was almost as white as the newly-fallen snow, jocosely exclaimed, "white at _the main_, admiral! white at _the main_!" dclxvii.--a colorable resemblance. two silly brothers, twins, who were very much about town in theodore hook's time, took pains, by dressing alike, to deceive their friends as to their identity. tom hill (the original of paul pry) was expatiating upon these modern dromios, at which hook grew impatient. "well," said hill, "you will admit they resemble each other wonderfully: they are as like as _two peas_."--"they are," retorted hook, "and quite as _green_." dclxviii.--spranger barry. this celebrated actor was, perhaps, in no part so excellent as that of _romeo_, for which he was particularly fitted by an uncommonly handsome and commanding person, and a silver-toned voice. at the time that he attracted the town to covent garden by his excellent performance of his part, garrick found it absolutely necessary to divide the attention of the public by performing _romeo_ himself at drury lane. he wanted the natural advantages of barry, and, great as he was, would, perhaps, have willingly avoided such a contention. this, at least, seems to have been a prevailing opinion; for in the garden scene, when _juliet_ in soliloquy exclaims, "_o romeo, romeo_, wherefore art thou _romeo_?" an auditor archly replied, aloud, "_because barry has gone to the other house_." dclxix.--bad sport. mr. hare, formerly the envoy to poland, had apartments in the same house with mr. fox, and like his friend charles, had frequent visits from bailiffs. one morning, as he was looking out of his window, he observed two of them at the door. "pray, gentlemen," says he, "are you _fox_ hunting, or _hare_ hunting this morning?" dclxx.--measure for measure. the amiable mrs. w---- always insists that her friends who take grog shall mix _equal_ quantities of spirits and water, though she never observes the rule for herself. a writer of plays having once made a glass under her directions, was asked by the lady, "pray, sir, is it _as you like it_?"--"no, madam," replied the dramatist; "it is _measure for measure_." dclxxi.--a probability. jonathan and his friend paddy were enjoying a delightful ride, when they came in sight of what is very unusual in any civilized state now-a-days--an old gallows or gibbet. this suggested to the american the idea of being witty at the expense of his irish companion. "you see _that_, i calculate," said he nasally, pointing to the object just mentioned; "and now where would _you_ be if the gallows had its due?"--"riding _alone_," coolly replied paddy. dclxxii.--legal adulteration. several publicans being assembled at malton, in yorkshire, in order to renew their licenses to retail beer, the worthy magistrate addressed one of them (an old woman), and said he trusted she did not put any pernicious ingredients into the liquor; to which she immediately replied: "i'll assure your worship there's naught pernicious put into our barrels that i know of, but the _exciseman's stick_." dclxxiii.--vox et prÃ�terea nihil. "i wonder if brougham thinks as much as he talks," said a punster perusing a trial; "i vow, since his lordship was made baron vaux, he's been _vaux et præterea nihil_." dclxxiv.--salisbury cathedral spire. a sexton in salisbury cathedral was telling charles lamb that eight people had dined at the pointed top of the spire; upon which lamb remarked that they must have been very _sharp set_. dclxxv.--an act of justice. dr. barton, being in company with dr. nash, who had just printed two heavy folios on the antiquities of worcestershire, remarked that the publication was deficient in several respects, adding, "pray, doctor, are you not a justice of the peace?"--"i am," replied nash. "then," said barton, "i advise you to send your work to the _house of correction_." dclxxvi.--liston's dream. as liston lay wrapt in delicious repose, most harmoniously playing a tune with his nose, in a dream there appeared the adorable venus, who said, "to be sure there's no likeness between us; yet to show a celestial to kindness so prone is, your looks shall soon rival the handsome adonis." liston woke in a fright, and cried, "heaven preserve me! if my face you improve, zounds! madam, you'll _starve me_!" dclxxvii.--a voluminous speaker. a well-known lawyer, mr. marryatt, who declared he had never opened any book after he left school but a law book, once told a jury, when speaking of a chimney on fire: "gentlemen, the chimney took fire; it poured forth _volumes_ of smoke! _volumes_, did i say? whole _encyclopædias_!" mr. marryatt is said to have applied for two _mandami_. dclxxviii.--a suggestive question. douglas jerrold, discussing one day with mr. selby, the vexed question of adapting dramatic pieces from the french, that gentleman insisted upon claiming some of his characters as strictly original creations. "do you remember my baroness in _ask no questions_?" said mr. s. "yes, indeed. i don't think i ever saw a piece of yours without being struck by your _barrenness_," was the retort. dclxxix.--love and hymen. hymen comes when he is called, and love when he pleases. dclxxx.--par nobile fratrum. a former laird of brotherton was on all occasions a man of few words. he had a favorite tame goose, and for hours together brotherton and his silent companion sat by the fireside opposite to each other. on one occasion a candidate for the representation of the county in parliament called upon him to solicit his vote, and urged his request with much eloquence; to all which the laird replied only by nods and smiles, without saying a word. when, however, the candidate was gone, he looked across to his goose, and emphatically remarked, "i'm thinkin' yon windy chiel'll no _tell muckle_ that you and i _said_ till him." dclxxxi.--plain language. mr. john clerk, in pleading before the house of lords one day, happened to say, in his broadest scotch accent, "in plain english, ma lords;" upon which lord eldon jocosely remarked, "in plain scotch, you mean, mr. clerk." the prompt advocate instantly rejoined, "na matter! in plain _common sense_, ma lords, and that's the same in a' languages, ye'll ken." dclxxxii.--a settler. a farmer, in a stage-coach with charles lamb, kept boring him to death with questions in the jargon of agriculturists about crops. at length he put a poser--"and pray, sir, how are turnips t'year?"--"why that, sir," stammered out lamb, "will _depend_ upon the boiled legs of mutton." dclxxxiii.--cash payments. peterson the comedian lent a brother actor two shillings, and when he made a demand for the sum, the debtor, turning peevishly from him, said, "hang it! i'll pay you to-day in some shape or other." peterson good-humoredly replied, "i shall be much obliged to you, tom, to let it be as like _two shillings_ as you can." dclxxxiv.--lawyer's house. the lawyer's house, if i have rightly read, is built upon the fool or madman's head. dclxxxv.--a reasonable demand. colonel b---- was remarkably fat, and coming one night out of the playhouse, called a chair; but while he was preparing to squeeze into it, a friend, who was stepping into his chariot, called out to him, "b----, i go by your door, and will set you down." b---- gave the chairman a shilling, and was going; when one of them scratched his head, and hoped his honor would give him more than a shilling. "for what, you scoundrel? when i never got into your chair?"--"but consider the fright your honor put us into," replied pat,--"_consider the fright_!" dclxxxvi.--ebenezer adams. this celebrated quaker, on visiting a lady of rank, whom he found six months after the death of her husband, sitting on a sofa covered with black cloth, and in all the dignity of woe, approached her with great solemnity, and gently taking her by the hand, thus accosted her: "so friend, i see that thou hast not yet _forgiven_ god almighty." this seasonable reproof had such an effect upon the person to whom it was addressed, that she immediately laid aside her trappings of grief, and went about her necessary business and avocations. dclxxxvii.--one bite at a cherry. a young fellow once offered to kiss a quakeress. "friend," said she, "thee must not do it."--"o, _by jove!_ but i must," said the youth. "well, friend, as thee hast _sworn_, thee may do it, but thee must not make a practice of it." dclxxxviii.--a fig for the grocer! when abernethy was canvassing for the office of surgeon to st. bartholomew's hospital, he called upon a rich grocer. the great man, addressing him, said, "i suppose, sir, you want my vote and interest at this momentous epoch of your life."--"no, i don't," said abernethy. "i want a pennyworth of figs; come, look sharp and wrap them up; i want to be off!" dclxxxix.--steam-boat racing. sir charles lyell, when in the united states, received the following advice from a friend: "when you are racing with an opposition steam-boat, or chasing her, and the other passengers are cheering the captain, who is sitting on the safety-valve to keep it down with his weight, go as far as you can from the engine, and lose no time, especially if you hear the captain exclaim, 'fire up, boys! put on the resin!' should a servant call out, 'those gentlemen who have not paid their passage will please to go to the ladies' cabin,' obey the summons without a moment's delay, for then an explosion may be apprehended. 'why to the ladies' cabin?' said i. because it is the safe end of the boat, and they are getting anxious for the personal security of those who have not yet paid their dollars, being, of course, indifferent about the rest. therefore never pay in advance; for should you fall overboard during a race, and the watch cries out to the captain, 'a passenger overboard,' he will ask, 'has he paid his passage?' and if he receives an answer in the affirmative, he will call out '_go ahead_!'" dcxc.--gently, jemmy. sir james mackintosh invited dr. parr to take a drive in his gig. the horse became restive. "gently, jemmy," says the doctor, "don't irritate him; always soothe your horse, jemmy. you'll do better without me. let me down, jemmy." once on _terra-firma_, the doctor's view of the case was changed. "now, jemmy, touch him up. never let a horse get the better of you. touch him up, conquer him, don't spare him; and now, i'll leave you to manage him--_i'll walk back_." dcxci.--what's in a syllable? longfellow, the poet, was introduced to one longworth, and some one noticed the similarity of the first syllable of the names. "yes," said the poet, "but in this case i fear pope's line will apply,--'_worth_ makes the man, the want of it the _fellow_.'" dcxcii.--quiet theft. a saddle being missing at a funeral, it was observed, no wonder that nothing was heard of it, for it is believed to have been stolen by a _mute_. dcxciii.--good advice. a young man (placed by his friends as a student at a veterinary college) being in company with some of his colleagues, was asked, "if a broken-winded horse were brought to him for cure, what he would advise?" after considering for a moment, "advise," said he, "i should advise the owner _to sell_ as soon as possible." dcxciv.--criticising a statue. soon after canning's statue was put up in palace yard, in all its verdant freshness, the carbonate of copper not yet blackened by the smoke of london, mr. justice gazelee was walking away from westminster hall with a friend, when the judge, looking at the statue (which is colossal), said, "i don't think this is very like canning; he was not so _large_ a man."--"no, my lord," replied his companion, "nor so _green_." dcxcv.--a comparison. during the assizes, in a case of assault and battery, where a stone had been thrown by the defendant, the following clear and conclusive evidence was drawn out of a yorkshireman:-- "did you see the defendant throw the stone?"--"i saw a stone, and i'ze pretty sure the defendant throwed it." "was it a large stone?"--"i should say it wur a largish stone." "what was its size?"--"i should say a sizeable stone." "can't you answer definitely how big it was?"--"i should say it wur a stone of some bigness." "can't you give the jury some idea of the stone?"--"why, as near as i recollect, it wur something of a stone." "can't you compare it to some other object?"--"why, if i wur to compare it, so as to give some notion of the stone, i should say it wur as large as a lump o' chalk!" dcxcvi.--fatigue duty. a certain reverend gentleman in the country was complaining to another that it was a great fatigue to preach twice a day. "oh!" said the other, "i preach twice every sunday, and _make nothing_ of it." dcxcvii.--gluttons and epicures. stephen kemble (who was very fat) and mrs. esten, were crossing the frith, when a gale sprang up, which alarmed the passengers. "suppose, mr. kemble," said mrs. esten; "suppose we become food for fishes, which of us two do you think they will eat first?"--"those that are _gluttons_," replied the comedian, "will undoubtedly fall foul of _me_, but the _epicures_ will attack you!" dcxcviii.--a bad end. it was told of jekyll, that one of his friends, a brewer, had been drowned in his own vat. "ah!" he exclaimed, "floating in his own _watery bier_." dcxcix.--on the name of keopalani (queen of the sandwich islands), which signifies "the dropping of the clouds from heaven." this name's the best that could be given, as will by proof be quickly seen; for "dropping from the clouds from heaven," she was, of course, the _raining queen_. dcc.--accommodating principles. in one of sir robert walpole's letters, he gives a very instructive picture of a skilful minister and a condescending parliament. "my dear friend," writes sir robert, "there is scarcely a member whose purse i do not know to a sixpence, and whose very soul almost i could not purchase at the offer. the reason former ministers have been deceived in this matter is evident--they never considered the temper of the people they had to deal with. i have known a minister so weak as to offer an avaricious old rascal a star and garter, and attempt to bribe a young rogue, who set no value upon money, with a lucrative employment. i pursue methods as opposite as the poles, and therefore my administration has been attended with a different effect." "patriots," says walpole, "spring up like mushrooms. i could raise fifty of them within four-and-twenty hours. i have raised many of them in one night. it is but refusing to gratify an unreasonable or insolent demand, and _up starts_ a patriot." dcci.--boswell's "life of johnson." when boswell's "life of johnson," first made its appearance, boswell was so full of it that he could neither think nor talk of anything else: so much so, that meeting lord thurlow hurrying through parliament street to get to the house of lords, where an important debate was expected, and for which he was already too late, boswell had the temerity to stop and accost him with "have you read my book?"--"yes, ---- you!" replied lord thurlow, "every word of it; i could not _help myself_." dccii.--very like a whale. the first of all the royal infant males should take the title of the prince of _wales_; because 'tis clear to seamen and to lubber, babies and _whales_ are both inclined to _blubber_. dcciii.--a new sign. a drunken fellow coming by a shop, asked an apprentice boy what the sign was. he answered, that it was _a sign_ he was drunk. dcciv.--false quantities. a young man who, on a public occasion, makes a false quantity at the outset of life, can seldom or never get over it. dccv.--not true. a lady was asked by her friends if she really intended to marry mr. ----, who was a good kind of a man, but so very singular. "well," replied the lady, "if he is very much _unlike_ other men, he is more likely to make a good husband." dccvi.--betting. the folly of _betting_ is well satirized in one of walpole's letters: "sept. st, ,--they have put in the papers a good story made at white's. a man dropped down dead at the door, and was carried in; the club immediately made bets whether he was dead or not, and when they were going to bleed him the wagerers for his death interposed, and said it would affect the fairness of the bet." dccvii.--fire and water. paddy being asked if he thought of doing something, which, for his own part, he deemed very unlikely, he said he should "as soon think of attempting to light a cigar at _a pump_." dccviii.--the railroad engineer. though a railroad, learned rector, passes near your parish spire; think not, sir, your sunday lecture e'er will overwhelmed expire. put not then your hopes in weepers, solid work my road secures; preach whate'er you will--_my_ sleepers never will awaken _yours_. these lines will be read with a deep interest, as being literally the _last ever written_ by their highly-gifted and deeply-lamented author,--james smith. dccix.--the specific gravity of folly. coleridge once dined in company with a grave-looking person, an admirable listener, who said nothing, but smiled and nodded, and thus impressed the poet with an idea of his intelligence. "that man is a philosopher," thought coleridge. at length, towards the end of the dinner, some apple-dumplings were placed on the table, and the listener no sooner saw them than, almost jumping from his chair, he exclaimed, "_them's the jockeys for me_!" dccx.--equality. a highwayman and a chimney-sweeper were condemned to be hanged the same time at tyburn,--the first for an exploit on the highway, the latter for a more ignoble robbery. "keep farther off, can't you?" said the highwayman, with some disdain. "sir," replied the sweep, "i _won't_ keep off; i have as much _right_ to be here as you!" dccxi.--a candid counsel. an irish counsel being asked by the judge for whom was he concerned, replied, "i am _concerned_ for the plaintiff, but i'm _retained_ by the defendant." dccxii.--trade against land. when the late mr. whitbread's father, the brewer, first opposed the duke of bedford's interest at bedford, the duke informed him that he would spend £ , rather than he should _come in_. whitbread, with true english spirit, replied, that was nothing; the sale of his grains would pay for that. dccxiii.--true evidence. a jew called on to justify bail in the court of common pleas, the opposing counsel thus examined him: "what is your name?"--"jacob."--"what are you?"--"general dealer."--"do you keep a shop?"--"no."--"how then do you dispose of your goods?"--"to the _best advantage_, my good fellow." dccxiv.--dr. young. dr. young was walking in his garden at welwyn, in company with two ladies (one of whom he afterwards married), when the servant came to acquaint him a gentleman wished to speak with him. as he refused to go, one lady took him by the right arm, the other by the left, and led him to the garden-gate; when, finding resistance in vain, he bowed, laid his hand upon his heart, and spoke the following lines:-- "thus adam looked, when from the garden driven, and thus disputed orders sent from heaven. like him i go, but yet to go am loth; like him i go, for angels drove us both. hard was his fate, but mine is more unkind; his eve went with him, but mine stays behind." dccxv.--a yankee yarn. mr. dickens tells an american story of a young lady, who, being intensely loved by five young men, was advised to "jump overboard, and marry the man who jumped in after her." accordingly, next morning, the five lovers being on deck, and looking very devotedly at the young lady, she plunged into the sea head-foremost. four of the lovers immediately jumped in after her. when the young lady and four lovers were out again, she says to the captain, "what am i to do with them now, they are so wet?"--"take the _dry one_." and the young lady did, and married him. dccxvi.--save us from our friends. the old scottish hearers were very particular on the subject of their ministers' preaching old sermons; and to repeat a discourse which they could recollect was always made a subject of animadversion by those who heard it. a beadle who was a good deal of a wit in his way, gave a sly hit in his pretended defence of his minister on the question. as they were proceeding from church, the minister observed the beadle had been laughing as if he had triumphed over some of his parishioners with whom he had been in conversation. on asking the cause of this, he received for answer, "indeed, sir, they were saying ye had preached an auld sermon to-day, but i tackled them, for i tauld them it was no'an auld sermon, for the minister had preached it no' _sax months_ syne." dccxvii.--love of the sea. love the sea? i dote upon it,--from the beach.--d.j. dccxviii.--unwelcome agreement. a pompous parish clergyman felt his dignity mightily offended by a chubby-faced lad who was passing him without moving his hat. "do you know who i am, sir, that you pass me in that unmannerly way? you are better fed than taught, i think, sir."--"whew, may be it is so, measter, for you _teaches_ me, but i _feeds_ myself." dccxix.--cooke's explanation of the family plate. an american braggart told cooke that his family was amongst the oldest in maryland. cooke inquired if he had carefully examined the family plate,--_the fetters and handcuffs_! dccxx.--a specimen of university etiquette. a poor youth, brought up in one of the colleges, could not afford the price of a pair of shoes, but when his old ones were worn out at the toes, had them capped with leather: whereupon his companions began to jeer him for so doing: "why," said he, "don't you see they must be _capped_? are they not _fellows_?" dccxxi.--a medical opinion. an unfortunate man, who had never drank water enough to warrant the disease, was reduced to such a state by dropsy, that a consultation of physicians was held upon his case. they agreed that tapping was necessary, and the poor patient was invited to submit to the operation, which he seemed inclined to do in spite of the entreaties of his son. "o, father, father, do not let them _tap_ you," screamed the boy, in an agony of tears; "do anything, but do not let them tap you!"--"why, my dear?" inquired the afflicted parent, "it will do me good, and i shall live long in health to make you happy."--"no, father, no, you will not: there never was anything _tapped_ in our house that lasted longer than a week." dccxxii.--the cause. lisette has lost her wanton wiles-- what secret care consumes her youth, and circumscribes her smiles? _a speck on a front tooth._ dccxxiii.--what's going on? a very prosy gentleman, who was in the habit of waylaying jerrold, met his victim, and, planting himself in the way, said, "well, jerrold, what is going on to-day?" jerrold said, darting past the inquirer, "i am!" dccxxiv.--snoring. a certain deacon being accustomed to snore while asleep in church, he received the following polite note: "deacon ---- is requested not to commence snoring to-morrow until the sermon is begun, as some persons in the neighborhood of his pew would like to hear the _text_." dccxxv.--two make a pair. soon after the attack of margaret nicholson on the life of george iii., the following bill was stuck up in the window of an obscure alehouse: "here is to be seen the _fork_ belonging to the _knife_ with which margaret nicholson attempted to stab the king." dccxxvi.--almanac-makers. two women scolding each other, one said, "thou liest like a thief and a witch." the other replies, "but thou liest like an _almanac-maker_; for thou liest every day and all the year long." dccxxvii.--a black joke. a gentleman at limehouse observed the laborers at work in a tier of colliers, and wanting to learn the price of coals, hailed one of the men with, "well, paddy, how are coals?"--"_black as ever_," was the reply. dccxxviii.--epigram. "he that will never look upon an ass, must lock his door and break his looking-glass." dccxxix.--exaggeration. a man was boasting before a companion of his very strong sight. "i can discern from here a mouse on the top of that very high tower."--"i don't see it," answered, his comrade; "but i hear it _running_." dccxxx.--winning a loss. a swell clerk from london, who was spending an evening in a country inn full of company, and feeling secure in the possession of most money, made the following offer. "i will drop money into a hat with any man in the room. the man who holds out the longest to have the whole and treat the company."--"i'll do it," said a farmer. the swell dropped in half a sovereign. the countryman followed with a sixpence. "go on," said the swell. "i won't," said the farmer; "take the whole, and _treat_ the company." dccxxxi.--advice gratis. on the trial of a cause in the court of common pleas, mr. serjeant vaughan having asked a witness a question rather of _law_ than of _fact_, lord chief justice eldon observed, "brother vaughan, this is not quite fair; you wish the witness to give you, _for nothing_, what you would not give him under _two guineas_." dccxxxii.--short commons. at a shop-window in the strand there appeared the following notice: "wanted, _two_ apprentices, who will be treated as _one_ of the family." ccxxxiii.--licensed to kill. when an inferior actor at the haymarket once took off david garrick, foote limped from the boxes to the green-room, and severely rated him for his impudence. "why, sir," said the fellow, "you take him off every day, and why may not i?"--"because," replied the satirist, "_you are not qualified to kill game, and i am_." cxxxiv.--wilkes and liberty. when wilkes was in france, and at court, madame pompador addressed him thus: "you englishmen are fine fellows; pray how far may a man go in his abuse of the royal family among you?"--"i do not at present know," replied he, dryly, "but i _am trying_." dccxxxv.--a pat reply. lord j. russell endeavored to persuade lord langdale to resign the permanent mastership of the rolls for the uncertain position of lord chancellor, and paid the learned lord very high compliments on his talent and acquirements. "it is useless talking, my lord," said langdale. "so long as i enjoy the _rolls_, i care nothing for your _butter_." dccxxxvi.--lord north asleep. his lordship was accustomed to sleep during the parliamentary harangues of his adversaries, leaving sir grey cooper to note down anything remarkable. during a debate on ship-building, some tedious speaker entered on an historical detail, in which, commencing with noah's ark, he traced the progress of the art regularly down-wards. when he came to build the spanish armada, sir grey inadvertently awoke the slumbering premier, who inquired at what era the honorable gentleman had arrived. being answered, "we are now in the reign of queen elizabeth," "dear sir grey," said he, "why not let me sleep a _century or two_ more?" dccxxxvii.--rather saucy. "you had better ask for manners than money," said a finely-dressed gentleman to a beggar who asked for alms. "i asked for what i thought you had _the most_ of," was the cutting reply. dccxxxviii.--long story. a loquacious lady, ill of a complaint of forty years' standing, applied to mr. abernethy for advice, and had begun to describe its progress from the first, when mr. a. interrupted her, saying he wanted to go into the next street, to see a patient; he begged the lady to inform him how long it would take her to tell her story. the answer was, twenty minutes. he asked her to proceed, and hoped she would endeavor to _finish_ by the time he _returned_. dccxxxix.--euclid refuted. (a part is not equal to the whole.--axiom.) this is a vulgar error, as i'll prove, or freely forfeit half a pipe of sherry; 'tis plain _one sixteenth part_ of brougham's sense, equals the _whole_ possessed by l--d--d--y. dccxl.--bred on the boards. when morris had the haymarket theatre, jerrold, on a certain occasion, had reason to find fault with the strength, or rather, the want of strength, of the company. morris expostulated, and said, "why there's v----, he was bred on these boards!"--"he looks as though he'd been cut out of them," replied jerrold. dccxli.--on the dulness of a debate in the house of commons. no wonder the debate fell dead 'neath such a constant fire of lead. dccxlii.--painting. a nobleman who was a great amateur painter showed one of his performances to turner. that great artist said to him, "my lord, you want nothing but _poverty_ to become a very excellent painter." dccxliii.--old age. a very old man, who was commonly very dull and heavy, had now and then intervals of gayety: some person observed, "_he resembles an old castle which is sometimes visited by spirits_." dccxliv.--an effort of memory. "would you think it?" said a. to b. "mr. roscius has taken a week to study a prologue which i wrote in a day."--"his _memory_ is evidently not so good as yours," replied b. dccxlv.--a ready reckoner. a man entered a shop, saying he should like a two-penny loaf, which was accordingly placed before him. as if suddenly changing his mind, he declared he should prefer two pen'orth of whiskey instead. this he drank off, and pushing the loaf towards the shopkeeper, was departing, when demand of payment was made for the whiskey. "sure, and haven't i _given_ ye the loaf for the whiskey?" "well, but you did not _pay_ for the loaf, you know." "thrue, and why should i? don't you see, i _didn't take_ the loaf, man alive?" and away he quietly walked, leaving the worthy dealer lost in a brown study. dccxlvi.--a rowland for an oliver. mr. hawkins, q.c., engaged in a cause before the late lord campbell, had frequently to mention the damage done to a carriage called a brougham, and this word he pronounced, according to its orthography, _brough-am_. "if my learned friend will adopt the usual designation, and call the carriage a _bro'am_, it will save the time of the court," said lord campbell, with a smile. mr. hawkins bowed and accepted his lordship's pronunciation of the word during the remainder of his speech. when lord campbell proceeded to sum up the evidence, he had to refer to the omnibus which had damaged the bro'am, and in doing so pronounced the word also, according to its orthography. "i beg your lordship's pardon," said mr. hawkins, very respectfully; "but if your lordship will use the common designation for such a vehicle, and call it a 'buss--" the loud laughter which ensued, and in which his lordship joined, prevented the conclusion of the sentence. dccxlvii.--true politeness. sir w.g., when governor of williamsburg, returned the salute of a negro who was passing. "sir," said a gentleman present, "do you descend to salute a slave?"--"why, yes," replied the governor; "i cannot suffer a man of his condition to _exceed_ me in _good manners_." dccxlviii.--a rake's economy. with cards and dice, and dress and friends, my savings are complete; i light the candle at both ends, and thus make both ends meet. dccxlix.--easily satisfied. a cowardly fellow having spoken impertinently to a gentleman, received a violent box of the ear. he demanded whether that was meant in _earnest_. "yes, sir," replied the other, without hesitation. the coward turned away, saying, "i am glad of it, sir, for i do not like such _jests_." dccl.--pert. macklin was once annoyed at foote laughing and talking just as the former was about to begin a lecture. "well, sir, you seem to be very merry there; but do you know what i am going to say now?" asked macklin. "no, sir," said foote, "pray, _do you_?" dccli.--a royal muff. the following anecdote was told with great glee at a dinner by william iv., then duke of clarence: "i was riding in the park the other day, on the road between teddington and hampton-wick, when i was overtaken by a butcher's boy, on horseback, with a tray of meat under his arm.--'nice pony that of yours, old gentleman,' said he.--'pretty fair,' was my reply.--'mine's a good 'un too,' rejoined he; 'and i'll trot you to hampton-wick for a pot o' beer.' i declined the match; and the butcher's boy, as he stuck his single spur into his horse's side, exclaimed, with a look of contempt, 'i thought you were only a _muff_!'" dcclii.--a broad hint. an eminent barrister having a case sent to him for an opinion--the case being outrageously preposterous--replied, in answer to the question, "would an action lie?"--"yes, if the witnesses would _lie_ too, but not otherwise." dccliii.--a taste of marriage. a gentleman described to jerrold the bride of a mutual friend. "why, he is six foot high, and she is the shortest woman i ever saw. what taste, eh?" "ay," jerrold replied, "and only a taste!" dccliv.--"the last war." mr. pitt, speaking in the house of commons of the glorious war which preceded the disastrous one in which we lost the colonies, called it "the last war." several members cried out, "the last war but one." he took no notice; and soon after, repeating the mistake, he was interrupted by a general cry of "the last war but one,--the last war but one."--"i mean, sir," said mr. pitt, turning to the speaker, and raising his sonorous voice,--"i mean, sir, the last war that britons would wish _to remember_." whereupon the cry was instantly changed into an universal cheering, long and loud. dcclv.--the philanthropist. jerrold hated the cant of philanthropy, and writhed whenever he was called a philanthropist in print. on one occasion, when he found himself so described, he exclaimed, "zounds, it tempts a man to kill a child, to get rid of the reputation." dcclvi.--too much of a bad thing. english tourists in ireland soon discover that the length of irish miles constantly recurs to their observation; eleven irish miles being equal to about fourteen english. a stranger one day complained of the barbarous condition of the road in a particular district; "true," said a native, "but if the quality of it be rather _infairior_, we give _good measure_ of it, anyhow." dcclvii--bad company. at the time that the bubble schemes were _flourishing_, in , mr. abernethy met some friends who had risked large sums of money in one of those fraudulent speculations; they informed him that they were going to partake of a most sumptuous dinner, the expenses of which would be defrayed by the company. "if i am not very much deceived," replied he, "you will have nothing but _bubble and squeak_ in a short time." dcclviii.--epigram. (on the king's double dealing.) of such a paradox as this, before i never dreamt; the king of england has become, a _subject_ of contempt!!! dcclix.--painting. a gentleman seeing a fine painting representing a man playing on the lute, paid this high compliment to the artist. "when i look on that painting i think myself _deaf_." dcclx.--nil nisi, etc. a gentleman calling for beer at another gentleman's table, finding it very bad, declined drinking it. "what!" said the master of the house, "don't you like the beer?"--"it is not to be found fault with," answered the other; "for one should never speak ill of the _dead_." dcclxi.--odd foresight. lady margaret herbert asked somebody for a _pretty_ pattern for a nightcap. "well," said the person, "what signifies the pattern of a nightcap?"--"o! child," said she, "you know, in _case of fire_!" dcclxii.--"thereby hangs," etc. a certain irish judge, called the hanging judge, and who had never been known to shed a tear except when _macheath_, in the "beggar's opera," got his reprieve, once said to curran, "pray, mr. curran, is that hung beef beside you? if it is, i will try it."--"if you try it, my lord," replied curran, "it's sure _to be hung_." dcclxiii.--general wolfe. general wolfe invited a scotch officer to dine with him; the same day he was also invited by some brother officers. "you must excuse me," said he to them; "i am already engaged to wolfe." a smart young ensign observed, he might as well have expressed himself with more respect, and said _general_ wolfe. "sir," said the scotch officer, with great promptitude, "we never say _general_ alexander, or _general_ cæsar." wolfe, who was within hearing, by a low bow to the scotch officer, acknowledged the pleasure he felt at the high compliment. dcclxiv.--a question for the peerage. as the late trades unions, by way of a show, over westminster-bridge strutted five in a row, "i feel for the bridge," whispered dick, with a shiver; "thus tried by the mob, it may sink in the river." quoth tom, a crown lawyer: "abandon your fears: as a bridge it can only be tried by _its piers_." dcclxv.--a noise for nothing. when thomas sheridan was in a nervous, debilitated state, and dining with his father at peter moore's, the servant, in passing by the fire-place knocked down the plate-warmer, and made such a clatter as caused the invalid to start and tremble. moore, provoked by the accident, rebuked the man, and added, "i suppose you have broken all the plates?"--"no, sir," said the servant, "not one!"--"not one!" exclaimed sheridan, "then, hang it, sir, you have made all that noise _for nothing_!" dcclxvi.--short measure. some one wrote in a hotel visitors' book his initials, "a.s." a wag wrote underneath, "_two-thirds_ of the truth." dcclxvii.--decanting extraordinary. theodore hook once said to a man at whose table a publisher got very drunk, "why, you appear to have emptied your _wine-cellar_ into your _book-seller_." dcclxviii.--a dilemma. whilst a country parson was preaching, the chief of his parishioners sitting near the pulpit was fast asleep: whereupon he said, "now, beloved friends, i am in a great strait; for if i speak too softly, those at the farther end of the church cannot hear me; and if i talk too loud, i shall _wake_ the chief man in the parish." dcclxix.--how to make a man of consequence. a brow austere, a circumspective eye, a frequent shrug of the _os humeri_, a nod significant, a stately gait, a blustering manner, and a tone of weight, a smile sarcastic, an expressive stare,-- adopt all these, as time and place will bear: then rest assured that those of little sense will deem you, sure, _a man of consequence_. dcclxx.--a cheap watch. a sailor went to a watchmaker, and presenting a small french watch to him, demanded to know how much the repair of it would come to. the watchmaker, after examining it, said, "it will be more expense repairing than its original cost."--"i don't mind that," said the tar; "i will even give you double the original cost, for i gave a fellow a blow on the head for it, and if you repair it, i will give you _two_." dcclxxi.--scotch wut. a laird riding past a high, steep bank, stopped opposite a hole in it, and said, "john, i saw a brock gang in there."--"did ye," said john; "wull ye haud my horse, sir?"--"certainly," said the laird, and away rushed john for a spade. after digging for half an hour, he came back, nigh speechless, to the laird, who had regarded him musingly. "i canna find him, sir," said john. "deed," said the laird very coolly, "i wad ha' wondered if ye had, for it's _ten years_ sin' i saw him gang in there." dcclxxii.--attending to a wish. "i wish you would pay a little attention, sir!" exclaimed a stage manager to a careless actor. "well, sir, so i am paying _as little_ as i can!" was the calm reply. dcclxxiii.--a mechanical surgeon. a valiant sailor, that had lost his leg formerly in the wars, was nevertheless, for his great prudence and courage, made captain of a ship; and being in the midst of an engagement, a cannon bullet took off his wooden supporter, so that he fell down. the seamen immediately called out for a surgeon. "confound you all," said he, "no surgeon, no surgeon,--_a carpenter! a carpenter_!" dcclxxiv.--canine poetry. a pretty little dog had written on its collar the following distich:-- "this collar don't belong to you, sir, pass on--or you may have one too, sir." the same person might have been the proprietor of another dog, upon whose collar was inscribed:-- "i am tom draper's dog. whose dog are you?" dcclxxv.--footiana. foote praising the hospitality of the irish, after one of his trips to the sister kingdom, a gentleman asked him whether he had ever been at _cork_. "no, sir," replied foote; "but i have seen many _drawings_ of it." dcclxxvi.--night and morning. an industrious tradesman having taken a new apprentice, awoke him at a very early hour on the first morning, by calling out that the family were sitting down to table. "thank you," said the boy, as he turned over in the bed to adjust himself for a new nap; "thank you, i never eat anything during _the night_!" dcclxxvii.--full inside. charles lamb, one afternoon, in returning from a dinner-party, took his seat in a crowded omnibus, when a stout gentleman subsequently looked in and politely asked, "all full inside?"--"i don't know how it may be, sir, with the _other_ passengers," answered lamb, "but that last piece of oyster-pie did the business for _me_." dcclxxviii.--a short journey. an old clergyman one sunday, at the close of the sermon, gave notice to the congregation that in the course of the week he expected to go on a mission to the heathen. one of his parishioners, in great agitation, exclaimed, "why, my dear sir, you have never told us one word of this before; what shall we do?"--"o, brother," said the parson, "i don't expect to _go out_ of this town." dcclxxix.--a poser by lord ellenborough. during the chief-justiceship of the late lord ellenborough there was a horse-cause, to which a certain privy councillor was a party, and who, as of right, took his seat upon the bench at the hearing, and there (while his adversary's counsel told his tale) ventured a whisper of remark to the chief justice. "if you again _address me_, sir w----, i shall give you in custody of the marshal." it was a settler for him, and, as it turned out, of his cause; for he lost it, and most justly too. dcclxxx.--epigram. cries sylvia to a reverend dean, "what reason can be given, since marriage is a holy thing, that there are none in heaven?" "there are no women," he replied. she quick returns the jest,-- "women there are, but i'm afraid they cannot find a priest." dcclxxxi.--an artistic touch. when moore was getting his portrait painted by newton, sydney smith, who accompanied the poet, said to the artist, "couldn't you contrive to throw into his face somewhat of a stronger expression of _hostility_ to the church establishment?" dcclxxxii.--value of applause. some one remarked to mrs. siddons that applause was necessary to actors, as it gave them confidence. "more," replied the actress; "it gives us _breath_." dcclxxxiii.--little to give. a stingy husband threw off the blame of the rudeness of his children in company, by saying that his wife always "gives them their own way."--"poor things!" was the prompt response, "it's _all_ i have to _give them_." dcclxxxiv.--a good swimmer. a foolish scholar having almost been drowned in his first attempt at swimming, vowed that he would never _enter_ the water again until he was a complete master of the art. [a similar story is told of a pedant by hierocles.] dcclxxxv.--no pride. a denizen of the good city of st. andrews, long desirous of being elected deacon of his craft, after many years of scheming and bowing, at last attained the acme of his ambition, and while the oaths of office were being administered to him, a number of waggish friends waited outside to "trot him out," but the sequel convinced them this was unnecessary. on emerging from the city hall, with thumbs stuck in the armlets of his vest, with head erect, and solemn step, he approached his friends, lifting up his voice and saying, "now, billies, _supposing_ i'm a deacon, mind, i can be _spoken_ to at ony time." dcclxxxvi.--lord clonmel. the late lord clonmel, who never thought of demanding more than a shilling for an affidavit, used to be well satisfied, provided it was a _good one_. in his time the birmingham shillings were current, and he used the following extraordinary precautions to avoid being imposed upon by taking a bad one: "you shall true answer make to such questions as shall be demanded of you touching this affidavit, so help you, &c. _is this a good shilling?_ are the contents of this affidavit true? is this your name and handwriting?" dcclxxxvii.--queer partners. jerrold, at a party, noticed a doctor in solemn black waltzing with a young lady who was dressed in a silk of brilliant blue. "as i live! there's a blue pill dancing with a black draught!" said jerrold. dcclxxxviii.--corruptly incorruptible. charles the second once said to sidney, "look me out a man that can't be corrupted: i have sent three treasurers to the north, and they have all turned thieves."--"well, sire, i will recommend mivert."--"mivert!" exclaimed the king, "why, mivert is a thief already."--"therefore _he cannot be corrupted_, your majesty," answered sidney. dcclxxxix.--epigram on the marriage of a very thin couple. st. paul has declared that, when persons, though twain, are in wedlock united, one flesh they remain. but had he been by, when, like pharaoh's kine pairing, dr. douglas, of benet, espoused miss mainwaring, st. peter, no doubt, would have altered his tone, and have said, "these two splinters shall now make one bone." dccxc.--good authority. horne tooke, during his contest for westminster, was thus addressed by a partisan of his opponent, of not a very reputable character. "well, mr. tooke, you will have all the _blackguards_ with you to-day."--"i am delighted to hear it, sir, and from such _good_ authority." dccxci.--luxurious smoking. "the most luxurious smoker i ever knew," says mr. paget, "was a young transylvanian, who told me that his servant always inserted a lighted pipe into his mouth the first thing in the morning, and that he smoked it out before he awoke. 'it is so pleasant,' he observed, 'to have the proper _taste_ restored to one's mouth before one is sensible even of its wants.'" dccxcii.--no judge. a certain judge having somewhat hastily delivered judgment in a particular case, a king's counsel observed, in a tone loud enough to reach the bench, "good heavens! every judgment of this court is a mere _toss-up_." "but _heads_ seldom win," observed a learned barrister, sitting behind him. dccxciii.--relations of mankind. by what curious links, and fantastical relations, are mankind connected together! at the distance of half the globe, a hindoo gains his support by groping at the bottom of the sea for the morbid concretion of a shell-fish, to decorate the throat of a london alderman's wife.--s.s. dccxciv.--very true. serjeant maynard, a famous lawyer in the days of the stuarts, called law an "_ars bablativa_." dccxcv.--epigram. (accounting for the apostacy of ministers.) the whigs, because they rat and change to toryism, all must spurn; yet in the fact there's nothing strange, that wigs should twist, or curl, or turn. dccxcvi.--drinking alone. the author of the "parson's daughter," when surprised one evening in his arm-chair, two or three hours after dinner, is reported to have apologized, by saying, "when one is alone, the bottle _does_ come round _so_ often." on a similar occasion, sir hercules langreish, on being asked, "have you finished all that port (three bottles) without assistance?" answered, "no--not quite that--i had the _assistance_ of a bottle of madeira." dccxcvii.--a musical blow-up. the rev. mr. b----, when residing at canterbury some years ago, was reckoned a good violoncello-player. his sight being dim obliged him very often to snuff the candles, and in lieu of snuffers he generally employed his fingers in that office, thrusting the _spoils_ into the _sound-holes_ of his violoncello. a waggish friend of his popped a quantity of gunpowder into b----'s instrument. the tea equipage being removed, music became the order of the evening, and b---- dashed away at vanhall's th. b---- came to a bar's rest, the candles were snuffed, and he thrust the ignited wick into the usual place--_fit fragor_, and bang went the fiddle to pieces. dccxcviii.--ready-made wood pavement. when the marylebone vestrymen were discussing the propriety of laying down wood pavement within their parish, and were raising difficulties on the subject, jerrold, as he read the report of the discussion, said:-- "difficulties in the way! absurd. they have only to put their heads together, and there is the wood pavement." this joke has been erroneously given to sydney smith. dccxcix.--proper distinction. an undergraduate had unconsciously strayed into the garden of a certain d.d., then master of the college adjoining. he had not been there many minutes, when dr. ---- entered himself, and, perceiving the student, in no very courteous manner desired the young gentleman to walk out; which the undergraduate not doing (in the opinion of the doctor) in sufficient haste, domine demanded, rather peremptorily, "whether he knew who he was?" at the same time informing the intruder he was dr. ----. "that," replied the undergraduate, "is impossible; for dr. ---- is a _gentleman_, and you are a _blackguard_!" dccc.--graceful excuse. william iv. seemed in a momentary dilemma one day, when, at table with several officers, he ordered one of the waiters to "take away that marine there," pointing to an empty bottle. "your majesty!" inquired a colonel of marines, "do you compare an empty bottle to a member of our branch of the service?"--"yes," replied the monarch, as if a sudden thought had struck him; "i mean to say it has _done its duty_ once, and is ready to do it again." dccci.--slack payment. examining a country squire who disputed a collier's bill, curran asked, "did he not give you the coals, friend?"--"he did, sir, but--"--"but what? on your oath, witness, wasn't your payment _slack_?" dcccii.--way of using books. sterne used to say, "the most accomplished way of using books is to serve them as some people do lords, learn their _titles_ and then _brag_ of their acquaintance." dccciii.--patrick henry. when patrick henry, who gave the first impulse to the ball of the american revolution, introduced his celebrated resolution on the stamp act into the house of burgesses of virginia (may, ), he exclaimed, when descanting on the tyranny of the obnoxious act, "cæsar had his brutus; charles i. his cromwell; and george iii...."--"treason!" cried the speaker; "treason, treason!" echoed from every part of the house. it was one of those trying moments which are decisive of character. henry faltered not for an instant; but rising to a loftier attitude, and fixing on the speaker an eye flashing with fire, continued, "_may profit by their example_. if this be treason, make the most of it." dccciv.--rogers--poet and skipper. rogers used to say that a man who attempts to read all the new publications must often do as the flea does--_skip_. dcccv.--our english love of dinners. "if an earthquake were to engulf england to-morrow," said jerrold, "the english would manage to meet and dine somewhere among the rubbish, just to celebrate the event." dcccvi.--epigram. when by a jury one is tried, twelve of _his equals_ are implied; then w---- might attempt in vain, this sacred privilege to obtain. since human nature ne'er on earth gave to _twelve equal_ scoundrels birth. dcccvii.--reformation. judge burnet, son of the famous bishop of salisbury, when young, is said to have been of a wild and dissipated turn. being one day found by the bishop in a very serious humor, "what is the matter with you, tom?" said he, "what are you ruminating on?"--"a greater work than your lordship's history of the reformation," answered the son. "ay! what is that?" said the bishop. "the _reformation of myself_, my lord," answered the son. dcccviii.--the jest of ancestry. lord chesterfield placed among the portraits of his ancestors two old heads, inscribed adam de stanhope, and eve de stanhope: the ridicule is admirable. old peter leneve, the herald, who thought ridicule consisted in not being of an old family, made this epitaph for young craggs, whose father had been a footman: _here lies the last who died before the first of his family!_ old craggs was one day getting into a coach with arthur moore, who had worn a livery too, when he turned about, and said, "why, arthur, i am always going to get up behind; are not you?" the gordons trace their name no farther back than the days of alexander the great, from gordonia, a city of macedon, which, they say, once formed part of alexander's dominions, and, from thence, no doubt, the clan must have come! dcccix.--equal to nothing. on being informed that the judges in the court of common pleas had little or nothing to do, bushe remarked, "well, well, they're _equal to it_!" dcccx.--familiarity. a waiter named samuel spring having occasion to write to his late majesty, george iv., when prince of wales, commenced his letter as follows: "sam, the waiter at the cocoa-tree, presents his compliments to the prince of wales," &c. his royal highness next day saw sam, and after noticing the receiving of his note, and the freedom of the style, said, "sam, this may be very well between _you and me_, but it will not do with the norfolks and arundels." dcccxi.--extraordinary compromise. at durham assize a deaf old lady, who had brought an action for damages against a neighbor, was being examined, when the judge suggested a compromise, and instructed counsel to ask what she would take to settle the matter. "his lordship wants to know what you will take?" asked the learned counsel, bawling as loud as ever he could in the old lady's ear. "i thank his lordship kindly," answered the ancient dame; "and if it's no ill-convenience to him, i'll take a little _warm ale_!" dcccxii.--mac ready to call. in the time of sir john macpherson's indian government, most of his staff consisted of scotch gentlemen, whose names began with mac. one of the aides-de-camp used to call the government-house _almack's_, "for," said he, "if you stand in the middle of the court, and call _mac_, you will have a head popped out of every window." dcccxiii.--epigram. (on the oiled and perfumed ringlets of a certain lord.) of miracles this is _sans doute_ the most rare, i ever perceived, heard reported, or read; a man with abundance of _scents_ in his _hair_, without the least atom of _sense_ in his _head_. dcccxiv.--look-a-head. a tory member declared the extent of the reform bill positively made the hair of members on his side the house to stand on end. on the ensuing elections, they will find the bill to have a still greater effect on the _state of the poll_. g. a'b. dcccxv.--the birth of a prince. jerrold was at a party when the park guns announced the birth of a prince. "how they do powder these babies!" jerrold exclaimed. dcccxvi.--setting him up to knock him down. tom moore, observing himself to be eyed by two handsome young ladies, inquired of a friend, who was near enough to hear their remarks, what it was they said of him. "why, the taller one observed that she was delighted to have had the pleasure of seeing so famous a personage."--"indeed!" said the gratified poet, "anything more?"--"yes: she said she was the more pleased because she had taken in _your_ celebrated '_almanac_' for the last five or six years!" dcccxvii.--brief correspondence. mrs. foote, mother of aristophanes, experienced the caprice of fortune nearly as much as her son. the following laconic letters passed between them: "dear sam, i am in prison."--answer: "dear mother, so am i." dcccxviii.--man-traps. it being unlawful to set man-traps and spring-guns, a gentleman once hit upon a happy device. he was a scholar, and being often asked the meaning of mysterious words compounded from the greek, that appear in every day's newspaper, and finding they always excited wonder by their length and sound, he had painted on a board, and put up on his premises, in very large letters, the following: "_tondapamubomenos set up in these grounds_." it was perfectly a "patent safety." dcccxix.--a colorable excuse. a lady who painted her face, asked parsons how he thought she looked. "i can't tell, madam," he replied, "except you _uncover_ your face." dcccxx.--consistency. no wonder tory landlords flout "fixed duty," for 'tis plain with them the anti-corn-law bill must go against the grain. dcccxxi.--a wonderful cure. doctor hill, a notorious wit, physician, and man of letters, having quarrelled with the members of the royal society, who had refused to admit him as an associate, resolved to avenge himself. at the time that bishop berkeley had issued his work on the marvellous virtues of tar-water, hill addressed to their secretary a letter purporting to be from a country-surgeon, and reciting the particulars of a cure which he had effected. "a sailor," he wrote, "_broke_ his leg, and applied to me for help. i bound together the broken portions, and washed them with the celebrated _tar-water_. almost immediately the sailor felt the beneficial effects of this remedy, and it was not long before his leg was completely _healed_!" the letter was read, and discussed at the meetings of the royal society, and caused considerable difference of opinion. papers were written for and against the tar-water and the restored leg, when a second letter arrived from the (pretended) country practitioner:--"in my last i omitted to mention that the broken limb of the sailor was a _wooden leg_!" dcccxxii.--an accommodating physician. "is there anything the matter with you?" said a physician to a person who had sent for him. "o dear, yes, i am ill all over, but i don't know what it is, and i have no particular pain nowhere," was the reply. "very well," said the doctor, "i'll give you something to _take away all that_." dcccxxiii.--choice spirits. an eminent spirit-merchant in dublin announced, in one of the irish papers, that he has still a small quantity of the whiskey on sale _which was drunk by his late majesty while in dublin_. dcccxxiv.--an explanation. young, the author of "night thoughts," paid a visit to potter, son of archbishop potter, who lived in a deep and dirty part of kent, through which young had scrambled with some difficulty and danger. "whose field was that i crossed?" asked young, on reaching his friend. "mine," said potter. "true," replied the poet; "potter's field _to bury_ strangers in." dcccxxv.--impromptu by r.b. sheridan. lord erskine having once asserted, in the presence of lady erskine and mr. sheridan, that a wife was only a tin canister tied to one's tail, sheridan at once presented her these lines,-- lord erskine at woman presuming to rail, calls a wife "a tin canister tied to one's tail;" and fair lady anne, while the subject he carries on, seems hurt at his lordship's degrading comparison. but wherefore "degrading?" considered aright, a canister's useful, and polished, and bright; and should dirt its original purity hide, 'tis the fault of the puppy to whom it is tied. dcccxxvi.--law and physic. a learned judge being asked the difference between law and equity courts, replied, "at common law you are done for at once: at equity, you are not so easily disposed of. one is _prussic acid_, and the other _laudanum_." dcccxxvii.--impromptu. counsellor (afterwards chief justice) bushe, being on one occasion asked which of a company of actors he most admired, maliciously replied, "the _prompter_, sir, for i have heard the most and seen the least _of him_." dcccxxviii.--notions of happiness. "were i but a _king_," said a country boy, "i would _eat_ my fill of fat bacon, and _swing_ upon a gate all day long." dcccxxix.--a forgetful man. when jack was poor, the lad was frank and free. of late he's grown brimful of pride and pelf; no wonder that he don't remember _me_; why so? you see he has forgot _himself_. dcccxxx.--reputation. reputation is to notoriety what real turtle is to mock. dcccxxxi.--an unfortunate lover. it was asked by a scholar why master thomas hawkins did not marry miss blagrove; he was answered, "he couldn't _master_ her, so he _missed_ her." dcccxxxii.--epigram. the jolly members of a toping club like pipe-staves are, but hooped into a tub; and in a close confederacy link for nothing else, but only to hold drink. dcccxxxiii.--a bad lot. the household furniture of an english barrister, then recently deceased, was being sold, in a country town, when one neighbor remarked to another that the stock of goods and chattels appeared to be extremely scanty, considering the rank of the lawyer, their late owner. "it is so," was the reply; "but the fact is, he had very few _causes_, and therefore could not have many _effects_." dcccxxxiv.--filial affection. two ladies who inhabit wapping were having some words together on the pavement, when the daughter of one of them popped her head out of the door, and exclaimed "hurry, mother, and call _her a thief_ before she calls you one." dcccxxxv.--leg wit. one night erskine was hastening out of the house of commons, when he was stopped by a member going in, who accosted him, "who's up, erskine?"--"windham," was the reply. "what's he on?"--"_his legs_," answered the wit. dcccxxxvi.--epigram on dr. glynn's beauty. "this morning, quite dead, tom was found in his bed, although he was hearty last night; 'tis thought having seen dr. glynn in a dream, the poor fellow died of affright." dcccxxxvii.--a sinecure. one patrick maguire had been appointed to a situation the reverse of a place of all work; and his friends, who called to congratulate him, were very much astonished to see his face lengthened on the receipt of the news. "a sinecure is it?" exclaimed pat. "sure i know what a _sinecure_ is: it's a place where there's _nothing to do_, and they _pay you by the piece_." dcccxxxviii.--a good jail delivery. brother david dewar was a plain, honest, straightforward man, who never hesitated to express his convictions, however unpalatable they might be to others. being elected a member of the prison board, he was called upon to give his vote in the choice of a chaplain from the licentiates of the established kirk. the party who had gained the confidence of the board had proved rather an indifferent preacher in a charge to which he had previously been appointed; and on david being asked to signify his assent to the choice of the board, he said, "weel, i've no objections to the man, for i understand he preached _a kirk toom_ (empty) already, and if he be as successful _in the jail_, he'll maybe preach it vawcant as weel." dcccxxxix.--where is the audience? the manager of a country theatre looked into the house between the acts, and turned with a face of dismay to the prompter, with the question of, "why, good gracious, where's the audience?"--"sir," replied the prompter, without moving a muscle, "he is just now gone to get some beer." the manager wiped the perspiration from his brow and said, "will he _return_ do you think?"--"most certainly; he expresses himself highly satisfied with the play, and applauded as one man."--"_then let business proceed_," exclaimed the manager, proudly; and it did proceed. dcccxl.--knowing best. "i wish, reverend father," said curran to father o'leary, "that you were st. peter, and had the keys of heaven, because then you could let me in."--"by my honor and conscience," replied o'leary, "it would be better for you that i had the keys of the _other_ place, for then i could let _you out_." dcccxli.--agricultural experiences. the late bishop blomfield, when a suffolk clergyman, asked a school-boy what was meant in the catechism by _succoring_ his father and mother. "_giving on 'em milk_," was the prompt reply. dcccxlii.--parliamentary reprimand. in the reign of george ii., mr. crowle, a counsel of some eminence, was summoned to the bar of the house of commons to receive a reprimand from the speaker, on his knees. as he rose from the ground, with the utmost _nonchalance_ he took out his handkerchief, and, wiping his knees, cooly observed, "that it was the _dirtiest_ house he had ever been in in his life." dcccxliii.--a stop watch. a gentleman missing his watch in a crowd at the theatre, observed, with great coolness, that he should certainly recover it, having bought it of a friend who had _introduced it to the particular acquaintance of every pawnbroker within the bills of mortality_. dcccxliv.--sir anthony malone. lord mansfield used to remark that a lawyer could do nothing without his fee. this is proved by the following fact: sir anthony malone, some years ago attorney-general of ireland, was a man of abilities in his profession, and so well skilled in the practice of conveyancing that no person ever entertained the least doubt of the validity of a title that had undergone his inspection; on which account he was generally applied to by men of property in transactions of this nature. it is, however, no less singular than true, that such was the carelessness and inattention of this great lawyer in matters of this sort that related to himself, that he made two bad bargains, for want only of the same attentive examination of the writings for which he was celebrated, in one of which he lost property to the amount of three thousand pounds a year. disturbed by these losses, whenever for the future he had a mind to purchase an estate for himself, he gave the original writings to his principal clerk, who made a correct transcript of them; this transcript was then handed to sir anthony, and five guineas (his fee) along with it, which was regularly _charged to him by the clerk_. sir anthony then went over the deeds with his accustomed accuracy and discernment, and never after that was possessed of a bad title. dcccxlv.--the orators. to wonder now at balaam's ass, is weak; is there a day that asses do not speak? dcccxlvi.--modern acting. jerrold was told that a certain well-puffed tragedian, who has a husky voice, was going to act cardinal wolsey, _jerrold._--"cardinal wolsey!--linsey wolsey!" dcccxlvii.--few friends. a nobleman, extremely rich but a miser, stopping to change horses at athlone, the carriage was surrounded by paupers, imploring alms, to whom he turned a deaf ear, and drew up the glass. a ragged old woman, going round to the other side of the carriage, bawled out, in the old peer's hearing, "please you, my lord, just chuck _one_ tin-penny out of your coach, and i'll answer it will trait _all your friends_ in athlone." dcccxlviii.--diffidence. an irishman charged with an assault, was asked by the judge whether he was guilty or not. "how can i tell," was the reply, "till i have _heard the evidence_?" dcccxlix.--"essay on man." at ten, a child; at twenty, wild; at thirty, tame, if ever; at forty, wise; at fifty, rich; at sixty, good, or never! dcccl.--in-door relief. a melting sermon being preached in a country church, all fell a-weeping but one man, who being asked why he did not weep with the rest, said, "o no, i belong to _another_ parish." dcccli.--highland politeness. sir walter scott had marked in his diary a territorial greeting of two proprietors which had amused him much. the laird of kilspindie had met the laird of tannachy-tulloch, and the following compliments passed between them: "ye're maist obedient hummil servant, tannachy-tulloch." to which the reply was, "your nain man, kilspindie." dccclii.--an odd question. counselor rudd, of the irish bar, was equally remarkable for his love of whist, and the dingy color of his linen. "my dear dick," said curran to him one day, "you can't think how puzzled we are to know where _you buy_ all your _dirty_ shirts." dcccliii.--not insured against fire. foote went to spend his christmas with mr. b----, when, the weather being very cold, and but bad fires, occasioned by a scarcity of wood in the house, foote, on the third day after he went there, ordered his chaise, and was preparing to depart. mr. b---- pressed him to stay. "no, no," says foote; "was i to stay any longer, you would not let me _have a leg to stand on_; for there is so _little wood_ in your house, that i am afraid one of your servants may light the fire with _my right leg_," which was his wooden one. dcccliv.--natural grief. one hiring a lodging said to the landlady, "i assure you, madam, i am so much liked that i never left a lodging but my landlady shed tears."--"perhaps," said she, "you always went away without _paying_." dccclv.--a proverb reversed. example is better than precept they say, with our parson the maxim should run t'other way; for so badly he acts, and so wisely he teaches, we should shun what he does, and should do what he preaches. dccclvi.--a close escape. one of james smith's favorite anecdotes related to colonel greville. the colonel requested young james to call at his lodgings, and in the course of their first interview related the particulars of the most curious circumstance in his life. he was taken prisoner during the american war, along with three other officers of the same rank: one evening they were summoned into the presence of washington, who announced to them that the conduct of their government, in condemning one of his officers to death, as a rebel, compelled him to make reprisals; and that, much to his regret, he was under the necessity of requiring them to cast lots, without delay, to decide which of them should be hanged. they were then bowed out, and returned to their quarters. four slips of paper were put into a hat, and the shortest was drawn by captain asgill, who exclaimed, "i knew how it would be; i never won so much as a hit at backgammon in my life." as greville was selected to sit up with captain asgill, "and what," inquired smith, "did you say to comfort him?"--"why, i remember saying to him, when they left us, '_d---- it, old fellow, never mind_!'" but it may be doubted (added smith) whether he drew much comfort from the exhortation. lady asgill persuaded the french minister to interpose, and the captain was permitted to escape. dccclvii.--a hard hit. major b----, a great gambler, said to foote, "since i last saw you, i have _lost_ an eye."--"i am sorry for it," said foote, "pray _at what game_?" dccclviii.--the time out of joint. some one who had been down in lord kenyon's kitchen, remarked that he saw the spit shining as bright as if it had never been used. "why do you mention his spit?" said jekyll; "you must know that nothing _turns upon that_." in reference to the same noble lord, jekyll observed, "it was lent all the year round in the kitchen, and _passion_ week in the parlor." dccclix.--money's worth. a soldier, having retired from service, thought to raise a few pounds by writing his adventures. having completed the manuscript, he offered it to a bookseller for forty pounds. it was a very small volume, and the bookseller was much surprised at his demand. "my good sir," replied the author, "as a soldier i have always resolved to _sell my life as dearly as possible_." dccclx.--his way--out. sir richard jebb, the famous physician, who was very rough and harsh in his manner, once observed to a patient to whom he had been extremely rude, "sir, _it is my way_."--"then," returned his indignant patient, pointing to the door, "i beg you will _make that your way_!" dccclxi.--a growl. he that's married once may be pardoned his infirmity. he that marries twice is mad: but, if you can find a fool marrying thrice, don't spare the lad,-- flog him, flog him back to school. dccclxii.--a modern sculptor. brown and smith were met by an overdressed individual, "do you know that chap, smith?" said brown. "yes, i know him; that is, i know of him,--he's a sculptor."--"such a fellow as that a _sculptor_! surely you must be mistaken."--"he may not be the kind of one you mean, but i know that he _chiselled_ a tailor--out of a suit of clothes last week." dccclxiii.--a difficult task. "you have only yourself to please," said a married friend to an old bachelor. "true," replied he, "but you cannot tell what a _difficult_ task i find it." dccclxiv.--the gouty shoe. james smith used to tell, with great glee, a story showing the general conviction of his dislike to ruralities. he was sitting in the library at a country-house, when a gentleman proposed a quiet stroll in the pleasure-grounds:-- "stroll! why, don't you see my gouty shoe?" "yes, i see that plain enough, and i wish i'd brought one too; but they are all out now." "well, and what then?" "what then? why, my dear fellow, you don't mean to say that you have really got the gout? i thought you had only put on that shoe to get off being shown over the improvements." dccclxv.--a lusus naturÃ�. an agricultural society offered premiums to farmers' daughters, "girls under twenty-one years of age," who should exhibit the best lots of butter, not less than lbs. "that is all right," said an old maid, "save the insinuation that some girls are _over_ twenty-one years of age." dccclxvi.--a case of necessity. a shopkeeper, who had stuck up a notice in glaring capitals, "selling off! must close on saturday!" was asked by a friend, "what! are you selling off?"--"yes, all the shopkeepers are selling off, ain't they?"--"but you say, 'must close on saturday.'"--"to be sure; would you have me _keep open_ on sunday!" dccclxvii.--species and specie. in preaching a charity sermon, sydney smith frequently repeated the assertion that, of all nations, englishmen were most distinguished for their generosity, and the love of their _species_. the collection happened to be inferior to his expectation, and he said that he had evidently made a great mistake; for that his expression should have been, that they were distinguished for the love of their _specie_. dccclxviii.--dr. johnson. when dr. johnson courted mrs. potter, whom he afterwards married, he told her that he was of mean extraction; that he had no money; and that he had had an uncle hanged! the lady, by way of reducing herself to an equality with the doctor, replied, that she had no more money than himself; and that, though she had not had a relation hanged, she had fifty who _deserved hanging_. dccclxix.--the poet foiled. to win the maid the poet tries, and sonnets writes to julia's eyes, she likes a _verse_, but, cruel whim, she still appears _a-verse_ to him. dccclxx.--a comedian and a lawyer. a few years ago, when billy burton, the american actor, was in his "trouble," a young lawyer was examining him as to how he had spent his money. there was about three thousand pounds unaccounted for, when the attorney put on a severe scrutinizing face, and exclaimed, with much self-complacency,--"now, sir, i want you to tell this court and jury how you used those three thousand pounds." burton put on one of his serio-comic faces, winked at the audience, and exclaimed, "_the lawyers got that_!" the judge and audience were convulsed with laughter. the counsellor was glad to let the comedian go. dccclxxi.--vice versa. it is asserted that the bad ministers have contracted the national debt. this cannot be; for instead of _contracting_ it at all, bad ministers have most materially extended it. dccclxxii.--nothing personal. at a dinner-party one day a certain knight, whose character was considered to be not altogether unexceptionable, said he would give them a toast; and looking hard in the face of mrs. m----, who was more celebrated for wit than beauty, gave "honest men an' bonny lasses!"--"with all my heart, sir john," said mrs. m----, "for it neither _applies_ to you nor me." dccclxxiii.--a hint for genealogists. mr. moore, who derived his pedigree from noah, explained it in this manner: "noah had three sons, shem, ham, and one _more_." dccclxxiv.--a mistake. old dick baldwin stoutly maintained that no man ever died of drinking. "some puny things," he said, "have died of _learning_ to drink, but no man ever died of drinking." mr. baldwin was no mean authority; for he spoke from great practical experience, and was, moreover, many years treasurer of st. bartholomew's hospital. dccclxxv.--an impossible renunciation. the late dr. risk, of dalserf, being one of the moderators, did not satisfy, by his preaching, the calvinistic portion of his flock. "why, sir," said they, "we think you dinna tell us enough about renouncing our ain righteousness."--"renouncing your ain righteousness!" vociferated the astonished doctor, "i never _saw any ye had to renounce_!" dccclxxvi.--the humane society at an evening party. at an evening party, a very elderly lady was dancing with a young partner. a stranger approached jerrold, who was looking on, and said,-- "pray, sir, can you tell me who is the young gentleman dancing with that very elderly lady!" "one of the humane society, i should think," replied jerrold. dccclxxvii.--a proud heart. mathews, whose powers in conversation and whose flow of anecdote in private life transcended even his public efforts, told a variety of tales of the kingswood colliers (kingswood is near bristol), in one of which he represented an old collier, looking for some of the implements of his trade, exclaiming, "jan, what's the mother done with the new coal-sacks?"--"made _pillows_ on 'em," replied the son. "confound her proud heart!" rejoins the collier, "why could she not take th' _ould_ ones?" dccclxxviii.--sent home free. a very considerate hotel-keeper, advertising his "burton xxxx," concludes the advertisement: "n.b. parties drinking more than four glasses of this potent beverage at one sitting, carefully sent _home gratis_ in a wheelbarrow, if required." dccclxxix.--charles ii. and milton. charles ii. and his brother james went to see milton, to reproach him, and finished a profusion of insults with saying, "you old villain! your blindness is the visitation of providence for your sins."--"if providence," replied the venerable bard, "has punished my sins with _blindness_, what must have been the crimes of your father which it punished with _death_!" dccclxxx.--whose? sydney smith being ill, his physician advised him to "take a walk upon an empty stomach."--"_upon whose_?" said he. dccclxxxi.--"puppies never see till they are nine days old." it is related, that when a former bishop of bristol held the office of vice-chancellor of the university of cambridge, he one day met a couple of undergraduates, who neglected to pay the accustomed compliment of _capping_. the bishop inquired the reason of the neglect. the two men begged his lordship's pardon, observing they were _freshmen_, and did not know him. "how long have you been in cambridge?" asked his lordship. "only _eight_ days," was the reply. "very good," said the bishop, "_puppies_ never see till they are _nine_ days old." dccclxxxii.--epigram. (on lord w----'s saying the independence of the house of lords is gone.) "the independence of the lords is gone," says w----, to truth for once inclined; and to believe his lordship i am prone, seeing that he himself is left behind. dccclxxxiii.--confidence--taken from the french. on the first night of the representation of one of jerrold's pieces, a successful adaptator from the french rallied him on his nervousness. "i," said the adaptator, "never feel nervous on the first night of my pieces."--"ah, my boy," jerrold replied, "_you_ are always certain of success. your pieces have all been tried before." dccclxxxiv.--better known than trusted. a well-known borrower stopped a gentleman whom he did not know, and requested the loan of a sovereign. "sir," said the gentleman, "i am surprised that you should ask me such a favor, who do not know you."--"o, dear sir," replied the borrower, "that's the very reason; for _those who do_, will not lend me a farthing." dccclxxxv.--will and the way. at a provincial law society's dinner the president called upon the senior attorney to give as a toast the person whom he considered the best friend of the profession. "certainly," was the response. "the man who _makes his own will_." dccclxxxvi.--a reasonable excuse. a person lamented the difficulty he found in persuading his friends to return the volumes which he had lent them. "sir," replied a friend, "your acquaintances find it is much more easy to _retain_ the books themselves, than what is _contained_ in them." dccclxxxvii.--bewick, the engraver. when the duke of northumberland first called to see mr. bewick's workshops at newcastle, he was not personally known to the engraver. on discovering the high rank of his visitor, bewick exclaimed, "i beg pardon, my lord, i did not know your grace, and was unaware i had the honor of talking to so great a man." to which the duke good humoredly replied, "you are a much greater man than i am, mr. bewick." to this bewick answered, "no, my lord: but were _i_ duke of northumberland, perhaps i could be." dccclxxxviii.--summary decision. mr. brougham, when at the bar, opened before lord chief justice tenterden an action for the amount of a wager laid upon the event of a dog-fight, which, through some unwillingness of dogs or men, had not been brought to an issue. "we, my lord," said the advocate, "were minded that the dogs should fight."--"then i," replied the judge, "_am minded_ to hear no more of it:" and he called another cause. dccclxxxix.--a disappointing subscriber. to all letters soliciting "subscriptions," lord erskine had a regular form of reply, namely: "sir, i feel much honored by your application to me, and beg to _subscribe_" (here the reader had to turn over leaf) "myself, _your very obedient servant_," etc. dcccxc.--habeas corpus act. bishop burnet relates a curious circumstance respecting the origin of that important statute, the habeas corpus act. "it was carried," says he, "by an odd artifice in the house of lords. lord grey and lord norris were named to be the tellers. lord norris was not at all times attentive to what he was doing; so a very fat lord coming in, lord grey counted him for ten, as a jest at first; but seeing lord norris had not observed it, he went on with this misreckoning of _ten_; so it was reported to the house, and declared that they who were for the bill were the majority, and by this means the bill passed." dcccxci.--a runaway knock. douglas jerrold describing a very dangerous illness from which he had just recovered, said--"ay, sir, it was a runaway knock at death's door, i can assure you." dcccxcii.--common politeness. two gentlemen having a difference, one went to the other's door and wrote "scoundrel!" upon it. the other called upon his neighbor, and was answered by a servant that his master was not at home. "no matter," was the reply; "i only wished to return his visit, as he _left his name_ at my door in the morning." dcccxciii.--the wheel of fortune. jekyll saw in colman's chambers a squirrel in the usual round cage. "ah! poor devil," said jekyll, "he's going the _home circuit_." dcccxciv.--a soporific. a spendthrift being sold up, foote, who attended every day, bought nothing but a pillow; on which a gentleman asked him, "what particular use he could have for a single pillow?"--"why," said foote, "i do not sleep very well at night, and i am sure this must give me many a good nap, when the proprietor of it (though he _owed so much_) could sleep upon it." dcccxcv.--charitable wit. wit in an influential form was displayed by the quaker gentleman soliciting subscription for a distressed widow, for whom everybody expressed the greatest sympathy. "well," said he, "everybody declares he is sorry for her; i am truly sorry--i am sorry five pounds. how much art thou sorry, friend? and thou? and thou?" he was very successful, as may be supposed. one of those to whom the case was described said he _felt_ very much, indeed, for the poor widow. "but hast thou felt in thy pocket?" inquired the "friend." dcccxcvi.--use is second nature. a tailor that was ever accustomed to steal some of the cloth his customer brought, when he came one day to make himself a suit, stole half-a-yard. his wife perceiving it, asked the reason; "oh," said he, "it is to _keep_ my hands in use, lest at any time i should _forget it_." dcccxcvii.--epigram. (on a certain m.p.'s indisposition.) haste son of celsus, p--rc--v--l is ill; dissect an ass before you try your skill. dcccxcviii.--liquid remedy for baldness. use brandy externally until the hair grows, and then take it internally to _clinch the roots_. dcccxcix.--an ingenious device. the irish girl told her forbidden lover she was longing to possess his portrait, and intended to obtain it. "but how if your friends see it?" inquired he. "ah, but i'll tell the artist _not_ to make it _like you_, so they won't know it." cm.--the rebel lords. at the trial of the rebel lords, george selwyn, seeing bethel's sharp visage looking wistfully at the prisoners, said, "what a shame it is to turn her face to the prisoners, until they are condemned!" some women were scolding selwyn for going to see the execution, and asked him how he could be such a barbarian to see the head cut off? "nay," replied he, "if that was such a crime, i am sure i have made amends; for i went to see it sewed on again." walpole relates: "you know selwyn never thinks but _à la tête tranchée_." on having a tooth drawn, he told the man that he would drop his handkerchief for the signal. cmi.--a change for the better. "how are you this morning?" said fawcett to cooke. "not at all myself," says the tragedian. "then i congratulate you," replied fawcett; "for, be whoever _else_ you will, _you_ will be a gainer by the bargain." cmii.--the direct road. walking to his club one evening with a friend, some intoxicated young gentleman reeled up to douglas jerrold, and said: "can you tell us the way to the 'judge and jury?'" (a place of low entertainment). "_keep on as you are_, young gentleman," was the reply, "you're sure to _overtake them_." cmiii.--a suggestive pair of grays. jerrold was enjoying a drive one day with a well-known,--a jovial spendthrift. "well, jerrold," said the driver of a very fine pair of grays, "what do you think of my grays?" "to tell you the truth," jerrold replied, "i was just thinking of your duns!" cmiv.--dr. johnson's opinion of mrs. siddons. when dr. johnson visited mrs. siddons, he paid her two or three very elegant compliments. when she retired, he said to dr. glover, "sir, she is a prodigiously fine woman."--"yes," replied dr. glover; "but don't you think she is much finer upon the stage, when she is adorned by art?"--"sir," said dr. johnson, "on the stage _art_ does not adorn her: _nature adorns_ her there, and _art glorifies_ her." cmv.--a good neighbor. the duke of l.'s reply, when it was observed to him, that the gentlemen bordering on his estates were continually hunting upon them, and that he ought not to suffer it, is worthy of imitation: "i had much rather," said he, "have _friends_ than hares." cmvi.--an equivocation. a diminutive attorney, named else, once asked jekyll: "sir, i hear you have called me a pettifogging scoundrel. have you done so, sir?"--"no, sir," said jekyll, with a look of contempt. "i never said you were a pettifogger, or a scoundrel; but i did say you were _little else_." cmvii.--a wise fool. a person wishing to test whether a daft individual, about whom a variety of opinions were entertained,--some people thinking him not so foolish as he seemed,--knew the value of money, held out a sixpence and a penny, and offered him his choice. "i'll tak' the _wee_ ane," he says, giving as his modest reason, "i'se no' be greedy." at another time, a miller, laughing at him for his witlessness, he said, "some things i ken, and some i dinna ken." on being asked what he knew, he said, "i ken a miller has _aye a gey fat sou_."--"an' what d'ye no ken?" said the miller. "ou," he returned, "i dinna ken at wha's _expense_ she's fed." cmviii.--on a bald head. my hair and i are quit, d'ye see; i first cut _him_, he now cuts _me_. cmix.--lie for lie. two gentlemen standing together, as a young lady passed by them, one said, "there goes the handsomest woman you ever saw." she turned back, and, seeing him very ugly, said, "i wish i could, in return, say as much of you."--"so you may, madam," said he, "and _lie_ as i _did_." cmx.--a man without a rival. general lee one day found dr. cutting, the army surgeon, who was a handsome and dressy man, arranging his cravat complacently before a glass. "cutting," said lee, "you must be the happiest man in creation."--"why, general?"--"because," replied lee, "you are in love with _yourself_, and you have not a _rival_ upon earth." cmxi.--advice to a dramatist. your comedy i've read, my friend, and like the _half_ you've pilfered best; but, sure, the drama you might mend; take courage, man, and _steal the rest_! cmxii.--garrick and foote. "the lying valet" being one hot night annexed as an afterpiece to the comedy of "the devil upon two sticks," garrick, coming into the green room, with exultation called out to foote, "well, sam, i see, after all, you are glad to take up with one of _my_ farces."--"why, yes, david," rejoined the wit; "what could i do better? i must have some ventilator for this hot weather." cmxiii.--nothing to laugh at. when lord lauderdale intimated his intentions to repeat some good thing sheridan had mentioned to him, "pray, don't, my dear lauderdale," said the wit; "a joke in _your_ mouth is no laughing matter!" cmxiv.--quite aground. it is said that poor h---- t---- has been living on his wits. he certainly must be content with very _limited premises_. cmxv.--a judge in a fog. one of the judges of the king's bench, in an argument on the construction of a will, sagely declared, "it appeared to him that the testator meant to keep a _life-interest_ in the estate to himself."--"very true, my lord," said curran gravely; "but in this case i rather think your lordship _takes the will for the deed_." cmxvi.--the letter h. in a dispute, whether the letter h was really a letter or a simple aspiration, rowland hill contended that it was the former; adding that, if it were not a letter, it must have been a very serious affair to him, by making him _ill_ (_hill_ without _h_) all the days of his life. cmxvii.--only enough for one. sheridan was once staying at the house of an elderly maiden lady in the country, who wanted more of his company than he was willing to give. proposing one day to take a stroll with him, he excused himself on account of the badness of the weather. shortly afterwards she met him sneaking out alone. "so, mr. sheridan," said she, "it has cleared up."--"just a _little_, ma'am--enough for one, but not enough for two." cmxviii.--"the ruling passion strong in death." curran's ruling passion was his joke. in his last illness, his physician observing in the morning that he seemed to cough with more difficulty, he answered, "that is rather surprising, as i have been _practising_ all night." cmxix.--epigram. (on the charge of illegally pawning brought against captain b----, m.p.) if it's true a newly made m.p. has coolly pawned his landlord's property, as the said landlord certainly alleges, no more will radicals and whigs divide upon one point, which thus we may decide, "some members are too much disposed for pledges." cmxx.--cup and saucer. a gentleman, who was remarkable at once for bacchanalian devotion and remarkably large and starting eyes, was one evening the subject of conversation. the question appeared to be, whether the gentleman in question wore upon his face any signs of his excesses. "i think so," said jerrold; "i always know when he has been in his cups by the state of his saucers." cmxxi.--a new reading. kemble playing _hamlet_ in the country, the gentleman who acted _guildenstern_ was, or imagined himself to be, a capital musician. _hamlet_ asks him, "will you play upon this pipe?"--"my lord, i cannot."--"i pray you."--"believe me, i cannot."--"i do beseech you."--"well, if your lordship insists on it, i shall do as well as i can"; and to the confusion of _hamlet_, and the great amusement of the audience, he played "god save the king!" cmxxii.--conceited, but not seated. several ex-members are announced as about _to stand_ at the ensuing elections, and indeed it is probable many will have to do so after them, for there are very few who can reasonably expect to _sit_.--g. a'b. cmxxiii.--strange vespers. a man who had a brother, a priest, was asked, "has your brother a living?"--"no."--"how does he employ himself?"--"he says mass in the morning."--"and in the evening?"--"in the evening he _don't know what_ he says." cmxxiv.--a transformation scene. sir b---- r----, in one of the debates on the question of the union, made a speech in favor of it, which he concluded by saying, "that it would change the _barren hills_ into _fruitful valleys_." cmxxv.--an acceptable deprivation. the duke of c--mb--l--d has taken from this country a thing which not one person in it will grudge: of course we are understood at once to mean _his departure_.--g. a'b. cmxxvi.--accurate description. a certain lawyer received a severe injury from something in the shape of a horsewhip. "where were you hurt?" said a medical friend. "was it near the _vertebra_?"--"no, no," said the other; "it was near the _racecourse_." cmxxvii.--solomon's temple. when reginald heber read his prize poem of "palestine" to sir walter scott, the latter observed that, in the verses on solomon's temple, one striking circumstance had escaped him; namely, that no tools were used in its erection. reginald retired for a few minutes to the corner of the room, and returned with the beautiful lines:-- "no hammer fell, no ponderous axes rung; like some tall palm, the mystic fabric sprung. majestic silence," &c. cmxxviii.--the staffordshire collieries. many anecdotes might be collected to show the great difficulty of discovering a person in the collieries without being in possession of his nickname. the following was received from a respectable attorney. during his clerkship he was sent to serve some legal process on a man whose name and address were given to him with legacy accuracy. he traversed the village to which he had been directed from end to end without success; and after spending many hours in the search was about to abandon it in despair, when a young woman who had witnessed his labors kindly undertook to make inquiries for him, and began to hail her friends for that purpose. "oi say, bullyed, does thee know a man named adam green?" the bull-head was shaken in sign of ignorance. "loy-a-bed, does thee?" lie-a-bed's opportunities of making acquaintance had been rather limited, and she could not resolve the difficulty. stumpy (a man with a wooden leg), cowskin, spindleshanks, corkeye, pigtail, and yellowbelly were severally invoked, but in vain; and the querist fell into a _brown study_, in which she remained for some time. at length, however, her eyes suddenly brightened, and, slapping one of her companions on the shoulder, she exclaimed, triumphantly, "dash my wig! whoy he means my feyther!" and then, turning to the gentleman, she added, "you should ha' ax'd for _ould blackbird_!" cmxxix.--a poser. foote was once met by a friend in town with a young man who was flashing away very brilliantly, while foote seemed grave: "why, foote," said his friend, "you are flat to-day; you don't seem to relish a joke!"--"you have not _tried me_ yet, sir," said foote. cmxxx.--minding his cue. mr. elliston was enacting the part of _richmond_; and having, during the evening, disobeyed the injunction which the king of denmark lays down to the queen, "gertrude, do not drink," he accosted mr. powell, who was personating _lord stanley_ (for the safety of whose son _richmond_ is naturally anxious), thus, on his entry, after the issue of the battle:-- elliston (as _richmond_). your son, george stanley, is he dead? powell (as _lord stanley_). he is, my lord, and _safe in leicester town_! elliston (as _richmond_). i mean--ah!--is he missing? powell (as _lord stanley_). he is, my lord, and _safe in leicester town_!! and it is but justice to the memory of this punctilious veteran, to say that he would have made the same reply to any question which could, at that particular moment, have been put to him. cmxxxi.--epigram. (on a little member's versatility.) why little neddy ---- yearns to _rat_, there is a reason strong, he needs be _everything by turns_, who is by nature _nothing long_. cmxxxii.--late and early. the regular routine of clerkly business ill suited the literary tastes and the wayward habits of charles lamb. once, at the india house, a superior said to him, "i have remarked, mr. lamb, that you come very _late_ to the office."--"yes, sir," replied the wit, "but you must remember that i go away _early_." the oddness of the excuse silenced the reprover. cmxxxiii.--fair play. curran, who was a very small man, having a dispute with a brother counsel (who was a very stout man), in which words ran high on both sides, called him out. the other, however, objected. "you are so little," said he, "that i might fire at you a dozen times without hitting, whereas, the chance is that you may shoot me at the first fire."--"to convince you," cried curran, "i don't wish to take any advantage, you shall _chalk_ my size upon _your body_, and all hits out of the ring shall go for nothing." cmxxxiv.--something lacking. hook was walking one day with a friend, when the latter, pointing out on a dead wall an incomplete inscription, running, "warren's b----," was puzzled at the moment for the want of the context. "'tis _lacking_ that should follow," observed hook, in explanation. cmxxxv.--the honest man's litany. from a wife of small fortune, but yet very proud, who values herself on her family's blood: who seldom talks sense, but for ever is loud, _libera me!_ from living i' th' parish that has an old kirk, where the parson would rule like a jew or a turk, and keep a poor curate to do all his work, _libera me!_ from a justice of peace who forgives no offence, but construes the law in its most rigid sense, and still to bind over will find some pretence, _libera me!_ from dealing with great men and taking their word, from waiting whole mornings to speak with my lord, who puts off his payments, and puts on his sword, _libera me!_ from black-coats, who never the gospel yet taught, from red-coats, who never a battle yet fought, from turn-coats, whose inside and outside are naught, _libera me!_ cmxxxvi.--three degrees of comparison. a lady, proud of her rank and title, once compared the three classes of people, nobility, gentry, and commonalty, to china, delf, and crockery. a few minutes elapsed, when one of the company expressed a wish to see the lady's little girl, who, it was mentioned, was in the nursery. "john," said she to the footman, "tell the maid to bring the little dear." the footman, wishing to expose his mistress's ridiculous pride, cried, loud enough to be heard by every one,--"_crockery_! bring down little _china_." cmxxxvii.--men of letters. a correspondent, something new transmitting, signed himself x.q. the editor his letter read, and begged he might be x.q.z. cmxxxviii.--elegant retort. it is a common occurrence in the university of cambridge for the undergraduates to express their approbation or disapprobation of the vice-chancellor, on the resignation of his office. upon an occasion of this kind, a certain gentleman had enacted some regulations which had given great offence; and, when the senate had assembled in order that he might resign his office to another, a great _hissing_ was raised in disapprobation of his conduct; upon which, bowing courteously, he made the following elegant retort:-- "_laudatur ab his_." cmxxxix.--snug lying. a visitor at churchtown, north meols, thought people must like to be buried in the churchyard _there_, because it was so healthy. cmxl.--a proper answer. a knavish attorney asking a very worthy gentleman what was honesty, "what is that to you?" said he; "meddle with those things that _concern you_." cmxli.--good hearing. i heard last week, friend edward, thou wast dead, i'm very glad to _hear it_, too, cries ned. cmxlii.--an unconscious postscript. george selwyn once affirmed, in company, that no woman ever wrote a letter without a postscript. "my next letter shall refute you!" said lady g----. selwyn soon after received a letter from her ladyship, where, after her signature, stood: "p.s. who was right; you or i?" cmxliii.--hoaxing an audience. cooke was announced one evening to play the _stranger_ at the dublin theatre. when he made his appearance, evident marks of agitation were visible in his countenance and gestures: this, by the generality of the audience, was called fine acting; but those who were acquainted with his failing, classed it very properly under the head of intoxication. when the applause had ceased, with difficulty he pronounced, "yonder hut--yonder hut," pointing to the cottage; then beating his breast, and striking his forehead, he paced the stage in much apparent agitation of mind. still this was taken as the _chef-d'oeuvre_ of fine acting, and was followed by loud plaudits, and "bravo! bravo!" at length, having cast many a menacing look at the prompter, who repeatedly, though in vain, gave him the word, he came forward, and, with overacted feeling, thus addressed the audience: "you are a mercantile people--you know the value of money--a thousand pounds, my all, lent to serve a friend, is lost for ever. my son, too--pardon the feelings of a parent--my only son--as brave a youth as ever fought his country's battles, is slain--not many hours ago i received the intelligence; but he died in the defence of his king!" here his feelings became so powerful that they choked his utterance, and, with his handkerchief to his eyes, he staggered off the stage, amidst the applause of those who, not knowing the man, pitied his situation. now, the fact is, cooke never possessed £ , in his life, nor had he ever the honor of being a father; but, too much intoxicated to recollect his part, he invented this story, as the only way by which he could decently retire; and the sequel of the business was, that he was sent home in a chair, whilst another actor played the part. cmxliv.--the season-ings. "come here, johnny, and tell me what the four _seasons_ are." young prodigy: "pepper, salt, mustard, and vinegar." cmxlv.--not at home. a weaver, after enjoying his potations, pursued his way home through the churchyard, his vision and walking somewhat impaired. as he proceeded, he diverged from the path, and unexpectedly stumbled into a partially made grave. stunned for a while, he lay in wonder at his descent, and after some time he got out, but he had not proceeded much further when a similar calamity befell him. at this second fall, he was heard, in a tone of wonder and surprise, to utter the following exclamation, referring to what he considered the untenanted graves, "ay! ir ye _a' up an' awa_?" cmxlvi.--lincoln's-inn dinners. on the evening of the coronation-day of our gracious queen, the benchers of lincoln's inn gave the students a feed; when a certain profane wag, in giving out a verse of the national anthem, which he was solicited to lead in a solo, took that opportunity of stating a grievance as to the modicum of port allowed, in manner and form following:-- "happy and glorious"-- _three half-pints_ 'mong _four_ of us, _heaven send no more of us_, god save the queen! which ridiculous perversion of the author's meaning was received with a full chorus, amid tremendous shouts of laughter and applause. cmxlvii.--why are women beardless? how wisely nature, ordering all below, forbade a beard on woman's _chin_ to grow, for how could she be shaved (whate'er the skill) whose _tongue_ would never let her _chin_ be still! cmxlviii.--cool retort. henderson, the actor, was seldom known to be in a passion. when at oxford, he was one day debating with a fellow-student, who, not keeping his temper, threw a glass of wine in the actor's face; when henderson took out his handkerchief, wiped his face, and cooly said, "that, sir, was a _digression_: now for the argument." cmxlix.--lying. don't give your mind to lying. a lie may do very well for a time, but, like a bad shilling, it's found out at last.--d.j. cml.--pertinent inquiry. a person addicted to lying, relating a story to another, which made him stare, "did you never hear that before?" said the narrator. "no," says the other: "pray, sir, _did you_?" cmli.--a polite rebuke. charles mathews, seated on a coach-box on a frosty day, waiting for the driver, said to him when at length he appeared: "if you stand here much longer, mr. coachman, your horses will be like captain parry's ships."--"how's that, sir?"--"why, _frozen at the pole_!" cmlii.--a certain crop. under the improved system of agriculture and of draining, great preparations had been made for securing a good crop in a certain field, where lord fife, his factor, and others interested in the subject were collected together. there was much discussion, and some difference of opinion as to the crop with which the field had best be sown. the idiot retainer, who had been listening unnoticed to all that was said, at last cried out, "_saw't wi' factors_, ma lord; they are sure to thrive everywhere." cmliii.--good advice. never confide in a young man,--new pails leak. never tell your secret to the aged,--old doors seldom shut closely. cmliv.--mr. thelwall. when citizen thelwall was on his trial at the old bailey for high treason, during the evidence for the prosecution he wrote the following note, and sent it to his counsel, mr. erskine: "i am determined to plead my cause myself." mr. erskine wrote under it: "if you do, you'll be hanged:" to which thelwall immediately returned this reply: "_i'll be hanged, then, if i do_." cmlv.--cheap at the money. a shilling subscription having been set on foot to bury an attorney who had died very poor, lord chief justice norbury exclaimed, "only a shilling to bury an attorney! here's a guinea; go and bury _one-and-twenty of them_." cmlvi.--a query for mr. babbage. a person, hearing that "time is money," became desirous of learning how many years it would take "_to pay_ a little debt of a hundred pounds!" cmlvii.--a back-handed hit. lord derby once said that ireland was positively worse than it is _represented_. "that's intended," said a'beckett, "as a sinister insult to the members who represent that wretched country." cmlviii.--things by their right names. if by their names we things should call, it surely would be _properer_, to term a singing piece a bawl, a dancing piece a _hopperer_! cmlix.--a favorite air. one of a party of friends, referring to an exquisite musical composition, said: "that song always carries me away when i hear it."--"can anybody whistle it?" asked jerrold, laughing. cmlx.--a good joke. a fire-eating irishman challenged a barrister, who gratified him by an acceptance. the duellist, being very lame, requested that he might have a prop. "suppose," said he, "i lean against this milestone?"--"with pleasure," replied the lawyer, "on condition that i may lean against _the next_." the joke settled the quarrel. cmlxi.--one thing at a time. a very dull play was talked of, and one attempted a defence by saying, "it was not hissed."--"true," said another; "no one can _hiss_ and _gape_ at the same time." cmlxii.--trophies. a french nobleman once showing matthew prior the palace of his master at versailles, and desiring him to observe the many _trophies_ of louis the fourteenth's victories, asked prior if king william, his master, had many such trophies in his palace. "no," said prior, "the monuments of my master's victories are to be seen _everywhere_ but in his _own house_." cmlxiii.--"brief let it be." when baron martin was at the bar and addressing the court of exchequer in an insurance case, he was interrupted by mr. baron alderson observing: "mr. martin, do you think any office would insure your life? remember, yours is a _brief_ existence." cmlxiv.--good advice. a philosopher being asked of whom he had acquired so much knowledge, replied, "of the blind, who do not lift their feet until they have first sounded, with their stick, the ground on which they are going to tread." cmlxv.--expectoration. we are terribly afraid that some americans spit upon the floor, even when that floor is covered by good carpets. now all claims to civilization are suspended till this secretion is otherwise disposed of. no english gentleman has spit upon the floor since the heptarchy.--s.s. cmlxvi.--a coat-of-arms. a great pretender to gentility came to a herald for his pedigree: the herald, knowing what he was, begun to rumble o'er his heraldry; which done, told him he was a gentleman of note, and that he had a very glorious coat. "prithee, what is 't?" quoth he, "and take your fees." "sir," says the herald, "'tis two rampant trees, one couchant; and, to give it further scope, a ladder passant, and a pendent rope. and, for a grace unto your blue-coat sleeves, there is a bird i' th' crest that strangles thieves." cmlxvii.--dr. sims. a glorious bull is related, in the life of dr. sims, of a countryman of his, an irishman, for whom he had prescribed an emetic, who said with great naiveté: "my dear doctor, it is of no use your giving me an _emetic_! i tried it twice in dublin, and it would _not stay_ on my stomach either time." cmlxviii.--marriage. in marriage, as in war, it is permitted to take every advantage of the enemy. cmlxix.--benefit of competition. pope, when he first saw garrick act, observed, "i am afraid that the young man will be spoiled, for he will have no competitor!" cmlxx.--industry and perseverance. a spendthrift said, "five years ago i was not worth a farthing in the world; now see where i am through my own exertions."--"well, where are you?" inquired a neighbor. "why, i now _owe more_ than a thousand pounds!" cmlxxi.--quantum suff. in former days, when roads were bad, and wheeled vehicles almost unknown, an old laird was returning from a supper party, with his lady mounted behind him on horseback. on crossing the river urr, the old lady dropped off, but was not missed till her husband reached his door. the party who were despatched in quest of her, arrived just in time to find her remonstrating with the advancing tide, which trickled into her mouth, in these words, "no anither drap; neither _het nor cauld_." cmlxxii.--lamb and sharp sauce. a retired cheesemonger, who hated any allusions to the business that had enriched him, said to charles lamb, in course of discussion on the poor-laws, "you must bear in mind, sir, that i have got rid of that sort of stuff which you poets call the 'milk of human kindness.'" lamb looked at him steadily, and replied, "yes, i am aware of that,--you turned it all into _cheese_ several years ago!" cmlxxiii.--an irishman's plea. "are you guilty, or not guilty?" asked the clerk of arraigns of a prisoner the other day. "an' sure now," said pat, "what are _you_ put there for but to find that out?" cmlxxiv.--accommodating. a man in a passion spoke many scurrilous words; a friend being by, said, "you speak foolishly." he answered, "_it is that you may understand me_." cmlxxv.--generosity and prudence. frank, who will any friend supply, lent me ten guineas.--"come," said i, "give me a pen, it is but fair you take my note." quoth he, "hold there; jack! to the cash i've bid adieu;-- no need to waste my paper too." cmlxxvi.--odd reason. a celebrated wit was asked why he did not marry a young lady to whom he was much attached. "i know not" he replied, "except the _great regard_ we have for each other." cmlxxvii.--very evident. garrick and rigby, once walking together in norfolk, observed upon a board at a house by the roadside, the following strange inscription: "a goes koored hear."--"how is it possible," said rigby, "that such people as these can cure agues?"--"i do not know," replied garrick, "what their prescription is,--but _it is not by a spell_." cmlxxviii.--ominous, very! a jolly good fellow had an office next to a doctor's. one day an elderly gentleman of the foggy school blundered into the wrong shop: "dr. x---- in?"--"don't live here," says p----, who was in full scribble over some important papers, without looking up. "oh, i thought this was his office."--"next door."--"pray, sir, can you tell me, has the doctor many patients?"--"_not living_!" the old gentleman was never more heard of in the vicinity. cmlxxix.--a reverse. an irishman, who lived in an attic, being asked what part of the house he occupied, answered, "if the house were turned _topsy-turvy_, i'd be livin' on the first flure." cmlxxx.--on an m.p. who recently got his election at the sacrifice of his political character. his degradation is complete, his name with loss of honor branding: when he resolved to win his seat he literally lost his standing. cmlxxxi.--musical taste. a late noble statesman, more famous for his wit than his love of music, being asked why he did not subscribe to the ancient concerts, and it being urged as a reason for it that his brother, the bishop of w----, did: "oh," replied his lordship, "if i was as _deaf_ as my brother, i would subscribe too." cmlxxxii.--lingual infection. a fashionable irish gentleman, driving a good deal about cheltenham, was observed to have the not very graceful habit of lolling his tongue out as he went along. curran, who was there, was asked what he thought could be his countryman's motive for giving the instrument of eloquence such an airing. "oh!" said he, "he's trying _to catch_ the english accent." cmlxxxiii.--porson _versus_ dr. jowett. dr. jowett, who was a _small_ man, was permitted by the head of his college to cultivate a strip of vacant ground. this gave rise to some _jeux d'esprit_ among the wags of the university, which induced him to alter it into a plot of gravel, and porson burst forth with the following extemporaneous lines:-- a _little_ garden _little_ jowett made, and fenced it with a _little_ palisade; because this garden made a _little_ talk, he changed it to a _little_ gravel walk; and now, if more you'd know of _little_ jowett, a _little_ time, it will a _little_ show it. cmlxxxiv.--brevity of charity. brevity is in writing what charity is to all other virtues. righteousness is worth nothing without the one, nor authorship without the other. cmlxxxv.--high gaming. baron n., once playing at cards, was guilty of an _odd trick_; on which his opponent threw him out of the window of a one-pair-of-stairs room. the baron meeting foote complained of this usage, and asked what he should do? "do," says the wit, "never play _so high_ again as long as you live." cmlxxxvi.--hard of digestion. quin had been dining, and his host expressed his regret that he could offer no more wine, as he had lost the key of his wine-cellar. while the coffee was getting ready the host showed his guest some natural curiosities, and among the rest an ostrich. "do you know, sir, that this bird has one very remarkable property--he will swallow iron?"--"then very likely," said quin, "he has swallowed the _key_ of your _wine-cellar_!" cmlxxxvii.--a monster. sydney smith said that "the court of chancery was like a boa-constrictor, which swallowed up the estates of english gentlemen in haste, and digested them at leisure." cmlxxxviii.--sailor's wedding. a jack-tar just returned from sea, determined to commit matrimony, but at the altar the parson demurred, as there was not cash enough between them to pay the fees: on which jack, thrusting a few shillings into the sleeve of his cassock, exclaimed, "never mind, brother, marry us as _far as it will go_." cmlxxxix.--quid pro quo. smith and brown, running opposite ways round a corner, struck each other. "oh dear!" says smith, "how you made my head ring!"--"that's a sign it's hollow," said brown. "didn't yours _ring_?" said smith. "no," said brown. "that's a sign it's _cracked_," replied his friend. cmxc.--the truth by accident. one communion sabbath, the precentor observed the noble family of ---- approaching the tables, and likely to be kept out by those pressing in before them. being very zealous for their accommodation, he called out to an individual whom he considered the principal obstacle in clearing the passage, "come back, jock, and let in the noble family of ----," and then turning to his psalm-book, took up his duty, and went on to read the line, "nor stand _in sinners' way_." cmxci.--encouragement. a young counsel commenced his stammering speech with the remark, "the unfortunate client who appears by me--" and then he came to a full stop; beginning again, after an embarrassed pause with a repetition of the remark, "my unfortunate client--." he did not find his fluency of speech quickened by the calm raillery of the judge, who interposed, in his softest tone, "pray go on, so far the court is quite _with you_." cmxcii.--false estimate. kean once played _young norval_ to mrs. siddons's _lady randolph_: after the play, as kean used to relate, mrs. siddons came to him, and patting him on the head, said, "you have played very well, sir, very well. it's a pity,--but there's _too little_ of you to do anything." coleridge said of this "little" actor: "kean is original; but he copies from himself. his rapid descent from the hyper-tragic to the infra-colloquial, though sometimes productive of great effect, are often unreasonable. to see him act, is like reading 'shakespeare' by flashes of lightning. i do not think him thorough-bred gentleman enough to play _othello_." cmxciii.--american penance. as for me, as soon as i hear that the last farthing is paid to the last creditor, i will appear on my knees at the bar of the pennsylvanian senate in the plumeopicean robe of american controversy. each conscript jonathan shall trickle over me a few drops of tar, and help to decorate me with those penal plumes in which the vanquished reasoner of the transatlantic world does homage to the physical superiority of his opponents.--s.s. cmxciv.--a money-lender. the best fellow in the world, sir, to get money of; for as he sends you half cash, half wine, why, if you can't take up his bill, you've always poison at hand for a remedy.--d.j. cmxcv.--a bad medium. a man, who pretended to have seen a ghost, was asked what the ghost said to him? "how should i understand," replied the narrator, "what he said? i am not skilled in any of the _dead_ languages." cmxcvi.--taking a hint. the bishop preached: "my friends," said he, "how sweet a thing is charity, the choicest gem in virtue's casket!" "it is, indeed," sighed miser b., "and instantly i'll go and--ask it." cmxcvii.--swearing the peace. an irishman, swearing the peace against his three sons, thus concluded his affidavit: "and this deponent further saith, that the only one of his children who showed him any real filial affection was his youngest son larry, for he _never struck him when he was down_!" cmxcviii.--the ruling passion. the death of mr. holland, of drury lane theatre, who was the son of a _baker_ at chiswick, had a very great effect upon the spirits of foote, who had a very warm friendship for him. being a legatee, as well as appointed by the will of the deceased one of his bearers, he attended the corpse to the family vault at chiswick, and there very sincerely paid a plentiful tribute of tears to his memory. on his return to town, harry woodward asked him if he had not been paying the last compliment to his friend holland? "yes, poor fellow," says foote, almost weeping at the same time, "i have just seen him _shoved_ into the _family oven_." cmxcix.--a sanitary air. the air of france! nothing to the air of england. that goes ten times as far,--it must, for it's ten times as thick.--d.j. m.--grafting. very dry and pithy too was a legal _opinion_ given to a claimant of the annandale peerage, who, when pressing the employment of some obvious forgeries, was warned, that if he persevered, nae doot he might be a peer, but it would be a peer o' anither _tree_! mi.--a short creed. a sceptical man, conversing with dr. parr, observed that he would believe nothing that he did not understand. dr. parr, replied, "then young man, _your creed_ will be the shortest of any man's i know." mii.--in the dark. a scotch lady, who was discomposed by the introduction of gas, asked with much earnestness, "what's to become o' the _puir whales_?" deeming their interests materially affected by this superseding of their oil. miii.--not to be tempted. "come down, this instant," said the boatswain to a mischievous son of erin, who had been idling in the round-top; "come down, i say, and i'll give you a good dozen, you rascal!"--"troth, sur, i wouldn't come down if you'd give me _two dozen_!" miv.--quite poetical. harry erskine made a neat remark to walter scott after he got his clerkship of session. the scheme to bestow it on him had been begun by the tories, but (most honorably) was completed by the whigs, and after the fall of the latter, harry met the new clerk, and congratulated him on his appointment, which he liked all the better, as it was a "lay of the _last ministry_!" mv.--corporation politeness. as a west-country mayor, with formal address, was making his speech to the haughty queen bess, "the spaniard," quoth he, "with inveterate spleen, has presumed to attack you, a poor virgin queen, but your majesty's courage soon made it appear that his donship had ta'en the wrong sow by the ear." mvi.--a common want. in the midst of a stormy discussion, a gentleman rose to settle the matter in dispute. waving his hands majestically over the excited disputants, he began:-- "gentlemen, all i want is common sense--" "exactly," jerrold interrupted, "that is precisely what you _do_ want!" the discussion was lost in a burst of laughter. mvii.--large, but not large enough. the rev. william cole, of cambridge, nicknamed the cardinal, was remarkable for what is called a "comfortable assurance." dining in a party at the university, he took up from the table a gold snuff-box, belonging to the gentleman seated next to him, and bluntly remarked that "it was big enough to hold the freedom of a corporation."--"yes, mr. cole," replied the owner; "it would hold any _freedom_ but yours." mviii.--henry erskine. mr. henry erskine (brother of lord buchan and lord erskine), after being presented to dr. johnson by mr. boswell, and having made his bow, slipped a shilling into boswell's hand, whispering that it was for the sight of his _bear_. mix.--epitaph on a miser. reader, beware immoderate love of pelf, here lies the worst of thieves,--who robbed himself. mx.--smart reply. some schoolboys meeting a poor woman driving asses, one of them said to her, "good morning, mother of asses."--"good morning, my child," was the reply. mxi.--calumny. george the third once said to sir j. irwin, a famous _bon-vivant_, "they tell me, sir john, you love a _glass_ of wine."--"those, sire, who have so reported me to your majesty," answered he, bowing profoundly, "do me great injustice; they should have said,--_a bottle_!" mxii.--love. they say love's like the measles,--all the worse when it comes late in life.--d.j. mxiii.--any change for the better. a very plain actor being addressed on the stage, "my lord, you _change_ countenance"; a young fellow in the pit cried, "for heaven's sake, _let him_!" mxiv.--too fast. two travellers were robbed in a wood, and tied to trees. one of them in despair exclaimed, "o, i am undone!"--"are you?" said the other joyfully; "then i wish you'd come and _undo me_." mxv.--a reverse joke. a soldier passing through a meadow, a large mastiff ran at him, and he stabbed the dog with a bayonet. the master of the dog asked him why he had not rather struck the dog with the butt-end of his weapon? "so i should," said the soldier, "if he had run at me with his _tail_!" mxvi.--a transporting subject. the subject for the chancellor's english prize poem, for the year , was _australasia_ (new holland). this happened to be the subject of conversation at a party of johnians, when, some observing that they thought it a bad subject, one of the party remarked, "it was at least a _transporting_ one." mxvii.--hard-ware. a few years ago, when handel's l'allegro and il penseroso were performed at birmingham, the passage most admired was,-- such notes, as warbled to the string, drew _iron tears_ down pluto's cheek. the great manufacturers and mechanics of the place were inconceivably delighted with this idea, because they had never heard of anything _in iron_ before that could not be made at birmingham. mxviii.--painting and medicine. a painter of very middling abilities turned doctor: on being questioned respecting this change, he answered, "in painting, all faults are _exposed_ to view; but in medicine, they are _buried_ with the patient." mxix.--dogmatism is pupyism come to its full growth.--d.j. mxx.--salad. to make this condiment your poet begs the pounded yellow of two hard boiled eggs; two boiled potatoes, passed through kitchen-sieve, smoothness and softness to the salad give; let onion atoms lurk within the bowl, and, half-suspected, animate the whole. of mordant mustard add a single spoon, distrust the condiment that bites too soon; but deem it not, thou man of herbs, a fault, to add a double quantity of salt. and, lastly, o'er the flavored compound toss a magic soup-spoon of anchovy sauce. o green and glorious!--o herbaceous treat! 't would tempt the dying anchorite to eat; back to the world he'd turn his fleeting soul, and plunge his fingers in the salad-bowl! serenely full, the epicure would say, "fate cannot harm me, i have dined to-day!" mxxi.--actor. a member of one of the dramatic funds was complaining of being obliged to retire from the stage with an income of only one hundred and fifty pounds a year, upon which an old officer, on half-pay, said to him: "a comedian has no reason to complain, whilst a man like me, crippled with wounds, is content with half that sum."--"what!" replied the actor; "and do you reckon as nothing the honor of being able to _say so_?" mxxii.--epigram. that lord ---- owes nothing, one safely may say, for his creditors find he has nothing to pay. mxxiii.--candid on both sides. "i rise for information," said a member of the legislative body. "i am very glad to hear it," said a bystander, "for no man _wants_ it more." mxxiv.--carrots classically considered. why scorn red hair? the greeks, we know (i note it here in charity), had taste in beauty, and with them the graces were all [greek: charitai]! mxxv.--doing homage. returning from hunting one day, george iii. entered affably into conversation with his wine-merchant, mr. carbonel, and rode with him side by side a considerable way. lord walsingham was in attendance; and watching an opportunity, took mr. carbonel aside, and whispered something to him. "what's that? what's that walsingham has been saying to you?" inquired the good-humored monarch. "i find, sir, i have been unintentionally guilty of disrespect; my lord informed me that i ought to have taken off my hat whenever i addressed your majesty; but your majesty will please to observe, that whenever i hunt, my hat is fastened to my wig, and my wig is fastened to my head, and i am on the back of a very high-spirited horse, so that if anything _goes off_ we must _all go off together_!" the king laughed heartily at this apology. mxxvi.--sydney smith soporific. a lady complaining to sydney smith that she could not sleep,--"i can furnish you," he said, "with a perfect soporific. i have published two volumes of sermons; take them up to bed with you. i recommended them once to blanco white, and before the third page--_he was fast asleep_!" mxxvii.--epigram. (on ----'s ponderous speeches.) though sir edward has made many speeches of late, the house would most willingly spare them; for it finds they possess such remarkable _weight_, that it's really a trouble to _bear them_. mxxviii.--good at a pinch. a severe snow-storm in the highlands, which lasted for several weeks, having stopped all communication betwixt neighboring hamlets, snuff-takers were reduced to their last pinch. borrowing and begging from all the neighbors within reach were resorted to, but this soon failed, and all were alike reduced to the extremity which unwillingly abstinent snuffers alone know. the minister of the parish was amongst the unhappy number; the craving was so intense, that study was out of the question. as a last resort, the beadle was despatched through the snow, to a neighboring glen in the hope of getting a supply; but became back as unsuccessful as he went. "what's to be dune, john?" was the minister's pathetic inquiry. john shook his head, as much as to say that he could not tell; but immediately thereafter started up, as if a new idea had occurred to him. he came back in a few minutes, crying, "hae." the minister, too eager to be scrutinizing, took a long, deep pinch, and then said, "whaur did you get it?"--"_i soupit[b] the poupit_," was john's expressive reply. the minister's accumulated superfluous sabbath snuff now came into good use. [b] swept. mxxix.--epigram. (on alderman wood's being afraid to pledge himself even to the principles he has always professed.) sure in the house he'll do but little good who lets "_i dare not, wait upon_ i wood (i would)." mxxx.--wilkes's ready reply. luttrel and wilkes were standing on the brentford hustings, when wilkes asked his adversary, privately, whether he thought there were more fools or rogues among the multitude of wilkites spread out before them. "i'll tell them what you say, and put an end to you," said the colonel. but, perceiving the threat gave wilkes no alarm, he added, "surely you don't mean to say you could stand here one hour after i did so?"--"why (the answer was), you would not be alive one instant after."--"how so?"--"i should merely say it was a _fabrication_, and they would _destroy you_ in the twinkling of an eye!" mxxxi.--too grateful. after o'connell had obtained the acquittal of a horse-stealer, the thief, in the ecstasy of his gratitude, cried out, "och, counsellor, i've no way _here_ to thank your honor; but i wish't i saw you _knocked down in me own parish_,--wouldn't i bring a faction to the rescue?" mxxxii.--the poets to certain critics. say, why erroneous vent your spite? your censure, friends, will _raise_ us; if you do wish to damn us quite, only begin to _praise_ us! mxxxiii.--odd housekeeping. mrs. montgomery was the only--the motherless--daughter of the stern general campbell, who early installed her into the duties of housekeeper, and it sometimes happened that, in setting down the articles purchased, and their prices, she put the "cart before the horse." her gruff papa never lectured her verbally, but wrote his remarks on the margin of the paper, and returned it for correction. one such instance was as follows: "general campbell thinks five-and-six-pence exceedingly dear for parsley." henrietta instantly saw her mistake; but, instead of formally rectifying it, wrote against the next item,--"miss campbell thinks _twopence-halfpenny_ excessively _cheap for fowls_"; and sent it back to her father. mxxxiv.--telling one's age. a lady, complaining how rapidly time stole away, said: "alas! i am near thirty." a doctor, who was present, and knew her age, said: "do not fret at it, madam; for you will get _further_ from that frightful epoch every day." mxxxv.--pot valiant. provisions have a greater influence on the valor of troops than is generally supposed; and there is great truth in the remark of an english physician, who said, that with a six weeks' diet he could make a man a coward. a distinguished general was so convinced of this principle, that he said he always employed his troops _before their dinner had digested_. mxxxvi.--cause and effect. sir william dawes, archbishop of york, was very fond of a pun. his clergy dining with him, for the first time, after he had lost his lady, he told them he feared they did not find things in so good order as they used to be in the time of poor mary; and, looking extremely sorrowful, added, with a deep sigh, "she was, indeed, _mare pacificum_." a curate, who pretty well knew what she had been, said, "ay, my lord, but she was _mare mortuum_ first." mxxxvii.--a bad preacher. a clergyman, meeting a particular friend, asked him why he never came to _hear him preach_. he answered, "i am afraid of _disturbing your solitude_." mxxxviii.--on rogers the poet, who was egotistical. so well deserved is rogers' fame, that friends, who hear him most, advise the egotist to change his name to "argus," with his hundred i's! mxxxix.--a poser. in a chancery suit one of the counsel, describing the boundaries of his client's land, said, in showing the plan of it, "we lie on this side, my lord." the opposite counsel then said, "and we lie on that side." the chancellor, with a good-humored grin, observed, "if you _lie_ on both sides, whom will you have me believe?" mxl.--a quiet dose. a mean fellow, thinking to get an opinion of his health _gratis_, asked a medical acquaintance what he should take for such a complaint? "i'll tell you," said the doctor, sarcastically; "you should take _advice_." mxli.--the dancing prelates. scaliger doth the curious fact advance, the early bishops used to join the dance, and winding, turning ----s shows us yet, that bishops still know how to pirouette. mxlii.--auricular confession. a cunning juryman addressed the clerk of the court when administering the oath, saying, "speak up; i cannot hear what you say."--"stop; are you deaf?" asked baron alderson.--"yes, of one ear."--"then you may leave the box, for it is necessary that jurymen should hear _both sides_." mxliii.--a dry fellow. "well, will," said an earl one day to will speir, seeing the latter finishing his dinner, "have you had a good dinner to-day?" (will had been grumbling some time before.) "ou, vera gude," answered will; "but gin anybody asks if i got a dram _after 't_, what will i say?" maxilla.--good evidence. "did you ever see mr. murdock return oats?" inquired the counsel. "yes, your honor," was the reply. "on what _ground_ did he refuse them?" was next asked by the learned counsel. "_in the back-yard_," said teddy, amidst the laughter of the court. axle.--epitaph upon peter staggs. poor peter staggs now rests beneath this rail, who loved his joke, his pipe, and mug of ale; for twenty years he did the duties well, of ostler, boots, and waiter at the bell. but death stepped in, and ordered peter staggs to feed the worms, and leave the farmers' nags. the church clock struck _one_--alas! 'twas peter's knell, who sighed, "i'm coming--that's the ostler's bell!" mxlvi.--quin and the parson. a well-beneficed old parson having a large company to dinner, entertained them with nothing else but the situation and profits of his parochial livings, which he said he kept entirely to himself. quin, being one of the party, and observing that the parson displayed a pair of very dirty yellow hands, immediately called out,--"so, so, doctor, i think you do keep your _glebe_ in your own hands with a witness!" mxlvii.--natural antipathy. foote having satirized the scotch pretty severely, a gentleman asked, "why he hated that nation so much."--"you are mistaken," said foote, "i don't hate the scotch, neither do i hate frogs, but i would have everything keep to its _native element_." mxlviii.--not necessary. "you flatter me," said a thin exquisite the other day to a young lady who was praising the beauties of his moustache. "for heaven's sake, ma'am," interposed an old skipper, "don't make that _monkey any flatter_ than he is!" mxlix.--assurance and insurance. sterne, the author of the "sentimental journey," who had the credit of treating his wife very ill, was one day talking to garrick in a fine sentimental manner in praise of conjugal love and fidelity: "the husband," said he, with amazing assurance, "who behaves unkindly to his wife, deserves to have his house burnt over his head."--"if you think so," replied garrick, "i hope _your_ house is insured." ml.--cromwell. one being asked whom it was that he judged to be the chiefest actor in the murder of the king, he answered in this short enigma or riddle:-- "the heart of the loaf, and the head of the spring, is the name of the man that murdered the king." mli.--bill paid in full. at wimpole there was to be seen a portrait of mr. harley, the speaker, in his robes of office. the active part he took to forward the bill to settle the crown on the house of hanover induced him to have a _scroll_ painted in his hand, bearing the title of that bill. soon after george the first arrived in england, harley was sent to the _tower_, and this circumstance being told to prior whilst he was viewing the portrait, he wrote on the white part of the scroll the date of the day on which harley was committed to the tower, and under it: "this bill paid in full." mlii.--women. at no time of life should a man give up the thoughts of enjoying the society of women. "in youth," says lord bacon, "women are our mistresses, at a riper age our companions, in old age our nurses, and in all ages our friends." a gentleman being asked what difference there was between a clock and a woman, instantly replied, "a clock serves to _point_ out the hours, and a woman to make us _forget_ them." mliii.--the devil's own. at a review of the volunteers, when the half-drowned heroes were defiling by all the best ways, the devil's own walked straight through. this being reported to lord b----, he remarked, "that the lawyers always went through _thick_ and _thin_." mliv.--whist-playing. charles lamb said once to a brother whist-player, who was a hand more clever than clean, and who had enough in him to afford the joke: "m., if _dirt_ were trumps, what _hands_ you would hold!" mlv.--a cruel case. pope the actor, well known for his devotion to the culinary art, received an invitation to dinner, accompanied by an apology for the simplicity of the intended fare--a small turbot and a boiled edgebone of beef. "the very thing of all others that i like," exclaimed pope; "i will come with the greatest pleasure": and come he did, and eat he did, till he could literally eat no longer; when the word was given, and a haunch of venison was brought in. poor pope, after a puny effort at trifling with a slice of fat, laid down his knife and fork, and gave way to a hysterical burst of tears, exclaiming, "a friend of twenty years' standing, and to be _served in this manner_!" mlvi.--on shelley's poem, "prometheus unbound." shelley styles his new poem, "_prometheus unbound_," and 'tis like to remain so while time circles round; for surely an age would be spent in the finding a reader so weak as to _pay for the binding_. mlvii.--writing treason. horne tooke, on being asked by a foreigner of distinction how much treason an englishman might venture to write without being hanged, replied, that "he could not inform him just yet, but that he was _trying_." mlviii.--a graceful illustration. the resemblance between the sandal tree, imparting (while it falls) its aromatic flavor to the edge of the axe, and the benevolent man rewarding evil with good, would be witty, did it not excite virtuous emotions.--s.s. mlix.--impromptu. _on an apple being thrown at mr. cooke, whilst playing sir pertinax mac sycophant._ some envious scot, you say, the apple threw, because the character was drawn too true; it can't be so, for all must know "right weel" that a true scot had only thrown the peel. mlx.--in the background. an irishman once ordered a painter to draw his picture, and to represent him _standing behind a tree_. mlxi.--in want of a husband. a young lady was told by a married lady, that she had better precipitate herself from off the rocks of the passaic falls into the basin beneath than _marry_. the young lady replied, "i would, if i thought i should find a _husband_ at the bottom." mlxii.--three ends to a rope. a lad applied to the captain of a vessel for a berth; the captain, wishing to intimidate him, handed him a piece of rope, and said, "if you want to make a good sailor, you must make three ends to the rope."--"i can do it," he readily replied; "here is one, and here is another,--that makes two. now, here's the _third_," and he threw it overboard. mlxiii.--the reason why. foote was once asked, why learned men are to be found in rich men's houses, and rich men never to be seen in those of the learned. "why," said he, "the _first_ know what they want, but the _latter_ do not." mlxiv.--personalities of garrick and quin. when quin and garrick performed at the same theatre, and in the same play, one night, being very stormy, each ordered a chair. to the mortification of quin, garrick's chair came up first. "let me get into the chair," cried the surly veteran, "let me get into the chair, and put little davy into the lantern."--"by all means," rejoined garrick, "i shall ever be happy _to enlighten_ mr. quin in anything." mlxv.--bark and bite. lord clare, who was much opposed to curran, one day brought a newfoundland dog upon the bench, and during curran's speech turned himself aside and caressed the animal. curran stopped. "go on, go on, mr. curran," said lord clare. "o, i beg a thousand pardons," was the rejoinder; "i really thought your lordship was employed in _consultation_." mlxvi.--a pressing reason. a tailor sent his bill to a lawyer for money; the lawyer bid the boy tell his master that he was not running away, but very busy at that time. the boy comes again, and tells him he must have the money. "did you tell your master," said the lawyer, "that i was not running away?"--"yes, sir," answered the boy; "but he bade me tell you that _he was_." mlxvii.--small wit. sir george beaumont once met quin at a small dinner-party. there was a delicious pudding, which the master of the house, pushing the dish towards quin, begged him to taste. a gentleman had just before helped himself to an immense piece of it. "pray," said quin, looking first at the gentleman's plate and then at the dish, "_which_ is the pudding?" mlxviii.--epigram on a student being put out of commons for missing chapel. to fast and pray we are by scripture taught: oh could i do but either as i ought! in both, alas! i err; my frailty such,-- i pray too little, and i fast too much. mlxix.--making progress. a student, being asked what progress he had made in the study of medicine, modestly replied: "i hope i shall soon be fully qualified as physician, for i think i am now able to _cure a child_." mlxx.--the woolsack. colman and banister dining one day with lord erskine, the ex-chancellor, amongst other things, observed that he had then about three thousand head of sheep. "i perceive," interrupted colman, "your lordship has still an eye to the woolsack." mlxxi.--sir thomas coulson. sir thomas coulson being present with a friend at the burning of drury lane theatre, and observing several engines hastening to the spot where the fire had been extinguished, remarked that they were "_ingens_ cui lumen adeptum." mlxxii.--throw physic to the dogs! when the celebrated beau nash was ill, dr. cheyne wrote a prescription for him. the next day the doctor, coming to see his patient, inquired if he had followed his prescription: "no, truly, doctor," said nash; "if i had i should have broken my neck for i _threw it_ out of a two-pair-of-stairs window." mlxxiii.--motherly remark. sir david baird, with great gallantry and humanity, had a queer temper. when news came to england that he was one of those poor prisoners in india who were tied back to back to fetter them, his mother exclaimed, "heaven pity the man _that's tied_ to my davy!" mlxxiv.--too good. a physician, much attached to his profession, during his attendance on a man of letters, observing that the patient was very punctual in taking all his medicines, exclaimed in the pride of his heart: "ah! my dear sir, you _deserve_ to be ill." mlxxv.--a balance. "pay me that six-and-eightpence you owe me, mr. malrooney," said a village attorney. "for what?"--"for the opinion you had of me."--"faith, i _never_ had any _opinion_ of you in all my life." mlxxvi.--money's worth. whilst inspecting a farm in a pauperized district, an enterprising agriculturist could not help noticing the slow, drawling motions of one of the laborers there, and said, "my man, you do not sweat at that work."--"why, no, master," was the reply, "_seven shillings_ a week isn't _sweating_ wages." mlxxvii.--on mr. gully being returned m.p. for pontefract. strange is it, proud pontefract's borough should sully its fame by returning to parliament gully. the etymological cause, i suppose, is his breaking the bridges of so many noses. mlxxviii.--writing for the stage. people would be astonished if they were aware of the cart-loads of trash which are annually offered to the director of a london theatre. the very first manuscript (says george colman) which was proposed to me for representation, on my undertaking theatrical management, was from a nautical gentleman, on a nautical subject; the piece was of a tragic description, and in five acts; during the principal scenes of which the hero of the drama declaimed from the _main-mast_ of a man-of-war, without once descending from his position! a tragedy was offered to mr. macready, or mr. webster, in _thirty_ acts. the subject was the history of poland, and the author proposed to have five acts played a night, so that the whole could be gone through in a week. mlxxix.--a comparison. "an attorney," says sterne, "is the same thing to a barrister that an apothecary is to a physician, with this difference, that your lawyer does not deal in _scruples_." mlxxx.--gambling. i never by chance hear the rattling of dice that it doesn't sound to me like the funeral bell of a whole family.--d.j. mlxxxi.--sweeps. we feel for climbing boys as much as anybody can do; but what is a climbing boy in a chimney to a full-grown suitor in the master's office! mlxxxii.--self-conceit. hail, charming power of self-opinion! for none are slaves in thy dominion; secure in thee, the mind's at ease, the _vain_ have only _one_ to please. mlxxxiii.--james smith and justice holroyd. formerly, it was customary, on emergencies, for the judges to swear affidavits at their dwelling-houses. smith was desired by his father to attend a judge's chambers for that purpose; but being engaged to dine in russell square, at the next house to mr. justice holroyd's, he thought he might as well save himself the disagreeable necessity of leaving the party at eight, by despatching his business at once, so, a few minutes before six, he boldly knocked at the judge's and requested to speak to him on particular business. the judge was at dinner, but came down without delay, swore the affidavit, and then gravely asked what was the pressing necessity that induced our friend to disturb him at that hour. as smith told his story, he raked his invention for a lie, but finding none fit for the purpose, he blurted out the truth: "the fact is, my lord, i am engaged to _dine_ at the next house--and--and----"--"and, sir, you thought you might as well _save_ your own dinner by _spoiling_ mine?"--"exactly so, my lord; but----"--"sir, i wish you a good evening." though smith brazened the matter out, he said he never was more frightened. mlxxxiv.--a good investment. an english journal lately contained the following announcement: "_to be sold_, one hundred and thirty lawsuits, the property of an attorney retiring from business. n.b. the clients are rich and obstinate." mlxxxv.--the aged young lady. an old lady, being desirous to be thought younger than she was, said that she was but _forty_ years old. a student who sat near observed, that it must be quite true, for he had heard her repeat the same for the last _ten years_. mlxxxvi--keeping time. a gentleman at a musical party asked a friend, in a whisper, "how he should stir the fire without interrupting the music."--"_between the bars_," replied the friend. mlxxxvii.--entering the lists. the duke of b----, who was to have been one of the knights of the eglinton tournament, was lamenting that he was obliged to excuse himself, on the ground of an attack of the gout. "how," said he, "could i ever get my poor puffed legs into those abominable iron boots?"--"it will be quite as appropriate," replied hook, "if your grace goes in your _list_ shoes." mlxxxviii.--not importunate. mrs. robison (widow of the eminent professor of natural philosophy) having invited a gentleman to dinner on a particular day, he had accepted, with the reservation, "if i am spared."--"weel, weel," said mrs. robison, "if ye're _dead_ i'll no' expect ye." mlxxxix.--witty coward. a french marquis having received several blows with a stick, which he never thought of resenting, a friend asked him, "how he could reconcile it with his honor to suffer them to pass without notice?"--"pooh!" replied the marquis, "i never trouble my head with anything that passes behind my back." mxc.--priority. an old scotch domestic gave a capital reason to his _young_ master for his being allowed to do as he liked: "ye need na find faut wi' me, maister jeems, _i hae been langer about the place than yersel'_." mxci.--should not silence give consent? a laird of logan was at a meeting of the heritors of cumnock, where a proposal was made to erect a new churchyard wall. he met the proposition with the dry remark, "i never big dykes till the _tenants_ complain." mxcii.--characteristics. the late dr. brand was remarkable for his spirit of contradiction. one extremely cold morning, in the month of january, he was addressed by a friend with,--"it is a very cold morning, doctor."--"i don't know that," was the doctor's observation, though he was at the instant covered with _snow_. at another time he happened to dine with some gentlemen. the doctor engrossed the conversation almost entirely to himself, and interlarded his observations with greek and latin quotations, to the annoyance of the company. a gentleman of no slight erudition, seated next the doctor, remarked to him, "that he ought not to quote so much, as many of the party did not understand it."--"and _you are one_ of them," observed the learned bear. mxciii.--an error corrected. jerrold was seriously disappointed with a certain book written by one of his friends. this friend heard that jerrold had expressed his disappointment. _friend_ (to jerrold).--i hear you said ---- was the worst book i ever wrote. _jerrold._--no, i didn't. i said it was the worst book anybody ever wrote. mxciv.--a mystery cleared up. w----, they say, is bright! yet to discover the fact you vainly in st. stephen's sit. but hold! _extremes will meet_: the marvel's over; his very _dulness_ is the _extreme_ of wit. mxcv.--braham and kenney. the pride of some people differs from that of others. mr. bunn was passing through jermyn street, late one evening, and seeing kenney at the corner of st. james's church, swinging about in a nervous sort of manner, he inquired the cause of his being there at such an hour. he replied, "i have been to the st. james's theatre, and, do you know, i really thought braham was a much prouder man than i find him to be." on asking why, he answered, "i was in the green-room, and hearing braham say, as he entered, 'i am really _proud_ of my pit to-night,' i went and counted it, and there were but _seventeen_ people in it." mxcvi.--how to escape taxation. "i would," says fox, "a tax devise that shall not fall on me." "then tax _receipts_," lord north replies, "for those you _never_ see." mxcvii.--a bed of--where? a scotch country minister had been invited, with his wife, to dine and spend the night at the house of one of his lairds. their host was very proud of one of the very large beds which had just come into fashion, and in the morning asked the lady how she had slept in it. "o very well, sir; but, indeed, i thought _i'd lost_ the minister a' thegither." mxcviii.--envy. a drunken man was found in the suburbs of dublin, lying on his face, by the roadside, apparently in a state of physical unconsciousness. "he is dead," said a countryman of his, who was looking at him. "dead!" replied another, who had turned him with his face uppermost; "by the powers, _i wish i had just half his disease_!"--in other words, a moiety of the whiskey he had drunk. mxcix.--a slight difference. "i keep an excellent table," said a lady, disputing with one of her boarders. "that may be true, ma'am," says he, "but you put very little _upon it_." mc.--more honored in the breach. a laird of logan sold a horse to an englishman, saying, "you buy him as you see him; but he's an _honest_ beast." the purchaser took him home. in a few days he stumbled and fell, to the damage of his own knees and his rider's head. on this the angry purchaser remonstrated with the laird, whose reply was, "well, sir, i told you he was an honest beast; many a time has he _threatened_ to come down with me, and i kenned he would _keep his word_ some day." mci.--"you'll get there before i can tell you." mr. neville, formerly a fellow of jesus college, was distinguished, by many innocent singularities, uncommon shyness, and stammering of speech, but when he used _bad_ words he could talk fluently. in one of his solitary rambles a countryman met him and inquired the road. "tu--u--rn," says neville, "to--to--to--" and so on for a minute or two; at last he burst out, "_confound it, man! you'll get there before i can tell you_!" mcii.--on mr. milton, the livery stable-keeper. two miltons, in separate ages were born, the cleverer milton 'tis clear we have got; though the other had talents the world to adorn, _this_ lives by his _mews_, which the other could not! mciii.--a long residence. the following complacent scottish remark upon bannockburn was made to a splenetic englishman, who had said to a scottish countryman that no man of taste would think of remaining any time in such a country as scotland. to which the canny scot replied, "tastes differ; i'se tak' ye to a place no far frae stirling, whaur thretty thousand o' yer countrymen ha' been for five hunder years, an' they've nae thocht _o' leavin' yet_." mciv.--spare the rod. a schoolboy being asked by the teacher how he should flog him, replied, "if you please, sir, i should like to have it upon the _italian system_--the heavy strokes up-wards, and the down ones light." mcv.--political sinecure. curran, after a debate which gave rise to high words, put his hand to his heart, and declared that he was the trusty _guardian_ of his own honor. upon which sir boyle roche congratulated his honorable friend on the snug little _sinecure_ he had discovered for himself. mcvi.--epigram on a petit-maÃ�tre physician. when pennington for female ills indites, studying alone not what, but how he writes, the ladies, as his graceful form they scan, cry, with ill-omened rapture,--"_killing man_!" mcvii.--damped ardor. jerrold and laman blanchard were strolling together about london, discussing passionately a plan for joining byron in greece, when a heavy shower of rain wetted them through. jerrold, telling the story many years after, said, "that shower of rain washed all the greece out of us." mcviii.--elliston and george iv. in , when the question of erecting a monument to shakespeare, in his native town, was agitated by mr. mathews and mr. bunn, the king (george iv.) took a lively interest in the matter, and, considering that the leading people of both the patent theatres should be consulted, directed sir charles long, sir george beaumont, and sir francis freeling to ascertain mr. elliston's sentiments on the subject. as soon as these distinguished individuals (who had come direct from, and were going direct back to, the palace) had delivered themselves of their mission, elliston replied, "very well, gentlemen, leave the papers with me, and _i will talk over the business with_ his majesty." mcix.--truth and fiction. a traveller relating his adventures, told the company that he and his servants had made fifty wild arabs run; which startling them, he observed, that there was no great matter in it,--"for," says he, "we ran, and they ran _after us_." mcx.--a reasonable refusal. at the time of expected invasion at the beginning of the century, some of the town magistrates called upon an old maiden lady of montrose, and solicited her subscription to raise men for the service of the king. "indeed," she answered right sturdily, "i'll do nae sic thing; i never could raise a man _for mysel_, and i'm no gaun to raise men for king george." mcxi.--lord north's drollery. a vehement political declaimer, calling aloud for the head of lord north, turned round and perceived his victim unconsciously indulging in a quiet slumber, and, becoming still more exasperated, denounced the minister as capable of sleeping while he ruined his country; the latter only complained how cruel it was to be denied a solace which other criminals so often enjoyed, that of having a night's rest before their fate. on mr. martin's proposal to have a starling placed near the chair, and taught to repeat the cry of "_infamous coalition_!" lord north coolly suggested, that, as long as the worthy member was preserved to them, it would be a needless waste of the public money, since the starling might well perform his office _by deputy_. mcxii.--incapacity. a young ecclesiastic asked his bishop permission to preach. "_i_ would permit you," answered the prelate; "but _nature_ will not." mcxiii.--epigram. (suggested by hearing a debate in the house of commons.) to wonder now at balaam's ass were weak; is there a night that asses do not speak? mcxiv.--value of nothing. porson one day sent his gyp with a note to a certain cantab, requesting him to find the value of nothing. next day he met his friend walking, and stopping him, desired to know, "whether he had succeeded?" his friend answered, "yes!"--"and what may it be?" asked porson. "_sixpence_!" replied the cantab, "which i gave the man for bringing the note." mcxv.--the right organ. spurzheim was lecturing on phrenology. "what is to be conceived the organ of drunkenness?" said the professor. "the _barrel_-organ," interrupted an auditor. mcxvi.--mind your points. a writer, in describing the last scene of "othello," had this exquisite passage: "upon which the moor, seizing _a bolster full of rage and jealousy_, smothers her." mcxvii.--reasons for drinking. dr. aldrich, of convivial memory, said there were five reasons for drinking:-- "good wine, a friend, or being dry, or lest you should be by and by, or any other reason why." mcxviii.--no matter what color. an eminent scottish divine met two of his own parishioners at the house of a lawyer, whom he considered too sharp a practitioner. the lawyer ungraciously put the question, "doctor, these are members of your flock; may i ask, do you look upon them as white sheep or as black sheep?"--"i don't know," answered the divine dryly, "whether they are black or white sheep; but i know, if they are long here, they are pretty sure to be _fleeced_." mcxix.--an odd occurrence. at a wedding the other day one of the guests, who often is a little absent-minded, observed gravely, "i have often remarked that there have been _more_ women than men married this year." mcxx.--a dangerous generalization. a tutor bidding one of his pupils, whose name was charles howl, to make some english verses, and seeing he put _teeth_ to rhyme with _feet_, told him he was wrong there, as that was no proper rhyme. charles answered, "you have often told me that h was no letter, and therefore this is good rhyme." his tutor said, "take heed, charles, of that evasion, for that will make you an _owl_." mcxxi.--nosce te ipsum. sheridan was one day much annoyed by a fellow-member of the house of commons, who kept crying out every few minutes, "hear! hear!" during the debate he took occasion to describe a political contemporary that wished to play rogue, but had only sense enough to act fool. "where," exclaimed he, with great emphasis--"where shall we find a more foolish knave or a more _knavish fool_ than he?"--"hear! hear!" was shouted by the troublesome member. sheridan turned round, and, thanking him for the prompt information, sat down amid a general roar of laughter. mcxxii.--vera cannie. a young lady, pressed by friends to marry a decent, but poor man, on the plea, "_marry_ for love, and _work_ for siller," replied, "it's a' vera true, but a kiss and a tinniefu[c] o' cauld water maks a gey wersh[d] breakfast." [c] tinnie, the small porringer of children. [d] insipid. mcxxiii.--timely aid. a lady was followed by a beggar, who very importunately asked her for alms. she refused him; when he quitted her, saying, with a profound sigh, "yet the alms i asked you for would have prevented me executing my present resolution!" the lady was alarmed lest the man should commit some rash attempt on his own life. she called him back, and gave him a shilling, and asked him the meaning of what he had just said. "madam," said the fellow, laying hold of the money, "i have been _begging_ all day in vain, and but for this shilling i should have been obliged to _work_!" mcxxiv.--whist. mrs. bray relates the following of a devonshire physician, happily named vial, who was a desperate lover of whist. one evening in the midst of a deal, the doctor fell off his chair in a fit. consternation seized on the company. was he alive or dead? at length he showed signs of life, and, retaining the last fond idea which had possessed him at the moment he fell into the fit, exclaimed, "_what is trumps_?" mcxxv.--henry erskine. the late hon. henry erskine met his acquaintance jemmy ba--four, a barrister, who dealt in hard words and circumlocutious sentences. perceiving that his ankle was tied up with a silk handkerchief, the former asked the cause. "why, my dear sir," answered the wordy lawyer, "i was taking a romantic ramble in my brother's grounds, when, coming to a gate, i had to climb over it, by which i came in contact with the first bar, and have grazed the epidermis on my skin, attended with a slight extravasation of blood."--"you may thank your lucky stars," replied mr. erskine, "that your brother's _gate_ was not as _lofty_ as your _style_, or you must have broken your neck." mcxxvi.--the abbey church at bath. these walls, so full of monuments and bust, show how bath waters serve to lay the dust. mcxxvii.--too much and too little. two friends meeting after an absence of some years, during which time the one had increased considerably in bulk, and the other still resembled only the "effigy of a man,"--said the stout gentleman, "why, dick, you look as if you had not had a dinner since i saw you last."--"and you," replied the other, "look as if you _had been at dinner ever since_." mcxxviii.--sharp, if not pleasant. an arch boy was feeding a magpie when a gentleman in the neighborhood, who had an impediment in his speech, coming up, said, "t-t-t-tom, can your mag t-t-talk yet?"--"ay, sir," says the boy, "better than _you_, or i'd wring his _head off_." mcxxix.--an east indian chaplaincy. the best history of a serpent we ever remember to have read, was of one killed near one of our settlements in the east indies; in whose body they _found the chaplain_ of the garrison, all in black, the rev. mr. ----, and who, after having been missing for above a week, was discovered in this very inconvenient situation. mcxxx.--constancy. curran, hearing that a stingy and slovenly barrister had started for the continent with a shirt and a guinea, observed, "he'll not _change_ either till he comes back." mcxxxi.--epigram. (on hearing a prosing harangue from a certain bishop.) when he holds forth, his reverence doth appear so lengthily his subject to pursue, that listeners (out of patience) often fear he has indeed _eternity in view_. mcxxxii.--speaking of sausages. mr. smith passed a pork-shop the other day,--mr. smith whistled. the moment he did this, every sausage "wagged its tail." as a note to this, we would mention that the day before he _lost a newfoundland dog_, that weighed sixty-eight pounds. mcxxxiii.--bringing his man down. rogers used to relate this story: an englishman and a frenchman fought a duel in a _darkened room_. the englishman, unwilling to take his antagonist's life, generously fired up the chimney, and--_brought down the frenchman_. "when i tell this story in france," pleasantly added the relator, "i make the _englishman_ go up the chimney." mcxxxiv.--a perfect bore. some one being asked if a certain authoress, whom he had long known, was not "a _little_ tiresome?"--"not at all," said he, "she was _perfectly_ tiresome." mcxxxv.--too civil by half. an irish judge had a habit of begging pardon on every occasion. at the close of the assize, as he was about to leave the bench, the officer of the court reminded him that he had not passed sentence of death on one of the criminals, as he had intended. "dear me!" said his lordship, "_i really beg his pardon_,--bring him in." mcxxxvi.--"our landlady." a landlady, who exhibited an inordinate love for the vulgar fluid gin, would order her servant to get the supplies after the following fashion: "betty, go and get a quartern loaf, and half a quartern of gin." off started betty. she was speedily recalled: "betty, make it _half_ a quartern _loaf_, and a quartern of gin." but betty had never fairly got across the threshold on the mission ere the voice was again heard: "betty, on second thoughts, you may as well make it _all gin_." mcxxxvii.--the church in the way. dr. johnson censured gwyn, the architect, for taking down a church, which might have stood for many years, and building a new one in a more convenient place, for no other reason but that there might be a direct road to a new bridge. "you are taking," said the doctor, "a church out of the way, that the people may go in a straight line to the bridge."--"no, sir," replied gwyn: "i am putting the church _in_ the way, that the people may not _go out of the way_." mcxxxviii.--saving time. a candidate at an election, who wanted eloquence, when another had, in a long and brilliant speech, promised great things, got up and said, "electors of g----, all that he has _said_ i will _do_." mcxxxix.--the young idea. schoolmistress (pointing to the first letter of the alphabet): "come, now, what is that?" scholar: "i sha'n't tell you." schoolmistress: "you won't! but you must. come, now, what is it?" scholar: "i sha'n't tell you. i didn't come here to _teach you_,--but for you to _teach me_." mcxl.--epigram. two harveys had a mutual wish to please in different stations; for one excelled in _sauce for fish_, and one in _meditations_. each had its pungent power applied to aid the dead and dying; _this_ relishes a _sole_ when _fried_, _that_ saves a _soul_ from _frying_. mcxli.--epitaphs. if truth, perspicuity, wit, gravity, and every property pertaining to the ancient or modern epitaph, may be expected united in one single epitaph, it is in one made for burbadge, the tragedian, in the days of shakespeare,--the following being the whole,--_exit burbadge_. jerrold, perhaps, trumped this by his anticipatory epitaph on that excellent man and distinguished historian, charles knight,--"good knight." mcxlii.--national prejudice. foote being told of the appointment of a scotch nobleman, said, "the irish, sir, take us _all in_, and the scotch turn us _all out_." mcxliii.--grandiloquence. a boasting fellow was asked, "pray, sir, what may your business be?"--"o," replied the boaster, "i am but a cork-cutter: but then it is in a _very_ large way!"--"indeed!" replied the other; "then i presume you are a cutter of _bungs_?" mcxliv.--the letter c. curious coincidences respecting the letter c, as connected with the princess charlotte, daughter of george iv.:--her mother's name was caroline, her own name was charlotte; that of her consort cobourg; she was married at carlton house; her town residence was at camelford house, the late owner of which, lord camelford, was untimely killed in a duel; her country residence claremont, not long ago the property of lord clive, who ended his days by suicide; she died in childbed, the name of her accoucheur being croft. mcxlv.--practical retort. in a country theatre there were only seven persons in the house one night. the pit took offence at the miserable acting of a performer, and hissed him energetically; whereupon the manager brought his company on the stage, and _out-hissed_ the visitors. mcxlvi.--an agreeable practice. dr. garth (so he is called in the manuscript), who was one of the kit-kat club, coming there one night, declared he must soon be gone, having many patients to attend; but some good wine being produced he forgot them. when sir richard steele reminded him of his patients, garth immediately said, "it's no great matter whether i see them to-night or not; for nine of them have such _bad_ constitutions that all the physicians in the world can't save them, and the other six have so _good_ constitutions that all the physicians in the world can't kill them." mcxlvii.--a reason for running away. owen moore has run away, owing more than he can pay. mcxlviii.--legal extravagance. "hurrah! hurrah!" cried a young lawyer, who had succeeded to his father's practice, "i've settled that old chancery suit at last."--"_settled it_!" cried the astonished parent, "why i gave you that as _an annuity_ for your life." mcxlix.--a claim on the country. "as you do not belong to my parish," said a clergyman to a begging sailor, with a wooden leg, "you cannot expect that i should relieve you."--"sir," said the sailor, with a noble air, "i lost my leg fighting for _all parishes_." mcl.--plain speaking. george ii., who was fond of whiston the philosopher, one day, during his persecution, said to him, that, however right he might be in his opinions, he had better suppress them. "had martin luther _done so_," replied the philosopher, "your majesty would not have been on the throne of england." mcll.--the plural number. a boy being asked what was the plural of "penny," replied, with great promptness and simplicity, "_two-pence_." mclii.--maule-practice. a man having broken open a young lady's jewel-case (the offence was differently described in the indictment), pleaded that he had done so with consent. "in the future," said mr. justice maule, "when you receive a lady's consent under similar circumstances, get it, if possible, _in writing_." mcliii.--very likely. an english officer lost his leg at the battle of vittoria, and after suffering amputation with the greatest courage, thus addressed his servant who was crying, or pretending to cry, in one corner of the room, "none of your hypocritical tears, you idle dog; you know you are very glad, for now you will have only _one boot_ to clean instead of _two_." mcliv.--much alike. a sailor was asked, "where did your father die?"--"in a storm," answered the sailor. "and your grandfather?"--"he was drowned."--"and your great-grandfather?"--"he perished at sea."--"how, then," said the questioner, "dare you go to sea, since all your ancestors perished there? you needs must be very rash."--"master," replied the sailor, "do me the favor of telling me where your father died?"--"very comfortably in a bed."--"and your forefathers?"--"in the same manner,--very quietly in their beds."--"ah! master," replied the sailor, "how, then, dare you _go to bed_, since all your ancestors died in it?" mclv.--a good wife. a very excellent lady was desired by another to teach her what secrets she had to preserve her husband's favor. "it is," replied she, "by doing all that _pleases_ him, and by enduring patiently all that _displeases_ me." mclvi.--wellington surprised. a nobleman ventured, in a moment of conviviality at his grace's table, to put this question to him: "allow me to ask, as we are all here titled, if you were not surprised at waterloo?" to which the duke responded, "no; but i am now." mclvii.--too clever. a country boy endeavored, to the utmost of his power, to make himself useful, and avoid being frequently told of many trifling things, as country lads generally are. his master having sent him down stairs for two bottles of wine, he said to him, "well, john, have you _shook them_?"--"no, sir; but i will," he replied, suiting the action to the word. mclviii.--a light joke. an eminent tallow-chandler was told that after his candles were burned down to the middle, not one of them would burn any longer. he was at first greatly enraged at what he deemed a gross falsehood; but the same evening he tried the experiment at home, and found it to be a fact, "that when burned to the middle, neither candle would burn _any longer_." mclix.--a rebuke. a braggart, whose face had been mauled in a pot-house brawl, asserted that he had received his scars in battle. "then," said an old soldier, "be careful the next time you run away, and don't _look back_." mclx.--a model philanthropist. "bobby, what does your father do for a living?"--"he's a _philanthropist_, sir."--"a what?"--"a phi-lan-thro-pist, sir,--he collects money for central america, and _builds houses_ out of the proceeds." mclxi.--great cabbage. a foreigner asked an english tailor how much cloth was necessary for a suit of clothes. he replied, _twelve_ yards. astonished at the quantity, he went to another, who said _seven_ would be quite sufficient. not thinking of the exorbitancy even of this demand, all his rage was against the first tailor: so to him he went. "how did you dare, sir, ask twelve yards of cloth, to make me what your neighbor says he can do for seven?"--"lord, sir!" replied the man, "my neighbor can easily do it, he has but _three_ children to clothe, i have _six_." mclxii.--true and false. a beggar asking alms under the name of a poor scholar, a gentleman to whom he applied himself, asked him a question in, _latin_. the fellow, shaking his head, said he did not understand him. "why," said the gentleman, "did you not say you were a poor scholar?"--"yes," replied the other, "a _poor one_ indeed, sir, for i do not understand one word of _latin_." mclxiii.--not quite correct. a huntsman, reported to have lived with mr. beckford, was not so correct in his conversation as he was in his professional employments. one day when he had been out with the young hounds, mr. b. sent for him, and asked what sport he had had, and how the hounds behaved. "very great sport, sir, and no hounds could behave better."--"did you run him long?"--"they run him up-wards of five hours _successfully_."--"so then you _did_ kill him?"--"o no, sir; we lost him at last." mclxiv.--a fool confirmed. dr. parr, who was neither very choice nor delicate in his epithets, once called a clergyman a _fool_, and there was probably some truth in his application of the word. the clergyman, however, being of a different opinion, declared he would complain to the bishop of the usage. "do so," added the learned grecian, "and my lord bishop will _confirm_ you." mclxv.--pleasant. a country dentist advertises that "he spares no pains" to render his operations satisfactory. mclxvi.--alere flamman. mrs. b---- desired dr. johnson to give his opinion of a new work she had just written, adding, that if it would not do, she begged him to tell her, for she had other _irons in the fire_, and in case of its not being likely to succeed, she could bring out something else. "then," said the doctor, after having turned over a few of the leaves, "i advise you, madam, to put it where your _other irons_ are." mclxvii.--oratory. at the time when sir richard steele was preparing his great room in york buildings for public orations, he was behindhand in his payments to the workmen; and coming one day among them, to see what progress they made, he ordered the carpenter to get into the rostrum, and speak anything that came uppermost, that he might observe how it could be heard. "why then, sir richard," says the fellow, "here have we been working for you these six months, and cannot get one penny of money. pray, sir, when do you mean to pay us?"--"very well, very well," said sir richard; "pray come down; i have _heard_ quite enough; i cannot but own you speak very distinctly, though i don't much _admire your subject_." mclxviii.--soldiers' wives. the late duchess of york having desired her housekeeper to seek out a new laundress, a decent-looking woman was recommended to the situation. "but," said the housekeeper, "i am afraid she will not suit your royal highness, as she is _a soldier's wife_, and these people are generally _loose characters_!"--"what is it you say?" said the duke, who had just entered the room, "_a soldier's wife_! pray, madam, _what is your mistress_? i desire that the woman may be immediately engaged." mclxix.--no joke. a gentleman, finding his grounds trespassed on and robbed, set up a board in a most conspicuous situation, to scare offenders, by the notification that "steel-traps and spring-guns are set in these grounds";--but finding that even this was treated with contempt, he caused to be painted, in very prominent letters, underneath,--"no joke, by the lord harry!" which had the desired effect. mclxx.--a good likeness. a person who had often teased another ineffectually for subscriptions to charitable undertakings, was one day telling him that he had just seen his picture. "and did you ask it for a subscription?" said the non-giver. "no, i saw no chance," replied the other; "it was _so like you_." mclxxi.--cutting an acquaintance. george selwyn, happening to be at bath when it was nearly empty, was induced, for the mere purpose of killing time, to cultivate the acquaintance of an elderly gentleman he was in the habit of meeting at the rooms. in the height of the following season, selwyn encountered his old associate in st. james's street. he endeavored to pass unnoticed, but in vain. "what! don't you recollect me?" exclaimed the _cuttee_. "i recollect you perfectly," replied selwyn; "and when i next go to bath, i shall be most happy to become acquainted _with you again_." mclxxii.--very shocking, if true. at a dinner-party, one of the guests used his knife improperly in eating. at length a wag asked aloud: "have you heard of poor l----'s sad affair? i met him at a party yesterday, when to our great horror, he suddenly took up the knife, and----" "good heavens!" interposed one of the ladies; "and did he cut his throat?"--"why no," answered the relator, "he did not cut his throat with his knife; but we all expected he would, for he actually _put it up to his mouth_." mclxxiii.--impossible in the evening. theodore hook, about to be proposed a member of the phoenix club, inquired when they met. "every saturday evening during the winter," was the answer. "evening? o then," said he, "i shall never make a phoenix, _for i can't rise from the fire_." mclxxiv.--a good appetite. a nobleman had a house-porter who was an enormous eater. "frank," said he, one day, "tell me how many loins you could eat?" "ah, my lord, as for loins, not many; five or six at most."--"and how many legs of mutton?"--"ah, as for legs of mutton, not many; seven or eight, perhaps."--"and fatted pullets?"--"ah, as for pullets, my lord, not many; not more than a dozen."--"and pigeons?"--"ah, as for pigeons, not many; perhaps forty--fifty at most--according to appetite."--"and larks?"--"ah, as for that, my lord--little larks--_for ever_, my lord--_for ever_!" mclxxv.--short-sighted. dean cowper, of durham, who was very economical of his wine, descanting one day on the extraordinary performance of a man who was blind, remarked, that the poor fellow could see no more than "that bottle."--"i do not wonder at it at all, sir," replied a minor canon, "for _we_ have seen no more than 'that bottle' all the afternoon." mclxxvi.--an advantageous tithe. a'beckett once said, "it seems that anything likely to have an _annual increase_ is liable to be tithed. could not lord s----, by virtue of this liability, contrive to get rid of a part of his stupidity?" mclxxvi i.--truth _versus_ politeness. at a tea-party, where some cantabs were present, the lady who was presiding "hoped the tea was good."--"very good, indeed, madam," was the general reply, till it came to the turn of one of the cantabs, who, between truth and politeness observed, "that the _tea_ was _excellent_, but the _water_ was _smoky_!" mclxxviii.--a new view. some people have a notion that villany ought to be _exposed_, though we must confess we think it a thing that deserves a _hiding_. mclxxix.--the one-spur horseman. a student riding being jeered on the way for wearing but one spur, said that if _one_ side of his horse went on, it was not likely that the _other_ would stay behind. [this is, no doubt, the original of the well-known passage in hudibras,-- "for hudibras wore but one spur; as wisely knowing, could he stir to active trot one side of 's horse," &c.] mclxxx.--a philosophical reason. a scholar was asked why a black hen laid a white egg. he answered, "_unum contrarium expellit alterum_." mclxxxi.--a play upon words. a poacher was carried before a magistrate upon a charge of killing game unlawfully in a nobleman's park, where he was caught in the fact. being asked what he had to say in his defence, and what proof he could bring to support it, he replied, "may it please your worship, i know and confess that i was found in his lordship's park, as the witness has told you, but i can bring the whole parish to prove that, for the last thirty years, it has been my _manner_." mclxxxii.--jemmy gordon. jemmy gordon, the well-known writer of many a _theme_ and _declamation_ for _varmint-men_, alias _non-reading_ cantabs, having been complimented by an acquaintance on the result of one of his _themes_, to which the prize of a certain college was awarded, quaintly enough replied, "it is no great credit to be first in an _ass-race_." mclxxxiii.--setting up and sitting down. swift was one day in company with a young coxcomb, who, rising from his chair, said, with a conceited and confident air, "i would have you to know, mr. dean, i set up for a wit."--"do you, indeed," replied the dean; "then take my advice, and _sit down again_." mclxxxiv.--a settled point. "a reformed parliament," exclaimed a conservative the other day, "will never do for this country."--"no! but an _unreformed_ would, and that quickly," replied a bystander. mclxxxv.--jolly companions. a minister in aberdeenshire, sacrificed so often and so freely to the jolly god, that the presbytery could no longer overlook his proceedings, and summoned him before them to answer for his conduct. one of his elders, and constant companion in his social hours, was cited as a witness against him. "well, john, did you ever see the rev. mr. c---- the worse of drink?"--"weel, a wat no; i've monyatime seen him the better o't, but i ne'er saw him the waur o't."--"but did you never see him drunk?"--"that's what i'll ne'er see; for before he be _half slockened_, i'm ay' _blind fu'_." mclxxxvi.--paying in kind. a certain quaker slept at a hotel in a certain town. he was supplied with two wax candles. he retired early, and, as he had burned but a small part of the candles, he took them with him into his bedroom. in the morning, finding he was charged s. in his bill for wax candles, instead of fees to the waiter and chambermaid, he _gave to each a wax candle_. mclxxxvii.--a full house. "what plan," said an actor to another, "shall i adopt to fill the house at my benefit?"--"_invite your creditors_," was the surly reply. mclxxxviii.--rather the worst half. on one occasion a lad, while at home for the holidays, complained to his mother that a schoolfellow who slept with him took up half the bed. "and why not?" said the mother; "he's entitled to half, isn't he!"--"yes, mother," rejoined her son; "but how would you like to have him take out all the soft for his half? he will have _his_ half out of the middle, and i have to sleep _both_ sides of him!" mclxxxix.--force of habit. a servant of an old maiden lady, a patient of dr. poole, formerly of edinburgh, was under orders to go to the doctor every morning to report the state of her health, how she had slept, &c., with strict injunctions _always_ to add, "with her compliments." at length, one morning the girl brought this extraordinary message: "miss s----'s _compliments_, and she de'ed last night at aicht o'clock!" mcxc.--a wonderful sight. a jolly jack-tar having strayed into atkins's show at bartholomew fair, to have a look at the wild beasts, was much struck with the sight of a lion and a tiger in the same den. "why, jack," said he to a messmate, who was chewing a quid in silent amazement, "i shouldn't wonder if next year they were to carry about a _sailor and a marine living peaceably together_!"--"aye," said his married companion, "or a _man and wife_." mcxci.--burke and fox. mr. burke, in speaking of the indisposition of mr. fox, which prevented his making a motion for an investigation into the conduct of lord sandwich, said, "no one laments mr. fox's illness more than i do; and i declare that if he should continue ill, the inquiry into the conduct of the first lord of the admiralty should not be proceeded upon; and, should the country suffer so serious a calamity as his death, it ought to be followed up earnestly and solemnly; nay, of so much consequence is the inquiry to the public, that no bad use would be made of the skin of my departed friend, (should such, alas! be his fate!) if, like that of john zisca, it should be converted _into a drum_, and used for the purpose of sounding an alarm to the people of england." mcxcii.--trying to the temper. lord allen, in conversation with rogers, the poet, observed: "i never put my razor into hot water, as i find it injures the temper of the blade."--"no doubt of it," replied rogers; "show me the blade that is _not out of temper_ when plunged into _hot water_." mcxciii.--having a call. mr. dunlop, while making his pastoral visitations among some of the country members of his flock, came to a farm-house where he was expected; and the mistress, thinking that he would be in need of refreshment, proposed that he should take his tea before engaging in _exercises_, and said she would soon have it ready. mr. dunlop replied, "i aye tak' my tea better when my wark's dune. i'll just be gaun on. ye can hing the pan on, an' lea' the door ajar, an' i'll draw to a close in the prayer when i hear the _haam fizzin'_." mcxciv.--a will and away. it was a strange instance of alleged obedience to orders in the case of a father's will, which a brute of a fellow displayed in turning his younger brother out-of-doors. he was vociferously remonstrated with by the neighbors on the gross impropriety of such conduct. "sure," said he, "it's the will; i'm ordered to _divide_ the house betune myself and my brother, so i've taken the _inside_ and given him the _outside_." mcxcv.--a windy minister. in one of our northern counties, a rural district had its harvest operations seriously affected by continuous rains. the crops being much laid, wind was desired in order to restore them to a condition fit for the sickle. a minister, in his sabbath services, expressed their wants in prayer as follows:--"send us wind, no a rantin', tantin', tearin' wind, but a noohin' (noughin?), soughin', winnin' wind." more expressive words than these could not be found in any language. mcxcvi.--ready reckoner. the duke of wellington, when premier, was the terror of the idlers in downing street. on one occasion when the treasury clerks told him that some required mode of making up the accounts was impracticable, they were met with the curt reply: "never mind, if you can't do it, i'll send you half-a-dozen _pay sergeants_ that will,"--a hint that they did not fail to take. mcxcvii.--a "distant" friend. meeting a negro on the road, a traveller said, "you have lost some of your friends, i see?"--"yes, massa."--"was it a near or a distant relative?"--"well, purty distant,--_'bout twenty-four mile_," was the reply. mcxcviii.--typographical wit. "ho! tommy," bawls type, to a brother in trade, "the ministry are to be _changed_, it is said." "that's good," replied tom, "but it better would be with a trifling erratum."--"what?"--"dele the _c_." mcxcix.--a nameless man. a gentleman, thinking he was charged too much by a porter for the delivery of a parcel, asked him what his name was. "my name," replied the man, "is the same as my father's."--"and what is his name?" said the gentleman. "it is the same as mine."--"then what are both your names?"--"why, they _are both alike_," answered the man again, and very deliberately walked off. mcc.--an insurmountable difficulty. booth, the tragedian, had a broken nose. a lady once remarked to him, "i like your acting, mr. booth; but, to be frank with you,--_i can't get over your nose_!"--"no wonder, madam," replied he, "the bridge is gone!" mcci.--non compos. it is remarkable that ---- is of an exceedingly cheerful disposition, though the _very little piece_ of mind he possesses is proverbial. mccii.--too liberal. a writer in one of the reviews was boasting that he was in the habit of distributing literary reputation. "yes," replied his friend, "and you have done it so profusely that you have _left none_ for yourself." mcciii.--a little rain. how monarchs die is easily explained, for thus upon their tombs it might be chiselled; as long as george the fourth could reign, he reigned, and then he _mizzled_! mcciv.--true dignity. p---- had a high respect for the literary character. at a great man's house a stranger stopped that p---- might enter the room before him. "pass, sir," said the master of the house, "it is only mr. p----, the author."--"as my rank is mentioned," cried p., "i shall claim the preference"; and accordingly took the lead. mccv.--how to get rid of an enemy. dr. mead, calling one day on a gentleman who had been severely afflicted with the gout, found, to his surprise, the disease gone, and the patient rejoicing on his recovery over a bottle of wine. "ah!" said the doctor, shaking his head, "this madeira will never do; it is the cause of all your suffering."--"well, then," rejoined the gay incurable, "fill your glass, for now we have found out _the cause_, the sooner _we get rid of it_ the better." mccvi.--severe. a lady asked a sailor whom she met, why a ship was called "_she_." the son of neptune replied that it was "because the _rigging_ cost more than the hull." mccvii.--no sacrifice. a linen-draper having advertised his stock to be sold under _prime cost_, a neighbor observed that, "it was impossible, as he had never _paid a farthing for it himself_." mccviii.--sharp boy. a mother admonishing her son (a lad about seven years of age), told him he should never _defer_ till to-morrow what he could do to-day. the little urchin replied, "then, mother, let's eat the remainder of the plum-pudding _to-night_." mccix.--early birds of prey. a merchant having been attacked by some thieves at five in the afternoon, said: "gentlemen, you _open shop early_ to-day." mccx.--judgment. james the second, when duke of york, made a visit to milton the poet, and asked him, amongst other things, if he did not think the loss of his sight a _judgment_ upon him for what he had written against his father, charles the first. milton answered, "if your highness think my loss of sight a _judgment_ upon me, what do you think of your father's losing his head?" mccxi.--on a lady who was painted. it sounds like paradox,--and yet 'tis true, you're like your picture, though it's not like you. mccxii.--rather a-curate. it is strange that the church dignitaries, the further they advance in their profession, become the more incorrigible; at least, before they have gone many steps, they may be said to be _past a_ cure. mccxiii.--money's worth. a rich upstart once asked a poor person if he had any idea of the advantages arising from riches. "i believe they give a rogue _an advantage_ over an honest man," was the reply. mccxiv.--the richmond hoax. one of the best practical jokes in theodore hook's clever "gilbert gurney," is daly's hoax upon the lady who had never been at richmond before, or, at least, knew none of the peculiarities of the place. daly desired the waiter, after dinner, to bring some "maids of honor"--those cheesecakes for which the place has, time out of mind, been celebrated. the lady stared, then laughed, and asked, "what do you mean by 'maids of honor?'"--"dear me!" said daly, "don't you know that this is so courtly a place, and so completely under the influence of state etiquette, that everything in richmond is called after the functionaries of the palace? what are called cheesecakes elsewhere, are here called maids of honor; a capon is called a lord chamberlain; a goose is a lord steward; a roast pig is a master of the horse; a pair of ducks, grooms of the bedchamber; a gooseberry-tart, a gentleman usher of the black rod; and so on." the unsophisticated lady was taken in, when she actually saw the maids of honor make their appearance in the shape of cheesecakes; she convulsed the whole party by turning to the waiter, and desiring him, in a sweet but decided tone, to bring her a _gentleman usher of the black rod_, if they had one in the house quite cold! mccx.v.--lord chatham. lord chatham had settled a plan for some sea expedition he had in view, and sent orders to lord anson to see the necessary arrangements taken immediately. mr. cleveland was sent from the admiralty to remonstrate on the impossibility of obeying them. he found his lordship in the most excruciating pain, from one of the most severe fits of the gout he had ever experienced. "impossible, sir," said he, "don't talk to me of impossibilities": and then, raising himself upon his legs, while the sweat stood in large drops upon his forehead, and every fibre of his body was convulsed with agony, "go, sir, and tell his lordship, that he has to do with a minister who actually _treads_ on impossibilities." mccxvi.--"i can get through." in the cloisters of trinity college, beneath the library, are grated windows, through which many of the students have occasionally, after the gates were locked, taken the liberty of passing, without an _exeat_, in rather a novel style. a certain cantab was in the act of drawing himself through the bars, and being more than an ordinary mortal's bulk, he stuck fast. one of the fellows of the college passing, stepped up to the student and asked him ironically, "if he should assist him?"--"thank you," was the reply, "_i can get through_!" at the same instant he drew himself back on the outside. mccxvii.--making free. formerly, members of parliament had the privilege of franking letters sent by post. when this was so, a sender on one occasion applied to the post-office to know why some of his franked letters had been _charged_. he was told that the name on the letter did not appear to be in his handwriting. "it was not," he replied, "_precisely_ the same; but the truth is, i happened to be a _little tipsy_ when i franked them."--"then, sir, will you be so good in future as to write _drunk_ when you make _free_?" mccxviii.--fiction and truth. waller, the poet, who was bred at king's college, wrote a fine panegyric on cromwell, when he assumed the protectorship. upon the restoration of charles, waller wrote another in praise of him, and presented it to the king in person. after his majesty had read the poem, he told waller that he wrote a better on cromwell. "please your majesty," said waller, like a true courtier, "we poets are always more happy in _fiction_ than in _truth_." mccxix.--a tavern dinner. a party of _bon-vivants_, having drunk an immense quantity of wine, rang for the bill. the bill was accordingly brought, but the amount appeared so enormous to one of the company (not quite so far gone as the rest) that he stammered out, it was impossible so many bottles could have been drunk by seven persons. "true, sir," said the waiter, "but your honor forgets the three gentlemen _under the table_." mccxx.--a full stop. a gentleman was speaking of the kindness of his friends in visiting him. one old aunt, in particular, visited him _twice_ a year, and stayed _six months_ each time. mccxxi.--fat and lean. a man, praising porter, said it was so excellent a beverage, that, though taken in great quantities, it always made him fat. "i have seen the time," said another, "when it made you lean,"--"when? i should be glad to know," inquired the eulogist. "why, no longer ago than last night,--_against a wall_." mccxxii.--self-condemnation. joseph ii., emperor of germany, travelling in his usual way, without his retinue, attended by only a single aide-de-camp, arrived very late at the house of an englishman, who kept an inn in the netherlands. after eating a few slices of ham and biscuit, the emperor and his attendant retired to rest, and in the morning paid their bill, which amounted to only three shillings and sixpence, english, and rode off. a few hours afterwards, several of his suite arrived, and the publican, understanding the rank of his guest, appeared very uneasy. "psha! psha! man," said one of the attendants, "joseph is accustomed to such adventures, and will think no more of it."--"but i _shall_" replied the landlord; "and never forgive myself for having had an emperor in my house, and letting him off for _three and sixpence_." mccxxiii.--nicknames. john magee, formerly the printer of the _dublin evening post_, was full of shrewdness and eccentricity. several prosecutions were instituted against him by the government, and many "keen encounters of the tongue" took place on these occasions between him and john scott, lord clonmel, who was at that period chief justice of the king's bench. in addressing the court in his own defence, magee had occasion to allude to some public character, who was better known by a familiar designation. the official gravity of clonmel was disturbed; and he, with bilious asperity, reproved the printer, by saying, "mr. magee, we allow no nicknames in this court,"---"very well, _john scott_," was the reply. mccxxiv.--a calculation. after the death of the poet chatterton, there was found among his papers, indorsed on a letter intended for publication, addressed to beckford, then lord mayor, dated may , , the following memorandum: "accepted by bingley, set for, and thrown out of, the _north briton_, st june, on account of the lord mayor's death:-- lost by his death on this essay £ gained in elegies gained in essays am glad he is dead by ." yet the evident heartlessness of this calculation has been ingeniously vindicated by southey, in the _quarterly review_. mccxxv.--on the price of admission to see the mammoth horse. i would not pay a coin to see an animal much larger; surely the mammoth horse must be rather an _overcharger_. mccxxvi.--nothing but hebrew. a cantab chanced to enter a strange church, and after he had been seated some little time, another person was ushered into the same pew with him. the stranger pulled out of his pocket a prayer-book, and offered to share it with the cantab, though he perceived he had one in his hand. this courtesy proceeded from a mere ostentatious display of his learning, as it proved to be in _latin_. the cantab immediately declined the offer by saying, "sir, i read nothing but _hebrew_!" mccxxvii.--a good recommendation. when captain grose, who was very fat, first went over to ireland, he one evening strolled into the principal meat market of dublin, where the butchers, as usual, set up their usual cry of "what d'ye buy? what d'ye buy?" grose parried this for some time by saying he did not want anything. at last, a butcher starts from his stall, and eyeing grose's figure, exclaimed, "only _say_ you buy your meat of me, sir, and you will make my fortune." mccxxviii.--quid pro quo. an irish lawyer, famed for cross-examining, was, on one occasion, completely silenced by a horse-dealer. "pray, mr. ----, you belong to a very honest profession?"--"i can't say so," replied the witness; "for, saving you _lawyers_, i think it the _most dishonest going_." mccxxix.--servants. it was an observation of elwes, the noted miser, that if you keep _one_ servant your work will be done; if you keep _two_, it will be half done; and if you keep _three_, you will have to do it yourself. mccxxx.--plain enough. a gentleman, praising the personal charms of a very plain woman in the presence of foote, the latter said: "and why don't you lay claim to such an accomplished beauty?"--"what right have i to her?" exclaimed the gentleman. "every right, by the law of nations," replied foote; "every right, as the _first discoverer_." mccxxxi.--a poser. at plymouth there is, or was, a small green opposite the government house, over which no one was permitted to pass. not a creature was allowed to approach, save the general's cow. one day old lady d----, having called at the general's, in order to make a short cut, bent her steps across the lawn, when she was arrested by the sentry calling out, and desiring her to return. "but," said lady d----, with a stately air, "do you know who i am?"--"i don't know who you be, ma'am," replied the immovable sentry, "but i knows you b'aint--you b'aint the _general's cow_." so lady d---- wisely gave up the argument, and went the other way. mccxxxii.--true criticism. a gentleman being prevailed upon to taste a lady's home-made wine, was asked for an opinion of what he had tasted. "i always give a candid one," said her guest, "where eating and drinking are concerned. _it is admirable stuff to catch flies_." mccxxxiii.--origin of the term grog. the british sailors had always been accustomed to drink their allowance of brandy or rum clear, till admiral vernon ordered those under his command to mix it with water. the innovation gave great offence to the sailors, and for a time rendered the commander very unpopular among them. the admiral at that time wore a grogram coat, for which reason they nicknamed him "old grog," &c. hence, by degrees, the mixed liquor he constrained them to drink universally obtained among them the name of _grog_. mccxxxiv.--well said. a gentleman, speaking of the happiness of the married state before his daughter, disparagingly said, "she who marries, does well; but she who does not marry, does better."--"well then," said the young lady, "i will _do well_; let those who choose _do better_." mccxxxv.--sleeping at church. dr. south, when once preaching before charles ii., observed that the monarch and his attendants began to nod, and some of them soon after snored, on which he broke off in his sermon, and said: "lord lauderdale, let me entreat you to rouse yourself; you snore so loud that you will _awake the king_!" mccxxxvi.--sheridan convivial. lord byron notes: "what a wreck is sheridan! and all from bad pilotage; for no one had ever better gales, though now and then a little squally. poor dear sherry! i shall never forget the day he, and rogers, and moore, and i passed together, when _he_ talked and we listened, without one yawn, from six to one in the morning." one night, sheridan was found in the street by a watchman, bereft of that "divine particle of air" called reason, and fuddled, and bewildered, and almost insensible. the watchman asked, "who are you, sir?" no answer. "what's your name?" a hiccup. "what's your name?" answer, in a slow, deliberate, and impassive tone, "wilberforce!" byron notes: "is not that sherry all over?--and, to my mind, excellent. poor fellow! _his_ very dregs are better than the first sprightly runnings of others." mccxxxvii.--the worst of two evils. villiers, duke of buckingham, in king charles ii.'s time, was saying one day to sir robert viner, in a melancholy humor: "i am afraid, sir robert, i shall die a beggar at last, which is the most terrible thing in the world."--"upon my word, my lord," said sir robert, "there is another thing more terrible which you have to apprehend, and that is that you will _live_ a beggar, at the rate you go on." mccxxxviii.--quid pro quo. a worthy roman catholic clergyman, well known as "priest matheson," and universally respected in the district, had charge of a mission in aberdeenshire, and for a long time made his journeys on a piebald pony, the priest and his "pyet shelty" sharing an affectionate recognition wherever they came. on one occasion, however, he made his appearance on a steed of a different description, and passing near a seceding meeting-house, he forgathered with the minister, who, after the usual kindly greetings, missing the familiar pony, said, "ou, priest! fat's come o' the auld pyet?"--"he's deid, minister."--"weel, he was an auld faithfu' servant, and ye wad nae doot gie him the offices o' the church?"--"na, minister," said his friend, not quite liking this allusion to his priestly offices, "i didna dee that, for ye see he _turned seceder afore he deed, an' i buried him like a beast_." he then rode quietly away. mccxxxix.--credit. among the witty aphorisms upon this unsafe topic, are lord alvanley's description of a man who "muddled away his fortune in paying his tradesmen's bills"; lord orford's definition of timber, "an excrescence on the face of the earth, placed there by providence for the payment of debts"; and pelham's argument, that it is _respectable to be arrested_, because it shows that the party once had credit. mccxl.--seeing not believing. a lady's-maid told her mistress that she once swallowed several pins together. "dear me!" said the lady, "didn't they _kill you_?" mccxli.--spirit of a gambler. a bon-vivant, brought to his death-bed by an immoderate use of wine, after having been told that he could not in all human probability survive many hours, and would die by eight o clock next morning, exerted the small remains of his strength to call the doctor back, and said, with the true spirit of a gambler, "doctor, i'll bet you a bottle i _live till nine_!" mccxlii.--burke's tediousness. though upon great occasions burke was one of the most eloquent of men that ever sat in the british senate, he had in ordinary matters as much as any man the faculty of tiring his auditors. during the latter years of his life the failing gained so much upon him, that he more than once dispersed the house, a circumstance which procured him the nickname of the dinner-bell. a gentleman was one day going into the house, when he was surprised to meet a great number of people coming out in a body. "is the house up?" said he: "no," answered one of the fugitives, "but mr. burke _is up_." mccxliii.--very like each other. it appears that there were two persons of the name of dr. john thomas, not easily to be distinguished; for somebody (says bishop newton) was speaking of dr. thomas, when it was asked, "which dr. thomas do you mean?"--"dr. john thomas."--"they are both named john."--"dr. thomas who has a living in the city."--"they have both livings in the city."--"dr. thomas who is chaplain to the king."--"they are both chaplains to the king."--"dr. thomas who is a very good preacher."--"they are both good preachers."--"dr. thomas who squints."--"they both squint." they were afterwards both bishops. mccxliv.--fortunate stars. "my stars!" cried a courtier, with stars and lace twirled, "what homage we nobles command in the world!" "true, my lord," said a wag, "though the world has its jars, _some people_ owe much to their _fortunate stars_!" mccxlv.--a new reading. towards the close of the administration of sir robert walpole, he was talking very freely to some of his friends of the vanity and vexations of office, and, alluding to his intended retirement, quoted from horace the following passage:-- "lusisti satis, edisti satis, atque bibisti: tempus abire tibi est." "pray, sir robert," said one of his friends, "is that good latin?"--"i think so," answered sir. robert; "what objection have you to it?"--"why," said the other dryly, "i did not know but the word might be _bribe-isti_ in your horace." mccxlvi.--quite at ease. foote, the actor, was one day taken into white's club-house by a friend who wanted to write a note. lord carmarthen approached to speak to him; but feeling rather shy, he merely said, "mr. foote, your handkerchief is hanging out of your pocket." foote, looking suspiciously round, and hurriedly thrusting the handkerchief back into his pocket, replied, "thank you, my lord: you know _the company_ better than i do." mccxlvii.--charles, duke of norfolk. in cleanliness, the duke was negligent to so great a degree, that he rarely made use of water for purposes of bodily refreshment and comfort. nor did he change his linen more frequently than he washed himself. complaining, one day, to dudley north, that he was a martyr to rheumatism, and had ineffectually tried every remedy for its relief, "pray, my lord," said he, "did you ever _try a clean shirt_?" mccxlviii.--clearing emigrants. an irish gentleman, resident in canada, was desirous to persuade his sons to work as backwoodsmen, instead of drinking champagne at something more than a dollar a bottle. whenever this old gentleman saw his sons so engaged he used to exclaim, "ah, my boys! there goes an acre of land, _trees and all_." mccxlix.--parliamentary case. bishop andrews, who was master and a great benefactor of pembroke hall, was one day at court with waller the poet, and others. while king james was at dinner, attended by andrews, bishop of winchester, and neale, bishop of durham, his majesty said to the prelates: "my lords, cannot i take my subjects' _money_ when i want it, without all this formality in parliament?" bishop neale quickly replied, "god forbid, sir, but you should: you are the breath of our nostrils." on which the king said to the bishop of winchester, "well, my lord, and what say you?"--"sir," replied andrews, "i have no skill to judge of parliamentary cases."--"come, come," answered his majesty, "no put-offs, my lord; answer me presently."--"then, sir," said andrews, "i think it lawful for you to take my _brother neale's money_, for he offers it." mccl.--outline of an ambassador. when the duke de choiseul, who was a remarkably meagre-looking man, came to london to negotiate a peace, charles townsend, being asked whether the french government had sent the _preliminaries_ of a treaty, answered, "he did not know, but they had sent _the outline of an ambassador_." mccli.--nature and art. a worthy english agriculturist visited the great dinner-table of the astor house hotel, in new york, and took up the bill of fare. his eye caught up the names of its--to him--unknown dishes: "soupe à la flamande"--"soupe à la creci"--"langue de boeuf piquée"--"pieds de cochon à la ste. ménéhould"--"patés de sanglier"--"patés à la gelée de volailles"--"les cannelons de crème glacée." it was too much for his simple heart. laying down the scarlet-bound volume in disgust, he cried to the waiter, "here, my good man, i shall go back to _first principles_! give us some beans and bacon!" mcclii.--a comparison. it is with narrow-souled people as with narrow-necked bottles,--the less they have in them, the _more noise_ they make in pouring it out. mccliii.--the snuff-box. at a party in portman square, brummell's snuff-box was particularly admired: it was handed round, and a gentleman, finding it rather difficult to open, incautiously applied a dessert-knife to the lid. poor brummell was on thorns; at last he could not contain himself any longer, and, addressing the host, said, with his characteristic quaintness, "will you be good enough to tell your friend that my snuff-box is _not an oyster_." mccliv.--not sick enough for that. lord plunket is said to have acutely felt his forced resignation of the irish chancellorship, and his _supersedeas_ by lord campbell. a violent tempest arose on the day of the latter's expected arrival, and a friend remarking to plunket how sick of his promotion the passage must have made the new comer; "yes," replied the ex-chancellor, ruefully, "but it won't make him _throw up the seals_." mcclv.--a seasonable joke. admiral duncan's address to the officers who came on board his ship for instructions previous to the engagement with admiral de winter, was both laconic and humorous: "gentlemen, you see a severe _winter_ approaching; i have only to advise you to keep up a _good fire_." mcclvi.--getting a living. the late duke of grafton, when hunting, was thrown into a ditch; at the same time a young curate, calling out "lie still, your grace"; leaped over him, and pursued his sport. on being assisted to remount by his attendants, the duke said, "that young man shall have the first good living that falls to my disposal; had he _stopped_ to have taken care of me, i never would have patronized him," being delighted with an ardor similar to his own, or with a spirit that would _not stoop to flatter_. mcclvii.--good eyes. a man of wit being asked what pleasure he could have in the company of a pretty woman who was a loquacious simpleton, replied, "i love to _see_ her talk." mcclviii.--indifference to life. a soldier, who was being led to the gallows, saw a crowd of people running on before. "don't be in such a hurry," said he to them. "i can assure you nothing will be done _without me_." mcclix.--a last resource. villiers, duke of buckingham, was making his complaint to sir john cutler, a rich miser, of the disorder of his affairs, and asked him what he should do to avoid the ruin. "live as i do, my lord," said sir john. "that i can do," answered the duke, "when _i am ruined_." mcclx.--a dull man. lord byron knew a dull man who lived on a _bon mot_ of moore's for a week; and his lordship once offered a wager of a considerable sum that the reciter was _guiltless_ of understanding its point; but he could get no one to accept the bet. mcclxi.--white teeth. professor saunderson, who occupied so distinguished a situation in the university of cambridge as that of lucasian professor of mathematics, was _quite blind_. happening to make one in a large party, he remarked of a lady, who had just left the room, that she had very _white teeth_. the company were anxious to learn how he had discovered this, which was very true. "i have reason," observed the professor, "to believe that the lady is not a _fool_, and i can think of no other motive for her laughing incessantly, as she did for a whole hour together." mcclxii.--a pleasant partner. a farmer having bought a barn in partnership with a neighbor who neglected to make use of it, plentifully stored his own part with corn, and expostulated with his partner on having laid out his money in so useless a way, adding, "you had better do _something_ with it, as you see i have done."--"as to that, neighbor," replied the other, "every man has a right to do what he will with his own, and _you_ have done so; but i have made up my mind about my part of the property,--i shall set it on fire." mcclxiii.--two carriages. two ladies disputed for precedency, one the daughter of a wealthy brewer, the other the daughter of a gentleman of small fortune. "you are to consider, miss," said the brewer's daughter, "that my papa keeps a coach."--"very true, miss," said the other, "and _you_ are to consider that he likewise keeps a _dray_." mcclxiv.--excusable fear. a husband, who only opposed his wife's ill humor by silence, was told by a friend that he "was afraid of his wife."--"it is not _she_ i am afraid of," replied the husband, "it is _the noise_." mcclxv.--coleridge and thelwall. thelwall and coleridge were sitting once in a beautiful recess in the quantock hills, when the latter said, "citizen john, this is a fine place to _talk_ treason in!"--"nay, citizen samuel," replied he; "it is rather a place to make a man _forget_ that there is any necessity for treason!" mcclxvi.--a flash of wit. sydney smith, after macaulay's return from the east, remarked to a friend who had been speaking of the distinguished conversationalist: "yes, he is certainly more agreeable since his return from india. his enemies might perhaps have said before (though i never did so) that he talked rather too much; but now he has _occasional flashes of silence, that make his conversation perfectly delightful_!" mcclxvii.--lost and found. the ferryman, whilst plying over a water which was only slightly agitated, was asked by a timid lady in his boat, whether any persons were ever lost in that river. "o no," said he, "we always _finds 'em agin_ the next day." mcclxviii.--a military axiom. an old soldier having been brought up to vote at an election at the expense of one of the candidates, voted for his opponent, and when reproached for his conduct, replied, "always _quarter_ upon the enemy, my lads; always _quarter_ upon the enemy." mcclxix.--a forcible argument. that erudite cantab, bishop burnett, preaching before charles ii., being much warmed with his subject, uttered some religious truth with great vehemence, and at the same time, striking his fist on the desk with great violence, cried out, "who dare deny this?"--"faith," said the king, in a tone more _piano_ than that of the orator, "nobody that is within the reach of _that fist of yours_." mcclxx.--not to be done brown. dr. thomas brown courted a lady for many years, but unsuccessfully, during which time it had been his custom to drink the lady's health before that of any other; but being observed one evening to omit it, a gentleman reminded him of it, and said, "come, doctor, drink the lady, your toast." the doctor replied, "i have toasted her many years, and i cannot make her _brown_, so i'll toast her no longer." mcclxxi.--an odd notion. a lady the other day meeting a girl who had lately left her service, inquired, "well, mary, where do you live now?"--"please, ma'am, i don't _live nowhere_ now," rejoined the girl; "_i am married_!" mcclxxii.--a sure take. an old sportsman, who, at the age of eighty-three, was met by a friend riding very fast, and was asked what he was in pursuit of? "why, sir," replied the other, "i am riding _after my eighty-fourth year_." mcclxxiii.--mr. tierney's humor. mr. tierney, when alluding to the difficulty the foxites and pittites had in passing over to join each other in attacking the addington ministry (forgetting at the moment how easily he had himself overcome a like difficulty in joining that ministry), alluded to the puzzle of the fox and the goose, and did not clearly expound his idea. whereupon, mr. dudley north said, "it's himself he means,--who left the _fox_ to go over to the _goose_, and put the bag of oats in his pocket." mcclxxiv.--difference of opinion. "if i were so unlucky," said an officer, "as to have a stupid son, i would certainly by all means make him a _parson_." a clergyman who was in company calmly replied, "you think differently, sir, from _your father_." mcclxxv.--orthography. the laird of m'n----b was writing a letter from an edinburgh coffee-house, when a friend observed that he was setting at defiance the laws of orthography and grammar. "i ken that weel eno'!" exclaimed the highland chieftain, "but how can a man _write grammar_ with a pen like this?" mcclxxvi.--a short journey. "zounds, fellow!" exclaimed a choleric old gentleman to a very phlegmatic matter-of-fact person, "i shall go out of my wits."--"well, you won't have _far to go_," said the phlegmatic man. mcclxxvii.--lord howe. admiral lord howe, when a captain, was once hastily awakened in the middle of the night by the lieutenant of the watch, who informed him with great agitation that the ship was on fire near the magazine. "if that be the case," said he, rising leisurely to put on his clothes, "we shall soon know it." the lieutenant flew back to the scene of danger, and almost instantly returning, exclaimed, "you need not, sir, be afraid, the fire is extinguished."--"afraid!" exclaimed howe, "what do you mean by that, sir? i never was afraid in my life"; and looking the lieutenant full in the face, he added, "pray, how does a man feel, sir, when he is afraid? i need not ask how _he looks_." mcclxxviii.--rather ethereal. dr. john wilkins wrote a work in the reign of charles ii., to show the possibility of making a voyage to the moon. the duchess of newcastle, who was likewise notorious for her vagrant speculations, said to him, "doctor, where am i to bait at in the _upward_ journey?"--"my lady," replied the doctor, "of all the people in the world, i never expected that question from you; who have built so many _castles in the air_ that you might lie every night at one of _your own_." mcclxxix.--henry viii. this monarch, after the death of jane seymour, had some difficulty to get another wife. his first offer was to the duchess dowager of milan; but her answer was, "she had but _one_ head; if she had _two_, one should have been at his service." mcclxxx.--melodramatic hit. burke's was a complete failure, when he flung the dagger on the floor of the house of commons, and produced nothing but a smothered laugh, and a joke from sheridan.--"the gentleman has brought us the _knife_, but where is the _fork_?" mcclxxxi.--a long illness. a clergyman in the country taking his text from the fourteenth verse of the third chapter of st. matthew: "and peter's wife's mother lay sick of a fever," preached three sundays on the same subject. soon after, two country fellows going across a churchyard, and hearing the bell toll, one asked the other who it was for? "i can't exactly tell," replied he; "but it may be for peter's wife's mother, for she has been sick of a fever _these three weeks_." mcclxxxii.--dialogue in the western islands of scotland. "how long is this loch?" "it will be about twanty mile." "twenty miles! surely it cannot be so much?" "maybe it will be twelve." "it does not really seem more than four." "indeed, i'm thinking you're right." "really, you seem to know nothing about the matter." "troth, i _canna say i do_." mcclxxxiii.--what's in a name? soon after lord ----'s elevation to the peerage, he remarked that authors were often very ridiculous in the _titles_ they gave. "that," said a distinguished writer present, "is an error from which even sovereigns appear _not to be exempt_." mcclxxxiv.--tillotson. who was then archbishop of canterbury, on king william's complaining of the shortness of his sermon, answered, "sire, could i have bestowed more time upon it, it would not have been _so long_!" mcclxxxv.--important to bachelors. some clever fellow has invented a new kind of ink, called "the love-letter ink." it is a sure preventive against all cases of "breach of promise," as the ink _fades away_, and leaves the sheet blank, in about four weeks after being written upon. mcclxxxvi.--chin-surveying. a person not far from torrington, devon, whose face is somewhat above the ordinary dimensions, has been waited on and shaved by a certain barber every day for twenty-one years, without coming to any regular settlement; the tradesman, thinking it time to wind up the account, carried in his bill, charging one penny per day, which amounted to l. s. d. the gentleman, thinking this rather exorbitant, made some scruple about payment, when the tonsor proposed, if his customer thought proper, to charge by the acre, at the rate of l. this was readily agreed to, and on measuring the premises, square inches proved to be the contents, which, traversed over times, would measure , , inches, the charge for which would be l. s. d.--being l. s. d. in favor of _chin-surveying_. mcclxxxvii.--changing hats. barry the painter was with nollekens at rome in , and they were extremely intimate. barry took the liberty one night, when they were about to leave the english coffee-house, to exchange hats with him. barry's was edged with lace, and nollekens's was a very shabby, plain one. upon his returning the hat the next morning, he was asked by nollekens why he left him his gold-laced hat. "why, to tell you the truth, my dear joey," answered barry, "i fully expected assassination last night; and i was to have been known by _my laced hat_." nollekens used to relate the story, adding, "it's what the old-bailey people would call a true bill against jem." mcclxxxviii.--powder without ball. dr. goodall, of eton, about the same time that he was made provost of eton, received also a stall at windsor. a young lady, whilst congratulating him on his elevation, and requesting him to give a ball during the vacation, happened to touch his wig with her fan, and caused the powder to fly about; upon which the doctor exclaimed, "my dear, you see you can get the powder out of the _cannon_, but not the _ball_." mcclxxxix.--pope's last illness. during pope's last illness, a squabble happened in his chamber, between his two physicians, dr. burton and dr. thomson, they mutually charging each other with hastening the death of the patient by improper prescriptions. pope at length silenced them by saying, "gentlemen, i only learn by your discourse that i am in a dangerous way; therefore, all i now ask is, that the following epigram may be added after my death to the next edition of the dunciad, by way of postscript:-- 'dunces rejoice, forgive all censures past, the _greatest dunce_ has killed your foe at last.'" mccxc.--opposite tempers. general sutton was very passionate, and calling one morning on sir robert walpole, who was quite the reverse, found his servant shaving him. during the conversation, sir robert said, "john, you cut me"; and continued the former subject of discourse. presently he said again, "john, you cut me"; but as mildly as before: and soon after he had occasion to say it a third time; when sutton, starting up in a rage, said, swearing a great oath, and doubling his fist at the servant, "if sir robert can bear it, i cannot; and if you cut him once more, john, _i'll knock you down_." mccxci.--a conjugal conclusion. a woman having fallen into a river, her husband went to look for her, proceeding up the stream from the place where she fell in. the bystanders asked him if he was mad,--she could not have gone against the stream. the man answered, "she was _obstinate_ and _contrary_ in her life, and no doubt she was the _same at her death_." mccxcii.--a queer expression. a poor but clever student in the university of glasgow was met by one of the professors, who noticing the scantiness of his academical toga, said, "mr. ----, your gown is very short."--"it will be long enough, sir, before i get another," replied the student. the answer tickled the professor greatly, and he went on quietly chuckling to himself, when he met a brother professor, who, noticing his hilarity, inquired what was amusing him so much. "why, that fellow ---- said such a funny thing. i asked why his gown was so short, and he said, 'it will be a long time before i get another.'"--"there's nothing very funny in that."--"well, no," replied the other, "there is not, after all. but _it was the way he said it_." mccxciii.--an irishman's notion of discount. it chanced, one gloomy day in the month of december, that a good-humored irishman applied to a merchant to discount a bill of exchange for him at rather a long though not an unusual date; and the merchant having casually remarked that the bill had a great many days to run, "that's true," replied the irishman, "but consider how _short the days are_ at this time of the year." mccxciv.--a participation in a practical joke. some unlucky lads in the university bearing a spite to the dean for his severity towards them, went secretly one night and daubed the rails of his staircase with tar. the dean coming down in the dark, dirtied his hands and coat very much with the tar; and, being greatly enraged, he sent for one most suspected to be the author. this the lad utterly denied; but said, "truly, i did it not; but if you please, i can tell you who had _a hand in it_." here they thought to have found out the truth, and asked him who. the lad answered, "_your worship, sir_"; which caused him to be dismissed with great applause for his ingenuity. mccxcv.--ingratitude. when lord b---- died, a person met an old man who was one of his most intimate friends. he was pale, confused, awe-stricken. every one was trying to console him, but in vain. "his loss," he exclaimed, "does not affect me so much as his horrible ingratitude. would you believe it? he died without leaving me anything in his will,--i, who have _dined with him, at his own house, three times a week for thirty years_!" mccxcvi.--a prefix. when lord melcombe's name was plain bubb, he was intended by the administration to be sent ambassador to spain. lord chesterfield met him, and told him he was not a fit person to be representative of the crown of england at the spanish court, on account of the shortness of his name, as the spaniards pride themselves on the length of their titles, "unless," added his lordship, "you don't mind calling yourself _silly-bubb_!" mccxcvii.--a good mixture. an eminent painter was once asked what he mixed his colors with in order to produce so extraordinary an effect. "i mix them with _brains_, sir!" was his answer. mccxcviii.--sir walter scott's parritch-pan. in the museum at abbotsford there is a small roman _patera_, or goblet, in showing which sir walter scott tells the following story: "i purchased this" (says he) "at a nobleman's roup near by, at the enormous sum of twenty-five guineas. i would have got it for twenty-pence if an antiquary who knew its value had not been there and opposed me. however, i was almost consoled for the bitter price it cost by the amusement i derived from an old woman, who had evidently come from a distance to purchase some trifling culinary articles, and who had no taste for the antique. at every successive guinea which we bade for the _patera_ this good old lady's mouth grew wider and wider with unsophisticated astonishment, until at last i heard her mutter to herself, in a tone which i shall never forget,--'five-an-twenty guineas! _if the parritch-pan gangs at that, what will the kail-pan gang for_!'" mccxcix.--horne tooke and wilkes. horne tooke having challenged wilkes, who was then sheriff of london and middlesex, received the following laconic reply: "sir, i do not think it my business to cut the throat of every desperado that may be tired of his life; but, as i am at present high sheriff of the city of london, it may happen that i shall shortly have an opportunity of attending you in my official capacity, in which case i will answer for it that _you shall have no ground_ to complain of my endeavors to serve you." mccc.--a literary rendering. a scotch lady gave her servant very particular instructions regarding visitors, explaining, that they were to be shown into the drawing-room, and no doubt used the scotticism, "_carry_ any ladies that call up stairs." on the arrival of the first visitors, donald was eager to show his strict attention to the mistress's orders. two ladies came together, and donald, seizing one in his arms, said to the other, "bide ye there till _i come for ye_," and, in spite of her struggles and remonstrances, ushered the terrified visitor into his mistress's presence in this unwonted fashion. mccci.--temperance cruets. the late james smith might often be seen at the garrick club, restricting himself at dinner to a half-pint of sherry; whence he was designated an incorporated temperance society. the late sir william aylett, a grumbling member of the union, and a two-bottle-man, observing mr. smith to be thus frugally furnished, eyed his cruet with contempt, and exclaimed: "so i see you have got one of those _life-preservers_!" mcccii.--dr glynn's receipt for dressing a cucumber. dr. glynn, whose name is still remembered in cambridge, being one day in attendance on a lady, in the quality of her physician, took the liberty of lecturing her on the impropriety of eating _cucumber_, of which she was immoderately fond, and gave her the following humorous receipt for dressing them: "peel the cucumber," said the doctor, "with great care; then cut it into very thin slices, pepper and salt it well, and then--_throw it away_." mccciii.--"what's a hat without a head?" captain innes of the guards (usually called jock innes by his contemporaries) was with others getting ready for flushing, or some of those expeditions at the beginning of the great war. his commanding officer remonstrated about the badness of his hat, and recommended a new one. "na! na! bide a wee," said jock; "whare we're ga'in', faith there'll soon be mair _hats_ nor _heads_." mccciv.--severe rebuke. sir william b. being at a parish meeting, made some proposals which were objected to by a farmer. highly enraged, "sir," said he to the farmer, "do you know that i have been at two universities, and at two colleges in each university?"--"well, sir," replied the farmer, "what of that? i had a calf that sucked two cows, and the observation i made was, the _more he sucked_ the _greater calf_ he grew." mcccv.--horses to grass. in an irish paper was an advertisement for horses to stand at livery, on the following terms:-- long-tailed horses, at s. d. per week. short-tailed horses at s. per week. on inquiry into the cause of the difference, it was answered, that the horses with long tails could brush the flies off their backs while eating, whereas the short-tailed horses were obliged to take their heads _from the manger_. mcccvi.--inadvertence and epicurism. when the duke of wellington was at paris, as commander of the allied armies, he was invited to dine with cambacères, one of the most distinguished statesmen and _gourmets_ of the time of napoleon. in the course of dinner, his host having helped him to some particularly _recherché_ dish, expressed a hope that he found it agreeable. "very good," said the duke, who was probably reflecting on waterloo; "very good, but i really do not care what i eat."--"don't care what you eat!" exclaimed cambacères, as he started back, and dropped his fork; "what _did_ you come here for, then!" mcccvii.--very true. "all that is necessary for the enjoyment of sausages at breakfast is _confidence_." mcccviii.--a jew's eye to business. a jew, who was condemned to be hanged, was brought to the gallows, and was just on the point of being turned off, when a reprieve arrived. when informed of this, it was expected he would instantly have quitted the cart, but he stayed to see a fellow-prisoner hanged; and being asked why he did not get about his business, he said, "he waited to see if he could bargain with mr. ketch for the _other_ gentleman's clothes." mcccix.--st. peter a bachelor. in the list of benefactors to peter-house is lady mary ramsay, who is reported to have offered a very large property, nearly equal to a new foundation to this college, on condition that the name should be changed to _peter and mary's_; but she was thwarted in her intention by dr. soame, then master. "peter," said the crabbed humorist, "has been too long a _bachelor_ to think of a female companion in his old days." mcccx.--true of both. "i swear," said a gentleman to his mistress, "you are very handsome."--"pooh!" said the lady, "so you would say if you did not think so."--"and so you would _think_," answered he, "though i should not _say so_." mcccxi.--a poser. a lecturer, wishing to explain to a little girl the manner in which a lobster casts his shell when he has outgrown it, said, "what do you do when you have outgrown your clothes? you throw them aside, don't you?"--"o no!" replied the little one, "_we let out the tucks_!" the doctor confessed she had the advantage of him there. mcccxii.--very appropriate. a facetious old gentleman, who thought his two sons consumed too much time in hunting and shooting, styled them _nimrod_ and _ramrod_. mcccxiii.--a bad judge. upon the occasion of the birth of the princess royal, the duke of wellington was in the act of leaving buckingham palace, when he met lord hill; in answer to whose inquiries about her majesty and the little stranger, his grace replied, "very fine child, and very red, very red; nearly as red as you, _hill_!" a jocose allusion to lord hill's claret complexion. mcccxiv.--white hands. in a country market a lady, laying her hand upon a joint of veal, said, "mr. smallbone, i think this veal is not quite so white as usual."--"_put on your gloves_, madam," replied the butcher, "and you will think differently." the lady did so, and the veal was ordered home immediately. mcccxv.--true to the letter. it may be all very well to say that the office of a tax-gatherer needs no great ability for the fulfilment of its duties, but there is no employment which requires such constant _application_. mcccxvi.--sir walter scott and constable. scott is known to have profited much by constable's bibliographical knowledge, which was very extensive. the latter christened "kenilworth," which scott named "cumnor hall." john ballantyne objected to the former title, and told constable the result would be "something worthy of the kennel"; but the result proved the reverse. mr. cadell relates that constable's vanity boiled over so much at this time, on having his suggestions gone into, that, in his high moods, he used to stalk up and down his room, and exclaim, "by jove, i am _all but_ the author of the waverley novels!" mcccxvii.--true philosophy. le sage, the author of gil blas, said, to console himself for his deafness, with his usual humor, "when i go into a company where i find a great number of blockheads and babblers, i replace my trumpet in my pocket, and cry, 'now, gentlemen, _i defy_ you all.'" mcccxviii.--answered at once. a scotch clergyman preaching a drowsy sermon, asked, "what is _the price_ of earthly pleasure?" the deacon, a fat grocer, woke up hastily from a sound sleep, and cried out, lustily, "seven-and-sixpence a dozen!" mcccxix.--a deadly weapon. "well, sir," asked a noisy disputant, "don't you think that i have _mauled_ my antagonist to some purpose?"--"o yes," replied a listener, "you have,--and if ever i should happen to fight with the philistines, i'll borrow _your jaw-bone_!" mcccxx.--equality of the law. the following cannot be omitted from a _jest book_, although somewhat lengthy:-- a man was convicted of bigamy, and the annexed conversation took place.--clerk of assize: "what have you to say why judgment should not be passed upon you according to law?" prisoner: "well, my lord, my wife took up with a hawker, and run away five years ago, and i've never seen her since, and i married this other woman last winter." mr. justice maule: "i will tell you what you ought to have done; and if you say you did not know, i must tell you the law conclusively presumes that you did. you ought to have instructed your attorney to bring an action against the hawker for criminal conversation with your wife. that would have cost you about £ . when you had recovered substantial damages against the hawker, you would have instructed your proctor to sue in the ecclesiastical courts for a divorce _à mensa atque thoro_. that would have cost you £ or £ more. when you had obtained a divorce _à mensa atque thoro_, you would have had to appear by counsel before the house of lords for a divorce _à vinculo matrimonii_. the bill might have been opposed in all its stages in both houses of parliament; and altogether you would have had to spend about £ or £ . you will probably tell me that you never had a thousand farthings of your own in the world; but, prisoner, that makes no difference. sitting here as a british judge, it is my duty to tell you that _this is not a country in which there is one law for the rich and another for the poor_." mcccxxi.--open confession. in a cause tried in the court of queen's bench, the plaintiff being a widow, and the defendants two medical men who had treated her for _delirium tremens_, and put her under restraint as a lunatic, witnesses were called on the part of the plaintiff to prove that she was not addicted to drinking. the last witness called by mr. montagu chambers, the leading counsel on the part of the plaintiff, was dr. tunstal, who closed his evidence by describing a case of _delirium tremens_ treated by him, in which the patient _recovered in a single night_. "it was," said the witness, "a case of gradual drinking, _sipping all day_, from morning till night." these words were scarcely uttered, than mr. chambers, turning to the bench, said, "my lord, _that is my case_." mcccxxii.--quite professional. a comedian, who had been almost lifted from his feet by the pressure at the funeral of a celebrated tragedian, ultimately reached the church-door. having recovered his breath, which had been suspended in the effort, he exclaimed, "and so this is the last we shall ever see of him. poor fellow! he has _drawn a full house_, though, to the end." mcccxxiii.--on dr. lettsom. if anybody comes to i, i physics, bleeds, and sweats 'em; if after that they like to die, why, what care i, i lettsom. mcccxxiv.--equitable law. a rich man made his will, leaving all he had to a company of fellow-citizens to dispose of, but reserving to his right heir "such a portion as pleased them." the heir having sued the company for his share of the property, the judge inquired whether they wished to carry out the will of the testator, and if so, what provision they proposed making for the heir? "he shall have a tenth part," said they, "and we will retain for ourselves the other nine."--"take, then," said the judge, "the tenth part to yourselves, and leave the rest to the heir; for by the will he is to have what part '_pleaseth you_.'" mcccxxv.--irish and scotch loyalty. when george the fourth went to ireland, one of the "pisintry" said to the toll-keeper as the king passed through, "och, now! an' his majesty never paid the turnpike, an' how's that?"--"o, kings never does; we lets 'em go free," was the answer. "then there's the dirty money for ye," says pat; "it shall never be said that the king came here, and found nobody to _pay the turnpike for him_." tom moore told this story to sir walter scott, when they were comparing notes as to the two royal visits. "now, moore," replied scott, "there ye have just the advantage of us: there was no want of enthusiasm here; the scotch folk would have done anything in the world for his majesty, except _pay the turnpike_." mcccxxvi.--running accounts. the valet of a man of fashion could get no money from him, and therefore told him that he should seek another master, and begged he would pay him the arrears of his wages. the gentleman, who liked his servant, and was desirous of keeping him, said, "true, i am in your debt, but your wages are _running on_."--"that's the very thing," answered the valet; "i am afraid they are _running_ so fast, that i shall never _catch_ them." mcccxxvii.--on bloomfield, the poet. bloomfield, thy happy-omened name ensures continuance to thy fame; both sense and truth this verdict give. while _fields_ shall _bloom_, thy name shall live! mcccxxviii.--scotchman and highwaymen. a scotch pedestrian, attacked by three highwaymen, defended himself with great courage, but was at last overpowered, and his pockets rifled. the robbers expected, from the extraordinary resistance they had experienced, to find a rich booty; but were surprised to discover that the whole treasure which the sturdy caledonian had been defending at the hazard of his life, was only a crooked sixpence. "the deuse is in him," said one of the rogues: "if he had had _eighteen-pence_ i suppose he would have _killed_ the whole of us." mcccxxix.--irish imprudence. in the year , when democratic notions ran high, the king's coach was attacked as his majesty was going to the house of peers. a gigantic hibernian, who was conspicuously loyal in repelling the mob, attracted the attention of the king. not long after, the irishman received a message from mr. dundas to attend at his office. he went, and met with a gracious reception from the great man, who praised his loyalty and courage, and desired him to point out any way in which he would wish to be advanced, his majesty being desirous to reward him. pat hesitated a moment, and then smirkingly said, "i'll tell you what, mister, make a _scotchman_ of me, and, by st. patrick, there'll be no fear of my gettin' on." the minister, dumfounded for the moment by the _mal-apropos_ hit, replied, "make a _scotchman_ of _you_, sir! that's impossible, for i can't give you _prudence_." mcccxxx.--the pigs and the silver spoon. the earl of p---- kept a number of swine at his seat in wiltshire, and crossing the yard one day he was surprised to see the pigs gathered round one trough, and making a great noise. curiosity prompted him to see what was the cause, and on looking into the trough he perceived a large silver spoon. a servant-maid came out, and began to abuse the pigs for crying so. "well they may," said his lordship, "when they have got but one _silver spoon_ among them all." mcccxxxi.--a false face true. that there is _falsehood_ in his looks i must and will deny; they say their master is a knave: and sure _they do not lie_. mcccxxxii.--a considerate mayor. a country mayor being newly got into office, that he might be seen to do something in it, would persuade his brethren to have a new pair of gallows built; but one of the aldermen said, that they had an old pair which would serve well enough. "yea," said the mayor, "the old ones shall be to hang strangers on, and the new pair for _us and our heirs_ for ever." mcccxxxiii.--the safe side. during the riots of , most persons in london, in order to save their houses from being burnt or pulled down, wrote on their doors, "_no popery_!" old grimaldi, the father of the celebrated "joey," to avoid all mistakes, wrote on his, "_no religion_!" mcccxxxiv.--visibly losing. in an election for the borough of tallagh, councillor egan, or "bully egan," as he was familiarly called, being an unsuccessful candidate, appealed to a committee of the house of commons. it was in the heat of a very warm summer, and egan (who was an immensely stout man) was struggling through the crowd, his handkerchief in one hand, his wig in the other, and his whole countenance raging like the dog-star, when he met curran. "i'm sorry for you, my dear fellow," said curran. "sorry! why so, jack, why so? i'm perfectly at my ease."--"alas! egan, it is but too visible that you're losing _tallow_ (tallagh) fast!" mcccxxxv.--reason for thick ankles. "harry, i cannot think," says dick, "what makes my ankles grow so thick." "you do not recollect," says harry, "_how great a calf_ they have to carry." mcccxxxvi.--erasmus versus luther. erasmus, of whom cambridge has a right to be not a little proud, was entreated by lord mountjoy to attack the _errors_ of luther. "my lord," answered erasmus, "nothing is more easy than to say luther is mistaken, and nothing more difficult than to _prove_ him so." mcccxxxvii.--something to be proud of. sheridan was once talking to a friend about the prince regent, who took great credit to himself for various public measures, as if they had been directed by his political skill, or foreseen by his political sagacity. "_but_," said sheridan, "_what his royal highness more particularly prides himself in, is the late excellent harvest_." mcccxxxviii.--fairly won. the only practical joke in which richard harris barham (better known by his _nom-de-plume_ of thomas ingoldsby) ever personally engaged, was enacted when he was a boy at canterbury. in company with a schoolfellow, d----, now a gallant major, he entered a quakers' meeting-house; when, looking round at the grave assembly, the latter held up a penny tart, and said solemnly, "whoever speaks first shall have this pie."--"go thy way, boy," said a drab-colored gentleman, rising; "go thy way, and----"--"the pie's _yours_, sir!" exclaimed d----, placing it before the astonished speaker, and hastily effecting his escape. mcccxxxix.--a fortunate expedient. a gentleman of trinity college, travelling through france, was annoyed at the slowness of the pace, and wishing to urge the postilion to greater speed, tried his bad french until he was out of patience. at last it occurred to him that, if he was not understood, he might at least frighten the fellow by using some high-sounding words, and he roared into the ear of the postilion: "_westmoreland, cumberland, northumberland, durham_!" which the fellow mistaking for some tremendous threat, had the desired effect, and induced him to increase his speed. mcccxl.--on the four georges. george the first was always reckoned vile,--but viler, george the second; and what mortal ever heard any good of george the third? when from earth the fourth descended, god be praised, the georges ended. mcccxli.--what everybody does. hopkins once lent simpson, his next door neighbor, an umbrella, and having an urgent call to make on a wet day, knocked at simpson's door. "i want my umbrella."--"can't have it," said simpson. "why? i want to go to the east end, and it rains in torrents; what am i to do for an umbrella?"--"do?" answered simpson, passing through the door, "do as _i_ did, _borrow one_!" mcccxlii.--what is an archdeacon? lord althorp, when chancellor of the exchequer, having to propose to the house of commons a vote of £ a year for the salary of the archdeacon of bengal, was puzzled by a question from mr. hume, "what are the duties of an archdeacon?" so he sent one of the subordinate occupants of the treasury bench to the other house to obtain an answer to the question from one of the bishops. to dr. blomfield accordingly the messenger went, and repeated the question, "what is an archdeacon?"--"an archdeacon," replied the bishop, in his quick way, "an archdeacon is an ecclesiastical officer, who performs archidiaconal functions"; and with this reply lord althorp and the house were perfectly satisfied. it ought to be added, however, that when the story was repeated to the bishop himself, he said that he had no recollection of having made any such answer; but that if he had, it must have been suggested to him by a saying of old john white, a dentist, whom he had known in early days, who used to recommend the use of lavender-water to his patients, and when pressed for a reason for his recommendation, replied, "on account of its _lavendric_ properties." mcccxliii.--"on mr. pitt's being pelted by the mob, on lord mayor's day, ." the city-feast inverted here we find, for pitt had his _dessert_ before he dined. mcccxliv.--latimer. the pious and learned martyr, and bishop of worcester, who was educated at christ college, cambridge, and was one of the first reformers of the church of england, at a controversial conference, being out-talked by younger divines, and out-argued by those who were more studied in the _fathers_, said, "i cannot talk for my _religion_, but i am ready to die for it." mcccxlv.--excuse for cowardice. a braggart ran away from battle, and gave as a reason, that a friend had written his epitaph, which had an excellent point in it, provided he attained the age of _one hundred_. mcccxlvi.--a new idea. one of mrs. montague's blue-stocking ladies fastened upon foote, at one of the routs in portman square, with her views of locke "on the understanding," which she protested she admired above all things; only there was one particular word, very often repeated, which she could not distinctly make out, and that was the word (pronouncing it very long) _ide-a_. "but i suppose," said she, "it comes from a greek derivation."--"you are perfectly right, madam," said foote; "it comes from the word _ideaowski_."--"and pray, sir, what does that mean?"--"it is the _feminine_ of idiot, madam!" mcccxlvii--the poor curate. for the rector in vain through the parish you'll search, but the curate you'll find _living hard_ by the church. mcccxlviii.--neighborly politeness. sir godfrey kneller and dr. ratcliffe lived next door to each other, and were extremely intimate. kneller had a very fine garden, and as the doctor was fond of flowers, he permitted him to have a door into it. ratcliffe's servants gathering and destroying the flowers, kneller sent to inform him that he would nail up the door; to which ratcliffe, in his rough manner, replied, "tell him, he may do anything but _paint_ it."--"well," replied kneller, "he may say what he will, for tell him, i will _take anything from him, except physic_." mcccxlix.--a heavy weight. mr. douglas, son of the bishop of salisbury, was six feet two inches in height, and of enormous bulk. the little boys of oxford always gathered about him when he went into the streets, to look up at his towering bulk. "get out of my way, you little scamps," he used to cry, "_or i will roll upon you_." it was upon this gentleman that canning composed the following epigram:-- that the stones of our chapel are both black and white, is most undeniably true; but, as douglas walks o'er them both morning and night, it's a wonder they're not _black and blue_. mcccl.--a syllabic difference. gibbon, the historian, was one day attending the trial of warren hastings in westminster hall, and sheridan, having perceived him there, took occasion to mention "the luminous author of _the decline and fall_." after he had finished, one of his friends reproached him with flattering gibbon. "why, what did i say of him?" asked sheridan. "you called him the luminous author."--"luminous! oh, i meant _vo_luminous!" mcccli.--"sinking" the well. theodore hook once observed a party of laborers sinking a well. "what are you about?" he inquired. "boring for water, sir," was the answer. "water's a bore at any time," responded hook; "besides, you're quite wrong; remember the old proverb,--'let _well_ alone.'" mccclii.--on a gentleman named heddy. in reading his name it may truly be said, you will make that man _dy_ if you cut off his _hed_. mcccliii.--the way to kew. hook, in the supposed character of gower-street undergraduate, says: "one problem was given me to work which i did in a twinkling. given _c a b_ to find _q_. _answer_: take your _c a b_ through hammersmith, turn to the left just before you come to brentford, and kew is right before you." mcccliv.--above proof. an east-india governor having died abroad, his body was put in arrack, to preserve it for interment, in england. a sailor on board the ship being frequently drunk, the captain forbade the purser, and indeed all in the ship, to let him have any liquor. shortly after the fellow appeared very drunk. how he obtained the liquor, no one could guess. the captain resolved to find out, promising to forgive him if he would tell from whom he got the liquor. after some hesitation, he hiccupped out, "why, please your honor, i _tapped the governor_." mccclv.--awkward orthography. mathews once went to wakefield, then, from commercial failures, in a dreadful state. in vain did he announce his inimitable "youthful days"; the yorkshiremen came not. when he progressed to edinburgh, a friend asked him if he made much money in wakefield. "not a shilling!" was the reply. "not a shilling!" reiterated his astonished acquaintance. "why, didn't you go there _to star_?"--"yes," replied mathews, with mirthful mournfulness; "but they spell it with a _ve_ in wakefield." mccclvi.--miss wilberforce. when mr. wilberforce was a candidate for hull, his sister, an amiable and witty young lady, offered the compliment of a new gown to each of the wives of those freemen who voted for her brother, on which she was saluted with a cry of "miss wilberforce _for ever_!" when she pleasantly observed, "i thank you, gentlemen, but i can not agree with you; for really, i do not wish to be _miss wilberforce for ever_!" mccclvii.--written on the union, , by a barrister of dublin. why should we explain, that the times are so bad, pursuing a querulous strain? when erin gives up all the rights that she had, what _right has she left to complain_? mccclviii.--a cool proposition. at the breaking up of a fashionable party at the west end of town, one of the company said he was about to "drop in" at lady blessington's; whereupon a young gentleman, a perfect stranger to the speaker, very modestly said, "o then, you can take me with you; i want very much to know her, and you can introduce me." while the other was standing aghast at the impudence of the proposal, and muttering something about being but a slight acquaintance himself, etc., sydney smith observed, "pray oblige our young friend; you can do it easily enough by introducing him in a capacity very desirable at this close season of the year,--say you are bringing with you the _cool of the evening_." mccclix.--a proper name. when messrs. abbot and egerton took the old coburg theatre for the purpose of bringing forward the legitimate drama, the former gentleman asked hook if he could suggest a new name, the old being too much identified with blue fire and broadswords to suit the proposed change of performance. "why," said hook, "as you will of course butcher everything you attempt, suppose you call it _abbatoir_." mccclx.--the grandson. horace walpole, on one occasion observed that there had existed the same indecision, irresolution, and want of system in the politics of queen anne, as at the time he spoke, under the reign of george the third. "but," added he, "there is nothing new under the _sun_!"--"no," said george selwyn, "nor under the _grand-son_!" mccclxi.--an unanswerable argument. a well-fed rector was advising a poor starving laborer to trust to providence, and be satisfied with his _lot_. "ah!" replied the needy man, "i should be satisfied with his _lot_ if i had it, but i can't get even a _little_." mccclxii.--to lady, mount e----, on the death of a favorite pig. o dry that tear so round and big, nor waste in sighs your precious wind; death only takes _a single pig_-- your _lord and son_ are still behind. mccclxiii.--natural. mrs. smith, hearing strange sounds, inquired of her new servant if she snored in her sleep. "i don't know, marm," replied becky, quite innocently; "i never _lay awake_ long enough to diskiver." mccclxiv.--brotherly love. an affectionate irishman once enlisted in the th regiment, in order to be near his brother, who was a corporal _in the th_. mccclxv.--a distressful denouement. mr. moore having been long under a prosecution in doctors' commons, his proctor called on him one day whilst he was composing the tragedy of _the gamester_. the proctor having sat down, he read him four acts of the piece, being all he had written; by which the man of law was so affected, that he exclaimed, "good! good! can you add to this couple's distress in the last act?"--"o, very easily," said the poet, "i intend to _put them into the ecclesiastical court_." mccclxvi.--conservative logic. "taxes are equal is a dogma which i'll prove at once," exclaimed a tory boor; "taxation _hardly presses_ on the rich, and likewise _presses hardly_ on the poor." mccclxvii.--the best wine. sheridan being asked what wine he liked best, replied, "the wine of _other people_." mccclxviii.--a valuable beaver. a grand entertainment taking place at belvoir castle, on the occasion of the coming of age of the marquis of granby, the company were going out to see the fireworks, when theodore hook came in great tribulation to the duke of rutland, who was standing near sir robert peel, and said: "now isn't this provoking? i've lost my hat. what can i do?"--"why did you part with your hat? i never do," said his grace. "ay!" rejoined theodore, "but you have especial good reasons for sticking to _your beaver_" (belvoir). mccclxix.--something to pocket. a diminutive lawyer appearing as witness in one of the courts, was asked by a gigantic counsellor what profession he was of; and having replied that he was an attorney,--"you a lawyer!" said brief; "why i could put you in my pocket."--"very likely you may," rejoined the other; "and if you do, you will have more law in your _pocket_ than ever you had in your _head_." mccclxx.--up and down. at the irish bar, moran mahaffy, esq., was as much above the middle size as mr. collis was below it. when lord redesdale was lord chancellor of ireland, messrs. mahaffy and collis happened to be retained in the same case a short time after his lordship's elevation, and before he was acquainted personally with the irish bar. mr. collis was opening the motion, when lord r. observed, "mr. collis, when a barrister addresses the court, he must stand."--"i am standing on the bench, my lord," said collis. "i beg a thousand pardons," replied his lordship, somewhat confused; "sit down, mr. mahaffy."--"i _am sitting_, my lord," was the reply to the confounded chancellor. mccclxxi.--a poor substitute. the rev. mr. johnston was one of those rough but quaint preachers of the former generation who were fond of visiting and good living. while seated at the table of a good lady in a neighboring parish, she asked him if he took milk in his tea. "yes, ma'am _when i can't get cream_," was the ready reply. mccclxxii.--out of spirits. "is my wife out of spirits?" said john with a sigh, as her voice of a tempest gave warning. "quite out, sir, indeed," said her maid in reply, "for she _finished_ the bottle this morning." mccclxxiii.--good at the halt. peter macnally, an irish attorney, was very lame, and, when walking, had an unfortunate limp, which he could not bear to be told of. at the time of the rebellion he was seized with a military ardor, and when the different volunteer corps were forming in dublin, that of the lawyers was organized. meeting with curran, macnally said, "my dear friend, these are not times for a man to be idle; i am determined to enter the lawyers' corps, and follow the camp."--"you follow the camp, my little limb of the law!" said the wit; "tut, tut, renounce the idea; you never can be a disciplinarian."--"and why not, mr. curran?" said macnally. "for this reason," said curran; "the moment you were ordered to march, you would _halt_!" mccclxxiv.--an easy way. a person deeply in debt, was walking through the streets in a melancholy way, when a friend asked him the cause of his sadness. "i owe money and cannot pay it," said the man, in a tone of extreme dejection. "can't you leave all the _uneasiness_ to your creditors?" replied the other. "is it not enough that one should be sorry for what _neither of you can help_?" mccclxxv.--erudite. a lady had a favorite lapdog, which she called _perchance_. "a singular name," said somebody, "for a beautiful pet, madam. where did you find it?"--"o," drawled she, "it was named from byron's dog. you remember where he says, '_perchance_ my dog will howl.'" mccclxxvi.--very easy. on the approach of holy week, a great lady said to her friend, "we must, however, mortify ourselves _a little_."--"well," replied the other, "let us make our _servants fast_." mccclxxvii.--a winner at cards. a gentleman riding one day near richmond, observed a house delightfully situated, and asking his companion to whom it belonged, was answered, "to a _card-maker_."--"upon my life," he replied, "one would imagine all that man's _cards_ must have been _trumps_." mccclxxviii.--epigram. the charity of closefist give to fame, he has at last _subscribed_--how much?--_his name_. mccclxxix.--an inconvenient break down. the play of "king lear" being performed at reading, the representative of _glo'ster_ was, on one occasion, taken ill, and another actor was found to take the part at a short notice. he got on famously as far as the scene where _glo'ster had his eyes put out_, when he came to a stand still, and was obliged to beg permission to _read_ the rest of the part. mccclxxx.--small talk. fuseli had a great dislike to common-place observations. after sitting perfectly quiet for a long time in his own room, during the "bald disjointed chat" of some idle visitors, who were gabbling with one another about the weather, and other topics of as interesting a nature, he suddenly exclaimed, "_we had pork for dinner to-day_."--"dear me! mr. fuseli, what an odd remark."--"why, it is _as good_ as anything you have been saying for _the last hour_." mccclxxxi.--rather ferocious. as burke was declaiming with great animation against hastings, he was interrupted by little major scott. "am i," said he, indignantly, "to be teased by the barking of this _jackal_ while i am attacking the royal _tiger_ of bengal?" mccclxxxii.--only for life. a spanish archbishop having a dispute with an opulent duke, who said with scorn, "what are you? your title and revenues are only for your life," answered by asking, "and for how _many lives_ does your grace hold yours?" mccclxxxiii.--an outline. when the duke de choiseul, who was a remarkably meagre-looking man, came to london to negotiate a peace, charles townshend, being asked whether the french government had sent the preliminaries of a treaty, answered, he did not know, but they had sent "the _outline of an ambassador_." mccclxxxiv.--on sir walter scott's poem of waterloo. on waterloo's ensanguined plain, full many a gallant man lies slain; but none, by bullet or by shot, fell half so flat as walter scott. mccclxxxv.--ugly trades. the ugliest of trades have their moments of pleasure. now, if i were a grave-digger, or even a hangman, there are some people i could work for with a great deal of enjoyment.--d.j. mccclxxxvi.--a good character. an irish gentleman parting with a lazy servant-woman, was asked, with respect to her industry, whether she was what is termed _afraid_ of work. "o, not at all," said he; "not at all; she'll frequently _lie down_ and fall asleep by the very _side of it_." mccclxxxvii.--sensibility. a keen sportsman, who kept harriers, was so vexed when any noise was made while the hounds were at fault, that he rode up to a gentleman who accidentally coughed at such a time, and said, "i wish, with all my heart, sir, your _cough_ was better." mccclxxxviii.--patience. when lord chesterfield was one day at newcastle house, the duke happening to be very particularly engaged, the earl was requested to sit down in an ante-room. "garnet upon job," a book dedicated to the duke, happened to lie in the window; and his grace, on entering, found the earl so busily engaged in reading, that he asked how he liked the commentary. "in any other place," replied chesterfield, "i should not think much of it; but there is so much _propriety_ in putting a volume upon _patience_ in the room where every visitor has to wait for your grace, that _here_ it must be considered as one of the _best books in the world_." mccclxxxix.--what's my thought like? _quest._ why is a pump like viscount castlereagh? _ans._ because it is a slender thing of wood, that up and down its awkward arm doth sway, and coolly shout, and spout, and spout away, in one weak, washy, everlasting flood! mcccxc.--not giving himself "airs." archdeacon paley was in very high spirits when he was presented to his first preferment in the church. he attended at a visitation dinner just after this event, and during the entertainment called out jocosely, "waiter, shut down that window at the back of my chair, and open another behind some _curate_." mcccxci.--a barber shaved by a lawyer. "sir," said a barber to an attorney who was passing his door, "will you tell me if this is a good half-sovereign?" the lawyer, pronouncing the piece good, deposited it in his pocket, adding, with gravity, "if you'll send your lad to my office, i'll return the _three and four-pence_." mcccxcii.--a man of metal. edwin james, examining a witness, asked him what his business was. he answered, "a dealer in old iron."--"then," said the counsel, "you must of course be a thief."--"i don't see," replied the witness, "why a dealer in _iron_ must necessarily be a thief, more than a dealer in _brass_." mcccxciii.--specimen of the laconic. "be less prolix," says grill. i like advice. "grill, you're an ass!" now, surely, that's concise. mcccxciv.--a drop. dean swift was one day in company, when the conversation fell upon the antiquity of the family. the lady of the house expatiated a little too freely on her descent, observing that her ancestors' names began with de, and, of course, of antique french extraction. when she had finished; "and now," said the dean, "will you be so kind as to help me to a piece of that _d--umpling_?" mcccxcv.--error in judgment. an author once praised another writer very heartily to a third person. "it is very strange," was the reply, "that you speak so well of him, for he says that you are a charlatan."--"o," replied the other, "i think it very likely that _both of us_ may be mistaken." mcccxcvi.--the superiority of machinery. a mechanic his labor will often discard, if the rate of his pay he dislikes: but a clock--and its case is uncommonly hard-- will continue to work though it _strikes_! mcccxcvii.--the money-borrower deceived. a youth had borrowed a hundred pounds of a very rich friend, who had concluded that he should never see them again. he was mistaken, for the youth returned him the money. some time after, the youth came again to borrow, but was refused. "no, sir," said his friend, "you shall not _deceive_ me twice." mcccxcviii.--a speaking canvas. some of the friends of a famous painter, observed to him, that they never heard him bestow any praises but on his worst paintings. "true," answered he; "for the best will always _praise_ themselves." mcccxcix.--industry of the english people. sydney smith, writing in the _edinburgh review_, says, "if the english were in a paradise of spontaneous productions, they would continue to _dig_ and _plough_, though they were never a peach or a pine-apple the _better for it_." mcd.--ocular. taylor says, "my best pun was that which i made to sheridan, who married a miss ogle." we were supping together at the shakespeare, when, the conversation turning on garrick, i asked him which of his performances he thought the best. "o," said he, "the lear, the lear."--"no wonder," said i, "you were fond of a _leer_ when you married an _ogle_." mcdi.--on the disappointment of the whig associates of the prince regent at not obtaining office. ye politicians, tell me, pray, why thus with woe and care rent? this is the worst that you can say, some wind has blown the wig away, and left the _hair apparent_. mcdii.--an apt reproof. mr. wesley, during his voyage to america, hearing an unusual noise in the cabin of general oglethorpe (the governor of georgia, with whom he sailed), stepped in to inquire the cause of it, on which the general immediately addressed him: "mr. wesley, you must excuse me. i have met with a provocation too great for man to bear. you know the only wine i drink is cyprus wine, as it agrees with me the best of any; and this villain grimaldi (his foreign servant) has drunk up the whole i had on board. but i will be revenged of him. i have ordered him to be tied hand and foot, and to be carried to the man-of-war that sails with us. the rascal should have taken care how he used me, for _i never forgive_."--"then i hope, sir," said john wesley, looking calmly at him, "_you never sin_." the general was quite confounded at the reproof, and putting his hand into his pocket took out a bunch of keys, which he threw at grimaldi, saying, "there, villain! take my keys, and behave better for the future." mcdiii.--the lame beggar. "i am unable," yonder beggar cries, "to _stand or move_." if he says true, he _lies_. mcdiv.--holland's funeral. holland, who was a great favorite with foote, died. while the funeral ceremony was performing, g. garrick remarked to foote: "you see what a snug family vault we have made here."--"_family vault_!" said foote, with tears trickling down his cheeks, "i thought it had been a family _oven_." mcdv.--pretty. hope is the dream of those who are awake. mcdvi.--not improbable. a certain young clergyman, modest almost to bashfulness, was once asked by a country apothecary, of a contrary character, in a public and crowded assembly, and in a tone of voice sufficient to catch the attention of the whole company, "how it happened that the patriarchs lived to such extreme old age?" to which question the clergyman replied, "_perhaps they took no physic_." mcdvii.--sought and found. three conceited young wits, as they thought themselves, passing along the road near oxford, met a grave old gentleman, with whom they had a mind to be rudely merry. "good-morrow, father abraham," said one; "good-morrow, father isaac," said the next; "good-morrow, father jacob," cried the last. "i am neither abraham, isaac, nor jacob," replied the old gentleman, "but saul, the son of kish, who went out to seek his father's _asses_, and lo! here i have found them." mcdviii.--no redeeming virtue. "pray, does it always rain in this hanged place, enough to drive one mad, heaven knows?" "no, please your grace," cried boniface, with some grimace, "_sometimes it snows_." mcdix.--a remarkable echo. a certain chief justice, on hearing an ass bray, interrupted the late mr. curran, in his speech to the jury, by saying, "one at a time, mr. curran, if you please." the speech being finished, the judge began his charge, and during its progress the ass sent forth the full force of its lungs; whereupon the advocate said, "does not your lordship hear a remarkable _echo in the court_?" mcdx.--a dutiful daughter. the father of mrs. siddons had always forbidden her to marry an actor, and of course she chose a member of the old gentleman's company, whom she secretly wedded. when roger kemble heard of it he was furious. "have i not," he exclaimed, "dared you to marry a player?" the lady replied, with downcast eyes, that she had not disobeyed. "what, madam! have you not allied yourself to about the worst performer in my company?"--"exactly so," murmured the timid bride; "nobody can call _him_ an actor." mcdxi.--a pertinent question. franklin was once asked, "what is the use of your discovery of atmospheric electricity?" the philosopher answered the question by another, "what is the _use_ of a new-born infant?" mcdxii.--a soporific. a prosy orator reproved lord north for going to sleep during one of his speeches. "pooh, pooh!" said the drowsy premier; "the physician should never quarrel with _the effect_ of his own medicine." mcdxiii.--the amende honorable. quoth will, "on that young servant-maid my heart its life-string stakes." "quite safe!" cries dick, "don't be afraid, she pays for _all she breaks_." mcdxiv.--allegorical representation. a painter, who was well acquainted with the dire effects of law, had to represent two men,--one who had gained a law-suit, and another who had lost one. he painted the former with a _shirt on_, and the latter _naked_. mcdxv.--military eloquence. an officer who commanded a regiment very ill-clothed, seeing a party of the enemy advancing, who appeared newly equipped, he said to his soldiers, in order to rally them on to glory, "there, my brave fellows, go and _clothe_ yourselves." mcdxvi.--cutting off the supplies. the late duke of york is reported to have once consulted abernethy. during the time his highness was in the room, the doctor stood before him with his hands in his pockets, waiting to be addressed, and whistling with great coolness. the duke, naturally astonished at his conduct, said, "i suppose you know who i am?"--"suppose i do; what of that? if your highness of york wishes to be well, let me tell you," added the surgeon, "you must do as the duke of wellington often did in his campaigns, _cut off the supplies_, and the enemy will quickly leave the citadel." mcdxvii.--epigram. the proverb says, and no one e'er disputes, "nature the shoulder to the burden suits"; then nature gave to saucemore with his head, shoulders to carry half a ton of lead. mcdxviii.--a fowl joke. a city policeman before judge maule said he was in the _hens_ (_n_) division. "do you mean in the _poultry_?" asked the judge. mcdxix.--an expensive trip. irish johnstone, the comedian, was known to be rather parsimonious. on one of his professional visits to dublin, he billeted himself (as was his wont) upon all his acquaintances in town. meeting curran afterwards in london, and talking of his _great expenses_, he asked the ex-master of the rolls what he supposed he spent in the irish capital during his last trip. "i don't know," replied curran; "but probably a _fortnight_." mcdxx.--old friends. coleman, the dramatist, was asked if he knew theodore hook. "yes," replied the wit; "_hook_ and _eye_ are old associates." mcdxxi.--a reason. "i wish you at the devil!" said somebody to wilkes. "i don't wish you there," was the answer. "why?"--"because i never wish _to see you again_!" mcdxxii.--honor. during a siege the officer in command proposed to the grenadiers a large sum of money as a reward to him who should first drive a fascine into a ditch which was exposed to the enemy's fire. none of the grenadiers offered. the general, astonished, began to reproach them for it. "_we should have all offered_," said one of these brave soldiers, "if money _had not been set as the price of this action_." mcdxxiii.--just as wonderful. a gentleman asked a friend, in a very knowing manner, "pray, did you ever see a _cat-fish_?"--"no," was the response, "but i've seen a _rope-walk_." mcdxxiv.--charity begins at home. "well, neighbor, what's the news this morning?" said a gentleman to a friend. "i have just bought a sack of flour for a poor woman."--"just like you! whom have you made so happy by your charity this time?"--"_my wife_." mcdxxv.--question answered. that idiot w---- coming out of the opera one night, called out, "where is my fellow?"--"_not in england_, i'll swear," said a bystander. mcdxxvi.--very likely. an officer of the navy being asked what burke meant by the "_cheap_ defence of nations," replied, "a midshipman's _half-pay_,--nothing a-day and find yourself." mcdxxvii.--inquest extraordinary. died suddenly,--surprised at such a rarity! verdict,--saw eldon do a little bit of charity. mcdxxviii.--a grunt. "doctor, when we have sat together some time, you'll find my brother very entertaining."--"sir," said johnson, "_i can wait_." mcdxxix.--one fault. "she is insupportable," said a wit with marked emphasis, of one well known; but, as if he had gone too far, he added, "it is her _only_ defect." mcdxxx.--to the "coming" man. smart waiter, be contented with thy state, the world is his who best knows how to wait. mcdxxxi.--nothing to boast of. "the british empire, sir," exclaimed an orator, "is one on which the sun never sets."--"and one," replied an auditor, "in which the _tax-gatherer_ never goes to bed." mcdxxxii.--colonial breweries. what two ideas are more inseparable than beer and britannia? what event more awfully important to an english colony, than the erection of its _first brewhouse?_--s.s. mcdxxxiii.--a closer. some person caused the following inscription to be placed over the door of a house, "let _nothing_ enter here but what is _good_."--"then where will _the master_ go in?" asked a cynic. mcdxxxiv.--the fool or knave. thy praise or dispraise is to me alike; one doth not _stroke_ me, nor the other _strike_. mcdxxxv.--knowing his man. an attorney, not celebrated for his probity, was robbed one night on his way from wicklow to dublin. his father meeting baron o'grady next day, said, "my lord, have you heard of my son's robbery?"--"no," replied the baron; "whom did _he rob_?" mcdxxxvi.--a good reason for a bad cause. an eminent counsellor asked another why he so often undertook bad causes. "sir," answered the lawyer, "i have lost so many _good_ ones, that i am quite at a loss which to take." mcdxxxvii.--self-applause. some persons can neither stir hand nor foot without making it clear they are thinking of themselves, and laying little traps for approbation.--s.s. mcdxxxviii.--a wooden joke. burke said of lord thurlow, "he was a sturdy _oak_ at westminster, and a _willow_ at st james's." mcdxxxix.--an old adage refuted. a scholar having fallen into the hands of robbers was fastened to a tree, and left so nearly a whole day, till one came and unloosed him. "now," says he, "the old adage must be false, which saith that the _tide_ tarrieth for no man." mcdxl.--theatrical purgations. a dramatic author once observed that he knew nothing so terrible as reading his piece before a critical audience. "i know but one more terrible," said compton, the actor, "to be obliged to sit and _hear it_." mcdxli.--all the same. in edinburgh resided a gentleman, who is as huge, though not so witty, as falstaff. it is his custom when he travels to book two places, and thus secure half the inside to himself. he once sent his servant to book him to glasgow. the man returned with the following pleasing intelligence: "i've booked you, sir; there weren't two inside places left, so i booked you _one in_ and _one out_." mcdxlii.--the principle of governments. i shall not easily forget the sarcasm of swift's simile as he told us of the prince of orange's harangue to the mob of portsmouth. "we are come," said he, "for your good--_for all your goods_."--"a universal principle," added swift, "of all governments; but, like most other truths, only _told by mistake_." mcdxliii.--dr. walcot's application for shield's ivory opera pass. shield, while the supplicating poor ask thee for _meat_ with piteous moans; more humble i approach thy door, and beg for nothing but thy _bones_. mcdxliv.--cooking his goose. the performers rallying cooke one morning, in the green room, on the awkward cut of a new coat, he apologized, by saying, "it was his tailor's _fault_."--"yes, poor man," said munden, "and his _misfortune_ too!" mcdxlv.--take warning! a barrister who had retired from practice, said: "if any man was to claim the _coat_ upon my back, and threaten my refusal with a lawsuit, he should certainly have it; lest, in defending my _coat_, i should, too late, find that i was deprived of my _waistcoat_ also." mcdxlvi.--"the wide, wide sea." hood says that, "a quaker loves the ocean for its _broad brim_." mcdxlvii.--conditional agreement. dr. a----, when dangerously ill at an hotel, was applied to by the landlord to pass his bill. the doctor, observing that all the charges were very high, wrote at the bottom of the account, "if i die, i _pass_ this account; if i live, i'll _examine it_." mcdxlviii.--on a squinting poetess. to no _one_ muse does she her glance confine, but has an eye, at once, to _all the nine_. mcdxlix.--a neat suggestion. a welsh judge, celebrated as a suitor for all sorts of places and his neglect of personal cleanliness, was thus addressed by mr. jekyll: "as you have asked the ministry for everything else, ask them for a piece of _soap_ and a _nailbrush_." mcdl.--scotch "wut." it requires (says sydney smith) a surgical operation to get a joke well into a scotch understanding. their only idea of wit, or rather that inferior variety of the electric talent which prevails occasionally in the north, and which, under the name of _wut_, is so infinitely distressing to people of good taste, is laughing immoderately at stated intervals. they are so imbued with metaphysics that they even make love metaphysically. i overheard a young lady of my acquaintance, at a dance in edinburgh, exclaim, in a sudden pause of the music, "what you say, my lord, is very true of love in the _aibstract_, but----" here the fiddlers began fiddling furiously, and the rest was lost. mcdli.--where it came from. a lady, whose fondness for generous living had given her a flushed face and rubicund nose, consulted dr. cheyne. upon surveying herself in the glass, she exclaimed, "where in the name of wonder, doctor, did i get _such a nose_ as this?"--"out of the _decanter, madam_," replied the doctor. mcdlii.--quin and charles i. quin sometimes said a wise thing. disputing concerning the execution of charles i.,--"by what laws," said his opponent, "was he put to death?" quin replied, "by all the _laws_ that he had _left them_." mcdliii.--timely flattery. a gentleman was asked by mrs. woffington, what difference there was between her and her watch; to which he instantly replied, "your watch, madam, makes us _remember_ the hours, and you make us _forget_ them." mcdliv.--epigram on two contractors. to gull the public two contractors come, one pilfers corn,--the other cheats in rum. which is the greater knave, ye wits explain, a rogue in _spirit_, or a rogue in _grain_? mcdlv.--travellers see strange things. a traveller, when asked whether, in his youth, he had gone _through euclid_, was not quite sure, but he thought it was a _small village_ between wigan and preston. mcdlvi.--an unconscious insult. a frenchman, who had learned english, wished to lose no opportunity of saying something pretty. one evening he observed to lady r., whose dress was fawn color, and that of her daughter pink, "milady, your daughter is de _pink_ of beauty."--"ah, monsieur, you frenchmen always flatter."--"no, madam, i only do speak the truth, and what all de world will allow, that your daughter is de pink, and you are de _drab_ of fashion." mcdlvii.--a close translation. a country gentleman, wishing to be civil to dr. b----, a translator of juvenal, said, "what particularly convinces me of the faithfulness of your translation is, that _in places where i do not understand juvenal, i likewise do not understand you_." mcdlviii.--new relationship. a stranger to law courts hearing a judge call a sergeant "brother," expressed his surprise. "o," said one present, "they are brothers,--_brothers-in-law_." mcdlix.--only a ninepin. the earl of lonsdale was so extensive a proprietor, and patron of boroughs, that he returned nine members to parliament, who were facetiously called lord lonsdale's ninepins. one of the members thus designated, having made a very extravagant speech in the house of commons, was answered by mr. burke in a vein of the happiest sarcasm, which elicited from the house loud and continued cheers. mr. fox, entering the house just as mr. burke was sitting down, inquired of sheridan what the house was cheering. "o, nothing of consequence," replied sheridan, "only burke has knocked down one of _lord lonsdale's ninepins_." mcdlx.--dr. walcot's request for ivory tickets, sent to shield, the composer. son of the string (i do not mean jack ketch, though jack, like thee, produceth dying tones), oh, yield thy pity to a starving wretch, and for to-morrow's _treat_ pray send thy _bones_! mcdlxi.--difficulties in either case. one evening, at a private party at oxford, at which dr. johnson was present, a recently published essay on the future life of brutes was referred to, and a gentleman, disposed to support the author's opinion that the lower animals have an "immortal part," familiarly remarked to the doctor, "really, sir, when we see a very sensible dog, we don't know what to think of him." johnson, turning quickly round, replied, "true, sir; and when we see a very foolish _fellow_, we don't know what to think of _him_." mcdlxii.--a professional aim. in a duel between two attorneys, one of them shot away the skirt of the other's coat. his second, observing the truth of his aim, declared that had his friend been engaged with a _client_ he would very probably have _hit his pocket_. mcdlxiii.--flying colors. sir godfrey kneller latterly painted more for profit than for praise, and is said to have used some whimsical preparations in his colors, which made them work fair and smoothly off, but not endure. a friend, noticing it to him, said, "what do you think posterity will say, sir godfrey kneller, when they see these pictures some years hence?"--"say!" replied the artist: "why, they'll say sir godfrey kneller _never_ painted them!" mcdlxiv.--an entertaining proposition. a pompous fellow made a very inadequate offer for a valuable property; and, calling the next day for an answer, inquired of the gentleman if he had _entertained his proposition_. "no," replied the other, "your proposition _entertained me_." mcdlxv.--union of opposites. a phrenologist remarking that some persons had the organ of murder and benevolence strongly and equally developed, his friend replied, "that doubtless those were the persons _who would kill one with kindness_." mcdlxvi.--epigram. (on ----'s veracity.) he boasts about the truth i've heard, and vows he'd never break it; why, zounds, a man _must_ keep his word when nobody will take it. mcdlxvii.--an untaxed luxury. a lady having remarked in company that she thought there should be a tax on "_the single state_"; "yes, madam," rejoined an obstinate old bachelor, "as on all other _luxuries_." mcdlxviii.--a dear speaker. soon after the irish members were admitted into the house of commons, on the union of the kingdom in , one of them, in the middle of his maiden speech, thus addressed the chair: "and now, _my dear_ mr. speaker," etc. this excited loud laughter. as soon as the mirth had subsided, mr. sheridan observed, "that the honorable member was perfectly in order; for, thanks to the ministers, now-a-days _everything is dear_." mcdlxix.--absurdly logical. a mad quaker (wrote sydney smith) belongs to a small and rich sect; and is, therefore, of _greater_ importance than any other _mad person_ of the same degree in life. mcdlxx.--proof positive. a chemist asserted that all bitter things were hot. "no," said a gentleman present, "there is a _bitter_ cold day." mcdlxxi.--player, or lord. one day, at a party in bath, quin said something which caused a general murmur of delighted merriment. a nobleman present, who was not distinguished for the brilliancy of his ideas, exclaimed: "what a pity 'tis, quin, my boy, that a clever fellow like you should _be a player_!" quin, fixing and flashing his eyes upon the speaker, replied: "why! what would your lordship have me be?--a lord?" mcdlxxii.--in memoriam. soyer is gone! then be it said, at last, indeed, great pan is dead. mcdlxxiii.--prime's preservative. sergeant prime had a remarkably long nose, and being one day out riding, was flung from his horse, and fell upon his face in the middle of the road. a countryman, who saw the occurrence, ran hastily up, raised the sergeant from the mire, and asked him if he was much hurt. the sergeant replied in the negative. "i zee, zur," said the rustic, grinning, "yer _ploughshare_ saved ye!" mcdlxxiv.--a sharp brush. sheridan was down at brighton one summer, when fox, the manager, desirous of showing him some civility, took him all over the theatre, and, exhibited its beauties. "there, mr. sheridan," said fox, who combined twenty occupations, without being clever in any, "i built and painted all these boxes, and i painted all these scenes."--"did you?" said sheridan, surveying them rapidly; "well, i should not, i am sure, have known you were a fox by your _brush_." mcdlxxv.--not so "daft" as reputed. there was a certain "daft will," who was a privileged haunter of eglington castle and grounds. he was discovered by the noble owner one day taking a near cut, and crossing a fence in the demesne. the earl called out, "come back, sir, that's not the road."--"do ye ken," said will, "whaur i'm gaun?"--"no," replied his lordship. "weel, hoo the deil do ye ken _whether this be the road or no_?" mcdlxxvi.--picking pockets. "these beer-shops," quoth barnabas, speaking in alt, "are ruinous,--down with the growers of malt!" "too true," answers ben, with a shake of the head, "wherever they congregate, honesty's dead. that beer breeds dishonesty causes no wonder, 'tis nurtured in crime,--'tis concocted in plunder; in kent while surrounded by flourishing crops, i saw a rogue _picking a pocket_ of hops." mcdlxxvii.--husbanding his resources. a wag, reading in one of brigham young's manifestoes, "that the great resources of utah are her women," exclaimed, "it is very evident that the prophet is disposed to _husband his resources_." mcdlxxviii.--smoothing it down. a client remarked to his solicitor, "you are writing my bill on very rough paper, sir."--"never mind," was the reply of the latter, "it has to be _filed_ before it comes into court." mcdlxxix.--making free with the waist. curran, in cross-examining the chief witness of a plaintiff in an action for an assault, obliged him to acknowledge that the plaintiff had put his arm round the waist of miss d----, which had provoked the defendant to strike him: "then, sir, i presume," said curran, "he took that _waist_ for _common_?" mcdlxxx.--a hopeless invasion. admiral bridport, speaking of the threatened invasion by the french in , dryly observed, "they might come as they could; for his own part, he could only say that they should not _come by water_." mcdlxxxi.--droll to order. one evening, a lady said to a small wit, "come, mr. ----, tell us a lively anecdote," and the poor fellow was mute during the remainder of the evening. "favor me with your company on wednesday evening, you are such a lion," said a weak party-giver to a young author. "i thank you," replied the wit; "but on that evening i am engaged _to eat fire_ at the countess of ----, and _stand upon my head_ at mrs. ----." mcdlxxxii.--men of weight. if fat men ride, they tire the horse, and if they walk themselves--that's worse: travel at all, they are at best, either oppressors or opprest. mcdlxxxiii.--chemical oddity. while an ignorant lecturer was describing the nature of gas, a blue-stocking lady inquired of a gentleman near her, what was the difference between oxygin and hydrogin? "very little, madam," said he; "by oxygin we mean pure _gin_; and by hydrogin, _gin and water_." mcdlxxxiv.--an apish resemblance. charles lamb used to say, that he had a great dislike to monkeys, on the principle that "it was not pleasant to look upon one's _poor relations_." mcdlxxxv.--he who sung "the lays of ancient rome." lord macaulay, passing one day through the seven dials, bought a handful of ballads from some street-folks who were bawling out their contents to a gaping audience. proceeding on his way home, he was astonished to find himself followed by half a score of urchins, their faces beaming with expectation. "now then, my lads, what is it?" said he. "o, that's a good 'un," replied one of the boys, "after we've come all this way."--"but what are you waiting for?" said the historian, astonished at the lad's familiarity. "waiting for! why ain't you going to _sing, guv'ner_?" mcdlxxxvi.--death-bed forgiveness. a veteran highlander, between whose family and that of a neighboring chieftain had existed a long hereditary feud, being on his death-bed, was reminded that this was the time to forgive all his enemies, even he who had most injured him. "well, be it so," said the old gael, after a short pause, "be it so; go tell kinmare i forgive him,--but my curses rest upon my son _if ever he does_." mcdlxxxvii.--a reasonable preference. whether tall men or short men are best, or bold men, or modest and shy men, i can't say, but this i protest, all the fair are in favor of _hy-men_. mcdlxxxviii.--a dear bargain. quin was one day lamenting that he grew old, when a shallow impertinent young fellow said to him, "what would you give to be as young as i am?"--"by the powers," replied quin, "i would even submit to be _almost as foolish_!" mcdlxxxix.--suggestive repudiation. lord byron was once asked by a friend in the green-room of the drury lane theatre, whether he did not think miss kelly's acting in the "_maid and the magpie_" exceedingly natural. "i really am no _judge_," answered his lordship, "i was never _innocent_ of stealing a spoon." mcdxc.--no intrusion. a loquacious author, after babbling some time about his piece to sheridan, said, "sir, i fear i have been intruding on your attention."--"not at all, i assure you," replied he, "i was thinking of _something else_." mcdxci.--experimentum crucis. a merchant being asked to define the meaning of _experimental_ and _natural_ philosophy, said he considered the _first_ to be asking a man to discount a bill at a long date, and the _second_ his refusing to do it. mcdxcii.--not at all anxious. a man very deeply in debt, being reprimanded by his friends for his disgraceful situation, and the _anxiety_ of a debtor being urged by them in very strong expressions: "ah!" said he, "that may be the case with a person who _thinks_ of paying." mcdxciii.--odd humor. when lord holland was on his death-bed, his friend george selwyn called to inquire how his lordship was, and left his card. this was taken to lord holland, who said: "if mr. selwyn calls again, show him into my room. if i am _alive_, i shall be glad to see him; if i am _dead_, i am sure that he will be delighted to see me." mcdxciv.--a ticklish opening. henry erskine happening to be retained for a client of the name of tickle, began his speech in opening the case, thus: "tickle, my client, the defendant, my lord,"--and upon proceeding so far was interrupted by laughter in court, which was increased when the judge (lord kaimes) exclaimed, "_tickle him yourself_, harry; you are as able to do so as i am." mcdxcv.--the republic of letters. hood suggests that the phrase "_republic_ of letters" was hit upon to insinuate that, taking the whole lot of authors together, they had not got a _sovereign_ amongst them. mcdxcvi.--an offensive preference. a person meeting with an acquaintance after a long absence, told him that he was surprised to see him, for he had heard that he was dead. "but," says the other, "you find the report false."--"'tis hard to determine," he replied, "for the man that told me was one whose word i would _sooner take than yours_." mcdxcvii.--self-condemnation. a country gentleman, walking in his garden, saw his gardener asleep in an arbor. "what!" says the master, "asleep, you idle dog, you are not worthy that the sun should shine on you."--"i am truly sensible of my unworthiness," answered the man, "and therefore i laid myself down in the _shade_." mcdxcviii.--an illegal indorsement. curran having one day a violent argument with a country schoolmaster on some classical subject, the pedagogue, who had the worst of it, said, in a towering passion, that he would lose no more time, and must go back to his scholars. "do, my dear doctor," said curran, "_but don't indorse my sins upon their backs_." mcdxcix.--a plumper. a young gentleman, with a bad voice, preached a probation sermon for a very good lectureship in the city. a friend, when he came out of the pulpit, wished him joy, and said, "he would certainly carry the election, _for he had nobody's voice against him but his own_." md.--a painful examination. in the course of an examination for the degree of b.a. in the senate house, cambridge, under an examiner whose name was payne, one of the questions was, "give a definition of happiness." to which a candidate returned the following laconic answer: "an _exemption_ from _payne_." mdi.--business and pleasure. a quaker (says hood) makes a pleasure of his business, and then, for relaxation, makes a _business_ of his _pleasure_. mdii.--information easily acquired. a friend, crossing putney bridge with theodore hook, observed that he had been informed that it was a very good investment, and inquired "if such were the case?"--"i don't know," was the answer; "but you ought, as you have just been _tolled_." mdiii.--a walking stick. an old gentleman accused his servant of having stolen his stick. the man protested perfect innocence. "why, you know," rejoined his master, "that the stick could never have walked off with itself."--"certainly not, sir, unless it was a _walking-stick_." mdiv.--charity and inconvenience. it is objected, and we admit often with truth, that the wealthy are ready to bestow their money, but not to endure personal inconvenience. the following anecdote is told in illustration: a late nobleman was walking in st. james's street, in a hard frost, when he met an agent, who began to importune his grace in behalf of some charity which had enjoyed his support. "put me down for what you please," peevishly exclaimed the duke; "but don't _keep me in the cold_." mdv.--a reason for belief. "do you believe in the apostolical succession?" inquired one of sydney smith. "i do," he replied: "and my faith in that dogma dates from the moment i became acquainted with the bishop of ----, _who is so like judas_." mdvi.--openly. no, varus hates a thing that's base; i own, indeed, he's got a knack of flattering people to their face, but scorns to do 't behind their back. mdvii.--painted charms. of a celebrated actress, who, in her declining days, bought charms of carmine and pearl-powder, jerrold said, "egad! she should have a hoop about her, with a notice upon it, '_beware of the paint_.'" mdviii.--on the spot. two oxonians dining together, one of them noticing a spot of grease on the neck-cloth of his companion, said, "i see you are a _grecian_."--"pooh!" said the other, "that is _far-fetched_."--"no, indeed," said the punster, "i made it on the _spot_." mdix.--mr. erskine's firmness. in the famous trial of the dean of asaph, mr. erskine put a question to the jury, relative to the meaning of their verdict. mr. justice buller objected to its propriety. the counsel reiterated his question, and demanded an answer. the judge again interposed his authority in these emphatic words: "sit down, mr. erskine; know your duty, or i shall be obliged to make you know it." mr. erskine with equal warmth replied, "i know _my duty_ as well as your lordship knows _your duty_. i stand here as the advocate of a fellow citizen, _and i will not sit down_." the judge was silent, and the advocate persisted in his question. mdx.--a shuffling answer. a fair devotee lamented to her confessor her love of gaming. "ah! madam," replied the reverend gentleman, "it is a grievous sin;--in the first place consider the _loss of time_."--"that's just what i do," said she; "i always begrudge the time that is lost in _shuffling and dealing_." mdxi.--the debt paid. to _john_ i owed great obligation; but _john_, unhappily, thought fit to publish it to all the nation: sure _john_ and i am more than quit. mdxii.--a utilitarian inquiry. james smith one night took old mr. twiss to hear mathews in his _at home_, to the whole of which the mathematician gave devoted attention. at the close, mr. smith asked him whether he had not been surprised and pleased. "both," replied mr. twiss, "but what _does it all go to prove_?" mdxiii.--an objectionable process. general d---- was more distinguished for gallantry in the field than for the care he lavished upon his person. complaining, on a certain occasion, to the late chief-justice bushe, of ireland, of the sufferings he endured from rheumatism, that learned and humorous judge undertook to prescribe a remedy. "you must desire your servant," he said to the general, "to place every morning by your bedside a tub three-parts filled with warm water. you will then get into the tub, and having previously provided yourself with a pound of yellow soap, you must rub your whole body with it, immersing yourself occasionally in the water, and at the end of a quarter of an hour, the process concludes by wiping yourself dry with towels, and scrubbing your person with a flesh-brush."--"why," said the general, after reflecting for a minute or two, "this seems to be neither more nor less than washing one's self."--"well, i must confess," rejoined the judge, "_it is open to that objection_." mdxiv.--epigram. (upon the late duke of buckingham's moderate reform.) for buckingham to hope to pit his bill against lord grey's is idle; reform, when offered _bit_ by _bit_, is but intended for a _bridle_. mdxv.--a dreadful suspicion. a gentleman leaving the company, somebody who sat next to dr. johnson asked who he was. "i cannot exactly tell you sir," replied the doctor, "and i should be loath to speak ill of any person whom i do not know deserves it, but i am afraid he is an _attorney_." mdxvi.--a familiar friend. sydney smith was annoyed one evening by the familiarity of a young gentleman, who, though a comparative stranger, was encouraged by smith's jocular reputation to address him by his surname alone. hearing the young man say that he was going that evening to see the archbishop of canterbury for the first time, the reverend wit interposed, "pray don't _clap him_ on the back, and call him howley." mdxvii.--no music in his soul. lord north, who had a great antipathy to music, being asked why he did not subscribe to the ancient concerts, and it being urged as a reason for it that his brother the bishop of winchester did, "ay," replied his lordship, "if i was as _deaf_ as my brother, i would _subscribe too_." mdxviii.--professional candor. a gentleman afflicted with rheumatism consulted a physician, who immediately wrote him a prescription. as the patient was going away the doctor called him back. "by the way, sir, should my prescription happen to afford you any relief, _please to let me know_, as i am myself suffering from _a similar affection_, and have tried _in vain to cure it_." mdxix.--tell it not in england. lady carteret, wife of the lord-lieutenant of ireland, in swift's time, one day said to the wit, "the air of this country is very good."--"don't say so in england, my lady," quickly replied the dean, "for if you do they will certainly _tax_ it." mdxx.--fashion and virtue. "what's fashionable, i'll maintain is always right," cries sprightly jane; "ah! would to heaven," cries graver sue, "what's _right_ were fashionable too." mdxxi.--professional companions. a gentleman, who was dining with another, praised the meat very much, and inquired who was his butcher. "his name is addison."--"addison!" echoed the guest; "pray is he any relation to the poet?"--"i can't say: but this i know, he is seldom without his _steel_ by his side." mdxxii.--why master of the house. a traveller coming up to an inn door, said: "pray, friend, are you the master of this house?"--"yes, sir," answered boniface, "my wife has been _dead these three weeks_." mdxxiii.--precautionary. lord john russell, remarkable for the smallness of his person as lord nugent was for the reverse, was expected at a house where sydney smith was a guest. "lord john comes here to-day," said sydney smith, "his corporeal anti-part, lord nugent, is already here. heaven send he may not _swallow john_! there are, however, _stomach-pumps_ in case of accident." mdxxiv.--a late discoverer. a very dull man, after dinner, had been boring the company with a long discourse, in the course of which he had given utterance to ethical views as old as the hills, as though he had just discovered them. when he had done repeating his truisms, charles lamb gravely said: "then, sir, you are actually prepared to maintain that a thief is not _altogether a moral man_." mdxxv.--lines to o'keefe. (said to be written by peter pindar.) they say, o'keefe, thou art a thief, that half thy works are stolen or more; i say o'keefe, thou art no thief, such stuff was never writ before! mdxxvi.--profession and practice. a young lawyer who had been "admitted" about a year, was asked by a friend, "how do you like your new profession?" the reply was accompanied by a brief sigh to suit the occasion: "my _profession_ is much better than my _practice_." mdxxvii.--a riskful adventure. mr. reynolds, the dramatist, once met a _free_ and _easy_ actor, who told him that he had passed three festive days at the seat of the marquis and marchioness of ----, _without any invitation_. he had gone there on the assumption that as my lord and lady were not on _speaking terms_, _each_ would suppose the _other_ had asked him, and so it turned out. mdxxviii.--wonderful unanimity. judge clayton was an honest man, but not a profound lawyer. soon after he was raised to the irish bench, he happened to dine in company with counsellor harwood, celebrated for his fine brogue, his humor, and his legal knowledge. clayton began to make some observations on the laws of ireland. "in my country" (england), said he, "the laws are numerous, but then one is always found to be a key to the other. in ireland it is just the contrary; your laws so perpetually clash with one another, and are so very contradictory, that i protest _i don't understand them_."--"true, my lord," cried harwood, "_that is what we all say_." mdxxix.--a michaelmas meeting. samuel taylor coleridge was so bad a horseman, that when mounted he generally attracted unfavorable notice. on a certain occasion he was riding along a turnpike road, in the county of durham, when he was met by a wag, who, mistaking his man, thought the rider a good subject for sport. "i say, young man," cried the rustic, "did you see a _tailor_ on the road?"--"yes, i did; and he told me that, if i went a little further, i should meet a _goose_." mdxxx.--a typographical transfer. the editor of the _evangelical observer_, in reference to a certain person, took occasion to write that he was _rectus in ecclesia_, _i.e._, in good standing in the church. the compositor, in the editor's absence, converted it into _rectus in culina_, which although not very bad latin, altered the sense very materially, giving the reverend gentleman _a good standing in the kitchen_. mdxxxi.--epigram. (upon the trustworthiness of ---- ----.) he'll keep a secret well, or i'm deceived, for what he says will never be believed. mdxxxii.--going to extremes. when ladies wore their dresses very low and very short, a wit observed that "they began too late and ended too soon." mdxxxiii.--silent appreciation. a gentleman gave a friend some first-rate wine, which he tasted and drank, making no remark upon it. the owner, disgusted at his guest's want of appreciation, next offered some strong but inferior wine, which the guest had no sooner tasted than he exclaimed that it was excellent wine. "but you said nothing of _the first_" remarked his host "o," replied the other, "the first required nothing being said of it. _it spoke for itself._ i thought the second wanted a _trumpeter_." mdxxxiv.--justice midas. a judge, joking a young barrister, said, "if you and i were turned into a horse and an ass, which would you prefer to be?"--"the ass, to be sure," replied the barrister. "i've heard of an ass being made a judge, but a horse never." mdxxxv.--a significant difference. at an hotel at brighton, douglas jerrold was dining with two friends, one of whom, after dinner, ordered "a bottle of _old_ port."--"waiter," added jerrold, with a significant twinkle of his eye, "mind now; a bottle of your _old_ port, not your _elder_ port." mdxxxvi.--law and physic. when dr. h. and sergeant a. were walking arm-in-arm, a wag said to a friend, "these two are just equal to one highwayman."--"why?" was the response. "because it is a lawyer and a doctor--_your money or your life_." mdxxxvii.--euclid refuted. "a part," says euclid, "one at once may see, unto the whole can never equal be"; yet w----'s speeches can this fact control, of them a part is equal to the whole. mdxxxviii.--keeping it to himself. burke once mentioned to fox that he had written a tragedy. "did you let garrick see it?" inquired his friend: "no," replied burke; "though i had the folly to _write_ it, i had the wit to keep it _to myself_." mdxxxix.--classical wit. dr. maginn dining with a friend on ham and chicken, addressed sukey boyle, his friend's housekeeper, thus: "you know, boyle, what old ovid, in his 'art of love' (book iii.), says; i give you the same wish:-- "'semper tibi _pendeat hamus_,' may you always have a _ham_ hanging in your kitchen." the doctor insisted that tea was well known to the romans, "for," said he, "even in the time of plautus it was a favorite beverage with the ladies,-- "'amant _te_ omnes mulieres.'" _miles glor._, act i., sc. i., v. . observing sukey boyle, he said to his friend, "ah! john, i see you follow the old advice we both learned at school, [greek: charizou tê psychê], 'indulge yourself with sukey.'" there was some hock at dinner, which he thus eulogized:-- "'hoc tum sævas paulatim mitigat iras, hoc minuit luctus moestaque corda levat.'" _ov. trist._, lib. iv., _el._ vi., v. , . mdxl.--a preferable way. one of the kembles made his first appearance on the stage as an opera singer. his voice was, however, so bad, that at a rehearsal the conductor of the orchestra called out, "mr. kemble! mr. kemble! you are murdering the music!"--"my dear sir," was the quiet rejoinder, "it is far better to murder it outright, than to keep on _beating it as you do_." mdxli.--a stout swimmer. some one jocularly observed to the marquis wellesley, that, in his arrangements of the ministry, his brother, the duke, had thrown him overboard. "yes," said the marquis; "but i trust i have strength enough to swim _to the other side_." mdxlii.--a choice of evils. one asked his friend, why he married so _little_ a wife? "why," said he, "i thought you knew, that of all evils we should choose the _least_." mdxliii.--resting herself. a laborer's daughter, who had been in service from her childhood, would frequently wish to be married, that, as she expressed herself, she might _rest her bones_. some time afterwards she got married, and her late mistress meeting her, asked her, "well, mary, have you rested your bones yet?"--"yes, indeed," replied she, with a sigh, "i have rested my _jaw-bones_." mdxliv.--a chartist not a leveller. a chartist at a public meeting, in the course of a speech about the "five points" of the charter, exclaimed, "gentlemen, is not one man as good as another?"--"uv course he is," shouted an excited irish chartist, "and _a great deal betther_." mdxlv.--death and dr. bolus. "my dart," cried death, "i cannot find, so now i'm quite at sea." quoth dr. bolus, "never mind,-- there, take this recipe." mdxlvi.--an evasion. a well-dressed fellow walked into a room where they were talking politics, and, stretching himself up to his full height, exclaimed, in a loud voice, "where is a radical? show me a radical, gentlemen, and i'll show you a liar!" in an instant a man exclaimed, "i am a radical, sir!"--"_you_ are?"--"yes, sir, i _am_!"--"well, just you step round the corner with me, and i'll _show you_ a fellow who said i couldn't find a radical in the ward. ain't _he_ a liar, i should like to know?" mdxlvii.--going from the point. curran, in describing a speech made by sergeant hewitt, said: "my learned friend's speech put me exactly in mind of a familiar utensil in domestic use, commonly called an _extinguisher_. it began at a point, and on it went widening and widening, until at last it fairly put the question out altogether." mdxlviii.--defining a creed. a friend of sydney smith inquired, "what is puseyism!" to which the witty canon replied: "puseyism, sir, is inflexion and genuflexion; posture and imposture; bowing to the east, and curtseying to the west." mdxlix.--a bit of moonshine. brougham, speaking of the salary attached to a new judgeship, said it was all moonshine. lyndhurst, in his dry and waggish way, remarked, "may be so, my lord harry; but i have a strong notion that, moonshine though it be, you would like to see the _first quarter_ of it." mdl.--epigram. when at the head of our most gracious king, disloyal collins did his pebble fling,-- "why choose," with tears the injured monarch said, "so hard a stone to break so soft a head?" mdli.--a kind hint. lord grey complains that he cannot succeed in pleasing any party. he should follow the example of duellists, and by _going out_ he would certainly give _satisfaction_. mdlii.--priest's orders. an actor named priest was playing at one of the principal theatres. some one remarked to the garrick club that there were a great many men in the pit. "probably clerks _who have taken priest's orders_," said mr. poole, one of the best punsters as well as one of the cleverest comic satirists of the day. mdliii.--sheridan and burke. after a very violent speech from an opposition member, mr. burke started suddenly from his seat, and rushed to the ministerial side of the house, exclaiming with much vehemence, "i quit the camp! i quit the camp!"--"i hope," said mr. sheridan, "as the honorable gentleman has quitted the camp as a _deserter_, he will not return as a _spy_." mdliv.--always the better. a cambridge tutor said to his pupil, "if you go over to newmarket, beware of betting, for in nine cases out of ten it brings a man to ruin."--"sir," said the youth, "i must really differ from you; so far from ever being the worse for it, i have invariably been _the better_." mdlv.--a pungent pinch. when curran was cross-examining lundy foot, the celebrated irish tobacconist, he put a question at which lundy hesitated a great deal: "lundy," exclaimed curran, "that's a poser,--a deuse of a _pinch_, lundy!" mdlvi.--"off with his head." an eminent painter, who had suffered, under the common malady of his profession, namely, to paint portraits for persons who neither paid for them nor took them away, sent word to an ugly customer who refused to pay, that he was in treaty for the picture with the landlord of the "_saracen's head_." it was paid for immediately. mdlvii.--on a great talker. to hear dash by the hour blunder forth his vile prose, job himself scarcely patience could keep; he's so dull that each moment we're ready to doze, yet so noisy we can't go to sleep. mdlviii.--dry humor. an irish post-boy having driven a gentleman a long stage during torrents of rain, was asked if he was not very wet? "arrah! i wouldn't care about being _very wet_, if i wasn't so _very dry_, your honor." mdlix.--change for a guinea. the beautiful lady coventry was exhibiting to selwyn a splendid new dress, covered with large silver spangles, the size of a shilling, and inquired of him whether he admired her taste. "why," he said, "you will be _change for a guinea_." mdlx.--as black as he could be painted. a little boy one day came running home, and said, "o father, i've just seen the blackest man that ever was!"--"how black was he, my son?"--"o, he was as black as black can be! why, father, charcoal would make a _white_ mark on him!" mdlxi.--a man and a brother. harry woodward, walking with a friend, met a most miserable object, who earnestly solicited their charity. on woodward giving a few pence, his friend said, "i believe that fellow is an impostor."--"he is either the most distressed man, or the best actor, i ever saw in my life," replied the comedian: "and, as _either one or the other, he has a brotherly claim upon me_." mdlxii.--pulling up a poet. a poet was once walking with t----, in the street, reciting some of his verses. t---- perceiving, at a short distance, a man yawning, pointed him out to the poet, saying, "not so loud, _he hears you_." mdlxiii.--an honor to tipperary. a gentleman from ireland, on entering a london tavern, saw a countryman of his, a tipperary squire, sitting over his pint of wine in the coffee-room. "my dear fellow," said he, "what are you about? for the honor of tipperary, don't be after sitting over a pint of wine in a house like this!"--"make yourself aisy, countryman," was the reply, "it's the _seventh_ i have had, and every one in the room _knows it_." mdlxiv.--witty thanksgiving. barham having sent his friend, sydney smith, a brace of pheasants, the present was acknowledged in the following characteristic epistle: "many thanks, my dear sir, for your kind present of game. if there is a pure and elevated pleasure in this world, it is that of roast pheasant and bread sauce; barn-door fowls for dissenters, but for the real churchman, the thirty-nine times articled clerk, the pheasant, the pheasant.--ever yours, _s.s._" mdlxv.--a reason for not moving. thomson, the author of the "seasons," was wonderfully indolent. a friend entered his room, and finding him in bed, although the day was far spent, asked him why he did not get up. "man, i hae _nae motive_," replied the poet. mdlxvi.--killed by his own remedy. the surgeon of an english ship of war used to prescribe salt water for his patients in all disorders. having sailed one evening on a party of pleasure, he happened by some mischance to be drowned. the captain, who had not heard of the disaster, asked one of the tars next day if he had heard anything of the doctor. "yes," answered jack: "he was drowned last night in his _own medicine chest_." mdlxvii.--nothing surprising. admiral lee, when only a post captain, being on board his ship one very rainy and stormy night, the officer of the watch came down to his cabin and cried, "sir, the sheet-anchor is coming home."--"indeed," says the captain, "i think the sheet-anchor is perfectly in the _right_ of it. i don't know what would _stay out_ such a stormy night as this." mdlxviii.--running no risk. "i'm very much surprised," quoth harry, "that jane a gambler should marry." "i'm not at all," her sister says, "you know he has such _winning ways_!" mdlxix.--a humorist piqued. theodore hook was relating to his friend, charles mathews, how, on one occasion, when supping in the company of peake, the latter surreptitiously removed from his plate several slices of tongue; and, affecting to be very much annoyed by such practical joking, hook concluded with the question, "now, charles, what would _you_ do to anybody who treated you in such a manner?"--"do?" exclaimed mathews, "if any man meddled with _my_ tongue, i'd _lick_ him!" mdlxx.--not room for a neighbor. a landed proprietor in the small county of rutland became very intimate with the duke of argyle, to whom, in the plenitude of his friendship, he said: "how i wish your estate were in my county!" upon which the duke replied: "i'm thinking, if it were, there would be _no room for yours_." mdlxxi.--an unexpected cannonade. at one of the annual dinners of the members of the chapel royal, a gentleman had been plaguing edward cannon with a somewhat dry disquisition on the noble art of fencing. cannon for some time endured it with patience; but at length, on the man remarking that sir george d---- was a great fencer, cannon, who disliked him, replied, "i don't know, sir, whether sir george is a great fencer, but sir george is a great fool!" a little startled, the other rejoined, "possibly he is; but then, you know, a man may be both."--"_so i see, sir_," said cannon, turning away. mdlxxii.--on butler's monument. while butler, needy wretch, was yet alive, no generous patron would a dinner give. see him, when starved to death and turned to dust, presented with a monumental bust. the poet's fate is here in emblem shown,-- he asked for bread, and he received a stone. mdlxxiii.--a word in season. mrs. powell the actress was at a court of assize when a young barrister, who rose to make his maiden speech, suddenly stopped short and could not proceed. the lady, feeling for his situation, cried out, as though he had been a young actor on his first appearance, "somebody _give him the word_,--somebody give him the word!" mdlxxiv.--"getting the worst of it." porson was once disputing with an acquaintance, who, getting the worst of it, said, "professor, _my opinion_ of you is most contemptible."--"sir," returned the great grecian, "i never knew an _opinion_ of yours that was _not contemptible_." mdlxxv.--a satisfactory explanation. one of the curiosities some time since shown at a public exhibition, professed to be a skull of oliver cromwell. a gentleman present observed that it could not be cromwell's, as he had a very large head, and this was a small skull. "o, i know all that," said the exhibitor, undisturbed, "but you see this was his skull when _he was a boy_." mdlxxvi.--"i takes 'em as they come." a cantab, one day observing a _ragamuffin-looking_ boy scratching his head at the door of alderman purchase, in cambridge, where he was begging, and thinking to pass a joke upon him, said, "so, jack, you are picking them out, are you?"--"_nah, sar_," retorted the urchin; "i _takes_ 'em as they come!" mdlxxvu.--a climax. the late earl dudley wound up an eloquent tribute to the virtues of a deceased baron of the exchequer with this pithy peroration: "he was a good man, an excellent man. he had the best _melted butter_ i ever tasted in my life." mdlxxviii.--blank cartridge. epigram on the occasion of the duel between tom moore, the poet, and francis jeffrey:-- when anacreon would fight, as the poets have said, a reverse he displayed in his vapor, for while all his poems were loaded with lead, his pistols were loaded with paper. for excuses, anacreon old custom may thank, such a _salvo_ he should not abuse; for the cartridge, by rule, is always made blank, which is fired away at _reviews_. mdlxxix.--sermons in stones. the duke of wellington having had his windows broken by the mob, continued to have boards before the windows of his house in piccadilly. "strange that the duke will not renounce his political errors," said a'beckett, "seeing that _no pains have been spared_ to convince him of them." mdlxxx.--early habits. there was in wilkes's time a worthy person, who had risen from the condition of a bricklayer to be an alderman of london. among other of his early habits, the civic dignitary retained that of eating everything with his fingers. one day a choice bit of turbot having repeatedly escaped from his grasp, wilkes, who witnessed the dilemma, whispered, "my lord, you had better take your _trowel_ to it." mdlxxxi.--law and the scottish thane. during the representation of "macbeth," an eminent special pleader graced the boxes of drury lane theatre, to see it performed. when the hero questions the _witches_, as to what they are doing: they answer, "a deed without a name." our counsellor, whose attention was at that moment directed more to coke upon littleton than to shakespeare, catching, however, the words in the play, repeated, "a _deed_ without a _name_! why, 't is _void_." mdlxxxii.--not to be believed. the following lines were addressed to a gentleman notoriously addicted to the vice which has been euphemistically described as "the postponement of the truth for the purposes of the moment":-- whoe'er would learn a fact from you, must take you by contraries; what you deny, _perhaps_ is true; but nothing that you _swear_ is. mdlxxxiii.--a reason for polygamy. an irishman was once brought up before a magistrate, charged with marrying six wives. the magistrate asked him how he could be so hardened a villain? "please your worship," says paddy, "i was just trying to _get a good one_." mdlxxxiv.--byron libellous. the conversation at holland house turning on first love, thomas moore compared it to a potato, "because it shoots from the eyes."--"or rather," exclaimed lord byron, "because it becomes less by _pairing_." mdlxxxv.--a terrible possibility. an acquaintance remarked to dr. robert south, the celebrated preacher at the court of charles the second, "ah! doctor, you are such a wit!" the doctor replied, "don't make game of people's infirmities: _you_, sir, might have been born a wit!" mdlxxxvi.--attired to tire. sir joseph jekyll wrote the following impromptu, on observing a certain sergeant, well known for his prosiness, bustling into the court of king's bench, where he was engaged in a case:-- behold the sergeant full of fire, long shall his hearers rue it; his purple garments _came from tyre_, his arguments _go to it_. mdlxxxvii.--a small joke. mr. dale, who it would appear was a short stout man, had a person in his employment named matthew, who was permitted that familiarity with his master which was so characteristic of the former generation. one winter day, mr. dale came into the counting-house, and complained that he had fallen on the ice. matthew, who saw that his master was not much hurt, grinned a sarcastic smile. "i fell all my length," said mr. dale. "_nae great length_, sir," said matthew. "indeed, matthew, ye need not laugh," said mr. dale, "i have hurt the sma' of my back."--"i wunner whaur _that_ is," said matthew. mdlxxxviii.--a vain threat. "mr. brown, i owe you a grudge, remember that!"--"i shall not be frightened then, for i never knew you to _pay_ anything that you owe." mdlxxxix.--poor law. "pray, my lord," asked a fashionable lady of lord kenyon, "what do you think my son had better do in order to succeed in the law?"--"let him spend all his money: marry a rich wife, and spend all hers: and when he has _not got a shilling_ in the world, let him attack the law." such was the advice of an old chief justice. mdxc.--cause and effect. it is too true that there are many patriots, who, while they bleat about the "_cause_ of liberty," act in so interested a manner that they are evidently looking more after the _effects_. mdxci.--a fair distribution. when the british ships under lord nelson were bearing down to attack the combined fleet off trafalgar, the first lieutenant of the "revenge," on going round to see that all hands were at quarters, observed one of the men,--an irishman,--devoutly kneeling at the side of his gun. so very unusual an attitude exciting his surprise and curiosity he asked the man if he was afraid. "afraid," answered the tar, "no, your honor; i was only praying that the enemy's shot may be distributed in the same proportion _as the prize-money_,--the greatest part _among the officers_." mdxcii.--something sharp. when we heard ---- say a thing of some acidity the other night in the house of commons, the honorable member reminded us of a calf's head with a lemon in it.--g. a'b. mdxciii.--an affectionate hint. a namesake of charles fox having been hung at tyburn, the latter inquired of george selwyn whether he had attended the execution? "no," was his reply, "i make a point of never attending _rehearsals_!" mdxciv.--a simile. vane's speeches to an hour-glass, do some resemblance show; because the longer time they run, the shallower they grow! mdxcv.--a wide difference. rowland hill rode a great deal, and exercise preserved him in vigorous health. on one occasion, when asked by a medical friend what physician and apothecary he employed, to be always so well, he replied, "my physician has always been a _horse_, and my apothecary an _ass_!" mdxcvi.--aspiring poverty. a roman catholic prelate requested pugin, the architect, to furnish designs, etc., for a new church. it was to be "_very_ large, _very_ handsome, and _very_ cheap"; the parties purposing to erect being "very poor; in fact, having only £----."--"say _thirty shillings_ more," replied the astonished architect, "and have a tower and spire at once!" mdxcvii.--a tender suggestion. a beggar in dublin had been long besieging an old, gouty, testy gentleman, who roughly refused to relieve him. the mendicant civilly replied, "i wish your honor's _heart was as tender as your toes_." mdxcviii.--sudden freedom. a nation grown free in a single day is a child born with the limbs and the vigor of a man, who would take a drawn sword for his rattle, and set the house in a blaze, that he might chuckle over the splendor.--s.s. mdxcix.--epigram. thy flattering picture, phryne, 's like to thee only in this, that you both painted be. mdc.--answering her according to her folly. a lady having put to canning the silly question, "why have they made the spaces in the iron gate at spring gardens so narrow?" he replied, "o, ma'am, because such _very fat people used to go through_" (a reply concerning which tom moore remarked that "the person who does not relish it can have no perception of real wit"). mdci.--the sun in his eye. lord plunkett had a son in the church at the time the tithe corporation act was passed, and warmly supported the measure. some one observed, "i wonder how it is that so sensible a man as plunkett _cannot see_ the imperfections in the tithe corporation act!"--"pooh! pooh!" said norbury, "the reason's plain enough; he has _the sun (son) in his eye_." mdcii.--a bright rejoinder. an englishman paying an irish shoeblack with rudeness, the "dirty urchin" said, "my honey, all the _polish_ you have is upon your boots and i gave you that." mdciii.--well turned. on the formation of the grenville administration, bushe, who had the reputation of a waverer, apologized one day for his absence from court, on the ground that he was _cabinet-making_. the chancellor maliciously disclosed the excuse on his return. "o, indeed, my lord, that is an occupation in which my friend would distance me, as i was never a _turner_ or a _joiner_." mdciv.--a quick lie. a conceited coxcomb, with a very patronizing air, called out to an irish laborer, "here, you bogtrotter, come and tell me the greatest lie you can, and i'll treat you to a jug of whiskey-punch."--"by my word," said pat, "an' yer honor's a _gintleman_!" mdcv.--a merry thought. they cannot be complete in aught who are not humorously prone; a man without a merry thought can hardly have a funny bone. mdcvi.--an impudent wit. hook one day walking in the strand with a friend, had his attention directed to a very pompous gentleman, who strutted along as if the street were his own. instantly leaving his companion, hook went up to the stranger and said, "i beg your pardon sir, but pray may i ask,--_are you anybody in particular_?" before the astonished magnifico could collect himself so as to reply practically or otherwise to the query, hook had passed on. mdcvii.--wearing away. a schoolmaster said of himself: "i am like a _hone_, i sharpen a number of _blades_, but i wear myself in doing it." mdcviii.--a pertinent question. judge jeffreys, of notorious memory (pointing with his cane to a man who was about to be tried), said, "there is a great rogue at the end of my cane." the man pointed at, inquired, "_at which end_, my lord?" mdcix.--a base joke. a gentleman one day observed to henry erskine, that punning was the _lowest_ of wit. "it is," answered erskine, "and therefore the _foundation_ of all wit." mdcx.--a wide-awake minister. lord north's good humor and readiness were of admirable service to him when the invectives of his opponents would have discomforted a graver minister. he frequently indulged in a real or seeming slumber. on one occasion, an opposition debater, supposing him to be napping, exclaimed, "even now, in these perils, the noble lord is asleep!"--"i wish _i was_," suddenly interposed the weary minister. mdcxi.--on cardinal wolsey. begot by butchers, but by bishops bred, how high his honor holds his haughty head! mdcxii.--not finding himself. "how do you find yourself to-day," said an old friend to jack reeve, as he met him going in dinner costume to the city. "thank you," he replied, "the lord mayor _finds me_ to-day." mdcxiii.--a witty proposition. sheridan, being on a parliamentary committee, one day entered the room as all the members were seated and ready to commence business. perceiving no empty seat, he bowed, and looking round the table with a droll expression of countenance, said: "will any gentleman _move_ that i may take the _chair_?" mdcxiv.--a warm man. a man with a scolding wife, being asked what his occupation was, replied that he kept a _hot-house_. mdcxv.--long ago. a lady, who was very submissive and modest before marriage, was observed by a friend to use her tongue pretty freely after. "there was a time," he remarked, "when i almost imagined she had _no tongue_."--"yes," said the husband, with a sigh, "but it's very _very long_ since!" mdcxvi.--an unlikely result. when sir thomas more was brought a prisoner to the tower, the lieutenant, who had formerly received many favors from him, offered him "suche poore cheere" as he had; to which the ex-chancellor replied, "assure yourself, master lieutenant, i do not mislike my cheer; but whensoever so i do, _then thrust me out of your doors_." mdcxvii.--political logic. if two decided negatives will make together one affirmative, let's take p----t's and l----t's, each a rogue _per se_, who by this rule an honest pair will be. mdcxviii.--a wise decision. a gentleman going to take water at whitehall stairs, cried out, as he came near the place, "who can swim?"--"i, master," said forty bawling mouths; when the gentleman observing one slinking away, called after him; but the fellow turning about, said, "sir, i cannot swim,"--"then you are my man," said the gentleman, "for you will at least _take care of me for your own sake_." mdcxix.--a point needing to be settled. a scottish minister being one day engaged in visiting some members of his flock, came to the door of a house where his gentle tapping could not be heard for the noise of contention within. after waiting a little he opened the door and walked in, saying, with an authoritative voice, "i should like to know who is the head of this house?"--"weel, sir," said the husband and father, "if ye sit doon a wee, we'll maybe be able to tell ye, for we're _just trying to settle that point_." mdcxx.--a poor laugh. curran was just rising to cross-examine a witness before a judge who was familiar with the dry-as-dust black-letter law books, but could never comprehend a jest, when the witness began to laugh before the learned counsel had asked him a question. "what are you laughing at, friend," said curran, "what are you laughing at? let me tell you that a laugh without a joke is like--is like--"--"like what, mr. curran," asked the judge, imagining he was at fault. "just exactly, my lord, like a _contingent remainder_ without any particular _estate_ to support it." mdcxxi.--an anticipated calamity. on the departure of bishop selwyn for his diocese, new zealand, sydney smith, when taking his leave of him, said: "good by, my dear selwyn; i hope you will not _disagree_ with the man who eats you!" mdcxxii.--matrimony. "my dear, what makes you always yawn?" the wife exclaimed, her temper gone, "is home so dull and dreary?" "not so, my love," he said, "not so; but man and wife are _one_, you know; and when _alone_ i'm weary!" mdcxxiii.--dry, but not thirsty. curran, conversing with sir thomas turton, happened to remark that he could never speak in public for a quarter of an hour without moistening his lips; to which sir thomas replied that, in that respect, he had the advantage of him: "i spoke," said he, "the other night in the house of commons for five hours, on the nabob of oude, and never felt in the least thirsty."--"it _is_ very remarkable indeed" rejoined curran, "for every one agrees that was the _driest_ speech of the session." mdcxxiv.--shakespearian grog. as for the brandy, "nothing extenuate,"--and the water, "put naught in, in malice." mdcxxv.--a jury case. curran, speaking of his loss of business in the court of chancery caused by lord clare's hostility to him, and of the consequent necessity of resuming _nisi prius_ business, said: "i had been under full sail to fortune; but the tempest came, and nearly wrecked me, and ever since i have been only bearing up under _jury_-masts." mdcxxvi.--something to be grateful for. lord alvanley, after his duel with young o'connell, gave a guinea to the hackney-coachman who had driven him to and from the scene of the encounter. the man, surprised at the largeness of the sum, said, "my lord, i only took you to--" alvanley interrupted him with, "my friend, the guinea is for _bringing me back_, not for taking me out." mdcxxvii.--"the ruling passion strong in death." a dying miser sent for his solicitor, and said, "now begin, and i will dictate particulars."--"i give and i bequeath," commenced the man of law. "no, no," interrupted the testator; "i do nothing of the kind; i will never give or bequeath anything: i cannot do it."--"well, then," suggested the attorney, after some consideration, "suppose you say, 'i _lend_, until the last day?'"--"yes, yes, _that will do_," eagerly rejoined the miser. mdcxxviii.--an endless task. who seeks to please all men each way, and not himself offend, he may begin his work to-day, but who knows when he'll end? mdcxxix.--professional recognition. miss kelly standing one day in the street, enjoying the vagaries of punch with the rest of the crowd, the showman came up to her and solicited a contribution. she was not very ready in answering the demand, when the fellow, taking care to make her understand that he knew who she was, exclaimed, "ah! it's all over with the _drama_, if we don't encourage one another." mdcxxx.--a celestial vision. quin, being asked by a lady why there were more women in the world than men, replied, "it is in conformity with the other arrangements of nature, madam; we always see more of _heaven than earth_." mdcxxxi.--destitution of the smith family. one morning a pompous little man called upon sydney smith, saying that, being about to compile a history of distinguished families in somersetshire, he had called to obtain the smith _arms_. "i regret, sir," said the reverend wit, "not to be able to contribute to so valuable a work; but _the smiths_ never had any _arms_, and have invariably sealed their letters with their _thumbs_." mdcxxxii.--uncivil warning. a celebrated professor, dining in company with a gaudy, discordant, and silly chatterer, was asked to help her to the usual concomitant of boiled fowl. as he did so, he abstractedly murmured, "parsley,--_fatal to parrots_." mdcxxxiii.--an inevitable misfortune. when boswell was first introduced to dr. johnson, he apologized to him for being a scotchman. "i find," said he, "that i am come to london at a bad time, when great popular prejudice has gone forth against us north britons; but when i am talking to you, i am talking to a large and liberal mind, and you know that i cannot _help coming from scotland_."--"sir," replied the doctor, archly, "_no more_ can the rest of your countrymen." mdcxxxiv.--done for. two gentlemen were lately examining the breast of a plough on a stall in a market-place. "i'll bet you a crown," said one, "you don't know what it's for."--"done," said the other. "_it is for sale_." the bet was paid. mdcxxxv.--a problem for total abstainers. thomas hood says: "puny draughts can hardly be called drinking. _pints_ cannot be deemed _pot_ations." mdcxxxvi.--the dog tax. brown drops in. brown is said to be the toady of jones. when jones has the influenza, brown dutifully catches cold in the head. douglas jerrold remarked to brown, "have you heard the rumor that's flying about town?"--"no."--"well, they say that jones _pays the dog-tax for you_." mdcxxxvii.--a pun with an irish accent. hood described a good church minister as "piety _parsonified_." mdcxxxviii.--a new way with attorneys. one day a simple farmer, who had just buried a rich relation, an attorney, was complaining of the great expense of a funeral cavalcade in the country. "why, do you _bury_ your attorneys here?" asked foote. "yes, to be sure we do: how else?"--"o, we never do that in london."--"no?" said the other, much surprised; "how do you manage, then?"--"why, when the patient happens to die, we lay him out in a room over night by himself, lock the door, throw open the window, and in the morning he is gone."--"indeed!" exclaimed the farmer, with amazement; "what becomes of him?"--"why, that we cannot exactly tell; all we know is, there's _a strong smell of brimstone in the room the next morning_." mdcxxxix.--the doubt explained. a man with a very short nose was continually ridiculing another, whose nose was remarkably long. the latter said to him one day, "you are always making observations upon _my nose_; perhaps you think it was made at the _expense_ of yours." mdcxl.--a yokshire bull. a yorkshire clergyman, preaching for the blind asylum, began by gravely remarking: "if all the world were blind, what a melancholy _sight_ it would be!" mdcxli.--a one-sided joke. a lady requested her husband's permission to wear _rouge_. "i can give you permission, my dear," he replied, "only for _one_ cheek." mdcxlii.--two cures for ague. bishop blomfield, when presiding over the diocese of london, had occasion to call the attention of the essex incumbents to the necessity of residing in their parishes; and he reminded them that curates were, after all, of the same flesh and blood as rectors, and that the residence which was possible for the one, could not be quite impossible for the other. "besides," added he, "there are two well-known preservatives against ague; the one is, a _good deal of care_ and a _little port wine_; the other, a _little care_ and a _good deal of port wine_. i prefer the former; but if any of the clergy prefer the _latter_, it is at all events a remedy which _incumbents_ can afford better than _curates_." mdcxliii.--a question of descent. a yorkshire nobleman, who was fond of boasting of his norman descent, said to one of his tenants, whom he thought was not addressing him with proper respect: "do you know, fellow, that my ancestors came over with william the conqueror?"--"and, perhaps," retorted the sturdy saxon, "they _found mine here_ when they comed." mdcxliv.--pleasant for a father. a laird's eldest son was rather a simpleton. laird says, "i am going to send the young laird abroad."--"what for?" asks the tenant. laird answered, "to see the world." tenant replied, "but lordsake, laird, will no the world see _him_?" mdcxlv.--a rule of practice. it was said of a bath physician, that he could not prescribe even for himself without a _fee_, and therefore, when unwell, he took a guinea out of one pocket and put it _into the other_. mdcxlvi.--wits agreeing. when foote was one day lamenting his growing old, a _pert_ young fellow asked him what he would give to be as _young_ as he. "i would be content," cried foote, "to be as _foolish_." jerrold made a similar reply to an empty-headed fellow who boasted of never being seasick. "never!" said douglas; "then i'd almost have your head with your stomach." mdcxlvii.--literary pastime. once a gentleman, who had the marvellous gift of shaping a great many things out of orange-peel, was displaying his abilities at a dinner-party before theodore hook and mr. thomas hill, and succeeded in counterfeiting a pig. mr. hill tried the same feat; and, after destroying and strewing the table with the peel of a dozen oranges, gave it up, with the exclamation, "hang the pig! i _can't_ make him."--"nay, hill," exclaimed hook, glancing at the mess on the table, "you have done more; instead of one pig, you have made a _litter_." mdcxlviii.--a free translation. manners, who had himself but lately been made earl of rutland, told sir thomas more "he was too much elated with his preferment; that he verified the old proverb, 'honores mutant mores.'"--"no, my lord," said sir thomas, "the pun will do much better in english, 'honors _change_ manners.'" mdcxlix.--an equivocal preference. a gentleman was describing to douglas jerrold the story of his courtship and marriage,--how his wife had been brought up in a convent, and was on the point of taking the veil, when his presence burst upon her enraptured sight, and she accepted him as her husband. jerrold listened to the end of the story, and then quietly remarked, "ah! she evidently thought you better than _nun_." mdcl.--reciprocal action. a very fat man, for the purpose of quizzing his doctor, asked him to prescribe for a complaint, which he declared was sleeping with his mouth open. "sir," said the doctor, "your disease is incurable. your skin is _too short_, so that when you shut your eyes your mouth opens." mdcli.--acres and wiseacres. a wealthy but weak-headed barrister once remarked to curran that "no one should be admitted to the bar who had not an independent landed property."--"may i ask, sir," replied curran, "how many acres make a _wise-acre_?" mdclii.--an unequal arrangement. two young irishmen, wishing to live cheaply, and to divide their expenses, agreed the one to _board_, and the other to _lodge_. mdcliii.--a reason for being too late. canning and another gentleman were looking at a picture of the deluge: the ark was in the middle distance; in the fore-sea an elephant was seen struggling with his fate. "i wonder," said the gentleman, "that the elephant did not secure _an inside_ place."--"he was too late, my friend," replied canning; "he was detained _packing up his trunk_." mdcliv.--cool as a cucumber. some one was mentioning in lamb's presence the cold-heartedness of the duke of cumberland, in restraining the duchess from rushing up to the embrace of her son, whom she had not seen for a considerable time, and insisting on her receiving him in state. "how horribly _cold_ it was," said the narrator. "yes," replied lamb, in his stuttering way; "but you know he is the, duke of _cu-cum-ber-land_." mdclv.--an ample apology. a clergyman at cambridge preached a sermon which one of his auditors commended. "yes," said the gentleman to whom it was mentioned, "it was a good sermon, but he stole it." this was repeated to the preacher, who resented it, and called on the gentleman to retract. "i will," replied the aggressor. "i said you had stolen the sermon. i find i was wrong, for on referring to the book whence i thought it was taken, _i found it there_." mdclvi.--funeral invitation. sir boyle roach had a servant who was as great an original as his master. two days after the death of the baronet, this man waited upon a gentleman, who had been a most intimate friend of sir boyle, for the purpose of telling him that the time at which the funeral was to have taken place had been changed. "sir," says he, "my master _sends his compliments_ to you, and he won't be buried till to-morrow evening." mdclvii.--a superfluous scraper. foote, being annoyed by a poor fiddler straining harsh discord under his window, sent him out a shilling, with a request that he would play elsewhere, as _one scraper at the door_ was sufficient. mdclviii.--comparative virtue. a shopkeeper at doncaster had for his virtues obtained the name of the _little rascal_. a stranger asked him why this appellation had been given to him. "to distinguish me from the rest of my trade," quoth he, "who are all _great rascals_." mdclix.--garth and rowe. doctor garth, who used frequently to go to the wit's coffee house, the cocoa-tree, in st. james's street, was sitting there one morning conversing with two persons of rank, when rowe, the poet, who was seldom very attentive to his dress and appearance, but still insufferably vain of being noticed by persons of consequence, entered. placing himself in a box nearly opposite to that in which the doctor sat, he looked constantly round with a view of catching his eye; but not succeeding, he desired the waiter to ask him for his snuff-box, which he knew to be a valuable one, set with diamonds, and the present of some foreign prince. after taking a pinch, he returned the box, but asked for it again so repeatedly, that garth, who knew him well, perceived the drift, and taking from his pocket a pencil, wrote on the lid the two greek characters, [greek: ph r] (phi, rho) _fie! rowe!_ the poet was so mortified, that he quitted the room immediately. mdclx.--a secret discovered. 't is clear why twister, wretched rat, always abuses in his chatter: he's truly such a thorough flat, we can't expect to see him _flatter_. mdclxi.--interested inquiry. an attorney-general politely inquired after the health of a distinguished judge. "mr. attorney," was the reply, "_i am in horrible good health at present_." mdclxii.--a bearable pun. an illiterate vendor of beer wrote over his door at harrogate, "_bear_ sold here."--"he spells the word quite correctly," said theodore hook, "if he means to apprise us that the article is his own _bruin_." mdclxiii.--city glutton. the celebrated john wilkes attended a city dinner not long after his promotion to city honors. among the guests was a noisy vulgar deputy, a great glutton, who, on his entering the dinner-room, always with great deliberation took off his wig, suspended it on a pin, and with due solemnity put on a white cotton nightcap. wilkes, who certainly was a high-bred man, and never accustomed to similar exhibitions, could not take his eyes from so strange and novel a picture. at length the deputy, with unblushing familiarity, walked up to wilkes, and asked him whether he did not think that his nightcap became him. "o, yes, sir," replied wilkes, "but it would look much better if it was pulled quite _over_ your face." mdclxiv.--a pretty reply. lord melbourne, inspecting the kitchen of the reform club, jocosely remarked to alexis soyer, _chef de cuisine_, that his female assistants were all very pretty. "yes, my lord," replied soyer; "_plain_ cooks will not do here." mdclxv.--a convenient theory. at charity meetings, one mould always volunteered to go round with the hat, but was suspected of sparing his own pocket. overhearing one day a hint to that effect, he made the following speech: "other gentlemen puts down what they thinks proper, and so does i. charity's a private concern, and what i gives is _nothing to nobody_." mdclxvi.--but one good translation. dryden's translation of virgil being commended by a right reverend bishop, lord chesterfield said, "the original is indeed excellent; but everything suffers by a _translation_,--except a _bishop_!" mdclxvii.--philip, earl of stanhope. philip, earl of stanhope, whose dress always corresponded with the simplicity of his manners, was once prevented from going into the house of peers, by a doorkeeper who was unacquainted with his person. lord stanhope was resolved to get into the house without explaining who he was; and the doorkeeper, equally determined on his part, said to him, "honest man, you have no business here. _honest man_ you _can_ have no business _in this place_."--"i believe," rejoined his lordship, "you are right; _honest men_ can have no business here." mdclxviii.--rigid impartiality. sydney smith, calling one day upon a fellow contributor to the _edinburgh review_, found him reading a book preparatory to writing an account of it, and expostulated with him. "why, how do you manage?" asked his friend. "i never," said the wit, "read a book _before_ reviewing it; _it prejudices one so_." mdclxix.--whitbread's entire. on the approach of the election at westminster, when earl percy was returned, mr. denis o'brien, the agent of mr. sheridan, said, that "there were thousands in westminster who would sooner vote for the duke of northumberland's porter, than give their support to a man of talent and probity, like mr. sheridan." mr. whitbread, alarmed for the interests of mr. s. by the intemperate language of his agent, wished him to take some public notice of it in the way of censure; but sheridan only observed, "that to be sure his friend o'brien was wrong and intemperate, as far as related to the duke of northumberland's porter; though he had no doubt there were thousands in westminster who would give the preference to mr. whitbread's _entire_." mdclxx.--a fool and his money. a young spendthrift being apprised that he had given a shilling when sixpence would have been enough, remarked that "he knew no difference between a _shilling_ and _sixpence_."--"but you will, young gentleman," an old economist replied, "when you come to be _worth eighteen-pence_." mdclxxi.--a grim joke. daniel defoe said there was only this difference between the fates of charles the first and his son james the second,--that the former's was a _wet_ martyrdom, and the other's a _dry one_. mdclxxii.--insurance assurance. the collector in a country church, where a brief was read for a sufferer from fire, flattered himself that he had been unusually successful in the collection, as he fancied he saw an agent to one of the fire-offices put a note into the box. on examining the contents, however, he found that the note had not issued from any bank, but merely bore these admonitory words, "let them _insure_, as they wish to be saved." mdclxxiii.--genuine laziness. a young farmer, inspecting his father's concerns in the time of hay-harvest, found a body of the mowers asleep, when they should have been at work. "what is this?" cried the youth; "why, me, you are so indolent, that i would give a crown to know which is the most lazy of you."--"i am he," cried the one nearest to him, still stretching himself at his ease. "here then" said the youth, holding out the money. "o, master george," said the fellow, folding his arms, "do pray take the trouble of _putting it into my pocket_ for me." mdclxxiv.--cutting. a country editor thinks that richelieu, who declared that "the pen was mightier than the sword," ought to have spoken a good word for the "scissors." jerrold called scissors "an editor's steel-pen." mdclxxv.--gone out. a person calling one day on a gentleman at the west end of the town, where his visits were more frequent than welcome, was told by the servant that her master had gone out. "o, well, never mind, i'll speak to your mistress."--"she's also gone out, sir." the gentleman, not willing to be denied admission, said, as it was a cold day, he would step in, and sit down by the fire a few minutes. "ah! sir, but it is _gone out_ too," replied the girl. mdclxxvi.--a good judge. "honesty is the best policy," said a scotchman. "i know it, my friend, for _i have tried baith_." mdclxxvii.--mr. charles yorke. when mr. charles yorke was returned a member for the university of cambridge, about the year , he went round the senate to thank those who had voted for him. among the number was a mr. p., who was proverbial for having the largest and most hideous face that ever was seen. mr. yorke, in thanking him, said, "sir, i have great reason to be thankful to my friends in general, but confess myself under a particular obligation to _you_ for the _very remarkable countenance_ you have _shown_ me upon this occasion." mdclxxviii.--the salic law is a most sensible and valuable law, banishing gallantry and chivalry from cabinets, and preventing the amiable antics of grave statesmen. mdclxxix.--charles james fox. after byron's engagement in the west indies, there was a great clamor about the badness of the ammunition. soon after this, mr. fox had a duel with mr. adam. on receiving that gentleman's ball, and finding that it had made but little impression, he exclaimed, "egad, adam, it had been all over with me, if you had not charged with _government powder_!" mdclxxx.--preferment. among the daly inquirers after the health of an aged bishop of d----m, during his indisposition, no one was more sedulously punctual than the bishop of e----r; and the invalid seemed to think that other motives than those of anxious kindness might contribute to this solicitude. one morning he ordered the messenger to be shown into his room, and thus addressed him: "be so good as present my compliments to my lord bishop, and tell him that i am better, much better; but that the bishop of w----r has got a sore throat, arising from a bad cold, _if that will do_." mdclxxxi.--complimentary. a gentleman dining at an hotel, was annoyed by a stupid waiter continually coming hovering round the table, and desired him to retire. "excuse me, sir," said napkin, drawing himself up, "but i'm _responsible_ for the silver." mdclxxxii.--dr. donne. dr. donne, the dean of st. paul's, having married a lady of a rich and noble family without the consent of the parents, was treated with great asperity. having been told by the father that he was to expect no money from him, the doctor went home and wrote the following note to him: "john donne, anne donne, _undone_." this quibble had the desired effect, and the distressed couple were restored to favor. mdclxxxiii.--vulgarity. sir walter scott once happening to hear his daughter anne say of something, that it was _vulgar_, gave the young lady the following temperate rebuke: "my love, you speak like a very young lady; do you know, after all, the meaning of this word _vulgar_? 'tis only _common_; nothing that is common, except wickedness, can deserve to be spoken of in a tone of contempt; and when you have lived to my years, you will be disposed to agree with me in thanking god that nothing really worth having or caring about in this world is _uncommon_." mdclxxxiv.--an expensive job. a gentleman passing a country church while under repair, observed to one of the workmen, that he thought it would be an expensive job. "why, yes," replied he; "but in my opinion we shall accomplish what our reverend divine has endeavored to do, for the last thirty years, in vain."--"what is that?" said the gentleman. "why, bring all the parish _to repentance_." mdclxxxv.--prosiness. a prosy old gentleman meeting jerrold, related a long, limp account of a stupid practical joke, concluding with the information that "he really thought he should have _died_ with laughter."--"i wish to heaven you had," was jerrold's reply. mdclxxxvi.--a pleasant message. mr. bartleman, a celebrated bass-singer, was taken ill, just before the commencement of the musical festival at gloucester: another basso was applied to, at a short notice, who attended, and acquitted himself to the satisfaction of everybody. when he called on the organist to be paid, the latter thanked him most cordially for the noble manner in which he had sung; and concluded with the following very complimentary and pleasant message: "when you see poor bartleman, give my best regards _to him_; and tell him how much we _missed him_ during the festival!" mdclxxxvii.--existence of matter. as berkeley, the celebrated author of the immaterial theory, was one morning musing in the cloisters of dublin college, an acquaintance came up to him, and, seeing him rapt in contemplation, hit him a smart rap on the shoulder with his cane. the dean starting, called out, "_what's the matter_?" his acquaintance, looking him steadily in the face, replied, "_no matter, berkeley_." mdclxxxviii.--a saucy answer. a barrister attempting to browbeat a female witness, told her she had _brass_ enough to make a saucepan. the woman retorted, "and you have _sauce_ enough to fill it." mdclxxxix.--quaint epitaph. dr. fuller having requested one of his companions to make an epitaph for him, received the following: "_here lies fuller's earth_!" mdcxc.--an inhospitable irishman. sir boyle roach, the droll of the irish bar, sent an amusingly equivocal invitation to an irish nobleman of his acquaintance: "i hope, my lord, if ever you come within a mile of my house, that you'll _stay there all night_." when he was suffering from an attack of gout, he thus rebuked his shoemaker: "o, you're a precious blockhead to do directly the reverse of what i desired you. i told you to make one of the shoes _larger_ than the other, and instead of that you have made one of them _smaller_ than the other!" mdcxci.--good enough for a pig. an irish peasant being asked why he permitted his pig to take up its quarters with his family, made an answer abounding with satirical _naïveté_: "why not? doesn't the place afford every convenience that _a pig can require_?" mdcxcii.--farcical. in bannister's time, a farce was performed under the title of "fire and water."--"i predict its fate," said he. "what fate?" whispered the anxious author at his side. "what fate!" said bannister; "why, what can fire and water produce but a _hiss_?" mdcxciii.--too much at once. lord chesterfield one day, at an inn where he dined, complained very much that the plates and dishes were very dirty. the waiter, with a degree of pertness, observed, "it is said every one must _eat a peck of dirt_ before he dies."--"that may be true," said chesterfield, "but no one is obliged to eat it all _at one meal_, you dirty dog." mdcxciv.--epigram. (on bishop ----'s religion.) though not a catholic, his lordship has, 'tis plain, strong disposition to a-mass (a mass). mdcxcv.--possible censors. dr. cadogan was boasting of the eminence of his profession, and spoke loudly against the injustice of the world, which was so satirical against it; "but," he added, "i have escaped, for no one complains of me."--"that is more than you can tell, doctor," said a lady who was present, "unless you know what people _say in the other world_." mdcxcvi.--a connubial compliment. a lady, walking with her husband at the seaside, inquired of him the difference between _exportation_ and _transportation_. "why, my dear," he replied, "if you were on board yonder vessel, leaving england, _you_ would be _exported_, and _i_ should be _transported_!" mdcxcvii.--double sight. a man with one eye laid a wager with another man, that he (the one-eyed person) saw more than the other. the wager was accepted. "you have lost," says the first; "i can see the _two_ eyes in your face, and you can see only _one_ in mine." mdcxcviii.--witty at his own expense. sheridan was once asked by a gentleman: "how is it that your name has not an o prefixed to it? your family is irish, and no doubt illustrious."--"no family," replied sheridan, "has a better right to an o than our family; for, in truth, we _owe_ everybody." mdcxcix.--a conversational epigram. said bluster to whimple, "you juvenile fool, get out of my way, do you hear?" said whimple, "a fool did you say? by that rule i'm much _in your way_ as i fear." mdcc.--a previous engagement. the late lord dudley and ward was one of the most absent of men. meeting sydney smith one day in the street, he invited him to meet himself! "dine with me to-day,--dine with me to-day,--i will get sydney smith to meet you." the witty canon admitted the temptation held out to him, but said, "_he was engaged with him elsewhere_." mdcci.--a royal jest. a captain, remarkable for his uncommon height, being one day at the rooms at bath, the late princess amelia was struck with his appearance; and being told that he had been originally intended for the church, "rather for the _steeple_," replied the royal humorist. mdccii.--extremely sulphurous. lord chesterfield, being told that a certain termagant and scold was married to a gamester, replied, "that _cards and brimstone_ made the best matches." mdcciii.--a joke from the north. the reigning _bore_ at one time in edinburgh was professor l----; his favorite subject the _north pole_. one day the arch tormentor met jeffrey in a narrow lane, and began instantly on the north pole. jeffrey, in despair, and out of all patience, darted past him, exclaiming, "hang the north pole!" sydney smith met mr. l---- shortly after, boiling over with indignation at jeffrey's contempt of the north pole. "o, my dear fellow," said sydney, "never mind; no one minds what jeffrey says, you know; he is a privileged person,--he respects nothing, absolutely nothing. why, you will scarcely credit it, but it is not more than a week ago that i heard him speak disrespectfully of the _equator_." mdcciv.--multiplying one. sydney smith once said: "i remember entering a room with glass all round it at the french embassy, and saw myself reflected on every side. i took it for a _meeting of the clergy_, and was delighted of course." mdccv.--an affirmative epigram. when julia was asked, if to church she would go, the fair one replied to me, "no, richard, no." at her meaning i ventured a pretty good guess, for from grammar i learned _no_ and _no_ stood for _yes_. mdccvi.--the ruling passion. a lady's beauty is dear to her at all times. a very lovely woman, worn out with a long and painful sickness, begged her attendants to desist rubbing her temples with hungary water, _as it would make her hair gray_! mdccvii.--indifference to death. a prisoner, who had received notice that he was to die the next morning, was asked by some of his unfortunate companions to share their repast with them. he answered, "i never eat anything that i expect will _not digest_." mdccviii.--self-interest. those who wish to tax anything containing _intelligence_, must be actuated by selfish views, seeing that it is an imposition of which they are not likely to feel _the burden_. mdccix.--all the difference. a glasgow professor met a poor student passing along one of the courts, and remarked to him that his gown was very short. "_it will be long enough before i get another_," answered the student. the reply tickled the professor's fancy so much that he continued in a state of suppressed laughter after passing on. meeting a brother professor, who asked him what was amusing him so much, he told the story with a slightly varied reading. "i asked that fellow why he had so short a gown, and he answered, _it will be a long time before i get another_."--"well, there's nothing very funny in that."--"neither there is," said the professor, "i don't understand how it amused me so much. it must have been something in _the way he said it_." mdccx.--foote's last joke. when foote was on his way to france, for change of air, he went into the kitchen at the inn at dover, to order a particular dish for dinner. the true english cook boasted that she had never set foot out of her country. on this, the invalid gravely observed, "why, cookey, that's very extraordinary, as they tell me up stairs that you have been several times _all over grease_!"--"they may tell you what they please above or below stairs," replied the cook, "but i was never ten miles from dover in my life!"--"nay, now, that must be a _fib_," says foote, "for i have myself seen you at _spithead_!" the next day (october , ) the exhausted wit "shuffled off this mortal coil." mdccxi.--_l'envoy_. there is so much genuine humor in the following jocular dinner code, that we cannot do better than close our little volume with it. dinner code. _of the amphitryon.--his rights._ art. .--the amphitryon is the king of the table: his empire lasts as long as the meal, and ends with it. art. .--it is lawful for his glass to exceed in capacity those of his guests. art. .--he may be lively with his male guests, and gallant towards the females; to such of them as are pretty he may risk a compliment or two, which is sure to be received from him with an approving smile. _his duties._ art. .--fulfilling to the utmost the laws of hospitality, he watches with paternal solicitude over the welfare of the stomachs committed to his care; reassures the timid, encourages the modest, and incites the vigorous appetite. art. .--he must abstain from praising either his dishes or his wines. art. .--he is not to take advantage of his situation to utter stale jests or vulgar puns. a careful perusal of "the jest book" will be his best security against a violation of this _article_. art. .--the police of the table belongs of right to him; he should never permit a plate or a glass to be either full or empty. art. .--on rising from table, he should cast a scrutinizing glance over the glasses. if he sees them not quite emptied, let him take warning by it to choose either his guests or his wine better for the future. _of the guests._ art. .--the first duty of a guest is to arrive at the time named, at whatever inconvenience to himself. art. .--when the amphitryon offers any dish to a guest, his only civil way of declining it is by requesting to be helped a second time to that of which he has just partaken. art. .--a guest who is a man of the world will never begin a conversation until the first course is over; up to that point, dinner is a serious affair, from which the attention of the party ought not to be inconsiderately distracted. art. .--whatever conversation is going on ought to be suspended, even in the middle of a sentence, upon the entrance of a _dinde aux truffes_. art. .--an applauding laugh is indispensable to every joke of the amphitryon. art. .--a guest is culpable who speaks ill of his entertainer during the first three hours after dinner. gratitude should last at least as long as digestion. art. .--to leave anything on your plate is to insult your host in the person of his cook. art. .--a guest who leaves the table deserves the fate of a soldier who deserts. _on vicinity to ladies._ art. .--he who sits next to a lady becomes at once her _cavaliere servente_. he is bound to watch over her glass with as much interest as over his own. art. .--the gentleman owes aid and protection to his fair neighbor in the selection of food; the lady on her part is bound to respect and obey the recommendations of her knight on this subject. art. .--it is bad taste for the gentleman to advance beyond politeness during the first course; in the second, however, he is bound to be complimentary; and he is at liberty to glide into tenderness with the dessert. _on vicinity to men._ art. .--when two gentlemen sit together, they owe no duties to each other beyond politeness and reciprocal offers of wine and water,--the _last_ offer becomes an error after one refusal. art. .--on being helped to a dish, you should at once accept any precedence offered you by your neighbor; ceremony serves only to cool the plate in question for both parties. art. .--if you sit near the amphitryon, your criticisms on the repast must be conveyed in a whisper; aloud you can do nothing but approve. art. .--under no pretext can two neighbors at table be permitted to converse together on their private affairs, unless, indeed, one of them is inviting the other to dinner. art. .--two neighbors who understand each other may always get more wine than the rest of the guests; they have only to say by turns to each other, with an air of courtesy, "shall we take some wine?" _on vicinity to children._ single article.--the only course to be pursued, if you have the misfortune to be placed next a child at table, is to make him tipsy as quick as you can, that he may be sent out of the room by mamma. _on the means of reconciling politeness with egotism._ art. .--the epicure's serious attention should be fixed upon the articles on the table; he may lavish his politeness, his wit, and his gayety upon the people who sit round it. art. .--by helping the dish next yourself (should you not dine _à la russe_) you acquire a right to be helped to any other dish on the table. art. .--a carver must be very unskilful who cannot, by a little sleight-of-hand, smuggle aside the best morsel of a dish, and thus, when serving himself _last_, serve himself also the _best_. art. .--your host's offers are sometimes insincere when they refer to some magnificent dish yet uncut. in such cases you should refuse feebly for yourself, but accept on behalf of the lady next you,--merely out of politeness to her. art. .--the thigh of all birds, boiled, is preferable to the wing: never lose sight of this in helping ignoramuses or ladies. index. page a. i, abbey church at bath, the, a bed of--where?, abernethy, mr., above proof, absent man, an, absurdly logical, acceptable deprivation, an, accommodating, accommodating physician, an, accommodating principles, accurate description, acres and wiseacres, act of justice, an, actor, advantageous tithe, an, advertisement, extraordinary, advice gratis, advice to a dramatist, advice to the young, affectation, affectionate hint, an, aged young lady, the, agreeable and not complimentary, agreeable practice, an, agricultural experiences, alere flamman, a-liquid, allegorical representation, all the difference, , all the same, almanac-makers, alone in his glory, always the better, amende honorable, the, american penance, ample apology, an, anecdote, an, anglo-french alliance, the, angry ocean, the, answered at once, answering her according to her folly, anticipated calamity, an, anticipation, any change for the better, any port in a storm, apish resemblance, an, apt reproof, an, arcadia, arcadian, an, architectural pun, an, argument, an, artificial heat, artistic touch, an, as black as he could be painted, aspiring poverty, assurance and insurance, as you like it, at his fingers' ends, attending to a wish, attic jest, an attired to tire, audley, the late lord, auricular confession, awkward orthography, "aye! there's the rub", back-handed hit, a, bacon, bad bargain, a, bad company, bad crop, a, , bad customer, a, bad end, a, bad example, a, bad habit, bad harvest, a, bad judge, a, bad label, a, bad lot, a, bad medium, a, bad pen, a, bad preacher, a, bad shot, a, bad sport, balance, a, balancing accounts, banker's check, a, barber shaved by a lawyer, bark and bite, barry's powers of pleasing, base joke, a, base one, a, bearable pun, a, bear and van, bearding a barber, benefit of competition, best judge, the, best wine, the, better known than trusted, betting, bewick, the engraver, bill paid in full, billy brown and the counsellor, birth of a prince, the, bishop and churchwarden, a, bishop and his portmanteau, the, bit of moonshine, a, black and white, black joke, a, black letter, black oils, blowing a nose, book case, a, boswell's "life of johnson", braham and kenney, bred on the boards, brevity, brevity of charity, brief correspondence, "brief let it be", bright and sharp, bright rejoinder, a, bringing his man down, broad-brim hint, a, broad hint, a, , broad-sheet hint, a, broken head, a, brotherly love, , brutal affections, budget of blunders, a, buried worth, burke and fox, burke's tediousness, business and pleasure, busy bodies, but one good translation, byron libellous, cabal, a, calculation, calculation, a, caledonian comfort, calf's head surprised, caliban's looking-glass, calumny, cambridge etiquette, candid counsel, a, candid on both sides, candle and lantern, the, candor, canine poetry, canning's parasites, capital joke, a, capital letter, a, cap this, carrots classically considered, cart before the horse, the, case of necessity, a, cash payments, catching him up, cause and effect, , cause of absence, cause, the, cautious lover, a, celestial vision, a, certain crop, a, certainly not asleep, certainty, a, challenging a jury, change for a guinea, change for the better, a, changing hats, changing his coat, changing his line, characteristics, charitable wit, charity and inconvenience, charity begins at home, charles, duke of norfolk, charles ii. and milton, chartist not a leveller, a, chatham, lord, cheap at the money, cheap cure, a, cheap watch, a, check to the king, cheese and dessert, chemical oddity, chesterfield, lord, chin-surveying, choice of evils, a, choice spirits, church in the way, the, city glutton, city love, city varnish, a, claim on the country, a, classical wit, claw and claw, clear case, a, clear the court, clearing emigrants, clerical wit, clever dog, a, climax, a, , clonmel, lord, close escape, a, close translation, a, closer, a, coat-of-arms, a, cockney epigram, a, cold comfort, "cold" compliment, a, coleridge and thelwall, college bell! the, collins, the late mr., colonial breweries, colorable excuse, a, colorable resemblance, a, come of age, comedian and a lawyer, a, common case, a, common politeness, common want, a, comparative virtue, comparison, a, , , comparisons are odious, complimentary, , compliment, elegant, compliment ill-received, a, computation, conceited, but not seated, con-cider-ate, concurrent events, conditional agreement, confidence, , confidence--taken from the french, confirmed invalid, a, congratulation to one who curled his hair, conjugal caution, conjugal conclusion, a, connoisseur, the, connubial compliment, a, conservative logic, considerable latitude, considerate mayor, a, considerate son, a, consistency, constancy, constitutional pun, a, contraband scotchman, convenient theory, a, convert, a, cooke's explanation of the family plate, cooking his goose, cool as a cucumber, cool hand, a, cool proposition, a, cool retort, corporation politeness, corruptly incorruptible, couleur de rose, coulson, sir thomas, credit, critical politeness, criticising a statue, critics, cromwell, cruel case, a, cruel suggestion, cup and saucer, cut and come again, cut direct, the, cut infernal, the, cutting, cutting an acquaintance, cutting his coat, cutting off the supplies, cutting on both sides, damped ardor, dancing prelates, the, dangerous generalization, a, dead language, deadly weapon, a, dear bargain, a, dear speaker, a, death and dr. bolus, death-bed forgiveness, debt paid, the, debtor and creditor, decanting extraordinary, defining a creed, degeneracy, delicate hint, delpini's remonstrance, democratic vision, deserved retort, a, destitution of the smith family, devil's own, the, dialogue, a, dialogue in the western islands of scotland, dido, difference, a, difference of opinion, difficult task, a, difficulties in either case, diffidence, dilemma, a, dinner code, direct road, the, disappointing subscriber, a, disapprobation, "distant" friend, a, distant prospect, a, distressful denouement, a doctor glynn's receipt for dressing a cucumber, doctor weather-eye, doctrine of chances, the, dodging a creditor, dogged answer, a, dog-matic, dogmatism, dog tax, the, doing homage, domestic economy, done for, donne, dr., double knock, a, double sight, "double times," a, doubt explained, the, doubtful compliment, a, doubtful creed, a, dreadful suspicion, a, drinking alone, driving it home, droll to order, drop, a, dry, but not thirsty, dry fellow, a, dry humor, dull man, a, dulness of a debate, dunning and lord mansfield, dunning and lord thurlow, duplex movement, dutiful daughter, a, early birds of prey, early habits, easily answered, easily satisfied, east indian chaplaincy, an, easy as lying, easy way, an, ebenezer adams, effort of memory, an, elegant compliment, elegant retort, elliston and george iv., eloquent silence, emperor of china, empty gun, the, empty head, an, encouragement, endless task, an, entering the lists, entertaining proposition, an, envy, epigrams:-- accounting for the apostacy of ministers, addressed to miss edgeworth, a good word for ministers, an affirmative, by a plucked man, conversational, "cumberland", from the italian, "i'm living still", "life is a lottery", "nature" the shoulder to the burden suits, on a bad man, on a bald head, on a certain m.p.'s indisposition, on a debtor lord, on a gentleman named heddy, on a great talker, on a jury, on a lady who squinted, on a lady who was painted, on a little member's versatility, on a new duke, on a petit-maître physician, on a squinting poetess, on a stone thrown at a very great man, but which missed him, on a student, on alderman wood, on an m.p. who recently got his election at the sacrifice of his political character, on bank notes being made a legal tender, on bishop ----'s religion, on black and white, on blank cartridge, on bloomfield, the poet, on butler's monument, on charles kean, the actor, on cibber, on "disloyal" collins, on dr. glynn's beauty, on dr. lettsom, on dr. walcot's application for shield's ivory opera pass, on dr. walcot's request for ivory tickets, on drink, on hearing a prosing harangue from a certain bishop, on interminable harangues, on jekyll's nearly being thrown down by a very small pig, on l--d--d--y, on lord ----'s delivering his speeches in a sitting position, owing to excessive gout, on lord e--nb--h's pericranium, on lord w----'s saying the independence of the house of lords is gone, on marriage, on meanness, on mr. croker, on mr. gully, on mr. pitt's being pelted by the mob, on mr. milton, the livery stable-keeper, on neglect of judicial duties, on phryne, on pride, on rogers, the poet, on shelley's poem, "prometheus unbound", on sir walter scott's poem of "waterloo", on the alleged disinterestedness of a certain prelate, on the charge of illegally pawning brought against captain b----, m.p., on the column to the duke of york's memory, on the death of foote, on the depth of lord ----'s arguments, on the disappointment of the whigs, on the duke of ----'s consistency, on the four georges, on the immortality of ----'s speeches, on the king's double dealing, on the late duke of buckingham's moderate reform, on the marriage of a very thin couple, on the name of keopalani, on the oiled and perfumed ringlets of a certain lord, on the price of admission to see the mammoth horse, on the sincerity of a certain prelate, on two contractors, on the two harveys, on wolsey, on ----'s ponderous speeches, on ----'s veracity, "pocket your watch", suggested by hearing a debate, the tanner, "there's nobody at home", to closefist, to lady mount e----, "turncoat", upon the trustworthiness of ---- ----, "very like a whale", written on the union, , episcopal sauce, epitaph for sir john vanbrugh, epitaph on a miser, epitaphs, epitaph upon peter staggs, error corrected, an, erskine, henry, , erskine's firmness, "essay on man", equal to nothing, equality, , equality of the law, equitable law, equivocal preference, an, equivocation, an, erasmus _v._ luther, error in judgment, erudite, euclid refuted, , evasion, an, evidence of a jockey, exaggeration, excusable fear, excuse for cowardice, existence of matter, expectoration, expensive job, an, expensive trip, an, experimentum crucis, explanation, an, extenuating circumstances, extinguisher, an, extraordinary compromise, extreme simplicity, extremely sulphurous, extremes meet, , eye to profit, an, fair distribution, a, fair play, fair proposal, a, fair repulse, a, fair substitute, a, fairly won, fall in mitres, a, false delicacy, false estimate, false face true, a, false quantities, false quantity, familiar friend, a, familiar illustration, a, familiarity, family party, a, family pride, farcical, farmer and attorney, farren, the actor, on, fashion and virtue, fat and lean, fatigue duty, favorite air, a, fear of educating women, feeling his way, feeling witness, a, female talkers, few friends, fiction and truth, fig for the grocer, a, fighting by measure, filial affection, fillip for him, a, fire and water, fire of london, the, fishing for a compliment, fishy, rather, fixture, a, flash of wit, a, flattery turned to advantage, flying colors, following a leader, fool and his money, a, fool confirmed, a, fool or knave, the, foote, foote and lord townsend, foote's last joke, footiana, foraging, force of habit, the, , force of nature, force of satire, the, forcible argument, a, foreign accent, a, forgetful man, a, fortunate expedient, a, fortunate stars, fowl joke, a, fox, charles james, free translation, a, french language, french precipitation, full house, a, full inside, full proof, full stop, a, funeral invitation, gambling, garrick and foote, garth and rowe, generosity and prudence, gently, jemmy, genuine irish bull, genuine laziness, george ii. and the recorder, getting a living, "getting the worst of it", gluttons and epicures, going from the point, going to extremes, gone out, good advice, , , , good at a pinch, good appetite, a, good at the halt, good authority, good character, a, good critic, a, good enough for a pig, good evidence, good example, a, good excuse, a, good eyes, good hearing, good-hearted fellow, a, good investment, a, good jail delivery, a, good joke, a, good judge, a, good likeness, a, good mixture, a, good neighbor, a, good news for the chancellor, good one, a, good parson, a, good place, a, good reason, a, , , , good reason for a bad cause, a, good recommendation, a, good riddance, good servant, a, good sport, good swimmer, a, good translation, a, good wife, a, gouty shoe, the, graceful excuse, graceful illustration, a, grafting, grammatical distinction, a, grandiloquence, grandson, the, grave doctor, a, great cabbage, great difference, a, gretna customer, a, grim joke, a, growl, a, grunt, a, guide to government situations, a, habeas corpus act, half-way, hand and glove, handsome contribution, a, happiness, happy man, a, happy suggestion, a, hard hit, a, hard of digestion, hard-ware, having a call, heavy weight, a, he "lies like truth", he who sung "the lays of ancient rome", henry viii., hero-phobia, hesitation in his writing, hiatus, a, hic-cupping, high and low, high gaming, highland politeness, hinc ille lachrymæ, hint for genealogists, a, his way--out, hoaxing an audience, holland's funeral, home argument, a, home is home, honest horse, an, honest man's litany, the, honest warranty, an, honor, honor to tipperary, an, hook's politeness, hopeful pupil, the, hopeless invasion, a, horne tooke and wilkes, horse laugh, a, horses to grass, how to escape taxation, how to get rid of an enemy, how to make a man of consequence, howe, lord, human happiness, humane society at an evening party, the, humor under difficulties, humorist piqued, a, husbanding his resources, husband's marriage, on mr., "i can get through", idolatry, illegal indorsement, an, imitation of a cow, important to bachelors, impossible in the evening, impossible renunciation, an, impromptu by counsellor bushe, impromptu by r.b. sheridan, impromptu on an apple being thrown at mr. cooke, impromptu--"st. stephen's walls", impromptu--"the fall of sparta", impudent wit, an, inadvertence and epicurism, incapacity, inconvenient breakdown, an, incredible, independence, indifference to death, indifference to life, in-door relief, industry and perseverance, industry of the english people, inevitable misfortune, an, information easily acquired, ingenious device, an, ingenious reply of a soldier, ingenuousness, ingratitude, , inhospitable irishman, an, in memoriam, inquest extraordinary, , inquest--not extraordinary, inquests extraordinary, inscription on inscriptions, an, insurance assurance, in suspense, interested inquiry, in the background, in the dark, introductory ceremony, an, intruder rebuked, the, in want of a husband, ireland's forgery, irish and scotch loyalty, irish imprudence, irishman's notion of discount, an, irishman's plea, an, iron duke, the, "i takes 'em as they come", "i've done the same thing often", james smith and justice holroyd, jemmy gordon, jest of ancestry, the, jew's eye to business, a, johnson and mrs. siddons, johnson, dr., johnson, dr., without variation, johnson's, dr., opinion of mrs. siddons, joint concern, a, joke from the north, a, jolly companions, jonson, ben, judge in a fog, a, judgment, "junius" discovered, jury case, a, just as wonderful, just debtor, a, justice midas, justice not always blind, kean's impromptu, keen reply, keeping a conscience, keeping a promise, keeping it to himself, keeping time, kew, the way to, killed by his own remedy, kind hint, a, kitchener and colman, knotty point, a, knowing best, knowing his man, , knowing his place, lady anne, lamb and erskine, lamb and sharp sauce, lame beggar, the, landlord and tenants, large, but not large enough, last resource, a, "last war," the, late and early, late dinner, late discoverer, a, late edition, a, latimer, latin for cold, the, latin gerunds, on the, law and physic, , law and the scottish thane, lawyer's house, lawyer's opinion of law, a, leaving his verdict, leg wit, legal adulteration, legal extravagance, l'envoy, letter c, the, letter h, the, , letter wanting, a, liberal gift, licensed to kill, lie for lie, light bread, light-headed, light joke, a, light study, a, light subject, the, lincoln's-inn dinners, lines to o'keefe, lingual infection, liquid remedy for baldness, liston's dream, literal joke, a, literary pastime, literary rendering, a, little to give, long ago, long bill, a, long illness, a, long residence, a, long story, look-a-head, look in his face, losing an i, lost and found, love, love and hymen, love of the sea, love songs, by dean swift, lusus naturæ, a, luxurious smoking, lying, lying consistently, mac ready to call, mad quakers, maids and wives, majesty of mud, the, making a clearance, making free, making free with the waist, making it up, making progress, malone, sir anthony, man and a brother, a, man of letters, a, man of metal, a, man-traps, man without a rival, mark of respect, a, marriage, , matrimony, matter in his madness, maule-practice, measure for measure, , measure of a brain, the, measuring his distance, mechanical surgeon, a, medical opinion, a, medicine must be of use, the, melo-dramatic hit, men of letters, men of weight, merry thought, a, michaelmas meeting, a, milesian advice, military axiom, a, military eloquence, milton on woman, mind your points, minding his business, minding his cue, miser's charity, mistake, a, mistaken identity, model philanthropist, a, modern acting, modern sculptor, a, modest, modest merit, modest request, money-borrower deceived, the, money-lender, a, money returned, money's worth, money's worth, , monster, a, moral equality of man, more honored in the breach, mot of defoe, motherly remark, much alike, multiplying one, musical blow-up, a, musical taste, mystery cleared up, a, nameless man, a, napoleon's statue at boulogne, nat lee and sir roger l'estrange, national prejudice, native wit, natural, natural antipathy, natural grief, natural transmutation, nature and art, naval oratory, neat quotation, a, neat suggestion, a, neck or nothing, neighborly politeness, new disguise, a, new idea, a, new reading, a, , new relationship, , new scholar, a, new sign, a, new sport, a, new view, a, new way to pay old debts, new way with attorneys, a, nice distinction, a, , nice language, nicknames, night and morning, nil nisi, &c., no harm done, no intrusion, no joke, no judge, no matter what color, no music in his soul, no pride, no redeeming virtue, no sacrifice, noise for nothing, a, nominal rhymes, non compos non sequitur, "none so blind," &c., north, lord, asleep, north's, lord, drollery, nosce te ipsum, not at all anxious, not at home, not finding himself, not giving himself "airs", not importunate, not improbable, not insured against fire, not necessary, not polite, not quite correct, not right, not room for a neighbor, not sick enough for that, not so bad for a king, not so "daft" as reputed, not so easy, not to be believed, not to be bought, not to be done brown, not to be tempted, not to be trifled with, not true, not _v._ nott, nothing but hebrew, nothing but the "bill", nothing personal, nothing surprising, nothing to boast of, nothing to laugh at, notice to quit, notions of happiness, novel complaint, a, novel idea, a, novel offence, novelty, a, objectionable process, a, ocular, odd bird, an, odd comparison, an, odd family, an, odd fellow, an, odd foresight, odd housekeeping, odd humor, odd notion, an, odd occurrence, an, odd question, an, odd reason, "off with his head", offensive preference, old adage refuted, an, old age, old friends, old joke, an, old stories over again, old times, ominous, very!, on the right side, on the spot, one bite at a cherry, one fault, "one for his nob", one good turn deserves another, one head better than a dozen, one-sided joke, a, one-spur horseman, the, one thing at a time, one thing wanting, the, only a ninepin, only enough for one, only for life, open confession, openly, opposite tempers, orators, the, oratory, order for two, an, order! order!, origin of the term grog, original attraction, an, orthography, our english love of dinners, "our landlady", "out, brief candle", out of spirits, outline, an, outline of an ambassador, outward appearance, over-wise, oxford and cambridge actors, paddy's logic, painful examination, a, painted charms, painting, , painting and medicine, par nobile fratrum, pardonable mistake, a, parliamentary case, parliamentary reprimand, participation in a practical joke, partnership dissolved, passing the bottle, pat reply, a, patience, patrick henry, paying in kind, , pence table, perfect bore, a, perfect discontent, personalities of garrick and quin, pert, pertinent enquiry, pertinent question, a, , phenomenon accounted for, a, philanthropist, the, philip, earl, of stanhope, philosophical reason, a, phonetic joke, a, picking pockets, pickpocketing, piece de resistance, piece of plate, a, pig-headed, pigs and the silver spoon, the, pill gratis, a, pink of politeness, the, pious minister, a, place wanted, a, placebo, a, plain enough, plain language, plain speaking, play upon words, a, player, or lord, playing on a word, pleasant, pleasant deserts, pleasant for a father, pleasant invitation, pleasant message, a, pleasant partner, a, plumper, a, plural number, the, poet foiled, the, poetical shape, a, poets to certain critics, the, point, a, point needing to be settled, a, polite rebuke, a, polite scholar, the, political corruption, political logic, political sinecure, poor curate, the, poor laugh, a, poor law, poor substitute, a, pope's last illness, popping the question, porson _v._ dr. jowett, porson's visit to the continent, portmanteau _v._ trunk, portrait capitally executed, a, poser, a, , , , , poser by lord ellenborough, a, possible censors, post-mortem, pot valiant, powder without ball, practical retort, precautionary, preferable way, a, preferment, prefix, a, pressing reason, a, pretty, pretty metaphor, a, pretty picture, a, pretty reply, a, previous engagement, a, priest's orders, prime's preservative, primogeniture, prince of orange and judge jefferies, the, principle of governments, the, priority, probability, a, problem for total abstainers, a, profession and practice, professional, professional aim, a, professional candor, professional companions, professional recognition, profitable juggling, promise to pay, a, proof impression, proof positive, proper answer, a, proper distinction, proper name, a, proper retort, a, prophecy, a, prosiness, proud heart, a, proverb reversed, a, provident boy, a, proving their metal, pulling up a poet, punctuation, pungent pinch, a, "puppies never see till they are nine days old", pure folks, purser, the, putting a stop to pilgrim's progress, q.e.d., quaint epitaph, qualifying for bail, quantum suff, quakerly objection, a, queer expression, a, queer partners, query answered, a, query for mr. babbage, a, question and answer, question answered, question for the peerage, a, question of descent, a, question of time, quick lie, a, quid pro quo, , , , quiet dose, a, quiet theft, quin and charles i., quin and the parson, quin's saying, quin's soliloquy on seeing the embalmed body of duke humphrey, at st. alban's, quite aground, quite at ease, quite natural, quite perfection, quite poetical, quite professional, quite true, railroad engineer, the, rake's economy, a, rare virtue, rather a-curate, rather ethereal, rather ferocious, rather hard, rather saucy, rather the worst half, ready-made wood pavement, ready reckoner, a, , , ready reply, a, reason, a, reason for being too late, a, reason for belief, a, reason for going to church, reason for not moving, a, reason for polygamy, a, reason for running away, reason for thick ankles, reason why, the, , reasonable demand, a, reasonable excuse, a, reasonable preference, a, reasonable refusal, a, reasonable request, reasons for drinking, rebel lords, the, rebuke, a, reciprocal action, recruiting sergeant and countryman, reflection, a, reformation, relations of mankind, remarkable echo, a, reproof, republic of learning, the, republic of letters, the, reputation, resignation, resting herself, retort cutting, the, reverse, a, reverse joke, a, reverse of circumstances, richmond hoax, the, right organ, the, rigid impartiality, ringing the changes, rising son, the, riskful adventure, a, rivals, the, rogers--poet and skipper, rowing in the same boat, rowland for an oliver, a, royal favor, royal jest, a, royal muff, a, royal pun, rub at a rascal, a, rule of practice, a, ruling passion after death, the, ruling passion strong in death, the, , ruling passion, the, , , rum and water, runaway knock, a, running accounts, running no risk, saddle on the right horse, the, safe appeal, a, safe side, the, sage advice, sage simile, a, sailor's wedding, st. peter a bachelor, salad, salic law, the, salisbury cathedral spire, sanitary air, a, satisfaction, satisfactory explanation, a, satisfactory reason, a, satisfactory total, saucy answer, a, save us from our friends, saving time, scandalous, scold's vocabulary, the, scotch caution, scotch medium, scotch penetration, scotch simplicity, scotch understanding, scotch "wut", , scotchman and highwaymen, scott, sir walter, and constable, scott's, sir walter, parritch-pan, sealing an oath, seasonable joke, a, , season-ings, the, secret discovered, a, seeing a coronation, seeing not believing, self-applause, self-conceit, self-condemnation, , self-interest, self-knowledge, selwyn, george, sensibility, sent home free, sentence of death, sermons in stones, servants, setting him up to knock him down, setting up and sitting down, settled point, a, settler, a, severe, severe rebuke, shakespeare illustrated, shakespearian grog, shaking hands, sharp boy, sharp brush, a, sharp, if not pleasant, sheepish compliment, a, sheridan and burke, sheridan convivial, short and sharp, short commons, short creed, a, short journey, , short measure, short-sighted, short stories, should not silence give consent, shuffling answer, a, sign of being cracked, significant difference, a, silent appreciation, silk gown, a, simile, a, simple division, simplicity of the learned porson, sims, dr., sinecure, a, "sinking" the well, slack payment, sleeping at church, sleeping round, slight difference, a, , slight eruption, a, small glass, a, small inheritance, a, small joke, a, small talk, small wit, smart one-pounder, a, smart reply, smoking an m.p., smoothing it down, snoring, snuff-box, the, snug lying, soft, very!, soldiers' wives, solomon's temple, something for dr. darwin, something lacking, something like an insult, something sharp, something to be grateful for, something to be proud of, something to pocket, soporific, a, , sought and found, sound and fury, sound conclusion, a, sound sleeper, spare man, a, spare the rod, speaking canvas, the, speaking of sausages, special pleading, species and specie, specific gravity of folly, the, specimen of the laconic, specimen of university etiquette, spirit and the letter, the, spirit of a gambler, spiritual and spirituous, spranger barry, sprig of shillalah, a, staffordshire collieries, the, steam-boat racing, sterne, stone blind, stop watch, a, stopper, a, stout swimmer, a, strange jetsum, strange objection, a, strange vespers, stray shot, a, striking notice, a, striking point, a, striking reproof, subtraction and addition, sudden change, a, sudden freedom, suggestion, suggestive pair of grays, a, suggestive present, a, suggestive question, a, suggestive repudiation, suited to his subject, summary decision, sun in his eye, the, superfluous scraper, a, superiority of machinery, the, sure take, a, swearing the peace, sweeps, swift, dean, and king william, sword and the scabbard, the, sydney smith, sydney smith soporific, syllabic difference, a, symbol, a, take warning!, taking a hint, taking his measure, tall and short, taste of marriage, a, tavern dinner, a, tell it not in england, telling one's age, temperance cruets, tender suggestion, a, terrible possibility, a, "the mixture as before", theatrical mistakes, theatrical purgations, theatrical wit, thelwall, mr., "thereby hangs," &c., things by their right names, three causes, three degrees of comparison, three ends to a rope, three touchstones, "throw physic to the dogs!", thurlow and pitt, ticklish opening, a, tierney's, mr., humor, tillotson, time out of joint, the, time works wonders, timely aid, timely flattery, timely reproof, a, timidity of beauty, the, to the coming man, too civil, too civil by half, too clever, too fast, too good, too grateful, too liberal, too many cooks, too much and too little, too much at once, too much of a bad thing, too cold to change, top and bottom, tory liberality, touching, trade against land, tragedy ms., transformation scene, a, transporting subject, a, transposing a compliment, travellers see strange things, trophies, true and false, true courtier, a, true criticism, true dignity, true evidence, true joke, a, true of both, true philosophy, true politeness, true to the letter, true wit, trump card, a, truth and fiction, truth and rhyme, truth at last, truth by accident, the, truth for the ladies, a, truth not always to be spoken, truth not to be spoken at all times, truth _v._ politeness, trying to the temper, twice ruined, two carriages, two cures for ague, two make a pair, two of a trade, two sides to a speech, two smiths, the, twofold illustration, typographical transfer, a, typographical wit, ugly dog, an, ugly trades, unanswerable argument, an, uncivil warning, unconscious insult, an, unconscious postscript, an, unequal arrangement, an, unexpected cannonade, an, unfortunate lover, an, union is strength, union of opposites, unkind, unknown tongue, unlikely result, an, unpoetical reply, unreasonable, unre-hearsed effect, an, unremitting kindness, untaxed luxury, an, unwelcome agreement, up and down, up in the world, upright man, an, use is second nature, useful ally, a, utilitarian inquiry, a, vails to servants, vain search, a, vain threat, a, valuable beaver, a, valuable discovery, value of applause, value of nothing, vast domain, vera cannie, verse and worse, verses written on a window in the highlands of scotland, very appropriate, very clear, very easy, very evident, very like each other, very likely, , very pointed, very pretty, very serious, very shocking, if true, very true, , vice versâ, visible darkness, visible proof, visibly losing, voluminous speaker, a, vox et præterea nihil, vulgar arguments, vulgarity, walking stick, a, walpoliana, , , warm friendships, warm man, a, warning to ladies, waste of time, waste powder, way of the world, way of using books, weak woman, a, wearing away, well-bred horse, well matched, well said, well turned, wellington, duke of, and the aurist, wellington surprised, welsh wig-ging, a, wet and dry, what everybody does, what is an archdeacon?, what's a hat without a head?, what's going on?, what's in a name?, what's in a syllable?, what's my thought like?, wheel of fortune, the, where it came from, where is the audience?, whig and tory, whist, whist-playing, whitbread's entire, white hands, white teeth, who's the fool?, who's to blame?, whose?, why are women beardless?, why master of the house?, wide-awake minister, a, wide difference, a, "wide, wide sea," the, wife at forty, a, wignell, the actor, wilberforce, miss, wilkes and liberty, wilkes and a liberty, wilkes's ready reply, wilkes's tergiversation, wilkie's simplicity, will and away, a, will and the way, will, the, windy minister, a, winner at cards, a, winning a loss, wise decision, a, wise fool, a, wise precaution, wise son who knew his own father, a, wit and quackery, wit defined, wits agreeing, witty at his own expense, witty coward, witty proposition, a, witty thanksgiving, wolfe, general, woman's promises, a, women, wonderful cure, a, wonderful sight, a, wonderful unanimity, wonderful woman, a, wooden joke, a, woodman, a, woolsack, the, word in season, a, word to the wise, a, words that burn, worst of all crimes, the, worst of two evils, the, worth the money, worthy of credit, "write me down an ass", writing for the stage, writing treason, written character, a, wrong leg, the, yankee yarn, a, yorke, mr. charles, yorkshire bull, a, "you'll get there before i can tell you", young, dr., young idea, the, zodiac club, the, transcriber's notes corrections to the text. page , diagreeable corrected to disagreeable. page , betyraing corrected to betraying. page , litlle corrected to little. page , ill-conwenience corrected to ill-convenience. page , your're corrected to you're. page , distingushed corrected to distinguished. page , aud corrected to and. page , secretely corrected to secretly. page , eor corrected to for. page , duplicated a removed. punctuation printing errors were corrected throughout the text. corrections to the index. acres and wiseacres, corrected to . affectation, corrected to . best wine, the, corrected to . brief correspondence, corrected to . cause and effect, corrected to . hinc illæ lachrymæ, corrected to ille, as per entry on page . sage advice, corrected to . reverse of circumstances, corrected to . reason why, the, corrected to . new scholar, a, corrected to . naval oratory, corrected to . money's work, corrected to money's worth, as per entry on page . omnious, very!, corrected to ominous, as per entry on page . explanation, an, , was out of order alphabetically, and was moved one line down. nuts to crack; or, quips, quirks, anecdote and facete of oxford and cambridge scholars. by the author of "facetiÆ cantabrigienses," etc. etc. etc. _philadelphia_: e. l. carey & a. hart. . preface. though i intend this preface, prelude, or proem shall occupy but a single page, and be a _facile_ specimen of the _multum in parvo_ school, i find i have so little to say, i might spare myself the trouble of saying that little, only it might look a little odd (excuse my nibbing my pen) if, after writing a book, which by the way, may prove no book at all, i should introduce it to my readers,--did i say "readers?"--what a theme to dilate upon! but stop, stop, mr. exultation, nobody may read your book, _ergo_, you will have no readers. humph! i must nib my pen again. cooks, grocers, butchers, kitchenmaids, the roast! let brighter visions rise: methink i see it grace every room _peckwater_ round: methink i see, wherever _mighty tom_ sonorous peals forth his solemn "come, come, come!" the sons of oxon fly to _tallboys'_ store, or _parker's_ shelves, and cry "_the_ book, _the_ book!" methink i see in granta's streets a crowd for _deighton's_ and for _stevenson's_--anon, "_the_ book, _the_ book," they cry "give us _the_ book!" "_quips, quirks, and anecdotes?_" "aye, that's _the_ book!" and, then, methink i see on camus' side, or where the isis by her christ church glides, or charwell's lowlier stream, methink i see (as did the spanish prince of yore a son of salamanca beat his brow) some _togaed_ son of alma mater beat, aye, laugh and beat his brow. and then, like philip, i demand the cause? and then he laughs outright, and in my face he thrusts a book, and cries, "sir, read, read, read, ha, ha, ha, ha!" and stamps and laughs the while;--and then, ye gods, it proves to be _the_ book,--_quips, quirks, and anecdotes_--ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! i cry you mercy, sirs, read, read, read, read! from eton, harrow, winchester, and west, come orders thick as autumn leaves e'er fell, as larks at dunstable, or egypt's plagues. the row is in commotion,--all the world rushes by _amen corner_, or _st. paul's_: how like a summer-hive they go and come: the very chapter's caught the stirring theme, and, like king james at christ church, scents a hum.[ ] e'en caxton's ghost stalks forth to beg a tome, and _wynkyn's_ shroud in vain protests his claims. "there's not a copy left," cries _whitt's_ or _long's_, as caxton bolts with the extremest tome, and wynkyn, foiled, shrinks grimly into air, veil'd in a cloud of scarce black-letter lore. had galen's self, sirs, _ab origine_, or Æsculapius, or the modern school of pharmacopoeians drugged their patients thus, they long ago, aye, long ago, had starved; your undertakers had been gone extinct, and churchyards turned to gambol-greens, forsooth. mirth, like good wine, no help from physic needs:--blue devils and ennui! ha, ha, ha, ha! didst ever taste champagne? then laugh, sirs, laugh,--"laugh and grow fat," the maxim's old and good: the stars sang at their birth--"ha, ha, ha, ha!" i cry you mercy, sirs, _the_ book, _the_ book, _quips, quirks, and anecdotes_. oxonians hear! "ha, ha, ha, ha!" let granta, too, respond. what would you more? _the_ book, sirs, read, read, read. 'tis true, my work's a diamond in the rough, and that there still are _sparkling bits_ abroad, by wits whose wages _may not be to die_, would make it, aye, the very _book of books!_ let them, anon, to _cornhill_ wend their way (p.p.) to cut a figure in ed. sec. d, or th, from isis or from cam. what if they say, as maudlin cole of boyle, because some christ-church wits adorned his page with their chaste learning, "'_tis a chedder cheese made of the milk of all the parish_,"--sirs, d'ye think i'd wince and call them knave or fool? methink i'd joy to spur them to the task! methink i see the mirth-inspired sons of christ-church and the rest, penning rich puns, bon-mots, and brave conceits, for ages have, at oxon, "borne the bell," and oft the table set in _royal_ roar. methink i see the wits of camus, too, go laughing to the task,--and then, methink, o! what a glorious toil were mine, at last, to send them trumpet-tongued through all the world! [ ] sir isaac wake says in his _rex platonicus_, that when james the first attended the performance of a play in the hall of christ-church, oxford, the scholars applauded his majesty by clapping their hands and _humming_. the latter somewhat surprised the royal auditor, but on its being explained to signify applause, he expressed himself satisfied. contents. page was oxford or cambridge first founded? origin of this celebrated controversy died of literary mortification sir simon d'ewes on antiquity of cambridge _ib._ gone to jerusalem cutting retort--liberty a plant , a tailor surprised--declining king george, &c. classical _jeu d'esprit_--trait of barrow inveterate smokers lover of tobacco--a wager, &c. , newton's toast--piety of ray devil over lincoln--radcliffe's library traits of dr. bathurst--his whip, &c. smart fellows _ib._ epigram--tell us what you can't do? , first woman introduced into a cloister cambridge scholar and ghost of scrag of mutton comparisons are odious jaunt down a patient's throat--difference of opinion , petit-maitre physician--anecdote of porson [greek: ou tode oud allo]--aliquid--di-do-dum bishop heber's college puns _ib._ effect of broad-wheeled wagon, &c. queen elizabeth and the men of exeter college, &c. oxonians posed--lapsus grammaticæ latin to be used--habit--concussion comic picture of provost's election sir, dominus, magistri, sir greene husbands beat their wives--attack on ladies doings at merton--digging graves with teeth doctor's gratitude to horse--john sharp's rogue said as how you'd see--much noise as please , mad peter-house poet--grace cup , tertiavit--capacious bowl--horn diversion bibulous relique--christian custom--feast days walpole at cambridge--college dinner th century , black night--force of imagination--absent habits , anecdotes of early cambridge poets cromwell's pear-tree, &c. stung by a b--dr. p. nest of saxonists pleasant mistake--minding roast college exercise--bell--fun--tulip-time , king of denmark--king william iv. visit cambridge , queen elizabeth's visit to oxford and cambridge , first dissenter in england first english play extant by cambridge scholar christ-church scholars invented moveable scenes james i. at oxford and cambridge divinity act--latin comedy , case of precedence--smothered in petticoats , brief account of boar's head carols celebration of, at queen's college, oxon cleaving block--being little , traits of porson--wakefield--clarke , blue beans--university bedels--dr. bentley , great gaudy all-souls mallard oxford dream--compliments to learned men , point of etiquette--value of syllable , cocks may crow--profane scoffers jemmy gordon--oxford wag , cambridge frolics--black rash , old grizzle wig--shooting anecdotes , bishop watson's progress--paley, &c. , oxford hoax--good saying , walpole a saint--oxford famous for its sophists, &c. laconic vice--usum oxon--pert oxonians , corrupted latin tongue--surpassed aristotle, &c. set aristotle heels upwards--art of cutting , soldiers at oxford disputation, &c. captain rag--dainty morsels , answered in kind--powers of digestion , inside passenger--traits of paley , lord burleigh and dissenters--sayings , porson--greek protestants at oxon , cambridge folk--gyps--drops of brandy--dessert for twenty, &c. , parr's eloquence--address--vanity, &c. trick of the devil--three classical puns , acts--pleasant story--epigram--revenge , mothers' darlings--fathers' favourites , iter academicum--a story , anecdotes of freshmen lord eldon--whissonset church , boots--yellow stockings--fashion hair , barber dressed--first prelate wore wig , boots, spurs, &c. prohibited at oxon whipping, &c.--flying cambridge barber , isthmus suez--drink for church , good appetite--college quiz--the greatest calf , like rabelais--ambassadors king jesus at oxon , effort intellect--dr. hallifax--dr. tucker , distich--skeleton sermons--paid first , in the stocks--hissing--posing--gross pun , family spintexts--alcock--barrow, parr, &c. , three-headed priest--burnt to cinder , cantab invented short-hand--humble petition of ladies , turn for humour--repartees--all over germany , oxford and cambridge rebuses something in your way--duns--out of debt queering a dun--gray and warburton canons of criticism--bishop barrington pulpit admonition--simplicity of great minds singularities--triple discourse , traits of lord sandwich--lapsus linguæ , oxford and cambridge loyalty--clubs, &c. , retrogradation--on-dit worcester goblin--cambridge triposes , records of cambridge triposes--wooden spoon--poll--conceits of porson, vince, &c. , classical triposes--wooden wedge--disney's song , a dreadful fit of rheumatism parr an ingrate--le diable--critical civilities , sir busick and sir isaac again--cole: deum , freshman's puzzle sly humourist--noble oxonian--oxford wag--person of gravity , the enough oxford and cambridge nuts to crack; or, quips, quirks, anecdote and facete. * * * * * was oxford or cambridge first founded? "oxford must from all antiquity have been either somewhere or nowhere. where was it in the time of tarquinius priscus? if it was nowhere, it surely must have been somewhere. where was it?"--_facetiæ cant._ here is a conundrum to unravel, or a nut to crack, compared to which the _dædalean labyrinth_ was a farce. after so many of the learned have failed to extract the kernel, though by no means deficient in what gall and spurzheim would call _jawitiveness_ (as their writings will sufficiently show,) i should approach it with "fear and trembling," did i not remember the encouraging reproof of "queen bess" to sir walter raleigh's "fain would i climb but that i fear to fall"--so _dentals_ to the task, come what may. a new light has been thrown upon the subject of late, in an unpublished "righte merrie comedie," entitled "trinity college, cambridge," from which i extract the following jeu de poesie. when first our alma mater rose, though we must laud her and love her, nobody cares, and nobody knows, and nobody can discover: some say a spaniard, one cantaber, christen'd her, or gave birth to her, or his daughter--that's likelier, more, by far, though some honour king brute above her. pythagoras, beans-consuming dog, ('tis the tongue of tradition that speaks,) built her a lecture-room fit for a hog,[ ] where now they store cabbage and leeks: and there mathematics he taught us, they say, till catching a cold on a dull rainy day, he packed up his _tomes_, and he ran away to the land of his fathers, the greeks. but our alma mater still can boast, although the old grecian would go, of glorious names a mighty host, you'll find in wood, fuller and coe: of whom i will mention but just a few-- bacon, and newton, and milton will do: there are thousands more, i assure you, whose honours encircle her brow. then long may our alma mater reign, of learning and science the star, whether she were from greece or spain, or had a king brute for her pa; and with oxon, her sister, for aye preside, for it never was yet by man denied, that the world can't show the like beside,-- let echo repeat it afar! [ ] the school of pythagoras is an ancient building, situated behind st. john's college, cambridge, wherein the _old grecian_, says tradition, lectured before cambridge became a university. whether those who say so _lie_ under a mistake, as tom hood would say, i am not now going to inquire. at any rate, "sic transit," the building is now a barn or storehouse for garden stuff. those who would be further acquainted with this relique of by-gone days, may read a very interesting account of it extant in the library of the british museum, illustrated with engravings, and written by a fellow of merton college, oxford, to which society, says wilson, in his _memorabilia catabrigiæ_, "it was given by edward iv., who took it from king's college, cambridge. it is falsely supposed to have been one of the places where the croyland monks read lectures." it matters little whether we sons of _alma mater_ sprung from the loins of pythagoras, cantaber, or the kings brute and alfred. they were all respectable in their way, so that we need not blush, "proh pudor," to own their paternity. but let us hear what the _cutting_ writer of _terræ filius_ has to say on the subject. "grievous and terrible has been the squabble, amongst our chronologers and genealogists concerning the precedence of oxford and cambridge. what deluges of christian ink have been shed on both sides in this weighty controversy, to prove which is the elder of the two learned and most ingenious ladies? it is wonderful to see that they should always be making themselves older than they really are; so contrary to most of their sex, who love to conceal their wrinkles and gray hairs as much as they can; whereas these two aged matrons are always quarrelling for seniority, and employing counsel to plead their causes for 'em. these are old _nick cantalupe_ and _caius_ on one side, and _bryan twynne_ and _tony wood_ on the other, who, with equal learning, deep penetration, and acuteness, have traced their ages back, god knows how far: one was born just after the siege of _troy_, and the other several hundred years before christ; since which time they have gone by as many names as the pretty little _bantling_ at _rome_, or the woman that was hanged t'other day in _england_, for having twenty-three husbands. _oxford_, say they, was the daughter of _mempricius_, an old _british_ king, who called her from his own name, _caer memprick_, alias _greeklade_, alias _leechlade_, alias _rhidycen_, alias _bellositum_, alias _oxenforde_, alias _oxford_, as all great men's children have several names. so was _cambridge_, say others, the daughter of one _cantaber_, a _spanish_ rebel and fugitive, who called her _caergrant_, alias _cantabridge_, alias _cambridge_. but, that i may not affront either of these old ladies," adds this facetious but sarcastic writer, "i will not take it upon me to decide which of the two hath most wrinkles * * * *. who knows but they may be twins." another authority, the author of the history of cambridge, published by ackermann, in , says that this celebrated controversy had its origin in , when queen elizabeth visited the university of cambridge, and "the public orator, addressing her majesty, embraced the opportunity of extolling the antiquity of the university to which he belonged above that of oxford. this occasioned thomas key, master of university, college, oxford, to compose a small treatise on the antiquity of his own university, which he referred to the fabulous period when the greek professors accompanied brute to england; and to the less ambiguous era of , when science was invited to the banks of the isis, under the auspices of the great alfred. a ms. copy of this production of thomas key accidentally came into the hands of the earl of leicester, from whom it passed into those of dr. john caius (master and founder of gonvile and caius colleges, cambridge,) who, resolving not to be vanquished in asserting the chronological claims of his own university, undertook to prove the foundation of cambridge by cantaber, nearly four hundred years before the christian era. he thus assigned the birth of cambridge to more than anterior to that which had been secondarily ascribed to oxford by the champion of that seat of learning; and yet it can be hardly maintained that he had the best of the argument, since the primary foundation by the son of Æneas, it is evident, remains unimpeached, and the name of brute, to say the least of it, is quite as creditable as that of cantaber. the work which dr. john caius published, though under a feigned name, along with that which it was written to refute, was entitled, '_de antiquitate catabrigiensis academiæ_, libri ii. _in quorum do. de oxoniensis quoque gymnasii antiquitate disseritur, et cantabrigiense longe eo antiquius esse definitur, londinense authore: adjunximus assertionem antiquitatis oxoniensis academiæ ab oxoniensi quodam annis jam elapsis duobus ad reginam conscriptam in qua docere conatur, oxoniense gymnasium cantabrigiensi antiquius esse: ut ex collatione facile intelligas, utra sit antequior. excusum londini,_ a. d. , _mense augusto, per henricum bynnenum,_ mo.'" and is extant in the british museum. as may well be supposed by those who are acquainted with the progress of literary warfare, this work of dr. john caius drew from his namesake, thomas caius, a vindication of that which it was intended to refute; and this work he entitled "_thomæ caii vindiciæ antiquitatis academiæ oxoniensis contra joannem caium cantabrigiensem._" these two singular productions were subsequently published together by hearne, the oxford antiquary, who, with a prejudice natural enough, boasts that the forcible logic of the oxford advocate "broke the heart and precipitated the death of his cambridge antagonist." in other words, dr. john caius, it is said, died of literary mortification, on learning that his oxford opponent had _prepared a new_ edition of his work, _to be published after his death_, in which he was told were some arguments thought to bear hard on his own. "but this appears to have as little foundation as other stories of the kind," says the editor of the history just quoted; "since it is not probable that dr. john caius ever saw the strictures which are said to have occasioned his death: for, as thomas caius died in , they remained in ms. till they were published by hearne in ;"--a conclusion, however, to which our learned historian seems to have jumped rather hastily, as it was just as possible that a ms. copy reached dr. john caius in the second as in the first case; and it is natural to suppose that the oxford champion would desire it should be so. as a specimen of the manner in which such controversies are conducted, i conclude with the brief notice, that tony wood, as the author of _terræ-fillius_ calls him, has largely treated of the subject in his _annals of oxford_, where he states, that sir simon d'ewes, when compiling his work on the antiquity of the university of cambridge, "thought he should be able to set abroad a _new matter_, that was never heard of before, for the advancement of his own town and university of cambridge above oxford;" but "hath done very little or nothing else but renewed the old crambe, and taken up dr. cay's old song, running with him in his opinions and tenets, whom he before condemning of dotage, makes himself by consequence a dotard." according to sir simon, "valence college (_i. e._ pembroke hall) was the first endowed college in england;" "his avouching which," says wood, "is of no force;" and he, as might be expected, puts in a claim for his own college (merton, of oxford,) "which," he adds, "sir simon might have easily known, had he been conversant with histories, was the oldest foundation in either university." therefore, "if the antiquity of cambridge depends upon valence college (or rather, upon peter house,) and that house upon this distich, which stood for a public inscription in the parlour window thereof, it signifies nothing:-- "qua præit oxoniam cancestria longa vetustas primatus a petri dicitur orsa domo." he finally overwhelms his opponent by adding, that oxford became a public university in , and that a bull for the purpose was obtained the previous year, cambridge then "_being but an obscure place of learning, if any at all_." thus i have cracked _nut the first_. those who would add "sweets to the sweets" may find them in abundance in the writers i have named already; and the subject is treated of very learnedly by dyer, in his _dedication_ to his "privileges of the university of cambridge." * * * * * gone to jerusalem. a learned living oriental scholar, and a senior fellow of st. john's college, cambridge, who thinks less of journeying to shiraz, timbuctoo, or the holy land, than a cockney would of a trip to greenwich fair or bagnigge wells, _kept_ in the same court, in college, with a late tutor, now the amiable rector of staple----t, in kent. it was their daily practice, when in residence, to take a ramble together, by the footpaths, round by granchester, and back to college by trumpington, or to madingley, or the hills, but more commonly the former; all delightful in their way, and well known to gownsmen for various associations. to one of these our college dons daily wended their way cogitating, for they never talked, it is said, over the _omnia magna_ of cambridge life. their invariable practice was to keep moving at a stiff pace, some four or five yards in advance of each other. our amiable tutor went one forenoon to call on mr. p. before starting, as usual, and found his door _sported_. this staggered him a little. mr. p.'s bed-maker chanced to come up at the instant. "where is mr. p.?" was his query. "gone out, sir," was the reply. "gone out!" exclaimed mr. h.; "where to?" "to _jerusalem_," she rejoined. and to jerusalem he was gone, sure enough; a circumstance of so little import in his eyes, who had seen most parts of the ancient world already, and filled the office of tutor to an infanta of spain, that he did not think it matter worth the notice of his _college chum_. other travellers, "_vox et ratio_," as horace says, would have had the circumstance bruited in every periodical in christendom, "_quinque sequuntur te pueri_." * * * * * a cutting retort is attributed to the celebrated lord chesterfield, when a student of trinity hall, cambridge, where he is said to have studied hard, and rose daily, in the depth of winter, at four or five. he one day met a drunken fellow in the streets of cambridge, who refused him the wall, observing, "i never give the wall to a rascal." "i do," retorted his lordship, moving out of the way. it was probably this incident that gave rise to the couplet-- "base man to take the wall i ne'er permit." the scholar said, "i do;" and gave him it. * * * * * liberty a plant. "qui teneros caules alieni fregerit horti."--_hor._ during the progress of a political meeting held in the town of cambridge, it so happened that the late dr. mansel, then public orator of the university of cambridge, but afterwards master of trinity college and bishop of bristol, came to the place of meeting just as musgrave, the well known political tailor of his day, was in the midst of a most _pathetic_ oration, and emphatically repeating, "liberty, liberty, gentlemen--" he paused,--"liberty is _a plant_--" "so is a _cabbage!_" exclaimed the caustic mansel, before musgrave had time to complete his sentence, with so happy an allusion to the trade of the tailor, that he was silenced amidst roars of laughter. another instance of-- a tailor being taken by surprise, but by an oxonian, a learned member of christ church, is recorded in the fact, that having, for near half a century, been accustomed to walk with a favourite stick, the _ferule_ of which, at the bottom, came off, he took it to his _tailor_ to have it repaired. * * * * * reasons for not publishing. the famous antiquary, thomas baker, b.d. of st. john's college, cambridge, of which he was long _socius ejectus_, lays it down as a principle, in his admirable _reflections on learning_, "that if we had _fewer_ books, we should have more learning." it is singular that he never published but the one book named, though he has left behind him forty-two volumes of manuscripts, the greater part in the harleian collection, in the british museum, principally relating to cambridge, and all neatly written in his own hand. * * * * * declining king george. when "honest vere" foster, as he is called by "mild william," his contemporary at college, and the grandfather of our celebrated traveller, dr. edward daniel clarke, was a student at cambridge, where he was celebrated for his wit and humour, and for being a good scholar, st. john's being looked upon as a tory college, a young fellow, a student, reputed a whig, was appointed to deliver an oration in the college hall, on the th of november. this he did; but having, for some time, dwelt on the double deliverance of that day, in his peroration, he passed from king william to king george, on whom he bestowed great encomiums. when the speech was over, honest vere and the orator being at table together, the former addressed the latter with, "i did not imagine, sir, that you would _decline_ king george in your speech." "_decline!_" said the astonished orator; "what do you mean? i spoke very largely and handsomely of him." "that is what i mean, too, sir," said vere: "for you had him in every case and termination: _georgius--georgii--georgio--georgium--o georgi!_" another of "honest vere's" classical jeu d'esprit is deserving a place in our treasury. he one day asked his learned college contemporary, dr. john taylor, editor of demosthenes, "why he talked of selling his horse?" "because," replied the doctor, "i cannot afford to keep him in these _hard times_." "you should keep a _mare_," rejoined foster, "according to horace-- 'Æquam memento rebus in arduis servare.'" * * * * * a trait of barrow. soon after that great, good, and loyal son of granta, dr. isaac barrow, was made a prebend of salisbury, says dr. pope, "i overheard him say, '_i wish i had five hundred pounds_.' 'that's a large sum for a philosopher,' observed dr. pope; 'what would you do with so much?' 'i would,' said he, 'give it to my sister for a portion, that would procure her _a good husband_.' a few months after," adds his memorialist, "he was made happy by receiving the above sum," which he so much desired, "for putting a _new life_ into the _corps_ of his new prebend." * * * * * inveterate smokers. both oxford and cambridge have been famous for inveterate smokers. amongst them was the learned dr. isaac barrow, who said "it helped his thinking." his illustrious pupil, newton, was scarcely less addicted to the "indian weed," and every body has heard of his _hapless courtship_, when, in a moment of forgetfulness, he popped the lady's finger into his burning pipe, instead of _popping the question_, and was so chagrined, that he never could be persuaded to press the matter further. dr. parr was allowed his pipe when he dined with the _first gentleman in europe_, george the fourth, and when refused the same indulgence by a lady at whose house he was staying, he told her, "she was the greatest _tobacco-stopper_ he had ever met with." the celebrated dr. farmer, of _black-letter_ memory, preferred the comforts of the parlour of emmanuel college, of which he was master, and a "_yard of clay_" (there were no _hookahs_ in his day,) to a bishopric, which dignity he twice refused, when offered to him by mr. pitt. another learned lover of tobacco, and eke of wit, mirth, puns, and pleasantry, was the famous dr. aldrich, dean of christ church, oxford, the never-to-be-forgotten composer of the good old catch-- "hark, the merry christ-church bells," and of another to be _sung by four men smoking their pipes_, which is not more difficult to sing than diverting to hear. his pipe was his breakfast, dinner, and supper, and a student of christ church, at o'clock one night, finding it difficult to persuade a "freshman" of the fact, laid him a wager, that the dean was at that instant smoking. away he hurried to the deanery to decide the controversy, and on gaining admission, apologised for his intrusion by relating the occasion of it. "well," replied the dean, in perfect good humour, with his pipe in his hand, "you see you have lost your wager: for i am not smoking, but filling my pipe." * * * * * game in every bush. bishop watson says, in his valuable chemical essays, that sir isaac newton and dr. bentley met accidentally in london, and on sir isaac's inquiring what philosophical _pursuits_ were carrying on at cambridge, the doctor replied, "none; for when you are a-hunting, sir isaac, you kill all the game; you have left us nothing to pursue." "not so," said the philosopher, "you may start a variety of game in every bush, if you will but take the trouble to beat it." "and so in truth it is," adds dr. w.; "every object in nature affords occasion for philosophical experiment." * * * * * newton's toast. the editor of the literary panorama, says corneille le bruyer, the famous dutch painter, relates, that "happening one day to dine at the table of newton, with other foreigners, when the dessert was sent up, newton proposed, 'a health to the men of every country who believed in a god;' which," says the editor, "was drinking the health of the whole human race." equal to this was the piety of ray, the celebrated naturalist and divine, who (when ejected from his fellowship of trinity college, cambridge, for _non-conformity_, and, for the same reason, being no longer at liberty to exercise his clerical functions as a preacher of the gospel,) turned to the pursuit of the sciences of natural philosophy and botany for consolation. "because i could no longer serve god in the church," said this great and good man (in his preface to the wisdom of god manifested in the works of the creation,) "i thought myself more bound to do it by my writings." * * * * * the devil looking over lincoln. is a tradition of many ages' standing, but the origin of the celebrated statue of his satanic majesty, which of erst overlooked lincoln college, oxford, is not so certain as that the effigy was popular, and gave rise to the saying. after outstanding centuries of hot and cold, jibes and jeers, "_cum multis aliis_," to which _stone_, as well as flesh, is heir, it was taken down on the th of november, , says a writer in the gentleman's magazine, having lost its head in a storm about two years previously, at the same time the head was blown off the statue of king charles the first, which overlooked whitehall. * * * * * radcliffe's library. tom warton relates, in his somewhat rambling life of dr. ralph bathurst, president of trinity college, oxford, that dr. radcliffe was a student of lincoln college when dr. b. presided over trinity; but notwithstanding their difference of age and distance of situation, the president used to visit the young student at lincoln college "merely for the smartness of his conversation." during one of these morning or evening calls, dr. b. observing the embryo physician had but few books in his chambers, asked him "where was his study?" upon which young radcliffe replied, pointing to a few books, a skeleton, and a herbal, "this, sir, is radcliffe's library." tom adds the following traits of dr. bathurst's wit and habits. when the doctor was vice-chancellor of oxford, a captain of a company, who had fought bravely in the cause of his royal master, king charles the first, being recommended to him for the degree of d.c.l., the doctor told the son of mars he could not confer the degree, "but he would apply to his majesty to give him a regiment of horse!" he frequently carried a whip in his hand, an instrument of correction not entirely laid aside in our universities in his time; but (says tom) he _only_ "delighted to _surprise_ scholars, when walking in the grove at unseasonable hours. this he practised," adds warton, "on account of the pleasure he took in giving _so odd_ an alarm, rather than from any principle of reproving, or intention of applying so illiberal a punishment." one thing is certain, that in the statutes of trinity college, oxford (as late as ,) scholars of the foundation are ordered to be whipped even to the twentieth year. "dr. potter," says aubery, while a tutor of the above college, "_whipped his pupil with his sword by his side_, when he came to take his leave of him to go to the inns of court." this was done to make him a _smart_ fellow. "in sir john fane's collection of letters of the paston family, written _temp_. henry vi.," says the author of the _gradus ad catabrigiam_, "we find one of the gentle sex prescribing for her son, who was at cambridge," no doubt with a maternal anxiety that he should be a smart fellow, as follows:--"prey grenefield to send me faithfully worde by wrytyn, who (how) clemit paston hathe do his dever i' lernying, and if he hath nought do well, nor will nought amend, prey hym that he wyll truely belash hym _tyl_ he wyll amend, and so dyd the last mastyr, and the best eu' he had at cambridge." and that master grenefield might not want due encouragement, she concludes with promising him "x m'rs," for his _pains_. we do not, however, learn how many _marks_ young master clemit received, who certainly took _more pains_.--patiendo _non faciendo_--ferendo _non feriendo_. * * * * * milton was belashed over the buttery-hatch of christ-college, cambridge, and, as dr. johnson insinuates in his life, was the last cambridge student so castigated in either university. the officer who performed this _fundamental_ operation was dr. thomas bainbrigge, the master of christ's college. but as it was at a later date that dr. ralph bathurst carried his whip, according to our friend tom's showing, to _surprise_ the scholars, it is therefore going a great length to give our "prince of poets" the _sole_ merit of being the last _smart_ fellow that issued from the halls of either oxford or cambridge, handsome as he was. the following celebrated epigram on an epigram, printed, says the oxford sausage, "from the original mss. preserved in the archives of the jelly-bag society," is somewhere said to have been written by dr. ralph bathurst, when an oxford scholar:-- one day in _christ-church_ meadows walking, of poetry and such things talking, says _ralph_, a merry wag, an epigram, if right and good, in all its circumstances should be like a jelly-bag. your simile, i own, is new, but how dost make it out? quoth hugh. quoth ralph, i'll tell you, friend: make it at top both wide and fit to hold a budget full of wit, and point it at the end. * * * * * tell us what you can't do? a party of oxford scholars were one evening carousing at the star inn, when a waggish student, a stranger to them, abruptly introduced himself, and seeing he was not "one of us," they all began to _quiz_ him. this put him upon his mettle, and besides boasting of other accomplishments, he told them, in plain terms, that he could write greek or latin verses better, and was, in short, an over-match for them at any thing. upon this, one of the party exclaimed, "you have told us a great deal of what you can do, _tell us something you can't do_?" "well," he retorted, "i'll tell you what i can't do--_i can't pay my reckoning!_" this sally won him a hearty welcome. * * * * * the first women introduced into a cloister. about , whilst the famous richard cox, bishop of ely, was dean of christ-church, oxford, says cole, in his athenæ cant., "he brought his wife into the college, who, with the wife of peter martyr, a canon of the same cathedral, were observed to be the first women ever introduced into a cloister or college, and, upon that account, gave no small scandal at the time." this reminds me of an anecdote that used to amuse the under-grads in my day at cambridge. a certain d.d., head of a college, a _bachelor_, and in his habits retired to a degree of solitariness, in an unlucky moment gave a lady that did not want twice bidding, not bill of exchange, but a _running_ invitation to the college lodge, to be used at pleasure. she luckily seized the long vacation for making her appearance, when there were but few students in residence; but to the confusion of our d.d., her _ten_ daughters came _en traine_, and the college was not a little scandalized by their playing shuttlecock in the open court--the lady was in no haste to go. report says sundry hints were given in vain. she took his original _invite_ in its literal sense, to "suit her own convenience." the anxiety he endured threw our modest d.d. in to a sick-bed, and not relishing the office of nurse to a bachelor of sixty years' standing, she decamped, + her ten daughters. * * * * * the cambridge scholar and the ghost of a scrag of mutton. in the days that are past, by the side of a stream, where waters but softly were flowing, with ivy o'ergrown an old mansion-house stood, that was built on the skirts of a chilling damp wood, where the yew-tree and cypress were growing. the villagers shook as they passed by the doors, when they rested at eve from their labours; and the traveller many a furlong went round, if his ears once admitted the terrific sound, of the tale that was told by the neighbours. they said, "that the house in the skirts of the wood by a saucer-eyed ghost was infested, who filled every heart with confusion and fright, by assuming strange shapes at the dead of the night, shapes monstrous, and foul, and detested." and truly they said, and the monster well knew, that the ghost was the greatest of evils; for no sooner the bell of the mansion toll'd one, than the frolicksome imp in a fury begun to caper like ten thousand devils. he appeared in forms the most strange and uncouth, sure never was goblin so daring! he utter'd loud shrieks and most horrible cries, curst his body and bones, and his _sweet little eyes_, till his impudence grew beyond bearing. just at this nick o' time, when the master's sad heart with anguish and sorrow was swelling, he heard that a scholar with science complete, full of magical lore as an egg's full of meat, at _cambridge_ had taken a dwelling. the scholar was versed in all magical arts, most famous was he throughout _college_; to the red sea full oft many an unquiet ghost, to repose with king pharaoh and his mighty host he had sent through his powerful knowledge. to this scholar so learn'd the master he went, and as lowly he bent with submission, told the freaks of the horrible frights that prevented his household from resting at nights, and offered this humble petition:-- "that he, the said scholar, in wisdom so wise, would the mischievous fiend lay in fetters; would send him in torments for ever to dwell, in the nethermost pit of the nethermost hell, for destroying the sleep of his betters." the scholar so versed in all magical lore, told the master his pray'r should be granted; he ordered his horse to be saddled with speed, and perch'd on the back of his cream colour'd steed, trotted off to the house that was haunted. "bring me turnips and milk!" the scholar he cried, in voice like the echoing thunder: he brought him some turnips and suet beside, some milk and a spoon, and his motions they eyed, quite lost in conjecture and wonder. he took up the turnips, and peel'd off the skins, put them into a pot that was boiling; spread a table and cloth, and made ready to sup, then call'd for a fork, and the turnips fished up in a hurry, for they were a-spoiling. he mash'd up the turnips with butter and milk: the hail at the casement 'gan clatter! yet this scholar ne'er heeded the tempest without, but raising his eyes, and turning about, asked the maid for a small wooden platter. he mash'd up the turnips with butter and salt, the storm came on thicker and faster-- the lightnings went flash, and with terrific din the wind at each crevice and cranny came in, tearing up by the root lath and plaster. he mash'd up the turnips with nutmegs and spice, the mess would have ravish'd a glutton; when lo! with sharp bones hardly covered with skin, the ghost from a nook o'er the window peep'd in, in the form of _a boil'd scrag of mutton_. "ho! ho!" said the ghost, "what art doing below?" the scholar peep'd up in a twinkling-- "the times are too hard to afford any meat, so to render my turnips more pleasant to eat, a few grains of pepper i'm sprinkling." then he caught up a fork, and the mutton he seiz'd, and soused it at once in the platter; threw o'er it some salt and a spoonful of fat, and before the poor ghost could tell what he was at, he was gone like a mouse down the throat of a cat, and this is the whole of the matter. * * * * * comparisons are odious. doctor john franklin, fellow and master of sidney college, cambridge, , "a very fat, rosy-complexioned man," dying soon after he was made dean of ely, and being succeeded by dr. ellis, "a meagre, weasel-faced, swarthy, black man," the _fenman_ of ely, says (cole) in allusion thereto, out of vexation at being so soon called upon for _recognition money_, made the following humorous distitch:-- "the devil took our dean, and pick'd his bones clean; then clapt him on a board, and sent him back again." * * * * * jaunt down a patient's throat. "two of a trade can ne'er agree, no proverb e'er was juster; they've ta'en down bishop blaize, d'ye see, and put up bishop bluster." _dr. mansel, on bishop watson's head becoming a signboard, in cambridge, in lieu of the ancient one of bishop blaize._--facetiÆ cant., _p._ . sir isaac pennington and sir busick harwood were cotemporary at cambridge. the first as regius professor of physic and senior fellow of st. john's college, the other was professor of anatomy and fellow of downing college. both were eminent in their way, but seldom _agreed_, and held each other's abilities pretty _cheap_, some say in sovereign contempt. sir busick was once called in by the friends of a patient that had been under sir isaac's care, but had obtained small relief, anxious to hear his opinion of the malady. not approving of the treatment pursued, he inquired "who was the physician in attendance," and on being told, exclaimed--"he! if he were to descend into a patient's stomach with a _candle and lantern_, he would not have been able to name the complaint!" this difference of opinion was hit off, it is supposed, not by dean swift or wicked will whiston, but by bishop mansel, as follows:-- sir isaac, sir busick; sir busick, sir isaac; 'twould make you and i sick to taste their physick. another, perhaps the same cambridge wag, penned the following quaternion on sir isaac, which appeared under the title of an epigram on a petit-maitre physician. when pennington for female ills indites, studying alone not what, but how he writes, the ladies, as his graceful form they scan, cry, with ill-omen'd rapture, "_killing man_!" but sir isaac, too, was a wit, and chanced on a time to be one of a cambridge party, amongst whom was a rich old fellow, an invalid, who was too mean to buy an opinion on his case, and thought it a good opportunity to _worm_ one out of sir isaac _gratis_. he accordingly seized the opportunity for reciting the whole catalogue of his _ills_, ending with, "what would you advise me to take, my dear sir isaac?" "i should recommend you _to take advice_," was the reply. * * * * * porson, whose very name conjures up the spirits of ten thousand wits, holding both sides, over a copus of trinity ale and a classical pun, would not only frequently "steal a few hours from the night," but see out both lights and liquids, and seem none the worse for the carouse. he had one night risen for the purpose of reaching his hat from a peg to depart, after having finished the port, sherry, gin-store, &c., when he espied a can of _beer_, says dyer, (surely it must have been _audit_,) in a corner. restoring his hat to its resting place, he reseated himself with the following happy travestie of the old nursery lines-- "when wine is gone, and ale is spent, then small beer is most excellent." it was no uncommon thing for his _gyp_ to enter his room with phoebus, and find him still _en robe_, with no other companions but a homer, Æschylus, plato, and a dozen or two other old grecians surrounding an empty bottle, or what his late royal highness the duke of york would have styled "a marine," _id est_ "a good fellow, who had done his duty, and was ready to do it again." upon his _gyp_ once peeping in before day light, and finding him still up, porson answered his "_quod petis?_" (whether he wanted _candles_ or _liquor_,) with [greek: ou tode oud' allo.] scotticè--neither _toddy_ nor _tallow_. at another time, when asked what he would drink? he replied?--"_aliquid_" (a liquid.) he was once boasting at a cambridge party, that he could pun upon anything, when he was challenged to do so upon the _latin gerunds_, and exclaimed, after a pause-- "when dido found Æneas would not come. she mourned in silence, and was _di-do-dum(b)_." bishop heber's college puns. the late amiable, learned, and pious bishop heber was not above a pun in his day, notwithstanding dr. johnson's _anathema_, that a man who made a pun would pick a pocket. among the _jeux des mots_ attributed to him are the following: he was one day dining with an oxford party, comprises the élite of his day, and when the servant was in the act of removing the table-cloth from off the green table-covering, at the end of their meal, he exclaimed, in the words of horace-- "diffugere nives: redeunt jam gramina campis." at another time he made one of a party of oxonians, amongst whom was a gentleman of great rotundity of person, on which account he had acquired the _soubriquet_ of 'heavy-a--se;' and he was withal of very _somniferous_ habits, frequently dozing in the midst of a conversation that would have made the very glasses tingle with delight. he had fallen fast asleep during the time a mirth-moving subject was recited by one of the party, but woke up just at the close, when all save himself were "shaking fat sides," and on his begging to know the subject of their laughter, heber let fly at him in pure horatian-- "exsomnis stupet evias." the mirth-loving dr. barnard, late provost of eton, was cotemporary, at cambridge, with a worthy of the same school, who, then a student of st. john's college, used to frequent the same parties that barnard did, who was of king's. barnard used to taunt him with his stupidity; "and," said judge hardinge, who records the anecdote, "he one day half killed barnard with laughter, who had been taunting him, as usual, with the simplicity of the following excuse and remonstrance: you are always running your rigs upon me and calling me 'stupid fellow;' and it is very cruel, now, that's what it is; for you don't consider that _a broad-wheeled wagon went over my head when i was ten years old_." and here i must remark upon the injustice of persons reflecting upon the english universities, as their enemies often do, because every man who succeeds in getting a degree does not turn out a _porson_ or a _newton_. i knew one cantab, a caius man, to whom writing a letter to his friends was such an effort, that he used to get his medical attendant to give him an _ægrotat_ (put him on the sick list,) and, besides, keep his door sported for a week, till the momentous task was accomplished. and two oxonians were of late plucked at their divinity examination, because one being asked, "who was the _mediator_, between god and man?" answered, "_the archbishop of canterbury_." the other being questioned as to "why our saviour sat on the right hand of god?" replied, "_because the holy ghost sat on the left_." compliment to the men of exeter college, oxon. "the men of exeter college, oxon," says fuller, in his church history, "consisted chiefly of cornish and devonshire men, the gentry of which latter, queen elizabeth used to say, are courtiers by birth. and as these western men do bear away the bell for might and sleight in wrestling, so the scholars here have always acquitted themselves with credit in _palæstra literaria_." and writing of this society reminds me that his grace of wellington is a living example of the fact, that it does not require great learning to make a great general; nor is great learning always necessary to complete the character of the head of a college. the late rector of exeter college, dr. cole, raised that society, by his prudent management, from the very _reduced_ rank in which he found it amongst the other foundations of oxford, to a flourishing and high reputation for good scholarship. yet he is said one day to have complimented a student at collections, by saying, after the gentleman had construed his portion of sophocles, "sir, you have construed your _livy_ very well." he nevertheless redeemed his credit by one day _posing_ a student, during his divinity examination, with asking him, in vain, "_what christmas day was?_" another don of the same college, once asking a student of the society some divinity question, which he was equally at a loss for an answer, he exclaimed--"good god, sir, you the son of a clergyman, and not answer such a question as that?" aristotle was of opinion that knowledge _could only be acquired_, but our tutor seems to have thought, like the opponents of aristotle, that a _son of a parson_ ought to be _born to it_. another oxonian was posed, whom i knew, yet was by no means deficient in scholastic learning, and withal a great wag. he was asked, at the divinity examination, how many sacraments there were. this happened at the time that the _catholic question_ was in the high road to the house of lords, under the auspices of the duke of wellington, and he had been _cramming_ his _upper story_ with abundance of _catholic faith_ from the writings of _faber_, _gandolphy_, and the _bishops of durham and exeter_. "how many sacraments are there, sir?" repeated the examiner (of course referring to the church of england.) the student _paused on_, and the question was repeated a second time; "why--a--suppose--we--a--say half a dozen," was the reply. it is needless to add he was _plucked_. the following lapsus grammaticÆ is attributed to a certain d.d. of exeter, who, having undertaken to lionize one of the foreign princes of the many that accompanied the late king and the sovereigns of russia and prussia to oxford, in , a difficulty arose between them as to their medium of communication; the prince being ignorant of the english language, and the doctor no less so with respect to modern foreign languages. in this dilemma the latter proposed an interchange of ideas by means of the fingers, in the following unique address:--"intelligisne colloquium _cum digitalibus tuis?_" it would be somewhat awkward for certain alumni if his grace of wellington should issue an imperative decree, as chancellor, that the latin tongue be used, (as wood says, in his annals, the famous archbishop bancroft did, on being raised to the dignity of chancellor of oxford in ,) "by the students in their halls and colleges, whereby," said his grace, "the young as well as the old may be inured to a ready and familiar delivery of their minds in that language, whereof there was now so much use both in studies and common conversation; for it was now observed (and so it may in these present times, adds wood,) that it was a great blemish to the learned men of this nation, that they being complete in all good knowledge, yet they were not able promptly and aptly to express themselves in latin, but with hesitation and circumlocution, which ariseth only from disuse." effect of habit. dr. fothergill, when provost of queen's college, oxford, was a singular as well as a learned man, and would not have been seen abroad minus his wig and gown for a dukedom. one night a fire broke out in the lodge, which spread with such rapidity, that it was with difficulty mrs. f. and family escaped the fury of the flames; and this she no sooner did than, naturally enough, the question was, "where is the doctor?" no doctor was to be found; and the cry was he had probably perished in the flames. all was bustle, and consternation, and tears, till suddenly, to the delight of all, he emerged from the burning pile, full-dressed, as usual, his wig something the worse for being nearly 'done to a turn;' but he deemed it indecorous for him to appear otherwise, though he stayed to _robe_ at the risk of his life. * * * * * the concussion. the living cambridge worthy, william sydney walker, m.a. (who at the age of sixteen wrote the successful tragedy of wallace, and recently vacated his fellowship at trinity college "for conscience-sake,") walking hastily round the corner of a street in cambridge, in his peculiarly near-sighted _sidling_ hasty manner, he suddenly came in contact with the _blind_ muffin-man who daily perambulates the town. the concussion threw both upon their haunches. "don't you _see_ i'm blind?" exclaimed the muffin-man, in great wrath. "how should i," rejoined the learned wag, "when i'm blind too." * * * * * comic picture of the election of a provost of king's college, cambridge. upon the death of a provost of king's college, cambridge, the fellows are obliged, according to their statutes, to be shut up in their celebrated chapel till they have agreed upon the election of a successor, a custom not unlike that to which the cardinals are subject at rome, upon the death of a pope, where not uncommonly some half dozen are brought out dead before an election takes place. "the following is a comic picture of an election," says judge hardinge, in nichols's illustrations of literature, from the pen of daniel wray, esq. dated from _cambridge_, the th of january, . "the election of a provost of king's is over--_dr. george_ is the man. the fellows went into chapel on monday, before noon in the morning, as the statute directs. after prayers and sacrament, they began to vote:-- for _george_; for _thackery_; for _chapman_. thus they continued, scrutinizing and walking about, eating and sleeping; some of them smoking. still the same numbers for each candidate, till yesterday about noon (for they held that in the forty-eight hours allowed for the election no adjournment could be made,) when the tories, _chapman's_ friends, refusing absolutely to concur with either of the other parties, _thackery's_ votes went over to _george_ by agreement, and he was declared. a friend of mine, a curious fellow, tells me he took a survey of his brothers at two o'clock in the morning, and that never was a more curious or a more diverting spectacle: some wrapped in blankets, erect in their stalls like mummies; others asleep on cushions, like so many _gothic_ tombs. here a red cap over a wig, there a face lost in the cape of a rug; one blowing a chafing-dish with a surplice-sleeve; another warming a little negus, or sipping _coke upon littleton_, _i. e._ tent and brandy. thus did they combat the cold of that frosty night, which has not killed any one of them, to my infinite surprise." one of the fellows of king's engaged in this election was mr. c. pratt, afterwards lord high chancellor of england, and father of the present marquis of camden, who, writing to his amiable and learned friend and brother etonian and kingsman, dr. sneyd davies, archdeacon of derby, &c. in the january of the above year, says, "dear sneyd we are all busy in the choice of a provost. _george_ and _thackery_ are the candidates. _george_ has all the power and weight of the court interest, but i am for _thackery_, so that i am at _present a patriot_, and vehemently declaim against all unstatutable influence. the college are so divided, that your friends the _tories_ may turn the balance if they will; but, if they should either absent themselves or nominate a third man, _chapman_, for example, _thackery_ will be discomfited. why are not _you_ a doctor? we could choose you against all opposition. however, i insist upon it, that you shall qualify yourself against the next vacancy, for since you will not come to _london_, and wear lawn sleeves, you may stay where you are, and be provost,"--which he did not live to be, though he did take his d.d. * * * * * sir, dominus, magistri, sir greene. a writer in an early volume of the gentleman's magazine has stated, that "the christian name is never used in the university with the addition of _sir_, but the surname only." cole says, in reply, "this is certainly so at cambridge. yet when bachelors of arts get into the country, it is quite the reverse; for then, whether curates, chaplains, vicars, or rectors, they are constantly styled _sir_, or _dominus_, prefixed to both their names, to distinguish them from masters of arts, or _magistri_. this may be seen," he says, "in innumerable instances in the lists of incumbents in new court, &c." and, he adds, addressing himself to that illustrious character, _sylvanus urban_, "i could produce a thousand others from the wills, institutions, &c. in the diocese of ely, throughout the whole reign of henry viii. and for many years after, till the title was abandoned, and are never called sir evans, or sir martext, as in the university they would be, according to your correspondent's opinion, but invariably sir hugh evans and sir oliver martext, &c. the subject," adds this pleasant chronicler, "'seria ludo,' puts me in mind of a very pleasant story, much talked of when i was first admitted of the university, which i know to be fact, as i since heard mr. greene, the dean of salisbury, mention it. the dean was at that time only bachelor of arts, and fellow of bene't college, where bishop mawson was master, and then, i think, bishop of llandaff, who, being one day at court, seeing mr. greene come into the drawing-room, immediately accosted him, pretty loud, in this manner, _how do you do, sir greene? when did you leave college, sir greene?_ mr. greene was quite astonished, and the company present much more so, as not comprehending the meaning of the salutation or title, till mr. greene explained it, and also informed them," observes cole, with his accustomed fulness of information, "of the worthy good bishop's absences." * * * * * husbands may beat their wives. fuller relates in his abel redivivus, that the celebrated president of corpus christi college, oxford, dr. john rainolds, the contemporary of jewel and usher, had a controversy with one william gager, a student of christ-church, who contended for the lawfulness of stage-plays; and the same gager, he adds, maintained, _horresco referens!_ in a public act in the university, that "it was lawful for husbands to beat their wives." * * * * * another attack on the ladies is contained in antony wood's "angry account" of the alterations made in merton college, of which he was a fellow, during the wardenship of sir thomas clayton, whose lady, says wood, "did put the college to unnecessary charges and very frivolous expenses, among which were a very large looking-glass, for her to see her ugly face, and body to the middle, * * * * * which was brought in hilary terme, , and cost, as the bursar told me, above _£._; a bedstead and bedding, worth _£._, must also be bought, because the former bedstead and bedding was too short for him (he being a tall man,) so perhaps when a _short_ warden comes, a short bed must be bought." there were also other extraordinary doings at merton. when the vandals of parliamentary visiters, in cromwell's time, perpetrated their spoliations at oxford, one of them, sir nathaniel brent, says wood, actually "took down the rich hangings at the altar of the chapel, and ornamented his bedchamber with them." * * * * * digging your graves with your teeth. the late vice-master of trinity college, cambridge, the rev. william hodson, b.d., and the late regius professor of hebrew, the rev. william collier, b.d., who had also been tutor of trinity college, were both skilled in the science of music, and constant visiters at the quartett parties of mr. sharp, of green street, cambridge, organist of st. john's college. the former happened one evening to enter mr. sharp's _sanctum sanctorum_, rather later than usual, and found the two latter just in the act of discussing a brace of roast ducks, with a bowl of punch in the background. he was pressed to join them. "no, no, gentlemen," was his reply, "give me a _glass of water and a crust_. you know not what you are doing. you are _digging your graves with your teeth_." both gentlemen, however, out-lived him. * * * * * dr. torkington's gratitude to his horse. the late master of clare hall, cambridge, dr. torkington, was one evening stopped by a footpad or pads, in the neighbourhood of cambridge, when riding at an humble pace on his old rosinante, which had borne him through many a long year. both horse and master were startled by the awful tones in which the words, "stand, and deliver!" were uttered, to say nothing of the flourish of a shillelah, or something worse, and an unsuccessful attempt to _grab_ the rein. the horse, declining acquiescence, set off at a good round pace, and thus saved his master; an act for which the old doctor was so grateful, that he never suffered it to be rode again, but had it placed in a paddock, facing his lodge, on the banks of the cam, where, with a plentiful supply of food, and his own daily attentions, it lingered out the remnant of life, and "liv'd at home at ease." * * * * * say john sharp is a rogue. at the time the celebrated archbishop sharp was at oxford, it was the custom in that university, as likewise in cambridge, for students to have a _chum_ or companion, who not only shared the sitting-room with each other, but the bed also; and a writer, speaking of the university of cambridge, says, one of the colleges was at one period so full, that when writing a letter, the students were obliged to hold their hand over it, to prevent its contents being seen. archbishop sharp, when an oxford scholar, was awoke in the night by his _chum_ lying by his side, who told him he had just dreamed a most extraordinary dream; which was, that he (sharp) would be an archbishop of york. after some time, he again awoke him, and said he had dreamt the same, and was well assured he would arrive at that dignity. sharp, extremely angry at being thus disturbed, told him if he awoke him any more, he would send him out of bed. however, his chum, again dreaming the same, ventured to awake him; on which sharp became much enraged; but his bed-fellow telling him, if he had again the same dream he would not annoy him any more, if he would faithfully promise him, should he ever become archbishop, to give him a good rectory, which he named. "well, well," said sharp, "you silly fellow, go to sleep; and if your dream, which is very unlikely, should come true, i promise you the living." "by that time," said his chum, "you will have forgot me and your promise." "no, no," says sharp, "that i shall not; but, if i do not remember you, and refuse you the living, then say _john sharp is a rogue_." after dr. sharp had been archbishop some time, his old friend (his chum) applied to him (on the said rectory being vacant,) and, after much difficulty, got admitted to his presence, having been informed by the servant, that the archbishop was particularly engaged with a gentleman relative to the same rectory for which he was going to apply. the archbishop was told there was a clergyman who was extremely importunate to see him, and would take no denial. his grace, extremely angry, ordered him to be admitted, and requested to know why he had so rudely almost forced himself into his presence. "i come," says he, "my lord, to claim an old promise, the rectory of ----." "i do not remember, sir, ever to have seen you before; how, then, could i have promised you the rectory, which i have just presented to this gentleman?" "then," says his old chum, "_john sharp is a rogue_!" the circumstance was instantly roused in the mind of the archbishop, and the result was, he provided liberally for his dreaming chum in the church. * * * * * "i said as how you'd see." "in the year ," says parke, in his musical memoirs, "i occasionally dined with a pupil of mine, mr. knight, who had lately left college. this young man (who played the most difficult pieces on the flute admirably) and his brother cantabs, when they met, were very fond of relating the wild tricks for which the students of the university of cambridge are celebrated. the following relation of one will convey some idea," he says, "of their general eccentricity:--a farmer, who resided at a considerable distance from cambridge, but who had, nevertheless, heard of the excesses committed by the students, having particular business in the before-mentioned seat of the muses, together with a strong aversion to entering it, took his seat on the roof of the coach, and, being engrossed with an idea of danger, said to the coachman, who was a man of few words, 'i'ze been towld that the young gentlemen at cambridge be wild chaps.' 'you'll see,' replied the coachman; 'and,' added the farmer, 'that it be hardly safe to be among 'em.' 'you'll see,' again replied the coachman. during the journey the farmer put several other interrogatories to the coachman, which was answered, as before, with 'you'll see!' when they had arrived in the high street of cambridge, mr. knight had a party of young men at his lodgings, who were sitting in the first floor, with the windows all open, and a large china bowl full of punch before them, which they had just broached. the noise made by their singing and laughing, attracting the notice and exciting the fears of the farmer, he again, addressing his taciturn friend, the coachman, (whilst passing close under the window,) said with great anxiety, 'are we all safe, think ye?' when, before the master of the whip had time to utter his favourite monosyllables, 'you'll see,' bang came down, on the top of the coach, bowl, punch, glasses, &c. to the amazement and terror of the farmer, who was steeped in his own favourite potation. 'there,' said coachee (who had escaped a wetting,) 'i said as how you'd see!'" * * * * * i now leave you to make as much noise as you please. when gray produced his famous ode for the installation of his patron, the late duke of grafton, a production, it is observed, which would have been more admired, had it "not been surpassed by his two masterpieces, the bard, and the progress of poetry," being possessed of a very accurate taste for music, which he had formed on the italian model, he weighed every note of the composer's music, (the learned cambridge professor, dr. randall,) with the most critical exactness, and kept the composer in attendance upon him, says dyer, in his supplement, for three months. gray was, indeed, a thorough disciple of the italian school of music, whilst the professor was an ardent admirer of the sublime compositions of handel, whose _noise_, it is stated, gray could not bear; but after the professor had implicitly followed his views till he came to the chorus, gray exclaimed, "i have now done, and leave you to make as much noise as you please." this fine composition is still in ms. in the hands of the doctor's son, mr. edward randall, of the town of cambridge. * * * * * the mad peter-house poet. gray was not the only modern poet of deserved celebrity, which peter-house had the honour to foster in her cloisters. a late fellow of that society, named _kendal_, "a person of a wild and deranged state of mind," says dyer, but, it must be confessed, with much method in his madness, during his residence in cambridge, "occasionally poured out, extemporaneously, the most beautiful effusions," but the paucity of the number preserved have almost left him without a name, though meriting a niche in fame's temple. i therefore venture to repeat the following, with his name, that his genius may live with it:-- the town have found out different ways, to praise its different lears: to barry it gives loud huzzas, to garrick only tears. he afterwards added this exquisite effusion:-- a king,--aye, every inch a king,-- such barry doth appear; but garrick's quite another thing, he's every inch king lear. * * * * * the grace cup of pembroke-hall, cambridge. an ancient cup of silver gilt is preserved by this society, which was given to them by the noble foundress of their college, lady mary de st. paul, daughter of guy de castillon, earl of st. paul, in france, and widow of audomar de valentia, earl of pembroke, who is said to have been killed in a tournament, held in france, in , in honour of their wedding day,--an accident, says fuller, by which she was "a maid, a wife, and a widow, in one day." lysons in his second volume, has given an engraved delineation of this venerable goblet; the foot of which, says cole, in the forty-second volume of his mss. "stands on a large circle, whose upper rim is neatly ornamented with small _fleurs de lis_, in open work, and looks very like an ancient coronet." on a large rim, about the middle of the cup, is a very ancient embossed inscription; which, says the same authority, in , "not a soul in the college could read, and the tradition of it was forgotten;" but he supposes it to run:-- _sayn denis' yt es me dere for his lof drenk and mak gud cher._ the other inscription is short, and has an m. and v. above the circle; "which," adds cole, "i take to mean, _god help at need mary de valentia_." at the bottom of the inside of the cup is an embossed letter m. this he does not comprehend; but says it may possibly stand for _mementote_. "dining in pembroke college hall, new year's day, ," he adds, "the grace cup of silver gilt, the founder's gift to her college, was produced at the close of dinner, when, being full of sweet wine, the old custom is here, as in most other colleges, for the master, at the head of the long table, to rise, and, standing on his feet, to drink, _in piam memoriam_ (_fundatricis_,) to his neighbour on his right hand, and, who is also to be standing. when the master has drunk, he delivers the cup to him he drank to, and sits down; and the other, having the cup, drinks to his opposite neighbour, who stands up while the other is drinking; and thus alternately till it has gone quite through the company, two always standing at a time. it is of no large capacity, and is often replenished." this is not unlike the tertiavit of the mertonians, as they call it (says mr. pointer,) from a barbarous latin word derived from _tertius_, because there are always three standing at a time. the custom, he says, is a loyal one, and arises from their drinking the king and queen's health standing (at dinner) on some extraordinary days (called gaudies, from the latin word _gaudeo_, to rejoice,) to show their loyalty. there are always three standing at a time the first not sitting down again till the second has drank to a third man. the same loyal custom, under different forms, prevails in all colleges in both universities. at the inns of court, also, in london, the king's health is drunk every term, on what is called _grand day_, all members present, big-wig and student, having filled "a bumper of sparkling wine," rise simultaneously, and drink "the king," _supernaculum_, of course. * * * * * a more capacious bowl than the foregoing is in the possession of the society of jesus college, oxford, says chalmers, the gift of the hospitable sir watkins williams wynne, grandfather to the present baronet. it will contain ten gallons, and weighs ounces: how or when it is used, this deponent sayeth not. queen's college, oxon, says mr. pointer, has its-- horn of diversion, so called because it never fails to afford _funnery_. it is kept in the buttery, is occasionally presented to persons to drink out of and is so contrived, that by lifting it up to the mouth too hastily, the air gets in and suddenly forces too great a quantity of the liquid, as if thrown into the drinker's face, to his great surprise and the delight of the standers by. _multa cadunt inter calicem supremaque labra._ another bibulous relique was the famous chalice, found in one of the hands of the founder of merton college, oxford, the celebrated walter de merton, bishop of rochester and chancellor of england, upon the opening of his grave in , says wood, on the authority of mr. leonard yate, fellow of merton. it held more than a quarter of a pint; and the warden and fellows caused it to be sent to the college, to be put into their _cista jocalium_; but the fellows, in their zeal, sometimes drinking out of it, "this, then, so valued relic was broken and destroyed." * * * * * a laudable and christian custom, in merton college, says pointer, in his _oxoniensis academia_, &c. "is their meeting together in the hall on christmas eve, and other solemn times, to sing a psalm, and drink a _grace cup_ to one another, (called _poculum charitatis_) wishing one another health and happiness. these _grace cups_," he adds, "they drink to one another every day after dinner and supper, wishing one another peace and good neighbourhood." this conclusion reminds us of the following anecdote:-- a learned cambridge mathematician, now holding a distinguished post at the naval college, portsmouth, after discussing one day, with a party of johnians, the propriety of the _dies festæ_, _solar_, _siderial_, &c., drily observed, putting a bumper to his lips, "i think we should have _jovial days_ as well." every college in both universities has the next best thing to it,-- their feast days, "_in piam memoriam_" of their several founders, most of whom being persons of _taste_, left certain annual sums wherewith to "pay the piper." besides _minor_ feast-days, every society, both at oxford and cambridge, hold its yearly commemoration. there is always prayers and a sermon on this day, and the lesson is taken from eccl. xliv. "let us now praise famous men," &c. mr. pointer says, that at magdalen college, oxford, it is "a custom on all commemoration days to have the bells rung in a confused manner, and without any order, it being the primitive way of ringing." the same writer states that there is a musical may-day commemoration, annually celebrated by this society, which consists of a concert of music on the top of the tower, in honour of its founder, henry vii. it was originally a mass, but since the reformation, it has been "a merry concert of both vocal and instrumental music, consisting of several merry ketches, and lasts almost two hours (beginning as early as four o'clock in the morning,) and is concluded with ringing the bells." the performers have a breakfast for their pains. they have likewise singing early on christmas morning. the custom is similar to one observed at manheim, in germany, and throughout the palatinate. whoever was the author of the following admirable production, he was certainly not [greek: nous]-less, and it will "hardly be read with _dry lips_, or _mouths_ that do not water," says the author of the _gradus ad cant_. ode on a college feast day. i. hark! heard ye not yon footsteps dread, that shook the hall with thund'ring tread? with eager haste the fellows pass'd, each, intent on direful work, high lifts his mighty blade, and points his deadly fork. ii. but, hark! the portals sound, and pacing forth, with steps, alas! too slow, the college gypts, of high illustrious worth, with all the dishes, in long order go. in the midst a form divine, appears the fam'd sir-loin; and soon, with plums and glory crown'd almighty pudding sheds its sweets around. heard ye the din of dinner bray? knife to fork, and fork to knife, unnumber'd heroes, in the glorious strife, through fish, flesh, pies, and puddings, cut their destin'd way. iii. see beneath the mighty blade, gor'd with many a ghastly wound, low the famed sir-loin is laid, and sinks in many a gulf profound. arise, arise, ye sons of glory, pies and puddings stand before ye; see the ghost of hungry bellies, points at yonder stand of jellies; while such dainties are beside ye, snatch the goods the gods provide ye; mighty rulers of this state, snatch before it is too late; for, swift as thought, the puddings, jellies, pies, contract their giant bulks, and shrink to pigmy size. iv. from the table now retreating, all around the fire they meet, and, with wine, the sons of eating, crown at length the mighty treat: triumphant plenty's rosy traces sparkle in their jolly faces; and mirth and cheerfulness are seen in each countenance serene. fill high the sparkling glass, and drink the accustomed toast; drink deep, ye mighty host, and let the bottle pass. begin, begin the jovial strain; fill, fill the mystic bowl; and drink, and drink, and drink again; for drinking fires the soul. but soon, too soon, with one accord they reel; each on his seat begins to nod; all conquering bacchus' pow'r they feel, and pour libations to the jolly god. at length, with dinner, and with wine oppress'd, down in their chairs they sink, and give themselves to rest. * * * * * sir robert walpole at cambridge. sir robert walpole, the celebrated minister, was bred at eton and king's college, cambridge. at the first he raised great expectations as a boy, and when the master was told that st. john, afterwards lord bolingbroke, had with others, his scholars, distinguished themselves for their eloquence, in the house of commons, "i am impatient to hear that walpole has spoken," was his observation; "for i feel convinced he will be a good orator." at king's college his career was near being cut short by an attack of the small-pox. he was then known as a fierce _whig_, and his physicians were _tories_, one of whom, dr. brady, said, "we must take care to save this young man, or we shall be accused of having purposely neglected him, because he is so violent a whig." after he was restored, his spirit and disposition so pleased the same physician, that he added, "this singular escape seems to be a sure prediction that he is reserved for important purposes," which walpole remembered with complacency. * * * * * dr. lamb, the present master of corpus christi, cambridge, in his edition of master's history of that college, gives the following copy of a bill, in the handwriting of dr. john jegon, a former master, which may be taken as a specimen of a college dinner at the end of the sixteenth century:-- "visitors' feast, august , , eliz. ." "imprimis, butter and eggs xii_d._ "linge xii_d._ "rootes buttered ii_d._ "a leg of mutton xii_d._ "a poulte iii_d._ "a pike xviii_d._ "buttered maydes iiii_d._ "soles xii_d._ "hartichockes vi_d._ "roast [b]eef viii_d._ "shrimps vi_d._ "perches vi_d._ "skaite vi_d._ "custards xii_d._ "wine and sugar xx_d._ "condiments, vinegar, pepper iii_d._ "money to the visitors vi_s._ viii_d._ "money to scholars and officers, cooks, butler, register, trinitiehall school iiii_s._ viii_d._ "item, exceedings of the schollers xx_d._ -------------------- summa, xxiiii_s._ x_d._ -------------------- "j. jegon." the same authority gives the following curious item as occurring in , during the mastership of the successor of dr. jegon, dr. samuel walsall, who was elected in , under the head of an account of the wine, &c., consumed at a college audit. _l._ _s._ _d._ "imp. tuesday night, a pottle of claret and a qt. of sacke "it. wednesday, jan. , a pound of sugar and a pound of carriways "it. three ounces of tobacco "it. halfe an hundred apples and thirtie "it. a pottle of claret and a quart of sacke, wednesday dinner "it. two dousen of tobacco pipes "it. thursday dinner, two pottles of sacke and three pottles and a quart of claret "it. thursday supp. a pottle of sacke and three pottles of claret "it. satterday diner, a pottle of claret and a quart --------------- "sum. tot. _l._ --------------- "hence it appears," observes dr. l., "sack was _s._ _d._ a quart, claret _d._, and tobacco _s._ _d._ an ounce. that is, an ounce of tobacco was worth exactly four pints and a half of claret." oxford, more than cambridge, observed, and still observes, many singular customs. amongst others recorded in mr. pointer's curious book, is the now obsolete and very ancient one at merton college, called the black-night. formerly the dean of the college kept the bachelor-fellows at disputations in the hall, sometimes till late at night, and then to give, them a black-night (as they called it;) the reason of which was this:--"among many other famous scholars of this college, there were two great logicians, the one _johannes duns scotus_, called _doctor subtilis,_ fellow of the college, and father of the sect of the realists, and his scholar _gulielmus occam,_ called _doctor invincibilis,_ of the same house, and father of the sect of the nomenalists; betwixt whom there falling out a hot dispute one disputation night, _scotus_ being the dean of the college, and _occam_ (a bachelor-fellow therein,) though the latter got the better on't, yet being but an inferior, at parting submitted himself, with the rest of the bachelors, to the dean in this form, _domine, quid faciernus?_ (_i. e._ sir, what is your pleasure?) as it were begging punishment for their boldness in arguing; to whom _scotus_ returned this answer, _ite et facite quid vultis_ (_i. e._ begone, and do as you please.) hereupon away they went and broke open the buttery and kitchen doors, and plundered all the provisions they could lay hands on; called all their companions out of their beds, and made a merry bout on't all night. this gave occasion for observing the same diversion several times afterwards, whenever the dean kept the bachelor-fellows at disputation till twelve o'clock at night. the last black-night was about ." * * * * * the force of imagination. a learned cantab, who was so _deaf_ as to be obliged to use an _ear trumpet,_ having taken his departure from trinity college, of which he was lately a fellow, mounted on his well-fed rosinante for the purpose of visiting a friend, fell in with an acquaintance by the way side, with whom he was induced to dine, and evening was setting in ere he pushed forward for his original destination. warm with t. b., he had not gone far ere he let fall the reins on the neck of his pegasus, which took its own course till he was suddenly roused by its coming to a stand-still where four cross roads met, in a part of the country to which he was an utter stranger. what added to the dilemma, the _direction-post_ had been demolished. he luckily espied an old farmer jogging homeward from market. "hallo! my man, can you tell me the way to ----?" "yes, to be sure i can. you must go down _hin-hinder_ lane, and cross _yin-yinder_ common on the left, then you'll see a _hol_ and a _pightal_ and the old mills, and ----" "stop, stop, my good friend!" exclaimed our cantab; "you don't know i'm _deaf_," pulling his _ear-trumpet_ out of his pocket as he spoke: this the farmer no sooner got a glimpse of, than, taking it for a pistol or blunderbuss, and its owner for a highwayman, he clapped spurs to his horse, and galloped off at full speed, roaring out for mercy as our cantab bawled for him to stop, the _muzzle_ of his horse nosing the tail of the farmer's, till they came to an opening in a wood by the road side, through which the latter vanished, leaving the cantab _solus_, after a chase of some miles,--and upon inquiry at a cottage, he learnt he was still ten or twelve from the place of his destination, little short of the original distance he had to ride when he first started from cambridge in the morning. this anecdote reminds me of two oxonians of considerable celebrity, learning, and singular manners. one was the late amiable organist of dulwich college the rev. onias linley, son of mr. linley, of drury-lane and musical celebrity: he was consequently brother of mrs. r. b. sheridan. he was bred at winchester and new college, and was remarkable, when a minor canon at norwich, in norfolk, for his absent habits, and the ridiculous light in which they placed him, and for carrying a huge snuff-box in one hand, which he constantly kept twirling with the other between his finger and thumb. he once attended a ball at the public assembly rooms, when, having occasion to visit the temple of cloacina, he unconsciously walked back into the midst of the crowd of beauties present, with a certain _coverlid_ under his arm, in lieu of his opera hat; nor was he aware of the exchange he had made till a friend gave him a _gentle_ hint. he occasionally rode a short distance into the country to do duty on a sunday, when he used compassionately to relieve his steed by alighting and walking on, with the horse following, and the bridle on his arm. upon such occasions he frequently fell into what is called "a brown study," and arrived at his destination dragging the bridle after him, _minus_ the horse, which had stopped by the way to crop grass. he was one day met on the road so circumstanced, and reminded of the fact by a gentleman who knew him. "bless me," said he, with the most perfect composure, "the horse was with me when i sat out. i must go back to seek him." and back he went a mile or two, when he found his steed grazing by the way, bridled him afresh, and reached his church an hour later than usual, much to the chagrin of his congregation. the late dr. adams, one of the first who went out to demerara after the established clergy were appointed to stations and parishes in the west indies by authority, was a man of habits very similar to those of mr. linley, and very similar anecdotes are recorded of him, and his oddities are said to have caused some mirth to his sable followers. he died in about a year or two, much regretted notwithstanding. * * * * * the early poets bred in the halls of granta, "_semper--pauperimus esse_," were nearly all blest with none or a slender competence. but what they wanted in wealth was amply supplied in wit. spenser, lee, otway, ben johnson, and his son randolph, milton, cowley, dryden, prior, and kit smart, poets as they were, had fared but so so, had they lived by poësy only--and who ever dreamed of caring ought for _their_ posterity. spencer was matriculated a member of pembroke college, cambridge, the th of may, , at the age of sixteen, at which early period he is supposed to have been under his "sweet fit of poesy," and soon after formed the design of his great poem, the _faery queene_, _stanzas_ of which, it is said, on very good authority, were lately discovered on the removal of some of the old wainscoting of the room in which he _kept_ in pembroke college. he took b.a. , and m.a. , without succeeding to fellowship, died _in want of bread_, , and was buried in westminster abbey, according to his request, near chaucer. camden says of him-- "anglica, te vivo, vixit plautisque poesis, nunc moritura, timet, te moriente, mori!" in the common-place-book of edward, earl of oxford and mortimer, preserved amongst the mss. of the british museum, is the memoranda:--"lord carteret told me, that when he was lord lieutenant of ireland, a man of the name of spenser, immediately descended from our illustrious poet, came to be examined before the lord chief justice, as a witness in a cause, and that he was so entirely ignorant of the english language, that they were forced to have an interpreter for him." but i have no intention to give my readers the _blues_. "nat. lee" was a trinity man, and was, as the folk say, "as poor as a church mouse" during his short life, four years of which he passed in bedlam. an envious scribe one day there saw him, and mocked his calamity by asking, "if it was not easy to write like a madman?" "no, sir," said he; "but it is very easy to write like a fool." otway was bred at st. john's college, cambridge. but though his tragedies are still received with "tears of approbation," he lived in penury, and died in extreme misery, choked, it is said, by a morsel of bread given him to relieve his hunger, the th of april, . ben jonson, "rare ben," also "finished his education" at st. john's, nor did i ever tread the mazes of its pleasant walks, but imagination pictured him and his gifted contemporaries and successors, from the time of the minstrel of arcadia to the days of kirke white, in dalliance with the nine in ev'ry nook, a conning nature from her own sweet book. but ben, though "the greatest dramatic poet of his age," after he left cambridge, "worked with a trowel at the building of lincoln's inn," and died poor in everything but fame, in . ben, however, contrived to keep nearly as many "jovial days" in a year, as there are saints in the roman calendar, and at a set time held a club at the same devil tavern, near temple-bar, to which the celebrated cambridge professor, and reformer of our church music, dr. maurice greene, adjourned his concert upon his quarrel with handel, which made the latter say of him with his natural dry humour, "_toctor creene was gone to de tavil_." there ben and his _boon_ companions were still extant, when tom randolph (author of "the muses' looking-glass," &c.,) a student of trinity college, cambridge, had ventured on a visit to london, where, it is said, he stayed so long, that he had already had a _parley with his empty purse_, when their fame made him long to see ben and his associates. he accordingly, as handel would have said, _vent to de tavil_, at their accustomed time of meeting; but being unknown to them, and without money, he was peeping into the room where they sat, when he was espied by ben, who seeing him in a _scholar's thread-bare habit_, cried out "_john bo-peep_, come in." he entered accordingly, and they, not knowing the wit of their guest, began to rhyme upon the meanness of his clothes, asking him if he could not make a verse, and, withal, to call for his quart of sack. there being but four, he thus addressed them:-- "i, john bo-peep, to you four sheep, with each one his good fleece, if that you are willing to give me five shilling, 'tis fifteen pence a-piece." "by jesus," exclaimed ben (his usual oath,) "i believe this is my son randolph!" which being confessed, he was kindly entertained, and ben ever after called him his son, and, on account of his learning, gaiety, and humour, and readiness of repartee, esteemed him equal to cartwright. he also grew in favour with the wits and poets of the metropolis, but was cut off, some say of intemperance, at the age of twenty-nine. his brother was a member of christ church, oxford, and printed his works in . amongst the _memorabilia cantabrigiæ_ of milton is the fact, that his personal beauty obtained for him the _soubriquet_ of "the lady of the college;" and that he set a full value on his fine exterior, is evident from the imperfect greek lines, entitled, "_in effigie ejus sculptorem_," in warton's second edition of his poems. some have supposed he had himself in view, in his delineation of the person of adam. every body knows that his "paradise lost" brought him and his posterity less than _l._: but every body does not know that there is a _latin_ translation of it, in twelve books, in the library of trinity college, cambridge, in ms., the work of one mr. power, a fellow of that society, who printed the first book in , and completed the rest at the bermudas, where his difficulties had obliged him to fly, and from whence it was sent to dr. richard bentley, to publish and pay his debts with. however, in spite of his creditors, it still remains in ms. the writer obtained, says judge hardinge, alluding i suppose, to "the tempest of his mind and of his habits," the _soubriquet_ of the "_Æolian exile_." there is also a bust of milton in the library of trinity college, and some of his juvenile poems, &c., in his own hand-writing. cowley was bread at trinity college. his bust, too, graces its library, and his portrait its hall. both these alumni, when students, wrote latin as well as english verses, and the curious in such matters, on reference to this work, will be amused by the difference of feeling with which their _alma mater_ inspired them. to cowley the _bowers of granta and the camus_ were the very seat of inspiration; milton thought no epithet too mean to express their charms: yet, says dyer, in his supplement, "it is difficult to conceive a more brilliant example of youthful talent than milton's latin poems of that period." though they "are not faultless, they render what was said of gray applicable to milton-- 'he never was a boy.'" his mulberry tree, more fortunate than either that of shakspeare, or the pear tree of his contemporary and patron, oliver cromwell, is still shown in the fellows' garden of christ college, and still "bears abundance in fruit-time," and near it is a drooping ash, planted by the present marquis of bute, when a student of christ college. * * * * * cromwell's pear-tree i saw cut down, from the window of my sitting-room, in jesus-lane, cambridge (which happened to overlook the fellows' garden of sidney college,) in march, . the tree is said to have been planted by cromwell's own hand, when a student at sidney college, and, said the cambridge chronicle of the th of the above month, it seems not unlikely that the original stock was coeval with the protector. the tree consisted of five stems (at the time it was cut down,) which rose directly from the ground, and which had probably shot up after the main trunk had been accidentally or intentionally destroyed. four of these stems had been dead for some years, and the fifth was cut down, as stated above. "a section of it, at eight feet from the ground, had consecutive rings, indicating as many years of growth for that part. if we add a few more for the growth of the portion still lower down, it brings us to a period within seventy years of the restoration; and it is by no means improbable that the original trunk may have been at least seventy or eighty years old before it was mutilated. the stumps of the five stems are still left standing, the longest being eight feet high; and it is intended to erect a rustic seat within the area they embrace." other memorials of cromwell at sidney college, are his bust, in the master's lodge, and his portrait in the library. the first was executed by the celebrated bernini, at the request of ferdinand, grand duke of tuscany, from a plaster impression of the face of cromwell, taken soon after his death. it was obtained by the late learned cambridge regius professor of botany, thomas martyn, b.d., during his stay in italy, and by him presented to the society of sidney college, of which he was a fellow. lord cork said it bore "the strongest character of _boldness_, _steadiness_, _sense_, _penetration_, and _pride_." the portrait is _unique_, drawn in crayons, by the celebrated cooper, and is said to be that from which he painted his famous miniatures of the protector. in the college register is a memorandum of cromwell's admission to the society, dated april , , to which some one has added his character, in latin, in a different hand-writing, and very severe terms. * * * * * dryden confined to college walls. dryden, whom some have styled "the true father of english poetry," was fond of a _college life_, as especially "favourable to the habits of a student." he was bread at trinity college, cambridge, where he resided seven years, during which he is said never, like milton and others, to have "wooed the muses." what were his college habits is not known. the only notice of him at trinity (where his bust and portrait are preserved, the first in the library, the second in the hall,) whilst an undergraduate, is the following entry in the college register, made about two years after his admission:--"july , . agreed, then, that dryden be put out of comons, for a fortnight at least, and that he goe not out of the college during the time aforesaid, excepting to sermons, without express leave from the master or vice-master (disobedience to whom was his fault,) and that, at the end of the fortnight, he read a confession of his crime in the hall at the dinner-time, at the three fellows' table." his contemporary, dennis the critic, seems to have been less fortunate at cambridge. the author of the "biographia dramatica" asserts that he was expelled from caius college, cambridge. which is denied by dr. kippis, in the "biographia britannica," and "when doctors disagree, who shall decide?" in this case a third doctor steps in for the purpose, in the person of the celebrated master of emmanuel college, dr. richard farmer, who, in a humorous letter, printed in the european magazine for , says, on turning to the _gesta book_ of caius college, under the head, "sir dennis sent away," appears this entry: "march , . at a meeting of the master and fellows, sir dennis mulcted _l._; his scholarship taken away, and he _sent out of the college_, for assaulting and wounding sir glenham with a sword." * * * * * prior laid out the walks of st. john's college, cambridge, as i have been told, where he was educated, and lived and died a fellow. after he became french ambassador, and was distinguished by his sovereign, he was urged to resign his fellowship. his reply was (probably not having much faith in the longevity of _princes' favours_,) "should i need it, it will always insure me _a bit of mutton and a clean shirt_!" but it ought also to be added, to his honour, that the celebrated thomas baker, the antiquary, having been ejected from his fellowship in the same college, for refusing to take the oaths to william and mary, prior generously allowed him the proceeds of his. the same cantab was once at the opera, where a conceited french composer had taken his seat adjoining, and being anxious that the audience should know he had written the music, he annoyed our poet by humming every air so audibly as to spoil the effect of the person's singing the part, one of the greatest _artistes_ of the day. thus annoyed, prior ventured to _hiss_ the singer. every body was astonished at the daring, he being a great and deserved favourite. the composer hummed again,--again prior hissed the singer, who, enraged at the circumstance, demanded "why he was subject to such indignity?" "i want that fellow to leave off humming," said prior, pointing to the composer, "that i may have the pleasure of hearing you sing, signor." * * * * * stung by a b. dr. thomas plume, a former archdeacon of colchester, was the munificent founder of the cambridge professorship of astronomy and experimental philosophy, which (as in the case of the late dr. edward daniel clarke and the present george pryme, esq. m.a. and m.p.) he was the first to fill; but he was not as fortunate as the former, to fill his chair with unparalleled success,--in fact, his lectures were not quite the fashion. he was smarting under this truth, when he one day met dr. pearce in the streets of cambridge, the master of jesus college, whom he addressed with, "doctor, they call my lectures plum-b-ian, which is very uncivil. i don't at all like it, dr. pearce." "i suppose the b. stung you," rejoined the latter. here we may not inappropriately introduce a trifle, hit off between dr. pearce and the woman who had the care of the temple gardens, when he was master there. it is a rule to keep them close shut during divine service on sundays; but the doctor being indisposed, and having no grounds attached to his residence save the church-yard, wished to seize the quiet hour for taking a little air and exercise. he accordingly rung the garden bell, and rachel made her appearance; but she flatly told him she should not let him in, as it was against the benchers' orders. "but i am the _master_ of the temple," said dr. p. "the more shame for you," said rachel, "you ought to set a better example;" and the doctor retired dead beat. * * * * * a nest of saxonists. queen's college, oxford, was called "_a nest of saxonists_" towards the close of the sixteenth century, when those learned antiquarians and saxonists, rawlinson and thwaites, flourished there. it is recorded of the latter, in nichols's bowyer, that he said, writing of the state of the college, "we want saxon lexicons. i have fifteen young students in that language, and but one _somner_ for them all." our cambridge gossip, cole, relates a pleasant mistake, (taken notice of by warton also in the first volume of his history of english poetry) of a brother cantab's having undertaken to translate the scriptures into welsh, and rendering _vials_ of wrath (meaning _vessels_--rom. v. ) by the welsh word _crythan_, signifying _crowds_ or _fiddles_. "the greek word being [greek: phialas]," he adds, "it is probable he translated from the english only, where finding _vials_, he mistook it for _viols_." the translator was dr. morgan, who died bishop of st. asaph, in . * * * * * minding the roast. lord nugent, _on-dit_, once called on an old college acquaintance, then a country divine of great simplicity of manners, at a time when his housekeeper was from home on some errand, and he had undertaken to _mind the roast_. this obliged him to invite his lordship into the kitchen, that he might avoid the fate of king alfred. our dame's stay exceeded the time anticipated, and the divine having _to bury a corpse_, he begged lord n. to take his turn at the spit, which he accordingly did, till the housekeeper arrived to relieve him. this anecdote reminds me of the following specimen of a college exercise, _by the younger bowyer, written at st. john's college, cambridge, november , ._ "ne quicquam sapit, qui sibi ipsi non sapit." a goodly parson once there was, to 's maid would chatter latin; (for that he was, i think, an ass, at least the rhyme comes pat in.) one day the house to prayers were met, with well united hearts; below, a goose was at the spit, to feast their grosser parts. the godly maid to prayers she came, if truth the legends say, to hear her master english lame, herself to sleep and pray. the maid, to hear her worthy master, left all alone her kitchen; hence happened much a worse disaster than if she'd let the bitch in. while each breast burns with pious flame, all hearts with ardours beat, the goose's breast did much the same with too malicious heat. the parson smelt the odours rise; to 's belly thoughts gave loose, and plainly seemed to sympathise with his twice-murdered goose. he knew full well self-preservation bids piety retire, just as the _salus_ of a nation lays obligation higher. he stopped, and thus held forth his _clerum_, while him the maid did stare at, _hoc faciendum; sed alterum non negligendum erat_. _parce tuum vatum sceleris damnare._ * * * * * tulip-time. writing of the death of a former master of magdalen college, "whose whole delight was horses, dogs, sporting, &c.," which, says cole, happened on the first of september, the legal day for partridge-shooting to begin, "it put me in mind of the late dr. walker, vice-master of trinity, a great florist (and founder of the botanical garden at cambridge,) who, when told of a brother florist's death, by shooting himself in the spring, immediately exclaimed, 'good god! is it possible? now, at the beginning of tulip-time!'" * * * * * the college bell. when dr. barrett, prebend of st. paul's, was a student at peter-house, cambridge, he happened to make one of a party of collegians, where it was proposed that each _gentleman_ should _toast_ his _favourite belle_; when it came to his turn, he facetiously gave "the _college-bell_!" * * * * * college fun. "previous to my attending cambridge," says henry angelo, in his reminiscences, "one of my scholars (whom i had taught at westminster school,) at trinity college, engaged an irish fencing-master, named fitzpatrick," more remarkable for his native humour than science, and when he had taken too much of the _cratur_, "was amusing to the collegians, who had engaged him merely to keep up their exercise." one day, during a bout, some wag placed a bottle of his favourite "mountain dew" (whisky) on the chimney-piece, which proved so attractive, "that as his sips increased, so did the numerous hits he received, till the first so far prevailed, aided by exertion and the heat of the weather, that he lay, _tandem_, to all appearance dead." to keep the fun up, he was stripped and laid out like a corpse, with a shroud on, a coffin close to him, and four candles placed on each side, ready to light on his recovery. this _jeu de plaisanterie_ might have been serious; "however, master _push_-carte took care not to push himself again into the same place." * * * * * the king of denmark at cambridge. when the late king of denmark was in england, in , when he visited eton, &c., he is said to have made a brief sojourn at cambridge, where he was received with "all the honours," and took up his abode (as is usual for persons of his rank) in the lodge of the master of trinity. in his majesty's establishments for learned purposes, as well as throughout all germany, &c., no provision is made for lodging and otherwise providing for the comforts of students, as in the two english universities; and when he surveyed the principal _court_ of trinity, he is said to have had so little notion of an english university, that he asked "whether that court did not comprise the whole of the university of cambridge?" this royal anecdote reminds me that his present gracious majesty, william the fourth, announced his intention to visit cambridge. as in duty bound, upon his accession to the throne of his ancestors, a loyal congratulatory address was voted by the members of the university of cambridge in full senate. this was shortly afterwards presented to his majesty at st. james's palace by the then vice-chancellor, dr. george thackery, d.d., provost of king's college, at the head of a large body of the heads of colleges, and others, _en robe_. his majesty not only received it most graciously, but with that truly english expression that goes home to the bosom of every briton, told dr. thackery he "should shortly take pot-luck with him in cambridge." the term, too, is worthy of particular notice, since it expresses his majesty's kind consideration for the contents of the university chest, and the pockets of its members. oxford, it is well known, is still _smarting_ under the heavy charges incident upon the memorable visit of his late majesty, george the fourth, in , with the emperor alexander and the king of prussia and their _suites_. it would be no drawback upon the popularity of princes if they did take "_pot-luck_" with their subjects oftener than they do. let there be no drawback upon hospitality, but let the "feast of reason and the flow of soul" suffice for the _costly banquet_. in olden times, our monarchs _took pot-luck_ both at oxford, cambridge, and elsewhere, without their subjects being the less loyal. queen elizabeth and james the first and second were frequent visitors at both those seats of learning. elizabeth, indeed, that flower of british monarchs, suffered no designing minister to shake her confidence in her people's loyalty. she did not confine her movements to the dull routine of two or three royal palaces,--her palace was her empire. she went about "doing good" by the light of her countenance. she, and not her _minister_, was the people's _idol_. i therefore come to the conclusion, that the expressed determination of his majesty, william the fourth, to take _pot-luck_ with his good people of the university of cambridge, is the dawn of a return of those wholesome practices of which we read in the works of our annalists, when "'twas merry in the hall, and their beards wagged all." wood relates, amongst other humorous incidents, that during queen elizabeth's second visit to oxford, in september, , besides plays, &c., there was a disputation in law and physic, and, amongst many questions, was one,--"_whether the air, or meat, or drink, did most change a man?_" and a merry doctor of that faculty, named richard ratcliffe, lately fellow of merton college, but now principal of st. alban's hall, going about to produce the _negative_, showed forth a big, large body, a great fat belly, a side waist, all, as he said, so changed by _meat_ and _drink_, desiring to see any other so metamorphosed by the _air_. but it was concluded (by the moderator) in the affirmative, that _air_ had the greater power of change. one of the questions (the next day) was,--"_whether it be lawful to dissemble in the cause of religion?_" written thus, says gutch, "non est dissimulandum in causa religionis;" "which being looked upon as a nice question," continues wood, "caused much attention from the courtly auditory. one argument, more witty than solid, that was urged by one of the opponents, was, 'it is lawful to dispute of religion therefore 'tis lawful to dissemble;' and so going on, said, 'i myself now do that which is lawful, but i do now dissemble; ergo, it is lawful to dissemble.' (id quod nunc ego, de rebus divinis disputans, ego dissimulare; sed quod nunc ego, de rebus divinis disputam, ego dissimulare est licitum; at which her majesty and all the auditory were very merry.)" when queen elizabeth first visited cambridge, in the year , she took up her residence at the lodge of the provost of king's college, which stood near the east end of king's chapel. we well remember the old pile and the solitary trees that branched beside; and much as we admire the splendid improvements to which they have given place, we could almost find it in our hearts to express regret at the removal of those landmarks of the topographist. the hall was her guard-chamber, the dining-room her presence-chamber, and the gallery and adjoining rooms her private apartments. her visit lasted five days, during which she was entertained with comedies, tragedies, orations, disputations, and other academical exercises. she personally visited every college, and is said to have been so pleased with the venerable, solemn, and scholastic appearance of pembroke hall, that she saluted it with the words-- "o domus antiqua et religiosa!" * * * * * the first dissenter in england, according to the author of _historical anecdotes_, &c., was thomas cartwright, b.d., lady margaret's professor and fellow of trinity college. he and thomas preston (afterwards master of trinity hall,) says fuller, during queen elizabeth's visit at cambridge, in , were appointed two of the four disputants in the philosophy-act before her majesty. "cartwright had dealt most with the muses; preston with the graces, adorning his learning with comely carriage, graceful gesture, and pleasing pronunciation. cartwright disputed like a _great_, preston like a _gentile_ scholar, being a handsome man; and the queen, upon a parity of deserts, always preferred properness of person in conferring her favours. hereupon, with her looks, words, and deeds she favoured preston, calling him _her scholler_, as appears by his epitaph in trinity hall chappell. 'thomas prestonÆ, scholarem, 'quem dixit princeps elizabetha suum,' &c. insomuch," continues fuller, "that for his good disputing, and excellent acting, in the tragedy of _dido_, she bestowed on him a pension of lib. a year; whilst cartwright received neither reward nor commendation, whereof he not only complained to his inward friends in trinity college, but also, after her majesty's neglect of him, began to wade into divers opinions against her ecclesiastical government." and thus, according to the authority first cited, he became _the first dissenter in england_, and was deprived, subsequently, as a matter of course, of both his fellowship and professorship. it was most probably for the entertainment of the royal elizabeth, that one thomas still, m.a., of christ's college, cambridge, afterwards bishop of bath and wells, composed and produced the first english play extant: a fact no cantab need blush at, _proh pudor_, though the plot is none of the sublimest. it was printed as early as , with the following title: "a ryght pythy, pleasant, and merie comedie, entytuled gammer gurton's needle; played on the stage not long ago in christe's college, in cambridge, made by mr. s. master of arts. imprynted at london, in fleete streeate, beneth the conduit, at the signe of sainte john evangelist, by thomas colwell." though altogether of a comic cast, it was not deficient in genuine humour, and is a curious sample of the simplicity which prevailed in this country, in the early days of dramatic art. it is in metre, is spun out into five regular acts, and an awful piece it is, as may be seen by the following brief sketch of the plot. gammer gurton having lost her needle, a great hunt is made in search of it, and her boy is directed to blow the embers of an expiring fire, in order to light a candle to help the search. the witch of a cat has, in the meantime, got into the chimney, with her two fiery eyes. the boy cries, "it is the devil of a fire!" for when he puffs, it is out,--and when he does not, it is in. "stir it!" bawls gammer gurton. the boy does her bidding, and the _cat_ (the _fire_ as he imagines) flies forthwith amongst a pile of wood. "the house will be burnt, all hands to work!" roars the boy, and the cat is discovered by a priest (more cunning than the rest.) this ends the _episode_, with which the _main plot_ and catastrophe vie. gammer gurton, it seems, had, the day before, been mending her man hodge's breeches. now hodge, in some game of merriment, was to be punished, for some default, with three slaps on the breech, to be administered by the brawny hand of one of his fellow-bumpkins. to that end, his head is laid in gammer gurton's lap; the first slap is given, hodge bellows out with pain, and, oh! joyful announcement, on searching for the cause of his affliction, the needle is discovered, buried up to the eye in poor hodge's posterior portion. the needle is then extracted with becoming demonstrations, and the curtain falls. amongst other interesting matters associated with the memory of queen elizabeth (beside that of her having given cambridge that admirable body of statutes upon which all laws for their governance still continue to be framed,) are the following memoranda, extracted by dyer from baker's mss. in the public library of the university:-- "the th daye of julie, , the queene's majestie came in her progresse intended to norfolk, to audley end, at the town of waldren, accompanied by the lorde treasurer, high chancellor of the university of cambridge. the vice chancellor and masters of colleges thoughte meete and convenient for the dischardge of dutie, that the said vice-chancellor and hedds of coll. should shewe themselves of the courte, and welcome her grace into these quarters." about the end of his oration, the orator (mr. bridgewater of king's college) makes mention, that "mr. doctor howland, then vice-chancellor, maketh his three ordinarie curtesies, and then kneeling at her majesty's feete, presenting unto her-- a newe testament in greek, of robert stephens's first printing, folio, bound in redd velvett, and lymmed with gold; the arms of england sett upon eche syde of the booke very faire; and on the thirde leafe of the booke, being faire and cleane paper, was also sett and painted in colours the arms of the universitie, with these writings following: regiæ majestati deditissimæ academiæ cantabrigiensis insignia (viz. quatuor leones cum bibl. &c.) also, with the booke, the vice-chancellor presented a pair of gloves, perfumed and garnished, with embroiderie and goldsmithe's wourke, pr. _s._ and these verses:-- "semper una. "una quod es semper, quod semper es optima, princeps, quam bene conveniunt hæc duo verba tibi? quod pia, quod prudens, quod casta, innuba virgo semper es, hoc etiam semper es una modo. "et populum quod ames, populo quod amata vicissim semper es, hic constans semper et una manes, o utinam; quoniam sic semper es una, liceret una te nobis semper, eliza, frui?" since cambridge has the merit of producing the _first english play_, it is but justice here to add, that the scholars of christ church, oxford, invented moveable scenes. this merit is claimed for them by the oxford historians, and allowed by the historians of the stage, though they have not agreed of the exact period. we are informed, in leland's collectanea, that "the stage did vary three times in the acting of one tragedy." in other words, there were three scenes employed; but these, it is said by chalmers, in his history of oxford university, were the invention of inigo jones; and the exhibition, it appears, took place in the hall of christ church, in , (the year wood places the invention in,) for the entertainment of the unfortunate charles the first and his queen, when, says our annalist, a comedy was performed for their amusement, entitled, "the passions calmed, or the settling of the floating," written by strode, the public orator, and moveable scenery introduced with suitable variations; and though there is pretty conclusive evidence that this was not the first time _moveable scenes_, &c. had been introduced, it is evident they had not come into general use, from the fact that, after the departure of the king and his _suite_, the dresses and scenery were sent to hampton court, at the express desire of the queen, but with a wish, suggested by the chancellor of oxford, the ill-fated archbishop laud, _that they might not come into the hands of the common players_, which was accordingly promised. leland thinks, however, that _moveable scenes_ were better managed, before this, at cambridge; and i know not, he says, whether the invention may not be carried back to the year , when the celebrated polish prince, alesco, was at oxford, and for whose entertainment, says wood (who gives an interesting account of all the particulars of that famous oxford gaudy,) the tragedy of dido was acted in the hall of christ church, decorated with scenes illustrative of the play, and the exhibition of "the tempest, wherein it rained small comfits, rose-water, and new artificial snow, was very strange to the beholders." but other authorities place the invention in , when james the first and his court came to oxford, and was entertained in the hall of christ church, "with the latin comedy of vertumnus, written by dr. matthew gwinne, of st. john's college, oxford, and performed by the students of that house, without borrowing a single actor; and it was upon this occasion that the _humming_ of his majesty took place, referred to in my preface. in , when james and his court happened to be at woodstock, the scholars of christ church enacted barton holyday's comedy of [greek: technogamia], or the marriage of the arts: but his majesty relished it so little, as to offer several times to withdraw, and was only prevented by some of his courtiers representing that his doing so would be a cruel disappointment. this incident gave rise to the well-known epigram-- "at christ-church marriage, done before the king, lest that those mates should want an offering, the king himself did offer--what, i pray? he offered twice or thrice to go away." * * * * * oxford and cambridge seemed rivals at this period. wood states, in his annals, that when king james was entertained at oxford, in , divers cambridge scholars went thither out of novelty, to see and hear; and some that pretended to be wits made copies of verses on that solemnity, of which, he says, i have met with one that runs-- to oxonforde the king is gone, with all his mighty peers, that hath in grace maintained us, these four or five long years. such a king he hath been, as the like was never seen: knights did ride by his side, evermore to be his guide: a thousand knights, and forty thousand knights, knights of forty pounds a year. which some attribute to one lake. this example, he adds, was followed by the oxonians, when james visited cambridge in , and "many idle songs" were made by them upon the proceedings at cambridge, the most celebrated of which is the one entitled, "a grave poem, as it was presented in latin by divines and others, before his majesty at cambridge, by way of enterlude, stiled 'liber novus de adventu regis ad cantabrigiam,' faithfully done into english, with some liberal advantage, made rather to be sung than red, to the tune of 'bonny nell,'" which poem, says wood, may be seen in the works of the witty bishop corbet (by whom it was written,) "printed in ." but in so saying our annalist not only _lies_ under a mistake, but mr. gutch, his editor, has not detected it. the poem is not in the edition of , but in that of , which is the third, corrected and enlarged, and "printed by j. c. for _william crooke_, at the _green dragoon_, without temple bar;" as all may see who will consult the said editions, both extant in the library of the british museum. the poem is comprised in twenty-six stanzas, as follows:-- it is not yet a fortnight, since lutetia entertained our prince, and wasted both a studied toy, as long as was the siege of _troy_: and spent herself for full five days in _speeches_, _exercise_, and _plays_. to trim the town, great care before was tane by th' lord _vice-chancellor_, both morn and eve he cleared the way, the streets he gravell'd thrice a day; one stripe of _march-dust_ for to see, no _provost_ would give more than he. their colledges were new be-painted, their founders eke were new be-sainted; nothing escaped, nor post, nor door, nor gete, nor rail, nor b----d, nor wh----: you could not know (oh, strange mishap!) whether you saw the _town_ or _map_. but the pure house of _emanuel_, would not be like proud _jesebel_, nor show herself before the king an hypocrite, or _painted_ thing: but that the ways might all prove fair, conceiv'd a tedious mile of prayer. upon the look'd-for seventh of _march_, out went the townsmen all in starch, both band and bead into the field, where one a speech could hardly wield; for needs he would begin his stile, the king being from him half a mile. they gave the king a piece of plate, which they hop'd never came too late; and cry'd, oh! look not in, great king, for there is in it just nothing: and so preferred with time and gate, a speech as empty as their plate. now, as the king came near the town, each one ran crying up and down, alas, poor _oxford_, thou'rt undone, for now the king's past _trompington_, and rides upon his brave grey dapple, seeing the top of _king's-colledge_ chappel. next rode his lordship on a nag, whose coat was blue, whose ruff was shag, and then began his reverence to speak most eloquent non-sense: see how (quoth he) most mighty prince, for very joy my horse doth wince. what cryes the town? what we? (said he) what cryes the university? what cryes the boyes? what every thing? behold, behold, yon comes the king: and every period he bedecks, with _en et ecce venit rex_. oft have i warn'd (quoth he) our dirt, that no silk stockings should be hurt; but we in vain strive to be fine, unless your grace's sun doth shine; and with the beams of your bright eye, you will be pleased our streets to dry. now come we to the wonderment, of _christendom_, and eke of _kent_, the _trinity_; which to surpass, doth deck her spokesman by a glass: who, clad in gay and silken weeds, thus opes his mouth, hark how he speeds. i wonder what your grace doth here, who had expected been year, and this your son, fair _carolus_, that is so jacobissimus; there's none, of all your grace refuses, you are most welcome to our muses. although we have no bells to jingle, yet can we shew a fair quadrangle, which, though it ne'er was graced with king, yet sure it is a goodly thing: my warning's short, no more i'll say, soon you shall see a gallant play. but nothing was so much admired as were their plays, so well attired; nothing did win more praise of mine, than did their actors most divine: so did they drink their healths divinely, so did they skip and dance so finely. their plays had sundry grave wise factors, a perfect diocess of actors upon the stage; for i am sure that there was both bishop, pastor, curat: nor was this labour light or small, the charge of some was pastoral. our plays were certainly much worse, for they had a brown hobby-horse, which did present unto his grace a wondrous witty ambling pace: but we were chiefly spoyl'd by that which was six hours of _god knows what_. his lordship then was in a rage, his lordship lay upon the stage, his lordship cry'd, all would be marr'd: his lordship lov'd a-life the guard, and did invite those mighty men, to what think you? even to a _hen_. he knew he was to use their might to help to keep the door at night, and well bestow'd he though his hen, that they might tolebooth _oxford_ men. he thought it did become a lord to threaten with that bug-bear word. now pass we to the civil law, and eke the doctors of the spaw, who all perform'd their parts so well, sir _edward ratcliff_ bore the bell, who was, by the king's own appointment, to speak of spells and magic ointment. the doctors of the civil law, urged ne'er a reason worth a straw; and though they went in silk and satten, they, _thomson_-like clip'd the king's latine; but yet his grace did pardon then all treasons against _priscian_. here no man spoke aught to the point, but all they said was out of joint; just like the chappel ominous, in th' colledge called _god with us_, which truly doth stand much awry, just north and south, _yes verily_. philosophers did well their parts, which proved them masters of the arts; their moderator was no fool, he far from _cambridge_ kept a school: the country did such store afford, the proctors might not speak a word. but to conclude, the king was pleased, and of the court the town was eased: but oxford though (dear sister hark it) the king is gone but to new-market, and comes again ere it be long, then you may sing another song. the king being gone from _trinitie_, they make a scramble for degree; masters of all sorts and all ages, keepers, subsizers, lackayes, pages, who all did throng to come abroad, with _pray make me_ now, _good my lord_. they prest his lordship wondrous hard, his lordship then did want the guard, so did they throng him for the nonce, till he bless them all at once, and cry'd _hodiissime_: _omnes magistri estote_. nor is this all which we do sing, for of your praise the world must ring: reader, unto your tackling look, for there is coming forth a book, will spoyl _joseph bernesius_ the sale of _rex platonicus_. his majesty was, as usual, entertained with speeches, disputations, and dramatic exhibitions. fuller relates, that the following extraordinary divinity act, or disputation, was kept at cambridge before this prince, during this visit, where dr. john davenant (afterwards bishop of sarum) was respondent, and dr. richardson, amongst others, opponent. the question was maintained, in the _negative_, concerning the excommunicating of kings. dr. richardson vigorously pressed the practice of st. ambrose, who excommunicated the emperor theodosius,--insomuch, says fuller, that the king, in a great passion, returned,--"_profecto fuit hoc ab ambrosio insolentissime factum_." to which dr. r. rejoined,--"_responsum vere regium, et alexandro dignum, hoc non est argumentu dissolvere, sed desecare_,"--and so, sitting down, discontinued from any further argument. it was for the entertainment of james during this visit, that the famous cambridge latin comedy, entitled ignoramus, was first enacted. it originated in a dispute on the question of precedency, in , when the mayor, whose name was thomas smart, had seated himself in a _superior_ place in the guildhall of the town, in the presence of the vice-chancellor of the university, who asserted his right to the same; but the mayor refused to resign the seat, till the vice-chancellor's attendants forcibly ejected him. the dispute was laid before the privy council, who decided in favour of the vice-chancellor. but during the progress of the affair, the recorder of cambridge, named brankyn, stoutly defended the mayor and corporation against the rights of the university. this it was that induced the author of the play, geo. ruggle, fellow of clare-hall, to _show him up_, in the pedantic, crafty, pragmatical character of _ignoramus_; and if lawyer brankyn, it is said, had not actually set the dispute agoing, he greatly contributed to keep it alive. at this time king james had long been expected to visit cambridge, who had a strong prejudice against lawyers, and a ruling passion to be thought the patron of literature. the circumstances suggested to ruggle the propriety of exposing lawyer brankyn before his majesty, in the above character, and to render it the more forcible, he resolved to adopt the common-law forms, and the cant and barbarous phraseology of lawyers in the ordinary discourse. it was, therefore, necessary that he should make himself master of that _dialect_, in which almost the best amongst them were accustomed to write and even to discourse; a jargon, says wilson, in his _memorabilia cantabrigiæ_, could not but be offensive to a classical car. he, therefore, took more than ordinary pains to acquaint himself with the technical terms of the profession, and to mark the abuse of them, of which he has admirably availed himself in the formation of the character of _ignoramus_, who not only transacts business, but "woos in language of the pleas and bench." the comedy was enacted before his majesty by the members of the university, and he was so much delighted with, _on dit_, either the wit or absurdity, that he caused it to be played a second time, and once at newmarket. during one of these representations, says dr. peckard, formerly master of magdalen college, in his life of mr. farrer, "the king called out aloud, 'treason! treason!' the gentlemen about him being anxious to know what disturbed his majesty, he said, 'that the writer and performers had acted their parts so well, that he should die of laughter.'" it was during the performance of this play, according to rapin and others, that james was first struck with the personal beauty of _george villiers_, who afterwards became duke of buckingham, and supplanted _somerset_ in his favour. thomas gibbons, esq. says, in his collection, forming part of the harleian mss. in the british museum, (no. , art. .) that "the comedy of ignoramus, supposed to be by mr. ruggle, is but a translation of the italian comedy of baptista porta, entitled _trapulario_, as may be seen by the comedy itself, in clare-hall library, with mr. ruggle's notes and alterations thereof." a literary relique that is said to have now disappeared; but it is to be hoped, for the credit of a learned society, that it is a _mistake_. dyer in his _privileges of cambridge_ (citing vol. ii. fol. of hare's mss.) gives _the judgment of the earl marshal of england_, which settled this famous controversy. the original document is extant in the crown office, in these words:--"i do set down, &c. that the vice-chancellor of cambridge is to be taken in commission before the mayor. king james, also, in the third of his raigne, by letters under the privy signett, commandeth the lord ellesmere, chancellor of england, to place the vice-chancellor before the mayor, in all commissions of the peace or otherwise, where public shew of degrees is to be made." an oxonian and a bishop, who had half a score of the softer sex to lisp "papa," not one of whom his lady was conjuror enough "to get off," was one day accosted in piccadilly by an old oxford _chum_, with, "i hope i see your lordship well." "pretty well, for a man who is daily smothered in _petticoats_, and has ten daughters and a wife to carve for," was the reply. * * * * * brief notice of the boar's head carol, as sung in queen's college, oxford, on christmas day. "the earliest collection of christmas carols supposed to have been published," says hone, in his every-day book, "is only known from the last leaf of a volume, printed by wynkyn worde, in the year . this precious scrap was picked up by tom hearne; dr. rawlinson purchased it at his decease in a volume of tracts, and bequeathed it to the bodleian library. there are two carols upon it: one, 'a caroll of huntynge,' is reprinted in the last edition of juliana berner's 'boke of st. alban's;' the other, 'a caroll bringing in the boar's head,' is in mr. dibdin's edition of "ames," with a copy of it as it is now sung in queen's college, oxford, every christmas day. dr. bliss of oxford also printed on a sheet, for private distribution, a few copies of this, and anthony wood's version of it, with notices concerning the custom, from the handwriting of wood and dr. rawlinson, in the bodleian library. ritson, in his ill-tempered 'observations on warton's history of english poetry,' ( , to., p. ,) has a christmas carol upon bringing up the boar's head, from an ancient ms. in his possession, wholly different from dr. bliss's. the 'bibliographical miscellanies' (oxford, , to.) contains seven carols from a collection in one volume, in the possession of dr. cotton, of christ-church college, oxford, 'imprynted at london, in the poultry, by richard kele, dwelling at the longe shop vnder saynt myldrede's chyrche,'" probably between and . "i had an opportunity of perusing this exceedingly curious volume (mr. hone,) which is supposed to be unique, and has since passed into the hands of mr. freeling." "according to aubrey's ms., in the coll. ashmol. mus., oxford," says a writer in the morning herald of the th of dec., , "before the last civil wars, in gentlemen's houses, at christmas, the first dish that was brought to the table was _a boar's head, with a lemon in his mouth_. at qeeun's college, oxford," adds this writer, "they still retain this custom; the bearer of it brings it into the hall, singing, to an old tune, an old latin rhyme, "_caput apri defero_," &c. "the carol, according to hearne, ames, warton, and ritson," says dr. dibdin, in his edition of the second, is as follows:-- a carol bringing in the bores heed. caput apri differo reddens laudes domino. the bore's heed in hande bring i, with garlands gay and rosemary, i praye you all synge merely, qui estis in convivio. the bores heed i understande is the thefte servyce in this lande, take where ever it be fande, servite cum cantico. be gladde lordes bothe more and lasse, for this hath ordeyned our stewarde, to chere you all this christmasse, the bores heed with mustarde. "this carol (says warton,) with many alterations, is yet retained at queen's college, oxford," though "other ancient carols occur with latin burthens or latin intermixtures." but, "being anxious to obtain a correct copy of this ballad," says dr. dibdin, in his ames, "as i had myself heard it sung in the hall of queen's college, i wrote to the rev. mr. dickinson, tutor of the college, to favour me with an account of it: his answer, which may gratify the curious, is here subjoined. "'_queen's college, june th_, . "'dear sir,--i have much pleasure in transmitting you a copy of the old _boar's head song_, as it has been sung in our college-hall, every christmas day, within my remembrance. there are some barbarisms in it, which seem to betoken its antiquity. it is sung to the common chaunt of the prose version of the psalms in cathedrals; at least, whenever i have attended the service at magdalen or new college chapels, i have heard the boar's head strain continually occurring in the psalms. "'the boar's head in hand bring i, bedeck'd with bays and rosemary; and i pray you, my masters, be merry, quot estis in convivio. _caput apri defero_ _reddens laudes domino_. "'the boar's head, as i understand, is the rarest dish in all this land, which thus bedeck'd with a gay garland, let us servire cantico. _caput apri defero_ _reddens laudes domino_. "'our steward hath provided this in honour of the king of bliss; which on this day to be served is, in regimensi atrio. _caput apri defero_ _reddens laudes domino_.'" "the following," adds the doctor, "is hearne's minute account of it: (_hist. guil. neubrig. vol. iii. p. :_) 'i will beg leave here,' says the pugnacious oxford antiquary, 'to give an exact copy of the christmas carol _upon the boar's head_, (which is an ancient dish, and was brought up by king henry i. with trumpets, before his son, when his said son was crowned) as i have it in an old fragment, (for i usually preserve even fragments of old books) of the christmas carols printed by wynkyn de worde, (who as well as richard pynson, was servant to william caxton, who was the first that printed english books, though not the first printer in england, as is commonly said,) printing being exercised at oxford in , if not sooner, which was several years before he printed anything at westminster, by which it will be perceived how much the said carol is altered, as it is sung in some places even now, from what it was at first. it is the last thing, it seems, of the book (which i never yet saw entire,) and at the same time i think it proper also to add to the printer's conclusion, for this reason, at least, that such as write about our first printers, may have some notice of the date of this book, and the exact place where printed, provided they cannot be able to meet with it, as i believe they will find it pretty difficult to do, it being much laid aside, about the time that some of david's psalms came to be used in its stead.'" this custom is briefly noticed in pointer's "_oxoniensis academia_," as "that of having a boar's head, or the figure of one in wood, brought up in the hall every year on christmas day, ushered in very solemnly with an old song, in memory of a noble exploit (as tradition goes,) by a scholar (a tabardar) of this college, in killing a wild boar in shotover wood." that is, having wandered into the said wood, which was not far from oxford, with a copy of aristotle in his hand (for the oxonians were of old logicians of the orthodox school in which an alexander the great was bred,) and if the latter, as a pupil who sat at the foot of aristotle, conquered _a world_, no wonder our tabardar, as a disciple being attacked by a wild boar, who came at him with extended jaws, intending to make but _a mouthful of him_, was enabled to conquer so rude a beast, which he _did_ by thrusting the aristotle down the boar's throat, crying, in the concluding words of the th stanza of the following song--'grÆcum est.' the animal of course fell prostrate at his feet, was carried in triumph to the college, and no doubt served up with _an 'old song,'_ as mr. pointer says, in memory of this "_noble exploit_." the witty _dr. buckler_, however, is not satisfied with this brief notice of mr. pointer's: but says, in his _never-to-be-forgotten_ exposé, or "complete vindication," of _the all-souls' mallard_ (of which anon,) "i am apt to fear, that it is a fixed principle in mr. _pointer_ to ridicule every _ceremony_ and _solemn institution_ that comes in his way, however venerable it may be for its antiquity and significance;" and after quoting mr. pointer's words, he adds, with his _unrivalled irony_, "now, notwithstanding this _bold hint_ to the contrary, it seemeth to me to be altogether unaccountable and incredible, that a polite and learned society should be so far depraved, in its taste, and so much in love with a _block-head_, as to eat it. but as i have never had the honour of dining at a _boar's head_, and there are many gentlemen more nearly concerned and better informed, as well as better qualified, in every respect, to refute this _calumny_ than i am, i shall avoid entering into a thorough discussion of this subject. i know it is given out by mr. pointer's enemies, that he hath been employed by some of the _young seceders_ from that college, to throw out a story of the _wooden-head_, in order to countenance the complaints of those gentlemen about _short commons_, and the great deficiency of _mutton_, _beef_, &c.; and, indeed, i must say, that nothing could have better answered their purpose, in this respect, than in proving, according to the _insinuation_, that the chief dish at one of their highest festivals, was nothing but a log of wood _bedeck'd with bays and rosemary_; but surely this cannot be credited, after the _university_ has been informed by the _best authority_, and in the most _public_ manner, that a _young nobleman_, who lately completed his academical education at that house, was, during his whole residence, not only very _well satisfied_ but _extremely delighted_ with the college commons." in the oxford sausage is the following ryghte excellente song in honour of the celebration of the boar's head, at queen's college, oxford. _tam marti quam mercurio._ i sing not of rome or grecian mad games. the pythian, olympic, and such like hard names; your patience awhile, with submission, i beg, i strive but to honour the feast of coll. reg. derry down, down, down, derry down. no thracian brawls at our rites e'er prevail, we temper our mirth with plain sober mild ale; the tricks of old circe deter us from wine: though we honour a boar, we won't make ourselves swine. derry down, &c. great milo was famous for slaying his ox, yet he proved but an ass _in cleaving of blocks_: but we had a hero for all things was fit, our motto displays both his valour and wit. derry down, &c. stout hercules labour'd, and look'd mighty big, when he slew the half-starved erymanthian pig; but we can relate such a stratagem taken, that the stoutest of boars could not _save his own bacon_. derry down, &c. so dreadful his bristle-back'd foe did appear, you'd have sworn he had got the wrong _pig by the ear_, but instead of avoiding the mouth of the beast, he ramm'd in a volume, and cried--_græcum est_. derry down, &c. in this gallant action such fortitude shown is, as proves him no coward, nor tender adonis; no armour but logic; by which we may find, that logic's the bulwark of body and mind. derry down, &c. ye squires that fear neither hills nor rough rocks, and think you're full wise when you out-wit a fox; enrich your poor brains, and expose them no more, learn greek, and seek glory from hunting the boar. derry down, &c. * * * * * cleaving the block, is another custom that either _was_, or _is_, annually celebrated at queen's college, oxford, not _pro bono publico_, it seems, but pro bono _cook-o!_ and has a reference, probably, to the exploit in which milo "proved but an ass," as observed in the second line of the third verse of the foregoing song. _on dit_, every christmas, new year's, or some other day, at that season of the year, _a block of wood_ is placed at the hall-door, where the _cook_ stands with his _cleaver_, which he delivers to each member of the college, as he passes out of the hall, who endeavours, at _one_ stroke, to sever the block of wood; failing to do which, he throws down half-a-crown, in which sum he is _mulct_. this is done by every one in succession, should they, as is invariably the case, prove themselves asses in "cleaving of blocks." but should any one out-milo milo, he would be entitled to all the half-crowns previously forfeited: otherwise the whole _goes to the cook_. * * * * * the misfortune of being little. lord byron has said, that a man is unfortunate whose name will admit of being _punned upon_. the lament might apply to all peculiarities of person and habit. dr. joseph jowett, the late regius professor of civil law at cambridge, though a learned man, an able lecturer, one that generously fostered talent in rising young men, and a _dilettante_ musician of a refined and accurate taste, was remarkable for some singularities, as smallness of stature, and for gardening upon a small scale. this gave the late bishop mansel or porson (for it has been attributed to both, and both were capable of perpetrating it) an occasion to throw off the following latin epigram: exiguum hunc hortum jowettulus iste exiguus, vallo et muriit exiguo: exiguo hoc horto forsan jowettulus iste exiguus mentem prodidit exiguum. in english, as much as to say: a _little_ garden _little_ jowett had, and fenced it with a _little_ palisade: because this garden made a _little_ talk, he changed it to a _little_ gravel walk: and if you'ld know the taste of _little_ jowett, this _little_ garden doth a _little_ show it. * * * * * bishops blomfield and monk, who had the honour to edit his _adversaria_, can both, it is said, bear witness to the fact, that porson was unlike many pedants who make a display of their brilliant parts to surprise rather than enlighten; he was liberal in the extreme, and truly amiable in communicating his knowledge to young men of talent and industry, and would tell them all they wanted to know in a plain and direct manner, without any attempt to display his superiority. all, however, agree that the time for profiting by porson's learning was _inter bibendum_, for then, as chaucer says of the sompnour-- "when he well dronkin had with wine, then would he speak ne word but latine." more than one distinguished judge of his merits pronounced him the greatest scholar in europe, and he never appeared so sore, says one who knew him well, as when a _wakefield_ or a _hermann_ offered to set him right, or hold their tapers to light him on his way. their doing so gave him occasion to compare them to _four-footed animals, guided only by instinct_; and in future, he said, he "would take care they should not reach what he wrote with their paws, though they stood on their hind legs." i may here very appropriately repeat the fact, that porson was a great master of iambic measure, as he has shown in his preface to the second edition of his hecuba. the german critic, hermann, however, whom he makes to say, in his notes on the medea, "we germans understand quantity better than the english," accuses him of being more dictatorial than explanatory in his metrical decisions. upon this the professor fired the following epigram at the german:-- [greek: nêi des esnte metrôn ô teutones, ouch ho men, hos d' ou, pantes plên 'ermannos, ho d' 'ermannos sphodra teutôn.] the germans in greek, are sadly to seek; not five in five score, but ninety-five more; all, save only hermann, and hermann's a german. porson and wakefield had but little regard for each other, and when the latter published his _hecuba_, porson said-- "what's hecuba to him, or he to hecuba, that he should publish her?" at another time, being teased for his opinion of a modern latin poem, his reply was,--"there is a great deal in it from _horace_, and a great deal from _virgil_: but nothing _horatian_ and nothing _virgilian_." dr. parr once asked the professor, "what he thought of the origin of evil?" "_i see no good in it_," was his answer. the same pugnacious divine told him one day, that "with all his learning, he did not think him well versed in metaphysics." "sir," said porson, "i suppose you mean _your_ metaphysics." it is not generally known that during the time he was employed in deciphering the famed rosetta stone, in the collection of the british museum, which is _black_, he obtained the soubriquet of judge blackstone. and it is here worthy of remark, that it was to another celebrated cantab, porson's contemporary, dr. edward daniel clarke, the traveller, that we are indebted for that relique of antiquity. he happened to be in egypt at the time the negociation for the evacuation of that country by the remnant of bonaparte's army was progressing between lord hutchinson and the french general, menou. knowing the french were in possession of the famed rosetta stone, amongst other reliques, clarke's sagacity induced him to point out to lord hutchinson the importance of possessing it. the consequence was, he was named as one of the parties to negociate with menou for the surrender of that and their other egyptian monuments and valuable reliques which the _sçavans_ attached to the french army had sedulously collected; and notwithstanding every impediment and even insult were heaped upon, and thrown in clarke's way, his perseverance was proof against it all. indeed, dr. edward daniel clarke, whose name and writings are now justly celebrated throughout the civilized world, was from his very childhood (says his biographer, contemporary, and friend, the learned principal of king's college, london,) an enthusiast in whatever he undertook, and always possessed, in a very high degree, the power of interesting the minds of others towards any objects that occupied his own. this was remarkably illustrated by his manufacture of a balloon, with which he amused the university, in the third year of his residence, when not more than eighteen, probably the only instance of a member of either university constructing one. it "was magnificent in size, and splendid in its decorations, and was constructed and manoeuvred, from first to last, entirely by himself. it was the contrivance of many anxious thoughts, and the labour of many weeks, to bring it to what he wished; and when, at last, it was completed to his satisfaction, and had been suspended for some days in the college hall, of which it occupied the whole height, he announced a time for its ascension. there was nothing at that period very new in balloons, or very curious in the species he had adopted; but by some means he had contrived to disseminate, not only within his own college, but throughout the whole university, a prodigious curiosity respecting the fate of this experiment; and a vast concourse of persons assembled, both within and without the college walls; and the balloon having been brought to its station, the grass-plot within the cloisters of jesus' college, was happily launched by himself, amidst the applause of all ranks and degrees of gownsmen, the whole scene succeeding to his wish; nor is it very easy to forget the delight which flashed from _his_ eye, and the triumphant wave of _his_ cap, when the machine, with its little freight (a kitten,) having cleared the college battlements, was seen floating in full security over the towers of the great gate, followed in its course by several persons on horseback, who had undertaken to recover it; and all went home delighted with an exhibition upon which nobody would have ventured, in such a place, but himself. but to gratify and amuse others was ever the source of the greatest satisfaction to him." this was one of those early displays of that spirit of enterprise which was so gloriously developed in his subsequent wanderings through the dreary regions of the north, over the classic shores of mouldering greece, of egypt, and of palestine, the scenes of which, and their effects upon his vivid imagination and sanguine spirit, he has so admirably depicted in his writings. this eminent traveller used to say, that the old proverb, "with too many irons in the fire some must burn," "was a lie." use poker, tongs, shovel, and all,--only keep them all stirring, was his creed. few had the capacity of keeping them so effectually stirring as he had. nature seemed to have moulded him, head and heart, to be in a degree a contradiction to the wise saws of experience. * * * * * three blue beans in a bladder. dr. bentley said of our celebrated cambridge professor, joshua barnes, that "he knew about as much greek as an athenian blacksmith," but he was certainly no ordinary scholar, and few have excelled him in his tact at throwing of "trifles light as air" in that language, of which his following version of _three blue beans in a bladder_ is a sample: [greek: treis kyamoi eni kystidi kyaneêphi.] equal to this is the following spondaic on the three university bedels, by kit smart, who well deserved, though dr. johnson denied him, a place in his british poets. he possessed great wit and sprightliness of conversation, which would readily flow off in extemporaneous verse, says dyer, and the three university bedels all happening to be fat men, he thus immortalized them: "pinguia tergeminorum abdomina bedellorum." (three bedels sound, with paunches fat and round.) * * * * * no scholar in europe understood them better. it is recorded of another cambridge clarke, the rev. john, who was successively head-master of the grammar schools of skipton, beverley, and wakefield in yorkshire, and obtained the honourable epithet of "_the good school-master_"--that when he presented himself to our great critic, dr. richard bentley, at trinity college, cambridge, for admission, the doctor proceeded to examine him, as is usual, and placed before him a page of the greek text, with the scholia, for the purpose. "he explained the whole," says his memorialist, dr. zouch, "with the utmost perspicuity, elegance, and ease. dr. bentley immediately presented him with a valuable edition of the comedies of aristophanes, telling him, in language peculiar to himself, that no scholar in europe understood them better, _one person only excepted_." dyer has the following bentleian anecdote in his supplement, but supposes it cannot be charged upon the doctor, "the greatest greek scholar of his age." he is said to have set a scholar a copy of greek verses, by way of _imposition_, for some offence against college discipline. having completed his verses, he brought them to the doctor, who had not proceeded far in examining them before he was struck with a passage, which he pronounced _bad_ greek. "yet, sir," said the scholar, with submission, "i thought i had followed good authority," and taking a pindar out of his pocket, he pointed to a similar expression. the doctor was satisfied, but, continuing to read on, he soon found another passage, which he said was certainly bad greek. the young man took his pindar out of his pocket again, and showed another passage, which he had followed as his authority. the doctor was a little nettled, but he proceeded to the end of the verses, when he observed another passage at the close, which he affirmed was not classical. "yet pindar," rejoined the young man, "was my authority even here," and he pointed out the place which he had closely imitated. "get along, sir," exclaimed the doctor, rising from his chair in a passion, "pindar was very bold, and you are very impudent." * * * * * the great gaudy of the all-souls' mallard. this feast is annually celebrated the th of january, by the society of all-souls, _in piam memoriam_ of their founder, the famous henry chichele, archbishop of canterbury. it is a custom at all-souls' college (says pointer, in his oxoniensis academia,) kept up on "their mallard-night every year, in remembrance of a huge mallard or drake, found (as tradition goes) imprisoned in a gutter or drain under ground, and grown to a vast bigness, at the digging for the foundation of the college." this mallard had grown to a huge size, and was, it appears, of a great age; and to account for the longevity, he cites the ornithology of willughby, who observes, "that he was assured by a friend of his, a person of very good credit, that his father kept a goose known to be sixty years of age, and as yet sound and lusty, and like enough to have lived many years longer, had he not been forced to kill her, for her mischievousness, worrying and destroying the young geese and goslings." "and my lord bacon," he adds, "in his natural history, says, the goose may pass among the long-livers, though his food be commonly grass and such kind of nourishment, especially the wild goose; wherefore this proverb grew among the germans, _magis senex quam anser nivalis--older than a wild-goose_." he might also have instanced the english proverb, "as tough as a michaelmas goose." "if a goose be such a long-lived bird," observes mr. p., "why not a duck or a drake, since i reckon they may be both ranked in the same class, though of a different species, as to their size, as a rat and a mouse? and if so, this may help to give credit to our all-souls' mallard. however, this is certain, this mallard is the accidental occasion of a great gaudy once a-year, and great mirth, though the commemoration of their founder is the chief occasion; for on this occasion is always sung," as extant in the oxford sausage, the following "merry old song:"-- the all-souls' mallard. griffin, bustard, turkey, capon, let our hungry mortals gape on, and on their bones their stomach fall hard, but all-souls' men have their mallard. oh! by the blood of king edward, oh! by the blood of king edward, it was a swapping, swapping, mallard. the _romans_ once admired a _gander_ more than they did their chief commander, because he saved, if some don't fool us, the place that's called from the _head of tolus_. oh! by the blood, &c. the poets feign _jove_ turned a swan, but let them prove it if they can; as for our proof, 'tis not at all hard, for it was a swapping, swapping mallard. oh! for the blood, &c. swapping he was from bill to eye, swapping he was from wing to thigh; swapping--his age and corporation out-swapped all the winged creation. oh! for the blood, &c. therefore let us sing and dance a galliard, to the remembrance of the mallard; and as the mallard dives in a pool, let us dabble, dive, and duck in a bowl. oh! by the blood of king edward, oh! by the blood of king edward, it was a swapping, swapping mallard. but whoever would possess themselves of the true history of the _swapping mallard_ of all-souls, must read the "_complete vindication of the mallard of all-souls_," published in , by dr. buckler, sub-warden, "a most incontrovertible proof of his wit," who for that and other, his effusions, was usually styled, by way of eminence, says chalmers, in his history of oxford, "the buckler of the mallardians." his _vindication_, it is justly observed, is "one of the finest pieces of _irony_ in our language." of course, he is highly indignant at the "injurious suggestions of mr. pointer (contained in the foregoing quotations,) who insinuates, that the huge _mallard_ was no better than a _goose-a-gander_, "_magis senex_," &c.; and after citing the very words of mr. p., he breaks out, "thus the _mallard of all-souls_, whose remembrance has, for these three centuries, been held in the highest veneration, is, by this _forged hypothesis_, degraded into a goose, or, at least, ranked in the _same class_ with that ridiculous animal, and the whole story on which the rites and ceremonies of the _mallard_ depends, is represented as _merely traditional_; more than a hint is given of the _mischievousness_ of the bird, whatever he be; and all is founded on a _pretended longevity_, in support of which fiction the great names of lord _bacon_ and mr. _willughby_ are called in, to make the vilifying insinuation pass the more plausibly upon the world." "we live in an age (he adds,) when the _most serious_ subjects are treated with an air of ridicule; i shall therefore set this _important affair_ in its true light, and produce authorities "sufficient to convince the most obstinate incredulity; and first, i shall beg leave to transcribe a passage from _thomas walsingham_, (see _nicholson's_ historical library,) a _monk_ of _st. alban's_, and regius professor of history in that monastery, about the year . this writer is well known among the historians for his _historia brevis_, written in latin, and published both by _camden_ and archbishop _parker_. but the tract i am quoting is in english, and entitled, of wonderful and surprising eventys, and, as far as i can find, has never yet been printed. the eighth chapter of his fifth book begins thus:-- "'ryghte well worthie of note is thilke famous tale of the _all-soulen_ mallarde, the whiche, because it bin acted in our daies, and of a suretye vouched into me, i will in fewe wordys relate. "'whereas _henrye chicele_, the late renowned arch-bishope of _cantorburye_, had minded to founden a collidge in _oxenforde_ for the hele of his soule and the soules of all those who peryshed in the warres in _fraunce_, fighteing valiantlye under our most gracious _henrye_ the fifthe, moche was he distraughten concerning the place he myghte choose for thilke purpose. him thynketh some whylest how he myghte place it withouten the eastern parte of the citie, both for the pleasauntnesse of the meadowes and the clere streamys therebye runninge. agen him thynketh odir whylest howe he mote builden it on the northe side for the heleful ayre there coming from the fieldis. now while he doubteth thereon he dreamt, and behold there appearyth unto him one of righte godelye personage, saying and adviseing him as howe he myghte placen his collidge in the highe strete of the citie, nere unto the chirche of our blessed ladie the virgine, and in witnesse that it was sowthe and no vain and deceitful phantasie, wolled him to laye the first stone of the foundation at the corner which turnyth towards the _cattys-strete_, where in delvinge he myghte of a suretye finde a schwoppinge mallarde imprison'd in the sinke or sewere, wele yfattened and almost ybosten. sure token of the thrivaunce of his future collidge. "'moche doubteth he when he awoke on the nature of this vision, whether he mote give hede thereto or not. then advisyth he thereon with monie docters and learned clerkys, all sayd howe he oughte to maken trial upon it. then comyth he to _oxenforde_, and on a daye fix'd, after masse seyde, proceedeth he in solemn wyse, with spades and pickaxes for the nonce provided, to the place afore spoken of. but long they had not digged ere they herde, as it myghte seme, within the wam of the erthe, horrid strugglinges and flutteringes, and anon violent quaakinges of the distressyd mallarde. then _chicele_ lyfteth up his hondes and seyth _benedicite_, &c. &c. nowe when they broughte him forthe behold the size of his bodie was as that of a bustarde or an ostriche, and moche wonder was thereat, for the lyke had not been been scene in this londe, ne in anie odir.' "here," says the doctor, "we have the matter of fact proved from an _authentic record_, wherein there is not one word said of the _longevity_ of the _mallard_, upon a supposition of which mr. _pointer_ has founded his whole _libel_. the _mallard_, 'tis true, has grown to a great size. but what then? will not the richness and plenty of the diet he wallowed in very well account for this, without supposing any great number of years of imprisonment? the words of the historian, i am sure, rather discourage any such supposition. _sure token_, says he, _of the thrivance of his future college!_ which seems to me to intimate the great _progress_ the _mallard_ had made in fattening, in a short space of time. but be this as it will, there is not the least hint of a _goose_ in the case. no: the impartial _walsingham_ had far higher notions of the _mallard_, and could form no comparison of him, without borrowing his idea from some of the most noble birds, the _bustard_ and the _ostridge_." turning to our author's comment on the last passage of mr. pointer, he adds, "however, this is certain, this _mallard_ is the accidental occasion of a _great gaudy_ once a year, and great _mirth_; for on this occasion is always sung a _merry old song_."--"_rem tam seriam--tam negligenter_," exclaims the doctor; "would any one but this author have represented so _august_ a ceremony as the _celebration of the mallard_ by those vulgar circumstances of eating and drinking, and singing a _merry old song_? doth he not know that the greatest states, even those of _rome_ and _carthage_, had their infant foundations distinguished by incidents very much resembling those of the _mallard_, and that the commemoration of them was celebrated with hymns and processions, and made a part of their _religious observances_? let me refresh his memory with a circumstance or two relating to the head of _tolus_ (will serve to elucidate the fourth line of the second verse of the _merry old song_) which was discovered at the foundation of the _capitol_. the _romans_ held the remembrance of it in the greatest veneration, as will appear from the following quotation from _arnobius_, in a fragment preserved by _lipsius_:--'quo die (says he, speaking of the annual _celebrity_) congregati sacerdotes, et eorum ministri, totum capitolinum collem circumibant, cantilenam quandam sacram de _toli_ cujusdam capite, dum molirentur fundamenta invento, recitantes deinde ad coenam verè pontificiam se recipientes,' &c. part of this _merry old song_ (as mr. p. would call it) is preserved by _vossius_, in his book _de sacris cantilenis veterum romanorum_. the chorus of it shows so much the simplicity of the _ancient roman poetry_ that i cannot forbear transcribing it for the benefit of my reader, as the book is too scarce to be in every one's hand. it runs thus: toli _caput venerandum_! magnum caput et mirandum! toli _caput resonamus_. i make no doubt but that every _true critic_ will be highly pleased with it. for my own part, it gives me a particular pleasure to reflect on the resemblance there is between this _precious relique_ of antiquity, and the chorus of the _mallard_. _oh, by the blood of king_ edward, _it was a swapping, swapping_ mallard! the _greatness_ of the subject, you see, is the thing celebrated in both, and the manner of doing it is as nearly equal as the different geniuses of the two languages will permit. let me hope, therefore, that mr. p. when he exercises his thoughts again on this subject, will learn to think more highly of the _mallard_, than of a _common gaudy_, or _merry making_. for it will not be just to suppose that the gentlemen of _all-souls_ can have less regard for the memory of so noble a bird, found _all alive_, than the romans had for the _dead skull_ of the _lord knows whom_." * * * * * another oxford dream preceded the foundation of st. john's college. dr. plott relates, in his history of oxfordshire, that the founder of st. john's college, oxford, sir thomas white, alderman and merchant tailor of london, originally designed the establishment of his college at his birth-place, reading, in berkshire. but being warned in a dream, that he should build a college for the education of youth, in religion and learning, near a place where he should find two elms growing out of the same root, he first proceeded to cambridge, and finding no such tree, he repaired to oxford, where he discovered one, which answered the description in his dream, near st. bernard's college. elated with joy, he dismounted from his horse, and, on his knees, returned thanks for the fortunate issue of his pious search. dr. joseph warton seems to throw a doubt upon dr. plott's narration, observing, that he was _fond of the marvellous_. the college was founded in the middle of the sixteenth century, and doctor plott says, that the tree was in a flourishing state in his day, , when dr. leving was president of st. john's college. mr. pointer observes, in his _oxoniensis academia_, "the _triple_ trees that occasioned the foundation of the college, &c. did stand between the library and the garden. one of them died in ." the following letter, addressed to the society by sir thomas, the founder, a fortnight before his death, the th of february, , is a relic worth printing, though it does "savour of death's heads." "_mr. president, with the fellows and schollers._ "i have mee recommended unto you even from the bottome of my hearte, desyringe the holye ghoste may be amonge you untill the end of the worlde, and desyringe almightie god, that everie one of you may love one another as brethren; and i shall desyre you all to applye to your learninge, and so doinge, god shall give you his blessinge bothe in this worlde and the worlde to come. and, furthermore, if anye variance or strife doe arise amonge you, i shall desyre you, for god's love, to pacifye it as much as you may; and that doinge, i put no doubt but god shall blesse everye one of you. and this shall be the last letter that ever i shall sende unto you; and therefore i shall desyre everye one of you, to take a copy of yt for my sake. no more to you at this tyme; but the lord have you in his keeping until the end of the worlde. written the th day of january, . i desyre you all to pray to god for mee, that i may ende my life with patience, and that he may take mee to his mercye. "by mee, "sir thomas white, "_knighte, alderman of london, and_ "_founder of st. john's college, in oxford_." * * * * * a point of precedence settled. a dispute once arose between the doctors of law and medicine, in cambridge, as to which had the right of precedence. "does the _thief_ or _hangman_ take precedence at executions?" asked the chancellor, on reference to his judgment. "the former," answered a wag. "then let the doctors of law have precedence," said the chancellor. * * * * * compliments to the learned of both universities. "the names which learned men bear for any length of time," says dr. parr, "are generally well founded." _dr. chillingworth_, for his able and convincing writings in support of the protestant church, was styled "malleus papistarum." _dr. sutherland_, the friend and literary associate of dr. mead, and others, obtained the _soubriquet_ of "the walking dictionary." john duns, better known as the celebrated _duns scotus_, who was bred at merton college, oxford, and is said to have been buried alive, was called doctor subtilis; another mertonian, named occam, his successor and opponent, was named doctor invincibilis; a third was the famous sir henry savile, who had the title of profound bestowed upon him: and a fourth of the society of merton college, was the celebrated reformer, john wickliffe, who was called doctor evangelicus. wood, says, that dr. john reynolds, president of corpus christi college, oxford, died in , "one of so prodigious a memory, that he might have been called the walking library;" to "see whom," he adds, "was to command virtue itself." if duns scotus was justly called "the most subtle doctor," says parr, roger bacon, "the wonderful," bonaventure "the seraphim," aquinas the "universal and evangelical," surely hooker has with equal, if not superior justice, obtained the name of "the judicious." bishop louth, in his preface to his english grammar, has bestowed the highest praise upon the purity of hooker's style. bishop warburton, in his book on the alliance between church and state, often quotes him, and calls him, "the excellent, the admirable, the best good man of our order." * * * * * john leland, senior, says wood, who in the reigns of henry v. and vi. taught and read in peckwaters ynne, while it flourished with grammarians, "was one so well seen in verse and prose, and all sorts of humanity, that he went beyond the learnedest of his age, and was so noted a grammarian, that this verse was made upon him:-- 'ut rosa flos florum sic leland grammaticorum;' which," he adds, "with some alteration, was fastened upon john leland, junior, by richard croke, of cambridge, at what time the said leland became a protestant, and thereupon," observes wood (as if it were a necessary consequence,) "fell mad:" 'ut rosa flos florum sic leland flos fatuorum.' which being replied to by leland (in encom. eruditorum in anglia, &c. per jo. leland's edit. lond. ,) was answered by a friend of croke's in verse also. and here by the way i must let the reader know that it was the fashion of that age (temp. hen. viii.) to buffoon, or wit it after that fashion, not only by the younger sort of students, but by bishops and grave doctors. the learned walter haddon, master of trinity hall, cambridge, and afterwards president of magdalen college, oxford, in an epistle that he wrote to dr. cox, almoner to edward iv. (afterwards bishop of ely) "doth give him great commendations of his actions and employments, and further addeth (in his lucubrations) that when he was at leisure to recreate his mind, he would, rather than be idle, 'scevolæ et lælii more--aut velitationem illam croci cum lelando perridiculam, vel reliquas oxonienses nugas (ita enim profecto sunt,' saith he,) 'evolvere voluerit, &c.' dr. tresham, also, who was many years commissary or vice-chancellor of the university, is said by (humfredus in vita juelli) 'ludere in re seria, &c.'" when queen elizabeth was asked her opinion of the scholarship of the two great cotemporaries, the learned buchanan and dr. walter haddon, the latter accounted the best writer of latin of his age, she dexterously avoided the imputation of partiality by replying: "_buchannum omnibus antepono, haddonum nemini postpono_." * * * * * lord mountjoy was the friend and cotemporary of erasmus, at queen's college, cambridge, and was so highly esteemed by that great man, that he called him, "_inter doctos nobilissimus, inter nobiles doctissimus, inter utrosque optimus_." his noble friend once entreated him to attack the errors of luther. "my lord," replied the sage, "nothing is more easy than to say luther is mistaken: nothing more difficult than to prove him so." vir egregie doctus, was the _soubriquet_ conferred upon the celebrated etonian, cantab, reformer, provost of king's college, and bishop of hereford, dr. edward fox, by the learned bishop godwin. another etonian and cantab, dr. aldrich, bishop of carlisle, received from erasmus, when young, the equally just and elegant compliment of "blandÆ eloquentiÆ juvenem." * * * * * a point of etiquette. many humorous stories are told of the absurd height to which the observance of _etiquette_ has been carried at both oxford and cambridge. in my time, you might meet _a good fellow_ at a _wine party_, crack your joke with him, hob-nob, &c., but, unless introduced, you would have been stared at with the most vacant wonderment if you attempted to recognise him next day. it is told of men of both universities, that a scholar walking on the banks of the isis, or cam, fell into the river, and was in the act of drowning, when another son of _alma-mater_ came up, and observing his perilous situation, exclaimed, "what a pity it is i have not the honour of knowing the gentleman, that i might save him!" one version of the story runs, that the said scholars met by accident on the banks of the nile or ganges, i forget which, when the catastrophe took place; we may, therefore, very easily imagine the presence of either a crocodile or an alligator to complete the group. wood, in his annals of oxford, has the following anecdote of the value of a syllable. "the masters of olden time at athens, and afterwards at oxford, were called _sophi_, and the scholars _sophistæ_; but the _masters_ taking it in scorn that the _scholars_ should have a larger name than they, called themselves _philosophi_,--that is, lovers of science, and so got the advantage of the scholars by _one syllable_." every body has heard of foote's celebrated motto for a tailor friend of his, about to sport his coat of arms,---"_list, list, o list!_" but every body has not heard, probably, though it is noticed in his memoir, extant in nichols's literary anecdotes, that the learned cambridge divine and antiquary, dr. _cocks macro_, having applied to a cambridge acquaintance for an appropriate motto to his coat of arms, was pithily answered with "cocks may crow." every cantab remembers and regrets the early death of the accomplished scholar, charles skinner matthews, m.a., late fellow of downing college, who was "the familiar" of the present sir j. c. hobhouse, and of the late lord byron. he was not more accomplished than facetious, nor, according to one of lord byron's letters, more facetious than "beloved." speaking of his university _freaks_, his lordship says, "when sir henry smith was expelled from cambridge, for a row with a tradesman named "_hiron_," matthews solaced himself with shouting under hiron's window every evening-- "ah me! what perils do environ the man who meddles with _hot hiron_!" he was also of that band of profane scoffers who, under the auspices of ----, used to rouse lord mansel (late bishop of bristol) from his slumbers in the lodge of trinity (college;) and when he appeared at the window, foaming with wrath, and crying out, "i know you, gentlemen; i know you!" were wont to reply, "we beseech thee to hear us, good _lort_!--good _lort_ deliver us!" (_lort_ was his christian name.) and his lordship might have added, the pun was the more poignant, as the bishop was either a _welshman_ himself, or had a welsh sponsor, in the person of the late greek professor, dr. _lort_. punning upon sacred subjects, however, is decidedly in bad taste; yet, in the reign of the stuarts, neither king nor nobles were above it. our illustrious cantab, bacon, writing to prince, afterwards charles the first, in the midst of his disastrous _poverty_, says, he hopes, "as the father was his _creator_, the son will be his _redeemer_." yet this great man did not the less reverence religion, but said, towards the close of his chequered life, that "a little smattering in philosophy would lead a man to atheism, but a thorough insight into it will lead a man back to a first cause; and that the first principle of religion is right reason; and seriously professed, all his studies and inquisitions, he durst not die with any other thoughts than those religion taught, as it is professed among the christians." these incidents remind me that the memory of jemmy gordon, "who, to save from rustication, crammed the dunce with declamation," is now fast falling into _forgetfulness_, though there was a time when he was hailed by granta's choicest spirits, as one who never failed to "set the table in a roar." poor jemmy! i shall never forget the manner in which he, by one of those straightforward, not-to-be-mistaken flashes of wit, silenced a brow-beating radical huntingdon attorney, at a reform-meeting in cambridge market-pace. jemmy was a native of cambridge, and was the son of a former chapel-clerk of trinity college, who gave him an excellent classical education, and had him articled to an eminent solicitor, with fine talents and good prospects. but though jemmy was "a cunning man with a hard head," such as his profession required, he had a soft heart,--fell in love with a pretty girl. that pretty girl, it is said, returned his passion, then proved faithless, and finally coquetted and ran off with a "_gay_ deceiver," a fellow-commoner of trinity college,--optically dazzled, no doubt, with the purple robe and silver lace, for jemmy was a fine, sensible-looking man. poor jemmy! he was too good for the faithless hussy; he took it to heart, as they say, and, unfortunately, took to drinking at the same time. he soon became too unsettled, both in mind and habits, to follow up his profession with advantage, and he became a _bon-vivant_, a professed wit, with a natural turn for facete, and the _cram-man_ of the more idle sons of granta, who delighted in his society in those days when his wits were unclouded, nor did the more distinguished members of the university then disdain to hail him to their boards. for many years jemmy lived to know and prove that "learning is most excellent;" and having a good classical turn, he lived by writing _themes_ and _declarations_ for non-reading cantabs, for each of which jemmy expected the physician's mite, and, like them, might be said to thrive by the _guinea_ trade. it is, no doubt, true, that some of his productions had college prizes awarded to them, and that, on one occasion, being recommended to apply for the medal, he indignantly answered, "it is no credit to be first in an ass-race!" notwithstanding, jemmy's in-goings never equalled his out-goings, and many a parley had jemmy with his empty purse. it was no uncommon thing for him to pass his vacations in _quod_--_videlicet_ jail--for debts his creditors were well aware he could not pay; but they well knew also that his friends, the students, would be sure to _pay him out_ on their return to college. these circumstances give occasion for the publication of the now scarce caricatures of him, entitled, "term-time," and "non-term." in the first he is represented spouting to one of his _togaed_ customers, in the latter he appears cogitating in "durance vile." besides these, numerous portraits of jemmy have been put forth, for the correctness of most of which we, who have "held our sides at his fair words," can vouch. a full-length is extant in hone's every-day book, in the gradus ad catabrigiam is a second; and we doubt not but our friend mason, of church-passage, cambridge, could furnish a collector with several. poor jemmy! he has now been dead several years. his latter days were melancholy indeed. to the last, however, jemmy continued to sport those distinctive marks of a man of _ton_, a _spying-glass_ and an _opera-hat_, which so well became him. latterly he became troublesome to his best friends, not only levying contributions at will, but by saying _hard things_ to them, sparing neither heads of college, tutors, fellows, students, or others whose names were familiar to him. on one occasion, oblivious with too much devotion to _sir john_, as was latterly his wont, his abuse caused him to be committed to the _tread-mill_--_sic transit_--and after his term of _exercise_ had expired, meeting a cantab in the street whose beauty was even less remarkable than his wit, he addressed our recreant with, "well, jemmy, how do you like the tread-mill?" "i don't like your ---- ugly face," was the response. jemmy's recorded witticisms were at one time as numberless as the stars, and in the mouth of every son of granta, bachelor or big-wig; now some only are remembered. he one day met sir john mortlock in the streets of granta, soon after he had been knighted; making a dead pause, and looking sir john full in the face, jemmy _improvised_-- "the king, by merely laying sword on, could make a knight of jemmy gordon." at another time, petitioning a certain college dignitary for a few shillings to recover his clothes, pledged to appease his thirst, he said, on receiving the amount, "now, i know that my redeemer liveth." jemmy, in his _glorious days_, had been a good deal patronised by the late master of trinity college, bishop mansel, like himself a wit of the first water. jemmy one day called upon the bishop, during the time he filled the office of vice-chancellor, to beg half-a-crown. "i will give you as much," said the bishop, "if you can bring me a greater rogue than yourself." jemmy made his bow and departed, content with the condition, and had scarcely half crossed the great court of trinity, when he espied the late mr. b., then one of the esquire bedels of the university, scarcely less eccentric than himself. jemmy coolly told him that the vice-chancellor wanted to see him. into the lodge went our bedel, followed close by jemmy. "here he is," said jemmy, as they entered the bishop's presence, _arcades ambo_, at the same instant. "who?" inquired the bishop. "you told me, my lord," said jemmy, "to bring you a greater rogue than myself, and you would give me half-a-crown, and here he is." the bishop enjoyed the joke, and gave him the money. a somewhat similar story is told of an oxford wag, in addison's anecdotes, stating, that about the beginning of the eighteenth century, when it was more the fashion to drink ale at oxford than at present, a humorous fellow of merry memory established an ale-house near the pound, and wrote over his door, "ale sold by the pound!" as his ale was as good as his jokes, the oxonians resorted to his house in great numbers, and sometimes stayed there beyond the college hours. this was made a matter of complaint to the vice-chancellor, who was desired to take away his license by one of the proctors. boniface was summoned to attend accordingly, and when he came into the vice-chancellor's presence, he began hawking and spitting about the room. this the vice-chancellor observed, and asked what he meant by it? "please your worship," said he, "i came here on purpose to clear myself." the vice-chancellor imagining that he actually _weighed his ale_, said, "they tell me you sell ale by the pound; is that true?" "no, an' please your worship." "how do you, then?" "very well, i thank you, sir," said the wag, "how do you do?" the vice-chancellor laughed and said, "get away for a rogue; i'll say no more to you." the fellow went out, but in crossing the _quod_ met the proctor who had laid the information against him. "sir," said he, addressing the proctor, "the vice-chancellor wants to speak with you," and they went to the vice-chancellor's together. "here he is, sir," said boniface, as they entered the presence. "who?" inquired the vice. "why, sir," he rejoined, "you sent me for a rogue, and i have brought you the greatest that i know of." the result was, says the author of _terræ-filius_ (who gives a somewhat different version of the anecdote,) that boniface paid dear for his _jokes_: being not only deprived of his license, but committed to prison. * * * * * cambridge frolics. i recollect once being invited, with another cantab, to _bitch_ (as they say) with a scholar of bene't coll. and arrived there at the hour named to find the door _sported_ and our host out. we resolved, however, not to be _floored_ by a _quiz_, and having gained admission to his rooms per the window, we put a bold face upon matters, went straight to the buttery, and ordered "_coffee and muffins for two_," in his name. they came of course; and having feasted to our heart's content, we finished our revenge by hunting up all the _tallow_ we could lay hands on, which we cut up to increase the number, and therewith illuminated his rooms and beat a retreat as quick as possible. the college was soon in an uproar to learn the cause for such a display, and we had the pleasure of witnessing our _wag's_ chagrin thereat from a nook in the court. this anecdote reminds me of one told of himself and the late learned physician, dr. battie, by dr. morell. they were contemporary at eton, and afterwards went to king's college, cambridge, together. dr. battie's mother was his _jackall_ wherever he went, and, says dr. morell, she kindly recommended me and other scholars to a chandler at _s._ _d._ per dozen. but the candles proved dear even at that rate, and we resolved to vent our disappointment upon her son. we, accordingly, got access to battie's room, locked him out, and all the candles we could find in his box we lighted and stuck up round the room! and, whilst i thrummed on the spinnet, the rest danced round me in their shirts. upon battie's coming, and finding what we were at, he "fell to storming and swearing," says the doctor, "till the old vice-provost, dr. willymott, called out from above, 'who is swearing like a common soldier?' 'it is i,' quoth battle. 'visit me,' quoth the vice-provost. which, indeed, we were all obliged to do the next morning, with a distich, according to custom. mine naturally turned upon, 'so fiddled orpheus, and so danced the _brutes_;' which having explained to the vice-provost, he punished me and sleech with a few lines from the _epsilon_ of homer, and battie with the whole third book of milton, to get, as we say, by heart." another college scene, in which battie played a part, when a scholar at king's, is the following:-- case of black rash, given on the authority of his old college _chum_, ralph thicknesse, who, like himself, became a fellow. there was then at king's college, says ralph, a very good-tempered six-feet-high parson, of the name of harry lofft, who was one of the college chanters, and the constant _butt_ of all both at commons and in the _parlour_. harry, says ralph, dreaded so much the sight of a gun or a pair of pistols, that such of his friends as did not desire too much of his company kept _fire-arms_ to keep him at _arm's length_. ralph was encouraged, by some of the fellows, he says (_juniors_ of course,) to make a serious joke out of harry's foible, and one day discharged a gun, loaded with powder, at our six-feet-high parson, as he was striding his way to prayers. the powder was coarse and damp and did not all burn, so that a portion of it lodged in harry's face. the fright and a little inflammation put the poor chanter to bed, says ralph. but he was not the only frightened party, for we were all much alarmed lest the _report_ should reach the vice-chancellor's ears, and the good-tempered hal was prevailed with to be _only ill_. battie and another, who were _not_ of the _shooting party_ (the only two fellow-students in physic,) were called to hal's assistance. they were _not_ told the real state of the case, and finding his pulse high, his spirits low, and his face inflamed and sprinkled with red spots, after a serious consultation they _prescribed_. on retiring from the sick man's room, they were forthwith examined on the state of the case by the impatient plotters of the wicked deed, to whose amusement both the disciples of galen pronounced hal's case to be the _black rash_! this, adds ralph, was a never-to-be-forgotten _roast_ for battie and banks in cambridge; and if we may add to this, that battie, in after life, sent his wife to bath for a _dropsy_, where she was shortly _tapped_ of a fine boy, it may give us a little insight into the _practice of physic_, and induce us to say with the poet-- "better to search in fields for wealth unbought, than fee the doctor for a nauseous draught." the same ralph relates a humorous anecdote of the fate of the doctor's old grizzle wig. the doctor, says ralph, was as good a punch as he was a physician, and after he settled at uxbridge, in the latter character, where he first opened his _medical budget_, with the proceeds of his fellowship at king's college alone to depend on, ralph took advantage of a stay in london to ride over to see his old college chum and fellow-punster, and reached his _domus_ in the doctor's absence. ralph's wig was the worse for a shower of rain he had rode through, and, taking it off, desired the doctor's man, william, to bring him his master's _old grizzle_ to put on, whilst he dried and put a dust of powder into his. but ere this could be accomplished, the doctor returned, as fine as may be, in his _best tye_, kept especially for visiting his patients in. as soon as mutual greetings had passed, "why, zounds, ralph," exclaimed the doctor, "what a cursed wig you have got on!" "true," said ralph, taking it off as he spoke, "it is a bad one, and if you will, as i have another with me, i will toss it into the fire." "by all means," said the doctor, "for, in truth, it is a very _caxon_," and into the _fire_ went the fry. the doctor now began to skin his legs, and calling his man, william, "here," said he, taking off his tye, "bring me my old wig." "mr. thicknesse has got it," said william. "and where is it, ralph," said the doctor, turning upon his visiter. "_burnt_, as you desired; and this illustrates the spirit of all mankind," said ralph; "we can see the shabby wig, and feel the pitiful tricks of our friends, overlooking the disorder of our own wardrobes. as horace says, 'nil habeo quod agam;'--'mind every body's business but your own.'" talking of _gunpowder_ reminds me of two other shooting anecdotes. all who know anything of either oxford or cambridge scholars, know well enough, that their _manners_ are not only _well preserved_ at all seasons, but that when they are in a humour for sporting, it is of very little consequence whether other folk preserve their manners or not. when the late eccentric joshua waterhouse, b.d. (who was so barbarously murdered a few years since by joshua slade, in huntingdonshire,) was a student of catherine hall, cambridge, of which he became a fellow, he was a remarkably strong young man, some six feet high, and not easily frightened. he one day went out to shoot with another man of his college, and his favourite dog, sancho, had just made his first point, when a keeper came up and told joshua to take himself off, in no very classic english. joshua therefore declined compliance. upon this our keeper began to threaten. joshua thereupon laid his gun aside, and coolly began taking off his coat (or, as the fancy would say, to _peel_,) observing, "i came out for a day's sport, and a day's sport i'll have." upon which our keeper shot off, leaving joshua in possession of the field, from which he used to boast he carried off a full bag. at another time a party of oxonians, gamesomely inclined, were driving, _tandem_, for the neighbourhood of woodstock, when passing a stingy old _cur_, yclept a country gentleman, who had treated some one of the party a _shabby_ trick, a thought struck them that now was the hour for revenge. they drove in _bang up_ style to the front of the old man's mansion, and coolly told the servant, that they had just seen his master, who had desired them to say, that he was to serve them up a good dinner and wine, and in the meantime show them where the most game was to be found. this was done, and after a _roaring_ day's sport, and a full gorge of roast, baked and boiled, washed down with the best ale, port and sherry, the old boy's cellar could furnish, they made brazen-nose college, oxon, , p.m., much delighted with the result, and luckily the affair went no further, at the time at least. * * * * * bishop watson's own account of his progress at cambridge. "soon after the death of my father," says this learned prelate, in his autobiography, published in , "i was sent to the university, and admitted a sizer of trinity college, cambridge, on the d of november, . i did not know a single person in the university, except my tutor, mr. backhouse, who had been my father's scholar, and mr. preston, who had been my own school-fellow. i commenced my academic studies with great eagerness, from knowing that my future fortune was to be wholly of my own fabricating, being certain that the slender portion which my father had left to me ( _l._) would be barely sufficient to carry me through my education. i had no expectations from relations; indeed i had not a relative so near as a first cousin in the world, except my mother, and a brother and sister, who were many years older than me. my mother's maiden name was newton; she was a very charitable and good woman, and i am indebted to her (i mention it with filial piety) for imbuing my young mind with principles of religion, which have never forsaken me. erasmus, in his little treatise, entitled _antibarbarorum_, says, that the safety of states depend upon three things, _a proper or improper education of the prince, upon public preachers, and upon school-masters_; and he might with equal reason have added, _upon mothers_; for the code of the mother precedes that of the school-master, and may stamp upon the _rasa tabula_ of the infant mind, characters of virtue and religion which no time can efface. perceiving that the sizers were not so respectfully looked upon by the pensioners and scholars of the house as they ought to have been, inasmuch as the most learned and leading men of the university have even arisen from that order (_magister artis ingenique largitor venter_,) i offered myself for a scholarship a year before the usual time of the sizers sitting, and succeeded on the nd of may, . this step increased my expenses in college, but it was attended with a great advantage. it was the occasion of my being particularly noticed by _dr. smith_, the master of the college. he was, from the examination he gave me, so well satisfied with the progress i had made in my studies, that out of the sixteen who were elected scholars, he appointed me to a particular one (lady jermyn's) then vacant, and in his own disposal; not, he said to me, as being better than other scholarships, but as a mark of his approbation; he recommended _saunderson's fluxions_, then just published, and some other mathematical books, to my perusal, and gave, in a word, a spur to my industry, and wings to my ambition. i had, at the time of my being elected a scholar, been resident in college two years and seven months, without having gone out of it for a single day. during that period i had acquired some knowledge of hebrew, greatly improved myself in greek and latin, made considerable progress in mathematics and natural philosophy, and studied with much attention locke's works, king's book on the origin of evil, puffendorf's treatise _de officio hominis et civis_, and some other books on similar subjects; i thought myself, therefore, entitled to some little relaxation. under this persuasion i set forward, may , , to pay my elder and only brother a visit at kendal. he was the first curate of the new chapel there, to the structure of which he had subscribed liberally. he was a man of lively parts, but being thrown into a situation where there was no great room for the display of his talents, and much temptation to convivial festivity, he spent his fortune, injured his constitution, and died when i was about the age of thirty-three, leaving a considerable debt, all of which i paid immediately, though it took almost my all to do it. my mind did not much relish the country, at least it did not relish the life i led in that country town; the constant reflection that i was _idling away my time_ mixed itself with every amusement, and poisoned all the pleasures i had promised myself from the visit; i therefore took a hasty resolution of shortening it, and returned to college in the beginning of september, with a determined purpose to make my _alma mater_ the mother of my fortunes. _that_, i well remember, was the expression i used to myself, as soon as i saw the turrets of king's college chapel, as i was jogging on a jaded nag between huntingdon and cambridge. i was then only a _junior soph_; yet two of my acquaintances, the year below me, thought that i knew so much more of mathematics than they did, that they importuned me to become their private tutor. i undoubtedly wished to have had my time to myself, especially till i had taken my degree; but the narrowness of my circumstances, accompanied with a disposition to improve, or, more properly speaking, with a desire to appear respectable, induced me to comply with their request. from that period, for above thirty years of my life, and as long as my health lasted, a considerable portion of my time was spent in instructing others without much instructing myself, or in presiding at disputations in philosophy or theology, from which, after a certain time, i derived little intellectual improvement. whilst i was an under-graduate, i kept a great deal _of what is called_ the best company--that is, of idle fellow-commoners, and other persons of fortune--but their manners never subdued my prudence; i had strong ambition to be distinguished, and was sensible that wealth might plead some excuse for idleness, extravagance and folly in others; the want of wealth could plead more for me. when i used to be returning to my room at one or two in the morning, after spending a jolly evening, i often observed a light in the chamber of one of the same standing with myself; this never failed to excite my jealousy, and the next day was always a day of hard study. i have gone without my dinner a hundred times on such occasions. i thought i never entirely understood a proposition in any part of mathematics or natural philosophy, till i was able, in a solitary walk, _obstipo capite atque ex porrecto labello_, to draw the scheme in my head, and go through every step of the demonstration without book, or pen and paper. i found this was a very difficult task, especially in some of the perplexed schemes and long demonstrations of the twelfth book of _euclid_, and in _l'hôpital's_ conic sections, and in _newton's_ principia. my walks for this purpose were so frequent, that my tutor, not knowing what i was about, once reproved me for being a lounger. i never gave up a difficult point in a demonstration till i had made it out _proprio marte_; i have been stopped at a single step for three days. this perseverance in accomplishing whatever i undertook, was, during the whole of my active life, a striking feature in my character. but though i stuck close to abstract studies, i did not neglect other things; i every week imposed upon myself a task of composing a theme or declamation in latin or english. i generally studied mathematics in the morning, and classics in the afternoon; and used to get by heart such parts of orations, either in latin or greek, as particularly pleased me. demosthenes was the orator, tacitus the historian, and persius the satirist whom i most admired. i have mentioned this mode of study, not as thinking there was any thing extraordinary in it, since there were many under-graduates then, and have always been many in the university of cambridge, and, for aught i know, in oxford, too, who have taken greater pains. but i mention it because i feel a complacence in the recollections of days long since happily spent, _hoc est vivere bis vita posse priori frui_, and indulge in a hope, that the perusal of what i have written may chance to drive away the spirit of indolence and dissipation from young men; especially from those who enter the world with slender means, as i did. in january, , i took my bachelor of arts' degree. the taking of this first degree is a great era in academic life; it is that to which all the under-graduates of talent and diligence direct their attention. there is no seminary of learning in europe in which youth are more zealous to excel during the first years of their education than in the university of cambridge. i was the second wrangler of my year. in september, , i sat for a fellowship. at that time there never had been an instance of a fellow being elected from among the junior bachelors. the master told me this as an apology for my not being elected, and bade me be contented till the next year. on the st of october, , i was elected a fellow of trinity college, and put over the head of two of my seniors of the same year, who were, however, elected the next year. the old master, whose memory i have ever revered, when he had done examining me, paid me this compliment, which was from him a great one:--'you have done your duty to the college; it remains for the college to do theirs to you.' i was elected the next day, and became assistant tutor to mr. backhouse in the following november." every body knows his subsequent career embraced his appointment to the several dignified university offices of tutor, moderator, professor of chemistry, and regius professor of divinity, and that he died bishop of llandaff. i may here, as an apposite tail piece, add from meadley's life of that celebrated scholar and divine, paley's sketch of his early academical life. in the year , during one of his visits to cambridge, dr. paley, in the course of a conversation on the subject, gave the following account of the early part of his own academical life; and it is here given on the authority and in the very words of a gentleman who was present at the time, as a striking instance of the peculiar frankness with which he was in the habit of relating adventures of his youth. "i spent the two first years of my under-graduateship (said he) happily, but unprofitably. i was constantly in society where we were not immoral, but idle and rather expensive. at the commencement of my third year, however, after having left the usual party at rather a late hour in the evening, i was awakened at five in the morning by one of my companions, who stood at my bedside and said, 'paley, i have been thinking what a d--d fool you are. i could do nothing, probably, were i to try, and can afford the life i lead: you can do every thing, and cannot afford it. i have had no sleep during the whole night on account of these reflections, and am now come solemnly to inform you, that, if you persist in your indolence, i must renounce your society.' i was so struck (continued paley) with the visit and the visiter, that i lay in bed great part of the day and formed my plan: i ordered my bed-maker to prepare my fire every evening, in order that it might be lighted by myself; i rose at five, read during the whole of the day, except such hours as chapel and hall required, allotting each portion of time its peculiar branch of study; and, just before the closing of gates (nine o'clock) i went to a neighbouring coffee-house, where i constantly regaled upon a mutton-chop and a dose of milk punch: and thus on taking my bachelor's degree, i became _senior wrangler_." he, too, filled the trustworthy and dignified office of tutor of his college, and deserved, though he did not die in possession of, a bishopric. * * * * * the lounger. by an oxonian. i rise about nine, get to breakfast by ten, blow a tune on my flute, or perhaps make a pen; read a play till eleven, or cock my laced hat; then step to my neighbours, till dinner, to chat. dinner over, to _tom's_, or to _james's_ i go, the news of the town so impatient to know, while _law_, _locke_ and _newton_, and all the rum race, that talk of their nodes, their ellipses, and space, the seat of the soul, and new systems on high, in holes, as abstruse as their mysteries, lie. from the coffee-house then i to tennis away, and at five i post back to my college to pray: i sup before eight, and secure from all duns, undauntedly march to the _mitre_ or _tuns_; where in punch or good claret my sorrows i drown, and toss off a bowl "to the best in the town:" at one in the morning i call what's to pay, then home to my college i stagger away; thus i tope all the night, as i trifle all day. * * * * * an oxford hoax and a puritan detected. a certain oxford d.d. at the head of a college, lately expected a party of maiden ladies, his sisters and others, to visit him from the country. they were strangers in oxford, therefore, like another bayard, he was anxious to meet them on their arrival and _gallant_ them to his college. this, however, was to him, so little accustomed _to do the polite to the ladies_, an absolute event, and it naturally formed his _prime_ topic of conversation for a month previously. this provoked some of the fellows of his college to _put a hoax upon him_, the most forward in which was one mr. h----, a _puritan_ forsooth. accordingly, a note was concocted and sent to the doctor, in the name of the ladies, announcing, that they _had arrived at_ the _inn in oxford_. "the inn!" exclaimed the doctor, on perusing it; "good god! how am i to know _the_ inn?" however, after due preparation, off he set, in full canonicals, hunting for his belles and _the_ inn! the star, mitre, angel, all were searched; at last, the doctor, both tired and irritated, began to smell a rat! the idea of a hoax flashed upon his mind; he hurried to his lodgings, at his college, where the whole truth flashed upon him like a _new light_, and the window of his room being open, which overlooked the fellows' garden, he saw a group of them rubbing their hands in high glee, and the ringleader, mr. h----, in the midst: he was so roused at the sight, that, leaning from the window, he burst out with--"h----! you puritanical son of a bitch!" it is needless to add, that the words, acting like a charm, quickly dissolved their council: but the doctor, too amiable to remember what was not meant as an affront, himself afterwards both joined in and enjoyed the laugh created by the joke. * * * * * more than one good saying is attributed to the non-juring divine, celebrated son of oxon, and excellent english historian, thomas carte, who, falling under the suspicions of the government, as a favourer of the pretender, was imprisoned at the time the habeas corpus act was suspended, in . whilst under examination by the privy council, the celebrated duke of newcastle, then minister, asked him, "if he were not a bishop?" "no, my lord duke," replied carte, "there are no bishops in england, but what are made by your grace; and i am sure i have no reason to expect that honour." walking, soon after he was liberated, in the streets of london, during a heavy shower of _rain_, he was plied with, "a coach, your reverence?" "no, honest friend," was his answer, "this is not a _reign_ for me to ride in." * * * * * horace walpole a saint. cole says, in his _athenæ cant._, that horace walpole latterly lived and died a sceptic; but when a student at king's college, cambridge, he was of "a religious enthusiastic turn of mind, and used to go with ashton (the late dr., master of jesus college,) his then great friend, to pray with the prisoners in the castle." dyer gives the following poetical version of a cambridge conundrum, in his supplement, on doctors _long_, _short_, and _askew_:-- or ct what's doctor, and dr., and do writ so? doctor long, doctor short, and doctor _askew_. * * * * * a bishop's interest. bishop porteus said of himself, when holding the see of chester, that he "had not interest enough to command a cheshire cheese." * * * * * oxford famous for its sophists. "for sophistry, such as you may call corrupt and vain," says wood, in the first volume of his annals, "which we had derived from the parisians, oxford hath in ancient time been very famous, especially when many thousands of students were in her, equalling, if not exceeding, that university from whence they had it; a token of which, with its evil consequences, did lately remain,--i mean the quadragesimall exercises, which were seldom performed, or at least _finished without the help of mars_. in the reign of henry the third, and before, the schools were much polluted with it, and became so notorious, that it corrupted other arts; and so would it afterwards have continued, had it not been corrected by public authority for the present, though in following times it increased much again, that it could not be rooted out. some there were that wrote, others that preached against it, demonstrating the evil consequences thereof, and the sad end of those that delighted in it. jacobus januensis reports that one mr. silo, a master of the university of paris, and professor of logic, had a scholar there, with whom he was very familiar: and being excellent in the art of sophistry, spared not all occasions, whether festival or other day, to study it. this sophister being sick, and almost brought to death's door, master silo earnestly desired him, that after his death he would return to him and give him information concerning his state, and how it fared with him. the sophister dying, returned according to promise, with his hood stuffed with notes of sophistry, and the inside lined with flaming fire, telling him, that that was the reward which he had bestowed upon him for the renown he had before for sophistry; but mr. silo esteeming it a small punishment, stretched out his hand towards him, on which a drop or spark of the said fire falling, was very soon pierced through with terrible pain; which accident the defunct or ghost beholding, told silo, that he need not wonder at that small matter, for he was burning in that manner all over. is it so? (saith silo) well, well, i know what i have to do. whereupon, resolving to leave the world, and enter himself into religion, called his scholars about him, took his leave of, and dismissed them with these metres:-- 'linquo coax[ ] ranis, cras[ ] corvis, vanaque[ ] vanis, ad logicam pergo, que mortis non timet[ ] ergo.' which said story coming to the knowledge of certain oxonians, about the year (as an obscure note which i have seen tells me,) it fell out, that as one of them was answering for his degree in his school, which he had hired, the opponent dealt so maliciously with him, that he stood up and spake before the auditory thus: 'profectò, profectò, &c.' 'truly, truly, sir sophister, if you proceed thus, i protest before this assembly i will not answer; pray, sir, remember mr. silo's scholar at paris,'--intimating thereby, that if he did not cease from vain babblings, purgatory, or a greater punishment, should be his end. had such examples been often tendered to them (adds wood, with real bowels of compassion,) as they were to the parisians, especially that which happened to one simon churney, or thurney, or tourney (fuller says, thurway, a cornish man,) an english theologist there (who was suddenly struck dumb, because he vainly gloried that he, in his disputations, could be equally for or against the divine truth,) it might have worked more on their affections; but this being a single relation, it could not long be wondered at." after these _logical marvels_, anthony gives us the following instance of [ ] luxuriam scil. luxuriosis, vel potius rixas sophistis. [ ] avaritiam scil. avaris. [ ] superbiam pomposis. [ ] religionem ubi bene viventi non timetur stimulus mortis. a vice-chancellor's being laconic. "dr. prideaux, when he resigned the office of vice-chancellor, nd july, (which is never done without an oration spoken from the chair in the convocation, containing for the most part an account of the acts done in the time of their magistrateship,) spoke only the aforesaid metres, 'linquo coax,' &c., supposing there was more matter in them than the best speech he could make, frustrating thereby the great hopes of the academicians of an eloquent oration." "oxford hath been so famous for sophistry, and hath used such a particular way in the reading and learning it," adds wood, in treating of the schools, "that it hath often been styled-- 'sophistria secundum usum oxon.' so famous, also, for subtlety of logicians, that no place hath excelled it." this great subtlety, however, would seem, in a degree, to have departed from our sister of oxford in , when, they say, two pert oxonians took a journey to cambridge, and challenged any to dispute with them there, in the public schools, on the two following questions:--"_an jus civile sit medicina præstantius?_" in english as much as to say, _which does most execution, civil law or medicine?_--a nice point, truly. but the other formed the subject of serious argumentation, and ran thus:--"_an mulier condemnata, bis ruptis loqueis, sit tertio suspendenda?_" ridley, the bishop and martyr, then a young man, student or fellow of pembroke hall, cambridge, is said to have been one of the opponents on this interesting occasion, and administered the _flagellæ linguæ_ with such happy effect to one of these pert pretenders to logic lore, that the other durst not set his wit upon him. the oxford sophistry had so much corrupted the latin tongue there, says wood, that the purity thereof being lost among the scholars, "their speaking became barbarous, and derived so constantly to their successors, that barbarous speaking of latin was commonly styled by many 'oxoniensis loquenti mos.' the latin of the schools, in the present day, is none of the purest at either university. a certain cambridge divine, a professor, who was a senior wrangler, and is justly celebrated for his learning and great ability, one day presiding at an act in arts, upon a dog straying into the school, and putting in for a share of the logic with a howl at the audience, the moderator exclaimed, "_verte canem ex_." there have, however, been fine displays of pure latinity in the schools of both; and it appears the oxonians surpassed aristotle at a very early period, not only in the art of logic itself, but in their manner of applying it: for in the beginning of , says wood, about the latter end of lent (a fatal time for the most part to the oxonians,) a sore discord fell out between the cistercian and benedictine monks, concerning several philosophical points discussed by them in the schools. but their arguments being at length flung aside, they decided the controversy by blows, which, with sore scandal, continued a considerable time. at length the benedictines rallying up what forces they could procure, they beset the cistercians, and by force of arms made them fly and betake themselves to their hostels. in fact, he says, by the use of logic, and the trivial arts, the oxford sophists, in the time of lent, broke the king's peace, so that the university privileges were several times suspended, and in danger of being lessened or taken away. through the corrupt use of it, "the parva logicalia, and other minute matters of aristotle, many things of that noble author have been so changed from their original, by the screwing in and adding many impertinent things, that tho. nashe (in his book, 'have at you to saffron walden,') hath verily thought, that if aristotle had risen out of his grave, and disputed with the sophisters, they would not only have baffled him with their sophistry, but with his own logic, which they had disguised, and he composed without any impurity or corruption. it may well be said, that in this day they have done no more than what tom nashe's beloved dick harvey did afterwards at cambridge, that is to say, he set aristotle with his heels upwards on the school gates, with ass's ears on his head,--a thing that tom would 'in perpetuam rei memoriam,' record and never have done with. wilson, in his _memorabilia cantabrigiæ_, says of this said tom nash, that he was educated at st. john's college, cambridge, where he resided seven years, was at the fatal repast of the pickled herrings with the poet green, and, in , was either confined or otherwise troubled for a comedy on _the isle of dogs_ (extant in the mss. of oldys,) though he wrote but the first act, and the players without his knowledge supplied the rest. he was a man of humour, a bitter satirist, and no contemptible poet; and more effectually discouraged and non-plused the notorious anti-prelate and astrologer, will harvey, and his adherents, than all the serious writers that attacked them. there is a good character of him, says oldys, in _the return from parnassus, or scourge of simony_, which was publicly acted by the students of st. john's, in , wherein they first exemplified the art of cutting, an elegant term, that is in equal request at the sister university, as well as amongst the coxcombs of the day, adds wilson, though the members of st. john's are celebrated for the _origin_ of the term "_to cut_,"--_i. e._ "to look an old friend in the face, and affect not to know him," which is the _cut direct_. those who would be more deeply read in this art, which has been greatly improved since the days in which it originated, will find it at large in the _gradus ad cantabrigiam_. * * * * * cromwell's soldiers at a disputation at oxford. it was a custom of dr. kettel, while president of trinity college, oxford (says tom warton, citing the mss. of dr. bathurst, in his appendix to his life of sir thomas pope,) "to attend daily the disputations in the college-hall, on which occasions he constantly wore a large black furred muff. before him stood an hour-glass, brought by himself into the hall, and placed on the table, for ascertaining the time of the continuance of the exercise, which was to last an hour at least. one morning, after cromwell's soldiers had taken possession of oxford, a halberdier rushed into the hall during this controversy, and plucking off our venerable doctor's muff, threw it in his face, and then, with a stroke of his halberd, broke the hour-glass in pieces. the doctor, though old and infirm, instantly seized the soldier by the collar, who was soon overpowered, by the assistance of the disputants. the halberd was carried out of the hall in triumph before the doctor; but the prisoner, with his halberd, was quickly rescued by a party of soldiers, who stood at the bottom of the hall, and had enjoyed the whole transaction." it was in the grove of this college, during monmouth's rebellion of , that sir philip bertie, a younger son of robert earl of lindsay, who was a member of trinity college, and had spoken a copy of verses in the theatre at oxford, in , to the duke and dutchess a york, &c., trained a company, chiefly of his own college, of which he was captain, in the militia of the university. troops being raised by the university of oxford, says warton, in monmouth's rebellion. it reminds me of a curious anecdote concerning smith's famous ode, entitled pocockius, which i give from mss., cod. balland, vol. xix. lit. :--"the university raised a regiment for the king's service, and christ church and jesus' colleges made one company, of which lord morris, since earl of abingdon, was captain, who presented mr. urry (the editor of chaucer,) a corporal (serjeant) therein, with a halberd. upon dr. pocock's death, mr. urry lugged captain rag (smith) into his chamber in peckwater, locked him in, put the key in his pocket, and ordered his bed-maker to supply him with necessaries through the window, and told him he should not come out till he made a copy of verses on the doctor's death. the sentence being irreversible, the captain made the ode, and sent it, with his epistle, to mr. urry, who thereupon had his release." "the epistle here mentioned," adds tom, "is a ludicrous prose analysis of the ode, beginning _opusculum tuum, halberdarie amplissime_," &c., and is printed in the fourth volume of dr. johnson's english poets, who pronounces it _unequalled_ by modern writers. this same oxonian, smith, had obtained the _soubriquet_ of captain rag by his negligence of dress. he was bred at westminster school, under doctor busby; and it is to be remembered, for his _honour_, "that, when at the westminster election he stood a candidate for one of the universities, he so signally distinguished himself by his conspicuous performances, that there arose no small contention between the representatives of trinity college in cambridge, and christ church in oxon, which of those two royal societies should adopt him as their own. but the electors of trinity having a preference of choice that year, they resolutely elected him; who yet, being invited the same time to christ church, he chose to accept of a studentship there." * * * * * the three dainty morsels. when our learned oxonian, dr. johnson, was on his tour in the hebrides, accompanied by bozzy, as peter pindar has it, says an american writer, they had one day travelled so far without refreshment, that the doctor began to _growl_ in his best manner. upon this bozzy hastened to a cottage at a distance, ordered a dinner, and was lucky in obtaining the choice of a roast leg of mutton and the doctor's favourite plum-pudding. upon reaching the house, the appetite of the latter drove him into the kitchen to inspect progress, where he saw a boy basting the meat, from whose head he conceited he saw _something_ descend, by the force of _gravity_, into the dripping-pan. the meat was at length served up, and bozzy attacked it with great glee, exclaiming, "my dear doctor, do let me help you to some,--brown as a berry,--done to a turn." the doctor said he would wait for the pudding, chuckling with equal glee, whilst bozzy nearly devoured the whole joint. the pudding at length came, done to a turn too, which the doctor in his turn greedily devoured, without so much as asking bozzy to a bit. after he had wiped his mouth, and begun to compose himself, bozzy entreated to know what he was giggling about whilst he eat the mutton? the doctor clapped his hands to both sides for support, as he told him what he saw in the kitchen. bozzy thereupon begun to exhibit sundry qualms and queer faces, and calling in the boy, exclaimed, "you rascal, why did you not cover your dirty head with your cap when basting the meat?" "'cause mother took it to boil the pudding in!" said the urchin. the tables were turned. the doctor stared aghast, stamped, and literally roared, with a voice of thunder, that if bozzy ever named the circumstance to any one, it should bring down upon him his eternal displeasure! the following, not very dissimilar anecdote, is told of a cantab, who was once out hunting till his appetite became as keen as the doctor's, and, like his, drove him to the nearest cottage. the good dame spread before him and his friend the contents of her larder, which she described as "a _meat_ pie, made of odds and ends, the remnant of their own frugal meal." "any thing is better than nothing," cried the half famished cantab, "so let us have it--ha, bob." bob, who was another cantab, his companion, nodded assent. no sooner was the savoury morsel placed before him, than he commenced operations, and greedily swallowed mouthful after mouthful, exclaiming, "charming! i never tasted a more delicious morsel in my life! but what have we here?" said he, as he sucked something he held in both hands; "_fish_, as well as flesh, my good woman?" "fish!" cried the old dame, as she turned from her washing to eye our sportsman, "why, lord bless ye, i' that bean't our billy's _comb_!" the effect was not a little ludicrous on our hungry cantab, whilst bob's "haw! haw! haw!" might have been heard from the thames tunnel to nootka sound. * * * * * answered in kind. why should we smother a good thing with _mystifying dashes_, instead of plain english high-sounding names, when the subject is of "honourable men?" "_recte facta refert._"--horace forbid it! the learned chancery barrister, john bell, k.c., "_the great bell of lincoln_," as he has been aptly called, was _senior wrangler_, on graduating b.a., at trinity college, cambridge, in , with many able competitors for that honour. he is likewise celebrated, as every body knows, for writing three several hands; one only he himself can read, another nobody but his clerk can read, and a third neither himself, clerk, nor any body else can read! it was in the latter hand he one day wrote to his legal contemporary and friend, the present sir launcelot shadwell, vice-chancellor of england (who is likewise a cantab, and graduated in at st. john's college, of which he became a fellow, with the double distinction of seventh wrangler and second chancellor's medallist) inviting him to dinner. sir launcelot, finding all his attempts to decipher the note about as vain as the wise men found theirs to unravel the cabalistic characters of yore, took a sheet of paper, and having _smeared_ it over with ink, he folded and sealed it, and sent it as his answer. the receipt of it staggered even the great bell of lincoln, and after breaking the seal, and eyeing and turning it round and round, he hurried to mr. shadwell's chambers with it, declaring he could make nothing of it. "nor i of your note," retorted mr. s. "my dear fellow," exclaimed mr. b., taking his own letter in his hand, is not this, as plain as can be, "dear shadwell, i shall be glad to see you at dinner to-day." "and is not this equally as plain," said mr. s., pointing to his own paper, "my dear bell, i shall be happy to come and dine with you." * * * * * powers of digestion. in both oxford and cambridge the cooks are restricted to a certain sum each term, beyond which the college will not protect them in their demand upon the students. all else are _extras_, and are included in "_sizings_" in cambridge; in oxford the term is "_to battel_." the head of a college in the latter university, not long since, sent for mr. p----, one of his society, who had _batteled_ much beyond the allowance; and after mr. p---- had endeavoured to excuse himself on the ground of appetite, turning to the account, the rector observed, "_meat_ for breakfast, _meat_ for lunch, _meat_ for dinner, _meat_ for supper," and looking up in the face of the dismayed student, he exclaimed, with his welsh accent, "christ jesus! mr. p----, what guts you must have." this reminds me of a cambridge d.d., now no more, who is said to have been a great gourmand, and weighed something less than thirty stone, but not much. at the college table, where our d.d. daily took his meal, in order that he might the better put his hand upon the dainty morsels, being very corpulent, he caused a piece to be scooped out, to give him a fair chance. his chair was also so placed, that his belly was three inches from the table at sitting down, and when he had eaten till he touched it, his custom was to lay down his knife and fork and desist, lest, by eating too much, any dangerous malady should ensue. a waggish fellow of his college, however, one day removed his chair double the distance from the table, which the doctor not observing, began to eat as usual. after taking more than his _quantum_, and finding that he was still an inch or two from the _goal_, he threw down his knife and fork in despair, exclaiming, he "was sure he was going to die;" but having explained the reason, he was relieved of his fears on hearing the joke had been played him. * * * * * the inside passenger. every cantab of the nineteenth century must remember our friend smith of the blue boar, trinity street, charioteer of that now _defunct_ vehicle and pair which used to ply between cambridge, new-market, and bury st. edmunds, and on account of its _celerity, and other marked qualities_, was called "_the slow and dirty_" by freshman, soph, bachelor, and big-wig, now metamorphosed into a handsome four-in-hand, over which our friend smith presides in a style worthy of _the club itself_! he had one day, in olden time, pulled up at botsham, midway between newmarket and cambridge, when there happened to be several cantabs on the road, who were refreshing their nags at the "self-same" inn, the swan, at which _the slow and dirty_ made its daily halt. "any passengers?" inquired smith. "one inside," said a cambridge wag, standing by, whose eye was the moment caught by a young ass feeding on the nettles in a neighbouring nook. having put his fellows up to the joke, smith was invited in-doors and treated with a glass of grog; meanwhile, my gentleman with the long ears was popped inside the coach. smith coming out, inquired after his passenger, whom he supposed one of his friends, the cantabs, and learnt he was housed. "all right," said smith, and off he drove, followed quickly by our wag and party on horseback, who determined to be in at the _denouement_. smith had not made much way, when our inside passenger, not finding himself _in clover_, popped his head out at one of the coach windows. the spectacle attracted the notice of many _bipeds_ as they passed along; smith, however, notwithstanding their laughter, "kept the even tenor of his way." at barnwell the boys _huzzaed_ with more than their usual greetings, but still smith kept on, unconscious of the cause. he no sooner made jesus' lane, than crowds began to follow in his wake, and he dashed into the blue-boar yard with _a tail_ more numerous than that upon the shoulders of which dan o'connell rode into the first reformed parliament, feargus included. down went the reins, as the ostlers came to the head of his smoking _prads_, and smith was in a moment at the coach door, with one hand instinctively upon the latch, and the other raised to his hat, when the whole truth flashed upon his astonished eyes, and balaam was safely landed, amidst peals of laughter, in which our friend smith was not the least _uproarious_. * * * * * paley's celebrated school act. when paley, in , kept his act in the schools, previously to his entering the senate-house, to contend for mathematical honours, it was under the moderators, dr. john jebb, the famous physician and advocate of reform in church and state, and the learned dr. richard watson, late bishop of llandaff. _johnson's questiones philosophicæ_ was the book then commonly resorted to in the university for subjects usually disputed of in the _schools_; and he fixed upon two questions, in addition to his mathematical one, which to his knowledge had never before been subjects of _disputation_. the one was _against capital punishments_; the other _against the eternity of hell torments_. as soon, however, as it came to the knowledge of the heads of the university that paley had proposed such questions to the moderators, knowing his abilities, though young, lest it should give rise to a controversial spirit, the master of his college, dr. thomas, was requested to interfere and put a stop to the proceeding, which he did, and bishop watson thus records the fact in his autobiography:--"paley had brought me, for one of the questions he meant for his act, _Æternitas pænarum contradicit divinis attributis_! the eternity of hell torments contrary to the divine attributes. i had accepted it. a few days afterwards he came to me in a great fright, saying, that the master of his college, dr. thomas, dean of ely, insisted on his not keeping on such a question. i readily permitted him to change it, and told him that, if it would lessen his master's apprehensions, he might put a '_non_' before '_contradicit_;' making the question, the eternity of hell torments _not_ contrary to the divine _attributes_: and he did so." in the following month of january he was senior wrangler. he was not fond of classical studies, and used to declare he could read no latin author with pleasure but virgil: yet when the members' prize was awarded to him for a _latin_ prose essay, in , which he had illustrated with _english_ notes, he was, strange enough, though his disregard of the classics was well known, suspected of being the author of the _latin only_. the reverse was probably nearer the truth. it is notorious that he was not skilled in prosody; and when, in , he proceeded to d.d., after being made sub-dean of lincoln, he, in the delivery of his _clerum_, pronounced prof[)u]gus prof[=u]gus, which gave some cambridge wag occasion to fire at him the following epigram:-- "italiam fato _profugus_, lavinaque venit litora; * * * * * errat virgilius, forte _profugus_ erat." he had a spice of cutting humour in his composition, and some time after the bishop of durham so honourably and unsolicited presented him to the valuable living of bishop wearmouth, dining with his lordship in company with an aged divine, the latter observed in conversation, "that although he had been married about forty years, he had never had the slightest difference with his wife." the prelate was pleased at so rare an instance of connubial felicity, and was about to compliment his guest thereon, when paley, with an arch "_quid?_" observed, "don't you think it must have been very flat, my lord?" a rule of his. a writer, recording his _on dits_, in the new monthly magazine, says, in paley's own words, he made it a rule never to buy a book that he wanted to read but once. in more than one respect, he was unlike dr. parr. the latter had a great admiration for the _canonical dress_ of his order, and freely censured the practice of clergymen not generally appearing in it. when on a visit to his friend, the celebrated mr. roscoe, at that gentleman's residence near liverpool, parr used to ride through the village in full costume, including his famous wig, to the no small amusement of the rustics, and chagrin of his companion, the present amiable and learned thomas roscoe, originator and editor of "the landscape annual," &c. paley wore a white wig, and a coat cut in the close court style: but could never be brought to patronise, at least in the country, that becoming part of the dress of a dignitary of the church, a _cassock_, which he used to call a black apron, such as the master tailors wear in durham. he was never a good horseman. "when i followed my father," he says, "on a pony of my own, on my first journey to cambridge, i fell off seven times. my father, on hearing a thump, would turn his head half aside, and say, 'take care of thy money, lad!'" this defect he never overcame: for when advanced in years, he acknowledged he was still so bad a horseman, "that if any man on horseback were to come near me when i am riding," he would say, "i should certainly have a fall; company would take off my attention, and i have need of all i can command to manage my horse, the quietest creature that ever lived; one that, at carlisle, used to be covered with children from the ears to the tail." his two or three reasons for exchanging livings. meadly, his biographer, relates, that when asked why he had exchanged his living of dalston for stanwix? he frankly replied, "sir, i have two or three reasons for taking stanwix in exchange: first, it saved me double housekeeping, as stanwix was within twenty minutes' walk of my house in carlisle; secondly, it was _l._ a-year more in value; and, thirdly, i began to find my stock of sermons coming over again too fast." he was a disciple of izaak walton, and carried his passion for angling so far, that when romney took his portrait, he would be taken with a rod and line in his hand. his way when he wanted to write. "when residing at carlisle," he says, "if i wanted to write any thing particularly well, i used to order a post-chaise, and go to a quiet comfortable inn, at longtown, where i was safe from the trouble and bustle of a family, and there i remained until i had finished what i was about." in this he was a contrast to dr. goldsmith, who, when he meditated his incomparable poem of the "deserted village," went into the country, and took a lodging at a farm-house, where he remained several weeks in the enjoyment of rural ease and picturesque scenery, but could make no progress in his work. at last he came back to a lodging in green-arbour court, opposite newgate, and there, in a comparatively short time, in the heart of the metropolis, surrounded with all the antidotes to ease, he completed his task--_quam nullum ultra verbum_. paley's difficulties a useful lesson to youth. soon after he became senior wrangler, having no immediate prospect of a fellowship, he became an assistant in a school at greenwich, where, he says, i pleased myself with the imagination of the delightful task i was about to undertake, "teaching the young idea how to shoot." as soon as i was seated, a little urchin came up to me and began,--"_b_-_a_-_b_, bab, _b_-_l_-_e_, ble, babble!" nevertheless, at this time, the height of his ambition was to become the first assistant. during this period, he says, he restricted himself for some time to the mere necessaries of life, in order that he might be enabled to discharge a few debts, which he had incautiously contracted at cambridge. "my difficulties," he observes, "might afford a useful lesson to youth of good principles; for my privations produced a habit of economy which was of infinite service to me ever after." at this time i wanted a waistcoat, and went into a second-hand clothes-shop. it so chanced that i bought the very same garment that lord clive wore when he made his triumphal entry into calcutta. in his poverty he was like parr. the finances of the latter obliged him to leave cambridge _without_ a degree; after he had been assistant at harrow, had a school at stanmore, and been head master of the grammar school at colchester, and had become head master of that of norwich, they remained so low that once looking upon a small library, says mr. field, in his life of the doctor, "his eye was caught by the title, 'stephani thesaurus linguæ græcæ,' turning suddenly about, and striking violently the arm of the person whom he addressed, in a manner very unusual with him, 'ah! my friend, my friend,' he exclaimed, 'may _you_ never be forced, as _i_ was at norwich, to sell that work--to _me_ so precious--from absolute and urgent necessity!'" "at one time of my life," he said, "i had but _l._ in the world. but then, i had good spirits, and owed no man sixpence!" porson, too, was a contrast to paley. the first, it is well known, vacated his fellowship, and left himself pennyless, rather than subscribe to the _thirty-nine articles_, from which there is no doubt he conscientiously dissented; and when asked to subscribe his belief in the notorious shakspeare _forgery_ of the irelands, his reply was, "i subscribe to no articles of faith." when paley was solicited to sign his name to the supplication of the petitioning clergy, for _relief from subscription_, he has the credit of replying, he "_could not afford to keep a conscience_," a saying that many have cherished to the prejudice of that great man's memory, but which it is more than probable he said in his dry, humorous manner, without suspicion it would be remembered at all, and merely to rid himself of some importunate applicant. paley, it is well known, notwithstanding the conclusions to which some interested writers have come, was strongly and conscientiously attached to the doctrines and constitution of the established church; and it was impossible but that, with his fine common-sense perception, he must have been well aware, that no _established church_, such as is that of england, could long exist as such, _if not fenced round by articles of faith_. and here i am reminded of an anecdote of the great lord burleigh and the dissenters of his day. he was once very much pressed by a body of divines, says collins, in his life, to make some _alteration in the liturgy_, upon which he desired them to go into the next room by themselves, and bring in their _unanimous opinion on the disputed points_. but they very soon returned _without being able to agree_. "why, gentlemen," said he, "how can you expect that i should alter my point in dispute, when you, who must be more competent to judge, from your situation, than i can possibly be, cannot agree among yourselves in what manner you would have me alter it." other sayings of this great man were, that he would "never truste anie man not of sounde religion; for he that is false to god, can never be true to man." parents, he said, were to be blamed for "the unthrifty looseness of youth," who made them men seven years too soon, and when they "had but children's judgments." "warre is the curse, and peace the blessinge of a countrie;" and "a realme," he said, "gaineth more by one year's peace, than by tenne years' warre." "that nation," he would observe, "was happye where the king would take counsell and follow it." with such a sage minister, it is not surprising that elizabeth was the greatest princess that ever lived, nor that she gave such wise laws to cambridge, whose chancellor he was. porson's progress in knowledge. "when i was seventeen," porson once observed, "i thought i knew every thing; as soon as i was twenty-four, and had read bentley, i found i knew nothing. now i have challenged the great scholars of the age to find _five_ faults to their _one_, in any work, ancient or modern, they decline it." on another occasion, he described himself as a gentleman without sixpence in his pocket. person declining to enter into holy orders, as the statute of his college required he should do, lost his fellowship at trinity, after he had enjoyed it ten years; "on which heart-rending occasion," says his friend and admirer, dr. kidd, "he used to observe, with his usual good humour (for nothing could depress him,) that he was _a gentleman living in london without a sixpence in his pocket_." two years afterwards his friends procured his election to the regius professorship of greek, on the death of professor cooke, the sudden news of which event, he says, in a letter printed in parriana, addressed to the then master of trinity, the learned dr. postlethwaite, all his ambition of that sort having been long ago laid asleep, "put me in mind of poor jacob, who, having served seven years in hope of being rewarded with rachel, awoke, and behold it was leah." he had seven years previously projected a course of lectures in greek, which most unaccountably were not patronised by the senate. * * * * * greek protestants at oxford. mr. pointer says, in his _oxoniensis academia, &c._, speaking of the curiosities connected with worcester college, there were "ruins of a royal palace, built by king henry the first, in beaumont, near gloucester-green, upon some parts of which ruins, the late dr. woodroff (when principal of gloucester hall, now worcester college) built lodgings for the education of young scholars from greece, who, after they had been here educated in the reformed religion, were to be sent back to their own country, in order to propagate the same there. and accordingly some young grecians were brought hither, and wore their grecian habits; but not finding suitable encouragement, this project came to nothing." * * * * * judgment of erasmus on the cambridge folk. fuller says, that erasmus thus wrote of the cambridge folk, at the beginning of the sixteenth century. "vulgus cantabrigiense, inhospitales britannos antecedit, qui cum summa rusticitate summum militiam conjunxere." this will by no means _now_ apply to the better class of tradespeople, and in no place that i know of is there more hospitality amongst the higher orders of society. kirk white, in his letters, is not very complimentary either to bedmakers or gyps. the latter are called _scouts_ in oxford, and their office borders on what is generally understood by the word _valet_. the term _gyp_ is well applied from [greek: gyps], a _vulture_, they being, in the broadest sense of the word, addicted to _prey_, and not over-scrupulous at both _picking_ and _stealing_, in spite of the decalogue. i had one evening had a _wine party_, during the warm season of the year; we drank freely, and two of the party taking possession of my bed, i contented myself with the sofa. about six in the morning the _gyp_ came into the room to collect boots, &c. and either not seeing me, or fancying i slept (the wine being left on the table,) he very coolly filled himself a glass, which he lost no time in raising to his lips, but ere he had swallowed a drop, having watched his motions, i _whistled_ (significant of recognition,) and down went the wine, glass and all, and out bolted our _gyp_, who _actually blushed_ the next time he saw me. another anecdote touching lodging-house keepers, i will head drops of brandy. a certain mistress of a lodging-house, in green-street, cambridge, where several students had rooms, having a propensity, not for the _ethereal_ charms of the music so called, but for the invigorating liquor itself, had a habit, with the assistance of what is called a _screw-driver_, but which might more aptly be termed a _screw-drawer_, of opening cupboard doors without resorting to the ordinary use of a key. by this means she had one day abstracted a bottle of brandy from the store of one of the students (now a barrister of some practice and standing,) with which, the better to consume it in undisturbed dignity, she retired to the temple of the goddess cloacina. she had been missed for some time, and search was made, when she was found _half seas over_, as they say, with the remnant of the bottle still grasped in her hand, which she had plied so often to her mouth, that she was unable to lift her hand so high, or indeed to rise from her _seditious_ posture. upon this scene a caricature of the first water was sketched, and circulated by some cambridge wag; another threw off the following epigrammatic conun: why is my dalia like a rose? perhaps, you'll say, because her breath is sweeter than the flowers of earth: no--odious thought--it is, her nose is redder than the reddest rose; which she has long been very handy at colouring with _drops of brandy_. another head of a lodging-house is a notorious member of what in cambridge is called-- the dirty-shirt club. this is a society that has existed in the town of cambridge for ages, whose functions consist in _wearing the linen of the students who lodge in their houses after it has been cast off for the laundress_. this same individual, however, had a taste for higher game, and one of the students, who had rooms in his house, being called to london for a few days, returning rather unexpectedly, actually found mine host at the head of the table, in his sitting-room, surrounded by some twenty _snobs_, his friends. our gownsman very properly resented his impertinence, took him by the collar and waist, and, in the language of that fine old song, goose-a-goose-a-gander, "_threw him down stairs_." the rest of the party prudently followed at this hint, leaving the table covered with the remains of sundry bottles of wine and a rich dessert. thus the affair terminated at that time: but our gownsman being a man of fortune, and one of those accustomed, therefore, to treat his brother students, his friends, sumptuously too, went two or three days after, to his fruiterer's, to order dessert for twenty. "the same as you had on wednesday?" inquired the fruiterer. "on wednesday!" he exclaimed with astonishment,--"i had _no_ dessert on wednesday!" "oh, yes, sir," was the rejoinder, "mr. ---- himself ordered it for you, and, as i before said, for twenty!" the whole matter was soon understood to be, that the lodging-house keeper had actually done him the honour to give his brother snobs, of the _dirty shirt fraternity_, an invite and sumptuous entertainment at his expense! of course, he did not remain in the house of such a _free-and-easy-gent_. i name the fact as a recent occurrence, and a hint for gownsmen. but this is not the only way in which they are fleeced: the minor articles of _grocery_ are easily appropriated: nay, not only easily appropriated, but a _duplicate_ order is occasionally delivered _for the benefit of the house_. some tradesmen have made marvellous strides on the road to wealth, from various causes. i remember one man who, in six years, beginning life at the _very beginning_, saved enough to retire upon an independence for the rest of his life. did he _chalk double_? i answer not. but students should look to these things. at st. john's college, cambridge, the tutors have adopted an excellent plan by which, with ordinary diligence, cheats may be detected: they oblige the tradesmen to furnish them with duplicates of their bills against the students, one of which is handed to the latter, and any error pointed out, they will be _forced_ to rectify. another species of fraud is a trick tradesmen have, in the universities, of _persuading_ students to get into their debt, actually pressing their wares upon them, and then, when their books show sufficient reason, forsooth, they _make a mock_ assignment of their affairs over to their creditors, and some _pettifogging_ attorney addresses the unlucky debtors with an intimation, that, unless the account is forthwith paid, together with the expenses of the application, further proceedings will be taken! though the wily tradesman has assured the purchaser of his articles that credit would run to any _length he pleased_: and so it does, and no longer. such fellows should be _marked and cut_! it is but justice to add, however, that these observations do not apply to that respectable class of tradesmen, of whom the student _should_ purchase his necessaries. the motto of every student, notwithstanding, who is desirous of not injuring his future prospects in life, by too profuse an expenditure, should be "fugies uticam,"--keep out of debt! * * * * * the source of dr. parr's eloquence. some of dr. parr's hearers, struck with a remarkable passage in his sermon, asked him "whether he had read it from his book?" "oh, no," said he, "it was the light of nature suddenly flashing upon me." he once called a clergyman _a fool_. the divine, indignant, threatened to complain to the bishop. "do so," was the reply, "and my lord bishop will _confirm you_." to the same wit, when a student at emanuel college, is attributed the celebrated-- address to his tea-chest, "_tu doces_," (_thou tea-chest_!) others give the paternity to lord erskine, when a fellow commoner of trinity college, cambridge; _n'importe_, they were friends. as a spice of their joint vanity, it is related of them, that one day, sipping their wine together, the doctor exclaimed, "should you give me an opportunity, erskine, i promise myself the pleasure of writing your epitaph." "sir," was the reply, "it's a temptation to commit suicide." on another occasion more than one authority concur in the doctor's thus assuring himself a place amongst the greek scholars of his day. "porson, sir, is the first, always the first; we all yield to him. burney is the third. who is the second, i leave you to guess." another spice of his vanity peeped out on his one night being seated in the side gallery at the house of commons, with the late sir james mackintosh, &c., where he could see and be seen by the members of the opposition, his friends. the debate was one of great importance. fox at length rose, and as he proceeded in his address, the doctor grew more and more animated, till at length he rose as if with the intention of speaking. he was reminded of the impropriety, and immediately sat down. after fox had concluded, he exclaimed: "had i followed any other profession, i might have been sitting by the side of that illustrious statesman; i should have had all his powers of argument,--all erskine's eloquence,--and all hargrave's law." he had one day been arguing and disagreeing with a lady, who said, "well, dr. parr, i still maintain my opinion." "madam," he rejoined, "you may, if you please, _retain_ your opinion: but you cannot _maintain_ it." another lady once opposing his opinions with more pertinacity than cogency of reasoning, concluded with the observation, "you know, doctor, it is the privilege of women to talk nonsense." "no, madam," he replied, "it is not their _privilege_, but their _infirmity_. ducks would walk, if they could, but nature suffers them only to waddle." after some persons, at a party where the doctor made one, had expressed their regret that he had not written more, or something more worthy of his fame, a young scholar somewhat pertly called out to him, "suppose, dr. parr, you and i were to write a book together!" "young man," exclaimed the chafed lion, "if all were to be written in that book which i _do_ know, and which you _do not_ know, it would be a very large book indeed." the following are given by field as his reproofs of ignorance talking with the confidence of knowledge. he was once insisting on the importance of discipline, established by a wise system, and enforced with a steady hand, in schools, in colleges, in the navy, in the army; when he was somewhat suddenly and rudely taken up by a young officer who had just received his commission, and was not a little proud of his "blushing honours." "what, sir," said he, addressing the doctor, "do you mean to apply that word _discipline_ to the _officers_ of the army? it may be well enough for the _privates_." "yes, sir, i do," replied the doctor, sternly: "it is _discipline_ makes the scholar, it is _discipline_ makes the soldier, it is _discipline_ makes the gentleman, and the _want of discipline_ has made you what you are." being much annoyed by the pert remarks of another tyro,--"sir," said he, "your tongue goes to work before your brain; and when your brain does work, it generates nothing but error and absurdity." the maxim of men of experience, the doctor might have added, is, "to think twice before they act once." to a third person, of bold and forward but ill-supported pretensions, he said, "b----, you have read _little_, thought _less_, and know _nothing_." he matched a trick of the devil. like the more celebrated scholars and divines, clarke, paley, markland, &c., he would join an evening party at cards, always preferring the old english game of whist, and resolutely adhering to his early determination of never playing for more than a nominal stake. being once, however, induced to break through it, and play with the late learned bishop of llandaff, dr. watson, for a _shilling_, which he won, after pushing it carefully to the bottom of his pocket and placing his hand upon it, with a kind of mock solemnity, he said, "there, my lord bishop, this is a trick of the devil; but i'll match him; so now, if you please, we will play for a _penny_," and this was ever after the amount of his stake, though he was not the less ardent in pursuit of success, or less joyous on winning his rubber. like our great moralist, johnson, he had an aversion to _punning_, saying, it exposed the _poverty_ of a language. yet he perpetrated the following three classical puns: one day reaching a book from a shelf in his library, two others came tumbling down, including a volume of hume, upon which fell a critical work of lambert bos: "see what has happened," exclaimed the doctor, "_procumbit humi bos_." at another time, too strong a current of air being let into the room where he was sitting, suffering under the effects of a slight cold, "stop! stop!" said he, "this is too much; at present i am only _par levibus ventis_." when he was solicited to subscribe to dr. busby's translation of lucretius, published at _a high price_, he declined doing so, by observing, at the proposed cost it would indeed be "lucretius _carus_." his law act at cambridge. on proceeding to the degree of ll.d. at cambridge, in , dr. parr delivered "in the law schools, before crowded audiences," says field, "two theses, of which the subject of the first was, _hæres ex delicto defuncti non tenetur_; and of the second, _jus interpretandi leges privatis, perinde ac principi, constat_. in the former of these, after having offered a tribute of due respect to the memory of the late hon. charles yorke (the lord chancellor,) he strenuously opposed the doctrine of that celebrated lawyer, laid down in his book upon 'the law of forfeiture;' and denied the authority of those passages which were quoted from the correspondence of cicero and brutus; because, as he affirmed, after that learned and sagacious (cambridge) critic, markland (in his remarks on the epistles of those two romans,) the correspondence itself is not genuine. the same liberal and enlightened views of the natural and social rights of man pervaded the latter as well as the former thesis; and in both were displayed such strength of reasoning and power of language, such accurate knowledge of historical facts and such clear comprehension of legal principles bearing on the questions, that the whole audience listened with fixed and delighted attention. the professor of law himself, dr. hallifax, afterwards bishop of st. asaph, was so struck with the uncommon excellence of these compositions, as to make it his particular request that they should be given to the public; but with which request dr. parr could not be persuaded to comply. "there is a pleasant story reported of the doctor," says barker, in his parriana, when on a visit to dr. farmer, at emanuel lodge. he had made free in discourse with some of the fellow commoners in the combination-room, who, not being able to cope with him, resolved to take vengeance in their own way; they took his best wig, and thrust it into his boot: this indispensable appendage of dress was soon called for, but could nowhere be found, till the doctor, preparing for his departure, and proceeding, to put on his boots, found one of them pre-occupied, and putting in his hand, drew forth the wig, with a loud shout--perhaps [greek: eurêka]." "when the late dr. watson," adds the same writer, "presided in the divinity-schools, at an act kept by dr. milner, the reputation of whose great learning and ability caused the place to be filled with the senior and junior members of the university, one of the opponents was the late dr. coulthurst, and the debate was carried on with great vigour and spirit. when this opponent had gone through his arguments, the professor rose, as usual, from his throne, and, taking off his cap, cried out-- 'arcades ambo et cantare pares, et respondere parati.' we juniors, who happened to be present, were much pleased with the application. soon after, being in the doctor's company, i mentioned how much we were entertained with the whole scene, particularly with the close: he smiled, and said, 'it is warburton's,' where i soon after found it." * * * * * epigram on a cambridge beauty, daughter of an alderman, made by the rev. hans de veil, son of sir thomas de veil, and a cantab:-- "is molly fowle immortal?--no. yes, but she is--i'll prove her so: she's fifteen now, and was, i know, fifteen full fifteen years ago." * * * * * novel revenge. sir john heathcote, a cantab, and lessee of lincoln church, being refused a renewal of the same on his own terms, by the prebend, dr. cobden, of st. john's college, cambridge, upon accepting the prebend's terms, appointed his late majesty, then prince of wales, to be one of the lives included in the lease, observing, "i will nominate one for whom the dog shall be obliged to pray in the daytime, wishing him dead at night." * * * * * they take them as they come. a person might very well conclude, from the observations of the enemies of our english universities, that the governors of them had the power of selecting the youth who are to graduate at them, or that, of necessity, all men bred at either oxford or cambridge ought to be alike distinguished for superior virtue and forbearance, great learning, and great talents. they forget, that they must _take them as they come_, like the boy in the anecdote. "so you are picking them out, my lad," said a cantab to a youth, scratching his head in the street. "no," said the arch-rogue, "i takes 'em as they come." just so do the authorities at oxford and cambridge. i knew a son of granta, and eke, too, the darling son of his mother, whose mind, at twenty, was a chaos, and must from his birth have been, not as locke would have supposed, a sheet of white paper, ready to receive impressions, but one smeared and useless. yet solomon in all his glory was not half so wise as was this scion in his mother's opinion. she, therefore, brought him to cambridge, and having introduced him to the amiable tutor of st. john's college, smirkingly asked him, "if he thought her _darling_ would be _senior wrangler_?" "i don't know, madam," was his reply, in his short quick manner of speaking, pulling up a certain portion of his dress, in the wearing of which he resembled sir charles wetherell, "i don't know, madam; that remains to be seen." poor fellow, he never could get a degree, nor (after having been removed from cambridge to the _politechnique school_ at paris, for a year or two) could he ever get over the _pons asinorum_ (as we cantabs term the fifth proposition of the first book of euclid.) another miscalculating mamma, and they are sure to miscalculate whenever they inter-meddle with such matters, declined entering her two sons at cambridge in the same year, that, as she said, "they might not stand in each other's way." _id est_, they were to be both _senior wranglers_. they, however, never caught sight of the _goal_. i recollect, on one occasion, the second son being _floored_ in his college mathematical examination. he was said to have afterwards carried home the paper (containing twenty-two difficult geometrical and other problems,) when one of his sisters snatched it out of his hand, exclaiming, "give it to me," and, without the slightest hesitation (in good cambridge phrase,) she "_floored_" the whole of them, to his dismay. this lady was one of a bevy of ten beauties whom their mamma compassionately brought to cambridge to _dance_ with the young _gentlemen_ of the university at her parties, and after so officiating for some three or four years, notwithstanding they were all _blues_, and had corresponding names, from _britannia_ to _boadicea_, the cantabs suffered them all to depart _spinsters_. but papas also sometimes overrate their sons' talents and virtues. a gentleman, a few years since, on presenting his favourite son to the sub-rector of a certain college in oxford, as a new member, did so with the observation, "sir, he is _modest_, _diffident_, and _clever_, and will _be an example to the whole college_." "i am glad of it," was the reply, "we want such men, and i am honoured, sir, by your bringing him here." papa made his exit, well pleased with our welshman's hospitality, for of that country our sub-rector, as well as the gentleman in question was. the former, too, had been a chaplain in lord nelson's fleet, in his younger days, and was not over orthodox in his language, when _irritated_, though a man with a better heart it would have puzzled the grecian sage to have traced out by candle-light. a month had scarcely passed over, when papa, having occasion to pass through oxon, called on the sub-rector, of course, and naturally inquired, "how his son demeaned himself?" "you told me, sir," said the sub-rector, in a pet, and a speech such as the quarter-deck of a man-of-war had schooled him in; "you told me, sir, that your son was _modest_, but d--n his _modesty!_ you told me, sir, he was _diffident_, but d--n his _diffidence!_ you told me, sir, he was clever; he's the greatest dunce of the whole society! you told me, sir, he would prove an example to the whole college: but i tell you, sir, that he is neither _modest_, _diffident_ nor _clever_, and in three weeks," added the sub-rector, raising his voice to a becoming pitch, "he has ruined half the college by his example!" we can scarcely do better than add to this, by way of tail-piece, from that loyal oxford scourge _terræ filius_ (ed. )--(to be read, "cum grano," and some allowance for the excited character of the times in which it was written)-- iter academicum; or, the gentleman commoner's matriculation. being of age to play the fool, with muckle glee i left our school at _hoxton_; and, mounted on an easy pad, rode with my mother and my dad to _oxon_. conceited of my parts and knowledge, they entered me into a college _ibidem_. the master took me first aside, showed me a scrawl--i read, and cried _do fidem_. gravely he took me by the fist, and wished me well--we next request a tutor. he recommends a staunch one, who in _perkins'_ cause had been his co- adjutor. to see this precious stick of wood, i went (for so they deemed it good) in fear, sir; and found him swallowing loyalty, six deep his bumpers, which to me seemed queer, sir. he bade me sit and take my glass; i answered, looking like an ass, i can't, sir. not drink!--you don't come here to pray! the merry mortal said, by way of answer. to pray, sir! no, my lad; 'tis well! come, here's our friend _sacheverell_; here's _trappy_! here's _ormond!_ _marr!_ in short, so many traitors we drank, it made my _crani- um_ nappy. and now, the company dismissed, with this same sociable priest, or fellow, i sallied forth to deck my back with loads of _stuff_, and gown of black _prunello_. my back equipt, it was not fair my head should 'scape, and so, as square as _chess-board_, a _cap_ i bought, my scull to screen, of cloth without, and all within of _paste-board_. when metamorphosed in attire, more like a parson than a squire they'd dressed me. i took my leave, with many a tear, of _john_, our man, and parents dear, who blest me. the master said they might believe him, so righteously (the lord forgive him!) he'd govern. he'd show me the extremest love, provided that i did not prove too stubborn. so far so good; but now _fresh fees_ began (for so the custom is) my ruin. fresh fees! with drink they knock you down; you spoil your clothes, and your new gown you sp-- in. i scarce had slept--at six--tan tin the bell goes--servitor comes in-- gives warning. i wished the scoundrel at old nick; i puked, and went to prayers d--d sick that morning. one who could come half drunk to prayer they saw was entered, and could swear at random; would bind himself, as they had done, to statutes, tho' he could not un- derstand 'em. built in the form of _pigeon-pye_, a house[a] there is for rooks to lie and roost in. their laws, their articles of grace, _forty_, i think, save half a brace, was willing to swear to; swore, engaged my soul, and paid the _swearing broker_ whole _ten shilling_. full half a pound i paid him down, to live in the most p--d town o' th' nation: may it ten thousand cost _lord phyz_, for never forwarding his vis- itation. [a] theatre * * * * * a story is told, and, "in the days that are gone," is not at all improbable, that a youth being brought to oxon, after he had paid the tutor and other the several college and university fees, was told he must _subscribe to the thirty-nine articles_; "with all my heart," said our freshman, "pray how much is it?" * * * * * freshmen often afford mirth to both tutors, scholars, scouts, gyps, and others, by their blunders. they will not unfrequently, upon the first tingle of the college bell (though it always rings a quarter of an hour, by way of warning, on ordinary occasions, and half an hour on saints' days, in cambridge,) hurry off to hall or chapel, with their gowns the wrong side outwards, or, their caps reversed, walk unconsciously along with the hind part before, as i once heard a _soph_ observe, "the peak smelling thunder." they are also very apt to mistake characters and functionaries:--i have seen a freshman _cap_ the college-butler, taking him for _bursar_ at least. the persons to be so complimented are the chancellor, the vice-chancellor, the proctors, the head of your college, and your tutors. when the late bishop mansell was vice-chancellor of cambridge, he one day met two freshmen in trumpington-street, who passed him unheeded. the bishop was not a man to '_bate_ an iota of his due, and stopped them and asked, "if they knew he was the vice-chancellor?" they blushingly replied, they did not, and begged his pardon for omitting to _cap_ him, observing they _were freshmen_. "how long have you been in cambridge?" asked the witty bishop. "only eight days," was the reply. "in that case i must excuse you; puppies never see till they are _nine_ days old." * * * * * another freshman was unconsciously walking beyond the university church, on a sunday morning, which (at both oxford and cambridge) he would have been expected to attend, when he was met by the master of st. john's college, dr. wood, who, by way of a mild rebuke, stopped him and asked him, "if the way he was going led to st. mary's church?" "oh, no, sir," said he, with most lamb-like innocence, "this is the way," pointing in the opposite direction. "keep straight on, you can't miss it." the doctor, however, having fully explained himself, preferred taking him as a guide. * * * * * we must do something for the poor lost young man. lords stowel and eldon both studied at trinity college, oxford, with success, and, it is well known, there laid the foundation of that fame, which, from the humble rank of the sons of a newcastle coal-fitter, raised them to the highest legal stations and the english peerage. the former first graduated, and was elected a fellow and tutor of all soul's college (where he had the late lord tenterden for a pupil) and became camden professor. the latter afterwards graduated with a success that would have ensured him a fellowship and other university distinctions, but visiting his native place soon after he took a.b. he fell in love with miss surtees (the present lady eldon) daughter of a then rich banker, in newcastle, who returned his affection, and they became man and wife. her family were indignant, and refused to be reconciled to the young pair, because the lady had, as the phrase ran, "married below her station." mr. scott, the father, was as much offended at the step his son had taken, which at once shut him out from the chance of a fellowship, and refused them his countenance. in this dilemma the new married pair sought the friendship of mr. william scott (now lord stowell) at oxford. his heart, cast in a softer mould, readily forgave them,--his amiable nature would not have permitted him to do otherwise. he received them with a brotherly affection, pitied rather than condemned them, and is said to have observed to some oxford friends, "we must do something for the poor _lost_ young man!" what a lesson is there not read to mankind in the result! a harsher course might have led to ruin--the milder one was the stepping-stone to the _woolsack and a peerage_. * * * * * like o' whissonset church. a cantab visited some friends in the neighbourhood of whissonset, near fakenham, norfolk, during the life of the late rector of that parish, who was then nearly ninety, and but little capable of attending to his duty, but having married a young wife, _she_ would not allow him a curate, but every sunday drove him from fakenham to the church. in short he was hen-pecked. his clerk kept the village public-house, and was not over-attentive to his duties. our cantab accompanied his friends to church at the usual time, arriving at which they found doors close; neither "vicar or moses" had arrived, nor did they appear till half an hour after. under these circumstances our cantab threw off the following epigram: like o' whissonset church in vain you'll search, the lord be thanked for't: the parson is old, his wife's a scold, and the clerk sells beer by the quart. the people who go are but so so, and but so so are the singers; they roar in our ears like northern bears, and the devil take the ringers. * * * * * custom, whim, fashion, and caprice, have been pretty nearly as arbitrary in our universities as with the rest of the world. when john goslin was vice-chancellor, he is said to have made it a heavy fine to appear in boots. a student, however, undertook, for a small bet, to visit him in them, and, to appease his wrath, he desired the doctor's advice for an hereditary numbness in his legs. so far was the vice-chancellor from expressing any anger, that he pitied him, and he won his wager. another vice-chancellor is said to have issued his mandate for all members in statu pupillari, to appear in yellow stockings. the following singular order, as to dress and the excess thereof, was issued by the great statesman, cecil, lord burleigh, as chancellor of the university of cambridge, in the days of elizabeth, which is preserved in the _liber niger_, or black-book, extant in the cambridge university library. the paper is dated "from my house in strand, this seventhe of may, ," and runs thus:-- . "that no hat be worne of anie graduate or scholler within the said universitie (except it shall be when he shall journey owte of the towne, or excepte in the time of his sickness.) all graduates were to weare square caps of clothe; and schollers, not graduates, round cloth caps, saving that it may be lawful for the sonnes of noblemen, or the sonnes and heirs of knights, to weare round caps of velvet, but no hats." . "all graduates shall weare abroade in the universitie going owte of his colledg, a gowne and a hoode of cloth, according to the order of his degree. provided that it shall be lawful for everie d.d., and for the mr. of anie coll. to weare a sarcenet tippet of velvet, according to the anciente customes of this realme, and of the saide universitie. the whiche gowne, tippet, and square caps, the saide drs. and heads shall be likewise bound to weare, when they shall resorte eyther to the courte, or to the citie of london." . "and that the excesse of shirt bands and ruffles, exceeding an ynche and halfe (saving the sonnes of noblemen,) the fashion and colour other than white, be avoided presentlie; and no scholler, or fellowe of the foundation of anie house of learninge, do weare eyther in the universitie or without, &c., anie hose, stockings, dublets, jackets, crates, or jerknees, or anie other kynde of garment, of velvet, satin, or silk, or in the facing of the same shall have above a / of a yard of silke, or shall use anie other light kynde of colour, or cuts, or gards, of fashion, the which shall be forbidden by the chancellor," &c. th. "and that no scholler doe weare anie long lockes of hair vppon his head, but that he be notted, pouled, or rounded, after the accustomed manner of the gravest schollers of the saide universitie." the penalty for every offence against these several orders being six shillings and eightpence: the sum in which offenders are mulcted in the present day. the fashion of the hair has been not less varied, or less subject to animadversion, than the dress of the members of the universities. the fashion of wearing long hair, so peculiar in the reign of charles ii., was called the apollo. his royal highness the duke of gloucester, the present chancellor of the university of cambridge, "was an apollo" during the whole of his residence at trinity college, says the _gradus ad cant_. indeed his royal highness, who was noted for his personal beauty at that time, was "the last in cambridge who wore his hair after that fashion." "i can remember," says the pious archbishop tillotson, as cited by the above writer, discoursing on this head, viz. _of hair_! "since the wearing the hair _below_ the ears was looked upon as _a sin of the first magnitude_; and when ministers generally, whatever their text was, did either find, or make, occasion to reprove the great _sin_ of long hair: and if they saw any one in the congregation guilty in that kind, they would point him out particularly, and _let fly_ at him with great zeal." and we can remember, since wearing the hair _cropt_, i. e. _above_ the ears, was looked upon, though not as "a sin," yet, as a very vulgar and raffish sort of a thing; and when the _doers_ of newspapers exhausted all their wit in endeavouring to rally the new-raised corps of crops, regardless of the late noble duke (of bedford) who headed them; and, when the rude rank-scented rabble, if they saw any one in the streets, whether time or the tonsor had thinned his flowing hair, they would point him out particularly and "_let fly at him_," as the archbishop says, till not a shaft of ridicule remained! the tax upon hair-powder has now, however, produced all over the country very plentiful crops. charles ii., who, as his _worthy friend_ the earl of rochester, remarked, ---- never said a foolish thing; nor ever _did_ a wise one, sent a letter to the university of cambridge, forbidding the members to wear _periwigs_, smoke tobacco, and read their sermons!! it is needless to remark, that tobacco has not yet made its exit in fumo, and that _periwigs_ still continue to adorn "the heads of houses." till the present all-prevailing, all-_accommodating_ fashion of crops became general in the university, no young man presumed to dine in hall till he had previously received a handsome trimming from the hair-dresser (one of which calling was a special appointment to each college.) the following inimitable imitation of "the bard" of gray, is ascribed to the pen of the late lord erskine, when a fellow-commoner of trinity college, cambridge. having been disappointed of the attendance of his college-barber, he was compelled to forego his _commons_ in hall. but determining to have his revenge, and give his hair-dresser a good dressing, he sat down and penned the following "fragment of a pindaric ode," wherein, "in imitation of the despairing bard of gray, who prophesied the destruction of king edward's race, he poured forth his curses upon the whole race of barbers, predicting their ruin in the simplicity of a future generation." i. ruin seize thee, scoundrel coe! confusion on thy frizzing wait; hadst thou the only comb below, thou never more shouldst touch my pate. club, nor queue, nor twisted tail, nor e'en thy chatt'ring, barber! shall avail to save thy horse-whipp'd back from daily fears, from cantab's curse, from cantab's tears! such were the sounds that o'er the powder'd pride of coe the barber scattered wild dismay, as down the steep of jackson's slippery lane, he wound with puffing march his toilsome, tardy way. ii. in a room where cambridge town frowns o'er the kennel's stinking flood, rob'd in a flannel powd'ring gown, with haggard eyes poor erskine stood; (long his beard and blouzy hair stream'd like an old wig to the troubled air;) and with clung guts, and face than razor thinner, swore the loud sorrows of his dinner. hark! how each striking clock and tolling bell, with awful sounds, the hour of eating tell! o'er thee, oh coe! their dreadful notes they wave, soon shall such sounds proclaim thy yawning grave; vocal in vain, through all this ling'ring day, the grace already said, the plates all swept away. iii. cold is beau * * tongue, that soothed each virgin's pain; bright perfumed m * * has cropp'd his head: almacks! you moan in vain. each youth whose high toupee made huge plinlimmon bow his cloud-cropt head, in humble tyburn-top we see; esplashed with dirt and sun-burnt face; far on before the ladies mend their pace, the macaroni sneers, and will not see. dear lost companions of the coxcomb's art, dear as a turkey to these famished eyes, dear as the ruddy port which warms my heart, ye sunk amidst the fainting misses' cries. no more i weep--they do not sleep: at yonder ball a slovenly band, i see them sit, they linger yet, avengers of fair nature's hand; with me in dreadful resolution join, to crop with one accord, and starve their cursed line. iv. weave the warp, and weave the woof, the winding-sheet of barber's race; give ample room, and verge enough, their lengthened lanthorn jaws to trace. mark the year, and mark the night, when all their shops shall echo with affright; loud screams shall through st. james's turrets ring, to see, like eton boy, the king! puppies of france, with unrelenting paws, that crape the foretops of our aching heads; no longer england owns thy fribblish laws, no more her folly gallia's vermin feeds. they wait at dover for the first fair wind, soup-meagre in the van, and snuff roast-beef behind. v. mighty barbers, mighty lords, low on a greasy bench they lie! no pitying heart or purse affords a sixpence for a mutton-pye! is the mealy 'prentice fled? poor coe is gone, all supperless to bed. the swarm that in thy shop each morning sat, comb their lank hair on forehead flat: fair laughs the morn, when all the world are beaux, while vainly strutting through a silly land, in foppish train the puppy barber goes; lace on his shirt, and money at command, regardless of the skulking bailiff's sway, that, hid in some dark court, expects his evening prey. vi. the porter-mug fill high, baked curls and locks prepare; reft of our heads, they yet by wigs may live, close by the greasy chair fell thirst and famine lie, no more to art will beauteous nature give. heard ye the gang of fielding say, sir john,[ ] at last we've found their haunt, to desperation driv'n by hungry want, thro' the crammed laughing pit they steal their way. ye tow'rs of newgate! london's lasting shame, by many a foul and midnight murder fed, revere poor mr. coe, the blacksmith's[ ] fame, and spare the grinning barber's chuckle head. vii. rascals! we tread thee under foot, (weave we the woof, the thread is spun;) our beards we pull out by the root; (the web is wove, your work is done.) "stay, oh, stay! nor thus forlorn leave me uncurl'd, undinner'd, here to mourn." thro' the broad gate that leads to college hall, they melt, they fly, they vanish all. but, oh! what happy scenes of pure delight, slow moving on their simple charms unroll! ye rapt'rous visions! spare my aching sight, ye unborn beauties, crowd not on my soul! no more our long-lost coventry we wail: all hail, ye genuine forms; fair nature's issue, hail! viii. not frizz'd and frittered, pinned and rolled, sublime their artless locks they wear, and gorgeous dames, and judges old, without their tetes and wigs appear. in the midst a form divine, her dress bespeaks the pennsylvania line; her port demure, her grave, religious face, attempered sweet to virgin grace. what sylphs and spirits wanton through the air! what crowds of little angels round her play! hear from thy sepulchre, great penn! oh, hear! a scene like this might animate thy clay. simplicity now soaring as she sings, waves in the eye of heaven her quaker-coloured wings. ix. no more toupees are seen that mock at alpine height, and queues, with many a yard of riband bound, all now are vanished quite. no tongs or torturing pin, but every head is trimmed quite snug around: like boys of the cathedral choir, curls, such as adam wore, we wear; each simpler generation blooms more fair, till all that's artificial expire. vain puppy boy! think'st thou you essenced cloud, raised by thy puff, can vie with _nature's_ hue? to-morrow see the variegated crowd with ringlets shining like the morning dew. enough for me: with joy i see the different dooms our fates assign; be thine to love thy trade and starve, to wear what heaven bestowed be mine. he said, and headlong from the trap-stairs' height, quick thro' the frozen street he ran in shabby plight. [ ] sir john fielding, the late active police magistrate. [ ] coe's father, the well-known blacksmith and alderman, now no more. whilst we are discussing the subject of hair, we ought not to forget that, according to lyson's environs of london, the first prelate that wore a wig was archbishop tillotson. in the great dining-room of lambeth palace, he says, there are portraits of all the archbishops, from laud to the present time, in which may be observed the gradual change of the clerical habit, in the article of wigs. archbishop tillotson was the first prelate that wore a wig, which then was not unlike the natural hair, and worn without powder. in , james st, the oxford scholars were prohibited from wearing boots and spurs. "care was taken," says wood, "that formalities in public assemblies should be used, which, through negligence, were now, and sometime before, left off. that the wearing of boots and spurs also be prohibited, 'a fashion' (as our chancellor saith in his letters) rather befitting the liberties of the inns of court than the strictness of an academical life, which fashion is not only usurped by the younger sort, but by the masters of arts, who preposterously assume that part of the doctor's formalities which adviseth them to ryde _ad prædicandum evangelium_, but in these days implying nothing else but _animum deserendi studium_." it was therefore ordered, "that no person that wears a gown wear boots; if a graduate, he was to forfeit _s._ _d._ for the first time of wearing them, after order was given to the contrary; for the second time _s._, and so toties quoties. and if an undergraduate, whipping, or other punishment, according to the will of the vice-chancellor and proctors, for every time he wore them." and in , when archbishop bancroft became chancellor of oxford, he decreed amongst other things, "that indecency of attire be left off, and academical habits be used in public assemblies, being now more remissly looked to than in former times. also, that no occasion of offence be given, long hair was not to be worn; for whereas in the reign of queen elizabeth few or none wore their hair longer than their ears (for they that did so were accounted by the graver and elder sort swaggerers and ruffians,) now it was common even among scholars, who were to be examples of modesty, gravity, and decency." * * * * * wakefield's epigram on the flying barber of cambridge, which his college friend, dyer, has given in his supplement, under the head "seria ludo," with the happy, original motto-- with serious truths we mix a little fun, and now and then we treat you with a pun. the subject of the epigram, he says (the original of which mr. w. sent to a friend,) "was mr. foster, formerly of cambridge, who, on account of his rapidity in conversation, in walking, and more particularly in the exercise of his profession, was called (by the cantabs) _the flying barber_. he was a great oddity, and gave birth to many a piece of fun in the university:-- tonsor ego: vultus radendo spumcus albet, mappa subest, ardet culter, et unda tepet. quam versat gladium cito dextra, novacula levis, mox tua tam celeri strinxerit ora manu. cedite, romani tonsores, cedite graii; tonsorem regio non habet ulla parem. imberbes grantam, barbati accedite grantam; illa polit mentes; et polit illa genas. * * * * * the isthmus of suez. the men of st. john's college, cambridge, like every other society in both oxford and cambridge, have their _soubriquet_. from what cause they obtained that of "johnian hogs" is yet scarcely settled, though much has been written thereon, extant in _the gradus ad cant., facetiæ cant._, and _the cambridge tart_. it proved of some service, however, to a wag of the society (and to them the merit of punning was conceded in the spectator's time,) in giving him an idea for a name for the elegant one-arched covered bridge which joins the superb gothic court they have lately added to the fine old college, after the designs of messrs. hutchinson and rickman of birmingham. the question was discussed at a wine party, and one proposed calling it the "bridge of sighs," as it led to most of the tutors' and deans' rooms, from whom issued all _impositions_ (punishments,) &c. "i have it!" exclaimed a wag, his eyes beaming brighter than his sparkling glass--"i have it! call it the isthmus of suez!" id est _the hog's isthmus_, from the latin word _sus_, a sow, which makes _suis_ in the genitive case, and proves our johnian to be a punster worthy of his school. * * * * * you are to pray and fight, not to drink for the church. mr. jones, of welwyn, relates, on the authority of old mr. bunburry, of brazen-nose college, that bishop kennett, when a young man, being one of the oxford pro-proctors, and a very active one, about james the second's reign, going his rounds one evening, found a company of gownsmen engaged on a _drinking bout_, to whom his then high church principles were notorious (though he afterwards changed them, sided with bishop hoadley, and obtained the _soubriquet_ of _weather-cock kennett_.) when he entered the room, he reprimanded them for keeping such late hours, especially over the bottle, rather than over their studies in their respective colleges, and ordered them to disperse. one in the company, who knew his political turn, addressed him with, "mr. proctor, you will, i am sure, excuse us when i say, we were met to _drink prosperity to the church_, to which _you_ can have no objection." "sir," was his answer, with a solemn air, "we are to _pray_ for the church, and to _fight_ for the church, not to _drink_ for the church." upon which the company paid their reckoning and dispersed. there is a curious print in the library of the antiquarians, of an altar-piece, which the rector of whitechapel, dr. walton, caused to be painted and put up in his church, representing christ and his twelve apostles eating the passover, wherein bishop kennett (the "traitor dean," as his siding with hoadley caused him to be designated) is painted as _judas_. * * * * * signs of a good appetite. when a late master of richmond school, yorkshire, came, a _raw_ lad in his teens, to matriculate at trinity college, cambridge, he was invited to dinner by his tutor, and happened to be seated opposite some boiled fowls, which, having just emptied a plate of his _quantum_ of fish, he was requested to _carve_. he accordingly took one on his plate, but not being a _carver_, he leisurely ate the whole of it, _minus_ the bones, not at all disconcerted by the smiles of the other guests: and when the cheese appeared, and his host cut a plateful for him to pass round the table, he coolly set to and eat the whole himself. he, notwithstanding, proved a good scholar, and distinguished himself both in classics and mathematics, is now a canon residentiary of st. paul's, and a very worthy divine, who has earned his reputation, preferments, and dignities by his merits only. * * * * * a college quiz. the following effusion of humour was the production of a very pleasant fellow, an oxford scholar, now no more, who, says angelo, in his reminiscences, "was a great favourite among his brother collegians," and a humourist:--"lost £ this morning, may , , in peckwater quadrangle, near no. . any nobleman, gentleman, common student, or commoner, who will, as soon as possible, bring the same back to the afflicted loser, shall, with pleasure, receive _ten guineas_ reward; a suitor shall receive _five_ guineas; and a scout or porter, _one_ guinea. the notes were all bank of england notes, i only received this morning from my father. my name is ----, and i lodge at ----, facing tom gate, where i am anxiously waiting for some kind friend to bring them to me.--_vivant rex et regina_." * * * * * sucking the milk of both universities is an epithet applied to those members who, after graduating at one proceeds to a like degree at the other. a party one day disputing as to whether oxford or cambridge was the more distinguished seat of learning,--"it can't affect me," exclaimed one of them, "for i was educated at both." upon which a wag observed, "he reminded him of a calf that was suckled by two cows." "how so?" said the other. "why, it turned out the greatest _calf_ i ever knew," was the retort. * * * * * amongst the musical professors of cambridge, and not the least, who was organist of king's college also, in the beginning of the eighteenth century, was dr. thomas tudway. he was a notorious wag, and when several of the members of the university of cambridge expressed their discontent at the paucity of the patronage, and the rigour of the government of the "proud duke of somerset," whose statue graces their senate house, he facetiously observed-- "_the chancellor rides us all without a bit in our mouths._" like rabelais, in him the passion for punning was strong in death, though less profane. when he laid dangerously ill of the quinsy (of which he soon after died,) his physician, seeing some hope, turned from his patient to mrs. tudway, who was weeping in despair at his danger, and observed, "courage, madam! the dr. will get up may-hill yet, he has swallowed some nourishment." upon which dr. tudway said, as well as his disease would permit him to articulate, "don't mind him, my dear: one swallow don't make a summer." * * * * * ambassadors of king jesus at oxford. the rev. charles godwyn, b.d., fellow of baliol college, grandson to dr. francis g., bishop of hereford, in a letter, dated march , , printed in nichols's anecdotes, says, "a very sad affair has happened" at oxford. "the principal of edmund hall (dr. george dixon) has been indiscreet enough to admit into his hall, by the recommendation of lady huntingdon, seven london tradesmen, one a tapster, another a barber, &c. they have little or no learning, but all of them have a high opinion of themselves, as being _ambassadors of king jesus_. one of them, upon that title conferred by himself, has been a preacher. complaint was made to the vice-chancellor, dr. david durell (principal of hertford college,) i believe, by the bishop of oxford; and he, in his own right, as vice-chancellor, had last week a visitation of the hall. some of the preaching tradesmen were found so void of learning, that they were expelled from the hall." * * * * * a surprising effort of intellect. robert austin, a fellow of king's college, cambridge, was amanuensis to the famous arabic professor, wheelock, who employed him in correcting the press of his _persic gospels_, the first of the kind ever printed, with a latin translation and notes. of this surprising young man, he says, "in the space of two months, not knowing a letter in arabic or persic at the beginning, he sent a letter to me in norfolk, of peculiar passages, so that of his age i never met with the like; and his indefatigable patience, and honesty, or ingenuity, exceed, if possible, his capacity." but his immoderate application brought on a derangement of mind, and he died early in . * * * * * judgment of professor hallifax. when queen elizabeth was questioned on the subject of her faith in the sacrament, she dexterously avoided giving offence by replying-- "christ was the word that spake it, he took the bread and brake it, and what his word did make it, that i believe, and take it." scarcely less ingenious was the reply of bishop hallifax, when regius professor of civil law at cambridge, upon dr. parr and the rev. joseph smith (both resident at stanmore) applying to him for his judgment on a literary dispute between them. his response was in the following official language, by which he dexterously avoided the imputation of partiality:-- "_nolo interponere judicium meum._" his name reminds me that he married a _cooke_, the daughter of dr. william cooke, provost of king's college, cambridge, for whom george the third had so great a regard, that he extended it to his children. the bishop and his wife being at cheltenham when the king was there, and some person asking why his majesty paid dr. hallifax such marked respect, was answered, "sir, he married a _cooke_." this being in the presence of the celebrated oxonian, dean tucker, "i, too," he facetiously remarked, "have a claim to his majesty's attention, for i married _a cook_," alluding to the fact, that his second wife originally held that rank in his domestic establishment. * * * * * oh! for a distich. a pembrokian cantab, named penlycross, having written an essay, a candidate for the norrisian prize (which it was necessary he should subscribe with a greek or latin motto, as well as a sealed letter, enclosing his name, after being for a time at a loss for one,) and having an ominous _presentiment_ of its rejection, he seized his pen and subscribed the following on both: "distichon ut poscas nolente, volente, minerva, mos sacer? unde mihi distichon? en perago." "without a distich, vain the oration is; oh! for a distich! doctor, e'en take this." * * * * * skeleton sermons. the author of the pursuits of literature ridicules the epithet "skeleton sermons," as "ridiculous and absurd," speaking of those of the rev. charles simeon, m.a. now senior fellow of king's college. when, in , that divine published his edition of _claude's essay on a sermon, with an appendix containing one hundred skeleton sermons_, the celebrated dr. william cooke, father of the late regius professor of greek, was provost of king's, and to him, as in duty bound, mr. simeon presented a copy. the provost read it with his natural appearance of a proud and dignified humility, and, struck with the unfortunate and somewhat ludicrous title of _skeleton sermons_, "skeletons! skeletons!" he exclaimed, in his significant way, "shall these dry bones live?" what would the provost have thought and said, had he lived to see an edition of them in ten volumes to. price ten guineas? * * * * * i wish he had paid it first. the present vice-master of trinity college, cambridge, being told that one of his pupils, the author of "alma mater," had therein published his bill, coolly replied, "i wish he had paid it first." another cantab had-- a mind to make trial of the stocks, which unluckily stood in the church-yard, and it happening to be a saint's day, the congregation were at prayers, of which he was ignorant, when he got a friend to put him in. his friend sauntered away, whether wilfully or not i leave my readers to guess, and he was in vain struggling to release himself, when the congregation issued forth, who were not a little _moved_ at his situation. many laughed, but one, an old woman, compassionately released him. a similar story is told of the celebrated son of granta, lord chief justice pratt, who had afterwards to try a cause in which the plaintiff had brought his action against a magistrate for falsely imprisoning him in the stocks. the counsel for the defence arguing that the action was a frivolous one, on the ground that the stocks were no punishment, his lordship beckoned his learned brother to him, and told him, in his ear, that having himself been put in the stocks, he could assure him it was no such slight punishment as he represented, and the plaintiff obtained a verdict against the magistrate in consequence. * * * * * hissing versus money. parker says, in his musical memoirs, that the oxford scholars once hissed madame mara, conceiving she assumed too much importance in her bearing. no wonder they so treated signor samperio, one evening at a concert, attracted, when he came forward to sing, by his "tall, lank figure, sunken eyes, hollow cheeks, and shrill voice;" in fact, they hissed him off before he had half got through his cavatina. the gentleman who acted as steward was deeply moved at his situation, and, going up to samperio, endeavoured to soothe him. but the signor, not at all hurt, replied, "o, sare, never mind; dey may hissa me as much as dey please, if i getti di money." another anecdote is told of-- two oxford scholars posing dr. hayes, the late musical professor, who was some six feet high, and scarcely inferior in bulk to the famous essex miller. he had at last so much difficulty in getting in and out of a stage coach, that whenever he went from oxford to london to conduct the annual performances at st. paul's, for the benefit of the sons of the clergy, which he did for many years _gratis_, his custom was to engage a whole seat to himself, and when once in and seated to remain so till the end of the journey. the fact became known to two oxford wags, who resolved to _pose_ the doctor, and to that end engaged the other two inside places, and taking care to be there before him, seated themselves in the opposite corners, one to the right the other to the left, and there the doctor found them, on arriving to take his place. "how was he to dispose of his _corpus_?" was the query: they had a clear right to their seats, and no alternative seemed left him, as they declined moving, but to place his head in one corner and his feet in the other. at last our oxonians, having fully enjoyed the _dilemma_ in which they had placed the doctor, consented to give way, confessed their purpose, and even the doctor had the good sense to laugh at his own expense. * * * * * gross indeed. when the celebrated cantab, and editor of _lucretius_, gilbert wakefield, was convicted of a _libel_ before the late judge _grose_, who sentenced him to fine and imprisonment, turning from the bar, he said, with the spirit of a frenchman, it was--"_gross_ indeed." to the same learned cantab, dyer attributes the following-- pun upon pye. being asked once his opinion of the poetry of _pye_, the then poet laureat, his reply was, that he thought very _handsomely_ of some of mr. p.'s poems, which he had read. this did not suffice, and he was pressed for his opinion of the laureat-ode that had just appeared in the public prints. not having seen it, he desired his friend to read it to him, and the introductory lines containing something about the _singing of birds_, wakefield abruptly silenced him with this happy allusion to the laureat's name, in the following nursery rhymes:-- "and when the pie was opened, the birds began to sing: and was not this a dainty dish to set before a king." * * * * * the cambridge family of spintexts begun with john alcock, ll.d., bishop of ely, and founder of jesus college. "garrulus hunc quando consumet cunq; loquaces, si sapiat, vitet, simul atque adoluerit ætas." in , says wilson, in his memorabilia cantabrigiæ, he preached before the university "_bonum et blandum sermonem prædicavit, et duravit in horam tertiam et ultra_," which is supposed to be a sermon that was printed in his lifetime, in , by the famous pynson, entitled, "_galli cantus ad confratres suos curatos in synodo, apud barnwell, th september_, ," at the head of which is a print of the bishop preaching to the clergy, with a cock at each side, and another in the first page. the next most celebrated preacher of this class was doctor isaac barrow, the friend, partly tutor, and most learned contemporary of newton, whom charles the second said was an unfair preacher, leaving nothing new to be said by those who followed him. he was once appointed, upon some public occasion, to preach before the dean and chapter in westminster abbey, and gave them a discourse of nearly four hours in length. during the latter part of it, the congregation became so tired of sitting, that they dropped out, one by one, till scarcely another creature besides the dean and choristers were left. courtesy kept the dean in his place, but soon his patience got the better of his manners, "verba per attentam non ibunt cæsaris aurem," and beckoning one of the singing boys, he desired him to go and tell the organist to play him down, which was done. when asked, on descending from the pulpit, if he did not feel exhausted, he replied, "no; only a little tired with standing so long." a third "long-winded preacher" (and they were never admired at either oxford or cambridge, where "short and sweet" is preferred) was doctor samuel parr. he delivered his justly celebrated spital sermon in the accustomed place, christ-church, newgate street, easter tuesday, , before his friend, harvey christian combe, esq., m.p., the celebrated brewer, then lord mayor. "before the service begun," says one of his friends, "i went into the vestry, and found dr. parr seated, with pipes and tobacco placed before him on the table. he evidently felt the importance of the occasion, but felt, at the same time, a confidence in his own powers. when he ascended the pulpit, a profound silence prevailed. the sermon occupied nearly an hour and a quarter in the delivery; and in allusion to its extreme length, it was remarked by a lady, who had been asked her opinion of it, "enough there is, and more than enough"--the first words of its first sentence,--a _bon mot_ he is said to have received with good humour. as he and the lord mayor were coming out of the church, the latter, albeit unused to the facetious mode, "well," said dr. parr to him, always anxious for well-merited praise, "how did you like the sermon? let me have the suffrage of your strong and honest understanding." "why, doctor," returned his lordship, "there were four things in your sermon i did _not_ like to hear." "state them," replied parr, eagerly. "why, to speak frankly, then," said combe, "they were the quarters of the church clock, which struck four times before you had finished it." "i once saw, lying in the chapter coffee-house," says dyer, in a letter printed in parriana, "the doctor's _spital sermon_, with a comical caricature of him, in the pulpit, preaching and smoking at the same time, with _ex fumo dare lucem_ issuing from his mouth." another class of preachers at cambridge, and eke at oxford, have taken an opposite course, and from their being to be had at all times, have at the former place, obtained the _soubriquet_ "hack preachers." in the _gradus ad cantabrigiam_, they are described as "the common _exhibitioners_ at st. mary's, employed in the service of defaulters and absentees. it must be confessed, however," adds this writer, "that these hacks are good fast _trotters_, as they commonly go over the course in twenty minutes, and sometimes less." gilbert wakefield, whom nobody will suspect of forbearance, calls them, in his memoirs, "a piteous, unedifying tribe." this, however, can scarcely be applied to the ordinary preachers of the present day, and especial care is taken by the heads of the university that the _select_ preachers (one of whom is named for each month during term-time) do not name substitutes themselves. the following poetic _jeu d'esprit_, entitled "_lines on three of the appointed preachers of st. mary's, cambridge, attacking calvin_" were no others than the three eminent living divines, dr. butler, dr. maltby, bishop of chichester, and dr. herbert marsh, bishop of peterborough:-- "three preachers, in three distant counties born, the church of england's doctrines do adorn: harsh calvin's mystic tenets were their mark, founded in texts perverted, gloomy, dark. _butler_ in clearness and in force surpassed, _maltby_ with sweetness spoke of ages past; whilst _marsh_ himself, who scarce could further go, with _criticism's_ fetters bound the foe." this _punning_ morsel, of some _standing_ in the university, is scarce surpassed by hood himself:-- the three-headed priest. old doctor delve, a scribbling quiz, afraid of critics' jibes, by turns assumes the various phiz of three old classic scribes. though now with high erected head, and lordly strut he'll go by us, he once made lawyers' robes, 'tis said, and called himself _mac-robius_. last night i asked the man to sup, who showed a second alias; he gobbled _all my jellies up_, o greedy _aulus gellius_. on sunday, arrogant and proud, he purrs like any tom-puss, and reads the word of _god so loud_, he must be _theo-pompus_. * * * * * my beef burnt to a cinder. the family of the spintexts have, it appears, very lately put forth a _scion_, in the person of a learned divine, a fellow of trinity college, cambridge, who, being appointed a _select preacher_ in , delivered a discourse of the extraordinary duration of an _hour and a half_! the present father of the university and master of peter-house, dr. francis barnes, upwards of ninety years of age, was one of the heads present. he sat out the first three quarters of an hour, but then began to be _fidgetty_. another quarter of an hour expired,--the preacher was still in the _midst_ of his discourse. the doctor (now become right down impatient,) being seated the lowest (next to the vice-chancellor) in _golgotha_, or the "place of skulls," as it is called, he moved, first one seat higher (the preacher is still on his legs,) then to a third, then to a fourth, then to a fifth; and before the hour and a half had quite expired, he joined one of the junior esquire bedells at the top, to whom he observed, with that original expression of face for which he is so remarkable, "my beef is burnt to a cinder." * * * * * short hand writing was invented by a cantab, according to the first volume of the librarian, published by mr. savage, of the london institution; who says, that the first work printed on the subject was by dr. timothy bright, of cambridge, in , who dedicated it to queen elizabeth, under the title of "an art of short, swift, and secret writing, by character." * * * * * the humble petition of the ladies. before the erection of the senate-house in the university of cambridge, the annual grand commencement was held in st. mary's, the university church. "it seems," says dyer, in his history of cambridge, "that on these occasions (the time when gentlemen take their degrees") that is, the degree of m.a. more particularly, "ladies had been allowed to sit in that part of the church assigned to the doctors, called the throne: it was, however, at length agreed amongst them (the doctors) that ladies should be no longer permitted to sit there; and the place assigned to them was under the throne, in the church." this invasion of what the fair almost looked upon as the abstraction of a right, led to a partial war of words and inuendos, and the matter was at last taken up by the facetious roger long, d.d., master of pembroke college, who, he adds, in his supplement to his history, was celebrated for his treatise on astronomy, and for his erection of a sphere in his college eighteen feet in diameter, still shown there. on this humorous occasion, he was a dissentient against the heads, not a little bustle was excited amongst the cambridge ladies, a subject for a few jokes was afforded the wags of the university, and he produced his famous music-speech, spoken at the public commencement of , on the th of july, which was afterwards published, but is now very scarce. it was delivered in an assumed character, as "being the petition of the ladies of cambridge," and is full of whim and humour, in swift's best manner, beginning-- "the humble petition of the ladies, who are all ready to be eaten up with the spleen, to think they are to be cooped up in the chancel, where they can neither see nor be seen, but must sit in the dumps by themselves, all stew'd and pent up, and can only peep through the lattice, like so many chickens in a coop; whereas last commencement the ladies had a gallery provided near enough, to see the heads sleep, and the fellow-commoners take snuff." "how he could have delivered it in so sacred a place as st. mary's," says dyer, "is matter of surprise (though they say, good fun, like good coin, is current any where.") it is pleasant to see a grave man descend from his heights, as pope says, "to guard the fair." though nobody could probably be much offended at the time, unless the vice-chancellor, whom, if we understand the writer's meaning, he calls _an old woman_, when he says-- "such cross ill-natured doings as these are, even a saint would vex, to see a vice-chancellor so barbarous to one of his own sex." but the doctor had a natural turn for humour, as is further illustrated by the celebrated mr. jones, of welwyn, who calls him "a very ingenious person." "at the public commencement of ," he says, "dr. greene (master of bene't college, and afterwards bishop of ely) being then vice-chancellor, mr. long was pitched upon for the tripos performance: it was witty and humorous, and has passed through divers editions. some who remembered the delivery of it, told me, that in addressing the vice-chancellor (whom the university wags usually styled _miss greene_,) the tripos-orator, being a native of norfolk, and assuming the norfolk dialect, instead of saying domine vice-cancellarie, did very audibly pronounce the words thus,--domina vice-cancellaria; which occasioned a general smile in that great auditory." i could recollect several other ingenious repartees of his, if there were occasion, adds mr. jones: but his friend, mr. bonfoy, of ripon, told me this little incident:--that he, and dr. long walking together in cambridge, in a dusky evening, and coming to a short _post_ fixed in the pavement, which mr. b., in the midst of chat and inattention, took to be a boy standing in his way, he said in a hurry, "get out of my way, boy." "that boy, sir," said the doctor, very calmly and slily, "is a _post boy, who turns off his way for nobody_." * * * * * celebrated all over germany. george the second is said, like his father, to have had a strong predilection for his continental dominions, of which his ministers did not fail, occasionally, to take advantage. a residentiary of st. paul's cathedral happening to fall vacant, lord granville was anxious to secure it for the learned translator of demosthenes, dr. john taylor, fellow of st. john's college, cambridge. the king started some scruples at first, but his lordship carried his point easily, on assuring his majesty, which was the fact, that "the doctor's learning was _celebrated all over germany_." * * * * * rebuses at oxford and cambridge. * * * * * beckington. the learned prelate, at whose expense the rector's lodgings were built at lincoln college, oxford, is commemorated by his rebus, a _beacon_ and a _tun_, which may still be traced on the walls. alcock, founder of jesus college, cambridge, and bishop of ely, either _rebused_ himself, or was _rebused_ by others, in almost every conspicuous part of his college, by a _cock perched upon a globe_. on one window is a cock with a label from its mouth, bearing the inscription, [greek: egô eimi alektôr]: to which another opposite bravely crows, says cole, [greek: ontôs kai egô]: "i am a cock!" the one doth cry: and t'other answers--"so am i." there is a plate of him at the head of his celebrated sermon, printed by pynson, in , with a cock at each side, and another on the first page. the subject of the discourse is the crowing of the cock when peter denied christ. eglesfield, the celebrated founder of queen's college, oxford, who was a native of cumberland, and confessor to philippa, queen of edward the third, gave the college, for its arms, three spread eagles; but a singular custom, according to a _rebus_, has been founded upon the fanciful derivation of his name, from _aiguille_, needle, and _fil_, thread; and it became a commemorative mark of respect, continued to this day, for each member of the college to receive from the bursar, on new year's day, a needle and thread, with the advice, "_take this and be thrifty_." "these conceits were not unusual at the time the college was founded," says chalmers, in his history of oxford, "and are sometimes thought trifling, merely because we cannot trace their original use and signification. hollingshed informs us, that when the prince of wales, afterwards henry the fifth, who was educated at this college, went to court in order to clear himself from certain charges of disaffection, he wore a gown of blue satin, full of oilet holes, and at every hole a needle hanging by a silk thread. this is supposed to prove at least, that he was an academician of queen's, and it may be conjectured that this was the original academical dress." the same writer says, the founder ordered that the society should "be called to their meals by the sound of the trumpet (a practice which still prevails, as does a similar one at the middle temple, london,) and the fellows being placed on one side of the table in robes of scarlet (those of the doctor's faced with black fur,) were to oppose in philosophy the poor scholars, who, in token of submission and humility, kept on the other side. as late as the last century the fellows and taberders used sometimes to dispute on sundays and holidays. ashton. in an arched recess of the ante-chapel of st. john's college, cambridge, is the tomb of the celebrated dr. hugh ashton, who took part with the famous bishop fisher (beheaded by henry the eighth) in the erection of the buildings of that learned foundation, and was the second master of the society. his tomb, as fuller observes, exhibits "the marble effigy of his body when living, and the humiliating contrast of his skeleton when dead, with the usual conceit of the times, the figure of an _ash tree_ growing out of a _tun_." lake leman. dyer records of the learned contemporary and antiquarian coadjutor of the late bishop of cloyne, the rev. mr. _leman_, a descendant of the famous sir robert naunton, public orator at cambridge, and a secretary of state, that "his drawing-room was painted _en fresco_ with the scenery around _lake leman_." something in your way. the same relates of himself, that, one day looking at some caricatures at a window in fleet-street, peter pindar (dr. wolcot,) whom he knew, came up to him. "there, sir," said mr. dyer to the doctor, pointing to the _caricatures_, "is something in _your_ way." "and there is something in _your_ way," rejoined the doctor, pointing to some of the ladies of the _pave_ who happened to be passing. peter was sure to pay in full. duns have ever been a grievous source of disquietude to both oxonians and cantabs. tom randolph, the favourite son of ben johnson, made them the subject of his muse. but in no instance, perhaps, have the race been so completely put to the blush, "couleur de rose," as by the following ode on the pleasure of being out of debt. horace, ode xxii. book i. imitated. _integer vitæ scelerisque purus, &c._ i. the man who not a farthing owes, looks down with scornful eye on those who rise by fraud and cunning; though in the _pig-market_ he stand, with aspect grave and clear-starched band, he fears no tradesman's dunning. ii. he passes by each shop in town, nor hides his face beneath his gown, no dread his heart invading; he quaffs the nectar of the _tuns_, or on a spur-gall'd hackney runs to london masquerading. iii. what joy attends a new-paid debt! our _manciple_[ ] i lately met, of visage wise and prudent; i on the nail my _battels_ paid, the master turn'd away dismay'd, hear this each oxford student! iv. with justice and with truth to trace the grisly features of his face, exceeds all man's recounting; suffice, he look'd as grim and sour as any lion in the tower, or half starved cat-a-mountain. v. a phiz so grim you scarce can meet, in bedlam, newgate, or the fleet, dry nurse of faces horrid! not buckhorse fierce, with many a bruise, displays such complicated hues on his undaunted forehead. vi. place me on scotland's bleakest hill, provided i can pay my bill, stay ev'ry thought of sorrow; there falling sleet, or frost, or rain, attack a soul resolved, in vain-- it may be fair to-morrow. vii. to _haddington_ then let me stray, and take _joe pullen's tree_ away, i'll ne'er complain of phoebus; but while he scorches up the grass, i'll fill a bumper to my lass, and toast her in a rebus. [ ] churton says, in his lives of the founders of brazenose college, oxford, that "manciples, the purveyors general of colleges and halls, were formerly men of so much consequence, that, to check their ambition, it was ordered by an express statute, that no manciple should be principal of a hall." queering a dun. a cambridge wag who was skilled in the science of electricity, as well as in the art of _ticking_, having got in pretty deep with his tailor, who was continually _dunning_ him for payment, resolved to give snip "_a settler_," as he said, the next time he mounted his stairs. he accordingly _charged_ his electrifying machine much deeper than usual, and knowing pretty well the time of snip's approach, watched his coming to the foot of the stairs where he _kept_, and ere he could reach the door, fixed the _conductor_ to the _brass handle_. the tailor having long in vain sought occasion to catch him with his _outer_ door not _sported_, was so delighted at finding it so, that, resolving not to lose time, he seized the handle of the _inner_ door, so temptingly exposed to view, determining to introduce himself to his creditor _sans ceremonie_. no sooner, however, did his fingers come in contact with it than the _shock_ followed, so violent, that it stunned him for an instant: but recovering himself, he bolted as though followed, as the poet says, by "ten thousand devils," never again to return. * * * * * gray the poet a contrast to bishop warburton. gray's letters, and bishop warburton's polemical writings, show, that in more respects than one they were gifted with a like temperament: but in the following instances they form a contrast to each other. in the library of the british museum is an interesting letter occasioned by the death of the rev. n. nicholls, ll.b., rector of loud and bradwell, in suffolk, from the pen of the now generally acknowledged author of "the pursuits of literature," j. t. mathias, m.a., in which he says, that shortly after that elegant scholar, and lamented divine, became a student of trinity hall, cambridge, at the age of eighteen, a friend introduced him to gray, the poet, at that time redolent with fame, and resident in peter-house, to speak to whom was honourable; but to be admitted to his acquaintance, or to his familiarity, was the height of youthful, or indeed of any ambition. shortly after this, mr. n. was in a company of which mr. gray was one; and, as it became his youth, he did not enter into conversation, but listened with attention. the subject, however, being general and classical, and as mr. nicholls, even at that early period, was acquainted not only with the greek and latin, but with many of the best italian poets, he ventured, with great diffidence, to offer a short remark, and happened to illustrate what he had said by an apposite quotation from dante. at the name of dante, mr. gray suddenly turned round to him and said, "right: but have you read dante, sir?" "i have endeavoured to understand him," replied mr. n. mr. gray being much pleased with the illustration, and with the taste which it evinced, addressed the chief of his discourse to him for the remainder of the evening, and invited him to his rooms in pembroke hall; and finding him ready and docile, he became attached to him and gave him instruction in the course of his studies, to which, adds mr. mathias, "i attribute the extent and value of his knowledge, and the peculiar accuracy and correct taste which distinguished him throughout life, and which i have seldom observed in any man in a more eminent degree." and i wish every young man of genius might hear and consider, observes mr. m., commenting upon an incident so honourable to all parties, "the value of a word spoke in due season, with modesty and propriety, in the highest, i mean the most learned and virtuous company." what a different spirit was evinced, in the following incident, by that great polemical writer, bishop warburton: but it happily originated the canons of criticism, which were the production of thomas edwards, an etonian and king's college man, where he graduated m.a. in , but missing a fellowship, turned soldier. after he had been some time in the army, says a writer in the gentleman's magazine, for , it so happened that, being at bath, after mr. warburton's marriage to mr. allen's niece, he was introduced at prior park, _en famille_. the conversation not unfrequently turning on literary subjects, mr. warburton generally took the opportunity of showing his superiority in greek, not having the least idea that an officer of the army understood anything of that language, or that mr. edwards had been bred at eton; till one day, being accidentally in the library, mr. edwards took down a greek author, and explained a passage in it in a manner that mr. warburton did not approve. this occasioned no small contest; and mr. edwards (who had now discovered to mr. warburton how he came by his knowledge) endeavoured to convince him, that he did not understand the original language, but that his knowledge arose from french translations. mr. warburton was highly irritated; an incurable breach took place; and this trifling altercation (after mr. edwards had quitted the army and was entered of lincoln's inn) produced _the canons of criticism_. * * * * * bishop barrington's splendid gift, and other traits of him. that munificent prelate and oxonian, dr. shute barrington, sixth son of the first viscount, and the late bishop of durham, a prelate, indeed, whose charities were unbounded, was so conscientious in the discharge of his functions, that he personally examined all candidates for holy orders, and, however strongly they might be recommended, rejected all that appeared unworthy of the sacred trust. on one occasion, a relative, relying for advancement upon his patronage, having intimated a desire to enter the church, the bishop inquired with what preferment he would be contented. "five hundred pounds a year will satisfy all my wants," was the reply. "you shall have it," answered the conscientious prelate: "not out of the patrimony of the church, but out of my private fortune." the same bishop gave the entire of , _l._ at once, for founding schools, unexpectedly recovered in a lawsuit; and amongst other persons of talent, preferred paley to the valuable living of bishop wearmouth, unsolicited and totally unknown to him, save through his valuable writings. * * * * * an admirable pulpit admonition is recorded of the celebrated fellow of trinity college, cambridge, the rev. james scott, m.a., better known as anti-sejanus, who acquired extraordinary eminence as a pulpit orator, both in and out of the university. he frequently preached at st. mary's, where crowds of the university attended him. on one occasion he offended the undergraduates, by the delivery of a severe philippic against gaming; which they deeming a work of supererogation, evinced their displeasure by _scraping_ the floor with their feet (an old custom now scarcely resorted to twice in a century.) he, however, severely censured them for this act of indecorum, shortly afterwards, in another discourse, for which he selected the appropriate text, "_keep thy feet when thou goest to the house of god_." * * * * * the simplicity of great minds. it is not surprising that our distinguished philosophers and mathematicians have rarely evinced much knowledge of men and manners, or of the ordinary circumstances of life, since they are so much occupied in telling "the number of the stars," in tracing the wonders of creation, or in balancing the mental and physical powers of man. our illustrious cantab, bacon, says his biographer, was cheated by his servants at the bottom, whilst he sat in abstraction at the top of his table; and he of whom dr. johnson said (the great and good newton,) that had he lived in the days of ancient greece, he would have been worshipped as a deity; of whom, too, the poet wrote-- "nature and nature's laws lay hid in night, god said, 'let newton be,' and all was light," caused a smaller hole to be perforated in his room door, when his favourite cat had a kitten, not remembering that it would follow puss through the larger one. another more modern and less distinguished but not less amiable cantab, who was _senior wrangler_ in his year, one day inquired-- "of what country marines were?" another distinguished _senior wrangler_, professor and divine, occasionally amuses his friends by rehearsing the fact, that once, having, to preach in the neighbourhood of cambridge, he hired a blind horse to ride the distance on, and his path laying cross a common, where the road was but indistinctly marked, he became so absorbed in abstract calculations, that, forgetting to guide his steed aright, he and the horse wandered so far awry, that they tumbled "head over heels," as the folks say, upon a cow slumbering by the way side. _on dit_, the same cantab was one morning caught over his breakfast-fire with an egg in his hand, to minute the time by, and his-- watch doing to a turn in the saucepan. when he went in for a.b. his natural _diffidence_ prevented his doing much in the first four days of the senate house examination, and he was consequently _bracketted low_: but rallying his confidence, he challenged all the men of his years, and was _senior wrangler_. this incident caused him to be received with rapturous applause, upon his being presented to the vice-chancellor for his degree, on the following saturday. a few days after he is said to have been in london, and entered one of the larger theatres at the same instant with royalty itself:--the audience rose with one accord, and thunders of applause followed! "_this is too much_," said our cantab to his friend, modestly hiding his face in his hat, having, in the _simplicity_ of his heart, taken the _huzzas and claps_ to be an _improved_ edition of the senate house. another cantab, who was also a senior wrangler, and guilty of many singularities, as well as some follies, one who has _unjustly_ heaped reproach on the head of his _alma mater_ (see his "progress of a senior wrangler at cambridge," in the numbers of the defunct london magazine,) had the following quaternion posted on his room door in trinity:-- "king solomon in days of old, the wisest man was reckon'd: i fear as much cannot be told of solomon the second." * * * * * a host of singularities are recorded of the famous cantab and etonian, the rev. george harvest, b.d., who was one day walking in the temple gardens, london, with the son of his patron, the great speaker onslow, when he picked up a curious pebble, observing he would keep it for his friend, lord bute. he and his companion were going to _the beef-steak club_, then held in ivy-lane. mr. onslow asked him what o'clock it was, upon which he took out his watch, and observed they had but ten minutes good. another turn or two was proposed, but they had scarcely made half the length of the walk, when he coolly put the pebble into his _fob_, and threw his watch into the thames. he was at another time in a boat with the same gentleman, when he began to read a favourite greek author (for, like porson, his coat pockets generally contained a moderate library) with such emphasis and strange gesticulations, that his wig and hat fell into the water, and he coolly stepped overboard to recover them, without once dreaming that it was not _terra-firma_, and was _fished_ out with great difficulty. he frequently wrote a letter to one person, forgot to subscribe his name to it, and directed it to another. on one occasion he provided himself with three sermons, having been appointed to preach before the archdeacon and clergy of the district. some wags got them, and having intermixed the leaves, stitched them together in that state, and put them into his sermon-case. he mounted the pulpit at the usual time, took his text, but soon surprised his reverend audience by taking leave of the thread of his discourse. he was, however, so insensible to the dilemma in which he was placed, that he went preaching on. at last the congregation became impatient, both from the length and the nature of his sermon. first the archdeacon slipped out, then the clergy, one by one, followed by the rest of the congregation; but he never flagged, and would have finished his triple, thrice-confused discourse, had not the clerk reminded him that they were the sole occupants of the lately-crowded church. he went down to cambridge to vote for his eton contemporary, the celebrated lord sandwich, when the latter was candidate for the dignity of high-steward of the university, in opposition to pitt. his lordship invited him to dine with some friends at the rose inn. "_apropos_, my lord," exclaimed harvest, during the meal, "whence do you derive your nick-name of _jemmy twitcher_?" "why," said his lordship, "from some foolish fellow." "no, no," said harvest, "not from some, for every body calls you so;" on which his lordship, knowing it to be the favourite dish of his quondam friend, put a huge slice of plum-pudding upon his plate, which effectually stopped his mouth. his lordship has the credit of being the originator and first president of the cambridge oriental club. he was also the inventor of sandwiches. once passing a whole day at some game of which he was fond, he became so absorbed in its progress, that he denied himself time to eat, in the usual way, and ordered a slice of beef between two pieces of toasted bread, which he masticated without quitting his game; and that sort of refreshment has ever since borne the designation of _a sandwich_. parkes, in his musical memoirs, gives him the credit of lapsus linguÆ. it happened, he says, that during a feast given to his lordship by the corporation of worcester, when he was first lord of the admiralty, a servant let fall a dish with a boiled neat's tongue, as he was bringing it to table. the mayor expressing his concern to his lordship, "never mind," said he, "it's only a _lapsus linguæ_!" which witty saying creating a great deal of mirth, one of the aldermen present, at a dinner he gave soon after, instructed his servant to throw down a roast leg of mutton, that he too might have his joke. this was done; "never mind," he exclaimed to his friends, "it's only a _lapsus linguæ_." the company stared, but he begun a roaring laugh, _solus_. finding nobody joined therein, he stopped his mirth, saying, that when lord sandwich said it, every body laughed, and he saw no reason why they should not laugh at him. this sally had the desired effect, and the company, one and all, actually shook their sides, and our host was satisfied. * * * * * oxford and cambridge loyalty. in , george i. and his ministers had contrived to make themselves so unpopular, that the badges of the disaffected, oaken boughs, were publicly worn on the th of may, and white roses on the birth-day of the pretender, the th of june. oxford, and especially the university, manifested such strong feelings, that it was deemed expedient to send a military force there: cambridge, more inclined to the whig principles of the court and government, was at the same time complimented with a present of books. upon this occasion, dr. trapp, the celebrated oxford poet and divine, wrote the following epigram:-- our royal master saw, with heedful eyes, the wants of his two universities: troops he to oxford sent, as knowing why that learned body wanted loyalty; but books to cambridge gave, as well discerning how that right loyal body wanted learning. cambridge, as may be well supposed, was not backward in retorting: and an able champion she found in her equally celebrated scholar, physician, and benefactor, sir william blowne (founder of a scholarship and the three gold medals called after his name,) who replied to dr. trapp in the following quaternion:-- the king to oxford sent a troop of horse, for tories know no argument but force: with equal grace, to cambridge books he sent, for whigs allow no force but argument. not that cambridge was behind oxford in supporting the unfortunate charles the first, to whom the several colleges secretly conveyed nearly all their ancient plate; and cromwell, in consequence, retaliated by confining and depriving numbers of her most distinguished scholars, both laymen and divines, many of whom died in exile: and the commissioners of parliament, with a taste worthy of the worst barbarians, caused many of the buildings to be despoiled of their architectural ornaments and exquisite pieces of sculpture and painted glass. it was at this time appeared the following celebrated poetic trifle, extant in the oxford sausage, known as the cushion plot, written by herbert beaver, esq., of corpus christi college, oxford, when "gaby" (as the then president, dr. shaw, is called, who had been a zealous jacobite,) suddenly, on the accession of george the first, became a still more zealous patron of the interests of the house of hanover. when gaby possession had got of the _hall_, he took a survey of the chapel and all, since that, like the rest, was just ready to fall, _which nobody can deny_. and first he began to examine the chest, where he found an old _cushion_ which gave him distaste; the first of the kind that e'er _troubled his rest,_ _which nobody can deny_. two letters of gold on this cushion were rear'd; two letters of gold once by gaby rever'd, but now what was loyalty, treason appear'd: _which nobody can deny_. "j. r. (quoth the don, in soliloquy bass) "see the works of this damnable jacobite race! "we'll out with the j, and put g in its place:" _which nobody can deny_. and now to erase these letters so rich, for scissors and bodkin his fingers did itch, for converts in politics go _thorough-stich_: _which nobody can deny_: the thing was about as soon done as said, poor _j_ was deposed and _g_ reigned in his stead; such a quick revolution sure never was read! _which nobody can deny_. then hey for preferment--but how did he stare, when convinced and ashamed of not being aware, that _j_ stood for jennet,[ ] for raymond the _r_, _which nobody can deny_. then beware, all ye priests, from hence i advise, how ye choose christian names for the babes ye baptize, for if gaby don't like 'em he'll pick out their i's, _which nobody can deny_. [ ] the benefactor who gave the college the cushion. * * * * * terræ filius relates the following instance of the danger of drinking the king's health. mr. carty of university college, and mr. meadowcourt of merton college, oxford (says this writer,) were suspended from proceeding to their next degree, in , the first for a period of one, the second for a period of two years, the latter further, not to be permitted "to supplicate for his grace, until he confesses his manifold crimes, and asks pardon _upon his knees, for breaking out to that degree of impudence_ (when the proctor admonished him to go home from the tavern at an unseasonable hour,) as to command all the company, with a loud voice, _to drink king_ george's _health_." and, strange enough, persisting in his refusal to ask pardon, as required, he only ultimately obtained his degree by pleading the _act of grace_ of the said king george, enacted in favour of those who had been guilty of treason, &c. these were, it appears, both fellows of colleges, and with several others, who were likewise put in the _black-book_, were members of a society in oxford, called "the constitution club," at a meeting of which it was that the king was _toasted_. amongst the cambridge clubs was one formed, in , by the _wranglers_ of that year, including the late professor waring; the celebrated reformer dr. jebb the munificent founder of the cambridge hebrew scholarships; mr. tyrwhitt; and other learned men. it was called _the hyson club_, the entertainments being only tea and conversation. paley, who joined it after he became tutor of christ college, is thus made to speak of it by a writer in the new monthly magazine for :--"we had a club at cambridge, of political reformers; it was called the hyson club, as we met at tea time; and various schemes were discussed among us. jebb's plan was, that the people should meet and declare their will; and if the house of commons should pay due attention to the will of the people, why, well and good; if not, the people were to convey their will into effect. we had no idea that we were talking treason. i was always an advocate for _braibery and corrooption_: they raised an outcry against me, and affected to think i was not in earnest. 'why,' said i, 'who is so mad as to wish to be governed by force? or who is such a fool as to expect to be governed by virtue? there remains, then, nothing but _braibery and corrooption_.'" no particular subjects were proposed for discussion at their meetings, but accident or the taste of individuals naturally led to topics, such as literary and scientific characters might freely discuss. at a meeting where the debate was on the justice or expediency of making some alteration in the ecclesiastical constitution of the country, for the relief of tender consciences, dr. gordon, of emmanuel college, late precentor of lincoln, vehemently opposed the arguments of dr. jebb, then tutor of peter house, who supported the affirmative, by exclaiming, "you mean, sir, to impose upon us a new church government." "you are mistaken," said paley, who was present, "jebb only wants to ride his own horse, not to force you to get up behind him." * * * * * the retrogradation amongst masters, tutors, and scholars. discipline, like every thing else characteristic of our elder institutions, has for some years been fast giving way in our universities. statutes are permitted to slumber unheeded, as not fitted to the present _advanced_ state of society; and in colleges where it would, as late as the beginning of the nineteenth century, have been almost a crime to have been seen in hall or chapel without _a white cravat on_, scholars now strut in black ones, "unawed by _imposition_" or a fine. i can remember the time when this inroad upon decent appearance first begun, and when the dean of _our_ college put forth his strong arm, and insisted on white having the preference. men then used to wear their black till they came to the _hall or chapel_ door, then take them off, and walk in with none at all, and again twist them round the neck, heedless whether the tie were _brummell_ or not, on issuing forth from prayers or commons. like the whigs, they have by perseverance carried their point, and strut about in black, wondering what they shall next attempt. * * * * * there is an on-dit, that at the time dr. w---- became master of st. john's college, cambridge, the tutors used to oblige (and it was a custom for) the scholars to stand, cap in hand (if any tutor entered a court where they might be passing,) till the said tutor disappeared. this was so rigorously enforced, that the scholars complained to the new master, and he desired the tutors to relax the custom. this order they refused to comply with. upon this the doctor took down from a shelf a copy of the _college statutes_, and coolly read to them a section, where the fellows of the same were enjoined to stand, cap in hand, till the master passed by, wherever they met him; and the doctor, it is added, insisted upon its observance, on pain of ejection, till at length the tutors gave way. * * * * * the worcester goblin. foote the comedian was, in his youthful days, a student of worcester college, oxford, under the care of the provost, dr. gower. the doctor was a learned and amiable man, but a pedant. the latter characteristic was soon seized upon by the young satirist, as a source whereon to turn his irresistible passion for wit and humour. the church at this time belonging to worcester college, fronted a lane were cattle were turned out to graze, and (as was then the case in many towns, and is still in some english villages) the church porch was open, with the bell-ropes suspended in the centre. foote tied a wisp of hay to one of them, and this was no sooner scented by the cattle at night, than it was seized upon as a dainty morsel. tug, tug, went one and all, and "ding-dong" went the bell at midnight, to the astonishment of the doctor, the sexton, the whole parish, and the inmates of the college. the young wag kept up the joke for several successive nights, and reports of ghosts, goblins, and frightful visions, soon filled the imagination of old and young with alarm, and many a simple man and maiden whisked past the scene of midnight revel ere the moon had "filled her horns," struck with fear and trembling. the doctor suspected some trick. he, accordingly, engaged the sexton to watch with him for the detection of the culprit. they had not long lain hid, under favour of a dark night, when "ding-dong" went the bell again: both rushed from their hiding places, and the sexton commenced the attack by seizing the cow's tail, exclaiming, "'tis a gentleman commoner,--i have him by the tail of his gown!" the doctor approached on the opposite tack, and seized a horn with both hands, crying, "no, no, you blockhead, 'tis the postman,--i have caught the rascal by his _blowing-horn_!" and both bawled lustily for assistance, whilst the cow kicked and flung to get free; but both held fast till lights were procured, when the real offender stood revealed, and the laugh of the whole town was turned upon the doctor and his fellow-_night_-errant, the sexton. * * * * * records of the cambridge triposes. the spoon, in the words of lord byron's don juan, "---- the name by which we cantabs please, to dub the last of honours in degrees," is the annual subject for university mirth, and if not the _fountain_, is certainly the very _foundation_ of cambridge university honours: without _the spoon_, not a man in the _tripos_ would have a _leg to stand upon_: in fact, it would be a top without a bottom, _minus_ the spoon. yet "this luckless wight," says the compiler of the cambridge tart, is annually a universal butt and laughing-stock of the whole senate-house. he is the last of those men who take _honours_ of his year, and is called a "_junior optime_," and notwithstanding his being superior to them all, the lowest of the [greek: hoi polloi] or gregarious undistinguished bachelors, think themselves entitled to shoot their pointless arrows against the "_wooden spoon_," and to reiterate the perennial remark, that, "_wranglers_" are born with _golden_ spoons in their mouths; "_senior optimes_" with _silver_ spoons; "_junior optimes_" with _wooden spoons_, and the [greek: hoi polloi] with _leaden_ spoons in their mouths. it may be here, however, observed, that it is unjust towards the _undistinguished bachelors_ to say that "he (the spoon) is superior to them all." he is generally a man who has read hard, _id est_, has _done his best_, whilst the undistinguished bachelors, it is well known, include many men of considerable, even superior talents, but having no taste for _mathematics_, have merely read sufficient to get a degree; consequently _have not done their best_. the muse has thus invoked the wooden spoon. when sage _mathesis_ calls her sons to fame, the _senior wrangler_ bears the highest name. in academic honour richly deckt, he challenges from all deserved respect. but, if to visit friends he leaves his gown, and flies in haste to cut a dash in town, the wrangler's title, little understood, suggests a man in disputation good; and those of common talents cannot raise, their humble thoughts a wrangler's mind to praise. such honours to an englishman soon fade, like laurel wreaths, the victor's brows that shade. no such misfortune has that man to fear, whom fate ordains the last in fame's career; his honours fresh remain, and e'en descend to soothe his family, or chosen friend. and while he lives, he _wields_ the boasted prize, whose value all can feel, the weak, the wise; displays in triumph his distinguished boon, the solid honours of the wooden spoon! that many have borne off this prize who might have _done better_, is well known too. one learned cantab in that situation felt so assured of his fate, when it might have been more honourable, had he been gifted with prudence and perseverance, that on the morning when it is customary to give out the _honours_, in the senate house, in their _order of merit_, he provided himself with a large _wooden spoon_, and when there was a call from the gallery, for "_the spoon_" (for then the undergraduates were allowed to express their likes and dislikes publicly, a custom now _suppressed_,) he turned the shafts of ridicule aside by thrusting the emblem of his honours up high over his head,--an act that gained him no slight applause. another cantab, of precisely the same _grade_ as to talent, who was second in the _classical tripos_ of his year, gave a supper on the occasion of the spoon being awarded to him, which commenced with _soup_, each man being furnished with a ponderous _wooden spoon_ to _lap_ it with. another, now a fellow of trinity college, who more than once bore off the _porson prize_, being in this _place of honour_, a wag nailed a large _wooden spoon_ to his door. hundreds of other tricks have been put upon _the spoon_, next to whom are-- the poll; or, [greek: hoi polloi]: which, said the great bentley, in a sermon preached before the university of cambridge, on the th of november, , "is a known expression in profane authors, opposed sometimes, [greek: tois sophois], _to the wise_, and ever denotes the most, and generally the meanest of mankind." "besides the mirth devoted character," (_the wooden spoon_,) says the writer first quoted, there "are always a few, a chosen few, a degree lower than the [greek: hoi polloi], constantly written down alphabetically, who serve to exonerate the '_wooden spoon_,' in part, from the ignominy of the day; and these undergo various epithets, according to their accidental number. if there was but one, he was called _bion_, who carried all his learning about him without the slightest inconvenience. if there were two, they were dubbed the _scipios; damon and pythias; hercules and atlas; castor and pollux_. if three, they were _ad libitum_, the _three graces_; or the _three furies; the magi_; or _noah_, _daniel_, and _job_. if seven, they were _the seven wise men_; or _the seven wonders of the world_. if nine, they were the unfortunate _suitors of the muses_. if twelve, they became the _apostles_. if thirteen, either they deserved a round dozen, or, like the americans, should bear thirteen stripes on their _coat and arms_. lastly, they were sometimes styled _constant quantities_, and _martyrs_; or the thirteenth was designated the _least_ of the _apostles_; and, should there be a fourteenth, he was _unworthy to be called an apostle_!" an unknown pen has immortalized the [greek: hoi polloi], by the following-- ode to the unambitious and undistinguished bachelors. "post tot naufragia tutus."--virg. thrice happy ye, through toil and dangers past, who rest upon that peaceful shore, where all your fagging is no more, and gain the long-expected port at last. yours are the sweets, the ravishing delights, to doze and snore upon your noontide beds; no chapel-bell your peaceful sleep affrights, no problems trouble now your empty heads. yet, if the heavenly muse is not mistaken, and poets say the muse can rightly guess, i fear, full many of you must confess that you have barely _saved your bacon_. amidst th' appalling problematic war, where dire equations frown'd in dread array, ye never strove to find the arduous way, to where proud granta's honours shine afar. within that dreadful mansion have ye stood, when _moderators_ glared with looks uncivil, how often have ye d--d their souls, their blood, and wished all _mathematics_ at the devil! but ah! what terrors on that fatal day your souls appall'd, when, to your stupid gaze, appear'd the _biquadratic's_ darken'd maze, and problems ranged in horrible array! hard was the task, i ween, the labour great, to the wish'd port to find your uncouth way-- how did ye toil, and fag, and fume, and fret, and--what the bashful muse would blush to say. but now your painful terrors all are o'er-- cloth'd in the glories of a full-sleev'd gown, ye strut majestically up and down, and now ye fag, and now ye fear no more. but although many men of this class are not gifted with that species of perception suited to mathematical studies, however desirable it may be that the mind should be subject to that _best of all correctives_, the abstruse sciences, they are often possessed of what may be justly denominated "great talents." a remarkable instance of this fact was manifested in the person of a late fellow of trinity (now no longer so--"for conscience-sake,") who wrote a tragedy whilst still a boy of sixteen or seventeen, that was produced at covent garden with success, obtained the only vacant _craven scholarship_ in his freshman's year (always considered a high test of classical ability,) and carried off other classical university prizes. yet he, when he came to be examined for his degree, though he sat and wrote out _whole books of homer_ from memory, he was unable to go through the first problem of euclid: for when told that he _must_ do something _in mathematics_, he wrote down, after a fashion, the a's and b's, but without describing the figure, a necessary accompaniment. of the omission he was reminded by the examiner--"oh! _the picture, you mean_," was his reply, and, drawing a triangle of a true _isosceles_ cut, instead of an _equilateral_ one, he added thereto, _a la heraldique_, by way of supporters, two _ovals_ of equal height, which completed his only mathematical effort. his learning and talents, however, procured him his degree and a fellowship. to others, mathematics are an inexhaustible source of delight, and such a mind it was that penned _the address to mathematics_, in "the cambridge tart," beginning-- "with thee, divine mathesis, let me live! effuse source of evidence and truth!" porson gave a singular proof of his "fondness for algebra," says the _sexagenarian_, by composing an equation in greek, the original being comprised in one line. when resident in college, he would frequently amuse himself by sending to his friends scraps of greek of a like character, for solution. the purport of one was, "find the value of _nothing_." the next time he met his friend, he addressed him with, "well, have you succeeded in finding the _value of nothing_?" "yes," replied his friend. "what is it?" "sixpence i gave the gyp for bringing your note," was the rejoinder. the late professor vince meeting a fellow of st. john's college, cambridge, the next morning after a high wind had blown down several of the fine old trees in the walks, some of three centuries' standing, he was addressed with, "a terrible storm last night, mr. professor." "yes," he replied, "it was a rare mathematical wind." "mathematical wind!" exclaimed the other, "how so, doctor?" "why you see it has _extracted a great many roots_!" a johnian one day eating _apple-pie_ by the side of a johnian fellow, an inveterate punster, he facetiously observed, "he was raising apple-pie to the tth power:" another fellow walking down the hall, after dinner, and slipping some distance on _smooth flags_, looked over his shoulder and observed to one following him--"_an inclined plane_." another cantab, when a student of bene't, now rector of h----, suffolk, sung his song of "divine mathesis:"-- let mathematicians and geometricians talk of circles' and triangles' charms, the figure i prize is a girl with bright eyes, and the circle that's formed by her arms. * * * * * the classical tripos and the wooden wedge. this class of cambridge honours, for which none can become candidates but those who have attained mathematical distinction, was instituted by a grace of the senate, in . as its title implies, it is divided into three classes. the first examination took place in , when the cantabs were saved the labour of _gestation_, by the last man in the third class being named _wedgewood_, which was transposed by some wag to _wooden wedge_--and by that _soubriquet_, equivalent to the _wooden spoon_, all men so circumstanced are now designated in the colloquial phraseology of the university. it is but justice to mr. w. to add, however, that he also attained the high mathematical distinction of eighth wrangler of his year. by the same decree of the senate a previous examination was established at cambridge (answering to the oxford "little-go,") by which all students are required to undergo an examination in classics and divinity, in the lent term of the second year of their residence. the successful candidates are divided into two classes only: but there is always a select few who are _allowed_ to pass, after an extra trial of skill: these are lumped at the end, and have been designated "_elegant extracts_." some wag furnished jackson's oxford journal with this syllogistic exercise for the little-go men. no cat has _two_ tails. a cat has _one_ tail _more_ than no cat. _ergo_--a cat has three tails. the following song (in the true spirit of a non-reading man) is from the pen of a learned seceding cantab, the late dr. john disney, who, after graduating at peter-house, cambridge, ll.b., and for some time officiating as a minister of the established church, resigned a living "for conscience sake," and closed his career as minister of the unitarian chapel, in essex-street, strand:-- come, my good college lads! and attend to my lays, i'll show you the folly of poring o'er books; for all you get by it is mere empty praise, or a poor meagre fellowship, and sour looks. _chorus._ then lay by your books, lads, and never repine; and cram not your attics, with dry mathematics, but moisten your clay with a bumper of wine. the first of mechanics was old archimedes, who play'd with rome's ships as we'd play cup and ball, to play the same game i can't see where the need is, or why we should fag mathematics at all. then lay by your books, lads, &c. great newton found out the binomial law, to raise x -|- y to the power of b; found the distance of planets that he never saw, and we most probably never shall see. then lay by your books, lads, &c. let whiston and ditton star-gazing enjoy, and taste all the sweets mathematics can give; let us for our time find a better employ, and knowing life's sweets, let us learn how to live. then lay by your books, lads, &c. these men _ex absurdo_, conclusions may draw, perpetual motion they never could find; not one of the set, lads, can balance a straw, and longitude seeking is hunting the wind. then lay by your books, lads, &c. if we study at all, let us study the means to make ourselves friends, and to keep them when made; learn to value the blessings kind heaven ordains, to make others happy, let that be our trade. _finale._ let each day be better than each day before, without pain or sorrow, to-day or to-morrow, may we live, my good lads, to see many days more. * * * * * a dreadful fit of rheumatism. two cantabs, brothers, named whiter, one the learned author of _etymologicum magnum_, the other an amiable divine; both were remarkable, the one for being six, the other about five feet in height. the taller was eccentric and often absent in his habits, the other a wag. both were invited to the same party, and the taller being first ready, slipped on the coat of the shorter, and wended his way into a crowded room of fashionables, to whom his eccentricities being familiar, they were not much surprised at seeing him encased in a coat, the tail of which scarcely reached his hips, whilst the sleeves ran short of his elbows; in fact, it was a perfect _strait jacket_, and he had not been long seated before he began to complain to every body that he was suffering from a dreadful fit of _rheumatism_. one or two suggested the _tightness_ of his coat as the cause of his pain; but he remained rheumatic in spite of them, till his brother's approach threw the whole party into a fit of convulsive laughter, as he came sailing into the room, his coat-tails sweeping the room, _en traine_, and his arms performing the like service on either side, as he exclaimed, to his astonished brother, "why, bob, you have got my coat on!" bob then discovered that his friends' hints bordered on the truth, and the two exchanged garments forthwith, to the amusement of all present. * * * * * dr. parr an ingrate. the doctor was once staying with the late great and good mr. roscoe, when many of the most distinguished whigs were his guests also, out of compliment to whom the doctor forbore to indulge in his customary after-dinner pipe. at length, when wine and words had circulated briskly, and twilight began to set in, he insisted upon mounting to his own room to have a whiff _solus_. having groped his way up stairs, somewhat exhausted with the effort, he threw himself into what he took to be an arm-chair. suddenly the ears of the party were assailed with awful moans and groans, as of some one in tribulation. mr. roscoe hastened to learn the cause, and no sooner reached the stairs' foot, than he heard the doctor calling lustily for his man john, adding, in more supplicatory accents, "will nobody help a christian man in distress! will nobody help a christian man in distress!" mr. roscoe mounted to the rescue, but could not forbear a hearty laugh, as he beheld dr. p. locked in the close embrace of a large old-fashioned grate, which he had mistaken for an arm-chair, and from which he was in vain struggling to relieve himself. * * * * * mon dieu--le diable. when robert the devil was first produced at paris, and the opera going folk were on the _qui vive_ for the promised appearance of the prince of darkness, a certain cantab, the facial line of whose countenance bordered on the _demoniacal_, went to see him make his bow to a parisian audience, and happened to enter the same _loge_ from whence a parisian belle was anxiously watching the _entrée_ of monsieur le robert. attracted by the creaking of the _loge_ door, on suddenly turning her head in its direction, she caught a glimpse of our cambridge friend, and was so forcibly struck with the expression of his countenance, that she went into hysterics, exclaiming, "mon dieu! le diable!" * * * * * some critical civilities. the famous editor of demosthenes, john taylor, d.d. being accused of saying bishop warburton was no scholar, denied it, but owned he always thought so. upon this warburton called him "the learned dunce." when parr, in the british critic for , called porson "a giant in literature," and "a prodigy in intellect," the professor took it in dudgeon, and said, "_what right has any one to tell the height of a man he cannot measure?_" a dutch commentator having called bentley "egregius" and "[greek: ho panu]," "what right, (said the doctor) has that fellow to quote me; "_does he think that i will set my pearls in his dunghill_?" baxter, in the second edition of his horace, said the great bentley seemed to him "rather to have buried horace under a heap of rubbish than to have illustrated him." and bentley said of joshua barnes, who, to please his religious wife, composed a greek ode to prove king solomon wrote homer's iliad, that he was "[greek: honos pros lyran]--_asinus ad lyram_:" joshua replied, that they who said this of him had not understanding enough to be poets, or wanted the [greek: ho nous pros lyran]. * * * * * sir busick and sir isaac again. i have before spoken of these two cambridge knights and rival physicians, but there yet remains to be told of them, that on their meeting each other, perchance, in the street or the senate house, the latter addressing his rival in an ironical speech of condolence, to the effect, "i regret to hear you are ill, sir busick." "sir, _i sick_!" (sir isaac) retorted the wit, "i never was better in my life!" many of my readers have no doubt seen the anecdote of voltaire's building a church, and causing to be engraved on the front thereof, the vain record, "_voltaire erexit hoc templum deo_." a similar spirit seized a mr. cole of cambridge, who left money either to erect the church or the steeple of st. clement's, in bridge-street, of that town, on condition that his name was placed on the front of it. the condition was complied with to the letter, thus, by the tasteful judgment of some cambridge wag:-- cole: deum. an admirably turned pun, which, i may add, for the benefit of my english readers, signifies, _worship god_. i have already noticed the _mathematical_ "_pons asinorum_" of our mother of cambridge. one of her waggish sons has likewise contrived, for their amusement, a _classical pons asinorum_, known as the freshman's puzzle. i knew a trinity man of absent habits, who actually, after residing two years in college, having occasion to call upon an old school fellow, a scholar of bene't (_id est_, corpus christi college,) before it was _rebuilt_, was so little acquainted with the localities of the university, that he was obliged to inquire his way, though not two hundred yards from trinity. such a man could scarcely be expected to know, what most cantabs do, that qui church, which is situated about four miles from cambridge, "rears its head" in rural simplicity in the midst of the _open fields_, seemingly without the "bills of mortality;" for not so much as a cottage keeps it in countenance. this gave occasion for a cambridge wag to invent the following puzzle:-- "templum quistat in agris," which has caused many a freshman a sleepless night, who, ignorant of the _status_ qui, has racked his brains to translate the above, _minus_ a quod _pro_ qui. * * * * * a sly humourist. edmund gurnay, b.d., fellow of corpus christi college, cambridge, in , was a sly humourist. the master had a great desire to get the garden to himself, and, either by threats or persuasion, get all the rest of the fellows to resign their keys; but upon his application to gurnay, he absolutely refused to part with his right. "i have got the other fellows' keys," quoth the master. "then pray, master, keep them, and you and i will shut them all out." "sir, i expect to be obliged; am i not your master?" "yes, sir (said gurnay;) and am i not your fellow?" at another time he was complained of to the bishop, for refusing to wear the surplice, and was cited to appear before him, and told, that he expected he should always wear it; whereupon, he came home, and rode a journey with it on. this reminds one of a story of a noble oxonian, then mr. afterwards lord lyttleton, to whom the epithet of "_reprobus_," they say, might have been applied with more justice than it was to the famous saxon bishop, st. wulstan, by the monks of his day. humour was his lordship's natural element, and whilst resident at christ church, oxford, he dressed himself in a bright scarlet hunting coat, top-boots and spurs, buckskin breeches, &c., and putting his gown over all, presented himself to the head of his college, who was a strict disciplinarian. "good god! mr. lyttleton," exclaimed the dean, "this is not a dress fit to be seen in a college." "i beg your pardon," said the wag, "i thought myself in perfect costume! will you be pleased to tell me how i should dress, mr. dean?" the dean was at this time vice-chancellor, and happened to be in his robes of office. "you should dress like me, sir," said the doctor, referring to his black coat, tights, knee-buckles, and silk stockings. mr. lyttleton thanked him and left, but to the doctor's astonishment, he the next day presented himself at the deanery, drest in vice-chancellor's robes, &c., an exact fac-simile of the dean himself, and when rebuked coolly observed, that he had followed the dean's directions to the letter. it is related of the same oxford wag, that having a party to supper with him, and being anxious to play the dean some harmless trick, as his delight was to annoy him, he seized a potato off the dish, stuck it on a fork, and bolted off with it to the deanery, followed by some of his boon companions. this was at one, two, or three in the morning, when all the rest of the college, and of course the dean, were locked in the embrace of somnus. mr. lyttleton, however, resolving to have his joke, began thundering away at the dean's knocker, till roused at last, he put his head out at the window, and in a rage demanded the wants of the applicant. "do you think, mr. dean," said mr. l., holding up to his view the _forked_ potato with the coolest effrontery imaginable; "do you think, mr. dean, that this is a potato fit to put upon a gentleman's table?" dr. westphalinge, canon of christ church, afterwards bishop of hereford, and one of the commissioners sent to oxford to abolish _popish practices_, by elizabeth, says bishop godwyn, was a person of such consummate gravity, "that during a familiar acquaintance with him for many years, he never once saw him laugh,"--"_nunquam in risum viderim solutum_." as an antidote to such eternal gravity, i can scarcely do better than append the following aristophanic morsel, attributed to porson, and cry "hold, enough!" chorus of printers' imps--"enough!" inventory of goods for sale. [greek: blankêtoi, kyltoi, duo bolsteres, êde pilôbêr kai en matresson, kai leukon kaliko kirten, kai mia karpettê, kai cheston maiganoion eis kaunterpannos, kai graton kasto sidêzon Êde duô bouroi, duo tabloi, kai duo dittô. touelloi dôsen, dôsen phaukoi te, niphoi te sautpan kai steupan, spitton kai smôkon iakon gridiron, pheirpan, tongoi, phendêr te, pokêr te, koppêz kai boilêr kai killêr êde syeltob. kai en baskêton kata bakchous, kai duo pottyx, kai en drippinpan, kuleres duo, kai salamandêr kai duo p**pottoi, spittinpan, peip te to bakchô.] the end. * * * * * chesnut street, june, new works lately published, and preparing for publication, by e. l. carey & a. hart, philad. in three volumes, mo. jacob faithful; or, life on the water. complete. by the author of "peter simple," "king's own," &c. "it is replete with amusement and oddity. poor jacob was born on the water. 'it was,' says he, 'in a floating sort of a box, called a lighter, and upon the river thames, that i first smelt the mud.'"--_baltimore gazette._ "equal in merit to peter simple, and perhaps even more entertaining, are the adventures of jacob faithful, another of the whimsical creations of captain marryatt's prolific brain."--_saturday courier._ "it is full of character and incident, and will, we doubt not, be a universal favourite."--_lit. gaz._ in three volumes, mo. peter simple; or, adventures of a midshipman. complete. by the author of the "king's own," "naval officer," &c. "the quiet humour which pervades the work is irresistibly amusing, and the fund of anecdote and description which it contains, entertaining. the humour sometimes approaches to downright burlesque, and the incident to extravagance, if not improbability; but, altogether, as a book of amusement, it is excellent."--_baltimore gazette._ "those who are the most competent to judge, say that captain marryatt is altogether superior to any other writer of naval sketches or descriptions, living or dead."--_n. y. commercial advertiser._ "this is the best work that captain marryatt has produced."--_atlas._ "'peter simple' is certainly the most amusing of captain marryatt's amusing novels; a species of picture quite unique; a class by themselves, full of humour, truth, and graphic sketches."--_literary gazette._ "this is an admirable work, and worthy of the noble service it is written to illustrate."--_spectator._ celebrated trials, and cases of criminal jurisprudence of all ages and countries. in one large volume, vo., containing closely printed pages. contents. john thurtell and joseph hunt, for the murder of william ware, at hertford, january, . henry fauntleroy, esq., for forgery, at the old bailey, october , . anna schonleben (germany), for poisoning, . john docke rouvelett, for forgery, . john holloway and owen haggerty, for the murder of john cole steele, on hounslow-heath, february , . the unknown murderer, or the police at fault (germany), . thomas simmons, for murder, oct. , . major alexander campbell, for the murder of captain alexander boyd, at armagh, in a duel, . james stuart, for the murder of sir alexander boswell, in a duel, . martha alden, for murder, . francis s. riembauer, for assassination, . eliza fenning, for an attempt to poison mr. olibar turner and family, april , . william jones, for murder. abraham thornton, for the murder of mary ashford, . castaing, the physician, for murder, at paris, november, . john donellan, esq., for the murder of sir theodosius edward allesly boughton; before the hon. sir francis buller, . sir walter raleigh, for high-treason, in the reign of james i., a.d. . james o'coigley, arthur o'connor, john binns, john allen, and jeremiah leary, for high-treason; at maidstone, . miss ann broadric, for the murder of mr. errington, . william corder, for the murder of maria marten, . william codlin, for scuttling a ship, . joseph wall, for the murder of benjamin armstrong, at goree, . vice-admiral byng, for neglect of duty; at a court-martial, held on board his majesty's ship the st. george, in portsmouth harbour, . richard savage, the poet, james gregory, and william merchant, for the murder of james sinclair, . admiral keppel, for neglect of duty, july, , at a court-martial. sir hugh palliser, vice-admiral of the blue, for neglect of duty, . sarah metyard and sarah m. metyard, for murder, . john bishop, thomas williams, and james may, for the murder of charles ferriar, . sawney cunningham, executed at leith, , for murder. sarah malcolm, for the murder of ann price, . joseph baretti, for the murder of evan morgan, . mungo campbell, for murder, . lucretia chapman, for the murder of william chapman, late of bucks county, pennsylvania, . lino amalto espos y mina, for the murder of william chapman, at the same court, . john hatfield, for forgery, . trial by combat, between henry plantagenet, duke of hereford and lancaster, and afterwards king of england by the title of henry iv., and thomas mowbray, duke of norfolk, earl-marshal of england, . captain john gow and others, for piracy, . william burke and helen mcdougal for murder, . charles macklin (the author), for the murder of thomas hallam, may . mary young, _alias_ jenny diver, for privately stealing, . george henderson and margaret nisbet, for forging a bill on the dutchess of gordon, . john chide, of dalry, for the murder of the right hon. sir george lockhart, of carnwith, lord-president of the court of sessions, and member of his majesty's privy council, . william henry, duke of cumberland, for adultery with lady grosvenor, . robert and daniel perrean, for forgery, . margaret caroline rudd, for forgery, . henry white, jr., for a libel on the duke of cumberland, . philip nicholson, for the murder of mr. and mrs. bonar, at maidstone, . mr. william cobbett, for libel, in the court of king's bench, . john bellingham, esq., for the murder of the right hon. spencer perceval, chancellor of the exchequer, in the lobby of the house of commons, may , . mary stone, for child murder, preferred by her sister, at surry assizes, . arthur thistlewood, james ings, and others, for high-treason, at the old bailey, . thomas, earl of stafford, for high-treason, . _trial of the rebels in_ : lords kilmarnock, cromartie, balmerino, and lovat.--charles ratcliffe, esq.--townley and dawson.--fletcher and syddall.--dr. cameron. rob roy macgregor, and other macgregors, to . alexia petrowitz czarowitz, presumptive heir to the crown of russia, condemned to death by his father, . joseph hunton, a quaker, for forgery, .--his execution. captain witham kidd, for murder and piracy, . remarkable case of witchcraft, before matthew hale, . the salem witches. _sufferers for pretended witchcraft in scotland._ alison pearson.--janet grant and janet clark, .--john cunningham, .--agnes sampson, .--john fien, .--euphan m'calzene, .--patrick lawrie, .--margaret wallace, .--isobel young, .--alexander hamilton, .--john neil, .--janet brown and others, . the samuelston witches--isobel elliot, and nine other women, . impostor of barragan, . trial by combat, between sir john annesley, knight, and thomas katrington, esq., . james george lisle, _alias_ major semple, for stealing, . queen emma, trial by fire-ordeal. john horne tooke, for high-treason, . joseph thompson hare, for mail-robbery in virginia, . richard carlile, for a libel, . _circumstantial evidence_. jonathan bradford.--james crow.--john jennings.--thomas harris.--william shaw. in two volumes, mo. travels to bokhara, and voyage up the indus. by lieut. burnes. "mr. burnes is the first european of modern times who has navigated the indus. many years have passed since the english library has been enriched with a book of travels, in value at all comparable with this. mr. burnes is evidently a man of strong and masculine talents, high spirit, and elegant taste, well qualified to tread in the steps of our malcolms and elphinstones."--_london quarterly review._ "though comparisons may be and often are odious, we do not think we shall excite one resentful feeling, even among the travellers whose productions we have reviewed during a course approaching twenty years, when we say that so interesting a publication of that class as the present, has not fallen under our notice."--_london literary gazette._ in two volumes, mo. the sketch-book of character; or, curious and authentic narratives and anecdotes respecting extraordinary individuals: exemplifying the imperfections of circumstantial evidence; illustrative of the tendency of credulity and fanaticism; and recording singular instances of voluntary human suffering and interesting occurrences. (_nearly ready._) contents. extraordinary individuals. arnaud du tilh, the demetriuses of russia, madam tiquet, francoeur, the lunatic, reneé corbeau, madame rovere, the diary of luc antonio viterbi, who starved himself to death, the italian sleep-walker, william lithgow, the traveller richard peeke, james crichton, mother damnable, valentine greatraks, james naylor, henry jenkins, john kelsey, lodowick muggleton, mrs. aphra behn, aspasia, madame du barré, phebe brown, the mysterious stranger, george bruce, mull'd sack, a notorious robber, sir jervas yelvis, archibald armstrong, the jester, the two brothers, anne george bellamy, susanna maria cibber, joseph clark, titus oates, _alias_ bob ferguson, thomas venner, colly molly puff, eugene aram, matthew hopkins, the witch-finder, jeffery hudson, blasil de manfre, henry welby, catharine, countess dowager of schwartzburgh, richard savage, lewis de boissi, reverend father arthur o'leary, john oliver, john overs, john bigg, mrs. corbett, charlotte maria anne victoire cordey, daniel dancer, esq. rev. george harvest, s. bisset, the animal teacher, roger crab, rigep dandulo, augustine barbara vanbeck, the chevalier d'eon, widow of ephesus, mary frith, anne day, countess of desmond, colonel thomas blood, jane lane, mary carleton, jack adams, samuel boyce, peter the wild boy, charles price, _alias_ the social monster, george alexander stevens, peter isaac thelluson, george villiers, hon. mrs. godfrey, lady godiva, john philip barretier, oliver cromwell's porter, robert hill, the learned tailor of buckingham, hendia, charlotte hutton, mrs. day, the abbe sieyes, countess of strathmore elizabeth perkins, margaret lamburne, ninon de l'enclos, madame des houlieres, mrs. levy, louisa, mrs. lloyd, lucretia, madame de maintenon, catherine de medicis, la maupin. circumstantial evidence. john calas, elizabeth canning, le brun, richard coleman, jonathan bradford, james crow, john orme, john jennings, girl at liege, thomas harris, john miles, a man tried and convicted for the murder of his own father, william shaw, sirven, monsieur d'anglade and his family, joan perry and her two sons, la pivardiere, duke dorgan, a story of irish life, william richardson. credulity and fanaticism. a female monster, (effects of ignorance and superstition,) yetser, the fanatic, the holy relics, jerome savonarola, sabbatei-sevi, anthony, simon morin, robert francis damiens, assassination of the king of portugal, francois michel, st. pol de leon, mr. stukeley, (eccentric self-delusion), peter rombert, the fanatic of carolina. voluntary human suffering. simeon stylites, panporee, indian widows, funeral rites, conscientious murder, conscientious hindoo, female infanticide, processions of penitents in spain and portugal, penance by proxy, the indian penance of five fires, matthew loval. interesting occurrences. the miners of bois-monzil, jaques du moulin, (the uncertainty of human testimony,) remarkable discovery of a murder, charles the twelfth, whimsical marriage, algerine conspiracy, extraordinary adventure, otway's orphan, prison escapes, charbonniers, porral and others, grivet, reign of terror, remarkable trial for murder, singular adventure, heidegger, jemmy taylor. in one volume, mo. magpie castle. by theodore hook. and other tales. in two volumes, mo. legends and stories of ireland. by samuel lover. "here is a genuine irish story-book, of the most amusing character. mr. lover shows us how to tell a tale in the real irish manner. we see the people; we hear them; they are dramatized as they exist in nature; and all their peculiarities are touched with a master's hand."--_lit. gaz._ in three volumes, mo. the port admiral. by the author of "cavendish." "a work full of interest and variety. the scenes are traced with a powerful hand."--_sunday times._ "these volumes will make a stir in what an old writer calls the 'wooden world.' they touch too severely upon blemishes in the discipline, manners, opinions, and principles of our maritime government, not to be eagerly examined and perhaps sharply discussed by naval men."--_athenæum._ in one volume, vo. captain ross's last voyage. narrative of a second voyage in search of a north-west passage, and of a residence in the arctic regions, during the years , , , , and . by sir john ross, c. b., k. s. a., &c. including the reports of commander j. c. ross, and the discovery of the northern magnetic pole. _with a large map._ in two volumes, mo. the king's own; a tale of the sea. by the author of "the naval officer," "peter simple" etc. "an excellent novel."--_edinburg review._ "captain marryat may take his place at the head of the naval novelists of the day."--_united service journal._ "the adventures of the hero, through bold and stirring scenes, lose not a jot of their interest to the last, while the naval descriptions of sights and deeds on shipboard may be compared with any similar production of which we have any knowledge."--_atlas._ "a very remarkable book, full of vigour, and characterized by incidents of perfect originality, both as to conception and treatment. few persons will take up the book without going fairly through it to the catastrophe, which startles the reader by its unexpected nature."--_literary gazette._ "replete with genius. the work will go far permanently to fix the name of captain marryat among the most popular and successful writers of fiction of the age."--_felix farley's bristol journal._ "a work, perhaps, not to be equalled in the whole round of romance, for the tremendous power of its descriptions, for the awfulness of its subjects, and for the brilliancy and variety of the colours with which they are painted."--_spectator._ in one volume, mo. an account of colonel crockett's tour to the north and down east, in the year of our lord one thousand eight hundred and thirty-four. his object being to examine the grand manufacturing establishments of the country; and also, to find out the condition of its literature and morals, the extent of its commerce, and the practical operation of "_the experiment_." with a portrait of the author. in one volume, mo. colonel crockett's life of van buren. the life of martin van buren, heir-apparent to the "government," and the appointed successor of general andrew jackson. containing every authentic particular by which his extraordinary character has been formed. with a concise history of the events that have occasioned his unparalleled elevation; together with a review of his policy as a statesman. by david crockett. in two volumes mo. the naval sketch-book. by captain glascock. "in 'the naval sketch-book' there are dozens of 'delicious bits,' which, we are sure, will delight our readers."--_john bull._ "the book abounds with animated sketches of naval opinions and character, described to that style which only a thorough-bred seaman can handle."--_times._ "we do not think that there ever was a more _sailorly_ publication than this."--_literary gazette._ "unquestionably captain glascock is inferior to none as a humorous and talented naval writer. his descriptions are true to nature, and his dialogues full of life and entertainment; in short, his _sketches_ have all the characteristics of a true british seaman."--_naval and military gazette._ in two volumes, mo. the black watch. by t. picken. by the author of the "dominie's legacy." "one of the most powerful and pathetic fictions which have recently appeared."--_times._ in two volumes, mo. tales of a physician. by w. h. harrison. containing--the victim, the curate, the gossip, the fate of a genius, disappointments, the neglected wife, the jew, the stranger guest, the smuggler, cousin tomkins the tailor, the life of an author, remorse, the sexton's daughter, the old maid, the preacher, the soldier's bride, the mortgagee. "we cannot withhold from these tales the praise which is due to elegant composition, when intended to promote the cause of morality and religion. in point of elegance, simplicity, and interest, few are so attractive."--_record._ "graceful in language, displaying cultivated taste."--_literary gazette._ "we welcome it with pleasure--they are told in a pleasant style, and with great feeling."--_athenæum._ "evidently the production of an experienced essayist: there is not only considerable power of invention manifested in them, but the diction is always pure, and at times lofty. we should say, he will occupy a very high station among the writers of the day."--_british traveller._ "we cannot withhold from the author of the work before us the warm praise due to its pious design, and decidedly instructive character. the 'tales of a physician' are written with very considerable talent. the idea is a happy one."--_eclectic review._ "a vein of amiable and highly moral feeling runs through the whole volume."--_monthly review._ "the book is well written--an amusing addition to the works of the season."--_new monthly magazine._ "there is a high moral tone throughout."--_spirit and manners of the age._ (_nearly ready_.) the highland smugglers. by j. b. frazer. author of the "kuzzilbash." in one volume, mo. letters and essays, in prose and verse. by richard sharp. "messrs. carey & hart have reprinted the letters and essays of richard sharp, in a beautiful little volume. these excellent productions fully deserve the distinction of neatest dress. they are _sterling literature_."--_national gazette._ "what a pleasant volume! it is the delightful and instructive writing of a cultivated mind upon ordinary occasions and subjects; and the sound sense and elegant literature with which they are treated afford a great treat for judgment and taste to appropriate."--_literary gazette._ in two volumes, mo. the pacha of many tales. by the author of "peter simple," &c. adventures of japhet in search of his father. by the author of "jacob faithful," "king's own," &c. (_in press._) in three volumes, mo. tom cringle's log. complete. a new edition, revised and corrected. "the scenes are chiefly nautical, and we can safely say that no author of the present day, not even excepting our own cooper, has surpassed him in his element."--_u. s. gazette._ "the sketches are not only replete with entertainment, but useful, as affording an accurate and vivid description of scenery, and of life and manners in the west indies."--_boston traveller._ "we think none who have read this work will deny that the author is the best nautical writer who has yet appeared. he is not smollett, he is not cooper; but he is far superior to them both."--_boston transcript._ "the scenes are chiefly nautical, and are described in a style of beauty and interest never surpassed by any writer."--_baltimore gazette._ "the author has been justly compared with cooper, and many of his sketches are in fact equal to any from the pen of our celebrated countryman."--_saturday evening post._ "a pleasant but a marvellously strange and wild amalgamation of water and earth is 'tom cringle;' full of quips and cranks, and toils and pranks. a fellow of fun and talent is he, with a prodigious taste for yarns, long and short, old and new; never, or but seldom, carrying more sail than ballast, and being a most delightful companion, both by land and sea. we were fascinated with the talents of tom when we met him in our respected contemporary from the biting north. his log was to us like a wild breeze of ocean, fresh and health-giving, with now and then a dash of the tearful, that summoned the sigh from our heart of hearts; but now that the yarns are collected and fairly launched, we hail them as a source of much gratification at this dull season. _tom cringle and a christmas fire! may well join in the chorus of 'begones dull care!_'--the 'quenching of the torch' as one of the most pathetic descriptions we over read. the 'scenes at jamaica' are full of vigour. as a whole, we have no hesitation in pronouncing 'the log' the most entertaining book of the season. there has been a sort of waverley mystery thrown over the authorship of these charming papers; and though many have guessed the author, yet we take unto ourselves the credit of much sagacity in imagining that we only have solved the enigma:--there are passages in 'tom cringle' that we believe no living author except professor wilson himself could write; _snatches of pure, exalted, and poetic feeling, so truly wilsonian, that we penciled them as we read on, and said, there he is again, and again, and again; to the very last chapter_."--_new monthly magazine._ the cruise of the midge. by the author of "tom cringle's log." in two volumes, mo. the man-of-war's-man. by the author of "tom cringle's log." "no stories of adventures are more exciting than those of seamen. the warrior of tom cringle's log is the most popular writer of that class, and those sketches collected not long since into a volume by the same publishers, in this city, were universally read. a large edition was soon exhausted. the present is, we believe, an earlier production, and has many of the same merits."--_baltimore gazette._ in two volumes, mo. the port admiral; a tale of the sea. by the author of "cavendish." in two volumes, mo. lives of the english pirates, highway-men, and robbers. by charles whitehead. "these are truly entertaining volumes, fraught with anecdote, and abounding in extraordinary adventures."--_naval and military gazette._ in two volumes, mo. cavendish; or, the patrician at sea. _the following notice is from the pen of mr. bulwer._ "the peculiar characteristics of captain marryatt are shared by some of his nautical brethren; and the author of 'cavendish' has evinced much ability and very vigorous promise in the works that have issued from his pen." "we should find it very difficult to be very angry with the 'patrician,' even if he had fifty times his real number of faults, on account of the jovial, easy, reckless, off-hand style of character that seems to belong to him. our sea portraits multiply so fast, and advance so rapidly in excellence, that we become fastidious, and insist upon a likeness where formerly we were contented with a caricature. 'cavendish' partakes of both.... into these thousand or rather ten thousand scrapes, we cannot follow him, but the reader may, much to his advantage. the navarine narrative, in particular, will be read with an interest proportioned to the truth and spirit with which it is told."--_new monthly magazine._ new and cheap edition, in two volumes, mo., of the memoirs of vidocq, the celebrated agent of the french police. "but it is not our province or intention to enter into a discussion of the veracity of vidocq's memoirs: be they true or false; were they purely fiction from the first chapter to the last, they would, from fertility of invention, knowledge of human nature, and ease of style, rank only second to the novels of le sage. the first volume is perhaps more replete with interest, because the hero is the leading actor in every scene; but in the subsequent portions, when he gives the narrative of others, we cannot but admire the power and graphic talent of the author. sergeant bellerose is scarcely inferior to the sergeant kite of farquhar and the episodes of court and raoul, and that of adele d'escara, are surpassed in description, depth of feeling, and pathos, by no work of romance with which we are acquainted." _from the boston traveller._ "memoirs of vidocq.--he who reads this book, being previously unacquainted with the mystery of iniquity, will find himself introduced at once into a new world: but it is a world which must be known only to be avoided. never before was such a mass of depravity opened to the mind of inquiry in a single volume. it was well said by byron, "truth is strange, stranger than fiction." whoever passes through the details of this singular exposition, supposing it to contain correct delineations of fact, will be satisfied of the justness of this remark. "the details of the varied scenes through which he has passed in private and public life, surpass all the creations of fancy, and all the delineations of fact, from the wonderful relations of the arabian nights to the renowned exploits of mr. lemuel gulliver; and from the extraordinary sufferings and escapes of the celebrated baron trenck to the still more marvellous exploits of the famous mr. thomas thumb. "it would seem, on following this singular writer through his adventures, as if all the crimes of which human nature is capable, all the horrors of which the universe has heard, all the astonishing incidents which history can dovelop or imagination portray, all the cold-blooded malice of the assassin, and all the varied machinations of the most ingenious and systematic practitioners in the school of vice, in all its varied departments, had been crowded into the life of a single individual, or come beneath his cognizance. the lover of mystery, who delights to "sup upon horrors," the admirer of romance, who is pleased with the heightened pictures of the most fanciful imagination, and the inquirer into the policy of crime and its prevention, may here have their utmost curiosity satiated. "vidocq, during the early portion of his life, was personally initiated into all the mysteries of crime, and becoming afterward a pardoned man, and an active and successful agent of the french police in the city of paris, "girt with its silent crimes," as well as its tumultuous depravities, becomes a fit person to delineate its scenes of vice, depravity, and guilt. his work is a study for the novelist, the annalist, the philosopher, and the christian. but it is a work which should be read with a guarded mind; with it disposition to profit by its lessons, and to avoid scenes which have little enjoyment, and which invariably end in misery." in two volumes mo. the hamiltons. by the author of "mothers and daughters." "this is a fashionable novel, and of the highest grade."--_athenæum._ "mrs. gore is undeniably one of the wittiest writers of the present day. 'the hamiltons' is a most lively, clever, and entertaining work."--_lit. gaz._ "the design of the book is new, and the execution excellent."--_exam._ in two volumes, mo. tough yarns; a series of naval tales and sketches, to please all hands, from the swabs on the shoulder down to the swabs in the head. by the old sailor. "here, most placable reader, is a title for thee, pregnant with fun, and deeply prophetic of humour, drollery, and all those joyous emotions that so opportunely come to oil the springs of the overworn heart, and prevent the cankering and rust from wearing them away and utterly destroying their healthful elasticity."--_metropolitan._ "the old sailor paints sea scenes with vigour and gusto; now-and-then reminding us of 'tom cringle,' and with a strong sense of the comical that approaches smollet."--_spectator._ "here we have the 'old sailor' once more, and in all his glory too! the public will join with us in hailing the reappearance of the 'old' boy. he stands at the head of the naval humorists of the nineteenth century. we have rarely seen an affair so richly humorous: it is one of the most amusing and best written volumes of naval fiction we have ever seen."--_observer._ in three volumes, mo. the coquette. by the author of "miserrimus." "the 'coquette' is a most amusing library book. several of the characters are exceedingly well drawn: indeed, they are obviously sketches from life, and there is a sparkling vivacity throughout the whole work."--_new monthly magazine._ in two volumes, mo. the miseries of marriage; or, the fair of may fair. by the author of "pin money," &c. "mrs. gore certainly stands at the head of the female novelists of the day. but we subjoin the opinion of mr. bulwer."--_u. s. gazette._ "she is the consummator of that undefinable species of wit, which we should call (if we did not know the word might be deemed offensive, in which sense we do not mean it) the _slang_ of good society. "but few people ever painted, with so felicitous a hand, the scenery of worldly life, without any apparent satire. she brings before you the hollowness, the manoeuvres, and the intrigues of the world, with the brilliancy of sarcasm, but with the quiet of simple narrative. her men and women, in her graver tales, are of a noble and costly clay; their objects are great; their minds are large, their passions intense and pure. she walks upon the stage of the world of fashion, and her characters, have grown dwarfed as if by enchantment. the air of frivolity has blighted their stature; their colours are pale and languid; they have no generous ambition; they are little people! they are fine people! this it is that makes her novel of our social life so natural, and so clear a transcript of the original."--_the author of pelham._ in one volume, mo. some passages in the life of sir pumpkin frizzle, k. c. b. and other tales. "decidedly one of the most amusing productions of the year. in addition to the adventures of _sir pumpkin_, there are several capital stories, which cannot fail to be popular." in one volume, vo. memoirs of the beauties of the court of charles the second. by mrs. jameson. author of "diary of an ennuyee," "characteristics of women," &c. "new work.--messrs. carey & hart, philadelphia, have in press a popular book, 'the beauties of the court of king charles the second,' written by mrs. jameson, whose father had been employed by the princess charlotte to paint cabinet pictures of those too celebrated ladies. the princess died before they were completed, and the consequence was, they were never paid for. the circumstances of the family required some use should be made of the paintings to produce a remuneration; and mrs. jameson undertook the delicate task of the letter press, the portraits being engraved in the highest style of art. the london copy costs about twenty-five dollars: the american edition will be an octavo without the portraits. nell gwynn, the duchess of hamilton, &c. are not unknown characters in history. mrs. jameson has executed her department in a remarkably graceful manner."--_journal of belles lettres._ memoirs of great military commanders by g. r. p. james, author of "darnley," "henry masterton," &c. including henry v. of england; john, duke of bedford; gonzales de cordova; ferdinand, duke of alva; oliver cromwell; marshal turenne; the great condé; general monk; duke of albemarle; duke of marlborough; the earl of peterborough; marquess of granby; general wolfe, &c. &c. "that mr. james should have been eminently successful in portraying the lives of illustrious military commanders is not surprising; for it is well known that martial achievements have long been his favourite study."--_morning post._ "a more interesting series of memoirs could not be presented to the curiosity of readers, inasmuch as in the lives of such men romantic adventures of the most exciting kind co-exist with the strictest truth."--_courier._ in two volumes, mo. allen breck. by gleig, author of the "subaltern." "the most striking production of mr. gleig."--_u. s. journal._ "one of the most powerful and highly wrought tales we ever read."--_edinburg review._ in two volumes, mo. nights-at-mess. in two volumes, mo. life of a soldier by a field-officer. "a narrative of twenty-seven years' service in various parts of the world, possessing all the interest of the wildest fiction."--_sun._ in preparation, the gift; a christmas and new year's present, for . edited by miss leslie, author of "pencil sketches," &c. among the contributors will be found washington irving, mrs. butler, j. k. paulding, g. w. simms, miss sedgwick, miss leslie, &c. &c. list of the plates. a portrait of miss kemble, engraved by _cheney_. smuggler's repose, " _tucker_. the orphans, " _welch_. soliciting a note, " _ellis_. john anderson, my jo! " _lawson_. prawn fishers, " _graham_. death of the stag, " _tucker_. mirkwood mere, " _graham_. a portrait, " _illman_. in two volumes, mo. traits and stories of the irish peasantry first series. "admirable--truly, intensely irish: never were the outrageous whimsicalities of that strange, wild, imaginative people so characteristically described; nor amidst all the fun, frolic, and folly, is there any dearth of poetry, pathos, and passion. the author's a jewel."--_glasgow journal._ "to those who have a relish for a few titbits of rale irish story-telling,--whether partaking of the tender or the facetious, or the grotesque,--let them purchase these characteristic sketches."--_sheffield iris._ "the sister country has never furnished such sterling genius, such irresistibly humorous, yet faithful sketches of character among the lower ranks of patlanders, as are to be met with in the pages of these delightful volumes."--_bristol journal._ "this is a capital book, full of fun and humour, and most characteristically irish."--_new monthly magazine._ "neither miss edgeworth, nor the author of the o'hara tales, could have written any thing more powerful than this."--_edinburgh literary gazette._ in two volumes, mo. traits and stories of the irish peasantry. third series. "this work has been most extravagantly praised by the english critics: and several extracts from it have been extensively published in our newspapers. it is altogether a better work than any of the kind which has yet appeared--replete with humour, both broad and delicate--and with occasional touches of pathos, which have not been excelled by any writer of the present day. an edinburgh critic says that 'neither miss edgeworth, nor the author of the o'hara tales, could have written any thing more powerful than this.'"--_baltimore american._ in two volumes, mo. pin money; by mrs. charles gore, authoress of "hungarian tales," "polish tales," etc. "her writings have that originality which wit gives to reality, and wit is the great characteristic of her pages."--_bulwer's new monthly magazine._ "light spirited and clever, the characters are drawn with truth and vigour. keen in observation, lively in detail, and with a peculiar and piquant style, mrs. charles gore gives to the novel that charm which makes the fascination of the best french memoir writers."--_london literary gazette._ in two volumes, mo. makanna; or, the land of the savage. "one of the most interesting and graphic romances it has been our lot to read for many a year."--_athenæum._ "there was yet an untrodden land for the writer of fiction, and the author of 'makanna' is its discoverer."--_atlas._ "the narrative includes some daring adventures which would make timid blood shudder at their magnitude.... this work abounds in interest and is written in a style of great vigour and elegance."--_weekly times._ "the work does not want to be invested with any fictitious interest; end the talent which is visible in its pages is its best recommendation to public favour."--_morning post._ "the attempt was a bold and hazardous one, but it has been fully successful. we have rarely read a production of deeper interest--of interest sustained from the first page to the last. it has been conceived in a fine spirit; the several characters are ably painted.... he is as much at home on the ocean, and there are many scenes on ship-board equal to the best of the great sea-lord, the author of 'the spy.'"--_new monthly magazine._ in one volume, mo. colman's broad grins. a new edition, with additions. "'this is a little volume of the comic,' which we recollect to have laughed over many a time, in our boyish days, and since. it is old standard fun--a comic classic."--_baltimore gazette._ in one volume, mo. the life of david crockett, of west tennessee. written by himself. in one volume, mo. a subaltern in america; comprising his narrative of the campaigns of the british army at baltimore, washington, etc. during the late war. in one volume, vo. select speeches of john sergeant, of pennsylvania. in one volume, mo. the gentleman in black. "it is very clever and very entertaining--replete with pleasantry and humour: quite as imaginative as any german diablerie, and far more amusing than most productions of its class. it is a very whimsical and well devised jeu d'esprit."--_literary gazette._ in two volumes, mo. five nights of st. albans. "some man of talent has taken up the old story of the wandering jew, to try what he could make of a new version of it. he has succeeded in composing as pretty a piece of _diablerie_ as ever made candles burn blue at midnight. the horrors of _der freischutz_ are mere child's play compared with the terrors of the old man or the demon amaimon; and yet all the thinking and talking portion of the book is as shrewd and sharp as the gladiatorial dialogues of shakspeare's comedies."--_spectator._ "a romance, called the '_five nights of st. albans_,' has just appeared, which combines an extraordinary power of description with an enchaining interest. it is just such a romance as we should imagine martin, the painter, would write; and, to say the truth, the description of supernatural effects in the book, fall very little short in their operation upon different senses of the magical illusions of the talented artist."--_john bull._ in three volumes, mo. francesca carrara. by l. e. l. author of "the improvisatrice," "romance and reality," &c. "but in prose she lives with us: now sanctifying; now satirizing; now glittering with the french in their most brilliant court, playing with diamonds and revelling in wit; then reposing on one of the finest creations that human _genius ever called into existence--the holy friendship of guido and francesca_. the whole range of modern fiction offers nothing like the portraiture of these two cousins; it is at once beautiful and sublime, and yet perfectly natural and true."--_new monthly magazine._ "a sparkling and brilliant performance. the observations on life and society have all the acuteness of le sage."--_literary gazette._ "a book of remarkable power and genius; unquestionably superior to any other production of the present time, with the single exception of the writings of the author of 'the last days of pompeii.'"--_examiner._ "a novel it is of beauty, grace, eloquence, noble thoughts, and tender feelings, such as none but a lady--and a lady of exquisite genius, too--could write."--_fraser's magazine._ (_nearly ready._) in one volume, mo. the painter's and colourman's complete guide; being a practical treatise on the preparation of colour, and their application to the different kinds of painting; in which is particularly described the whole art of house painting. by p. f. tingry, professor of chymistry, natural history, and mineralogy, in the academy of geneva. first american, from the third london edition, corrected and considerably improved by a practical chymist. in one volume, mo. picture of philadelphia; or a brief account of the various institutions and public objects in this metropolis, forming a guide for strangers, accompanied by a new plan of the city. in a neat pocket volume. in two volumes, mo. sicilian facts. in one volume, vo. the american flower garden directory, containing practical directions for the culture of plants in the hot-house, garden-house, flower-garden, and rooms or parlours, for every month in the year; with a description of the plants most desirable in each, the nature of the soil and situation best adapted to their growth, the proper season for transplanting, &c.; instructions for erecting a hot-house, green-house, and laying out a flower-garden. also, table of soils most congenial to the plants contained in the work. the whole adapted to either large or small gardens, with lists of annuals, bienniels, and ornamental shrubs, contents, a general index, and a frontispiece of camellia fimbriata. by hibbert and buist, exotic nurserymen and florists. a whisper to a newly-married pair. "hail, wedded love! by gracious heaven design'd, at once the source and glory of mankind." "we solicit the attention of our readers to this publication, as one, though small, of infinite value."--_baltimore minerva._ "'the whisper' is fully deserving the compliments bestowed upon it, and we join heartily in recommending it to our friends, whether married or single--for much useful instruction may be gathered from its pages."--_lady's book._ "the work contains some original suggestions that are just, and many excellent quotations; some of her hints to the ladies should have been whispered in a tone too low to be overheard by the men."--_daily chronicle._ in one volume, mo. principles of the art of modern horsemanship for ladies and gentlemen, in which all the late improvements are applied to practice. translated from the french, by daniel j. desmond. the art of horsemanship.--this is the title of a neat little work translated from the french of mr. lebeaud, by daniel j. desmond, esq. of this city, and just published by carey & hart. it gives full and explicit directions for breaking and managing a horse, and goes into detail on the proper mode of mounting, the posture in the saddle, the treatment of the animal under exercise, &c. an appendix is added, containing instructions for the _ladies_, in mounting and dismounting. the philadelphia public are under obligations to mr. desmond for this translation. we have long needed a manual of horsemanship, to correct the inelegant habits in which many of our riders indulge, and to produce uniformity in the art of equitation. we see daily in our streets, mounted men, who totter in their seats as if suffering under an ague-fit; others who whip, spur, and rant, as if charging an enemy in battle; and again others, of slovenly habits, with cramped knees, and toes projecting outwards, who occupy a position utterly devoid of every thing like ease, grace, or beauty. these things are discreditable to our community, and earnestly do we hope, that this book will have many attentive readers.--_philadelphia gazette._ in one volume, mo two hundred receipts in domestic french cookery. by miss leslie, author of the "seventy-five receipts." price cents. "'the receipts by miss leslie,' published by carey and hart of philadelphia, has been much praised, and we think deservedly. the selection of subjects made by the accomplished writer is of a most tempting and tasteful description, and we must do her the justice to say, that she has treated them in such an eloquent and forcible manner, as to raise in the minds of all dispassionate readers the most tender and pleasurable associations. we commend her to the careful perusal and respect of all thrifty housewives."--_new york mirror._ select medico-chirurgical transactions. a collection of the most valuable memoirs read to the medico-chirurgical societies of london and edinburgh; the association of fellows and licentiates of the king and queen's college of physicians in ireland; the royal academy of medicine of paris; the royal societies of london and edinburgh; the royal academy of turin; the medical and anatomical societies of paris, &c. &c. &c. edited by isaac hays, m. d. in one volume, vo. a practical compendium of midwifery: being the course of lectures on midwifery, and on the diseases of women and infants, delivered at st. bartholomew's hospital. by the late robert gooch, m. d. "as it abounds, however, in valuable and original suggestions, it will be found a useful book of reference."--_drake's western journal._ in one volume, vo. an account of some of the most important diseases peculiar to women; by robert gooch, m. d. "in this volume dr. gooch has made a valuable contribution to practical medicine. it is the result of the observation and experience of a strong, sagacious, and disciplined mind."--_transylvania journal of medicine._ "this work, which is now for the first time presented to the profession in the united states, comes to them with high claims to their notice."--_drake's western journal._ in one volume, vo. tate on hysteria. a treatise on "hysteria." by george tate, m. d. "as public journalists, we take this occasion to return him our hearty thanks for the pains he has taken to shed a new light on an obscure and much-neglected topic."--_north amer. med. and surg. journ. no. xix._ _extract of a letter from_ edward h. courtenay, _professor of mathematics_ in _the university of pennsylvania_. "the design of the author--that of furnishing a valuable collection of rules and theorems for the use of such as are unable, from the want of time and previous preparation, to investigate mathematical principles--appears to have been very successfully attained in the present volume. the information which it affords in various branches of the pure and mixed mathematics embraces a great variety of subjects, is arranged conveniently, and is in general conveyed in accurate and concise terms. to the engineer, the architect, the mechanic--indeed to all for whom results are chiefly necessary--the work will doubtless form a very valuable acquisition." in one volume, mo. _bolmar's levizac._ a theoretical and practical grammar of the french language; in which the present usage is displayed agreeably to the decisions of the french academy. by m. de levizac. with numerous corrections and improvements, and with the addition of a complete treatise on the _genders of french nouns_; as also with the addition of all the french verbs, both regular and irregular, conjugated affirmatively, negatively, and interrogatively. by a. bolmar, author of "key to telemaque," "phrases," &c. &c. in one volume, vo. _teale on neuralgic diseases._ a treatise on neuralgic diseases, dependent upon irritation of the spinal marrow and ganglia of the sympathetic nerve. by thomas pridgin teale, _member of the royal college of surgeons in london, of the royal medical society of edinburg, senior surgeon to the leeds public dispensary._ "it is a source of genuine gratification to meet with a work of this character, when it is so often our lot to be obliged to labour hard to winnow a few grains of information from the great mass of dullness, ignorance, and mistatement with which we are beset, and cannot too highly recommend it to the attention of the profession."--_american journal of the medical sciences, no. x._ in one volume, mo. formulary for the preparation and employment of several new remedies. translated from the french of m. magendie. with an appendix containing the experience of the british practitioners, with many of the new remedies. by joseph houlton, m.d. in one volume, vo. a treatise on lesser surgery; or the minor surgical operations. by bourgery, d. m. p. author of "a complete treatise on human anatomy, comprising operative medicine." translated from the french, with notes and an appendix; by william c. roberts and jas. b. kissam. copy of a letter from william gibson, m. d. professor of surgery in the university of pennsylvania. _philadelphia, nov. th_, . it gives me pleasure to say that the elementary work on surgery, by m. bourgery, and now under translation by drs. roberts and kissam of new york, appears to me _well calculated for the use of students_. so far as i can judge from examination of a small portion of the english text, justice has been done by the translators to the author of the work. w. gibson, m. d. _professor of surgery in the university of pennsylvania_. copy of a letter from george m'clellen, m. d. professor of surgery in the jefferson medical college. _philadelphia, nov th, ._ dear sirs, i have examined bourgery's manual, or work on lesser surgery, and am of opinion that it is an _excellent compend_, which contains a great deal of matter that will be useful to students. the translation which you are about to make, will deserve a large edition, and i have no doubt will meet with a ready sale. yours truly, geo. m'clellan. drs. roberts and kissam. * * * * * transcriber's notes . passages in italics are surrounded by _underscores_. . obvious errors in punctuation have been silently corrected. . the original text includes greek characters. for this text version these letters have been replaced with transliterations. . certain words use oe ligature in the original. . other than the corrections listed above, printer's inconsistencies in spelling, punctuation, hyphenation, and ligature usage have been retained. the retrospect by ada cambridge author of "thirty years in australia," "path and goal," etc. london stanley paul & co. essex street, strand, w.c. colonial edition. to my friends, known and unknown who were young and have grown old with me i dedicate this book contents i. coming home ii. about town iii. in beautiful england iv. the home of childhood v. halcyon days vi. earliest recollections vii. old times and new viii. some early sundays ix. my grandfather's days x. outdoor life xi. at the seaside xii. excursions to sandringham xiii. a trip south xiv. "devon, glorious devon!" xv. in the garden of england chapter i coming home there was a gap of thirty-eight years, almost to a day, between my departure from england ( ), a five-weeks-old young bride, and my return thither ( ), an old woman. and for about seven-eighths of that long time in australia, while succeeding very well in making the best of things, i was never without a subconscious sense of exile, a chronic nostalgia, that could hardly bear the sight of a homeward-bound ship. this often-tantalised but ever-unappeased desire to be back in my native land wore the air of a secret sorrow gently shadowing an otherwise happy life, while in point of fact it was a considerable source of happiness in itself, as i now perceive. for where would be the interest and inspiration of life without something to want that you cannot get, but that it is open to you to try for? i tried hard to bridge the distance to my goal for over thirty years, working, planning, failing, starting again, building a thousand air-castles, more or less, and seeing them burst like soap-bubbles as soon as they began to materialise; then i gave up. the children had grown too old to be taken; moreover, they had attained to wills of their own and did not wish to go. one had fallen to the scythe of the indiscriminate reaper, and that immense loss dwindled all other losses to nothing at all. i cared no more where i lived, so long as the rest were with me. in england my father and mother, who had so longed for me, as i for them, were in their graves; no old home was left to go back to. i was myself a grandmother, in spite of kindly and even vehement assurances that i did not look it; more than that, i _could_ have been a great-grandmother without violating the laws of nature. at any rate, i felt that i was past the age for enterprises. it was too late now, i concluded, and so what was the use of fussing any more? in short, i sat down to content myself with the inevitable. i was doing it. i had been doing it for several years. the time had come when i could look out of window any tuesday morning, watch a homeward-bound mail-boat put her nose to sea, and turn from the spectacle without a pang. the business of building air-castles flourished, as of yore, but their bases now rested on australian soil. what was left of the future was all planned out, satisfactorily, even delightfully, and england was not in it. then was the time for the unexpected to happen, and it did. a totally undreamed-of family legacy, with legal business attached to it, called my husband home. even then it did not strike me that i was called too; for quite a considerable time it did not strike him either. but there befell a period of burning summer heat, the intensity and duration of which broke all past records of our state and established it as a historic event for future government meteorologists; the weaklings of the community succumbed to it outright or emerged from it physically prostrate, and i, who had encountered it in a "run-down" condition, was of the latter company. the question: "was i fit to be left?" obtruded itself into the settled policy: it logically resolved itself into the further question: "was i fit to go?" there was nothing whatever to prevent my going if i could "stand" it, and a long sea-voyage had been doctors' prescription for me for years. mysteriously and, as it were, automatically, i brisked up from the moment the second question was propounded, and before i knew it found myself enrolled as a member of the expedition. the two-berth cabin was engaged; travelling trunks, and clothes to put in them, bestrewed my bedroom floor. i was going home--at last! and was it too late? had i outlived my long, long hope? not a bit of it. i had outlived nothing, and it was exactly and ideally the right time. "you will be disappointed," said more than one of my travelled old friends, who had known the extravagance of my anticipations. "it will be sad for you, finding all so strange and changed." "you will feel dreadfully out of it, after so many years." "you will be very lonely"--thus was i compassionately warned not to let a too sanguine spirit run away with me. they were all wrong. i never had a disappointment: nothing was sad for me, of all the change; no one could have been less out of it, or less lonely. every english day of the whole six months was full of pleasure; i was not even bored for an hour. at no time of my life could i have made the trip with a lighter heart (being assured weekly that all was well behind me). children would have meant a burden, however precious a burden, and had i gone in my parents' lifetime it would have been with them and me as our ship's captain said it was with his wife during his brief sojourns with her; for half the time she was overwrought with the joy of his return, and for the other half miserable in anticipation of his departure, so that he never knew her in her normal state. that my father and mother had long been dead, and that the tragedies of home love and loss, with which i was so familiar, were not pressing close about me, probably accounted more than anything else for my being so well and happy. also, it is not until a woman is sixty, or thereabouts, that she is really free to enjoy herself. well! i never was so well since i was born. the long sea-voyage did all that was asked of it, and incidentally brought home to me the truth of the old adage that silver lines all clouds. "if only we were not so far away!" had been my inward wail for eight and thirty years. "if only we had emigrated to canada, or south africa, or almost any part of the british empire but this! then we might have flown home every few years as easily as we now go from melbourne to sydney, and at no more expense." i have the same regret, intensified, now that i am back in australia again. but there is no gain without its corresponding loss. not only might the joys of england after exile have become staled by this time, but a voyage of a week or two would not have prepared me to make the most of them. i am convinced that years of health and life are given to those who, at the right juncture, can afford six weeks of sea-travel at a stretch, and they may have been given to me and my companion; i quite believe so. each of us was a stone heavier at the end of our holiday than at the beginning, and in the interval we forgot that we were a day over twenty-five. consider for a moment the perfect adjustment of the conditions to the needs of the invalid with no disease but exhaustion. i pass over the special favours vouchsafed to me, in idyllic weather and tranquil seas, and the mothering of a devoted stewardess who is my friend for life; also in finding quiet and pleasant company in a saloon party of but eighteen. that sort of luck cannot be purchased even with a first-class steamer ticket, nor is it necessary to the efficacy of the treatment. take only the itinerary--that of the suez route at a suitable season--as it may be observed by anybody. first, the run across the indian ocean--in the case of the mail-steamers from adelaide to colombo, in our case from adelaide to aden. three whole weeks, without a break, without an incident, if all goes well. i had never imagined the sea could be so blank as it presented itself to us on this first section of our voyage. ships may have passed in the night, but i saw none by day; no land, no birds, no whales, no phosphorescent wakes, no anything, except sea and sky and lovely sunsets. it may have been monotonous, but it was monotony in the right place. it brought to me, at the outset, that complete rest from all effort and excitement which was the necessary preliminary to recovery and repair. i reposed on my comfortable lounge from morn till eve, playing with a trifle of needlework (too stupid with blissful torpor to read, while the strangeness of quite idle hands would have induced the fidgets, sea-drugged as i was). i ate, and slept, and basked, like a soulless animal; forgot there were such things as posts and newspapers, as dinner-planning and stocking-mending, as calls and committee-meetings; forgot that i was the mother of a family, and had abandoned it for the first time in history; forgot whether i was ill or well, or had nerves or not; and thus soaked and steeped and soddened in peace, insensibly renewed and established my strength, not patching it anyhow just to carry on with, as one does on land, with a casual week at a watering-place or in the mountains, but unhurriedly, uninterruptedly, solidly, rebuilding it from the bottom up. then, when strength becomes aware that it is ready for use--at the moment when one begins to feel that the monotony has lasted long enough--then back comes the delightful world, with a new face of beauty to match the new ardour of love for it that has been silently generating within us. all the light of enterprising and romantic youth was in the gaze i levelled through my binoculars (given to me for my voyage in ) at the first substantial token that i was in the gorgeous east, one of the fairylands of imagination (comprising, roughly, all the unknown earth) from the days of infancy when i learned to read. it was an arab dhow. i knew that pointed wing as well as i knew the shape of chimney-pots, but the wonder that i was seeing it with my bodily eyes, even as a speck upon the horizon, was overwhelming. i stared and stared, but could not speak. the rest was pure enchantment. as we drew near to the magnificent rock of aden--hateful place, i know, to its white inhabitants, and an old tale not worth mentioning to the average australian tourist--i said, in my ecstasy: "this pays for the voyage, if we see nothing more." the first white-awninged launch that bustled up to us, manned by two nondescripts, one huge nubian negro and one beautiful somali boy, bore through the brilliant air and water an official gentleman who probably would have sold his soul for a london fog; it was not he, but another official gentleman who swallowed nearly a bottle of ship's brandy while attending to ship's business, and was presented with another bottle on his departure by a sympathiser who understood his case. it was a hot morning in the middle of may, and i had been accustomed from my youth to atmospheric light and colour as glorious as the radiant setting of this strange outpost of empire in the east. evidently it is in the eye (backed by a strong imagination) of the gazer that poetic beauty lies. after this, the unspeakable experiences followed thick and fast. night in the straits, with venus so bright that she cast a reflection like moonlight across the water; the red sea in the morning--minarets on the horizon, and those rocks of desolation, with the loneliest human dwelling conceivable (the arcaded lighthouse) on the top of one of the most impressively desolate; that other lighthouse at the gulf entrance, with its flashing rays of red and white, its rock-base velvety purple against a solemn sunset sky; mount sinai amongst the hills of holy land; the majestic desert of so many dreams. time was when i sniffed at the colour of holman hunt's "scapegoat" landscape, but here it was, translated into living light, but no fainter in tint than the dead paint had made it. sapphires were not in it with that blue-green sea at suez, in which the jostling bumboats floated as in clearest glass. the rocky shores to left were mauve, the right-hand desert and holman-hunty hummocks salmon-pink, and no mortal painter was ever born, or ever will be, to "get" the bloomy glow and fairy delicacy of nature's textures and technique. the eastern sun blazed broadly over the scene, the temperature at noon was ninety-nine degrees in the shade; the composition was perfect. between tea-time and dinner we passed out of the city and close to its domestic doorsteps--the closest i had yet come to eastern life; and long after we were in the canal it was a picture to look back upon from which i could not tear my eyes. low on the gleaming water--the two towns linked by the dark thread of the railway embankment, brooded over by that majestic mauve and violet hill--it was a vision of beauty indeed as the light effects changed from moment to moment with the sinking of the gorgeous sun. i could afford no time to dress that night. in my hat, as i was, i snatched a mouthful of dinner, and was up again on deck, to make the most of the short twilight; and so i saw the shadowy last of suez and more than i expected to see of the canal. "just a little ditch in the sand," somebody had told me, as one might say, a primrose by the river's brim was nothing more. apart from its otherwise tremendous significance, that narrow watercourse was a highway of romance to me. egypt--arabia--the very names set one's heart thumping. it would be thrilling to be there even if one were blind. the silence of the desert is more eloquent than any sound. but from the most unsentimental point of view it was a ditch of varied aspects, that only the dullest traveller could call uninteresting. the canal company, it appeared, was widening it to double its original measure across, top and bottom--something like a ten years' job, with millions of money and priceless brain-matter in it--and we saw the engineers at work. that is to say, they were not at work at the moment, because the day's task was done; but there were their excavations and machinery, fine and effective, and i can never look at such, apprehending their meaning, without a lifting of the heart, a sense of the beauty that is in the world unrecognised by that name. what, i wondered, did my schoolgirl idol and apostle of beauty, ruskin, think of this ditch when it was a-making? did he say? if, to my knowledge, he had called it a desecration of nature, i should instantly have agreed with him. now, to my life-educated eyes and soul, the very holy land was sanctified by the faithful endeavour and achievement evidenced in haulage-trucks and pipe-lines and those twin steel rails that he hated so much, telling all their serious story to whoever could understand it. it was indeed a beautiful as well as an instructive picture, that left bank, as we moved beside it. the native labourers, after their work, squatted in their little camps and dug-outs, and in the sand, or stood statue-like to watch our passing, sharply silhouetted figures and groups against the translucent sky, each a "study" that, if in a gallery, one would go miles to see. strings of camels were being led to water or were wending homeward with their loads. little encampments straight out of the bible, desert palm-trees, desert distances, all in the golden afterglow, the clear-shining twilight, the evening peace that was too peaceful for words, were gems for the collector of poetic impressions, to be for ever cherished and preserved. and then how striking was the rare glimpse of a saxon face, the glance at us of grave eyes that one knew had the all-governing brain behind them. the british occupation in egypt--there it was, in the person of that lonely man in tent or boat-house, advance agent of the civilisation that spells prosperity in whatever part of the world it goes. one of these, out riding with a lady, rode down to the water's edge to watch us pass. in their white garb they were perfectly groomed, like their beautiful arab horses, which they sat in a style that was good to see; but they were pathetic figures, with that lonely waste around them. i divined a deadly homesickness in the eyes that followed our progress as long as we could be seen, the same ache of the heart that afflicted me, for so many years, whenever i saw a ship going to england without me. yet one could be quite sure that they never dreamed of slipping cables on their own account as long as duty to the empire held them where they were. not the man, at any rate. and so it grew too dark to see anything beyond the edge of our searchlight, which showed only post-heads in the water, and i went to bed. i was asleep when we passed ismailia, contrary to my intentions, but i got up at four o'clock, to lose no more. still unbroken desert to the right; to the left a well-made embankment with a roadway atop, and behind that a belt of bamboos and greenery, telegraph lines and a railway, broken at intervals by the oases of the _gares_. an american navy-boat made way for us at one of these, a pair of submarines conspicuous on her deck. at a little before five the sun of a lovely morning rose on our starboard side, and one saw the desert wet and dark, yielding its immemorial savagery to the civilising hand and brain. one of the fine up-to-date dredges, amongst the many dredges, was pumping the mud up on the land as it sucked it from the canal bottom. in the shining sun-flushed pools of its creation black forms of storks moved statelily, apparently finding nourishment already where there had been none before. on the left bank there was the embodied spirit of progress again, doubtless looking at his work and on the way to expedite it; white-clothed, white-helmeted, enthroned on a railway trolly, which a bare-legged native ran along the line as it were a perambulator on ball bearings, two more natives sitting upon it, ready to take turns with him at the job. lifting the eye slightly, one saw open water along the sky behind them, a flashing, glittering strip, studded with forty-two lateen sails that might have been carved of mother o' pearl; and almost immediately, straight ahead, a low mass of something as yet misty and formless in the dazzling rose and gold of the morning, reminiscent of suez in its sunset transfiguration--port said, less than an hour from us. it was sunday, and divine service in the reading-room had been arranged. soon after six, at about the time of passing the gare de naz-el-ech, passengers began to come up, a few with prayer-book in hand. but divine service was "off," by order of the captain--a religious man, very regular in his attendance at public worship. he knew how it would be at seven-thirty, when we were going to drop anchor in the port at seven, and that was exactly how it was--every inch of ship overrun with ardent pedlars, while coaling from the great lighters, three or four lashed abreast, was in full swing. i may as well say at once that for me, as for nearly all the passengers (my own companion, who declared himself quite happy in his choice, being the only member of the saloon party to stay at home), that sunday, as a sunday, has to be wiped off the slate entirely, posted as missing amongst the sabbath days of life. i must confess further that it was the most delightful (so called) sunday i ever spent. at last i did more than see the gorgeous east of lifelong dreams; i felt it, i had speech with it. in a select party, headed by the dear woman who, apart from her solid social position, was the chief pillar of the church on board, i was permitted to go ashore. i had the free use of six hours to do what i liked in. in the half-hour before breakfast i did exciting business with the bumboatmen. i bought a piece of tapestry, representing camels, palm-trees, mosques and the like, which the native vendor assured me was handmade in egyptian prisons, though in my heart of hearts i knew better; also brooches and bracelets which seemed dirt cheap at two and three shillings apiece, the exact counterparts of which i afterwards bought at william whiteley's for sixpence ha'penny. as soon after breakfast as we could get our letters ready, i was rowed through the jewel-bright water into the world of fairy tales. oh, i know what port said is to those familiar with it, and i could have seen for myself, had i wished to see, that the gorgeous east could be flimsy and tawdry, even ugly, here and there; but it _was_ the east, and that was enough; the glamour of the rosy spectacles beautified all. nothing was easier than to forget and ignore what would doubtless be impossible to overlook on a second visit, and impossible to put up with on a third or fourth. having arrived at the centre of things, we appointed an hour for luncheon at the hotel continental, and split our party into twos and threes. an unattached man took charge of me and another unattached lady, and escorted us about the town and to the shops which alone attracted her (for she knew port said already). wonderful shops, too, some of them were, and it was no wasted time i spent roaming about them, while she gave her attention to spangled scarves and lace; but the lattice-veiled windows of the mysterious dwelling-rooms above them, and the flowing and glowing life of the narrow streets, were what i had come to see. it was delightful to return to the pavement under the continental, and there sit, with a cold and bubbling lemon drink, in one of the low chairs which so hospitably invite the wayfarer, to watch the stream of mingling east and west go by, and its eddies around one--the veiled native lady touching skirts with the breezy english girl; the turbaned sherbet seller, his remarkable brazen ewer under his arm, dodging the swift bicycle; the oily-eyed and sodden rapscallion of the levant, or the bejewelled and bepowdered person no better than she should be, elbowing the spare young cleric slipping through these dangerous places on his way to the pan-anglican congress. and the stranger contrasts on the wide, tiled side-walk, a continuous outdoor café rather than a promenade--frenchmen playing dominoes, swarthy traders doing secret business over their drinks; passengers from the various ships in port, mothers and aunts with children by the hand; here and there the habitual tourist, easily identified; here and there the impeccably clothed, clean-limbed white figure, whose high bearing and bluff dignity proclaimed the important person--soldier of distinction, big-game-hunting lord of leisure, powerful government official, as the case might be. all up and down, around the low tables, faces of all nations, speech of all languages, and, as an undercurrent, the incessantly made gentle appeal for notice from the dark-skinned pedlars sinuously navigating the narrow channels between the chairs, with their cheap jewellery and picture post-cards and puzzle walking-sticks, trying how far they could go under the eye of the egyptian policeman, standing ready to order them over the curb at the first sign of unwelcome pertinacity. for a good half-hour we sat at ease, in the middle of this picture, and i enjoyed myself surpassingly. then a little more shopping on behalf of my still unsatisfied lady companion, and then the gathering of the whole seven of our landing party at the appointed rendezvous for luncheon. we were ready for the meal, and it was not the least memorable of the æsthetic pleasures of that "sunday out." i am told it was simply as a meal ashore, after many meals at sea, that i found it so delectable, but in justice to the courteous french proprietor, as he seemed to be, who himself took charge of our table, and for my own credit as a connoisseur, i deny that assertion, made only by those who were not there. i declare, on my honour, that, apart from the good cookery, the bread, butter and beer of the hotel continental at port said--such a seemingly unlikely place in which to find them so--were the best i ever tasted. particularly the bread. one of the remaining ambitions of my life is to find out whether that bread was french, or egyptian, or turkish, or what (the reader bears in mind that this is the story of an innocent abroad), and to get some more of it, if possible. we sat outside the house again, to repose after our repast, and i should think there was no more contented person in the world than i was then. i bought a little more brummagem rubbish that palmed itself off as of oriental manufacture, of the softly persistent pedlars circulating about my chair; and our escort settled the hotel bill, which worked out at four-and-sixpence for each of us. never did i grudge hard-earned money for sensual indulgence less. i would not now take pounds for my recollections of that meal, because the day could not have been perfect without it. so it drew on for four o'clock, when leave expired. tired, hot and happy, we wandered back to the quay, dropped our threepenny pieces into official hands before the tantalised boatmen, stepped into our cushioned barge and were rowed to the ship. there we found coaling done, afternoon tea prepared for us, everything ready for the start. and, again in the decline of the brilliant day, we saw the whole place bathed in celestially rosy light, a last impression of the gorgeous east as one loves to imagine it, to be hung on the line of the picture gallery of memory alongside aden and suez. because decks were being washed down, the captain allowed a few of us to survey the scene from his bridge, and while we rested weary bones we gazed from that commanding altitude upon the unforgettable panorama--the houses of the sea-front, the casino, the famous lighthouse, the bathing-beach with its white surf and its machines, the long breakwater walling the exit from the canal, and--farewelling us, as it seemed--the impressive statue of ferdinand de lesseps, pointing back to his great work. at sunset we fetched up the coats so long unworn, and in the fresh air of the mediterranean watched the flushing and fading of the distant city, low on the water like another venice, until the evening bugle called us down. too tired to dress, we ate our dinner perfunctorily, took a last look at the spacious, cool-breathing night, saw the damietta light twinkling, and went to bed early. no one so much as mentioned church. then came three quiet days, sunny and cool, in which the right thing to do was to lie on one's long chair and recover from excitements. meditation was so sweet, and i was so grateful to port said, that i could not grumble at losing malta, where the ship had no engagements. a far-off, faint reflection of what was supposed to be a flashlight in valetta harbour consoled me on my way to bed one night with its suggestion that templars really lived, and that the old cathedral and the old steep streets were still there, awaiting the future pilgrim. no more did i set foot in "foreign parts," but what i further saw of them sufficed to make each remaining day of the voyage memorable. "the bay of tunis," says the captain, and: "old carthage lies behind that hill." we were so close to the african shore that we could see the occasional town, the lonely farm, the lonelier fort or monastery, very distinctly; and the little unfenced, unshaped patches of tillage scratched out of the wilderness, and the little roadways meandering through the gaps of the crowding rock-ranges, otherwise so savagely desolate; and the evening lights sparsely scattered along the shore, and the early morning camp-fires on the seaward declivities, so high up and isolated as to suggest the fastnesses of the pirates of bygone days. a horn of the bay of algiers stole out of twilight mist, and lit up its clustering lamps as we looked at it; and the following day revealed the face of spain, frowning at her _vis-à-vis_, but splendid in a stormy sunset, a velvety violet mass against a flaming sky. at four o'clock again on sunday morning i was up and dressed, summoned by the captain stamping overhead. and out of the dawn came majestic gibraltar--the sun was up before five--and algeciras of recent fame, ships and warships, hills, houses, hamlets, windmills, roads and tarifa point transfixing a wrecked steamer, sad detail of a picture full of life and charm. another red-letter sunday, but not quite so red as the last. divine service was duly celebrated in the saloon after dinner--our last on board. the captain stamped again at five a.m. on monday, and i saw the castle of cintra on its rocky headland, and more of the interesting life of the country as we slid along its shores. i cut breakfast short to feast on the historic landscape (in youth i had devoured the literature of the cid, the peninsular war, and don quixote, in a score of weighty tomes), to study the contours of spanish houses, to count the number of visible spanish windmills, all twirling their sails for business, in the good old mediæval style. until the sailors at their work of holystoning and sluicing drove us from the last inch of deck, and rain--almost the only rain we had on that blessed voyage--drew a grey curtain over the scene. the bay of biscay was an angel. summer-blue sea and sky, blushing gloriously when sunset interfused them, a young horned moon, with its attendant star, hanging over the saffron afterglow and making night heavenly; hardly a breaking wave. and the east was all behind us, and malta and spain, even australia, which still held the kernel of one's heart; their memories were put away like precious pictures in their packing-cases, until presently one would have time to hang them in the light again. nothing could be thought of now but that which we were to see to-morrow--england, the mecca of our pilgrimage--after thirty-eight years. it was thursday, the th of june, at nine in the morning, when it happened. of all the lovely mornings we had at sea that was the loveliest. a little hazy on the sky-line, but sunny, breezy, bracing, absolutely perfect. i ran upstairs after breakfast, to find a group of men focussing their glasses upon a distant spot. one of them turned and pointed to it. "there she is," said he. "that's beachy head." there she was indeed, a white speck shining out of the melting fog. i pressed my own good glasses to my eyes, but just at first, although she was so plain to see, i was too blind to see her. chapter ii about town how beautiful england is! the home-stayers do not know it, nor the stranger within her gates. one must have been long enough absent from her in a sharply contrasting environment to have become an outsider, a cosmopolitan connoisseur, while still not an alien but native to her soil--at any rate, imbued with her maternal influence--to appreciate her consummate charm. i think that australians and americans, her elder and younger offspring, who have so many points of view in common, do so more fully than other peoples of the world, although we "swear by" the lands where we have our ampler homes and opportunities--perhaps for that very reason. it is an impression i have gained from the literature of the states, which has supplied my chief reading for many years. whether right or wrong, i shall feel, when i fall into rhapsodies on the subject--and really i cannot help it--that my american readers will understand me before them all. that it is not a case of the rose-coloured spectacles is proved by the fact that we no sooner set foot in the beloved old country than we begin to sniff at a number of her little ways--little ways that are quite all right to less impartial critics. we even feel that we could teach our grandmother something about the sucking of eggs with good warrant for reversing the orthodox procedure; only that she is our grandmother, bless her, with the natural attributes of her time of life, and we do not want her different. were she "younged up," as a member of my household describes the old lady who dresses to conceal her age, we should not love her more, and we might respect her less. twice as "smart," she would not be half as beautiful. the matter stands thus: the family of the british empire is like other families. the children who go out into the world have, and must have, a wider grip of affairs than the parent who stops at home. they are better able, as well as willing, to keep up with the times; and, as in other families, it is the elder-sisterly leadership that the younger sister follows. although we australians have cherished the belief that england, in all her manifestations, sets the perfect standard for us, i see now that it is america we have copied, insensibly to ourselves, in the arts that make for the comfort and convenience and contingent elegance of everyday life. i did not know where we stood in the scale of domestic civilisation until i began to frequent the rural districts where i was born and bred, and found the situation as i had left it, and myself so grown away from it that i might have come from another planet. it is not, of course, our merit in any way but our luck that we have, in addition to our birthright in her, a land of plenty, which ensures easy circumstances, connoting a high average of culture, to her unburdened and unjostled people, and no deep-worn groove to shut us in, and shut out from our vision the movements of the world. it would be gross taste for a cadet of the family, and one so juvenile, to give itself airs in the ancestral house; but it does cause some slight annoyance now and then to be treated as one who does not know the ropes at all. that in the great journals that came into my hands of a morning in london there was rarely so much as a mention of australia, while every little tinpot dependency of a foreign power had its trifling affairs attended to, was nothing--our own fault as much as anybody's. but when those who never look at a london journal, who hardly know even emperor william by name, since he does not live in the parish, want to teach you to suck eggs that have been rotten for years without their knowing it--on the theory that you have had no eggs where you have been living--you do get a little tired. and if young australia feels that way small wonder at america not liking the grandmotherly tutelage, so long after knowing herself the leader of the world. our old darling cannot understand why one who by every tie of nature should be devoted to her flouts her authority and turns a cold shoulder to her endearments, but the other children understand. well, america can afford to forgive everything, and she has forgiven everything, now, while only gratitude is due from us who, remaining in the bosom of the family, are so faithfully done by and cared for. all i am trying to say is that experience teaches knowledge, that love which is not blind is the love best worth having, and that we, with that knowledge and that love, are more competent to appreciate england than she to appreciate us. she thinks we do not know what's what, because people in the dark can think anything; but when we judge her beautiful, it is with the judgment that compares and discriminates. we know what we are talking about. it may be taken that she is beautiful, and no mistake. we had embarked for australia in from plymouth, having travelled to that port from london in the night. coming back in england met me with a face i had not seen before. beachy head was as new to my eyes as the rock of aden; so was dover castle and all that sunny coast; so was the thames of commerce. in the perfect june weather, and with its historical suggestions, even that last bit of the way was glorified. perhaps the critical faculty had not quite steadied down, but even between the marshes i was thinking: "how beautiful england is!" altogether the interval between nine a.m. and seven p.m. was a culmination of the voyage worthy of all that had led up to it. by the way, we dropped anchor at gravesend in a violent thunderstorm. we spent one more short night on the ship. in the small hours of the morning a steward informed us that the first caller had arrived, a near relation born during our long absence, now a man over thirty, who had enterprisingly boarded us by the pilot's ladder at the locks. with this efficient courier, who spared us all landing troubles, we passed from our sea-home to a quiet hotel in a quiet square near liverpool street station, whence we were to pass out to the country on the following day; a house to be affectionately remembered, for its treatment of us. there we dumped our bags and made our walking toilets, feeling already as english as could be; then started forth to celebrate the day with (naturally) a first-rate luncheon to begin with. thereafter we proposed to "do" as much of london as we could cover by dinner-time. we did have a first-rate luncheon, from the point of view of unfashionable persons newly off the sea. but it was right here that we began to sniff. no, not to sniff, of course, but to set the critical faculty in order. at home, we informed our relative, a meal of that quality would be just about half the price, and such trifles as vegetables, rolls, butter, tea and coffee, would be thrown in gratis. the skimpy little curl of butter, that had to be separately paid for, in place of the heaped balls to which you could freely help yourself, was a particular one amongst the pinpoint grievances that london restaurants of the middle class supplied us with. at that first meal on english soil we remembered the first we had taken in collins street after landing in melbourne so long ago--our astonishment at its ample excellence and small cost; and at each subsequent entertainment in london paid for by ourselves we were tempted to make odious comparisons when there was nobody to overhear. australia is a land of plenty to all her people, high and low, but we forget it until we go away from her. then we know. after luncheon my husband went off to his bankers, his tailors (whose clothes he had worn uninterruptedly for thirty-eight years, with some modification of measurements from time to time), and otherwise to poke about by himself in a london that he declared he knew every inch of, although afterwards he confessed to having been once or twice at fault; and my nephew-in-law escorted me to my once favourite draper's, where i had bought the gems of my modest bridal trousseau. ever since that long-past day i had sworn by the famous firm as authorities on and purveyors of the absolutely correct thing in women's wear, and now thought to render myself immune to english criticism by the surest method and with no waste of time. i was out of that shop almost as soon as i was in, and distractedly flitting through other emporiums of the west end, wishing i had completed my outfit where i began it. i should have saved money and suited myself better. in pity for my companion, patiently awaiting my pleasure on the pavements outside--dropping asleep as he stood, poor boy, for he had not seen a bed for between thirty and forty hours--i confined myself to the one indispensable purchase, and that was a compromise between what i liked and what i could get. not that i suggest any rivalry between our best drapery shops and these best of oxford and regent streets; it would be absurd to compare them. but i certainly realised as i had never done before how good the former are. i understood why a friend of mine with whom i once went clothes-buying in bourke street, immediately after her return from a year in england, plumping down on a chair by a familiar counter, said, with a luxurious sigh: "what a comfort to get back to our own shops again!" she did not "know her way about" in london; nor did i. and i cannot say that, at the six months' end, i had done any better for myself there than i should have done if i had supplied all my wants at home. i found no material difference in cost, and as regards the correct thing we are quite up to date. the new fashions are passed on to us for the corresponding season, winter or summer, that they belong to in england; and there is no doubt in my mind that, taking english women in the bulk and australian women in the bulk, the latter are the better dressed by far. it is not what i expected would be the case. tea--that essential feature of afternoon shoppings in melbourne, where a tea-room is to your hand wherever you may happen to be--was the one thought in my head when i rejoined my drowsy escort, although it could not have been more than three o'clock. "let us find a nice place," said i, craving easy-chairs as well as tea; and we found one. it had no shop to it, inviting us by a mere label on an open street door and a glimpse of inner staircase. privacy and repose were indicated, and i unhesitatingly turned in. it was the very thing. a pretty little drawing-room, all to ourselves, cushioned basket-chairs, tea and cakes and bread-and-butter and toasted things, all as good as i was accustomed to, although by no means so cheap (but expense was no matter on this festive day), and the courteous attendance that i must confess is not to be counted on in australia as i learned to count upon it in england. with us officialdom is so disproportionately powerful throughout the land (nothing can be in proportion if the main base of population is inadequate) that the so-called servants of the public are virtually in the position of masters, and, knowing it, are inclined to wait upon you condescendingly, as if conferring a favour, or to be abrupt and off-hand with you, or to leave you to take your chance. it is quite natural. so here, in this very nice little room, i revelled in my tea--the first good cup since hobart (adelaide was a disappointment in this respect, and at port said i did not ask for it)--and we rested in our comfortable chairs for the best part of an hour. then, my escort being again wide-awake and active, and myself refreshed and fit for anything, i suggested a drive through london in any direction on the top of a motor 'bus. that was an exciting drive. unlike my husband, i did not know my london. years and years and years ago i had been accustomed to pay an annual visit to my eldest aunt, who was my godmother, and then i was driven from what was shoreditch station to her house in notting hill (which she grieved was not, as it so nearly was, kensington), and in a few weeks driven back again in a straw-carpeted four-wheeled cab, from the closed windows of which i had my only peeps at the city--a forbidden city to a well-brought-up young lady of tender years. between whiles my diversions were confined to west end picture galleries and museums, a few west end shoppings, drives in the park, walks to the neighbouring church. only to the latter, and that but occasionally and in exceptional circumstances, was i ever allowed to go unattended, even after i was engaged to be married, while she was responsible for me. darling that she was, i am not going to laugh at her for being so ridiculous, especially as i have my doubts as to whether she was ridiculous at all--whether there is not still something to be said for the clearly defined social status of children, and the careful chaperonage of growing-up girls, that were matter of course to us, young and old, in those far-distant days. my thoughts were full of her as we drove towards our old haunts, when the absorbing fascination of the narrow, crowded streets and the marvellous interweaving of the wheeled traffic through them gave place to the enchantment of the "park" once more, the charm beyond expression of english trees and grass, the stately roadways and perspectives of our old walking and driving quarter, so unexpectedly familiar and remembered--the only london life i had to remember--after such a gap of time and change! the marble arch--oh, the marble arch! the new gates behind it were approaching completion; the greatly improved arrangement was pointed out to me by my courier, how the old blocking of carriages was done away with--i believe that very day inaugurated the new use. but for me there was only the old bottle-neck which had annoyed generations of carriage folk, and which had given my young girlhood one of its first woman dreams. it will be understood that the best-beloved and most loving of maiden aunts became even as andromeda's dragon at the approach of an unauthorised young man. the very thought of him in connection with her god-daughter made her hair rise. well, i was driving with her one afternoon, and just within the marble arch we were so wedged in a block of carriages that the occupant of one--truly a most charming fellow--had to sit facing me at arm's length for quite a minute. with the best will in the world, and i believe we both tried to help it, it was impossible after some embarrassing seconds to prevent the twinkle of a smile. in spite of its ravaging effects upon me (all her fault, for i never saw him before or since), it was no more than a twinkle, behind a gravity of demeanour as gentlemanly as could be. but what could evade the lynx-eyed vigilance of the duenna of old? no sooner were we disentangled than my aunt, almost as flustered as i was, sternly demanded of me: "did you see that?" on my confessing that i did she put up the window of our jobbed brougham and never afterwards allowed me to have it down while in the row or other dangerous places; and i had to rub holes in the film of breath lining the glass to see anything at all. small wonder that in my seclusion i nursed the memory of a momentary adventure with a young man until it grew to the proportion of a personal romance. in all my subsequent walks and drives with her i was thinking of him, looking for him; and as a respectable mother of a family have not forgotten the spiritual freemasonry (as it was idealised into) of his passing twinkle of a smile. how handsome he was! and how well we understood each other! only once did i escape out of my cage and fly at large in london. it was with a young widowed cousin, who, as a married woman, was allowed to take me out. we did not dare to report that we had eaten lunch at a railway buffet, ridden in omnibuses (a thing no gentlewoman of those days was supposed to do--she was expected to walk rather), and even trodden a pavement overlooked by club windows, when we returned to notting hill at nightfall. the widowed cousin, too, was one of three motherless bairns whom the aunt had brought up from infancy. however, with all the risks of reaction, it seems to many of us old stagers that it is good to have borne the yoke in our youth, and that some modification of the apparatus would be better for our children than none at all. of course they do not agree with us, which makes it very likely that we are wrong. old and new met together at our journey's end--the gates of the anglo-french exhibition at shepherd's bush. the place had just been opened to the public, and was the sensation of the hour, even more interesting to my companion than to me, drowned as i was in associations of the past. the supposed object of our drive was to locate it, the beautiful imitation-alabaster city that held promise for both of us, amply redeemed in due course, of happy days to come. this accomplished, we returned to our hotel stupefied with fatigue. the two men were able to enjoy a good dinner and a fairly late sit-up talk. i tumbled straightway into a comfortable bed, and sighed and sighed, too tired to eat or speak, but as blissfully satisfied with the state of things as it was possible to be. a nice little tea-tray came to my bedside presently, and after it the kind landlady herself to see what else she could do for me, just like the thoughtful hostess who has been one's friend for years. i slept little, that first night in england, but there was every inducement to repose. the little city square was as quiet as the bush. i could hear the soft and mellow chime of a distant clock at intervals--very far away it seemed--and that was the only sound. we had an open window, as usual, and could not understand how the heart of london could be so still. a cheerful and quiet coffee-room welcomed us to an excellent breakfast next day. we had promised ourselves "real" yarmouth bloaters (one of a few long-cherished gastronomical dreams brought over with other luggage); the maid apologised for giving us broiled mackerel instead, but that was memorably delicious. i cannot help mentioning it. i may as well mention also, while i am about it, that the plentiful australian table is not to be compared with the english in the matter of fish and game. breakfast over, our courier was set free to roam the white city at shepherd's bush until tea-time, and my husband and i set forth on an aimless ramble together, merely to see london and amuse ourselves, all business barred. what a time we had! more drives on motor 'buses; more english delicacies for our voracious appetites at luncheon (sausages, which g. had always declared they did not know how to make in australia); st paul's, inside and out; lovely staples inn, which i could hardly tear myself away from; and the commoner lions of the city, such as the mansion house and the bank--all new to me. i felt quite an old londoner by four o'clock, when it was time to reunite our party, get a cup of tea, and start on our journey to cambridgeshire. only a few days later i discovered another london i had not known. i returned to spend a week with a many-years-old friend, a personage of distinction, even to her royal kinsfolk, but never other than the dearest of the dear. instead of riding motor 'buses i sat behind ducal liveries. in the way of entertainment privileges were accorded me that no money could buy. it was the brilliant episode of my trip, and that, to my regret (as the author), is all i can say about it in this book. what a pity that considerations of taste and decorum should compel the autobiographer, as considerations of imperial policy compel the russian press censor, to "black out" the very bits that would be most interesting to read. if one could throw delicate scruples to the winds and tell the _whole_ story of any human life, or portion of life, however small, the long reign of the work of fiction would be over. june was still less than a fortnight old when this happy week began--with a satisfying drive from liverpool street station to the heart of belgravia in a hansom all to myself--just when i preferred no company. a drive, i must add, as cheap as it was delightful. half-a-crown! it was hard to believe the driver serious. i could not have done the distance in a melbourne hansom under half-a-sovereign. according to my prevailing luck the weather was perfect, and every inch of the way for me was packed with interest. the thames embankment was a-making when i left in ; now i saw it and its stately precincts in their modern character. and, in addition to the features of what was but background to london life, i saw a great procession of the protesting women, coming upon it in the very nick of time, as if i had planned to do so. i passed its whole length, seemingly of miles, from end to end, sometimes at a foot's pace, sometimes blocked for several minutes at a time, the ordinary traffic having but half the road; and i rejoiced in my slow progress and was profoundly impressed with the spectacle. not having heard about it beforehand i was puzzled to account for the immense lines of carriages filled with women--many of the carriages very smart, and a number of the women in academic dress, wearing the hoods of their degrees--massed in whitehall and thereabouts; but the significance of the demonstration was soon made evident--before the army on foot, with its multitudinous banners came upon the scene, led by the aged and honoured ladies who had been fighting the same battle half-a-century ago. in view of all i have since heard and read of the antics of what the newspapers call the militant suffragettes, i am glad i had this opportunity to gauge the strength and seriousness of the movement behind them, which--unless their actions are grossly misreported--they pitifully misrepresent. so long as my eye was on it, at any rate, the march of the countless women was as dignified as anything i ever saw; nor could a funeral procession have been treated by the bystanders with more respect. that was the most striking thing about it. the half-width of the street, congested with the traffic of the whole, blocked to a standstill every few yards, neither murmured nor jeered--not by a single voice that i could hear. while here and there a man stood to give dumb homage, his hat in his hand. but, oh, what a mediæval sort of business it all seemed! to be struggling so long, and with such pain and passion, for mere liberty--in our england of all places--at this time of day! how strange to one long outside the groove, the limitation of vision of those within! if it were permissible to teach our grandmother to suck eggs, we could tell her that the tremendous controversy is but a mountain labouring of mouse. in our young country overseas "votes for women" were given to us as naturally as they give licences to respectable lady innkeepers; after due discussion in parliament, of course, and some "say" at public meetings of the party chiefly concerned, but with no vulgar altercation or unseemly fuss of any kind. and we quietly go forth to the nearest polling-place on (the very infrequent) election mornings, being supposed to have glanced at the family newspaper from day to day, and come back to our domestic avocations (most of us like to get the small job over as soon as possible after breakfast); and the world goes on with no sign of damage. not being necessarily the adversaries of man, because not unjustly suffering from his rule, and having had no devil of vindictiveness put into us we do not interfere with him in parliament or on the bench, or attempt to upset his dignity in any way. we have public work enough managing the hospitals, and such things, where we have the free hand to save him a world of trouble. though, if a woman _should_ turn up in a legislative assembly some fine day--and it might be any day--i really do not think the skies would fall. my belief is that the men would get used to it in a week and reconciled in a month. not that i would be that woman for anything you could give me. the main thing is that politically we are good friends and not sore-hearted antagonists. as fairly as our men have dealt by us shall we deal by them. dear, dear! to think what a buttress ireland might have been to england now if she had been let out of leading-strings three generations ago! i returned to london at intervals between this sweet june day, when the rhododendrons in the park were still abloom and the "season" at its culmination, and the early winter evening of my last departure; but without those passages which must be "blacked out" the tale is but a tale of prosaic shoppings and the sort of country-cousin sightseeings at which the superior person lifts the nose of scorn. even in the latter regard, i did not see half the things i had meant to see. the royal academy exhibition was postponed and postponed until too late. the british museum, the national gallery, westminster abbey--even these i missed. the tower, which i had never seen at all, that i can remember, i now saw only from the outside--except on the stage at drury lane, in the _marriages of mayfair_. the friend and hostess who took me to this play, as the wife of a colonel of grenadiers and intimately acquainted with the life of the place, answered for the accuracy of detail in the dramatic representation of it; furthermore, she arranged that i was to explore the great fortress in her company, and took my promise to accept no other guide. i was then within a fortnight of leaving england, and, to my keen regret, the press of last engagements crowded that one out. mention of the tower reminds me of a circumstance that occurred the night before we made the futile compact, than which circumstance nothing happening to me in london impressed me more. an afternoon at his majesty's to see beerbohm tree in _faust_--the new faust, redeemed, not destroyed, through his human errors; the new mephistopheles, with the dignity of a god--had provided excitement enough for one day, and we decided to spend the evening quietly at home. tea, a rest with a book, three only at dinner, were the peaceful preliminaries; then we sank into deep sofa-corners by the drawing-room fire. "this," said b., "is the opportunity i have been looking for to show you something. they have only just come back from the british museum." two large, thick volumes were produced. and when i opened one of them--the other was a typed rendering of the precious text--i perceived that i was privileged for the moment above the rest of my countrymen. for i was the first of the general public to read some most interesting pages of english history, lost long before the story as we know it was put together for the use of schools. for three hundred years or more they had probably been in hiding where they had recently been found--in the library of one of the seats of the family to which b. belonged. consequent upon the death of the owner, her brother-in-law, there had been rummaging about the house, and a quantity of valuable documents had been discovered behind oaken wainscots and elsewhere. a cupboardful, found at a moment when it was not convenient to remove them, mysteriously disappeared, unread, before they could be retrieved; the bundle of letters on my knee had been spared to the family, of which a lord c., of charles the second's reign, had been friend and kin to the writers. b. and the british museum had been attending to their preservation. they had been carefully arranged and bound, and their condition was so perfect, and the penmanship was so exquisite, that i was able to read the original, in the old lettering of the time, as fast as b. could follow me with the modernised typed copy. we took turn and turn about with this reading and checking, and i suppose it took us hours--we were too absorbed to think of time--to get through the whole, if we did get through it. they were the letters of that lord william russell who was beheaded, and of his wife, the famous rachel, written during his trial and imprisonment, to and of each other, to charles the second, and the king's replies; portions of her journals; a long and minutely detailed account of the whole tragedy, from day to day, almost from hour to hour, by bishop burnet, who attended the prisoner--all in their own handwritings; and a more touching and elevating tale and a more distinguished piece of literature i do not remember to have come across. b. showed me a letter from the lady who had typewritten the copy. she said in effect that her sense of the privilege conferred on her with the work was beyond words. by this time, possibly, lady c. has allowed the documents, family archives though they be, to be published for the benefit of the nation. unless, indeed, the nation has had them this long time, and i have not known it. beheadings, again, remind me of madame tussaud's. as a child i had thought it hard lines never to see the famous waxworks, and i never did--until this belated return to where they were. i might not then have done so but for the accident of a baker street engagement, which being discharged with unexpected promptitude left us, g. and i, with an hour or two on our hands. the great building, new since he had visited it, stood almost over us, conspicuously proclaiming itself, and with one accord we turned into it. another lifelong ambition gratified at last! "you won't go into the chamber of horrors, i suppose?" said g., when i had viewed mrs pankhurst and the rest of the notabilities. "oh yes," said i, for i was out to see things. and down i went. it was not particularly thrilling to one whose childhood was so far behind, but it was very nasty. a cup of tea in the fresh air of the restaurant was grateful after it. and i felt a particular craving for a bath. one thing, however, has contrived to haunt me--the mask of marie antoinette as at the moment after execution, with the blood-oozing nostrils and the swooning, drowning eyes. for it seemed to me as if that might be very much how she would have looked. but it strikes me i am not developing the proposition set at the beginning of this chapter to be the text of my discourse. chapter iii in beautiful england the second evening ashore saw us speeding out of london towards cambridge and ely, and beyond to the not-to-be-mentioned spot in the fens which represented the bosom of the family--g.'s family, that is to say, for england held no more trace of mine. i saw prettier english landscapes afterwards, from the windows of railway carriages, but this first picture of the green country was overwhelmingly beautiful to my eyes. i had forgotten what the country grass was like, and the country trees. our "english trees" of boulevard and garden had not struck me as inferior to their ancestors in any way, but here, in these glorious free-flung masses, how different they were. throughout my stay and various ramblings in the land, the trees and the grass were my constant joy. the lawns of english gardens--not bits and scraps that must not be trodden on, but acres of velvet-soft emerald carpet always under one's feet, making the loveliest setting for flowers and tea-parties. it happened in this lucky year that the summer was the finest the land had known for years, and i think i must have had my tea on grass more times in that short english season than in all the years of my sojourn in the brighter country of the south; if i except bush picnics--and i need not except them, because the aim of bush campers is to keep as clear of grass as possible. i am not ashamed to say that i could have wept for joy of those english trees and meadows when i first saw them after the long, long exile. nothing but the publicity of my position prevented it. i could only look and look at them till throat and eyes ached. i could not talk. the unspeakable memories that thronged the platform at cambridge! the last moment of one of the most tragical happenings of my life passed me, probably, on the very spot where our train halted. at a later day the ghosts of all the hours belonging to that last moment forgathered with me in the old quadrangles, and i could not believe they had been there for forty years. the first glimpse of the towers of ely was still more thrilling. that ever i should have lived to see them again! here, when soon afterwards we prowled about the place--the first i saw of an english provincial town after my return--i found my eye hopelessly out of focus. i ought to have known it better than any spot in the country. i had lived there and married there, and it had been my last english home; yet, but for the cathedral, i should not have recognised it. "_this_ ely!" i exclaimed. "these little, little, quaint, cramped streets and houses!" i seemed to have seen them in a picture; they were incredible as the whole substance of our city of old. gradually i got the perspective, but it took two or three visits to do it. the familiar past enmeshed me with its thousand tentacles. "you don't know me, ma'am?" a weather-beaten matron emotionally accosted me on the steps of the post-office--her married daughter drove the cart she hastily descended from on seeing me. "you don't remember me? i was housemaid at w---- when you were there on your honeymoon." one of the young maids, with white satin ribbon in their caps, who stood with their smiling welcomes on the doorstep of the rectory at w---- when our bridal brougham drove up in ! the tears jumped to my own eyes as i wrung her toil-worn hands. i nearly kissed her in the open street--and market day too! old servants, old friends, stretched arms to draw me into the groove they had never left--never been thrown out of, as i was--until the gulf of years sank out of sight, and we fraternised again as if partings had never been. yet i could not get the "atmosphere," so to speak. i am such a fresh-air person! the first time i attended service at the cathedral where i was such a devout worshipper in my youth, although it was a pan-anglican function, with a stirring american preacher to it, and my personal interest in the occasion, apart from that, was intense, i was so overcome with drowsiness that i had to struggle the whole time not to disgrace myself before the bishops, under whose eyes i sat. i could easily attribute it to the fatiguing excitements of the first days in england, but that was no reason why at each subsequent service at the same place the same phenomenon should occur. as surely as i went to church at the cathedral, i got deadly sleepy straight away, and had to fight to keep eyes snapping and head from rolling off. suddenly i suspected what the trouble was. i looked up at the roofs, into the lantern, around the windows--there was not a crack for ventilation above the doorways, never had been in the hundreds of years that pious breathings had daily been going up. when i mentioned the matter to my old friends, who had been going to the cathedral all the time i had been away, they were rather inclined to be annoyed. _they_ found nothing wrong with the air of the cathedral. of course not. nor did i in the old days. it was typical of the sea-change my whole being had undergone. well, after that sight of ely--and a glorious pile it is, from just that point of view that the london train gives you as it draws near to the station--after ely, fen of the fens, that was drowned morass not so very long ago, now richly cropped, the farms and hamlets standing clear like things set on a table; then the station in the fields, the little governess-cart at the gate, the unknown niece at the pony's head; the short cut across country, and the old farmhouse, a long grey streak on a wide green sea, with one bright and beautiful splash of colour lighting up the sober landscape--the flaming orange of an austrian briar bush in full bloom on the front lawn. finally, the bosom of the family, over which the veil of reticence must fall. on the following evening--no, the evening after that--i had the long-dreamed-of bliss of a ramble through english lanes. although it was fen country, there were lanes about the farm--green old trees interlacing overhead, green grass thick as a silk rug underfoot, all the precious things that used to be in tangled hedge and ditch. i gathered them, and sniffed them, and cherished them; no words can describe the ecstasy of the meeting with them again--pink herb-robert in its brown calyx, the darling little blue speedwell--"birdseye," as we called it; white cow-parsnip, wild roses (following the may, which had just passed), buttercups and oxeye daisies and yellow birdsfoot trefoil, and all the rest of them; their scents, even more than their sweet forms, overpowering in suggestion of the days that were no more. the nightingale, to my disappointment, was gone, but the lark and the cuckoo were rarely silent. a dear brown-velvet "bumble"-bee showed me his golden stripe again. nesting partridges whirred up from the hedgerows in their sudden way and went flickering over the fields--dewy english fields, exhaling the breath of clover and beanflower, the incomparable perfume of english earth.... but norfolk is my county. and not thirty-eight years, but nearly half-a-century, had passed since i was within its borders, when i crossed them again about a month after our return. a still longer interval had elapsed between my departure from the first home that i remember and my seeing it again--and recognising it in the selfsame moment. a cambridgeshire sister-in-law had been led by various accidental happenings to rent a house right in the middle of my territory, unaware that i was not as great a stranger to norfolk as herself. the haunts of my childhood lay around her in all directions and close up to her doors, and never, never had i expected to revisit _them_, except in dreams. g. can hardly be dragged by an ox chain where he does not want to go, and he did not want to go to d----, which had no associations for him, even to see his sister. "why couldn't she have settled in some decent place?" he wanted to know, when her affectionate calls to him to come and be entertained evoked the spectre of boredom which never in any circumstances appeared to me. the pretty town of her adoption was, from his point of view, a "hole," with "nothing in it." but my luck was in when she drifted thither. it was the first court of the sanctuary, so to speak; the way by which i entered the hallowed places of the past. every inch of the old streets, every brick and chimney-pot over fifty years old, was sacred to me. the bulk of life lay between that past and now, and the intervening years dropped away as if they had never been. over the road from my bedroom window in her house stood a fine old dwelling, with a sundial on a prominent gable, and a high-walled garden of which i caught beautiful glimpses through the tall iron gates and between the ancient trees--quite unchanged. there, when i was a child, miss m. kept her preparatory school for young gentlemen, still mentioned with pride in the local handbooks, although long extinct. "many of her old pupils have attained high positions in the world," say they; and i wonder if these were any of the little men with whom we little women of eight or nine or thereabouts exchanged furtive glances over the pew-tops in the old parish church on sundays. i can see some of their faces now, and hers, so serene and lofty, as she stood amongst them, her ringlets showering down out of her bonnet like two bunches of laburnum, a narrow silken scarf about her well-boned bust. young nelsons of the great admiral's family were amongst miss m.'s "young gentlemen"; the hero himself was at school in d----, although his schoolhouse is no more; and the cocked hat, with two bullet holes through it, in which he fought the battle of the nile, has belonged to the neighbourhood since before trafalgar. "well, beechey, i'm off after the french again. what shall i leave my godson?" the hat was asked for, and, says nelson, "he shall have it," and the granddaughter of the honoured infant has it still. it takes a norfolk person to appreciate the importance of these historic associations to a little norfolk town. on the denes at yarmouth there is a tall column, something like one hundred and fifty feet high, with britannia ruling the waves from the apex, that in my time stood majestically alone between river and sea, and part of its dedicatory inscription, which is in latin, runs thus: horatio lord nelson whom, as her first and proudest champion in naval fight, britain honoured, while living, with her favour, and, when lost, with her tears; of whom, signalised by his triumphs in all lands, the whole earth stood in awe on account of the tempered firmness of his counsels, and the undaunted ardour of his courage; this great man norfolk boasts her own, not only as born there of a respectable family, and as there having received his early education, but her own also in talents manners and mind. this will show how little d----, which assisted at his early education, deserves to be called a "hole, with nothing in it." miss m. died or retired in time to leave another set of memories for me around that old house. i laughed to myself as i looked at the gate through which a most dashing, black-whiskered gentleman of the d'orsay type used to issue of a sunday morning, gloved in primrose kid, crowned with glossiest beaver, the glass of fashion to his sex and the admiration of ours, and thought of his little secret which i daresay he never knew had been surprised. his pew in the old church (all open benches now) was close to ours, and we little girls used to watch him as he entered and stood, turned to the wall, with his hat before his face, to say his preliminary prayer. something aroused our suspicions, and a burning desire to see the lining of that hat. patience and perseverance rewarded us with a peep, and there was a little round mirror fixed to the inside of the crown. and then i sighed, remembering his sister--i think it was his sister--a rather swarthy, dark-browed, juno-like creature, as i recall her; knowing that i had just been within a touch of meeting her again; an old old woman.... once, in the far past, at the first known home, some miles from d----, we gave a dance. you remember those dances of the fifties, dear reader who went to them? they were simple affairs; no caterer from outside the house, no outlay for flowers or band or champagne, or the hire of public rooms (except for county or hunt balls, and then the claim was light on the individual pocket). but if they were not as delightful to go to as the more expensive corresponding functions of these days, i have no memory worth trusting. i am sure you will say the same. the guests were dancing by eight o'clock to the strains of the domestic piano, the polka and the schottische and the varsoviana alternating with quadrilles and lancers, the waltz a stately gyration round and round. they were not staled and blasé, those simple people, but as fresh as children for the game in hand. they had time to play it then. whole love stories were enacted in a night, and there was one in which i played a part which i was too young to appreciate at the time, and of which that handsome girl of the house opposite was the heroine. in my ringlets and sandalled shoes, my full-skirted book-muslin frock and blue sash and shoulder-knots--a little spoiled child allowed to see the fun for an hour or two when she ought to have been in bed--i was passed from knee to knee, petted to my heart's content by the adult guests, the gentlemen especially; and the festive scene is as clear before me now as it was then. the drawing-room was festooned with wreaths of evergreen and paper flowers, out of which branched candles in hidden sconces made of tin; the nursery guard was before the fire; the mirror with the gilt eagle on the top reflected moving figures that had space to swim in the mazy dance without jostling each other. "do you see that lady in the white dress?" a whiskered nurse of mine whispered in my ear. i did--i see her now--her dark eyes flashing, dark cheek glowing, deep breast visibly swelling with the triumph of the hour--the undoubted belle of the ball. her dress was of white tulle, flounced to the waist and trimmed with a long spray, running obliquely from neck to hem, of white artificial roses sprinkled with glass dewdrops. a cluster of the same was set in her abundant dusky hair. "i want you to take something to her," said he, fumbling. "don't show it to anybody, and don't give it to anybody but her." he closed my little fist over a wad of folded paper, and i dodged through the crowd and delivered it, and returned to report. "did she read it?" "yes." "did she say anything?" "no." "didn't she take any notice at all?" "she only laughed." he fell into sombre reverie, and i left him for more cheerful companionship. later in the evening i was in the vicinity of the belle of the ball, and she beckoned me, stooped, and whispered. "take this to mr g. don't let anyone see it. give it to him when nobody is looking." i brought him the note, and straightway he forgot me and my services. the next i saw of him he was sitting in her pocket under the stairs. and she did not marry him, after all! and now she is an old, old woman! there was another member of the family (a cousin of these two), whose portrait in my mental picture gallery has been classed always as a gem of romantic art. i only saw her once, and that was after another ball given at the same old country house where the lady of the tulle dress and dew-sprinkled roses disported herself with mr g. i do not think i could have attended this ball myself, for i have no recollection of seeing the girl i refer to, who was there, until the following day. her chaperon, whoever it was, had left her over in my mother's care, probably to get thoroughly rested before taking the journey home. in the morning we only heard of her. she was in bed, being assiduously coddled. before she came forth mother gathered her little ones together and thus admonished them: "yes, you will see her at dinner, and if you are very good you may take her for a walk with you this afternoon. but, mind, you must be very gentle with her. you must take the greatest care of her, because she is in a decline and very soon she is going to die." we were further commanded on no account to disclose our knowledge of her sad fate to the invalid. she come down to the midday farmhouse dinner, and it was then i took my indelible picture of her. she was probably eighteen, a willowy slip of a girl, and with the pathos of her doom about her, the loveliest creature my eyes (with such an idealising quality in them) had ever seen. that was the impression, made permanent. very fair of skin, with golden hair arranged madonna-wise in smooth bands; and dressed all in white, looking the part my mother had given her to perfection--an angel at large, granted to gross mortals for a little while to be jealously recalled to her proper place. her white muslin bodice was long-waisted and stiffly-boned, and cut to a deep point in front over the bunchy skirt; but it was lovely. and the gold watch at her side, and the long gold chain round her neck to which it was attached, gave just the touch of radiance to the unearthly purity of her appearance, as effective as a fra angelico halo. we took her for a walk through our fields and lanes, and with awe and reverence laid ourselves out to take care of her. i remember that we gathered mushrooms and that she ate some raw, which was unwise of her in her delicate condition. i also remember (only it spoils the picture to include such a squalid detail) that some of the little party ate more than she did, and that one was deadly sick and had to be carried home. at that point she fades from the scene--went away to die, as i supposed. this one tragic vision of her made such an impression upon my imagination that i have thought of her when anything reminded me, for over half-a-century; but i have never thought of her as being other than half angel in heaven and half dust of the earth all the time. i thought of her when i looked out of my window in my sister-in-law's house at the old house opposite, when first i returned to d----, still with an ache of pity for a young life defrauded of the common heritage, which we others, not more deserving, had come into. but almost immediately afterwards my hostess asked me to go with her to call upon one of her new acquaintances, a lady who had known me as a child, had heard of my coming, and wished to see me. she bore the name of the family which had followed miss m. at the house with the sundial on the wall, but as she was a widow that was the name of her husband's family, and so i had no clue to her. we found her in the pretty garden of her handsome house close by, and she welcomed me warmly. "you remember me?" she queried, when i had taken a basket chair beside her. "i once stayed at your house at t----. i went to a party your mother gave, and remained overnight. don't you remember?" i said i did, because i knew as soon as i looked at her that i had seen her before. the forehead and the set of the eyes came back to me from the past, unmistakably familiar. but the whole time i was there, although she kept talking of the old times and the old people, i was cudgelling my brains to place her and i could not. she told me she had married her cousin and had not changed her name, so that i knew where she belonged; and yet i could not think of any member of the family answering to her personal reminiscences. she took me round her garden, she showed me the rooms she lived in, spoke of her life with her husband, recently dead, but with her long enough for them to celebrate their golden wedding together; and yet i could not get myself on to the right track. i went home with my sister-in-law quite worried and bothered about it, and lay awake at night to continue my search in the holes and corners of memory when the public, so to speak, had left the building. suddenly i discovered her. the face of the deaf old lady of over seventy, and the angular body that had to lean on an arm or a stick when it walked abroad, were suddenly transfigured like faust in the play, and there hung before my eyes in the dark the beautiful vision of that golden-haired girl in white whom we had been told to take care of and be good to because she was to die soon. there was no doubt about it. that forehead and those eyes, that i had instantly recognised, although i could not identify them, were hers. she had not been dust of the earth for half-a-century, but alive all the time--yes, and well and happy; and now she was in the most comfortable circumstances and apparently far from her journey's ending still. it was a delightful discovery. quite an appreciable sorrow seemed to have been lifted from my heart. unfortunately i had no opportunity to see her again, to talk with her of the old times now that i should know what i was talking about. when you have but six months in england in which to make up the arrears of about three-quarters of a lifetime, every visit is a flying visit, every taste of the old friendships but a tantalising sip. down the road from the walled garden of the house i have been speaking of, another high wall with a door at one end and a carriage gate at the other, the spreading crown of a great chestnut-tree overtopping the middle, bounded the street side of another garden, and sheltered from public view another house which cried to me with a thousand tongues of memory every time i passed it on my way to and from the railway station. it was one of my own old homes--the third, not counting my birthplace (which i left as a baby, and therefore have no knowledge of). the tenant of this house in d---- was now my sister-in-law's landlord, and i could have gone through it if there had been time for a polite process of siege; but because an englishman's house is his castle, and you cannot march into it without notice as if it was yours, i was able to see only the outside of any of my old homes. perhaps it was as well. when no one was looking i lingered by the carriage gate, through which all the front of the house was visible--the pillared porch and flight of steps within it, the windows of the rooms where we lived when we were a family of seven or eight, and not of two as we are now; and behind them i could see with the eyes of imagination all i wanted to know. the garden had been rearranged. there were greenhouses in it that used not to be, and the stone lions were gone. in my time two large heraldic lions, that came from the piers of a park entrance to an estate that had been brought to the hammer, sat on square pedestals in front of the house, ornaments of a semicircular lawn that now spread over ground once cut off for strawberry beds and espalier apple-trees. under the belly of one of those lions, whose forepaws served for doorway and his haunches for shelter from wind and rain, i had my summer reading place. there i wept over the death of the heir of redclyffe, and shivered at the ghastly imaginings of edgar allan poe. there also i made the little secret scribblings that were to lead eventually to the writing of this book. i could not see round to the arbour under the big chestnut-tree--or where the arbour was--with its processioning groups of ghosts; nor the thickets of syringa bushes, the scent of which has never come to my nose without the suggestion of this place to my mind, and never will. the nose is as sensitive to poetic impressions as the eye with its rose-coloured spectacles, if not more so. there is a poem of w.w. story's which begins: "o faint, delicious, spring-time violet! thine odour, like a key, turns noiselessly in memory's wards to let a thought of sorrow free. the breath of distant fields upon my brow blows through that open door ..." and just so it is, and was, with me. every exhalation of english earth was a magic potion to conjure visions and dreams. it did not need to be a perfume for the handkerchief, syringa or violet, jasmine or lily-of-the-valley; the smell of the little herb-robert, whose other name is something with "stink" in it, was to me--who had not smelt it for forty years--the most exquisite of all. but the shrubbery walk around the fruit garden where the syringas grew was all open border now, not shady and secluded as when i used to pace it in dusk and dark with the earliest of those fairy emissaries that come to a girl when she is passing into her teens.... for the peculiar charm of this garden is that it was the scene of the great transition. here i received my first proposal. heavens! what a shock it gave me. in fact i was horrified and terrified out of my wits. it came in a letter surreptitiously conveyed to me through servants. "i love you with my whole heart. dare i hope that i am loved in return?"--the startling words were but the commencement of a long outpouring, but i was so frightened by them that i dared not read another. in frantic haste i destroyed the letter, and thereafter went in fear and dread of the writer--quite a grown man to me, perhaps eighteen--as of an ogre waiting to devour me. i may point out, by the way, that it is a mistake not to read letters through--one that i did not make again. this unread letter contained a request that i would, if i favoured my lover's suit, indicate the same to him by a certain sign that he alone would understand, and in my ignorance i made that sign, placing myself where he could find me, when all my aim was to get as far away from him as possible. how i hated him for his attentions no words can tell. on the other hand i rather "cottoned" to a brother of his, who did not write me love-letters. for little girls do cotton to little boys, and vice versa, and why not? "i confess i get consolation ... in seeing the artless little girls walking after the boys to whom they incline ... this is as it should be," said thackeray, writing of children's parties. but the boy to whom i was secretly inclined was never aware of the compliment paid him, and, almost before i was aware of it myself, he was sadly removed from my path by an accidental gun-shot. and the boy who inclined, much more than inclined, to me i took every precaution that was in my power never to speak to again. i cannot remember that i ever did so. but the reader who knows anything at all of human nature does not need to be told that when i found myself in d---- again, after an interval of nearly half-a-century, my inclination was rather to see him than to avoid him. it would be a piquant moment, i felt, that of meeting now, if his memory of early happenings was as good in old age as mine; even although no reference to them should be permitted. i quite looked forward to it. but it was not to be. although i had nothing to be ashamed of in connection with him--very much to the contrary--i did not mention his name to anybody, also i need not say that i kept to myself the little affair that had been between us; i merely held an ear cocked for casual information. and it ended with my leaving d---- without having any news of him, not knowing even whether he was alive or dead. but later i dropped across one of his sisters, a widow, who had become connected by marriage with my husband's family. one day we went in a little party to the town where she lived and she entertained us to tea. i sat beside her at table, and inevitably we gossiped of our young days throughout the meal. she told me what had become of her several brothers and sisters, and so as last i heard of the one in whom i was interested. "i have just had a letter from him," said she, no trace in her face or voice of any knowledge of the ancient secret. "i told him that you were in england, and he wishes me to give you his kindest remembrances and to say he is very sorry not to be able to see you." i forget where she said he lived, but it was in some far-away county; married, of course, with grown-up children--no doubt grandchildren--as i have. chapter iv the home of childhood there was another old home--an earlier one--that on my first walk in d---- i went to look at. its associations were even more keenly dear, and archæologically it was immensely the most interesting. i was astonished to see how very, very old it was, and for the first time was curious about its evidently extensive history. there was a monastic suggestion in its thick walls and crow-stepped gables, and the oaken door exactly like a church door, and the peculiar irregularity of the grouping of its parts. nothing was changed, except that a horrid little office had been built into a corner that was once a sunless well between masonry, containing only evergreen shrubs and a dense mat of lilies-of-the-valley; but the office was an excrescence so glaringly alone by itself that one could treat it as if it were a tradesman's cart awaiting orders. nothing else seemed to have been altered; even the bay-tree, from which we gathered leaves to flavour cookings, stood in the little front court as of yore, and the old ivy was, i am sure, the old ivy of fifty, possibly a hundred, if not a thousand, years ago. i viewed the place now with instructed eyes, which told me that half-a-century was a mere fraction of its age. the guide-book says nothing about it. old dwelling-houses are too thick on the ground in england to have any distinction unconnected with famous persons and events; this was no more to the town of d---- in than it was to us when we left it for the modern four-square house with the pillared portico and stone lions on the lawn, down there near the station. at neither time was there a doubt of the latter's incomparable superiority. but i had come from the land of the raw and new, the domain of the social vagrant and the speculative builder, and i could appreciate the charm of this relic of antiquity, for the first time. i stood at the gate, and tried to think how it had come there. the clue was in the name of the lane beside it--priory road--and in the guide-book statement that the fine old rectory, in the gardens of which we used to lose arrows and balls over the wall dividing it from ours, stood "on the site of a benedictine priory." then i tried to reconstruct the plan of the interior, and remembered that the floor under the cocoanut matting of the dining-room was of cold stone slabs; the passages the same, and i think there was a press of black wood, that became store cupboards, built into an end of that room. entering the arched front door, of such pronounced ecclesiastical design, mother's store-room was the first thing you came to, a room that opened out of the front hall on your right hand. passing through that hall and opening the door that faced you, you were dropped straight into the drawing-room down a short flight of steps. one window of that apartment looked out towards the road (i fancy the excrescent office blocked it); another, and a door, opened directly upon the garden, gravelled nearly all over, with, at one side, a group of large and very old yew-trees, roofing a circular wooden bench. in the right-hand drawing-room wall a third door opened, at the top of another flight of steps, into what we called the music-room--really a cosier sitting-room, incidentally enclosing the piano, and without so many draughts in it; and a fourth door in a fourth wall led you into the stone-flagged passage connecting with our refectory and the domestic offices, and to the foot of the staircase. surely that plan was never drawn with a view to the convenience of a lay family! upstairs the arrangement was still more unconventional, although it may have been conventual, for aught i know. that window over the arched main entrance--it was open, and its muslin curtains fluttering in the breeze--belonged to one of three rooms so tucked into the many-cornered structure that they described a sort of triangle; one was hemmed in by two, the only way in and out being through one or other of those two, which also intercommunicated, the point of common junction being a sort of square entry place, having the three doors in its panelled sides. for some reason the inmost, which was also to the person in the road the outermost, room was reserved as a guest chamber--the aunts used it; but once it was given to a male visitor, who wanted to be out early. his dilemma was a cruel one, seeing that his window was in a sheer wall and he had no rope ladder. he could gain freedom only through my parents' room or through that occupied by their daughters, now grown from babies to little girls. after long listening in our joint vestibule, he chose the former path, as the least of two evils; but, although he crept on stockinged feet, my mother was awake. she made some alterations after that. it seems to me they should have been made before. over that window above the front door another and smaller window looked down on me. i met its gaze with a shrinking eye and the cold creeps down my back--yes, even after all those years and years! you reached the little sloping walled room behind it through a suite of attics at the top of dark and lonely stairs; the first room was the servants', who, however, were not there when i went to bed; the next had only ghosts in it, and the locked door of a lumber-room out of which i nightly expected some shape of horror to spring forth on me as i breathlessly scurried past; the last--with this window in it--was where i slept with my governess. seven governesses in succession reigned over us, for in my circle it was considered rather shocking to send girls to boarding-school, which was quite the proper place for boys; and i can truthfully affirm that i never learned anything which would now be considered worth learning until i had done with them all and started foraging for myself. i did have a few months of boarding-school at the end--obtained by hard teasing for it--and a very good school for its day it was, but it left no lasting impression on my mind, except that of great unhappiness. the unhappiness had nothing to do with its being a boarding-school, but solely to its not being home. home is a place that i never do get away from without immediately wishing myself back in it. of the first two governesses--technically the nursery governesses--i remember little but their names and the circumstance that one of them was a nobleman's grand-daughter. her mother had eloped with a poor tutor, and been cast out of her world in consequence--so closely does one generation resemble another in some of its practices, if not in all. the next--i think the next--was she who once turned that gable room into a torture-chamber, worthy successor of heretic-persecuting mediæval monks, if any such preceded her. only i was not a heretic, but an innocent, fairly well-behaved, carefully cherished child. she came from l----, a neighbouring town of county importance, and it was darkly hinted that her father kept a boot-shop there. anyway, she gave herself great airs. before coming to us she had been governess at s---- hall, and her late pupil, rosamond u----, was thrown in our faces all day long. if they were not so well known, i would like to write the omitted names in full, and express to rosamond u----, if she be living, the sympathy i have since felt for her in that long-past experience common to us both; but at the time i loathed her beyond everybody, with the solitary exception of our joint governess. rosamond was so beautiful, so good, such a perfect lady!--the continual foil to her successors. miss h---- sniffed behind backs at everything in our house, because it was so different from what she had been accustomed to. i slept in her room--alas!--and when she was beautifying herself for the evening and father called for her at the foot of the stairs, she used to inform me, with that ugly smile of hers, that at s---- hall mr u---- always came upstairs to her door and escorted her to the drawing-room on his arm--he was such a perfect gentleman! she must have been a liar, than which one is accustomed to believe there is nothing worse; but she was worse--a vile woman all through. i have never in my life disclosed the horrors of the nights i spent with her; her threats of revenge, if i should do so, sealed my lips at the time, and my mortal terror of her, even after she was gone, for years more; and then i was ashamed to speak. my poor parents died ignorant of what they had exposed me to in my tender childhood. i, so extravagantly beloved and cared for! possibly rosamond u----'s rank saved her from the like treatment. when i think of miss h----, and i hate to think of her--even now she could taint the english landscape--when i do think of her, it is to wish i could tell all the parents in the world about her, as a warning against the promiscuous governess and against leaving any governess unwatched. better the poorest boarding-school, where there is the safety of publicity, a thousand times. in l---- i had a married cousin, whose little bridesmaid i had been, and whose baby, that i was allowed to nurse on a footstool, lured me to stay with her once or twice; but i clung to her side all the time lest perchance i should sight miss h---- half-a-mile off, after she had left our employ and lost all power over me. one day at church--great st margaret's, so full of people--i caught a distant glimpse of the dull, sallow face, and nearly fainted as i stood. happily, there were other and more wholesome memories connected with that attic room. but it was still a tragedy that came first to my mind when i thought of miss h----'s successor, miss w----. for it was in her reign that i very nearly committed suicide. she was not like--nobody was like--miss h----, but she was not above using power unfairly when she was put out. i had been nasty to her in some way, and she returned the compliment by formulating a specific complaint of me to father--actually of _me_, his queen, to _him_, my devoted slave. she was a pretty young woman, and he, poor man, just as human as could be. he used to take her walks of an evening when he thought she needed exercise, and on other evenings would sit entranced for hours while she sang "should he upbraid" and "good-bye, sweetheart" and "when the swallows homeward fly," and scores of other nice things, to him. and that accounts now, although it did not then, for the astounding circumstance that he punished me at her behest. i was not whipped, of course, but i was sent to my room in disgrace and ordered to stay there. never shall i forget my mingled astonishment, rage and despair under the unprecedented calamity. i would not have minded, i thought, if i had really done the thing she had accused me of. but i was an innocent victim, and it was father--_father_--who had been set against me! simply i could not bear it. i resolved to put an end to my wretched existence there and then. "when he comes and finds me dead upon the floor, then he will be sorry," was the reflection that was to console me in my last moments. but, although i crept into mother's room and ransacked her medicine cupboard for the fatal dose, i did not find it; i lived to make friends with father again, and to suffer many more hours of anguish over troubles that were not worth it. another episode of miss w----'s reign came to my mind when i could clear it of the smoke of the darker memories. the brother and sister next below me were the victims of her wrath on this occasion. i was away from home, and my sister was promoted to the attic room and my place in the governess's bed. she noticed, as i had done, miss w----'s habit of performing half her evening toilet by candlelight and the rest in the dark; she discovered that the unseen part of the process consisted in dabbing the skin with rowland's kalydor for the improvement of a much-valued complexion. she told the second brother--a person of humour--who promptly turned the knowledge to account. together they unearthed the secret bottle of kalydor, adulterated the contents with ink, re-hid it in its supposed safe place. night came, and an evening party. miss w---- dressed herself with special care and splendour, and duly extinguished her candles before applying the finishing touch. she had fine shoulders and arms, now well displayed, and was particularly careful to anoint them thoroughly with her favourite cosmetic. then she swept downstairs. we had dark staircases and dim halls then, and somehow she did not realise the situation until the drawing-room lights and the eyes and laughs of the assembled company revealed it to her. i am sorry i did not see the dramatic dénouement. there were violent hysterics, i was told, and a terrible hullabaloo. father, in a towering passion, rushed upstairs and thrashed the children all round, innocent and guilty together, lest he should miss out a possible participant in the crime. we had two more english governesses, and one french. one of the former had taught a family of cousins and was reported to be very clever; but she had a fiery, ungovernable temper, and did not stay long enough to prove her gifts. she was a tiny woman, and pretty in a bird-like, sharp-nosed, bright-eyed way, and she became engaged to one of the men who admired her; and one day he came to see her, and from the hall where he was taking off his hat and coat overheard her "giving tongue" to our stately youngest aunt, with her customary fierceness and fluency. she was unaware of his propinquity until he marched in to inform her that he had not really known her until that moment, and that, as a consequence of the revelation, his offer of marriage was revoked. it was characteristic of her that she turned on him with a furious repudiation of any desire whatever to be his wife. she died an elderly, if not old, maid some years later. the other englishwoman was a dear--and not much else. we loved her, but we did not learn much from her. as for our french companion--it was for french conversation that she was engaged--she was all the time learning english herself. poor little eugénie léonie de b----! she had a white face and big, lustrous black eyes, and pretty frocks, supplied by her mother, herself a governess in an english family of higher consequence than ours. the boys used to tease eugénie about waterloo and frogs, and she would burst into rages and tears because her limited vocabulary denied her the power of arguing for her country on equal terms. she was a dear little thing, and we were all fond of her, and she of us; she took the place of another sister while she lived with us, and there was mutual and bitter grief when she went away. but she did not teach us french to any extent. we taught her english instead. in short, there was not one, i am convinced, amongst them all--with the possible exception of the lady with the temper--who could have passed a proper examination in the subjects she professed to teach. no one asked for a certificate of competency other than her own word and that of her friends. miss w---- certainly had the warrant of the principal of the best ladies' school in l----, but there was no warrant for principals of schools. they conducted their own examinations and gave judgment in their own way, which might be any way. all i learned effectually during my brief experience of boarding-school was a long poem by n p. willis; i was letter-perfect in it for break-up day, but, when the moment came for me to distinguish myself and the school, stage fright paralysed me and i could not utter a word. at least, that is the only scholastic achievement that i can now recall to mind. in the final result we were able to read and write--not "cypher," in my case; and i could play the piano pretty well (by ear), and my brothers vastly better--especially the eldest--and, later on, one sister also. but that was because music was a passion born in us; it had to come out, wild or cultivated, and our teachers could take little credit for such proficiency as we attained. instead of making me read scores and understand them, they played my new pieces over to me before setting me to them. it was not only a labour-saving system, but produced the most immediately effective results. i was a brilliant performer of "woodlands" (descriptive of a gathering and bursting storm and the warbling of little birds after it), and of the "duet in d," before i could puzzle out a hymn-tune that had not been sung or played to me. the elder brother, who went to school in l---- (whence he used to be brought home suddenly every now and then, at death's door, for mother to nurse to life again), had lessons from a master and the advantage of knowing something of the basis of the art; yet his music was before all things the instinctive speech and poetry of a soul that was not made for this prosaic world. it was hard to get him to play to listeners--to "show off" what was really a great accomplishment from the most common point of view. but in twilight and firelight, or with only me, who was his constant chum, his extemporisation was so exquisite that i used to sit and cry as i listened to it. once a great musician listened to it, unknown to him, and told our mother that her son was destined to set the thames on fire some day. he died at seventeen. when he was too weak to sit on the music stool by himself, i used to stand behind him and support his weight against my chest to enable him to enjoy his communion with the divine and beautiful as long as he could. he died in march; and in june of the same year the second brother, two and a half years younger, was laid beside him. this dear boy, so sweet-tempered, so gay, so unselfish, hid facts that should have been attended to while the other was yet alive, because all his thoughts were for him and he never had any for himself, and his own life was in danger before it was known that he was ill. but an organist friend had promised him the glory of playing the whole sunday service in a neighbouring church (st peter's, great yarmouth, where we were living at the time), and, with his complaint already past hope, he went off to this task, simply full of it, and performed it triumphantly. it was his last act in life, and through all his delirium until he died his fingers were playing up and down the sheet, showing that his stricken brain made music for him to the last. the sister was like them both in that one and only respect. she was a delightful extemporiser on the piano, expressing thus all her wayward moods as they alternated so quickly in her passionate little soul. continually she surprised herself as well as us with some beautiful improvisation, and then burst into tears because she could not repeat it. and all that budding genius to be swept out of the world, without a chance to flower and bear fruit! it is a sad reflection--the waste of valuable things in life, the persistent superfluity of the valueless. however, such gifts as the then numerous family could lay claim to were hidden as it were in the "plain egg of the nightingale" while our development was in the hands of the governesses. they were intellectually limited, spiritually common, all unlearned, and the majority of them underbred. the fact being that, taking the average of the seven, they fairly represented their class--the governess class of my young days. naturally, in this case, we more or less fairly represented the class of those who were supposed to be well educated. but i must except the youngest aunt from this category. she was a governess--but not the average governess--and it was never _her_ opinion that we were well educated. she frequently deplored my own lack of opportunities to improve, and made generous, if vain, efforts to provide them. before she entered upon her career as instructress of foreign young high-mightinesses, she spent years on her own studies abroad, and she offered to keep me at school in germany if my parents would send me to her there. i know we were all fools, father, mother and self, but i clung to them and they clung to me, and "no, no, a thousand times no!" was our unanimous reply. "you are standing in the child's light," wrote the youngest aunt from heidelberg, but that was not fair, for they would have sent me and broken their hearts over it if i had wanted to go. but if the youngest aunt had invited me to join her in heaven, the joylessness of the prospect would have been the same. so she instituted a system of correspondence, as the best she could do in the circumstances. i was to write long and regular letters to her, to which she was to reply, correcting their grammar and composition and otherwise enlightening my neglected mind. i performed my part of this contract not wholly without pleasure in it, and i have no doubt that i owe to her my first taste for literature and the bent towards authorship which afterwards became a fixed line. i remember that it was to her i submitted an early ms., while as yet it was a secret that i wrote stories. this one was all about moated granges and mediæval castles and the splendours of what i imagined to be high life. how just her criticism was! and how--naturally, on that account--it hurt my feelings then, when i was professionally so young and innocent. "a boudoir," smiled she, "is not a room that a lady keeps all to herself, as she does her bedroom. and she does not have 'tapers' on the dressing-table, but candles. and why don't you write what you understand?" that advice, which is of the best to-day, was astonishingly good for those days. in later years her letters were like novels themselves. her reticence about things one burned to know concerning the private lives of her royal employers was impenetrable, but outside of that what food for the romantic imagination! there was the death of her pupil, a young princess of s----, and later the semi-dissolution of her father's kingdom--two events that the youngest aunt took bitterly to heart and discoursed of eloquently. there was that mandate of the czar to her and another pupil, wintering in dresden, to return instantly to st petersburg, and the journey of the party in bullet-proof railway carriages through poland in revolt. the train crawled along so slowly, on account of the fighting on the line, that they were nearly starved, and when it reached a station where food might be obtained no one but the youngest aunt had the pluck to leave its shelter. the english tutor of her pupil's brother (the children were fatherless wards of the russian emperor) cowered in his corner paralysed with fright; the youngest aunt could not find words to express her contempt for him. she gathered up her skirts--it was necessary to hold them high, she said, because the ground was running with blood--and sallied forth to forage alone, returning with a little black bread and some dirty water, procured with great difficulty and by a heavy bribe. i remember that the youngest aunt was all indignation against "ungrateful poland," which shows how the finest judgment can be affected by the personal point of view. at the end of the perilous journey there was a solemn service of thanksgiving for the deliverance of the lord's anointed out of the hands of bloodthirsty rebels. her sketches of these and other stirring scenes taught me something of the world outside my village or country town; they supplied plots for many early romances that never saw the light. on the whole, school work was a deadly uninteresting, and therefore unprofitable, business in my time, no matter what the qualifications of teachers. the notion of making it a pleasure as well as a discipline, of breathing into its dry bones any breath of knowledgeable life, seemed not to occur to anybody. the idea that it was anything but a penalty for being young certainly never occurred to _us_. it is not surprising when one considers other aspects of the social system prevailing at the period. but it does seem strange that a theory of education so essentially stupid on the face of it should still persist to the extent we see in these more enlightened days. and yet--not so strange. nothing is really strange when you think it out. the schools, most humanly and naturally, keep their old alliance with the church, clinging to the old dogmas which have been the roots of their being and the symbols of their power for so long; inevitably resisting, while they can, on behalf of all sorts of vested interests, the spirit of progress which they must know to be ultimately irresistible. when i see growing children who have spent morning and afternoon at school fagging wearily at "prep" through the evening when they ought to be recruiting with a game or in their beds, i marvel at the hidebound conservatism which can thus ignore the laws of health and the rights of the individual, freely recognised as paramount in other directions. but again--what is there to marvel at? there are scores of good, common-sense business men to whom compulsory greek is a sacred thing, and there are thousands and thousands of truly saintly women who would not have a hand laid on the athanasian creed for anything. not to speak of the innumerable brave fellows, souls of honour, flowers of chivalry, who believe as devoutly as they believe in god that the world would go to pieces utterly without its armies and navies. how often we hear elderly people gushing over their school days! "ah, those were the happy days!" when i hear them i know exactly what they mean--not the school part of school days, but the free parts in between. i am not of those who sentimentally deceive themselves in this matter--the school parts to me were never happy. i have always known it. and when i came back to the scenes of my schooldays, when i stood in that quiet road at d---- and looked up at the window of the room under the crow-stepped gable, i realised with a shudder how unutterably wretched they had been sometimes. but it is time i dragged my spirit eyes from that sad little nook in the house of dreams. i will not look at it again. i will take memory through the ghost-haunted attics behind it and down the twisty stairs, to the lower floors and the garden and the company of my dear family, where she can play about much more cheerfully. chapter v halcyon days there is always one outstanding association to fly in your face ahead of every other when you encounter a thing or person once connected with your life, that has been severed from it for a long time. and when i looked at the front door like a church door, simultaneously apprehending its interesting character as a door, the first thing i thought of was--valentines. the word says nothing to my youthful reader. but, oh, dear contemporary for whom especially i write, you who took part with me in those revels that are no more, what it says to us! certainly our diversions of that time--when we were hardly into our teens, and when we were as innocent as we were young--were so few and simple compared with those of our children at the same age that we got more out of one of them than they do out of a miscellaneous dozen; but i am allowing for that when i say that for this particular diversion, and one or two more of a like kind, no corresponding diversion of the present day offers anything like adequate compensation. there are bloodless creatures, that forget they were ever young, who point to the christmas card as the improved substitute for our valentine. christmas card, indeed! so common, so obvious, so lacking in individual human interest! what nonsense! we know why they do it. but where is the sense of frowning upon the innocent manifestations of nature in girls and boys, such as were called forth by the valentine, the sprig of mistletoe, and certain other of our games of olden times which were as gates ajar into the promised land, with their stolen and yet not unauthorised kisses and anonymous love-tokens? they gave honest outlet to the exuberance of healthy youth, sweet and wholesome in its free play, but corrupting in secrecy like everything deprived of air. at least such is my opinion, looking back upon the pranks of my early days. the valentines that came to me in such abundance on the th of february were simply symbols of so many lovers and of how they severally regarded me. who sent this? who sent that? who lauds my beauty in such ardent verse? who asks me to be his? the boy i like (though i may never have exchanged a word with him)? or the boy i can't bear? the best of the valentine was that, as a rule, it did not tell. the pleasures of imagination and tickled curiosity were not impaired by any gross attempt on the part of the sender to trespass beyond the privilege of the day. where, then, was the harm? i became old enough to take my part in this delicate dalliance while we lived in d----, and it was in this house of the church door that my most interesting valentine's days were spent. they were indeed momentous occasions. the morning postman was not the chief purveyor of the wonderfully devised tokens; it was the personal delivery after dark that was most fruitful, as it was most exciting. on valentine's eve or valentine's night we sat around the fire in the music-room, eyes shining, ears cocked, muscles tense for the spring. rat-tat-tat! we flew down the steps through the drawing-room, through the hall to the front door, to catch the visitor whose business and whose point of honour was not to let us catch him. a banged gate, a vanishing shadow in the fog or snow, mocked the strained sight and hearing; but plain upon the doorstep--that very doorstep--gleamed a large white envelope enclosing a "song without words" for somebody. it might be from anybody--a boy who had only seen you at church, a greybeard friend of your father's (i was the pet of old gentlemen from babyhood), the man-servant of the house or that innocent young sweetheart of your innocent first love, who had this great chance to declare (without declaring) himself to be such. a sheaf of trophies--if you were a favourite of fortune, as i must have been--when the day was over, and the long-continuing pleasure of conjecture, possibly of knowledge, afterwards. i do not care what anybody says, it was a great and glorious institution. and the mistletoe, of which i spoke just now--oh, the mistletoe! what was not enshrined for us in that insignificant bit of weed! two leaf blades and one berry were enough to work the charm--to turn a humdrum house into a world of romance, filled with the interest of that passion which is the most interesting thing in life, without its carking cares and its deadly responsibilities. like a trap in the run of a wild animal, a pale sprig would be hidden for special purposes by a more ardent player of the game, but that was considered to be a breach of rules; in full view above the most frequented doorway, or at any rate in some place known to all, one of the strangest of our small symbols for big things honestly revealed itself, to be sought or shunned, dawdled or darted past, remembered or forgotten, as the case might be. it must have been a source of intensest interest to the youths and maidens making christmas fun together, knowing what they knew, feeling what they felt, interchanging their sentimental diplomacies according to the instincts and desires of their time of life; for i know what in a lesser degree it meant to the younger children. i am sure that i was a very modest little girl (there was my treatment of my first love-letter to prove it), and that i did not walk--at any rate, that i did not run--after the little boys to whom i inclined; nevertheless, the mistletoe concerned me as much as anybody. the exquisite excitement of circumventing the boys to whom i did not incline was fun and interest enough. it was forty years and more since i had seen mistletoe when that july i walked in the grounds of the fine old rectory in priory lane--the garden into which our balls and arrows used to overshoot themselves--and the rector's wife, with whom i had been lunching, gathered and offered me a little sprig of green stuff. "you don't know what that is," said she. i did not, because it was summer and the pearly berries had not formed. "mistletoe," said she. talismanic word! i folded it in paper and brought it home. it is in australia with me now. valentine's day is hardly a name to be remembered now when the th of february comes round. the date was far behind us when we arrived in england, but i am sure the festival must be dead in its native land, and it has never lived during my time in this. and as for christmas--we could not stay long enough to see an english christmas again, but i think, if i had seen it, i should have found it no more like the old christmas than the one i spent at sea. they belonged to their age, those old christmases of ours, to children not so critical and sophisticated as the children of to-day. fragrant memories of christmas hung about that old house at d----. happy christmases with no governesses around! and such tremendous affairs they were! long, long before the day its heralds were all about us: the choice fowls set apart for fattening; the ox selected that was to make himself famous with a prize, if possible, before the butcher turned him into christmas beef; the solemn mixing of the christmas pudding, at which the youngest baby had to assist (the pudding divided into dozens of puddings boiled in the big copper and hung up in their cloths, to be used in instalments until christmas came again); the making of the mincemeat in the same wholesale manner (big brown jarfuls, also to last through the year), and of the christmas cakes, which were so rich that keeping improved them, and the production of which therefore was only limited by the number of canisters available in which to store them; these were matters of vital interest ere autumn had fairly gone. for the feast of the nativity was above all things a feast in the popular sense of the word. loaded shelves in the pantry and an overflowing table, plenty for everybody and everything of the best, was the order not of the day, or of the week but for the month or two that stood for the "season" with these old-time provincial revellers. when we lived in the country before coming to d---- two dishes in particular were conspicuous on our bill of fare--christmas dishes only, so far as i can recollect. one was a game pie, in size and shape resembling a milliner's bonnet box. its walls were self-supporting and covered with pastry ornamentation in relief; its inside was jelly close-packed with miscellaneous game birds and bits of ham and veal and forcemeat and things; the usual game pie, i suppose (i don't know, it is so many years since i tasted one), but extra big and fine in honour of christmas. the other dish was a round of "hunters' beef"--very well named since it used to be in great request for hunting sandwiches. it was beef rubbed all over every day for three weeks with a certain dry mixture of sugar, salts and spices, and then baked for six hours in an earthern crock under a pile of shred suet, a meal crust and a sheet of brown paper. it seems to me that i have never tasted real spiced beef since. it was used in thin slices with bread and butter, not eaten like ordinary meat at the substantial meals, and lasted a great while. when christmas was nearly upon us--governess gone, and all the carking cares of the past year thrown overboard--the bakings and roastings were tremendous, the excitement of preparation turned all heads. at our farmhouse a cartload of evergreens used to come from our grandfather's woods, sometimes through the snow. here in the town we still managed to get enough; always the christmas tree in its largest size. every room had to be adorned as lavishly as they now adorn the churches, whereas the churches were put off with a bough of holly stuck into each seat end. the christmas tree was planted in a tub on the drawing-room floor--stripped of carpet and furniture for the nightly games and dances (this floor was not of stone)--and usually the top had to be cut off to get it under the ceiling. its graduated layers of arms bore dozens upon dozens of coloured wax tapers (the little tin sconces for them were stored from year to year), and about the same number of pendent glass balls, apples of gold and silver on the dark green boughs. the substantial fruit, the presents, were in numbers sufficient to stock a small bazaar. mother and aunts and family friends had been working on them for months. if the drawing-room could not be shut to children the tree was jealously screened, for a day or two before the great night, which was a party night. it was the young men and maidens who enjoyed themselves in this interval, while the little ones hung about passages and peepholes in burning curiosity and suspense. the enchanting moment came when the party tea was over and a succeeding half-hour of thrilling anticipation; the drawing-room door was flung wide and we rushed through in a crowd towards the splendid blazing wonder in the middle of the room, sighing forth our "oh! oh!" of ecstasy. the stage-managers ranged us in a circle around it, all goggle-eyed, half stunned with the suddenness of our joy, and someone came round with a bag of tickets--round and round, until each had half-a-dozen or more. oh, who would get no. , the great doll at the top of the tree?--or no. , the work-box on the tub beneath (the tub hidden in green stuff, mingled with pink glazed calico)? there were great prizes amongst the many little ones, and some that i remember were quite remarkable. one was a board--very difficult to fix to the tree safely--on which a party of dolls were celebrating a wedding, the bride in her veil, with her bewreathed bridesmaids, the little men in coats and trousers, the surpliced parson, all complete. such time and trouble were to spare for children in those days! the steps were brought in and a man mounted them to detach the articles from the upper boughs. a woman might set herself on fire--once she did, and there was a gallant rescue, and frequently a taper ignited a flimsy toy or set a green branch smoking. doubtless there were heart-burnings also over the caprices of fortune in the distribution of the gifts, but i cannot see blurs of that sort on the shining picture now. santa claus is still much alive, so i need not describe his doings. i only hope the children of to-day enjoy shivering awake for half the night and making themselves ill with the edible contents of their stockings before daylight as much as we did. as for the delicious lurid function, snapdragon, is it obsolete in england yet? it does not come, like santa claus, into the scheme of child entertainment in australia. there would be a difficulty in finding the requisite depth of darkness on christmas evenings here. besides, a supper of raw raisins cannot be good for the infant stomachs. i would not give it to my own children, but still i am glad that the mothers of old were in some things less faddy than we are. one of the treasures of my collection is the weird scene of the magic bowl and the spectral faces around it--the delightful terror of the little girls, the heroic courage of the little boys who seized for them the blazing morsels they dared not touch themselves. a tender memory of that boy to whom i inclined, who shot himself (by cocking a stiff-jointed gun with foot instead of finger), pictures him gallantly fighting the flames on my behalf. the waits, i believe, are heard in the streets of england still. but not, i fancy, on country road and garden paths, guests of the domestic hearth at midnight, a nondescript rabble under no ecclesiastical control, making their own fun, as they then did. blue-nosed, beery, hilarious, in woollen mitts and comforters, drinking good luck to a dozen hosts in turn and thinking of nothing but how they were enjoying themselves, they are not quite adequately represented to us older folk by the better-drilled but unspontaneous choir-boy. he is like the christmas card for which we have exchanged the valentine--a shadow replacing the substance, to our thinking. the choir of the old times was the congregation, led by the clerk in the three-decker. we went to service on christmas morning, as in duty bound, and sang "praise god, from whom all blessings flow," whether we had singing voices or not, and were likewise audible and hearty with the responses, as believing them our own; and when we came out--good, unsophisticated christians, exchanging our "happy christmas" with everybody we met--the church was content to let us go for the remainder of the day. we went home to our immense dinner (with dessert that lasted through the afternoon), our festive tea, crowned with the christmas cake, our blindman's buff and turn-the-trencher and drop-the-handkerchief in the cleared drawing-room, our snapdragons, our punch-bowl, our adventures under the mistletoe. the drawing-room, when not cleared, could not be closed to family use, like the majority of the middle-class parlours of the past (i might almost say of the present also), being the highway to the front door, to the garden-playground, and to the music-room, which was the sitting-room. its four doors were constantly opening and shutting, and it must have been a cave of the winds in winter, although i do not remember it. strips of crumb-cloth marked the crossing footpaths, warning us to keep off the grass--_i.e._ the geometrical-patterned green and crimson carpet; they were taken up whenever it was surmised that "people might be coming," according to that curiously petty but intense concern for a genteel (however false) appearance, which was one of the things i had, mistakenly but naturally, taken for granted that england had grown out of long ago. the room was still the reception-room for callers and company, and all my mother's artistic skill, which only distinguished itself the more for having so little money at the back of it, had been expended upon its adornment. when i think how that artistic skill was exercised, i have a foolish impulse to shudder and to smile. when i think again, i have to ask myself, "why should i?" further reflection convinces me that its manifestations were admirable. to say the least, they were not necessarily in bad taste then, although they would and ought to be so now. but there is far more than that to say. the handicraft of the women of the mid-victorian era had the precious quality of finish and thoroughness, than which there is none more worthy. careful, delicate, faithful work, no matter on what article expended, was the note of excellence, and the longer i live the more i respect and love it. such fancy-work proper as adorned this old parlour of ours i do not wish to see reproduced, but it was appropriate to its day and a credit to her who was responsible for it. she had a sort of settee-sofa under the window on the garden side. it was covered with many squares of finest "wool-work," joined together. there was a different design--vase of flowers, basket of flowers, wreath, bouquet--in each square, although material and ground colour were the same; and the number of them represented so many girl friends who had combined to work them and present her with the sofa on her marriage. it certainly was a graceful idea, cleverly carried out. and wool-work was really very fascinating. with a piece of canvas, a bundle of neatly-sorted berlin wools, and a coloured pattern of flowers of every hue--the more intricate the better--i was quite happy. i also liked working out peacocks and other weird devices into antimacassars, with crochet needle and white cotton, although not so well. i must have made miles of "open-work" (the modern _broderie anglaise_, only better) for underclothes, first and last. once i made a bead basket to hang by glittering bead chains between draped netted-and-darned window-curtains. i knitted rag rugs and silk purses, and sections of a great quilt for a spare bed. i did elaborate geometrical patchwork for other quilts, and fine marking of names (learned from my baby sampler) on linen with engrained red cotton; and watchguards in black silk and gorgeous slippers and winter mitts and comforters for father; and mats for lamps and vases, and so on and so on. but mother was really an artist, because she did not follow patterns, but designed things herself. when she needed curtain cornices for the tops of those windows, and could not afford the gilded, fender-like affairs that were correct and desirable, she nailed deal boards together, covered them with leather, and then with a design of leather flowers or grapes with vine-leaves, which, when varnished, imposed upon the spectator as a carving in wood. now we would prefer the honest deal, no doubt--i would, at any rate--but then there was not a person of taste who would have done so. she made open wood-carving of leather-work applied to stout cardboard, cutting away the latter from the interstices of the pattern embossed. in the treatment of a pair of flower-holders that used to stand on a table under the mirror between the garden window and the garden door, she substituted a scarlet coating made of sealing-wax for the dark wood-stain; her leather-work then called itself coral. as for her wax flowers, they were truly beautiful. she was not content to make up the boxfuls of petals prepared by the trade, but must needs copy flowers out of the field and garden. i do not know how she found time for all she did, but she seemed to do everything, and always to do it right. my faith in her ingenuity and resourcefulness was as my faith in the omnipotence of god. it was in that drawing-room of her adornment that we held festival on the afternoon of our famous wedding-day. it rained, and the amusement for the guests--after the great breakfast in the music-room and the departure of bride and bridegroom--was to practise archery upon a target in the wet garden from the shelter of the house. the arrows from door and window went wide over the garden walls, and the scared face of the rector popped up in alarm at intervals as they hurtled into his domain. it was the son of our old neighbours at t---- (the house of the doll), who, unknown to any of us at the time, pointed a moral for the incautious parent who deposits with his (or her) infant offspring evidence upon which they will some day rise up to judge him. h. was a very smart young fellow, according to the notions of the time, and he forgathered with a pretty cousin of ours, daughter of my father's eldest brother, with whom my father was at feud over a lawsuit and not on speaking terms. her parents forbade the match, and she came to mine--the hostile camp--for succour. enthusiastically we took up her cause, and, having given her all facilities for courtship, gave her the finest wedding that could be compassed from our house. not only that, but drove her many miles behind white-favoured postilions to the church of her own parish, possibly to "cheek" her family, who naturally held aloof, although it was rumoured that they watched the passing of the bridal carriages from some secret ambush. of course, we young ones never doubted for a moment that they were wholly malignant and in the wrong; we were as sure as we were of night and day that our father and mother could not possibly make mistakes. while the happy pair were honeymooning, we assisted mrs h., the bridegroom's mother, to prepare for them what we thought an ideal home in l----, a house so towny and stylish, compared with the farm homesteads in which we had been reared, that we were lost in our sense of the occupants' luck and bliss. i had been their little bridesmaid, and i now became their frequent visitor; i suppose their attentions to me were a return for our ill-omened hospitality to them. i used to sit on a stool in the firelit dusk, totally disregarded, while, on the other side of the hearth, h. nursed cousin e. upon his knee and they whispered together. later on, i sat on the same stool to nurse the baby, e. hanging over me to gloat upon him and assure herself that he was safe in my arms. the other day i saw that house again, and, looking up at the windows, looked through them upon those past scenes with, oh! such different eyes. according to precedent, h. proved himself, very early in the day, to be the bad lot his wife's people had suspected. the first baby was the last, because there was not time for more. the young father lived beyond his means for a year or two, neglected his business, took to drink, went under, and left the young mother and child to the charity of the relatives who had probably foreseen how it would be. and now that i am older than they were i think of my parents' part in the matter, once so unquestioningly endorsed, and i shake my head. so will my children shake their heads over remembered acts of mine which, at the doing, were even as the decrees of providence. doubtless they have done so many a time. in my flying visits to d---- i was drawn again and again to the neighbourhood of that old house. any walk that i took for the sake of a walk led past it, and i stopped at the two gates every time, because i could not help it. the second gate, opening into the field that was part of the premises, had its separate associations. here roamed taffy, when he chose to keep in bounds, a white pony given to my eldest brother by his grandfather, but for his long lifetime the useful servant and beloved friend of the whole family; a dear, sweet-natured humorous creature, human in his affections and intelligence. taffy walked about the domestic domain like a dog; he undid every fastening of every gate that attempted to confine his rambles. he used to come to the schoolroom window when we were at lessons and watch his chance to grab a mouthful of hair. when mother and i made our journeys together to see her parents, some fifteen miles off, we used to stop at a halfway inn to get a basinful of porter for taffy, who loved it and drank it down like a christian; he would not pass that inn without it. when thirsty at home he sought the pump in the stableyard, took the handle in his teeth and rattled it up and down, and as soon as water trickled from the spout applied his mouth thereto. when i have told this story to my present family, who never knew taffy, tolerant and superior smiles have accused me of drawing the long bow; so i was pleased when a sister of mine, lately arrived from england after a thirty years' separation from me, was happily inspired to say at table before them all (we were speaking of old times), "oh, do you remember taffy and the pump?" proceeding to tell the tale again exactly as i had told it. thus taffy and i got tardy justice done us. here, too, in a memorable year, wombwell's menagerie established itself. it was the half of the business which the original wombwell had left divided between a son and daughter, and the latter was the proprietress and travelling with it. my father let his field to her for the few days that must have been winnold fair days (st wynewall originally--a fair held here annually at the beginning of march, literally from time immemorial, as, according to a deed of the reign of edward the confessor, it was flourishing in his day, and there are no records to tell how long before that); for i recall the state of the temperature. which reminds me of an old norfolk rhyme much in use amongst us, to indicate what might be expected in the way of weather at the season of the fair: "first come david, then come chad, then come 'winnle' as if he was mad." so mrs edwards (i think that was her name) brought her wombwell's menagerie to our field. the numerous black marias of the caravan filed into the gate before our popping eyes, the elephant walking as one has heard of the lady doing in the sedan chair that had the bottom out; we could only see his monstrous feet and ankles underneath the house that he carried around him, and those massive members were partly swathed in bandages, because, we were told, the poor thing suffered from chilblains. the vehicles were formed into a hollow square, the arena roofed over (it was deliciously warm to go into out of the cold open air), and the grass floor thickly bedded in clean straw, from which we sifted treasure-trove of nuts and lost articles when the show was gone. the shutters were taken from the cages on the inner side, the entrance steps put down, and all was ready for business. there was a band, of course. the contract gave our household the privilege of free access. i need not say that it was utilised to the utmost. we had special holidays on purpose. but the cream of those exciting days was sunday, when there was no show and no public, and we were admitted to the bosom of the family, to see how it lived behind the scenes. in the afternoon of that day my mother went into the field to show a little neighbourly attention to the proprietress, taking me with her. it was one of the most interesting calls i ever made. we found mrs edwards a very superior lady, who did not travel with the show except now and then, to amuse herself while her children were away at school (her daughter, i think she said, was "finishing abroad"); she had her good house somewhere, like other ladies. she was in silk attire, very stylish, and her private van was a thing of luxury indeed; also she entertained us delightfully. we strolled about the empty arena, and fraternised with the animals. many of them were let out for exercise; others we were allowed to fondle and converse with. the little gazelle on its slim legs raced round and round in front of the cages, mocking the futile leer and pounce of the great cats that would have intercepted it had circumstances allowed; the monkeys tweaked our ears and pulled the trimming off our hats; the great elephant swayed about like a moving mountain, and condescended to take our buns when we mustered courage to present them. unforgettable sunday afternoon! almost worthy to be ranked with the splendid day at port said. the memory of it was in my mind when, on my second sunday afternoon in england, i was behind the scenes in the "zoo" at regent's park, dear little birds and beasties climbing over me and showing off their pretty tricks to me for love and not for money. but, ah, the nights! the dark nights up in that attic bedroom, when the wintry wind bore the heart-thrilling plaints of homesick lions and tigers--so awfully close to one! oh, suppose they should get out! i have never been conspicuously strong-minded when alone in the dark--i have too much imagination--and i used to burrow deep down in the bedclothes to shut out those appallingly suggestive sounds. time seems to deal tenderly with everything in england, and the two old gates were the very same old gates, apparently. approaching them through the town, i passed the same old shops, with the same old names on some of them. next door, across priory lane, the same family of doctors still lived, father and son in contiguous establishments; only the son of old was now the father, and there was a new son. the daughters of the parent house, young ladies of the old days, i found living still, to remember and to entertain me; one of them, a widow approaching her ninetieth year, was the most charmingly nimble-minded and witty person of her age that i ever met. her intellectual audacity impressed me as one of the most striking incidents of my return to her little town. she had lived there always, and was yet unsubdued by the stodgy atmosphere--as awake to the humour of the ways of a little english town (in which, as she expressed it, "twopence-ha'penny would not speak to twopence") as i was. she was handsome too--altogether a dear. just opposite her old home, at the beginning (or end) of the street, swung an inn signboard the sight of which was more delightful to me than all the priceless canvases that i had been privileged to make acquaintance with at grosvenor house a few days previously. this was the rampant horse of olden times--the very same red horse pawing space, his colour faded out, but his familiar lineaments intact; and it was a part of my phenomenal luck at that time to see it just when i did, for the next time i passed that way the sign had been taken down, doubtless to be "restored." i am convinced that it had not been touched in the half-century that i had been away, but just waiting there to greet me. on the other side of my old home, along the london road, i walked in the past every step of the way. there was the same old workhouse, which we used to visit after church on christmas mornings to see the paupers wolfing their roast beef and plum pudding, beside it the court house, full of memories of concert nights and entertainments--particularly of a demonstration by a girl clairvoyant, who, while "under the influence," informed a member of our party that her son was lying dangerously ill at his tutor's house in heidelberg; which was afterwards proved to be the case, although this was the first she heard of it. d---- has a town hall now, a jubilee town hall, but in my day the court house seems to have been the place for public functions; and i have an acute remembrance of sitting through an evening on a ledge but a few inches wide, being crowded off the benches and too proud to ask for a lap. my back aches and the calves of my legs curl up now when it comes across me. further on, c---- hall by the roadside--unchanged, except that i found it temporarily tenantless. my little girl-contemporaries who used to live there wore white pants to the feet, frilled around the ankles, under their short skirts, like miss kenwigs. where, i wondered, as i looked at the blank windows, where were they now? across the road, in front of the hall, lay the park-like lands belonging to it, the beautiful turf only matched by the beautiful trees--all as it used to be. there i saw myself, a little thing in a new pink frock, dancing about with my mother and a crowd of busy ladies amongst long plank tables, at which the poor folk of the town and for miles around were being feasted on roast beef and plum pudding, while brass bands brayed and flags fluttered in the sun. the occasion was the celebration of peace after the crimean war. then the village of d----, object of so many walks in the governess days--i tramped thither one fresh and sunny morning when i wanted a good constitutional, and, as usual when i found the door open, i entered the church. the clergyman, in a rapid gabble, was reciting the daily service; he had one daily--in the very middle of the working morning, in a parish containing only those who were bound to be hard at it earning their living and attending to the needs of families. when, oh! when will parsons learn common-sense? it was a relief to see that these parishioners were not seduced from the path of duty by his well-intentioned invitation. the whole congregation was embodied in one extremely old man, whose infirmities had long disqualified him for the work of life. for him, i thought, it would have been enough at this hour to leave the place open, to comfort him, when he liked to wander in, with its divine suggestions. he could not have followed the breathless patter of words with his deaf ears. however, perhaps this is not my business. chapter vi earliest recollections i went on from d---- into the deeper and more beautiful recesses of my native county, the localities associated with my earliest years, the most sacred places of them all. it was early in july, when the rhododendrons, so thick in the woods, had done their flowering, but the trees were in full perfection, and the honeysuckles of the hedges scented the highways. two large families of cousins had grown up thereabouts, and some were still clinging to their native soil. all had been unknown to me from the time of our paternal grandfather's death, in , which precipitated the estranging lawsuit--all, that is to say, excepting e., who married from our house. as children we used to shoot veiled glances at each other in church, but that was all the intercourse permitted to us. however, in later years, when we had sense of our own to judge the merits of this old quarrel, one and another of my cousins claimed acquaintance with me through my publishers, and i came to england with several long-standing invitations from them to visit them when i could. m.g., a widow a few years older than myself, was one who had never deserted norfolk, and whose charming home was in the very heart of my own country, within a drive of all the places i most desired to see again. an "abbey," it was called, a farmhouse now, divorced from its lands, one of those beautiful english dwellings, several hundreds of years old, that i was always adoringly and enviously in love with; and attached to it were the ruins of a religious house, which the county directory informed me was founded for cistercians in , and granted at the dissolution to the family whose present representative, of the same name, owns it still, my cousin's friend and landlord. from the old garden, out of the stupendous trees (are there trees in england to rival norfolk trees?), rose fragments of the walls of that old abbey, broken arches and windows with some stone tracery left in them; and there were damp depressions in which lumps of carved stone were jumbled up with weeds and ragged bushes, the crypts which time had filled, but not wholly filled, with the rain-washings of centuries. imagine my joy in such surroundings! and within the comparatively modern but still antique (it looked to me elizabethan) residence, nothing to clash with the grey stone walls and mullioned and labelled windows, all simple dignity, frugal refinement, warmth, ease, comfort. it was a delight to me merely to walk up and down the stairs, wide and shallow and solid, echoing the footfalls of generations of gentlefolk at every step; especially when at the top lay the cosiest of beds and at the bottom the cheeriest of quiet firesides. although it was july we had a fire all the time--the little touch that made us kin, my cousin and me. the old prejudice against lighting a fire after spring cleaning or before a certain fixed date in autumn, coincident with the exchange of lace window-curtains for stuff ones, or some such annual domestic rite, had not died out in rural england since i had been away; but here--as soon as i walked in out of the rain on the afternoon of my arrival--the sight of a ruddy blaze, and a well-furnished tea-table beside it, told me that in this remote village i had struck an enlightened woman. it was so remote a village that there was no way of getting to it from d---- but by driving the whole eight miles. m. sent the landlord of her local inn, her accustomed coachman, an intelligent man whose ancestors had been in service with mine, to fetch me; and he entertained me on the way with the history of the old families whose homes we passed and with whom my family had had more or less intimate relations in the years before he was born, as that history had been enacted within his lifetime and during the later part of mine. the soft grey rain came straight down, and we were both coated and mackintoshed to the eyes. i had to peer from under the edge of my dripping umbrella at the well-known gateways (the lodges more modernised than the mansions they belonged to, so far as i could see the latter through their splendid woods and avenues), the familiar farms and villages, with their fine old churches, all the dear, historic landscape; but, wet as it was, i had to struggle not to make it wetter--and my handkerchief hopelessly buried under my wraps. i tell you, dear sympathetic elderly reader, the memories that flocked along that road to greet me were all but overwhelming. it was, for peculiar and precious charm, the drive of my life--to date; only the one i had next day surpassed it. it did not rain next day, and mr b. drove up to the abbey, spick and span, in plum-coloured livery and shiny hat, to take us out for the afternoon. nice man that he was, with his old family traditions so entwined with mine, he entered with respectful zeal into the spirit of the expedition, undertaking that i should miss nothing of interest to me through default of his. he and m. mapped out the route with care, and as we pursued it he turned on his box seat at intervals of a few minutes, to name each feature as we approached or passed it, and make such comments as seemed called for. half the time i was standing up in the carriage behind him, straining my eyes to see, at the direction of his outstretched whip, something in the dim distance not yet plain enough to see. and yet, by accident or design, the latter i suspect, in collusion with m., he was driving slowly past the very face of t----, the goal of this pilgrimage, without word or sign, when my roving eye lighting upon it recognised it instantly, without anybody's aid. would that i had a photograph of it! for not only was it a good old house surpassing my fancy dreams of it, but it had not visibly changed in the least degree, nor had any of its farm surroundings. just as i had left it when i was a child i saw it again when i was an old woman; and the whole scene was as familiar to the last detail as if i had been seeing it all the time. the big road gate, the pond within, the barn, the garden (raised above the surrounding meadow), the house itself, its generous front windows as wide as they were deep, and the kitchen at the side, and the dairy running back to the elder-tree where they used to kill the fowls--everything was in its old place, and no sign of decadence visible from the point at which i viewed it. this permanence of english things was so remarkable to me--because in australia nothing is permanent, but altering itself to bigger or better every minute of the time. as at the moment of sudden death the complete panorama of one's past life is before the mental eye--as one dreams a whole story in multitudinous detail between the housemaid's morning knock at one's door and the echo of it that wakes one (if those legendary happenings are to be believed)--so i seemed to live all my little childhood over again in the few minutes that mr b. held his horse on the highroad, and i stood at his shoulder to gaze at the place, which, although not my birthplace, still meant for me the beginning of all things. memory could go no further back than to an infancy that was put to bed in the middle of the day and given meals on its nurse's lap with a spoon. i looked at the nursery window, and instantly thought of a little thing left to cry in its crib, untended and unheard, with feelings so acutely hurt by the unprecedented neglect that the mark was left for evermore; and the occasion, there is evidence to show, was the birth of a sister three years younger than herself. i looked at the "parlour" window and it was crowded with her. she was just old enough to be "shown off" as the usual prodigy of intelligence by adoring parents. my second earliest memory of myself is as a public singer. they stood me on the big round "centre table" that they might see me as i sang. i did not know the meaning of the words i lisped, yet i had remembered many fragments of them, and the tunes entirely, in spite of having heard neither during the many intervening years. and now an unknown friend in england, general sir m.g., who fought in the mutiny, who used to sing them himself before he went to that business, probably at the same time as i sang them, has filled up for me the gaps in the verses of one of my favourite songs, with the remark, which i can so feelingly endorse on my own account, that he wishes he could remember what he reads now as well as he does what attracted him in those old days. almost simultaneously another friend in england, one of his majesty's privy councillors, did me the very same kindness; and thus the old ballad seems to have a claim to be given a place in these reminiscences, for the sake of other of our contemporaries who may share our sentiment about it. "'twas a beautiful night, and the stars shone bright, and the moon on the waters play'd, when a gay cavalier to a bower drew near a lady to serenade. to tenderest words he swept the chords, and many a sigh breath'd he. while o'er and o'er he fondly swore: sweet maid, i love but thee." with a lingering lilt at the end: "sweet mai-aid, sweet mai-aid, i lov-ove, i lov-ove but thee." "when he turn'd his eye to the lattice high, and fondly breath'd his hopes, in amazement he sees, swing about in the breeze, all ready, a ladder of ropes. up, up, he has gone. the bird she has flown. 'what's this on the ground?' quoth he. ''tis plain that she loves. here's some gentleman's gloves, and they never belong'd to me. these gloves, these gloves, they never belong'd to me.' of course you'd have thought he'd have followed and fought, for it was a duelling age; but the gay cavalier quite scorn'd the idea of putting himself in a rage. so wiser by far, he pack'd up his guitar, and as homeward he went sang he, 'when a lady elopes down a ladder of ropes she may go to hongkong for me. she may go, she may go, she may go to hongkong for me.'" i do not know if it was the same cavalier to the same lady--but i think not, and general g. thinks not--who thus mourned by my infant lips: "i'll hang my harp on a willow-tree and go off to the wars again. a peaceful life has no charms for me, the battlefield no pain. for the lady i love will soon be a bride, with a diadem on her brow, oh, had she not flattered my boyish pride i might have been happy now!" or: "oh, why did she flatter my boyish pride? she is going to leave me now!" looking through that wide window into the old parlour as it used to be, how plainly i could see the ring of benign or ecstatic faces around the centre table, visitors and grandparents and uncles and aunts gathered to behold and applaud the prodigy! even the formidable youngest aunt would grant a provisional smile to a display she could not have approved of; because it was really rather notable, i believe, considering my time of life, and even she had her soft moments. besides, she was then young herself. when she came to see us at this house--she had not time to come much to any of the others--she made it her business to show our mother how we should be brought up. she must have known something about it, seeing that afterwards she was governess to young royalties at two of the courts of europe, but we, while compelled to bow to her authority, had no respect for it or for her. regarding her image dispassionately from this long, long distance, i see that she was an exceptionally correct and accomplished woman, but a certain circumstance that took place behind that parlour window fixed another view of her upon my infant mind too firmly to be obliterated in a lifetime. i was just old enough to go to church, and my doting mother had provided me with a lovely sunday bonnet. it covered the whole head closely, in the height of fashion--responsible for many ear-aches, by the way--and it had two little tails of ribbon on one side of it, each end fringed out. when this bonnet was tied on, the pelisse that covered the bareness of the indoor costume being also adjusted, i was as conscious of my striking appearance as the proud parent herself. she still had her own toilet to make, and while she dressed i went down to the hall where the family assembled for the procession to the village church. it was early, and i was first at the rendezvous, so i went into the drawing-room to look at myself. a large mirror that had gilt candelabra branching out on either side, and a fierce gilt eagle on the point of flight from the apex, hung on the wall by the window, with a sort of divan that was also a receptacle for music sheets and other things in front of it. laboriously i climbed that ottoman and stood as a statue on a pedestal before that convex glass. then i lost count of time in the contemplation of my charms, and especially of those two fringed ends of ribbon drooping gracefully to my shoulder. my head was screwed round to bring them well into view, when i was suddenly petrified by a vision of the youngest aunt in the doorway. i was caught red-handed, as it were. it was impossible to evade conviction on the charge that i saw levelled at me from her pitiless calm eyes. i stood silent, trembling, wondering what she would do. "she will tell mother," was my first thought. but she did worse. she sought the nearest work-box, she approached me--still standing on the ottoman--with unsheathed scissors in her hand. she lifted one end of fringed ribbon and sliced it off; she lifted the other and served that the same. in two seconds my bonnet in which i now had to go to church (impotently raging and heart-broken) was ruined, and my vice of vanity supposed to have been destroyed at its source. i cannot recall the effect of the transaction upon my mother's mind, but i know that its effect on mine was not what the youngest aunt anticipated. "some day you will thank me for it," said she. it was a formula of hers. she was quite wrong. in half-a-century i have not learned to thank her for it. she did not kill vanity with those scissors, as she supposed, but love. it is a mistake common to educationalists the world over. the eldest aunt, my godmother--she of the marble arch episode--was quite a different sort of person. she too, being also a single woman, thought she could improve upon her married sister's methods of managing children, but her pills were so sugared that it was a pleasure to swallow them; at any rate, it was so here at t----, before young men, or even boys, could trouble her. one instance of a lesson prepared and administered for my good, when i was still little more than a baby, stands out very distinctly. i had a passion for dolls. it was the first passion of my life, and lasted until i was so old as to be ashamed to be seen with them. the first of my family were just any articles that came to hand, but soon we had a nurse (the first five of us being born in six years, our mother was not always able to attend to everything, as she desired), who gave shape and form, of a sort, to my maternal ideals. she stuffed bags with chaff or sawdust and sewed them together, a round ball to a larger round ball, and four sausage-shaped ones to that. this body had the surpassing merit of bigness; clothed in a real child's cast-off clothes, it seemed itself more real. when nurse had done her part i used to carry it downstairs to father for him to put a face and hair on it with pen and ink. although i always pleaded with him to make her as pretty as possible, the spirit of mischief sometimes prompted him to draw the countenance of a goblin or an idiot. i would open my arms to embrace a lovely baby girl and find a horrible monster with cross eyes and grinning teeth; at which i would at once break into a wail and a flood of tears. then he would be very sorry, would hasten to somebody for a fresh layer of calico and sit down and make the face again--this time his very best (and he was a clever draughtsman) with which i would be quite satisfied. the breed of dolls improved, of course, with my own development in taste and knowledge; the rag doll gave place to the wooden dutch creature with the pegged joints and shiny black head, and that to the waxen angel with floss-silk hair and smiling carmine lips, eyes like the sky and cheeks like the rose, which seemed almost too good and beautiful for this world. indeed that was too often the view taken of her by the authorities. wrapped in silver paper she would repose in a drawer in the spare room under lock and key, while i pined for her companionship, and would only be granted to me as a sort of distinguished visitor on high days and holidays. well, the eldest aunt never came to see us without bringing presents. as soon as it was known upstairs that she had arrived we were thrown into a fever of greedy anticipation, wondering what they would be this time. i can remember the scene of her entrance into the nursery on two or three occasions, each time in the evening in her indoor costume, after she had kept us waiting for some time. she carried her gifts in her arms. but one day instead of coming to the nursery she sent for us to her room. i, the eldest niece, was summoned first, and after greetings she took from her box a ravishing wax doll and laid it in my arms. "there," said she, "that is for a good girl." naturally i assumed it mine. i sat down and nursed it and gloated over it, while she smiled benignly on me. then, while at the dizziest summit of my joy, i was informed that the doll was not for me but for my next sister. little did i guess what hung upon my behaviour under this sore trial! as little can i account for the luck--merit it could not have been--which led me to take the blow submissively. i handed back the doll with a sigh, perhaps a tear, but without a murmur. straightway another doll, twice as big and fine, was extracted from the aunt's box and pronounced to be irrevocably my own--_because_ i had not shown myself selfish under a temptation carefully calculated to test my character in that respect. the eldest aunt explained her moral lesson with the result of which she was so proud--as i was. she made me understand that the smaller doll would have remained mine had i grudged it to my sister, who would then have received the big one. as with the lesson of the youngest aunt (who would have given neither doll to one so undeserving as, by the merest accident, i might have shown myself), it impressed itself indelibly on my mind--the profitableness of virtue to oneself, and never mind what it costs other people. it would have made an excellent text for one of the children's story-books of the period. compared with these disciplinarians my dear mother was nowhere. she could hardly bring herself to scold a child. as far as i was concerned my father was the same. his weak indulgence of me, the open favouritism with which he distinguished me from my brothers and sisters was--i know now--scandalous. harsh to his boys, and too ready to box the ears of the little girls when they were old enough, he never laid an angry finger on me. one punishment only was mine, and i must have been bad indeed at the times when it was inflicted; i was sent to sit on the stairs. that does not sound like punishment at all, but the treadmill was not dreaded more by those condemned to it. to sit on the stairs meant to sit on the bottom step of the front stairs, just facing the hall door, in dread expectation of a visitor who should be witness of the unspeakable ignominy of my position--akin to that of one exposed in the village stocks to the insults of a hostile populace. i could not look at that front door, that i used to watch in such agonies of fear, without seeing behind it the huddled little figure, quaking in terror of the caller who hardly ever came. if i was let off so lightly myself, i suffered horribly in the punishments of my nursery companions, particularly in the case of my one-year-older brother--a thoughtful, gifted, sensitive boy, with a fragile body and a spirit that could not be bent or intimidated, who, from his babyhood until he came to his deathbed at seventeen, was in constant collision with a passionate father who had not the capacity to understand him. i remember once beating out with a poker the panels of a door behind which he sat in darkness, a prisoner on bread and water, proud and silent, with a bleeding back but a dry eye, that i might get to him to weep over him and comfort him. it makes me feel wicked, even now, to think of it. and to think of his poor, delicate, devoted mother, who did understand him, and to whom he was so precious, more helpless than i to prevent or mitigate these tragic blunders, makes my own mother-blood run cold. in the generations before my own it seems to have been incumbent on a father who would do his duty to be cruel to his sons (and how hard the tradition dies!); it was incumbent on a mother to be stern and distant with her young daughters, if she could--and there is ample evidence that she forced herself to it. what the conception of parental duty now is we know. thinking the matter over, it seems to me that the happy mean between the two extremes may have been struck somewhere about the time when i was a child myself. i am not citing my own experiences in proof of this--far from it--but the broad general rules that applied to all respectable households of the period. the iron hand had taken on the velvet glove. discipline--still a synonym for decency, for civilisation, for religion, in the average parent's mind--was enforced, not pitilessly, as aforetime, but with firmness, and as a rule in moderate and reasonable ways. the child, even the spoilt child, remained completely subject to its natural rulers, whose sense of responsibility for its well-being seemed never out of their minds; but while "duty" was still the watchword--and the word stood for a real thing--the weakness of the weak side was more justly allowed for--not pandered to, you understand; only not treated as a crime to be cured by punishment. duty--duty--how one loathed the word! but how good for character to be trained to recognise the thing! the very infant, if able to employ itself usefully, had a daily task of some kind--was taught that life was meant for work, and that play was unlawful save as a reward for work. even at t---- it was my duty, and i knew it, to spend certain hours with a long seam or hem, stabbing my finger, weeping over repeated unpickings and admonishments, just as it was my duty to make a joyless breakfast of bread and milk. every little girl must know how to manufacture, single-handed, a whole shirt for her father--and the amount of fine sewing in a whole shirt of those days must now be seen to be believed--or hide her head amongst her peers and cause her mother to be ashamed of her. i was well on the way with this laborious undertaking before i could read. utter drudgery it was, because the scheme of "plain-work" was too vast, and its details too minute and complicated, for my understanding, but it did not destroy my inherited love of the needle. when it ceased to be an instrument of discipline, it became my favourite toy. i could be kept "good" at any time with beads to thread, or some wools and a bit of canvas for a kettle-holder, or, above all, scraps with which to dress dolls. what girl-child makes dolls' clothes--proper dolls' clothes--now? in my child days it was an occupation as constant as it was delightful. all the year round i was stocking a little trunk with elaborate costumes for my children, against they went with me a-visiting, or in the family party to the seaside. it was thus that i learned to be independent of dressmakers for myself in later years. a particularly bright memory of my life at t---- is the way i "spent the day"--a regular-recurring holiday--at a neighbouring farmhouse. my hostesses kept a doll for me. i never took it home--it lived in a drawer in their spare bedroom--but it was brought out as soon as i arrived, together with such odds and ends of material as were available at the moment; and down i sat to reclothe the puppet anew, in a costume of fresh design, the completion of which would synchronise with the call of parent or nurse to fetch me home. now, when a houseful of grown-ups has a child to entertain for many hours at a stretch, what labour and strain to keep it amused and happy! these people had only to give me a doll, a rag or two, and sewing materials, and i was amused for the whole day, and so happy that i have never forgotten how happy i was. on account of that doll--which, after all, was not more than six inches long--i had been most anxious to see the house belonging to it. i knew it had been near t----, and, as i remembered it, almost unique in rustic charm. often, amid the lightly run up homes of australia, i had thought of its solid, old-world, if humble, beauty, and on this particular afternoon i had purposed to feast my artistic sense upon it with a satisfaction unknown to me when i was young and ignorant. it was quite a shock--so accustomed had i become to finding all i looked for--to discover that it was no more; the one thing gone, of which no trace at all remained. its garden was wholly obliterated, and on the site of the old house stood a new house, the commonest of the common, from which i turned in disappointment and disgust. dear, dear old vanished home! i could not have believed i should feel its loss so much. but i can say of it, in the words of the obituary column, that, although gone, it is not forgotten. in my gallery of memory the picture of it hangs, no line or tint bedimmed by the passage of the years. behold it with me, my reader. in the foreground an oval lawn, carefully kept (for i was frequently employed to weed the daisies out): it is ringed with gravelled path, then squared box borders, then flower-beds, behind which on one side rises a thick belt of fir-trees, and on the other lie the farmyards, over a dividing wall. from the little green gate in the roadway fence (lined with a clipped hedge) one views the old dwelling at the top of the lawn; long and low, its walls a mat of ivy, pierced with latticed casements, opening outward, and a front door under a little porch; a large, steep, thatched roof, with dormer windows to the row of four bedrooms, and old ornamental chimneys in clusters, tall and fat. on the side of the trees, wooden lattices in the ivy let sunless light into the dairy (robber rats used to squeeze through the interstices and get caught fast on their return), and the finest violets and primroses grow underneath. also, farther into the green shade, pet hedgehogs live that a little girl feeds with milk, and that uncurl and scuffle along at her heels through the pine-needles to show their cupboard love. and along that side the bees feed from the foxgloves, in the bells of which little boys entrap them, to chase the little girl with the buzzing prisoners, helpless in their silken bags. the backyard, unseen, has red-brick pathways through it, ringing with the clink of pattens and milk-pails; one leads to a green door, portal of a paradise of unforbidden fruit; another branches off to the gate of nearest access to the deeply mired cowyard, which is also the pigyard and poultry-yard--which, by the way, should suggest an effluvium to be remembered, but does not, possibly because the windows of the period were used, not to let air in, but to keep it out. sweet old house--altogether sweet, smelling only of lavender and cabbage roses and pot-pourri and fragrant cookings.... the title of the picture is "the house of the doll." for the doll's sake, mrs h., its mistress, and h.m. (the two christian names never dissociated), her daughter, stand out from the shadowy crowd of my earliest acquaintances in high relief. so small a society as we were in our village and adjacent hamlets--miles and miles from any railway--we had, of course, our cliques. some of the half-dozen or so of farmers' families were not to be familiarly recognised on any account; with two or three we were distantly fraternal, confining our amenities to cake-and-wine calls; one or two were on such a footing with us that we "dropped in" on each other at uncanonical hours, and conducted intercourse in our "keeping" rooms and in our ordinary attire, but still with the perfect understanding that the precise etiquette of the time forbade the dearest friend to stay to meals unless previously invited and prepared for; excepting, of course, in crises of trouble, when etiquette must ever give way to primitive impulse. the h. family were amongst these intimates, and chief of them all to me on account of that doll. there was a mr h., but he was a nonentity in his domestic circle, a slow, fat, white old man, with a large pimple on his nose, and whom his wife addressed and referred to by his surname only; from all that i can remember, it seems plain that she (a notable person amongst us, vigorous, dressy, authoritative, i should say a perfect exponent of the "proper" in her class) held the purse-strings. i know that she left home at stated intervals to "collect her rents"--not his. there was also h., the bushy-whiskered, towny son, apple of his mother's eye--the same h. who married cousin e.--but he was not much at his home when i was going there to dress my doll. when he was, he illustrated the awkwardness of the architectural plan of that and many of the old houses of the time. the row of upper chambers, whose dormer windows poked out of the thatched roof, opened one into the other; mrs h. and her spouse had command of the staircase, but h.m. had to go through their room to hers, and h. through both to his; beyond his lay the spare bedroom, which had a little newel staircase, no wider than the doors that masked it, in one corner, going down to the corresponding corner of what was superfluously styled the "spare" parlour; but these two stately and sacred rooms were not meant to be made a passage of, and as such no one thought of using them. so h. came and went by way of his mother's and sister's rooms, and when i spent the night with them (sleeping with h. m.) the excitement of his appearances was a great part of the entertainment. h.m.'s favourite ejaculation, "lawk-a-daisy-me!" signalled his approach; if she was in bed she threw the sheet over her head, if she was up she hid in a closet. she never seemed to get over the novelty of the thing, which must have been going on since she was born. and, although she was probably a young woman, she seemed quite old to me. poor h.h.! how history repeats, and also anticipates, itself! too elegant for a farmer, and so a corn-merchant, with a desk in the exchange at l----, it was quite a condescension on his part to make a sojourn under the paternal roof; and his mother seemed to glory in the fact. he was the fine gentleman of the village, bringing the latest thing in trouser-cut and hat-brim to the rustic youth. how appropriate his ideals to his end! dress, i may remark by the way, although so far less complicated and costly than it now is, was an equally important matter to us all. red-letter days were those on which we met our intimate acquaintances, at each house in turn, to inspect the new attire procured twice a year from l----. all the ladies seemed to set themselves up at once, possibly because fixed days were observed for bringing out their finery, easter sunday being one, but also they may have wished to avoid the appearance of copying or forestalling each other. i know there was a great comparing of notes at the various private views, and ejaculations of admiration signifying polite surprise. a new dress per season was then a thing unheard of, but a new bonnet, or, more often, one that had been cleaned and retrimmed, was forthcoming for every female head. i can see those bonnets now, with their flowered caps in front and their flouncy curtains behind, and their strings that used to be rolled up and pinned in paper when not spread in bow and ends upon the wearers' breasts. i think mrs h. and her daughter must have been our great exemplars in the matter of dress, so numerous seemed the mantles and fal-lals in addition to the bonnets of their bi-annual show, and such an impression of their rustling magnificence on sundays remains with me. chapter vii old times and new it struck me, as i stood up in mr b.'s carriage to look at the old house which had so well survived the changes and chances of half-a-century, that at the beginning of that half-century the cash cost of happiness was very much lighter than it is at the end; and not the cash cost of happiness only, but of material well-being, domestic plenty, social position, everything necessary to the comfort and dignity of a gentleman. i do not speak of the poor labouring class; i do not say--i do not for a moment think--that the old times on the whole were better than the new; but i believe they were better in a few things, and amongst other things in this--the good taste of people in the matter of money. five hundred a year was then a good income. the fortunate possessor did not usually thirst for more. he could keep a large, substantial house amply provided, and take his family for an outing yearly, and still save something. he had not fifty thousand trivial drains upon his purse, as we have, consuming our substance we know not how; he saw his return for what he spent, and he knew what he wanted, and it was not much. his good home, his county town, his local meet of hounds--they were not necessarily duller than the crush of interests in our more fevered world. he grew his own fruit and vegetables, if not his own pork and butter. housekeeping was thrifty, as a matter of duty, apart from any thought of saving. i knew an earl who took a lump of meat out of a pig-tub and ordered it to be washed and cooked for his dinner, by way of pointing a moral to wasteful kitchenmaids. out of five hundred pounds a year, the wife would ask, perhaps, twenty pounds as her personal allowance. her clothes were always good, with rarely a button or a darn wanting, but they were made at home or in the national school--fine linen under-garments (with, of course, silk stockings) and white calico petticoats, seamed and tucked exquisitely, but not "enriched" with miles of lace, as in our own costly fashion. she wore aprons to protect her neat gowns--a black silk ornamental apron in the afternoon. her best silk dress was best for a dozen years, the paisley shawl of her marriage outfit never out of fashion. the local dressmaker came to sew for the children--eighteenpence a day and her meals; she remade the same frock twice or thrice: turning it on the first occasion, putting it together after washing on the second, cutting it down for a younger child on the third; and everything was lined throughout, to enhance the durability of those everlasting stuffs. girls went to balls in white book-muslin and a pink or blue sash; the whole costume, with shoes and gloves, might have cost a pound; yet we were supposed to be well dressed--we really were, according to the modest requirements of the time. so that it is easy to understand why the possessor of five hundred pounds a year not only felt himself passing rich, but actually was so. a farmer--a "gentleman-farmer," as he was called, the class to which we belonged--with half that income clear of farm expenses, was in a position to envy no man. i fancy that was something like my father's situation when we were at t----. but he was constitutionally incapable of managing money--he could not hold it--and it is mother i think of when i think how ample and orderly that old home was. the housewife of those days--so humbly inferior to her lord and master as she was content to consider herself, although he might not be worthy to tie her shoes (to adjust her sandals, rather)--she was the home-maker, the heroine of her day, although nobody knew it, herself least of all. certainly she had the advantage over her descendants of those good old contented servants which are never heard of nowadays, because the feudal age is past; they were the foundation-stones of the domestic edifice, which for lack of them is now unsettled, decaying, in some sort out of date. but apart altogether from consideration of such conditions as were of the times and not of her individual choice, did she not know her business well? i ask you, dear friends, who were young with me. her grand-daughters laugh at her little fads and nostrums, but they had their value and meaning to her and us. i have known of a modern lady, a collector of curios, getting hold of that, to her, amusing article, a copper warming-pan. having been so lucky as to get hold of it, she hung it up on a wall by a ribbon round its handle, for an ornament. the housewife of the fifties did know better than that. she raked red coals into it, poked it between the sheets at the bottom of a bed, and in a few minutes made that bed the cosiest, the blissfullest, the most sleep-compelling nest to tuck an ailing child into on a winter's night that was ever contrived by human intelligence in any generation. i would like once more to hear that smothered rattle up and down, to smell that delicious scorchy odour of the warmed sheets, to feel that sensation of transcendent comfort as i sank to rest; but, of course, i never shall. now, when i fear to be kept awake with the shivers of a raw night, i fall back on a hot-water bottle or a brick baked in the kitchen oven. the magic warming-pan, where still extant, hangs cold and useless on the wall. the present generation does not know its value; no, not even in chilly england, where i found so many unexpected survivals of things i had supposed for ages out of date. it seems to me--not always, of course, nor even often, but now and then--that the homes of my childhood were more really comfortable than the corresponding homes of to-day. that there was real comfort in them, and that at a price far less than we pay for our comfort, is, at any rate, indisputable. deadly dull they would be to us to-day, i know. i saw something of the life, about the eastern counties, in several families that had brought it down unchanged to the twentieth century, and i asked myself, "how could i stand this now?" i could not stand it, with all my love of peace and quiet, of which i have never been able to get enough. it would drive me melancholy mad. but in the days to which these self-contained and unawakened homes belong, it was not dull. was it, reader? to the best of my recollection, we did not know what boredom meant. the procession of the hours passed before my eyes when i looked at my old home--one day so like another that i could not lose myself amongst them. no morning tea, of course. i blush to add, no bath. i do not remember a bathroom in any house--not even that of my maternal grandfather, a physician of some distinction in his day, who dictated the laws of hygiene not only to us but to many county families. a portable bath was part of the furniture of every decent house--we had one so large that the frequent monthly nurse made her bed in it--but, like the warming-pan, it was not for common use; it was a medical appliance chiefly. such is the case, i find, in many english houses still. we children were severely scrubbed and scoured in washing-tubs every saturday night--"tub night"--and we did a great deal of sea bathing in summer; between whiles we ran constant risk of being sent from table to obliterate the line of demarcation between the washed and unwashed portions of face and neck. dirty little pigs! we used to dress first, and then seek the sparing sponge. this was after the nurse of infancy had been replaced by the nursery governess, who, to the best of my recollection, was no more particular herself. there was some excuse for us in those bitter english winters. to go warm from the "keeping-room" fire to the ice-cold linen sheets was bad enough--i recall the nightly struggle for courage to put feet down into them; to have to get out again into a temperature that froze the towels on the horse so that they would stand up by themselves like boards--that froze one's breath on the sheets so that i have scratched my face on the crystals as on pins--was a sharper ordeal. small wonder that we hurried into our clothes, or that the stiff, blue, chilblained fingers shrank from wet on the top of cold. i remember a winter night when my ewer split in halves with a loud report, and the water within rolled out upon the floor like a lump of glass; there had been a fire in the room overnight too, a luxury dispensed with, as a rule, in the case of children who had passed out of the nursery into rooms of their own. it was in the same winter that i inadvertently touched an iron railing with my bare hand, and skin and metal stuck together. this, however, was not at t----. my doctor-grandfather did not pull-to the curtains round his and grandmother's bed. i know, because i used to sleep in their room when visiting them by myself, and gaze upon them from my cot in the corner as they slept--both in nightcaps, hers deeply frilled over the face, his cone-shaped, with the tasselled point hanging over one ear. but it was the the rule to draw them--that is what they were there for--and my father and mother did so. the room itself was made airtight first. to have slept with a window open would have seemed to them the act of a deliberate suicide. curtains having been drawn over bolted windows, six more (of flowered damask, very thick) were drawn round the canopied four-poster, turning it into a small tent; a pleated valance round the top obviated the danger of ventilation where the rings ran upon the rods. the occupants entered the enclosure by an aperture on either side, closed it carefully, sank into the yielding depths of the billowy feather-bed, and slept like tops. at any rate, i never heard that they did not. more than that, there are people who can sleep under almost the same conditions still. i had had an idea that feather-beds had been extinct for thirty years, at least, but last year i reposed on no less than four separate ones in four separate houses; yes, and slept well upon them all. i got so used to feather-beds at last that on my return home i had to send my hair mattress to be teased before i could reconcile myself to it again. almost everywhere i went in england i used to go up to bed to find the windows of my room closed and locked under the drawn blinds--part of the housemaid's preparations for the night; whereas i am accustomed to sleep with three wide open, and to wish that roof and walls could be dispensed with. although i adjusted myself so easily to the feather-bed, i drew the line at the shut-up room; the fresh night air was indispensable. but i would sometimes find the bedclothes damp in the morning, and the clothes i had taken off too clammy to put on again. i had forgotten that peculiarity of english nights. my mother, when i knew her first, did her hair of a morning in two parts; the hinder half was brushed back, tied tightly, and disposed in braids around a high comb; the front drooped in beautiful golden ringlets on either side of her face. but when she was thirty or so she dressed like the sedate old lady that we took her then to be. she tucked her fair hair under a cap--a large cap, with streamers of ribbon hanging down from below the ears like untied bonnet-strings. there was a dummy head of pasteboard (which went by the name of jane winter), with a proper face to it, and a hollow neck with an opening within which to stow away materials, on which her caps were made. it may possibly have been because she was perennially convalescing from confinements that she wore caps as a habit at so early an age, but i think not; i believe them to have been the sign of departed youth. when you became a mother, though you might be still in your teens, a large cap was part of the "sitting-up" costume. i remember standing at mother's side by open drawers, while cousin e., "expecting" for the first and last time, displayed the elaborate preparations made for her infant and herself. i did not know what they meant, but i see now the white cap of blond lace and gauze ribbon that she twirled about on her doubled fist. i saw her in it too on the happy day when i was first allowed to sit on a stool at her feet and nurse the baby. she looked beautiful in it, with her girlish face and mass of dark hair. on emerging from invalid retirement she left it off, so i suppose it was a sort of glorified substitute for the universal nightcap. with regard to other clothing, all persons claiming to be gentlefolk--the division of classes was strongly marked in those days--wore irish linen shifts and shirts and silk stockings; no matter how poor nor how outwardly shabby they went, they must conform in those particulars or lose caste. my two grandmothers, both wealthier than we were, were sticklers for the finest material, and some of their silk stockings (white, like all stockings) and exquisite under-garments came down to their descendants to be darned and darned as long as they would hold together. when they were worn out--no cotton; a lady would live on bread and water sooner than come to that. much of this linen nether-wear was made in the national schools, where sewing was an important feature in the education of the poor. the ladies of the neighbourhood gave their material and instructions, and from time to time inspected the process of manufacture. often have i accompanied a village patroness on this errand, stood shyly by while she studied the fine stitching--one thread drawn and the tiny beading done on the crossing threads, two backward and two forward--and the tiny gathers "stroked" to a regularity that no machine could better, the little craftswomen dropping their dutiful curtsies to her when she deigned to commend their work. i do not know who was paid for it when it was done. winter and summer these linen garments were, i believe, worn next the skin. i forget what the fashion of the early fifties decreed to be worn immediately over them, except stays that had busks of solid wood, and had to be laced down the back every time they were put on. but i remember watching, in that room up yonder, my mother tying her bustle round her waist. it was a stuffed roll like a sand-bag, reaching from hip to hip, designed to set her skirts out behind; and the skirts hanging under and over it were numerous and full. as for gowns--the deep point in front, the patterned flounces, bell sleeves combined with white muslin bishop sleeves, large lace collars fastened under a spreading ribbon bow or cameo brooch the size of a small plate, "habit-shirts" (for filling in the long and narrow v of an open-fronted bodice)--memory supplies but a jumble of these things. it does not matter. history has preserved the modes of the time, and i presume we kept up with them as well as country-folk could do. in the nursery our clothes were more defined in style. though snow lay on the ground, we went bare-armed and bare-necked--down to the latest baby, whose little sleeves would be tied up with ribbons at the shoulders. to put long sleeves to a child's frock was a thing unheard of; they were given to us with the first "gown," which, with its lengthened skirt and fastenings in front, signified the estate of womanhood. sandalled shoes, very thin in the sole, were correct indoor wear. the other end of me was showered over with tubular ringlets hanging nearly to my waist. the painful process of preparing them--the relentless thoroughness with which our nurse (mother was gentler) rolled up a strand of hair a few inches, "chucked" it tight upon its rag, rolled it a little more and chucked it again, and finally tied it close to the stretched scalp, with odd hairs dragging at their too tenacious roots, continuing the torture for half-an-hour or more--this was one of the sorrows of childhood in the fifties, and no small one either. our nursery toilet was completed by the "feeder" tied on before each meal and removed after. we went downstairs--when mother was "about"--to the row of bread-and-milk basins that i, for one, hated the sight of, except in the season when a sprinkle of strawberries or raspberries and a little sugar were dropped into them; the youngest aunt being unaware of such a weak relaxation of rules. discipline imposed that bread-and-milk upon us every day of our lives, no matter how we rebelled against it. we might be bribed to get it down by promises of a taste of the adults' dishes afterwards--the fat gravy from the bacon was a valued perquisite; but there was no dispensing with the nauseous preliminary. i have not been able to eat bread-and-milk since. mother came downstairs with her key-basket. what she did with all those keys i do not know, but they were evidently precious. she carried them, with the plate-basket, to her room, nightly; a maid retrieved the latter when she took up father's shaving water, but the little brown basket of keys was never beyond reach of the mistress's hand. she set it down beside the tea-tray while she administered breakfast. and i had not been three days in england before i saw the exact duplicate of that little brown basket, with all the keys in it, go through exactly the same performance. how oddly it struck me. for in australia we know not key-baskets--never have done so far as i know. if you were to lock sideboard or store-closet against your respectable maids in this country they would not stay with you. and i should not blame them. i suppose mother's tea-caddy was locked--certainly tea was a terrible price those days. i often opened the lid of the quaint box, which had two lidded receptacles inside, one for black tea, one for green, and a special caddy spoon to ladle it out with. she made the tea herself from a blending of the two kinds, to which she added a dust of carbonate of soda, apparently to increase the look of strength. she drew the water from the hissing urn, kept at the boil by a red-hot metal core slipped into a cylinder in the middle of it. she and father, like many others, drank the decoction pure, without sugar or milk. after breakfast he went to his farm work; she also--and she was the better farmer of the two, although he was bred to the trade and she was not. his soul was in the hunting-field and the lighter distractions of his life, and money slid through his pockets as water through a sieve; it was she, from first to last, who kept things together as best she could. she had had the sheltered and dainty girlhood of the well-born and well-to-do, who had such (to us, and especially to us who are british colonists) strange ideas of the privileges and immunities of their class; needless to say she had never done "work," in the real sense of the word, for that was the portion of the "common people." but now she sent fowls and eggs to market; and butter of her own manufacture--butter in large quantities, as i remember, for i used to sit on a high chair in the dairy with her and watch her make it. she always made a special pat for me, with no salt in it; which is how i like butter to this day. i could see again, as i looked along the side of the old house, that cool dairy, with the shelf of crockery pans all round it and the big churn in the middle, on the red-flagged floor; i leaned again on the edge of the table where she worked under my studious eye, her white arms bare to above the elbow, the dim green light on her lily-fair face--light filtered through a wooden lattice and the shadows of an elderberry-tree, from the fruit of which was made yearly many a stone jarful of strong wine, for mulling with sugar and spices to warm us for bed o' winter nights and before going to an unheated church on winter sunday mornings. besides elderberry wine mother made gooseberry wine, currant wine, ginger wine, cowslip wine--all manner of wines; the cellar was kept stocked with a large variety, costing next to nothing. she used them where the modern hostess uses tea in the entertainment of company. afternoon callers had cake and wine offered to them, and the careful wife of a wasteful husband did not squander the port and sherry. they were for the solemn dinners--to swim upon a shining mahogany sea in the best decanters, set in baize-bottomed boats of pierced silver--and for christmas and other festivals. there was always a "best" of everything--glass, china, silver, napery--sacred to state occasions. every year also she brewed beer in the brew-house, barrels of it, for the supply of the field labourers (to whom it was given at eleven a.m. to wash down their luncheon of bread and pork), as well as for household use. her cordials, her jams and jellies, her pickles of all sorts, her mushroom "ketchup," her raspberry vinegar and cherry brandy, her bottles of capers (the seeds of nasturtiums), her jars of garnered honey, her ropes of onions, her carefully cured hams and bacons, hanging thickly from the beams of the timbered kitchen ceiling--punctually were all these things stocked in their season, excellently prepared, by her own hands, when illness did not compel her to use a deputy. she and the other village ladies were rival cooks. each had her special family recipes, and they took pride in comparing them. baking day occurred twice a week. then was the great oven in the wall filled with blazing faggots, and the kitchen tables with the dough of bread and pastry and the batter of cakes; anon the smouldering ashes were raked out, and the long-handled flat shovel fed loaves and meat pies and sweet confectionery into the warm-breathing cavern; presently the house was odorous with appetising scents, and the pantry was stocked for the time being. amongst the delicacies would be a little cake of my own making. i would spend the morning over that bit of material, brought to the colour of a slate pencil, while mother manipulated the rest, going and coming, flushed and busy, but loving to keep me by her, to prattle to her while she worked. it seems to me that i must have been her constant companion before the governesses came. the joint for dinner was not baked--never. it was hung by a "jack" over a dripping-pan before the square red fire, which roasted it crisp and brown as the machine slowly turned it round and round. sometimes the machine went wrong (it wound up like a clock), and sometimes a coal would fall into the pan and make the gravy gritty, but, on the whole, i fancy that way of cooking meat has not been much improved upon. the outside fat seemed to take on layers of richness with every spoonful of fire-cleared dripping poured over it. the gravy that was the residue of this had a surpassing quality, particularly when upheaved upon the bosom of a puffy-edged yorkshire pudding, or when mingled with the cream that hares were basted with. unsoddened and undiluted by the steam of the ovens, the whole goodness was preserved to flesh and juice. unless it is that distance lends enchantment to this roast of old. the yorkshire pudding or the roast gravy with some other plain pudding--boiled batter or norfolk dumplings--made the first course of the midday dinner (as it does still in some conservative families), and the midday dinner was moved on to three o'clock for company and on state occasions. the meat and vegetables made the second course; after these the sweets and cheese (home-made), as now, with dessert only on sundays and holidays. a jug of brown ale, drawn from a barrel perennially on tap, would grace the table, which had no decoration of flowers, but relied for distinction upon the quality of its napery and silver. we dined with our parents mostly, and were not oppressively treated in respect of good things, unless the youngest aunt was present. after dinner father took his arm-chair and his long-stemmed churchwarden, mother her indefatigable needle. or perhaps she and i would walk out together to call upon our neighbours--those who received us in the keeping-room (aptly named), where we could enjoy the informal intercourse that was in character with the place, or those who invited us to the parlour, the primness, comfortlessness, reserve and artificiality of which were reflected in our demeanour, as in that of the lady of the house. when mrs h. was summoned without notice to interview a caller here, she kept that caller waiting while she changed her gown, put on her best cap, got out her best decanters and silver cake-basket; her daughter similarly revised her costume before she allowed herself to be seen, although they always "dressed" for midday dinner and the afternoon, after their kitchen and farm work of the morning. but when we appeared unexpectedly, mrs h.'s up-thrown hands and h.m.'s "lawk-a-daisy-me!" would express not consternation but ready welcome; and in that dear old keeping-room, with its beamed ceiling almost on our heads, we were friends and not company, and could open hearts and mouths as freely as we liked. that is, the grown-ups could--not i. "little girls must be seen and not heard," was the admonition addressed to me when i attempted to join in the conversation. my part was to listen, which i did so well that i could almost fill a book with the interesting family secrets and village scandals unconsciously confided to my retentive child's memory. there was a lady spoken of who went to bed when her baby was dying, and who, on rising in the morning, showed disappointment that it was not dead, and resentment towards the good samaritan (h.m. herself) who had sat up with it all night, and whose skill had pulled it through. there was another lady who, having come into a fortune of thousands, had wept because a hundred or two belonging to it had been left to someone else, the reason of those tears being that the odd money would have enabled the weeper to refurnish her house without breaking into the rounded bulk of the big legacy. there was yet another, a devoted whist-player, who had been caught by some extraordinarily smart person in the practice of an ingenious swindle. she would say to her husband, clearly her partner in guilt as in the game, although somehow he escaped censure: "dear, it is your turn," or: "how warm the room is!" or: "come, go on," or "see what the time is "--_i.e._ drop some seeming innocent remark beginning with a certain letter, according as she wanted him to lead diamonds, hearts, clubs or spades. this was evidently regarded as a most horrifying tale, and i could not see why--for a long time. nor was it easy to fathom the significance of that one about the governess and tutor, who were expelled together from a great house in the neighbourhood, because they had been discovered love-making when they should have been attending to their duties. the warning about "little pitchers"--dropped, it was fondly supposed, unnoticed by me--would now and then spoil the dénouement of a story; but there were dozens and dozens that came to me complete, to be understood in later years, if not at the time. on our way home from these casual symposia i would question mother upon points that puzzled me. often she would say: "never mind," or: "you would not understand"; but more often she gave me the information i wanted. she excused herself for this unfashionable weakness in a mother of the period by explaining (the plea for all indulgence) that i was "different from other children." five-o'clock tea was not afternoon tea. it was the family evening meal. ham, brawn (we called it pork-cheese), or some fancy meat, cold, and laid out in slices on a plate, was there for sandwiching between bread and butter similarly prepared; or the savoury might be shrimps or crab, or radishes or cress; jams of great variety, and particularly cakes, filled the rest of the table space that was not occupied by the tea-tray, crowned with its hissing urn. and for this meal no white cloth was used; nor do i remember such a thing as a finger-napkin at any meal. it seemed to be the adjunct of the finger-glass, which we did not aspire to. tea was made as at breakfast, but not for us; we had ours in the nursery, of bread-and-treacle or bread-and-dripping, and our mugs held milk and water--except only on such great occasions as christmas days and birthdays, when we were allowed what we called "gunpowder tea," which was our milk-and-water sugared and slightly coloured with a few spoonfuls from the grown-ups' teapot. in winter a pair of tallow candles illuminated the scene. the grandparents used wax candles--one grandfather used four at a time, and six for company, in six big silver candlesticks--but ours were usually made, like so much else that other people bought at shops, by mother's ingenious hands. snuffers accompanied them. some that i have seen were such works of art as well as curiosities that i wonder i have not heard of them amongst the hoards of bric-à-brac collectors. we possessed one beautiful pair in chased and pierced silver, the box patterned like a watch-case; and another of the same metal, finely worked, which had a spring inside the little door that snuffed the black wick into the receiver; and the trays of both matched in style and workmanship. i do not know what became of them--thrown away, probably, as antiquated rubbish, when oil lamps came in. it was by the light of a tallow candle that mother did the exquisite needlework that nobody can do now, in these effulgent evenings. you almost need a microscope to see the stitches of her fairy-like baby-clothes. father read his paper quite comfortably by the same dim flame. and people wore spectacles in old age only, and never complained, in my hearing, of ailing or deficient eyes. why was that? although mother, when not needed for social purposes, sewed on until supper-time, my interminable seam was laid aside. i might thread beads or dress dolls or make kettle-holders. also, the rule that barred story-books, as one would bar cards or dancing, during the serious work hours of the day, was relaxed after tea, and i could batten on "peter parley" and _the child's companion_ and "the swiss family robinson"--when i was old enough--without incurring the reproach attaching to the dissipated and idle. my earliest fairyland i found in pictures, about which i wove stories of my own. we took a small penny periodical filled with descriptions and illustrations of the contents of the great exhibition; this did not much appeal to me, although i remember its woodcuts well. i preferred the lovely annuals, with their large-eyed and small-mouthed lady blessingtons, and the pocket-books, annuals also, which, in addition to their blank pages, contained prize poems and a variety of things, chief amongst them engravings of the country seats of the nobility and gentry. in these palaces and gardens i wandered in fancy, the possessor of them all. but the book i loved most, at the beginning of books, was a handsomely bound collection of tales or sketches, the author of which was (i think) a mrs ellis, and the moral--interpreted at a later age--something to do with the temperance question. the letterpress was a blank to me; the steel engravings bound together at the end of the volume i pored over by the hour. one was called "lady montfort parting from her children." she was a beautiful creature in a spacious bare neck and a chaplet of roses, tearing herself wildly from the embraces of a large family trying to hold her back. she was going to have an operation for something, and the doctor was going to perform it with the drunkard's shaking hand and kill her. all i then knew was that she was parting from her children for the last time, and i used to weep over their fate and dream about it. another picture represented a girl in a high-waisted, pillow-case-like gown and flowered coal-scuttle bonnet (a fashion gone out before i came in), accompanied by another, her maid, similarly but more plainly attired, leaning, from the outside road, over a gate belonging to an ideal parsonage house. i do not know whether drink had caused the late incumbent to die prematurely or to be expelled from his living, but in any case it was responsible for throwing his daughter upon the world. "looking towards my home and knowing i nevermore should call it mine," was the touching legend inscribed upon the page. i would have given worlds to know how she got on, poor thing. the picture of an after-dinner gentleman being supported out of the dining-room by the butler and footman, and meeting some outraged relative at the door, was too subtly tragic for my understanding. children (according to their view) were sent to bed too soon; they always have been, and always will be. but that was not a grievance of mine. as a nursery child, not yet at the stage of learning letters, i practically lived downstairs with my parents--at such times as the youngest aunt was not there to prevent it. father took me out on horseback about the farm, seated on a pad in front of him within his arms, mother in the gig with her when she went to her old home or shopping to l----; and i believe i could always manage to sit up to supper, if i begged hard and long enough. i was a thoroughly spoilt child. father's excuse was that i "could not spoil," but i am discounting that fond belief by displaying the spoilt child's base ingratitude--remembering how love carried to extremes indulged my heart's desires, and blaming that love in print! if, while shopping with my mother, i lost my heart to a ducky little parasol (it was of grey watered silk, with white silk lining, deep fringe and a handle jointed in the middle), i would find it next day, springing out on me from some artful ambush, "with father's love." for years, on opening the piano for practice, i used to find one spring day the first cucumber of the season, because i was particularly fond of cucumbers. he did not care what it cost, if only he could be the first to treat me. and i purse my lips at their dear shades and shake a reproving head. still, the fact remains that i sat up of a night when i ought to have been in bed, and even at times when we had "parlour company." for well i remember the whist tables that entertained our circle on winter evenings, in that room to the left of the hall at t----, and myself sitting at the elbow of one of my parents to watch the mysterious cards and the mutations in the four little piles of coin. it was the rigour of the game, without a doubt--no talk, no levity, but a still and solemn concentration upon the play; and i think i must have been rather a good child, after all, to have been allowed to be there to look on at it. i remember one other evening pastime of the grown-ups at this period, and my curious participation in it--table-turning. there was an epidemic--probably the first--of enthusiasm for this method of occult research. and round the heavy "centre table," which was a feature of the drawing-rooms of the time, friends gathered to consult the oracle or to deride it, as the case might be. in our house they compromised on an open-minded curiosity tempered with the feeling that "there really must be something in it"--something supernatural, they meant. interests and credulity were strengthened by my performances at the game. i was supposed to be a mere onlooker, "to be seen and not heard," as usual, but perhaps the chain of hands was not long enough, or perhaps i wanted to join in, and the let-the-little-dear-do-what-she-likes habit of the house admitted me to a place accordingly; at any rate, i one day found myself perched on a book-piled chair in the circle of earnest inquirers round the centre table, my thumbs in contact, the tips of my fourth fingers overlapping the tips of those on either side of me. long had the company sat in silent suspense, the solid piece of furniture--round-topped, and supported by a stout pedestal and claw feet resting on mahogany lions' backs--refusing to make a sign; but no sooner was my influence brought to bear upon it than it began to creak and groan, and was presently lumbering like a wombwell elephant about the room, with us after it, scrambling over stools and other impedimenta to hold fast to it as long as possible. in recording events of so long ago, and particularly a matter of this kind, i wish to make full allowance for unconscious exaggeration; but that the table was declared too heavy to be pushed into such movements, and that i was frequently sent for to start them when older hands failed to do so, are circumstances that seem particularly clear to me. i suppose, as my fellow-tableturners said at the time, there must have been "something" in me, as well as in "it," if i have rightly described what happened. i mentioned in my "thirty years in australia" a german doctor who in his old age became a spiritualist, and tried hard to persuade me to lend myself to séance purposes, because, he said, i had that in me which marked me out as a medium. might it possibly have been the same "something" that he divined? well, i neither know nor care. the little mysteries are all embraced in the big mystery, which would not be mysterious if we had the power to understand it. i was always that kind of a sceptic which believes in there being a reason for everything. when i was a girl i saw ghosts--unmistakably visible ghosts--and even in their presence, certain that they could not be flesh and blood creatures, and paralysed with horror to know it, i was able to keep this attitude of mind. since nothing else ailed me that i knew of, i said to myself, "i am going mad"; and i was quite correct in my diagnosis, since what was really happening to me was the beginning of brain fever. i never had or showed the slightest leaning towards or interest in so-called supernatural phenomena. occult "science" is to me what mrs harris was to betsy prig. the table-turning craze soon passed, as far as my people were concerned, and i never, even to that extent, dabbled in the black arts again. the social evening, in those old days, began after the five-o'clock tea and ended with the nine-o'clock supper. this was a great meal, always. the cloth was spread for it as for dinner, and chairs drawn up and carving-knives flourished. the cold joint, with pickles, cold fowl, meat pie, the occasional crab or lobster, the cucumber in its season, any left-over trifles of sweet pastry and creams, cheese--with beer, of course--that was the meal which our forebears found it possible to sleep on, and (which is much more surprising) some of their descendants enjoy without discomfort to this day. in the four houses of the four feather-beds the custom has never been abrogated. supper over, and dishes returned to the pantry, the elders at once prepared for bed--to burrow in those mounds of feathers with their heads in nightcaps, and nothing but their own exhausted breath to live on the long night through. doors and windows--the latter barricaded at nightfall with wooden shutters (hinged and flattened into the wainscoted window-frame by day) drawn over them and fixed with an iron bar across--were severally examined in the most careful manner by whoever was head of the establishment for the time being. servants might shut the house, but the responsibility of making sure that it was safe for the dark hours was too great to be left to them. i suppose there was some reason for this in the social conditions of the time. perhaps father's military (yeomanry) accoutrements--which i never saw him wear, but which he was said to have worn, and certainly possessed--had some connection with his actions in preparing his house of a night as if for an expected siege. i know that any suspicious noise occurring after he had done so brought him and his blunderbuss upon the scene in the shortest possible space of time. and that raids did sometimes take place was proved by the sad story of a friend of ours, whose melancholy visage was accounted for by the fact that he had once shot a burglar dead without meaning it. he saw an unlawful hand intruded through a sawn-out gap in his window-shutter, and, calculating that the hand was well above the owner's body, fired at it from within the room. alas! on the shoulders of him who worked from the ground was an unsuspected second man, and he received the charge in his breast. it was told us of the heart-broken doer of that deed that "he never smiled again." so, the guard having gone the rounds, the humdrum duties of the day--that never palled--were ended. master and mistress, bearing key-basket and plate-basket (the plate having been duly counted), trudged upstairs to that bed which was virtually their bedroom also. and slept! chapter viii some early sundays all the sundays of my childhood came to life again when, driving from t----, we passed the mouth of a grassy by-road, a little way down which stood the church of my earliest worshippings. we were due to drink tea at my grandfather's old home, now occupied by one of his great-grandsons, and had scant time for more lingerings on the way if we were to keep our appointment punctually; but the sight of the familiar square, squat tower was too much for me, and i said to m. and mr b.: "oh, i must, i _must_ have just one look!" they drove me into the lane and, scrambling down, i ran up the path through the churchyard, glancing from side to side at the same old tombstones and grassy mounds, numbering baby graves of our own household amongst them, every one with its memories of sunday loiterers sitting and standing about until all friends had passed and the bells had stopped; and my objective was a rood-screen, which not only had a lively story to it, but had persuaded me in the course of years that it was possibly a treasure of ecclesiastical art worth finding by one now educated to know its value. i might have been disappointed if i had seen it; i certainly was deeply disappointed at not seeing it. a wicket gate in the porch was locked against me. i ran along the wall and tried to peer into the windows, but i could see nothing, except my mental picture of the past--the three-decker, the carved screen, the two square pews in the chancel, the open seats outside. it is rather curious that they were open seats at that time of day, when otherwise the church was quite early victorian in its ways. i know that in the next decade, when the zeal for church restoration became noticeable, the stubborn defence of vested interests in the hereditary pews was the greatest obstacle to be overcome, and i have known it prove insuperable for nearly a decade more. even the pews in the chancel of the church here at h----, one sacred to the old-maid daughters of the rector (when in residence, which was only for a small portion of the year), the other occupied by one of my uncles and his family, were open; not like the spacious room, with panelled walls and blue silk curtains all round above the level of his tall head, in which my maternal grandfather maintained at public worship the same privacy that he enjoyed at home. it is true that every seat, except the hard "free" forms at the back, belonged to a certain house, as legally and exclusively as the walled box which it had superseded; but there was a republican aspect, generally abhorrent to genteel persons, in the uniform open benches, which marked no divisions of caste between the highest and the lowest; the old box, on the contrary, indicated the status of its owner almost as accurately as his house. the carpet, cushions, hassocks, curtains were part of his personal establishment; if he were a big man, he would probably have a stove within the luxurious enclosure, by which to doze in comfort when the weather was cold. and it was usual for the wall immediately above him to be more or less covered with tablets to the memory of his deceased ancestors. when he died himself, the blue or red curtains which had preserved his nobility from the gaze of vulgar worshippers would be changed for hangings of black cloth, and the mourning hatchment would be put up. in this little church the organist was the national school master, down at the bottom of the building, and his instrument in my time was a concertina. there was no vestry. the parson put his things on in the chancel (in one church that i knew he first dragged his things out of the altar, which made a convenient store-chest for the loose "properties" of the place), his sacerdotal toilet being performed quite openly before the assembled congregation, in front of a looking-glass hung upon a chancel pillar; the interest we took in this piece of ritual was great or greater according as the man was shy and nervous or self-confident and vain. the canopied three-decker embraced the whole area of ritual proper, except on the rare occasions--the three enjoined by the rubric, i suppose--when holy communion was celebrated. in the bottom pen the clerk bawled the responses, in the middle one the parson recited prayers and lessons, in the upper (having changed his surplice for a black gown) he preached. usually the parson was a curate, domestically familiar to us; sometimes he was the stout and stately rector. when he came to the beautiful embowered house that at other times wore blinds over its windows, and his haughty high-nosed daughters to that chancel pew which at other times stood empty, then it behoved the parish, literally, to sit up. with him we were comparatively at ease, but confronted with them we simply shook in our shoes. they did their parish work with vigour while they were about it. the "poor" were visited all round, scolded for their injudicious management of households on ten or twelve shillings a week, which, they were assured, would be an ample income if "crowdy" (a kind of meal porridge, i think--we never heard of it except from them) were substituted for the unnecessary luxuries they indulged in; and i believe the rectory kitchen doled broken victuals to the deserving. my father nursed a man's grudge against these well-meaning women chiefly on account of the crowdy suggestion so persistently thrust upon his farm labourers; the offensive word was so often on his lips that i have never forgotten it. he was always contrasting the existing régime with that of the late rector, who used to like to play whist and ride to hounds with him, and of whom i remember nothing but the fact of his death. my father and i, driving past the rectory gates, saw a gig slowly moving up and down before them. "hullo!" said father, pulling up. "what's the matter?" the man in charge of the gig mournfully shook his head. "you don't say so?" father ejaculated, with even greater mournfulness. that was all. it meant that the doctor was inside, and that the rector was dying. the existing régime, however, did not leave us out in the cold. the rector came at least once during his visit to his parish, and his daughters once, to call on us--cake-and-wine calls--and similarly honoured the houses of the other village gentry. the old man was as affable as he knew how to be; the entertaining of the old-young ladies was the formidable affair. if there was not time to set things in apple-pie order before they reached the front door, what flurry and fret and vexation of heart! well for me if i was not doing punishment on the stairs at that awful moment! but the story of the rood-screen that i so wanted to see, and could not, is the vivid memory of all. the rector was in residence. he was putting on his robes in the chancel, before the looking-glass, with the dignified leisureliness that was his wont. the congregation was coming in. amongst them was a lady from one of the farmhouses (called "the manor," an ancient house which her family lived, instead of died, in, surrounded by a moat of stagnant water covered with arsenic-green duckweed--which house, or its site, there was not time to look for), and she was followed by a domestic pet, a raven. she knelt to her preliminary prayer. rising from her knees she beheld the presumptuous bird sitting on the desk edge of her pew, regarding her quizzically with his head cocked to one side. i was watching him in ecstasy, but she--a gentle, fair woman, whose face as i then saw it i could identify in a crowd to-day--flushed crimson with consternation and shame. she put out a flurried hand to secure him, but he hopped out of her reach; further efforts resulted in his free flight through the church to perch on the top of the screen. there he sat, and defied the congregation to catch him--to the passionate delight, i am sure, of every child present. his poor mistress, however, was overwhelmed. she sat still, trembling and cowering, her cheeks like peonies; and the rector, when he realised the situation, was furious. "brown! brown!" he shouted down the church. the stalwart schoolmaster arose from where he sat with his pupils under the tower, and advanced up the aisle with a pole in his hand. it may have been the punitive rod with which he could crack the pate of the farthest national school boy without leaving his own seat to do it, or it may have been the church broomstick; anyway, it was long enough to reach the top of the screen. "bong on to him, brown!" commanded the rector in loud imperious tones--he meant "bang on to him," but his accents as well as his words ring down the grooves of time as distinctly as if heard but yesterday. "bong on to him!" brown wielded the clumsy weapon as desired, and it fell with force upon the spot from which the raven deftly hopped at the last moment. the bird was quite self-possessed in the midst of the excitement; each time he measured the direction of the pole, watched its approach, and skipped over or under it in the nick of time, and he chuckled and jeered as if it were a game of play. his demeanour, and its contrast with the increasing wildness of the schoolmaster's blows and of the outraged rector's temper, made the scene so exquisitely funny that i can laugh now when i think of it. i suppose i laughed then, for the irrepressible hilarity of the congregation, confessing its sympathy with the rebel against high authority, was an aggravation of the bird's offence too serious for words. i am sorry i cannot recall how the episode ended, but, of course, the raven was defeated somehow; what i can never forget is the splendid time he gave us first. he was better than the donkey which made another red-letter sunday for us. this animal, grazing in the churchyard, put his head through the open door in the middle of sermon time. not content with a decorous survey of the congregation he suddenly uttered his raucous bray--hee-haw!--as if in sarcastic comment upon the preacher's words. but many funny things happened in church which we did not understand to be funny, and therefore found no amusement in. the spectacle of the parson's hat and gloves, perhaps also his overcoat and umbrella, on the communion-table did not raise a smile, not to mention frowns. a companion picture of the old clerk holding up the lid of the same table while he dragged forth from its depths a black bottle and tilted it before one unclosed eye, to see if it contained sufficient sacramental wine for an impending celebration, passed almost unnoticed. conversations in the vulgar tongue, audible to all, were of almost daily occurrence--or i should say weekly occurrence, for whoever heard of non-sunday matins or evensong in those easy-going times? oh yes, they were known of course in cathedrals and the more civilised centres of life--the "tracts for the times" had been stirring up what the writers called "our afflicted church" for many a year--but not in such out-of-the-world villages as those in and about which my early years were spent. there was no rigid ecclesiastical etiquette, no rigid ecclesiastical discipline, observed in those days, and the dullness of a child's sundays was sensibly mitigated thereby. i remember an occasion when the parson (not canon w., of the raven episode) was reading the psalms verse and verse about with the clerk beneath him. suddenly the latter, instead of reciting his verse, remarked aloud: "you've turned over two leaves, sir." "no, i haven't," was the equally loud and composed reply. "yes, you have," rejoined the clerk. they had quite an altercation, carried on exactly as if they had been out on the road. the rector of the parish where my maternal grandparents lived was the same sort of free-and-easy person. i was told that once, with the benediction hardly out of his mouth, he leaned over the ledge of the pulpit to hail a gentleman of the congregation before he should get away. "come home with me," the rector publicly invited his friend, "i've got a prime haunch of venison for dinner." i remember his way with candidates for confirmation: "your mother can hear your catechism." and it is my belief that the bishops asked no questions of the men who royally entertained them on their visitations. you could not imagine a rector dining on venison and waited on by liveried servants being subjected to the indignity of an inquiry as to how he performed his duties. parsons and squires--church and state--combined to keep the common lay person in his place. in league they governed the rural communities, by whom their authority was unquestioned. it was a benevolent despotism, as a rule, like that of the majority of the slave-owning aristocracy of america, who were also in the enjoyment (tempered by "uncle tom's cabin," and other annoying portents) of their feudal powers at the time; but, as with the slave system, it took small account of the human rights of the lower "orders" and in the hands of the naturally arrogant was often grossly abused. a squire's wife of our neighbourhood, when she went out of church--and no one presumed to go before her--used to mount a little rise of ground near the porch, and there stand to receive the obeisances of "the poor." one by one they filed before her, dropping the trembling curtsy with that deprecating, serf-like air which one is thankful to know will never be worn again by man or woman of british blood; and according as they performed their act of homage, or satisfied her mind when she chose to stop and question them, so would they be rewarded in the dispensation of her doles--doles that might well demoralise poor things whose lives were all toil from beginning to end, and who perhaps never enjoyed a full meal until they ate it on christmas day in the workhouse, which was the refuge of their declining years. this squire's wife (i saw her home and the church in the park again, still the appanage of her family) was typical of her class. they all regarded their villages as a queen would regard her kingdom. the squire looked after the menfolk and saw that his tenants voted whig or tory, as the case might be. but the homes were the care of the lady of the great house--where there was one. often she was a second mother to them, feeling a responsibility for their well-being almost as great as for that of her own establishment. a godmother to babies, a nurse to the sick, the kind patroness of girls going out to service, a succourer in crises of trouble, an indispensable adviser in all-important affairs--i have known such and heard of more; but whether of this sort or of that which took the line of the arbitrary schoolmistress, it was invariably her aim to lead her protégées in the way that they should go. the parson was her henchman, as she was his backer. he made his reports and she acted upon them. "you were not at church on sunday, jane. how was that?" the chapel--making its way into the most conservative villages (but i knew one where the rights of the lord of the manor enabled him to keep it uncontaminated by both chapels and public-houses--he bracketed them together--up to the end of the sixties)--was contemptuously ignored as long as it was possible to do so. jane had to go to church regularly, or forfeit the favour of authority and the incalculable advantages that went with it. morning service was, so to speak, the state service of the day. the heads of families attended, and the families themselves in force. the afternoon service was for servants and such, and nursemaids and governesses could take their charges to keep them occupied and out of the way; sunday-schools were not invented, apparently, though we all had to say our collect and catechism to somebody at home. there was no service in the evening. the churches had no apparatus for lighting except with daylight. sunday evening, in summer, was the time for long family walks, aimless strolls about the lanes and fields. it was the great opportunity for love-making with the young couples "keeping company." there was no visiting from house to house, as might be supposed, with families so much at leisure and so bored for want of something to do; it would have verged upon desecration of the sabbath to have paid a call for the mere pleasure of it. no toys or story-books, and, of course, no games, were allowed to relieve the monotony of indoor hours. "memoirs" represented the only human element in our sunday literature, otherwise composed of volumes of sermons; and as the memoir was always of a clergyman, or some other saintly person, there were but two scraps of interest to be found in it--his portrait at one end and the account of what he died of at the other. later, we had a servant who took in a missionary magazine full of pictures of black men swinging on hooks thrust through their backs, widows burning alive on pyres, missionaries being horribly tortured, cooked and eaten--all sorts of interesting things. she used to smuggle them to my bed, and, when my governess had retired from the room, instead of sleeping i would sit up and read them in the lingering light of the long days until night made the page a blank. but just now i am speaking of the years before i had a governess. a missionary magazine was a sunday book, and my early sundays did not know the joy of them. however, taking one thing with another, those sundays of the past were not so very dreadful. it is, indeed, open to question whether in essential matters we have greatly improved upon them. certainly, the inconsistencies of sabbatarian practice, as i remember them, were no greater than they are now. there was a lady of our acquaintance who had a gift for amateur millinery and a passion for smart bonnets and she once made one under my eye on a sunday morning. it was understood that she would have imperilled her immortal soul by using needle and cotton, and she did not dream of doing that; she put it together entirely with pins. it took her twice as long, and disturbed the serenity of her mind twice as much, but by getting up early she managed to have it finished by church time, and then to wear it to church with an easy mind. but the same thing would be done--exactly parallel things are done--under my eye to-day, any sunday of the year. with regard to the moral practices of week-days, which are but those of sunday carried over, either there were fewer subtle insincerities amongst the good people of the last generation or i have a keener eye for those which i see around me now. i remember that my elders of the fifties were much addicted to whist, and that a small money stake was necessary to the dignity of their game. they remained sober, friendly, gentlemanly, uncorrupted, allowing for the exceptions to every rule. nowadays i play a round game with a family party, and one person will not touch a prize in the shape of a coin, but change the coin into "goods" and conscience is immediately satisfied. a clergyman once intimately associated with my household loved whist, but never played cards on principle; he got over the difficulty by sitting behind someone who did, and directing the latter's play with zeal. these are little instances. at any rate the religious faith of the fifties as to which we were all children, young and old alike, it had one precious quality that it seems never likely to have again--it sufficed. such as it was, we were satisfied with it. it made for peace and a contented mind. to be sure, we had heard of the "tracts," and of a terrible bishop called colenso; we ourselves learned keble's hymns, with mrs alexander's, on sundays; but we were happily undiscerning of the significance of these portents. they were no concern of ours. we no more expected them to have practical developments than he had expected an indian mutiny to result from a little fuss over greased cartridges. the church of the fifties, as an educational agent, is more despised to-day than any other institution of that date, but the old-fashioned parson had no spiritual worries to keep him awake o' nights and wear him out before his time; no more had we. is it not possible that the despisers would give almost anything to be able to say the same? chapter ix my grandfather's days the last time that i saw my old good grandfather, to whose old-time home m.g. and mr b. drove me that july afternoon, was on a sunday. it was just before we left t---- for d----, where we were living when he died. by the same token i remember the night of the event, when we sat in the music-room with servants (taking care of us in the absence of our parents at his bedside), and how the girls made our flesh creep by telling how rover had howled and death-watches had ticked in the walls, and winding-sheets had formed on the candles--"sure signs," every one; and how, being so wrought up, we shrieked at a sudden explosion in the fire, which ejected some little glowing shard that they declared to be a coffin--on the top of all the other gruesome portents. it was a blowy october night and we talked in firelight, as befitted the ghostly circumstances. i huddled up to my elder brother on the sofa by the hearth, in mortal dread of the dark drawing-room outside, the darker stairs, the awful attics, that must sooner or later be faced. but i do not recall any governess present, and i think we shared the fear of solitude amongst us and kept well together until morning. as i said, the last time i saw the old man was on a sunday--probably our last sunday at t----. our district boasted its peculiarity in having "a parish without a church, a church without a steeple, a steeple without a church, a parish without people"-- all under the jurisdiction of our rector, canon w., and the church without a steeple, that took turns with the church of h---- in providing our sunday services, stood at the gate of the park-like home field surrounding the grandfather's house. i think it was mostly in the afternoons that we attended it, and it was our custom to go and come through that little park instead of by the road, and to call on him by the way. these visits were our sunday treat. there was a warm, luxurious atmosphere inside that house--which i was on the way to be entertained in for the first time since then; there was also a motherly housekeeper and an unfailing supply of cakes and sweets. we were regaled on these, inspected and catechised by the patriarch, and sent rejoicing on our way. other families of grandchildren passed the same saluting point at about the same time, often melting into and mingling with ours before the armchair was reached (and these were the last times that m.g., my present hostess, and i had had cousinly intercourse together). his sons, farmers like himself, but none of them inheriting his force of character, lived within a walk of him, and each household looked to his for dower of various kinds. every week he had a sheep killed to be distributed amongst them. mutton was a sacred thing with him. killed at a certain age--four years, i think--at the climax of condition; hung a stated number of days, according to the season, it was always a dish, if of his providing, "fit to set before a gentleman." the meat-safe of his own establishment was hung, to my eyes, quite in the clouds. it was sent up with running ropes, as a flag to a masthead, to the top of a tall tree, where the contents ripened in pure air above the range of flies (and i stood under that tree again and told his great-grandson's wife about it, his great-great-grandson holding my hand and looking up at it with me). he left a comfortable fortune to his five children, of whom my father was the youngest; and the sons quarrelled over their shares and flung the property into chancery--where it is still if it is anywhere. certainly it never came out again. well, i stood by his winged chair on a sunday afternoon, and he looked at me with his watery and red-rimmed old eyes, set in a still fine old face that is as distinct to me as ever; then he drew me between his knees, laid his hands on my head, and formally and solemnly blessed me. the oddness of the incident impressed it indelibly on my mind. we had always been great friends, and it was our last parting. i suppose he knew it, although i did not. i was fortunate in picking up, amongst the family relics, a little memoir of him. it told me more of his life and character than i knew before, and i think it is interesting enough to quote from briefly. his uncommon name has aristocratic associations, as his descendants have not forgotten, and armorial bearings have been claimed on the strength of it, but as a matter of fact there is no sign of an authentic pedigree behind him. and i think, if there had been, it would be a cheapening of the dignity of his own simple excellence to obtrude it. his whole history presupposes the qualities of manhood essential to the ideal gentleman. as landor says: "the plain vulgar are not the most vulgar," and it is only stating the proposition another way to say that the plain gentleman is more genuinely a gentleman than the fine gentleman. i know well how, when he rose in the world, he would have treated a suggestion to rake up a coat-of-arms! my father inherited that good taste which abhorred pretentiousness, as he showed in making us say "father" and "mother" at a time when every child above the labouring class said "pa" and "ma," and in refusing to let any one of the ten of us have more than one short christian name. he was born--the grandfather--on the nd of january , at t----, but in which of the three farmhouses that, with their five labourers' cottages, composed the "parish without a church" (it had one once--in the fourteenth century) i do not know; not, i think, the one that was afterwards my home, as that property belonged to a different estate. all three houses were of a character to preclude the supposition that he sprang from what is figuratively termed the gutter, but the records clearly imply that it was not from a bed of ease. he used to get up early and milk the cows, and then walk to d----, about four miles off, to school. when he was seventeen the chronicle states he "did not leave his home as a runaway" but seeing no chance of advancing himself there, he, with only a small bundle of clothes, made his way to a farm at o----, where "he hired himself as a team-lad to a widow for four pounds a year and his living in the house." it is recorded that he "always spoke of her afterwards as his first friend and helper in the battle of life." from there he went to another norfolk village, engaging himself again as a farm hand (waggoner); but soon he was a farm steward elsewhere, and soon after that manager of the estate of his father's landlord, one of the beautiful seats of the neighbourhood--which looked more beautiful than ever when i saw it again. w---- woods (meeting overhead on the highroad and glorious with rhododendrons in the spring), and w---- hall, must have a word or two in passing. the splendid old house has been, since the reign of elizabeth, the only one in w---- which represents the "parish without people" and the "steeple without a church" of the local rhyme; but before that period, when it was the seat of the coningsbys, there was a village, also a church, where the lonely tower now stands in the park, a hoary head with no body to it. from the coningsbys the place passed to a certain chief justice of the common pleas, and he profaned the church (which then "ceased to be used for sacred purposes") by turning it into a hay-house and dog-kennel, and "depopulated the town to make the extensive park which still exists." for his sins this wicked squire's "dead corps" (i am quoting blomefield, writing in ) "could for many days find no place of burial, but growing very offensive he was at last conveyed to the church of r----," which was the church at the grandfather's gate already alluded to, "and buried there without any ceremony, and lyeth yet uncovered (if the visitors have not reformed it) with so small a matter as a few paving stones; and indeed no stone memorial was there ever for him, and if it was not for this account it would not have been known that he was buried there." certainly there was no visible trace of the unhallowed grave in that burial-ground of my family when i revisited it. the little "church without a steeple" i had always supposed a creation of our day, but it has a fine dog-toothed norman doorway, and m. told me she could remember when it stood there amid ruins, and remember seeing the chapel built to enclose it. this norman doorway, like the lovely ivied steeple, is all that speaks of the wicked judge to-day. it belonged to the church of his time. his beautiful home survived his occupation. it passed at his death to the earls of warwick through the marriage of his granddaughter; from them, by purchase, to the families of our times. i visited it in childhood, and i wish i could have visited it again. here my grandfather, while still in his twenties, administered the estate for the owner, who appears to have held him in high esteem. his first official act, we are told, was to "make the park around the mansion, and to beautify the hedges." he was not only a conspicuously practical agriculturist, but a great lover of natural beauty of the orderly kind; his care of hedges, in particular, would have been his "fad," if the word had been invented. for several years he held his post, "having at the same time a farm of his own at south r----," which was his later and last home. when he was thirty he married a lady from surrey. my grandmother predeceased him, but i dimly remember her as a gentle and dainty old lady, fastidious in dress, manners and the ordering of her house; or it may be only this tradition of her that i remember--i cannot be sure. richard brinsley sheridan was at their wedding. he is said to have been closely connected, by blood or friendship, with her people. "coke of norfolk" was his friend; i knew that always. the memoir speaks of "great gatherings of agriculturists at holkham," which he attended as his squire's representative while at w----; but after he was his own man the kindred spirits must have met and mingled, for it was lord leicester, i have been told, who gave to my grandfather's place at r---- the flattering nickname of "little holkham," which clung to it for many years. they used to compare their respective experiments and the results, and my grandfather would come from these investigations to say (according to the memoir): "we beat him in some things, and he beat us in others." i read that he (my grandfather) "was the first to make underdraining tiles in the county. the cost to buy them was four guineas per thousand, each tile weighing eighteen pounds, with holes perforated in them, and put down without soles to rest upon; he had as few joints as possible, and did not approve of the herring-bone shape on that account"--whatever that may mean. "when he came to south r---- they had ague in almost every house from poverty and undrained land. the poor rates were ten shillings in the pound, with a large common and unlimited rights thereon.... he estimated the claying of this common at six pounds per acre. he was seven years at it, winter and summer, not always stopping at harvest time, for in this district a pit fills with water as soon as (and often before) it is finished, not again to be reworked, constant pumping being required. large quantities of faggots had often to be placed to bear the horses and carts in getting out of the pits. three hundred and four hundred loads per acre were put on the land. the extent of clay pits was estimated by mr p. of n----, when apportioning the tithe rent charge, at ten acres.... he made two ears of corn grow where only one had grown before." then, in , there was "great depression in agriculture, and he took another farm, almost on his own terms, as tenant, and again clayed and underdrained ... it was said that no tenant-farmer at that time employed so many hands or spent so much on the same quantity of land as he did ... grass was as much cared for as arable." and on a certain field where he "harrowed in oats as a boy, he planted the land twice with fir-trees, twice cut them down and measured them up, and twice sold them." he wrote an essay for the royal agricultural society "on the rearing and maintaining of fences," which was printed in their journal. all his own fences (hedges) were "clipped twice in the year, at a cost of ten shillings per mile." i have seen the men doing it--they seemed always doing it--and those hedges were as smoothly rounded and trim as those of the neatest garden. "the stitch in time was his motto," says the chronicler. the loss of a rail was replaced directly, or a tile from a building. it was so natural to him that he did not hesitate to point it out on his neighbour's premises, as when he saw a pig without a ring in its nose. a road-scraper was always on the road leading to the house and farmyard, and everyone was expected to use it, or would be reminded to do so, removing dirt on to the grass. all were trained to put farm implements under cover and to fix waggon and cart shafts up by a chain. i can answer for two of his descendants--the remnant of his youngest son's family--that they have inherited this instinct for neatness and order, although in one case circumstances rather hamper its free play. my father himself, like most of the males of my intimate acquaintance, was an untidy man and a bad domestic economist. two other marked traits of the grandfather's character are noted by his biographer--a great love of music and a great love of animals. it is mentioned that the guard of the mail-coach always began to play on his bugle when approaching the house, and the tune was "the old english gentleman" when passing it. "his kindness to animals was such that he had them often given to him when aged, from its being known that he never sold an old horse, and so they were sure to end their days with him." and "shortly before his death, he asked for the curtains to be drawn aside that he might have a last look at the scene of his old labours, and he said, 'there are my sheep, pretty creatures!'" it is evident that in his later life he was a distinguished county man. he was for many years agent for the trustees of large fen properties, and the agencies of some of the most important estates in norfolk were offered him after he had retired from such duties. when the w---- property, which had been his first charge, was sold again, "the measuring up, the valuation of the timber, and the price to be fixed on the whole estate, was left to his judgment." i have read some of his business letters, and they seemed to me models of what such should be. at agricultural society dinners, and other public functions, honour was paid him in complimentary speeches. "you must not consider what mr c.'s farming is now, with all the improvements that have taken place of late, but as i remember him and his farm years ago, when no one but him clayed land, underdrained, or clipped hedges." and so on. in his eighty-second year he was presented by his friends with his portrait in oils, accompanied by the following address:-- "dear sir,--as a testimony of our esteem for the valuable services you have rendered to agriculture during a residence of upwards of eighty years in the same locality, in converting an unproductive waste into a fertile country, and especially as the originator of the beneficial system of deep underdraining, claying and the management of fences, now generally followed--as a benefactor of the labourer, a kind neighbour and a sincere friend--we respectfully beg to present the accompanying portrait, painted by ambrosini jerome, esqr., portrait painter to her royal highness the duchess of kent, as an heirloom to your family, with an assurance that they will ever regard it as a noble example of a parent who has raised himself by his science, diligence and integrity from a humble position to affluence and respectability and honour, and with our sincere wishes that you may long live to enjoy the merited reward of an active, useful and well-spent life. we are," etc. and the names of leading norfolk are appended. i saw that portrait, still hanging in its old place, in the dining-room where m. and i had tea with the great-grandson and his family (our coachman, quite at home in the house that had sheltered generations of his family also, had put up his carriage and was enjoying himself in the kitchen), and i noted the same fault that had struck us when it was new--the common fault of painted portraits--a lack of the virile force that gave character to his face even in extreme old age. otherwise it was a good likeness. he holds the appropriate swath of ripe wheat in one wrinkled hand, the heavy ears supported on the other--a nobler emblem than any heralds' college could have given him. the great-grandson did not know, until i (who had just found it out) told him, that the picture was an heirloom and no property of his, he being but the son of a younger granddaughter. he could not tell me how it came to be still in its old place, but i could tell him. it really belongs to america. years ago--about ten or thereabouts--i had a letter from a cousin who had emigrated to the states in his youth, recalling himself to my memory for the first time since we were children together, meeting at the grandfather's armchair at r---- on sunday afternoons. i could not quite identify him, but my public position as a writer had supplied him with a clue to me. in this letter, which contained photographs of his home and children and details of his american life, he mentioned that he was now the head of the family and legal owner of the grandfather's portrait. it had come to him since he had emigrated, and he had never gone back, and never expected to go back; but he had an idea that i was going back, and he formally made over the picture to me. he asked me to find it, and take it, and keep it. he seemed to have lost touch and knowledge of his english connections in the course of so many years, but to feel that he had found a tangible, or, at any rate, authentic representative of them in me. if i would accept the treasure, he would be sure that it was in safe keeping--or something to that effect. in writing back to him, i, of course, refused it. i told him i was far less likely to return to england than he was, and that in any case i was not in the "line of succession"; and i heard no more about it. a year or two later i received a newspaper from his family announcing his death; then i had a letter from his son. did i know where the portrait was? did i know this and that and the other about the family? i could see that this young american had been nursed on legends of country seats and ancestors of the romantic pattern, that his father in his new country had idealised the old, as i had, and, unlike me, had impressed his unconscious exaggerations upon the imaginations of his children. "i am now the head of the family," wrote the young man, as if we were in the peerage. i had to reply to him that i did not know where the portrait was, that i did not know anything about the family in england, and that nothing seemed more unlikely than that i ever should. now here i was, at the fountain-head of knowledge, and there was the portrait, benignly--too benignly--looking down upon me from the wall. there, too, was the spot where the old armchair had stood. i, like my american cousin, had remembered the room surrounding it as a spacious apartment, with accommodation for a great deal of massive mahogany furniture; it had dwindled surprisingly. i thought there was a big hall, a wide staircase--and the hall was but the ordinary passage-way, and the stairs steep and cramped and twisty. i could have sworn there was a stone-pillared portico to the front door; it was a brick porch under the creepers. well, well! it was a sweet old house, even in its reduced condition, and i had a charming time in it. they gave us a delicious tea, strawberries and raspberries (what a strawberry summer that was! i had never had quite as many as i could eat before), with unlimited cream, and thin bread-and-butter, and cakes of melting richness; and i was in the pink of health, when nothing could hurt me. after tea we strolled about the garden, grandfather's own old garden, and the dear little great-great-grandson, who as a memory can hold his own with all the ghosts behind him, ran hither and thither to gather flowers for me until i was loaded up with more than i could carry. fain would i have had him temper zeal with discretion, but it was useless effort, and his mother would not back me. then, in the afterglow of the summer evening, the children were sent to the nursery, our hostess got the keys of the church, and we went across the park-like fields to the road, on the other side of which is the burial-place of the wicked squire who was so "very offensive" in various ways, and of the good old farmer, whose memory is as green as the land he tilled so righteously, his example as fruitful, his honoured name as sweet. he died on the th october , in his eighty-seventh year. "around him in r---- churchyard," says the memoir, "and near him, lie his old servants, on whose gravestones are recorded their faithfulness and length of service." i saw them all; d., who died before i was born, "after thirty-five years' service"; old c.b., who died the year after his master, after "upwards of fifty years' service"; m.b., the housekeeper who gave us cakes on sundays, four generations of whose family, daughter following mother, filled the office of nurse in successive households of ours. the many graves of aunts and uncles and cousins (my own parents lie elsewhere) were not half so touching. old b.'s death was said to have occurred as a direct consequence of his master's; it was the fall of one that broke down the other. b. was rather an arbitrary person, as we children knew him. he ordered us about as if the place was his--practically it was; no one but my grandfather could successfully dispute his authority. but he was wrapped up in us all; the family was his family, as it had been for "upwards of fifty years"; and his master was his king who could do no wrong. my father and grey-headed uncles were summoned to his dying bed--they had not quarrelled then--and he formally blessed them as grandfather had blessed me. "my boys," he murmured, "my boys!" his mumbled last words were, "i brought 'em all up." it was hard to tear myself from these eloquent memorials, which i was looking upon for the first time, as doubtless it was the last. all around the little graveyard was green country--that lovely english green of velvet grass and noble trees which, after a month of it, was still an ever-fresh rapture to my australian eyes. "an unproductive waste," it was said to have been, prior to the famous underdraining and claying; could my grandfather have seen it with me, he would have felt satisfied with his work, although not a town, or a railroad, or even a telegraph wire, was in sight. but there was the little church to revisit yet--another shrine of memory. as i walked up the aisle and looked about me, i saw that in half-a-century the hand of change had scarcely touched it. it was a new church, with the exception of the norman doorway, when i made its acquaintance as a child taken there by its nurse, and it started with the open benches and stencilled walls that were novelties of fashion then. there they were, the same, to the very pattern and hues of the mural decoration, which showed no sign either of renewal or decay. the armorial shields (to the memory of pious benefactors, doubtless), painted in their proper colours, that made a cornice to the little apse that formed the chancel, were each in its old place, tilted forward at the same angle; i recognised them all. many a tedious hour had they relieved, as pictures to be studied and puzzled over--the breed of the various heraldic animals, the reasons of their parti-coloured coats and antic attitudes, and so on. and what a procession of quaint figures passed before me as i stood at the upper end, where we had our family pew, and looked down at the open door through which the dead and gone flocked in! the aged labourers, soaped and oiled, in their clean smock-frocks with the wonderful stitchery on back and front; the neat old women, who unwrapped their church books from their clean pocket-handkerchiefs when service began, and wrapped them up again as soon as it was over; the village dressmaker, who sat just behind us, and whose stylish costumes i used to study through the back of our seat while kneeling on my hassock the reverse way to her--memorable chiefly for puffy white muslin undersleeves that were kept up with elastic which showed when she covered her face with her hands, and had wristbands with black velvet run through the holes in them; the organist at his little instrument near the entrance (it is in another place now, and is not played by turning a handle, as in his time); the inevitable schoolmaster with his indispensable long cane; the servant girls and their swains, the numerous child cousins, etc., etc.--a throng of ghosts. but there was one great and sensational event connected with my early attendances at this church, matching that of the raven in the other, only in this case tragedy instead of comedy; and i was looking at it the whole time, as at a cinematograph reproduction of the living scene. a young curate (as usual at the unimportant afternoon services) was preaching--how plainly i see him, with his pallid, tawny face and soft black eyes--and suddenly stopped dead and stood still, simply staring at the congregation. "oh," i thought, staring back at him from my commanding position below, "what news to take home to father and mother, that mr h. has done this funny thing!" he was recently from india, recruiting delicate health, which was already the anxious care of the ladies of the parish, who sent broths and jellies to his lodgings and coddled him at their homes as often as he would come to them. my mother and m.'s mother were his chief friends, and we children, with whom he had played, were very fond of him. still it was pure enjoyment to me to see him stop in the middle of his sermon, and to realise that he was not going to finish it. poor fellow! it was the end of his preaching and of his work. he said, after that long, exciting pause--the words are as unforgettable as canon w.'s "bong on to him!"--"i must crave your indulgence, for i can get no further." with that he fell and disappeared. some men rushed from their seats, dragged him out of the pulpit, and carried him, insensible, from the church; and the congregation broke up and scattered, we hurrying home at a run to tell the news. my mother at once put on her bonnet and went away to nurse him. all the village ladies became his mothers from that day until his death, when the whole parish wept and wailed for him and refused to be comforted. his memory was canonised amongst us. a memoir of him was published by his unknown kindred, containing a steel-engraved portrait (not a bit like him, for it made him fair and fat), and, scattered through the latter pages, allusions to "mrs h.c." and "mrs f.c." rendered the book peculiarly precious to two of the bereaved families. the only way that succeeding curates could make themselves tolerable was by confessing freely that they knew themselves unworthy to fill his place. i remember mr r., his immediate successor, standing in our dining-room (it was his first visit as our pastor) and avowing, with dramatic earnestness, that the latchet of mr h.'s shoes he was not worthy to unloose. he became a very dear friend, however, mr r. he was a jolly, hearty, healthy fellow, splendid to play with, with no sadness and no conspicuous saintliness about him. we locked the door of the little haunted place, and walked back over the now dewy grass to the house, to deliver the key and say good-bye to our entertainers. mr b. was ready for us, and drove us home through the lovely woods of w----, which owed some of their loveliness to the old man in his grave behind us, and along new ways that yet were as old and familiar and thick with ghosts as the roads we had come by in the afternoon. the whole dear land was a dream of peace in the long july twilight. chapter x outdoor life it was not a house or church, or wood or field, here or there, that swarmed with reminiscences of my life half-a-century ago; every bit of norfolk soil that i passed over or looked upon was thick with history of the old times. i had been so sure that the march of progress, which in the same period had made a highly modern nation out of nothing on the other side of the world, would have swept away the wild-blooming hedgerows, the divisions of the little fields, the rutty, grassy, tree-shaded lanes, the old fashions, generally, of my native county; and i could hardly believe in the luck which had spared so much that the little taken was scarcely missed. some thirty years ago an australian friend of mine made a long-desired pilgrimage to the home and graves of the brontës, and blessed his fate in having chanced upon the last day before the church at haworth, as charlotte and emily had used it, was closed for restoration. i was just too late for crosby hall, and the house of the h. family near t---- was gone; otherwise i had no disappointments in my search for the ancient landmarks. but that england was so beautifully well kept (and perhaps it was so then, although i did not notice it), it was the same england that i had left, and no part so unchanged as the part of norfolk i returned to, which i called my own. driving about with m., i lived my old outdoor life again, as if there had been no break in it. that there was any outdoor life at all in those benighted times i have heard questioned and denied in various ways by our athletic offspring. "oh, what did people do before there were tennis and croquet and golf?" contemporary writers are fond of drawing comparisons--i have done it myself--between the lady of old, with her prunella shoes and her swoons and her genteel incapability, and the stalwart, active, efficient damsel who now fills her place; wholly, of course, to the advantage of the latter. but, looking back, and trying to be strictly fair all round, i am not sure that the women of the fifties were so much less sensible (according to their lesser lights) than their descendants of to-day. it must be remembered that they could not be more sensible than fashion permitted, and that we are just as craven slaves to that impersonal tyrant as they were. i am sure that if fashion were suddenly to forbid tennis and croquet and golf and the rest, those invigorating pursuits would be abandoned to-morrow. you will say that our enlightened views upon physical culture would remain, to operate in other directions; and one must admit that in the fifties physical culture was unknown. there was no sanitation, no philosophy of food, no anything. yet folks lived, and to a good old age too. they had one thing that we have not--the tranquil mind--than which there is no better foundation on which to build bodily health. we do not want their tranquil mind--certainly not--but that is beside the question. in the fifties, although golf and tennis were not games for the multitude, bowls and cricket were as dear to the bewhiskered public as now to the clean-shaven or moustached; and women had their lawn diversions for the hours they considered enough to give to them, the balance of their active exercise being put into housework and "duties" generally. there was a primitive sort of lacrosse that we were addicted to, and archery, which was a graceful and quite scientific game. we had a small armoury of bows and arrows, bought cheap at the sale of the furniture of a neighbouring great house, and gave social entertainments on the strength of it while we lived at d----. women with good figures showed to great advantage before the target, and eye and hand had to be as well trained for the bull's-eye as for the hoop or hole. it is true that archery was for the privileged well-to-do; an archery meeting usually had the background of a green and well-kept park. this rather disqualifies it for the purposes of comparison with our modern outdoor games. but those who did not have it did not miss it. there were nutting and blackberrying and mushrooming and may-daying--plenty of simple merrymakings--within reach of all. on may mornings--oh, i wish i could have had an english may once more!--we were up with the birds and out in the fields to hunt for the first hawthorn bloom. it was one of the settled customs of the family, if not of the community. often the morning was terribly cold, mostly the grass was reeking wet, but still the expedition was looked forward to with joy and carried through in the highest spirits. blackthorn it was, if we found it at all, but it was not our fault if we did not return with some trophy of green bud or white flower to lay upon the breakfast-table. later in the morning the village girls came round with their may garlands. a structure of crossed hoops of wood thickly wreathed with evergreens and artificial flowers, with a doll in the middle and any procurable odds and ends of ribbon, tinsel, or other finery, hung about it, fairly describes the sort of thing. two girls carried it between them on a pole, and it was covered from view under a cloth until presented at your house door; the cloth was then whipped off, you gazed admiringly and, if generously disposed, or there were not too many of them, dropped a copper into an expectant hand or bag. at any rate it was quite understood to be the right thing to take the air. we children were sent out in all weathers for our daily walk. i vividly remember crying with the cold, again and again, as i trudged along the snowy roads and through the bitter winds of those hard winters that used to be. yet it was a wholesome practice, and we were wisely safeguarded against its risks, except in the matter of headgear, the close fit of which made our ears tender so that we suffered horribly from ear-ache, a malady unknown to the open-hatted head. on how many a night we wailed in sleep, or sobbed in our mother's arms by the fireside, with a roasted onion and a hot flannel pressed to the pain which they could not alleviate; and nobody knew the reason why. when we went out in snow-time we wore snow-boots. they were woolly and waterproof, very thick, and were laced or buttoned over our other boots. for wet weather we had clogs--wooden soles with leather toe-caps and ankle-straps; the soles were cut with supports like the arched piers of a bridge, that lifted them an inch or two from the ground. our elders, and especially the working women, used pattens--wooden soles again, but raised upon an iron frame and ring, and with one fixed strap which took the foot at the instep when it was thrust through. one could not imagine the rural housewife and her maids flushing their brick floors and wading through the "muck" of their farmyards without their pattens on, nor imagine another contrivance that would have answered the purpose better. cheap, durable, put on and off in a moment, and needing no attention, they were most convenient to the wearers, and their effectiveness in keeping the feet dry and petticoats undrabbled must have made for health and cleanliness. yet i suppose there are no clogs and pattens nowadays--i saw none; and, if so, it seems rather a pity. things that have been improved upon ought to go, but why abandon those that still remain desirable? what is there to take the place of clogs and pattens in usefulness to the class which once wore them? not goloshes, surely. they were not the only sensible footgear of these days either. when the eldest aunt visited us she used to bring our supply of nursery shoes, in which five children scampering about the floors made less noise than one does now. those shoes were woven of narrow strips of cloth in a flat basket pattern, sole and upper in one, like deerskin moccasins, and as soft; some old man in her village made them to the eldest aunt's order. but it may be that he was the sole manufacturer, whose art died with him, for i never saw their like elsewhere. we drove as well as walked abroad. ladies with carriages used them regularly of an afternoon, having paced their garden terraces--skirts held well above the hems of their snowy petticoats--earlier in the day. mother and i had many outings together in the gig; either to l----, to do shopping, or to her father's house at twice the distance away. and she did not attempt to drive with one hand and hold up an umbrella with the other; indeed, she could not have done it, for the "gig-umbrella"--green cotton with a bulbous yellow handle--took a man's arm to support it. when it rained she drew a mackintosh hood from the box that was the gig seat and tied it over her bonnet, shutting everything in with a drawing-string round the face; there was also a curtain to it for the protection of neck and shoulders. now, was not that a sensible idea? but we never wear on wet journeys a mackintosh hood or something better than a mackintosh hood, even in the dark when there is nobody to see us. for driving in the sun she had another device. that father called it her "ugly" indicates that it was for comfort rather than adornment; yet i do not see why it particularly deserved that name, comparing it with the many things we wore--and wear--that cannot be termed beautiful. a length of soft silk, blue, green or brown, equal to the circumference of the bonnet-brim, was run through with three or four flexible ribs, cane or whalebone or steel springs. the ends of silk and ribs were drawn together and strings sewn to them; and when the article was put on it made a sun-shield for the eyes like a window-awning. i had a little one too. it clasped my little bonnet with a spring; and side by side we drove through the summer glare, sitting at ease with hands free, under a shelter better than that of the mushroom hat of a few years later. if, as i hold, the first principle of beauty is suitability, the "ugly" was not ugly, and it deserved to live. how much it might have added to the pleasure of my long bush journeys, and detracted from the fatigue! the memory of those drives with my mother is amongst the sweetest of my youth. i was a very little child then, yet we were perfect companions. all the way there and back we talked and talked, and never bored each other. i never knew her to "shut me up" or put me off with evasive or impatient answers. once when she was ill and we were all bothering her at once, she exclaimed, "oh, who would be a mother!" the words not only cut me to the heart as i heard them, but i never forgot they had been spoken; nor did she, and i do not think she forgave herself for them. it was the only instance i remember of her complaining under her burdens, which were so heavy for her strength, and especially of the cares of motherhood. even the youngest aunt used to liken her to the fabled pelican that fed its young with its own blood. she had no life that was not lived for others, and first of all for us. no doubt she was over-soft of heart where her darlings were concerned. for instance when we went shopping to l---- we always lunched at a certain pastrycook's, in a little alcove off the shop, and on the ground that it was a holiday outing i was given my choice from the bill of fare. mother did earnestly advise me to _begin_ with a savoury, as she did, but there was no compulsion in the matter, and i think i made my whole meal of sweet pastry every time. what delicious three-cornered tarts those were! and, a year ago, i was in l----, and i looked for that pastrycook's shop--and found it! but the intellectual pleasures of the road rivalled the material joys of the restaurant. she used to tell me stories of the places we passed, grown-up stories, and not the faked stuff that children are so commonly befooled with. i always knew at the time that i could trust every word she said, and when i grew up i never had to learn that she had deceived me. even our frequent babies were not found under gooseberry bushes or brought in the doctor's pocket; that "god sent them," and that i should "know more about it some day" was her account of the phenomenon--puzzling, of course, but less so than the monstrous and conflicting statements of monthly nurse and servants. when the eighth (there being two more still to follow) was on the way, i was privately informed beforehand. "our secret," mother called it; and while she made its earthly garments under my eye, we spent blissful hours building air-castles for its habitation, in the strictest confidence. on our way to her father's house we passed a dark, still pool, sunk within precipitous walls of earth that looked as if they might have been those of an excavated quarry--a most fascinating spot. the bride's pool, it was called. once upon a time, she told me, a bride and bridegroom were driving from church after their wedding and a great storm came on. the horses took fright at the thunder and lightning, and backed the carriage off the road and over the bank into the water-hole, and the bridal pair were drowned. the details of the tragedy lived in my mind for ever--how they loved each other, how their new home was waiting for them and they never entered it, how they were fished up together, clasped tight in each other's arms. then there was the heath (m. drove me to the edge of it, behind her own old fat pony), the furzy, lonely, wind-swept waste where the rabbits lived, a shuddery place that we liked to be well past before dark. for there was a time when a gibbet stood there, and skeleton men hung on it in an iron frame that creaked and clanked in the windy nights. she did not mind harrowing my infant soul with fore-knowledge of the world's agonies, and i do not know that she was wrong. it must have been an extreme devotion to my good that caused her to leave me behind with my grandparents and return the long way alone, as she often did. if i was spoiled at home i was doubly spoiled with them. even the stern grandfather gave me his gold seals and his historic snuff-box to play with. there was a wondrous scent, compounded of pot-pourri (in the room with the cabinets of china), lavender (in the linen press and drawers), heliotrope (beneath the windows), and something sweeter but indescribable (in grandmother's store-room), which differentiated that house from every other that i have known. i longed to see it again when i was actually on the road to it, but we were not out with mr b. and his strong horse this time, and m.'s pony was too old and too petted to toddle any farther than the edge of the heath. to this day the smell of "cherry-pie," one element only, reminds me of the place and nothing else. it was a sweet place indeed when the youngest aunt was away from it--the eldest aunt mothered motherless cousins elsewhere--and i am happy now to have been there, if i was not quite happy at the time. i ought to have been happy, with such petting and such surroundings, but i do remember that i was homesick. the beautiful lawn, sloping from the house to the road, ended on the top of a stone wall, and i was told not to stray so far, lest i should tumble over; but secretly i strayed there often, to look along the road for a gig and a white horse. that was the great day--when mother arrived to fetch me home. dear old home, that to all appearances had not changed a bit! dear old barn, with its warm, mealy, delicious odours, and its statuesque owl on the dark rafter overhead--outwardly the same as ever. why, here again we had no end of invigorating sport and active exercise. hard work was done there and few amusements were more amusing than to watch it a-doing, sitting well out of the way on an upturned "skep" or a pile of empty sacks. i have seen men using the flail on wheat and barley like bush fire-fighters beating out flames; and i have seen a sort of windlass thing with horses turning spokes and a man and whip in the middle, operating outside the barn a simple mechanism within, the first improvement upon the flail; but i also remember, even at t----, the hum of the tall-chimneyed travelling engine that performed all its duty in the fields, herald of the modern method, so wonderful and admirable, yet apparently so devoid of attraction for a child. there was rat-catching in that barn--the most fascinating of amusements. little girls managed to slip in with little boys when friendly servants summoned them to the fray. a professional rat-catcher attended. oh, the thrilling moment when he unslung the box from his back and allowed us to look at his ferrets, writhing together in the straw like eels. and when his assistants, with their sticks and dogs, were marshalled at their posts, and the sinuous, sleek bodies were sent down the holes, the breathless waiting for smothered squeaks below, for the dramatic bolt of rats into the open--poor things whose point of view was no more considered than was that of table fowls and calves (the former used to be killed horribly by having knives thrust down their throats, being then left to hang head downwards and bleed until life was drained out of them; and the latter were bled to death also, although not with such monstrous cruelty, the object in both cases being to have flesh white for table; and we, so tender-hearted for our pets, could watch the callous executioner and the long agony he inflicted)--i do not know a more enjoyable sport for those who have not developed the idea that dumb things feel as we do. at other times the owls in the barn roof hunted the rats and mice. i have seen their eyes in the dark, and the ghostly passing of their uncanny wings that make no sound. when the barn was empty what a place for games and romps! then we had the great fair of the county, an event to which we looked forward, as we also looked back, for the whole year. the "mart," with its entrancing canvas galleries full of tops, work-boxes, every beautiful thing that heart of childhood could desire, its peepshows and merry-go-rounds, its richardson's marionettes, its wombwell's menagerie--the thought of it must bring a glow to the heart of any norfolk native who knew it when i did. all right-minded parents took their offspring to the mart, if it was physically possible to take them, and i am clear in my mind (though i was afraid to inquire when i was there) that nothing to compare with it exists in england to-day. the fair itself may exist, for what i know (its charter was granted by henry the eighth), but if it does it will be but the gibbering shade of its former self, lagging superfluous; for its human complement has for ever passed away. i have heard my parents say that their parents went to it to buy those silk dresses and those china tea-services which were family treasures and heirlooms from generation to generation. we went to it for dolls and noah's arks and tin trumpets and wooden tea-things, driving home with armfuls of delight through many miles of snow or biting wind, cuddled down in our wraps within the hood of the "sociable." the mart was "proclaimed" on the tuesday following st valentine's day, and continued for, i think, three weeks afterwards. well, then came may day and the garlands; easter celebrated by the wearing for the first time of our new spring sunday clothes--white bonnets to be quite correct; the "haysel" which meant warm days for romps in the fragrant cocks; the seaside--greatest bliss of all. summer, with its long light, its apparently few resources for killing time, did not weary us, that i remember. in the summer holidays, when we lived at d----, my brothers used to sit on a river bank and watch the floats of their fishing lines from dawn to dusk, often without getting a bite, and did not consider the day wasted. little females had their dolls to take a-walking, their hoops and skipping-ropes, and battledore and shuttlecock, their dumb pets to rear, their little garden plots to weed and till. their elders were satisfied to sit under trees when work was done, with needle or pipe or book--for we did have books. a little amusement seemed to go such a long, long way. then autumn--harvesting, blackberrying.... i do not know how i acquired the idea that i should find the old blackberry hedges, the sweet masses of hawthorn and dog-rose and bindweed and nightshade and all those old hedgy things, swept away by the hand of the progressive agriculturist, but such had been my belief long before my return home. in the second chapter of my book of australian reminiscences i now read with a blush my ignorant lament over "beauty vanishing from the world" in the shape of sailing ships, the pink terraces of new zealand, and _the big bird-thronged hedges of rural england_. i suppose i reckoned on the methods of high farming being much the same in all countries, without allowing for the good taste and reverent conservatism of english landlords. the hedges were all there still, more beautiful to me than ever, and i went blackberrying with a basket, just as i had done as a child. harvesting--i saw it again on the old lands. i was in the midst of it, reminded at every turn of the old times. but there were no children playing amongst the shocks and stacks, no reapers with sickles, or gleaners filling their turned-up skirts with the scatterings left behind; the mechanical reaper gathered every straw. and there was no harvest home. the village churches all had their harvest festivals, exactly like ours in australia; but the procession of the last waggon through the golden fields, the harvest supper--they are gone with the piquant valentine and the jovial waits, to return no more. i looked at the barn, where we used to celebrate the arrival of the last load. i looked at the coach-house--neither of them altered in the least, that i could see--where the memorable banquets had taken place. i used to go to them, under my father's wing; at any rate, i must have gone to one, for nothing is clearer to the eye of memory than the picture of the rustic faces around the festive table. husbands in clean smock-frocks and wives in their sunday best, no sociological knowledge in their heads, no divine discontent in their souls, to impair their enjoyment of "the master's" hospitality. unlimited home-brewed was dispensed to them with the roast beef and plum pudding, but i remember no rowdiness in consequence; only clouds of smoke, a succession of highly proper songs, and vociferous applause of the performers. it was etiquette for all to "favour the company" who could, and each singer seemed to have his own one song, listened to by his fellows with unwearied interest and appreciation year after year. as regularly as harvest and harvest supper came round, we had "the highten days o' june" from the oldest throat that could pipe a quavering note: "in the highten days o' june napoleon did advance----" that is all i remember of his song, the first line of which originally ran: "on the eighteenth day of june." my father had his "simon the cellarer," or what not, to contribute to the programme, and smoked his pipe and drank his beer with his men, and appeared to enjoy himself as much as they did. now, in the interest of good-fellowship and good cheer, we have the harvest festival, from which the agricultural labourer is conspicuously absent, as a rule. however, the inevitable is the inevitable. the past is past. as all the conditions of that old time hung together, together they had to go. and there is still a future for the unborn to experiment in. harvest home having been celebrated, the "master" was free to make holiday with horse and gun, and my father was ever eager--too eager--to do so. weather that was right for hunting was a matter of more joyful satisfaction to him than weather that was right for crops. all thought of crops was thrown to the autumn winds as soon as "the season" opened. those old roads of norfolk were to me haunted with hounds and red coats, echoing with the music of the pack and the horn. i asked mr b., as he was driving me from d---- to my cousin's house, how hunting stood in the old hunting county now. he shook his head mournfully. according to him, although he was still a young man, the heydey again was gone, never to return. he had it in his blood, like me, from the dead and gone, and so we were more or less prejudiced. but it would seem clear to the understanding of the most unbiassed person that the sport must have been more interesting in the old times, if only for the reason that hunting men did not wedge in hunting with a dozen other diversions, often in half-a-dozen different places; they gave their hearts and the season to it, falling back upon a little placid subsidiary shooting (over dogs) on off days. there were fewer railways and miscellaneous lions in the path of the straight run; there were more foxes, "stout" in proportion to the healthy peacefulness of their bringing up. townsfolk did not "run down" in crowds to a country meet--they could not; the uninitiated outsider who did intrude where he was not wanted accepted the stern discipline of the field as part of the natural order. farmers were similarly old-fashioned, and in easier circumstances; they were insiders moreover, although few of them aspired to the red coat--as fine riders and steady-going sportsmen as their landlords. they bred hunters and took puppies to walk, and farmed land so that it was not too fine to be galloped over. and barbed wire had not been invented. let me hasten to say, however, that i, personally, do not regret the inevitable change. in spite of my feelings on those haunted norfolk roads, and my talk with mr b., my heart does not sympathise with mourners over the decadence of the old sport. the beginnings of the heresy that the morals of "sport" in this form are open to doubt--that animals, after all, have some poor rights--seem to be welcome signs of progress on the true line of civilisation. heresies of to-day have a fashion of changing into orthodox beliefs to-morrow, and this heresy is bound to follow the rule. hunting that is not for food or in self-defence is like war--a relic of the savage state, surviving only because its nobler attendant features, its refined conventions, traditions and associations disguise the savagery. i have seen an exhausted fox making a last spurt for his life, brush down, tongue out, coat wet, eyes wild with despair; and i am glad to think that, after all these years, it is possible for the human heart to feel a stir of pity for him. it felt none then. my gentle mother, who had followed the hounds herself in days of better health and fewer babies, loved to pack her little brood into a phaeton and drive them to some likely spot for seeing something of that brutally unfair contest between an army of giants and one little scrap of heroic life. i vividly remember an occasion when the horse in the shafts happened to be an old hunter of her own, supposed to have outlived his enthusiasm. at the first sound of the distant chase he propped as if shot, with pricked ears and snorting nostrils, and then bounded at a closed gate, with the intent to go over it, phaeton and children and all. it took a good horsewoman to deal with that situation, and she managed to prevent trouble by hastily detaching him from the carriage and hanging on to him until the hunt had passed. after that taffy took us on these expeditions. how perfectly i recall a still, soft day, a quiet road intersecting deep woods--a road dark in summer with the leafage of overarching trees--the phaeton with the white pony drawn up under the hedge, the mellow hunting cry of the pack sounding nearer and nearer, the speckle of red coats appearing and disappearing through the skeleton copse, the excitement, the rapture, the triumph--and a poor little drabbled fox struggling to evade his fate. he broke from the further hedge, crossed the road, and entered the hedge beside us almost under taffy's nose--one of the most sensational incidents of a hunting season that i can remember falling to the lot of us non-combatants. dead beat he was, his heart bursting, his limbs scarce able to carry him; yet even tender-hearted women and children had no feeling for him in his lonely fight against the forces of the universe, no chivalrous impulse to befriend him in his extremity. a pair of horsemen crashed through the opposite hedge into the road--lord s. had lost his cap, and his hair was wild about his head--and they reined up to speak to us. to their excited "where? where?" we shouted "there! there!" and pointed them after the fugitive. and if he fell into the jaws of the hounds at last i am sure we congratulated ourselves on having helped to put him there. i passed the very spot that afternoon, and it was just the same; only now it rained, and the trees were in full leaf, and there was no fox, nor hound, nor horse. the dignified figure in the hunt is, of course, the last-named animal. he never sees the quarry, probably, or knows there is one, or cares. it is not the lust of chasing and killing that inspires him to his gallant deeds--neither in fox-hunting nor in war. watch a soldier's horse in the evolutions of a review. a colonel of my acquaintance has told me that the moment the band of the regiment begins to play he feels his charger's heart bound against his boot; so it is the music of the pack, telling of glorious effort and exercise, which fires the blood of the hunting horse that only hunts by proxy. the "scent of battle" is the scent of the old primitive life in free air and space, the "call of the wild" to the still half-tamed. horses were a passion in my family on both sides of the house. as a girl i have had my maternal grandfather named to me by strangers as "the doctor who drove the beautiful horses." his were not the requirements of the hunting man; he demanded the perfect form and action, the satin coat, the faultless turn-out. he was a very tall, high-nosed, stern-looking man, strikingly resembling the iron duke, and i used to see him come out to inspect the work of his groom before starting to ride or drive. he would not say a word, but would take his handkerchief to wipe some infinitesimal speck, visible to his eagle eye alone, and show the resultant stain to the guilty man; it covered him with confusion and dismay. this martinet handled the reins himself, except at night, when other and less valuable animals were used--"nightmare" was the name of one of them--until the state of his health obliged him to go abroad in a closed carriage. he hated this, and the necessity for giving his horses over to a hired coachman; and he was always putting his head out of window into the cold winds and fogs, that were so bad for him, forcibly to reprimand that much-to-be-pitied man. one raw winter day the grandfather's short patience gave out; he mounted the box himself and drove the empty brougham home, regardless of consequences, which proved fatal to him. he caught pneumonia or something of that sort, and died in a few days. as i may not be speaking of him again, i should like to say that, haughty old man as he was, taking the high hand with patients of all grades, he was most attentive to the poor, and never took a fee from them. the tradition is that he never sent an account for attendance to anyone--would not condescend to it (having traditions of his own behind him, along with a pedigree stretching back to the mists of prehistoric time)--but that's as may be; he certainly left a very comfortable fortune, which, like that of the other grandfather, never reached the legatees. a son with whom he had been over-strict had run away from home many years before, and never afterwards been heard of. it was deemed impossible to fulfil the direction of the will to divide the property between the testator's children until the missing one was produced, or irrefragable proof of his death. through all the period between my childhood and womanhood the newspapers of the world were calling through their agony columns for one or the other, and in vain. it was reported at intervals that his grave had been found, in new zealand or kamstchatka, or some equally remote corner of the earth; or that someone had met somebody who knew him or where he was; at which times the lawyers were put upon the trail to hunt the matter down. each of the producible children had her separate batch of lawyers, and chancery took charge of the steadily dwindling estate. many years elapsed before the missing one was officially assumed to be dead, and the dregs of their patrimony allotted to his sisters; and then the portion that would have been ours was gone. how well i understand now little incidents that were devoid of meaning to me when they occurred: mother, in tears, confiding to a bosom friend: "'do you sign this of your own free will?' he asked me before us both, and what could i say?" poor mother; who struggled for us so hard! and the married woman's property act is of very little use to wives like her, who still cling to the old ideals of family life. so we were always tantalised with "expectations" that never materialised in cash. we children, as we developed the faculty for romancing, beguiled ourselves with a special one of our own. some day, in some dramatic manner, the vanished uncle--lost long, long before we were born--was to reappear, with his pockets full of gold, to play godfather to his impoverished relatives. we were always looking out for him. a strange step on the gravel, an unexpected knock at the door would instantly suggest to us that the psychological moment had arrived. but no one could ever have been lost more thoroughly than that poor boy, who ran away at night because his father had been too hard on him. from that day to this;--covering something like three-quarters of a century--he has made no sign. if my grandfather's love of horses caused his death, the working of the same passion in my father's weaker nature was rather more unfortunate. he sacrificed to it and its kindred fascinations the important interests of his life, including those he held in trust for his wife and children. i do not say it to blame him, who was so kind-hearted and well-meaning; he was as he was made--happy-go-lucky, careless, thoughtless, sanguine, a boy to the last--and it was bad for such an one to have the illusion of "money coming to him" to encourage and excuse folly. in the fifties he was not a poor man, but he was too poor for the company he kept, too poor to afford to neglect business and indulge in the expensive pastimes of those who had none. but if he could be at m---- with the beloved "harry" v., who was so generous with mounts, he would not be at home with uninteresting ploughmen. norfolk folk who are my contemporaries will not need to have that "harry" more fully named to them, especially when i add that i heard him spoken of as "the old squire" all over the western part of the country, although he had been dead so long. m---- house, his once hospitable home, was quite close to my cousin's abbey, and, although my father had been there so much, it was the first time i had seen it. i walked around the walls and grounds that were so familiar to him, but did not attempt to enter, the family being in residence. since my return to australia i have learned from a mutual friend that they remember his name and the old companionship; so i might have been, and regret that i was not, less modest. the old squire and the golden age of fox-hunting in norfolk, it seems, passed together, and the one is said to be as likely to return as the other. but a rather probable reason for this seems to lie in the fact that norfolk has become such an extensive game preserve. passing the old estates, whose old owners wore the pink as a winter livery, i noted the little colonies of coops by the gamekeepers' cottages. at sandringham i saw pheasants sauntering about the royal domain like domestic poultry, and caught the gleam of their bronzy plumage again and again in the twilight of the thick woods. evidently they are brought up in the lap of luxury as well as in swarms, and are too precious to be scared and scattered by trampling hosts of horses and hounds. times have changed for the one sport as for the other. and, thinking of the difference, i am drawn to the conclusion (though it is not for me to have opinions, i know) that the shooting season cannot be to the common run of sportsmen what it used to be to their fathers. they may shoot better, and at more birds--they do, and so they ought--and for rich men, as one can understand, the old system is not comparable to the new; but the sport was more genuinely sport--was it not, my fellow-fogies of sporting blood?--and it must have had more charm for the many, if not for the few, than is the case now. when the stubble was left for partridges, and not ploughed up as soon as cut, and the fields and plantations lay quiet, through all that golden month which i believe is virtually useless to the scientific gunner to-day--when the autumn was still young and lovely and the red leaves on the trees--that must have been a pleasanter surrounding for the sportsman who was a lover of nature than murky skies and naked woods. to have the companionship of dogs, such as dogs used to be, cleverer than the masters with whom they were in such perfect sympathy and partnership--as a dog lover i cannot understand how men can have bettered sport by leaving them out of it. to wander at will over field and along hedgerow, with the muzzle-loader of the period over shoulder, the sufficient game-bag on hip, powder and shot in pocket, and the trusty scout ahead, undisturbed by steam-ploughs or the fear of fluttering preserves, no restriction whatever upon one's liberty and inclinations; this must have been as good a form of recreation as the drilled sharpshooting of to-day, although it may not have been as good business. at any rate, my father loved it--at such times as he could not be following the hounds. and so the winter came on, and the whist parties of an evening; and presently the exciting preparations for christmas. then christmas itself--the holly, the mistletoe, the resplendent tree, the feasts and dances and miscellaneous merrymakings. the old year passed with these cheerful obsequies; the birth of the new year was celebrated in loving family conclave and with chimes from the village belfry (we could not have midnight services in a church with no lighting apparatus); another year of the same uneventfulness, which yet was to be as full of interest as ever. chapter xi at the seaside i have been looking over a batch of new magazines, and the heading of a paper in one of them gives a sentence borrowed from a letter of thomas bailey aldrich to william dean howells, which i will borrow again for an opening to this chapter: "i've a theory that every author while living has a projection of himself, a sort of eidolon, that goes about in near and distant places and makes friends and enemies for him out of folk who never knew him in the flesh. when the author dies this phantom fades away ... then the dead writer lives only in the impression made by his literature." having written this down and looked at it, i feel that it is not so profound a saying as i thought. the first proposition is as obvious as can be; your eidolon is in the pages of your book, and the more directly you speak to your affinity the more quickly he responds (and he cannot respond effectively unless you are there to know it); the second seems to pass over the fact that when these spirit friendships materialise they become as other friendships, independent of literature or any outside thing. what i set out to show, by my quotation, was that the friends my eidolon had made for me in england outnumbered the friends of corporeal origin, and that some of them gave me my happiest english days. i flew to their arms as naturally and fearlessly as if i had lived with them in the flesh for as many years as we had otherwise known each other, and when i am dead i shall not be a dead author to them, but a dead woman. alas! the phantom fades away in any event. this i have found to be the prime joy of authorship--the knowledge that, when you are projecting yourself into your book, although nobody around you may know or care what you are talking about, you are still bound to reach some who will perfectly understand. you are speaking to your unknown kindred in the near and distant places; if you do not know it at the time--but you do know it--the proof comes later in the letters of some of them, who tell you they have been impelled to write. precious recognition! and letters are so eloquent between the lines that you rarely make mistakes about them. they tell you that the wireless message has got "home" to where it belongs--or otherwise. at the beginning of this century i published a volume of personal reminiscences, entitled "thirty years in australia." coincident with the conversion of the colony of victoria into a state of the new commonwealth, the thirtieth year of my sojourn within her borders was completed in , and it seemed a good time to say something of what in our young country we call the "old days," the "good old times," the old pioneer colonial life of which the records are so few at home and the ignorance abroad so vast. although, when i come to think of it, i believe it was merely as a rest from novel-writing that i started upon the work. i gossiped through the casual chapters--drivelled, some may say, much as i am doing now--with no idea that the completed book would be other than a trifling by-product (my london agent agreeing with this view), of little interest to readers outside australia. but behold! of the score or more of "works" to which i must plead guilty, this one has brought me more happiness than all the others put together, on each of which the profit in love has been more considerable than the profit in money. old friends of the seventies, long passed from sight and knowledge although not from mind, recognised themselves in the guarded initials of their names, and they or their widowed partners or their children wrote to tell me where they were, to recall past companionships, to urgently beg and hospitably plan for a renewal of them. and thus came delightful reunions, mendings of gaps, comparing of experiences, comradeships for old age such as can never be for those who have not spent some of their youth together. but far beyond the number of these were the friends not made by accident but by the design of nature, although the accident of the book discovered them--friends altogether unknown until it found them for me in the near and distant places--also to be lost no more. away in ireland lived a retired colonel of hussars, who one day took it from the shelves of his local library. he did not fancy the title--australia was not a name to conjure with in the british isles, british though she was--but, after turning a few leaves, he thought it might serve for an idle hour. he read it aloud to his wife after dinner, and when he had finished it he wrote to me. it was the beginning of a correspondence which, by the time i started for england, gave me the hope of seeing them as one of the joys before me. and when i arrived their welcoming letter was amongst the first batch to come on board, and notified that he was himself in london, "at my service." as was the case in every situation of this kind, sanguine anticipations were fulfilled, and something left over. never once was i disappointed in a spirit friend made flesh. i met him first at luncheon in the house of the beloved friend who had set herself to give me the time of my life, and he helped her to do it. i shall not forget the ascot week of . certainly i have not much time to remember it in, but if i had a hundred years it would be the same. after we had "done" london--the restaurant dinners and the plays, the pictures, the flip-flap and the sports' club at the franco-british exhibition, little gaieties of a world i had not known but took to like a duck to water--he planned out my route to ireland. that would have been the crown of all, but time and money would not stretch to it. never mind. i still expect to go there some day. then away in boston--boston in massachusetts--there lives another dear friend, discovered just as he was. for years we have corresponded intimately, and every line that i write for the press i can regard as a letter to her. she would come to australia to see me, if she could; the possibility of such an enterprise on the part of a much-engaged wife and mother has been considered; but her promise to meet me in england, should i ever be there, was absolute. one does not allow for the "visitation of god" in making one's engagements, and it was only that which abrogated this one. i heard from her that she had been ready to start, not for london but for my ship at the docks, to be the first to receive me, bringing over a motor for my english use; and illness in her family had stopped her. she begged me to wait for the following spring, but i could not; and so we have not materialised each other yet. if we never do so, we shall love each other to the end. but we are hoping still. and there were other friends of the eidolon in england and inaccessible, whose letters of welcome awaited me at gravesend. one of them lived, as she still lives, at that watering-place on the norfolk coast where i spent happy summers with my family when a child. that is to say, she lives in the new watering-place (not in existence then) which is an offshoot of the one i knew, still an old village, which its modern neighbour was from the first forbidden to touch. the lord of the manor comprising both--he who kept drinking houses and dissenting chapels off his land for so long--had a sense of the fitness of things so fine that it was almost a fad. when he allowed the new watering-place on the cliff where but one solitary house--an inn--had stood in my time, he laid the plan of the town himself and permitted only a beautiful brown stone of the locality to be used for the houses. now vulgar bricks and jerry-building are creeping in, because his son, the present squire, cannot help it; but the good taste of the founder can stand up against them for a long time to come. it was never the typical fashionable watering-place, and, thanks to him, never can be until his work is swept away. it is a great place, however, to have grown up in the interval since i walked to it from old h----, with my governess, to inquire at the "new inn" (old then, and a beautiful house now) whether by chance they had such a things as "revalenta arabica," which a doctor or somebody had recommended for our dying baby, and for which we had ransacked the village in vain. i think that was my last sight of "the green" that now is, which the local guide-book describes as "a standing reminder of the artistic mind that conceived and executed the formation of h----." to the people of this part, _they_ are h---- now, and the ancient village a mile away is old h----; more often it is insultingly referred to as the old end; to me the village is h----, and this new h----. of course this h---- monopolises all the luxuries of civilisation; not only the old "new inn" (with a new name and enlarged and important), on one side of the green, but a huge g.e.r. hotel, with the railway station under it, on the other; a great town hall, a grand pier with pavilion at the end of it, a fine stone-balustraded "sea walk" above the beach, public gardens, public tennis-courts; a splendid church, with its independent vicar and curate, and (which should surely make the late squire turn in his grave) a wesleyan chapel and a "union" chapel, the latter evidently some other irregular denomination, since i do not think new h---- has a workhouse yet; besides gas and telephones and all such things. and so here lived my friend, where she could be quite comfortable. but in the days when she was not a widow, but wife of a rector of the neighbourhood--and before that, as a member of an old norfolk family (she married into another)--she knew all about the h---- of my day; and when she chanced to read "thirty years in australia," and penetrated my dark allusions to the locality and my unprinted thoughts about it, the kindly notion came into her head to tell me that my old h---- of cherished memory was still there, unchanged. with the divination of a spirit friend she knew just what it would mean to me to know that. not only did she write to tell me, she sent me a bundle of photographs to prove her words. when i received them, i had no ghost of an idea that i should ever see h---- again with my bodily eyes, and they gushed tears over the little postcard scenes, so full of sad and sweet reminders of vanished hands and days that were no more. i kept them on a table by my australian bedside, and used to strike matches in the middle of the night and light a candle to look at them once more, and again once more. little did i foresee the day when i should buy them at their place of origin (fourpence a dozen) for myself! of course i wrote to thank her, although i could not find words to thank her adequately; it was the beginning of a correspondence signifying a lasting friendship. and, amongst the many unexpected things that have happened to me of late was my visit to h---- and to her, just a year ago from this date of writing about it. for once letters had not revealed the writer; she was not at all the type of woman they had suggested to my mind; nevertheless we suited each other, to use an expressive vulgarism, "down to the ground." in spite of a constitutional objection to strangers and dislike of "company" as such, common to us both, and in spite of marked differences of view upon important points between us, a very short time sufficed to bring us to that state of mutual trust and understanding in which we could say anything we liked to one another. and that is a state that many lifelong friends, the vast majority of them indeed, not to speak of near and dear relations, do not attain to. but i must not talk here of our private affairs. nor can i dwell as i would like to dwell upon the domestic aspect of the fortnight we spent together. i can say this much, however, she has the instinct for home-making that is so surprisingly lacking (according to my experience) in nine housewives out of ten. the stupidity of my sex in this important business is one of the perennial annoyances of my life. it is not a question--or in but a very small degree a question--of money. mrs b. would know how to make a bark hut comfortable, or a fork of the ancestral tree. so would i. i could not have loved her as i do if her house had been disordered and her habits out of drawing; i am sure she must have cared less for me if i had not appreciated the refined simplicity combined with luxurious comfort of her ménage. i do like comfort, and see no reason to apologise for it as for a gross taste and a low. when i go into splendid rooms that are not used, or that have no fire in them on a chilly day, i feel as cross as when i see someone sitting by the open door of a railway carriage when the train moves, without putting out a hand to shut it. when i passed through mrs b.'s kitchen (at such times as it was convenient to us to return home by way of the back gate), and looked upon m.'s shining range and twinkling dish-covers, the clear, dustless fire, the bright rug on the spotless floor, the cheerful red tablecloth, and her little tea, as dainty as ours, set out--that to me was a beautiful room, surpassing the saloons of palaces. our days were ordered perfectly, for real, downright comfort, when that was all that needed to be considered, as was then the case with mrs b. and me. she knew intuitively that i would like my tea at half-past six better than at seven or later--as she did herself--and brought it to me then in her own hands, which had prepared the delicious tray. this was to strike the keynote of the harmonious hours. having refreshed myself i had an hour or two of reverie in my soft bed, my brain cleared to brightness by the tea, the freshness of the summer morning about me. it was the only house except my own in which i had ever found it possible to do a bit of professional work, and it was in that peaceful interval between tea and bath that ideas for it were born and shaped themselves. at eleven the pony-carriage came round. she is a fine whip, but never used the implement on her own pony, a half arab, wholly aristocratic animal, not quite in his first youth; he and she were on the footing of mother and son, with a complete understanding between them. just to keep him in his place she would pretend to draw the whip from its socket occasionally, and although he had no eyes in the back of his head it was enough to recall him to zealous duty. he nuzzled in her coat pockets for sugar, and he knew her voice when he could not see her, whinnying wildly from his stall at the livery stables, where she sometimes visited him. almost daily he arrived to take us out, always in a fresh direction, always over country that i had known and loved and never hoped to see again, until i began to forget i had ever left it. at one o'clock we returned--i ravenously hungry--to the ever-perfect meal. thereafter more or less subdued and somnolent we repaired to the drawing-room and two seductive resting-places therein; one was a remarkably comfortable long sofa, the other a remarkably comfortable deep easy-chair, and each of us took one, and it did not matter which. the day's newspapers lay at hand, and our respective work-bags, but we frankly allowed ourselves to drop asleep, which was perhaps the most profitable occupation for a pair of grandmothers at that period of the day, although one i was not accustomed to indulge in. at half-past four came m., with the tea-table, her transparent bread-and-butter, her memorable cakes and hot cakes, her jug of freshest cream, the boiling kettle and the caddy. and after such a tea as that, it was well that the next item of the programme was a walk, to prepare us for the equally appealing little dinner to be engaged in at eight. it was in these walks that i drew nearest to the ghosts of the old days that thronged the place. some obscure spinal delicacy prevented my hostess from going far on her own feet, although she was so majestically erect and so strong and young to look at; so she would carry book or knitting to a seat upon the green (a grassy plateau at the top of the cliff, sloping seaward), or to one of the glass-walled shelters, useful queen's jubilee memorials, planted at intervals alongside the cliff path, between the green and the lighthouse, and there rest and amuse herself while i wandered as i liked. we were so entirely at ease with each other that no apologies for such casual separations were required. naturally i walked away towards the old end every time. and as soon as the last jubilee shelter was behind me i was in the world of my youth, where almost nothing was changed. how many hundreds of times had my feet scampered along that dear cliff path--to come back, after such far wanderings, to find it just the same! only a track in the sea grass, a little more hollowed out perhaps, a little nearer to the cliff face, which the waves below had nibbled away until there was barely room to get past the lighthouse wall. the same wild scabiouses that we found there in bygone augusts were blooming, richly purple as the clematis on mrs b.'s house front, along the cliff edge. half-a-century was gone like a passing puff of wind as i stooped to gather them. a dozen times i had to stop and wheel to look across the sea so different from every other sea; and in the evening fight, especially in clear shining after rain, the old "stump" stood up like a pencil-mark on the far-distant horizon, and i saw again the ravelled threads that meant skegness on the one hand and "the deeps" on the other, familiar as the nose on my own face. this cliff path used to be the beat of our old friends, the coastguardsmen, who paced it solemnly day and night, with their telescopes under their arms. i saw no coastguard now, or i must have accosted him, and asked him to let me peep through his glass, for old sake's sake. he used to go on one knee and steady the instrument on his shoulder, and we used to stand behind him to gaze and exclaim. down below lay the great green-haired boulders, the tumbled rocks of the hard conglomerate that outlasted the superimposed strata of the rainbow-cake-like cliff, where doubtless the contraband cask or case found--or but for him would have found--temporary storage in the good old times; but i did not go down, because now the trippers pervaded the beach (leaving to the residents their more aristocratic terraces and green), and the squalid litter of their picnics defiled the place. half-a-century ago it was our happy hunting ground, and almost all our own. here we plied bucket and spade from morn to eve; gathered marvellous treasures from the clear wells and pools between the rocks, ammonites out of the grey marl, "thunderbolts" out of the red chalk; chased crabs and shrimps and little fishes, built forts and castles, sailed boats and nursed dolls, and so on and so on; busy and happy the livelong day. at this point we were caught by the tide one day, and had to sit on a rock ledge till it uncovered the way home. in that archipelago of boulder-islands my foot once slipped into a crevice and was crushed, and the landlady of our lodgings rubbed salt into the bleeding wounds because, she said, that was the way to prevent mortification. every flat stone, all up and down the beach, was eloquent of mid-morning and mid-afternoon meals, when mother or nurse came down to us with loaded basket to stay our little stomachs between breakfast and dinner and dinner and high tea. oh, how magnificently hungry we were in those days! and what digestions we had! the first old landmark that i came to after leaving new h---- behind me was the ruin of st edmund's chapel. a little fragment of a building that looks, almost as primitive as the cliff supporting it, i should think it could be carted away in a day by a couple of labourers who set their minds to the job; yet there it stood, not a stone displaced, that i could see, since i had played about it as a child. king edmund the martyr, say the old chroniclers, built the hermitage of which this is all remaining to commemorate the spot where he landed and to make himself a private study in which to learn the whole book of psalms by heart. think of the hundreds of years of its history, back of the fifty of mine! i used not to think of it, but i thought of it a great deal when i stood on the hallowed ground again. then came the lighthouse--still the old lighthouse to the best of my recollection, but with a marconi installation and a few cottages and their families added to it. and once it seemed to stand away in a field, and now it is so near to the cliff edge that there is scarcely room to get past the wall. the wall may be breached at any moment, and it will not be long after that before they will have to rebuild the tower. i leaned over that low wall and looked into the enclosure. the men were having a game of cricket--such a natural thing to see where one sees a group of official englishmen doing as they like in their off time (they were playing cricket at aden and at suez, regardless of the sweltering heat). when these lighthouse men, coming and going in their game, glanced towards me, watching them, it struck me as such a strange thing that they did not know who i was. i felt almost as if i had more right to be there than they. but when i totted up the years of my absence and the years of the oldest man amongst them, i knew i could be nothing to him but a stranger and an outsider, even as any other summer visitor out for a walk along the cliff. yet how i longed to beckon him to the wall and ask him if he remembered the old times! beyond the lighthouse the cliff fell away gradually to a gradually diminishing sand-bank--as, of course, it had always done; and, descending the sloping path, i saw below me my old village, my own old beach, untouched by the hand of "improvement" which had been so busy near by. no, not quite untouched; the old village inn and coaching-house (when we first frequented the place there was no railway, and we coached the fifteen miles from l----) was now "the golf links hotel," enlarged and modernised, and it had absorbed into its new grounds an old lane between hedges, along which we used to go and come, and which i had desired to perambulate again; but neither the hotel nor the links obtruded into the picture, which was substantially the same as i had known and remembered it. the bathing-machines had been moved from their former prominent position, and they had been a great feature. every morning a couple of them rolled us into the water, where the bathing-woman was sometimes cruelly employed to dip us under, and haul us out again; and a picture of a little brother squatted naked on the roof of one of them, whither he had leaped from the wheel to evade her, and whence he refused to budge for any threats or blandishments, was plain before me when i looked for the machines where they used to be. but this was the real thing--this was the old place, sacred to the old times. once more i waded through heavy sand, that sifted into my boots, as we did before new h----, with its greens and esplanades and jubilee shelters, was dreamed of; i had to look about before i could find a clump of sea-grass on which to rest after my walk, while i surveyed and meditated upon the scene. as was the case with other haunts of childhood and youth revisited, the actual place was not half the size nor of half the importance that i had supposed. to think that this little patch of beach and sandbank, with one occasional sail-boat (old sam's _rose in june_), a few donkeys and four or five bathing-machines for all its furnishing, should have been such a dream of romance, such a memory of joy, for more than half-a-century! but there was no doubt about it, and less than ever now. all the year round, in those old years, from late summer to early summer, i used to be counting days to "the seaside" again; and the rapture of each first evening when, the coach having dropped us at our lodgings, and our tea having been unpacked and eaten, we trooped to the beach (buying our spades and buckets at the post office on the way), to make sure that the sea was there before we went to bed--i could not outlive it in a thousand years. if ever i was happy in this mortal life, i was happy here, although i did break my heart over the corpse of a baby brother and have salt rubbed into a cut foot--also a governess in attendance and lesson-books, at times. but not _the_ governess, fortunately; otherwise old h---- would not have called me back like this. the tide was in, peacefully lapping the smooth shore. when it went out it went a long way, uncovering many acres of fine ribbed sand, strewn over with sea jewels; and great dark patches, that were mussel beds, the treasure ground of all. what multi-coloured sea-anemones we found there! and how hard it was to remember that the returning tide, with its unseen flank movements, would assuredly drown us if in our absorption we lost count of time! and away there, also hidden under the silver sheet, lay the mysterious buried forest--post-glacial trees with their black trunks and limbs intact, in one of which a stone axe was found sticking, just as the stone age man had left it. there were, i had been told, ebon gateposts, dug from this submerged woodland, on farm lands of the neighbourhood, and fragments came into our possession, fashioned into brooches and bracelets, as presents from local friends. i used not to consider the significance of these things. now i read the buried forest into the pedigree of my native country, the splendour of which is lost upon those who stay at home. when i was rested and had gazed my fill, i rose and turned to the right, up the low bank, towards the village--to find our old camping-places, if they existed still. i ought to have gone through a wicket at the top of the bank, through the narrow, high-hedged lane, past the windows of the old coaching inn, through which honor w. used to lean and chat with the casual wayfarer and her father's guests. where is that pleasant-voiced, happy-faced daughter of the old inn now? does she sit somewhere, in cap and spectacles, darning socks for her grandchildren, amongst those who never realise that she was once young and handsome? i gave her memory greeting, while i turned my head from her transformed home. just here i found myself rather alien and astray, but only for a few steps. for there, across the road, were the coastguard quarters, as surely their old selves as i was. and no feature of the place could have appealed to me more eloquently, if only because in one of them the antiseptic surgery i have spoken of was practised on my foot. that was in a summer when all of the few regular lodging-places had been bespoken ahead of us, and we could only get in by the desperate expedient of subsidising the coastguard. three of the little dwellings divided the family amongst them, the largest available parlour being the rendezvous for meals. i slept with two sisters in a four-post bed with blue-and-white-checked curtains, and the dispossessed rightful occupiers used to cross a corner of the room to get to their makeshift couch elsewhere, after we had retired and were supposed to be asleep. we did not like to miss the event of the stealthy passage of our coastguardsman from door to door, creeping in his stockinged feet, shading his candle with his hand, on such nights as he was off duty. one of his brother officials was a clever worker in jet, amber and cornelian, found on the coast; his jewel-trays, prepared for summer visitors, held ornaments that were an ever-recurring joy to inspect and finger, especially if we could buy something--a cross or heart or string of beads for the neck, or a "faith-hope-and-charity" to add to one's bunch of charms. another and particularly dear coastguardsman employed his genius and leisure for years upon a large model of a battleship of the period. it was the glory of his spotless parlour, which it quite monopolised. he said he was going to present it to the boy prince of wales--afterwards edward our king. crowns and palaces would be as naught to him, we were sure, when he found himself in possession of this wonder of the world. and did he ever? wandering on, i came to the cobbled courtyard, closed with a wide door at night, in the recesses of which we kept house through another summer. the very cobbles were there still! and farther on, the terrace of larger houses--_the_ houses, snapped up by the early birds--where we sojourned for the summer of several years, and where the little brother died. dear little golden-head! dolls were nowhere in the season when he reigned. it was the end of the summer, through which his sunny beauty had been the admiration of the beach and the adoration of his family, that he was snatched from us. the terrace reminded me of one forgotten shadow upon the shining picture of the past--the black day when father and mother drove away with the little coffin in a closed carriage, to lay him with his baby forerunners in the churchyard at h----, leaving us behind with our governess in a paradise despoiled. miss w. it was, father's favourite, she of the rowland's kalydor-and-ink affair. and, by the way, i remember that, soon after our return home that year, i went to l---- with her, and accompanied her when she paid a call on the lady principal of the school where she had been educated, who had recommended her to us. this lady had an imposing presence--i can see her now--in dark blue poplin or black moire antique, adorned with a collar of choice lace. she and miss w. were brightly chatting together, when i interposed with the great and solemn news that i had been bursting to impart: "our baby is dead." i think i expected her to collapse under the shock, but the shock was mine. she glanced at me casually, then turned to miss w. with a laugh. "well," said she, "it's one less for you to be bothered with." and miss w. laughed back as she replied that, yes, it was. oh, no doubt she was a cat, the pretty and amiable miss w. and the lady principal, a wife and mother, was just the sort to have had the training of her. i did not get as far as the old church on these occasions, when i rambled alone between tea and dinner. the pony carriage took me there, when we drove about for two hours between breakfast and luncheon, and through the beautiful old park, that even now was so proudly exclusive that the public might pass through the gates on but one day of the week. but i had not forgotten the tombs of the old family--fourteenth and fifteenth and sixteenth century monuments--and its great home, where it had dwelt since william the conqueror, when the norman founder took a saxon lady to wife. never, from that day to this, has the line of descent been broken, or the lord of that line been dispossessed of these lands. the charters that gave them are still in the muniment-room of the hall, and mrs b. showed me an enclosed copse, a dark piece of wild woodland, which she said was saxon land that had never been touched since a saxon kingdom owned it. the key was a sacred heirloom of the family, and one of the articles of the family creed was that no feet should enter there except its own. the whole history of england had passed it by--this one bit, probably the only bit in all england, of virgin saxon territory! o england! england! how wonderful she is! chapter xii excursions to sandringham i had a day of days before i left h----. it was the th august, and the weather the very best that england could do. roses were still plentiful in the beautifully kept english gardens--dorothy perkins painted herself on the landscape far and near--and mauve and purple clematis foamed over tawny house walls in delicious contrast of colour, with as little reserve as in our more ardently wooing air. a favourite ribbon-work of the little dark blue campanula was noticeable everywhere, bordering flower-beds and window-boxes; it was as positive as the blue pencil-marks of the customs on my travelling baggage, and these oddly remind me of it. withal a hint of autumn, gentle and gracious, mellowed the summer scene--a _red_ rowan-tree in one fine country garden; that splendid burning-bush, the virginian sumach, in another; above all--the sweetest "note" to me--the little wild, incomparable harebell, the english harebell, thick in the grass of the roadsides. and the corn was ripe and ready, the hand-cut lane cleared for the reaping-machine around nearly all the fields. well, on this perfect morning mrs b. escorted me to the livery stables where her pony was boarded out. a more notable fact in connection with them was that the elderly proprietor was once the young son of an elderly proprietor of stables in old h----, whence we derived the donkeys and the donkey chaises of bygone times. she took me to see him on the very day of my arrival, that we might indulge in mutual reminiscences of the golden age. now he had a great establishment, many horses and fine carriages glittering in their modern elegance, and his sons in their turn were the acting directors of the business--smart men in well-cut riding breeches, to whom a donkey would be as amusing a little animal as it is to me. amongst the many excellent vehicles of the firm, to which satin-skinned teams were being harnessed, a large brake was out for an excursion to a famous show place of the county. i was going with it, and going "on my own," mrs b.'s back not being strong enough for the expedition. usually i do not enjoy what we call pleasures all alone by myself, but for once i was able to make a happy day without the aid of a companion. the seat of honour beside the coachman was reserved for me. he sat high in the air on his folded overcoat, and, becushioned and berugged, with a stool for my feet, i snuggled under his elbow, comfort personified. a fine man he was, with a fine old weather-toughened english face, and he was a fine whip; i knew it as soon as i saw him gather his four-in-hand together, and an australian bushwoman of my experience is a fair judge. he was not a garrulous person, but ready with his information when i wanted it, and i could not have wished for a more congenial jehu. he confided to me his opinion of the motor that was "bouncing us off the road," his mournful view of a future when the horse should be no more. it occurred to me that the next generation will find c.'s livery stables dealing only with motors and chauffeurs, and mr h. had the air of a man who would hope to be in his grave before he could see it. certainly there was much need of the horn that brayed a notice of our coming at the approach of every turning. english roads and village streets are so narrow that at times our great drag seemed to fill them from side to side; only an experience of london traffic enabled me to believe it possible that another vehicle could pass us; and the corners were so masked by the hedges that one could not see around them. mrs b. and i, trundling about in her pony-carriage of a morning, had many sudden encounters with goggle-eyed drivers who did not trouble to toot a warning that they were near. fortunately, her high-born pony treated the mushroom automobile with contempt. but, oh, those english roads! and the joy of that twelve-mile drive behind that spanking team! we passed over the route by which our stage-coach of old brought us to and from old h---- before the railroad from l---- was made, and i could lean back in my comfortable seat and dream of the dear past to my heart's content. mr h., while keeping me conscious that i was in his good care, only spoke when he was spoken to; on the other side of me were a lady and her daughter, who confined their low-voiced conversation to themselves. there may have been, in the seats behind, a dozen persons more, who did not in the least disturb me. we threaded five lovely villages, with much horn-blowing and twisting and turning, before we came to royal sandringham, which i had already seen, but not on this side of it; every house and church and garden and green and pond and tree was a picture, to raise in my mind the unceasing question: "why did i never know that england was like this?" i had not forgotten, i had simply never known it. no english person can ever know it so long as he stays at home. the callousness of the native, who was used to it, to the beauty of his dwelling-place, the value of his privileges, was a continual surprise to me, although i knew the reason for it. to be as the king at sandringham, without the suggestion of an unfinished or imperfect detail in the whole scheme of one's domestic life, would be to have too oppressively much of a good thing, but i felt as if i would give my ears to live in one of his tenants' cottages. by the way, even royal sandringham had its message from the past for me. i had known the place in childhood, and had my memories of the family from whom it was acquired; but i had always understood that edward vii. had "rebuilt" the old mansion, which implied that he had first pulled it down. instead of that, i found it had been built on to, which is quite a different thing. there it was, at the end of the immensely long facade, and, to my thinking, the most beautiful although the least ornate part of it. the photographers are not of the same opinion, for, having so much to get into a picture, they cut off what they consider can be spared at that end, never at the other; so it was a complete surprise to me to find the old house standing, and i had great difficulty in getting a photograph of the royal residence which took it in. but i did not cease from the search until i found one. lest i should seem to be sailing under false colours as a royal guest or otherwise privileged person, let me explain that i paid my visit to sandringham as a cheap tripper on the occasion of the cottage flower show of the estate. this was the day of the year--and in that favoured summer it was a day of unsurpassable weather, the nd of july--when the most generous of kings permitted any number of his humble subjects to overrun his domain right up to the house walls. the blinds were down--that was all, and the very least that could be done, in the way of decent reserve--but there was nothing save one's own sense of propriety to prevent one from flattening ones nose against the window-glass and trying to see around the edges. policemen were there, of course, quantities of them, i daresay; but they drifted about as if they had no interest in the proceedings except to render themselves as inconspicuous as possible. never once did i find one exercising his profession, and it was evident that they had their orders not to do so, except in the last extremity. surely if anybody knew how to do the graceful thing gracefully, it was that consummate gentleman, edward vii. and the miscellaneous crowd to whose honour he trusted justified his courtesy and confidence in them; they strolled about, free and easy, as if the place belonged to them, but not the smallest unauthorised liberty was taken with it, that i could see. it was very striking, the sort of tribal, patriarchal sentiment, the almost family feeling, prevailing all over this estate and as far as the royal landlord's influence as such extended. here the man behind the monarch was known as probably he could not be elsewhere in his own dominions or in the world--here, where he was in the special sense at home, and where he could be himself in freedom. behind his back it was easy to gather the facts of the situation. there was no servile, old-world awe in the enormous and adoring respect paid to their great squire by those who "lived under" him; in their evidently boundless affection there was not a scrap of fear. when the milk gave out in the refreshment tents, because the fine day had brought more tea-drinkers than were expected, messengers ran to the queen's dairy, as naturally as they would have run home if home had been as near, for more; and the little incident was typical. as a cheap tripper i gained an interesting experience and some valuable knowledge which as a privileged guest i must have missed. also--in the retrospect--a delightful memory. at the time, there was a disadvantage attached to the position which almost spoiled my day. the excursion train started early in the morning and returned late in the evening, giving us the whole day "out," and i was not strong enough to stand all that. i knew just how it would be, but i had not seen the time-table when i committed myself to the expedition by inviting a niece-in-law to accompany me. otherwise i should not have come. and so now i am very thankful that i did invite her. as i said to her, when i tumbled, half dead, out of the train at d---- (cutting off what i could of the return journey, half of which she had still to make), "i'm glad i've done it--now that it is over." it was all right, the getting there. the drive from wolferton station was full of joy, the beautiful modern woodland road not withholding glimpses of the wild heath of my young days, that was wild heath still, splashed with pinky-purple heather delightfully blending with dark fir wood and tawny sand. the tented meadows, and the sweet gardens beyond them, the views of the great house from this side and that, the glorious trees, the glorious grass, the glorious sunshine which australia could not beat--as long as i escaped with my life to tell the tale--or, rather, to remember the feast of loveliness that it was--it is absurd to talk of what it cost me. i do not grudge anything. i did not then; at any rate i knew i was not going to. but the fact remains that by one o'clock (with no train till after seven) i was dead beat. for the sake of my young companion i "stuck it out" as long as possible. we went to a restaurant tent and had a good lunch. that put into me a certain amount of spurious vitality, sufficient to carry me along for half-an-hour more. then i sat on a bench in front of the house, while she flitted up and down terrace steps and explored nooks and corners, my eye of the chaperon keeping her in sight. then i made a great effort and we went to the flower show proper. i dragged myself up and down the fragrant alley-ways and looked at everything, and made appreciative remarks to the exhibitors, who, i am able to testify, did themselves and the estate credit. then the heat and crush in the tents overpowered me and i had to get outside in haste. sinking upon a bench in the grateful air i said to my niece: "my dear, do you happen to see amongst all these people anyone you know?" she did. almost as i spoke she spied a friend. it was a man alone, but fortunately an elderly man, yet not too old to be agreeable to her; married, the father of a family, a connection of her own by marriage; quite safe. so i turned her over to him that she might continue to enjoy herself, and they seemed both obliged to me. "meet me at the church at four," said i (there was to be an organ recital at that hour). "meanwhile i will just sit and rest." and here--if i may be forgiven by my gracious host for mentioning it--i seemed to find out one little weak spot in his scheme of perfection. there were seats in plenty scattered over the broad acres of lawn. they were built around the trunks of many of the splendid trees, and they were excellently made of gnarled and twisted wood, and they were sylvanly picturesque; but i cannot allow that they were quite "right"--what one may term legitimately artistic. because the essential principle of true art is that a thing shall be frankly what it professes to be, and these pretty rustic benches professed to be resting-places, and there was no rest in them. i tried one after another, until i must have gone the round of them all, in search of a niche for my tired back where a hard elbow would not poke into it, and there simply wasn't one. i could not afford to be thought too intoxicated to sit or stand, or i must have slipped down and laid my manifold aches upon the soft grass; so in despair i crawled to the church, where the seats, however hard, would not be knobby; and there for an hour or two, before it was crowded to suffocation for the organ recital, i sat by the open door to endure my fatigue. as i was never so long without the relief of a recumbent or reclining attitude since a carriage accident in , when i was young and comparatively strong, gave me a permanent weak back, i was never so painfully tired in all my life. when the organ recital was over i made for the road where the vehicles were assembling for train time--still a long way off--and chartered a comfortable old landau, not only to take us to the station, but for use as a sofa in the meantime. i climbed in, leaned back luxuriously, put up my feet, and was in terrestrial heaven. it was hard to make my coachman believe that, far from being in a hurry to start, i wanted to stay where i was to the last moment, and he was too zealous in spite of me; but for an hour i reposed happily, and could have done so for two or three more, watching the break-up of the festival--the exhibitors stacking their country carts, carrying off their loaded baskets, exchanging their felicitations before they scattered for their homes. physically i enjoyed myself more than i had done all day. but now i take no count of cost. i congratulate myself that i was forced to pay it. may i be a cheap tripper and go through it all again, if i can make the same profit in material for the imagination. as i write, my mind is suffused with the golden beauty of that day. it basks again in such english sunshine as an old australian could not credit without seeing it; it revels in those summer woods, with their peeps of purple heathland, their pheasants tranquilly meandering in and out amongst the rhododendrons. in those miles of shaven lawn, like a continuous carpet, with their ornamentation of single trees and clumps, their dells and rockeries and lake and pretty nooks, all so flawless; in the delightful garden beds and bowers, that are still so simply english, flowering hardily in the open air; in the various aspects of the richly featured house, which is yet no more than an english country house, as comfort-breathing, cheerful and homely as one's own. the little headstone (to a dog) under the windows; the pergola in the kitchen garden; york cottage on its sunny slope; the charming rectory, its french windows open to the view of its ideal surroundings; the baby's grave in mother earth under the wall of the family church, the pathetic family memorials within--above all, that plate let into one end of the family pew, which i could not bear to see anyone look at who was not a "mother dear," bereaved of her grown son, like me--each and all are the picture gallery of memory, that blessed haunt of the soul in the aging years. and not so much as a sketch-book scrawl of a weary woman seeking rest on knobbly rustic seats in vain. however, in this chapter i set out to tell the tale of another adventure. and now it was august, and i was several-weeks-of-england stronger than i had been that day at sandringham. and all i saw of the royal seat i saw from the public road--and i think we went over a part of the new road that a month earlier had been a-making--the road necessitated by the destruction of the famous avenue in a gale, the removal of the screen of trees leaving the house too much exposed to the passer-by along the original highway. the king had been obliged to set his boundaries further out to preserve his privacy, and he had taken in the old road; at that time he was building miles of wall outside of it, and the norwich gates were in pieces on the ground; by this time they will be set in the new wall, and another landmark of the old times be gone. it was the best that he could do, since even a king cannot set a fallen avenue up again. workmen were very busy round about, and it was odd to see the king's name, like that of any other norfolk farmer, on the drays and carts that carried material to and fro. he was "running down" frequently, we learned, to inspect the works, as well as some improvements going on in the off-season at the house itself, like any other domestic person whose heart is in his home. as we passed the raw opening which displayed the royal residence in its temporary nakedness, mr h. checked his horses to give his excursionists a view; it was one of the advertised features of the trip. then we swept on through the remainder of the lovely villages--dersingham, wolferton (it is no use pretending to maintain anonymity here, since the mention of sandringham, for which a mere "s----" would not serve, gives me away)--to the black horse inn at castle rising, which was the goal of our journey so far as he was concerned. i remembered the black horse, as i remembered the great castle--eagerly looked for on each of those stage-coach drives of the fifties--and i felt glad that i had no companion when i set out to explore the latter for absolutely the first time. "oh, if we could only go _close_ to it! oh, if we could only go _into_ it!" we children used to sigh, as we were hurried through the most romantic piece of our known world, our eyes upon the mighty keep that held such store of history; and never had that wish been gratified till now. i went first into the inn ("hotel" is not to be thought of as applying to these english villages), to brush up a little after my drive and inquire about luncheon arrangements. i found it was not the old black horse but a descendant of the same name; however, it was a pleasant little hostelry, blending not too crudely with its venerable surroundings. a maid informed me that the rural table d'hôte would not be ready for half-an-hour, so i set off to get a preliminary peep at the great "lion" of those parts. a short walk brought me to the wicket entrance, where an old man admitted me to the once sternly guarded fortress. and once more i found myself overwhelmed with a reality beyond all anticipations. the great castle was far, far greater than i had supposed. the antiquaries seem agreed that the earthworks are of roman origin; their plan is still quite plain to trace--nearly circular, with jutting squares to east and west; and to think of that, as one stands on the very embankments, looking down into the very ditch, so wide and deep that one looks on the tops of trees that have grown huge and hoary in the bottom of it, is to think of something that rather takes away one's breath. the british who appropriated the ready-made entrenchments, and the normans who ousted them, seem, for once, but mushroom peoples. but the castle within the ancient ramparts----! i am afraid to begin to tell how it affected me, seeing it at last, after all these years. its human interest to me in childhood was almost exclusively connected with a royal prisoner once immured there. in my earliest reading days miss strickland's "queens of england" was my favourite history book--romance all through, made alive and convincing by the fascinating steel-engraved portraits of the ladies in their habits as they lived; and miss strickland said--so did everybody at that time--that queen isabella, widow of edward the second, was for her sins shut up in rising castle by edward the third, there to linger in captivity for twenty-seven years, until merciful death released her. i never passed under the great keep without gazing up at the few holes in the wall to wonder which was the window through which her wild eyes of despair looked in vain for rescue to the road we travelled. now that story has gone the way of so many old stories. isabella, it seems, had not much to complain of beyond banishment from court to a residence in a dull neighbourhood. she paid visits to her friends from time to time, to relieve the monotony, and she died quite comfortably in another part of the country, in a castle of her own. but no single figure is needed to create human interest for a dwelling-place of the age of this one. in the reign of william rufus it was that the castle was built by one william d'albini--just about the time when a brother knight of normandy "took up his selection" at old h----, on which his descendants have sat continuously to this present day. doubtless william and his neighbour had the equivalent of a pipe and glass together many a time, and inspected the works in company--these works which were to stand for a thousand years! whether both gentlemen married ladies of the land i know not, but a cecily (which sounds saxonish) of william's line and name in the thirteenth century took the castle and manor of rising into the family of lord montalt, her husband, where they remained for a good while. then it appears to have become royal property, as witness queen isabella consigned thereto by her son. the black prince and richard the second are mentioned as owners, if not occupiers, and it is said that king richard exchanged it with the duke of brittany for the castle of brest. in the spacious days of great elizabeth it was the dukes of norfolk who were in possession, off and on. since then it has seemed to belong to howards--sometimes one branch, sometimes another--and it belongs to howards now. what volumes of history are written between the lines of this brief pedigree! i went over the bridge and through the norman gatehouse. i looked about at the magnificence within, crossed the greensward and turned the corner to the entrance door. i walked in and up the great staircase of stone to the splendid archway under which the dead people passed to their great hall, now roofless and ruined. i surveyed the vaulted stone room with the norman windows that was once its vestibule (and at the last a caretaker's lodging); opened a little door in a corner which disclosed a stony shaft round which a stony newel stairway corkscrewed up and up to narrow stony passages and chambers and long arcaded galleries tunnelled in the thickness of the walls--the steps so worn away by the many centuries of use that one could not keep foothold on them without the hand-rope on the wall, the dimensions so circumscribed that one thought of the burrows in the egyptian pyramids. then i considered that further exploration would impair the pleasure of an extended rummage at leisure in the afternoon; also that luncheon would now be ready. and i returned through the village to the black horse. looking about i found the _salle-à-manger_, chill, and empty of life. a long table was set for a meal, but was still without food and without company. further investigation brought me to a garden beside the house where stood a few small tables, at one of which two ladies--mother and daughter who had shared the box seat of the drag with me--were taking a light luncheon in peace and privacy. they were having eggs and salad and bread-and-butter and tea, with green grass under their feet and the sweet air and sunshine round them; and at once i perceived that this was the sort of thing, and not the table d'hôte, for me. i took a table at a distance from them, but, no waitress forthcoming, i went across to ask them how they had obtained their provisions, which resulted in our joining forces and having a pleasant meal together. no one else came to the garden, except the maid who served us, and we chatted together as do callers at the same house on an at home day, finding themselves isolated for the moment on contiguous chairs. one thing leading to another, it transpired that the young lady, who wore fine diamonds on her engagement finger, was going to be married in five weeks. a chance allusion to my own circumstances evoked the further information that her intended husband was a melbourne man! that is to say, melbourne was his birthplace and the place of business of his firm for which he acted as london manager. they mentioned his name and i knew it well. i see it in large letters on a factory wall every time i pass over the railway between the city and my home, and now i never see it without thinking of her. by this time if all went right she will have been married a long time. i hope she is well and happy. i resumed my explorations of the castle, where i had several chance encounters with my friends of the inn garden on break-neck stairs and in stony corridors where there was scarce space for us to pass each other, while still wandering in the solitude i desired, companioned only by my thoughts. it was a memorable afternoon. i had never before been in such close touch with the people of the past, makers of the history of england which is the lay bible of the british race. the very chambers they slept in and where they were born and died; the same floors and walls and stone-ribbed ceilings, the same outlook from the same windows and loopholes over heath and marsh to distant sea and the dim line of the coast of lincolnshire; the chapel of their penances and dispensations, where they dedicated the swords of slaughter; the hall where they brawled and feasted, the dark holes at blind ends of the stony labyrinth, which silently witnessed to unthinkable dark deeds. if i had been better acquainted with old castles than i was, i might have been less impressed by these things and the reflections they evoked. as it was, the whole place seemed so thronged with ghosts that i felt as if i had not room to move amongst them. and yet i learned from a little talk with those who knew, that a caretaker--a lady "custodian," moreover--had kept house and home in the very middle of it all, up to a quite recent date. how _could_ she? her bedroom was the "queen's room" where isabella herself had slept (next door to her "confession room"); another that she used was the "priest's chamber," up at the top of that slant-stepped newel stairway. the room at the top of the great main staircase, with the three norman windows and the great dog-toothed norman archway that once gave entrance to the hall, was her sitting-room. the evidences were there--archway bricked up, and a little iron stove (how little it did look, to be sure, in more ways than one) set against the bricks; windows glazed, boards (i think) laid down over the flagged floor. i tried to fancy how the lady custodian had furnished it--to picture her sitting at her book or needlework under that mighty overmantel above the hearth! i had not then seen the quarters of the chaplain of malling abbey, and how charmingly ancient and modern can be made to blend in the composition of a home by a person of intelligence, means and taste. yet the gatehouse at malling, apart from the chaplain's "treatment" of it, is snug and cosy indeed compared with this. i could live there delightfully myself. but here----! from kitchen to parlour, from parlour to bedroom the lady custodian had to make pilgrimages through ruins open to the sky and up stairways and along tunnel-passages such as one shuddered to think of in connection with dark nights. imagine the wind rising after you have gone to bed, sighing and sobbing like ghosts of tortured captives come back to the scene of their mediæval woes, whistling through the loopholes like the arrows of a besieging army. think of hearing an owl hoot in the desolate great hall--the creepings and scratchings of things alive that you cannot account for--the deadly silence in between, that feels like the silence of a tiger watching you and crouched to spring! i was not surprised to learn that the last woman to defy the associations of the place had found them too much for her, and that since her time the caretaker had lodged outside the castle instead of in. her husband had died in that room of the bricked-up arch and the little iron stove, and what she went through in the nights of his last illness, when she had to sit up to watch him, and on the night when she was left with his coffined corpse for company, nearly drove her out of her mind. so i was told, and i quite believed it. i came down at last from the wonderful place, having still time before me in which to explore the village. mrs b. had warned me not to neglect this duty. it is a beautiful village. as one saw "the king" written all over west newton, dersingham, wolferton, every acre within a radius of miles from the royal seat, so here the impress of "the howards" was plain upon rising from end to end. the home of the family is in it; of course, withdrawn from the gaze of trippers. i passed its guardian walls and spoke to a gardener who came through a high gate, wheeling his barrowful of stuff from the grounds within. i think he said that his lady was in residence. i strolled on to the village green to look at an ancient cross which mrs b. had mentioned as an important feature. so it is--a very interesting example of the wayside shrine. i could find no special story attached to it, but one felt sure that it commemorated "the howards" in some way. the rectory near by--a home of dignified leisure, also withdrawn from the gaze of trippers--is in their gift. the church is full of memorials of them. if i know little of castles i know much of the churches of my native country, and how remarkable they are. this one must be ranked with the ecclesiastical gems of norfolk, which is so rich in them--although i found that it had been very thoroughly "restored," which generally means in some points altered from the original plan, within late years. by the way, mrs b. has a valuable collection of the etchings of john sells cotman, whose work is, for architects and antiquaries, an authority on norfolk churches and cathedrals, abbeys and castles, as they were a century ago; and i am not sure, but i think that one of them shows the square tower of rising church without the singular roof which now covers it. however, it is a beautiful building, plainly norman throughout; with all its richness of ornamentation, massively simple and sincere, worthy to stand beside its great neighbour, which has defied the chances and changes of a thousand years. the hand of the howards may be seen all over it, inside and out, but they have written only their love and taste, and said as little as possible about their own importance. just across the road from the church is another howard institution of the past, in which i was deeply interested--trinity hospital, otherwise the bede house, otherwise almshouses for decayed females of the working families on the estate. here the gaze of the tripper is not objected to--is probably welcomed, since an alms-dish stands on the table at which the "governess" (which i think is the correct title of the lady superintendent) gives you final items of information about the place; the vessel dumbly suggesting a donation from the visitor, to be devoted to the comfort of the old ladies in providing them with such little extra luxuries as they can enjoy. i did not need the hint, and i should think the offerings of visitors ought to almost "keep" the old ladies, who want so little. it is a charming bit of architecture, and to me it seemed immensely old. i said so to the lady superintendent, and you should have seen her amused smile at my ignorance! "oh dear, no," she politely corrected me, "_this_ is not old; not more than three or four hundred years at the most." from her way of saying it, you would have supposed it had been jerry-built last week. but she was right; in rising village, a neighbour of the great castle, an appanage of the howards, it was a mere mushroom. henry howard, earl of northampton, erected it in the reign of king james the second. nevertheless, it is a charming bit of architecture. she could not shake me in that belief. a sort of gatehouse of two storeys, capped with three pointed roofs, two square and a saddle-back between them, gives entrance through an open archway to the most delightfully green and peaceful quadrangle, which was a picture indeed that golden summer afternoon. exactly fronting me as i entered was another block of buildings, comprising a little chapel, a reception-room, and the quarters of the "governess." between this block and the gateway block, and joined to each on both sides and to one another, the dwellings of the pensioners made out the square, which was edged with the ever-beautiful english flower-border, the middle being filled in with the ever-matchless english lawn. all the roofs were large, steep, massive and heavily tiled; the chimneys on the same scale, the walls (except in the two blocks mentioned) low, and pierced with square latticed windows and the cottage doors--a pair to each pensioner--most of which stood open, with the old ladies, at their knitting or what not, sunning themselves at some of them. there was about everything that sober orderliness, scrupulous neatness and finish, so striking and so grateful to the eye of the old colonist, and such an enhancement and completion of the charm of rural england in characteristic scenes like this. it was a reproduction on a small scale of the college quadrangles at cambridge, the composition of which had so enchanted me. i was enchanted with the howard almshouse, and inclined to envy the howard protégée her haven of repose. but the twentieth-century cosmopolitan, who has more or less gone with the times, has strange conflicts of feeling within the breast on being shown the uniform of the howard protégée, the wearing of which is a condition of her tenure of one of these picture-book homes. out of cardboard boxes and swathings of tissue paper the lady superintendent brought forth the brand-new cloak and hat that appeared to be kept for display to visitors; and i looked at them. taken as a garment, and not a symbol, the cloak of scarlet cloth with the howard badge embroidered on it is quite beautiful; the hat is another matter. it seems made of the stuff used for the modern gentleman's bell topper, and in shape resembles the welsh peasant hat; one has seen it also in pictures of witches, of the time when they were tried by fire and millponds. it has a towering and tapering sugarloaf crown, and a round, narrow brim, and is worn over a white cap with a full border. in other words, the uniform is a costume of the time of james the second. now.... well, i mentioned the matter in local circles once or twice. my non-committal attitude did not fail to evoke disparaging remarks upon the howard bede house fashions, and especially the hat. "they don't like wearing it," i was told. who can wonder? "but for them things, there's a many would like to go in, and ought to go in, as can't bring theirselves to do it." in ely, when i left that town for australia, there was a pious foundation which similarly persisted in making its beneficiaries wear the costume of the founder's age. long past the middle of the nineteenth century though it was, unfortunate little boys had to run the gauntlet of the street in old-man beaver hats and full-skirted old-man coats with great flap-pockets--spectacles to make the humane heart bleed. when i returned, i found the old free school building extant and unchanged, but the preposterous uniform no more. now that the twentieth century has passed its first decade, i think it would be a fair thing to let the witch's hat, and the "badge" that has lost its meaning, go. i was dreamily making my way back to the black horse when i spied the village post office--the "open door" to all persons and peoples into the great world of living human affairs that i had been feeling so remote from. something within me sprang awake at the sight--it was the instinctive although often unconscious desire for human sympathy that accompanies any unusually impressive experience. i stepped into the tiny place, and sought pen and ink. i drew a postcard from a packet i had bought of the old man at the gate of the castle grounds, and wrote under a picture of the great stone staircase: "here i am, and i wish you were with me," or words to that effect. i addressed it to my friend at boston in massachusetts, who had sent many a token of the same kind to me, stamped it, and dropped it into the letter-slot. then, feeling no longer alone--only just as much so as i liked to be--i stepped back into the sunshine, happy in my thoughts of her and of how she would understand. and, as i was crossing the road, thus bemused and absentminded, a lady, evidently sight-seeing by herself as i was, crossed it from the other side, and in passing stopped me to ask some question about the way to somewhere. she turned out to be one of our driving party, although i had not noticed her. when i had replied to her introductory query, she said: "i saw you with mrs b. this morning. you are mrs c., are you not?" then she told me she had a sister living in melbourne, married to a melbourne doctor, and she wondered if by chance i knew them. i did not know her sister, but the name of her distinguished brother-in-law every australian knew. this little encounter, opening the lines of the "wireless" to my dear home on the other side of the world, filled up the measure of emotional satisfaction that was so abundantly vouchsafed to me that day. or almost. the drive home (by a different route) was as delightful as the drive out. and when i reached mrs b.'s and the capacious arm-chair, and m.'s most charming tea-table ... i am afraid i must confess, after all my sentimental rhapsodies, that the crowning joy of my expedition to rising castle was the heavenly cup of tea that awaited my return to the starting point. chapter xiii a trip south there are people, and they seem to me the vast majority, who have no curiosity about or interest in anything or anywhere outside their business and domestic boundaries; who "wouldn't cross the street," as they say, to look at the parthenon or the sphinx, or see anything in them if they did; to whom a guide-book, with photographs, means a map and a railway time-table and an indicator of the tariffs of different hotels. but the passion for travel--to "see the world"--has possessed me from my youth up. it has grown with my growth, and has not waned with the waning years. as long as the faculties of vision and locomotion remain to me, i shall cherish dreams of the sphinx and the parthenon, venice, the swiss alps, the castles of the loire, the thousand and one beauty spots of the all-beautiful world, which i have yet to see--trusting in the fates, which have begun to indulge me, to give me a sight of some of them before i die. i do not think they could drop me down anywhere and leave me altogether ignorant of where i was, so far and wide has an exploring imagination led me, and so much has it made of its every opportunity, since i first began to read and to look at picture-books. after thirty years of life in the australian bush, i went one day to a tea-party in melbourne, where one of the entertainments provided was a guessing competition. one wall of a room was covered with prints and photographs of public buildings of the world; they were of miscellaneous character, old and new, selected so as not to be too obviously familiar or to give an unfair advantage to experienced travellers amongst the guests. i had never travelled; i do not think i had seen one place of the many represented--except the wilson hall of the melbourne university, which was the only one to puzzle me; yet i won the first prize easily. happily, the beauty of a beauty spot is not dependent on human or historical associations, and the australian bush fed fancy well when it had no other inspiration. likewise, when the opportunity to return to england came, unprovided with means for much sight-seeing within the country, or any whatever outside of it, i was too happy in what i had to miss what i had not. it seemed almost as much as i could bear to roam my native county, and see the homes of childhood, old h---- and rising castle as i did; after that satisfaction i felt like being now able to depart in peace--that i had not lived in vain. and when in the month of september--still golden weather, for that english summer was made on purpose for me--i set forth to visit devonshire, then i felt that aladdin's lamp and the philosopher's stone were not "in it" with my command of luck. in my young days, be it understood, with this spirit of enterprise so strong within me, i saw nothing of the world outside the eastern counties, and not much of them, except when the dear eldest aunt mothered me so much too carefully in london now and then; nor had i when, in , i was abruptly detached from my belongings to be taken to the other side of the world--not to see another inch of it until i arrived. but all through those early years i was storing up knowledge of the beauties of england, putting together mental pictures of scenes which i had fair hope of beholding with the eyes of the flesh in time--although, as a matter of fact, i have not seen a tenth of them even yet. as they seemed to come under the head of things attainable that were unattainable, and not, like foreign places, of things unattainable that were unattainable, a reasonable hope was justified. nor did i stop at hoping. i weeded the garden and gathered snails for pennies, went without sugar for sixpence a week, while my brain seethed with plans for better business, in the effort to give substance to some of my dreams. all the places in scott's novels--my first romances, read aloud to us little girls by our mother as we sat at our sewing tasks about her knee; all the castles in the english histories; the lakes and fells of the north, the soft hills and dales of derbyshire, the moorlands of jane eyre and katherine earnshaw, the devon of lorna doone and amyas leigh.... i cannot count them. but, of them all, devonshire was my dream of dreams. my grandmother lived her last years there, and there she died. from her and the aunts we had descriptions of the county and its manifold charms; they only ratified what i had already learned. i think this must have been before the youngest aunt became a royal governess, or it may have been there was an interregnum in her career as such; anyway, she had her home in devonshire at this time, which may have been a reason why i did not go there. however much i might long to see a place of dreams, i could not have wanted to see it in her company. besides which, to go to devonshire from norfolk, in those days and to untravelled persons of our means, loomed as huge an undertaking as it would now be (not to me, but to rural stay-at-homes) to go to egypt or madeira from the same place. at any rate, i did not go. i communed with my favourite blackmore (as i now commune with his successor in my regard, delightful eden phillpotts), and dreamed of going some day. and when the some day came, it was my last in england for eight and thirty years. for the first time i crossed the land from east to west, on my journey to the ship in plymouth sound. leaving paddington at night, darkness (not sleep) hid the most of the way, but the light of the may morning came early enough to show me the part i had most longed to see. pale dawn it was, and the train rushing along, but in all my years of exile i treasured the impressions of the little that i saw; they but fixed the old dream and made it permanent. i still had scarcely begun to realise it, but i seemed to know better what it would be to realise it. "we are to return in five years," i remarked to my drowsy partner, for so we had promised to do, in the innocence of our hearts. "then we must see devonshire." we did not return in seven times five years, and when we did i might never have seen devonshire, as i have never seen the lakes and fells, or kenilworth, or hosts of things, but for one of those little happenings which come without warning us of the great ones in their train. some few summers ago i went to a new place to spend the long vacation with a son whom i was accustomed to companion at such times. alone of our family, we chose, when choice was ours, the wilds of nature for our holiday resorts; and he sent for me to join him on an island that he had discovered, in a cottage that stood on its own lone beach, where we could live the simple life like robinson crusoes, plus the advantages of a general store (only one) and a daily steamer to and from the mainland, within the distance of a healthy walk from our abode. i went, and we had a great time--then and on several subsequent occasions in the same locality. no maids, no dressing; no constraint imposed and no effort required in the heat of the year (the long vacation of australian universities begins in december and ends in march); absolute repose, combined with delightful occupation. we walked out of our beds into our morning bath in the sea, and returned for a plunge or an idle wallow at any time of day that the whim took us. we never failed to bathe (in this only bathroom at our disposal) before sitting down to our evening meal, and more than once i have risen in a hot night to soothe restless nerves in moonlit water. the sea was almost at our threshold, gently lapping a beach as smooth to naked feet as a ballroom floor. on the other side of the island, where it faces the south, the pacific hurls its weight upon rocky headlands and thunders in rocky caverns as stern and wild as caledonia's coasts can show. it was there we went for picnics. of course, we were not quite alone. the island had been discovered by others and had boasted a tiny watering-place for years. two hotels and several boarding houses clustered about the single store (there are two now) and the little pier where the little steamer called twice daily, going to and returning from the source of fresh meat and newspapers; and these houses were filled in the summer season, and we numbered friends amongst their guests. but the point to be mentioned is that our delightfully remote cottage belonged to a gentleman through whom--although we never met or knew each other--i came to realise my dream of some day seeing devonshire. i often wish i had known him; for by all accounts he was a rare and original person. in the oldest of our old times, the pre-gold times, when these lands were being "taken up" by a gallant set of young men, cadets of what we call "good" british families, he had been a pioneer squatter. but then, while the days of our history were still the "early days"--before or soon after my own arrival--he went back, married, settled and lived the bulk of his life like any other english gentleman of wealth and social standing, in accordance with the habits and customs of his family. i do not know for how many years he had inhabited his fine house in devonshire, at which i was a happy guest so recently, but i know they were a great many. then, a widower, approaching a late old age, he divided his large fortune amongst his nine daughters (reserving what he deemed to be sufficient for his remaining needs), settled the family house upon them for their joint use, and came back to australia--to the little island on the victorian coast where by such a small chance we found him. still farther along the lonely beach from our little cottage he had built his last home, much of it with his own hands. a four-roomed weather-board house, bare-floored, unceiled--sufficient, and no more. here he had been living for some time, with one man for his whole establishment--the uncrowned king of the island, who could not meet a child without giving it a coin, or hear of a necessity that he did not exercise all his gentlemanly ingenuity to relieve, as when he sent a sack of sugar to a struggling mother "to make lollies for the little girl"--when two of his eight daughters in england (one was married in new south wales) came out to see how he was getting on. i think it was not until they arrived that he built new rooms for their accommodation, and it is significant that at the same time he built himself another room quite detached from the house, which he left to their more civilised control, and the maid who was now added to the establishment; but, whether he invited them or not, he had reason to bless their coming. unless he was the sort of man who would just as soon die alone and untended as not, which he very likely was. i joined my son on the island the day after the old man met with the accident which caused his death. one of the many children who put themselves in his way at every possible opportunity had been to see him, to announce a birthday and receive the inevitable half-crown, and in the course of the proceedings had spied a small rifle leaning against the wall. it had just been used, or was going to be used, on minahs that were eating the orchard fruit. unseen by his host, the boy picked up the weapon, and, "fooling" with it, shot his benefactor in the leg. i heard of the mishap, and of the periodical inquiries from our cottage as to the patient's state. no alarm was manifested, and his daughters came to see me. later, as the wound seemed obstinate, it was thought wise to take it to melbourne for treatment; and one morning they carried the unwilling invalid along the beach before our cottage to the steamer that was to take him thither. he raised himself from his stretcher, and waved his hand to us, and that was all i ever saw of him. he died in melbourne some weeks later. but the island, all aweep and heart-broken, got his body back; and his grave on the sandy hill, in the midst of sea waters, seems an appropriate resting-place for such a man--more so than the monumental vaults and tombs that hold the dust of his kin of england. to his one australian daughter he left his australian home. i rented it from her for a year or two. the daughters who had come out to see him returned to their sisters in devonshire. i stayed with them for some time before they left, and we parted as friends, and with the mutual hope that we might meet again. there was small prospect of a reunion in england then. but the time came. to my unutterable surprise i found myself there, engaged to pay them a visit. one of them, that is the elder, with her father's nomadic blood in her veins, voyaged back again after a couple of years and set up her tent on the island much as he did, only rather more luxuriously. her return coincided with my departure, and for the moment i missed her at both ends of the world. but m. was at home, and to her i set forth joyfully on a morning of september, about a year ago from this date of writing. i took that once formidable journey alone, my husband being absorbed in the pursuit of partridges, which was happiness enough for him. he had been marking them down all the summer and had brought his favourite gun across the world for their sakes; by the same token i had to pack it amongst my clothes because he had not room for it in his own baggage, stuffed with the rest of his sporting paraphernalia. and at first it looked as if the fates were still inclined to head me off from devonshire. i was all ready to start a week before i did when i slipped on the stairs and sprained my foot. i signified the necessary postponement by telegram with a foreboding heart, and as soon as i could hobble, in a slipper, flung all regard for appearance to the winds and got ready again, before more accidents could happen. and then i had, so to speak, to fight my way. i had never travelled any distance alone, having no vocation for independence, but i assured my caretakers that any fool or baby could get about on english railways without risk or trouble. it was otherwise at home, where porters regard themselves, and with reason regard themselves, as your gracious patrons, who do not seek you, but have to be sought. "all i shall have to do," said i, remembering my drive from liverpool street to eaton place for half-a-crown, "is to take a hansom to paddington station. the porters will do all the rest for me." "oh, nonsense," said they, "to waste time and money on cabs, when there is an underground that will take you straight across the city from one point to the other." they would not hear of it. by the underground i was to go, and so carefully was i provided for that an important official of liverpool street station was engaged in a friendly way to meet me there and personally conduct me from train to train. the salient points in my appearance were described to him and his to me, and when he readily undertook the job assigned to him it was reasonably assumed that i was safeguarded as far as human means could do it. that i went wrong after all was not their fault nor mine. it was in the first place the fault of one who told my friend who was the friend of the liverpool street official--to whom he immediately forwarded the false information--that i was going by another train. in the second place it was the fault of a porter. poor, dear porter! in whatever form he waited upon me he was an ideal servant to my australian notions, although i was sufficiently altruistic to wish him for his own sake the standing of his antipodean brother who is not a servant but a potentate, self-respecting to hauteur in his conscious command of the situation. in the present instance he was but human and over-zealous, and i would not blame him for the world. when my train from cambridgeshire drew up at its london platform he was ready for me at the carriage door, as usual. and when i looked beyond him for his superior who was to take charge of me, and saw no one resembling our mutual friend's description of him, i was relieved and pleased. for i had rebelled against the waste of his precious time and the obligation i should be under to him, although overruled by assurances that the favour would be on my side. i had protested that the english porter was all-sufficient for every possible need that could arise. so now i put myself into his hands with as complete a trust as the highest official or a whole board of directors could have inspired; and i told him i wanted to go to praed street by the underground, and asked him to see to everything and put me on the right train. and i gave him sixpence. perhaps that was a mistake. i was always being told that i had no business to give a porter more than twopence (the australian porter will condescend to pocket sixpence, but i never dared insult him with less), and i used to make it threepence when no one was looking, without feeling that i had been too generous, in deference to the customs of the country. it is certainly an odd thing that the only two little railway accidents that befell me in england were due to the only porters i gave sixpences to. it would almost seem as if so much prosperity turned their heads. on this occasion it was to make assurance of the right train on the underground doubly sure that i tipped my man the first sixpence; and he laid himself out to earn it in such a way that i was ashamed not to have made it a shilling. he bought me my ticket for praed street--that was all right; he put my luggage on the train and myself into the special care of the conductor. he did all that man could do. but it was the wrong train. i discovered presently that i had been along that same underground before, on one of my visits to the franco-british exhibition. i had not taken much notice of the names of passing stations then, having the usual escort; but now i did. and praed street seemed an immense time coming along, whereas paddington was left farther and farther behind us, and signs of our approach to shepherd's bush accumulated. so i spoke to the conductor. imagine the feelings of an innocent abroad! "there's no praed street on this line," said he. "you are in the wrong train." i kept my head fairly in an experience unprecedented in my career. i confided in the conductor--because i had found that in england you can go to any official in a difficulty, with the certainty of getting good advice and every possible assistance, and he told me what to do. i did it (with my luggage and my lame foot) in the sweat of my brow, somehow. i got out at the next station. for once, no porter, until a passing civilian, appealed to, sought one out for me, who, when he appeared, acted as the dear man invariably did. i returned to the station the conductor had told me to return to; exactly the same thing happened. the civilian in this case connected me with an elderly, slow porter, who seemed to have all the business of the train and platform to himself. i knew what the time was. i thought of where i was in london and of my friends in devonshire, driving three miles to meet me; and i cried to that poor, doddering old man that i would give half-a-crown to anybody who would help me to catch the exeter express. he stared at me as if he wanted time to get such a stupendous proposition into his brain; then he sadly realised that he could not do it. but from somewhere out of the ground sprang a vigorous young porter who without loss of time took the matter in hand. "you run along as hard as you can run," said he, "and i'll meet you under the big clock." i did run, although in other circumstances i should have believed it almost impossible to put my left foot to the ground. and i ran the right way too, although i did not know it, and although i have a natural genius for taking wrong ones; up and down stairs and along devious passages, sped by the directing fingers and shouts that answered my gasping query to every railway man i passed; and so i came out on a high gallery in the great arena of paddington station--to see my train below me, but still far away, and the big clock that was my rendezvous with the luggage porter (nowhere to be seen) pointing to the very minute that the time-table fixed for its departure! i flew along that bridge to the end, hurled myself almost headlong down the stairs to the platform, reached my train; and there was still no sign of the luggage porter, far or near, and they were shutting the carriage doors, and the guard was lifting his hand to give the signal to start. he was a fine, big, important-looking man--i shall not forget him--and but for my experience of english railway officers it would not have occurred to me to approach him at such a moment; but i had the happy inspiration to do so, and was thereby saved. "he will be here directly," said that guard with the manners of a prince. "i will hold the train a moment." he held it for moments that made two minutes before my laggard henchman came into view, and then helped him to bundle my things into the corridor of my carriage, there being no time to seek the van. blessings on him! i hope it may be my good fortune to travel in his charge again before i die. and i was only a third-class passenger. that is another of the pleasures of english railway travel. at home we have no third class, and your own servants do not deign to travel second. i do not myself, except sometimes on a country journey, the long-distance trains having a special character and equipment. but in england the third-class carriage was our only wear; but twice did we put on airs and take a second--a first never. in australia when you ask for your unspecified ticket, unless you are blatantly horny-handed and begrimed with toil, the young man behind the wicket gives you a first-class as a matter of course; in england he gives you a third, with the same inward knowledge that he is doing the proper thing, no questions asked. and with that evidence in your hand of your lack of social consequence, you are of as much importance as anybody to the english official, who is a gentleman every time. my guard of the great western could not have done more for me if i had been the queen. and so, thanks to him, i was off at last. in a full carriage, of course, where i had to sit in the middle, but still, safely embarked for devonshire. and when the agitation of my nerves subsided i looked at the passing landscape which i had last seen as a girl and a bride and thought of all that had happened--heavens! what had _not_ happened?--since that far-off day. its face might have changed--it must have done--but it was the same country, the same towns and villages, and woods and fields. i had seen them for the first time in the twilight of a may evening in --that evening of farewells and heartbreak, of all evenings in my life--and never since till now ... one advantage of being a third-classer is that you can chat with a neighbour without misgiving, if you feel that way disposed. i could not read in english trains; it would have been a wicked waste of eyesight when there was so much better than books to look at; and if you do not read you either incline to talk or you are supposed to be ready to do so. there was a little lady in the corner next to me whom i liked the look of, and who apparently returned the compliment, and we made one of those little ships-that-pass friendships, which are often as pleasant as they are brief, before she left me at newton abbot, to branch off to cornwall. she had a school in that county, but had been called from it to a sick brother in america--in the wild west too--a couple of years before we met; and his illness, death, and difficulties resulting from them had only now released her to return to the quiet life which had been so violently interrupted. so she had had her great experiences and was having them now as well as i. she had left a _locum tenens_ in charge of her school, and she did not know how she was going to find things, nor how she was going to settle down into the old narrow groove again. as in port said, i was minded not to dock my trip of any of its charms, and would not bring the customary private sandwich for my midday repast. there was a restaurant car on the train (we have them too, but i have never used them), and i intended to enjoy the novelty of lunching therein. i had seen photographs of the tempting interiors--third class!--in magazines, and from the platforms of great junctions had peeped at them through their own glass windows. it was another bit of experience to be taken in its course and the most infinitesimal bit was valuable. so at one o'clock i rose and proudly journeyed down the train. but i had not noticed the preliminary boy sent round to collect orders, and the master of ceremonies politely informed me that the tables were filled. another luncheon would be ready in half-an-hour, he said, but now i was "off" lunching that way, and wished i had catered for myself as usual. returning to my seat i found my neighbour with her little refreshment set out on a napkin spread over her neat lap. she insisted on my sharing it with her, and after decent demur i did. there was a meat-pie and i had half; two cakes and i had one; two bananas and i had one. later on i returned her hospitality as best i could by inviting her to tea with me, and then i sampled the possibilities of the restaurant car and found them all that i could wish. by this time we were in devonshire. we were actually waiting at exeter--exeter, of which i had heard so much, endeared by so many old associations--and i was too deeply engaged with my good tea and nice bread-and-butter to seriously and adequately realise the fact. alas! when it comes to tea i am afraid i am a gross person. but i did not see exeter in . it was dark night then. i do not know if we even passed that way. later in the afternoon, when i came to the scenes on which that old, old may dawn rose so tragically, you might have offered me tea without my seeing it. i could see nothing but the devonshire that was all i knew, and think of nothing but identifying as much of it as possible. ivy bridge, name as well as place, i had had the memory-print of for all the years, but it lay beyond my goal to-day. that other place, unknown, where the sea came up to the railway and the train ran through and under the red cliffs, i found was dawlish. sweet spot, so long beloved! i am told that the one blot on the beauty of dawlish is the railway on its sea-front. this is from the resident's point of view. let him remember what its position means sometimes to the passing railway traveller. chapter xiv devon, glorious devon being in devonshire i sat down on one of the most notoriously beautiful of all the beauty spots of the county. it was traditional that the old gentleman of the island who had had several homes, and the means to make them what he would, never had one in a place that was not beautiful. the island, as i knew, was beautiful, in its wild solitude of sea and sand and ti-tree scrub. otherwise his family home in england was as great a contrast to the home in which he had chosen to spend his last years as could possibly be found. as i moved about the large rooms and up and down the stairs, every wall set thick with the valuable paintings he had gathered from abroad and from christie's and from royal academy exhibitions, it was odd indeed to think of the weather-board cottage and the few prints from illustrated papers tin-tacked to its pine lining, which he had deliberately preferred to them. the whole establishment, with all the dignities of fine family furniture, family crested silver, full staff of trained servants, and so on and so on--without one irregularity or eccentricity in its administration--represented the normal english gentleman's life, that of his kin and class, and by general use and wont his own. yet, of his free choice, he left it all to go and live like robinson crusoe in an island hut, with a rough, wood-chopping friday, and a domestic equipment of britannia metal and stone china that could not stir the envy of a tramp. after all, one can understand it. an old australian, at any rate, can understand it. in his young days he had been a pioneer squatter. what old man looks back on this experience otherwise than with the feeling that he has seen the golden age? never one that i ever met and i have met many. one can realise how the memory of that time of liberty and sunshine swelled and swelled (in a man with the imagination to love pictures and a fair outlook from his windows) as the years of fettering old-world conventions and grey skies went by. the older he grew the brighter shone the lights of the past--as with you and me, dear reader--and the craving to return to the scenes of youth, which are the realms of romance to the aged, must have been in him what the craving to return to england was to me for so many, many years. he had heaps of money, along with a singular power to discriminate between its real and its apparent values. it enabled him to please himself when there remained no dependent family to consider, and he pleased himself by removing it as a burden upon a freeborn spirit, while retaining enough to purchase liberty for the rest of life. i forgot to mention that before he built his island cottage he bought a caravan and in that humblest of homes toured the australian bush and coast at leisure until he found the spot to suit him in which to make camp permanently. never, said his daughters, would he live in any place that was not beautiful. well, in devonshire, at any rate, he had not done so. my spacious room had a great bay of three windows, in which i could sit and batten on beauty to my heart's content. my writing-table stood in one angle, and i could not get on with my letters of a morning for the enchantment of the view. deep down below me lay a small exquisite lawn (every english lawn is exquisite), shadowed at one side with fine old trees, and all around with a beflowered wall; the old gardener was always pottering there, shaving the grass a little every day, sweeping up every dead leaf that autumn wind brought down. below the garden again was the sunk road, so deep and steep that i should not have known there was a road but for hearing a carriage now and then and getting a glimpse of the top of the coachman's hat. the farther wall lining the ravine showed just its stone coping at the top, and beyond that was sea--all sea, with the wall cutting across it--unless i turned my eyes to the left, where a splendid red bluff breasted it. could even devonshire have composed a lovelier picture to live with? but i am bound to admit that, three mornings out of four, when i got up to look at it, it was lost in fog. however, on the day of my arrival, when the evening light was peculiar, i saw portland through a telescope; and portland, i was told, was full forty miles off, and not visible from where we saw it above once in as many years. i _did_ see it, but it was not so clear as the old "stump" on the sea-line that i had looked at from the beach in norfolk. dear m. was determined i should lose nothing of the joy of devonshire through default of hers; and, with carriage closed, we spent the first two pouring wet days exploring the lovely neighbourhood. it was lovely in the most hopeless downpour. then came fine weather, and she took me to exeter. as originally arranged, the plan was not only to "do" exeter, but also ottery st mary, the last home and grave of my grandmother. but when we reached the cathedral city, a long journey, there was so much to see and do that even to me it seemed bad economy to tax time, strength and pleasurable sensation further. i said, "oh, this is enough for one day!" and we agreed to make it so. i suppose it would be sinking to the deeps of drivel to say "how beautiful exeter is," but such is my opinion, all the same. and i walked about it, as i did about most places that i visited in england, with invisible companions, whose presence enhanced its charms. years and years ago--when i was at b----, between ' and ' --a dear friend of mine was an old lady of about eighty, the first english lady on the goldfields, who was said to be, and must have been, the handsomest and most delightful woman of that age known to australian history. she was devonshire born, and her old husband--a solicitor, who had returned to the practice of his profession when goldfields went out of fashion with his class--told me she had been known as the "belle of exeter" in the long ago when he had married her. she loved to talk to me of the australian "old days," but also she loved to go further back, and tell me of devonshire and her native city, always winding up with injunctions to me to go there if i ever returned to my native land again. and here i was at last, finding all her loving pride in the place justified. could anything in city planning be happier in effect than the position of the cathedral in its quiet oasis amid the streets? and _what_ a cathedral, inside and out! i have a cathedral that i call my own, and never thought i should so overcome the power of patriotic prejudice as to admit it could be surpassed by another. but when i returned to ely last time, looking for my shrine of all perfection, i got a shock to my housewifely sensibilities from its ill-kept condition that wholly unhinged the long-established point of view. the beautiful brasswork was black and green, the beautiful oak carving outlined in grey dust, and in that state i could not take pleasure in looking at them, even for old time's sake. perhaps they were waiting for some restorations to be done with before turning to with the pails and brooms and chamois-leathers. but all service-time i used to be catching myself absorbed, not in prayers and sermon, but in anxious inward debate as to whether it was not already too late _ever_ to make those brass gates bright again. there was no dirt in exeter cathedral to dim its complete and finished loveliness, and all its surroundings were in character and keeping with it, "composed" by time and circumstance to make the picture perfect--especially on a golden autumn day. what should be the cast of mind of a bishop privileged to live in such a house and grounds as lie, peaceful and stately and exquisite, under the shadow of the south tower? i like to remember that one bishop of exeter had a son who was the father of my eden phillpotts, whose intellectual inheritance is the love of beauty, uncloistered, unsophisticated; beauty at its primal source in the breast of mother nature. m. and i pottered about these precincts, still thinking we were going on to ottery st mary, until the spirit of the place so possessed me that i could not tear myself away. "oh, this is enough for one day!" i said to m. she understood, and we stayed, and let exeter soak in. she took me to one place and another, and one was the old "mol's coffee house" that flourished as such in the sixteenth century, but had been a private house at the time of the armada. it is now in the occupation of a firm of picture-dealers, who also have the sole right of selling a certain pottery ware of local manufacture. m. was interested in a collection of water-colours they had on view--she is herself a charming water-colourist--but the setting of those pictures was the picture of them all. we climbed a little, dark, twisty oaken staircase that had echoed to the tread of drake and raleigh--the self-same stairs, just as when they clattered up and down; and we stood in the self-same oak-panelled chamber where they met their fellow-defenders of england's shores, to discuss and arrange plans for circumventing the enemy. i looked up from the water-colours of to-day to the age-bleached colours of their shields of arms in the age-blackened oak, and thought of those bygone committee meetings. nothing changed since then, except the living air, and those who breathed it, and their use of the old place. it could not be put to better use. the firm in possession, who deal in art, are artistic enough to respect the relic in their care. the spirits of drake and monk and raleigh, and the rest, might come o' nights to the old rendezvous, and not feel they had no business to be there. in that room i bought a packet of picture post cards--views of exeter--that, artistically considered, are the best i found in england. whenever i took one out to scribble on, i put it back in the envelope again, as too good to be defaced in the post and thrown away, and the package is still intact. then we went to a shop and i bought an umbrella. does that seem an incongruous association of ideas? nothing of the sort. the pleasure i have had, and still have, out of that umbrella, because of the place i bought it in, you would not believe. my hand fondles it every time i wrap its folds around its stick; i cannot put the loop over the button, or take it off, without all the loveliness of exeter flooding my soul, the memories of that day. between luncheon and tea we attended a missionary festival service in the cathedral. it was a pan-anglican side-show, not to speak irreverently, with the usual miscellaneous assortment of bishops in attendance. one met the swarming prelates here and there, in the houses of their hostesses, and in places remote from the london centre which had lately been the seething whirlpool of episcopal affairs; and, without going to one of their great programme meetings, i came to know a few, one from the other, and to take an interest in some. for instance, in an american bishop, one of the most vigorous and alert-minded, as he was one of the youngest, a "live" man, who seemed eloquent in his own person of the country he came from; in a black bishop from africa, who one day waited with me for a long time in the outer shop of a firm of clerical tailors, while my husband (frightfully particular about the cut and set of coats) was being attended to within; above all, in a nice man from india, with whom i spent an evening, mostly on a sofa-for-two, in a london drawing-room. it has been my good fortune to make friends with several bishops, never as bishops, always as unprofessional men. they are bishops who talk shop to me before they are my friends, not afterwards. and i can say of each one of the few who have honoured me by meeting me on my own ground, that as men they are (were, in the case of one long dead and two at the end of life) delightful. you would not think it, viewing bishops, as one does, altogether from the outside; but so it is. on this occasion at exeter, it was one of our own australasian prelates who preached the sermon. i did not know him, as bishop or man, and there was not much in his discourse, and i do not like sermons anyhow; rather, i feel that they have outstayed their usefulness, which was doubtless great when the preachers were more learned than those they preached to; but it was an hour and a half of physical repose and spiritual contentment, and i much enjoyed it. straight from the cathedral we went to our tea, the---- but no, i will not say it again. after this refreshment we walked about a little more, and there comes to mind a delicious little shop in an alley leading out of the cathedral yard; it sold devonshire junket and cream and butter, as well as other dairy dainties, some of which were handed to us in card boxes with ribbon handles that were a pleasure to carry the long way home. also i recall a moment of astonishment at finding that prawns in england were considered cheap at tenpence a dozen. they were exposed on an exeter market stall at that figure. "goodness gracious! do you mean to say those we had at lunch yesterday were that price?" i questioned m., horror-stricken to think how lightheartedly i had ladled them on to my plate, as mere prawns such as went by the name at home, only bigger. then she told me that her domestic fishmonger charged a penny apiece. and when you think of the importance of pennies in england! i made a mental calculation that at least seven shillings had been sunk in the little dishful that i had reckoned as worth sixpence perhaps--because the prawns were so exceptionally fine. it was dark when we reached exeter station, and we had to wait there for our train. we sat down to dinner, without dressing, at a few minutes to nine. on another day m. took me to plymouth, the special place of memories, the "take off" for my youthful leap into the unknown world. "shall i ever see it again?" i asked myself, as i watched it fade in rain on the tragical morning of my departure; and how small a chance there was that i ever should! it was typically spring-time then. now it was typically autumn. the heavy fog in which the september day was born yielded to the sun before we started on our expedition, and we had again the sweet english weather that was peculiar to that year. we drove to cockington before leaving the carriage at torquay, and cockington was another place of beauty that i had kept thought of through all my adult life. a friend of mine had wintered at torquay in the long ago, and in daily letters at the time had word-painted all the neighbourhood for me, supplementing his descriptions with photographs, which adorn a girlish album to this day; and so i knew cockington well at second hand. but that was not like seeing it on a lovely morning such as this. we left the carriage to walk up the lane of the forge and through the park to the little artist's dream of a church, and we poked about inside it, while the lady of the keys jubilated in subdued tones over the recent birth of an heir to the lands it stood on. "these woods,", said m., as we drove away along the narrow, deep-sunk roads, "are thick with snowdrops in the spring." heavens! what must cockington be in spring? then we took train at torquay for plymouth, and there i was again on the old _via dolorosa_, which was that no more. ivy bridge, in the shining morning, welcomed me back, all smiles; and the country, which i really saw for the first time, filled me with delight. so richly green, where it was not so richly red! and why have i never seen such cows as those splendid, big, red devon cows elsewhere? if this is the type of creature bred from devon soil, the heroic history of the county is explicable--not to mention the quality of its cream. shades of heroes were all about us as we perambulated plymouth town, but all the time i was thinking of a pair of poor young things putting in a last morning (after a bedless and sleepless night) roaming the same old streets, close on forty years ago. i could recognise little beyond the general features of the place, however. the town must have greatly altered since , and the fact is evidenced by the complexion of its more prominent buildings. the great guildhall was not, nor the second eddystone lamp-post in the sea; even the armada memorial was not, nor the statue of sir francis drake, though one would have expected to recall them, weather-worn and venerable, as having dominated the hoe for centuries before that. but we have fine modern halls and monuments of our own, and it is the historic past in which i live when i have the opportunity; so i turned from the great guildhall to the grey church alongside, which enshrined the story of seven centuries within its still stout walls. and when i stood on the hoe, it was not to look at new statues and lighthouses, but across the unchanging sound, where once lay a "fine new clipper" (as the papers described her); waiting for a wind to waft her on her maiden voyage round the world. she was a vessel of little more than a thousand tons, and hardly visible to the naked eye from that point of view--then. but i saw her ghost in september last, as plain as plain could be. then we had a long afternoon at kingswear and dartmouth--a still more satisfying experience, if that could be. they are both so old, so beautifully unmodernised and unimproved, cherishing the historic past so faithfully! the naval college, above and apart, does not interfere with it in the least. we "did" dartmouth first--cradle of the british seafarer from time immemorial--and it was an æsthetic luxury indeed to potter about that old, old church in its old, old graveyard, between which and the houses snuggled up to it a narrow, deep-sunken, paved passage gave right of way to living neighbours, case-hardened against the toxic microbe in all its forms, one must suppose. the rood-screen still bore what i had never seen on rood-screen yet; the figures of the two thieves as well as that of the saviour--the calvary complete. the pulpit was the gift of king charles the first, and apparently in its original state, less the colour and sharp outlines that time had worn away. it is of carved stone, gilded and coloured, shaped like a wineglass, and one wondered that even a small man should dare to trust his weight in it. i could not realise a modern preacher there, or a modern congregation. i should expect to see richard the lion heart and his knights stride in, to be blessed before starting out of harbour for the crusades; at the least--or, rather, the latest--the pilgrim fathers kneeling together, seeking strength to set forth on their equally gallant enterprise. and those quaint, steep, curly streets, and those old timbered houses, with their projecting upper storeys, all carved and crinkled--they are the same the pilgrim fathers said good-bye to, and in which their kin may have lived for centuries before that. the harbour itself has not been altered since king richard sailed out of it in --so they say, and nothing appears to the contrary. imagine the seafaring history it has made, the sailor life it has seen! those very stones that you see and touch and walk about on to-day, those very waters where the _britannia_ and _hindostan_ now lie! m. and i had luncheon in a long room, by a window overlooking the quay, and a dozen imaginary pageants of the past entertained my fancy as i ate, looking out upon the now quiet place. there was another wide window at the other end of the long room, and that one gave immediately upon the churchyard. below it ran the sunk passage which did duty for a street--two people could just about pass each other and nearly on a level with its sill the ancient gravestones presented themselves to view, almost within touch, against the background of that church which seemed to have been there for ever. i think i remember that gravestones of great antiquity lined the passage walls and made a pediment to the window of the restaurant. could anything be more appropriate to the character of the town? when we had explored dartmouth, as far as time allowed, the ferry-boat took us back to kingswear, where we proposed to have tea with a lady living up on the hill. here the modern came in, but not until we wanted it--with the soft sofa and the recreative cup. kingswear keeps its mate over the way in countenance. the new homes tuck themselves unobtrusively into sylvan nooks that soften or hide them--or so it seemed; i must confess that it was tea-time, and i did not take much notice. besides, the way to the house of m.'s friend was so steep and so striking that i was bound to confine my attention to it. tier above tier, up shadowed shrubbery pathways and mossed stone stairways, the various footholds of the garden were laboriously gained. the approach reminded me of some i had heard or read or seen pictures of, leading to villas on italian heights. it was very pretty, and the house when we reached it was more than that. we had but half-an-hour there before we had to seek our train, but it was a pleasant bit of the day. i envied our hostess her house as much as i did anyone in england. from one side of it she looked down upon the harbour--the _britannia_ and the naval college and the green shores; from the other she looked away to the river mouth--kingswear castle and the open sea. while immediately around her, and adown her steep garden, she had all the privacy of sandringham before the avenue was blown down. another "day out" enriched my collection of impressions of devonshire with a set of charming memories. it was the day we went to the wedding. "now," said m., when she had explained to me that i was a potential guest, "i am going to show you, one of the finest views in england." thereupon she described the situation of the country house which was to be the scene of festivity. it stood very high, in beautiful gardens, which dropped down and down in a succession of terraces, ending in a deep coombe and the sea. it was quite a famous beauty spot, apparently, and when i had seen it i should have seen devonshire at its best. i did not need to be told what that meant. at daybreak the fog was very thick and so remained till noon. we dressed before luncheon, having a long drive before us, and the fate of feathers and furbelows still hung doubtful. the carriage came round closed, and we slipped into wraps and set forth--my two sister-hostesses and myself--and there was no sign of the weather clearing. we were all fresh-air persons who could not stand being cooped up, and we opened the carriage windows, and the fog visibly flowed in. to me it was an agreeable circumstance--more so, for once, than the brilliant sunshine to which i was almost too well accustomed. it did not rain, nor feel like it; in fact there was not a drop all day, and we could see our way before us, and on both sides as far as the hedges of the deep-sunk, narrow lane-like roads. those rich autumnal hedges tapestried the impalpable wall behind them with lovely forms that were a joy to study--wreathing ivy, intertwined with pink valerian, cascades of traveller's joy like the foam of our wild clematis at home. what the views beyond must have been i could guess, for we were driving for an hour or more and it seemed to be stiff climbing all the way. we arrived at the decorated village--a village for a picture-book, if ever there was one. the road where the carriages of the assembling wedding guests were left had the effect of a ravine in its relation to the church above it. we looked up and before us rose an irregular footpath, like a worn-away and dislocated staircase, curving round and about the beflagged and beflowered churchyard hill; and its whole length, which straightened out would have been considerable, was covered with red baize which had evidently taken a good deal of fitting to make it lie so that it would not trip up the bridal company. at the top we could just see the outline of the church and the dim colour and flutter of the most distant flags. sunshine could not have created a more charming effect. the church is the crowning glory of that typical devonshire village. it dates from the fourteenth century and its registers go back to the year , but old age is not all its claim to distinction. it has a precious cradle roof inside and a not less precious rood-screen (time of richard the second), and a lovely harmony of every stick and stone with every other, that was a luxury to contemplate what time i sat among the wedding guests awaiting the coming of the bride. to-day the slender shafts of the screen had bridal flowers tied to them and nestling beneath--pink predominating (japanese lilies, i think), a colour which "went" with the blackened oak as cold white blossoms would not have done. i had but such glimpses of the chancel as the interstices of the screen afforded; understanding that the chancel was a "restoration" i was content with that. i heard afterwards that it had a "squint" and rood-stairs, fourteenth-century brasses and other interesting things, such as i made a reverent study of in my young days. the bride arrived. she was a young norwegian lady, and a bright-faced, wholesome, happy-looking creature--as attractive a bride as one could wish to wait on. the english bridegroom looked a good fellow, and i trust he has made her a good husband. they stood outside the screen and close to us for the first part of the marriage service, which the officiating clergyman declaimed with remarkable enthusiasm; then they passed into the sanctuary for the completion of the rite. as a mere wedding it was like other weddings. the coloured flowers in the decorations (i believe they were all white in the chancel) was the only unusual note. but when the bride and bridegroom came out of church man and wife together, there were a couple of minutes when the bridal spectacle surpassed anything of the sort that i ever saw. i want to paint the scene, but i know i cannot do it--cannot convey to another who was not there the impression it made on me. the subject may be "genre," but of all the pictures in my gallery i can find none more poetically composed. let me try to sketch it somehow. you must first imagine rural devonshire and one of its sweetest villages; the deep road, the hedges and the trees and the churchyard slopes, the flowers, the flags, the scarlet carpet, the still rainless mist. the red stairway twisting and dropping through the green from porch to gate is now lined with the village children, all in bewreathed new hats (provided by the bride's family), and they hold in their hands baskets of flower petals, with which they bestrew the way of the bridal procession. down they come--we had preceded them to the road, or i should have lost one of the sights of my life--down they come, winding with the winding path, the bride with her veil up, smiling and bowing, her white train and her young maids behind her; every figure, every feature of the scene, refined and idealised by the (to me) extraordinary atmosphere. bright sunlight would have made a picture which i should have thought perfect had i not seen it through this pure poetic haze. as a study of fog effects--well, it is no use trying to elucidate the thing further. but i carried it away with the delight of a collector in a work of art that is unmatchable, and now it is safe in my gallery of blessed memories, and i would not take any money for it. when we drove to the house which commanded "one of the finest views in england"--home of the bride's sister--a rather less density of fog would have answered the purpose, instead of which we had rather more. the house, with its platform and all the lawns and flower-beds and marquees thereon, was quite plain to view; the first terrace was visible; some trees between that and the second tier of garden loomed a shade more substantial than their shadows would have been; below and beyond them--nothing. nothing, nothing but cotton-wool, a white blanket, a wall impenetrable. not a glimpse, not a hint of the coombe and sea that m. had promised me. so that to this day i do not really know how lovely devonshire can be, although i can imagine that i know. the visible house had the more attention paid to it, and within it there was much to charm the eye of a wedding guest, apart from the show of wedding presents. our norwegian hostess had brought to her english home treasure of furniture and curios that i had to apologise for staring at as if they were things in a museum; masses of black wood carved all over, and strange pottery and metal ware, drinking-cups and the like; they brought the norse country, ere while distant and practically unknown, to sight and touch, and set my unsated traveller's soul a-dreaming of snows and sagas, mountains and fjords. but the norwegian wedding-cake was the pride of its nation, amongst them all. in the large marquee where the dinner-destroying marriage feast was spread, there were two of these nuptial trophies, an english cake crowning one long table, a norwegian the other. the first was the white, three-tiered, much decorated affair that we are familiar with, and i did not go near it. the bride cut it ceremonially, and it was distributed in the usual way. then, escorted by her bridegroom, she came across the carpeted tent through the smart crowd to where i stood at the other table. "i must 'break' this cake," she remarked, with her pretty foreign accent, and proceeded to do it with her two hands in what one perceived to be the correct norwegian bridal fashion. in case the reader is as ignorant of the constitution of norwegian bridescakes as i was until that afternoon, i will try to describe it. it may have stood two feet high, but obviously the size would depend on circumstances, the same as with our own. in shape it resembled the tall bottles, with their horizontal fluting, in which the ready-made salad-dressing of commerce is, or used to be, purveyed, being a shell formed of graduated rings of cake (much like the wooden rings for stretching drawn-thread-work), laid one upon another from bottom to top. they were as perfectly round and evenly graduated as if the paste had been wound round a cone like cotton on a reel, but that is not how it was done, because each ring was complete in itself and came off whole when the cake was "broken," although previously it had adhered to the rings next to it strongly enough to make the finished erection safe to move and carry. this means, of course, that the stuff is not brittle, but neither is it tough; it bites like a particularly nice macaroon. when the bride had pulled off the two or three top rings, which were broken into pieces of convenient size before being handed round, the hollow within revealed itself filled up with sweetmeats; and here again the purse or fancy would determine the kind and quality of sweetmeats used. a cake of any size, filled with the best "lollies," as we australians call them, must be at least as costly as the corresponding english cake, although it may not look so. as it goes down, ring by ring, the miscellaneous internal goodies are distributed to keep the surface even, which certainly makes it the more interesting of the two to partake of; and it can assuredly boast the more cunning cookery. i love a new experience, of whatever sort or kind, and i consider the norwegian wedding-cake an item of value to my store. altogether, i had a good time that afternoon--as usual. family guests allowed me not a moment to remember that i was a stranger, and i was thrown for a while with a lady--introduced to me with special intention as one who knew australia--with whom i felt at once like an old friend, although she had known australia only as a tourist, not as an old-timer like myself. we talked australia and nothing else, but not quite as another lady, who knew australia as i knew it, had discussed the subject with me at a norfolk garden-party. we did not largely comment upon the funniness of these stay-at-home english people, the unconsciousness of the poor dears of how way back behind the times they were, and their extraordinarily mistaken notions about us and what we were accustomed to. the fog had settled down for the remainder of the day, never having lifted since day broke. it took the bride and bridegroom and their carriage, swallowing them up before our eyes as we clustered about the porch to bid them godspeed. soon afterwards we drove away ourselves. the hedgerow ivy and the foamy traveller's joy and the pink valerian were still to be seen on the roadside banks, so close to us as we pounded down the hills. the carriage windows were down, and the white veil floated about us. i watched the gradual wilting of the already discouraged feathers on the hat in front of me, until at last they hung down lank and shiny, little beads of moisture fringing their tips. i had tucked my own feather boa within my wraps, to save it, but when, reaching home, i drew it off in the hall, it was like drawing a wet sponge along my neck and cheek. "take them all to the drying-closet," said m. to her maid. and there our wedding garments spent the night, coming forth dry and fuzzy in the morning. in australia the drying-closet is not amongst our domestic appliances, although its principles are applied to laundries. we do not need it. but it is the "long-felt want" of every british home. unfortunately it is the privilege of the well-to-do. since i am not likely to be able to afford one, i intend not to wear feather boas when i go to live in england. chapter xv in the garden of england twenty years ago--or was it nearer twenty-five?--a dear girl came to live with me as governess-out-of-school to my young children and general aide-de-camp to myself. it was in the time, which spread over so many years, when i was not strong enough for all the domestic duties that properly belonged to me. i got her through an advertisement--the only time i was ever beholden to such a source for such an acquisition. "a young english lady" was the attractive description of her--the very thing, to my mind, for my bush-bred infants. i called on her at the governesses' home in melbourne, and engaged her on the spot. she had come to australia for her health, but if she told me so i did not grasp the fact; she looked as well and as good as i felt she would be comfortable to get on with. also she had come from a good english house and a well-to-do and well-placed family, and was choosing to earn her living rather than be an expense to her father, from no compulsion but that of her own independent spirit; and this too was a fact i did not grasp. she never allowed me to perceive it. had she been penniless, with only her casual employer to depend on, she could not have served me more devotedly. she worked far harder than i should have allowed her to do had i divined the secret weaknesses in her sturdy-looking little frame, always with bright face and cheerful voice and unslackening energy and interest. she seemed to have no thought for herself at all. and yet she professed, and still vehemently professes, that the time she spent with us was the time of her life. however in the end she fell ill--very ill; then the secret weaknesses revealed themselves, and the doctor shook his head over them. we saw that governessing days were over, and her relatives were communicated with. her father sent out money for her needs and for a first-class passage, and when she seemed able to travel we sent her back to him in the care of a trained nurse. the doctor thought she might live to reach her home, but he was not sanguine. well, she did, and is there still, bless her heart. at any rate i trust so, she was a few weeks ago. although the secret weaknesses seem permanent and she risks her life every winter that she spends in england--unfortunately, the riviera, substitute for the more beneficial and beloved australia, is not always practicable--i anticipate that she will be a hale old woman for many years after i am gone. through all the long interval between her parting with us at b---- and my meeting with her again, she kept up a loving correspondence, and every letter was a sigh for me to come home or a sigh to be back herself in the sunny land where she had been "so well and happy." i had not the leisure to answer half her letters, but when i was suddenly confronted with the opportunity of my life, and sat down to inform my english friends of the treat in store for them, it was with special satisfaction that i wrote to the one who, i knew, would hail the news with more genuine joy than anybody. it was not until september that i found time to pay my first visit to her. she lived in kent, not a hundred miles from maidstone, to which town she journeyed to meet me--all in the wind and rain which were so bad for the secret weaknesses. partridges being the only living creatures that my husband was then interested in--they had been available to the gun three days--i went alone. later on, just before we sailed for home, i went down to her for a last week-end, and he followed to fetch me and to shake hands with her before we left. on that th september when i met her first after the long absence a leading london newspaper made what now seems to me an astounding statement. it declared that "we" had had "the most depressing august ever known in england." all i can say is (and i trust i am not giving a pair of rose-coloured spectacles away) that i have no recollection of the circumstance. it was not a depressing august to me--i can swear to that--and newspapers are notoriously sensational. "ever known in england" is absurd on the face of it, as the utterance of a probably young man, and certainly of a man whose memory would not reach even as far as the coronation of queen victoria. but i do remember, and frankly admit, that it was a wet day when i went to kent for the first time. not only wet, but cold. but that only made the home-coming to c.'s hearth and heart the warmer. warm i knew it would be, but even the loving correspondence, undiscouraged by its frequent onesidedness, had not prepared me for the discovery i made of my peculiar and permanent place in her regard. of the many happy experiences of life, few can match that of finding you have been one of the deities of a faithful heart for over twenty years of absence without knowing it. but that was only one of the surprises of the day. having stupidly missed the significance of first-class passages and frequent riviera winters, i had supposed myself bound for the sort of home that you assume your nursery governess comes from, whereas i arrived at a good country house, with fifty acres of estate to it, the property of her family for generations, and now belonging to her and three sisters jointly; an unpretentious establishment certainly, but handsomely appointed and correctly administered--not like the bush parsonage into which she had fitted herself so unassumingly. when packing in the morning i had rejoiced in the innocence of my heart that, for once, i need not bother myself with a lot of luggage; and i took for my week-end a bag which at a pinch i could have carried in my own hand. when evening came, and a bare-armed and bare-shouldered guest to meet me, and i had nothing but a short cloth skirt and a high-necked blouse to make a toilet of, i thought of something that an experienced globetrotter, fresh from the west african wilds, had once told me. "one thing i have found," said he: "wherever you go, if you haven't been there before," and he was speaking of the least likely places, "it is never safe to go without your evening clothes." i shall not forget that in future. the irony of fate was in it when c. offered me a black satin dinner-gown of her own. sad--indeed, wild--as i was to be the one to seem to show disrespect to her house, it was something of a comfort to me to find that i had grown so fat in england (from seven stone five on landing to eight stone two the day before this day) that i could not make it meet by inches. i would sooner go to dinner in my petticoat than wear a stitch of anybody else's--even hers, like a daughter as she was; but i could not damp her loving solicitude by saying so. she heaped luxuries upon me, even luxuries that she could not afford (because i know just how far a quarter of the income of even a nice estate as this was, in the chronic bad times of british agriculture, would go, and that she supplemented it by selling plants from her garden, and sometimes in other ways). when, after our great gossip over our tea by the drawing-room fire, i went upstairs to make bricks without straw, as it were, in my preparation for dinner, i found my pretty bedroom, in which the fine old mahogany shone like glass, exhaling her thoughtfulness all over it. in australia, where your friends' buggies are also their luggage carts, and where railway porters are so precarious, you get into the habit of reducing your travelling kit to the minimum, and a bulky dressing-gown is one of the things that can be done without for a day or two, if you have an overcoat with you. i had left mine behind, and lo! there hung from a chair by my warm fireside a gorgeous robe of silk, embroidered outside, padded within, and beside it a pair of quilted satin shoes to match--to go to my bath with, although assuredly not meant for such humble use. that was the sort of thing. when a carriage was had all the way from maidstone, and kept with no regard for the expense of wasted hours, i used the privilege of an old friend and mother to remonstrate with her. "oh, _don't_!" her face and voice checked me from doing it again. "if you only _knew_ what this is to me!" well, i did know, and it was knowledge to make one bless one's luck. how little we are aware of it when we are setting bread upon the waters! i had been absolutely unconscious of responsibility for this which came back to me after so many years. it was only from friday afternoon to tuesday morning that i could stay with her on this occasion. but the best was made of that short time as far as she could manage it. i saw as much as possible of the famed garden of england. two months later, when i paid her the second visit, i saw a great deal more. both times my luck in english weather was "in." my very first morning in kent dawned bright and beautiful--after that cold and rainy eve--and the day was all delightful. we had breakfast in a sunny little sitting-room upstairs, a room with lots of window light, and furniture covered with that calendered chintz, patterned with flowers on a white ground, which is as cheerful to the spirits as to the eye; c. and her sister who lived with her (the other two being married and in their own homes), and my contented self, their guest. outside were lawn and old trees and plentiful autumn blossom; the sun poured in; a little fire added a final touch of comfort--for i must not be so low as to say it was bloaters and bacon (c. had remembered my talk of english bloaters in the long ago as she had remembered everything). the admirable meal concluded i was taken a little walk about the place. the estate had once been devoted to hops, and the back premises of the solid old stone house were encircled by a great wall, broken with the hooded peaks of kilns and lined with immense warehouses, where the crops of the fields used to be treated and stored. now the kilns were cold and out of gear; the granaries were stores for fruit and ladders and market baskets; and the bulk of the fifty acres of land bore orchards in heavy bearing. i had struck a kentish fruit farm at apple harvest, which was a sight to see. waggons were all day loading and driving off with their piles of cases for covent garden, yet the army of pickers seemed to make little impression upon the apparently countless millions of apples still rosily shining in the sun. other fruits were grown, although not to the same extent, and there were lanes and thickets of cob-nut, which i was told is a very profitable commodity, if you have it, but the bushes had failed to bear that season. in view of the growing popularity of vegetarianism, to the charms of which i yielded myself in england, when i found how satisfactorily you could be fed by those who knew how to work the system properly, i advised the sister fruit-farmers to make more of a point of nuts; this was when they mourned sadly over the market price of apples in a good year. i told them how i had spent a week with vegetarians, expecting to be starved, and had been nourished on such rich non-flesh meats that i hardly cared to look at a boiled chicken when i went on to the next house. "nuts," said i, "that can give you all the feeling of beef and mutton without the gross actuality, have a great future before them. so make haste and start growing them before the other fruit-farmers think of it." the conformation of this kentish orchard gave charming views of its several parts, of the pretty, down-dropping village and the distant landscape. there was a slope of applefield, flushed with the colour of its massed fruit in the sun, which sank to a lake with swans on it, on the far side of which an old mill dipped its wheel in the water; trees rose steeply behind the mill, and sweet old houses out of the trees. it was the top of hilly ridges of which the bottom was the famous weald--and a subject for a painter if ever there was one. when i had walked about enough i visited the warehouses and hop kilns that walled the yard; saw f. wading in her sea of graded apples, directing the workmen whose only overseer she was; stood with c. in an empty oast house, while she reconstructed the busy scenes that were no more, the living functions of the idle furnace and flue, shoot and press, and told tales of a childhood beginning to loom away towards the fairyland where now my own abides. "we used to bring potatoes here, and the hop-dryer would bake them for us in the hot ashes"--alas! but why should i say alas? i am convinced--although i was not always convinced--that it is not a matter for repining that we "live but once." the maidstone carriage awaited the completion of an early lunch, and for nearly four hours of the lovely afternoon c. showed me the lovely country. i wish there were more adjectives equivalent to "lovely" and "beautiful," that i might not have to use those two so often; but i must express my feelings, and it is not my fault that the language of tongue and pen is so limited. everything was lovely, and there is no other word for it but beautiful. i had not been to devonshire then, but i still think the village of linton, as i saw it in that weather, beyond compare. not knowing what a torquay horse could do, i wondered that ours did not take the hill in what seemed the easier way of sliding down it on his haunches; his labour on my account (but when he struggled upward again, by digging his toes into the cobbles provided for the purpose, i walked) was the only drawback to my almost intoxicating enjoyment of england on that day. i had never before seen the country save from the windows of trains, except in the eastern counties. the charms of english hills and dales were fresh. not that that made any difference in their effect on me. i cannot believe for a moment that familiarity with such beauty could ever lessen the joy of it. on the brow of linton hill i got out to look at the church. i am not, strictly speaking, a churchy person--this being, perhaps, one of the cases where familiarity runs its normal course--but these english reliquaries, with their histories and their architecture, had a fascination that drew me every time i saw a door open. i ran in alone, as i liked to do, while c. reposed in the carriage, conserving her strength, and the poor horse pulled himself together for the descent; and i looked through the chancel screening to that chapel of the cornwallis tombs, to be almost startled by the white image of death and peace lying there, in cold and cloistered privacy, while without the sun shone so gloriously, and the happy living people basked and played and busied themselves in it, still possessing their lovely world. it was a sharply impressive thing, coming upon such a conjunction unawares. by the way, i may as well say here that i took no notes of my english experiences at the time of happening, having no idea of writing a book about them, and i may sometimes mix things up. but i think i am certain that it was linton church and the cornwallis monument and this first drive in kent that went together. down that inexpressible village street we drove, past those dreams of old houses--labourers' cottages, as likely as not--which made my mouth water in envy of the labourers, who doubtless scorned them as out of fashion; and then there opened to us the weald of kent. perhaps i had better not begin upon the weald of kent. for one thing, it has been mentioned by other writers--and painters. we have a picture of it in our own public gallery in melbourne. but, o paint! o words! we meandered about high-hedged, lane-like, tree-shaded roads, which would have reminded me of devonshire if i had been there first. we climbed the--to the horse with a big landau behind him--awful hunton hill (up which i walked). we passed hunton park, sir henry campbell-bannerman's old home, or one of them. we called on a friend who gave us tea--_tea_--of a deliciousness commensurate with the craving for it induced by so much fresh air. we skirted many hopfields, in their full late-summer dress. we---- but if i go further i shall be violating the sanctities of private life by discovering to the public the nest that for the time being sheltered me. suffice it that that drive was one of the drives of my life. our neighbouring town of maidstone was closely investigated, as a matter of course. that perfect example of a sixteenth-century manor-house which is now the museum, the far older archbishop's palace, magnificent all saints' church, and the relics of the historic past in back streets and byways, filled several afternoons with joy. but the country, in that sweetest weather--we did have rain and cold sometimes, but the best was always with me when i wanted it--the outdoor loveliness was the soul-saturating delight. until as late in the year as i made my last visit this blessed luck held out. in the little pocket-book which contains the brief and only record of my movements at this time, i find the proof that memory is not drawing upon imagination: "oct. th.--another gorgeous day, mild, sunny, summery ..." "oct. st.--another fine day, although dull in the morning ..." "nov. st.--beautiful day ..." "nov. nd.--another lovely day ..." "nov. rd.--another lovely day. slightly foggy ..." "nov. th.--still lovely, after the usual foggy dawn ..." and then i think of the sort of weather they had in england the year before and the year after and bear in mind the sort of weather that an australian is accustomed to! it was on the th october that i went into kent for the second and last time. that was the occasion when my other sixpenny porter failed me by putting me in the wrong carriage of my train, whereby i found myself at rochester when c. was waiting for me at maidstone. when i reached her house (to hear that she was still abroad searching for me) or, rather, when we met at last at the compensating tea-table, and i had leisure of mind to appreciate my surroundings, i thought kent even lovelier than in the month of hop and apple harvest. my room was abloom with roses from c.'s garden (madame abel chatney is, if i remember rightly, the name of the shaded pink beauty that made so brave a show), and a vase of the blue plumbago that riots like a wild thing in our australian midsummer heat, but was here coddled in her greenhouse, displayed itself conspicuously on the chimney-piece to "remind me of home." the trees were yellowing and their leaves dropping gently, but the woods had not taken on their full colouring of decay as yet. the mistiness of the soft mornings only made the sunshine (and the breakfast fire in the little morning-room) the sweeter when it shone out. it was on the "gorgeous day," th october, that we went to malling abbey. another of those villages or little country towns whose charms must inevitably be lost upon those who have always known them. there are houses in malling (and i found them plentiful elsewhere) standing close upon the street--plain, flat-fronted, absolutely unpretentious, but genuine, dignified, high-bred, if one may use the term, in every inch of them--before which i stood in admiration that i am sure no home-staying english person could understand. are they the real queen anne? whatever they are they are good taste materialised. and if i could choose a home---- but no; on second thoughts, no--not in an english village or little town, all its loveliness notwithstanding. it is strange that for thirty-eight years the daydream of my partner and myself--an english-bred colonial clergyman's idea of mundane bliss--was just that life; to be "settled" in one of those peaceful and comfortable country rectories such as that in which we began our joint career. it seems to be his dream still, but it is no longer mine. when, on the third sunday, after our return we walked through the fields and lanes to morning service at w----, and entered the village church (to be stared at by the rustic congregation with as much curiosity as when i wore my wedding bonnet and g. his first canonicals); and when after service we were invited, although we did not stay, to luncheon at the rectory, and saw the house which was our first home, and walked upon the lawn where we played croquet with the young friends who came to see us in our bridal retirement, now all old like us, or dead and gone--it came over me to wonder how it would have been if we had had our hearts' desire and stayed there or in a like place always. i thought of the living life that had been mine, and shuddered inwardly. so i did whenever i looked upon a pretty parsonage house distant from railways and centres of intellectual activity--and i saw so many of them; my first thought was: "oh, what a sweet home i could have made of this!" my swiftly following second: "what appalling loneliness!" somehow a bush hut in the back blocks does not suggest such isolation for a cultivated mind and a spirit awake to the movements of the world as these stately rectories and vicarages in the small villages of england. one suspects it is not easy to keep awake in them. but i may be wrong. at malling abbey it was still more forcibly borne in upon me how i had grown away from the attitudes of my youth. the glorious old place--the eleventh-century tower has for its base the foundations of a saxon church, that is nothing for england--now belongs to, or is occupied by, a community of nuns and their priest-chaplain; english benedictines is the correct label for them, i believe. the only members of the household not too sacred for the common use of visitors were the lay-women, and even they could not take us across the line separating the earth and floors allowed to unconsecrated feet from the precincts trodden by the mother superior and her nuns. the rooms they occupied we could not see--not for love or money (and we dropped no mean donation into the box displayed in the neutral vestibule); nor their chapel, although the priest's chapel was shown to us. a late mother superior had been more indulgent to the respectful curiosity of the wayfarer, but the present mother was "very strict," we were told. so we did not so much as catch a glimpse of sacerdotal raiment, except that of the priest taking the place of the absent chaplain--austere in his caped cassock and biretta--and the sister who had once been the sweet-maker, and who dropped in to see her successor, who was her own sister, while we were with the latter--a pleasant girl, with whom c. had an acquaintance, and who was a charming hostess to us. she worked very hard--for love, plus board and lodging--at the making of the sweets (in australian parlance, lollies) which were an important source of revenue to the community. she made them in large quantities and of high quality, and they had a steady sale amongst those who knew of them, the high church aristocracy being the "connection" chiefly. c. and i, both interested in fine cookery, had a great time in her workroom, filled and lined with the materials, appliances and finished products of her vicarious trade. she showed us everything without any professional reserve or personal pride, explaining over and over again that she had not the genius of the sister she had superseded. the sister had been the famous sweet-maker; her humble self had taken, but could not fill, that expert's place. but the expert had put on the habit of the order, and "when you have to go to church seven times a day, you have no time for sweet-making," said our lay friend, unconscious of the meanings borne by her words to a life-taught, world-taught listener. when the sweet-maker who had entered the sisterhood, which, so far as i could learn, had no definite occupation except to pray and meditate, lingered for a minute at her old cooking-table, looking on at the really arduous labours of her successor, there was no evidence in her demeanour of any doubt as to which of the two stood on the higher plane. well, i was even as these dear, dense women when i was young. i wanted (at about the age of seventeen) to go into a sisterhood and say prayers all day instead of living my life. and i was so morally undeveloped, so intellectually juvenile, as to believe that i would thereby be performing a noble, if not even the noblest, deed. supposing i had not been shaken out of my groove--the old hereditary groove, so deeply worn that one does not see over the edges unless one is pushed up--where should i have been now? i asked myself the question at malling abbey, standing between the mary in the black gown and white wimple and the martha making fondu with all her might, and the answers of a startled imagination sent cold chills adown my spine. our unemancipated, unappreciated martha was quite delightful to us. the proud marys would not let us near them, but she did all she could to serve and oblige us--she and the dear old housekeeper of the chaplain, who, in her reverend lord's absence and out of the human kindness of her heart, stretched a point to please a stranger from so far, and allowed me to peep into the home he had made in the ancient gatehouse; an austerely and appropriately appointed one as ever i saw, but suggesting, oh, what a life for a man with his manhood in him! the sweet-maker not only gave us sweets and the secrets of their manufacture, she took chairs for us into the abbey grounds, that we might take our picnic luncheon in comfort; not, of course, in the garden, for the nuns walked there, but beside a pond with willow-trees--a typical bit of convent ground which i seemed to have visited in a previous existence. as we ate our sandwiches, and viewed through sylvan veils the grey jumble of the ancient buildings and the new but not discordant guest house incorporated with them, the twentieth century and its works seemed very far away. i think it was the chaplain's housekeeper who showed us the pilgrims' bath--a place of weird suggestions. it is a stone outhouse hidden in trees, and containing a sunk stone tank, with stone steps going down into it. here, in the bygone ages, the pilgrims washed themselves, or were washed, before entering the sacred precincts. the cistern was empty now, and there was no apparatus for taking water out of it. in those pre-hygienic days ... however, it was interesting to know that washing was done at all. the guest house looked the abode of peace. it takes in lady boarders, for the pecuniary benefit of the community--which, if it does not work for its living, must still be supported somehow--and how i would have loved to be one, if i had stayed in my groove! even as it was, the sweet seclusion and simplicity and refinement of the life fascinated me intensely. but the guest house is presided over by a "guest mistress," and liberty is the basis of peace, as of all forms of happiness--to me. she may be a darling, but i could not stand her now. the guests will all have to be women of the church and not of the world, souls in steady grooves of tradition from which they have never been shaken out. to them, if they are tired, it should be an ideal place of rest. one thing i wish i had asked the sweet-maker: are they allowed to worship in the nuns' chapel? surely not, if we were not permitted even to look at it. in the priest's chapel, then? that seems too small, and i think i saw no seat for a congregation of more than two--his housekeeper and under maid. perhaps the paying guests are sent to the parish church. but suppose the rector of malling (i know nothing of him) should be an evangelical? one thing is certain. they will have to go to church somewhere, and to go often. for nearly a thousand years the tower of this old abbey has stood where it now stands, and who knows for how many years the saxon church which laid its foundations stood there before it? as i looked up at its lofty broken crown, and down and around upon the structures beneath it, i thought how many things beside stone walls outlive their time and use and meaning. on st november--a "beautiful day"--we went to sutton vallance. november was the month of departure, and this, the last of my country excursions, was peculiarly interesting and memorable. for at sutton vallance my beloved godmother, the eldest aunt, had lived for some years, and in the graveyard of the parish church she lies--carried there by her last wish when she died in london. in girlhood i had wanted to visit her at this place, and had not been able; after her death i made a promise to myself that i would keep tryst with her dear ghost at the kentish graveside some day, if ever i got the chance. it was not for that, however, that the expedition to sutton vallance was planned. the claims of life came foremost, and it was life, not death, that called us thither, a set of circumstances to which i gladly yielded precedence over any affair of mine. to c. and her sister came, the day before, two friends from the west indies, a pleasant man and wife. they represented old families of their island, and his had the custom of colonial gentlefolk, the world over, of sending their sons home to be educated. he was himself an "old boy" of sutton vallance grammar school, as i think he said his father had been, and as he intended his own sons to be in due course. he was delightedly revisiting england after years of absence--from fifteen to twenty, perhaps--and to him the heart of england was this village above the weald and the old buildings that crowned it. we went to sutton vallance that he might report himself to his old headmaster, still in harness, and show his wife the studies and dormitories, prayer-room and playing grounds, where he had lived his schoolboy life, and where her children would live theirs in the days to come. we had the landau from maidstone again, and set forth a party of five; if we had been a party of a hundred instead, i do not think another member of it could have entered into his feelings as i did. in the sympathy engendered by the similarity of our circumstances, i enjoyed the afternoon, i am sure, as much as he did--the neglected grave notwithstanding. we passed it--the churchyard where i knew it was--while he was eagerly identifying each little feature of the road as the scene of some schoolboy prank or other; he spoke of the path beside which my dear one lay, to describe the order in which the school was marched to church--"through that gate ... in at that door"--and i did not bring upon the living brightness of his hour a suggestion of the shadows that would fall all too soon in any case. the st of november was a sunday. his time in england, like mine, was short, and this was the only day available for the momentous visit. it had to be now, or perhaps never. so, when we reached the school, temporary disappointments were encountered. the headmaster was out. so was the only under master left of the old staff. the strange matron and some elder boys, deeply interested in a guest with such credentials, did what they could to repair the loss, and he played host to his wife and us. it was delightful to observe and to listen to him as he rummaged over the place; to hear him and the matron instructing each other in the differences between then and now; to see him with his old boy's hand on the young boys' shoulders--"you fellows"--telling them what sybarites they were with their hot water laid on, and inquiring of them how the sporting credit of the old shop stood in comparison with that of rival schools. i am afraid it was found that the old shop had fallen from grace in some particulars; the mother of the boys who were to go there in a few years was certainly critical, and i had seen schools as big that were better ordered in my own country overseas; but it was full of interest, plus precious associations, for me as for him, and that was distinctly a "happy day"--happy for me, the neglected grave notwithstanding; while as for him, i prophesy that in his old age he will look back upon it as one of the happiest of his life. it would hardly have been that without a sight of his old headmaster. and when we had quite "done" the school, and were down on the street where our carriage waited, an inward reluctance to make an end just there was felt by all, and resulted in suggestions calculated to give the headmaster another chance. the hour was late, we were far from home, and--_we had had no tea_. f. proposed that we should forage in the village for our evening meal. i demurred on behalf of c. and the secret weaknesses. c. said the night air would do her no harm inside the carriage, and that she would wind a scarf over her mouth. then f. named a local house of entertainment. "no, no," said our old boy, "you must come with me to the old tuck shop"--which in the palmy days, it seemed, had been good for every comforting kind of meal. this we did. the old tuck shop was found to be in its old place, unchanged; even the old proprietor (who looked ninety) and his old wife (who still looked young) were there; they and the old boy all but fell into each other's arms. we were shown into an inner parlour, a table was swiftly spread and piled with good things, including a sufficient teapot; and we four ladies rested and refreshed ourselves in great content. the old boy dodged in and out, snatching a cake or a slice of bread-and-butter, returning to talk with his old friends, reappearing for a gulp of tea and to gaze ardently out of the unblinded window adown the darkening street. anon we saw him through that same window sprinting as for his life after a vanishing bicycle. when he came back, in about half-an-hour, it was to express his satisfaction at having caught, made himself known to, and had a nice chat with, the remaining under master. so night closed around us, and the great hope of the day was given up. suddenly, as we were all sitting together, about to summon our coachman, who had also had his tea, there was a stir outside, the door of our parlour was impetuously flung open, and a tall old man strode in, at sight of whom the old boy sprang to his feet with an inarticulate grunt of joy. i felt that it was a meeting we should not have witnessed, but it was good to witness it. the swift interchange of words told what their relations in the past had been, but the tones of voice, the glow of eyes, the grip of hands, still more. i could not easily forget the face of the younger man when he said he had sons for the old school, nor the face of the elder taking that tribute of filial loyalty. in the gap of years lay the grave of the headmaster's wife, and he was not destined to train up another generation; the old boy was a strong and useful man of the world, come into his inheritance of all that a boy of the right sort grows up for. he introduced his wife. the stress of repressed emotion was relieved. would we not all come back and dine with him, the headmaster asked. he begged us to do so, but we could not. then would we all come back and dine with him to-morrow? again we could not. the old boy's business of life compelled his return to london next morning. so the great occasion passed. the headmaster gripped hands again, and returned to the school which would be ever the dearer to him for these few minutes out of it; and the old boy stood amongst us visibly transfigured, like moses just down from the mount. "_now,_" said he intensely, "do you wonder at my wanting to come back to my old school?" subdued and thoughtful and silent, we drove home. moonlight and fog wove the veil of evening through which glimmered the headstones of the churchyard as we went by. there was not time now to stop the carriage and pay my own tribute to the past and dear. already c. was too late, and there was not light to distinguish one grave from another. well, it did not matter whether i stood over my beloved one's coffined dust or looked from a few yards' distance at the dim grass covering it. that which haunted the spot was just as close to me. there were three more days--"another lovely day," when my husband came to fetch me; and yet "another lovely day, slightly foggy," when we took him to maidstone to show him the sights that i had seen; and one that was "still lovely, after the usual foggy dawn," which was november the th, and our last in kent. but these were days when c.'s thoughts and mine were not concentrated upon the pleasures and businesses in hand--when the blue plumbago in my bedroom was not needed for any purpose but to look lovely against the wall. november was the month of departure. in another fortnight i was to be upon the sea. towards the sea and the south my face was set, and she knew what it was i looked for. all the charms of kent in the golden weather could not now deflect my gaze. england is home indeed to the english-born. the dear world in every part is home to the spirit that loves life and freedom, and discerns no frontiers between nation and nation, nor barriers between man and man. but there is one wee spot, one house amongst the countless millions of human dwellings--no matter in what hole or corner you have tucked it--that is the only place on earth, or in the universe for that matter, where your heart, if it be a mother's heart, can rest. [ transcriber's notes: every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as possible, including inconsistencies in spelling and hyphenation. some corrections of spelling and punctuation have been made. they are listed at the end of the text. italic text has been marked with _underscores_. ] the story of a doctor's telephone--told by his wife by ellen m. firebaugh author of "the physician's wife" boston, mass.: the roxburgh publishing company (incorporated) copyrighted, by ellen m. firebaugh all rights reserved to my husband to the reader. the telephone has revolutionized the doctor's life. in the old days when a horse's galloping hoofs were heard people looked out of their windows and wondered if that wasn't someone after a doctor! the steed that franklin harnessed bears the message now, and comments and curiosity are stilled. in the old days thunderous knocks came often to the doctor's door at night; they are never heard now, or so rarely as to need no mention. neighbors have been awakened by these importunate raps: they sleep on undisturbed now. the doctor's household enjoys nothing of this sweet immunity. a disturbing factor is within it that makes the thunderous knocks of old pale into insignificance. when the telephone first came into the town where our doctor lived he had one put in his office of course, for if anyone in the world needs a 'phone it is the doctor and the people who want him. by and by he bethought him that since his office was several blocks from his residence he had better put one in there, too, because of calls that come in the night. so it was promptly installed. the doctor and his wife found their sleep disturbed far oftener than before. people will not dress and go out into the night to the doctor's house unless it is necessary. but it is an easy thing to step to the 'phone and call him from his sleep to answer questions--often needless--and when several people do the same thing in the same night, as frequently happens, it is not hard to see what the effect may be. one day the doctor had an idea! he would connect the two 'phones. it would be a handy thing for mary to be able to talk to him about the numberless little things that come up in a household without the trouble of ringing central every time, and it would be a handy thing for him, too. when he had to leave the office he could just 'phone mary and she could keep an ear on the 'phone till he got back. about this time another telephone system was established in the town--the farmers'. now a doctor's clientele includes many farmers, so he put one of the new 'phones into his office. by and by he reflected that farmers are apt to need to consult a physician at night--he must put in a farmers' 'phone at home, too. and he did. then he connected it with the office. when the first 'phone went up mary soon accustomed herself to its call--three rings. when her husband connected it with the office the rings were multiplied by three. one ring meant someone at the office calling central. two rings meant someone calling the office. three rings meant someone calling the residence, as before. mary found the three calls confusing. when the farmers' 'phone was installed and the same order of rings set up, she found the original ring multiplied by six. this was confusion worse confounded. to be sure the bell on the farmers' had a somewhat hoarser sound than that on the citizens' 'phone, but mary's ear was the only one in the household that could tell the difference with certainty. the clock in the same room struck the half hours which did not tend to simplify matters. when a new door-bell was put on the front door mary found she had eight different rings to contend with. but it is the bells of the telephone with which we are concerned and something of their story will unfold as we proceed. when the doctor was at home and the 'phone would ring he would start toward the adjoining room where the two hung and stop at the first. mary would call "farmers'!" and he would move on to the next. perhaps at the same instant the tall boy of the household whose ear was no more accurate than that of his father would shout "citizens'!" and the doctor would stop between the two. "_farmers'!_" the wife would call a second time, with accrued emphasis. then she would laugh heartily and declare: "any one coming in might think this a sort of forum where orations were being delivered," and sometimes she would go on and declaim: "friends, romans, countrymen, lend me your ears--my husband has borrowed mine." so the telephone in the doctor's house--so great a necessity that we cannot conceive of life without it, so great a blessing that we are hourly grateful for it, is yet a very great tyrant whose dominion is absolute. i had a pleasing picture in my mind in the writing of this chronicle, of sitting serene and undisturbed in a cosy den upstairs, with all the doors between me and the 'phone shut tight where no sound might intrude. in vain. without climbing to the attic i could not get so far away that the tintinnabulation that so mercilessly wells from those bells, bells, bells did not penetrate. i hope my readers have not got so far away from their poe as to imagine that ringing sentence to be mine. and i wonder if a still greater glory might not crown his brow if there had been telephone bells to celebrate in poe's day. so i gave up the pleasant dream, abandoned the cosy den and came down stairs to the dining room where i can scatter my manuscript about on the big table, and look the tyrants in the face and answer the queries that arise, and can sandwich in a good many little odd jobs besides. through a doctor's telephone how many glimpses of human nature and how many peeps into the great story of life have been mine; and if, while the reader is peeping too, the scene suddenly closes, why that is the way of telephones and not the fault of the writer. and knowing how restful a thing it has been to me to get away from the ringing of the bell at times, i have devised a rest for the reader also and have sent him with the doctor and his wife on an occasional country drive where no telephone intrudes. e. m. f. robinson, ill. the story of a doctor's telephone chapter i. the hands of the clock were climbing around toward eleven and the doctor had not returned. mary, a drowsiness beginning to steal over her, looked up with a yawn. then she fell into a soliloquy: to bed, or not to bed--that is the question: whether 'tis wiser in the wife to wait for a belated spouse, or to wrap the drapery of her couch about her and lie down to pleasant dreams? to dream! perchance to sleep! and by that sleep to end the headache and the thousand other ills that flesh is heir to, the restoration of a wilted frame,-- wilted by loss of sleep on previous nights-- a consummation devoutly to be wished. to dream! perchance to sleep!--aye, there's the rub; for in that somnolence what peals may come must give her pause. there is the telephone that makes calamity of her repose. her spouse may not have come to answer it, which means that she, his wife, must issue forth all dazed and breathless from delicious sleep, and knock her knees on intervening chairs, and bump her head on a half open door, and get there finally all out of breath, and take the receiver down and say: "hello?" the old, old question: "is the doctor there?" comes clearly now to her awakened ear. then, tentatively, she must make reply: "the doctor was called out an hour ago, but i expect him now at any time." good patrons should be held and not escape to other doctors that may lie in wait; for in this voice so brusque and straight and clear she recognizes an old friend and true, whose purse is ever ready to make good, and she hath need of many, many things. but then, again, the message of the 'phone may be that of some stricken little child whose mother's voice trembles with love and fear. then must the listener earnestly advise: "don't wait for him! get someone else to-night." perchance again the message may be that of colics dire and death so imminent that she who listens, tho' with 'customed ear, shrinks back dismayed and knows not what to say, lacking the knowledge and profanity of him who, were he there, would settle quick this much ado about much nothingness. and so these anticipatory peals reverberate through fancy as she sits, and make her rather choose to bear the ills she has than fly to others she may meet; to wait a little longer for her spouse, that, when at last she does retire to rest, she may be somewhat surer of her sleep. and so she sits there waiting for the step and the accompanying clearing of the throat which she would know were she in zanzibar. and by-and-by he comes and fate is kind and lets them slumber till the early dawn. chapter ii. ten p.m. the 'phone is ringing and the sleepy doctor gets out of bed and goes to answer it. "hello." no response. "hello!" silence. "hello!!" "is this doctor blank?" "yes." "i want you to come out to my house--my wife's sick." "who is it?" "jim warner. come just as--" a click in the receiver. the doctor waits a minute. then he says "hello." no answer. he waits another minute. "_hell-o!!_" silence. "damn that girl--she's cut us off." he hangs up the receiver and rings the bell sharply. he takes it down and hears a voice say leisurely, "d'ye get them?" "yes! what in h-ll did you cut us off for?" "wait a minute--i'll ring 'em again," says the voice, hasty and obliging, so potent a thing is a man's unveiled wrath. she rings 'em again. soon the same voice says, "are you there yet, doctor?" "yes, _now_ what is it!" the voice proceeds and the doctor listens putting in an occasional "yes" or "no." then he says, "all right--i'll be out there in a little bit." he hangs up the receiver and his wife falls asleep again. the doctor dresses and goes out. the house is in darkness. all is still. in about five minutes mary is suddenly, sharply awake. a slight noise in the adjoining room! she listens with accelerated heart-beats. the doctor has failed to put on the night latch. some thief has been lying in wait watching for his opportunity, and now he has entered. what can she do. muffled footsteps! she pulls the sheet over her head, her heart beating to suffocation. the footsteps grope their way toward her room! great heaven! a hand fumbles at the door knob. she shrieks aloud. "what on earth is the matter!" o, brusque and blessed is that voice! "john, you have nearly scared me to death," she says, sitting up in bed, half laughing and half crying. "but i heard you tell that man you were coming out there." "yes. i told him i was." "well, why didn't you go?" "i _did_ go." "you don't mean to tell me you have been a mile and back in five minutes." the doctor flashed on the light and looked at his watch,--"just an hour since i left home," he said. mary gasped. "well, it only proves how soundly i can sleep when i get a chance," she said. * * * * * ting-a-ling-ling-ling. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. it is the office ring but mary hurries at once to answer it. "is this dr. blank's office?" "this is mrs. blank. but the doctor telephoned me about twenty minutes ago that he would be out for half an hour. call him again in ten or fifteen minutes and i think you will find him." in about fifteen minutes the call is repeated. mary would feel better satisfied to know that the doctor received the message so she goes to the 'phone and listens. silence. she waits a minute. shall she speak? she hesitates. struggle as she will against the feeling, she can't quite overcome it--it seems like "butting in." but that long silence with the listening ear at the other end of it is too much for her. very pleasantly, almost apologetically she asks, "what is it?" "the doctor hasn't come yet?" says a plainly disappointed voice. "no--not yet. there are often unexpected things to delay him--if you will give me your number or your name i will have him call _you_." "no, i'll just wait and call him again." the inflection says plainly, "i don't care to admit the doctor's wife into my confidences." "very well. i am sure it can't be long now till he returns." mary goes back to her chair and ponders a little. of what avail to multiply words. no use to tell the woman 'phoning that she was willing to take the waiting and the watching, the seeing that the doctor received the message upon herself rather than that the other should be again troubled by it. no use to let her gently understand that she doesn't care for any confidences which belong only to her husband, but fate has placed her in a position where she has oftentimes to seem unduly interested. that these messages which are only occasional with the one calling are constant with her and that she is only mindful of them when she must be. * * * * * "watch the 'phone." how thoroughly instilled into mary's consciousness that admonition was! she did not heed the office ring when it came, but if it came a second time she always went to explain that the doctor had just stepped over to the drug store probably and would be back in a very few minutes. often, as she stood explaining, the doctor himself would break into the conversation, having been in another room when the first call came, and getting there a little tardily for the second. but occasions sometimes arose which made mary feel very thankful that she had been at the 'phone. one winter morning as she stood explaining to some woman that the doctor would be in in a few minutes, her husband's "hello" was heard. "there he is now," she said. usually after this announcement she would hang up the receiver and go about her work. today a friendly interest in this pleasant voice kept it in her hand a moment. mary would not have admitted idle curiosity, and perhaps she had as little of it as falls to the lot of women, but sometimes she lingered a moment for the message, to know if the doctor was to be called away, so that she might make her plans for dinner accordingly. the pleasant voice spoke again, "this is dr. blank, is it?" "yes." "we want you to come out to henry ogden's." "that's about five miles out, isn't it. who's sick out there?" "mrs. ogden." "what's the matter?" no reply. "how long has she been sick?" "she began complaining last night." "all right--i'll be out some time today." "come right away, please, if you can." this is an old, old plea. the doctor is thoroughly inured to it. he would have to be twenty men instead of one to respond to it at all times. he answers cheerfully, "all right," and mary takes alarm. that tone means sometime in the next few hours. she feels sure he ought to go _now_. somebody else can wait better than this patient. there was a kind of hesitancy in that voice that mary had heard before. a woman's intuitions are much safer guides than a man's slow reasoning. she must speak to john. she rings the office. "hello." "say, john," she says in a low voice, "i came to the 'phone thinking you were out and heard that message. i think you ought to go out there right _away_." "well, i'm going after a little." "but i don't think you ought to wait. i'm sure it's--_you_ know." "well,--maybe i had better go right out." "i wish you would. i know they'll be looking for you every minute." a few minutes later mary saw him drive past and was glad. half an hour later the office ring sounded. she did not wait for the second peal. true, john had not said, "watch the 'phone," today, but that was understood. occasionally he got an old man who lived next door to the office to come in and stay during his absence. possibly he might have done so today. but even if he were there the telephone and its ways were a dark mystery to him and besides, his deafness made him of little use in that direction. mary took down the receiver and put it to her ear. a lady's voice was asking, "who _is_ this?" mary knew from her inflection that she had asked something before and was not satisfied with the reply. "_this_ is dr. blank's office?" announced the old man in a sort of interrogative. "well, where is the _doctor_?" "the doctor," said the old man meditatively, as if wondering that anybody should be calling for him--"the doctor--you mean dr. blank, i reckon?" "i certainly do." "good heavens," thought mary, "why _don't_ he go on!" "why, he's out." "where _is_ he?" "he went to the country." mary shut her lips tight. "_well_, when will he be back?" "he 'lowed he'd be back in about an hour or so." "how long has he been _gone_? maybe i'll get some information after a while." mary longed to speak. why hadn't she done so at first. if she thrust herself in now it would make her out an eavesdropper. but this was unbearable. she opened her mouth to speak when the old man answered. "he's been gone over an hour now, i reckon." "then he'll soon be back. will you be there when he comes?" "yes ma'am." "then tell him to come up to mrs. dorlan's." "to mrs. who's?" "mrs. _dorlan's_." "i didn't ketch the name." "_mrs. dorlan's_, on brownson street." "mrs. torren's?" "miss-es--dor-lan's!" shouted the voice. mary sighed fiercely and clinched her teeth unconsciously. "i _will_ speak," she thought, when the old voice ventured doubtingly, "mrs. dorlan's?" "that's it. mrs. dorlan's on brownson street, will you remember it?" "mrs. dorlan's, on brownson street." "that's right. please tell him just as soon as he comes to come right up." "all right--i'll tell him." "poor old fellow!" said mary as she turned from the 'phone, "but i don't want to go through any more ordeals like that. it was a good deal harder for me than for the other woman." the doctor came down late to dinner. "you got mrs. dorlan's message did you?" "yes, i'll go up there right after dinner." he looked at his wife with peculiar admiration. "how did you know what was wanted with me out in the country?" he asked. with a little pardonable pride she replied: "oh, i just felt it. women have ways of understanding each other that men never attain to. is it a boy or a girl added to the world today?" "neither," said the doctor placidly, helping himself to a roll. chagrin overspread her face. "well," she said with an embarrassed smile, "i erred on mercy's side, and it _might_ have happened in just that way, john, and you know it." the doctor laughed. "there was mighty little the matter out there--they didn't need a doctor." "are they good pay?" "good as old wheat." "then there are compensations." * * * * * some hours later when the 'phone rang, mary went to explain that the doctor had 'phoned her he would be out about twenty minutes. but she found no chance to speak. a spirited dialogue was taking place between a young man and a maid: "where _are_ you, jack?" "i'm right here." "smarty! where _are_ you!" "in dr. blank's office." "what are you there for?" "i'm waiting for the doctor and to while away the time thought i'd call you up." then it was his ring that mary had answered. "i ought to hang this receiver right up," thought she, but instead she held it, her face beaming with a sympathetic smile. "are you feeling better today, dolly?" "yes, i'm better." "able to go to the show then, tonight?" "_yes_, i'm able to go." here a thin small voice put in, "no, you're not able! you're not going." "mamma says,--" began a pouting voice. "i heard what she said," said jack, laughing. "have you been up all day?" "most of the day." "can you eat anything?" "i ate an egg, some toast and some fruit for dinner." "that's fine. i'll bring you a box of candy then pretty soon--i'm coming down in a little bit." "that will be lovely." "which, the candy or the coming down?" "the candy, goose, of course." a laugh at both ends of the wire. then jack's voice. "well, here comes the doctor. i've got to have my neck amputated now. goodbye." "good-bye." "all's fair in love and war," said mary, "and it's plain to see what this is." then she hung up the receiver without a qualm. * * * * * there were other times when the doctor's wife was glad she had gone to the 'phone, as in this instance. she had taken down the receiver when a man's voice said, "the doctor just stepped out for a few minutes. if you will tell me your name, madam, i'll have him call you when he comes in." disinterested courtesy spoke in his voice, but mary was not in the least surprised to hear the curt reply, "it won't be necessary. i'll call _him_ when he comes." "i dare say that gentleman, whoever he may be, is wondering what he has done," thought mary. but it was not altogether unpleasant to her to hear somebody else squelched, too! * * * * * there came a day when the doctor's wife rebelled. when her husband came home and ate his supper hastily and then rose to depart, she said, "you'd better wait at home a few minutes, john." "why?" he put the question brusquely, his hat in his hand. "because i think someone will ring here for you in a minute or two. some man rang the office twice so i went to the 'phone to explain that you must be on your way to supper and he could find you here." "who was it?" "i do not know." "thunder! why didn't you find out?" mary looked straight at her husband. "how many times have i told you, john, that many people decline to give their names or their messages to any one but you. i think i should feel that way about it myself. for a long time i have dutifully done your bidding in the matter, but now i vow i will not trample my pride under my feet any longer--especially when it is all in vain. i will watch the 'phone as faithfully as in the past, but i will not ask for any name or any message. they will be given voluntarily if at all." "all right, mary," said the doctor, gently, seeing that she was quite serious. "i do not mean to say that most of the people who 'phone are grouchy and disagreeable--far from it. indeed the majority are pleasant and courteous. but it is those who are not who have routed me, and made me vow my vow. don't ask me to break it, john, for i will not." and having delivered this declaration, mary felt almost as free and independent as in ante-telephone days. the doctor had seated himself and leaning forward was swinging his hat restlessly between his knees. he waited five minutes. "i'll have to get back to the office," he exclaimed, starting up. "i'm expecting a man to pay me some money. waiting for the 'phone to ring is like watching for the pot to boil." when he had been gone a minute or two, the ring came. with a new step mary advanced to it. "has the doctor got there yet?" the voice had lost none of its grouch. "he has. and he waited for your message which did not come. he could not wait longer. he has just gone to the office. if you will 'phone him there in two or three minutes, instead of waiting till he is called out again, you will find him." "thank you, mrs. blank." the man was surprised into courtesy. the clear-cut, distinct sentences were very different from the faltering, apologetic ones, when she had asked for his name or his message twenty minutes before. mary's receiver clicked with no uncertain sound and a smile illumined her face. * * * * * one day when the snow was flying and the wind was blowing a gale the doctor came hurrying in. "where is the soapstone?" he asked, with small amenity. his wife flew to get it and laid it on the hearth very close to the coals. "oh dear! how terrible to go out in such a storm. do you _have_ to?" she asked. "i certainly do. do you think i'd choose a day like this for a pleasure trip?" "aren't you glad you got that galloway?" she asked, hurrying to bring the big, hairy garment from its hook in the closet. she helped her husband into it, turned the broad collar up--then, when the soapstone was hot, she wrapped it up and gave it to him. "this ought to keep your feet from freezing," she said. the doctor took it, hurried out to the buggy, pulled the robes up around him and was gone. "eight miles in this blizzard!" thought mary shivering, "and eight miles back--sixteen miles. it will take most of the day." two hours after the doctor had gone the telephone rang. "is dr. blank there?" "no, he is in the country, about eight miles southwest." "this is drayton. we want him at john small's as soon as possible. how soon do you think he will be back?" "not for several hours, i am afraid." "well, will you send him down as soon as he comes? we want him _bad_." mary assured him she would do so. "poor john," she thought as she put up the receiver. in a few minutes she went hurriedly back. when she had called central, she said, "i am very anxious to get dr. blank, central. he is eight miles southwest of here--at the home of thomas calhoun. is there a 'phone there?" silence for a few seconds then a voice, "no, there is no 'phone at thomas calhoun's." disappointed, mary stood irresolute, thinking. then she asked, "is there a 'phone at mr. william huntley's?" "yes, william huntley has a 'phone." "thank you. please call that house for me." in a minute a man's voice said, "hello." "is this mr. huntley?" "yes." "mr. huntley, this is mrs. blank. you live not far from thomas calhoun's, do you not?" "about half a mile." "dr. blank is there, or will be very soon, and there is an urgent call for him to go on to drayton. i want to save him the long drive home first. i find there is no 'phone at mr. calhoun's so i have called you hoping you might be able to help me out. perhaps someone of your family will be going down that way and will stop in." "i'll go, myself." "it's too bad to ask any one to go out on a day like this--" "that's all right, mrs. blank. doc's been pretty clever to me." "tell him, please, to go to john small's at drayton. i am very deeply obliged to you for your kindness, mr. huntley," she said, hanging the receiver in its place. "eight miles back home, six miles from here to drayton, six miles back--twenty miles in all. four miles from calhoun's to drayton, six miles from drayton home--ten miles saved on a blizzardy day," she thought in the thankfulness of her heart. a few minutes later she was again at the 'phone. "please give me john small's at drayton." when the voice came she said, "i wanted to tell you that the doctor will be there perhaps in about an hour now. i got your message to him so that he will go directly to your house." "i'm mighty glad to know it. thank you, mrs. blank, for finding him and for letting us know." a terrible drive saved and some anxious hearts relieved. that dear 'phone! how thankful she was for it and for the country drives she had taken with her husband which had made her familiar with the homes and names of many farmers. otherwise she could not have located her husband this morning. one day like this covered a multitude of tyrannies from the little instrument on the wall. * * * * * it was about half past seven. the doctor had thought it probable that he could get off early this evening and then he and mary and the boys would have a game of whist. he had been called in consultation to w., a little town in an adjoining county, but he would be home in a little bit--in just ten minutes the train would be due. "o, there goes that 'phone," said the small boy wrathfully. "now, i s'pose papa can't get here!" his mother was already there with the receiver at her ear. "this is dr. blank's residence." "no, but he will be here in fifteen or twenty minutes." "to drayton?" "very well. i will give him your message as soon as he gets home. i'm afraid that ends the game for tonight, boys," putting the receiver up. "why, does papa have to go away?" "yes, he has to drive six miles." "gee-mi-nee--this dark night in the mud!" here a thought flashed into mary's mind--drayton was on the same railroad on which the doctor was rapidly nearing home--the next station beyond. she flew to the telephone and rang with nervous haste. "hello." "is this the big four?" "yes." "this is mrs. blank. dr. blank is on the train which is due now. he is wanted at drayton. when he gets off, will you please tell him?" "to go on to drayton?" "yes, to alfred walton's." "all right. i'll watch for him and see that he gets aboard again." "thank you very much." the train whistled. "just in time," said mary. "but how'll papa get back?" asked the smaller boy. "he's got a tie-ticket," said his brother. "yes, papa would rather walk back on the railroad than drive both ways through this deep mud," said their mother. "i have heard him say so." another ring. "is the doctor there?" "he has just gone on the train to drayton." "how soon will he be back?" "in an hour and a half, i should think." mary heard the 'phoner say in an aside, "he won't be back for an hour and a half. do you want to wait that long?" another voice replied, "yes, i'll wait. tell 'em to tell him to come just as quick as he gets back, though." this message was transmitted. "and where is he to go?" "to henry smith's, down by the big four depot." a few minutes later mary had another idea. she went to the 'phone and asked central to give her drayton, mr. walton's house. in a minute a voice said, "what is it?" it was restful to mary to have the usual opening varied. perhaps eight out of ten began with, "hello!" the other two began, "yes," "well," "what is it?" and very rarely, "good morning," or "good evening." "is this the home of mr. walton at drayton?" "yes." "dr. blank is there just now, isn't he?" "yes, but he's just going away." "will you please ask him to come to the 'phone?" in a minute her husband's voice was heard asking what was wanted. "i want to save you a long walk when you get home, john. you're wanted at henry smith's down by the big four depot." "all right. i'll go in to see him when i get there. much obliged." "a mile walk saved there," mused the doctor's wife, as she joined the two boys, mildly grumbling because they couldn't have their game, and never could have it just when they wanted it. but a few chapters from ivanhoe read to them by their mother made all serene again. * * * * * the citizens' 'phone was ringing persistently. the doctor's wife had been upstairs and could not get to it in less than no time! but she got there. "do you know where dr. blank is?" the words hurled themselves against her ear. "i don't know just at this minute--but he's here in town. i'm sure of that." "why don't he _come_ then!" the sentence came as from a catapult. "i don't know anything about it. where was he to go?" a scornful "_huh!_" came over the wire--"i guess you forgot to tell 'im." "i have not been asked to tell him anything this morning." there was heated silence for an instant, then a voice big with wrath: "you told me not fifteen minutes ago that you would send him right down." "you are mistaken," said mary gently but firmly. "this is the first time i have been at the 'phone this morning." "well, what do you think of that!" this was addressed to someone at the other end of the line, but it came clearly to mary's ear and its intonation said volumes. "you're the very identical woman that told me when i 'phoned awhile ago that you'd send him right down. it's the very same voice." "there is a mistake somewhere," reiterated mary, patiently, "but i'll send the doctor as soon as he gets in if you will give me your name." "i'll tell ye agin, then, that he's to come to lige thornton's." "very well. i'll send him," and mary left the 'phone much mystified. "she was in dead earnest--and so was i. i can't understand it." glancing out of the window she saw her tall, young daughter coming up the walk. the solution came with lightning quickness--strange she didn't think of that, gertrude had answered. she remembered now that others had thought their voices very much alike, especially over the 'phone. "if the woman had not talked in such a cyclonic way i would have thought of it," she reflected. when the young girl entered the room her mother said, "gertrude, you answered the 'phone awhile ago, didn't you?" "about twenty minutes ago. some woman was so anxious for father to come right away that i just ran down to the office to see that he _went_." "that was very thoughtful of you, dear, but it's little credit we're getting for it." she related the dialogue that had just taken place and mother and daughter laughed in sympathy. "why, mamma, we couldn't forget if we wanted to. that telephone is an old man of the sea to both of us--is now and ever shall be, world without end." "but did you find your father at the office?" "yes, and waited till he fixed up some medicine for two patients already waiting, then shooed him out before some more came in. i wanted to get it off _my_ mind." "i'm glad he is on his way. now stay within hearing of the 'phone, dearie, till i finish my work up-stairs." "all right, mamma, i'm going to make a cake now, but i can hear the 'phone plainly from the kitchen." it wasn't long till a ring was heard. gertrude dusted the flour from her hands and started. "which 'phone was it?" she asked the maid. "i think it was the farmers'," said mollie, hesitating. so to the farmers' 'phone went gertrude. "hello." no answer. "hello." silence. she clapped the receiver up and hurried to the citizens' 'phone. "hello." "is this dr. blank's?" "yes." "is he there?" "no, he was called--" here a loud ring from the other 'phone sounded. "he was called down to--" said gertrude rapidly, then paused, unable to think of the name at the instant. "if you will tell me where he went, i'll just 'phone down there for him," said the voice. a second peal from the other 'phone. "_yes, yes!_" said gertrude impatiently. "o, i didn't mean that for you," she hurried apologetically. "the other 'phone is calling, and i'm so confused i can't think. will you excuse me just an instant till i see what is wanted?" "certainly." she flew to the farmers' 'phone. "is this dr. blank's?" "yes." "good while a-answerin'," grumbled a voice. "i did answer but no one answered _me_." "where's the doctor?" "he's down in the east part of town--will be back in a little bit." "well, when he comes tell him--just hold the 'phone a minute, will you, till i speak to my wife." "all right." but she put the receiver swiftly up and rushed back to the waiting man. she could answer him and get back by the time the other was ready for her. "hello, still there?" "yes." "i've thought of the name--father went to elijah thornton's." "thornton's--let's see--have you a telephone directory handy--could you give me their number?" "wait a minute, i'll see." she raced through the pages,--"yes, here it is." a violent peal from the farmers' 'phone. "he'll think i'm still hunting for the number," she thought, letting the receiver hang and rushing to the other 'phone. "hello." "thought you was a-goin' to hold the 'phone. i've had a turrible time gittin' any answer." "i've had a turrible time, too," thought poor gertrude. "tell the doctor to call me up," and he gave his name and his number. "all right, i'll tell him." she clapped the receiver up lest there might be more to follow and sped back. "here it is," she announced calmly, "elijah thornton, number  ." "thank you, i'm afraid i've put you to a good deal of trouble." "not at all." as she went back to her cake she said to herself, "two telephones ringing at once can certainly make things interesting." * * * * * one day in mid winter mary sat half dreaming before the glowing coals. snow had fallen all through the previous night and today there had been good coasting for the boys and girls. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. she started up and went to answer it. "is this you, mary?" "yes." "i'll be out of the office about twenty minutes." "very well." sometimes mary wished her husband would be a little more explicit. she had a vague sort of feeling that central, or whoever should chance to hear him make this announcement to her so often, might think she requested or perhaps demanded it; might think she wanted to know every place her husband went. in about half an hour the 'phone rang again, two rings. john ought to be back. should she take it for granted? it would be safer to put the receiver to her ear and listen for her husband's voice. "hello." "hello." "is this you dr. blank?" "looks like it." "we want ye to come down to our house right away." "who is this?" "w'y, this is mrs. peters." "mrs. peters? oh yes," said the doctor, recognizing the voice now. "what's the matter down there, grandmother?" "w'y--my little grandson, johnny, was slidin' down hill on a board and got a splinter in his setter." "he did, eh?" "yes, he did, and a big one, too." "well, i'll be down there right away. have some boiled water." mary turned away from the telephone that it might not register her low laughter as she put the receiver in its place. the next instant she took it down again with twinkling eyes and listened. yes, the voices were silent, it would be safe. she rang two rings. "hello," said her husband's voice. "john," said mary, almost in a whisper, "for english free and unadorned, commend me to a little boy's grandmother!" two laughs met over the wire, then two receivers clicked. * * * * * one day mary came in from a walk and noticed at once, a vacant place on the wall where the farmers' 'phone had hung. she had heard rumors of a merger of the two systems and had fervently hoped that they might merge soon and forever. "look! mamma," said gertrude, pointing to the wall. "oh frabjous day! callooh! callay! one telephone is taken away!" she chortled in her joy. (the small boy of the household had been reading "alice" and consequently declaiming the jabberwock from morning till night, till its weird strains had become fixed in the various minds of the household and notably in gertrude's.) "it will simplify matters," said her mother, smiling, "but liberty is not for us. _that_ tuneful peal will still ring on," and as she looked at the citizens' 'phone the peal came. chapter iii. one monday evening the doctor and his wife sat chatting cosily before the fire. in the midst of their conversation, mary looked up suddenly. "i had a queer little experience this morning, john, i want to tell you about it." "tell ahead," said john, propping his slippered feet up on the fender. "well, i got my pen and paper ready to write a letter to mrs. e. i wanted to write it yesterday afternoon and tell her some little household incidents just while they were taking place, as she is fond of the doings and sayings of boys and they are more realistic if reported in the present tense. but i couldn't get at it yesterday afternoon. when i started to write it this morning it occurred to me to date the letter sunday afternoon and write it just as i would have done yesterday--so i did. when i had got it half done or more i heard the door-bell and going to open it i saw through the large glass--" ting-a-ling-ling-ling. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. the doctor went to the 'phone. "yes." "yes." "where do you live?" "i'll be right down." he went back, hastily removed his slippers and began putting on his shoes. mary saw that he had clean forgotten her story. very well. it wouldn't take more than a minute to finish it--there would be plenty of time while he was getting into his shoes--but if he was not enough interested to refer to it again she certainly would not. in a few minutes the doctor was gone and mary went to bed. an hour or two later his voice broke in upon her slumber. "back again," he said as he settled down upon his pillow. in a minute he exclaimed, "say, mary, what was the rest of that story?" "o, don't get me roused up. i'm _so_ sleepy," she said drowsily. "well, i'd like to hear it." the interest in her little story which had not been exhibited at the proper time was being exhibited now with a vengeance. she sighed and said, "i can't think of it now--tell you in the morning. good night," and turned away. when morning came and they were both awake, the doctor again referred to the unfinished story. "it's lost interest for me. it wasn't a story to start with, just a little incident that seemed odd--" "well, let's have it." "well, then," said mary, "i was writing away when the door-bell rang. i went to open it and saw through the glass the laundry man--" ting-a-ling-ling-ling. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. "go on!" exclaimed her husband, hurriedly, "i'll wait till you finish." "i'll not _race_ through a story in any such john gilpin style," said mary, tartly. "go, john!" the doctor arose and went. "no." "i think not." "has she any fever?" "all right, i'll be down in a little bit." then he went back. "now you can finish," he said. "finis is written _here_," said mary. "don't say story to me again!" so mary's story remained unfinished. but a few days later, when she was in the buggy with her husband she relented. "now that the 'phone can't cut me short, john, i will finish about the odd incident just because you wanted to know. but it will fall pretty flat now, as all things do with too many preliminary flourishes." "go on," said the doctor. "well, you know i told you i dated my letter back to sunday afternoon, and was writing away when i heard the door-bell ring. as i started toward the door i saw the laundry man standing there. i was conscious of looking at him in astonishment and in a dazed sort of way as i walked across the large room to open the door. i am sure he must have noticed the expression on my face. when i opened the door he asked as he always does, 'any laundry?'" "'any laundry _today_?' the words were on my tongue's end but i stopped them in time. you see it was really sunday to me, so deep into the spirit of it had i got, and it was with a little shock that i came back to monday again in time to answer the man in a rational way. and now my story's done." "not a bad one, either," said john, "i'm glad you condescended to finish it." * * * * * the doctor came home at ten o'clock and went straight to bed and to sleep. at eleven he was called. "what is it?" he asked gruffly. "it's time for silas to take his medicine and he won't do it." "won't, eh?" "no, he vows he won't." "well, let him alone for a while and then try again." about one came another ring. "we've both been asleep, doctor, but i've been up fifteen minutes trying to get him to take his medicine and he won't do it. he says it's too damned nasty and that he don't need it anyhow." "tell him i say he's a mighty good farmer, but a devilish poor doctor." "i don't know what to do. i can't make him take it." "you'll have to let him alone for awhile i guess, maybe he'll change his mind after awhile." at three o'clock the doctor was again at the telephone. "doctor, he just will _not_ take it," the voice was now quite distressed. "i can't manage him at all." "you _ought_ to manage him. what's a wife for? well, go to bed and don't bother him or me any more tonight." but early next morning silas' wife telephoned again. "i thought i ought to tell you that he hasn't taken it yet." "he'll get well anyway. don't be a bit uneasy about _him_," said the doctor, laughing, as he rung off. * * * * * "it's time to go, john." mary was drawing on her gloves. she looked at her moveless husband as he sat before the crackling blaze in the big fireplace. "this is better than church," he made reply. "but you promised you would go tonight. come on." "it isn't time yet, is it?" "the last bell will ring before we get there." "well, let's wait till all that singing's over. that just about breaks my back." mary sat down resignedly. if they missed the singing perhaps john would not look at his watch and sigh so loud during the sermon. and it might not be a bad idea to miss the singing for another reason. the last time john had gone to church he had astonished her by sliding up beside her, taking hold of the hymn-book and singing! it happened to be his old favorite, "sweet fields beyond the swelling flood." of course it was lovely that he should want to sing it with her--but the _way_ he sang it! he was in the wrong key and he came out two or three syllables behind on most of the lines, but undismayed by the sudden curtailment went boldly ahead on the next. and mary had been much relieved when the hymn was ended and the book was closed. so now she waited very patiently for her husband to make some move toward starting. by and by he got up and they went out. no sooner was the door closed behind them than the "ting-a-ling-ling-ling" was heard. the doctor threw open the door and went back. mary, waiting at the threshold, heard one side of the dialogue. "yes." "down where?" "shake up your 'phone. i can't hear you." "that's better. now what is it?" "swallowed benzine, did she? how much?... that won't kill her. give her some warm water to drink. and give her a spoonful of mustard--anything to produce vomiting...... she has? that's all right. tell her to put her finger down her throat and vomit some more..... no, i think it won't be necessary for me to come down..... you would? well, let me hear again in the next hour or two, and if you still want me i'll come. good-bye." they walked down the street and as they drew near the office they saw the figure of the office boy in the doorway silhouetted against the light within. he was looking anxiously in their direction. suddenly he disappeared and the faint sound of a bell came to their ears. they quickened their pace and as they came up the boy came hurriedly to the door again. "is that you, doctor?" he asked, peering out. "yes." "i told a lady at the 'phone to wait a minute, she's 'phoned twice." mary waited at the door while her husband went into the office and over to the 'phone. "yes. what is it?.... no. no. _no!_.... listen to me..... be _still_ and listen to _me_! she's in no more danger of dying than _you_ are. she couldn't die if she tried..... be still, i say, and listen to me!" he stamped his foot mightily. mary laughed softly to herself. "now don't hang over her and _sympathize_ with her; that's exactly what she don't need. and don't let the neighbors hang around her either. shut the whole tea-party out..... well, tell 'em _i_ said so..... i don't care a damn _what_ they think. your duty and mine is to do the very best we can for that girl. now remember..... yes, i'll be down on the nine o'clock train tomorrow morning. good-bye." he joined his wife at the door. "if anybody wants me, come to the church," he said, turning to the boy. mary laid her hand within her husband's arm and they started on. they met a man who stopped and asked the doctor how soon he would be at the office, as he was on his way there to get some medicine. "i'd better go back," said the doctor and back they went. it seemed to mary that her husband might move with more celerity in fixing up the medicine. he was deliberation itself as he cut and arranged the little squares of paper. still more deliberately he heaped the little mounds of white powder upon them. she looked on anxiously. at last he was ready to fold them up! no, he reached for another bottle. he took out the cork, but his spatula was not in sight. nowise disturbed, he shifted bottles and little boxes about on the table. "can't you use your knife, doctor?" asked mary. "o, i'll find it--it's around here somewhere." in a minute or two the missing spatula was discovered under a paper, and then the doctor slowly, _so_ slowly, dished out little additions to the little mounds. then he laid the spatula up, put the cork carefully back in the bottle, turned in his chair and put two questions to the waiting man, turned back and folded the mounds in the squares with the most painstaking care. in spite of herself mary fidgeted and when the powders with instructions were delivered and the man had gone, she rose hastily. "_do_ come now before somebody else wants something." the singing was over and the sermon just beginning when they reached the church. it progressed satisfactorily to the end. the doctor usually made an important unit in producing that "brisk and lively air which a sermon inspires when it is quite finished." but tonight, a few minutes before the finale came, mary saw the usher advancing down the aisle. he stopped at their seat and bending down whispered something to the doctor, who turned and whispered something to his wife. "no, i'll stay and walk home with the rands. i see they're here," she whispered back. the doctor rose and went out. "who's at the office?" he asked, as he walked away with the boy. "she's not there yet, she telephoned. i told her you was at church." "did she say she couldn't wait?" "she said she had been at church too, but a bug flew in her ear and she had to leave, and she guessed you'd have to leave too, because she couldn't stand it. she said it felt _awful_." "where is she?" "she was at a house by the methodist church, she said, when she 'phoned to see if you was at the office. when i told her i'd get you from the other church, she said she'd be at the office by the time you got there." and she was, sitting uneasily in a big chair. "doctor, i've had a flea in my ear sometimes, but this is a different proposition. ugh! please get this creature out _now_. it feels as big as a bat. ugh! it's crawling further in, hurry!" "maybe we'd better wait a minute and see if it won't be like some other things, in at one ear and out at the other." "o, hurry, it'll get so far in you can't reach it." "turn more to the light," commanded the doctor, and in a few seconds he held up the offending insect. "o, you only got a little of it!" "i got it all." "well, it certainly felt a million times bigger than that," and she departed radiantly happy. chapter iv. one day in early spring the doctor surprised his wife by asking her if she would like to take a drive. "in march? the roads are not passable yet, surely." but the doctor assured her that the roads were getting pretty good except in spots. "i have such a long journey ahead of me today that i want you to ride out as far as centerville and i can pick you up as i come back." "that's seven or eight miles. i'll go. i can stop at dr. parkin's and chat with mrs. parkin till you come." accordingly a few minutes later the doctor and mary were speeding along through the town which they soon left far behind them. about two miles out they saw a buggy down the road ahead of them which seemed to be at a stand-still. when they drew near they found a woman at the horses' heads with a broken strap in her hand. she was gazing helplessly at the buggy which stood hub-deep in mud. she recognized the doctor and called out, "dr. blank, if ever i needed a doctor in my life, it's now." "stuck fast, eh?" the doctor handed the reins to his wife and got out. "i see--a broken single-tree. well, i always unload when i get stuck, so the first thing we do we'll take this big lummox out of here," he said picking his way to the buggy. the lummox rose to her feet with a broad grin and permitted herself to be taken out. she was a fat girl about fourteen years old. "my! i'll bet she weighs three hundred pounds," observed the doctor when she was landed, which was immediately resented. then he took the hitching-rein and tied the tug to the broken end of the single-tree; after which he went to the horses' heads and commanded them to "come on." they started and the next instant the vehicle was on terra firma. mother and daughter gave the doctor warm thanks and each buggy went its separate way. mary was looking about her. "the elms have a faint suspicion that spring is coming; the willows only are quite sure of it," she said, noting their tender greenth which formed a soft blur of color, the only color in all the gray landscape. no, there is a swift dash of blue, for a jay has settled down on the top of a rail just at our travelers' right. soon they were crossing a long and high bridge spanning a creek which only a week before had been a raging torrent; the drift, caught and held by the trunks of the trees, and the weeds and grasses all bending in one direction, told the story. but the waters had subsided and now lay in deep, placid pools. "stop, john, quick!" commanded mary when they were about half way across. the doctor obeyed wondering what could be the matter. he looked at his wife, who was gazing down into the pool beneath. "i suppose i'm to stop while you count all the fish you can see." "i was looking at that lovely concave sky down there. see those two white clouds floating so serenely across the blue far, far below the tip-tops of the elm trees." the doctor drove relentlessly on. "another mudhole," said mary after a while, "but this time the travelers tremble on the brink and fear to launch away." when they came up they found a little girl standing by the side of the horse holding up over its back a piece of the harness. she held it in a very aimless and helpless way. "see," said mary, "she doesn't know what to do a bit more than i should. i wonder if she can be alone." the doctor got out and went forward to help her and discovered a young man sitting cozily in the carriage. he glanced at him contemptuously. "your harness is broken, have you got a string?" he asked abruptly. "n-n-o, i haven't," said the youth feeling about his pockets. "take your shoe-string. if you haven't got one i'll give you mine," and he set his foot energetically on the hub of the wheel to unlace his shoe. "why, i've got one here, i guess," and the young man lifted a reluctant foot. the doctor saw and understood. the little sister was to fix the harness in order to save her brother's brand new shoes from the mud. "you'd better fix that harness yourself, my friend, and fix it strong," was the doctor's parting injunction as he climbed into the buggy and started on. "i don't like the looks of this slough of despond," said mary. the next minute the horses were floundering through it, tugging with might and main. now the wheels have sunk to the hubs and the horses are straining every muscle. "merciful heaven!" gasped mary. at last they were safely through, and the doctor looking back said, "that is the last great blot on our civilization--bad roads." after a while there came from across the prairie the ascending, interrogative _boo-oo-m_ of a prairie chicken not far distant, while from far away came the faint notes of another. and now a different note, soft, melodious and mournful is heard. "how far away do you think that dove is?" asked the doctor. "it sounds as if it might be half a mile." "it is right up here in this tree in the field." "is it," said mary, looking up. "yes, i see, it's as pretty and soft as its voice. but i'm getting sunburned, john. how hot a march day can get!" "only two more miles and good road all the way." a few minutes more and mary was set down at centerville, "i'll be back about sunset," announced her husband as he drove off. a very pleasant-faced woman answered the knock at the door. she had a shingle in her hand and several long strips of muslin over her arm. she smilingly explained that she didn't often meet people at the door with a shingle but that she was standing near the door when the knock came. mary, standing by the bed and removing hat and gloves, looked about her. "what are you doing with that shingle and all this cotton and stuff, mrs. parkin?" she asked. "haven't you ever made a splint?" "a splint? no indeed, i'm not equal to that." "that's what i'm doing now. there's a boy with a broken arm in the office in the next room." "oh, your husband has his office here at the house." "yes, and it's a nuisance sometimes, too, but one gets used to it." "i'll watch you and learn something new about the work of a doctor's wife." "you'll learn then to have a lot of pillow slips and sheets on hand. old or new, dr. parkin just tears them up when he gets in a hurry--it doesn't matter to him what goes." the doctor's wife put cotton over the whole length of the shingle and wound the strips of muslin around it; then taking a needle and thread she stitched it securely. mary sat in her chair watching the process with much interest. "you have made it thicker in some places than in others," she said. "yes; that is to fit the inequalities of the arm." mary looked at her admiringly. "you are something of an artist," she observed. just as mrs. parkin finished it her husband appeared in the doorway. "is it done?" he asked. "it's just finished." "may i see you put it on, doctor?" asked mary, rising and coming forward. "why, good afternoon, mrs. blank. i'm glad to see you out here. yes, come right in. how's the doctor?" "oh, he is well and happy--i think he expects to cut off a foot this afternoon." a boy with a frightened look on his face stood in the doctor's office with one sleeve rolled up. the doctor adjusted the fracture, then applied the splint while his wife held it steady until he had made it secure. when the splint was in place and the boy had gone a messenger came to tell the doctor he was wanted six miles away. about half an hour afterward a little black-eyed woman came in and said she wanted some more medicine like the last she took. "the doctor's gone," said mrs. parkin, "and will not be back for several hours." "well, you can get it for me, can't you?" "do you know the name of it?" "no, but i believe i could tell it if i saw it," said the patient, going to the doctor's shelves and looking closely at the bottles and phials with their contents of many colors. she took up a three-ounce bottle. "this is like the other bottle and i believe the medicine is just the same color. yes, i'm sure it is," she said, holding it up to the light. mary looked at her and then at mrs. parkin. "i wouldn't like to risk it," said the latter lady. "oh, i'm not afraid. i don't want to wait until the doctor comes and i know this must be like the other. it's exactly the same color." "my good woman," said mary, "you _certainly_ will not risk that. it might kill you." "no, mrs. dawson, you must either wait till the doctor comes or come again," said mrs. parkin. the patient grumbled a little about having to make an extra trip and took her leave. when the door had closed behind her mary asked the other doctor's wife if she often had patients like that. "oh, yes. people come here when the doctor is away and either want me to prescribe for them or to prescribe for themselves." "you don't do it, do you?" "sometimes i do, when i am perfectly sure what i am doing. having the office here in the house so many years i couldn't help learning a few things." "i wouldn't prescribe for anything or anybody. i'd be afraid of killing somebody." about an hour later mary, looking out of the window, saw a wagon stopping at the gate. it contained a man and a woman and two well-grown girls. "hello!" called the man. "people call you out instead of coming in. that is less trouble," observed mary. the doctor's wife went to the door. "is doc at home?" "no, he has gone to the country." "how soon will he be back?" "not before supper time, probably." the man whistled, then looked at his wife and the two girls. "well, sally," he said, "i guess we'd better git out and wait fur 'im." "w'y, pa, it'll be dark long before we git home, if we do." "i can't help that. i'm not agoin' to drive eight miles tomorry or next day nuther." "if ye'd 'a started two hour ago like i wanted ye to do, maybe doc'd 'a been here and we c'd 'a been purty nigh home by this time." "shet up! i told ye i wasn't done tradin' then." "it don't take _me_ all day to trade a few aigs for a jug o' m'lasses an' a plug o' terbacker." for answer the head of the house told his family to "jist roll out now." they rolled out and in a few minutes they had all rolled in. mrs. parkin made a heroic effort not to look inhospitable which made mary's heroic effort not to look amused still more heroic. when at last the afternoon was drawing to a close mary went out into the yard to rest. she wished john would come. hark! there is the ring of horses' hoofs down the quiet road. but these are white horses, john's are bays. she turns her head and looks into the west. out in the meadow a giant oak-tree stands between her and the setting sun. its upper branches are outlined against the grey cloud which belts the entire western horizon, while its lower branches are sharply etched against the yellow sky beneath the grey. what a calm, beautiful sky it was! she thought of some lines she had read more than once that morning ... a bit from george eliot's journal: "how lovely to look into that brilliant distance and see the ship on the horizon seeming to sail away from the cold and dim world behind it right into the golden glory! i have always that sort of feeling when i look at sunset. it always seems to me that there in the west lies a land of light and warmth and love." a carriage was now coming down the road at great speed. mary saw it was her husband and went in to put on her things. in a few minutes more she was in the buggy and they were bound for home. it was almost ten o'clock when they got there. the trip had been so hard on the horses that all the spirit was taken out of them. the doctor, too, was exceedingly tired. "forty-two miles is a long trip to make in an afternoon," he said. "i hope jack and maggie are not up so late." "it would be just like them to sit up till we came." the buggy stopped; the door flew open and jack and maggie stood framed in the doorway with the leaping yellow firelight for a background. chapter v. once in a while sympathy for a fellow mortal kept the doctor's wife an interested listener at the 'phone. going, one morning, to speak to a friend about some little matter she heard her husband say: "what is it, doctor?" a physician in a little town some ten or twelve miles distant, who had called dr. blank in consultation a few days before, was calling him. "i think our patient is doing very well, but her heart keeps getting a little faster." "how fast is it now?" "about ." "but the disease is pretty well advanced now--that doesn't mean as much as it would earlier. but you might push a little on the brandy, or the strychnine--how much brandy have you given her since i saw her?" "i have given her four ounces." "four ounces!" "yes." "four ounces in three days? i think you must mean four drachms." "_yes._ it _is_ drachms. four ounces _would_ be fixing things up. i've been giving her digitalis; what do you think about that?" "that's all right, but i think that strychnine would be a little better." "would you give her any aromatic spirits of ammonia?" "does she rattle?" "a little." "then you might give her a little of that. and keep the room open and stick right to her and she ought to get along. don't give her much to eat." "is milk all right?" "yes. you bet it is." "all right then, doctor, i believe that's all. good-bye." on another occasion, mary caught this fragment: "she's so everlastin' sore that she just hollers and yells every time i go near her. would you give her any more morphine?" "morphine's a thing you can't monkey with you know, doctor. you want to be mighty careful about that." "yes. i know. how long will that morphine last?" "that depends on how you use it. it won't last long if you use too much and neither will she." "i mean how long will it last in the system?" "o! why, three or four hours." "well, i think she don't need no more medicine." mary smiled at the double negative and when she laughingly spoke of it that night her husband assured her that that doctor's singleness of purpose more than offset his doubleness of negative. that he was a fine fellow and a good physician just the same. * * * * * one morning in march just as the doctor arose from the breakfast table he was called to the 'phone. "is this dr. blank?" "yes." "doctor, will it hurt the baby to bathe it every morning? i've been doing that but some of the folks around here say i oughtn't to do it; they say it isn't good for a baby to bathe it so often." the doctor answered solemnly, "the baby's fat and healthy isn't it?" "yes, sir." "and pretty?" "yes, _sir_." "likes to see its mamma?" "you _know_ it." "likes to see its papa?" "he does that!" said the young mother. "then ask me next fall if it will hurt to bathe the baby every morning." "all right, doctor," laughed the baby's mamma. "the fools are not all dead yet," said john, as he took his hat and departed. on the step he turned back and put his head in at the door. "keep an ear out, mary. i'm likely to be away from the office a good bit this morning." an hour later a call came. mary put the ear that was "out" to the receiver: "it's on north adams street." "all right. i'll be out there after awhile," said her husband's placid voice. "don't wait too long. he may die before you git here." "no, he won't. i'll be along pretty soon." "well, come just as quick as you can." "all right," and the listener knew that it might be along toward noon before he got there. about eleven o'clock the 'phone rang sharply. "is this dr. blank's house?" "yes." "is he there?" "i saw him pass here about twenty minutes ago. i'm sure he'll be back to the office in a little bit." "my land! i've been here three or four times. looks like i'd ketch him _some_ time." "you are at the office then? if you will sit down and wait just a little while, he will be in." "i come six miles to see him. i supposed of course he'd be in _some_ time," grumbled the voice (of course a woman's). "but when he is called to visit a patient he must go, you know," explained mary. "y-e-s," admitted the voice reluctantly. "well, i'll wait here a little while longer." ten minutes later mary rang the office. her husband replied. "how long have you been back, john?" "o, five or ten minutes." "did you find a woman waiting for you?" "no." "well, i assured her you'd be there in a few minutes and she said she'd wait." "do you know who she was?" "no. some one from the country. she said she came six miles to see you and she supposed you'd be in your office _some_ time, and that sometime was mightily emphatic." "o, yes, i know now. she'll be in again," laughed the doctor and mary felt relieved, for in the querulous tones of the disappointed woman she had read disapproval of the doctor and of herself too, as the partner not only of his joys and sorrows, but of his laggard gait as well. the people who wait for a doctor are not apt to consider that a good many more may be waiting for him also at that particular moment of time. chapter vi. one of the most discouraging things i have encountered is a great blank silence. the doctor asks his wife to keep a close watch on the telephone for a little while, and leaves the office. pretty soon it rings and she goes to answer it. "hello?" silence. "what is it?" more silence. she knows that "unseen hands or spirits" did not ring that bell. she knows perfectly well that there is a listening ear at the other end of the line. but you cannot converse with silence any more than you can speak to a man you meet on the street if he purposely looks the other way. mary knew that the listening ear belonged to someone who recognized that it was the wife who answered instead of the doctor, and therefore kept silent. she smiled and hung up the receiver--sorry not to be able to help her husband and to give the needed information to the patient. but when this had happened several times she thought of a more satisfactory way of dealing with the situation. she would take down the receiver and ask, "what is it?" she would wait a perceptible instant and then say distinctly and pleasantly, "doctor blank will be out of the office for about twenty minutes. he asked me to tell you." that never failed to bring an answer, a hasty, shame-voiced, "oh, i--well--thank you, mrs. blank, i'll call again, then." * * * * * the doctor's absence from town has its telephonic puzzles. one day during dr. blank's absence his wife was called to the 'phone. "mrs. blank, a telegram has just come for the doctor. what must i do with it?" it was the man at the office who put the question. "do you know what it is, or where it's from?" "i asked the operator and he says it's from mr. slocum, who is in cincinnati. he telegraphed the doctor to go and see his wife who is sick." "well, take it over to dr. brown's office and ask him to go and see her." about half an hour later the thought of the telegram came into her mind. "i wonder if he found dr. brown in. i'd better find out." she rang the office. "did you find dr. brown in?" "yes, he was there." "and you gave the message to him?" "yes, he took it." "i hope he went right down?" "no, he said he wouldn't go." "wouldn't go!" exclaimed mary, much astonished. "he said he knew slocum and he was in all probability drunk when he sent the message." "why, what a queer conclusion to arrive at. the doctor may be right but i think we ought to know." "i called up their house after i came back from dr. brown's office, but nobody answered. so she can't be very sick or she'd be at home." mary put up the receiver hesitatingly. she was not satisfied about this matter. she went about her work, but her thoughts were on the message and the sick wife. suddenly she thought of something--the slocum children were in school. the mother had not been able to get to the 'phone to answer it. the thought of her lying there alone and helpless was too much. mary went swiftly to the telephone and called the office. "johnson, you have to pass mrs. slocum's on your way to dinner. i think she may have been too ill to go to the 'phone. please stop and find out something definite." "all right." "and let me know as soon as you can. if she isn't sick don't tell her anything about the telegram. think up some excuse as you go along for coming in, in case all is well." in about twenty minutes the expected summons came. "well, i stopped, mrs. blank." "what did you find?" "well, i found a hatchet close to slocum's gate." "how lucky!" "i took it in to ask if it was theirs." "was it?" "no, it wasn't." "who told you so?" "mrs. slocum, herself, and she's about the healthiest looking invalid i've seen lately." "i'm much relieved. thank you, johnson." and as she left the 'phone she meditated within herself, "verily, the tender thoughtfulness of the husband drunk exceedeth that of the husband sober." when night came and mary was preparing for bed she thought, "it will be very unpleasant to be called up only to tell people the doctor is not here." she rose, went to the 'phone and called central. "this is mrs. blank, central. if anyone should want the doctor tonight, or for the next two nights, please say he is out of town and will not be home until saturday." then with a delicious sense of freedom she went to bed and slept as sweetly as in the long-ago when the telephone was a thing undreamed of. * * * * * the ting-a-ling-ling-ling--came as mary was pouring boiling water into the teapot, just before six on a cool july evening. the maid was temporarily absent and mary had been getting supper in a very leisurely way when she saw her husband step up on the porch. then her leisure was exchanged for hurry. the doctor's appearance before meal time was the signal to which she responded automatically--he had to catch a train--someone must have him right away, or what not? she must not keep him waiting a minute. she pushed the teapot back on the stove and went swiftly to the 'phone. "is this dr. blank's office?" asked a disturbed feminine voice. "no, his residence. he is here. wait a minute, please, and i will call him." she hurried out to the porch, "isn't papa here?" she asked of her small boy sitting there. "he _was_." "well, where is he now?" "i don't know where he is." provoking! she hurried back. he must be in the garden. an occasional impulse to hoe sometimes came over him (especially if the day happened to be sunday). in the kitchen her daughter stood at a table cutting the bread for supper. "go quick, and see if papa's in the garden. tell him to come to the 'phone at once." then she hurried back to re-assure the waiting one. but what could she tell her? perhaps the doctor was not in the garden. she rushed out and beat her daughter in the race toward it. she sent her voice ahead, "john!" she called. "yes." "come to the 'phone this minute." back she ran. would she still be waiting? "hello." "hello." "yes, the doctor's here. he's in the garden but will be in in just a minute. hold the 'phone please." "very well, thank you." it was a minute and a half before the doctor got there. "hello." no answer. "hello!" silence. "_hello!_" still no reply. the doctor rang sharply for central. "who was calling me a minute ago." "i don't know--we can't keep track of everybody who calls." the doctor hung up the receiver with an explosive monosyllable. mary's patience was giving out too. "she couldn't wait one half minute. i told her you would be here in a minute and it took you a minute and a half." "she may be waiting at the office, i'll go down there." "i wouldn't do it," said mary, warmly. "it's much easier for her to stay a half minute at the 'phone than for you to tramp back to the office." but he went. as his wife went back to the kitchen her daughter called, "mother, did you take the loaf of bread in there with you?" "why, no." "well, it's not on the table where i was cutting it when you sent me after father." "it's on the floor!" shouted the small boy, peering through the window. "_i_ won't eat any of it!" "don't, exquisite child," said his sister, stooping over to recover the loaf, dropped in her haste. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. mary went. "isn't the doctor coming?" "he came. he called repeatedly, but got no reply." "i was right here with my ear to the 'phone the whole time." "he concluded it might be someone waiting for him at the office, so he has gone down there." "i'm not there. i'm here at home." "hello," broke in the doctor's voice. "o, here you are!" "doctor, i've been taking calomel today and then i took some salts and i thoughtlessly dissolved them in some lemonade i had handy!" a solemn voice asked, "have you made your will?" a little giggle before the patient said "no." "you'll have plenty of time. you needn't hurry about it." "you don't think it will hurt me then?" "no. not a bit." "i was afraid the acid might salivate me." "yes, that's an old and popular idea. but it won't." "that sounds good, doctor. i was awfully scared. much obliged. good-bye." * * * * * a week or two after the above incident the doctor was seated at his dinner, a leisurely sunday dinner. the telephone called and he rose and went to it. the usual hush fell upon the table in order that he might hear. "is this dr. blank?" "yes." "well, doctor, this is mrs. abner. would it be too much trouble for you to step into hall's and ask them to send me up a quart of ice-cream for dinner?" "certainly not. a quart?" "yes, please. i'm sorry to bother you with it. they ought to have a 'phone." "no trouble." the doctor hung up the receiver and reached for his hat. "why, john, you surely can finish your dinner before you go!" exclaimed mary. "then i'd spoil mrs. abner's dinner." "mrs. abner!" "yes, she wants a quart of ice-cream for dinner." "i'd like to know what _you've_ got to do with it," said mary tartly. "she thinks i'm at the office." "and the office is next door to hall's and hall's have no 'phone," said mary smiling. "of course you must go. wouldn't mrs. abner feel mortified though if she knew you had to leave your home in the midst of dinner to order her ice-cream. but do hurry back, john." "maybe i'd better stay there till the dinner hour is well over," laughed john. "every now and then someone wants me to step into hall's and order up something." he went good-naturedly away and his wife looked after him marveling, but withal admiring. * * * * * the doctor and his wife had been slumbering peacefully for an hour or two. then came a loud ring and they were wide awake at once. "that wasn't the telephone, john, it was the door-bell." the doctor got into his dressing-gown and went to the door. his wife heard a man's voice, then her husband reply, then the door shut. she lay back on her pillow but it was evident john was not coming back. she must have dozed, for it seemed to her a long time had gone by when she started to hear a noise in the other room. john had not yet got off. "you have to go some place, do you?" she called. "yes,--just a little way. look out for the 'phone, mary. i think i'll have to go down to hanson's tonight, to meet the stork." "but how can i get word to you? they have no 'phone or that man wouldn't have come after you." "well, i have promised hanson and i'll have to go there. if he 'phones before i get back tell him he'll have to come down to stetson's after me. or, you might wake one of the boys and send him over." "i'd rather try to wake rip van winkle," said mary, in a tone that settled it. in about an hour the doctor was back and snuggling down under the covers. "they've got a fine boy over to stetson's," he announced to his sleepy wife. "they have!" she exclaimed, almost getting awake. again they slept. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. "that's hanson," exclaimed the doctor springing up and groping his way to the 'phone. "yes." "out where?" "smith's on parks avenue?.... _not_ smith's?.... i understand--a little house farther down that street..... yes, i'll come..... o, as soon as i can dress and get there." mary heard, but when he had gone, was soon in a deep sleep. by and by she found herself flinging off the covers and hurrying guiltily toward the summoning tyrant, her subconscious self telling her that this was the third peal. "hello." "is the doctor there, mrs. blank?" "no, he is over at stetson's. he said if you 'phoned to tell you you would have to come there as they have no 'phone." "wait a minute, mrs. blank," said the voice of central, "some one is trying to speak--" "what have i said!" thought mary suddenly, thoroughly awake. "he got back from stetson's and went to another place. but i don't know what place nor where it is." the kindly voice of central went on: "it's the doctor who is talking, mrs. blank. i understand now. he says if that message comes you are to 'phone him at james smith's on parks avenue." mary looked at the clock. "so he's been there all this time. that stork is a little too busy tonight," she thought as she went shivering back to bed. toward daylight she was roused by the return of her husband, who announced a new daughter in the world and then they went to sleep. the next morning she said, "john, i've just thought of something. why didn't you have central 'phone you at smith's if hanson called and save me all that bother?" "i guess it's because i'm so used to bothering you mary, that i didn't think of it." * * * * * mary was upstairs cleaning house most vigorously when the ring came. she stopped and listened. it came again--three. she set the dust pan down and went. "i'll have to be out for an hour or more, mary," said the doctor. "i heard that sigh," he laughed, "but it won't be very hard to sort of keep an ear on the 'phone, will it? johnson may get in soon and then it won't be necessary." "very well, then, john," and she went upstairs, leaving the doors open behind her. she had just reached the top when she had to turn about and retrace her steps. "hello." no answer. "is someone calling dr. blank's house or office?" "i rang your 'phone by mistake," said central. mary trudged up the stairs again. "this is more tiresome than cleaning house," she said to herself as she went along. in twenty minutes the summons came. she leaned her broom against the wall and went down. "o, this is mrs. blank. i'm very sorry to have put you to this trouble--i wanted the doctor." she recognized the voice of her old pastor for whom she had a most kindly regard. "he is out, but will be back within half an hour now, mr. rutledge." "thank you, i'll call again, but i wonder that you knew my voice." mary laughed. "i haven't heard it for awhile, but maybe i'll be at church next sunday, if minding the telephone doesn't make me feel too wicked." "it's the wicked that church is for--come by all means." "i didn't mean to detain you, mr. rutledge. it is restful, though, after dragging one's weary feet down to the 'phone to hear something beside all the ills that flesh is heir to. come to see us soon--one day next week." once more she wended her way upstairs and in about fifteen minutes came the ting-a-ling-a-ling-a-ling. "i surrender!" she declared. when she had gone down and put the receiver to her ear her husband's voice spoke kindly, "i'm back, mary, you're released." "thank you, john, you are very thoughtful," and she smiled as she took off her sun-bonnet and sat herself down. "not another time will i climb those stairs this morning." * * * * * mary sat one evening dreamily thinking about them--these messages that came every day, every day! doctor, will it hurt jennie to eat some tomatoes this morning--she craves them so? will is a great deal better. can he have some ice-cream for dinner? i can hardly manage henry any longer, doctor, he's determined he _will_ have more to eat. can i begin giving him a little more today? lemonade won't hurt helen, will it? she wants some. doctor, i forget how many drops of that clear medicine i am to give..... ten, you say? thank you. dr. blank, is it after meals or before that the dark medicine is to be given..... i thought so, but i wanted to be sure. we are out of those powders you left. do you think we will need any more?.... then i'll send down for them. how long will you be in the office this morning, doctor?...... very well, i'll be down in about an hour. i want you to see my throat. you wanted me to let you know how johnny is this morning. i don't think he has any fever now and he slept all night, so i guess you won't need to come down today. dr. blank, i've got something coming on my finger. do you suppose it's a felon?.... you can tell better when you see it?.... well, i suppose you can. i'll be down at the office pretty soon and then i want you to tell me it's _not_ a felon. mary seems a good deal better this morning, but she still has that pain in her side. doctor, i don't believe joe is as well as he was last night. i think you had better come down. as these old, old stories came leisurely into mary's thoughts the telephone rang three times. she rose from her chair before the fire and went to answer it. "is this dr. blank's office?" "no, his residence." "is the doctor there?" "no, but he will be down on the seven o'clock train." "and it's now not quite six. this is mr. andrews." mary knew the name and the man. "my wife is sick and i want to get a pint of alcohol for her." "an old subterfuge," thought mary, "i'm afraid he wants it for himself." she knew that he was often under its influence. "i can't get it without a prescription from a physician, you know. she needs it right away." "the thirst is on him," thought our listener, pityingly. the voice went on, "mrs. blank, couldn't you just speak to the druggist about it so i could get it right away?" "mr. andrews," she said hastily, "the druggist would pay no attention to me. i'm not a physician, you know. the doctor will be here in an hour--see him," and she hurried the receiver into its place, anxious to get away from it. this was a story that was entirely new to her. never before had she been asked to procure a prescription for alcohol or any of its attendant spirits. she liked the old stories best. * * * * * the doctor had been to the city and had got home at four o'clock in the morning. he had had to change cars in the night and consequently had had little sleep. when the door-bell rang his wife awakened instantly at the expected summons and rose to admit him. in a little while both were fast asleep. the wife, about a half hour later, found herself struggling to speak to somebody about something, she did not know what. but when the second long peal came from the 'phone she was fully awakened. how she hated to rouse the slumberer at her side. "john," she called softly. he did not move. "john!" a little louder. he stirred slightly, but slept on. "john, _john_!" "huh-h?" "the telephone." he threw back the covers, and rising, stumbled to the 'phone. "hello." the voice of a little boy came to his half-awakened ear. "_say_, pa, _i_ can't sell these papers an' git through in time fer school." "yes, you _can_!" roared a voice. "you jist want to fool around." the doctor went back to bed. "wasn't the message for you?" inquired his wife. "what a shame to rouse you from your sleep for nothing." the doctor told her what the message was and was back in slumberland in an incredibly short space of time. not so his wife. she was too thoroughly awake at last and dawn was beginning to peep around the edges of the window shades. she would not court slumber now but would lie awake with her own thoughts which were very pleasant thoughts this morning. by and by she rose softly, dressed and went out onto the veranda and looked long into the reddening eastern sky. ever since she could remember she had felt this keen delight at the aspect of the sky in the very early morning. she stood for awhile, drinking in the beauty and the peacefulness of it all. then she went in to her awakening household, glad that the little boy had 'phoned his "pa" and by some means had got her too. * * * * * one midsummer night a tiny ringing came faintly and pleasantly into mary's dreams. not till it came the second or third time did she awaken to what it was. then she sat up in bed calling her husband, who had just awakened too and sprung out of bed. dazed, he stumbled about and could not find his way. with mary's help he got his bearings and the next minute his thunderous "hello" greeted her ears. "yes." "worse tonight? in what way?" an instant's silence. "mrs. brownson?" silence. "mrs. brownson!" silence. "damn that woman! she's rung off." "well, don't swear into the 'phone, john. it's against the rules. besides, she might hear you." the doctor was growling his way to his clothes. "i suppose i've got to go down there," was all the answer he made. when he was dressed and the screen had banged behind him after the manner of screens, mary settled herself to sleep which came very soon. but she was soon routed out of it. she went to the 'phone, expecting to hear a querulous woman's voice asking, "has the doctor started yet?" and her lips were framing the old and satisfactory reply, "yes, he must be nearly there now," when a man's voice asked, "is this dr. blank's residence?" "yes." "is the doctor there?" "no, but he will be back in about twenty minutes." "will you please tell him to come to j. h. twitchell's?" "yes, i'll send him right down." "thank you." she went back to her bed room then, turning, retraced her steps. the doctor could come home by way of twitchell's as their home was not a great distance from the brownson's. she rang the brownson's and after a little while a voice answered. "is this mrs. brownson?" "yes." "may i speak to dr. blank. i think he must be there now." "he's been here. he's gone home." mary knew by the voice that its owner had not enjoyed getting out of bed. "i wonder how she would like to be in my place," she thought, smiling. she dared not trust herself to her pillow. she might fall asleep and not waken when her husband came in. she wondered what time it was. up there on the wall the clock was ticking serenely away--she had only to turn the button beside her to find out. but she did not turn it. in the sweet security of the dark she felt safe. in one brief flash of light some prowling burglar might discover her. she sat down by the open window and looked up into the starlit sky. they were out tonight in countless numbers. over there toward the northwest, lying along the tops of the trees was the great dipper. wasn't it? surely that particular curve in the handle was not to be found in any other constellation. she tried to see the dipper itself but a cherry tree near her window blotted it out. bend and peer as she might the branches intervened. it was tantalizing. she rose irresolute. should she step out doors where the cherry tree would not be in the way? not for a thousand dippers! she walked to another window. that view shut even the handle out. she looked for the pleiades. they were not in the section of sky visible from the window where she stood. she turned and listened. did she hear footsteps down the walk? she ought to be hearing her husband's by this time. he could not be walking at his usual gait. there he came! she went to the door looked through the screen and halted him as he drew near the steps. "john, you'll have to take another trip. mr. twitchell has 'phoned for you." he turned and was soon out of sight. "now! i can go to bed with a clear conscience," and mary sought her pillow. but she had better stay awake until he had time to get there lest mr. twitchell should 'phone again. in five or ten minutes the danger would be over. she waited. at last she closed her eyes to sleep. but what would be the use? in twenty minutes more her husband would come in and rouse her out of it. she had better just keep awake till he got back. and the next thing mary heard was a snore. she opened her eyes to find it was broad daylight and her husband was sleeping soundly beside her. chapter vii. one afternoon in june mary went into her husband's office. "has _the record_ come?" she asked. "yes, it's on the table in the next room." she went into the adjoining room and seated herself by the table. taking up _the record_, she turned to the editorial page, but before she could begin reading she heard a voice in the office say, "how do you do, doctor?" "how do you do, mr. jenkins. take a seat." "no, i guess i'll not sit down. i just wanted to get--a prescription." "the baby's better, isn't it?" "oh, the baby's all right, but i want a prescription for myself." "what sort of prescription?" "i have to take a long ride in the morning, driving cattle, and i want a prescription for a pint of whiskey." mary listened for her husband's reply. it came. "jenkins, i have taken many a long ride through dust and heat, through rain and snow and storm, and i never yet have had to take any whiskey along." "well, i have a little trouble with my heart and--" "the trouble's in your head. if you'd throw away that infernal pipe--" "oh, it's no use to lecture me on that any more." "very well, your tobacco may be worth more to you than your heart." "well, will you give me that prescription?" "certainly i won't. you don't need whiskey and you'll not get it from me." "go to h-ll!" "all right, i'll meet _you_ there." at which warm farewell between these two good friends, mary leaned back in her chair and laughed silently. then she mused: "people will not be saved from themselves. if only they would be, how much less of sin and sickness and sorrow there would be in the world." presently the doctor came in. "i have a trip to make tonight, mary. how would you like a star-light drive?" mary said she would like it very much indeed. accordingly, at sunset the doctor drove up and soon they were out in the open country. chatting of many things they drove along and by and by mary's eyes were attracted to a beautiful castle up in the clouds in the west, on a great golden rock jutting out into the blue. far below was a grand woman's form in yellow floating robes. she stood with face upturned and arms extended in an attitude of sorrow as if she had been banished from her father's house. there comes the father now. slowly, majestically, an old man with flowing beard of gold moves toward the edge of the great rock. now he has reached it. he bends his head and looks below. the attitude of the majestic woman has changed to that of supplication. and now the father stretches down forgiving arms and the queenly daughter bows her head against the mighty wall and weeps in gladness. now castle and rock, father and daughter slowly interchange places and vanish from her sight. the gold turns to crimson, then fades to gray. just before her up there in the clouds is a huge lion, couchant. see! he is going to spring across the pale blue chasm to the opposite bank. if he fails he will come right down into the road--"oh!" "what is it?" asked the doctor, looking around, and mary told him with a rather foolish smile. the twilight deepened into dusk and the notes of a whippoorwill came to them from a distance. "you and i must have nothing but sweet thoughts right now, john, because then we'll get to keep them for a year." she quoted: "'tis said that whatever sweet feeling may be throbbing within the fond heart, when listening to a whippoorwill s-pieling, for a twelvemonth will never depart." "spieling doesn't seem specially in the whippoorwill's line." "it's _exactly_ in his line. years ago when i was a little girl he proved it. one evening at dusk i was sitting in an arbor when he, not suspecting my presence, alighted within a few feet of me and began his song. it was wonderfully interesting to watch his little throat puff and puff with the notes as they poured forth, but the thing that astounded me was the length of time he sang without ever pausing for breath. and so he is a genuine spieler. i will add, however, that the line is 'when listening to a whippoorwill _singing_.' but my literary conscience will never let me rhyme _singing_ with _feeling_, hence the sudden change." "now i'll speak _my_ piece," announced the doctor: "de frogs in de pon' am a singin' all de night; wid de hallelujah campmeetin' tune; an' dey all seem to try wid deir heart, soul and might to tell us ob de comin' of de june." "_aren't_ they having a hallelujah chorus over in that meadow, though!" darkness settled over the earth. the willow trees, skirting the road for a little distance, lifted themselves in ghostly tracery against the starlit sky. a soft breeze stirred their branches like the breath of a gentle spirit abiding there. they passed a cozy farmhouse nestled down among tall trees. through the open door they could see a little white-robed figure being carried to bed in its father's arms, while the mother crooned a lullaby over the cradle near. for a long time they drove in silence. mary knew that her husband was in deep thought. of what was he thinking? the pretty home scene in the farm house had sent him into a reverie. he went back five or six years to a bright spring day. he was sitting alone in his office when an old man, a much respected farmer, came in slowly, closed the door behind him and sat down. the doctor who knew him quite well saw that he was troubled and asked if there was anything he could do for him. the old man leaned his head on his hand but did not reply. it seemed that no words would come in which to tell his errand. puzzled and sympathetic the doctor sat silent and waited. in a little while the farmer drew his chair very near to that of the doctor's and said in a low voice, "doctor, i'm in deep trouble. i come to you because you are one of my best friends. you have a chance to prove it now such as you never had before in all the years you've been our doctor." "tell me your trouble and if i can help you, i will certainly do so." "it's mary. she's gone wrong, and the disgrace will kill her mother if she finds it out." for an instant the doctor did not speak; then he asked, "are you sure that this is true?" "yes. she came to me last night and nestled down in my arms, just as she's done every night since she was a baby. she cried like her heart would break and then she said, 'father, i _must_ tell you, but don't tell mother'; and then she told me." the old man, white and trembling, looked beseechingly at the doctor. "doctor, this must not be. you must stop it before there is any breath of scandal. oh, for a minute last night i wanted to kill her." the doctor's face was stern. "if you had killed her your crime would have been far less hellish than the one you ask me to commit." the old man bowed his head upon his hands. "you will not help me," he groaned. the doctor rose and walked the floor. "no, sir," he said, "i will not stain my soul with murder for you or any other man." he went to the window and stood looking out upon the street below. presently he said, "mr. stirling, will you come here a minute?" the old man rose and went. "do you see that little boy skipping along down there?" "yes, i see him." "if i should go down these stairs, seize him and dash his brains out against that building, what would you think of me?" "i'd think you were a devil." "yet he would have a chance for his life. he could cry out, or the passersby might see me and interpose, while that you ask me to destroy is--" "there's one thing i'll do," said the old man fiercely. "i'll kill ben morely before this day is over!" he seized his hat and started toward the door. "wait a minute!" said the doctor quickly. "it's ben morely is it? i know him. i would not have thought him capable of this." "he's been coming to see mary steady for more than a year and they were to have been married three months ago but they quarreled and mary told me last night that he was going away the last of this week. she is as good and sweet a girl as ever lived. she never kept company with anybody else and she thought the world of him. the damned villain has got around her with his honey words and now he proposes to leave her to face it alone. but i'll kill him as sure as the sun shines." "sit down," said the doctor, laying a hand on the excited man's arm and forcing him into a chair. "let me tell you what to do. young morely's father is a good and sensible man and will take the right view of it. go straight to him and tell him all about it and my word for it, he will see that they are married right away. he is able to help them along and will make it to his son's advantage to stay here rather than go away. he will advise him right. have no fear." the old man wrung the doctor's hand in silence and went out. several days later the doctor was looking over the papers published in the town and read in the list of marriage licenses the names, "benjamin morely, aged twenty-four, mary stirling, aged eighteen." and that is why the scene in the farmhouse this summer night had sent him back into the past, for it was the home of benjamin and mary morely, and it was a happy home. these two lives had come together and flowed on in such harmony and helpfulness and rectitude before the world that the stain had been wiped out. for a merciless world can be merciful sometimes if it will only stop to remember that long ago a compassionate voice said, go and sin no more. the doctor's reverie came to an end for he had reached his destination--a large white house standing very close to the road. "don't talk to me while you are hitching the horse," mary whispered, "then they won't know there is anyone with you. i don't want to go in--i want to see the moon come up." the doctor took his case and went inside. mary sat in the buggy and listened. the neighing of a horse far down the road and the barking of a dog in the distance were the only sounds she heard. how still and cool it was after the heat of the day. a wandering breeze brought the sweet perfume of dewy clover fields. she looked across the intervening knoll to the east. the tree that crowned its summit stood outlined against the brightening sky. she was sitting very near the open kitchen window and now saw the family taking their places around the supper table. she felt a little uncomfortable and as if she were trespassing on their privacy. but they did not know of her proximity and she could only sit still in the friendly cover of the darkness. how good the ham smelled and the potatoes and the coffee. a pretty home-scene! the father at the head of the table, the mother opposite with four sturdy boys between them, two on each side. the father looked around the board. stillness settled down upon them, and then he bowed his head. the mother, too, bowed her head. the boys looked down. "our heavenly father, we thank thee for these evening blessings--" the boys looked up and four forks started simultaneously for the meat platter. every fork impaled its slice. mary gasped. she crammed her handkerchief into her mouth to shut off the laughter that almost shouted itself before she could stop it. the oldest boy, a burly fellow of fifteen, looked astonished and then sheepish. the other three looked defiance at him. each sat erect in perfect silence and held his slice to the platter with a firm hand. mary, almost suffocating with laughter which _must_ be suppressed, watched anxiously for the denouement. the blessing went on. the boys evidently knew all its stages. as it advanced there was a tightening of the tension and at the welcome "amen" there was a grand rake-off. at the commotion of the sudden swipe the father and mother looked up in amazement. "boys, boys! what do you mean!" exclaimed the mother. "we got even with mr. jake that time." it was the second boy who spoke. "we got _ahead_ of him," said the third. "he didn't get the biggest piece this time." "no, _i_ got it myself," said the fourth. "well, i'm scandalized," said the mother, looking across the table at her husband. "well, mother, i'll tell you how it was," said the second boy. "last night i looked up before father was through with the blessing and i saw jake with his fork in the biggest piece of ham. you and father didn't notice and so he was _it_. i'll bet he's been at it a good while, too." "i've not, either," said the accused. "i told bob and jim about it and we concluded _we'd_ take a hand in it tonight." "well, let this be the last of it," said the father with mild sternness. "we'll try to have ham enough for all of you without sneaking it. if not, jacob can have his mother's share and mine." the trio of boys grinned triumphantly at the discomfited jake, then, the little flurry over, all fell to eating with a will. the doctor's voice came to mary from the room of the patient. "you're worth a dozen dead women yet," it said. then a high pitched woman's voice, "i'll tell you what mary ann says she thinks about it." "has she been here today?" if mary ann had been there the unfavorable condition of the patient was explained. "yes, she just went away. she says she believes you're just keepin' ellen down so you can get a big bill out of her." the doctor was fixing up powders and went placidly on till he got through, then he said "mary ann has a better opinion of me than i thought she had. it takes a mighty good doctor to do that. that's a very old song but there are a few people in the world that like to sing it yet. they don't know that there isn't a doctor in the world that knows enough to do a thing like that even if he wanted to. nature would beat him every time if they gave her a chance." mary heard the doctor give his instructions and then he came out. as they drove off she asked, "you came pretty near catching a tartar, didn't you?" "oh, that one is all right. it's her sister that's always raising the devil." "look! isn't she lovely, john?" "isn't who lovely?" asked the doctor, looking back at the house in some surprise. "the gentle shepherdess of night," mary answered, her eyes on the moon just rising over the distant treetops. "she's getting ready to 'lead her flocks through the fields of blue.'" "how very poetical we are." "only an echo from a little song i used to sing when i was a little girl." "get up, my steeds," urged the doctor, "we must be getting back"; and they sped swiftly homeward through the soft summer night. chapter viii. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. "hello." "is this the doctor's office?" "this is his residence." "pshaw! i wanted his _office_." "the doctor 'phoned me about ten minutes ago that he would be out for half an hour and asked me to answer the 'phone in his absence," mary explained, pleasantly. "oh," said the voice, somewhat mollified, "i'll just call him up when he gets back. you say he'll be back in half an hour?" "in about that time." she went back to her work, which happened to be upstairs this morning, leaving the doors ajar behind her that she might hear the 'phone. in two minutes she was summoned down. "what is it?" "is this the doctor's office?" "no, the residence." "i rang for the office, sorry to have troubled you, mrs. blank," said a man's voice. "we are connected and when the doctor is out he expects me to be bell-boy," said mary, recognizing the voice. "i see. will you please tell the doctor when he comes that my little boy is sick this morning and i want him to come down. will he be back soon?" "in a few minutes, i think." she sat down by the fire. no use to go back upstairs till she had delivered the message. this was a pleasing contrast to the other; mr. owen had volunteered his message as if she really had a right to know and deliver it. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. mary felt reluctant to answer it--it sounded so like the first. and it was not the house call this time, but two rings which undeniably meant the office. but she must be true to the trust reposed in her. she went to the 'phone and softly taking down the receiver, listened; perhaps the doctor had got back and would answer it himself. fervently she hoped so. but there was only silence at her ear, and the ever present far-off clack of attenuated voices. the silence seemed to bristle. but there was nothing for our listener to do but thrust herself into it. "hello," she said, very gently. "o, i've got _you_ again, have i! i _know_ i rung the office this time, for i looked in the book to see. how does it happen i get the house?" ill temper was manifest in every word. "the office and residence are connected," explained mary, patiently, "and when the 'phone rings while the doctor is out, he asks me to answer it for him." "i don't see what good _that_ does." "it doesn't do any good when people do not care to leave a message," said mary quietly. "well, i'd ruther deliver my message to _him_." "certainly. and i would much rather you would. i can at least say about what time he expects to return." "you said awhile ago he'd be back in half an hour and he's not back _yet_." the doctor's wife knew that she was held responsible for the delay. she smiled and glanced at the clock. "it is just three minutes past the half hour," she said. "well, we're in an awful hurry for him. i'll ring agin d'reckly." in five minutes a ring came again. surely he would be there now, thought his wife, but she must go to the 'phone. she listened. silence. then the bell pealed sharply forth again. she decided to change her tactics and put the other woman on the defensive: "well!" she said impatiently, "i'm _very_ sorry to have to answer you again but--" "is the doctor there?" asked a sweet, new voice. "pardon me for interrupting you, but i'm very anxious." "he will be at the office in just a few minutes," mary answered, very gently indeed. she realized now that one cannot "monkey" with the telephone. "will you please tell him to come at once?" and she gave the street and number. "i shall send him at once." "thank you, good-bye." before mary could seat herself, the expected ring came in earnest. she answered it meekly. "o, good gracious! hain't he got there yet--?" "not yet," said mary, offering nothing further. "well, i've jist _got_ to have a doctor. i'll git some one else." the threat in the tone made our listener smile. "i think it would be a good thing to do," she said. a pause. then a voice with softening accents. "but i'd lots ruther have dr. blank." no reply. "are ye there yit, mrs. blank?" "yes. i am here." "he'll surely be back in a little bit now, won't he?" "i think so." "won't _you_ tell 'im to come down to sairey tucker's? i'm her sister and she's bad sick." "if you will tell me where you live i will send him." "he knows--he's been here." "very well," and she rang off. with three messages hanging over her head and her conscience, she could not go upstairs to her work. she must dawdle about at this or that 'till the doctor returned. after awhile she went to the 'phone and called the office. no reply. how she longed to deliver those messages. she dreaded any more calls from the waiting ones. she waited a few minutes then rang again. thank fortune! her husband's response is in her ear, the messages are delivered and she goes singing up the stairs. * * * * * ting-a-ling-ling-ling-ling-ling. it was the telephone on the doctor's office table and a tall young fellow was ringing it. when he got the number and asked, "is this you, fanny?" his face took on an expression good to see. it was fanny, and he settled back on one elbow and asked, "what you doing, fanny?" "nothing, just now. what _you_ doing?" "something a good deal better than that." "what is it?" "it's talking to _you_." "oh!" "is that all you have to say about it?" his voice was growing tender. "now, tom, don't go to making love to me over the 'phone." "how can i help it, sweetheart?" "where are you, anyway?" "i'm in dr. blank's office." "good gracious! is _he_ there? i'll ring off--good-bye." "wait! fanny--fanny!" fanny was waiting, but how could a mere man know that. he rang the number again with vehemence. "now, tom laurence, i want you to quit going into people's offices and talking to me this way." "don't you think my way is nicer than yours--huh?" the circumflexes were irresistible. "well, tell me, tom, is dr. blank there?" "no, honey. he's away in the back room busy with another patient. he can't hear." "_another_ patient? why, tom, you're not _sick_, are you--huh?" fanny's circumflexes were quite as circumflexible as tom's and a thrill went down the young giant's spine. "no, but i wish i was!" at this juncture the man who could not hear came in with a face as grave and non-committal as the sphinx, and the young man asked through the 'phone in brisk, cheery tones, "how are you this morning?" then added in a whisper, "he's here now." "is he? don't talk foolish then. why, i'm not very well." "what's the matter?" "i burned my eye." "burned your eye! confound it! how did you _do_ it?" "with a curling iron." "throw the darned thing away." he turned from the telephone and said, "doctor, a young lady has burned her eye. i want you to go out there right away." "where shall i go?" asked the grave doctor. "i guess you know," and he grinned. "all right. i'll go pretty soon." "don't be too long. charge it to me." "fanny," he said, turning back to the 'phone, but fanny had gone. and soon with a smile that had memories in it the doctor took his case and left the office, the young man at his side. * * * * * ting-a-ling-ling-ling-ling-ling. mary, from the living room, heard her husband's voice: "what is it?" "yes." "they won't? o, i suppose so if nobody else will. i'll be up there in a little bit." he muttered something, took his hat and went. when he came back, he said, "this time i had to help the dead." "to help the dead!" exclaimed mary. "yes. to help a dead woman into her coffin. everybody was afraid to touch her." "why?" "the report got out that she died of smallpox. i only saw her once and could not be sure, but to be on the safe side i insisted that every precaution be taken--hence the scare." "but how could you lift the body without help?" "oh, i managed it somehow. just the same i'd rather minister to the living," said john, to which mary gave vigorous assent. * * * * * "old mr. vintner has just been 'phoning for you in a most imperious way," announced mary as the doctor came in at the door. "yes, old skinflint! the maid at his house is very sick and he's so afraid they'll have to take care of her that he's determined to send her home when she can't go. she has pneumonia. she lives miles out in the country--" ting-a-ling-ling-ling-ling. "yes." "now see here, vintner. listen to me." "yes, i know. but a man's got to be _human_. i tell you you can't send her out in this cold. it's outrageous to--" "yes, i know all that, too. but it won't be long--the crisis will come in a day or two now and--" "damn it! listen. now stop that and listen. don't you attempt it! that girl will be to drag off if you do, i tell you--" "all right then. that sounds more like it," and he hung up the receiver. mary looked up. "you are not very elegant in your discourse at times, john, but i'm glad you beat," she said. * * * * * one evening the doctor came in and walked hurriedly into the dining-room. as he was passing the telephone it rang sharply in his ear. "what is it?" he asked, hastily putting up the receiver. an agitated voice said, "oh, doctor, i've just given my little girl a teaspoonful of carbolic acid! quick! what must i do!" "give her some whiskey at once; then a teaspoonful of mustard in hot water. i'll be right down," and turning he went swiftly out. when he came back an hour or two later he said: "the mother got the wrong bottle. a very few minutes would have done the work. the telephone saved the child's life. this is a glorious age in which we are living, mary." "and to think that some little children playing with tin cans with a string stretched between them, gave to the world its first telephone message." "yes, i've heard that. it may or may not be true. now let's have supper." "supper awaits mr. non-committal-here-as-ever," said mary as she laid her arm in her husband's and they went toward the dining-room together. * * * * * one evening the doctor and mary sat chatting with a neighbor who had dropped in. "i want to use your 'phone a minute, please," said a voice. "very well," said mary, and mrs. x. stepped in, nodded to the trio, walked to the telephone as one quite accustomed, and rang. "i want dr. brown's office," she said. in a minute came the hello. "is this dr. brown? my little boy is sick. i want you to come out to see him this evening. this is mrs. x. will you be right out?" "all right. good-bye." and she departed. the eyes of the visitor twinkled. "our neighbor hath need of two great blessings," she said, "a telephone and a sense of humor." mary laughed merrily, "o, we're so used to it we paid no attention," she said, "but i suppose it did strike you as rather funny." "it's a heap better than it used to be when we didn't have telephones," said the doctor, with the hearty laugh that had helped many a downcast man and woman to look on the bright side. "when i was a young fellow and first hung up my shingle it was a surprising thing--the number of people who could get along without me. i used to long for some poor fellow to put his head in at the door and say he needed me. at last one dark, rainy night came the quick, importunate knock of someone after a doctor. no mistaking that knock. i opened the door and an elderly woman who lived near me, asked breathlessly, 'mr. blank, will you do me a great favor?' 'certainly,' i answered promptly. 'my husband is very sick and i came to see if you would go down and ask dr. smithson to come and see him.' i swallowed my astonishment and wrath, put on my rubber coat and went for the doctor." "but she had the grace to come in next day," said mary, "and tell me in much confusion that she was greatly embarrassed and ashamed. it had not entered her head until that morning that my husband was a physician." "you see," put in the doctor, "she had not taken me seriously; in fact had not taken me at all." "tell us about the old man who had you come in to see if he needed a doctor," said mary. the doctor smiled, "_that_ was when i didn't count, too," he said. "this old fellow got sick one day and wanted to send for old dr. brown, but being of a thrifty turn of mind he didn't want to unless he had to. he knew me pretty well so he sent for me to come and see if he _needed_ a doctor. if i thought he did he'd send for brown. i chatted with him awhile and he felt better. next day he sent word to me again that he wished i'd stop as i went by and i did. this kept up several days and he got better and better, and finally got well _without_ any doctor, as he said." the visitor laughed, "you doctors could unfold many a tale--" "if the telephone would permit," said mary, as the doctor answered the old summons, took his hat and left. * * * * * "john," said mary one day, "i wish you would disconnect the house from the office." "no! you're a lot of help to me," protested the doctor. "well, i heard someone wrangling with central today because the house answered when it was the office that was wanted." she laughed. "i know there are people who fancy the doctor's wife enjoying to the utmost her 'sweet privilege' of answering the 'phone in her husband's absence. poor, innocent souls! if they could only know the deadly weariness of it all--but they can't." "why, i didn't know you felt quite that way about it, mary. i suppose i can disconnect it but--" "but you don't see how you can? never mind, then. we'll go on, and some sweet day you'll retire from practice. then hully-gee! won't i be free! you didn't choose the right sort of helpmeet, john. you surely could have selected one who would enjoy thrusting herself into the reluctant confidences of people far more than this one." "i'm resigned to my lot," laughed john, as he kissed his wife and departed. * * * * * ting-a-ling-ling-ling. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. "is this you, doctor?" "yes." "what am i ever to do with jane?" "keep her in bed! that's what to do with her." "well, i've got a mighty hard job. she's feeling so much better, she just _will_ get up." "keep her down for awhile yet." "well, maybe i can today, but i won't answer for tomorrow. she says she feels like she can jump over the house." "she can't, though." laughter. "i'll do the best i can, doctor, but that won't be much. keeping her in bed is easier said than done," and the doctor grinned a very ready assent as he hung up the receiver. * * * * * the doctor's family was seated at dinner. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. john rose, napkin in hand, and went while the clatter of knives and forks instantly ceased. "yes." "why didn't you do as i told you, yesterday?" "i _told_ you what to do." "well, did you put them in hot water?" "then do it. do it right away. have the water _hot_, now." he came back and went on with his dinner. mary admitted to herself a little curiosity as to what was to be put into hot water. in a few minutes the dinner was finished and the doctor was gone. "i bet i know what that was," spoke up the small boy. "what?" asked his sister. "diphtheria clothes. there's a family in town that's got the diphtheria." mary was relieved--not that there should be diphtheria in town, but that the answer for which her mind was vaguely groping had probably been found. * * * * * ting-a-ling-ling-ling. when the doctor had answered the summons he told mary he would have to go down to a little house at the edge of town about a mile away. when he came back an hour later he sat down before the fire with his wife. "i remember a night nineteen years ago when i was called to that house--a little boy was born. i used to see the little fellow occasionally as he grew up and pity him because he had no show at all. tonight i saw him, a great strapping fellow with a good position and no bad habits. he'll make it all right now." the doctor paused for a moment, then went on. "they didn't pay me then. i remember that. i mentioned it tonight in the young fellow's presence." "john, you surely didn't!" "yes, i did. his mother said she guessed jake could pay the bill himself." mary looked at this husband of hers with a quizzical smile. "doesn't it strike you that you are going pretty far back for your bill?" "there's no good reason why this boy should not pay the bill if he wants to." "no, i suppose not. but i don't believe he was so keen to get into the world as all that." "well, it wouldn't surprise me much if that young fellow should come into my office one of these days and offer to settle that old score now that he knows about it." "don't you take it if he does!" and mary left the room quite unconscious that her pronoun was without an antecedent. * * * * * ting-a-ling-ling-ling-ling-ling. "is this you, doctor?" "it is." "i expect you will have to come out to our house." "who is it?" "this is mary milton." "what's the matter out there, mrs. milton?" "polly's gone and hurt her shoulder. i guess she run it into the ground." "was she thrown from a horse or a vehicle?" "no." "then how could she run it into the ground?" "polly milton can run _everything_ into the ground!" and the tone was exasperation itself. "i come purty near havin' to send for you yesterday, but i managed to get 'er out." "out of _what_?" "the clothes-wringer. she caught her stomach fast between the rollers and nearly took a piece out of it. nobody wanted her to turn it but she would do it." "well, what has she done _today_?" asked the doctor, getting impatient. "i'm plum ashamed to tell ye. she was a-playin' leap-frog." "good! i'd like to play it myself once more." "i thought you'd be scandalized. some of the girls come over to see 'er and the first thing i knowed they was out in the yard playin' leap-frog like a passel o' boys." "that's good for 'em," announced the doctor. "it wasn't very good for polly." "the shoulder is probably dislocated. i'll be out in a little while and we'll soon fix it." "but a great big girl nearly fourteen years old oughtn't--" "she's all right. don't you scold her too much." he laughed as he hung up the receiver, then ordered his horse brought round and in a few minutes was on his way to the luckless maiden. * * * * * ting-a-ling-ling-ling--three rings. "is this dr. blank?" "yes." "can you come down to james curtis's right away?" "yes--i guess so. what's the matter?" james curtis stated the matter and the doctor put up the receiver, went to the door and looked out. "gee-mi-nee! it's as dark as a stack of black cats," he said. in a little while he was off. he had to go horseback and as the horse he usually rode was lame he took billy who was little more than a colt. before mary retired she went to the door and opened it. it was fearfully dark but john had said it was only a few miles. his faithful steed could find the way if he could not. john always got through somehow. with this comforting assurance she went to bed. by and by the 'phone was ringing and she was springing up and hastening to answer it. to the hurried inquiry she replied, "he is in the country." "how soon will he be back?" she looked at the clock. nearly three hours since he left home. "i expected him before this; he will surely be here soon." a message was left for him to come at once to a certain street and number, and mary went back to bed. but she could not sleep. soon she was at the 'phone again, asking central to give her the residence of james curtis. "hello." "is this mr. curtis?" "yes, ma'am." "is dr. blank there?" "he was, but he started home about an hour ago. he ought to be there by this time." "thank you," said mary, reassured. he would be home in a little bit then and she went back to her pillow. it was well she could not know that her husband was lost in the woods. the young horse, not well broken to the roads, had strayed from the beaten path. the doctor had first become aware of it when his hat was brushed off by low branches. he dismounted, and holding the bridle on one arm, got down on hands and knees and began feeling about with both hands in the blackness. it seemed a fruitless search, but at last he found it and put it securely on his head. he did not remount, but tried to find his way back into the path. after awhile the colt stopped suddenly. he urged it on. snap! a big something was hurled through the bushes and landed at the doctor's feet with a heavy thud. the pommel of the saddle had caught on a grape vine and the girths had snapped with the strain. john made a few remarks while he was picking it up and a few more while he was getting it on the back of the shying colt. but he finally landed it and managed to get it half-fastened. he stood still, not knowing which way to turn. a dog was barking somewhere--he would go in that direction. still keeping the bridle over his arm he spread his hands before him and slowly moved on. at last he stopped. he seemed to be getting no nearer to the dog. all at once, and not a great way off, he saw a fine sight. it was a lighted doorway with the figure of a man in it. he shouted lustily, "bring a lantern out here, my friend, if you please. i guess i'm lost." "all right," the man shouted back and in a few minutes the lantern was bobbing along among the trees. "why, doctor!" exclaimed james curtis, "have you been floundering around all this time in these woods so close to the house? why didn't you holler before?" "there didn't seem to be anything to 'holler' at. until that door opened i thought i was in the middle of these woods." "your wife just telephoned to know if you were at our house and i told her you started home an hour ago." "she'll be uneasy. put me into the main road, will you, and we'll make tracks for home." when he got there and had told mary about it, she vowed she would not let him go to the country again when the night was so pitch dark, realizing as she made it, the futility of her vow. then she told him of the message that had come in his absence and straightway sent him out again into the darkness. * * * * * it was midnight. the doctor was snoring so loudly that he had awakened mary. just in time. ting-a-ling-ling-ling-ling. by hard work she got him awake. he floundered out and along toward the little tyrant. he reached it. "hello. what is it?" "o! i got the wrong number." "damnation!" slumber again. after some time mary was awakened by her husband's voice asking, "what is it?" "it's time for george to take his medicine. we've been having a dispute about it. i said it was the powder he was to take at two o'clock and he said it was the medicine in the bottle. now he's mad and won't take either." "it was the powder. tell him i say for him to take it now." the answering voice sank to a whisper, but the words came very distinctly, "i'm afraid he won't do it--he's so stubborn. i wish it was the bottle medicine because i believe he would take that." the doctor chuckled. "give him that," he said. "it won't make a great deal of difference in this case, and thinking he was in the right will do him more good than the powder. good night and report in the morning." the report in the morning was that george was better! * * * * * it was a lovely sabbath in may. the doctor's wife had been out on the veranda, looking about her. everywhere was bloom and beauty, fragrance and song. long she sat in silent contemplation of the scene. at last a drowsiness stole over her and she went in and settled herself for a doze in the big easy chair. soon a tinkling fell upon her drowsy ear. "oh! that must have been the telephone. i wonder if it was two rings or three--i'd better listen," she said with a sigh as she pulled herself up. "is this dr. blank?" the voice was faint and indistinct. "hello?" said mary's husband's voice, with the rising inflection. "hello?" a more pronounced rise. no answer. "hello!" falling inflection. here mary interposed. "it's some lady, doctor, i heard her." "hello!" with a fiercely falling inflection. "dr. blank," said the faint voice, "i forgot how you said to take those red tablets." mary caught all the sentence though only the last three words came distinctly. "yes?" her husband's 'yes' was plainly an interrogation waiting for what was to follow. she understood. he had heard only the words "those red tablets." again she must interpose. "doctor, she says she forgot how you told her to take those red tablets." "o! why, take one every--" mary hung up the receiver and went back to resume her interrupted nap. she settled back on the cushions and by and by became oblivious to all about her. sweetly she slept for awhile then started up rubbing her eyes. she went hurriedly to the 'phone and put the receiver to her ear. silence. "hello?" she said. no answer. smiling a little foolishly she went back to her chair. "it isn't surprising that i dreamed it." for a few minutes she lay looking out into the snow flakes of the cherry blooms. then came the bell--three rings. "i hope it's john asking me to drive to the country," she thought as she hurried to the 'phone. it was not. it was a woman's voice asking, "how much of that gargle must i use at a time?" "oh dear," thought mary, "what questions people do ask! when a gargler is a-gargling, i should think she could _tell_ how much to use." the doctor evidently thought so too for he answered with quick impatience, "aw-enough to _gargle_ with." then he added, "if it's too strong weaken it a little." "how much water must i put in it?" mary sighed hopelessly and stayed to hear no more. again she sank back in her chair hoping fervently that no more foolish questions were to rouse her from it. when she was dozing off the bell rang so sharply she was on her feet and at the 'phone almost before she knew it. "doctor, the whole outfit's drunk again down here." a woman's voice was making the announcement. "is that so?" the doctor's voice was calm and undisturbed. "yes. the woman's out here in the street just jumpin' up and down. i think _she's_ about crazy." "she hasn't far to go." "her father's drunk too and so's her husband. will you come down?" "no, i don't think i'll come down this time." "well, then will you send an officer?" "no-o--i don't--" "i wish you _would_." "well, i'll try to send someone." * * * * * mary was at last too wide awake to think of dozing. this blot on the sweet may sabbath drove away all thought of day dreams. poor, miserable human creatures! poor, long-suffering neighbors, and poor john! "all sorts of people appeal to him in all sorts of cases, and often in cases which do not come within a doctor's province at all--he is guide, counsellor and friend," she thought as she put on her hat and went out for a walk. chapter ix. one sunday morning at the beginning of august, mary stood in the church--as it chanced, in the back row--and sang with her next neighbor from the same hymn book, john newton's good old hymn, "amazing grace, how sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me!" it was the opening hymn and they were in the midst of the third verse. "thro' many dangers, toils and snares, i have already come"; sang mary. she did not dream that another danger, toil and snare was approaching her at that instant from the rear and so her clear soprano rang out unfaltering on the next line-- "'tis grace that brought me safe thus far--" then a hand was laid upon her shoulder. she turned and started as she saw her husband's face bending to her. what had happened at home? "wouldn't you like to go to the country?" whispered the doctor. "why--i don't like to leave church to go," mary whispered back. "the carriage is right here at the door." the next instant she had taken her parasol from behind the hymn-books in front of her, where she had propped it a few minutes before, with some misgiving lest it fall to the floor during prayer, and just as the congregation sang the last line, "and grace will lead me home," she glided from the church by the side of the doctor, thankful that in the bustle of sitting down the congregation would not notice her departure. they descended the steps, entered the waiting carriage and off they sped. "i feel guilty," said mary, a little dazed over the swift transfer. the doctor did not reply. in another minute she turned to him with energy. "john, what possessed you to come to _the church_?" "why, i couldn't get you at home. i drove around there and mollie said you had gone to church so i just drove there." "you ought to have gone without me." the doctor smiled. "you didn't _have_ to go. but you are better off out here than sitting in the church." the horse switched his tail over the reins and the doctor, failing in his effort to release them, gave vent to a vigorous expletive. "yes, i certainly do hear some things out here that i wouldn't be apt to hear in there," she said. then the reins being released and serenity restored, they went on. "isn't that a pretty sight?" the doctor nodded his head toward two little girls in fresh white dresses who stood on the side-walk anxiously watching his approach. there was earnest interest in the blue eyes and the black. near the little girls stood a white-headed toddler of about two years and by his side a boy seven or eight years old. "mr. blank," called the blue-eyed little girl--all men with or without titles are _mr._ to little folks;--the doctor stopped his horse. "well, what is it, mamie?" "i want you to bring my mamma a baby." "you do!" "yes, sir, a boy baby. mamie and me wants a little brother," chimed in the little black-eyed girl. the boy looked down at the toddler beside him and then at the two little girls with weary contempt. "you don't know what you're a-gittin' into," he said. "if this one hadn't never learned to walk it wouldn't be so bad, but he jist learns _everything_ and he jist bothers me _all the time_." the doctor and mary laughed with great enjoyment. "now! what'd i tell you!" said the boy, as he ran to pick up the toddler who at that instant fell off the sidewalk. he gave him a vigorous shake as he set him on his feet and a roar went up. "don't you _git_ any baby at your house," he said, warningly. "yes, bring us one, mr. blank, please do, a little _bit_ of a one," said mamie, and the black eyes pleaded too. "well, i'll tell you. if you'll be good and do whatever your mamma tells you, maybe i _will_ find a baby one of these days and if i do i'll bring it to your house." he drove on. "if they knew what i know their little hearts would almost burst for joy. their father is just as anxious for a boy as they are, too," he added. they were soon out in the open country. it was one of those lovely days which sometimes come at this season of the year which seem to belong to early autumn; neither too warm nor too cool for comfort. a soft haze lay upon the landscape and over all the sunday calm. they turned into a broad, dusty road. mary's eyes wandered across the meadow on the right with its background of woods in the distance. a solitary cow stood contentedly in the shade of a solitary tree, while far above a vulture sailed on slumbrous wings. the old rail fence and the blackberry briars hugging it here and there in clumps; small clusters of the golden-rod, even now a pale yellow, which by and by would glorify all the country lanes; the hazel bushes laden with their delightful promise for the autumn--mary noted them all. they passed unchallenged those wayside sentinels, the tall mullein-stalks. the venus looking-glass nodded its blue head ever so gently as the brown eyes fell upon it and then they went a little way ahead to where the blossoms of the elderberry were turning into tiny globules of green. mary asked the doctor if he thought the corn in the field would ever straighten up again. a wind storm had passed over it and many of the large stalks were almost flat upon the earth. the doctor answered cheerfully that the sun would pull it up again if aesop wasn't a fraud. after a while they stopped at a big gate opening into a field. "hold the reins, please, till i see if i can get the combination of that gate," and the doctor got out. mary took a rein in each hand as he opened the gate. she clucked to the horse and he started. "whoa! john, come and get my mite. it's about to slip out of my glove." the doctor glanced at the coin mary deposited in his palm. "they didn't lose much." "the universal collection coin, my dear. now open the gate wider and i'll drive through." "don't hit the gate post!" she looked at him with disdain. "i never drove through a gate in my life that somebody didn't yell, 'don't hit the gate post' and yet i never _have_ hit a gate post." at this retort the doctor had much ado to get the gate fastened and pull himself into the buggy, and his laughter had hardly subsided before they drew up to the large farm house in the field. mary did not go in. in about twenty minutes the doctor came out. the door-step turned, almost causing him to fall. "here's a fine chance for a broken bone and some of you will get it if you don't fix this step," he growled. "i'll fix that tomorrow," said the farmer, "but i should think you'd be the last one to complain about it, doctor." "some people seem to think that doctors and their wives are filled with mercenary malice," said mary laughing. "yesterday i was walking along with a lady when i stopped to remove a banana skin from the sidewalk. she said she would think a doctor's wife wouldn't take the trouble to remove banana skins from the walk." "i believe in preventive medicine," said the doctor, "and mending broken steps and removing banana peeling belong to it." "do you think it will ever be an established fact?" asked mary as they drove away. "i do indeed. it will be the medicine of the future." "i'm glad i'm not a woman of the future, then, for i really don't want to starve to death." "i have to visit a patient a few miles farther on," said the doctor when they came out on the highway. soon they were driving across a knoll and fields of tasseled corn lay before them. a little farther and they entered the woods. "ah, mary, i would not worry about leaving church. the groves were god's first temples." after a little he said, "i was trying to think what beecher said about trees--it was something like this: 'without doubt better trees there might be than even the most noble and beautiful now. perhaps god has in his thoughts much better ones than he has ever planted on this globe. they are reserved for the glorious land.'" "see this, john!" and mary pointed to a group of trees they were passing, "a ring cut around every one of them!" "yes, the fool's idea of things is to go out and kill a tree by the roadside--often standing where it can't possibly do any harm. how often in my drives i have seen this and it always makes me mad." they drove for a while in silence, then mary said, "nature seems partial to gold." she had been noting the spanish needles and black-eyed susans which starred the dusty roadside and filled the field on the left with purest yellow, while golden-rod and wild sunflowers bloomed profusely on all sides. "yes, that seems to be the prevailing color in the wild-flowers of this region." "that reminds me of something. a few months ago a little girl said to me, 'mrs. blank, don't you think red is god's favorite color?' 'why, dear, i don't think i ever thought about it,' i answered, quite surprised. 'well, i think he likes _red_ better than any color.' 'why i don't know, but when we look around and see the grass and the trees and the vines growing everywhere, it seems to me that _green_ might be his favorite color. but what makes you think it is red?' 'because he put _blood_ into everybody in the world.' quite staggered by this reasoning and making an effort to keep from smiling, i said, 'but we can't see that. if red is his favorite color why should he put it where it can't be seen?' the child looked at me in amazement. '_god_ can see it. he can see clear _through_ anybody.' the little reasoner had vanquished me and i fled the field." a little way ahead lay a large snake stretched out across the road. "the boy that put it there couldn't help it," said the doctor, "it's born in him. when i was a lad every snake i killed was promptly brought to the road and stretched across it to scare the passers-by." "and yet i don't suppose it ever did scare anyone." "occasionally a girl or woman uttered a shriek and i felt repaid. i remember one big girl walking along barefooted; before she knew it she had set her foot on the cold, slimy thing. the way she yelled and made the dust fly filled my soul with a frenzy of delight. i rolled over and over in the weeds by the roadside and yelled too." a sudden turn in the road brought the doctor and his wife face to face with a young man and his sweetheart. mary knew at a glance they were sweethearts. they were emerging into the highway from a grassy woods-road which led down to a little church. the young man was leading two saddled horses. "why do you suppose they walk instead of riding?" asked the doctor. "hush! they'll hear you. isn't she pretty?" the young man assisted his companion to her seat in the saddle. she started off in one direction, while he sprang on his horse and galloped away in the other. "here! you rascal," the doctor called, as he passed, "why didn't you go all the way with her?" "i'll go back tonight," the young fellow called back, dashing on at so mad a pace that the broad rim of his hat stood straight up. "do you know him?" "i know them both." after another mile our travelers went down one long hill and up another and stopped at a house on the hilltop where lived the patient. here, too, mary chose to remain in the buggy. a wagon had stopped before a big gate opening into the barnyard and an old man in it was evidently waiting for someone. he looked at mary and she looked at him; but he did not speak and just as she was about to say good morning, he turned and looked in another direction. when he finally looked around it seemed to mary it would be a little awkward to bid him good morning now, so she tried to think what to say instead, by way of friendly greeting; it would be a little embarrassing to sit facing a human being for some time with not a word to break the constraint. but the more she cudgeled her brain the farther away flew every idea. she might ask him if he thought we were going to have a good corn crop, but it was so evident that we were, since the crop was already made that that remark seemed inane. the silence was beginning to be oppressive. her eye wandered over the yard and she noticed some peach trees near the house with some of the delicious fruit hanging from the boughs. she remarked pleasantly, "i see they have some peaches here." her companion looked at her and said, "hey?" "i said, 'i see they have some peaches here,'" she rejoined, raising her voice. he curved one hand around his ear and said again, "hey?" "o, good gracious," thought mary, "i wish i had let him alone." she shrieked this time, "i only said, '_i see they have some peaches here._'" when the old man said, "i didn't hear ye yet, mum," she leaned back in the carriage, fanning herself vigorously, and gave it up. she had screamed as loud as she intended to scream over so trivial a matter. looking toward the house she saw a tall young girl coming down the walk with something in her hand. she came timidly through the little gate and handed a plate of peaches up to the lady in the carriage, looking somewhat frightened as she did so. "i didn't hear ye," she explained, "but jim came in and said you was a-wantin' some peaches." mary's face was a study. jim and his sister had not seen the deaf old man in the wagon, as a low-branched pine stood between the wagon and the house. and this was the way her politeness was interpreted! the comicality of the situation was too much. she laughed merrily and explained things to the tall girl who seemed much relieved. "i ought to 'a' brought a knife, but i was in such a hurry i forgot it." eating peaches with the fuzz on was quite too much for mary so she said, "thank you, but we'll be starting home in a moment, i'll not have time to eat them. but i am very thirsty, might i have a glass of water?" the girl went up the walk and disappeared into the house. mary did so want her to come out and draw the water, dripping and cool, from the old well yonder. she came out, went to the well, stooped and filled the glass from the bucket sitting inside the curb. mary sighed. the tall girl took a step. then, to the watcher's delight, she threw the water out, pulled the bucket up and emptied it into the trough, and one end of the creaking well-sweep started downward while the other started upward. the bucket was on its way to the cool depths and mary grew thirstier every second. the doctor appeared at the door and looked out. then he came, case in hand, with swift strides down the walk. the gate banged behind him and he untied the horse in hot haste, looking savagely at his wife as he did so. "i suppose you've asked that girl to bring you a drink." "yes, i did. i'm very thirsty." "you ought to have more sense than to want to drink where people have typhoid fever." the girl started down the walk with the brimming glass. the doctor climbed into the buggy and turned around. "for pity's sake! what will she think?" a vigorous cut from the whip and the horse dashed off down the road. mary cast a longing, lingering look behind. the girl stood looking after them with open mouth. "that girl has had enough today to astonish her out of a year's growth," thought mary as the buggy bumped against a projecting plank and tore over the bridge at the foot of the hill. "john, one of the rules of good driving is never to drive fast down hill." her spouse answered never a word. after a little he said, "i didn't mean to be cross, mary, but i didn't want you to drink there." "you should have warned me beforehand, then," she said chillingly. "i couldn't sit in the buggy and _divine_ there was typhoid fever there," she continued. "'a woman's intuitions are safe guides' but she has to have _something_ to go on before she can _have_ intuitions." "hadn't you better put your ulster on, dear?" inquired the doctor in such meaning tones, that mary turned quickly and looked off across the fields. a black-eyed susan by the roadside caught the smile in her eyes and nodded its yellow head and smiled mischievously back at her. it was a feminine flower and they understood each other. when they had driven three or four miles mary asked the doctor if there was any typhoid fever in the house they were approaching. "how do i know?" "i thought you might be able to divine whether there is or not." "we'll suppose there isn't. we'll stop and get a drink," he answered indulgently. they stopped, mary took the reins and the doctor went to reconnoiter. "nobody at home and not a vessel of any kind in sight," he announced coming back. of course her thirst was now raging. "maybe there's a gourd hanging inside the curb. if there is do break it loose and bring it to me heaping full." "i looked inside the curb--nothing there." here mary's anxious eyes saw a glass fruit jar turned upside down on a fence paling. blessings on the woman who put it there! the doctor filled and brought it to her. after a long draught she uttered a sigh of rich content. "now," she said, "i'm ready to go home." chapter x. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. "hello." "is this the doctor?" "it's one of 'em," said john, recognizing the voice of a patient. "well, doctor, the _other_ side of my throat is sore _now_!" "is it? well, i told your husband it might be." "why?" "why? well, because i'm running short of coffee and a few things like that." a little laugh. "_i_ don't want to keep you in coffee and things like that." "nobody does. but the poor doctors have to live and you must contribute your share." laughter. "all right, doctor, but i don't want to have to contribute too much." "don't be alarmed about your throat, mrs. channing. when i looked at it yesterday, i saw indications that the other side might be affected, but it will soon be well." "that sounds better. thank you, good-bye." when he came back to the table his wife said, "john, i shouldn't think you'd say things like that to people." "why?" "well, they might believe 'em." the doctor laughed, swallowed his cup of tea and departed. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. three times. "hello." "is dr. blank at home?" "he has just this minute left for the office. 'phone him there in two minutes and you will get him." mary went back, took two bites and when the third was suspended on her fork the 'phone rang. "somebody else," she thought, laying the fork down and rising. "oh! i've got you again, mrs. blank. you said to ring in two minutes and i'd get the doctor." "but you didn't wait _one_ minute." "it seemed lots longer. all right, i'll wait." "people expect a doctor to get there in less than no time," thought mary. "john walks so fast i felt safe in telling her to 'phone him in two minutes." _buzz-z-z-z-z_, as if all the machinery of the universe were let loose in her ear. she had held the receiver till her husband could reach the office so she might feel assured the anxious one had found him. yes, that was his voice. "dr. blank, you're president of the board of health, ain't ye?" "yes--guess so." "this is jack johnson's. there's a dead horse down here by our house an' i want you to come down here an' bury it." our listener heard the woman's teeth snap together. "all right. i'll get a spade and come right along." "what do they take my husband for," thought mary. buzz-z-z-z at her ear again. now it was her husband's voice saying, "give me number forty-five." in a minute a gentlemanly voice said, "hello." "is this you, warner?" "yes." "there's a dead horse down by jack johnson's. go down there and bury it." "all right, doc. i'll be right along." a burst of laughter from the doctor was echoed by warner. mary knew that warner was the newly elected alderman and she smiled as she pictured the new officer leaving his elegant home and going down to perform the obsequies. nevertheless her heart leaned toward jack johnson's wife, for it was plain to be seen that neither the new president of the board of health nor the new alderman had a realizing sense of his duties. half an hour later three rings sounded. "is this dr. blank's office?" "no, his residence." "well, i see by the paper he's on the board of health and we want this manure-pile taken away from here." "please 'phone your complaints to the doctor," said mary, calmly replacing the receiver and shutting off the flood. "john's existence will be made miserable by this new honor thrust upon him," she thought. when he came home that evening she asked if the second complainant had found him. "yes, she found me all right." "they're going to make day hideous and night lamented, aren't they?" "o, no. i'll just have a little fun and then send someone to look after their complaints." just before bed-time the doctor was called to the 'phone. "doctor, this is the nurse at the hotel. what had i better do with this polish girl's hand?" "doesn't it look all right?" "yes, it's doing fine." "just let it alone, then." "she won't be satisfied. she thinks we ought to be doing something to it. and i've got to do something or she'll go off upstairs and wash it in dirty water." "tell her not to do anything of the kind." "she can't understand a word i say and i don't know what to do with her. she's had the bandage off once already." "the devil she has! well, then you'll have to unwrap it, i guess, and pretend to do something. but it would be better to let it alone." "i know that." "how is the other patient tonight?" "doing fine, doctor." "good! good-bye." * * * * * there was a spacious, airy, upper chamber opening out on a balcony at the doctor's house which the doctor and mary claimed for theirs. not now; o no! but in the beautiful golden sometime when the telephone ceased from troubling and the weary ones might rest. this meant when the doctor should retire from night practice. until that happy time they occupied a smaller room on the first floor as it was near the telephone. mary had steadfastly refused to have the privacy of her upper rooms invaded by the tyrant. one warm summer night when bed-time came she made the announcement that she was going upstairs to sleep in the big room. "but what if i should be called out in the night?" asked her husband, with protest in his voice. "then i'd be safer up there than down here," said mary, calmly. "but i mean you couldn't hear the 'phone." "that is a consummation devoutly to be wished." "now don't go off up there," expostulated john. "you always hear it and i sort of depend on you to get me awake." "exactly. but it's a good thing for a man to depend on himself once in awhile. i was awake so often last night that i'm too tired and sleepy to argue. but i'm going. good night." "thunder!" "it doesn't ring _every_ night," said mary, comfortingly from the landing. "let us retire in the fond belief that curfew will not ring tonight." when she retired she fell at once into deep sleep. for two hours she slept sweetly on. then she was instantly aroused. the figure of a man stood by her side. in the moonlight she saw him plainly, clad in black. her heart was coming up into her throat when a voice said, "mary, i have to go two miles into the country." "why didn't you call me, john, instead of standing there and scaring me to death?" "i did call you but i couldn't get you awake." "then you ought to have let me be. if a woman hasn't a right to a night's sleep once in awhile what _is_ she entitled to?" this petulance was unusual with his wife. "well, come on down now, mary," he said, kindly. "i'm not going down there this night." "but you can't hear the 'phone up here and i'm expecting a message any minute that must be answered." "i'll--hear--that--'phone," said mary. "i'll sleep with one ear and one eye open." "have it your own way," said the doctor as he started down the stairs. "i intend to. but when i tell you i'll watch the 'phone, john, you know i'll do it." he was gone and she lay wide awake. it seemed very hard to be ruthlessly pulled from a sleep so deep and delicious and so much needed. by and by her eye-lids began to feel heavy and her thoughts went wandering into queer places. "this won't do," she said aloud, sitting up in bed. then she rose and went out on to the balcony. seating herself in an arm chair, she looked about her on the silvery loveliness. the cricket's chirr and the occasional affirmations of the katy-did were the only sounds she heard. "i didn't say you didn't. don't be so spiteful about it." the moon, shining through the branches of the big oak tree made faintly-flickering shadows at her feet. the white hammock, stirring occasionally as a breeze touched it, invited her. she went over to it and lay for many minutes looking up, noting how fast the moon glided from one branch of the tree to another. now it neared the trunk. now a slice was cut off its western rim. now it was only a half moon--"a bweak-moon on the sky," as her little boy had called it. now there was a total eclipse. when it began peeping out on the other side of the trunk our watcher's dreamful eyes took no note of it. a dog barked. she sprang up and seated herself in the chair again. she dare not trust herself to the hammock. it was too seductive and too delightful. so she sat erect and waited for the ring which might not come but which must be watched for just the same. her promise had gone forth. far up the street she heard horses' hoofs--it must be john returning. the buggy-top shining in the moonlight came into view. no, it was a white horse. her vigil was not yet ended. a quarter of an hour later she discerned a figure far down the walk. she followed it with her eyes. it moved swiftly on. would it turn at the corner and come up toward their house? yes, it was turning. then it turned into the yard. it was john. she went forward and leaning over the railing called down to him, "a good chance to play romeo now, john." john only grunted--after the manner of husbands. "nobody rang. i'm going to bed again. good night--i mean good morning." * * * * * the next night was hotter than ever and mary made up her mind she would sleep up in the hammock. she had had a delicious taste of it which made her wish for more. to avoid useless discussion she would wait till john retired and was asleep, then she would quietly steal away. but when this was accomplished and she had settled herself comfortably to sleep she found herself wide awake. she closed her eyes and gently wooed slumber, but it came not. ah, now she knew! the night before she had shaken off all responsibility for the 'phone. therefore she could sleep. tonight her husband lay unconscious of her absence and the burden of it was upon her shoulders again. well, she must try to sleep anyway, this was too good a chance to lose. she fell asleep. after awhile dinner was ready. mollie had rung the little bell for the boys. now she was ringing it again. where can the boys have got to? ting-a-ling-ling-ling. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. mary sat up in the hammock and rubbed her eyes. "oh!" she sprang out and rushed to the stairs. "doctor!" "john!" the snores continued. ting-a-ling-ling-ling-ling-ling! "oh, dear!" gasped mary, hurrying down as fast as her feet could take her. straight to the 'phone she went. it must be appeased first. "hello?" "hell-_o_! where's the doctor?" "he is very fast asleep." "i've found that out. can you get him awake?" sharp impatience was in the man's voice. "hold the 'phone a minute, please, and i'll rouse him." she went into the bedroom and calling, "john! john!" shook him soundly by the shoulders. he sat up in bed with a wild look. "go to the 'phone, quick!" commanded mary. "eh?" "go to the _'phone_. it's been ringing like fury. hurry." at last he was there and his wife knew by his questions and answers that he would be out for the rest of the night. she crept into bed. after he was gone she would go upstairs. when he was dressed he came to the door and peered in. "that's right, mary," he said, with such hearty satisfaction in his tones that she answered cheerfully, "all right--i'll stay this time." and when he was gone she turned her face from the moonlit window and slept till morning, oblivious to the thieves and murderers that did not come. * * * * * ting-a-ling-ling-ling. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. "is the doctor there?" "he was called out awhile ago; will be back in perhaps twenty minutes." "this is mr. cowan. i only wanted to ask if my wife could have some lemonade this morning. she is very thirsty and craves it--but i can call again after awhile." how discouraging to the feverish, thirsty wife to have her husband come back and tell her he would 'phone again after awhile. and if, after waiting, he still failed to find the doctor? mary knew the cowans quite well so she made bold to say, hastily, "i think the doctor would say _yes_." "you think he would?" asked mr. cowan, hopefully. "i think he would, but don't let her have too much, of course." "all right. thank you, mrs. blank." an uneasy feeling came into mary's mind and would not depart as she went about her work. really, what right had she to prescribe for a sick woman even so harmless a thing as lemonade. how did she know that it was harmless. perhaps in this case there was some combination of symptoms which would make that very thing the thing the patient ought not to have. in about fifteen minutes there came a ring--three. mary started guiltily. it sounded like the doctor's ring. was he going to reprimand her? but it was the voice of a friend and it surprised mary with this question: "mrs. blank, if you were me would you have your daughter operated upon?" "operated upon for what?" "for appendicitis." "nettie, let me tell you something: if i had no more sense than to give you advice on such a question as that, i certainly hope you would have more sense than to take it. advice about a thing with no sort of knowledge of that thing is as worthless as it is common." "why--i thought since you are a doctor's wife you would know about it." "can you draw up a legal will because you happen to be the wife of a lawyer?" "no-o, but--" "but me no buts," quoth mary. "we're even now." "well, i've heard it said a doctor's wife knows even less than many others about ills and their remedies because she is so used to depending on her husband that she never has to think of them herself. i guess i'd better talk to the doctor. i just thought i'd see what you said first. good-bye." "my skirts are clear of any advice in that direction," thought mary, her mind reverting again to the lemonade. "nettie couldn't have 'phoned me at a more opportune minute to get the right answer. but i wonder if john is back. i'll see." she rang. "hello." "say, john, mr. cowan 'phoned awhile ago, and his wife was very thirsty and craved lemonade and--don't scold--i took the liberty of saying--it's awful for a thirsty person to have to wait and wait you know--and so i said i thought _you_ would say she might have it." "i hope you weren't this long about it," laughed her husband. "then it was all right?" "certainly." much relieved mary hung up the receiver. "what needless apprehension assails us sometimes," she thought, as she went singing to her broom. "just the same, i won't prescribe very often." chapter xi. it was five o'clock in the morning when the doctor heard the call and made his way to it. his wife was roused too and was a passive listener. "yes." "yes." "down where? i don't understand you." "on what street?.... down near dyre's? i don't know any such family." here mary called out, "maybe they mean dye's." "dye's? yes, i know where that is..... galliver--that's the name is it? very well, mrs. galliver, i'll be down in a little while.... yes, just as soon as i can dress and get there." he proceeded to clothe himself very deliberately, but years of repression had taught mary resignation. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. three rings. the doctor went with shoe in hand and again his wife was a listener. "yes..... yes..... i'm just getting ready to go to see a patient...... it's a hurry call, is it? all right then, i'll come there first...... yes, right away." as he put up the receiver he said to his wife, "somebody else was trying to get me then, too, but couldn't make it." mary thought it well he couldn't since her husband was only one and indivisible. "but he will probably try again after a little," she thought, "and john will be gone and i won't know just where to find him." ting-a-ling-ling-ling-ling-ling. collar in hand the doctor went. "yes..... who is this?.... come where?.... jackson street. right next to wilson's mill?.... on which side? i say on which side of wilson's mill?.... west? all right, i'll be down there after awhile...... no, not right away; i have to make two other visits first, but as soon as i can get there." when at last he was dressed and his hand was on the door-knob the 'phone called him back. "you say i needn't come..... very well. i'll come if you want me to though, mrs. galliver. i'm just starting now. i have to see another patient first."-- "why john," interposed mary from the bedroom, "she called you first." "it will be about half an hour before i can get there..... all right, i'll be there." then mary remembered that no.  was the hurry call and was silent. when the doctor was gone she fell asleep but only for two minutes. she went to answer the call. "has the doctor started yet?" "yes, he is on his way." "all right then," and the relief in the tone was a pleasant thing to hear. "now, if i go to sleep again i can feel no security from no.  or no.  or both." nevertheless she did go to sleep and neither no.  nor no.  called her out of it. * * * * * "i must be going," said mary, rising from her chair in a neighbor's house. "have you something special on hand?" asked her neighbor. "yes, it's clock-winding day at our house, for one thing." "why, how many clocks do you have to wind?" inquired the little old lady with mild surprise. "only one, thank heaven!" ejaculated mary as she departed. when she had sped across the yard and entered her own door she threw off her shawl and made ready to wind the clock. first, she turned off the gas in the grate so that her skirts would not catch fire. second, she brought a chair and set it on the hearth in front of the grate. third, she went into the next room and got the big unabridged dictionary, brought it out and put it on the chair. fourth, she went back and got the oldest and thickest family bible and the fat bible dictionary, brought them out and deposited them on the unabridged. fifth, she mounted the chair. sixth, she mounted the volumes--which brought her up to the height she was seeking to attain. seventh, she wound the clock; that is, she usually did. today, when she had inserted the key and turned it twice round--the 'phone rang. oh, dear! thank goodness it stopped at two rings. she would take it for granted the doctor was in the office. she wound on. then she took the key out and inserted it on the opposite side. a second peal. that settled it. if it were a lawyer's or a merchant's or any other man's 'phone she could wind the other side first--but the doctor's is in the imperative mood and the present tense. she must descend. slowly and cautiously she did so, went to the 'phone and put the receiver to her ear. "hello, is this dr. blank's office?" "this is his--" "hello, what is it?" said her husband's voice. "now why couldn't he have come a minute sooner," thought mary, provoked. "doctor," said an agitated voice, "my little boy has swallowed a penny." "was it a good one?" inquired the doctor, calmly. "why--ye-es," said the voice, broken with a laugh, "guess it was." "just let him alone. it will be all right after awhile." "it was worth getting down to hear so comforting an assurance," said mary as she ascended again the chair and the volumes. she finished her weekly task, then slowly and cautiously descended, carried the big books back to their places, set the chair in its corner and lighted the gas. she stood for a moment looking up at this clock. the space over the mantel-piece was just the place for it and it was only after it had been firmly anchored to the wall that the thought had arisen, "how can i ever get up there to wind it?" she smiled as she thought of a social gathering a few days before, when a lady had called to her across the room, "mrs. blank, tell us that clock story again." and she had answered: "it isn't much of a story, but it serves to show the manner in which we computed the time. one night the doctor woke me up. 'mary,' he said in a helpless sort of way, 'it struck _seven_--what _time_ is it?' 'well--let me see,' i said. 'if it struck seven it meant to strike three, for it strikes four ahead of time. and if it meant to strike three it's just a quarter past two, for it's three quarters of an hour too fast.'" ting-a-ling-ling. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. mary recognized her husband's ring. "yes, what is it john?" "i'm going out for twenty minutes, watch the 'phone, please." she laughed in answer to this most superfluous request, then sat her down near by. * * * * * "john, mrs. b. said a pretty good thing last night." "that's good." "i've a notion not to tell you, now that the good thing was about you." "that's better still. but are good things about me so rare that you made a note of it?" "i don't know but what they are," said mary, reflectively. "there was mrs. c., you know, who said she didn't see how in the world doc blank's wife ever lived with him--he was so mean." "i wonder about that myself, sometimes." "the way i manage it is to assert myself when it becomes necessary--and it does. you're a physician to your patients but to me you're a mere man." "i feel myself shrivelling. but how about mrs. b.'s compliment?" "i was over at the church where a social program of some sort was being given and 'between acts' everybody was moving about chatting. an elderly woman near me asked, 'mrs. blank, do you know who the hammell's are?' i told her that i did not, and she went on, 'i see by the paper that a member of their family died today, and i thought you, being a doctor's wife, might know something about it.' "mrs. b. spoke up promptly, 'why, mrs. blank wouldn't know anything about the _dead_ people--her husband gets 'em _well_.'" the doctor laughed, "and she believes it too," he said. "no doubt of it. so a compliment like that offsets one of mrs. c.'s kind." "o, no. the c.'s have it by a big majority. don't you know i have the reputation of being the meanest man in the county?" "no, i don't." "well, i have. do you remember that drive we took a week or two ago up north?" "that long drive?" "yes. when i went in the man who was a stranger to me, said, 'i'll tell you why i sent for you. i've had two or three doctors out here, recommended as _good_ doctors, and they haven't done me a darned bit of good. yesterday i heard you was the meanest doctor in this county and i said to myself, "he's the man i want."'" "i heard you laughing and wondered what it was about. the man's wife came out to the buggy and talked to me. she said they were strangers and didn't know anything about the doctors around here--they had thought of sending down to this town for a doctor but she had spoken to a woman--a neighbor--and she had said there wasn't _any_ of 'em any account down there. but her husband kept getting worse so they finally sent for dr. blank and she hoped he'd cure 'im. are you doing it? i hope so for i assured her that the physicians of this town are recognized throughout the state as being men of exceptional ability, and she went in, comforted." "yes, he got better as soon as he struck the road to health," laughed john. he took out his watch. "jove! i haven't any time to spare if i catch that train." for several days he had been taking the train to a little station some miles out of town, where he would get off and walk a mile to the home of his patient, make his visit and walk back in time to catch the train for home. just after the doctor left the house the telephone rang twice. his wife answered it, knowing he had not yet reached the office. "is the doctor there?" "he left the house just a minute ago." "well, he's coming down today isn't he?" "is this mrs. shortridge?" "yes." "yes, he just said he must make that train." "he'll go to the office first won't he?" "yes, to get his case, i think." "will you please telephone him there to bring a roast with him?" "to bring what?" "a roast." mary was nonplussed. her husband had the reputation of "roasting" his patients and their attendants on occasion. had an occasion arisen now? "why, ye-es," she began, uncertainly, when the voice spoke again. "i mean a roast of beef, mrs. blank. i thought as the doctor was coming he wouldn't mind stopping at the butcher's and bringing me a roast--tell him a good-sized one." the receiver clicked. mary still held hers. then she rang the office. "what _is_ it?" great haste spoke in the voice. "john, mrs. shortridge wants you to bring her a roast of beef when you go down." "the devil she does!" "the market is right on your way. hurry. don't miss the train!" she put up the receiver, then she snatched it and rang again violently. "_now_ what!" thundered john's voice. "she said to get a good-sized one." standing with the receiver in her hand and shaking with laughter she heard the office-door shut with a bang and knew that he was off. she knew that if he had been going in the buggy he would have been glad to do mrs. s.'s bidding. he often carried ice and other needful things to homes where he visited. mary pictured her husband picking his way along a muddy country road, his case in one hand and the "roast" in the other, and thought within herself, "he'll be in a better mood for a roast when he arrives than when he started." * * * * * mary was out in the kitchen making jelly. at the critical moment when the beaded bubbles were "winking at the brim" came the ring. she lifted the kettle to one side, wiped her hands and went. "is this you, mary?" "yes." "watch the 'phone a little bit, please. i have to be out about half an hour." "i'm always watching the 'phone, john, always, _always_!" she went back to her jelly. she put it back on the fire, an inert mass with all the bubbles died out of it. scarcely had she done so when the 'phone rang--two rings. surely the doctor had not got beyond hearing distance. he would answer. but perhaps he had--he was a very swift walker. the only way to be sure of it was to go to the telephone and listen. she went hastily back and as she put the receiver to her ear there came a buzz against it which made her jump. "hello," she said. "i wanted the doctor, mrs. blank, do you know where he is?" "he just 'phoned me that he--" an unmistakable sound arose from the kitchen stove. the jelly was boiling over! instinct is older than the telephone. the receiver dangled in air while mary rushed madly to the rescue. "i might have known it," she said to herself, as she pushed the kettle aside and rushed back to the 'phone. "i guess they cut us off," said the voice. "i was just saying," said mary, "that the doctor 'phoned me a few minutes ago he would be out for half an hour." "will you please tell him when he comes in to call up ?" the man goes on his way, relieved of further responsibility in the matter. it will be a very easy thing for the doctor's wife to call up her husband and give him the message. let us see. when the jelly was done, and mary had begun to fill the waiting glasses she thought, "i'd better see if john is back. he may go out again before i can deliver that message." so she set the kettle on the back of the stove and went to ascertain if her husband had returned. no answer to her ring. she had better ring again to be sure of it. no answer. she went back to the kitchen. when the glasses were all filled and she had held first one and then another up to get the sunlight through the clear beautiful redness of them, she began setting them back to cool. the telephone! she hurried in and rang again to see if john had got back. silence. she sighed and hung up the receiver. "i'd like to get it off my mind." as she started toward the kitchen again the door-bell rang. she went to open the door, and wonder of wonders--an old friend she had not seen for years! "i am passing through town, mary, and have just three quarters of an hour till my train goes. now sit down and _talk_." and the pair of them did talk, oblivious to everything about them. how the minutes did fly and the questions too! the 'phone rang in the next room--two rings. on mary's accustomed ear it fell unheeded. she talked on. again two rings. she did not notice. "isn't that your 'phone?" asked the visitor. "o, _yes_! you knocked it clean out of my head, alice. excuse me a minute," and she vanished. "did you give that message to the doctor?" "he is not back yet." "i saw him go into the office not ten minutes ago." "i have 'phoned twice and failed to find him." "i hoped when i saw him leave the office that he had started down to see my little boy, but of course he hasn't if he didn't get the message." "i am sorry. an old friend i had not seen for years came in and of course it went out of my mind for a few minutes, though i 'phoned twice before she came. i am sure he will be back in a few minutes and i will send him right down, mr. nelson." "why do you do that?" asked her friend, pointedly as she came in. "why take upon yourself the responsibility of people's messages being delivered." "it _is_ an awful responsibility. i don't know why i do it--so many people seem to expect it as a matter of course--" "it's a great deal easier for each person to deliver his own message than for you to have a half dozen on your mind at once. i wouldn't do it. you'll be a raving lunatic by the next time i see you." "at least i'll have ample time in which to become one," laughed mary. "i'm going," announced her friend, suddenly rising. "i could spare five or ten minutes more but if i sit here you'll forget that 'phone again. but take my advice, mary, and institute a change in the order of things." when she had gone mary sat for a few minutes lost in thought. then, remembering, she sprang up and went to the 'phone. no answer to her ring. "dear me! will i _never_ get that message delivered and off my mind." soon a ring came. "isn't he back _yet_?" "i 'phoned about three minutes ago and failed to get him. by the way, mr. nelson, will you just 'phone the doctor at the office, please? that will be a more direct way to get him as i seem to fail altogether this morning. i am sure that he can't be gone much longer," she said very pleasantly and hung up the receiver. the responsibility had been gracefully shifted and she was free for a while. other occasions would arise when she could not be free, but in cases of this kind her friend's clear insight had helped her out. * * * * * ting-a-ling-ling-ling. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. "hello." "is this dr. blank?" "yes." "my husband has just started for your office. he says he's going to send you down. i don't need a doctor. will you tell him that?" "i'll tell him you _said_ so." "well, i don't. so don't you come!" "all right. i haven't got time to be bothered with you anyway. the sick people take my time." in a few minutes the 'phone rang again. "dr. blank, can you come over to the woolson hotel?" "right away?" "yes, if you can. there's a case here i've treated a little that i'm not satisfied about." "all right, doctor, i'll be there in a few minutes." when he reached the hotel and had examined the patient he said, "he has smallpox." "i began to suspect that." "not a bit of doubt of it." "the hotel is full of people--i'm afraid there'll be a panic." "we must get him out of here. we'll have to improvise a pest-house at once. i'll go and see about it." that evening about an hour after supper the doctor's daughter came hurriedly into the room where her mother was sitting. "mother," she exclaimed, "there's an awful lot of people in the office, a regular mob and they're as mad as fury." "what about?" exclaimed her mother, startled. "they're mad at father for putting the tent for a smallpox patient down in their neighborhood." "is he in the office now?" "he was there when i first went in but he isn't there just now. father wasn't a bit disturbed, but i am. i got out of there. the mayor went into the office just as i came out." uneasy, in spite of herself, mary waited her husband's return. ten o'clock, and he had not come. she went to the 'phone and called the office. the office man answered. "where is the doctor?" "he was in here a few minutes ago, but there's a big fuss down at the smallpox tent and i think he's gone down there." mary rang off and with nervous haste called the mayor's residence. "is this mr. felton?" "yes." "this is mrs. blank. i am very uneasy about the doctor, mr. felton. i hear he has just started down to the smallpox tent. won't you please see that someone goes down at once?" "yes, mrs. blank. i came from there a little while ago but they're mad at the doctor and i'll go right back. i'm not going to bed until i know everything's quieted down." "and you'll take others with you?" she pleaded, but the mayor was gone. again she waited in great anxiety. the tent was too far away for her to go out into the night in search of him. between eleven and twelve o'clock she heard footsteps. she rose and went to the door. almost she expected to see her husband brought home on a stretcher. but there he came, walking with buoyant step. when he came in he kissed his anxious wife and then broke into a laugh. "my! how good that sounds! i heard of the mob and have been frightened out of my wits." "they've quieted down now. there wasn't a bit of sense in what they did." "well, i don't know that one can really blame them for not wanting smallpox brought into the neighborhood. couldn't you have taken the tent farther out?" "yes, if we had had time. but we had a sick man on our hands--he had to be got out of the hotel and he had to be taken care of right away. he had to have a nurse. there must be water in the tent and the nurse can't be running out of a pest-house to get it. neither can anyone carry it to such a place. so we couldn't put it beyond the water- and gas-pipes--there must be heat, too, you know. we have done the very best we could without more time. the nearest house is fifty yards away and there's absolutely no danger if the people down there will just get vaccinated and then keep away from the tent." "they surely will do that." "some of them may. one fool said to me awhile ago when i told them that, 'oh, yes! we see your game. you want to get a lot of money out of us.'" "what did you say to that ancient charge," asked mary, smiling. "i said, 'my man, i'll pay for the virus, and i'll vaccinate everyone of you, and everyone in that neighborhood and it won't cost you a cent'." "did he look ashamed?" "i didn't wait to see. i had urgent business out just then." "is the patient in the tent now?" "yes, all snug and comfortable with a nurse to take care of him. that was my urgent business. i went into the back room of the office in the midst of their jabber, slipped out the door, got into the buggy hitched back there, drove to the hotel and with dr. collins' help, got the patient down the ladder waiting for us, into the buggy, then got the nurse down the ladder and in, too, then away we drove lickety-cut for the tent while the mob was away from there. then i went back to the office and attended the meeting," added the doctor, laughing heartily. his wife laughed too, but rather uneasily. "were they still there when you got back?" "every mother's son of 'em. they didn't stay long though. i advised them to go home, that the patient was in the tent and would stay there. they broke for the tent--vowed they'd set fire to it with him in it and i think they intended to hang _me_," and the doctor laughed again. "john, don't _ever_ get into such a scrape again. i 'phoned mr. felton and begged him to go down there and take someone with him." "you did? well, he came, and it happened there was a member of the state board of health in town who had got on to the racket. he came, too, and you ought to have heard him read the riot act to those fellows: "'we've got a sick man here--a stranger, far from his home. you are in no danger whatever. every doctor in town has told you so. we're going to take care of this man _and don't you forget it_. we have the whole state of illinois behind us, and if this damned foolishness don't stop right here, i'll have the militia here in a few hours' time and arrest every one of you.' that quieted them. they slunk off home and won't bother us any more." * * * * * three or four days after the above conversation mary stood at the window looking out at the storm which was raging. the wind was blowing fearfully and the rain coming down in torrents. "i do hope john will not be called to the country today," she thought. ting-a-ling-ling-ling--three rings. "is this dr. blank's office?" asked a feminine voice. "no, his residence." "mrs. blank, this is the nurse at the smallpox tent. will you 'phone the office and tell the doctor it's raining in down here terribly. i'm in a hurry, must spread things over the patient." "very well, i'll 'phone him," and she rang twice. no reply. again. no reply. "too bad he isn't in. i'll have to wait a few minutes." in five minutes she rang again, but got no reply. in another minute she was called to the 'phone. "didn't you get word to the doctor, mrs. blank?" asked a voice, full of anxiety. "i'm afraid we'll drown before he gets here." "i have been anxiously watching for him, but he must be visiting a patient. hold the 'phone please till i ring again." this time her husband answered. "doctor, here's the nurse at the tent to speak to you." she waited to hear what he would say. "doctor, please come down here and help us. the roof is leaking awfully and we are about to drown." "all right, i'll be down after a little." "don't wait too long." mary's practised ear caught something beginning with a capital d as the receiver clicked. "poor old john," she murmured, "it's awful--the things you have to do." the doctor got into his rubber coat and set out for his improvised pest-house. when he came home mary asked, "did you stop the leak?" "i did. but i had a devil of a time doing it." "i'm curious to know how you would go about it." "the roof was double and i had to straighten out and stretch the upper canvas with the wind blowing it out of my hands and nobody to help me hold it." "was there nobody in sight?" "that infernal coward of a watchman, but i couldn't get him near the tent--he's _had_ smallpox, too." "i should think the nurse could have helped a little, that is if she knew where to take hold of it, and what to do with it when she got hold." "o, she sputtered around some and imagined she was helping." "poor thing," said mary, laughing, "i know just how bewildered she was with you storming commands at her which she couldn't understand--women can't." ting-a-ling-ling-ling. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. the doctor helloed gruffly. "is this you, doc?" "looks like it." "we want ye to come down here an' diagnosis these cases." "_what_ cases!" "there's two down here." "down _where_?" "down here at my house." "well, who the devil _are_ you?" "bill masters. we're afraid maybe it's smallpox." "yes, _yes_!" snarled the doctor, "every _pimple_ around here for the next three months will be smallpox." "well, we want ye to diagnosis it, doc." "all right. i'll 'diagnosis' it the first time i'm down that way--maybe this evening or tomorrow," and he slammed the receiver up and went to bed. * * * * * one evening the doctor was waiting for the stork at a farmhouse some miles from home. he concluded to telephone his wife as it might be several hours before he got in. he rang and put the receiver to his ear: "did you put your washin' out today?" "no, did you?" "no, i thought it looked too rainy." "so did i. i hope it'll clear up by mornin'." "have you got your baby to sleep yet?" "land! yes. he goes to sleep right after supper." "mine's not that kind of a kid. he's wider awake than any of us this minute." "got your dress cut out?" "no, maybe i'll git around to it tomorrow afternoon, if i don't have forty other things to do." "did ye hear about--" seeing no chance to get in the doctor retreated. half an hour later he rang again. a giggle and a loud girlish voice in his ear asking, "is this you, nettie?" "this is me." "do you know who this is?" "course i do." "bet ye don't." "bet i do." "who?" "it's mollie, of course." "you've guessed it. i tried to change my voice so you wouldn't know me." "what fer?" "oh, cat-fur to make kitten breeches." mild laughter. "i heard that you gave jake the mitten last night." "who told ye?" "oh, a little bird." "say! who _did_ tell ye?" "you'll never, never tell if i do?" the clock near the patiently waiting doctor struck nine quick short strokes. "did you hear that?" asked the first voice, startled. "whose clock _is_ that?" "johnson's haven't got one like that." "miller's haven't neither." "i'll tell you--it's gray's--their clock strikes quick like that." "then there's somebody at their 'phone listenin'!" "goodness! maybe it's jake, just like him!" "jake gray, if that's you, you're a mean eavesdroppin' sneak an' that's what i think of _you_! good-bye, nettie." and as the receiver slammed into its place the doctor shook with laughter. "this seems to be my opportunity," he thought, then rang and delivered the message to his wife. often these dialogues kept him from hearing or delivering some important message and then he fumed inwardly, but tonight he had time to spare and to laugh. * * * * * after a little the 'phone rang. "it's someone wanting you, doctor," said the man of the house who answered it. the doctor went. "is this you, doctor blank?" "yes." "i want you--" the doctor heard no more. this was a party line and every receiver on it came down. a dozen people were listening to find out who wanted the doctor and what for. all on the line knew that doctor blank had been at the gray farmhouse for hours. the message being private, there was silence. the doctor waited a minute then his wrath burst forth. "damn it! hang up your receivers, all you eavesdroppers, so i can get this message!" click, click, click, click, and lots of people mad, but the doctor got the message. * * * * * ting-a-ling-ling-ling. "is this mrs. blank?" "yes." "i telephoned the office and couldn't get the doctor so i'll tell you what i wanted and you can tell him. his patient down here in the country, mrs. miller, is out of powders and she wants him to send some down by mrs. richards, if he can find her." "where is mrs. richards?" "she's up there in town somewhere." "does she know that the powders are to be sent by her and will she call at the office?" "no, i don't think she knows anything about it. mrs. miller didn't know she was out till after she left. that's all," and she was gone. "all!" echoed mary. in a few minutes when she thought her husband had had time to return she went to the 'phone and told him he must go out and hunt up mrs. richards. "what for?" "because mrs. miller wants you to find her and send some powders down by her." an explosion came and mary retired laughing and marvelling to what strange uses telephones--and doctors--are put. chapter xii. it was a lovely morning in late september. the sun almost shone through the film of light gray clouds which lay serenely over all the heavens. there was a golden gleam in the atmosphere, "and a tender touch upon everything as if autumn remembered the days of spring." the doctor and his wife were keenly alive to the beauty of the day. after they had driven several miles they stopped before a little brown house. the doctor said he would like mary to go in and she followed him into the low-ceiled room. "here, you youngsters, go out into the yard," said the mother of the children. "there ain't room to turn around when you all get in." they went. a baby seven or eight months old sat on the floor and stared up at mary as she seated herself near it. two women of the neighborhood sat solemnly near by. the doctor approached the bed on which a young woman of eighteen or twenty years was lying. "my heart hain't beat for five minutes," she said. "is that so?" said the doctor, quite calm in the face of an announcement so startling. "well, we'll have to start it up again." "that's the first time she has spoke since yesterday morning," said one of the solemn women in a low tone to the doctor. "it didn't hurt her to keep still. she could have spoken if she had wanted to." the two women looked at each other. "no, she couldn't speak, doctor," said one of them. "oh, yes she could," replied the doctor with great nonchalance. "i _couldn't_!" said the patient with much vigor. this was just what he wanted. he examined her carefully but said not a word. "how long do you think i'll live?" she asked after a little. "well, that's a hard question to answer--but you ought to be good for forty or fifty years yet." the patient sniffed contemptuously. "huh, i guess you don't know it all if you _are_ a doctor." "i know enough to know there's mighty little the matter with _you_." he turned to one of the women. "i would like to see her mother," he said. the mother had left the room on an errand; the woman rose and went out. there was a pause which mary broke by asking the baby's name. "we think we'll call her orient." "why not occident?" thought mary, but she kept still. not so the doctor. "_that's_ no name. give her a good sensible _name_--one she won't be ashamed of when she's a woman." here mary caught sight of a red string around the baby's neck, and asked if it was a charm of some sort. the mother took hold of the string and drew up the charm. "it's a blind hog's tooth," she said simply, "to make her cut her teeth easy." the mother of the patient came into the room. "how do you think she is, doctor?" "oh, she's not so sick as you thought she was, not near." the mother looked relieved. "she had an awful bad spell last night. do you think she won't have any more?" "no, she won't have any more." the look on the patient's face said plainly, "we'll see about that." it did not escape the doctor. "but in case you should see any signs of a spell coming on, and if she gets so she can't speak again, then you must--but come into the next room," he said in a low voice. they went into an adjoining room, the doctor taking care to leave the door ajar. then in a voice ostensibly low enough that the patient might not hear and yet so distinct that she could hear every word, he delivered his instructions: "now, if she has any more spells she must be blistered all the way from her neck down to the end of her spine." the mother looked terrified. "and if she gets so she can't speak again, it will be necessary to put a seton through the back of her neck." "what _is_ a seton?" faltered the woman. "oh, it's nothing but a big needle six or eight inches long, threaded with coarse cord. it must be drawn through the flesh and left there for a while." then in a tone so low that only the mother could hear, he said, "don't pay much attention to her. she'll never have those spells unless there is somebody around to see her." he walked into the other room and took up his hat and case. "i left some powders on the table," he said to the mother. "you may give her one just before dinner and another tonight." "will it make any difference if she doesn't take it till tonight?" "not a bit." "pa's gone and i didn't 'low to git any dinner today." at this announcement mary heard something between a sigh and a groan and turning, saw a rosy-cheeked boy in the doorway. there was a look of resigned despair on his face and mary smiled sympathetically at him as she went out. how many lads and lassies could have sympathized with him too, having been victims to that widespread feeling among housewives that when "pa" is gone no dinner need be got and sometimes not much supper. as the doctor and his wife started down the walk they heard a voice say, "ma, don't you ever send for that smart-aleck doctor agin. i won't _have_ him." the doctor shook with laughter as he untied the horse. "they won't need to send for me 'agin.' i like to get hold of a fine case of hysterics once in a while--it makes things lively." "the treatment you prescribed was certainly heroic enough," said mary. they had driven about a mile, when, in passing a house a young man signaled the doctor to stop. "mother has been bleeding at the nose a good deal," he said, coming down to the gate. "i wish you would stop and see her. she'll be glad to see you, too, mrs. blank." they were met at the door by a little old woman in a rather short dress and in rather large ear-rings. her husband, two grown daughters and three children sat and stood in the room. "so you've been bleeding at the nose, mrs. haig?" said the doctor, looking at his patient who now sat down. "yes, sir, and it's a-gittin' me down. i've been in bed part of the day." "it's been bleedin' off and on for two days and nights," said the husband. "did you try pretty hard to stop it?" "yes, sir, i tried everything i ever heerd tell of, and everything the neighbors wanted me to try, but it didn't do no good." "open the door and sit here where i can have a good light to examine your nose by," the doctor said to the patient. she brought her chair and the young man opened the door. as he did so there was a mad rush between the old man and his two daughters for the door opposite. "shet that door, quick!" the old man shouted, and it was instantly done. mary looked around with frightened eyes. had some wild beast escaped from a passing menagerie and was it coming in to devour the household? there was a swirl of ashes and sparks from the big fireplace. "this is the blamedest house that ever was built," said mr. haig. "who built it?" queried the doctor. "i built it myself and like a derned fool went an' put the fireplace right between these two outside doors, so if you open one an' the other happens to be open the fire and ashes just flies." the doctor took an instrument from his pocket and proceeded with his examination. "but there's a house back here on the hill about a mile that beats this," said the old man. "that is a queer-looking house," said mary. "it has no front door at all." "no side door, neither. when a feller wants to get in _that_ house there's just one of three ways: he has to go around and through the kitchen, or through a winder, or down the chimney." "if he was little enough he might go through the cat-hole," suggested the young man, at which they all laughed. "and what may that be?" asked the mystified mary. "it's a square hole cut in the bottom of the door for the cat to go in and out at. the man that owns the place said he believed in having things handy." "now, let me see your throat," said the doctor. the patient opened her mouth to such an amazing extent that the doctor said, "no, i will stand on the outside!" which made mary ashamed of him, but the old couple laughed heartily. they had known this doctor a good many years. "what have you been doing to stop the bleeding?" he asked. "i've been a-tryin' charms and conjurin', mostly." mary saw that there was no smile on her face or on any other face in the room. she spoke in a sincere and matter-of-fact way. "old uncle peter, down here a piece, has cured many a case of nose-bleed but he hain't 'peared to help mine." "how does he go about it?" asked mary. "w'y, don't you know nothin' 'bout conjurin'?" "nothing at all." "i thought you bein' a doctor's wife would know things like that." "i don't believe my husband practises conjuring much." "well, uncle peter takes the bible, and opens it, and says some words over it, and pretty soon the bleedin' stops." "which stops it, the bible or the words?" "w'y--both i reckon, but the words does the most of it. they're the charm and nobody knows 'em but him." "where did he learn them?" "his father was a conjurer and when he died he tol' the words to uncle peter an' give the power to him." "did he come up here to conjure you?" asked the doctor. "no, he says he can do it just as well at home." "he can. but i think we can stop the bleeding without bothering uncle peter any more. i'd like a pair of scissors," he said, meaning to cut some papers for powders. "they won't do no good. i've tried 'em." "what do you think i want with them?" "i 'lowed you wanted to put 'em under the piller. that'll cure nose-bleed lots of times. maybe you don't believe it, but it's so." "can uncle peter cure other things?" asked mary. "he can _that_. my nephew had the chills last year and shook and shook. at last he went to uncle peter an' he cured _him_." "he shot 'em," said mr. haig. "yes, he told him to take sixteen shot every mornin' for sixteen days and by the time he got through he didn't shake a bit." "by jings! he was so heavy he couldn't," said mr. haig, and in the laugh that followed the doctor and his wife rose to go. a neighboring woman with a baby in her arms had come in and seated herself near the door. as he passed out the doctor stopped to inquire, "how's that sore breast? you haven't been back again." "it's about well. william found a mole at last and when i put the skin of it on my breast it cured it. i knowed it would, but when we wanted a mole there wasn't none to be found, so i had to go and see _you_ about it." "i thought it would soon be well. good for the mole-skin," laughed the doctor, as they took their leave. when they had started homeward they looked at each other, the doctor with a smile in his eyes--he had encountered this sort of thing so often in his professional life that he was quite accustomed to it. but mary's brown eyes were serious. "john," she said, "when will the reign of ignorance and superstition end?" "when time shall be no more, my dear." "so it seems. those people, while lacking education, seem to be fairly intelligent and yet their lives are dominated by things like these." "yes, and not only people of fair intelligence but of fair education too. while they would laugh at what we saw and heard back there they are holding fast to things equally senseless and ridiculous. then there are thoroughly educated and cultured people holding fast to little superstitions which had their birth in ignorance away back in the past somewhere. how many people do you know who want to see the new moon over the left shoulder? and didn't i hear you commanding jack just the other day to take the hoe right out of the house and to go out the same door he came in?" "o, ye-es, but then _nobody_ wants to have a _hoe_ carried through the house, john. it's such a bad sign--" the doctor laughed. "this thing is so widespread there seems to be no hope of eliminating it entirely though i believe physicians are doing more than anybody else toward crushing it out." "can they reason and argue people out of these things?" "not often. good-natured ridicule is an effective shaft and one i like to turn upon them sometimes. they get so they don't want to say those things to me, and so perhaps they get to see after a while that it is just as well not to say them too often to other people, too." "don't drive so fast, john, the day is too glorious." yellow butterflies flitted hither and thither down the road; the corn in the fields was turning brown and out from among it peeped here and there a pumpkin; the trees in apple orchards were bending low with their rosy and golden treasures. they passed a pool of water and saw reflected there the purple asters blooming above it. by and by the doctor turned down a grassy road leading up to a farmhouse a short distance away. "are you to make another call today?" asked his wife. "yes, there is a very sick child here." when he had gone inside three or four children came out. a curly-headed little girl edged close and looked up into mary's face. "miss' blank, _you_ know where mr. blank got our baby, _don't_ you?" mary, smiling down at the little questioner, said, "the doctor didn't tell me anything about it." the little faces looked surprised and disappointed. "we thought you'd know an' we come out to ask you," said another little girl. "you make all the babies' dresses, don't you?" "dear me, no indeed!" laughed the doctor's wife. "does he keep all the babies at your house?" asked the little boy. "i think not. i never see them there." "didn't he ever bring any to your house?" "oh, yes, five of them." "i'd watch and see where he _gets_ 'em," said the little fellow stoutly. "jimmie brown said mr. blank found their baby down in the woods in an old holler log." the doctor came out, and the little boy looking up at him asked, "is they any more babies down in the woods?" "yes, yes, 'the woods is full of 'em,'" laughed the doctor as he drove off leaving the little group quite unsatisfied. when they had gone some distance two wagons appeared on the brow of the hill in front of them. "hold on, doctor," shouted the first driver, as the doctor was driving rapidly by, "i want to sell you a watermelon." "will you take your pay in pills?" "don't b'lieve i have any use for pills." "don't want one then, i'm broke this morning," and he passed the second wagon and pulled his horse into the road again. "wait a minute! _i'll_ trade you a melon for some pills," called the driver. he spread the reins over the dashboard and clambered down; the man in front looked back at him with a grin. "i've got two kinds here, the cyclone and the monarch, which would you rather have?" "oh, i don't care," said the doctor. "let us have a monarch, please," said mary. monarch was a prettier name than cyclone, and besides there was no sense in giving so violent a name to so peaceful a thing as a watermelon. so the monarch was brought and deposited in the back of the buggy. the doctor opened his case. "take your choice." "what do you call this kind?" "i call that kind little devils." "how many of 'em would a feller dare take at once?" "well, i wouldn't take more than three unless you have a lawyer handy to make your will." "why, will they hurt me?" "they'll bring the answer if you take enough of 'em." the man eyed the pills dubiously,--"i believe i'll let that kind alone. what kind is this?" "these are podophyllin pills." "gee, the _name's_ enough to kill a feller." "well, morning-glories is a good name. if you take too many you'll be wafted straight to glory in the morning, and the road will be a little rough in places." "confound it, jake," called the first driver, "don't you take _none_ of 'em. don't monkey with 'em." but jake had agreed to trade a melon for pills. he held out his big hand. "pour me out some of them little devils. i'll risk 'em." the doctor emptied the small bottle into jake's hand, replaced it in the case and drove off. "john, why in the world didn't you give him some instructions as to how to take them?" asked mary, energetically. "he didn't ask me to prescribe for him, my dear. he wanted to trade a watermelon for pills and we traded." "for pity's sake," said mary indignantly, "and you're going to let that man kill himself while you strain at a point of professional etiquette!" she was gazing back at the unfortunate man. "don't you worry, he'll be too much afraid of them to hurt himself with them," said the doctor, laughing. "i sincerely hope he will." as they came in sight of home the doctor, who had been silent for some time, sighed heavily. "i am thinking of that little child out there. i tell you, mary, a case of meningitis makes a man feel his limitations." chapter xiii. a long, importunate peal. the doctor rose and went swiftly. mary listened with interest to what was to come: "?" "yes." "?" "yes." "?" "yes." "?" "yes." "?" "yes." he rang off. "that was decided in the affirmative," said mary. * * * * * ting-a-ling-ling-ling. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. "doctor, do you think the baby will cut any more teeth this summer?" "you'd better ring up solomon and ask that." "well--if he gets through teething--don't you think he'll be all right?" "if he gets through with the way you _feed_ him he'll be all right." "well, his teething has lots to do with it." "no, it don't--not a darned bit. if you'll take care of his stomach his teeth will take care of themselves. it's what goes _between_ the teeth that does the mischief. i keep telling people that every day, and once in a while i find someone with sense enough to believe it. but a lot of 'em know too much--then the baby has to pay for it." "well, i'll be awful careful, doctor." "all right then. and stick right to the baby through the hot months. let me hear from it. good-bye." * * * * * ting-a-ling-ling-ling--three times. mary rose and went. an agitated voice said, "come and see the baby!" and was gone. "she is terribly frightened," thought mary, as she rang central. "some one rang dr. blank. can you find out who it was?" "i'm afraid not." "will you please try?" "yes, but people ought to do their own talking and not bother us so much." "i know," said mary gently, "but this is a mother badly frightened about her baby--she did not think what she was doing and left the 'phone without giving me her name." central tried with such good result that mary was soon in possession of the name and number. she telephoned that she would send the doctor down as soon as she could find him, which she thought would be in a few minutes. then she telephoned a house where he had been for several days making evening visits. "is dr. blank there?" "he _was_ here. he's just gone." "is he too far away for you to call him?" "run and see, tommy." silence. then, "yes, he's got too far to hear. i'm sorry." "very well. thank you." "let me see," she meditated, "yes, i think he goes there." she got the house. "is dr. blank there?" "he's just coming through the gate." "please ask him to come to the 'phone." after a minute his voice asked what was wanted and mary delivered her message. when her husband came home that night, she said, "john, there's one more place you're to go and you're to be there at nine o'clock." "the deuce!" he looked at his watch, "ten minutes to nine now. where is it?" "i don't know." "don't know?" "no. i haven't the slightest idea." "why didn't you find out," he asked, sharply. mary arched her brows. "suppose _you_ find out." john rang central. with twinkling eyes his wife listened. "hello, central. who was calling dr. blank a while ago?" "a good many people call, dr. blank. i really cannot say." the voice was icily regular, splendidly null. it nettled the doctor. "suppose you try to find out." "people who need a doctor ought to be as much interested as we are. i don't know who it was." and the receiver went up. "damned impudence!" said the doctor, slamming up his receiver and facing about. "wait, john. that girl has had to run down the woman with the sick baby. she didn't give _her_ name either. central had lots of trouble in finding her. it's small wonder she rebelled when i came at her the second time. so all i could do was to deliver the message just as it came, 'tell the doctor to come down to our house and to be here at nine o'clock.'" "consultation, i suppose. they'll ring again pretty soon, i dare say, and want to know why i don't hurry up." but nothing further was heard from the message or the messenger that night or ever after. * * * * * ting-a-ling-ling-ling. can we move henry out into the yard? it's so hot inside. * * * * * ting-a-ling-ling-ling. can we move jennie into the house? it gets pretty cold along toward morning. * * * * * ting-a-ling-ling-ling. doctor, you know those pink tablets you left? i forget just how you said to take 'em. * * * * * ting-a-ling-ling-ling. the baby's throwing up like everything. * * * * * ting-a-ling-ling-ling. johnny's swallowed a nickel!.... you say it won't?.... and not give him anything at all? well, i needn't have been so scared, then. * * * * * ting-a-ling-ling-ling. the baby pulled the cat's tail and she scratched her in the face. i'm afraid she's put her eye out..... no, the _baby's_ eye. i'm afraid she can't see..... no, she's not crying. she's going to sleep..... well, i guess she _can't_ see very well with her eyes shut..... then you won't come down?.... all right, doctor, you know best. * * * * * ting-a-ling-ling-ling. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. "is this the doctor?" "yes." "the baby has a cold and i rubbed her chest with vaseline and greased her nose. is that all right?" "all right." "and i am going to make her some onion syrup, if i can remember how it's made. how do you make it?" "why--o, _you_ remember how to make it." the truth is the doctor was not profoundly learned in some of the "home remedies" and was more helpless than the little mother herself, which she did not suspect. "you slice the onions and put sugar on them, don't you?" "yes, that'll be all right," he said, hastily putting up the receiver. * * * * * ting-a-ling-ling-ling. "doctor, when you come down, bring something for my fever--" "yes, i will!" "and for my nervousness--" "yes, yes." the doctor turned quickly from the 'phone, but it rang again. "and for my back, doctor--" "yes. _yes!_" he put the receiver up with a bang and seizing his hat rushed away before there should be any more. * * * * * three rings. "is this dr. blank's?" "yes." "is he there?" "no, but i expect him very soon." "when he comes will you tell him to come out to frank tiller's?" "does he know where that is?" "he was here once." "lately?" "no, some time ago." "please tell me what street you live on, so the doctor will know where to go." mary heard a consultation of a minute. "it's on oak street." "east oak or west?" another consultation. "north." "very well. i'll tell the doctor as soon as he comes." "tell him to come as quick as he possibly can." five minutes later the office ring came. mary went obediently lest her husband might not be in. she heard the same voice ask, "is this you, doctor?" "yes." "we want you to come out to frank tiller's as quick as you possibly can." "where is that?" "_you've_ been here." "_where do you live?_" "we live on oak street." "east or west?" "north." "that street runs east and west!" "ma, he says the street runs east and west." "well, maybe it does. i've not got my directions here yet--then it must be west." "it's on west oak street, doctor." the doctor was not quite able to locate the place yet. "is it the house where the girl had the sore throat?" "ma, he says, is it the place where the girl had the sore throat?" "it's just in front of that house." "she says it's just in front of that house and come just as quick as you possibly can." "what does she mean by 'in front of it'?" "why, it's just across the street, and come just as quick as you possibly--" "yes. i'll _run_." mary smiled, but she was glad to hear her husband add a little more pleasantly, "i'll be out there after a little." when he came home he said, laughing, "that girl up there took the medicine i gave her and pounded the bottle to flinders before my eyes." "what for?" "o, she was mad." "what did you do then?" "reached down in my pocket and took out another one just like it and told them to give it according to directions." "nothing like being prepared." "i knew pretty well what i was up against before i went. the old complaint," said john, drawing on his slippers as he spoke. chapter xiv. mary had been down the street, shopping. "i'll drop in and visit with john a few minutes," she thought, as she drew near the office. when she entered her husband was at the telephone with his back toward her. "hello. what is it?" "shake up your 'phone, i can't hear a word you're saying." "who?" "oh, yes, _i_ know." exasperation was in every letter of every word. "take one every six months and let me hear from you when they're all gone." slam! "there's always _some_ damned thing," he muttered, and turning faced his wife. "a surprising prescription, john. what does it mean?" "it means that she's one of these everlasting complainers and that i'm tired of hearing her. she's been to chicago and st. louis and cincinnati. she's had three or four laparotomies and every time she comes back to me with a longer story and a worse one. they've got about everything but her appendix and they'll get that if she don't watch out." "why, i thought they always got that the first thing." "you have no idea how it tires a man to have people come to him and complain, complain, _complain_. the story is ever new to them but it gets mighty old to the doctor. then they go away to the city and some surgeon with a great name does what may seem to him to be best. sometimes they come back improved, sometimes not, and sometimes they come back worse than when they went. in all probability the operator never sees the patient again and so the last chapters of the story must be told to the home doctor over and over again." mary gave a little sigh. the doctor went on: "in many cases it isn't treatment of any kind that is needed. it is occupation--occupation for the mind and for the hands. something that will make people forget themselves in their work or in their play." ting-a-ling-ling-ling. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. "is this you, doctor?" "yes." "i wanted to see if you were at the office. i'll be over there right away." in a few minutes the door opened and a gentleman about thirty-five years of age entered. his manner was greatly agitated and he did not notice mrs. blank at the window near the corner of the room. "good morning, mr. blake," said the doctor, shaking hands with him, "back again, are you?" mr. blake had been to c--, his native city. he had not been well for some time and had evinced a desire to go back and consult his old physician there, in which dr. blank had heartily concurred. "how long do you think i can live?" mr. blake asked now. "what do you mean?" replied the doctor, regarding him closely. "i want to know how much time i have. i want to get my business fixed up before--" "blake, you couldn't die if you wanted to. you're not a sick enough man for that." the patient took a letter from his pocket and handed it in silence to the doctor. the latter took it, looked carefully at the superscription, read it slowly through, then folded it with cool deliberation and put it back into the envelope. "i thought you were going to your old physician," he said. "dr. kenton was out of the city so i went to the great specialist." "did he tell you what was in this letter he sent to me?" "no, but the letter was not sealed and i read it. i was so anxious to know his opinion that i couldn't help it. tuberculosis of the larynx--" his voice faltered. "yes," said the doctor, calmly, "that is a thing a man may well be frightened about. but listen to me, blake. you've not got tuberculosis of the larynx." "do you think a great physician like dr. wentworth doesn't know what he is talking about?" "dr. wentworth is a great physician; i know him well. but he is only a man like the rest of us and therefore liable to err in judgment sometimes. he knew you half an hour, perhaps, before he pronounced upon your case. i have known you and watched you for fifteen years. i say you have not got tuberculosis _and i know i am right_." mary saw mr. blake grasp her husband's hand with a look in his face that made her think within herself, "blessings on the country doctor wherever he may be, who has experience and knowledge and wisdom enough to draw just and true conclusions of his own and bravely state them when occasion demands." when the patient had gone mary said to her husband, "one gets a kaleidoscopic view of life in a doctor's office. what comes through the ear at home comes before the eye here. the kaleidoscope turned a bright-colored bit into the place of a dark one this time, john. i am glad i was here to see." as she spoke footsteps were heard on the stairs. slow and feeble steps they were, but at last they reached the landing and paused at the open door. looking out mary saw a poorly clad woman perhaps forty years of age, carrying in her hands a speckled hen. she was pale and trembling violently, and sank down exhausted into the chair the doctor set for her. he took the hen from her hands and set it on the floor. its feet were securely tied and it made no effort to escape. the doctor had never seen the woman before but noting the emaciated form and the hectic flush on the cheek he saw that consumption was fast doing its work. mary took the palm leaf fan lying on the table and stood beside her, fanning her gently. when the woman could speak she said, "i oughtn't to 'a' tried to walk, doctor, but there didn't seem to be anyone passin' an' this cough is killin' me. i want something for it." "how far did you walk?" asked mary, kindly. "four mile." "four miles!" she looked down at the trembling form with deep pity in her brown eyes. "i didn't have any money, doctor, but will the hen pay for the medicine?" her eyes were raised anxiously to his face and mary's eyes met the look in the eyes of her husband. "i don't want the hen. we haven't any place to keep her. besides my wife, here, is afraid of hens." a little smile flitted across the wan face. he told her how to take the medicine and then said, "whenever you need any more let me know and i'll send it to you. you needn't worry about the pay." "i'm very much obleeged to you, doctor." "just take the hen back home with you." "i wonder if i couldn't sell her at the store," she said, looking at the doctor with a bright, expectant face. "wait here and rest awhile and then we'll see about it. i'll go down and perhaps i can find some one in town from out your way that you can ride home with. where do you live?" she told him and he went down the stairs. in a little while he came back. "one of your neighbors is down here now waiting for you. he's just starting home," he said. he took the hen and as they started down the stairs mary came out and joined them. at the foot of the stairway he said to the grocer standing in front of his establishment, "here, keller, i want you to give me a dollar for this hen." "she ain't worth it." "she _is_ worth it," said the doctor so emphatically that keller put his hand in his pocket and handed out the dollar. the poor woman did not see the half dollar that passed from the doctor's hand to the grocer's, but mary saw and was glad. the doctor laid the dollar in the trembling palm, helped the feeble woman into the wagon and they drove off. mary turned to her husband and said with a little break in her voice, "i'm going home, john. i want to get away from your kaleidoscope." ting-a-ling-ling-ling. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. "and i must go for another peep into it. good-bye. come again." * * * * * "is this dr. blank?" "yes." "this is jim sampson, doctor, out at sampson's mill. my boy fell out of a tree a while ago and broke his leg, and i'm sort o' worried about it." "it don't have to _stay_ broke, you know." "that's just the point. i'm afraid it will--for a while at least." "what do you mean?" "why, my wife says she won't have it set unless the signs are right for setting a broken bone. she's great on the almanac signs." "the devil! you have that bone _set_--_today_! do you understand?" "yes, but mary's awful set in her way." "i'm a darned sight more set. that boy's not going to lie there and suffer because of a fool whim of his mother's. where is she? send her to the 'phone and i'll talk to _her_." "she couldn't find her almanac and ran across to the neighbor's to get one." "call me when she gets back." ten minutes passed and the call came. "it's all right, doctor, the signs says so." a note of humor but of unmistakable relief vibrated in the voice. "come right out." "all right, jim, i'll be out as soon as i make my round here in town. tell your wife to have that almanac handy. i may learn something from it." an hour or two later he was starting out to get into the buggy, with splints and other needful things when the 'phone called him back. hastily cramming them under the seat he went. "hello." "is this dr. blank?" "this is millie hastings. do you remember me?" "no-o--i don't believe i do." "you doctored me." "yes, i've 'doctored' several people." "i had typhoid fever two years ago up in the country at my uncle's." "what's your uncle's name?" "henry peters." "yes, i remember now." "i wanted to find out what my bill is." "wait here a moment till i look at the book." in a minute he had found it: millie hastings--so many visits at such and such a date, amounting to thirty-six dollars. he went back to the 'phone. "do you make your money by working by the week?" "yes, sir." "have you learned how to save it?" "yes, sir, i had to. i have to help mother." "your bill is eighteen dollars." he heard a little gasp, then a delighted voice said: "i was afraid it would be a good deal more. and now dr. blank, i want to ask a favor of you." "ask away." "i brought four dollars to town with me today to pay on my bill, but i want a rocking chair _so_ bad--i'm over here at the furniture store now--and there's such a nice one here that just costs four dollars and i thought maybe you'd wait a----" "_certainly_ i will. get the rocking chair by all means," and he laughed heartily as he went out to the buggy. he climbed in and drove away, the smile still lingering on his face. at the outskirts of the town a tall girl hailed him from the sidewalk. he stopped. "i was just going to your office to get my medicine," she said. "i left it with the man there. he'll give it to you." "must i take it just like the other?" "yes. laugh some, though, just before you take it." "why?" "because you won't feel like it afterward." the girl looked after him as he drove on. "he's laughing," she said to herself and a grin overspread her face as she pursued her leisurely way. * * * * * ting-a-ling-ling-ling-ling-ling-ling!!! "must be something unusual," thought mary as the doctor went to the 'phone. "doctor, is this you?" "yes." "come out to john lansing's quick!" "what's the matter?" "my wife swallowed poison. hurry, doctor, for god's sake!" in a few minutes the doctor was on his horse (the roads being too bad for a buggy) and was off. we will follow him as he plunges along through the darkness. because of the mud the horse's progress was so slow that the doctor pulled him to one side, urged him on to the board walk, much against his inclination, and went clattering on at such a pace that the doors began to fly open on both sides of the street and heads, turned wonderingly after the fleeting horseman, were framed in rectangles of light. "what _is_ the matter out there?" the angle of the heads said it so plainly that the doctor laughed within himself as he thundered on. now it chanced that one of the heads belonged to a meddlesome matty who, next day, stirred the matter up, and that evening two officers of the law presented themselves at dr. blank's office and arrested him. "i don't care anything about the fine. all i wanted was to get there," he said, handing out the three dollars. after the horse left the board walk the road became more solid and in about ten minutes the doctor arrived at his destination. before he could knock the door was opened. the patient sat reclining in a chair, motionless, rigid, her eyes closed. "what has she taken?" asked the doctor of the woman's husband. "laudanum." "how much?" "she told me she took this bottle full," and he held up a two ounce bottle. "i think she's lying," thought the doctor as he laid his fingers upon her pulse. then he raised the lids and looked carefully at the pupils of the eyes. "not much contraction here," he thought. turning to the husband who stood pale and trembling beside him, he said, "don't be alarmed--she's in no more danger than you are." he watched the patient's face as he spoke and saw what he expected--a faint facial movement. "to be on the safe side we'll treat the case as if she had taken two ounces." he gave her a hypodermic emetic then called for warm water. "how much?" asked the husband. "o, a half gallon will do." a big fat woman came panting through the doorway. "i got here as quick as i could," she gasped. "we don't need you at all," said the doctor quietly. "better go back home to your children, mrs. johnson." mrs. johnson, not liking to be cheated out of a sensation which she dearly loved, stood still. mr. lansing came back with the warm water. a faint slit appeared under the eyelids of the patient. the doctor took the big cup and said abruptly, "here! drink this!" no response. "mrs. lansing!" he said so sharply that her eyes opened. "drink this water." "i ca-an't," she murmured feebly. "yes, you can." "i won't," the voice was getting stronger. "you will." "you'll see." "yes, i'll see." he held the big vessel to her mouth. when the water began to pour down her neck she sprang to her feet fighting it off. he held the cup in his left hand while with his right he reached around her neck and took her firmly by the nose. then he held the cup against her mouth and when it opened for breath he poured the life-saving fluid forcefully down. great gulps of it were swallowed while a wide sheet of water poured down her neck and over her night-dress to the floor. "that was very well done. better sit down now." the husband stood in awed silence. the fat woman shook her fist at the doctor's back which he beheld, nothing daunted, in the looking-glass on the wall. the patient herself sat down in absolute quiet. in a minute she began retching and vomited some of the water. the doctor inspected it carefully. then he went to his overcoat on a chair, felt in the pocket and drew out a coil of something. it looked like red rubber and was about half an inch in diameter. he slowly unwound it. it was five or six feet in length. a subdued voice asked, "what are you going to do now, doctor?" "i am going to turn on the hose." "wha-a-t?" "i am going to put this tube down into your stomach. you haven't thrown up much of that laudanum yet." she opened her mouth to speak and the doctor inserted one end of the tube and began ramming it down. "unfasten a button or two here," he said to her husband and rammed some more. she gagged and gurgled and tried to push his hands away. "hold on, we're not down yet--we're only about to the third button." he began ramming the tube again when she looked up at her husband so imploringly that he said, "hold on a minute, doctor, she wants to say something." the doctor withdrew the tube and waited. "i'm sure i threw it all up." "oh no," he said beginning to lift it again. "i--only--took--two--or three drops." "why the devil didn't you say so at the start?" "i wish i had. i just told _jim_ that." "to get even with him for something," announced the doctor quietly. "how can he know so much," mused jim's wife. "now i advise you not to try this game again," said the doctor as he wound up the stomach tube and put it into his pocket. "you can't fool jim all the time, and you can't fool me any of the time. good night." and he rode home and found mary asleep in her chair. * * * * * ting-a-ling-ling-ling. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. "is this you, dr. blank?" "yes." "i wanted to ask you about an electric vibrator." "about what?" "an electric vibrator." "an electric something--i didn't get the last word." a little laugh, then "v-i-b-r-a-t-o-r." "oh! vibrator." "yes. do you think it would help my aunt?" "not a durned bit." another little laugh, "you don't think it would?" "no!" "i had a letter today from my cousin and she said she knew a lady who had had a stroke and this vibrator helped her more than anything." "it didn't. she imagined it." "well, i didn't know anything about it and i knew you would, so i thought i'd 'phone you before going any further. much obliged, doctor." it would save much time and money and disappointment if all those who don't know would pause to put a question or two to those who do. but so it is _not_, and the maker of worthless devices and the concocter of nostrums galore cometh oft to fortune by leaps and bounds, while the poor, conscientious physician who sticks to the truth of things, arriveth betimes at starvation's gate. (i was startled a few days ago to learn that the average income of physicians in the united states does not exceed six hundred dollars.) * * * * * ting-a-ling-ling-ling. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. "tell papa he's wanted at the 'phone," said mary. "where is he?" "isn't he there in the dining room?" "no, he isn't here." "he must be in the kitchen then; go to the door and call him." the small boy obeyed. "he's not out here either," he announced from the door-way. "why, where can he be!" cried mary, springing up and going swiftly to the 'phone. "hello." "is the doctor there?" "yes. wait just a minute and i will call him." she hurried through the dining room, then through the kitchen and out into the yard. no doctor to be seen. "he passed through the house not three minutes ago," she said to herself. "john!" "doctor!" "doc-_tor_!" "o, dear! i don't see how he could disappear from the face of the earth in three minutes' time!" she hurried around a projecting corner through a little gate and called again. "what is it?" asked a placid voice as its owner emerged from his new auto garage. "hurry to the 'phone for pity's sake!" and he hurried. mary, following, all out of breath, heard this: "two teaspoonfuls." then the doctor hung up the receiver. he turned to mary and laughed as he quoted emerson on the mountain and the mouse. "i chased you all over the place this afternoon, john, when the 'phone was calling you, and couldn't find you at all. some people have days to 'appear' but this seems to be your day to disappear. where were you then?" "out in the garage." "fascinating spot! i'll know where to look next time. now come to supper." chapter xv. it was october--the carnival time of the year, when on the ground red apples lie in piles like jewels shining, and redder still on old stone walls are leaves of woodbine twining. when comrades seek sweet country haunts, by twos and twos together, and count like misers, hour by hour, october's bright blue weather. on a lovely afternoon our travelers were driving leisurely along through partially cleared woodland. the doctor had proposed that they take this trip in the new automobile. but mary had declined with great firmness. "i will not be hurled along the road in october of all months. what fools these mortals be," she went on. "last year while driving slowly through the glorious austrian tyrol fairly holding my breath with delight, one machine after another whizzed by, the occupants fancying they were 'doing' the tyrol, i dare say." mary looked about her, drinking in deep draughts of the delicious air. the beautifully-tinted leaves upon every tree and bush, the blue haze in the distance and the dreamful melancholy over all, were delightful to her. the fragrance of wild grapes came to them as they emerged from the woods and mary said, "couldn't you wait a minute, john, until i go back and find them? i'll bring you some." "if you were sick and had sent for a doctor would you like to have him fool around gathering grapes and everything else on his way?" "no, i wouldn't. i really wouldn't." they laughed as they sped along the open country road, skirted on either side by a rail fence. from a fence corner here and there arose tall sumac, like candelabra bearing aloft their burning tapers. the poke-weed flung out its royal purple banners while golden-rod and asters were blooming everywhere. suddenly mary exclaimed, "i'm going to get out of the buggy this minute." "what for?" "to gather those brown bunches of hazelnuts." "mary, i positively will not wait for you." "john, i positively don't want you to wait for me," said mary, putting her foot on the step, "i'm going to stay here and gather nuts till you come back. see how many there are?" and she sprang lightly to the ground. "it will be an hour or more before i can get back. i've got to take up that pesky artery." "it won't seem long. you know i like to be alone." "good-bye, then," and the doctor started off. "wait! john," his wife called after him. "i haven't a thing to put the nuts in, please throw me the laprobe." the doctor crushed the robe into a sort of bundle and threw it to her. she spread the robe upon the ground and began plucking the bunches. her fingers flew nimbly over the bushes and soon she had a pile of the brown treasures. dear old times came trooping back. she thought of far-off autumn days when she had taken her little wagon and gone out to the hazel bushes growing near her father's house, and filled it to the top and tramped it down and filled it yet again. then a gray october day came back when three or four girls and boys, all busy in the bushes, talked in awed tones of the great fire--chicago was burning up! big, big chicago, which they had never seen or dreamed of seeing--all because a cow kicked over a lamp. mary moved to another clump of bushes. as she worked she thought if she had never known the joy of gathering nuts and wild grapes and persimmons, of wandering through woods and meadows, her childhood would have lost much that is beautiful and best, and her womanhood many of its dearest recollections. "you're the doctor's wife, ain't ye?" mary looked around quite startled. a tall woman in a blue calico dress and a brown gingham sunbonnet was standing there. "i didn't want to scare ye, i guess you didn't see me comin'." "i didn't know you were coming--yes, i am the doctor's wife." "we saw ye from the house and supposed he'd gone on to see old man benning and that you had stopped to pick nuts." "you guessed it exactly," said mary with a smile. "we live about a quarter mile back from the road so i didn't see the doctor in time to stop him." "is some one sick at your house, then?" "well, my man ain't a doin' right, somehow. he's been ailin' for some time and his left foot and leg is a turnin' blue. i come to see if you could tell me somethin' i could do for it. i'm afraid it's mortifyin'." mary's brown eyes opened wide. "why, my dear woman, i couldn't tell you anything to do. i don't know anything at all about such things." "i supposed bein' a doctor's wife you'd learnt everything like that." "i have learned many things by being a doctor's wife, very many things, but what to do with a leg and foot that are mortifying i really could not tell you." mary turned her face away to hide a laugh that was getting near the surface. "i will have the doctor drive up to the house when he gets back if you wish," she said, turning to her companion. "maybe that would be best. your husband cured me once when i thought nothing would ever get me well again. i think more of him than any other man in the world." "thank you. so do i." she started off and mary went on gathering nuts, her face breaking into smiles at the queer errand and the restorative power imputed to herself. "if it is as serious as she thinks, all the doctors in the world can't do much for it, much less one meek and humble doctor's wife. but they could amputate, i suppose, and i'm sure i couldn't, not in a scientific way." thus soliloquizing, she went from clump to clump of the low bushes till they were bereft of their fruitage. she looked down well-pleased at the robe with the nuts piled upon it. she drew the corners up and tied her bundle securely. this done she looked down the road where the doctor had disappeared. "i'll just walk on and meet him," she thought. she went leisurely along, stopping now and then to pluck a spray of goldenrod. when she had gathered quite a bunch she looked at it closely. "you are like some people in this world--you have a pretty name and at a little distance _you_ are pretty: but seen too close you are a disappointment, and more than that you are coarse. i don't want you," and she flung them away. she saw dust rising far down the road and hoped it might be the doctor. yes, it was he, and bucephalus seemed to know that he was traveling toward home. when her husband came up and she was seated beside him, she said, "you are wanted at that little house over yonder," and she told him what had taken place in the hazel bushes. "you're second choice though, they came for me first," she said laughing. "i wish to thunder you'd gone. they owe me a lot now they'll never pay." "at any rate, they hold you in very high esteem, john." "oh, yes, but esteem butters no bread." "well, you'll go, won't you? i told the woman you would." "yes, i'll go." he turned into a narrow lane and in a few minutes they were at the gate. the doctor handed the reins to mary and went inside. a girl fourteen or fifteen years old with a bald-headed baby on her arm came out of the house and down the path. "won't you come in?" "no, thank you. we will be going home in a minute." the girl set the baby on the gate-post. "she's the smartest baby i ever saw," she said. "she's got a whole mouthful of teeth already." "and how old is she?" "she was ten months old three weeks ago last saturday." as today was thursday, mary was on the point of saying, "she will be eleven months old in a few days then," but checked herself--she understood. it would detract from the baby's smartness to give her eleven months instead of only ten in which to accomplish such wonders in the way of teeth. the doctor came out and they started. just before they came out to the main road they passed an old deserted house. no signs of life were about it except the very luxuriant life in the tall jimsons and ragweeds growing about it and reaching almost to the top of the low doorway, yawning blackly behind them. "i think the longest night of my life was spent in that house about sixteen years ago. it's the only house i was ever in where there was nothing at all to read. there wasn't even an almanac." mary laughed. "an almanac is a great deal better than nothing, my dear. i found that out once upon a time when i had to stay in a house for several hours where there was just one almanac and not another printed page. i read the jokes two or three times till they began to pall and then set to work on the signs. i'll always have a regard for them because they gave me a lift through those tedious hours." they were not far from the western edge of the piece of woodland they were traversing and all about them was the soft red light of the setting sun. they could see the sun himself away off through the straight and solemn trunks of the trees. a mile farther on mary uttered a sudden exclamation of delight. "see that lovely bittersweet!" "i see, but don't ask me to stop and get you some." "i won't, but i'll ask you to stop and let _me_ get some." "i wouldn't bother about it. you'll have to scramble over that ditch and up the bank--" "i've scrambled over worse things in my life," she said, springing from the buggy and picking her way down the intervening ditch. the bright red berries in their flaring yellow hoods were beautiful. she began breaking off the branches. when she had gathered a large bunch and was turning toward the buggy she saw a vehicle containing two women approaching from the opposite direction. there was a ditch on either side of the road which, being narrow at this point, made passing a delicate piece of work. the doctor drew his horse to one side so that the wheels of the buggy rested on the very brink and waited for them to pass; he saw that there was room with perhaps a foot or two to spare. on came the travelers and--the front wheels of the two vehicles were locked in a close embrace. for a minute the doctor did some vigorous thinking and then he climbed out of the buggy. it was a trying position. he could not say all of the things he wanted to--it would not be polite; neither did he want to act as if it were nothing because mary might not understand the extent of the mischief she had caused and how much out of humor he was with her. it would be easier if she were only out of hearing instead of looking at him across the ditch with apologetic eyes. the doctor's horse began to move uneasily but the other stood perfectly still. "he's used to this sort of thing, perhaps," said the doctor with as little sarcasm as possible. "yes, we have run into a good many buggies and things," said one of the women, cheerfully. "women beat the devil when it comes to driving," thought the doctor within himself. "they'll drive right over you and never seem to think they ought to give part of the road. and they do it everywhere, not only where there are ditches." he restrained his speech, backed the offending vehicle and started the travelers on. while he was doing so his own steed started on and he had a lively run to catch him. mary had thought of turning back to break off another spray of the bittersweet but john's profanity was rising to heaven. diplomacy required her to get to the buggy and into it at once. this she did and the doctor plunged in after her. "forgive me for keeping you waiting," she said gently. she held the bittersweet out before her. "isn't it lovely, john?" a soft observation turneth away wrath. the doctor's was oozing away sooner than he wished. they drove on for a while in silence. the soft, still landscape dotted here and there with farm houses and with graceful elm and willow trees, was lit up and glorified by the after-glow. the evening sky arching serenely over a quiet world, how beautiful it was! and as mary's eyes caught a glittering point of light in the blue vault above them, she sang softly to herself: "o, thou sublime, sweet evening star, joyful i greet thee from afar." for a while she watched the stars as one by one they twinkled into view, then drawing her wraps more closely about her, she leaned back in the carriage and gave herself up to pleasant reflection, and before she realized it the lights of home were twinkling cheerily ahead. chapter xvi. "you are not going out tonight, john, no matter how often the 'phone rings. i positively will not let you." mary spoke with strong emphasis. all the night before he had been up and today had been a hard day for him. she had seldom seen him so utterly weary as he was tonight. he had come home earlier than usual and now sat before the fire, his head sunk on his breast, half asleep. "go right to bed, dear, then you can really rest." the doctor, too tired to offer any resistance, rose and went to the bedroom. in a few minutes his wife heard regular sonorous sounds from the bed. (when she spoke of these sounds to john, mary pronounced it without the first _o_.) glad that he had so soon fallen into deep sleep she settled back in her chair. "i'll protect him tonight," she thought, "though fiery darts be hurled." she thought of many things. the fire-light gleamed red upon the hearth. all was still. the sounds from the adjoining room had ceased. something stirred within her and she rose and went softly to the bedside of her sleeping husband. in the half-light she could see the strong, good face. dear john so profane yet so patient, so severe yet so tender, what would it be to face life without him. she laid her hand very lightly on the hand which lay on the counterpane, then took it away lest it disturb the sleeper. she went back to her chair and opening a little volume took from it a folded sheet. twice before today had she read the words written within it. a dear friend whose husband had recently died had written her, inclosing them. she read them again now: in memoriam,--a prayer. "o god! the father of the spirits of all flesh, in whatsoever world or condition they be,--i beseech thee for him whose name, and dwelling place, and every need thou knowest. lord, vouchsafe him peace and light, rest and refreshment, joy and consolation in paradise, in the ample folds of thy great love. grant that his life, so troubled here, may unfold itself in thy sight, and find employment in the spacious fields of eternity.--if he hath ever been hurt or maimed by any unhappy word or deed of mine, i pray thee, of thy great pity, to heal and restore him, that he may serve thee without hindrance. "tell him, o gracious father, if it may be,--how much i love him and miss him, and long to see him again; and if there may be ways in which he may come, vouchsafe him to me as guide and guard, and grant me such sense of his nearness as thy laws permit. if in aught i can minister to his peace, be pleased of thy love to let this be; and mercifully keep me from every act which may deprive me of the sight of him, as soon as our trial time is over, or mar the fullness of our joy when the end of the days hath come." mary brushed away a tear from her cheek. "this letter has awakened unusual thoughts. i will--" a sharp peal from the telephone. "what is it?" "is the doctor at home?" "yes. he has gone to bed and is fast asleep." "oh! we wanted him to come down to see my sister." "he was up all last night and is not able to come--" "can i just talk to him about her?" mary sighed. to rouse him from his sorely needed sleep was too cruel. then she spoke. "i must not disturb him unless it is absolutely necessary. i shall be sitting here awake--call me again in a little while if you think it necessary." "a--l--l r--i--g--h--t--" and a sob came distinctly to the listener's ear. this was too much for mary. "i'll call him," she said hurriedly and went to the bedroom. with much difficulty she roused him. he threw back the covers, got up and stumbled to the 'phone. "hello..... yes..... they didn't? is she suffering much?.... all right, i'll be down in a little bit." mary groaned aloud. she had vowed to protect him though fiery darts be hurled. but the sob in the voice of a frightened young girl was more potent than any fiery dart could have been and had melted her at once. slowly but surely the doctor got himself into his clothes. "i don't think there's any use of my going down there again, but i suppose i'll have it to do." when he returned an hour later, he said, "just as i thought--they were badly scared over nothing. i shouldn't wonder if they'd rout me out again before morning." "no, they won't," said mary to herself, and when her husband was safe in bed again, she walked quietly to the telephone, took down the receiver and _left_ it down. "extreme cases require extreme measures," she thought as she, too, prepared for her night's rest. but there was a haunting feeling in her mind about the receiver hanging there. suppose some one who really did need the doctor should call and call in vain. she would not think of it. she turned over and fell asleep and they both slept till morning and rose refreshed for another day. * * * * * a few weeks later circumstances much like those narrated above arose, and the doctor's wife for the second and last time left the receiver down. about two o'clock there came a tragic pounding at the door and when the doctor went to open it a voice asked, "what's the matter down here?" "why?" "central's been ringing you to beat the band and couldn't get you awake." "strange we didn't hear. what's wanted?" he had recognized the messenger as the night clerk at the hotel not far from his home. "a man hurt at the railroad--they're afraid he'll bleed to death. central called me and asked me to run over here and rouse you." when the doctor was gone mary rose tremblingly and hung up the receiver. she would not tell john what she had done. he would be angry. she had felt that the end justified the means--that he was tired out and half sick and sorely needed a night's unbroken rest--but if the end should be the bleeding to death of this poor man-- she dared not think of it. she went back to bed but not to sleep. she lay wide awake keenly anxious for her husband's return. and when at last he came her lips could hardly frame the question, "how is he, john?" "pretty badly hurt, but not fatally." "thank heaven!" mary whispered, and formed a quick resolve which she never broke. this belonged to her husband's life--it must remain a part of it to the end. chapter xvii. one lovely morning in april, mary was called to the telephone. "i want you to drive to the country with me this morning," said her husband. "i'll be delighted. i have a little errand down town and i'll come to the office--we can start from there." accordingly half an hour later she walked into the office and seated herself in a big chair to wait till john was ready. the door opened and a small freckle-faced boy entered. "good morning, governor," said the doctor. the governor grinned. "what can i do for you today?" "how much will ye charge to pull a tooth?" "well, i'll pull the tooth and if it don't hurt i won't charge anything. sit down." the boy sat down and the doctor got out his forceps. the tooth came hard but he got it. the boy clapped his hand over his mouth but not a sound escaped him. "there it is," said the doctor, holding out the offending member. "do you want it?" a boy's tooth is a treasure to be exhibited to all one's friends. he took it and put it securely in his pocket. "how much do i have to pay?" "did it hurt?" "nope." "nothing at all." the boy slid from the chair and out of the door, ecstasy overspreading all the freckles. "that boy has a future," said mary looking after him with a smile. "i see they have brought the horse. we must be starting." ting-a-ling-ling-ling. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. "they want ye down at pete jansen's agin." "what's the matter there now?" "o, that youngun's been _drinkin'_ somethin' agin." "into the lye this time, too?" "no, it's coal oil and bluin' this time and i don't know what else." "i'll be down right away," said the doctor, taking up his hat. "get into the buggy and drive down with me, mary, it's just at the edge of town and then we can drive on into the country." when they stopped at the house, an unpainted little frame structure, mary held the horse while her husband went in. "where's the boy?" he asked, looking around. "he's out in the back yard a-playin' now, i guess," his mother replied from the bed. "then what in thunder did you send for me for?" "why, i was scared for fear it would kill him." the doctor turned to go then paused to ask, "how's the baby?" "she's doin' fine." "she's just about a week old now, isn't she?" "a week yesterday. don't you want to see how much she's growed?" the doctor went to the bed and looked down at the wee little maiden. "great god!" he exclaimed, so fiercely that the woman was frightened. "why haven't you let me know about this baby's eyes?" "w'y, we didn't think it'd 'mount to anything. we thought they'd git well in a day or two." "she'll be blind in less than a week if something isn't done for them." "grandmother's been a doctorin' 'em some." "well, there's going to be a change of doctors right straight. i'm going to treat this baby's eyes myself." "we don't want any strong medicine put in a baby's eyes." "it don't make a bit of difference what you want. i'm going to the drug store now to get what i need and i want you to have warm water and clean cloths ready by the time i get back. is there anyone here to do it?" "there's a piece of a girl out there in the kitchen. she ain't much 'count." the doctor went to the kitchen door and gave his orders. "i'd ruther you'd let the baby's eyes alone. i'm afraid to have strong medicine put in 'em." for answer he went out, got into the buggy and drove rapidly back to town where he procured what he needed and in a few minutes was back. "you'd better come in this time, mary, you'll get tired of waiting and besides i want you to see this baby. i want you to know something about what every father and mother ought to understand." they went in and the doctor took the baby up and seated himself by the chair on which stood a basin of water. the mother, with very ungracious demeanor, looked on. mary, shocked and filled with pity, looked down into the baby's face. the inflammation in the eyes was terrible. the secretion constantly exuded and hung in great globules to the tiny lids. never in her life had she seen anything like it. "let me hold it for you," she said, sitting down and taking the baby in her lap. the doctor turned the little head toward him and held it gently between his knees. he took a pair of goggles from his pocket and put them over his eyes to protect them from the poison, then tenderly as any mother could have done, he bathed and cleansed the poor little eyes opening so inauspiciously upon the world. he thought as he worked of this terrible scourge of infancy, producing one-third of all the blindness in the world. he thought too, that almost all of this blindness was preventable by prompt and proper treatment. statistics had proven these two things beyond all doubt. he thought of the earnest physicians who had labored long to have some laws enacted in regard to this stupendous evil but with little result.[ ] [ ] . ophthalmia neonatorum . there has been legislation for the prevention of blindness in the states of new york, maine, rhode island and illinois. when they were in the buggy again mary said, "but what if the baby goes blind after all? of course they would say that you did it with your 'strong medicine.'" "of course they would, but that would not disturb me in the least. but it will not go blind now. i'll see to that." soon they had left the town behind them and were fairly on their way. the soft, yet bracing, air of the april morning was delightful. the sun shone warm. birds carolled everywhere. the buds on the oak trees were swelling, while those on the maples were bursting into red and furzy bloom. far off to the left a tall sycamore held out white arms in welcome to the springtime and perfect stillness lay upon the landscape. "i am so glad the long reign of winter and bad roads is ended, john, so i can get out with you again into the blessed country." "and i am glad to have good company." "thanks for that gallant little speech. ask me often, but i won't go every time because you might get tired of me and i'd be sure to get tired of you." "thanks for that gracious little speech." * * * * * that evening when the doctor and mary were sitting alone, she said, "john, that baby's eyes have haunted me all day long. and you say one-third of the blindness of the world is due to this disease." "yes." "that seems to me a terrific accusation against you doctors. what have you been doing to prevent it?" "everything that has been done--not very much, i'm afraid. speaking for myself, i can say that i have long been deeply interested. i have written several papers on the subject--one for our state medical society." "so far so good. but i'd like to know more about it." "write to the secretary of the state board of health for all the information that he can give you." the next day mary wrote. three days later she received the following letter: springfield, nov. , . my dear mrs. blank: several states of the union have laws in relation to the prevention of blindness, some good, some bad, and some indifferent, and i fear that the last applies to the manner in which the laws are enforced in the majority of the states. in the december, , _bulletin_ of this board, a copy of which i send you under separate cover, you will find the illinois law, which, as you can readily see, is very difficult of enforcement. but, as i said, much can be done in its enforcement if the state board of health can secure the co-operation of the physicians of the state. however, in this connection you will note that i have made an appeal to physicians, on page  . yet, to the best of my knowledge, the board has not received one inquiry in regard to the enforcement of this law, except from the committee on the prevention of ophthalmia neonatorum. in regard to the other states, it will take me some time to look up the laws, but i will advise you in a few days. sincerely yours, j. a. egan. after reading it carefully through, mary's eye went back to the sentence, "much can be done if the state board of health can secure the co-operation of the physicians of the state." she rose and walked the floor. "if i were a voice--a persuasive voice," she thought, "i would fly to the office of every physician in our great state and then to every physician in the land and would whisper in his ear, 'it is your glorious privilege to give light to sightless eyes. it is more: it is your sacred duty. o, be up and doing!'" "to think, john," she said, turning impetuously toward her husband, "that i, all these years the wife of a man who knows this terrible truth, should just be finding it out. then think of the thousands of men and women who know nothing about it. how are they to know? who is to tell them? who is to blame for the blindness in the first place? who can--" ting-a-ling-ling-ling. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. "is this dr. blank?" "yes." "this is mr. ardmore. can you come up to my house right away?" "right away." when he arrived at his destination he was met at the door by a well-dressed, handsome young man. "just come into this room for a few minutes, doctor. my wife says they are not quite ready for you in there." "who is the patient?" asked the doctor as he walked into the room indicated. "the baby boy." "the baby boy!" exclaimed the doctor. "i didn't know the little rascal had got here." "yes, you were out of town. my wife and i thought that ended the matter but he got here just the same." "mighty glad to hear it. how old is he?" "just ten days." "pretty fine, isn't he?" "you bet! i wouldn't take all the farms in these united states for him." "to be sure. to be sure," laughed the doctor. he picked up a little volume lying open on the table. "do you like omar?" he asked, aimlessly turning the pages. "very much. i don't always get the old persian's meaning exactly. take this verse," he reached for the book and turning back a few pages read: "the moving finger writes; and having writ, moves on; nor all your piety nor wit shall lure it back to cancel half a line, nor all your tears wash out a word of it. that sounds pretty but it has something in it that almost scares a fellow--he doesn't know why." the nurse appeared in the doorway and announced that the doctor might come in now. both men rose and went across the hall into the bedroom. the doctor shook hands with the baby's mother. "where did you get this?" he asked, laying his hand on the downy little head. "he came out of the everywhere into the here," she quoted, smiling. "nurse, turn the baby's face up so the doctor can see his eyes. they're greatly inflamed, doctor," she said. the doctor started. "bring a light closer," he said sharply. while the light was being brought he asked, "did this inflammation begin when the baby was about three days old?" "he was exactly three days old." "and been growing worse ever since?" "yes. dr. brown was with me when he was born. he came in the next day and everything was all right. then he was called to chicago and i didn't know enough about babies to know that this might be serious." "_you_ ought to have known," said the doctor sternly, turning to the nurse. "i am not a professional nurse. i have never seen anything like this before." the light was brought and the nurse took the baby in her arms. the doctor, bending over it, lifted the swollen little lids and earnestly scrutinized the eyes. _the cornea was entirely destroyed!_ "o god!" the words came near escaping him. sick at heart he turned his face away that the mother might not see. she must not know the awful truth until she was stronger. he gave some instructions to the nurse, then left the room followed by the baby's father. "stop for a few minutes, doctor, if you please. i'd like to ask you something about this," and both resumed their seats, after mr. ardmore had closed the door. "do you think the baby's eyes have been hurt by too much light?" "no by darkness--egyptian darkness." the young man looked at him in wonder. "what is the disease?" "it is ophthalmia neonatorum, or infantile sore eyes." "what is the nature of it?" "it is always an infection." "how can that be? there has been nobody at all in the room except dr. brown and the nurse." the doctor did not speak. there came into his mind the image of mary as she had asked so earnestly, "how are they to know? who is to tell them?" leaning slightly forward and looking the young man in the face he said, "i do not know absolutely, but _you_ know!" "know what?" "whether or not your child's eyes have had a chance to be infected by certain germs." "what do you mean, doctor?" asked the young father in vague alarm. slowly, deliberately, and with keen eyes searching the other's face the doctor made reply: "i mean that the sins of the fathers are visited upon the children." there was bewildered silence for an instant then a wave of crimson surged over neck, cheek and brow. it was impossible to meet the doctor's eyes. the young man looked down and made no attempt to speak. by and by he said in a low voice, "it's no use for me to deny to you, doctor, that i have been a fool and have let my base passions master me. but if i had dreamed of any such result as this they wouldn't have mastered me--i know that." "the man that scorns these vile things because of the eternal wrong in them will never have any fearful results rising up to confront him." "all that has been put behind me forever, doctor; i feel the truth and wisdom of what you say. just get my boy's eyes well and he shall never be ashamed of his father." the doctor looked away from the handsome, intelligent face so full at that moment of love and tenderness for this new son which had been given into his care and keeping, and a wave of pity surged over him. but he must go on to the bitter end. "you have not understood this old persian's verse," he said, taking up the little book again. "tonight his meaning is to be made plain to you." slowly he read: "the moving finger writes; and, having writ, moves on; nor all your piety nor wit shall lure it back to cancel half a line, nor all your tears wash out a word of it." he laid the volume gently down and turning, faced the younger man. "listen: in those licentious days the moving finger was writing a word for the future to reveal. it wrote blind in the eyes of your helpless child." "my god! you don't mean it!" "it is true. the cornea is destroyed." a deathly pallor overspread the young man's face. he bowed his head in his hands and great sobs shook his frame. "my god! my god!" he gasped over and over again. accustomed as the doctor was to suffering and sorrow this man's anguish was too much for him. the tears rolled down his cheeks and he made no effort to restrain them. after a long time the younger man raised his head and spoke in broken words, "doctor, i must not keep you here. you are needed elsewhere. leave me to remorse. i am young and you are growing old, doctor, but will you take this word from me? you and all in your profession should long ago have told us these things. the world should not lie in ignorance of this tremendous evil. if men will not be saved from themselves they will save their unborn children, if they only know. god help them." the doctor went slowly homeward, his mind filled with the awful calamity in the household he had left. "it is time the world is waking," he thought. "we must arouse it." * * * * * ting-a-ling-ling-ling. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. "is this mrs. blank?" it was a manly voice vibrating with youth and joy. "i want to tell you that your husband has just left a sweet little daughter at our house." "oh, has he! i'm very glad, mr. farwell. thank you for telephoning. father, mother and baby all doing well?" "fine as silk. i had to tell _somebody_ right away. now i'm off to send some telegrams to the folks at home. goodbye." ting-a-ling-ling-ling. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. "this is mrs. blank is it not?" "yes." "will you please tell the doctor that father is dead. he died twenty minutes ago." "the doctor was expecting the message, mr. jameson," said mary gently. this, too, was the voice of a young man, but quiet, subdued, bringing tidings of death instead of life. and mary, going back to her seat in the twilight, thought of the words of one--life is a narrow vale between the cold and barren peaks of two eternities. the eternity before the baby came, the eternity after the old man went, were solemnly in her thoughts. but they were not cold and barren peaks to her. they were crowned with light and warmth and love. and into her thoughts came, too, the never-ending story of the 'phone as it was unfolding itself to her throughout the years. humor and pathos, folly and wisdom, tragedy and comedy, pain, anguish, love, joy, sorrow--all had spoken and had poured their brief story into the listening ear of the helper. and when he was not there, into the ear of one who must help in her own poor way. o countless, countless messages stored in her memory to await his coming! only she could know how faithfully she had guarded and delivered them. only she could-- ting-a-ling. ting-a-ling. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. [ transcriber's note: the following is a list of corrections made to the original. the first line is the original line, the second the corrected one. "that's about five miles out, isn't it. whose sick out there?" "that's about five miles out, isn't it. who's sick out there?" well, where is the _doctor_?" "well, where is the _doctor_?" small's at drayton. when the voice came she said, "i wanted to tell you small's at drayton." when the voice came she said, "i wanted to tell you "mary heard the 'phoner say in an aside, "he won't be back for an hour mary heard the 'phoner say in an aside, "he won't be back for an hour asked central to give her drayton, mr. walton's house." asked central to give her drayton, mr. walton's house. she flew to the farmers' phone. she flew to the farmers' 'phone. "wait a minute, i'll see." she raced through the pages,--yes, here it "wait a minute, i'll see." she raced through the pages,--"yes, here it "thought you was a-goin' to hold the' phone. i've had a turrible time "thought you was a-goin' to hold the 'phone. i've had a turrible time "shake up your 'phone. i can't hear you. "shake up your 'phone. i can't hear you." interested listener at the phone. going, one morning, to speak to a interested listener at the 'phone. going, one morning, to speak to a "doctor, will it hurt the baby to bathe it every morning?" i've been "doctor, will it hurt the baby to bathe it every morning? i've been "likes to see it's mamma?" "likes to see its mamma?" my land! i've been here three or four times. looks like i'd ketch him "my land! i've been here three or four times. looks like i'd ketch him was mightly emphatic." was mightily emphatic." that sounds good, doctor. i was awfully scared. much obliged. "that sounds good, doctor. i was awfully scared. much obliged. "wait a minute, mrs. blank," said the voice of central, some one is "wait a minute, mrs. blank," said the voice of central, "some one is "yes, you _can_!" roared a voice. you jist want to fool around." the "yes, you _can_!" roared a voice. "you jist want to fool around." the it's _exactly_ in his line. years ago when i was a little girl he "it's _exactly_ in his line. years ago when i was a little girl he would break and then she said, "father, i _must_ tell you, but don't would break and then she said, 'father, i _must_ tell you, but don't tell mother; and then she told me." tell mother'; and then she told me." "the doctor was fixing up powders and went placidly on till he got the doctor was fixing up powders and went placidly on till he got "oh," said the voice, somewhat mollified, i'll just call him up when he "oh," said the voice, somewhat mollified, "i'll just call him up when he number again with vehemence." number again with vehemence. the circumflexes were irresistible." the circumflexes were irresistible. him this evening. this is mrs. x. will you be right out? him this evening. this is mrs. x. will you be right out?" "when i yas a young fellow and first hung up my shingle it was a "when i was a young fellow and first hung up my shingle it was a "certainly," i answered promptly. 'certainly,' i answered promptly. "my husband is very sick and i came to see if you would go down and ask 'my husband is very sick and i came to see if you would go down and ask dr. smithson to come and see him." i swallowed my astonishment and dr. smithson to come and see him.' i swallowed my astonishment and sweet day you'll retire from practise. then hully-gee! won't i be free! sweet day you'll retire from practice. then hully-gee! won't i be free! "then do it. do it right away. have the water _hot_, now. "then do it. do it right away. have the water _hot_, now." if they knew what i know their little hearts would almost burst for "if they knew what i know their little hearts would almost burst for there," she continued. "a woman's intuitions are safe guides' but she there," she continued. "'a woman's intuitions are safe guides' but she table his wife, said, "john, i shouldn't think you'd say things like that table his wife said, "john, i shouldn't think you'd say things like that "hell-_o_!" where's the doctor?" "hell-_o_! where's the doctor?" "yes. when i went in the man who was a stranger to me, said, "i'll tell "yes. when i went in the man who was a stranger to me, said, 'i'll tell said to myself, "he's the man i want." said to myself, "he's the man i want."'" "very well thank you." "very well. thank you." the voice was icily regular, spendidly null. it nettled the doctor. the voice was icily regular, splendidly null. it nettled the doctor. "_where do you live!_" "_where do you live?_" "well maybe it does. i've not got my directions here yet--then it must "well, maybe it does. i've not got my directions here yet--then it must "my wife swallowed poison. hurry, doctor, for god's sake! "my wife swallowed poison. hurry, doctor, for god's sake!" chapter xvi. chapter xvii. "i'll be down right away," said the doctor, taking up his hat." "i'll be down right away," said the doctor, taking up his hat. "why haven't you let me know about this baby's eyes." "why haven't you let me know about this baby's eyes?" inauspiciously upon the world. he thought as he worked of this terribe inauspiciously upon the world. he thought as he worked of this terrible "thanks for that gracious little speech. "thanks for that gracious little speech." nor all your tears wash out a word of it. nor all your tears wash out a word of it." ] hoof and claw [illustration: logo] the macmillan company new york · boston · chicago dallas · atlanta · san francisco macmillan & co., limited london · bombay · calcutta melbourne the macmillan co. of canada, ltd. toronto [illustration: "he saw jeff with one lynx down, slashing at its throat." _frontispiece_] hoof and claw by charles g. d. roberts author of "kings in exile," "neighbors unknown," "the feet of the furtive," etc. new york the macmillan company _all rights reserved_ copyright, , by the illustrated sunday magazine and by the cosmopolitan magazine. copyright, , by the pictorial review company, by the illustrated sunday magazine, by the national sunday magazine, by the cosmopolitan magazine, and by john adams thayer corporation. copyright, by the macmillan company set up and electrotyped. published september, reprinted april, . contents page the bear that thought he was a dog the trail of the vanishing herds a master of supply the white wolf up a tree the eyes in the bush the runners of the high peaks the pool the shadows and john hatch the fisher in the chutes the assault of wings the cabin door a basket of fish brannigan's mary list of illustrations "he saw jeff with one lynx down, slashing at its throat" _frontispiece_ facing page "for a day he wandered disconsolately over and about the ruins" "the shambles of the plain" "he found the wolverine head downward in his choicest cellar" "the gaunt, tirelessly patrolling shape of his white sentinel" "his pronged antlers ripped it wide open" "and the fiery light in his brain went out" "he took no pains to choose an easy path" the bear that thought he was a dog the gaunt, black mother lifted her head from nuzzling happily at the velvet fur of her little one. the cub was but twenty-four hours old, and engrossed every emotion of her savage heart; but her ear had caught the sound of heavy footsteps coming up the mountain. they were confident, fearless footsteps, taking no care whatever to disguise themselves, so she knew at once that they were the steps of the only creature that presumed to go so noisily through the great silences. her heart pounded with anxious suspicion. she gave the cub a reassuring lick, deftly set it aside with her great paws, and thrust her head forth cautiously from the door of the den. she saw a man--a woodsman in brownish-grey homespuns and heavy leg-boots, and with a gun over his shoulder--slouching up along the faintly marked trail which led close past her doorway. her own great tracks on the trail had been obliterated that morning by a soft and thawing fall of belated spring snow--"the robin snow," as it is called in new brunswick--and the man, absorbed in picking his way by this unfamiliar route over the mountain, had no suspicion that he was in danger of trespassing. but the bear, with that tiny black form at the bottom of the den filling her whole horizon, could not conceive that the man's approach had any other purpose than to rob her of her treasure. she ran back to the little one, nosed it gently into a corner, and anxiously pawed some dry leaves half over it. then, her eyes aflame with rage and fear, she betook herself once more to the entrance, and crouched there motionless to await the coming of the enemy. the man swung up the hill noisily, grunting now and again as his foothold slipped on the slushy, moss-covered stones. he fetched a huge breath of satisfaction as he gained a little strip of level ledge, perhaps a dozen feet in length, with a scrubby spruce bush growing at the other end of it. behind the bush he made out what looked as if it might be the entrance to a little cave. interested at once, he strode forward to examine it. at the first stride a towering black form, jaws agape and claws outstretched, crashed past the fir bush and hurled itself upon him. a man brought up in the backwoods learns to think quickly, or, rather, to think and act in the same instant. even as the great beast sprang, the man's gun leaped to its place and he fired. his charge was nothing more than heavy duck-shot, intended for some low-flying flock of migrant geese or brant. but at this close range, some seven or eight feet only, it tore through its target like a heavy mushroom bullet, and with a stopping force that halted the animal's charge in mid-air like the blow of a steam hammer. she fell in her tracks, a heap of huddled fur and grinning teeth: "gee," remarked the man, "that was a close call!" he ejected the empty shell and slipped in a fresh cartridge. then he examined critically the warm heap of fur and teeth. perceiving that his victim was a mother, and also that her fur was rusty and ragged after, the winter's sleep, sentiment and the sound utilitarianism of the backwoods stirred within him in a fine blend. "poor old beggar!" he muttered. "she must hev' a baby in yonder hole. that accounts fer her kind of hasty ways. 'most a pity i had to shoot her jest now, when she's out o' season an' her pelt not worth the job of strippin' it!" entering the half darkness of the cave, he quickly discovered the cub in its ineffectual hiding-place. young as it was, when he picked it up, it whimpered with terror and struck out with its baby paws, recognizing the smell of an enemy. the man grinned indulgently at this display of spirit. "gee, but ye're chock-full o' ginger!" said he. and then, being of an understanding heart and an experimental turn of mind, he laid the cub down and returned to the body of the mother. with his knife he cut off several big handfuls of the shaggy fur and stuffed it into his pockets. then he rubbed his hands, his sleeves, and the breast of his coat on the warm body. "there, now," said he, returning to the cave and once more picking up the little one, "i've made ye an orphant, to be sure, but i'm goin' to soothe yer feelin's all i kin. ye must make believe as how i'm yer mammy till i kin find ye a better one." pillowed in the crook of his captor's arm, and with his nose snuggled into a bunch of his mother's fur, the cub ceased to wonder at a problem too hard for him, and dozed off into an uneasy sleep. and the man, pleased with his new plaything, went gently that he might not disturb the slumber. now, it chanced that at jabe smith's farm, on the other side of the mountain, there had just been a humble tragedy. jabe smith's dog, a long-haired brown retriever, had been bereaved of her new-born puppies. six of them she had borne, but five had been straightway taken from her and drowned; for jabe, though compassionate of heart, had wisely decided that compassion would be too costly at the price of having his little clearing quite overrun with dogs. for two days, in her box in a corner of the dusky stable, the brown mother had wistfully poured out her tenderness upon the one remaining puppy; and then, when she had run into the house for a moment to snatch a bite of breakfast, one of smith's big red oxen had strolled into the stable and blundered a great splay hoof into the box. that had happened in the morning; and all day the brown mother had moped, whimpering and whining, about the stable, casting long distraught glances at the box in the corner, which she was unwilling either to approach or to quite forsake. when her master returned, and came and looked in hesitatingly at the stable door, the brown mother saw the small furry shape in the crook of his arm. her heart yearned to it at once. she fawned upon the man coaxingly, lifted herself with her forepaws upon his coat, and reached up till she could lick the sleeping cub. somewhat puzzled, jabe smith went and looked into the box. then he understood. "if you want the cub, jinny, he's your'n all right. an' it saves me a heap o' bother." ii driven by his hunger, and reassured by the smell of the handful of fur which the woodsman left with him, the cub promptly accepted his adoption. she seemed very small, this new mother, and she had a disquieting odor; but the supreme thing, in the cub's eyes, was the fact she had something that assuaged his appetite. the flavor, to be sure, was something new, and novelty is a poor recommendation to babes of whatever kindred; but all the cub really asked of milk was that it should be warm and abundant. and soon, being assiduously licked and fondled, and nursed till his little belly was round as a melon, he forgot the cave on the mountainside and accepted jabe smith's barn as a quite normal abode for small bears. jinny was natively a good mother. had her own pups been left to her, she would have lavished every care and tenderness upon them during the allotted span of weeks, and then, with inexorable decision, she would have weaned and put them away for their souls' good. but somewhere in her sturdy doggish make-up there was a touch of temperament, of something almost approaching imagination, to which this strange foster-child of hers appealed as no ordinary puppy could ever have done. she loved the cub with a certain extravagance, and gave herself up to it utterly. even her beloved master fell into a secondary place, and his household, of which she had hitherto held herself the guardian, now seemed to her to exist merely for the benefit of this black prodigy which she imagined herself to have produced. the little one's astounding growth--for the cubs of the bear are born very small, and so must lose no time in making up arrears of stature--was an affair for which she took all credit to herself; and she never thought of weaning him till he himself decided the matter by preferring the solid dainties of the kitchen. when she could no longer nurse him, however, she remained his devoted comrade, playmate, satellite; and the cub, who was a roguish but amiable soul, repaid her devotion by imitating her in all ways possible. the bear being by nature a very silent animal, her noisy barking seemed always to stir his curiosity and admiration; but his attempts to imitate it resulted in nothing more than an occasional grunting _woof_. this throaty syllable, his only utterance besides the whimper which signalled the frequent demands of his appetite, came to be accepted as his name; and he speedily learned to respond to it. jabe smith, as has been already pointed out, was a man of sympathetic discernment. in the course of no long time his discernment told him that woof was growing up under the delusion that he was a dog. it was perhaps a convenience, in some ways, that he should not know he was a bear--he might be the more secure from troublesome ancestral suggestions. but as he appeared to claim all the privileges of his foster-mother, jabe smith's foreseeing eye considered the time, not far distant, when the sturdy and demonstrative little animal would grow to a giant of six or seven hundred pounds in weight, and still, no doubt, continue to think he was a dog. jabe smith began to discourage the demonstrativeness of jinny, trusting her example would have the desired effect upon the cub. in particular, he set himself to remove from her mind any lingering notion that she would do for a lap-dog. he did not want any such notion as that to get itself established in woof's young brain. also, he broke poor jinny at once of her affectionate habit of springing up and planting her forepaws upon his breast. that seemed to him a demonstration of ardor which, if practiced by a seven-hundred-pound bear, might be a little overwhelming. jabe smith had no children to complicate the situation. his family consisted merely of mrs. smith, a small but varying number of cats and kittens, jinny, and woof. upon mrs. smith and the cats woof's delusion came to have such effect that they, too, regarded him as a dog. the cats scratched him when he was little, and with equal confidence they scratched him when he was big. mrs. smith, as long as she was in a good humor, allowed him the freedom of the house, coddled him with kitchen tit-bits, and laughed when his affectionate but awkward bulk got in the way of her outbursts of mopping or her paroxysms of sweeping. but when storm was in the air, she regarded him no more than a black poodle. at the heels of the more nimble jinny, he would be chased in ignominy from the kitchen door, with mrs. jabe's angry broom thwacking at the spot where nature had forgotten to give him a tail. at such time jabe smith was usually to be seen smoking contemplatively on the woodpile, and regarding the abashed fugitives with sympathy. this matter of a tail was one of the obstacles which woof had to encounter in playing the part of a dog. he was indefatigable in his efforts to wag his tail. finding no tail to wag, he did the best he could with his whole massive hindquarters, to the discomfiture of all that got in the way. yet, for all his clumsiness, his good-will was so unchanging that none of the farmyard kindreds had any dread of him, saving only the pig in his sty. the pig, being an incurable sceptic by nature, and, moreover, possessed of a keen and discriminating nose, persisted in believing him to be a bear and a lover of pork, and would squeal nervously at the sight of him. the rest of the farmyard folk accepted him at his own illusion, and appeared to regard him as a gigantic species of dog. and so, with nothing to mar his content but the occasional paroxysms of mrs. jabe's broom, woof led the sheltered life and was glad to be a dog. iii it was not until the autumn of his third year that woof began to experience any discontent. then, without knowing why, it seemed to him that there was something lacking in jabe smith's farmyard--even in jabe smith himself and in jinny, his foster-mother. the smell of the deep woods beyond the pasture fields drew him strangely. he grew restless. something called to him; something stirred in his blood and would not let him be still. and one morning, when jabe smith came out in the first pink and amber of daybreak to fodder the horses, he found that woof had disappeared. he was sorry, but he was not surprised. he tried to explain to the dejected jinny that they would probably have the truant back again before long. but he was no adept in the language of dogs, and jinny, failing for once to understand, remained disconsolate. once clear of the outermost stump pastures and burnt lands, woof pushed on feverishly. the urge that drove him forward directed him toward the half-barren, rounded shoulders of old sugar loaf, where the blue-berries at this season were ripe and bursting with juice. here in the gold-green, windy open, belly-deep in the low, blue-jeweled bushes, woof feasted greedily; but he felt it was not berries that he had come for. when, however, he came upon a glossy young she-bear, her fine black muzzle bedaubed with berry juice, his eyes were opened to the object of his quest. perhaps he thought she, too, was a dog; but, if so, she was in his eyes a dog of incomparable charm, more dear to him, though a new acquaintance, than even little brown jinny, his kind mother, had ever been. the stranger, though at first somewhat puzzled by woof's violent efforts to wag a non-existent tail, apparently found her big wooer sympathetic. for the next few weeks, all through the golden, dreamy autumn of the new brunswick woods, the two roamed together; and for the time woof forgot the farm, his master, jinny, and even mrs. jabe's impetuous broom. but about the time of the first sharp frosts, when the ground was crisp with the new-fallen leaves, woof and his mate began to lose interest in each other. she amiably forgot him and wandered off by herself, intent on nothing so much as satisfying her appetite, which had increased amazingly. it was necessary that she should load her ribs with fat to last her through her long winter's sleep in some cave or hollow tree. and as for woof, once more he thought of jabe smith and jinny, and the kind, familiar farmyard, and the delectable scraps from the kitchen, and the comforting smell of fried pancakes. what was the chill and lonely wilderness to him, a dog? he turned from grubbing up an ant stump and headed straight back for home. when he got there, he found but a chimney standing naked and blackened over a tangle of charred ruins. a forest fire, some ten days back, had swept past that way, cutting a mile-wide swath through the woods and clean wiping out jabe smith's little homestead. it being too late in the year to begin rebuilding, the woodsman had betaken himself to the settlements for the winter, trusting to begin, in the spring, the slow repair of his fortunes. [illustration: "for a day he wandered disconsolately over and about the ruins."] woof could not understand it at all. for a day he wandered disconsolately over and about the ruins, whining and sniffing, and filled with a sense of injury at being thus deserted. how glad he would have been to hear even the squeal of his enemy, the pig, or to feel the impetuous broom of mrs. jabe harassing his haunches! but even such poor consolation seemed to have passed beyond his ken. on the second day, being very hungry, he gave up all hope of bacon scraps, and set off to the woods to forage once more for himself. as long as the actual winter held off, there was no great difficulty in this foraging. there were roots to be grubbed up, grubs, worms, and beetles, already sluggish with the cold, to be found under stones and logs, and ant-hills to be ravished. there were also the nests of bees and wasps, pungent but savory. he was an expert in hunting the shy wood-mice, lying patiently in wait for them beside their holes and obliterating them, as they came out, with a lightning stroke of his great paw. but when the hard frosts came, sealing up the moist turf under a crust of steel, and the snows, burying the mouse-holes under three or four feet of white fluff, then he was hard put to it for a living. every day or two, in his distress, he would revisit the clearing and wander sorrowfully among the snow-clad ruins, hoping against hope that his vanished friends would presently return. it was in one of the earliest of these melancholy visits that woof first encountered a male of his own species, and showed how far he was from any consciousness of kinship. a yearling heifer of jabe smith's, which had escaped from the fire and fled far into the wilderness, chanced to find her way back. for several weeks she had managed to keep alive on such dead grass as she could paw down to through the snow, and on such twigs of birch and poplar as she could manage to chew. now, a mere ragged bag of bones, she stood in the snow behind the ruins, her eyes wild with hunger and despair. her piteous mooings caught the ear of a hungry old he-bear which was hunting in the woods near by. he came at once, hopefully. one stroke of his armed paw on the unhappy heifer's neck put a period to her pains, and the savage old prowler fell to his meal. but, as it chanced, woof also had heard, from a little further off, that lowing of the disconsolate heifer. to him it had come as a voice from the good old days of friendliness and plenty and impetuous brooms, and he had hastened toward the sound with new hope in his heart. he came just in time to see, from the edge of the clearing, the victim stricken down. one lesson woof had well learned from his foster-mother, and that was the obligation resting upon every honest dog to protect his master's property. the unfortunate heifer was undoubtedly the property of jabe smith. in fact, woof knew her as a young beast who had often shaken her budding horns at him. filled with righteous wrath, he rushed forward and hurled himself upon the slayer. the latter was one of those morose old males, who, having forgotten or outgrown the comfortable custom of hibernation, are doomed to range the wilderness all winter. his temper, therefore, was raw enough in any case. at this flagrant interference with his own lawful kill, it flared to fury. his assailant was bigger than he, better nourished, and far stronger; but for some minutes he put up a fight which, for swift ferocity, almost daunted the hitherto unawakened spirit of woof. a glancing blow of the stranger's, however, on the side of woof's snout--only the remnant of a spent stroke, but enough to produce an effect on that most sensitive center of a bear's dignity--and there was a sudden change in the conditions of the duel. woof, for the first time in his life, saw red. it was a veritable berserk rage, this virgin outburst of his. his adversary simply went down like a rag baby before it, and was mauled to abject submission, in the smother of the snow, inside of half a minute. feigning death, which, indeed, was no great feigning for him at that moment, he succeeded in deceiving the unsophisticated woof, who drew back upon his haunches to consider his triumph. in that second the vanquished one writhed nimbly to his feet and slipped off apologetically through the snow. and woof, placated by his victory, made no attempt to follow. the ignominies of mrs. jabe's broom were wiped out. when woof's elation had somewhat subsided, he laid himself down beside the carcass of the dead heifer. as the wind blew on that day, this corner of the ruins was a nook of shelter. moreover, the body of the red heifer, dead and dilapidated though it was, formed in his mind a link with the happy past. it was jabe smith's property, and he got a certain comfort from lying beside it and guarding it for his master. as the day wore on, and his appetite grew more and more insistent, in an absent-minded way he began to gnaw at the good red meat beside him. at first, to be sure, this gave him a guilty conscience, and from time to time he would glance up nervously, as if apprehending the broom. but soon immunity brought confidence, his conscience ceased to trouble him, and the comfort derived from the nearness of the red heifer was increased exceedingly. as long as the heifer lasted, woof stuck faithfully to his post as guardian, and longer, indeed. for nearly two days after the remains had quite disappeared--save for horns and hoofs and such bones as his jaws could not crush--he lingered. then at last, urged by a ruthless hunger, and sorrowfully convinced that there was nothing more he could do for jabe or jabe for him, he set off again on his wanderings. about three weeks later, forlorn of heart and exigent of belly, woof found himself in a part of the forest where he had never been before. but some one else had been there; before him was a broad trail, just such as jabe smith and his wood sled used to make. here were the prints of horses' hooves. woof's heart bounded hopefully. he hurried along down the trail. then a faint, delectable savor, drawn across the sharp, still air, met his nostrils. pork and beans--oh, assuredly! he paused for a second to sniff the fragrance again, and then lurched onwards at a rolling gallop. he rounded a turn of the trail, and there before him stood a logging camp. to woof a human habitation stood for friendliness and food and shelter. he approached, therefore, without hesitation. there was no sign of life about the place, except for the smoke rising liberally from the stove-pipe chimney. the door was shut, but woof knew that doors frequently opened if one scratched at them and whined persuasively. he tried it, then stopped to listen for an answer. the answer came--a heavy, comfortable snore from within the cabin. it was mid-morning, and the camp cook, having got his work done up, was sleeping in his bunk the while the dinner was boiling. woof scratched and whined again. then, growing impatient, he reared himself on his haunches in order to scratch with both paws at once. his luck favored him, for he happened to scratch on the latch. it lifted, the door swung open suddenly, and he half fell across the threshold. he had not intended so abrupt an entrance, and he paused, peering with diffidence and hope into the homely gloom. the snoring had stopped suddenly. at the rear of the cabin woof made out a large, round, startled face, fringed with scanty red whiskers and a mop of red hair, staring at him from over the edge of an upper bunk. woof had hoped to find jabe smith there. but this was a stranger, so he suppressed his impulse to rush in and wallow delightedly before the bunk. instead of that, he came only half-way over the threshold, and stood there making those violent contortions which he believed to be wagging his tail. to a cool observer of even the most limited intelligence it would have been clear that these contortions were intended to be conciliatory. but the cook of conroy's camp was taken by surprise, and he was not a cool observer--in fact, he was frightened. a gun was leaning against the wall below the bunk. a large, hairy hand stole forth, reached down and clutched the gun. woof wagged his haunches more coaxingly than ever, and took another hopeful step forward. up went the gun. there was a blue-white spurt, and the report clashed deafeningly within the narrow quarters. the cook was a poor shot at any time, and at this moment he was at a special disadvantage. the bullet went close over the top of woof's head and sang waspishly across the clearing. woof turned and looked over his shoulder to see what the man had fired at. if anything was hit, he wanted to go and get it and fetch it for the man, as jabe and jinny had taught him to do. but he could see no result of the shot. he whined deprecatingly and ventured all the way into the cabin. the cook felt desperately for another cartridge. there was none to be found. he remembered that they were all in the chest by the door. he crouched back in the bunk, making himself as small as possible, and hoping that a certain hunk of bacon on the bench by the stove might divert the terrible stranger's attention and give him a chance to make a bolt for the door. but woof had not forgotten either the good example of jinny or the discipline of mrs. jabe's broom. far be it from him to help himself without leave. but he was very hungry. something must be done to win the favor of the strangely unresponsive round-faced man in the bunk. looking about him anxiously, he espied a pair of greasy cowhide "larrigans" lying on the floor near the door. picking one up in his mouth, after the manner of his retriever foster-mother, he carried it over and laid it down, as a humble offering, beside the bunk. now, the cook, though he had been undeniably frightened, was by no means a fool. this touching gift of one of his own larrigans opened his eyes and his heart. such a bear, he was assured, could harbor no evil intentions. he sat up in his bunk. "hullo!" said he. "what ye doin' here, sonny? what d'ye want o' me, anyhow?" the huge black beast wagged his hindquarters frantically and wallowed on the floor in his fawning delight at the sound of a human voice. "seems to think he's a kind of a dawg," muttered the cook thoughtfully. and then the light of certain remembered rumors broke upon his memory. "i'll be jiggered," said he, "ef 'tain't that there tame b'ar jabe smith, over to east fork, used to have afore he was burnt out!" climbing confidently from the bunk, he proceeded to pour a generous portion of molasses over the contents of the scrap pail, because he knew that bears had a sweet tooth. when the choppers and drivers came trooping in for dinner, they were somewhat taken aback to find a huge bear sleeping beside the stove. as the dangerous-looking slumberer seemed to be in the way--none of the men caring to sit too close to him--to their amazement the cook smacked the mighty hindquarters with the flat of his hand, and bundled him unceremoniously into a corner. "'pears to think he's some kind of a dawg," explained the cook, "so i let him come along in for company. he'll fetch yer larrigans an' socks an' things fer ye. an' it makes the camp a sight homier, havin' somethin' like a cat or a dawg about." "right you are!" agreed the boss. "but what was that noise we heard, along about an hour back? did you shoot anything?" "oh, that was jest a little misunderstandin', before him an' me got acquainted," explained the cook, with a trace of embarrassment. "we made it up all right." the trail of the vanishing herds once again, but sluggishly, as if oppressed by apprehensions which they could not understand, the humped and lion-fronted herds of the bison began to gather for the immemorial southward drift. harassed of late years by new and terrible enemies, their herds had been so thinned and scattered that even to the heavy brains of the fiercer old bulls a vague idea of caution was beginning to penetrate. hitherto it had been the wont of the colossal hordes to deal with their adversaries in a very direct and simple fashion--to charge and thunder down upon them, to roll over them in an irresistible flood of angry hooves, and trample them out of existence. against the ancient enemies this straightforward method of warfare had been efficacious enough, and the herds had multiplied till the plains were black with their marching myriads. but against the new foe--the white man, with his guns and his cunning, his cool courage and his insatiable greed--it had been a destructive failure. the mightier their myriads, the more irresistible the invitation to this relentless slaughterer; and they had melted before him. at last a new instinct had begun to stir in their crude intelligences, an instinct to scatter, to shun the old, well-worn trails of migration, to seek pasturage in the remoter valleys and by small streams where the white man's foot had not yet trespassed. but as yet it was no more than the suggestion of an instinct, too feeble and fumbling to sway the obstinate hordes. it had come to birth too late. here and there a little troop--perhaps half a dozen cows under the lordship of some shaggy bull more alert and supple-witted than his fellows--resisted the summons to assemble, and slipped off among the wooded glades. but the rest, uneasy, yet uncomprehending, obeyed the ancestral impulse and gathered till the northern plains were black with them. then the great march began, the fateful southward drift. the horde of the giant migrants was not a homogeneous mass, as it would have seemed to one viewing it from a distance and a height. it was made up of innumerable small herds, from a dozen to thirty or forty bison in each. each of these little groups hung together tenaciously, under the dominance of two or three old bulls, and kept at a certain distance, narrow but appreciable, from the herds immediately neighboring it. but all the herds drifted southward together in full accord, now journeying, now halting, now moving again, as if organized and ordered by some one central and inflexible control. rival bulls roared their challenges, pawed the earth, fought savage duels with their battering fronts and short, ripping horns, as they went; but always onward they pressed, the south with its sun-steeped pastures drawing them, the north with its menace of storm driving them before it. and the sound of their bellowings and their tramplings rose in a heavy thunder above their march, till the wide plain seemed to rock with it. countless as was their array, however, they seemed dimly conscious, with a sort of vague, communal, unindividual sort of perception, that their numbers and their power were as nothing in comparison with the migrations of preceding autumns. the arrogance of irresistible might had passed from them. they went sullenly, as if under a cloud of dark expectation. and the separate herds hung closer to their neighbors than had hitherto been the custom in the horde, as if seeking reassurance against an unknown threat. all around the far-flung outskirts of the host ran, skulking and dodging, its accustomed, hereditary foes--the little slim, yellow-gray coyotes and the gaunt timber wolves. the coyotes, dangerous only to the dying or to very young calves separated from their mothers, were practically ignored, save for an occasional angry rush on the part of some nervous cow; and, trusting to their amazing speed, they frequently ran far in among the herds, in the hope of spotting some sick animal and keeping it in view till the host should pass on and leave it to its fate. the great gray timber wolves, however, were honored with more attention. powerful enough alone to pull down a yearling calf, they were always watched with savage and apprehensive eyes by the cows, and forced to keep their distance. the stragglers, old and young, were their prey, or sometimes a wounded bull, worsted in battle and driven from his herd, and weak from loss of blood. in twos and threes they prowled, silent and grimly watchful, hanging on the flanks of the host or picking their way in its vast, betrampled, desolated trail. on the outermost edge of the right or western wing of the bellowing host went a compact little herd, which hung together with marked obstinacy. it consisted of a dozen cows with their calves and yearlings, and two adult bulls, one of which, the younger and less heavily maned, kept diffidently at the rear and seemed to occupy the busy but subordinate post of a sort of staff-sergeant. the other was an immense bull, with splendid leonine front and with a watchful, suspicious look in his eyes which contrasted sharply with the sullen stare of his fellows. he had the wisdom learned in many eventful migrations, and he captained his herd imperiously, being sure, in the main, as to what was best for them. but of just one thing he seemed somewhat unsure. he appeared irresolute as to the southward march or else as to the companionship of the host. by hanging upon the skirts of it, he held himself ready to detach his little herd from its company and make off among the foothills in case of need. at the same time, by thus keeping on the outskirts of the host he secured for his little knot of satellites the freshest and sweetest pasturage. however disquieting the brown bull's apprehensions, they were too vague to let him know what it was he feared. for the accustomed perils of the march he entertained just so much dread as befitted a sagacious leader--no more. the skulking coyotes he disdained to notice. they might skulk or dart about like lean shadows, as near the herd as the jealous cows would permit, and he would never trouble to shake the polished scimitars of his horns at them. the great gray wolves he scorned; but, with perhaps a dim prevision of the day when he should be old and feeble, and driven out from the herd, he could not ignore them. he chased them off angrily if they ventured within the range of his attention. but against an enemy whom he had learned to respect, the indian hunters, he kept an untiring watch, and the few white hunters, who had already so thinned the bison host, he remembered with a fear which was mingled with vengeful resentment. nevertheless, even his well-grounded fear of those human foes was not enough to account for his almost panicky forebodings. these enemies, as he had known them, struck always on the flanks of the host; and he had tactics to elude even the dreadful thunder and spurted lightning of their guns. his fear was of he knew not what and therefore it ground remorselessly upon his nerves. for the present, however, there were none of these human enemies near, and the host rolled on southward, with its bellowings and its tramplings, unmolested. neither indians nor white men approached this stage of the migration. the autumn days were sunny, beneath a sky bathed in dream. the autumn nights were crisp with tonic frost, and in the pink freshness of the dawn a wide-flung mist arose from the countless puffing nostrils and the frost-rimed, streaming manes. pasturage was abundant, the tempers of the great bulls were bold and pugnacious, and nothing seemed less likely than that any disaster could menace so mighty and invincible a host. yet brown bull was uneasy. from time to time he would lift his red-rimmed nostrils, sniff the air in every direction, and scan the summits of the foothills far on the right, as if the unknown peril which he apprehended was likely to come from that direction. as day by day passed on without event, the diffused anxiety of the host quite died away. but brown bull, with his wider sagacity or more sensitive intuition, seemed to grow only the more apprehensive and the more vigilant. his temper did not improve under the strain, and his little troop of followers was herded with a severity which must have taxed, for the moment, their faith in its beneficence. the host lived, fought, fed, as it went, halting only for sleep and the hours of rest. in this inexorable southward drift the right flank passed one morning over a steep little knoll, the crest of which chanced to be occupied by brown bull and his herd just at the moment when the moving ranks came to a halt for the forenoon siesta. it was such a post of vantage as brown bull loved. he stood there sniffing with wide, wet nostrils, and searching the horizon for danger. the search was vain, as ever; but just behind him, and closer in toward the main body of the host, he saw something that made his stretched nerves thrill with anger. an old bull had just been driven out from a neighboring herd, deposed from his lordship and hideously gored by a younger and stronger rival. staggering from his wounds, and overwhelmed with a sudden terror of isolation, he tried to edge his way into the herd next behind him. he was ejected mercilessly. from herd to herd he staggered, met always by a circle of lowered horns and angry eyes, and so went stumbling back to that lonely doom which, without concern, he had seen meted out to so many of his fellows, but had never thought of as possible to himself. this pitiful sight, of course, was nothing to brown bull. it hardly even caught his eye, still less his interest. had he been capable of formulating his indifferent thoughts upon the matter, they would have taken some such form as: "serve him right for being licked!" but when at last the wounded outcast was set upon by four big timber wolves and pulled, bellowing, to his knees, that was another affair. brown bull could not tolerate the sight of the gray wolves triumphing. with a roar of rage he charged down the knoll. his herd, astonished but obedient, lowered their massive heads and charged at his heels. the wolves snarled venomously, forsook their prize, and vanished. brown bull led the charge straight on and over the body of the dying outcast, trampling it into dreadful shapelessness. then, halting abruptly, he looked about him in surprise. the wolves were gone. his rage passed from him. he led his followers tranquilly back to their place on the knoll, to the accompaniment of puzzled snortings from the neighbor herds. the herd fell to feeding at once, as if nothing in the least unusual had happened. but brown bull, after cropping the sweet, tufted grass for a few minutes, was seized with one of his pangs of apprehension, and raised his head for a fresh survey of the distance. this time he did not resume his feeding, but stood for several minutes shifting his feet uneasily until he had quite satisfied himself that the ponies which he saw emerging from a cleft in the foothills were not a harmless wild troop, but carried each a red rider. he had reached the indian country, and his place on the flank of the host, as his craft and experience told him, was no longer a safe one. for a little, brown bull stood irresolute, half inclined to lead his followers away from the host and slip back into the wooded foothills whence they had come. then, either moved by a remembrance of the harsh winter of the north, or drawn by the pull of the host upon his gregarious heart, he lost the impulse. instead of forsaking the host, he led his herd down the knoll and insinuated it into a gap in the ranks. here brown bull was undoubtedly a trespasser. but instead of forcing a combat or, rather, a succession of combats, he contented himself with holding his straitened ground firmly rather than provocatively. his towering bulk and savage, resolute bearing made the nearest bulls unwilling to challenge his intrusion. little by little the herds yielded way, half unconsciously, seeking merely their own convenience. little by little, also, brown bull continued his crafty encroachments, till at length, after perhaps a couple of hours of maneuvering, he had his charges some four or five hundred yards in from the exposed flank and well placed near the front of the march, where the pasturage was still sweet and untrampled. the indians, sweeping up on their mad ponies, rode close to the flank of the host and chose their victims at leisure. killing for meat and not for sport, they selected only young cows in good condition, and were too sparing of their powder to shoot more than they needed. they clung to the host for some hours, throwing the outer fringe of it into confusion, but attracting little attention from the herds beyond their reach. once in a while some bull, more fiery than his fellows, would charge with blind, uncalculating valor upon these nimble assailants, only to be at once shot down for his hide. but for the most part, none but those herds actually assailed paid much attention to what was going on. they instinctively crowded away from the flying horsemen, the flames and thunder of the guns. but their numbers and the nearness of their companions seemed to give them a stolid sense of security even when the swift death was almost upon them. as for brown bull, all this was just what he had expected and made provision against. the assault came nowhere near his own charges, so he treated it as none of his affair. the indians withdrew long before nightfall; but the following day brought others, and for a week or more there was never a day without this harassing attack upon one flank or another of the host, or sometimes upon both flanks at once. again and again, as the outer ranks dwindled, brown bull found himself nearing the danger zone, and discreetly on each occasion he worked his herd in a few hundred yards nearer the center. then, for a space of some days, the attacks of the indians ceased, and the wolves and coyotes came back to dog the trail of the diminished host. but brown bull was not unduly elated by this respite. he held his followers to their place near the center of the march, and maintained his firm and apprehensive vigilance untiringly. the days were now hot and cloudless, and so dry that the host seemed literally to drink up every brook or pond it passed, and an irritating dust-cloud overhung the rear of the trampling hoofs. but these few days of peace were but prelude to harsher trial. from somewhere far to the left came now a band of white hunters, who rode around the host and attacked it on both flanks at once. they killed more heedlessly and brutally than the indians, for the sake of the hides rather than for meat, each man hurriedly marking his own kill and then dashing on to seek more victims. each night they camped, and in the cool of the morning overtook the slow-moving host on their tireless mustangs. the trail of stripped red carcasses which they left behind them glutted all the wolves, coyotes, and carrion crows for leagues about, and affronted the wholesome daylight of the plains. this visitation lasted for five or six days, and the terror it created spread inwards to the very heart of the host. gradually the host quickened its march, leaving itself little time for feeding and only enough rest for the vitally essential process of rumination. at last the white marauders, satiated with slaughter, dropped behind, and immediately the host, now shrunken by nearly a third, slackened its pace and seemed to forget its punishment. phlegmatic and short of memory, the herds were restored to content by a day of heavy rain, which laid the dust, and freshened their hides, and instilled new sweetness into the coarse plains grasses. but brown bull's apprehensions redoubled, and he grew lean with watching. the path of migration--the old path, known to the ancestors of this host for many generations--now led for many days along the right bank of a wide and turbulent but usually shallow river. the flat roar of the yellow flood upon its reefs and sand banks, mixed with the bellowings and tramplings of the host to form a thunder which could be heard in the far-off foothills, transmuted there to a murmur like the sea. there came now a day of intense and heavy heat, with something in the air which made the whole host uneasy. they stopped pasturing, and the older bulls and cows sniffed the dead air as if they detected some strange menace upon it. toward the middle of the afternoon a mysterious haze, of a lovely rosy saffron hue, appeared in the southeast beyond the river. it spread up the hot, turquoise-blue sky with a terrifying rapidity, blotting out the empty plain as it approached. soon all the eyes of the host were turned upon it. suddenly, at the heart of the rosy haze, a gigantic yellow-black column took shape, broad at the base and spreading wide at the summit, till it lost itself in a swooping canopy of blackish cloud. it drew near at frightful speed, spinning as it came, and licking up the surface of the plain beneath. brown bull, whose herd was just now in the front rank of the host, stood motionless for some seconds, till he had judged the exact direction of the spinning column. then, with a wild bellow, he lunged forward at a gallop, apparently to meet the oncoming doom. his herd charged close at his heels, none questioning his leadership, and the whole host followed, heads down, blind with panic. two or three minutes more, and the sky overhead was darkened. an appalling hum, as of giant wires, drowned the thunder of the galloping host. the hum shrilled to a monstrous and rending screech, and the spinning column swept across the river, wiping it up to the bottom of the channel as it passed. brown bull's herd felt a sickening emptiness in their lungs, and then a wind which almost lifted them from their feet; and their knees failed them in their terror. but their leader had calculated cunningly, and they were well past the track of doom. the cyclone caught the hinder section of the host diagonally, whirled it into the air like so many brown leaves, and bore it onward to be strewn in hideous fragments over the plain behind. immediately the sky cleared. there was no more wind, but a chilly, throbbing breath. the yelling of the cyclone sank away, and the river could be heard once more brawling over its reefs and bars. a full third of the host had been blotted from existence. the survivors, still trembling, remembered that they were hungry, and fell to cropping the gritty and littered grass. on the following day the shrunken host forded the river, which at this point turned sharply westward across the path of the migration. the river had risen suddenly owing to a cloudburst further up its course, and many of the weaklings and youngsters of the host were swept away in the passage. but brown bull's herd, well guarded and disciplined, got over without loss; and for the next few days, there being no peril in sight, its wary captain suffered it to lead the march. and now they came into a green and fertile and well-watered land, where it would have been comforting to linger and recover their strength. but here, once more, the white man came against them. at the first signs of these most dreaded foes, brown bull had discreetly edged his herd back a little way into the host, so that it no longer formed the vanguard. the white men killed savagely and insatiably all along both flanks, as if not the need of hides and meat, but the sheer lust of killing possessed them. one hunter, whose pony had stepped into a badger-hole and fallen with him, was gored and trampled by a wounded bull. this fired his comrades to a more implacable savagery. they noticed that the host was a scanty one compared with the countless myriads of preceding years. "them redskins up north have been robbing us!" they shouted, with fine logic. then they remembered that the migrating herds were anxiously awaited by other tribes of indians further south, who largely depended upon the bison for their living. an inspiration seized them. "let's fix the red varmints! if we jest wipe these 'ere buffalo clean out, right now, the redskins'll starve, an' this country'll be well quit o' them!" but strive as they might to carry out this humane intention, for all their slaughter on the flanks, the solid nucleus of the host remained unshaken, and kept drifting steadily southward. it began to look as if, in spite of fate, a mighty remnant would yet make good its way into the broken country, dangerous with hostile indians, whither the white hunters would hesitate to pursue. it was decided, therefore, to check the southward march of the host by splitting it up into sections and scattering it to this side and that, thus depriving it of the united migrant impulse, and leaving its destruction to be completed at more leisure. these men knew the bison and his deep-rooted habits. in knots of three and four they stationed themselves, on their ponies, directly in the path of the advancing host. on the flanks they attracted small attention. but directly in front, the sight of them aroused the leaders of the march to fury. they pawed the ground, snorted noisily, and then charged with their massive heads low down. and the whole host, with sudden rising rage, charged with them. it looked as if those little knots of waiting men and ponies must be annihilated. but when that dark, awful torrent of rolling manes, wild eyes, keen horns, and shattering hoofs drew close upon the waiting groups of men, these lifted their guns and fired, one after the other, straight in the faces of the nearest bulls. the result was instantaneous, as usual. whether, as in most cases, the leaders fell, or, as in other instances, they escaped, the rolling torrent split and parted at once to either side as if the flame and roar from the muzzles of the guns had been so many shoulders of rock. once divided, and panic-stricken by finding their foes at the heart of their array, the herds went to pieces hopelessly, and were easily driven off toward all points of the compass. but in one instance--just one--the plan of the slaughterers did not work out quite as anticipated. three of the hunters had taken station exactly opposite the center of the host. brown bull and his herd were immediately behind the front rank at this point. when the great charge was met by the roar and the spirting flames, the leading bull went down, and the front rank split, as a matter of course, to pass on either side of this terrifying obstacle. but brown bull seemed to feel that here and now, straight before him, was the unknown peril which had been shaking his heart throughout the whole long march. in this moment his heart was no more shaken, and the tradition of his ancestors, which bade him follow his leaders like a sheep, was torn up by the roots. he did not swerve, but swept down straight upon the astonished knot of horsemen; his trusting herd came with him; and all behind, as usual, followed blindly. [illustration: "the shambles of the plain."] the three white men turned to flee before the torrent of death. but brown bull caught the leader's pony in the flank, ripped it and bore it down, passing straight on over the bodies, which, in a dozen seconds, were hardly to be distinguished from the earth to which they had so suddenly and so awfully been rendered back. of the other two, one made good his escape, because his pony had taken alarm more quickly than its master and turned in time. the third was overtaken because a cow which he had wounded stumbled in his way, and he and his pony went out along with her beneath the hoofs of brown bull's herd. brown bull gave no heed to his triumph, if, indeed, he realized it at all. what he realized was that the apprehended doom had fallen upon the host, and the host was no more. he kept on with his long, lumbering gallop, till he had his herd well clear of all the struggling remnants of the host, which he saw running aimlessly this way and that, the slaughterers hanging to them like wolves. the sight did not interest him, but, as it covered the whole plain behind him, he could not escape it if he looked back. forward the way was clear. far forward and to the right, he saw woods and ridgy uplands, and purple-blue beyond the uplands a range of ragged hills. thither he led his herd, allowing them not a moment to rest or pasture so long as the shambles of the plain remained in view. but that night, the tiny, lonely remnant of the vanished myriads of their kin, they fed and slept securely in a well-grassed glade among the hills. a master of supply unlike his reserved and supercilious red cousin of kindlier latitudes, blue fox was no lover of solitude; and seeing that the only solitude he knew was the immeasurable desolation of the arctic barrens, this was not strange. the loneliness of these unending and unbroken plains, rolled out flat beneath the low-hung sky to a horizon of white haze, might have weighed down even so dauntless a spirit as his had he not taken care to fortify himself against it. this he did, very sagaciously, by cultivating the companionship of his kind. his snug burrow beneath the stunted bush-growth of the plains was surrounded by the burrows of perhaps a score of his race. during the brief but brilliant arctic summer, which flared across the lonely wastes with a fervor which strove to compensate for the weary duration of its absence, the life of blue fox was not arduous. but during the long, sunless winters, with their wild snows, their yelling gales, their interminable night, and their sudden descents of still, intense frost, so bitter that it seemed as if the incalculable cold of outer space were invading this undefended outpost of the world, then blue fox and his fellows would have had a sorry time of it but for two considerations. they had their cheer of association in the snug burrows deep beneath the covering of the snows; and they had their food supplies, laid by with wise forethought in the season when food was abundant. therefore, when the old bear, grown too restless and savage to hibernate, had often to roam the darkness hungry, and when the wolf-pack was forced to range the frozen leagues for hardly meat enough to keep their gaunt flanks from falling in, the provident foxes had little to fear from either cold or famine. the burrow of blue fox was dug in a patch of dry, sandy soil that formed a sort of island half a dozen acres broad in the vast surrounding sea of the swampy tundra. the island was not high enough or defined enough to be called a knoll. to the eye it was nothing more than an almost imperceptible bulge in the enormous monotony of the levels. but its elevation was enough to secure it good drainage and a growth of more varied herb and bush than that of the moss-covered tundra, with here and there a little open space of turf and real grass which afforded its tenants room to bask deliciously in the glow of the precipitate summer. hot and melting as the arctic summer might be, it could never reach with its ardent fingers the foundations of eternal frost which underlay all that land at a depth of a very few feet. so blue fox dug his burrow not too deep, but rather on a gentle slant, and formed his chamber at a depth of not much more than two feet below the roots of the bushes. abundantly lined with fine, dry grasses, which he and his family kept scrupulously clean, it was always warm and dry and sweet. it was an afternoon in the first of the summer, one of those long, unclouded, glowing, warm afternoons of the arctic, when the young shoots of herb and bush seem to lengthen visibly under the eye of the watcher, and the flower-buds open impetuously as if in haste for the caresses of the eager moths and flies. for the moment the vast expanses of the barren were not lonely. the nesting juncos and snow-buntings twittered cheerfully among the busy growths. the mating ducks clamored harshly along the bright coils of the sluggish stream which wound its way through the marshes. on an islet in the middle of a reedy mere, some half-mile to the east, a pair of great white trumpeter swans had their nest, scornful of concealment. a mile or more off to the west a herd of caribou browsed the young green shoots of the tundra growth, moving slowly northward. the windless air was faintly musical with the hum of insects and with the occasional squeaks and scurryings of unseen lemming mice in their secret roadways under the dense green sphagnum. blue fox sat up, not far from the entrance to his tunnel, blinking lazily in the glow and watching the play of his fuzzy cubs and their slim, young, blue-gray mother in and out their doorway. scattered here and there over their naked little domain he saw the families of his kindred, similarly care-free and content with life. but care-free as he was, blue fox never forgot that the price of freedom from care was eternal vigilance. between his eyes and the pallid horizon he detected a wide-winged bird swinging low over the marshes. he knew at once what it was that with slow-moving, deliberate wings came up, nevertheless, so swiftly. it was no goose, or brant, or fish-loving merganser, or inland wandering saddleback gull that flew in such a fashion. he gave a shrill yelp of warning, answered at once from all over the colony; and at once the playing cubs whisked into their burrows or drew close to their mothers, and sat up to stare with bright, suspicious eyes at the strong-winged flier. blue fox himself, like most of his full-grown fellows, never stirred. but his eyes never swerved for a second from the approach of that ominous, winnowing shape. it was a great arctic hawk-owl, white mottled with chocolate; and it seemed to be hunting in a leisurely fashion, as if well fed and seeking excitement rather than a meal. it came straight on toward the colony of the foxes, flying lower and lower, till blue fox began to gather his steel-like muscles to be ready for a spring at its throat if it should come within reach. it passed straight over his head, its terrible hooked beak half open, its wide, implacable eyes, jewel-bright and hard as glass, glaring downward with still menace. but, with all its courage, it did not dare attack any one of the calmly watchful foxes. it made a sweeping half-circuit of the colony, and then sailed on toward the mere of the white swans. just at the edge of the mere it dropped suddenly into a patch of reeds, to flap up again, a second later, with a limp form trailing from its talons--the form of a luckless mother-duck surprised in brooding her eggs. a great hubbub of startled and screaming water-fowl pursued the marauder; but the swans from their islet, as the foxes from their colony, looked on with silent indifference. blue fox, basking in the sun, was by and by seized with a restlessness, a sense of some duty left undone. he was not hungry, for the wastes were just now so alive with nesting birds and swarming lemmings, and their fat little cousins, the lemming mice, that his hunting was a swift and easy matter. he did not even have to help his mate, occupied though she was, in a leisurely way, with the care of her cubs. but across his mind came an insistent memory of the long and bitter arctic night, when the world would seem to snap under the deadly intensity of the cold, and there would be no birds but a few ptarmigan in the snow, and the fat lemmings would be safe beneath the frozen roofs of their tunnels, and his cleverest hunting would hardly serve him to keep the keen edge off his hunger. in the first sweet indolence of spring he had put far from him the remembrance of the famine season. but now it was borne in upon him that he must make provision against it. shaking off his nonchalance, he got up, stretched himself elaborately, and trotted down briskly into the tundra. he picked his way daintily over the wide beds of moist sphagnum, making no more sound as he went than if his feet had been of thistledown. at some distance from the skirts of the colony the moss was full of scurrying and squeaking noises. presently he crouched and crept forward like a cat. the next instant he pounced with an indescribable speed and lightness, his head and forepaws disappearing into the moss. he had penetrated into one of the screened runways of the little people of the sphagnum. the next moment he lifted his head with a fat lemming dangling from either side of his fine jaws. he laid down the prize and inspected it with satisfaction--a round-bodied creature some six inches long, of a gray color mottled with rusty red, with a mere apology for a tail, and with the toes of its forepaws exaggeratedly developed, for use, perhaps, in constructing its mossy tunnels. for a few seconds blue fox pawed his prey playfully, as one of his cubs would have done. then, bethinking himself of the serious business which he had in hand, he picked it up and trotted off to a dry spot which he knew of, just on the fringe of the island. now, of one thing blue fox was well aware, it having been borne in upon him by experience--viz., that a kill not soon eaten would speedily spoil in this weather. but he knew something else, which he could only have arrived at by the strictly rational process of putting two and two together--he understood the efficacy of cold storage. burrowing down through the light soil, he dug himself a little cellar, the floor of which was the stratum of perpetual frost. here, in this preservative temperature, he deposited the body of the fat lemming, and covered the place from prying eyes with herbage and bush drawn lightly over it. hunting easily and when the mood was upon him, he brought three more lemmings to the storehouse that same day. on the next day and the next an arctic tempest swept over the plain, an icy rain drove level in whipping sheets, the low sky was crowded with hurrying ranks of torn black vapor, and the wise foxes kept to their holes. then the sun came back to the waste places, and blue fox returned to his hunting. without in any way pushing himself, without stinting his own repasts or curtailing his hours of indolence or of play, blue fox attended to his problem of supply so efficiently that in the course of a couple of weeks he had perhaps two score plump carcasses, lemmings and mice, laid out in this cold storage cellar of his. then he filled it in right to the top with grass roots, turf, and other dry stuff that would not freeze into armor-plate, covered it over with light soil and bushes, and left it to await the hour of need. in the course of the summer, blue fox, like all his fellows, established a number of these lemming _caches_, till by the time when the southward bird-flight proclaimed the summer at an end, the question of supply was one to give him no further anxiety. when the days were shrunken to an hour or two of sunlight, and the tundra was frozen to stone, and the winds drove the fine snow before them in blinding drifts, then blue fox dismissed his stores from his mind and devoted himself merrily to the hunting of his daily rations. the arctic hares were still abundant, and not yet overwild from ceaseless harrying; and though the chase of these long-legged and nimble leapers was no facile affair, it was by no means too arduous for the tastes of an enterprising and active forager like blue fox. in the meantime the household of blue fox, like all the other households in the little colony, had been substantially reduced in numbers. all the cubs, by this time grown nearly to full stature, if not to full wisdom, had migrated. there was neither room nor supply for them now in the home burrows, and they had not yet arrived at the sense of responsibility and forethought that would lead them to dig burrows for themselves. gently enough, perhaps, but with a firmness which left no room for argument, the youngsters had all been turned out of doors. there seemed but one thing for them to do--to follow the southward migration of the game; and lightly they had done it. they had a hard winter before them, but with good hunting, and fair luck in dodging the traps and other perils that were bound to dog their inexperienced feet, they would return next spring, ripe with wisdom and experience, dig burrows of their own, and settle down to the responsibilities of arctic family life. to blue fox, sleeping warm in his dry burrow when he would, and secure in the knowledge of his deep-stored supplies, the gathering menace of the cold brought no terrors. by the time the sun had disappeared altogether, and the often brilliant but always terrible and mysterious arctic night had settled firmly upon the barrens, game had grown so scarce and shy that even so shrewd a hunter as blue fox might often range a whole day without the luck to capture a ptarmigan or a hare. the hare, of course, like the ptarmigan, was at this season snowy-white; and blue fox would have had small fortune, indeed, in the chase had he himself remained in summer livery. with the setting in of the snow, he had quickly changed his coat to a like color; and therefore, with his wariness, his unerring nose, and his marvelous lightness of tread, he was sometimes able to surprise the swift hare asleep. in this fashion, too, he would often capture a ptarmigan, pouncing upon it just as the startled bird was spreading its wings for flight. when he failed in either venture--which was often enough the case--he felt himself in no way cast down. he had the excitement of the chase, the satisfaction of stretching his strong, lithe muscles in the race across the hard snow. and then, when the storm clouds were down close upon the levels, and all the world was black, and the great winds from the pole, bitterer than death, raved southward with their sheeted ghosts of fine drift--then blue fox, with his furry mate beside him, lay blinking contentedly in the deep of his burrow, with food and to spare close at hand. but happy as he was in the main, blue fox was not without his cares. two enemies he had, so strong and cunning that the menace of them was never very far from his consciousness. the wolf, his master in strength, though not in craft, was always ready to hunt him with a bitter combination of hunger and of hate. and the wolverine, cunning beyond all the other kindreds of the wild, and of a sullen ferocity which few would dare to cross, was forever on the search for the stored supplies of the foxes. the wolverine, solitary and morose, slow of movement, and defiant even toward the polar storm, prowled in all weathers. one day chance led him upon one of blue fox's storage cellars. the snow had been recently pawed away, and the wolverine, quick to take the hint, began instantly to dig. it was astonishingly easy work. his short, powerful forepaws made the dry turf and light earth fly, and speedily he came to the store of frozen lemmings. but before he had quite glutted his great appetite, he was interrupted. though the storm was raging over the outer world, to blue fox in his burrow had come a monition of evil. he had whisked out to inspect his stores. he found the wolverine head downward in his choicest cellar. hot as was his rage, it did not burn up his discretion. this was a peril to be dealt with drastically. he knew that, if the robber was merely driven off, he would return and haunt the purlieus of the colony, and end by finding and rifling every storehouse in the neighborhood. blue fox stole back and roused the occupants of the nearest burrows. in two minutes a dozen angry foxes were out and creeping through the storm. in vengeful silence they fell upon the thief as he feasted carelessly; and in spite of the savage fight he put up, they tore him literally to pieces. [illustration: "he found the wolverine head downward in his choicest cellar."] the danger of the wolves was more terrible and more daunting. all through the first half of the winter there had been no sign of a wolf in the neighborhood, the trail of the wandering caribou having lured them far to the eastward. then it chanced, when blue fox was chasing a hare over the snow, beneath the green, rose, and violet dancing flames of the aurora, that a thin, quavering howl came to his ears. he stopped short. he lost all interest in the hare. glancing over his shoulder, he saw a grayish patch moving swiftly under the shifting radiance. it was on his trail, that patch of death. he lengthened himself out, belly to earth, and sped for the burrows. and the dancing lights, shifting from color to color as they clustered and hurtled across the arch of sky, seemed to stoop in cold laughter over his lonely and desperate flight. blue fox could run fast, but his best speed was slow in comparison with that of his gaunt and long-limbed foes. he knew that, had the race before him been a long one, it could have but one result. a glance over his shoulder, as he ran, showed him that the gray shapes were overhauling him; and, knowing that the distance to his burrow was not long, he felt that he had a chance. a sporting chance, however small, was enough for his courageous spirit, and he raced on with good heart at a pace which soon stretched his lungs near to bursting. but he spared breath for a sharp yelp of warning, which carried far in the stillness and signaled to his fellows the peril that approached. as the wolves came up, the fugitive could hear the strong, relentless padding of their feet, and then, half a minute later, the measured hiss of their breathing, the occasional hard click of their fangs. but he did not look back. his ears gave him all the information he required, and he could not afford to risk the loss of the slenderest fraction of a second. as he reached the nearest burrow--it was not his own--it seemed as if the dreadful sounds were already overwhelming him. he dived into the burrow, and jaws of steel clashed at his tail as he vanished. with a chorus of snarls, the disappointed pack brought up abruptly, checking themselves back upon their haunches. the leaders fell to digging at the burrow, while others scattered off to try the same experiment at the other burrows of the colony. but blue fox, breathless and triumphant, only showed his teeth derisively. he knew that no wolf-claws could make any impression on the hard-frozen earth surrounding the inner portals of the colony. the wolves discovered by chance one of the supply cellars, and quarreled for a moment over the dozen or so of tit-bits which it contained. and then, realizing that it was no use hanging about in the expectation that any fox would come out to be eaten, the wise old pack-leader swung the pack into ranks and swept them off to hunt other quarry. when the thudding rhythm of their footsteps died into silence, the foxes all came out and sat under the dancing lights, and stared after the terrible receding shapes with a calm and supercilious scorn. the white wolf on the night when he was born, in the smoke-smelling wigwam beside the lone michikamaw, there had come a strange, long howling of the wind amid the cleft granite heights which overhung the water. at the sound the fainting girl on the pile of deerskins opened eyes which grew suddenly wild and dark. she listened intently for a moment, and then groped for the little form which had been laid at her breast. "that is his name," she muttered. "he shall be called wind-in-the-night." the old squaw, her husband's mother, who was attending upon her, shook her head. "hush, my daughter!" she said soothingly. "that is not the wind. that is the old white wolf howling on the mountain. let us call him white wolf, since he is of the totem of the wolf. and perhaps the old white wanderer, who disdains to hunt with the pack, will befriend him and bring him good fortune." "his name is wind in-the-night," said the young mother, in a voice suddenly loud and piercing. then she turned her head toward the wall of the wigwam wearily, and, with a sharp sigh, her spirit passed from her lips, hurrying out over the black spruce ridges and barren hills to seek the happy hunting grounds of her fathers. the old woman snatched up the child, lest the mother's spirit in passing should lure it away with her. "yes," she cried hastily, hiding the little one in a fold of her blanket and glancing over her shoulder, "his name _is_ wind-in-the-night." it would never have done--as the father afterward agreed--to gainsay the child's mother at that moment of supreme authority, but the old woman had her misgivings; for she believed it was the white wolf, not the wind, who had spoken in that hour, and she trembled lest the child should come under his ban. as the years passed, however, it began to appear that the old squaw's fears were groundless. among the lodges beside the bleak michikamaw the child grew up without misadventure; and when he was big enough to begin his boyish hunting and to follow the trails among the dark spruce forests, it began to be rumored that he was in some special favor with the wolf folk. it was said--and, though he could not be persuaded to talk of it, he was never known to deny it--that the old white wolf, whose howling was like the wind in the mountain clefts, had been seen again and again following the boy, not obtrusively, but at a little distance and with an air of watching over him. certain it was that the boy was without fear to go alone in the forest, and went always as if with a sense of being safeguarded by some unseen influence. moreover, whenever the wind howled in the night, or the voice of the solitary wolf came quavering down, like the wind, from the granite heights, the boy would be seized with a restlessness and a craving to go forth into the darkness. this impulse was quelled sternly by his father until the lad was old enough and wise enough to restrain it of his own accord; but it was not held, among the tribe, to be any unaccountable or dreadful thing that the boy should be thus compassed about with mystery, for this was the tribe of the nasquapees, the "wizards," who were all mystics and credited with secret powers. as wind-in-the-night grew to manhood, the white wolf grew less and less conspicuous in his affairs, till he came to be little more than a tradition. but at any time of crisis there was sure to be some suggestion of him, some reminder, whether in a far-off windy howl that might be wolf or might be wind, or else in a gaunt, white shadow flitting half-seen across the youth's trail. whether, as all the tribe took for granted, it was always the same wolf, a magic beast forever young and vigorous, or whether the grim warder who had presided over the child's birth had bequeathed his mysterious office to a descendant like himself, is a point that need not be decided. suffice to say that when, at the age of eighteen, wind-in-the-night underwent his initiation into the status of full manhood, a great white wolf played an unbidden but not unlooked-for part in it. when, during that long and solitary fasting on the hilltop, the young man's fainting eyes saw visions of awe and unknown portent, and strange, phantasmal shapes of beast and bird came floating up about him with eyes of menace, always at the last moment would come that pallid, prowling warder and drive the ghosts away. * * * * * it was a bad winter. in the gray fishing village at the mouth of the natashquouan came word to wind-in-the-night that certain of the scattered bands of his tribe in the interior were near to starving. he had been now some six months absent from home, guiding a party of prospectors, and his heart was troubled with desire for the little, lonely cluster of lodges on the shore of the michikamaw. he thought of his own spacious wigwam of birch bark, with the crossed poles projecting above the roof. with a pang of solicitude, he thought of the comely and kindly young squaw, his wife, and of that straight-limbed, copper-colored little five-year-old, his son, whose dark eyes danced like the sunlight on the ripples, and who would always run laughing to meet him and clutch him by the knees so sturdily. wind-in-the-night wondered if they were hungry. was it possible that there could be fear and famine in that far-off wigwam deep in the snows, while he, here under the white man's roof, was warm and well fed? with smoldering eyes and no explanations, he resigned his profitable post and started inland, on his snowshoes, with a toboggan load of pemmican and flour. the men of the village, pipe in hand, and weary-eyed with their winter inactivity, looked after him from their doorways and shook their heads. "he'll never make the michikamaw with that there load," muttered one. "it's the wolves'll be gittin' the load an' him too!" growled another. another spat tobacco juice into the snow in a sort of resigned derision. then all closed their doors tight against the deathly cold, huddled up to their stoves, and dreamed grumblingly of spring. the solitary figure bending to the straps of his toboggan never looked back. his thoughts were all on the distant wigwam of birch bark and the woman and child within it, who might be hungry. once across the bleak ridge which overlooked the settlement, wind-in-the-night was swallowed up in the untamed, untouched labrador wilderness--everywhere a confusion of low hills, bowl-like valleys, and spruce forests up-thrusting their dark, pointed tops above the enormous overlay of the snow. wind-in-the-night swung on with a long, loping, bent-kneed, straight-footed stride, his immense, racquet-like snowshoes settling into the snow at each step with a curious muffled sigh that had small resemblance to any other sound on earth. he chose his path unhesitatingly, picking up his landmarks without conscious effort among hill-tops and valleys and ravines which to the uninitiated eye must have all looked alike. just before noon he halted, lit a fire, made himself a kettle of tea after the comforting fashion he had learned from the white men, and chewed a rocky morsel of pemmican without taking time to cook it. then he pushed on eagerly. the shadows began to fall early in that latitude; and as they began to fall, wind-in-the-night began glancing from time to time over his shoulder. he did it half-unconsciously, so absorbed was he in his thoughts. at last he caught himself at it, as it were, and for a moment wondered what he did it for. the next instant, with a little tingling at the nape of his neck--just where, on a dog or a moose, the hair stiffens at such moments--he understood. he felt that he was being followed. his path was the open, snow-sheeted channel of a little river, with the fir woods crowding down to its brink on either side. wind-in-the-night halted and peered into the thickets with eyes trained and penetrating, but he could distinguish nothing. he listened, but there was not a sound in all that lifeless world, save a ghostly settling of the snow somewhere behind him. he sniffed the air, but his nostrils could detect no taint upon it. he pushed on again, and immediately he felt in his spine, in his hair, that the depths of the forest, to right and to left, were full of moving life. then he knew that he was being trailed by many wolves. it was the thought of the woman and the boy, hungry in their wigwam on the michikamaw, that made his heart sink. he knew that for the moment he was safe, but, when the night came, it would be another matter. he was not afraid physically, for his muscles and his nerves stretched to the thought of the great fight he would make before the gray beasts should pull him down. but that the food, the succor he was bringing, should never reach the wigwam--this thought turned his heart cold. he increased his pace, hoping to find a spot where he might encamp to advantage and fortify himself for the night. in that broken country of wide-sown boulders and fantastic outcrop, wind-in-the-night had reason to hope for a post of better advantage than the open trail. and after a half-mile's further traveling, while yet there was daylight enough to discourage the wolves from showing themselves, he found it. about halfway up a sparsely wooded hillside to his right he marked a steep-faced boulder, at the foot of which he resolved to make his stand. on his way up the slope he passed a small dead fir tree and a stunted birch, both of which he hastily chopped down and flung across his toboggan for firewood. arriving at the rock, he thrust the loaded toboggan close against its foot, and then, at a distance of about ten feet before it, he hastened to start his fire. it was a little fire, a true indian's fire, economical of fuel; for there was no more wood in sight except green spruce, which made but poor and precarious burning unless with plenty of dry stuff to urge it on. he thought for a moment of venturing some little way into the woods in search of fuel; but, even as he was weighing the chances of it, the dusk gathered, and the wolves began to show themselves along the skirts of the timber. some prowled forth and slipped back again at once into the gloom, while others came out and stood eyeing him steadily. but more fuel, of some sort, wind-in-the-night knew he must have. about halfway between the rock and the skirts of the close growth stood a single small spruce. he knew that its sappy wood would burn with difficulty, but it would do to make the rest of the fuel last longer--possibly, with the most parsimonious care, even till sunrise. stirring his fire to a brisker blaze--at which, for a moment or two, the wolves drew back into their covert--he strode forth and felled the spruce in half a dozen skilful strokes. then he dragged it back toward the rock. to the watchers in the shadow, however, this looked like a retreat. their hesitation vanished. as if at a signal, they shot from covert and launched themselves, a torrent of shadowy, flame-eyed, leaping shapes, upon the man. he, catching sight of the dreadful onslaught over his shoulder, dropped the tree he was dragging, and sprang desperately for the doubtful shelter of his fire. he felt in his heart, however, that he was too late, that he would never reach the fire. well, he would not die pulled down like a fleeing doe from behind. he faced about and swung up his axe, his lean, dark jaw set grimly. the hordes of his assailants were within a dozen paces of him, when suddenly they stopped, thrusting out their forefeet with violence and going back upon their haunches with low snarls. an immense white wolf had sprung in between the hordes and their quarry, and stood there rigid, confronting his fellows with bared fangs, flattened ears, and every hair erect along his back. his authority seemed to be unquestionable, for not a wolf ventured to pass him. reluctantly, sullenly, they drew back to within a few paces of the edge of the wood; and there they halted, some crouching, some sitting, some moving restlessly to and fro, and all eyeing their inexorable chief expectantly, as if looking for him to withdraw his inhibition at any moment and let them at their prey. wind-in-the-night gave one long look at his strange protector, then calmly turned and strode back to his fire. calmly he proceeded to chop his wood into small billets, for the more frugal use. then he moved the fire closer in toward the foot of the rock, in order that a smaller blaze might suffice to warm him through the night. seating himself with his back to the loaded toboggan, he prepared his supper. his appetite craved a thick, hot soup of pemmican, but he had a feeling that the enticing smell of such a meal on the icy air might make the wolves forget their deference to his protector. he contented himself with a sticky and unpalatable gruel made by stirring a couple of handfuls of flour into the boiling tea, and he felt a reasonable confidence that the smell of such fare would prove no irresistible temptation to wolfish nostrils. the thought occurred to him that perhaps he ought, in courtesy, to throw a chunk of pemmican to his protector, who was now pacing slowly and methodically to and fro before him like a sentinel, with eyes fixed ever on those waiting hordes. but to wind-in-the-night the great white beast was no mortal wolf, and he feared to affront him by the offer of white man's food. [illustration: "the gaunt, tirelessly patrolling shape of his white sentinel."] the brief meal done, wind-in-the-night lighted his pipe and smoked stolidly, crouching over the small fire. in spite of the terrific cold, he was warm enough here, with the rock close at his back, the snow banked up at either side, and his blankets about him. from time to time he fed the fire frugally, and calculated that at this rate he could make his fuel last the whole night through. but sleep was not to be thought of. his small, unflinching eyes looked out across the meager flames, through the thin reek of the smoke, and met calmly the scores of cruel, narrowed eyes glaring upon him grimly from the edges of the timber. but the eyes of the tireless sentinel he did not meet, for they were kept always turned away from him. how long, he wondered, would the sentinel remain tireless? or how long would those ravening watchers remain obedient to the authority that denied their hunger relief? no, decidedly he must not sleep. smoking endlessly, feeding the little fire and crouching over it, thinking of the wigwam on the lone white shore of the michikamaw, and watching ever that dread half-circle of hungry eyes, and the gaunt, tirelessly patrolling shape of his white sentinel, he began to see strange visions. the waiting wolves vanished. in their place, emerging like mists from the forest and taking form in the firelight, came the spirits of the totems of his ancestors--white bears and black with eyes of men, eagles that walked stridingly, gray lynxes with a stare that seemed to pierce him through the bone, and towering black moose bulls with the storm-drift whirling in their antlers. they filled him with awe and wonder, but he had no fear of them, for he knew that he had done no trespass against the traditions. then, without surprise, he saw his white guardian, the living presentment of his own totem, grow at once to the stature of a caribou, and come and sit down opposite him just across the fire, and look meaningly into his eyes. wind-in-the-night strove desperately to interpret that grave meaning. as his brain groped after it, suddenly a long, thin howling filled his ears, whether the voice of the wind or the voice of a wolf he could not tell. the sound grew louder, louder, more penetrating and insistent, and then he came out of his vision with a start. he lifted his head, which had fallen on his breast. a late and aged moon hung distorted just over the line of the treetops before him. he was deadly cold, and the fire had burned down to a little heap of red embers. the dreadful waiting hordes had all vanished from the skirts of the timber, whirling off, doubtless, on the trail of some unprohibited quarry. only the white sentinel remained, and he had shrunk back to his former stature, which was beyond that of his fellows, indeed, but not altogether incredible. he was sitting on his haunches just the other side of the dying fire. his long muzzle was lifted straight in the air, and he was howling to the decrepit moon. as wind-in-the-night lifted his head the white wolf stopped howling, dropped his nose, and stared earnestly into the man's eyes. hurriedly but carefully, the man thrust some dry sticks into the embers and fanned them into flame. then he stood up. he knew that the white wolf's howling had awakened him and saved him from being frozen to death. "thank you, white brother," he said simply, with firm confidence that the mystical beast could understand human speech in the tongue of the nasquapees. the great wolf cocked his ears at the sound, and gazed at the man inquiringly for a second or two. then he arose slowly and sauntered off into the forest. wind-in-the-night knew that the peril had passed. he heaped wood on the fire with what was, for an indian, lavish recklessness. when he was well warmed he went and dragged up the tree which he had felled, then he cooked himself a liberal meal--a strong stew of pemmican and flour--and, having eaten it, felt mightily refreshed. having no more inclination for sleep, he resumed his journey, resolving to snatch at the midday halt what sleep he should find himself needing. now, it had chanced, some days earlier than this, that in one of the lodges by the michikamaw a child had fallen sick. there was bitter famine in the lodges, but that was plainly not what ailed the little one. none of the wise men of the tribe could diagnose the sickness, and the child was near to death. then an old brave, the child's uncle, who had been much about the posts of the hudson bay company, which are scattered over labrador, said that the white man's medicine was a magic to cure all disease, and that, if the little one could but come to one of the posts, his life would surely be saved. the old brave was himself hungering for an excuse to get away to the warmth which was to be found in the dwellings of the white man, and he said that he would take the little one out to north west river to be healed. and the mother, dry-eyed, but with despair at her heart, had let him go. it was only a chance, but it seemed the only chance; and she greatly feared to meet the child's father if it should die in his absence. wind-in-the-night had made good going, and was eating up the long miles of his journey. at noon, in a deep trough dug with his snowshoes in the snow, and with a good fire at his feet, he had slept soundly for two hours. in that pure and tonic air but little sleep was needed. that night there was no more sign of wolves, and he felt assured that his strange protector had led them off to other hunting. the trail from the natashquouan was leading him almost due north. late in the afternoon of the fourth day of his journey, he crossed the fresh trail of a wolf-pack running east. he thought little of it, but, from the habit of the trained hunter and trapper, he gave it a searching scrutiny as he went. then he stopped short. he had marked another trail underlying that of the wolf-pack. it was the trail of a man on snowshoes, drawing a loaded sledge and traveling eastward. wind-in-the-night concluded at once, from his direction, that the traveler came from the lodges on the michikamaw. it must be one of his own people. he examined the tracks minutely, and presently made out that the traveler was going unsteadily, with an occasional stumble, as if from weariness or weakness. and the wolf-pack was hunting him. the trails being fresh, it was plain that the hunt could not be far ahead. acting on the first impulse of his courageous spirit, wind-in-the-night started instantly in pursuit, hunting the hunters. then came the memory of his errand, the thought of the woman and the boy in the wigwam of birch bark, hungry and needing him; and he stopped, half-turning to go back. for some seconds he stood there in an agony of irresolution, his heart dragging him both ways. if he went to the help of the hunted man, he might, more than probably, himself be pulled down and devoured by the ravening pack. he must think of his own first, and save his life for them. then he thought of his fellow-tribesman, worn out with flight, making his last fight alone in the silence and the snow. his wife and boy, at least, were sheltered and with their people about them, and would not be left utterly to starve so long as there was a shred of meat to be shared in the tribe. he tried to turn back to them, but the picture of the spent and stumbling fugitive was too much for him. he snatched up his rifle, a repeating winchester, from the toboggan, and with a groan raced onward in the trail of the wolves. it was not yet sunset, and he felt reasonably assured that the pack would not dare to close in upon their prey before dusk began to fall, so he continued to drag his loaded toboggan along, knowing that, if he should leave it behind him, its precious cargo would fall a prey to the lynxes and the foxes. he calculated to overtake the chase at any moment. as he ran, sweating in his harness in spite of the intense cold, he studied the trail of the wolves, and saw that the pack was not a large one--perhaps not much beyond a score in number. if the fugitive should prove to have any fight left in him, they two would stand back to back and perhaps be able to pull the desperate venture through. before he had gone half a mile, wind-in-the-night saw the trail of the pack divide and seek the coverts on either side of the track of the lonely snowshoer. that track grew more and more irresolute and uneven, and he knew that the fugitive could not be far ahead. he pictured him even now turning wearily at bay, his back to some rock or steep hillock, his loaded sledge uptilted before him as a barricade, and the wolves crowding the thickets on either side, waiting for the moment to rush in upon him. he pushed on furiously, expecting this picture to greet his eyes at every turn of the trail. but still it delayed, and the tension of his suspense grew almost unbearable. the dusk began to gather among the white-shrouded fir thickets. why did not the fugitive stop and make ready some defense? then he rounded a corner, and there, fifty paces ahead of him, was what he was looking for. but there was a difference in the picture. there were the wolves, no longer in hiding, but stalking forth from the thickets. there was the upthrust of rock. there was the man, at bay, with his back to it. but the loaded sledge was not before him as a barrier. instead of that, it was thrust behind him, as something precious to be guarded with his life. the tall figure, at first bent with fatigue, straightened itself up defiantly, lifted a musket, and fired at a bunch of wolves just springing from the woods on his left. flinging down the weapon--an old muzzle-loader, which there was no time to recharge--he reached back to the sledge for his axe. at that moment wind-in-the-night recognized the old brave's face. with a gasp, he twisted himself clear of his harness and sprang forward. in the same instant the wolves closed in. in the front of the attack was a great white beast, so swift in his leap that the man had no time to swing up his weapon in defense. a hoarse cry, whether of grief or horror, burst from the lips of wind-in-the-night as the mystic white shape of his protector sprang at the old brave's throat. but he did not hesitate. he whipped up his rifle and fired, and the white wolf dropped sprawling over the front of the sledge. in a sort of frenzy at the sacrilege of which, in his own eyes, he had just been guilty, wind-in-the-night fired shot after shot, dropping a wolf to every bullet. but the fate of their great leader seemed to have abashed the whole pack; and before half a dozen shots were fired they had slunk off, stricken with panic. without a glance at the man whom he had saved, wind-in-the-night stalked forward and flung himself down upon the body of the white wolf, imploring it to pardon what he had done. as he poured out his guttural pleading, a feeble child's voice came to his ears, and he lifted his head with a sudden tightening at his heart. "i _thought_ you would come pretty quick, father," said the small voice tremblingly, "for i'd been calling you ever so long." a little face, meager and burning-eyed, was gazing at him trustfully from among the furs in the sledge. wind-in-the-night forgot the slain wolf. he bent over the sledge and clutched the frail figure to his breast, too amazed to ask any questions. he shook in every nerve to think how nearly he had refused to come to that unheard call. the old brave was starting to light a fire. "the boy was very sick," said he calmly, unjarred by the dreadful ordeal which he had just passed through. "i was taking him to north west river to be cured by the white man's medicine. but already he recovers, so we will go back to the michikamaw with the food." "good," said wind-in-the-night. he stood up and stared long at the body of the great beast whom he had slain. "we will take him with us," he said at last, "and give him the burial of a chief. it would be ill work if we should leave him to be eaten by foxes." up a tree mclaggan stopped short in the middle of the trail and peered sharply into the thick undergrowth on his right. at odd moments during the past half-hour he had experienced a fleeting sensation of being followed; but, absorbed in his own thoughts, he had paid no attention to it. now, however, he was on the sudden quite convinced of it. yet he could have sworn he had heard nothing, seen nothing, smelt nothing, to justify the conviction. for nearly half a mile the trail stretched away behind him between the giant trunks and fringing bush-growth--narrow, perfectly straight, completely shadowed from sun and sky, but visible all the way in that curiously transparent, glassy gloom of the under-forest world. there was nothing behind him on the trail--at least, within a half-mile of him. and the presence of which he had been warned was very near. as is so often the case with the men who dwell in the great silences, he was conscious at times of possessing something like a sixth sense--a kind of inexplicable and erratic power of perception which frequently neglected to exercise itself when most needed, but which, when it did consent to work, was never guilty of giving a false alarm. peering with trained eyes, wise in all woodcraft, through the tangle of the undergrowth, he waited absolutely motionless for several minutes. a little black-and-white woodpecker, which had been watching him, ran nimbly up the mast of a giant pine. nothing else stirred, and there was no other living creature to be discerned. yet mclaggan knew his intuition had not fooled him. he knew now to a certainty that he was being observed and trailed. he pondered on the fact for a little, and then, muttering to himself, "it's a painter, sure!" he resumed his journey. mclaggan was not nervous, although for this journey he had left his rifle behind him in camp, and he was aware that a panther, if it meant mischief, was not an adversary to be scorned. but, skilled as he was in all the lore of the wilderness folk, he knew that no panther, unless with some bitter wrong to avenge, would willingly seek a quarrel with a man. that powerful and crafty cat, not from cowardice but from sagacity, recognized man for its master, and was wont to give him a wide berth whenever possible. another thing that mclaggan knew was that the panther has occasionally a strange taste for following a man in secret, with excessive caution but remarkable persistence, as if to study him and perhaps find out the causes of his supremacy. but mclaggan's knowledge of the wild creatures went even further than an acquaintance with their special habits and characteristics. he knew that it was impossible for man to know them thoroughly, because there was always the incalculable element of individuality to make allowance for--an element that delights in confounding the dogmatic assertions of the naturalists. he was sure that the chances were a hundred to one against this unseen pursuer daring to make an attack upon him or even contemplating such a piece of rashness. but, on the other hand, he recognized that remote hundred-and-first chance. he adjusted the straps of his heavy pack--the cause of his leaving his rifle behind--so that he could rid himself of it on the instant, if necessary, and he carried loose a very effective weapon, the new axe which he had just bought at the settlement. it was a light, hickory-handled, general-utility axe, such as any expert backwoodsman knows how to use with swift and deadly effect, whether as a hand-to-hand weapon or as a missile. he was not nervous, as we have seen, but he was annoyed that he, the old trailer of many beasts, should thus be trailed in his turn, from whatever motive. he kept an indignantly watchful eye on all the coverts he passed, and he scrutinized suspiciously every considerable bough that stretched across the trail. he had bethought him that the panther's favorite method of attack was to drop upon his quarry's neck from above; and, in spite of himself, the little hairs on the back of his own neck crawled at the idea. the trail running in from the settlement to mclaggan's camp among the foothills was a matter of some fifteen miles, and uphill all the way. but in that bracing autumn air, amid those crisp shadows flecked with october's gold, mclaggan was little conscious of the weight of his pack, and his corded muscles felt no fatigue. under the influence of that unseen and unwelcome companionship behind the veil of the leafage, he quickened his pace gradually, growing ever more and more eager to reach his rifle and take vengeance for the troubling of his journey. suddenly, from far ahead, the silence was broken by the high, resonant bugling of a bull elk. it was a poignantly musical sound, but full of menace and defiance, and it carried a long way on that still, resilient air. again mclaggan regretted his rifle, for the virile fulness of that bugling suggested an unusually fine bull and a splendid pair of antlers. mclaggan wanted meat, to be dried for his winter larder, and he wanted the antlers, for a really good elk head was by this time become a thing of price. it was a possession which enthusiastic members of the brotherhood of the elks were always ready to pay well for. the bugling was several times repeated at brief intervals, and then it was answered defiantly from far on the left. the sonorous challenges answered each other abruptly and approached each other swiftly. mclaggan still further hastened his pace. his gray eyes, under their shaggy brows, blazed with excitement. he forgot all about his unseen, stealthy pursuer. his sixth sense stopped working. he thought only of being in time to see the duel between the two bull elks, the battle for the lordship of the herd of indifferent cows. to his impatience, it seemed no time at all ere the rival buglings came together and ceased. then his straining ears caught--very faintly and elusively, as the imperceptible airs of the forest drew this way and that--the dry clash of opposing antlers. it was evident that the battle was nearer at hand than he had imagined. he broke into a noiseless trot, hoping yet to be in time. presently he was so near that he could catch, amid the clash of antlers, occasional great windy snortings and explosive, groaning grunts. all at once these noises of battle stopped, changed, passed into a confused scuffling mixed with groans, and then into a wild crashing of flight and pursuit. the fight was over, but mclaggan perceived with a thrill that the flight was coming his way. half a minute later the fugitive broke out into the trail and came dashing down it, wild-eyed, nostrils blowing bloody foam and flanks streaming crimson. mclaggan stepped politely aside to let him pass, and he passed unheeding. he had no eyes even for the arch-foe man in this moment of his defeat and humiliation. but not so the victor! the most splendid specimen of a bull elk that mclaggan's eyes had ever rested upon, he stopped short in his pursuit at sight of the gray, erect figure standing there motionless beside the trail. mclaggan expected him to turn and flee back to his cows and hasten to shepherd them away from danger. but the great beast, now in the hour of his triumph and his most arrogant ferocity, had far other intention. he stood staring at mclaggan for several seconds, but mclaggan saw that there was nothing like fear in that insolent and flaming regard. the bull stamped sharply on the sod with one knife-edged fore-hoof; and mclaggan, knowing what that meant, glanced around discreetly for the easiest tree to climb. he was now furious at the lack of his rifle, and vowed never again to go without it. fortunately for mclaggan, the great bull was no mere blind and brutal ruffian of a fighter. like all his aristocratic breed, he had a certain punctilio to observe in such affairs. he had first to stamp his challenge several times, snort vehemently, and advance his antlers in fair warning. then he came on, at first daintily and mincingly, and only after that formal preliminary did he break into his furious rush. but already mclaggan had swung himself into the tree, just out of reach, leaving his pack at the foot. for a little mclaggan was engrossed in wondering if he really _was_ quite out of reach, so vigorous were the rearings and thrustings of his enemy, so agile the high strokes of those fine, destructive hoofs. then out of the tail of his eye he caught sight of several elk cows--the herd stealing warily down the trail to see how it was faring with their victorious lord. they halted, noses in air and ears pricked forward anxiously, wondering at their lord's strange antics under the tree. then, all together, they wheeled about sharply, as if worked on a single spring, and fled off in enormous bounds over and through the thickets. mclaggan stared after them in surprise, wondering at their abrupt flight. a moment later it was explained to him, as he saw the tawny head and shoulders of an immense panther emerge for just the fraction of a second into the trail. mclaggan was gratified at this confirmation of his woodcraft, but he was now a little anxious as to what was going to happen next. he realized that in traveling without his rifle he had fairly coaxed the unexpected to happen; and it seemed to him that this particular panther was not going to play by the accepted rules of the game, or he would never have been so audacious as to reveal himself even for that instant in the open trail. he looked down upon his magnificent adversary raging below him, and felt a generous impulse to give him warning of the peril lurking in the undergrowth. as between the elk and the panther, his sympathies were all with the elk, in spite of that misguided beast's extremely inconvenient hostility. "instead of stretchin' yer fool neck that way, tryin' to get at _me_," he expostulated, leaning from his branch, "ye'd a sight better be keepin' yer eyes peeled fer yer own hide. there's a durn big painter hidin' somewheres in them bushes yonder, an' while ye're a-claw-in' after me--which ain't no use at all--he'll be getting his claws inter _you_, first thing ye know!" but it was plain that the bull did not understand english, or, at least, mclaggan's primitive variation on english. he seemed to grow more pugnacious than ever at the sound of these mild exhortations. he made the most extravagant efforts to reach mclaggan's refuge with horn or hoof. convincing himself at last that this was impossible, he glared about him wrathfully till his eyes fell on mclaggan's pack lying near by. appearing to regard it as part of mclaggan, he fell upon it triumphantly. his edged hoofs slashed it and smashed it, his pronged antlers ripped it wide open, and in a dozen seconds he had sent the contents flying in every direction. the contents were miscellaneous, as mclaggan had been in to the settlement for the purpose of replenishing his stores. they included, among other items, a two-gallon tin of molasses, a little tin of pepper enveloped in a flaring scarlet label, a white cotton bag of flour, a paper bag of beans, and another of sugar. the beans and the sugar went all abroad at the first attack, the big and the little tin rolled away, and the bull devoted his attention for a moment to the bag of flour. he ripped it wide open with his antlers, then blew into it scornfully so that the flour puffed up into his face. having accomplished all this with such surprising ease, he seemed to think he might now succeed in getting at mclaggan himself. he came under the branch once more and glared upwards through what looked like a pair of white goggles, so thickly were his eye-sockets rimmed with flour. he snorted fresh defiance through wide red nostrils nicely fringed with white. [illustration: "his pronged antlers ripped it wide open."] mclaggan was now too angry to appreciate the extraordinary appearance of his foe. at the scattering of his precious supplies, his sympathies had gone over completely to the panther. he spat down upon his adversary in impotent indignation. "i hope the painter'll git ye, after all!" he cried, with a bunch of expletives too virile for the cold exposure of the printed page. in reply, the bull made another earnest effort to reach him. then, once more disappointed, he returned to the pack to see what further satisfaction he could get out of it. finding that there was no resistance left in the beans, the sugar, or the bag of flour, he went after the little scarlet tin of pepper which had been thrown some distance and lay under a neighboring tree. he slashed it open with a stroke of the hoof, then jabbed it with a prong of his antlers and flung it into the air. it fell on his shoulders, emptying most of its contents into the long hair on the ridge of his neck. startled at this attack, he jumped around sharply, and was just in the middle of pounding the impertinent thing viciously under foot, when, to his annoyance, he began to sneeze. it was such sneezing as he had never experienced before. he spread his legs wide and devoted himself to it with all his energies. this was too much for mclaggan's wrath. he forgot it in an ecstasy of delight. he was just on the point of explosion, when he saw something which made him check himself with a choked expletive. the panther was creeping out upon a great branch almost over the sneezing bull's head. the next moment it dropped from the branch and fastened teeth and claws in the bull's neck. the bull was just in the middle of a terrific paroxysm, but the cruel shock of this assault brought him to. with a grunt he bounded into the air, coming down upon all four feet again, stiff-legged like a bucking horse, as if thinking the jar might shake his assailant off. failing in this, he sprang violently sideways, and at the same time, being a beast of resource, he struck back with the prongs of his antlers by jerking his muzzle sharply upward. in the meantime the panther was clawing and biting savagely, and seemed likely to maintain his hold in spite of the clever tactics of his adversary. but just at this point the pepper in the bull's mane began to take irresistible effect, both in eyes and nostrils. the amazed panther let out a screech of protest which ended in a convulsive sneeze. in the midst of this convulsion, the bull side-stepped again with distressing energy, and the panther, half-blinded and wholly bewildered, was thrown to the ground. the maneuver was almost equally disastrous to mclaggan, who, rocking with laughter, all but fell out of his tree. the moment he had shaken himself clear, the bull, undaunted, whirled and struck like lightning with his formidable fore-hoofs. with equal alertness the panther succeeded in eluding the stroke. he doubled lithely aside and sprang again, seeking to recover his former advantage. but, being half-blinded, he fell short and only got a grip with his front claws. as he struggled savagely to make good his hold against the plunging and the thrashing antlers of his antagonist, once more the pepper in his nostrils began to work with power. in spite of his passionate refusal of the gigantic titillation, his head went up in the air, his spine straightened itself out, his jaws and his claws opened, and the huge sneeze ripped stridently from his lungs. it ended in a screech of rage and disappointment as he found himself once more rolling on the ground, striking out blindly with futile claws. as he recovered himself, he warily bounced aside, lightly as a loosed spring. but he was not quite quick enough. one of those battering hoofs that were playing for him so nimbly caught him on the haunch. it caught him aslant, or it would have shattered the great joint beyond hope of recovery. but it was enough for his catship. with a scream, he darted off beneath a low-branched thicket, ran lamely up another tree, and crept away from the place of his discomfiture by the path of the interlacing branches. he wanted no elk-meat which tasted like that. the victor stood glaring after him for half a minute, snorting and shaking his triumphant antlers. then he came and glared up at mclaggan, as much as to say: "did you see that? that's the way i'd fix you, too, if only you'd come down here and stand up to me!" as for his cruel wounds on flank and neck, he seemed quite unaware of them. but he was evidently a little tired, for he made no further attempts to reach mclaggan's refuge. "you're sure some punkins!" declared mclaggan admiringly, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. "who'd ever 'a' thought any bull elk could lick a painter _that_ quick?" scorning to be conciliated by compliment, the bull turned away to see if there was any further damage he could inflict on mclaggan's belongings. ah, yes, to be sure, there was the bright, unsullied tin of molasses just where he had hurled it. he pranced over and slashed at it, in spite of mclaggan's appeals, and opened a generous gash, through which the amber-brown stickiness came bulging forth phlegmatically. the bull eyed this phenomenon, and then, scornful of what he could not understand, prodded the can with an eviscerating antler. he prodded it so hard that not only one prong but a tiny projecting fork also went clean through the tin. then he threw up his head sharply, expecting to toss the wreck into the air. to his surprise, it refused to be tossed. it just clung where it was, and began to pour its contents down in a sticky, deliberate stream all over his head and ears and face. he shook his antlers indignantly, and the can thereupon threw wider its suave coils of richness, till they laced his neck and his gashed flank. finding that the insignificant but obstinate thing would not let go, he lowered his antlers and struck at it indignantly with one of his hinder hoofs. when this attempt proved futile, he fell to rooting and prodding the ground, till the stickiness had gathered a copious tribute of leaves and twigs and dirt. this process not accomplishing his purpose, he lifted his head and glanced about him with a worried air, his faith in his own prowess apparently for the first time shaken. mclaggan shrieked. he flung both arms and legs about his branch to keep from falling, and clung there, gurgling. at the strange sound of his laughter, the bull returned beneath the branch and gazed up at him, no longer, as it seemed to mclaggan, insolently, but reproachfully. "go 'way, durn ye, or ye'll be the death o' me yet!" gasped mclaggan. once more the bull's eyes blazed, and again he shook his antlers in defiance. but, as he did so, the can, now quite empty and resonant, gave forth a hollow clatter. the fire faded from the bull's eyes, and he jumped aside nervously. the can clattered again, still in the same place. the bull jumped yet again and shook his head more violently. the can gave voice more clamorously. at that the courage of the valiant fighter, whom neither rival bull nor panther nor man himself could daunt, melted to skim milk. he broke into panic flight through the bushes, and the hollow protestings of the can kept time to the madness of his going. mclaggan, with aching ribs, climbed down from his refuge and stood surveying the wreckage of his supplies. there was nothing left worth picking up, except his axe. "i'm obleeged to ye for leavin' me the axe," said he. "but ye might 'a' took it, an' welcome. the show was worth the price!" the eyes in the bush low over the wide, pallid, almost unruffled expanse of tide a great ghost-gray bird came flapping shoreward heavily. the shore, drowsing under the june sun, was as flat and seemingly as limitless as the sea, except to the right, where the unfenced levels of the grass foamed golden-green along the fringe of the wooded hills. between the waveless pallor of the water and the windless warm glow of the grass was drawn a narrow riband of copper red--the smooth mud flats left naked by the tide. just at the edge of the grass the bleached ribs of an ancient fishing-smack, borne thither years ago in some tempestuous conspiracy of wind and tide, stood up nakedly from the dry red mud, and seemed to beg the leaning grass to cover them. upon one of these gray ribs the great gray bird alighted, balancing himself unsteadily for a moment, as if in the last stage of exhaustion, and then settling to an immobility that seemed to make him a portion of the wreck itself. for the better part of an hour the gray visitor never stirred, never ruffled a feather--not even when a gorgeous black-and-red butterfly alighted, with softly fanning wings, within a foot of him; not even when a desperate mouse, chased by a weasel, squeaked loudly in the grass-roots behind him. the bees and flies kept up a soft hum, the very voice of sleep, among the clover blossoms scattered through the grass, and the hot scents of the wild parsnip steamed up over the levels like an unseen incense. the still air quivered, glassy clear. along the other side of the strip of red began a soft, frothy hiss, as the first of the flood-tide came seething back across the flats. a heavy black-and-yellow bumble bee, with a loud, inquiring boom, swung in headlong circles over the wreck, more than once almost brushing the feathers of the motionless stranger. a sudden flock of sand-pipers puffed down along the shore, alighted, piping mellowly, on the mud just beyond the wreck, and flickered gray and white as they bobbed their stiff little tails up and down in their feeding. but the great gray owl never moved a feather. for an hour he sat there with fast-shut eyes in the broad blaze of the sunshine, while life crept slowly back along his indomitable but exhausted nerves. an estray from the polar north, he had been blown far out to sea in a hurricane. taking refuge on a small iceberg, he had been carried south till the berg, suddenly disintegrating, had forced him to dare the long landward flight. the last of his strength had barely sufficed him to gain the shore and the refuge of this perch upon the ribs of the ancient wreck. at last he opened his immense round yellow eyes--discs of flaming yellow glass with the pupils contracted to mere pinheads in the glare of the unshadowed light. revolving his round, catlike head very slowly upon his shoulders, as if it were moved by clockwork, he surveyed his strange surroundings. the conspicuousness of his perch and the intensity of the sunlight were distasteful to him. lifting his wide wings, he hopped down into the interior of the wreck, which was half-filled with mud and _débris_. here, though the side-planking was all fallen away so that prying eyes could see through and through the ribs in every direction, there was yet a sort of seclusion, with some shadow to ease his dazzled eyes. having recovered somewhat from his numbing exhaustion, the gray visitor became conscious of the pangs of his famine. he sat motionless as before, but now with all his senses on the alert. his ears--so sensitive that he could hear innumerable and tell-tale sounds where a human ear would have perceived nought but a drowsy silence--caught a chorus of rustlings, squeaks, and rushes, which told him that the neighboring depths of the grass were populous with the mouse folk and their kindred. at one point the grass-fringe came so close to the wreck that its spears were thrusting in between the ribs. the gray visitor hopped over to this point, and waited hopefully, like a cat at a frequented mouse-hole. he had been but a few moments settled in his ambush when a fat, sly-faced water-rat came ambling into the wreck at the other end of the keel, nosing this way and that among the _débris_ for sleepy beetles. keen as were the rat's eyes, they did not notice the ghost-gray erect figure sitting up like a post beside the grass-fringe. the visitor waited till the rat should come within reach of an unerring pounce. his sinews stiffened themselves in tense readiness. then something like a brown wedge dropped out of the sky. there was a choked squeal, and the rat lay motionless under the talons of a mottle brown marsh-hawk, which fell instantly to tearing its victim, as if obliged to lunch in a hurry. the downy wings of the gray visitor lifted. his swoop was as soft, soundless and effortless as if he had been but a wisp of feathers blown on a sudden puff of wind. his mighty talons closed on the neck and back of the feasting hawk. there was a moment's convulsive flapping of the mottled brown wings beneath the overshadowing gray ones. then the stranger set himself voraciously to the first square meal which had come his way for days. when he had finished, there was little left of either the hawk or the water-rat. the visitor wiped the black sickle of his beak on a block of driftwood, glared about him, and then rose softly into the air. he wanted a darker and more secluded place than the ribs of the wreck for his siesta. along the foot of the uplands to the right he marked a patch of swamp, sown with sedgy pools and clumps of dense bushes. just at its edge towered a group of three immense water-poplars, whose tops he decided would serve him as a post of outlook for his night hunting. for the moment, however, it was close covert which he wanted, where he could escape the glare of the sun and sleep off his great meal. flying low over the grass-tops, and ignoring the hushed rustle of unseen scurriers beneath, he winnowed down the shore to the swamp and plunged into the heart of the leafiest thicket. a half-rotted stump, close to the ground, offered him an inviting perch, and in half a minute he was the soundest-sleeping gray owl on this side the arctic circle. some little time after, a fussy red-winged blackbird came bustling into the thicket, perhaps to hunt for drowsy night-moths asleep on the under sides of the twigs. he alighted on a branch about two feet from the gray visitor's head, and stared impertinently at the spectral, motionless shape. as he stared, a pair of immense round eyes, brass yellow and terrible, opened wide upon him. for one petrified second he stared straight into them. then, recovering the use of his wits, he fell backward off his branch with a protesting squeak, and fluttered out from the bush that held such horrors. the gray visitor turned his head slowly, to see if there were any more such intruders upon his solitude, then tranquilly went to sleep again. it was perhaps a half-hour later when a big black mink came poking his pointed nose into the thicket. his malicious eyes, set close together in his cruel, triangular face, detected at once the sleeping form of the gray visitor, and glowed deeply as if all at once transformed to drops of garnet. his first impulse was to hurl himself straight upon the slumberer's throat. but, fearless and joyous slaughterer though he was, there was something in this gray shape that made him hesitate. he had never before seen an owl of this ghostly color, or of even half this size. his long, low, sinuous body gliding almost like a snake's, he slipped up to within a couple of feet of the sleeper, and paused irresolute. to the mink's own ear, keen as it was, his motion was as soundless as a moving shadow. but the ear of the owl is a miracle of sensitiveness. in the deep of his sleep the gray visitor heard some warning of danger. just as the mink was gathering his lithe muscles for a spring, a pair of immense, palely blazing discs opened before his face with a light so sudden, so bright, and so hard that he recoiled in spite of himself. the gray visitor had no need of thought to tell him that the long black creature before him, with the narrow snarling mouth and venomous eyes was dangerous. his instinct worked quicker than thought. his wings spread, and he rose as if lifted by a breath from beneath. then he dipped instantly and struck downward with his knifelike, clutching talons. in the same moment the mink sprang to meet the attack, lengthening out his elastic body prodigiously and reaching for his adversary's throat. but what the mink did not know was his undoing. he did not know that the deep covering on the gray visitor's throat and breast--firm, close-lying feathers and a lavish padding of down--was an armor too thick and resistant for even his keen teeth. he got a choking mouthful of feathers. he even achieved to scratch the skin beneath and draw blood. then his savage jaws stretched wide in a choking screech as the steel talons closed inexorably on his throat and his slim loins, and the fiery light in his brain went out in a flame of indignation, amazed that it in turn should suffer the fate which it had so continually and so implacably inflicted. the gray visitor was already hungry again by this time, for an owl's digestion is astonishingly swift. he made a good meal, therefore, upon the flesh of the mink, though that flesh is so tough, so stringy, and so rank that few other flesh-eaters will deign to touch it unless in the extremity of famine. then he went to sleep again, for he had long arrears to make up, and the hot glow of afternoon was still heavy on the reaches of sea and grass. [illustration: "and the fiery light in his brain went out."] but just after sunset, when the glow had faded, and the first thin wave of lilac and amber came washing coolly over the wide landscape, and the blossoms gave out new scents at the touch of the dew, and the night-hawks twanged in the pale green upper heaven, then the gray visitor awoke to eager activity. he floated upward from out his covert like a ghost from a pool, circled over it twice, and flew off to those high and lonely treetops which he had marked in the earlier part of the day. in the nearest tree, not far from the top, was what looked like an immense accumulation of dead sticks. to the gray visitor, coming from a region so far north that there were no tall treetops, this dark mass had no significance. in his world of the arctic barrens nothing of the nature of a nest would ever be built in such an exposed position, where the first icy hurricane screaming down from the pole would rip it to shreds. therefore it never occurred to him that the clumsy platform of dead sticks was the nest of a pair of blue herons. in fact, he had no idea that any such creature as a blue heron existed. he flew noiselessly to the very top of the tree and perched there some ten or a dozen feet above the dusky platform of sticks. all the wide, glimmering twilight world beneath him was very still and quiet. nothing seemed astir but the two or three night-hawks swooping and twanging high up in the hollow heaven, and he had no thought of hunting any such elusive quarry as the night-hawks. with a view to startling some wary hiders into activity, he opened his beak and gave utterance to an unearthly screeching hoot. as he did so, there was a sharp movement on the platform of sticks, and a keen, defiant eye looked up at him. he discerned instantly that the platform of sticks was a nest, and that an immense bird, with an astonishingly long head and bill, was sitting upon it. in his own desolate north the great gray owl knew that no creature on wings could rival him. he was the undisputed tyrant of the polar air, even the dashing, white chocolate-mottled hawk-owl flying precipitately before him. it never occurred to him that this straight-billed nester could be in any way dangerous. he dropped down upon her quite casually, as upon a sure and easy victim. but, before he was within striking distance, the narrow head of the heron was drawn far back between her shoulders, and the long straight javelin of her bill presented its point directly toward the attack. the gray visitor noted what a weapon confronted him, and paused warily. in the next instant the snaky neck of the heron uncoiled itself and the javelin bill darted up at him like lightning. it was a false stroke on the heron's part, for her assailant was not quite within reach. but the gray visitor took note of the deadly possibilities of that darting bill, and promptly sailed a little further out of its range. but he was only warned, not daunted. for several minutes he circled slowly just above the nest, now approaching, now retiring, while he pondered the unaccustomed problem. and all the time the heron, her head drawn back between her hunched shoulders, watched his flight unwinkingly, and kept her menacing point at guard. on the flexible coil of her neck her head pivoted perfectly, and from whichever quarter the enemy approached, there was that fiery yellow point always confronting him, waiting to dart upward and meet him full in the breast. suddenly he swooped again. up came that darting stroke to meet him. but he did not meet it. swerving craftily, he caught the stroke in his wing feathers and smothered it, buffeting it down. with a harsh _quah-ah_ of despair, the heron strove to regain her position for another stroke. but already her adversary had his clutch upon her throat. a moment more and the long neck straightened out, and the narrow head hung limply over the edge of the nest. the eggs, crushed in the struggle, oozed slowly down through the loose foundations of the platform, and the great gray owl began to tear greedily at the most lavish banquet his hunting had ever won him. but nature is apt to deal remorselessly with the unprepared. and the gray visitor, not being at home with his surroundings, had neglected to prepare for the return of the dead mother's mate. busy at his feasting, he failed to notice at first the flapping of heavy wings. when he did notice it he looked up sharply, his beak dripping, his round, pallid face dappled with blood. the tall cock-heron was just settling upon the edge of the platform. his head was drawn back between his shoulders, behind the long yellow lance of his bill, and his eyes, hard as jewels, met those of the murderer without any expression of rage or fear or hate. they were as unchanging as the gemmed eyes of an idol. the gray visitor sprang into the air, in order to give battle on more advantageous terms. but this time he sprang a little too slowly. the heron's head darted downward at him, as if spearing a frog. the stroke caught him full in the wing-elbow, splitting it and totally disabling him for flight. with a hiss of fury, he pounced at his stilt-legged antagonist, striking out frantically with his terrific, clutching talons. but his trailing wing jerked him sideways, so that he utterly missed his aim and sprawled at the heron's feet. before he could recover himself, the avenger struck again with the full drive of his powerful neck, and the stroke went home. the gray visitor dropped in a heap, with the javelin bill clean through his throat. his round yellow eyes opened and shut several times, and his beak snapped like a pair of castanets. then he lay quite still, while the heron, standing at full height on the edge of the outraged nest, stabbed repeatedly and with slow deliberation at the unresisting mass of shadowy feathers. the runners of the high peaks motionless upon his knife-edged pinnacle, the great brown ram stood poised, his gray, uplifted muzzle out-thrust toward the sunrise as if he would sniff in its rose-red glories as they flamed across the ice peaks of the jagged horizon. the enormous corrugated spirals of his horns lay back over his neck and shoulders as he stood, and his arrogant eyes of black and gold appeared half-shut as they searched the jumble of peaks, ravines, and lake-dotted valleys outspread in still confusion beneath him. the silence in his ears was absolute, save for the occasional throb of thunder from a waterfall leaping out into the light of dawn a thousand feet below, and heard only when some wandering eddy of air pulsed upward from the depths. there was no enemy to be descried, either in the still shadowed valleys or on the brightening slopes and steeps; but the stately watcher kept his station, immovable, staring as if physically hypnotized by the immensity of the vision that filled his eyes. then at last a white-headed eagle, passing low overhead, yelped at him defiantly. he paid no attention to the challenge, but the harsh, thin cry seemed to break his trance. he dropped his head and glanced down at the narrow table-like ledge just below his pinnacle, where another ram, smaller and less splendidly horned than himself, with six little spike-horned ewes, cropped the short sweet grasses which grew in the clefts of the rock. far down in the shadow beneath the wild ram's peak a white tent glimmered beside the misty coils of the stream which threaded the valley. it was quite too far off to give the ram any concern. even his sagacious and penetrating vision could barely make out that a man had stepped forth from under the tent-flap and now stood motionless beside it. his confidence would have gone to pieces in uncomprehended terror had he known that the man, with a pair of powerful glams to his eyes, was studying him minutely, and could see him as clearly as if he were not more than a couple of hundred yards away. pete allen was prospecting. smitten with the wanderlust, he had struck clear across the continent from the spruce woods and rich river meadows of new brunswick to the gigantic mountain chaos of the rockies in british columbia. in new brunswick he had been a hunter and guide. now he had forsaken the trails of moose and bear and caribou to seek the elusive "color" in the sands of the mountain streams, or the unobtrusive outcrop of the quartz that carries gold. but the old instincts were still strong in him. he felt the lure of a splendid and unknown quarry. he coveted the magnificent head of that calm watcher on the peak; and, having heard that the wild mountain ram of the rockies was an extraordinarily difficult quarry to bring down, he itched to try his old eastern woodcraft in this new chase and win the prize unaided. he had two indians with him as carriers, but he was determined that they should have no part in this hunting. after he had well studied, through his glasses, the lay of the ridges and ravines about the peak where the ram was standing, he reëntered the tent for his rifle. he stuffed some cold meat and hard tack into his pockets, told his indians they need not expect him back before night, and started up the course of a small stream which seemed to come from the shoulder of the mountain. as soon as he plunged into the thickets he lost sight of the watcher on the peak; but he had laid his course, and he pushed on confidently, working around the mountain so that he might come upon the quarry with the sun at his back. when, after an hour's hard work, pushing through matted thickets and crossing jagged gullies, he came out upon a knoll which commanded a view of the peak, he saw that the great ram had disappeared. but this did not trouble him, as he felt sure he would pick up the trail in course of time. up on the high ledge below the peak the spring grass was sweet, but there was little of it. the mountain sheep, cropping hungrily with their short, eager bites, soon exhausted their high pasturage. they lifted their heads discontentedly, whereupon the old ram, whose supercilious eyes nevertheless missed little of what concerned him, stepped mincingly down from his pinnacle. between the edged summit and the ledge where his flock pastured was an all but perpendicular drop of smooth-faced rock. smooth as it looked, however, his dainty and discriminating hoofs were able to find some unevennesses upon it, for he took it in two effortless leaps, and landed among his followers with a shake of his splendid horns. then he led the way down the naked steep, now flooded with the level radiance of the three-fourths risen sun, toward the fresh spring pasturage along the upper limits of the timber-belt. he took no pains to choose an easy path, this light-foot runner of the aërial peaks. along dizzy ledges that looked no more than a track for lizards or a clinging place for swallows, he led the way without pause or hesitation, the flock in single file at his heels. from ledge to ledge he dropped, over hair-raising deeps of transparent air, with a precision and ease that made it seem as if his sturdy frame was as imponderable as the air itself. he ploughed down chutes and funnels of loose stone, the _débris_ of the rock walls above. he sprang carelessly over crevices whose bottoms were lost in blackness, till at last the young-leaved birch and the somber pointed fir lay just below him, skirted by the steep ribands and intersected by the narrow glens of greening turf. at this point the wise old ram began to go warily. in this remote corner of the rockies the hunter's rifle was as yet practically unknown. on the ultimate heights, therefore, where none could follow him but the eagles and the falcons, he had no enemies to keep watch against. for the eagles he had small concern, except just at lambing-time, and even then each ewe mother, with her short, spiky horns and nimble, razor-edged hoofs, was quick and able to protect her own little one. but down here, along the edge of the timber, were the dreaded enemies--the wolves, the mountain lions, the black bears, and the grizzlies. the temptation of the new grass was one not to be resisted, but the price of it was an unsleeping watchfulness of eye and ear and wits. [illustration: "he took no pains to choose an easy path."] the uppermost fringe of grass, where it thinned away into the broken rock, was scanty and stunted; but here the great horned leader elected to do his own pasturing, while the younger ram stood guard. the spot was a safe one, being several hundred yards from the timber, and bounded along its upper edge by a broken steep, which offered no obstacle whatever to these light-footed peak-runners, but was all but impassable, except at a crawl, to the most agile of their foes. if the gaunt gray timber wolf should come darting, belly to earth, from the woods, for all his swiftness the flock would be bounding lightly far up the steep, as if lifted on a sudden wind, before he could come anywhere within reach of them. when he had quite satisfied his own hunger, and with lifted nostrils sniffed suspiciously every air that drew upward from the woods, the old ram led his flock further down into one of those steep glens where the grass was more abundant. or, rather, instead of leading them, he shepherded them before him, keeping them all under his eye, and himself guarding the rear, while the oldest and wariest of the ewes, prick-eared and all a-quiver with suspicion, led the way, questioning every bush and every shadow. but there was no hint of danger anywhere to be discerned; and presently the flock was pasturing greedily on such sweet herbage as they had not tasted since the previous year, while on a hummock near the bottom of the glade, at the post of danger, the ram kept watch, turning his head continually. but enthusiasm over young pasturage may make even a mountain sheep absent-minded. from time to time the flock straggled. straightway it would close up again, drawing away from the thickets. then, in a minute or two more, it would open out fan-wise, as each impatient feeder followed up some vein of especially luscious herbage. just at the point where the slope of grass was intersected by another and narrower glade, almost at right angles to the first, a heedless young ewe had branched off a score or so of paces to one side, up the cross-glade. lifting her head suddenly, she realized her isolation, and started to rejoin her fellows. at that same instant a lean, gray shape shot noiselessly from the underbrush straight in her path, and leaped at her with wide jaws. with a bleat of terror she sprang back up the cross-glade; and then, frantic at the prospect of being cut off from the flock, she wheeled again and tried to dodge past her assailant. the wolf, understanding her tactics, and absolutely sure that she could not escape him, headed her off without too violently exerting himself. he knew that here, away from her steeps and pinnacles, she was no match for him in speed, and he knew, too, that once she saw herself deserted by the flock her powers would fail her in sheer panic. for a few seconds he almost played with her. then, getting her fairly cornered in a bend of the thickets, he sprang savagely for her throat. behind him, meanwhile, the flock went bounding by, headed for their high refuge. last came the great ram, snorting with wrath and fear. just as he was passing he saw that final rush of the wolf. he saw the young ewe penned in her corner. he heard her shrill, despairing bleat. the look of fear faded from his yellow eyes, leaving the rage only. it was not his wont to pit himself against the mighty timber wolf, because he had no morbid taste for suicide, but this young ewe was a favorite. just as the gnashing jaws were about to snap upon the victim's neck something not unlike the stroke of a pile-driver caught the wolf fairly on the crupper. aided by his own spring, it lifted him clean over the struggling ewe's back, doubled him together, and dashed him with stunning effect against a tree. slowly he picked himself up, to see his quarry and the great ram just vanishing up the glade, far beyond any such pursuit as he was at the moment equal to. with a shamefaced air he glanced about him. there, across the glade, stood a tawny puma, eyeing his discomfiture through narrowed lids. this was too much. tucking his tail between his legs, he slunk off into the underbrush. having gained what he considered a safe height among the rocks, the ram halted his followers upon a jutting buttress, where they stood huddled about him, and stared down resentfully upon the grassy glades. such was their confidence in their lord, and in their own powers of flight, that they were none of them particularly frightened, except the young ewe who had had such a narrow escape. she, trembling and with panting sides, crowded close against her rescuer, who, for his part, kept scrutinizing the edges of the timber to see if the enemy were going to follow up the attack. he saw no more of that enemy, but he caught a glimpse of the tawny form of the puma gliding into a tree. thereupon he decided that this part of the mountain was no place for his flock. he turned and made off straight up the steep, till he had put a good mile between himself and the point of danger. then, dropping into a ravine till their course was quite hidden from all hostile eyes in the timber, he led the way around the mountainside for several miles. on a high ledge, secure from any unseen approach, the flock rested for an hour or two, chewing the cud in peace in the vast silence of the bare and sun-bathed peaks. when once more they descended to the timber belt and its seductive pasturage there were three or four miles of tangled ridge and ravine between them and the scene of their morning's adventure. in the meantime, pete allen, weary with climbing, sore with disappointment, tormented with as many flies as his own new brunswick backwoods would have let loose upon him at the worst of the season, was beginning to wonder if the hunt of the mountain sheep was as simple an affair as he had fancied it. after climbing all the morning he had failed to gain another glimpse of the great brown ram. at last, however, about noon, he came upon their trail, leading down to the grass. with a long breath of relief, he stopped, drank at a bubbling icy spring, ate his cold bacon and crackers, and smoked a pipe. the trail was none too fresh, so he knew there was nothing to be gained by rash haste. after his pipe, he followed the trail down to the glades. his trained eyes soon told him what had happened. the encounter with the wolf was an open page to him. having satisfied himself that there was nothing of interest left in that patch of timber--though all the while the puma was eyeing him with curious interest from a great branch not far overhead--he took up the trail of the flock's flight, and started once more up the mountain. sweating heavily, and angrily brushing the flies from his eyes and nose and ears, he managed to distinguish the trail for a couple of miles along the difficult ravines, but at last, at the root of a precipice which, in his eastern judgment, was quite impassable to anything without wings, he lost it irretrievably. arguing that the flock must sooner or later return to their pasturage, he picked his way on a long diagonal down the mountainside, traversed a succession of grass patches, which showed never a trace of hoof print, and at length found himself in a bewildering maze of low, abrupt ridges, dense thickets, and narrow strips of green glade. from all that allen had been able to gather as to the habits of mountain sheep he concluded that this was about the last place in the world where he would be likely to find them. he began, after long self-restraint, to curse softly under his breath, as he glared about him for the most practical exit from the maze. all at once his face changed. the anger faded out from his shrewd light-blue eyes. there was the trail of the flock leading straight down the steepest and most uninviting of the glens. it was a fresh trail, too--so absolutely fresh that some of the trodden blades were still lifting their heads slowly from the hoof prints. "gee!" muttered allen. "seems i don't know's much about these here critters as i thought i did!" and he slipped noiselessly back into the cover of a thicket. his problem now was to keep the trail in sight while himself remaining under cover. it was the hardest piece of tracking he had ever tackled. the cover was dense, the slope steep and tormentedly broken. he had to be noiseless as a mink, because he knew by hearsay that the ears of the mountain ram were almost as keen as an owl's. and he had to keep himself perfectly out of sight, which forced him to take the most difficult part of the underbrush for his path. but, for all this, he was no longer angry; he no longer heeded the flies or the heat, and when the sweat streamed down into his eyes he merely wiped them cheerfully on his sleeve. he felt sure now of winning the longed-for trophy of that magnificent head, and of winning it, moreover, by his own unaided woodcraft. presently, through an opening in the leafy screen, he caught a glimpse of a tranquilly pasturing ewe, not much more than two hundred yards away. she moved slowly across his narrow line of vision and vanished. keyed now to the highest pitch of anticipation, with every faculty concentrated on his purpose, he worked his silent way onward, expecting momently to gain a view of the great ram. but there was an element in the situation which, had he known it, would have interfered with allen's concentration of purpose. he was not the only hunter of mountain sheep in that particular corner of the mountains. a shaggy and sly old "silver-tip," as it chanced, had had his eye for some time on that flock. he loved mutton, and he knew it was very hard to get, especially for a bear. he was making his approaches, therefore, with a stealthy craft surpassing that of pete allen himself. so it came about quite naturally that he saw allen first. thereupon he took every precaution that allen should not see him. in this remote district the grizzlies had not yet learned the vital lesson that man is by far the most formidable of all the animals. yet a rumor had come to him, somehow, that the insignificant creature was not to be trifled with. there was something masterful in his bearing--as the grizzly had observed from safe ambush on several occasions--which suggested unknown powers, and hitherto the old silver-tip, being well fed and having no special grudge against man, had refrained from courting a quarrel. now, however, he was angry. this was his own game which the man was stalking. this was a trespass upon his own preserves--a point in regard to which the grizzly is apt to be sensitive. his first impulse was to rush upon the intruder at once. then a mixture of prudence and curiosity held him back, or, rather, delayed his purpose. he changed his course, and began to stalk pete allen even as pete allen was stalking the sheep. and high overhead, in the unclouded blue, a soaring eagle, catching brief glimpses of the drama through the openings in the leafage, gazed down upon it with unwinking, scornful eyes. huge and apparently clumsy as was the bulk of the bear, he nevertheless made his way through the tangle as soundlessly as the man, and more swiftly. he drew gradually nearer, and, as he approached, he began to forget the other game in a savage interest in this new and dangerous quarry. he was not directly behind the man, but now drawing nearly abreast of him, on the other side of the narrow steep of grass. he was just beginning, indeed, to stiffen his sinews instinctively for the final rush which should avenge the intrusion upon his range, when he saw the man stop abruptly and raise something that looked like a long brown stick to his shoulder. at this sight the bear stopped also, his wrath not being yet quite hot enough to consume his curiosity. pete allen at last had caught a clear view of the great brown ram standing at guard not a hundred yards away. it was a beautiful, easy shot, the target isolated and framed in green. he raised his rifle steadily, bracing himself with knees and feet in a precarious position. before he could draw a bead, however, to his amazement he saw the ram bound into the air and vanish from his narrow field of vision. puzzled, he lowered the rifle from his shoulder. as he did so that unknown and quite incalculable sense which seems to have its seat in the fine hairs on the back of one's neck and in the skin of the cheeks commanded him to turn his head. he was just in time to see the giant form of the grizzly burst from the underbrush and come lunging across the strip of open. confronted by such an emergency the new brunswicker fired on the instant, and, being quite sure of himself and the bear above him, he took a difficult shot. he aimed at the middle of the beast's throat, trusting to sever the spinal column, for he had heard that a shot straight through the heart often fails to stop the rush of a grizzly. there was nothing the matter with pete allen's shooting or with his nerve. but at the very fraction of a second when his finger started to pull the trigger the whimsical fates of the wilderness took a hand in the game. they undermined pete allen's footing. as he fired he fell, and the long, soft-nosed, deadly bullet, instead of piercing the grizzly's spine, merely smashed through his right shoulder. pete allen fell sprawling some eight or ten feet down the slope, losing hold of his rifle in the effort to stop himself. to his anxious indignation he saw the rifle strike a branch and bounce perversely a dozen feet away. he scrambled for it furiously; but, before he could quite get his grip upon it, it slipped through the branches and dropped another dozen feet or so. at the same time, with something more near cold terror than he had ever before experienced, he saw the dark bulk of the grizzly wallowing down upon him, huge as a mountain. staggered for a few seconds by the shock of the bullet, the beast had hesitated and turned around on his tracks, biting at the wound. then, on three legs, and grunting with rage, he had launched himself upon his adversary. in the course of the next three seconds, as he struggled toward his gun, pete allen thought of a thousand things, mostly unimportant. but at the back of his brain was the cool conviction that this was the time when he was going to pass in his checks. those brute paws would smash him before he could reach his rifle. but he was wrong, for again the whimsical fates interfered, perceiving a chance for such a trick as they had probably never played before. the great brown ram, his eyes nearly starting from his head, came leaping madly up the narrow incline, his flock at his heels, blind with fright. in the glade below one of the flock had just been pounced upon by a puma, and another puma had sprung out at them, but missed his kill. the ram saw the bear straight in his path, plunging across it. there was no time to change his direction, and in his panic the peril in front was nothing to compare with the peril behind. had the bear been a mastodon or a megatherium it would have been all the same to the panic-stricken ram. with the madness of utter terror he lowered his mighty head and charged this dark mass that barred his flight. the bear, blazing with vengeance, had no eyes in that moment for sheep. suddenly something like a falling boulder crashed into his ribs, catching him with his forefeet off the ground and almost rolling him over. the breath belched out of his astonished lungs with a loud, coughing grunt, and the ram went over him, spurning him with sharp hoofs. the next moment the whole flock was passing over him, a bewildering bombardment of small, keen, battering hoofs and woolly bodies. recovering from his amazement, he struck out with his unwounded forepaw, caught the last unhappy ewe as she went over him, and hurled her carcass, mangled and quivering, far down the slope. then, a little dazed, but undeterred from his vengeance, he glared about him for his original antagonist. interesting and, indeed, unparalleled as the intervention of the brown ram had been, pete allen had not taken time to observe it with the minute care which so novel an incident was entitled to. he had been busy getting his gun. now he had it he did not hurry. with this shot he was taking no chances. just as the bear caught sight of him, and started at him open-mouthed, he fired, and the animal sprawled forward, a huge furry heap, with a ball through the base of his brain. back in new brunswick pete allen had had the name of being a cool hand in a corner. in that land of tried woodsmen and daring stream-drivers he would not have gained that name without deserving it. even as the grizzly was in the act of falling forward allen raised his rifle again. he covered accurately the form of the brown ram leaping up the slope a hundred yards away. there was his trophy, the splendid horns which he had striven so hard to win, within his grasp at last. but something seemed to tug suddenly at his arm--or was it at his heart? pete allen had always prided himself on playing fair, in the spirit as well as in the letter. he dropped his rifle with a growl of vexation. "it'd be a dirty trick to put a ball into yeh," he muttered, "seein' what a hell of a hole you've just pulled me out of!" the pool the current that went circling through its depths, keeping them always crystal pure and sweet, was so leisurely that the clear brown mirror of the surface was never broken, unless by some slow-wandering foam-cluster eddied in from the frothy little falls outside, or by the dropping of a leaf, or by the sluggish rise of a trout to some unwary skimming fly. to the fish that dwelt in it the pool was an abiding place of perfection. it was deep; but the entrance to it was narrow and shoal, just spacious enough for the slow interchange of waters with the vivifying outer current. at the same time this entrance was so set that innumerable choice morsels, fly and beetle, grub and berry, having been battered down over the falls, were then persuasively swept into it. it was darkly overhung by great-limbed water-ash and maple; but when the sun was some two or three hours past noon its downpour reached and flooded the surface and made very wholesome basking. the bottom, moreover, offered a judicious variety of attraction. for some way in from the entrance it was of a clean bright sand, more or less broken with stones. while the inner portion, right up to the perpendicular banks and the jutting tree-roots, was floored with silted mud, fruitful in the small, ephemeral water-growths of herb and insect. the fish inhabiting the delectable pool were all big ones, except for a few scattered young fry which dwelt precariously in the extremest shallows where the big ones could not come at them. and the fish were of just two kinds, the trout and the suckers. the suckers, lazy, pig-like, inoffensive beings, congregated over the stretch of mud, from whose fat surface their small, round, defenseless, downward-opening mouths sucked up their sustenance incessantly. their bulk, and the power of their sinewy tails, alone protected them from the trout, whose wide, rapacious jaws and insatiable appetite were effective in keeping the size of all the pool-dwellers up to standard. the trout, as a rule, had none of the reposefulness of the suckers. they ranged restlessly, now over the mud reaches, now over the sand and rocks, wherever quarry, large or small, might perhaps be encountered. frequently one or another would flash out through the narrow exit, to hunt and test its strength in the bright turmoil of the rapids. and from time to time one would return lazily, perhaps with the tail of a smaller relation sticking out of its mouth, and settle down under the bank to digest its heavy meal. to the pair of great fish-hawks, whose huge, untidy nest, like a cart-load of sticks and rubbish, filled the top of a tall dead pine-tree half a mile above the falls, the pool was a ceaseless aggravation. in the continual flight up and downstream their keen eyes were wont to search the pool enviously. but the big fish swimming so calmly in its depths were safe from them, because it was so overhung that they were unable to swoop down upon it with any effective speed. in the clear open they could drop like a wedge of steel, and flick up a darting trout from the very lip of the fall. but the pool they could reach only by a deliberate, flapping approach which gave even the drowsiest basker ample time to seek refuge in the safe depths. but there was one wild fisherman whom the pool suited exactly. a big half-submerged root, jutting out for about three feet directly over that section of the pool where the suckers congregated, afforded the great lynx just the post of vantage which he loved. here he would lie in wait for an hour at a time, patient and immobile as the root on which he crouched. his round, black, savage moon-face, with its pale eyes bright and hard, its stiff whiskers, and its tufted ears, would be held down so close to the glassy surface that the confused reflections of the overhanging branches were unable to interfere with his vision, and he could see with perfect clearness every detail of the transparent depths. he would stare with endless craving at the massive suckers which lay placidly mouthing the mud; but nothing could ever bring them near the surface, so he knew nothing of them but that they were fat and looked very desirable. but it was the trout that chiefly concerned him. they had none of the fat placidity of the suckers. one or another of them, with his gold and silver and vermilion glinting up through the pellucid gloom, would be forever on the move, quartering the bottom for caddis and beetle, and now and then sailing up toward the surface to investigate some floating atom that may chance to be a fly. sometimes it _was_ a fly, or a moth, or a caterpillar or some edible berry. and sometimes, too, the slow circling of the current in the pool would bring it close to that still watcher on the root before it caught the eye of the feeding fish. then the sinews of the watcher would grow rigid, his claws protrude from their sheaths, a little green flame flicker spectrally in his eyes. as the trout came slanting up on scarlet fin, shouldered the surface apart, and sucked down the morsel, out from the root above him would flash a wide-taloned paw, unerring, inescapable, scooping him from his element, and in half a second he would be flopping convulsively among the wintergreen leaves, far up the bank. in the next half of that fatal second the lynx would be upon him with an exultant pounce, holding down his slippery struggles with both forepaws, and biting through the back of his massive neck. the lynx being so silent and discreet a fisherman, his fishing never disturbed the pool at all, or cast any shadow of doubt upon its reputation as a haven of security and repose. the victim simply vanished, without any fuss. of the other dwellers in the pool not one knew how he had vanished; not one cared; not one was troubled with apprehension. one hot morning as the great cat lay on the root, staring down into the depths with his fierce moon eyes, he was disappointed to observe that on this particular day even the trout were too indolent to stir. the heat seemed to have taken away their appetites. as motionless and indifferent as the suckers themselves, they hung on softly fanning fins, and took no notice when even the most tempting morsels traversed the glassy surface. they did not mingle with the suckers, but poised themselves superciliously a foot or so above them, or lurked singly under the shelter of the scattered rocks on the bottom. in vain did fly or moth, or the most seductive squirmer of a fat grub, come circling slowly over the surface above them. they would not so much as cock a scornful eye up at it. they were not feeding. and when a trout won't feed he just won't, and there's an end of it. though just when the pangs of appetite may come back upon him with a rush no fisherman can say with certainty. it is such uncertainty that has taught fishermen the virtues of patience and hope. it has also taught them unveracity, by giving them abundant time for the weaving of tales wherewith to amuse the credulous. the lynx, as a fisherman, was both hopeful and patient. but this morning his patience was being sorely tried; for he was hungrier than usual, and his hunger was particularly bent on fish. his ridiculous stump of a tail, which was quite hidden from the sight of the pool-dwellers, began to twitch angrily. he was almost on the point of giving up, and stealing away to hunt rabbits, when from the corner of his eye he caught sight of something which made his ruff bristle and every hair stand up in jealous wrath. an intruder, a stranger, a rival whose skill as a fisherman made his own attempts seem nothing worth, had arrived at the entrance of the pool and was peering down into it with keen eyes. the lynx moved, for the first time in a half hour. he turned his head full round, and fixed his green, implacable stare upon the intruder. the new arrival had come by way of the river, and, from his bearing, the pool was evidently new to him. his long, sinuous, dark body lay crouched in the middle of the entrance, hinder half in the water and head and shoulders out of it. sleek and glistening, with his low-set supple form, heavy-jawed and almost dog-like face, inconspicuous ears, dark eyes, and long, powerful tail, he presented the sharpest possible contrast in type to the great, shadowy, moon-eyed cat, though in actual weight and bulk the two were not greatly dissimilar. but it was not at the silent watcher on the tree-root across the pool that the other was looking. he was peering down, with exultant eyes, into the peopled depths. hunting had been bad, and he was hungry. a moment more and he plunged downward with a heavy swirl, but smoothly, as if oiled. the eyes of the lynx followed, with savage intentness, his swift and fishlike dartings beneath the water. the drowsing pool-dwellers awoke and scattered in a panic, even the dull suckers displaying a miraculous agility. but it was not the coarse-fleshed suckers that this discriminating fisherman was after. as the frantic fugitives dashed this way and that, weaving strange patterns over the bottom, and half forgetful, in their terror, of the narrow way out to safety, the otter slashed at such as came in his way, biting through their backbones, so that they presently rolled to the surface, belly upward. but it was the biggest trout of the pool that he wanted. and one great fish there was who was fatally supreme. his supremacy had been fatal to many smaller fish before. now it was fatal to himself. him the otter chose out for his prize. feeling himself so chosen, he flashed frantically from side to side, and up and down, ever missing the exit--or cleverly headed off from it--but also, for some minutes, evading the inexorable pursuit. the otter, though a four-footed land-dweller, was really more swift and agile in the water than any trout; but over and over again he was balked or delayed by other maddened fugitives getting in his way, or tempting him to delay for a slashing bite. through all the lashed turmoil the lynx never stirred, save to follow with his hard, bright stare the lightning evolutions of the flight and the pursuit. at last the doomed trout flashed up beneath the point of the root, and doubled just at the surface. in that fraction of a second when he seemed to pause for the turn, down swept the furry paw; and the trout was hurled far up the bank. from the spot at which the trout had so surprisingly vanished up shot the head of the otter. for one instant the otter's dark and furious eyes blazed into the pale eyes of the lynx, at a distance of not more than a dozen or eighteen inches. then the lynx was gone up the bank at a bound, to pin down and finish off the victim. now, there were plenty more trout in the pool to be caught, and three dead or dying fish floating there to be picked up. but this fact to the otter was of no account whatever. he had been robbed of his kill. his prize had been impudently snatched from his teeth. there was room in his soul for no emotion but the rage of the avenger. he scrambled out on to the root and glided noiselessly up the bank. from the point of view of the lynx, on the other hand, it was he who had all the grievance. the pool was his own private preëmption, long held without a challenge. the otter was an insolent trespasser. as a rule, two wild beasts of different species, if so nearly matched that the event of a combat might be doubtful, will avoid each other discreetly. the plain uncertainty is apt to daunt them both. they do not understand each other's methods of fighting. and each has too much at stake. but here, in each case, was a question of the honor of the wilds. it was a great quarrel which neither would shirk. having killed the writhing fish, the lynx turned sharp about, crouched with one paw on the prize, and eyed the approaching otter warily. at first the otter came on with a steady rush, as if disdaining all fence and all precaution. at a distance of half-a-dozen feet, however, he paused, as if that pale, menacing stare of his crouching adversary had disconcerted him. he met it fairly, however, and steadily, and it was plain that he was in no way daunted. a moment more and he began to creep slowly forward, very slowly, inch by inch. to the lynx, with his more fiery but less tenacious temperament, this very deliberate and long-drawn-out approach was more trying than a savage rush would have been. his courage was sound, but his nerves were jumpy. he opened his jaws wide and hissed harshly, and followed this demonstration by a strident yowl. neither of these appearing to impress the creeping foe, he felt it impossible to keep still any longer. with a sudden bounce he shot into the air, to come down, as he calculated, square on the otter's back. but when he came down the otter's back was no longer where he had expected it to be. it had been discreetly removed. the next instant the otter's teeth snapped at his throat, but missed hold by a hair's breadth. for some seconds the two gnashed snarling in each other's faces; then, as if by common consent, they sprang apart, and began a slow, wary circling, each impressed with a sense of the other's prowess. that moment's clash of snarling jaw on jaw had seemed to let in a flash of understanding upon their hot hearts. as they circled, each sparring for a chance to catch the other at a disadvantage, the dead trout lay gleaming and bleeding on the turf between them. presently the otter made a little rush in, as if to seize it. but at this the lynx pounced in also, with a startling growl. the otter shrank back a little. the lynx checked his spring. in another moment the two were once more circling and sparring for vantage as before. the longer the otter studied that gray, prowling, shadowy shape, with the wide eyes, the powerful hunched hind-quarters, the long and ripping claws, the less certain he felt of his ability to handle it, the more surely did his fighting lust cool down. he began to think of his other prizes in the pool, to be gathered without an effort; and, but for his pride, he would willingly have withdrawn from the doubtful venture which now involved him. but he was of dogged temper, and he showed no outward sign of his irresolution. the lynx, on the other hand, being less obstinate and of more variable mood, began to think of rabbits and such like easy enterprises. the more he studied that low, sinewy, dark figure with its keen teeth and punishing jaw, the less he liked it, and the more indifferent he grew to the attractions of trout as a diet. the radius of his menacing prowl grew gradually wider. in response the otter discreetly drew back a few feet. the lynx paused, and glanced up into a tree, as if suddenly interested in the flittings of a black-and-white woodpecker. the otter sniffed inquiringly at the ground, as if discovering a new scent there. the trout seemed to be forgotten. it lay glistening in a patch of sun; and a large blue-bottle alighted upon it. half a minute later the lynx strolled away, very deliberately. at the edge of a bush some thirty or forty paces distant he sat down on his tail, and looked around with elaborate carelessness to see what his rival was going to do. at the slightest provocation he was ready to return and fight the matter out. but the otter was no longer provocative. he swung about, glided back to the pool, slid into it, and snatched up one of the fish which he had already slain. dragging it out upon the further bank, he fell to his meal with relish, in full view of his late antagonist. thereupon the lynx came prowling back. he put his paw on the prize, and glared across the water with a defiant growl. there was no response, his rival being apparently too busy to heed him. he snatched up the fish in his teeth, and growled again. still no reply from the otter. then, with his stub tail stiff in the air, and stepping haughtily, he marched off into the silent green shades to make his meal. the shadows and john hatch when john hatch found the lynx kittens in their shallow den on the bright and windy shoulder of old sugar loaf, he stood for some minutes looking down upon them with a whimsical mixture of compassion and hostility. in his eyes all lynxes were vermin of the worst kind. they had killed three of his sheep. an old male had clawed his dog so severely that the dog had lost its nerve and all value as a hunting partner. they were great destroyers of the young deer, the grouse, and the hares, and so interfered with the supply of john hatch's larder. in a word, they were his enemies, and therefore, according to his code, to be destroyed without compunction. but these were the first kittens of the hated breed that hatch had ever seen. unlike the full-grown lynx, whose fur is of a tawny, shadowy gray, these youngsters had sleek, brilliant coats adorned with stripes like a tiger's. they were so young that their eyes were not yet open, and they lay huddled cosily and trustingly together, in their bed of brown leaves, like so many exaggerated kittens of the hearthside tabby. but this was no extenuation of their crime, in john hatch's eyes. it pleaded for them not at all, for he had his established custom in dealing with superfluous kittens. presently he stooped down and stroked the huddle of shining fur. blind babies though they were, the youngsters knew the touch for an alien one, the unknown smell for the smell of an enemy. their tails and the ruffs of their necks bristled instantly, and, with a feeble spitting, they turned and clawed savagely at the intruding hand. the little claws drew blood, and john hatch withdrew his hand with a laugh that had a touch of admiration in it. "gosh, but ye're spunky little devils!" he muttered. "but ye ain't a-goin' to grow up to use them claws on my sheep nur my dawg, an' don't ye fergit it!" for a moment he thought of wringing their necks, as the simplest way of getting the matter off his hands. but his kindly disposition shrank from the barbarity of the process; and, after all, to his mind they were kittens of a kind, and therefore entitled to a more gracious form of taking off. for all their spitting and clawing, he picked them up by the scruffs of their necks, stuffed two of them into his capacious pockets, carried the other two in his fist, and made his way hastily down the mountain, keeping a watchful eye over his shoulder, lest the mother-lynx should happen back from her hunting and attempt a rescue. he made his way to a little well-like pool, a sort of pocket of black water in a cleft of the granite, which he had passed and noted curiously on his upward climb. into this icy oblivion he dropped the baby lynxes in a bunch, with a stone tied to them, as he was wont to do with the superfluous kittens at home. "good riddance to that rubbish!" he muttered, as he strode on down the mountain. but, underestimating the strength of these wild kittens, he had tied the string carelessly. in their drowning struggles, the string had come undone, and the victims, freed from the stone, had risen to the surface. but by this time they were too weak for any effectual effort at escape, and in their blindness they could not find the shore. two, by chance, drifted upon a lip of rock, where they sprawled half-awash and were presently dead of the chill. the other two sank again into the black depths. their puny struggles had not long been stilled--five minutes, perhaps, or ten--when the mother-lynx arrived at the edge of the pool. returning to her den and finding her little ones gone, the footprints and the trail of the woodsman had told her the story. crouching flat, with ears back and teeth bared to the sockets, she had glared about her with terrible eyes, as if thinking that the ravisher might yet be within reach. then, after one long, agonized sniff at the spot where her young had lain, she had sped away noiselessly down the steep, running with nose to the blatant trail and wild eyes peering ahead through the tangle of the brush. at the edge of the pool she stopped. though hatch's trail went on, she saw at once, from his halt at the edge, that something had happened here. in a moment or two her piercing eyes detected those two little limp bodies lying awash on the lip of granite at the other side of the pool. eagerly she called to them, with a harsh but poignant mew, and in two prodigious leaps she was leaning over them. with tender, mothering lips she lifted them from the water by their necks, curled herself about them for warmth, and fell to licking them passionately with soft murmurs of caress. she did not notice, apparently, the absence of the other two, or perhaps her sense of numbers was defective, and she could not count. however that may be, she devoted herself with concentrated fervor for some minutes to the two limp and bedraggled little forms striving passionately to stir them back to life. then, as if realizing on the sudden that they were dead, she almost spurned them from her, sprang to her feet with a long yowl, and ran around the pool till she again picked up john hatch's trail. it was about four in the afternoon when john hatch crossed the last of the half-bare slopes, with their scant growth of poplar and sapling birch, which fringed the foot of old sugar loaf, and plunged into the dark spruce woods which separated him from his lonely farm on the banks of burnt brook. his trail was now an easy one, an old and moss-grown "tote-road" of the lumbermen. it was some ten or a dozen years since this region had been lumbered over, and by this time the young timber which had then been left, as below the legal diameter for cutting, had grown to the full and stately stature of the spruce. the great trees, however, had not yet had time to kill out the bushy undergrowth which had sprung up luxuriantly in the wake of the choppers, and consequently the forest on either side of the trail was a dense riot of jungle to the height of six or eight feet. john hatch knew that the mother-lynx, had he caught her at home, would have put up a valiant fight in defense of her babies. he thought that she might even have attacked him in the open if she had come up with him while he had the kittens on him. he despised all lynxes as cordially as he hated them; but he knew that a mother, of almost any breed, may do desperate things for her young. having his axe with him, however, and the nicest of woodsman's skill in using it, he had had no misgivings at any moment, and, now that the kittens were at the bottom of the pool, he dismissed the whole matter from his mind. there remained of it nothing at all but a dim satisfaction that four dangerous enemies to his sheep had been thus easily disposed of. suddenly, without knowing why, john hatch stopped in his stride, gripped his axe instinctively, and glanced over his shoulder. the skin of his cheeks, beneath the grizzled stubble, crept curiously. he felt that he was being followed. but there was nothing on the trail behind him, which was clear and straight to his view for a good two hundred yards back. he peered deep into the undergrowth, first on one side, then on the other. no living thing was to be seen, except a little black-and-white woodpecker, which slipped behind a hemlock trunk and peered around at him with bright, inquiring eyes. "guess i've got the creeps," growled hatch, with certain unprintable expletives, which seemed to indicate annoyance and surprise. whirling angrily on his heel, he resumed his long, loose-kneed woodsman's stride. but he could not get rid of that sensation of being followed. for a long time he resolutely ignored it. there was nothing in the woods that he had need to fear. he knew there was no wild beast, not even the biggest bear between old sugar loaf and the miramichi, that would be so rash as to seek a quarrel with him. as for the mother-lynx, she had passed out of his mind, so ingrained and deep was his scorn of all such "varmin." but presently the insistence of that unseen presence on his trail became too strong for him, and, with a curse, he turned his head. there was nothing there. he bounded into the wood on the left of the track, parting the undergrowth furiously with both arms outstretched before his face. to his eyes, still full of the sunlight, the brown-green gloom was almost blackness, for the moment. but he seemed to see, or imagined he saw, a flitting shadow--whether darker or lighter than its surroundings he could not have told--fade into the obscurity around it. hatch swore softly and turned back into the homeward trail. "it's nawthin' but that lynx!" he muttered. "an' i'm a fool, an' no mistake!" the mystery thus satisfactorily solved, he swung on contentedly for the next mile or so. then once more that uncanny impression of being trailed began to tingle in his cheeks and stir the roots of the hair on his neck. he laughed impatiently, and gave no further heed to it. but, in spite of himself, a peculiar picture began to burn itself into his consciousness. he realized a pair of round, pale, baleful eyes, piercing with pain and vengeful fury, fixed upon him as they floated along, close to the ground, in the midst of a gliding shape of shadow. knowing well that the beast would never dare to spring upon him, he spat upon the ground in irritated contempt. at the same time he was nettled at its presumption in thus dogging his trail. he could see no object in it. the futile menace of it angered him keenly. "i'll bring my gun along next time i'm over to sugar loaf," he murmured, "an' i'll put a ball through her guts if she don't keep off my trail!" his vexation was not mollified by the fact that, when he came out from the spruce woods into the open pastures of his clearing, and saw his farmyard below him basking in the sun, he felt a distinct sense of relief. this was an indignity that he could never have dreamed of. that a lynx should be able to cause him a moment's apprehension! it was inconceivable. yet--he was glad of the open. he resolved to get out all his traps and snares at once, and settle scores with the beast without delay. that night, however, he dismissed the idea of traps from his mind as making too much of the matter. as he sat by his kitchen fire, smoking comfortably, his chores all done up, the battle-scarred dog asleep beside his chair, and forgiving tabby curled up on his knee, and the twang of night-hawks in a clear sky coming in through the open window with the fresh smell of the dew, he chuckled at his own folly. "i sure _did_ have the creeps," he explained to the cat, which opened one eye at him and shut it again noncommittally. "but i ain't a-goin' to have 'em ag'in. no, sir-ee!" but the scarred dog, a lean black-and-tan mongrel, with some collie strain revealed in his feathering and in his long, narrow jaw, stirred uneasily in his sleep and whimpered. john hatch had two cows and a yoke of red steers. at this kindly time of year they all stayed out at pasture, day and night, with the sheep, in the upper burnt lot--a ragged field of hillocks and short, sweet grass, and fire-blackened stumps slowly rotting. along the left of the field the dark spruce woods came down close to the zigzag snake fence of split rails which bounded hatch's clearing. at this point were the pasture bars, which served the purpose of a gate; and here, about sundown, the two cows stood lowing softly, waiting for hatch to come with his tin milk pails and ease their heavy udders of the day's burden. on the evening following hatch's trip up old sugar loaf, he was a little later than usual at his milking, and the pasture was all afloat in violet dusk as he dropped the two upper bars at one end and swung his long legs over with a clatter of his two tin pails. he picked up his three-legged stool, hitched himself under the flank of the nearest cow, gripped a pail between his knees, and in a moment began the soft, frothy thunder of the two white streams pulsating down alternately into the tin under the rhythmic persuasion of his skilled fingers. the dog, who was not _persona grata_ to the cows, because he had at times to rebuke them for trespassing on the oat field or the turnip patch, sat up on his haunches at the other side of the fence and watched the milking indifferently. the first cow was milked and had wandered off to feed, and hatch was almost through with the second, when through the bars he saw the dog get up quickly and go trotting off homeward with an air of having been kicked. mildly wondering, he muttered to himself: "got more whims 'n a mare colt, that jeff!" a moment later the cow snorted and gave a jump which would have upset a less wary milker than john hatch. she ran away down the field, tossing her horns, to join her companion and the steers. and hatch was left sitting there with the pail between his legs, staring fixedly into the dark woods. for the fraction of a second he half fancied that a shadow flitted across them. then he knew it was an illusion of his eyes, straining suddenly in that illusive light. very angry--too angry to find expression in even the most unparliamentary of speech--he rose to his feet, set the pail of milk beside its fellow, grabbed the sturdy milking-stool by one leg, vaulted the fence, and plunged into the woods. it was not a particularly handy weapon, the stool, but john hatch was not a particularly prudent man. if there _was_ anything there in the woods, prying on his steps and frightening his "critters," he wanted to come to grips with it at once. but there was nothing there, as far as he could see. once more the fine hairs crept and tingled up and down the back of his neck. he stalked indignantly back to the fence, vaulted it, flung down the milking-stool, grabbed up the milk pails so roughly that the contents slopped over on to his homespun breeches, and set off for home. not once did he allow himself to look back, though, to his impatient wrath, he felt sure all the way down the lane that malevolent eyes were watching him through the fence. on the following day john hatch spent most of the time in the woods with his gun, hunting the coverts for miles about the clearing. he hunted stealthily now, as noiseless and furtive as any of the wild kindred themselves. he saw nothing more formidable than a couple of indifferent skunks and a surly old porcupine which rattled its quills at him. he wanted to shoot the skunks as "varmin," inimical to his chickens; but he refrained, lest he should give the alarm to the unknown enemy whom he was hunting. he searched assiduously for anything like a hostile trail; but there had been no rain lately, and the ground was hard, and the dead-brown spruce needles formed a carpet which took little impression from wary paws, and he gained no clue whatever. he turned homeward, somewhat relieved, toward milking time. but, before he reached the edge of the woods, once more came that warning and uncanny creep at the roots of his hair. in a flash of fury he wheeled and fired into the thickets just behind him. he could have sworn that a gray shadow flitted away behind the gray trunks. but his most minute search could discover no trail save here and there a light disturbance of the spruce needles. it was easy for him to infer, however, with his instinct and his woodcraft, that these disturbances were due to the great, softly padded paws of a lynx. he bared his teeth in scorn, and on the following day he fairly sowed that section of the forest with snares and traps. within a week he had taken a weasel, three woodchucks, half a dozen skunks, and thirteen rabbits. then, feeling that the game was carried on under a surveillance which he could neither locate nor evade, he suddenly quitted it, and fell back upon an attitude of contemptuous indifference. but he cleared away all the undergrowth in the woods within fifty yards of the pasture bars, because he would not have the cows scared at milking. as long as hatch kept out of the woods, or the very immediate neighborhood of them, he was quite untroubled by the sense of the haunting shadow and the unseen, watching eyes. for a time now he did keep out of them, being fully occupied with his tasks in the little farm. then came a day when he found that he wanted poles. the best poles, as he knew, grew on the shores of a little lake some miles away, near the foot of sugar loaf. but he thought he would make shift to do with the very inferior poles which grew along the edge of the wild meadow at the other side of the farm. at first he persuaded himself that his object in this was merely to save time. then he realized that he was shrinking from the journey through the woods. flushing with shame, he consigned his folly and all lynxes to the place of eternal torment, hitched his old sorrel mare to the drag, and set out after those superior poles which grew below sugar loaf. but he took his gun along with him, which had not been hitherto by any means his invariable custom. on the way out there occurred nothing unusual. the green summer woods seemed once more to john hatch the old, friendly woods, with neither menace nor mystery to his rather unimaginative spirit. he whistled gaily over his chopping, while the old sorrel pastured comfortably in a patch of wild meadow by the lake, troubled by nothing but the flies, whose attention kept her long tail ceaselessly busy. well along in the afternoon he started homeward with a light heart, as many trimmed poles on his drag as the sorrel could comfortably haul. the journey was uneventful. after a time, indeed, hatch felt himself once more so completely at home in his familiar wilderness that the tension of his nerves relaxed, and the exasperating experiences of the past weeks were forgotten. he reached a turn of the wood road, where it crested a rise about half a mile from his clearing, and saw his homely cabin, with its farmyard and its fields basking in the low afternoon sunshine, straight before him. it was a comfortable picture, framed as in a narrow panel by the dark uprights of the spruce on either side of the mossy road. hatch framed his lips to whistle in his satisfaction at the picture. but the whistle wavered out in a thin breath, as he felt once more that hated creeping of the skin, that crawling at the back of his neck. he dropped the reins and snatched up his gun from where it lay on top of the load of poles. at the same moment the sedate old sorrel shied violently, almost knocking him over, and then started on a wild gallop down the road, spilling the poles in every direction as she went. with a crisp oath, hatch burst through the undergrowth which fringed the road. he fancied that he saw a gray shadow fading off among the gray trunks, and he fired at once. hatch was a good shot, and he felt sure that he had scored a hit. in keen exultation he ran forward, expecting to find his enemy stretched on the spruce needles. but there was nothing there. he turned on his heel in deep disgust, and caught sight of another shadowy shape flickering off in another direction. up went his gun again to the shoulder. but he did not fire, for there was no longer anything to fire at. he lowered his gun and rubbed his chin thoughtfully, feeling even his old lumber-camp vocabulary inadequate. outwardly cold, but boiling within, hatch stalked slowly homeward, ignoring the scattered poles along the way. he felt no more of the presence of the dogging shadows, presumably because they had withdrawn themselves at the sound of the gunshot. arrived at home, he found the old sorrel, with the empty drag, waiting at the gate to be let in, and jeff, who always stayed at home to guard the house, wagging his tail interrogatively beside her, puzzled to know why she had come home without her master or her load. john hatch looked at the dog musingly. "jeff," said he, "if ye warn't so blankety blank _blank_ afeerd o' lynxes, ye'd help me a sight in runnin' them varmin down. but ye ain't got no nerve left. reckon i'll have to take ye into the woods now an' ag'in, kind of fur discipline, an' help ye to git it back. ye ain't much account now, jeff." and the dog, feeling the reproach in hatch's quaint speech, dropped his tail and pretended he had business behind the barn. after this, when hatch's affairs took him into the woods, jeff went with him. but he went unhappily, crowding at his master's heels, with head and ears and tail one unanimous protest. to hatch these expeditions sometimes proved uneventful, for sometimes the hostile shadows seemed to be off somewhere else, and too occupied to follow hatch's trail. on such occasions hatch knew that the unseen surveillance was withdrawn, because he had none of those warning "creeps" at the nape of his neck. but to jeff every covert or thicket within a radius of fifty yards was an ambush for lynxes, and only at his master's heels did he feel secure from their swift and eviscerating claws. when he saw john hatch stop abruptly, glare about him, and plunge into the underbush, then jeff would try to get between his legs, an effort not helpful to hatch's marksmanship or to his temper. and the shadows--for there seemed to john hatch to be two of them haunting him now--would fade off elusively into the environing and soundless shade. all through the summer and the autumn this mysterious trailing went on, till hatch, disgusted by the futility of his attempts to shake it off, assumed indifference and pretended to himself that he rather liked being haunted. he remarked to jeff--with whom he could allow himself to speak more frankly than to most--that an occasional creepy feeling about the roots of one's hair might be good for the scalp, a preventive of baldness even. but in the depths of his heart he grew more and more uneasy. such vigilant and untiring vindictiveness on the part of creatures which are wont to shun all human neighborhood with an incorrigible savagery of shyness was unnatural. it seemed to him to suggest a very madness of hate, an obsession which might culminate in some deed of desperation unheard of among lynxes. when, however, the winter had once settled in with full rigor, hatch found that he was being shadowed with less and less insistence. he inferred at once that this was because his foes were now forced to spend most of their time in foraging for their own livelihood, and he drew a wry face of self-disgust as he realized the depth of his relief. as the winter advanced, and the cold bit fiercer, and the snow gathered as if to bury the wilderness world away from sight forever, it came at last to seem as if the unknown purpose of the avengers was forgotten. no more, upon his tramps on snowshoes through the muffled woods, did john hatch feel those admonitory creepings of his flesh, and presently he forgot all about the haunting shadows and their menace. john hatch's chief occupation, during the winter months, was the chopping and hauling of cord wood for the settlements. on a certain day he was enjoying himself greatly in the felling of a huge birch. the crisp, still air was like wine in his veins. the axe was keen, and under the bite of its rhythmic strokes the big white chips flew off keenly. sitting on the wood sled at a safe distance, jeff watched the chopping with alert interest, while the old sorrel dreamed with drooping head and steamed in the dry frost. the tree, cut nearly through, was just beginning to lean, just tottering to its fall, when once more john hatch was conscious of that hated crawling in the skin of his cheeks, the lifting of the hairs on his neck. with a savage curse, he wheeled about, swinging up his axe. with a soft, swishing, crackling roar, down came the tree. it fell true, as he had chopped it, so he did not have to spring out of its path or even to glance at it. but, as it fell, it crashed heavily upon a dead branch in a neighboring tree. the dead branch flew hurtling through the air and smote john hatch violently on the back of the head. he dropped like a log and lay quite still in the chip-strewn snow. there was a clatter of chains and harness, as the old sorrel, sniffing the enemy, started at a gallop for home. jeff, seeing that his master was down, sprang to his side, whining, and fell to licking frantically at his unconscious face. getting no response, he suddenly remembered the taint in the air, which was already making his back bristle. bestriding hatch's body, he turned his head with a savage snarl. he could not see the enemy, but he smelled them all too clearly. with ears laid flat to the skull, lips curled up from his long white teeth, and half-open eyes flaming green, he glared at the spruce thicket whence that menacing scent came to his nostrils. with the responsibility for his master's care thus suddenly thrust upon him, his fear of lynxes vanished. the noise of the old sorrel's flight died away down the white wood road, and for several minutes nothing stirred. the lynxes had long practiced patience, and, for all their hate, they were prudent. they could not make out at first why their enemy, who was always so vehemently active, should now be lying so still there in the snow. but wild animals are usually quick to realize it when an enemy or a quarry has been disabled. they presently concluded that here at last was the opportunity which they had been waiting for. for the dog they had nothing but scorn. they had mauled and beaten him once before. they had grown accustomed to his frank terror of them. now he did not enter into their calculations. one from each side of the spruce thicket, they crept stealthily forth, crouching low, their ears laid back, their round, pale eyes glaring boldly from their round, gray, cruel faces. their big padded paws went lightly over the snow. very gradually they crept up, half expecting that john hatch might spring to his feet any moment and rush at them with a roar. they had no great fear of his roars, however, having never known much hurt to come of them. and all the time jeff was tugging madly at john hatch's arm, adjuring him to wake and meet the peril. apparently satisfied at length that there was no trap laid for them in john hatch's quiescence, the two lynxes ran forward swiftly and sprang at his neck. to their surprise, they were met by jeff's teeth. with that lightning side-snap which he had inherited from his collie ancestors, the dog managed to slash both his opponents severely in the space of half a second. in a blaze of fury, they fell upon him, both at once. a yellow tangle of claws and teeth and legs and fur surged and bounced upon john hatch's body. john hatch slowly came to. the pandemonium of snarls and screeches that filled his ears bewildered him. he thought he was having a nightmare. his legs were held down, it seemed, by battling mountains. with a mighty effort he sat up. then in a flash his wits came back to him. he saw jeff with one lynx down, slashing at its throat, while the other clung upon his back and ripped him with its claws. bouncing to his feet, he clutched this latter combatant with both hands by the scruff of the neck, whirled it around his head and dashed it, yowling wildly, against a tree. then he turned his attention to the other, which, though at a terrific disadvantage, was still raking jeff murderously with its hinder claws. hatch grabbed up his axe. but he could find no chance to strike, lest he should injure the dog. at last, in desperation at seeing how jeff was getting punished by those raking claws, he dropped the axe again and seized the beast by the hind legs. dragging it out from under the astonished jeff, he swung it several times about his head, and then launched it sprawling and screeching, high through the air. as it landed he was upon it again, this time with the axe, and a straight short-arm blow ended the matter. the other lynx, which was recovering from its contact with the tree, saw that its mate was slain, and sped off among the trees, just escaping the axe which hatch hurled after it. jeff was lying down in the snow, licking his outrageous wounds, and content to leave the finishing of the affair in his master's hands. "i was mistaken in yeh, jeff," said john hatch, "an' i apologize handsome. ye're sure some dawg. i reckon there'll be no more shadders come sneakin' along _our_ trail after this, an' thanks to you!" the fisher in the chutes he was plainly a duck. the most casual and uninitiated of observers would have said so at a glance. yet not the most stupidly casual could have taken him for any ordinary duck. he was too imposing in appearance, too gorgeous in apparel, too bold and vigilant in demeanor to be so misunderstood. moreover, he was not in the situation or the surroundings which one is wont to associate with ducks. in fact, after the fashion of a cormorant or a kingfisher, he was perched motionless on a big dead stub of a branch. this branch was thrust out very obligingly in just the place where this most singular of ducks would have desired it if it had been consulted in the matter. it directly overhung a transparent amber-brown chute of unbroken water in the midst of the loud turmoil of north fork rapids. the strange-mannered duck had no proper talons wherewith to grasp his perch, but his strong-clawed webs held him steadily, none the less, as he peered downward into the clear rush of the torrent. the duck was a handsome male of the red-breasted merganser family, and the absorbing interest of his life was fish. it was not in the quiet pools and long, deep reaches of dark water that he loved to seek his prey, but rather to snatch it from the grasp of the loud chutes and the roaring rips. here, where the north fork stream fell into the ottanoonsis, was a resort exactly to his liking. and most of the fish--trout, salmon, grilse or parr--which journeyed up and down either the fork or the parent river chose to pass through that sluice of swift but unbroken flow immediately beneath the overhanging branch on which he perched. for all the splendor of his plumage, the merganser was not conspicuous where he sat. all about him was a tumult of bright and broken color, scattered in broad splashes. the rapids were foam-white, or golden-ruddy, or deep, shining green-brown under the sharp and patchy sunlight, and they were sown thickly with wet black rocks, here and there glinting with purple. the merganser had a crested head of iridescent green-black, a broad collar of lustrous white, black back, black-and-white wings, white belly, sides finely pencilled in black and white, and a breast of rich chestnut red, streaked with black. his feet were red, his long narrow beak, with its saw-toothed edges and sharp hooked tip, was bright red. in every line and hue he was unmistakably an aristocrat among ducks, and an arrogant one at that. his fierce red eyes, staring down fixedly into the flowing amber of the current, marked piercingly every fish that passed up and down. most of them were much too big, not for his appetite, but for his powers. his beak, with its keen-toothed edges, was a formidable weapon, by means of which he could doubtless have captured, disabled, and dragged to shore even a fish of a pound or so in weight. but here he was at a terrible disadvantage as compared with the owls, hawks, and eagles. he had no rending claws. had he taken such a prize, he could not have profited by it, having no means of tearing it to pieces. he had no use for fish too big to be swallowed whole; so he was obliged to watch greedily and savagely the great salmon, the grilse, and the larger trout, as they darted through the sliding glow beneath his perch. but suddenly, straight and swift as a diving cormorant, he shot down into the torrent and disappeared beneath the surface. a watcher directly overhead, escaping the baffling reflections, might have seen him swimming, head outstretched, mastering the tremendous rush of the stream with mighty strokes, fairly out-speeding the fish in their own element. near the limit of the clear water he overtook and seized the quarry which he had marked--a trout not far from seven inches in length. the saw-toothed edges of his beak gripped it securely, and he rose with it to the surface just where the chute was breaking into a smother of trampled foam. with a furious flapping of wings, he lifted himself almost clear of the flood, and beat along the tossed surface, dragging tail and feet for perhaps a dozen yards before he could get into full flight. once fairly a-wing, however, he wheeled and made back hurriedly for his perch. here he proceeded to swallow his prize head first. it was a long, difficult, choking process, for the fish was one of the stoutest he had ever attempted. but a little choking was of small consequence in view of his heroic appetite, and, after many an undignified paroxysm, he accomplished the task. it might have seemed that a trout of this size was a fairly substantial meal. but such was his keenness that, even while the wide flukes of his engorged victim were still sticking out at the corners of his beak, his fierce red eyes were once more peering downward into the torrent in search of fresh prey. just about this time, in the clear blue overhead, a green-winged teal was beating his way above the treetops, making for the stream with the fear of death at his heart. a mighty flier, his short, muscular wings drove him through the air at a speed not much less than ninety or a hundred miles an hour. but behind him, overtaking him inexorably, came the shape that stood for doom itself in the eyes of all his tribe--the dreadful blue falcon, or duck-hawk. the teal knew that his only chance of escape from this long-winged pursuer was to reach the water, plunge beneath it, and swim for some hiding-place under the fringing weeds. the teal's wings, throbbing with a swift, short vibration, whistled shrilly in the still air, so that a prowling wildcat by the waterside heard the sound even above the dull roar of the rapids, and glared upward alertly. the long wings of the hawk, bent sharply at the elbows, worked more slowly, but with a nervous, terrific thrust which urged him through the air like a projectile. for all its appalling speed, the sound of his flight was nothing more than a strong pulsating hiss. close ahead of him now the teal saw refuge--the flashing line of the rapids. but the hawk was already close upon him. in despair he hurled himself downward too soon. the pursuer also shot downward and struck. but the lofty top of a water ash, just missed by the short wings of the fugitive, forced the long pinion of the hawk to swerve a little, so that he partly missed his stroke. instead of clutching the victim's neck and holding it securely, he dealt merely a glancing blow upon the back behind the wings. it was enough, however, and the unhappy teal was hurled earthward, flapping through the tips of the branches. the great hawk followed hurriedly, to retrieve his prey from the ground. as it chanced, however, the victim came down with a thud almost beneath the whiskered nose of the wildcat. a pounce, and the great cat had her paw upon it, and crouched snarling up at the hawk. in a fury the hawk swooped and struck downward. but wisdom came to him just in time, and he did not strike home. his swoop became a demonstration merely, an expression of his rage at having his prey thus snatched from his beak. with one short, shrill cry of anger, he swerved off and sailed upward over the river. the cat growled softly, picked up the prize in her jaws and trotted into the bushes to devour it. the spot where all this happened was perhaps a hundred yards below that dead tree upon whose outthrust naked branch the splendid merganser drake was making his meal. in fact, he had just finished it--the last of the trout's tail had just vanished with a spasm down his strained gullet--when the baffled hawk caught sight of him and swooped. happily for him, he on his part caught sight of the hawk, and dropped like lead into the torrent. the hawk alighted on the dead branch, and sat upright, motionless, as if surprised. the change was so sudden that it almost seemed as if the duck had been metamorphosed into a hawk on the instant, by the stroke of an invisible enchanter's wand. the fisher of the chutes, meanwhile, was swimming straight downstream for the broken water. like his unfortunate little cousin, the teal, he, too, had felt the fear of death smitten into his heart, and was heading desperately for the refuge of some dark overhanging bank, deep-fringed with weeds, where the dreadful eye of the hawk should not discern him. the hawk sat upon the branch and watched his quarry swimming beneath the surface. at last the swimmer came to the broken water and plunged into it. almost instantly he was forced to the top. with only head and wings above the mad smother, he flapped onward frantically, beating down the foam about him. straightway the hawk glided from his perch and darted after him. the drake sank again instantly. but at this point in the rapids it was impossible for him to stay down. as long as his body was completely submerged, it was at the mercy of the twisting and tortured currents, which rolled him over and over, in spite of his swimming craft. he would have been drowned, the breath battered clean out of him, in half a minute more, had he maintained the hopelessly unequal struggle. once more he half emerged, filled his gasping lungs, and pounded onward desperately, half flying and half swimming. it was a mongrel method of progression, in which he was singularly expert. immediately over his outstretched gleaming head flew the hawk. but this frequenter of the heights of air, for all his savage valor, was troubled at the leaping waves and the tossing foam of these mad rapids. he did not understand them. they seemed to jump up at him, and he dare not let his sweeping wing-tips touch them, lest they should seize and drag him down. as he flew, his down-reaching, clutching talons were not half a yard above the fugitive's head. where the waves for an instant sank, they came closer,--but not quite within grasping reach. the marauder from the upper air was waiting till his quarry should reach less turbulent waters. a few yards further on, the torrent fell seething over a long ledge into a pool of brief quiet. immediately beyond the lip of the ledge the hawk lifted his wings high over his back and struck downward, so that his talons went deep into the water. but water was all they clutched. the wily drake had plunged with the plunge of the fall itself, and was now darting onward at a safe depth. the hawk followed, his wing-tips now almost brushing the water. the pool was, perhaps, a hundred yards in length. then the combined flow of the north fork and the ottanoonsis broke once more into turbulence, and once more the desperate swimmer was forced to the surface. but, as before, the leaping waves of the rapids were too much for his pursuer, and he was able to flap his way onward in a cloud of foam, while doom hung low above his head, yet hesitated to strike. the odds, however, were now laid heavily against the fugitive. the hawk, embittered by the loss of his first quarry, had become as dogged in pursuit as a weasel, not to be shaken off or evaded or deceived. the rapids would presently come to an end. then, in the still water, unless he should chance upon a hiding-place, the drake would soon be forced to come to the top for breath, and those throttling talons would instantly close upon his neck. but the antic forest fates, wearied of the simple routine of the wilderness, had decreed an altogether novel intervention, and were giggling in their cloaks of ancient moss. beside the pool at the foot of the rapids stood a fisherman, casting for trout amid the whirling foam-clusters. he had three flies on his cast, and, because in these waters there was always the chance of hooking a grilse, he was using heavy tackle. his flies, as befitted these amber-brown, tumultuous northern streams, were large and conspicuous--a parmacheenie belle for the tail fly, with a montreal and a red hackle for the drops. far across the pool, where an eddy sucked sullenly at the froth-patches as they swung by, the fisherman had just had a heavy rise. he had struck too quickly, deceived by the swirl of the current, and missed his fish. he had a lot of line out, and the place was none too free for a long cast; but he was impatient to drop his flies again on the spot where the big fish was feeding. just as he made his cast, he saw the fleeing drake and the pursuing hawk come round the bend. he saw the frantic fugitive dive over the ledge and disappear. he saw the great hawk swoop savagely. he tried to check his cast, but it was too late. a remark unsuitable to the printed page exploded upon his lips, and he saw his leader settle deliberately over the long beating wings, the tail-fly coiling about them like a whip-lash. the last drop-fly, as luck would have it, caught just in the corner of the hawk's angrily open beak, hooking itself firmly. at the sudden sharp sting of it, the great bird turned his head and noticed, for the first time, the fisherman standing on the bank. at the same moment he felt the light restraint of the almost invisible leader upon his wings, where the other two flies had affixed themselves. he shot up into the air, and heard a sharp, disconcerting rattle as the taut line raced from the reel. the drag upon his beak and the light check upon his wings were inexplicable to him, and appalling. drake, teal, hunger and wrath were all alike forgotten, and he beat upwards with a rush that made the reel fairly screech its indignant protest. for a moment the fisherman, bewildered, tried to play him like a salmon. then the leader parted from the line. the fisherman reeled in the limp coils, and the worried hawk flew off with the flies. the drake, unrealizing that the dreadful chase was done, sped onward beneath the surface till he could go without breath no longer. then he came up among some arrowweeds, lifted his head beneath the shelter of one of the broad-barbed leaves, and floated there quivering. for a good ten minutes he waited, moveless, with the patience of the wild things. then his terror faded, appetite once more began to invite his attention, and he took note of a minnow flickering slowly over the sun-flecked mud below him. he dived and caught it, came to the surface and swallowed it. much refreshed, he looked about him. there was no such thing as a hawk in sight. some way up the shore there was a man at the water's edge, fishing. the drake was suspicious of men, though he did not greatly fear them, as he and his rank-fleshed tribe were not interesting to the hunters. he rose noisily into the air, made a detour over the tree-tops to avoid the fisherman, and flew back to his dead branch overhanging the amber rush of the chutes. the assault of wings in his high place in the unclouded blue, a thousand feet above the topmost pinnacle of bald face, the great white-headed eagle stared downward toward the far-off reek and roofs of the busy town by the sea. it was not often that his eyes troubled themselves to turn in that direction, for all his concern was with the inland lakes and watercourses which linked themselves tranquilly about the spreading bases of old bald face, and he hated the acrid smokeclouds which rose from the chimneys of the town. but this morning his gaze--that miraculous vision which could scrutinize a rabbit or an ailing lamb at a distance when our best eyes would hardly discern an elephant--had been caught by an apparition which amazed and disconcerted him. flying in wide circles above a green field on the outskirts of the city was a gigantic bird, in form and stature quite unlike any other bird that the great eagle had ever seen. as it passed over a red brick cottage at one corner of the field, quite blotting it from view for an instant, he got an impression of its incredible size, and felt, with a pang of angry dread, that his own stately dimensions would have seemed little better than a sparrow's beside it. its vast white wings were square at the tip, and of the same width from tip to base--an inexplicable innovation in wings--and he noted with apprehension that they flew without any motion at all. he himself, soaring in the blue heights as he was, flew _almost_ without motion of the wings, riding by subtle poise and balance on the thrust of the light aerial draught. but even now, the breeze failing, he had to recover his impetus by a rushing descent. he tipped his snowy head and shoulders forward, and the air hissed sharply in the tense web of the hinder edges of his wings as he swept down the viewless slopes of air, turning upwards again after a swoop of a hundred yards or so, which was as nothing at that height. a slow stroke or two restored him to his former level, with impetus to spare for his splendid effortless soaring. but, meanwhile, he had not taken his eyes for a moment from that portentous shape circling so mysteriously above the green field on the outskirts of the town, and he had not seen it either swoop or mount or once flap its flat-spread wings. moved from his accustomed arrogant indifference, the eagle flew over toward the town to get a better look at this disquieting phenomenon. on nearer approach he made out that the monstrous square-winged bird was ridden by one of those man-creatures whom he so hated and despised--ridden as he had seen, with wonder and scorn, that horses permitted themselves to be. the man sat in a hollow in the strange bird's back, between its wings, and seemed to master and guide it even as he would master and guide a horse. the eagle hated man, because man was the only creature that had ever given him, hitherto, the loathed sensation of fear. he despised man because he saw the proud and cunning creature chained to earth, compelled to crawl upon earth's surface even as a sheep or a woodchuck. but now, if man were able to ride the dwellers of the air, there would be no escaping his tyranny. the eagle had been conscious for some moments of a curious humming roar in his ears, the source of which was not at once obvious to him. suddenly he realized that it was the noise of the blunt-winged monster's flight. the realization daunted him. how was it possible that such an awful sound should come from those unmoving wings? he was inclined to turn and fly back to the shelter of old bald face, but, after a moment's irresolution, his stout heart arose to the magnitude of the peril. he flew onward, till soon he was directly over the field, but so high that to the spectators around the edges of the field he was a scarcely visible speck against the blue. at this moment the aeroplane began to mount skyward. it scaled the air swiftly in a steep spiral. the eagle was almost panic-stricken to observe that even now, when mounting so directly, it did not flap its wings, although there was no wind on which to rise. at the curious blunt beak of the monster he discerned a sort of circle of faint haze, a bluish blur, but this was something which did not seem to concern him, and he made no effort to understand it. what did concern him was the fact that the monster, with its human rider, was apparently coming up after him. his courage and his curiosity gave way together, and he fled back in a panic to his ledge in the recesses of old bald face. the extreme summit of bald face was a level plateau of granite some dozen of acres in extent, with a needle-like pinnacle of splintered granite at its eastern or seaward end. the broad southeastern face of the summit was of naked granite, whitened by the storm and frost of ages, whence the name of old bald face. but between this bleak, wind-harried front and the rich plain country by the sea were many lesser pinnacles and ridges, with deep ravines between, all clothed with dark spruce woods and tangled undergrowth. around to full south and west and north lay an infertile region, thin-soiled and rocky, producing little timber but hemlock and stunted paper birch, and therefore not worth the attention of either the lumberman or the squatter. the whole of this district was interlaced with watercourses and sown with lakes having their ultimate outlet in the tidal estuary which washed the wharves of the town. if the land in this region skirting old bald face was barren, its waters were not. they swarmed with fish--lake-trout, white fish, and huge suckers, as well as the ordinary brook-trout. they supplied hunting-ground, therefore, for not only a number of fish-hawks, but also for no less than three pairs of the fish-hawks' dreaded tyrants, the white-headed eagles. these three pairs of eagles had their nests in the uppermost and most inaccessible ledges of bald face; and the wild country below was divided among them into six ranges, each great bird having his or her own hunting ground, upon which not even their own mates could poach with impunity. the nests of the three royal pairs were all within a distance of perhaps half a mile of each other, but each was austerely secluded and jealously hidden from its neighbors. each pair regarded its neighbors with a coldly tolerant aversion, and kept an aloof but vigilant watch upon them as possible poachers. when the first eagle, smitten with fear by the vision of the swiftly mounting aeroplane, fled back to his eyrie to warn his fierce-eyed mate of this portentous monster of the air, his perturbation was detected by the female of the next pair, who chanced to be homing at that moment with a fish for her hungry nestlings. fear seems to travel by some uncomprehended but very efficient wireless, and fear in the lords of the air was a thing too unusual to be ignored. hastily depositing her burden, the newcomer flapped upward and around to the east, till she, too, caught sight of the mounting monoplane. it was far off, indeed, but already so high above earth that to her eyes it stood out dark and sinister against the pale expanse of sea beyond the town. she flapped over for a nearer view, flew close enough to hear the mysterious roar of the motor and to detect the man-creature riding the monster's neck, and fled back to her nestlings with rage and terror at her heart. no longer could she feel secure on the dizziest and remotest ledges of the peaks, no longer were even the soundless deeps of sky inaccessible to man! within an hour every eagle of bald face knew of this dreadful invasion of their hitherto impregnable domain. it was the time of year when their nestlings were most helpless, and that is the time of year when the white-headed eagles will face all odds with an incomparable ferocity of valor at the hint of menace to their skyey homes. * * * * * the airman at the town of x---- was one rob maccreedy, who had recently been making a name for himself at the aviation grounds some hundred miles down the coast. he had come up to x---- primarily to turn a needed penny by exhibition flights and passenger-carrying over the spacious and level fields behind the town. but his secondary object was to experiment with the dangerous eddies and wind-holes that were likely to be met with above the profound ravines of bald face and its buttressing hills. his purpose was to go to europe and win fame by some sensational flights over the alps or the pyrenees; and having a very practical canadian ambition to survive for the enjoyment of the fame he planned to win, he was determined to prepare himself effectively for the perils that would confront him. but maccreedy had another object in view, which he did not talk about lest matter-of-fact folk should call him childish. he wanted to see what there was on top of old bald face. that gaunt gray summit was regarded as practically unscalable. it had indeed been scaled, men said, some thirty or forty years ago, after desperate effort and altogether hair-raising adventure, by a greatly daring trapper, who had barely survived to tell of his exploit. since then, the men of x---- not being wholehearted or skilled mountain-climbers, all such attempts had ended in failure. among the legends which had gathered about the austere summit, there was none to suggest that gold might be found thereon, else the cloudy sanctuary had doubtless been violated without unnecessary delay. but the traditions handed down from the adventure of that old trapper were as stimulating to maccreedy's imagination as any myth of quartz vein or nugget could have been. they told of a remarkable level plateau, like a table for the gods, with a little lake of black crystal set in the center of it, ice cold and of unfathomable depth. it was, in effect, according to tradition, bottomless. to maccreedy's eager and boyish imagination this lofty plateau and this mysterious uninvestigated lake were irresistible. he was determined to know more about them both; and as the top of bald face, for all its inaccessibility, was less than five thousand feet above sea-level, his monoplane seemed to offer him an easy way to it. the third day after maccreedy's arrival at x---- was windless and without a cloud in the blue. the air almost sparkled with its clarity, and there was an unspringlike tang in it which made maccreedy's nerves tingle for adventure. after he had given the crowd their money's worth in swift mountings and breath-taking _vols-planés_, he started off, at a height of some two thousand feet, toward the mountain, standing pallid and grim against the intense blue. he mounted swiftly as he went, and the spectators stared after him doubtfully, till they grasped his purpose. "he's going to visit the top of old bald face!" went the murmur round the crowded edges of the field. and a feeling that he might bring back some interesting information made them content to wait, without grumbling, for his return. since their first sight of the giant-winged monster soaring and humming over x----, the eagles of bald face had not dared to venture far from home in their foragings. their nerves were raw with angry anxiety for their nests. maccreedy, as he came within a mile or two of the mountain, took note of an eagle not far ahead, circling at a higher level than himself. "the old bird thinks he can fly some," mused maccreedy, "but i bet i'm going to give him the surprise of his life!" a few moments more, and he was himself surprised, as the solitary sentinel was joined by another, and another, and another, till presently there were six of the great birds flapping and whirling between him and bald face, about at the level of the edge of the plateau. "seem to be as interested in aeroplanes as any of us humans," thought maccreedy, and gave his planes a lift that should carry him over the plateau at a height of not much over a hundred feet. he would make a hasty observation first, then circle around and effect a landing, if the surface looked smooth enough for him to attempt it without too much risk. he was surprised somewhat by the attitude of the eagles, who were now circling nearer, and seemed to be more angry than curious or terrified at his approach. then his attention was abruptly withdrawn from their threatening evolutions. it was all required, and that urgently, by the aeroplane. having arrived over the deeply cleft and ridged outworks of bald face, the aeroplane had plunged into a viewless turmoil of air-currents and vortices. it dropped with startling suddenness into a "pocket," and fell as if a vacuum had opened beneath it. maccreedy saw a vicious granite ridge, whiskered with fir trees, lurch up at him insanely from a thousand feet below. he was almost upon it before his planes bit upon solid air again and glided off from the peril, slanting upward rockingly over a gaping abyss. yelping with triumph, the eagles had swooped down after him; but he could not hear their cries, of course, through the roar of the gnome; and of eagles, at that moment, he was thinking not at all. realizing the imminence of his danger from these vortices, maccreedy changed his course and swept back again as fast as he could toward the open, his machine careering wickedly in the eddies and upthrusts of air. he decided that he must get far above this area of disturbance, and then spiral down directly over the plateau, where, as he calculated, the currents would be less tumultuous. the eagles, imagining that the loud monster had been put to flight by their threats, came following in its wake, determined to see it safely off their premises and give it no time to recover from what they conceived to be its panic. but they were far too sagacious to attack and force a more than doubtful conflict. they were filled with awe of this gigantic being which flew with rigid wings and such appalling roar, yet allowed itself to be ridden by the man between its shoulders. they were perplexed, too, by the fierce wind which streamed out behind its level wings. their amazement was heightened by the fact that their own long and powerful wings, which were able to overtake so easily the flight of the agile fish-hawk, were forced to beat furiously in order to keep up with this incomprehensible stranger, who was apparently making no effort at all. a swift motor-car, which had followed maccreedy's flight at top speed across the plain, had halted at the point where the highway passed nearest to the broken and impassable region surrounding the mountain. its occupants, watching maccreedy's movements through their field-glasses, and noting the great birds crowding behind him, thought at first that the eagles had put him to flight and forced him to give up his venture. they were undeceived, however. then they saw him turn--at such a height that, even to their powerful glasses, the pursuing eagles were no more than specks--and soar back till he was directly over the summit. at the height which he had now gained the air was icy cold, but still as a dream. the world below looked like a vast, shallow bowl, the sides concaving upwards around him to the horizon. two-thirds of this horizon rim were of dark green woods, threaded with the gleaming silver of water-courses. the remaining third was of sea, which looked as if it overhung the town of x----, and were withheld only by a miracle from flowing in and filling the bowl. directly beneath him, two to three thousand feet down, the mighty summit of old bald face looked insignificant. it lay outspread quite flat and shelterless in the sun, its secrets clean revealed, and there, sure enough, at its center, was the pool of tradition, gleaming upward, glassy still. at the same time he saw, though without much interest, the eagles. they were very far below him now, hardly above the level of the plateau, flying in occasionally over its edges, but for the most part circling out above the surrounding gulfs. in a casual way maccreedy inferred that they must have nests in the ledges of the precipices. in a somewhat narrow spiral he now began his descent, gradually and under power, that he might be in full readiness to grapple with the treacherous gusts which came leaping up at him from under the brink of the plateau. he was surprised to see that, as he descended, the eagles rose hurriedly to meet him; but at first he paid no attention to them, being intent upon the search for a good landing-place, and upon the mystery of that sky-inhabiting pool. a minute or two more, however, and it was no longer possible for him to ignore the approaching birds, who were rising at him with unmistakable manifestations of rage. for the first time it occurred to him that they might be thinking he had come to rob their nests. "plucky beggars!" he said to himself admiringly, "to think of showing fight to a grown-up aeroplane!" the next moment, as he noted the spread of those flapping wings, the shining, snowy, outstretched heads and necks, the firm and formidable half-opened beaks, a sweat of apprehension broke out all over him. what if one of the misguided birds should foul his propeller or come blundering aboard and snap a stay or a control wire? the idea of being dashed to pieces in that skyey solitude was somehow more daunting to his spirit than the prospect which he faced indifferently every day--that of being hurled down upon familiar earth. for a few seconds maccreedy was tempted to drive his planes heavenward again and withdraw from the situation, to return another day with a passenger and a shot-gun for his defense. then he grew angry and obstinate. he had come to explore the summit of bald face, and he was not going to be balked by a flock of birds. he was low enough now to satisfy himself that the plateau afforded a good landing, so he dipped his descent to a steeper angle, making haste to get through the suspense. immediately the eagles were all about him. to his relief, they seemed afraid to fly directly in front of him, as if apprehending that this monstrous bird of his might carry some terrible weapon in its blunt-faced beak. mounting swiftly, they passed the descending aeroplane on either side, and then gathered in above it, swooping and yelping. through the roar of his motor maccreedy caught the strident shrillness of their cries. he felt that at any moment one might pluck up courage to pounce upon the plane or upon his head. he wondered if his leather cap would be stout enough to resist the clutch of those edged talons which he saw opening and shutting viciously above him. he wished himself safely landed. he was low enough now to choose his landing-place. he was just about to shut off the engine for the final glide, when one of the female eagles, growing desperate, swooped and struck the right wing of the plane not far from its tip. the extended talons went right through the cloth, tearing a long gash, and, before the bird could recover herself, she was caught by one of the strong wires that braced the wing. the aeroplane rocked under her struggles, but in the next moment she was thrown clear, so badly crumpled that she fell topsy-turvy through the air for some little distance before she could pull her wits together and right herself. then, dishevelled and cowed, she flew off to one side, with no more stomach left for another assault. maccreedy had brought his plane to a level keel, the better to withstand the attack. now he laughed grimly and resumed his descent. almost in the same instant he realized that an immense eagle was swooping straight at his head. he ducked--the only way to save his face. the grasping claws sunk deep into his shoulders. with a yell he straightened himself backward violently. his assailant, unable for a moment to free his claws from the tough tweed of the jacket, and swept backward by the rush of the plane, plunged down among the supporting stays, where he struggled and flapped wildly to extricate himself. smarting with pain and wrath, and with his heart in his mouth lest the stays should snap and the planes collapse, maccreedy cut off the power and slid sharply downward. the eagle behind him got free, and flapped off, much daunted by the encounter. the remaining four birds hung immediately over the swiftly dropping plane, but hesitated to attack after the rough experience of their fellows. maccreedy touched ground at somewhat higher speed than he had calculated upon, and found the level stone, swept by the storm of ages, so smooth that his wheels ran along it much too easily. thus he found himself confronted by a new peril. could he check himself before reaching the brink? he steered a long curve around the edge of the shining pool, gathered his legs under him so that he might jump clear, if necessary, and came to a stop with his vacillating propeller almost peering over the abyss. just before him was a drop of a cool thousand feet. he sprang out, hauled the machine back a dozen yards or so, and drew the longest breath of relief that had been forced from his lungs since his first ventures in aeroplaning. then he snatched the heaviest wrench from his tool kit and turned in a rage to settle accounts with his tormentors. but the eagles were now in a less militant frame of mind. two of their number had had more than enough, and were already flapping back dejectedly toward their nests. the others seemed to realize that the monster, now that its rider had dismounted, was merely another of the man-creature's tools, such as a boat or a canoe, inanimate and harmless except when its dreaded master chose to animate it. moreover, now that maccreedy was out of the machine, erect upon his feet, glaring up at them with masterful eyes, and shouting at them in those human tones which all the wild kindreds find so disconcerting, they were much more afraid of him than before. their anger began to die away into a mere nervous dread and aversion. it seemed to occur to them that perhaps, after all, the man did not want their nests. he was nowhere near them. they yelped indignantly at him, and flew off to perch on their eyries and brood over the problem. maccreedy watched them go, and dropped his weapon back into the kit. then he went over his precious machine minutely, to assure himself that it had sustained no damage except that slit in one wing, which was not enough to give serious trouble. then, with a rush of exultation, he ran over to examine the mysterious pool. he found it beautiful enough, in its crystal-clear austerity; but, alas, its utter clearness was all that was needed to shatter its chief mystery. it was deep, indeed, but it was certainly not bottomless, for he could discern its bottom, from one shore or the other, in every part. he contented himself, however, with the thought that there was mystery enough for the most exacting in the mere existence of this deep and brimming tarn on the crest of a granite peak. as far as he could judge from his reading, which was extensive, this smooth flat granite top of bald face, with its little pinnacle at one end and its deep transparent tarn in the center, was unlike any other known summit in the world. he was contented with his explorations, and ready now to return and tell about them. but if content with his explorations, he was far from content on the score of his adventure with the eagles. he felt that it had been rather more of a close call than it appeared; and there was nothing he desired less than an immediate repetition of it. what he dreaded was that the starting of the motor might revive the fears of the great birds in regard to their nests, and bring them once more swooping upon him. he traversed the circuit of the plateau, peering downward anxiously, and at last managed roughly to locate the three nests. they were all on the south and southeast faces of the summit. he decided that he would get off as directly and swiftly as possible, and by way of the northwest front; and by this self-effacing attitude he trusted to convince the touchy birds that he had no wish to trespass upon their domesticity. he allowed himself all too brief a run, and the plane got into the air but a few feet before reaching the brink. so narrow a margin was it, indeed, that he caught his breath with a gasp before she lifted. it looked as if he were going to dive into space. but he rose instead, and as he sailed out triumphantly across the abyss, the eagles came flapping up over the rim of the plateau behind. they saw that he was departing, so they sank again to their eyries, and congratulated themselves on having driven him away. a few minutes later, at an unprovocative height, he swept around and headed for home. as he came into view once more to the anxious watchers in the automobile, who had been worried over his long disappearance, the car turned and raced back over the plain to x----, ambitious to arrive before him and herald his triumph. but the fact that that triumph was not altogether an unqualified one remained a secret between maccreedy and the eagles. the cabin door what was known as the county line road, though in winter a highway of some importance for the sleds and sleighs of the lumbermen, was in summer little more than a broad, straight trail, with grass and wild flowers growing undisturbed between the ruts. just now, in the late and sodden northern spring, it was a disheartening stretch of hummocks and bog-holes, the bog-holes emphasized by a leg-breaking array of half rotten poles laid crossways. it was beautiful, however, in its lonesome, pallid, wistful fashion, for its hummocks, where dry enough, were already bluing tenderly with the first violets, its fringes were sparsely adorned with the shy blooms of wind-flower, dog-tooth, and hepatica, and scattered through the dark ranks of the fir trees on either side were little colonies of white birch or silver poplar, just filming with the first ineffable green. to the slim girl who, bundle in hand and with skirts tucked up half-way to the knee, was picking her steps along this exasperating path, the wildness of the scene--its mingled harshness and delicacy--brought a pang which she could but dimly understand. the pale purpling of the violets, the aerial greening of the birch tops against the misty sky, the solemnity of the dark, massed fir trees--it was all beautiful in her eyes beyond anything words could suggest, but it made her heart ache with something like an intolerable homesickness. this was incomprehensible to her, since she was already, in a sense, at home. this was her native wilderness, this was the kind of chill, ethereal, lonesome spring which thrilled through the memories of her childhood. and she was nearing--she could not now be more than twelve miles from--the actual home of her childhood, that gray cabin on the outskirts of the remote and wind-swept settlement of stony brook. for the past three years--going on for four now, indeed--sissy bembridge had been away from this wild home, working hard, and saving her wages, in the big shoe factory at k----, down by the sea. called home suddenly by word that her mother was ill, she had come by train to the end of the branch, and tried to get a rig to take her around by the main road to stony brook. there was no rig to be had for love or money. too anxious to wait, and confident in her young vigor, she had left her luggage, tied up a few necessaries and eatables in a handy bundle, and set out by the short cut of the old line road. deaf to all dissuasions, she had counted on making stony brook before nightfall. moreover--though she would never have acknowledged to herself that such a consideration could count for anything when all her thoughts were on her mother's illness--she was aware of the fact that connor's gang was stream-driving on the ottanoonsis, and would be by now just about the point where the line road touches the river. mike farrell would be on the drive, and if she should chance to pass the time o' day with him, and let him know she was at home--why, there'd be no harm done to anybody. for hours the girl trudged on, picking her way laboriously from side to side of the trail, and often compelled to stop and mend a bit of the corduroy roadway before she could get across some particularly bad stretch of bog. her stout shoes and heavy woolen stockings were drenched with the icy water, but she was strong and full of abounding health, and she felt neither cold nor fatigue. in spite of her anxiety about her mother, her attention was absorbed by the old familiar atmosphere of the wilderness, the haunting colors, the chill, elusive, poignant smells. it was not till fairly well along in the afternoon, therefore, that she awoke to the fact that she had not covered more than half the distance which she had to travel. the heavy going, the abominable state of the road, had utterly upset her calculations. the knowledge came to her with such a shock that she stopped short in consternation, almost dropping her bundle. at this rate she would be in the forest all night, for it would be impossible to traverse the bog-holes in the dark. child of the backwoods though she was, she had never slept out alone with the great trees and the mysterious night stillness. for the first time she cast a look of dread into the vistaed shadows of the fir trees. forgetting the violets, the greening birches, the delicate spring smells, she hurried on at a reckless pace which soon forced her to stop and recover her breath. the best she could hope was to reach the river-shore before dark, and perhaps find the camp of the stream-drivers. she felt cold, and tired, and small, and terribly alone. yet, as a matter of fact, she was by no means so alone as she imagined. for the past half hour or more she had been strangely companioned. keeping parallel with the road, but at a distance, and hidden in the shadows, went an immense and gaunt black bear. for all his bulk, he went as noiselessly as a wild-cat, skirting the open spaces, and stopping from time to time to sit up, motionless as a stump, and listen intently, and sniff the air with sensitive nostrils. but his little, red-rimmed, savage eyes never lost sight of the figure of the girl for more than a few seconds at a time. for bears this was the hungry season, the season of few roots and no fruits, few grubs and little honey. the black bear loves sweets and berries far better than any flesh food, however dainty. and human flesh he either fears or dislikes so heartily that only under special stress can he bring himself to contemplate it as a possible article of diet. but this bear considered himself under special stress. his lean flanks were fairly clinging together from emptiness. to his eyes, thus prejudiced, the fresh young form of sissy bembridge, picking its way down the trail, looked appetizing. girl was something he had never tried, and it _might_ be edible. at the same time, this inoffensive and defenseless-looking creature undoubtedly belonged to the species man, as his nostrils well assured him. therefore, small as she was, she was apt to be very dangerous, even to go off at times with flame and a terrifying noise. he was afraid to show himself to her, but his hunger, coupled with curiosity, led him to track her, perhaps in the hope that she might fall dead in the trail and so make it safe for him to approach and taste. the girl, meanwhile, under the influence of her uncertainty and fatigue, was growing more and more apprehensive. she assured herself that there was nothing to fear, that none of the wild inhabitants of these new brunswick woods would dare to interfere with a human being. at the same time she found herself glancing nervously over her shoulder, as the shadows lengthened and deepened, and all the wilderness turned to dusky violet. from the wet pools began the cold and melancholy fluting of the frogs, the voice of solitude, and under the plangency of it she found the tears running down her cheeks. at this she shook herself indignantly, squared her shoulders, stamped her foot, and plunged ahead with a firm resolution that the approach of dark should _not_ make her a fool. and away in the shadows of the firs the bear drew a little nearer, encouraged by the fading of daylight. just as it was growing so dark that she found it hard to choose her path between the pools and the bog-holes, to her infinite relief she caught sight of a cabin roof crowning a little rise of ground by the roadside. she broke into a run in her eagerness, reached the door, and pounced upon it breathlessly. but there was no light in the window. with a sinking heart she realized that it was empty--that it was nothing more than a deserted lumber-camp. then, as if in answer to her vehement knocking, the door swung slowly open, showing the black darkness within. it had been merely closed, not latched. with a startled cry she sprang back, her skin creeping at the emptiness. her first impulse was to turn and run. but she recovered herself, remembering that, after all, here was shelter and security for the night, infinitely preferable to a wet bivouac beneath some dripping fir tree. she could not bring herself, however, to grope her way into the thick darkness of the interior. stepping some paces back from the threshold, she nervously untied her bundle and got out a box of matches. lighting one, she shaded it with her hand, crept forward, and cautiously peered inside. in the spurt of light the place looked warm and snug. she returned for her bundle, went in and shut the door. then she drew a long breath and felt better. the camp was small, but dry and in good repair. it was quite empty, except for the tier of bunks along one wall, a rough-hewn log bench, a broken stove before the rude chimney, and several lengths of rust-eaten stove-pipe scattered on the floor. lighting match after match, she hunted about for something to serve as fuel, for she craved the comfort, as well as the warmth of a fire. there was nothing, however, but a few handfuls of dry, fine spruce tips, left in one of the bunks. this stuff, she knew, would flare up at once and die in a couple of minutes. she made up her mind to go out and grope about in the wet gloom for a supply of dead branches, though she was now conscious of a childish reluctance to face again the outer solitude. almost furtively she lifted the heavy latch and opened the door half-way. instantly, with a gasp, she slammed it to again and leaned against it with quaking knees. straight in front of her, not twenty feet away, black and huge against the gray glimmer of the open, she had seen the prowling bear. recovering herself after a few seconds, she felt her way stealthily to the bench and sat down upon it so as to face the two windows. the windows were small--so small that she was sure no monster such as the one which had just confronted her could by any possibility force its way through them. but she waited in a sort of horror, expecting momently that a dreadful shadowy face would darken one or the other of them and glare in upon her. she felt that the eyes of it would be visible by their own light, and she summoned up all her resolution that she might not scream when it appeared. for the time, however, nothing of the sort took place, and the two little squares continued to glimmer palely. after what seemed to her an hour of breathless waiting, she heard a sound as of something rubbing softly along the logs of the back wall. she swung around on her seat to stare with straining eyes at the spot where the sound came from. but, of course, all was blackness there. and she could not keep her eyes for more than a few seconds from the baleful fascination of the window-squares. the door of the camp was a heavy one and sturdily put together, but along its bottom was a crack some half an inch in width. presently there came a loud sniffing at this crack, and then the door creaked, as if a heavy body were leaning against it. she shuddered and gathered herself together for a desperate spring, expecting the latch or the hinges to give way. but the honest new brunswick workmanship held, and she took breath again with a sob. after this respite, a thousand fantastic schemes of defense began to chase themselves through her brain. out of them all she clung to just one, as possibly offering some hope in the last emergency. noiselessly she gathered those few handfuls of withered spruce twigs and heaped them upon the top of the stove. if the bear should succeed in squeezing through the window or breaking down the door, she would light the dry stuff, and perhaps the sudden blaze and smoke might frighten him away. that it would daunt him for a moment, she felt sure, but she was equally sure that its efficacy would not last very long. as she was working up the details of this scheme--more for the sake of keeping her terror in check than for any great faith she had in it--the thing she had been expecting happened. one of the glimmering gray-blue squares grew suddenly dark. she gave a burst of shrill, hysterical laughter and ran at it, as a trapped rat will jump at a hand approaching the wires. as she did so, she scratched a bunch of four or five matches and threw them, spluttering and hissing, in the face of the apparition. she had a glimpse of small, savage eyes and an open, white-fanged mouth. then the great face withdrew itself. somewhat reassured to find that the monster could be disconcerted by the spurt of a match, she groped back to her seat, and fell to counting, by touch, the number of these feeble weapons still left in the box. she had only six more, and she began to repent of having used the others so recklessly. after all, as she told herself, _that_ bear could not possibly squeeze himself through the window, so why should he not amuse himself by looking in at her if he wanted to? it might keep him occupied. it occurred to her that she ought to be glad that the bear was such a big one. his face alone had fairly filled the window. she would save the remaining matches. for a good ten minutes nothing more happened, though from time to time her intent ears caught the sound of cautious sniffing on the other side of the log walls, as if the enemy were reconnoitering to find a weak point in her fortress. she smiled scornfully there in the dark, knowing well the strength of those log walls. then, all at once her face stiffened and she sat rigid, clutching the edge of the bench with both hands. the door had once more begun to creak and groan under the weight of a heavy body surging against it. there was a sound of scratching, a rattle of iron claws, which told her that the beast was rearing itself upright against the door. the massive paws seemed to fumble inquisitively. then her blood froze. she heard the heavy latch lift with a click. the door swung open. she felt as if she were struggling in a nightmare. with a choked scream she leapt straight at the door. she had a mad impulse to slam it in the monster's face and brace herself, however impotently, against it. as she sprang, however, her foot caught in one of the pieces of stove-pipe. she fell headlong, and the pipe flew half-way across the floor, clattering over its fellows as it went, and raising a prodigious noise. through a long, long moment of horror she lay flat on her face, expecting a gigantic paw to fall upon her neck as a cat's paw falls upon a mouse. nothing happened. she ventured to raise her head. the door was wide open and the doorway quite clear. a dozen feet away from it, at the edge of the road, stood the bear, staring irresolutely. he had been rather taken aback by the suddenness with which the door had flown open, and had hesitated to enter, fearing a trap. the wild clatter of the stove-pipes had further disturbed him, and he had withdrawn to consider the situation. in one bound the girl was at the door and had shut it with a bang. the problem was now to fix the latch so that it could not again be lifted from the outside. she lit one more precious match, examined the mechanism, and hunted frantically for a splinter of wood with which to jam it down. there was nothing in sight that would serve. she tried to tear off a strip of her petticoat to bind it down with, but all her underwear was of a most serviceable sturdiness, and would not tear. she heard the bear moving again outside. she heard his breathing close to the door. desperately she thrust a couple of fingers into the space above the latch, so that it would not lift. then with the other hand she whipped off one shoe and stocking. the stocking was just the thing, and in a minute she had the latch secure. it was no more than secure, however, before the weight of the bear once more came against the door. from the heavy, scratchy fumblings the girl could perceive that her enemy was trying to repeat his former maneuver. on this point, at least, she had no anxiety. she knew the door could not now be unlatched from the outside. she could almost afford to laugh in her satisfaction as she groped her way back to her seat. but her satisfaction was of brief life. the door began to creak more and more violently. it was evident that the bear, having once learned that this was a possible way in, was determined to test it to the utmost. the girl sprang up. she heard the screws of a hinge begin to draw with an ominous grating sound. now at last the crisis was truly and inevitably upon her. and, to her amazement, she was less terrified than before. the panic horror had all gone. she had small hope of escape, but her brain worked calmly and clearly. she moved over beside the broken stove, and stood, match in hand, ready to set fire to the pile of dry spruce tips. the door groaned and creaked. then the upper hinge gave way, and the door leaned inward, admitting a wide streak of glimmer. for some moments, thereafter, all sounds ceased, as if the bear had drawn back cautiously to consider the result of his efforts. then he came on again with more confidence. under his weight the door came crashing down, but slowly, with the noise of yielding latch and snapping iron. as it fell, the girl scratched the match and set it to the dry stuff. in the doorway the bear paused, eyeing suspiciously the tiny blue spurt of the struggling match. after a second or two, however, he came forward with a savage rush, furious at having been so long balked. the girl slipped around the stove. and just as the bear reached the place where she had been standing, the spruce tips sparked sharply and flared up in his face. with a loud _woo-oof_ of indignation and alarm, he recoiled, turned tail, scurried out into the road, and disappeared. in a couple of minutes the cabin was full of sparks and smoky light. the girl ran to the door and peered out. her heart sank once more. there was the bear, a few paces up the road, calmly sitting on his haunches, waiting. he had seen camp fires before, and he was waiting for this one to die down. sissy bembridge knew that it would die down at once, and then--well, her last card would have been played. she wrung her hands, but in the new self-possession which had come to her, she could not believe that the end had really arrived. it was unbelievable that within some half a dozen minutes she should become a lifeless, hideous, shapeless thing beneath those mangling claws. no, there must be--there was--something to do, if she could only think of it. and then it came to her. at first thought the idea was so audacious, so startling, so fantastic, that she shrank from it as absurd. but on second thoughts she convinced herself not only that it was the one thing to be done, but also that it was practical and would almost certainly prove effective. but there was not a moment to be lost. snatching up one of the fragments of stove-pipe, she used the edge as a shovel, and carried a portion of the blazing stuff to the open doorway. here she deliberately set fire to the dry woodwork, nursing with hand and breath the tiny uplicking flames. she fed them with a few more scraps of spruce scraped up from another bunk, till she saw that they would surely catch. then, with her stove-pipe shovel, she started another fire in the further corner of the camp, and yet another in the uppermost bunk. when satisfied that all were fairly going, she retrieved her stocking from the broken latch, reclothed her naked foot and set her bundle safely outside. then she looked at the bear, still sitting on his haunches a little way up the road, and she laughed at him. at last she had him worsted. she darted in through the doorway--now blazing cheerfully all up one side--and dragged forth the heavy bench, that she might have something dry to sit on while she watched the approaching conflagration. her calculation--and she knew it was a sound one--was that the cabin, a solid structure of logs, would burn vigorously the whole night through, and terrify the bear to final flight. if it should by any chance die down before full daylight, she would be able to build a circle of small fires with the burning remnants. and she felt sure that in daylight her enemy would not dare to renew the attack. in another ten minutes the roof was ablaze, and soon the flames were shooting up riotously. the woods were lighted redly for hundreds of yards around, the pools in the road were like polished copper, and the bear was nowhere to be seen. sissy dragged her bench and bundle still further away, and sat philosophically warming her wet feet. the reaction from her terror, and her sense of triumph, made her so excited that fatigue and anxiety were all forgotten. she grew warm and comfortable, and finally, opening her bundle, she got out a package of neglected sandwiches and made a contented meal. as she was shaking the crumbs from her lap, she heard voices and pounding, splashing hoofs from up the trail. she sprang to her feet. three lumbermen came riding into the circle of light, and drew rein before her in astonishment. "sissy--bembridge--_you_!" cried the foremost, springing from his saddleless mount. the girl ran to him. "oh, mike," she exclaimed, crying and laughing all at the same time, and clutching him by the arm, "i _had_ to do it! the bear nigh got me! take me to mother, quick. i'm _that_ tired." a basket of fish fresh and tender, the light of the mild spring afternoon caressed the little abandoned clearing in the wilderness. at the back of the clearing, beneath a solitary white birch tree just bursting into green, stood a squatter's log cabin, long deserted, its door and window gone, its roof of poles and bark half fallen in. past the foot of the clearing, with dancing sparkle and a crisp, musical clamor, ran a shallow stream some dozen yards in width, its clear waters amber-tawny from the far-off cedar-swamps in which it took its rise. along one side came the deeply rutted backwoods road, skirting the clearing and making its precarious way across the stream by a rude bridge not lightly to be ventured after dark. over all the face of the lonely backwoods world was washed the high, thin green of the new brunswick may-time, under a sky of crystal cobalt dotted with dense white fleeces. before the ruined cabin stood a light wagon, its wheels and polished body bespattered with mud. in the open back of the wagon, thrust well under the seat to be in the shade, lay a large wicker fishing-basket, with a tuft of grass sticking out through the square hole in the cover. some ten or a dozen paces distant, tethered beneath the birch tree, a sorrel horse munched the last remnants of a bundle of hay, and whisked his long tail industriously to keep off the flies. from behind a corner of the ruined cabin peered craftily a red fox. he eyed the wagon, he eyed the horse beneath the birch tree, he scrutinized the whole clearing, the road, and the open stretch of the stream. then his narrowed, searching gaze returned to the wagon and to the fat basket in the back of the wagon. at length he stepped forth mincingly into full view, trotted up, and sniffed inquisitively. as if in doubt, he raised himself on his hind legs, with his fore-paws on the tire of the nearest wheel, and took a long, satisfying sniff. yes, undoubtedly there were fish in the basket, fresh fish--trout, in fact. he wanted those fish exceedingly. it seemed easy enough to get them. he shifted his fore-paws to the back of the wagon, and studied the situation. why should he not climb up and help himself? the sorrel horse, catching a whiff of his pungent scent, looked around at him suddenly and snorted. but what did he care for the disapproval of the sorrel horse? all horses, submissive and enslaved, he held in profoundest scorn. he would have those trout, whether the horse liked it or not. and, anyhow, he saw that the horse was tethered to the tree. he settled himself back upon his haunches to spring into the wagon. then a new idea flashed into his cunning red head. no one who valued fresh-caught trout at their full worth would leave them thus unguarded unless for a sinister purpose. they were surely left there as a trap. the fox wrinkled his nose with mingled regret and disdain. he knew something of traps. he had once been nipped. he was not to be caught again, not he. what fools these men were, after all! his satisfaction at having seen through their schemes almost compensated him for the loss of the expected meal. he drew back, sat down on his tail, and eyed the wagon minutely for a while. then he trotted away into the forest again to hunt wood-mice. but it was just here that the red prowler's cunning overreached itself. the basket in the wagon was full of trout, and there was no trap to be feared. he might have feasted to his heart's content, and incurred no penalty more serious than the disapproval of the tethered horse, had he not been quite so amazingly clever. for even among the wild kindreds the prize is not always to him of nimble wit. the trout were there in the basket simply because the fishing had been so good. the two fishermen who had driven out from town, in the gray of dawn, over those fifteen miles of bad backwoods road, had fished the stream upward from the bridge throughout the morning. at this season the trout--fine, vivid fish, of good pan size--were lying in the open, dancing runs and about the tails of the rapids; and they were rising freely to almost any bright fly, though with a preference for a red hackle. toward noon the fishermen had returned to the clearing to lunch beneath the birch tree and to feed and water the horse. they had emptied all their catch into one basket, stowed the basket under the wagon seat, then started off again to fish the finer reaches of the stream, with its wide pools and long, sunlit rapids, below the bridge. good fishermen, but not expert woodsmen, they had no idea that, here in the solitude, they ran any risk of being robbed of their morning's spoils. * * * * * soon after the departure of the over-crafty fox, a backwoods tramp came by, with a ragged little bundle slung from the stick on his shoulder. his eyes lighted up at sight of the unguarded wagon from town, and he understood the situation at a glance. in the front of the wagon, by the dash-board, he found a lunch-basket, still half full, as the fishermen had provided themselves for another substantial meal. he hurriedly devoured about half the contents of the lunch-basket, transferred the rest to his dirty bundle, and with huge satisfaction lighted a half-burned cigar which one of the fishermen had left lying on a log. next he investigated the fishing-basket. half a dozen of the finest fish he took out and strung upon a forked twig. this he did not regard as stealing, but merely as the exaction of a small and reasonable tribute from a society which had of late neglected to feed him any too well. puffing his cigar butt in high good humor, he went over and made friends with the horse, feeding it with a few handfuls of fresh grass. then, with the string of fish dangling beside his bundle and flapping against it as he walked, he resumed his solitary journey, picked his way over the dilapidated bridge, and vanished into the fir forest beyond. the horse, feeling rather lonely, neighed after him as he disappeared. an abandoned clearing or a deserted log cabin, something to which man has set his hand and then withdrawn it, seems always a place of peculiar fascination to the creatures of the wilderness. they have some sense, perhaps, of having regained a lost dominion. or possibly they think, from these his leavings, to learn something significant of man's mysterious over-lordship. in any case, the attraction seldom fails. the tramp had not been long gone, when a new visitor arrived. up from the fringing bushes along the stream's edge came furtively a little, low, long-bodied beast, in shape much like an exaggerated weasel, but almost black in color. its head was almost triangular; its eyes, set near together, were bright and cruel. it came half-way across the meadow, then stopped, and eyed for some time the tethered horse and the deserted wagon. seeing nothing to take alarm at, it made a wide circuit, ran behind the cabin, and reappeared, as the fox had done, at the corner nearest the wagon. from this point of vantage it surveyed the situation anew, a little spark of blood-red fire alternately glowing and fading in its eyes as its keen nostrils caught the scent of the fish. satisfied at length that there was no danger within range, the mink glided up to the wagon. the horse it paid no heed to. it circled the wagon a couple of times in a nervous, jerky run, its head darting this way and that, till its nose assured it beyond question that the fish it scented were in the wagon itself. thereupon--for the mink lacks the fox's hair-splitting astuteness, and does not take long to make up its mind--it clambered nimbly up through one of the wheels and fell straightway upon the fish-basket. now, the tramp, courteous in his depredations, had taken thought to refasten the basket. the mink was puzzled. the hole in the top of the basket, though he might have squeezed his head through it, was not large enough to let him reach the fish. he began jerking the basket and pulling it about savagely. the back of the wagon consisted of a hinged flap, and the fishermen had left it hanging down. the basket, dragged this way and that, came presently to the edge, toppled over, and fell heavily to the ground on its bulging side. the fastening came undone, and the cover flopped half open. the mink dropped down beside it, flung himself upon it furiously, and began jerking forth and scattering the contents, tearing mouthfuls out of one fish after another in a paroxysm of greed, as if he feared they were still alive and might get away from him. the basket emptied and his first rage glutted, the mink now fell to the business of making a serious meal. selecting a fish to his taste, he ate it at great leisure, leaving the head and the tail upon the grass. then he picked out a larger one, as if he regarded the first as merely an appetizer. as he gnawed luxuriously at the silver-and-buff, vermilion-spotted tit-bit, an immense shadow floated between him and the sun. he did not take time to look up and see what it was. it was as if the touch of that shadow had loosed a powerful spring. he simply shot from his place, at such speed that the eye could not distinguish how he did it, and in the minutest fraction of a second was curled within the empty fishing-basket, which still lay on its side, half open. a pair of long, black, sickle-curved talons, surmounted by thickly feathered gray shanks, clutched at the place where he had stood. furious at having missed her strike, the great horned owl, that tigress of the air, flapped up again on her soundless, downy wings, and swooped suddenly at the basket, as if trying to turn it over. as her talons clawed at the wickerwork, feeling for a hold, the head of the mink, on its long, snaky neck, darted forth, reached up, and struck its fine white fangs into her thigh. but the great owl's armor of feathers, though it looked so soft and fluffy, was in fact amazingly resistant. the mink's long teeth reached the flesh and drew blood, but he gained no grip. that steel-muscled thigh was wrenched from his jaws, leaving him with an embarrassing mouthful of down. he jerked his head into cover again, just as the bird made another lightning clutch at him. for all his rage, the mink kept his wits about him. he knew the owl for one of his most dangerous rivals and adversaries. he knew that he could kill her if once he could reach her throat or get his grip fixed on one of her mighty wings close to the base. but that _if_ kept him prudent. he was too well aware that in an open combat he was more than likely to get his neck or his back into the clutch of those inexorable talons, and that would be the end of him. discreetly, therefore, he kept himself well within the basket, which was large enough to hold him comfortably. he snarled shrilly through the little square hole in the cover, while his assailant, balked of her prey and furious with the smart of her wound, pounced once more upon the basket and strove to claw an entrance. a chance blow of one of her pounding wings drove the lid--the basket being still on its side--completely to. the sorrel horse under the birch-tree swung round on his tether and rolled his eyes and snorted, deeply scandalized at such goings-on about his familiar wagon. it was just at this point in the mink's adventure that the fox returned to the clearing. he had had rather poor luck with the wood-mice, and his chaps watered with the memory of those trout in the wagon. something of an expert in dealing with traps, he made up his mind that he would try to circumvent this one. the sight that met his shrewd eyes, as he emerged warily from the cover of the fir woods, amazed him. he halted to take it in thoroughly. he saw the basket lying on the ground, and the angry owl clawing at it. the fish he did not see. he concluded that they were still in the basket, and that the owl was trying to get at them. this particular kind of owl, as he knew, was a most formidable antagonist; but with his substantial weight and his long, punishing jaws, he felt himself much more than a match for her. his eyes flamed green with indignation as he watched her trying to steal the prize which he had already marked down for his own. he darted forward on tip-toe--noiselessly, as he thought--and made a long leap at the flapping, dusky wings. but the ears of an owl are a very miracle of sensitiveness. they can catch the squeak of a mouse at a distance which, for ordinary ears, would make the sharp clucking of a chipmunk inaudible. to the bird on the basket the coming of those velvet footsteps were like the scamper of a frightened sheep. she sprang into the air without an effort, hung for a moment to glare down upon the fox with her hard, round, moon-pale eyes, and then sailed off without a sound, having no mind to try conclusions with the long-jawed red stranger. the fox was surprised to find the trout lying scattered about the grass, some of them bitten and mangled. what, then, was in the basket? what was the great owl trying to get at, when the precious fish were all spread out before her? curiosity dominating his hunger, he stepped up to the basket and sniffed at the hole in the lid. instantly there was a shrill, vicious snarl from within, and a wide-open, triangular mouth, set with white teeth, darted at his nose. he drew back hastily and sat down on his tail, ears cocked and head tilted to one side, to consider. it puzzled him greatly that there should be a mink in the basket. tip-toeing cautiously around it, he saw that the lid was slightly open, so that the mink could come out if he wished. but the fox did not want him to come out. what the fox wanted was fish, not a fight with an adversary who would give him a lot of trouble. by all means, let the mink stay in there. keeping a sharp watch on the lid of the basket, the fox backed away cautiously several feet, lay down, and fell to devouring the trout. but never for an instant did he take his eyes off that slightly moving lid. he lay with his feet gathered under him, every muscle ready for action, expecting each moment to find himself involved in a desperate battle for the prize he was enjoying. he could not imagine a fiery-tempered personage like the mink tamely submitting to the rape of his banquet. he felt sure that in the next second or two a snaky black shape, all teeth and springs and venom, would dart from the basket and be at his throat. he was ready for it, but he was not hankering after it. meanwhile, there behind the basket lid, the mink was raging irresolutely. it galled him to the marrow to watch his big, arrogant, bush-tailed rival complacently gulping down those fine fat trout. but--well, he had himself already eaten one of the trout and a good part of another. his hunger was blunted. he could rage within reason, and his reason admonished him to keep out of this fight if it could be managed. he knew the whipcord muscle underlying that soft red fur, the deadly grip of those long, narrow jaws. there is no peace counsellor like a contented belly. so he snarled softly to himself and waited. the fox, having swallowed as much as he could hold, stood up, stretched himself, and licked his chaps. the look which he kept upon the basket was no less vigilant than before, but there was now a tinge of scorn in it. there were still some trout left, but he wanted to get away. he snatched up the two biggest fish in his jaws and trotted off with them to the woods, glancing back over his shoulder as he went. before he had gained the cover of the fir trees, the mink glided forth, planted his forepaws on the remaining fish, and stood staring after him in an attitude of challenge. had the fox returned, the mink would now have fought. but the fox had no thought of returning. there was nothing to fight about. he had got what he wanted. he had no rooted objection to the mink having what was left. he trotted away nonchalantly toward his burrow under the roots of an old birch tree on the hill. the mink stuffed himself till he could not get another mouthful down. there were still a couple of trout untouched. he eyed them regretfully, but he had not the fox's wit or providence to carry them off and hide them for future use. he left them, therefore, with a collection of neatly severed heads and tails, to mock the fishermen when they should return at sunset. he was feeling very drowsy. at a deliberate pace, quite unlike his usual eager and darting movements, he made off down the clearing toward the water. beneath the bank was an old musquash hole which he was well acquainted with. only the other day, indeed, he had cleared out its inhabitants, devouring their litter of young. he crawled into the hole, curled up on the soft, dead grass of the devastated nest, and cosily went to sleep. brannigan's mary brannigan was wanting fresh meat, red meat. both he and his partner, long jackson, were sick to death of trout, stewed apples, and tea. even fat bacon, that faithful stand-by, was beginning to lose its charm, and to sizzle at them with an unsympathetic note when the trout were frying in it. and when a backwoodsman gets at odds with his bacon, then something has got to be done. going noiselessly as a cat in his cowhide larrigans, brannigan made his way down the narrow trail between the stiff dark ranks of the spruce timber toward the lake. as the trail dipped to the shore he caught a sound of splashing, and stopped abruptly, motionless as a stump, to listen. his trained ears interpreted the sound at once. "moose pullin' up water-lily roots!" he muttered to himself with satisfaction. edging in among the trunks beside the trail to be the better hidden, he crept forward with redoubled caution. a few moments more and a sparkle of sunlight flashed into his eyes, and through the screening spruce branches he caught sight of the quiet water. there, straight before him, was a dark young moose cow, with a two-months calf at her side, wading ashore through the shadows. brannigan raised his rifle and waited till the pair should come within easier range. cartridges are precious when one lives a five-days' tramp from the nearest settlement; and he was not going to risk the wasting of a single shot. the game was coming his way, and it was the pot, not sport, that he was considering. now, no one knew better than brannigan that it was against the law of new brunswick to shoot a moose at this season, or a cow moose at any season. he knew, also, that to shoot a cow moose was not only illegal, but apt to be extremely expensive. for new brunswick enforces her game laws with a brusque and uncompromising rigor; and she values a cow moose at something like five hundred dollars. brannigan had no stomach for a steak at such price. but he had every reason to believe that at this moment there was not a game-warden within at least a hundred miles of this unimportant and lonely lake at the head of the ottanoonsis. he was prepared to gamble on this supposition. without any serious misgivings, he drew a bead on the ungainly animal, as she emerged with streaming flanks from the water and strode up toward the thickets which fringed the white beach. but the calf by her side kept getting in the way, and brannigan's finger lingered on the trigger, awaiting a clearer shot. suddenly a dense thicket, half-a-dozen yards or so distant from the leisurely cow, burst open as with an explosion, and a towering black form shot out from the heart of it. it seemed to overhang the cow for a fraction of a second, and then fell forward as if to crush her to the earth. brannigan lowered his gun, a look of humorous satisfaction flitting over his craggy features. "thank you, kindly, mr. b'ar," he muttered. "ther ain't no game-warden on 'arth as kin blame me for that!" but the matter was not yet as near conclusion as he imagined. the cow, apparently so heedless, had been wideawake enough, and had caught sight of her assailant from the tail of her eye, just in time to avoid the full force of the attack. she leapt aside, and the blow of those armed paws, instead of breaking her back, merely ripped a long scarlet furrow down her flank. at the same instant she wheeled and struck out savagely with one razor-edged fore-hoof. the stroke caught the bear glancingly on the shoulder, laying it open to the bone. had the bear been a young one, the battle thus inauspiciously begun might have gone against him, and those lightning hooves, with their far-reaching stroke, might have drawn him in blood and ignominy to refuge in a tree. but this bear was old and of ripe experience. as if daunted by the terrific buffet he drew back, upon his haunches, seeming to shrink to half his size. the outraged cow came on again furious and triumphant, thinking to end the matter with a rush. the bear, a wily boxer, parried her next stroke with a blow that broke her leg at the hock. then his long body shot out again and upward, to its full height, and crashed down upon her neck, with a sick twist that snapped the vertebræ like chalk. she collapsed like a sack of shavings, her long dark muzzle, with red tongue protruding, turned upward and backward, as if she stared in horror at her doom. the bear set his teeth into her throat with a windy grunt of satisfaction. at that moment brannigan fired. the heavy soft-nosed bullet crashed home. the bear lifted himself straight up on his hind legs, convulsively pawing at the air, then dropped on all fours, ran round in a circle with his head bent inwards, and fell over on his side. the calf, which had stood watching the fight in petrified amazement, had recovered the use of its legs with a bound at the shock of the report, and shambled off into the woods with a hoarse bleat of terror. hugely satisfied with himself, brannigan strode forth from his hiding and examined his double prize. the bear being an old one, he had no use for it as food, now that he was assured of a supply of choice moose-venison; for he knew by experience the coarseness and rankness of bear-meat, except when taken young. touching up the edge of his hunting knife on the sole of his larrigan, he skinned the bear deftly, rolled up the heavy pelt, and tied it with osier-withes for convenience in the lugging. then, after a wash in the lake, he turned back to fetch his partner and the drag, that they might haul the dead moose to the camp and cut it up conveniently at home. glancing back as he vanished up the trail, he saw the orphaned calf stick its head out from behind a bush and stare after him pathetically. "mebbe i'd oughter shoot the little beggar too," he mused, "or the bears 'll jest get it!" but being rather tender-hearted where all young things were concerned, he decided that it might be big enough to look after itself, and so should have its chance. a half hour later, when brannigan and his partner, hauling the drag behind them briskly, got back to the lake, they found the calf standing with drooped head beside the body of its mother. at their approach it backed off a dozen yards or so to the edge of the bushes, and stood gazing at them with soft, anxious eyes. "best knock the ca'f on the head, too, while we're about it," said long jackson practically. "it looks fat an' juicy." but brannigan, his own first impulse in regard to the poor youngster now quite forgotten, protested with fervor. "hell!" he grunted, good-naturedly. "ain't yer got enough fresh meat in this 'ere cow i've foraged fer ye? i've kinder promised that there unfortunate orphant she shouldn't be bothered none." "she's too young yet to fend fer herself. the b'ars 'll git her, if we don't," argued long jackson. but brannigan's sympathies, warm if illogical, had begun to assert themselves with emphasis. "this 'ere's _my_ shindy, long," he answered doggedly. "an' i say the poor little critter 'd oughter have her chance. she _may_ pull through. an' good luck to her, ses i! we got all the fresh meat we want." "oh, if ye're feeling _that_ way about the orphant, tom, i ain't kickin' none," answered jackson, spitting accurate tobacco-juice upon a small white boulder some ten or twelve feet distant. "i was only thinkin' we'd save the youngster a heap of trouble if we'd jest help her go the way of her ma right now." "you ax her fer _her_ opinion on that p'int!" grunted brannigan, tugging the carcass of the moose on to the drag. long jackson turned gravely to the calf. "do ye want to be left to the b'ars and the h'a'nts, in the big black woods, all by yer lonesome?" he demanded. the calf, thus pointedly addressed, backed further into the bush and stared in mournful bewilderment. "or would ye rather be et, good an' decent, an' save ye a heap o' frettin'?" continued long jackson persuasively. a bar-winged moose-fly, that vicious biter, chancing to alight at that moment on the calf's ear, she shook her lank head vehemently. "what did i tell ye?" demanded brannigan dryly. "she knows what she wants!" "kinder guess that settles it," agreed long jackson with a grin, spitting once more on the inviting white boulder. then the two men set the rope traces of the drag over the homespun shoulders, and, grunting at the first tug, started up the trail with their load. the calf took several steps forward from the thicket, and stared in distraction after them. she could not understand this strange departure of her mother. she bleated several times, hoarsely, appealingly; but all to no effect. then, just as the drag, with its dark, pathetic burden, was disappearing around a turn of the trail, she started after it, and quickly overtook it with her ungainly, shambling run. all the way to the cabin she followed closely, nosing from time to time at the unresponsive figure on the drag. brannigan, glancing back over his shoulder from time to time, concluded that the calf was hungry. unconsciously, he had come to accept the responsibility for its orphaned helplessness, though he might easily have put all the blame upon the bear. but brannigan was no shirker. he would have scorned any such sophistry. he was worrying now over the question of what he could give the inconveniently confiding little animal to eat. he decided, at length, upon a thin, lukewarm gruel of corn-meal, slightly salted, and trusted that the sturdiness of the moose stomach might survive such a violent change of diet. his shaggy eyebrows knitted themselves over the problem till long jackson, trudging at his side, demanded to know if he'd "got the bellyache." this being just the affliction which he was dreading for the calf, brannigan felt a pang of guilt and vouchsafed no reply. arriving at the cabin, jackson got out his knife, and was for setting to work at once on the skinning and cutting up. but brannigan intervened with prompt decision. "don't ye be so brash, long," said he. "this 'ere's _mary_. hain't yer got no consideration for mary's feelings? she's comin' to stop with us; an' it wouldn't be decent to go cuttin' up her ma right afore her eyes! you wait till i git her tied up 'round behind the camp. then i'll go an' fix her some corn-meal gruel, seein's we haven't got no proper milk for her." and he proceeded to unhitch the rope from the drag. jackson heaved a sigh of resignation, seated himself on the body of the slain cow, and fished up his stumpy black clay pipe from the depths of his breeches pocket. "so ye're goin' to be mary's ma, eh?" he drawled, with amiable sarcasm. "if ye'd jest shave that long irish lip o' yourn, tom, she'd take ye fer one o' family right enough." he ducked his head and hoisted an elbow to ward off the expected retort; but brannigan was too busy just then for any fooling. having rubbed his hands and sleeves across the hide of the dead mother, he was gently approaching the calf, with soft words of caress and reassurance. it is improbable that the calf had any clear comprehension of the english tongue, or even of brannigan's backwoods variant of it. but she seemed to feel that his tones, at least, were not hostile. she slightly backed away, shrinking and snorting, but at length allowed brannigan's outstretched fingers to approach her dewy muzzle. the smell of her mother on those fingers reassured her mightily. being very hungry, she seized them in her mouth and fell to sucking them as hard as she could. "pore little eejut," said brannigan, much moved by this mark of confidence, "ye shall have some gruel quick as i kin make it." with two fingers between her greedy lips and a firm hand on the back of her neck, he had no difficulty in leading her around behind the cabin, where he tied her up securely, out of sight of the work of long jackson's industrious knife. * * * * * on brannigan's gruel mary made shift to survive, and even to grow, and soon she was able to discard it in favor of her natural forage of leaves and twigs. from the first she took brannigan _in loco parentis_, and, except when tied up, was ever dutifully at his heels. but she had a friendly spirit toward all the world, and met long jackson's advances graciously. by the end of autumn she was amazingly long-legged, and lank, and awkward, with an unmatched talent for getting in the way and knocking things over. but she was on a secure footing as member of the household, petted extravagantly by brannigan and cordially accepted by long jackson as an all-round good partner. as jackson was wont to say, she was not beautiful, but she had a great head when it came to choosing her friends. as would naturally be supposed, mary, being a member of the firm, had the free run of the cabin, and spent much of her time therein, especially at meals or in bad weather. but she was not allowed to sleep indoors, because brannigan was convinced that such a practice would not be good for her health. at the same time she could not be left outdoors at night, the night air of the wilderness being sometimes infected with bears, lynxes, and wild-cats. a strong pen, therefore, was built for her against the end wall of the cabin, very open and airy, but roofed against the rain and impervious to predatory claws. in this pen she was safe, but not always quite happy; for sometimes in the still dark of the night, when brannigan and long jackson were snoring in their hot bunks within the cabin, she would see an obscure black shape prowling stealthily around the pen, and hungry eyes would glare in upon her through the bars. then she would bawl frantically in her terror. brannigan would tumble from his bunk and rush out to the rescue. and the dread black shadow would fade away into the gloom. when winter settled down upon the wilderness, it did so with a rigor intended to make up for several mild seasons. the snow came down, and drove, and drifted, till mary's pen was buried so deep that a tunnel had to be dug to her doorway. then set in the long, steady, dry cold, tonic and sparkling, but so intense that the great trees would crack under it with reports like pistol shots upon the death-like stillness of the night. but all was warmth and plenty at the snow-draped cabin; and mary, though she had no means of knowing it, was without doubt the most comfortable and contented young moose in all eastern canada. she was sometimes a bit lonely, to be sure, when brannigan and jackson were away on their snow-shoes, tending their wide circuit of traps, and she was shut up in her pen. at such times, doubtless, her inherited instincts hankered after the companionship of the trodden mazes of the "moose yard." but when her partners were at home, and she was admitted to the cabin with them, such faint stirrings of ancestral memory were clean forgotten. there was no companionship for mary like that of brannigan and long jackson, who knew so consummately how to scratch her long, waggling ears. but fate, the hag, growing jealous, no doubt, of mary's popularity, now turned without so much as a snarl of warning and clawed the happy little household to the bone. in some inexplicable, underhanded way, she managed to set fire to the cabin in the night, when brannigan and jackson were snoring heavily. they slept, of course, well clad. they awoke choking, from a nightmare. with unprintable remarks, they leapt from their bunks into a scorching smother of smoke, snatched up instinctively their thick coats and well-greased larrigans, fumbled frantically for the latch, and burst out into the icy, blessed air. mary was bawling with terror, and bouncing about in her pen as if all the furies were after her. brannigan snatched her door open, and she lumbered out with a rush, knocking him into the snow, and went floundering off toward the woods. but in a couple of minutes she was back again and stood trembling behind long jackson. at first both woodsmen had toiled like demons, dashing the snow in armfuls upon the blazing camp; but the fire, now well established, seemed actually to regard the fluffy snow as so much more congenial fuel. knowing themselves beaten, they drew back with scorched faces and smarting eyes and stood watching disconsolately the ruin of their home. mary thrust her long-muzzled head around from behind her partners, and wagged her ears, and stared. in the face of real catastrophe the new brunswick backwoodsman does not rave and tear his hair. he sets his teeth and he does a good deal of thinking. presently brannigan spoke. "i noticed ye come away in a hurry, long!" he remarked drily. "did ye think to bring anything to eat with ye?" "nary bite!" responded jackson. "i've brung along me belt--it was kind of tangled up wi' the coat--an' me knife's in it, all right." he felt in the pockets of his coat. "here's baccy, an' me pipe, an' a bit o' string, an' a crooked nail! wish't i'd know'd enough to eat a bigger supper last night! i hadn't no sort of an appetite." "i've got me old _dudheen_," said brannigan, holding up his stubby black clay. "an' i've got two matches, _jest two_, mind yer! an' that's all i _hev_ got." they filled their pipes thoughtfully and lit them frugally with a blazing splinter from the wood pile. "which is nearest," queried jackson, "conroy's upper camp, or gillespie's, over to red brook?" "conroy's, sure," said brannigan. "how fur, would ye say?" insisted jackson, who really knew quite as much about it as his partner. "in four foot o' soft snow, an' no snowshoes, about ten thousan' mile!" replied brannigan consolingly. "then we'd better git a move on," said jackson. "i'm _thinkin'_ we ain't got no time to waste starin' at bonfires," agreed brannigan. they turned their backs resolutely and headed off through the night and the snow toward conroy's camp, many frozen leagues to the south-eastward. mary, bewildered and daunted, followed close at brannigan's heels. and they left their blazing home to roar and fume and vomit sparks and flare itself out in the unheeding solitude. accustomed as they were to moving everywhere on snowshoes in the winter, the two woodsmen found it infinitely laborious and exhausting to flounder their way through a four-foot depth of light snow. they took half-mile turns, as near as they could guess, at going ahead to break the way. once they thought of putting this job upon mary. but it was not a success. mary didn't want to go ahead. only with assiduous propulsion could they induce her to lead; and then her idea of the direction of conroy's camp seemed quite unformed. sometimes she would insist upon being propelled sideways. so they soon gave up the plan, and let her take her place in the rear, which her humility seemed to demand. both men were in good condition, powerful and enduring. but in that savage cold their toil ate up their vitality with amazing speed. with plenty of food to supply the drain, they might have fought on almost indefinitely, defying frost and fatigue in the soundness of their physique. but the very efficiency of their bodily machinery made the demand for fuel come all the sooner. they smoked incessantly to fool their craving stomachs, till their pipes chanced to go out at the same time. much too provident to use one of their two matches, which might, later on, mean life or death to them, they chewed tobacco till their emptiness revolted at it. then, envious of mary, who browsed with satisfaction on such twigs and saplings as came in her way, they cut young fir branches, peeled them, scraped the white inner bark, and chewed mouthfuls of the shavings. but it was too early for the sap to be working up, and the stuff was no more eatable than sawdust. they speedily dropped this unprofitable foraging, pulled their belts tighter, and pushed on with the calm stoicism of their breed. long jackson was first to call for a halt. the pallid midwinter dawn was spreading up a sky of icy opal when he stopped and muttered abruptly-- "if we can't eat, we must rest a spell." brannigan was for pushing on, but a glance at jackson's face persuaded him. "give us one o' them two matches o' yourn, long," said he. "if we don't hev' a fire, we'll freeze, with nothin' in our stommicks." "nary match, yet," said jackson doggedly. "we'll need 'em worse later on." "then we'll have to warm ourselves huggin' mary," laughed brannigan. it was a sound proposition. they scooped and burrowed a deep pit, made mary lie down, and snuggled close against her warm flanks, embracing her firmly. mary had been for some time hankering after a chance to rest her long legs and chew her cud, so she was in no way loath. with head uplifted above her reclining partners, she lay there very contentedly, ears alert and eyes half closed. the only sound on the intense stillness was the slow grind of her ruminating jaws and the deep breathing of the two exhausted men. both men slept. but, though mary's vital warmth was abounding and inexhaustible, the still ferocity of the cold made it perilous for them to sleep long. in a half-hour brannigan's vigilant subconsciousness woke him up with a start. he roused jackson with some difficulty. they shook themselves and started on again, considerably refreshed, but ravenously hungry. "whatever would we have done without mary?" commented brannigan. "ay, ay!" agreed jackson. all the interminable day they pushed on stoically through the soft, implacable snow-depths, but stopping ever more and more frequently to rest, as the cold and the toil together devoured their forces. at night they decided that one of the precious matches must be used. they _must_ have a real fire and a real sleep, if they were to have any chance of winning through to conroy's camp. they made their preparations with meticulous care, taking no risk. after the deep trench was dug, they made a sound foundation for their fire at one end of it. they gathered birch bark and withered pine shavings and kindlings of dead wood, and gathered a store of branches, cursing grimly over their lack of an axe. then jackson scratched one match cautiously. it lit: the dry bark curled, cracked, caught; the clear young flame climbed lithely through the shavings and twigs. just then an owl, astonished, flew hurriedly through the branches far overhead. he stirred a branch heavily snow-laden. with a soft swish a tiny avalanche slid down, fell upon the fire, and blotted it out. indignantly the two men pounced upon it and cleared it off, hoping to find a few sparks still surviving. but it was as dead as a last year's mullein stalk. comment was superfluous, discussion unnecessary. fire, that night, they must have. they scooped a new trench, clear in the open. they used the last match, and they built a fire so generous that for a while they could hardly endure its company in the trench. mary, indeed, could not endure it, so she stayed outside. they smoked and they talked a little, not of their chances of making conroy's camp, but of baked pork and beans, fried steak and onions, and enormous boiled puddings smothered in butter and brown sugar. then they slept for some hours. when the fire died down mary came floundering in and lay down, beside them, so they did not feel the growing cold as soon as they should. when they woke, they were half frozen and savage with hunger. there were still red coals under the ashes, so they revived the fire, smoked, and got themselves thoroughly warm. then, with belts deeply drawn in, they resumed their journey in dogged silence. according to the silent calculation of each, the camp was still so far ahead that the odds were all against their gaining it. but they did not trouble to compare their calculations or their hopes. toward evening long jackson began to go to pieces badly. he had a great frame, and immense muscular power, but, being gaunt and stringy, he had no reserves of fat in his hard tissues to draw upon in such an emergency as this. in warm weather his endurance would have been, no doubt, equal to brannigan's. now the need of fuel for the inner fire was destroying him. the enforced rests became more and more frequent. at last he grunted-- "i'm the lame duck o' this here outfit, tom. ye'd better push on, bein' so much fresher'n me, an' git the boys from the camp to come back for me." brannigan laughed derisively. "an' find ye in cold storage, long! ye'd be no manner o' use to yer friends _that_ way. ye wouldn't be worth comin' back fer." jackson chuckled feebly and dropped the subject, knowing he was a fool to have raised it. he felt it was good of brannigan not to have resented the suggestion as an insult. "reach me a bunch o' them birch twigs o' mary's," he said. having chewed a few mouthfuls and spat them out, he got up out of the snow and plunged on with a burst of new determination. "that's where mary's got the bulge on us," remarked brannigan. "ef we could live on birch-browse, now, i'd be so proud i wouldn't call the king my uncle." "if mary wasn't our pard, now," said jackson, "we'd be all right. i'm that hungry i'd eat her as she stands, hair an' all." responding to a certain yearning note in jackson's voice, mary rubbed her long muzzle against him affectionately and nibbled softly at his sleeve. brannigan flushed. he was angry because his partner had voiced a thought which he had been at pains to banish from his own consciousness. "ef it hadn't a' been fer mary, we wouldn't be alive now," said he sternly. "she's kep' us from freezin'." "oh, ye needn't git crusty over what i've said, tom," replied jackson, rubbing the long brown ears tenderly. "mary's jest as much my pardner as she is yourn, an' i ain't no cannibal. we'll see this thing through with mary, on the square, you bet. _but_--ef 'twasn't _mary_--that's all _i_ say!" "right ye are, long," said brannigan, quite mollified. but later in the day, as he glanced at his partner's drawn, sallow-white face, brannigan's heart misgave him. he loved the confiding mary quite absurdly; but, after all, as he reminded himself, she was only a little cow moose, while long jackson was a christian and his partner. his perspective straightened itself out. at last, with a heavy heart, he returned to the subject. "ye was right, long," said he. "ef we don't make conroy's camp purty soon, we'll hev to--well, it'll be up to mary! poor mary! but, after all, she's only a little moose cow. an' i'm sure she'd be proud, ef she could understand!" but jackson was indignant, as he went laboring on, leaning upon mary's powerful shoulder. "not much," he snorted feebly. "ther' ain't goin' to be no killin' of mary on my account, an' don't ye forgit it! 'twouldn't do good, fer i wouldn't tech a sliver of her, not ef i was dyin'. an' it would jest be on-pleasant fer mary." brannigan drew a breath of relief, for this meant at least a postponement of the unhappy hour. "jest as ye like, long!" he grunted. but he clenched his teeth on the resolution that, the moment his partner should become too weak for effective protest, mary should come promptly to the rescue. after all, whatever mary's own opinion on the subject, it would be an end altogether worthy of her. he drove a whole rabble of whimsical fancies through his mind, as he labored resolutely onward through the snow. but his mittened hand went out continuously to caress mary's ears, pleading pardon for the treason which it planned. the midwinter dark fell early, and fell with peculiar blackness on jackson's half-fainting eyes. he was leaning now on mary's shoulders with a heaviness which that young person began to find irksome. she grunted complainingly at times, and made good-natured attempts to shake him off. but she had been well trained, and brannigan's voice from time to time kept her from revolt. brannigan was now watching his partner narrowly in the gloom, noting his movements and the droop of his head, since he could no longer make much of his face. he was beginning to feel, with a heavy heart, that the end of poor mary's simple and blameless career was very close at hand. he was busily hardening his heart with forced frivolities. he felt his long knife. he slipped his mittens into his pocket that his stroke might be sure, swift, and painless, but his fingers shook a little with strong distaste. then his eyes, glancing ahead, caught a gleam of yellow light through the tree-trunks. he looked again, to assure himself, and calmly pulled on his mittens. "mary," said he, "you've lost the chance o' yer life. ye ain't goin' to be no hero, after all!" "what're ye gruntin' about, tom?" demanded jackson dully, aroused by the ring in his partner's voice. "there's conroy's camp right ahead!" cried brannigan. then he fell to shouting and yelling for help. jackson straightened himself, opened his eyes wide, saw the light, and the sudden increase of it as the camp door was flung open, heard answering shouts, and collapsed sprawling on mary's back. he had kept going for the last few hours on his naked nerve. it was food long jackson wanted--food and sleep. and on the following day he was himself again. at dinner, beside the long plank table built down the middle of the camp, he and brannigan devoured boiled beans and salt pork and stewed dried apples, gulped down tins of black tea, and jointly narrated their experience to the interested choppers and teamsters, while mary, shut up in the stables, munched hay comfortably and wondered what had become of her partners. they were big-boned, big-hearted children, these men of the new brunswick lumber camps, quick in quarrel, quick in sentiment, but cool and close-lipped in the face of emergency. the "boss" of the camp, however, was of a different type--a driving, hard-eyed westerner, accustomed to the control of lumber gangs of mixed races, and his heart was as rough as his tongue. in a lull in the talk he said suddenly to the visitors-- "we're about sick o' salt pork in this camp, mates, an' the fresh beef ain't been sent out from the settlement yit. coin's been too heavy. that fat young moose critter o' yourn'll come in mighty handy jest now. what d'ye want fer her as she stands?" long jackson set down his tin of tea with a bump and looked at the speaker curiously. but brannigan thought it was a joke, and laughed. "cow-moose comes high in new brunswick, mr. clancy," said he pleasantly, "as ye must a' been here long enough to know." "oh, that's all right," answered the boss; "but there ain't a game-warden within a hundred miles o' this camp, an' i'd risk it if there was. what'll ye take?" brannigan saw that the proposal was a serious one, and his face stiffened. "where mary's concerned," said he, speaking with slow precision, "i guess me an' my pardner here's all the game-wardens that's required. it's close season all year round fer mary, an' she ain't fer sale at any price." there was a moment's silence, broken only by a shuffle of tin plates on the table. then long jackson said-- "an' that's a fact, mr. clancy." the boss made a noise of impatience between his teeth. he was not used to being opposed, but he could not instantly forget that these visitors were his guests. "well," said he, "there ain't no property right in a moose, anyhow!" "_we_ think ther' be," replied brannigan, "an' we know that there little moose-cow's our'n an' _not_ fer sale at no price, what-_so-ever_!" the boss was beginning to get angry at this incomprehensible attitude of his guests. "ther' ain't _no_ property rights, i tell ye, in any wild critter o' these here woods. this critter's in my stables, an' i could jest _take_ her, seein' as my hands needs her, without no talk o' payin' fer the privilege. but you two boys has been burnt out an' in hard luck, so i'll give ye the price o' good beef for the critter. ye kin take it or leave it. but i'm going to kinder requisition the critter." as he spoke he rose from his seat, as if to go and carry out his purpose on the instant. there had been already growls of protest from the men of the camp, who understood, as he could not, the sentiment of their guests; but he gave no heed to it. his seat was furthest from the door. but before he had taken two strides, long jackson was at the door, and had snatched up a heavy steel-shod "peevy." having not yet quite recovered, he was still a bit excitable for a woodsman. "damn you, jim clancy, none o' yer butcherin'!" he shouted. clancy sprang forward with an oath, but right in his path rose brannigan, quiet and cold. "ye better hold on, mr. clancy," said he, "an' think it over. it's that little moose-critter what's jest seen us through, an' i guess we'll see her through, too, jackson an' me!" his tone and manner were civility itself, but his big lean fist was clenched till the knuckles went white. clancy paused. he was entirely fearless, whether it were in a fight or a log-jam. but he was no fool, and his vocation forced him to think quickly. he realized suddenly that in the temper of his visitors was a resolution which would balk at nothing. it would do him no good to have killing in the camp, even if he were not himself the victim. all this he saw at one thought, in the fraction of a flash. he saw also that his men would be against him. he choked back his wrath and cast about for words to save his face. and here one of his choppers came tactfully to his aid. "we ain't wantin' fresh meat so bad as all that, mr. clancy," he suggested, with a grin. "guess we'd rather wait for the beef." "aye, aye!" chimed in several voices pacifically. clancy pulled himself together and spoke lightly. "i s'pose ye're right, lads, an' it was yer own feed i was thinking of. if ye're satisfied, i must be. an' i was wrong, o' course, to treat our visitors so rough, an' try force _any_ kind o' a bargain on them. i ax their pardon." taking the pardon for granted, he went back to his seat. brannigan, who had never lost grip of himself for a moment, sat down again with a good-natured grin. a murmur of satisfaction went round the table, and knives once more clattered on tin plates. long jackson, by the door, hesitated and glared piercingly at the boss, who refrained from noticing. at length he set down his weapon and came back to the table. in a minute or two his appetite returned, and he could resume his meal. out in the barn, in the smell of hay and horses, mary lay tranquilly waving her ears, staring at her unfamiliar company, and chewing her comfortable cud, untroubled with any intuitions of the fate which had twice within the last few hours so narrowly passed her by. printed in the united states of america. * * * * * the following pages contain advertisements of macmillan books by the same author by charles g. d. roberts the backwoodsmen illustrated. cloth. mo, $ . net "'the backwoodsmen' shows that the writer knows the backwoods as the sailor knows the sea. indeed, his various studies of wild life in general, whether cast in the world of short sketch or story or full-length narrative, have always secured an interested public.... mr. roberts possesses a keen artistic sense which is especially marked when he is rounding some story to its end. there is never a word too much, and he invariably stops when the stop should be made.... few writers exhibit such entire sympathy with the nature of beasts and birds as he."--_boston herald._ "when placed by the side of the popular novel, the strength of these stories causes them to stand out like a huge primitive giant by the side of a simpering society miss, and while the grace and beauty of the girl may please the eye for a moment, it is to the rugged strength of the primitive man your eyes will turn to glory in his power and simplicity. in simple, forceful style mr. roberts takes the reader with him out into the cold, dark woods, through blizzards, stalking game, encountering all the dangers of the backwoodsmen's life, and enjoying the close contact with nature in all her moods. his descriptions are so vivid that you can almost feel the tang of the frosty air, the biting sting of the snowy sleet beating on your face, you can hear the crunch of the snow beneath your feet, and when, after heartlessly exposing you to the elements, he lets you wander into camp with the characters of the story, you stretch out and bask in the warmth and cheer of the fire."--_western review._ kings in exile (the macmillan fiction library) illustrated. cloth. mo, c. net "more wonderful animal tales such as only mr. roberts can relate. with accurate knowledge of the exiled beasts and a vivid imagination, the author writes stories that are even more than usually interesting. the antagonistic feelings that exist beneath the shaggy coats, and the methods of stealthy warfare of wild beasts, are all minutely described and the enemies illustrated."--_book news monthly._ "it is surprising how much of the wilderness his wistful eye discovers in a central park buffalo yard. for this gift of vision the book will be read, a vision with its reminder of the scent of dark forests of fir, the awful and majestic loneliness of sky-towering peaks, the roar of the breakers and salty smell of the sea, the whispering silences of the forests. we rise from its pages with the breath of the open spaces in our lungs."--_boston transcript._ published by the macmillan company - fifth avenue new york by charles g. d. roberts neighbors unknown decorated cloth, illustrated, mo, $ . net "mr. roberts has a wonderful knowledge of wild animals, and we are thrilled by his vivid scenes."--_boston times._ "the stories are thrilling and hold one interested throughout."--_indianapolis news._ "mr. roberts knows his animals intimately and writes about them with understanding and reality."--_the continent._ "whether viewed as stories, as natural history, or as literature, young and old should lose no time in making the acquaintance of 'neighbors unknown.'"--_n. y. times._ "few stories about animals have as strong a power to interest and entertain or carry as deep a conviction of their truth and reasonableness as those by charles g. d. roberts, which comprise the volume 'neighbors unknown.'"--_chicago tribune._ "what observation, what power of description is displayed in charles g. d. roberts's latest volume of stories!"--_bellman._ "the drawings of paul bransom add much to the interest of the volume and are full of action and meaning."--_boston globe._ published by the macmillan company - fifth avenue new york by charles g. d. roberts author of "kings in exile," "the backwoodsmen," etc. children of the wild _with illustrations, cloth, mo, $ . _ as might be inferred from the title of charles g. d. roberts' new book, "children of the wild," the reader is brought very close to nature. mr. roberts has written many stories about the wild, all of which have the atmosphere which few writers are able to breathe into their books--the atmosphere of outdoor life told with the sure touch of a recognized authority. here he writes for boys particularly, still of the creatures of the forests and streams, but with a boy as the central human figure. babe and his uncle andy and bill, the guide, are camping in the wilderness. what they see and hear there suggest stories about young animals, the "children of the wild." these tales are recounted by uncle andy. in them mr. roberts shows that he knows his fellowmen fully as well as he knows the lore of the woods and the haunts and habits of the animals of the forest. into his stories creep snatches of humor, glimpses of tragedy, and the poignant touch of pathos, all of which make his work natural. the present work should prove a most acceptable remembrance to every boy who cares, and what boy does not, for a hearty book of outdoor life. the feet of the furtive _decorated cloth, mo, $ . _ illustrated by paul bransom it is to be doubted whether there is a more popular animal writer to-day than charles g. d. roberts, whose stories of forests and streams are read with pleasure by young and old alike. in his present book are tales of the bear, the bat, the seal, the moose, rabbit and other animals written in his usual vivid style. "a great book for boys of all ages, and one that could have been written only by charles g. d. roberts."--_boston times._ the macmillan company publishers - fifth avenue new york [illustration: shooting tongues of smoke from their great black throats] historic adventures _tales from american history_ by rupert s. holland _author of "historic boyhoods," "historic girlhoods," "historic inventions," etc._ [illustration] philadelphia george w. jacobs & company publishers copyright, , by george w. jacobs & company _published october, _ _all rights reserved_ printed in u.s.a. _to robert d. jenks_ contents i. the lost children ii. the great journey of lewis and clark iii. the conspiracy of aaron burr iv. how the young republic fought the barbary pirates v. the fate of lovejoy's printing-press vi. how marcus whitman saved oregon vii. how the mormons came to settle utah viii. the golden days of 'forty-nine ix. how the united states made friends with japan x. the pig that almost caused a war xi. john brown at harper's ferry xii. an arctic explorer xiii. the story of alaska xiv. how the "merrimac" was sunk in santiago harbor illustrations shooting tongues of smoke from their great black throats _frontispiece_ _facing page_ sawquehanna seemed to remember the voice decatur caught the moor's arm the last six hundred miles were the hardest nauvoo had handsome houses and public buildings wherever there was a stream explorers began to dig the teams, exhausted, began to fail spanish boats pulled close to them i the lost children the valleys of pennsylvania were dotted with log cabins in the days of the french and indian wars. sometimes a number of the little houses stood close together for protection, but often they were built far apart. wherever the pioneer saw good farm land he settled. it was a new sensation for men to be able to go into the country and take whatever land attracted them. gentle rolling fields, with wide views of distant country through the notches of the hills, shining rivers, splendid uncut forests, and rich pasturage were to be found not far from the growing village of philadelphia, and were free to any who wished to take them. such a land would have been a paradise, but for one shadow that hung over it. in the background always lurked the indians, who might at any time, without rhyme or reason, steal down upon the lonely hamlet or cabin, and lay it waste. the pioneer looked across the broad acres of central pennsylvania and found them beautiful. only when he had built his home and planted his fields did he fully realize the constant peril that lurked in the wooded mountains. english, french, and spanish came to the new world, and the english proved themselves the best colonists. they settled the central part of the atlantic coast, but among them and mixed with them were people of other lands. the dutch took a liking for the island of manhattan and the hudson river, the swedes for delaware, and into the colony of william penn came pilgrims from what was called the palatinate, germans, a strong race drawn partly by desire for religious freedom, partly by the reports of the great free lands across the ocean. they brought with them the tongue, the customs, and the names of the german fatherland, and many a valley of eastern pennsylvania heard only the german language spoken. the indian tribes known as the six nations roamed through the country watered by the susquehanna. they hunted through all the land south of the great lakes. sometimes they fought with the delawares, sometimes with the catawbas, and again they would smoke the calumet or pipe of peace with their neighbors, and give up the war-path for months at a time. but the settlers could never be sure of their intentions. wily french agents might sow seeds of discord in the indians' minds, and then the chiefs who had lately exchanged gifts with the settlers might suddenly steal upon some quiet village and leave the place in ruins. this constant peril was the price men had to pay in return for the right to take whatever land they liked. in a little valley of eastern pennsylvania a german settler named john hartman had built a cabin in . he had come to this place with his wife and four children because here he might earn a good living from the land. he was a hard worker, and his farm was prospering. he had horses and cattle, and his wife spun and wove the clothing for the family. the four children, george, barbara, regina, and christian, looked upon the valley as their home, forgetting the german village over the sea. not far away lived neighbors, and sometimes the children went to play with other boys and girls, and sometimes their friends spent a holiday on john hartman's farm. the family, like all farmers' families, rose early. before they began the day's work the father would read to them from his big bible, which he had brought from his native land as his most valuable possession. on a bright morning in the autumn of he gathered his family in the living-room of his cabin and read them a bible lesson. the doors and windows stood open, and the sun flooded the little house, built of rough boards, and scrupulously clean. the farmer's dog, wasser, lay curled up asleep just outside the front door, and a pair of horses, already harnessed, stood waiting to be driven to the field. birds singing in the trees called to the children to hurry out-of-doors. they tried to listen to their father's voice as he read, and to pay attention. as they all knelt he prayed for their safety. then they had breakfast, and the father and mother made plans for the day. mrs. hartman was to take the younger boy, christian, to the flour-mill several miles away, and if they had time was to call at the cabin of a sick friend. the father and george went to the field to finish their sowing before the autumn rains should come, and the two little girls were told to look after the house till their mother should return. little christian sat upon an old horse, held on by his mother, and waved his hand to his father and george as he rode by the field on his way to the mill. the girls, like their mother, were good housekeepers. they set the table for dinner, and at noon barbara blew the big tin horn to call her father and brother. as they were eating dinner the dog wasser came running into the house growling, and acting as if he were very much frightened. mr. hartman spoke to him, and called him to his side. but the dog stood in the doorway, and then suddenly leaped forward and sprang upon an indian who came around the wall. the peril that lurked in the woods had come. john hartman jumped to the door, but two rifle bullets struck him down. george sprang up, only to fall beside his father. an indian killed the dog with his tomahawk. into the peaceful cabin swarmed fifteen yelling savages. barbara ran up a ladder into the loft, and regina fell on her knees, murmuring "herr jesus! herr jesus!" the indians hesitated, then one of them seized her, and made a motion with his knife across her lips to bid her be silent. another went after barbara and brought her down from the loft, and then the indians ordered the two girls to put on the table all the food there was in the cabin. when the food was gone the savages plundered the house, making bundles of what they wanted and slinging them over their shoulders. they took the two little girls into the field. there another girl stood tied to the fence. when she saw barbara and regina she began to cry, and called in german for her mother. while the three frightened girls stood close together the indians set fire to the cabin. very soon the log house that had cost john hartman so much labor was burned to the ground. when their work of destruction was completed the indians took the three children into the woods. at sunset mrs. hartman returned from the flour-mill with little christian riding his horse, but when she came up the road it seemed as if her house had disappeared. yet the pine trees, the fences, the plowed fields, and the orchard were still there. the little boy cried, "where is our house, mother?" and the poor woman could not understand. the story of what had occurred was only too plain to her a few minutes later. what had happened to many other pioneers had happened to her family. clutching christian in her arms she ran to the house of her nearest neighbor. there she heard that the indians had left the same track of blood through other parts of the valley; that farmers had been slain; their crops burned; and their children carried off into the wilderness. the terrified settlers banded together for protection. for weeks new stories came of the indians' massacres. if ever there were heartless savages these were! they did not carry all the children to their wigwams; some were killed on the way; and among them was little barbara hartman. word came from time to time of some of the stolen children, but there was no word of regina or susan smith, the daughter of the neighboring farmer. * * * * * far in the forests of western new york was the camp of a great indian tribe. the wigwams stood on the banks of a beautiful mountain stream, broken by great rocks that sent the water leaping in cascades and falls. in one of the wigwams lived the mother of a famous warrior of the tribe, and with her were two girls whom she treated as her daughters. the name of the old squaw was she-lack-la, which meant "the dark and rainy cloud," a name given her because at times she grew very angry and ill-treated every one around her. fortunately there were two girls in her wigwam, and when the old squaw was in a bad temper they had each other for protection. the older girl had been given the name of saw-que-han-na, or "the white lily," and the other was known as kno-los-ka, "the short-legged bear." like all the indian girls they had to work hard, grinding corn, cooking and keeping house for the boys and men who were brought up to hunt and fight. sawquehanna was tall and strong, spoke the language of the tribe, and looked very much like her indian girl friends. in the meantime many battles had been fought through the country of the pioneers, and the english colonists were beating the french and indians, and driving the frenchmen farther and farther north. in the long war between the two nations ended. under a treaty of peace the english colonel boquet demanded that all the white children who had been captured by the indian tribes should be surrendered to the english officers. so one day white soldiers came into the woods of western new york and found the wigwams there. the children were called out, and the soldiers took the two girls from the old squaw shelackla. then they went on to the other tribes, and from each they took all the white children. they carried them to fort duquesne. the fort was in western pennsylvania, and as soon as it was known that the lost white children were there, fathers and mothers all over the country hurried to find their boys and girls. many of the children had been away so long that they hardly remembered their parents, but most of the parents knew their children, and found them again within the walls of the fortress. some of the children, however, were not claimed. sawquehanna and her friend knoloska and nearly fifty more found no one looking for them and wondered what would happen to them. after they had waited at fort duquesne eight days, colonel boquet started to march with his band of children to the town of carlisle, in hopes that they might find friends farther east, or at least kind-hearted people who would give the children homes. he sent news of their march all through the country, and from day to day as they traveled through the mountains by way of fort ligonier, raystown, and louden, eager people arrived to search among the band of children for lost sons and daughters. when the children came to carlisle the town was filled with settlers from the east. the children stood in the market-place, and the men and women pressed about them, trying to recognize little ones who had been carried away by indians years before. some people who lived in the blue mountains were in the throng, and they recognized the dark-haired indian girl knoloska as susan, the daughter of mr. smith, the farmer who had lived near the hartmans. knoloska and sawquehanna had not been separated for a long time. they had kept together ever since the white soldiers had freed them from the old squaw's wigwam. sawquehanna could not bear to think of having her comrade leave her, and susan clung to her adopted sister's arm and kissed her again and again. the white people were much kinder than the old squaw had been, and instead of beating the girls when they cried, and frightening them with threats, the officers told sawquehanna that she would probably find some friends soon, and if she did not, that perhaps susan's family would let her live in their home. but as nobody seemed to recognize her sawquehanna felt more lonely than she had ever felt before. meanwhile mrs. hartman was living in the valley with her son christian, who had grown to be a strong boy of fourteen. neighbors told her that the lost children were being brought across the mountains to carlisle, but there seemed little chance that her own regina might be one of them. she decided, however, that she must go to the town and see. travel was difficult in those days, but the brave woman set out over the mountains and across the rivers to carlisle, and at last reached the town market-place. she looked anxiously among the girls, remembering her little daughter as she had been on that autumn day eleven years before; but none of the girls had the blue eyes, light yellow hair and red cheeks of regina. mrs. hartman shook her head, and decided that her daughter was not among these children. as she turned away, disconsolate, colonel boquet said to her, "can't you find your daughter?" "no," said the disappointed mother, "my daughter is not among those children." "are you sure?" asked the colonel. "are there no marks by which you might know her?" "none, sir," she answered, shaking her head. colonel boquet considered the matter for a few minutes. "did you ever sing to her?" he asked presently. "was there no old hymn that she was fond of?" the mother looked up quickly. "yes, there was!" she answered. "i have often sung her to sleep in my arms with an old german hymn we all loved so well." "then," said the colonel, "you and i will walk along the line of girls and you shall sing that hymn. it may be that your daughter has changed so much that you wouldn't know her, but she may remember the tune." mrs. hartman looked very doubtful. "there is little use in it, sir," she said, "for certainly i should have known her if she were here; and if i try your plan all these soldiers will laugh at me for a foolish old german woman." [illustration: sawquehanna seemed to remember the voice] the colonel, however, begged her at least to try his plan, and she finally consented. they walked back to the place where the children were standing, and mrs. hartman began to sing in a trembling voice the first words of the old hymn: "alone, and yet not all alone, am i in this lone wilderness." as she went on singing every one stopped talking and turned to look at her. the woman's hands were clasped as if in prayer, and her eyes were closed. the sun shone full upon her white hair and upturned face. there was something very beautiful in the picture she made, and there was silence in the market-place as her gentle voice went on through the words of the hymn. the mother had begun the second verse when one of the children gave a cry. it was sawquehanna, who seemed suddenly to have remembered the voice and words. she rushed forward, and flung her arms about the mother's neck, crying, "mother, mother!" then, with her arms tight about her, the tall girl joined in singing the words that had lulled her to sleep in their cabin home. "alone, and yet not all alone, am i in this lone wilderness, i feel my saviour always nigh; he comes the weary hours to bless. i am with him, and he with me, e'en here alone i cannot be." the people in the market-place moved on about their own affairs, and the mother and daughter were left together. now mrs. hartman recognized the blue eyes of regina, and knew her daughter in spite of her height and dark skin. regina began to remember the days of her childhood, and the years she had spent among the indians were forgotten. she was a white girl again, and happier now than she had ever thought to be. next day knoloska, now susan smith, and sawquehanna, or regina hartman, went back to their homes in the valley. many a settler there had found his son or daughter in the crowd of lost children at carlisle. ii the great journey of lewis and clark french is still spoken in quebec and new orleans, reminders that the land of the lilies had much to do with the settlement of north america. many of the greatest explorers of the continent were frenchmen. jacques cartier sailed up the st. lawrence river in , and champlain in founded new france, and from his small fortress at quebec planned an empire that should reach to florida. in robert cavalier, the sieur de la salle, came to canada, and set out from his _seigneurie_ near the rapids of montreal to find the long-sought road to china. instead of doing that he discovered the ohio river, first of white men he voyaged across the great lakes and sailed down the mississippi to its mouth. great explorer, he mapped the country from the st. lawrence to the gulf of mexico, from the mississippi to the atlantic ocean, and built frontier-posts in the wilderness. he traveled thousands of miles, and in he raised the lilies of france near the mouth of the mississippi and named the whole territory he had covered _louisiana_, in honor of king louis xiv of france. the first colony on the gulf was established seventeen years later at biloxi by a canadian _seigneur_ named iberville. soon afterward this _seigneur's_ brother, bienville, founded new orleans and attracted many french pioneers there. the french proved to be better explorers than farmers or settlers. in the south they hunted the sources of the arkansas and red rivers, and discovered the little-known pawnee and comanche indians. in the north they pressed westward and came in sight of the rocky mountains. at that time it seemed as if france was to own at least two-thirds of the continent. the english general, braddock, was defeated at fort duquesne in , and the french commanded the ohio as well as the mississippi; but four years later the english general, wolfe, won the victory of the plains of abraham near quebec; and france's chance was over. men in paris who knew little concerning the new world did not scruple to give away their country's title to vast lands. the french ceded canada and all of la salle's old province of louisiana east of the mississippi, except new orleans, to england. soon afterward france, to outwit england, gave spain new orleans and her claim to the half of the mississippi valley west of the river to which the name louisiana now came to be restricted. the french, however, were great adventurers by nature, and napoleon, changing the map of europe, could not keep his fingers from north america. he planned to win back the new france that had been given away. spain was weak, and napoleon traded a small province in italy for the great tract of louisiana. he meant to colonize and fortify this splendid empire, but before it could be done enemies gathered against his eagles at home, and to save his european throne he had to forsake his western colony. when thomas jefferson became president in , he found the people of the south and west disturbed at france's repossessing herself of so much territory. he sent robert r. livingston and james monroe to paris to try to buy new orleans and the country known as the floridas for $ , , . instead napoleon offered to sell not only new orleans, but the whole of louisiana territory extending as far west as the rocky mountains for $ , , . napoleon insisted on the sale, and the envoys agreed. jefferson and the people in the eastern united states were dismayed at the price paid for what they considered almost worthless land, but the west was delighted, owning the mouth of the great mississippi and with the country beyond it free to them to explore. in time this purchase of louisiana, or the territory stretching to the rocky mountains, forming the larger part of what are now thirteen of the states of the union, was to be considered one of the greatest pieces of good fortune in the country's history. scarcely anything was known of louisiana, except the stories told by a few hunters. jefferson decided that the region must be explored, and asked his young secretary, meriwether lewis, who had shown great interest in the new country, to make a path through the wilderness. lewis chose his friend william clark to accompany him, and picked thirty-two experienced men for their party. may , , the expedition set out in a barge with sails and two smaller boats from a point on the missouri river near st. louis. the nearer part of this country had already been well explored by hunters and trappers, and especially by that race of adventurous frenchmen who were rovers by nature. these men could not endure the confining life of towns, and were continually pushing into the wilderness, driving their light canoes over the waters of the great rivers, and often sharing the tents of friendly indians they met. many had become almost more indian than white man,--had married indian wives and lived the wandering life of the native. such a man captain lewis found at the start of his journey, and took with him to act as interpreter among the sioux and tribes who spoke a similar language. the party traveled rapidly at the outset of their journey, meeting small bands of indians, and passing one or two widely-separated frontier settlements. they had to pass many difficult rapids in the river, but as they were for the most part expert boatmen they met with no mishaps. the last white town on the missouri was a little hamlet called la charrette, consisting of seven houses, with as many families located there to hunt and trade for skins and furs. as they went up the river they frequently met canoes loaded with furs coming down. day by day they took careful observations, and made maps of the country through which they were traveling, and when they met indians tried to learn the history and customs of the tribe. captain lewis wrote down many of their curious traditions. the osage tribe had given their name to a river that flowed into the missouri a little more than a hundred miles from its mouth. there were three tribes of this nation: the great osages, numbering about five hundred warriors; the little osages, who lived some six miles distant from the others, and numbered half as many men; and the arkansas band, six hundred strong, who had left the others some time before, and settled on the vermillion river. the osages lived in villages and were good farmers, usually peaceful, although naturally strong and tireless. captain lewis found a curious tradition as to the origin of their tribe. the story was that the founder of the nation was a snail, who lived quietly on the banks of the osage until a high flood swept him down to the missouri, and left him exposed on the shore. the heat of the sun at length ripened him into a man, but with the change in his nature he did not forget his native haunts on the osage, but immediately bent his way in that direction. he was, however, soon overtaken by hunger and fatigue, when happily the great spirit appeared, and giving him a bow and arrow showed him how to kill and cook deer, and cover himself with the skins. he then pushed on to his home, but as he neared it he was met by a beaver, who inquired haughtily who he was, and by what authority he came to disturb his possession. the osage answered that the river was his own, for he had once lived on its borders. as they stood disputing, the daughter of the beaver came, and having by her entreaties made peace between her father and the young stranger, it was proposed that the osage should marry the young beaver, and share the banks of the river with her family. the osage readily consented, and from this happy marriage there came the village and the nation of the wasbasha, or osages, who kept a reverence for their ancestors, never hunting the beaver, because in killing that animal they would kill a brother of the osage. the explorers found, however, that since the value of beaver skins had risen in trade with the white men, these indians were not so particular in their reverence for their relatives. the mouth of the platte river was reached on july st, and the next day lewis held a council with the ottoes and missouri indians, and named the site council bluffs. at each of these meetings between lewis and the indians the white man would explain that this territory was now part of the united states, would urge the tribes to trade with their new neighbors, and then present them with gifts of medals, necklaces, rings, tobacco, ornaments of all sorts, and often powder and arms. the indians were friendly and each day taught the white men something new. both captain lewis and lieutenant clark had seen much of the red men on the frontier, but now they were in a land where they found them in their own homes. they grew accustomed to the round tepees decorated with bright-colored skins, the necklaces made of claws of grizzly bears, the head-dresses of eagle feathers, the tambourines, or small drums that furnished most of their music, the whip-rattles made of the hoofs of goats and deer, the white-dressed buffalo robes painted with pictures that told the history of the tribe, the moccasins and tobacco pouches embroidered with many colored beads. each tribe differed in some way from its neighbors. for the first time the explorers found among the rickarees eight-sided earth-covered lodges, and basket-shaped boats made of interwoven boughs covered with buffalo skins. game was plentiful as they went farther up the missouri river. at first no buffaloes were found, but bands of elk were seen, and large herds of goats crossing from their summer grazing grounds in the hilly region west of the missouri to their winter quarters. besides these were antelopes, beavers, bears, badgers, deer, and porcupines, and the river banks supplied them with plover, grouse, geese, turkeys, ducks, and pelicans. there were plenty of wild fruits to be had, and they lived well during the whole of the summer. they traveled rapidly until the approach of cold weather decided them to establish winter quarters on october th. they pitched their camp, which they called fort mandan, on the eastern shore of the missouri, near the present city of bismarck. they built some wooden huts, which formed two sides of a triangle, and a row of pickets on the third side, to provide them with a stockade in case of attack. they found a trader of the hudson's bay company near by, and during the winter a dozen other traders visited them. although they appeared to be friendly, captain lewis was convinced that the traders had no desire to see this united states expedition push into the country, and would in fact do all they could to prevent its advance. the indians in the neighborhood belonged to the tribes of the mandans, rickarees, and minnetarees. the first two of these tribes went to war early in the winter, but peace was made through the efforts of captain lewis. after that all the indians visited the encampment, bringing stores of corn and presents of different sorts, in exchange for which they obtained beads, rings, and cloth from the white men. here captain lewis learned a curious legend of the mandan tribe. they believed that all their nation originally lived in one large village underground near a subterranean lake, and that a grape-vine stretched its roots down to their home and gave them a view of daylight. some of the more adventurous of the tribe climbed up the vine, and were delighted with the sight of the earth, which they found covered with buffaloes and rich with all kinds of fruits. they gathered some grapes and returned with them to their countrymen, and told them of the charms of the land they had seen. the others were very much pleased with the story and with the grapes, and men, women and children started to climb up the vine. but when only half of them had reached the top a heavy woman broke the vine by her weight, and so closed the road to the rest of the nation. each member of this tribe was accustomed to select a particular object for his devotion, and call it his "medicine." to this they would offer sacrifices of every kind. one of the indians said to captain lewis, "i was lately the owner of seventeen horses; but i have offered them all up to my 'medicine,' and am now poor." he had actually loosed all his seventeen horses on the plains, thinking that in that way he was doing honor to his god. almost every day hunting parties left the camp and brought back buffaloes. the weather grew very cold in december, and several times the thermometer fell to forty degrees below zero. as spring advanced, however, the weather became very mild, and as early as april , , they were able to leave their camp at fort manden and start on again. the upper missouri they found was too shallow for the large barge they had used the previous summer, so this was now sent back down the river in charge of a party of ten men who carried letters and specimens, while the others embarked in six canoes and two large open boats that they had built during the winter. so far the country through which they had passed had been explored by a few hudson's bay trappers, but as they now turned westward they came into a region entirely unknown, which they soon found was almost uninhabited. the party had by this time three interpreters, one a canadian half-breed named drewyer, who had inherited from his mother the indian's skill in woodcraft, and who also knew the language of the white explorers. the other two were a man named chaboneau and his wife, a young squaw called sacajawea, the "bird-woman," who had originally belonged to the snake tribe, but who had been captured in her childhood by blackfeet indians. this indian girl had married chaboneau, a french wanderer, who like many others of his kind had sunk into an almost savage state. as the squaw had not forgotten the language of her native people the two white leaders thought she would prove a valuable help to them in the wild country westward, and persuaded her and her husband to go on with them. as the weather was fine the party traveled rapidly, and by april th reached the mouth of the yellowstone. they were now very far north, near the northwest corner of what is the state of north dakota. game was still plentiful but the banks of the river were covered with a coating of alkali salts, which made the water of the streams bitter and unpleasant for drinking. occasionally they came upon a deserted indian camp, but in this northern territory they found few roving tribes. when there was a favorable wind they sailed along the missouri, but most of the time they had to use their oars. early in may they drew up their birch canoes for the night at the mouth of a stream where they found a large number of porcupines feeding on young willow trees. captain lewis christened the stream porcupine river. here there were quantities of game, and elk and buffalo in abundance, so that it was an easy matter to provide food for all the party. now they were continually coming upon new rivers, many of them broad, with swift-flowing currents, and all of them appealing to the love of exploration. the missouri was their highroad, however, and so they simply stopped to name the different streams they came to. one they passed had a peculiar white color, and captain lewis called it the milk river. the country along this stream was bare for some distance, with gradually rising hills beyond. the game here was very plentiful and the buffaloes were so tame that the men were obliged to drive them away with sticks and stones. the only dangerous animal was the grizzly bear, a beast that never seemed to know when he had had enough of a fight. one evening the men in the canoes saw a large grizzly lying some three hundred paces from the shore. six of them landed and hid behind a small hillock within forty paces of the bear; four of the hunters fired, and each lodged a ball in the bear's body. the animal sprang up and roared furiously at them. as he came near them the two hunters who had not yet fired gave him two more wounds, one of which broke a shoulder, but before they had time to reload their guns, the bear was so near them that they had to run for the river. he almost overtook them; two jumped into the canoes; the other four separated, and hiding in the willows fired as fast as they could reload their guns. again and again they shot him, but each time the shots only seemed to attract his attention toward the hunters, until finally he chased two of them so closely that they threw away their guns, and jumped down a steep bank into the river. the bear sprang after them, and was almost on top of the rear man when one of the others on shore shot him in the head, and finally killed him. they dragged him to shore, and found that eight balls had gone through him in different directions. the hunters took the bear's skin back to camp, and there they learned that another adventure had occurred. one of the other canoes, which contained all the provisions, instruments, and numerous other important articles, had been under sail when it was struck on the side by a sudden squall of wind. the man at the helm, who was one of the worst navigators of the party, made the mistake of luffing the boat into the wind. the wind was so high that it forced the brace of the square-sail out of the hand of the man who was holding it, and instantly upset the canoe. the boat would have turned upside down but for the resistance of the canvas awning. the other boats hastened to the rescue, righted the canoe, and by baling her out kept her from sinking. they rowed the canoe to shore and the cargo was saved. had it been lost the expedition would have been deprived of most of the things that were necessary for its success, at a distance of between two and three thousand miles from any place where they could get supplies. on may th they reached the yellowish waters of the musselshell river. a short distance beyond this captain lewis caught his first view of the rocky mountains, one of the goals toward which they were tending. along the musselshell the country was covered with wild roses and small honeysuckle, but soon after they came into a region that was very bare and dry, where both game and timber were scarce, the mosquitoes annoying, the noonday sun uncomfortably hot, and the nights very cold. the missouri river, along which they were still traveling, was now heading to the southwest. they were near the border of the present state of idaho when they passed several old indian camps, most of which seemed to have been deserted for five or six weeks. from this fact they judged that they were following a band of about one hundred lodges, who were traveling up the same river. they knew that the minnetarees of the missouri often traveled as far west as the yellowstone, and presumed that the indians ahead of them belonged to that tribe. there were other evidences of the indians. at the foot of a cliff they found the bodies of a great many slaughtered buffaloes, which had been hunted after the fashion of the blackfeet. their way of hunting was to select one of the most active braves, and disguise him by tying a buffalo skin around his body, fastening the skin of the head, with ears and horns, over the head of the brave. thus disguised the indian would take a position between a herd of buffalo and the precipice overlooking a river. the other hunters would steal back of the herd, and at a given signal chase them. the buffaloes would run in the direction of the disguised brave, who would lead them on at full speed toward the river. as he reached the edge he would quickly hide himself in some crevice or ravine of the cliff, which he had chosen beforehand, and the herd would be left on the brink. the buffaloes in front could not stop being driven on by those behind, who in their turn would be closely pursued by the hunters. the whole herd, therefore, would usually rush over the cliff, and the hunters could take their pick of hides and meat in the river below. this method of hunting was very extravagant, but at that time the indians had no thought of preserving the buffaloes. one of the rivers lewis passed in this region he named the slaughter river, on account of this way of hunting. when the missouri turned southward the explorers came to many steep rapids, around which the canoes had to be carried, which made traveling slow. often the banks were so steep and the mud so thick that the men were obliged to take off their moccasins, and much of the time they were up to their arms in the cold water of the river. but there was a great deal to charm the eye in the opening spring, even in that bare country. lewis found places near the river filled with choke-cherries, yellow currants, wild roses, and prickly pears in full bloom. in the distance the mountains, rising in long greenish-blue chains, the tops covered with snow, invited the travelers to find what lay on the other side of their ridges. on june d they reached a place where the river divided into two wide streams, and it became very important to decide which of the two was the one that the indians called the ahmateahza, or missouri, which they had said approached very near to the columbia river. lewis knew that the success of his expedition depended largely upon choosing the right stream, because if, after they had ascended the rocky mountains beyond, they should find that the river they had taken did not bring them near the columbia, they would have to return, and thereby would lose a large part of the summer, which was the only season when they could travel. for this reason he decided to send out two exploring parties. he himself made a two days' march up the north branch, and deciding that this was not the missouri, he named it maria's river. as they came back they had to walk along high cliffs, and at one steep point captain lewis slipped, and, if he had not been able to catch himself with his mountain stick, would have been thrown into the river. he had just reached a point of safety when he heard a man behind him call out, "good god, captain, what shall i do?" turning instantly he found that his companion had lost his footing on the narrow pass, and had slipped down to the very edge of the precipice, where he lay with his right arm and leg over the cliff, while with the other arm and leg he was trying to keep from slipping over. lewis saw the danger, but calmly told the other to take his knife from his belt with his right hand, and dig a hole in the side of the bluff in which to stick his foot. with great presence of mind the man did this, and getting a foothold, raised himself on his knees. lewis then told him to take off his moccasins, and crawl forward on his hands and knees, his knife in one hand and his rifle in the other. in this manner the man regained a secure place on the cliff. captain lewis considered that this method of traveling was too dangerous, and he ordered the rest of the party to wade the river at the foot of the bluff, where the water was only breast-high. this adventure taught them the danger of crossing the slippery heights above the stream, but as the plains were broken by ravines almost as difficult to pass, they kept on down the river, sometimes wading in the mud of the low grounds, sometimes in the water, but when that became too deep, cutting footholds in the river bank with their knives. on that particular day they traveled through rain, mud, and water for eighteen miles, and at night camped in a deserted indian lodge built of sticks. here they cooked part of the six deer they had killed in the day's traveling, and slept on willow boughs they piled inside the lodge. many of the party thought that the north fork was the missouri river, but lewis and clark were both convinced that the south fork was the real missouri. they therefore hid their heaviest boat and all the supplies they could spare, and prepared to push on with as little burden as possible. a few days later lewis was proved to be right in his judgment of the south fork, for on june th he came to the great falls of the missouri. the grandeur of the falls made a tremendous impression on them all. the river, three hundred yards wide, was shut in by steep cliffs, and for ninety yards from the left cliff the water fell in a smooth sheet over a precipice of eighty feet. the rest of the river shot forward with greater force, and, being broken by projecting rocks, sent clouds of foam into the air. as the water struck the basin below the falls it beat furiously against the ledge of rocks that extended across the river, and lewis found that for three miles below the stream was one line of rapids and cascades, overhung by bluffs. five miles above the first falls the whole river was blocked by one straight shelf of rock, over which the water ran in an even sheet, a majestic sight. this part of the missouri, however, offered great difficulties to their travel. the men had now journeyed constantly for several months, and were in a region of steep falls and rapids. it was clear that they could not carry the boats on their shoulders for long distances. fortunately they found a small creek at the foot of the falls, and by this they were able to reach the highlands. from there lieutenant clark and a few men surveyed the trail they were to follow, while others hunted and prepared stores of dried meat, and the carpenter built a carriage to transport the boats. they found a large cottonwood tree, about twenty-two inches in diameter, which provided them with the carriage wheels. they decided to leave one of their boats behind, and use its mast for two axle-trees. meantime clark studied the river and found that a series of rapids made a perilous descent, and that a portage of thirteen miles would be necessary. the country was difficult for traveling, being covered with patches of prickly pears, the needles of which cut through the moccasins of the men who dragged the boat's carriage. to add to the difficulty, when they were about five miles from their goal the axle-trees broke, and then the tongues of green cottonwood gave way. they had to stop and search for a substitute, and finally found willow trees, which provided them with enough wood to patch up the boat-carriage. half a mile from their new camping place the carriage broke again, and this time they found it easier to carry boat and baggage than to build a new conveyance. captain lewis described the state of his party at this portage. "the men," he wrote, "are loaded as heavily as their strength will permit; the crossing is really painful; some are limping with the soreness of their feet, others are scarcely able to stand for more than a few minutes from the heat and fatigue; they are all obliged to halt and rest frequently, and at almost every stopping place they fall, and many of them are asleep in an instant." as they had to go back to the other side of the rapids for the stores they had left, they were obliged to repair the carriage and cross the portage again and again. after ten days' work all their stores were above the falls. while they were busy making this portage they had several narrow escapes from attacks by grizzly bears. the bears were so bold that they would walk into the camp at night, attracted by buffalo meat, and the sleeping men were in danger from their claws. a tremendous storm added to their discomfort, and the hailstones were driven so furiously by the high wind that they wounded some of the men. before the storm lieutenant clark, with his colored servant york, the half-breed chaboneau, and his indian wife and young child, had taken the road above the falls on their way to camp when they noticed a very dark cloud coming up rapidly in the west. clark hunted about for shelter, and at length found a ravine protected by shelving rocks under which they could take refuge. here they were safe from the rain, and they laid down their guns, compass, and the other articles they had with them. rain and hail beat upon their shelter, and the rain began to fall in such solid sheets that it washed down rocks and mud from higher up the ravine. then a landslide started, but just before the heaviest part of it struck them lieutenant clark seized his gun in one hand, and pushed the indian woman, her child in her arms, up the bank. her husband also caught at her and pulled her along, but he was so much frightened at the noise and danger that but for clark's steadiness he, with his wife and child, would probably have been lost. as it was, clark could hardly climb as fast as the water rose. had they waited a minute longer they would have been swept into the missouri just above the great falls. they reached the top in safety, and there found york, who had left them just before the storm to hunt some buffalo. they pushed on to camp where the rest of the party had already taken shelter, and had abandoned all work for that day. while the men were building a new boat of skins, captain lewis spent much time studying the animals, trees, and plants of the region, making records of them to take home. ever since their arrival at the falls they had heard a strange noise coming from the mountains a little to the north of west. "it is heard at different periods of the day and night," lewis wrote, "sometimes when the air is perfectly still and without a cloud, and consists of one stroke only, or of five or six discharges in quick succession. it is loud, and resembles precisely the sound of a six-pound piece of ordnance at the distance of three miles. the minnetarees frequently mentioned this noise like thunder, which they said the mountains made; but we paid no attention to it, believing it to have been some superstition, or perhaps a falsehood. the watermen also of the party say that the pawnees and ricaras give the same account of a noise heard in the black mountains to the westward of them. the solution of the mystery given by the philosophy of the watermen is, that it is occasioned by the bursting of the rich mines of silver confined within the bosom of the mountain." early in july the new boat was finished. it was very strong, and yet could be carried easily by five men. but when it was first launched they found that the tar-like material with which they had covered the skins that made the body of the boat would not withstand water, and so the craft leaked. after trying to repair the boat for several days they finally decided to abandon it. putting all their luggage into the canoes they resumed their journey up the river. as the canoes were heavily loaded the men who were not needed to paddle them walked along the shore. the country here was very picturesque. at times they climbed hills that gave them wide views of open country never explored by white men; again they waded through fields of wild rye, reminding them of the farm lands of the east; sometimes their path wound through forests of redwood trees, and always they could see the high mountains, still snow-capped. the glistening light on the mountain tops told the explorers why they were called the shining mountains. game was now less plentiful, and as they had to save the dried meat for the crossing of the mountains, it became a problem to provide food for the party of thirty-two people, who usually consumed a daily supply equal to an elk and deer, four deer or one buffalo. the wild berries, however, were now ripe, and as there were quantities of these they helped to furnish the larder. there were red, purple, yellow, and black currants, gooseberries, and service-berries. the sunflower grew everywhere. lewis wrote in his diary: "the indians of the missouri, more especially those who do not cultivate maize, make great use of the seed of this plant for bread or in thickening their soup. they first parch and then pound it between two stones until it is reduced to a fine meal. sometimes they add a portion of water, and drink it thus diluted; at other times they add a sufficient proportion of marrow grease to reduce it to the consistency of common dough and eat it in that manner. this last composition we preferred to all the rest, and thought it at that time a very palatable dish." the missouri now flowed to the south, and on july th the party reached a wide stream, which they named dearborn river in honor of the secretary of war. lewis meant to send back a small party in canoes from this point, but as he had not yet met the snake indians, and was uncertain as to their friendliness, he decided he had better not weaken his expedition here. he, however, sent clark with three men on a scouting trip. clark found an old indian road, which he followed, but the prickly pears cut the feet of his men so badly that he could not go far. along his track he strewed signals, pieces of cloth and paper, to show the indians, if they should cross that trail, that the party was composed of white men. before he returned the main party had discovered a great column of smoke up the valley, and suspected that this was an indian signal to show that their approach had been discovered. afterward they learned that this was the fact. the indians had heard one of clark's men fire a gun, and, taking alarm, had fled into the mountains, giving the smoke signal to warn the rest of the tribe. the high mountains now began to draw close to the expedition, and they camped one night at a place called the gates of the rocky mountains. here tremendous rocks rose directly from the river's edge almost twelve hundred feet in the air; at the base they were made of black granite, but the upper part lewis decided was probably flint of a yellowish brown and cream color. on july th the advance guard reached the three forks of the missouri. chaboneau was ill, and they had to wait until lewis and the others caught up. they named the forks of the river gallatin, madison, and jefferson, in honor of the statesmen of those names. it was at this place that the indian squaw sacajawea had been in camp with her tribe five years before when the minnetarees attacked them, killed some, and made a prisoner of her and some others. lewis hoped that she would be able to help them if they should fall in with bands of her own tribe. as the main stream ended here, the party now followed the jefferson river. they soon decided that it would be necessary to secure horses if they were to cross the mountains, and lewis with three men set out to try to find the shoshone indians, from whom they might buy mounts. after several hours' march they saw a man on horseback coming across the plain toward them; examining him through the glass lewis decided that he belonged to a different tribe of indians from any that they had yet met, probably the shoshones. he was armed with a bow and a quiver of arrows, and rode a good horse without a saddle, a small string attached to the lower jaw answering as a bridle. lewis was anxious to convince him that the white men meant to be friendly, and went toward him at his usual pace. when they were still some distance apart the indian suddenly stopped. lewis immediately stopped also, and taking his blanket from his knapsack, and holding it with both hands at the four corners threw it above his head and then unfolded it as he brought it to the ground, as if in the act of spreading it. this signal, which was intended to represent the spreading of a robe as a seat for guests, was the common sign of friendship among the indian tribes of the missouri and the rocky mountains. lewis repeated the sign three times, and then taking some beads, a looking-glass, and a few other trinkets from his knapsack, and leaving his gun, walked on toward the indian. but when he was within two hundred yards of him the indian turned his horse and began to ride away. captain lewis then called to him, using words of the shoshones. the captain's companions now walked forward, also, and their advance evidently frightened the indian, for he suddenly whipped his horse and disappeared in a clump of willow bushes. when they returned to the camp lewis packed some more indian gifts in his knapsack, and fastened a small united states flag to a pole to be carried by one of the men, which was intended as a friendly signal should the indians see them advancing. the next day brought them to the head-waters of the jefferson river, rising from low mountains. they had now reached the sources of the great missouri river, a place never before seen by white men. from this distant spot flowed the waters that traversed a third of the continent, finally flowing into the mississippi near st. louis. leaving the river, they followed an indian road through the hills, and reached the top of a ridge from which they could see more mountains, partly covered with snow. the ridge on which they stood marked the dividing line between the waters of the atlantic and the pacific oceans. going down the farther side they came to a creek, which was part of the columbia river; near this was a spring. they gathered enough dry willow brush for fuel, and halted for the night. here they ate their last piece of pork, and had only a little flour and parched meal left in the way of provisions. early next day lewis went forward on foot, hoping to find some indians. after several hours he saw three; but they fled away. later he came upon three indian women; one of them ran, but the other two, an elderly woman and a little girl, approached, evidently thinking that the strangers were too near for them to escape, and sat down on the ground. lewis put down his rifle and walking to them, took the woman by the hand, and helped her up. he then rolled up his shirt sleeve to show that he was a white man, since his hands and face were almost as dark as an indian's. his companions joined him, and they gave the indians some pewter mirrors, beads, and other presents. he painted the women's cheeks with some vermilion paint, which was the shoshone custom, meaning peace. he then made them understand by signs that he wished to go to their camp to see their chiefs. the squaw led the white men along a road for some two miles, when they met a band of sixty mounted warriors riding toward them. again lewis dropped his rifle, and courageously marched out to deal with these unknown red men. the chief and two others galloped up in advance and spoke to the women, who showed them the presents they had just received. then the three indians leaped from their horses, and coming up to lewis, put their arms about him in friendly greeting, at the same time rubbing their cheeks against his and smearing considerable paint on his face. the other white men advanced and were greeted in the same way. lewis gave presents to the warriors, and, lighting a pipe, offered it to them for the "smoke of peace." before they smoked it, however, the indians took off their moccasins, a custom which meant that they would go barefooted forever, before they broke their treaty of friendship with their friends. the chief then turned and led the white men and his warriors to their camp. here the white men were invited into a leathern lodge, and seated on green boughs and antelope skins. a small fire was lit in the centre. again taking off their moccasins, the chief lighted a pipe made of some highly polished green stone; after some words in his own tongue he handed the pipe to captain lewis, who then handed it to the other white men. each took a few whiffs, and then passed it back to the warriors. after this ceremony was finished, lewis explained that they were in great need of food. the chief presented them with cakes made of sun-dried service-berries and choke-cherries. later another warrior gave them a piece of boiled antelope, and some fresh roasted salmon, the first salmon lewis had seen, which convinced him that he was now on the waters of the columbia river. he learned that the indians had received word of the advance of his party, whom they at first took to be a hostile tribe, and had therefore set out, prepared for an attack. as a further sign of good-will, the white men were invited to witness an indian dance, which lasted nearly all night. it was late when the white men, tired by their long day's journey, were allowed to take their rest. on the next day captain lewis tried to persuade the shoshones to accompany him across the divide in order to assist in bringing his baggage over. it took considerable argument to get the indians to do this, and he had to promise them more gifts and arouse their curiosity by telling them that there were a black man and a native indian woman in his camp, before he could induce them to consent. finally the chief, cameahwait, and several of his warriors agreed to go with lewis. when they reached the place where the rest of the party were camped the chief was surprised and delighted to find that the indian woman, sacajawea, was his own sister, whom he had not seen since she had been captured by the enemies of his tribe. clark's negro servant, york, caused much amazement to the indians, who had never seen a man of his color before. lewis then had a long talk with the shoshones, telling them of the great power of the government he represented, and of the advantages they would receive by trading with the white men. presently he won their good-will, and they agreed to give him four horses in exchange for firearms and other articles. sacajawea was of the greatest help in the talk between the white men and the shoshones, and it was she who finally induced her brother to do all he could to assist the explorers. lewis now sent clark ahead to explore the route along the columbia river, and to build canoes if possible. the indians had told him that their road would lie over steep, rocky mountains, where there would be little or no game, and then for ten days across a sandy desert. clark pushed on, and found all the indians' reports correct. he met a few small parties of indians, but they had no provisions to spare, and his men were soon exhausted from hunger and the weariness of marching over mountains. his expedition proved that it would be impossible for the main party to follow this river, to which he gave the name of lewis, and he returned to the camp of the shoshones, which lewis and the others had made their headquarters. in this camp the white men made preparations for the rest of their journey. they finally obtained twenty-nine young horses and saddles for them. they also studied the history and habits of this tribe, who had once been among the most powerful, but had been lately defeated in battle by their neighbors. the shoshones were also called the snake indians, and lived along the rivers of the northwest, fishing for salmon and hunting buffaloes. their chief wealth lay in their small, wiry horses, which were very sure-footed and fleet, and to which they paid a great deal of attention. on august th the expedition started afresh, with twenty-nine packhorses, heading across the mountains to other indian encampments on another branch of the columbia. travel was slow, as in many places they had to cut a road for the ponies, and often the path was so rough that the heavily-burdened horses would slip and fall. snow fell at one time, and added to the difficulty of the journey, but by september th they had passed the mountain range, and had come into a wide valley, at the head of a stream they called clark's fork of the columbia. here they met about four hundred ootlashoot indians, to whom they gave presents in exchange for fresh horses. continuing again, they reached traveler's rest creek, and here they stopped to hunt, as the indians had told them that the country ahead held no game. after refurnishing their larder they pushed on westward, and ran into another snow-storm, which made riding more difficult than ever. their provisions were soon exhausted, game was lacking, and the situation was discouraging. the march had proved very tiring, and there was no immediate prospect of reaching better country. lewis, therefore, sent clark with six hunters ahead, but this light scouting party was able to find very little game, and was nearly exhausted, when on september th clark came upon a village of the chopunish or nez percés indians, in a beautiful valley. these indians had fish, roots, and berries, which they gave the white men, who at once sent some back to lewis and the others. these provisions reached the main party at a time when they had been without food for more than a day. strengthened by the supplies, and encouraged by news of the indian village, they hastened forward, and reached the nez percés' encampment. their stock of firearms and small articles enabled them to buy provisions from these indians; and they moved on to the forks of the snake river, where they camped for several days, to enable the party to regain its strength. they built five canoes in the indian fashion, and launched them on the river, which they hoped would lead them to the ocean. lewis hid his saddles and extra ammunition, and, having branded the horses, turned them over to three indians, who agreed to take care of them until the party should return. the snake river, flowing through beautiful country, was filled with rapids, and they had many hardships in passing them. at one place a canoe struck a rock, and immediately filled with water and sank. several of the men could not swim, and were rescued with difficulty. at the same time they had to guard their supplies carefully at night from wandering indians, who, although they were friendly, could not resist the temptation to steal small articles of all sorts. the rapids passed, the river brought them into the main stream of the lewis river, and this in turn led them to the junction of the lewis and columbia rivers, which they reached on october th. here they parted from the last of the nez percés indians. the columbia had as many rapids as the smaller river, and in addition they came to the great falls, where they had to lower the canoes by ropes made of elkskin. at one or two places they had to make portages, but as this involved a great deal of extra labor, they tried to keep to the stream wherever they could. at one place a tremendous rock jutted into the river, leaving a channel only forty-five yards wide through which the columbia passed, its waters tossed into great whirlpools and wild currents. lewis decided that it would be impossible to carry the boats over this high rock, and determined to rely on skillful steering of them through the narrow passage. he succeeded in doing this, although indians whom he had met shortly before had told him that it was impossible. at several places they landed most of the men and all the valuable articles, and the two chief explorers took the canoes through the rapids themselves, not daring to trust the navigation to less experienced hands. in this far-western country they were continually meeting wandering indians, and they learned from them that the pacific ocean was not far distant. on october th lewis found an indian wearing a round hat and sailor's jacket, which had been brought up the river in trade, and soon after he found other red men wearing white men's clothes. on the thirty-first they came to more falls. here they followed the example of their indian friends, and carried the canoes and baggage across the slippery rocks to the foot of the rapids. the large canoes were brought down by slipping them along on poles, which were stretched from one rock to another. they had to stop constantly to make repairs to the boats, which had weathered all sorts of currents, and had been buffeted against innumerable rocks and tree-trunks. then they discovered tide-water in the river, and pushed on eagerly to a place called diamond island. here, lewis wrote, "we met fifteen indians ascending the river in two canoes; but the only information we could procure from them was that they had seen three vessels, which we presumed to be european, at the mouth of the columbia." they came to more and more indian villages, generally belonging to the skilloot tribe, who were very friendly, but who were too sharp at a bargain to please captain lewis. on november , , they reached a point from which they could see the ocean. lewis says: "the fog cleared off, and we enjoyed the delightful prospect of the ocean--that ocean, the object of all our labors, the reward of all our anxieties. this cheering view exhilarated the spirits of all the party, who were still more delighted on hearing the distant roar of the breakers, and went on with great cheerfulness." it was late in the year, and the captain wished to push on so that he might winter on the coast, but a heavy storm forced them to land and seek refuge under a high cliff. the waves on the river were very high, and the wind was blowing a gale directly from the sea; great waves broke over the place where they camped, and they had to use the utmost care to save their canoes from being smashed by drifting logs. here they had to stay for six days, in which time their clothes and food were drenched, and their supply of dried fish exhausted; but the men bore these trials lightly now that they were so near the pacific ocean. when the gale ended they explored the country for a good place to establish their winter quarters. the captain finally decided to locate on a point of high land above the river neutel, well beyond the highest tide, and protected by a grove of lofty pines. here they made their permanent camp, which was called fort clatsop. they built seven wooden huts in which to spend the winter. they lived chiefly on elk, to which they added fish and berries in the early spring. a whale stranded on the beach provided them with blubber, and they found salt on the shore. the winter passed without any unusual experiences, and gave the captain an opportunity to make a full record of the country through which he had passed, and of the indian tribes he had met. the original plan was to remain at fort clatsop until april, when lewis expected to renew his stock of merchandise from the trading vessels, which visited the mouth of the columbia every spring; but as the winter passed the constant rain brought sickness among the men, and game grew more and more scarce, so that it was decided to make an earlier return. before they did this lewis wrote out an account of his expedition, and arranged to have this delivered to the trading vessels when they should arrive, and in this way the news of his discoveries would not be lost in case anything should happen to his own party. the indians agreed to deliver the packets, and one of the messages, carried by an american trader, finally reached boston by way of china in february, , some six months after lewis himself had returned to the east. on march , , they started back on their long route of four thousand one hundred and forty-four miles to st. louis. searching for fish, they found the multonah or willamette river, and lewis wrote that the valley of this stream would furnish the only desirable place of settlement west of the rocky mountains. here he found rich prairies, plenty of fish and game, unusual plants of various sorts, and abundant timber. soon they reached the village of the walla walla indians, who received them so hospitably that the captain said of all the indians they had met since leaving the united states this tribe was the most honest and sincere. with twenty-three horses, and walla walla indians as guides, they followed a new road up the valley of the lewis or snake river, which saved them eighty miles of their westward route. it was still too early to cross the mountains, and they camped near the place where they had trusted their thirty-eight horses to their indian friends the autumn before. the indians returned the horses in exchange for merchandise, and lewis provided them with food. in all these meetings the squaw wife of the french trader was invaluable. usually lewis spoke in english, which was translated by one of his men into french for the benefit of the trapper chaboneau, who repeated it in the tongue of the minnetarees to his wife; she would then repeat the words in the shoshone tongue, and most of the indians could then understand them, or some could repeat them to the others in their own dialect. early in june they tried to cross the mountains, but the snow was ten feet deep on a level, and they had to abandon the attempt until late in the month. they finally crossed, and found their trail of the previous september. at this point the party divided in order to explore different parts of the country. lewis took a direct road to the great falls of the missouri, where he wished to explore maria's river. clark went on to the head of the jefferson river, where he was to find the canoes that they had hidden, and cross by the shortest route to the yellowstone; and the two parties were to meet at the mouth of the yellowstone river. lack of game prevented lewis getting far into the country along maria's river. on this journey he fell in with a band of minnetarees, and some of them tried to steal his guns and horses. the only real fight of the journey followed, in which two indians were killed. he then continued eastward, and on august th reached the mouth of the yellowstone, where he found a note telling him that clark had camped a few miles below. in the meantime clark had explored a large part of the valleys of the jefferson, gallatin, and madison rivers, and had found a boiling-hot spring at the head of the wisdom river, one of the first signs of the wonders of the yellowstone. his journey was made safely and comfortably, although at one place he had to stop to build fresh canoes, and during this delay a band of indians stole twenty-four of his packhorses. the united party descended the missouri, and found that other explorers were already following in their track. they met two men from illinois who had pushed as far west as the yellowstone on a hunting trip, and back of them they heard of hunters and trappers who were pushing into this unexplored region. travel homeward was rapid, and on september , , the expedition arrived at st. louis, from which they had started two years and four months before. at the place where they parted with the last of the minnetarees they said goodbye to chaboneau, his indian wife, and child. the squaw had been of the greatest service to them; but for her it is possible that the expedition might never have been able to get through the shoshone country. lewis offered to take the three to the united states, but the french trader said that he preferred to remain among the indians. he was paid five hundred dollars, which included the price of a horse and lodge that had been purchased from him. the wonderful journey had been a complete success. the explorers had passed through strange tribes of indians, dangers from hunger and hardship in the high mountains, the desert, and the plains, and had brought back a remarkable record of the scenes and people they had met. from their reports the people of the united states first learned the true value of that great louisiana territory, which had been bought for such a small price in money, but which was to furnish homesteads for thousands of pioneers. the work begun by the brave french explorers of earlier centuries was brought to a triumphant close by these two native american discoverers. iii the conspiracy of aaron burr there is a small island in the ohio river, two miles below the town of parkersburg, that is still haunted with the memory of a strange conspiracy. in the island, then some three hundred acres in size, belonged to an irish gentleman, harman blennerhassett, who had built a beautiful home there and planted fields of hemp. for a time he and his family lived there in great content, blennerhassett himself being devoted to science and to music, but presently he felt the need of increasing his small fortune and looked about for a suitable enterprise. then there was introduced to him a gentleman from new york, a very well-known man by the name of aaron burr. he also was seeking to make his fortune, and he took blennerhassett into his confidence. together they plotted a conspiracy. they started to put their plans into action, and many people called them patriots, and many called them traitors. history does not know all the secrets of that small island, but it tells a curious story of the conspiracy. aaron burr was a very talented and fascinating man, but he was a born adventurer. at this time he was about fifty years old. he had fought in the revolution, and practiced law in new york city, where he divided honors with alexander hamilton, the most brilliant attorney of the period. he had been elected a senator, and then had become a candidate for president of the united states. in the election of the electoral college cast seventy-three votes apiece for thomas jefferson and aaron burr, and these two candidates led all the others. as there was a tie, the choice of president was thrown into the house of representatives, and there followed a long and bitter fight. finally jefferson was chosen president, and burr vice-president. in the long campaign burr made many enemies, chief among whom were the powerful new york families of clinton and livingston. these men charged him with being a political trickster, and won most of his followers away from him. when burr became a candidate for governor of new york he was beaten, and his defeat was made more bitter by the stinging attacks of his old rival, alexander hamilton. in that day it was still the custom for gentlemen to settle questions of honor on the dueling field. burr, stung by hamilton's criticisms, challenged him, and the two met on the heights of weehawken, overlooking the hudson river. here burr wounded hamilton so severely that the latter died a few days later. hounded by hamilton's friends, the luckless burr now found himself cast out by both the federalists and republicans, and with no political future. yet he knew that he had unusual talents for leadership. still filled with ambition and in great need of money, he saw that there was little opportunity for him at home, and began to turn his eyes outside of the republic. the western world was then a wonderful field for daring adventurers. thirteen small colonies lying close to the atlantic ocean had less than twenty years before thrown off the yoke of a great european nation. men had already pushed west to the mississippi, and settled the fertile fields beyond the alleghanies. across the great "mother of rivers" lay a vast tract that men knew little about. to the south lay spanish colonies and islands. the gulf of mexico was the home of freebooters and pirates. in europe a man of the people named napoleon bonaparte was carving out an empire for himself, and stirring the blood of all ambitious men. soldiers of fortune everywhere were wondering whether they might not follow in napoleon's footsteps. it is hard to say in which direction burr was tempted first. he wanted to hide his real plans not only from his own countrymen, but from the english, french, and spanish agents as well. he first pretended to anthony merry, the british minister at washington, that he intended to join a conspiracy to start a revolution in the spanish colonies, in the hope of turning them into a new republic. mr. merry told his government that it would be to the advantage of england if mr. burr's plans succeeded. but even then burr was working on a different scheme. he thought that the people of louisiana, a large territory at the mouth of the mississippi river, which had only lately become a part of the united states, might be induced to separate into a new nation of their own. he needed money for his plans, and so he kept pointing out to the british minister the many advantages to england if either the spanish colonies or louisiana should win freedom. a third plan was also dawning in burr's mind, the possibility of entering mexico and carving out a kingdom there for himself. so he began by dealing with the agents of different countries, trying to get money from each for his own secret schemes. in the spring of burr set out for the west. he took coach for the journey over the mountains to pittsburgh, where he had arranged by letter to meet general james wilkinson, the governor of the new territory of louisiana. wilkinson was delayed, however, and so burr embarked in an ark that he had ordered built to sail down the ohio river. after several days on the water he reached blennerhassett island early in may. the owner of the island was away from home, but his wife invited burr to their house, and he learned from her that her husband was looking for a way to mend his fortunes. next day burr continued his journey in the ark. he reached cincinnati, then a very small town of fifteen hundred people, where he talked over his plans with several friends. from cincinnati he went to louisville, and from there rode to frankfort. at nashville he was the guest of andrew jackson, who was major-general of the tennessee militia. word spread about that aaron burr was plotting to free florida and the west indies from spanish rule, and the liberty-loving settlers welcomed him with open arms. leaving andrew jackson, burr floated in an open boat to the mouth of the cumberland river, where his ark, which had come down the ohio, was waiting for him. the ark made its first stop at a frontier post called fort massac, and there burr met general wilkinson of louisiana. these two men were real soldiers of fortune. they had fought side by side at the walls of quebec, and wilkinson, like many another, had fallen under the spell of burr's charm. they probably discussed the whole situation: how a small army might seize florida, how a small navy could drive the spaniards from cuba, how a daring band of frontiersmen could march from vera cruz to the city of mexico. wilkinson seemed delighted with burr's schemes, and when he left he provided his friend with a large barge manned by ten soldiers and a sergeant. in this imposing vessel burr sailed on down the mississippi to new orleans, and on june , , landed at that quaint old city. it was already a place of much importance; seagoing ships and thousands of river flatboats docked at its levees, for it was the chief port for sending goods to mexico and the other spanish colonies. burr brought letters to many prominent people, and a public dinner was given in his honor. the visitor had been vice-president of the united states, and was said to be the leader of a band of mysterious patriots. enthusiasm ran high in new orleans when their guest said, as he had already announced in tennessee, that he intended to devote his life to overthrowing all spanish rule in america. day after day the soldier of fortune was busy with his plans. when he started north on horseback he carried with him the fame of a great patriot. wherever he stopped, at cabins, at villages, or cities, the frontiersmen wanted to shake his hand. he rode four hundred and fifty miles through the wilderness from natchez to nashville, where he again visited andrew jackson, who promised him tennessee soldiers for a war on spain. at st. louis he learned that general zebulon pike was exploring the best route over the plains to santa fé, and many letters told him that the time was ripe to settle old grudges with the borderers of mexico. everything seemed favorable to his adventure. burr had only to decide where he would strike first. he was back in the east by the middle of november, , having filled the whole country with rumors of wild plots and insurrections. he was a figure of mystery. people whispered that aaron burr was to be the washington of a new republic in the west, or the king of a country to be carved out of mexico. by the summer of burr knew that he could not get money from england to further his plans. he would have to depend on his own countrymen in any attack on mexico or spain. his journey had showed him that many of them were eager to follow his lead. troubles were daily increasing along the borders of florida and mexico. it looked easy to take an army into florida, but there would be more profit in the rich country to the southwest. his friend, general wilkinson, had just been sent to drive the mexicans across the sabine river, the western boundary of louisiana, and burr thought this was a good chance to go west again, and perhaps call the settlers to arms. men he trusted started west early in the summer of , and burr, with his daughter, and a colonel de pestre, who had fought in the french revolution, and a few friends and servants, set out in august for their meeting-place on blennerhassett island. when he arrived there he was warmly welcomed by the owner. burr showed blennerhassett how he could make his fortune in mexico, because if the conspiracy were successful they could take a large part of that country for themselves. fired by burr's story the men on the island immediately began preparations. they sent to the town of marietta for one hundred barrels of pork, and contracted to have fifteen boats delivered at the island the following december. a kiln was built near blennerhassett's house for drying corn, which was then ground into meal, and packed for shipping. all sorts of provisions were purchased, and the blennerhassett family prepared to send their household goods down the river. word of the plans spread, and men in various towns near the ohio made ready to join the expedition. when the leader should send out his messengers recruits would come pouring in. in the meantime burr himself had left the little island and covered a wide stretch of country. he wanted to be sure of andrew jackson's aid, and he found that fiery warrior as ready as ever to fight spaniard or mexican in the cause of liberty. the general still thought that his friend burr's only object was to free all of north america. eager in that cause, jackson sent word to the tennessee militia, urging them to be ready for instant duty against the spaniards, who, he said, had already captured several citizens of the united states, had cut down our flag, had driven our explorers away from the red river, and had taken an insulting position on the east bank of the river sabine, in the territory of orleans. he wrote to president jefferson offering to lead his tennessee militia against the troops of spain. a large part of the country expected war at once. burr, for his own purposes, did all he could to inflame this warlike feeling. in october the chief conspirator met his daughter, theodosia alston, her husband, and blennerhassett at lexington, kentucky. he now arranged to buy a tract, known as the bastrop lands, which included nearly a million acres in northern louisiana on the washita river. this purchase he meant to use as a blind, intending to settle there only in case his other plans failed. if the united states government should suspect the conspirators of plotting against mexico, they could pretend to be merely settlers, armed to defend themselves in case the spaniards should overrun their borders. the tract would be valuable in any case, because of the rich bottom-lands and vast forests, and made a splendid base for a raid into the spanish provinces. recruits were added daily to burr's forces. he told them as much or as little of his schemes as he thought advisable. to some he said that he was a secret agent of the government, to others that he only meant to start a new pioneer settlement. if there should be war with spain the men who followed him would share in the spoils, if victorious. if there was no war they would be ready to protect the border against invaders. there were some people, however, who could not get over their distrust of burr because of what he had done. the mysterious preparations at blennerhassett island caused some uneasiness in the neighborhood, and on october th a mass meeting of the people of wood county, virginia, was held, and the military preparations on the island were denounced. blennerhassett was away at the time, but his wife, hearing of the meeting, grew uneasy, and sent her gardener, peter taylor, to tell her husband this news. taylor found the conspirators at lexington, and gave them mrs. blennerhassett's message. the gardener was evidently taken into his master's confidence, because he said later that the plan was "to take mexico, one of the finest and richest places in the whole world." he added, "colonel burr would be the king of mexico, and mrs. alston, daughter of colonel burr, was to be queen of mexico, whenever colonel burr died.... colonel burr had made fortunes for many in his time, but none for himself; but now he was going to make something for himself. he said that he had a great many friends in the spanish territory; no less than two thousand roman catholic priests were engaged, and all their friends would join, if once he could get to them; that the spaniards, like the french, had got dissatisfied with their government, and wanted to swap it." president jefferson could no longer overlook the adventures of burr and his friends. he knew that very little was needed to kindle the flame of war on the mexican border. but he had his hands full with foreign affairs; england was making trouble for american sailors, and napoleon was setting the whole world by the ears. so the busy president wrote to his agents in the west and urged them to keep a secret watch over colonel burr and blennerhassett island. war with spain almost came that summer. there were many disputed boundary lines between the united states and the spanish colonies. the spanish troops in florida, texas, and mexico were prepared for an attack from the united states, and spanish agents were urging indian tribes to rise against the white men. men protested in western cities and towns. the people of orleans territory were afraid that spain was going to try to win back their country by force of arms. on the th of july, , the people of new orleans held a great patriotic celebration, and in the evening a play called, "washington; or the liberty of the new world," was acted to a huge audience. even the creoles, who were more spanish than anglo-saxon, were eager to fight against the old tyranny of spain. in the midst of this war excitement word came that a man born in venezuela, named francesco miranda, had sailed from new york to free his native country from spanish rule. miranda was looked upon as a hero and patriot by many people in the united states, and this encouraged burr and his friends. there were in about one thousand soldiers in texas, which was then a province of mexico. these troops were ordered to cross the sabine river, which formed a part of the disputed boundary, and as soon as they did cross the governor of louisiana called for volunteers, and the people of mississippi territory prepared to march to the aid of new orleans. the meeting place of the volunteers was natchitoches, and there hundreds of countrymen came flocking, armed, and eager to defend louisiana. everything seemed ready for aaron burr to launch his great adventure. but at this point burr's former friend, general james wilkinson, the governor of louisiana, changed his mind as to the wisdom of burr's schemes. he would not give the order to the volunteers to march to the mexican border, but waited, hoping that president jefferson would prevent the war by diplomacy, or that the spanish troops would decide to retreat. on september th a great crowd in nashville hailed colonel burr as the deliverer of the southwest, and andrew jackson proclaimed, "millions for defense; not one cent for tribute;" and at the same time the mexican general herrera ordered his troops to retreat from the river sabine. danger of war was over, and the moment the flag of spain left the louisiana shore, burr's dream of an empire for himself and his friends vanished. general wilkinson knew that the government in washington was suspicious of aaron burr's plans, and he thought that his name was included among those of burr's friends. some newspapers had even linked their names together, and the general, knowing perhaps the treachery of his own thoughts, now decided to prove his patriotism by accusing aaron burr and the others of treason. all the time that he was making a treaty with the mexican general on the texan frontier he was also working up a strong case against burr. he saw to it that the agents put all suspicion on the shoulders of the others, and made him appear as the one man who had tried his best to protect his country. he intended to show that not only was he not a traitor, but that he was able to unmask traitors, by having pretended to join with them earlier. in his sudden eagerness to prevent war with the mexicans, general wilkinson made terms of peace with them, which proved a great disadvantage to the united states at a later date, but which pleased the peace party of the day. he met the mexican general at the very time when burr and his allies were ready to launch their fleet of boats on the mississippi river. then wilkinson made haste to raise the cry of "treason in the west," which was to echo through the united states for months, and ruin the reputation of many men. president jefferson trusted wilkinson, and when he heard the latter's charges against burr he sent a special messenger to see what was happening at blennerhassett island. before the messenger reached the alleghany mountains, however, another man had accused burr in the court at frankfort, kentucky, of having broken the laws of the country in starting an expedition against mexico. burr said that he could easily answer these charges, and sent a message to blennerhassett, telling him not to be disturbed. he went to the court at frankfort, and when the man who had accused him could not bring his witnesses the matter was promptly dropped. burr was more a hero than ever to the people of frankfort. they agreed with a leading newspaper that said, "colonel burr has throughout this business conducted himself with the calmness, moderation, and firmness which have characterized him through life. he evinced an earnest desire for a full and speedy investigation--free from irritation or emotion; he excited the strongest sensation of respect and friendship in the breast of every impartial person present." burr then went back to lexington, and continued raising money to buy a fleet of boats. andrew jackson had already received three thousand dollars in kentucky for this purpose. blennerhassett went on enrolling volunteers. it looked as if burr's conduct at frankfort had put an end to the rumors of treason. general wilkinson, however, was still anxious to make a name for himself as a great patriot, and he kept sending alarming messages to washington. he accused his former friend of all sorts of treason. it was also perfectly clear that a large number of boats were being gathered on the ohio under orders of burr and his friends, and so president jefferson sent word to the officers at marietta to post one hundred and fifty or two hundred soldiers on the river to prevent burr's fleet sailing. with the news of this order people in the west began to suspect their former hero, and even some of his old allies grew doubtful of his patriotism. wilkinson increased the alarm by orders he gave in new orleans as governor of louisiana territory. he began to make military arrests, locking up all those he distrusted, and all those who were admirers of aaron burr. he had gunboats stationed in the river, and they were ordered to fire on burr's fleet if it ever got that far, and he refused to allow any boats to ascend the mississippi without his express permission. all this preparation caused great excitement in new orleans, which spread through the neighboring country. it seemed as if general wilkinson were trying to force the people to believe there was some great conspiracy on foot. the colonel and his allies tried to explain that their fleet of boats was simply to carry settlers, arms and provisions into the bastrop tract of land that they had bought; but by now nobody would believe them. on december , , the boats that blennerhassett had been gathering on the muskingum river were seized by order of the governor of ohio. patrols were placed along the ohio river, and the militia called out to capture blennerhassett and the men with him. the next day the virginia militia declared that they meant to find out the secret of blennerhassett island. the owner and his friend, comfort tyler, had word of this, and at once prepared for flight. at midnight they left the island and started down the ohio by boat. the virginia troops arrived to find the place deserted, and, leaving sentinels there, started in pursuit of blennerhassett. the next day the sentries captured a flatboat with fourteen boys on board, who were coming from pittsburgh to join burr. people along the ohio began to expect attacks from burr's recruits. cincinnati was especially alarmed. one of the newspapers there stated that three of burr's armed boats were anchored near the city, which they meant to attack. that night some practical joker exploded a bomb, and the people thought that burr's army was firing on them. the citizens armed, and the militia was called out, but when they came to inspect the boats on the river next day they found that those they thought belonged to burr were vessels of a louisville merchant loaded with dry-goods. no story was now too wild to be believed when it was attached to the name of burr or blennerhassett. burr now only intended to sail down to his own lands. on december th he sent word to blennerhassett that he would be at the mouth of the cumberland river on the twenty-third. two days later he put a number of horses on one of his boats, and with a few men to help him, floated down the cumberland river to its mouth, where blennerhassett and the rest of their party were waiting for him. they joined their seven boats to his two vessels, and had a fleet of nine ships with about sixty men on board. on december th they sailed down the ohio, and the next night anchored a little below fort massac. country people along the river saw the flotilla pass, and sent word of it to the nearest military post. the captain there stopped all ships, but found nothing suspicious on any of them. "colonel burr, late vice-president," the officer reported, "passed this way with about ten boats of different descriptions, navigated with about six men each, having nothing on board that would even suffer a conjecture more than that he was a man bound to market. he has descended the river toward orleans." on the last day of the fleet reached the broad waters of the mississippi river. four days later they dropped anchor at chickasaw bluffs, now the city of memphis. again officers boarded the boats, and after examining the cargoes allowed them to go on their voyage. on january th they reached mississippi territory, and here they found the excitement intense. the fleet was now in territory that was under the charge of general wilkinson, and he immediately sent three hundred and seventy-five soldiers from natchez to prevent burr's further progress. on january th two officers rowed out to the boats, and were received pleasantly by colonel burr, who laughed at general wilkinson's suspicions, and, pointing to his peaceful flotilla, asked if it looked as if it were meant for war? when he was told that the soldiers had orders to stop him, he answered that he was willing to appear in court at any time. this satisfied the two officers, who asked him to ride next day to the town of washington, which was the capital of mississippi territory, and appear before the court there. burr agreed, and early next morning rode to washington with the two officers who had called on him. there he was charged with having conspired against the united states government. his friends on the river remained on their boats, waiting for his return. the expedition never went any farther. burr promised to stay in the territory until the charges against him were cleared up. his charm of manner won him many friends, and people would not believe him a traitor. when the grand jury met they decided that aaron burr was not guilty of treason. the judge, however, would not set him free, and burr realized that general wilkinson was using all his power against him. he thought that his only chance of safety lay in defying the court, and taking the advice of some friends fled to a hiding-place near the home of colonel osmun, an old acquaintance. he meant to leave that part of the country, but the severe weather blocked his plans. heavy rains had swollen all the streams, and he had to change his route. he set out with one companion, but had to ask a farmer the road to the house of colonel hinson. the farmer suspected that one of the horsemen was aaron burr, and knew that a large reward had been offered for his capture. he carried his news to the sheriff, and then to the officers at fort stoddert. a lieutenant from the fort with four soldiers joined the farmer, and, mounting fast horses, they rode after the two men. early the next morning they came up with them. the lieutenant demanded in the name of the government of the united states whether one of the horsemen was colonel burr. aaron burr admitted his name, and was put under arrest. he was taken to the fort, and held there as a fugitive from justice. the cry of "treason in the west" had been heard all over the country. the great expedition against mexico had dwindled to a small voyage to settle certain timber-lands. the formidable fleet was only nine ordinary river boats. the army of rebels had shrunk to less than sixty peaceful citizens; and the store of arms and ammunition had been reduced to a few rifles and powder-horns. moreover aaron burr had neither attempted to fight nor to resist arrest. he had merely fled when he thought he stood little chance of a fair trial. yet the cry of treason had so alarmed the country that the government found it necessary to try the man who had so nearly defeated jefferson for the presidency. orders were sent to bring aaron burr east. after a journey that lasted twenty-one days the prisoner was lodged in the eagle tavern in richmond, virginia. here chief-justice marshall examined the charges against burr, and held him in bail to appear at the next term of court. the bail was secured, and on the afternoon of april st burr was once more set at liberty. from then until the day of the trial interest in the case grew. everywhere people discussed the question whether aaron burr had been a traitor to his country. by the time for the hearing of the case feeling against him ran high. when court met on may , , richmond was crowded with many of the most prominent men of the time, drawn by the charges against a man who had so lately been vice-president. it was not until the following august that colonel burr was actually put on trial. the question was simply whether he had planned to make war against the united states. there were many witnesses, led by the faithless general wilkinson, who were ready to declare that the purpose of the meetings at blennerhassett island was to organize an army to divide the western country from the rest of the republic. each side was represented by famous lawyers; and the battle was hard fought. in the end, however, the jury found that aaron burr was not guilty of treason. no matter what burr and blennerhassett and their friends had planned to do in mexico, the jury could not believe they had been so mad as to plot a war against the united states. burr, although now free, was really a man without a country. he went to england and france, and in both countries engaged in plans for freeing the colonies of spain. but both in england and in france the people looked upon him with suspicion, remembering his strange history. at the end of four years he returned to the united states. here he found that some of his early plans were coming to fulfilment. revolts were breaking out in florida, in mexico, and in some of the west indies. he was allowed no part in any of these uprisings. florida became a part of the united states, and in time burr saw the men of texas begin a struggle for freedom from mexico. when he read the news of this, he exclaimed, "there! you see! i was right! i was only thirty years too soon. what was treason in me thirty years ago is patriotism now!" later he was asked whether he had really planned to divide the union when he started on his voyage from blennerhassett island. he answered, "no; i would as soon have thought of taking possession of the moon, and informing my friends that i intended to divide it among them." such is the story of aaron burr, a real soldier of fortune, who wanted to carve out a new country for himself, and came to be "a man without a country." iv how the young republic fought the barbary pirates i long after pirates had been swept from the western ocean they flourished in the mediterranean sea. they hailed from the northern coast of africa, where between the mediterranean and the desert of sahara stretched what were known as the barbary states. these states were morocco, algeria, tunis, tripoli, and the tiny state of barca, which was usually included in tripoli. algeria, or, as it was commonly called from the name of its capital, algiers, was the home of most of the mediterranean pirates. there was hardly a port in the whole of that inland sea that had not seen a fleet of the pirates' boats sweep down upon some innocent merchant vessel, board her, overpower the crew, and carry them off to be sold in the african slave-markets. their ships were usually square-rigged sailing vessels, which were commonly called galleons. the pirates did not trust to cannon, and the peculiar shape of the ships gave them a good chance for hand-to-hand fighting. the dark-skinned crew would climb out on the long lateen yards that hung over their enemies' deck, and drop from the yards and from the rigging, their sabers held between their teeth, their loaded pistols stuck in their belts, so that they might have free use of their hands for climbing and clinging to ropes and gunwales. strange as it seems, the great countries of europe made no real effort to destroy these pirates of the barbary coast, but instead actually paid them bribes in order to protect their crews. the larger countries thought that, as they could afford to pay the tribute that the pirates demanded, and their smaller rivals could not, the pirates might actually serve them by annoying other countries. so england and france, and the other big nations of europe, put up with all sorts of insults at the hands of these moorish buccaneers, and many times their consuls were ill-treated and their sailors made to work in slave-gangs because they had not paid as much tribute as the moors demanded. many an american skipper fell into the hands of these corsairs. the brig _polly_ of newburyport, massachusetts, was heading for the spanish port of cadiz in october, , when she was overhauled by a brig flying the english flag. as the brig came near her captain hailed the _polly_ in english, asking where she was bound. meanwhile the brig ran close in beside the _polly_, and the americans saw a large number of men, moors by the look of their beards and dress, spring up from under the rail. this crew launched a big boat, and nearly one hundred men, armed with swords, pistols, spears, and knives, were rowed up to the _polly_. the moors sprang on board. the yankees were greatly outnumbered, and were driven into the cabin, while the pirates broke open all the trunks and chests, and stripped the brig of everything that could be moved. the prisoners were then rowed to the moorish ship, which sailed for algiers. there they were landed and marched to the palace of the dey, or ruler of algiers, while the people clapped their hands, shouted, and gave thanks for the capture of so many "christian dogs." they were put in prison, where they found other americans, and nearly six hundred christians of other countries, all of whom were treated as slaves. on the next day each captive was loaded with chains, fastened around his waist and joined to a ring about his ankle. they were then set to work in rigging and fitting out ships, in blasting rocks in the mountains, or carrying stones for the palace the dey was building. their lot was but little better than that of the slaves of olden times who worked for the pharaohs. as more american sailors were captured and made slaves their friends at home grew more and more eager to put an end to these pirates, and when the revolution was over the young republic of the united states began to heed the appeals for help that came from the slave-markets along the barbary coast. the republic found, however, that so long as england and france were paying tribute to the pirates it would be easier for her to do the same thing than to fight them. the american navy was very small, and the mediterranean was far distant. england seemed actually to be encouraging the pirates, thinking that their attacks on american ships would injure the country that had lately won its independence. so the united states made the best terms it could with the rulers of algiers, morocco, tunis, and tripoli, and paid heavy ransoms for the release of the captives. there was little self-respect or honor among the moorish chiefs, however. one dey succeeded another, each more greedy than the last, and each demanded more tribute money or threatened to seize all the americans he could lay hands upon. the consuls had to be constantly making presents in order to keep the moors in a good humor, and whenever the dey felt the need of more money he would demand it of the united states consul, and threaten to throw him in prison if he refused. this state of affairs was very unpleasant for free men, but for a number of years it had to be put up with. when captain bainbridge dropped anchor off algiers in command of the united states frigate _george washington_, the dey demanded that he should carry a moorish envoy to constantinople with presents for the sultan of turkey. bainbridge did not like to be treated as a messenger boy; but the dey said, "you pay me tribute, by which you become my slaves. i have, therefore, a right to order you as i may think proper." bainbridge had no choice but to obey the command, or leave american merchant vessels at the mercy of the moors, and so he carried the dey's presents to the sultan. as all the barbary states throve on war, in that way gaining support from the enemies of the country they attacked, one or the other was constantly making war. in may, , the pasha of tripoli declared war against the united states, cut down the american flagstaff at his capital, and sent out his pirate ships. in reply the united states ordered a squadron of four vessels under command of commodore richard dale to sail to the mediterranean. this squadron did good service, capturing a number of the galleys of tripoli, and exchanging moorish prisoners for american slaves. but the pirates were like a swarm of hornets; they stung wherever they got a chance, and as soon as the war-ships were out of sight they would steal out from their hiding-places to terrorize the coast. the united states had to keep sending squadrons to act as policemen. when the fleet kept together the moors had proper respect for them, but once the ships separated they became the target for the hornets. the frigate _philadelphia_, of thirty-six guns, was detailed in october, , to blockade the port of tripoli. the morning after she reached there she saw a ship inshore preparing to sail westward. the frigate gave chase, and as the other vessel carried the colors of tripoli, the frigate opened fire. as she chased the moor the _philadelphia_ ran on a shelving rock that was part of a long reef. her crew worked hard to get her off, but she stuck fast. as the moors on shore saw the plight of the _philadelphia_ they manned their boats, and soon she was surrounded by a swarm of pirate galleys. the galleys sailed under the fire of the frigate's heavy guns, and came up to close quarters, where the cannon could not reach them. the americans were helpless, and by sunset commodore bainbridge had to strike his flag. as soon as he surrendered the moors swarmed over the sides of his ship, broke everything they could lay their hands on, stripped officers and men of their uniforms, and tumbled them into the small boats. the prisoners were landed at night, and led to the castle gate. the sailors were treated as slaves, but the officers were received by the pasha in the great marble-paved hall of his palace, where that ruler, dressed in silks and jewels, and surrounded by a gorgeous court, asked them many questions, and later offered them supper. but the favor of the pasha was as fickle as the wind; within a day or two he was treating the american officers much as he treated his other christian captives, and the crew, three hundred and seven in number, were worked as slaves. meantime the moors, using anchors and cables, succeeded in pulling the _philadelphia_ off the reef, and the frigate was pumped out and made seaworthy. she was brought into the harbor, to the delight of the pasha and his people at owning so fine a war-ship. the loss of the _philadelphia_ was a severe blow, not only to american pride, but to american fortunes. the squadron was now much too small for service, and bainbridge and his crew were hostages the united states must redeem. it fell to the lot of commodore preble to take charge of the american ships in the mediterranean, and he began to discuss terms of peace with tripoli through an agent of the pasha at malta. by these terms the frigate _philadelphia_ was to be exchanged for a schooner, and the moorish prisoners in preble's hands, sixty in number, were to be exchanged for as many of the american prisoners in tripoli, and the rest of the american captives were to be ransomed at five hundred dollars a man. before these terms were agreed upon, however, a more daring plan occurred to the american commodore, and on february , , he entrusted a delicate task to stephen decatur, who commanded the schooner _enterprise_. decatur picked a volunteer crew, put them on board the ships _siren_ and _intrepid_, and sailed for tripoli. they reached that port on february th, and to avoid suspicion the _intrepid_ drew away from the other ship and anchored after dark about a mile west of the town. a small boat with a pilot and midshipman was sent in to reconnoiter the harbor. they reported that the sea was breaking across the western entrance, and as the weather was threatening advised decatur not to try to enter that night. the two american ships therefore stood offshore, and were driven far to the east by a gale. the weather was so bad that it was not until february th that they returned to tripoli. this time the _intrepid_ sailed slowly toward the town, while the _siren_, disguised as a merchantman, kept some distance in the rear. the frigate _philadelphia_, now the pasha's prize ship, lay at anchor in the harbor, and the _intrepid_ slowly drifted toward her in the light of the new moon. no one on ship or shore realized the real purpose of the slowly-moving _intrepid_. had the men at the forts on shore or the watchman at the pasha's castle suspected her purpose they could have blown her from the water with their heavy guns. the _intrepid_ drifted closer and closer, with her crew hidden, except for six or eight men dressed as maltese sailors. decatur stood by the pilot at the helm. when the little ship was about one hundred yards from the _philadelphia_ she was hailed and ordered to keep away. the pilot answered that his boat had lost her anchor in the storm, and asked permission to make fast to the frigate for the night. this was given, and the moorish officer on the _philadelphia_ asked what the ship in the distance was. the pilot said that she was the _transfer_, a vessel lately purchased at malta by the moors, which was expected at tripoli about that time. the pilot kept on talking in order to lull the moors' suspicions, and meantime the little _intrepid_ came close under the port bow of the _philadelphia_. just then the wind shifted and held the schooner away from the frigate, and directly in range of her guns. again the moors had a chance to destroy the american boat and crew if they had known her real object. they did not suspect it, however. each ship sent out a small boat with a rope, and when the ropes were joined the two ships were drawn close together. when the vessels were almost touching some one on the _philadelphia_ suddenly shouted, "americanos!" at the same moment decatur gave the order "board!" and the american crew sprang over the side of the frigate and jumped to her deck. the moors were huddled on the forecastle. decatur formed his men in line and charged. the surprised moors made little resistance, and decatur quickly cleared the deck of them; some jumped into the sea, and others escaped in a large boat. the americans saw that they could not get the _philadelphia_ safely out of the harbor, and so quickly brought combustibles from the _intrepid_, and stowing them about the _philadelphia_, set her on fire. in a very few minutes she was in flames, and the americans jumped from her deck to their own ship. it took less than twenty minutes to capture and fire the _philadelphia_. decatur ordered his men to the oars, and the _intrepid_ beat a retreat from the harbor. but now the town of tripoli was fully aroused. the forts opened fire on the little schooner. a ship commanded the channel through which she had to sail, but fortunately for the _intrepid_ the moors' aim was poor, and the only shot that struck her was one through the topgallantsail. the harbor was brightly lighted now. the flames had run up the mast and rigging of the _philadelphia_, and as they reached the powder loud explosions echoed over the sea. presently the cables of the frigate burned, and the _philadelphia_ drifted ashore and blew up. in the meantime the _intrepid_ reached the entrance safely, and joining the _siren_ set sail for syracuse. the blowing up of the _philadelphia_ was one of the most daring acts ever attempted by the united states navy, and won decatur great credit. it weakened the pasha's strength, and kept his pirate crews in check. instead of making terms with the moorish ruler, the united states decided to attack his capital, and in the summer of , commodore preble collected his squadron before tripoli. on august d the fleet approached the land batteries, and in the afternoon began to throw shells into the town. the moors immediately opened fire, both from the forts and from their fleet of nineteen gunboats and two galleys that lay in the harbor. preble divided his ships, and ordered them to close in on the enemy's vessels, although the latter outnumbered them three to one. again decatur was the hero of the fight. he and his men boarded a moorish gunboat and fought her crew hand-to-hand across the decks. he captured the first vessel, and then boarded a second. decatur singled out the captain, a gigantic moor, and made for him. the moor thrust at him with a pike, and decatur's cutlass was broken off at the hilt. another thrust of the pike cut his arm, but the american seized the weapon, tore it away, and threw himself on the moor. the crews were fighting all around their leaders, and a moorish sailor aimed a blow at decatur's head with a scimitar. an american seaman struck the blow aside, and the scimitar gashed his own scalp. the moorish captain, stronger than decatur, got him underneath, and drawing a knife, was about to kill him, when decatur caught the moor's arm with one hand, thrust his other hand into his pocket, and fired his revolver. the moor was killed, and decatur sprang to his feet. soon after the enemy's crew surrendered. the other united states ships had been almost as successful, and the battle taught the americans that the barbary pirates could be beaten in hand-to-hand fighting as well as at long range. [illustration: decatur caught the moor's arm] the pasha was not ready to come to terms even after that day's defeat, however, and on august th commodore preble ordered another attack. again the harbor shook under the guns of the fleet and the forts, and at sunset preble had to withdraw. to avoid further bloodshed the commodore sent a flag of truce to the pasha, and offered to pay eighty thousand dollars for the ransom of the american prisoners, and to make him a present of ten thousand dollars more. the pasha, however, demanded one hundred and fifty thousand dollars, and preble was not willing to pay that amount. so later in august he attacked tripoli again. each of these bombardments did great damage to the city, but the forts were too strong to be captured. the blockading fleet, however, held its position, and on september d opened fire again in the last of its assaults. in spite of the heavy firing the pasha refused to pull down his flag. on the night of september th a volunteer crew took the little _intrepid_ into the harbor. she was filled with combustibles, and when she was close to the moorish ships the powder was to be fired by a fuse that would give time for the crew to escape in a small boat. the night was dark, and the fleet soon lost sight of this fire-ship. she took the right course through the channel, but before she was near the moors she was seen and they opened fire on her. then came a loud explosion, and the _intrepid_, with her crew, was blown into the air. no one knows whether one of the enemy's shots or her own crew fired the powder. this was the greatest disaster that befell the united states navy during all its warfare with the barbary pirates. soon after commodore preble sailed for home, though most of his fleet were kept in the mediterranean to protect american sailing vessels. the government at washington, tired with the long warfare in the mediterranean, soon afterward ordered the consul at algiers, tobias lear, to treat for peace with the pasha. a bargain was finally struck. one hundred moors were exchanged for as many of the american captives, and sixty thousand dollars were paid as ransom for the rest. june , , the american sailors, who had been slaves for more than nineteen months, were released from their chains and sent on board the war-ship _constitution_. the pasha declared himself a friend of the united states, and saluted its flag with twenty-one guns from his castle and forts. in the barbary states rulers followed one another in rapid succession. he who was dey or pasha one week might be murdered by an enemy the next, and that enemy on mounting the throne was always eager to get as much plunder as he could. treaties meant little to any of them, and so other countries kept on paying them tribute for the sake of peace. the united states fell into the habit of buying peace with algiers, tripoli, morocco, and tunis by gifts of merchandise or gold or costly vessels. but the more that was given to them the more greedy these moorish rulers grew, and so it happened that from time to time they sent out their pirates to board american ships in order to frighten the young republic into paying heavier tribute. seven years later the second chapter of our history with the barbary pirates opened. ii the brig _edwin_ of salem, massachusetts, was sailing under full canvas through the mediterranean sea, bound out from malta to gibraltar, on august , . at her masthead she flew the stars and stripes. the weather was favoring, the little brig making good speed, and the mediterranean offered no dangers to the skipper. yet captain george smith, and his crew of ten yankee sailors, kept constantly looking toward the south at some distant sails that had been steadily gaining on them since dawn. every stitch of sail on the _edwin_ had been set, but she was being overhauled, and at this rate would be caught long before she could reach gibraltar. captain smith and his men knew who manned those long, low, rakish-looking frigates. but the _edwin_ carried no cannon, and if they could not out-sail the three ships to the south they must yield peaceably, or be shot down on their deck. hour after hour they watched, and by sunset they could see the dark, swarthy faces of the leading frigate's crew. before night the _edwin_ had been overhauled, boarded, and the yankee captain and sailors were in irons, prisoners about to be sold into slavery. they had been captured by one of the pirate crews of the dey of algiers, and when they were taken ashore by these buccaneers they were stood up in the slave market and sold to moors, or put to work in the shipyards. other yankee crews had met with the same treatment. now the united states had been paying its tribute regularly to the pirates, but in the spring of the dey of algiers suddenly woke up to the fact that the americans had been measuring time by the sun while the moors figured it by the moon, and found that in consequence he had been defrauded of almost a half-year's tribute money, or twenty-seven thousand dollars. he sent an indignant message to tobias lear, the american consul at algiers, threatening all sorts of punishments, and mr. lear, taking all things into account, decided it was best to pay the sum claimed by the dey. the united states sent the extra tribute in the shape of merchandise by the sailing vessel _alleghany_; but the dey was now in a very bad temper, and declared that the stores were of poor quality, and ordered the consul to leave at once in the _alleghany_, as he would have no further dealings with a country that tried to cheat him. at almost the same time he received a present from england of two large ships filled with stores of war,--powder, shot, anchors, and cables. he immediately sent out word to the buccaneers to capture all the american ships they could, and sell the sailors in the slave-markets. the dey of algiers appeared to have no fear of the united states. the truth of the matter was that his highness the dey, and also the bey of tunis, had been spoiled by england, who at this time told them confidently that the united states navy was about to be wiped from the seas. english merchants assured them that they could treat captain smith and other yankee skippers exactly as they pleased, since great britain had declared war on the united states, and the latter country would find herself quite busy at home. algiers and tripoli and tunis, remembering their old grudge against the americans, assured their english friends that nothing would delight them so much as to rid the mediterranean of the stars and stripes. the pirates swept down on the brig _edwin_, and laid hands on every american they could find in the neighborhood. they stopped and boarded a ship flying the spanish flag, and took prisoner a mr. pollard, of virginia. tripoli and tunis permitted english cruisers to enter their harbors, contrary to the rules of war, and recapture four english prizes that had been sent to them by the american privateer _abellino_. when the united states offered to pay a ransom of three thousand dollars for every american who was held as a prisoner the dey replied that he meant to capture a large number of them before he would consider any terms of sale. our country was young and poor, and our navy consisted of only seventeen seaworthy ships, carrying less than four hundred and fifty cannon. england was indeed "mistress of the seas," with a great war-fleet of a thousand vessels, armed with almost twenty-eight thousand guns. no wonder that the british consul at algiers had told the dey "the american flag would be swept from the seas, the contemptible navy of the united states annihilated, and its maritime arsenals reduced to a heap of ruins." no wonder the dey believed him. but as a matter of fact the little david outfought the giant goliath; on the great lakes and on the high seas the stars and stripes waved triumphant after many a long and desperate encounter, and the small navy came out of the war of with a glorious record of victories, with splendid officers and crews, and with sixty-four ships. the english friends of the barbary states had been mistaken, and algiers, tunis, and tripoli began to wish they had not been so scornful of the yankees. it was time to show the pirates that americans had as much right to trade in the mediterranean as other people. on february , , a few days after the treaty of peace with england was published, president madison advised that we should send a fleet to algiers. two squadrons were ordered on this service, under command of commodore william bainbridge. one collected at boston, and the other at new york. commodore stephen decatur was in charge of the latter division. decatur's squadron was the first to sail, leaving new york on may , . he had ten vessels in all, his flag-ship being the forty-four-gun frigate _guerrière_, and his officers and crew being all seasoned veterans of the war with england. the fleet of the dey of algiers, however, was no mean foe. it consisted of twelve vessels, well armed and manned, six sloops, five frigates, and one schooner. its admiral was a very remarkable man, one of the fierce tribe of kabyles from the mountains, reis hammida by name, who had made himself the scourge of the mediterranean. he had plenty of reckless courage; once he had boarded and captured in broad daylight a portuguese frigate under the very cliffs of gibraltar, and at another time, being in command of three algerine frigates, had dared to attack a portuguese ship of the line and three frigates, in face of the guns leveled at him from the rock of lisbon, directly opposite. the city of algiers itself was one of the best fortified ports on the mediterranean. it lay in the form of a triangle, one side extending along the sea, while the other two rose against a hill, meeting at the top at the casbah, the historic fortress of the deys. the city was guarded by very thick walls, mounted with many guns, and the harbor, made by a long mole, was commanded by heavy batteries, so that at least five hundred pieces of cannon could be brought to bear on any hostile ships trying to enter. decatur's fleet was only a few days out of new york when it ran into a heavy gale, and the wooden ships were badly tossed about. the _firefly_, a twelve-gun brig, sprung her masts, and had to put back to port. the other ships rode out the storm, and kept on their course to the azores, keeping a sharp watch for any suspicious-looking craft. as they neared the coast of portugal the vigilance was redoubled, for here was a favorite hunting-ground of reis hammida, and decatur knew what the algerine admiral had done before the rock of lisbon. they found no trace of the enemy here, however. at cadiz decatur sent a messenger to the american consul, who informed him that three algerine frigates and some smaller ships had been spoken in the atlantic ocean, but were thought to have returned to the mediterranean. decatur wanted to take the enemy by surprise, and so sailed cautiously to tangier, where he learned that two days earlier reis hammida had gone through the straits of gibraltar in the forty-six-gun frigate _mashuda_. the american captain at once set sail for gibraltar, and found out there that the wily algerine was lying off cape gata, having demanded that spain should pay him half a million dollars of tribute money to protect her coast-towns from attack by his fleet. lookouts on the _guerrière_ reported to decatur that a despatch-boat had left gibraltar as soon as the american ships appeared, and inquiry led the captain to believe the boat was bearing messages to reis hammida. other boats were sailing for algiers, and decatur, realizing the ease with which his wily opponent, thoroughly familiar with the inland sea, would be able to elude him, decided to give chase at once. the fleet headed up the mediterranean june th, under full sail. the next evening ships were seen near shore, and decatur ordered the frigate _macedonian_ and two brigs to overhaul them. early the following morning, when the fleet was about twenty miles out from cape gata, captain gordon, of the frigate _constellation_, sighted a big vessel flying the flag of algiers, and signaled "an enemy to the southeast." decatur saw that the strange ship had a good start of his fleet, and was within thirty hours' run of algiers. he suspected that her captain might not have detected the fleet as american, and ordered the _constellation_ back to her position abeam of his flag-ship, gave directions to try to conceal the identity of his squadron, and stole up on the stranger. the latter was seen to be a frigate, lying to under small sail, as if waiting for some message from the african shore near at hand. one of the commanders asked permission to give chase, but decatur signaled back "do nothing to excite suspicion." the moorish frigate held her position near shore while the american ships drew closer. when they were about a mile distant a quartermaster on the _constellation_, by mistake, hoisted a united states flag. to cover this blunder the other ships were immediately ordered to fly english flags. but the crew of the moorish frigate had seen the flag on the _constellation_, and instantly swarmed out on the yard-arms, and had the sails set for flight. they were splendid seamen, and almost immediately the frigate was leaping under all her canvas for algiers. the americans were busy too. the rigging of each ship was filled with sailors, working out on the yards, the decks rang with commands, and messages were signaled from the flag-ship to the captains. decatur crowded on all sail, fearing that the algerine frigate might escape him in the night or seek refuge in some friendly harbor, and the american squadron raced along at top speed, just as the barbary pirates had earlier chased after the little brig _edwin_, of salem. soon the _constellation_, which was to the south of the fleet and so nearest to the moorish frigate, opened fire and sent several shots on board the enemy. the latter immediately came about, and headed northeast, as if making for the port of carthagena. the americans also tacked, and gained by this manoeuvre, the sloop _ontario_ cutting across the moor's course, and the _guerrière_ being brought close enough for musketry fire. as the flag-ship came to close quarters the moors opened fire, wounding several men, but decatur waited until his ship cleared the enemy's yard-arms, when he ordered a broadside. the crew of the algerine frigate, which was the _mashuda_, were mowed down by this heavy fire. reis hammida himself had already been wounded by one of the first shots from the _constellation_. he had, however, insisted on continuing to give orders from a couch on the quarter-deck, but a shot from the first broadside killed him. the _guerrière's_ gun crews loaded and fired again before the first smoke had cleared; at this second broadside one of her largest guns exploded, killing three men, wounding seventeen, and splintering the spar-deck. the moors made no sign of surrender, but decatur, seeing that there were too few left to fight, and not wishing to pour another broadside into them, sailed past, and took a position just out of range. the algerines immediately tried to run before him. in doing this the big _mashuda_ was brought directly against the little eighteen-gun american brig _epervier_, commanded by john downes. instead of sailing away downes placed his brig under the moor's cabin ports, and by backing and filling escaped colliding with the frigate while he fired his small broadsides at her. this running fire, lasting for twenty-five minutes, finished the moor's resistance, and the frigate surrendered. the flag-ship, the _guerrière_, now took charge of the algerine prize, and decatur sent an officer, two midshipmen, and a crew on board her. the _mashuda_ was a sorry sight, many of her men killed or wounded, and her decks splintered by the american broadsides. the prisoners were transferred to the other ships, and orders were given to the prize-crew to take the captured frigate to the port of carthagena, under escort of the _macedonian_. before this was done, however, decatur signaled all the officers to meet on his flag-ship. in the cabin they found a table covered with captured moorish weapons,--daggers, pistols, scimitars, and yataghans. decatur turned to commandant downes, who had handled the small _epervier_ so skilfully. "as you were fortunate in obtaining a favorable position and maintained it so handsomely, you shall have the first choice of these weapons," he said. downes chose, and then each of the other officers selected a trophy of the victory. that evening the squadron, leaving the _mashuda_ in charge of the _macedonian_, resumed its hunt for other ships belonging to the navy of the piratical dey. the fleet was arriving off cape palos on june th when a brig was seen, looking suspiciously like an algerine craft. when the americans set sail toward her, the stranger ran away. soon she came to shoal water, and the frigates had to leave the chase to the light-draught _epervier_, _spark_, _torch_, and _spitfire_. these followed and opened fire. the strange brig returned several shots, and was then run aground by her crew on the coast between the watch-towers of estacio and albufera, which had been built long before for the purpose of protecting fishermen and peasants from the raids of pirates. the strangers took to their small boats. one of these was sunk by a shot. the americans then boarded the ship, which was the algerine twenty-two-gun brig _estedio_, and captured eighty-three prisoners. the brig was floated off the shoals and sent with a prize-crew into the spanish port of carthagena. decatur, being unable to sight any more ships that looked like moorish craft, and supposing that the rest of the pirate fleet would probably be making for algiers, gave commands to his squadron to sail for that port. he was determined to bring the dey to terms as quickly as possible, and to destroy his fleet, or bombard the city, if that was necessary. when he arrived off the moorish town, however, he found none of the fleet there, and no apparent preparation for war in the harbor. the next morning he ran up the swedish flag at the mainmast, and a white flag at the foremast, a signal asking the swedish consul to come on board the flag-ship. mr. norderling, the consul, came out to the _guerrière_, accompanied by the algerine captain of the port. after some conversation decatur asked the latter for news of the dey's fleet. "by this time it is safe in some neutral port," was the assured answer. "not all of it," said decatur, "for we have captured the _mashuda_ and the _estedio_." the algerine could not believe this, and told the american so. then decatur sent for a wounded lieutenant of the _mashuda_, who was on his ship, and bade him confirm the statement. the moorish officer of the port immediately changed his tactics, dropped his haughty attitude, and gave decatur to understand that he thought the dey would be willing to make a new treaty of peace with the united states. decatur handed the moor a letter from the president to the dey, which stated that the republic would only agree to peace provided algiers would give up her claim to tribute and would cease molesting american merchantmen. the moor wanted to gain as much time as possible, hoping his fleet would arrive, and said that it was the custom to discuss all treaties in the palace on shore. decatur understood the slow and crafty methods of these people, and answered that the treaty should be drawn up and signed on board the _guerrière_ or not at all. seeing that there was no use in arguing with the american the moorish officer went ashore to consult with the dey. next day, june th, the captain of the port returned, with power to act for his highness omar pasha. decatur told him that he meant to put an end to these piratical attacks on americans, and insisted that all his countrymen who were being held as slaves in algiers should be given up, that the value of goods taken from them should be paid them, that the dey should give the owners of the brig _edwin_ of salem ten thousand dollars, that all christians who escaped from algiers to american ships should be free, and that the two nations should act toward each other exactly as other civilized countries did. then the moorish officer began to explain and argue. he said that it was not the present ruling dey, omar pasha, called "omar the terrible" because of his great courage, who had attacked american ships; it was hadji ali, who was called the "tiger" because of his cruelty, but he had been assassinated in march, and his prime minister, who succeeded him, had been killed the following month, and omar pasha was a friend of the united states. decatur replied that his terms for peace could not be altered. the moor then asked for a truce while he should go ashore and confer with the dey. decatur said he would grant no truce. the algerine besought him to make no attack for three hours. "not a minute!" answered decatur. "if your squadron appears before the treaty is actually signed by the dey, and before the american prisoners are sent aboard, i will capture it!" the moorish captain said he would hurry at once to the dey, and added that if the americans should see his boat heading out to the _guerrière_ with a white flag in the bow they would know that omar pasha had agreed to decatur's terms. an hour later the americans sighted an algerine war-ship coming from the east. decatur signaled his fleet to clear for action, and gave orders to his own men on the _guerrière_. the fleet had hardly weighed anchor, however, before the small boat of the port captain was seen dashing out from shore, a white flag in the bow. the excited moor waved to the crew of the flag-ship. as soon as the boat was near enough decatur asked if the dey had signed the treaty, and set the american captives free. the captain assured him of this, and a few minutes later his boat was alongside the flag-ship, and the americans, who had been seized and held by the pirates, were given over to their countrymen. some of them had been slaves for several years, and their delight knew no bounds. in so short a time did decatur succeed in bringing the dey to better terms than he had made with any other country. when the treaty had been signed the dey's prime minister said to the english consul, with reproach in his voice, "you told us that the americans would be swept from the seas in six months by your navy, and now they make war upon us with some of your own vessels which they have taken." as a fact three of the ships in decatur's squadron had actually been won from the english in the war of . the _epervier_, commanded by lieutenant john templer shubrick, was now ordered to return to the united states, with some of the americans rescued from algiers. the fate of the brig is one of the mysteries of the sea. she sailed through the straits of gibraltar july , , and was never heard of again. she is supposed to have been lost in a heavy storm in which a number of english merchantmen foundered near the west indies. algiers had now been brought to her knees by decatur, and he was free to turn to tunis and tripoli. the rulers of each of these countries had been misled by the english agents exactly as had the dey of algiers, and the bey of tunis had allowed the british cruiser _lyra_ to recapture some english prizes that the american privateer _abellino_ had taken into harbor during the war of . like algiers, both tunis and tripoli were well protected by fleets and imposing forts. decatur, however, had now learned that downright and prompt measures were the ones most successful in dealing with the moors, who were used to long delays and arguments. he anchored off tunis on july th, and immediately sent word to the bey that the latter must pay the united states forty-six thousand dollars for allowing the english _lyra_ to seize the american prizes, and that the money must be paid within twelve hours. the united states consul, mordecai m. noah, carried decatur's message to the bey. the moorish ruler was seated on a pile of cushions at a window of his palace, combing his long, flowing black beard with a tortoise-shell comb set with diamonds. mr. noah politely stated decatur's terms. "tell your admiral to come and see me," said the bey. "he declines coming, your highness," answered the consul, "until these disputes are settled, which are best done on board the ship." the bey frowned. "but this is not treating me with becoming dignity. hammuda pasha, of blessed memory, commanded them to land and wait at the palace until he was pleased to receive them." "very likely, your highness," said mr. noah, "but that was twenty years ago." the bey considered. "i know this admiral," he remarked at length; "he is the same one who, in the war with sidi yusuf, burned the frigate." he referred to decatur's burning the _philadelphia_ in the earlier warfare. the consul nodded. "the same." "hum!" said the bey. "why do they send wild young men to treat for peace with old powers? then, you americans do not speak the truth. you went to war with england, a nation with a great fleet, and said you took her frigates in equal fight. honest people always speak the truth." "well, sir, and that was true. do you see that tall ship in the bay flying a blue flag?" the consul pointed through the window. "it is the _guerrière_, taken from the british. that one near the small island, the _macedonian_, was also captured by decatur on equal terms. the sloop near cape carthage, the _peacock_, was also taken in battle." the bey, looking through his telescope, saw a small vessel leave the american fleet and approach the forts. a man appeared to be taking soundings. the bey laid down the telescope. "i will accept the admiral's terms," said he, and resumed the combing of his beard. later he received decatur with a great show of respect. the american consul was also honored, but the british was not treated so well. when a brother of the prime minister paid the money over to decatur the moor turned to the englishman, and said, "you see, sir, what tunis is obliged to pay for your insolence. you should feel ashamed of the disgrace you have brought upon us. i ask you if you think it just, first to violate our neutrality and then to leave us to be destroyed or pay for your aggressions?" having settled matters with tunis, decatur sailed for tripoli, and there sent his demands to the pasha. he asked thirty thousand dollars in payment for two american prizes of war that had been recaptured by the british cruiser _paulina_, a salute of thirty-one guns to be fired from the pasha's palace in honor of the united states flag, and that the treaty of peace be signed on board the _guerrière_. the pasha pretended to be offended, summoned his twenty thousand arab soldiers and manned his cannon; but when he heard how algiers and tunis had already made peace with decatur, and saw that the americans were all prepared for battle, he changed his tactics and sent the governor of tripoli to the flag-ship to treat for peace. the american consul told decatur that twenty-five thousand dollars would make good the lost prize-ships, but that the pasha was holding ten christians as slaves in tripoli. decatur thereupon reduced the amount of his claim on condition that the slaves should be released. this was agreed to. the prisoners, two of whom were danes, and the others sicilians, were sent to the flag-ship, and by way of compliment the band of the _guerrière_ went ashore and played american airs to the delight of the people. the american captain now ordered the rest of his squadron to sail to gibraltar, while the _guerrière_ landed the prisoners at sicily. as the flag-ship came down the coast from carthagena she met that part of the algerine fleet that had put into malta when the americans first arrived in the mediterranean. the _guerrière_ was alone, and decatur thought that the moors, finding him at such a disadvantage, might break their treaty of peace, and attack him. he called his men to the quarter-deck. "my lads," said he, "those fellows are approaching us in a threatening manner. we have whipped them into a treaty, and if the treaty is to be broken let them break it. be careful of yourselves. let any man fire without orders at the peril of his life. but let them fire first if they will, and we'll take the whole of them!" the decks were cleared, and every man stood ready for action. the fleet of seven algerine ships sailed close to the single american frigate in line of battle. the crews looked across the bulwarks at each other, but not a word was said until the last algerine ship was opposite. "where are you going?" demanded the moorish admiral. "wherever it pleases me," answered decatur; and the _guerrière_ sailed on her course. early in october there was a great gathering of american ships at gibraltar. captain bainbridge's fleet, which included the seventy-four-gun ship of the line _independence_, was there when decatur arrived. the war between the united states and england was only recently ended, and the presence of so many ships of the young republic at the english rock of gibraltar caused much talk among the spaniards and other foreigners. the sight of ships which had been english, but which were now american, added to the awkward situation, and more than one duel was fought on the rock as the result of disputes over the war of . the dey of algiers, left to his own advisers and to the whispers of men who were jealous of the united states' success, began to wish he had not agreed to the treaty he had made with decatur. his own people told him that a true son of the prophet should never have humbled himself before the christian dogs. in addition the english government agreed to pay him nearly four hundred thousand dollars to ransom twelve thousand prisoners of naples and sardinia that he was holding. before everything else the dey was greedy. therefore when captain oliver hazard perry, the hero of the battle of lake erie, brought out in the _java_ a copy of the treaty after it had been ratified by the united states senate, and it was presented to the dey by the american consul, william shaler, the ruler of algiers pretended that the united states had changed the treaty, and complained of the way in which decatur had dealt with the algerine ships. next day he refused to meet mr. shaler again, and sent the treaty back to him, saying that the americans were unworthy of his confidence. mr. shaler hauled down the flag at his consulate, and boarded the _java_. fortunately there were five american ships near algiers; and these were made ready to open fire on the moorish vessels in the harbor. plans were also made for a night attack. the small boats of the fleet were divided into two squadrons, to be filled by twelve hundred volunteer sailors. one division was to make for the water battery and try to spike its guns, while the other was to attack the batteries on shore. scaling-ladders were ready, and the men were provided with boarding-spikes; but shortly before they were to embark the captain of a french ship in the harbor got word of the plan and carried the information to the dey. the latter was well frightened, and immediately sent word that he would do whatever his good friends from america wanted. the next day mr. shaler landed again, and the dey signed the treaty. the fleet then called a second time on the bey of tunis, who had been grumbling about his dissatisfaction with decatur's treatment. he too, however, was most friendly when american war-ships poked their noses toward his palace. after that the barbary pirates let american merchantmen trade in peace, although an american squadron of four ships was kept in the mediterranean to see that the dey, and the bey, and the pasha did not forget, and go back to their old tricks. so it was that decatur put an end to the african pirates, so far as the united states was concerned, and taught them that sailors of the young republic, far away though it was, were not to be made slaves by greedy moorish rulers. v the fate of lovejoy's printing-press ever since the thirteen colonies that lay along the atlantic coast had become a nation ambitious men had heard the call, "go west, young man, go west!" there was plenty of fertile land in the country beyond the alleghany mountains, and it was free to any who would settle on it. adventure beckoned men to come and help in founding new states, and many, who thought the villages of new england already overcrowded, betook themselves to the inviting west. one such youth was elijah parrish lovejoy, who came from the little town of albion, in maine, and who, after graduating at waterville college, had become a school-teacher. this did not satisfy him; he wanted to see more of the world than lay in the village of his birth, and when he was twenty-five years old, in may, , he set out westward. the young man was a true son of the puritans, brought up to believe in many ideas that were already often in conflict with the views of men of the south and west. he reached the small city of st. louis, in the pioneer country of missouri, and there he found a chance to teach school. he wrote for several newspapers that were being started, and in the course of the next year edited a political paper that was urging the election of henry clay as president. his interest in politics grew, and he might have sought some public office himself had he not suddenly become convinced that he was meant to be a minister, and determined to prepare for that work at princeton seminary. when he returned to st. louis in his friends helped him to found a weekly religious paper called the _st. louis observer_. the editor found time from his newspaper work to ride into the country and preach at the small churches that were springing up at every crossroads. missouri was more southern than northern, and he saw much of slave-owning people. it was not long before he decided that negro slavery was wrong, and that the only way to right the wrong was to do away with it altogether. he began to attack slavery in his newspaper and in his sermons, and soon slavery men in that part of missouri came to consider him as one of their most bitter foes. lovejoy had married, and expected to make st. louis his permanent home. but neither all the men who were interested in the _observer_, nor all the members of his church, approved of his arguments against slaveholding, and when he was away at a religious meeting the proprietors of his paper issued a statement promising that the editor would deal more gently with the question of slavery in the future. when lovejoy returned and read this statement he was indignant; he was not a man to fear public opinion, and he attacked his enemies more ardently than ever. the law of the land permitted slavery, and many of the chief citizens in the frontier country approved of it. they hated the abolitionists, as those who wanted to do away with slavery were called. when men were suspected of having helped to free slaves, or of sheltering runaway negroes, they were taken into the country and given two hundred lashes with a whip as a lesson. sometimes abolitionists were tarred and feathered and ridden out of town; often their houses were burned and their property destroyed. lovejoy knew that he might have to face all this, but the spirit of the puritan stock from which he sprang would not let him turn from his course. he went on printing articles against the evils of slavery, he denounced the right of a white man to separate colored husbands and wives, parents and children, brothers and sisters, or to send his slaves to the market to be sold to the highest bidder, or to whip or ill-use them as if they had no feelings. there was danger that the young editor would be mobbed, and the owners of the _observer_ took the paper out of his charge. friends, however, who believed in a free press, bought it, and gave it back to him. waves of public opinion, now for lovejoy, now against him, swept through st. louis. by the end of mobs had attacked abolitionists in boston, new york, and philadelphia, and the news fanned the flames of resentment against them in missouri. lovejoy had good reason to know the danger of his position. one september day he went out to a camp-meeting at the little town of potosi. he learned that two men had waited half a day in the village, planning to tar and feather him when he arrived, but he was late, and they had left. when he returned to st. louis he found that handbills had been distributed through the city, calling on the people to tear down the office of the _observer_. a newspaper named the _missouri argus_ urged patriotic men to mob the new england editor. crowds, gathered on street corners, turned dark, lowering looks upon him as he passed, and every mail brought him threatening letters. he would not, however, stop either writing or preaching against slavery. his work constantly called him on journeys to small towns, sometimes several days' ride from his home. late in he was at a meeting in marion when reports came that st. louis was in an uproar, that men who opposed slavery were being whipped in the streets, and that no one suspected of being an abolitionist would be allowed to stay there. lovejoy had left his wife ill in bed. he started to ride back, a friend going some seventy miles with him, half of the journey. the friend urged him not to stay in st. louis, pointing out that his young and delicate wife would have to suffer as well as he. travelers they met all warned him that he would not be safe in the city. he rode on to st. charles, where he had left his wife. he talked with her, and she told him to go on to his newspaper office if he thought duty called him there. st. louis was all excitement and alarm. the newspapers had attacked the _observer_ so bitterly that the owners had stopped printing it. a mob had planned to wreck the office, but had postponed the task for a few days. men went to lovejoy and told him he would not be safe in the streets by day or night. even the men of his church would not stand by him, and a religious paper declared "that they would soon free the church of the rotten sheep in it," by which they meant elijah lovejoy and others who opposed slavery. this yankee, however, like many others who had gone to that border country in the days when bitterness ran high, had a heroic sense of duty. he wrote and printed a letter to the people, stating that men had no right to own their brothers, no matter what the law might say. the letter caused more excitement than ever. the owners of the _observer_ went to lovejoy and requested him to retire as its editor. for two days it was a question what the angry mobs would do to him. then a little better feeling set in. men came to him, and told him that he must go on printing his paper or there would be no voice of freedom in all that part of the country. a friend bought the newspaper from its owners, and urged lovejoy to write as boldly as before. this friend, however, suggested that he should move the newspaper across the state line to alton, illinois, where feeling was not so intense. lovejoy agreed, and set out for alton; but while he was preparing to issue the paper there the same friend and others wrote him that his pen was so much needed in st. louis that he must come back. he did so, and the _observer_ continued its existence in st. louis until june, . there was so much strife and ill feeling, however, in missouri that the editor decided his newspaper would be better supported, and would exert more influence, in illinois. accordingly he arranged to move his printing-press to the town of alton in july. just before he left st. louis he published severe criticisms of a judge of that city who had sided with slave-owners, and these articles roused even greater resentment among the rabble who hated lovejoy's freedom of speech. if some of the people of alton were glad to have this fearless editor come to their town, many were not. slavery was too sore a subject for them to wish it talked about publicly. many people all through that part of the country looked upon an abolitionist as a man who delighted in stirring up ill feeling. lovejoy sent his printing-press to alton by steamboat, and it was delivered at the wharf on a sunday morning, about daybreak. the steamboat company had agreed to land the press on monday, and lovejoy refused to move it from the dock on the sabbath. early monday morning five or six men went down to the river bank and destroyed the printing-press. this was the young editor's welcome by the lawless element, but next day the better class of citizens, thoroughly ashamed of the outrage, met and pledged themselves to repay lovejoy for the loss of his press. these people denounced the act of the mob, but at the same time they expressed their disapproval of abolitionists. they wanted order and quiet, and hoped that lovejoy would not stir up more trouble. the editor bought a new press and issued his first paper in alton on september , . many people subscribed to it, and it appeared regularly until the following august. lovejoy, however, would speak his mind, and again and again declared that he was absolutely opposed to slavery, and that the evil custom must come to an end. this led to murmurs from the slavery party, and slanders were spread concerning the editor's character. all freedom-loving men had to weather such storms in those days, and lovejoy, like a great many others, stuck to his principles at a heavy cost. the murmurs and slanders grew. on july , , posters announced that a meeting would be held at the market house to protest against the articles in the _alton observer_. the meeting condemned lovejoy's writings and speeches, and voted that abolitionism must be suppressed in the town. this was the early thunder that heralded the approach of a gathering storm. the yankee editor showed no intention of giving up his stand against slavery, but preached and wrote against it at every opportunity. as a result threats of destroying the press of the _observer_ were heard on the streets of alton, and newspapers in neighboring cities encouraged ill feeling against the editor. the _missouri republic_, a paper printed in st. louis, tried to convince the people of alton that it was a public danger to have such men as lovejoy in their midst, and condemned the anti-slavery societies that were being formed in that part of the country. two attempts were made to break into his printing-office during the early part of the summer, but each time the attackers were driven off by lovejoy's friends. the editor went to a friend's house to perform a marriage ceremony on the evening of august , . his wife and little boy were ill at home, and on his return he stopped at an apothecary's to get some medicine for them. his house was about a half mile out of town. as he left the main street he met a crowd of men and boys. they did not recognize him at once, and he hurried past them; but soon some began to suspect who he was, and shouted his name to the rest. those in the rear urged the leaders to attack him, but those in front held back; some began to throw sticks and stones at him, and one, armed with a club, pushed up to him, denouncing him for being an abolitionist. at last a number linked arms and pushed past him, and then turning about in the road stopped him. there were cries of "tar and feather him," "ride him on a rail," and other threats. lovejoy told them they might do as they pleased with him, but he had a request to make; his wife was ill, and he wanted some one to take the medicine to her without alarming her. one of the men volunteered to do this. then the editor, standing at bay, argued with them. "you had better let me go home," he said; "you have no right to detain me; i have never injured you." there was more denouncing, jostling and shoving, but the leaders, after a short talk, allowed lovejoy to go on toward his house. meantime, however, another band had gone to the newspaper office between ten and eleven o'clock, and, seeing by the lights in the building that men were still at work there, had begun to throw stones at the windows. a crowd gathered to watch the attack. the mayor and some of the leading citizens hurried to the building, and argued with the ringleaders. a prominent merchant told them that if they would wait until the next morning he would break into the newspaper office with them, and help them take out the press and the other articles, stow them on a boat, put the editor on top, and send them all down the mississippi river together. but the crowd did not want to wait. the stones began to strike some of lovejoy's assistants inside the building, and they ran out by a rear door. as soon as the office was empty the leaders rushed in and broke the printing-press, type, and everything else in the building. next morning the slavery men in alton said that the abolitionist had been silenced for the time, at least. they looked upon lovejoy, and men of his kind, as a thorn in the flesh of their peaceful community. there were still a small number of "freedom-loving" people in alton, however, and these stood back of elijah lovejoy. although two printing-presses had now been destroyed, these men called a meeting and decided that the _observer_ must continue to be printed. money was promised, and the editor prepared to set up his press for the third time. he issued a short note to the public, in which he said: "i now appeal to you, and all the friends of law and order, to come to the rescue. if you will sustain me, by the help of god, the press shall be again established at this place, and shall be sustained, come what will. let the experiment be fairly tried, whether the liberty of speech and of the press is to be enjoyed in illinois or not." the money was raised, and the dauntless spokesman for freedom sent to cincinnati for supplies for his new office. that autumn enemies scattered pamphlets accusing lovejoy and other abolitionists of various crimes against the country. although few people believed them, the circulars increased the hostile feelings, and disturbed many of the editor's friends. some of the latter began to doubt whether the _observer_ ought to continue its stirring articles. some thought it should be only a religious paper. but lovejoy answered that he felt it was his duty to speak out in protest against the great evil of slavery. he finally offered to resign, if the supporters of the paper thought it best for him to do so. they could not come to any decision, and so let him continue his course. the third printing-press arrived at alton on september st, while lovejoy was away attending a church meeting. the press was landed from the steamboat a little after sunset, and was protected by a number of friends of the _observer_. it was carted to a large warehouse to be stored. as it passed through the street some men cried, "there goes the abolition press; stop it, stop it!" but no one tried to injure it. the mayor of alton declared that the press should be protected, and placed a constable at the door of the warehouse, with orders to remain till a certain hour. as soon as this man left, ten or twelve others, with handkerchiefs tied over their faces as disguise, broke into the warehouse, rolled the press across the street to the river, broke it into pieces, and threw it into the mississippi. the mayor arrived and protested, but the men paid no attention to him. lovejoy's business had called him to the town of st. charles, near st. louis, and he preached there while his third press was being attacked. after his sermon in the evening he was sitting chatting with a clergyman and another friend when a young man came in, and slipped a note into his hand. the note read: "mr. lovejoy: "be watchful as you come from church to-night. a friend." lovejoy showed the note to the two other men, and the clergyman invited him to stay at his house. the editor declined, however, and walked to his mother-in-law's residence with his two friends. no one stopped them, and when they came to the house lovejoy and the clergyman went in, and sat down to chat in a room on the second floor. about ten o'clock they heard a knock on the door at the foot of the stairs. mrs. lovejoy's mother went to the door, and asked what was wanted. voices answered, "we want to see mr. lovejoy; is he in?" the editor called down, "yes, i am here." as soon as the door was opened, two men rushed up-stairs, and into the sitting-room. they ordered lovejoy to go down-stairs, and when he resisted, struck him with their fists. mrs. lovejoy heard the noise, and came running from her room. a crowd now filled the hall, and she had to fight her way through them. several men tried to drag the editor out of the house, but his wife clung to him, and aided by her mother and sister finally persuaded the assailants to leave. exhausted by the struggle, mrs. lovejoy fainted. while her husband was trying to help her, the mob came back, and, paying no attention to the sick woman, insisted that they were going to ride lovejoy out of town. by this time a few respectable citizens had heard the noise, and came to his aid. a second time the rabble was driven away; but they stayed in the yard, and made the night hideous with their threats to the abolitionist. presently some of the men went up to lovejoy's room the third time, and one of them gave him a note, which demanded that he leave st. charles by ten o'clock the next morning. lovejoy's friends begged him to send out an answer promising that he would leave. although he at first declined to do this, he finally yielded to their urging. he wrote, "i have already taken my passage in the stage, to leave to-morrow morning, at least by nine o'clock." this note was carried out to the crowd on the lawn, and read to them. his friends thought the mob would scatter after that, and they did for a time; but after listening to violent speeches returned again. the noise was now so threatening that lovejoy's friends begged him to fly from the house. his wife added her pleadings to theirs, and at last he stole out unnoticed by a door at the rear. he hated to leave his wife in such a dangerous situation, however, and so, after waiting a short time, he went back. his friends reproached him for returning, and their reproaches were justified, for, like hounds scenting the fox, the mob menaced the house more noisily than ever. lovejoy saw that he must leave again in order to protect his wife and friends. this he succeeded in doing, and walked about a mile to the residence of a major sibley. this friend lent him a horse, and he rode out of town to the house of another friend four miles away. next day mrs. lovejoy joined him, and they went on together to alton. one of the very first people they met in alton was a man from st charles who had been among those who had broken into their house the night before. mrs. lovejoy was alarmed at seeing him in illinois, because the mob in st. charles had declared that they were going to drive lovejoy out of that part of the country. in order to quiet her fears her husband asked some friends to come to his house, and ten men, well armed, spent the next night guarding it, while he himself kept a loaded musket at his side. the storm-clouds were gathering about his devoted head. even the leading citizens of this illinois town now felt that it was lovejoy's own fault if his newspaper was attacked. they hated mobs, but most of them hated abolitionists even more. if he would stop attacking slavery, the crowds would stop attacking him. it was evident that the lawless element did not intend to let him continue to print his newspaper, and it was almost as clear that the mayor and authorities were not going to protect him. three times now his press had been destroyed. this son of the puritans was not to be driven from his purpose by threats or blows, but he was forced to see that it was a great waste of money to have one press after another thrown into the mississippi river. his friends in the town of quincy urged him to set up his press there, and he felt much inclined to do so. he decided to wait, however, until the next meeting of the presbyterian synod, when he would learn whether the men of his church sided with him or not. this meeting ended in discussion, breaking up along the old lines of those who were friends and those who were enemies of slavery. some of the members had already joined anti-slavery societies, while others, although they were opposed to mob-violence, did not approve of the newspaper's attack on slaveholding citizens. in a stirring speech lovejoy said that they were to decide whether the press should be free in that part of the united states. he ended with an appeal for justice. "i have no personal fears," he declared. "not that i feel able to contest the matter with the whole community. i know perfectly well i am not. i know, sir, that you can tar and feather me, hang me up, or put me into the mississippi, without the least difficulty. but what then? where shall i go? i have been made to feel that if i am not safe at alton, i shall not be safe anywhere. i recently visited st. charles to bring home my family, and was torn from their frantic embrace by a mob. i have been beset night and day at alton. and now if i leave here and go elsewhere, violence may overtake me in my retreat, and i have no more claim upon the protection of any other community than i have upon this; and i have concluded, after consultation with my friends, and earnestly seeking counsel of god, to remain at alton, and here to insist on protection in the exercise of my rights." this speech made a great impression upon its hearers. the words were those of a man who had thought long upon his subject, and had made up his mind as to what he should do. he expressed no enmity toward the men who had treated him so ill, and he did not complain of the members of his own church who were lukewarm in their support. a man who was present said that lovejoy's speech reminded him of the words of st. paul when brought before festus, or of martin luther speaking to the council at worms. having decided to stay, lovejoy ordered his fourth printing-press. this was due to arrive early in november, and as the time drew near there was no little excitement and anxiety among the friends of peace in the town. whenever the puff of a steamboat was heard men hurried to the banks of the mississippi. some meant to defend the press from attack; others meant to hurl it into the river as they had already done with its predecessors. the press had an eventful journey. the first plan was to land it at a place called chippewa, about five miles down the river, and then carry it secretly into alton. but the roads grew bad, and this plan was abandoned. the press reached st. louis on sunday night, november th, and it was arranged that the steamer should land it at alton about three o'clock tuesday morning. as soon as this was known, lovejoy and his friend gilman went to the mayor and told him of the threat that had been made to destroy the press, asking him to appoint special constables to protect it. the town council voted that lovejoy and his friends be requested not to persist in setting up an abolition press in alton, but the mayor refused to sign this request. monday night forty or fifty citizens, intent on seeing that the press was protected, gathered at the warehouse of godfrey, gilman and company where the press was to be stored. some thirty of them formed a volunteer company, with one of the city constables in command. they were armed with rifles and muskets loaded with buckshot or small balls. the editor of the _observer_ was not there. only a night or two before his house had been attacked, and his sister had narrowly escaped serious injury. so he arranged with a brother, who was staying with him, to take turns standing guard at his house and at the office. at three o'clock the steamboat arrived at the dock. lovejoy's enemies had stationed sentinels along the river, and as the boat passed they gave the alarm by blowing horns, so that when the dock was reached a large crowd had gathered. some one called the mayor, and he came down to the warehouse. he begged the volunteer company to keep quiet, and said he himself would see to the safe storing of the press. no serious trouble followed. the crowd watched the stevedores carry the press to the warehouse, but did not attack it, except to throw a few stones. it was stood in the garret of the stone warehouse, safe from the enemy. on tuesday every one knew that the "abolition press" had arrived, and tuesday night the same volunteers went down to the warehouse again. everything was quiet, and by nine o'clock all but about a dozen left the place. lovejoy stayed by the press, it being his brother's turn to guard his house. the warehouse stood high above the river, apart from other buildings, with considerable open space on the sides to the river and to the north. about ten o'clock that night loafers and stragglers began to come from saloons and restaurants, and gather in the streets that led to the warehouse. some thirty, armed with muskets, pistols, and stones, marched to the door, and demanded admittance. mr. gilman, one of the owners of the warehouse, standing at the garret door, asked what they wanted. the leader answered, "the press." mr. gilman said that he would not give up the press. "we have no ill feelings toward any of you," he added, "and should regret to harm you; but we are authorized by the mayor to defend our property, and shall do so with our lives." the mob leader answered that they meant to have the press at any cost, and leveled a pistol at mr. gilman, who drew back from the door. the crowd began to throw stones, and broke a number of windows. then they fired through the windows. the men inside returned the shots. one or two of the mob were wounded; and this checked them for a time. soon, however, others came with ladders, and materials for setting fire to the roof of the building. they kept on the side of the warehouse where there were no windows, and where they could not be driven away by the defenders. it was a moonlight night, and the small company inside the building did not dare go out into the open space in front. at this point the mayor appeared and carried a flag of truce through the mob to lovejoy's friends, asking that the press be given up, and the men in the warehouse depart peacefully without other property being destroyed. he told them that unless they surrendered the mob would set fire to the warehouse. they answered that they had gathered to defend their property, and intended to do it. he admitted that they had a perfect right to do this, and went back to report the result of his mission to the leaders. outside a shout went up, "fire the building, drive out the abolitionists, burn them out!" a great crowd had gathered, but there were no officers of the law ready to defend the press. ladders were placed against the building, and the roof was set on fire. five men volunteered to go out and try to prevent the firing. they left the building by the riverside, fired at the men on the ladder, and drove them away. the crowd drew back, while the five returned to the store. the mob did not venture to put up their ladder again, and presently lovejoy and two or three others opened a door and looked out. there appeared to be no one on this side, and lovejoy stepped forward to reconnoiter. some of his enemies, however, were hidden behind a pile of lumber, and one of them fired a double-barreled gun. the editor was hit by five balls. he turned around, ran up a flight of stairs in the warehouse, and into the counting-room. there he fell, dying a few minutes later. with their leader killed some of the company wanted to give up the battle, while others insisted on fighting it out. they finally resolved to yield. a clergyman went to one of the upper windows and called out that elijah lovejoy had been killed and that they would give up the press if they might be allowed to go unmolested. the crowd answered that they would shoot them all where they were. one of the defenders determined to go out at any risk and make terms. as soon as he opened the door, he was fired upon and wounded. the roof was now blazing, and one of their friends reached a door and begged them to escape by the rear. all but two or three laid down their arms, running out at the southern door, and fled down the bank of the river. the mob fired at them, but only one was wounded. the crowd rushed into the warehouse, threw the press out the window, breaking it into pieces, and scattered the pieces in the mississippi. at two o'clock they had disappeared, having accomplished their evil purpose of preventing a "free press" in alton. elijah lovejoy was only thirty-five years old when he met his martyr's death. his life in missouri and illinois had been one constant fight against slavery, and for liberty of speech. his puritan ancestry made it impossible for him to give up the battle he knew to be right. the story of his heroic struggle and death aroused lovers of liberty all over the country, and newspapers everywhere denounced the acts of the mob at alton. such acts meant that men could not speak their minds on public questions, and a "free press" had been one of the dearest rights of american citizens. men in the north at that time had by no means agreed that slavery must be abolished, but they did all believe in the freedom of the press. for that cause lovejoy had been a martyr. more than two decades were to pass before the question of slavery was to be settled forever, and in the years between and many men of the same stock and stripe as elijah lovejoy were to give up their lives in heroic defense of their belief in freedom. he was one of the first of a long line of heroes. his voice sounded a call that was to echo through the border states for years to come, inspiring others to take up his cause. a freedom-loving country should place among its noblest sons this dauntless editor and preacher. vi how marcus whitman saved oregon the hudson's bay company, whose business was to buy skins and furs from the american indians, had located a trading-post at fort walla walla, in the country of the cayuse and nez percés indians. this was in what was known as oregon territory in , although it is now near the southeast corner of the state of washington. here was a very primitive settlement, the frame houses of a few white men and the tents of indians. very little effort had been made to grow grain or fruit or to raise sheep or cattle, since the hudson's bay company wanted the indians to be continually on the hunt for furs, and discouraged them from turning into farmers. besides the traders and the indians there was a small missionary camp near at hand, located on a beautiful peninsula made by two branches of the walla walla river. this place was called by the indians wai-i-lat-pui, meaning the region of rye grass. beyond the fertile ground on the river's banks were borders of timber-land, and beyond them plains stretching to the foot-hills of the great blue mountains. in this wonderful country was free to any who cared to come and settle there, but as yet very few had ventured so far into the wilderness. the chief man at the missionary camp, dr. marcus whitman, was called to fort walla walla on the first day of october, , to see a sick man. he found a score or so of traders and hudson's bay clerks, almost all englishmen, gathered there, and accepted their invitation to stay to dinner. the men were a genial company, and had already taken a liking to whitman, who was frank and amiable, and an interesting story-teller. gradually the conversation at the dinner table came round to a subject that was vastly important to the men present, although the outside world seemed to be paying little attention to it--to which country was this great territory of oregon to belong, to the united states or to england? the general opinion appeared to be that under the old treaties it would belong to the country that settled it first. in the midst of the discussion there was the sound of hoof-beats outside, the door of the company's office was flung open, and an express messenger ran into the dining-room. "i'm just from fort colville!" he cried. "a hundred and forty englishmen and canadians are on the march to settle here!" there was instant excitement. a young priest threw his cap in the air, shouting, "hurrah for oregon--america's too late; we've got the country!" the traders clapped each other on the shoulder, and made a place for the messenger at the head of the table. as he ate he told them how he had ridden from the post three hundred and fifty miles up the columbia river to let all the fur-traders know that the english were on the way to colonize the country. marcus whitman smiled, and pretended to enjoy the celebration; but in reality he was already considering whether he could not do something to save this vast and fruitful region for his own nation. it was an enormous tract of land, of untold wealth, and stretching over a long reach of the pacific coast. as he considered, whitman heard the hudson's bay company's men grow more and more excited, until they declared that they intended to take possession of all the country west to the pacific slope the following spring. the missionary had been expecting this struggle between the english and the americans for the ownership of oregon, but had not thought it would come to a head quite so soon. he left the men at fort walla walla as early as he could, and rode back to the little settlement at wai-i-lat-pui. there he told his wife and friends the news he had learned at the trading-post. "if our country is to have oregon," he said, "there is not a day to lose." "but what can we do?" the others asked him. "i must get to washington as quick as i can, and let them know the danger." his friends understood what that meant, a journey on horseback across almost an entire continent, through hostile indians, over great rivers and mountain ranges, and in the depths of winter. some one pointed out that under the rules of the american mission board that had sent them into the far west none of their number could leave his post without consent from the headquarters in boston. "well," said whitman, "if the board dismisses me, i will do what i can to save oregon to the country. my life is of but little worth if i can save this country to the american people." his wife, a brave, patriotic woman who had shared his hard travels westward without a murmur, agreed with him that he must go. they all insisted, however, that he should have a companion. "who will go with me?" asked whitman. in answer a man who had only lately joined the small encampment, amos l. lovejoy, immediately volunteered. urging upon their friends the need of keeping the plan a secret from the hudson's bay company fur-traders, the two men quickly prepared, and left the camp on october d. they had a guide, three pack-mules, and for the start of their journey an escort of a number of cayuse braves, men of an indian tribe that was not large, but was wealthy, and that seemed to have taken a liking to whitman and his friends at the mission settlement. the leader himself had one fixed idea in his mind, to reach washington before congress adjourned. he was convinced that only through his account of the riches of oregon could the government learn what the country stood in danger of losing. the little company got a good start, and with fresh horses, riding southeast toward the border of what is now the state of idaho, they reached fort hall in eleven days. here was stationed captain grant, who had always done his best to hinder immigration into oregon, and had induced many an american settler to go no farther westward. he knew whitman of old, and six years before had tried to stop his expedition to the walla walla river, but whitman had overcome his arguments, and had taken the first wagon that ever crossed the rocky mountains into oregon. as he had tried to prevent whitman from going west before, so now he tried to prevent him from going east. he told him that the blackfeet indians had suddenly grown hostile to all white men, that the sioux and pawnees were at war with each other, and would let no one through their country, and finally that the snow was already twenty feet deep in the passes of the rockies, and travel through them was altogether out of the question. this information was far from reassuring, and, backed as it was by captain grant's entreaties and almost by his commands, would have deterred many a man from plunging into that winter wilderness. whitman, however, was a man who could neither be turned aside nor discouraged. his answer to all protests at fort hall was to point to the official permit he had carried west with him, ordering all officers to protect and aid him in his travels, and signed by lewis cass, secretary of war, and to declare that he intended to push on east, hostile indians, mountains, and blizzards notwithstanding. captain grant saw that he could not stop whitman, and, much to his chagrin, had to let him pass the fort. the route whitman had plotted out lay first east and then south, in the general direction of the present site of salt lake city. his objective points were two small military posts, fort uintah and fort uncompahgra. as soon as the two men left fort hall they ran into terribly cold weather. the deep snow kept them back, and they had to pick any shelter they could find, and crawl slowly on, sometimes taking a day to cover a few miles. at fort uintah they procured a guide to the second post, which was on the grand river, and at the latter point a mexican agreed to show them the way to taos, a settlement in what is now the state of new mexico. so far their southeasterly course had allowed them to skirt the high mountains, but here they had to cross a range, and in the pass ran full into a terrific snow-storm. it was impossible to go forward in the teeth of that gale, so whitman, lovejoy, and their guide looked about for shelter. they found a rocky defile with a mountain shoulder to protect it, and led their horses and pack-mules into this pocket. in this dark, cold place they stayed for ten days, trying each morning to push on through the pass, and being blown back each time. on the eleventh day the wind had abated somewhat, and they tried again. they went a short distance when, coming around a corner, a fresh storm broke full upon them, blinding and freezing the men, and pelting the animals with frozen snow so that they were almost uncontrollable. the native guide now admitted that he was no longer sure of the way, and refused to go any farther. clearly the only thing to be done was to return for the eleventh time to the sheltered ravine. but now the snow had drifted across their trail, and none of the three men was at all certain of the road back. whitman dismounted, and kneeling in the snow, prayed that they might be saved for the work that they had to do. meantime the guide resolved to try an old hunting expedient, and turned one of the lead mules loose. the mule was confused at first, and stumbled about, heading one way and then another, but finally started to plunge back through the drifts as if to a certain goal. "there," shouted the guide, "that mule will find the camp if he can live long enough in this storm to reach it." the men urged their horses after the plunging beast, and slipping and sliding and beating their half-frozen mounts, at last came around the mountain shoulder and got in the lee of the ravine. that bit of hunter's knowledge and that mule had much to do with saving the great northwest to the united states. once safe in this comparative shelter the guide turned to dr. whitman. "i will go no farther," said he; "the way is impassable." whitman knew that the man meant what he said, and he had just seen for himself what a storm could do to travelers, but he said as positively in the ravine as he had already said in the comfortable protection of fort hall, "i must go on." he considered their situation a minute, and then said to lovejoy, "you stay in camp, and i'll return with the guide to the fort and get a new man." the pack-mules needed rest, and so this plan was agreed to. whitman and the obstinate guide went back, while lovejoy waited in the ravine and tried to nourish the mules by gathering brush and the inner bark of willows for them to eat. fortunately mules can live on almost anything. for a week lovejoy stayed in the ravine, only partly sheltered from wind and snow, before whitman returned. he brought a new guide with him, and, the storm having now lessened, the little party was able to get through the pass and strike out for the post at taos. the route whitman was taking was far from direct, was in fact at least a thousand miles longer than if they had headed directly east from walla walla, but they were avoiding the highest rockies, and were traveling to a certain extent in the shelter of the ranges, where there was much less snow and plenty of fire-wood could be found. the winter of - was very cold, and if they had journeyed direct the continual storms and lack of all fuel for camp-fires might have caused a different ending to their cross-country ride. as it was they suffered continually from frozen feet and hands and ears, and lost a number of days when one or the other could not sit his saddle. traveling far to the south they came to the grand river, one of the most dangerous rivers in the west. the current, even in summer, is rapid, deep, and cold. now, in winter, solid ice stretched two hundred feet from either shore, and between the ice was a rushing torrent over two hundred feet wide. the guide studied the swift, boiling current, and shook his head. "it's too risky to try to cross," he declared. "we must cross, and at once," said whitman positively. he dismounted, and, picking out a willow tree near the shore, cut a pole about eight feet long. he carried this back to his horse, mounted, and put the pole on his shoulder, gripping it with his left arm. "now you shove me off," he said to the men. lovejoy and the guide did as he ordered, and whitman and his horse were pushed into the stream. they disappeared under the water, but soon came up, struggling and swimming. in a minute or two the horse struck rocky bottom and could wade. whitman jumped off, broke the ice with his pole, and helped the animal to get to the shore. meantime lovejoy and the guide, breaking the ice on their side, headed their horses and the pack-mules into the river. animals in that country are always ready to follow where their leader goes, and they all swam and splashed their way across. the men found plenty of wood at hand, and soon had a roaring fire, by which they camped, and dried out thoroughly before riding on. the delays caused by their stay in the mountains and physical hardships had made their store of provisions run low. at one time they had to kill a dog that had joined them, and a little later one of the mules for food. eating and sleeping little, and pushing on as rapidly as they could they finally reached the old city of santa fé, the metropolis of the southwest. but here whitman only stopped long enough to buy fresh provisions. they were now heading for bent's fort near the head of the arkansas river. the storms in the hills were past, and they were riding over vast treeless prairies, where there was plenty of grass for the horses, and any amount of wild game if they could have stopped long enough to replenish their larder with it. again and again they were forced to prairie expedients. once, as they reached one of the tributaries of the arkansas river, after a long and tedious day on the plains, they found the river frozen over with a layer of smooth, clear ice, hardly strong enough to bear a man. they must have wood, but although there was plenty of it on the other side, there was none on their shore of the stream. whitman took the ax from his kit, and lying down on the thin ice, contrived with great caution and patience to make his way across. on the other bank he cut long poles and short cross-pieces. these he pushed across the ice to lovejoy, and with them they made enough of a bridge for the latter to urge the horses and mules to try to cross. they all got over safely, though with much slipping and splashing. in cutting his last pole whitman split the ax-helve. when they camped he bound the break with a deerskin thong, but that night a thieving wolf found the ax at the edge of the camp, wanted the fresh deerskin, and dragged away ax and thong. the loss would have been very serious if it had happened earlier in their journey. when they were within four days' ride of bent's fort they met a caravan traveling toward taos. the leader told whitman that a party of mountaineers was about leaving bent's fort for st. louis, but added that whitman and lovejoy, hampered by their pack animals, would not be in time to join them. whitman was very anxious to join the mountaineers if he could, and decided to leave lovejoy and the guide with the pack-mules. taking the fastest horse, and a small store of food, he rode on alone, hoping to catch the party. to do this he would have to travel on sunday, something they had not done before. lovejoy saw dr. whitman start on his ride, but when the former reached bent's fort four days later he was astonished to find that whitman had not arrived there, nor been heard from. as that part of the country was full of packs of gray wolves, now half-starved on account of the snow, lovejoy was alarmed. if not a prey to the wolves, whitman must be lost; so his friend took a good guide from the fort and started to search for him. he traveled up-river a hundred miles, and there fell in with indians who told him of a lost white man who was trying to find the fort, and whom they had directed down the river. lovejoy went back, and late that afternoon saw whitman come riding in, convinced that his journey had been so much delayed because he had traveled on sunday. the party of mountaineers had already left, but a messenger had been sent after them, and they stayed in camp, waiting for whitman. tired as he was, he started out immediately with a new guide, particularly eager to join this company, because they were now nearing the outposts of civilization, where the worst white men and indians beset the pioneers. lovejoy waited at bent's fort, and went east with the next caravan that started for st. louis. whitman came safely through to st. louis, where he had friends. he was at once surrounded by trappers and traders in indian goods and furs who wanted news of the plains. in his turn he asked news of congress, and learned that the ashburton treaty, settling a part of the boundary between canada and the united states, had been approved and signed, but that the question of oregon had not been settled, and from the reports of what had been said in the debates at washington he knew that none of the american statesmen realized what a great prize oregon territory was. he must reach the capital before congress adjourned if possible. the rivers were frozen, and he had to rely on a journey by stage, slow at all times, but especially so in midwinter. he toiled slowly eastward, taking one coach after another, swinging and swaying and rocking across the center of the country, and reaching the capital in time to plead the cause of the northwest. washington was used to many strange types of men in those pioneer days, but even among such marcus whitman was a striking figure. he was of medium height, compact of build, with big shoulders and a large head. his hair was iron gray, and that, as well as his moustache and beard, had not been cut for four months. he was of pioneer type, living so long among indians and trappers, and watching so constantly for wolves and bears, that he seemed awkward and uncouth in an eastern city. his clothes were a coarse fur jacket with buckskin breeches, fur leggings, and boot moccasins. over these he wore a buffalo overcoat, with a head-hood for bad weather. he did not show an inch of woven garment. whitman reached washington in march, , and immediately urged his case before president tyler, secretary of state daniel webster, and many congressmen. he found the densest ignorance concerning oregon territory, a tract of territory which has since been divided into the three states of washington, oregon, and idaho. a senator had said of that territory, "what is the character of this country? as i understand it there are seven hundred miles this side of the rocky mountains that are uninhabitable; where rain never falls; mountains wholly impassable, except through gaps and depressions, to be reached only by going hundreds of miles out of the direct course.... of what use would it be for agricultural purposes? i would not, for that purpose, give a pinch of snuff for the whole territory. i wish the rocky mountains were an impassable barrier. if there was an embankment of even five feet to be removed i would not consent to expend five dollars to remove it and enable our population to go there." another statesman declared, "with the exception of land along the willamette and strips along other water courses, the whole country is as irreclaimable and barren a waste as the desert of sahara. nor is this the worst; the climate is so unfriendly to human life that the native population has dwindled away under the ravages of malaria." and newspaper opinions were no more favorable. the louisville _journal_ wrote, "of all the countries upon the face of the earth oregon is one of the least favored by heaven. it is the mere riddlings of creation. it is almost as barren as sahara and quite as unhealthy as the campagna of italy. russia has her siberia and england has her botany bay, and if the united states should ever need a country to which to banish her rogues and scoundrels, the utility of such a region as oregon would be demonstrated. until then, we are perfectly willing to leave this magnificent country to the indians, trappers and buffalo hunters that roam over its sand-banks." marcus whitman had ridden four thousand miles, and starved, frozen, and never rested in order to overcome such opinions. the president and daniel webster were polite to him, but neither seemed to think much of the northwest. as he was describing the richness of the country, its fertile soil, great forests, precious minerals, and delightful climate, webster interrupted. "but oregon is shut off by impassable mountains and a great desert, which make a wagon road impossible," said he. whitman answered, "six years ago i was told there was no wagon road to oregon, and it was impossible to take a wagon there, and yet in despite of pleadings and almost threats, i took a wagon over the road and have it now." the missionary's earnest, forceful manner impressed both president tyler and secretary webster, and gradually they began to think it might be worth while to protect the claim of the united states to that country. finally whitman said, "all i ask is that you won't barter away oregon, or allow english interference until i can lead a band of stalwart american settlers across the plains: for this i will try to do." "dr. whitman," answered president tyler, "your long ride and frozen limbs speak for your courage and patriotism; your missionary credentials are good vouchers for your character;" and he granted the request. this was all whitman wanted, because he believed that under the treaty then in force between the united states and england the nation that should colonize the country was to own it. he knew that up to that time the english hudson's bay company had bought out all american traders or driven out all settlers, but he hoped he could lead enough emigrants there now to hold it for the united states. he next went to the american missionary board in boston, which had originally sent him out to oregon. there he met with cold treatment, and was told he should not have left the camp at wai-i-lat-pui without permission from boston, and that his trip across the continent was a wild-goose chase. this unmerited rebuke must have hurt him sorely. he was, however, so filled with eagerness to lead his party of pioneers west that he did not let it daunt him, but went on with his preparations. in this he was very much helped by his companion lovejoy, who was gathering a large number of emigrants on the frontier awaiting whitman's return. the meeting point of the emigrants was the little town of weston, not far from where kansas city now stands. here and at various near-by settlements the pioneers gathered early in the year , waiting for dr. whitman to join them, and for the spring grass to grow high enough to feed their cattle. as it happened, that year the grass was late, and the caravan did not get under way until the first week in june. whitman himself was delayed through the need of leaving careful instructions for those who were to cross the plains later in the year. the caravan started before whitman arrived, and he did not overtake the advance guard until they had reached the platte river. when he did actually join the emigrants he looked after everything, mending broken prairie wagons, cheering tired mothers, acting as surgeon and doctor, hunting out fords through quicksands and rivers, searching for water and grass in the desert plains, seeking new passes through the mountains, and at night superintending the building of camp-fires and keeping watch against an attack by wolves or other wild animals. the journey from the platte river as far as fort hall, which was near the eastern border of oregon territory, was much like other pioneer travels through the west. whitman had been over this trail several times and the difficulties he encountered were not new to him. at fort hall he had to meet captain john grant again, who, as an agent of the fur company, did not want new farmers to settle in oregon. [illustration: the last six hundred miles were the hardest] instead of appealing only to a few men captain grant now spoke to several hundred resolute pioneers. he told them of the terrors of the long journey through the mountains and the impossibility of hauling their heavy prairie wagons over the passes; he recounted the failures of other pioneers who had tried what they had planned to do; he showed them in the corral wagons, farm tools, and other pioneer implements that earlier emigrants had had to leave when they ventured into the mountains. he stated the difficulties so clearly that this company was almost persuaded, as earlier companies had been, to follow his suggestions, leave their farming implements behind, and try to make a settlement without any of the tools or comforts that were so greatly needed in that country. whitman, however, spoiled grant's plans. he said to his followers, "men, i have guided you thus far in safety. believe nothing you hear about not being able to get your wagons through; every one of you stick to your wagons and your goods. they will be invaluable to you when you reach the end of your journey. i took a wagon over to oregon six years ago." the men believed their leader, refused to obey captain grant, and prepared to start on the trail into the high rockies. it was the last six hundred miles of the journey to oregon that usually made the most severe test of the settlers' endurance. from fort hall the nature of the traveling changed entirely, and was apt to resemble the retreat of a disorganized army. earlier caravans, although they had taken captain grant's advice and left many wagons, horses, and camp comforts behind, had suffered untold hardships. oxen and horses, worn by their long trip across the plains, and toiling for long stretches through the high passes, were apt to perish in large numbers and frequently fell dead in their yokes on the road. wagons already baked in the blazing sun of the desert would fall to pieces when they struck a sharp rock or were driven over a rough incline. families were obliged to join company and throw away everything that tended to impede their speed. the approaching storms of autumn, which meant impassable snow, would not allow them to linger. in addition to this there were grizzlies in the mountains and the constant fear of attack from indians. such pioneers as strayed from the main company were likely to fall in with an enemy that was continually hovering on either flank of the march, ready to swoop down upon unprotected men or women. this fear added to the speed of the journey, and as they progressed the road over which they traveled was strewn with dead or worn-out cattle, abandoned wagons, discarded cooking utensils, yokes, harness, chests, log chains, and all kinds of family heirlooms that the settlers had hoped to carry to their new homes. sometimes the teams grew so much weakened that none dared to ride in the wagons, and men, women, and children would walk beside them, ready to give a helping push up any steep part of the road. a pioneer who had once made this journey said, referring to a former trip across the mountains, "the fierce summer's heat beat upon this slow west-rolling column. the herbage was dry and crisp, the rivulets had become but lines in the burning sand; the sun glared from a sky of brass; the stony mountainsides glared with the garnered heat of a cloudless summer. the dusky brambles of the scraggy sage-brush seemed to catch the fiery rays of heat and shiver them into choking dust, that rose like a tormenting plague and hung like a demon of destruction over the panting oxen and thirsty people. "thus day after day, for weeks and months, the slow but urgent retreat continued, each day demanding fresh sacrifices. an ox or a horse would fall, brave men would lift the useless yoke from his limp and lifeless neck in silence. if there was another to take his place he was brought from the loose band, yoked up and the journey resumed. when the stock of oxen became exhausted, cows were brought under the yoke, other wagons left, and the lessening store once more inspected; if possible another pound would be dispensed with. "deeper and deeper into the flinty mountains the forlorn mass drives its weary way. each morning the weakened team has to commence a struggle with yet greater difficulties. it is plain the journey will not be completed within the anticipated time, and the dread of hunger joins the ranks of the tormentors.... the indians hover in the rear, impatiently waiting for the train to move on that the abandoned trinkets may be gathered up. whether these are gathering strength for a general attack we cannot tell. there is but one thing to do--press on. the retreat cannot hasten into rout, for the distance to safety is too great. slower and slower is the daily progress." marcus whitman, however, had known these difficulties before, and guarded his caravan from many of them. up to that date almost no man had crossed into oregon by the route he was taking. a few missionaries had made the journey on horseback, driving some head of cattle with them, and three or four wagons drawn by oxen had reached the snake river at an earlier date, but it was the general opinion of trappers that no large company of people could travel down the snake river because of the scarcity of pasturage and the rugged road through the mountains. it was also thought that the sioux indians would oppose the approach of such a large caravan because the emigrants might kill or drive away the buffaloes, which were already diminishing in number and were hunted by this tribe for food. when they came to cross the snake river whitman gave orders to fasten the wagons together in one long line, the strongest ones being placed in the lead. when the teams were in position whitman tied a long rope about his waist and fastened the other end to the first team. riding his horse into the current he swam across the river. he called to the other riders to follow him, and at the same time to pull on the rope that was tied to the first team. in this way the leaders were started into the water, and all were drawn over in safety. at times, however, it took a great deal of pulling on the ropes by many men to drag the weaker teams to a safe foothold on the farther bank. the snake river at the place where whitman forded it was divided into three separate rivers by islands, and as the last stream on the oregon shore was a deep and rapid current fully a mile wide, it can be seen what a task it was to get so many wagons, tired ox-teams, and the great company of men, women and children across it. but whitman had solved many such problems before. when he and his wife went to oregon six years earlier she had said it was a shame that her husband should wear himself out in getting their wagon through. "yesterday," she said, "it was overset in the river and he was wet from head to foot getting it out; to-day it was upset on the mountainside, and it was hard work to save it." there were over a thousand people in this expedition that was going out to colonize oregon for the united states. they had about one hundred and twenty wagons drawn by ox-teams, which averaged six yoke of oxen to a team, and, in addition, several thousand horses and cattle, led or driven by the emigrants. although they started to travel in one body they soon found they could do better by dividing into two columns, marching within easy hailing distance of each other, so long as they were in danger of attack by the indians, and later separating into small parties, better suited to the narrow mountain paths and the meagre pasture lands. it is interesting to learn how such a company traveled. at four o'clock in the morning the sentinels who were on guard waked the camp by shots from their rifles, the emigrants crept from their canvas-covered wagons or tents built against the side of the wagons, and soon the smoke of camp-fires began to rise in the air. sixty men, whose duty it was to look after the cattle, would start out from the corral, or enclosed space, spreading through the horses and cattle, who had found pasturage over night in a great semicircle about the camp. the most distant animals were sometimes two miles away. these sixty scouts looked for indian trails beyond the herd and tried to discover whether any of the animals had been stolen or had strayed during the night. if none were lost the herders drove the animals close to the camp, and by five o'clock horses, oxen, and cattle were rounded up, and the separate emigrants chose their teams and drove them into the corral to be yoked. the corral was a circle about one hundred yards deep, formed by wagons fastened together by ox-chains, making a barrier that could not be broken by any vicious ox or horse, and a fortification in case of an attack by indians. the camp was very busy from six to seven o'clock; the women prepared breakfast; the tents were packed away, the wagons loaded and the oxen yoked and fastened to their owners' wagons. each of the two divisions had about sixty wagons, and these were separated into sixteen platoons. each platoon took its turn at leading, and in this way none of the wagons had to travel continually in the dust. by seven o'clock the corral was broken up; the women and children had found their places in the wagons, and the leader, or pilot as he was called, mounted his horse and was ready to lead the way for the day's journey. a band of young men who were not needed at the wagons, well mounted and armed, would start on a buffalo hunt, keeping within easy reach of the caravan and hoping to bring back food for the night's encampment. at seven o'clock the trumpet sounded the advance, and the wagon that was to lead for that day slowly rolled out of the camp and headed the line of march. the other wagons fell in behind it, and guided by the horsemen, the long line commenced its winding route through the mountains. the country through which whitman had chosen to travel was beautiful in the extreme; at times the road lay through the great heights of the rockies, with a panorama of wonderful charm stretched on the horizon; at times it lay beside broad rivers where the clearness of the air brought out all the colors of late summer foliage. the party of hunters were also scouts for the caravan, searching the rivers for the most promising fords. having found one to their liking, they would signal with a flag to the pilot and his guides to show in which direction to lead the wagons. these guides kept constantly on the alert, for it would be hard if they had to march a mile or two out of their way or retrace their steps because of wrong advice. the rest of the emigrants trusted the route entirely to their leaders and rode or marched stolidly along, occasionally stopping to gather a few flowers for the women and children in the wagons. at noon the whole line stopped for dinner. the scouting party would carefully choose a good camping place, looking especially for the grass and water that were so much needed at the end of five hours of hard traveling. the teams were not unyoked, but only turned loose from their wagons, and the latter were drawn up in columns, four abreast. no corral was formed, as there was little danger from indians or risk of animals straying in the daytime. at this noon rest many matters were discussed by the caravan leaders. whitman and one or two others had been chosen to decide disputes between the different members of the party. orders for the good of the caravan would be given out at this time, and dr. whitman would visit any who were sick and advise with the various families as to new difficulties they had met with. when dinner was eaten and the teams rested the march was resumed, and continued until sundown, when the scouts picked out the best camping place for the night. the wagons were driven into a great circle, fastened each to each, and the cattle freed to seek a pasture; tents were pitched, fires started, and all hands were busy. the scene was almost like a small frontier town. the caravan was divided into three companies, and each of the companies subdivided into four watches. each company had the duty of acting as sentries for the camp every third night, and each watch took its turn. the first watch was set at eight o'clock in the evening, just after the evening meal. for a short time there would be talking, perhaps singing, or the music of the violin or flute. usually, however, the day's traveling had been hard and trying, and at an early hour the emigrants went to sleep. late in the summer of whitman's pioneers left the mountains behind them, and came down into the valleys watered by the tributaries of the columbia river. as they approached the missionary settlement at wai-i-lat-pui a band of cayuse and nez percés indians came to meet them, bringing pack-mules loaded with supplies. few messengers could have been more welcome. they told whitman that his wife and friends were still at the little clearing where he had left them almost a year before, and were eagerly looking forward to the arrival of the new settlers. the leader thought that the caravan could finish its journey without him now, so he chose one of his most reliable indian guides, istikus, and placed him in charge of the company. whitman himself hurried on to the mission. back of him rolled the long train of canvas-covered wagons that had traveled so far over prairies, rivers, and mountains. almost a thousand men, women, and children were coming into this far western section of the continent to settle and hold the country for the united states. whitman's ride changed the situation. no more statesmen could speak of the impassable mountains or the impossibility of taking settlers' wagons into oregon. before whitman left washington daniel webster sent a message to england stating that the united states would insist on holding all territory south of the forty-ninth degree of latitude. when president tyler was told that a caravan of nearly a thousand people under whitman's leadership had started for oregon, a second and more positive message to the same effect was sent to england. all over the united states men were now demanding that their government should claim the country as far as the pacific coast, and one great political party took as its watchword the motto, "oregon, fifty-four, forty,--or fight," referring to the degree of latitude they wanted for the boundary line. the hudson's bay company, finding so large a colony of pioneers settling among them, was forced to give over its efforts to hold the northwest entirely for itself. in time the english statesmen agreed to the claims of the united states, and on july , , a treaty was signed, fixing the boundary between canada and the united states at the forty-ninth degree, which gave oregon to the republic. the settlers prospered, and the little missionary colony near the walla walla river grew in size. whitman resumed his work among the indians, and seemed to win their friendship. there seemed no reason why the native tribes and their white friends should not live in peace in such an undeveloped country. after a time, however, fear or greed or false leaders stirred up certain indians and sent them on the war-path against their friends. no one knew the real cause for the outburst, but on november , , a band of the cayuse crept down on the little cluster of houses at wai-i-lat-pui and killed fourteen of the white settlers. marcus whitman was one of the first to fall. he was in his house, with several indians as usual in the room with him. one was sitting close to him, asking for some medicine, when another came up behind and struck him with a tomahawk. these two then gave the signal, and their allies in other houses fell upon the white men and women. after the massacre forty men, women, and children were carried away from the valley by the indians, but most of them were later rescued by the hudson's bay company and sent back to their homes. other white settlers joined forces and marched against the treacherous cayuse, but the latter fled through the country, scattering into different tribes, and the leaders of the attack were not captured until nearly two years later. daniel webster had said in the senate: "what do we want with the vast, worthless area, this region of savages and wild beasts, of deserts, of shifting sands and whirlwinds of dust, of cactus and prairie dogs? to what use could we ever hope to put these great deserts, or these endless mountain ranges, impenetrable, and covered to their base with eternal snow? what can we ever hope to do with the western coast, a coast of three thousand miles, rock-bound, cheerless, and uninviting, and not a harbor on it? what use have we for such a country?" but though many great statesmen agreed with webster a simple missionary who had been to oregon looked into the future, saw the value of the vast expanse, and had the courage and determination to ride across the continent for aid, and then bring back a thousand settlers to help him realize his dream. marcus whitman is one of the noblest examples of that great type of pioneers who won the western country for the united states. vii how the mormons came to settle utah in the winter of - a large number of people moved into the country on the east bank of the mississippi river in the state of illinois. they had taken the name of "latter-day saints," but were generally called mormons, and were followers of a new religion that had been founded by a man named joseph smith a few years earlier. this strange new religion had attracted many people to it, and the greater number of them had first moved to ohio, and then into the new state of missouri, but they were not well received by the people of either of those states, and had finally been driven from missouri at the point of the sword. fortunately for them there was plenty of unoccupied land in the west, and their leader decided to take refuge near the town of quincy in illinois. at that time a man had only to reside in the state for six months in order to cast a vote for president, and as an election was near at hand the politicians of illinois were glad to welcome the mormons. looking about, the newcomers found two "paper" cities, or places that had been mapped out on paper with streets and houses, but had never actually been built. the mormon leaders bought two large farms in the "paper" town of commerce, and many thousand acres in the country adjoining, and there they laid out their new city, to which they gave the strange name of nauvoo. the mormon city lay along the mississippi river, and its streets and public buildings were planned on a large scale. people flocked to the place, and as the mormon missionaries were eager workers the number of converts grew rapidly. a temple was built, which a stranger who saw it in said was the wonder of the world. many mormon emigrants came from england, usually by ship to new orleans, and thence by river steamboat up the mississippi to nauvoo. by the end of at least fifteen thousand people had settled there, and as many more were scattered through the country in the immediate neighborhood. nauvoo was the largest city in illinois, and its only rival in that part of the west was st. louis. joseph smith had obtained a charter, and both the political parties, the whigs and the democrats, were doing their best to make friends of his people. nauvoo had little of the rough look of most newly-settled frontier towns, and handsome houses and public buildings sprang up rapidly along its fine wide streets. [illustration: nauvoo had handsome houses and public buildings] unfortunately for the mormons their leader was a man who made enemies as easily as he made friends. he had aroused much ill feeling when he lived in missouri. as a result, when, one day in may, , governor boggs of missouri was shot and seriously wounded while sitting at the window of his home, many people laid the crime to smith or his followers, and believed that the prophet himself, as smith was called, had ordered the shooting. the officers of missouri asked the governor of illinois to hand smith over to them. this was not done, and consequently ill feeling against the prophet grew stronger. in the meantime a man named john c. bennett, who had joined the mormons at nauvoo, and had been the first mayor of the city, deserted the church, and turned into one of the most bitter of its enemies. he denounced the mormons in letters he wrote to the newspapers, and exposed what he called their secrets. this led other people to attack the ideas of the mormons, and it was not long before there was almost as much dislike of them in illinois as there had been in missouri. even in the mormon church itself there were men who would not agree with all the prophet joseph smith said. a few of these men set up a printing-press and published a paper that they called the _nauvoo expositor_. only one issue of this sheet appeared, dated june , . that was enough, however, to raise the wrath of joseph smith and his elders, and they ordered the city marshal to destroy the press. the marshal broke the press and type in the main street of the city, and burned the contents of the newspaper office. the editors hastily fled to the neighboring town of carthage. the people there and in all the neighboring villages denounced the destruction of the press, and declared that the time had come to force the mormons to obey the laws, and, if they would not do so, to drive them out of illinois. military companies were formed, cannon were sent for, and the governor of the state was asked to call out the militia. the governor went to the scene of the trouble to investigate. he found all that part of the east shore of the mississippi divided between the mormons and their enemies. he ordered the mayor of nauvoo to send mormons to him to explain why they had destroyed the printing-press, and when he had heard their story the governor told them that smith and his elders must surrender to him, or the whole military force of the state would be called out to capture them. but the prophet had not been idle. he had put his city under martial law, had formed what was called the legion of the mormons, and had called in his followers from the near-by villages. he had meant to defend his new city; but when he heard the governor's threat to arrest him, he left nauvoo with a few comrades and started for the rocky mountains. friends went after him, and begged him not to desert his people. he could not resist their appeal to him to return, and he went back, although he was afraid of the temper of his enemies. as soon as he returned to illinois he was arrested on the charge of treason and of putting nauvoo under martial law, and together with his brother hyrum was sent to the jail at carthage. some seventeen hundred men, members of the militia, had gathered at the towns of carthage and warsaw, and the enemies of the mormons urged the governor to march at the head of these troops to nauvoo. he knew that in the excited state of affairs there was danger that if these troops entered the city they might set it on fire and destroy much property. he therefore ordered all except three companies to disband; with one company he set out to visit the mormon city, and the other two companies he left to guard the jail at carthage. the governor marched to nauvoo, spoke to the citizens, and, having assured them that he meant no harm to their church, left about sundown on his road back to carthage. in the meantime, however, events had been happening in the latter place that were to affect the whole history of the mormons. the two smiths, joseph and hyrum, with two friends, willard richards and john taylor, were sitting in a large room in the carthage jail when a number of men, their faces blackened in disguise, came running up the stairway. the door of the room had no lock or bolt, and, as the men inside feared some attack, hyrum smith and richards leaped to the door and shutting it stood with their shoulders against it. the men outside could not force the door open, and began to shoot through it. the two men at the door were driven back, and on the second volley of shot hyrum smith was killed. as his brother fell the prophet seized a six shooting revolver that one of their visitors had left on the table, and going to the door opened it a few inches. he snapped each barrel at the men on the stair; three barrels missed fire, but each of the three that exploded wounded a man. as the prophet fired taylor and richards stood close beside him, each armed with a hickory cane. when joseph smith stopped shooting the enemy fired another volley into the room. taylor tried to strike down some of the guns that were leveled through the broken door. "that's right, brother taylor, parry them off as well as you can!" cried joseph smith. he ran to the window, intending to leap out, but as he jumped two bullets fired through the doorway struck him, and also another aimed from outside the building. as soon as the mob saw that the prophet was killed they scattered, alarmed at what had been done. the people of carthage and the neighboring country expected that the legion of the mormons would immediately march on them and destroy them. families fled in wagons, on horseback, and on foot. most of the people of the near-by town of warsaw crossed the mississippi in order to put the river between them and their enemies. in this state of excitement the governor did not know which party to trust, so he rode to the town of quincy, forty miles away, and at a safe distance from the scene of trouble. but the mormons made no attempt to avenge the death of their leader; they intended to let the law look after that. week by week, however, it grew harder for them to live on friendly terms with the other people of western illinois, and more and more troubles arose to sow distrust. the gentiles, as those who were not mormons were called, began to charge the mormons with stealing their horses and cattle, and the state repealed the charter that had been granted to the city of nauvoo. during that summer of , the troubles of nauvoo's people increased. one night in september a meeting of gentiles at the town of green plains was fired on, and many laid the attack to the mormons. whether this was true or not, their enemies gathered in force and scoured the country, burning the houses, barns, and crops of the latter-day saints, and driving them from the country behind the walls of nauvoo. from their city streets the saints rode out to pay their enemies in kind, and so the warfare went on until the governor appointed officers to try to settle the feud. the people, however, wanted the matter settled in only one way. they insisted that the mormons must leave illinois. in reply word came from nauvoo that the saints would go in the spring, provided that they were not molested, and that the gentiles would help them to sell or rent their houses and farms, and give them oxen, horses, wagons, dry-goods, and cash in exchange for their property. the gentile neighbors would not promise to buy the goods the mormons had for sale, but promised not to interfere with their selling whatever they could. at last the trouble seemed settled. brigham young, the new leader of the mormons, said that the whole church would start for some place beyond the rocky mountains in the spring, if they could sell enough goods to make the journey there. so the people of nauvoo prepared to abandon the buildings of their new flourishing city on the mississippi, and spent the winter trading their houses for flour, sugar, seeds, tents, wagons, horses, cattle, and whatever else might be needed for the long trip across the plains. the mormons now looked forward eagerly to their march to a new home, and many of them traveled through the near-by states, buying horses and mules, and more went to the large towns in the neighborhood to work as laborers and so add to the funds for their journey. the leaders announced that a company of young men would start west in march, and choose a good situation for their new city. there they would build houses, and plant crops which should be ready when the rest of the mormons arrived. but they knew there was always a chance that the people of the country would attack them, and therefore they sent messengers to the governors of the territories they would cross, asking for protection on the march. on february th brigham young and a few other men crossed the mississippi and selected a spot on sugar creek as the first camp for the people who were to follow. young and the twelve elders of the mormons traveled together, and wherever their camp was pitched that place was given the name of "camp of israel." the emigrants had a test of hardship even when they first moved across the mississippi. the temperature dropped to twenty degrees below zero, and the canvas-covered wagons and tents were a poor shelter from the snow-storms for women and children who had been used to the comforts of a large town. many crossed the mississippi on ice. when they were gathered on sugar creek brigham young spoke to them from a wagon. he told them of the perils of the journey, and then called for a show of hands by those who were willing to start upon it; every hand was raised. on march st the camp was broken up, and the long western march began. the mormons were divided into companies of fifty or sixty wagons, and every night the cattle were carefully rounded up and guards set to protect them from attack. from time to time they built more elaborate camps, and men were left in charge to plant grain, build log cabins, dig wells, and fence the farms, in order that they might give food and shelter to other mormons who would be making the journey later. the weather was all against their progress. until may it was bitter cold, and there were heavy snow-storms, constant rains, sleet, and thick mud to be fought with, but like many other bands of american pioneers the mormons pushed resolutely on, some days marching one mile, some days six, until may th, when they reached a charming spot on a branch of the grand river, and built a camp that they called "mount pisgah." here they plowed and planted several acres of land. while this camp was being pitched, brigham young and some of the other leaders went on to council bluffs and at a place north of omaha, now the town of florence, located the last permanent camp of the expedition. the trail of the mormons now stretched across all the western country. at each of the camps men, women, and children were living, resting and preparing supplies to cover the next stage of their journey. but in spite of the care with which the march was planned those who left nauvoo last suffered the most. there was a great deal of sickness among them, and owing to illness they were often forced to stop for several days at some unprotected point on the prairies. twelve thousand people in all shared that mormon march. the gentiles in illinois did not think that the mormons were leaving nauvoo as rapidly as they should. every week from two to five hundred mormon teams crossed the ferry into iowa, but the neighbors thought that many meant to stay. ill feeling against them grew, and a meeting at carthage called on people to arm and drive out all mormons who remained by mid-june. six hundred men armed, ready to march against nauvoo. when the mormons first announced that they meant to leave their prosperous city in illinois men came hurrying from other parts of the country to pick up bargains in houses and farms that they thought they would find there. many of these new citizens were as much alarmed at the threats of the neighbors as were the mormons themselves; some of them armed, and asked the governor to send them aid. the men at carthage grew very much excited, and started to march on nauvoo. word came, however, that the sheriff, with five hundred men, had entered the city, prepared to defend it, and the gentile army retreated. a few weeks afterward the hostilities broke out again, and seven hundred men with cannon took the road to the city. those of the mormons who were left, a few hundreds in number, had built rude breastworks for protection; some of the gentile army took these, and the rest marched through the corn fields, and entered the city on another side. a battle followed between the gentiles in the streets and the mormons in their houses, and lasted an hour before the gentiles withdrew to their camp in the corn fields. peaceful citizens now tried to settle the matter. they arranged that all the mormons should leave immediately, and promised to try to protect them from any further attacks. so matters stood until may th, when the sheriff and his men marched into the city, and found the last of the mormons waiting to leave by the ferry. the next day they were told to go at once, and to make sure that they did bands of armed men went through the streets, broke into houses, threw what goods were left out of doors and windows, and actually threatened to shoot the people. the few remaining saints, most of them those who had been too ill to take up the march earlier, were now thoroughly frightened, and before sundown the last one of them had fled across the mississippi. a few days later this last party, six hundred and forty in number, began the long wearisome journey to the far west, and the empty city of nauvoo was at last in the hands of the gentiles. the object of the mormons was to find a place where they might be free to live according to their own beliefs. so far they had been continually hunting for what they called their own city of zion. as they spent that winter of - in their camp near council bluffs, they tried to decide where they would be safest from persecution. the far west had few settlements as yet, and they were free to take what land they would, but the mormons wanted a site on which to lay the foundations of a city that should one day be rich and prosperous. they decided to send out a party of explorers, and in april, , one hundred and forty-three men, under command of brigham young, with seventy-three wagons filled with food and farm tools, left the headquarters to go still farther west. they journeyed up the north fork of the platte river, and in the valleys found great herds of buffaloes, so many in number that they had to drive them away before the wagons could pass. each day the bugle woke the camp about five o'clock in the morning. at seven the journey began. the wagons were driven two abreast by men armed with muskets. they were always prepared for attacks from indians, but in the whole of their long journey no red men ever disturbed them. each night the wagons were drawn up in a half-circle on the river bank, and the cattle driven into this shelter. at nine the bugle sent them all to bed. so they made their way over the uinta range to emigration canyon. down this canyon they moved, and presently came to a terrace from which they saw wide plains, watered by broad rivers, and ahead a great lake filled with little islands. three days later the company camped on the plain by the bank of one of the streams, and decided that this should be the site of their new city. they held a meeting at which they dedicated the land with religious ceremonies, and at once set to work to lay off fields and start plowing and planting. some of them visited the lake, which they called the great salt lake, and bathed in its buoyant waters. day by day more of the pioneers arrived, and by the end of august they had chosen the site of their great temple, built log cabins and adobe huts, and christened the place the "city of the great salt lake." this name was later changed to salt lake city. it took some time for this large body of emigrants to build their homes. wood was scarce and had to be hauled over bad roads by teams that were still worn out by the long march, therefore many built houses of adobe bricks, and as they did not know how to use this clay the rains and frost caused many of the walls to crumble, and when snow fell the people stretched cloths under their roofs to protect themselves from the dripping bricks. many families lived for months in their wagons. they would take the top part from the wheels, and setting it on the ground, divide it into small bedrooms. the furniture was of the rudest sort; barrels or chests for tables and chairs, and bunks built into the side of the house for beds. but at last they were free from their enemies in this distant country. men in ohio, missouri, and illinois had hounded them from their settlements, but in this far-off region they had no neighbors except a few pioneer settlers, and wandering bands of indians, who were glad to trade with them. a steady stream of converts to the mormon church followed that first trail across the plains. a missionary sent to england brought many men and women from that country to the city on the great salt lake. brigham young and the other leaders encouraged their followers above all else to cultivate the land. most of the mormons were farmers, and what shops there were dealt only in the necessities of life. food was a matter of the first importance, and they had to rely entirely upon their own efforts to provide it. every one was given a piece of land for his house, and most of them had their own farms in the outlying country. when they were sure of their food they began to build their temple and other public buildings, and these, like their streets, were all planned on the lines of a great future city. they first called their territory deseret, but later changed it to the indian name of utah. salt lake city, and the territory of utah, of which it was the chief settlement, might have remained for years almost unknown to the rest of the united states had not gold been discovered in california in the winter of . the news of untold riches in the land that lay between utah and the pacific ocean brought thousands of fortune hunters across the plains, and many of them traveled by way of salt lake city. that rush of men brought trade in its track and served to make the mormons' capital well known. the quest for gold opened up the lands along the pacific and helped to tie the far west to the rest of the nation. soon railroads began to creep into the valleys beyond the rocky mountains, and wherever they have gone they have brought men closer together. but in utah the mormons were the first settlers, and no one could come and drive them out of their chosen land. at last they had found a city entirely of their own. they had not been allowed to live in nauvoo, and so they built a new capital. like all founders of new religions the mormons had to weather many storms, but after they had passed through cold, hunger, and hardships of many kinds they came to their promised land. such is the story of the founding of salt lake city, the home of the mormon people. viii the golden days of 'forty-nine in california was largely an unexplored region, the home of certain old spanish missions, with a few seaport towns scattered along the coast. some pioneers from the east had settled inland after california had been separated from mexico, and were ranching and farming. one of these pioneers, a well-to-do man named john a. sutter, had staked out a considerable tract of land near the american river. he built a fort or stockade as headquarters, and made his plans to cultivate the tract. he had a number of men working for him, building a sawmill on the south branch of the american river, about forty miles from his main house. these workmen were in charge of james wilson marshall, who intended to have a dry channel serve as the tail-race for the mill, and was widening and deepening it by loosening the earth. at night the water of the stream was allowed to run through this channel, and wash out the gravel and sand. one day early in january, as marshall was walking along the bank of the race, he noticed some shining yellow flakes in the soil. he thought these flakes might be gold, and gathering some of the earth carefully washed and screened it. in this way he obtained what looked like gold-dust. early the next morning he went back to the race, and after some searching found a yellow scale larger than the others. he showed this, together with those he had obtained the day before, to some of the workmen, and they helped him to gather about three ounces. later in the day marshall went to his employer sutter, who was at the fort, and there the two men tested the flakes as well as they were able, and reached the conclusion that they were really gold-dust. it was important to keep the discovery as quiet as possible. searching along the dry channel sutter and marshall found more of the gold flakes. in some places the yellow scales were very plentiful, and seemed to promise that large quantities of the valuable mineral could be found near at hand. it was impossible, however, to keep the news from the workmen who had helped in finding the flakes. before long the news spread, and in march, , two newspapers of california mentioned the discovery on the south fork of the american river. the country was so sparsely settled, and life so primitive, that no great excitement was caused by this news for some months. but in may a mormon, coming from the settlement of coloma to san francisco, walked down the main street waving a bottle filled with gold-dust and shouting "gold! gold! gold from the american river!" his words, and the sight of the glittering bottle, caused tremendous excitement in san francisco, and in the twinkling of an eye men took possession of sailboats, sloops, launches, any kind of craft, and started up the sacramento river. those who could not get boats to take the quicker course hurried off on horses or mules, in wagons or on foot. it was like a fairy tale. the seaport town of san francisco, which had been well filled, was practically deserted overnight. shopkeepers closed their stores, families hurried from their houses, and every class of people pushed toward the american river. the roads that led thither, which had usually been almost as empty as the prairies, were now filled with a wildly rushing throng. a man who had crossed the strait of carquines in april was the only passenger on the ferry, but when he returned two weeks later he found two hundred wagons trying to drive on board the ferry-boat. business on the coast came to a standstill. the newspapers that had been started stopped publication. the churches closed, and all the town officers deserted their posts. as soon as a ship touched the coast and the crew heard of the finding of gold they deserted, and the captain and mates, seeing themselves without a crew, usually dashed after the others. empty vessels lay at the docks. a large ship belonging to the hudson's bay company, which had put into san francisco harbor, was in charge of the captain's wife, every one else having left for the gold fields. prices in all the country from san francisco to los angeles jumped prodigiously. if men were to stay at their work they demanded and received twice their former wages. shovels and spades sold for ten dollars apiece. they, and a few other mining implements, were the only things still manufactured. the cry of gold had turned men's heads like the magic wand of some fairy. inland california presented a strange sight. the roads that ran from san francisco to sutter's fort had formerly lain between prosperous farm lands, but now the crops were going to waste, the houses were empty, and the cattle free to wander through fields of grain. along the american river, on the other hand, hills and valleys were filled with sheltering tents, and huts built of brush and rocks thrown together in a hurry. men could not stop for comfort, but worked all day on the river bank. there were almost as many ways of searching for the gold as there were men. some tried to wash the sand and gravel in pans; some used closely woven indian baskets; some used what were called cradles. the cradle was a basket six or eight feet long, mounted on rockers, and open at one end; at the other end was a coarse screen sieve. cleats were nailed across the bottom of the cradle. one workman would dig the gravel from the river bank, another carry it to the sieve, a third pour water over it, and a fourth rock the cradle the screen separated the stones from the gravel, the water washed away the earth and carried the heavier soil out of the cradle, thus leaving the black sand filled with the gold. this was later carried to a pan and dried in the sun. the sand could then be blown away, and the gold would be left. men knew that fortunes were to be found here. on a creek a few miles below coloma, seventeen thousand dollars' worth of gold was taken from a ditch three hundred feet long, four wide, and two deep. another small channel had yielded no less than twelve thousand dollars. many men already had bags and bottles that held thousands of dollars' worth of the precious mineral. one man, who had been able to get fifty indians to work for him as washers, obtained sixteen thousand dollars from a small creek in five weeks' time. all this quickly changed the character of upper california. every man wanted to be a miner, and no longer a cattleman or farmer, as before. it looked as though the towns would shrivel up, because of the tremendously high wages demanded by the men who were needed there. cooks in san francisco were paid three hundred dollars a month, and all kinds of mechanics secured wages of fifteen or twenty dollars a day. the forts found it impossible to keep soldiers on duty. as soon as men were paid off they rushed to the american river. sailors deserted as fast as they could, and the american war-ships that came to anchor off monterey did not dare to allow a single man to land. threats of punishment or offers of reward had no influence over the sailors. they all felt certain they could make fortunes in a month at the gold fields. soon men began to wonder whether they could not duplicate in other places the discovery that marshall had made on sutter's land. wherever there was a river or stream explorers began to dig. they were well rewarded. rich placers of gold were found along the course of almost all the streams that flowed to the feather and san joaquin rivers. along the course of the stanislaus and toulumne rivers was another field for mining. by midsummer of settlers in southern california were pouring north in thousands, and by october at least ten thousand men were washing and screening the soil of river banks. [illustration: wherever there was a stream, explorers began to dig] the pacific coast was very far away from the rest of the united states in that day. news usually traveled by ship, and sailors brought the report of the discovery of gold to honolulu, to oregon city, and to the ports at victoria and vancouver. letters carried the first tidings to the people in the east, and by the middle of the summer washington and new york had learned what was happening in california, and adventurers along the atlantic coast were beginning to turn their faces westward. the letters often greatly exaggerated the truth. a new york paper printed reports which stated that men were picking gold out of the earth as easily as hogs could root up groundnuts in a forest. one man, who employed sixty indians, was said to be making a dollar a minute. small holes along the banks of streams were stated to yield many pounds of gold. but even allowing for much exaggeration it was evident that men were making fortunes in that country. colonel mason, in charge at san francisco, sent lieutenant loeser with his report to washington. the lieutenant had to take a roundabout route. he went from monterey to peru, from there to panama, across the isthmus, took boat to jamaica, and from there he sailed to new orleans. when he reached the capital he delivered his message, and showed a small tea chest which held three thousand dollars' worth of gold in lumps and flakes. this chest was placed on exhibition, and served to convince those who saw it that california must possess more gold than any other country yet discovered. president taylor announced the news in an official message. he said that the mineral had been found in such quantities as could hardly be believed, except on the word of government officers in the field. during the winter of - thousands of men in the east planned to start for this el dorado as soon as they could get their outfits together, and spring should open the roads. the overland route to the west was long and very difficult. at that time, though the voyage by sea was longer, it was easier for men who lived on the atlantic coast. they might sail around cape horn, or to the isthmus of panama, or to vera cruz, and in the two latter cases cross land, and hope to find some ship in the western ocean that would take them to san francisco. business men in the east seized the opportunity to advertise tents, beds, blankets, and all manner of camp equipment, as well as pans, rockers, and every kind of implement for washing gold from the gravel. the owners of ships of every description, many of them unseaworthy, fitted up their craft, and advertised them as ready to sail for san francisco. the ports of boston, salem, newburyport, new york, baltimore, and new orleans were crowded with brigs and schooners loading for the pacific. a newspaper in new york stated that ten thousand people would leave for the gold country within a month. all sorts of schemes were tried. companies were formed, each member of which paid one hundred dollars or more to charter a ship to take them around the horn. almost every town in the east had its california association, made up of adventurers who wanted to make their fortunes rapidly. by the end of january, , eighty vessels had sailed by way of cape horn, and many others were heading for vera cruz, and for ports on the isthmus of panama. the newspapers went on printing fabulous stories of the discoveries. one had a letter stating that lumps of gold weighing a pound had been found in several places. another printed a letter from a man who said he would return in a few months with a fortune of half a million dollars in gold. a miner was said to have arrived in pittsburgh with eighty thousand dollars in gold-dust that he had gathered in a few weeks. whenever men met they discussed eagerly the one absorbing topic of the fortunes waiting on the coast. the adventurers who sailed around cape horn had in most cases the easiest voyages. there were plenty of veteran sea-captains ready to command the ships. a boston merchant organized "the mining and trading company," bought a full-rigged vessel, sold places in it to one hundred and fifty men, and sailed from boston early in january, . the first place at which she touched was tierra del fuego, and she reached valparaiso late in april. there she found two ships from baltimore, and in two days four more arrived from new york, and one from boston. july th she entered the golden gate of san francisco, and found it crowded with vessels from every port. the ships were all deserted, and within an hour all this ship's crew were on shore. the town itself was filled with bustle and noise. gambling was practically the only business carried on, and the stores were jammed with men paying any price for outfits for the gold country. this company chose a place on the mokelumne river, and hastened there, but they found it difficult to work on a company basis. the men soon scattered and drifted to other camps; some of them found gold, others in time made their way east poorer than when they came. those who went by the isthmus had many adventures. two hundred young men sailed to vera cruz, and landed at that quaint old mexican city. there they were told that bands of robbers were prowling all through the country, that their horses would die of starvation in the mountains, and that they would probably be killed, or lose themselves on the wild trail. fifty of them decided not to go farther, and sailed back in a homeward-bound ship to new york. those who went on were attacked by a mob at the town of jalapa, and had to fight their way through at the point of revolvers. in several wild passes bandits tried to hold them up, but the easterners put them to flight and pushed on their way. all through the country they found relics and wreckage of the recent days when general scott had marched an army into mexico. there was more trouble at mexico city. a religious procession was passing along the plaza, and the americans did not fall upon their knees. the crowd set upon them, and they had to form a square for their protection, and hold the mob at bay until mexican officers came to their rescue. only after fighting a path through other towns and a long march did they reach the seaport of san blas. one hundred and twenty of them took ship from there to san francisco. thirty, however, had left the others at mexico city, thinking they could reach the sea-coast more quickly by another route. the ship they caught could get no farther than san diego. from there they had to march on foot across a blazing desert country. their food gave out, and they lived on lizards, birds, rattlesnakes, and even buzzards, anything they could find. worn and almost starving they reached san francisco, ten months after they had left new york. such adventures were common to the american argonauts of . those gold-seekers who went by the isthmus of panama had to stop at the little settlement of chagres, where one hundred huts of bamboo stood on the ruins of the old spanish fort of san lorenzo. the natives, lazy and half-clad, gazed in astonishment at the scores of men from the eastern united states, who suddenly began to hurry through their town. here the gold-hunters bargained for river boats, which were usually rude dugouts, with roofs made of palmetto branches and leaves, and rowed by natives. it was impossible with such rowers to make much speed against the strong current of the chagres river. three days were required to make the journey to gorgona, where the travelers usually landed. at this place they had to bargain afresh for pack-mules to carry them the twenty-four miles that lay between gorgona and panama. many men, who could not find any mules left in the town, deserted their baggage and started for the pacific coast on foot. the chances were that no ship would be waiting for them there, and they would have to warm their heels in idleness for days. general persifor f. smith, who had been ordered to take command of the united states troops at san francisco, was one of those who had to wait for a ship at panama. here he heard reports that a good deal of the new-found gold was being sent to foreign countries. some said that the british consul had forwarded fifteen thousand ounces of california gold to england, and that more than nine million francs' worth of the mineral had been received in the south american ports of lima and valparaiso. as a result hundreds of men from those ports were taking ship to california. general smith did not like the idea of foreigners profiting by the discovery of gold in california, and issued an order that only citizens of the united states should be allowed to enter the public lands where the diggings were located. when the _california_, a steamship from new york, reached panama in january, , with seventy-five peruvians on board, general smith warned them that they would not be allowed to go to the mines, and sent word of this order to consuls along the pacific coast of south america. in spite of his efforts, however, foreigners would go to upper california, and the american prospectors were too busy with their own searches to prevent the strangers from taking what gold they could find. when the _california_ arrived at panama she was already well filled with passengers, but there were so many men waiting for her that the captain had to give in to their demands, and crowd his vessel with several hundred more gold-seekers. loaded with impatient voyagers, the steamship sailed up the coast, and reached san francisco about the end of february. immediately every one on board, except the captain, the mate, and the purser, deserted the ship, and dashed for the gold fields. the next steamer to reach panama, the _oregon_, found an even larger crowd waiting at that port. she took more passengers on board than she was intended to carry, but fortune favored the gold-seekers, and the _oregon_, like the _california_, discharged her adventurous cargo in safety at san francisco. hundreds of others who could not board either of these steamers ventured on the pacific in small sailing vessels, or any manner of ship that would put out from panama bound north. it is interesting to know the story of some of these pilgrimages. one of the argonauts has told how he organized, in a little new england town, a company of twenty men. each man subscribed a certain sum of money in return for a share in any profits, and in this way ten thousand dollars was raised. the men who were to go on the expedition signed a paper agreeing to work at least two years in the gold fields for the company. the band went from the new england town to new york, where they found the harbor filled with ships that were advertised to sail for nicaragua, vera cruz, or chagres. the leader of the company chose a little brig bound for the latter port, and in this the party, with some twenty-five other passengers, set sail in march. they ran into a heavy storm, but in three weeks reached the port on the isthmus. there they had to wait some days, as all the river boats had gone up to gorgona. when the boats were ready, thirty natives poled ten dugouts up the river. when the men landed they were told that there was no ship at panama; that half the gold-seekers in that town were ill, and that there was no use in pushing on. so the party built tents on the bank of the river, and stayed there until the rainy season drove them to the coast. there they camped again, and waited for a ship to arrive. there was one vessel anchored in the harbor, but the owner was under a bond to keep it there as a coal-ship. the leader of the company, however, persuaded the owner to forfeit this bond, and four hundred waiting passengers paid two hundred dollars apiece to be conveyed to california. the ship was hardly seaworthy, and took seven weeks of sailing and floating to reach the harbor of acapulco. there the vessel was greeted by a band of twenty americans, ragged and penniless, who had come on foot from the city of mexico. they had waited so long for a ship that twenty of the passengers agreed to give them their tickets, and take their places to wait until the next vessel should arrive. it was almost seven months after that new england party had left new york before they arrived at the golden gate of san francisco. there was very little choice between the panama and the nicaragua routes to the west. among those who tried the latter road were a number of young men who had just graduated from yale college. they boarded a ship in new york that was advertised to sail during the first week in february, and expected to land in san francisco in sixty days. it was march, however, before the ship, crowded with voyagers, set sail south from sandy hook. three weeks brought her to the mouth of the san juan river. the ship's company was landed at the little tropical town of san juan de nicaragua. a small steamboat had been brought along to take them up the river, but when the machinery was put together the boat was found to be worthless. like the voyagers by panama, these men then had to trust to native dugouts, and in this way they finally got up the river to san carlos. had it not been for their eagerness to reach california such a trip would have been a delight to men who had never seen the tropics before. the san juan river flowed through forests of strange and beautiful trees. tamarind and dyewood trees, tall palms, and giant cacti, festooned with bright-colored vines, made a background for the brilliant birds that flew through the woods. fruit was to be had for the taking, and the weather at that time of the year was delightful. but the thought of the fortunes waiting to be picked up in california filled the minds of most of the travelers. after leaving the boats this party traveled by mule to leon. nicaragua was in the midst of a revolution, and the americans acted as a guard to the president on the road to leon. near the end of july the company separated. some finally sailed from the port of realejo, and after many dangers and a voyage of almost five months succeeded in reaching san francisco. others reached panama, set sail in a small boat, and were never heard from again; while yet a third party boarded a vessel at a nicaraguan port, and managed to reach california after almost perishing from hunger and thirst. such were the adventures of some of those who tried to reach the gold fields of the west by sea. hundreds of men made the trip by one of these routes, and as soon as spring arrived thousands set out overland. it was understood that large parties would leave from western missouri early in march, and as a result many men, some alone, some in bands of twenty or thirty, gathered there from all parts of the east. sometimes they formed military companies, wore uniforms, and carried rifles. the main place of gathering was the town of independence, which grew to the size of a large city in a few weeks. men came on foot and on horseback; some with canvas-covered wagons, prairie schooners, and pack-mules; some with herds of cattle; some bringing with them all their household goods. all the middle west seemed to be in motion. in a single week in march, , hundreds of wagons drove through burlington, iowa. two hundred from memphis went along the arkansas river, and hundreds more from michigan, wisconsin, illinois, and pennsylvania crossed the border of iowa. the spring was late, and as the overland trip could not be taken until the grass was high enough to feed the cattle, the great company had to wait along the frontiers from independence to council bluffs. as men gathered at these towns they would form into companies, and then move on to a more distant point, in order to make room for later arrivals. twenty thousand gathered along these frontiers before the signal was given to start westward. the march began about may st, and from then on, day and night, scores of wagons crossed the missouri river, and the country looked like a field of tents. from independence most of the emigrants crossed rolling prairies for fifteen days to the platte river at grand island. the route then wound up the valley of the platte to the south fork, and from there to the north fork, where a rude post-office had been built, at which letters might be left to be carried back east by any travelers who were going in that direction. from here the emigrants journeyed to the mountain passes. they usually stopped at laramie, which was the farthest western fort of the united states. by this time the long journey would be telling on many of the companies, and the road be strewn with all sorts of household goods, thrown away in order to lighten the burden on the horses. at the south pass, midway of the rocky mountains, two roads divided; those who took the southern road traveled by the great salt lake to the sierra nevada mountains, and so into california. the northern road lay partly along the course of the snake river to the headwaters of the humboldt, and from there the emigrants might choose a path still farther to the north toward the columbia river, or westward to the sacramento. many went by the trail along the humboldt, although this route was one of the most difficult. "the river had no current," said one of the gold-hunters. "no fish could live in its waters, which wound through a desert, and there was not enough wood in the whole valley to make a snuff-box, nor vegetation enough on its banks to shelter a rabbit. the stream flowed through desert sands, which the summer heat made almost unbearable for men and horses." following its course the travelers came to a lake of mud, surrounded for miles by a sandy plain. across this they had to march for thirty-four hours to reach the carson river. along the trail lay the bodies of horses, mules, and oxen, and broken wagons parched and dried out in the blazing sun. the first of the overland travelers who crossed the mountains late in the summer brought such reports to the officers at the pacific posts that the latter decided that relief parties must be sent back to help those who were still toiling in the desert. it was known that some had been attacked by indians, and obliged to leave their covered wagons; that some had lost all their cattle, and were almost without food. therefore relief parties were hurried into the mountains from the western side. they found the overland trail crowded with men on foot and in wagons. many were sick, and almost all were hungry. one man carried a child in his arms, while a little boy trudged by his side, and his invalid wife rode on a mule. the soldiers gave food to all who needed it, and urged them to push on to the army posts. day after day they met the same stream of emigrants, all bent on reaching the golden fields of california. late in the autumn, with winter almost at hand, the voyagers were still crossing the deserts and mountains. the soldiers could not induce many of them to throw away any of their goods. they crept along slowly, their wagons loaded from baseboard to roof. the teams, gradually exhausted, began to fall, and progress was almost impossible. then the rescuers hurried the women to near-by settlements, and forced the men to abandon some of their baggage in an effort to reach shelter before the winter storms should come. by the end of november almost all the overland emigrants had crossed the mountains. [illustration: the teams, exhausted, began to fail] the city of san francisco had sprung up almost overnight. in a captain richardson had landed on the shore of yerba buena cove, and built a hut of four redwood posts, covered by a sail. five years afterward this village of yerba buena contained about fifty people and a dozen houses. in the american war-ship _portsmouth_ anchored there, and her captain raised the "stars and stripes" on the plaza. at that time there were not more than fifty houses and two hundred people. when the town became american the plaza was renamed portsmouth square, and a year later the settlement was christened san francisco. that was in january, ; and by midsummer of the town had become a city. it was an odd place to look at. the houses were made of rough unpainted boards, with cotton nailed across the walls and ceiling in place of plaster; and many a thriving business was carried on in canvas tents. there were few homes. the city was crowded; but most of the population did not intend to stay. they came to buy what they needed, or sell what they brought with them, and then hasten away to the mines. so many eager strangers naturally drove the prices up enormously, especially when it seemed as though gold could be had for the taking. the restaurants charged three dollars for a cup of coffee, a slice of ham, and two eggs. houses and lots sold for from ten thousand to seventy-five thousand dollars each, and everything else was in proportion. what happened in san francisco also happened in many other california towns. sacramento was the result of the gold-craze. speculators bought large tracts of land in any attractive place, gave it a high-sounding name, and sold city lots. many of these so-called cities, however, shriveled up within a year or two. the seaports flourished because they were the gateways through which the newcomers passed in their rush to locate in the gold country. these seaports became the goal of merchants everywhere. necessary articles were so scarce that they were shipped long distances. flour was brought from australia and chili, rice and sugar from china, and the cities along the atlantic provided the dry-goods, the tools, and the furniture. at one time a cotton shirt would sell for forty dollars, a tin pan for nine, and a candle for three. but on the other hand cargoes of goods that were not needed, silks and satins, costly house-furnishings, were left on the beaches and finally sold for a song. from the seaports the new arrivals hurried either up the sacramento and the feather rivers to the northern gold fields, or up the san joaquin to the southern country. usually they were guided by the latest story of a rich find, and went where the chances seemed best. several men would join forces and pitch their tents together, naming their camp rat-trap slide, rough and ready camp, slap-jack bar, mad mule gulch, git-up-and-git, you bet, or any other name that struck their fancy. there were no laws to govern these little settlements, and the men adopted a rough system of justice that suited themselves. but as the numbers increased it was evident that california must have a better form of government, and steps were taken to have that rich stretch of land along the pacific admitted as a state to the united states. in three years california had grown from the home of about two thousand people to the home of eighty thousand. the finding of gold had changed that almost unknown wilderness into a thriving land in the twinkling of an eye. railroads were built to reach it, and more and more men poured west. some men made great fortunes, but more in a few months abandoned their claims and drifted to the cities, or made their way slowly back to the eastern farms and villages from which they had set out. the forty-niners, as the gold-seekers were called, found plenty of adventure in california, even if they did not all find a short-cut to wealth. ix how the united states made friends with japan one of the beautiful names that the japanese have given to their country is "land of great peace," and at no time was this name more appropriate than in the middle of the nineteenth century. two hundred years before the last of the civil wars of japan had come to an end, and the people, weary of years of bloodshed, had turned delightedly to peaceful ways. the rice-fields were replanted, artisans returned to their crafts, shops opened again, and poets and painters followed the call of their arts. the samurai, or warriors, sheathed their swords, though they still regarded them as their very souls. they hung their armor in their ancestral halls, and spent their time in sport or idleness. the daimios, or nobles of japan, lived either in the city of yedo or at their country houses, taking their ease, and gradually forgetting the arts of war on which their power had been founded. all the people were quite contented, and had no desire to trade with the rest of the world. as a matter of fact they knew almost nothing about other countries, except through english or russian sailors who occasionally landed on their coasts. japan was satisfied to be a hermit nation. on the afternoon of the seventh day of july, , or the third day of the sixth month of kayéi, in the reign of the emperor koméi, the farmers working in the muddy rice-fields near the village of uraga saw a strange sight. it was a clear summer afternoon, and the beautiful mountain fuji, its cone wreathed in white clouds, could be seen from sea and shore. what startled the men in the fields, the people in the village, and the boatmen in the harbor, was a fleet of vessels coming to anchor in the bay of yedo. these monsters, with their sails furled, although they were heading against the wind, were shooting tongues of smoke from their great black throats. "see the fire-vessels!" cried the japanese to each other. when the peasants asked the priests where the monsters came from the wise men answered that they were the fire-vessels of the barbarians who lived in the west. the monsters were four ships of the united states navy, the _mississippi_, _susquehanna_, _plymouth_, and _saratoga_, all under command of commodore matthew calbraith perry. the fleet dropped anchor in the wide bay, forming a line broadside to the shore. the gun-ports were opened, and sentries set to guard against attack by pirates, or by fire-junks. as the anchors splashed in the water rockets shot up from one of the forts on shore signaling to the court at yedo that the barbarians had reached japan. the town of uraga was usually not a very busy place, and the government officers spent their time drinking tea, smoking, and lounging in the sun, and occasionally collecting custom duties from junks bound to other harbors. but there was a great bustle on the day the strange ships arrived. the chief magistrate, or buni[=o], his interpreter, and suite of attendants, put on their formal dress of hempen cloth, and fastened their lacquered ornamented hats to their heads; with two swords in each belt, the party marched to the shore and boarded their state barge. twelve oarsmen rowed it to the nearest foreign ship, but when they tried to fasten ropes to the vessel so that they might go on board, the barbarians threw off the ropes, and gestured to them to keep away. the japanese officer was surprised to find that, although he was gorgeously robed, and his companions carried spears and the tokugawa trefoil flag, the barbarians were not at all impressed. they told him, through an interpreter, that their commander wished to confer with the governor himself. the officer answered that the governor was not allowed to board foreign ships. after some further discussion the surprised japanese was permitted to climb the gangway ladder and meet the barbarians on the deck of their vessel. commodore perry knew that the japanese loved mystery, high-sounding names, and ceremonies, and so he stayed in his cabin and would not show himself to the visitors. a secretary carried his messages, and explained that the mysterious commodore had come on a friendly mission and bore a letter from the president of the united states to the emperor of japan, which he wished to present with all proper ceremony. he declined to go to nagasaki, and insisted that he should remain in yedo bay, and added that although his visit was entirely friendly, he would not allow any inquisitive sightseers to prowl about his fleet. very much impressed with the power of this hidden barbarian, the japanese officer immediately ordered all the small boats, the punts and sampans that had gathered about the fleet, to row away. the officer and his body-guard returned to shore, and told the villagers that the visitors were very remarkable men, who were not at all impressed by their costumes or weapons. the japanese had no such title as commodore in their language, and they referred to perry as admiral, and credited him with almost as much majesty as their own hidden mikado, or as the mighty shogun. the western coast of japan was much excited that night. rockets from the forts, and huge watch-fires on the cliffs, told the whole country that a most unusual event had happened. the peasants set out their sacred images, and prayed to them as they had not done in years. it was evident that the gods of japan were punishing the people for their neglect by sending these great fire-vessels to disturb the coast. to add to the general excitement a wonderful light appeared in the sky about midnight, spreading a pale red and blue path across the heavens, as though a dragon were flying through space. priests and soothsayers made the most of this display of northern lights, and pointed out that the fire-vessels, clearly revealed in the harbor, must have something to do with the strange omen. the governor of uraga himself, with a retinue of servants, all clad in embroidered gowns and lacquered helmets, and each carrying two swords, went out to the flag-ship next morning. he had evidently overlooked the fact that the barbarians had been told on the day before that the governor could not pay such a visit to their fleet. the governor was used to being received with a great deal of attention, and to having people bow to the ground as he went by; but on the deck of the _susquehanna_ the sailors looked at him with simple curiosity, and when he asked to speak with the mysterious admiral, he was told that he would only be allowed to speak with the captains. these men said that their commander would only wait three days for an answer from yedo as to whether the mikado would receive the letter of the president. they showed him the magnificent box that held the letter, and the governor's curiosity grew even greater. when he left the flag-ship he had promised to urge the americans' cause. next day, the men dressed in silk and brocade, painted helmets, and gleaming sashes, eager to visit the ships again, were surprised to learn that the barbarian prince would transact no business. his interpreter declared that it was a day of religious observance, known as sunday. the people on shore heard the sailors of the fleet singing hymns, a strange sound in those waters. hastily the japanese offered new presents at the shrines of their own gods to ensure protection from the barbarians. by now the hermit people thought they might have to guard themselves, and began to build earthworks along the shore. farmers, fishermen, shopkeepers, women, and children were pressed into service. rude embankments were thrown up, and enormously heavy brass cannon were placed at openings. the old samurai, who had almost forgotten warfare, sought out their weapons, and gathered their troops. their armor consisted of jackets of silk, iron and paper. their arms were old matchlocks and spears. they could have fought each other, but they were several hundred years behind the barbarians in military matters. on the hills they set up canvas tents, with flags bearing flaming dragons and the other emblems of their clans. in the days of their civil wars bright-colored trappings had played an important part. yedo was then the chief city of japan. when perry arrived in it was the home of the shogun iyéyoshi, who was the real ruler of the land, although the mikado was called the sovereign. yedo had been the home of a long line of shoguns of the tokugawa family who had ruled the country, calling themselves "tycoons." they had built up the city, and filled it with palaces and temples that had never been equaled in magnificence. the people of yedo, numbering over a million, were greatly excited when they heard of the fleet of war-ships lying in their great bay. the shogun, his courtiers and his warriors bestirred themselves at once. soldiers were summoned, armor polished, swords unsheathed, castles repaired, and everything possible done to make an impression on the strangers. the chief men knew that they could not oppose this foreign admiral. once they had had war-vessels of their own, but years of peace had reduced their navy, and they could not defend their coasts. the shogun was afraid that the admiral might insist upon seeing the mikado at ki[=o]to, and that would be a great blow to his own dignity. after hours of debate and discussion he chose two daimios to receive the letter of the american president, millard fillmore, and sent word to all coast towns to man their forts. perry had played the game well, and so far had allowed no japanese to see him. he wanted to make a treaty with japan, and he knew that to succeed he must impress this oriental people with his dignity. he allowed his captains and two daimios to arrange a meeting to be held at a little town called kurihâma, near the port of uraga. each side had tried to outdo the other in politeness. the american captains had received the japanese officers with great respect, had served them wines, and seated them in upholstered armchairs. the japanese regretted that they could not provide their guests with armchairs or with wine on shore, but the visitors assured them that they would be willing to adopt japanese customs. by july th the scene for the meeting was ready. hundreds of yards of canvas, with the tokugawa trefoil, had been stretched along the road to kurihâma. hundreds of retainers, clad in all the colors of their feudal days, were gathered about the tents, and on the beach stood as many soldiers, glittering in their lacquered armor. the american officers were almost as brilliantly dressed as the japanese. they wore coats with a great many bright brass buttons, and curious shaped hats cocked on their heads. they brought musicians with them who played on cornets and drums, and the music was quite unlike anything the natives had ever heard before. three hundred of the barbarians landed and marched from the beach to the main tent, while the eager-eyed people lined the road and wondered at their strange appearance. two or three big sailors carried the american flag, and back of them came two boys with the mysterious red box that had been shown to the officers of the port. back of them marched the great commodore, clad in full uniform, and on either side of him strode a black man armed with a large sabre. many of the japanese had never seen a white man before, and still fewer had ever looked upon a negro. they were therefore very much impressed by the procession. the officers of the shogun received their magnificent visitor at the door of the pavilion. after greetings the two boys handed the box to the negro guards, who opened the scarlet cloth envelope and the gold-hinged rosewood cases, and laid the president's letter on a lacquered stand brought from yedo. a receipt for the president's letter was then handed to the commodore, who said that he would return to japan the next spring, probably in april or may. the meeting lasted half an hour, and then, with the same pomp and ceremony, the americans returned to their ships. for eight days the fleet remained in the bay. one party of sailors landed, but made no trouble, and was actually so polite that the people offered them refreshments of tea and fruit. at close range the barbarians were not so terrifying as the natives had thought them at first, and when they embarked for their fleet the people urged them to come back again. on july th the war-ships steamed away, leaving the cliffs covered with people, who gazed in astonishment at vessels that had no canvas spread, but were driven entirely by fire. perry's object in visiting japan was to obtain a treaty that would allow trade relations between the united states and this hermit nation. he wanted to give the japanese people time to consider president fillmore's letter, and so he planned to keep his squadron in eastern waters until the following spring, when he would return to learn the result of his mission at yedo. there was much of interest to him in china, and he spent the autumn and part of the winter making charts of that coast, and visiting ports where american merchants were already established. meantime the letter of the american president had caused great excitement in japan. almost as soon as perry left a messenger was sent to the shinto priests at the shrines of isé to offer prayers for the peace of the empire, and to urge that the barbarians be swept away. a week later the shogun iyéyoshi died, and left the government at odds as to what to do. some of the daimios remembered the military ardor of their ancestors, and wanted to fight the barbarians, rather than make a treaty with them. others thought that it would be madness to oppose an enemy who had such powerful ships that they could capture all the japanese junks, and destroy the coast cities. one powerful nobleman declared that it would be well for japan to meet the barbarians, and learn from them how to build ships and lead armies, so that they would be able in time to defeat them at their own arts. the mikado had little to do in the discussion. the actual ruler was the new shogun iyésada, son of the former shogun. while commodore perry was cruising along the coast of china he heard that french and russian merchants were planning to visit japan. he was afraid that his country might lose the benefits of his visit unless he could obtain a treaty before these other countries did. therefore, although a midwinter cruise to japan was difficult and dangerous, he determined to risk this and return at once. four ships set sail for yedo bay february , , and a week later the commodore followed with three others. in the city of yedo the new shogun was very busy preparing either for peace or war. a long line of forts was hurriedly built on the edge of the bay in front of the city. thousands of laborers were kept at work there, a great number of cannon were cast, and shops worked day and night turning out guns and ammunition. an old law had directed that all vessels of a certain size were to be burned, and only small coasting junks built. this law was repealed, and all the rich daimios hurriedly built war-ships. these ships flew a flag representing a red sun on a white background, and this later became the national flag of japan. a native who had learned artillery from the dutch was put in charge of the soldiers; old mediæval methods of fighting were abandoned, and artillery that was somewhat like that of european countries was adopted. in spite of all this bustle and preparation, however, the shogun and his advisers thought it would be wisest for them to agree to a treaty with the united states. therefore a notice was issued on december , , which stated that "owing to want of military efficiency, the americans would, on their return, be dealt with peaceably." at the same time the old practice of fumi-yé, which consisted in trampling on the cross and other emblems of christianity, and which had been long practiced in the city of nagasaki, was abolished. some men in the country were insisting that the time had come for the japanese to visit the west, and learn the new arts and trades. one of these was a scholar, sakuma, who urged the government to send japanese youths to europe to learn shipbuilding and navigation. the shogun did not approve of this idea; but a pupil of the scholar, named yoshida shoin, heard of it, and decided to go abroad by himself. sakuma gave him money for his expenses, and advised him how he might get passage on one of the american ships, when the fleet should return to japan. as soon as the shogun learned that commodore perry was about to return he chose hayâshi, the chief professor of chinese in the university, to serve as interpreter. the americans had used chinese scholars in their communications with the japanese, and hayâshi was a man of great learning and courtly manners. the shogun also found a native who understood english, although the americans did not know this. this man, nakahama manjiro, with two companions, had been picked up at sea by an american captain, and taken to the united states, where he obtained a good education. he and his two mates then decided that they would return to their native land, and went to hawaii, where they built a whale-boat, and then sailed for the coast of china on board an american merchantman. in time the wanderers reached home, and when the shogun heard of manjiro's travels he made him a samurai, or wearer of two swords. the whale-boat that he had built was used as a model for others, and the traveler taught his friends some of the knowledge of the western people. on february , , the watchmen on the hills of idzu saw the american fleet approaching. two days later the great war-ships of the barbarians steamed up the bay. the seven vessels dropped anchor not far from yokos[)u]ka, and the captain of the flag-ship received visits from the governor and his interpreters. again the same exaggerated forms of politeness were observed, and presents of many kinds, fruits, wines, and confectionery, were exchanged. the japanese suggested that perry should land and meet them at kamakura or uraga, but the commodore replied, through his captain, that he should stay where he was until the japanese had decided what they would do. he gave them until february st to decide about the treaty. boats were sent out from the fleet daily to make surveys of the bay, but none of the crews were allowed to land. at length the japanese stated that they were ready to treat with the american officers, and captain adams was sent to uraga to inspect the place where the fleet was to anchor, and the new building in which the treaty was to be signed. the captain, with his aides, entered the hall of reception, and was met by a daimio named izawa. the daimio was fond of joking. after many polite greetings captain adams handed the nobleman a note from commodore perry. izawa took out his great spectacles, but before he put them on he folded up his large fan with a loud snap. the americans, alarmed at the noise, clapped their hands to their revolvers. izawa could not help laughing at their confusion, but quickly adjusted his spectacles, and after reading the note, said that he was much gratified at the commodore's greeting. rice and tea, cake and oranges were served the guests. a long argument followed. captain adams said that the building was large enough for simple talking, but not for the display of presents; and that commodore perry would much rather go to the city of yedo. the japanese answered that they much preferred that the meeting should take place at uraga or kanagawa. the debate, carried on through chinese interpreters, was a lengthy one. two days later the commodore moved his fleet ten miles farther up the bay. from here his crews could see the great temple-roofs, castles, and pagodas of yedo itself, and could hear the bells in the city towers. this advance of the fleet convinced the shogun that perry meant to go to yedo. some of his court had thought that it would be a national disgrace if the barbarians were permitted to enter that city, but the government now decided to yield the point, and suggested a place directly opposite, at yokohama, for the place of treaty. no such scene had ever been witnessed in the hermit land of japan as the one that took place there on the morning of march , . the bay of yedo was covered with great state barges and junks with many-colored sails. on shore were hundreds of soldiers, the servants of the great daimios, dressed in the gorgeous costumes of earlier centuries. held back by ropes were thousands of country people who had gathered from all over that part of japan to see the strange men from the west. everywhere was color. tents, banners, houses, and the costumes of men, women and children blazed with it. the american sailors in all their voyages in the east had never seen such a brilliant picture. perry was not to be outdone. his men left the ships to the noise of cannon that echoed and re-echoed along the shore. twenty-seven boats brought five hundred men, and as soon as they landed the marines formed a hollow square, while three bands played martial music. the great commodore, now looked upon by the japanese with awe, embarked from the _powhatan_ in his white gig; more guns were fired; more flags waved; and with great pomp, perry landed on the beach. his object was to impress the hermit people with the dignity of his nation. a number of meetings followed before the treaty was completed. the americans insisted that vessels in need of wood, coal, water, or provisions should be allowed to get them from shore, and that the japanese should care for shipwrecked sailors. they also wanted the two ports, shimoda and hakodate, opened to them. the japanese were willing, provided they would not travel inland farther than they could return the same day, and that no american women should be brought into the country. but when the japanese objected to the arrival of women, commodore perry threw back his cloak and exclaimed, "great heavens, if i were to permit any such stipulation as that in the treaty, when i got home the women would pull out all the hairs of my head!" the japanese were surprised at perry's excitement, thinking that they must have offended him greatly. when the interpreters explained what he had actually said, however, both sides laughed and continued peacefully. they grew more and more friendly as the meetings progressed. they dined together and exchanged gifts. the americans liked the sugared fruits, candied nuts, crabs, prawns, and fish that the japanese served in different forms, while the hermit people developed a great fondness for the puddings and champagne the americans offered them. when it came to gifts, the eyes of the japanese opened wide at the many surprising things the barbarians had invented. they were delighted with the rifles, the clocks, the stoves, the sewing-machines, the model of a steam locomotive, and the agricultural tools, scales, maps, and charts that perry had brought to the mikado. these presents were to open the minds of the japanese to the march of progress in the rest of the world; and to teach them the uses of steam and electricity, the printing-press, newspapers, and all the other inventions that were products of europe and america. in exchange, the art-loving people of japan gave their visitors beautiful works in bronze, lacquer, porcelain, bamboo, ivory, silk, and paper, and great swords, spears and shields, wonderfully inlaid and decorated, that were handed down from their feudal days. while the fleet stayed japanese spy-boats kept watch in the bay, to see that their young men did not board the foreign ships in their desire to see something of the world. time and again the young yoshida shoin and a friend tried to break through the blockade, but every time they were sent back to shore. at last the two left yedo for the port of shimoda. the americans set up telegraph poles, and laid rails to show the working of the model locomotive. they gave an exhibition of the steam-engine. this caused great excitement in the country near yedo, and every one who could went to see the strange performance. already there was a struggle between those who were eager to learn the inventions of the americans, and those who were afraid that the new ideas would spoil old japan. many an ambitious youth stared at the mikado's presents, and tried to learn more of their secrets from the sailors on their way to or from the fleet. the treaty was signed on march , , and agreed that shipwrecked sailors should be cared for, provisions needed by ships should be obtained in the ports, and american vessels allowed to anchor in the two harbors of shimoda and hakodate. actual trade was not yet allowed, nor were americans to be permitted to reside in japan. the hermit nation was not at all eager to enter into competition with other countries, nor to allow foreigners to trade with her. commodore perry knew, however, that even the slight terms he had gained would prove the beginning of the opening up of japan to the rest of the world. april , , perry left the bay of yedo for shimoda, and there the fleet stayed until early in may. while the squadron was there two americans, who were botanizing on land, met the youth yoshida shoin and his friend. the young japanese gave the americans a letter, but seeing some native officers approaching, he and his friend stole away. a few nights later the watch on the war-ship _mississippi_ heard voices calling, "americans, americans!" they found the two japanese youths in a small boat, and took them on board. paper and writing materials were found hidden in their clothes, and they explained that they wanted to go with the fleet to america, and write down what they saw there. the commodore, however, felt that he was in honor bound to send the two young men back to their homes; and did so. yoshida later came to be one of the leaders of the new japan that ended the long line of shogun rulers, and made the mikado the actual emperor. the fleet cruised from one port to another, now well received by the people, who had forgotten their fear of the barbarians' fire-vessels. the governors of the different provinces gave presents to perry, among them blocks of native stone to be used in building the great obelisk that was rising on the banks of the potomac river in memory of washington. on july th the last of the squadron left napa for hong kong. the americans had shown the japanese that they were a friendly people, with no desire to harm them. a race that had lived shut off from the rest of the world for so many centuries was naturally timid and fearful of strange people. from time to time european ships had landed in japan, and almost every time the sailors had done injury to the natives. perry, however, convinced them that the united states was a friend, and the treaty, slight though its terms were, marked the dawn of a new era in japan. like the sleeping princess, she woke at the touch of a stranger from overseas. x the pig that almost caused a war off the far northwestern corner of the united states lie a number of small islands scattered along the strait that separates the state of washington from vancouver island. one of these goes by the name of san juan island, a green bit of land some fifteen miles long and seven wide. the northern end rises into hills, while the southern part is covered with rich pastures. in the hills are coal and limestone, and along the shore is splendid cod, halibut, and salmon fishing. in the year a farmer named hubbs pastured his sheep at the southern end of san juan, and had for a neighbor to the north a man in the employ of the english hudson's bay company, whose business it was to raise pigs. the pigs throve on san juan, and following their fondness for adventure left mr. griffiths' farm and overran the whole island. day after day hubbs would find the pigs grubbing in his pasture, and finally in a moment of anger he warned his neighbor that he would kill the next pig that came on his land. griffiths heard the warning, but evidently the pigs did not, for the very next day one of them crossed the boundary line and ventured into mr. hubbs' field. here it began to enjoy itself in a small vegetable patch that mr. hubbs had planted. as soon as he saw the trespasser hubbs went for his gun, and returning with it, shot the intruding pig. when griffiths found his dead pig he was as angry as hubbs had been, and he immediately set out in his sailboat and crossed the strait to victoria, a little city on vancouver island, where officers of the british government had their headquarters. he stated his case, and obtained a warrant of arrest for his neighbor hubbs. then he sailed back to san juan with the constable, and going to his neighbor's house read the warrant to him. hubbs indignantly replied that he was an american citizen, and did not have to obey the order of the english officer. thereupon the constable left the house, vowing that he would return with a force of men and compel the farmer to obey him. mr. hubbs was a shrewd man, and believed that the constable would be as good as his word. as soon as he had left hubbs therefore sent a note to port townsend, which was in washington territory, asking the united states officers there to protect him from arrest for killing his neighbor's pig. when he received the note general william s. harney, who was in command, ordered lieutenant-colonel casey to take a company of soldiers and camp on san juan island to protect mr. hubbs. now that thoughtless pig had actually lighted a fuse that threatened to lead to a very serious explosion. as it happened san juan lay near the middle of the strait of juan de fuca and commanded both shores. the people at victoria could see the american soldiers setting out in their boats from port townsend, and landing on the green island. so long as it had been the home of a few farmers san juan had caused little concern, but now that troops were camping upon it it presented quite a different look. victoria was all excitement. the governor, sir james douglas, heard the news first, and then admiral prevost, who was in command of some english war-ships anchored in the little bay near the city. the admiral was very angry and threatened to blow the yankees off the island. he gave orders to move his fleet to one of the harbors of san juan, and his cannon were ready to fire shot over the peaceful fields, where sheep and pigs had divided possession. sir james douglas, the governor, however, was a more peaceful man. he persuaded the admiral not to be in a hurry, but suggested that it would be wise to have a company of british regulars camp somewhere on san juan. this would serve as a warning to the united states troops. accordingly captain delacombe was sent over, and pitched his tents on the northern end of the island that belonged to the hudson's bay company. as a result of the pig having trespassed in mr. hubbs' vegetable patch, the flag of the united states flew above the tents on the southern part of san juan, and the british flag over the tents on the northern end. mr. hubbs was left in peace, and mr. griffiths went on raising pigs; but the people in victoria shook their fists across the strait at the people in port townsend, and in each of those cities there was a great deal of talk about war. the talk was mostly done by men who had nothing to do with the army. the soldiers on the little island soon became the best of friends, and spent their time in field sports and giving dinner-parties to each other. no part of the boundary line of the united states has given more trouble than that in the northwest. the hudson's bay company had once claimed practically all of what was known as oregon territory for england, but after marcus whitman brought his pioneers westward the hudson's bay company gradually withdrew, and left the southern part of that land to the united states. for forty years the two countries had disputed about the line of division, and the political party that was led by stephen a. douglas had taken as its watchword, "fifty-four, forty,--or fight!" which meant that unless the united states should get all the land up to the southern line of alaska, they would go to war with england. fortunately president polk was not so grasping, and the boundary was finally settled in on latitude forty-nine degrees. that was a clear enough boundary for most of the northwest country, but when one came close to the pacific the coast grew ragged, and was dotted with little islands. vancouver was by the treaty to belong to england, and the agreement said that the boundary at this corner should be "the middle of the channel." now it happened that san juan and its small neighbors lay midway between the two shores, and the treaty failed to say which channel was meant, the one on the american or the one on the british side of san juan. as a matter of fact this question of the channel was very important for the british. it would lead them to the coast of canada, or the united states to alaska. the one to the west, called the canal de haro, was much straighter than the other, and deep enough for the largest war-ships. naturally the united states wanted the boundary to run through this channel, and the british equally naturally wanted the boundary to run through the opposite channel, called rosario strait, because midway between lay the little island, which would make a splendid fortress, and might prevent the passage of ships in case of war between the two nations. so long as the islands were simply pasture lands the question of ownership was only a matter for debate, but when the pig was killed, and the troops of both countries camped on san juan the question became a much more vital one. news of what had happened on san juan was sent to washington and to london; and general winfield scott hurried by way of panama to mr. hubbs' farm. he found that all the united states troops on that part of the coast that could be spared had been crowded on to the southern part of the island. this seemed unnecessary, and general scott agreed with sir james douglas that only one company of united states and one of british soldiers should stay in camp there. the little island thus became the scene of what was known as "a joint military occupation." in the meantime there were many lengthy meetings at washington and london, and the two countries decided that they would leave the difficult question of the boundary line to arbitration. so the statesmen at washington drew up papers to prove that the right line lay in the middle of the canal de haro, and statesmen at london drew up other papers to show that the correct line was through the middle of rosario strait, which would give them san juan and allow their ships to sail in perfect safety between the islands and the vancouver shore. the statesmen and lawyers took their time about this, while the soldiers amused themselves fishing for cod and salmon, and the farmers cared for their sheep and pigs as peacefully as in the days before hubbs had shot griffiths' pig. after some time the two nations decided to ask the emperor of germany to decide the question of the boundary line. the emperor appointed three learned men to determine the question for him. they listened to the arguments of both sides, and after much study made their report to the emperor, who gave his decision on october , , and handed a copy of it to mr. bancroft for the united states, and to lord odo russell for england. his decision was that the claim of the united states was correct, and that the middle of the canal de haro should be the boundary of that northwestern corner. this gave san juan to the united states, much to the disappointment of the people of vancouver island, who knew that a fort on that little strip of land could control all navigation through the strait of juan de fuca. one month after the decision was given the british troops cut down their flagstaff on the northern end and left san juan. san juan lies opposite the city of victoria, which has grown to be one of the largest ports of british columbia. instead of lessening in importance the island has grown in value, because that part of the country has filled up rapidly, and both sides of the line are more and more prosperous. the question of who should own san juan would have been decided some day, but it was that prowling pig that brought matters to a head, and for a few weeks at least threatened to draw two countries into war. on such slight happenings (although in this case it was a very serious matter for the pig) often hang the fates of nations if we trace history back to the spark that fired the fuse. xi john brown at harper's ferry in the days when kansas was the battle-ground between those men who upheld negro slavery, and those who attacked it, a man named john brown went from the east to that territory. several of his sons had already gone into kansas, and had sent him glowing accounts of it. many new england families were moving west by , and building homes for themselves on the splendid rolling prairies across the mississippi. john brown, however, went with another purpose. the years had built up in him such a hatred for negro slavery that it filled his whole thoughts. kansas was the field where slave-owners and abolitionists, or those who opposed slavery, were to fight for the balance of power. therefore he went to kansas and made his home in the lowlands along the eastern border, near a region that the indians had named the swamp of the swan. there were a great many men in kansas at that time who had no real convictions in regard to slavery, and to whom the question was one of politics, and not of religion, as it was to john brown. those were days of warfare on the border, and men from the south and the north were constantly clashing, fighting for the upper hand in the government, and taking every possible advantage of each other. five of john brown's sons had already settled in kansas when he came there with a sick son and a son-in-law. early in october, , they reached the home of the pioneers. they found the houses very primitive, small log shanties, the walls plastered with mud. the father joined his boys in getting in their hay, and set traps in the woods to secure game for food. but trouble was brewing in the town of lawrence, which was the leading city of kansas. word come to the swamp of the swan that men who favored slavery were marching on the town, intending to drive out the free-state northerners there. this was a direct call to john brown to take the field. his family set to work preparing corn bread and meat, blankets and cooking utensils, running bullets, and loading guns. then five of the men set out for lawrence, which was reached at the end of a twenty-four hours' march. the town of lawrence, a collection of many rude log houses, was filled with crowds of excited men and women. john brown, looking like a patriarch with his long hair and beard, arrived at sundown, accompanied by his stalwart sons armed with guns and pistols. he was at once put in charge of a company, and set to work fortifying the town with earthworks, and preparing for a battle. in a day or two, however, an agreement was reached between the free-state and the slave-state parties, and immediate danger of warfare disappeared. satisfied with this outcome, brown and his sons took to the road again, and marched back to their home. there they stayed during the next winter. in the cold of the long ice-bound months, the passions of men lay dormant. but with the coming of spring the old feud smouldered afresh. bands of armed men from the south arrived in kansas, and one from georgia came to camp near the brown settlement on the swamp of the swan. on a may morning john brown and four of his sons walked over to the new camp to learn the georgians' plans. he had some surveying instruments with him, and the newcomers took him for a government surveyor and therefore a slave man, for almost every official that was sent into kansas held the southern views. pretending to be a surveyor, the father directed his sons to busy themselves in making a section line through the camp. the men from georgia looked on, talking freely. presently one of them said: "we've come here to stay. we won't make no war on them as minds their own business; but all the abolitionists, such as them browns over there, we're going to whip, drive out, or kill,--any way to get shut of them!" the strangers went on to name other settlers they meant to drive out, not suspecting who their listeners were, and john brown wrote every word down in his surveyor's book. a few days later the georgians moved their camp nearer to the brown settlement, and began to steal horses and cattle belonging to the free-state men. brown took his list, and went to see the men whose names were on it. they held a meeting, and decided that it was time to teach the "border ruffians," as such men as the georgians were called, a lesson. news of the meeting spread rapidly, and soon it was generally known that the free-state men about osawatomie, which was the name of the town near which the browns lived, were prepared to take the war-path. the old bitter feelings flamed up again in may of . on the twenty-first of the month, a band of slavery men swept down on the town of lawrence, and while the free-state citizens looked on, sacked and burned the place. john brown and his sons hurried there, but when they reached lawrence the houses were in ashes. he denounced the free-state men as cowards, for to his ardent nature it seemed an outrage that men should let themselves be treated so by ruffians. when a discreet citizen said that they must act with caution john brown burst out at him: "caution, caution, sir! i am eternally tired of hearing that word caution--it is nothing but the word for cowardice!" there was nothing for him to do, however, and he was about to turn toward home when a boy came dashing up. he reported that the ruffians in the swamp of the swan had warned all the women in the brown settlement that they must leave kansas by saturday or sunday, or they would be driven out. the women had been frightened, and taking their children, had fled in an ox-cart to the house of a relative at a distance. the boy added that two houses and a store near the settlement had been burned. those were dark days on the border, days that hardened men's natures. such a man as john brown felt that it was his duty to stamp out the pest of slavery at any cost. he turned to his sons and to some german friends whose homes had been burned. "i will attend to those fellows," said he. "something must be done to show these barbarians that we too have rights!" a neighbor offered to carry the little band of men in his wagon. they looked to their guns and cutlasses. peace-loving people in lawrence grew uneasy. judging from brown's expression, they feared that he was going to sow further trouble. eight men drove back to the browns' settlement, and found that the messenger's story was correct. they called a meeting of those who were to be driven out of kansas, according to the ruffians' threats. at the meeting they decided to rid the country of the outlaws, who had only come west to plunder, and some of whom had been employed in chasing runaway slaves who had escaped from their masters. their plans made, brown's band rode to a little saloon on the pottawatomie creek where the raiders made their headquarters. within an hour's walk were the men's cabins. members of brown's band stopped at the door of each cabin that night, and asked for the men they wanted. if the inmates hesitated to open the door it was broken open. two of the men on their list could not be found, but five were led out into the woods and killed. it was a horrible deed, barbarous even in those days of bloodshed. but brown's men felt that they were forced to do it. john brown thought that this one desperate act might set kansas free; but it only marked the beginning of a long and bloody drama. as soon as the facts were known he and his sons became outlaws with prices on their heads. even his neighbors at osawatomie were horrified at his act. two of his sons who had not been with him were arrested, and the little settlement became a center of suspicion. the father withdrew to the woods, and there about thirty-five men gathered about him. they lived the life of outlaws, and neither slave-state nor free-state officers dared to try to capture them. by chance a reporter of the new york _tribune_ came on their camp. he wrote: "i shall not soon forget the scene that here opened to my view. near the edge of the creek a dozen horses were tied, all ready saddled for a ride for life, or a hunt after southern invaders. a dozen rifles and sabres were stacked against the trees. in an open space, amid the shady and lofty woods, there was a great blazing fire with a pot on it; a woman, bareheaded, with an honest sunburnt face, was picking blackberries from the bushes; three or four armed men were lying on red and blue blankets on the grass; and two fine-looking youths were standing, leaning on their arms, on guard near by.... old brown himself stood near the fire, with his shirt sleeves rolled up, and a large piece of pork in his hand. he was cooking a pig. he was poorly clad, and his toes protruded from his boots. the old man received me with great cordiality, and the little band gathered about me." this band, living in forest and swamp, was always ready to strike a blow for the free-state cause. the slavery men were getting the upper hand, and northern families who had settled in kansas began to look to john brown for protection. the "border ruffians" grew worse and worse, attacking small defenseless settlements, burning homes and carrying off cattle. sometimes it was only the fear of retaliation from brown's company that kept the raiders from still greater crimes. occasionally they met; once they fought a battle at black jack, and twenty-four of the enemy finally surrendered to nine of brown's men. one of the leader's sons was badly wounded, and the father had to nurse him in the woods. affairs grew worse during the summer. the vilest scum of the slave states poured into kansas, and the scenes on the border grew more and more disgraceful. there were pitched battles, and at last the governor of the territory, thoroughly scared, surrendered his power into the hands of the slave-holders, and fled for his life. the slave-state men thought that the time had come to strike a blow that should settle the question in kansas permanently. they prepared to gather an army in missouri, intending to cross into kansas, and so terrify settlers from the north that they would make no further resistance. conditions looked desperate to john brown, and he left the territory for a short time to see what he could do to get help for his cause. a large band of emigrants from the north were on the march toward kansas, and brown rode to meet them. the emigrants had heard of him, and welcomed him to their midst. he encouraged them and urged them to fight for freedom, and went on his way hoping to rouse more free-state men to enter kansas. the east was now thoroughly awake to the lawless situation on the border, and a new governor, geary by name, was sent out from washington. meetings were held in the large cities, and money, arms, and men began to pour into kansas. several hundred men from missouri attacked osawatomie, which was defended by abolitionists, and a battle followed. john brown was there, and when his party won the day he gained the nickname of "osawatomie brown," by which he was generally called thereafter. fired by this success, the leaders of the free-state army planned to capture lawrence. the new governor feared that such an act would mean the beginning of a general civil war, and did his best to prevent it. he succeeded in this. the free-state men were divided into two parties, those whose aim was to have kansas admitted to the union as a free state, and those who, like john brown, were bent on abolishing slavery throughout the united states. governor geary assured the former men that kansas would be free soil, and he tried to induce brown to leave that part of the country for a time in the interest of peace. brown was willing to do as governor geary wished, thinking that kansas was safe for the present. he wanted to turn his attention to other parts of the country, where he thought he was more needed. in september, , he started east with his sons. he was now a well-known figure, hated by all slave-owners, a hero to abolitionists, and distrusted by that large number of men whose object was to secure peace at any cost. there were many people in the north at that time who were helping runaway slaves to escape from their masters, and in certain parts of the country there were stations of what was called the "underground railroad." negroes fleeing from the tyranny of southern owners were helped along from one station to another, until they were finally safe across the canadian border. the law of the country said that negro slaves were like any other form of property, and that it was the duty of citizens to return runaways to their masters. there were also scattered through the border states a number of men whose business it was to catch fugitive slaves and take them back south. these men were usually of a brutal type, and the poor refugee who fell into their clutches was made to suffer for his attempt at escape. story after story of the sufferings of slaves came to john brown's ears, and he felt that it was his duty to throw himself into the work of the underground railroad, and help as many slaves as possible to cross into canada. this work was not enough for him, however; he wanted to strike some blow at the slave-owners themselves. the alleghany mountain range was one of the main roads for fugitives, for there men could hide in the thick forests of the mountainside, and could make some show of defense when the slave-catchers and bloodhounds came in pursuit. john brown knew this country well. he traveled through the north, talking with other men who felt as he did, and trying to work out a plan which should force the country to decide this question of negro slavery. at last he decided to make a raid into southern territory, and free slaves for himself. in the heart of the alleghanies, and almost midway between maine and florida, is a great natural gateway in the mountains. here the potomac and the shenandoah rivers meet, and seem to force their way through the natural barrier. this pass is harper's ferry, and in it was the seat of a united states arsenal. to the south was a country filled with slaves, who looked to harper's ferry as the highroad to freedom. not far from the arsenal rose the blue ridge mountains, the heights of which commanded the pass. it was john brown's plan to lead men from the maryland side of the potomac river to attack the arsenal, and when it was captured to carry arms and ammunition across the shenandoah to loudoun heights in the blue ridge, and hide there. from here his band could make raids to the south, freeing slaves, and shielding them from their masters, while using the mountains for a shelter. there were many other men in the united states bent on destroying slavery, but few so impulsive as john brown. his plan was rash in the extreme, and even its success would have profited only a few slaves. but brown was a born crusader. the men who followed him were all impulsive, and many of them were already trained in the rude ways of frontier life. they knew what he had done in kansas, and were ready to fight on his side anywhere else. they had a real reverence for john brown. the tall man with the long, almost white hair, keen eyes, and flowing beard was no ordinary leader. he had the power to convince men that his cause was just, and to hold them in his service afterward. in june, , john brown, with two of his sons, and two friends, started south. he rented a farm about five miles from harper's ferry, in a quiet, out-of-the-way place. there were several cabins in the neighborhood, and as his followers gradually joined him, they occupied these shelters. a daughter kept house for him during the summer. the men farmed in the daytime, and planned their conspiracy at night. the leader did everything he could to win the friendship of his neighbors. he had some knowledge of medicine, and attended all who were sick. frequently he preached in the little dunker chapel near by. he was always ready to share his food or give the shelter of his roof to any travelers. slowly he collected guns and ammunition, and late in september sent his daughter north, and arranged to make his attack. at first some of the other men objected to his plans. one or two did not approve of his seizing the government arsenal, and thought they should simply make a raid into virginia as the slave-state men had formerly carried war into kansas. their leader, however, was determined, and nothing could turn him. already he feared lest some suspicion of his purpose might have spread, and was eager to make his start. he set sunday night, october th, as the time for the raid. that morning he called his men together and read to them from the bible. in the afternoon he gave them final instructions, and added: "and now, gentlemen, let me impress this one thing upon your minds. you all know how dear life is to you, and how dear life is to your friends. and in remembering that, consider that the lives of others are as dear to them as yours are to you. do not, therefore, take the life of any one, if you can possibly avoid it; but if it is necessary to take life in order to save your own, then make sure work of it." at eight o'clock that night the old farm was alive with action. john brown called: "men, get on your arms; we will proceed to the ferry." his horse and wagon were driven up before the door, and some pikes, a sledge-hammer, and a crowbar were put in it. john brown pulled on his old kansas cap, and cried: "come, boys!" and they went into the lane that wound down the hill to the highroad. each of the band had been told exactly what he was to do. two of the men were to cut the telegraph lines, and two others were to detain the sentinels at the bridge. men were detailed to hold each of the bridges over the two rivers, and others to occupy the engine house in the arsenal yard. the night was cold and dark. john brown drove his one-horse farm-wagon, and the men straggled behind him. they had to cover five miles through woods and over hills before they came down to the narrow road between the cliffs and the cincinnati and ohio canal. telegraph wires were cut, the watchman on the bridge was arrested, and the band found their way open into harper's ferry. their object was to seize the arms in the arsenal and rifle factory. they marched to the armory gate, where they found a watchman. "open the gate," one of brown's men ordered. the watchman said that he could not, and another of the band declared that there was no time for talk, but that he would get a crowbar and hammer from the wagon. he twisted the crowbar in the chain that held the gate, and broke it open; then leaving the watchman in the care of two men, the rest made a dash for the arsenal. a great deal happened in a short time. guards were overpowered, the bridge secured, and the river forded close to the rifle-works. not a gun had to be fired, and both soldiers and civilians did as they were bid by the armed men. others of the raiders hurried out into the country, and meeting some colored men, told them their plans, and the latter at once agreed to join them. each of the negroes was sent at once to stir up the slaves in the neighborhood, and bring them to harper's ferry. the raiders then came to the house of colonel lewis washington. they knocked on the door, and were admitted. colonel washington asked what they wanted. the leader answered, "you are our prisoner, and must come to the ferry with us." the virginian replied, "you can have my slaves, if you will let me remain." he was told, however, that he must go back with them; and so he did, together with a large four-horse wagon and some arms, guns, swords, and cartridges. others of the band had brought in more virginia prisoners. an east-bound train on the baltimore and ohio railroad that reached harper's ferry about one o'clock in the morning was detained, and the passengers were kept there until sunrise. john brown was in command at the arsenal, and the rest of his band were acting at different points. by morning the people of the village were all alarmed. they did not know what the raiders meant to do, but many of them fled to the mountains, spreading the news as they went. in spite of some little confusion among his followers, practically all of john brown's plans had been successful up to this point. he had captured the armory, and armed about fifty slaves. his next object was to get the store of guns and ammunition that he had left at his farm. here came the first hitch in his plans. he ordered two of his men, cook and tidd, to take some of the freed slaves in colonel washington's wagon, and drive to the house of a man named terrence burns, and take him, his brother and their slaves prisoners. cook was to stay at burns's house while tidd and the negroes were to go to john brown's farm, load the guns in the wagon, and bring them back to a schoolhouse near the ferry, stopping on the way for cook and his prisoners. this the two men did; but they were so slow in getting the arms from the farm to the schoolhouse, a distance of not over three miles, that much valuable time was lost. cook halted to make a speech on human equality at one of the houses they passed, and tidd stopped his wagon frequently and talked with passers-by on the road. they had the first load of arms at the schoolhouse by ten o'clock in the morning, but it was four o'clock in the afternoon before the second load arrived. all the guns and arms should have been at the schoolhouse by ten o'clock, if the men had followed john brown's orders strictly. john brown probably still intended to carry his arms, together with the prisoners and their slaves, up to loudoun heights, where he would be safe for some time, but his men were so slow in obeying his orders that the enemy was given time to collect. the train that had left harper's ferry that morning carried word of the raid throughout the countryside, and men gathered in the neighboring villages ready to march on harper's ferry and put an end to the disturbance. john brown held thousands of muskets and rifles in the arsenal, while the men who were marching to attack him were for the most part armed with squirrel guns and old-fashioned fowling-pieces. the militia collected rapidly, and marched toward the ferry from all directions. by noon the jefferson guards had seized the bridge that crossed the potomac. meantime john brown had girded to his side a sword that had belonged to lafayette, that had been taken from colonel lewis washington's house the night before, called his men from the arsenal into the street, and said, "the troops are on the bridge, coming into town; we will give them a warm reception." he walked back and forth before the small band, encouraging them. "men, be cool!" he urged. "don't waste your powder and shot! take aim, and make every shot count! the troops will look for us to retreat on their first appearance; be careful to shoot first." the militia soon advanced across the bridge and up the main street. when they were some sixty or seventy yards away from the raiders john brown gave the order to fire. some of the militia fell. other volleys followed; and the attacking party was thrown into disorder. finally they were driven back to the bridge, and took up a position there until reinforcements arrived. as they retreated john brown ordered his men back to the arsenal. in the lull of the firing nearly all the unarmed people who were still in the town fled to the hills. it was now one o'clock in the afternoon, and the band of raiders could have escaped to loudoun heights. but their leader wanted to carry the guns and ammunition away with him, and to do this he needed the aid of the rest of his men. he sent a messenger to one of his followers named kagi, who was stationed with several others on the bank of the shenandoah, with orders for him to hold the place a short time longer. the messenger, however, was fired on and wounded before he could reach kagi, and the latter's party was soon attacked by a force of militia, and driven into the river. a large flat rock stood up in the river, and four of the five raiders reached this. there three of them fell before the fire of bullets, and the fourth was taken a prisoner. in similar ways the number of john brown's men was much reduced. the leader realized the danger of the situation, and decided that his best chance of escape lay in using the prisoners he had captured as hostages for his band's safe retreat. he moved his men, and the more important of the prisoners, to a small brick building called the engine-house. there he said to his captives, "gentlemen, perhaps you wonder why i have selected you from the others. it is because i believe you to be the most influential; and i have only to say now that you will have to share precisely the same fate that your friends extend to my men." he ordered the doors and windows barricaded, and port-holes cut in the walls. the engine-house now became the raiders' citadel, and the militia and bands of farmers who were arriving at harper's ferry released the prisoners who were still in the arsenal, and concentrated all their fire on the band in the small brick house. as the sun set the town filled with troops, and it was evident that the men in the fort would have to surrender. they kept up their firing, however, from the port-holes, and were answered with a rain of bullets aimed at the doors and windows. both sides lost a number of men. two of john brown's sons had been shot during the day. finally the leader asked if one of his prisoners would volunteer to go out among the citizens and induce them to cease firing on the fort, as they were endangering the lives of their friends, the other captives. he promised that if they would stop firing his men would do the same. one of the prisoners agreed to try this, and the firing ceased for a time. more troops poured into harper's ferry, and presently colonel robert e. lee arrived with a force of united states marines. guards were set about the engine-house to see that john brown and his men did not escape. then colonel lee sent a flag of truce to the engine-house, and in the name of the united states demanded that brown surrender, advising him to throw himself on the clemency of the government. john brown answered that he knew what that meant, and added, "i prefer to die just here." again in the morning lee sent his aide to the fort. the officer asked, "are you ready to surrender, and trust to the mercy of the government?" brown answered, "no, i prefer to die here." then the soldiers attacked, not with guns this time, but with sledge-hammers, intending to break down the doors. this did not succeed, and seizing a long ladder they used it as a battering-ram, and finally broke the fastenings of the main door. lieutenant green pushed his way in, and, jumping on top of the engine, looked about for john brown. amid a storm of bullets, he saw the white-haired leader, and sprang at him, at the same time striking at him with his sword. john brown fell forward, with his head between his knees. in a few minutes all of the raiders who were left in the engine-house had surrendered to the government troops. of the band that had left the farm on sunday night seven were taken prisoners, ten had been killed in the fighting, and six others had managed to make their escape. by noon of tuesday, october th, the raid was over. john brown, wounded in half a dozen places, lay on the floor of the engine-house; and the governor of virginia bent over him. "who are you?" asked the governor. the old man answered, "my name is john brown; i have been well known as old john brown of kansas. two of my sons were killed here to-day, and i'm dying too. i came here to liberate slaves, and was to receive no reward. i have acted from a sense of duty, and am content to await my fate; but i think the crowd have treated me badly. i am an old man. yesterday i could have killed whom i chose; but i had no desire to kill any person, and would not have killed a man had they not tried to kill me and my men. i could have sacked and burned the town, but did not; i have treated the persons whom i took as hostages kindly, and i appeal to them for the truth of what i say. if i had succeeded in running off slaves this time, i could have raised twenty times as many men as i have now for a similar expedition. but i have failed." the news of john brown's raid spread through the country, and the people north and south were amazed and bewildered. they had grown used to hearing of warfare in the distant borderland of kansas, but this was a battle that had taken place in the very heart of the union. men did not know what to think of it. john brown appeared to many of them as a monstrous figure, a firebrand who would touch his torch to the tinder of slavery, and set the whole nation in a blaze. newspapers and public speakers denounced him. they said he was attacking the foundations of the country when he seized the arsenal and freed slaves from their lawful owners. only a handful of men had any good to say for him, and that handful were looked upon as madmen by their neighbors. only a few could read the handwriting on the wall, and realize that john brown was merely a year or two in advance of the times. we who know the story of the civil war and the abolition of slavery think of john brown as a hero. we forget the outlaw and remember the martyr. if he was setting the laws of men at defiance he was also following the law that he felt was given him by god. his faith and his simplicity have made him a great figure in history. a man who met him riding across the plains of kansas in the days of the border warfare drew a vivid picture of him. he said that a tall man on horseback stopped and asked him a question. "it was on a late july day, and in its hottest hours. i had been idly watching a wagon and one horse toiling slowly northward across the prairie, along the emigrant trail that had been marked out by free-state men.... john brown, whose name the young and ardent had begun to conjure with and swear by, had been described to me. so, as i heard the question, i looked up and met the full, strong gaze of a pair of luminous, questioning eyes. somehow i instinctively knew this was john brown, and with that name i replied.... it was a long, rugged-featured face i saw. a tall, sinewy figure, too (he had dismounted), five feet eleven, i estimated, with square shoulders, narrow flank, sinewy and deep-chested. a frame full of nervous power, but not impressing one especially with muscular vigor. the impression left by the pose and the figure was that of reserve, endurance, and quiet strength. the questioning voice-tones were mellow, magnetic, and grave. on the weatherworn face was a stubby, short, gray beard.... this figure,--unarmed, poorly clad, with coarse linen trousers tucked into high, heavy cowhide boots, with heavy spurs on their heels, a cotton shirt opened at the throat, a long torn linen duster, and a bewrayed chip straw hat ... made up the outward garb and appearance of john brown when i first met him. in ten minutes his mounted figure disappeared over the north horizon." but john brown had seized the government's arsenal, and put arms in the hands of negro slaves, and therefore the law must take its course with him. its officers came to him where he lay on the floor of his fort, a badly-wounded man, who had fought for fifty-five long hours, who had seen two sons and eight of his comrades shot in the battle, and who felt that his cause was lost. when men who owned slaves asked the reason for his raid, he answered, "you are guilty of a great wrong against god and humanity and it would be perfectly right for any one to interfere with you so far as to free those you wilfully and wickedly hold in bondage.... i pity the poor in bondage that have none to help them. that is why i am here; not to gratify any personal animosity, revenge, or vindictive spirit." a number of virginians had been killed in the fight, and it was difficult to secure a fair trial for the raiders. the state did its best to hold the scales of justice even. the formal trial began on october , . friends from the north came to his aid, and a massachusetts lawyer acted as his counsel. john brown heard the charges against him lying on a straw pallet, and four days later he heard the jury declare him guilty of treason. december , , the sentence of the court was carried out, and john brown was hanged as a traitor. his last written words were, "i, john brown, am quite certain that the crimes of this guilty land will never be purged away but with blood. i had, as i now think vainly, flattered myself that without very much bloodshed it might be done." every great cause in history has its martyrs, and john brown was one of those who were sacrificed in the battle for human freedom. statesmen had tried for years to argue away the wrongs that began when the first african bondsmen were brought to the american colonies. statesmen, however, cannot change the views of men and women as to what is right and wrong, and all the arguments in the world could not convince such men as john brown and his friends that one man had a right to the possession of a fellow-creature. he struck his blow wildly, but its echo rang in the ears of the north, and never ceased until the civil war was ended, and slavery wiped off the continent. the great negro orator, frederick douglass, said twenty-two years later at harper's ferry, "if john brown did not end the war that ended slavery, he did, at least, begin the war that ended slavery. if we look over the dates, places, and men for which this honor is claimed, we shall find that not carolina, but virginia, not fort sumter, but harper's ferry and the arsenal, not major anderson, but john brown began the war that ended american slavery, and made this a free republic.... when john brown stretched forth his arm the sky was cleared,--the armed hosts of freedom stood face to face over the chasm of a broken union, and the clash of arms was at hand." in the spring of the boston light infantry went to fort warren in boston harbor to drill. they formed a quartette to sing patriotic songs, and some one wrote the verses that are known as "john brown's body," and set them to the music of an old camp-meeting tune. regiment after regiment heard the song and carried it with them into camp and battle. so the spirit of the simple crusader went marching on through the war, and his name was linked forever with the cause of freedom. xii an arctic explorer when columbus sailed from palos in he hoped to find a shorter route to cathay or china than any that was then known, and the great explorers who followed after him had the same hope of such a discovery in their minds. when men learned that instead of finding a short route to china they had come upon two great continents that shared the western ocean, they turned their thoughts to discovering what was known as the northwest passage. they hoped to find a way by which ships might sail from the atlantic to the pacific ocean north of america. the great english explorers in particular were eager to find such an ocean route, and this search was the real beginning of the fur-trading around hudson's bay, the cod-fishing of newfoundland, and the whale-fishing of baffin bay. one sea-captain after another sailed across the atlantic, and strove to find the passage through the arctic regions; but the world of snow and ice defeated each of them. some went back to report that there was no northwest passage, and others were lost among the ice-floes and never returned. then in england decided to send a great expedition to make another attempt, and put at the head of it sir john franklin, a brave captain who had fought with nelson and knew the sea in all its variety. he sailed from england may , , taking one hundred and twenty-nine men in the two ships _erebus_ and _terror_. he carried enough provisions to last him for three years. on july , , franklin's two vessels were seen by the captain of a whaler, moored to an iceberg in baffin bay. they were waiting for an opening in the middle of an ice-pack, through which they might sail across the bay and enter lancaster sound. they were never seen again, and the question of what had happened to sir john franklin's party became one of the mysteries of the age. more than twenty ships, with crews of nearly two thousand officers and men, at a cost of many millions of dollars, sought for sir john franklin in the years between and . one heroic explorer after another sailed into the arctic, crossed the ice-floes, and searched for some trace of the missing men. but none could be found, and one after another the explorers came back, their only report being that the ice had swallowed all traces of the english captain and his vessels. at length the last of the expeditions sent out by the english government returned, and the world decided that the mystery would never be solved. but brave lady franklin, the wife of sir john, urged still other men to seek for news, and at last explorers found that all of franklin's expedition had perished in their search for the northwest passage. arctic explorers usually leave records telling the story of their discoveries at different points along the road they follow. for a long time after the fate of franklin's party was known, men tried to find records he might have left in cairns, or piles of stones through the arctic regions. whale vessels sometimes brought news of such records, but most of them proved to be idle yarns told by the whalers to surprise their friends at home. one of these stories was that all the missing records of sir john franklin were to be found in a cairn which was built near repulse bay. this story was told so often that people came to believe it was true, and some young americans set out to make a search of king william land and try to find the cairn. the party sailed on the whaler _eothen_, and five men landed at repulse bay. the leader was lieutenant frederick schwatka, of the united states army. he had three friends with him named gilder, klutschak, and melms, and with them was an eskimo, who was known as joe. the young americans set up a winter camp on chesterfield inlet, and tried to live as much like the native eskimos as possible. during the winter they met many natives on their hunting-trips, and the latter soon convinced them that they were on a wild-goose chase, and that the story of the cairn was probably only a sailor's yarn. lieutenant schwatka, however, was not the sort of man to return home without some results from his trip, and so he made up his mind to go into the country where franklin's party had perished, hoping that he might find some record which would throw light on the earlier explorer's travels. the eskimos were a race largely unknown to civilized men. white men had seen much more of the native american indians who lived in more temperate climates. these young americans found a great deal to interest them during the winter among these strange people of the far north. hunting was their chief pursuit, and the americans found that they spent much of their time indoors playing a game called _nu-glew-tar_, which sharpened their quickness of eye and sureness of aim. it was a simple sport; a small piece of bone, pierced with a row of small holes, was hung from the roof of the hut by a rope of walrus hide, and a heavy weight was fastened to the end of the bone to keep it from swinging. the eskimo players were each armed with a small sharp-pointed stick, and each in turn would thrust his stick at the bone, trying to pierce one of the holes. the prize was won by the player who pierced the bone and held it fast with his stick. as soon as spring opened lieutenant schwatka started out, leaving his winter camp in april, , and crossing in as straight a line as possible to montreal island, near the mouth of the black river. he took with him twelve eskimos, men, women, and children, and dogs to pull the sledges. they carried food for one month only, intending to hunt during the summer. every night the eskimos built snow huts, or igloos, in which the party camped. as they went on they met men of another arctic tribe, the ook-joo-liks, who wore shoes and gloves made of musk-ox skin, which was covered with hair several inches long, and made the wearers look more like bears than like men. one of these natives said that he had seen a ship that had sunk off adelaide peninsula, and that he and his friends had obtained such articles as spoons, knives, and plates from the ship. lieutenant schwatka thought the ship was probably either the _erebus_ or the _terror_. later his party found an old woman who said that when she had been on the southeast coast of king william land not many years before she had seen ten white men dragging a sledge with a boat on it. five of the white men put up a tent on the shore and five stayed with the boat. some men of the woman's tribe had killed seals and given them to the white men; then the white men had left, and neither she nor any of her tribe had seen them again. asking questions of the eskimos he met, lieutenant schwatka and his comrades gradually pieced together the story of what had happened to franklin and his men. but the american was not content with what he had learned in this way, and he determined to cross simpson strait to king william land, and search for records there during the summer. this meant that he would have to spend the summer on this bare and desolate island, as there would be no chance to cross the strait until the cold weather of autumn should form new ice for a bridge. the eskimos did everything they could to persuade him not to cross to the island. they told him that in more than one hundred men had perished of starvation there, and added that no one could find sufficient food to keep them through the summer. yet the fearless soldier and his friends insisted on making the attempt, and some of the eskimos were daring enough to go with them. it seemed doubtful whether they could even get across the strait. every few steps some man would sink into the ice-pack up to his waist and his legs would dangle in slush without finding bottom. the sledges would sink so that the dogs, floundering and scrambling, could not pull them. the men had to push the dog-teams along, and after the first day's travel they were all so exhausted that they had to rest the whole of the next day before they could start on again. finally they reached the opposite shore of the strait, and, while the natives built igloos and hunted, the americans searched for records of franklin's party. they found enough traces to prove that the men who had sought the northwest passage had spent some time on this desolate strip of land. more than once they were in danger of starvation. in the spring the eskimos hunted wild ducks, which they found in remote stretches of water. their way of hunting was to steal up on a flock of the birds, and, as soon as the ducks took alarm, to rush toward the largest bunch of them. the hunter then threw his spear, made with three barbs of different lengths, and caught the duck on the sharp central prong. the long wooden shaft of the spear would keep the duck floating on the water until the hunter could seize it. but as summer drew on, and the ducks migrated, food grew very scarce. once or twice they discovered bears, which they shot, and when there was nothing else to eat they lived on a small black berry that the eskimos called _parawong_, which proved very sustaining. as the white men tramped day after day over the icy hillocks their footwear wore out, and often walking became a torment. in telling of their march gilder said, "we were either wading through the hillside torrents or lakes, which, frozen on the bottom, made the footing exceedingly treacherous, or else with sealskin boots, soft by constant wetting, painfully plodding over sharp stones set firmly in the ground with the edges pointed up. sometimes as a new method of injury, stepping and slipping on flat stones, the unwary foot slid into a crevice that seemingly wrenched it from the body." when they had nothing else to eat the white men lived on the same food as the native hunters. this was generally a tallow made from the reindeer, and eaten with strips of reindeer meat. a dish of this, mixed with seal-oil, was said to look like ice-cream and took the place of that dessert with the eskimos. lieutenant schwatka said, however, that instead of tasting like ice-cream it reminded him more of locust, sawdust and wild-honey. as autumn drew on they made ready to cross back to the mainland; but it took some time for the ice to form on the strait. gilder said of their camp life: "we eat quantities of reindeer tallow with our meat, probably about half of our daily food. breakfast is eaten raw and frozen, but we generally have a warm meal in the evening. fuel is hard to obtain and now consists of a vine-like moss called _ik-shoot-ik_. reindeer tallow is used for a light. a small, flat stone serves for a candlestick, on which a lump of tallow is placed close to a piece of fibrous moss called _mun-ne_, which is used for a wick. the melting tallow runs down upon the stone and is immediately absorbed by the moss. this makes a cheerful and pleasant light, but is most exasperating to a hungry man as it smells exactly like frying meat. eating such quantities of tallow is a great benefit in this climate, and we can easily see the effects of it in the comfort with which we meet the cold." as soon as the ice on the strait was frozen hard enough the reindeer crossed it, and by the middle of october king william land was practically deserted. then the americans and eskimos started back to the mainland. winter had now come, and the weather was intensely cold, often ninety degrees below freezing. in december the traveling grew worse, and food became so scarce that they had to stop day after day for hunting. in january a blizzard struck their camp and lasted thirteen days; then wolves prowled about them at night, and once actually killed four of their dogs. "a sealskin full of blubber," said gilder, "would have saved many of our dogs; but we had none to spare for them, as we were reduced to the point when we had to save it exclusively for lighting the igloos at night. we could not use it to warm our igloos or to cook with. our meat had to be eaten cold--that is, frozen so solid that it had to be sawed and then broken into convenient-sized lumps, which when first put into the mouth were like stones. sometimes, however, the snow was beaten off the moss on the hillsides and enough was gathered to cook a meal." when they were almost on the point of starvation a walrus was killed, and supplied them with food to last until they got back to the nearest eskimo village. from the coast they took ship to the united states. the records they brought with them practically completed the account of what had happened to sir john franklin's ill-fated expedition. and almost equally important were the new details they brought in regard to eskimo life, and the proof they gave that men of the temperate zone could pass a year in the frozen land of the far north if they would live as the natives did, and adapt themselves to the rigors of that climate. xiii the story of alaska in the far northwestern corner of north america is a land that has had few stirring scenes in its history. it is an enormous tract, close to the arctic sea, and far from the busy cities of the united states. not until long after the english, french, and spanish discoverers had explored the country in the temperate zone did any european find alaska. even when it was found it seemed to offer little but ice-fields and desolate prairies, leading to wild mountain ranges that did not tempt men to settle. seal hunters came and went, but generally left the native indians in peace. most of these hunters came from siberia, for the russians were the first owners of this land. an officer in the russian navy named vitus bering found the strait that is called by his name in . some years later he was sent into the arctic sea again by the empress anne of russia to try to find the wonderful country that vasco de gama had sought. he sailed in summer, and after weathering heavy storms finally reached kayak island on st. elias day, july , , and named the great mountain peak in honor of that saint. more storms followed, and soon afterward the brave sailor was shipwrecked and drowned off the comandorski islands. his crew managed to get back to siberia, having lived on the meat of the seals they were able to shoot. russian traders saw the sealskins they brought home, and sent out expeditions to obtain more furs. some returned richly laden, but others were lost in storms and never heard from. there was so much danger in the hunting that it was not until that russian merchants actually established trading-posts in alaska. then a rich merchant of siberia named gregory shelikoff built a post on kadiak island, and took into partnership with him a russian named alexander baranof. baranof built a fort on an island named for him, some three miles north of the present city of sitka. the two men formed the russian american fur company, and baranof became its manager in america. one day a seal hunter came to baranof at his fortress, and took from his pocket a handful of nuggets and scales of gold. he held them out to the russian, and said that he knew where many more like them were to be found. "ivan," said baranof, "i forbid you to seek for any more. you must not say a word about this, or there will be trouble. if the americans or the english know that there is gold in these mountains we will be ruined. they will rush in here by the thousands, and crowd us to the wall." baranof was a fur merchant, and did not want to see miners flocking to his land, as his company was growing rich from the seals and fur-trading with the natives. little by little, however, the news leaked out that the northwestern country had rich minerals, and soon the king of spain began to covet some of that wealth for himself. the spaniards claimed that they owned all of the country that had not yet been mapped out, and they sent an exploring party, under perez, to make charts of the northwest. perez sailed along the coast, and finding two capes, named them santa margarita and santa magdalena, but beyond that he did little to help the cause of spain. some years later exploring parties were sent out from mexico, but they found that the wild ice-covered country was already claimed by the russians, and that the czar had no intention of giving it up. other nations, therefore, soon ceased to claim it, and the russian hunters and traders were allowed to enjoy the country in peace. alexander baranof made a great success of the trade in skins, but the men who took his place were not equal to him. the company began to lose money, and the czar of russia decided that the country was too far away from his capital to be properly looked after. the united states finally made an offer to buy the great territory from the czar, although the government at washington was not very anxious to make the purchase. the tract, large as it was, did not seem to promise much, and it was almost as far from washington as it was from st. petersburg. the czar was quite willing to sell, however, and so the united states bought the country from him in , paying him $ , , for it. on a fine october afternoon in sitka bay saw the stars and stripes flying from three united states war-ships, while the russian eagle waved from the flagstaffs and houses in the small town. on the shore soldiers of the two nations were drawn up in front of the old castle, and officers stood waiting at the foot of the flagpole on the parade ground. then a gun was fired from one of the united states war-ships, and instantly the russian batteries returned the salute. a russian officer lowered his country's flag from the parade ground pole, and an american pulled the stars and stripes to the peak. guns boomed and regimental bands played, and then the russian troops saluted and left the fortress, and the territory became part of the united states. up to that time the country had been known as russian america, but now a new name had to be found. some suggested american siberia, and others the zero islands; but an american statesman, charles sumner, urged the name of alaska, a native word meaning "the great land," and this was the name that was finally adopted. it took many years to explore the western part of the united states, and men who were in search of wealth in mines and forests did not have to go as far as alaska to find it. that bleak country was separated from the united states by a long, stormy sea voyage on the pacific, or a tedious and difficult overland journey through canada. alaska might have remained for years as little known as while russia owned it had it not been for a small party of men who set out to explore the yukon and the klondike rivers. on june , , a small ship called the _excelsior_ sailed into san francisco harbor, and half an hour after she had landed at her wharf the news was spreading far and wide that gold had been discovered in large quantities on the klondike. some of the men had gone out years before; some only a few months earlier, but they all brought back fortunes. not one had left with less than $ , in gold, gathered in nuggets or flakes, in tin cans, canvas bags, wooden boxes, or wrapped up in paper. the cry of such sudden wealth was heard by many adventurers, and the old days of 'forty-nine in california began over again when the wild rush started north to the klondike. on june th another ship, the _portland_, arrived at seattle, with sixty more miners and $ , in gold. this was the largest find of the precious mineral that had been made anywhere in the world, and seattle followed the example of san francisco in going gold-crazy. immediately hundreds of people took passage on the outward bound steamers, and hundreds more were turned away because of lack of room. ships set out from all the seaports along the pacific coast of the united states, and from the canadian ports of victoria and vancouver. as in the old days of men gave up their business to seek the gold fields, but now they had to travel to a wilder and more desolate country than california had been. there were many ways of getting to the klondike country. those who went by ocean steamer had to transfer to flat-bottomed boats to go up the yukon river. this was the easiest route, but the boats could only be used on the yukon from june until september, and the great rush of gold-seekers came later that autumn. a second route was by the chilkoot trail, which had been used for many years by miners going into the country of the yukon. over this trail horses could be used as far as the foot of the great chilkoot pass, but from there luggage had to be carried by hand. another trail, much like this one, was the white pass trail, but it led through a less-known country than the chilkoot, and was not so popular. the canadian government laid out a trail of its own, which was called "the stikeen route," and which ran altogether through canadian territory. besides these there were innumerable other roads through the mountains, and along the rivers; but the farther men got from the better known trails the more danger they were in of losing their way, or suffering from hunger and hardships. towns blossomed along the coast of alaska almost over night, but they were strange looking villages. the ships that landed at skagway in the summer of found a number of rough frame houses, with three or four larger than the rest which hung out hotel signs. the only government officer lived in a tent over which flew the flag of the united states. the passengers landed their outfits themselves, for labor was scarce, and found shelter wherever they could until they might start on the trail. no one seemed to know much about the country they were going through, but fortunately most of the men were experienced woodsmen. they loaded their baggage on their packhorses, and started out, ready for any sort of country they might have to cross. sometimes the trail lay over miry ground, where a false step to the right or left would send the horses or men deep into the bog; sometimes it led up steep and rocky mountainsides, where a man had to guard his horse's footing as carefully as his own; and much of the way was in the bed of an old river, where each step brought a splash of mud, and left the travelers at the end of the day spattered from head to foot. the journey was harder on the horses than on the men. the heavy packs they carried, and the wretched footing, caused them to drop along the road from time to time, and then the travelers had to make the best shift they could with their luggage. had the men journeyed alone, or in small companies, they would have suffered greatly, but the chilkoot trail was filled with miners who were ready to help each other, and to give encouragement to any who lagged behind. at dyea they came to an old alaskan settlement, an indian trading post, where a number of native tribes lived in their little wooden cabins. these men were the chilkats, the stikeen indians, and the chilkoots, short, heavy men, with heads and eyes more like mongolians than like american indians. both men and women were accustomed to painting their faces jet black or chocolate brown, in order to protect their eyes and skin from the glare of the sunlight on the snow. the traveler could here get indians to act as guides, or if he had lost his horses might obtain dogs and sleds to carry some of his packs. each of the little settlements through which the travelers went boasted of a hotel, usually a frame building with two or three large rooms. each day meals were served to three or four hundred hungry travelers at rude board tables, and at night the men would spread their blankets on the floor and lie down to sleep. but as the trail went farther inland these little settlements grew fewer, and the men had to find whatever shelter they could. from dyea they pushed on through the chilkoot pass, where the cliffs rose high above them. the winds blew cold from the north, and the mists kept everything wet. in the pass some men turned back, finding the trip too difficult. those who went on met with increasing hardships. they came to a place called sheep camp, where a stream of water and rocks from the mountain top had swept down upon a town of tents and carried them all away. stories of similar happenings at other places were passed from mouth to mouth along the trail. more men turned back, finding such accidents a good excuse, and only the most determined stuck to the road. in time they came to a chain of lakes and rivers. the travelers stopped to build rude boats and paddles, and navigated them as best they could. the rivers were full of rapids, and it was only by a miracle that the little clumsily-built skiffs went dancing over the waters safely, and escaped the jutting rocks on either bank. in the rivers there was good trout fishing, and in the wild country good hunting, and indian boys brought game to the tents at night. to the trees at each stopping-place papers were fastened, telling of the marvelous adventures of the miners who had just gone over the trail. as they neared dawson city they found the yukon river more and more covered with floating ice, and travel by boat became harder. after a time the oars, paddles, gunwales, and all the baggage in the boats was encrusted with ice, and the boatmen had to make their way slowly among the floes. then they came to a turn in the river, and on the bank saw a great number of tents and people. "how far is it to dawson?" the boatman would call. "this is dawson. if you don't look out you'll be carried past," the men on shore answered. paddles were thrust into the ice, and the boat brought to shore. the trip from seattle had so far taken ninety-two days. food was scarce in dawson, and men were urged to leave as soon as they could. winter was now setting in, and the miners traveled with dog teams and sleds to the place where they meant to camp. little work could be done in the winter, and the time was spent in preparing to work the gold fields in the early spring. all through the cold weather the men talked of the fortunes waiting for them, and when the warm weather came they staked out their claims and set to work. stories of fabulous finds spread like wild-fire, and those who were not finding gold rushed to the places that were proving rich. that summer many new towns sprang up, and in a few weeks the bonanza and eldorado mines made their owners rich, and all the tributaries of the klondike river were yielding a golden harvest. when men found land that they thought would prove rich they made haste to claim it. sometimes wild races followed, rivals trying to beat each other to the government offices at dawson in order to claim the land. frequently after such a wild race the claim would amount to nothing, while another man, who had picked out some place that no one wanted, would find a rich lode and make a fortune from it. then there would be great excitement, for sudden wealth usually went to the miner's head. he would go down to dawson, and spend his money freely, while every one in the town would crowd around him to share in his good luck. one of the most successful was a scotchman, alexander mcdonald. at the time of the klondike strike he was employed by a company at the town of forty-mile. he had a little money and began to buy separate pieces of land. he could not afford the rich ground, but managed to purchase more than forty claims through the klondike. at the end of that first season his fortune was said to be $ , , , and might well have been more, as all his claims had not been fully worked. he was called "the king of the klondike," and pointed out to newcomers as an example of what men might do in the gold fields. that was only the beginning of the story of the alaskan gold fields, and each year brought news of other discoveries. but the one season of was enough to prove the great value of alaska, and to show that the united states had done well to buy that great territory from the czar of russia. yet gold is only a small part of its riches, and even should the fields of the klondike yield no more of the precious mineral, the seals, the fur trade, and the cities springing up along its coast are worth much more than the $ , , paid for it. it is still a land of adventure, one of the few waste places that beckon men to come and find what wealth lies hidden within its borders. xiv how the "merrimac" was sunk in santiago harbor in the small hours of the morning of june , , the _merrimac_, a vessel that had once been a collier in the united states navy, slipped away from the war-ships of the american fleet that lay off the coast of cuba, and headed toward the harbor of santiago. the moon was almost full, and there was scarcely a cloud in the sky. to the northwest lay the _brooklyn_, her great mass almost white in the reflected light. on the northeast the _texas_ loomed dark and warlike, and farther away lay a ring of other ships, dim and ghostly in the distance. ahead was the coast of cuba, with an outline of mountains rising in a half-circle beyond the harbor. five miles across the water morro castle guarded the entrance to the harbor, in which lay a fleet of the spanish admiral cervera. to steer directly for morro castle would be to keep the _merrimac_ full in the moon's path, and to avoid this she stood to the eastward of the course, and stole along at a slow rate of speed. the small crew on board, a commander and seven men, were stripped to their underclothes and wore life-preservers and revolver-belts. each man had taken his life in his hand when he volunteered for this night's work. they wanted to sink the _merrimac_ at a narrow point in the harbor, and bottle up the spanish fleet beyond it. as they neared the great looming fortress of the morro it was impossible to keep the ship hidden; the sentries on the castle must see the dark object now, and wonder what she intended. the _merrimac_ gave up its oblique course, and steered straight ahead. the order "full speed!" went from lieutenant hobson, a naval constructor in command, to the engineer. foam dashed over the bows, and the long shape shot for the harbor entrance, regardless of what the enemy might think or do. soon the morro stood up high above them, the moon clearly revealing the great central battery that crowned the fortress top. the spanish guns were only five hundred yards away, and yet the enemy had given no sign of having seen the _merrimac_. then suddenly a light flashed from near the water's edge on the left side of the entrance, and a roar followed. the _merrimac_ did not quiver. the shot must have fallen astern. again there was a flash, and this time the crew could hear the splash of water as the projectile struck back of them. through their night-glasses they saw a picket boat with rapid-fire guns lying close in the shadows of the shore. her guns had probably been aimed at the _merrimac's_ rudder; but so far they had missed their aim. with a rapid-fire gun to reply the _merrimac_ might have demolished the other boat in half a minute, but she had no such equipment. she would have to pass within a ship's length of this picket. there was nothing to do but pay no heed to her aim at the _merrimac's_ rudder, and steer for the high wall off morro castle, where the deep-water channel ran close inshore. "a touch of port helm!" was the order. "a touch of port helm, sir," came the answer; and the vessel stood toward the wall. there came a crash from the port side. "the western battery has opened on us, sir!" reported the man on the bridge to hobson. "very well; pay no attention to it," was the answer. the commander knew he must take the _merrimac_ at least another ship's length forward, and wondered if the enemy would give him that much grace. a shot crossed the bridge, and struck. no one was hurt. they had almost reached the point where they were to stop. another moment or two, and over the engine telegraph went the order, "stop!" the engineer obeyed. the _merrimac_ slowed off morro rock. a high rocket shot across the channel entrance. from each side came the firing of batteries. hobson and his men were too busy to heed them. the _merrimac_, still swinging under her own headway, brought her bow within thirty feet of the rock before she righted. another ship's length, and she would be at the point where her commander had planned to take her; then the stearing-gear stopped working, and she was left at the mercy of the current. the ship must be sunk before the current could carry her out of the course. this was done by exploding torpedoes on the outside of the vessel. hobson gave the order, and the first torpedo went off, blowing out the collision bulkhead. there was no reply from the second or third torpedoes. hobson crossed the bridge, and shouted, "fire all torpedoes!" in the roar of the spanish batteries his voice could hardly be heard. meantime the guns on the shores back of the harbor were pouring their shot at the black target in the moonlight, and the din was terrific. word came to hobson that some of the torpedoes could not be fired, as their cells had been broken. the order was given to fire the others, and the fifth exploded promptly, but the remaining ones had been shattered by spanish fire and were useless. the commander knew that under these circumstances it would take some time for the _merrimac_ to sink. the important point was to keep the ship in the center of the harbor; but the stern-anchor had already been cut away. hobson watched the bow move against the shore-line. there was nothing to do but wait and see where the tide would swing them. the crew now gathered on deck. one of them, kelly, had been dazed by an exploding shell. when he had picked himself up he started down the engine-room hatch, but found the water rising. then he remembered the _merrimac's_ purpose, and tried to reach the torpedo of which he had charge. the torpedo was useless, and he headed back to the deck, climbing up on all fours. it was a strange sight to see him stealing up, and hobson and some of the others drew their revolvers, thinking for the moment that he must be an enemy who had boarded the ship. fortunately they recognized him almost immediately. the tide was bearing them to the center of the channel when there came a blasting noise and shock. a mine had exploded beneath them. "lads, they're helping us!" cried the commander. but the mine did not break the deck, and the ship only settled a little lower. for a moment it seemed as if the coal might have closed the breach made by the explosion, but just as the crew feared that they were to be carried past the point chosen for sinking the current from the opposite shore caught them, and the _merrimac_ settled crosswise. it was now only a matter of time before she would sink in the harbor. the crew could now turn their attention to themselves. hobson said to them, "we will remain here, lads, till the moon sets. when it is dark we will go down the after-hatch, to the coal, where her stern will be left out of water. we will remain inside all day, and to-night at ebb-tide try to make our way to the squadron. if the enemy comes on board, we will remain quiet until he finds us, and will repel him. if he then turns artillery on the place where we are, we will swim out to points farther forward." he started toward the bow to reconnoiter, but was persuaded not to expose himself to the enemy's fire. one of the men discovered a break in the bulwarks that gave a good view, and hobson stood there. the moon was bright, though now low, and the muzzles of the spanish guns were very near them. the crew, however, remained safely hidden behind the rail. from all sides came the firing, and the americans, lying full length on the _merrimac's_ deck, felt the continual shock of projectiles striking around them. some of the crew suggested that they should take to the small boat, but the commander knew that this would be certain destruction, and ordered them to remain. presently a shot struck the boiler, and a rush of steam came up the deck near where they lay. a canteen was passed from hand to hand. hobson, having no pockets, carried some tourniquets around his left arm, and a roll of antiseptic lint in his left hand, ready in case any of his crew were wounded. looking through the hole in the bulwarks the commander saw that the _merrimac_ was again moving. sunk deep though she was, the tide was carrying her on, and might bear her some distance. there seemed to be no way in which they could make her sink where she was. two more mines exploded, but missed the ship, and as she floated on it became evident that they could not block the channel completely. but shortly the _merrimac_ gave a lurch forward and settled to the port side. now the spanish _reina mercedes_ was near at hand, and the _pluton_ was coming close inboard, but their guns and torpedoes did not hasten the sinking of the collier. she plunged again and settled in the channel. a rush of water came up the gangway, and the crew were thrown against the bulwarks, and then into the sea. the life-preservers helped to keep them afloat, but when they looked for the life-boat they found that it had been carried away. a catamaran was the largest piece of floating wreckage, and they swam to this. the firing had now stopped. the wreckage began to drift away, and the crew were left swimming about the catamaran, apparently unseen by the enemy. the men were ordered to cling to this rude craft, their bodies in the water, their heads hidden by the boards, and to keep quiet, as spanish boats were passing close to them. all the crew were safe, and hobson expected that in time some spanish officers would come out to reconnoiter the channel. he knew that his men could not swim against the tide to the harbor entrance, and even had they been able to do so it would have been too dangerous a risk, as the banks were now lined with soldiers, and the water patrolled by small boats. their hope lay in surrendering before they were fired upon. the moon had now nearly set, and the shadow of the high banks fell across the water. boats rowed by spanish sailors pulled close to the catamaran; but acting under orders from their commander the crew of the _merrimac_ kept well out of sight. the sun rose, and a new day came. soon the crew could see the line of distant mountains, and the steep slopes leading to morro castle. a spanish torpedo-destroyer was heading up the harbor, and a bugle at one of the batteries could be heard across the waters. still the americans clung to the catamaran, although their teeth were chattering, and they had to work their arms and legs to keep warm. [illustration: spanish boats pulled close to them] presently one of the men said, "a steam-launch is heading for us, sir!" the commander looked about, and saw a large launch, the curtains aft drawn down, coming from around a point of land straight toward the catamaran. as it drew near the launch swerved to the left. when it was about thirty yards away hobson hailed it. the boat instantly stopped and began to back, while some riflemen appeared on the deck and took position for firing. no shot followed, however. hobson called out again, asking whether there were any officers on the boat, and adding that if there were he was ready to surrender himself and his american sailors as prisoners of war. the curtain at the stern was lowered, a spanish officer gave an order, and the rifles dropped. the american commander swam to the launch, and climbed on board, being helped up by the spanish officer, who turned out later to be no other than admiral cervera himself. hobson surrendered for himself and his crew. the launch then drew close to the catamaran, and the sailors clinging to it were pulled on board. although the spaniards knew that the _merrimac's_ men had bottled up their war-ships in the harbor, they could not help praising their bravery. the spanish launch took them to the _reina mercedes_. there the men were given dry clothes and food. although all were scratched and bruised only one was wounded, and his wound, though painful, was not serious. the american officer was invited to join the spaniards at breakfast, and was treated with as much courtesy as if he had been an honored guest. afterward hobson wrote a note to admiral sampson, who was in command of the american fleet. the note read: "sir: i have the honor to report that the _merrimac_ is sunk in the channel. no loss, only bruises. we are prisoners of war, being well cared for." he asked that this should be sent under a flag of truce. later in the day the americans were taken from the war-ship in a launch, and carried across the harbor to morro castle. this course brought them within a short distance of where the _merrimac_ had sunk, and as hobson noted the position he concluded that the plan had only partly succeeded, and that the channel was not completely blocked. landing at a small wharf the americans were marched up a steep hill that led to the morro from the rear. the fortress stood out like one of the mediæval castles of europe, commanding a wide view of sea and shore. the road brought them to the bridge that crossed the moat. they marched under the portcullis, and entered a vaulted passage. the american officer was shown into the guard-room, while the crew were led on. a few minutes later admiral cervera came into the guard-room, and held out his hand to hobson. the admiral said that he would have liked to send the american's note under a flag of truce to his fleet, but that this had been refused by the general in command. he added, however, that some word should be sent to inform their friends of the safe escape of the _merrimac's_ men. hobson was then led to a cell in the tower of the castle. as the jailer stopped to unlock the door hobson had a view of the sea, and made out the line of the american battle-ships moving in two columns. he was told to enter the cell, which was a bare and ill-looking place, but a few minutes later a spanish captain arrived with apologies, saying that he hoped soon to provide the americans with better quarters. a little later furniture was brought to the cell, and food, cigars, cigarettes, and a bottle of brandy provided for the american officer. in fact he and his men fared as well as the spanish officers and soldiers themselves. the governor of the fortress sent a note to ask what he could do to improve hobson's comfort. officers of all ranks called to shake hands with him, and express their admiration for his courage. that first night in the castle, after the sentries had made their rounds, hobson climbed up on his cot-bed and looked through a small window at the top of the cell. the full moon showed a steep slope from the fortress to the water, then the wide sweep of the harbor, with a picket-boat on duty as it had been the night before, and beyond the boat the great spanish war-ships, and still farther off the batteries of socapa. it was hard to believe that only twenty-four hours before the center of that quiet moonlit water had been ablaze with fire aimed at the small collier hobson had commanded. as he studied the situation he decided that the _merrimac_ probably blocked the channel. the enemy would hesitate a long time before they would try to take their fleet past the sunken vessel, and that delay would give admiral sampson time to gather his ships. even if the channel were not entirely blocked the spanish ships could only leave the harbor in single line and with the most skilful steering. therefore he concluded that his perilous expedition had been successful. next morning a spanish officer brought him news that a flag of truce had been carried to admiral sampson with word of the crew's escape, and that the messengers had been given a box for hobson, and bags of clothes, some money, and other articles for him and his crew. the men now dressed again in the uniform of american marines, were treated as prisoners of war, and lived almost as comfortably as their captors. while hobson was having his coffee on the morning of june th, he heard the whiz and crash of an exploding shell, then another, and another, and knew that a general bombardment of the fortress had begun. he hastily examined the cell to see what protection it would offer from bricks and mortar falling from the walls and roof. at the first shot the sentry on guard had bolted the door and left. the american pulled the table and wash-stand in front of the door, and stood the galvanized iron box that had been sent him against the end of the table; this he thought would catch splinters and stones which would probably be more dangerous than actual shells. he lay down under the protection of this cover. he knew that the gunners of the american fleet were good shots, and figured that they could easily demolish all that part of the morro in which his cell was situated. one shell after another against the walls of the fortress made the whole structure tremble, and it seemed as if part of the walls would be blown away. fortunately, however, the firing soon turned in another direction, and hobson could come from his shelter, and, standing on his cot-bed, look through the window at the battle. several times he took shelter again under the table, and several times returned to watch the cannonade. the shells screamed through the air; plowed through shrubs and earthworks; knocked bricks and mortar from the morro, and set fire to some of the spanish ships. but no serious damage was done, and the bombardment ended in a stand-off between the two sides. the american officer had no desire to pass through such a cannonade again, and he wrote to the spanish governor to ask that his crew and himself be transferred to safer quarters. next day an officer arrived with orders to take all the prisoners to the city of santiago. so after a four days' stay in morro castle the little party set out on an inland march, guarded by some thirty spanish soldiers. it was not far to santiago, and there the americans were housed in the regular army barracks. these quarters were much better than those in the fortress, and the british consul secured many comforts and delicacies for the americans. the men of the _merrimac_ stayed in santiago during the siege of that city. on july th arrangements were made to exchange hobson and his men. in the afternoon they were blindfolded and guided out of the city. half a mile or more beyond the entrenchments they were told that they might remove the handkerchiefs, and found themselves facing their own troops on a distant ridge. soon they were being welcomed by their own men, who told them of the recent victories won by fleet and army. not long afterward they reached their ships, and were received on board the _new york_ by the officers and men who had watched them set out on their dangerous mission on that moonlight night of june d. they gave a royal welcome to the small crew who had brought the collier into the very heart of the spanish lines and sunk her, taking their chances of escape. they were the heroes of a desperate adventure, from which every man returned unharmed. * * * * * transcriber's notes: simple typographical errors were corrected. punctuation and spelling were made consistent when a predominant preference was found in this book; otherwise they were not changed. accent marks on japanese words have not been changed. [=o] represents the letter "o" with macron accent mark. [)u] represents the letter "u" with breve accent mark. provided by the internet archive lincolniana or the humors of uncle abe by andrew adderup [illustration: ] [illustration: ] [illustration: ] preface is joe miller "complete?" i doubt it, maugre the pretenses of title-pages. an old joke is sometimes like a piece of painted glass in a kaleidoscope--every turn gives it a new aspect, and the new view is sometimes taken for the original phase. perhaps this is true of some herein, although i am unconscious of that being so. if the accusation be made, try uncle abe first, for he is used to trials. as for me, i shall plead my privilege of telling you "the tale as it was told to me." but if these "little jokes" be not "sworn upon" for miller, they shall stand for uncle abe--the writer hereof claiming only a godfathership. and others shall follow as fast as i glean them. to aid this purpose, let everybody who has a "good thing" send it to the publisher of this, and duly it will appear in the "complete" edition of uncle abe's jokes, always excepting the last, for the act of dying over will remind him of some little story with a _hic jacet_ moral. andrew adderup. springfield, ill., april , . lincolniana; or, the humors of uncle abe, an involuntary black republican. sometime after mr. lincoln's well remembered passage of the rebel rubicon at baltimore, some radical republicans, who thought they saw some signs of the president's backwardness in vindicating the chicago platform, went in committee to the white house to beg him to carry out his principles--or rather to stretch them in queen dido's style. "i don't know about it, gentlemen," replied uncle abe; "with a pretty strong opposition at home and a rebellion at the south, we'd best push republicanism rather slow. fact is, i'm worse off than old blind jack loudermill was when he got married on a short courtship. some one asked him a few days after, how he liked his new position. 'dunno,' said he; 'i went it blind to start with, and ain't had a chance to feel my way to a conclusion yet.' so it is with me. perhaps you can see further than i can, to me the future is dark and lowering; and we have now got to feel every step of our way forward. making republicans used to be hard work, and i don't see as i could do much at it now, unless i proselyte by giving fat offices to weak-kneed opponents; but that," continued uncle abe, with a sly look toward several of his old illinois friends, "would'nt be quite fair to those who believe that 'to the victors belong the spoils.' your idea about pushing things reminds me of the first _black_ republican i ever made." and the president threw his left leg over his right and subsided into that air of _abandon_ which denotes his pregnancy of a good story. "you see, gentlemen," he began, "in my boyhood days, i had a slim chance for schooling, and did'nt improve what i did have. occasionally a yankee would wander into kentuck, and open a school in the log building that was a church and school house as well, and keep it till he got starved out or heard of a better location. one fall a bald headed, sour-visaged old man came along and opened the school, and my people concluded i must go; as usual the big boys soon began to test the master, who, though he was a patient jeffersonian republican, seemed very tyrannical to us. my good nature singled me out soon, as the scapegoat of the school, and i got more than my share of the birch: at least, my back was as good as an almanac, for every day of the week was recorded there. but, though this record of past time was no pastime to me, i could stand it better than i could the taunts and jibes of the boys out of school. "one morning when a half dozen of us were warming before the broad logwood fire, i noted a big fellow (who had got me flogged the day before) standing on the side opposite, his back to the blaze: both hands were partially open, one laid in the other; some would lay it to the devil, but it was only the spirit of revenge which prompted me to pick up a live coal, covered with ashes, and drop it into his hands. for a moment he did'nt mind it, but it burned all the deeper; when it did burn he jumped and bellowed like a stuck calf. "'who made that noise?' demanded old whitey? the master. "'i made it,' replied the big fellow, rubbing his hands. "'why?' more angrily demanded old whitey. "'some one put a coal of fire in my hand and burnt me,' sniffled the booby. "the big fellow, however, didn't know who did it. some of the boys, who had a lurking pity for me, said it snapt into his hand; but the master 'couldn't see it;' and at last it leaked out that 'abe lincoln done it.' "so you see, gentlemen," said uncle abe, moralizing, "i got the blame of a long score of supposititious shortcomings by one act of my own, pretty much as i had to bear the sins of my whole party in the late canvass, because of a few sins of my own." "'abraham, come up here!' thundered the master, (by the way, gentlemen, my people always called me abe--my wife still calls me plain abe--but that old fellow called me _abraham_ so often and so severely that i early dropped all claim to a definite appellative, and chose to be indefinitely 'a. lincoln.') * but to go on. i got a deserved threshing that time, and a reputation withal for wickedness that saved all the little rogues in school. at last, however, i determined to be even with old whitey, somehow. "it wasn't long till i worked out an idea. just over the master's desk was a rude shelf, upon which he kept some books and a big-bellied bottle of ink, which some admirer of his jeffersonian-republican principles had presented him. i had observed that in stepping upon his desk platform, he never touched or moved his chair, beyond leaning back in it, which he always did, after taking his seat. so next day i robbed our old long-tailed white horse of a few hairs and braided them in a three stranded cord. while the master was gone out to his dinner, i put the thin glass ink bottle upon the edge of the shelf propped a-cant, and tied one end of the cord to the bottle, and the other end to the back of his chair. the boys sympathized with me, and were in an extacy of delight. anon the master came. without looking to the right or left, he marched sternly to the chair, and hence saw not the repressed titter of expectation that was ready to burst over the whole room. i stood just outside of the door expecting the result; he sat down and then leaned back. down came the bottle, deluging the bald head in a shower of stygian blackness! yes, gentlemen, i fancy that was the first _black_ republican ever made in kentuck, but the conversion was too sudden." "how was that?" queried cassius m. clay. "why," replied uncle abe, "he afterwards married a widow and----twelve negroes." * when mr. lincoln was nominated, very many papers ran up the name of "abram lincoln." the wrong pig by the ear. i never knew a flash phrase worse used up than was one by uncle abe attending one of the neighboring circuit courts above springfield. he was employed to aid a young county attorney to prosecute some reputed hog thieves. the crime of hog stealing had become so common that the people were considerably excited and an example was determined on. the first person tried was acquitted on a pretty clear _alibi_ or pretty hard swearing. as the fellow thus acquitted was lounging round the court house, uncle abe was passing, and he hailed him. "well mr. lincoln, i reckon you got the wrong sow by the ear when you undertook to pen me up." "so it seems," replied uncle abe, blandly, "but really you must excuse me, pigs are so very much alike! in fact, people up here don't all seem to know their own." "wilkie, where does old abe lincoln live." in "clay times," as the old farmers of sangamon still recall the period of henry clay's powerful canvass for the presidency, uncle abe had a wide circuit practice. in travelling to the various courts, he generally drove a horse and vehicle that some people will still remember. the horse had belonged to an undertaker, and the "funeral business," together with years, had made him a grave and staid animal. his _physique_ presented those angularities that characterized his master, but unlike his owner, he was never known to perpetrate a joke or indulge in a "horselaugh." the vehicle was neither buggy, nor jersey wagon, but had become, by virtue of alterations and repairs, what uncle abe afterwards described the union under the plan of free and slave states "neither one thing or the other." there was in fact an "eternal fitness" in horse and man that was not exactly a "standing joke," but a peripatetic one. i would give all my expectation of a brigadiership for a portrait of uncle abe seated in this strange "turnout," as he "might have been seen" wending his meditative way across the prairies. about this time uncle abe was nominated for congress in the sangamon. yet he did not forego his business, but prosecuted his legal course, as well as all evil-doers who chanced to fall into his hands. he had just started on a circuit trip, to be gone a month. often, since mr. lincoln's nomination for congress, had mrs. lincoln begged him to add a second story to their humble dwelling, but he pleaded poverty. but a relation of mrs. lincoln's having died in kentucky leaving her a small legacy, she determined her husband should have a house worthy a candidate for congress. doubtless she felt an inward satisfaction at the thought of furnishing a good surprise for her husband on his return. so she at once bought material, set mechanics at work, and in three weeks metamorphosed the dwelling into what political pilgrims to springfield in will remember as a neat, two-story, clay-colored residence. uncle abe arrived home just after dark, and drove up to what he thought to be eighth street, but not seeing his house, and thinking he had made a mistake, he drove round on to the next street. recognizing the houses there; he again drove around to eighth, and, passing his own house, recognized that occupied by w------n, a clever tailor, who was standing at his own gate. "why, is that you, wilkie?" (said uncle abe patronizingly.) w------n, assured him of his own identity, "wilkie, where does old abe lincoln live now." "well," said w------n, "the loco's say he's so sure of his election that he's gone to washington to select his seat; but mrs. lincoln lives now in that beautiful new two-story house you have just passed." uncle abe indulged in a quaint laugh, and then turned his ancient horse around, alighted and asked if mrs. lincoln lived in the house before which he stood. mrs. lincoln received him as a fond woman should receive her lord, and the return was the cause of much pleasant badinage in social circles. too literal obedience. gen. mcclellan was complaining to uncle abe of one of his division commanders, who had literally obeyed an order publicly given for the purpose of hood-winking the rebels through the aid of the numerous undetected spies known to lurk in the camp as well as the capital. "that reminds me of a little story--a little thing that happened to me when i was out in the black hawk war," said uncle abe. "you see, after we brought the foxes to terms, they were as sweet as wild honey. the women especially tried to make a good thing out of the defeat of their braves, by selling us moccasins, deerskin breeches, &c. one squaw in particular, made beautiful breeches, and i concluded to have a pair made. how she was to fit my spindles, puzzled me at first, as the indians are no tailors in any _measurable_ degree. at last i bethought me of an old pair which i had in my saddle bag, and these i gave to her that she might rip them open and use the parts for patterns. when she brought the new ones home, i was not a little angry to find that she had exactly imitated the old patch on the nether parts of the new breeches." little mac smiled in his peculiar grave way, and remarked that when he gave an order for a similar purpose, he would tell this story by way of a hint. how uncle abe felt. soon after uncle abe's defeat by judge douglas in , (whereby douglas unwittingly made a president) some one asked uncle abe how he felt over the result. "well," said he, "i feel a good deal like a big boy i knew in kentuck. after he'd got a terrible pounding by the school master, someone asked him how he felt? 'oh! said he, it hurt so awful bad, i couldn't laugh, and i was too big to cry over it.' that's just my case." it is presumed the questioner got an idea how a defeated politician feels. p.p.p. soon after the advent of uncle abe at the white house, the pressure of aspirants for official positions was perfectly crushing. in fact, uncle abe sometimes got so flustered by their bedevilment, that he not only failed to recollect an illustrating anecdote, but soon lost his temper. one of the illinois applicants--a fellow named jeff. d------r, was particularly a bore, seeming to think it part of the chicago platform to give every village politician an office. "seems to me, jeff," said uncle abe, "you got the chicago platform reduced to enormous brevity--in fact, just three p's would seem to express your idea of it." "how's that, mr. lincoln?" inquired-jeff. "why, it looks to me as if it was patriotism, place and plunder, and a mighty important plea is the last one, i reckon." jeff was silent for a while, but bored on until he "struck ile" in the shape-of a clerkship. rattaned for a rat joke. just after the retreat of the rebels from bull run, when it leaked out that our troops had been held at bay by wooden or quaker guns, a pennsylvanian congressman remarked to uncle abe--"well, mr. lincoln, you see that quaker principles even embodied in wood may be of some service in war." "yes, but as you see in that shape, they are only substituted principles; such things may do once, but found out, they will avail worse than nothing. your remark, however, 'reminds me of a little story.' "when i was a youngster of fifteen or so, i went to an 'academy' for a few weeks, just to brush up my old-field school learning. such schools are called academies in the east, to distinguish their intermediate position between colleges and common schools; but in kentuck and the west, generally the high sounding title merely meant that the 'principal' taught a few branches ahead of the old-field schools. well, the rats were thick about the old building where we daily gathered to reap the fruit of knowledge; and as many of the boys brought their dinners and threw the fragments under their old-fashioned box desks, they soon grew as bold as they were thick. the teacher had a mortal antipathy to rats, and as i didn't 'take' to the teacher, i naturally encouraged the rats. whenever one showed himself, he was sure to get a whack from the old teacher's rattan. sometimes he missed his aim at the rats, but never at us boys, which was owing, perhaps, to the difference in the size of the game. "an industrious rat had made a hole from beneath the floor up under my desk, and thence out through the end, and as i fed him well he was quite tame. often during school hours he would come up and peer out into the aisles through his hole in the end of the desk, and whenever he was seen by the teacher, he was sure to see the rattan whirling in the air. an idea struck me one day. i got a dead rat--i did not like to kill my pet--and stuffing it, made quite a good-looking 'quaker' rat. then i fixed some springs so i could work my rat out and in at pleasure; so whenever the teacher was looking up, my rat was always out; but when the whack came down, he was in betimes. at last he seemed to think it wondrous tame, and the ill-suppressed titter of the school boys finally made him suspicious. the boys had been let into my secret, and relished it hugely, and i was too prone to give a few exhibitions. at last the teacher watched me sharper than he did the rat, and then caught me in the act. he got hold of the rat and beat me alternately with rat and switch, and you may well guess, i was well rattaned. if soldiers who use wooden guns ever get worse usage, i pity them." the pounder parrot since used by the government, shows uncle abe's poor appreciation of quaker guns and quaker principles. the state house struck by whiggery. soon after the state house at springfield was erected, in , mr. lincoln stood on the east side of the capitol square one day, in conversation with a democratic friend, who was loth to believe that the whigs could carry the state for "tip and ty." "nothing is more morally certain," said uncle abe. "all the signs of the times point to it, and--why even the state house is struck with whiggery" he said, pointing up under the eves, where is yet seen a remarkable representation of a "coon" in the stone. graphic and true. when hon. emerson etheridge escaped from tennessee during the summer of , his opinions on tennessee affairs were eagerly listened to in washington. among other questions, uncle abe asked: "do the methodist clergy in your state take to secession?" "take? why, sir, they take to it like a duck to water, or a sailor to a duff kid." a judge of the post office. judge david davis of bloomington, illinois, who was recently appointed (by uncle abe) to a position on the bench of the supreme court of the united states, is known to many of his friends as one of the best hearted men in the world. his, is withal, full of the piety of good humor. i call it "piety," because i think a smiling face is a perpetual thanksgiving to god. his benevolence, however, edges down his wit, and gives it more the characteristic of humor, strictly speaking. this, while it may have helped that "belly with fat capon lined," has kept him at peace with himself and the world. on one occasion, while judge davis was presiding at the logan county circuit court, a case came up that involved a question of postal law. uncle abe was on the case, and politely loaned judge d. a small manual of postal law, that he might see for himself what the letter of the law was. the judge gave his understanding of the law, but had hardly finished when mr. s------s, a burley farmer from clear creek, jumped up and sang out-- "i reckon that ain't so, judge. i've been post-master more'n a dozen years, and i reckon i ought to know what's post office law." of course judge davis had every right to fine the man for contempt, but he had a different way of treating such cases. "with a tone in which sarcasm only slightly blended, he said: "truly, i think you ought, mr. s------s. it has never been my privilege to be a post-master, and i would like your opinion in this case. please step this way." the judge moved over and made room on the bench, which mr. s------s occupied, and proceeded to give _his_ opinion on the mooted question. the bar sat smiling in expectation. "keep your seat, mr. s------s, while i speak a word with my friend parks." uncle abe it was who had been interrupted, so he resumed: "may it please the court, i had some doubt on this point myself, so i borrowed the usual manual of postal law, to be perfectly assured. i regret to contend that the clear letter of the law conflicts--sadly conflicts--with the view just taken by judge s------s;" but here the bar indulged in a quiet "smile" without a stick in it, and it just popped into mr. s------'s head, that he was out of place, and he skedaddled in haste. "the largest _pussie_ judge that sat on our bench," remarked will wyatt. from that day to this, mr. s------s, has never lost the title he so suddenly gained. i'm an inderlid. one day while uncle abe was attending to a case at mount pulaski, (the country seat of logan county, illinois,) he was beset by old b------s, a worthy farmer, but a notorious malaprop, for an opinion as to his amenability to the road tax. "you look here, mr. lincoln, these fellows here want to make me work on the road." "well!" said uncle abe. "well, i tells them that they can't do it, cause i'm an _inderlid_, you see." (of course uncle abe concurred in b------s opinion, and forgot to charge a fee.) "on another occasion, he wanted john g. gillette, the great cattle dealer, to _proximate_ him because he'd got the best pair of cattle scales in logan county." how uncle abe got his sobriquet. some one ventured to ask uncle abe, soon after his arrival at the white house, how he got the sobriquet of "honest abe." "oh," said he, "i suppose my case was pretty much like that of a country merchant i once read of. some one called him a 'little rascal.' 'thank you for the compliment,' said he. 'why so?' asked the stigmatizer. 'because that title distinguishes me from my fellow tradesmen, who are all _great_ rascals.'" "so honest lawyers were so scarce in illinois that you were thus distinguished from them?" persisted the questioner. "well," quoth uncle abe, glancing slyly at douglas, sweet, and others from illinois, "it's hard to say where the honest ones are." "i'll take number eleven too." thirty-five or forty years ago, a trip from sangamon or macon county, to st. louis, was an event to be talked of. it took as long to make it, and furnished food for as much rustic enquiry and comment, as does a voyage to europe now. uncle abe had then given up rail-splitting, and was studying law. having a little while before treated himself to a (then) rare thing, a suit of "store clothes;" and a neighbor being about to leave for st. louis, he resolved to go along. as the teams toiled on at the rate of fifteen or twenty miles a day, they were gradually joined by others, till the train presented somewhat the sights now to be seen on our great overland routes to the pacific. on arrival at st. louis, abe determined to see high life, and accordingly made tracks for a letter a. no. , first class hotel. the old city hotel was then the only house that could claim that distinction. there the merchants congregated, and there the indian trader sought relaxation from frontier hardships, while the rough trapper was content with the humble fare of the "hunter's home." i forget what association called out this reminiscence of that trip; but there can be no harm in repeating the story. such mishaps have befallen incipient greatness before. at the dinner table, each waiter was provided with a wine card, and each guest had his wine charged to the number of his room, simply calling out, as for instance, sherry no. , &c. a jolly indian trader, sat just opposite abe, who betimes called "claret, no ." abe saw that most of the guests were similarly providing for themselves, and concluded not to appear penurious, so he said he'd take some wine too. "what kind, sah?" asked the waiter. "oh, i'll take the same,"--pointing to the bottle just called for by the indian trader. "what number, sah?" abe was puzzled. ho had not been used to wine or hotel life; but it was only a moment before he broke the ice. "oh, i'll just take no. too." the trader looked up surprised, while several others near by, smiled a faint comprehension as to the state of affairs. "why, young man," said the trader, "that is my number, and mine is a single room." "i beg pardon," stammered abe, conscious that he had betrayed rusticity and ignorance; but not knowing exactly how to extricate himself, the good-hearted trader came to his aid-- "were you ever in the city before?" asked he. "never before." "well, then, in memory of your advent, it shall be no. too," and he quietly pushed the bottle across the table. so agreeable was he that abe rallied, and the second bottle followed the fate of the first. on renewing the conversation after dinner, the trader was satisfied that abe had 'lots' of 'horse sense,' but little of worldly experience, and he friendlily invited him to go out with him as a clerk; but, abe declined. had he gone--what? perhaps he might have become a respectable indian trader--perhaps he never had been elected president, and perhaps we would have had no rebellion. a severe retort. uncle abe took a great liking to the late col. ellsworth, and afterwards did him the honor of making a colonel of him. the rebel jackson did the rest, but enough of that. many of our readers will recall the slim, spruce figure of col. ellsworth as he paraded the streets of springfield, dressed in a unique zouave uniform, a mere boy in appearance. he was full of animal spirits. he and bob o'lincoln were cutting up didoes in the law office of lincoln and hornden, which greatly annoyed uncle abe, and he gently reproved them. bob, a little nettled, replied by quoting the common couplet: ``"a little nonsense now and then, ``is relished by the wisest men." "yes," said uncle abe, looking severely at bob, "that's the difference between a wise man and a fool who relishes it all the time." bob subsided, and ellsworth betook himself anew to blackstone. had all the time there was. when uncle abe used to attend the courts in the regions round about sangamon, he generally made easy stays, and was wont to look at the country and talk to the people at his leisure. on one occasion he was riding by the premises of old h------, who was notorious for his unthriftiness, and who was in the act of driving some stray hogs out of his corn-field. "good morning, mr. h------," said uncle abe. "morning, mr. lincoln, morning." "why don't you mend that piece of fence thoroughly, mr. h------, and keep the pigs out?" asked uncle abe. "ha'n't got time," said h------. "why," said uncle abe, with an air of blended reproof and humor, "you've got all the time there is mr. h------." whether h------ mended his fence and his thriftless habits, this deponent knoweth not; but has often thought how true was the remark, whether as a joke or an admonition. every second, minute or hour is ours--ours to use or ours to squander. how wontonly wasteful would be the rich man who should stand upon a vessel's deck and cast his million golden coins into the sea; yet day after day we stand upon the shores of eternity, and cast the golden moments into the unreturning past. all the knowledge and wealth of the world is but the result of improved time. so don't say you "havn't got time," for you've got all there is, as uncle abe says. could stand it a day or two, about the time this occurred, there stood on one side of capitol square, in springfield, a hotel, now doubtless out of memory of most of the occupants of the out-lots and additions which speculators have hitched to the original village. in its day it was a "first-class hotel," but it waned before the "american" and is now among the "things that were." there were some who doubted the cleanliness of the _cuisine_, and "thereby hangs a tale." judge brown arrived in town and put up at the aforesaid hotel, whereat, uncle abe, on meeting him, expressed his regret, begging him to become _his_ guest. the judge would fain not trouble his friend. "but you know the reputation of the place--the kitchen?" said uncle abe. "i've heard of it," said the judge; "but as i want to keep my appetite, i always shun the kitchen, if not the cooks." "but surely, can't you see by the table alone, judge?" "i know, mr. lincoln, but i'm going to stop only a day or two, and i guess i can stand for that time what the landlord's family stand all their lives." speaking of hotels, reminds me of a little episode of one of uncle abe's professional visits to cairo, in egypt, a town fenced in with mud-banks and celebrated for its mud-holes and mean whisky. thereabouts is a hotel, and thereat uncle abe stopped because the water forbade further traveling. when his bill was presented to him next morning, he ventured to remark, "that his accommodation had not been of the most agreeable kind." "we are very much crowded," apologetically replied the landlord. "but i had hard work to get breakfast this morning." "yes," continued the apologist, "we are greatly in need of help." "well, well," said uncle abe, "you keep a first rate hotel in one respect." "ah!" said the landlord, brightening up, "in what respect is that?" "your bills," said undo abe, vanishing towards the "central" cars. the ky-ro-ite landlord perhaps thought he ought to be well compensated for keeping a hotel in such a place. a man of his sort used to "keep tavern" in pasy county, indiana, several years ago. a pedestrian stopped with him over night, for which the charge was . . "why, landlord," said he, "this is an outrageous bill." "you mean it's a big'un?" said the insatiate boniface. "yes, i do." "well, stranger, we keep tavern here." "what has that to do with such a bill?" "look at that'ere sign, stranger--cost ten dollars; your'n the fust trav'ler that's bin along for three weeks, and we can't afford to keep tavern for nothin--_we_ can't!" not the worst of it. gov. morgan, of new york, was urging the employment of general w------in active service, seward objected, that he was "too old" for the emergency of the times. "yes," said uncle abe, "we've got too many old officers in the army, and that is not the worst of it--_we've got two many old women_ there!" this was when uncle abe's faith was strong in little mac. "some conclusions;" said uncle abe on one occasion, "are nonsequential. to say that rome was not built in a day, does not prove that it was built in a night." accoutred en militaire. in the outset of the famous black-hawk war in illinois, a "hoss company" was raised in the region where uncle abe was (then) a rising lawyer. i say rising, although he had then reached a height sufficient to help himself to most blessings--and he, the aforesaid u.a., was chosen captain. uncle abe rode a "slapping stallion," who was either naturally restive, or appreciated his new honor too highly--at any rate, he corvetted and pirouetted like a very bucephalus. at last he unhorsed his rider, who landed sprawling on the prairie in one of those green excrescences that abound where bovine herds range. as the discomfitted uncle abe rose, and surveyed his predicament, old pierre menard, who was a near spectator, remarked in his broken french: "vell, i nevair sees any man accoutred en militaire like zat before." most old suckers pronounce accoutred as the yankees do the word cowcumber, and this rendered menard's joke more unctious. perils of illinois lawyers. years ago, when the capital of suckerdom was a village of less "magnificence" than it now presents--when lincoln, harden, baker, mcdougal, douglas, shields and ferguson were all village lawyers, and scarcely known to fame--judge thomas brown was on the supreme bench of the state. he was to some extent a "character;" but not a very successful lawyer. he went to california, since when he has been generally lost sight of; but his old friends may be assured that if he is in the "land of the living," uncle abe's tax collectors will find him. but that's neither here nor there. his ideas of the perils of practicing law in illinois, in early times, is what is now before the reader. on one occasion, after he had changed his residence to peoria, having some business to transact in springfield, he arrived in that place and put up at the old american house, (now kept by henry bidgely, esq.) he chanced to mention the name of peoria. instantly the attention of a countryman was fixed, upon him, who, at the first opportunity accosted him-- "from peoria, squar?" "yes." "much acquainted?" "pretty well, sir." "know a lawyer up there named h------g r------s?" "yes sir." "how's he getting along?" "oh, first rate--devilish lucky man." "he's getting hold of considerable land, hain't he?" "yes a deal--devilish lucky man. "yes--large--devilish lucky man." "look here, squar," said the countryman, evidently puzzled at r------s being so devilish lucky. "what do you mean about his being so lucky?" "mean? why i call any man lucky that practices law twenty years in illinoiss, and don't get into the penitentiary." couldn't make a presidential chair. "mr. lincoln," said an ardent sovereignty man just at the beginning of the last presidential contest "mr. douglas is a cabinet maker." "he _was_ when i first knew him," said uncle abe "but he gave up the business so long ago, that i don't think he can make a presidential chair now." uncle abe proved himself a prophet, although at a tremendous cost to the country. "couldn't see it in that light." a delegation of temperance men recently sought to influence uncle abe to take some stringent steps to suppress intemperance in our armies. among other reasons urged, they said our armies were often beaten because of intemperance. "is that so?" said undo abe. "i've heard on all sides that the rebels drink more than our boys do, and i can't see why our boys, who drink less, are more liable to get whipped." "but you know the corrupting influence of the army in regard to drinking habits," pursued the committee. "i've heard that, too," said uncle abe, "but i think they will do pretty well _if i can keep them out of washington!_" the committee didn't carry their measure, by a jug full. too tough for the rebels. when the illinois boys gathered at springfield, under the call of the ten regiment bill, they were quartered on the fair grounds, just out of the city. all the stalls were filled with troops, before which were signs as "st. nicholas," "richmond house," etc., etc. charley w------, on going through the fair grounds, looked into the "richmond house," and said-- "well, boys, how do you get along?" "oh, first rate," replied the chicagoians, "we're all _stall fed_." "bully for you," said charley; "hope you'll be too tough for the rebels." little mac helped by an illustration. "i can't seem to reap any advantage from the rebel movements," said mcclellan, in consultation with uncle abe. "oh, you just keep a watchful, careful eye on leer and perhaps you will yet see how to make use of them, as old mother grundy did of her crooked wood." "thereby hangs a tale," remarked little mac, with one of his peculiar, quaint smiles. "you're right, general. your remark reminded me of a good old neighbor of my father's, in kentucky, who died many years ago. she was sweet-tempered--few such in this world." uncle abe stopped as though a mental comparison had damaged some woman of his acquaintance. "yes, her disposition was of that kind that extracts 'good from things evil.' and she was her husband's pride and boast. one day he was praising her to a neighbor." "'look here, old man grundy,' said the neighbor 'these women are just like cats--they are all right as long as you stroke the fur the right way, but reverse the movement, and you'll see the fire fly. now, i'll tell you what, i bet a four-gallon keg of my four-year-old peach, that i can tell you how to make her as mad as a set-hen, if you dare to try." "'done,' cried old man grundy. "'well, you just haul home all the crookedest sticks of wood you can find, and then see.' "old man grundy brought home a small load every day or two, and it was knotty and crooked as a pigs-tail; but not a word or look of complaint. for a week this continued, with the same result, when he asked the good wife how she liked the wood." "'oh,'tis beautiful wood,' said she; 'it burns finely, and then it fits _around my pots and kettles just, as if 'twas made on purpose_.'" lee did not fit into mac's hand so well, yet the story was not without its use to him. an acre of fight. during the progress of the senatorial campaign between douglas and lincoln, uncle abe came home to recreate a few days. douglas, long used to the political arena, bore the fatigues of the canvass like a veteran. his custom was to bathe just after supper, getting some friend to rub him like a race horse, when he would sit down and enjoy his whisky and cigar. lincoln, lank and abstemious, bore his yoke with evident weariness. but to the story. uncle abe went up into the governor's room in the state house, where he was soon joined by many of the leading republicans of the town. some one remarked on his look of weariness. "it is a mighty contest," remarked uncle jesse du bois. "but mr. lincoln does not show his great appreciation of it upon the stand," remarked a chicago correspondent, in allusion to uncle abe's good humored replies to douglas. "but still, when the day's gladiatorial combat is over, it seems to me, as the kentucky fellow said, that i had been through 'an acre of fight.'" "give us that story, abe," said dr. wallace, uncle abe's brother-in-law. "well, one of my earliest recollections of a kentucky court, was a trial about a fight. it took place in the court house grounds, and the judge, thinking it constructable as a contempt of court, sent out the sheriff, and had the parties quickly brought before him. both had bruised noses and beavers, and showed the unmistakable evidence of having been in a scrimage. the witnesses were numerous, and the evidence was so conflicting, that the judge declared he could legally reach no other conclusion than that there had _been no fight at all_. but the sheriff ventured to suggest: "here's jim blowers--he had hold on one of them fellers, when i arrested them." "mr. clerk," said the judge, "you will at once swear mr. blowers." "now, mr. blowers," said the clerk, "you will please tell the court what you know about this affair." "well, ax on." "well, was there a fight between these parties?" "just a bit of scrimage." "it was a real fight, was it?" "well, some people would call it that." "how much of a fight was it?" "oh, considerable--they pulled and hauled about kinder like two cows when they lock horns." "but, tell the court more precisely?" "well, i should say it was a right smart fight." "but _how_ much of a fight?" "well, then, just about an acre, i reckon." it is needless to say that the crowd enjoyed the joke hugely. "it is easier to pay a small debt than a larger one." uncle abe believes in the intelligence of oysters. in the year or thereabouts, when a great patent case was being tried in chicago, and champagne and oysters were the favorite viands served nightly to counsel and jurors after the adjournment of court, it happened that one ed. d------n, a young patent lawyer from new york, was present on one of those occasions. now, ned is terribly afflicted with a determination of words to the mouth, and managed to monopolize the whole conversation. ned had a speech to make upon everything, and kept buzzing around like a musquito, dipping his bill into everything animate or inanimate, no matter which. at last he began to officiate at serving out the oysters, and with ladle in hand, said in his usual stilted style, "i wonder whether this bivalve, this seemingly obtuse oyster, is endowed with any degree of intelligence." uncle abe looked at the puppy, who, by the way, had prevented him cracking a single one of his favorite jokes for the entire evening, and quaintly remarked, that "he was satisfied that an oyster knew when to shut up, and that was more than some new york lawyers knew." ned has never propounded the query as to the intellect of oysters since. an egyptian snake story the last county made in illinois--i don't mean by the legislature, but by nature, and where dirt was so short that it lies under water part of the year--is called alexander, and used to boast two rival towns, both thoroughly egyptian in their nomenclative association--cairo and thebes. twenty years ago thebes was the "seat of justice;" but cairo was then beginning to entertain magnificent expectations, and her citizens wanted to have the court house removed to their town. the contest waxed warm. the thebans contended that cairo was only a "daub of mud on the tail of the state," while thebes was destined to hold the same relation to alexander, that its ancient namesake did to egypt in the time of menes. [see herodotus.] but to settle the dispute, the legislature must be appealed to, and that involved the choice of a man favorable to the change. this narrowed the fight right down to a hot county canvass between the theban and cairoine interests. a cairo man conceived a scheme that was ahead of anything yet achieved by uncle abe's brigadiers in the way of "strategy." he wrapped a boulder in a green hide, making a perfectly round mass, to which he attached a mule; then night after night he drew the stone through sand and mud. by going on a straight line, the mule's tracks were concealed, and the track left, resembled that made by a huge serpent. [illustration: ] these tracks were mainly in the south end of the county, and caused an excitement that almost absorbed the election interest. soon it was reported that mrs. so and so had seen a huge snake. the wonder grew apace. anon it was currently reported that two men had seen the great serpent five miles above cairo. the excitement increased. several daring hunters followed the track, of which new ones were made every night; but the trail always led into water and was lost. several persons missed hogs and calves, which were surmised to have gone into the capacious maw of the serpent. finally word was given out that a great hunt was to come off in the lower part of the county, and the rendezvous was appointed. on the morning, hundreds were there from all parts of the county, and dividing into squads they started to scour the country about. at night they returned from their snakeless hunt, but so anxious were the people to get rid of his snakeship, that they furnished an abundance of edibles and whisky. all were in hilarious spirits, determined to renew the hunt on the following morning. by daylight the hunters were again on the tramp, and men from the lower part of the county happened to fall into the squad. about o'clock in the afternoon, a squad of the bans hove in sight of a small village, _i.e._ one house a blacksmith shop and a grocery, where, seeing a large crowd assembled, they hurried up in expectation of seeing the dead monster. _but the men were voting!_ "thunder!" cried a theban, "this is election day, and i'll bet my bottom dollar we're sold!" they started for the rendezvous and spread their suspicions; but so few reached their own precincts, that the cairo man was elected. then the joke came out; but the thebans couldn't see the "laughing place;" their rage and mortification was so intense. uncle abe was a member of the legislature, when an effort was made to change the county seat of alexander; and though he liked the joke hugely by which the thebans had been "diddled," he saw the honesty of the thing and so voted against any change. why uncle abe made a brigadier. when the rebellion had gone so far as to give the most hopeful some clear idea of its extent and malignancy, it chanced that j. a. mc------d, a leading politician of illinois, made a visit to washington, and imitated his friend douglas so far as to call upon uncle abe. the "shoot" that certain prominent democrats gave indication of taking, by talking of reconstruction and a northwestern republic, gave the new administration some concern. uncle abe was very sociable with logan, mac, and a few of their "ilk." so uncle abe not only extended to mac the hospitalities of the white house, but accompanied him on a visit to the arsenal. while there, their attention was drawn to some muskets which the speculators had furnished to cameron, and which were thought (generally) very dangerous to those who used them. mac caught up one, and sighted along the barrel. "do that again, mac," said uncle abe. mac complied. uncle abe was evidently struck with an idea, and mac was anxious to know what it was like. "why, mac," said uncle abe, "i was thinking if we could get all our soldiers to make up that kind of a face, that the rebels couldn't stand it a moment." mac didn't relish uncle abe's joke, as he was hopefully in pursuit of the third wife; but he put the best face he could upon the matter, and remarked to uncle abe-- "perhaps you'd better make me a brigadier then!" "and why not?" asked uncle abe. mac got his commission. uncle abe puzzled. uncle abe was met one day near springfield, by a conceited coxcomb, who had built him a house at some distance, and invited him to dinner. uncle abe did not much relish the jackenape's acquaintance. in fact, as justice shallow has it, had "written him down an ass." however, abe enquired very minutely, where snooks lived? "thistle grove," replied the verdant snooks; "but there's no grove now, and not a single thistle!" "eh, what!" cries uncle abe, "not a single thistle! then what on airth do you live on?" uncle abe divided on a question. in or ' , uncle abo was a member of the illinois legislature. the capital had lately been removed from vandalia to springfield. the legislature met in the presbyterian church. i have forgotten what measure was before the house; but it was one in which there were many members who did not wish to commit themselves. uncle abe was in this predicament. he sat near an open window, and when the clerk, calling the ayes and nays had got down to l's, uncle abe thrust his right leg out of the window, and was just drawing its long companion after it, when an anti-dodging member "seeing the game," shut the sash down and held uncle abe in a trap. "lincoln," called out the clerk. "mr. speaker," said col. thornton, "mr. lincoln is _divided_ on this question, and i move you that the sergeant at arms be sent to bring in that part of him that is out of the window." uncle abe was "_brought in_" amid a universal titter, to his evident mortification. in , the union generally went for harrison; but illinois, particularly, was democratic. when the legislature met in the fall of that year, the whig members tried to break up the _new_ session by absenting themselves from voting to adjourn the old session _sine die_, so that they could constitutionally meet the next wednesday morning; the state constitution requiring the legislature to meet "the first monday in december next, ensuing the election of members." after the breaking up of the morning session, the sergeant-at-arms hunted up the delinquent whigs, and at o'clock there was a quorum obtained, and the doors locked. the springfield _register_ of dec. , , mentions this matter, but thinks uncle abe "come off without damage, as it was noticed that his legs reached nearly from the window to the ground!" a proposition was afterwards humorously proposed, to add another story to the new state house, so that fugacious members would have to go down the water spouts if they ran! tried for scaring the girls. thirty years ago, when springfield was blooming into the dignity of its capitalive position, the american house was its great hotel, (and it isn't its smallest yet,) and the resort of those who loved to spend a few hours in the society of the _bon vivants_ who then assembled--lincoln, douglas, shields, ferguson, herndon, (then a young man, but since the law partner of uncle abe,) and many others "not unknown to fame," could almost always be found here during the evening. one evening as they were sitting in free converse in the bar-room, one of the chamber maids came in and informed the landlord that a man was under her bed. it seems while stooping down to untie her gaiters, she saw a man under the bed. with rare presence of mind, she excused herself to her fellow servant as having forgotten some duty, and reported her discovery to the landlord. boniface at once called for volunteers to secure the interloper. so eager were they for fun, that all volunteered. they surprised and captured the man, and brought him down to the bar-room; but what to do with him? was the next question. springfield then had no vagabonds who made fees out of misfortunes--i.e. policemen--and it was determined to treat him with the prompt justice peculiar to that era. a court was therefore got together at once, all expectant of fun but the unfortunate culprit. judge thomas brown was decided upon to act as judge; melborn, the talented, but eccentric state attorney, was detailed to prosecute; and lincoln and douglas to defend the prisoner. dr. wallace acted as sheriff, and upon the jury were dr. merriman, * gen. shields, john calhoun (of lecompton memory,) uri manly, and many other well known personages. lawborn, though a regularly-educated and talented lawyer, took occasion not only to be as "funny as he could," but to imitate the prevailing style of oratory too common in illinois--a style in which the hard-shell-baptist devil mingled with the rough dialect of the back-woodsman. "_may it please your honor, and you, gentlemen of the jury_: the legislature of illinois, though it has legislated upon every subject it could think of, has omitted to pass any act against a man being born as ugly as he pleases. if such an idea ever occurred to my friend lincoln here, when in the legislature, i know he would at once dismiss it, not only as too personal, but as repugnant to his honest heart. as for myself, i like ugly men. an ugly man stands up on his own merits. nature has done nothing for him, and he feels that he must labor to supply the deficit by amiability and good conduct generally. there is not an ugly man in this room but has felt this. a pretty man, on the contrary, trusts his face to supply head, heart and everything. he is an anomaly in nature, as though the productions had been at fault as to sex, and sought to correct it when too late. they are girl's first loves, and doting husband's jealous bane. i confess i don't like pretty men half so well as i do pretty women. * afterward murdered and robbed on the pacific. "no, gentlemen, ugliness is nothing. it is manners that is everything. the ugliest man that ever lived, never intentionally frightened a woman--nay, never was so unfortunate as to do so. but this creature, gentlemen of the jury, this mendacious wretch whom you set in judgment upon--this creature, who would doubtless enter for a prize of beauty at a vanity fair--how has he failed in his duty to society? why, gentlemen, by crawling under the bed upon which two fair damsels were about to expose their loveliness to diana's envious gaze. did he wish to woo them? petruche's was rough in his wooing--this man was mean! woman loves not surprises. their hearts are fond of open sieges. this is the case of all women-kind. maugre the slander of hudibras:= ``"he that woos a maid, ``must lie, love, and flatter."= "it is a _mystery_ that adds to beauty, and the woman who surrenders that to importunity or surprise, has lost half her vantage ground. the story of guyges and candaules' queen, if not paralleled here, is not without its moral. what else meant this wretch, gentlemen of the jury, but to surprise these charming damsels when only armed with the light shield that the huntress and the cotton plant throws over earthly beauty? or, perhaps he meant more--his own guilty heart can only accuse him there. "gentlemen of the jury, the failure of our legislature to provide a specific punishment for such miscreants, as this--lecherous creatures, who steal upon woman amid the mysteries of the bed-room--is no reason why society should fold its arms and leave woman's hidden beauties to be anatomized by guilty eyes. no, gentlemen of the jury, outraged decency cries for its victim, and here he tremblingly, guiltily stands. "gentlemen of the jury, where are the spirits of the fathers of the constitution? are they not hovering over us in the air of the still summer day? are they not wailing upon the winds that sweep over our prairies? are they not heard in the sigh of the mountain pine? are they not abroad in all lands, whispering to earth's downtrodden millions like a voice of hope? yes, gentlemen of the jury! and where was this creature then? why, creeping under the bed of two girls, hazzarding the chance of overturning--well, it matters not." --and much more, in a view that needed to be heard to be appreciated. lincoln followed, illustrating with anecdotes meet for the place and occasion, of which i recollect only the opening. "gentlemen of the jury," said he, "the remarks of my friend lawborn about ugly men, comes home to my bosom like the sweet oders of a rose to its neighboring great sister, the cabbage. it was a grateful, a just tribute to that neglected class of the community--ugly men, i wish to say something for my client, although it must in candor be admitted, that he had 'gone to pot.' i don't see why we should throw the kettle after him; he may be the victim of circumstances; he looks very bashful now, and it may be the girls scared him; who knows? at least i claim for him the benefit of a doubt. "why, gentlemen, many of us have, or might have suffered from a concatenation of circumstances as strong as that under which my client labors. let me relate a little personal anecdote in illustration. when i was making the secret canvass of this country, with my friend cartwright, the pioneer preacher, we chanced to stop at the house of one of our old kentucky farmers, whose log-cabin parlor, kitchen and hall were blended in one, and only separated at night by sundry blankets hung up between the beds. as we were candidates for the august legislature of illinois, our host treated us with the privacy of a blanket room. during the night i was awakened by some one throwing their leg over me with some force. i thought it was neighbor cartright, and took hold of it to give it a toss back; but it didn't feel like one of his white oak legs, and while i was feeling it to ascertain the correctness of my half-awake doubts, a stifled scream thoroughly awakened me, and the leg was withdrawn. why, gentlemen, would you believe me? it was the leg of our host's daughter! imagine my position if you can! what an _apparent_ breach of hospitality! while i was imagining an excuse for my conduct, the 'old folks' struck a light, and the blanket between our bed and that of the buxom damsel, was discovered to have been pulled down! more damning proof, thought i. i feigned sleep, but kept one corner of my left eye open for observation. the blanket was soon fixed up, and i was greatly relieved to hear the damsel explain to her mother that she herself had invaded our bed while dreaming, caused by some un-digestable vegetables she had eaten for her supper. our host was serene and affable in the morning, and i had no need to apologize; but, gentlemen, imagine what an escape i had, and have mercy on my client." uncle abe made a side splitting speech all through, and douglas followed with a "constitutional" argument. the jury returned a verdict of "guilty of scaring the girls," and the judge sentenced the culprit to be whipped in the back yard, by the girls he had scared. dr. wallace, the acting sheriff, (no, a paymaster in the army,) went out and bought a cow hide, and the fellow was soon tied up to a post, and the girls made per force to give him thirty-nine well laid on. the whole affair was a rich evening's divertisement, and cost nothing more than a few lost vest buttons and strained button holes. it is needless to say that the fellow became a _non est_ man from that day thenceforth. "thank god for the sassengers." most of the readers of this have perhaps read a good story of oliver ditson, the celebrated boston music publisher. after he had been in business several years, his new hampshire friends invited him to open his thanksgiving in his native town, he accepted the invitation and started with some of his friends. on the way ditson was the great man of the occasion, and was therefore placed at the head of the table, when it devolved upon him to ask the blessing. now oliver practiced more religion than he knew the exact forms for, and he was in a sad dilemma; but he essayed boldly the task. he thanked god for all the 'creature comforts' there were upon the table--for all there ever had been--for all that was expected. but how to quit? he went on, thanking and trying to think at the same time how 'blessings' ended, but to no purpose. knives rattled, plates moved, and oliver saw the hungry people were getting impatient, and he came to the end in a real business like style, with--"yours, respectfully, oliver ditson." almost as good an anecdote is told by uncle abe of one of his old friends, a mr. sawyer, who merchandized either in macon or champaign county. sawyer, was a yankee, and distinguished for little besides an immoderate liking for "sassingers," as he called that "linked sweetness" which polite people call sausages. when uncle abe was stumping the sangamon district for congress, it befell that he and sawyer met at the same country hotel, which was kept by a hardshell baptist, whose foible was long prayers and blessings at table. they--lincoln and sawyer--happened to be going to the same town by the same coaches. so they were up betimes and ready, but breakfast was delayed. they at last got to the table, and the deacon was just closing his eyes preliminary to the blessing, when the stage horn blew. "bless me, deacon, there's the stage ready," cried the sawyer; "thank god for the sassengers, and let us fall too." i hardly need say the deacon's blessing--and perhaps his breakfast were spoiled. but sawyer had his "sassengers." was'nt murder after all. when the present state house of illinois, was being built--and it's a passable edifice, baring it is too low in the ground, and the _summer house_ up on its top is too low to catch the cool breezes--it chanced that among the workmen engaged upon it was a new yorker named johnson. this man had a sovereign contempt for most of the shinplasters then circulating in illinois; nor was he much amiss in this, for if it was now in existence, it would be exchangable at par with jeff davis' shinplasters. but through the instrumentality of col. thornton's negotiations in new york with mcalister of stebbins, (a claim, by the way, that has never been settled but came near _settling_ the state _a la_ mattoon,) a large amount of the bills of the new york _metropolitan bank_ were put into circulation about springfield. for this currency johnson conceived so great a partiality that the passion of avarice soon turned it into a mania. he bought all these notes his means permitted, and stored them away about his person with miserly care. one sunday johnson was invited to ride out to the cut off by a man (smith for the nonce) and accepted. they did'nt stop at the cut-off, but went direct to sangamon river. here, they were overheard quarrelling. smith came home without johnson, who was soon missed, and as he was known to have gone away with smith, that individual was soon put in that log building still standing (it did in ' ) back of carrigan's hotel, and which has since served as a hen house etc. (why don't butler take a picture of it, to show the "rising generation" what a small house used to hold all the _known or taken_ rogues of old sangamon?) the examination of smith, did not take place until the river bank had been examined. there were signs of a struggle on the bank, and to the water's edge, which gave force to the evidence of the man who heard them in dispute, and all felt convinced that johnson had been murdered. although a careful examination and dredging of the river failed to produce the body, smith was committed for trial. uncle abe was engaged as counsel for johnson, but had little hopes of being of any earthly aid to him. at last the day of trial came, and the prisoner plead "not guilty." i think it was melborn who was the prosecuting attorney; before the prosecution had opened the case uncle abe rose and said: "may it please the court, i have a motion to make before the prosecution opens; and as it may save the court some unnecessary labor, i hope it will be entertained. _i move that the indictment be quashed and the prisoner discharged!_" the astonishment of the crowded court room was immense, shared alike by judge, bar and spectators. as soon as the judge recovered his equanimity he asked: "upon what grounds is so extraordinary a motion made?" "why the man johnson, was not murdered at all, and i have the pleasure of introducing _him to the presence of the court_." johnson was led forward. hundreds recognized him immediately, the excitement was so great that the judge adjourned the court. it seems that the parties had quarreled, johnson had been pushed into the river, but had got out and wandered off in a state of partial aberation of mind and had been working on a farm. his passion for metropolitan bank notes and his name suggested an idea that he was the missing man, and he was opportunely produced in time to save a man from being hung. joe reed's mule hunt. one of the best natured fellows in the world, when he is not mad, is joe reed, of logan county, illinois, joe is a staunch republican--a real rip-rarer in the cause, and has given uncle abe the lift of a mighty broad pair of shoulders more than once, although at first he had a poor opinion of the rail-splitter. thereby hangs a tale. in --, (the date is forgotten on account of the coldness of the weather that winter,) joe lost a couple of mules. after they had been gone for a long time, he chanced to hear of them in a settlement somewhere within the present bounds of macon county. illinois. at the first opportunity joe started on a mule hunt, determined to find either the mules or some _trace_ of them. on reaching the neighborhood in question, joe was satisfied that an old fellow named bosby sheel, had his mules; and when he went in person, and saw them, the assurance of his eyes made "assurance double sure." he at once made claim, but the old fellow had heard that possession was nine points of the law--he declined to surrender them; joe immediately appealed to old squire p------, who at once summoned the holder of the mules to his court. the squire informed joe that he would have to prove property; but joe said he would only have to swear to his property. in this dilemma, the squire adjourned court till after dinner and remarked to joe that he had better get a lawyer. "there is young abe lincoln, he don't live far from here, and he'll be at my house after dinner." as he was the only lawyer immediately thereabouts, joe thought he had best employ him, in order to "have the law on his side." soon after dinner a stranger arrived, and the justice (who was landlord of the only hotel in the settlement,) whispered to joe, that that was the lawyer. "what!" exclaimed joe, "that lean, lank gawky? why, i'll bet both of them mules i know more law nor he does, for i'm a 'squire at home myself--i am." "but his looks is mighty deceivin', i tell you," said boniface. "he's gin out to be one of the piertest young fellows short o' sangamon." but joe was decided, and the 'squire re-convened his court, he having the meantime laid the case before his young friend, the lawyer, and got his opinion. acting his own lawyer, joe felt it due to his course to give a concise statement of the law. as he stood up, he still continued to read from a green-covered book that had engaged his attention most of the day it was one of cooper's latest novels. as joe gave his version of the law, it seemed to 'squire p------ that he was _reading_ the law. "is that really the law?" said he, as joe finished his version of the law--not the book. "let me see that book." joe mechanically handed it to him. after pouring over it for some time, he handed it back, with an air of disappointment, remarking: "drat me! if i see any sich law in that book." "well, it ain't no wonder ye don't--that's the _red rover_, a novel and not a law book, and you've been and lost my place too," joe found his place, and continued: "what i told you is what the law says, and i know it's so." "well, as you're a 'squire, too, i reckon you ought to know. as the mules don't belong to old man bosby sheel and you swear they are you'rn, i hold he's bound to give'em up." joe rallied the old squire rather hard about looking over the _red rover_ for extra law, but finally "give a treat" and left the squire and his friend in the best of humors. said uncle abe when he had the small-pox, "i now can give something to every one who calls." has no influence with the administration. judge baldwin, an old and highly respectable and sedate gentleman, called a few days since on gen. halleck, and presuming upon a familiar acquaintance in california formerly, solicited a pass outside of our lines, to see a brother in virginia, not thinking that he would be met with a refusal, as both his brother and himself were good union men. "we have been deceived too often," said general halleck, "and i regret i can't grant it." judge b. then went to stanton, and was very briefly disposed of with the same result. finally he obtained an interview with uncle abe, and stated his case. "have you applied to gen. halleck?" inquired the president. "and met with a flat refusal," said judge b. "then you must see stanton," continued uncle abe. "i have, and with the same result," was the reply. "well, then," said uncle abe, with a smile of good humor, "i can do nothing; for you must know _that i have very little influence with this administration_." a touching incident. the following incident, which occurred at the white house, will appeal to every heart. it reveals unmistakably the deep kindness of uncle abe's character: "at a reception recently at the white house, many persons present noticed three little girls poorly dressed, the children of some mechanic or laboring man, who had followed the visitors into the house to gratify their curiosity. they were passed from room to room, and were passing through the reception room with some trepidation, when uncle abe, called to them: 'little girls, are you going to pass me without shaking hands?' then he bent his tall, awkward form down, and shook each little girl warmly by the hand. everybody in the apartment was spellbound by the incident, so simple in itself, yet revealing so much of uncle abe's character." a lincoln man ducked. during the canvass between uncle abe, and peter cartright, the celebrated pioneer preacher, it chanced that cartright, was returning to his home from the williamsville and wiggins lane settlement. the nearest crossing of the sangamon was at carpenter's mills, where there was the convenience of a ferry instead of a bridge, as is now the case. upon the hill on the western side of the river, cartright saw a man elevated upon a barrel in front of a little grocery--and on nearing him, he discovered that he was giving the democrats in general, and uncle peter cartright in particular, a perfect fusilade of small shots of slang and abuse. "i tell you, boys, i'm a whig,--a real harrison tippacanoe and tyler too, whig," said he. "i'm for putting down all these cuss'd locofocos, and if we can't vote'em down, why i go for lickin'em' down. there's long abe lincoln that's runnin' for the legislature--he's the chap to vote for. he's one of the people--split rails and got his edycation by moonlight. he don't go round the country prayin' and preachin' like that mean methodist cuss, peter cartright, that's runnin' agin him. i'd like to know what we wants of a parson to make laws for us? just elect him, and fust you know he'll have a bill into the legislature, to fine us for not goin' to meetin' or for drinkin' a glass of whisky. i'll tell you what, if he ever comes round here, i'll just pass him inter the sangamon--certain--sure." just here uncle peter cartright enquired for "the ferryman. "i'm the ferry-man, old hoss," sung out the rustic orator, "and ken put ye cross the river in no time." uncle peter signified his desire to cross, and the twain started towards the ferry boat. the preacher stepping into the boat, hitched his horse to the side, while the ferryman shoved out into the stream. "so you are a lincoln man?" queried uncle peter. "i'm that hoss." "and so i presume you would douse a cartright man if you had a chance?" "i mought do it stranger." "certainly you would douse mr. cartright?" "sure's winkin', old fellow." "well sir, i am peter cartright at your service," and before the ferryman recovered from his surprise uncle peter pitched him into the river, took the pole and put himself across the river. the ferryman did'nt vote for uncle peter but he altered his opinion of methodist preachers in general and uncle peter in particular. a comparison. one day as uncle abe, and a friend were sitting on the house of representatives steps, the session closed, and the members filed out in a body. uncle abe looked after them with a serious smile. "that reminds me," said he, "of a little incident when i was a boy; my flat boat lay up at alton on the mississippi, for a day, and i strolled about the town. i saw a large stone building, with massive stone walls, not so handsome though, as this, and while i was looking at it, the iron gateway opened, and a great body of men came out. 'what do you call that?' i asked a bystander. 'that,' said he, 'is the state prison, and those are all thieves going home. their time is up.'" "there's enough for all." uncle abe was terribly bored by the office seekers, even before the presidential house-warming had scarcely began. the illinois politicians were the most ravenous pap-suckers of all. "just wait a little," said uncle abe, "i can assure you, as l------d s------t did the swine, 'there's enough for all.'" "let us have the story, uncle abe," said one of the crowd, who evidently expected something rich. "why, you see," began uncle abe, "i attended court many years ago at mt. pulaski, the first county seat of logan county, and there was the jolliest set of rollicking young lawyers there that you ever saw together. there was bill f------n, bill h------n, l------d s------t, and a lot more, and they mixed law and latin, water and whisky, with equal success. it so fell out that the whisky seemed to be possessed of the very spirit of jonah. at any rate, s------t went out to the hog-pen, and, leaning over, began to 'throw up jonah.' the hogs evidently thought it feed time, for they rushed forward and began to squabble over the voided matter. "'don't fight (hic),' said s------t: 'there's enough (hic) for all.'" --the politicians couldn't see anything to laugh at, although the "snubbin" was plain enough. making a president. uncle abe, in elucidating his estimate of presidential honors, tells a clever story, as he always does, when he sets about it. it seems that windy billy, who is a politician of no ordinary pretensions, was a candidate for the consulship of bayonne, and he urged his appointment with the eloquence of a clay or a seward. he boasted vociferously of his activity in promoting the success of the republican ticket, and averred with his impassioned earnestness that he and he alone had made uncle abe president. "ah!" exclaimed uncle abe, "and it was you who made me president, was it?" a twinkle in his eye all the time. "yes," said billy, rubbing his hands and throwing out his chest, as a baggage-master would a small valise, "yes, i think i may say i am the man who made you president." "well, billy, my boy, if that's the case, it's a h--ll of a muss you got me into, that's all." uncle abe boss of the cabinet. a prominent senator was remonstrating with uncle abe a few days ago about keeping mr. chase in his cabinet, when it was as well known that mr. c. is opposed, tooth and nail, to uncle abe's re-election. "now, see here," said uncle abe, "when i was elected i resolved to hire my four presidential rivals, pay them their wages and be their 'boss.' these were seward, chase, cameron and bates; but i got rid of cameron after he had played himself out. as to discharging chase or seward, don't talk of it. i pay them their wages and am their boss, and would'nt let either of them out on the loose for the fee simple of the almaden patent." uncle peter cartright's wonder. some of the farmers in and about saggamon county, illinois, have been and still are so intent on cattle-raising, that the business is a sort of cattle-mania. uncle peter was one sunday preaching near a good old deacon of this sort, whose piety was somewhat like that of a card-playing lady mentioned by addison, (spectator no. ,) who had a set hour for her devotions, and if she happened to be at a game, would get a friend to "hold her hand" while she said her prayers. our worthy deacon was rather vain of his "gift" praying and saying "blessings" at table. as a matter of courtesy, he might occasionally ask a visiting preacher to pray or ask a blessing; but he never failed to exhibit his "gift" to his visitors. he had a singsong way of "getting it off," at the same time beating time with his hands on either side of his plate. on the occasion alluded to, he began--"oh lord! (thump) bless the creature comforts (thump) provided for our (thump) sustenance (thump.) bless it (thump) to our needs (thump) and necessities, (thump). lead us aright, (thump) but if we stray (thump) put us back (thump) into the right path, (thump). bless the stranger (thump) that comes beneath our roof, (thump) and keep his feet (thump) in pleasant paths, (thump). what we ask (thump) amiss, (thump) withhold; (thump) but grant us what our (thump) short-sightedness omits, (thump) and thine be the glory (thump) now and for ever, (thump) a------." and here the old deacon stopped suddenly, opened his eyes, and looking across the table, asked: "son john, did mr. jones settle yet for that durham cow?" "yes, father--it's all right." "amen," concluded the deacon. "cattle! cattle!" exclaimed uncle peter in ill-concealed disgust. "why, you can't say your prayers without having cattle running through your head; i wonder the lord don't turn such christians into cattle!" uncle abe a shaksperian. when uncle abe was making a plea in one of the county circuit courts, not far from springfield, one of the lawyers becoming sensible that he was being out-generaled, remarked to uncle abe, as he sat down-- "i smell a mice." "why don't you quote shakspeare correctly?" said uncle abe. "why," said the other, "i was not aware that i was quoting shakspeare at all." "certainly you were, and had you done it properly, it would have been more expressive and less vulgar. the correct expression is, 'i smell a device.'" the running sickness. in the black hawk war, uncle abe belonged to a militia company in the service. on a scout, the company encountered the indians, and in a brisk skirmish drove them some miles, when, night coming on, our forces encamped. great was the consternation on discovering that lincoln was missing. his absence or rather his stories, from the bivouac, was a misfortune. suddenly, however, he came into camp. "maj. abe, is that you? thought you were killed. where've you been?" were the startling speculations. "yes," said uncle abe, "this is me--ain't killed either." "but where have you been all the time?" "oh, just over there." "but what were you over there for? didn't run away, did you?" "no," said he deliberately, "i don't think i run away; but, after all, i reckon if anybody had seen me going, and had been told i was going for a doctor, he would have thought somebody was almighty sick." how to get rid of rats. so thick had the rats become in logan county, a few years ago, that the means of getting rid of the nuisance was freely discussed. the newly organized agricultural society, finally concluded to offer three premiums for the then largest numbers. the man who took the largest prize, exhibited over , scalps all caught in the space of three weeks. at the time these prizes were pending, uncle abe attended court there, and col. l------n, (a considerable gourmand,) by the way, was discussing the best way to get rid of the rats, and finally asked uncle abe's opinion. "why," said uncle abe, "rats are a 'cunning cattle,' and soon find out how things are going. i introduce them to your table as a delicacy, and when they find out you are making 'game' of them they will soon give you a wide berth." the colonel winced under a faint impression; but silently ratified uncle abe's conclusions. "yes," chimed in m------, "we might go so far as to use their pelts to ornament our winter clothing." a palpable application on a late occasion, when the white house was open to the public, a farmer from one of the border counties of virginia told uncle abe that the union soldiers, in passing his farm, had helped themselves not only to hay, but his horses, and he hoped the president would urge the proper officer to consider his claim immediately. "why, my dear sir," replied uncle abe, blandly, "i couldn't think of such a thing. if i considered individual cases, i should find work for twenty presidents!" bowie urged his needs persistently; uncle abe declined good-naturedly. "but," said the persevering sufferer, "couldn't you just give me a line to colonel ------- about it? just one line?" "ha, ha, ha!" responded amiable uncle abe, shaking himself fervently, and crossing his legs the other way, "that reminds me of old jack chase out in illinois." at this the crowd huddled forward to listen. "you have seen jack--i knew him like a brother--used to be a lumberman on the illinois, and he was steady and sober, and the best raftsman on the river. it was quite a trick twenty-five years ago to take the logs over the rapids, but he was skillful, with a raft, and always kept her straight in the channel. finally a steamboat was put on, and jack--he's dead now, poor fellow!--was made captain of her. he used to take the wheel going through the rapids. one day, when the boat was plunging and wallowing along the boiling current, and jack's utmost vigilance was exercised to keep her in the narrow channel, a boy pulled his coat tail, and hailed him with, 'sir, mister captain! i wish you'd just stop your boat a minute--i've lost my apple overboard!'" uncle abe on the whisky question. a committee, just previous to the fall of vicksburg, solicitous for the _morale_ of our armies, took it upon themselves to visit the president and urge the removal of general grant. . "what for?" asked uncle abe. "why," replied the busy-bodies, "he drinks too much whisky." "ah!" rejoined uncle abe, "can you inform me gentlemen, where general grant procures his whisky?" the committee confessed they could not. "because," added uncle abe, with a merry twinkle in his eye, "if i can find out, i'll send a barrel of it to every general in the field!" the delegation retired in reasonable good order. edwards vs. lincoln. one day soon after uncle abe began the canvass with judge douglas for the united states senate, lincoln, an editor, accosted nivian w. edwards, (uncle abe's brother-in-law,) as mr. lincoln himself. "well," said edwards, "i think i must be growing taller and uglier every day, for this is the sixth time i've been taken for abe within a week." notwithstanding edwards was a democrat and a joker, uncle abe made him a commissary in the army. metalic ring. the new practical postal currency have upon the face, a faint oval ring of bronze, encircling the vignette. uncle abe being asked its use, replied that it was a faint attempt on the part of mr. chase, to give the new currency a metalic ring. a grateful postmaster. said a long legged hoosier, on receiving the appointment of postmaster, in sangamon county, "i tell you uncle abe, you're a hoss," "yes replied uncle abe, a _draft_ horse." a serious joke. washington, february , to wm. fishback when i fixed a _plan_ for an election in arkansas i did it in ignorance that your convention was at the same work. since i learned the latter fact i have been constantly trying to yield my _plan_ to theirs. i have sent two letters to general steel, and three or four dispatches to you and others, saying that (general steel,) must be master, but that it will probably be best for him to keep the convention on its own _plan_. some single mind must be master, else there will be no agreement on any thing; and general steel, commanding the military, and being on the ground, is the best man to be that master. even now citizens are telegraphing me to postpone the election to a later day than either fixed by the convention or me this discord must be silenced. a. lincoln. a young massachusetts soldier, named merrill, writes a washington correspondent, had on ounce ball pass through his head during the battle of fredericksburg. it entered near his right eye and was extracted behind his left ear. another ball would have entered a vital part of his body had it not been arrested by a testament, in which it lodged. when this safeguard was shown to uncle abe, he sent to the hospital a handsome pocket bible, in which was written: "charles v. merrill, co. a. th massachusetts, from a. lincoln." "major-general grant,--understanding that your lodgment at chattanooga and knoxville is now secure i wish to tender you, and all under your command, my more than thanks--my profoundest gratitude--for the skill, courage, and perseverence with which you and they, over so great difficulties, have effected that important object. god bless you all! "a. lincoln." fix the date. uncle abe, was conversing with some friends and remarked, "there's a good time coming," a countryman stepped up to uncle abe, and said: "mister, you could'nt fix to date, could yous?" rival of uncle abe. old abe has got off many good things since he left springfield, but the following equals anything which has proceeded from that veteran joker. "in the georgia legislature, mr. linton stephens, brother of the rebel vice president, introduced a resolution in the house of representatives declaring that peace be officially offered to the enemy after every confederate victory." uncle abe's estimate of the senate. uncle abe, says that in the senate, he "owns nine of the senators and one-half of another." "who owns the other half?" asked a gentleman to whom uncle abe was speaking. "henry wilson of massachusetts," replied the chief magistrate, "wilson is for me," says the president, "before breakfast; rather against me while his digestion is going on after it; loves me like pie during the hours which he spends visiting the various departments and asking for places and patronage; and bitterly my enemy from seven every evening until he goes to bed, drops asleep and commences snoring. wilson is carrying water on both shoulders but i guess he'll get a wetting and soil his clothes before he gets through." "thought he must be good for something." an illinois man who had known the "boy mayor," john hay, from boyhood, was expressing to uncle abe, after the massacre at olustee, some regret that he should have supposed him capable of any military position. "about hay," said uncle abe, "the fact was, i was pretty much like jim hawks, out in illinois, who sold a dog to a hunting neighbor, as a first-rate coon dog. a few days after, the fellow brought him back, saying he 'wasn't worth a cuss for coons.' 'well,' said jim, i tried him for everything else, and he wasn't worth a d----n, and so i thought he _must_ be good for coons.'" aptly said. to a man who was condoling uncle abe on the disaster at olustee, and suggesting how it might have been prevented, he said: "your remarks are well intended, doubtless; but they do little less than aggravate a thing which i can't help thinking might have been helped. it reminds me of a story that i read when i was a boy. an old fellow who had clambered rather high into an apple tree, fell and broke his arm. a sympathizing and philosophic neighbor, seeing his mishap, went to his aid. 'ah,' said he, 'if you had followed my plan you would have escaped this.' 'indeed, what is your plan?' enquired the groaning man. 'why, never to let go both hands, till you get one hold somewhere else.'" the would-be brigadier saw the point, and left. "i see you've got to the sticking point at last," as the democrat remarked to a slippery republican, whose team had gone into the ground up to the hub. "they have gone up every creek and bayou where it was a little damp." "linkums" sold cheap. daring the presidential contest of , there was an italian artist of plaster figures in springfield, who supplied "leetel linkums," as he called his figures, faster than ever uncle abe did. he succeeded in putting one of these republican penates into every republican house in town, but they finally became a "drug" in the market. however, he kept his "asking price" up; but his selling price was as various as his buyers, and hard to deal with. one day, with a load of these upon his head, he entered a jeweller's shop, and accosted the man behind the counter with-- * "you buys'em leetel linkums?" "no--don't want'em." "sells'em cheap," persisted the italian. "well, how do you sell to-day?" "fifty cent piece." "i'll give you a dollar for the lot," said a------, expecting to pose the italian. "you takes'em," greedily exclaimed the artist, and he left mr. l. a. a------n with a lot of plaster on hand which he had hard work to give away. "there's an odor of nationality about those bills, said secretary chase, showing a lot of the firstlings of his greenbacks to uncle abe. "a very good figure of speech," replied uncle abe, "but you must not get too many under the public nostril, or your figure of speech will be an odor of fact." april , , greenbacks, . april , , greenbacks, . uncle abe as a pilot. the captain of one of the mississippi river steamers one morning, while his boat was lying at her moorings at new orleans, waiting for the tardy pilot, who, it appears, was a rather uncertain sort of fellow, saw a tall, gaunt sucker make his appearance before the captain's office, and sing out-- "hello, cap'n! you don't want a pilot nor nothin' about this 'ere craft, do ye?" "how do you know i don't?" responded the captain. "oh, you don't understand; i axed you s'posin' you did?" "then, supposing i do, what of it?" "well," said uncle abe, for it was he, "i reckon i know suthin' about that ere sort o' business, provided you wanted a feller of jest about my size." the captain gave him a scrutinising glance, and with an expression of countenance which seemed to say, "i should pity the steamer that you piloted," asked-- "are you acquainted with the river, and do you know where the snags are?" "well, ye-as," responded uncle abe rather hesitatingly, "i'm pretty well acquainted with the river, but the snags, i don't know exactly so much about them." "don't know about the snags?" exclaimed the captain, contemptuously, "don't know about the snags! you'd make a pretty pilot!" at this uncle abe's countenance assumed anything but an angelic expression, and with a darkened brow and a fiercely flashing eye, he drew himself up to his full height, and indignantly roared back in a voice of thunder: "what do i want to know where the snags are for, old sea-hoss? i know where they ain't, and there's where i do my sailing!" it is sufficient to know that uncle abe was promptly engaged, and that the captain takes pleasure in saying that he proved himself one of the best pilots on the river. (wonder if uncle abe has forgotten how to sail in clear water? a. a.) uncle abe's valentine. uncle abe on the th of last february, received a valentine in the shape of a picture of the american eagle, with a financial allusion. the bird of freedom appeared to be engaged in picking up gold coin, while at the end of the bird most remote from his head there was a pile of "green-backs," into which this coin seemed to have been mysteriously transmuted. uncle abe, who takes such things philosophically, and always acknowledges a palpable hit with grace and good natured cheerfulness, went to his secretary of the treasury, to exhibit his bird, in order that the latter might enjoy the joke with him. mr. chase, however, was not disposed to take the matter in the same spirit uncle abe did; but appeared to be much out of humor at this hieroglyphical attack upon his department of the government. in tones in which there was evidently a slight admixture of irritability, he remarked to uncle abe that he would like to know who had made this unwarrantable attack upon his financial management of the affairs of the nation--that he feared that some of his subordinates had got up this libel upon him, and that he would give a hundred dollars to know who had done it. uncle abe? whose question-asking proclivities are well known, said that the offer seemed liberal; "but, mr. chase," said he, "before i shall make up my mind on this subject, will you allow me to ask you one question?" "certainly," replied the secretary. "i merely wanted to understand," said uncle abe, "at which end of the bird you propose to pay?" "'et tu brute?'" responded the head of the treasury department. "if i am thus to be made the subject of ridicule, i must renew my application to be relieved from my duties as secretary." "o, never mind! never mind! mr. secretary," said uncle abe, "we can soon remedy all these difficulties. all we have to do, after we have suppressed this rebellion, is to turn the bird end for end, and let the gold and 'greenbacks' remain just as they are and all will come out right." the secretary, restored to good humor, agreed not to resign unless seward did. "that reminds me of a little story." "my mary ann." many months ago the post commander at cairo was a certain west point colonel of a northwestern regiment, noted for his soldierly qualities and rigid discipline. one day he passed by the barracks and heard a group of soldiers singing the well-known street piece, "my mary ann." an angry shade crossed his brow, and he forthwith ordered the men to be placed in the guard-house, where they remained all night the next morning he visited them, when one ventured to ask the cause of their confinement. "cause enough," said the rigid colonel; "you were singing a song in derision of mrs. colonel b------." the men replied by roars of laughter, and it was some time before the choler of the colonel could be sufficiently subdued to understand that the song was an old one, and sung by half the school-boys in the land, or the risibles of the men be calmed down to learn that the colonel's wife rejoiced in the name of "mary ann." uncle abe made the colonel a brigadier the moment he heard this story. uncle abe's honor. at one time uncle abe aspired to a position on the bench, and mrs. lincoln, so as to be prepared for the event, practiced the habit of calling her husband "his honor," or "your honor," as the case might be. uncle abe never, however, succeeded to the dignity of the ermine; but attending circuit at chicago, and stopping at the -------- hotel, mrs. l. accompanied her husband, as was her custom. uncle abe had donned a bran new pair of boots, which were anything but comfortable, and almost as uncertain as a pair of skates to a learner on the keenest of ice. mrs. lincoln was enjoying herself in the parlor in a chit-chat with a number of other ladies, and putting on as many airs as her provincial position in springfield would admit, when a strange, rumbling sound disturbed the pleasant company, who rushed out to learn what was the matter. lo and behold! there was uncle abe in the undignified predicament of tumbling down stairs and bumping the end of his spine upon every step. the new boots, or the swig of forty-rod which he had taken in his bed-room, had proved traitor to him. mrs. lincoln was nearly non-plussed, but exclaimed in a consoling voice, "is your honor hurt?" "no," said uncle abe, sitting gracefully on the carpet, with legs spread out amidst the bevy of tittering damsels, and rubbing the seat of his trowsers, "no, my honor is not hurt but my--my--my head is!" "smoke that." during the session of the legislature of illinois, in - , the sangamon county delegation of nine members, became known as the "long nine," from the fact of their remarkable average height. in this delegation were uncle abe, gen. baker, (killed at bull's bluff,) n. w. edwards, (brother-in-law of uncle abe, and now captain commissary,) and some others of note in their day. a law had passed the previous session to remove the capital from vandalia to springfield, to be carried out as soon as a new capitol could be built. in the meantime, gen. w. l. d. ewing, an influential egyptian member, made periodical efforts to repeal the law and keep the capital at vandalia. during the session of , we had a regular tilt with the "long nine," during which, whenever uncle abe or gen. baker made a point, ewing would be saluted with the cry "smoke that!" in allusion to "long nines," a popular kind of cigars used at that day. this probably gave rise to saying, "put that in your pipe and smoke it." a sufficient reason. some one recently asked uncle abe why he didn't promote merit? "because merit never helped promote me," said our uncle abe. the boy and the bear. a committee of the enemies of mr. chase called on the president just after the pomroy circular was sent forth and advised him to purify his cabinet and let chase go. old abe replied that "it is not so easy a thing to let chase go. i am situated very much as the boy was who held the bear by the hind legs. i will tell you how it was. there was a very vicious bear which, after being some time chased by a couple of boys, turned upon his pursuers. the boldest of the two ran up and caught the bear by the hind legs, while the other climbed up into a little tree, and complacently witnessed the conflict going on beneath, between the bear and his companion. the tussel was a sharp one, and the boy, after becoming quite exhausted, cried out in alarm, 'bill, for god's sake come down and help me let this darned bear go!' now, gentlemen," said mr. lincoln, "you see what a fix i am in--it may be dangerous to hold on to chase, but it will require more assistance than i see at present, to help me let him go." too deep. during the black hawk war, when the valiant illinoisians were in hasty retreat from what they thought certain scalping, and the roads exclusively bad, in fact, unfathomable mud.--in this predicament, the corps in which uncle abe was, became somewhat scattered, when the officer commanding, called out to the men to form _two deep_. "blast me!" shouted abe from a slough, in which he was nearly buried, "i am too deep already; i am up to the neck." uncle abe's first speech. when uncle abe first made his appearance in the illinois house of representatives, and was desirous of delivering his sentiments on a certain measure, he rose and began:--"mr. speaker, _i conceive_----" but could go no further. thrice he repeated unsuccessfully the same attempt; when douglas, who had more confidence, and had been a year longer in the house, completely dumbfounded abe by saying: "mr. speaker, the honorable gentleman has _conceived three times, and brought forth nothing._" cute. one night uncle abe came wet and cold to a cross road tavern in indiana, and found the fire more thoroughly blockaded with hoosiers than mother welles has been able to blockade the southern confederacy. abe ordered the landlord to carry his horse a peck of catfish. "he can't eat catfish," said boniface. "try him," said abe, "there's nothing like trying." the crowd all rushed after the landlord to see abe's horse eat the peck of catfish. "he won't eat them, as i told you," said the landlord, on returning. "then," coolly responded uncle abe, who had squatted on the best seat, "bring them to me and i'll eat them myself." abe's spelling. being asked by a client in springfield why he spelled so badly in his law papers, uncle abe replied, "because, the suckers are so cussed mean they won't pay for good spelling." a soldier's theory of the war. the soldiers at helena, in arkansas, used to amuse the inhabitants of that place, on their first arrival, by telling them yarns, of which the following is a sample: "some time ago jeff. davis got tired of the war and invited president lincoln to meet him on neutral ground to discuss terms of peace. they met accordingly, and after a talk, concluded to settle the war by dividing the territory and stopping the fighting. the north took the northern states, and the south the gulf and seaboard southern states. lincoln took texas and missouri, and davis kentucky and tennessee; so that all were parcelled off excepting arkansas. lincoln did'nt want it--jeff, would'nt have it. neither would consent to take it, and on that they split; and the war has been going on ever since." nigger mathematics. uncle abe was lately visited by one of the "on to richmond" sword of gideon gentry, who confidently expressed the hope, so common among the abolition noodles, that lee's army would be "bagged." uncle abe grinned to the utmost of his classic mouth, and remarked that he was afraid there would be too much "nigger mathematics" in it. the visitor smiled at the allusion, as he felt bound in politeness to do supposing there must be something in it, though he could not see the point. "but i suppose you don't know what 'nigger mathematics' is," continued uncle abe. "lay down your hat a minute, and i'll tell you." he, himself, resumed the sitting posture leaned back in his chair, elevated his heels on the table, and went on with his story. "there was a darkey in my neighborhood, called pompey, who, from a certain quickness in figuring up the prices of chickens and vegetables, got the reputation of being a mathematical genius. johnson, a darkey preacher, heard of pompey, and called to see him. 'here ye're a great mat'm'tishum, pompey.' 'yes sar, you jas try.' 'well pompey, ize compound a problem in mat'matics.' 'all right, sar.' 'now, pompey, spose dere am tree pigeons sittin' on a rail fence, and you fire a gun at'em and shoot one, how many's left?' 'two, ob cooors,' replies pompey after a little wool scratching. 'ya-ya-ya,' laughs mr. johnson; 'i knowed you was a fool, pompey; dere's _none_ left--one's dead, and d'udder two's flown away.' "that's what makes me say," continued uncle abe, "that i am afraid there was too much nigger mathematics in the pennsylvania campaign." and the result showed that in this instance, at least, the anecdote suited the fact. lee's army was then three pigeons. one of them was taken down at gettysburg, but the other two flew off over the potomac. long and short of it. "here i am, and here is mrs. lincoln, and that's the long and short of it."--_speech of mr. lincoln from the balcony of the white house at washington_. a handy faculty. whilst uncle abe was passing, in his flat-boat, a small town on the wabash, an old chum accosted him from shore thus:-- "uncle abe, are you asleep?" "why?" "because, i want to borrow some whiskey." "then" said abe, "_i am asleep._" and he rolled over drowsily on the flat-boat, and it passed on. uncle abe on time. a methodist dominie was lecturing abe on his love of gambling. "ah abraham, it is a grievous sin--in the first place, consider the loss of time." "yes," replied uncle abe, "i have often begrudged the loss of time--in _shuffling and dealing_." a story that had no reminder. during a conversation which took place between uncle abe and a distinguished western senator, the recent legislative nominations for the next presidency were incidentally referred to. "yes," said uncle abe, nursing his leg with evident gratification--"yes senator, the current seems to be setting all one way!" "it does, really, seem to be setting all one way," was the answer of the senator; "but, mr. lincoln, as you have told me several good stories since i have been here, permit me if you please, to tell _you_ one. it has always been observed that the atlantic ocean, at the straits of gibraltar, constantly pours into the mediterranean with tremendous volume. the bosphorus empties into it, at its other end, and rivers are seen contributing to its waters all along its coast. it was for many years the constant puzzle of geographers, why the mediterranean, under all these accessions, never got full, and overran its banks. after a while, however, a curious fellow took the notion of dropping a plummet in the center of the straits, when, lo! he discovered that, though the tremendous body of water on the surface was rushing inward from the ocean, a still more powerful body was passing outward, in a counter current, some twenty feet below!" "oh, ah!" said uncle abe, seriously, evidently nonplussed, for the first time in his life; "that _does not_ remind me of any story i ever heard before!" has it "gin out?" we do not know what joke uncle abe made when he heard the news of the surrender of plymouth. in regard to the fort pillow affair he made a bunsby speech, but no joke. his last joke, of which we have any knowledge, occurred when secretary chase was starting on his trip to new york. uncle abe is like cromwell without his military genius, and is very fond of playing practical jokes on his associates. it is said that after cromwell had signed the warrant for the execution of king charles he turned round to one of his colleagues and smeared his face with the ink. this he thought capital fun. uncle abe's jokes are of about the same quality. when chase called upon him to say good bye, the secretary of the treasury asked for some information about the probable end of the war, saying it would help him greatly in getting more money in wall street. "do you want more money?" asked lincoln, and then quickly added, "what! has the printing machine gin out?" this joke is fully equal to cromwell's. a major at one of uncle abe's levees recently, among the company was a pennsylvania avenue tailor whom abe recognized but could not name. "my dear sir} i remember your face, but i forget your name," said uncle abe. the knight of the needle whispered confidentially into uncle abe's ear. "i made your breeches." uncle abe took him most affectionately by the hand and exclaimed enthusiastically "major breeches, i am happy to meet you at the white house!" a dry drop. a refugee from richmond was telling uncle abe of the sad state of affairs reigning there. among other things he said liquor was so scarce that the rebel president himself could scarcely get a drop to drink. "he ought not to have a drop _to drink_ in this world or the next," said uncle abe. "you are rather severe," replied the refugee. "well," said uncle abe, "if you think a drop would do him good, let it be a drop from the scaffold." uncle abe as a physiognomist. while the western governors were in conversation the other day, one of them asked him if he remembered a certain major of the ------ illinois regiment. uncle abe replied that "he could'nt say that he did." the gentleman who addressed him then tried to jog the executive memory a little by mentioning a circumstance or two connected with the major's history. finally uncle abe remembered him very well--which fact he stated in the following graphic language: "o yes, i know who you mean. _it's that turkey egg faced fellow that you'd think did'nt know as much as a last year's bird's nest_." this was the very individual referred to. it will be seen that uncle abe has other fortes than statesmanship--and that of a physiognoist is one of them. the concrete vs. the abstract. dick yates, the jolly governor of the suckers, tells that he called on uncle abe one morning when he was trying to get the , "hundredazers" accepted, and that during their interview uncle abe remarked: "yates, i'll tell you the difference between the concrete and the abstract. when the senate passed a resolution requesting me not to appoint any more brigadiers, as the vacancies were all full, that's the concrete. but when a senator comes up here with a long petition and a longer face, requesting me to make a brigadier out of some scallawag of a friend of his, as it happens every day--i call that the abstract." symptoms of civilization. uncle abe and his chums were wrecked and swamped once on a trip to new orleans, and having waded ashore, were in search of shelter and refreshment, without much prospect of success, in a thickly timbered bottom. they had traveled through the forest a long distance, and were in despair of finding any human habitation, when they discovered a negro hanging on the projecting limb of a tree. "the joy," said abe, when telling the adventure, "which this cheering view excited, cannot be described, for it convinced us that we were in a _civilized country._" uncle abe goes into partnership. in the days when uncle abe plied the flat-boat business on the wabash and sangamon, he made it a practice to troll for catfish and dispose of them to the planters in mississippi, when passing their plantations. this brought him quite a revenue, which was always expended for "forty rod" whisky, or the fish were traded off direct for that fluid chain lightning. once while passing the plantation of mr. percy, he was bound to have some forty rod, and went ashore with a fine lot of fish. a large party were assembled at the mansion of the aristocratic percy; when julius cæsar informed him that uncle abe was below with some very fine fish. "well," said percy, "give him his forty rod as usual, and let him go." "but sah, he won't take it dis time," said the darkey, "he wants a hundred lashes on the bare back, well laid on massa." uncle abe insisted to the surprise of every one on this strange price for his fish, and mr. percy to humor him, complied, directing the overseer to cut him gently. when uncle abe had received the fiftieth lash, he cried, "hold! i have got a partner in this business, to whom i have engaged to give half of whatever i should get for the fish--this overseer would not admit me only on that condition." o course the overseer had his share well paid, and abe got his forty-rod as usual, with something added. abe passing counterfeit money. one day a poor woman ran into uncle abe's law office in great fright exclaiming:-- "oh, mr. lincoln, my boy has swallowed a penny!" "was it a counterfeit," coolly asked mr. lincoln. "no, certainly not," replied the woman, somewhat indignantly. "oh! well, then _it will pass_, of course," said uncle abe. it is hardly necessary to add that the anxious mother went home comforted and that the boy who "swallowed the penny," at the last presidentia-election voted for "honest old abe." the wrong man poulticed. at the famous watering place, of the blue lick springs, uncle abe was severely afflicted with a pain in the stomach, which neither gin cock-tails nor other cordials could remove. it was night and he was in bed. his loving wife, unwilling to awake the domestics, descended to the kitchen, and prepared mustard poultice, which she spread on her own handkerchief, and proceeded with it to the distressed uncle abe. before leaving him, she left a light dimly burning in the apartment; but deeply impressed with anxiety, she was not as careful as she might have been in noting the number of her room. guided by a light which she saw shining in a chamber, and which she supposed was the one she had left, she entered, and gently raising the bed clothes, &c., laid the warm poultice upon a stomach but not the stomach of uncle abe. "hello there! what the -------- are you about?" shouted a voice of thunder, and the body and sleeves? whence it issued, sprang out of bed. the lady screamed and ran; uncle abe rushed to the rescue from the next room, the waiters joined and a small scene ensued, much to the amusement of all concerned. the poulticed gentleman had indiscreetly left a light in his room, and this lured the lady from her path. uncle abe was so amused and excited by the mistake that he quite forgot his pains; but early the next morning, with his wife and trunks, left for springfield, . the poulticed man still retains the handkerchief--a beautiful cambric--with the lady's name on it, the initials of frances amelia e. todd. uncle abe as school superintendent. when uncle abe kept grocery on the sangamon he was elected as school superintendent out of his district. it was his duty to examine the applicant teachers on mathematics; which he once did in this wise in his grocery store. "if two pigs weigh twenty pounds how much will a large hog weigh." "jump into the scales," said the weilder of the birch, "and i'll soon tell you." abe did not examine him further in mathematics. uncle abe's nose. uncle abe being asked once why he walked so crookedly? said, "oh my nose, you see, is crooked, and i have to follow it!" take away the fowls. after uncle abe had studied law some time and whilst travelling in the prairie country in knox county, illinois, he stopped at the house of mrs. galt, an old scotch lady whose husband was largely engaged in wool growing. abe at this time was beginning to be proud of his learning, especially of his pronunciation of english. mrs. galt when dinner was over desired the servant in waiting to take away the fowls, which she, (as is sometimes done in scotland), pronounced _fools_, "i presume, madam, you mean fowls" said abe rather sententiously. "very well, be it so," said mrs. galt; "take away the _fowls_, but let the _fool_ remain!" uncle abe well fed. old whitey, abe's school master, said to him angrily one day, "abraham you are better fed than taught!" "should think i was," said abe, "as i feed myself and you teach me!" uncle abe says there is a good deal of the devil in the rebels. they sometimes fight like him, frequently run like him, and always lie like him. a man of means. uncle abe was asked by a client whether his neighbor brown was "a man of means." "well i reckon he ought to be," said abe, "for he is just the meanest man in springfield." call again. when uncle abe was taken sick recently, and mrs lincoln had sent for the doctor; uncle abe, having an aversion to physic, said, he had better call another time, as he was too sick then to joke with him. uncle abe swapped when a baby. abe when asked whether he could account for his excessive homeliness said "when i was two months old i was the handsomest child in kentuck, but my nigger nurse swapped me off for another boy just to please a friend who was going down the river whose child was rather plain looking." hit at antietam. another story of uncle abe, too good to be lost, has leaked out. it seems he had accompanied a young lady to one of the hospitals in the capitol where the sympathizing creature, as in duty bound became interested in a wounded soldier. to all her inquiries as to the location of the wound, however, she could only get one reply, thus: "my good fellow where were you hit!" "at antietam." "yes, but where did the bullet strike you?" "at antietam." "but where did it hit you!" "at antietam." becoming discouraged, she deputized uncle abe to prosecute the inquiry, which he did successfully upon his rejoining her, she was more curious than, ever, when the president, taking both her hands in his said in his most impressive style. "my dear girl, the ball that hit _him_, would not have injured _you_." a poor crop. an old acquaintance of uncle abe's called upon him a short time since with the view to getting hold of a contract. uncle abe told him that contracts were not what they were in cameron's time. "in fact," said he, "they remind me now of a piece of meadow land on the sangamon bottoms during a drouth." "how was that?" said the sucker--"why," said abe, looking rather quizical, "the grass was so short that they had to lather before they could mow it." handy in case of emergencies. during the fall of , uncle abe was riding on the virginia side of the potomac, between arlington heights and alexandria, accompanied by dr. n-------- of new jersey. passing the huge earth-work fortifications, the doctor observed: "mr. president, i have never yet been enabled to discover the utility of constructing and maintaining those forts. what is your opinion about them?" "well doctor," replied uncle abe, "you are a medical man! and i will ask you a question in the line of your profession. can you tell me the use of a man's nipples?" "no i can't" said the doctor "well i can tell you," said uncle abe,--"they would be mighty handy if he happened to have a child." value of a reputation. a client of uncle abe's was tried for stealing, in springfield, illinois, when it was satisfactorily proven that he had acknowledged the theft to several persons. uncle abe argued in behalf of his client that he was such an abominable liar that no one could believe him and the jury ought not to. the judge charged against the prisoner, but to his astonishment the jury brought in a verdict that the accused was entirely unworthy of belief; and he was therefore acquitted. didn't like the name. a young u. s. officer being indicted at chicago, for an assault on an aged gentleman, uncle abe began to open the case thus: "this is an indictment against a soldier for assaulting an old man." "sir," indignantly interrupted the defendant, "i am no soldier, i am an officer!" "i beg your pardon," said abe, grinning blandly; "then, gentlemen of the jury, this is an indictment against _an officer_, who is _no soldier_, for assaulting an old man." uncle abe's good bye. when uncle abe joined the sangamon militia and entered on the black hawk war campaign, his colonel was a small snipe of a fellow about four feet three inches. physically, of course, uncle abe looked down upon his colonel. abe had rather a slouching look and gait at that time, and attracted by his awkward appearance, the dapper little colonel thus saluted the future executive and manufacturer of both colonels and brigadiers. "come, uncle abe, hold up your head; higher, fellow!" "yes sir." "higher, fellow--higher." abe stretched his lank neck to its greatest altitudinous tension and said, "what--so, sir?" "yes, fellow, a little higher." "and am i always to remain so?" "yes, fellow, certainly!" "then," said uncle abe, with a woeful countenance, "good bye, colonel, for i shall never see _you again!_" uncle abe's last. yesterday a western correspondent, in search for something definite in relation to the fighting now going on, stepped into the white house and asked the president if he had anything authentic from gen. grant. the president stated that he had not, as grant, was like the man that climbed the pole and then pulled the pole up after him.-- _washington union, may _. free from school rahul alvares nd august it's not every day that a year old writes a book. in fact, girls and boys of that age are supposed to spend their time studying what other people write. it is presumed that at that age they do not themselves have anything significant or interesting to say. and the education system guarantees just that. the best rewards go to those who can parrot set answers to set questions in examination halls. those who try to use their imagination or reply differently are often punished with low grades. rahul alvares did not set out to write a book. under the encouragement of his parents, he consciously set out to try his hand at learning things outside the school framework and you might say as a result, free from school actually came looking for him! after his ssc, unlike his other classmates, he opted out of schooling to follow his instincts: fond of reptiles, he chased them up at the pune snake park and at the crocodile bank at mamallapuram. in the process, he also picked up trails of spiders, earthworms and turtles. he caught snakes in the company of irula tribals. he got bitten by hot-tempered reptiles. he came out of it all grinning and wiser. 'free from school' is his story of a year out of school, when the learning graph of his young life went up leaps and bounds. he wrote it to encourage other boys and girls his age to move out of the sterile school and college environment offered by india's antiquarian educational system, if they wish to experience another side to life and learning. he lost nothing but gained a lot. so did his parents. when you read his story, so will you. this book has been originally published by the other india press, mapusa, goa. copies of the print version are available from oib@sancharnet.in or the other india press, above mapusa clinic, mapusa gao. tel. . . copyright (c) rahul alvares permission is granted to copy of distribute this document under the terms of the gnu free documentation license, version . or any later version published by the free software foundation. the author however requests anyone downloading this book to make a donation (recommendation $ or rs ) to a group working for the cause of wildlife, particularly in goa. if you would like to know of rahul alvares' preferences on which group could be supported, contact him at can@sancharnet.in. contents chapter : a fish shop in mapusa chapter : learning a bit of farming chapter : plant festivals chapter : learning about mushrooms chapter : a trip to kerala chapter : snakes alive! chapter : a vacation within a vacation chapter : earthworms chapter : spiders chapter : crocodile dundee chapter : learning to teach chapter : you have sight, i have vision chapter : surveying a forest chapter : chief guest at belgaum chapter : a fish shop in mapusa you must try to understand that when i finished school i was as raw as raw could be. i had never travelled anywhere on my own, never purchased a train ticket, since like most kids my age i had only travelled with my parents or relatives and they made all the decisions. i had no experience of how to handle money (my knowledge being limited to spending the paise or one rupee i would receive as pocket money now and then). so while i had set my sights on travelling far and wide my parents wisely thought that i should begin by learning to manage on my own within goa itself. it was also the rainy season and travelling around the country would be much more difficult they explained. so i started out by helping at an aquarium shop in mapusa, the town nearest my village. the proprietor of the shop is ashok d'cruz, a college friend of my father's. i must tell you about ashok. he is no ordinary businessman: keeping fish is a passion with him. he is far more interested in chatting with his customers about fish than making money selling them. i have never seen him forcing any of his customers to buy from his stock of aquarium fish. in fact, it was ashok who introduced me to the amazing world of aquarium fish way back when i was just nine and studying in class v. under his guidance then, i experimented with breeding guppies, platties and mollies, fairly simple types of fish to breed. however, it was a matter of great excitement for me at that time to be successful in my experiments and ashok was generous enough to even buy back from me the baby fish i reared just to encourage me. later i developed sufficient confidence to experiment with and breed more difficult types of fish, like siamese fighting fish and blue guramies-all under the expert tutelage of ashok. so it was to ashok's shop that i went every morning at . a.m., speeding on my bicycle to be on time. i would stay there until lunch time, a regular hands on, doing whatever i was asked to do. ashok's shop is not very large. it is a two-roomed shop on the ground floor of the gomes catao complex. it has a display section in front and a store room at the back. the showroom has about twenty fish tanks on display with a variety of fish that ashok purchases mainly from mumbai. each tank stores a particular species of fish. ashok's shop is located away from the main market area so he does not have the advantage of casual customers dropping by. however ashok has his regular customers and there are always at least twenty to thirty customers daily. during my first few days at his shop, my work was only to watch the tanks, clean those which were dirty, remove the dead fish and do some other small jobs. i also fed the fish and treated the wounded and diseased fish. sometimes, i also attended to customers. gradually, i began to accompany ashok on his rounds to various places. a gentleman in moira wanted to set up an aquarium at his home. he had a tank. he also had definite ideas about how he wanted it to finally look and ashok was called to see how it could all be done. the man sent his car for us. at his house we discussed the location of the tank, lighting arrangements, the water filters, the kind and quantity of fish he would like to have, and maintenance. after we were fully satisfied that we had everything right and had noted down his requirements, we returned to mapusa. later he came for the material which we kept ready for him. another time i accompanied ashok to a client's office to put a pair of dwarf guramies in the fish tank and to fix a picture as a backdrop for the tank. on such visits i watched care fully what ashok did and soon enough ashok started sending me on my own to visit some of his clients who had small or simple problems. i went to clients to fix aquarium equipment such as air pumps and filters, to fix toys in the tanks, to check fish for diseases or if there was a sudden crisis such as fish dying in numbers, or if a client wished to add more fish to his collection. i was sent to collect overdue payments or simply to enquire the aquariums were doing. sometimes i went on my own to visit some of the places where we had set up tanks and enjoyed watching the fish swimming happily in their new homes. one day my employer decided to send me as a spy to find out the prices of fish and fish food at a competitive fish shop. i tried to behave like a casual customer and walked coolly into the competitor's shop and gradually began to ask the prices of fish and fish food. after i had found out what was needed i bought a pair of cheap black mollies from his shop just to show him that i was a genuine customer. from the information i got, we found ashok's to be comparatively cheaper than the competitor. during this period i improved my knowledge about aquarium fish tremendously. this was mainly due to two things. firstly, i had spent a lot of time observing the fish at ashok's shop and getting practical experience from the places we visited. secondly, i had been reading the fish books that my father bought for me as a gift for getting a distinction in my ssc exam. the books were quite expensive but well worth the cost. being able to get theoretical knowledge and practical experience at the same time gave me a lot of confidence with regard to aquarium fish. one of the important highlights of my experience at ashok's was learning to make fish tanks. ashok told me that since we were going through a slack period, he would teach me how to make fish tanks. i had to start from basics which meant purchasing glass for six tanks, having the glass pieces cut to specifications and then having the pieces delivered at the shop without a scratch. i had accompanied ashok on several occasions earlier to the glass shop and watched as he ordered glass explaining his requirements, or having a piece re-cut because it was done wrongly. in fact, i had been sent often to the glass shop for small purchases so i was fairly familiar with the owner and the procedures. ashok had even taught me how to calculate the price of glass. still it was a new experience for me when ashok handed me some money and gave me general directions on what to do and i was on my own. i managed to purchase the glass and also to get it cut to size. so far, so good. now came the difficult part of transporting the glass pieces to the shop. i wondered whether i should get a rickshaw for the purpose but was a little hesitant since i hadn't checked what it would cost for the trip, short though it would be. while i was trying to make up my mind by testing the package for its weight, the shopkeeper assured me that i would be able to handcarry the glass to ashok's shop, which is what i finally did. i started out. in the beginning, it was no problem. however, the package grew heavier and heavier as i trudged up the road to ashok's shop with rickshaws, taxis and motorcycles honking away on all sides. even before i reached my destination i doubted the wisdom of my actions for i was tired and my arms ached but i dared not put down the glass simply because it was glass. when i finally reached the shop i heaved a sigh of relief that the glass was intact. ashok was horrified at my decision and understandably very angry too for as he explained to me should i have had an accident on the way the consequences would have been disastrous and he was after all responsible for me! i truly learnt an important lesson that day. learning to make an aquarium tank is great fun. one has to first plan the size of the tank. for this one must first decide on the length of the tank. after that, the height and the breadth are to be proportionately calculated. the sides of the glass are held together with silicone, which is a glue, and which feels like rubber when it hardens. silicone does not dissolve in water. the tricky part is being able to apply the silicone only to the edges of the glass and not letting your sticky fingers touch any other portions of the glass. otherwise, the glass will look dirty, for the silicone marks will stay like a fingerprint on the glass forever. after the tank is resealed on the inside with silicone (to give double protection), it is left for a day to dry. the next day it is tested by filling with water and if all is well the tank is ready for sale and can be delivered to the customer. after i was taught how to do the first tank, i started helping with the rest. i recall how once by mistake i stuck the glass upside down. "there's something fishy about the looks of this tank," said ashok. when he realized what my mistake was, he very nearly put me into the tank! my first opportunity at testing my skills at finding out the reasons for "fish dying in an aquarium" (the most common complaint from customers) came when the manager of hotel osborne in calangute asked ashok to come and examine their aquarium on the hotel premises. the fish were dying, he said. the owner of the hotel was a very good customer of ashok's and so ashok was keen to solve the problem. however as he could not go himself that day and did not wish to delay matters, he decided to send me instead. he gave me the manager's visiting card, directions to the hotel, some fish medicines and a pump to install in place of the old one which was defective and i was on my own. i was proud and happy that ashok felt confident to entrust me with such an important job. i left in the evening for the hotel. i found it with no problem at all. it was a large hotel with lovely lawns and a swimming pool. i walked into the hotel proudly, with my head held high, and tried to act as if i were a very experienced fish doctor. i went and met the manager. he told me which fish had died. i searched for symptoms of disease but found none. i then realised that the problem was very simple and one that is very common: a case of overfeeding. fish require food in proportion to their size but often people put more food than necessary into the tank. the extra food makes the water cloudy and polluted and this causes the fish to die. i cleaned the tanks, replaced the pump, checked the filters and showed the hotel staff how to feed the fish. i even managed to do some sales work by selling them some fish medicines which they could keep as standby and made a bill for them on the bill book that ashok had given me. they seemed satisfied with my work and made me a cup of tea, which i didn't drink because i don't drink tea. after i had finished i couldn't wait to tell ashok about my experience. during this period, i took the opportunity once to visit fish shops in panjim which i had heard about but had not yet seen. the occasion came when my -gear cycle broke down and i needed to go to panjim to get spares. i tried to persuade my mother to get them for me from panjim since she went there often. she refused, saying that i should learn to do things on my own. that's when i thought of making a whole-day trip to panjim to buy the spares, visit fish shops and also make a few purchases for ashok. the next day, i accompanied my mum to panjim where she showed me a few essential places and then left me on my own. i was a bit nervous but was determined to manage somehow. i first went to the kamat restaurant to eat as i was hungry. i was amazed at how much it cost me to fill my stomach outside home! after that, i searched for a shop from where i could purchase silicone (ashok's errand). after a lot of asking around i found the place. then i looked for the cycle shop, found it quickly enough but discovered that the item i wanted was out of stock and would be available only the next week. i was then free to visit the two fish shops i had in mind: "bislin" and "something fishy". bislin was well stocked and had many types of exotic fish but i found it very expensive. i chatted with the people who ran the shop (it is a family business). they also kept birds for sale. after watching the fish for sometime i decided to go to something fishy which was just around the corner. at something fishy, i was disappointed at first sight to see very few fish. the shop assistant told me that as they were expecting fish the following weekend almost all their tanks were empty. but what i saw remaining in the display tank amazed me. i saw man-eating piranhas with my own eyes for the first time in my life! however, the piranhas were quite timid and shy. apparently, it is only when they are kept hungry that they become ferocious meat-eaters. something fishy also had exotic fish called black ghost which sold at rs. a pair! apart from learning about fish at ashok's shop i gained a lot of other valuable experience. i had never done banking before. but one day ashok casually asked me if i would go to his bank to withdraw some money. i didn't feel like telling him that i had no idea of how to go about doing this. instead i asked for directions to the bank and set out. somehow i figured my way around and got the job done. i was sent many times after that to the bank to deposit and withdraw money. although i had all the time in the world at my disposal i found it was not the easiest thing for me to effectively manage my time. several times i would be speeding away on my bicycle to ashok's shop because i had woken up late that morning. or i had to push my lunch hour till later because i had not completed all my tasks for the day. it was an experience learning to plan my day properly and i would feel quite pleased with myself when i got things right on my own. i also gained a lot of valuable insights into my own hobbies and interests since for the first time in my life i was on my own and free to make decisions or experiment with ideas i thought worthwhile. i discovered that i have a great passion for reading books. i used to go every morning to the library, on my way to ashok's shop, and pick up something to read during my free time. my favourite books were the hardy boys and i finished practically the entire series while i was at ashok's. i also enjoyed comics like tintin and phantom. evenings, after i had finished with ashok's shop, i would listen to the fm radio music programmes. like any other teenager, i like fast and loud music. fortunately, my aunt allison visiting us from canada gave me a walkman which enabled me to play my music without disturbing the others. i thought about starting to learn the guitar but my parents advised against starting guitar lessons immediately as i had plans to travel out of goa in the coming months. letter writing is not one of my favourite things. however, i was forced to reply to the people who sent me letters and cash prizes, congratulating me on my examination results. i was overjoyed to receive prompt replies from several of my relatives and friends commending me on my choice of a year's sabbatical. i also realised that you only get letters when you write to people. however, i still don't enjoy letter-writing. on sundays, i used to do a few odd jobs to earn some pocket money. like washing the car for which i used to get five rupees from my dad. i was also the main errand boy at home and i did all kinds of jobs like paying the electricity bills, buying the rations and so on. all in all, working at ashok's was a good beginning. field work notes: now julie has a fish tank juliet and peter d'souza are college friends of my parents. they live at calangute. peter is a criminal lawyer and juliet is a school teacher. our families occasionally go on outings together. on one of these picnics during my ssc year juliet discovering my interest in aquarium fish promptly tried to get me to assist her in setting up an aquarium in their home. actually they did have a fish tank earlier but the bottom glass had cracked and juliet had given it to ashok for repairs. and there it remained, in ashok's shop, with nobody attending to it. juliet had reminded me on several occasions about the tank but there was little i could do other than pass on her reminders to ashok. when i started working with ashok i quickly took the opportunity of keeping my promise to her. the first problem was to find the tank. i began searching for it in the storeroom of ashok's shop. i found it right at the bottom of all the other big tanks. i was relieved to see it still in one piece. ashok and i then removed the broken bottom glass. we took the measurements and bought new glass from the glass shop. after fixing the tank, i went to peter's office and told him to pick it up and take it home whenever he could. peter came by and took it home the next evening. a few days later i cycled down to their house to set it up. once there i realized that juliet did not have any material for placing in the tank except a little gravel which was not enough to cover even the base of the tank. i explained to her all the essential items needed and she gave me a freehand to purchase material and decorations for the tank. on my next visit, i took a few kilos of gravel, a pump, plastic plants, fish medicine, the undergravel filter, some pipeline, a few regulators, t-joints and a fishnet. i also took four types of aquarium toys and two shells for her to choose from. i started off with washing the gravel, then fixed the under-gravel filter. i next poured gravel over the filter, and placed the decorations of shells and toys on top. then the tap and filters were joined to the air pump. all this while i was watched intently by angelann and miriam, juliet's two young daughters, who kept offering opinions or help here and there. after about two hours, everything was ready. only the fish and aquatic plants remained to be put in the aquarium. the task of selecting the fish for the tank was not part of my assignment as julie said that she would buy the fish from a fish shop in candolim. however, as she doubted whether live plants were sold in candolim, she asked me to send her the plants through peter. she also told me to prepare a bill for her which i was to hand over to peter. all this i did within the next two days. a week later, i had to visit peter and julie's place to deliver a note to peter from my dad. i was keen to see the fish she had bought and how they were doing in the new home i had made for them. as a present i decided to take five pairs of guppies from my garden tank. imagine my shock when i found that the tank was just as i had left it, with no fish at all to inhabit the lovely quarters. i was glad i had brought along the guppies and these became the first lot of fish to inhabit the tank. i also fixed the light and the regulators and set the plants properly. juliet's little daughters crowded round me as i stood back to admire the now complete aquarium: fish swimming happily with newly installed plants and air filters bubbling away in a corner. juliet soon joined us and thanked me warmly and to my utter surprise slipped a rupee note into my pocket. i protested that she should not pay me for this as i was having great fun but she insisted that i take the money and this became my first earning. in similar fashion i set up fish tanks for a few other family friends. besides having a lot of fun and gaining valuable experience, i also earned pocket money! avdoot and rekha munj in mapusa have a lovely big tank which i helped set up for their daughter; alvito and celine santiago from parra also had an empty fish tank which they wanted to put back in use and i organised the fish for them too. there was also the large fish tank in the office of the principal of my school (st. anthony's at monte guirim), which i had maintained during my school days. i continued to keep watch over it through my younger brother milind, who, like me, is also a fish fan. chapter : learning a bit of farming one of my plans for the rainy season was to go to rustic farm which is in thanem, a small village near valpoi in the remote north-eastern district of sattari, so that i could gain some experience in farming. rustic farm holds a special attraction for me because i was born when my parents lived on this farm and we stayed there till i was three years old. although i have no real recollection of that period, we have many photographs of my baby days on the farm and many stories that my parents tell us of those times. we still visit the place at least once a year and also maintain contact with several of the villagers who worked then on the farm. yesu, our domestic help for the past years comes from that area. in rustic farm was sold to the present owners shyam and ujwala achrekar. i had intended to stay with them for a month and learn about farming first-hand. unfortunately due to some personal difficulties they could not have me visit them. it is one of the few regrets i had during my one-year sabbatical. as things worked out, however, i was able to learn a few basics about farming in my own village at parra. my neighbours, the kandolkars, are a peasant family and during the rains they take to farming their own fields. they also do ploughing work for others. guru, the eldest son, has a fine pair of bullocks for the purpose. it so happened that guru was doing some masonry work at our house and i was chatting with him about my sabbatical when he casually asked me whether i would like to come ploughing with him. i jumped at the offer even as he seemed a bit surprised that i had so readily agreed. next morning i was woken up early and we set out for the fields which are quite close to our homes. holding the plough may appear a simple task but believe me it is not so and calls for quite a lot of skill and stamina. the trick is to keep the plough in the centre and avoid cutting the hoofs of the animals at the same time. one needs to put the right amount of pressure on the handle as the plough should neither be too deep nor too shallow in the soil. also one has to constantly keep one's eye on the bullocks to direct them to turn around at the end of the field and to lift the plough when it reaches a bund. lastly (and this is most important) the bullocks must recognise you or else they won't take orders from you. the bullocks knew guru very well but i was a stranger so guru made me keep shouting cries of "heeree heeree" which is how they get the animals to move-so that they would at least begin to recognise my voice. although i went ploughing with guru for several days in a row, he never let me plough on my own because getting the right balance was still very difficult for me and if any of the bullocks got hurt due to my inexperience he would have to give the animal at least days' rest which would cost him heavily in earnings. after the ploughing is done the ground has to be levelled for seeding. this is also done by the bullocks who drag a wooden piece shaped like a broad fork across the field. this i was allowed to do on my own and i enjoyed it thoroughly. it was like having a nice ride, standing on the wooden leveller while the bullocks went up and down the field. i also tried my hand at spraying seeds and later fertilizer, on the fields. sometimes i did a bit of weeding, to while away the time in-between ploughing. on some days when we were ploughing it used to rain heavily and i enjoyed working in the rain with all the other farmers. after ploughing we would be treated to hot tea and bread or pao baji by the owner of the field. i recall how surprised the owners of the fields we had ploughed would be on seeing me sitting with the other workers-dirty with mud like them-because naturally, they recognised me, since i am from the same village. one lady, in fact, thought i was playing truant. she told me she was going to inform my mother where i was that sunday morning. she thought that i ought to have been in church attending mass instead. the field work was a good experience and one which i cherish. i helped guru plough about half a dozen fields and even now when the rainy season approaches i remember that experience with warmth and pleasure. chapter : plant festivals the rainy season brings out the average goan's passion ate love for plants and some of this fervour and enthusiasm finds its way into plant exhibitions and plant festivals. i would like to recount my experiences with two of them-at saligao and at siolim-two villages close to where i live. at the first i was a mere spectator but played a more active role in the second. saligao sunday, the st of july, was an unusually bright day for the normally dull, wet, cloudy rainy season. i was looking forward to going to saligao to see an exhibition of plants and was glad for the dry weather as i pedalled the minutes it took to reach lourdes convent, the well known school in the village where the exhibition was being held. i reached around . in the morning. the exhibition had already been inaugurated and the place was crowded with people all trying to enter the main hall where the exhibits were kept. i too did likewise. the main exhibition hall was quite big and the plants were exhibited in pots in the centre of the hall. many of the plants were for sale. they had been brought there by different people and most of the pots had the names of their owners on them. the cacti were grouped together on a table on one side of the hall and the prize winning exhibits of the flower arrangement competition on another. i noticed that the first prize had been given to a flower arrangement done inside a painted scooter tyre. i thought this a really unusual idea. the two most attractive and unusual cacti were ones on exhibit: while one had a thin green base and a bright red lumpy top the other was like a cotton puff. besides the plants in the hall some classrooms alongside were also occupied with plants and other items for sale. there were food plants like coriander and coconut seedlings, ornamental plants such as money plants, creepers, and indoor decorative plants. there were also garden implements including spraying tools, cutters, flowerpots, seed packets and organic manures. at eleven o'clock there was an announcement that there would be a talk given by mr francis borges, the topic being `organic farming'. francis borges is a college lecturer but is better known for his experience and knowledge of plants. he practises organic farming and has a nursery called apurbai. he used to write a weekly column in a goan paper the "weekender". my dad had already told me about him so i was eager to hear what he had to say. his talk dealt with the consequences of using chemicals (pesticides, insecticides, fertilizers) which he said was a recent happening in the world. he stressed the need to return to organic farming which he said was the only sensible way of farming. he also spoke about the role of earthworms as friends of the farmer. many questions followed. most of these dealt with problems people faced while gardening at home. mr borges in his reply offered practical solutions which he himself had tried out successfully. for example, to the query, "why does a papaya plant die after flowering?" he suggested building a bund round the base of the plant because water collecting there rots the papaya base stem. in this connection he also spoke of a medicine which he and his colleagues had invented to drastically reduce the diseases which attack papaya. he markets this as "papaya cure". by around noon the talk ended and i left for home. siolim the plant exhibition at saligao had given me an idea of what to expect at the next plant festival i attended, which was at siolim. here i took an active part thanks to the invitation i received from alexyz, the well known goan cartoonist, who was in charge of the siolim plant festival called "green heritage". green heritage was started by alexyz and his friends a few years ago and it has proved to be an enormous success with people eagerly awaiting the event each year. i woke up early on the morning of august th, and pedalled away to siolim, which is a picturesque village across the hill from parra. i found myself sitting at alexyz's doorstep much earlier than expected. alexyz and his wife tecla arrived home in time for lunch. after lunch, i hopped on the back of alexyz's kinetic honda and we set off to visit the homes of all those participating in the exhibition, informing them to keep their exhibits ready for us to collect the next day. i woke up on the th morning to the sound of alexyz's gibberish much like scatman's scat. "come on man, let's get going", he yelled. he was a college friend of my parents and he is one of the funniest people i know. just being in his company is one big laugh! our task that morning was to collect the plant exhibits from the homes of all those on our list. the tempo arrived at . a.m. we covered the base of the tempo with shrubs to act as cushions for the potted plants. we had a long list of homes to visit. each time we picked up an item for the exhibition we tagged and numbered it so we would know the correct house to return the pot to later. we had to be careful at some houses otherwise we might have ended with torn pants ripped up by the huge dobermans people owned. when the tempo could carry no more we would return to sfx school where the exhibition was to be held in order to unload the pots and start out again. each round was an experience of new people, new homes, new gardens. on one round we visited the famous pop singer remo's house. his mother was taking part in the exhibition. it took us all day to complete the list and we eventually made three trips round the village. we then arranged the pots on the benches in the school hall. miguel braganza (an agricultural officer of the government who at that time was posted to the indian council of agricultural research in old goa) and francis borges (the same person who gave the talk on organic farming at the saligao plant exhibition) were also there along with several other village boys and girls all helping in various ways to set up the show which was to begin the next morning. in fact by the time we finished it was already one a.m. of the th. we would have only a few hours of sleep before we would all be on duty again at a.m. to complete the last minute jobs before the festival got started. the green heritage plant festival lasted three days. the director of the agricultural department, mr p.k. desai, inaugurated it at a.m (instead of a ribbon to be cut between the doors of the exhibition, there was a creeper). he also released a book titled, green aid iii-total gardening that the green heritage had published. the book was wrapped up in a large money plant leaf instead of wrapping paper. i thought this an unusual and apt idea. after the inauguration and the release of the book, the official made his speech which was followed by a funny speech made by alexyz. the green heritage programme had several aspects: (i) the exhibition, (ii) lectures and talks on different subjects and (iii) competitions of different kinds-all related to the green world. the main exhibition hall was very big and it was filled with all kinds of plants, arranged in such a manner that people could move around easily and view the plants without too much difficulty. altogether there must have been about two hundred pots. there were vegetable plants such as chillies and brinjals. there were flowering plants, cacti, creepers, ferns, bonsai of banyan trees, peepal trees, etc. there were also lime trees, orange trees and chickoo trees all growing in pots. on the stage in the hall, competition exhibits-vegetable-carving crafts and flower-making crafts of students from different schools-were kept. outside the hall there were two corridors. in one corridor the government nursery was stationed, where neem, mango, coconut, chickoo, tamarind, cashew and some other kinds of trees were being sold. along the other corridor a variety of other items were kept on sale: a small table held copies of the book, total gardening as well as the previous two volumes released at the earlier exhibitions by the green heritage; another table held beautiful coconut handicrafts for sale. there was an elephant head, a table lamp, a skull, all made out of different parts of a coconut. next to this, the other india bookstore had set up a stall with a large variety of environment titles. further down was the garden glory stall selling various types of garden implements such as lawn movers, cutters, sprayers and other accessories. apurbhai had a variety of organic manures like leaf mould, karanji and bone meal besides ornamental plants, palms and creepers. there were pickles, squashes and medicine for papaya plants also on sale. at the far end of the corridor was the canteen. here, whenever we were thirsty or hungry, we went and had a cold drink or some snacks. i didn't have to worry about my bill, because it was taken care of by the green heritage group. next to the canteen, there was a small table, a blackboard, some chalk and some benches. this was where the programme of lectures and talks was held. altogether there were four talks given during the green heritage programme: on vegetable carving, jams and squashes, wine-making, and cacti. i decided to attend the talk given on cacti by a person who grew cacti in his flat. his talk was extremely interesting and full of practical information and handy hints on how to grow cacti. although i have not tried my hand at growing cacti, yet i took down detailed notes which i shared with my mother, who as i correctly thought was very happy to get the information as it helped her in her little cacti rock garden. and it certainly was a very educative talk for me. all through the three days i was assigned simple jobs like watching over the plants in the main hall, watering the plants, carrying pots and furniture around, handling the sales of the green heritage booklets, and so on. and with alexyz around each task was great fun. on the last day, there was the prize distribution ceremony. i was proud and happy to receive a special certificate for having assisted in the green heritage festival. as the fair came to an end the organisers all felt that it was yet another successful event. i was happy to have been a part of it. but the fun was not yet over for we all had a barbecue dinner that evening that lasted well into the early hours of the morning. we slept only briefly for there remained the final task of returning the pot exhibits to their respective owners. this we commenced early next morning. i had enjoyed my work at the green heritage and my stay at alexyz's house. i was indeed sad when it all ended. i rested the next day at alexyz's house and on the th morning, left for home. field work notes: growing cacti at home cacti are plants suited to the desert and we must keep this factor in mind always when growing ornamental cacti in our gardens, for it helps in the survival of the plant. for example, a cactus should never be watered over its body as it will start to rot. this is because it is covered with a waxy coating which prevents water loss through evaporation. when one waters the cactus over its body, the waxy coating is washed away and the plant begins to rot. the amount of water that you must supply to the cactus is very much dependent upon the season and upon the climate of the place. during the summer season one should water cacti every four days whereas in the rainy season once every fifteen days is quite enough. cacti need a minimum of two and a half hours of sunlight per day. however they should not be kept all day in the sun because they may wrinkle in too much of bright sunlight. unlike other plants cacti produce carbon dioxide during the day and oxygen during the night. hence, they are ideal plants to be kept in bedrooms to freshen up the air at night. if the cactus plant is to thrive and prosper, the size of the pot in which it is grown has to be carefully monitored. the pot should always be a little smaller than the plant itself because it is only when the plant has to struggle to survive that it will thrive. if the pot is too spacious the struggle element is removed and the chances are that the cactus will die. cacti are like human beings. when they suffer they will grow. similarly if a cactus shows no signs of growth, stop the watering. it should be resumed only when the plant resumes growth. the substrata of a cactus pot is ideally composed of pieces of broken bricks at the bottom, charcoal above it, then coarse sand and pebbles above it. leaf mould is the best manure. grafting of cacti is very simple. a very small piece of the cactus plant should be stuck with cellotape to the plant that needs grafting. the smaller the piece the easier it is to graft. to reproduce cacti, one has to simply cut off a piece of the cactus, allow it to dry for a few days and then just place it over the cacti substrate. it will automatically develop roots. to differentiate between cacti and other plants that look like cacti is very easy. all cacti have fine hair at the base of each thorn. the so-called thorns are in fact highly modified leaves which prevent loss of water through transpiration. if one ever gets pricked by cacti thorns, one should take cellotape, place it over the area where the thorns have penetrated the skin and then peel it off. all the thorns will get stuck to the cellotape and will be removed. chapter : learning about mushrooms attending the green heritage plant festival in siolim had one more advantage for me. it brought me into contact with mr miguel braganza, an agricultural officer of the goa government. it was through him that i learnt of a two-day course on mushrooms to be conducted by the indian council of agricultural research (icar) at ela farm, old goa in the last week of august. this programme also marked the beginning of my experience in getting around on my own. for, although the course was conducted in goa itself i had never been to ela farm nor did i know anyone at the programme. mr braganza had informed me that participants would be offered free accommodation on the campus. however, it was not compulsory to stay there. i assumed that most people would avail of the accommodation facilities offered since late evening transport is not very good in goa. at any rate i enjoy camping out and so i asked my parents if i could spend the night on the campus. they agreed. my assumption however proved wrong as i turned out to be the only residential participant! anyway, on the morning of th august, after taking directions from my dad, i left for the icar at old goa which is about kms from my home. i arrived there without any difficulty. the icar is located within ela farm. at the gate i had to fill in a gate pass. down the right lane was the icar office. on either side of the road were coconut, guava and chickoo plantations. further down was a small office which looked more like a lab with various specimens of preserved mushroom. i enquired about the course with the man in charge and was directed to the farmers training centre. mr miguel braganza and mr oscar-the two persons conducting the course-were already there and so were some of the participants. we were first made to register our names for the course and immediately after and to my total surprise we were informed that each of us would receive a stipend of rs. for attending the course. this appears to be a sort of bonus or incentive which is provided to the participants and is meant to cover expenses for transport, food, etc. i noticed that all the other participants (there were thirty-three other students) were older than me. most of them were farmers, so all the people who gave talks either spoke part english and part konkani, or if the lecturers spoke only english then oscar would translate into konkani. the course which basically comprised lectures and demonstrations started with a talk by the tall, thin, long-haired nandakumar kamat. his first question was: "what do you want to cultivate mushrooms for? kitchen gardening, small scale production or large scale export?" depending on your objectives you can decide on the variety and the quantity, he told us. his talk included slides of different varieties of mushrooms, poisonous and non poisonous. the talk was lengthy but very interesting. it ended well past lunch time and most of the participants including myself were happy to go straight to a meal at the ftc canteen where a delicious fish curry thali could be purchased for just rs. . the second session began at three in the afternoon. there were two talks in this session, the first by a scientist from the icar who spoke on pests and diseases that attack mushrooms. among the problem areas he mentioned insects, fungi, bacteria and improper management. unfortunately most of the remedies he suggested were limited to spraying of insecticides and pesticides such as lindane, malathion dichlorose, copper sulphate or citronella oil. to be fair, he also laid stress on proper management and hygiene as an effective way to reduce diseases. since none of us had ever grown mushrooms before there were not many questions or doubts raised at the end of his lecture. then there was a talk by a woman who explained to us the nutritional value of mushrooms. for half an hour she spoke on the low fat and sugar content of mushrooms and how mushrooms prevent pain in joints of bones, tooth decay and bleeding gums. it made me feel that i should make mushrooms my staple diet! the programme for the day ended at p.m. that's when i was surprised to discover that everyone was going home and i was the only residential participant. i decided to stay the night anyway since the organisers told me that adequate arrangements had been made for anyone wishing to do so. i spent the evening and early in the morning the next day looking around the campus. i noticed that the icar had a small nursery, a flower garden, a small fish pond, pens for small animals such as rabbits and chickens, cattle sheds and vast paddy fields. there was also an orchard with a variety of fruit trees such as mango, chickoo, coconut palms etc. in the midst of all this greenery were the residential buildings with the canteen in between. i occupied one of the rooms on the first floor of the four-storey building. it was a small room, with two beds, a few lockers, a table and a mirror. since there was no one else staying the night, the watchman was asked to stay with me for company. the canteen served good and cheap meals. i had already eaten there in the afternoon with the others. for the night the cook prepared some fish curry rice for me. the next morning i had a breakfast of bread and vegetables for three rupees only. that night, not having much to do, the watchman and i decided to walk up the hill at the back of the campus, at the top of which was a temple. most of the second day was conducted by oscar. oscar's presentation was more of a practical exercise. he gave very practical information on how to grow mushrooms and interspersed his talk with slides and live demonstrations. he showed us the inoculation and culture room for tissue culture as well as the ultraviolet tube where the mother spawn is prepared. rushing up and down the lab and the lecture hall we were shown how straw is boiled, how the mushroom bags are filled, and so on. we were allowed to actively participate and fill in the bags ourselves. all the participants enjoyed oscar's session and wished it could have been longer. none of the participants had any experience with growing mushrooms for commercial purposes so oscar had invited two people who grew mushrooms for the local market as well as for export purposes to address us. they had been growing mushrooms for the past one year, selling them fresh or dried according to the demand and they gave us very practical information based on their personal experience. they said that they filled two hundred bags of straw everyday. they told us of the problems they faced with pests (mainly rats) and diseases and also the difficulties they initially faced when selling mushrooms. the programme finally concluded with a speech by the director of the farmers' training centre who told us about the general activities of the ftc and the icar. some of the students took spawn-filled bottles home. i didn't, because i knew i wouldn't be in a position to get into action immediately as my travel plans for getting out of goa for the next few months were already underway. so although i didn't really get into the act of mushrooms-growing, i learnt much and also made many friends. field work notes: how to grow mushrooms there are many varieties of edible mushrooms, of which the oyster and button mushrooms are the most popular with both the mushroom cultivators and the general public. mushrooms can be eaten by anyone including children since they are easily digested and absorbed by the body into the bloodstream within two to three hours. they contain iron, vitamins, calcium and protein. they are especially good for pregnant mothers, and diabetic and blood pressure patients. mushrooms have medicinal properties and are known to reduce heart, liver and blood diseases including cholesterol and stomach cancer. mushrooms can be profitably grown using little investment. however one has to master the techniques and follow all the procedures and requirements very carefully. one does not need land to become a mushroom cultivator for one can grow mushrooms even in one's own house. climate: mushrooms require a temperature of - o celsius and about - % humidity. they also require adequate ventilation, diffused light and semi-darkness. too much light makes mushrooms dark in colour. if the room temperature increases above oc, it should be decreased by hanging wet sacks around the place. however the sacks should be first sterilized using savlon, formalin or dettol to avoid fungi or bacteria entering the room. if the temperature decreases below oc, then a w bulb (for a small room) should be lit to generate heat. spawn: mushrooms are grown from spawn. the colour of good spawn is milky white with a sweet smell or no smell. the spawn should be compact, white on all sides and cottony. if it is yellow, it means that the spawn is old. any other coloured patches seen on the spawn signify contaminant fungi in the spawn. spawn should be maximum to days old. to prepare mother spawn, one needs good quality jowar, wheat or gram. the seed should be of uniform size, good quality, free from pests and diseases and dry. the grain should be washed, all hollow grains should be removed and the remaining boiled for one hour so that it is half cooked. while boiling some formalin or savlon should be added to disinfect the grain. the grain is then spread on a disinfected muslin cloth and mixed with calcium carbonate. it is then filled into bottles which are tightly corked using nonabsorbent cotton. the bottles are then put into a pressure cooker. the inoculation or the culture room for tissue culture was also shown to us. this room should be about . m in height and . m in length. two tubes i.e. an ultra-violet tube and a normal tube light are used. a spirit lamp is also used. one can produce up to six generations from one bottle of mother spawn with the help of tissue culture. after six generations the strength of the spawn decreases and the yield of the mushrooms will be less. substratum: paddy straw is the main substratum used for growing mushrooms-it contains cellulose and lignin, both of which are necessary for the growth of mushrooms. however many other kinds of substrata are also used, for example, saw dust, sacks, banana leaves, dry mango leaves, coconut leaves, sugarcane, wild grass, rice husk, etc. the paddy straw must be carefully selected. it should be brittle, yellow or golden brown in colour and not older than months. the straw should be dried in the sun for several days, stored if necessary in an air-tight container and used within two months. the ratio of paddy straw to mushroom spawn should be kg "prepared" straw to % spawn. procedure: first the straw must be prepared. the straw should be cut to - cm pieces. it should then be filled in cloth bags and soaked in water ( kg straw to litres water) for hours. the straw should be weighted down in the water so that no part of it remains above the level of water. the next stage is pasteurization. water must be boiled to a temperature of to oc. when bubbles appear, the soaked straw, surrounded by the cloth bags, should be weighted down and fully immersed in water. the bubbles will disappear when the straw is immersed and then reappear. thirty minutes after the reappearance of bubbles the straw should be removed. it should be drained of water and cooled at room temperature, then spread out on a clean surface and dried for two hours. the moisture content of the straw should not exceed %. to judge the moisture content one should hold some straw between one's fingers and squeeze tightly. if only one drop of water comes out, then the moisture content is correct. polythene or polypropylene bags are now required to fill the straw into. the bags should be approximately x cm and should weigh gms each. before using them, they should be washed with savlon or dettol or formalin. four strings should be tied together at one end which should be placed at the bottom of the bag. the four free ends must be held outside the bag. the bag can now be filled. first a cm layer of straw should be put in and the straw pressed lightly against the bottom. mushroom spawn should then be spread over it. then another cm layer of straw, over which the spawn should be spread and so on till one reaches the top of the bag. finally it must be covered with a final cm layer of straw, and the four pieces of string and the bag must be tied together. the bags can either be kept on the ground or hung in the room. hanging them enables one to get at the mushrooms from the bottom of the bag easily. the following day, to holes should be made in each bag with a sterile needle. the bags should be kept in darkness, with very little ventilation allowed to them, for days. the bags should then be moved to another room. here they should get four hours of diffused light and cross ventilation. after one and a half days the substrate should be sprayed with water three times a day with a shower pointing upwards so that the water falls on the bags like rain. on the following day small mushrooms, the size of pinheads will appear. two days later fully grown mushrooms will appear. the mushrooms should not be pulled out because the substrata will also be pulled out with it. instead they should be cut or twisted and broken off from the base. if the substrata is dry the bag should be given a quick dip in water. otherwise continue spraying with water. the second crop of mushrooms will reappear one week later. the process can be continued upto times. then one has to start afresh. this is because after crops the substrata begin to attract disease and get contaminated. pests and diseases: mushrooms are easily attacked by pests and diseases and therefore require utmost care and good management. of the two well known types of mushrooms, the button mushroom is more prone to disease whereas the oyster mushroom is hardier. insects which attack mushrooms are the scearid fly, the phosid fly, spring tails (small insects like grasshoppers) and mites. to prevent insects from attacking mushrooms it is best to keep the mushroom bags at least one foot above the ground. one can burn sulphur in the room before seeding the mushrooms. citronella oil mixed with water can also be used for spraying on the bags. it is absolutely essential to maintain the highest standards of hygiene to prevent attack by insects. bacteria and nematodes are other causes for worry. bacteria occur when there is too much humidity and this shows in a wet rot or a brown blotch. to avoid this problem it is essential to constantly monitor the humidity level and maintain it as required. to prevent the occurrence of nematodes, the substrata should be constantly changed-it should never be older than six months to one year. the straw must be carefully selected and should be disinfected thoroughly before use. gms of potassium permanganate, or ml of formalin should be sprayed on the bags if the disease should appear. chapter : a trip to kerala it was now the end of august and also the end of the heavy rains. i was eager to begin travelling out of goa to visit the many places on my agenda. i had got fairly comfortable now with being on my own within goa (where i could at least communicate in the same language with anyone i met) asking for directions, buying myself a meal and learning to handle small quantities of money. i therefore impatiently awaited my trip out of goa. another reason for my wanting to travel was because i was fed up of my neighbours and friends constantly asking me what i was doing after my ssc and why i was not in college. somehow they couldn't get used to the idea that i was enjoying myself learning the things i wanted to on my own, so i would be constantly badgered by queries. i thought that if i went away i would certainly escape all these queries. it so happened that my father was attending a seminar on organic farming in kottayam and as he would also be visiting some organic farms he thought it a good idea if i came along. the trip would take us to kerala. dad and i left goa on th august, . the bus departed from panaji bus stand at six a.m. and reached mangalore the same day at four in the evening. en route we passed through karwar, ankola, kumta, honavar, kundapur and udupi. mangalore happens to be my ancestral home. (my dad, though born and brought up in mumbai and now living since marriage in goa, is originally from mangalore.) although we do not have an ancestral home any more we have lots of relatives in mangalore city. we stayed at my grand uncle's house which is very close to the bus-stand. it is a two storey building in the heart of mangalore and my grand aunt monica mauxi lives there with her three sons, reggie, patrick and lambert and their families in a sort of joint family set-up. my grand uncle j.s. alvares who was a very well known konkani writer passed away a few years ago. i was meeting my aunt and cousins almost for the first time. after the introductions were over and we had had tea and snacks dad showed me around the city. since i knew that i would be returning to goa alone at the end of the seminar in kottayam i took care to be very observant about landmarks and other details so that i would not get lost on my return trip. i carefully noted the locations of the railway station, hampankatta, which is the centre of mangalore and the old bus stand and the route to aunt monica's home. we returned at dark to a splendid meal and went to bed early for we had to wake up at a.m. for our onward journey. our train left mangalore on the dot at . a.m. we travelled all day through green countryside, passing through kannur, calicut, thrissur and ernakulam to reach our destination kottayam at . p.m. we were booked at hotel aishwarya. i had a refreshing bath and then as usual we went off to explore the city but had to return soon because it started to rain. the seminar was at hotel green park and we set out for the venue early in the morning. we had already been registered as participants and each of us was given a cloth bag, notebook and pen to use during the seminar. there were many stalls selling a large number of items from organic tea and pickles, to books and manuals. we looked around very briefly for the organisers were already calling out to everyone to settle down for the inaugural. all day there were talks, most of them by scientists. the sessions continued till evening with a break for a vegetarian lunch in between. of all the talks, the one that caught my attention was the talk given by dr sultan ismail on earthworms. i have refrained from giving details of dr ismail's talk here because i have a full chapter on my association with his work later in this book. the next morning the same sort of programme continued. however there was a farmer's session which was chaired by my father. many farmers spoke about their experience in organic farming. i found it quite interesting. sometime after lunch my father and i, along with guru rishi prabhakar (the founder of the siddha samadhi yoga programme) and kartikeyan (who was researching some chapters for a source book on organic farming) left to visit the farm of an organic farmer, a mr. k.t. thomas. he showed us his shrimp pond, rubber plantations, cows, fishing ponds, orchids, giant bamboo filter ponds, etc. his farm was really huge, dark and damp-like a forest in the night! next morning we took a train to calicut. we passed through ernakulam and trishur. at shoranur we changed trains and from the railway station we took a bus to sultan's battery where we spent the night at a hotel called the resort. as usual, we spent enjoyable hours walking around the town. the next programme was at wynad. here, another meeting of persons interested in organic farming was taking place. we stayed at the wynad wildlife division guest house. the group here was not very large and they generally had small intense discussions. i was not much interested in the sessions and wandered about as i pleased. but i liked the company of the people there very much for all of them were very knowledgeable and they were the active type too. some of them-like bernard from auroville, korah mathen and his daughter nidhi from ahmedabad and omkar-i would meet again during my sabbatical year. we used to go for long walks in the forest, morning and evening. on the first day itself we saw nilgiri langurs and a variety of small birds, frogs and trees. in the evening the organisers showed us two movies on the pollution of the river bhavani. after that we watched a very popular and lovely movie called `animals are beautiful people'. on our early morning walk the following day (the second at wynad) we saw a herd of spotted deer and a barking deer. we also saw many footprints of animals, especially of deer; and traces of elephant footprints too. the experience excited me very much and after that i would eagerly set out with whoever was interested in taking a walk. on the third day, a mr shivanand gave a very interesting talk on the western ghats. he showed us many slides on the western ghats i.e. insectivorous plants, mountain goats, rivers that are formed by condensation of water vapour, plants that flower every ten years, etc. all that i had studied in geography and science in school now came alive for me. that evening we watched two movies, one called `the whistling hunters' (about wild dogs) and another called `the lord of the jungle' (about elephants). both were very good. the next morning we went walking again and saw only birds. we walked about kms that day. later that morning the concluding session of the programme was held. in the evening the forest department organised a tour for us through the jungle. we walked quite a distance, saw the watchtower, then deer and a wild boar, but we had to turn back soon because we saw tiger footprints. at night we saw another two movies, one on the narmada called `a valley rises' and the second called `the silent valley'. after the meeting ended my dad was scheduled to go to chennai for some work but i was to return to goa on my own. my dad came along with me by bus to calicut. at the railway station, my father bought me a ticket to mangalore and left me at the station at about p.m. to await the train which was due at around p.m. it was the first time i was travelling alone and i was quite nervous. although it would be two hours before the train arrived i dared not fall asleep. i had with me a small battery operated video game and i occupied myself with this while waiting for the train to arrive. when it did there was a general commotion as people started rushing into the compartments. i enquired with one or two persons whether there were any special seats but nobody was really willing to pay attention so i just found myself a nice spot and settled down. the train started soon thereafter. i stayed fully alert during the entire journey, keeping a watch on my things (i carried a haversack and a sleeping bag, both new) and having heard about pickpockets and other thieves i wanted to be doubly careful. i did not get down at any of the railway stations as i was not sure how long the train would stop. so i contented myself with eating the fruit that dad had bought for me at the calicut station. the train arrived in mangalore at p.m. from the station i took a rickshaw to my grand aunt's house for which i paid thirty rupees. this was quite a lot of money, but since it was night-time and since i was not perfectly confident of the route i did not bother to argue with the rickshaw-wallah. my aunt and family were pleased to see me and urged me to stay on for a few days. but i knew that my mother would be anxiously awaiting my return, and not wanting to be irresponsible, i decided to return as planned the next day itself. in the morning my cousin reggie took me on his scooter to the bus station where we saw a bus about to depart for goa. i jumped in and managed to get the last empty seat. the bus reached panaji at p.m. from there i took the local bus to mapusa. only when the bus reached the mapusa bus terminus was i finally on familiar territory. i looked around at the familiar street dogs and hawker stands and then hailed a motorcycle taxi to take me home, which was a short distance of kms. back home i proudly walked up to my mum who was smiling a welcome, my brothers punching me, my dog licking me-all so far away from the world of elephants and tiger footprints. chapter : snakes alive! it took several letters and phone calls from my dad to establish contact with mr neelimkumar khaire, director of the snake park in pune till finally the green signal was given and i was all set to visit the place. as the arrangements were not absolutely "pucca" my dad decided to come along with me to pune, which is what we did on the rd of october, soon after he returned from chennai. we left goa by bus and arrived at pune early the next morning. two of my parents' very good friends, sujit and vidya patwardhan, live in pune. our entire family, dad, mum, my two brothers and i, had holidayed at their place a year earlier. that was when i had my first glimpse of the pune snake park and the idea of my one year sabbatical took root. (later, i was surprised to learn from bany, their daughter, who i became good friends with, that her elder sister lara and her friend had taken a sabbatical several years ago on completing school and they had toured the countryside looking at alternative methods of education.) so it was to the patwardhan residence at ganeshkhind road that we first went and after a wash and a brief rest we set off for the park. the director mr khaire was not in, but the assistant director mr rajan shirke was aware of my visit and assured my father that once mr khaire arrived he would make arrangements for my food and stay. until then i could spend all day at the park but would have to go back to sujit's house for the night. my father had no option but to leave it that way for mr khaire was expected to return only after three days. dad then left me at the park and proceeded to mumbai. for the first few days therefore i journeyed back and forth from sujit's house. sujit's home is at ganeshkhind while the snake park is at katraj, a good kms away. i remember how i got lost on the first day. my dad had shown me the bus stand in the morning and given me the bus number. in the evening, one of the staff dropped me off at the bus stand where i waited and waited for the bus, which never arrived. i asked the people around but their answers were either "it will come" or "the frequency of that bus may be low". soon it started raining and since that bus-stand had no shelter in sight i had to stand in the rain and get wet. while i tried as much as possible to take shelter under the note book i carried, i was surprised to see a number of children, who didn't seem to mind the rain, walking coolly past me as if there were no rain at all! by seven in the evening, i was soaked to the skin. my feet were numb and it was getting dark. my first day at the snake park and what an experience! anyway, i crossed the road and walked to a telephone booth. while i was phoning sujit the electricity went off. sujit kept trying to explain to me how to come home by another route. i took out my half wet note book and scribbled "deccan gymkhana" and "simbla office". i managed to get a bus to deccan gymkhana (there are several buses which take you there) and from simbla office i took a rickshaw and after going round in circles for sometime, i managed to find sujit's house. how i wished i had my trusty bicycle instead of having to depend on buses and rickshaws! during the first two days at the park i only scribbled notes and watched the workers. i tried to make friends with the workers and as a result i was allowed to handle one trinket snake. on the third day mr khaire arrived and immediately made arrangements for me to stay at the park in spite of the park not having accommodation facilities. several students came there now and then to work for short stretches of time but they all had their residences in pune and went home in the evenings. mr. khaire is very popular among the workers and is affectionately called "anna" ("big brother" in marathi) by one and all. he always wears a glove and long sleeved shirt as he lost his left hand to a russell's viper bite several years ago. still, his love for the reptile world and his enthusiasm for snakes has not diminished one bit. the snake park is quite large and has several snake pits housing various types of reptiles. in the centre is the administrative building which is a one storey cottage having on the ground floor a small office which doubles up as reception area, a room which holds the display exhibits like the king cobra, python etc., a store room and a toilet. on the first floor is a large room with two beds. it is here that i began to stay, with the watchman as company for the night. anna installed a small t.v. in the room and also had a phone extension made to my room. he told me that i was welcome to come over to his place anytime, to eat or even to stay. however, i preferred being at the park. in addition to anna and shirke there were about to staff at the park. some of those i got to know very well included mahesh, milind, bhushan and baba, the watchman. many of the boys were studying at night school and working here during the day. on sundays and holidays there would sometimes be extra students to lend a hand. all of them lived in pune and would go home for the night. however now and again some of them would stay the night with me and we would watch t.v. or they would tell me tales. i also wrote my daily diary every evening after dinner, and sometimes read a bit. my work at the park was to help the workers with their jobs for that was the only way for me to learn about snakes. so everyday i would clean the starback tortoise pit, the turkey pit, the chicken pits and later on the ratsnake pit, the chequered keel back pit and the monitor lizard pit. i also assisted with feeding the snakes, which is usually done once a week. most of the snakes are fed small rats-the white mice come from the laboratory-and frogs while the python gets a chicken every week. i was also taught the proper way of holding and handling snakes. on the third day, i was bitten by a wolf snake. now you must understand that this is a non-poisonous snake and it was deliberately allowed to bite me for my experience and to enable me to get over the irrational fear of snake bites that all of us have acquired as a result of grandmother's tales being dinned into us from childhood. in my case even though i liked snakes, still, anna explained, there will be a subconscious residual fear! this bite was not particularly painful and treatment was like any other wound one might receive. during my stay at the snake park i was bitten on several occasions by a variety of non-poisonous (but hot-tempered) snakes and when i left after weeks i had at least about - bites on my arms. some of the bites were quite painful and one was so bad that my wrist had swelled up and i couldn't wear my watch for quite sometime. however when you remember that the snake gets damaged much more than you-it loses quite a few of its teeth in the bite-then you don't feel too bad. at any rate there was no question of using anti-venom as the snakes were all non-poisonous. and i learnt to think of the bites as injuries and wounds rather than the much feared `snake-bite'. besides snakes, the park also has a number of other animals. some had been rescued, others found injured and brought to the park for rest and recuperation. at the time of my stay at the park it housed a wild boar, a civet-cat, a leopard, a shikra bird, a jackal, three mongooses and several owls and eagles with broken wings. the eagles and owls were in cages with the top end kept open. once they were able to fly again they could fly out if they wished. there were also many types of exotic fowls, guinea pigs, white mice, rabbits, monkeys and a pair of turkeys. and of course there were ganges soft shell turtles, starback tortoises and melanac turtles. all these animals had to be fed daily and their cages cleaned regularly. the snake park has a system through which people in pune city can call up the park if they sight a snake. someone from the park will then go to the site with the caller, after taking directions from him/her, and try to get the snake. this ensures that people do not unnecessarily kill snakes. it was on two such occasions that i went with the boys on "calls" and returned without a snake. you see when the distance that the rescue team has to travel is long, the snake may not necessarily remain in the same spot till it gets there. the snake park has a lot of visitors daily and people are always looking for someone knowledgeable to answer questions. i used to feel quite proud to do this and would gladly answer all the queries like, "what is the name of the snake?" "what does it eat?" "which is the male and the female?" and so on. at other times i would be pestering the staff to answer more complicated and detailed questions about the habits of snakes. workers are a mine of information and all of it is knowledge gained from practical experience. some nights we went frog catching. we used to go after dinner on scooters to a river about kms away. the method was simple. one person shone a torch on the wet banks of the riverbed, blinding the vision of the frog, which would stop dead in its tracks, while another nabbed it with his bare hands from behind. (frogs must be taken alive or else the snakes won't eat them.) it was easy to catch the frogs as they remain quite still for the few seconds it takes to catch them, the difficult part being only to ensure that once caught they do not slip out of your grasp, for frogs are quite wet and slippery. after two to three hours we would return with to frogs in our sack. i used to have my food at a small shack where some poor people cooked meals mainly for the snake park staff. one of the popular items was something called `shample' which was made of vegetables and had lots of oil floating over it. this was served with bread and it was deep red in colour and very spicy. after a couple of days of eating this delicious food, i had a very bad stomach and i had to go to the toilet seven times that day. that was the end of shample. i decided to stick to dal and chappaties, and cheap creamrolls. the bathroom of the snake park looked very dirty and i usually avoided having a bath. i would wet my long hair and pretend that i had had a bath. when the snake park staff found out about this they decided to give me a bath. one day they caught me and stripped me of all my clothes, then they dragged me to the bathroom and, using detergent and a little bit of harpic, they scrubbed me with the toilet brush. somehow these chaps also came to know that i was afraid of the dark and all night sounds. so they kept telling me ghost stories which despite my fears i liked to hear. finally, on the last night i even met this "real" ghost. it happened this way. three of us, together with the watchman were watching tv when bhushan, one of the boys said he had to go on a "call". shortly thereafter the lights went off and a sound like a cat mewing was heard. baba, the watchman didn't seem to care but the other boy popea and i were terrified. next a light appeared at the window and the door started banging. a voice (in marathi) thundered, "close the window". all sorts of strange things kept happening one after another. a skull with bones was floating in the air outside the window and when we went out, cautiously, to see who was there we found no one. returning to the room we found my bedding thrown around and my clothes and the whole room in a mess. the door frame shook, the windows rattled and i held on tight to the watchman's hand. i remembered being told that if one makes the sign of the cross the "ghost" will disappear, and so i did that, but it didn't work. this ghost apparently did not know the rules. then suddenly we received a phone call from bhushan saying that he was on his way back, and strangely, with bhushan's return, the ghost had done the disappearing act. nothing more was heard from the ghost after that. the next day when i told anna and the others about this night-time visitor they all had a good laugh. during my stay at the park i learnt how to handle almost all the non-poisonous snakes except the pythons. i also learnt how to handle monitor lizards, catch geckos and eat earthworms. eating earthworms was not part of my diet or training, but once i saw mr shirke toss one into his mouth after being challenged to do so by one of the boys. i thought of trying this out and though i felt nauseated the first time i took a bite. i was okay the second time, for earthworms taste crunchy, like raw cucumber, not slimy and wet as they look. on my last day at the park, i was allowed to handle a cobra. i held a stick under the neck of the cobra and then lifted it by its tail. i did this about - times after which the cobra was put back in its box. i was so excited and happy. it was a perfect ending to my stay at the snake park. as i write this i think about my other previous experiences with snakes. like the story my mum tells about the time when i was only a few months old, sleeping one afternoon in my cradle at our home in valpoi. she had heard a soft thud and to her utter horror she saw a thin bluish green snake which had obviously dropped from the roof making loops all over and around the cradle. snakes are not unusual in the countryside and rustic farm was no exception. mum says she was terrified but dared not make a sound for i was sleeping soundly and the cradle was covered with a mosquito net, outside of which the snake leapt around. it was less than a minute before it bounded onto the chairs and was out of the window and she rushed to reassure herself that i was safe which i very much was. from her description i know now that it was a green whip snake, a very delicate and absolutely harmless snake. another time as a toddler, mum says, i was playing with some old cartons and boxes at the farm when out leapt a snake from one of them. to my parents' astonishment, instead of crying out in fear as one might expect a child to do, i promptly went on my hands and knees crawling towards it as fast as i could, reaching out and trying to catch it. in fact, as mum tells it, i seem to have deliberately gone out of my way to befriend snakes as a child. i would be afraid of dogs, for, as i would say, they had teeth and could bite, but snakes didn't appear to have any and for that reason perhaps remained my best friends. field work notes: snakes there are around species of snakes in the world. of these, only about % are poisonous. the maximum number of species of poisonous snakes is found in australia ( % of the snakes are poisonous). species of snakes are found in india. of these, are poisonous. but only few can cause serious or fatal bites. for example, pit vipers are poisonous but rarely prove fatal to human beings. the poisonous big four are ( ) the cobra, ( ) the krait, ( ) the russel's viper, and ( ) the saw-scaled viper. of these the most poisonous is the common krait. its venom is about four times more toxic than that of the cobra. all sea-snakes are poisonous. the most poisonous snakes in the world include some sea-snakes which have venom times more toxic than the cobra. but sea-snakes will bite only when severely provoked and are never known to attack swimmers in water. snakes are cold-blooded; their eyesight is very poorly developed and they have no eyelids. they are deaf and can only respond to vibrations. they taste, feel and smell with their forked tongue. these senses are very well developed and enable them to differentiate between living and dead creatures, prey or enemy. some poisonous snakes inject venom into their prey, release the prey and then track it down with their tongue after the venom has done its job of killing it. the venom contains digestive enzymes that start digesting the prey from the inside. snakes grow rapidly till they mature and then continue to grow very slowly till their death. as they grow, they outgrow their skin so they moult the old one after a new skin has formed under it. the snake splits the old skin at the nose and literally crawls out of the old skin. during moulting, the snake stops eating but becomes aggressive. a bite from a poisonous snake affects either the nervous system (neurotoxic) or the blood vessels (hemotoxic) of human beings. the only cure against snake bite is snake anti-venom. it is made by injecting very small doses of raw venom (about one-tenth of the fatal dose) into a horse and then gradually increasing the dose, making the horse immune to snake venom. the blood of the horse is then drawn, frozen and processed after separating the antibodies and crystallized into a powder. this is anti-venom as we know it. when a snake bite occurs, the following first aid measures should be taken. panic should be avoided and the patient should be kept warm and reassured. the wound should be checked to see if it is a poisonous or non poisonous bite. a poisonous bite will have two big fang marks, a non poisonous bite will have many teeth marks. if the bite is poisonous, the patient should first be immobilized. no alcohol, tea, coffee or other stimulants, nor even painkillers should be given. the wound should not be washed or cut or the poison swabbed out as this could cause infection and loss of blood. a tight tourniquet can be tied a little above the wound, such that one finger should be able to pass under the tourniquet. the patient should be transported as quickly as possible to the nearest hospital. the tourniquet should be left in place until antivenom is given. but it should be released for seconds every seconds and should not be used for more than six hours. at the hospital antivenom will be given which rapidly subdues the effects of the venom. to avoid snakes, the following precautions must be taken. rubbish around the house should be cleared. rat holes should be filled and rats should be prevented from breeding in and around the house. long tree branches touching the houses and creepers trailing the porches and window panes should be cut. good boots should be used while walking through forested area. avoid stepping over any obstacle when the other side is not visible and use a torch while moving outside the house at night. chapter : a vacation within a vacation my stay at the pune snake park was to be for about three weeks but i was enjoying the experience so much that i was reluctant to return home. to my good fortune the family decided to spend the diwali vacation holidaying in rajasthan and since it was necessary to travel to mumbai to catch the onward train north, i persuaded my parents that i would come to mumbai directly from pune where i would meet them at my grandparents' house in girgaum. so i got myself a few extra days at the park and another experience of finding my way around, this time in the big city of mumbai. sujit bought me a bus ticket to mumbai and dropped me off at the bus station as well. i had earlier received elaborate instructions on the phone from my dad on how i was to get to girgaum once i got off the bus at dadar and backup information from my nervous mum on what i should do in case i got lost. i later learnt that my uncle and family were also put on alert to receive a call from their nephew in distress, which did not happen for i was determined to find my way on my own, and i succeeded in doing so. the bus left pune at around a.m. and arrived in mumbai a little after p.m. i took a taxi, gave the driver the address and watched carefully as the taxi sped away down unfamiliar streets. i could barely recognise the place where the driver dropped me off but i asked around and after wandering about for around minutes, found myself suddenly at the doorstep of the familiar /c khotachiwadi, my paternal grandparents' house. my aunt and uncle were expecting me and so were my favourite cousins, lucano and ricardo. an hour later came my parents' anxious call from goa to find out if i had reached safely. by then i was already in my shorts watching a movie on tv with my cousins. the next few weeks were strictly not part of my sabbatical programme for it was a holiday along with my family, with snakes and frogs and fish left far behind. our holiday included a brief visit to ahmedabad where we stayed with korah and sue mathen. i had met korah and his daughter nidhi a few months earlier at the organic farmers' meeting in wynad. on knowing that there was a snake park in ahmedabad we simply had to visit the place, just to satisfy my curiosity. at the park, we found pythons, russel's vipers, kraits, chequered keelbacks, boas, ratsnakes and a king cobra, all in glass cages. the park also had starback tortoises, monitor lizards, ducks and geese of various kinds, monkeys and other small animals. there was also a small aquarium, kept very poorly. i don't know whether the whole setup was run down because of lack of funds or lack of interest. from ahmedabad we went by train to jaipur where we spent the next eight days at the home of srilata and mahendra chowdhury. although our base was jaipur we visited and stayed two nights at a real fort, on the outskirts of jaipur. it was my first visit to a fort and it was quite an experience living high up in the residential part of the fort with its cool rooms, some large, others tiny, some corridors so narrow and so low one had to bend one's head to walk through. the time of our visit coincided with the famous solar eclipse which was the talk of the town but i was disappointed with the eclipse as it darkened only briefly before returning to normal again. my friends told me later that the tv experience was far more wonderful. in jaipur we went sightseeing almost everyday, visiting forts, palaces and shopping bazaars, and had delicious kulfi and lassi in mud pots, and mouth-watering chicken tandoori. we drove down to udaipur, where we went boating on the famous lake, saw some more palaces and then to srilata and mahendra's second home in ghantali where we swam in the river behind the house and fished with the village boys. the vacation ended with a hour bus journey to ratlam station, from where my brothers and i returned to mumbai with my mum while my dad went on to delhi. this time we stayed at my maternal grandparents' place in mahim. my grandfather, a sprightly year old and a very active gentleman, was there to greet us. it happened to be his birthday and he decided to take us all out to dinner to a chinese restaurant not very far away from the house. i recall we were all dressed and ready to go when mum asked grandpapa how we were going to the restaurant. to which he said: "you and the boys take a taxi, but i will walk. i prefer to walk." i was quite astonished. of course, we all decided instead to walk to the restaurant, with grandpapa briskly leading the way, and had an enjoyable birthday dinner. my mum and my two younger brothers, sameer and milind returned to goa soon thereafter, but i stayed on with grandpapa in mumbai for a few more days, since i was to proceed from there directly to chennai where i would spend the next two and a half months in the pleasant company of spiders, earthworms and my all-time favourites, crocodiles and snakes. chapter : earthworms on the th of november, i was put on the chennai express, which was to leave dadar railway station at p.m., by my uncle alan who is very knowledgeable about trains since he has worked in the railways all his working life. my mum had requested him to check my departure from mumbai since dadar railway station is a crowded and busy place and i too was not confident of finding my way around. earlier grandpapa had brought me to the railway station by cab after making me double-check that i had my ticket, sufficient cash, little tidbits to eat and my water bottle filled for the long journey ahead. i was to spend one night and the whole of the next day in the train for it was due to arrive in chennai at about . p.m. on the th. having travelled on a couple of journeys by train during the past few months i was quite relaxed on this one although i continued to be watchful and careful of my things throughout. the train journey from mumbai was entirely uneventful. i had a window seat and slept the night on the lower berth. around me was a family of migrant workers who spoke neither hindi nor english and who were quite busy doing their own things. i did not speak with them nor with anyone else on the journey but contented myself with watching the countryside we passed through and the hustle and bustle at each station, and when i was bored i just went to sleep. i had about rs. with me in cash and some of this was carefully tucked away in different pockets of my jeans, the balance in various compartments of the haversack. when i slept the haversack was my pillow. i also carried a water bottle, some snacks and some fruit which was all i ate during the journey. the train was delayed by hours and it was well past . p.m. when it arrived at chennai central railway station. i was to be met at the station by my parents' long-time friend k. manoharan. uncle mano and aunty sagu had willingly agreed to look after me during my stay in chennai, even though both of them were not keeping good health. not knowing where exactly uncle mano would be waiting i walked towards the entrance keeping a careful lookout for him. yet, i failed to recognise him when i saw him for his hair was whiter than when i had seen him last. he recognised me, however, from the bright yellow haversack that i carried. he took me home in a rickshaw. i had some food there and went straight off to sleep. uncle mano suggested that i relax the next day, which i did, watching t.v., looking at photo albums and generally chatting with them about my sabbatical so far and about my plans in chennai. early the following morning uncle mano and i set off for new college where dr sultan ismail's earthworm institute is located and where i would spend the next fortnight studying earthworms and vermiculture. actually i had a choice of studying at dr bhawalkar's centre in pune or dr ismail's institute in chennai. but i chose chennai because i had heard dr ismail speak at the organic farmers' convention in kottayam and had liked his talk very much. another reason of course was that i was dying to get to the crocodile bank in mamallapuram and being in chennai which was close to the croc bank was infinitely better than being far away in pune where dr bhawalkar works. although uncle mano, being a heart patient, does not usually travel by bus, he deliberately took me by bus that morning so that i could get to know the route to new college. on the way he pointed out to me various landmarks which would help me know my way around, and gave me general bits of advice on how to travel in the city. i had to learn well and quickly, for language would be the main problem for me in this city where i spoke no tamil. at the college we met dr ismail who took us through the college campus down to the fields where the vermi-pits were and we saw the biogas plant, the garbage collection pits, the culture crates and the organic compost now ready for use. i was quite eager to begin and happy when "sir" as everyone calls him, suggested i start work from the next day itself. every day, except sundays, for the next days i followed the same routine which was: wake up at a.m or so, eat a hot breakfast of idlis, sambar, dosas, vadas or whatever was cooked for breakfast, carry a hot packed lunch which aunty sagu prepared for me and catch a bus by a.m. from ashok pillar to panagal where i had to change buses and get on one going to new college. usually i would land up at the college by . a.m. or so and would be at the college till about . or p.m., after which the journey would be reversed. these timings helped me to avoid the office rush both ways. my dad had suggested to prof ismail that i be given practical experience and so my programme included a mixture of study from books, taking down notes, watching and helping the others and finally making my own vermi-pits. during the first two days i read up as much as i could about earthworms and the world they inhabit from books which were recommended to me by dr ismail. later i started to observe the different types of earthworms, their movements, colour and other characteristics. i also learnt a lot about different types of soils, their textures and nature, and was taught how to take soil samples using the tulgren funnel. there were about to students doing different kinds of research under dr ismail and all of us worked in a large room which was formerly the main library. each one had a separate desk to work and when i came i was also given my own desk and chair. the big hall also had a mini library on earthworm related books at one end and it was a simple matter therefore to find the books i needed to read. the main vermi-beds, compost pits and so on were on the ground floor but some of the vermi-beds which were in crates were stacked in the narrow corridor outside the study hall, where we also gathered to eat our lunch in the afternoons. usually any one of the students would briefly guide me in the work that i was assigned for the day after which i would manage on my own. during my fortnight stay at the institute i learnt a lot about earthworm environments, including determination of porosity of soil, moisture content and texture. i also observed the other organisms present in the soil and took photos of microarthropods with the help of a compound microscope. at the end of the course, i practically prepared a vermi-bed and also ate a few earthworms and cockroaches for experience! my stay in chennai was not without its share of adventure. i recall that on my second day, i had entered a bus and rushed for an empty seat. i was completely unaware of the procedure, that while in goa the ticket collector comes to you and sells you the ticket in the bus, in chennai one has to go to the conductor (who is seated at the end of the bus) and buy the ticket. so while i waited for the conductor to come on his rounds two inspectors came up to me and caught me for not buying the ticket. one of them started shouting at me in a forceful stream of tamil. after much action and hand waving, i explained that i did not know tamil, that i was from goa and it was the first time i was travelling in a bus in chennai. he fined me rs. ! fortunately, i had enough money on me and paid the fine but when i got down from the bus, i found that my empty purse had also been pick-pocketed! another time i was on the last step of a bus which i thought would be quite okay for i had seen many people travelling while hanging at the doors of crowded buses. however, as this bus started gathering speed i found it very difficult to hold on because the weight of so many people began to press against me and it felt like i was literally holding everyone in with my outstretched arms as i hung practically out of the door. i resolved never to travel on the footboard, if i could help it, again. i also got lost several times. but i would never phone for help with directions but would struggle away, walking this side or that, asking passers-by till i reached familiar landmarks which would get me home. often i found that i had alighted from the bus a few stops before or after my destination. on one such occasion the next stop was so far away that i jumped out of the bus while it slowed down at a traffic light and then spent nearly minutes walking back! although uncle mano and aunty sagu had welcomed me very warmly. looking back, i think i must have given them quite a headache during my stay at their house because of my rather careless and casual ways and the laid-back lifestyle i had acquired and was thoroughly enjoying. uncle mano would constantly be shouting at me for not having a bath regularly or for staying in the bathroom forever when i decided to have a bath or for wearing soiled clothes again instead of washing them. aunty sagu cooks well and i enjoyed her food but both she and uncle mano would notice that i ate much more when there was chicken or fish for dinner rather than vegetarian food and i would get a lecture again for my poor appetite for simple food. i was also quite a sloppy fellow and would slouch around on the sofas after coming back from the college, channel surfing as i watched tv, which must have been quite exasperating for both of them. anyway, they took very good care of me, not only in terms of feeding me but also going out of their way to make arrangements for me to study at the earthworm institute, the spider centre and later at the crocodile bank and i am most grateful for that. i hope when they read this book they will forgive me for all the trouble i must have caused them. extracts from diary: earthworms th november: sir gave me a book on earthworms to read, then jagan took me down to the field. there i was able to observe many organisms other than earthworms. we took a soil sample from one place and then went back to the lab where we put the soil sample into the tulgren funnel. i then went and brought three more samples from the vermi-tech pit. we then put these also into three other tulgren funnels. by then it was lunch time and we all ate together. after lunch i weighed the soil samples and got to see the organisms that were in the beaker under the tulgren funnel. at . p.m i left for home. th november: in the morning, i was given two types of earthworms i.e. lampito mauritii and perionyx excavatus and told to observe them. i spent the whole morning doing this. after lunch, i wrote down the observations that i had made. in the evening we went out to the college playground and also to the area near the college boarding to make some observations. we dug two pits of cm x cm x cm each at the playground and one, of the same size, at the boarding. we made many observations which included the number and species of earthworms we found and whether they were clitellates or not. we also made observations regarding soil, atmospheric temperature and relative humidity and took soil samples to measure the moisture content. th november: left for new college as usual. i was told that sir did not come today as he had a high viral fever. yesterday a research scholar had expired and so there was a condolence meeting today. after that everybody left as it was declared a holiday. i arrived home at about . a.m. i had a bath and then some food. i then watched a bit of tv and wrote my diary. in the night uncle mano and aunty sagu had invited some guests and had cooked chicken curry which i enjoyed very much. th november: sir did not arrive today either. with the help of jagan i used the infrared moisture balance to find out the moisture content of the soil samples which we had taken on saturday. after we finished one sample, the voltage started fluctuating so we used the tulgren funnel instead. then jagan sent me to get soil samples from the field and from the area near the boarding. we put the soil samples in the tulgren funnel and observed the arthropods that fell into the beaker under a compound microscope. we also observed some preserved specimens of microarthropods. th november: pounded gms of soil sample and then sieved each soil sample through sieves. then weighed the soil in each sieve and noted this down. th november: did sieving of soil in the morning. in the evening, used keenscups to find out the waterholding capacity/porosity. th november: sir arrived this morning. read some books in the library for sometime. then did a bit of soil sieving and then did burning of soil in a bunsen burner. in the afternoon, i watched a very comic film called "junior shylock". th november: started preparing my report in rough. in the evening i went with babu to buy a film roll for taking photographs for my report. th november: did burning of a second sample of soil. after that jagan, sir and i photographed microarthropods with the help of the compound microscope that has a camera attached to it. after lunch, i attended a seminar conducted by one of the students. st november: ate a perionyx excavatus earthworm in the morning. then weighed some soil samples to find out the waterholding capacity of different soils, weighed burnt soil, also learnt how to calculate and find out soil texture of different samples of soil. continued writing my report. nd november: sat and wrote the final parts of my report. then i gave it to chitra who corrected it. after she finished, she gave it to sir who also made some corrections. rd november: wrote my report in fair in the new notebook i had bought. then jagan and i stuck the photographs we had clicked earlier in the various spaces in the notebook. then sir said that i would have to prepare a vermi-bed on my own. he gave me a bucket and i made a vermi-bed in it. sir checked that i had done it correctly. th november: drew some diagrams that remained to be done in my notebook. then gave it to sir for final approval. he made me write a few lines about each photograph. he said i should come and collect it after a week or so. after that i said bye to everyone and left at . for home. days later... th december: today was a holiday, so i went to collect my report book from new college where i had given it to sir for his signing. met all my friends there. all of them wrote their remarks in my report book and then it was stamped. sir gave me a certificate for the earthworm course i had finished at the institute. then chitra dropped me in her fiat car near the panagal park bus stop. field notes on vermiculture: turning garbage into gold vermicompost and vermiwash are the two earthworm products that have become very popular nowadays. ordinary organic garbage which consists of litter, such as, kitchen waste and dead plant material is used and converted into manure with the help of earthworms. earthworms there are three kinds of earthworms. one, the epigeal or surface earthworm (perionyx excavatus) which eats only organic litter which is present on the top layer of the soil. two, the anecic earthworms (lampito mauritii) which are present in the upper layers of soil and feed on waste and leaf litter. the third kind are present deep inside the soil and are known as endogeic earthworms (octochaetona thriretonis). the most suitable earthworms recommended for vermiculture are the epigeic and anecic earthworms. perionyx excavatus is purplish red and rough. near the two ends the perionyx excavatus is almost black in colour. it is smaller and thinner (approx. cms long) and more active compared to the lampito mauritii. they also breed faster than lampito mauritii. lampito mauritii are greyish white in colour and shiny, thicker and longer (length- cms) compared to perionyx excavatus. earthworms prefer cool temperatures, moist soil, humidity, relatively less sunlight and neither too coarse nor too fine sand. these are the ideal conditions that must be kept in mind when using them for vermiculture. since earthworms breathe through the skin, they perish if their skin becomes dry or the quantity of mucus diminishes. hence to keep earthworms alive in the vermicompost containers, care should be taken to ensure that the vermibed remains moist. earthworms however do not prefer waterlogged soils. in fact if earthworms are kept in water for too long, the concentration of ammonia that is discharged through their excreta makes the water too toxic for the earthworms to survive. earthworms also cannot tolerate salt or salt water even briefly. earthworms are hermaphrodites. depending on the species, their life span is between six months to one year. fully matured earthworms upon mating shed their clitellum (a small band like an overgrowth of skin) and produce cocoons which take about days to incubate and hatch into juveniles. maximum three juveniles are hatched from each cocoon. from the juvenile to the clitellate stage i.e. the fully matured or reproductive stage it takes - days. thus earthworms are able to multiply several times in their life span which makes them ideally suited to process even large quantities of garbage. vermicompost a pit, a small plastic or wooden crate or, even a bucket, can be used for vermicomposting organic matter. although not necessary, two crates can be used simultaneously; while one is being used for fresh garbage, the garbage in the other can be allowed to decompose. first, - holes should be made (one at each corner and four in the middle of the crate). a pot or a bucket needs about - holes. the crate or pit must first be filled with a one inch layer of pebbles or broken bricks. then, a half to one inch layer of sand should be spread. over that, a five to six inch layer of soil should be spread. then lampito mauritii and perionyx excavatus earthworms should be introduced. the soil must then be moistened with water. a little bit of cowdung (nitrogen) and some hay (carbon) should be spread on it, and the contents of the pit left for - days. this is called a vermibed. the cowdung and hay will allow the worms to multiply. with this, the vermicompost crate or pit will be ready for processing organic waste. all organic waste should be evenly spread out on the vermibed. as far as possible add garbage in small quantities regularly rather than dumping large quantities at one go. the earthworm begins processing the garbage immediately. water the container occasionally so that the vermibed remains moist. once the container is full with organic waste, it should be covered with a little soil and allowed to decompose undisturbed. only watering the pit should continue. after it has decomposed fully (roughly days) watering must be stopped for about to days. this will force the earthworms to migrate down to the bottom of the container which will have some moisture as compared with the top soil. then the top layer of soil which is really the organic matter which has been converted into manure should be removed without disturbing the vermibed. this organic manure can be used for plants. vermiwash a drum, barrel or bucket can be used for making vermiwash. the drum or bucket should be placed on supports a little above the ground. a hole should be made at the bottom of the container. a pipe should be pushed through the hole and a tap attached to the outer end. the bottom of the drum should be covered with a layer of gravel (about - inches). over it, a layer of sand ( - inches), and then a layer of soil ( - inches) should be spread. the earthworms should then be introduced and the soil moistened a little. then a little bit of cowdung and hay should be mixed together and scattered over it. this should be left for a few days. whenever vermiwash is needed, water should be sprinkled with a shower or, gradually poured on top of it ( litres of water for a litres drum). the water will pass through the earthworm burrows and the organically rich soil will become liquid manure and can be collected at the bottom of the container. as the hay and cowdung is eaten up by the earthworms, this should gradually be replaced. conclusion in nature, litter is decomposed in a way similar to what happens in a vermicompost pit. litter (consisting of leaf material, twigs, bark, dead wood, flowers, fruits and other plant and animal material) that falls on the ground is constantly moistened by dew or rain. decomposition then sets in with the help of microbes, fungi and microarthropods. microarthropods are of two kinds-the detritivores that feed on the litter attacked by the microbes and fungi and the predators that feed on the detritivores. the litter that has not been decomposed, dead microbes and microarthropods, along with their excretions and secretions, mix and form humus. this humus is in a complex form and therefore not available to the plants for use. here is where earthworms come into the picture. the earthworms present in the soil feed on the humus. the castings (wormicasts) excreted by these earthworms, as a result, contain nutrients in a form that is readily available to the plants for their growth. the plants in turn, when they die or shed leaves, contribute to the litter which becomes food for microbes and fungi. thus nature's cycle is made whole and complete. earthworms have proven that they are wonderful creatures for they can truly turn garbage into gold. chapter : spiders my stint with vermiculture over, i had another fortnight of study with dr k. vijayalakshmi, whom my dad calls india's `spider woman'. dr vijayalakshmi has been doing research on rearing spiders as a biological weapon for controlling cockroaches and her workplace is full of spiders of various types, all in bottles, and bred under her supervision. an authority on spiders, she is also the author of a well-known book on the subject. actually i had been anxiously waiting for a phone call from my parents saying that the decks were cleared for my crocodile bank visit. instead dad had phoned to say that the final arrangements for my stay at croc bank were still being finalised and that i could use the days or so in between to learn what i could from dr vijayalakshmi about spiders, and the unusual use she intends to put them to. i had readily agreed. dr k. vijayalakshmi and her husband both work in an organisation called the centre for indian knowledge systems (ciks). ciks is housed in a one storey building and dr vijayalakshmi's office is on the first floor. here she studies various plants that are useful as pesticides and so on. but i was not at all concerned with that aspect of her work. in the garage of the building was the spider room-a laboratory of sorts filled with bottles of different spiders in various stages of growth. there must have been over transparent plastic bottles at the time i was there, each one neatly labelled, and all sitting one next to the other with spiders in them. for air, each bottle had tiny pinholes in its lid. feeding was done through another small hole in the lid: this hole was plugged with cotton. all these spiders and their activities including growth, moulting, mating and hatching of babies were monitored by dr vijayalakshmi. she had an assistant called selvan and he followed her instructions, keeping the records and making the notings in a log book. during the fortnight that i worked with dr vijayalakshmi, i simply slipped into this set-up, reading books about spiders that dr vijayalakshmi gave me, then learning to identify different spiders and simultaneously helping selvan in all the tasks that were needed to maintain the huge spider population housed in the garage. the spiders that dr vijayalakshmi deals with are called giant crab spiders. these spiders do not build webs. they feed only on cockroaches. the spiders were a little smaller than their prey i.e. the cockroaches. i used to separate the babies, feed them, check the moultings and catch flies for feeding them. i read a lot of books here and sometimes caught the spiders in the garden in order to identify and study them. spiders were not the only creatures housed in the garage. there were also cockroaches bred in buckets with rolled cardboard in the centre and broken biscuit pieces thrown in the bucket. the cockroaches were fed once a week or so to the giant crab spiders. the smaller spiders used to get flies to eat and these were caught by us everyday from the garden. the flies have to be fed alive to the spiders, so we used transparent plastic bottles to trap the flies and once caught we would carefully put them into the spider's bottle. sometimes the spider would immediately catch the prey and eat it; at other times the fly would buzz around in the bottle for days till the spider was ready to eat it. dr vijayalakshmi also bred a particular species of fly in a small cage with fine mesh with a small saucer of milk in the centre as a medium for breeding. baby spiders were also housed individually in bottles and these were fed fly larvae or the larvae which come when maida or rava begins to lose its freshness. the purpose of all these experiments was to find out which types of spiders were useful for using as pest control agents to deal with cockroaches. information about spiders such as their growth, hardiness, their eating habits, reproduction etc. are important indicators of the species of spiders that can be kept in houses as predators for cockroaches. other than the spider work i tried to learn tamil from selvan but he was keen to learn english from me and so both of us failed in learning a new language and ended up speaking a cocktail of tamenglish instead. extracts from diary: spiders th november: uncle mano and i left for dr vijayalakshmi's office this morning at a.m. while uncle mano and madam chatted, i read some books. madam then showed us her spider collection. she also introduced me to selvan. before we left she gave me some books to take home to read. th november: watched how selvan separated baby spiders from their mother, placing each baby in a separate container. there were about babies. then we fed about older spider babies. selvan showed me how to check their moulting. th november: today i did feeding of the spider babies on my own. then transferred adults from one container to another and then fed them. th november: today did only feeding of spider babies. madam did not come to the office as she was ill but her husband dr balasubramanian came to check on us instead. read some books on spiders in the afternoon. left early for home as uncle mano and aunty sagu were going away for a few days and i would be staying at their relative santosh kumar's place instead. they left at . p.m. and i waited at their neighbour's place for santosh to collect me which he did at p.m. th november: being sunday i got up late and ate idlis, dosas and sambar for breakfast. wrote out my diary for the past days and watched some tv. in the evening santosh took me to the bus stand and explained the route i would have to take next morning to ciks. st december: madam came to the office today and showed me how to collect spiders which were in the compound of the office. she also gave me some more material to read on spiders and told me to start preparing my essay on spiders. after doing a little bit of feeding as usual, i went out on my own and collected few species of spiders. then madam helped me identify them and also some other species of spiders that they had caught. spent the afternoon catching flies to feed to some of the older spiders. nd december: today i only did identifying of different species of spiders. i took some material home to read and so i left early; was so busy looking at the books i was carrying, i didn't notice the terminus where i was to get off and got over carried much further. had to walk nearly half an hour back. asked people for directions and finally reached the terminus. rd december: did not feel well today so i didn't go to ciks. read the books i had brought at home. started preparing my written report. th december: today did feeding of spiders as usual. then caught about flies and fed them to the adult spiders. put spiders to mate and made my observations. continued writing my report in the evening. th december: went to new college to collect my vermiculture report. th december: did feeding of baby spiders first. then caught flies. a female spider's eggs had just hatched so selvan and i did the separation of the babies into individual containers. th december: did writing of my report first today. then i gave it to madam to correct. after she finished with it, i started writing it in fair. i finished writing the report before evening and left it with madam for final approval. th december: went to ciks late as i had a bad stomach. i was given my final report signed and madam also gave me a certificate. i left slightly early in the evening as i was still feeling unwell and was scheduled to leave for the croc bank the next day. field work notes: spiders these days most of us use baygon or some other synthetic poison to control cockroaches and other pests. but what does this do? it only makes cockroaches or pests immune or resistant to such poisons. moreover, synthetic chemicals are very harmful and pollute the environment. how nice it would be if we had a biological method of controlling of pests. but that's just what spiders are! a spider is not an insect. insects are made up of a head, thorax and an abdomen. they have compound eyes and are six-legged. they usually grow wings in certain stages of their life and possess feelers or antennae. insects produce eggs which hatch into young that are completely different from their parents. the young ones usually grow through metamorphosis. a spider on the other hand is an arthropod, made up of a cepolothorax joined to an abdomen. it does not grow wings at any stage of its life. it is eight-legged, and in place of the normal insect antennae it has pedipalps. a spider generally has eight simple eyes or it could have six eyes e.g. a spitting spider. depending on the species the eyesight may be well or poorly developed. some species, such as the cave spiders, are totally blind. depending on the species a spider's life span ranges from a couple of months to more than a decade (e.g. mygalomorphs). almost all spiders have their first pair of appendages later modified into fangs with venom glands. but only a few have fangs that are large and strong enough to pierce human skin. out of these, most cannot do any serious damage to human beings except for about four to five species which can be lethal. the black widow spider, for example, which is found in south america is the most poisonous of all spiders. the female of the species, whose poison is strong enough to kill a human being, often kills and eats the male after mating and is thus aptly named the black widow. this spider is shiny black in colour with a red hour glass mark on the ventricle side of the abdomen. fortunately, there are no spiders in india which can seriously harm human beings. there are about , species of spiders in the world. they have been found upto a height of , feet up mount everest as well as underwater. almost all spiders are carnivorous. they can eat insects, small birds, mammals and reptiles, including poisonous snakes and other spiders, which they first subdue with their poison. they inject their prey with a highly lethal venom and, having no teeth, suck out the liquid from inside their prey. large spiders with longer and powerful jaws may eat part of or even the whole of their prey. spiders can live without food from a few weeks upto three months, depending on species, size, and age. they obtain liquid from their food and thus do not need water. many spiders spin webs to capture their prey. however spiders also have other means of capturing their prey. some spiders spit a sticky web onto their prey. others live in burrows with trapdoors. whenever they feel hungry they come out and catch an unsuspecting insect. one species attaches a sticky drop to one end of its silken thread and holds it with its first three pairs of legs. when an insect passes by, the spider waves the thread at the insect and ropes it in, as it were. some spiders sit on flowers and catch insects that come to collect nectar. others spin a small web, hold it with their first few pairs of appendages and then throw it on insects passing below them. still others feed on other spiders only and are called pirate spiders. a few spiders live on the webs of other spiders: they are too small to be eaten by their host. they eat the small prey that get caught in the web, thus keeping it tidy. spiders also have amazing defence mechanisms. some spiders camouflage themselves as a bird dropping. others, as a dried yellow or black rotting leaf or twig. and yet others resemble ants which are often rejected by birds, reptiles and other insects. some are even able to change colour and shape, to some extent, to match their surroundings. some species build zigzag white coloured threads in their webs which are visible to birds who avoid flying through the webs and damaging them. the male spider is smaller than the female, and is thus liable to be eaten by his mate. so, the male uses many tactics to prevent his being devoured by his mate. in some cases the male drums or pulls at the strings of the web in a special code to announce that he is not a prey or an enemy, but a sexual object. some spiders offer their mate a gift such as a juicy fly, wrapped in silk. but it may well be taken back after mating and offered to another female. sometimes a male may even offer the female the empty husk of an insect. sometimes the male loosely binds the female with silk to immobilize her before mating. some species of male spiders may patiently wait near the web of a female spider for weeks until she has caught a prey, and then mate with her while she is busy feeding on the prey. sometimes, the male is so small compared to the female that the female is practically unaware of him while mating and this gives him protection. most spiders are solitary in nature. each one builds its own separate web. if one spider falls by mistake into another web, the bigger spider will eat the smaller spider. however, there are some spiders called social spiders that live together in one web. sometimes there may be hundreds or even thousands of adults and young ones living in one web. even if a single prey is caught (such as a small fly), all the spiders will share the meal. spiders multiply very rapidly. after mating, an egg sac is constructed and the internally fertilized eggs laid inside the egg sac which is carried by the female with her palps and fangs. fertilization of eggs may be internal or external depending on the species. within to days, % of the eggs hatch. (the eggs hatch into young spiderlings. the new born spiders are similar to their parents, only smaller. the spiderlings moult to mature.) after a gap of one week to ten days the next batch of eggs is laid in a fresh egg sac, and fertilised with the help of stored sperm. the female can do this three to four times without mating with another male, although she will readily mate with a male after the laying of every batch of eggs. spiders have proven themselves to be one of the best biocontrollers of insect pests. very few of us realize that spiders were, are and will be laying traps for insects even after man has finally disappeared from the earth. how to rear spiders spiders have cannibalistic tendencies, i.e. if two or more are kept in one container, they will prey on each other. hence from birth, they must be separated into individual containers. transparent plastic containers (size depending on the individual species) can be used to rear spiders. a few pin-sized holes should be made in the lid of the container as aeration holes. one big hole should be made for dropping prey inside. it should be blocked with a piece of cotton. baby spiders will eat culture foods such as thrypolium, drosophilia, fruit fly and house fly larvae. as they grow, they will eat house flies and later on cockroaches. cleaning the prey remains and moults is a must. two containers should be used. every week the used one should be washed with soap and water, and allowed to dry in the sun. the legs of the stands on which the spider containers are kept should be placed in bowls of water or oil to avoid ants. the adults should be fed well before allowing them to mate. spiders will tolerate moderate room temperature. culturing food . milk powder and a medium sized piece of cotton, mixed with water. every day, a teaspoon of milk powder should be added. . drosophilia larvae culturing: quarter cup of wheat flour and two medium sized pieces of jaggery should be boiled in two cups of water. housefly and drosophilia can be reared in a wooden or metal framed box, covered with a fine mesh or netting. the above mixture should be put into small bowls and introduced into the cage. adult houseflies and drosophilia should be captured and put inside the cage and left there to lay their eggs. . thrypodium larvae: adults are found in rava and maida. a special bucket should be kept with an aeration hole and the maida or rava in the bucket, sprinkled with a little bit of water every day. a strainer can be used to strain out the larvae wherever necessary. . cockroaches: need a bucket with many big aeration holes, covered with a fine mesh. a few rolls of paper can be placed vertically inside the box for the cockroaches to climb on. chapter : crocodile dundee december was the most eagerly awaited month of my one year sabbatical. all decks had finally been cleared for my long awaited trip to the crocodile bank at mamallapuram. nearly three months earlier my dad had written to romulus whitaker the legendary snakeman who now runs the croc bank asking whether i could spend some time there. there had been no reply largely because rom travels quite a bit but also because, as i discovered, writing replies to letters is about the last thing these animal-dedicated persons have time for. i was in fact beginning to feel quite frustrated thinking that my trip would not work out when srilata swaminadhan (with whom we stayed in jaipur) told my father that her sister lived at mamallapuram and would help out. phone calls back and forth and finally it was all organised. i was overjoyed when my dad's phone call came to uncle mano's house saying i could go. babu, uncle mano's nephew, reached me by bus to the croc bank on the th of december and i spent one glorious month there, the nearest i got to living in the wild. although i was supposed to return home for christmas i begged to be let off and was in the seventh heaven when my parents agreed. in fact i enjoyed my stay so much, that in march, i returned to the croc bank again (for a brief while), as that was the breeding season for crocodiles. the croc bank is situated at mamallapuram which is about kms from chennai. it is a huge place with a beach just behind it. croc bank is home to thousands of crocodiles, all of them housed in pits of varying sizes with sloping walls to enable water to collect at the centre so that the crocs can sunbathe on the upper part of the slopes. some of the huge crocodiles have individual pits but usually the species is kept separately, male and female further separated from each other. a large enclosure divided into several sections houses the baby crocs. in addition to crocodiles, snakes also have a significant position at croc bank for snakes were director romulus whitaker's first love, and he is still known as the snakeman, having founded madras snake park several years ago. there is, in fact, a big snake pit at the croc bank, in which various kinds of snakes are kept. here, snake venom is extracted from the snakes by the irulas. there is a separate fee for visitors for entering the snake area. while the poisonous snakes are kept in pots in a snake room, the king cobras, of course, have special separate rooms. croc bank also has enclosures and pits for various kinds of turtles and large aquariums with fish in them. at one end of the campus is the library, well stocked with books and magazines on all these creatures. adjacent to it are the residential quarters of researchers and guests (there were mainly foreigners at the time i was there) who come to stay at croc bank from time to time. the residential quarters are quite simple but comfortable. each room has a bed, desk and table, and an attached bath and toilet. i occupied one of these rooms during my stay here. the irula families live in a separate area close to where the snake pits are located. the permanent staff which includes the director, deputy directory and others have their own individual houses located in various places within the croc bank. during my stay i became good friends with many of the people at the croc bank including the six foot tall director, romulus whitaker, whom everyone calls rom; his wife, zai whitaker; their sons samir and nikhil; harry andrews, the deputy director who hails from kerala; romaine, his wife and their son tharak, gerry the snake-catcher from bangalore and many others. my stay at croc bank was exciting throughout and i learnt a lot. for the first few days, i was given my first assignment i.e., treating a -foot long turtle with infected skin. i used to apply ointment to its feet and then put on some bandage. the next day, before repeating the treatment, i had to feed the turtle with cabbage in water. from turtles, i moved to big lizards i.e. monitor lizards and green iguanas. the green iguana i handled was quite big-about the size of an average dachshund. his tail measured two to three times the length of his body if not more. from head to tail, he must have been about two and a half metres long. but he had been in captivity for so long that he was very friendly, though he had sharp claws and a spiny back and head. sometimes, when i used to guide special guests around, i would take him out so that they could have a feel of his sandpapery skin. i was surprised when harry, the deputy director, told me the iguana was as old as i was. sometimes, i also handled monitor lizards. they were very strong, had sharp claws and a very bad bite. every time i jumped into the pit to handle them they would rush into the water. i soon learned to be quick enough, and would get them before they could reach the water. once they were cornered they would whip their tails about and inflate their necks, hissing dangerously. of course, you had a few of them running up trees and then you couldn't do anything about it. i soon discovered that though it looked scarier, it was easier to catch them in the water. the croc bank is filled with pits. each of these pits is an enclosure varying in size, depending on the size and type of reptile, and the number of them in it. every pit has a pond of sorts filled with water for the reptiles to swim in or to drink. most of the crocodile pits were bare, but the monitor lizard pits were usually filled with trees which they could climb to the highest branches. the branch ends were kept within the range of the pits so that the monitor lizards did not get out by trying to climb other trees or jumping out from the high branches. the ponds of the monitor lizards were almost waist deep with dark murky water and you had to feel around until you touched the head, leg or body of the monitor (they are less likely to bite in water). then i would feel around till i got the tail, slowly lift it to the surface and grab the neck under the water. their necks were so huge that i could hardly get my fingers round them. on land, catching them by grabbing the tail was much faster, but one had to avoid the biting head by quickly grabbing the neck. once, when the croc bank staff wanted to get some monitors down from the trees, they just took a long stick and pushed them over from the height of almost a two storey building. they fell on the ground but suffered no damage and just continued running around. i recall the day gerry challenged nikhil "the bodybuilder" to pull a monitor lizard that was half out of a burrow. at first he thought the monitor's tail would break but though he tugged with all his might his rippling muscles couldn't move an inch of the monitor. in the mornings, i helped the workers clean the croc pits, a task which i thoroughly enjoyed. we would jump into the pits with big sticks and chase all the crocs into the water. then we would clean out the croc shit and the left overs of their food which included a lot of bones. this exercise was usually done with a male worker first chasing the crocs into the water. then the remaining to women would help with brooms, baskets and spades. occasionally, we would have a crocodile wanting us to get out of his pit instead. no matter how hard you hit him on his nose he would chase you around until he would finally give in, so to speak, and dash into the water with a big splash or sometimes, glide gracefully to where he could join his friends who sometimes numbered a thousand! (the croc bank had around seven thousand crocs at the time i was there.) i also had occasion to participate a few times in the operations involved in shifting crocodiles from one location to another. that was quite an adventure in itself! one day rom and harry decided to shift the largest male gharial in the croc bank from one pit to another as it had broken its upper jaw in a fight with another male during the previous breeding season. normally you try to catch a croc by throwing a sort of a small anchor in and when the croc latches on to it you try and pull it out. once it is out, about - people quickly jump and sit on it. (that's the only way to prevent a croc from getting back into water!). with its mouth bound by rubber bands, the croc is then rolled onto a ladder, bound to it, lifted and carried to the pit that it has to be transferred to. an average adult croc is about kg and about two to three metres long. it takes - people to carry it. once it is released in the pool the ropes and rubber bands are removed and the last unfortunate or brave man, depending on how you look at it, makes a run for his life over the edge of the pond onto the safety of dry land. as we were transferring the male gharial into a female mugger pit, harry jokingly yelled: "what do you think we will get-a ghammer?" of course crocs only mate with others of their own species and there is no way a gharial and mugger will get together. we were in fact transferring the male here in order to give it a period of rest and recovery from fighting with other males. another time the exercise was because `jaws iii' needed female company. jaws iii is the biggest captive salt water crocodile in india. he is about feet and ranks may be, rd or th in the world in terms of his length. therefore, after part ii of `the great white man-eating shark' was produced, called jaws ii, the croc bank rightly decided to name its crocodile `jaws iii'. jaws iii was a loner and would kill anything including other crocs which fell into his pit. so he lived a lonely, if majestic life. whenever we jumped into his pit to clean it he would come charging at us even if he was in the water. he seemed to give us more exercise than all of us put together gave him. anyway, the croc bank, after ten years, finally felt it was time to find a him bride. since he had on more than one occasion bashed his head against a wall sensing a female in the opposite pit, we knew he was ready! the first female we caught was about to be thrown into his pit when i asked to examine her. (i had just learnt how to sex them). i began to feel inside the crocodile and felt a hemipenis! "it's a male," i shouted. "can't be," said gerry, "let me check." after a few seconds there was a reassuring nod from gerry: "yes, rom, it's a male!" "rahul, champion sexer," cried gerry. one cannot tell if crocs are male or female by their outward appearance. so, at the croc bank, after crocs grow to a certain length they are sexed and markings are made on their scales. but workers can sometimes make mistakes while sexing small crocs. that's perhaps how the error occurred with the first bride we got for jaws. i can't imagine the plight of the poor chap had he been put in the pit with jaws. he would have been turned into minced meat in minutes. after that episode we physically examined every supposed female we caught to be doubly sure of not making any error and found that most of the supposed females turned out to be males! by then, most of the crocs had run into the deepest part of the pond and we had hardly any crocs to choose a female from. rom suggested chasing the females out of the water onto the land, but that's not easy at all. so he came up with another idea. we got some iron gates and tied them together with a thick mesh net over it all. then we had to wade into the green water with the net in front of us. this would effectively push the crocs from the deep water onto the land. but the best of plans can go haywire and, instead, the reverse started happening. the crocs from the land started coming into the water colliding with those being driven out by us. thereafter there was general commotion in the water and all the crocs started thrashing about. one almost got my neighbour's hand. i could feel the crocs at my feet through the iron mesh that i held grimly onto. however we finally accomplished our dangerous mission and when we had driven a sufficient numbers onto the land we were able to select a female for jaws. imagine jaws' surprise when he saw a companion after all those years. she was exactly half his size in length and width. perhaps he was just very excited or maybe it was due to a normal state of male aggression, we don't know, because he just caught the hapless female croc between his huge jaws and thrashed her about. "croc barbecue is delicious", said tharak expecting the poor creature to perish any moment. fortunately or unfortunately, his wish was not fulfilled. the female survived although with quite a few bloody marks. thereafter she kept her distance from the water as any sane creature would, avoiding jaws like the plague. much later, when i visited croc bank a second time, it was the breeding season and there were a few nests to be excavated everyday. each nest would occupy about the space of a medium size basket. each egg was at least three times the size of a hen's egg and they usually numbered around to . every female-and each one of these measured from about m to . m-would determinedly guard her nest, refusing to budge when we tried to chase her into the water in order to clean the pit. there is now a problem of excess population of the mugger crocodiles at the croc bank partly because they breed twice as much at the croc bank compared to in the wild and also due to their high survival rate. in the wild, at the most, one or two survive out of the - eggs as many are lost to predators, etc., but here due to artificial incubation, special enclosures, etc., a large number tend to survive. therefore the croc bank has stopped all breeding of this species which meant that we had a surfeit of eggs for breakfast! we used to scramble the salty eggs and finish them off with sauce, although a larger number used to be sent raw for the monitor lizards' breakfast. i sometimes went snake hunting with the irulas. the irulas are tribals that are expert at snake catching. they formerly caught snakes for the snake skin industry. after the ban, they went out of business and found it difficult to make a living because they did not own land and did not know how to cultivate fields or do any trade at all. after the croc bank opened they were back in the business they excelled in, but this time it was to save people and snakes with snake venom extraction. carrying only a crowbar and a few cloth bags, they would set out, overturning every bush and digging any hole that showed signs of a snake in it. their crowbar had three uses, namely: ( ) to shine light into the burrow; ( ) to dig the hole and ( ) to handle the snake. during my outings with the dark, short, curly haired snake hunters, we caught striped keelbacks, ratsnakes and also black scorpions. apart from snakes the irulas also caught rats. these rats, which destroy crops and fields, build their burrows within the bunds. after catching the rats, the irulas would take away the rice which the rats had stowed away and cook it to eat with the field rat meat. these outings were long, hot and tiring but i found them nonetheless enjoyable. the irulas also taught me a lot about snake handling. i learnt to handle the four poisonous snakes of india (the "big four", i.e. cobras, common kraits, russel's vipers, saw-scaled vipers) and also pit vipers and pythons. snakes were kept in mud pots that were placed in the snake room (no different from an ordinary bedroom). outside, a board merely announced: `danger: snakes loose'. this was done to discourage intruders. but really speaking, snakes were let loose only under supervision. there was a small canal of water outside to prevent ants from entering the room. (you may not believe it but ants can reduce a snake to a skeleton.) next, there was a little space outside the room and about to metres after, a smooth wall, about a metre high. i used to remove the snakes from their pots, put them to drink water in the canal and then clean the pots. during this exercise i would take the opportunity to improve my skills at handling the snakes. basically one has to hold the tail with one hand and control the snake using the snake hook (a long stick with an iron hook at the end) with the other. bites! that's practically the first question anyone asks me when i talk of my croc bank vacation. did i get bitten? yes, several times, mostly by accident. but sometimes i allowed myself to be bitten just for the heck of it. i recall once when a ratsnake gave me a bite on the nose. i tried to prevent rom seeing it but he found out soon enough by the blood on my shirt. a bite from a ratsnake is not painful but it bleeds like a leaking tap. "don't worry, rahul," rom said cheerfully, "the venom will not take effect for another half an hour." (ratsnakes are non-poisonous.) another time i was getting a picture taken of myself with a baby crocodile when it turned round and bit me. that was quite bad! imagine a sawing machine running over your hand. but i was cool, and happy that i had been bitten by a crocodile! then i was dumb enough to try the bite of a wall lizard that gerry had caught to feed to his pit vipers. the scar, still on my hand, reminds me also of the chequered keelback bite i got in pune (the one which got so bad that i couldn't wear my watch for a few days). and on the last day of my stay at croc bank the red-eared turtle which i was taking away as my gift and souvenir from croc bank bit me so bad that i could see my flesh and i could barely use my hand for a few days. now when i look back i think i was collecting bites in much the same way that some people collect trophies. although this may appear quite a foolish thing to do and perhaps it was too (some of the bites were quite painful), one good thing did come out of all those bites. i have no paranoid fear of such bites any longer. i am very careful when i handle reptiles and take all the precautions that i have been taught but i know that i would not be terror stricken should i get bitten and would know what remedial steps to take. apart from my practical studies, there was a huge library at the croc bank where i would browse through several books on crocs, snakes, monitors, turtles, the works. it was always with great pleasure that i would search for information about something that i had learnt or seen that day. and the best part is that although i didn't have to memorize the facts for any examination, nothing of what i read has gone out of my head. and then, there was always time for fun. sometimes i would go to harry's house where tharaq and i played music or recorded songs. other times, i would watch a movie at rom's. there was time for barbecues of field rats, froglegs, frankfurters, parrot fish, chicken and beef, rounded off with chocolate cake. the beach at the back was for swimming during the day and catching crabs during the night. one of the interesting happenings at the time that i was there was the arrival of a film team from the magazine national geographic to film the king cobras at the bank. i became one of the many hands-on they had for the job: i would assist in various ways like holding the flash, helping with the setting up of shots, catching and re-catching the frogs as they scampered off during the numerous retakes. one lazy afternoon tharaq suggested a haircut for me. my hair was by then really long. in fact i had not put a scissor to it since the beginning of my sabbatical. so now it stood nearly at shoulder length. he told me he had one and a half months' experience in hair cutting. i was thus persuaded to take up his offer of a "free" haircut in the "latest style". i explained in great detail to tharaq how i wanted it cut and he nodded attentively making a few suggestions here and there. then he started to work with the scissors, cutting and shaving here and there. when he announced that he had finished he produced a mirror and i looked into the face of an unrecognisable rahul with a hairstyle of triangles sitting amidst shaved parts and a long strand of hair in the front. i looked crazier than any rock star! it was only then that i learnt that tharaq did not know the abc of haircutting, much less hairstyling and that he had just had a great time experimenting on my head. anyway i decided that now was a good time to try out the "bald look" and so i got to a proper barber and had my hair shaved off completely. it was truly liberating. i took several pictures of myself at this time with the reptiles at the croc bank to remember my days here and also to record for posterity my new look. i felt truly sorry when it was time for me to leave croc bank. i promised everyone that i'd be back soon. i carried a souvenir with me-a red-eared turtle (which i still have) and some turtle eggs. i travelled through the night on a bus to bangalore. at my foot was the turtle in a box and i had left a small opening for her to breathe. suddenly i noticed that the turtle was out and was already making for the door of the bus. i quickly caught her and put her back without any of the sleeping passengers noticing it except for a dear old lady who smiled and said, "dropped your water bottle, son?" field work notes: crocodiles living millions of years before man, but today facing extinction...with many myths about them and very little known about their nature. many are considered dangerous. none are considered useful. who are these creatures? they are called crocodiles, alligators and lizards. there are species of crocodiles and alligators in the world. three species of crocodiles are found in india, namely: ) the gharials-which are fish-eating crocodiles; ) the muggers; and ) the salt-water crocodiles. the biggest and the most dangerous of all crocodiles in the world is the salt water crocodile, which can grow upto feet. it is the only crocodile that can live in the sea for a long time. the nile crocodile of africa is yet another deadly species. fossils of three other extinct species of crocodiles have also been found in india. these cold blooded animals have evolved with dinosaurs millions of years ago and are more closely related to birds than to snakes or reptiles. being cold blooded they control their body temperature by seeking shady, sunny spots or different levels in water. they often bask with their jaws open, which probably helps them to keep cool. their eyes, nose and ears are positioned in a straight line along with head and snout. they have good eyesight and a good sense of smell, and can hear very well. their tail is very strong and helps them in swimming. they have a very low metabolic rate and thus need to hunt only every few days. they can decrease their metabolic rate and stay under water for a long time. alligators have been known to stay under water for upto hours. they do not make any unnecessary movements but can move very fast even on land when necessary. small salties can gallop at a speed of kph for short distances. crocodiles are found in large and small rivers, lakes, mangroves, and in brackish and fresh water. when a baby crocodile hatches, it is just about three quarters of a foot ( - cms) in length. in a few years it matures into an adult. maturity depends upon size rather than on age. generally males mature slower than females. in the wild, a female will take between - years to mature whereas males will take - years. gharials take longer to mature; about - years for the female and years for the male. in captivity, such as in the madras crocodile bank, females mature in four years and males in five. the average size for maturity for a mugger is-male ( metres) and female ( . metres). males of gharials and salties mature at three and a half metres and females at three metres. mugger crocodiles breed in between february and april. salties breed in april and gharials between the last week of march to the second week of april. breeding depends on environmental conditions. in the breeding season males often fight for the right to court with several females. during courtship each pair may blow bubbles, rub noses, raise their snout and periodically submerge and re-emerge. different species show different courtship displays. gharials, for example, often court each other by making a loud buzzing sound. mating occurs under water with the male mounted on top of the female. the average gestation period is between - days. the gestation for a mugger is - days and for gharials and salties, - days. the temperature at which eggs are incubated and the moisture content of the environment (humidity) influence the sex within the embryo. crocodiles will either dig a hole about cms deep or pile up leaves to incubate their eggs. they sometime splash water on the nest to control the temperature. in mugger crocs, females are exclusively produced at constant temperature of ¡c through ¡c. at . ¡c only males are produced. both sexes in varying proportion are produced at . to ¡c. the female guards the nest. at the time of hatching the young start croaking so the mother (sometimes even the father) digs open the nest. then she cracks some of the eggs with her teeth to set free the young and carries them to the water in her mouth. the adult crocodiles continue to guard the young until they are about - months old. crocodiles have many uses in nature's ecosystem. they help keep the environment clean by eating the carcasses that would otherwise rot. they capture the diseased, wounded and weaker prey thus letting only the strongest survive and thus maintaining a healthy population and keeping up the genetic quality of their prey species. in the dry season, wallows and tunnels dug by crocs provide essential water for other animals, turtles and fish. many animals depend upon crocs for food for e.g. the sacred ibis and monitor lizard will eat the eggs of the nile crocodile. crocs are also exceptionally resistant to disease and thus may be of great use in medical research. chapter : learning to teach january brought fresh experience for me and it happened entirely because of hartman de souza. i was to return to goa via bangalore and since our good friends, hartman and ujwala, live in bangalore and had expressed willingness to accommodate me, should i need a place to stay for a while during my sabbatical, my parents suggested that i spend a few days there before returning home. i was to stay at their place, sight-see bangalore if i liked and inform my parents as soon as i was ready to return. this then was the general plan. i reached bangalore at . p.m. on the th of january. bing (that's how we all call hartman) was at the bus-stand to pick me up, with his car. we drove to his house, me chatting away in reply to all his questions. at home there was ujwala and their kids, zuri and her younger brother, zaeer. also living with them at the time was mrs kalai who was bing's colleague at the india foundation for the arts. after settling down to a good meal and generally relaxing, bing told me that he had in mind a few people and institutions connected with my interest i.e., wildlife and that i should use my time in bangalore to meet them. i agreed to his suggestion, little realizing that the people he suggested i meet would make their own suggestions about other people i should meet and when i would report this information to bing, he would insist that i go and meet them as well. so i spent quite a few days meeting, or writing to, various persons connected with wildlife in bangalore. bing is quite a hard taskmaster and he would not let me off easily; if the people were not in station at that time or, if the names suggested were not from bangalore, i had to write to them instead. i wrote numerous letters as a result. the general purpose of this activity was that i should get an idea of what options were there for me if i decided to pursue a career in wildlife eventually. bing also suggested that i should try to find out how and why these people decided to take to environment and wildlife studies, whether they were happy in their choices and so on. bing made several copies of an introductory cum reference letter for me which i was to give to the people i was to meet. the letter, which was signed by him, stated that i had taken a one year sabbatical to explore wildlife which i had done for the past eight months and that i would like to have a small interview with the person concerned. i also prepared small questionnaires to help me in the interviews. bing would most often phone the person in advance and make the appointment for me. sometimes he even reached me to the place; at other times i went in a rickshaw. the first person i met was mr t. parameswarappa, retd. principal chief conservator of forests. i reached mr parameswarappa's house at . a.m. i had an appointment with him at . p.m. however mr parameswarappa was out and did not arrive home until . p.m. so i sat and looked at a couple of books in his office. soon after he returned we began to talk, first about my sabbatical and then about what i wanted to do in the future. he told me that after graduation, one must answer a competitive examination held by the union public service commission. the students who are selected are trained and then posted to a forest. at the university of agricultural sciences at dharwad or hebbal, a four year course on forestry can be done after completing pre-university. at the wildlife research institute short courses may be available, he said, but after graduation long courses are definitely available. i asked him some questions and i relate briefly the interview i had with him: rahul: is it possible to have a ranger give you a private guided tour within the banargatta wildlife sanctuary? parmeswarappa: i'm afraid not. there are only routine safaris for visitors. but if you like you can meet mr venkatesh, deputy conservator of forests and give him my reference. r: what is the condition of the sanctuary? p: it is a government initiative and as you can expect, there are good and bad points to all such activities. r: are there any unusual career courses offered in wildlife? p: in india there are no privately run sanctuaries or zoos. therefore any career in wildlife or forestry must be through the government. this makes it almost impossible to have any rare or unusual career courses. r: what are the duties of the staff at the banargatta park? p: their only duty is to see to the well-being of the animals i.e. feed them and keep their surroundings clean. they do not study or do research on the animals. r: how did you acquire this post of principal chief conservator of forests? what was your background? p: like you, i had to study. i answered an examination and got a job as a forest officer. later i went to the us for two years and on my return i was appointed as chief conservator of forests. r: is it possible to set up a snake park for doing snake venom extraction? p: of course it is possible. but one must apply for a licence/permission for keeping wild snakes in captivity. pune snake park will know the procedure and if you write to them they will give you all the details. mr parameswarappa proved to be a very friendly and helpful person. before i left i showed him copies of the letters which i had already sent to the indira gandhi research institute and to the indian wildlife research institute at dehradun. my second appointment was with mr arun kotankar, one of the main persons running an organisation called samvad which has a programme called smile (student mobilisation initiative for learning) in bangalore. i reached the office at . a.m. although my appointment was at o'clock. i showed him my reference letter and in a little while he sat to talk with me. mr kotankar told me about the smile programmes in bangalore. on saturday afternoons they have an informal open house at samvad. they watch a film, have a debate or just talk on a specific topic of interest to students, like tourism, dowry, child abuse, fisherfolk's struggles or topics like marriage, love, education or parents. students also visit organisations working with dalits, tribals, women, street children, fisherpeople, etc. one can also learn environmental conservation. if the students cannot go to far off places and have to stay back during vacations, they are advised to take up campaigns or undertake studies on local problems like child labour, environmental degradation, construction workers' rights, etc. shodhane which means `search' is a newsletter brought out by students who have been to these exposure camps and they write about their experiences during the exposure or generally about other social concerns. one can contribute articles, poems, cartoons or stories in kannada and english. i was quite interested to hear all that mr kotankar had to say about this organisation. later, i went straight to st. joseph's college where according to the information bing had, there were various environmental courses being conducted for college students. i met one of the clerks in the college office who gave me the information i requested and also a pamphlet listing the different courses one could take after graduation. two days later i went to meet dr harish gaonkar at his house, at a.m. both he and his wife (who is german) were very friendly and i spent a lot of time talking with mr gaonkar who is a specialist on butterflies. i learnt from him that butterflies are insects that are more closely related to plants than to insects. from the number of species of butterflies in an area, a butterfly collector can also find out the number of species of plants in that area. this is because each species of butterfly will use only a certain plant/plants species. for example, in goa, there are about species of butterflies, that means that there are about to , plant species in goa. this information would be much more difficult for a pure botanist to give. thus butterflies are an ideal medium for a botanist who wishes to have an idea of the plant species in the locality. eggs are laid by the mother butterflies in distinct places on leaves to avoid predators from feeding upon them. they hatch within two to three days. the larvae will moult many times (on an average five) to become a pupa. during the pupa stage, it does not feed and after a few days it emerges as a butterfly. it waits for about minutes to dry its wings in the sun and then flutters away. the whole process to become an adult may take a period of five weeks to two months. then the butterfly will live for about weeks, and within the first few days, will lay only one batch of eggs. moths are the ones that spin silk. no butterfly spins silk. there are about , species of moths in the world-much more than butterflies. some butterflies and moths are poisonous e.g. the crimson rose, even found in goa. it is a butterfly with wings and a red body. it also has red dots on its wings and black dots on its body. the smallest butterflies are about a few centimetres in size and one of the biggest butterflies is about the size of two palms put together. at the end of the meeting dr gaonkar showed me some books on butterflies and some papers written by him on the subject. at around . p.m. i took leave of him and left for mes college where i had an appointment with dr leela for the same afternoon. there i saw preserved dolphin tails and specimens of hammer-headed sharks. my stay in bangalore also became very special because of the times of india programme that bing managed to arrange for me. the times of india in bangalore has a special section called "newspaper in education". one of the programmes of nie is to have workshops in schools on varied topics. on the th of january, i went to the times office on m.g. road and after talking with the person in charge for sometime about what i had been doing during the past year i was asked whether i would take a few workshops in some schools over the next couple of days. although i was not too certain how well i would do this job i agreed because if there is one thing i learnt during my sabbatical it is that one should always give a try to anything new because things are not always as hard as they might appear to be. so i said yes. my first workshop was on the nd of january. i was picked up by one of the organisers from nie and taken to the srivani education centre where i was to speak to the students of standard viii. i was expected to speak for about minutes and keep around minutes for questions or discussion. i was a bit nervous at first but as the talk progressed and i found the students listening attentively i talked more freely. after these sessions were over i would be dropped back home or to hartman's office whichever was nearer. after the first few schools went off well and i became accustomed to the routine i found myself enjoying these classes. i was even more pleased to learn that i would be paid rs. per workshop plus my travel costs. for the talk i would start by telling the students about my sabbatical, how the idea came up, the various places i had visited and the various things i had done so far. after that i would speak about two topics-vermiculture and snakes-because i thought that these would be of most use to the students. vermiculture because they could practise this at home to process the garbage into compost and snakes because people have so many fears about them. when i talked about vermiculture, particularly about mixing cowdung with soil, sometimes the girls and boys would find it distasteful and would make jokes about it or laugh at the idea and i would think that these are city kids and they don't know anything about cowdung. but still i would continue to explain how a vermipit can be set up in their homes. on snakes, i would first give general information about poisonous and non-poisonous snakes, and how to identify the poisonous ones. then i would tell them what should be done if someone got a snake bite. i would also discuss the various beliefs that people have about snakes and which of them are myths. depending on the time left, i would speak about other things too, like crocodiles, turtles or spiders. at the end of the class, i would show them croc teeth, photos of myself with snakes, crocs, monitors, etc., and then my red-eared turtle that i always carried around with me in my bag. at this point there would be maximum excitement. everyone would crowd around, some would ask to hold the turtle and they would ask questions about its eating habits etc. i would allow them to touch the shell and nothing more because the turtle is very nasty and bites. in this fashion i took workshops at several other schools including national english school, sindhi school, st. mary's school, bolivian girls school and bangalore international school. i usually spoke to the students of class vii to x. at bangalore international school however the workshop was for the students of class iii and iv. a few months later back in goa i was pleased when the postman handed me a registered letter from nie, bangalore which contained a cheque for rs. , my full earnings for giving the lectures. later when i wrote an article on my one year sabbatical for the hindustan times i sent a copy to nie and they too published it in their newsletter. newspaper in education has also invited me to take more workshops whenever i am in bangalore. bangalore was very enjoyable in many other ways as well. one morning i went to a swimming pool with kalia and got the shock of my life on jumping into the water; it was freezing cold! i resolved never to try swimming in bangalore in the winter again. i ate out often especially during the day and tried out various small eating joints (bangalore has plenty of them), sampling south indian food, vegetable cutlets, milk shakes and so on. of course, i constantly had to watch my purse, for my budget did not allow lavish eating. sometimes i went to a book shop, sometimes i did small errands for bing and ujwala, and i recall helping bing with the cooking on at least two occasions and occasionally helping ujwala with her garden. i also used to accompany bing and ujwala and their two kids on family outings. once we went to a lake called sanki tank where i enjoyed motorboat rides and then played with zuri and zaeer in a small children's park. another time, we all went to see a dance performance that i didn't understand too much about. sometimes we all just went out for a drive (i enjoyed these rides best) and then would have ice-cream cones on the way home. i must tell you how i learnt to eat vegetables. i have generally disliked vegetables as far as i can remember. my mum tells me that she regularly fed me vegetables as a baby and we have always had one or two vegetables on the table at home for any meal. still i would generally refuse vegetables and preferred to stick to fish curry and rice, our staple food in goa. when i was starting on my travels my parents warned me that in several places the food would be only vegetarian, and that did happen to be the case. during the year i learnt how to eat all types of food at different people's houses. but i stuck to veggies i could tolerate like cabbage and potatoes or i would eat the dhal and rice with pickles. i had still not started eating vegetables like ladyfinger and brinjal. bing found out about this when chatting with me and said that he hated anybody making a fuss about food. so everyday while eating he would put a huge helping of vegetables on my plate. especially the ones i didn't like, like tomatoes, brinjal and ladyfinger. i would finish the vegetables first so that i could enjoy the better part of the meal i.e. the meat or fish without having to deal with the veggies. but no sooner had i finished the vegetables, he would say: "oh lovely, you like this vegetable? have another helping!" and despite my protests i would get another huge helping of vegetable. in this way i would eat about three times the quantity of vegetables as i took the first time before i finally ended my meal. eventually, i stayed on in bangalore for three weeks, returning home only on the th of january. i had not met my parents and brothers for nearly months and was eager to share my experiences with them. unfortunately when i arrived, i got just an hour or so to chat with my parents as they were leaving that very day for a -day stay in delhi to attend the world book fair along with some of the staff from other india bookstore. so i had to wait till their return to regale them with my tales. but in the meanwhile there were my two younger brothers eager to know about my travels, my neighbours who hadn't seen me for five months and of course my old pals like ashok who were happy to welcome me in their midst again. chapter : you have sight, i have vision i was at home for practically the entire month of february, partly because my parents themselves were away for nearly half the month and had asked me to help in the house during that time. also, i had to re-plan my programme for the last few months of my sabbatical and some time was always needed for replies to be got from the people we had written to. i found that i had completed most of the things i had set out to do during my sabbatical though there were a few areas like honey bees for which definite programmes had not yet been worked out. i busied myself during this time with writing out those special essays of the past couple of months that i had not yet completed (though my daily diary was up-to-date and in perfect order). i also set up the earthworm vermicompost pit in our backyard. it was my dad's idea that i should put into practice immediately the vermiculture that i had learnt, since managing garbage is becoming a problem in almost all households. his idea was that once i mastered the technique of setting up the vermipits by trial and error at home, i could set the same type up with little variations if needed for friends of ours and later for anyone who wanted this useful method of garbage management. dad suggested that i prepare a large vermipit which would be suitable for any family having a large compound like we have and also one or two small vermibeds which could be used by people living in flats who do not have lots of space of their own. we would keep all the pits going by putting waste into all of them from time to time and this way i could get experience on how the big and small pits both worked so that when people asked for such information i would readily have it. so to start with i had to construct a vermibed. i began with the tank itself which was to be of brick. we had a labourer doing some odd jobs at that time at our house and he said he knew a bit about how to cement bricks together, so he and i constructed this ' by ' by ' high tank of bricks. we mixed cement and sand in some rough proportion with water. within a day we had the bricks placed one over the other with the cement mixture holding it all together. this was easy stuff i thought as i wrote out my record of how many bricks and the quantity of cement and sand we had used to construct the bed. next day, i dutifully wet the construction twice as instructed in order to have the cement set. imagine my shock when on the third day i found that our entire tank was shaking and ready to collapse. i rushed off next door to my neighbour guru who took one look at the tank and told me that we would have to take down the whole thing and start from scratch again. apparently we had not used the right proportion of cement and sand mixture, or laid the bricks right. nor had we laid any foundation for the structure. masonry was not that simple, i realized. i immediately got down to carefully removing each brick without damaging it as the bricks were to be re-used. guru, the expert mason, then came over to construct the tank, and i helped. in fact, we built two tanks that day: one large and one medium. i then prepared the vermipits and yesu, our maid, was instructed to henceforth put all the household wastes (except paper and plastic) into the pits, alternating between the different ones. we also started vermiculture in a wooden crate. eventually the crate was used as a seed bed and a fine crop of jackfruit seedlings was raised in the box. the other two vermipits (of brick) function well, and all our household waste is processed by the earthworms. at the end of february, i was eager and ready to set out again. although some contacts for the study of bee-keeping had been made by my dad, i was personally not very much interested in the subject. crocs, snakes and the wild had gripped me and i was longing to get back to the croc bank. i also had another totally unrelated and unconnected programme that i wanted to accomplish, namely to improve my eyesight by taking a course on eye care and learning eye exercises at the eye clinic at the aurobindo ashram in pondicherry. i came to know of the eye clinic through farida, one of the resident staff at croc bank. i have been wearing glasses since class iv when my mum made the discovery that the reason i was not copying lessons from the blackboard was not because i was inattentive or disobedient but simply because i couldn't read clearly from the blackboard at all. then came the visit to the oculist and the mandatory spectacles. but i fervently wished to rid myself of these glasses ever since i heard that with eye exercises one can improve one's eyesight. in fact, i had begun doing eye exercises with sister gemma, a medical mission sister who is associated with my parents' work. i had continued these exercises when i was at the croc bank, where farida seeing me at it, had told me about the eye clinic at aurobindo ashram where i could get proper training. as i was also eager to return to my favourite croc bank and since pondicherry is not very far from mamallapuram i proposed to my parents that i be allowed to go to pondicherry via bangalore, complete the eye course there and then proceed to croc bank where i could spend a fortnight or so before returning to goa. this would comfortably keep me away during the month of march when my brothers would be studying for their school finals and i would return in time to enjoy the april-may vacations when our cousins from belgaum, lucano and ricardo, would join us for a whole summer season of mangoes, jackfruits and umpteen picnics on the beach. my parents approved of my programme and on the th of february, i set out for pondicherry. by now i was quite familiar with the routes and did not need anyone to pick me up from the bus stops on arrival. however, i had phoned bernard at auroville earlier and made arrangements to stay with him at auroville for the duration of the course. i travelled by an overnight bus from goa to bangalore, rested briefly during the day at hartman's place and caught the night bus again at bangalore bus station arriving at pondicherry at a.m. there a cycle rickshaw fellow managed to cheat me of rs. by promising to take me to auroville but instead depositing me at aurobindo ashram which was more or less next door to the bus stop. i had to get into another local bus to get to auroville which was more than kms away and after walking a short distance was greeted by bernard, whom i knew, as i had met him some months earlier on my first visit to auroville. i stayed free of cost at auroville in a room in bernard's quarters, sharing with him the meals he prepared. i cycled twice a day from bernard's house to the ashram. at the ashram, i used to do my eye exercises and then return home. i did a total of kms of cycling per day i.e. kms of cycling for the nine days that i was there. the ashram itself was an old building. before you entered you had to leave your slippers outside and place a plastic tag, with a number, on them; another tag, with the same number, you carried in your pocket as you walked barefoot up the stairs of the ashram. the place reminded me of a retreat centre with people in meditative moods and soft indian classical music playing continuously. the first exercise was the most terrible one. i would have just reached the centre after cycling in the sun when honey drops would be put in my eyes. i then had to stand sweating in the sun with my eyes burning because of the honey. (honey is sweet on the tongue but burns in the eyes.) the next exercise would be struggling to read fine print in the dark with only a candle light burning. next, one had to carry out the same exercise in normal sunlight, outside. there was an exercise involving eye movement through the use of a small rubber ball, then the reading of a chart with letters and words of diminishing size in varying degrees, bathing the eyes with steam, much in the same way as inhalation is done, and then cooling the eyes with cold cotton packs. finally, there was the colour treatment, where one stares at bright colours reflected over a lamp in a darkened room. each exercise had to be performed a specific number of times with small details like opening, shutting and blinking of the eyes controlled to the finest degree. after i finished i would return to rock music on a walkman, on my way to auroville. there was no charge for the day course at the ashram but at the end of it i paid rs. for the material needed to enable me continue with the exercises-namely, bottles of eyedrops, small jars of honey, one rubber ball, two charts and two booklets with fine print. i benefitted a lot from the course and within a month or so, after regularly doing the exercises, i was able to read without spectacles. i still do the exercises, though not so regularly, and the best part is that after having been a regular wearer of glasses i now have to use my glasses only occasionally, like when watching tv or movies-which i do very rarely anyway since we do not have a tv set at home. after the course was over i was eager to get another look at the croc bank and as per the prior arrangements made on telephone i set out for mamallapuram, once again, on the th of march. a funny, but expensive incident happened to me on the way. i got to the interstate bus station early that morning and waited till or a.m. for the bus going to mamallapuram to arrive. i started asking around and eventually i was directed by a bus driver to the mamallapuram bus. before i could reached the bus a man dressed in a conductors' uniform walked towards me. "where are you going?" he asked. "to mamallapuram", i replied. "come, come with me", said the man. we both got into the bus, i took a seat and he put my luggage on the overhead rack. "ticket", he demanded. "how much?" i asked. " rupees", he replied. i handed over the amount to him. shortly after the bus had started on its way, and to my astonishment, another conductor appeared and started issuing tickets to the passengers. i explained that i had already paid rs. to the other conductor only to find that there was no "other conductor", only a clever cheat who had taken me for a ride while the bus was still stationary. i had to shell out another rupees for my journey to the croc bank! what i found hard to accept was that the man was able to cheat me in front of all those passengers sitting in the bus. no one thought to tell me that he was not the real conductor. this time i stayed at the croc bank only for a week as rom, harry and everyone else on the farm were leaving for kerala to continue with the national geographic film programme and there was little else i could do at the croc bank with everyone away. chapter : surveying a forest the summer vacation that year was great fun. my cousins from belgaum arrived on schedule and since no one had board exams that year the holiday season began in the first week of april itself. we would enjoy two whole months of the sea, swimming as often as we could in the river that joins the sea at baga. one morning in may my dad asked me whether i'd like to participate in a project that the goa foundation, an environment organisation of which my dad is executive secretary, was organising for college students. i agreed. the project turned out to be field visits to the forests in betim in order to identify which areas were still forest, which areas had been cut down and by whom, which projects/constructions had come up, and so on. the two students who had opted for this project were stephen and jerry, both from st. xavier's college, mapusa doing their graduation degree. i joined the team as an extra. on the morning of the th of may, dad and i set out in the car for betim. on the way we picked up stephen and jerry. dad showed us the different spots in and around the area he wanted us to cover and then left. steven was the leader of the team. he had obviously been briefed by dad on how we were to proceed for he soon took out a note book and started writing notes. i took my notebook and wrote down some names of birds. stephen said that just in case anybody questioned us, we were to say we were birdwatchers! we found two illegal houses in the middle of the forest and a huge clearing made by cutting a lot of big trees. the trees appeared to be cut with the use of an electric saw and tar was smeared on top of them to prevent further growth. many logs were thrown nearby. it was a tiring task and being the month of may, it was extremely hot and my shoes had begun cooking my poor feet. even if we saw a small path, steven would insist we go to the end. jerry would sometimes complain, "steven who the hell do you think will go down there, in that inaccessible valley, to cut trees?" but steven was stubborn and would retort, "jerry if we don't go down there we will have it on our conscience that there was a path which we could have checked out but didn't." so we trudged down each and every pathway we saw, howsoever narrow and unused it appeared to be. on the second day, i went on my bicycle to betim. we continued and we found another two illegal houses and a big tree cut, on the hill. this tree was also smeared with tar. the exercise usually took the whole morning and we would call it a day by about p.m. or so. on the third day, my dad and my cousin luke joined us. we showed my father the different spots we had visited, the places where trees were cut and the illegal houses. dad had brought along a camera which he gave to stephen to take photographs of the different patches of forest, the felling and the constructions. in some areas we found that fire had been set to the area after the trees were cut and this had destroyed the scrub bushes as well. i was glad that the fourth day would be the last, since by now i was quite tired of this assignment. i had a lot of thorn pricks all over my body and they had become little itchy swellings. my feet were also sore and the heat was killing. but i carried on, as the project was near completion. on the hill we found a lot of houses, several of them illegal, coming up in the forest. we also found clear-felled plots with barbed wire fences around. my part of the assignment was over that day and i received a small stipend for my work from the goa foundation. steven and jerry later prepared the project report with photographs and write-up. the report was submitted by the foundation to the forest department. the department sent an officer to investigate the matter and also issued orders not to allow felling or constructions in the area. chapter : chief guest at belgaum a year had gone by since i had finished school and what an exciting year it had been. having to go to college now seemed quite tame in comparison. but as i busied myself with filling up the admission forms and getting the id card photographs ready another surprise awaited me, and it came from a totally unexpected place. i was invited to be chief guest at an environment day function to be held in belgaum on th june, world environment day, where i was to speak on my experiences during the past year. this was surely the crowning event of my one year sabbatical. the invitation came from dileep kamat who was one of the organisers of an environment awareness programme, which he and others in belgaum had organised for school children during the previous month. the programme included painting and essay competitions. the concluding part of the programme was to be held on th june where the finalists would give their speeches and the winners of all the competitions would be given their prizes. dileep, his wife nilima and their son partha are family friends of long standing and whenever uncle dileep comes to goa he stays with us. as he explained, the purpose of the environment programme was to inculcate the idea that one can do things on one's own and one has to think out ways and means for this. and so, he said, he had considered the idea of inviting a young person, whom the students could identify with, to speak on the occasion. the committee had wholeheartedly approved when he suggested my name as i had done something quite unique during the past year; and the fact that my preference was in the field of ecology made me an ideal choice, according to uncle dileep. of course i was delighted and accepted the offer. who wouldn't be? uncle dileep said that all my expenses would be taken care of. i had an uncle (my father's youngest brother, benjamin) at belgaum, at whose house i could stay. there was only my bus ticket which the organisers had to pay for. i started preparing my speech straightway as there was only a week left to go and i knew that i had do a good job as this was a big occasion for me. as usual i turned to my mum for help. she helped me choose the points i would speak on, then i wrote out my entire speech which she corrected and i set about memorising it. public speaking was not a major problem for me nor did i suffer from stage-fright as i had participated in several school competitions and also represented my school in inter-school debates. in fact, i had been awarded the best speaker prize in my final year at school. still, speaking at a competition was one thing and being the main speaker for the day was quite another. my mum gave me several tips on how to address the gathering, what i should do if i felt i could not remember the next line and so on. i rehearsed the speech several times at home and when i left on rd june for belgaum i felt quite confident and well-prepared. along with essentials like clothes to wear, etc. i carried with me in my haversack my red-eared turtle, and another small turtle found locally in goa, the croc teeth and photos of myself at the snake park, the croc bank, etc. i arrived in belgaum on th june and was met at the bus stand by my cousin lucano who took me straight to his home. that evening uncle dileep came to our house, briefed me about the next day's programme and when he left he took with him the photos which he said he would put up on exhibition at the hall. the next day lucano took me to the venue at p.m. the function was held in the school hall. there were children from several schools already there along with their parents. i noticed my photos put up on a cardboard on one side of the hall. my uncle benjamin and aunt grace and my other cousins also came for the function which began at p.m. the hall was quite full when i entered. i was seated in front with my cousin lucano next to me. the programme was compered by one of the students. it began with the prize winners of the elocution competition delivering their speeches-one in english and the others in marathi and kannada. then one of the students introduced me to the audience and i was called up to the stage to deliver my speech. i spoke in english and initially had to halt every little while for uncle dileep to translate what i had said into kannada. fortunately, however, after a few rounds of this english-kannada speech it became obvious that the audience did not need the kannada translation since they all understood english quite well. then it became easier for me to continue and i finished with great confidence and was roundly applauded. as i had done in the workshops i had conducted in the bangalore schools earlier, i then took out the red eared turtle which i carried around for the audience to see at close quarters while my cousin took around a local turtle which those who wanted could handle. there were many students and parents who wanted to be photographed holding the turtles. i also showed the croc teeth to those who were interested. the compere then announced that they would like to get on with the rest of the programme, but in view of the fact that several students wanted to ask questions, a question-answer session would be held, after the programme of skits was over. i returned to my seat and watched the skits which were on the theme of ecology. after that was the prize distribution ceremony and i was called up to the stage to hand out prizes to the winners of the various competitions (elocution, as well as dramatics and drawing which were held earlier). after this, the organisers allowed questions from the audience which i answered on the spot. i was quite happy to find that the audience had heard me attentively for there were many questions both from students and adults. most of these concerned information about snakes. from this i gathered that snakes not only frighten people but fascinate them as well. the function ended at around . p.m. before departing, the organizers gave me an envelope containing rs. which more than amply covered my expenses for the trip. uncle dileep invited lucano and myself for dinner that night. on seeing that he had an interest in keeping the small turtle, i happily left it behind for him. next morning i was pleasantly surprised to find that one of the local kannada papers had reported the previous day's function and there was a photograph of me at the function and a report on it as well. i was thrilled beyond words. later i wrote an article on my one year sabbatical for the hindustan times which appeared on the youth page together with a couple of photographs and was pleased when my parents told me that several of their friends had read it and had complimented them and me for this bold and unusual step of taking a break from studies. the same article was eventually carried by several other newspapers and magazines including the utusan konsumer in malaysia. in my speech at belgaum, in the workshops i had conducted at bangalore for the school students and in the article i wrote i always recommended at the end of my presentation that every student ask their parents for a break from regular studies when they finished school as it is something they would never regret. and i wish to repeat here, at the end of my book, that june to june was the most wonderful year that i can ever remember. i learnt a lot, not only about the things i wanted to learn, but about many other things as well. and best of all i had a lot of fun and a whole lot of freedom to do all that i ever wanted to do. i certainly look forward to another sabbatical! and so, by now, should you! transcriber's note italic text is denoted by _underscores_. obvious typographical errors and punctuation errors have been corrected after careful comparison with other occurrences within the text and consultation of external sources. more detail can be found at the end of the book. revolutionary reader reminiscences and indian legends compiled by sophie lee foster state regent daughters of the american revolution of georgia atlanta, ga.: byrd printing company _copyrighted _ _by_ _sophie lee foster_ _dedication_ _as my work has been a labor of love, i therefore affectionately dedicate this book to the daughters of the american revolution of georgia._ september , . mrs. sheppard w. foster, atlanta, georgia. my dear mrs. foster:--to say that i am delighted with your revolutionary reader is to state the sheer truth in very mild terms. it is a marvel to me how you could gather together so many charmingly written articles, each of them illustrative of some dramatic phase of the great struggle for independence. there is much in this book of local interest to each section. there is literally nothing which does not carry with it an appeal of the most profound interest to the general reader, whether in georgia or new england. you have ignored no part of the map. i congratulate you upon your wonderful success in the preparation of your revolutionary reader. it is marvelously rich in contents and broadly american in spirit. sincerely your friend, (signed) lucian lamar knight. september , . mrs. s. w. foster, peachtree street. i like very much your plan of a revolutionary reader. i hope it will be adopted by the school boards of the various states as a supplementary reader so that it may have a wide circulation. yours sincerely, joseph t. derry. contents page america washington's name washington's inauguration important characters of the revolutionary period in american history battle of alamance battle of lexington signers of declaration life at valley forge old williamsburg song of the revolution a true story of the revolution georgia poem forts of georgia james edward oglethorpe the condition of georgia during the revolution fort rutledge of the revolution the efforts of lafayette for the cause of american independence james jackson experiences of joab horne historical sketch of margaret katherine barry art and artists of the revolution "uncle sam" explained again an episode of the war of the revolution state flowers georgia state history, naming of the counties an historic tree independence day kitty battle of kettle creek a daring exploit of grace and rachael martin a revolutionary puzzle south carolina in the revolution lyman hall a romance of revolutionary times fort motte, south carolina peter strozier independence day sarah gilliam williamson a colonial hiding place a hero of the revolution john paul jones the real georgia cracker the dying soldier when benjamin franklin scored a revolutionary baptising george walton thomas jefferson orators of the american revolution the flag of our country (poem) the old virginia gentleman when washington was wed (poem) rhode island in the american revolution georgia and her heroes in the revolution united states treasury seal willie was saved virginia revolutionary forts uncrowned queens and kings as shown through humorous incidents of the revolution a colonial story molly pitcher for hall of fame revolutionary relics tragedy of the revolution overlooked by historians john martin john stark, revolutionary soldier benjamin franklin captain mugford governor john clarke party relations in england and their effect on the american revolution early means of transportation by land and water colonel benjamin hawkins governor jared irwin education of men and women of the american revolution nancy hart battle of kings mountain (poem) william cleghorn the blue laws of old virginia elijah clarke francis marion light horse harry our legacy (poem) the ride of mary slocumb the hobson sisters washington's march through somerset county, n. j. hannah arnett button gwinnett forced by pirates to walk the plank georgia women of early days robert sallette general lafayette's visit to macon yes! tomorrow's flag day (poem) flag day end of the revolution indian legends counties of georgia bearing indian names story of early indian days chief vann house indian tale william white and daniel boone the legend of lovers' leap indian mound storiette of states derived from indian names cherokee alphabet the boy and his arrow indian spring, georgia tracing the mcintosh trail georgia school song list of illustrations. facing page fraunces tavern ruins of old fort at frederica monument to gen. oglethorpe indian treaty tree the old liberty bell carpenter's hall monument site of old cornwallis birthplace of old glory chief vann house map of mcintosh trail map of georgia, showing colonial, revolutionary and indian war period forts, battle fields and treaty spots preface. since it is customary to write a preface, should any one attempt the somewhat hazardous task of compiling a book, it is my wish, as the editor, in sending this book forth (to live or die according to its merits) to take advantage of this custom to offer a short explanation as to its mission. it is not to be expected that a volume, containing so many facts gathered from numerous sources, will be entirely free from criticism. the securing of material for compiling this book was first planned through my endeavors to stimulate greater enthusiasm in revolutionary history, biography of revolutionary period, indian legends, etc., by having storiettes read at the various meetings of the daughters of the american revolution, and in this way not only creating interest in chapter work, but accumulating much valuable heretofore unpublished data pertaining to this important period in american history; with a view of having same printed in book form, suitable for our public schools, to be known as a revolutionary reader. at first it was my intention only to accept for this reader unpublished storiettes relating to georgia history, but realizing this work could not be completed under this plan, during my term of office as state regent, i decided to use material selected from other reliable sources, and endeavored to make it as broad and general in scope as possible that it might better fulfill its purpose. to the daughters of the american revolution of georgia this book is dedicated. its production has been a labor of love, and should its pages be the medium through which american patriotism may be encouraged and perpetuated i shall feel many times repaid for the effort. to the chapters of the daughters of american revolution of georgia for storiettes furnished, to the newspapers for clippings, to the _american monthly magazine_ for articles, to miss annie m. lane, miss helen prescott, mr. lucian knight and professor derry, i wish to express my deep appreciation for material help given. sophie lee foster. [illustration: fraunces tavern, of colonial and revolutionary fame, on pearl street, corner of broad, new york. it was here that washington bade farewell to his officers, december , . purchased in by the new york society of the sons of the american revolution, and now occupied by them as headquarters.] america. . my country, 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee i sing; land where our fathers died, land of the pilgrims' pride, from every mountain side let freedom ring. . my native country, thee, land of the noble free, thy name i love; i love thy rocks and rills, thy woods and templed hills, my heart with rapture thrills, like that above. . let music swell the breeze, and ring from all the trees, sweet freedom's song; let mortal tongues awake, let all that breathe partake, let rocks their silence break, the sound prolong. . our father's god, to thee, author of liberty, to thee we sing; long may our land be bright, with freedom's holy light, protect us with thy might, great god, our king! washington's name. at the celebration of washington's birthday, maury public school, district of columbia, miss helen t. doocy recited the following beautiful poem written specially for her by mr. michael scanlon: let nations grown old in the annals of glory retrace their red marches of conquest and tears, and glean with deft hands, from the pages of story the names which emblazon their centuried years-- bring them forth, ev'ry deed which their prowess bequeathed unto them caught up from the echoes of fame; yet thus, round their brows all their victories wreathed, they'll pale in the light of our washington's name! oh, ye who snatched fame from the nation's disasters and fired your ambitions at glory's red springs, to bask, for an hour, in the smiles of your masters, and flash down life's current, the bubbles of kings, stand forth with your blood-purchased trappings upon you, the need of your treason, the price of your shame, and mark how the baubles which tyranny won you will pale in the light of our washington's name! parade your proud trophies and pile up your arches, and flaunt your blood banner, oh, trumpet-tongued war! but ruin and woe mark the lines of your marches, while liberty, captive, is chained to your car; but, lo! in the west there flasht out to defend her a sword which was sheened in humanity's flame, and virtue, secure, glass'd her form in its splendor-- the splendor which haloes our washington's name! the kings whose dread names have led captive the ages now sink in the sands of their passion and lust; their blood-roll of carnage in history's pages is closed, and their names will go down to the dust. but long as a banner to freedom is flying no shadow can rest on his sunshine of fame, for glory has crowned him with beauty undying, and time will but brighten our washington's name! --_american monthly magazine._ washington's inauguration. by rev. thomas b. gregory. on april , , at federal hall, george washington was duly inaugurated first president of the united states, and the great experiment of self-government on these western shores was fairly begun. the beginning was most auspicious. than washington no finer man ever stood at the forefront of a nation's life. of washington america is eminently proud, and of washington america has the right to be proud, for the "father of his country" was, in every sense of the word, a whole man. time has somewhat disturbed the halo that for a long while held the place about the great man's head. it has been proven that washington was human, and all the more thanks for that. but after the closest scrutiny, from every part of the world, for a century and a quarter, it is still to be proven that anything mean, or mercenary, or dishonorable or unpatriotic ever came near the head or heart of our first president. washington loved his country with a whole heart. he was a patriot to the core. his first, last and only ambition was to do what he could to promote the high ends to which the republic was dedicated. politics, as defined by aristotle, is the "science of government." washington was not a learned man, and probably knew very little of aristotle, but his head was clear and his heart was pure, and he, too, felt that politics was the science of government, and that the result of the government should be the "greatest good to the greatest number" of his fellow citizens. from that high and sacred conviction washington never once swerved, and when he quit his exalted office he did so with clean hands and unsmirched fame, leaving behind him a name which is probably the most illustrious in the annals of the race. rapid and phenomenal has been the progress of washington's country! it seems like a dream rather than the soundest of historical facts. the romans, after fighting "tooth and nail" for years, found themselves with a territory no larger than that comprised within the limits of greater new york. in years the americans are the owners of a territory in comparison with which the roman empire, when at the height of its glory, was but a small affair--a territory wherein are operant the greatest industrial, economic, moral and political forces that this old planet ever witnessed. important characters of the revolutionary period in american history. to make a subject interesting and beneficial to us we must have a personal interest in it. this is brought about in three ways: it touches our pride, if it be our country; it excites our curiosity as to what it really is, if it be history; and we desire to know what part our ancestors took in it, if it be war. so, we see the period of the revolutionary war possesses all three of these elements; and was in reality the beginning of true american life--"america for americans." prior to this time (during the colonial period) america was under the dominion of the lords proprietors--covering the years of to --and royal governors--from to --the appointees of the english sovereign, and whose rule was for self-aggrandizement. the very word "revolutionary" proclaims oppression, for where there is justice shown by the ruler to the subjects there is no revolt, nor will there ever be. we usually think of the battle of lexington (april , ,) as being the bugle note that culminated in the declaration of independence and reached its final grand chord at yorktown, october , ; but on the th of may, , some citizens of north carolina, finding the extortions and exactions of the royal governor, tryon, more than they could or would bear, took up arms in self-defense and fought on the alamance river what was in reality the first battle of the revolution. the citizens' loss was thirty-six men, while the governor lost almost sixty of his royal troops. this battle of the alamance was the seed sown that budded in the declaration of mecklenburg in , and came to full flower in the declaration of independence, july , . there were stages in this flower of american liberty to which we will give a cursory glance. the determination of the colonies not to purchase british goods had a marked effect on england. commercial depression followed, and public opinion soon demanded some concession to the americans. all taxes were remitted or repealed except that upon tea; when there followed the most _exciting_, if not the most enjoyable party in the world's history--the "boston tea party," which occurred on the evening of december , . this was followed in march, , by the boston port bill, the first in the series of retaliation by england for the "tea party." at the instigation of virginia a new convention of the colonies was called to meet september, , to consider "the grievances of the people." this was the second colonial and the first continental congress to meet in america, and occurred september , , at philadelphia. all the colonies were represented, except georgia, whose governor would not allow it. they then adjourned to meet may , , after having passed a declaration of rights, framed an address to the king and people of england, and recommended the suspension of all commercial relations with the mother country. the british minister, william pitt, wrote of that congress: "for solidity of reasoning, force of sagacity and wisdom of conclusion, no nation or body of men can stand in preference to the general congress of philadelphia." henceforth the colonists were known as "continentals," in contradistinction to the "royalists" or "tories," who were the adherents of the crown. no period of our history holds more for the student, young or old, than this of the revolutionary war, or possesses greater charm when once taken up. no man or woman can be as good a citizen without some knowledge of this most interesting subject, nor enjoy so fully their grand country! some one has pertinently said "history is innumerable biographies;" and what child or grown person is there who does not enjoy being told of some "great person?" every man, private, military or civil officer, who took part in the revolutionary war was great! it is not generally known that the _executive power_ of the state rested in those troublesome times in the county committees; but it was they who executed all the orders of the continental congress. the provincial council was for the whole state; the district committee for the safety of each district, and the county and town committees for each county and town. it was through the thought, loyalty and enduring bravery of the men who constituted these committees, that we of today have a constitution that gives us "life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness"--in whatever manner pleases us, so long as it does not trespass on another's well being. we do not give half the honor we should to our ancestry, who have done so much for us! we zealously seek and preserve the pedigrees of our horses, cows and chickens, and really do not _know_ whether we come from a mushroom or a monkey! when we think of it, it is a much more honorable and greater thing to be a son or daughter of the american revolution, than to be a prince or princess, for one comes through noble deeds done by thinking, justice-loving men, and the other through an accident of birth. let us examine a little into a few of these "biographies" and see wherein their greatness lies, that they like righteous abel, "though dead yet speak." the number seven stands for completeness and perfection--let us see if seven imaginary questions can be answered by their lives. james edward oglethorpe was born in , and died in --two years after the revolutionary war. he planted the colony of georgia, in which the oppressed found refuge. he had served in the army of prince eugene of savoy in the war with the turks. he founded the city of savannah, georgia. he exported to england the first silk made in the colonies, of which the queen had a dress made. king george ii gave him a seal representing a family of silk worms, with their motto: "not for ourselves but for others." he forbade the importation of rum into the colony. he refused the command of the british forces sent in to reduce, or subdue the american colonies. in this life told in seven questions, or rather answered, we find much--a religious man, a soldier, an architect (of a city), one versed in commerce, a wise legislator and a man who had the respect of the king--the head of england. the next in chronological order is benjamin franklin (for whom our little city is named), born in , died in . he discovered the identity of lightning and electricity, and invented the lightning rods. he was an early printer who edited and published "poor richard's almanac." of him it was said, "he snatched the lightning from heaven and the sceptre from tyrants." he founded the first circulating library in america. his portrait is seen to-day on every one-cent postage stamp. he was america's ambassador to france during the revolutionary war. he said after signing the declaration of independence, "we must all hang together or we shall all hang separately." in him, we find an inventor and discoverer, an editor and author, a benefactor, a politician and statesman, and one whose face we daily see on account of his greatness. george washington was born , and died . he was the first president of the united states--"the father of his country," the commander-in-chief of the american forces in the revolutionary war. he was the hero of valley forge, and the one to receive the surrender of cornwallis at yorktown. he was the president of the convention that framed the united states constitution. the one of whom it was said, "he was the first in war, the first in peace, and the first in the hearts of his countrymen." it is his--and his only--birthday america celebrates as a national holiday. of him lord byron said, "the first, the last, and the best, the cincinnatus of the west." how much do seven short paragraphs tell! patrick henry was born in , died , the same year that washington "passed away;" and like his, this life can speak for itself. he was the most famous orator of the revolution. he said, "give me liberty or give me death!" he also said, "we must fight. an appeal to arms and to the god of battles is all that is left us. i repeat it, sir, we must fight." another saying of his was, "caesar had his brutus, charles i his cromwell, and george iii--may profit by their example." again, "the people, and only the people, have a right to tax the people." he won in the famous parson's case, the epithet of "the orator of nature." he was the first governor of the colony of virginia after it became a state. john hancock was born in , and died . he first signed the declaration of independence. he was a rich boston merchant as well as a revolutionary leader. he was chosen president of the continental congress in . he and samuel adams were the two especially excepted from pardon offered the "rebels" by the english. as president of congress he signed the commission of george washington as commander-in-chief of the army. when he signed the declaration of independence he said, "the british ministry can read that name without spectacles; let them double their reward." he was elected the first governor of the state of massachusetts in . anthony wayne was born in , and died in . he was often called "mad anthony" on account of his intrepidity. he was the hero of stony point. he built a fort on the spot of st. clair's defeat and named it fort recovery. he was made commander-in-chief of the army of the northwest in . he gained a great victory over the miami indians in ohio in . he, as a revolutionary general, banished whiskey from his camp calling it "ardent poison"--from whence came the expression "ardent spirits" when applied to stimulants. major andre composed a poem about him called the "cow chase," showing how he captured supplies for the americans. alexander hamilton was born in , and died in . he was aide-de-camp to washington in --the most trying year of the entire revolutionary war. he succeeded washington as commander-in-chief of the united states army. he was the first secretary of the treasury of the united states. he founded the financial system of the united states. he was the revolutionary statesman who said, "reformers make opinions, and opinions make parties"--a true aphorism to-day. he is known as the "prince of politicians, or america's greatest political genius." his brilliant career was cut short at the age of by aaron burr--whose life is summed up in two sad, bitter lines: "his country's curse, his children's shame; outcast of virtue, peace and fame." although john paul jones was not a revolutionary soldier on the land, yet he was "the washington of the seas." he was born in and died . he was the first to hoist an american naval flag on board an american frigate. he fought the first naval engagement under the united states' national ensign or flag. he commanded the _bon homme richard_ in the great sea fight with the _serapis_ in the english channel. he said, after the commander of the _serapis_ had been knighted, "if i should have the good fortune to meet him again, i will make a lord of him." he was presented with a sword by louis xvi for his services against the english. he was appointed rear-admiral of the russian fleet by catherine ii. these are but a few of the many men who did so valiantly their part during the revolutionary period. susie gentry, _state vice-regent, d. a. r._ (a talk made to the public school teachers of williamson county--at the request of the superintendent of instruction--in franklin, tennessee, january , .)--_american monthly magazine._ the battle of alamance. by rev. thomas b. gregory. at the battle of alamance, n. c., fought may , , was shed the first blood of the great struggle which was to result in the establishment of american independence. all honor to lexington, where the "embattled farmers" fired shots that were "heard around the world," but let it not be forgotten that other farmers, almost four years before the day of lexington, opened the fight of which lexington was only the continuation. the principles for which the north carolina farmers fought at alamance were identified with those for which massachusetts farmers fought at lexington. of the massachusetts patriots nineteen were killed and wounded, while of the carolina patriots over lay killed or crippled upon the field and six, later on, died upon the scaffold, yet, while all the world has heard of lexington, not one person in a thousand knows anything to speak of about alamance. william tryon, the royal governor of north carolina, was so mean that they called him the "wolf." in the name of his royal master and for the furtherance of his own greedy instincts tryon oppressed the people of his province to the point where they were obliged to do one or two things--resist him or become slaves. they resolved to resist and formed themselves into an organization known as "regulators," a body of as pure patriots as ever shouldered a gun. having protested time and again against the unlawful taxation under which they groaned, they finally quit groaning, raised the cry of freedom and rose in arms against tryon and king george. to the number of , or , the regulators, only partly armed and without organization, met the forces of the royal governor at alamance. "lay down your guns or i will fire!" shouted the british commander. "fire and be damned!" shouted back the leader of the regulators. at once the battle opened, and, of course, the regulators were defeated and dispersed. but old tryon received the lesson he had so long needed--that, while americans could be shot down on the battlefield, they could not be made tamely to submit to the high-handed oppression of king george and his creatures. the battle of lexington april , . on the afternoon of the day on which the provincial congress of massachusetts adjourned, general gage took the light infantry and grenadiers off duty and secretly prepared an expedition to destroy the colony's stores at concord. the attempt had for several weeks been expected, and signals were concerted to announce the first movement of troops for the country. samuel adams and hancock, who had not yet left lexington for philadelphia, received a timely message from warren, and in consequence the committee of safety moved a part of the public stores and secreted the cannon. on tuesday, the eighteenth of april, ten or more british sergeants in disguise dispersed themselves through cambridge and farther west to intercept all communication. in the following night the grenadiers and light infantry, not less than eight hundred in number, the flower of the army at boston, commanded by lieutenant-colonel smith, crossed in the boats of the transport ships from the foot of the common at east cambridge. gage directed that no one else should leave the town, but warren had, at ten o'clock, dispatched william dawes through roxbury and paul revere by way of charlestown to lexington. revere stopped only to engage a friend to raise the concerted signals, and two friends rowed him across the charles river five minutes before the sentinels received the order to prevent it. all was still, as suited the hour. the _somerset_, man-of-war, was winding with the young flood; the waning moon just peered above a clear horizon, while from a couple of lanterns in the tower of the north church the beacon streamed to the neighboring towns as fast as light could travel. a little beyond charlestown neck revere was intercepted by two british officers on horseback, but being well mounted he turned suddenly and escaped by the road to medford. in that town he waked the captain and minute men, and continued to rouse almost every house on the way to lexington, making the memorable ride of paul revere. the troops had not advanced far when the firing of guns and ringing of bells announced that their expedition had been heralded, and smith sent back for a reinforcement. early on the nineteenth of april the message from warren reached adams and hancock, who at once divined the object of the expedition. revere, therefore, and dawes, joined by samuel prescott, "a high son of liberty" from concord, rode forward, calling up the inhabitants as they passed along, till in lincoln they fell upon a party of british officers. revere and dawes were seized and taken back to lexington, where they were released, but prescott leaped over a low stone wall and galloped on for concord. there, at about two hours after midnight, a peal from the bell of the meeting house brought together the inhabitants of the place, young and old, with their firelocks, ready to make good the resolute words of their town debates. among the most alert was william emerson, the minister, with gun in hand, his powder horn and pouch of balls slung over his shoulder. by his sermons and his prayers his flock learned to hold the defense of their liberties a part of their covenant with god. his presence with arms strengthened their sense of duty. from daybreak to sunrise, the summons ran from house to house through acton. express messengers and the call of minute men spread widely the alarm. how children trembled as they were scared out of sleep by the cries! how women, with heaving breasts, bravely seconded their husbands! how the countrymen, forced suddenly to arm, without guides or counsellors, took instant counsel of their courage! the mighty chorus of voices rose from the scattered farmhouses, and, as it were, from the ashes of the dead. "come forth, champions of liberty; now free your country; protect your sons and daughters, your wives and homesteads; rescue the houses of the god of your fathers, the franchises handed down from your ancestors." now all is at stake; the battle is for all. lexington, in , may have had seven hundred inhabitants. their minister was the learned and fervent jonas clark, the bold inditer of patriotic state papers, that may yet be read on their town records. in december, , they had instructed their representative to demand "a radical and lasting redress of their grievances, for not through their neglect should the people be enslaved." a year later they spurned the use of tea. in , at various town meetings, they voted "to increase their stock of ammunition," "to encourage military discipline, and to put themselves in a posture of defense against their enemies." in december they distributed to "the train band and alarm list" arms and ammunition and resolved to "supply the training soldiers with bayonets." at two in the morning, under the eye of the minister, and of hancock and adams, lexington common was alive with the minute men. the roll was called and, of militia and alarm men, about one hundred and thirty answered to their names. the captain, john parker, ordered everyone to load with powder and ball, but to take care not to be the first to fire. messengers sent to look for the british regulars reported that there were no signs of their approach. a watch was therefore set, and the company dismissed with orders to come together at beat of drum. the last stars were vanishing from night when the foremost party, led by pitcairn, a major of marines, was discovered advancing quickly and in silence. alarm guns were fired and the drums beat, not a call to village husbandmen only, but the reveille of humanity. less than seventy, perhaps less than sixty, obeyed the summons, and, in sight of half as many boys and unarmed men, were paraded in two ranks a few rods north of the meeting house. the british van, hearing the drum and the alarm guns, halted to load; the remaining companies came up, and, at half an hour before sunrise, the advance party hurried forward at double quick time, almost upon a run, closely followed by the grenadiers. pitcairn rode in front and when within five or six rods of the minute men, cried out: "disperse, ye villains! ye rebels, disperse! lay down your arms! why don't you lay down your arms and disperse?" the main part of the countrymen stood motionless in the ranks, witnesses against aggression, too few to resist, too brave to fly. at this pitcairn discharged a pistol, and with a loud voice cried "fire!" the order was followed first by a few guns, which did no execution, and then by a close and deadly discharge of musketry. jonas parker, the strongest and best wrestler in lexington, had promised never to run from british troops, and he kept his vow. a wound brought him on his knees. having discharged his gun he was preparing to load it again when he was stabbed by a bayonet and lay on the post which he took at the morning's drum beat. so fell isaac muzzey, and so died the aged robert munroe, who in had been an ensign at louisburg. jonathan harrington, jr., was struck in front of his own house on the north of the common. his wife was at the window as he fell. with blood gushing from his breast, he rose in her sight, tottered, fell again, then crawled on hands and knees toward his dwelling; she ran to meet him, but only reached him as he expired on their threshold. caleb harrington, who had gone into the meeting house for powder, was shot as he came out. samuel hadley and john brown were pursued and killed after they had left the green. asabel porter, of woburn, who had been taken prisoner by the british on the march, endeavoring to escape, was shot within a few rods of the common. seven men of lexington were killed, nine wounded, a quarter part of all who stood in arms on the green. there on the green lay in death the gray-haired and the young; the grassy field was red "with the innocent blood of their brethren slain," crying unto god for vengeance from the ground. these are the village heroes who were more than of noble blood, proving by their spirit that they were of a race divine. they gave their lives in testimony to the rights of mankind, bequeathing to their country an assurance of success in the mighty struggle which they began. the expanding millions of their countrymen renew and multiply their praise from generation to generation. they fulfilled their duty not from an accidental impulse of the moment; their action was the ripened fruit of providence and of time. heedless of his own danger, samuel adams, with the voice of a prophet, exclaimed: "oh, what a glorious morning is this!" for he saw his country's independence hastening on, and, like columbus in the tempest, knew that the storm bore him more swiftly toward the undiscovered land. the british troops drew up on the village green, fired a volley, huzzaed thrice by way of triumph, and after a halt of less than thirty minutes, marched on for concord. there, in the morning hours, children and women fled for shelter to the hills and the woods and men were hiding what was left of cannon and military stores. the minute men and militia formed on the usual parade, over which the congregation of the town for near a century and a half had passed to public worship, the freemen to every town meeting, and lately the patriot members of the provincial congress twice a day to their little senate house. near that spot winthrop, the father of massachusetts, had given counsel; and eliot, the apostle of the indians, had spoken words of benignity and wisdom. the people of concord, of whom about two hundred appeared in arms on that day, derived their energy from their sense of the divine power. the alarm company of the place rallied near the liberty pole on the hill, to the right of the lexington road, in the front of the meeting house. they went to the perilous duties of the day "with seriousness and acknowledgment of god," as though they were to engage in acts of worship. the minute company of lincoln, and a few men from acton, pressed in at an early hour; but the british, as they approached, were seen to be four times as numerous as the americans. the latter, therefore, retreated, first to an eminence eighty rods farther north, then across concord river, by the north bridge, till just beyond it, by a back road, they gained high ground about a mile from the center of the town. there they waited for aid. about seven o'clock, under brilliant sunshine, the british marched with rapid step into concord, the light infantry along the hills and the grenadiers in the lower road. at daybreak the minute men of acton crowded at the drum-beat to the house of isaac davis, their captain, who "made haste to be ready." just thirty years old, the father of four little ones, stately in person, a man of few words, earnest even to solemnity, he parted from his wife, saying: "take good care of the children," and while she gazed after him with resignation he led off his company. between nine and ten the number of americans on the rising ground above concord bridge had increased to more than four hundred. of these, there were twenty-five men from bedford, with jonathan wilson for their captain; others were from westford, among them thaxter, a preacher; others from littleton, from carlisle, and from chelmsford. the acton company came last and formed on the right; the whole was a gathering not so much of officers and soldiers as of brothers and equals, of whom every one was a man well known in his village, observed in the meeting houses on sundays, familiar at town meetings and respected as a freeholder or a freeholder's son. near the base of the hill concord river flows languidly in a winding channel and was approached by a causeway over the wet ground of its left bank. the by-road from the hill on which the americans had rallied ran southerly till it met the causeway at right angles. the americans saw before them, within gunshot, british troops holding possession of their bridge, and in the distance a still larger number occupying their town, which, from the rising smoke, seemed to have been set on fire. the americans had as yet received only uncertain rumors of the morning's events at lexington. at the sight of fire in the village the impulse seized them "to march into the town for its defense." but were they not subjects of the british king? had not the troops come out in obedience to acknowledged authorities? was resistance practicable? was it justifiable? by whom could it be authorized? no union had been formed, no independence proclaimed, no war declared. the husbandmen and mechanics who then stood on the hillock by concord river were called on to act and their action would be war or peace, submission or independence. had they doubted, they must have despaired. prudent statesmanship would have asked for time to ponder. wise philosophy would have lost from hesitation the glory of opening a new era for mankind. the small bands at concord acted and god was with them. "i never heard from any person the least expression of a wish for a separation," franklin, not long before, had said to chatham. in october, , washington wrote: "no such thing as independence is desired by any thinking man in america." "before the nineteenth of april, ," relates jefferson, "i never heard a whisper of a disposition to separate from great britain." just thirty-seven days had passed since john adams published in boston, "that there are any who pant after independence is the greatest slander on the province." the american revolution grew out of the souls of the people and was an inevitable result of a living affection for freedom, which set in motion harmonious effort as certainly as the beating of the heart sends warmth and color through the system. the officers, meeting in front of their men, spoke a few words with one another and went back to their places. barrett, the colonel, on horseback in the rear, then gave the order to advance, but not to fire unless attacked. the calm features of isaac davis, of acton, became changed; the town schoolmaster of concord, who was present, could never afterwards find words strong enough to express how deeply his face reddened at the word of command. "i have not a man that is afraid to go," said davis, looking at the men of acton, and, drawing his sword, he cried: "march!" his company, being on the right, led the way toward the bridge, he himself at their head, and by his side major john buttrick, of concord, with john robinson, of westford, lieutenant-colonel in prescott's regiment, but on this day a volunteer without command. these three men walked together in front, followed by minute men and militia in double file, training arms. they went down the hillock, entered the by-road, came to its angle with the main road and there turned into the causeway that led straight to the bridge. the british began to take up the planks; to prevent it the americans quickened their step. at this the british fired one or two shots up the river; then another, by which luther blanchard and jonas brown were wounded. a volley followed, and isaac davis and abner hosmer fell dead. three hours before, davis had bid his wife farewell. that afternoon he was carried home and laid in her bedroom. his countenance was pleasant in death. the bodies of two others of his company, who were slain that day, were brought to her house, and the three were followed to the village graveyard by a concourse of neighbors from miles around. heaven gave her length of days in the land which his self-devotion assisted to redeem. she lived to see her country reach the gulf of mexico and the pacific; when it was grown great in numbers, wealth and power, the united states in congress bethought themselves to pay honors to her husband's martyrdom and comfort her under the double burden of sorrow and of more than ninety years. as the british fired, emerson, who was looking on from an upper window in his house near the bridge, was for one moment uneasy lest the fire should not be returned. it was only for a moment; buttrick, leaping in the air and at the same time partially turning around, cried aloud: "fire, fellow soldiers! for god's sake, fire!" and the cry "fire! fire! fire!" ran from lip to lip. two of the british fell, several were wounded, and in two minutes all was hushed. the british retreated in disorder toward their main body; the countrymen were left in possession of the bridge. this is the world renowned "battle of concord," more eventful than agincourt or blenheim. the americans stood astonished at what they had done. they made no pursuit and did no further harm, except that one wounded soldier, attempting to arise if to escape, was struck on the head by a young man with a hatchet. the party at barrett's might have been cut off, but was not molested. as the sudbury company, commanded by the brave nixon, passed near the south bridge, josiah haynes, then eighty years of age, deacon of the sudbury church, urged an attack on the british party stationed there; his advice was rejected by his fellow soldiers as premature, but the company in which he served proved among the most alert during the rest of the day. in the town of concord, smith, for half an hour, showed by marches and counter-marches his uncertainty of purpose. at last, about noon, he left the town, to retreat the way he came, along the hilly road that wound through forests and thickets. the minute men and militia who had taken part in the fight ran over the hills opposite the battle field into the east quarter of the town, crossed the pasture known as the "great fields," and placed themselves in ambush a little to the eastward of the village, near the junction of the bedford road. there they were reinforced by men from all around and at that point the chase of the english began. among the foremost were the minute men of reading, led by john brooks and accompanied by foster, the minister of littleton, as a volunteer. the company of billerica, whose inhabitants, in their just indignation at nesbit and his soldiers, had openly resolved to "use a different style from that of petition and complaint" came down from the north, while the east sudbury company appeared on the south. a little below the bedford road at merriam's corner the british faced about, but after a sharp encounter, in which several of them were killed, they resumed their retreat. at the high land in lincoln the old road bent toward the north, just where great trees on the west and thickets on the east offered cover to the pursuers. the men from woburn came up in great numbers and well armed. along these defiles fell eight of the british. here pitcairn for safety was forced to quit his horse, which was taken with his pistols in their holsters. a little farther on jonathan wilson, captain of the bedford minute men, too zealous to keep on his guard, was killed by a flanking party. at another defile in lincoln, the minute men at lexington, commanded by john parker, renewed the fight. every piece of wood, every rock by the wayside, served as a lurking place. scarce ten of the americans were at any time seen together, yet the hills seemed to the british to swarm with "rebels," as if they had dropped from the clouds, and "the road was lined" by an unintermitted fire from behind stone walls and trees. at first the invaders moved in order; as they drew near lexington, their flanking parties became ineffective from weariness; the wounded were scarce able to get forward. in the west of lexington, as the british were rising fiske's hill, a sharp contest ensued. it was at the eastern foot of the same hill that james hayward, of acton, encountered a regular, and both at the same moment fired; the regular dropped dead; hayward was mortally wounded. a little farther on fell the octogenarian, josiah haynes, who had kept pace with the swiftest in the pursuit. the british troops, "greatly exhausted and fatigued and having expended almost all of their ammunition," began to run rather than retreat in order. the officers vainly attempted to stop their flight. "they were driven before the americans like sheep." at last, about two in the afternoon, after they had hurried through the middle of the town, about a mile below the field of the morning's bloodshed, the officers made their way to the front and by menaces of death began to form them under a very heavy fire. at that moment lord percy came in sight with the first brigade, consisting of welsh fusiliers, the fourth, the forty-seventh and the thirty-eighth regiments, in all about twelve hundred men, with two field pieces. insolent, as usual, they marched out of boston to the tune of yankee doodle, but they grew alarmed at finding every house on the road deserted. while the cannon kept the americans at bay, percy formed his detachment into a square, enclosing the fugitives, who lay down for rest on the ground, "their tongues hanging out of their mouths like those of dogs after a chase." after the juncture of the fugitives with percy, the troops under his command amounted to fully two-thirds of the british army in boston, and yet they must fly before the americans speedily and fleetly, or be overwhelmed. two wagons, sent out to them with supplies, were waylaid and captured by payson, the minister of chelsea. from far and wide minute men were gathering. the men of dedham, even the old men, received their minister's blessing and went forth, in such numbers that scarce one male between sixteen and seventy was left at home. that morning william prescott mustered his regiment, and though pepperell was so remote that he could not be in season for the pursuit, he hastened down with five companies of guards. before noon a messenger rode at full speed into worcester, crying: "to arms!" a fresh horse was brought and the tidings went on, while the minute men of that town, after joining hurriedly on the common in a fervent prayer from their minister, kept on the march till they reached cambridge. aware of his perilous position, percy, resting but half an hour, renewed his retreat. beyond lexington the troops were attacked by men chiefly from essex and the lower towns. the fire from the rebels slackened till they approached west cambridge, where joseph warren and william heath, both of the committee of safety, the latter a provincial general officer, gave for a moment some appearance of organization to the pursuit, and the fight grew sharper and more determined. here the company from danvers, which made a breastwork of a pile of shingles, lost eight men, caught between the enemy's flank guard and main body. here, too, a musket ball grazed the hair of joseph warren, whose heart beat to arms, so that he was ever in the place of greatest danger. the british became more and more "exasperated" and indulged themselves in savage cruelty. in one house they found two aged, helpless, unarmed men and butchered them both without mercy, stabbing them, breaking their skulls and dashing out their brains. hannah adams, wife of deacon joseph adams, of cambridge, lay in child-bed with a babe of a week old, but was forced to crawl with her infant in her arms and almost naked to a corn shed, while the soldiers set her house on fire. of the americans there were never more than four hundred together at any time; but, as some grew tired or used up their ammunition, others took their places, and though there was not much concert or discipline and no attack with masses, the pursuit never flagged. below west cambridge the militia from dorchester, roxbury and brookline came up. of these, isaac gardner, of the latter place, one on whom the colony rested many hopes, fell about a mile west of harvard college. the field pieces began to lose their terror, so that the americans pressed upon the rear of the fugitives, whose retreat was as rapid as it possibly could be. a little after sunset the survivors escaped across charlestown neck. the troops of percy had marched thirty miles in ten hours; the party of smith in six hours had retreated twenty miles; the guns of the ship-of-war and the menace to burn the town of charlestown saved them from annoyance during the rest on bunker hill and while they were ferried across charles river. on that day forty-nine americans were killed, thirty-four wounded and five missing. the loss of the british in killed, wounded and missing was two hundred and seventy-three. among the wounded were many officers; smith was hurt severely. many more were disabled by fatigue. "the night preceding the outrages at lexington there were not fifty people in the whole colony that ever expected any blood would be shed in the contest"; the night after, the king's governor and the king's army found themselves closely beleaguered in boston. "the next news from england must be conciliatory, or the connection between us ends," said warren. "this month," so wrote william emerson, of concord, late chaplain to the provincial congress, chronicled in a blank leaf of his almanac, "is remarkable for the greatest events of the present age." "from the nineteenth of april, ," said clark, of lexington, on its first anniversary, "will be dated the liberty of the american world." note.--the principal part of this account of the battle of lexington is taken from banecroft's history.--_american monthly magazine._ signers of declaration. (poem that embraces the names of the famous americans.) it will not be denied that the men who, on july , , pledged "their lives, their fortunes and their sacred honor" in behalf of our national liberty deserve the most profound reverence from every american citizen. by arranging in rhyme the names of the signers according to the colonies from which they were delegated it will assist the youthful learner in remembering the names of those fathers of american independence. i. the massachusetts delegation that signed our glorious declaration where hancock, gerry, robert paine, the great john adams, and again another adams, samuel by name. ii. new hampshire, called the "granite state," sent whipple, bartlett, thornton great, alike in counsel and debate. iii. rhode island's delegates, we see, were stephen hopkins and ellery. iv. connecticut, excelled by none, with wolcott, williams and huntington. v. new york as delegates employed lewis morris and william floyd, with francis lewis and livingston, who died before the war was done. vi. new jersey to the congress sent her honored college president, john witherspoon, with stockton, clark, hart, hopkinson--all men of mark. vii. though pennsylvania need not blush for morris, morton, wilson, rush, and though most men might seem as dross to cylmer, taylor, smith and ross, to franklin each his tribute brings who neither lightning feared, nor kings. viii. the men from delaware--indeed as true as steel in utmost need-- were rodney, with mckean and read. ix. "my maryland" is proud to own her carroll, paca, chase and stone. x. on old virginia's roll we see the gifted richard henry lee, and, just as earnest to be free. his brother, francis lightfoot lee, and wythe and nelson, patriots true, with harrison and braxton, too; but of them all, there was not one as great as thomas jefferson. xi. north carolina's chosen men we know were hooper, hewes and penn. xii. and south carolina's vote was one-- by heyward, lynch and middleton. xiii. from georgia came gwinnett and hall and walton, too, the last of all who signed our precious declaration the pride and glory of the nation. life at valley forge. mrs. harriet d. eisenberg. i have chosen to look up particulars concerning the daily life of the soldier at valley forge in the awful winter of - . and as no historian can picture the life of any period so vividly as it may be described by those who were participants in that life, or eye witnesses of it, i have gathered the materials for this paper from diaries of those who were there, from accounts by men whose friends were in the camp, from letters sent to and from the camp, and from the orderly book of a general who kept a strict report of the daily orders issued by the commander-in-chief, from the fall campaign of , to the late spring of . it is unnecessary to reiterate what all of us know,--that the winter of ' - was the blackest time of the war of independence, and it was made so, not only by the machinations of the enemies of washington who were striving to displace him as commander-in-chief, but by the unparalleled severity of the winter and the dearth of the commonest necessaries of life. the sombreness of the picture is emphasized by contrast with the brightness and gaiety that characterized the life in philadelphia during that same winter when the british troops occupied the city. there a succession of brilliant festivities was going on, the gaieties culminating in the meschianza that most gorgeous spectacle ever given by an army to its retiring officer, when peggy shippen and sallie chew danced the night away with the scarlet-coated officers of the british army, while fathers and brothers were suffering on the hills above the schuylkill. why did washington elect to put his army in winter-quarters? he himself answers the question, which was asked by congress who objected to the army's going into winter quarters at all. the campaign, which had seen the battles of the brandywine and of germantown, was over; the british were in possession of philadelphia; the army was fatigued and there was little chance of recuperation from sources already heavily drained. hence a winter's rest was necessary. and washington's own words, as he issued the orders for the day on december d, tell us why valley forge was chosen. "the general wishes it was in his power to conduct the troops into the best winter quarters; but where are those to be found? should we retire into the interior portions of the country, we should find them crowded with virtuous citizens who, sacrificing their all, have left philadelphia, and fled hither for protection. to their distress, humanity forbids us to add. this is not all. we should leave a vast extent of fertile country to be despoiled and ravaged by the enemy. these and other considerations make it necessary to take such a position (as this), and influenced by these considerations he persuades himself that officers and soldiers, with one heart and one mind, will resolve to surmount every difficulty with the fortitude and patience becoming their profession and the sacred cause in which they are engaged. he himself, will share in the hardships, and partake of every inconvenience." and with this resolve on his part, kept faithfully through the long weeks, the bitter winter was begun. it was on december th that a bridge of wagons was made across the schuylkill and the army, already sick and broken down, moved over. on that day, dr. waldo, a surgeon from connecticut made this entry in his diary: "sunset. we are ordered to march over the river. i'm sick--eat nothing--no whiskey--no baggage. lord-lord-lord." a few days later he makes this entry: "the army, who have been surprisingly healthy hitherto, now begin to grow sickly. they still show alacrity and contentment not to be expected from so young troops. "i am sick, discontented, out of humor. poor food, hard lodging--cold weather--fatigue--nasty clothes--nasty cooking--smoked out of my senses, vomit half my time--the devil's in it. i can't endure it. "here comes a bowl of soup--full of burnt leaves and dirt.--away with it, boys. i'll live like the chameleon upon air. 'pooh-pooh,' says patience. you talk like a fool.--see the poor soldier--with what cheerfulness he meets his foes and encounters hardships. if bare of foot he labors through mud and cold, with a song extolling war and washington. if his food is bad he eats it with contentment and whistles it into digestion.--there comes a soldier--his bare feet are seen through his worn out shoes. his legs are nearly naked from his tattered remains of an old pair of stockings--his shirt hanging in strings,--his hair dishevelled--his face meagre--his whole appearance pictures a person forsaken and discouraged. he comes and cries with despair--i am sick. my feet are lame--my legs are sore--my body covered with tormenting itch--my clothes worn out--my constitution broken. i fail fast. i shall soon be no more. and all the reward i shall get will be--'poor will is dead.'" on the st of december this entry appears: "a general cry through the camp this evening: 'no meat--no meat.' the distant vales echo back--'no meat.' 'what have you for dinner, boys?' 'nothing but fire-cake and water, sir! at night. 'gentlemen, supper is ready.' 'what is your supper, lads?' 'fire-cake and water sir.'" again on december d: "lay excessive cold and uncomfortable last night. my eyes started out of their orbits like a rabbit's eyes, occasioned by a great cold and smoke. huts go slowly. cold and smoke make us fret.--i don't know anything that vexes a man's soul more than hot smoke continually blowing into one's eyes, and when he attempts to avoid it, he is met by a cold and freezing wind." on december th, xmas, this entry: "still in tents. the sick suffer much in tents. we give them mutton and grog and capital medicine it is once in a while." january st: "i am alive. i am well. huts go on briskly." i have quoted thus lengthily from this diary, which gives, perhaps, the most vivid picture we possess of that dark period, simply because it touches upon almost all that concerns the life of the soldiers that winter,--upon their dwellings, their food, their health, their courage. the doctor repeatedly speaks of the huts which were to shelter the men. in the order issued by washington to his generals early in december, directions were given concerning the construction of these dwellings. according to these directions, the major-generals, accompanied by the engineers, were to fix on the proper spot for hutting. the sunside of the hills was chosen, and here they constructed long rows of log huts, and made numerous stockades and bristling pikes for defence along the line of the trench. for these purposes and for their fuel they cut off an entire forest of timber. can't you hear the steady crash of the ax held by hands benumbed with the cold, as blow, by blow, they felled the trees on the hillside, eager to erect the crude huts which were to give better shelter than the tents in which they were yet shivering and choking? in cutting their fire wood, the soldiers were directed to save such parts of each tree as would do for building, reserving or feet of trunk for logs to rear their huts. "the quartermaster-general, (so says the order of december th) is to delay no time, but procure large quantities of straw, either for covering the huts or for beds." this last item would suggest the meagreness of the furnishing. throughout the entire winter the soldier could look for few of the barest necessities of life. an order from headquarters directed that each hut should be provided with a pail. dishes were a rarity. each soldier carried his knife in his pocket, while one horn spoon, a pewter dish, and a horn tumbler into which whiskey rarely entered, did duty for a whole mess. the eagerness to possess a single dish is illustrated by an anecdote which has come down in my own family, if i may presume to narrate it. my revolutionary ancestor was a manufacturer of pottery. in the leisure hours of this bitter time at valley forge, he built a kiln and burnt some pottery. just as it was time to open the ovens, a band of soldiers rushed upon them, tearing them down, and triumphantly marched off with their prize, leaving captain piercy as destitute of dishes as before. as for the food that was meant to sustain the defenders of our liberty, the diary i have quoted, together with washington's daily orders, gives us sufficient information to enable us to judge of its meagreness. often their food was salted herring so decayed that it had to be dug 'en masse' from the barrels. du poncean, a young officer, aid to baron steuben, related to a friend, a few years after the war, some facts of stirring interest. "they bore," he says, "with fortitude and patience. sometimes, you might see the soldiers pop their heads out from their huts and call in an undertone--'no bread, no soldier;' but a single word from their officer would still their complaint." baron steuben's cook left him at valley forge, saying that when there was nothing to cook, any one might turn the spit. the commander-in-chief, partaking of the hardships of his brave men, was accustomed to sit down with his invited officers to a scanty piece of meat, with some hard bread and a few potatoes. at his house, called moore hall, they drank the prosperity of the nation in humble toddy, and the luxurious dessert consisted of a dish of hazel nuts. even in those scenes, mrs. washington, as was her practice in the winter campaign, had joined her husband, and always at the head of the table maintained a mild and dignified, yet cheerful manner. she busied herself all day long, with errands of grace, and when she passed along the lines, she would hear the fervent cry,--"god bless lady washington." i need not go into details concerning the lack of clothing--the diary i have quoted is sufficiently suggestive. an officer said, some years after the war, that many were without shoes, and while acting as sentinels, had doffed their hats to stand in, to save their feet from freezing. deserters to the british army--for even among the loyal american troops there were some to be found who could not stand up against cold and hunger and disease and the inducement held out by the enemy to deserters--would enter philadelphia shoeless and almost naked--around their body an old, dirty blanket, fastened by a leather belt around the waist. one does not wonder that disease was rampant, that orders had to be issued from headquarters for the proper treatment of the itch; for inoculation against smallpox, for the care of those suffering from dysentery which was widespread in the camp. on january , an order was issued from the commander-in-chief to the effect that men rendered unfit for duty by the itch be looked after by the surgeon and properly disposed in huts where they could be annointed for the disease. hospital provisions were made for the sick. huts, by and feet high, with windows in each end, were built, two for each brigade. they were placed at or near the center, and not more than yards from the bridge. but such were the ravages of the disease that long trenches in the vale below the hill were dug, and filled in with the dead. to turn to the activities of the camp,--its duties, privileges, and amusements, and even its crimes. until somewhat late in the spring, when baron steuben arrived at valley forge, there was little system observed in the drilling of the several brigades. yet each day's military duty was religiously attended to, that there might, at least, be some preparation for defence in case of an attack from the superior force at philadelphia. the duties of both rank and file were strictly laid down by washington, and any dereliction was punished with military strictness. in the commands issued on february , the order of the day is plainly indicated. i give the words from orderly book: "reveille sounded at daybreak--troop at --retreat at sunset--tattoo at . drummers call to beat at the right of first line and answer through that line. then through the second and corp of artillery, beginning at the left. reserve shall follow the second line immediately upon this. three rolls, to begin, and run through in like manner as the call. then all the drums of the army at the heads of their respective corps shall go through the regular beats, ceasing upon the right which will be a sign for the whole to cease." don't you imagine that you hear the rise and fall of the notes as they echoed and re-echoed over the frozen hills and thrilled the hearts that beat beneath the rags in the cold winter morning? the daily drill on parade, the picket duty, the domestic duties incumbent upon the men in the absence of the women, the leisure hours, then taps, and the day's tale was told. i should like to tell you of the markets established, for two days each, at three separate points on the outskirts of the camp, where for prices fixed by a schedule to prevent extortion, the soldiers, fortunate enough to possess some money might add to their meagre supplies some comforts in food or clothing. i should like to tell of the sutlers that followed each brigade, and the strict rules that governed their dealings with the army,--of the funerals, the simple ceremonies of which were fixed by orders from headquarters; of the gaming among the soldiers, which vice washington so thoroughly abhorred that he forbade, under strictest penalties, indulgence in even harmless games of cards and dice. i should like to tell of the thanksgiving days appointed by congress for some signal victory of the northern army, or for the blessing of the french alliance, on which days the camp was exempt from ordinary duty and after divine service the day was given over to the men. or i should like to tell of friday the "flag day" when a flag of truce was carried into philadelphia and letters were sent to loved ones, and answers brought back containing disheartening news of the gaieties then going on, or encouraging accounts of the sacrifices of mothers and daughters in the cause of liberty. and finally i should like to tell you of the court martials, through the reports of which we get such a vivid picture of the intimate life of the time: of the trial by court martial of anthony wayne, who was acquitted of the charge of conduct unbecoming an officer; of the trial of a common soldier for stealing a blanket from a fellow soldier, and the punishment by lashes on his bare back; of the trial of a mary johnson who plotted to desert the camp and who, between the lined up ranks of the brigade, was drummed out of camp; of the trial of john riley for desertion, and his execution on parade ground, with the full brigade in attendance; of the dramatic punishment of an officer found guilty of robbery and absenting himself, with a private, without leave, and who was sentenced to have his sword broken over his head on grand parade at guard mount. i should like to tell, too, of the foraging parties sent out to scour the country for food and straw; and the frequent skirmishes with detachments of the enemy; of the depredations made by the soldiers on the surrounding farmers, which depredations were so deplored by washington and which tried so his great soul i wanted to speak of the greatness of the commander-in-chief in the face of all he had to contend with--the continued depredations of his men; the repeated abuse of privilege; the frequent disobedience of orders; the unavoidably filthy condition of the camp; the suffering of the soldiers; the peril from a powerful enemy,--all sufficient to make a soul of less generous mould succumb to fate, yet serving only in washington's case to make him put firmer trust in an almighty power and in the justice of his cause. at the opening of the spring a greater activity prevailed in the camp. with the coming of baron steuben, the army was uniformly drilled in the tactics of european warfare. with the new appropriation of congress, new uniforms were possible and gave a more military appearance to the army. it was no longer necessary, therefore, for washington to issue orders that the men must appear on parade with beards shaven and faces clean, though their garments were of great variety and ragged. and with the coming of the spring, and of greater comforts in consequence, washington, in recognition of the suffering, fidelity and patriotism of his troops took occasion to commend them in these words: "the commander-in-chief takes this occasion to return his thanks to the officers and soldiers of this army for that persevering fidelity and zeal which they have uniformly manifested in all their conduct. their fortitude not only under the common hardships incident to a military life, but also, under the additional suffering to which the peculiar situation of these states has exposed them, clearly proves them to be men worthy the enviable privilege of contending for the rights of human nature--the freedom and independence of the country. the recent instance of uncomplaining patience during the late scarcity of provisions in camp is a fresh proof that they possess in eminent degree the spirits of soldiers and the magnanimity of patriots. the few who disgraced themselves by murmuring, it is hoped, have repented such unmanly behaviour and have resolved to emulate the noble example of their associates--soldiers, american soldiers, will despise the meanness of repining at such trifling strokes of adversity, trifling indeed when compared with the transcendent prize which will undoubtedly crown their patience and perseverance. "glory and freedom, peace and plenty, the admiration of the world, the love of their country and the gratitude of posterity."--_american monthly magazine._ old williamsburg. by emily hendree park. the screeching of the steam whistle at the williamsburg station seemed a curious anachronism, a noisy, pushing impertinence, a strident voice of latter-day vulgar haste. but when the big engine had rolled away, puffing and blowing and screaming as if in mischievous and irreverent effort to disturb the archaic dreams of the fast-asleep town, the "exceeding peace" which always dwells in williamsburg, fell upon our hilarious spirits. we wandered about the streets with hushed voices and reverent eyes. the throbbing pulse of the gay, stirring, rebellious heart of the old capital of virginia had been still for a century. on entering bruton church, the eye is first attracted on the right of the chancel to the novel sight of the governor's seat, high canopied and richly upholstered in crimson and gilt. the high-backed chair is railed off from the "common folk," and the name alexander spotswood in gold lettering runs around the top of the canopy. at once you realize that this was indeed the court church of the vice-regal court at williamsburg, and that you are in old colonial virginia. the lines "he rode with spotswood and spotswood men," the knights of the "golden horse shoe," run through the brain, and the knightly figure of raleigh, the chivalric founder of the colony, and brave john smith and a score of others, heroes of that elder day, come from out the shadowy past, and hover about one. you look at the quaint old pulpit, on the left of the church, with its high-sounding board, and then glance down at the pew on your right, which bears the name of george washington, and opposite the plate on the pew reads thomas jefferson, and next are james madison and the seven signers of the declaration of independance, and peyton randolph and patrick henry and the doughty members of the house of burgesses who worshiped here, and whose liberty-loving spirits fired the world with their brave protests against tyranny. when you read these names, suddenly the church seems full of the men who bore them, and you are surrounded by that goodly company of heroes who made virginia and america, the cradle of liberty. the magic spell is upon you. you turn cold and burning hot with high enthusiasm and the glory of the vision. you are roused from your trance by the pleasant voice of the young minister, mr. john wing, who is saying: "now we will go down into the crypt." there are treasures in the crypt indeed. we follow in a dazed fashion, and are shown the jamestown communion service; the communion silver bearing the coat-of-arms of king george iii; the ancient communion silver of the college of william and mary; the colonial prayer book, with the prayer for the president pasted over the prayer for king george iii; a parish register of , the pre-revolutionary bible; coins found while excavating in the church, and brass head-tack letters and figures by which some of the graves in the aisles and chancel were identified. we are told that the date of parish was , first brick church, - ; present church - . precious and deeply interesting, but i imagined that i could hear the tread of that "knightly company" upstairs, who let neither silver nor gold nor the glitter of the vice-regal court at williamsburg seduce them from their love of liberty, nor dull their hatred of tyranny in its slightest exercise. ah! there were giants in those days among those virginia pioneers, in whose veins ran the hot blood of the cavalier, who loved truth and hated a lie, who loved life and despised danger, and feared not death nor "king nor kaiser," descendants of the valiant jamestown colonists to whom nathaniel bacon cried one hundred years before: "come on, my hearts of gold!" the tombstones in the aisle and chancel of the church include the tombs of two colonial governors--francis fauquier and edmund jennings--and the graves of the great-grandfather, the grandfather and grandmother of mrs. martha washington. after reading the quaint inscription on the marble mural tablet in memory of colonel daniel parke and the inscriptions on the bronze mural tablets memorial to virginia churchmen and patriots, we climb to "lord dunmore's gallery," where, tradition says, the boys of william and mary college used to be locked in for their soul's edification until service was over, and where we sat in thomas jefferson's accustomed place, from whence he looked down upon the heads of the members of the house of burgesses and the colonial vestrymen of distinguished memory. is it any wonder that in such environment the boy's dreamy aspirations crystallized into the high resolve of becoming a patriot and statesman? for in those stormy days preceding the revolution this little bruton parish church was a very pantheon of living heroes. fiske, the new england historian, says that "the five men who more than any others have shaped the future of american history were washington, jefferson, madison, marshall and hamilton." all but hamilton were virginians and worshipers at bruton church, and two of them were students of the college of william and mary. distinction unrivaled for the state, the church, the college. and now we walk into the church yard, under venerable trees, among crumbling grave stones and see the pocahontas baptismal font and the tombs of the custis children and colonial governor knott. we are shown the home of george wythe, the signer of the declaration, the teacher of jefferson, monroe and marshall. great teacher of greater pupils! inspirer of high thoughts and immortal deeds! one of the students at william and mary, jefferson, wrote the declaration, three were presidents, and another, john marshall, was chief justice of the united states. the headquarters of washington, the site of the first theater in america, , the ancient palace green on the right hand of which is the fictional home of audrey, and several ancient colonial homes are pointed out to us. if any vestige remains of the old raleigh tavern, whose "apollo" room was famous as the gathering place of the burgesses, who, after their dismissal in asked an agreement not to use or import any article upon which a tax is laid--it was not shown to us. the old powder horn or powder magazine, a curious hexagonal building, has been admirably restored and stands as a reminder of that dramatic scene in virginia history in when, after lord dunmore had removed the powder from the magazine into one of the vessels in the james, fearing an uprising of the colonists, patrick henry, with an armed force from hanover, stalked into the governor's presence and demanded the return of the powder or its equivalent in money. lord dunmore, looking into those dauntless eyes, beholds the dauntless soul of the "firebrand of the revolution" behind them, and yields at once and pays down £ sterling. patrick henry, with splendid audacity, seizes a pen and signs the receipt, "patrick henry, jr." making himself alone responsible for this act of high treason, and then, that there may be no doubt as to his signature, he has it attested by two distinguished gentlemen. what heroic daring! what impassioned love of liberty! while peyton, randolph and richard henry lee counsel caution, patrick henry acts and becomes the inspired genius of the revolution, fusing the disunited and hesitating colonies into a nation by the white heat of his burning passion for freedom. first in importance of all the historic places in williamsburg is the venerable college of william and mary. founded in , next to harvard the oldest college in the united states, it soon became the "intellectual center of the colony of chesapeake bay," the alma mater of the patriots who fought for the life of the young republic and of the statesmen who formed its constitution and guided its course in its infant years. it has furnished to our country fifteen senators and seventy representatives in congress; thirty-seven judges, and chief justice marshall; seventeen governors of states and three presidents of the united states--jefferson, monroe and tyler. james blair, a scotchman, was its first president and remained so for fifty years. the ivy-clad buildings of the old college nestle among ancient trees on a wide campus, and so venerable is the look of the place that the new hall seems a modern intruder, though of quiet and well-mannered architecture. the quiet air of scholarly seclusion reminds one of oxford. it was commencement day, and we found the buildings decorated with white and yellow, the college colors. the chapel, with its oil paintings of presidents, donors and patriots, and the library with its rare volumes and priceless old documents and portraits and engravings, are full of interest. a marble statue of one of the old governors--botetourt, i believe--stands in the silence of the centuries in front of the old college. "yas'm ris de place, de house er buggesses, dey call it, 'cause de big bugs of ole virginny sot dere er making laws. 'fo de lawd, marm, dey wuz big bugs; quality folks, quality folks." and john randolph, our colored coachman, waved his hand with a proud air of ownership, as if he were displaying lofty halls with mahogany stairs and marble pillars, instead of the mortar and brick foundation, in its bare outline, of the old capitol, or house of burgesses. "walk right in, suh. bring de ladies dis way, boss," john randolph urged, in a tone of lordly hospitality. "right hyah is the charmber (room) whar marse patrick henry made dat great speech agin de king--old marse king george--or bossin' uv de colonies. he wuz er standing on dis very spot, and he lif' up his voice like a lion and he sez, sez he--" "what did he say?" as the old man paused. striking a dramatic attitude, the gray-haired old virginia darky rolled out in sonorous voice, with impassioned gesture: "tarquin and caesar had each his brutus, charles the first his cromwell and george the third--" "treason! treason!" said the speaker of the house. "may profit by their example. if that be treason, make the most of it." in spite of john randolph's oratory, rothermel's painting came before me, and i could see the virginia cavaliers gazing at the speaker with startled, breathless look, while the colonial dames with their powdered hair and stiff brocade leaned eagerly forward in the gallery to catch each note of the immortal voice; and in the doorway stood thomas jefferson, the slim young student of william and mary college, electrified by the fiery eloquence, "such as i had never heard from any other man," he said: "he appeared to me to speak as homer wrote." "but why didn't you say 'give me liberty or give me death,' uncle john?" asked the young interrogation point of the party. "'cause marse patrick never said dem words here, chile. he spoke 'em in old st. john's church up in richmond ten year arterwards. i gin you his williamsburg speech, his fust great speech." and the darky orator and historian smiled with that superior wisdom which we had seen illumminate the dark italian features of antonio griffenreid, the famous sexton of old st. john's as he enlightened the ignorance of a party of sightseers.--_atlanta constitution._ song of the revolution. we love the men and women, too, who fought and worked and brought us through our glorious revolution; hard was the struggle, brave the fight, that won for them the sovereign right to frame a constitution. chorus. this constitution made us free in this proud land of liberty-- the best in all creation-- and we'll stand by it while we live; whatever we may have we'll give for its perpetuation. our country is the fairest one kissed by the ever rolling sun-- we glory in our nation; and we will see that it shall be the happy land of liberty, through time's continuation. _--francis h. orme._ this song has been adopted as a state song by the daughters of the american revolution of georgia, and as a national song by the continental congress . a true story of the revolution. by mrs. m. s. d'vaughn. _archibald bullock chapter, d. a. r., montezuma, ga._ this is a story of how a woman's wit and tact saved her husband's life from the hands of the tories, in the dark days of the revolution. it was in south carolina, the british general, cornwallis, had ordered any american sympathizer caught, to be hung or shot at sight. numberless outrages had been done and the feeling was intensely bitter against the tories, or royalists, as they called themselves. especially so was it in the section of the country where lived elizabeth robert. her husband was fighting with marion, the "swamp fox," in another part of the state and the only protector for herself and two young children was a faithful slave called "daddy cyrus." here on her plantation elizabeth spent her days living quietly enough. however, she was no idler, but rather a most thrifty housewife and her muscadine wine excelled any other and was known far and wide for its delicious flavor. now, john robert grew restless, as the days passed and no word came from his wife, so obtaining leave of absence from general marion, he quietly slipped through the lines, and by a devious route, appeared one dark night at the door of his home. but some foreign eye had noted the unusual happiness and excitement in the "big house" as it was called, and in a short while it was surrounded, and capt. john was a prisoner in the hands of the tories. mary, with tears, pleaded for her husband's life, but to no purpose, and dawn was to see his dead body hanging from the limb of a huge oak near by. tears availing nothing, elizabeth's quick brain began to teem with plans for john's escape. slipping down to "daddy cyrus'" cabin, she told him of her plan of rescue, then back to her house she ran, her absence not having been noted. then bringing all her womanly beauty, graciousness and charm to bear upon the tories, she inticed them into the dining room, leaving her husband tightly bound to the tree where he was to meet his death,--and then from her mahogany sideboard, she served to them her famous muscadine wine. drink after drink, she offered them, while her smiles and gay repartee allured them. more--more--and yet more, until their befuddled wits were completely gone. then faithful old "daddy cyrus" waiting, watching, guarding, with his sharp knife, cut the bonds of his "young marster," and into the darkness capt. john was gone back to his comrades with a hurried kiss from the lips of his wife who had saved him. the tories were persuaded that the wine was the cause of their hazy belief of the capture of capt. john robert, and no harm was done to elizabeth. georgia. poem composed by mrs. c. m. o'hara and read before david meriwether chapter, greenville, ga., georgia day, . georgia, the baby of the original thirteen, not, however, youngest in importance, i ween, was born to the colonies in seventeen thirty-two, to help those in prison their lives to renew. what oglethorpe planned for this child of his heart was that rum and slaves of it should not be a part, but this wayward child would have her own way, in spite of her mistakes she has made up to date, georgia is called of the south the empire state. she was the fifth of her sisters in secession to say, "the union she'd leave" when there was not fair play. this child of famous men has sent her portion from the "marshes of glynn" to the pacific ocean. near savannah, where oglethorpe first planted his foot, ebenezer, the first orphanage, has taken firm root. another distinction, too, fair georgia can claim is the first college for women, wesleyan by name. towering intellects she reared in her toombs and her hills; she can boast of her factories and her mills; she has kept pace with her sisters in every movement that tends to her children's uplift and improvement. now in heathen lands, across the deep waters, performing deeds of mercy are georgia's sons and daughters. forts of georgia. miss francis clarke. _prize essay of girls' high school, atlanta, georgia, for the loving cup offered by joseph habersham chapter, daughters of the american revolution._ the forts of georgia, though for the most part hurriedly and roughly built for protection against indian, spaniards, englishman, or federal, have nevertheless been the scenes of the bravest defenses, of the most courageous deeds. in them probably more than anywhere else, the men of georgia have shown their hardy spirits and distressing trials. never has a georgia fort been surrendered except from absolute necessity, though its protectors were weak from starvation. the first of the long list of five hundred forts that have been erected in georgia is fort charles, on the northeastern coast of georgia. it was built about by the direction of john ribault, who with a party of huguenots had come from france with the approval of admiral coligny, the protestant leader at that time. two years later the fort was abandoned, and there is now no sign to point out the spot where it once stood. fort argyle. fort argyle was the next fort on georgia soil. it was built by oglethorpe in for the protection of his savannah colony. then followed a wonderful series of forts, when you consider the few people in georgia at that time and the dangers of traveling on account of the indians. but oglethorpe, braving all perils in the next four or five years had established forts thunderbolt, near savannah; st. simon, on st. simon's island; frederick, at frederica, on the same island; fort william and fort andrews, on cumberland island, besides several other unimportant ones such as the fort on jekyl island and those along the altamaha. these forts, especially fort william and fort andrews, served as a great protection from the indians and the spaniards; but as time went on, the spaniards ceased invading the country, the indians were forced westward, and the forts fell into disuse. indeed by the opening of the revolution, scarcely a vestige remained of these once important forts. for some years preceding the revolution the white settlers on the frontier had much trouble with the indians, and they began to build forts inland to the westward. in , at sherrill's fort, about three hundred men, women and children were massacred. these dreadful massacres continued all during the revolution at the instigation of the british, and added to the many other troubles of the georgians the expense of keeping up these frontier forts. at the opening of the revolution, though the forts were in sad repair, nevertheless there was a great rush of the royalists and of the rebels to get possession of them. the royalists were at first the more successful. augusta with forts grierson and cornwallis, savannah with forts argyle and halifax, fort barrington on the altamaha, and the recently erected fort morris south of sunbury, were all soon in the hands of the british. these positions were all strong and well fortified. the rebels were not nearly so fortunate. the forts they held were mostly ruins. fort mcintosh on the satilla river was the first of their possessions to be beseiged by the british. captain richard winn held the fort with all his powers of endurance against colonel fuser, but, with his reinforcements cut off, he was soon obliged to surrender. proceed against augusta. soon, however, the opportunity of the patriots came. was the beginning of the change in affairs. having seized fort carr and fort howe as the center of operations, the americans proceeded against augusta. colonel grierson, who was in charge of the fort that bore his name, soon surrendered here, but colonel brown was obstinate and strong in his position at fort cornwallis. in the end, after an eighteen days' siege, he, too, acknowledged himself beaten. after varying vicissitudes, the british were finally forced to give up all their strongholds, and thus the revolutionary forts played their part in history. during the years that followed there would have been no necessity for any forts in georgia had it not been for the indians, especially during the war of , in which the indians were incited by the british to give trouble. until the forts in most general use against the indians were forts hawkins, mims, scott and mitchell. with the passing of the indian troubles the georgia forts were left to absolute ruin, and, when in the civil war burst upon the country, there was great need to fortify the land against the enemy. accordingly, fort pulaski, on cockspur island, not far from savannah, was strongly fortified at the cost of $ , , and colonel olmstead with men was placed in command. receiving word from the enemy to surrender the fort, he answered, "i am here to defend the fort, not to surrender it"; but in the brave commander was obliged to surrender his treasure. dupont expedition. fort mcallister, though not so strong as fort pulaski, being only an earthwork with sand parapets, was notwithstanding an equally important position. admiral dupont in was sent to seize it, but the expedition failed; in , general hazen's division of general sherman's army took this fort from major george w. anderson. in his letter north, general sherman praised georgia's sons for their brave resistance. the surrender of fort mcallister led in a few days to the surrender of savannah and the quick ending of the war. after the civil war, forts were again neglected and even the new forts began to decay. throughout georgia today are to be seen her picturesque, ivy-grown forts, and these are a source of never-failing interest to visitors. [illustration: ruins of the old fort at frederica on st. simon's island, ga.] the only regular military post now in georgia is the beautiful fort mcpherson. this fort covering about two hundred and thirty-six acres, is four miles from atlanta. it was established by the united states government in with the name of mcpherson's barracks; it has a postoffice and telegraph station. it has never yet been called into service. let us hope that it will be many days before fort mcpherson adds its historic story to those of georgia's other forts. james edward oglethorpe. james oglethorpe came of a very old family in england. his father, sir theophilus, was a soldier under james ii, and went into banishment with him. just before the abdication of james ii, james oglethorpe, the seventh child and fourth son, was born. at sixteen he entered the university at oxford, when he was twenty-two, entered the british army as ensign, and was soon made lieutenant of the queen's life guards. his soldier life was spent largely on the continent. he became heir to the estate in surrey and was shortly after elected to the british parliament, of which body he remained a member for thirty-two years. he was an active member of the house of commons, a deputy governor of the royal african society and a gentleman of high position and independent means, and withal a man of genuine piety. he conceived the plan of establishing a colony in america, which should be a refuge for poor people. the following description of oglethorpe is by rev. thomas b. gregory: "february , , oglethorpe and his colonists scaled the yamacraw bluffs on the savannah river and began laying the foundations of the state of georgia. the empire state of the south had its origin in the noblest impulses that swell the human heart. its founder, the accomplished and philanthropic oglethorpe, witnessing about him in the old world the inhumanity of man to man, seeing the prisons full of impecunious debtors, and the highways thronged with the victims of religious fanaticism and spite, resolved that he would find in the new world an asylum for the unfortunate ones where they should be no more oppressed by the rich or dragooned by the bigoted. the colony started out beautifully. the men who had been pining in english jails because they could not pay the exactions of their hard-hearted creditors, and the salzburgers and others, who, in austria and germany, had been made to feel the terrors of religious fanaticism, were glad to be free, and they were only too willing to accept the founder's will that there would be no slavery in georgia. the institution got a foothold much later on, but it was not the fault of the original colonists. beautiful, too, were the initial relationships between the colonists and the red men. old to-mo-chi-chi, the chief of the surrounding indians, presenting oglethorpe with a buffalo skin ornamented with the picture of an eagle, said to him: 'i give you this which i want you to accept. the eagle means speed and the buffalo strength. the english are swift as the bird and strong as the beast, since like the one, they flew over the seas to the uttermost parts of the earth, and, like the other, they are strong and nothing can resist them. the feathers of the eagle are soft and means love; the buffalo skin is warm and means protection. then i hope the english will love and protect our little families.' alas! the time was to come when the white man would forget to-mo-chi-chi's present and the spirit with which it was made. [illustration: the monument to general oglethorpe, founder of the colony of georgia, in chippewa square, savannah.] in oglethorpe left georgia forever, after having given it the best that there was in his head and heart for ten years. in georgia became a royal province, and remained such until the breaking out of the revolution in , through which she helped her sister colonies to fight their way to victory, when she took her place among the 'old thirteen' free and independent states." the condition of georgia during the revolution. when the american colonies of great britain determined to rebel at the stubborn demands of the mother country, georgia had least cause to join the revolutionary movement. this colony was by fifty years the youngest of the "original thirteen," and had been specially favored by england. she was the largest, but the weakest, of all the provinces. the landless of other countries and of other colonies had come in large numbers to obtain a home where they might own the soil they tilled. at the beginning of the revolution the total population of georgia was about , whites and , blacks. georgia was now exporting rice, indigo, and skins to europe, and lumber, horses, and provisions to the west indies. tobacco was cultivated with great success by the settlers, and all necessaries of life were easily raised on her soil. the province boasted of one weekly newspaper, called the "_georgia gazette_," which was published every thursday at savannah. since the colony had prospered greatly under sir james wright, who was one of the most capable and devoted of the british provincial governors. there were few local grievances, and many of the people did not wish to defy the home authority. but they realized that this restful condition could not long continue, for they occupied an exceedingly dangerous position. the sea coast was easily seized by the british, and they were also exposed to the attacks of the british in florida, as well as the many savage tribes of indians on the north and west. thus threatened on all sides, georgia thought it best to join her sister colonies, that she might have protection. the news of the battle of lexington removed all hesitation, and united the people of georgia in the determination to assert their rights. georgia rallied her mountaineer riflemen to the cause of liberty. right manfully did her raw, untrained volunteers respond to the burning, eloquent appeal of patrick henry, the virginian. his speech awoke the sleeping pride of the south, and aroused her sons to action. georgia strove to equip her little band of patriots, but she had but few resources. congress gave her all the aid possible, but soldiers and funds were required everywhere, and georgia's share was very small. her sole dependence for protection was her , raw militia. there were , indians to the north and west with , warriors! the british bought the friendship of the indians with presents which the colonists could not afford. from the first of this war georgia kept her representatives in the continental congress, which met to form plans for mutual protection and defense. in these dark days men thought little of government, nor was much required. liberty and food and clothing for their families were the principals for which the patriots were now striving. many deserters of the american cause took refuge in florida. these were called tories. many of them were lawless men, and continually harassed the colonists of south georgia. they joined the british and indians, and made plundering expeditions, sweeping down on the defenseless people, burning the houses, ruining the fields, and committing the most atrocious crimes. up to this time, georgia had often sent food supplies to her countrymen in the north, but now food became so scarce that the governor forbade the exportation of any kind of provisions. colonel brown, who vowed to wreak vengeance on every american citizen, now fulfilled his vow to the uttermost. his murderous bands made their raids in every direction; no mercy was shown to anyone who befriended a patriot. it seems that the spirit of resistance in the hearts of the people of georgia would have been crushed by these long continued atrocities. but they never left the field, although often forced to abandon their homes and sometimes even to leave the state. what better example of the hardihood of the pioneer women of georgia than in the story of nancy hart, a remarkable woman who lived in elbert county at this time? when many of the women and children who lived in her neighborhood left their homes to escape the cruelty of brown's raiders, nancy hart remained at home to protect her little property. how we all love the story of how this rough, simple mountaineer woman outwitted the band of british red coats who demanded food at her cabin. while she served the meal, she cleverly managed to keep their attention diverted while she signaled for aid, and hid their arms, which they had stacked in a corner. then, when she was discovered, she covered them with a musket, and, true to her word, shot down the first who stepped forward. thus did the women of georgia meet the dangers to which they were exposed in these perilous times. when augusta had been abandoned by the british, many of the inhabitants who had refugeed, returned, hoping for better times. colonels elijah clarke and john dooly untiringly guarded the frontiers, which were continually threatened by the tories and indians. their zeal encouraged the people, and kept the spirit of liberty awake in the hearts of the sorely-tried patriots. but their sufferings were not yet over. savannah must yet be taken from the british. in the long, weary struggle, the brave revolutionists were greatly aided by the french. the bombardment of savannah lasted five days. the unfortunate inhabitants suffered greatly. houses were riddled by shot and shell. helpless women, children, and old men were forced to seek safety in damp cellars, and even then, many were killed by shots intended for the enemy. how sad to think of the many precious lives lost in that bloody fray, and the hopes crushed in the hearts of the survivors! the british still held savannah, the french sailed away, and the american army retreated northward, leaving georgia to the enemy. the death blow had been dealt to the hopes of georgia. the tories, exulting in the humiliation of the state, now made raids in every direction, insulting, robbing, and persecuting, the discouraged patriots barbarously. they seized whatever they coveted, clothing, jewels, plate, furniture or negroes. they even beat little children to force them to tell where valuables were hidden. no mercy was shown to old men who had stayed at home to protect their families. they and their families were driven from the state. all means of conveyance being taken away, even the women and children were forced to make the journey on foot. but the majority of our people were so poor that they were obliged to remain at home, and endure trials more grievous than before. the conduct of british soldiers in savannah was such that whig families residing there found it almost unendurable. but the women bore these hardships with a fortitude becoming the wives of patriots. at last, three years after the seige of savannah, georgia was free of the hated british. gradually the people returned to their former homes and vocations. but what a sad home-coming! war had laid its desolating hand upon the face of the country. the state was full of widows and orphans, fully one half of all the available property of her people was swept away, the fields were uncultivated, and there was no money to repair losses. her boundaries were not well defined, and large tracts of land in her limits were still held by the indians. truly, the condition of georgia was deplorable! but there was no repining, for the patriots, rejoicing in their liberty, cheerfully set to work to lay the foundations of future prosperity. gladly they had given their all as the price of liberty!--_etowah chapter._ fort rutledge of the revolution. by mrs. p. h. mell. when the calhoun plantation (in south carolina), upon which clemson college is now located, was purchased in , it was called "clergy hall." it received this name because the original mansion was built by the rev. james mcilhenny who resided there with his son-in-law, the rev. james murphy. an old revolutionary fort known in history as fort rutledge was upon this estate, crowning a hill overlooking the seneca river and when mr. calhoun took possession of the place, he changed its name to "fort hill." although fifty years had elapsed since the fort was built and doubtless there were few remains of it to be seen at that time, still many were living who remembered it well, and the hill upon which it stood was known from the earliest settlement of the country by the name of "fort hill." one of the most beautiful drives on the clemson property is the road to fort rutledge which is about a mile from the college. this road winds through rich cornfields of bottom land; it then rises gently to the top of a long level ridge which slopes precipitously down to the fields on one hand and the seneca river on the other; trees and shrubs thickly clothe the sides of this ridge and beautiful and extended views can be seen in every direction. looking to the east, clemson college, seated upon an opposite hill, with its many buildings and the dwellings of the community presents an ideal picture of loveliness; on the north, the blue ridge mountains, forty miles away, are clearly seen with several lofty ranges; to the west and south, the eye follows the river winding through smiling valleys, the cultivated fields green with promise which is always fulfilled. this boldly commanding ridge, overlooking the surrounding country, was well adapted for an outlook during the conflicts between the indians and the early settlers. the seneca indians had one of their largest towns on the river at the base of the hill, extending for four miles on both sides, the hundreds of acres of inexhaustible bottom land supplying them bountifully with corn even with the crudest methods of cultivation. nothing remains of the old fort to-day but the abandoned well, which has been filled and is marked by a tangled growth of weeds and shrubs, and the cellar of the old lookout tower or five sided bastion; this is faced with brick and the shape can be seen distinctly. one of the early battles of the revolution was fought near fort hill at seneca town at its base. this town was one of note among the indians and up to this day arrow heads and other implements of war or household use may be found upon its site. for generations the indians preserved a strong attachment for this spot and up to the time that the college began its active work, "bushy head," an indian chief from the cherokee reservation in north carolina, would lead a band here every summer. the story of the battle here is taken from official reports and from mccrady's "history of south carolina." during the spring of , the tory leaders, stuart and cameron, had informed the cherokees that a british fleet was coming to attack charleston and as soon as they heard of its arrival they must fall upon the up-country pioneer settlements and destroy them. with the british to fight in the south and the combined tories and indians in the north it was believed that the province would soon be subjugated. the news came to the indians on the eve of july st and at the dawn of day they were on the warpath slaying every white person they could capture, without distinction of age or sex. at this time the hamptons were massacred with many other families. mr. francis salvador lived on corn-acre or coronaca creek in ninety-six district. he was one of the few members of the provincial congress from the up-country, a man of much ability, enthusiasm and patriotism. when the dreadful tidings of the indian uprising reached him that day, he mounted his horse and galloped to the home of major andrew williamson, twenty-eight miles away; he found that officer already aroused to the horrors of the situation and busily endeavoring to collect forces. but the settlers were terror stricken, several hundred had been murdered and the survivors had but one thought and that was to get their families safely into the nearest forts. he waited two days and only forty men had volunteered. with this small band major williamson with mr. salvador started on the rd of july for the indian villages resolved to punish them severely. but when the settlers had provided for the safety of their wives and children, many of them hurried to join him and on the th there were men with him, on the th his band increased to and on the th they numbered ; re-inforcements came from charlestown and also from georgia and on the nd of july he was at the head of , men. meanwhile he had been advancing from his home towards the cherokee country and was encamped on baker's creek, a few miles above moffattsville. here his scouts brought him the news that alexander cameron, thirteen white men and a band of indians were camped on oconore creek about thirty miles away, and williamson determined to surprise and capture them before they could hear of his proximity. he therefore selected with care three hundred and thirty horsemen, the brave mr. salvador accompanying him and started about six o'clock on the evening of july st planning to surprise the enemy before day. about two in the morning of the first day of august they drew near the town of essenecca (or seneca). a party of his men who had visited the place two days before had reported to him that the town was thoroughly evacuated; trusting to this report he carelessly neglected to send out advance scouts, rode into an ambush and was surprised and completely routed by the indians at this town. quoting major williamson's report of the event: "the enemy either having discovered my march or laid themselves in ambush with a design to cut off my spies or party i had sent out, had taken possession of the first houses in seneca, and posted themselves behind a long fence on an eminence close to the road where we were to march, and to prevent being discovered had filled up the openings between the rails, with corn blades, etc. they suffered the guides and advance guard to pass, when a gun from the house was discharged (meant i suppose as a signal for those placed behind the fence, who a few seconds afterwards poured in a heavy fire upon my men), which being unexpected, staggered my advance party. here mr. salvador received three wounds and fell by my side; my horse was shot down under me but i received no hurt. lieut. farar of capt. prince's company immediately supplied me with his. i desired him to take care of mr. salvador, but before he could find him in the dark, the enemy unfortunately got his scalp which was the only one taken. capt. smith, son of the late capt. aaron smith, saw the indian, but thought it was his servant taking care of his master or could have prevented it. he died about half-after two o'clock in the morning, forty-five minutes after he received the wounds, sensible to the last. when i came up to him after dislodging the enemy, and speaking to him, he asked whether i had beat the enemy, i told him yes, he said he was glad of it, and shook me by the hand, and bade me farewell and said he would die in a few minutes. two men died in the morning, and six more who were badly wounded i have since sent down to the settlements and given directions to dr. delatowe and russell to attend them. i remained on the ground till daybreak and burnt the houses on this side of the river and afterwards crossed the river; the same day reduced seneca entirely to ashes." an extract from another report gives further particulars: "the indian spies had observed the major's march and alarmed their camp; upon which about thirty indians and as many white men went to seneca and placed themselves in ambush. the indians had one killed and three wounded. "seneca, four miles long on each side of the river with six thousand bushels of corn, &c, burned august st. "sugar town and keowee, aug. th." the account given by mccrady in his history of south carolina is a little more unfavorable than major williamson's: "major williamson's forces, completely surprised, broke away and fled in the greatest confusion. the enemy kept up a constant fire which the retreating militia returned at random, as dangerous to their friends who were willing to advance against the enemy as it was to the enemy themselves. fortunately lieutenant colonel hammond rallied a party of about twenty men, and, making an unexpected charge, repulsed the savage foe and escaped. the indians lost but one man killed and three wounded; of major williamson's party three died from their wounds and fourteen were badly injured. when daylight arrived he burnt that part of esseneca town which was on the eastern side of the keowee river, and later col. hammond crossed the river burnt that on the western side as well and destroyed all the provisions, computed at six thousand bushels of indian corn, besides peas and other articles. the object of overtaking cameron and his associates having been thus defeated williamson retreated and joined his camp at twenty-three mile creek." the loss of mr. salvador was greatly deplored by the province. he was a man of prominence, intelligence and worth and his services to the american cause would have been most valuable. an interesting sketch of his life may be found in elzas "history of jews of south carolina," written by mr. a. s. salley. on the th of august, , williamson marched with men upon the indian towns. they destroyed ostatoy, tugaloo, tomassee, chehohee and eustash; every bit of the corn was burned and the indians were forced to live upon roots and berries, etc. the expedition was most successful and completely retrieved the defeat at seneca. mccrady states that about this time major williamson was appointed colonel of the ninety-six regiment and upon colonel williamson's return to his camp he found that numbers of his men had gone home, forced to do so from fatigue, want of clothes, and other necessaries and that many who had remained were in equal distress. he was obliged therefore to grant furloughs ordering them to rejoin him at esseneca on the th to which place he marched on the th with about six hundred men. here he erected a fort, which in honor of the president of south carolina, he called fort rutledge. upon the breaking out of this war application had been made to north carolina and virginia to co-operate with the forces of south carolina in this region. each of these states complied and raised a body of troops. the first under general rutherford, to act in conjunction with the south carolinians on this side the mountains, and the other under colonel christie, to act against the over-hill cherokees. but colonel williamson had destroyed all the lower settlements before the north carolinians under general rutherford took the field. colonel williamson now having increased his force to , men, broke up the camp at esseneca; leaving men as a guard to the inhabitants and as a garrison to fort rutledge he marched with about , men to co-operate with general rutherford. history tells us that the campaign was successful; the indians received lessons they never forgot; in less than three months the cherokees lost , and humbled and broken in spirit; they sued for peace on any terms. a treaty of pacification was signed and the indians yielded to south carolina a large tract of land embracing the counties of anderson, pickens, oconee and greenville. so this is the story of the building and holding of fort rutledge. the remains of the old fort are well worth preserving for its foundations were laid in a period of storm and stress and suffering; its rude walls frowned upon the indians early in the revolution; its watch tower kept guard so that the settler's family in his humble cabin might rest in peace; with its little garrison of three hundred men it did its work well and effectually intimidated the enemies of the province in this part of the country. after the revolutionary war it was abandoned and gradually fell into ruins and decay but the name "fort hill" has always clung to it and the site never has been forgotten.--_american monthly_, . the efforts of lafayette for the cause of american independence. by bessie carolyn mcclain. _gloversville high school, gloversville, n. y._ probably no other foreigner accomplished so much or sympathized so deeply with the cause of american independence as did the marquis de lafayette. a french nobleman by birth, an heir to an immense estate at thirteen, married to one of the most beautiful ladies of the french court, he chose a life of privation and hardship, to one of luxury and idleness. the love of liberty, inherent in his soul, made him a champion of the cause which seemed the last chance for liberty to obtain a foothold upon the earth. from the time the situation of the english american colonies was made known in france, in , until they became a free and independent nation, he gave himself, heart and soul, to their cause. he served them both by his personal qualities and by his active efforts, as a french nobleman, and as an american soldier and general. the qualities by which lafayette most aided this country in its great conflict, were his love of liberty, enthusiasm, generosity and loyalty. his love of liberty first made him interested in the struggle of the american colonies with their mother country, and this same love of liberty kept him enthused in the cause, and gave him the strength and courage to depart from his home, his friends and his country. indeed it was the root of the other qualities by which he did us service. when once his enthusiasm was aroused, nothing could diminish it. when he heard that the credit of the "insurgents" was so low that they couldn't possibly provide him a ship, he said in that case they needed him all the more, and he bought one with his own money. it was enthusiasm that led him to the front in the battle of brandywine. it was enthusiasm that made him ride seventy miles and back, for the french fleet when it was needed so sorely. of course, was not his motto "cur non?" in all his dealings with this country, he showed his generosity and disinterest. what was it if not generosity, when at his own expense, he fitted out the ship that brought him and the other officers to this country? how many times during the war did he clothe his soldiers and supply their wants when the country couldn't? he proved his disinterested devotion to the satisfaction of congress, when he offered to serve as a volunteer without pay and at his own expense. gladly did he forego the comforts and pleasures to which education and rank entitled him, and bear with the soldiers every hardship and privation. when, chiefly through his influence, france agreed to send aid to america, and offered him a commission, he refused it so as not to arouse jealousy among other frenchmen. was not this unselfish love of liberty of the plainest type? his most striking characteristic, and i think the one by which he did us the most service, was his loyalty. it strengthened washington to have one man upon whom he could rely so completely. when gates was trying to stir up trouble against him and had appointed lafayette to take charge of an invasion into canada over which he had no control, he urged him to accept, because it would be safer with him than any one else. lafayette did accept and he carried it out in such a way that gates' scheme failed completely. at the battle of monmouth, too, when washington sent charles lee to command over him, he showed his loyalty to washington by submitting quietly and doing all he could to bring a victory out of a defeat. but what counted most, perhaps, was the faithfulness with which he carried out every order no matter how small and unimportant. lafayette also aided this country by his active efforts as a french nobleman. he induced france and spain to join in preparing a fleet against the british, and it was not his fault that spain kept putting it off until too late--he made the effort. he did succeed in raising the popularity of the colonies in france, and in securing six thousand troops under rochambeau, a fleet under d'estaing and supplies for our soldiers. after the french forces arrived, he was very useful in keeping harmony between the armies, because of his influence over his own countrymen as well as americans. lafayette was one of the most faithful soldiers as well as one of the best generals, this country had during the revolutionary war. from the time he offered himself as a volunteer, until the war was over he served the country faithfully and well. at the very beginning of his career in this country, he became washington's aide-de-camp, and as such learned a great deal of the latter's methods of fighting. in this capacity he was in the thick of the battle of brandywine and did much, by his ready daring to encourage the soldiers. before a wound, which he received in this battle, had entirely healed, and while he was out to reconnoitre, he came unexpectedly upon a large body of hessians. he attacked boldly, and they, believing they were fighting all of greene's men, retreated. thus he was ever ready with his wit and daring. throughout the long dreary months when the army was wintering at valley forge, lafayette suffered with the soldiers and helped alleviate the misery as best he could. it was during this winter that gates and conway made the conspiracy to put washington out of power and to put gates in his stead. to accomplish this, they wished to secure lafayette's help, so they contrived to put him at the head of an expedition into canada, with conway second in command. upon washington's entreaty he accepted the commission, but under such conditions that they knew beforehand that their scheme was a failure. when he arrived at albany, he saw that nothing was ready for an invasion of canada, and that the affair could be nothing but a disappointment to america and europe, and a humiliation to himself, nevertheless he made the most of his time by improving the forts and pacifying the indians. when the british left philadelphia, washington wished to follow and force a battle, and, when general lee laid down his command, put lafayette in charge. hardly had the latter started, when charles lee asked for the command again. washington could not recall lafayette, yet he wished to pacify lee, so he trusted to lafayette's affection for himself, and sent lee ahead with two extra divisions, when, as senior officer, he would take charge of the whole. lafayette retired, sensibly, and did all he could to rally the battle that lee was conducting so poorly. finally he sent for washington--the only man that could save the day. the only real opportunity lafayette had, of showing his generalship, was in the southern campaign of , when he was placed in charge of a thousand light infantry and ordered to check the raids of the british. by a rapid march he forestalled philips, who was threatening valuable stores at richmond, and harrassed him all the way to the chickahominy river. then, while he was separating the stores, cornwallis, joined by philips, took a stand between him and albermarle where he had placed a large part of the stores. while cornwallis was preparing to fight, lafayette, keeping in mind the admonition of washington not to endanger his troops, escaped to albermarle by an unused road. after this cornwallis gave up hopes of trapping "that boy," as he called lafayette, and fortified himself at yorktown. when lafayette had been given the defense of virginia, his soldiers, hungry and destitute, were on the point of desertion. with ready tact he had supplied, from his own pocket, the direst necessities, and then had given them an opportunity of going north. of course, when placed on their honor, they followed him with good will. having received orders from washington, not to let cornwallis escape, he took his stand on malvern hill, a good strategic position, to await the coming of washington and rochambeau. when the siege was on and the only possible escape for cornwallis was through north carolina, this, lafayette closed and his light infantry also captured one of the redoubts the british had fixed. the siege of yorktown ended his services for the independence of this country; the war was over and he was needed no more. the results of lafayette's efforts for the cause of american independence can hardly be estimated. they say enthusiasm is contagious and it seemed so in his case, for his very enthusiasm for the cause won others to it and gave it greater popularity in europe than it would otherwise have had. in this country he improved the condition of the soldiers by his ready generosity, and raised the spirit of the army by his own example of disinterested patriotism. he gave washington what he most needed, at that time, a friend whom he could trust implicitly, and by his loyalty did his share towards keeping the army undivided. the forces he secured from france encouraged our soldiers and the supplies did a good deal towards satisfying their discontent. by inducing france to acknowledge the united states of america, he did us one of the greatest services possible. we were then one of the world's nations, and our credit went up accordingly. it isn't likely that the results of his efforts as an american soldier and general, can ever be fully ascertained. he did so many little things just when they seemed to be so needed, that it is impossible to sum up their results. all we can say is that he did his best for the cause of american independence.--_report of sons of the revolution - ._ james jackson. general james jackson was born in morton hampstead, in the beautiful english county of devonshire. his father, james jackson, died when he was a boy and left rather a large family. he heard much talk of the american colonies and had a great desire to go and live in them. his mother and grandfather would not consent, and once he attempted to sail, hidden in the hold of a vessel, but was brought back. seeing his determination to go, sooner or later, and influenced by john wereat, a leading whig, the family finally consented. sailing at his earliest opportunity, he landed in georgia; and at the age of fifteen began the study of law in the office of an eminent lawyer in savannah. in , in the beginning of revolutionary days, he was one of the first lads to shoulder a musket for the cause of freedom. he distinguished himself in several skirmishes near savannah. in , colonel baker conducted an attack upon tybee island, where some of the enemy from vessels-of-war were living, and they destroyed the buildings, and drove the enemy to their ships. in this attack, jackson distinguished himself, winning therewith honors from the governor, and the thanks and admiration of the people. he served throughout the revolutionary war, and when savannah surrendered, gen. anthony wayne, ordered that the keys of savannah be given to jackson, because of his gallant service to his state and country, and because "he was the first american soldier to tread the soil of a town, from which the arms of a tyrant had too long kept its lawful possessor." at the close of the revolutionary war, james jackson began the practice of law in savannah. like joseph, in the bible story, he remembered and longed for his youngest brother; so he sent a request to his parents that his brother henry be permitted to come to america, promising to educate him and care for him as a son, but in his stead the family sent his brother, abram. he kept his brother and gave him advantages, but again sent for henry. the latter came and james jackson educated him, and at his death left him a child's share of his property. this henry was for years professor at the georgia state university, and was interpreter to william h. crawford, when the latter was minister to france. his son was general henry r. jackson, of savannah, who was a poet and a distinguished officer in both the mexican and confederate wars. general james jackson had a brother, john, who was in the british navy and was killed during the revolutionary war. in one of her letters to james, his mother wrote how much she wished she could see him, and said: "it is a great and a deep water that divides us and when i think of it my thoughts turn to my poor john." you see john had been buried at sea, and it was not an easy matter in those days for james to visit across the ocean, when it took weeks to make the journey. general jackson held many offices and was one of georgia's greatest governors. he defeated the yazoo fraud, resigning his place in the national senate, and going from there to the legislature of his state in order to do it. he is the only man in the history of our country who ever gave up being a senator to go to the legislature. it has been said that if jackson's heart were cut out after his death, on it would have been found the beloved word, "georgia." he died in washington years after, again a senator, and is buried in the congressional burial ground. his epitaph was written by his friend john randolph, and is as follows: "in the memory of major-general james jackson of georgia, who deserved and enjoyed the confidence of a grateful country, a soldier of the revolution, he was the determined foe of foreign tyranny, the scourge and terror of corruption at home." james jackson's maternal grandfather never forgave him for fighting against england in the revolutionary war, and in his will left to his grandson, james, only money enough to buy a silver cup.--caroline patterson, _mary hammond washington chapter, d. a. r._ experiences of joab horne. _compiled by one of his descendants_, mrs. b. m. davidson, _stone castle chapter d. a. r., dawson ga._ away back in the misty past, isaac horne, of scotland, crossed the atlantic and settled in edgecomb county, north carolina, on the tar river. isaac horne's name figures in the early history of north carolina. he was one of the first commissioners appointed to establish the boundary lines between the counties of the states. he was a wealthy planter, but the greater portion of his property was destroyed by the tories. he was killed at "gates defeat." isaac horne had three sons: william, henry, joab. this story is of the youngest son, joab, a gallant revolutionary soldier under general francis marion. joab horne met and wooed an english girl, nancy ricks. they encountered parental objections to their marriage on account of their youth, sixteen and fourteen, respectively, but love won and so the union was consumated. their parents never forgave them, and refused to aid them in any way. we can hardly imagine what hardships they endured; but with his beautiful young wife to encourage him he was determined to surmount all difficulties. hearing of the rich lands of georgia, they decided to emigrate. joab had one mule, and he procured a "hogshead" through which he ran a piece of scantling to serve as an axle, to this axle shafts were attached; his mule was hitched to this wonderful contrivance, their clothes put inside the rolling hogshead, and thus the journey to georgia was begun. god had blessed their union with the gift of a little child, but the exposure resulting from this mode of travel was more than the little one could with-stand. a little grave by the road side marked the first mile stone of real sorrow in their lives. finally, they reached their destination in burke county, georgia, on the ogeechee river, and began their new life in a new country. this country was almost a wilderness at that time. the first preparation for a home was a bush arbor, with a real georgia bed-stead, and fresh straw for a mattress; but it was not long before they had as comfortable a home as could be found in those days. trading seemed to be one of joab's characteristics. he had two hats, a "sunday" and an "every day hat," the sunday hat he traded for a wash-pot. nancy, his wife, would trade her jewelry, which she had brought from her girl-hood home, for household necessities. six children blessed their union, four girls and two boys. later they moved to pulaski county, near hawkinsville, ga. the evening of their life was spent in prosperity, a sure reward for such endurance, labor and love. nancy (ricks) horne died at the age of sixty-three, on their plantation in pulaski county. joab moved, with his son eli, who married sarah anderson of hawkinsville, to west florida, on the yellow river; there he lived to the ripe old age of eighty-seven. many a night would he sit by the fire-side and entertain his children and friends by relating experiences of other days. he could truly say, with columbus: "for the years will give back what the years with-held, and the balance swing level in the end." joab horne is buried in stewart cemetery, on yellow river, west florida. the following is a copy of the epitaph on his tomb: "in memory of joab horne member of the revolution born dec. -- died july -- ." "blow, gentle gale, and bear my soul away to canaan's land." historical sketch of margaret katherine barry, known as "kate barry, heroine of the cowpens." kate barry, an important character during the revolutionary war, was noted as a scout, and once during her husband's absence was flogged by the tories to make her disclose the whereabouts of her husband, and his company of rangers. her husband, captain andrew barry, was a magistrate under king george iii, and continued to exercise that office till the revolution began. he was also a captain in colonial period, but at the beginning of the war for independence, , was recommissioned captain of south carolina rangers by governor rutledge, and was a daring and brilliant officer during the whole war. he was at musgroves' mill, cowpens, cedar springs, and many other engagements, and was severely wounded during the battle of musgroves' mill, th august, , but with the tender care of his wife kate barry, who was always close by for scout duty, he was soon restored to health. captain andrew barry was also a religious man, and was one of the first elders elected by nazareth presbyterian church in spantanburg county, s. c., in which capacity he served the church 'till his death, june th, . his name appears in the book, "heitman's historical register of the officers of the continental army." the richard barry who signed the mecklenburg declaration of independence was of this family. it is written of kate barry that she knew no fear, and where duty pointed she dared to go, and where her love and affections centered, she would risk any and all dangers to guard and protect those whom she loved. kate barry was as remarkable for piety as for patriotism, she came of a religious family, and not only are there stories of deeds of kindness and sympathy, well authenticated, handed down in family traditions, but her sister, rosa moore, wife of richard barry, was also noted as a ministering angel at the bedside of the dying; and her prayers in hours of trial and bereavement made indelible impressions. during the war of the revolution kate barry acted as a voluntary scout for the patriot whigs of south carolina, and was so efficient that the patriot bands were seldom surprised by the british. she was the idol of her husband's company of rangers, any one of whom would have risked his own life to save hers. after the war ended major crawford approached captain andrew barry, and said: "it is your duty to kill elliott, the tory who struck kate barry one cut with a whip to intimidate her and make her disclose where the patriots were encamped; but if you will not, then i will kill him, for no man shall live who struck kate barry." then eleven men, including captain barry and major crawford, went out in search of elliott, whom they found at a neighborhood gathering. so soon as they were seen approaching, elliott fled into the house, and sought concealment under a bed. the doors were closed, and after parleying with captain barry, and his friends, elliott's friends agreed that captain barry alone, but unarmed, might enter the house, and see elliott, with the promise that barry would not kill him, which he might easily have done, as barry is described by dr. howe in his "history of the presbyterian church in south carolina," as a handsome man, six feet and one inch in height and of powerful muscular strength. barry entered the house, and the doors were again closed, and elliott came out from under the bed, when captain barry at once seized a three-legged stool, with which he struck elliott to the floor, exclaiming: "i am now satisfied, i will not take his life." when general greene, after gates' defeat at camden, was placed in command of the army of the southern department, he sent general morgan into south carolina to assemble the scattered patriots, preparatory to reclaiming south carolina, which after gates' defeat, and buford's annihilation at the waxhaws, lay bleeding at the feet of the british lion. it was then that kate barry in her voluntary capacity as scout for general morgan, of whose command her husband's company of rangers was a part, hunted up patriot bands and hurried them forward to morgan. in a short time general morgan found himself with sufficient force added to his little army of four hundred regulars to give battle to tarleton at the cowpens. to hurry up the south carolina rangers she swam her horse across rivers, evaded the tories, and encountered a thousand dangers, but succeeded in recruiting morgan's little army with sufficient patriotic force to bring off the best fought battle of the revolution, and at a time when all seemed lost to the patriot cause, and so followed carolina's redemption. who knows but kate barry's prayers were answered when broad river so suddenly rose from a descending freshet, and cut off cornwallis' pursuing army after the battle of the cowpens. the same downflowing freshet happened at yadkin, morgan making good his retreat to grane near guilford court house. kate barry was a daughter of col. charles moore, who was born in scotland in , and who went into ireland from scotland with the duke of hamilton, his relative, as family tradition says col. charles moore's mother was a hamilton. charles moore was a college graduate, and a prominent teacher at the time he removed to carolina, and is described as such in a deed for land now on file of record in north carolina, but what important part he took in the war of the revolution is not positively known; further than that his son, captain thomas moore, distinguished himself at cowpens, and was afterwards a general in the war of . but col. charles moore's six sons-in-law all acted prominent parts on the side of the patriots in the war of the revolution, viz: captain andrew barry, husband of margaret katherine moore; col. jno. lawson, husband of alice moore; judge richard barry, husband of rosa moore; rev. r. m. cunningham, d. d., husband of elizabeth moore; capt. robt. hanna, husband of ---- moore. he was on the staff of general sumter at the battle of blackstock; matthew patton, husband of the two last sisters was a noted soldier, but his rank is not known, except that he was a staff officer. written by mary s. irwin wood (mrs. james s. wood) regent of savannah chapter, a descendent of captain andrew barry and kate barry--from records and authenticated family traditions, and read at june meeting of the savannah chapter d. a. r. , by her daughter miss rosalind lawson wood, by request sent to elijah clark chapter d. a. r., athens, ga., to be read by mrs. augusta wood dubose, also a descendant of kate barry and her husband, captain andrew barry. art and artists of the revolution. during the reign of george iii, in the town of boston, with only eighteen thousand inhabitants, there hung in the library of harvard university a copy of "a cardinal" by van dycke. the new england states were opposed to art as a principle, but showed signs of literary and artistic activity at this time. exhibitions were unknown, the painters were "traveling artists" who went over the country painting portraits on sign boards, stage coaches, and fire engines, for practice and also a living. john singleton copeley, in boston, was the only american artist who did meritorious work. before he came under foreign influences, he wielded his brush with great dexterity, "the death of the earl of chatham" in the national gallery in london, being one of his famous pictures. the grouping of the portrait figures is skillfully arranged. to our art, the portraits he painted in boston are of importance. the lesson thus taught led us into the interior of the royalist era, with carved furniture, showy curtains, peopled with well-to-do men and women, lavishly robed, that suggests the customs as well as the people of the revolutionary period. benjamin west, a contemporary of copely, had nothing in common with the development of american art. he left at an early age for england, where he climbed the pinnacle of social, if not artistic success. he was a personal friend of the king, was employed as his historical painter, succeeding sir joshua reynolds as president of the royal academy. one of his pictures quite noted was "christ rejected." "death on the pale horse," the size of the canvas he used was by feet. his daring innovation of dressing the characters showed the costumes of the time and country in which they lived. it was his picturesque personality more than his art that attracts us to-day. in his native town, philadelphia, it is said the cherokee indians taught him the secret of preparing color. this was the first city in the union where opportunities for art growth and a moderate patronage presented themselves. charles wilson peale, a man rather versatile, also a painter of some merit, established the first "art gallery," a museum of historical portraits, in his residence in philadelphia. john trumbull was a different type, was not so richly endowed by natural gifts. every accomplishment meant strenuous study, yet he is dear to us for his glorification of revolutionary history. "the battle of bunker hill," "the death of montgomery" and "the declaration of independence," are familiar. the growth of art was handicapped, more than benefited--america was now an independent nation. the royalists who could afford the luxury of art left this country. now three men stepped forth who bore upon their brush tips the honor and progress of american art, thomas sully, john vanderlyn and washington allston. the first mentioned became rapidly the most fashionable portrait painter of the day. his sweet faces, with robes draped gracefully, show great progress and execution. sully was represented at the philadelphia academy by one hundred and sixteen pictures. it is said he painted a full length portrait of queen victoria. vanderlyn lived in rome painting. washington allston painted on his enormous canvas "belchazzer's feast." "the angel liberating st. peter from prison" is one of decided merit. gilbert stuart was not a follower of the others, had a distinct and forceful individuality, the striking details of his work being brilliance in coloring and the natural life-like posing. he was the first american master of painting. his early sketches were lost. at the age of thirteen he received commission to paint two portraits. two years later he went to scotland. his stay there was short, he pined for home, secured passage and returned, later going to london in , suffering privation. afterwards a pupil under west for five years, his success was immediate; people of wit and fashion thronged his studio. he tasked himself to six sitters a day. then devoted himself to society, living in great splendor. during this period he painted louis the sixteenth, george iii, and prince of wales. now his position was assured, he indulged himself in refusing many sitters, money failed to tempt him, only those who appealed to his artistic taste or afforded the best opportunity for a good picture. he was willing to give up all the golden opportunities europe presented that he might have the privilege and satisfaction of painting the one man, whose heroic qualities fascinated him most. in he returned to the city of brotherly love, establishing his studio here, painted three portraits of washington, unlike peale, who made in all fourteen of washington from life, painting him in the prime of his vigour. stuart depicts the late autumn of his life, a face in which the lines of character are softened, a face chastened by responsibilities, it is the face, who has conquered himself as well as others; he represents him indeed as "the father of his country." he said, "i copy the works of god, leave clothes to the tailor, and mantua maker." in washington he found sentiments, grace and character. in the story of art, gilbert stuart holds a unique, and dignified position. "the course of nature is but the art of god." thomas cole was a landscape painter. the sketches he painted in the catskills--the banks, woods, rocks and the cascades--gained recognition. he was an ardent student of english literature, influenced by sir walter scott. in truth, was more of a poet than painter. his noted pictures were "the voyage of childhood," "the course of empire," consisting of five canvasses, first representing "a nation's rise, progress, decline and fall." these are at the historical society of new york. the last picture of the serial, entitled "desolation," has rarely been surpassed in solemn majesty, and depth of thought.--_miss emily g. morrow, american monthly magazine._ "uncle sam" explained again. troy, new york, is said to be the place where the name "uncle sam" originated. after the declaration of war with england by the colonies a new york contractor, elbert anderson, visited troy and made it his headquarters for the purchase of provisions for the continental army. the supplies were duly inspected before shipment. one of the inspectors was samuel wilson, brother of ebenezer, also an inspector and known as uncle sam to the workmen whom he superintended. the casks in which the beef and pork were packed were marked with the initials of elbert anderson, the contractor, and the united states, thus: "e. a.--u. s." says the _new york sun_. the first pair of initials were of course familiar to the men, but "u. s." mystified them. the fact was that the name united states was then so new to these countrymen that its initials were a complete puzzle. they turned to the nearest explanation, a humorous one and intended as a joke on their boss. if "e. a." stood for elbert anderson, then they opined "u. s." must stand for "uncle sam" wilson. the joke spread to the continental army, which carried it to every part of the country. an episode of the war of the revolution. in south carolina was completely overrun by the british. the english colonists were divided, the majority being in favor of the revolution, but there were a goodly number of loyal men among them who conscientiously espoused the cause of the mother country and these were called tories. those who took part in the revolution were called whigs. lancaster county was their stronghold. they were mostly descendants of the scotch-irish. among these was charles mackey, their acknowledged leader. the whigs had always made lancaster too hot for the tories, but the advent of the british with tarleton at their head, turned the tide of war, and now the tories with tarleton drove the whigs from lancaster across the catawba and the pedee rivers to join general marion. charles mackey, as the leader of his band, had made himself very obnoxious to the tories and they impatiently waited the time for vengeance. he was a man of medium size, very active and energetic, a fine horseman, a splendid shot, hot headed, impulsive, often running unnecessary risks and doing dare-devil deeds. no work was too hazardous for him. his wife, lydia mackey, was a woman of good common sense, with a clear head and fine judgment. in her coolness and self-possession she was far superior to her husband. they had a family of young children, and charles mackey had not heard from them or seen any of them in several weeks. their home was not more than two and a half miles from tarleton's camp, on the hanging rock creek. he knew it would be hazardous for him to return to his home so near tarleton's camp; but his anxiety became so great that he could no longer remain in doubt, so he cautiously made his way home where he unwisely loitered for a week, and during this time he had the temerity to enter tarleton's lines more than once in search of information which was most valuable to his country's defenders. his home had patches of corn and potatoes on either side of a lane leading to the front of the house, while at the rear was a large kitchen-garden extending back to a great swamp, which was almost impenetrable to man or beast. this swamp was surrounded by a quagmire from ten to thirty feet wide. it was entered by jumping from tussock to tussock of moss covered clumps of mold, a foot or two in diameter and rising six to eight inches above the black jelly-like mire which shook in every direction when passing over it. a plank or fence-rail served as a temporary draw-bridge, which was pulled into the swamp after passing over. when the country was infested by tories, charles mackey spent his days in this swamp if not out scouting. at night he ventured home. he had good watch dogs and they gave the alarm whenever any one approached, whether by night or day. if at night, he would immediately lift a loose plank in the floor of his bed room, drop through to the ground, and out in the rear and run thirty or forty yards across the garden with his gun in hand and disappear in the swamp, pulling his fence rail draw-bridge after him. there was no approach to the house from the rear, and his retreat was always effected with impunity. once when he was at home, on the eve of leaving with some valuable information for the american general, his faithful watch dog failed to give warning of the approach of strangers and the first notice of their presence was their shouting "hallo" in front of the house. mrs. mackey jumped out of bed, threw open the window shutters, stuck her head out, surveyed carefully the half dozen armed men, and said: "who is there?" "friends," they replied. "is charlie mackey at home?" she promptly answered "no." in the mean time charlie had raised the loose plank in the floor, and was ready to make for the swamp in the rear, when, stopping for a moment to make sure of the character of his visitors, he heard the spokesman say: "well, we are sorry indeed, for there was a big fight yesterday on lynch's creek, between general marion and the british, and we routed the redcoats completely. we have been sent to general davie at lansford with orders to unite with general marion at flat rock as soon as possible, and then to attack tarleton. we do not know the way to lansford and came to get charlie to pilot us." mrs. mackey, calm and collected, said she was sorry her husband was not at home. but her husband was just the reverse, hot headed and impetuous. this sudden news of victory after so many reverses excited him, and he madly rushed out into the midst of the mounted men, hurrahing for marion and davie, and shouting vengeance on the redcoats and tories, and he began shaking hands enthusiastically with the boys and asking particulars about the fight, when the ringleader cooly said: "well, charlie, old fellow, we have set many traps for you, but never baited them right until now. you are our prisoner." and they marched him off just as he was, without hat or coat and without allowing him a moment to say a parting word to his poor wife. they took him to col. tarleton's headquarters where he was tried by court-martial and sentenced to death as a spy. the next day, mrs. mackey, not knowing what had happened to him, gathered some fruits and eggs, and with a basket well filled made her way to col. tarleton's. the colonel was on parade, but a young officer asked her to be seated. he said: "you have something for sale, i presume?" she replied that she had fruit and eggs. he gladly took what she had and paid for them. she then said her basket of fruit was only a pretext to get to col. tarleton's headquarters. that she was anxious to see him in person on business of great importance. she then explained to him the capture of her husband and that she wished to get him released if he were still alive, though she did not know but what they had hung him to the first tree they had come to. the officer told her the colonel was on parade and would not return for two hours. mrs. mackey was a comely woman of superior intelligence and soon interested the young officer in her sad condition. he expressed for her the deepest sympathy and told her that her husband was near by under guard; that he had been tried and sentenced to death, and he feared there was no hope for him, as the evidence against him by the tories was of the most positive kind. he told her col. tarleton was as cruel and unfeeling as he was brave, and that he would promise her anything to get rid of her, but would fulfill nothing. "however" said he, "i will prepare the necessary document for your husband's release, filling in the blanks so that it will only be necessary to get col. tarleton's signature, but i again frankly say that it is almost hopeless." at twelve o'clock tarleton rode up, dismounted, and entered the adjoining tent. as he passed along the young officer said, "you must wait until he dines; another horse will be brought and when he comes up to mount you can approach him, but not till then." at the expected time the tall, handsome, clean-shaven colonel came out of his tent, and as he neared his charger, he was confronted by the heroic lydia mackey, who in a few words made known the object of her visit. he quickly replied that he was in a hurry and could not at that time stop to consider her case. she said the case was urgent; that her husband had been condemned to death and he alone had the power to save him. he replied: "very well, my good woman, when i return later in the day i will inquire into the matter." saying this he placed his foot in the stirrup and sprang up, but before he could throw his right leg over the saddle, mrs. mackey caught him by the coat and jerked him down. he turned upon her with a scowl, as she implored him to grant her request. he was greatly discomfited and angrily said he would inquire into the case on his return. he then attempted again to mount, when she dragged him down the second time, begging him in eloquent terms to spare the life of her husband. "tut, tut, my good woman," said he, boiling with rage, "do you know what you are doing? be gone, i say i will attend to this matter at my convenience and not sooner." so saying he attempted the third time to mount, and so the third time lydia mackey jerked him to the ground. holding by the sword's scabbard, and falling on her knees, she cried: "draw your sword and slay me, or give me the life of my husband, for i will never let you go until you kill me or sign this document," which she drew from her bosom and held up before his face. tarleton, trembling with rage, turned to the young officer who stood close by intently watching the scene, and said: "captain, where is this woman's husband?" he answered: "under guard in yonder tent." "order him to be brought here," and soon charlie mackey stood before the valiant tarleton. "sir" said he, "you have been convicted of bearing arms against his majesty's government; worse, you have been convicted of being a spy. you have dared to enter my lines in disguise as a spy, and you cannot deny it, but for the sake of your wife i will give you a full pardon on condition that you will take an oath never again to bear arms against the king's government." "sir," said charlie mackey, in the firmest tones, "i cannot accept pardon on these terms. it must be unconditional or i must die," and poor lydia mackey cried out, "i, too, must die." on her knees she plead with such fervor and eloquence that tarleton seemed lost for a moment and hesitated; then turning to the young captain he said with quivering lips and a voice choking with emotion: "captain, for god's sake sign my name to this paper, and let this woman go." with this, mrs. mackey sank to the ground exhausted, and col. tarleton rode off, doubtless happier for having spared the life of the heroic lydia's husband. the history of the american revolution can hardly present a more interesting tableau than that of lydia mackey begging the life of her husband at the hands of the brave and bloody tarleton, and it is probable that the "lydia mackey victory" was the first ever gained over the heart of this redoubtable commander, and it is very certain that charles mackey was the only condemned prisoner ever liberated by him without taking the oath of allegience to the mother country.--mrs. f. h. orme, _atlanta chapter, d. a. r._ state flowers. in most instances, the state floral emblems have been adopted by the vote of the pupils of the public schools of their respective states. alabama, goldenrod. arizona, suwarso. arkansas, apple blossoms. california, california poppy. colorado, columbine. connecticut, mountain laurel. delaware, peach blossoms. florida, japan camellia. georgia, cherokee rose. idaho, syringa. illinois, rose. indiana, corn. iowa, wild rose. kansas, sunflower. louisiana, magnolia. maine, pine cone. michigan, apple blossom. minnesota, moccasin flower. mississippi, magnolia. missouri, goldenrod. montana, bitter-root. nebraska, goldenrod. new jersey, sugar maple. nevada, sage brush. new york, moss rose. new mexico, crimson rambler rose. north carolina, chrysanthemum. north dakota, goldenrod. ohio, buckeye. oklahoma, mistletoe. oregon, oregon grape. rhode island, violet. south carolina, carolina palmetto. south dakota, pasque flora. texas, blue bonnet. utah, sago lily. vermont, red clover. washington, rhododendron. wisconsin, violet. the counties of georgia. by katharine b. massey. when i was a little girl, our fad was the possession of a charmstring. this was a string of buttons, obtained by coaxing from our elders or barter with each other, and constantly added to until some of them reached the length of several yards. with delightful pride we told over the list of our treasures. "this button," one would say, "came from cousin mary's wedding dress; this my uncle john gave me; this was sent to me from china by my aunt who is a missionary in canton; and this bright brass one was on my father's uniform during the war." much of family life and many loving associations were thus strung together for the little maiden. in some such way, but in a larger sense, our state has used the naming of its counties as a cord of gold on which to hang traditions of its past, memories of its heroes, and reverences for those who helped us when help was needed. a group of seven counties embalms the names of the indian tribes who owned our hills and valleys before us, who hunted the deer with flintheaded arrows where now our cities stand, and threaded their trails in silent forests where today our cotton fields are spread. they are catoosa, chattahoochee, chattooga, cherokee, coweta, muscogee, oconee--how musically the syllables fall upon the ear. it is like a chime of silver bells. four counties may be set together as commemorating large events in history. columbia, oglethorpe, liberty, and union. the first of these was named for the dauntless sailor who, possessed with the faith which cared naught for all other men's unbelief and rising above poverty, discouragement, and mutiny, held his way westward over unknown seas to find his prophetic vision a reality. oglethorpe bears the name of the brave soldier, courteous gentleman, and broadminded philanthropist, who founded a colony for oppressed debtors to give them a new chance in life. liberty county has a pretty little story of its own. a band of massachusetts puritans, seeking a milder climate, settled first in south carolina, and not being fully satisfied, came on to st. john's parish, georgia. their distinguished devotion to the cause of liberty in the perilous days of - gained for them that name when the parishes were changed into counties. union county was so named because its citizens claimed to be known as union men, when the rest of the state stood for state rights.[ ] another group of seven counties bears the name of english statesmen who spoke for us in the halls of parliament and withstood the tyranny of king and nation in dealing with their brothers of america. they were the fiery-tongued orator edmund burke, the commoners glynn and wilkes, the duke of richmond, and the earls of chatham, camden, and effingham. three other foreigners, lovers of liberty, drew sword and fought in our battles, side by side with our struggling heroes. georgia has honored herself by naming counties for baron dekalb, count pulaski, and general lafayette. next comes the long muster-call of heroes whose names are written on the roll of fame as having fought for the freedom of their country--men whose names recall bunker hill and valley forge, king's mountain and guilford court house, and all the grim experiences of a nation struggling for existence. georgia has named counties for baker, bryan, butts, clarke, (gen. elijah, who fought the tories in our own state), clinch, early, greene, (gen. nathaniel, who settled on his grant of land in georgia after the war,) jasper, (the brave sergeant who leaped over the parapet to rescue the flag at fort moultrie,) laurens, lee (light horse harry, father of the grand general of the civil war,) lincoln, macon, marion (the swamp fox of south carolina,) meriwether, montgomery, morgan, newton, putnam, screven, stewart, sumter, twiggs, taliaferro, warren (killed at the battle of bunker hill,) wayne (mad anthony,) wilkerson, paulding, white, mcintosh--grand and glorious names that break upon the ear like a trumpet call, inspiring to deeds worthy to be ranked with theirs. the last of these names, mcintosh, was given in honor of a whole family which had contributed many sons to freedom's cause. seven presidents of the united states have given names to our counties. they are washington, jefferson, madison, monroe, polk, taylor and pierce. the governors of georgia have been a notable line, strong men of iron will, believers in state's rights and upholders of the dignity of the commonwealth. more than once they have withstood the national government. the list of them includes some names famous for other services to the state in the revolution and the civil war as well as in the halls of congress. those for whom counties are named are: bulloch, early, elbert, emanuel, gilmer, gwinnett, habersham, hall, heard, houston, irwin, jackson (soldier and statesman,) jenkins (who saved the executive seal of state at the close of the civil war and kept it until military rule was over and it could be returned to a governor legally elected by the people,) johnson, lumpkin, mitchell, rabun, schley, stephens (giant soul in a frail body, whose unheeded counsels as vice-president of the southern confederacy might have prevented much of the bitterness that followed,) talbot, telfair, towns, troup, walton, forsyth, and tattnall. wisely and well they guided the ship of state and left a priceless heritage of precedent to their successors. georgia has named fourteen counties for statesmen of national fame--calhoun, clay, webster--(these three made the great triumvirate whose eloquence shook the land in times when nullification and democracy were the questions of the day,) bibb, franklin, brooks, carroll, douglas, hancock (one of the first to lift his voice against british oppression in massachusetts,) henry (the immortal orator of virginia,) lowndes, mcduffie, murray, and randolph (quaint, eloquent, sarcastic john randolph of roanoke.) of her own sons whose voices have thundered in the halls of congress, or guided her councils at home, georgia has named counties for abraham baldwin (who first planned the state university,) ben hill (of the trumpet tongue, who first dared to reply to northern slanders, to speak the truth about andersonville, to show that we had not food, clothing and medicine for our own soldiers and that we did the best we could for the unfortunate prisoners who fell into our hands; claiming the respect of the nation and the world for the maligned southern confederacy.) berrien, clayton, cobb, colquitt, crawford, (william h., our candidate for the presidency,) crisp, campbell, charlton, dawson, dougherty, floyd, haralson, jones, miller, spanding, turner, walker, and ware. six of our counties bear the names of men who spent their lives fighting the indians. they are appling, coffee, butts, wilcox, thomas, and dade. of the first of these the story is told that, in recognition of his services, the state voted him a sword with an appropriate inscription. before it was ready for presentation the brave young soldier died. as he left no heir, the sword was kept in the state house at milledgeville until that memorial autumn of , when it disappeared. some soldier of sherman's army thus became richer and the state of georgia poorer by a handsome sword. the mexican war left us the names of echols, fannin, quitman, and worth. other brave soldiers of the state who have been thus honored are glascock, milton, pickens, and pike. the civil war gave to us the names of bartow and toombs. francis c. bartow said: "i go to illustrate georgia," and fell on the field of the first battle of manassas. general robert toombs escaped from georgia on his mare, grey alice, when every road and ferry was guarded by soldiers watching for him, made his way to england, and lived there until it was safe for him to return, remaining to the end of his life an "unreconstructed rebel." four counties, dodge, tift, gordon, and upson, are named for captains of industry. the united states navy gave us the name of decatur. banks and terrell are called for two beloved physicians who made their names blessed in the homes of the people for the alleviation of pain and the saving of life. in both cases the name was chosen for the county by the citizens, in loving recognition of the physician's services. the lost cause left with us the name of its one president, and we who are glad that it is the lost cause, that slavery is no longer an institution in our midst and that georgia takes her rightful place in the sisterhood of states, nevertheless claim the right to cherish our memories, to welcome dixie with the rebel yell, to cover our graves with flowers on the twenty-sixth of april, to look back through a mist of tears to gettysburg and appomattox, and to call one of our counties jeff davis. the noble preacher, whitfield, who helped to establish the bethesda orphan's home, gave his name to one county; and henry grady, silver-tongued and golden-hearted orator who helped to heal the wounds of war and drew together the north and the south into renewed brotherhood, is remembered in the name of another. rockdale is so called from its granite rocks and wooded dales. one is named for robert fulton, the inventor, one for harris, a prominent jurist, and last of all, georgia has named one county for a woman--red-headed, cross-eyed, tory-hating, liberty-loving nancy hart. footnote: [ ] but georgia was at that time intensely union, although believing in state rights. [illustration: indian treaty tree, marietta, ga.] an historic tree. mrs. r. c. little, _fielding lewis chapter_. more than a hundred years ago, a tiny acorn, dropped by some frisky squirrel or flitting bird, fell to the ground, where it lay unheeded and unknown. pelted by winter storms, it sank deep into the soft earth where it was nourished and fed, sending out rootlets to take firm hold of the kind mother who had sheltered it. soon the summer's sun called it from its underground bed and still clinging with its thread-like roots, it pushed up a green head and looked around the beautiful scenes of woodland, mountain and sky. pleased with what it saw, it lifted its head brighter and higher until it became a mighty oak, a monarch of the forest. birds and squirrels made their homes in it and beneath its shade rested the weary. all the country around belonged to and was inhabited by the cherokee indians, of all known tribes the most civilized and enlightened. no doubt their papooses swung on the branches of this magnificent tree and played under its wide spreading arms. with the coming of the white man, a town grew up--lovely marietta, still nestling amid the shadows of kennesaw, and the indians were asked to leave their happy homes, and go to strange lands further west. bewildered and uncomprehending, they were unwilling to go, and groups of them were often seen beneath this same mighty oak--mighty even then, conferring with the whites, and discussing by signs and gestures, the momentous question. when, finally, they were persuaded to accept the proposition of the government, they met in council beneath their favorite tree and signed the treaty, by which they agreed to leave their beautiful north georgia homes forever. within the memory of the oldest inhabitants, the grand oak became historic. it is still standing, and has showed no signs of age, until a fiery bolt found its lofty height and scathed it far down its trunk. it stands in the yard of mrs. h. g. cole, and is, notwithstanding its somewhat crippled condition, the admiration of all beholders. its girth near the ground is somewhat over eight feet, and seven feet from the ground it measures considerably more than twelve feet around. mrs. cole, though not aged herself, has seen four generations of her own family disporting beneath this noble tree, and should it fall because of age and decay, she and her children would miss and mourn it as a dear lost friend. independence day. original poem by mrs. c. m. o'hara, greenville, ga., read on the fourth of july, , at the meeting of david meriwether chapter: it has been one hundred and thirty-six years since our forefathers laid aside all fears of the mother country, and boldly said: the price of liberty in blood should be paid. the continental congress in philadelphia met and resolved that we should independence get, thomas jefferson wrote a long declaration, which england said was a sad desecration. so our mother tried to exercise her right to tax her children and forbidding the fight. the battles of lexington, bunker hill and others showed england that we were no longer brothers, after the first gun of the revolution was heard the americans lost fear of king george the third; they determined with franklin together to stand and hold fast at any cost the cherished land. over a century has passed, the patriots are dust, in the homes of many daughters their good swords rust, but the celebration of independence on the fourth of july in the hearts of americans we trust will never die. kitty. ethel hillyer harris. _written for the xavier chapter of the d. a. r., rome, ga._ "ah! woman in this world of ours, what boon can be compared to thee? how slow would drag life's weary hours, though man's proud brow were bound in flowers, and his the wealth of land and sea, if destined to exist alone and, ne'er call woman's heart his own." _--morris._ prologue. all day long there had been a vague unrest in the old colonial home, all day the leaves had quivered on the banks of the mataponi river; the waves were restless, the dog in his kennel howled fitfully; the birds and the chickens sought their roosts quiveringly, whimsically, and when night had let her sable curtain down, a lurid glare shot athwart the sky, in a strange curved comet-like shape. it was the indian summer, october in her glory of golden-rods, sumachs, and the asters in the wood. but, hist! hark! what breaks upon the autumn stillness and the quiet of the colonial household on the mataponi, -- -- ? it was the cannon at the siege of yorktown, forty miles away. the french fleet were making blazing half circles on the sky seen from their fortifications even thus far below. through the long night the boom! boom! boom! continued, the simple, loyal folks knowing nothing of the result. at last, wearied and spent, with a prayer to the all father to save america, they sought their welcome couches. among them was kitty, the idolized daughter of the family. soft! step easy! as we push aside the chintz curtains of her four-poster and gaze upon the child, to exclaim: how innocent is youth! her seventeen years lie upon her pink cheeks, and shimmering curly tresses as lightly as a humming bird in the heart of roses. her lithesome form makes a deep indenture in the thick featherbed, the gay patchwork quilt half reveals, and half conceals the grace of rounded arm and neck and breast, a sigh escapes her coral lips, one hand is thrust beneath the pillow, she dreams! on the chair her quilted podusouy and long stays are carelessly thrown. her louis seize slippers with red heels are on the floor, and the old clock on the stair is ticking, ticking, ticking. kitty is dreaming. of what? the greatest moment in our national history. dream on sweet maid, closer, closer point the hands; it nears three o'clock oct. , . a wild cry, and the whole household is awake. swift running to and fro, smiles, tears, shouts, "glory," "glory," "god be praised." such the sounds that faintly reach the dreaming senses of our kitty. and then her father with a kiss and hug pulls her out of bed with "awake lass! awake! awake! cornwallis has surrendered." in her night gown from her latticed window kitty saw the courier galloping through the little hamlet; pausing at her father's gate to give the message of our conquest over the british, and then galloping on towards the north, for he was on the direct route from yorktown to philadelphia where congress was in session. by the time kitty had pompadoured her hair, and donned her paviered print gown, all the parish bells were ringing for joy. from georgia to maine bells were sounding; peals of liberty and peace filled the air with prayers and praise and service to god took up the glad hour and over and over the refrain was sung "cornwallis is taken! cornwallis is taken." ah, dear kitty, and quaint little tableau of the long ago, five generations coming and going, in whose veins beats your loyal blood still listen and tremble and glow with pride at your legend of the siege of yorktown, and better still, sweetest of all the long agone ancestors more than five nations, indeed every nation honors and makes low obeisance to the stars and the stripes. "old glory! long may she wave o'er the land of the free and the home of the brave." chapter first. "thinkest thou existence doth depend on time? it doth; but actions are our epochs." in or , mr. carlton, who had his home on the mataponi river, moved with his family to georgia. after cornwallis had delivered his sword to washington, a little group of emigrants might have been seen at yorktown; among them the families of edmund byne and robert carlton. out in the blue harbour the nifty little brig "nancy" lay, all sails spread ready to embark to savannah, ga. these two above named gentlemen, took passage with their families, servants and household goods, and they were said to be persons of sincere, and devoted piety, full of hope and courage. they expected to reach savannah in three days. however, contrary winds set in, and the brig daring not hug the treacherous coasts of the carolinas sped far out to sea amid a terrific storm. she drifted for weeks at the mercy of the waves, until the passengers almost despaired of seeing land. if in our prologue, we saw a pretty, and partly imaginary picture of katherine carlton, known as kitty, for she it is now eighteen years of age, we see her again and in true historical facts receive her account of long ago, of the peril. thus reads her account: "one time it seemed as if the end had come. 'twas night. the passengers were lying in their berths enduring as well as they could the dangers of the hour, when suddenly the ship careened, seemingly falling on its side. it was then the voice of one of those pious men was heard amidst the howling winds 'lord help us up,' and straightway the ship was set upright and the danger was passed." the little party after landing on our beautiful south georgia coast, sweet with golden jasmines, and long moss on the beautiful braided live oak, proceeded up the country, in true emigrant fashion, in wagons. imagination, that merry, fantastic jade, will not let my pen be steady. a thousand pictures obtrude. kitty, her head so curly, eyes so dark and soft, thrust from out the wagon's canvassed top, or again her snowy fingers playing in the cool waters of a running brook, when the team stops to feed and drink. then mr. carlton, brave, resolute and the camp fire, the smell of broiled bacon, the dog on trail of a rabbit, the straw for seats, and weird firelight, and above all, the eternal stars of heaven. but we must hasten, though the chronicle, which is reliable, states that it took five weeks to reach their destination in burke county. as they approached the northern border of wilkes county, the trees grew taller, and the red oak, the white oak, burch, and maple, the crimson honeysuckle, and wild violets and muscadine vines took the place of yellow jasmine, and moss and whispering pines. it was indeed a forest primeval, a virgin soil, and a new land. so on the last day of their tiresome journey, early one morning, they came to a creek. there was no bridge, and it was plain that the stream had to be forded. the wagons were moving slowly along. katherine and her sister walking in front. a discussion arose: "what about the girls? here! come kitty!" or "stop, kitty! don't take off your slippers; you can't wade." about that time up rode a gallant revolutionary soldier named captain john freeman, who boldly said "i'll take kitty" and in a trice he had the fair young lady behind him on his own horse, and the limpid waters of our clear georgia stream were laying its flanks as he proceeded across the stream. chapter second. "the wagons have all forded the brook as it flows, and then the rear guard stays-- to pick the purple grapes that are hanging from the boughs." --_edward everett hale._ while our heroine is riding along in the dewy morn of the day, and at the same time enjoying the beauties of nature and no doubt with her lithe young body leaning against the captain, causing his heart to beat a double quick, we will go on with our narrative. captain john freeman was a native georgian, a revolutionary soldier, he was present at the siege of charlestown and savannah, a participant in the battles of cowpens, king's mountain and guilford court house, at the battle of kettle creek, and also at the capture of augusta in georgia. in most of his adventures in the revolutionary war, captain freeman had with him a colored boy named ambrose, who lived to a very great age and was well known to the younger generation as "uncle ambrose." he had his own cabin in athens, georgia. incidents in regard to him were handed by tradition. he had on his left arm the scar of a sabre cut, made by british dragoons when general tarleton's men were attacking and endeavoring to get away with the american trooper's horses that had been left at the camp, and which it was in part, the duty of the boy ambrose to keep. the british dragoons had possession of the horses for awhile and ambrose a prisoner also, but by a rapid retaliation the horses and servants were recovered. old ambrose used to tell about having been present at the siege of savannah, when count pulaski, one of the american generals, was killed. he said that he was back in the edge of the pine, or timber when the american army charged on the british fort and breastworks. he described pulaski as mounted on a spirited horse, with a great white plume in his hat, and how gallantly he led the americans in their advance. he saw pulaski when he fell from the horse, and was present at the point to which he was brought back, mortally wounded. chapter third. "blessed with that charmed certainty to please how oft her eyes read his; her gentle mind, to his thoughts, his wishes, inclined." anonymous. as might be guessed, in a few short months after crossing the creek together on horse-back, captain john freeman led kathrine carlton to the altar. in regard to her after-life, she was a wonder for those times, a great reader and a fine housekeeper, a fine raconteur; yet with all, the soul of hospitality. she had a healthy, strong mind; was imperious in her bearing, a devoted member of the church, a power in her family, and section. captain freeman was a wealthy man, and took her at times in a carriage to the mountains of north carolina on a pleasure trip. she bore him one child, rebecca, of a temperamental nature, and of deep piety like her mother. this child was the author of many lovely poems. captain freeman did not live to be very old. after his death mrs. freeman met losses which she bravely bore, rebecca married shaler hillyer and from this union sprang all the georgia hillyers. and to this day "grandma freeman" is almost a sainted word in the family, so strong was her character and so deep her love for others. she lived to be eighty-nine years old. in her bedroom was an old time tall clock that captain freeman had brought over from england when he brought his blue china dishes. as she drew her last breath, a beloved niece looked at the clock but it had stopped. that clock is still owned by one of her descendants, and it is not a legend but a fact, that when anything important happens, in the family, if it is running, it stops, if it is not running, it strikes. but to return to the bynes: to show that we are journeying on to meet those who are journeying on to meet us. mr. bynes' daughter annie, she who came in the brig "nancy" with mr. carlton, married a mr. harris, their daughter married mr. hansell, and his granddaughter, the beautiful golden haired leila, a noted belle and beauty, of atlanta, georgia, married a mr. llewelynn p. hillyer, of macon, georgia, the great grandson of kitty carlton. if the writer may be pardoned for saying so, she is the granddaughter of junius hillyer, the grandson of kitty carlton; and she also pleads guilty to the soft impeachment of having married hamilton harris, a relative of the byne family, too. two shall be born the whole wide apart and time and tide will finally bring them together. affinity, congeniality, fate! what? hurrah for the brave little sailing vessel, the nifty, white winged brig, "the nancy." battle of kettle creek. no battle of revolutionary times was more instrumental in making the surrender of cornwallis, at yorktown, possible than was the battle of kettle creek. as it was at that period of the war the only american victory in the far south, and though it seemed unimportant, it was a prominent factor in holding the militia together and stimulating, them to fight to ultimate victory. after the battle of monmouth, the largest engagement in the north closed, the scene drifted to the south. georgia was practically subdued by the british in january, . general provost, commanding the british in south carolina, and commodore parker and lieut. campbell, on the sea, had captured savannah and being so encouraged, made plans to aid the tories in crushing all patriots who dared to resist. on february th, , at war hill, wilkes county, georgia, the battle of kettle creek was fought. between four hundred and five hundred americans were in this engagement under col. pickens, against seven hundred men under col. boyd, a british officer, who was secretly employed by the british to organize a band of tories in south carolina and who was on his way to join the british army and had planned to take augusta on his route. col. boyd was mortally wounded in this battle. as soon as col. pickens heard of it he immediately visited his opponent and offered him any assistance within his power. the dying man left with him keepsakes and letters which were promptly delivered to his wife after his death. in vol. ii, wm. bacon stevens' history of georgia, new york, , bishop stevens gives the following account of this battle: "the enemy having effected a passage into georgia, pickens and dooly, now joined by col. clarke, resolved to follow; and they accordingly crossed the savannah on february , , and camped the following night within four miles of the enemy. forming the line of march in the order of battle, the americans now prepared once more, at a great disadvantage of numbers, to contest with the tories for the supremacy of upper georgia. much depended on this battle. if boyd should be successful in driving back the americans under such men as pickens and dooly and clarke, he might rest assured that no further molestation, at least for a very long time, would follow, and all would yield to the british power, while on the other hand should the americans be successful, it would not only crush the tory power, already so galling to the people, but protect them from further insult, and give a stimulus to american courage, which a long series of disasters made essential. it was a moment big with the fate of upper georgia. "boyd, with a carelesness evincing great lack of military skill and prudence, had halted on the morning of the th of february, , at a farm house near kettle creek, in wilkes county, having no suspicion of the near approach of the americans, and his army was dispersed in various directions, some killing and gathering stock, others engaged in cooking and in different operations. having reconnoitered the enemy's position, the americans, under pickens, advanced in three divisions; the right under col. dooly, the left under col. clarke and the center led by the commander himself, with orders not to fire a gun until within at least thirty paces. as the center, led by pickens, marched to the attack, boyd met them at the head of a select party, his line being protected by a fence filled with fallen timber, which gave him a great advantage over the troops in front. observing this half formed abatis, pickens filed off to a rising ground on his right, and thence gaining the flank of boyd rushed upon him with great bravery, the enemy fleeing when they saw their leader shot down before them. he was sustained in this charge by dooly and clarke, and the enemy after fighting with great bravery, retired across the creek, but were rallied by major spurgen on a hill beyond, where the battle was again renewed with fierceness. but col. clarke, with about fifty georgians, having discovered a path leading to a ford, pushed through it, though in doing so he encountered a severe fire and had his horse shot down under him, and by a circuitous route rose upon the hill in the rear of spurgen, opening a deadly fire. the enemy hemmed in on both sides, fled, and were hotly pursued by the victors, until the conquest was complete. for an hour and a half, under great disadvantage and against a force almost double, had the americans maintained the now unequal contest, and though once or twice it seemed as if they must give way, especially when the tories had gained the hill and were reinforced under spurgen; yet the masterly stroke of clarke, with his few brave georgians, turned the scale, and victory, bloody indeed, but complete, was ours." the daring exploit of grace and rachael martin. at the beginning of the war of the american revolution, abram and elizabeth martin were living in ninety six district, now edgefield county, south carolina, with their nine children. seven of their eight sons were old enough to enter the army, and were noted for their gallantry and patriotic zeal. the wives of the two eldest sons, grace waring and rachael clay, during the absence of their husbands, remained with their mother-in-law. one evening the news reached them that a courier bearing important despatches was to pass that night along the road guarded by two british officers. grace and rachael determined to waylay the party and obtain possession of the papers. disguised in their husbands' clothes, and well provided with arms, they hid in the bushes at a point on the road where the escort must pass. darkness favored their plans and when the courier and his guards approached they were completely taken by surprise by the suddenness of the attack. they had no choice but to surrender. the young women took their papers, released the soldiers on parole, and hastened home to send the important documents to general greene by a trusty messenger. the paroled officers returned by the road they had come and stopping at the home of the martins, asked accommodations for the night. the hostess asked the reason for their prompt return. they replied by showing their paroles, and saying they had been taken prisoners by two rebel lads. the ladies rallied them on their lack of courage and asked if they were unarmed. they said they were armed but were suddenly taken off their guard. they went on their way the next morning without a suspicion that they owed their capture to the women whose hospitality they had claimed.--_grace l. martin, piedmont continental chapter, d. a. r._ a revolutionary puzzle. these old rhymes were written in the early part of the revolutionary war--about . if read as written they are a tribute to the king and his army, but if read downward on either side of the comma, they indicate an unmistakable spirit of rebellion to both king and parliament. the author is unknown: hark, hark, the trumpet sounds, the din of war's alarms o'er seas and solid grounds, doth call us all to arms who for king george doth stand, their honors shall soon shine their ruin is at hand, who with the congress join. the acts of parliament, in them i might delight, i hate their cursed intent, who for the congress fight the tories of the day, they are my daily toast, they soon will sneak away, who independence boast, who nonresistant hold, they have my hand and heart may they for slaves be sold, who act the whiggish part, on mansfield, north and bute, may daily blessings pour, confusion and dispute, on congress evermore; to north and british lord, may honors still be done, i wish to block and cord, to general washington. south carolina in the revolution. (prize essay written by miss leota george of sandy springs in competition for the medal offered by cateechee chapter, d. a. r., to english class in anderson college, s. c.) south carolina had a large share in winning american independence. several decisive battles were fought on her soil. for the struggle she furnished far-sighted statesmen, brilliant leaders for the battlefield, and troops of patriotic, devoted men. her daughters brought to the conflict immeasurable aid, comfort and influence. the men of south carolina saved their own state and were able to give invaluable aid to their countrymen in other sections. south carolina had been settled by the huguenots, english, scotch-irish, welsh and germans--people from the sturdiest and most progressive countries of the world. their experiences in their new environment tended to make them independent and self-reliant. their years of hardships and strifes only served to make them more vigorous. they increased rapidly in population and built up an active trade. south carolina became one of the most prosperous of the colonies. the colonists of the lower country were people of learning and culture. the settlers of the middle and upper country were energetic, patriotic, and noble. there was no aristocracy. there were quite a number of able clergymen, skilled physicians, and well trained lawyers among the south carolinians. they had wealth without luxury. they suffered no religious restraint. every circumstance helped to develop them into a distinctive, independent people. the injustice and selfishness of british authority at once aroused the anger of these spirited settlers. the stamp act met with general opposition. south carolina at once protested against this unjust law and would not allow the stamps to be sold. after the repeal of the stamp act great britain made a second attempt to obtain money from the colonists by placing a tax upon glass, wine, oil, paper, painter's colors and tea. the vigorous objections of the colonists caused her to withdraw the tax from everything except tea. but the colonists were unwilling to accept anything but full justice from the hands of great britain. the south carolinians had many determined and active leaders in their opposition to british tyranny and in the avowal of their rights to govern themselves. christopher gadsen, william henry drayton, arthur middleton and david ramsay impressed upon the people the necessity of fighting for their liberty and urged them to prepare for a war with england. christopher gadsen, thomas lynch, john rutledge, arthur middleton and edward rutledge were chosen by the south carolinians to represent them at the first continental congress at philadelphia in . these men had had a prominent part in that meeting. the broad-minded, far-sighted christopher gadsen was the first man to see that independence must eventually come. at this meeting he was the first to suggest absolute independence. william henry drayton concluded one of his speeches in south carolina with this excellent advice: "let us offer ourselves to be used as instruments of god in this work in order that south carolina may become a great, a free, a pious and a happy people." on march , , the provincial congress adopted a new constitution and south carolina became a free and independent state. she was the first of the thirteen colonies to set up a government of her own. john rutledge was made president and henry vice-president. the first battle of the revolution was fought november , , when two british war vessels made an unsuccessful attack on a south carolina vessel. the british suffered their first complete defeat in america at charles town, june , . under sir peter parker the enemy attacked ft. moultrie. under the blue carolina flag with its crescent and the word "liberty," upon it, the patriots, with col. moultrie as leader, courageously resisted the attack. in this battle the immortal jasper braved the enemy's fire in rescuing the fallen flag and replacing it upon the fort. the splendid victory at ft. moultrie gave more confidence to the colonists and inspired them with new zeal. the colonists under william thompson defeated the british in a second attempt to take charles town in june, . for about two years following this battle the british army abandoned their attempt to conquer south carolina. however, she was far from being peaceful during this period. her settlers were not a homogeneous people. no bond of sympathy united them in fighting for a common cause. bands of tories had formed in the interior and were as difficult to overcome as the british themselves. under fletchall and cunningham they committed many bloody outrages and did an incalculable amount of harm. they stirred up strife among the indians and acquired their aid in fighting the patriots. some of the severest struggles of the revolution took place between the opposing factions in south carolina. andrew williamson, james williams and andrew pickens were active in defending the upland country against the tories and indians. in april and may of the british under gen. clinton again attacked charles town. for three months four thousand ill-fed, ill-clad, and undisciplined patriots withstood the attacks of twelve thousand of the best of the british troops. finally, the south carolinians were forced to surrender. fast following this defeat came pillage, devastations and repeated disasters. in the upper country the british under cruel tarleton followed up their victories with bloody outrages. clinton left cornwallis in command of the british forces in the south. the cruelties of this officer greatly aroused the anger of the carolinians. sumter, marion and pickens suddenly appeared upon the scene of battle. they rallied the scattered forces and began their peculiar mode of warfare. by means of the ingenuity and indomitable courage of sumter, the spirited "game cock," the enemy was harassed and numerous little victories were won from them. these successes were a great encouragement to the carolinians. sumter, aided by patriot bands under john thomas, thomas brandon and edward hampton, succeeded in driving the british out of northern carolina. about this time, gates and dekalb were sent to the relief of the south. on account of the poor generalship of gates the americans were defeated at camden, august , , by the enemy under the command of cornwallis. francis marion, the elusive "swamp fox," made repeated attacks upon the british forces and with the help of sumter, harden and mcdonald, again gained control of the upper country. on october , , sumter's men led by lacey, williams, and hill helped to win a battle from the enemy under ferguson at kings mountain. in january, , gen. daniel morgan of virginia, aided by andrew pickens with his body of riflemen, won a complete victory over the british at cowpens. gen. greene had brought some troops into south carolina. the combined forces of sumter, pickens, marion, lee and greene gradually drove the british into charles town. charles town was evacuated december , . south carolina's activities were not confined to her own borders. on several occasions she had sent troops to georgia to help defend this feeble colony. the south carolinians had captured a supply of powder in the early part of the war and sent it north to washington at the critical point where his supply had given out. it was a south carolinian who had secured aid from france for the patriots. this was exceedingly important since the french army and fleet played an important part in the capture of cornwallis at yorktown. in the great fight for independence south carolina did her share of the fighting and more than this. besides furnishing brilliant leaders and brave soldiers for the battlefield, she produced eloquent orators and wise statesmen to help manage the affairs of the colonists during this trying period. among the foremost of her statesmen was henry laurens. in he succeeded john hancock as president of the continental congress. he proved himself an efficient and wise officer. on his way to seek aid from the dutch he was captured by the british and imprisoned in the tower of london. at the close of the war he was exchanged for cornwallis. he then went to paris, where he was one of the commissioners who signed the treaty of peace between great britain and the united states. john laurens, a son of henry laurens, was also prominent in the management of the civil affairs of the colonists. it was he who secured aid from france. never has anyone been sent from america to europe on so important mission. by his tact and unusual abilities he succeeded in the task in which franklin had failed. christopher gadsen, arthur middleton, william henry drayton, and david ramsey were the great orators of south carolina during the revolution period. at the beginning of the war they accomplished much by inspiring their fellow-countrymen with patriotism and courage. john rutledge, charles cotesworth pinckney and thomas pinckney had much to do with managing the affairs of the province during the war. the distinguished generals, sumter, pickens, marion and hampton rendered valuable service as statesmen--services which are apt to be overlooked on account of these men being such efficient partisan officers. the men who signed the declaration of independence for south carolina were thomas heyward, thomas lynch, arthur middleton and edward rutledge. south carolina's women were as loyal, devoted, and heroic as her men. they supplied the soldiers with many comforts by knitting and weaving garments for them. in some instances they took an active part in the struggle. mrs. thomas and mrs. dillard made perilous rides to warn the patriots of impending attacks of the enemy. we will long remember the patriotic spirit and self-sacrifice exhibited by mrs. motte when she showed the americans how to set fire to her own house in which the british were fortified. mrs. bratton nursed some wounded british soldiers who had threatened to kill her the day before. our state has sufficient cause to be proud of her noble women of the revolution. the difficulties under which south carolina labored throughout the long struggle only add to her glory and honor. next to georgia she was the feeblest of the colonies. at the beginning of the war she had only ten thousand available men. there were heavy drains upon her limited resources. much of the ammunition used during the war was captured from the british. reaping hooks and mowing scythes were used for weapons when the supply of guns was inadequate. saws were taken from sawmills to be made into swords. lead was removed from the housetops and churches to be run into bullets. the soldiers had not half enough tents, camp kettles, and canteens. clothes, food and medicines were often lacking. added to all this were the strifes created by the insurgent royalists and indians. when we view the remarkable successes of the south carolinians in the light of all these conditions, we can but agree with the great historian bancroft in his opinion that "the sons of south carolina suffered more, dared more and achieved more than the men of any other state." lyman hall. lyman hall, one of the signers of the declaration of independence, was born in wallingford, conn., april , . he was the son of hon. john hall and mary street. in lyman hall was graduated from yale college in a class of twenty-eight members. he then studied theology. in the twenty-eighth year of his age he moved to dorchester, s. c., and for many years ministered to the needs of those sturdy people. many of these settlers removed to liberty county, georgia. along with the second stream of immigration came lyman hall. when the storm of the revolution began to lower, dr. hall promptly took sides with the patriots and to them he was a tower of strength. dr. hall was chairman of the meeting at midway, february th, , which sent delegates to the meeting at charleston. he was elected to represent the people of st. john's parish in the continental congress, march , . when the declaration of independence was signed, lyman hall, button gwinnett and george walton, in behalf of the inhabitants of georgia, affixed their names to the famous document. when the british troops overran georgia, the property of those who had espoused the patriot cause was confiscated and destroyed, and dr. hall's residence at sunbury and his plantation near midway were despoiled. with his family he removed to the north where he resided till , when he returned to georgia and settled in savannah. in dr. hall was elected governor of georgia and his administration was one of the most important in the history of the state. after the expiration of his term of office as governor, he returned to savannah and again took up the practice of medicine. he removed to burke county in and settled upon a fine plantation near shell bluff. here he died, october , , at the age of sixty-seven, and was buried in a brick vault on a bold bluff overlooking the river. in his remains were removed to augusta and placed with those of george walton beneath the monument erected by patriotic citizens in front of the court house. in person, dr. hall was six feet tall and finely proportioned. he was a man of great courage and discretion, and withal gentle and easy in manner. he was fitted to guide the ship of state in the storm of the revolution, and though he never bore arms, or won distinction as an orator, the people felt safe with his hand at the helm. the state of georgia has fittingly perpetuated his memory by naming one of its counties for him, and, so long as liberty and patriotism shall live, so long shall the name of lyman hall be remembered.--_compiled from "men of mark of georgia."_ a romance of revolutionary times. about , the only son of sir john stirling, of scotland, was sent to one of the west india islands to look after some property. if he needed money he was to write home for it, putting a private mark on his letters. a serious illness caused him to forget the private mark, so no attention was paid to his letters with request for money. so he found himself stranded among strangers without money and without health. a kindly sea captain, whom he met, offered to take him in his vessel to connecticut without money. he gladly accepted the offer and sailed for a more healthful climate. shortly after he left the west indies, letters were received there from his father inquiring for him. the answer was sent to the father that his son had been very ill, and as he had disappeared they supposed he was dead. in the meantime young stirling had gone to stratford, connecticut, where he taught school as a means of support. he soon fell in love with one of his pupils, pretty glorianna folsom, the beauty and belle of the village. her father was a prosperous farmer. they were married in . after the birth of their first child, a young minister, who was going to scotland to be ordained, offered to hunt up his family if he would give him the necessary proofs of his identity. he did so, though reluctantly and hopelessly. the minister sailed for scotland and soon found the family who were in deep mourning for the son they had supposed dead. they were overjoyed to hear he was alive, and at once wrote him to come home by the first vessel, not waiting for his wife and child to get ready; that they would send for them later. he did so, and his sudden departure caused the gossips to decide that glorianna and her little daughters (for the second one was born after he left) had been deserted. it may have seemed a long period, but after he had had time to prepare a home for her and a quantity of beautiful clothing, he sent a ship to new york for her and she was requested to embark immediately. she found everything provided for her comfort and convenience and a servant to wait on her. they lived near stirling castle and afterwards in edinborough and young stirling succeeded to the honors and estates of the baronet in due time. glorianna was a woman of remarkable character as well as beauty, and was the mother of eighteen children.--_grace martin, piedmont continental chapter, d. a. r._ "ft. motte." "as unto the bow the cord is, so unto the man is woman, tho' she bends him she obeys him, tho' she draws him, yet she follows, useless each without the other." we have in our county of orangeburg an historic spot which rightly in name is a monument to the self-sacrifice and heroism of mrs. rebecca motte, the wife of col. isaac motte. this family had moved from charleston to st. matthew's parish and owned a beautiful plantation home on the congaree river, about where the present town of fort motte stands. as nathaniel greene, aided by the partisan leaders, drove the british from post to post back into charleston, the british fortified motte's, the chief part of the post being mrs. rebecca motte's home. the family had been driven out by the british and were living in the neighborhood. lee's and marion's men built a mound of earth, which is still to be seen, from which the riflemen could command the inside of the fort, but the house protected the enemy still. it was found necessary to burn it. they informed mrs. motte that they would probably have to burn her home, which stood in the center of the fort; she begged them that they would not consider her house of any consequence in the general cause and with great patriotism and firmness presented them with a bow and quiver of arrows and showing them how to set fire to the house, requested that they should burn it quickly. by this means the whigs threw fire on the roof, compelling the garrison commanded by lieutenant mcpherson to surrender or be roasted. mrs. motte was extremely rejoiced when she saw the garrison surrender. lee's and marion's men extinguished the flames and the house was afterwards rebuilt. some authorities say that the bow and arrows were a present sent mrs. motte from india, others that they were borrowed of a negro boy. however this may be the mound of earth is all that is now visible as a reminder of mrs. motte's sacrifice. the place where the house stood is at present a cotton field and owned by mrs. a. t. darby. time, the eradicator, will eventually wipe out the mound and all that will commemorate this brave deed will be the name, "fort motte," on the written page.--mrs. bessie goggans owen, vice-regent moultrie chapter, _in american monthly_. peter strozier. about the year , peter strozier, the hero of our story, was born in germany. we know nothing of his childhood or early life, but in manhood we know him as our worthy ancestor and find him bravely fighting for american independence. he was married to margaret dozier in his native land and he, with four brothers, came to america about the time of the out-break of the revolutionary war and settled in virginia. to the call of the country that he had come to share its reverses as well as its prosperity, and in the spirit of liberty he was ready to draw the sword when the iron heel of oppression was set upon its cherished rights. during the seven years of faithful service he gave to his country, his wife and five children were left alone in a country home, where their lives were in constant danger. but god, in his all wise providence had sent into their home an orphan boy who was left to care, as best he could, for the family. this orphan boy, whose name was captain paddy carr, was reared by our worthy ancestor, and during his life his gratitude never waned for his benefactor and benefactress. in the meantime captain carr moved the family to georgia but found the condition of affairs even worse than in virginia. the tories at this time held full sway in georgia and in no other state were they so wicked and cruel. the people were divided into two parties, the tories and the patriots. the tories were those who took the oath of allegience to the king, and those who refused to take the oath and would rather suffer and fight for american independence, were called patriots. so the tories and patriots hated each other with a bitter hatred. while these patriots, brave and liberty loving men, were fighting for their independence, the tories were left unmolested in their homes. the patriots were forced to leave their property and helpless families to the mercy of the british and tories. the tories were far worse than the british. they formed themselves into companies, roving over the country, committing all kinds of outrages; robbing and burning houses, throwing old grayheaded fathers and grandfathers into prison and driving helpless wives and children from their homes, showing mercy to no one who favored the american cause. one venerable great grandmother, margaret strozier, fell a victim to a band of these tories, who robbed and burned her home and drove her away. she walked with five children to south carolina. when the young patriot, captain carr, heard of the robbery and burning, his fiery blood boiled in his veins and he swore vengeance on all tories. henceforth he lost no opportunity to avenge the wrong done to the woman who was the only mother god had given him, and to children who were his only brothers and sisters. tradition tells us that at the point of his own gun, he captured at one time five tories and held them until his company came up, and to them he showed no mercy. having gone through the revolutionary war, which closed in , peter strozier, with his family, settled in wilkes county, georgia. tradition also tells us that he was a man of noble traits, with great force and dignity of character. his last days were passed under a silver-lined cloud, and in the old county of wilkes he lies buried today. after his death, his wife, margaret dozier strozier, who had shared with him the sufferings and hardships of the cruel war, moved to meriwether county, georgia, with her son reuben strozier, and she lies buried in the old family graveyard about four miles west of greenville, georgia, near the old strozier homestead. we can say by tradition, from generation to generation, that there sleep today no truer, no purer, no nobler ones than peter and margaret strozier. how we love and cherish the memory of our fore-fathers! so will generations, after generations, and may we never tire in our efforts to preserve the records of the lives and struggles of those who fought and bled and died for our freedom.--nannie strozier thrash. independence day. oh, happy independence day, we love thy honored name, dear happy independence day is with us once again. over a hundred years ago, this day first won its fame, and tho' the long years come and go, 'tis remembered just the same. we are a band of people true, we love our native home, its environments, its skies of blue, from it we'll never roam. let us forget the soldiers never, who battle to be free, who fought king george's army, from far across the sea. they left their dear beloved home to chase the cruel foe, o'er deserted battle fields to roam midst suffering, pain and woe. those soldiers now are sleeping to chase the cruel foe, o'er deserted battle fields to roam midst suffering pain and woe. those soldiers now are sleeping on plain, and hill, and shore, their titles we are keeping, but they'll be here no more. when wars wild note was sounded when the cry for freedom came, england's hosts had landed to win her glorious fame. alas, the british finally knew they could no longer stay, they left our brave and daring few and quickly sailed away. alas, those dreadful days are gone, no one remains to tell, of struggles made, and burdens bore, for the land we love so well. we love the mother country yet, her name we still adore, her kindness we can ne'r forget, but we'll be bound no more. oh, happy independence day how dear to us the name! oh, happy independence day is with us once again. --_by mamie crosby._ sarah gilliam williamson. the most remarkable woman who lived in georgia during the revolutionary war, perhaps, was sarah gilliam williamson. considering her loyalty to the cause of the colonies, her courage in managing the plantation and large number of negro slaves during the absence of her husband in the army, her sufferings at the hands of the enemy, together with the success of her descendants, she stands ahead of any of the georgia women of her day. sarah gilliam was born in virginia about the year . her father was william gilliam, and her mother mary jarrett, the sister of rev. devereau jarrett, the distinguished episcopal minister. sarah gilliam married micajah williamson, a young man of scotch-irish parentage. in the young couple moved to wilkes county, georgia, and settled on a fine body of land. it was while living here in peace and abundance, with their growing family around them, that the difference between the mother country and the colonies began. sarah williamson and her husband both warmly espoused the cause of the colonies, and when hostilities commenced a georgia regiment took the field with elijah clarke as colonel, and micajah williamson as lieutenant-colonel. micajah williamson was present in all the conflicts of this regiment and in the battle of kettle creek col. clarke gave him full credit for his part in winning the victory. many scenes of this nature were enacted in the neighborhood of sarah williamson's home, and this fearless woman not only witnessed the conflicts, but sometimes participated in them. her husband was twice wounded and to him she gave the care of a devoted wife, nursing him back to health and to the service of his country. year after year during this long struggle sarah williamson bravely assumed the part of both the man and the woman. under her excellent management the plantation was cultivated, supplies were furnished the army, and spinning wheels were kept busy making clothes for husband, children and slaves. thus she toiled in the face of ever-present danger, threatened always with hostile indians, cruel tories and british soldiers. finally, one day the dreaded tories, incensed at her husband's activity in the cause of the colonies, made a raid on the home and after taking all they wanted, destroyed by fire every building on the plantation, and their fiendish hearts not being yet satisfied with the suffering of this loyal woman, they hung her eldest son, a handsome youth, in the presence of his mother. her courage undaunted by this great calamity, sarah williamson had the faithful slaves gather up the remaining live stock running at large in the woods, and with her entire household went as a refugee to the mountains of north carolina, where they remained until the close of the war, when they returned to the plantation. a few years later the family moved to washington, georgia. here again it became necessary for her to manage for the family when her husband was commissioned major-general of georgia troops and led an army against the hostile cherokee indians. peace was made, however, before a battle was fought. now sarah williamson began to reap the reward her love, sacrifice, energy and labor had won. her five sons grew to be successful men, her six daughters to be refined, educated and beautiful women, who became the wives of prominent men. one daughter married john clarke who became governor of georgia. to this georgia mother belongs the distinguished honor of being the first american woman to furnish from her descendants two justices of the supreme court of the united states; justice john a. campbell of alabama was her grandson, and justice l. q. c. lamar of georgia and mississippi was her great grandson.--ruby felder ray, _state historian, d. a. r._ a colonial hiding place. in sailing up the hudson river, about one hundred miles above new york, you will discover on the west side a rather broad estuary, named by the old dutch settlers, the katterskill creek. this creek flows through a cleft in the mountains, known in the quaint language of the dutch as the katterskill clove. this clove, nature's pass through the mountains, was well known, and used by the tribes of the six nations, and especially by the vindictive, and blood thirsty mohawks, as an easy trail by which they would descend upon the peace-loving and thrifty dutch settlers; kill all the men who had not fled for refuge to the strong stone houses which were specially built for defence; capture the women and children, and kill all the live stock. on the peninsula between the river and the creek, the latter being wide and deep enough to float the magnificent steamers which ply between albany and new york, stood the colonial mansion to which your attention is called. this mansion, for it was a splendid structure for those days, and the term would not be a misnomer in these, was built in by a madam dies, a dutch matron, who afterwards married an english army officer. this man was so infatuated with his dutch "vrow," and her wealth, that he deserted the colors, and would hide from search parties in the place to be hereinafter described. the house was built of the gray sand stone found in that region, and was two stories high, with a capacious cellar, and an immense garret. the walls were nearly three feet thick, set in cement, which became so hard that when the day of destruction came a few years ago, the workmen were unable to tear the walls apart, but had to blow them down with dynamite. one hundred and fifty years had that cement been setting, and it was as hard as the stone itself. in the cellar was a well to provide water in case of siege by the indians, and heat was obtained by huge fire places in each of the eight large rooms, the smoke from which was carried off by two giant chimneys, and on one of these chimneys hangs the tale which is the excuse for this article. madam dies, true to her name, was gathered to her fathers, and her craven husband went to the place prepared for those who desert their colors. leaving no direct heirs, the house with its ten acres of grounds, and known from its elegance and size as "dies folly" passed into other hands, and finally, early in the nineteenth century, was purchased by major ephriam beach, and remained in the family for nearly one hundred years, until destroyed by the exigencies of business. the huge chimneys reared their massive proportions in the center of each side of the house, and major beach, wishing to rearrange the interior of his dwelling, tore down the one on the north side. as it was being taken down, brick by brick, they came to where it passed through the garret, and there the workmen discovered a secret recess capable of holding several people. it was cunningly conceived with the entrance so arranged as to exactly resemble the brick composing the chimney, and an enemy might hunt for days and fail to discover the secret hiding place. it was evidently intended as a concealed refuge in case the house should be captured by the indians, but so far as known was never used for that purpose, the village never being attacked after the house was built. some dishes and a water jar which were found in the hidden chamber, served to prove that the husband of madam dies used it to conceal himself from the british soldiers when they were hunting him, but apart from that undignified proceeding it was never used. [illustration: the old liberty bell. "proclaim liberty throughout all the land, unto all the inhabitants thereof."] the house was well known to be haunted, and there are many well authenticated ghost stories told in connection with it; but the spooks were a decent and well behaved lot, and never disturbed the writer, who spent many years within its substantial walls. the daughter of the writer was the last of my children born therein, and she never saw even a fairy godmother, although both of her grandmothers hovered around her cradle. the writer, edward cunningham beach, is a grandson of major ephriam beach, herein mentioned and the baby daughter in aforesaid is mrs. barrett cothran, of atlanta, georgia.--_council safety chapter, d. a. r._ a hero of the revolution. the descendants of grace (pittman) mcarthur still tell to their children the story of philip pittman, her father, as it has been handed down from father to son. philip was born july , . he was one of eleven children of john and mary pittman. his father served in the revolution, as matross in capt. harman davis' company, th artillery regiment of south carolina, commanded by col. barnard beckman. though too young, probably, to enlist, the revolutionary fires burned so brightly in the young patriot's breast that he was ready to give his life to his country even though he might not carry sabre or musket. as the story goes, philip was overtaken by tories at one time while he was making his way over the country with provisions for his father john and some comrades. thinking this an easy way to find out the whereabouts of the patriot army the tories commanded the boy to tell where his father was, but they reckoned without their host. the boy stoutly refused to tell, and even though strung up and hung to a near by limb until almost too near dead to talk, he still refused. whereupon the officer, moved perhaps by the extreme youth of the boy, ripped out an oath and ordered him cut down, remarking that the ---- rascal would die before he would tell. philip did not die, but lived to grow to manhood, enlisted in the war and served as one of georgia's soldiers line in the revolutionary war. he was three times married, raised a large family of children whose allegiance to their country was only equaled by that of their father. philip died in south-west georgia, july , .--mrs. j. d. tweedy, (lula mcarthur), dawson, ga., dorothy walton chapter, d. a. r. john paul jones. what american or french girl or boy does not like to hear of that "wizard" of the sea,--john paul jones! that "pirate," as he was called by the english minister in holland, when jones took his captured prizes there, but he was no more a pirate than you or i. the word pirate means one who is at war with mankind, and john paul was holding an honest position in an honorable service and fighting only the enemies of his adopted country--america. he was born july th, , at arbigland, scotland, of poor and obscure parents, his father being a gardener, but the right material was in him to make a great man and he won for himself a world-wide fame as a leading figure in the american navy. the only conquerer to whom he ever lowered his colors was death. at twelve years of age he was apprenticed, then went to sea on the "friendship" to visit his brother william paul, in virginia. while in north carolina, in , he changed his surname to jones for the love he bore to a family of that name living there. to show what one can do when he tries and has faith in himself, i will tell you that jones was a poor sailor at twelve, officer at seventeen, naval lieutenant at twenty-eight, captain at twenty-nine, commodore at thirty-two, at forty-one a vice-admiral in the imperial navy of russia, at forty-three a prominent figure in the french revolution, and died at the age of forty-five, deeply deplored by napoleon, who expected to do great things in conjunction with him. jones loved france and france loved him, and with him and france we were able to gain our liberty from the british yoke. he loved america because he loved liberty, and he put all his grand titles aside when making his last will and testament to sign himself, "i, john paul jones, an american citizen." such men as washington, franklin, hamilton and lafayette, were his staunch friends. kings and queens delighted to do him favor. louis xvi knighted him and presented him with a sword of honor. catherine, of russia, made him an admiral and loaded him with honors. these are only a few of his distinguished friends. in personal appearance he was slender and swarthy, with black hair and eyes; always well dressed, graceful and courtly. he was as much at home at the most aristocratic courts of europe as when treading the deck of a man-of-war. he was grave by nature, but quite witty. a kinder heart never beat in the breast of any man. he hoisted the first american flag that ever flew from an american war vessel, on his ship, the "ranger," and at the same time congress decided to accept the present form of the flag, it made him captain of the "ranger," hence his remark: "the flag and i are twins; born at the same hour, from the same womb of destiny; we cannot be parted in life or death." february th, , the french naval commander, lea motte piquet, saluted for the first time from a foreign power the stars and stripes,--gave thirteen and received nine guns. just a word right here about the flag, so dear to us: when betsy ross made our flag, she objected to the six pointed stars that general washington wanted, because the english used it, but told him it would be more appropriate to use the five pointed star that the french and dutch used, as they were friendly to the colonies; and she had her way. i haven't space to tell of the many victories of jones, but one of the greatest was when he captured the "serapis" from the british, september , . his own little weak vessel, the "bonhomme richard" went down with the flag flying, but just before it sank, his antagonist thought he was about to give up the fight, and asked him "if he had struck his flag?" he answered, "i've just begun to fight." so he won the battle and captured the prize. jones died july , , in paris, of dropsy of the chest. he was buried in the old st. louis cemetery, in the northeastern part of paris, and lay there one hundred and thirteen years before he was brought back to the united states. general horace porter is the man who, after six long years of search, finally found his body in the old cemetery, which by this time was the dumping ground for horses and dogs. the body had been put in a leaden coffin, carefully packed with straw and hay, and then filled with alcohol to preserve it. rear admiral c. d. sigsbee, was sent to france to bring the remains of the hero home. knowing jones' love for our flag, the daughters of the american revolution society presented admiral sigsbee with a beautiful silk flag, june th, , to be used in connection with the return of jones' remains. afterward it was hung in continental hall, washington, d. c. on july , , the body of jones was placed in a brick vault, naval academy grounds, annapolis, with religious and military ceremonies. on april , , commemorative ceremonies were held in the armory of the naval academy, annapolis, and then the casket was put in bancroft hall. here all that is mortal of the conquerer of the "serapis" lies, and in the battles of life when the odds seem against us, may we be able to exclaim with him, "i've just begun to fight."--mrs. w. e. wimpy, piedmont continental chapter, d. a. r. the real georgia cracker. there was a man named oglethorpe, who didn't like old england's laws; so he got into his little ship, and sailed it straight across. he swung around carolina's point and landed at a bluff; and when he found the soil so rich, he said--"tis good enough." he named the place savannah, and then laid off a town, you ought to seed the taters, that grew thar in the ground. he planted cotton, rice and corn, and then a patch of backer: that was the first beginning, of the real georgia cracker. then he got some mules and plows, and sat the boys to hoeing; ever since they stirred the soil, the georgia cracker has been growing. but now--where once those taters grew, mount twenty tall church steeples; and the place he named savannah, dwell nigh a hundred thousand people. will stand a living factor; while angels guard it overhead, god bless the georgia cracker. in chippewa his monument, jesup, ga. --_l. g. lucas._ the dying soldier who gave his wife for his friend. many years ago there lived in virginia a little boy whose name was john davenport. his father was a farmer who planted and raised large crops of tobacco in the fields about his home. his parents were good and wise people, and carefully brought up and trained their children. john was a good boy. he was honest, truthful, obedient, bold and strong. if he had any thing to do, either in work or play, he did it well. he grew up like other boys of his day. he went to school and made many friends among his playmates by his manly conduct. there lived in the same county in virginia another little boy of strong and sterling character whose name was harry burnley. these two little boys were near neighbors and great friends, and they played and hunted and fished together all during their early boyhood days. when john davenport was quite a young man he met and married lucy barksdale, a girl of great merit and beauty who was just sixteen years old at the time of their marriage in . this couple spent many happy days together; children came to gladden their home; and life looked rosy and bright before them. as these peaceful and happy days were gliding by in their virginia home a tempest was gathering--a great war cloud--which was destined to bring much sorrow to this happy pair. england, the mother country, who at first dealt kindly and justly with the colonists, had begun to be unkind to them and to tax them unjustly. these oppressive and burdensome taxes the colonists refused to pay. england sent over trained soldiers to the american colonies to enforce obedience to her unjust laws. the colonists were weak, and had no trained soldiers; but they raised an army and determined to fight for their liberties. so war began. after the declaration of independence by the patriots on july th, , john davenport, ever true to his country and his convictions of right and wrong, though regretting to leave his beautiful young wife and his happy children, took up arms to fight for liberty. harry burnley went with him to fight for the same noble cause. they were both brave soldiers and fought in most of the prominent battles of the revolutionary war. they were mess-mates and bunk-mates throughout the war. on the night of march th, , while the two opposing armies were encamped near greensboro, at guilford court house, north carolina, and stood ready to join in bloody battle the next day, these two devoted friends were sitting by their camp fire, talking of the coming battle and thinking of their loved ones at home. john davenport seemed sad and much depressed. harry burnley noticed his depression and asked him why he was no downcast. he said, "harry, somehow i feel that i will be killed in battle tomorrow. i almost know it." harry burnley tried to dissipate his gloomy forebodings and cheer him up, by laughing at him and by making light of presentiments and by tusseling with him, but all without success. determined to cheer up his friend, harry finally said, "john, if you are killed tomorrow, i am going back home and marry your widow," harry being an unmarried man. on the next day the cruel battle was fought. the ground was covered with dead and dying men, soldiers on both sides, covered with blood and dust. one of these soldiers was john davenport. he had been wounded and would die; and he was suffering from both pain and thirst. when the battle was over, his devoted friend hurried to his side and found him mortally wounded. when he found him, skulkers were stripping him of the silver buckles which he wore.[ ] he was tenderly nursed by his life-long friend during the few hours that he lived. realizing that the end was near, john davenport said to his friend, "harry, i am dying; and you remember last night you said to me in jest that if i lost my life today, that you were going home and marry lucy. you have been my best friend, you are a noble and good man, and i now ask you in earnest to do as you said you would in jest--go back home after the war is over, marry my wife, and take care of her and my five little children." about one year after the death of john davenport, harry burnley and mrs. lucy davenport were married. several years later they moved to warren county, georgia, where they lived and died and were buried. mrs. lucy davenport burnley was the mother of fourteen children, five by her first marriage and nine by her second. among her descendants are to be found very many noble men and women in america--distinguished as writers, lawyers and educators, and in every walk of life. many of her sons and grandsons have sacrificed their lives for their country.--mrs. annie davidson howell. footnote: [ ] these skulkers in their hurry to get away left five silver buckles and epaulettes which were exhibited at the exposition in new orleans some years ago. when ben franklin scored. long after the victories of washington over the french and the english had made his name familiar to all europe, benjamin franklin was a guest at a dinner given in honor of the french and english ambassadors. the ambassador from england arose and drank a toast to his native land: "to england--the sun whose bright beams enlighten and fructify the remotest corners of the earth." the french ambassador, filled with his own national pride, but too polite to dispute the previous toast, offered the following: "to france--the moon whose mild, steady, and cheering rays are the delight of all nations, consoling them in darkness and making their dreariness beautiful." then arose "old ben franklin," and said in his slow but dignified way: "to george washington--the joshua who commanded the sun and the moon to stand still, and they obeyed him." a revolutionary baptizing. after the cold winter at valley forge, captain charles cameron was sent home to augusta county, virginia, to recruit his company. on his way back to the continental army, he and his men captured a tory on the right bank of the potomac river and decided to convert him, by baptism, into a loyal patriot. taking him down to the river bank they plunged him in. once--"hurrah for king george!" came from the struggling tory as he arose from the water. twice--"hurrah for king george! long live king george!" the tory was again on top. three times--"hurrah for king george! long live king george! king george forever!" the men looked helplessly at their captain. "loose him," were the orders, "and let him go. he is unconvertible." george walton. the youngest of the three signers of the declaration of independence, from georgia, was george walton, who was born in prince edward county, virginia, in . he became an orphan when quite young and his guardian did not care to be burdened with his education, so he was given to a carpenter as an apprentice and put to hard work. after his days work he would light a fire of fat pine and study until the wee small hours of the night, thus gaining an education most boys would let go by. the good carpenter, seeing him so industriously inclined and anxious for an education, allowed him to keep the money he earned and helped him all he could and at last relieved him of his apprenticeship, and he then decided to come to georgia. at twenty years of age he went (by private conveyance) to savannah, which was then a small town of only a few thousand people. he studied law in the office of henry young and was soon admitted to the bar. in june, , a call signed by george walton, noble w. jones, archibald bullock and john houston, was issued asking people to meet at liberty pole to take measures to bring about a union of georgia with her sister colonies in the cause of freedom. the meeting was a success, a council of safety chapter organized, of which george walton was a member, the union flag was raised at the liberty pole, and patriotic speeches were made. in july, , a congress of representatives from all over georgia was held in savannah. this congress has been called "georgia's first secession convention" for it declared the colony was no longer bound by the acts of england, since the mother country was acting unjustly and oppressively. george walton was present and though only twenty-six years old, he was recognized as one of the most influential representatives of the convention. in december, , george walton became president of the council of safety and practically had charge of the colony. he was sent as a delegate to the continental congress in philadelphia in . the war had begun and the country was much excited. it was decided that independence was the only proper course, so july th, , the declaration of independence was signed by all delegates. in , george walton married dorothy chamber; he was governor of georgia, then he went back to philadelphia as a member of congress, where he stayed until october, . in december, , he became colonel in the first regiment of foot militia for the defence of georgia. the british were then bent on capturing savannah. col. walton with one hundred men was posted on the south common to guard the approach to great ogeeche ferry. general robert howe was in command of the american forces, and colonel walton had informed him of a pass through the swamp by which the enemy could attack them in rear, but general howe paid no attention to this. the result was this pass being left unguarded, the british made their way to the rear of the american forces and fell upon them with great disaster. col. walton was shot in the thigh, the bone being broken; and falling from his horse, was captured by the british. the enemy entered savannah and held that city captive. col. walton was taken prisoner to sunbury, where he was well cared for until his recovery. he never, however, regained complete use of his leg, for he limped the rest of his life. he was exchanged for a captain of the british navy and proceeded to augusta. soon after his return to augusta he was made governor of georgia, but the state being so over-run by british, he had little to do. peace came to the colonists in , and the british withdrew from savannah. america was free and the states independent in . george walton was made chief justice of georgia, and for seven years was a beloved judge in all parts of georgia. in he was again made governor of georgia for a term of one year. while he was governor he received a copy of the constitution of the united states which had been framed by the delegates from all the states. in and , george walton was sent as a senator to the congress of the united states. for many years, and up to the time of his death he was judge of the middle circuit of georgia. during the latter part of his life, his home was near augusta at a beautiful country place named meadow garden. the house is still standing, and was bought by the daughters of the american revolution, and is being preserved by them as a memorial to george walton. he died february nd, , at meadow garden, in the fifty-fifth year of his life. he was buried several miles from augusta, at rosney, here his body rested until , when it was reinterred, being brought to augusta and placed under the monument on greene street, in front of court house, the body of lyman hall being placed there at the same time. the grave of button gwinnett could not be found; so only two of the signers of the declaration rest under this stately memorial. few men have received as many honors as george walton. he was six times elected representative to congress, twice governor of georgia, once a senator of the united states, four times judge of the superior court, once the chief justice of the state. he was a commissioner to treat with the indians, often in the state legislature, a member of nearly every important committee on public affairs during his life. his name occurs in the state's annals for over thirty years of eventful and formative history.--_compiled from "men of mark of georgia."_ thomas jefferson. in writing of a man like jefferson, whose name has been a household word since the birth of the nation, it is well-nigh impossible to avoid being commonplace; so that in the beginning, i ask you indulgence, if in reviewing his life, i should recount facts that are as familiar to you as the decalogue. yet, in studying that life, i find such a richness of achievement, such an abundance of attainment, such a world of interest, that i am at a loss how to prepare a paper that will not require an extra session for its reading. thomas jefferson was the eldest child of a seemingly strange union; the father, an uneducated pioneer, surveyor, and indian fighter, living in the mountains of virginia--the mother, jane randolph, coming from the best blood of that blue blooded commonwealth. i think we need dig no further around jefferson's family tree in order to understand how a gentleman of education, culture, and aristocratic instincts could affect a dress so different from men of his class, and could so deeply and sincerely love the masses as to spend his life in their behalf. and this he certainly did. he worked, thought, planned, and accomplished for them--yet, throughout his life, his associations were always with the upper classes. he began life in , in the small village of shadwell, va., where he spent his childhood and youth among the freedom of the hills. afterwards, whenever he escaped from public duty, it was to retire to this same neighborhood, for it was on one of his ancestral hills that monticello was built. thanks to his mother, he was carefully educated at william and mary college, from which he graduated at the age of eighteen. the brittanica draws the following picture of him as a young man: "he was an expert musician, a good dancer, a dashing rider, proficient in all manly exercises; a hard student; tall, straight, slim, with hazel eyes, sandy hair, delicate skin, ruddy complexion; frank, earnest, sympathetic, cordial, full of confidence in men, and sanguine in his views of life." is not that a pleasing portrait? being the eldest son, his father's death, while he was at college, left him heir to his estate of nineteen hundred acres, so that he could live very comfortably. jefferson lived in a day when a man's wealth was measured in great part by the land he owned. it is indicative of his thrift and energy that his nineteen hundred acres soon grew to five thousand--"all paid for," we are told. indeed, he was strictly honest in paying his debts. he was a born farmer, and to the end of his life retained his love for that mode of existence. however, he chose the law for his profession. that he did not have to watch his practice grow through a long season of painful probation is shown by the record of sixty-eight cases before the chief court of the province during the first year after his admission to the bar, and nearly twice that many the second year. although, as i said, he loved a farmer's life, he was allowed little leisure to follow it, serving in succession as member of the virginia house of burgesses, member of congress, governor of virginia, member of congress again, minister to france, secretary of state, vice-president, and president. perhaps many other men have served the public for as long a term, but i challenge history to find another who has accomplished so much for his country. from the founding of jamestown to the present day, no man, washington not excepted, has had the influence over the nation that jefferson wielded. to have been the author of the great declaration, it would seem, were fame enough for one american, but for him that was only the beginning. independence achieved, he set about making his own state really free and introduced into the virginia legislature bill after bill which cut off the excresences of a monarchial system, lingering in the practices of a new-born nation. these bills were not all carried when he proposed them, by any means, but hear what, in the end they gave to virginia, and remember that these things came through the efforts of one man: religious freedom, the fight for which began in ' and continued till ; the system of entails broken up; the importation of slaves prohibited, and primo-geniture discontinued. jefferson was not a fluent speaker, but a clear thinker. besides this, he had a great antipathy to appearing in print. therefore, when it was necessary to say or do anything, he had only to tell somebody what to say or do, and the thing was accomplished. leicester ford, who has compiled a very thorough life of jefferson, says that "he influenced american thought more than any other person, yet boasted that he never wrote for the press. by means of others, he promulgated that mars of doctrine, nowhere formulated, known as the jeffersonian principles." the doctrine that goes by the name of monroe was probably his also. that the principles of the democratic party have remained unchanged from his day to ours only shows the clearness and correctness of his logic. not only is this true, but he thoroughly and conscientiously believed in the things he taught, the theory of states rights being a child of his own brain. during his two terms as president, and throughout the remainder of his life, such was the faith of his party in his wisdom, foresight, and political integrity, that he had only to express a wish, and it became, unquestioned, the law of the land. after his retirement, his party proposed no measure until a visit was first made to the "sage of monticello," and his opinion obtained. president followed president, jefferson became old and infirm, but to the day of his death, he was undisputed leader of the american nation. did he not deserve the name of seer? years before the revolution, he warned the people against slavery, declaring that "nothing is more certainly written in the book of fate than that these people are to be free." he owned the slaves that came to him from his father and his wife, but is said never to have purchased any. among the things accomplished during his presidency are the extermination of the mediterranean pirates, the exploration of the west, public debt diminished, emigration of indians beyond the mississippi promoted, and the wonderful louisiana purchase. though his second term was clouded by constant war in europe, and the continued depredations on american commerce, at its close, he was urged to serve for the third term, the legislatures of five states requesting it, showing that he was not held responsible for the condition of affairs. his was a many sided nature. great statesman that he was, great political scientist, his ability did not stop there. his interest in commerce, agriculture, literature, history, music, education, and the natural sciences was unbounded, and his private collections, perhaps, were unexcelled at that time. no man has done more for the cause of education among us than he. he it was who proposed a bill for "the free training of all free children, male and female." this was ten years before the admission of girls to the common schools of boston. his reason for wanting good schools in virginia was unique--he said he objected to being a beggar for the crumbs that fell from the tables of the north. he pleaded for nonsectarian schools, and was, therefore, called by many atheistic. this was one of the obstacles that he had to overcome in his fight for the university of virginia. princeton was then sectarian--william and mary was controlled by the episcopal church. the result of all this thought and desire exists for us today in the university of virginia--the first real university in america. thomas nelson page says, "no stranger story of self sacrifice and devotion to a high ideal in the face of trials, which to lesser genius might have appeared insurmountable, and of disappointments which to less courage must have proved fatal, has ever been written than that which recounts the devotion of the last twenty years of the life of thomas jefferson to the establishment of a great university." the corner stone of central college, which was afterwards enlarged to the university of virginia, was laid in by president monroe, in the presence of jefferson and madison, ex-presidents. not only did jefferson see the need for this school, and work to carry it through, but he actually drew the plans for the buildings, modelling them after those of ancient greece and rome. page says, to quote from the same author--and, if you want to read an interesting book, read his "old dominion"--"if any pile of buildings in the world is fitted by its beauty to be the abode of philosophy it is this. * * * * the university has excelled in scholastic results any similar institution in the country. she has a larger representation in congress than any other, a larger representation on the bench and a larger representation in the medical departments of both army and navy. this has been accomplished on an income less than that of many second rate colleges." this result, and the high standard prevailing in the university today, have more than justified jefferson for all his labor. his constant refrain was, "we are working for posterity." the project was in his brain five years before he began work on it. one of his proudest titles is "father of the university of virginia." jefferson's writings consist mostly of letters and addresses, besides "a summary view of the rights of british america," written before the revolution, circulated in england, and attributed to burke, and the well known and valuable "notes on virginia." he loved his home and his family, and seems to have been peculiarly blessed in them. he married a rich young widow--martha skelton--though it does not appear that he did so because she was rich. of several children only two grew to maturity, and only one survived him. his wife lived just ten years after their marriage, and almost with her last breath begged him not to give her children a step-mother. he made and kept the promise. i know i have given a rose-colored account of him, yet some shadow belongs to the portrayal. no one could do the things that he did and not have enemies. particularly do politicians not handle each other with gloves. jefferson has been called all the ugly names in man's vocabulary, but very little, if any, real evidence can be adduced to support any of this. with all his gifts, he was unfitted to lead a people in the trying time of war; consequently, his governorship of virginia, occurring during the revolution, and his second term as president were not eminently successful. no one can deny the bitter emnity between him and hamilton any more than any one can prove that the former was more to blame than the latter. admit that he was often theoretical and visionary, yet the work he accomplished proves that he was even more practical and farsighted. that he was not free from idiosyncrasies is shown by the manner in which he went to his first inauguration, and the fact that he always dressed as a farmer--never as a president. all this was to prove his steadfastness of faith in democratic ways and institutions. he would not indulge in making a formal speech at the opening of congress, but wrote and sent his "message" by hand--a practice followed by every president since, with the exception of president wilson, . in all things he was a strict constructionist. but none of these things can detract much from the name and fame of a man who has put such foundation stones in our civilization. i have drawn my data mostly from the writings of one who holds the opposite political tenets--yet i find it recorded that "jefferson's personal animosities were few"--that he couldn't long hold anger in his heart--that "to this day the multitude cherish and revere his memory, and in so doing, pay a just debt of gratitude to a friend, who not only served them, as many have done, but who honored and respected them, as very few have done." his hospitality and the public desire to see him were so great that his home was for many years a kind of unprofitable hotel, because everything was free of charge. it was always full, and sometimes his housekeeper had to provide fifty beds. this great expense, added to some security debts, left him a poor man. in fact, he was in need, but when the public found it out, money came in in sufficient quantities to enable him to continue his mode of life. like shakespeare, he wrote his own epitaph, any one item of which would entitle him to the love of posterity: "here was buried thomas jefferson, author of the declaration of american independence, of the statute of virginia, for religious freedom, and father of the university of virginia." i fear i have been tedious, i know i have been trite--yet i beg you to read for yourselves the history and letters of this great man. that his death occurred on the th day of july, , just fifty years from the day when the wonderful declaration was made, and coincident with that of his former colleague, another ex-president, seems a fitting close to a most remarkable career. orators of the american revolution. miss susie gentry, _vice state regent, tennessee_. time, the artificer, makes men, as well as things, for their day and use. the revolution was the evolution of an idea--one inherent in all humanity--liberty! first, was the thought of a home, the most sacred and best of man's sanctuaries. these pioneer colonists, fleeing from religious persecution, debt and poverty, often came to an untrodden wilderness of limitless forest and plain, to form a local habitation and a name. after the establishment of the home, education and its application followed, through the teaching and oratory of the pulpit to the white man and indian. next in order was self-government. the revolutionary period was productive not only of the general and soldier, but the statesman and orator, who set forth the "grievances of the people" in most glowing and convincing terms. the term "orator" has two specific meanings--in common language, one who delivers an oration, a public speaker; and technically, one who prays for relief, a petitioner. the orators of the revolutionary period were both in one. the true orator is the poet of the practical. he must be an enthusiast; he must be sincere; he must be fearless, and as simple as a child; he must be warm and earnest, able to play upon the emotions, as a skillful musician his instrument that responds to his every touch, be it ever so light and delicate. so shall his words descend upon the people like cloven tongues of fire, inspiring, sanctifying, beautifying and convincing; for an orator's words are designed for immediate effect. when the "stamp act" was repealed, march , , jonathan mayhew delivered a thrilling speech, known as "a patriot's thanksgiving," in which he said: "the repeal has restored things to order. the course of justice is no longer obstructed. all lovers of liberty have reason to rejoice. blessed revolution! how great are our obligations to the supreme governor of the world!" even the conservatives, benjamin franklin and george washington, take of the promethean fire of patriotism; it is seen in franklin's writings, in washington's "farewell address"--his masterpiece of prophetic admonition, delivered in the style and diction of a gifted orator. a long and faithful career of usefulness, and the very human touch he had gained as a soldier and general, particularly during that terrible year of , developed the hitherto unknown gift. of the men who composed the second colonial and first continental congress, which met at philadelphia, september , , william pitt said in his speech to the house of lords: "history has always been my favorite study, and in the celebrated writings of antiquity i have often admired the patriotism of greece and rome, but, my lords, i must avow that in the master states of the world i know not a people or senate who can stand in preference to the delegates of america assembled in general congress at philadelphia." samuel adams was one of the foremost orators and patriots of america, and was of massachusetts' famous bouquet--james otis, joseph warren, josiah quincy, john and john quincy adams--and left his work on the history of america as a signer of the declaration of independence. james otis, next in chronological order, was a bold, commanding orator, and the first to speak against the taxing of the colonies. he was called "the silver-tongued orator" and "a flame of fire." his death was as unusual as his gift--he was killed by a stroke of lightning may, . joseph warren and josiah quincy were both men of great talents and power, warren was elected twice to deliver the oration in commemoration of the massacre of the fifth of march; he rendered efficient service by both his writing and addresses; and was distinguished as a physician, especially in the treatment of smallpox. he was killed while fighting as a volunteer at bunker hill. josiah quincy's powers as an orator were of a very high order. it is sad to think that he died the very day he reached his native land, after a voyage to europe in the interest of the colonies. one does not wonder that john adams possessed influence, when in voting for the declaration of independence he exclaimed: "sink or swim, live or die, survive or perish, i give my heart and hand to this vote;" nor that the son of such a father was called "the old man eloquent" and the "champion of the rights of petition," who thought "no man's vote lost which is cast for the right." john adams is the one man who remembered liberty and the people, for when he died july , , his last words were, "it is the glorious fourth of july! god bless it--god bless you all!" from this cursory glance of the orators of massachusetts, we can well understand how, like the "alabaster box" of old, the perfume of their noble deeds for the cause of right still lingers. alexander hamilton was an orator that accomplished much for the colonies with his forceful, facile and brilliant pen, as did madison and jay, in the "federalist." patrick henry, the red feather, of the revolutionary period, as is e. w. carmack of to-day--is by the south regarded the magna stella of that marvelous galaxy of stars. it is probable that his oratory was not as much a product of nature as was thought at the time when it was so effective. it was somewhat an inheritance, as he was the great-nephew of the scotch historian robertson, and the nephew of william winston who was regarded as an eloquent speaker in his day. patrick, after six weeks study of law, we are told, commenced the practice of law (having the incumbrance of a family and poverty) and with what success, all the world knows. it was in the celebrated "parson's case" that he won his spurs, and the epithet of "the orator of nature;" also his election to the house of burgesses, of virginia. nine years after he made his famous speech in which he told george iii he might profit by the examples of caesar and charles i, he delivered his greatest effort of oratory--in which he said, "i know not what course others may take, but give me liberty, or give me death!" thomas jefferson was the father of that instrument, the declaration of independence--that gives us "life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness," in so far as we trespass not on the moral and civil rights of our neighbor--and was persuasive and eloquent, as well as an acute politician. he was the acknowledged head of his party; and his work was of the uttermost importance to both the colonies and states. no one politician and orator has left a more indelible impression upon succeeding generations than he. thomas paine also did his quota as an orator and writer; and great were the results accomplished by his "common sense" and the first "crisis." paine was not only a writer and orator, but a soldier. under general nathaniel greene he rendered such efficient and valuable service that he was called the "hero of fort mifflin." although he was an englishman, who came to america and espoused the cause of the continentals, the english nation are glad to own him. william cobbett (the english statesman) says "whoever wrote the declaration, paine was its author." paine was one of the most noted orators, if we remember that an "orator is one who prays for relief--a petitioner," whether it be viva voce or with the pen. we wish it were possible in the time allotted to us to give extracts from the speeches and writings of these orators of the revolution. how grateful we should be, and what a debt of gratitude we owe each of them, for their labors that have long since received the encomium from god and man--"well done, thou good and faithful servant."--_american monthly._ the flag of our country. the flag of our country, how proudly it waves in the darkness of night, in the light of the sun, in silence it watches our patriots' graves, in splendor it tells of their victories won! it waves, as it waved in the brave days of old, an emblem of glory, of hope, and of life; a pledge to the world in each star and each fold of a love that endures through all danger and strife. of love that is deep as the sea 'neath its blue; of a love that is pure as the light of each star; o, flag of our country, the brave and the true await thee, and greet thee, and bless thee afar! the flag of our country, the flag of the free, the hope of the weary, the joy of the sad, may our eyes at the last, still thy bright promise see that each slave shall know thee, arise and be glad! the flag of our country, the flag of our love, our hearts are aflame with thy red, white and blue; may thy glory increase while thy stars shine above, to thy promise and pledge may the children be true. o, the red, white and blue! o, the flag of the free! sweet liberty calls to the nations afar, thy glory illumines the land and the sea, o, flag of our country, earth's beautiful star! --_metta thompson in american monthly._ the old virginia gentleman. many of you have no doubt heard or read the famous lecture of dr. bagley, entitled "bacon and greens," and chuckled over his vivid description of "the old virginia gentleman." you may be interested in knowing that a portrait of the hon. james steptoe, of federal hill, bedford county, virginia, painted by harvey mitchell in , was the inspiration of this interesting lecture. this "old virginia gentleman" was a worthy representative of the house of steptoe, whose forefathers played an important part in the history of the "old world." the progenitor of this interesting family was anthony steptoe, the third son of sir philip steptoe, of england. anthony and his wife, lucy, came to the colony in , and located in lancaster county, virginia, and they were the great grandparents of hon. james steptoe. "the old virginia gentleman" was one of four brothers, george, james, thomas, and william; they had four half sisters, elizabeth and ann steptoe; mary and anne aylett; and two step-sisters, elizabeth and ann aylett; thus the families of steptoe and aylett are often confounded. col. james steptoe, m. d., of "homany hall," westmoreland county, virginia, was born in the year of , and died in . he was a distinguished physician, and held many positions of honor and trust in affairs of church and state. he married firstly hannah ashton, and secondly elizabeth aylett, the widow of col. william aylett and a daughter of col. george eskridge. the descendants of colonel steptoe and colonel aylett are often confounded. col. aylett married first ann ashton, a sister of colonel steptoe's first wife, and had two daughters, elizabeth and ann. elizabeth aylett married william booth, and ann married william augustin washington (a half-brother of our beloved gen. george washington). colonel aylett married secondly elizabeth eskridge, and had two daughters, mary and anne; mary married thomas ludwell lee, of "bell vieu;" and anne married richard henry lee, of "chantielly." col. james steptoe had two daughters by his first marriage, elizabeth and ann; elizabeth married first philip ludwell lee, of "stratford," and secondly philip richard fendall; and ann married first willoughby allerton, and secondly col. samuel washington, a younger brother of gen. george washington. of the four sons of col. james steptoe, george and thomas never married; william married elizabeth robinson, and they resided at the old robinson homestead, "herwich." the hon. james steptoe, the original "the old virginia gentleman," was born in the year of , at "homany hall," westmoreland county, virginia. he was educated at william and mary college, and while there was a fellow student of thomas jefferson. they formed a close friendship, which continued throughout life. it was through the influence of jefferson that james steptoe was appointed to an office under secretary nelson, after which he was transferred in , at the early age of , to the clerkship of the district court at new london, in bedford co., va. this position he held until his death in , having served fifty-four years. he married frances calloway, a daughter of col. james calloway, of bedford county. the hon. james steptoe built the mansion house known as "federal hill," and it was here that he spent his useful life surrounded by his family, and noted for his sincerity and hospitality. this mansion was situated three miles from "poplar forest," the abode of his friend, thomas jefferson, who loved to seek seclusion there during his intervals of rest from public service. upon one occasion when gen. andrew jackson, on his way to washington just after the battle of new orleans, had stopped to dine with his friend, james steptoe, he met thomas jefferson just at the gateway. the two great men dismounted from their horses and exchanged salutations with each other and with their host, who awaited them within upon the lawn. mr. jefferson, with his courtly manner, waving his hand, stood back for "old hickory" to pass before him; but that gallant soldier, bowing low, said: "surely, mr. jefferson does not think that i would go before an ex-president of the united states." to which mr. jefferson graciously replied: "it would ill become me to take precedence of the hero of new orleans." thus these two distinguished men stood bowing and scraping to each other in the roadway in true "gaston and alfonse style," while mr. steptoe waited for them with, i am sure, amused impatience; until at length general jackson threw his arms about mr. jefferson and gently lifted him quite over the threshold, and then the general's aide and the other gentry coming up, we may be sure they had a jolly good time--a "feast of reason and a flow of soul," not forgetting mrs. steptoe's bountiful dinner served on the famous steptoe silver, a veritable feast of "wines on the leas," which to read about makes us long more than ever for a return of those good old times. but once a shadow fell upon the friendship of mr. jefferson and mr. steptoe, as clouds will fall upon human friendships. james steptoe had another valued friend, major gibbon, a gallant officer of the revolutionary army, who had led the forlorn hope at the battle of stony point. this old hero had been given the appointment of collector of customs at richmond, but had been removed by jefferson because it had been represented to him that major gibbon was on familiar terms with aaron burr, who was then on trial at richmond for acts charged against him as treasonable. soon after the removal of major gibbon mr. jefferson was on one of his visits at poplar forest, but his old friend, james steptoe, who was usually the first to welcome him, the illustrious visitor, to his summer home, neither went in person nor sent a message of salutation to his life-long friend. days lengthened into weeks, and still he made no sign, and at length mr. jefferson, on a bright summer morning, rode over to mr. steptoe's and dismounted from his horse at the gate, and on entering the yard found mr. steptoe walking to and fro on his porch, apparently unconscious of his guest's arrival. mr. jefferson advanced with outstretched hand and cordial smile, but mr. steptoe gazed cold and stern upon his visitor, returning no look or word of kindness for the offered greeting of the president, who thus addressed him: "why, james steptoe, how is this? i have been for weeks within a stone's throw of you, and though you have usually been the first to welcome me home, your face is now turned from me, and you give me no welcome to your house." to this mr. steptoe coolly replied: "mr. jefferson, i have been disappointed in you, sir, you are not the man i took you to be. you know as well as i do that maj. james gibbon was a brave, a meritorious officer in the revolutionary army, that he served under aaron burr, who was also a gallant soldier, and his officers were greatly attached to him. now when colonel burr has been brought to richmond for trial, committed to prison and every indignity heaped upon him, and just because major gibbon has supplied his old commander with some necessaries and comforts, you, from hatred of burr, have wreaked your vengeance on gibbon and deprived a faithful old soldier of an office which was his only means of support." "why, steptoe, is that all?" said jefferson, "i assure you the matter had not been so presented to me before. but the same hand that removed major gibbon can replace him, and justice shall be done him at once." "then you are, indeed, my friend, and welcome as ever to my home and heart," cried james steptoe. james steptoe's land and silver are gone, his bones have turned to dust; and ere long his name may be forgotten, but let us now honor the man who would refuse the proffered hand of the president of the united states, when that hand was stained by an unworthy act. would there were more men of such mettle in our day! james steptoe was not only noted for his hospitality and justness, but also for his charity. driving along in his coach and four, he passed the house of a certain widow, mrs. chaffee. upon noticing a crowd gathered around, he sent his coachman, ben, to inquire the cause. hearing that the poor woman was being sold out for debt he descended from his carriage, stopped the auction, paid the mortgage, and added one more noble act of charity to his record. james steptoe was beloved by everyone, and especially so by his slaves, whom he had taught different trades that they might support themselves after his death when, by his will, they were all set free. a handsome monument in the old family burying ground in bedford county, bears this inscription, "james steptoe, born , died , for fifty-four years the clerk of bedford county." the office of clerk of the court of bedford county has been held by the steptoe family in its lineal and collateral branches for more than a hundred years. the character of james steptoe may be described in a few words, integrity, independence, and the strictest form of republican simplicity. though descended, as has been shown, from a long line of the better class of english gentry, he never alluded to it himself; in fact, it was not known in his family until after his death, when they learned it through his correspondence. he was a man who held very decided opinions on all subjects, and would at times express them as to men and public affairs in very strong language, being strong in his friendships and equally strong in his dislikes. as a clerk, he was everything that could be desired, polite and obliging, as all old virginia gentlemen are; careful and attentive in the business of his office and in court, and ever ready at all times to give information and advice to those who needed it. the hon. james steptoe and his wife, frances calloway, were the parents of five sons and four daughters, as follows: major james, who succeeded his father as clerk of bedford, and who married catherine mitchell; dr. william, of lynchburg, who married first nancy brown, and second mary dillon; george, of bedford county, who married maria thomas; robert, of bedford county, who married elizabeth leftwich; thomas, who inherited the old home, married louise c. yancy; elizabeth prentise, who married hon. charles johnston, of richmond, va.; frances, who married henry s. langhorne, of lynchburg, va.; sallie, who married william massie, of nelson county, virginia; lucy, who married robert penn, of bedford county, virginia. james steptoe's descendants are scattered throughout the united states, and are among our most distinguished citizens. he has also descendants in england. the old portrait by harvey mitchell is now owned by the rt. rev. james steptoe johnston, bishop of western texas; and a fine copy of the same is owned by mrs. william waldorf astor, of cliveden-on-the-thames, england,--edna jones collier, _in american monthly_. when washington was wed. who does not wish that he might have been there, when martha custis came down the stair in silk brocade and with powdered hair, on that long ago saturday clear and fine, a. d. seventeen fifty-nine? out from st. peter's belfry old, twelve strokes sounded distinct and bold, so in history the tale is told, when dr. mossen, preacher of zest, long since gone to his last long rest, there in the custis drawing room, new world house, with an old world bloom, spake out the words that made them one, martha custis and washington. trembling a little and pale withal, she faced her lover so straight and tall, oh, happiest lady beneath the sun! given as bride to george washington. brave was the groom and fair the bride, standing expectant side by side, but how little they knew or guessed what the future for them possessed; how the joys of a wedded life would be mingled with horrors of blood and strife; how in triumph together they'd stand, covered with plaudits loud and grand, yes--covered with glory together they'd won, martha custis and washington. where is the gown in which she was wed? brocade, woven with silver thread? where are the pearls that graced her head? where are her high-heeled silken shoon that stepped in time to the wedding tune? where are her ruffles of fine point lace? gone--all gone with their old world grace. but the world remembers them every one, and blesses the lady of washington. it is difficult to give the proper credit for the above poem. mrs. walter j. sears, new york city chapter, found a few beautiful lines, author unknown, added some lines herself, and then sent the whole to "will carlton," who revised and added to them. mrs. sears recited the poem at the celebration of washington's wedding day by the new york city chapter, d. a. r., in january, . rhode island in the american revolution. the american colonies, though subjects of great britain, stoutly resisted the payment of revenues of customs; not because they doubted the justice, but they did object to the intolerant manner of demanding the revenues. rhode island, the smallest of the thirteen colonies, was destined to take an important part in this resistance which brought about the american revolution. the english parliament, in , passed the famous "sugar act" which laid a heavy tax upon west india products imported into the northern colonies. rhode island protested, declaring that only in this way could she be paid for her exports to the west indies and thus be able to purchase from england. the other colonies also objected and richard partridge, the appointed agent to look after the interests of the rhode island colony, conducted this affair for all the colonies. in his letter he declared that the act deprived the colonists of their rights as englishmen, in laying taxes upon them without their consent or representation. thus, thirty-seven years before the declaration of independence, the war-cry of the revolution was first sounded and by the quaker agent of rhode island. in a new "sugar act" was passed. parliament hoped that a reduction from six pence to three pence would conciliate the colonies. neither the "sugar act" nor the proposed "stamp act" was accepted. the colonists still contended such an act and its acceptance to be inconsistent with the rights of british subjects. a special session of the rhode island assembly was convened. a committee of correspondence was appointed to confer with the other colonies and the agent was directed "to do anything in his power, either alone or joining with the agents of other governors to procure a repeal of this act and to prevent the passage of any act that should impose taxes inconsistent with the rights of british subjects." thus did rhode island expressly deny the right of parliament to pass such an act and also declare her intention to preserve her privileges inviolate. she also invited the other colonies to devise a plan of union for the maintenance of the liberties of all. the following year the "stamp act" was passed and disturbances followed. the assembly convened and through a committee prepared six resolutions more concise and emphatic than any passed by the other colonies, in which they declared the plantation absolved from all allegiance to the king unless these "obnoxious taxes" were repealed. bold measures! but they show the spirit of the colony. johnston, the stamp-collector for rhode island, resigned, declaring he would not execute his office against "the will of our sovereign lord, the people." in newport three prominent men who had spoken in defence of the action of parliament were hung in effigy in front of the court house. at evening the effigies were taken down and burned. the revenue officers, fearing for their lives, took refuge on a british man-of-war lying in the harbor and refused to return until the royal governor would guarantee their safety. the assembly appointed two men to represent rhode island in the convention about to assemble in new york. this convention, after a session of nearly three weeks, adopted a declaration of the rights and grievances of the colonies. the rhode island delegates reported the assembly and a day of public thanksgiving was appointed for a blessing upon the endeavors of this colony to preserve its valuable privileges. the day before the "stamp act" was to take effect all the royal governors took the oath to sustain it, except samuel ward, governor of rhode island, who stoutly refused. the fatal day dawned. not a stamp was to be seen. commerce was crushed. justice was delayed. not a statute could be enforced. the leading merchants of america agreed to support home manufacturers and to this end pledged themselves to eat no more lamb or mutton. the following year, january, , the papers of remonstrance had reached england; and parliament turned its attention to american affairs. the struggle was long and stormy; but the "stamp act" was repealed, with the saving clause that "parliament had full right to bind the colonies in all cases whatsoever." meanwhile, patriotic societies were being formed in all the colonies under the name of "sons of liberty." rhode island has the peculiar honor of organizing a similar society: "daughters of liberty." by invitation eighteen young ladies assembled at the house of dr. ephriam bowen, in providence, and spent the day in spinning. they agreed to purchase no goods of british manufacture until the "stamp act" should be repealed and cheerfully agreed to dispense with tea. this society rapidly increased and became popular throughout rhode island. england kept her faith but a little while and then proposed to raise a revenue by imposing duties on glass, lead, paint and paper, and a tax of three pence a pound on tea. this aroused fresh indignation throughout the colonies. in virginia the house of burgesses passed a series of resolutions that in them was vested the sole right of taxing the colony. copies were sent to every colonial assembly. the rhode island assembly cordially approved. the next month the british armed sloop _liberty_, cruising in narraganset bay in search of contraband traders, needlessly annoyed all the coasting vessels that came in her way. two connecticut vessels suspected of smuggling were taken into newport. a quarrel ensued between the captain of one of the vessels and the captain of the _liberty_. the yankee captain was badly treated and his boat fired upon. the same evening the british captain went ashore, was captured by newport citizens and compelled to summon all his crew ashore except the first officer. the people then boarded the _liberty_, sent the officer on shore, then cast the cable and grounded the _liberty_ at the point. there they cut away the masts, scuttled the vessel, carried the boats to the upper end of the town and burned them. this occurred july, , and was "the _first overt act of violence_ offered to the british authorities in america." but armed vessels continued their molestations. the rhode island colony was not asleep but awaiting a favorable opportunity which came at last and the capture of the _gaspee_ was planned and accomplished. rewards were offered for the apprehension of the perpetrators of this deed, but without effect. some of rhode island's most honored citizens were engaged in the affair and some of the younger participants are said to have boasted of the deed before the smoke from the burning vessel had ceased to darken the sky. the capture of the _gaspee_ in june, , was the first bold blow, in all the colonies for freedom. there was shed the first blood in the war for independence. the revolution had begun. then followed resolutions from virginia that all the towns should unite for mutual protection. rhode island went a step farther and proposed a continental congress, and thus has the distinguished honor of making the first explicit movement for a general congress, and a few weeks later she was the first to appoint delegates to this congress. the "boston port bill" followed, and massachusetts records tell of the money and supplies sent from rhode island to boston's suffering people. england ordered that no more arms were to be sent to america. rhode island began at once to manufacture fire arms. sixty heavy cannon were cast, and home-made muskets were furnished to the chartered military companies. when the day arrived upon which congress had decreed that the use of tea should be suspended, three hundred pounds of tea were burned in market square, providence, while the "sons of liberty" went through the town with a pot of black paint and a paint-brush and painted out the word "tea" on every sign-board. this was february , . the fight at lexington followed on the th of april. two weeks after this battle the rhode island assembly suspended gov. walton, the last colonial governor of rhode island. he repeatedly asked to be restored and was as often refused. at the end of six months he was deposed. this was a bold act, but men who could attack and capture a man-of-war were not afraid to depose from office one single man who was resolved to destroy them. the british war-ship _rose_ was a constant menace to the vessels in rhode island waters. altercations ensued. captain abraham whipple, who headed the expedition to burn the _gaspee_, discharged the first gun at any part of the british navy in the american revolution. two armed vessels were ordered for the protection of rhode island waters; and this was the beginning of the american navy. passing over much of interest we come to the last important act of rhode island colonial assembly: an act to abjure allegiance to the british crown. it was a declaration of independence and it was made on may , , just two months before the declaration of independence, signed at philadelphia. this act closed the colonial period and established rhode island as an independent state. the records of the assembly had always closed with "god save the king!" this was changed to "god save the united colonies!" the smallest of the colonies had defied the empire of great britain and declared herself an independent state! dark days followed. the british army occupied newport. by command of congress, rhode island had sent her two battalions to new york, thus rendering herself defenseless. the militia was organized to protect the sea-coast. i may not linger to tell of the capture of gen. prescott; of the unsuccessful attempt to dislodge the british, nor of the battle of rhode island, in which col. christopher greene with his famous regiment of blacks distinguished himself, and which lafayette afterwards declared was the best-planned battle of the war. for three years the english army held this fair island and left it a scene of desolation. newport never recovered. her commerce was destroyed. her ships never returned. meanwhile momentous events were occurring at the seat of war. philadelphia was threatened and the continental congress had been moved to baltimore. washington, with less than twenty-three hundred men, recrossed the delaware at night. the men he placed in two divisions, one under general greene, the other under gen. sullivan, and successfully attacked the hessians at trenton capturing nine hundred prisoners (dec. th, ). washington recrossed the delaware into pennsylvania with his prisoners and spoils that very night. on january st, , with , men he again crossed the delaware and took post at trenton. the next day cornwallis appeared before washington's position with a much larger forces. only a creek separated the two armies. the rhode island brigade distinguished itself at the successful holding of the bridge and received the thanks of washington. that night washington withdrew, leaving his camp fires burning. next morning, january rd, , cornwallis was amazed to find washington gone and still more astounded, as he heard in the direction of princeton the guns of the americans, who won that day another decisive victory. we must not dwell upon the record of gen. nathaniel greene. his campaign in south carolina was brilliant. he has been called the saviour of the south. it was he, a rhode island general, who, because of his military skill, stood second only to washington. at the closing event of the war, the siege of yorktown, a rhode island regiment under capt. stephen olney, headed the advancing column. sword in hand the leaders broke through the first obstructions. some of the eager assailants entered the ditch. among these was capt. olney who, as soon as a few of his men collected, forced his way between the palisades, leaped upon the parapet and called in a voice that rose above the din of battle "capt. olney's company form here!" a gunshot wound in the arm, a bayonet thrust in the thigh and a terrible wound in the abdomen which he was obliged to cover with one hand, while he parried the bayonets with the other, answered the defiant shout. capt. olney was borne from the field, but not until he had given the direction to "form in order." in ten minutes after the first fire the fort was taken. three days later cornwallis accepted terms of surrender, which were formally carried out on october th, . the war was over. the gallantry of olney was lauded by lafayette in general orders and more handsomely recognized in his correspondence. but the historian, thus far, has failed to record the fact, noted by arnold, that the first sword that flashed in triumph above the captured heights of yorktown was a rhode island sword!--anna b. manchester _in american monthly magazine_. georgia and her heroes in the revolution. at the outbreak of the revolution georgia was the youngest of the colonies. although there had been some unsatisfactory relations with the mother country, there had been no unfriendly relations until the passage of the famous stamp act. on account of the liberal laws granted by england and the fatherly care of general james oglethorpe, the colony of georgia had least cause to rebel. but she could not stand aside and see her sister colonies persecuted without protesting. in september, , a meeting of merchants in savannah protested against the stamp act. jonathan bryan presided over this meeting, and was asked by the royal governor, sir james wright, to resign his seat in the governor's council for having done so. about the same time noble w. jones was elected speaker of the assembly. governor wright refused to sanction the choice because noble w. jones was a liberty boy. these two acts of the governor angered the people and made them more determined to resist. noble w. jones has been called "the morning star of liberty," on account of his activity in the cause of liberty at this time. a band of patriots met in august, , and condemned the boston port bill. six hundred barrels of rice were purchased and sent to the suffering people of boston. about the same time a provincial congress was called to choose delegates to the first continental congress to meet soon in philadelphia, but through the activity of the royal governor, only five of the twelve parishes were represented. no representatives were sent because this meeting did not represent a majority of the people. st. john's parish, the hotbed of the rebellion, sent lyman hall to represent that parish alone in the continental congress. on account of the patriotic and independent spirit of its people, and this prompt and courageous movement, the legislature in after years conferred the name of liberty county on the consolidated parishes of st. john, st. andrew and st. james. after the news of lexington arrived great excitement prevailed. on the night of may , , a party of six men led by joseph habersham broke open the powder magazine and took out all the ammunition. some of this powder was sent to massachusetts and used at the battle of bunker hill. the people proceeded to take charge of the government. a council of safety and provincial assembly were elected. the patriots captured a british schooner containing fourteen thousand barrels of powder. this captured schooner was the first ship to be commissioned by the american nation. the council of safety ordered the arrest of governor wright. joseph habersham with six men easily did this, but the governor soon escaped. the incident is famous because john milledge and edward telfair, known as two of the best loved of georgia governors in after years, were members of this brave band. joseph habersham himself became famous afterwards, being postmaster-general in washington's cabinet. while these events were taking place the second continental congress was framing the declaration of independence. george walton, button gwinnett, and lyman hall signed that great document for georgia. button gwinnett did not live to see georgia's independence established, but lyman hall and george walton saw her take her place in the union. they were honored with the highest offices of the state. there were many other men who became famous on account of their activities for the cause of liberty at this time. chief among these were lachlan mcintosh, of whom washington said, "i esteem him an officer of great merit and worth:" archibald bulloch, james jackson, david emanuel, john adam treutlen, samuel elbert, john baker, john wereat, and john houston. with the exception of a few unsuccessful expeditions against florida there was no fighting in georgia until december, . the people hoped that the war would be fought elsewhere, but such was not to be. general prevost who commanded the british in florida was ordered to invade georgia from the south. colonel campbell was sent by general howe with three thousand five hundred troops to attack savannah. colonel campbell landed december , , and by a skillful flank movement drove a small army of nine hundred patriots from their intrenchments near savannah and pursued them with such terrible slaughter that barely four hundred escaped. many were run down with the bayonet in the streets of savannah, almost within sight of their families. james jackson and john milledge, both of whom were afterward governor of georgia, were among the number that escaped and while going through south carolina to join general lincoln's army they were arrested by the americans who thought they were english spies. preparations were made for hanging them when an american officer came up who recognized them, and they were set free. it was certainly a blessing to the state that these men did not suffer an ignominious death for they rendered invaluable service in after years by fighting the yazoo fraud. [illustration: carpenter's hall, philadelphia, pa. chestnut, between d and th streets. the first continental congress assembled here september , .] the force of british from florida captured fort morris and united with the british force at savannah. this combined force pressed on toward augusta. ebenezer was captured. a force of patriots under the command of colonels john twiggs, benjamin and william few, defeated the british advance guard under the notorious tories, browne, and mcgirth, but the americans' efforts were in vain and augusta fell without a struggle. the cause of liberty was crushed for a while. the royal governor was restored to power, england could say that she had conquered one of her rebellious colonies at least. but the spirit of liberty was not dead. colonels elijah clarke and john dooly of georgia, with pickens of south carolina, nearly annihilated a band of plundering tories at kettle creek. this aroused the georgians with renewed vigor. the british hearing that a french fleet was coming to attack savannah, began to withdraw to that place. the british outpost at sunbury was ordered to retreat to savannah. colonel white with six men captured the entire garrison of one hundred and forty men through strategy. when the french fleet under count d'estaing arrived, general lincoln brought the continental army to assist in the recapture of the city. the combined french and american force beseiged the city for three weeks all in vain. finally it was decided to attempt to take the place by assault which resulted disastrously to the american cause. the french and americans were driven back having lost over eleven hundred men, among them the polish patriot, pulaski, and sergeant jasper, the hero of fort moultrie. the french fleet sailed away and general lincoln retreated to charleston leaving georgia once more completely in the hands of the british. tories went through the state committing all kinds of outrages. colonel john dooly was murdered in the presence of his family by a band of tories. the next day the same murderous tories visited nancy hart, a friend of colonel john dooly. nancy overheard them talking of the deed and she began to think of vengeance. she slid several of their guns through the cracks of the log cabin before the tories saw her. when the tories noticed her she pointed one toward them. one tory advanced toward her and was shot down. the others afraid, dared not move. meanwhile nancy's daughter signaled for nancy's husband who was in command of a band of patriots that carried on guerilla warfare in the neighborhood and on their arrival the tories were taken out and hung. nancy hart is the only woman for whom a county has been named in georgia. after the fall of charleston in , augusta was again occupied by the british. colonel elijah clarke collected a force to recapture the place. his first attempt was unsuccessful september - , . he retreated leaving thirty wounded men behind. the cruel colonel browne hung thirteen and turned the others over to his indian allies to be tortured. it is worthy of note that john clarke, son of elijah clarke, was fighting with his father at this battle although he was only sixteen years old. he afterwards became governor of georgia and founder of the clarke party in georgia. "light horse harry" lee, father of robert e. lee, and general pickens brought reinforcements to clarke and the combined force again besieged augusta with renewed vigor may th, june th, . after much hard fighting colonel browne was forced to surrender june th, . on account of his cruelties he had to be protected from violence by a special escort. the british were gradually forced back into savannah. when cornwallis surrendered, only four places were in their possession in georgia. in january, , "mad" anthony wayne came to georgia to drive the british out. he routed colonel browne, who had collected a band of tories and indians at ogeechee ferry, after his exchange. the british were hemmed in savannah. finally in may, , orders came to the royal governor from the king to surrender savannah and return to england. major james jackson was selected by general wayne to receive the keys of the city. they were formally presented by governor wright and major jackson marched in at the head of his troops. the city was again in the hands of the state after having been occupied by the british for three and one-half years. the great struggle was over. georgia was weakest of the colonies and none had felt the hard hand of war any more than she. the heroic deeds of her sons during that awful struggle are sources of pride to every true georgian.--prize essay by julius milton, nathanial abney chapter. united states treasury seal. the design of the seal of the treasury of the united states in all its essential features is older than the national government. from the days of the confederation of the colonies down through the history of the republic the latin motto on the seal has been "the seal of the treasury of north america." these facts have just been developed, says the _newark news_, by an investigation by the treasury department tracing the history of the seal. the continental congress ordered its construction sept. , , appointing john witherspoon, gouvernor morris and r. h. lee a committee on design. there is no record of the report of the committee, but impressions of the seal have been found as early as . the original seal was continued in use until , when, worn out, it was replaced by a new cut, made by edward stabler of montgomery county, md. he was directed to make a facsimile of the old seal, but there were some negligible differences. the symbols, however, are the same. there are the stars, representing the colonies; the scales as the emblem of justice and keys, in secular heraldry denoting an office of state. willie was saved. we had a sane fourth--i was not allowed to fire a single shot; if i'd 'a made a cracker pop i'd a' been hauled in by th' cop. if me or any of th' boys had dared to make a bit o' noise they would 'a slapped us all in jail an' held us there till we gave bail, an' so our fourth, i will explain was absolutely safe an' sane. pa's feelin' better--'t least no worse, i heard him tell th' new trained nurse, he played golf nearly all th' day with mister jones and mister shea until 'bout half past three o'clock an' then he had an awful shock, th' sun was boilin' hot, an' he was playin' hard as hard could be, an' he got sunstruck, but he'll be up in two weeks, or mebbe three. ma's conshus now. they think her arm ain't re'lly suffered serious harm, except it's broke. an' where her face got cut will heal without a trace, ma went out ridin' with th' greens "to view th' restful country scenes." a tire blew up an' they upset-- they didn't have no landin' net! th' doctor says that sleep an' rest for her will prob'ly be th' best. my sister's better, too, although they had to work an hour or so to bring her to--she purt' near drowned an' looked like dead when she was found. she went to row with mr. groke an' he--he says 'twas for a joke-- he rocked th' boat an' they fell out, an' people run from miles about to save their lives. she was a sight when they brought her back home last night. i wasn't hurt though, i'll explain, because my fourth was safe an' sane. --_wilbur d. nesbit._ virginia revolutionary forts. by mrs. mary c. bell clayton. in a mental vision of that galaxy of stars which emblazon our national flag, that bright constellation the thirteen original states, we pause to select the one star which shines with purest ray serene, and as we gaze upon the grand pageant from new hampshire to georgia and recall the mighty things achieved by the self-sacrificing devotion of their illustrious statesmen and generals with the united efforts of every patriot, it is with admiration for all that we point with reverence to that star which stands for her who cradled the nation, that infant colony at jamestown in virginia, who made defense first against the tomahawk of the indians, growing stronger and stronger with an innate love for truth and justice, 'till we hear the cry "give me liberty or give me death," which resounded from the white mountains of new hampshire to the sunny lands of georgia, and is echoed there in her legend, "wisdom, justice and moderation." you, our sisters, the daughters of the american revolution of south carolina, whose state is strong in state craft and brave as the bravest, and whose star shines as a beacon light in the constellation of states, to those who would infringe on the rights of others, you call to us, in your study of the defences of the revolutionary period, to show our "landmarks," the signs of our ancestor's devotion to patriotism, that you with us, may reverence their loyalty and with pride cherish every evidence of their struggle for liberty, remembering always that "he who builded the house is greater than the house." we would tell you of facts in the military annals of virginia, deeds of prowess, more enduring than memorials of stone, which have become the sacred heritage of us all, but to these, at this time, our attention is not to be given. and if we fail to show but a few of her strongholds, you must remember that within the present bounds of virginia there were few important positions held against assault, and her "northwestern territory" was far away from the main contest. her troops were kept moving from place to place, their defences often were not forts, but earthworks, hastily constructed, often trees, houses, fences, etc. for instance the first revolutionary battle fought on virginia soil was at hampton, a little town between the york and james rivers. "the virginians sunk obstacles in the water for protection, but during the night the british destroyed them and turned their guns upon the town. in this fight we had no fire-arms but rifles to oppose the cannons of the english, so when the attack began the riflemen had to conceal themselves behind such meagre defences as i have mentioned, houses, fences, trees, etc., opening fire upon the british vessels. the men at the guns were killed and not a sailor touched a sail without being shot. confusion was upon the british decks, and in dismay they tried to draw off and make escape into the bay, but without success; some of the vessels were captured, many men were taken prisoners, and the whole fleet would have been captured but for the report that a large body of the british were advancing from another direction." small was the defense, but great was the result at this first battle of the revolution on virginia soil. the fort at great bridge. "after the attack on hampton, lord dunmore determined to make an assault on norfolk. he erected a fort at great bridge where it crosses a branch of the elizabeth river. this bridge was of importance as it commanded the entrance of norfolk. the virginians held a small village near by. at these points the armies were encamped for several days ready for the moment to begin the fight. in order to precipitate a contest, the virginians had recourse to a stratagem. a negro boy belonging to major marshall was sent to lord dunmore. he represented himself as a deserter and reported that the virginians had only three hundred 'shirt men,' a term used to distinguish the patriot, whose only uniform was a graceful hunting shirt, which afterwards became so celebrated in the revolution. believing the story, lord dunmore gave vent to his exultation, as he thought he saw before him the opportunity of wreaking his vengeance upon the virginians. he mustered his whole force and gave the order for marching out in the night and forcing the breastworks of his hated foe. in order to stimulate his troops to desperate deeds, he told them that the virginians were no better than savages, and were wanting in courage and determination, that in all probability they would not stand fire at all, but if by any chance they were permitted to triumph, the english need expect no quarter, and they would be scalped according to the rules of savage warfare. early in the morning of december th, , the virginians beheld the enemy advancing towards their breastworks. they were commanded by capt. fordyce, a brave officer. waving his cap over his head, he led his men in the face of a terrible fire, which ran along the american line, directly up to the breastworks. he received a shot in the knee and fell forward, but jumping up as if he had only stumbled, in a moment he fell again pierced by fourteen bullets. his death threw everything into confusion. the next officer was mortally wounded, other officers were prostrate with wounds, and many privates had fallen. in this desperate situation a retreat towards their fort at norfolk was the only resource left to the english. they were not allowed to escape without a vigorous pursuit. it was conducted by brave col. stevens, who captured many prisoners and ten pieces of cannon. the loss of the british was one hundred and two killed and wounded. the only damage to our men was a wound in the finger of one of them." the british had built a fort for their defence, the virginians had breastworks. fort nelson. "during the revolution sovereign virginia erected fort nelson to resist lord dunmore, should he ever attempt to return to the harbor of norfolk and portsmouth. it was named for the patriot governor nelson, who gave his private fortune to aid the credit of virginia, and risked his life and sacrificed his health on the battlefields of the american republic. on account of its location it was never the scene of any bloody battle, but like the 'old guard,' it was held in reserve for the emergencies of war. on the th of may, , a great british fleet, under admiral sir george collier entered hampton roads, sailed up elizabeth river, and landed three thousand royal soldiers under general matthews in norfolk county, where fort norfolk now stands, to flank this fortification and capture its garrison composed of only soldiers. maj. matthews, the american commander, frustrated the designs of the british general by evacuating the fort, and retired to the northward. on the th of may, the british took possession of the two towns, and gave free hand to pillage and destruction. sir george collier, after satisfying his wrath sailed back to new york. varying fortunes befell fort nelson during the remainder of the war until the evacuation by benedict arnold, after which no british grenadier ever paced its ramparts. after the close of the revolution, it was rebuilt and for many years was garrisoned by regular soldiers of the united states; but since, abandoned as a fortification, it has been a beautiful park and a home for sick officers and sailors of our navy. "the garrison of fort nelson, under the glorious stars and stripes, on the nd of june, , stood to their shotted guns, to meet the british invaders, who were defeated at crany island, by our capt. arthur emerson and other gallant heroes. here thousands of soldiers marched in response to the call of virginia in ." in the naval park at portsmouth, the site of fort nelson, there is a monument whose granite body embraces a real revolutionary cannon. this gun was selected from a number of guns known to be of the period of the american revolution. it is believed that one, at least, of these was mounted at crany island for the defense of portsmouth and norfolk. the honor of erecting this monument is due to the ladies of the fort nelson chapter of the daughters of the american revolution and to admiral p. f. harrington of the united states navy, and also medical director r. c. person of the navy. it is said that with proper care this gun will last centuries and "it will carry down to distant generations a memorial of the patriots of the american revolution, a mark of the formation of a nation and the token of the later patriots, the daughters of the american revolution, to whose efforts is due this important national service to which the gun has been dedicated." after these first assaults, for about three years of the war, there was almost no fighting in virginia, but during that term she was furnishing her full quota of men, money and inspiration to the cause, with devoted loyalty, assisting in the north and in the south, wherever an attack was made. directing her attention to the main army she built no defences of any importance on her own territory east of the alleghanies. "the british success in the north and followed by still more decided victories in the south. thus later the english began to look forward, with certainty, to the conquest of the entire country, and as virginia was regarded as the heart of the rebellion, it was decided to carry their victorious arms into the state, as the surest way of bringing the war to a speedy conclusion." we had no time, then, for building forts, and when we recall the traitor arnold's advance on richmond, with the two days he spent there destroying public and private property--his taking of petersburg, burning the tobacco and vessels lying at the wharves, with col. tarleton's raids, scouring the country of every thing; in fact all of cornwallis' reign of terror, which was soon to end in that imposing scene at yorktown, we realize truly that "the battle is not to the strong, nor the race to the swift," but that a country's bulwark often are not forts and strong towers, but her courageous heart, and her staunch friends, such men as lafayette, de rochambeau, de grasse and steuben, who with washington, led the allied americans and french forces at yorktown, and besieged the british fortification, the surrender of which virtually closed the revolutionary war on the th of october, . the place is sacred, their devotion reverenced. forts of the northwestern territory, kaskaskia, cahokia and vincennes. "while the communities of the sea coast were yet in a fever heat from the uprising against the stamp act, the first explorers were toiling painfully to kentucky, and the first settlers were building their palisaded hamlets on the banks of the wautauga. the year that saw the first continental congress saw also the short grim tragedy of lord dunmore's war. the battles of the revolution were fought while boone and his comrades were laying the foundation of their commonwealth. hitherto the two chains of events had been only remotely connected, but in , the year of the declaration of independence, the struggle between the king and his rebellious subjects shook the whole land and the men of the western border were drawn headlong into the full current of the revolutionary war. from that moment our politics became national, and the fate of each portion of our country was thenceforth in some sort dependent upon the welfare of every other. each section had its own work to do; the east won independence while the west began to conquer the continent, yet the deeds of each were of vital consequence to the other. the continentals gave the west its freedom, and took in return, for themselves and their children, a share of the land that had been conquered and held by the scanty bands of tall backwoodsmen." kentucky had been settled chiefly through daniel boone's instrumentality in the year that saw the first fighting of the revolution, and had been added to virginia by the strenuous endeavors of major george rogers clark of albermarle, virginia, whose far seeing and ambitious soul prompted him to use it as a base from which to conquer the vast region northwest of the ohio. "the country beyond the ohio was not like kentucky, a tenantless and debatable hunting ground. it was the seat of powerful and warlike indian confederacies, and of cluster of ancient french hamlets which had been founded generations before kentucky pioneers were born. it also contained forts that were garrisoned and held by the soldiers of the british king." it is true that virginia claimed this territory under the original grant in her charter, but it was almost an unknown and foreign land, and could only be held by force. clark's scheming brain and bold heart had long been planning its conquest. he looked about to see from whence came the cause of the indian atrocities on the whole american frontier, and like washington he saw that those indian movements were impelled by some outside force. he discovered that the british forts of detroit, kaskaskia and st. vincent were the centers from which the indians obtained their ammunition and arms to devastate the country. he resolved to take these forts. "he knew that it would be impossible to raise a force to capture these forts from the scanty garrisoned forts and villages of kentucky, though he knew of a few picked men peculiarly suited to his purpose, but fully realized that he would have to go to virginia for the body of his forces. accordingly, he decided to lay the case before patrick henry, the governor of virginia. henry's ardent soul quickly caught the flame from clark's fiery enthusiasm, but the peril of sending an expedition to such a wild and distant country was so great, and virginia's forces so exhausted that he could do little beyond lending clark the weight of his name and influence. finally though, henry authorized him to raise seven companies, each of fifty men, who were to act as militia, and to be paid as such. he also advanced him a sum of twelve hundred pounds and gave him an order on the authorities at pittsburg for boats, supplies and ammunition; while three of the most prominent gentlemen of virginia, thomas jefferson, george mason and george wythe, agreed, in writing, to do their part to induce the legislature to grant to each of the adventurers three hundred acres of the conquered land, if they were successful. clark was given the commission of colonel with the instruction to raise his men from the frontier counties west of the blue ridge, so as not to weaken the sea coast region in their struggle against the british." to this instruction he did not strictly adhere. there was a company of soldiers from bedford county, virginia, under his command, a list of whose names are on our county records. two of these are connections of the mother of mrs. r. b. clayton, the regent of the peaks of otter chapter of virginia daughters, which facts enhance our pride and interest in the capture of the western forts by colonel clark, which perhaps, prevented a vast and beautiful region of our country from being a part of a then foreign and hostile empire. the capture of fort kaskaskia. "fort kaskaskia, an old french fort of western illinois, situated on kaskaskia river, and garrisoned by the british was, at the time of its capture in splendid repair with a well drilled militia and spies constantly on the lookout. rochenblave, the commandant of the fort, had two or three times as many men as col. clark, and would have made a vigorous fight if he had not been taken by surprise. clark's force after the toil and hardships of much traveling across rivers and tangled pathless forests, was much reduced, and it was only his audacity and the noiseless speed of his movements, that gave him a chance of success with the odds so heavily against him. he ferried his men across the stream under cover of darkness and profound silence. inside the forts, lights were lit, and through the windows came the sound of violins. the officers of the fort had given a ball, the young men and girls were dancing, revelling within, while the sentinels had left their posts. one of the men whom clark had captured, on his approach to the fort, showed him a postern gate by the river side, through which he entered the fort, having placed his men about the entrance. advancing to the great hall, where the revel was held he leaned silently, with folded arms, against the door post, looking at the dancers. an indian lying on the floor of the entry suddenly sprang to his feet uttering the unearthly war whoop. the dancing ceased, the women screamed, while the men ran towards the door, but clark standing unmoved and with unchanged face, grimly bade them continue their dancing, but to remember that they now danced under virginia and not great britain. at the same time his men seized the officers, including the commandant, rochenblave, who was sent a prisoner to williamsburg, virginia." among his papers falling into the hands of colonel clark, were the instructions which he had from time to time received from the british governor of quebec and detroit, urging him to stimulate the indians to war by the proffer of large bounties for the scalps of the americans. this shows of what importance the capture of this fort was at that period, a defence against the scalping knife of the indians as well as the power of the british tyrant. the capture of cohokia and vincennes. after the capture of kaskaskia, without the shedding of a drop of blood, clark pushed on to the taking of fort cohokia, where the french, as soon as they were made to know that france had acknowledged the independence of america, shouted for freedom and the americans. clark then marched to fort vincennes which, without the firing of a gun, surrendered, and the garrison took the oath of allegiance to virginia july th, . very soon after this the british under governor hamilton, left detroit and recaptured vincennes, only to be forced by clark to surrender it a second time in february, , and to yield himself a prisoner of war. the taking of this fort the second time was a most remarkable achievement. "clark took, without artillery, a heavy stockaded fort, protected by cannon and swivels and garrisoned by trained soldiers. much credit belongs to clark's men but most belongs to their leader. the boldness of his plan and the resolute skill with which he followed it out, his perseverance through the intense hardship of the midwinter march of two hundred miles, through swamps and swollen rivers, with lack of force, the address with which he kept the french and indians neutral, and the masterful way in which he controlled his own men, together with the ability and courage he displayed in the actual attack, combined to make his feat the most memorable of all the deeds done west of the alleghenies in the revolutionary war. it was likewise the most important in its results, for had he been defeated in the capture of these forts we would not only have lost illinois but in all probability kentucky also." as it was "he planted the flag of the old dominion over the whole of the northwestern territory, and when peace came the british boundary line was forced to the big lakes instead of coming down to the ohio, and the state of virginia had a clear title to this vast domain, out of which were carved the states of ohio, illinois, indiana, wisconsin, michigan and a part of minnesota." virginia's share in the history of the nation has been gallant and leading, but the revolutionary war was emphatically fought by americans for america; no part could have won without the help of the whole, and every victory was thus a victory for all in which all alike can take pride--_american monthly magazine._ uncrowned queens and kings, as shown through humorous incidents of the revolution. one by one the years have dropped into the abyss of the past, since the close of the war for american independence. time has spread his brooding wings over the gulf and much of the horror and of the pathos of that tremendous struggle is now veiled from us; yet we are still perhaps too prone to remember only the dreadful in the events of the war, too anxious to recall only the dark days, leaving out the traces of cheerfulness which even in those troublous times, were experienced here and there; for there were many incidents connected with the american revolution which were in lighter vein; incidents which did not, it is true, abolish the gloom and the suffering, but which lightened the sombreness and shed rays of glimmering light through the shade. it has always seemed to me almost incredible, that the colonists could have found anything to laugh at during those awful years. they were threatened with absolute loss of liberty as a country; they were menaced by starvation, and they were obliged to pass through the rigors of the winters, without proper food or clothing. the sanctity of their homes was invaded by the grim monster of war, who was no respecter of persons, and to whose voracious palate all persons were equally attractive. if the british won their cause, the colonists had nothing better to which to look forward than slavery and injustice; if the colonists won theirs, they must face the future poorly equipped in every way. the waste of their country must be repaired, their desolate homes must be rebuilt; their business, which was crushed, must be restored, they must begin from the beginning. whatever the result, the outlook was dark. as the days went on, the husbands and fathers were obliged to forsake their plows, and go, perhaps with but a moment's warning, to bloody fields of battle. poorly clothed, they fought in their shirt sleeves and with their feet bare, their bloody foot prints often standing out as symbols of the struggle. the women must remain at home, to plow and sow and reap. the american soldiers must have spent many sleepless nights thinking of their unprotected ones at home, alone and defenceless. how could there be anything of humor connected with the struggle? and yet, while the american revolution can in no sense of the word be said to have had its humorous side, yet there was much of humor connected with many revolutionary occurrences, the stories of which have lived until the present time and have gained perhaps in their humorous aspect since the close of the great struggle. one of the first incidents of the war, which i have found to savor of the humorous, was the meeting of general john burgoyne and the irish patriot immediately after the surrender of the british general. all through the march of the general, to saratoga, he had boasted of the of the calamities which he would bring upon the americans. pompously up and down his quarters he would strut, composing high sounding sentences and listening to the fine roll of his voice, revelling in his verbosity and smiling with satisfaction at his thoughts which he deemed so great. the manifestos which he issued so frequently, were words, words, words, and these reiterated over and over again, the direful things which would encompass the americans, did they not surrender with all haste and with becoming deference. he made himself ridiculous by the manifestos, but he did not realize this until he made his way through the streets of albany, a conquered rather than a conquering hero, and met a funny little irishman, who had evidently studied the harangues of the general to good purpose. on the march through the albany streets, burgoyne was surrounded by men, women and children, who would fain look upon the face of this pompous british general. suddenly in the crowded part of the street, there bobbed up in front of him, a blue-eyed, red-haired celt, his bright eyes dancing with mirth and his tongue ready with the wit of his mother country. "make way there, ye spalpeens," he shouted, "sure don't ye see the great ginral burgyne a comin' along? sthand back fer the great ginral. wud yees be standin' in the way of the conquerer? if ye don't sthand back and give the great man room, shure i'll murther ivy mither's son of ye." history does not record how the boasting briton received the onslaught of the irishman, but we can readily imagine that his face lengthened a little, as he heard the laughs on every side. still it is quite possible that he did not see the joke until the following week. someway, that march of burgoyne and his army, always struck me as humorous to a certain extent. while there was the sadness caused by the loss of many lives, and while the battle of saratoga was one of the great battles of the world, still burgoyne himself, with his verbosity and his pomposity, was so ludicrous a figure oft times, that he gave a humorous tinge to the entire campaign. the saying of general starke at bennington which has come down to us with such pleasing patriotism: "here come the red coats and we must beat them to-day, or mollie starke is a widow," was not a humorous saying, nor was the battle of bennington a humorous incident. but bill nye, the immortal, has written something exceedingly funny concerning both. nye said, "this little remark of starke's made an instantaneous hit, and when they counted up their prisoners at night they found they had six hundred souls and a hessian." nye's description of burgoyne's surrender is well worth repeating. he wrote: "a council was now held in burgoyne's tent and on the question of renewing the fight, stood six to six, when an eighteen pound hot shot went through the tent, knocking a stylograph pen out of burgoyne's hand. almost at once he decided to surrender, and the entire army of men was surrendered, together with arms, portable bath tubs and leather hat boxes." nearly all of our american soldiers were brave; that goes without saying. one of the bravest of these was lieutenant manning. his deeds of prowess were many and great. he was hero in one extremely humorous incident at the battle of eutaw. after the british line had been broken, the "old buffs" started to run. this particular regiment was as boastful as general burgoyne. manning knew this and he was delighted to follow hard after them with his platoon. excited in his pursuit he did not notice that he was getting away from his men, until he found himself surrounded by british soldiers and not an american in sight. something must be done at once and manning was the man to do it. he siezed a british officer standing near, and much to that officer's amazement he not only felt himself violently handled, but he heard the stentorian voice of the american shouting--"you are my prisoner." his sword was wrested from his grasp, and he was made a human shield for this preposterously impudent american. but instead of making a break for liberty, he began to relate his various titles to manning. "i am sir," he said, "sir henry barry, deputy adjutant general of the british army, captain in the d regiment, secretary to the commandant of charleston." "enough sir," said manning, "you are just the man i have been looking for. fear nothing; you shall screen me from danger and i will take special care of you," which he did, holding the astonished man of title in front of him, until he reached the americans and handed him over as a prisoner. colonel peter horry was another brave man of the south. he was afflicted by an impediment in his speech and at one time the impediment nearly worked disaster for him. he was ordered to await in ambuscade with his regiment for a british detachment, and he soon had them completely within his power; but when he tried to command his men to fire, his speech failed him. in vain he corrugated his brows and twisted his jaws; the word would not come out. "fi, fi, fi, fi," he shouted, but could get no further. finally in his desperation he howled, "shoot, blank you, shoot. you know very well what i would say. shoot and be blanked to you." horry was a determined character. at one time in battle a brother officer called to him: "i am wounded, colonel." "think no more of it, baxter, but stand to your post," called back horry. "but i can't stand, colonel, i am wounded a second time." "then lie down, baxter, but quit not your post." "colonel," cried the suffering man, "they have shot me again, and if i remain longer here i shall be shot to pieces." "be it so baxter," returned horry, "but stir not." the part that women took in the revolution has been sung by poets and made the nucleus of writers' efforts for a hundred years and more. those revolutionary women had brawn as well as brain. they were able to defend their homes from the depredations of the royalists; they could bid the indian begone, not only by word of mouth but at the musket's end. they could plow and sow and reap; they could care for their families and they could take up arms in liberty's cause if the need arose. oh, those women of the american revolution! what a history of bravery and fortitude and endurance they bequeathed to their descendants! there is some humor, too, in the stories left to us in record of their heroism. it was the fashion among certain circles of whig women, during the dark days of the revolution, to wear deep mourning as an indication of their feelings. the black typified the darkness of the times and was worn by the town ladies who could afford it. one of these ladies, a mrs. brewton, was walking along broad street in charleston one morning, when she was joined by an insolently familiar british officer. at that very moment, the crepe flounce on her dress was accidently torn off. she quickly picked it up and passing just at that time the house of the absent governor, john rutledge, she sprang up the steps before the astonished eyes of the officer and decked the door with crepe, saying in ringing tones, "where are you, dearest governor? surely the magnanimous britons will not deem it a crime if i cause your house as well as your friends to mourn your absence." colonel moncrief, the english engineer, was occupying the house at the time, and his feelings were hurt at the action of mrs. brewton, as were those of the officer who had been with her, and she was arrested a few hours afterward and sent to philadelphia. one of the most marked women of the revolution, a woman who figured in many a ludicrous as well as serious incident, was nancy hart, of georgia. nancy had a frightful temper, a big ungainly body, and she suffered from a most marked obliquity of sight. in fact nancy was so cross-eyed, that her own children never could tell when their mother was looking at them and were perhaps better behaved on that very account. one time a party of tories entered her modest home on food intent. they had taken the precaution of providing food for themselves, shooting nancy's last remaining gobbler. mrs. hart had her head muffled up and no one had noticed her cross-eyes. the soldiers stacked their arms within reach and nancy passed between them and the table, assiduous in her attention to the diners. the party had a jug, of course, and when they were becoming right merry, nancy suddenly tore the mufflers from her head and snatching up one of the guns, swore that she would kill every last man who tried to get his gun or who delayed in getting out of the cabin. the men looked at nancy's eyes and each man thinking she was aiming at him only, made a hasty and determined exit. but the terrible woman killed three tories that day with her own hands. one day nancy was boiling soap. as she industriously stirred, one of her eyes caught a glimpse of a tory peeking through a chink in the cabin. stirring busily away, nancy kept one eye on the soap and the other on the chink. when the spy again appeared she let drive full at the chink, a good big ladle full of hot soap. a scream satisfied her that she had hit the mark, and she finished her soap-making with great satisfaction. this woman was termed by one of the patriots: "a honey of a patriot, but the devil of a wife." the revolutionary woman's resources were indeed great, and the strategy she employed was as satisfactory as it was many times humorous. a whig woman of new york state, a mrs. fisher, was one morning surprised by the hurried entrance of a whig neighbor, who begged of her to conceal him as the tories were pursuing him. just outside her door was an ash heap four or five feet high. seizing a shovel, mrs. fisher immediately excavated a place in the ashes and buried her friend in it. but first she had taken precaution to place a number of quills one in the other and extend them from the prisoner's mouth to the air, that he might breathe, and there he remained snugly ensconced until the tories had come and gone, and even though they ran over the ash heap, they never suspected what lay beneath it. equally resourceful was that woman of the revolution, who when her husband was pursued by tories, hustled him down cellar and into a meat barrel partially filled with brine and meat. the tories went into the cellar and even peered into the barrel, but they did not discover the man, who at the risk of terribly inflamed eyes, ducked his head beneath the brine, when he heard the soldiers' hands on the head of the barrel. inflamed eyes were easier to bear than imprisonment in the hands of the british. bill nye's description of the close of the war is as humorous as it is correct. nye wrote: "the country was free and independent, but oh, how ignorant it was about the science of government. the author does not wish to be personal when he states that the country at that time did not know enough about affairs to carry water for a circus elephant. it was heavily in debt, with no power to raise money. new england refused to pay tribute to king george and he in turn directed his hired men to overturn the government; but a felon broke out on his thumb and before he could put it down, the crisis was averted and the country saved." and so it goes; the sad and the humorous are blended on every side in life's struggles either in war or peace. fortunate is the man or woman who can halt a little by the wayside and for a few moments laugh dull care away.--compiled from _federation magazine_. a colonial story. a long time ago, before the hand of progress had stamped the land with a net work of steel, or commerce and trade had blackened the skies of blue, john hamilton and tabitha thweatt were married. there was no cutting of dutchess satin or charmeuse draped with shadow lace, for it took time in those days to prepare for a wedding. silk worms had to be raised, thread spun and woven into cloth before the bride's clothes could be fashioned. waiting was no bar to happiness; the bride-to-be sang merrily while spinning or weaving at her loom and as the shuttles went in and out her day dreams were inter-mingled with the weaving of her wedding garments. in the year of our lord, , the making of silk in the colonies was a new industry and when mistress tabitha decided on silk for her wedding dress she had to plant mulberry twigs and wait for them to grow. she had to pick the leaves to feed the worms until they wrapped themselves in their silken cocoons and as soon as the cocoons would web they were baked to keep them from cutting the raw silk. it took one hundred cocoons to make one strand of silk. after all these preparations this colonial girl's dream of a silken wedding gown grew into a realization. she not only raised the silk worms, but spun the silk that they had webbed and wove it into shimmering cloth, from which her wedding gown was made. she also knit her wedding stockings of silk; but only one pair of silk went into her trousseau for the rest were knit of cotton. the family records say that this couple had no worldly goods except what their own hands had wrought. they were god-fearing people of the puritan type. he felled the trees and sawed them into logs out of which their home was constructed. the logs that went toward the building of their home were mortised and pinned together with wooden pegs. the floors were puncheon flat slabs split from whole tree trunks and the doors and windows were made of oak and were swung on great wooden hinges. the chimney was of "stick and dirt" and across the broad fire place hung the crane from which were suspended the cooking utensils. john hamilton was a member of one of virginia's most distinguished families. he possessed an iron will that defied adversity; he blazed the way through his state and was brave enough to "hew down forests and live on crumbs." mistress tabitha was a help-meet to her pioneer husband. she not only cooked his meals but carried them to him when he worked in the field. he had the honor, and in those days it was indeed an honor, to be elected as a representative from his state to congress. the frugal and beautiful tabitha accompanied him to washington. her preparation for the replenishing of her ward-robe was quite as elaborate as those formerly made for her wedding. with deft hands she carded from the snowy cotton piles of rolls that were spun into thread and she wove many yards of cloth from which she made her underwear. from carefully carded bats of cotton she spun many spindles of fine smooth thread that was woven into fine cream cotton goods, some of which were dyed with copperas. some was spread day and night on the grass where the dew would fall to bleach it. from the bleached cotton this industrious woman made her dresses and the snowy whiteness of some of her gowns was the envy of her neighbors. she also carried in her little hair trunk to washington, not only many well made cotton garments, but was the proud possessor of one black silk dress and two black silk aprons. the dress was afterward described as being so heavy that it could "stand alone." mistress tabitha, although a little overworked, was not too weary after reaching washington to attend the presidential ball and dance the minuet with the gallant washington and the noted lafayette. john and tabitha hamilton had eleven children. all were born in virginia except one, who came after they moved to hancock county, near sparta, georgia, in . their home was destroyed twice by the tories and once by a tornado. mr. hamilton had just completed a nice dwelling for his family when the memorable tornado and cyclone passed over that portion of georgia in april, . all of the family except jack and everard were away from home. there was but one small house left on the place, their new house having been blown away, none of it left standing. some of the doors were found six miles off in an adjoining county. clothing, books and papers were carried promiscuously away. jack was much bruised, having been struck by many things. his booksack was blown away, and his "ovid" was found forty miles over in baldwin county and returned to him. this book is now in possession of one of his descendants. everard was carried into the air and lodged in a swamp about a quarter of a mile away, where he was caught up by the whirl wind. madame hamilton took this misfortune as coming from god and helped her husband to collect anew his scattered fortune. later we read of them as living on their plantation surrounded by their servants, who ministered to their comforts and attended their broad fields. in reading about the women who lived in the early days of georgia, their splendid lives stand as a beacon to the reckless and extravagant ones of today. they not only spun the thread and wove the cloth used in their homes, but they made all of the clothes their children wore, and reared them to be god-fearing men and women. they visited their neighbors for thirty miles away and extended a glad welcome and cordial hospitality for any and every guest. one with impunity may ask the question: "are they pleased with their descendants, these women of georgia's pioneer days?"--mrs. j. l. walker, lyman hall chapter, d. a. r. molly pitcher for hall of fame. the movement to place in the hall of fame a bust of molly pitcher, the only woman sergeant in the united states army, has the enthusiastic support of former senator chauncey m. depew. it was in the important movements of the year that at the battle of monmouth molly pitcher was carrying water to her husband, who was a gunner of a battery at one piece of artillery. he was disabled and the lieutenant proposed to remove the piece out of danger, when molly said, "i can do everything my husband could," and she performed her husband's duties at his old gun better than he could have done. the next morning she was taken before general washington, her wonderful act was reported and its influence upon the outcome of the battle, which was a victory, and washington made her at once a sergeant in the army to stand on the rolls in that rank as long as she would. it seems appropriate now for us to place among the immortals and in the hall of fame this only woman sergeant of the united states army, who won her title fighting for her country upon the field of battle.--_national magazine._ revolutionary relics. great grandmother's spinning wheel stands in the hall, that is her portrait there; great grandfather's sword hangs near on the wall, what do you girlies care, that in seventeen hundred and seventy-six, one bitter winter's night, when the air was full of sleet and snow, and the kitchen fire burned bright. he stood with a face so thoughtful and sad with his hand on her hair, "asenath, i start at the break of day," oh, that bride was so fair! but country was dearer than home and wife, proudly she lifted her head, "go, david, and stay till is ended the strife, god keep you, dear," she said. toward the loom in the kitchen she drew, she had finished that day, a beautiful blanket of brown and blue, "was it plaided this way?" it was just like this but faded and worn, and full of holes and stain, when our soldier grandsire came back one morn, to wife and child again. when his eyes were dim and her hair was white, waiting the master's call, she finished this blanket one winter's night, that hangs here on the wall. and dreaming of fifty years before, when she stood by that wheel, and that cradle creaked on the kitchen floor, by that swift and reel. there's a rare old plate with a portrait in blue, of england's george the third, a porringer small and a stain shoe, that five brave hearts has stirred, there's an ancient gun all covered with rust, a clock, a bible worn, "fox book of martyrs" and "holy wars," a brass tipped powder horn. great grandfather sat in that old arm chair, grandmother rocked by his side, till the master called through the sweet june air, they both went out with the tide. --_florence i. w. burnham in american monthly magazine._ tragedy of the revolution overlooked by historians. by t. h. dreher, m. d. before the william thompson chapter, d. a. r., invaded this neck of the moral vineyard and put its delicate, historical fingers upon the tendrils of local happenings, there was no blare of trumpets over a foul and bloody deed which occurred near the "metts cross-roads," in this county, during the revolutionary war. but the gruesome case was never without intense interest to those concerned in the episodes of a past age. the strange and mysterious always throws an additional halo over our heroes. this feeling is intensified, in this case, by virtue of the fact that the same blood which ran in the veins of the victim of the "cross-roads plot," now pulsates in the arteries of many lineal, living descendants who are part and parcel of calhoun county's sturdy citizenship. the malignant, cruel and cowardly feature of this dastardly crime, garbed in a plausible and hypocritical cloak, make it unique, even in the gory annals of criminal warfare and harks our memories back to the murder of duncan, king of scotland. here, as there, we have no doubt, but that souls grew faint over the details of the foul conspiracy and "their seated hearts knocked at their ribs" until spurred to the "sticking place" by the evil eloquence of some overpowering and unnatural genius, like unto lady macbeth. john adams treutlen (for that was the name of our hero) is in his grave. "after life's fitful fever, he sleeps well, treason has done his worst; nor steel nor poison, malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing, can touch him further." that is true. the cold pen of a true chronicler, however, must again allude to the utter negligence and gross indifference of an earlier age to a proper appreciation of significant events. that a noted governor of georgia should be brutally done to death by revengeful tories because of the intense whig fires which consumed his very soul; that children, and children's children, should grow up around the scene of his untimely taking-off, and still his home and his grave should be, today, unidentified spots on the map of calhoun county force us to exclaim with mark antony: "but yesterday the word of caesar might have stood against the world. now lies he there and none so poor to do him reverence." the salient facts in the life of treutlen are interesting. born in berectsgaden, , as a german salzburger, he was brought to this country in a boat load of salzburgers that landed at savannah in . if early impressions count for anything, there is no wonder that the spirit of liberty and independence sank deep into the very inmost recesses of his soul. his father, along with thousands of other german protestants, was exiled by a fanatical decree of archbishop leopold, which drove out from his domain all who would not accept the catholic faith. it was this salzburger strain and religion which was unterrified and unwashed, amid the raging tempests of an angry sea, while others aboard, including john wesley, trembled for life, and confessed to a livelier awakening to the rejuvenating and sustaining power of god upon frail humanity. some miles from savannah these brave and devout pilgrims, after singing a psalm "set up a rock and in the spirit of the pious samuel, named the place ebenezer (stone of help) 'for hitherto hath the lord helped us.'" amid these crude but inspiring surroundings the young treutlen received a splendid education, for that day, under the strict tutelage of his scholarly lutheran pastors, bolzius and gronau. thus it was that, when the red gloom of impending war was already visible on the distant horizon, and the provincials had gathered at savannah to take steps against the high-handed measures of england, john adam treutlen answered the roll-call from the ebenezer country and was one of its leading and most aggressive spirits. thus it was that, in the teeth of strong tory influence and friends he espoused the patriot cause with all the ardor of a knight templar, thus becoming the chief object of loyalist hatred and vengeance, his property being confiscated, and his home, with many of its treasures, burned to ashes. elected first governor of georgia under an independent constitution by the legislature, in , there was not as yet the fearful carnage and bloody battles which were still to come, and which were to make the south and its manhood a synonym for courage and endurance the world over. it is true that the immortal conflict on sullivan's island had been fought and won, but clinton and parker, still hopeful under drooping plumes, had shifted the scene to the north. the "blue bloods" of the palmetto state--with the exception of charleston's brave firebrand, christopher gadsden, were still praying for that peace, borne of wealth, intelligence and luxurious ease. georgia, now perched upon the top-most round of empire--pre-eminence--was then weak in its swaddling clothes and viewed only as a promising child to be brought up in the aristocratic south carolina sunday school. with a cool and calculating diplomacy which smacked somewhat suggestively of the rising talleyrand, we are told that the gentle ripples on the waters little betokened the torpedoes which were being laid beneath. bludgeons, not the velvety hand of artful diplomacy, were calculated to narcotize the grim-visaged ruler of the satrapy across the savannah, as all accounts agree that treutlen was a somewhat "stormy petrel," a sort of pocket edition of oliver cromwell, the greatest civilized dictator that the world has ever produced--who could rout a parliament of sitting members, lock the door and put the key in his pocket. and so it came to pass that, when the governor heard of the so-called "machiavellian scheme" to annex his little kingdom to the great palmetto commonwealth, by a coup d'etat, he pounded the floor viciously with his "condemnatory hoof" and shot a fiery proclamation over the official mahogany, denouncing the conspiracy in bitter vein and offering a heavy reward for the chief emissary--drayton. when the georgia patriot government fell in , treutlen, along with hundreds of others, took british protection and fled to st. matthews parish, in the present county of calhoun; and the road he travelled was a thornier path than that from jerusalem to jerico with "injuns on the upper way, and death upon the lower." it is not for me to split fine hairs over the principle involved in conditional agreements during the days of war, when every man is showing his teeth and reaching at the throat of his enemy. suffice to say, that he chafed under the tory bit and would have none of it. a born fighter and a man of rugged individuality, it was impossible for him to hug both sides of any fence. a dictator by instinct (and by georgia statute,) well educated, and fresh from the gubernatorial eiderdown he would naturally bring around his head swarms of bitter enemies, in times of war, and he was a marked man. he met his doom on a dreary night in under peculiarly atrocious conditions. it is said that a small band of vindictive tories went to his home during that fateful evening, and enticed him out, on a treacherous plea of surrender on certain plausible conditions. as he emerged from his door, he was seized, and not only brutally butchered, but, (all traditions agree,) literally hacked to pieces. the exact spot where the fragments of his dismembered body were buried will probably never be known. but there is every reason to believe that his bones rest in the vicinity of his home, from the fact that his tenure of life in this section was short; that he was without relatives beyond his family circle, and those relatives continued to live in the neighborhood. the mere fact that a governor of georgia could come here and be brutally and foully murdered by tories, in the heat of war passions, and not a line recorded about it, in any south carolina history or newspaper bearing upon that period, should open our eyes to the danger of swallowing the spurious pill offered to us by the emily geiger exterminators. but for the georgia records and a straight line of descendants, hereabouts, the treutlen individuality and tradition would be tabooed as a "myth" and fabrication from beginning to end. through the laudable efforts of the local d. a. r.--and particularly its regent, mrs. f. c. cain--a "marker" has been promised from the quartermaster general's office, washington, d. c. it will stand in the vicinity of the "metts crossroads" and will remind the passerby of as true and loyal a whig as lived during those perilous days. treutlen's general appearance, even in repose, as exhibited in an old photograph now in the possession of a descendant, is interesting. the orthodox military coat, unbottoned and spread abroad over his shoulders, brings into bold relief a "dicky" shirt front, emerging into a high and ferocious collar, which nestles snugly and smugly under his lower jaws. there is a profuse shock of hair, futilely bombarding an obstinate "cow-lick," the whole showing little or no subserviency to comb and brush. his large, piercing eyes, fringed by shaggy brows, with a drooping upper lid, produces a sad, if not sinister, aspect. the nose has a roman slant, which meets a bold, intellectual forehead in an almost unbroken line. marked cheek bones and a thin face ease down, more or less hastily, to a sharp and angular chin. a pair of thin lips, closely plastered to each other, bespeak firm determination; and his whole contour impresses one, forcibly, that he was not a safe man to take too many liberties with. as intimated at the outset, there is an interesting ramification of descendants from the treutlen family, many of whom are still living in calhoun county. some have gained prominence in alabama, washington, d. c., and other places, but i will note only those of local (and some, at least, of state-wide) interest. there were three sons and three daughters: john adam treutlen, jr., christian, depew, mary, elizabeth and hannah. mary married edward dudley. from this union was born mary dudley, who married adam amaker, february , , and from the latter was born adam perry amaker, who married augusta zimmerman, and they, in turn, were the parents of perry and t. a. amaker, now living--the former of denver, col., and the latter a leading business man of st. matthews. amanda amaker (alive) married major whitmarsh seabrook murray, of edisto island, who recently died here. they moved to this place after the war and leave many descendants. elizabeth treutlen, another daughter, married william kennedy and from them descended john w. kennedy, who resided here for years, and now at tyron, n. c. his only daughter, vernon, married dr. a. mcqueen salley, originally of orangeburg, and a son of the present sheriff of that county, now of saluda, n. c. john adam treutlen, jr., married margaret miller. their son, gabriel, married ann connor and to them was born caroline treutlen, who married jacob dantzler. their son, col. o. m. dantzler, of confederate war fame, was the father of o. m. dantzler, the popular sheriff of calhoun county, who recently died; fred and thos. w., of st. matthews; mortimer o., of orangeburg and charles g., an eminent jurist (deceased.) rachael treutlen, daughter of john adam treutlen, jr., married the rev. j. j. wannamaker, of st. matthews. from this union were born mary ann (who first married joel butler and later william reeves) and w. w. wannamaker, deceased, who for many years was a leading physician of this community, and who married adelia keitt. to the last couple was born agelina, who married the rev. artemus b. watson, a well known minister of the methodist church, who died recently. their son, whitfield w. watson, married may, daughter of the hon. samuel j. dibble, and a daughter adele watson, deceased, married a. c. hane, fort motte. other children of dr. w. w. wannamaker were: john keitt, who married chloe watson, both dead. he bequeathed $ , for a methodist church here. w. w. wannamaker, a successful farmer of this community, who married lou banks, deceased. a son bears the honored patronymic of "treutlen." mary b. wannamaker, deceased, who married dr. w. t. c. bates, of st. matthews, the well known ex-state treasurer. emma c., a daughter of rev. j. j. wannamaker, married dr. w. l. pou, an eminent physician of st. matthews, now years old, and who has been actively practicing his profession for over years. a daughter of dr. and mrs. pou, emma, deceased, married a. k. smoke, a prominent and influential citizen of this town, while blanche, another daughter, is living, and the joy and pride of her aged parents. a son of rev. j. j. wannamaker and rachael treutlen, his wife, was capt. francis m., deceased, a noted lawyer in his day, who married eleanor bellinger, of bamberg. from the last couple were born the following: jennie b., who married j. b. tyler, of georgia, both dead; mary b., deceased, who married j. h. henagan, of st. matthews; rachael treutlen, who married h. a. raysor, a successful merchant and prominent citizen of st. matthews; j. s. kottowe, a leading banker and merchant of st. matthews, who married lillian salley, of orangeburg; francis m., who married the writer; william h., professor of german in trinity college, n. c., who married isabella stringfellow, of chester, and olin m., professor of english in the alabama polytechnic college at auburn, who married katherine hume, of new haven, conn. john martin. when quite a little boy in his home in caroline county, virginia, john martin adopted as his motto: "i will do my best." it helped him even in childhood to have this motto, for whenever he had any difficult task to perform, either at home or school, he remembered his motto and did his best. in his veins flowed the blood of a noble ancestry and many sterling merited qualities helped him in the formation of a manly character. he was born in , amid turbulent scenes in virginia, for the indians were frequently incited by the french to commit deeds of violence and cruelty upon the english colonists, and in consequence of this, his early impressions were of preparations for war. at a tender age john witnessed the departure of his father, abner martin, to join colonel washington on his way to fort duquesne. he saw him buckle on his sword and sabre and mount his charger and set his face towards the ohio valley. and after that parting he experienced some of the horrors of war, for in the silent hour of night, the stealthy tread of the indian noiselessly approached the martin plantation and applied the torch to the barns and outhouses, and morning found them in ruins. he shared the general feeling of uneasiness and insecurity that had settled down upon the home circle in consequence of his father's absence, and his grandfather's illness. his mother at this time was for him his tower of strength, and his ark of safety, for she it was who devised means for their protection and safety. as he grew older and thought upon these stirring scenes, no wonder that his martial spirit was stirred within him and that he resolved "some day i'll go too, and i can if i do my best," and he did. about , the martin family removed from virginia to south carolina and settled at edgefield. the sons were sent to virginia to be educated, and it was there that john formed a close personal friendship for george washington, which ripened with the coming years. when the war for american independence was declared, john martin, and his seven brothers, all officers, had his life's desire fulfilled, and following the footsteps of his father saw service in the defence of his country. he also served with distinction in the state legislature and afterward was made general in command of the south carolina state troops. he married elizabeth, the daughter of colonel nathaniel terry, of virginia. many years later general john martin was on a visit to his son marshall martin, in meriwether county, georgia at the time when georgia was called upon to furnish her quota of troops for the war of . john martin was then years old and still the fires of patriotism were not extinguished nor the love of battle front subdued. the talk of another war with england made him forget his years, and his infirmities, and as his son marshall recounted the probabilities of renewed encounters, and spoke of his own enlistment, the old "war horse sniffing the battle from afar," exclaimed excitedly, "my son let me go in your stead." after this visit john martin returned to his edgefield home, where he died in . boys and girls who would develop fine character must have high ideals even in childhood. "sow a thought and you reap a habit, sow a habit and you reap a character, sow a character and you reap a destiny"--m. m. park, david meriwether chapter, d. a. r., greenville. john stark, revolutionary soldier. the victory of the little band of patriots at bennington early in the revolutionary war made john stark famous, and shortly afterward he was christened "old bennington," first by the soldiers and then by the american colonists generally. at the time of the victory stark was close to fifty years of age, and had had a long and distinguished career as an indian fighter. in early life john stark was a new hampshire farmer, and in that state he was born of irish parents, and there he died in , at the advanced age of . his farm was located in the wildest part of the forest country of new hampshire, and indian fighting was a hobby with him. several years prior to the revolution he and his little band of frontiersmen had succeeded in driving the indians from their neighborhood, so that they were no longer troubled with them. then for several years stark settled down to the enjoyment of farm life. at this vocation he continued until tidings reached him of the battle of lexington. promptly upon the receipt of this news he mounted his horse, and at the head of several hundred of his neighbors, set out to join the colonial army at cambridge. upon his arrival there he was appointed a colonel, and in one day he had organized a regiment of hardy backswoodsmen. then came the memorable bunker hill day. stark and his men were stationed a few miles away from the scene of this conflict, but in full sight of both bunker and breed's hills. seeing that a battle was inevitable, he waited for no orders, but set out at once for the ground, which he reached just before the conflict began. he led his men into the fight saying: "boys aim at their waistbands," an order that has become historical. in the heat of this action a soldier came to stark with the report that his son, a youth of , who was with him on the field had been killed. "this is not the moment to talk of private affairs," was the grim reply; "go back to your post." as it proved, the report was false, and young stark served as a staff officer through the war. after the patriots were compelled to evacuate boston, stark marched with his regiment to new york, but was shortly directed to take part in the ill-starred expedition against canada. the retreating army reached ticonderoga on the th of july. here on the following day the declaration of independence reached the soldiers in the field and col. stark had the satisfaction, on the scene of his former exploits, to hear the proclamation read to his cheering troops. then gen. stark proceeded south to assist washington and to gain his full share of applause in the battle of trenton. in march, , he returned to his native state to recruit the ranks of his regiment, and while there news came to him that a new list of promotions had been made in which his name was omitted, while younger officers had been advanced in rank. this injustice he bitterly resented and resigned from the army and retired to his farm. but stark was still the patriot and when the information reached him that the enemy were moving south from canada, and that gen. st. clair had retreated and that ticonderoga had been captured, new hampshire flew to arms and called for stark to command her troops. stark was at bennington when he learned that a detachment of six hundred men under col. baum had been dispatched by burgoyne on a foraging expedition in that section, sending a party of indians in advance on a scouting raid. upon learning of this stark sent out expresses to call in the militia of the neighborhood, he marched out to meet baum, who entrenched himself in a strong position about six miles from bennington. this was on the th of august. a few miles out he met lieut.-col. gregg retreating, with the enemy close at hand. stark at once halted and drew up his men in order of battle. the enemy, seeing this, at once stopped also and entrenched themselves. thus the armies remained for two days, contenting themselves with skirmishing, in which the americans had much the best of the game. baum's indians began to desert, saying that "the woods were filled with yankees." on the morning of the sixteenth stark prepared for an attack. before advancing he addressed his men with that brief but telling address which has made his name historic: "there are the red coats; we must beat them to-day or to-night molly stark sleeps a widow." they beat them and "molly" had the satisfaction of long enjoying the fame that came to john, instead of wearing the widow's weeds. the victory was decisive and by a band of raw militia, poorly armed and without discipline, but led by one of the most fearless men of the revolution. of the one thousand british soldiers engaged in this fight, not more than a hundred escaped, and it was this victory of "old bennington" which led ultimately to the surrender of burgoyne at saratoga. col. baum, who was mortally wounded, said of the provisionals, "they fought more like hell-hounds than like soldiers." washington spoke of the engagement as "the great stroke struck by gen. stark near bennington" and baroness riedessel, then in the british camp, wrote: "this unfortunate event paralyzed our operations." "old bennington" was a splendid type of the class of men who gave success to the american revolution. congress, after bennington, hastened to repair its former action by appointing stark a brigadier-general, and he continued in the army till the end of the war. he lived to see the country firmly established, and when he died in he was buried on the banks of the merrimac river at manchester. benjamin franklin. by george fitch. benjamin franklin was an ordinary man with an extraordinary supply of common sense who flourished in the eighteenth century and is still regarded as one of the finest of american products. franklin was born in boston, but was one of the few boston wise men to succeed in getting away from that city. his family was not distinguished and when he left boston, after having run a newspaper with more brilliance than success, no committee of city officials appeared to bid him goodbye. franklin arrived in philadelphia with enough money left to buy two rolls of bread and paraded the town wearing one loaf under his arm and eating the other. this successfully quarantined him from philadelphia society and he was enabled to put all his time into the printing business with such success that he was sent to london in by the governor to get a printing outfit. he worked for eighteen months in a london printing house and was probably the most eminent employee that london journalism ever had, though england has not yet waked up to this fact. franklin then returned to philadelphia and purchased _the gazette_, which he began to edit with such success that he frequently had to spend all day making change for eager subscribers. it might be well to mention here that at this time he was only years old, having been born january , , and having been a full-fledged editor at the age of . genius often consists in getting an early start and keeping started. at the age of franklin's "poor richard's almanac," the sayings of a wise old man, had the largest circulation of anything printed in the colonies, and people sought his advice on everything from love to chicken raising. at the age of he was a member of the pennsylvania assembly. at he had diagnosed lightning and had exhibited the first electricity ever in captivity in a bottle, having caught it with a kite string and a key. he had also charted the course of north american storms, and explained the gulf stream. franklin helped the colonies to declare their independence and secured the treaty of alliance with france. at he was elected governor of pennsylvania. at he helped write the constitution of the united states. he also devised the american postal system. he died at the age of , and philadelphia is prouder of his tombstone than she is of the liberty bell. through all his long and busy life franklin never had time to dress up and adopt the social usages of his day. but this did not prevent him from dazzling the exquisite court of france at its most brilliant and useless period. he was one of the few men who gave to the earth more wisdom than he absorbed from it, but he never was a bonanza for the tailors. had he spent his youth keeping four tailors and three haberdashers in affluence, franklin relics would probably not command the high price which they now do. captain mugford ran the british blockade and captured powder ship. had great britain made peace with the american colonies after the british army had been driven from boston, james mugford would be a popular hero today. but great britain continued the war for eight long years, and so many heroes were made that the name of james mugford, "the world forgetting, and by the world forgot," was lost. mugford died in . he and his companions were attacked by british marines. they fought most all night, and the british were whipped, but the gallant captain was killed by a pike thrust. the british under general gage evacuated boston, in march, . the british fleet remained behind in boston to blockade the port. general washington hurried to new york with the main colonial army to dispute the proposed british landing there. general artemas ward was left in command of a pretty sizeable american army around boston; but washington had taken all the powder and most of the guns. the americans were at the mercy of the british ships, only the british didn't know it. general ward zealously guarded the fact that his powder supply was nil, and planned to fill his magazines at the invader's expense. accordingly two small ships, the schooners hancock and franklin, were outfitted and ordered to sea for the purpose of capturing a supply ship. captain samuel tucker commanded the hancock. james mugford, a citizen of marblehead, mass., was appointed master of the franklin. his vessel carried a crew of , including himself. on may captain tucker captured two brigs laden with valuable supplies; but no powder. he took his prizes to lynn. general ward communicated with captain mugford and explained to him the desperate straits the army was fronting. "i'll get some powder," said the short-spoken marblehead. and he did. the british ship hope, carrying war munitions for the british, was due. it had powder for the fleet. captain mugford heard of its expected arrival and put to sea. almost within sight of the british fleet he met the hope and captured it. but how to land the prize? he didn't have men enough to take it to lynn or any other port very distant. the british fleet lay between him and the american army in boston. captain mugford chose to run the british blockade and fight the whole fleet of a dozen ships or more, if necessary. he put a few of his best men aboard the hope and made the british crew sail it. then, in the franklin, he arrogantly sailed toward the british fleet and dropped a few cannon balls its way. the british were astounded. what could this crazy skipper mean by attacking a fleet with one dinky little schooner? they would teach him a lesson. the whole fleet maneuvered round to blow the franklin off the bay. meanwhile the hope sneaked in the harbor, and then captain mugford outsailed the british fleet and got in himself. in the hold of the hope the americans found tons of powder and other war stores needed just then more than men or gold. mugford had made good his word. very naturally the british were angry. the admiral issued an order that james mugford was to be captured by any hook or crook and promptly killed. somebody told captain mugford about the order. "oh, piffle!" he said, or something like that. "i'll run by his derned old fleet every day in the week and twice on sunday if i want." the sunday following, may , , captain mugford, in the franklin, with men, and captain cunningham, in the privateer lady washington, a vessel carrying seven men and a few small swivel guns, started to puncture the british blockade again. they would have succeeded, but the franklin grounded. a flotilla of small boats from the fleet, carrying well-armed men, started for the attack. captain cunningham refused to leave his companion, so both he and captain mugford prepared for battle. it was a fiercely fought contest and lasted the better part of the night. on may general ward made the following report of the engagement: "captain mugford was very fiercely attacked by or boats full of men, but he and his men exerted themselves with remarkable bravery, beat off the enemy, sunk several of their boats and killed a number of their men; it is supposed they lost or . the intrepid captain mugford fell a little before the enemy left his schooner. he was run through with a lance while he was cutting off the hands of the pirates as they were attempting to board him, and it is said that with his own hands he cut off five pairs of theirs. no other man was killed or wounded on the franklin."--_kansas city star._ governor john clarke. among the historical sketches penned by miss annie m. lane for the american journal of history, that touching the life of governor john clarke, received the highest award, and through the kindness of the author we are permitted to reproduce it. "why are the dead not dead? who can undo what time has done? who can win back the wind? beckon lost music from a broken lute? renew the redness of a last year's rose? or dig the sunken sun-set from the deep?" i sometimes think there are more interesting things and people under the ground than above it, yet we who are above it do not want to go below it to get acquainted with them, but if we can find out anything from the outside we enjoy it. in a previous article, i said there was no spot in georgia so full of buried romance as wilkes county, and no manuscript so fascinating as the musty and yellow old records of a hundred years ago, which lie unmolested in our courthouse, especially those of . one cannot but feel after reading these books that he has been face to face with the grand old gentlemen of revolutionary days: the men who walked our streets with their ruffled shirts--three-cornered hats and dangling swords--yet so different are they in personality and character that the weaving together of their lives makes to me a grand and beautiful fabric, "a tapestry of reminiscent threads." some rich, some dark and sombre in shade, making a background so fitting for the crimson and purple and gold--for the conspicuous, inflaming color of impetuous natures, toned down with characters as white and cool as the snowflakes which fall upon our southern violets. you have but to close your eyes to the scene of today to recall ex-governor talbot, governor matthews, general clarke, together with jesse mercer, mr. springer and duncan c. campbell, who were familiar figures once upon the streets of washington. in the painting of character sketches we would not do the individual justice if we did not remember his environments, and above all his inherited nature, for are we not all bound by heredity? my last sketch was of jesse mercer, now it is of john clarke. how striking the contrast. the life of jesse mercer was as quiet and majestic as was his nature. john clarke just three years his senior, born and reared at no great distance had a life of adventure. he was the son of our stalwart general elijah clarke and his wife, hannah, and was the youngest soldier whose name appears upon the roster of kettle creek, being years of age. (battle of kettle creek, , john clarke, born .) i will refer you to history to convince you of how his whole nature was fired by the blood within his veins, inherited from both mother and father. he came of fighting stock in a fighting age! in "white's historical collections of georgia," there is an account of the life of hannah clarke, who survived her husband, elijah clarke, twenty years, dying at the age of (in .) the burning of her house by a party of british and tories is recorded, and the turning out of herself and children while general clarke was away. when general clarke was so desperately wounded at long cane in carolina, she started to him and was robbed of the horse on which she was riding. on one campaign she accompanied him and when she was moving from a place of danger, the horse on which she and two of her younger children were riding was shot from under her. later, she was at the siege of augusta. all this time general elijah clarke's right hand man was young john. being reared in the army, this boy became wild and impetuous; by nature he was intense, so when cupid's dart entered his heart it was inflamed as deeply with love as it had been with hatred for the british. his love story ends with meredith's words, "whom first we love, we seldom wed." about four miles from the hill on which the little battle of kettle creek was fought, there lived an orphan girl, the stepdaughter of artnial weaver, and the youngest sister of sabina chivers, who married jesse mercer. john clarke loved this girl, but there was opposition to the union. but as yet not knowing the meaning of the word defeat, he induced her to elope with him. it was his thought to take her to the home of a friend of his father's, daniel marshall, near kiokee, but the weather was severe, and a snowstorm set in. they were compelled to stop at a farm house where lived the mother of major freeman (related to dr. s. g. hillyer.) miss chivers was taken ill that night with congestion of the lungs, and died. in the absence of flowers the good woman of the house adorned the dead girl with bunches of holly, entwined them in her beautiful black hair and placed them in her clasped hands. the grave they covered with the same beautiful crimson and green holly, upon which the snow recently fell. this was the first real sorrow in the life of john clarke and many were to follow. to some the years come and go like beautiful dreams, and life seems only as a fairy tale that is told, yet there are natures for which this cannot be. some hands reach forth too eagerly to cull life's sweet, fair flowers, and often grasp hidden thorns. feet that go with quick, fearless steps are most apt to be wounded by jutting stones, and alas! john clarke found them where 'er he went through life's bright sunlight or its shaded paths, these cruel, sharp piercing thorns; those hard, cold, hurting stones. we next see john clarke just before he enters into his political life. from "the history of wilkes county," in our library, i copy the following, viz: "micajah williamson kept a licensed tavern in the town of washington--on record, we find that he sold with meals, drinks as follows: good jamaica spirits, per gill, d; good madeira wine, per bottle, s d; all white wines, per battle, s d; port, per bottle, s d; good whiskey and brandy, per gill, d & c. & c. at that time a shilling was really c., a penny - of a cent." in front of this tavern was a large picture of george washington hanging as a swinging sign. john clarke used to come to town, and like most men of his day got drunk. they all did not "cut up," however, as he did on such occasions. he went into stores and smashed things generally, as tradition says, but he always came back and paid for them like a gentleman. once he came into town intoxicated and galloped down court street and fired through the picture of general washington before the tavern door. this was brought up against him later when he was a candidate for governor, but his friends denied it. soon after this he married the oldest daughter of micajah williamson, while duncan c. campbell married the youngest. the stirring events which followed we have all learned in history, how the state was divided into two factions, the clarkeites and those for crawford and troup. the state was so evenly divided that the fight was fierce. the common people and owners of small farms were for clarke, the "gentry" and well-to-do educated folk for crawford, and sent him to the united states senate. clarke and crawford from youth had been antagonistic. clarke, while uneducated, was brilliantly intelligent, but deeply sensitive. crawford was polished and of courtly bearing, a man of education, but was very overbearing. had he lived today our public school boy would say "he was always nagging at clarke." be that as it may, it was nip and tuck between them in the gubernatorial campaign. clarke fought a duel with crawford at high shoals, and shattered his wrist. later he tried to get crawford to meet him again, but he persistently refused. one ugly thing to me was the horsewhipping of judge tate by governor clarke on the streets of milledgeville, then the capital. this did clarke no good. general clarke twice defeated mr. troup for governor. troup was at last elected, defeating matthew talbot, who was on clarke's side in . general clarke was defeated by talbot himself. there is never an article written about clarke that his bad spelling is not referred to. not long ago i read in a magazine published in georgia that clarke spelled coffee "kaughphy." this is not true, that honor belongs to matthews, another one of the familiar figures once on the streets of washington. even the best educated of our revolutionary heroes did not spell correctly as we call it, from george washington down. i rather enjoy their license for i think english spelling is a tyrannical imposition. after the defeat of clarke the tide was against him. many untrue things were said about him and they cut him deeply. he was misunderstood often, and in chagrin he left the state. rise, o muse, in the wrath of thy rapture divine, and sweep with a finger of fame every line till it tremble and burn as thine own glances burn through the vision thou kindlest wherein i discern all the unconscious cruelty hid in the heart of mankind; all the limitless grief we impart unawares to each other; the limitless wrong we inflict without need, as we hurry along in this boisterous pastime of life. beneath the rough exterior there never beat a kinder heart than that in the breast of john clarke. although he had the brusque manner of a soldier of revolutionary days, with those he loved he was as tender and gentle as a child. on one occasion soon after his first election to the governorship of georgia there was a banquet given in his honor. the decorations on the white linen of the table were wreaths of holly, thought to be very beautiful and tasty. when the governor entered with his friends he stopped stock still in the doorway turning deathly pale. he ordered every piece of holly dashed from the window. the occurrence was spread far and wide all over the state and criticism ran high, and even his friends disapproved of the uncivil act of one in his high station. he never made an explanation until years afterwards. memories with him did not die, though beneath the ashes of the silent past. if he might call them dead, and bury them, it seems they only slept, and ere he knew, at but a word, a breath, the softest sigh, they woke once more and moved here as he thought they would not evermore. clarke owned large tracts of land in wilkes county (before it was cut up into other counties.) one deed is made to wylie pope in . he reserves twenty feet where his two children are buried, elijah clarke and george walton clarke. leaving georgia he settled in washington county, florida, on the shores of the beautiful "old saint andrews." here he entertained his friends and here he spent the last ten years of his life within the sound of the restless, surging waters of the gulf. october th, , governor clarke passed from this life, and eight days later his wife joined him in the great beyond. they were buried near the seashore in a beautiful grove of live oaks, and a marble shaft erected over them bears the following inscription: here reposes the remains of john clarke late governor of georgia and nancy clarke his wife (north face of monument) john clarke born feb. th, died october th, as an officer he was vigilant and brave as a statesman energetic and faithful as a father and friend devoted and sincere. (west face) this monument was erected by their surviving children, ann campbell and wylie p. clarke. not far from the monument are two little graves with flat slabs and the following inscription: erected to the memory of john w. and ann w. campbell. ann hand born january th, died sept. rd, marcus edwin born feb. th, died feb. rd, "of such is the kingdom of heaven." seventy-five years have passed and the once beautiful spot is now desecrated. the oaks are cut, the tombstones are broken, and the grave of georgia's governor is trespassed upon in a shameful manner. however, overshadowing his tomb, and keeping guard is a holly tree in all its beauty, filled with long waving wreathes of spanish moss, and no doubt it whispers to the passing breeze that hurries on to ocean, the story of a lost love! aye, what is it all if this life be all but a draught to its dregs of a cup of gall, a bitter round of rayless years, a saddened dole of wormwood tears, a sorrowful plaint of the spirit's thrall the graves, the shroud, the funeral pall this is the sum, if this life be all. party relations in england and their effect on the american revolution. (a paper read before the ralph humphreys chapter, daughters of the american revolution, of jackson, mississippi, by dr. james elliott walmsley, professor of history in millsaps college.) george eliot says somewhere that all beginnings are make-believes. especially is this statement found true in attempting to trace the origin of the american revolution. every cause assigned is at once seen to be the effect of some more remote cause, until one might go back step by step to the liberty-loving ancestors of the early saxons in their forest home of northern germany. without undertaking any work so elaborate it is the purpose of this study to show the effects of one of these causes. all free governments have developed parties, but as the word is used at present true political parties in england did not arise till after the wars of the puritans and cavaliers in the seventeenth century. the men who migrated to america, with the exception of the aristocratic element that located largely in the south between and , were of the party who believed in restricting the power of the king, and were opposed by the party who professed implicit faith in the divine right of kings. by the time of the accession of william of orange the former party was recognized by the name of whigs, while the loyal devotees of regal infallibility were called tories. the first king of the hanover line, george i, was seated on his throne through a successful piece of whig politics, so admirably described by thackeray in henry esmond, and his government was conducted by a whig minister, robert walpole, assisted by a whig cabinet. the power remained in the hands of a few families, and this condition, which amounted to an aristocratic rule of "old whigs," lasted down to the accession of george iii, in . the new king, who was destined to be the last king in america, was not like his father and grandfather, a german-speaking prince who knew nothing of england and her people, but one who gloried in the name briton. brought up by his mother with the fixed idea he should never forget that he was king, his ambition was to restore the autocratic power of william i. or henry ii. to attain this end he set himself to overthrow the whig party and so recall to favor the tories, who had by this time given up their dreams of "bonnie prince charlie" and stuart restorations. this misguided monarch, who was a model of christian character in private life, but who in the words of a great english historian, wrought more lasting evil to his country than any other man in its history, determined first to overthrow william pitt, the elder, the greatest statesman that the english speaking race has ever produced--that man who sat in his room in london and planned campaigns in the snow covered mountains of silesia and the impassable swamps of prussia, on the banks of the hugli in india and on the plain of abraham in canada, in the spicy islands of the east indies and the stormy waters of the atlantic, who brought england from the depths of lowest dejection to a point where the gifted horace walpole could say in , "we must inquire each morning what new victory we should celebrate." this great man was overthrown by the king in , and there came into power the extreme tory wing, known as the "king's friends," whose only rule of political guidance was the royal wish. these men, led by the earl of bute, followed the king on one of the wildest, maddest courses that english partisan politics has known. at this point we must pause and examine the constitution of the british empire. england, scotland, and wales were governed by their own parliament, but so defective was the method of representation that villages which had formerly flourished but had now fallen into decay or even like old sarum, were buried under the waves of the north sea, still returned their two members to parliament, while important cities like manchester, leeds, and birmingham, which had grown up in the last hundred years, were entirely unrepresented. the whigs in england, as least the new whigs, the progressive element, were contending for the same principle of representation that inspired the americans. in addition to the home-land, england ruled, as colonies, ireland, the isle of man, the channel islands, sea fortresses, such as gibraltar and malta, asiatic possessions, including in india an empire twenty times as populous as the ruling country, canada, jamaica, the barbadoes, the thirteen colonies, etc. our own thirteen colonies, which were not united among themselves and which were not different in the eyes of an englishman from any other of the colonies, formed a small part geographically of the empire and had for their peculiar distinction only the larger proportion of english residents. furthermore, the modern idea of governing colonies for the welfare of the colonies had not yet been invented. a colony was considered as a farm or any other wealth producing piece of property. adam smith's epoch-making work, "the wealth of nations," the first serious attempt to discuss political economy, was not published till , and in his chapter on colonies he for the first time proposed the doctrine of removing restrictions and allowing to colonies free trade and free government. it is significant of the contentions of this article that adam smith's book was at once read and quoted in parliament by the leaders of the whigs, especial attention being given to it by the young william pitt, who was described by an enthusiastic whig as "not a chip of the old block but the old block itself." with this preliminary statement we can take up the course of party relations. one of the first distinctively party acts of george's reign was the stamp act passed against the active opposition of the whigs; and the downfall of the grenville ministry and the accession of the marquis of rockingham, the whig prime minister, marked by the repeal of this act in . in the next year, however, the rockingham ministry fell, and townshend, the moving spirit in the succeeding administration, carried through the series of acts that led directly to the boston tea party and its momentous results. finally when george iii, who openly proclaimed himself a tory, succeeded in becoming supreme in the government, he called into office, in , lord george north, who for twelve years was the king's tool in carrying out a policy which he disliked. it was only his "lazy good nature and tory principles," which led him to defer to the king's judgment and advocate the doctrine, in a far different sense from the present meaning of the words, that "the king can do no wrong." from this day it was natural that the whigs in opposition should oppose the government measures and should identify the cause of free government in america with that in england and that every new whig should become an enthusiastic supporter of the american contentions. in fact george and the tory party realized that if the american theory of taxation conditioned on representation prevailed it would be necessary to yield to the demand of the new whigs for reform in the representation in england. this fact explains some intricate points in the politics of the time. it shows for instance why we fought a war with england and then in securing a treaty of peace conspired with our enemy, england, to wrest more favorable terms from our ally, france. we fought a tory england, but lord north's ministry fell when the news of yorktown came, and we made a treaty of peace with a whig england, and the whigs were our friends. the whigs in parliament spoke of the american army as "our army," charles fox spoke of washington's defeat as the "terrible news from long island," and wraxall says that the famous buff and blue colors of the whig party were adopted from the continental uniform. even the "sons of liberty" took their name from a phrase struck out by colonel barre, the comrade of wolfe at quebec, in the heat of a parliamentary debate. illustrations of this important point might be multiplied, but it may be better to take up more minutely the career of one man and show how the conflict of whig and tory politics affected the actual outcome of the struggle. lord george howe was the only british officer who was ever really loved by the americans, and there is to-day in westminster abbey a statue erected to his memory by the people of massachusetts. after his death at ticonderoga in his mother issued an address to the electors of nottingham asking that they elect her youngest son william to parliament in his place. william howe, known in american history as general howe, considered himself as the successor of his brother and as the especial friend of the americans. when war was threatened in he told his constituents that on principle the americans were right and that if he were appointed to go out against them he would as a loyal whig refuse. of course this was a reckless statement, for an officer in the army can not choose whom he will fight. he was put in supreme command in america when general gage was recalled, but was directed by his government to carry the olive branch in one hand. that he obeyed this command, which was to his own liking, even too literally, is easily established. there is one almost unwritten chapter in american history which i would like to leave in oblivion, but candor demands its settlement. our people were not as a whole enthusiastic over the war, in many sections a majority were opposed to it, those who favored it were too often half-hearted in their support. had the men of america in enlisted and served in the same proportion in which the men of the southern states did in , when fighting for their "independence," washington would have had at all times over , in his army. as a matter of fact there never were as many as , in active service at any one time, the average number was about , , and at certain critical times he had not over , . general knox's official figures of , are confessedly inaccurate, and by including each separate short enlistment make up the total enlistment for the six years, sometimes counting the same man as often as five times. at the very time when washington's men were starving and freezing at valley forge the country people were hauling provisions past the camp and selling them to the british in philadelphia. much more might be said, but enough for a disagreeable subject. no careful historian to-day will deny that considering the lack of support given to washington and his army, the revolution could have been crushed in the first year, long before the french alliance was a possibility, had the english shown one-half the ability of the administration in the recent south african war. among the causes assignable for this state of incompetence the political situation deserves more attention than it has hitherto been given. no one has ever explained howe's inexcusable carelessness in letting washington escape after long island, no one can explain his foolish inactivity during the succeeding winter, except by the fact that howe was a whig, his sympathies were with the americans, the whigs had said repeatedly that the americans could hold out against a good army and it seemed now that they were helping fulfill their own prophecy. it is rarely stated in our american histories that howe was investigated by a committee of parliament after his evacuation of philadelphia, that he was severely condemned for not assisting burgoyne and for not capturing washington's starving handful of men at valley forge, that joseph galloway, the noted american loyalist, who was a member of the first continental congress, openly accused him of being in league with a large section of whigs to let the revolution go by default and to give america its independence, and that immediately after his return to england he resumed his seat in parliament and spoke and worked in opposition to the king and in behalf of the americans. the case of general howe is typical and can be duplicated in the other departments of the government. the leading tory ministers claimed that the rebellion would have failed but for the sympathy in the house of commons, and this charge was made in the very house itself. it would be a gross exaggeration to say that our revolution was merely the result of a party quarrel in england, but the unfortunate party attitude of king george iii. certainly was one of the most potent causes of trouble, and the progress of the war reacted most strongly on the party situation in england. when william pitt, the younger, at the age of twenty-five took into his hands the premiership of england in december , he did it as the representative of the english people, and the revolution which began in this country was completed in the english parliament. up to the history of america and england flowed in the same channel, shakespeare, chaucer, and pitt are ours as much as england's, and it should always be remembered that just when the countries were in the act of separating the system of george iii. was shaken off and shattered by the free people of the two great anglo-saxon powers, and the whig statesmen of england could join with their party friends in america in welcoming a new self-governing people to the council of nations.--_american monthly magazine._ early means of transportation by land and water. the facilities for conveniently carrying persons or property from one place to another affects in a measure the physical welfare of every human being, and all progressive nations desire to secure the advantages to be derived from the best systems of transportation. this country of ours has tried many experiments and been rapidly benefited in the results obtained. it hardly seems to us possible, in this day of improved and rapid travel, that the entire system of transportation is still in the transition state, and in some parts of the country the very expedients which we have tried, improved upon and cast away, are at present in use. but our topic deals with other days than these, and we must hasten back to the beginning of things here in america. according to indian tradition, it is believed that within a brief period prior to the discovery of america by columbus, the indians had travelled over a large portion of the country between the atlantic and pacific oceans, and were familiar with the topographical features of the continent. their frequent wars and their long continuance in the hunter state, made them necessarily a migratory race and their pathways were the first trails for the white settlers when they came. when we travel over crooked roads and even crooked streets in our towns, how many of us stop to think that we are travelling the same road as blazed out for us by an indian or trodden down for us by an early settler's straying cow? as the indian, as a guide through the almost impenetrable forests was of great aid to the early settlers, so also was the canoe of the indian a great service. of course the white man crossed the ocean in larger boats, but when it came to travelling from point to point, after reaching america, the lighter craft of the indians was the only possible means of water travel, for the numerous falls or rapids, and the frequent portages between distinct water systems, made the use of a heavy boat impossible. these canoes were of birch bark, buffalo skin, stretched over wooden frames, or even large trees felled, the trunk cut into sections and split, then hollowed out by burning first and the ashes scooped out with the hands or pieces of shell, until the sides and bottom were reduced to the utmost thinness consistent with buoyancy and security. the method of propelling these canoes was usually by paddle, but some had sails. the size varied from twelve feet to forty feet in length, and they were capable of carrying from two to forty men. of course the larger canoes were used principally for state occasions, military purposes, or when large stores of supplies were to be transported. one old historian tells of the way the sails were used. the indian stood in the bow of the canoe and with his hands held up two corners of his blanket, and the other two corners were either fastened to his ankles or simply placed under each foot, while in the stern of the canoe, the squaw sat and steered. the scheme was an ingenious one and must have been a grateful change to the poor squaw, who otherwise would have had to propel the canoe by means of the paddle. of the indian canoe longfellow says: the forest's life was in it, all its mystery and its magic, all the lightness of the birch tree, all the toughness of the cedar' all the larch's supple sinews; and it floated on the river like a yellow leaf in autumn, like a yellow water lily. on account of the dense forests and the difficulty experienced in penetrating them, the early settlements were upon the banks of streams and consequently the water channels and seaports, for communication between the various settlements, as well as with the mother country, were a necessity and the very first legislation with regard to transportation related to boats, canoes and landings. it was a long time before any internal development of the land took place, because these waterways formed the main reliance for all movements of persons or property. each of the thirteen original colonies had one or more seaports and the main current of trade, during the colonial period, and in fact up to much later times, was between these ports and the interior districts on the one hand, and the outer world and the ocean on the other. commerce between the colonies was limited and all movements from one colony to another were by various kinds of sea going vessels. all the boats subsequently built by the european settlers showed the influence of the indian canoe. the raft was another method of the indian for transporting property, and from this grew the various kinds of floatboats. the raft itself is still in use but more as a means of transporting the lumber of which it is composed than as a means for carrying other freight. for land travel, when the indians had burdens to carry they did it by means of the burden strap, an arrangement of leather bands which fitted around the forehead and was lashed to a litter borne upon the back. it was usually about fifteen feet in length and braided into a belt in the center, three or four inches wide. this carrying of burdens upon the back is the one method of transportation which combines the greatest amount of human effort with the least practical effect. but it was at the time the only method available and formed one of the most serious privations and discomforts of savage life. it is recorded in the case of a white man, who helped the indians in one of their wars, early in , that he was wounded and could not walk. thereupon he was placed in a basket of wicker work, doubled up, and fastened with cords until he could scarcely move, and so carried upon the backs of indians for several days. in winter we are told they had some sort of primitive sledges, and they used dogs in some sections. then, of course, they had the snow shoe, which, to them, was a rapid way of travelling, but when the poor white explorers or captives travelled with the indians on winter expeditions, they suffered sharply until they caught the hang of it. chilblains were not the worst of the suffering, for the tie over the instep and the loops over the toes caused friction, and bleeding, frozen feet were the result. when the white man came, he, in time, brought horses and these were much appreciated by the indians, who seemed to know intuitively how to manage and use them. in place of carrying burdens upon his own back, the red man fastened one end of his tent poles to the horse and fastened upon them the skins which composed his tent, and allowed the poles to trail upon the ground. this support furnished a method of transporting baggage, household effects and even women and children vastly superior to the old way. the old trails of the red man, over which for many years they had traveled with their peculiar but rapid walk, now furnished bridle paths for the white man and his horse, and many of those bridle paths are today in use. of course, the first sturdy settlers walked these trails as did the indians, and we have the history of one journey of governor winthrop, when he was carried, at least over streams, "pick-a-pack" upon the back of an indian. this is a very human, if undignified, picture of the worthy governor. an early explorer in virginia said that had she "but horses and kine and were inhabited with english, no realm in christendom were comparable to it." as these blessings were all added to virginia in course of time, we must believe her the fairest of colonies. as the indians were too poor to buy the carefully guarded horses of the early settlers, and could not steal them, they were compelled to wait until races of wild horses were developed from the horses brought to florida, mexico and california by the spaniards. the better grade of horse was used by the warrior and for travel, but the poorer horses for the drudgery and were quite naturally called "squaw ponies." in the early days before the carriage was introduced, wounded or sick persons were carried upon stretchers between two horses. the early means of transportation on land, in the colonies, was by horseback, for either persons or property, and this was the universal method of travel until nearly the beginning of the th century. it was a common custom for the post rider to also act as a squire of dames, and sometimes he would have in charge four or six women travelling on horseback from one town to another. it was to the north that the carriage came first, and in the early days only the very wealthy families had them. and with the coming of the carriage, the colonists realized that they needed something better than an indian trail or bridle path, and the agitation for good roads had its birth. one can form some idea of what the so-called roads must have been in , when we read that the mail from philadelphia to new york "is now a week behind and not yet com'd in." the mail after was carried by horseback between new york and boston, but as late as , the postmaster was advertising for applications from persons who desired to perform the _foot_ post to albany that winter. the route was largely up the hudson river on skates. in it took four days for mail to go through from new york to boston in good weather--in winter much longer. the commerce between the settlements on the coast and those in southwestern pennsylvania and western virginia was carried on by pack horse. the people in these districts sent their peltry and furs by pack horse to the coast and there exchanged them for such articles as they needed in their homes and for work upon their farms. several families would form an association, a master-driver would be chosen and the caravan move on its slow way to the settlement east of the mountains. afterwards this pack horse system was continued by common carrier organizations. the earliest legislation in reference to highways was in the massachusetts bay colony in , providing for supervisors, and the relaying of the roads so as to be more convenient for travel, with authority to "lay out the highways where they may be most convenient, notwithstanding any man's property, or any corne ground, so as it occasion not the pulling down of any man's house, or laying open any garden or orchard." the law in force in pennsylvania, prior to the grant to penn was part of the system established for the new york colony in . in a revision of existing road laws was made, giving control of county roads to county officials, but the king's highway and public roads to be controlled by governor and council. the fact appears that while the early roads in the american colonies were bad, england had few, if any, good roads, and the improvement, when begun, was so rapid that driving for pleasure was introduced here long before it was known in england. in fact, the idea was carried back to england by officers who fought in the revolution. when stage coaches were started in the colonies in , from boston to rhode island, there was no wagon road over this route, it not being built until . it was a common thing for the passengers of the early stage coaches to have to get out, and help lift or push the stage coach out of the mud, and the objection raised to this was the reason for the introduction of the corduroy road. if one has had the doubtful pleasure of riding over a short portion of such road, one knows that it was a question whether long stretches of it and being shaken around in the coach like peas in a pod, was much improvement over being dumped out into the mud, while the coach was lifted out of the mire with which the old roads were padded. with the development of stage routes, came bridges, ferries, turnpikes and national roads. as the passengers and light baggage were carried by stage, the freight traffic was carried on by the old time teamsters, with their huge wagons, with six or eight horses attached to each, and moving along the turnpikes, traveling together for company and protection. these turnpikes presented a bustling appearance, with the dashing stage coaches, parties on horseback, the long trains of teamsters' huge wagons, and the many taverns that lined these thoroughfares. the passenger on the stage coach had time to study nature and his surroundings as he passed along, and to be fortunate enough to secure the box seat with the stage driver and hear, as one rode along, the gossip of the route, made a joy one does not experience in our days of rapid travel. following the institution of national roads and staging, came the introduction of canals and artificial waterways, as a means of transportation for freight in the carrying on of commerce. a short canal, for the transporting of stone, was built in orange county, new york, as early as . the first public canal company was the james river company, incorporated in . from that time on there have been vast improvements in methods and much of our freight is moved by means of the large canals all over our country. the next development in transportation facilities was the railroad, the first of which was the "experiment" railroad built to carry stone to bunker hill monument. oliver evans, in , began to experiment upon the construction of a steam carriage to run upon the ground, but it remained for john stevens to combine the steam carriage and the railway. the first rail cars, or coaches, were run by horse power. it is interesting to read mr. evans' prediction, which is as follows: "i do verily believe that the time will come when carriages propelled by steam will be in general use, as well for the transportation of passengers as goods, travelling at the rate of fifteen miles an hour, or three hundred miles per day." in he predicted that the time would come when a traveller could leave washington in the morning, breakfast at baltimore, dine at philadelphia and sup at new york, all in the same day, travelling "almost as fast as birds fly, fifteen to twenty-miles an hour." in , robert fulton, journeying by stage to pittsburgh, said, "the day will come, gentlemen, i may not live to see it, though some of you who are younger will probably--when carriages will be drawn over these mountains by steam engines at a rate more rapid than that of a stage on the smoothest turnpike." a howl of protest went up from the old stage drivers when the railroad was projected, but as every public necessity had its will, the railroads had come to stay. there were many accidents on these primitive roads, and these were made the most of by the opposition. one old stager said, "you got upset in a stage coach, and there you were. you got upset in a rail car--and where are you?" from trail in the days of the indians to t-rail of recent years seems a slow, tedious advance, but as some one has said: "when we reflect upon the obstinate opposition that has been made by a great majority to every step towards improvement; from bad roads to turnpikes, from turnpikes to canals, from canal to railways for horse carriages, it is too much to expect the monstrous leap from bad roads to railways for steam carriages at once. one step in a generation is all we can hope for."--clara d. patterson, _easton, pennsylvania_. colonel benjamin hawkins. by mrs. j. l. walker, _waycross_. colonel hawkins, patriot, soldier, united states senator and indian agent, was born august , , in the county of butts, now warren county, north carolina. he was the son of colonel philemon and delia hawkins. he attended princeton college until his senior year when the institution was closed on account of the revolutionary war. his knowledge of the french language led washington to press him into service as a member of his staff to act as interpreter with the french allies. he was one of the founders of the society of cincinnati in . he was a gallant revolutionary soldier, having participated in several important engagements, among the number the battle of monmouth. after north carolina ratified the federal constitution he was elected united states senator from that state, taking his seat in . at the close of his term in the senate he was appointed agent of the three great indian tribes east of the mississippi and entered upon his duties in the part of georgia now known as crawford county, but at that time called "the agency reserve." this place became an important trading post and was selected by colonel hawkins as a convenient locality for the transaction of duties that devolved upon him. he infused progression, activity and thrift into the little village. mills, workshops, and comfortable homes appeared on every side. "colonel hawkins brought his own slaves from his old home in north carolina, and under the right conceded to his office, he opened and cultivated a large plantation at the agency, making immense crops of corn and other provisions." "while he lived his cattle brand was rigidly respected by the red men; although soon as his death, if reports be true, the creeks, oblivious of former obligations, stole numbers of his cows and hogs." to him does the state of georgia owe a debt of special gratitude. he not only risked his life for the state of his adoption, but preserved the history of the creek country, some of which is most valuable and interesting. the french general, moreau, who in exile, was his guest for some time, was so much impressed with his character and labors, that he pronounced him one of the most remarkable men he met in america. colonel hawkins possessed great adaptability and through his beneficence he acquired the respect of the indians. it is said he gained their love and bound them to him by "ties as loyal and touching as those of old feudal allegiance and devotion." he was closely associated with generals floyd, blackshear and john mcintosh, and governors troup, mitchell and early. the indians of chehaw were closely allied to colonel hawkins. they frequently furnished him with valuable information in regard to the treachery of the british and the unfriendly indians. it has been conceded to some of our patriots that they were great in war. benjamin hawkins was not only great in war, but, like washington, was great in peace. it was he who most strongly advocated terminating the war of . he knew well how to approach the "children of the forest." the simple and diplomatic way in which he addressed the indians is displayed in his quaint letter to the ammic-cul-le, who lived at the indian town of chehaw: "the time is come when we are to compel our enemies to be at peace, that we may be able to sit down and take care of our families and property without being disturbed by their threatening and plundering of us. "general blackshear is with you to protect and secure the friendly indians on your river, and to aid in punishing the mischief-makers. go you to him; see him; take him by the hand, and two of you must keep him. you must point out sixty of your young warriors, under two chiefs, to be with, and act under the orders of the general till you see me. he will supply them with provisions and some ammunition. "you must be very particular about spies. you know all the friendly indians, and all who are hostile. if any spies come about you of the hostiles, point them out to the general. and your warriors, acting with the general must be as quick and particular as his white soldiers to apprehend or put to death any enemy you meet with. your warriors will receive the same pay as the soldiers in the service of the united states. "tell your women and children not to be afraid,--that friends have come for their protection, and that i am at the head of the creek warriors. "i am your friend and the friend of your nation." colonel hawkins was closely identified in the negotiation of the treaty of peace and friendship with the indians. his name, together with george clymer and andrew pickens, was signed as commissioners on the part of the united states to the treaty held at coleraine, in camden county, georgia, march , . a treaty of limits between the united states and the creek nation of indians, was held near milledgeville, at fort wilkinson, on the part of the united states. the signers were benjamin hawkins and andrew pickens. this treaty was signed by forty chiefs and warriors. treaty with the creeks at the agency, near flint river, on november , , signed by hopoie micco and other indians, also bore hawkins' signature. "in colonel hawkins recommended the establishing of a fort and trading post on the old ocmulgee fields." the right to establish such a post was obtained by the fort wilkinson treaty. colonel hawkins selected a site on an eminence near the river where the city of macon now stands. a tract of one hundred acres of land was set apart for the use of the post. fort hawkins was built in and was garrisoned by troops from fort wilkinson early in the following year. the fort was named in honor of benjamin hawkins, one of the few honors bestowed upon him by the state he had so ably served. "this fort was considered one of the most formidable on the frontier. two block houses, each twenty-eight feet square with two stories and a basement were built with heavy mortised logs. this place was provided with port holes for both cannon and musketry, and stood at the southeast and northwest corner of a strong stockade. during the war of the fort was a strong point for the mobilization of troops." colonel hawkins died at the agency in crawford county, june , , and was "buried on a wooded bluff overlooking the flint river." the little graveyard that served as a last resting place for those who lived around the agency has long since been abandoned. the unmarked grave of a patriot is there, sleeping unhonored amid the tangled vines and weeds. governor jared irwin. jared irwin was born in mecklenburg, n. c., in , about two years after his parents arrived from ireland. they emigrated from mecklenburg county, n. c., and came to burke county, georgia, when jared was seven years old. years afterward jared moved to washington county. he was a faithful soldier in the indian wars, serving as a brigadier-general in the georgia militia. in the revolutionary war he served as captain and afterwards as colonel, fighting in the siege of savannah and augusta and in the battles of camden, s. c., briar creek, georgia, black swamp, and others. just after the first siege of augusta, in , colonel williamson was placed in command of colonel clarke's forces and on april th, , he led them to augusta and fortified his camp within twelve hundred yards of the british works. here captain dun, and captain irwin with the burke county men, joined him, where they guarded every approach to augusta for nearly four weeks, never for a moment relaxing their vigilance, but waiting impatiently for the promised assistance from general greene. at last, the militia, destitute of almost every necessity of life, wearied of their hard service, and giving up all hope of aid, determined to return to their homes. the encouragement of colonel jackson roused their drooping spirits, inspired them with hope and courage, and saved them from tarnishing the laurels they had already won. the militia afterwards nobly did their part in all the fights around augusta. jared with his three brothers john, william, and alexander, built a fort in washington county known as fort irwin, which was used as a defence against the british and with his private money he equipped his company of soldiers for the war. jane, the governor's youngest child, received a claim through our great members, alexander h. stephens and robt. toombs, in the united states congress, to the amount of ten thousand dollars for money expended by her father in the defence of his section of the country in time of the revolutionary war. jared irwin represented washington county in the legislature and was president of the state senate at different times from to . he was in the convention for revising our constitution in , and was president of the body which revised it in . at the close of the war of independence he was a member of the legislature that convened under our present form of government. in , the legislature assembled in louisville, then the capitol of georgia, and on the second day of the session, january th, he was elected governor. the legislature at once took up the yazoo act over which the state was greatly excited. a committee of investigation pronounced it not binding on the state on account of the fraud used to obtain it. james jackson introduced a bill known as the "rescinding act." this was at once passed by both houses and signed by gov. irwin, feby. th, . it was resolved to burn the papers of the yazoo act and thus purge the records of everything relating to it. so on feby. th, , wood was piled in front of the state house, and, in the presence of gov. irwin and both branches of the legislature, fire was kindled by the use of a lens and the records and documents were burned "with a consuming fire from heaven." after the death of general james jackson, united states senator, governor milledge was elected to fill his place by the legislature at an extra session held in june, , and in september following tendered his resignation as governor. in this way, jared irwin, president of the senate, again became governor, and when the legislature met in november he was elected to that office for a full term, thus filling the governor's chair from the rd of september, , to the th of november, . his administration as governor was distinguished for justice and impartiality. the spotless purity of his character, his affable disposition, his widespread benevolence and hospitality, made him the object of general affection. to the poor and distressed he was benefactor and friend. in every position of public life, as a soldier, a statesman and a patriot, the public good was the object and the end of his ambition, and his death was lamented as a national calamity. governor irwin married isabella erwin, his cousin, and they had four children, thomas, john, elizabeth and jane. thomas was among the nine in the first class that graduated from the university of georgia on thursday, may st, , and had a speaker's place at commencement. jane the youngest child, lived and died an old maid; she said she would not marry for fear that the irwin name might run out. she was spirited, a good talker, and affable in her manner, a patriotic, whole-souled, noble woman. governor irwin died on march st., , at the age of sixty-eight and was buried at his home at union hill, in washington county. in there was an appropriation by the georgia legislature to erect a monument to his memory; and in , a committee consisting of colonel r. l. warthen, captain s. a. h. jones and colonel j. w. rudisill, was appointed to select a site for same. it was decided to erect the monument in sandersville, ga., the county site of washington county; and here it still stands on court house square--a shaft of pure white marble--a gift from the state to the memory of her noble son who gave his life, love and ability to his beloved _georgia_, "empire state of the south."--governor jared irwin chapter, d. a. r. education of men and women of the american revolution. by mrs. deb. randolph keim. _regent berks county, reading pa., chapter and honorary vice-president general, d. a. r._ again you are assembled to do honor to the memory of george washington, commander-in-chief of the continental armies during the war for independence, this being the one hundred and seventy-ninth anniversary of his birth. the first steps to the establishment of a school of systematic education of young men was william and mary college, of williamsburgh, the capital of virginia, in , twenty-six years before the foundation of harvard in massachusetts. but the character of the former was not granted until , or fifty years after. the first common school established by legislation in america was in massachusetts, in , but the first town school was opened at hartford, conn., before , and i feel proud to say i graduated from this same school over two hundred years later, then known as the hartford latin grammar school and later hartford boys' and girls' high school. the only established schools of higher learning in america after william and mary in virginia and harvard in massachusetts for the education of young men later prominent in the revolution were: st. john's, annapolis, md., ; yale, new haven, conn., ; university of pennsylvania, philadelphia, ; princeton, n. j., ; washington and lee, lexington, va., ; columbia, new york, . only the sons of men of means could avail themselves of these advantages. therefore the great mass of those who became more or less prominent picked up whatever they knew as best they could. in virginia, patrick henry, washington and others had the limited opportunity and means of the old "field or plantation school" which was the only road to the rudest forms of knowledge. these were generally taught by men of fair education, but adventurous life, who were paid by the planters within a radius of eight or ten miles. a notorious pedagogue, by the suggestive name hobby, celebrated in virginia annals for the brisk coercive switching of the backs of his "boys" as the most effective road to knowledge, is made famous in history as the rudimentary educator of the great man whose beginning of life's journey dates from this day. washington's parents having removed from the place of his birth when a child resided within a journey of thirteen miles of the despotic jurisdiction of hobby, and thither the boy walked or rode daily except sundays in all kinds of weather, even being obliged to row across the rappahannock river to fredericksburg, where this vigorous applier of the ferrule held forth. at eleven years, the death of washington's father put an end to even this limited supply of "schooling." but the young man fortunately had a mother who was one of the few educated women of that period. we learn from a primitive record that mary ball, the name of washington's mother, was educated by a young man graduated from oxford, england, and sent over to be assistant to the rector of the episcopal parish in which she lived. at the age of fifteen she could read, write and spell. in a letter preserved she wrote to a young lady friend: "he (her tutor) teaches sister susie and me and madame carter's boy and two girls. i am now learning pretty fast." it was governor berkeley who, in a letter to his friends in england, boastingly "thanked god that there were no schools and printing in virginia." washington was always methodical, and what he undertook was done well. this trait he inherited from his mother, as she was a woman worthy of imitation. from her stern disciplinary character and pious convictions her son learned self-control and all the characteristics of address and balance, which carried him through the most intricate and discouraging experiences of his career. the tastes of washington in childhood were instinctively military; all his amusements pointed that way. at twenty-one his first mission to the french at le boeuf, fixed his career as a fearless man of action. the rescue of braddock's regulars from destruction by the savages was his baptism of fire; the rest, a manifestation of human greatness put the stamp of military prowess upon him. virginia furnished more of the leaders of the first rank in the contest with the crown than any other one colony, and yet some of the men who contributed most to the incisive work of the conflict had few opportunities of education. for instance, patrick henry, who electrified the issue in his famous epigram which struck the fulminate of the combat for independence: "caesar had his brutus, charles the first his cromwell and george the third" (treason, treason being shouted), rejoined, "if this be treason, make the most of it." this same authority, being criticised by aristocratic loyalists for his lack of education, replied: "naiteral pairts are more acount than all the book lairning on the airth." thomas jefferson, on the other hand, was a man of higher education. the private schoolhouse ten feet square on the tuckahoe plantation, thirteen miles west of richmond, in which thomas jefferson and his kinsman, thomas marr randolph, were educated, in part by a private tutor, was in a good state of preservation when i had the pleasure of visiting tuckahoe at the time of the international review at hampton roads. what we today call free school education began in a simple form under the quakers of philadelphia in the earliest years of the provincial government of penn, the first proprietary. thomas holme in bad rhyme and not much better grammar tells about these schools in . in what the germans would call the hinterland the school was at a low ebb. there being no towns there were no facilities to get enough scholars together to make the pay of a teacher worth the while. the germans, the dominant element, when educated at all, were under the tuition of teachers of parochial schools of the evangelical denominations and sects of their own, frequently pastors or missionaries in the language of the fatherland. in pennsylvania among the emigrants who came over in colonies there was a preacher and a schoolmaster. this was particularly so among the dutch, swedes and germans. the english quakers began schools in philadelphia very soon after the foundation of that town. in the interior schools were rare as the settlements were scattered. reading was not founded until , therefore education had not made headway at the time when the men prominent in berks affairs during the revolution were at the educational age. yet those who figured during that period in prominent places held their own with any of their city contemporaries. among the people generally, according to the oath of allegiance list, handwriting was evidently not widespread, judging from the number of "his (cross) mark," substituted for signatures in - . in christopher dock, a german, opened a school at skippach, below what is now pottstown, about thirty miles from this large assemblage of educated young ladies. christopher dock was a man of real learning, unexcelled by any outside of pennsylvania in his time. his "schule ordnung" written in and printed by christopher sauer, of germantown, , was the first treatise on education produced in type in the american colonies. the leaders in the german emigration prior to the american revolution were often men of the highest scholastic training. in new england began the earliest systematic preliminaries and expansion in the line of schooling. it has the honor, as i have shown, of founding the second institution of higher learning which survives today. james otis, samuel and john adams, foremost agitators on the legal technicalities of opposition to england, were the best types of the output of new england's educational opportunities of the times. it is one of the greatest tributes to our forefathers that with these limited and more frequently rude means of getting an education there should have been so many examples of brain and culture to meet the educational requirements of the conflict with the british crown, the preparation of documents which stood the most critical scrutiny, and as well the preparation and negotiating of correspondence, conventions and treaties to compare favorably with the most advanced university educated statesmen of the old world. what i have said applies to men, but what about the young women of the same period? except in the few largest towns where some enterprising woman was courageous enough of her own volition to establish a school for young ladies, the education of women was not considered of importance. the moravians were the first and most notable exceptions. the seminary at bethlehem, almost in sight of where we are now gathered, was famous in revolutionary days. in new york and philadelphia there was an occasional fashionable "school" for young ladies. abigail smith, who became wife of john adams, one of the earliest agitators and leaders of the contest, one of the committee that drafted the declaration of independence, first vice-president and second president of the united states, was a woman of education. being the daughter of a congregational preacher and having a taste for books, her father devoted much care to her instruction. as john adams, on account of his radical patriotism was the man the british authorities most feared, and were looking for, the letters of mrs. adams to her husband and his replies are valuable contributions to american history. they were perfect in writing, spelling, grammar and composition. i may add, though, of a date long after, history is indebted to her letters to her daughter for the only eye witness account we have of the trials and tribulations of the journey of the president's family from philadelphia to washington, in the fall of , then the new seat of government, getting lost in the woods and taking possession of the unfinished president's palace, as it was called, without firewood during bleak november days and nights with no looking glasses, lamps, nor anything else to make a president's wife comfortable. as a rule, young women were not educated in books, but taught to sew, knit, spin, weave, cook, wash, iron and perform all other household requirements. her value in the scale of life was in proportion as she was skilled in the duties of a housewife. this was the real type of womanhood in those days, and should always be, with a cultivated mind added. when we read of their heroic maintenance of the home, care and training of children, management of the farm, sale of its products and often facing hardships in keeping the wolf from the door, while husbands, sons and brothers were fighting for liberty and independence, we care not whether they could read, write, spell, cast up accounts or not, but think of their woman's contribution to the success of the contest. it is positive that the fathers of the revolution would not have been successful but for the women, perhaps uneducated in books but competent and self-sacrificing in maintaining the home, while the men were fighting for liberty and free exercise of all its enjoyments. if this great nation is a testimonial of what women without the aid of books contributed in laying the foundation, what must now be expected of women having every advantage of education from kindergarten and primary schools to the woman's college? i might mention sixteen colleges now exclusively devoted to the education of young women in new york, massachusetts, pennsylvania, maryland, north carolina, south carolina, georgia, ohio, and illinois with a roll of eight thousand young women students. the first seniority is mount holyoke, mass., founded in , having scholars; the largest is smith college, northampton, mass., , young women; next wellesley, mass., , , and bryn mawr, pennsylvania, , . to show the difference between now and the days of our revolutionary fathers, the school houses were built of logs, one story high, with bark roofs and puncheon or dirt floors, which on account of incessant tramping usually became covered several inches deep with dust. the teacher sat in the center of the room. in the log walls around were driven wooden pegs upon which were laid boards that formed the desks. the seats were rough stools or logs. all sat with backs to the teacher. the windows to admit light were fitted with white paper greased with lard instead of glass. the boy scholars wore leather or dried skin aprons and buckskin tunics and leggins, when they could not get woven materials. and the girls, coarsely woven flax or wool bodices, skirts, kerchiefs, and aprons and footwear of wood, coarse leather, not a few going barefoot. the writing equipment in revolutionary days consisted of ink which was of home manufacture from an ink powder, quills and a pen knife, cutting pens from goose quills being an art. the rest of the materials were paper, pumice, a rule, wax, and black sand, shaken from a pepper box arrangement, instead of blotting paper. the earliest method of teaching before school text-books were known was by what was termed the hornbook, a tablet of wood about by inches upon which was fastened a paper sheet containing the alphabet in capitals and small letters across the top and simple syllables like, ab, ad, etc.; below and underneath the whole the lord's prayer. the paper containing this course of study was covered with a sheet of transparent horn fastened around the edges. at the lower edge was a small handle with a hole through it and a string to go around the neck. by this means the advantages of a colonial education stayed by the scholars if they wished to avail of them or not. these hornbooks were made of oak, bound with metal for common folks, but for the rich of iron and metal, often silver. some were wrought in silk needle work. their popularity is shown by their advertisement for sale in the pennsylvania _gazette_, december, , and new york _gazette_, may, the same year. battledore book was another name. another style was the printed cardboard battledore, about fifteen inches long and folded over like a pocket book. the primer succeeded the hornbooks, the new england primer being one of the earliest. it is recorded that three millions of these were sold, so great was the desire for education in times preceding the revolution. these little books were five by three inches and contained pages. they gave short tables of easy spelling up to six syllables; also some alphabetical religion in verse, as k--for king charles the good, no man of blood. in the revolutionary days this was transposed to k--for kings and queens, both have beens. z appears to have been a poser in this alphabetical array of rhythmic religion, rendered zaccheus he did climb a tree his lord to see. the hours of study were eight a day. there were also text-book writers in those early times. among the titles one reads: "a delysious syrup newly claryfied for young scholars yt thurste for ye swete lycore of latin speche." another: "a young lady's accident or a short and easy introduction to english grammar designed principally for the use of young learners, more especially for those of the fair sex though proper for either." fifty-seven pages. it had a great sale. it was the style of the time to set books of instruction in doggerel verse, even spelling, grammar and arithmetic. the latter was taught by means of "sum books," simply "sums" copied by the learner from an original furnished by the teacher. alphabet lessons were similar to the alphabet blocks children play with to-day, generally beginning with verses from the bible. an interesting fact is that we find the child's prayer, "now i lay me down to sleep," in the new england primer catechism as far back as . a more beautiful tribute could not be paid to this invocation of childhood than the thought of the generations of american children who were thus taught in their everyday lessons their dependence upon the supreme being. some of the most interesting contributions we have to the literature of the revolutionary period are the letters of the educated women of the time. they are the more pleasing because they relate to the affairs of home and social life. you, of this age of education of women are expected to exert a large share in their extension and enjoyment.--_american monthly magazine._ nancy hart. many people believe that nancy hart was a myth. but not so. in the "life and times of william h. crawford," by j. e. d. shipp, of americus, the story is reproduced, as the hart family lived not far from the home of the crawfords. col. shipp says: on the north side of broad river at a point about twelve miles from the present city of elberton, ga., and fourteen from historic petersburg, in what is now elbert county, was situated the log house in which benjamin hart and his wife, nancy morgan hart, lived at the commencement of the revolution. the spot is easily located to this day as being near dye's and will's ferries, and on the opposite side of the river from which governor matthews settled in , near a small and romantic stream known as "war woman's creek." this was the name given to it by the indians in honor of nancy hart, whom they admired and feared. her home was near the entrance of the stream into the river. the state records show that benjamin hart drew acres of land on broad river, and afterwards another body of land in burke county. he was a brother to the celebrated col. thomas hart of kentucky, who was the father of the wife of henry clay. he was a well-to-do farmer, and was compelled to take his stock and negroes to the swamp to protect them and his own life from the unrestrained tories. as captain of a small company of 'partisans,' he would sally forth from his hiding place only whenever there was a chance of striking the enemy an effective blow. the tories generally spared the women, but killed the men, though unarmed. nancy hart, alone with six boys--morgan, john, thomas, benjamin, lemuel and mark--and her two girls, sally and keziah, presents a unique case of patriotic fervor, courage and independence of character. rough, six feet tall, spare, bigboned and exceedingly strong, she was highspirited, energetic and shrewd. the whigs loved her--the liberty boys called her "aunt nancy." the tories hated her. when general elijah clark moved the women and children away from broad river settlement to a place of safety in kentucky most of them were anxious to go, but nancy refused, and remained alone with her children after her whig neighbors had departed. her house was a meeting place for her husband's company. she aided as a spy and kept him informed of the movements of the enemy. she always went to the mill alone and was an expert equestrienne. one day while on her rounds she was met by a band of tories with the british colors striped on their hats. they knew her and demanded her "pass." she shook her fist at them and replied: "this is my pass; touch me if you dare." tories lived on the opposite side of the river from her, and she had many trials with them. some are noted. one night "aunt nancy" was boiling a pot of lye soap in the big fireplace of her stack chimney. suddenly she noticed a pair of eyes and a bearded face at a crack between the logs. pretending not to see the prowler, she went on stirring the soap and chatting with the children. biding her time, she deftly threw a ladleful of the boiling soap into the face of the intruder, whom, blinded and roaring, nancy bound fast and the next morning marched him across the river, wading the ford, and delivered him to colonel clark. she had many encounters, capturing tories and taking them to the commander. but of all her acts of heroism this one eclipses all others. from the detachment of british soldiers sent out from augusta, and which murdered colonel dooly, there were five who diverged to the east and crossed broad river to examine the neighborhood and paid a visit to nancy hart. they unceremoniously entered her cabin. being hungry, they ordered her to cook food for them. she replied that the tories and the villains had put it out of her power to feed them, as she had nothing. "that old gobler out there is all i have left." the leader of the party shot down the turkey, brought it in and ordered nancy to prepare it without delay. she and her children went to work at the task. finally she heard her unwelcome guests boasting of killing col. dooly. then she appeared in good humor and exchanged rude jests with them. pleased with her freedom they invited her to partake of their liquor, which she accepted with jocose thanks. while the turkey was cooking nancy sent her eldest daughter to the spring for water, with directions to blow the conch shell, which sound her father would interpret. the tories became merry over the liquor, pouring it from the jug with laughter, as they hurried up nancy, anticipating a good feast. they were at ease. they stacked their arms within easy reach, and nancy would ocasionally pass between the men and their muskets. the tories again called for water and nancy again sent the daughter to the spring for water--and to blow the signal for captain hart. nancy was thinking fast. through a crack between the logs she slipped outside two of the five guns. when the third was being put out she was discovered, and the men sprang to their feet. in an instant nancy brought the musket to her shoulder, declaring she would kill the first man that moved. appalled by her audacity and fury, the men for a moment stood still; then one of them made a quick movement to advance on her. she shot him dead. instantly seizing the other musket at her side she leveled it, keeping the others at bay. by this time the daughter returned from the spring and took the other gun out of the house, saying: "father and the company will soon be here." this alarmed the tories and they proposed a general rush. so nancy fired and brought down another man dead at her feet. the daughter handed her another gun and nancy, moving to the doorway, demanded surrender of the three living. "yes, we will surrender, and let's shake hands on the strength of it." but nancy did not shake hands. when captain hart and company arrived nancy would not let them shoot, saying: "these prisoners have surrendered to me; they have murdered colonel dooly. i heard them say so." and george dooly, brother of colonel dooly, and mccorkle followed and saw that the captured murderers were hanged. john hart, second son of nancy, became an influential citizen of athens. nancy lived with him after the death of capt. hart. in , when the two virginia preachers, thomas humphries and john majors, were holding a great campmeeting in wilkes county, nancy became a staunch adherent of the new faith and joined the church--wesley's. she finally moved to kentucky, where her relatives, the morgans, lived. hart county was named for her, and the town of hartford, which in was the county seat of pulaski. battle of king's mountain. by marion jackson hall. they heard the guns a-roaring, they sounded far and wide; they saw the rebels coming, up every mountain side. the mountaineers, no longer tame, from every hill and thicket came, they rushed up every mountain side to plunge into the swelling tide. ferguson knew, both good and well, he would have to fight, on hill or dell, but the number of rebels, he could not tell. they were advancing, and walking fast, when now they blew a long, shrill blast. a smoke now covered the battlefield with deaf'ning sound, of warlike peal. the british flag was waving high, when through the smoke there came a cry-- a cry from amidst the cloud did ring from men that fought for england's king. the english flag, they took it down, their leader was dead, and on the ground, and panic stricken, they were found. the rebels raged and charged again and captured more than a thousand men; they raised their flag up at top mast, they saw and knew they were gaining fast. the thunder roared, the lightning flashed, and through the cloud some horsemen dashed, the field was high, but there was mud, for it was wet and red with blood. it was a short, but bloody fight, it filled the tories all with fright-- they whipped the tories, that was right. the battlefield with blood was red, and covered with wounded and with dead. they smote and fell, who raised a hand, to wipe the rebels from the land. the americans won that glorious fight that put them all to thinking right, they believed they should soon make their laws and god was with their righteous cause. william cleghorn. in the spring of , a handful of sturdy scotchmen started from chelmart, scotland, for america, "the land of the free and the home of the brave." among these were the parents of the boy william cleghorn, whose true story is herein narrated. he was a frail lad and partly for the love of the sea and partly for his health, he enlisted in the navy. we find him enrolled at brunswick, n. c., september th, , as a member of capt. samuel corbin's company. he proved a daring sailor, yet he was not so interested in the navy but that he had time to fall desperately in love with sweet thankful dexter, of falmouth. now, thankful's father was a man of wealth, great wealth, for those days, and a son-in-law, with nothing to recommend him but good looks and a fine record as a daring sailor, did not appeal to him, but demure, sweet thankful had a will of her own. she saw that young william was worthy of any woman's love, so never for an instant did she even think of giving him up. as time went on our hero began to be a power in the colonies. he was interested in everything pertaining to their welfare. he soon began to prosper financially, and on february , , we find recorded that he gave security for twenty thousand ($ , . ) dollars, and took command of the ten-gun ship "virginia." rickerton, the historian, tells us in his history that our hero was "one of the earliest and most intelligent ship masters" but "all the world loves a lover," and i started to tell you chiefly about his love affair. thankful was always dreaming of william's bright, cheery face, and we may be sure she lost no opportunity to say to her worldly, bustling father, "didn't i tell you so?" every time william brought new honors upon himself. as time went on this energetic young man conceived the idea of building a sloop, which he did and named it the "betsy." we wonder why he did not call it "the thankful" but perhaps thankful had something to say about that. william loaded the "betsy" with an immense cargo of oil and sailed around cape horn. this was the very first voyage ever made around the cape, and can you not imagine how proud young william cleghorn was? and can you not almost hear thankful telling her father about the wonderful journey around cape horn? the father was now convinced that william was not only valiant in war and a persistent lover, but that he was an excellent business man as well, so he withdrew his objections and thankful dexter became the happy wife of william cleghorn. we can almost see the radiant thankful in her homespun gown and pertly poke bonnet, and the erect happy william with the air of a conquerer, coming side by side from the little church, through the narrow paths of martha's vineyard, to the home all ready for the happy couple, for william was now a well-to-do young man. we must not take them all through life's journey, for this is to be a child's story, but alas for human joys, while on a visit to boston in , william cleghorn was stricken with appoplexy and very suddenly passed away. when you go to boston, go out to the old granary cemetery, so well known by lovers of history, and inclosed in an iron railing you see a white stone standing alone. draw near and read the inscription and you will see that there lies your hero, william, for on the stone you read: captain william cleghorn of new bedford. who died in a fit of appoplexy on a visit to this town, february , , in the th year of his age. "here lies entombed beneath the tufted clod, a man beloved, the noblest of god. with friendly throbs the heart shall beat no more, closed the gay scene, the pomp of life is o'er." in the record of his will we find the following, which will show you how our ancestors made their wills: two mahogony tables, square table, leather bottom chairs, mahogony desk, looking glasses, set of china ( pieces), coffee set ( pieces), linen sheets, pair pillow cases, pew in first congregational meeting house, pew in second congregational house, etc., etc., besides a long list of notes and other properties. this is very different from the wills of today, isn't it? i presume we have many boys as brave and true as william, and many girls as dear and sweet as thankful, and perhaps one hundred years from now other boys and girls will be reading about some of you. so let us live in such a way that we may have our story written and enjoyed as is this true story of thankful dexter and william cleghorn.--evelyn cleghorn dimock henry, xavier chapter, d. a. r., rome, ga. the blue laws of old virginia. usually in discussion of blue laws, those very draconian regulations which have so aroused the ire or the respect of moderns, depending upon which way they look at it, the debaters confine themselves mostly to new england puritan forms, or those of new york, pennsylvania or new jersey. in the days the puritans formulated the blue laws, virginia was looked upon as the home of high living and frivolity. even to this day few would look for such measures among that old aristocratic colony. as a matter of fact, the virginians of the seventeenth century, had a habit of enacting indigo-tinted laws, and likewise enforcing them, which might have made the puritans sit up late at night to beat them. aside from the stern and vindictive intolerance which finds utterance in the acts of the virginia assembly between the years and , the most striking element in them is the tremendous premium placed upon spying and informing. in most every case in which such a reward is possible the law encouraged the man to spy upon his neighbor. if the virginia husbands agreed with kipling that "a woman is only a woman, but a good cigar is a smoke," the following act must have been the occasion of much domestic infelicity. "if a married woman shall slander a person the woman shall be punished by ducking, and if the damages shall be adjudged more than pounds of tobacco her husband shall pay, or the woman receive a ducking for every pounds so adjudged against her husband if he refused to pay the tobacco." unless a man was well stocked with the divine weed it was worth while to attend church with promptness and regularity: "enacted that the lord's day be kept holy and no journeys or work done thereon, and all persons inhabiting in this country shall resort every sunday to church and abide there quietly and orderly during the common prayers and preaching, upon the penalty of being fined fifty pounds of tobacco." devices for public instruction and amusement were not to be neglected with impunity, even by the courts of the colony, as witness the following: "the court in every county shall set up near the courthouse, in a public and convenient place, a pillory, a pair of stocks, a whipping post and a ducking stool. otherwise the court shall be fined , pounds of tobacco." there is no record of the court ever having been mulcted of tobacco for depriving the people of the opportunity to watch the sufferings of their friends and neighbors. severe laws were directed against quakers. prior legislation had attempted to put a damper on being any kind of a "separatist," which meant any fellow who didn't agree with the established church. evidently a little further law on the subject was thought necessary, for in the virginia assembly passed the following act: "any person inhabiting this country, and entertaining a quaker in or near his house, shall, for every time of such entertainment, be fined , pounds of tobacco, half to the county, half to the informer." even virginia hospitality might well have paused in the face of such a flying start toward bankruptcy. that a stowaway might prove costly is demonstrated by the following: "every master of a vessel that shall bring any quakers to reside here after july of this year shall be fined , pounds of tobacco, to be levied by distress and sale of his goods, and he then shall be made to carry him, her or them out of the country again." evidently a little thing like a couple of years in servitude did not deter the lovers of pork chops from appropriating their neighbors' swine, for in the assembly delivered themselves of the following act: "the first offense of hog stealing shall be punished according to the former law; upon a second offense the offender shall stand for two hours in the pillory and shall lose his ears, and for the third offense shall be tried by the laws of england as in case of felony." as the english law of the period usually prescribed hanging for a twice convicted felon, it is presumed that the third dose of justice proved an efficient remedy. not only in the stringency of their laws did the gray cavaliers of the old dominion run neck and neck with the grim-visaged gentry of plymouth rock, but the doubtful honor of being the last to relinquish the gentle art of witchcraft persecution probably belongs to them as well. the witchbaiters around salem and throughout new england generally ceased to a considerable extent their punishment for alleged witchcraft before the eighteenth century, but the virginian records show the arrest and persecution of grace sherwood, of princess anne county, for witchcraft in . for six months this young woman was imprisoned, being brought time and again before the court in an effort to convict her. finding no evidence in her actions to justify the persecution, the attorney-general caused the sheriff of the county to impanel a jury of women to examine grace sherwood physically and instructed them to find something to indicate that she was a witch. this the women failed to do and they were threatened with contempt of court for their failure. everything else having failed, it was decided to put miss sherwood to the water test, which consisted in tying her hands and feet and throwing her overboard in the nearest lake or river. if she sank she was innocent, but if by her struggles she managed to keep afloat for a few moments, she was guilty of witchcraft. the full account of this trial is preserved by the virginia historical society, and the last two court orders in the case are of interest as marking the close of witchcraft persecution in the colonies. "whereas, grace sherwood, being suspected of witchcraft, have a long time waited for a fit opportunity for a further examination, & by her consent & approbacon of ye court, it is ordered that ye sheriff take all such convenient assistance of boats and men and shall be by him thought fit to meet at jno. harpers plantation, in order to take ye grace sherwood forthwith and butt her into the water above a man's debth & try her how she swims therein, always having care of her life to preserve her from drowning, & as soon as she comes out that he request as many antient and knowing women as possible he can to search her carefully for all spottes & marks about her body not usuall on others, & that as they find the same to make report on oath to ye truth thereof to ye court, and further it is ordered that some woman be requested to shift and search her before she goes into ye water, that she carry nothing about her to cause further suspicion." on the afternoon of july , , the court and county officers and populace assembled on john harper's plantation, and the arrangements being completed, grace sherwood was carried out to a nearby inlet of lynnhaven bay. the official court reporter tells quaintly the rest of the story: "whereas, on complaint of luke hill in behalf of her magisty, that now is against grace sherwood for a person suspected of witchcraft, & having had sundry evidences sworn against her, proving manny cercumstances, & which, she could not make any excuse or little or nothing to say in her own behalf, only seeming too rely on what ye court should do, and thereupon consented to be tried in ye water, & likewise to be serched againe with expermints; being tried, and she swimming when therein & bound, contray to custom and ye judgments of all ye spectators, & afterwards being searched by five antient women who have all declared on oath that she is not like them; all of which cercumstances ye court weighing in their consideracon, do therefore order that ye sheriff take ye said grace sherwood into his custody & comit her body to ye common goal of this county, there to secure her by irons, or otherwise there to remain till such time as he shall be otherwise directed." the woman was finally turned free, and thus ended the last legal prosecution for witchcraft in the colony. elijah clarke. by mrs. john h. morgan, _regent brunswick chapter, d. a. r._ it is to be regretted that our historians have given so little space to one of our georgia patriots of the revolution--elijah clarke. one of our greatest national needs is that of commemorating the memories of our men who "did greatly," who fought, suffered and endured for our national independence. this is one of the prime objects of the existence of the society of the daughters of the american revolution; "to perpetuate the memory of the spirit of the men who achieved american independence." among the many contributed to this great cause by georgia, was elijah clarke. after the fall of georgia, for the time being, many of our most distinguished men became voluntary exiles among their "brethren" in the west. among the most prominent of these was colonel clarke; one to whom our liberty and the justness of the cause was dear. he did not give up hope; for his heart was filled with the desire to return and renew the contest. he employed his entire time in the preparation of a sufficient force that would enable him to return when the opportunity should present itself. augusta was the key to the northern part of the state, and its possession was of great importance to our patriots. upon hearing that the time for the arrival of the annual indian presents was near, the desire to recover augusta became, to colonel clarke, irresistible. he immediately set about collecting troops and his arguments were so successful that in a very short time five hundred enthusiastic warriors and men from the hills were assembled and marched to augusta. upon their arrival, the division under major taylor attacked the indian camp on hawks gully, thereby drawing the british under colonel thomas brown to the support of the indian allies, leaving the south and west of the city unguarded. colonel clarke entered at the points, with the remainder of his army, captured the garrison and finally, driving out colonel brown, occupied the town. the british under colonel brown, after being driven out of augusta, took refuge in a strong house called seymour's white house, which they had fortified. colonel clarke besieged them and was on the point of capturing them, after a four days siege, when col. cruger, coming with another british force compelled clarke to retreat. lord cornwallis ordered colonel ferguson to intercept colonel clarke. just as col. ferguson started to carry out these orders, he heard that a new enemy was approaching, for the very purpose of doing just what colonel clarke had failed to do. this force consisted of rifle militia and had been drawn from kentucky, the western country of virginia and north carolina, and was under the command of the famous independent colonels, campbell, cleveland, williams, sevier and shelby. upon hearing of clarke's repulse and of ferguson's orders to intercept clarke, they gave up their enterprise on colonel brown, and turned against ferguson; which ended in a crushing defeat for the british and the destruction of colonel ferguson at king's mountain. "although clarke failed in the reduction of augusta, his attempt led to the destruction of ferguson; and with it to the present relief of north carolina." such is the testimony of "light horse" harry lee, his companion in arms, and the father of our beloved general robert e. lee. general clarke, as he became, was brave and patriotic, and his services during the revolution were valuable to the country, and deserve the recognition of his state. he died december th, --one day after the death of washington. "poor is the nation that boasts no heroes, but beggared is that country that having them, forgets." general clarke was one of georgia's heroes. let us honor him. general francis marion. the subject of this sketch is general francis marion and a pleasant duty it is to revive the memory of this almost forgotten hero who was one of the most famous warriors of the american revolution. general nathaniel greene had often been heard to say that the page of history had never furnished his equal. he was born near georgetown, south carolina, of french parents, who were refugees to this country after the revocation of the edict of nantes. from them he inherited that love of liberty which had caused them to forsake home and friends and commence a new life among strangers that they might enjoy freedom of thought and action at king's mountain. he manifested early in life a love of adventure. his first warlike experience was against the indians. he served as a lieutenant of volunteers. in his encounters with the savages he showed such courage and skill that he soon became famous, and to his credit, it must be said, he was always humane and just. when war was declared against england and troops had to be raised, marion received a captain's commission. he went forth to raise a company. money was lacking and he had to depend entirely on volunteers. he very soon, however, succeeded in getting his complement of men and was unexcelled in his dealings with these raw recruits. he could enter into their feelings and appreciate their conduct. he did not exact impossibilities of them and he was celebrated for what was called his patience with the militia. [illustration: monument, site of old fort cornwallis, augusta, ga.] no service was ever more strictly voluntary than that of those who constituted the company known as "marion's men" and he led them to perform deeds of valor which seem almost incredible. there was an air of mysterious daring in what he undertook, which gave a charm to the life his followers led, while they had the most perfect confidence in their leader. insubordination was rare among his men on account of their devotion to him. if it did occur he usually visited it by dismissal from his band. this ignominy was dreaded more than any other mode of punishment. he seldom resorted to the military methods of severe discipline. his band was composed largely of the planters, and some of them were boys who lived in the section of the country where his daring exploits harrassed so severely the british. these men were devoted to field sports and were consequently fine riders and marksmen. marion and his men are connected with the most romantic adventures of the revolution, equal to any we have read of in song or story. the writer has often listened with intense interest to the accounts given by her grandfather of the recitals of his party. william pope, who was one of "marion's men," tells of the many hazardous undertakings against the british and tories. the famous rides at night when they would leave their hidden places in the swamps, or some forest so densely wooded that they alone knew the trails by which they found their way in and out; how they would start on one of their swift rides to intercept the passing of british troops from one post to another or attack an army wagon train with provisions and ammunition, etc. the descent of marion and his men would be so sudden that the enemy would be completely demoralized. marion kept bands of scouts constantly watching the enemy and by this means he was enabled to give our army most valuable information. at one time our hero and his men learning of the encampment of some british troops near a river, started out to attack them at midnight. they had to ride many miles to reach the river and in crossing the bridge the noise of the horses aroused the sentinels of the enemy and they were prepared for resistance. the fight which ensued was a fierce one, but ever after that experience, when marion found it necessary to cross a bridge, he made the men dismount and spread their blankets over the bridge to muffle the sound of the horses feet. it was a rule with him never to use a bridge when he could ford a river, and he burned all bridges for which he had no use. these long rapid rides were exhausting to man and beasts. they returned as rapidly as they went forth and when they reached their place of safety, they would secure their horses, throw themselves on the ground with only a blanket and a saddle for a pillow and sleep so soundly they would be unconscious of the falling rain and often awaken in the morning to find themselves surrounded by water. amid all these scenes of hardship there were times when this band of devoted patriots indulged in revelry, as they were safely gathered around the camp fires among the lofty moss-draped cypress trees and gum trees of the swamps to enjoy the captured supplies from the enemy's commissary stores, which enabled them to supply themselves with clothing, arms and ammunition. thus they largely provided for their own subsistence by their daring prowess. the british established a line of military posts in south carolina extending from georgetown to charleston. they found it exceedingly difficult to hold any communication, for marion's scouts were always on the lookout to report their movements. colonel watson, of the enemy, attempted to take a regiment from one post to another. he was so harrassed by the sharpshooting of "marion's men" who lay in ambush along his route, that he sent a letter by flag of truce to marion reproaching him for fighting like a savage and invited him to come out in open field and fight like a gentleman. but marion was too shrewd to put in open field his comparatively small band, with their peculiar mode of warfare, against a far greater number of finely drilled regulars of the enemy and colonel watson had to retreat and encamp his men in the first open field he could find. marion had a number of interviews by flag of truce with british officers. one of the most noted is the one in which he entertained the officer at dinner. after business affairs had been settled general marion invited the officer to dine with him and he accepted. marion ordered dinner. the officer looked around with curiosity as he saw no preparations for dinner and his surprise was great when the cook placed before him on a piece of bark a few sweet potatoes which had been roasted in the fire near by. the officer remarked to marion that he supposed his supplies had fallen short, endeavoring to relieve marion of any embarrassment he thought he might feel in offering him such meager fare, but marion replied that he considered himself fortunate, as he had a guest that day, he had that much to offer him. the officer was amazed and profoundly impressed with what he had seen. he returned to his command with such feelings of admiration and respect for men who endured so cheerfully such privations and so many hardships for the sake of liberty, that he said it was useless to fight such men, that they were entitled to liberty and he would not continue to fight against them. he resigned his commission in the army. the enemy at this time had absolute command of this portion of south carolina excepting as they were disturbed by marion. he shifted from swamp to swamp and thicket to thicket and never relaxed his struggle for liberty. so harrassed were the enemy by him, they determined a number of times to make a special effort to capture him or drive him out of the state. all in vain. marion was too alert and often met them with more promptness than they desired. colonel tarleton, a british officer, with a reputation for great activity undertook one of these expeditions against marion and narrowly escaped being captured himself. he retreated from his attack exclaiming to his men "come on boys, we will go back, there is no catching this 'swamp fox'." by this same name he was ever afterward called by his followers. when gen. nathaniel greene took command of the southern army, he wrote to general marion and begged him to remain in his independent position and keep the army supplied with intelligence, in which important part he rendered most active service, also in the battles of georgetown, ninety six, charleston, savannah and others. so highly appreciated by the government was the brave and valuable part performed by marion and his men, that congress passed a series of resolutions expressing the gratitude of the country to them. governor rutledge appointed him brigadier-general. in addition to the usual military rank, extraordinary powers were conferred upon him, such as were only granted to extraordinary men. in the circumstances of life, there was a remarkable resemblance between him and the great washington. they were both volunteers in the service of their country. they learned the military art in indian warfare. they were both soldiers so vigilant that no enemy could ever surprise them and so equal in undaunted valor that nothing could disturb them, and even in the private incidents of their lives, the resemblance between these two great men was closer than common. they were both born in the same year, both lost fathers early in life, both married excellent, wealthy wives, both left widows and both died childless. in reviewing the life of gen. marion, we find patient courage, firmness in danger, resolution in adversity, hardy endurance amid suffering and want. he lived that liberty might not die and never relinquished his sword until the close of the war. he then retired to his plantation near eutaw, where he died. his last words were: "thank god, since i have come to man's estate, i have never intentionally done wrong to any man." marion's remains are in the church yard at belle isle in the parish of st. john's berkely. over them is a marble slab upon which is the following inscription: "sacred to the memory of brigadier-general francis marion, who departed this life on the twenty-ninth of february, , in the sixty-third year of his age, deeply regretted by all of his fellow citizens. history will recall his worth and rising generations will embalm his memory as one of the most distinguished patriots and heroes of the american revolution; who elevated his native country to honor and independence and accrued to her the blessings and liberty of peace." this tribute of veneration and gratitude is erected in commemoration of the noble and distinguished virtues of the citizen and of the gallant exploits of the soldier who lived without fear and died without reproach. this brief and imperfect sketch of one of the most noted military men of his day has led to the reflection that many of the most valiant leaders of the revolution are comparatively little known among the rising generation. the old histories written in the early part of this century which recorded their brilliant deeds and virtues, are out of print, a few to be found in old libraries, and the old readers which were used in the schools forty and fifty years ago were full of the accounts of their achievements, which thrilled the hearts of the students and stimulated in them a love of country, as only such deeds of valor could inspire. but today these heroes who taught us such lessons of patriotism have passed away forgotten, others scarcely a memory. ought it to be so? as our society is for the purpose of advancing the cause of patriotism, no effort on the part of its members would do more to bring this about than for some of them situated in different parts of our country to unite in collecting material for a new reader for the use of schools in which the deeds of these revolutionary patriots would be once more revived and made conspicuous to those who should ever hold them in grateful veneration. this thought is one that might advantageously engage the attention of some national publisher who might employ compilers from different localities of our country for this purpose. among the "readers" alluded to, was a tribute to gen. marion and his men, which was at the same time a graphic account of their lives and services. it was written by one of our favorable national poets, william cullen bryant, and was a favorite selection for declamation among american juvenile orators many years ago. it has disappeared from the modern editions of "readers," but would fitly embellish a new "american speaker," a book which would be popular throughout our land in these days of sons and daughters of the revolution. this suggestion will be enhanced by the reproduction of the ringing lines with which this article will close: song of marion's men. our band is few, but true and tried, our leader frank and bold; the british soldier trembles when marion's name is told. our fortress is the good green wood, our tent the cypress tree; we know the forest 'round us, as seamen know the sea; we know its wall of thorny vines, its glades of reedy grass; its safe and silent islands within the dark morass. woe to the british soldiery, that little dread us near; on them shall light at midnight a strange and sudden fear; when waking to their tents on fire, they grasp their arms in vain, and they who stand to face us are beat to earth again, and they who fly in terror deem a mighty host behind and hear the tramp of thousands upon the hollow wind. then sweet the hour that brings release from dangers and from toil; we talk the battle over and share the battle spoil. the woodland rings with laugh and shout as if a hunt were up, and woodland flowers are gathered to crown the soldiers' cup. with merry sounds we mock the wind that in the pine top grieves, and slumber long and sweetly on beds of oaken leaves. well knows the fair and friendly moon, the band that marion leads; the glitter of their rifles, the scampering of their steeds. 'tis life to guide the fiery barb, across the moonlit plain; 'tis life to feel the night wind that lifts his tossing mane. a moment in the british camp, a moment and away; back to the pathless forest, before the peep of day. grave men there are by broad santee, grave men with hoary hairs. their hearts are all with marion, for marion are their prayers; and lovely ladies greet our band with kindliest welcoming, with smiles like those of summer, and with tears like those of spring. for them we wear these trusty arms and lay them down no more, till we have driven the briton forever from our shore. --_mrs. f. h. orme, atlanta chapter, d. a. r._ "light horse harry." the lee family was illustrious both in england and america. they clearly trace their ancestry to the norman conquest, launcelot lee being the founder of the family. the lees were prominent in english history down to the colonization of this country. robert e. lee is descended from richard lee, a younger son of the earl of litchfield, who was sent to this country in during the reign of charles i. he came as colonial secretary under sir william berkeley. he was loyal to the royal party during the struggle between the cavaliers and roundheads. richard lee, second son of the richard mentioned above, was born in virginia in and educated in england and studied law. he took an active part in colonial legislation. his son, thomas, was the first to establish himself in westmoreland county. he was very prominent in the early history of the state. the fine mansion of stratford was built for him by the east india company, and several of the prominent lees were born in that home. henry lee, the son of richard lee, filled no prominent place in colonial history. he married a miss bland and had three children, the second son being henry, who married a miss grymes in . he left six sons and five daughters, the third son being henry, the ancestor of r. e. lee. he went to princeton and was preparing to study law when hostilities with england changed his plans. when quite young he raised a company of cavalry and soon after the battle of lexington joined washington's forces. he soon became noted as an able leader and was promoted to the rank of lieutenant-colonel and had command of "lee's legion," consisting of infantry and cavalry. he was actively engaged in the service to the close of the war and was conspicuous in this state for some time. owing to his rapid movements he was known as "light horse harry." about he married his cousin, a daughter of colonel philip ludwell lee, of stratford. four children were born to them, all of whom died except one son. the wife died in . he was elected to congress and afterwards was governor of virginia. he next married miss anne hill carter, daughter of charles carter, of shirley. he again entered political life and was elected to the general assembly. the children of his second marriage were charles carter, sidney smith, robert e., anne and mildred. robert edward lee was born in the stratford mansion in which two signers of the declaration of independence were born. in henry lee moved to alexandria to educate his children. here he was made major-general during the war of . he was the author of "first in war, first in peace, first in the hearts of his countrymen," when pronouncing a eulogy on washington. his health failed in and he was induced to make a trip to the west indies, but finding that he was not benefited, he returned and landed on the coast of georgia, where he enjoyed the hospitality of a daughter of his old friend, general nathaniel greene, who was living in the family residence on cumberland island. after lingering a short time he died and was buried there, march , . general a. c. long wrote the memoirs of r. e. lee. he publishes an incident which occurred in , when lee was sent to this state to examine our lines and means of defense. general long accompanied him. when they reached savannah general lee secured a vessel and went to cumberland island. he had the boat anchored and the two went on shore. they entered the old greene mansion, which was in bad condition. going through that to the rear, general lee went alone to an old neglected cemetery. after that he returned with a flower in his hand, but never spoke a word about the visit to his father's grave. in silence he showed his reverence; with his usual modesty he refrained from speaking about it. from that old cemetery on cumberland island the body of "light horse harry" lee, ninety-five years after his death, was carried back to his old virginia home and laid in its final resting place. our legacy. our brave forefathers: give them place in hall of fame--the nation's heart; they met the foe, aye face to face: each man a hero, did his part-- invincible to fear, and wrought for us and ours, beyond his thought. o fair republic: pride and boast of children who cannot forget-- from lake to gulf, from coast to coast where waves the flag with colors set in patriot blood, which ne'er shall fade-- that _flag_ is _ours_, its price they paid. we, daughters of a loyal line, would weave their deathless deeds in song, with memory's fairest flowers entwine sweet garlands which shall linger long, who die for god and country share immortal honors other-where. --_hannah a. foster in american monthly magazine._ the ride of mary slocumb. in the prologue to "the princess," tennyson makes one of the group of collegemates assembled during the holiday season at vivian place find in an old chronicle the story of a brave woman whom a wild king besieged. but she armed "her own fair head, and sallying through the gate, had beat her foes with slaughter from the walls." when this story was read to the ladies present, one of the men asked: "where lives there such a woman now?" to which "quick answer'd lilia 'there are thousands now such women, but convention beats them down.'" on the first day of february, , general mcdonald, chief of the mcdonald clan in the cape fear region, issued a proclamation, calling upon all true and loyal highlanders to join his standard at cross creek, now fayetteville, and prepare to assist general clinton and governor martin in maintaining the king's authority in the province of north carolina. about fifteen or sixteen hundred of them obeyed the summons. from cross creek they marched down the cape fear river until they came to moore's creek, where they were met on february th by a whig force about a thousand strong under the command of richard caswell, the following from a letter from caswell to cornelius harnett shows the result of the meeting: "i have the pleasure to acquaint you that we had an engagement with the tories, at widow moore's creek bridge, on the th current. our army was about one thousand strong, consisting of the newbern battalion of minute men, the militia from craven, johnston, dobbs and wake, and a detachment of the wilmington battalion of minute men, which we found encamped at moore's creek the night before the battle, under the command of colonel lillington. the tories by common report were three thousand, but general macdonald, whom we have prisoner, says there were about fifteen or sixteen hundred; he was unwell that day and not in the battle. captain mcleod, who seemed to be principal commander, and captain john campbell, are among the slain." this was the first pitched battle of the revolution won by the whigs; the only victories of an earlier date being the capture of forts ticonderoga and crown point on may , . it would be difficult to overestimate the importance of the victory. besides the capture of about prisoners and , stands of arms of which the americans stood in great need, the crushing of the tory spirit and the corresponding rise of the whig spirit, meant untold strength to the cause of freedom. but it is not the political nor the military result of this battle with which this story is to deal. with the foregoing as an introduction, it is interesting now to turn to the story of the heroine of moore's creek, mary slocumb. mary slocumb was the young wife of ezekiel slocumb, of wayne county. he afterwards became a prominent member of the house of commons, serving in the session of to . she was but yet a girl when her husband rode away from home to join caswell in crushing mcdonald and the enemies of liberty. the men of that section, more than eighty strong, rode away one calm sunday morning, under the lead of slocumb. before the long ride was begun, his young wife went out with the colonel to inspect the men. she says that she looked at them well, and could see that every man meant mischief. no doubt it was a sturdy, stern and determined band that rode away that day to battle for their rights. these men rode away in high spirits, some to a glorious death, some to a glorious victory; none to defeat or dishonor. it is easy to imagine what a long, lonely day the young wife had at home that quiet sabbath day; it is easy to imagine where her thoughts were; it is easy to imagine how she concealed the anxiety of her heart under the assumed cheerfulness of her face. "i slept soundly and quietly that night," she says, "and worked hard all the next day; but i kept thinking where they had got to, how far, where and how many of the regulars and tories they would meet; and i could not keep from that study." going to bed in this anxious state of mind, her sleep was disturbed by a terrible dream. she seemed to see lying on the ground, surrounded by the dead and wounded, a body, motionless, bloody, ghostly, wrapped in her husband's cloak. with a cry of alarm she sprang to her feet into the middle of the room. so vivid was the impression that it remained with her even after she awakened from sleep and in rushing forward to the place where the vision appeared, she ran into the side of the house. the light was dim; all around was quiet and peaceful, but her heart kept up a great commotion. "if ever i felt fear," she says, "it was at that moment." the more she reflected on the vision the more vivid and more fearful it became, until at last she could bear the suspense no longer and starting up she said aloud: "i must go to him." in the stable was her favorite and own particular horse, "as fleet and easy a nag as ever traveled." in an instant, leaving her baby and the house in the care of the nurse, she rushed out to the barn, saddled her mare, and in less time than it takes to tell it, was flying down the road at full speed. the night air was cool; the spirit of the race was in the nag; and mile after mile was quickly left behind, as the sound of her rapidly falling hoofs fell clear and distinct in the quiet night air. all alone, urged onward by love and fear, this brave little woman swept on through the dark night, dashing over bridges, whirling through dark woods, flashing past farm houses, until when the sun began to appear in the east thirty miles lay between her and her quiet home. shortly after sunrise she passed a group of women and children anxiously awaiting news from the troops. from these she learned the exact route taken by caswell and with only a few minutes' stop she was again skimming over the ground. there was no flagging in her spirits, nor those of the mare. on the contrary, the excitement became more and more intense the nearer they got to the end of their journey. it seemed as if the woman had infused her spirits into the horse. the sun was well up when a new excitement was added to the race--she heard a sound like thunder rolling and rumbling in the distance. she pulled her mare up suddenly. what was it? though she had never heard the sound before, she knew it must be the roar of the cannon; and as she thought of what it meant, the blood coursed more rapidly than ever through her veins; she was more than ever impatient to be on the scene, and away she dashed again. but then a thought rushed into her mind that for a moment made her feel very foolish to be here so far away from home and child, on what might after all be but a fool's errand. "what a fool i am," she thought. "my husband could not be dead last night, if the battle is only fighting now." but she had come too far now to turn back and so she pressed on faster than before. as she drew nearer, she could hear the roar of the deadly muskets, the fatal rifles, and the triumphant shouts of the victors. but from which side did they come? did those shouts mean the defeat of her husband; or did they mean his triumph? this was the most trying moment of all--this terrible suspense. if it was his victory, then he would rejoice to have her share his glory; if his defeat, then he would need her to soothe his sufferings; so on she pressed to share with him weal or woe. crossing the wilmington road a few hundred yards below the bridge, she saw a clump of trees under which were lying perhaps twenty wounded men. what was this she saw? her blood froze in her veins; her heart leapt to her mouth, for there was the vision realized. the scene before her--she knew it as well as if she had seen it a thousand times; the spot, the trees, the position of the men, the groans of the wounded, and her sight fell upon a body lying in the midst of the group, her brain became dizzy, and the world seemed whirling around her at the rate of ten thousand miles a second--there lay a body, motionless, bloody, ghostly, wrapped in her husband's cloak. her whole soul became centered in that one spot. "how i passed from my saddle to this place i never knew," she said afterwards; but in some way she succeeded in reaching the body, and mechanically uncovered the head. she saw before her an unrecognizable face crusted with dust and blood from a gash across the temple. what a relief to her aching heart was the strange voice which begged her for a drink of water! her senses came back to her at once so she was able to minister to the sufferer's wants. she gave him a swallow as she held the drooping head in her lap; and with what remained of the water, bathed the dirt and gore from the face. from the ghastly crust came the pale face of one of her neighbors, frank cogdell. under the gentle care of his nurse, he revived enough to speak, and when she attempted to dress the wound on the head, he managed to gasp out: "it's not that; it's the hole in my leg that's killing me." lifting the wounded leg from the puddle of blood in which it lay she gently cut away the trousers and stockings and found a shot hole through the fleshy part of the limb. what nerve it must have taken for this young girl, unused to such work, alone, without help or advice, to go through with the painful ordeal. but she was of the stuff of which north carolina moulds her heroes, and she did not flinch from her duty. gathering a handful of heart leaves, the only thing in sight suitable for binding the wound, she tied these tight to the hole and the bleeding stopped. no sooner had she completed this pressing duty, than she turned to others of the unfortunate men who lay in pain and need and, as she says, "dressed the wounds of many a brave fellow who did good fighting long after that day." during all this time, the first anxiety for her husband relieved, she had not had time to make inquiries after him, but with true heroism devoted herself to the more pressing duties of the moment. while she was busily engaged in bringing home to these poor fellows the blessings of a woman's care, general caswell rode up. with great surprise at seeing mrs. slocumb, he raised his hat and was about to address her with a compliment, when she interrupted him with the question: "where is my husband?" "where he ought to be, madam; in pursuit of the enemy. but pray, how came you here?" "oh," she replied, carelessly, "i thought you would need nurses as well as soldiers. see! i have dressed many of these good fellows." then pointing to frank cogdell, she continued, "here is one who would have died before any of you men could have helped him." as she spoke she lifted frank's head in her arms and gave him a drink of water. when she raised her head, there before her stood her astonished husband, "as bloody as a butcher and as muddy as a ditcher." "why, mary," he exclaimed, "what are you doing there, hugging frank cogdell, the greatest reprobate in the army?" "i don't care," she cried. "frank is a brave fellow, a good soldier and a true friend of congress." "true, true, every word of it," exclaimed caswell, who stood by much amused at the scene. "you are right, madam," with a bow that would have shamed chesterfield himself. mrs. slocumb says she could not tell her husband what had brought her there. "i was so happy," she says, "and so were all. it was a glorious victory; i came just at the height of the enjoyment. i knew my husband was surprised, but i could see that he was not displeased with me." it was of course long into the night before the excitement subsided. the news spread like wild fire, and the whigs all over the country heard it with rejoicing and thanksgiving; and everywhere the news of the victory was heard, went also the story of the heroine, her brave ride, her heaven-sent aid, her soothing care of the wounded and suffering. many a soldier breathed a prayer of thanks for the vision which came to her and for her courageous response. but the prettiest side of the story is the simple and unaffected way in which she looked upon her act. nothing of force or beauty can be added to her own simple and touching words about her return home. after staying in camp long enough to offer intercession in behalf of the unfortunate prisoners and to receive assurance from caswell that they would be well treated, she prepared to start home. "in the middle of the night," she says simply, without thinking apparently of her course, "i again mounted my mare, and started home. caswell and my husband wanted me to stay till next morning and they would send a party with me, but no! i wanted to see my child, and told them they could send no party that could keep up with me. what a happy ride i had back! and with what joy did i embrace my child as he ran to meet me!" this is a story full of meaning and significance to him who loves his state; who admires her noble women, and brave men; who glories in her heroic deeds and great achievements. as long as the old north state can produce such women as mary slocumb, she need entertain no fears as to what her men will be.--r. d. w. connor, wilmington, n. c., _in american monthly magazine_. the hobson sisters. "come in girls, i'll find her. she just knows everything about everybody's grand parents. oh, grandmother!" called agnes, as she ushered the bevy of girls about her own age into the cherry sitting room, one october afternoon, and ran to tell her grandmother of her visitors. it did not require a second call for mrs. martin to respond, and in her quaint way she cordially greeted her youthful quests, well known to her and her grand-daughter's friends, "elizabeth," "mary" and "lucy kent." when the customary salutations and courteous inquiries had been exchanged, lucy kent, anxious to make known the object of their visit, explained: "agnes said you knew everything about everybody's ancestors, and our teacher told us today that we must bring in tomorrow our lines of descent, as far back as we could trace; also tell any family tradition or any incident in the lives of our ancestors in connection with the war of the revolution, especially, she said, anything the women did." "i don't see how the women could have done anything, when it was all fighting," added mary, as if in apology. and i said, "grandmother, you could tell us, because i had heard you go over it all, way back to adam," said agnes reassuringly. "not quite so far back, my dear, yet i can give each of you some interesting accounts of your ancestors, but the story would have to be a long one and you might weary of it," said mrs. martin hesitatingly. "oh do, grandmother," pleaded agnes. "but wednesday is my day for darning the stockings, and"-- "oh, we'll darn the stockings, so do begin," exclaimed several voices in chorus, and a rush was made for the sewing basket, and then the little girls sat demurely, waiting to hear the promised story, industriously plying the needle, and filling the holes with the thread. "this portrait that you see here on the wall," began mrs. martin, pointing to the one in front of them, "is the grandmother of my grandmother. she is one of the hobson sisters and you, agnes, are seventh in direct line of descent from her through the bacons and carrs and wares. it is a singular coincidence that you and your little friends here, all come from this same family of hobson. 'birds of a feather flocking together,'" chuckled the old lady, evidently pleased to see the friendship existing between the children in this generation, who were representatives of one of the best georgia families and of the staunchest and truest supporters of the cause of american independence. "these hobsons," continued she, "were daughters and sons of nicholas hobson, of lunenburg county, virginia, son of matthew hobson, of henrico. as you already know, georgia was largely settled by colonists from virginia. it is not surprising to find the younger members of the hobson family removing later to georgia, for young folks are always looking for the best place to locate, and this is what the husbands and wives in the hobson family did, moved to georgia and located at augusta." "but you were telling about the portrait," interposed mary. "is she agnes hobson?" "yes, agnes hobson, born july th, , and wife of william bacon, born january , , who was a revolutionary soldier, and a member of the provincial congress , as was also his brother john bacon. agnes had sisters elizabeth, sarah, obedience, mary and margaret, and brothers matthew, william, nicholas and john hobson. ten children in the hobson family, in the home in lunenburg county, virginia. my! what fine men and women, with the love of country, and the sacredness of the cause of freedom instilled in their hearts from infancy." "well, what did agnes hobson do?" questioned mary. "i was just about to tell you mary, men and women are great and are heroic when they can rise to meet the occasion which necessity presents. so at this particular crisis in the affairs during the war of the revolution, it became necessary to convey a message from colonel clark, in georgia, to general nathaniel greene, who was then in south carolina. in , the british being in possession of augusta, general greene determined to march into south carolina, and colonel clark and mccall proceeded to co-operate by annoying the british posts in georgia. general clark determined in may to attack. this information must be conveyed to general greene at once. as the enemy's line would have to be crossed, it would not be possible to send the despatch by a man with the hope that he would ever reach general greene alive. he would not only be held as a prisoner, but searched and probably hung. in those days petticoats were flags of truce. so, here was a woman's opportunity. but what woman would? in those days the country's affairs were freely and intelligently discussed by men and women, and there were no braver women than the hobsons. nothing daunted, agnes volunteered to convey the despatch. her brother-in-law, nathaniel bacon, had gone to south carolina to assist colonel pickens who was maneuvering between augusta and ninety six. nathaniel was a captain in pickens' brigade. she would reach him and through him convey this message to general greene's headquarters. with the papers safely folded in her bosom she plunged into the swollen current of the savannah river, and borne by her trusty horse, reached the carolina shore in safety. reaching her destination and fulfilling her mission, she recrossed the enemy's line, performing the act of a courier, swimming on horse back the savannah river, and riding many, many miles unattended, because a woman's service was needed at this crisis in the war for american independence." "did you say one of these hobson sisters was my ancestor, and did she do anything heroic?" asked mary inspired by this recital. "oh, yes" answered mrs. martin, "this was elizabeth, the wife of capt. sherwood bugg. there is a love story there." "a love story" inquired lucy kent, "how interesting it grows! please tell us this one." grandmother, pleased at her interested audience, continued her story of the hobson sisters. "elizabeth hobson, wife of capt. sherwood bugg, (legionary corps, jackson legion) came with her husband and her brothers john and matthew hobson to richmond county, georgia, - . john died soon after his arrival in georgia. matthew married miss burke. he also lived in augusta, was a revolutionary soldier and an ardent patriot. it was at his house that the executive council met after the capture of savannah by the british. it is said that general washington was the guest of matthew hobson during his stay in augusta, while on his triumphant tour through georgia and the south." "elizabeth hobson was no less a heroine than was her sister agnes, nor less a patriot than were her brothers matthew, william and nicholas. her house on her plantation, near augusta, beech island, she converted into a refuge and hospital for the patriots and continental soldiers, where they were cared for and nursed back to health. among these patriots were colonels clark and mccall, and major carter, who in spite of the care bestowed upon him died there from his wounds. another, colonel john jones, of burke county, received the tenderest treatment at the home of mrs. bugg. colonel jones had received eight sabre cuts on the head and was desperately wounded at earle fort, on the pacolet river, during the night attack by the british and tories. during his illness at beech island, his brother abraham jones and sister sallie jones came to visit him. the acquaintance thus brought about between the jones and bugg families, culminated later in the marriage of two couples. sarah ann jones married young sherwood bugg, and following their example abram jones married sally bugg. from these descended the phinizys and hamiltons and jones and lamars, from whom you, elizabeth and mary and lucy kent are descended." "you said, grandmother, that 'ned brace' of 'the georgia scenes,' came from the hobson sisters," reminded agnes, anxious that nothing be left untold. "so he did; 'ned brace,' who was edmund bacon, was a grandson of obedience hobson, who married john bacon. i spoke of him in the beginning as the brother of william bacon, who married agnes hobson, and there is a sweet story tradition which tells of obedience. on one occasion she was approached by a british officer, who had reason to believe that obedience knew the whereabouts of her husband, john bacon. 'do you know where he is?' sternly demanded the officer as he leveled his gun at her head. 'yes,' replied obedience, not daring to tell a lie." "'where?' thundered the officer. gaining strength at each stage of their interview, obedience lifted her head and replied defiantly: "i have hid him--in my heart and you will have to kill me to find him." "then, there was another sister, sarah, who married william fox. the old people used to speak of them as 'sister bacon' and 'sister bugg' and 'sister fox.' margaret married a telfair and mary married william bilbo. nicholas hobson married miss de graffenried and william,--well, my memory fails me now,--but i suppose i have given you tradition and incident sufficient for tomorrow's lesson, so far as you are personally interested." "oh, yes, and thank you so much" exclaimed each of the circle of friends, and with affectionate goodbyes their pleasant interview ended.--sallie marshall martin harrison, oglethorpe chapter, columbus, ga. washington's march through somerset county, new jersey. adeline w. voorhees stillwell. the battle of trenton thoroughly aroused general howe, who at once collected , men at princeton. washington had but , men. on january the battle of princeton took place and the americans were again victorious, but the men were so completely exhausted that washington was forced reluctantly to abandon his project of capturing the stores at new brunswick and to seek the hill country, where his men might obtain the rest and refreshment they so much needed. reforming his columns, the general passed along the king's highway to van-tillburgh's inn, at kingston, which was standing not many years ago. here, turning to the left on the narrow rocky hill road, he marched his way-worn men down the valley of the millstone. arrayed in the continental blue and buff as he sat on his horse with all that martial dignity peculiar to himself, washington came as a conqueror, welcomed by the enthusiastic populace. much of interest appertaining to this march to morristown is to be learned from the manuscript diary of captain thomas rodney of the dover light infantry, which is preserved by his descendants. when the van of the american army reached the bridge which spanned the millstone in front of the residence of christopher hoagland, near griggstown, the british cavalry appeared in considerable force on the opposite bank. the condition of washington's men was such that he desired neither to pursue nor be pursued, so he ordered the bridge broken up. this being done the enemy was forced to retire, which would lead one to suppose that the depth of the river was much greater then than now. commissaries were sent forward to notify the inhabitants of the approach of the troops and to direct that food be prepared for their refreshment. the home of abraham van doren, like many others, was the scene of great excitement and special activity that day. i quote from a paper read before the somerset county historical society several years ago by his great-grandson, rev. wm. h. van doren: "abraham van doren was a most prosperous and prominent member of the community. he owned the grist mill which did a large business between trenton and new brunswick. besides the mill he owned the store (ruins of which are still standing), a feed mill, a saw mill, a carding mill and power loom, a cider mill and distillery, a cooperage, a work and wagon shop, two blacksmith shops and a lath mill, besides six or seven hundred acres of land. the mills and store houses were filled with flour, grain, whiskey and lumber, awaiting a favorable opportunity of shipment to new york. the general 'killing,' as it was called, had just been finished. the beeves and hogs and other animals designed for the next year's use had just been laid down, so that, what had never before occurred in the history of the settlement, there was now a whole year's labor stored up, a providential supply for a great necessity which no human wisdom could have foreseen. before noon the whole hamlet of millville, as griggstown was then called, was ablaze with excitement and activity. soon the old dutch ovens were roaring hot and bread and pone, shortcake, mince and other pies, beef, ham and pork, sausage and poultry, were cooking and roasting to feed the general and his staff. not the officers alone, but the whole rank and file of the army was coming and right royally they feasted." there are many interesting traditions which are cherished in the van doren family relating to this visit of washington and his army. as soon as the troops had been fed and had an hour or two of rest, washington found that cornwallis, enraged that he had been so tricked as to allow his foe to escape while he slept, and fearing for his military stores at new brunswick, had put his whole army in motion. so hurriedly calling his men to "fall in," washington hastened with them to somerset court house, now millstone. it was about dusk and here they encamped for the night. washington and some of his staff quartered at the residence of john van doren, which is this house. here also still stands the old barn where the general's horse was stabled. until recently the house was occupied by a great-grandson of the man who was the proud host for one night of the father of our country. this family, too, have many interesting traditions of this memorable visit. we note that two men by the name of van doren, within twenty-four hours, were honored by being permitted to entertain the commander-in-chief of the continental army. the main body of the army encamped for the night near the present dutch church parsonage, in close proximity to the court house, which was afterward burned. early the following morning the column was again pushing northward, crossing the raritan at van veghten's bridge, now finderne. not far from this bridge stood the old first dutch church of the raritan on the ground donated by michael van veghten, whose tombstone is still standing in the little "god's acre," which surrounded the edifice. this building, like the court house, was burned with all the priceless records by general simcoe's men. rodney states that washington was again tempted to march to new brunswick, still having in mind the rich stores there which would be of such inestimable value to him. however, again out of consideration for his troops, he abandoned the project. after crossing at finderne they marched up the river to the old road turning west, just north of bernard meyers' house to tunison's tavern, now the "somerset" in somerville, field to the right, passed up grove street and continued over the hills to pluckemin. the sick and wounded were cared for in the village while the lutheran church was used as a temporary prison for the captured men. it was at this time that leslie, the young british officer who had been wounded and so tenderly cared for by dr. rush of philadelphia, having died, was laid to rest with full military honors. many of us have seen the stone in the church yard at pluckemin which marks his resting place. sunday, january , , was a great day for pluckemin. news of washington's presence, and that of his army, quickly spread throughout the surrounding country, and we can well imagine the eagerness with which the people flocked in to get the latest news of the war and perchance of their loved ones. the mathew lane house is said to be the house where the general was quartered. early on the morning of january pluckemin lost, suddenly as it had gained, the distinction of being the headquarters of the army. rested and refreshed, it was probably the most peaceful and satisfactory march experienced since leaving hackensack three months before with cornwallis at their heels. secure now from pursuit the little army in good heart travelled slowly along the narrow road called the great road from inman's ferry, new brunswick, passing bedminster church to bedminster. some authorities say they then crossed the north branch of the raritan at van der veer's mills, but mr. joshua doughty, of somerville, who seldom makes an assertion which he cannot prove by the records, tells me that they did not cross the river at that point, but filed to the right, going through "muggy hollow," the road which lord sterling used in going from his place to the sea shore at amboy; then passing through liberty corner and basking ridge, with frequent halts, they climbed the bernards hills to vealtown, bernardsville, and on to new vernon, and just as the sun was sinking in the west reached morristown. after a weary pilgrimage they were for the time being safe in winter quarters.--_american monthly magazine._ hanna arnett. by mrs. mary lockwood. the days were dark and hopeless, the hearts of our forefathers were heavy and cast down. deep, dark despondency had settled upon them. defeat after defeat had followed our army until it was demoralized, and despair had taken possession of them. lord cornwallis, after his victory at fort lee, had marched his army to elizabethtown, new jersey, and there encamped. this was in that memorable december, . the howe brothers had already issued their celebrated proclamation, that offered protection to all that would seek refuge under the british flag within sixty days and declare themselves british subjects, and take an oath binding themselves to not take up arms against the mother country or induce others to do so. in one of the many spacious homes of the town, there had assembled a goodly number of the foremost men of the time to discuss the feasibility of accepting the proffered proclamation. we are much inclined to the belief that enthusiasm, bravery, indomitable courage and patriotism were attributes that took possession of our forefathers and held on to them until they became canonized beatitudes, upon which the sires alone had a corner, but we find on close scrutiny that there were times when manly hearts wavered, and to courage was added a prefix, and this was one of them. for hours the council went on, the arguments were sincere, grave but faltering. some thought that the time had fully come to accept the clemency offered--others shook their heads, but the talk went on until every soul in the room had become of one mind, courage, bravery, patriotism, hope, honor, all were swept away by the flood-tide of disaster. there was one listener from whom the council had not heard. in an adjoining room sat hannah arnett, the wife of the host. she had listened to the debate, and when the final vote was reached she could no longer constrain herself. she sprang to her feet and, throwing open the parlor door, in her majesty confronted that group of counsels. picture a large room with a low ceiling, furnished with the heavily-carved furniture of those days, dimly lighted by wax candles, and a fire in the huge fire-place. around a table sat a group of anxious disheartened-looking men. before them stood the fair dame in the antique costume of the day. imagination will picture her stately bearing as she entered into their august presence. the indignant scorn upon her lips, the flash of her blue eyes, her commanding figure and dignified presence brought every man to his feet. consternation and amazement for the moment ruled supreme. the husband advanced toward her, shocked and chagrined that his wife had so forgotten herself; that she should come into the midst of a meeting where politics and the questions of the hour were being discussed. he would shield her now. the reproof he would give later on, and so he was quickly at her side, and whispering, said to her: "hannah! hannah! this is no place for you. we do not want you here just now." he would have led her from the room. she was a mild, amiable woman, and was never known to do aught against her husband's wishes, but if she saw him now she made no sign, but turned upon the astonished group: "have you made your decision, gentlemen?" she asked. "i stand before you to know; have you chosen the part of men or traitors?" it was a direct question, but the answer was full of sophistry, explanation, and excuse. "the case was hopeless, the army was starving, half clothed and undisciplined, repulses everywhere. we are ruined and can stand out no longer against england and her unlimited resources." mrs. arnett, in dignified silence, listened until they had finished, and then she asked: "but what if we should live after all?" "hannah! hannah!" said her husband in distress. "do you not see that these are no questions for you? we are doing what is best for you--for all. women have no share in these topics. go to your spinning-wheel and leave us to settle affairs. my good little wife, you are making yourself ridiculous. do not expose yourself in this way before our friends." every word he uttered was to her as naught. not a word had she heard; not a quiver of the lip or tremor of an eyelash. but in the same strangely sweet voice she asked: "can you tell me if, after all, god does not let the right perish, if america should win in the conflict, after you had thrown yourself on british clemency, where will you be then?" "then," said one, "we should have to leave the country. but that is too absurd to think of in the condition our country and our army are." "brother," said mrs. arnett, "you have forgotten one thing which england has not, and which we have--one thing which outweighs all england's treasures, and that is the right. god is on our side, and every volly of our muskets is an echo of his voice. we are poor, and weak, and few, but god is fighting for us; we entered into this struggle with pure hearts and prayerful lips; we had counted the cost and were willing to pay the price, were it in our own heart's blood. and now because for a time the day is going against us, you would give up all, and sneak back like cravens to kiss the feet that have trampled upon us. and you call yourselves men--the sons of those who gave up home and fortune and fatherland to make for themselves and for dear liberty a resting place in the wilderness? oh, shame upon you cowards!" "gentlemen," said arnett, with an anxious look on his face. "i beg you to excuse this most unseemly interruption to our council. my wife is beside herself, i think. you all know her, and know it is not her wont to meddle in politics, or to bawl and bluster. tomorrow she will see her folly, but now i pray your patience." her words had already begun to leaven the little manhood remaining in their bosoms, but not a word was spoken. she had turned the light of her soul upon them, and in the reflection they saw photographed their own littleness of purpose or want of manly resolve. she still talked on: "take your protection if you will; proclaim yourselves traitors and cowards, false to your god! but horrible will be the judgment you will bring upon your heads and the heads of those that love you. i tell you that england will never conquer. i know it, and feel it in every fibre of my heart. has god led us so far to desert now? will he who led our fathers across the stormy, wintry sea forsake their children, who have put their trust in him? for me, i stay with my country, and my hand shall never touch the hand nor my heart cleave to the heart of him who shames her." while these words were falling from her lips she stood before them like a tower of strength, and, turning toward her husband, she gave him a withering look that sent a shock through every fibre of his body. continuing, she said: "isaac, we have lived together for twenty years, and through all of them i have been to you a true and loving wife; but i am the child of god and my country, and if you do this shameful thing i will never own you again as my husband." "my dear wife!" answered isaac, excitedly, "you do not know what you are saying. leave me for such a thing as this!" "for such a thing as this?" "what greater cause could there be?" answered the injured wife. "i married a good man and true, a faithful friend, and it needs no divorce to sever me from a traitor and a coward. if you take your protection you lose your wife, and i--i lose my husband and my home." the scornful words, uttered in such earnestness; the pathetic tones in which these last words were spoken; the tears that dimmed her sad blue eyes, appealed to the heart of every man before her. they were not cowards all through, but the panic sweeping over the land had caught them also. the leaven of courage, manliness and resolution had begun its work. before these men left the home of hannah arnett that night every man had resolved to spurn the offered amnesty, and had taken a solemn oath to stand by their country through good days and bad, until freedom was written over the face of this fair land. there are names of men who fought for their country and won distinction afterward, who were in this secret council, but the name of hannah arnett figures on no roll of honor. where will the "sons and daughters of the revolution" place hannah arnett?--_american monthly magazine._ button gwinnett. georgia was the youngest of the thirteen original colonies. at the provincial congress which convened in savannah, january , , there were elected five delegates to the continental congress, namely: dr. lyman hall, button gwinnett, george walton, archibald bulloch, and john houston. of these button gwinnett, dr. lyman hall, and george walton were present at the session of the national assembly, which convened in philadelphia on may th, and pledged georgia with the united colonies on july , , by affixing their signatures to the declaration of independence. button gwinnett, the subject of this sketch, was said to have been born in england about . he was a merchant in bristol, england, from which place he emigrated to america in , located in charleston, s. c., and in moved to savannah, georgia, at which time he bought a large part of st. catharine's island, and engaged in farming. he died tragically on may , , as a result of a pistol shot wound in a duel with general lachlan mcintosh, near savannah on the morning of may , . the records give only limited information, and from careful investigation, at times it appears that the statements do not bear out the correct facts with regard to the biography of button gwinnett. in harper's "cyclopaedia of united states history," page , vol. , the statement is made that gwinnett was "cautious and doubtful, and took no part in political affairs until after the revolutionary war was begun." also that mcintosh challenged gwinnett for a duel. subsequent acts would not indicate that the first statement conforms to his real temperament, and it appears from the best obtainable data that gwinnett issued the challenge to mcintosh. it is true that having been a resident of america only a few years, he was in some doubt at first as to whether he would support the colonies, or throw his influence against them, but he was a man of strong convictions, ambitious, and possessed of great force of character, and his brief political career was meteoric. unfortunately his strong prejudices and desire for political preferment led to the tragedy of his premature death. he located in georgia in , was elected a delegate to the provincial congress, which convened in savannah, january , , and by this congress was made a delegate to the continental congress, which convened in philadelphia, may , . july , , he signed the declaration of independence. he became a member of the council of safety, and was an important factor in framing the first constitution of georgia. archibald bulloch, who was the first president and commander-in-chief of georgia, died suddenly in feb. . button gwinnett, on march th, was elected to fill this vacancy until a governor could be duly elected. col. lachlan mcintosh had been promoted to the rank of brigadier-general, and was placed in charge of the militia of georgia. button gwinnett was envious of this promotion of general mcintosh, and through jealousy and revenge he so interfered with the military affairs as to seriously jeopardize discipline, and create insubordination towards general mcintosh as commander-in-chief. personally ambitious, gwinnett planned an expedition against florida, and further humiliated and insulted general mcintosh by ignoring him as ranking military officer of georgia, and took command of the expedition himself. it is a matter of historical record that the expedition was a complete failure. john adams treutland was elected governor over gwinnett. mcintosh had become a warm supporter of treutland, and openly denounced button gwinnett as a scoundrel. as a result, gwinnett challenged mcintosh for a duel, which was promptly accepted, and fought with pistols at a distance of eight feet, near savannah, may , . at the first shot both were wounded, gwinnett's leg being broken and he fell. it is said he asked his seconds to raise him that he might shoot again, but his request was denied, and he was taken from the field. the weather was very warm, and septic fever soon developed, which proved fatal on the th of may following. thus ended the meteoric life of button gwinnett, who, within the short space of less than two years, sprang from obscurity into prominence, and whose life was brought to a sudden and tragic end at the hands of another, and whose grave today is in some obscure and unknown spot. "forced by pirates to walk the plank." theodosia burr, wife of governor alston of south carolina, was considered a beautiful and unusually brave woman of revolutionary days. it is of her that this legend is told. after her father's defeat as candidate for governor of new york, in , she left charleston by water route to offer her sympathy and love during his trying ordeal. the ship of which she was a passenger was captured by pirates with murderous intent. theodosia burr was forced to walk a plank backward into the watery deep, her eyes were tightly blind-folded with a handkerchief and in this gruesome manner she met her death. later on in years an old pirate confessed upon his death bed that this beautiful daughter of aaron burr, whom he had helped put to death, walked the plank with the greatest composure; never once did she give vent to her feelings. this was the news conveyed to her parents after years of fruitless search for their beloved daughter, theodosia burr.--edna arnold copeland, stephen heard chapter, elberton, ga. georgia women of early days. when the full meed of recognition to which she is entitled, is given by the historian to the part which woman played in the founding and evolution of the colony of georgia into one of the sovereign states of the american union--when her part in the bloody tale of the achievement of american independence is fully told and final justice done on history's page to the hardships which she suffered in freedom's name, to her marvellous courage, to her fortitude, to her patience, to her self-denial and heroic sacrifice, then will the poet find new themes for epic song, the artist fresh riches for his easel, the romancer a new field for historical fiction and every patriotic american a deeper veneration for the flag whose primal baptism was of blood so precious and heroic. as a curtain-raiser to the story of the heroines of the revolution, two notable women of colonial days appear and claim the tribute of more than a passing mention by reason of the picturesque place which they occupy in the early history of the province, and because of the unique and momentous service which they rendered to the colony of georgia. when general oglethorpe, dreaming of an empire of the west, attempted to secure a treaty with the aborigines and permission to plant his colony on the virgin soil of georgia, it was a woman's hand that unlocked the door and bade him enter. it was a woman's diplomatic tact and ascendant influence with the indian tribes that accomplished the cession of georgia. mary musgrove, an indian, the wife of a carolina planter, negotiated with tomichichi, the yamacraw chief, for the sale of the territory whose boundaries ran from the savannah to the altamaha and westward to the mythical "south seas,"--a body of lands so vast that the georgia of to-day is but a minor part of the territory originally ceded. thus we find that the first real estate agent that ever closed a "deal"--the biggest that ever was or ever will be in georgia--was a woman, and the first georgia manufacturer was a woman as well--mary camuse, the wife of lewis camuse. from the business tact, enterprise and industry of mary camuse resulted the first recorded exportation to england of the first manufactured article which left our shores, forty-five pounds, two ounces avoirdupois weight of silk, cultivated and woven by her hand. a glance at the minutes of the trustees of the colony reveals this quaint and interesting entry: "august th, . resolved, that it is recommended to the common council, to give mrs. camuse a gratuity for every person who shall be certified to be properly instructed by her in the art of winding silk." the art of wearing silk, with grace and elegance, could, i feel assured, be taught to any one who might seek to profit thereby, by the stately matrons whose names adorn the roster of the atlanta chapter of the daughters of the american revolution, but the art of winding silk, such as the trustees encouraged by their bounty, is, i very much fear, at this time in georgia what we might call one of the "lost arts." passing from mrs. musgrove and mrs. camuse to the georgia women of the revolution, i beg leave to state that i have sought in this paper to give only such names and incidents as are authenticated by historical reference or by well established tradition. i am by no means assured that the list is full,--indeed, i am strongly inclined to the opinion that it is largely incomplete, notwithstanding the somewhat exhaustive research which has been made in ancient archives and time-worn histories. it is generally accepted that the most conspicuous figure among the georgia women of the revolution is the famous amazon of elbert county, the redoubtable nancy hart. she was undoubtedly the foremost fighter from the ranks of the colonial dames north or south, and her brave and thrilling exploits were indubitably of a rank and character to entitle her to an exalted place in the american temple of fame. the portrait of nancy hart while in repose, is that of a formidable warrior--when in action, she must have been a female apollyon, dire and terrible, a veritable incarnation of slaughter and threatenings. six feet in height, cross-eyed, ungainly in figure, redheaded, big hands, big feet, broad mouth, massive jaw, sharp of tongue and rude in speech, she was a picture before which a redcoat, a tory, or a bachelor, well might quail. "she was a honey of a patriot but the devil of a wife," is the reading of the record--the tribute of a neighbor who lived in the bloody times which made her known to fame. it is related that in later years, a resolution was introduced in the legislature of georgia providing for an equestrian statue of general jackson--representing his horse in the act of plunging forward, the warrior pointing his sword with martial eagerness towards the foe--to be placed in the capitol of georgia. a patriotic member of the body arose in the assembly and protested that he would not vote for the resolution unless the legislature should likewise authorize a painting of nancy hart fording the broad river with a tory prisoner, bare-headed and bare armed, her dress tucked up, her jaws set, her big hands suggestively pointing the musket at her cringing captive. it does seem a matter for regret that some such recognition is not given by the state to the daring and valor of this georgia heroine. the history of no other nation can boast of a braver or more invincible woman, and it should be a matter of state pride among georgians to honor her memory and commemorate with painter's brush, or sculptor's chisel, her splendid and heroic achievements in the cause of american independence. the fame which nancy hart achieved as a fighting patriot is perhaps equaled by jane latouche cuyler as the political heroine in georgia, of the revolution. this picturesque and remarkable woman was the widow of telemon cuyler, a wealthy mariner. she lived at the corner of bull and broughton streets in savannah. mrs. cuyler was of french descent and inherited the fiery and mercurial temperament of her gallic ancestors. she is accorded the distinction of being the first patriot at savannah to don a liberty cap, which she persistently wore, to the grim displeasure, and despite the intimidating attitude, of the crown governor, sir james wright. political meetings were held by the patriots at mrs. cuyler's house and it is said, that at one of these assemblies, a resolution was passed which afterwards formed the basis of the action of the provisional congress in declaring georgia's adherence to the revolting colonies and her purpose to join with them in armed resistance to the authority of the english crown. at the fall of savannah, she was taken to charleston under an escort of continental troops and after charleston had surrendered to sir henry clinton, the commissary general of georgia is said to have caused her to be transported to philadelphia, where her expenses were paid by the commonwealth of georgia in recognition of her valuable services to the patriots' cause. so active was her participation in fanning the flame of revolution and in fomenting armed resistance to the encroachments of the crown that sir james wright is stated to have offered a reward for her capture and delivery to the british authorities. she died in new jersey after the revolution, having lived, however, to see the independence of the colonies for which she had striven with such fervor and eclat, brought to a happy and successful issue. after the fall of savannah, the continental prisoners were crowded by the british on board ships lying at anchor in the savannah river. these ships were veritable pest houses and many of the prisoners died of infection and for the want of proper sustenance. mrs. mordecai shefthall made it her mission to go out in boats provisioned and manned by her negroes to make the rounds of these floating prisons and administer such aid and bring such delicacies as she could command to the imprisoned patriots. this brave and noble woman endeared herself to the continental captives and in consequence of these missions of mercy and her brave solicitude for the unfortunate prisoners, she acquired the beautiful soubriquet of "the angel of the prison ships." yet another woman who administered to the wants and necessities of these unfortunate soldiers was mrs. minis. general shefthall himself a captain, records two important ministrations which she rendered to his succor and comfort. he says: "in this situation i remained for two days, without a morsel to eat, when a hessian officer named zaltman, finding that i could talk his language, removed me to his room and sympathized with me on my situation. he permitted me to send to mrs. minis, who sent me some victuals." but an equally important service--more of a luxury perhaps than a necessity, but a most delightful luxury to a gentleman--followed, when on application to col. innis, general shefthall, records: "i got his leave to go to mrs. minis for a shirt she had taken to wash for me, as it was the only one i had left, except the one on my back, and that was given to me by captain kappel, as the british soldiers had plundered both mine and my son's clothes." in the time allotted for this paper, i have not the opportunity to discuss at length the character and adventures of mrs. johnathan bryan who, amidst constant danger from marauding tory bands, successfully operated and managed her husband's plantation while he was fighting for the cause of liberty; nor to deal with the exciting and romantic career of sarah swinton mcintosh, nor to depict the quaint personality of winnifred mcintosh, spinster, the brave and loyal sister of the dashing "rory"; nor to draw the picture of mrs. john dooly, the tragic murder of whose husband by the tories is said to have fired the soul of nancy hart with the fierce flame of vengeance against the brutal royalists, who with fire and sword lay waste the unprotected homes of the patriots. i, therefore, close this crude and hasty sketch with a romance of the revolution, a tale which must appeal to every heart because of its human interest, its bloody setting, its gratifying sequel and by reason of the fact that one of your own members is a _lineal descendant_ of the _heroine_ of this pleasing and delightful romance of love and war. my story is a note from the life of sarah ann jones who was sent from burke county, georgia, to savannah to a boarding school for young ladies kept by gentlewomen in sympathy with the royalist faction of the colony. so far did the school management display its royalist sentiment that the school girls were coerced into knitting socks and making shirts for the enemy during the hours for play and recess, and were sternly instructed to be true and loyal servants to the king. this coercion only made the colonial girls more devoted secretly to the cause of liberty, and when savannah fell into the hands of the british, the times were past when educational advantages could be considered and our little school friend was sent for, and brought home, where it was thought she could find a safer asylum. with three brothers in the army, and all her heart with them, she was happy to be at home. but she was destined to do more for the cause of liberty than fell to the lot of every quiet maiden of those eventful days. she was sent for not a great while after her return home to go at once to beech island, near augusta, to the plantation of mrs. sherwood bugg to help nurse her brother, captain john jones, who had been severely wounded and who had been brought there, along with many other wounded soldiers, to be nursed back to life again by every kindly ministration known to the helpful women of these stirring times. and so she went and helped to nurse her brother, and there the long, anxious days were crowned by a budding romance. captain jones was able again to enter the fight for freedom, and then it was that his lovely young sister, sarah ann jones, found time for seeing much of the youngest son of her hostess, sherwood bugg, jr. love soon bound the young soldier with silken strands, their troth was plighted and with the consent of both families their marriage was arranged for. nothing marred their plans and the young couple settled after their marriage, on land in columbia county, georgia, granted their families for services rendered during the struggle of when young girls and mere boys (too young for regular soldiers) found an opportunity for working for the cause of their country as nobly as ever did the soldiers of the line. today in a little home of one of your members are to be found two very plain, _solid, old mahogany tables_ that span these years reaching back to the revolution, that belonged to this young couple--a fitting table on which to pen a love letter and the best exponent of the character of revolutionary times, serving not one, but five generations, and even now in daily use. this little romance lends additional charm to the beauty and strength of these old tables, and today, they tell us of the force and nobility of earlier days and a simpler life.--james waddy austin. read before atlanta chapter by mrs. joseph morgan. robert sallette. in studying the lives of noted individuals, we find the written history of them in many ways so very different. some are always before the eyes of the public. they seem to know just how to arrange, that their words and deeds are known and read of all men. then there are others, perhaps as worthy or perchance even more so, who are reticent and modest, and the very simplicity of their lives causes them to shrink from the lime-light, the glare of the torch and the noise of the trumpet of victory, preferring rather the inner-consciousness of having done well that which was committed unto them. apart from either of these classes, we find a few who are unconstrained, who take destiny into their own hands, rough hewing as they will, and are indifferent alike to either public censure or applause. in this last division, we would have to place our patriot, robert sallette. "neither history nor tradition gives us the place of his birth or the date of his death, yet it is known that he played a more important part in the struggle in the colony than any one man who had no troops at his command." like melchizedek, he seems to have had no beginning or ending or length of days. it is known that his grave lies in the noted old cemetery at midway, georgia along with many famous revolutionary heroes. sallette's bravery was beyond dispute, even to recklessness. his hatred of the tories and all subjects of the king was so bitter, that it caused a price to be set upon his head. most of us are familiar with the traditions which the historian, harris, tells of in his "stories of georgia," where "a tory of some means offered a reward of one hundred guineas to any one who would bring him the head of sallette." the tory had never seen sallette, but his alarm was such, that he offered a reward large enough to tempt some one to assassinate the daring partisan. when sallette heard of the reward, he disguised himself as a farmer, placed a pumpkin in a bag and took it to the home of the tory. he was invited in and deposited the bag on the floor beside him, the pumpkin striking the boards with a thump. "i have brought you the head of robert sallette," he said. "i hear that you have offered a reward of one hundred guineas for it." "where is it," asked the tory. "i have it with me," replied sallette, shaking the loose end of the bag. "count me out the money and take the head." the tory neither doubting nor suspecting counted out the money and placed it on the table. "now show me the head," said he. sallette removed his hat, tapped himself on the forehead and said, "here is the head of robert sallette." the tory was so frightened that he jumped from the room and sallette pocketed the money and departed. an old inhabitant of liberty county tells that once two tory robbers had gone to some worthy man's house in the lower part of the county and demanded his money. when he refused, they put a rope around his neck. bob sallette seems to have appeared on the scene and saw what was taking place across the field. sallette rushed up on horseback, yelling with all his might, "come on, boys, here they are." the tories, thinking they were outnumbered and would be captured, ran away. sallette took the man in trouble on horseback with him and they made their escape. sallette was not wanting in humor, as we see in the little encounter he had with the advance guard of the british. observing that a dead man, who was a remarkably large man, had on a pair of good boots, sallette determined to get them. while pulling them off, his companion called for him to get away quickly, or he would be killed. "i must have the boots, i need them, i want them for little john way." this was fun in the midst of tragedy, as mr. way was a remarkably small man. it will be remembered that at a very early period, the citizens of st. john's parish (now the county of liberty) took a very firm stand in favor of independence. the early, open, and determined resistance, of this parish did not escape the notice of the enemy, and accordingly it was made to feel the full measure of royal vengeance. added to this, sallette must have had some special cause for the bitter animosity and hatred he felt for all britishers. it was thought (as his name would indicate) that he descended from the french acadians, who had previously suffered much, and often, at the hands of the britishers, hence his motto, which was, "never forgive a tory." if one was ever liberated he made it his business to follow him and, if possible, take his life. sallette was a roving character, belonging to no particular command. he fought valiantly and zealously, but always in his own peculiar way and style. he didn't seem to especially value his own life and, never, the life of his foe. once he dressed as a britisher and dined with a party of them. while toasting and merry-making he suddenly drew his sword and killing the man on either side of him, he jumped on his horse and rode off unhurt, though he stood not on the order of his going. we can well understand that with such a daring spirit and cool calculating brain he was greatly feared by the tories. evidently his thinking was independent, for his style of warfare and sudden actions kept the enemy uncertain where he would next appear. often during a battle he would leave his command and go to the rear of the enemy and kill a number before he would be discovered. when major baker defeated a body of tories at the white house near sunbury, among the enemies slain was lieutenant grey, whose head was almost severed from his body by a stroke of robert sallette's sabre. sallette, the scout, was a personal friend of major fraser of the revolutionary war. tradition has it that these two men did valiant and effective service in running out the tories. one story is, that these two met a couple of tories in the road at the ford of taylor's creek and the tories were never afterwards seen or heard of, which was characteristic of his manner of dealing with the enemy. we know that often when general marion of south carolina wanted some special work done he sent to liberty county, georgia, for the distinguished and intrepid scout, robert sallette. this daring scout performed many deeds to free this land from english oppression and to enable us to sing: my country 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty * * * * * long may our land be bright, with freedom's holy light, protect us by thy might, great god, our king. general lafayette's visit to macon. the nation's guest--arrangements for his reception. (from the georgia messenger, macon, ga, march , .) a signal gun will be fired as soon as the general and his suite arrive, on the hill at the old fort. the ladies and gentlemen will proceed to form themselves immediately in two lines on bridge street, near the ferry, under the direction of the town marshal, and a. mandell, j. s. childers, g. b. wardlaw, e. mccall, r. mccall and isaiah chain, marshals for the day; the arrangements to be as follows: first, the commissioners of the town and committee of arrangements on horseback; second, the ladies; third, the citizens generally. he will be received by the commissioners and committee near the ferry, where he will be addressed by james s. frierson, esq., in behalf of the citizens. wednesday, march th.--reception of lafayette. at o'clock yesterday a signal announced his approach, when the ladies and gentlemen proceeded to form lines on bridge street near the ferry. owing to the rapidity with which he now travels, he was entirely unattended by any military escort. the only persons with him were his son and secretary, and two of the governor's aids, cols. thaddeus g. holt and henry g. lamar. he dismounted from his carriage and crossed the river, where he was received by the committee and commissioners. on ascending the bluff he was welcomed to our town in behalf of the citizens by james s. frierson, esq., who said: "general lafayette. sir: i am deputed by the citizens of macon and its vicinity to welcome you to this place. "to tell you, sir, that you were the early, steadfast and constant friend of this republic in her revolutionary contest, would be only to say what had been acknowledged by the past and present generation. "but that glorious struggle in which your destinies were pledged in common with the illustrious characters of that day, has eventually proved that a system of government, now in the history of the world, a confederative representative democracy, is the best guarantee for the liberties of a great people, is now confirmed by the experience of thirty-six years. "the first state, sir, which you will enter after leaving this, and those you are now to visit are prominent testimonials of this sublime truth, unknown in the revolutionary struggle; a barren wilderness where the foot of civilized man had scarcely trod, in this short period had grown in numbers nearly equalling the original states, entertaining the same political views, the same veneration for your person and character that we do; you will there be greeted with the same hospitality that you have met here. "with hearts full of gratitude for your past service, with the earnest and intense interest for your future welfare and prosperity, we all unite in wishing that the evening of your days may be spent in that calm tranquility and repose of which you were deprived in your earlier life." to which the general replied in substance: "that he was thankful for the manner in which the citizens of macon were placed to receive him; that he perfectly accorded in the opinion that a representative democracy was the best calculated to secure the liberties of the people, and requested that the people of macon would receive his thanks for the manner in which they had been pleased to treat him." a procession then formed and he was conducted to his quarters at the macon hotel. during the moving of the procession a national salute was fired. soon after his arrival he was waited upon by the ladies, who were individually introduced to him; after which every citizen who wished was introduced, to whom general lafayette gave a cordial grasp of the hand. he was then waited on at his quarters by the brethren of macon lodge, no. , and was addressed as follows by worshipful ambrose baber, master of the lodge: "brother and general lafayette: in our humble capacity as brothers of the mystic union, we welcome you to our infant village. no triumphal arch, no tinsel show of earthly grandeur greeted your entry. we offer you a triumph more lasting and noble--the triumph of gratitude. "admonished by that resplendent luminary which rules and governs the day, and imparts an equal lustre on all mankind twice in every year, that we have all once been and must again be upon a level, we have ventured to hail your arrival among us, and to offer you a welcome in unalloyed gratitude, the spontaneous effusion of our hearts. "illustrious benefactor of mankind. what a train of associations does thy eventful life excite. companion and associate of our immortal washington. thine efficient arm hath prostrated oppressive tyranny--succored, and relieved distressed and agonized humanity, and established a nation in the full enjoyment of freedom. the glittering offerings of princes could not dissuade, nor the appalling frowns of royalty deter you from a life of benevolent usefulness. the assassins of sanguinary demagogues nor the loathsome cells of the dungeon mar or destroy your feelings of philanthropy. unaltered and unchanged didst thou remain amidst the calamities and vicissitudes which harrassed thine own distracted country. "behold thy compensation. the gratitude of ten millions of freemen, the applause and admiration of every nation. even the wilderness smiles with joy and the savage is gladdened at thy presence. "amidst this jubilee of feeling, permit me to offer you again the grateful rejoicings of my associates and brethren of the society of free masons, in beholding you among us. royal tyranny may condemn, ignorance may reproach and blaspheme the holy mysteries of our institution; yet with lafayette for her support the science of masonry will continue to illumine and harmonize mankind to endless ages. gratitude must have fled from the breast of man, humanity lose its refuge on earth, and memory lose its seat ere the virtuous deeds of the generous, amiable, distinguished and exemplary lafayette shall be forgotten." to which the general replied in an animated manner: "the very grateful reception i have met among my brethren demands of me an expression of my most sincere and affectionate acknowledgements. permit me to declare to you particularly, and the brethren of your lodge, an unfeigned obligation for the very flattering regard you have been pleased to express for me. "the science of free masonry, to which i have for many years been an humble votary, is wonderfully calculated to alleviate the many distresses and calamities to which mankind are exposed in their variegated and manifold duties in society, and when i recur to those scenes, to which you have been pleased so delicately to allude, i am constrained to acknowledge how much i have been cheered, sustained and animated in the various vicissitudes of my life, by the holy precepts and examples of our institution. "that you and your lodge may be blessed with prosperity and harmony, that the rising town of macon may continue in its advancement, that masonry may flourish, and the citizens enjoy all the social and intellectual blessings it so eminently inculcates, i pray you, sir, with the rest of my brethren to accept as my most sincere and ardent wish." he remained in town but about two hours and a half, during which time, he in company with a large number of our citizens, partook of an excellent dinner prepared by mr. stovall. after dinner the following toast was given by edward d. tracy, esq.: "our illustrious guest--the friend of our country, of liberty, and of man." to which the general replied, and gave: "the town of macon--may its prosperity continue to be one of the strongest arguments in favor of republican institutions." very soon after dinner he bade an affectionate adieu to the gentlemen and ladies around him and resumed his carriage, at which time another national salute was fired. he was accompanied by the committee, commissioners of the town and a number of our citizens, on horseback, several miles on his way. it is understood he intended to lodge at the agency; making the whole distance traveled during the day about sixty miles. singular coincidence of circumstances in the history of lafayette and bolivar. south carolina was the first place in the united states in which they both landed, and at no very distant spots the one near georgetown, and the other at charlestown. lafayette, a frenchman, came by the way of france. both have most materially contributed to the independence of the new world--the one in north, the other in south america; and what is most singular, at the very period in which the one is receiving the homage of national gratitude in the former--the other has succeeded in his efforts for the cause of freedom in the latter place. among the persons who received gen. lafayette at columbia, was judge waites, who is the only survivor of the party that first received him at landing on the soil of south carolina, at gen. huger's in georgetown. yes. tomorrow's flag day. (tomorrow, june , is flag day in the united states.) when freedom, from her mountain height, unfurled her standard to the air, she tore the azure robe of night and set the stars of glory there. she mingled with the gorgeous dyes the milky baldric of the skies, and striped its pure celestial white with streaklings of the morning light; then from his mansion in the sun she called her eagle to bear down, and gave into his mighty hand the symbol of her chosen land. majestic monarch of the cloud, who rear'st aloft thy regal form to hear the tempest trumpings loud and see the lightning lances driven, when strive the warriors of the storm and rolls the thunder drum of heaven; child of the sun, to thee 'tis given to guard the banner of the free, to hover in the sulphur smoke, to ward away the battle stroke, and bid its blendings shine afar, like rainbows on the cloud of war, the harbingers of victory. flag of the brave, thy folds shall fly, the sigh of hope and triumph high, when speaks the signal trumpet tone, and the long line comes gleaming on. ere yet the life-blood, warm and wet, has dimmed the glistening bayonet, each soldier eye shall brightly turn to where thy sky-born glories burn, and as his springing steps advance, catch war and vengeance from the glance; and when the cannon mouthings loud heave in wild wreaths the battle shroud, and gory sabres rise and fall, and cowering foes shall shrink beneath each gallant arm that strikes below that lovely messenger of death. flag of the seas, on oceans wave thy stars shall glitter o'er the brave; when death, careering in the gale, sweeps darkly round the bellied sail, and frighted waves rush wildly back before the broadside's reeling rack, each dying wanderer of the sea shall look at once to heaven and thee, and smile to see thy splendors fly in triumph o'er his closing eye. flag of the free heart's hope and home, by angel hands to valor given, the stars have lit the welkin dome, and all thy hues were born in heaven. forever float that standard sheet! where breathes a foe but falls before us, with freedom's soil beneath our feet, and freedom's banner streaming o'er us? --_drake._ [illustration: it was here that betsy ross designed and made the first american flag, the original old glory.] flag day. hats off! this is the flag's birthday. the banner of blue, crimson and white, is one hundred and thirty-six years old, . honor the colors today. the flag represents more than just stars and stripes. it represents the history of the great republic from its cradle to this very moment: "sea fights and land fights, grim and great, fought to make and save the state; weary marches and sinking ships, cheers of victory on dying lips. sign of a nation, great and strong, to ward her people from foreign wrong. pride and glory and honor all live in the colors, to stand or fall." throughout the country the d. a. r.'s are celebrating this great anniversary of our flag. honor the flag. it belongs to every american citizen, whether we live under northern or southern skies, whether the american spirit is enthroned over civilization struggles with its problems upon the shores of the pacific, or turns to problems as grave on this side. and we are conquering the world under the emblem of old glory. the world turns to us as the maker of peace, the mightiest since civilization's dawning, for genuine rule--those "common people," of whom lincoln said, "the lord must love them, he made so many." the first flag hoisted on american soil about which we have any authentic record, was that seen by the earliest voyagers to our coasts. they found that the north american indians carried a pole covered with wing feathers of the eagle as a standard. columbus, when he landed, october th, , on the island of san salvador, unfurled upon the shores of the new world the first european banners. the son of columbus records that his father, dressed in scarlet, came ashore with the royal standard of isabella emblazoned with the arms of castile and leon. he planted this standard together with its companion, a white flag with a green cross, on this small island. in the pictures of the ships of the time of columbus these flags may be seen streaming from the ship's mast. in , the eastern coast of south america was explored by the florentine, americus vespucius. about the same time the cabots planted the banners of england and of st. mark of venice on the north american shores. the red cross of st. george was first raised on american shores at jamestown, virginia, in may and when the pilgrims landed on plymouth rock in there floated from the mast of the mayflower also the red cross of st. george. our pacific coast had been visited in the preceding century by francis drake, in his voyage around the world. into the new york harbor sailed hudson with the dutch flag, a tri-color, orange, white and blue. this banner, with the letters w. i. c., floated over manhattan island, proclaiming the rights of the dutch west india company. about the same time the swedes floated their royal banner in the sunlight on the banks of the delaware. this colony from the frozen north of europe was so charmed with our country that to cape horn they gave the name of paradise point, and called their little settlement christiana, after their far-away queen. during the period of our history known as colonial and provincial, the english flag was used from maine to georgia, with various devices and mottoes. some flags were all red, with horizontal stripes, or red and blue stripes. others were red, blue, white or yellow. the flags so frequently mentioned in the newspapers of , were the ordinary english ensigns, bearing the union jack. these almost always bore a patriotic motto like "liberty," "liberty and property," and "liberty and union." so i could go on and dwell on the different flags, but i must hurry to our own, our native flag. it is not generally known, and comes as a surprise to many, that the stars and stripes is one of the oldest national flags in existence, france being next; and england's present flag was not adopted until . the anniversary of the adoption of the stars and stripes by the continental congress, june th, , should be observed by every american citizen. in the year , congress appointed a committee, of which franklin was chairman, to consider and devise a national flag. this resulted in the adoption of the "king's colors," so called, as a union or corner stone, while thirteen stripes of alternate red and white stood as at present. this flag was publicly accepted, recognized and saluted at washington's headquarters in cambridge, mass., january , , from which fact it was often called the "cambridge flag," though sometimes the "flag of the union." after the declaration of independence this flag lost its point, as nobody except the tories wanted to see "king's colors." so in the spring of , congress appointed another committee to design another suitable flag. george washington and robert morris were members of the committee. so washington and robert morris called upon mrs. elizabeth ross, arch street, philadelphia, and from a pencil drawing of general washington's, mrs. ross made the first flag. she suggested six pointed stars instead of five as washington suggested and sketched. he accepted her suggestion, and so the flag was made. most interesting is the fact that the making of the american flag is largely woman's work. that the manufacture of flags has grown to be a large industry is proven by the fact that every year enough flags, great and small, are made to give one to every man, woman and child in the united states. betsy ross made flags for the government for many years; after her death, in , her daughter, mrs. clarissa wilson, succeeded to the business. miss sarah wilson, great granddaughter of betsy ross, still makes duplicates of the original flag. the great battle ships that are steaming around the world, flying our flag under circumstances that have made the nation assume a new importance in the eyes of millions who never before knew much about us, have the proper flag. it would never do for the american government to fly an incorrect american flag. it is a huge task to replace all the banners used. these are the facts, that keep busy hands at work, guiding the electrically driven sewing machines that take stitches a minute. even though the machine that cuts the stars for the silk and wool bunting flags can create three thousand an hour, its operators have plenty to do. the stripes are cut from great rolls of colored bunting or silk, sometimes by skilled operatives, and again by machinery. the unions are cut in the same way. the stars are first pinned on the unions, and then sewed by machinery. that is, so far as the bunting flags are concerned. the silk flags are wholly hand work, even to the cutting out of the stars. the latter are embroidered on the blue field and then all the extra cloth is deftly scissored away. the major number of small flags is printed. this is accomplished by the aid of the engraver and presses something like those on which newspapers are printed. even in this mechanical work, women are found to be more serviceable than men. it always has been their field, and seems likely to so remain. there has been almost as much of an evolutionary process in the manufacture, as in the arrangement of the american flag. on the same day that congress adopted the stars and stripes, john paul jones received command of the ranger, in portsmouth. he immediately displayed the new flag at the main top, probably being the first person to hoist these colors over a united states warship. jones is said to have remarked, pointing to the flag, "that flag and i are twins; we cannot part in life or in death. so long as we will float, we will float together; if we must sink, we shall go down as one." the first recognition of our flag was by the flag of france. the first display over military forces took place on august , , at fort stanwix, afterward schuyler, new york. the fort was besieged by the british; its garrison had no colors, so they manufactured a standard of the approved pattern. they cut up their shirts as white material; for stars and stripes, an officer's coat supplied the blue; and small sections of red flannel undergarments furnished the third color. it is said that the flag thus pieced together was greeted with great enthusiasm and warmly defended. the following september the stars and stripes were first displayed in battle at brandywine. they first waved over a captured port at nassau in the succeeding january. it was first borne around the world by capt. john kendrick, of the ship columbia, sailing from boston in . it had first been displayed in china, three years before, by captain john green, of the empress. when the first ship appeared flying the stars and stripes, the new flag excited much interest and curiosity among the people of canton. a strange new ship had arrived in port, they said, bearing a flag as beautiful as a flower, and everybody wanted to see the flower-flag ship. by this name of flower-flag the chinese continued for many years to speak of our ensign, and its poetic beauty has often appealed to our own people. the sobriquet which appeals most strongly to the nation as a whole seems to be that of "old glory." captain stephen driver was the first man to christen our flag "old glory." he was born at salem, mass., march , . just before he sailed on the brig charles doggett, in the year , he was presented with a large american flag. as it was hoisted he called it "old glory" and this was the name he evermore used for it. this flag was always with the captain on the sea and when he retired, he carried it home with him to nashville, tenn. his fondness for his flag was widely known, as also his being a union man. during the late unpleasantness his neighbors desired to get hold of this particular flag but they searched his house and all in vain. the captain had made a comforter out of it, having quilted the old glory with his own hands. he made his comforter his bed fellow. when peace was restored, he took the flag to the capitol building in nashville. as he saw it on top of the building he exclaimed, "now that old glory is up there, gentlemen, i am ready to die." he died in nashville in . the original flag made by betsy ross remained unchanged until . at this time, two new states had been added to the union, vermont and kentucky, and it became evident some recognition of these states should appear upon the flag. accordingly the number of stars was changed from thirteen to fifteen, though much opposition was shown to this change. for twenty-three years the flag of thirteen stripes was the national standard. under this banner, the united states fought and won three wars to maintain her existence. they were the wars with france in , with the barbary states in , and with england in . this was the "star spangled banner" in honor of which francis scott key composed our national song. a large national flag is kept floating over the grave of francis scott key and is never taken down except to be replaced by a new one. this was the flag under which the good ship constitution sailed. in the year , the number of states had increased to twenty, and five were in no way represented in the flag. congress finally decided to have thirteen stripes, and a provision that for every state added to the union a new star should appear in the galaxy upon the blue field, and that this star should appear upon the fourth of july next following the admission of the new state. by this happy arrangement, the flag typifies at once the country as it was when first it became independent and as it is today. there is no law as to the method of arrangement for the stars, but the army and navy regulated this to suit themselves. we think of ourselves as a new country, yet oddly enough our flag is one of the oldest in the world today. that of denmark is the oldest european standard, dating back to . next is the swiss flag, which was adopted in the seventeenth century. in , to the army of the united states there were furnished storm and recruiting flags, post flags, garrison flags; the year previous, storm and post flags. these sewed together would nearly, if not entirely, reach around the united states. each battle ship of the american navy is entitled to flags every three years, though many are renewed oftener than this. the cost of the flags for each battle ship is about twenty-five hundred dollars, nothing small in this bill of uncle sam's for equipment, especially when you remember he has twenty-seven first and second class battleships in commission, to say nothing of the cruisers, torpedo boats, torpedo boat destroyers, submarine monitors, gun boats, supply ships, training and receiving ships, about seventy in all. for the naval flags the united states uses up about forty-three thousand dollars worth of material every year; pays seventeen thousand dollars for wages, and produces an average of about sixty thousand flags of four hundred and eight different patterns. the material of which the flag is made must stand severe tests, for there are storms to be weathered and a sixty mile gale can whip average cloth to tatters. a strip of bunting two inches wide must have a strength of sixty-five pounds when proved on the testing machine. two inches of filling must stand forty-five pounds. the bunting is american made and all wool and nineteen inches wide. it is washed for twenty-four hours in soap and fresh water and next day given a like treatment with salt water. then for ten days it is exposed to the weather, thirty hours of sunshine being stipulated. the largest united states flag, x , costs the government only forty dollars. there is a statute law which prohibits the use of our flag for advertising purposes or decorating. where better can you realize the beauty of the american flag, and that which it represents, than when you see it flying over school houses or play grounds? the respect paid by the school children to the flag by rising and standing and with right hand raised to a line with their forehead while they pledge allegiance to their flag is most appropriate, but the pledge that appeals to me most is that for the children of the primary schools, which is, "i give my head and my heart to god and my country, one language and one flag." when you see the hands of ten, nay, twenty, nationalities raised, while foreign tones mingle with those of our children expressing allegiance to one flag, where better can you realize the beauty of "old glory?" and though your word, your flag, your tiny nosegay may fall into the hands of just a "little dirty fellow, in a dirty part of town, where the windy panes are sooty and the roofs are tumble down; where the snow falls back in winter, and the melting, sultry heat, comes like pestilence in the summer through the narrow dirty street," you are giving into his hands the flag you would have him love, and in later years honor and defend. the sons of the revolution print these regulations: "the flag should not be hoisted before sunrise, nor allowed to remain up after sunset. "at sunset spectators should stand at attention and uncover during the playing of 'star spangled banner.' military men are required to do so by regulation. "when the national colors are passing on parade, or in review, the spectator should, if walking, halt; if sitting, arise and stand at attention, and uncover. "in placing the flag at half staff, it should first be hoisted to the top of the staff and then lowered to position, and preliminary to lowering from half staff it should be first raised to the top." there is one general rule for the care of the flag which should always be remembered. "treat the flag of your country with respect--this is the fundamental idea. whatever is disrespectful is forbidden in dealing with symbols of national existence. do not let it be torn; if it should become snagged or torn accidentally, mend it at once. do not let the flag be used in any way dishonorable." i once heard of a flag used to cover the floor of a stage when an officer of the navy present took up the flag, saying: "i will never allow anyone to stand on the flag while i am present." the national flag is raised on school buildings on all national or state holidays and on anniversaries of memorable events in our country's history. most all schools now know the star spangled banner and when it is brought forward every pupil rises and gives a military salute and distinctly repeats: "i pledge allegiance to my flag and to the republic for which it stands, one nation, indivisible, with liberty and justice to all." the eye of the home-comer catches sight of the large american flag which floats from a steel pole feet high at mt. claire, new jersey, before even he sees the statue of liberty. here's our love to you, flag of the free and flag of the tried and true; here's our love to your streaming stripes and your stars in a field of blue; native or foreign, we're children all of the land over which you fly, and native or foreign, we love the land for which it were sweet to die. on june , , in old independence hall, philadelphia, congress adopted the following resolution: resolved, that the flag of the thirteen united states be thirteen stripes, alternate red and white; that the union be thirteen stars, white in a blue field, representing a new constellation, the stars to be arranged in a circle. it was thirty-seven years before the song to immortality, the name of our star spangled banner, was written. end of the revolution. by rev. thomas b. gregory. the last battle of the revolutionary war was fought at blue lick, kentucky, august , . england died hard, and in ways that were far from being in strict keeping with international law tried to postpone the final surrender as long as she could. it was in consequence of such tactics that the battle of blue lick was fought. on the th of august, , a force of several hundred canadians and wyandotte indians laid siege to bryan's station, some five miles from the present city of lexington, the capital of the famous blue grass region. the next day a party of frontiersmen, commanded by daniel boone, john todd and stephen trigg, hastened to the rescue, notwithstanding the fact that they were greatly outnumbered by the enemy. upon reaching the near neighborhood of the station a council of war was held to determine upon the line of attack. boone's advice was to march silently up the river and fall upon the rear of the enemy, while, at the same time, the main attack should be delivered in front. unfortunately, this sensible advice was spoiled by the rash action of a major named mcgray, who dashed his horse into the river, shouting: "let all who are not cowards follow me." of course, mcgray's action was madness, but it was a madness that became instantly contagious, and soon most of the men were fording the stream hard after the rash major. crossing without molestation they reached the top of the ridge, when their troubles began in dead earnest. from front and flanks they received a deadly fire from the indians and their canadian allies. they had been ambushed, and the invisible foe shot them down like dogs. outnumbered three to one, and presently quite surrounded, they fought like the brave men they were until they realized that to remain longer was to be annihilated, whereupon they broke through the fiery cordon and escaped as best they could. sixty-seven kentuckians were killed outright and many of the wounded were afterward massacred. the loss of the canadians and wyandottes was never known, as they carried away their killed and wounded. but the redmen made no more trouble for kentucky. the treaty of peace deprived them of their british backing, and the united states was left to deal with them after its own way. the memory of the brave fight that was put up by the handful of frontiersmen lingered with them, and, with no hope of help from england, they gave the kentuckians a grand letting alone. such, in brief, is the story of the last battle of the war of the revolution. beginning away up in massachusetts, the great struggle ended at blue lick, kentucky, a region that was an unknown wilderness when the struggle began. indian legends counties of georgia bearing indian names. seven of the counties in georgia have been named to perpetuate the memory of the first american, the indian. of peculiar interest is the derivation and meaning of the names of these counties. _catoosa_: gatusi in cherokee language and means "mountain." _chattahoochee_: (creek: _chatu_ "rock" _hutchas_ "mark," "design": "pictured rocks"). a former lower creek town on the upper waters of chattahoochee river to which it gave its name; seemingly in the present harris county, georgia. so called from some pictured rocks at that point. _chatooga_: (also chatuga, a corruption of the cherokee tsatugi, possibly meaning "he drank by sips," or "he has crossed the stream and come out on the other side," but more likely of foreign origin). _cherokee_: the tribal name is a corruption of _tsalagi_ or _tsaragi_, the name by which they commonly called themselves, and which may be derived from the choctaw _chilukki_, "cave people," in allusion to the numerous caves in their mountain country. _coweta_: (kawita). the name of the leading tribe among the lower creeks, whose home was at one time on the ocmulgee, and later on the western side of chattahoochee below the falls. according to one old creek tradition the name means "those who follow us," and was given them by the kasihta indians, another creek tribe who traditionally marched in advance when the creeks invaded alabama and georgia. _muscogee_: (_muscogee_, properly _maskoki_) meaning unknown. its derivation has been attributed to an algonquian term signifying "swamp" or "open marshy land." muscogee is the name by which the dominant tribe of the creek confedracy knows itself and is known to other tribes. _oconee_: was the name of a tribe which anciently lived on oconee river, but subsequently moved first to the east bank of the chattahoochee and later to florida where it found a nucleus of the people later known as seminoles. oconee, their chief town, was situated, according to hawkins, about four miles below milledgeville. weekachumpa, their chief, known to the english as long king, and one of his warriors were among the indians assembled to welcome oglethorpe when he arrived in georgia in .--compiled by mrs. j. s. lowrey. story of early indian days. a pretty story of early times in america is that of the restoration of a little girl to her parents by the indians. it is quoted from currey's "story of old fort dearborn," by the new york post. the child, who was nine years old at the time of her capture in western pennsylvania, was well treated, came to regard the chief and his mother with love and reverence, learned their language and customs, and almost forgot her own. at the end of four years, this chief was invited by a colonel who was very popular with the red men to bring the girl to a council fire at ft. niagara. he accepted the invitation upon condition that there should be no effort to reclaim the child. when the boat in which the chief and his captive had crossed the niagara river touched the bank, the girl sprang into the arms of her waiting mother. the chief was deeply moved. "she shall go," he said. "the mother must have her child again. i will go back alone." in the words of her daughter-in-law, who wrote of this period many years afterward: "with one silent gesture of farewell he turned and stepped on board the boat. no arguments or entreaties could induce him to remain at the council; but having gained the other side of the niagara, he mounted his horse, and with his young men was soon lost in the depths of the sheltered forests." the girl became the wife of john kinzie, "chicago's pioneer." [illustration: chief vann house, built by david vann, a cherokee chief, prior to .] chief vann house. at the foot of one of the highest peaks of cohuttah mountains in north georgia, there stood, one late autumn day, an indian girl, the daughter of a cherokee chief, and her half-breed lover. as they talked she told him how the young men of her tribe hated him and how they taunted her about her pale faced lover, and told her he would be cruel and false to her. the old chiefs had told her of the great white chief, desoto, who had built the fort on this very mountain where they stood, when he rested in his journey from the indian village, chiaha (the place where the city of rome, ga., now stands). they told her how cruelly his followers had treated her people, tearing down their wigwams, desecrating their graves, in their search for tau-lan-neca (yellow money) and they warned her that he belonged to that same cruel race. he answered her, his heart swelling with love for his father's people, that they were not false and cruel but kind and good. he told her of his recent trip to washington where he had gone as interpreter for their great chief, ridge, who loved the white people. he said they had seen the great white father and he had talked kindly to them and had advised them to sell their lands to the white people who would pay them well for it and would give them lands just as beautiful in the far west, which would be theirs as long as "grass grew and water ran." he told her that if her people should be guided by chief ridge, and go to this far away land, he, too, would go with them and try to make her happy among her own people. if they did not go he would stay among them and build her a house like the white people lived in, a house good and strong that would last as long as their love, which would be forever. (it seems a prophecy for it is still standing). he kept his promise to her and the house he dreamed of was built. what a marvelous thing it was to those savage people to watch the building of this house, with its carved mantels that reach to the ceiling, and the wonderful spiral stairway that excites the admiration of the skilled workmen of today and the hinges of the doors of beaten brass. this palefaced lover little dreamed of what the future held in store, that he (david vann) should become a chief of his nation and go again to washington with chief ridge and bring back to their tribe the purchase money for their lands, how dissensions had arisen among them in regard to the division of the money, how he buried the money near his home and how the wife that loved him begged him not to tell her where he buried it for fear the indians would come and torture her and make her tell where it was buried. little did he dream that he and chief ridge would be basely murdered by the indians. this house has never been known by any other name but the chief vann house. it is impossible to find out the exact time it was built, as there were no white people living here at that time. white, in his georgia statistics, says that when the moravian mission was started in spring place that chief vann gave them the land for their buildings near his house and sent his children to their school. that was in , so the house had been built before that date. judge george glenn in a published article has told of chief vann's later life, his marriage to an indian princess, his visits to washington, his receiving and burying the gold, and his murder by the indians, all of which is authentic. the material for the house was said to have been carried on the backs of indian ponies from savannah, ga., but other accounts say that chief vann taught the indians to make and burn the brick there. thus ends the romance, mingled truth, and tradition, but the house in fairly good repair is still standing in spring place, ga., today. this little town was the only place of any size at that time. in the jail at this place john howard payne was imprisoned, accused of being a spy. the jail is still standing.--mrs. warren davis, historian, john milledge chapter, d. a. r., dalton, ga. indian tale. "grandfather, tell me about the indians," said little annie daniel, as she climbed upon the arm of a large rocking chair in which mr. abel daniel was sitting, dreaming of the past with its many varied experiences. the person thus addressed had even now reached his fourscore years and ten, yet his mind was keenly alert, his carriage erect and his immaculate dress revealed the "gentlemen of the old school." washington county, georgia, was proud to claim so distinguished a son, so valiant a hero and such a cultured gentleman. capt. daniel had survived three noted wars; the "war of ," the indian and the mexican, in all of which he had been a true soldier and had won honor for his home and native state. his gallant service in the wars with the british and the mexicans interested the grown people. how he helped general gaines and his men capture the little village in clay county on the banks of the chattahoochee, which is now called fort gaines and drive the indians back into florida, always delighted the young boys and his lullabies sung in the indian language pleased little annie, but tonight she begged for a real indian story. "well, dear, i shall tell you of one which relates to my own life and is really a great part of it," said grandfather. "after helping to expel the indians from our borders, i decided to go live with them for a time in order to learn their crafts and become better acquainted with a people whom i believed to be honest and loyal." "having crossed the border and tied my handkerchief to a leafy branch and waived it aloft as a flag of truce, they quickly responded and gave me a most cordial welcome. during the seven years of my stay with them, i was known as the 'white man' and treated as some superior being. the best of all they possessed was at my command and they counted nothing too dear that would add to my pleasure. i was made a sharer in all their hunting and fishing sports, having been presented with one of their very best ponies. "all went well until one day i discovered that the chief was plotting a marriage between me and his beautiful daughter. as a marriage dowry he would present us with several barrels of specie, thus showing in what esteem he held me. i could never think of marrying this indian maiden so i at once began to plan my escape. the next day i rode my pony as far as possible, taking my gun along as a pretense of hunting, but returned the following day with my game. after letting my pony rest a day i started out a second time to test her strength still further. this time i stayed two days and two nights and decided my pony was equal to any undertaking. after a second rest we started out the third time and made a safe flight across the line to my own people. "before reaching the old homestead a neighbor had informed me of my father's death and my mother's total blindness. the dear old soul was seated on the porch as i rode up; near her was a water bucket over which was hanging a long handled gourd. just as her feeble hands reached out for the gourd, i handed it to her, saying; 'here it is, mother.' she recognized my voice as that of her baby boy and fainted away. from that day i never left my aged mother, but tried to make amends for the sorrow my wanderings must have caused, by attending to her every want and making her last days as comfortable, happy and free from care as ever a loving child could. "my indian pony was treasured as a relic of the years spent with the indians and my fortunate escape from the hand of his daughter. "but my little girl is getting sleepy, so kiss grandfather good night, and he'll tell you more another time."--mrs. annie (daniel) clifton, stone castle chapter, d. a. r. william white and daniel boone. in , william white and daniel boone settled at what is now known as bull bradley springs in tennessee. the indian trail from the hiwassee town northward, passed near this home. one evening, two of the boys, aged ten and twelve, went out into the forest to cut and prepare wood for the night. when darkness came on and the boys did not return, a search was made and their axe was found leaning against a small hickory tree which the boys must have been cutting down when they stopped their work. signs of indians were discovered. these were followed next morning and were found to lead into the indian trail. there seemed to have been a large party of the indians going northward. the pursuers failed to overtake the indians and despite all their efforts were unable to rescue the boys. years afterward an officer in wisconsin had published, for the benefit of any relatives of the parties concerned, that two white men, past middle age, had been found with one of the northwest tribes. these men had forgotten all knowledge of the english language. they remembered that they had been captured by indians while engaged in cutting wood and that their captors had brought them many miles, but in what direction they were uncertain. this description, though meager, made all certain that these men were no others than the lost sons of william white. they had become so thoroughly "indianized" that they refused to leave the tribe and come back to their people. on the day of the boys' capture, william white was getting out a rock for a hearth. these rocks were cut from a single stone, and were called "hath-stones." when no trace of his boys could be found, mr. white went on with his hearth making, laying the "hath-stone" in its place, and on it he carved the date of their capture. the stone is still to be seen in a hearth in the home now located where white's house stood. the date and names are plainly visible. some of white's descendants still reside in the historical home.--roberta g. turner, xavier chapter, d. a. r., rome, ga. a legend of lover's leap, columbus, georgia. one mile above the city of columbus, georgia, the chattahoochee's turbid waters dash, fret and foam in angry surges over and among a group of giant bowlders forming what was called by the red men of the forest, "tumbling falls." from the eastern bank of the river rises a rugged, perpendicular cliff to a lofty height, which is covered almost to its verge by majestic trees, vines and shrubs of a semi-tropical growth. this is crowned by a colossal bowlder of dark granite, and from its summit is one of the most magnificent and picturesque views of river scenery that nature has produced. this is "lover's leap," famous in song and story; where the "young eagle" of the cowetas clasped to his brave heart the bright "morning star" of the cussetas and leaped into the deep, restless waters below. the alabama hills, forming a long, undulating chain, and covered with verdant beauty, arise across the river, which, below the precipice, flows gently onward until it reaches the city limits, where the waters again dash with insane fury over clustering bowlders and form the coweta falls, which are there arrested and utilized by the palefaced stranger to turn thousands of looms and spindles for his own use and profit. a short distance below the leap is the "silver wampum," a lovely stream of pellucid water, which rises beneath a clump of sweet-scented bays and magnolias, and flows and quivers in sunlight and moonlight, like a silver girdle, along its green and flowerdecked banks, until it reaches a rocky bed, where it falls by a succession of cascades, which form an exquisite fringe to the "wampum" before dropping into the chattahoochee. there the beautiful "morning star" would often sit indulging in love dreams, as she beaded the gay moccasins, bags and wampums, while the "young eagle" followed the chase. there he would bring her the first fruits and flowers of the season. from some warmer climate unknown to his rivals he would often procure boughs of the fragrant calycanthus, queenly magnolias and sweet-smelling jasmines, and secretly adorn this sylvan retreat in anticipation of her coming, long before the native buds began to expand their beauty. frequently she would be startled in her blissful reveries by the rolled petal of a magnolia falling like a great snow-flake at her feet. this she recognized as a private dispatch from "the young eagle," cohamoteker (blow gun) to apprise her of his approach and hastily arising she would eagerly await his coming. at a later date, when duty required her attentions at the wigwam, she would frequently find rare products of the chase suspended without. this was always prepared with unusual care, and relished by her father, the chief, who was too old to indulge often in his favorite pastime, and was somewhat dependent upon his braves for many luxuries of that kind. consequently, he did not question the source from which they came, but when particularly pleased with his repast he would say: "yaho hadjo (crazy wolf) is good. in his wigwam will be found the richest venison and rarest birds of the air. he is a worthy mate for the morning star!" when a child she had been betrothed to young eagle, the noble son of the coweta chief. their love had grown with their growth and strengthened with their strength, until it had reached an intensity where death appeared preferable to a life apart. a rivalry had suddenly sprung up between the two tribes, who had so long smoked the calumet of peace together. the pledged word of the veterans was broken, and a feud more deadly than that of the montagues and capulets then existed between the brave cowetas and cussetas, who were of equal prowess. the aged chief of the latter could no longer follow the warpath with the alacrity of his youth, but by the council fire all did reverence to his eloquence, and were ready to rally at his battle-cry. his lion-hearted sons, the pride of a war-like sire, had gone in the vigor of their early manhood to the spirit land and the chieftain stood alone, like a giant oak of the forest, stately and grand in age and decay, with the once vigorous branches all leafless and dead save one, which still flourished in pristine beauty. his daughter, with her starry eyes and step as fleet and graceful as a wild fawn, was the idol of his heart. in childhood he had called her "minechee" (smart, active.) as she grew in stature and beauty, twining herself more closely around his heart, he called her "the morning star," for she would arise with the birds, and often waken him from slumber with songs and merry laughter while preparing for his comfort. by the latter name she was known among the tribe. "the morning star is up and shames the laggard to the chase! he should have been over the hills and far away." the young warriors likened her to some ideal being, who basked in the smile of the great spirit, and worshiped her with truly loyal hearts. if we could raise the curtain of time, and read the thoughts that agitated the dusky bosoms of those fearless young braves, it would be evident that the affection and attention lavished on their old chief was partially due to their admiration for the bright and beautiful morning star. among her many suitors was yaho hadjo, who had cunningly ingratiated himself into her father's favor, and had long vainly sought the hand and heart of the bright-eyed maiden. in his fierce wrath, he had secretly vowed vengeance against a more successful rival. under the garb of friendship and loyalty to his chief, he had secured a firm footing in his wigwam, and thus constituted himself a spy on the actions of the unsuspecting daughter. she had waited long and patiently, hoping that time would soften the feud and remove every impediment to her union with the peerless young eagle, while he had endeavored to conciliate his tribe by every possible means that a brave warrior could to restore peace to the nation. alas! jealousy, that hydra-headed monster, had completely enslaved the heart of yaho hadjo, and at its bidding he continued to secretly add fresh fuel to each expiring flame until it had reached enormous proportions, and open hostilities seemed inevitable. the lovers no longer dared to meet by day, but beside the silver wampum, when the great spirit marshalled his starry hosts through the blue vaulted sky, they met to renew vows of eternal love. the stealthy footsteps of yaho hadjo had followed the morning star to the trysting place, and his watchful eye had witnessed the tender meeting with the young eagle. the plans of the jealous rival were immediately formed with characteristic craftiness. he then cautiously retraced his steps and sought the presence of his chief. into his ear the wily creature whispered a malignant falsehood of broken faith, treachery and a contemplated raid by the cowetas upon the cussetas. the old warrior's anger was instantly aroused. with all the venom of his nature rankling in his savage heart, he arose to give the war-whoop to his sleeping braves. but yaho hadjo urged extreme caution, saying the young eagle was the ruling spirit and instigator of the intended diabolical assault, and was perhaps now prowling around like a hungry fox with a hope of capturing the morning star. a better and surer plan would be to offer privately a handsome reward for the person or scalp of the young eagle. by that means the villainous savage thought to have his unsuspecting rival cruelly assassinated and his body secretly disposed of without arousing any suspicion of the dark deed among the cowetas. he doubted not the success of his cowardly undertaking; and then, without opposition, he would secure the beautiful maiden for his squaw. he dared not insinuate to the chief that his daughter would have been a willing captive, for he had confidence in her integrity, and knew she would never forsake him to link her fate with his enemy. she had made a promise to this effect, and the morning star never dealt falsely. at the conclusion of yaho hadjo's heartless suggestion, the old man bowed his head in troubled thought for a brief period, and then rising to his full stature, he said: "yes, yes; it is best! go say to my young warriors that he who brings the chief the person or scalp from the dead head of the daring young eagle of the base cowetas, shall wear on his brave heart the morning star of the cussetas." yaho hadjo hastened to arouse a few sleeping braves from their couches and they hurried forth rapidly but noiselessly to the silver wampum. the unsuspecting lovers were totally oblivious of surrounding danger, and loth to separate, they lingered for a last farewell and final embrace, when stealthy footsteps were heard approaching. they gave a startled glance around and beheld yaho hadjo and his followers with uplifted tomahawks rushing madly upon them. minchee threw her arms wildly around her lover. for a brief second the assailants halted, not daring to strike the daughter of their chief. the young eagle clasped her firmly to his bosom and bounded away with the speed of an antelope, he knew not wither. onward, over rocks and dells he flew with his precious burden, her arms thrown protectingly around and above him. upon the narrow defile to the fearful precipice he bore her and then suddenly halted. he thought to release her there, believing she could return safely to her father, but she grappled to him as though her slight arms were hooks of steel. the hot breath of the hated rival was felt upon his cheek, and his tomahawk flashed like a meteor above him. the young eagle gave the would-be assassin one proud, defiant glance, and folding the morning star in a closer embrace, he leaped into the foaming torrent below. yaho hadjo's uplifted weapon fell forward with a sudden impetus which forced him headlong down the lofty pinnacle, among the sharp, rugged bowlders, where his body was afterwards found a mangled, lifeless corpse. the remaining warriors were transfixed with horror and dismay as they gazed wildly into the furious river. to attempt a rescue would have been folly and madness, as no breathing creature could have survived the fall. slowly and sadly they then retraced their steps and silently entered the presence of the childless patriarch. alarmed by the expression of their grief-stricken faces he exclaimed: "where is yaho hadjo? why does the morning star linger in the forest?" the boldest of them dropped his head and answered slowly and hoarsely: "the great spirit has taken her from us to brighten his own beautiful land. she will come no more to gladden our hearts. the morning star will never beam on the hunter's pathway again!" the chief listened in silence, but evidently did not comprehend. an explanation was sternly demanded. at length the sad story was told with all of its tender and heart-rending details. he realized at last his total bereavement, and acknowledged it was the result of yaho hadjo's jealousy and falsehood. fierce and vindictive was the malediction pronounced upon the cowardly murderer. a dead calm followed; then rising and clasping his hands high above his head, he stood for a moment like a splendid bronze statue of despair, and in singularly pathetic tones exclaimed: "minechee! minechee! bright morning star! sole treasure of my aged heart! gone, gone, forever, and i am desolate!" he gave one long, low, piercing wail and tottering as a tree beneath the final stroke of the woodman's axe, he fell prostrate to the earth. his companions exerted themselves in behalf of the stricken chieftain and partially succeeded in restoring him to consciousness, but he refused to be comforted and declined all nourishment. after a prolonged interval of silence, he arose, quitted their presence and slowly descended the hill to a ravine in the bluffs and seated himself. he signified a desire to be alone. he wished to humble himself before the great spirit, that he might take pity on him. finding he could not be persuaded to leave the place, his braves stretched a mat above his bowed head and placing food and water within reach they left him alone in his sorrow. a few days after they found him occupying the same position, but cold and lifeless.--mrs. mary cook. indian mound, early county, georgia. on the outskirts of blakely, county seat of early county, and commanding a view of a beautiful stretch of landscape, rises the famous old indian mound, supposed to have been made by the creek indians, who hunted and fished and roved so happily through the tall pines and magnolias, the great oaks and low marshes. while tradition associates this particular mound with the creeks and cherokees, it has been argued by scientists that it must have been built by a race of people who preceded the indians and were partly civilized; however, that may be, the visitor to early has missed a rare bit of romance and historic thought, who fails to see the indian mound, reminiscent as it is of the sacredness of a brave race, now almost extinct. the mound is fully seventy-five feet high and is almost five hundred feet in circumference. it is covered with large trees of oak and the same dense foliage of bamboo, pine and cedar as that which grows so profusely over the surrounding country as far as the eye can reach. the picturesque and fertile valleys below have now become a favorite place for pleasure seekers each spring, for picnic grounds and camping, and the indian mound cannot fail to impress the most heedless as it rises mysteriously and majestic. parties in search of buried treasures have penetrated the mound to a depth of fifty feet, but nothing has ever been found except human bones. then later scientists have sunk a shaft in the very center of this mound to a great depth and have reached a mass of bones five feet in thickness. nothing to throw light upon the builders of this huge old relic has ever been unearthed but bones, and the people of the county, with interested visitors, have nearly all associated the site with the indians who inhabited so thickly this part of georgia before early county was created. early county was created by legislature, october , and included then the counties of baker, calhoun, decatur, miller, mitchell and dougherty. it was named in honor of george peter early, chief executive of georgia in . governor early, previous to the purchase of these lands from the indians, had rendered great service to the white settlers here in protecting them from the indians, in both their treaties with the indians and in protection to their lives. in gratitude for this service early county was named. while it has never been positively decided whether the mound builders or the indians are the original makers of indian mound, it stands a grim memorial of a dead and gone race, worthy of a visit, with its great trees yellow with age, and weeds and moss overgrown, the only epitaphs to the mystery within its depths.--mrs. walter thomas, regent, governor peter early chapter, d. a. r. storiette of states derived from indian names. so many states are derived from indian names, so i write this storiette, using all that have indian origin. illinois--tribe of red men. alabama--here we rest. arizona--small springs. arkansas--bend in the smoky water. connecticut--long river. idaho--gun of the mountain. indiana--indian's land. iowa--beautiful land. kansas--smoky water. kentucky--at the head of the river. massachusetts--place of blue hills. michigan--fish wier. mississippi--great father of water. missouri--muddy (river). nebraska--water valley. north and south dakota, allies: ohio--beautiful river. oklahoma--home of the red men. tennessee--river with a great bend. texas--friends. utah--ute. wisconsin--gathering of the waters. wyoming--great plains. once upon a time a tribe of red men (illinois) set out to find a plan of the blue hills (massachusetts.) their canoes were safely launched in the long river (connecticut). at the bend in the smoky water (arkansas) they were surprised to see a canoe coming their way and that it was guided by a maid minnehaha, the beautiful daughter of uakomis of the ute (utah) tribe of indians. "young maid" said the gallant chief hiawatha, "is this where the indians land?" (indiana). "yes," replied the maid, "this water valley (nebraska) is the home of the red men" (oklahoma). then spoke the chief, who had at once been attracted to the maid: "this is indeed a beautiful land (iowa) and i dare say you are the gem of the mountain" (idaho). the maid smiled and said: "i hope we will be friends" (texas.) "let us row to the head of the river" (kentucky). as they drifted near the bank they decided to tarry by the beautiful river (ohio). "here we rest" (alabama), said hiawatha and whispered words of love. as they returned to the other members of their tribe, who had pitched their tents on the mountain side by some small springs (arizona) each man looked up as the two approached and read the happiness that was theirs, by their smiling faces. "we will return" said hiawatha, "to nakomis and his allies, of the great plains near the river" (missouri), "the great father of waters (mississippi), and there on the banks of the sky-tinted water (minnesota) we will pitch our wigwam near the fish wier (michigan) and there watch the gathering of the waters (wisconsin) and live in peace and happiness until we journey to our happy hunting ground."--mrs. will chidsey, rome, ga., xavier chapter, d. a. r. sequoia, inventor of the cherokee alphabet. the invention of the cherokee alphabet by sequoia, or george guess, in , was the most remarkable achievement in the history of the indian tribes of america. sequoia was in appearance and habits, a full cherokee, though he was the grandson of a white man. he was born in tennessee about , and he lived at one time near chiaha, now rome, georgia, but for some years before the cherokees were moved to the west, he lived at alpine, in chattooga county, on what was later known as the samuel force plantation. this american cadmus was an illiterate cherokee indian. he could neither write or speak english, and in his invention of the alphabet he had to depend entirely on his own native resources. he was led to think on the subject of writing the cherokee language, by a conversation which took place one evening at santa. some young men were remarking on the superior talents of the white people. they saw that the whites could "put a talk" on paper and send it to any distance, and it would be understood by those who received it. this seemed strange to the indians, but sequoia declared he could do it himself; and picking up a flat stone, he scratched on it with a pin, and after a few minutes read to his friends a sentence which he had written, by making a mark for each word. this produced only a laugh among his companions. but the inventive powers of sequoia's mind were now aroused to action, and nothing short of being able to write the cherokee language would satisfy him. in examining the language he found that it is composed of the various combinations of about ninety mono-sylables and for each of these sylables he formed a character. some of the characters were taken from an english spelling book, some are english letters turned upside down, some are his own invention; each character in the cherokee alphabet stands for a monosylable. from the structure of the cherokee dialect, the syllabic alphabet is also in the nature of a grammar, so that those who know the language by ear, and master the alphabet, can at once read and write. owing to the extreme simplicity of this system, it can be acquired in a few days. after more than two year's work his system was completed. explaining to his friends his new invention, he said, "we can now have speaking papers as well as white men." but he found great difficulty in persuading his people to learn it; nor could he succeed, until he went to arkansas and taught a few persons there, one of whom wrote a letter to a friend in chiaha and sent it by sequoia, who read it to the people. this excited much curiosity. here was "talk in the cherokee language," come from arkansas sealed in a paper. this convinced many, and the newly discovered art was seized with avidity by the people of the tribe, and, from the extreme simplicity of the plan, the use of it soon became general. any one, on fixing in his memory the names and forms of the letters, immediately possessed the art of reading and writing. this could be acquired in one day. the cherokees, (who, as a people, had always been illiterate) were, in the course of a few months, able to read and write in their own language. they accomplished this without going to school. the cherokee council adopted this alphabet in , and in a short time the bible and other books were printed in the language, and a newspaper, _the cherokee phoenix_, devoted entirely to the interests of the indians, was published, in , at new echota, the capitol of the cherokee nation, situated about five miles west of calhoun, in gordon county, georgia. this paper was edited by chief elias bondinot, one of the signers of the new echota treaty. sequoia spent much of his time with his kindred who had already gone to the west, and a few years after the final removal of the cherokees from georgia, he was instrumental in establishing several newspapers in their new home. this indian remains today the only man, in the long history of the aborigines, who has done anything for the real and lasting benefit of the race. his cherokee alphabet is in general use by every indian tribe in america. scientists have honored him by naming the largest tree that grows in california the sequoia gigantia. this name was given to the big red wood tree by dr. eulicher, the famous hungarian botanist, who was born and died . the tree is native to california and is the largest known, often measuring thirty to thirty-six feet in diameter, height from two hundred to four hundred feet, bark is often fifteen inches thick. in , a specimen of the sequoia gigantia came in a letter from california. the tiny sprig was five inches high and one-eighth of an inch in diameter, and was planted on myrtle hill cemetery in rome, georgia. it is now ( ) about thirty inches high and one inch in diameter. the sequoia gigantia is an evergreen monument to the american cadmus, a one-time resident of rome, georgia. in his honor, oklahoma has named a county sequoyah.--beatrice o'rear treadaway, xavier chapter, d. a. r. the boy and his arrow. the barbadoes or windward islands have long been the territory of great britain and her colonies were planted there as early as on the main land of america. early in the eighteenth century dissatisfaction arose concerning taxes and other injustices, and some of these colonists removed to the continent, chiefly to virginia and the carolinas. among these was edmond reid, with his family, landing at norfolk, virginia. he brought with him quite a number of slaves. these slaves were remarkable in many ways. they must have been part carib; they had thin lips, straight noses and arched feet. they were erect and alert. some of these slaves in the fourth generation came to my mother and were above the ordinary african and were so dark they evidently had no caucasian blood. john reid, son of edmond reid, married elizabeth steppe, and served in the revolution. james, the son of john and elizabeth, was born during the revolution, february st, . archery was a great sport in those days, handed down no doubt from our british ancestry and kept alive by the bows and arrows of the indians, some of whom were still among the neighbors in the colonies. at twelve years of age james reid was shooting arrows, and as an experiment shot one up straight toward the sky. quickly it went up, but more quickly, with accelerated speed it returned and pierced the eye of the little archer. painfully the arrow (in this case a pin point) was taken from the eye. youth and a fine constitution combined to heal the wound without disfigurement of the eye, and so he seemed to have two perfect eyes, while one was sightless. our young republic was just beginning to try her powers when england provoked the war of . james reid, now in the prime of manhood, enlisted when the british threatened new orleans. as many others did, he left his wife and two little ones at home under the protection of slaves. a few days after his return from the war, on a summer day, a pain came to the eye pierced so long ago by the arrow. the local physician was sent for, but his lotions and applications failed to give relief. at that time no surgeon, except those perhaps in france, understood surgery of the eye. so nature took her course, seemingly a cruel, dreadful course. the suffering man could neither sleep nor eat and finally could not stay in the house. he went out under the trees in the grove and when unable to stand rolled around on the grass in great agony. his wife and children and servants followed him with cold water and pillows--a sorrowing and helpless procession. after several days and nights the abscess in his eye bursted and gave instant relief. all the fluids of the eye escaped leaving it sightless and shrunken, and so it remained ever after. i never see a shrunken eye but what i recall the old man, so spirited, so cheery, so kind, our own grandfather who passed away many years ago--mrs. r. h. hardaway, regent, sarah dickinson chapter, d. a. r. indian spring, georgia. romantic discovery. in , when the country in this vicinity was clothed in its swaddlings of nature, and the red man and wild beasts alone trod the hills and valleys west of the ocmulgee, a solitary huntsman was wending his way north, south of the towaliga, about where the public road to forsyth is now being turnpiked. the party was a model of his class--large, muscular, completely equipped, a frame strong in its every development, and a general contour which indicated that he knew nothing of fear, and dreaded not the dangers of the wilderness in which he was traveling. a deep melancholy on his face, the flashing of his dark eyes, and an occasional sight, evidenced he carried an "iron in his soul," and was actuated by a purpose that knew no turning. this was gabriel dunlap--a georgian. his object in thus absenting himself from society will be seen hereafter. dunlap was a careful and wary hunter, and in this hitherto untrodden field was specially on the alert. he knew that dangers lurked around, and was cautious at every step. while thus walking and watching, he was startled by the war whoop of the savages, which seemed to burst from every ambush around him. he knew his retreat was cut off, for a hundred savages emerged from the thickets lining the towaliga. therefore, but one course was left to be pursued--that of taking a due north direction. leaving the river and crossing the hills, he ran without any purpose beyond making his escape. and thus he ran for miles--as the yells of his pursuers would subside, hope bracing him up, again depressed by the reiteration of the voices of his enemies. at length, when almost ready to fall from exhaustion and thirst--his vitals scorched as with fire--hope whispered "a little farther." and soon, overjoyed and exhausted, he was able to spring into a canebrake dark as night, where he slept unconscious of anything that occurred around him. reinforcements. when he awoke, yet half dreaming, dunlap gazed about him some time before he could "realize the situation." with great effort he arose, staggered forward, but fell against a larger stone, and here, to his delight, he heard the trickling of water. quickly he sought to slake his burning thirst, and soon found, and enjoyed, what seemed ice water in a canebrake in august. he drank until every desire for water was satisfied, yet none of the unpleasant feelings that often follow such indulgence were experienced. on the contrary, he felt new life and vigor, and set out to place a greater distance between himself and his enemies. his only safe course he knew, was to travel in a northerly direction, and, after imbibing another copious draught from the welcome fountain, he set out, toiling through the cane that covered the bottom. when he was about reaching the northern edge of this dense retreat, a well known signal greeted his ear. to this he responded. his response was replied to by another signal, when he quickly emerged from the brake, ascended the hill; and on approaching a large oak then standing on the site of the present elder hotel, was greeted thus: "hallo, gabe! whar did you cum from? have you been squattin' in the thicket yonder?" "i'll be smashed," answered dunlap, "if here aint jube cochran. and, jube, i'm gladder to see you than if i had knocked out a panther's eye with old betsey here, and without picking her flint, on a two hundred yard line. cause why--i'm lost and aint nowhar ef you aint some place." and next the two friends met with a hearty shake of hands and a union of warm hearts, such as conventionalities and civilization have long since driven from the brightest spot in georgia. the huntsmen refreshed the inner man, recounted their several recent adventures, and then sought a place of rest, which they soon found among the rocks skirting the river. here they slept until midnight, when the report of a gun aroused them. snuffing danger in the breeze, they at once not only became watchful, but sought to discover the whereabouts of their daring neighbor; and finally, in the darkness, almost ran against two human forms, whether paleface or indian they could not make out, when cochran hailed: "who's thar?" "watson," was the reply, and soon there was another happy greeting; when all four of the party (one a small boy named ben fitzpatrick) walked to the top of the hill between two creeks, and again rested until day break, reciting the customary yarns of the border. douglas watson was about eighteen years of age, six feet in height, and boasted of possessing a well developed muscular frame. his companion, fitzpatrick, was an orphan boy, who had the temerity common to adventurous youth to follow watson in these wilds. seated by their camp fire dunlap explained to watson the invigorating effect the water in the canebrake, at the foot of the hills, had had upon him in his fainting condition the day previous, when the whole party again sought the cooling spring, and, after search, found it. this was indian spring, and this was the first party of whites who are known to have drunk of its water. at this gathering watson admitted to his comrades that about a month previous he had found the spring, but in consequence of its smelling like gunpowder he fled the vicinity. watson and cochran were scouts, sent out by the government in the spring of . fitzpatrick was the shadow of watson; and dunlap divulged to his new friends his history and mission while they lingered around the spring. dunlap's history. to be brief: twelve years previous, during an indian raid in bibb county, a little friend--a ward of his father--was stolen and carried away. then and there, ere the triumphant yells of the foe were silenced, he had registered an oath in heaven, which was baptized by the falling rain, never again to seek peace until he found it in the rescue of "bright eyes"--his lost nora. since that hour his home had been between the towaliga and ocmulgee, and his whole exertion was to find the lost one and restore her to her friends. a battle and retreat. in the morning the party left the spring, traveling down stream, but in a few moments the shoals were reached. here was another mystery, which to watson appeared more wonderful than did the gunpowder spring. they had traveled down stream; of this they were certain; yet they encountered an opposite current, and were amazed. fitzpatrick, however, soon explored the vicinity and discovered the meeting of the waters near the spring. here two creeks, running in almost opposite directions, met fraternally and formed the big sandy, which then flowed in an easterly direction until it united with the ocmulgee. crossing at the foot of the shoals, the party started down the stream, hunting and traveling leisurely. noon found them at a little spring near the present site of tanner's bridge, where they halted, kindled a fire, and prepared to cook the choice bits of game they had secured. here they were again doomed to be disappointed; for suddenly their foe burst upon them in overwhelming numbers. the odds were fearful, but rather than surrender--which would have been death--the contest was entered upon. many heroes whose names emblazon the pages of history never exhibited the coolness and calculating courage of ben fitzpatrick in his first battle. he stood fearlessly by the side of his companions, fighting bravely until cochran fell senseless, having been struck by the war club of an indian. as the indian stooped to scalp his victim, ben plunged his hunting knife to his heart, and, when the brave uttered his death yell, the boy attempted to remove his wounded comrade. at this moment young watson handed ben his gun, gathered up cochran, and crying out "now is our time, ben," ran through the creek into the dark swamp beyond. they were now safe, for deep darkness had fallen, and their enemies feared to pursue them. cochran recovered during the night, but diligent search failed to ascertain anything as to the fate of dunlap; and, warned by the signal smokes of the enemy, the trio started early next morning for the nearest block-house east of the ocmulgee. dunlap and nora. but dunlap was not lost. he was shot through the left shoulder when the attack was first made, fainted and fell, and was scalped and left for dead. he lay hours, until nightfall--half waking, half sleeping and dreaming. suddenly he felt a soft hand bathing his fevered head. he knew this kindness came not from savage hands, nor from the rough goodness of a fellow huntsman, for the sweetness of an angel's breath fanned his face. pain was forgotten, yet he was afraid to move lest the charm should be broken and the vision vanish. half unconscious, he whispered, as if by inspiration, "nora." and the guardian angel hovered about him proved to be the nora for whom he had been searching. she suppressed an involuntary scream as she recognized the object of her compassion, and, laying her hand on the face of her old friend, in a trembling voice said: "oh! my more than brother, have we met at last, after so many long and weary years of separation, each of which has seemed an eternity?" the recognition was mutual, but the meeting was too happy, too full of sacred joy, to be intruded upon. the wounds of dunlap were carefully bound up by nora, after the fashion of her companions from girlhood, and they at once removed as far as possible from the vicinity of the fight. they were not discovered the next morning and then commenced a long and weary journey homeward, which extended through many days. at last they saw the curling smoke arising from their native cabin. here the long lost were greeted with joy, and at an early day there was a wedding--dunlap and nora were united, and at once settled down to the realities of life. in , fearing other molestations from the savages, who were then hostile to the whites, the dunlap family sold their lands in bibb and removed to liberty county, georgia, where, at the present time, many of their children's children may be found occupying high social positions. fate of our heroes. the boy, ben fitzpatrick, grew up to manhood in company with his friend, watson. subsequently he removed to montgomery, ala., where he died a short time since. his career in his adopted state was an honored one, he having served in both branches of the national congress and as governor of the state. governor fitzpatrick was a cousin of mrs. cynthia varner, of indian spring. after the indians were removed from this section, douglas watson settled in monroe county, where he resided until his decease, which occurred a few years ago. of the career of cochran we have been unable to obtain any data. the foregoing history of the discovery of indian spring by the whites is not all fiction. it is an "o'er true tale." "duggie" watson, the hero of the foregoing pages--he who feared the smell of gunpowder when he first looked upon the halfhidden spring, and fled--has often repeated the history as we have given it in our hearing. early settlement. the indians entertained a superstition that it would be unwise for any of their tribe to make a permanent residence near this "healing water" because the noise and gambols of the squaws and papooses would drive the spell from the water. thus, as late as , the visits of the race to the spring, though frequently made, were only temporary, and for a special purpose in each instance. the tents of the red man were always found on the adjacent hills, filled with invalids who were brought to be cured, and again returned to the war path or their hunting grounds. about the date named, gen. wm. mcintosh, a half breed, and a cousin of gov. troup, erected a cabin for his own use, and afterwards spent the summers here with his family. this broke the spell; and subsequently a mr. ollison erected a double-cabin, which was dignified with the title of hotel and for years was the only house of accomodation afforded visitors. the same gentleman afterwards erected a small corn mill, which stood near or on the site of the new mill now being completed by col. h. j. lamar. these were the only improvements made until after the treaty of , and are remembered by a number of our old citizens. the mcintosh cabin and the mill, were destroyed by fire; what became of the hotel which stood upon the site of the north end of the varner house, we cannot state. the "spell" was broken, and both races pitched their tents around the spring annually for a number of years, mingling without open hostility. watson and fitzpatrick continued to act as scouts for the government, making the mcintosh cabin headquarters. among the visitors were messrs. dred and jonathan phillips, of jasper county, who brought a friend that had been afflicted with rheumatism, and unable to walk for years. a short stay served to restore the afflicted to his original health, when the party returned to their homes. while here the phillips brothers observed the excellent condition of the indian stock, which was attributed to the superabundance of cane then covering the extensive bottoms, and, as a speculation, brought over a large drove of cattle to pasture, which was left in the canebrake, but occasionally visited to be salted and inspected. subsequently this movement was interfered with, as we shall show. first outbreak. the rival factions of the creeks were severally headed by mcintosh and napothlehatchie--the latter termed big warrior. another leader with the big warrior clan was hopoethleyoholo, who was said to have been the most brilliant orator of the tribe. through his influence the largest number of the tribe joined big warrior, and he subsequently took an active part in opposing the treaties of and , concluded at indian spring. notwithstanding the factions were bitterly opposed to each other, we have no record of any outbreak occurring until . the phillips brothers were also left undisturbed in their pursuit. the first disturbance occurred in june, , when big warrior, with a party of his braves, entered the stables of mcintosh at night and stole all his horses. the same party also carried off the phillips cattle. when advised of their loss, the phillips brothers gathered their neighbors, and, on being joined by watson and fitzpatrick, pursued and overtook the plunderers about seventy miles lower down the ocmulgee. after a desperate conflict the stock was recovered and hopoethleyoholo made prisoner. this brave refused to smoke the pipe of peace with his captors, and actually spat in the face of the leader of the whites, who tendered the symbol of peace. this act aroused the ire of the whites, who were with difficulty persuaded by watson to spare his life. the discussion among the whites was suddenly disturbed by big warrior, who rushed in with his followers, who had been reinforced, and recaptured the favorite orator. during this second brief struggle dred phillips was shot through the fleshy part of the left arm. the cattle were then driven back to the canebrakes of the big sandy, and again apparent quiet was the rule. but the fires of hatred were only smothered in the breast of big warrior. watson and his companions were conversant with the machinations of the unfriendly chief, and anticipated an outbreak against both the whites and mcintosh party, but no opportunity occurred, and all remained quiet until the war of was inaugurated. in this war the mcintosh party--which had been gradually gaining strength--joined with the forces of the state and government, and big warrior united with the public enemy. the struggle in georgia during the war was bitter, and involved the loss of many whites as well as friendly indians, and a heavy expense to the state. upon the declaration of peace between great britain and the united states, peace again reigned in georgia. at the close of the war the whites again began to resort to the spring, and the sick were gathered from all quarters. the fame of the waters spread, and the wonderful cures effected appeared more like the result of magic than the effects of one of nature's great restorers. in , mrs. c. h. varner, who yet lives in our midst, spent some time here; and the scenes of primitive beauty and interest she then looked upon, and also the incidents that occurred, are distinctly remembered by the venerable lady, as if it were but yesterday. gen. john w. gordon first visited the spring in , and continued to spend a large portion of his time here every year until his death. during the sojourns of this gentleman at indian spring, he contributed largely to the improvements that were made; and especially was his generosity, through a long series of years, exhibited for the benefit of the needy and afflicted. at his decease he left numbers at indian springs who will ever bless his memory for the fruits of the seeds of kindness he was constantly in the habit of sowing. among the early visitors was the veritable "simon suggs," who subsequently became distinguished as a wit and humorist. douglass walton, in his capacity of government scout, continued to make his headquarters here. in , mr. jesse jolley, mr. john lemon, and mrs. freeman, with her husband and family located in butts. the three first named are still living, and are among the most honored citizens of the county. public treaties. prior to , efforts were made by the government to secure possession of the lands in georgia lying west of the ocmulgee. the mcintosh party favored such a treaty, while big warrior and his adherents opposed it. after many consultations between the two parties, favorable conclusions were arrived at, and the pipe of peace was passed. big warrior alone broke the faith thus cemented around the council-fires of his tribe; mcintosh was again faithful, and in , he concluded a treaty with the agents of the government, by which the hunting grounds between the ocmulgee and flint rivers were forever ceded away, excepting a portion of the ward plantation and six hundred and forty acres around the spring. these reservations were made by mcintosh for himself. the first embraced a large body of fertile land and the second the spring, the medical properties of which mcintosh well understood. this treaty was ratified in washington, march d, . this action of mcintosh and his adherents aroused another feud between the rival wings of the tribe, which ended in a fierce battle. a heavy loss was sustained on both sides, the mcintosh party suffering most severely. big warrior was slain, and thus his party were left without a leader. a little later the orator chief and mcintosh met and smoked the calumet. how faithless the first named could prove to this solemn covenant will be shown. in , general mcintosh and joel bailey erected the main building of the indian spring hotel, and opened it for the reception of visitors. this building is still yearly occupied for the purposes originally intended. about the same date other improvements were made, and indian spring became a favorite resort at that day. the visits of the whites increased rapidly, and they sought to secure residences, or camped out; while the indians, now peaceable, also flocked to the "healing water." by an agreement, all parties met at indian spring to consider a second treaty, early in february, . the government agents were protected by united states troops, and large forces of the opposing indian factions were present. the negotiations were conducted in the hotel, and concluded february th, . under this treaty all the indian possessions in georgia were ceded to the whites, and an early removal of the tribe arranged for. the agency of general mcintosh in bringing about this treaty resulted in his death within a few months. when it was announced that the treaty was concluded, hopoethleyoholo seized the occasion to give vent to his long pent-up wrath. the indians of both the old factions were present in large numbers. all were excited. at last the orator chief mounted the large rock yet seen at the south end of the varner house, and gave vent to his feelings and purposes in the following characteristic talk: "brothers, the great spirit has met here with his painted children of the woods and their paleface brethren. i see his golden locks in the sunbeams; he fans the warrior's brow with his wings and whispers sweet music in the winds; the beetle joins his hymn and the mocking bird his song. you are charmed! brothers, you have been deceived! a snake has been coiled in the shade and you are running into his open mouth, deceived by the double-tongue of the paleface chief (mcintosh), and drunk with the fire-water of the paleface. brothers, the hunting grounds of our fathers have been stolen by our chief and sold to the paleface. whose gold is in his pouch? brothers, our grounds are gone, and the plow of the paleface will soon turn up the bones of our fathers. brothers, are you tame? will you submit? hopoethleyoholo says no!" then turning to mcintosh, who was standing with the commissioners at a window a few feet distant, he continued: "as for you, double-tongued snake, whom i see through the window of the paleface, before many moons have waned your own blood shall wash out the memory of this hated treaty. brothers, i have spoken." by this treaty the spring became the property of the state and the ceded land was laid out in lots in , the commonwealth reserving ten acres around the spring for the benefit of her citizens then and thereafter. the act establishing butts county was passed in . the village of indian spring was incorporated by legislative enactment in , and in , a second act changed the name to mcintosh and extended the limits of the incorporation. death of mcintosh. general mcintosh and family removed to his plantation on the chattahoochee, and evidently rested secure. but the avenger was on the war path, and the distinguished chieftain, who had rendered the whites such signal service, was doomed. in compliance with the advice of hopoethleyoholo, a secret council was held, at which one hundred braves were selected to secure the vengeance desired, and these, headed by the wily orator, set out westward. when near his residence, mcintosh and his son-in-law, hawkins, were seen by their hidden foe riding together. "they could then have been easily killed," says white's statistics, "but their lives were spared for the moment to preserve a consistency so common in all plans of the indians. they had determined to kill mcintosh in his own yard, in the presence of his family, and to let his blood run upon the soil of that reservation which had been secured to him by the treaty." from the same authority we learn mcintosh rode home unconscious of danger, while the savages prepared for their work. lightwood was procured to fire the buildings. about three o'clock the premises were surrounded, and it was not until the torch had been applied to the outbuildings that the sleepers were aroused. chilly mcintosh, the chief's son--who is yet living--escaped through a window of one of the outhouses, and, running the gauntlet, swam the river. general mcintosh, upon discovering his assailants, barricaded the door and stood near it when it was forced. he fired on them, and at that moment one of his steadfast friends, toma tustinugse, fell upon the threshold riddled with balls. the chief then retreated to the second story, with four guns in his hand, which he continued to discharge from a window. he fought with great courage, and, aware that his end was near, determined to sell his life as dearly as possible. he was at this time the only occupant of the burning house; for his two wives, peggy and susannah, who had been dragged into the yard, were heard imploring the savages not to burn him up, but to get him out of the house, and shoot him, as he was a brave man and an indian like themselves. mcintosh came down to the first floor, where he fell pierced with many balls. he was then seized and dragged into the yard. while lying there, the blood gushing from his wounds, he raised himself on one arm and surveyed his murderers with looks of defiance, and it was while so doing he was stabbed to the heart by an ocfuskee indian. the chief was scalped and the buildings plundered and burned. the party then sought for hawkins, whom they also killed. his body was thrown into the river. an indian elopement. the family of general mcintosh spent the summer of , at indian spring, where his two youngest daughters, who had been highly educated, spent their time in associating alternately with the dusky maidens of their tribe and their palefaced sisters. during the visit one of the sisters created a decided sensation by eloping with an indian lover. a gentleman now residing in the vicinity who at that time was a little boy, whose parents were camped at the spring, was at the mcintosh cabin--then situated on the lot north of the varner hotel--when the occurrence took place. there were hundreds of indians camped on the adjacent hills--the friendly party on the south side of the creek and the adherents of hypoethleyoholo on the north bank. the lover was a leading chief of the latter party, and the match was bitterly opposed by the mcintosh family and their adherents who keenly remembered the sad events of the previous year; but the young lovers, who had long since determined upon their course, cared not for opposition and well arranged their plans. on a bright sunday morning our little white friend--now an aged and respected citizen--was swinging in the cabin with the two girls when an unusual commotion in the yard attracted the attention of all, and they rushed to the door. the young girl's favorite pony was hitched outside. coming up the hill from the creek was seen the determined lover, mounted, and accompanied by a score of his braves. on seeing him approach, his intended rushed into the cabin, and, amidst the tears and vehement protestations of her mother and sister, who were weeping bitterly, she rapidly cast off the habiliments of civilization and arrayed herself in a complete indian costume. this accomplished, she turned to her weeping friends, and after much talk in the language of her tribe, she embraced them without shedding a tear, and rushed out, kissing her little friend, who was gazing upon the scene with wonder. the lover and his escort were drawn up near the gate; not a word was said, and the girl sprang upon her pony and took her place in the line behind her intended. silently the party then moved down the hill, crossed the creek, and were soon out of sight. they were legally married at lawrenceville, gwinnett county, georgia, and the union was a happy and prosperous one.--_jackson, (ga.,) argus_. [illustration: to the fifteenth annual conference of the georgia daughters of the american revolution in augusta assembled mrs. s.w. foster state regent this partial map of the mcintosh trail is sent by the sarah dickinson chapter d.a.r. newnan, ga. mrs. r. h. hardaway--regent mrs. e. g. cole--vice regent mrs. j. e. robinson--secretary miss lutie n. powell--treasurer ] tracing the mcintosh trail. the mcintosh trail begins as far west as talladega, ala., and perhaps further, going eastward miles above senoia, in coweta county, georgia, where it diverges, one trail going to augusta and the other via indian springs to macon. mrs. yeandle has traced the trail from augusta to senoia. perhaps some daughter will trace it to macon from its point of divergence. i am tracing it west from the neighborhood of senoia to talladega, ala. the trail runs about miles north of senoia, and near there mcintosh built a fort, the ruins of which may still be seen. senoia was given the name of a princess of the cowetas. her name is about all that remains of her, her history being buried in oblivion. the trail runs north of turin, crosses hegg creek near the home of the rev. mr. rees, then through sharpsburg, north of raymond, following part of the old mcintosh road entering newnan on the southeast, down greenville street across mrs. atkinson's lot to lagrange street, across miss long's lot and a livery stable lot into spring street. the direct route is here uncertain, because of home-building, but it crosses the central railroad into ray park, on to an unusual road called rocky road, which leads over a creek to the chattahoochee, where it crosses the river west of the mcintosh reserve. the reserve is a square mile in a sharp bend of the river, and on both sides of the chattahoochee, being partly in carroll county and party in coweta, and at this bend the river runs for some distance west instead of south. on the carroll side the chief mcintosh had his home, and there he was murdered by his race, in . and there he is buried. the trail now runs almost due west across the southern part of carroll county, georgia, and across the northern parts of clay and randolph counties, alabama, into talladega county, to the town of talladega. this part of the trail is more certain than elsewhere, because the pioneers blazed the trail, cutting three notches into the numerous trees of the unbroken forest. over this trail andrew jackson marched his troops against the british in - - - , mcintosh and his force going with him. the forests have gone down before the fields, and here is perhaps the finest white yeomanry in georgia. it is considered that they produce the finest short staple cotton in the world. schools and churches abound and the population is fast advancing in culture. but to take up the trail again: it leaves the reserve, going through lowell, thence to tyrus by mexico campground; then one-half mile north of black jack mountain through buchanan town into alabama, one-half mile north of gratan postoffice by bethel campground. then crossing the little tallapoosa on saxon's bridge near saxon's mill, on the big tallapoosa, where it crosses at ridley's bridge through chillafinnee, then goes on north of ironton to talladega, alabama. perhaps this trail goes further west than talladega, but an effort to trace it has failed so far. our chapter still hopes to find whether it continues. no doubt the whole country was a network of trails, and this must antedate the time of mcintosh. it must go back to the days when the indians had no beasts of burden.--mrs. r. h. hardaway, newnan, ga. georgia song. i blest is thy land, fair georgia; from the mountains to the sea. the purpose of whose founders was the opprest from wrongs to free. refrain: then hail to thee, our georgia! for of the "old thirteen" no brighter star shone ever, or ever shall be seen. ii "not for themselves, but others," was the way their motto ran; and in the path of mercy did they early lead the van. iii our fathers sought the "new world," with a motive grand and high, and faith in god hath ever led our hopes unto the sky. iv and so on strong foundations, we see stately columns rise, as symbols of those virtues, that our georgia people prize. v a soldier guards the portals while a sunburst from above, illumines arch and pillars with god's all protecting love. vi god grant our solons wisdom, let strict justice hold the scale and moderation guide the hand, that must make the law prevail. --_by j. t. derry._ many of the states have a state song for the school children. georgia has never yet had one. there are efforts being made to supply this deficiency. the founders of the colony of georgia had a threefold purpose: first--to provide a home for the honest debtor class of great britain, so that in the new world they might have a new chance. second--to offer to persecuted sects of europe a refuge from oppression. third--to oppose a barrier against spanish aggression upon the colony of south carolina. the raising of silk and indigo were to be the chief industries of the new colony. the trustees were to make for themselves no profit out of their enterprises. hence on one side of the seal adopted for the colony of georgia by the trustees was a representation of silk worms busy at their work and the motto was: "non sibi, sed aliis," which means, "not for themselves, but for others." when georgia became a state a seal was adopted on the front side of which are represented three columns, marked: "wisdom, justice, moderation," which support the arch of the constitution. on arch and pillar shine the rays of the rising sun. a soldier with drawn sword guards the approaches. with these two seals, one of the colony and the other of the state as the inspiration, the above song has been suggested, the words being by professor j. t. derry and the music by mrs. albert t. spalding, both of atlanta, ga. [illustration: map of georgia showing colonial, revolutionary and indian war period forts battlefields and treaty-spots constructed from old maps and descriptions in early histories. prepared by ruby felder ray, state historian d.a.r. august, .] index a acton, , , adams, john, , , , adams, john quincy, adams, joseph, adams, samuel, , , , alamance, , , allston, washington, , america, song, american monthly magazine quoted from, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , anderson, major george w., andre, major, arnett, mrs. hanna, , art and artists of the revolution, , atlanta, augusta, , austin, james waddy, b baber, ambrose, bacon, nathaniel, baker, colonel, baker, john, baker's creek, bancroft's history, barksdale, lucy, - barrett, colonel, barry, margaret katherine, , barry, richard, bartlett, baxter, beach, edward, beach, ephraim, bedford, bennington, , , , billerica, blackshear, general, , blanchard, luther, blue laws of old virginia, - blue lick, ky., bon homme, richard, , boone, daniel, , , , , boston port bill, boston tea party, boy and his arrow, , boyd, british colonel, , brandywine, , , , bratton, mrs., braxton, brewton, mrs., , brookline, brooks, john, brown, jonas, brown, thomas, british colonel, , bruton church, bryan, jonathan, buford, colonel, , bulloch, archibald, , bunker hill, , burgoyne, john, , burnham, florence, i. w., burnley, harry, , burr, aaron, burr, theodosia, buttrick, major john, byne, annie, byne, edmund, byron, lord (quoted), c cahokia, , , calhoun plantation, cambridge, , , , camden, , cameron, alexander, , cameron, capt. charles, campbell, british colonel, campbell, john a., carlisle, carlton, kitty, carlton, will, carmack, e. w., carroll, caswell, richard, catherine ii of russia, cedar springs, chain, isaiah, charles river, charlestown, mass, charlestown neck, charlestown (now charleston) s. c., , , chase, chatham, earl of, chehaw (indian town), chelmsford, chelsea, cherokees, chew, sallie, chidsey, mrs. will, childers, j. s., chivers, sabina, christie, colonel, clark, george rogers (major; then colonel, then brig. general), - clark, clarke, elijah (colonel; then general), , , , , , , , clarke, mrs. hannah, clarke, john, , - clarke, miss frances, clarke, nancy, clayton, mrs. mary c. b., clayton, mrs. r. b., cleghorn, wm., - clemson college, clergy hall, clifton, mrs. annie daniel, - clymer, george, cockspur island, cole, mrs. h. g., cole, thomas, coleraine, treaty of, coligny, admiral, collier, st. george, admiral, collier, edna jones, colonial congress, committee of safety, concord, , - concord river, conner, r. d. w., continental congress, continentals, conway, general, cook, mrs. mary, copeland, edna arnold, copely, john s., cornwallis, lord, , , corn-acre or coronaca creek, cothran, mrs. barrett, counties of georgia with indian names, , cowpens, crany island, crawford, wm. h., cunningham, bill, noted tory, custis, martha (mrs. geo. washington), cylmer, d daddy, cyrus, , danvers, davenport, john, , davie, colonel, then general, davis, captain isaac, , davis, mrs. isaac, , davis, wm. warren, dawes, wm., , declaration of independence and names of signers, dedham, de grasse, dekalb, derry, joseph t., , d'estaing, , detroit, de vaughn, mrs. m. s., dies, madam, , dillard, mrs., doocy, miss helen t., dooly, john, , , , , , dorchester, dozier, margaret, , drake, drayton, mrs. henry, dreher, dr. t. h., dunmore, governor, driver stephen (and "old glory"), dunlap, gabriel, , e education of men and women, , eisenberg, mrs. harriet d., elbert county, ga., elbert, samuel, eliot, apostle of the indians, ellery, emanuel, david, emerson, arthur, emerson, wm., , etowah chapter, d. a. r., eugene, prince of savoy, eutaw springs, s. c., f fauquier, francis, federation magazine, federal hall, ferguson, colonel (british), few, benjamin, colonel, few, william, colonel, fisher, mrs., fisher's hill, fitch, george, flag of our country, flag day, , , , flag of columbus, , flag of the cabots, flag (red cross of st. george), flag union jack, flag of united states, , styled flower-flag, flag of france, flag of great britain, fletchall, noted tory, floyd, wm., folsom, glorianna, , fordyce, british captain, fort andrew, fort argyle, , fort barrington, fort carr, fort charles, fort cornwallis, fort dearborn--a story, , fort grierson, fort halifax, fort hawkins, , fort hill, , fort howe, fort mcallister, fort mcpherson, fort mims in alabama, fort mitchell, fort morris, , fort motte, fort moultrie, , fort nelson, va., fort pulaski, fort rutledge, , , fort scott, fort sherrills, fort thunderbolt, fort wilkinson (treaty of), foster, hannah a., foster, rev., franklin, benjamin, freeman, john, frierson, james s., fuser, british colonel, g gadsden, christopher, gage, british general, gardner, isaac, , gates, horatio, , gazette, georgia newspaper, gentry, susie--state vice regent d. a. r., , george ii, george iii, , georgetown, s. c., georgia, , , , condition of during revolution, , counties, , heroes in the revolution, , women of early days, - georgia song, , germantown, gerry, glenn, george (judge), golden horse shoe knights, great bridge, va., great fields, greene, colonel christopher, greene, general nathaniel, , , , gregory, rev. thomas b., , , , grierson, british colonel, guilford court house, , gwinnett, button, , , , , - h habersham, joseph, , hadley, samuel, hall, lyman, , , , , , hall, marion jackson, hamilton, alexander, , hampton, wade, hampton, va., hancock, john, , , , , hardaway, mrs. r, h., , harrington, caleb, harrington, john, harris, ethel hillyer, harrison, harrison, sallie marshall martin, hart, benjamin, , hart, nancy, , , , hart, colonel thomas of ky., hart, john, hart, harvard college, hawkins, colonel benjamin, , haynes, josiah, , hayward, james, , hazen, general, heath, wm., henry, patrick, , , , hewes, heyward, hill, benjamin, hillyer family, , historic tree, , hobson sisters, - holt, thaddeus g., hooper, hopkins, stephen, hopkinson, horry, peter, , horne, joab, , hosmer, abner, houston, john, howe, robert, howell, mrs. annie davidson, huger, general, huguenots, , huntington, i illinois, , independence day, , , indian mound (early county), , indian names of counties in georgia, , indian names of states, , indians, irwin, jane, irwin, jared, irwin, (gov. jared irwin) chapter, d. a. r., j jackson, argus, jackson, james, , , , jasper, wm., sergeant, , jefferson, thomas, , , , - , jennings, edmund, jones, john paul, , , , , jones, noble wimberly, , , k kansas city star, kaskaskia, , , keim, mrs. de b. randolph, kentucky, , kettle creek, ga., battle of, - , , , key, francis scott of maryland, author of the star spangled banner, king's mountain, , , kinzie, john, l lamar, henry g., lamar, l. q. c., lafayette, marquis, , , , , - larey, laurens, john, lee, charles, lee, francis lightfoot, lee, harry (light horse harry), , , , , - lee, richard henry, , lewis, francis, lexington, mass., , , , - , lexington common, liberty county, ga., lincoln, benjamin (american general), , , little, mrs. r. c., littleton, , livingston, lockwood, mrs. mary, lords proprietors, lover's leap, near columbus, ga., louis xvi. king of france, louisburg, lynch, lynch, thomas, mc mccall, e., mccall, r., mcclain, mrs. bessie carolyn, mccrady, mcgirth, noted tory, mcgray, major, mcilhenny, rev. james, mcintosh, lachlan, - mcintosh, the chief, mcintosh trail, , mckean, m mackey, charles, - mackey, mrs. charles, - madison, james, , malvern hill, manchester, anna b., manning, a virginia lieutenant, marietta, marion, francis (the swamp fox), , , , - martin, grace and rachael, , , martin, john, , mason, george of va., massey, katharine b., matthews, major, maury public school, mayhew, jonathan, meadow garden, mecklenburg declaration, medford, mell, mrs. p. h., men of mark in georgia (quoted), - mercer, jesse, - merriam's corner, miami indians, middleton, middleton, arthur, milledge, john, , minute men, , , moffattsville, moncrief, colonel, monmouth, battle of, , monroe, james, moore, charles, moore, hall, moore, rosa, , moore's creek, - morgan, daniel, , morgan, mrs. john h., morgan, mrs. joseph, morris, gouverneur, morris, morris, lewis, morrow, miss emily g., morton, motte, mrs. rebecca, , , mount claire, n. y., mugford, james captain, - munroe, robert, murphey, james, musgrove's mill, muzzey, isaac, n national magazine, national song of the d. a. r. by dr. francis h. orme, nelson, nesbit, british officer at concord, nesbit, wilbur d., nixon, capt., norfolk, va., , north bridge at concord, nye, bill (quoted), , , o oconore creek, oglethorpe, james edward, , - , o'hara, c. m. mrs., , old virginia gentleman, - olmstead, colonel charles h., olney, captain stephen, - orators of the american revolution, - orme, dr. francis h., orme, mrs. francis h., , otis, james, our legacy, p paca, page, thomas nelson (quoted), , paine, robert, park, mrs. emily hendree, park, m. m., parker, john, , parker, jonas, party relations in england and their effect on the american revolution, - patterson, caroline, patterson, clara d., payne, john howard, payson, rev., penn, pepperell, general, percy, lord, , petersburg, va., philips, british general, pickens, andrew, american general, , , , , , pinckney, charles catesworth, pinckney, thomas, piquet, lea motte (french naval officer), pitcairn, british major., , pitcher, mollie, pitt, wm. earl of chatham, pittman, philip, , poor richard's almanac, porter, asabel, portsmouth, va., prescott, samuel, , prescott, wm., princeton university, provincial congress, pulaski, count casimir, q quincy, josiah, , r raleigh, sir walter, randolph, jane, randolph, peyton, ranger, ship of paul jones, , ray, ruby felder, reading, real georgia cracker, reid, regulators, revolutionary puzzle, revolutionary relics, , revere, paul, , rhode island in the american revolution, - ribault (rebo). john, ridge, indian chief, , robert, elizabeth, , robert, john, , robinson, john (lieut. colonel), rochambeau, (french general), , rodney, ross, ross, betsy, , roxbury, royalists, , rush, rutherford, general, rutledge, john, , , s saint andrew's parish, ga., saint john's parish, ga., saint vincent, sallette, robert, - salvador, francis, salzburgers, saratoga, , , satilla river, savannah, ga., , , , , savannah river, scanlon, michael, sears, mrs. walter j., seneca river, serapis, british ship, , sequoia, cherokee indian, - shelton, martha, sherman, general wm. t., shipp, j. e. d., shippen, peggy, sigsbee, c. d. rear admiral, slavery in georgia, slocumb, ezekiel, - slocumb, mary, - smith, smith, british lieut. colonel at lexington, , somerset, british man of war, song of marion's men, song of the revolution, sons of the revolution, report of, south bridge at concord, , south carolina, , , spalding, mrs. albert t. jr., spottswood, va., governor, spring place, stabler, edward, , stark, general john, , , state flowers, , steptoe family, , steuben, baron, , , stevens, colonel, stillwell, adeline w. v., stirling, john, , stockton, stone, stony point, stovall, strozier, peter, , stuart, gilbert, sully, thomas, sumter, general thomas (the "game cock"), sunbury, ga., , t tarleton, british colonel, - taylor, telfair, edward, , thaxter, rev., thomas, mrs., thomas, mrs. walter, thompson, metta, thompson, wm., thornton, thrash, nannie strozier, thweatt, john hamilton, , thweatt, tabitha, , ticonderoga, tomochichi, indian chief, toombs, robert, tories in england and america, , , , - tracy, edward d., transportation, early means of, - treadway, beatrice o'rear, trenton, , treutlen, john adam, , - , troup, governor george m., trumbull, john, tryon, british governor, , tucker, capt. samuel, turner, roberta g., tweedy, mrs. j. d., twiggs, john, u uncle sam, , uncrowned queens and kings, - united states treasury seal, , university of virginia, v valley forge, , - , vanderlyn, john, - van dycke, vann house, - vincennes, , , virginia revolutionary forts, - w waites, judge, waldo, dr., walker, mrs. j. l., walmsley, james elliott, walton, george, , , - , ward, general artemas, - wardlaw, g. b., war hill (scene of battle of kettle creek), warren, joseph, , , washington, george, , , , , - , , , , , , - washington, mrs., , , waxhaws, s. c., wayne, anthony, , wereat, john, , west, benjamin, west cambridge, westford, , whigs in england and america during the revolution, - whipple, white, , white, captain, then colonel john, william and mary college, , , williamsburg, va., williams, williams, james, williamson, andrew, williamson, micajah, williamson, sarah gilliam, williamson, major, , , wilson, clarissa, wilson jonathan, , , wilson, sarah, wilson, signer of declaration of independence, wilson, samuel, wimpy, mrs. w. c., wing, john, winn, captain richard, winthrop, john, witherspoon, woburn, wolcott, wood, mrs. james s., wright, sir james, wythe, george, , , y yamacraw bluff, yankee doodle, yazoo fraud, , yorktown, , , , , transcriber's note italic text is denoted by _underscores_. obvious typographical errors and punctuation errors have been corrected after careful comparison with other occurrences within the text and consultation of external sources. except for those changes noted below, misspelling by the authors, inconsistent or archaic usage, has been retained. toc 'john clark' changed to 'john clarke'. toc 'elijah clark' changed to 'elijah clarke'. toc 'somersett' changed to 'somerset'. toc 'chief van' changed to 'chief vann'. p 'curosity' changed to 'curiosity'. p 'wodburn' changed to 'woburn'. p 'fusileers' changed to 'fusiliers'. p 'mekean' changed to 'mckean'. p 'prosterity' changed to 'posterity'. p 'monthty' changed to 'monthly'. p 'indentified' changed to 'identified'. p 'releigh' changed to 'raleigh'. p 'fort sherrill's' changed to 'sherrill's fort'. p 'du pont' changed to 'dupont'. p 'elizah clarke' changed to 'elijah clarke'. p 'unusued' changed to 'unused'. p 'tryant' changed to 'tyrant'. p 'beside' changed to 'bedside'. p 'adso' changed to 'also'. p 'near tarleston's' changed to 'near tarleton's'. p 'auxiety' changed to 'anxiety'. p 'woudd inquire' changed to 'would inquire'. p 'dripped' changed to 'dropped'. p 'even them' changed to 'even then'. p 'humning bird' changed to 'humming bird'. p 'reconteur' changed to 'raconteur'. p 'chariman' changed to 'chairman'. p 'day are' changed to 'days are'. p 'macajah' changed to 'micajah'. p 'strugling' changed to 'struggling'. p 'conmenced' changed to 'commenced'. p 'ceasar' changed to 'caesar'. p 'deleware' changed to 'delaware'. p 'astaunded' changed to 'astounded'. p 'ignorinous' changed to 'ignominious'. p 'governo' changed to 'governor'. p 'importansce' changed to 'importance'. p 'endeavorers' changed to 'endeavors'. p 'mommouth' changed to 'monmouth'. p 'truetlen' changed to 'treutlen'. p 'diffcult' changed to 'difficult'. p 'afteh' changed to 'after'. p 'nighborhood' changed to 'neighborhood'. p 'tapestry or' changed to 'tapestry of'. p 'inpetuous' changed to 'impetuous'. p 'gubernational' changed to 'gubernatorial'. p 'unconcious' changed to 'unconscious'. p 'toombstones' changed to 'tombstones'. p 'westminister' changed to 'westminster'. p 'co-called' changed to 'so-called'. p 'intrepreter' changed to 'interpreter'. p 'egorgia' changed to 'georgia'. p 'acros sthe' changed to 'across the'. p 'sprank' changed to 'sprang'. p 'apportunity' changed to 'opportunity'. p 'carrid' changed to 'carried'. p 'narby' changed to 'nearby'. p 'independenct' changed to 'independence'. p 'guson' changed to 'action'. p 'ignorminy' changed to 'ignominy'. p 'curosity' changed to 'curiosity'. p 'nag is' changed to 'nag as'. p 'she know' changed to 'she knew'. p 'codgell' changed to 'cogdell'. p 'sudsided' changed to 'subsided'. p 'anges' changed to 'agnes'. p 'shirwood' changed to 'sherwood'. p 'ta raise' changed to 'to raise'. p 'trooops' changed to 'troops'. p 'rceeive' changed to 'receive'. p 'massonry' changed to 'masonry'. p 'continue ti' changed to 'continue to'. p 'betsey' changed to 'betsy'. p 'spectotors' changed to 'spectators'. p 'chief van' changed to 'chief vann'. p 'chief van' changed to 'chief vann'. ( occurrences) p 'chief van' changed to 'chief vann'. p 'revaled' changed to 'revealed'. p 'arkanses' changed to 'arkansas'. p 'mississippi ...' duplicate line deleted. p 'winward islands' changed to 'windward islands'. p 'affllicted' changed to 'afflicted'. p 'arond' changed to 'around'. p 'roy pork' changed to 'ray park'. p 'm'intosh' changed to 'mcintosh'. p 'refuge form' changed to 'refuge from'. index: 'allamance' changed to 'alamance'. index: 'carswell' changed to 'caswell'. index: 'cornacre' changed to 'corn-acre'. index: 'corthran' changed to 'cothran'. index: 'de kalb' changed to 'dekalb'. index: 'dier' changed to 'dies'. index: 'drehan' changed to 'dreher'. index: added 'e' at front of e entries. index: 'fanquier' changed to 'fauquier'. index: 'flower flag' changed to 'flower-flag'. index: added 'h' at front of h entries. index: 'rochaebeau' changed to 'rochambeau'. index: 'steben' changed to 'steuben'. index: 'van' changed to 'vann'. the librarian at play the librarian at play by edmund lester pearson author of "the old librarian's almanack" "the library and the librarian" [illustration: logo] boston small, maynard and company publishers copyright, by small, maynard and company (incorporated) _entered at stationers' hall_ published, november, second printing, march, the university press, cambridge, u.s.a. to my mother note to second edition since the publication of the first edition of this book two or three readers have pointed out that it needs an index. by the addition of an index, they say, its value as a work of reference would become almost wholly negligible. impressed by the force of their remarks, i employed expert aid, and the index now printed at the end of the volume is the result. it was prepared by miss narcissa bloom, an honor graduate of the philander library school, and it may therefore be relied upon as the flower of modern library science. e. l. p. contents page the interest gauge the gardener's guide vanishing favorites by telephone a literary meet "the desert island test" the conversation room the literary zoo their just reward the crowded hour to a small library patron by-ways and hedges mulch a bookman's armory index the interest gauge the interest gauge "we are thinking of calling them 'interest gauges,'" said the agent, "but perhaps you can suggest a better name." i took one of the little instruments and examined it. hardly over an inch long, with its glass tube and scale, it resembled a tiny thermometer. the figures and letters were so small that i could not make them out, though they became clear enough through a reading-glass. "interest gauges," i remarked, "sounds like something connected with banks. i should think you could find a better name. who invented them?" the agent looked important. "they were invented," he explained, "by professor dufunnie, the great psychologist. they are a practical application of psychology. let me show you how they are used. allow me--i will take this book--the 'letters of junius,' and attach the interest gauge. here in the back, you see, the gauge is invisible to the reader. you will notice now, if you look through the glass, that the gauge marks zero. no one is reading the book, we have not even opened it, and the human mind is not acting upon the book. if you will take it into your hand, and look down at the gauge through the glass, you will see probably some little agitation of the liquid within the tube. you do, do you not? i thought so. that is because you are probably already familiar, to some extent, with the 'letters of junius' and the recollections that they arouse in your mind are exerting themselves upon the fluid. now, if you will oblige me, open the book and read attentively for a few moments." i did so, and then handed it back to the agent. "look," he cried, "as soon as you cease reading, the fluid sinks back to zero. but the little aluminum arrow remains at the highest point which the fluid reached--that is, the highest point of interest which you felt in the book. ah, yes-- degrees--a faint interest. you will notice that the degree-points are marked at intervals with descriptive phrases-- is 'faint interest,' is 'indifference,' is 'would not keep you awake after p.m.,' and so on." the thing was very fascinating. "it is astounding," i said, "for that is exactly my feeling towards junius, and yet i tried to get more interested in him than usual." the agent laughed. "you can't fool the gauges," he said. "you can't do it, even when you know one is attached to your book. i need not say that it is absolutely correct when the reader is not aware that there is a gauge upon his book. you must see the value of these to a librarian. let me show you how incorruptible they are. have you something there in which you have absolutely no interest--some book or article that is dry as dust?" i looked about. "this pretty nearly fills the bill," i said, and i handed him a copy of a library magazine with an article by dr. oscar gustafsen on "how to make the workingman read the greek tragedies." the agent attached an interest gauge, and told me to read dr. gustafsen's article, and to try as hard as i could to become interested; to pretend, if i could not feel, the greatest excitement over it. i did so, and strained every muscle in my brain, so to speak, to find something in it to interest or attract me. it was no use--the fluid gave a few convulsive wabbles, but at the end the little arrow had not even reached , or "bored to death." then the agent took a copy of "the doctor's dilemma," and putting an interest gauge on the volume, asked me to read a few pages, and to remain as indifferent as possible. i read it calmly enough, but the liquid in the tube mounted slow and sure, and when we examined the arrow it pointed to . "try it on this," said the agent, handing me conan doyle's "round the fire stories." i put on an interest gauge and read the tale of "the lost special." the arrow shot up to before i had half finished the yarn. "the highest that the gauge will record, you see, is , though we guarantee them to stand a pressure of . they are not often subjected to anything like that. the average novel or short story to-day does not put them under a very severe strain. the greatest risk we run is from authors reading their own books. we had an especially dangerous case the other day, during some tests in the laboratory. we had a young author reading the proofs of his first book, and we put on a high pressure scale, capable of recording up to , and even then we took off the gauge only just in time. it had reached the limit, and there were danger signs." "what are danger signs?" i asked. "the liquid begins to boil," he said, "and then you have to look out for trouble. now how many of these will you take? i can let you have a trial dozen for $ , or two dozen for $ . . two dozen? thank you. you attach them in the back of the book--so fashion--or if the book is bound with a loose back, then you put them down here. there is no danger of their being seen, in either case. here is our card, we shall be very pleased to fill any further orders. thank you. good day!" as soon as he had gone i left my office, and went out into the public part of the library. i had started for the reading-room, when i heard my name called. it was professor frugles, the well-known scientific historian. he is giving his course of lectures on "the constitutional development of schleswig-holstein" and i had attended one or two of them. they had already been going on for two months--and although he lectured four times a week, he hadn't progressed beyond the introduction and preliminaries. both of the lectures i had heard were long wrangles in which the professor devoted his energies to proving that some writer on this subject (a german whose name i did not catch) was wholly untrustworthy. i was told by some of the most patient listeners that so far no single thing about schleswig-holstein itself had been mentioned, and that it did not appear to be in sight. the course consisted merely of frugles' opinions of the authorities. now the professor came slowly toward me, wiping his face with a large red handkerchief and waving his cane. "got any new books?" he shouted. i told him we had a few, and took him back into one of the workrooms. he examined them. "this will do; i'll look this over," and he picked up something in german. i offered him another--in english, and, as i thought, rather interesting in appearance. "pah!" he ejaculated, as if i had put some nauseous thing under his nose, "popular!" he exploded this last word, which was his most violent term of condemnation, and ran through the rest of the books. "well, i'll take this into the reading-room and look it through," and he started with the german book. i prevailed upon him to take the other as well, and he consented, with a grunt. he did not notice that i had slipped an interest gauge into both of them. after a bit, i followed him into the reading-room. he was in a far corner, hard at work. mrs. cornelia crumpet was engaged in conversation with miss bixby, the reference librarian, when i came in. "oh, here's mr. edwards!" she exclaimed. "why, what a library you have! i can't find anything at all about the flemish renaissance and i do not know what i shall do, for i have to read a paper on it to-morrow afternoon before the twenty-minute culture club. miss bixby was just saying she would get me something. now what would you advise? there is nothing at all in the books i looked at." "perhaps you looked in the wrong books," i suggested, observing that she had a copy of "thelma" under her arm. "oh, mr. edwards, how ridiculous of you! i'm carrying this book home for the housemaid; she's sick in bed, and the cook said she was homesick and threatened to leave. so i said i would get her something to read to occupy her mind. this is fearful trash, i suppose, but i thought it would keep her contented until she got well. but i do wish you would tell me what to consult about the flemish renaissance." "mrs. crumpet," i said, "miss bixby knows more about that subject in one minute than i do all day, and i advise you to let her prescribe." mrs. crumpet agreed to wait, while miss bixby went for the books. "where's that copy of 'thelma'? i put it down here. oh, you have it, mr. edwards! well, you had better let me take it; i'm sure it is too frivolous for you serious-minded librarians to read. i'll sit here and look it over until she comes back with those books." she took it, interest gauge and all, and sat down. miss larkin came into the room just then and asked me to come over to the children's department. "i want to show you," she said, "what an interest these children take in serious reading and non-fiction. it is most encouraging." when we arrived at the children's room she had two or three small persons arranged about the desks. "now, willie," she said, "which do you like best, story-books or nature books?" willie answered with great promptness: "nacher books." the others all confessed to an extraordinary fondness for "hist'ry" or "biography" or "nacher." i asked miss larkin's leave to try a little experiment, and then explained to her the workings of the interest gauges. we chose willie as a subject for our investigations, and gave him a copy of one of his beloved "nacher" books, with a gauge attached. five minutes' reading by willie sent the arrow up to , but the same time on "the crimson sweater" sent it up to . "he seems to like mr. barbour better than the rev. dr. fakir, miss larkin--i'm afraid that his enthusiasm for 'nacher' is in accordance with what he knows will please you. why don't you use your influence with him to lead him toward truthfulness? it's a better quality, even, than a fondness for non-fiction." as i went back i met professor frugles. "let me have this, as soon as it is ready to go out," he said, brandishing the german work; "this other--trifling, sir, trifling!" and away he went. but i noticed that the german book had only sent the gauge up to forty, while the "trifling" work, which had caused him to express so much contempt, had registered seventy-five. at the issue desk was mrs. crumpet, having her books charged. as there were no gauges on the books about the flemish renaissance, i had no data to go on, except the fact that although she declared she had "skimmed through" them all and found them "very helpful," she had not, so far, cut any of the pages. i did not mention this to her, as she might have retorted that we ought to have cut them ourselves. which was quite true. but while she talked with miss carey, i managed to extract the gauge from "thelma." at least, i took away the fragments of it. the arrow had gone up to , and trying to get still higher the little glass tube had been smashed to bits. the gardener's guide the gardner's guide i was looking over the proof sheets for some library of congress catalogue cards when i observed the name of bunkum--mrs. martha matilda bunkum was the full name, and i was further privileged to learn that she was born in . everyone knows mrs. bunkum's two great works: "handy hints for hillside gardens," and "care and cultivation of crocuses." now, it seemed, she had accumulated all her horticultural wisdom into one book, which was called "the gardener's guide, or a vade mecum of useful information for amateur gardeners, by martha matilda bunkum." the library of congress card went on to say that the book was published in new york, by the well-known firm of ponsonby, perks & co., in the year . it brought tears to my eyes, recalling the days when i, too, was a cataloguer, to see that the book had "xiv, , xv, , p., illus., plates.", and moreover was centimeters high. as soon as i had recovered from my emotion, i pressed the electric bell three times--a signal that brings miss anderson, the head of the order department, into my office, unless she happens to be arranging her hair before the mirror in the stack-room at the moment. this time she came promptly. "miss anderson," i said, "we must get a copy of mrs. bunkum's 'gardener's guide.'" she instantly looked intelligent and replied, "we have one here now, on approval; it came in from malkan this morning," and she hurried out to get it. when i had the book, i regarded it lovingly. "i wish i knew what the 'a. l. a. book list' says about this," i pondered. "it will be along in a couple of months," said miss anderson, "and then we can find out." i told miss anderson to keep the book, anyhow, and to have this copy charged to my private account. that night, on the way home, i expended $ . for flower seeds. they were all put up in attractive little envelopes, with the most gorgeous pictures on the front, representing blossoms of tropical splendor. on the backs was a great deal of information, as well as latin names, confident prediction of what a dazzling mass of bloom the little packets would bring forth, and warnings "not to plant these seeds deeper than one-sixteenth of an inch." all but the sunflowers. i could not get any sunflower seeds in packets, and finally had to get them in a paper bag--an enormous lot of them, for five cents. but there were no pictures, and no directions about depth. all this, i reflected, would be forthcoming from the pages of mrs. bunkum. on the following evening, in company with jane, i went forth to sow. jane had the "gardener's guide" and i took certain tools and implements. by the time i had a trench excavated a little shower came up, and jane retreated to the veranda. i had on old clothes and didn't mind. "jane!" i called, "look up mrs. bunkum and see how deep to plant sunflower seeds." all the directions on the little packets were so precise about depths--some seeds an inch, some half an inch, and some (the poppies, for instance) only a sixteenth of an inch below the surface--that i was tremendously impressed with the importance of it all. previously, i had thought you just stuck seeds in any old way. but the rain was coming down harder now, and my spectacles were getting blurred. jane seemed to be lost in admiration of the frontispiece to the "gardener's guide." she began to turn the leaves of the index rapidly, and i could hear her mutter: "q, r, s--here it is. scrap-book, screens, slugs, sowing, spider on box. oh, i hate spiders! sunbonnet, sun-dial, sweet peas. why, there isn't anything about sunflowers!" this annoyed me very much. "jane," i said, "how perfectly absurd! do you suppose an authority like mrs. bunkum would write a book on gardening, and not mention such common things as sunflowers? look again." she did so, but presently shouted back: "well, i don't care! it goes right from sun-dial to sweet peas, and then sweet william, and then to the t's--tigrinum and tobacco water. i don't see what this 'sunbonnet' means, do you? perhaps it's a misprint for sunflower. i'll look it up--page ." presently jane found the reference she was hunting, and read it to me, leaning out over the rail of the veranda. "unless a woman possesses a skin impervious to wind and sun, she is apt to come through the summer looking as red and brown as an indian; and if one is often out in the glare, about the only headgear that can be worn to prevent this, is the old-fashioned sunbonnet. with its poke before and cape behind, protecting the neck, one really cannot become sunburned, and pink ones are not so bad. retired behind its friendly shelter, you are somewhat deaf to the world; and at the distant house, people may shout to you and bells be rung at you, and, if your occupation be engrossing, the excuse 'no one can hear through a sunbonnet' must be accepted." jane read this with the liveliest interest, and at its conclusion remarked: "i believe i'll get a blue one, in spite of her!" i sneezed two or three times at this point, and asked her to try again for sunflowers. "look here," i suggested, "i've noticed that index. perhaps sunflowers are entered under their class as hardy annuals, or biennials, or periodicals, or whatever they are. look 'em up that way." she did so. "nothing under 'hardy annuals,'" she announced, "except 'hardy roses'; under 'biennials' it says 'see also names of flowers.'" this made her laugh and say: "here's a librarian getting a taste of his own medicine. no, it gives a reference to page . here it is: 'there are but few hardy biennials. the important ones, which no garden should be without, are: digitalis, and campanula medium.' why, i thought digitalis was something you put in your eye!" "did you look under 'periodicals'?" i retorted. "i could put something in _her_ eye! did you look under 'periodicals'?" jane referred again to the index. "there isn't any such thing," she said presently; "don't you mean perennials? here's a lot about them. oh, yes, and a list of them, too. now, let me see--aquilegia, dianthus barbatus, dicentra spectabilis--gracious! do you suppose any of those are sunflowers?" i groaned. "would you mind getting me a rain-coat? i'm afraid these seeds will sprout in my hand in a few minutes, if we don't get some information soon." jane went into the house, but returned in about five minutes with an umbrella. "your rain-coat isn't here," she said, "you left it at the library that day that it cleared during the afternoon. i will send amanda out with this umbrella." "do so by all means," i replied, "as i have only two hands occupied with the trowel and the sunflower seeds it will be a pleasure to balance an umbrella as well." but jane did not notice the sarcasm, and presently amanda tiptoed out through the wet grass with the umbrella. i was left trying to hold it, and wondering how mrs. bunkum acted in a crisis like this. but of course she never got caught in one. she would know right off the bat just how deep to put the seeds. at any rate, jane's researches among the aquilegias had given me an idea. "look here," i called, "mrs. bunkum is so confounded classical or scientific, or whatever it is, that i believe she scorns to use such a vulgar word as sunflower. she's probably put it under its scientific name." jane looked as though the last difficulty had been removed. "what would the scientific name be?" she inquired. "i am trying to think, as well as i can, standing in this puddle." i was sparring for time. "it would be _helio_ something, i suppose," i added. "heliotrope, of course!" exclaimed jane, with a glad chortle. "here they are; all about them!" "no! no! no!" i shouted, "i do wish you wouldn't jump at conclusions so. heliotrope means a flower that turns around to follow the sun." "well," she said, "i thought sunflowers did that." "so they do," i told her, "but heliotropes are little blue things, as you very well know--or ought to. now, you go to the telephone, and call up the library, and ask for miss fairfax. she is in the reference room now, or ought to be." there was a pause, while i could hear jane at the telephone. "north, double six three, please. no, double six three. yes. hello! hello! is this the library? yes, the library. yes; is miss fairfax there? ask her to come to the 'phone, please. i said, ask her to come to the 'phone. is that miss fairfax? oh, miss fairfax, this is mrs. edwards. mr. edwards wants you to go as quickly as possible to the reference room and look up the scientific name for sunflowers. he says, look it up in bailey. do you understand? what? what? no, i said the scientific name for sunflowers, you know, s-u-n-f-l-o-w-e-r-s. the tall things with yellow petals and brown centers. _sunflowers!!!_ what? who is this talking? is this miss fairfax? what, isn't this the public library? what? well, where is it, then? henderson's glue factory? oh, pardon me! i thought it was the public library. central gave me the wrong number.... hello, is this central? well, you gave me the wrong number; you gave me north double six two. i want north double six three--the public library. yes, please. hello, is this the public library? yes; who is this speaking, please? oh, miss anderson? is that you? this is mrs. edwards, yes. what are you staying so late for? you are? well, i shall speak to mr. edwards about it. it is perfectly ridiculous to have you working overtime night after night, and all for that foolish exhibition, too. i know these librarians; if they would have the courage not to try to do so much when the city is so stingy about giving them assistants! well, you go right home now and get your dinner. the idea! what? you have accessioned two hundred books this afternoon? if mr. edwards doesn't stop that, i shall, that's all. oh, you have saved me out a copy of 'the chaperone.' how nice of you! no, i certainly do not. i didn't like 'cora kirby' very much, and 'the players' was horrid! but i did want to see what this was like--it has been very favorably criticised. what? oh, give it to mr. edwards to-morrow night, put it in his bag, at the bottom; he'll never notice it. i hope there are not any more of you there! oh, miss tyler and miss hancock, out at the desk, of course, and who? miss fairfax? dear me, that reminds me. mr. edwards wants miss fairfax to look up something for him. goodness, i forgot all about it! he is standing out there in all this rain with an umbrella in one hand, a trowel in the other, and a package of sunflower seeds in the other. he'll be furious! do go and get miss fairfax to come to the 'phone right away. yes, to come to the 'phone.... what's that? is that central? no, please hold the line; i haven't finished yet.... is that you, miss fairfax? what? oh, miss anderson? what? miss fairfax has gone to her supper? what on earth shall i do? who is in the reference room? david? who's he? oh, that new page.... david, mr. edwards wants you to look up the scientific name for sunflowers; look it up in bailey, david. what? bailey who? i don't know. ask some of them there.... oh, well, wait a minute. hold the line.... "sam!" and she came out to the veranda again. "sam, what bailey is it they are to look it up in?" "liberty hyde," i yelled. "cyclopædia of american horticulture! but any dictionary will probably do. and, for the love of mike, get a move on! i'm drowned, paralyzed! i'll have rheumatism for a week!" but she was already back at the telephone. "david, are you there? mr. edwards says it's liberty hyde bailey's cyclopædia of horticulture. and you are to hurry, hurry! what is that? you don't know where it is? well, look it up in the catalogue.... oh, ask miss anderson to come back.... is that you, miss anderson? will you look it up, please? yes, the scientific name for sunflowers. in freedom bailey's cyclopædia of agriculture, or any dictionary.... did you find it? yes? what? spell it. oh, _helianthus_. thank you so much! good-by! and don't forget to send 'the chaperone' home by mr. edwards to-morrow night. thank you for keeping me a copy. good-by...." she came back to the veranda. "i've got it at last, sam. it's _helianthus_. where's mrs. bunkum? oh, i left her in the study. just wait a minute, now.... yes, here it is, helianthus, sure enough. how silly! why doesn't she call 'em sunflowers? there, page . this is what mrs. bunkum says: 'the helianthus grandiflora, or common sunflower, is one of the most attractive and satisfactory of the perennials. nothing is so suitable to place against a wall, or to employ to cover a shed or any other unattractive feature of the landscape. the stalks grow sometimes as high as eight to ten feet and bloom from july to september. it is well not to plant delphiniums too near the helianthus, as the shade from the former is too intense and it would not do to risk spoiling the lovely blossoms of the delphinium. the latter ... why!" broke out jane, "she goes on about delphiniums now, and doesn't tell any more about sunflowers!" "do you mean to say," i asked--and there was a hard, steely ring in my voice, "do you mean to say that mrs. bunkum does not tell how deep i am to plant these cussed seeds?" jane was about to laugh or to cry--i am not sure which. "not a word more than what i read," she answered. "jane," i said solemnly and firmly, "go into the house. what is going to happen is not a fit sight for your eyes. praise be, that book is mine, and not the library's, and i can deal with it justly. give it here. and if you have any affection for martha matilda bunkum, kiss her good-by. i do not know how deep these seeds go, but i know how deep she goes." and i began to dig a suitable hole. * * * * * i rejoined my wife at dinner after a bath and certain life-saving remedies. "milton uttered curses on him who destroyed a good book, but what do you think will come up in ground fertilized by mrs. bunkum?" i asked. jane giggled. "i do not know," she said, "but if you erect a tombstone to her, i can suggest an epitaph." "what is it?" i questioned. "the gardeners guyed," said jane. vanishing favorites vanishing favorites it is nearly twelve months since anyone has lamented the disappearance of our old favorite characters of fiction. while these expressions of sorrow are undoubtedly sincere, they are seldom practical. no one, for instance, has ever suggested any method for the perpetuation of the heroes and villains of the old plays and romances. no one has urged that when the government subsidizes authors, and pensions poets, a sum shall be set aside for such writers as will agree to stick to the old-fashioned characters. yet it would prove effective. of its desirability nothing need be said. it is no answer to those who regret the passing of their old friends to say that they can still be found in the old books. that is like sending to a museum to view dried bones, some person who yearns to behold the ichthyosaurus splashing among the waves, or the pterodactyl soaring overhead. indeed, the cases are similar for more than one reason. how greatly would the joy of life increase if we only had a few extinct animals left! the african hunter returns with an assortment of hippopotamuses, elephants, and jubjub birds. it would be more delightful if he could also fetch the mighty glyptodon, the terrible dinotherium, and the stately bandersnatch. there are few of the old characters of fiction more generally missed than the retired colonel, home from india. he was usually rather portly in figure, though sometimes tall and thin. always his face was the color of a boiled lobster, and his white moustache and eyebrows bristled furiously. for forty years he had lived exclusively on curries, chutney, and brandy and soda, so his liver was not all it should be. his temper had not sweetened. he was what you might call irritable. during forty years he had been lord and master over a regiment of soldiers, and a village of natives, and he had the habit of command. his favorite remark was: "br-r-r-r!!" that is as near as it can be reproduced in print, but from the manner in which his lips rolled when he delivered it, and the explosive force with which it ended, you could see that he had learned it from a bengal tiger. his was an imposing presence, but his speaking part was not large. in fact, his only contributions to social intercourse were the exclamation which has been quoted, and one other. this sounded like "yah!" but it was delivered with a rasping snarl which must be heard to be appreciated. such was his manner toward his equals; toward servants and underlings he was not so agreeable. on the whole, there was reason to think that he was somehow related to the celebrated personage who "eats 'em alive," or to that other individual called gritchfang, who "guzzled hot blood, and blew up with a bang." the colonel was a genial and interesting old "party," and we lament his disappearance. there was a turtle-dove to coo, however, in the same stories where the colonel roared. this was the dying maiden. she has not altogether left us--her final struggles are protracted. her dissolution is expected at almost any moment now. her specialty was being wan. come what might, at any hour of the day or night, under all circumstances, she was very, very wan. you could never catch her forgetting it. she reminded you of bunthorne's injunction to the twenty lovesick maidens--she made you think of faint lilies. usually she lay on a couch in the drawing-room, but she could, with assistance, make her way to the window to wave her handkerchief to cousin harry departing to the war. she was in love with cousin harry, but knew that he cared most for proud, red-cheeked sister gladys. so she suffered in silence, and when cousin harry forged a few checks, she bought them up, and arranged a happy marriage between harry and gladys--who was in love with someone else. this was so that she could be a martyr. she loved being a martyr, and was willing to make everyone else intensely uncomfortable in order to accomplish her object. she was very gentle and sweet, and even the colonel would cease to bellow and snort in her presence. the really learned heroine has gone for good. she is as rare as the megatherium. her successors--the women who can discuss a little politics, or who know something about literature--are only collateral descendants. there is some doubt about even that degree of kinship. they are not the real things. our old friend had stockings of cerulean blue--though she would have died had she shown half an inch of one of them. her idea of courtship was to get the hero in a woodland bower and then say something like this: "perhaps you have never realized, mr. montmorency, how profoundly the philosophy of the rosicrucians has affected modern thought in its ultimate conception of ontology. the epistemological sciences exhibit the effect of thales' dictum concerning the fourth state of material cosmogony." and mr. montmorency liked it, too. he had a reply all ready. he wondered if it really was thales so much as empedocles or ctesias. she showed him that his suspicions were groundless. thales was the man. he gave up all idea of holding her hand, and listened to a fifteen-minute discourse on the peripatetics. after this kind of heroine, is it any wonder that we object to the bridge-playing ladies with a passion for alcohol, who are served to us by the novelist of to-day? the learned heroine of the old books talked as no one can talk now, except, possibly, a radcliffe girl with a blue book in front of her, the clock pointing to a quarter of twelve, and a realization that a failure to get b minus in the exam. will make it impossible for her to secure a degree in three years. the saintly children of the old fiction are perhaps the offspring of the learned heroine and mr. montmorency. certainly such a marriage would result in children of no commonplace type. these, however, tend not so much to scholarship as to good behavior. they would get in all their studies, but plus in deportment. they are too good to be true. they have enough piety to fit out a convocation of bishops, with a great deal left over. the little girls among them are addicted to the death-bed habit. only they carry the matter further than the invalid heroine. they actually die. the one thing worth living for, in their estimation, is to gather a group of weeping relatives and the minister about their beds on a beautiful morning in june, and then pass serenely away, uttering sentiments of such lofty morality that even the minister feels abashed. the pet lamb, the hoop, the golden curls and the pantalettes, which had been their accessories during seven years in the mortal vale, are cheerfully left behind for the joy of this solemn moment. there ought to be no dispute over the statement that one other old-fashioned fictitious character is badly missed. this is the family ghost. the modern substitute for the real thing is like offering a seat in a trolley car to someone who has been used to a sedan chair. the modern ghost is a ready-made product of a psychological laboratory, and you know that his bertillon measurements are filed away in a card-catalogue somewhere. the old ghost used to groan and clank chains, and leave gouts of blood (gouts always--never drops) all over the place. or, if it were a lady ghost, she sighed sweetly and slipped out of your bedroom window to the moonlit balcony. you could get along with ghosts like either of them. you knew what they were up to. but the ghost of contemporary fiction is as obscure as henry james. he is a kind of disembodied idea; he never groans, nor clanks chains; and you cannot be sure whether he is a ghost, or a psychological suggestion, or a slight attack of malarial fever. in nothing is the degeneracy and effeminacy of our literature more apparent than in its anæmic ghosts. hashimura togo says that "when a negro janitor sees a ghost, he are a superstition; but when a college professor sees one, he are a scientific phenomenon." when that point has been reached with real ghosts, what can be expected of the fictitious ones? along with the family ghost disappeared the faithful old family servant. he was usually a man, and he looked like e. s. willard as cyrus blenkarn. he dressed in snuff-colored clothes, and he bent over, swaying from side to side like a polar-bear in a cage. he rubbed his hands. but he was very devoted to the young mistress. lor' bless yer, sir, he knew her mother, he did, when she was only that high. carried her in his arms when she was a little babby. but he is afraid something is going wrong with the old place. he doesn't like the looks of things, nohow. with the superhuman instinct granted to servants, but denied to their superiors, he has become suspicious of the villain on sight. it is lucky that no one believes the old servant, or they would pitch out the villain then and there, and the story would come to an end at chapter ii. the utter chaos into which villains have fallen has been a cause for regretful comment for years past. long ago it was pointed out that villains no longer employ direct and honorable methods like murder and assault. the sum of their criminal activities is a stock-market operation that ruins the hero. things have gone from bad to worse. now you cannot tell which is the villain and which the hero. the old, simple days when the villain, as mr. j. k. jerome said, was immediately recognized by the fact that he smoked a cigarette, have long since passed away. now, the villain and hero in chapter i. have usually changed places two or three times by the end of the book. let no one think that this complaint is made because we regret losing our admiration for the hero. we never had any. he was always such a chuckle-headed ninny that you longed to throw rocks at him from the start. the lamentable thing is to see the villain falling steadily away from the paths of vice and crime, and taking up with one virtuous practice after another. meanwhile, the hero is making feeble efforts at villainy, which result, of course, in complete failure. you cannot learn to be a villain at chapter xxiv. it is too late. villains, like poets, are born, not made, and in the older books the faithful servant could tell you that the villain was bad from the cradle. hereditary influence and unremitting attention to business are as necessary in the villain trade as in any other. there is one other phase of the making of villains which deserves consideration. that is, their nationality. once you had only to know that the man who appeared at chapter iii., twirling his moustache and making polite speeches, was a french count or a russian prince, to be sure that on him would fall the responsible post of chief villain during the rest of the story. if the novel were written in america, an english lord could be added to the list. the titled foreigner, whatever he might be, was expected to try to elope with the heroine, for the sake of her money. the hero baffled him finally, and seized the opportunity, at the moment of bafflement, to deliver a few patriotic sentences on the general superiority of republican institutions. this is all changed. we have had novels and plays with virtuous, even admirable, english lords. once or twice members of the french nobility have appeared in another capacity than that of advance agent of wickedness. it is time to call a halt, or the first thing we know someone will write a book with a virtuous russian prince in it. the line must be drawn somewhere. the mission of russia in english literature is to furnish tall, smooth, diabolical persons, devoted to vodka, absinthe, oppression of the peasantry, cultivation of a black beard, and general cussedness. we foresee that the novelists will soon have to draw upon japan for their villains. much ought to be made of a small, oily, smiling oriental, who is nursing horrid plots beneath a courteous exterior. at the time of the first performances of mr. moody's play "the great divide," it was pleasant to see that a sense of fitness in the nationality of villains had not entirely died out. it may be remembered that the first act represents an american man joining with a mexican and a nondescript in an atrocious criminal enterprise. at least one newspaper had the sturdy patriotism to call the dramatist to account for insinuating that an american could possibly do such a thing. "furriners," perhaps, but americans, never! shame on you, mr. moody! while so many of the chief characters of the old fiction have vanished, there is a chorus of minor ones who have also moved away. where, for instance, is the village simpleton? he was a useful personage, for he could be depended upon to make the necessary heroic sacrifice in the last chapter but one. when the church steeple burst into flames, or the dam broke and the flood descended on the town, or the secondary villain was tying the heroine's mother to the railroad track, the hero was holding the center of the stage and seeing that the heroine escaped in safety. but who was that slight figure climbing aloft in the lurid glare of the burning belfry, or swimming across the raging torrent, or running up to the bridge waving a red lantern? who, indeed, but poor, despised benny bilkins, the village idiot? he fell with a crash when the steeple came down, or disappeared forever in the angry, swirling waters, or was ground under the wheels of the locomotive--but then there was a grave for the heroine to strew violets upon, in the last chapter. the miser, too, has utterly disappeared. in facial characteristics he resembled the faithful old family servant, except that he had deeper lines on his brow. he liked to get out a table, and sit over it with a bag of gold. no banks for him. he wanted his gold pieces near at hand, so that he could fetch them out at any hour, clink them together and gloat over them. he was a clinker and a gloater--he cared for nothing else. we do not have any misers now. or, if they exist, they go away to a safety deposit vault, get their bonds and gloat over them. half the fun is gone, you see. you can gloat over bonds as much as you like, but not a clink can you get out of them. that probably accounts for the disappearance of misers. we earnestly request some novelist to bring about a resurrection of these characters. they would be welcome in the short stories, as well. during the past fifteen years american fiction has gone through two epochs--the gadzooks school and the b'gosh school. it is now congealed in what may be called the ten below zero school. any constant reader of the magazines has to keep on his ulster, ear-tabs, mittens and gum-shoes, from one year's end to another. it never thaws. loggers, miners, trappers, explorers--any kind of persons so long as they dwell in the frozen north--are what the magazine writer adores. one of kipling's characters says that there's never a law of god or man runs north of . the magazine editors seem to think there's never a thing worth writing of, lives south of . will not some of them dig up one or two of the old characters we have been discussing, and see if they cannot send the thermometer up a few degrees? we are tired of stamping our feet, blowing on our hands, and rubbing snow on our noses to keep them from falling off. by telephone by telephone "on january th," so announced a circular issued last month by the ezra beesly free public library of baxter, "we shall install a telephone service at the library. telephone your inquiries to the library, and they will be answered over the wire." now, january th was last saturday, and this is undoubtedly the first account of the innovation at baxter. miss pansy patterson, assistant reference librarian, took her seat at the telephone promptly at nine o'clock, ready to answer all questions. she had, near her, a small revolving bookcase containing an encyclopædia, a dictionary, the statesman's year book, who's who in america, mulhall's dictionary of statistics, the old librarian's almanack, the catalogue of the boston athenæum, baedeker's guide book to the united states, cruden's concordance, and a few others of the most valuable reference books, in daily use among librarians. should this stock fail her she could send the stenographer, miss parkinson, on a hurry call to the reading-room, where miss bixby, the head reference librarian, would be able to draw on a larger collection of books to find the necessary information. mr. amos vanhoff, the new librarian of baxter, stood over the telephone, rubbing his hands in pleasant anticipation of the workings of the new system which he had installed. the bell rang almost immediately, and miss patterson took the receiver from its hook. "is this the library?" "yes." "this is mrs. humphrey mayo. i understand that you answer inquiries by telephone? yes! thank you. have you any books about birds?" "oh, yes--a great many. which--" "well; i am so much interested in a large bird that has been perching on a syringa bush on our front lawn for the last half hour. it is a very extraordinary-looking bird--i have never seen one like it. i cannot make it out clearly through the opera glass, and i do not dare to go nearer than the piazza for fear of startling it. i only discovered it as i was eating breakfast, and i do not know how long it has been there. none of the bird books i own seem to tell anything about such a bird. now, if i should describe it to you do you think you could look it up in some of your books?" "why, i think so." "well, it's a very large bird--like an eagle or a large hawk. and it is nearly all black; but its feathers are very much ruffled up. it has a collar or ruff around its neck, and on its head there is a splash of bright crimson or scarlet. i think it must be some tropical bird that has lost its way. perhaps it is hurt. now, what do you suppose it is?" "you see, i haven't any bird books right at hand--i'll send in to the reading-room. will you hold the line, please?" miss patterson turned to the stenographer and repeated mrs. mayo's description of the strange bird. "will you please ask miss bixby to look it up, and let me know as soon as possible?" during the interval that followed, the operator at central asked three times: "did you get them?" and three times mrs. mayo and miss patterson chanted in unison: "yes; hold the line, please!" finally the messenger returned, remarking timidly: "he says it's a crow." "a crow!" exclaimed miss patterson. "a crow!" echoed mrs. mayo, at the other end of the wire, "oh, that is impossible. i know _crows_ when i see them. why, this has a ruff, and a magnificent red coloring about its head. oh, it's no crow!" "whom did you see in there?" inquired miss patterson. "miss bixby?" "no," replied the young and timid stenographer, "it was that young man--i don't know his name." she had entered the library service only the week before. "oh, edgar! he doesn't know anything about anything. miss bixby must have left the room for a moment, and i suppose he had brought in a book for a reader. he is only a page--you mustn't ask him any questions. do go back and see if miss bixby isn't there now, and ask her." a long wait ensued, and as mrs. mayo's next-door neighbor insisted on using the telephone to order her dinner from the marketmen, the line had to be abandoned. in ten or fifteen minutes, however, the assistant reference librarian was once more in communication with mrs. mayo. "we think the bird might possibly be a california grebe--but we cannot say for sure. it is either that or else hawkins's giant kingfisher--unless it has a tuft back of each ear. if it has the tufts, it may be the white-legged hoopoo. but mr. reginald kookle is in the library, and we have asked him about it. you know of mr. kookle, of course?" "what, the author of 'winged warblers of waltham' and 'common or garden birds'?" "yes; and of 'birds i have seen between temple place and boylston street' and 'the chickadee and his children.'" "yes, indeed--i know his books very well. i own several of them. what does he think?" "he is not sure. but miss bixby described this bird to him, and he is very much interested. he has started for your house already, because he wants to see the bird." "oh, that will be perfectly lovely. thank you so much. it will be fine to have mr. kookle's opinion. good-by." "good-by." * * * * * and the conference was ended. it may not be out of place to relate that mr. kookle, the eminent bird author, arrived at mrs. mayo's a few minutes later. as he heard that the mysterious stranger was on the front lawn, he approached the house carefully from the rear, and climbed over the back fence. he walked around the piazza to the front door, where mrs. mayo awaited him. mr. kookle was dressed in his famous brown suit, worn in order that he might be in perfect harmony with the color of dead grass, and hence, as nearly as possible, unseen on the snowless, winter landscape. he had his field glasses already leveled on the syringa bush when mrs. mayo greeted him. she carried an opera glass. "right there--do you see, mr. kookle?" "yes, i see him all right." they both looked intently at the bird. the weather was a little unfavorable for close observation, for, as it may be remembered, saturday morning was by turns foggy and rainy. a light mist hung over the wet grass now, but the tropical visitor, or whatever he was, could be descried without much difficulty. he sat, or stood, either on the lower branches of the bush, or amongst them, on the ground. his feathers were decidedly ruffled, and he turned his back toward his observers. his shoulders were a little drawn up, in the attitude usually ascribed by artists to napoleon, looking out over the ocean from st. helena's rocky isle. but it was possible, even at that distance, to see his magnificent crimson crest. mr. kookle took a deep breath. "yes," he said, "i suspected it." "what?" inquired mrs. mayo, eagerly, "what is it?" "madam," returned the bird author, impressively, "you have my sincerest congratulations. i envy you. you have the distinction of having been the first observer, to the best of my knowledge, of the only specimen of the bulbus claristicus giganticus ever known to come north of the fourteenth parallel of latitude." mrs. mayo was moved nearly to tears. never in all her career as a bird enthusiast, not even when she addressed the twenty minute culture club on "sparrows i have known"--never had she felt the solemn joy that filled her at this minute. "are you sure that is what it is?" she asked in hushed tones. "absolutely positive," replied the authority, "at least--if i could only get a nearer view of his feet, i could speak with certainty. now, if we could surround the bush, so to speak, you creeping up from one side and i from the other, we might get nearer to him. i will make a détour to your driveway, and so get on the other side of him. you approach him from the house." "just let me get my rubbers," said mrs. mayo. "please hurry," the other returned. when the rubbers were procured they commenced their strategic movement. "if i could only be sure that it is the bulbus!" ejaculated mr. kookle. mrs. mayo turned toward him. "do you suppose," she whispered, "that it is the great condor of the andes?" mr. kookle shook his head. then they both started again on their stealthy errand. slowly, quietly, they proceeded until they stood opposite each other, with the syringa and its strange visitant half-way between them. then mr. kookle raised his hand as a signal, and they began to approach the bush. the bird seemed to hear them, for he immediately took interest in the proceedings. he raised his head, hopped out from the bush, and uttered a peculiar, hoarse note that sounded like: "craw-w-w-w!" mr. kookle and mrs. mayo stopped in their tracks, electrified. then the bird put its other foot on the ground and gave vent to this remarkable song: "cut, cut, cut, cut, cut, ker-dar-cut! ker-dar-cut! ker-dar-cut!" then it gave two or three more raucous squawks, ran toward the fence, flew over it, ran across the street, under mr. higgins's fence, and joined his other black minorca fowls that were seeking their breakfast in the side yard. then mrs. mayo returned to the house, and mr. reginald kookle, the author of "winged warblers of waltham" and "the chickadee and his children," returned his field glasses to their case, turned up the collar of his famous brown suit, and walked rapidly down the street. * * * * * but miss patterson had been busy at the library telephone all this time. scarcely had she ended her conversation with mrs. mayo when someone called her to have her repeat "curfew shall not ring to-night" over the telephone. this was only finished when the bell rang again. "hello! this the library?" "yes." "well, i wish you'd tell me the answer to this. there's a prize offered in the 'morning howl' for the first correct answer. 'i am only half as old as my uncle,' said a man, 'but if i were twice as old as he is i should only be three years older than my grandfather, who was born at the age of sixteen. how old was the man?' now, would you let x equal the age of the uncle, or the man?" miss patterson could not think of any immediate answer to this, nor of any book of reference that would tell her instantly. so she appealed to mr. vanhoff, who had returned to the room. "what was that?" inquired mr. vanhoff; "get him to repeat it." she did so, and the librarian struggled with it for a moment. "why, it is all nonsense. tell him that we cannot solve any newspaper puzzles over the telephone. he will have to come to the library." then mrs. pomfret smith announced herself on the telephone. "that the library? who is this? miss patterson? oh, how do you do? this is so nice of mr. vanhoff. i was coming down to the library this morning, but the weather is so horrid that i thought i would telephone instead. now, my cousin is visiting me, and i have told her about a novel i read last summer, and she is just crazy to read it, too. but i can't for the life of me recall the name of it. now, do you remember what it was?" "why--i'm afraid i don't. who was the author?" "that's just the trouble. i can't remember his name to save my life! i'm not even sure that i noticed his name--or her name--whoever it was. i never care much who wrote them--i just look them through, and if they're illustrated by howard chandler christy or anybody like that, i just take them, because i know then they'll be all right. this one had pictures by christy or wenzell or one of those men. it was a lovely book--oh, i do wish you could tell me what it was! where is miss anderson? she would know. isn't she there?" "no--i am sorry, she will not be here till afternoon. if you could tell me something about the novel--the plot, and so forth, i might have read it myself." "oh, of course you've read it. why, you read all the books that come into the library, don't you?" "not quite all." "you don't? how funny! why, whatever do you find to do with yourselves down there? you're sure you don't remember the one i want?" "why, mrs. smith, you haven't told me about the plot of it yet." "oh, no, so i haven't. well--let me see--um! why, it was about--now, what in the world _was_ it about? oh dear, i never can think, with this thing up to my ear! what's that, central? yes, i got them all right--hold the line, please. oh dear, i'll have to ring off and think it over, and as soon as i remember, i'll call you up again. thank you, so much! good-by." the next was a man who spoke in a deep voice. "hello! is this the library? have you a history of peru? you have? now, that is very fortunate. i do not know how many places i have inquired. i only want a few facts--only a paragraph or two. you can tell them to me over the 'phone, can you not, and i will take them down?" miss patterson had her finger on an article about peru in the encyclopædia. "'peru,'" she began to read, "'the ancient kingdom of the incas--'" "of the whichers?" interrupted the man. "the incas," she repeated. "spell it," he commanded. "_i n c a s_," she spelled. "oh, lord!" said the man, "that's south america. i've been hearing about them all day. the principal of the high school gave me a song and dance about the incas. i mean peru, indiana. here, i'll come down to the library--this telephone booth is so hot i can't get my breath. good-by." * * * * * mrs. pomfret smith, unlike jeffries, had come back. she greeted miss patterson with enthusiasm. "oh, miss patterson, i've remembered all about it now. you see, it starts this way. there is a girl, a new york girl, who has married an english lord, or, rather, she is just going to marry him--the brother of the first man she was engaged to steps in, and tells her that the lord isn't genuine, and he presents her maid with a jeweled pin which his mother, the countess, received from her husband--her first husband, that is--three days after the battle of--oh, i don't know the name of the battle--the 'charge of the light brigade,' it was, and he was in that--no, his uncle was, and he said to his tent-mate, the night before the battle: 'charley, i'm not coming out of this alive, and my cousin will be the lawful heir, but i want you to take this and dig with it underneath the floor of the old summer house, and the papers that you will find there will make gerald a rich man.' and so he took it and when he got to washington he handed it to the old family servant who hadn't seen him for sixty years, and then dropped dead, so they never knew whether he was the real one or only the impostor, and so just as the wedding was about to take place the uncle--he was a senator--said to the bishop, who was going to marry them: '_please get off this line, i am using it!_' and so it never took place, after all. now, can you tell me what the name of the book is, miss patterson?" "why, i am afraid i do not recognize it. it sounds a little like mrs. humphry ward and ouida and frances hodgson burnett, and someone else, all at once. was it by any of them, mrs. smith?" "oh, no, i am sure it was not. why, i am surprised--i thought you would know it now, without any hesitation!" "i am sorry." "oh, very well, then. good-by." the last in a tone as acid and cold as lemon ice. it seemed to express mrs. smith's opinion of all librarians. miss patterson was much grieved, but the telephone bell rang again before she had time to reflect. "is this the library? oh, yes. i wonder if you have a life of mrs. browning?" "yes--i think so. what would you like to know about her?" "well, there--i am certainly glad. this is miss crumpet, you know! miss hortense crumpet. i have had such a time. have you the book right there? i do wish you would--" "if you will wait just a minute, i will send for the book--i haven't it here." "oh, thank you so much." the book was fetched, and miss patterson informed miss crumpet that she now held the volume ready. "have you it right there?" "yes." "well, i want to see a picture of mrs. browning. we have a portrait here, and my aunt says it is george eliot, and i know it is mrs. browning. now, if you could just hold up the book--why, how perfectly ridiculous of me! i can't see it over the telephone, can i? why, how absolutely absurd! i never thought at all! i was going to come to the library for it, only it is so horrid and rainy, and then i remembered that i saw in the paper about your answering questions by telephone, and i thought, why, how nice, i'll just call them up on the 'phone--and now it won't do me any good at all, will it?" "i'm afraid not." "and i'll have to come to the library after all. oh, dear! good-by." "good-by." the bell rang again as soon as the receiver had been replaced. "hello! how are you for pigs' feet to-day?" "i beg your pardon?" "pigs' feet! how many yer got?" "this is the public library. did you call for us?" "who? the what? no; i'm trying to get packer and pickleums. i don't want no public library. what's the matter with that girl at central? this is the third time--" his conversation ended abruptly as the receiver was hung up. miss patterson was soon called again. mrs. pomfret smith was once more unto the breach. "miss patterson? i've remembered some more about that book, now. it had a bright red cover and the name of it was printed in gilt letters. it was about so high--oh, i forgot, you can't see over the telephone, can you? well, it was about as big as books usually are, you know, and it was quite thick--oh, it must have had a hundred or two hundred pages--perhaps more than that, i am not sure. and the front picture was of a girl--the heroine, i guess, and a man, and he had his arms around her and she was looking up into his face. _now_, you can remember what book it was, can't you, miss patterson?" a literary meet a literary meet dr. gotthold, formerly librarian to h. h. prince otto of grunewald, has very kindly forwarded a copy of the "olympian times" containing an account of the recent field day, gymkhana, and general meet of the fictitious and historical characters' amateur athletic association. it is reproduced here verbatim: on the morning of the meet everyone was delighted to see that fair weather prevailed. as it was well known that the pious Ã�neas was going to act as one of the field judges, a good many persons had expected that his old enemy Ã�olus would contrive some kind of a kibosh in the shape of high winds. but nothing of the sort happened, and thousands streamed out to the grounds in the best of spirits. the assemblage was a brilliant one. the "times's" representative noticed a number of automobile parties. a magnificent new car belonging to helen of troy carried its fair owner, and a select party consisting of iseult of ireland, mme. anna karenina, paris, tristram and don juan. another car, belonging to baron chevrial, contained that nobleman, as well as mr. dorian gray, iago, and james steerforth, esq. a special railway car belonging to croesus, king of lydia, brought a large party, including omar khayyam, comus, shylock and the marquis of carabas. the football game was scheduled as the first event. the two teams came on the field at a dog-trot led by their respective captains. this was the line-up: achilles (captain), l.e. r.e., umslopogaas mercutio, l.t. r.t., raffles john ridd, l.g. r.g., learoyd ursus, c. c., falstaff (hercules) robinson crusoe, r.g. l.g., roderick dhu sir launcelot, r.t. l.t., capt. brassbound robin hood, r.e. l.e., hamlet (captain) ulysses, q.b. q.b., s. ortheris othello, r.h.b. l.h.b., lars porsena rawdon crawley, l.h.b. r.h.b., sydney carton t. mulvaney, f.b. f.b., hector officials: referee, sherlock holmes; umpire, king arthur; field judge, henry esmond; linesmen, dr. jekyll and mr. hyde. we do not know who was responsible for the make-up of the teams, and we cannot enter into a detailed description of the game, but we must say that a more hopelessly one-sided affair we have never witnessed. the team captained by the prince of denmark had about as much chance against that led by the swift-footed son of peleus as miss lindsay's select school for girls would against the yale 'varsity. both teams were badly off for tackles, and while we do not wish to criticise the fairly good game played by sir launcelot and captain brassbound, we cannot help remarking that neither mercutio nor raffles had any business in that position. we understand that mr. raffles formerly had some reputation as a cricketer, and we advise him to stick to that game. as for mercutio (whose reputation, we believe, rests chiefly on a rather unsuccessful duel in verona a number of years ago) it was plain that his was the weakest part of the line. time and again hector tore through mercutio for big gains. indeed, if hamlet had had the sense to keep pounding at left tackle his team might at least have scored one touchdown. but instead, captain hamlet would wander off between the plays, muttering to himself something about to punt or not to punt, and the quarter, ortheris, was left to run the team alone. this was unfortunate, for although mr. ortheris played a quick and snappy game himself, his signals were badly chosen. we believe that the climate of india, where he used to reside, affected him in some unfavorable manner, so that he is subject to occasional fits of madness. what with the peculiarity of the captain of his team in this respect, it seemed as if their side were badly handicapped. umslopogaas played brilliantly at right end, but it was no use. what in the name of common sense impelled their coach to put sir john falstaff at center? the day has gone by when weight is the only consideration in that position. moreover, you cannot train for football on sack and capons. ursus made the old knight look like thirty cents in counterfeit money. luckily he was taken out at the end of the first period--wheezing badly--and hercules took his place. the game ended as might have been expected-- to , in favor of achilles's team. the football game had occupied most of the morning, but after it was over there was still time for the spectators to witness some minor contests before luncheon. many wandered over to the tennis courts. a set of mixed doubles was in progress, with lady macbeth and pudd'nhead wilson opposed by morgan le fay and mr. isaacs. the queen of scotland and her partner from missouri took a love set at the beginning of the match, but the second set was hotly contested, and finally went to morgan le fay and mr. isaacs, - . morgan le fay won ace after ace, proving herself the mistress of a very powerful and puzzling service, while mr. isaacs covered the court with the agility of a cat. they took the final set, and the match, winning easily with a score of - . gentlemen's singles were also being played, and at the time when our representative had to leave the courts the tournament was practically won by nathan burke, as the only undefeated players remaining were hugh wynne and alfred jingle. under the trees near by, some games of cards were in progress. miss lily bart was instructing diana of the crossways, major pendennis, and mr. pickwick in auction bridge. horatius, hearing the word "bridge" mentioned, hurried over to the table, but when he saw what was going on, lost his interest and walked away toward the golf links with sir patrick spens. at another table mr. john oakhurst seemed to have obliterated the color-line, for he was deeply engaged in a three-handed game of poker with rev. mr. johnsing and brother cyanide whiffles of the thompson street poker club. everybody was interested in aviation, and when the rumor got about that the aviators were going to make some flights there was a general rush toward the hangars. only three made ascents, however--darius green, icarus, and peter pan. the first tried one of his celebrated spiral descents, and of course came to the ground with a crash. his machine was a total wreck. icarus did not have much better luck--he was carried off to the hospital. he rose to an enormous height, and is said to have beaten all previous records for altitude, but something went wrong with his biplane, and he fell with terrible force. king arthur, his duties as umpire of the football game finished, challenged macbeth to nine holes of golf, and beat the scottish king, on his own heath, so to speak. king arthur's drives were magnificent, showing that the arm that once wielded excalibur had not weakened since its owner's retirement to the island valley of avilion. they play very classy golf in avilion. macbeth's putts were beautiful to watch, but as he usually arrived on the green in at least two strokes more than the monarch of the round table, they did him very little good. twice on the drive he sliced, and the ball went wide into a grove of trees. when he asked his caddie the name of the grove, and the youth replied, "birnam wood, your majesty," the former thane of cawdor turned pale and hammered the ground with his brassie. when the royal players came to the ninth tee, macbeth was heard to mutter, "what though i foozle, top, and slice, and thou opposed be now three up--yet will i try the last--lay on, mac--i mean, it's your honor, arthur!" king arthur did the difficult ninth hole in bogey, but poor old macbeth plowed up the turf all along the fair green, and finally holed out amid a burst of scotch profanity sad to hear. neither of their queens was present--her majesty of scotland being engaged, as we have said, on the tennis courts, while queen guinevere--well, it is enough for anyone to read the line-up of one of the football teams to know that queen guinevere was still lingering around the clubhouse, waiting for the players to come out. we have no wish to mention unpleasant things, and we abhor scandals--still facts are facts, and it is the duty of a conscientious newspaper to record them. down on the lake that expert submarine navigator, captain nemo, was entertaining a large crowd by the maneuvers of his celebrated boat, the nautilus, and an exhibition of skillful paddling was offered by hiawatha in his canoe. the sound of revolver shots drew a number of spectators to see a match between sherlock holmes and the virginian. the greatest throng, however, surrounded a fencing bout between cyrano de bergerac and d'artagnan. cyrano had some dispute with the referee, before beginning, on the question of whether he should be allowed to compose a poem while he was fencing. he alleged that it was his custom to do so, and that he could not possibly appear at his best if the privilege were denied. his opponent objected, however. "just a ballade, monsieur," pleaded cyrano, "or at least, a vilanelle." "cut out the poet business, cy!" shouted someone--it is suspected that chimmie fadden was the man, and the referee so ruled. d'artagnan was declared the winner of the match that followed. * * * * * after luncheon the whole assemblage were gathered about the diamond for the long expected game of baseball. this was to be played between two scrub teams known as "the boys" and "the old men"--though some of the latter (notably romeo and richard feverel) objected to the classification. these were the nines: the boys the old men tom sawyer, b. allan quartermain, b. joe harper, b. natty bumppo, r.f. tom bailey, l.f. friar tuck, c.f. kim, c.f. romeo, b. tom brown, r.f. sam weller, s.s. jack hall, s.s. richard feverel, l.f. frank nelson, b. tom jones, b. mark the match boy, c. don quixote, c. huck finn, p. hotspur, p. the old men banged into huck finn's delivery for three hits right at the start and came back for a couple more in the second inning. huck, however, began to look better, and after the fourth he was swinging the ball over in great shape. the old men made but two hits in the last seven innings and none in the last five. kim was the star on the attack. up four times he made just that many hits, one going for a double. one of kim's drives came fast on a long bound and hit romeo in the face. kim drove in a pair of runs with his double and started the scoring for the boys in the first inning, while in the sixth he himself came across with the tally which eventually proved the winning one. hotspur pitched a fair game. the greatest difference came in the defensive work of the teams. the boys went through without a break. tom jones had a case of the wabbles for the old men, and there was a lot of uncertainty about the work of the infield because of the breaks he made. the outfielders for the old men were also having trouble fielding the ball clean and throwing to the plate. sam weller was the one chap on his team who was going at speed. he pulled off one play which belongs in the hall of fame, joe harper losing a hit and the boys two runs as a result. with allan quartermain and leatherstocking down in the first inning, friar tuck fattened his batting average a bit by bunting and beating the throw to first. romeo put the ball over tom brown's head up against the bleacher front and legged it around to third, while friar tuck scored, a fumble by frank nelson on tom brown's return cinching things. sam weller lambed a single to center and romeo scored. sam was out stealing a moment later. tom sawyer got the boys away in fine style with a smash to left for a single. joe harper drew a walk. tom bailey sacrificed, and kim drove a hot grounder right through allan quartermain and wound up on second before the outfielders could get the leather back to the infield. tom sawyer and joe harper came home. tom brown popped up a foul to romeo, and kim was doubled off second after the catch. both teams kept right on scoring in the second. dicky feverel got the old men away well with a single and then stole second. tom jones put him on third with a sacrifice, and don quixote gave him the opportunity to score on a long fly to the bad boy. hotspur whaled a fly over kim's head. the famous scrapper tried to make it a home run, but was caught at the plate on jack hall's return. in the boys' half, after two had gone, mark the match boy reached first on a fumble by tom jones. huck finn drove a single to right. tom sawyer put up a hot fly which allan quartermain failed to get, and mark the match boy came home, huck finn going to third. tom sawyer stole second. joe harper drove a red-hot one over the bag at second, and it looked like a sure single and two more runs for the kids. sam weller went over for a sensational one-hand stop and threw joe out at first. it was a phenomenal play. that settled the scoring until the sixth inning. kim got a single, tom brown bunted and was safe when tom jones fumbled. jack hall sacrificed the pair along, and when hotspur passed frank nelson the sacks were full. mark the match boy raised a fly to friar tuck and kim scored on the catch. huck finn fanned. the boys' final run came in the eighth on jack hall's single, mark the match boy's grounder through the lion hunter, and a single by tom sawyer. the score: innings the boys ..-- the old men ..-- "the desert island test" "the desert island test" a roll of papers containing the following narrative has been forwarded to the "transcript" by captain "sol" farr of the gloucester fishing schooner "salt mackerel." captain farr discovered them, floating about in an olive bottle, a few miles off boston light. as soon as he had examined the papers (which are slightly damaged by salt water and olive vinegar) he perceived their bearing upon an important literary question of the day, and very properly sent them to "the librarian." the original papers are to be deposited in the ezra beesly free public library of baxter (captain farr's native town), where in a week or two they may be seen by anyone applying to the librarian, or one of his assistants, between a.m. and p.m. the narrative, written in a shaky hand, on twelve sheets of note paper, contains the following remarkable statement: * * * * * i, professor horatio b. fassett, m.a., ph.d., write this appeal (with a perfectly detestable fountain-pen) on an uninhabited and (so far as i am aware) unknown island, somewhere off the eastern coast of south america, on (as near as i can guess) the twelfth of december, . for two years have i dwelt in wretchedness in this place, a most unwilling (and unsuccessful) follower of robinson crusoe. i know that it is customary in such appeals as this, which i am about (in the words of the burial service) to commit to the deep, to give, approximately at least, the latitude and longitude of my desert isle, in order that searching parties (which i earnestly pray may be sent for me) shall know where to look. alas! all my studies have been devoted to literature and the fine arts, and although i have certain instruments which poor captain bucko used to ascertain the ship's position, i am as helpless with them as an infant. true, i have endeavored to look at the sun with them--and the moon, too, but i could not observe that those bodies had any than their usual aspect when thus viewed. as for the signs which are engraved on the surface of these instruments, i could copy them down here in hope that they might give a clue to those expert in navigation; but as they are, so far as i can see, exactly the same as those which were on the instruments when we left new york, i fear it would be of no avail. the only hint, then, of the geographical position of this island must come from my narrative. i beseech whatever person finds it to send news of me without delay to the president and faculty of upidee university, where, alas, i suppose my chair (the james a. rewbarb professorship of german literature) is already filled. it is unnecessary for me to speak much of my career. in the obituary notices that doubtless appeared when the ship "hardtack" failed to arrive at valparaiso, i suppose it was stated that i was the only passenger on that unfortunate vessel. i am, i believe, the only survivor of her wreck. worn out with revising proof of the second edition of my doctor's thesis ("that the umlaut should be placed one-fourth of a millimetre higher than is now the custom") i had, at the advice of my physician, embarked on the "hardtack," sailing from new york for valparaiso, sept. , . the voyage was uneventful for about four weeks, and life on the ship (which i think, by the way, was called by the captain a "brig") was not distasteful to me. one morning, however, i heard a commotion overhead, and going upstairs found captain bucko in a state of great excitement. i asked him the cause, and he replied that the mate had put the brig in irons. i had often read of this custom in times of mutiny, so i remarked: "i suppose it was by your orders, captain?" he did not reply, and i presently learned the cause of his anxiety. they did not seem to be able to make the ship go ahead in a straight line, and, to make matters worse, a rocky island on which the waves were breaking violently, had been discovered on the right hand side of the vessel. i ought to explain that i am not perfectly familiar with all the technicalities of ship-navigation, and i retain only a confused idea of what followed. i know that i was ordered to get into a small rowboat which was jumping about in a most alarming fashion at one side of the ship, and that when i refused to take such a ridiculous step, i was seized by two sailors and thrown into the boat. i must have struck my head on something, for i knew nothing else until i found myself lying on a beach, pounded and bruised by the waves. i got up, and staggered to a place where the sand was dry, and there i fell again exhausted. of the captain and the crew of the "hardtack" i have never seen a trace, except a coat belonging to the mate, which was washed on shore a few days later. their small boat was probably tipped over by the waves, and they were all drowned. it is strange that i, the only one of them unfamiliar with the ocean, should have been spared. the "hardtack" itself evidently became hitched on a rock some little distance from the shore, for there it stayed for part of that day, with great waves beating upon it. at last the masts fell down, and in a few days the ship was broken in pieces, till nothing remained. many of these fragments floated to the shore, with various articles from the cargo. for the first three days i was excessively miserable. i was forced to sleep out of doors on the first night, and when i felt hungry the next morning, there was nothing to eat. my tastes are simple, but my habits are regular, and in my rooms at upidee, as well as in the "hardtack," i was accustomed to have a cup of coffee at half-past seven each morning. now i searched the shore for some hours, but could find nothing except some mussels or clams and a few starfish. the starfish were very tough, and not at all agreeable in taste, and though a little neck clam, properly iced and served with lemon and other condiments, is not an ill beginning to a dinner, i cannot pretend that i found these shellfish, eaten raw on a windy beach, other than nauseous. but i hasten over these troubles and also over my discovery of a large number of boxes of food which floated ashore, three days later, from the wreck. some of it was edible and it sufficed until i found other means of sustenance on the island. of my discovery of two deserted huts (relics of former castaways, perhaps), of my domestication of several wild goats, whom i learned (not without difficulty) to milk, and of my capture of fish in the inlet--of all these things i need not write. my troubles are not material, but intellectual. and they are so great that i earnestly implore some one to come to my rescue. to make my sufferings clear i must remind the reader that i am that horatio fassett who won the $ prize from "somebody's magazine" four years ago for the best answer to the question: "if you were cast away on a desert island what one hundred books would you prefer to have with you?" i worked hard to compile my list, and it was generally agreed to be the most scholarly selection of one hundred titles ever made. the publishers of "somebody's magazine" not only paid me the $ , but presented me with a copy, well bound, of each of the books. these (packed securely in a water-tight box, so constructed as to float) accompanied me in the "hardtack," and i need tell no scholar that during my first days on this island, as i walked the beach and watched the remnants of the vessel float ashore, it was not so much for cases of concentrated soup nor tins of baked-beans that i yearned, as for my box of the "one hundred best books." at last it came! that was a happy day--about a week after my arrival on the island. i saw the box, tossed about in the surf, and i dashed in and secured it. i was now living, with comparative comfort, in one of the huts; and thither i carried the books. i was overjoyed. it was my privilege to put my books to the test--something that had never been accorded to the compilers of any of the similar lists which have been made in such profusion. with trembling hands (and a screwdriver) i opened the box and took out the books. they were in perfect order--the waterproof box had been well made. from this point, i copy the entries in my diary, and let them tell the rest of my dismal story. "oct. . i arranged the books neatly, this afternoon, on top of some empty biscuit boxes. they were all there: tasso, homer, don quixote, the divine comedy, browning, and the rest. they looked delightful, and reminded me of my study at upidee. i wonder if i shall ever see that study again, and i wonder what will become of the second edition of my thesis on the umlaut. it was to appear next april, and now who knows whether i shall be there ready to reply to the attacks which i know it will provoke? "from this gloomy line of thought, i turned again to the hundred best books. which should i begin to read? there were my beloved goethe and schiller--should i start with them? i took a volume, and had opened it, when it occurred to me that i had not yet gone that day to the high rock where i looked for passing ships. i put goethe back on the biscuit box, and spent an anxious afternoon staring at the ocean. but i saw nothing. "the evening i spent in trying to arrange some fishing lines, as the firelight--my only illumination--is not favorable for reading to one afflicted with astigmatism. i miss the electric droplight that i used at upidee, or even the kerosene lamp in the cabin of the 'hardtack.' i must try to make some candles. "oct. . i passed the morning in trying to tame a wild goat--or perhaps i had better say in trying to induce one to graze outside my cabin, instead of investigating the interior. they are not at all shy, but are inclined to be rather sociable. in the afternoon i took goethe with me to the high rock, where i sat with the volume on my knee keeping a watch for vessels. i cannot say that i read much. german literature makes me feel rather homesick, and i find brings me recollections of the distressing recitations of last year's freshman class. "oct. . when i went to the lookout to-day i took browning with me. good heavens, i found i can no longer read browning! this was an astounding state of things, and i had to examine myself rather sharply. i remembered that i had never for a moment been in doubt, when i made up my list, of including browning. i had read, twenty years ago, the 'dramatic lyrics,' with the greatest of pleasure, but the longer poems had seemed to me rather dull, and indeed a large proportion of the poet's work was intensely irritating to me on account of its needless and exasperating obscurity. at the time i did not consider this a cause for worry. browning was a great poet--everyone said so; his treasures did not lie on the surface--one must dive below in order to find the rich pearls which lay concealed there. i remember using this metaphor in a lecture that i delivered before the woman's club of buffalo. i had always intended to study the longer poems; but i had never done it. now they were unreadable to me. as for the 'dramatic lyrics,' they did not charm me as formerly. i found myself longing for a volume of wordsworth or tennyson. neither was included in my best books, though i cannot see now, for the life of me, why i didn't include tennyson. could it have been because his poems are easy to understand and that i thought it would seem more 'scholarly' to put in browning? "oct. . i have not been to the high rock lately except for a brief visit after breakfast. i have had a little rheumatism--not being used to sleeping in draughty cabins. the goats have been a source of entertainment to me, and i have caught some crabs, which i keep in a little pool of salt water near the cabin. they are amusing to watch, and toasted crab-meat is far from bad at supper time. i kill one with a stick and then broil him on a hot stone. "yesterday i tried reading again, but i am bound to confess that there was not much solace in it. the odyssey i soon put down--too much shipwreck and wandering in strange lands. there is no penelope waiting for me, even if i ever get home alive. and the thought of ithaca reminded me of cornell and professor von füglemann, who is all ready to tear my thesis on the umlaut to pieces. shakspeare i picked up, but the first play i opened to was 'the tempest.' i closed shakspeare and put him back. "nov. . nothing has happened worth recording for weeks. once i saw smoke, from a steamboat, i suppose, but smoke did not do me any good. "there is something the matter with this list of best books. for one thing, they are most of them so tragic. i would give anything for a volume of mr. dooley. but that is not all. i have always realized that the great literature of the world is very largely sombre, and i have no more sympathy now than i ever had with the people who want to read nothing but that which keeps them on a broad grin. even in my dreary situation i could read tragedy, but i have brought precious little tragedy that i care for. no doubt most of my books are great monuments of literature, but i am afraid i must have forgotten, when i wrote my list, how few of these books i read now. i must have put them in because they are praised by writers of text-books, and because it seemed the proper thing to do. "as i go over my reading for the past five years at upidee, in what do i find it to consist? first, the literature and text-books of my profession. second, current books--history, biography, art criticism, and an infrequent novel or book of verse. there are not many living novelists or poets that i care about. it makes me fairly rage when i think that i hesitated between 'pickwick' and 'jerusalem delivered' when i made up my list, and finally decided in favor of the latter as more weighty--which it certainly is. "i used my copy to help sink a lobster trap the other day. "almost the only novel which i condescended to include in my list is 'don quixote,' and why did i do that? because it has been praised for three hundred years, i suppose, instead of for only forty or fifty. it is about the only humorous work which i did include--and except for places here and there it is a dreary waste. "aug. , . it is now months since i have had the courage to face this diary. i dreamed last night that i had wandered into a book shop. there were rows of books, for any one of which i would have gladly given my whole celebrated one hundred. (at least, i would give what is left of them. 'don quixote' has been used to paste over cracks in the walls of my cabin. 'orlando furioso' served to boil some sea-gulls' eggs one morning for breakfast, when i was short of firewood, and the 'koran' fell into the fire one night when i hurled it at some animal--a fox, i think, that came into the hut.) the sight of that bookshop made me weep. i had seized a volume of tennyson, stevenson's letters, and 'sherlock holmes,' when the shopkeeper jumped over his counter at me--and i woke, sobbing. "sept. , . one of the goats ate the Ã�neid to-day. "sept. . the goat is ill, and i have had to give it one of my few pepsin tablets." this is the last entry from the diary that i need transcribe. over a year has elapsed since i wrote it; and my case is desperate. i will now seal up this narrative in a bottle, and throw it into the sea. come to my rescue, or i fear i shall go mad! the conversation room the conversation room to the honorable, the board of directors of the blankville public library. gentlemen: i am forced to lay my complaint before you, because your librarian, dr. w. m. pierce, so i am told, has sailed for europe to attend a meeting of librarians in brussels, whence he will not return for six or seven weeks. my name is doubtless familiar to you, but perhaps you are not aware that i am engaged in an important piece of research in your library. when i state that my work is an inquiry into the indo-iranian origins of the noun 'fuddy-dud' and its possible derivation from the semitic, you will understand that it requires the closest possible application and an entire freedom from interruptions and distractions. when i began my researches in your library, six days ago, i presented letters to dr. pierce. he very kindly installed me in an alcove, where he had placed a table and chairs, and where he allowed me to assemble the books needed in my studies--some one hundred and thirty or forty volumes. these, together with my papers and writing materials, are permitted to remain on the table from one day to another, as obviously it would be inconvenient for me to have to call for them each morning. it is my custom to begin work at nine o'clock every day, and to continue (save for an hour at noon) until p.m. for a few days all went very well, and i was making fair progress in my work. but during the last two days, and particularly yesterday, i have been subjected to such annoyances that all of my studies have been held at a standstill. the library, and particularly the remote part of it in which my alcove is situated, has been little frequented during this hot weather. yesterday, however, an invasion began. the alcove next to mine was visited by a succession of incongruous, inconsequent persons whose conversation made it utterly impossible for me to work. a complaint to miss mayhew, the assistant in charge of the library, elicited the fact that conversation is allowed in this alcove. it is out of the question for me to move my work, as an inspection of the building has shown that there is no other spot where the light suits my eyes. yesterday afternoon, totally unable to do any serious work, i took down, in shorthand, the stream of driveling talk that occurred in that alcove. i now transcribe it here, in order that your honorable board may have an opportunity of judging the nature of the interruptions to which i am subjected. after giving them due consideration i trust that you will be able to take action in the matter. in the meanwhile my philological researches are of necessity suspended. i returned to my work, after luncheon, at two o'clock. the alcove next mine was occupied by two persons--a young man and woman, both about twenty years of age. their talk reached me, and made it impossible for me to follow any consecutive line of thought. at the time when i began to take down their conversation, the young woman was saying: "what's 'gibbon'? people are always talking about reading gibbon--and then they look awfully wise. i've never dared to ask what they mean." "oh, it's gibbon's history of rome--the 'fall of the roman empire,' or something like that." "have you ever read it?" "great scott, no! it's in about a dozen volumes--i don't know how many. i've read some of it--they made us do it, freshman year." "is it awfully dry? would i like it?" "it's pretty fierce. nothing to grote, though--grote's 'history of greece'--that's the limit!" "gibbon is a man then? i wasn't sure what he was." "yes; he's the author." "oh, why, i've seen him! how stupid of me! i saw him when i was in baltimore visiting the ashfords. why, he's just the _grandest_ thing you ever saw in your life. he came at the end of a great long procession, with the dearest little choir-boys at the head, and he was all in scarlet robes, and a great long train, with two more little boys holding up his train, and he had the loveliest lace collar--i just went crazy over him! and i saw him on the street afterwards, too, only he didn't have on his scarlet robes then. he had on black clothes, and a tall hat, and when he lifted his hat to someone he had on a little red skull-cap underneath it. oh, he's a perfect dear. i'd like to read his book--i wonder if they've got it here?" "no, no--that's not the man. this was an englishman--his first name was--i forget what it was. anyhow he's been dead a long time. he was a very fat man, and he proposed to mme. de staël, or george sand, or one of those women, and when he got down on his knees he was so fat that he couldn't get up again, and had to ask her to help him up." "how perfectly ridiculous! i hate fat men. i hope she didn't accept him! did she?" "i don't know." "well, i don't want to read his book, anyhow. but i've simply got to read something that sounds cultured and learned. aunt ella has been at me again; she says this is a good time, during vacation. fanny brooks has a great long list of the books she has read--i am so tired of having fanny brooks thrown at me! she never reads anything interesting, or does anything at all for pleasure. she ought to be a nun. can't you think of something that will impress aunt ella--something that sounds awfully impressive and dry and cultured, but really is easy to read?" "well, let me see, how about browning?" "i've read him." "like him?" "no." "it seems to be a tough proposition. what does your aunt ella read? why don't you take some of her books?" "oh, i don't know. she reads 'women of the renaissance' and things like that. i tried to read some of hers, and i told her i didn't like them. she said i couldn't expect to, because i haven't any foundation. how do you get a foundation--that's what i'd like to know! aunt ella is perfectly dippy on italian art. gracious, is that clock right? it's nearly three, and i haven't done any improving reading." "look here, it's a corking afternoon--you don't want to waste it in this joint. let's go down to the boathouse and get my canoe." "i'd like to. but what will i say to aunt ella?" "oh, we'll take some book with us, and you can read while i paddle. what's that one on that shelf?--it looks dry as the deuce. here you are, just the thing:--'notes on the architectural antiquities of the district of gower in glamorganshire'--that would make a hit with aunt ella, all right!" "it doesn't sound very interesting." "you're right, there. well, how will this one do? 'the recently discovered cromlech near is-sur-tille.'" "what on earth is a cromlech?" "you can search me." "let's take them both. i'll get them charged at the desk, and meet you outside. i'll read you all about the cromlech--if there are any words in the book i can pronounce." with this they went out, and i endeavored to take up my work. before i could make the slightest progress, however, two more persons entered the alcove. these, to judge from the conversation, were small boys. i had to sit and listen to this chatter: "what yer got?" "'tinkham brothers' tide-mill.' what you got?" "one of henty's." "what one?" "'the cat of boobasts.'" "aw, that ain't any good. why didn't yer get 'by england's aid'?" "'t warn't in." "yes, 't is, too. jimmy goodrich just brought it back." "well, the teacher won't let yer have it the same day it come in. an' she won't let me give back this one now." "aw, you're dead easy! don't yer know how to work that?" "no." "why, just go down there, an' when she ain't lookin' stick that one you got behind some other books on the shelf. then go round to that wheel thing near her desk, 'by england's aid' is on that, an' put it under your arm when she ain't lookin' an' go out quick with it. then you can come round to-morrer, an' get the other one, an' give it back, an' get your card, an' you can stick back 'by england's aid' any time. bring it in under your coat, when you come with it." "gee, that's great! have you ever tried it?" "have i? i've had six books at home to once, an' two more on my cards." "how many cards you got?" "two. ain't you?" "no, i ain't got but one." "didn't they make you take a green card?" "no; what good are they?" "they ain't no good, but the teacher makes yer take one. you can get story books on the white card, but the other is for non-fiction." "what's that?" "oh, school books, an' a lot of rotten things like that." "what do yer want them for?" "you don't want 'em--excep' a few of 'em. 'the american boy's handy book' is one of 'em. that's all right. most of 'em are bum. but if you take 'em, it makes a hit with the teacher. they want yer to read 'em. i got a prize last winter for readin' more'n any other feller that comes to the liberry." "gee, you must have hated to read all them school books." "aw, i didn't read 'em, you mutt. i jus' took 'em home, an' brought 'em back in a day or two. say, have you ever read any of alger's?" "yup--two of 'em. eddie meaghan let me take two of his. you can't get 'em here. i wish you could, though. they're great." "i know. i tried to get 'em off the teacher down stairs. she said they warn't nice. i says yes they are too, for my brother who's studyin' to be a lawyer read 'em. she said she'd give me some book that was better, an' she give me one called 'brothers of the air.'" "was it any good?" "rotten. but danny corrigan, the bootblack, told me about a place, a liberry in back of schmidt's cigar store where you can get alger's an' old sleuth, and di'mond dick, an' bowery billy. gee, the teacher'd have a fit if she sees them--she took one of old sleuth's away from jimmy goodrich, an' burned it up, an' wrote to his mother about it." "i'm goin' down to the children's room, now. do you s'pose i can work that gag now, an' get 'by england's aid'?" "sure. i'll go down, too, an' show yer how." * * * * * whereupon these two nuisances departed. really it seems amazing that children and frivolous persons should be allowed in libraries. as it was four o'clock now, i did hope to be allowed to study in peace for what remained of the afternoon. but the hope was vain, for inside of five minutes two women came into that alcove, that cave of the winds, as i may call it. they apparently brought some books with them, and they instantly began to discuss them in a manner that drove every idea from my head. there was nothing left for me to do but to record their talk in order to make my complaint perfectly clear to your honorable board. this was the conversation: "well, now, this says that daniel pingree died at marblehead in . if that's so, how under the sun, i'd like to know, was he married to pamela perkins in ?" "why, it doesn't say that, does it?" "look for yourself. there it is. and who was pamela pingree who died in ?" "oh, she was his great-aunt. i've got her traced all clear enough. her mother was a jimson. they lived in the old jimson homestead in worcester. her father was zachariah jimson, and he was my ancestor; he was the third cousin of the earl of dingleberry. i got into the 'grand dames of the pequot war,' and the 'united order of american descendants of third cousins of earls'--both of them, through zachariah. but that doesn't explain how molly bixby, whose mother came over in the sarah jane from bristol, and who settled at cohasset in , turned up in philadelphia in married to an officer in the english army. then i am nearly distracted about jabez whicher. he was an intimate friend of sir harry vane, and i don't see how i can ever get into the 'descendants of persons who were acquainted with people worth while' unless i can find out something about him." "are you sure there was such a man?" "of course i am. my mother was a whicher. i have been all through the town history of tinkleham, where he came from. we have two samplers at home, worked by his great-granddaughter. and i have hunted in the genealogies of the diddleback family--he married a diddleback, my grandfather always said, and in the genealogies of the fritterleys and the nynkums, because they were the most prominent families of tinkleham." "what have you got there?" "this? oh, this is the town and court records of footleboro'--it is only three miles from tinkleham, you know, and i thought i might find out something about him. let me see, let me see--gracious, what fine print! there, here are the whichers, lots of them. andrew, benjamin, charles--why, here he is! victory at last! 'whicher, jabez.' that's the man! now, page . here we are! what's this--'site of the old pump'? why, what's the matter with this index? it says page clear enough. and, look here, isn't this page ?" "why, yes, it seems to be. i don't understand. oh, this is it--that means paragraph . look under that. there you are. what? 'june d, , jabez whicher was accused before the justices of stealing sundry fowl and swine from several of the townsfolk, and he did plead that he was guilty, and was fined twelve pence, and sentenced to confinement in the jail for one year, and to be branded with the letter t on his right cheek.' dear me, is that your ancestor?" "why no, certainly not; how ridiculous! another person of the same name, of course." "but it is a very unusual name." "not at all, whicher is a common name--i mean, that is--i mean--oh, of course this is some one else." i cannot chronicle their conversation any further. enough has been given to show you the nature of the annoyances to which i was subjected yesterday. i look to you, gentlemen, for relief. yours very truly, obadiah wurzberger. to the board of directors of the blankville public library. gentlemen: i regret to hear from my colleague, dr. o. wurzberger, that you have denied his application for relief in the matter of conversation within the library alcoves. dr. wurzberger has been unable to work for over a week on account of the disturbing chatter that goes on in the alcove next to his, and yet you reply that conversation has always been allowed there, and that you do not see your way to forbidding it. in order to show you that he is not alone in finding this conversation disturbing, i wish to state that i have been intolerably annoyed. i have been trying to work in the alcove on the other side of the one where the talking occurs. the first volume of my arabic dictionary (on which i have been engaged continuously since ) is soon to appear, and i had hoped to devote a few weeks to a final revision. but how much i was able to accomplish to-day, for instance, you may see from this clack and chatter which took place within eight feet of me. the first to begin, at half-past nine o'clock, were two youths. this is a literal account of what they said: "when is the exam?" "september d." "what in thunder are you beginning to grind now for?" "why, we are going to start for squid cove day after to-morrow, and we always stay till after labor day. of course i shan't do any grinding down there; and then when we get back pete brown and i are going to take the car and go up to lake george for the rest of the month--or till the exam, anyhow." "so you've only got to-day and to-morrow?" "that's all." "gee! what does the course cover?" "english literature from beowulf to the death of swinburne." "know anything about it?" "not a damned thing." "know who beowulf was?" "no,--i thought you were going to put me on to that." "well, you know who swinburne was, don't you?" "sure thing; he wrote 'the blessed damozel.'" "snappy work, old man. you came pretty near it, anyhow. only, don't put that in the exam. you won't get asked many questions about modern writers, so don't worry over them. perhaps you'll get one on tennyson. don't say he lived in the craigie house on brattle street, and wrote 'evangeline,' will you? now, we might as well open the book, and take a chance anywhere. here's milton. ever hear of him?" "john milton, england's greatest epic poet, was the son of a scrivener. he was born in in grub street, london. he lived there till he was sixteen, so it is possible that his youthful eyes may have beheld shakspeare, his only superior. he--" "well, well! where did you get all this?" "wait a minute. little did his worthy parents realize that their son was destined to write some of the most charming lyrics, the most powerful sonnets, and the greatest epic in the english language, and to lose his sight in--in--oh! i forget what he lost his sight in. but, say, how is that? learned it this morning, while i was eating breakfast." "marvelous! but what was that about grub street? this book says bread street." "yes, that's right--bread street. knew it was something about grub." "well, you better cut all that out about the street. you might get mixed again, and put it pudding lane. it doesn't make a hit, anyhow. they would rather have some drool about his influence on literature, or something of that sort. they'll probably ask you to contrast 'l'allegro' with 'il penseroso,' or describe his attitude toward the presbyterians, or--" "that's all right--i'm there with the goods. 'l'allegro' describes the care-free life of the happy man--the philosophy falsely attributed to the followers of epicurus, which is summed up in the maxim, 'eat, drink and be merry,' more completely described in the rubaiyat of omar khayyam. 'il penseroso,' on the other hand, is the thoughtful, sober student by no means to be confounded with the melancholy man, but, on the other hand--oh, i've got that down cold--i can go on that way for three pages." "we'll let milton alone, then. you seem to know everything to be known about him. how are you on swift, addison and that crowd? they always give you three or four questions about them." "i've got to read over what that book says on that period. i am not very sure whether swift or defoe wrote the 'tatler,' and those other things--they're all mixed up in my mind, anyway." "how about shakspeare?" "oh, yes. no one knows when he was born or died, what he did, or whether he wrote his plays or not." "you'll get in trouble if you say that. i don't believe you will get any question about him. here's jane austen." "she was the woman that was married three or four times, and ought to have been two or three other times, wasn't she?" "no; you've mixed her with someone else. you ought to be able to discuss her style, and compare it with charlotte bronte's. they're dippy about jane out there, so be sure and read her up. and don't fail to express great admiration for spenser, if you get a chance." "was he the fellow who said we were all descended from monkeys?" "no, no. what are you talking about? he was a poet--time of shakspeare, or about then. you ought to read some of him. read some of 'the shepherd's calendar' and quote from it. you'll hate it, but it will work a great swipe with the examiner." "well, i'll have to go along now. mighty good of you to put me on to these points." "don't mention it." "let's see--swift, jane austen and spenser are the ducks you say i ought to look up?" "yes; and addison and marlowe. and say, find out something about wordsworth. they'll ask about his attitude toward the french revolution, or some damfool thing like that." "all right, i will. what was his attitude toward it?" "i don't know. i had it all down fine once--when i took that exam. he liked it or else he didn't, i forget which. but say, you want to know a little about dryden and pope, too." "dryden and pope. all right, i got 'em on my list. i'll be able to write three pages about both of 'em before i go to bed. so long!" "so long!" * * * * * they parted; but the alcove was empty only three minutes. it was then occupied by a man and a woman. the woman began the conversation. "mrs. brooks said i certainly ought to consult you, mr. wigglesworth. she said your knowledge of local history will be indispensable to us." "now, i wonder if i understand you correctly. you and the other ladies of your club wish to give a pageant, illustrating past events in the history of the town?" "that's it, exactly. now, we thought it would be so nice if we could have the visit of lafayette to blankville, for one thing. i am to be the marquise de lafayette, in a louis quinze gown and powdered hair." "ah, yes. and your husband, i presume, will represent the marquis?" "daniel? oh dear, no. mr. jones would never take any interest in it. he is so busy, you know. dr. peabody will be lafayette." "i see. dr. peabody will be lafayette. i suppose, of course, that you wish to carry out the pageant with due regard for historical accuracy, correctness of costume, and all that sort of thing?" "oh, yes. certainly! that is what will make it so charming, and interesting, and picturesque, and er--er--educational. dr. peabody has picked out his costume already. he has spent hours over it. it is all white satin, high-heeled shoes, a jeweled sword, and a powdered wig. we thought we would represent the ball given to the marquis and marchioness by the leading citizens of the town. then we could have a minuet, you know. dr. peabody dances so beautifully." "ah, yes. i see only one objection to this. from the point of view of historical truth, i mean. lafayette did not visit blankville on his first sojourn in this country." "oh, would that make any difference?" "well, it would, rather." "i don't see why." "well, for one thing, when he did come here he was an old man. he was about old enough to be dr. peabody's grandfather, i should judge." "oh!" "furthermore, there was no ball given by the leading citizens, and no minuet." "but there must have been something!" "there was. the selectmen gathered at the post-house and presented an address of welcome." "well, why couldn't we have that?" "undoubtedly you could. but it occurred at about nine o'clock on a rainy night. lafayette did not alight from his coach, for he was trying to get on to fairfield that night. he was suffering from a headache, and not only had on a nightcap, but had his head swathed in flannel bandages as well. he merely put out his head for a moment from the coach window, took the address, thanked the selectmen and immediately retired from view. there is no doubt at all about this, for abner willcox, the first historian of blankville, was one of the selectmen." "i don't see how we could have that very well." "it is possible that you could persuade dr. peabody to appear in a nightcap and flannel bandages, but from what i know of the young man i should think it extremely doubtful." "well, it would not be picturesque!" "possibly not; but it would be historically correct, which is even better." "i do not think so. i do not believe that a pageant should follow the facts of history slavishly. the object is to reproduce in a beautiful manner the events of the past." "exactly so, mrs. jones. i have no objection to the beauty of the spectacle, but if the historical association, whose president and representative i am, are to contribute toward the pageant, i must insist upon some regard for historical truth." "well, what could we have? are there not some events that would be suitable? did not general washington and mrs. washington visit our town?" "they did not. they seem to have overlooked it." "was there never an indian raid?" "yes; there was. in ." "how would that do?" "i will leave you to judge. the indians--there were three of them--were all intoxicated. they endeavored to steal a horse, but were discovered by a servant girl of one enoch winslow, who owned the horse. she locked them up in the barn until the constable could come and take them to the village jail." "it does not sound very dramatic." "i am no judge of what is or is not dramatic, mrs. jones. i merely give you the facts. possibly you might like to represent the landing of the first settlers." "yes; that sounds delightful." "it was not a delightful occasion for the settlers. it is a matter of record that on landing they were instantly attacked by mosquitoes in such large numbers that they had to beat a hasty retreat to their ship." "perhaps we could have that and leave out the mosquitoes,--it would be hard to have them, anyway." "that would be impossible, madam. the modern school of history, of which i am a follower, allows the omission of no detail which makes for accuracy. perhaps you would not be able to introduce the mosquitoes, though it might be managed. if not, i should insist that the persons representing the settlers beat their arms and hands about, and retreat to the vessel in evident distress." "it does seem hard to find anything. i must go now. i hope you will think it over, mr. wigglesworth. good morning." * * * * * these, gentlemen of the board, were the annoyances i suffered to-day. can you do nothing to remedy this state of things? respectfully yours, nicholas jasper, ph.d. the literary zoo the literary zoo "the idea is not exactly original," i complained. "perhaps not," mr. gooch replied, "at least, perhaps it isn't wholly original in a general sense. still, disregarding what private collectors may have done, i am sure this is the first public library to establish a literary-zoölogical annex on so extensive a scale. we aim at nothing less than completeness." "oh! that is what you call it--a literary-zoölogical annex? i thought i had heard it called a literary zoo." "we think the other name a little more dignified. that is what it will be termed on the invitations. let me see; i believe i sent you an advance invitation? they are not to be issued till next monday." he had sent me one, and i took it from my pocket and read it over again. "the public library of east caraway," it said, "requests the honor of your presence at the opening of its literary-zoölogical annex, thursday, september st, at ten o'clock a.m." "we have to set that hour," mr. gooch explained, "because the animals are so much brighter then. in the afternoon they get sleepy, and at four o'clock, which is feeding time, they are noisy and quarrelsome. but come, we will go and inspect them." he rose and led the way out of his office. we went through the delivery room, where a dozen or twenty people were waiting for books, and out through the stacks to the door of the big wooden annex. mr. gooch drew a bunch of keys from his pocket and unfastened the padlock. "of course you understand," said he, as he pushed back the heavy doors, "there are still very many empty cages. our collection is about one-fifth what we hope to have in two years. it is slow work, and most of the specimens are obtained only after long research and difficult negotiation. some owners of the most desirable animals hold them at prices absolutely prohibitive to a library like ours. i could tell you of haggling and bargaining that we have done! well, you would never believe, for instance, what the owner of the horse who brought the news from ghent to aix wants for him, and as for circe's swine--there are only two of them extant now--they might be made of pure gold, those pigs! but we have enough animals to make a respectable showing on opening day, i think, and i believe the collection will be decidedly educational in its effects." mr. gooch has a firmer trust in the educational value of many things than i have been able to share, but i looked forward with great interest to this first view of his animals. "this section is devoted to birds," said mr. gooch; "that swan floating around on the pool is the one who was once an ugly duckling; the cockatoo on the perch belonged to count fosco; and the red bird is, of course, the kentucky cardinal. "one moment," i interposed, "how do you classify your animals? not by authors, i take it?" mr. gooch looked a little embarrassed. "well, no," he admitted; "it was a very painful thing, for as a librarian i naturally wished to do everything according to library methods. but it was absolutely impossible. we tried it, and we had some harrowing experiences." mr. gooch wiped his brow with his handkerchief. "the kipling section was a perfect pandemonium in no time," he went on, "there was a terrific battle between the tiger and one of the elephants. i thought the whole place would be torn to pieces. we got them separated somehow, and we saw then that it would be utterly impossible to classify by authors. in some cases it might be done, but we had to stick to one system or another, so we adopted the usual methods of the zoölogical museums--the birds by themselves, the carnivora together, and so on. it is hardly scholarly, i know, but we had to do it." i could not deny that he had acted for the best. by way of changing the subject i asked him about a small bird of inconspicuous appearance. "it is the nightingale that inspired john keats," he replied, "he sings sometimes, on moonlit nights. i can tell you, however, that the ode is better than his song. the raven, sitting there on the pallid bust of pallas, you will recognize without any difficulty. this other raven--" "belonged to barnaby rudge, i suppose?" "no, _he_ is owned by a private collector. this one flew and croaked ahead of queen guinevere, when she fled all night long by glimmering waste and weald, and heard the spirits of the waste and weald moan as she fled. our ravens are not very cheerful birds. the other large, black bird is solomon caw, who lived in kensington gardens. there at the edge of the pool stands the caliph stork." "and this hen?" i asked. "that is em'ly, who was once the object of attention from a virginian. the other is the little red hin." "you will be able to make an addition to your poultry soon," i remarked. "what do you mean?" "why, one chantecler." "will we? i don't know. we don't go in for every animal that becomes notorious through advertising. do you recognize the canary?" "little nell's?" "no, this one hung in the cabin of the brig flying scud. here are the dogs--well penned, you see--i didn't intend that outrageous pun--because some of them are dangerous. this is wolf, who once belonged to rip van winkle. many persons have the impression that his name is snider. the bloodhound is one of those which pursued eliza across the ice. there are many impostors, but our specimen is undoubtedly genuine." "and the stuffed bloodhound?" i inquired. "he was shot with a bottle of daffy's elixir by micah clarke. the other stuffed dog, that gigantic black one, is--" "the hound of the baskervilles, of course!" i interrupted. "certainly; there are the marks of sherlock holmes's bullets. this fox terrier, who is so lively and amiable, is montmorency, who once went on a trip with three men in a boat. this stuffed pug, who looks flattened and damaged, is willoughby, who was killed by having a fallen idol tumble on him. the enormous st. bernard is porthos, who belonged to peter ibbetson, and that collie once had the extreme honor of being chased about in the snow and caught by mr. van bibber." we walked on, down the long passage, with cages on either side. on shelves, here and there, were animals, dead and stuffed. it had been impossible to procure them alive. mr. gooch pointed out a fox, who plainly had been cut in two. the stitches where the taxidermist sewed him together were easy to see. it was the fox, so the librarian told me, killed in spain by the brigadier gerard. "here are the cats," announced mr. gooch, "and their characters vary. the persian kitten, who is chasing her tail, has been celebrated in rubaiyat. that large tom is not named tom, but peter. he once had some painkiller administered to him by tom sawyer. the disagreeable looking creature belonged to mr. wilde, the repairer of reputations in 'the king in yellow.' perhaps you recognize the other?" "it must be the black cat!" i exclaimed. "it is, indeed," said mr. gooch. "before we look at the horses, i want you to come into this little room. the collection here is unique--it cannot be approached by any other in the world. this large cage is intended for the jabberwock--when we obtain him. in the meanwhile here are some mome raths--a sort of green pig who has lost his way, you know; two borogoves and a slithy tove." i gazed with feelings of deep emotion on the slithy tove--"something like a badger, something like a lizard, and something like a corkscrew." the two borogoves, who were both very mimsy indeed, did not belie their reputation for looking like live mops. "this room is admirable! have you any other animals in it?" "yes," mr. gooch replied, "here is the pobble who has no toes." "the genuine pobble?" "absolutely genuine. the veritable pobble who went to fish for his aunt jobiska's runcible cat with crimson whiskers. over there you can see the griffin who once carried a minor canon on his back. and beside him--" i saw a large and sulky-looking bird, seated in a chair, in a state of deep dejection and invalidism. his head was tied up, as if he were very ill. "surely that is the cockalorum." mr. gooch nodded. "follow me, please. this room--" he opened a door that led into what seemed to be a vast and absolutely empty apartment--"this room contains a snark, and the invisible dog who figured in the stories of three burglars. beyond are some of the animals who once lived on a certain island with one dr. moreau. would you like to see them?" i shuddered and declined. "very well, then. we will return to the main building." we did so, and the librarian paused beside a small case. "here is the gold bug. this caterpillar is the one that sergeant troy removed on the tip of his sword from the dress of bathsheba everdene. and the bees were of the swarm that traveled about with the bee man of orn." the two cages beyond both contained large apes. "our orang-outangs," remarked mr. gooch, "have decidedly bad reputations. the one on the right committed the murders in the rue morgue. the other is called bimi--he belonged to a frenchman named bertran. the next cage has a miscellaneous assortment of bander log. oh! here are some horses and cattle. the pony once belonged to tom bailey. this donkey was one of those which used to annoy miss betsy trotwood. priscilla alden, on her wedding-day, rode on this white bull. the stuffed donkey is the one whose dead body lay once in the pathway of a traveler on a sentimental journey. and the other donkey was the foster-mother of the luck of roaring camp." i pointed to some enormous and repulsive-looking crabs that were crawling about on the sand at the edge of a tank, and asked what they were. the librarian told me that they were from the subterranean river over which allan quatermain and his friends traveled. "but they," said mr. gooch, "are nothing to the fellow in the next tank." i looked where he indicated and saw the most hideous monster it has ever been my bad luck to come across. it was a tremendous crab--the creature of a nightmare. "it is one of those found on the shores of the future by the traveler who voyaged on the time machine." "i think i have had enough of your aquariums," i said. "just look at this. here is the jumping frog of calaveras county, whose name was daniel webster. he has recovered from his meal of birdshot, and can jump surprisingly. oh! and over there is the crocodile who swallowed an alarm clock." mr. gooch stopped before a row of elephants who were swaying about, eating hay, and requesting peanuts. i was shown moti guj, the mutineer, and the elephant on whose back private mulvaney once went for a ride. there was also zenobia, who fell in love with a country doctor, and her ladyship's elephant. there were a number of tigers, including, of course, the ill-natured shere khan. "the one in the second cage," said my guide, "is one of those hunted by mr. isaacs, when he was after a tiger-skin to present to miss westonhaugh." but perhaps the most interesting of all was one which, so mr. gooch told me, had been confined in a cage beside a lady's apartment, to await the opening of a door by a young man. but mr. gooch was unable to tell me whether the man opened the door of the lady or the tiger. among the lions i saw the beast which fought with a crocodile in the presence of leo vincey and horace holly. a black panther was recognizable as bagheera, and another, of the normal color, was the same animal who conceived a passion for a french soldier in the desert. "here are some smaller animals," said mr. gooch; "do you know this fellow with the sharp nose?" "it is a mongoose, is it not?" "yes; rikki-tikki-tavi, himself. and these white mice belonged to count fosco, like the cockatoo. this mouse, alone by herself, was the pet of barty josselin." we moved on, but i began to look at my watch, for i had a train to catch. "the snakes are an especially fine part of the collection," mr. gooch remarked; "do you see this swamp adder? it is the speckled band, that gave sherlock holmes an uncomfortable five minutes. that little coral snake in the pickle bottle was responsible for the death of one reingelder. the two rattlesnakes were intimates of elsie venner, and in that cage you may see kaa, the great rock python. but here is a greater prize than any." he indicated an extraordinary and beautiful serpent, at which i looked with the greatest surprise and wonder. "she was a gordian shape of dazzling hue, vermilion-spotted, golden, green, and blue; striped like a zebra, freckled like a pard, eyed like a peacock, and all crimson barred; and full of silver moons, that, as she breathed, dissolved, or brighter shone, or inter-wreathed their lustres with the gloomier tapestries-- so rainbow-sided, touched with miseries, she seemed, at once, some penanced lady elf, some demon's mistress, or the demon's self. upon her crest she wore a wannish fire sprinkled with stars, like ariadne's tiar; her head was serpent, but ah, bitter-sweet! she had a woman's mouth with all its pearls complete." "that," said the librarian, "i consider the gem of the collection." "it is truly," i replied, "but i think it a profanation to have poor lamia here." "you don't consider--" began mr. gooch. "yes, i do. and i must hurry now, for it is nearly train time. i am deeply indebted to you for this sight of your animals, and i hope your opening day will be a great success. it is my advice to you not to let any nervous persons see those crabs, though." "just a minute. we have a rhinoceros here, who got cake-crumbs inside his skin. his name is strorks, and--" "thank you very much; but i really must hurry. good-by." "good-by." and i went out and left him beside the rhinoceros. their just reward their just reward i looked and beheld, and there were a vast number of girls standing in rows. many of them wore pigtails, and most of them chewed gum. "who are they?" i asked my guide. and he said: "they are the girls who wrote 'lovely' or 'perfectly sweet' or 'horrid old thing!' on the fly-leaves of library books. some of them used to put comments on the margins of the pages--such as 'served him right!' or 'there! you mean old cat!'" "what will happen to them?" i inquired. "they are to stand up to the neck in a lake of ice cream soda for ten years," he answered. "that will not be much of a punishment to them," i suggested. but he told me that i had never tried it, and i could not dispute him. "the ones over there," he remarked, pointing to a detachment of the girls who were chewing gum more vigorously than the others, "are sentenced for fifteen years in the ice cream soda lake, and moreover they will have hot molasses candy dropped on them at intervals. they are the ones who wrote: if my name you wish to see look on page , and then when you had turned to page , cursing yourself for a fool as you did it, you only found: if my name you would discover look upon the inside cover, and so on, and so on, until you were ready to drop from weariness and exasperation. hang me!" he suddenly exploded, "if i had the say of it, i'd bury 'em alive in cocoanut taffy--i told the boss so, myself." i agreed with him that they were getting off easy. "a lot of them are named 'gerty,' too," he added, as though that made matters worse. then he showed me a great crowd of older people. they were mostly men, though there were one or two women here and there. "these are the annotators," he said, "the people who work off their idiotic opinions on the margins and fly-leaves of books. they dispute the author's statements, call him a liar and abuse him generally. the one on the end used to get all the biographies of shakespeare he could find and cover every bit of blank paper in them with pencil-writing signed 'a baconian.' he usually began with the statement: 'the author of this book is a pig-headed fool.' the man next to him believed that the earth is flat, and he aired that theory so extensively with a fountain-pen that he ruined about two hundred dollars' worth of books. they caught him and put him in jail for six months, but he will have to take his medicine here just the same. there are two religious cranks standing just behind him. at least, they were cranks about religion. one of them was an atheist and he used to write blasphemy all over religious books. the other suffered from too much religion. he would jot down texts and pious mottoes in every book he got hold of. he would cross out, or scratch out all the oaths and cuss words in a book; draw a pencil line through any reference to wine, or strong drink, and call especial attention to any passage or phrase he thought improper by scrawling over it. he is tied to the atheist, you notice. the woman in the second row used to write 'how true!' after any passage or sentence that pleased her. she gets only six years. most of the others will have to keep it up for eight." "keep what up?" i asked. "climbing barbed-wire fences," was the answer; "they don't have to hurry, but they must keep moving. they begin to-morrow at half-past seven." we walked down the hill toward a group of infamous looking people. my guide stopped and pointed toward them. "these are snippers, cutters, clippers, gougers and extra-illustrators. they vary all the way from men who cut 'want ads' out of the newspapers in the reading-rooms, to those who go into the alcoves and lift valuable plates by the wet-string method. you see they come from all classes of society--and there are men and women, girls and boys. you notice they are all a little round-shouldered, and they keep glancing suspiciously right and left. this is because they got into the habit of sinking down in their chairs to get behind a newspaper, and watching to see if anyone was looking. there is one man who was interested in heraldry. he extended his operations over five or six libraries, public and private. when they found him out and visited his room it looked like the college of heralds. he had a couple of years in prison, but here he is now, just the same. the man next to him is--well, no need to mention names,--you recognize him. famous millionaire and politician. never went into a library but once in his life. then he went to see an article in a london newspaper, decided he wanted to keep it, and tore out half the page. library attendant saw him, called a policeman, and tried to have him arrested. you see, the attendant didn't know who he was." "did anything come of it?" i asked. "yes," replied the guide, "there did. the library attendant was discharged. blank simply told the board of trustees that he had been insulted by a whippersnapper who didn't look as if he had ever had a square meal in his life. one or two of the board wanted to investigate, but the majority would have jumped through hoops if blank had told them to. he is in this section for five years, but he has over eight hundred to work off in other departments. the men on the end of the line, five or six dozen of them, used to cut plates out of the art magazines--a common habit. woman standing next, used to steal sermons. man next but one to her was a minister. he was writing a book on the holy land, and he cut maps out of every atlas in a library. said he didn't mean to keep them long." this group interested me, and i wondered what was to be done with them. "you will see in a minute," said the guide; "they are going to begin work right away." as he spoke, a number of officials came down the hill with enormous sheets of sticky fly-paper. these were distributed among the "snippers, cutters, clippers, gougers and extra-illustrators," who thereupon set to work with penknives, cutting small bits out of the fly-paper. in a few minutes the wretched creatures were covered from head to foot with pieces of the horrible stuff; pulling it off one hand to have it stick on the other, getting it in their hair, on their eyebrows, and plastering themselves completely. "that is not very painful," i observed. "no," said my companion, "perhaps not. gets somewhat monotonous after four years, though. come over to the end of this valley. i want you to see a dinner party that is taking place." we left the sticky fly-paper folks behind us, and proceeded through the valley. on the side of the hill i noticed a small body of people, mostly men. the guide pointed over his shoulder at them, remarking: "reformed spellers." they were busily engaged in clipping one another's ears off with large scissors. there was a sign on the hill beside them. it read: ears are unnecessary. why not get rid of them? leave enuf to hear with. don't stop til you are thru. at the end of the valley there was a large level space. something like a picnic was going on. people were eating at hundreds of little tables, and some were dancing, or strolling about on the grass. the guide stopped. "the boss is prouder of this than of anything else in the whole place," he said. "the people who are giving this party are the genealogists. nearly all women, you notice. these are the folks who have driven librarians to profanity and gray hairs. some of them wanted ancestors for public and social reasons; some of them for historical or financial purposes; some merely to gratify personal pride or private curiosity. but they all wanted ancestors for one reason or another, and ancestors they _would_ have. for years they charged into libraries demanding ancestors. over there, you see that big crowd? they are the two hundred and fifty thousand lineal descendants of william brewster. next to them are six thousand rightful lords baltimore. that vast mob beginning at the big tree, and extending for six miles to the northeast are the john smith and pocahontas crowd--some descended from one and some from the other--we haven't got them sorted out yet." "how many of them are there?" i demanded. "according to our best estimates," he replied, "in the neighborhood of eight million at present; but of course we are receiving fresh additions all the time. thirty-five hundred came in last month. there is no time to count them, however." i laughed at this. "time!" i exclaimed, "why, you've got eternity!" but he merely waved his hand and went on. "they are the largest crowd here, anyway, with the possible exception of the mayflower descendants. they have a whole valley to themselves, beyond the second hill. some say there are twelve million of them, but no one knows. recently they applied for another valley, for theirs is full. you see it is so thickly planted with family trees that they have to live in deep shade all the time, and it is very damp and chilly. then there are upwards of three hundred thousand tons of grandfather's clocks, brass warming-pans, cradles, chairs and tables, so they hardly can find standing room." we walked down amongst the people who were giving the picnic. i wanted to see what was the object of this lawn party, for it struck me that it looked more like the elysian fields than any other place. i soon discovered my mistake. near the first group of tables was a sign with the inscription: "grand dames of the pequot war," and at one of the tables sat mrs. cornelia crumpet. i remembered the hours i had spent hunting up two ancestors to enable mrs. crumpet to join the grand dames. i had found them at last, and so, apparently, had mrs. crumpet, for there could be no doubt that the pair of sorry-looking rascals whom she was entertaining at luncheon were the long-lost ancestors. one of them was the most completely soiled individual i have ever seen. he was eating something or other, and he did not waste time with forks or any other implements. the other had finished his meal, and was leaning negligently back in his chair. he was smoking a large pipe, and he had his feet on the table. mrs. crumpet wore an expression that showed that her past desire to discover these ancestors was as a passing whim, compared with her present deep, overpowering anxiety to be rid of them. i felt sorry for the poor lady; but she was not alone in her misery. all about her were grand dames of the pequot war, engaged in entertaining their ancestors. some of the ancestors were more agreeable, some far more distasteful to their descendants than mrs. crumpet's pair. none of the grand dames seemed to be having what could be called a jolly time. my guide at last led me through the maze of tables and out into the open. "we have a good many japanese visitors in this section," said he. "they come to get some points from the americans on ancestor-worship." "what do they say?" i asked him. "they just giggle and go away," he replied. beyond the genealogists we found a large group of people, who, the guide said, were the persons who borrow books and never return them. the complainants, in their case, were mainly private individuals rather than public libraries. "they are not particularly interesting," remarked the guide, "but their punishment will appeal to you." as we passed them i shuddered to see that they were all engaged in filing catalogue cards in alphabetical order. "how long do they have to keep that up?" was my question, and i was horrified to learn that the terms varied from twenty to thirty-five years. "why, that is the most damnable thing i ever heard," i said--"the sticky fly-paper folks were nothing to this!" the guide shrugged his shoulders--"it's the rule," he said. the next lot of people we came on were curiously engaged. long lines of bookshelves were set up about them, and they wandered up and down, forever taking a book from the shelf, only to sigh and put it back again. as we came amongst them i could see the cause of their weariness. the shelves seemed to be lined with the most brilliant looking books in handsome bindings. they were lettered in gold: "complete works of charles dickens," "works of dumas, edition de luxe," "works of scott," and so on. yet when i took one of the books in my hand to look at it, it was no book at all, but just a wooden dummy, painted on the back, but absolutely blank everywhere else. they were like the things used by furniture dealers to put in a bookcase to make it look as if it were full of books, or those used on the stage, when a library setting is required. there were many cords of wood, but there was not a real book in any of the cases. i asked one of the sufferers why he was doing this, and he stopped for a moment his patrol, and turned his weary eyes upon me. "we are all alike," he said, indicating his associates. "we are the literary bluffers. most of us were rich--i was, myself," and he groaned heavily. "we bought books by the yard--expensive ones, always--editions de luxe, limited editions--limited to ten thousand sets and each set numbered, of which this is no. ," he added in a dull, mechanical fashion, as though he were repeating a lesson. "we were easy marks for all the dealers and agents. especially illustrated editions, with extra copies of the engravings in a portfolio; bindings in white kid, or any other tomfool nonsense was what we were always looking for. and they saw that we got them. whispered information that this set of paul de kock or balzac was complete and unexpurgated, and that if we would buy it for $ , the publishers would throw in an extra volume, privately printed, and given away to purchasers, since it was against the law to sell it--this was the sort of bait we always bit at--cheerily! and now here we are!" and he began again his tramp up and down, taking down the wooden dummies and putting them back again, with dolorous groans. i could not stand this dismal spectacle very long, so we hurried on to a crowd of men bent nearly double over desks. they were pale and emaciated, which my guide told me was due to the fact that they had nothing to eat but paper. "they are bibliomaniacs," he exclaimed, "collectors of unopened copies, seekers after misprints, measurers by the millimetre of the height of books. they are kept busy here reading the seaside novels in paper covers. next to them are the bibliographers--compilers of lists and counters of fly leaves. they cared more for a list of books than for books themselves, and they searched out unimportant errors in books and rejoiced mightily when they found one. exactitude was their god, so here we let them split hairs with a razor and dissect the legs of fleas." in a large troop of school children--a few hundred yards beyond, i came across a boy about fifteen years old. i seemed to know him. when he came nearer he proved to have two books tied around his neck. the sickly, yellowish-brown covers of them were disgustingly familiar to me--somebody's geometry and somebody else's algebra. the boy was blubbering when he got up to me, and the sight of him with those noxious books around his neck made me sob aloud. i was still crying when i awoke. the crowded hour the crowded hour (scene: the circulating department of the----public library. time: four o'clock of a saturday afternoon in the winter. miss randlett and miss vanderpyl, library assistants, are taking in books returned, and issuing others to a group of persons, varying in number from ten to fifty. the group includes men and women, youths and maidens,--a number of high-school students being conspicuous. edgar, alfred, and dan--library pages--going forward and back from the desk to the book-stack, fetching books called for. sometimes they bring only the call-slips with the word "out" stamped thereon. a sign on the desk bears the inscription: "please look up the call numbers of any books that you wish in the card catalogue. write the numbers on a call-slip, and present the slip at this desk." about fifty per cent of the people pay no attention whatever to the sign.) a small man in a large ulster, addressing miss vanderpyl, in honeyed tones: "oh, pardon me! have you 'the blandishments of belinda' in this library?" miss v. (working with both hands at once, charging books, and trying to keep thirty-seven people from becoming impatient): "er--i--am not sure. who is the author?" the small man (bowing gracefully, with the tips of his fingers on his heart): "i, who now address you, madam." miss v. (after wondering vainly what light this answer throws on her difficulty, and seeking for a reply which shall not seem impertinent): "i really am not sure,--probably we have it. would you mind looking it up in the catalogue, please?" the small man: "i beg pardon?" miss v. (indicating): "in the catalogue,--over there." the small man: "oh, those _horrid_ cards? dear me! i would never think of entangling myself in their _dreadful_ meshes! i fear i might never survive it, you know. is there no other way? ah, red tape! red tape!" (he hovers about for an instant, and then flits away.) a very large woman, with an armful of bundles (depositing six books on the desk with a crash, and heaving a sigh that scatters the call-slips and memoranda right and left): "_there!_ if my arms ain't nearly fallin' off! say, you oughta give shawlstraps to carry these books with. now, here's 'the life beautiful,'--i wanta return that, and 'the romance of two worlds' an' 'cometh up as a flower,'--why, no, it ain't either,--it's 'family hymns'--if i ain't gone and picked that up off the settin'-room table and lugged it all this way, an' i _told_ hattie to keep her hands off them books,--well, i'll put it back in my bag--here, young man! you leave that alone--that don't belong to the liberry. now, here's this, an' this, an' i want this swapped onto this card, an' this one i want renood an' i wanta get 'airy, fairy lilian' an'--oh, lord! there goes my macaroni onto the floor,--all smashed to smithereens, i s'pose--no, 't ain't, either,--thank you, young man! now, if you'll just--" a high school student: "can i get a copy of 'the merchant of venice,' the rolfe edition?" the very large woman: "now, just you wait a minute, young feller! one at a time, here!" miss v. (at last making herself heard): "these books which you want to return should go over to _that_ desk." the very large woman: "what? oh, lord, i forgot! that's so, ain't it? well, i'll take 'em over, but say, jus' let me leave my bundles here a minute--i'll be right back." (she departs, leaving a package of macaroni, two dozen eggs, and a black string bag to help cover the already crowded desk.) an old gentleman (holding a call-slip in both hands, and looking at miss v. over his eye-glasses): "this says that president lowell's book on the government of england is 'out.' do you mean to say that you own only _one_ copy of such an important work?" edgar: "no, sir, we got two, but they're all out." the old gentleman: "well, two, then! why, i daresay you have half a dozen of some trashy novel or other. why, do you know that the author is president of harvard university?" edgar (quite cheerfully): "no, sir." the old gentleman: "well, he is! your librarian ought to be told of this. where is he? i shall enter a complaint." a woman with poppies on her hat: "how do you do, miss vanderpyl? you're looking so well! you've _quite_ recovered from that dreadful illness you had last fall? i'm so glad! now, i've brought you something." (she extends an envelope, which miss v., who has a book in one hand, and a combination pencil and dating-stamp in the other, takes between the last two fingers of her right hand.) the woman with poppies: "those are two tickets for the reception that is going to be given this evening by the grand dames of the pequot war. it's _very_ exclusive, and the tickets are awfully hard to get. i felt sure you'd like to go and take a friend. they are not giving the tickets away to everyone, i can assure you. oh, isn't that 'the long roll' over there on that desk? i do so want to read that, and they say there isn't a single copy in, except that one. you'll just let me take it, won't you?" miss v.: "why, i'm awfully sorry! that copy is reserved for someone,--she paid for the post-card notice, you know, and we've written her that the book is here. i'm very sorry!" the woman with poppies: "oh, is that so?" (she reaches over, and deftly withdraws the envelope from miss v.'s fingers, and replaces it in her card-case. then she speaks again:) "i am so sorry. perhaps you won't be able to go to the reception this evening, anyhow. good afternoon, miss vanderpyl, good afternoon." (and she goes out, smiling sweetly.) two high-school students, at once: "can i get 'the merchant of venice' in the rolfe edition?" edgar (to miss v.): "there's a man here that wants 'the only way.'" miss v.: "perhaps he means 'a tale of two cities,'--there's a dramatic version--" a thin young man: "your open-shelf department is a fine idea, fine! i have been able to select my own books; i like such a liberal policy; it shows--" a man with a portfolio: "look here, miss, here's the best chance you ever see in your life: the complete speeches of william j. bryan, bound in purple plush, for six dollars, but we can let you have two copies for nine seventy five, ev'ry lib'ry in the country's got it, and andrew carnegie ordered five--" edgar: "that man says he don't want the 'tale of two cities,'--he thinks the book he's after is 'how to get in' or something like that." miss v.: "he means 'one way out,'--see if there is a copy in, will you?" a woman: "just let me take that pencil of yours, a minute?" a man (mopping his brow): "say, what's this 'open-shelf' business,--d'ye have to find your own books? well, that's the worst thing i ever saw,--why, at the boston public library they get 'em for you!" a teacher: "now, i want to return these three, please, and this is to be transferred to miss jimson's card,--she'll be here in a minute, and then i want these two renewed, and i want to get 'the century of the child,' and if that isn't in i want--" miss v.: "return the books at the other desk, please.... oh, would you mind returning my pencil?" the teacher: "oh, yes, how stupid of me!" a woman leading a child: "haf you de deutsches balladenbuch?" miss v.: "will you look it up in the catalogue, please? over there ... yes,--look up the author's name, just like a dictionary." a man: "they tell me in the reading-room that you don't have victoria cross's novels in the library. now, i would like to know why that is!" miss v.: "you will have to ask the librarian about it,--i have nothing to do with buying the books." the man: "that's what they told me in the reading-room, and i tried to see him, but he isn't in. everyone trying to dodge responsibility, i guess. it makes me sick the way these libraries are run." (addressing the public generally:) "what right have these library people,--paid public servants, public employees, that's all they are--what right have they to dictate what i shall read? why, her novels are reviewed in all the best papers on the other side." a voice from the rear of the crowd: "why don't you do something about it?" the man: "well, i'm going to, by george!" (he goes away, muttering.) the woman with the child (returning triumphant): "ha! i haf her! here she iss!" (she extends the catalogue card, which she has ripped forcibly from its drawer. miss wilkins, head cataloguer of the library, who happens to be passing at that moment, sees the incident, and sits down suddenly on a bench, and has recourse to smelling salts.) an imposing personage (who has stalked out from the reference room bearing a spanish dictionary, and is followed excitedly by miss barnard, the reference librarian): "i want to borrow this dictionary until next tuesday, and that woman in there says i can't, just because it says 'ref.' on it. _i_ won't hurt it!" miss v.: "those books are not allowed to go out of the library." the personage: "why not?" miss v.: "they are reference books,--they are to be used in that room only." the personage: "who made that rule?" miss v.: "the trustees, i suppose,--it is one of the rules of the library." the personage: "well, i know colonel schwartz!" miss v.: "well, if you will get his permission, you may take the book,--i am not allowed to give it out." (the personage lays the book on the desk, from which it is quickly recovered by miss barnard, who hastens back to the reference room with it.) the personage: "i've got to get something like that,--i had a letter from havana this morning, and i want to find out what it means." miss v.: "oh, we have some books which will do for that, i think." (to alfred, the page.) "get one of those spanish grammars, alfred,--be sure and see that there's a vocabulary in it." (alfred returns presently with a grammar. miss v. extends her hand for the personage's library card. the personage looks at her helplessly, and finally shakes hands with her, remarking: "oh, that's all right, miss,--don't mention it!") miss v. (becoming rather red): "your card?" the personage (mystified): "card?" miss v.: "yes, your library card,--haven't you one?" the personage: "you can search me!" miss v.: "why, i can't give you a book unless you have a card,--haven't you ever borrowed books from the library?" the personage: "never in my life." (suddenly exploding.) "great scott! i never saw so much red tape in my life." miss v.: "well, here--" (and she breaks a library rule herself, by getting the name and address of the personage, and giving him the book, charged on her own card. but she gets rid of him at last.) a man, with a confidential manner (leaning over the desk, and whispering): "say, lady, i want to get a book." miss v.: "what book do you want?" the confidential man (pursing up his lips, and nodding his head, as if to tip her the wink): "why,--er, why,--_that same one_, yer know!" (miss v. looks at him carefully, but as she cannot distinguish him amongst the forty thousand persons who have entered the library during the past year, she is forced to make further inquiries.) miss v.: "which same one? i don't remember--" the confidential man: "why, _you_ know!" (his manner indicates that it is a delicate personal secret between miss v. and himself.) "that one i had last summer, yer know." miss v.: "what was the title?" the confidential man: "the title?--oh, the _name_ of it?" (he regards miss v. with the tolerant air of one who is humoring a person whose curiosity verges on the impertinent.) "hoh! the _name_ of it! i've clean forgot _that_!" (having thus brushed aside her trivial question, he regards the ceiling and awaits the arrival of the book.) miss v.: "who was the author--who wrote it?" (the confidential man is now convinced that miss v., for some playful reason of her own, is merely trying to keep him at the desk,--that she has the book within reach, but chooses to be kittenish about it. he smiles pleasantly at her.) the confidential man: "lord, i dunno!--just let me have it, will yer?" (he is still quite agreeable--as if he were saying: "come, come, young lady, i know it's very nice to string out this conversation, but, after all, business is business! let me have my book, for i must be going.") miss v.: "i'm afraid i can't give it to you unless you can tell me something more about it,--something definite. we have over four hundred thousand books in this library, you know, and if you don't recall the author or the title--" (the confidential man receives the news about the four hundred thousand books with the air of a person listening to a fairy tale. the idea that there are as many books as that in the whole world, to say nothing of one library, strikes him as it would if miss v. should tell him that she is the rightful queen of england.) miss v.: "can't you tell me about the book,--what it was about, i mean?" the confidential man (beginning to lose his patience, at last): "_about?_ why, it was about a lot of things!" miss v.: "was it fiction--a novel?" the confidential man: "huh?" miss v.: "was it a story? or a book of travels--" (the confidential man gazes at her with oystery eyes. suddenly he becomes more animated.) the confidential man: "there! it looked just like that!" (he points across the desk at a novel bound in the uniform style of the library bindery, from which six thousand volumes, bound precisely alike, come every year.) miss v.: "is that it?" (she hands him the book.) the confidential man: "no, no. oh, no. nothin' like it." (he puts it down, and wanders away, thinking that he will come back when there is some intelligent attendant at the desk.) an excited person: "look here, i've been reading those names on the ceiling, and longfellow's isn't there! now, i'd like to know why that is!" another man: "and they haven't got 'the appeal to reason' in the reading room." another man: "that's because it's carnegie's library, ain't it, miss?" miss v.: "no,--he has nothing to do with the library at all." the man: "why, i thought he run it, don't he?" miss v.: "he gave the money for the building,--that is all. he has never been in it, nor seen it, so far as i know." the man: "that's all right! i guess you'll find he runs it, just the same." the first man: "i guess so, too." miss v.: "it must keep him rather busy, don't you think, running all his libraries?" the man: "oh, he can have people in his pay, all right." (he and his friend gaze about, to see if they can detect any of these secret agents. they both look suspiciously toward miss randlett at the return desk.) the very large woman (who has returned to gather up her macaroni, her two dozen eggs, and her black bag, and to have her books charged): "now, here i am at last! i couldn't get 'airy, fairy lilian,' but here's 'she walks in beauty,' an' 'miss petticoats,' an' you can put _that_ on my card, an' here's minnie's card for _that_, an' if you'll just put the eggs in my bag, i'll be all right." to a small library patron to a small library patron uncombed, a bit unwashed, with freckled face, and slowly moving jaws--implying gum; a decade's meagre dignity of years upon your head--your only passports these, all unconcerned you enter--fairyland! for here dwell monstrous jinn, and great birds fly through haunted valleys sown with diamonds. here rumpelstiltskin hides his secret name, the talking flounder comes at beck and call, the king of lilliput reviews his troops, the jabberwock and bandersnatch cavort, and mice and pumpkin change to coach and four. once more for you is sherwood's forest green, where arrows hiss and sword and shield resound; within these walls shall you and crusoe stand aghast, to see the footprint on the beach; from here you start your journey to the moon, cruise on the raft with huckleberry finn, or sentinel the mouth of cudjo's cave. here, when your years have doubled, shall you see king henry and his men on crispin's day, the scottish thane hold parley with the hags, sir richard grenville fight the spanish fleet, great hector and achilles face to face! this is your palos whence you turn your prow to sail uncharted seas and find strange isles. here shall you stand with brave leonidas; here watch old davy crockett fight and fall. amid these dusty shelves you'll see the glow when paul jones lights his battle-lanterns here; muskets shall roar and tomahawks shall flash in many deep and dismal forest glades. here shall you see the guillotine at work! and mark the sun of austerlitz arise. again, you'll bide the redcoats on the hill, or watch the fight on cemetery ridge. but you--with towsled hair and stockings torn, irreverent and calm and unabashed, intent on swiping billy johnson's cap-- you pass the magic portal unaware, and, careless, saunter into lands of gold. by-ways and hedges by-ways and hedges fernald got off the trolley car and looked about for graham house. he did not have to look long, for on the steps of a brick building there were thirty to fifty children waiting for the settlement library to open. that event ought to happen at seven o'clock, and the illuminated dial on the fire engine house, across the street, now indicated five minutes of seven. fernald went up the steps, through the crowd, and turned to the right into the library room. there was a confusion of noises--two or three nervous giggles and snickers, a loud shuffling of feet, and a few articulate questions. "where's the teacher?" "ain't the teacher comin'?" "mister, you ain't got the lady's job away from her, have yer?" and then, apparently in derogation of the last inquiry: "shut up, you!" fernald took off his coat and left it on a bench. then he unlocked the bookcases, which were instantly surrounded by a hungry swarm. he took the boxes of card records from a shelf, and established himself with rubber stamp, pencil, and pen at the smaller table. a few children already sat about the larger table, looking at the worn copies of "puck" and "collier's." a freckled-faced girl, about twelve years old, came behind the table and whispered confidentially into his ear: "ain't the real teacher comin', mister?" "yes," explained fernald, "she is coming in about half an hour. you can get your books from me until she comes." "oh!" there was deep, christian resignation in the tone, and fernald felt the rebuke. at the main library he was superior in station to the "real teacher," but here his evident inferiority was painful. but he had no time to dwell on it, for there were at least seventeen children, both boys and girls, from ten to sixteen years old standing about him on three sides, and all holding one or two books toward him. he tried to remember miss grant's (the "real teacher's") final instructions. "five cents a week on all books which have been kept out longer than two weeks. don't give back any cards which have 'fine due' stamped on them. if any of them ask for new cards, give them a guarantor's slip, tell them to fill it out, get it signed by some grown person whose name is in the directory, and bring it back next week. look out for minnie leboskey, she owes fifteen cents and will try to get her card back. don't lose your temper with them--they all behave pretty well, but if any of the boys throw snowballs in at the top of the window get mr. flaherty, the janitor, to drive them away." he looked into the numerous faces, wondering if the nefarious minnie leboskey were there. in the meanwhile he was mechanically taking in the books, stamping the cards, and handing them back. he noticed that his fingers grew very sticky in the process. most of the children brought another book to the desk with the one they were returning. this was one they had already selected from the shelves, and they now desired to exchange it for the books they handed in. sometimes their preconcerted schemes were confusing to the substitute librarian, as when, for instance: theresa sullivan returned two books, one of which was to be re-issued immediately to margaret clancy, while the other was to be charged on the card of nora clancy, who was sick with ammonia and so couldn't come to the library that evening. but the book which margaret returned must be loaned to theresa--that is, one of them must be, while the other was to be given into the keeping of mary finnegan, who, in her turn, brought back three books (two on her own cards, and one on her mother's), and her mother wanted the book that eustacia o'brien had returned (there it is, right on the desk in front of you--that's eustacia over there at the water-cooler), and please, mary finnegan herself wants this book that mary divver has just brought in on her white card, and on her blue card she wants the one she is going to get (if sundry elbow jabs in the ribs will have any effect) from agnes casey, and that ain't nothin' on the cover except a teeny little piece of tolu gum, and nellie sullivan wants to know if "little women" is in, and if it isn't will you please pick something out for her, mister, 'cause she has tried four times to get "little women," and please give me this book that lizzie brady has just brought in on my white card, and this is my blue card, and my father says that this book on electric door-knobs ain't no good and he wants another. after twenty uninterrupted minutes of this sort of thing fernald (who had once pitched for his class nine and stood calm while the sophomores exploded bunches of cannon crackers around him and sprayed him with a garden hose) felt inclined to jump up and roar: "for god's sake, hold your tongues!" he did nothing of the sort, however, for at that moment a scuffle broke out at the bookcase between two boys. he left his table long enough to separate the boys and tell them to stop fighting or he would put them out. he couldn't help remembering miss grant and her associate, miss french, who, after eight hours in the main library during the day, came over here each thursday evening for the mere love of it. the chief librarian had visited the place once--a year ago, coming at half-past eight, when all was orderly and quiet. he looked blandly around for a few moments and then went away. a few weeks later he included in his annual report a perfunctory sentence about the faithful service of the two young women. miss grant came at about half-past seven, and fernald turned the desk over to her. "i wish you would get that red-haired girl a 'sad book,'" he remarked; "she has been after me ever since i arrived for a 'sad book.' have you anything sufficiently mournful?" miss grant thought she could supply the need, but fernald did not learn what the book was, for, as she came back from the shelves, she remarked: "i am afraid that boy needs watching. he comes here only for mischief--never takes any books." she indicated a tall, lank youth of unpleasant countenance, and about fifteen years old. he was sitting at the center table, moving the magazines about, and watching the librarians out of the corners of his eyes. "have you had trouble with him before?" asked fernald. "oh, yes," said miss grant, "he tripped me up last thursday night." "_what?_ tripped you up?" "yes--stuck out his foot as i went by the table with an armful of books. i fell and spilled the books all over the floor." "why, the young pup! shall i put him out?" "no; he hasn't done anything to-night." at this moment the boy seized a magazine and rapidly slapped three smaller boys over the head with it. one of the little boys began to cry, and mr. fernald, remarking, "i guess that will do, won't it?" conducted the perpetrator of the offence to the outer door. as soon as he felt the grip on his collar relax, the boy ran to the middle of the street, and armed himself, not with the gentle snowball, but with four or five of the hard lumps of ice which, mingled with dirt and gravel, covered the street. "come out from in front of that glass door," the boy shouted, "and let me have a shot at yer! aw, yer don't dare to! yer're scared to!" and mr. fernald, not being a true sportsman, had to admit to himself that he was scared to. he gazed at the boy a moment or two, and then went slowly inside. the boy set up a derisive yell, showing that the victory remained with the child of darkness, as it frequently does. * * * * * his experience of one evening in the settlement library made fernald anxious to see more of the work. he returned on the following thursday, but a little later than the time of his first visit. it was half-past seven, and the settlement was in full swing. loud whoops and yells, combined with noise as of a herd of buffaloes, indicated that a basketball game was in progress in the basement gymnasium. the rumble and crash of a bowling alley were partly drowned by the cries from a back room, where various minor games were being enjoyed. the two library assistants, miss grant and miss french, were dispensing books in the room near the entrance. fernald had just taken his coat off when mr. flaherty, the janitor, beckoned him to the door of the library by the nonchalant method of standing in the door and throwing his chin in the air with a series of short jerks. when fernald went across the room to find what was wanted, mr. flaherty drew him mysteriously into the passage. "say, i guess yer got into some trouble here last week, didn't yer?" "trouble? no; i don't remember any trouble." "didn't yer put a feller out, or somethin'?" "oh, yes; i forgot. i did put a boy out. what's the matter--is he back again?" "him? no. the old man's here, though. been waitin' for an hour. says he's going to have the law on yer." fernald became interested. "where is he?" he inquired. "he's in here. been settin' by the stove, and now he's gone to sleep. i'll send him out to yer. but don't yer worry about no law. godfrey! i've had more'n forty of 'em goin' to have the law on me." "i'm not worried," fernald assured him, and the other departed in search of the wrathful parent. this person soon appeared in the form of a short, stout man with a straggly yellow moustache and a very red face. he had enormously long arms, so that his hat, which he carried in one hand, hung nearly on a level with his ankles. he was blinking at the lights, and was plainly more than half asleep. also it was evident that the wrath had gone out of him. he looked inquiringly at fernald, as though the librarian, not he, were seeking the interview. he continued to blink, until at last fernald had to begin the conversation. "you wanted to see me? something about your son?" "oh, yes. say, he come home, an' he says you put him outer here." "yes, i did," replied fernald; "that was a week ago to-night. and if i had been here two weeks ago, and had had a cow-hide, i would have given him a good licking. he needs one." the man looked greatly astonished, but said nothing, so the librarian continued: "i put him out last week for banging three little boys over the heads with a magazine. i had been watching him for ten minutes. he doesn't come in here to play in the gymnasium--which is what he needs--nor to read. he comes into the library every week just to raise the devil. this was the first time he had ever touched a book--when he picked up one to lambaste these boys with it. and two weeks ago he stuck his foot out when one of the women who had charge of the library was passing the table, and she tripped and fell flat, with an armful of books. if he wants to come back and behave, he may, but he can't come otherwise." "he says you choked him," remarked the man. "he lies," said fernald. "i took him by the collar and put him out--that's all. he was quite able, as soon as i let him go, to run into the street and pick up half a dozen lumps of ice, and swear at me, and dare me to come out from in front of the glass door, so he could have the pleasure of breaking my face without any risk of breaking the glass." "oh, well," the man returned, "it's all right then. as soon as i see you, i knew it was all right." fernald was somewhat mystified at the impression he had made. he was not especially tremendous physically, and although he came clad in the armor of righteousness on this particular occasion, he had no delusions about the effect that kind of armor is likely to have on a man of this sort. but the father of the boy went on to explain: "say, yer know, i didn't know but it was some of these here kids that had been pickin' on him. i wouldn't stand for that, yer know. but soon's i see you i knew it was all right. say, he ain't got no business here, anyhow. i told him so. i don't want him to come. it ain't a fit place." and the man departed, wishing the librarian good-night. fernald was thoroughly resigned to the idea of the boy not coming any more, but he could not help smiling at the idea that it wasn't a fit place. graham house, the pet charity of a large and prosperous church, had been described in the words that its officers might have used of some particularly obnoxious saloon or gambling joint. he imagined how the rev. alexander lambeth, who came over once or twice a week to smile around the place, clerically--how he would look at hearing one of the residents of the neighborhood describe it as not "a fit place" for his son to visit in the evening. fernald went back into the library room. it was crowded with children, and the two librarians had their hands full. one of them was charging books at the desk; the other was making desperate endeavors to get the books in the cases in some sort of order, to find certain volumes which some of the children wished, to keep the children fairly quiet, and, in general, to regulate the discipline of the place. there were no particularly ill-behaved youngsters--one or two who were pretending to look at the "picture papers" at the table, in reality were merely waiting for a chance to get into a scuffle, or in some other way to "put the liberry on the bum." the children's room at the central library was a quieter place. it was in a much quieter part of the town; the impressive architecture (impressive to children, at least), spacious rooms, and other accessories produced a more typical "library atmosphere." here, the fact that their feet were on their native heath, the familiar noises of wagons and clanging trolley cars outside, and the hubbub of the gymnasium below, all conspired to make the children a little more restless. fernald listened to miss grant, who sat at the desk with fifteen girls and boys and one or two older persons around her. the older ones were parents or friends who lived in the neighborhood and frequented the library. miss grant was discharging the books as they were returned, charging new ones, and incidentally acting as literary adviser and bureau of information. "is this the one you want--'the halfback'? it hasn't been discharged--who brought this in? oh, you did--you're returning it? you mustn't take the card out till i have stamped it. and this is the book you want to take?" a voice from the rear of the crowd: "no, 'm, that's mine." another voice: "'tain't neither, teacher, it's mine; she promised it to me last choosday." the first voice: "oh, you big--i didn't do nothin' of the sort, teacher!" a man, elbowing his way to the front, and relying on the fascinations of his dyed moustache and hat tilted to one side: "say, jus' gimme this, will yer?" while miss grant is charging the book, he leans over her confidentially: "say, don't you or that other young lady belong to the order of the golden bazoo? don't yer? say, that's too bad--we're goin' to have a little dance to-morrer night at the red men's hall. we'd be glad to have yer come. say, you can come anyway--i can get yer in all right yer can meet me at the drugstore on the corner, here, and i'll--" a small girl with a red tam-o'shanter, interrupting: "teacher, me an' minnie leboskey just took out these books--this is mine--'the birds' chris'mas carol' and this is minnie's--'sarter resortus' an' minnie has read it hundreds of times, an' she says she don't want it again, an' please, teacher, this here is a kid's book, an' i don't want it, an' will yer give me somethin' for my mother, she says she's read the one you sent her last week, an' can she take the white house cook book, too, on the same card?" a tall and very resolute-looking woman, with three books under her arm: "have you got 'the leopard's spots' in this library? i want my son to read it. he has just finished 'the clansman,' but he has never read 'the leopard's spots.'" miss grant: "why, how old is he?" the resolute-looking woman, presenting cherubic-faced urchin: "this is him--he'll be twelve next april." miss grant: "i'm sure we have some other books that he'll like better than 'the leopard's spots.' that is not a child's book--there is a copy at the central library, but it is not kept in the children's room. wouldn't you like--" the resolute-looking woman: "no, i wouldn't. i know what i want. i'm his mother, and i guess i know what's what. you needn't try to dictate to me. have you got it here or haven't you? that's all i want to know. i can't find it over there on those shelves." miss grant: "no; we have not." the woman: "all right, then, i'll go somewhere else--for he's goin' to read that book, whether or no." a young lady, an acquaintance of miss grant, who thinks she is doing a little slumming: "oh, miss grant, how do you do? i promised that i'd come and help you, you know. how perfectly delightful this is--only some boys on the corner threw snowballs at jean and he wouldn't bring the automobile nearer than the next block--he's waiting there now, and he's terribly peeved. now, what shall i do--shall i sit down here and help you?" a small boy: "say, teacher, come over here an' make this feller give me my book." another small boy: "aw, i ain't got his book." first small boy: "yes, yer have, too!" the other small boy: "no, i ain't--" his remarks end in a yelp as the elbow of the first boy goes home in his ribs. the two clinch, and fall over a settee, from which they are pulled up and separated by mr. fernald. the young lady in search of slumming experiences observes that another small boy is experimenting with a penful of red ink, while miss grant's back is turned, to see how far he can flip the ink. the young lady decides she will go and see if her chauffeur is in any further trouble, and she departs hastily, assuring the librarian that she will return soon. she does not reappear, however. a youth, apparently a butcher's assistant, wearing a blue frock, and carrying a slice of meat (for which some family is indignantly waiting): "say, miss, my grandmother wanted me to get her a book called--say, it had a funny name, it was 'it didn't use to be,' or something like that. have you got it?" miss grant: "yes, i think so. you go over to miss french--the lady across the room there, and ask her to see if 'it never can happen again' is on the shelves." the youth: "that was it, i knew it was something like that." a severe-looking woman, about thirty-eight years old: "good evening. have you ever read this book?" she exhibits a copy of "barrack room ballads," and does not wait for miss grant to reply. "i have not read the whole of it--i only looked into it here and there. it ought not be in any library--it is full of the most disgusting profanity. you ought to know about it, and you ought to withdraw it from the shelves immediately." katie finnegan, aged fifteen, leaning heavily on miss grant's left shoulder, and whispering into miss grant's left ear: "teacher, are you goin' to let me walk home with you to-night?" maggie burke, aged thirteen, leaning on miss grant's right shoulder, and whispering into miss grant's right ear: "say, miss grant, i think your hat is just lovely." a serious-faced man, evidently a workingman in his best clothes: "haven't you got the encyclopædia britannica here? i can't find it on those tables." a girl of twelve: "teacher, i want tolstoi's 'little women.'" a deeply irritated man: "look here, i'd like to know what this means! d'ye see this postal? well, look there: 'please return evans's 'a sailor's log' which is charged on your card. the fine amounts to twenty cents.' i ain't never had no book outer this place!" miss grant: "perhaps you took it from the central library, or one of the other branches?" the irritated one: "no, i didn't neither. i ain't never had no books outer no library!" his companion, another man, with views on capital and labor: "aw, it's just one of carnegie's games to get money out of yer." the irritated man: "well, he won't get no money outer me." miss grant, who has read the name "john smith" on the other side of the post-card: "perhaps this came to you by mistake--it was meant for someone else of the same name, maybe." the irritated man: "well, you can keep it--i don't want it, anyhow." he and his friend depart, much pleased at having baffled carnegie this time. miss french, the other librarian, laying a very dirty slip of paper on miss grant's desk: "what do you suppose this means? there is a boy waiting for the book, but we haven't anything about shingling--i've looked in the catalogue twice." miss grant read the note, which ran: "plees give barer why not shingel the house and oblige mrs. coffey forth street." miss grant: "oh, yes--just write her a note, will you, miss french? tell her we haven't any of frank danby's books. she wants 'let the roof fall in,' you know." a small boy: "have you any books about explosions? mother says she wants one about the pan-american explosion." another small boy: "haven't you got the mutt and jeff book yet? when are you goin' to get it?" a small girl: "please, can i keep this book on how to bring up parrots till next week?" the janitor of the building: "closin' time in five minutes, miss." two women: "oh, what's he putting out the lights for? i haven't found a book yet!" mulch mulch toward spring the books on gardening begin to come into the library, and i look them over with fresh enthusiasm. mrs. bunkum is no longer my favorite author in this field, but her sister writers are very dear to my heart. there is mrs. reginald creasus. i seize her latest volume with the eagerness of a child. i like to see the pictures of the new marble bench which she has imported from pompeii and set up at the end of the rose walk. then she usually has a new sculptured group--a fountain, or some other little trifle by rodin or st. gaudens, which looks so well amidst the japanese iris. after gazing at these illustrations for a while, i go home and observe the red woodshed, and i declare it looks altogether different. it is wonderful how discontented with your lot you can get by reading mrs. creasus's books on gardening. sometimes i think that i am making a mistake in voting the republican ticket, year after year. mr. debs may be right, after all. this year mrs. creasus calls her volume "the simple garden." from it i gathered that anyone who knows anything at all will not pass the summer without an abyssinian hibiscus unfolding its lovely blooms somewhere on the place. they are absolutely necessary, in fact. you have to be careful with them--when you plant them, that is. the fertilizer which they require has to be fetched from the island of ascension. i calculated that by going without food or clothes for two years i could just about buy and support one of them. i wish mrs. creasus would write a book about the complicated garden. i should like to see it. just as i had bought a garden hose, along came mrs. creasus's book, remarking casually that it is well to have the whole garden laid out with underground water-pipes, placed at least six feet below the surface, to avoid frost. two or three private reservoirs are, of course, an essential. i wonder what mrs. creasus keeps in these reservoirs. i suppose it is champagne, but i wouldn't like to ask. scotch gardeners are going out, she says. the chinese are the only kind, although they demand--and get--forty to fifty dollars more per month than the others. i made a note to employ no more scotchmen, and then i looked to see what she had to say about sweet-peas. she was ever so enthusiastic about them. no family should be without sweet-peas, she said. you dig a trench, and you put in four or five different kinds of dressing, separated by layers of earth, and then you plant the peas, and as fast as they come up you keep discouraging them by putting more earth and things on top, and then you build a trellis for them to run on, sinking the posts not less than four feet, and there you are. only--you must mulch them. mulch! that struck me as a pleasant word. it had a nice squshy sound about it. i thought it would be so nice, on hot evenings, to go around mulching and mulching. i went to the dictionary to look it up and find out what it meant, but just at that minute general bumpus came into my office. he was interested to see mrs. creasus's book lying open on my desk--he is president of the library board, and he is another gardening enthusiast. "going to have some sweet-peas?" he asked, observing the picture. "yes," i replied, "i thought i would." "well," he said, "that's all right. only you must mulch them good and plenty." "is that necessary?" i inquired, looking him straight in the eye. "oh, yes--absolutely." before we could say anything more about it, someone came in to tell the general that mrs. bumpus said the horses were uneasy, and that she wished he would come out. he went away, and then miss davis came to get me--there was a man in the reading-room, who wanted me to give him permission to break some rule or other. so i forgot all about the sweet-peas until i was on my way home. then i stepped in at the seed shop to get the peas. philip morris was there, buying a lawn-mower. he had paid for it, and was starting toward the door, when he saw me. "hullo! buying sweet-peas?" "yes. have you ever raised any?" "tried to. one year they didn't come up at all, and another year the cut-worms got 'em, and another they just sort of sickened and died. but i didn't mulch 'em--that was the trouble." "well, why _didn't_ you mulch 'em?" "why, i would have, but--george! that's my car! good-night!" and he rushed out. i did not like to display my ignorance before the dealer, so i merely took the peas and started up the street with them. inside of two minutes i met miss abernathy. she has a marvelous flower-garden. i stopped her and told her of my purchase. "oh, you're going to have sweet-peas! i envy you. i've never been very successful with them." "what happened to them?" "i don't know. they seemed to get disappointed--they need very rich soil." "maybe," i suggested tentatively, "you didn't mulch 'em." "oh, that doesn't make any difference." "doesn't it?" "not a bit." and she bade me good evening, and passed on. when i reached home and had eaten dinner, i told jane that i was going to plant some sweet-peas. i described the process to her. she was very much interested, and offered to help. i dug the trench and put in the peas. i thought some bushes might do instead of mrs. creasus's trellis. "now," i said, "all they need is to be mulched." "to be what?" asked jane. "mulched. you always have to mulch sweet-peas; that is, mrs. creasus and general bumpus, and philip morris say so, but miss abernathy thinks not." "how do you do it?" "jane, do you mean to say that you do not know how to mulch?" "of course i don't. how do you do it?" i felt in my pocket. "can't you roll me a cigarette? there's some paper and tobacco in the house--on my desk." jane went dutifully away, and when she returned, i lighted the cigarette. "there," i said, "they're all mulched--i did it with this hoe." "is _that_ what it means?" * * * * * all this happened in april, and now it is august, and the sweet-peas still maintain a somewhat sullen appearance. i wonder if miss abernathy was right, after all. perhaps i did wrong to mulch them,--at least, so savagely. a bookman's armory a bookman's armory mr. anthony gooch, brother of the well-known librarian of east caraway, owns one of the choicest private libraries it has ever been my good luck to see. i spent an evening with him recently and inspected his books. mr. anthony gooch was highly amused at the account of his brother's literary zoölogical annex, which i wrote for the "boston transcript." "percival has tacked that barn on his library," he said, "and filled it with all those absurd animals--not one-half of which are genuine. poor percy! the dealers have pulled his leg unmercifully. and he spends all his evenings and holidays shoveling hay to those preposterous elephants, and wandering around in that menagerie--i'm afraid the old fellow is getting dotty. why, what do you think he told me last week?" i had not the least idea, and i said so. "why, he is negotiating with a london dealer for the oysters mentioned in 'the walrus and the carpenter'! you remember them, of course?" and mr. gooch, leaning back in his chair and waving the stem of his long pipe in time with the beat of lewis carroll's exquisite verses, repeated: "'but four young oysters hurried up, all eager for the treat: their coats were brushed, their faces washed, their shoes were clean and neat-- and this was odd, because, you know, they hadn't any feet. "'four other oysters followed them, and yet another four,--' "i told him that he was being cheated, for the poem distinctly states (see stanza , lines and ) that the walrus and the carpenter ate all the oysters. but he replied that perhaps these were some of the elder oysters, for in the poem it says: "'the eldest oyster looked at him, but never a word he said: the eldest oyster winked his eye, and shook his heavy head-- meaning to say he did not choose to leave the oyster-bed.'" "it is useless to argue with him," continued mr. anthony gooch, "and if his trustees will let him spend the money, i suppose i ought not mind. still i do hate to think of the name of gooch being connected with a fraudulent collection." i agreed that it was distressing, and remarked that i thought it curious that one brother should be a collector and the other have no interest in that kind of hobby. for anthony gooch's library is remarkably free from all items that appeal merely to the bibliomaniac. his books are beautiful, but they are to be read, and mr. gooch has read them. he owns no unopened copies, nor any such nonsense. my host smiled. "well, of course i do not go in for fakes, and i certainly do not care to act as keeper to a lot of crocodiles, and flounders, and jackdaws, and other livestock, as percival does. still, my little museum--you have never seen it? come this way." mr. gooch led me to a door at the right of the fireplace, between two bookcases. he opened the door, turned on the lights, and we entered a small room. i exclaimed with astonishment, for we stood in an arsenal--or, rather, an armory. the walls were lined with weapons. stands of arms were in the corners, and a number of flags and banners hung from the ceiling. the weapons were of every variety and period. old spears and battleaxes, stone hatchets, bows and sheaves of arrows--these were mingled with modern rifles, automatic pistols, and bowie knives. daggers of a dozen patterns hung on the walls or lay on the tables. one or two ancient pieces of artillery--culverins and drakes, i fancy--were in a corner, together with a quick-firing gun from some modern man-of-war. "these," said mr. gooch, looking me in the eye, very seriously, "are absolutely genuine--every one of them. and not one but has figured in some scene in literature. i have spent fifteen years in assembling this collection, and--well, i prize it highly. that is one of the reasons why it disgusts me to have my brother percival waste his time over that ridiculous aggregation of animals, so many of which are sheer frauds. it tends to bring my collection of weapons under suspicion, and i do not need to say that i cannot bear to have anyone doubt the absolute authenticity of my treasures. if you feel any doubt about them i wish you would say so now, and we will go back to the library." but i told mr. gooch that suspicion was a trait foreign to my nature. "long ago," i said, "i took the advice of the white queen in 'through the looking-glass,' and practised believing impossible things for half an hour every day. like her, sometimes i've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast." "then i have no hesitation in showing you my collection," remarked mr. gooch. "look at this sword--it is the envenomed rapier of laertes, dipped in an unction which he bought of a mountebank. be careful not to touch the point--i think some of the poison lingers on it now, and it has already been responsible for two--no, three deaths. you remember that hamlet used it to kill the king, after it had wounded both him and laertes in the fencing bout." i put down the rapier gingerly, and inquired about a flint-lock pistol which lay on the table near at hand. mr. gooch told me that it was the weapon owned by madame defarge, through which she came to her death. "and what was probably worse, from her point of view," added the collector, "she was thus unavoidably detained from her front seat at the guillotine, on that day of days, when she hoped to see the marquis of evremond lose his life. someone has said that the whole french revolution seemed to have been brought about so madame defarge might have her revenge--so, of course, the blow was a severe one to her. this pistol exploded while she was struggling with miss pross in the empty house, and the explosion killed her and deafened miss pross. even then the tumbril was carrying sydney carton to the guillotine." "your relics are rather gruesome," i observed. "i pride myself that there are more horrors comprised in this small room than in most of its size," said mr. gooch. "but they are not all connected with tragedies. here, for instance, is the mace which the white knight used in his battle with the red knight, and i have also--up there on the wall--his sword--made of a lath, you see. still, weapons are naturally instruments of crime, or, at any rate, of violence, and some very notorious murders are commemorated here." he picked up a long, blood-stained knife. "with this," he said, "markheim killed the shopkeeper. one of the very finest murders in literature, in my opinion. you recall the circumstances: christmas day, the two men alone in the shop--" "i do indeed," i replied, willing to show my familiarity with stevenson's wonderful tale, "and i remember the terrible moments that followed--the murderer alone with the dead man, the silence, the ticking of the clocks, the man who knocked on the outside door, and all the rest of it." mr. gooch replaced the knife and drew my attention to a shield and a long spear which hung on the wall. these, he said, belonged to a "fuzzy-wuzzy"--they were a "coffin-'eaded shield an' shovel-spear," the implements for a 'appy day with fuzzy on the rush. near them hung an old flint-lock musket. it was a perfect wreck--the stock worm-eaten, and the lock and barrel covered with rust. "it was never used to kill anything more dangerous than a squirrel or a wild goose," said my host; "yet its original owner was nearly arrested for carrying it on one occasion. surely you can guess who that owner was." i guessed rip van winkle, and mr. gooch said that was correct. "it doesn't improve a musket or a man to lie out on the mountains day and night for twenty years," he added. then he showed me othello's sword of spain, "of the ice-brook's temper," with which the moor smote himself, as once in aleppo he smote a malignant and a turban'd turk. "this box," said mr. gooch, "contains one of my greatest prizes--nothing less than the dagger which led macbeth to duncan's sleeping chamber--" "but it was an 'air-drawn dagger'--it was imaginary," i began. and then the old story about the man and his mongoose recurred to me, and i stopped. i looked in the box, and, of course, found it empty. the collector of weapons laughed and seemed greatly delighted with his little joke. i judged that he was accustomed to play it on every visitor. "what is this bottle? it seems out of place here." "not at all," replied mr. gooch; "it is falstaff's pocket pistol. this cane once belonged to mr. wackford squeers, but it was used on only one occasion, and then against the owner himself, by nicholas nickleby." he then showed me a sword broken near the hilt. "it was henry esmond's. he broke it when he denied the prince, and heaped reproaches upon him for going dangling after beatrix, when the opportunity of his life was at hand. little the prince cared! he deigned, a few moments later, to cross swords with esmond, and frank used this broken blade to strike up their weapons. it was such a condescension! esmond knew the prince to be worthless, and he had just been insulting him in every way he could think. but he was of the sacred blood of the stuarts--enough for any jacobite. you will find a full account of it in the novel, if you care to refresh your memory. this is a cigar-cutter's knife--a curious weapon, isn't it? carmen used it to slash the face of the woman she quarreled with--she cut a neat st. andrew's cross on her enemy's cheek. that led to her subsequent arrest by don josé, the escape at which he connived, and all the train of events which followed. this is the knife that don josé killed carmen with." "how did you get all these weapons?" i asked him. "oh, in various ways. it requires a great deal of patience, some money, and some imagination. i traveled for three or four years, but since then i have had to employ agents. some authors would almost fill this room by themselves, if i cared to collect all the weapons for which they are responsible. see all those spears and broadswords--that is my sir thomas malory corner. walter scott covered almost that entire wall--spears, claymores, daggers, battleaxes and pistols. i could not get the sword of saladin--that, like some other valuable pieces, is owned by a virtuoso, of whom you may have heard. this sword was used by rudolf rassendyll--he employed it in freeing the prisoner of zenda. a revolver would have been quicker, probably, but not half so picturesque. i was glad to get that sword, but i soon had to stop buying the mass of cutlery that came into the market shortly after it was forged. i could have filled my house with it. poor weapons they were, mostly. see those rapiers over the fireplace--they are of the finest temper, and came from alexandre dumas. the one on the left, of somewhat the same shape, was used by a gentleman of france. that spear was carried by the squire of sir nigel loring when he rode into spain at the head of the white company. there is the good broadsword of young lochinvar, and this is the sword with which horatius held the bridge in the brave days of old." "the one with which he killed the lord of luna?' "precisely. how does it go?" "'through teeth, and skull, and helmet, so fierce a thrust he sped the good sword stood a handbreadth out behind the tuscan's head.' "no one does anything like that now. those were the days!" "they were, certainly. the two swords next to horatius's--who owned them?" "lord barnard and little musgrave. you know the old ballad?" and mr. gooch quoted again: "'the first stroke little musgrave struck, he hurt lord barnard sore; the next stroke that lord barnard struck, little musgrave never struck more.'" then the collector showed me a rifle of modern pattern. "the regular rifle of the british army twenty years ago. this belonged to private stanley ortheris. he took it with him that day he went out to look for a native deserter who was making things unpleasant by night for the old regiment. ortheris had his two companions with him, and while they waited learoyd told the story 'on greenhow hill.' at its end, the deserter appeared and ortheris ended his career at long range. 'mayhap there was a lass tewed up wi' him, too,' opined learoyd." i nodded, for i liked the story well. "here is the pistol," said mr. gooch, "that was found by the side of mr. john oakhurst, gambler, who struck a streak of bad luck on the d of november, , and handed in his checks on the th of december, ." then i asked about a hammer that lay among other objects on the table. "it is not a weapon, exactly," admitted mr. gooch, "but it belonged to adam bede. he used it in making a coffin, the night his father was drowned. the musket is the one with which carver doone shot lorna in the church. that peculiar machine in the corner? it doesn't look earthly, does it? as a matter of fact, it is a heat ray apparatus which was employed by the martians in the war of the worlds." we moved around the room slowly, mr. gooch sometimes pointing to weapons which hung high above our heads, and sometimes taking them down so i could examine them closely. in this more satisfactory fashion he now showed me a remarkable axe. the haft was of rhinoceros horn, wound with copper wire. this handle was over a yard long. the head was of steel. as i had suspected, the axe had belonged to umslopogaas, the zulu warrior. with this axe he had terrorized the french cook alphonse, and with it he fought his great fight at the head of the stairway. it had numerous nicks in the horn handle--each nick representing a man killed with it in battle. "here is another knife which figured in a murder," said mr. gooch. "tess killed alec d'urberville with it. and this is the unsheathed sword that lay between tristram and iseult." on a shelf in a corner was a piece of some red stone. i inquired about it, remarking that it did not seem to belong to the collection, "no, it does not," mr. gooch agreed, "but it served very effectively on a certain occasion. that was the meeting of the scientific society on the stanislow. if i can quote correctly, the incident is described as follows: "'then peleg jones of angels raised a point of order, when a chunk of old red sandstone took him in the abdomen-- and he smiled a kind of sickly smile, and curled up on the floor, and the subsequent proceedings interested him no more.' "i remember now," said i, "it was the beginning of a serious battle." "yes; events followed fast and furious-- "'in less time than it takes to tell it, every member did engage in a battle with those remnants of a paleozoic age, and the way they hurled those fossils in their anger was a sin-- till the skull of an old mammoth caved the head of thompson in.'" mr. gooch then showed me bob acres' dueling pistols. they gave no signs of having been used, and it is doubtful if they would have been very deadly at forty paces--bob's favorite fighting distance. here was also the cross-bow, with which the ancient mariner killed the albatross. i found, hanging from a hook, two curious weapons which resembled light darts, or spears. my host reached them down for me, and i looked them over closely. their composition was apparent--the halves of a pair of scissors had been tied to two wands. "they look much more harmless than bob acres' pistols, do they not? as a matter of fact, they were used in a duel, and one of them killed its man. the duel was fought in edinburgh castle between two french prisoners,--one of whom was st. ives." "and the lasso that hangs above them?" "employed in a tournament by a connecticut yankee at king arthur's court,--until merlin stole it. this is the sword with which sergeant troy displayed his dexterity before bathsheba everdene. and this blade you have heard celebrated in song a good many times--it is the sword of bunker hill. and with this miles standish stirred the posset. here is the revolver with which sherlock holmes used to amuse himself in his room on baker street--sitting in his chair, and making a patriotic 'v. r.' in bullet pocks on the wall, much to the annoyance of the good dr. watson. these daggers are rather odd--four of them, and two swords, you see. they came from 'the critic' where the two nieces draw their two daggers to strike whiskerandos, the two uncles point their swords at whiskerandos, and he draws two daggers and holds them to the two nieces' bosoms. so they would have stood forever, if the beefeater hadn't come in and commanded them, in the queen's name, to drop their weapons. there's the beefeater's halberd, too. doubtless you've wondered at this naval gun. it fired the shot that did the business for the 'haliotis,' and gave kipling a chance to air his knowledge of engines and machinery in general. you can read about it in 'the devil and the deep sea' this sword is in its sheath, you see, 'his sword was in its sheath, his fingers held the pen, when kempenfelt went down with twice four hundred men.' "i've plenty of swords--here's the one that pierced the master of ballantrae, when he and his brother fought together by candle-light. this pretty little pair of scissors? they helped in the rape of the lock. this stone-headed club is my oldest specimen--it belonged to ab--you know his story, no doubt? and the big axe was carried by the executioner when the queen of hearts went about shouting, 'off with their heads!'" "that is a beautiful dagger," i remarked. "isn't it? it was brought by some italian twins to a village in missouri, where it had an exciting history. look at the finger prints in blood on the handle. they betrayed a murderer, and he was denounced in court by pudd'nhead wilson." we had finished our circuit of the room, and it was time for me to bid mr. gooch good-night. i started to thank him for showing me his collection, but he interrupted. "oh, that's all right; but," he added, laying his hand on my shoulder in a paternal fashion, "one last request: if you write it up for the 'transcript,' don't try to be funny! i do hate to have books, and libraries, and literature treated flippantly. now, i read your column--oh! very often--" "no!" "yes, i do," he persisted, "i _really_ do! after i have finished the genealogical department, of course, and all those other fellows--the bee-keeper, and the bishop afloat, and all the rest of 'em, i read the librarian _frequently_." i blushed slightly. "and i wish," continued my host, "that you would treat my collection seriously." "mr. gooch," i promised, "i will be as solemn as--as--oh, as your brother's annual reports. i can say no more than that." and we shook hands on it. index a. l. a. book list, . Ã�neid, the, indigestible to a goat, . amanda (colored cook of librarian), . ancestor worship, _see_ genealogists. animals, library classification of, impossible, . authors, young, hectic vanity of, . baxter public library, _see_ ezra beesly free public library. bibliomaniacs (in hell), . bilkins, benj. s., heroic sacrifice of, . bird, peculiar, observed by mrs. mayo, . bluffers, literary, . books, one hundred best, _et seq._ boston athenæum, catalogue of, . boston public library, superior advantages of, . bunkum, martha matilda, . bureau of education, _see_ education, bureau of. carnegie, andrew, . ----, baffled again, . cat, runcible, . children, good, parentage of, . children's librarian, nefarious plot against a, . clam, little neck, how preferred, . colonel, retired, favorite remark of, . congress, library of, _see_ library of congress. crumpet, mrs. cornelia, . ----, miss hortense, . culture clubs, _see_ twenty minute culture club. cut worms, . darkness, child of, . dufunnie, prof. samuel mck., . dying maiden, _see_ maiden, dying. dyspepsia, goat gets, . education, bureau of, _see_ bureau of education. extra-illustrators, _see_ snippers. ezra beesly free public library, , . falstaff, sir john, as football center, . family ghost, _see_ ghost, family. fassett, prof. h. b., distressing adventures of, _et seq._ fat woman, . feet, pigs', not in public library, . flippancy of librarian, deplored, . fool girls, punishment of, . football, literary, . frugles, prof. milo p., . ----, exposed, . fuddy-dud, great work of dr. wurzberger on, . genealogists, , . ghost, family, anæmic condition of, . gibbons, cardinal, mistaken for historian, . goat, wild, _see_ wild goat. good children, _see_ children, good. grand dames of pequot war, , . gray hairs, cause of, to librarians, _see_ genealogists. gustafsen, dr. oscar, . ----, dryness of article by, . heroine, learned, . ----, modern, dissolute habits of, . highball, scotch, as a life-saver, . historians, scientific, , _et seq._ impossible things, practice in believing, . indexes of gardening books, . interest gauge, retail price of, . jasper, dr. nicholas, sufferings of, _et seq._ "jerusalem delivered," weight of, - . johnson, william degrift, cap belonging to, . kookle, reginald (a.b., cornell), . larkin, miss fritilla lee, . learned heroine, _see_ heroine, learned. library of congress, _see_ congress, library of. "librarian at play," price of, _see_ any book dealer. librarian, _see also_ children's librarian. literary bluffers, _see_ bluffers, literary. little neck clam, _see_ clam, little neck. lobster trap, how to sink a, - . macbeth, unsuccessful golf match of, . maiden, dying, . mayo, mrs. humphrey (_née_ gookin), _et seq._ mike, love of, . misers, clinking habits of, . mongoose, story about a, . mysterious man, . nature books, child pretends fondness for, . nuisances, _see_ genealogists. "old librarian's almanack," . one hundred best books, _see_ books, one hundred best. oyster, eldest, conservative temperament of, . patterson, miss pansy, . pests, _see_ genealogists. pigs' feet, _see_ feet, pigs'. ponsonby, perks & co. (publishers), . q, . reformed spellers, _see_ spellers, reformed. retired colonel, _see_ colonel, retired. runcible cat, _see_ cat, runcible. russia, source of supply of villains, . scientific historians, _see_ historians, scientific. scotch highball, _see_ highball, scotch. simpleton, village, . simplified spellers, _see_ spellers, reformed. slithy tove, _see_ tove, slithy. smith, mrs. pomfret, . ----, comes back, . snippers, post-mortem treatment of, . spellers, reformed, eternal punishment of, . sunflowers, how deep to sow seeds of, _et seq._ "teacher," _see_ children's librarian. telephones, slowness of, when librarian is waiting in rain, . thorns in the flesh, _see_ genealogists. tove, slithy, . twenty minute culture club, . utilitarianism, . vanhoff, amos, _et seq._ village simpleton, _see_ simpleton, village. villains, degeneracy of, . who's who in america, . wild goat, _see_ goat, wild. wurzberger, dr. obadiah, soul-racking experience of, _et seq._ xenophon's anabasis (perhaps in box), . young crab, how to broil a, . zanesville, ohio (birthplace of "excited person"), . transcriber's note: --obvious print and punctuation errors were corrected. book was created from images of public domain material made available by the university of toronto libraries (http://link.library.utoronto.ca/booksonline/).) of the best cockney war stories reprinted from the london evening news and illustrated by bert thomas with an opening yarn by general sir ian hamilton g.c.b., g.c.m.g., d.s.o., etc. vice-president of the british legion president of the metropolitan area of the british legion associated newspapers ltd. london, e.c. editor's foreword in the remembering, and in the retelling, of those war days when laughter sometimes saved men's reason, cockneys the world over have left to posterity a record of noble and imperishable achievement. from the countless tales collected by the london _evening news_ these five hundred, many of them illustrated by the great war-time artist, bert thomas, have been chosen as a fitting climax and perpetuation. sir ian hamilton's story of another war shows that, however much methods of fighting may vary from generation to generation, there is no break in continuity of a great tradition, that the spirits of laughter and high adventure are immortal in the make-up of the british soldier. sir ian's story is doubly fitting. as president of the metropolitan area of the british legion he is intimately concerned with the after-war welfare of just that tommy atkins who is immortalised in these pages. in the second place, all profits from the sale of this book will be devoted to the cause which the higher command in every branch of the services is fostering--the british legion. [illustration] contents sir ian hamilton's story . action . lull . hospital . high seas . here and there #/ sir ian hamilton's story the great war was a matrix wherein many anecdotes have sprouted. they are short-lived plants--fragile as mushrooms--none too easy to extricate either, embedded as they are in the mass. to dig out the character of a general even from the plans of his general staff is difficult; how much more difficult to dig out the adventures of number private thomas atkins from those of the other who went "like one man" with him over the top? in the side-shows there was more scope for the individual and in the victorian wars much more scope. to show the sort of thing i mean i am going to put down here for the first time an old story, almost forgotten now, in the hopes that it may interest by its contrast to barrages and barbed wire. although only an old-fashioned affair of half a dozen bullets and three or four dead men it was a great event to me as it led to my first meeting with the great little bobs of kandahar. on the morning of september , , i lay shivering with fever and ague at alikhel in afghanistan. so sick did i seem that it was decided i should be carried a day's march back to g.h.q. on the peiwar kotal to see if the air of that high mountain pass would help me to pull myself round. polly forbes, a boy subaltern not very long from eton, was sent off to play the part of nurse. we reached the peiwar kotal without any adventure, and were allotted a tent in the g.h.q. camp pitched where the road between the kurram valley and kabul ran over the high kotal or pass. next morning, although still rather weak in the knees, i felt game for a ride to the battlefield. so we rode along the high ridge through the forest of giant deodars looking for mementoes of the battle. the fact was that we were, although we knew it not, in a very dangerous no man's land. we had reached a point about two miles from camp when we were startled by half a dozen shots fired in quick succession and still more startled to see some british soldiers rushing down towards us from the top of a steep-sided knoll which crowned the ridge to our immediate front. close past us rushed those fugitives and on, down the hillside, where at last, some hundred yards below us, they pulled up in answer to our shouts. but no amount of shouts or orders would bring them up to us, so we had to get off our ponies and go down to them. there were seven of them--a corporal and three men belonging to one of the new short service battalions and three signallers--very shaky the whole lot. only one was armed with his rifle; he had been on sentry-go at the moment the signalling picquet had been rushed--so they said--by a large body of afghans. what was to be done? i realised that i was the senior. turning to the corporal i asked him if he could ride. "yes, sir," he replied rather eagerly. "well, then," i commanded, "you get on to that little white mare up there and ride like hell to g.h.q. for help. you others go up with him and await orders." off they went, scrambling up the hill, forbes and i following rather slowly because of my weakness. when we got up to the path, ponies, syces, all had disappeared except that one soldier who had stuck to his rifle. all was as still as death in the forest where we three now stood alone. "where are the others?" i asked the man. "i think they must be killed." "do you think they are up there?" "yessir!" so i turned to forbes and said, "if there are wounded or dead up there we must go and see what we can do." where we stood we were a bit far away from the top of the wooded hill for a jezail shot to carry and once we began to climb the slope we found ourselves in dead ground. nearing the top, my heart jumped into my mouth as i all but put my foot on a man's face. though i dared not take my eyes off the brushwood on the top of the hill, out of the corner of my eye i was aware he was a lascar and that he must be dead, for his head had nearly been severed from his body. at that same moment we heard a feeble cry in hindustani, "_shabash, sahib log, chello!_" "bravo, gentlemen, come along!" this came from another lascar shot through the body--a plucky fellow. "_dushman kahan hain?_"--"where are the enemy?" i whispered. "when the sahibs shouted from below they ran away," he said, and at that, side by side with the revolvers raised to fire, forbes and i stepped out on to the cleared and levelled summit of the hill, a space about fifteen feet by twenty. all was quiet and seemed entirely normal. there stood the helio and there lay the flags. most astonishing of all, there, against a pile of logs, rested the priceless rifles of the picquet guard with their accoutrements and ammunition pouches lying on the ground beside them. making a sign to forbes we laid down our revolvers ready to hand, took, each of us, a rifle, loaded it, fixed the bayonet and stood at the ready facing the edge of the forest about thirty yards away. even in these days when my memory is busy chucking its seventy years or so of accumulations overboard, the memory of that tense watch into the forest remains as fresh as ever. for the best part of half an hour it must have lasted. at last we heard them--not the afghans but our own chaps, coming along the ridge and now they were making their way in open order up the hill--a company of british infantry together with a few pathan auxiliaries, the whole under command of captain stratton of the nd foot, head signaller to the force. in few words my story was told and at once bold stratton determined to pursue down the far side of the hill. stratton had told me to go back to camp, but i did not consider that an order and, keeping on the extreme left of the line so that he should not see me, i pushed along. i noticed that the young soldier of the picquet who had stuck to his rifle was still keeping by me as the long line advanced down the slope, which gradually bifurcated into two distinct spurs. the further we went the wider apart drew the spurs and the deeper became the intervening nullah. captain stratton, forbes, and the regimental company commander were all on the other or eastern spur and the men kept closing in towards them, until at last everyone, bar myself and my one follower, had cleared off the western spur. i did not want to cross the nullah, feeling too weak and tired to force my way through the thick undergrowth. soon we could no longer hear or see the others. suddenly i heard click! "take cover!" i shouted and flung myself behind a big stone. sure enough, the moment often imagined had come! not more than twenty paces down the slope an old, white-bearded, wicked-looking enemy was aiming at me with his long jezail from behind a fallen log. click! again. another misfire. now i was musketry instructor of my regiment, which had been the best shooting regiment in india the previous year. my revolver was a rotten little weapon, but i knew its tricks. as the afghan fumbled with his lock i took aim and began to squeeze the trigger. another instant and he would have been dead when bang! went a rifle behind me; my helmet tilted over my eyes, my shot went where we found it next day, about six feet up into a tree. the young soldier had opened rapid fire just over my head. at the same time, i saw another afghan come crouching through the brushwood below me towards a point where he would be able to enfilade my stone. i shouted to my comrade, "i'm coming back to you," and turned to make for his tree. luck was with me. at that very moment bang went the jezail and when we dug out the bullet next morning and marked the line of fire, it became evident that had i not so turned i would never have sat spinning this yarn. that shot was a parting salute. there were shouts from the right of the line, and as i was making for my tree the afghans made off in the other direction. i shouted to stratton and his men to press down to the foot of the hill, working round to the north so as to cut off the raiders. then, utterly exhausted, i began my crawl back to the camp. soon after i had got in i was summoned into the presence of the redoubtable bobs. although i had marched past him at kohat this was my first face-to-face meeting with one who was to play the part of providence to my career. he made me sit in a chair and at once performed the almost incredible feat of putting me entirely at my ease. this he did by pouring a golden liquid called sherry into a very large wine-glass. hardly had i swallowed this elixir when i told him all about everything, which was exactly what he wanted. a week later the commander of the cavalry brigade, redan massy, applied to headquarters for an aide-de-camp. sir fred roberts advised him to take me. that billet led to unimaginable bliss. surrounding villages by moonlight, charging across the logar valley, despising all foot sloggers--every sort of joy i had longed for. the men of the picquet who had run away were tried by court martial and got long sentences, alas--poor chaps! the old mullah was sent to his long account by stratton. but that is the point of most war stories; when anyone gets a lift up it is by the misfortune or death of someone else. ian hamilton. cockney war stories . action the outside fare during the third battle of ypres a german field gun was trying to hit one of our tanks, the fire being directed no doubt by an observation balloon. on the top of the tank was a cockney infantryman getting a free ride and seemingly quite unconcerned at jerry's attempts to score a direct hit on the tank. [illustration: "hi, conductor! any room inside?--it's rainin'!"] as the tank was passing our guns a shrapnel shell burst just behind it and above it. we expected to see the cockney passenger roll off dead. all he did, however, was to put his hand to his mouth and shout to those inside the tank: "hi, conductor! any room inside?--it's rainin'!"--_a. h. boughton (ex "b" battery, h.a.c.), dafforne road, s.w. ._ "barbed wire's dangerous!" a wiring party in the loos salient--twelve men just out from home. jerry's verey lights were numerous, machine-guns were unpleasantly busy, and there were all the dangers and alarms incidental to a sticky part of the line. the wiring party, carrying stakes and wire, made its way warily, and every man breathed apprehensively. suddenly one london lad tripped over a piece of old barbed wire and almost fell his length. "lumme," he exclaimed, "that ain't 'arf dangerous!"--_t. c. farmer, m.c., of euston square, london (late of "the buffs")._ tale of an egg i was attached as a signaller to a platoon on duty in an advanced post on the ypres-menin road. we had two pigeons as an emergency means of communication should our wire connection fail. one afternoon fritz put on a strafe which blew in the end of the culvert in which we were stationed. we rescued the pigeon basket from the debris and discovered that an egg had appeared. that evening, when the time came to send in the usual evening "situation report," i was given the following message to transmit: "pigeon laid one egg; otherwise situation normal."--_d. webster, highfield avenue, n.w. ._ "no earfkwikes" on a bitterly cold, wet afternoon in february four privates and a corporal were trying to take what shelter they could. one little cockney who had served in the far east with the th middlesex was complaining about everything in general, but especially about the idiocy of waging war in winter. "wot yer grumblin' at?" broke in the corporal, "you with yer fawncy tyles of inja? at any rate, there ain't no blinking moskeeters 'ere nor 'orrible malyria." there was a break in the pleasantries as a big one came over. in the subsequent explosion the little cockney was fatally wounded. "corpril," the lad gasped, as he lay under that wintry sky, "you fergot to menshun there ain't no bloomin' sun-stroke, _nor no earfkwikes, neither_." and he smiled--a delightful, whimsical smile--though the corporal's "sorry, son" was too late.--_v. meik, king henry's road, n.w. ._ a "bow bells" heroine for seven hours, with little intermission, the german airmen bombed a camp not a hundred miles from etaples. of the handful of q.m.a.a.c.s stationed there, one was an eighteen-year-old middle-class girl, high-strung, sensitive, not long finished with her convent school. another was kitty, a cockney girl of twenty, by occupation a machine-hand, by vocation (missed) a comédienne, and, by heaven, a heroine. the high courage of the younger girl was cracking under the strain of that ordeal by bombs. kitty saw how it was with her, and for five long hours she gave a recital of song, dialogue, and dance--most of it improvised--while the bombs fell and the anti-aircraft guns screamed. in all probability she saved the younger girl's reason. when the last raider had dropped the last bomb, kitty sank down, all but exhausted, and for long cried and laughed hysterically. hers was not the least heroic part played upon that night.--_h. n., london, e._ samson, but shorn during the german attack near zillebeke in june a diminutive cockney, named samson, oddly enough, received a scalp wound from a shell splinter which furrowed a neat path through his hair. the fighting was rather hot at the time, and this great-hearted little londoner carried on with the good work. some hours later came the order to fall back, and as the cockney was making his way down the remains of a trench, dazed and staggering, a harassed sergeant, himself nearly "all in," ordered him to bear off a couple of rifles and a box of ammunition. this was the last straw. "strike, sergeant," he said, weakly, "i can't 'elp me name being samson, but i've just 'ad me perishin' 'air cut!"--"_townie," r.a.f._ "what's bred in the bone----!" when we were at railway wood, ypres salient, in , "muddy lane," our only communication trench from the front line to the support line, had been reduced to shapelessness by innumerable "heavies." progress in either direction entailed exposure to snipers in at least twelve different places, and runners and messengers were, as our sergeant put it, "tickled all the way." in the support line one afternoon, hearing the familiar "crack! crack! crack!" i went to muddy lane junction to await the advertised visitor. he arrived--a wiry little cockney tommy, with his tin hat dented in two places and blood trickling from a bullet graze on the cheek. in appreciation of the risk he had run i remarked, "jerry seems to be watching that bit!" "watching!" he replied. "'struth! i felt like i was walking darn sarthend pier naked!"--_vernon sylvaine, late somerset l.i., grand theatre, croydon._ a very human concertina in march , when jerry was making his last great attack, i was in the neighbourhood of petit barisis when three enemy bombing planes appeared overhead and gave us their load. after all was clear i overheard this dialogue between two diminutive privates of the th battalion, the london regiment ("shiny seventh"), who were on guard duty at the q.m. stores: "you all right, bill?" "yes, george!" "where'd you get to, bill, when he dropped his eggs?" "made a blooming concertina of meself and got underneaf me blinkin' tin 'at!"--_f. a. newman, levett gardens, ilford, ex-q.m.s., th london (post office rifles)._ a one-man army the th london division were holding the line in the bluff sector, near ypres, early in , and the th london battalion were being relieved on a very wet evening, as i was going up to the front line with a working party. near hell fire corner shells were coming over at about three-minute intervals. one of the th london lewis gunners was passing in full fighting order, with fur coat, gum boots, etc., carrying his lewis gun, several drums of ammunition, and the inevitable rum jar. one of my working party, a typical cockney, surveyed him and said: "look! blimey, he only wants a field gun under each arm and he'd be a bally division."--_lieut.-col. j. h. langton, d.s.o._ "nah, mate! soufend!" during the heavy rains in the summer of our headquarters dug-out got flooded. so a fatigue party was detailed to bale it out. "long bert" smith was one of our baling squad. because of his abnormal reach, he was stationed at the "crab-crawl," his job being to throw the water outside as we handed the buckets up to him. it was a dangerous post. jerry was pasting the whole area unmercifully and shell splinters pounded on the dug-out roof every few seconds. twenty minutes after we had started work bert got badly hit, and it was some time before the stretcher-bearers could venture out to him. when they did so he seemed to be unconscious. "poor blighter!" said one of the bearers. "looks to be going west." bert, game to the last, opened his eyes and, seeing the canvas bucket still convulsively clutched in his right fist, "nah, mate!" he grunted--"soufend!" but the stretcher-bearer was right.--_c. vanon, frederick street, w.c.i._ "i got 'ole nelson beat!" several stretcher cases in the field dressing station at the foot of "chocolate hill," gallipoli, awaited removal by ambulance, including a cockney trooper in the dismounted yeomanry. he had a bandage round his head, only one eye was visible, and his left arm was bound to his breast with a sandbag. his rapid-fire of cockney witticisms had helped to keep our spirits up while waiting--he had a comment for everything. suddenly a "strafe" started, and a shrapnel shell shot its load among us. confusion, shouts, and moans--then a half-hysterical, half-triumphant shout from the cockney: "lumme, one in the blinkin' leg this time. i got 'ole nelson beat at last!"--_j. coomer (late r.e.), hawthorn avenue, thornton heath._ two kinds of fatalist a german sniper was busy potting at our men in a front-line trench at cambrai in march . a cockney "old sweat," observing a youngster gazing over the parapet, asked him if he were a fatalist. the youngster replied "yes." "so am i," said the cockney, "but i believes in duckin'."--"_brownie," kensal rise, n.w. ._ double up, beauty chorus! one summer afternoon in ' some lads of the rifle brigade were bathing in the lake in the grounds of the château at elverdinghe, a mile or so behind the line at ypres, when german shells began to land uncomfortably near. the swimmers immediately made for the land, and, drawing only boots on their feet, dashed for the cellar in the château. as they hurried into the shelter a cockney sergeant bellowed, "nah then, booty chorus: double up an' change for the next act!"--_g e. roberts, m.c. (late genl. list, att'd st divn. signal co.), sunbury gardens, mill hill, n.w. ._ the theatre of war during the battle of arras, easter , we were lying out in front of our wire in extended order waiting for our show to begin. both our artillery and that of fritz were bombarding as hard as they could. it was pouring with rain, and everybody was caked in mud. our platoon officer, finding he had a good supply of chocolate, and realising that rations might not be forthcoming for some time, crept along the line and gave us each a piece. as he handed a packet to one cheerful cockney he was asked, "wot abaht a programme, sir?"--_w. b. finch (late london regiment), high road, felixstowe._ "it's the skivvy's 'arf day orf" easter monday, april , . night. inches of snow and a weird silence everywhere after the turmoil of the day. our battalion is held up in front of monchy-le-preux during the battle of arras. i am sent out with a patrol to reconnoitre one of our tanks that is crippled and astride the german wire yards out. [illustration: "i'll have to let yer in meself ... it's the skivvy's 'arf day orf!"] it is ticklish work, because the crew may be dead or wounded and fritz in occupation. very warily we creep around the battered monster and presently i tap gingerly on one of the doors. no response. we crawl to the other side and repeat the tapping process. at last, through the eerie silence, comes a low, hoarse challenge. "oo are yer?" "fusiliers!" i reply, as i look up and see a tousled head sticking through a hole in the roof. "ho!" exclaims the voice above, "i'll 'ave ter come dahn and let yer in meself, it's the skivvy's 'arf day orf!" the speaker proved to have a shattered arm--among other things--and was the sole survivor of the crew.--_d. k., fulham, s.w. ._ cricket on the somme "spider" webb was a cockney--from stepney, i believe--who was with us on the somme in . he was a splendid cricketer. we had had a very stiff time for six or seven hours and were resting during a lull in the firing. then suddenly jerry sent over five shells. after a pause another shell came over and burst near to "spider" and his two pals. when the smoke cleared i went across to see what had happened. "spider's" two pals were beyond help. the cockney was propping himself up with his elbows surveying the scene. "what's happened, webb?" i said. "blimey! what's happened?" was the reply. "one over--two bowled" (and, looking down at his leg)--"and i'm stumped." then he fainted.--_george franks, m.c. (late lieut., royal artillery), ilford, essex._ m'lord, of hoxton we called him "m'lord." he came from hoxton--"that's where they make 'em," he used to say. he was a great asset to us, owing to the wonderful way in which he went out and "won" things. one night, near amiens, in , "m'lord" said, "i'm going aht to see wot some uvver mob has got too much of." one or two of us offered to accompany him, but he refused, saying, "you bloomin' elephants 'ud be bahnd to give the gime away." about three hours later, when we were beginning to get anxious, we saw him staggering in with a badly wounded german, who was smoking a cigarette. seeing us, and very much afraid of being thought soft-hearted, "m'lord" plumped old fritz down on the fire-step and said very fiercely, "don't you dare lean on me wif impunity, or wif a fag in your mouf." jerry told us later that he had lain badly wounded in a deserted farmhouse for over two days, and "m'lord" had almost carried him for over a mile. "m'lord" was killed later on in the war. our battalion was the th batt. royal fusiliers (london regt.)--_w. a., windsor._ the tall man's war in our platoon was a very tall chap who was always causing us great amusement because of his height. naturally he showed his head above the parapet more often than the rest of us, and whenever he did so _ping_ would come a bullet from a sniper and down our tall chum would drop in an indescribably funny acrobatic fashion. the climax came at delville wood in august , when, taking over the line, we found the trench knocked about in a way that made it most uncomfortable for all of us. here our tall friend had to resort to his acrobatics more than ever: at times he would crawl on all fours to "dodge 'em." one shot, however, caused him to dive down more quickly than usual--right into a sump hole in the trench. recovering himself, he turned to us and, with an expression of unutterable disgust, exclaimed, "you blokes can laugh; anybody 'ud fink i was the only blighter in this war."--_c. bragg (late rifle brigade, th division), hinton road, herne hill, s.e. ._ germany didn't know this one night in june , on the somme, we were ordered to leave our line and go over and dig an advance trench. we returned to our trench before dawn, and shortly afterwards my chum, "pussy" harris, said to me, "i have left my rifle in no man's land." "never mind," i said, "there are plenty more. don't go over there: the snipers are sure to get you." but my advice was all in vain; he insisted on going. when i asked him why he wanted that particular rifle he said, "well, the barrel is bent, _and it can shoot round corners_." he went over.... that night i saw the regimental carpenter going along the trench with a roughly-made wooden cross inscribed "r.i.p. pte. harris."--_w. ford, becontree avenue, chadwell heath, essex._ better than the crystal palace one night, while going round the line at loos, i was accompanied by sergeant winslow, who was a london coster before the war. we were examining the field of fire of a lewis gun, when the germans opened up properly on our sector. clouds of smoke rose from the surrounding trenches, crash after crash echoed around the old loos crassier, and night was turned into day by verey lights sent up by both sides. suddenly a lad of , just out, turned to sergeant winslow, and in a quivering voice said: "my god, sergeant, this is awful!" sergeant winslow replied: "now, look 'ere, me lad, you'd have paid 'alf a dollar to take your best gal to see this at the crystal palace before the war. what are yer grousing abaht?"--_a. e. grant (late th welch regt.), broom road, teddington._ a short week-end one saturday evening i was standing by my dug-out in sausage valley, near fricourt, when a draft of the middlesex regt. halted for the guide to take them up to the front line where the battalion was. i had a chat with one of the lads, who told me he had left england on the friday. they moved off, and soon things got lively; a raid and counter-raid started. later the casualties began to come down, and the poor chaps were lying around outside the st c.c.s. (which was next to my dug-out). on a stretcher was my friend of the draft. he was pretty badly hit. i gave him a cigarette and tried to cheer him by telling him he would soon be back in england. with a feeble smile he said, "blimey, sir, this 'as been a short week-end, ain't it?"--_pope stamper ( th durham l.i.), a upper richmond road, east sheen, s.w. ._ simultaneous chess at aubers ridge, near fromelles, in october , my chum and i were engrossed in a game of chess, our chessboard being a waterproof sheet with the squares painted on it, laid across a slab of concrete from a destroyed pill-box. the germans began to drop · 's with alarming regularity about yards to our rear, temporarily distracting our attention from the game. returning to the game, i said to my chum, "whose move, joe?" before he could reply a shell landed with a deafening roar within a few yards of us, but luckily did not explode (hence this story). his reply was: "ours"--and we promptly did.--_b. greenfield, m.m. (late cpl. r.f.a., th (london) division), l.c.c. parks dept., tooting bec common, s.w._ fire-step philosophy on july , , i happened to be among those concerned in the attack on the german line in front of serre, near beaumont hamel. our onslaught at that point was not conspicuously successful, but we managed to establish ourselves temporarily in what had been the boche front line, to the unconcealed indignation of the previous tenants. during a short lull in the subsequent proceedings i saw one of my company--an elderly private whose melancholy countenance and lank black moustache will ever remain engraved on my memory--seated tranquilly on the battered fire-step, engrossed in a certain humorous journal. meeting my astonished eye, he observed in a tone of mild resentment: "this 'ere's a dud, sir. 's not a joke in it--not what _i_ calls a joke, anyway." so saying, he rose, pocketed the paper, and proceeded placidly to get on with the war.--_k. r. g. browne, b winchester road, n.w. ._ "teddie" gets the last word sergeant "teddie" was rather deaf, but i am inclined to think that this slight affliction enabled him to pull our legs on occasions. [illustration: "a quarter to seven, sir."] our company of the london regiment had just taken over a part of the line known as the paris redoubt, and on the first evening in the sector the company commander, the second in command, sergeant "teddie," and myself had a stroll along the observation line, which was just forward of the front line, in order to visit the various posts. suddenly a salvo of shells came over and one burst perilously near us. three of the party adopted the prone position in record time, but on our looking round "teddie" was seen to be still standing and apparently quite unconcerned. "why the dickens didn't you get down?" said one of the party, turning to him. "it nearly had us that time." "time?" said "teddie," looking at his watch. "a quarter to seven, sir."--_j. s. o. (late c.s.m., th london regt.)._ "nobbler's" grouse just before the battle of messines we of the rd londons were holding the bluff sector to the right of hill . "stand down" was the order, and the sergeant was coming round with the rum. "nobbler," late of the mile end road, was watching him in joyful anticipation when ... a whizz-bang burst on the parapet, hurling men in all directions. no one was hurt ... but the precious rum jar was shattered. "nobbler," sitting up in the mud and moving his tin hat from his left eye the better to gaze upon the ruin, murmured bitterly: "louvain--rheims--the _lusitania_--and now our perishin' rum issue. jerry, you 'eathen, you gets worse and worse. but, my 'at, won't you cop it when 'aig knows abaht this!"--_e. h. oliver, lanark house, woodstock, oxford._ dust in 'indenburg's sauerkraut! to all those thousands who remember shrapnel corner and the sign: "drive slowly! speed causes dust which draws the enemy's shell fire" this incident will appeal. i had rounded the corner into zillebeke road with a load of ammunition, and had gone about yards along the road, when fritz let go with a few shells. "rum ration" (my mate's nick-name) looked out of the lorry to observe where the shells were falling. "nah we're for it," he exclaimed, "our dust must 'ave gorn into ole 'indenberg's blinkin' sauerkraut."--_j. h. clarke, ex-pte., m.t.a.s.c._ a valiant son of london crack! crack! crack!--and men falling with each crack. it is terrible; we are faced with mud, misery, and despair. a german machine-gun is taking its toll. it seems impossible to get at the gunners, and we spend hours lying in wait. this waiting proves too much for one of us; single-handed he takes a chance and crawls away from my side. i keep him covered; minutes roll by; they seem hours, days; and, as he is now out of sight, i begin to give up hope for him, my cockney pal. some instinct warns me to keep watch, and i am rewarded. i feel my eyes start from my head as i see the approaching procession--four germans, hands above their heads, and my pal following, carrying the machine-gun across his shoulders. i marvel at his courage and wonder how it was done ... but this i am never to know. as i leap from the trench to give him assistance i realise his number is nearly up. he is covered with blood. i go to relieve him of his burden, and in that moment one of the germans, sensing that my pal is almost out, turns on us with his revolver. we are held at the pistol-point and i know i must make a desperate bid to save my pal, who has done his best in an act which saved a portion of our line. i drop the gun and, with a quick movement, i am able to trip the nearest german, but he is quick too and manages to stick me (and i still carry the mark of his bayonet in my side). the realisation i am still able to carry on, that life is sweet, holds me up, and, with a pluck that showed his determination and cockney courage, my pal throws himself into a position in which he can work the gun. _crack!_ and _crack!_ again: the remaining germans are brought down. i am weak with loss of blood, but i am still able to drag my pal with me, and, aided by his determination, we get through. it seems we are at peace with the world. but, alas, when only five yards from our trenches a shell bursts beside us; i have a stinging pain in my shoulder and cannot move! machine-guns and rifles are playing hell. my pal, though mortally wounded, still tries to drag me to our trench. he reaches the parapet ... _zip_ ... _zip_. the first has missed, but the second gets him. it is a fatal shot, and, though in the greatest agony, he manages to give me a message to his folks.... he died at my side, unrewarded by man. the stretcher-bearer told me that he had five bullet-holes in him. he lies in france to-day, and i owe my life to him, and again i pay homage to his memory and to him as one of england's greatest heroes--a valiant son of london.--_john batten (late rifleman, bn., k.r.r.c.), sussex gardens, hyde park, w. ._ a hint to the brigadier alec lancaster was a showman at the white city in pre-war days. short in stature, he possessed a mighty heart, and in the ghastly days in front of poelcapelle he made history as the sergeant who took command of a brigadier. the brigadier had been on a visit to the front line to inspect a new belt of wire and, passing the ---- headquarters, paused to look around. just then a few shells came over in quick succession and things looked nasty. alec lancaster took command and guided the brigadier somewhat forcibly into a dug-out with the laconic, "nah, then. we don't want any dead brigadiers rahnd 'ere."--_geo. b. fuller, rye road, hoddesdon, herts._ "salvage? yus, me!" on the third day of the german offensive in march a certain brigade of the r.f.a. was retiring on péronne. a driver, hailing from london town, was in charge of the cook's cart, which contained officers' kits belonging to the headquarters' staff. as he was making his way along a "pip-squeak" came over and burst practically beneath the vehicle and blew the whole issue to pieces. the driver had a miraculous escape. when he recovered from the shock he ruefully surveyed the debris, and after deciding that nothing could be done, continued his journey on foot into péronne. just outside that town he was met by the adjutant, who said, "hullo, driver, what's happened--where's cook's cart with the kits?" driver: blown up, sir. adjutant (_anxiously_): anything salved? driver: yus, sir, me!--_f. h. seabright, broomhill road, goodmayes, essex._ almost self-inflicted the london ( th) division, after a strenuous time on the somme in september , were sent to ypres for a quiet (?) spell, the depleted ranks being made up by reserves from home who joined us _en route_. the th battalion (london irish), were informed on taking the line that their opponents were men of the very same german regiment as they had opposed and vanquished at high wood. soon after "stand down" the following morning rifleman s---- mounted the fire-step and, cupping his hands to his mouth, shouted, "compree 'igh wood, fritz?" the words had hardly left his lips when _zip_, a sniper's bullet knocked his tin hat off his head and rifleman s---- found himself lying on the duckboards with blood running down his face. picking himself up, he calmly gathered his souvenirs together and said as he made his way out, "cheerio, boys, i've got a blighty one, but don't tell the colonel it was self-inflicted."--_a. c. b., ilford, essex._ nobby's , to chance our division (the third) was on its way from the line for the long-looked-for rest. we were doing it by road in easy stages. during a halt a pack animal (with its load of two boxes of "· ") became restive and bolted. one box fell off and was being dragged by the lashing. poor old nobby clarke, who had been out since mons, stopped the box with his leg, which was broken below the knee. as he was being carried away one of the stretcher-bearers said, "well, nobby, you've got a blighty one at last." "yus," said nobby; "but it took a fousand rahnds to knock me over."--_h. krepper (late th fusiliers), anerley road, upper norwood, s.e. ._ that derby scheme the commanding officer of a territorial battalion was wounded in both hands during the third battle of gaza in . he had much service to his credit, was a lieutenant-colonel of over two years' standing, had been wounded twice before, and held the d.s.o. he pluckily remained with his unit for thirty-six hours. then, worn out with lack of sleep, pain, and loss of blood, and filled with disappointment at having to leave his battalion still in the fight, he trudged back to the field ambulance. his sufferings, which had aged his appearance, and the tommy's tunic which he wore in action, apparently misled a party of th london men whom he passed. they looked sympathetically at him, and one said, "poor old blighter, _'e ought never to 'ave been called up_."--_captain j. finn, m.c., constitutional club, w.c. ._ "shoo-shoo-shooting" there were no proper trenches in front of armentières in early december , and a machine gun section was doing its best to build an emplacement and cover. it was in the charge of a young londoner who in times of excitement stuttered badly. not being satisfied with the position of one sandbag, he hopped over those already in place, and in full view of jerry (it was daylight too), began to adjust the sandbag that displeased him. jerry immediately turned a machine gun on him, but the young officer finished his work, and then stood up. looking towards jerry as the section yelled to him to come down, he stuttered angrily. "i b-b-be-lieve the bli-bli-blighters are shoo-shoo-shoo-shoo-ting at me." at that moment someone grabbed his legs and pulled him down. it was a fine example of cool nerve.--_t. d., victoria, s.w. ._ ancient britons?--no! it happened late in in tank avenue, just on the left of monchy-le-preux. it was a foul night of rain, wind, sleet, and whizz-bangs. my battalion had just been relieved, and we were making our way out as best we could down the miry communication trench. every now and again we had to halt and press ourselves against the trench side to allow a straggling working party of the k.r.r.s to pass up into the line. shells were falling all over the place, and suddenly fritz dropped one right into the trench a few bays away from where i was. i hurried down and found two of the working party lying on the duckboards. they were both wounded, and one of them had his tunic ripped off him by the force of the explosion. what with his tattered uniform--and what remained of it--and his face and bare chest smothered in mud, he was a comical though pathetic sight. he still clung to his bundle of pickets he had been carrying and he sat up and looked round with a puzzled expression. one of our sergeants--a rather officious fellow--pushed himself forward. "who are you?" he asked. "k.r.r.s?" "'course," retorted the half-naked cockney. "oo d'ye fink we was--ancient britons?"--_e. gordon petrie (late cameron highlanders), "hunky-dory," demesne road, wallington, surrey._ desert island--near bullecourt between ecoust and bullecourt in january my platoon was passing a mine crater which was half-full of water when suddenly jerry sent one over. six of our fellows were wounded, and one of them, a bow road cockney, was hurled into the crater. [illustration: "robinson crusoe."] he struggled to his feet and staggered towards a pile of rubble that rose above the muddy water like an island. arrived there, he sat down and looked round him in bewilderment. then: "blimey," he muttered, "robinson ruddy crusoe!"--_e. mcquaid (late r.s.f.), grove road, s.w. ._ "tiger's" little trick on october - , , during the mons retreat, a small party of nd life guards were told off as outpost on the main road, near wyngene, belgium. after we had tied our horses behind a farmhouse at the side of the road, we settled down to await the arrival of "jerry." time went slowly, and one of our troopers suggested that we all put a half-franc into an empty "bully" tin, and the first one of us who shot a german was to take the lot. to this we all agreed. it was about midnight when, suddenly, out of the shadows, rode a german death's-head hussar. we all raised our rifles as one man, but before we could shoot "tiger" smith, one of our real cockney troopers, shouted, "_don't shoot! don't shoot!_" during our momentary hesitation "tiger's" rifle rang out, and off rolled the german into the road. upon our indignant inquiry as to why he had shouted "don't shoot," "tiger" quietly said, "nah, then, none of your old buck; just hand over that tin of 'alf francs i've won."--_fred bruty (late corporal of horse, nd life guards), city of london police dwellings, no. , ferndale court, ferndale road, s.w. ._ raffle draw to-night! near st. quentin, in october , i was in charge of a section that was detailed to cross a railway to establish communication with troops on the other side. unfortunately we were spotted by a german machine gunner, who made things very hot for us, two men being quickly hit. we managed, however, to reach a small mound where, by lying quite flat, we were comparatively safe. glancing in the direction from which we had come, i saw a man whom i recognised as "topper" brown, our company runner, dashing as hard as he could for the cover where we had sheltered. "how do, corp?" he said when he came up. "any of your blokes like to go in a raffle for this watch?" (producing same). "'arf a franc a time; draw to-night in st. quentin."--_s. hills (late rifle brigade), , ripple road, barking._ exit the general's dessert in the early part of the war we were dug in between the marne and the aisne with h.q. situated in a trench along which were growing several fruit trees which the troops were forbidden to touch. the boche were shelling with what was then considered to be heavy stuff, and we were all more or less under cover, when a large one hit the back of the trench near h.q. after the mess staff had recovered from the shock it was noticed that apples were still falling from a tree just above, and the mess corporal, his ears and eyes still full of mud, was heard to say: "thank 'eaven, i shan't have to climb that perishin' tree and get the old man's bloomin' dessert to-night."--_e. adamson, overseas club, st. james's._ "try on this coat, sir" in september , while with the th k.r.r.c., i lost my overcoat in a billet fire at mailly-maillet and indented for a new one, which, however, failed to turn up. we moved to hebuterne, where the line was very lively and the working parties used to be strafed with "minnies" all night. one night, while on patrol, with nerves on the jump, i was startled to hear a voice at my elbow say, "try this on." it was the q.m.'s corporal with the overcoat! i solemnly tried it on there and then in no man's land, about yards in front of our front line and not very far from the german line. the corporal quite casually explained that he had some difficulty in finding me out there in the dark, but he did not want the trouble of carrying stuff out of the line when we moved!--_s. w. chuckerbutty, (l.r.b. and k.r.r.c.), maida hill west, london, w. ._ on the kaiser's birthday in the brickstacks at givenchy, . the germans were celebrating the kaiser's birthday by putting a steady succession of "minnies" into and around our front line trench. just when the strain was beginning to tell and nerves were getting jumpy, a little cockney corporal jumped on the fire-step and, shaking his fist at the germans forty yards away, bawled, "you wait till it's _my_ ruddy birthday!" fritz didn't wait two seconds, but the little corporal had got his laugh and wasn't taking a curtain.--_"bison" (late r.w.f.)._ "chuck us yer name plate!" in june we were ordered to lay a line to the front line at "plug street". fritz started to bombard us with whizz-bangs, and my pal and i took cover behind a heap of sandbags, noticing at the same time that all the infantrymen were getting away from the spot. when things quietened down we heard a cockney voice shouting, "hi, mate! chuck us yer name plate (identification disc). y're sitting up against our bomb store."--_s. doust (late signal section, "f" battery, r.h.a.), wendover road, well hall, eltham, s.e. ._ to hold his hand while on our way to relieve the st r.w.f.s, who were trying their utmost to hold a position in front of mametz wood, it was necessary to cross a road, very much exposed to jerry's machine guns. a burst of firing greeted our attempt, and when we succeeded, a cockney who had a flesh wound caused a smile by saying, "go back? not me. next time i crosses a road i wants a blinking copper ter 'old me 'and?"--_g. furnell, a southwold road, upper clapton, e. ._ the new landlord during an advance on the somme in my company was rushed up to the captured trenches to search the dug-outs and to bring in the prisoners. my cockney pal was evidently enjoying himself. as he went from one dug-out to another he was singing: "orl that i want is lo-ove, orl that i want is yew." entering one dug-out, however, his voice suddenly changed. in the dug-out were three germans. showing them the point of his bayonet, the cockney roared: "nah, then, aht of it; 'op it. i'm lan'lord 'ere nah."--_c. grimwade, rotherhithe new road, rotherhithe, s.e. ._ "out of bounds" in the line one night in october ' , in the neighbourhood of herlies, "ginger," a reservist, was sent out to call in the men of a listening post. dawn came, but no "ginger" returned, and as he did not turn up during the day he was given up for lost. soon after dusk, however, a very worn and fed-up "ginger" returned. we gathered that he had suddenly found himself in the german lines, had had a "dust-up," had got away, and had lain out in no man's land until dusk allowed him to get back. the company officer was inclined to be cross with him, and asked him, "but what made you go so far as the enemy position?" "ginger" scratched his head, and then replied, "well, sir, nobody said anyfink to me abaht it being aht o' bahnds."--_t. l. barling (late royal fusiliers), lockhart street, bow, e. ._ epic of the whistling nine on may , , the / nd battalion of the london regiment occupied the support lines in front of bullecourt. "a" company's position was a thousand yards behind the front line trenches. at p.m. the enemy began to subject the whole area to an intense bombardment which lasted more than thirteen hours. in the middle of the bombardment (which was described by the g.o.c.-in-chief as "the most intense bombardment british troops had had to withstand"), no. platoon of "a" company was ordered to proceed to the front line with bombs for the battalion holding it. the platoon consisted of n.c.o.s and men and one officer. * * * * * the only means of communication between the support and front lines was a trench of an average depth of two feet. along this trench the platoon proceeded, carrying between them forty boxes of mills bombs. every few yards there were deep shell holes to cross; tangled telephone wires tripped the men; m. g. bullets swept across the trench, and heavy shells obtained direct hits frequently, while shrapnel burst overhead without cessation. a man was hit every few minutes; those nearest him rendered what aid was possible, unless he was already dead; his bombs were carried on by another. * * * * * of the thirty-one who started, twenty-one were killed or wounded; the remainder, having taken an hour and a half to cover the , yards, reached the front line _with the forty boxes of bombs intact_. they were ordered to remain, and thus found themselves assisting in repulsing an attack made by the rd lehr regiment of prussian guards, and two of the men succeeded in wounding and capturing the commanding officer of the attacking regiment. of the ten n.c.o.s and men who were left, a lance-corporal was blown to pieces in the trench; the remainder stayed in the front line until they were relieved four days later. on their way back, through vaux vraucourt, they picked clusters of may blossom, and with these in their equipment and rifle barrels, marched into the transport lines whistling.--_captain, london regiment._ tale of a cook and a "crump" our cook was having the time of his life. the transition from trench warfare to more or less open warfare in late october brought with it a welcome change of diet in the form of pigs and poultry from the deserted farms, and cook had captured a nice young porker and two brace of birds. from the pleasant aroma which reached us from the cottage as we lay on our backs watching a german aeroplane we knew that cook would soon be announcing the feast was ready. suddenly from the blue came a roar like that of an express train. we flung ourselves into the ditch.... _k-k-k-k-r-r-r-ump!_ when the smoke and dust cleared away the cottage was just a rubbish heap, but there was cook, most miraculously crawling out from beneath a debris of rafters, beams, and bricks! "ruddy 'orseplay!" was the philosopher's comment.--_i. o., burnell road, sutton, surrey._ "---- returns the penny" when my husband commanded the st division in france he was much struck by the ready wit of a private of the royal fusiliers (city of london regiment) in a tight corner. a bomb landed in a crowded dug-out while the men were having a meal. everyone stared aghast at this ball of death except one tommy, who promptly picked it up and flung it outside saying: "grite stren'th returns the penny, gentlemen!" as he returned to his bully beef.--_lady lawford, london, s.w. ._ "in time for the workman's?" a night wire-cutting party in the arras sector had been surprised by daylight. all the members of the party ( st london regiment) crawled back safely except one cockney rifleman. when we had reached the trenches and found that he was missing, we were a bit upset. would he have to lie out in no man's land all day? would he be spotted by snipers? after a while our doubts were answered by a terrific burst from the german machine guns. some of the bolder spirits peered over the top of the "bags" and saw our cockney pal rushing, head down, towards our line while streams of death poured around him. he reached our parapet, fell down amongst us in the mud, uninjured, and immediately jumped to his feet and said, "am i in time for the workman's?"--_d. f., acton, w. ._ a lovely record the time: march . the scene: the talus des zouaves--a narrow valley running behind vimy ridge from neuville st. vaast through souchez. the weather is bleak, and there is a sticky drizzle--it is towards dusk. the man: a native of "somewhere just awf the 'bricklayers arms'--you know where that is, sir." height, just over feet; complexion, red; hair, red and not over tidy; appearance, awkward; clothes don't seem to fit quite. distinguishing marks--a drooping red moustache almost concealing a short clay pipe, stuck bowl sideways in the corner of the mouth. on the face there is a curious--whimsical--wistful, in fact, a cockney expression. the occasion: the boche is putting down his evening "strafe"--an intense and very accurate barrage laid like a curtain on the southern slope of the valley. our hero, his hands closed round the stock of his rifle held between his knees, is squatting unconcernedly on the wet ground in the open on the northern side of the valley, where only a shell with a miraculous trajectory could have scored a direct hit, watching the shells burst almost every second not a great distance away. the din and pandemonium are almost unbearable. fragments of h.e. and shrapnel are dropping very near. the remark: removing his pipe to reveal the flicker of a smile, he remarked, in his inimitable manner: "_lor' blimey, guv'nor, wouldn't this sahnd orl rite on a grammerphone?_"--_gordon edwards, m.c. (captain, late s.w.b.), "fairholm," alexandra road, wimbledon, s.w. ._ logic in no man's land fritz had been knocking our wire about, and a party of us were detailed to repair it. one of our party, a trifle more windy than the rest, kept ducking at the stray bullets that were whistling by. finally, 'erb, who was holding the coil of wire, said to him, "can't yer stop that bobbin' abaht? they won't 'urt yer unless they 'its yer."--_c. green, monson road, new cross, s.e. ._ fousands ... and millions it was on the mons-condé canal, on the afternoon of august , . our artillery had just opened up when a tiny cockney trumpeter, who could not have been more than years old, came galloping up to us with a message. [illustration: "they're coming on in millions."] "how are the gunners going on, boy?" said my captain. "knocking 'em down in fousands, sir," replied the lad. "good," said the captain. "yus, and they're coming on in millions," replied the boy as he rode away to his battery. a plucky kid, that.--_w. h. white, clive road, colliers wood, s.w. ._ lost: a front line two or three american officers were attached to our brigade h.q. on the somme front. we were doing our usual four days in the front line when one morning an american officer emerged from the communication trench. just then the germans opened out with everything from a · to rifle grenade. we squeezed into funk-holes in the bottom of the trench. presently there was a lull, and the american officer was heard to ask, "say, boys, where is the front line in these parts?" "tich," a little cockney from euston way, extracted himself from the earth, and exclaimed, "strike! j'ear that? wot jer fink this is--a blinkin' rifle range?"--_w. wheeler (late rd battalion royal fusiliers), turney road, dulwich, s.e._ "if our typist could see me nah" imagine (if you can) the mud on the somme at its worst. a royal marine artilleryman (a very junior clerk from "lambeff") was struggling up the gentle slope behind trones wood with a petrol tin of precious water in either hand. a number of us were admiring his manly efforts from a distance when the sudden familiar shriek was heard, followed by the equally familiar bang. we saw him thrown to the ground as the whizz-bang burst but a few feet from him, and we rushed down, certain that he had "got his." imagine our surprise on being greeted by an apparition that had struggled to a sitting posture, liberally plastered with mud, and a wound in the shoulder, who hoarsely chuckled and said: "if our typist could see me _nah_!"--_c. h. f. (w/opr. attached r.m.a. heavy brigade)._ q! q! queue! the scene was an observation post in the top of a (late) colliery chimney, ft. up, on the outskirts of béthune, during the last german offensive of the war. a great deal of heavy shelling was in progress in our immediate vicinity, and many of fritz's "high-velocities" were screaming past our lofty pinnacle, which was swaying with the concussion. at any moment a direct hit was possible. my cockney mate had located a hostile battery, and after some difficulty with the field telephone was giving the bearing to headquarters. faults in the line seemed to prevent him from finishing his message, which consisted of giving the map square (q ) being "strafed." the "q" simply would not reach the ears of the corporal at headquarters, and after many fruitless efforts, using "q" words, i heard him burst out in exasperation: "q! q! queue! ... blimey! you know--the blinkin' thing wot the pore blighters at home wite abaht for 'mawgarine' in."--_b. w. whayman (late f.s.c., r.e.), oxford street, boston, lincolnshire._ "fine 'eads er salery!" we were in a deep railway cutting near gouzeancourt. jerry's aeroplanes had found us and his artillery was trying to shift us. on the third day we had run out of cigarettes, so the sergeant-major asked for a volunteer to go to a canteen four miles away. our cockney, a costermonger well known in the east end, volunteered. he could neither read nor write, so we fixed him up with francs, a sandbag, and a list. hours passed, the strafe became particularly heavy, and we began to fear our old pal had been hit. suddenly during a lull in the shelling far away along the ravine we heard a voice shouting, "ere's yer fine 'eads er salery 'orl white." he was winning through.--_"sparks," lowestoft, suffolk._ the old soldier falls after my battalion had been almost wiped out in the retirement, i was transferred to the st batt. middlesex regt. one old soldier, known to us as "darky," who had been out since ' , reported at b.h.q. that he wanted to go up the front line with his old mates instead of resting behind the line. his wish was granted. he was detailed to escort a party of us to the front line. all went well till we arrived at the support line, where we were told to be careful of snipers. we had only gone yards further when the old soldier fell back into my arms, shot through the head. he was dying when he opened his eyes and said to me, "straight on, lad. you can find your way now."--_a. h. walker, wilberforce road, finsbury park, n. ._ not meant for him at the end of september my regiment ( th seaforth highlanders) were troubled by bombing raids by enemy aircraft at the unhealthy regularity of one raid per hour. we were under canvas at siege camp, in the ypres sector, and being near to a battery of large guns we were on visiting terms with some of the gunners, who were for the most part london men. a lewisham man was writing a letter in our tent one day when we again had the tip that the germans were flying towards us. so we all scattered. after the raid we returned to our tent and were surprised to see our artillery friend still writing his letter. we asked him whether he had stayed there the whole time and in reply he read us the following passage from his letter which he had written during the raid: "as i write this letter jerry is bombing the jocks, but although i am in their camp, being a londoner, i suppose the raid is not meant for me, and i feel quite safe."--_w. a. bull, m.m., norman road, llford, essex._ an extra fast bowler during the defence of antwerp in october my chum, who was wicket-keeper in the corps cricket team, got hit in the head. i was with him when he came to, and asked him what happened. "extra fast one on the leg side," was his reply.--_j. russell (late r.m.l.i.), northcote road, deal, kent._ "i'll call a taxi, sir" during an engagement in east africa an officer was badly wounded. bill, from bermondsey, rode out to him on a mule. whilst he was trying to get the officer away on his mule the animal bolted. bill then said, "me mule 'opped it, sir. 'e's a fousand miles from 'ere, so i'll giv yer a lift on my bill and jack (back)." the officer was too heavy, so bill put him gently on the ground saying, "sorry, sir, i'll 'ave ter call a taxi." bill then ran yards under heavy machine-gun fire to where the armoured cars were under cover. he brought one out, and thereby saved the officer's life. after the incident, bill's attention was drawn to a bullet hole in his pith helmet. "blimey," he said, "what a shot! if he 'adn't a missed me, 'e'd a 'it me." bill was awarded the distinguished conduct medal.--_w. b. higgins, d.c.m. (late corpl. mounted infantry), stanley road, ilford._ attack in "birthday clothes" we came out of the line on the night of june - , , to "bivvies" at mory, after a hot time from both fritz and weather at bullecourt. when dawn broke we were astonished and delighted to see a "bath." whilst we were in the line our pioneers had a brain wave, dug a hole in the ground, lined it with a tarpaulin sheet, and filled it with water. as our last bath was at achiet-le-petit six weeks before, there was a tremendous crowd waiting "mit nodings on," because there was "standing room only" for about twenty in the bath. whilst ablutions were in progress an aeroplane was heard, but no notice was taken because it was flying so low--"one of ours" everybody thought. when it came nearer there was a shout, "strewth, it's a jerry plane." baths were "off" for the moment and there was a stampede to the "bivvies" for rifles. it was the funniest thing in the world to see fellows running about in their "birthday suits" plus only tin hats, taking pot shots at the aeroplane. even fritz seemed surprised, because it was some moments before he replied with his machine gun. we watched him fly away back to his own lines and a voice broke the silence with, "blinkin' fools to put on our tin 'ats. uvverwise 'ole fritz wouldn't a known but what we might be germans." i often wonder if any other battalion had the "honour" of "attacking the enemy" clad only in tin hats.--_g. m. rampton (late th london regt., "rangers"), cromwell road, winchester._ his good-bye to the q.m. scene, ypres, may . the battalion to which i belonged had been heavily shelled for many hours, and among the casualties was "topper" brown, a cockney, who was always in trouble for losing items of his kit. taken to the dressing station to have a badly shattered foot amputated, he recovered consciousness to find the c.q.m.s. standing by the stretcher on which he lay. the c.q.m.s., not knowing the extent of brown's injury, inquired, "what's the trouble, brown?" in a weak voice the cockney replied, "lost one boot and one sock again, quarter."--_e. e. daniels (late k.r.r.), caledonian road, n. ._ from bow and harrow we were in the line at neuville st. vaast in . a raid had just been carried out. in the party were two inseparable chums, one from bow and one from harrow. (of course they were known as bow and arrow.) the bulk of the raiders had returned, but some were yet to come in. some time later three forms were seen crawling towards our line. they were promptly helped in. as their faces were blackened they were hard to recognise, and a corporal asked them who they were. "don't yer know us?" said the chap from bow. "we're bow and arrow." "blimey!" said another cockney standing by. "and i suppose the other bloke's robin 'ood, aint 'e."--_g. holloway (late london regt. and m.g.c.), lewis buildings, west kensington, w. ._ piccadilly in the front line towards the end of september i was one of a party of nine men and an officer taking part in a silent raid in the ypres sector, a little in front of the well-known spot called swan and edgar's corner. the raid was the outcome of an order from headquarters demanding prisoners for information. everything had been nicely arranged. we were to approach the german line by stealth, surprise an outpost, and get back quickly to our own trenches with the prisoners. owing perhaps to the wretchedness of the night--it was pouring with rain, and intensely black--things did not work according to plan. instead of reaching our objective, our party became divided, and the group that i was with got hopelessly lost. there were five of us, including "ginger," a cockney. we trod warily for about an hour, when we suddenly came up against a barbed-wire entanglement, in the centre of which we could just make out the figure of a solitary german. after whispered consultation, we decided to take him prisoner, knowing that the german, having been stationary, had not lost sense of direction and could guide us back to our line. noiselessly surmounting the barbed wire, we crept up to him and in a second ginger was on him. pointing his bayonet in fritz's back, he said, "nah, then, you blighter, show us the way 'ome." very coolly and without the slightest trace of fear, the german replied in perfect english, "i suppose you mean me to lead you to the british trenches." "oh!" said ginger, "so yer speak english, do yer?" "yes," said the german, "i was a waiter at a restaurant in piccadilly before the war." "piccadilly, eh? you're just the feller we want. take us as far as swan and edgar's corner."--_r. allen (late middlesex regt., st division), moreland street, finsbury park, n. ._ "wag's" exhortation on a bitterly cold night, with a thick fog settling, the middlesex regt. set out on a raid on a large scale on the enemy's trenches. fritz must have got wind of it, for when they were about half-way across the enemy guns opened fire and simply raked no man's land. the air was alive with shrapnel and nearly two-thirds of the raiders were casualties in no time. those that could tried to crawl back to our lines, but soon lost all direction in the fog. about half a dozen of them crawled into a shell-hole and lay there wounded or exhausted from their efforts, and afraid to move while the bombardment continued. meanwhile "wag" bennett, a cockney, though badly wounded, had dragged himself out of a shell-hole, and was crawling towards what proved later to be the enemy lines when he saw the forms of the other fellows in the darkness. as he peered down upon them he called out, "strike me pink! lyin' abaht dahn there as if you was at the 'otel cissle, while there's a ruddy war agoin' on. come on up aht of it, else you'll git us all a bad name." in a moment they were heartened, and they crawled out, following "wag" on their hands and knees and eventually regained our lines. poor "wag" died soon afterwards from his wounds.--_h. newing, park cottages, straightsmouth, greenwich, s.e. ._ making a king of him our company of the middlesex regiment had captured a hill from johnny turk one evening, and at once prepared for the counter-attack on the morrow. my platoon was busy making a trench. on the parapet we placed large stones instead of sandbags. during these operations we were greeted with machine-gun fire from johnny and, our numbers being small, we had to keep firing from different positions so as to give the impression that we were stronger than we really were. it was while we were scrambling from one position to another that "smudger" smith, from hammersmith, said: "love us, sarge, 'ow's this for a blinkin' game of draughts?" the words were hardly out of his mouth when johnny dropped a · about thirty yards away. the force of the explosion shook one of the stones from the parapet right on to "smudger's" head, and he was knocked out. when he came round his first words were: "blimey, they must 'ave 'eard me to crown me like that."--_w. r. mills (late sergt., / th middlesex regt.), canterbury road, colchester, essex._ "peace? not wiv you 'ere!" two cockney pals who were always trying to get the better of one another in a battle of words by greeting each other with such remarks as "ain't you blinkin' well dead yet?" earned for themselves the nick-names of bill and coo. one evening they were sent to fetch water, and on the return journey the germans started to shell rather heavily. coo ran more quickly than bill and fell into a shell-hole. he scrambled out in time to see his pal blown sky high by what appeared to be a direct hit. coo was heard to remark: "i always told 'im 'e ought to be reported missing, and blimey if 'e ain't." he then went to see if he could find the body: instead he found bill alive, though badly wounded. when finally coo got his pal back to the trench, bill opened his eyes. seeing coo bending over him, he said: "lumme, i thought peace 'ad come at last, but it ain't--not wiv you 'ere."--_william walker, park road, stopsley road, luton, beds._ an expert on shells we were billeted in the vaults of ypres post office. towards dusk of a summer's day in four of us were lounging at the top of the vault stairs, discussing the noise made by different shells. jerry, a cockney, was saying, "yes, yer can always tell big 'uns--they shuffles," and went on to demonstrate with _shsh-shsh-shsh_, when someone said "listen!" there was the real sound, and coming straight for us. we dived or fell to the bottom of the stairs. followed a terrific "crump" right in the entrance, which was completely blocked up. every candle and lamp was blown out; we were choking with dust and showered with bricks and masonry. there was a short silence, and jerry's voice from the darkness said, "there y'are; wot did i tell yer?"--_h. w. lake, london._ a camel "on the waggon" during the battle of gaza in april camels were used for the conveyance of wounded. each camel carried a stretcher on either side of its hump. travelling in this manner was something akin to a rough channel crossing. [illustration: "i believe he was drunk before we set eyes on him."] i was wounded in the leg. my companion was severely wounded in both legs. some very uncomplimentary remarks were passed between us concerning camels, particularly the one which was carrying us. when we arrived at a field dressing-station a sergeant of the r.a.m.c. came along with liquid refreshments. "sergeant," said my chum, "if you give this bloke (indicating the camel) anything to drink i'm going to walk, 'cos i believe the blighter was drunk before we ever set eyes on him."--_albert j. fairall, melbourne road, leyton, e. ._ parting presents it was on passchendaele ridge in . jerry had been giving us a hot time with his heavies. just before daybreak our telephone line went west and we could not get through to our o.p. i was detailed to go out and repair the line with a young cockney from hackney. he had only been with us a few days and it was his first time up the line. we had mended one break when shells dropped all round us. when i got to my feet, i saw my pal lying several feet away. i escaped with a few splinters and shock. i dragged my chum to a shell-hole which was full of water and found he was badly hit about the shoulder, chest, and leg. i dressed him as best i possibly could, when, _bang_, a shell seemed to drop right on us and something came hurtling into our hole with a splash. it turned out to be a duckboard. i propped my chum against it to stop him slipping back into the water. after a few minutes he opened his eyes, and though in terrible pain, smiled and said, "lummy, jeff, old jerry ain't so bad, after all. he has given me a nice souvenir to take to blighty and now he has sent me a raft to cross the pond on." then he became unconscious. it was now daybreak and quiet. i pulled him out of the hole and went and repaired the line. we got him away all right, but i never heard from him. i only hope he pulled through: he showed pluck.--_signaller h. jeffrey (late royal artillery), bright road, luton, chatham, kent._ bluebottles and wopses we had just gone into the front line. two of us had not been there before. during a conversation with a cockney comrade, an old hand, we told him of our dislike of bombs. he tried to re-assure us something like this: "nah, don't let them worry you. you treat 'em just like blue-bottles, only different. with a blue-bottle you watch where it settles an' 'it it, but with bombs, you watch where they're goin' to settle and 'op it. it's quite simple." a short time after a small german bomb came over and knocked out our adviser. my friend and i picked him up and tried to help him. he was seriously hurt. as we lifted him up my friend said to him, "you didn't get your blue-bottle that time, did you?" he smiled back as he replied: "'twasn't a blue-bottle, mate; must 'ave been a blinkin' wopse."--_c. booth, creighton road, n.w. ._ the cheerful "card" on that june morning in when messines ridge went up, a young chap was brought in to our a.d.s. in woodcote farm. a piece of shell had torn a great gap in each thigh. whilst the sergeant was applying the iodine by means of a spray the m.o. asked, "how are things going this morning?" the lad was wearing a red heart as his battalion sign, and despite his great pain he answered: "o.k. sir. hearts were trumps this morning."--_r. j. graff, / th l.f.a., th division, lawrie park road, sydenham._ great stuff this shrapnel during the retreat from mons it was the cavalry's work to hold up the germans as long as possible, to allow our infantry to get in position. one day we had a good way to run to our horses, being closely pursued by the germans. when we reached them we were all more or less out of breath. a little cockney was so winded that he could hardly reach his stirrup, which kept slipping from under his foot. just then a shrapnel shell burst directly overhead, and the cockney, without using his stirrup, vaulted clean into the saddle. as we galloped off he gasped, "blimey, don't they put new life in yer? they're as good as kruschens."--_e. h. (late r.h.g.), alpha road, surbiton, surrey._ wot a war! three of us were sitting on the high ground on the gallipoli beach watching shells dropping from the turk positions. a "g.s." wagon was proceeding slowly along below us, the driver huddled in his coat, for the air was chill. suddenly he jumped from the wagon and ran in our direction--he had heard the shell before we had. the next moment the wagon was proceeding skywards in many directions, and the horses were departing at top speed in different directions. the driver surveyed the scene for a moment and then in a very matter-of-fact voice said: "blimey! see that? now i suppose i've got to _walk_ back, and me up all night--wot a war!" and away he trudged!--_c. j. a., n.w. ._ the umpire after a retreat in may we saw, lying between our fresh position and the german lines, an english soldier whom we took to be dead. later, however, we advanced again, and discovered that the man was not dead, but badly wounded. on being asked who he was, he replied in a very weak voice, "i fink i must be the blinkin' umpire."--_w. king (late royal fusiliers), manor grove, richmond, surrey._ "don't tell 'aig" little "ginger" was the life and soul of our platoon until he was wounded on the somme in . as he was carried off to the dressing-station he waved his hand feebly over the side of the stretcher and whispered, "don't tell 'aig! he'd worry somethin' shockin'."--_g. e. morris (late royal fusiliers), ivydale road, peckham rye, s.e. ._ "... in love and war" during a most unpleasant night bombing raid on the transport lines at haillecourt the occupants of a nissen hut were waiting for the next crash when out of the darkness and silence came the cockney voice of a lorry driver saying to his mate, "'well,' i sez to 'er, i sez, 'you do as you like, and i can't say no fairer than that, can i?'"--_f. r. jelley, upland road, sutton, surrey._ "afraid of yer own shells" i was on the italian front in june , and our battery was being strafed by the austrians with huge armour-piercing shells, which made a noise like an express train coming at you, and exploded with a deafening roar. an o.k. had just registered on one of our guns, blowing the wheels and masses of rock sky-high. a party of about twenty austrian prisoners, in charge of a single cockney, were passing our position at the time, and the effect of the explosion on the prisoners was startling. they scattered in all directions, vainly pursued by the cockney, who reminded me of a sheep-dog trying to get his flock together. at last he paused. "you windy lot o' blighters," he shouted as he spat on the ground in evident disgust, "afraid of yer own bloomin' shells!"--_s. curtis, palace road, upper norwood, s.e. ._ the leader of the blind in july , at a casualty clearing station occupying temporary quarters in the old college of st. vincent at ruined senlis we dealt with , wounded in eight days. one night when we were more busy than usual an ambulance car brought up a load of gas-blinded men. a little man whose voice proclaimed the city of his birth--arm broken and face blistered with mustard gas, though he alone of the party could see--jumped out, looked around, and then whispered in my ear, "all serene, guv'nor, leave 'em to me." he turned towards the car and shouted inside, "dalston junction, change here for hackney, bow, and poplar." then gently helping each man to alight, he placed them in a line with right hand on the shoulder of the man in front, took his position forward and led them all in, calling softly as he advanced, "slow march, left, left, i had a good job and i _left_ it."--_henry t. lowde (late rd c.c.s., r.a.m.c.), stanhope gardens, harringay, n. ._ pity the poor ducks we were in the passchendaele sector in , and all who were there know there were no trenches--just shell-holes half-filled with water. jerry had been strafing us for two days without a stop and of our platoon of twenty-three men only seven came out alive. as we were coming down the duckboard track after being relieved jerry started to put over a barrage. we had to dive for the best cover we could get. three of us jumped into a large shell-hole, up to our necks in water. as the shells dropped around us we kept ducking our heads under the water. bert norton, one of us--a cockney--said: "strike, we're like the little ducks in 'yde park--keep going under." after another shell had burst and we had just come up to breathe bert chimed in again with: "blimey, mustn't it be awful to have to get your living by ducking?"--_j. a. wood, dalston lane, e. ._ waiting room only it was in no man's land, and a party of new zealand troops were making for shelter in a disabled british tank to avoid the downpour of shrapnel. they were about to swarm into the tank when the head of a london tommy popped out of an aperture, and he exclaimed, "blimey. hop it! this is a waiting room, not a blinkin' bee-hive."--_a. e. wragg, downs road, beckenham, kent._ not yet blasé we arrived at the cambrai front in --just a small bunch of cockneys--and were attached to the welsh brigade of artillery, being told to report to b.h.q. up the sunken road in front of bapaume. en route our escort of welshmen were telling us of the "terrible" shelling up the line. it was no leg pulling, for we quickly found out for ourselves that it was hot and furious. down we all went for cover as best we could, except one cockney who stood as one spellbound watching the bursting of the shells. one of the welshmen yelled out, "drop down, cockie!" the cockney turned round, to the wonderment and amusement of the rest, with the retort, "blimey! get away with yer, you're windy. i've only just come out!"--_driver w. h. allen (attached st glamorgan r.h.a.), maiden crescent, kentish town, n.w. ._ paid with a mills during severe fighting in delville wood in august our regiment (the east surreys) was cut off for about three days and was reduced to a mere handful of men, but still we kept up our joking and spirits. a young cockney, who was an adept at rhyming slang, rolled over, dead as i thought, for blood was streaming from his neck and head. but he sat up again and, wiping his hand across his forehead, exclaimed: "strike me pink! one on the top of my loaf of bread (head), and one in the bushel and peck (neck)." then, slinging over a mills bomb, he shouted: "'ere, fritz, my thanks for a blighty ticket."--_a. dennis, somers road, brixton hill, s.w. ._ the guns' obligato the day after the canadians attacked vimy ridge my battalion of the royal fusiliers advanced from bully grenay to a château on the outskirts of lieven under heavy shell fire. [illustration: "tipperary!"] at the back of the château a street led to the main road to the town. there, despite the bombardment, we found a cockney tommy of the buffs playing "tipperary" on a piano which had been blown out of a house into the road. we joined in--until a shell took the top off the château, when we scattered!--_l. a. utton, coteford street, tooting, s.w._ in the garden of eden we had reached the district in "mespot" reputed to be the garden of eden. one evening i was making my way with six men to relieve the guard on some ammunition barges lying by the bank of the tigris. we had approached to within about one hundred yards of these, when the turks started sending over some "long-rangers." the sixth shell scored a direct hit on the centre barge, and within a few seconds the whole lot went up in what seemed like the greatest explosion of all time. apart from being knocked over with the shock, we escaped injury, with the exception of a cockney in our company. most of his clothing, except his boots, had been stripped from his body, and his back was bleeding. slowly he struggled to his hands and knees, and surveying his nakedness, said: "now where's that blinkin' fig tree?"--_f. dennis, crewdson road, brixton, s.w._ santa claus in a hurry a forward observation officer of the artillery was on duty keeping watch on watling crater, vimy ridge, towards the end of . the observation post was the remains of a house, very much battered. the officer had to crawl up what had once been a large fireplace, where he had the protection of the only piece of wall that remained standing. he was engrossed on his task when the arrival of a "minnie" shook the foundations of the place, and down he came in a shower of bricks and mortar with his shrapnel helmet not at the regimental angle. a couple of cockney tommies had also made a dive for the shelter of this pile of bricks and were crouching down, when the officer crawled from the fireplace. "quick, joe," said one of the cockneys, "'ang up yer socks--'ere comes ole santa claus!"--_a. j. robinson (late sergeant, r.f.a.), clowders road, catford, s.e. ._ what paderewski was missing it was on the night of october , , at passchendaele ridge. both sides were "letting it go hell for leather," and we were feeling none too comfortable crouching in shell-holes and taking what cover we could. the ground fairly shook--and so did we for that matter--with the heavy explosions and the din was ear-splitting. just for something to say i called out to the chap in the next shell-hole--a brentford lad he was: "what d'you think of it, alf?" "not much," he said, "i was just finkin' if paderewski could get only this on 'is ol' jo-anner."--_m. hooker, a md. qrs., henlow camp, bedford._ a target, but no offers during the battle of the somme, in september , our lewis gun post was in a little loop trench jutting out from the front line at a place called, i believe, lone tree, just before combles. jerry's front line was not many yards away, and it was a very warm spot. several casualties had occurred during the morning through sniping, and one enterprising chap had scored a bull's-eye on the top of our periscope. things quietened down a bit in the afternoon, and about p.m. our captain, who already had the m.c., came along and said to our corporal, "i believe the germans have gone." a cockney member of our team, overhearing this, said, "well, it won't take long to find out," and jumping upon the fire-step exposed himself from the waist upwards above the parapet. after a minute's breathless silence he turned to the captain and said, with a jerk of his thumb, "they've hopped it, sir." that night we and our french friends entered combles.--_m. chittenden (late "c" coy., / th london regt., q.w.r.), king edward road, waltham cross, herts._ their own lord mayor's show in april our unit was billeted near amiens in a small village from which the inhabitants had been evacuated two days earlier, owing to the german advance. on the second day of our stay there jerry was shelling the steeple of the village church, and we had taken cover in the cellars under the village school. all at once we heard roars of laughter coming from the street, and wondering what on earth anyone could find to laugh at, we tumbled up to have a look. the sight that met our eyes was this: gravely walking down the middle of the street were two of the "hackney ghurkas," the foremost of whom was dressed in a frock coat and top hat, evidently the property of the village _maire_, and leading a decorated mule upon the head of which was tied the most gaudy "creation" which ever adorned a woman's head. the second cockney was clad in the full garb of a twenty-stone french peasant woman, hat and all, and was dragging at the end of a chain a stuffed fox, minus its glass case, but still fastened to its baseboard. they solemnly paraded the whole length of the street and back again, and were heard to remark that the village was having at least one lord mayor's show before jerry captured it! and this happened at the darkest time of the war, when our backs were to the wall.--_a. c. p. (late th london division), fulham, s.w. ._ pill-box crown and anchor in the fighting around westhoek in august the th division were engaged in a series of attacks on the nonne boschen wood, and owing to the boggy nature of the ground the position was rather obscure. a platoon of one of the london battalions was holding a pill-box which had been taken from the germans during the day. in the night a counter-attack was made in the immediate vicinity of the pill-box, which left some doubt as to whether it had again fallen to the enemy. a patrol was sent out to investigate. after cautiously approaching the position and being challenged in a cockney tongue, they entered the pill-box, and were astonished to see the occupants playing crown and anchor. the isolated and dangerous position was explained to the sergeant in charge, but he nonchalantly replied, "yes, i know all abaht that; but, yer see, wot's the use of frightenin' the boys any more? there's been enough row rahnd 'ere all night as it is."--_n. butcher (late rd londons), tankerville drive, leigh-on-sea._ "c.o.'s paid 'is phone bill" on the somme, during the big push of , we had a section of signallers attached to our regiment to keep the communications during the advance. of the two attached to our company, one was a cockney. he had kept in touch with the "powers that be" without a hitch until his wire was cut by a shell. he followed his wire back and made the necessary repair. three times he made the same journey for the same reason. his mate was killed by a shrapnel shell and he himself had his left arm shattered: but to him only one thing mattered, and that was to "keep in touch." so he stuck to his job. the wire was broken a fourth time, and as he was about to follow it back, a runner came up from the c.o. wanting to know why the signaller was not in communication. he started back along his wire and as he went he said, "tell 'im to pay 'is last account, an' maybe the telephone will be re-connected." a permanent line was fixed before he allowed the stretcher-bearers to take him away. my chum had taken his post at the end of the wire, and as the signaller was being carried away he called out feebly, "you're in touch with h.q. c.o.'s paid 'is bill, an' we'll win the war yet."--_l. n. loder, m.c. (late indian army), streatham._ the "garden party crasher" in april two companies of our battalion were ordered to make a big raid opposite the sugar refineries at bis, near loos. two lines of enemy trenches had to be taken and the raiding party, when finished, were to go back to billets at mazingarbe while the durhams took over our trenches. my batman beedles had instructions to go back to billets with all my kit, and wait there for my return. i was in charge of the right half of the first wave of the raid, and after a bit of a scrap we got into the german front line. having completed our job of blowing up concrete emplacements and dug-outs, we were waiting for the signal to return to our lines when, to my surprise, beedles came strolling through the german wire. when he saw me he called out above the row going on: "i 'opes yer don't mind me 'aving come to the garden party wivout an invertition, sir?" the intrepid fellow had taken all my kit back to billets some four miles, made the return journey, and come across no man's land to find me, and see me safely back; an act which might easily have cost him his life.--_l. w. lees (lieut.), late th batt. essex regt., "meadow croft," stoke poges, bucks._ those big wasps salonika, , a perfect summer's day. the / th london regiment are marching along a dusty road up to the doiran lake. suddenly, out of the blue, three bombing planes appear. the order is given to scatter. meanwhile, up comes an anti-aircraft gun, complete with crew on lorry. soon shells are speeding up, and little small puffs of white smoke appear as they burst; but the planes are too high for them. a cockney of the regiment puts his hands to his mouth and shouts to the crew: "hi, don't hunch 'em; let 'em settle."--_a. g. sullings (late / th london regiment), cann hall road, leytonstone, e. ._ why he looked for help on july , , the th (london) division attacked at hebuterne, and during the morning i was engaged (as a lineman) in repairing our telephone lines between battalion and brigade h.q. i had just been temporarily knocked out by a flat piece of shell and had been attended by a stretcher-bearer, who then left me and proceeded on his way back to a dressing station i had previously passed, whilst i went farther on down the trench to get on with my job. i had not gone many yards when i met a very young private of the th londons (the rangers). one of his arms was hanging limp and was, i should think, broken in two or three places. he was cut and bleeding about the face, and was altogether in a sorry plight. he stopped and asked me, "is there a dressing station down there, mate?" pointing along the way i had come, and i replied, "yes, keep straight on down the trench. it's a good way down. but," i added, "there's a stretcher-bearer only just gone along. shall i see if i can get him for you?" his reply i shall never forget: "oh, i don't want him for _me_. i want someone to come back with me to get my mate. _he's hurt!_"--_wm. r. smith, halley road, manor park, e. ._ the winkle shell above the entrance to a certain dug-out somewhere in flanders some wit had fixed a board upon which was roughly painted, "the winkle shell." the ebb and tide of battle left the dug-out in german hands, but one day during an advance the british infantry recaptured the trench in which "the winkle shell" was situated. along the trench came a cockney with his rifle ready and his bayonet fixed. hearing voices coming from the dug-out he halted, looked reflectively at the notice-board, and then cautiously poking his bayonet into the dug-out called out, "nah, then, come on aht of it afore i gits me blinkin' 'pin' busy."--_sidney a. wood (late c/ battery, r.f.a.), lucas avenue, upton park, e. ._ forgot his dancing pumps we were in a trench in front of carnoy on the somme when the germans made a raid on us. it was all over in a few minutes, and we were minus eight men--taken away by the raiders. shortly afterwards i was standing in a bay feeling rather shaky when a face suddenly appeared over the top. i challenged, and was answered with these words: "it's orl right. it's me. they was a-takin' us to a dance over there, but i abaht-turned 'arfway acrorst an' crawled back fer me pumps."--_e. smith (late middlesex regt.), barrack road, aldershot._ lift out of order one day in i was sitting with some pals in a german dug-out in high wood. like others of its kind, it had a steep, deep shaft. suddenly a shell burst right in the mouth of the shaft above, and the next instant "nobby," a cockney stretcher-bearer, landed plump on his back in our midst. he was livid and bleeding, but his first words were: "strike! i thought the lift were outer order!"--_j. e., vauxhall, s.w. ._ lost: a fly whisk during the very hot summer of in egypt it was necessary, while eating, to keep on flicking one hand to keep the flies away from one's mouth. one day a heavy shell came over and knocked down my cockney chum, tubby white. he got up, holding his wrist, and started looking round. i said: "what have you lost, tubby?" "blimey," he said, "can't you see i've lost me blooming fly whisk?" it was then i noticed he had lost his hand.--_j. t. marshall (middlesex regiment), evandale road, brixton, s.w. ._ change at wapping when regina trench was taken in it was in a terrible state, being half full of thick liquid mud. some of the fellows, sooner than wade through this, were getting up and walking along the top, although in view of the germans. the cockney signaller who was with me at the time, after slithering along the trench for a time, said: "i've 'ad enough er this," and scrambled out of the trench. he had no sooner got on top when--_zipp_--and down he came with a bullet through his thigh. while bandaging his wound i said: "we're going to have a job to get you out of here, but we'll have a good try." "that's all right," said the cockney, "you carry on an' leave me. i'll wait for a blinkin' barge and change at wapping."--_h. redford (late r.f.a.), anselm road, fulham._ "the canary's flowed away!" i was in charge of a party carrying material from the dump to the engineers in the front line. one of the party, a man from camberwell, was allotted a bulky roll of barbed wire. after a desperate struggle through the muddy and narrow support trenches, we reached the front line. there was still another yards to go, and our cockney decided to continue the journey along the parapet. he had not gone far before the german machine guns began to spit and he fell in a heap into the bottom of the trench with the coil of barbed wire on top of him. thinking he was wounded, i went back to him and inquired if he was hit. "'it? 'it be blowed," he said, "but if somebody was to take this blinkin' birdcage orf me chest i might be able to get up." the journey was completed through the trench, our friend being a sorry sight of mud and cut fingers and face. on arriving at our destination he dropped the wire at the feet of the waiting corporal with the remark, "'ere you are, mate; sorry the canary's flowed away."--_a. s. g. ( th division), kent._ "go it, applegarf! i'll time yer!" our battalion was making a counter-attack at albert on march , , against a veritable hail of lead. wounded in the thigh, i tumbled into a huge shell hole, already occupied by two officers of the fusiliers (fusiliers had been on our left), a lance-corporal of my own battalion, and three other men (badly wounded). whilst i was being dressed by the lance-corporal another man jumped in. he had a bullet in the chest. it didn't need an m.o. to see that he was "all in," and he knew it. he proved to be the most heroic cockney i have ever seen. he had only minutes to live, and he told us not to waste valuable bandages on him. thereupon one of the officers advised me to try to crawl back before my leg got stiff, as i would stand a poor chance of a stretcher later with so many badly-wounded men about. if i got back safe i was to direct stretcher-bearers to the shell hole. i told the officer that our battalion stretcher-bearers were behind a ridge only about yards in the rear, and as my wound had not troubled me yet i would make a sprint for it, as the firing was still too heavy to be healthy. on hearing my remarks this heroic cockney, who must also have been a thorough sportsman, grinned up at me and, with death written on his face, panted: "go it, applegarf, an' i'll time yer." [applegarth was the professional sprint champion of the world.] the cockney was dead when i left the shell hole.--_f. w. brown (late th suffolks), balls pond road, dalston, n._ that other sort of rain we were out doing a spot of wiring near ypres, and the germans evidently got to know about it. a few "stars" went up, and then the _rat-tat-tat_ of machine guns told us more than we wanted to know. we dived for shell holes. anybody who knows the place will realise we did not have far to dive. i found myself beside a man who, in the middle of a somewhat unhealthy period, found time to soliloquise: "knocked a bit right aht me tin 'at. thought i'd copped it that time. look, i can get me little finger through the 'ole. blimey, 'ope it don't rain, i shall git me 'ead all wet."--_h. c. augustus, paragon road, e. ._ [illustration: "'ope it don't rain; i'd get me 'ead wet."] better job for him i was at vimy ridge in . on the night i am writing about we were taking a well-earned few minutes' rest during a temporary lull. we were under one of the roughly-built shelters erected against the ridge, and our only light was the quivering glimmer from a couple of candles. a shell screeched overhead and "busted" rather near to us--and out went the candles. "smith, light up those candles," cried the sergeant-major to his batman. "smithy," who stuttered, was rather shaken and took some time to strike a match and hold it steadily to the candles. but no sooner were the candles alight than another "whopper" put them out again. "light up those ruddy candles!" cried the s.m. again, "and don't dawdle about it!" "smithy," muttering terrible things to himself, was fumbling for the matches when the order came that a bombing party was required to clear "jerry" out of a deep shell-hole. "'ere!" said "smithy" in his rich cockney voice. "j-just m-my m-mark. i'd r-rather f-frow 'eggs' t-than light c-c-candles!"--_w. c. roberts, crampton street, s.e. ._ sentry's sudden relief i was the next turn on guard at a battery position in armentières one evening in the summer of . a cockney chum, whom i was going to relieve, was patrolling the position when suddenly over came a · , which blew him about four yards away. as he scrambled to his feet our sergeant of the guard came along, and my chum's first words were, "sorry, sergeant, for deserting me post."--_t. f. smithers (late r.f.a.), hilda road, brixton, s.w. ._ the world kept turnin' the poperinghe-ypres road. a large shell had just pitched. among the wounded was a cockney who was noted for his rendering on every possible occasion of that well-known song, "let the great big world keep turning." he was lying on the roadway severely hurt. another cockney went up to him and said "'ello, matey, 'urt? why ain't yer singin' 'let the great big world keep turnin',' eh?" the reply came: "i _was_ a singin' on it, bill, but i never thought it would fly up and 'it me."--_albert m. morsley (late th siege battery am. col.), kempton road, east ham, e. ._ that blinkin' "money-box" i was limping back with a wounded knee after the taking of monchy-le-preux on april , , when a perky little cockney of the th royal fusiliers who had a bandaged head caught me up with a cheery, "tike me chalk farm (arm), old dear, and we'll soon be 'ome." i was glad to accept his kindly offer, but our journey, to say the least, was a hazardous one, for the german guns, firing with open sights from the ridge in front of the bois du sart, were putting diagonal barrages across the road (down which, incidentally, the dragoon guards were coming magnificently out of action, with saddles emptying here and there as they swept through that deadly zone on that bleak afternoon). presently we took refuge in a sandbag shelter on the side of the road, and were just congratulating ourselves on the snugness of our retreat, when a tank stopped outside. its arrival brought fresh gun-fire on us, and before long a whizz-bang made a direct hit on our shelter. when we recovered from the shock, we found part of our roof missing, and my little pal, poking his bandaged head through the hole, thus addressed one of the crew of the tank who was just visible through a gun slit: "oi, why don't yer tike yer money-box 'ome? this ain't a pull-up fer carmen!" the spirit that little cockney imbued into me that day indirectly saved me the loss of a limb, for without him i do not think i would have reached the advance dressing station in time.--_d. stuart (late sergeant, th r.f., th division) st. asaph road, brockley, s.e. ._ "oo, you naughty boy!" in front of kut al-'amarah, april , the third and last attack on the sannaiyat position, on the day before general townshend capitulated. days of rain had rendered the ground a quagmire, and lack of rations, ammunition, and shelter had disheartened the relief force. the infantry advanced without adequate artillery support, and were swept by heavy machine-gun fire from the entrenched turks. one fellow tripped over a strand of loose barbed wire, fell down, and in rising ripped the seat nearly off his shorts. cursing, he rejoined the slowly moving line of advancing men. suddenly one sensed one of those fateful moments when men in the mass are near to breaking point. stealthy looks to right and left were given, and fear was in the men's hearts. the relentless tat-tat-tat of machine guns, the "singing" of the driven bullets, and the dropping of men seemed as if it never would end. a cockney voice broke the fear-spell and restored manhood to men. "oo, 'erbert, you naughty boy!" it said. "look at what you've done to yer nice trahsers! 'quarter' won't 'arf be cross. he said we wasn't to play rough games and tear our trahsers."--_l. w. whiting (late th meerut division), dale park avenue, carshalton, surrey._ cool as a cucumber early in at ypres i was in charge of part of the advance party taking over some trenches from another london battalion. after this task had been completed i was told of a funny incident of the previous night. it appeared that the battalion we were due to relieve had been surprised by a small party of the enemy seeking "information." during the mêlée in the trench a german "under-officer" had calmly walked over and picked up a lewis gun which had been placed on a tripod on top of the trench some little distance from its usual emplacement. (this was done frequently when firing at night was necessary so as to avoid betraying the regular gun position.) a boyish-looking sentry of the battalion on the left jumped out of the trench and went after the jerry who was on his way "home" with the gun in his arms. placing his bayonet in dangerous proximity to the "under-officer's" back, the young cockney exclaimed, "hi! where the 'ell are yer goin' wiv that gun? just you put the 'coocumber' back on the 'barrer' and shove yer blinkin' 'ands up!" the "under-officer" lost his prize and his liberty, and i understand the young sentry received the m.m.--_r. mcmuldroch (late th london regt., civil service rifles), meadway, bush hill park, enfield._ the sergeant's tears one afternoon on the somme our battery received a severe strafe from · 's and tear-gas shells. there was no particular "stunt" on, so we took cover in a trench behind the guns. when the strafe had finished, we found our gun resting on one wheel, with sights and shield smashed by a direct hit. there was tear gas hanging about, too, and we all felt anything but cheerful. myself and detachment were solemnly standing around looking at the smashed gun, and as i was wiping tears from my eyes, smithy, our bright walworth lad, said: "don't cry, sarg'nt, they're bahnd ter give us anuvver."--_e. rutson (late sergeant, r.f.a., th london division), a wardo avenue, s.w. ._ "but yer carn't 'elp laughin'" there were a bunch of us cockneys in our platoon, and we had just taken over some supports. it being a quiet sector, we were mooning and scrounging around, some on the parapet, some in the trenches, and some at the rear. all at once a shower of whizz-bangs and gas shells came over; our platoon "sub." started yelling "gas." we dived for the dug-outs. eight of us tried to scramble through a narrow opening at once, and we landed in a wriggling mass on the floor. some were kneeling and some were sitting, all with serious faces, until one fellow said: "phew, it's 'ell of a war, but yer carn't 'elp laughin', can yer?"--_b. j. berry (late th norfolk regt.), rosemont avenue, n. finchley, n. ._ "only an orphan" he came to the battalion about three weeks before going overseas, and fell straight into trouble. but his cockney wit got him out of trouble as well as into it. he never received a parcel or letter, but still was always the life of our company. he never seemed to have a care. we had been in france about a fortnight when we were ordered to the front line and over the top. he was one of the first over, shouting "where's the blighters." they brought him in riddled with bullets. when i asked if i could do anything for him, he said: "are there many hurt?" "not many," i replied. "thank heaven for that," he replied. "nobody 'll worry over me. i'm only a blinkin' orphan."--_w. blundell (late n.c.o., nd east surreys), cranworth gardens, s.w. ._ joking at the last it was after the attack by the nd londons on the village of aubigny au bac. i was hit by shell splinters, and whilst i was looking for someone to dress my wounds i came across one of the lads lying by the roadside mortally wounded. as i bent over him to give him a drink he noticed my blood-streaked face and gasped: "crikey! your barber was blinkin' clumsy this morning." so passed a gallant nd london man.--_e. c. easts (m.m.), eliot place, blackheath, s.e. ._ everybody's war during the general advance on the somme in august our platoon became isolated from the rest of the company. we had been under heavy shell-fire for about three hours, and when at last things seemed to have quietened down, a german plane came over. we immediately jumped for cover and were concealed from view. the plane had only circled round a couple of times when a cockney private, unable to resist the temptation any longer, jumped up and had a pot at it. he had fired three rounds when the n.c.o. pulled him down and called him a fool for giving away our position. the cockney turned round and replied, "blimey, ain't i in this blinkin' war as well as 'im?"--_e. purcell (late th royal fusiliers), lyndhurst grove, peckham, s.e. ._ orders is orders when i was with the th dorsets at hooge, a party of us under a cockney lance-jack were sent down the menin road to draw rations. it seemed as though the germans knew we were waiting at the corner, for they were dropping shells all around us. after a while a voice in the darkness cried: "don't stay there, you chaps; that's hell fire corner!" "can't 'elp it, guv'nor," replied our lance-jack. "'ell fire corner or 'eaven's delight, we gotta stop 'ere till our rations comes up."--_h. w. butler (late th dorsets), flint cottages, stone, kent._ leaving the picture as we were going "over" at passchendaele a big one dropped just behind our company runner and myself. our runner gave a shout and stumbling on a little way, with his hand on his side, said: "every picture tells a story"--and went down. i just stopped to look at him, and i am sorry to say his war had finished. he came from bow.--_g. hayward (late rifle brigade), montague street, w.c. ._ ginger's gun stopped i was in a lewis gun section, and our sergeant got on our nerves while we were learning the gun by always drumming in our ears about the different stoppages of the gun when in action. my mate, ginger bryant, who lived at stepney, could never remember the stops, and our sergeant was always rousing poor old ginger. well, we found ourselves one day in the front line and jerry had started an attack. ginger was no. on the gun and i was lying beside him as no. . we were giving jerry beans with our gun when a bomb hit it direct and blew ginger and myself yards away. ginger had his hand blown off, but crawled back to the gun, which was smashed to pieces. he gave one look at it and shouted to me: "nah go and ask that blinkin' sergeant what number stoppage he calls this one!" next thing he fainted.--_edward newson (late st west surrey), moneyer street, hoxton, n. ._ a careless fellow an officer with our lot was a regular dare-devil. he always boasted that the german bullet had not yet been made which could find him. one day, regardless of his own safety, he was on the parapet, and though many shots came over he seemed to bear a charmed life. one of the men happened to put his head just out of the trench when a bullet immediately struck his "tin hat" sending him backwards into the trench. the officer, from the parapet, looked down and said, "you _are_ a fool, i told you not to show yourself."--_a. smith (cameronians), whitechapel road, e. ._ standing up to the turk in the second attempt to capture gaza we were making our advance in face of heavy machine-gun fire. in covering the ground we crouched as much as possible, the turks directed their fire accordingly, and casualties were numerous, so our cockney humorist shouted: "stand up, boys. it's best to be hit in yer props (legs) than in yer blinkin' office (head)."--_w. reed (late th battn., essex regiment), shenfield road, woodford green, essex._ lodging with the bombs i was driving a lorry along the road from dickebusch to ypres when the germans started shelling with shrapnel and high explosive. by the side of the road was a cottage, partly ruined, with the window-space boarded up: and, with some idea of seeking protection from the flying fragments, i leaned up against one of the walls. i hadn't been there long when a face appeared at a gap in the boards, and a voice said: "do yer fink y're safe there, mate, cos we're chock full o' bombs in 'ere."--_edward tracey, c/o cowley cottage, cowley, middlesex._ in fine feather while on the somme in my battery was sent to rest in a village behind the line. the billet allotted to us had been an hotel, and all the furniture, including bedsteads and feather mattresses, had been stored in the room which did duty as an orderly room. returning one day from exercise, we saw a flight of enemy 'planes coming over, and as we approached the billet a bomb was dropped straight through the roof of our building, the sole occupant of which at the time was a cockney signaller on duty, in touch with brigade headquarters. [illustration: "they must 'ave 'it a blinkin' sparrer."] we hurried forward, expecting to find that our signaller had been killed. the orderly room was a scene of indescribable chaos. papers were everywhere. files and returns were mixed up with "iron rations," while in a corner of the room was a pile of feathers about feet deep--all that remained of the feather mattresses. of our signaller there was no sign. as we looked around, however, his head appeared from beneath the feather pile. his face was streaming with blood, and he looked more dead than alive, but as he surveyed his temporary resting-place, a grin spread over his features, and he picked up a handful of feathers. "blimey!" he observed, "they must 'ave 'it a blinkin' sparrer."--_"gunner," oxford street, w. ._ all the fun of the fair at neuve eglise, march , we were suddenly attacked by jerry, but drove him back. every now and again we spotted germans dodging across a gap in a hedge. at once a competition started as to who could catch a german with a bullet as he ran across the gap. "reminds me of shooting at the bottles and fings at the fair," said my pal, another cockney highlander. a second later a piece of shrapnel caught him in the hand. "blimey, i always said broken glass was dangerous," he remarked as he gazed sadly at the wound.--_f. adams (late h.l.i.), homestead road, becontree, essex._ teacup in a storm we were in support trenches near havrincourt wood in september . at mid-day it was exceptionally quiet there as a rule. titch, our little cockney cook, proceeded one day to make us some tea by the aid of four candles in a funk-hole. to aid this fire he added the usual bit of oily "waste," and thereby caused a thin trail of smoke to rise. the water was just on the boil when jerry spotted our smoke and let fly in its direction everything he had handy. our trench was battered flat.... we threw ourselves into a couple of old communication trenches. looking around presently for our cook we found him sitting beneath a waterproof sheet calmly enjoying his sergeant-major's tea. "ain't none of you blokes firsty?" was his greeting.--_r. j. richards (late st trench mortar battery, th london division), london street, w. ._ jack's unwelcome present our company were holding the line, or what _was_ a line of trenches a short time before, when jerry opened out with all kinds of loudspeakers and musical instruments that go to make war real. we were knocked about and nearly blinded with smoke and flying sandbags. the best we could do was to grope our way about with arms outstretched to feel just where we were. eventually someone clutched me, saying, "is that you, charlie--are you all right?" "yes, jack," i answer, "are you all right?" "well, i don't know fer sure," he says as he dives his hand through his tunic to his chest and holds on to me with the other. i had a soft place in my heart for jack, for nobody ever sent him a parcel, so what was mine was jack's. but not the piece of shrapnel that came out when he withdrew his hand from inside his tunic! "the only thing that ever i had sent me--and that from jerry!" says jack. "we was always taught to love our enemies!" they sure loved us, for shortly after i received my little gift of love, which put me to by-by for several months. but that cockney lad from east london never grumbled at his hard lot. he looked at me, his corporal, and no wonder he clung round my neck, for he has told me since the war that he was only sixteen then. a brave lad!--_d. c. maskell (late th battn. middlesex regt.), lindley road, leyton, e. _. goalie lets one through in september we landed in a portion of german trench and i was given orders to hang on. shells were bursting all around us, so we decided to have a smoke. my two cockney pals--nobby and harry, who were a goalie and centre-forward respectively--were noted for their zeal in keeping us alive. nobby was eager to see what was going on over the top, so he had a peep--and for his pains got shot through the ear. he fell back in a heap and exclaimed, "well saved, goalie! couldn't been better if i'd tried." "garn," said harry, bending over him, "it's blinkin' well gorn right frew, mate."--_patrick beckwith, duke road, chiswick, w. ._ a good samaritan foiled i was rather badly wounded near bullecourt, on the arras front, and was lying on a stretcher outside the dressing station. nearby stood a burly cockney with one arm heavily bandaged. in the other hand he held his ration of hot coffee. noticing my distress, he offered me his drink, saying, "'ere y'are, mate, 'ave a swig at this." one of the stretcher-bearers cried: "take that away! he mustn't have it!" the cockney slunk off. "all right, ugly," he said. "take the food aht of a poor bloke's mouf, would yer?" afterwards i learned the stretcher-bearer, by his action, had saved my life. still, i shan't forget my cockney friend's generosity.--_a. p. s. (late th london regiment), ilford._ proof of marksmanship poperinghe: a pitch-black night. we were resting when a party of the west indian labour company came marching past. jerry sent one over. luckily, only one of the party was hit. a voice from the darkness: "alf! keep low, mate. jerry 'as got his eye in--'e's 'it a nigger in the dark!"--_c. jakeman (late / th city of london royal fusiliers), hembridge place, st. john's wood, n.w. ._ "well, he ain't done in, see!" during the great german offensive in march our company was trying to hold the enemy at albert. my platoon was in an old trench in front of albert station, and was in rather a tight corner, the casualties being pretty heavy. a runner managed to get through to us with a message. he asked our sergeant to send a man to another platoon with the message. one of my pals, named gordon, shouted, "give it to me; i'll go." he crept out of the trench and up a steep incline and over the other side, and was apparently being peppered by machine-gun fire all the way. we had little hope of him ever getting there. about a couple of hours later another cockney cried: "blimey! he's coming back!" we could see him now, crawling towards us. he got within a dozen yards of our trench, and then a jerry "coal-box" arrived. it knocked us into the mud at the bottom of our trench and seemed to blow gordon, together with a ton or so of earth, twenty feet in the air, and he came down in the trench. "that's done the poor blighter in," said the other cockney as we rushed to him. to our surprise gordon spoke: "well, he ain't done in--see!" he had got the message to the other platoon, and was little the worse for his experience of being blown skyward. i think that brave fellow's deed was one of many that had to go unrewarded.--_h. nachbaur (late th suffolks), burnham road, st. albans, herts._ "baby's fell aht er bed!" the day before our division ( th welch) captured mametz wood on the somme, in july , our platoon occupied a recently captured german trench. we were examining in a very deep dug-out some of jerry's black bread when a heavy shell landed almost at the entrance with a tremendous crash. earth, filled sandbags, etc., came thundering down the steps, and my thoughts were of being buried alive about forty feet underground. but amid all the din, sam (from walworth) amused us with his cry: "muvver! baby's fell aht er bed!"--_p. carter (late st london welch), amhurst terrace, hackney, e. ._ stamp edging wanted during severe fighting in cambrai in we were taking up position in the front line when suddenly over came a "present" from jerry, scattering our men in all directions and causing a few casualties. among the unfortunate ones was a cockney whose right hand was completely blown off. in a sitting position he calmly turned to the private next to him and exclaimed "blimey, they've blown me blinkin' german band (hand) off. got a bit of stamp edging, mate?"--_t. evans, russell road, wood end green, northolt, greenford._ "oo's 'it--you or me?" it was our fifth day in the front line in a sector of the arras front. in the afternoon, after a terrible barrage, jerry came over the top on our left, leaving our immediate front severely alone. our platoon lewis gun was manned at that time by "cooty," a cockney, he being "number one" on the gun. we were blazing away at the advancing tide when a shell exploded close to the gun. "cooty" was seen to go rigid for a moment, and then he quickly rolled to one side to make way for "number two" to take his place. he took "number two's" position beside the gun. the new "number one" saw that "cooty" had lost three fingers, and told him to retire. "cooty" would not have that, but calmly began to refill an empty magazine. "number one" again requested him to leave, and a sharp tiff occurred between them. "cooty" was heard to say, "look 'ere, oo's _'it_--you or me?" "you are," said "number one." "then mind your own blinkin' business," said "cooty," "and get on with shelling these peas." poor "cooty," who had lost his left foot as well, passed out shortly after, was a guardsman at one time.--_d. s. t., kilburn, n.w._ the stocking bomb we were a desert mobile column, half-way across the sinai peninsula from kantara to gaza. turkish aeroplanes paid us a daily visit and pelted us with home-made "stocking-bombs" (old socks filled with nails, old iron, and explosives). on this particular day we were being bombed and a direct hit on one gunner's shoulder knocked him to the ground, but failed to explode. sitting up in pain he blinked at the stocking-bomb and then at the plane and shouted: "nah chuck us yer blinkin' boots dahn!" he then fainted and we helped him, but could not resist a broad smile.--_a. crose, caistor park road, west ham, e. ._ not an acrobat in a communication trench on the somme, near guillemont, in august , we were halted for a "blow" on our way up when jerry opened with shrapnel. private reynolds, from marylebone, had his right hand cut off at the wrist. we bound his arm as best we could, and whilst doing so one man said to him, "a sure blighty one, mate--and don't forget when you get home, drop us a line to let's know how you are getting on in hospital." "yus! i'll write all right," said reynolds, and then, suddenly, "'ere, wot d'yer fink i am, a blinkin' acrobat? 'ow can i write wivout a right arm ter write wiv?"--_a. sharman (late th royal fusiliers), grenville road, n.w. ._ story without an ending our gun position lay just behind the ancre, and fritz generally strafed us for an hour or two each day, starting about the same time. when the first shell came over we used to take cover in a disused trench. one day, when the strafe began, i grabbed two story magazines just before we went to the trench, and, arrived there, handed one to my cockney pal. we had both been reading for some time when a shell burst uncomfortably near, and a splinter hit my pal's book and shot it right out of his hand. at which he exclaimed: "fritz, yer blighter, i'll never know nah whether he was goin' to marry the girl or cut 'er bloomin' froat."--_g. w. wicheloe (late th heavy battery, r.g.a.), stevens road, chadwell heath, essex._ cause and effect a · had burst on the parados of our trench, and caused--as · 's usually did--a bit of a mess. a brand-new officer came around the trench, saw the damage, and asked: "whatever caused this mess?" without the slightest suspicion of a smile a cockney private answered: "an explosive bullet, sir!"--_c. t. coates, hillingdon street, london, s.e. ._ [illustration: "... an explosive bullet, sir!"] the cockney and the cop during the final push near cambrai jerry had just been driven from a very elaborate observation post--a steel-constructed tower. of course, we soon occupied it to enable us to see jerry's hasty retreat. no sooner had we got settled when, crash, jerry had a battery of pipsqueaks trained on us, firing gas shells. a direct hit brought the building down. by the time we had sorted ourselves out our eyes began to grow dim, and soon we were temporarily blind. so we took each other's hands, an ex-policeman leading. after a few moments a cockney friend chimed out, "say, cop, do you think you can find the lock-up now, or had you better blow your whistle?"--_h. rainford (late r.f.a.), the grove, hammersmith, w. ._ in the drorin' room it was on "w" beach, gallipoli, some months after the historic landing. it was fairly safe to picnic here, but for the attentions of "beachy bill," a big turkish gun. i was with six other r.f.a. details in a dug-out which was labelled, or rather libelled, "the ritz." "smiler" smith gave it that name, and always referred to this verminous hovel in terms of respect. chalked notices such as "wait for the lift," "card room," "buffet," were his work. a dull thud in the distance--the familiar scream--and _plomp_ came one from "bill," a few yards from the ritz. only "smiler" was really hurt. he received a piece of shell on his arm. as they carried him away, he called faintly for his tobacco tin. "where did you leave it, 'smiler'?" "in the drorin' room on the grand pianner," said "smiler" faintly.--_gunner w. (late th division, r.f.a.)._ getting his goat sandy was one of those whom nature seemed to have intended for a girl. sandy by colour, pale and small of features, and without the sparkling wit of his cockney comrades, he was the butt of many a joke. one dark and dirty night we trailed out of the line at vermelles and were billeted in a barn. the farmhouse still sheltered its owner and the remainder of his live-stock, including a goat in a small shed. "happy" day, having discovered the goat, called out, "hi, sandy! there's some maconochie rations in that 'ere shed. fetch 'em in, mate." off went sandy, to return hastily with a face whiter than usual, and saying in his high treble: "'appy, i can't fetch them. there's two awful eyes in that shed." subsequently jerry practically obliterated the farm, and when we returned to the line "happy" day appropriated the goat as a mascot. we had only been in the line a few hours when we had the worst bombardment i remember. sandy and the goat seemed kindred spirits in their misery and terror. "happy" had joined the great majority. the goat, having wearied of trench life and army service, had gone over the top on his own account. the next thing we knew was that sandy was "over" after him, shells dropping around them. then the goat and "sandy greatheart" disappeared behind a cloud of black and yellow smoke.--_s. g. bushell (late royal berks), moore buildings, gilbert street, w._ jennie the flier it was my job for about two months, somewhere in the summer of , to take jennie the mule up to the trenches twice a day with rations, or shells, for the th trench mortar battery, to which i was attached. we had to cover about kilos. from the q.m. stores at rouville, arras, to the line. when jerry put a few over our way it was a job to get jennie forward. one night we arrived with a full load, and the officer warned me to get unloaded quick as there was to be a big bombardment. no sooner had i finished than over came the first shell--and away went jennie, bowling over two or three gunners. someone caught her and i mounted for the return journey. then the bombardment began in earnest. you ought to have seen her go! talk about a racehorse! i kept saying, "gee up, jennie, old girl, don't get the wind up, we shall soon get back to rouville!" i looked round and could see the flashes of the guns. that was the way to make jennie go. she never thought of stopping till we got home.--_w. holmes ( th essex regiment), fleet road, hampstead, n.w._ a mission fulfilled on august , , we were told to take over a series of food dumps which had been formed in the front and support lines at hamel, on the ancre, before a general attack came off. on the following night corporal w----, a true and gallant cockney who was in charge of a party going back to fetch rations, came to my dug-out to know if there were anything special i wished him to bring. i asked him to bring me a tin of cigarettes. on the return journey, as the party was crossing a road which cut through one of the communicating trenches, a shell struck the road, killing two privates and fatally wounding corporal w----. without a word the corporal put his hand into his pocket and, producing a tin, held it out to an uninjured member of the party. i got my smokes.--_l. j. morgan (late capt., the royal sussex regiment), nevern square, s.w. ._ he saved the tea on the night before our big attack on july , , on the somme, eight of us were in a dug-out getting a little rest. jerry must have found some extra shells for he was strafing pretty heavily. two cockney pals from stratford were busy down on their hands and knees with some lighted grease and pieces of dry sandbag, trying to boil a mess-tin of water to make some tea. the water was nearly on the boil when jerry dropped a "big 'un" right into the side of our dug-out. the smoke and dust had hardly cleared, when one of the stratfordites exclaimed, looking down at the overturned mess-tin, "blimey, that's caused it." almost immediately his pal (lying on his back, his face covered with blood and dirt, and his right hand clasped tightly) answered: "'s'all right. i ain't put the tea and sugar in."--_j. russ (cpl., late th battn. royal berkshire regt.), ilford lane, ilford, essex._ old dutch unlucky after a week in ypres salient in february we were back at a place called vlamertinghe "resting," i.e. providing the usual working parties at night. going out with one of these parties, well loaded with barbed wire, poles, etc., our rifles slung on our shoulders, things in general were fairly quiet. a stray bullet struck the piling swivel of the rifle of "darkie," the man in front of me. "missed my head by the skin of its teeth," said "darkie." "good job the old dutch wasn't here. she reckons she's been unlucky ever since she set eyes on me--and there's another pension for life gone beggin'."--_b. wiseman (late oxford and bucks l.i.), ursula street, battersea, s.w. ._ a long streak of misery dusk was falling on the second day of the battle of loos. i was pottering about looking for the other end of our line at the entrance to orchard street trench. a voice hailed me: "'ere, mate! is this the way aht?" it came from a little cockney, a so-called "walking" wounded case. immediately behind him there hobbled painfully six feet of complete abjection. i gave them directions, and told them that in two or three hundred yards they should be out of danger. then jerry dropped a "crump." it tortured the sorely-tried nerves of the long fellow, and when the bricks and dust had settled, he declared, with sudden conviction: "we're going to lose this blinkin' war, we are!" his companion gave him a look of contempt. "you ain't 'arf a long streak of misery," he said. "if i fort that i'd go back nah an' 'ave another shot at 'em--even if you 'ad to carry me back."--_"lines," ( (s) bty), clifton road, maida vale, w. ._ "smudger's" tattoo "smudger" smith, from hoxton, had just returned off leave, and joined us at frankton camp, near ypres. not long after his arrival "jerry" started strafing us with his long-range guns, but "smudger" was more concerned with the tattooing which he had had done on his arms on leave. i said they were very disfiguring, and advised him to have them removed, giving him an address to go to when he was again in london, and telling him the probable price. not very long after our conversation "jerry" landed a shell about forty yards away from us and made us part company for a while. when i pulled myself together and looked for "smudger" he was half-buried with earth and looked in much pain. i went over to him and began to dig him out. whilst i was thus engaged he said to me in a weak voice, but with a smile on his face: "how much did yer say it would corst to take them tattoos orf?" and when i told him he replied: "i fink i can get 'em done at harf-price nah." when i dug him out i found he had lost one arm.--_e. r. wilson (late east lancs regt.), brindley street, shardeloes road, new cross, s.e. ._ importance of a "miss" soon after the capture of hill an artillery observation post was established near the new front line. a telephone line was laid to it, but owing to persistent shelling the wire soon became a mere succession of knots and joints. communication was established at rare intervals, and repairing the line was a full-time job. a cockney signaller and i went out at daybreak one morning to add more joints to the collection, and after using every scrap of spare wire available made another temporary job of it. returning, however, we found at a cross-over that the wire had fallen from a short piece of board that had been stuck in the parapet to keep it clear of the trench. as my pal reached up to replace it his head caught the eye of a sniper, whose bullet, missing by a fraction, struck and knocked down the piece of wood. the signaller's exclamation was: "blimey, mate, it's lucky he ain't broke the blinkin' line again!"--_j. hudson (late r.g.a.), ventnor road, new cross, s.e. ._ "in the midst of war----" a battalion of a london regiment was in reserve in rivière-grosville, a small village just behind the line, in march . towards midnight we were ordered to fall in in fighting order as it was believed that the germans had retired. our mission was to reconnoitre the german position, and we were cautioned that absolute silence must be preserved. all went well until we reached the german barbed wire entanglements, that had to be negotiated by narrow paths, through which we proceeded softly and slowly, and with the wind "well up." suddenly the air was rent by a stream of blistering invective, and a cockney tommy turned round on his pal, who had tripped and accidentally prodded him with the point of his bayonet, and at the top of his voice said: "hi, wot's the blinkin' gime, charlie? do that again and i'll knock yer ruddy 'ead off." charlie raised his voice to the level of the other's and said he'd like to see him do it, and while we flattened ourselves on the ground expecting a storm of bullets and bombs at any moment, the two pals dropped their rifles and had it out with their fists. fortunately, rumour was correct, the germans had retired.--_h. t. scillitoe, stanmore road, stevenage, herts._ a case for the ordnance a pitch dark night on the salonika front in . i was in charge of an advanced detachment near a railhead. a general and a staff officer were travelling by rail-motor towards the front line when in the darkness the rail-motor crashed into some stationary freight trucks, completely wrecking the vehicle and instantly killing the driver. i rushed with a stretcher party to render help. the general and his staff officer were unconscious amid the wreckage. feverishly we worked to remove the debris which pinned them down. two of us caught the general beneath the shoulders, and one was raising his legs when to his horror one leg came away in his hand. when the general regained his senses, seeing our concern, he quickly reassured us. the leg turned out to be a wooden one! he had lost the original at hill . the tension over, one of the stretcher-bearers, a cockney from mile end, whispered into my ear, "we can't take 'im to the 'orspital, sarge, he wants to go dahn to the ordnance!"--_sgt. t. c. jones, m.s.m., bushey mill lane, watford._ dismal jimmy's prisoner out of the ebb and flow, the mud and blood, the din and confusion of a two days' strafe on the somme in september my particular chum, private james x., otherwise known as "dismal jimmy," emerged with a german prisoner who was somewhat below the usual stature and considerably the worse for the wear and tear of his encounter with the cockney soldier. "jimmy," although obviously proud of his captive, was, as usual, "fed up" with the war, the strafe, and everything else. to make matters worse, on his way to the support trenches he was caught in the head by a sniper's bullet. his pet grievance, however, did not come from this particular misfortune, but from the fact that the prisoner had not taken advantage of the opportunity to "'op it!" when the incident occurred. "wot yer fink ov 'im, mate?" he queried. "followed me all rahnd the blinkin' trenches, 'e did! thinks i got a bit o' tripe on a skewer, maybe, th' dirty dog!" "jimmy" muttered. then he came under the orders of a higher command.--_h. j. r., central buildings, westminster, s.w. ._ that creepy feeling in the brick-fields at la bassée, , there was a pump about five yards from our front line which we dare not approach in daylight. at night it was equally dangerous as it squeaked and so drew the sniper's fire. we gave up trying to use it after a few of our fellows had been sniped in their attempts, until nobby clarke said _he_ would get the water, adding: "that blinkin' sniper hasn't my name on any of his ruddy bullets." after he had gone we heard the usual squeak of the pump, followed by the inevitable _ping!_ ... _ping!_ we waited. no nobby returned. two of us crawled out to where he lay to bring him in. "strewth, bill," he cried when my mate touched him, "you didn't 'arf put the blinkin' wind up me, _creepin' aht like that_!" there he lay, on his back, with a piece of rope tied to the handle of the pump. we always got our water after that.--_f. j. pike (late nd grenadier guards), hilldrop road, bromley, kent._ "toot-sweet," the runner scene: before combles in the front line. position: acute. several runners had been despatched from the forward position with urgent messages for headquarters, and all had suffered the common fate of these intrepid fellows. one cockney named sweet, and known as "toot-sweet" for obvious reasons, had distinguished himself upon various occasions in acting as a runner. a volunteer runner was called for to cover a particularly dangerous piece of ground, and our old friend was to the fore as usual. "but," said the company officer, "i can't send you again--someone else must go." imagine his astonishment when "toot-sweet" said, "giv' us this charnce, sir. i've got two mentions in dispatches now, an' i only want annuvver to git a medal." he went, but he did not get a medal.--_e. v. s. (late middlesex regt.), london, n.w. ._ applying the moral before we made an attack on "the mound of death," st. eloi, in the early part of , our brigadier-general addressed the battalion and impressed upon us the importance of taking our objective. he told us the tale of two mice which fell into a basin of milk. the faint-hearted one gave up and was drowned. the other churned away with his legs until the milk turned into butter and he could walk away! he hoped that we would show the same determination in our attack. we blew up part of the german front line, which had been mined, and attacked each side of the crater, and took the position, though with heavy losses. on the following day one of my platoon fell into the crater, which, of course, was very muddy. as he plunged about in it he shouted "when i've churned this ruddy mud into concrete i'm 'opping aht of it." this was the action in which our gallant chaplain, captain the rev. noel mellish, won the v.c.--_"reg. bomber," th royal fusiliers, rd division._ spelling v. shelling an attack was to be made by our battalion at givenchy in . the germans must have learned of the intention, for two hours before it was due to begin they sent up a strong barrage, causing many casualties. [illustration: "'ow d'yer spell 'delightful'?"] letters and cards, which might be their last, were being sent home by our men, and a cockney at the other end of our dug-out shouted to his mate, "'arry, 'ow d'yer spell 'delightful'?"--_h. w. mason (late rd london regt.), prairie street, battersea, s.w._ too much hot water we were taking a much-needed bath and change in the brewery vats at poperinghe, when jerry started a mad five minutes' "strafe" with, as it seemed, the old brewery as a target. above the din of explosions, falling bricks, and general "wind-up" the aggrieved voice of sammy wilkes from poplar, who was still in the vat, was heard: "lumme, and i only asked for a little drop more 'ot water."--_albert girardot (late k.r.r.), cornwall road, ladbroke grove, w. ._ "ducks and drakes! ducks and drakes!" after the evacuation of the dardanelles the "drakes" of the royal naval division were ordered to france. amongst them was jack (his real name was john). a young soccer player, swift of foot, he was chosen as a "runner." one day he tumbled into a shell hole. and just as he had recovered his wits in came colonel freyberg, v.c., somewhat wounded. seeing jack, he told him he was just the boy he wanted--the lad had run away from home to join up before he was seventeen--and scribbling a note the colonel handed it to him. the boy was told if he delivered it safely he could help the colonel to take beaucourt. jack began to scramble out. it was none too inviting, for shells were bursting in all directions, and it was much more comfortable inside. with a wide vocabulary from the old kent road, he timely remembered that his father was a clergyman, and muttering to himself, "ducks and drakes, ducks and drakes," he reached the top and went on his way. the sequel was that the message was delivered, reinforcements came up, led by the boy to the colonel, and beaucourt was taken.--_father hughes, hainault avenue, westcliff-on-sea._ you must have discipline on september , , at angle wood on the somme, the th (london) brigade signals were unloading a limber on a slope, on top of which was a battery which jerry was trying to find. one of his shells found us, knocking all of us over and wounding nine or ten of us (one fatally). as the smoke and dust cleared, our cockney sergeant (an old soldier whose slogan was "you must have dis_cip_line") gradually rose to a sitting position, and, whipping out his notebook and pencil, called "nah, then, oo's wounded?" and calmly proceeded to write down names.--_wm. r. smith (late r.e. signals), halley road, manor park, e. ._ l.b.w. in mespot at a certain period during the operations in mesopotamia so dependent were both the british and the turks on the supply of water from the tigris that it became an unwritten law that water-carriers from both sides were not to be sniped at. this went on until a fresh british regiment, not having had the position explained, fired on a party of turks as they were returning from the river. the next time we went down to get water the turks, of course, returned the compliment; so from then onwards all water carrying had to be done under cover of darkness. on one of these occasions a turkish sniper peppered our water party as they were returning to our lines. they all got back, however; but one, a man from limehouse, was seen to be struggling with his water container only half full, and at the same time it was noticed that his trousers and boots were saturated. "hi!" shouted the sergeant, "you've lost half the water. did that sniper get your bucket?" "not 'im," replied the cockney, "i saw to that. 'e only got me leg." what, in the darkness, appeared to be water spilt from the bucket was really the result of a nasty flesh wound.--_j. m. rendle (lieut., i.a.r.o.), white cottage, st. leonard's gardens, hove, sussex._ trench-er work we were attacking messines ridge. the ground was a mass of flooded shell-holes. hearing a splash and some cursing in a familiar voice, i called out, "are you all right, tubby?" the reply came, as he crawled out of a miniature mine crater, "yus, but i've lorst me 'ipe (rifle)." i asked what he was going to do, and he replied, "you dig them german sausages out with yer baynit and i'll eat 'em." so saying, he pulled out his knife and fork and proceeded towards the enemy trenches.--_"pip don" (london regt.), ingram road, thornton heath._ "the best man--goes fust" in the second battle of arras, , our regiment was held up near gavrelle and was occupying a line of shell-holes. the earth was heaving all around us with the heavy barrage. peeping over the top of my shell-hole i found my neighbours, "shorty" (of barnes) and "tiny" (of kent) arguing about who was the best man. all of a sudden over came one of jerry's five-nines. it burst too close to "shorty," who got the worst of it, and was nearly done for. but he finished his argument, for he said to "tiny" in a weak voice, "that shows you who's the best man. my ole muvver always says as the best goes fust."--_j. saxby, paddington, w. ._ when clemenceau kissed the sergeant about christmas of i was on the somme with one of the most cockney of the many battalions of the royal fusiliers. as we sheltered in dug-outs from the "gale" fritz was putting over, to our surprise we heard a voice greet us in french, "_allons, mes enfants_: _Ça va toujours_." looking up we beheld an old man in shabby suit and battered hat who seemed the typical french peasant. "well, of all the old idiots," called out the sergeant. "shut yer face an' 'ook it, ye blamed old fool." for answer the old man gave the sergeant the surprise of his life by seizing him in a grip of iron and planting a resounding kiss on each cheek, french fashion. just at that moment some brass hats came along and the mystery was explained. the "old fool" was the late georges clemenceau, then french war minister, who had come to see for himself what it was like in our sector and had lost his guides. "an' to think that 'e kissed me just like i was a kid, after i'd told 'im to 'ook it," commented the sergeant afterwards. "wonder wot 'e'd 'a done 'ad i told 'im to go to 'ell, as i'd 'alf a mind to." years later i was one of a party of the british legion received in paris by "the tiger," and i recalled the incident. "père la victoire" laughed heartily. "that cockney sergeant was right," he said, "i was an old fool to go about like that in the line, but then somebody has got to play the fool in war-time, so that there may be no follies left for the wise heads to indulge in."--_h. stockman, hôtel terminus, rue st. lazare, paris, viiième, france._ poet and--prophet i was sitting with my pal in the trenches of the front line waiting for the next move when i heard our cockney break into the chorus of a home-made song: "'twas moonlight in the trenches, the sky was royal blue, when jerry let his popgun go, and up the 'ole 'ouse flew." the last words were drowned in a terrific crash. there was sudden quiet afterwards, and then a voice said, "there y'are, wot did i tell yer?"--_t. e. crouch, eleanor road, hackney, e. ._ pub that opened punctually it was at the village of zudkerque, where fritz had bombed and blown up a dump in . my pal and i were standing outside a cafe, the windows of which were shuttered, when the blast of a terrific explosion blew out the shutters. they hit my pal and me on the head and knocked us into the roadway. my pal picked himself up, and, shaking bits of broken glass off him and holding a badly gashed head, said: "lumme, ginger, they don't 'arf open up quick 'ere. let's go an 'ave one."--_j. march (late r.e.), london, s.e._ that precious tiny tot we had paraded for the rum issue at frankton camp, near ypres, when the enemy opened fire with long-range guns. a cockney came forward with his mug, drew his issue, and moved off to drink it under cover and at leisure. suddenly a large shell whooped over and burst about yards away. with a casual glance at the fountain of earth which soared up, the man calmly removed his shrapnel helmet and held it over his mug until the rain of earth and stones ceased.--_"skipper," d.l.i., london, w. ._ cigs and cough drops cigarettes we knew not; food was scarce, so was ammunition. consequently i was detailed on the eve of the retreat from serbia to collect boxes of s.a.a. lying near the front line. on the way to report my arrival to the infantry officer i found a cockney tommy badly wounded in the chest. "it's me chest, ain't it, mate?" he asked. i nodded in reply. "then i'll want corf drops, not them," and with that he handed me a packet of cigarettes. how he got them and secretly saved them up so long is a mystery. i believe he knew that he would not require either cough drops or cigarettes, and i took a vow to keep the empty packet to remind me of the gallant fellow.--_h. r. (late r.f.a.), th division, london, n. ._ "smiler" to the end when passchendaele started on july , , we who were holding ground captured in the messines stunt of june carried out a "dummy" attack. one of the walking wounded coming back from this affair of bluff, i struck a hot passage, for jerry was shelling the back areas with terrific pertinacity. making my way to the corduroy road by mount kemmel, i struck a stretcher party. their burden was a rifleman of the r.b.'s, whose body was a mass of bandages. seeing me ducking and dodging every time a salvo burst near he called out: "keep wiv me, mate, 'cos two shells never busts in the same 'ole--and if i ain't a shell 'ole 'oo is?" sheer grit kept him alive until after we reached lord derby's war hospital outside warrington, and the nickname of "smiler" fitted him to the last.--_w. g. c., avonly road, s.e. ._ "the bishop" and the bright side a fully-qualified chartered accountant in the city, my pal, "the bishop"--so called because of his dignified manner--was promoted company-clerk in the irish rifles at messines in . company headquarters were in a dark and dismal barn where the company commander and "the bishop" were writing under difficulties one fine morning--listening acutely to the shriek and crash of jerry's whizz-bangs just outside the ramshackle door. the betting was about fifty to one on a direct hit at any moment. the skipper had a wary eye on "the bishop"--oldish, shortish, stoutish, rather comical card in his tommy's kit. both were studiously preserving an air of outward calm. then the direct hit came--high up, bang through the rafters, and blew off the roof. "the bishop" looked up at the sky, still clutching his fountain-pen. "ah, that's better, sir," he said. "now we can see what we are doing."--_p. j. k., westbourne grove, w. ._ "chuck yer blinkin' 'aggis at 'im!" the cockney inhabitants of "brick alley," at carnoy, on the somme in , had endured considerable attention from a german whizz-bang battery situated a mile or so away behind trones wood. during a lull in the proceedings a fatigue party of "jocks," each carrying a -lb. sphere, the business end of a "toffee-apple" (trench mortar bomb), made their appearance, and were nicely strung out in the trench when jerry opened out again. the chances of a direct hit made matters doubly unpleasant. the tension became a little too much for one of the regular billetees, and from a funk-hole in the side of the trench a reproachful voice addressed the nearest highlander: "for the luv o' mike, jock, get up and chuck yer blinkin' 'aggis at 'em."--_j. c. whiting (late th royal sussex pioneers), hamlet gardens, w. ._ back to childhood i had been given a lift in an a.s.c. lorry going to jonchery on may , , when it was suddenly attacked by a german plane. on getting a burst of machine-gun bullets through the wind-screen the driver, a stout man of about forty, pulled up, and we both clambered down. the plane came lower and re-opened fire, and as there was no other shelter we were obliged to crawl underneath the lorry and dodge from one side to the other in order to avoid the bullets. [illustration: "fancy a bloke my age playin' 'ide an' seek"] after one hurried "pot" at the plane, and as we dived for the other side, my companion gasped: "lumme! fancy a bloke my age a-playin' 'ide an' seek!"--_h. g. e. woods, "the willows," bridge street, maidenhead._ the altruist one afternoon in july our battalion was lying by a roadside on the ypres front waiting for night to fall so that we could proceed to the front line trenches. "smiffy" was in the bombing section of his platoon and had a bag of mills grenades to carry. fritz began to get busy, and soon we had shrapnel bursting overhead. "smiffy" immediately spread his body over his bag of bombs like a hen over a clutch of eggs. "what the 'ell are you sprawling over them bombs for?" asked the sergeant. "well," replied smiffy, "it's like this 'ere, sergeant. i wouldn't mind a little blighty one meself, but i'd jest 'ate for any of these bombs ter get wounded while i'm wiv 'em."--_t. e. m. (late london regt.), colliers wood, s.w. ._ "minnie's stepped on my toe!" we were lying in front of bapaume in august awaiting reinforcements. they came from doullens, and among them was a cockney straight from england. he greeted our sergeant with the words, "wot time does the dance start?" the sergeant, an old-timer, replied, "the dance starts right now." so over the top we went, but had not gone far when the cockney was bowled over by a piece from a minnenwerfer, which took half of one foot away. i was rendering first aid when the sergeant came along. he looked down and said, "hello, my lad, soon got tired of the dance, eh?" the little cockney looked up and despite his pain he smiled and said, "on wiv the dance, sergeant! i'm sitting this one aht, fer minnie has stepped on my toe."--_e. c. hobbs (late st royal marine battn.), moore park road, fulham, s.w._ in the dim dawn jerry had made a surprise raid on our trenches one morning just as it was getting light. he got very much the worst of it, but when everything was over cockney simmonds was missing. we hunted everywhere, but couldn't find him. suddenly we saw him approaching with a hefty looking german whom he had evidently taken prisoner. "where did you get him from, simmonds?" we asked. "well, d'yer see that shell-'ole over there 'alf full o' water?" "yes," we said, all craning our necks to look. "well, this 'ere fritz didn't."--_l. digby ( th east surreys), windsor road, holloway, n. ._ beau brummell's puttees march . just before the big german offensive. one night i was out with a reconnoitring patrol in "no man's land." we had good reason to believe that jerry also had a patrol in the near vicinity. suddenly a burst of machine-gun fire in our direction seemed to indicate that we had been spotted. we dived for shell-holes and any available cover, breathlessly watching the bullets knock sparks off the barbed wire. when the firing ceased and we attempted to re-form our little party, a cockney known as "posh" wilks was missing. fearing the worst, we peered into the darkness. just then a verey light illuminated the scene, and we saw the form of "posh" wilks some little distance away. i went over to see what was wrong, and to my astonishment he was kneeling down carefully rewinding one of his puttees. "can't get these ruddy things right anyhow to-day," he said.--_h. w. white (late royal sussex regt.), airthrie road, goodmayes, essex._ plenty of room on top on december , , we made a surprise attack on the enemy in the jabal hamrin range in northern mesopotamia. we wore our winter clothing (the same as in europe), with tin hats complete. after stumbling over the rocks in extended order for some time, the platoon on my left, who were on higher ground, sighted a turkish camp fire on the right. we swung round in that direction, to find ourselves up against an almost blank wall of rock, about ft. high, the enemy being somewhere on top. at last we found a place at which to scale it, one at a time. we began to mount, in breathless silence, expecting the first man to come tumbling down on top of all the rest. i was the second, and just as i started to climb i felt two sharp tugs at my entrenching tool and a hoarse cockney voice whispered, "full up inside; plenty o' room on top." i was annoyed at the time, but i have often laughed over it since.--_p. v. harris, sherwood park road, s.w. ._ nearly lost his washing-bowl in march we held the front line trenches opposite a sugar refinery held by the germans. we got the order to stand to as our engineers were going to blow up a mine on the german position. up went the mine. then fritz started shelling us. shells were bursting above and around us. a piece of shrapnel hit a cockney, a lad from paddington, on his tin hat. when things calmed down another cockney bawled out, "lumme, that was a near one, bill." "blimey, not 'arf," was the reply. "if i 'adn't got my chin-strap dahn i'd 'ave lost my blooming washing-bowl."--_e. rickard (late middlesex regt.), apsley end, hemel hempstead, herts._ bath night the trenches on the somme were very deep and up to our knees in mud, and we were a pretty fine sight after being in the front line several days over our time. i shall never forget the night we passed out of the trenches--like a lot of mud-larks. the o.c., seeing the state we were in, ordered us to have a bath. we stopped at an old barn, where the r.e.'s had our water ready in wooden tubs. imagine the state of the water when, six to a tub, we had to skim the mud off after one another! just as we were enjoying the treat, jerry started sending over some of his big stuff, and one shell took the back part of the barn off. everybody began getting out of the tubs, except a cockney, who sat up in his tub and shouted out, "blimey, jerry, play the blinkin' game. wait till i've washed me back. i've lorst me soap."--_c. ralph (late royal welch fusiliers), d guinness buildings, hammersmith, w. ._ back to the shack whilst on the somme in october my pal mac (from notting hill) and myself were sent forward to a sunken road just behind les boeufs to assist at a forward telephone post which was in communication with battalion h.q. by wire and with the companies in the trenches by runner. during the night a false "s o s" was sent up, and our guns opened out--and, of course, so did the german guns--and smashed our telephone wire. it being "mac's" turn out, he picked up his 'phone and went up the dug-out steps. when he had almost reached the top a big shell burst right in the dug-out entrance and blew "mac" back down the stairs to the bottom, bruised, but otherwise unhurt. picking himself up slowly he removed his hat, placed his hand over his heart, and said, gazing round, "back to the old 'ome agin--and it ain't changed a bit."--_a. j. west (late corpl., signals), / th london regt., third avenue, paddington, w. ._ his last gamble one night in july , as darkness came along, my battalion moved up and relieved a battalion in the front line. next morning as dawn was breaking jerry started a violent strafe. my platoon occupied three fire-bays, and we in the centre one could shout to those in the bays on either side, although we could not see them. in one of the end bays was "monte carlo" teddy, a true lad from london, a "bookie's tick-tack" before the war. he was called "monte carlo" because he would gamble on anything. as a shell exploded anywhere near us teddy would shout, "are you all right, sarge?" until this kind of got on my nerves, so i crawled into his bay to inquire why he had suddenly taken such an interest in my welfare. he explained, "i gets up a draw larst night, sarge, a franc a time, as to which of us in this lot stopped a packet first, and you're my gee-gee." i had hardly left them when a shell exploded in their bay. the only one to stop a packet was teddy, and we carried him into the next bay to await the stretcher-bearers. i could see he would never reach the dressing station. within five minutes i had stopped a lovely blighty, and they put me alongside teddy. when he noticed who it was he said, "well i'm blowed, just my blinkin' luck; licked a short head and i shan't last long enough to see if there's a' objection." thus he died, as he always said he would, with his boots on, and my company could never replace him. wherever two men of my old mob meet you can bet your boots that one or the other is sure to say, "remember 'monte carlo' ted?"--_e. j. clark (late sergeant, lincoln regt.), c/o sir thomas lipton, bart., k.c.v.o., osidge, southgate, n. ._ that infernal drip-drip-drip! we were trying to sleep in half a dug-out that was roofed with a waterproof sheet--whale and i. it was a dark, wet night. i had hung a mess tin on a nail to catch the water that dripped through, partly to keep it off my head, also to provide water for an easy shave in the morning. a strafe began. the night was illuminated by hundreds of vivid flashes, and shells of all kinds burst about us. the dug-out shook with the concussions. trench mortars, rifle grenades, and machine-gun fire contributed to the din. whale, who never had the wind up, was shifting his position and turning from one side to the other. "what's the matter?" i asked my chum. "can't you sleep?" "sleep! 'ow the 'ell can a bloke sleep with that infernal _drip-drip-drip_ goin' on?"--_p. t. hughes (late st london regiment, th division), shalimar gardens, acton, w._ "a blinkin' vanity box" after the terrific upheaval of june , , my brigade (the th) held the line beyond wytschaete ridge for some weeks. while my company was in support one day my corporal and i managed to scrounge into a pill-box away from the awful mud. we could not escape the water because the explosion of the mines on june had cracked the foundation of our retreat and water was nearly two feet deep on the floor. just before dusk on this rainy july evening i was shaving before a metal mirror in the top bunk in the pill-box, while the corporal washed in a mess-tin in the bunk below. just then jerry started a severe strafe and a much-muddied runner of the th royal fusiliers appeared in the unscreened doorway. "come in and shelter, old man," i said. so he stepped on to an ammunition box that just failed to keep his feet clear of the water. he had watched our ablutions in silence for a minute or so, when a shell burst almost in the doorway and flung him into the water below our bunks, where he sat with his right arm red and rent, sagging at his side. "call this a shelter?" he said. "blimey, it's a blinkin' vanity box!"--_sgt., th r.f., east sheen, s.w. ._ playing at statues we were making our way to a detached post just on the left of vimy, and jerry was sending up verey lights as we were going along. every time one went up we halted, and kept quite still in case we should be seen. it was funny indeed to see how some of the men halted when a light went up. some had one foot down and one raised, and others were in a crouching position. "my missus orta see me nah playing at blinkin' statchoos," said one old cockney.--_t. kelly (late th london regt.), ocean street, stepney, e. ._ [illustration: "playin' at statchoos."] bo peep-- version in at fricourt "copper" kingsland of our regiment, the th royal west surreys, was on sentry on the fire-step in the front line. at this period of the war steel helmets were not in use. our cap badge was in the form of a lamb. a fritz sniper registered a hit through kingsland's hat, cutting the tail portion of the lamb away. after he had pulled himself together "copper" surveyed his cap badge and remarked: "on the larst kit inspection i reported to the sargint that yer was lorst, and nah i shall 'ave ter tell 'im that when bo peep fahnd yer, yer wagged yer bloomin' tail off in gratitood."--_"spot," haifu, farley road, selsdon, surrey._ jerry's dip in the fat we were out at rest in an open field on the somme front when one morning, about a.m., our cook, alf, of battersea, was preparing the company's breakfast. there was bacon, but no bread. i was standing beside the cooker soaking one of my biscuits in the fat. suddenly a jerry airman dived down towards the cooker, firing his machine gun. i got under the cooker, alf fell over the side of it, striking his head on the ground. i thought he was hit. but he sat up, rubbing his head and looking up at jerry, who was then flying away. "'ere!" he shouted, "next time yer wants a dip in the fat, don't be so rough."--_h. a. redford (late th london regt.), charrington street, n.w. ._ carried unanimously some recently captured trenches had to be cleared of the enemy, and in the company told off for the job was a cockney youth. proceeding along the trench with a mills bomb in his hand, he came upon a number of the enemy hiding in a dug-out. "nah then," he shouted, holding up the bomb in readiness to throw it if necessary, "all them as votes for coming along wiv me 'old up your 'ands." all hands were held up, with the cry "kamerad! kamerad!" upon which the cockney shouted, "look, mates, it's carried unanermously."--_h. morgan (late th telegraph construction co., r.e. signals), ranelagh road, wembley._ a very hot bath during the retreat of the remnants of the fifth army in march two of the six-inch howitzers of the honourable artillery company were in action in some deserted horse-lines outside péronne. during a lull gunner a----, a londoner, like the rest of us, went "scrounging" in some nearby cottages recently abandoned by their inhabitants. he reappeared carrying a large zinc bath, and after filling it with water from the horse pond he made a huge bonfire with broken tables and other furniture, and set the bath on the fire. just when the water had been heated fritz opened out with · 's. as we were not firing just then we all took cover, with the exception of gunner a----, who calmly set his bath of hot water down by one of the guns, undressed, and got into the bath. a minute later a large piece of shell also entered the bath, passed through the bottom of it and into the ground. the gunner watched the precious water running out, then he slowly rose and, beginning to dress, remarked, "very well, fritz, have it your way. i may not be godly, but i _did_ want to be clean."--_edward boaden (late h.a.c., siege battery), connaught gardens, muswell hill, n. ._ in lieu of ---- during a winter's night on the somme a party of us were drawing rations just behind the front line trenches. a cockney chum of mine was disgusted to hear the q.m. say he was issuing hot soup in lieu of rum. "coo! what next?" he grumbled. "soup in lieu of rum, biscuits in lieu of bread, jam in lieu----" while he spoke jerry sent over two whizz-bangs which scattered us and the rations and inflicted several casualties. my chum was hit badly. as he was being carried past the q.m. he smiled and said, "someone will have to be in lieu of me now, quarter!"--_t. allen (late plymouth battn., r.n.d.), sydney street, s.w._ putting the hatt on it two brothers named hatt were serving together in france. the elder was always saying that he would never be hit, as the germans, not being able to spell his name correctly, could not put it on any of their shells or bullets. (it was a common saying among the soldiers, of course, that a shell or bullet which hit a man had the victim's name on it.) the younger brother was taken prisoner, and two days later the elder brother was shot through the finger. turning to his mates he exclaimed, "blimey, me brother's been an' split on me."--_w. j. bowes, devon's road, bow, e. ._ tangible evidence we were at levantie in , just before the battle of loos, and the rumour was about that the germans were running short of ammunition. it was very quiet in our sector, as we were opposite the saxons, and we strolled about at ease. a party of us was told off to get water just behind the trenches in an old farmhouse which had a pump. we filled all the water bottles and rum jars and then had a look round the ruins to see what we could scrounge, when suddenly fritz sent a shell over. it hit the wall and sent bricks flying all over the place. one of the bricks hit my mate on the head and knocked him out. when we had revived him he looked up and said, "strewth, it's right they ain't got no 'ammo.'; they're slinging bricks. it shows yer we've got 'em all beat to a frazzle, don't it?"--_j. delderfield, hampden street, paddington._ what the cornwalls' motto meant a platoon of my regiment, the duke of cornwall's light infantry, was engaged in carrying screens to a point about yards behind the front line. the screens were to be set up to shield a road from german observation balloons, and they were made of brushwood bound together with wire. they were rolled up for convenience of transport, and when rolled they looked like big bundles of pea-sticks about ten feet long. they were very heavy. three men were told off to carry each screen. one of the parties of three was composed of two cornishmen (who happened to be at the ends of the screen) and their cockney pal (in the middle), the screen being carried on their shoulders. when they had nearly reached the point in the communication trench where it was to be dumped, jerry sent over a salvo of whizz-bangs. his range was good, and consequently the carrying party momentarily became disorganised. the cornishman at the front end of the screen dashed towards the front line, whilst the man at the other end made a hurried move backwards. this left the cockney with the whole of the weight of the screen on his shoulder. the excitement was over in a few seconds and the cornishmen returned to find the cockney lying on the duckboards, where he had subsided under the weight of his burden, trying to get up. he stopped struggling when he saw them and said very bitterly, "yus: one and all's yer blinkin' motter; _one_ under the blinkin' screen and _all_ the rest 'op it." "one and all," i should mention, is the cornwalls' motto.--_"cornwall," greenford, middlesex._ atlas--on the somme during the somme offensive we were holding the line at delville wood, and a cockney corporal fresh from england came to our company. he was told to take charge of a very advanced post, and our company officer gave him all important instructions as to bomb stores, ammunition, rifle grenades, emergency rations, s o s rockets, gas, and all the other numerous and important orders for an advanced post. after the officer asked him if he understood it all, he said, "blimey, sir, 'as 'aig gone on leave?"--_ex-sergt. geary, d.c.m. (east surrey regt.), longley road, tooting._ putting the lid on it on the struma front, salonika, in september , i was detailed to take a party of bulgar prisoners behind the lines. two bulgars, one of them a huge, bald-headed man, were carrying a stretcher in which was reposing "ginger" hart, of deptford, who was shot through the leg. the white bursts of shrapnel continued in our vicinity as we proceeded. one shell burst immediately in front of us, and we halted. it was at this juncture that i saw "ginger" leave his stretcher and hop away on one leg. having picked up a tin hat, he hopped back to the big bulgar prisoner and put the hat on his bald head, saying, "abaht time we put the lid on the sooit puddin', corp: that's the fifth shot they've fired at that target."--_g. findlay, m.m. (late st infantry brigade, th division), a effie place, fulham, s.w. ._ taffy was a--german! in the confused fighting round gueudecourt in a machine-gun section occupied a position in a maze of trenches, some of which led towards the german line. the divisional pioneer battalion was the monmouthshire regiment, all of whose men were welsh and for the most part spoke welsh. a ration party of the m.g.c. had gone back one night and had been absent some time when two members rushed into the position, gasping: "we took the wrong turning! walked into jerry's line! they've got smiffy--and the rations!" we had hardly got over the shock of this news when smiffy came staggering up, dragging the rations and mopping a bleeding face, at the same time cursing the rest of the ration party. "luv us, smiffy, how did you get away? we thought the germans had got you for sure!" "germans," gasped smiffy. "germans! _i thought they was the monmouths!_"--_s. w. baxter (late th m.g.c.), bishopsgate, e.c. ._ a tea-time story at the battle of cambrai in november my regiment, the london irish rifles, was undergoing a terrific bombardment in bourlon wood. the germans had been plastering us for about hours with "all calibres," to say nothing of continual gassing. as we had been wearing gas-masks almost all day without respite, we were nearly "all in" as the afternoon wore on. i was attending to a man with a smashed foot, when i felt a touch on my shoulder, and, blinking up through my sweat-covered mask, i saw our mess-orderly with his hand over a mess-tin (to keep the gas out, as he said). i could hardly believe my eyes, but when i heard him say, "tea is ready, sarg. blimey, what a strafe!" i lifted my mask and drank deeply. from that day till this it has been a wonder to me how he made it.--_s. gibbons, buckhold road, southfields, s.w. ._ a tip to a prisoner the object of our raiding party near gouzeaucourt in was to obtain a prisoner. one plucky, but very much undersized, german machine gunner blazed away at us until actually pounced upon. a cockney who was well among the leaders jumped down beside him, and heaving him up said: "come on, old mate, you're too blinkin' good for this side!"--and then, noticing his lack of inches, "and if yer wants ter make the 'old man' larf tell him you're a 'prussian guard.'"--_walter s. johnson (late r.w.f.), southwold road, upper clapton, e. ._ cockney logic early in the war aeroplanes were not so common as they were later on, and trench "strafing" from the air was practically unheard of. one day two privates of the middlesex regiment were engaged in clearing a section of front line trench near the la bassée road when a german plane came along and sprayed the trenches with machine-gun bullets. [illustration: ...and they both went on digging] one of the men (both were typical cockneys) looked up from his digging and said: "strike, there's a blinkin' aeroplane." the other took no notice but went on digging. by-and-by the machine came back, still firing, whereupon the speaker again looked up, spat, and said: "blimey, there's annuver of 'em." "no, 'tain't," was the reply, "it's the same blighter again." "blimey," said the first man, "so 'tis." and both went on digging.--_w. p. (late middlesex regt. and r.a.f.), bucks._ "penalty, ref!" it was a warm corner on the givenchy front, with whizz-bangs dealing out death and destruction. but it was necessary that communication be maintained between the various h.q.'s, and in this particular sector "alf," from bow, and myself were detailed to keep the "lines" intact. suddenly a whizz-bang burst above us as we were repairing some shattered lines. we ducked instinctively, but friend "alf" caught a bit of the shell and was thrown to the bottom of the slushy trench. being a football enthusiast he at once raised his arm in appeal, and, with the spirit that wins wars, shouted, "penalty, ref!" he was dazed, but unhurt.--_w. g. harris (late sergt., r.e.), denmark street, watford._ an appointment with his medical adviser during the battle of the ancre in november the st division were going over the top on our left while our battalion kept jerry engaged with a raid. every inch of the rain-sodden landscape seemed to be heaving beneath the combined barrages of the opposing forces. my sergeant, a d.c.m., had been lying in the trench badly wounded for some hours waiting for things to ease up before he could be got down to the dressing-station. presently our raiding party returned with six prisoners, among them an insignificant-looking german officer (who, waving a map about, and jabbering wildly, seemed to be blaming his capture to the faulty tactics of his high command). the wounded sergeant watched these antics for a while with a grin, driving the pain-bred puckers from his face, and then called out, "oi, 'indenburg! never mind abaht ye map o' london; wot time does this 'ere war end, 'cos i've got an appointment wiv my medical adviser!" dear, brave old chap. his appointment was never kept.--_s. t. (late th div.), fulham, s.w. ._ one up, and two to go on the struma front in a bombing plane was being put back into its hangar. suddenly there was a terrific bang. a dozen of us ran up to see what had happened, but a cockney voice from inside the hangar cried out, "don't come in. there's two more bombs to go off, and i can't find 'em."--_a. dickinson, brixton._ on the parados dawn of a very hot day in september on the balkan front. we were in the enemy trenches at "machine gun hill," a position hitherto occupied by the prussian guards, who were there to encourage the bulgars. we had taken the position the previous evening with very little loss. as the day broke we discovered that we were enfiladed on all sides and overlooked by the prussians not more than forty yards away. it was impossible to evacuate wounded and prisoners or for reserves to approach with food, water, and ammunition. the enemy counter-attacked in overwhelming numbers; shells rained on us; our own were falling short; it was suicide to show one's head. towards noon, casualties lying about. the sun merciless. survivors thoroughly exhausted. up jumped a cockney bomber. "blimey, i can't stick this," and perched himself on the parados. "i can see 'em; chuck some 'mills' up." and as fast as they were handed to him he pitched bombs into the prussians' midst, creating havoc. he lasted about three minutes, then fell, riddled with bullets. he had stemmed the tide. shortly afterwards we retired. his pluck was never recorded or recognised, but his feat will never be forgotten by at least one of the few who got through.--_george mccann, guilford street, london, w._ not croquet we were occupying a support line, early in , and a party of us was detailed to repair the barbed wire during the night. a cockney found himself holding a stake while a cornish comrade drove it home with a mallet. suddenly a shell exploded a few yards from the pair and both were very badly wounded. when the cockney recovered consciousness he was heard to remark to his comrade in misfortune, "blimey, yer wants to be more careful wiv that there mallet; yer nearly 'it my 'and wiv it when that there firework exploded."--_a. a. homer, grove place, enfield wash, middlesex._ sausages and mashed at the end of we were in the trenches in the ypres salient. as we were only about yards from the enemy lines, bombing went on all day. the german bombs, shaped like a long sausage, could be seen coming through the air. our sentries, on the look-out for these, would shout: "sausage right!" or "sausage left!" as they came over. one night we were strengthened by reinforcements, including several cockneys. the next morning one of our sentries saw a bomb coming over and shouted "sausage right!" there followed an explosion which smothered two of our new comrades in mud and shreds of sandbag. one of the two got up, with sackcloth twisted all round his neck and pack. "'ere, bill, wot was that?" he asked one of our men. "why, one of those sausages," bill replied. "lumme," said the new man, as he freed himself from the sacking, "i don't mind the sausages, but," he added as he wiped the mud from his eyes and face, "i don't like the mash."--_h. millard (late east surrey regt.), nevill road, stoke newington, n._ cheery to the end we were lining up to go over in the battle of arras on april , . ours being a lancashire regiment, there were only two of us cockneys in our platoon. we were standing easy, waiting for the rum issue, and tom, my pal (we both came from stratford), came over to me singing "let's all go down the strand...." most of the lancashire lads were looking a bit glum, but it cheered them up, and they all began to sing. i was feeling a bit gloomy myself, and tom, seeing this, said: "what's the matter with you, jimmy?" "i suppose i'll see you in london hospital next week, tom," i said. "oh, shut up," says he. "if jerry sends one over and it's got our names on it, why worry? and if we get a bad blighty one, then i hopes they buries us at manor park. here, jim, tie this disc round me neck." then the rum came up, and he started them singing, "and another little drink wouldn't do us any harm!" off we went--and only ten minutes later he was gone. he was buried at blany, arras, not manor park.--_j. pugh (late st king's own royal lancasters), lizban street, blackheath, s.e. ._ souvenirs first the following incident took place during the battle of loos, september . i had been to battalion h.q. with a message and whilst awaiting a reply stood with others on "harrow road" watching our wounded go by. we frequently recognised wounded pals on the stretchers and inquired as to the nature of their wounds. the usual form of inquiry was: "hullo ---- what have you got?" in reply to this query one wounded man of our battalion, ignoring his wound as being of lesser importance, proudly answered: "two jerry helmets and an iron cross!"--_a. h. bell (late private, th london regt., t.f.), raeburn avenue, surbiton, surrey._ seven shies a tanner! it was near hebuterne and very early in the morning of july , . a terrific bombardment by both the germans and ourselves was in progress just prior to the launching of our somme offensive. we were in assembly trenches waiting for the dread zero hour. away on our right some german guns were letting us have it pretty hot, and in consequence the "troops" were not feeling in the best of spirits. with us was a very popular cockney corporal. he took his tin hat from off his head when the tension was high and, banging on it with his bayonet, cried: "roll up, me lucky lads! seven shies a tanner! who'll 'ave a go!" that bit of nonsense relieved the tension and enabled us to pull ourselves together.--_a. v. b. (late th londons), guildford._ bill hawkins fights them all whilst on the ypres front during the fighting in we made an early-morning attack across the railway line in front of dickebusch. after going about fifty yards across no man's land my cockney pal (bill hawkins, from stepney), who was running beside me, got a slight wound in the arm, and before he had gone another two yards he got another wound in the left leg. suddenly he stopped, lifted his uninjured arm at the germans and shouted, "blimey, wot yer all firing at me for? am i the only blinkin' man in this war?"--_s. stevens (late middlesex regt., nd battn.), blenheim street, chelsea, s.w._ hide and seek with jerry to get information before the somme offensive, the new idea of making daylight raids on the german trenches was adopted. it fell to our battalion to make the first big raid. our objective was the "brick-fields" at beaurains, near arras, and our orders were to take as many prisoners as possible, hold the trench for half an hour, do as much damage as we could, and then return. a covering barrage was put down, and over we went, one hundred strong. we got into jerry's trench all right, but, owing to the many dug-outs and tunnels, we could only find a few germans, and these, having no time to bolt underground, got out of the trench and ran to take cover behind the kilns and brick-stacks. and then the fun began. while the main party of us got to work in the trench, a few made after the men who had run into the brick-fields, and it was a case of hide and seek, round and round and in and out of the kilns and brick-stacks. despite the seriousness of the situation, one chap, a cockney, entered so thoroughly into the spirit of the thing that when, after a lengthy chase, he at last clapped a german on the shoulder, he shouted, "you're 'e!"--_e. w. fellows, m.m. (late th d.c.l.i.), dunlace road, clapton, e. ._ too much for his imagination in the platoon of cyclists i was posted to on the outbreak of war was a cockney--a "charlie chaplin" without the funny feet. if there was a funny side to a thing, he saw it. one day, on the advance, just before the battle of the marne, our platoon was acting as part of the left flank guard when a number of enemy cavalry were seen advancing over a ridge, some distance away. we were ordered to dismount and extend. we numbered about sixteen, so our line was not a long one. a prominent object was pointed out to us, judged at about yards away, and orders were given not to fire until the enemy reached that spot. we could see that we were greatly outnumbered, and having to wait for them to reach that spot seemed to double the suspense. our leader was giving commands one second and talking like a father the next. he said, "keep cool; each take a target; show them you are british. you have as good a chance as they, and although they are superior in numbers they have no other superior quality. i want you just to imagine that you are on the range again, firing for your pay." then our cockney charlie chimed in with: "yes, but we ain't got no bloomin' markers."--_s. leggs (late rifle brigade and cyclists), new road, grays, essex._ "currants" for bunn after we had taken part in the advance on the somme in august my battalion was ordered to rest at bazentin. we had only been there a day or so when we were ordered to relieve the tyneside scottish who were badly knocked about. hardly had we reached the front lines, when a little cockney named bunn (we never knew how he carried his pack, he was so small) got hit. we called for stretcher-bearers. when they put him on the stretcher and were carrying him down the line, a doctor asked him his name. the cockney looked up with a smile and answered: "bunn, sir, and the blighters have put some currants into me this time." this gallant cockney died afterwards.--_j. e. cully (late th king's royal rifles), milkwood road, s.e. ._ the driver to his horse the artillery driver's affection for his own particular pair of horses is well known. our battery, in a particularly unhealthy spot in front of zillebeke, in the salient, had run out of ammunition, and the terrible state of the ground thereabout in the autumn of necessitated the use of pack-horses to "deliver the goods," and even then it was accomplished with difficulty. a little cockney driver with a pair named polly and bill had loaded up and was struggling through the mire. three times bill had dragged him on to his knees and up to his waist in the slush when a big fritz shell dropped uncomfortably near. polly, with a mighty rear, threw the cockney on to his back and, descending, struck him with a hoof. fed up to the teeth and desperate, he struggled to his feet, covered from head to feet in slime, and, clenching his fist, struck at the trembling and frightened horse, unloading a brief but very vivid description of its pedigree and probable future. then, cooling off, he began to pacify the mare, apologised, and pardoned her vice by saying, "never mind, ole gal--i didn't mean ter bash yer! i fought the uvver one was hot stuff, but, strike me pink, you don't seem _'ooman_!"--_g. newell (ex-sergt., r.f.a.), queen road, st. albans._ two kinds of "shorts" august , delville wood. we had been brought specially from rest camp to take the remainder of the wood, which was being stoutly contested by the germans and was holding up our advance. the usual barrage, and over we went, and were met by the germans standing on top of their trenches. a fierce bombing fight began. the scrap lasted a long time, but at last we charged and captured the trench. [illustration: "yus, yer needn't stare--i'm real."] one of our men, quite a small cockney, captured a german about twice his own size. the german was so surprised at being captured by a person so insignificant looking that he stood and stared. our cockney, seeing his amazement, said: "yus, yer needn't stare, i'm real, and wot's more, i got a good mind ter punch yer under the blinkin' ear fer spoiling me rest!"--_f. m. fellows, m.m. (late corporal, th batt. d.c.l.i), dunlace road, clapton, e. ._ mespot--on years' lease i was in mesopotamia from till , and after the armistice was signed there was still considerable trouble with the arabs. in the summer of i, with a party of other r.a.s.c. men, was surrounded by the arabs at an outpost that was like a small fort. we had taken up supplies for troops stationed there. there were about indian soldiers, and a few british n.c.o.'s in charge. it was no use "running the gauntlet." we were on a hill and kept the arabs at bay all day, also the next night. the next day all was quiet again, but in the afternoon an arab rode into the camp on horseback with a message, which he gave to the first tommy he saw. it happened to be one of our fellows, a proper cockney. he read the message--written in english--requesting us to surrender. our cockney pal said a few kind words to the arab, and decided to send a message back. he wrote this on the back of the paper: "sorry, mr. shake. we have only just taken the place, and we have got it on years' lease. yours faithfully, old bill and co., ltd., london."--_w. thurgood (late r.a.s.c., m.t.), maldon road, southend-on-sea, essex._ "fro something at them!" there was a certain divisional commander in france who enjoyed a popularity that was almost unique. he was quite imperturbable, whatever the situation. unfortunately, he had an impediment in his speech, and when first one met him he was difficult to understand. but heaven help anyone who asked him to repeat anything. a light would come into his eye, and he would seize hold of his victim by the shoulder-strap and heave and tug till it came off. "you'll understand me," he would say, "when i tell you your shoulder-strap is undone!" the division he commanded had just put up a wonderful fight just south of arras in the march ' show, and, having suffered very heavy casualties, were taken out of the line and put into a cushy front next door to the portuguese. the morning after they took over the germans launched a heavy attack on the portuguese, who withdrew somewhat hurriedly, so that the whole flank of the british division was open. the general was sitting eating his breakfast--he had been roused at six by the bombardment--when an excited orderly came into the room and reported that the germans had got right in behind the division and were now actually in the garden of the general's château. the general finished drinking his cup of coffee, the orderly still standing to attention, waiting instructions. "then you had better 'fro' something at them--or shoo them away," said the general.--_f. a. p., cavalry club, piccadilly, w._ missed his mouth-organ during the battle of the somme our trench-mortar battery was going back after a few days' rest. it was very dark and raining. as we neared our destination it appeared that jerry and our chaps were having a real argument. we were going up a road called "queen's hollow." jerry was enfilading us on both sides, and a rare bombing fight was going on at the farther end of the hollow--seventy or a hundred yards in front of us. we were expecting to feel the smack of a bullet any moment, and there was a terrible screeching and bursting of shells, with a few "minnies" thrown in. we were in a fine pickle, and i had just about had enough when my pal (a lad from "the smoke") nearly put me on my back by stopping suddenly. "i don't like this, bomb," he said. "what's wrong with you? get on," i replied, "or we'll all be blown sky high." "oh, all right," he said, "but i wish i'd brought me mouf orgin. i could then have livened fings up a bit."--_"bombardier" (r.a.), late t.m.b., th division._ water-cooled there must be at least six men still alive who remember a certain affair at kemmel. during the latter part of april our machine gunners had been having a bad time, and one old cockney sergeant found himself and his party isolated miles in front of our line. the cool way in which he gave orders, as he told his men to make their way back--lying down for a bit, then making a run for another shelter--would have been humorous if conditions had not been so terrifying. he himself kept his gun working to protect their retreat, and when he saw they had reached a place of safety he picked up his gun and rejoined them unhurt. one of his men, describing the action afterwards, said, "carried his gun three miles--wouldn't part with it--and the first thing he did when he was able to settle down quietly was to start cleaning the blessed thing!"--_h. r. tanner, "romsdal," newton ferrers, s. devon._ top-hatted piper of mons during the retreat from mons it was a case of "going while the going was good" until called upon to make a stand to harass the enemy's advance. after the stand at le cateau, bad and blistered feet caused many to stop by the wayside. among these, in passing with my little squad, i noticed a piper belonging to a scottish regiment sitting with his blistered feet exposed and his pipes lying beside him. staff officers were continually riding back and urging the parties of stragglers to make an effort to push on before they were overtaken. in the late afternoon of this same day, having myself come up with my unit, i was resting on the roadside when i heard the skirl of bagpipes. before long there came into sight, marching with a fair swing, too, as motley a throng as one ever saw in the king's uniform. headed by a staff officer were about men of all regiments with that same piper, hatless and with one stocking, in front. beside him was a cockney of the middlesex regiment, with a silk hat on his head, whose cheeks threatened to burst as he churned out the strains of "alexander's rag-time band" on the bagpipes. being a bit of a piper himself, he was giving "jock" a lift and was incidentally the means of fetching this little band away from the clutches of the enemy.--_"buster" brown (late bedfordshire regt.), hertford._ two heads and a bullet early in ten of us were going up with rations--chiefly bread and water. in one part of the trench there were no duckboards and the vile mud was thigh-deep. here we abandoned the trench and stumbled along, tripping over barbed wire and falling headlong into shell-holes half-full of icy water. a german sniper was at work. suddenly a bullet pinged midway between the last two of the party. "hear that?" said no. . "right behind my neck!" "yes," replied no. , "right in front of my bloomin' nose!"--_c. a. davies (late rd r. fusiliers), saxton street, gillingham, kent._ spoiling the story we were billeted in the upper room of a corner house north of albert, and were listening to "spoofer's" memories of days "dahn walworf way." "yus," he said, "i ses to the gal, 'two doorsteps an' a bloater.'" at that moment a "coal-box" caught the corner of the house, bringing down the angle of the wall and three-parts of the floor on which we had squatted. except for bruises, none of us was injured, and when the dust subsided we saw "spoofer" looking down at us from a bit of the flooring that remained intact. "yus," he continued, as though nothing had happened, "as i was saying, i'd just called fer the bloater...." came another "coal-box," which shook down the remainder of the floor and with it "spoofer." struggling to his hands and knees, he said, "blimey, the blinkin' bloater's cold nah."--_f. lates, st. ervan's road, north kensington._ afraid of dogs towards the end of october i was out on patrol in front of tournai on a dark, windy night. i had a cockney private with me, and we were some distance from our lines when we heard a dog barking. all at once, before i could stop him, the cockney whistled it. i threw the cockney down and dropped myself. a german verey light went up--followed by a hail of machine-gun bullets in our direction. as the light spread out, we saw the dog fastened to a german machine-gun! we lay very still, and presently, when things had quietened down, we slid cautiously backwards until it was safe to get up. all the cockney said was, "crikey, corp, i had the wind up. a blinkin' good job that there dawg was chained up. why? 'cause 'e might 'ave bitten us. i allus was afeard o' dawgs."--_j. milsun (late / th battn., the king's own th div.), collingwood road, lexden, colchester._ the song of battle at the first gaza battle we had to advance , yards across a plain in full view of the turks, who hurled a terrific barrage at us. we were in artillery formation, and we marched up until within rifle range. with machine guns and artillery the turks were depleting our ranks, so that less than half of us were still marching on at yards range. in my section was the cockney "funny man" of the company. when things were bad, and we were all wondering how long we would survive, he began singing lustily a song which someone had sung at our last concert party behind the lines, the refrain of which was "i've never heard of anybody dying from kissing, have you?" before he had started on the second line nearly everyone was singing with him, and men were killed singing that song. to the remainder of us it acted like a tonic. good old jack, when he was wounded later he must have been in terrible pain, yet he joked so that at first we would not believe he was seriously hit. he shouted, "where is 'e?--let me get at 'im."--_j. t. jones (late th division), whittaker road, east ham, e. ._ stalls at "richthofen's circus" a new zealander was piloting an old f.e. b (pusher) 'plane up and down over the lines, observing for the artillery, when he got caught by "richthofen's circus." the petrol tank behind the pilot's seat was set on fire and burning oil poured past him into the observer's cockpit ahead and the clothes of both men started to sizzle. they were indeed in a warm situation, their one hope being to dive into zillebeke lake, which the new zealander noticed below. by the time they splashed into the water machine and men were in flames; and, moreover, when they came up the surface surrounding them was aflame with the burning oil. treading water desperately and ridding themselves of their heavy sodden flying coats, they made a last bid for life by swimming under water, that flaming water, and at last, half-dead, reached the bank. there a strong arm gripped the new zealander by the scruff of the neck and he was hauled to safety, dimly aware of a hoarse voice complaining bitterly, "ours is the best hid battery in this sector, the only unspotted battery. you _would_ choose just 'ere to land, wouldn't yer, and give the bloomin' show away?" our cockney battery sergeant-major had, no doubt, never heard of hobson or his choice.--_e. h. orton, high grove, welwyn garden city, herts._ "butter-fingers!" a cockney infantryman of the th division was on the fire-step on the night preceding the attack at loos. he was huddled up in a ground-sheet trying to keep cheerful in the drizzle. suddenly a british -in. shell passed over him, and as he heard its slow rumble he muttered, "catch that one, you blighters." just then it burst, and with a chuckle he added, "oh, butter-fingers, yer dropped it!"--_henry j. tuck (late lt., r.g.a.)._ getting into hot water we were in the front line, and one evening a battersea lad and myself were ordered to go and fetch tea for the company from the cook-house, which was in bluff trench. it was about a mile from the line down a "beautiful" duckboard track. with the boiling tea strapped to our backs in big containers, both of which leaked at the nozzles, we started for the line. then jerry started sniping at us. there came from the line a sergeant, who shouted, "why don't you lads duck?" "that's right," replied my chum. "d'yer fink we wants ter be scalded to death?"--_h. g. harrap ( rd london regiment), renfrew road, s.e._ [illustration: "d'yer fink we wants ter be scalded ter death?"] . lull rate of exchange--on berlin with four cockney comrades of the rifle brigade, during at fleurbaix, i was indulging in a _quiet_ game of nap in the front line. one man dropped out, "broke to the wide." being an enthusiastic card player, he offered various articles for sale, but could find no buyers. at last he offered to _find_ a jerry prisoner and sell him for a franc. he was absent for some time, but eventually turned up with his hostage, and, the agreement being duly honoured, he recommenced his game with his fresh capital. all the players came through alive, their names being j. cullison, f. bones, a. white, w. deer (the first-named playing leading part), and myself.--_f. j. chapman (late th batt. rifle brigade), beckton road, victoria docks, e. ._ a hen coup during the retreat from mons strict orders were issued against looting. one day an officer, coming round a corner, discovered a stalwart cockney tommy in the act of wringing the neck of an inoffensive-looking chicken. the moment the tommy caught sight of his officer he was heard to murmur to the chicken, "would yer, yer brute!" quite obviously, therefore, the deed had been done in self-defence.--_the rev. t. k. lowdell, church of st. augustine, lillie road, fulham, s.w. ._ a "baa-lamb" in the trenches the "dug-out" was really a hole scraped in the side of a trench leading up to the front line and some yards from it. it was october ' on the somme, after the weather had broken. the trench was about two feet deep in liquid mud--a delightful thoroughfare for runners and other unfortunate ones who had to use it. the officer in the dug-out heard the _splosh--splosh--splosh_ ... of a single passenger coming up the trench. as the splosher drew abreast the dug-out the officer heard him declaiming to himself: "baa! baa! i'm a blinkin' lamb lorst in the ruddy wilderness. baa! baa!..." and when the bleating died away the _splosh--splosh--splosh_ ... grew fainter too, as the "lamb" was lost in the night.--_l. w. martinnant, thornsbeach road, catford, s.e. ._ he coloured when serving with the artists' rifles in france we went into the line to relieve the "nelsons" of the rd (royal naval) division. as i was passing one of their men, a regular "ole bill," who was seated on the fire-step, i heard him say, "artists' rifles, eh; i wonder if any of you chaps would _paint_ me a plate of 'am and eggs!"--_r. c. toogood, richmond park avenue, bournemouth._ why the fat man laughed during the winter of - the trenches were just like canals of sloppy mud, and dug-outs were always falling in. to repair the dug-outs pit-props were used, but they often had to be carried great distances up communication trenches, and were very difficult to handle. the most popular way to carry a prop was to rest one end on the left shoulder of one man and the other end on the right shoulder of the man behind. on one occasion the leading man was short and fat, and the rear man was tall and thin. suddenly the front man slipped and the prop fell down in the mud and splashed the thin man from head to foot. to add to his discomfort the little fat man gave a hearty laugh. "can't see anything to larf at, mate," said the mud-splashed hero, looking down at himself. "i'm larfing," said the little fat cockney, "'cos i've just remembered that i tipped the recruiting sergeant a bloomin' tanner to put me name down fust on his list so as i'd get out here quick."--_a. l. churchill (late sergt., worcs. regt.), long lane, blackheath, staffs._ he met shackleton! the troops in north russia, in the winter of - , were equipped with certain additional articles of clothing designed on the same principles as those used on antarctic expeditions. among these were what were known as "shackleton boots," large canvas boots with thick leather soles. these boots were not at all suitable for walking on hard snow, being very clumsy, and they were very unpopular with everyone. the late sir ernest shackleton was sent out by the war office to give advice on matters of clothing, equipment, and so on. when he arrived at archangel he went up to a sentry whose beat was in front of a warehouse about three steps up from the road, and said to him, "well, my man, what do you think of the shackleton boot?" to this the sentry replied: "if i could only meet the perishing blighter wot invented them i'd very soon show----" before he could complete the sentence his feet, clad in the ungainly boots, slipped on the frozen snow, and slithering down the steps on his back, he shot into sir ernest and the two of them completed the discussion on shackleton boots rolling over in the snow!--_k. d., elham, near canterbury._ domestic scene: scene, béthune near the front line at béthune in i was a farm which had been evacuated by the tenants, but there were still some cattle and other things on it. we were, of course, forbidden to touch them. one day we missed one of our fellows, a cockney, for about two hours, and guessed he was on the "scrounge" somewhere or other. [illustration: "... only taking the kid and the dawg for a bit of a blow."] eventually he was seen coming down the road pushing an old-fashioned pram loaded with cabbages, and round his waist there was a length of rope, to the other end of which was tied an old cow. you can imagine what a comical sight it was, but the climax came when he was challenged by the corporal, "where the devil have you been?" "me?" he replied innocently. "i only bin takin' the kid and the dawg for a bit of a blow."--_a. rush (late th batt. r. fus.), milton road, wimbledon._ getting their bearings it was on the loos front. one night a party of us were told off for reconnoitring. on turning back about six of us, with our young officer, missed our way and, after creeping about for some minutes, a message came down, "keep very quiet, we are nearly in the german lines." i passed on the message to the chap behind me, who answered in anything but a whisper, "thank 'eaven we know where we are at last."--_h. hutton (late th lancers, attached engineers), marlborough road, upper holloway._ high tea during the winter of - i was serving with my battery of field artillery in italy. we had posted to us a draft of drivers just out from home, and one of them, seeing an observation balloon for the first time, asked an old driver what it was. "oh, that," replied the old hand, who hailed from hackney--"that is the air force canteen!"--_m. h. cooke (late "b" battery, nd brigade, r.f.a.), regency street, westminster._ lots in a name salonika, mid-autumn, and torrents of rain. the battalion, changing over to another front, had trekked all through the night. an hour before dawn a halt was called to bivouac on the reverse slope of a hill until the journey could be completed in the darkness of the following night. orderlies from each platoon were collecting blankets from their company pack mules. last of them all was a diminutive cockney, who staggered off in the darkness with his load perched on his head. slowly and laboriously, slipping backwards at almost every step, he stumbled and slithered up hill in the ankle-deep mud. presently he paused for breath, and took advantage of the opportunity to relieve his feelings in these well-chosen words: "all i can say is, the bloke as christened this 'ere perishin' place greece was about blinking well right."--_p. h. t. ( th division)._ gunga din the second after the battle of shaikh sa'ad in mesopotamia in january more than wounded were being transported down the tigris to basra in a steamer and on open barges lashed on either side of it. many suffered from dysentery as well as wounds--and it was raining. there appeared to be only one indian bhisti (water-carrier), an old man over years of age, to attend to all. he was nearly demented in trying to serve everyone at once. when my severely wounded neighbour--from camberwell, he said--saw the bhisti, his welcome made us smile through our miseries. "coo! if it ain't old gunga din! wherever 'ave yer bin, me old brown son? does yer muvver know yer aht?"--_a. s. edwardes (late c.s.m., st seaforth highlanders), west gate, royal hospital, chelsea, s.w. ._ a fag fer an 'orse late one afternoon towards the end of , on the cambrai sector, enemy counter-attacks had caused confusion behind our lines, and as i was walking along a road i met a disconsolate-looking little cockney infantryman leading a large-size horse. he stopped me and said, "give us a fag, mate, and i'll give yer an 'orse." [illustration: "give us a fag and i'll give yer an 'orse."] i gathered that he had found the horse going spare and was taking it along with him for company's sake.--_h. j. batt (late royal fusiliers), whitehall park road, w. ._ put to graze it was at the siege of kut, when the th ("iron") division was trying to relieve that gallant but hard-pressed body of men under general townshend. rations had been very low for days, and the battery had been digging gun-pits in several positions, till at last we had a change of position and "dug in" to stay a bit. what with bad water, digging in, and hardly any food, the men were getting fed up generally. an order came out to the effect that "a certain bunchy grass (detailed explanation) if picked and boiled would make a very nourishing meal." one hefty cockney, "dusty" miller, caused a laugh when he vented his feelings with "'struth, and nah we got ter be blinking sheep. baa-baa!"--_e. j. bates (late r.f.a.), ulverscroft road, e. dulwich._ smith's feather pillow the boys had "rescued" a few hens from a deserted farm. the morning was windy and feathers were scattered in the mud. picquet officer (appearing from a corner of the trench): "what's the meaning of all these feathers, brown?" brown: "why, sir, smiff wrote 'ome sayin' 'e missed 'is 'ome comforts, an' 'is ma sent 'im a fevver piller; an' 'e's so mad at our kiddin' that 'e's in that dug-out tearin' it to bits."--_john w. martin, eccles road, lavender hill, s.w. ._ bombs and arithmetic we were in the trenches in front of armentières in the late summer of . it was a fine, quiet day, with "nothing doing." i was convinced that a working party was busy in a section of the german trenches right opposite. just then "o. c. stokes" came along with his crew and their little trench gun. i told him of my "target," and suggested that he should try a shot with his stokes mortar. glad of something definite to do, he willingly complied. the stokes gun was set down on the floor of the trench just behind my back, as i stood on the fire-step to observe the shoot. i gave the range. the gun was loaded. there was a faint pop, a slight hiss--then silence. was the bomb going to burst in the gun and blow us all to bits? i glanced round apprehensively. a perfectly calm cockney voice from one of the crew reassured me: "it's orl right, sir! if it don't go off while yer counts five--_you'll know it's a dud!_"--_capt. t. w. c. curd (late th northumberland fusiliers), victoria street, s.w. ._ help from hindenburg i was serving with the m.g.c. at ecoust. two men of the middlesex regiment had been busy for a week digging a sump hole in the exposed hollow in front of the village and had excavated to a depth of about eight feet. a bombardment which had continued all night became so severe about noon of the next day that orders were given for all to take what cover was available. it was noticed that the two men were still calmly at work in the hole, and i was sent to warn them to take shelter. they climbed out, and as we ran over the hundred yards which separated us from the trench a high explosive shell landed right in the hole we had just left, converting it into a huge crater. one of the men turned to me and said, "lumme, mate, if old hindenburg ain't been and gone and finished the blooming job for us!"--_j. s. f., barnet, herts._ raised his voice--and the dust in the early part of , while the germans were falling back to the hindenburg line on the somme, trench warfare was replaced by advanced outposts for the time being. rations were taken up to the company headquarters on mules. [illustration: "s'sh. for 'eaven's sake be quiet."] another c.q.m.s. and i were going up with mules one night and lost our way. we wandered on until a voice from a shell-hole challenged us. _we had passed the company headquarters and landed among the advanced outposts._ the chap implored us to be quiet, and just as we turned back one of the mules chose to give the germans a sample of his vocal abilities. the outpost fellow told us what he thought of us. the transport chap leading the mule pulled and tugged, using kind, gentle words as drivers do. and in the midst of it all my c.q.m.s. friend walked up to the mule, holding his hands up, and whispered: "s-sh! for 'eaven's sake be quiet."--_f. w. piper (ex-sherwood foresters), the crescent, watford, herts._ mademoiselle from--palestine after the fall of gaza our battalion, on occupying a jewish colony in the coastal sector which had just been evacuated by the turks, received a great ovation from the overjoyed inhabitants. [illustration: "mademoiselle from ah-my-tears."] one of our lads, born well within hearing of bow bells, was effusively greeted by a hebrew lady of uncertain age, who warmly embraced him and kissed him on each cheek. freeing himself, and gesticulating in the approved manner, he turned to us and said: "strike me pink! mademoiselle from ah-my-tears."--_edward powell, cavendish road, kentish town, n.w._ "ally toot sweet" at the latter end of september the th division was moving from the aisne to la bassée and a halt was made in the region of crépy-en-valois, where a large enemy shell was found (dud). [illustration: "ally toot sweet. if this shell goes orf...."] a cockney private was posted to keep souvenir hunters from tampering with it. when he received his dinner he sat straddle-legged on the shell, admired by a few french children, whom he proceeded to address as follows: "ally! toot sweet, or you'll get blown to 'ell if this blinkin' shell goes orf."--_e. p. ferguson, "brecon," fellows road, s. farnborough, hants._ luckier than the prince in the autumn of , while attending to the loading of ammunition at minden post, a driver suddenly exclaimed, "'struth, quarter; who's the boy officer with all the ribbons up?" glancing up, i recognised the prince of wales, quite unattended, pushing a bicycle through the mud. when i told the driver who the officer really was, the reply came quickly: "blimey, i'm better off than he is; they _have_ given me a horse to ride."--_h. j. adams (ex.--b.q.m.s., r.f.a.), highclare, station road, hayes, middlesex._ a jerry he _couldn't_ kill during a patrol in no man's land at flesquières we were between a german patrol and their front line, but eventually we were able to get back. i went to our lewis gun post and told them jerry had a patrol out. i was told: "one german came dahn 'ere last night--full marchin' order." "didn't you ask him in?" i said. "no. told him to get out of it. you can't put a lewis gun on one man going on leave," was the reply.--_c. g. welch, sayer street, s.e. ._ "q" for quinine in the autumn of , on the salonika front, we were very often short of bread, sugar, etc., the reason, we were told by the quartermaster-sergeant, being that the boats were continually sunk. at this time the "quinine parade" was strictly enforced, because of malaria, which was very prevalent. one day we were lined up for our daily dose, which was a very strong and unpleasant one, when one of our drivers, a bit of a wag, was heard to say to the m.o.: "blimey! the bread boat goes dahn, the beef boat goes dahn, the rum and sugar boat goes dahn, but the perishin' quinine boat always gets 'ere."--_r. ore ( brigade, r.f.a.), lansdowne road, tottenham, n. ._ blinkin' descendant of nebuchadnezzar while stationed at pozières in i was mate to our cockney cook, who, according to army standards, was something of an expert in the culinary art. one day a brass hat from h.q., who was visiting the unit, entered the mess to inquire about the food served to the troops. "they 'as stew, roast, or boiled, wiv spuds and pudden to follow," said cook, bursting with pride. "do you give them any vegetables?" asked the officer. "no, sir, there ain't none issued in the rations." "no vegetables! what do you mean?--there are tons growing about here waiting to be picked. look at all those dandelions--they make splendid greens. see that some are put in the stew to-morrow." with which illuminating information he retired. followed a few moments' dead silence. then the cockney recovered from the shock. "lumme, mate, what did 'e say? dandelions? 'e must be a blinkin' descendant of nebuchadnezzar!"--_r. j. tiney (late sapper, r.e. signals, th corps), green lanes, finsbury park, n._ well-cut tailoring back from a spell behind ypres in , a few of us decided to scrounge round for a hair-cut. we found a shop which we thought was a barber's, but it turned out to be a tailor's. we found out afterwards! [illustration: "my old girl will swear i bin in fer a stretch...."] still, the old frenchman made a good job of it--just as though someone had shaved our heads. my cockney pal, when he discovered the truth, exclaimed: "strike, if i go 'ome like this my old girl will swear i bin in fer a stretch."--_f. g. webb (late corpl., middlesex regiment), andover road, twickenham._ evacuating "darby and joan" things were going badly with the town of albert, and all day the inhabitants had been streaming from the town. on horse, on foot, and in all manner of conveyances they hastened onwards.... towards evening, when the bombardment was at its height and the roads were being plastered with shells, an old man tottered into sight pulling a crazy four-wheeled cart in which, perched amidst a pile of household goods, sat a tiny, withered lady of considerable age. as the couple reached the point where i was standing, the old man's strength gave out and he collapsed between the shafts. it seemed all up with them, as the guns were already registering on the only exit from the town when, thundering round a bend in the road, came a transport limber with driver and spare man. on seeing the plight of the old people, the driver pulled up, dismounted and, together with his partner, surveyed the situation. "what are we going to do with darby and joan?" asked the driver. "we can't get them and all their clobber in the limber and, if i know 'em, they won't be parted from their belongings." "'ook 'em on the back," replied the spare man. sure enough, the old man was lifted into the limber and the old lady's four-wheeler tied on the back. off they went at the gallop, the old lady's conveyance dragging like a canoe in the wake of the _mauretania_. the heroic cockney driver, forcing his team through the din and debris of the bombardment, was now oblivious to the wails of distress; his mind was back on his duty; he had given the old people a chance of living a little longer--that was all he could do: and so he turned a deaf ear to the squeals and lamentations that each fresh jolt and swerve wrung from the terrified antiquity he was towing. shells dropped all around them on their career through the town until it seemed that they must "go under." however, they appeared again and again, after each cloud cleared, and in the end i saw the little cavalcade out of the town and danger.--_n. e. crawshaw (late th london regt.), mapleton road, southfields, s.w. ._ "why ain't the band playing?" i served with the th london regiment in palestine. one day our officer paid us a visit at dinner-time to find out if there were any complaints. while we were endeavouring to find the meat at the bottom of the spoilt water we heard a voice say: "any complaints?" one of the platoon, not seeing the officer, thought the remark was a joke, so he replied, "yes, why ain't the band playing?" on realising it was an official request he immediately corrected himself and said: "sorry, sir, no complaints." i rather think the officer enjoyed the remark.--_f. g. palmer, dumbarton road, brixton, s.w. ._ his deduction our battalion, fresh from home, all nicely groomed and with new kit, stepped out whistling "tipperary." we were on the road to loos. presently towards us came a pathetic procession of wounded men struggling back, some using their rifles as crutches. our whistling had ceased; some faces had paled. not a word was spoken for quite a while, until my cockney pal broke the silence, remarking, "lumme, i reckon there's been a bit of a row somewhere."--_charles phillips (late middlesex regt.), grosvenor road, ilford._ peter in the pool we had advanced beyond the german first line in the big push of ' . the rain was heavy, the mud was deep; we had not quite dug in beyond "shallow," and rations had not come up--altogether a most dismal prospect. quite near to us was a small pool of water which we all attempted to avoid when passing to and fro. suddenly there was a yell and much cursing--the cockney of the company, complete with his equipment, had fallen into the pool. after recovering dry ground he gazed at the pool in disgust and said, "fancy a fing like that trying to drahn a bloke wiv a name like peter."--_j. carlton, bayswater court, st. stephen's court, w. ._ where "movie" shows cost soap we landed in north russia in june . we were piloted in on the _city of marseilles_ to a jetty. we did not know the name of the place. on the jetty we saw from the boat a british marine on sentry duty. we shouted down to him, "where are we, mate?" he answered "murmansk." we asked, "what sort of place," and he shouted, "lumme, you've come to a blighted 'ole 'ere. they 'ave one picture palace and the price of admission is a bar of soap."--_m. c. oliver (late corporal r.a.f.), , lealand road, stamford hill, n. ._ sherlock holmes in the desert in the autumn of , when training for the attack on beersheba, in palestine, we were encamped in bivouacs in the desert. the chief meal of the day was served in the cool of the evening and more often than not consisted of bully beef stew. one evening the orderly officer approached the dixie, looked into it, and seeing it half full of the usual concoction, remarked, "h'm, stew this evening." at once there came a voice, that of a cockney tailor, from the nearest bivouac--"my dear watson!"--_r. s. h. (late th county of london q.w.r.), purley, surrey._ the army "loops the loop" the road from jerusalem to jericho was very bad, and if you went too close to the edge you were likely to go over the precipice; indeed, many lives were lost in this way. [illustration: "i'll bet i'm the first bloke to loop the loop in a lorry."] one day a lorry toppled over and fell at least a hundred feet. when the rescuers got down to it, expecting to find a mangled corpse, they were surprised to hear a well-known cockney voice from under the debris, exclaiming: "blimey, i'll bet i'm the first bloke in the whole army wot's looped the loop in a motor-lorry."--_sidney h. rothschild, york buildings, adelphi, w.c. ._ repartee on the ridge while on the vimy ridge sector i was going one dark night across the valley towards the front line when i lost my way among the mud and shell-holes. hearing voices, i shouted an inquiry as to the whereabouts of gabriel trench. back came the reply: "lummie, mate, i ain't the blinkin' harbourmaster!"--_t. gillespie (late mining company, r.e.), london._ a new kind of "missing" a battalion of the th london division was making its first journey to the front line at givenchy. as we were proceeding from béthune by the la bassée canal we passed another crowd of the same division who had just been relieved. we were naturally anxious to know what it was like "up there," and the following conversation took place in passing: "what's it like, mate?" "all right." "had any casualties?" "yes, mate, two wounded, and a bloke lost 'is 'at."--_f. g. nawton, (ex-major th batt. m.g.c., kenton park road, kenton, middlesex)._ and it started with a hen raid! while we were behind the line in march some chickens were stolen from the next village and traced to our billet by the feathers. as the culprits could not be found our o.c. punished the whole company by stopping our leave for six months. a few days later we "moved up" just as jerry broke through further south. the orderly sergeant one night read out orders, which finished up with sir douglas haig's famous dispatch ending with the words: "all leave is now stopped throughout the army till further orders." thereupon a tousled head emerged from a blanket on the floor with this remark: "blimey, they mean to find out who pinched those blinking chickens."--_j. slack, engadine street, southfields, s.w. ._ "i'm a water-lily" this incident took place on the neuve chapelle front early in . our platoon was known as the "divisional drainers," for it was our job to keep the trenches as free from water as possible. one day, while we were working in a very exposed drain about three feet deep, jerry was unusually active with his whizz-bangs, and we were repeatedly shelled off the job. during one of our periodical "dives" for cover, one of the boys (a native of canning town) happened to be "left at the post," and instead of gaining a dry shelter was forced to fling himself in the bottom of the drain, which had over two feet of weedy water in it. just as he reappeared, with weeds and things clinging to his head and shoulders, an officer came to see if we were all safe. on seeing our weed-covered chum he stopped and said, "what's the matter, johnson? got the wind up?" johnson, quick as lightning, replied, "no, sir; camouflage. i'm a water-lily."--_f. falcuss (late th batt. n.f.), , croydon grove, west croydon._ not knowin' the language a team of mules in november was taking a double limber up to the line in pitch darkness on the béthune-la bassée road. a heavy strafe was on, and the road was heavily shelled at intervals from beavry onwards. on the limber was a newly-joined padre huddled up, on his way to join advanced battalion headquarters. a shell burst yards ahead, and the mules reared; some lay down, kicked over the traces, and the wheel pair managed to get their legs over the centre pole of the limber. [illustration: "would you mind trekkin' off up the road?"] there was chaos for a few minutes. then the padre asked the wheel driver in a very small voice, "my man, can i do anything to assist you?" "assist us," was the reply. "yes, you can. would you mind, sir, trekkin' off up the road, so as we can use language these blighters understand?"--_l. c. hoffenden (late rd field co. r.e.), "waltonhurst," elmgate gardens, edgware._ churning in the skies after returning from a night's "egg-laying" on jerry's transport lines and dumps, my brother "intrepid airman" and i decided on tea and toast. to melt a tin of ration butter which was of the consistency of glue we placed it close to the still hot engine of the plane. unknown to us, owing to the slant of the machine, the tin slipped backwards and spilled a goodly proportion of its melted contents over the propeller at the back. (our planes were of the "pusher" type.) next day as we strolled into the hangar to look the bus over we found our cockney mechanic, hands on hips, staring at the butter-splattered propeller. "sufferin' smoke, sir," he said to me, with a twinkle, "wherever was you flyin' lars' night--_through the milky way_?"--_ralph plummer (late squadron r.a.f. night-bombers), granville house, arundel street, strand._ larnin' the mule [illustration: "now p'raps you'll know!"] on the somme i saw a cockney driver having trouble with an obstinate mule. at last he got down from his limber and, with a rather vicious tug at the near-side rein said, "that's your left," and, tugging the off rein, "that's your right--now p'raps you'll know!"--_e. b. (late gunner, r.g.a.), holloway road, n. ._ "dr. livingstone, i presoom" early in one of our q.m. sergeants was sent to cairo to collect a gang of native labourers for work in the brigade lines. whilst at breakfast one morning we saw him return from the train at ismailia, leading a long column of fellaheen (with their wives and children) all loaded with huge bundles, boxes, cooking pots, etc., on their heads. the q.m.s., who was wearing a big white "solar topi" of the mushroom type instead of his regulation military helmet, was greeted outside our hut by the r.s.m., and as they solemnly shook hands a cockney voice behind me murmured: "doctor livingstone, i presoom?" the picture was complete!--_yeo blake ( st county of london yeomanry), brighton._ the veteran scored one morning, while a famous general was travelling around the divisional headquarters, his eagle eye spotted an old war hero, a londoner, whose fighting days were over, and who now belonged to the labour corps, busy on road repairs. the fact was also noticed that although within the gas danger-zone the old veteran had broken standing orders by not working with his gas mask in position. accordingly the corps commander stopped his car and, getting out, started off in his own familiar way as follows: c. c.: good morning, my man; do you know who is speaking to you? o. v.: no, sir! c. c.: i am your corps commander, sir ----, etc. o. v.: yes, sir. c. c.: i'm pleased to have this opportunity of talking to one of my men. o. v.: yes, sir. c. c.: i see you are putting your back into your work. o. v.: yes, sir. c. c.: i also notice that you have evidently left your gas mask behind. o. v.: yes, sir. c. c.: now supposing, my man, a heavy gas cloud was now coming down this road towards you. what would you do? o. v. (after a few moments' pause): nothing, sir. c. c.: what! why not, my good man? o. v.: because the wind is the wrong way, sir. exit c. c.--_t. j. gough, oxford house, dorset square, n.w. ._ old moore was right one of my drivers, a cockney, called one of his horses old moore--"'cos 'e knows every blinkin' fing like _old moore's almanac_." one evening, as we were going into the line, we were halted by a staff officer and warned of gas. orders were given at once to wear gas helmets. (a nose-bag gas-mask had just been issued for horses.) after a while i made my way to the rear of the column to see how things were. i was puffing and gasping for breath, when a cheery voice called out, "stick it, sargint." wondering how any man could be so cheery in such circumstances, i lifted my gas helmet, and lo! there sat my cockney driver, with his horses' masks slung over his arm and his own on top of his head like a cap-comforter. "why aren't you wearing your gas helmet?" i asked. he leaned over the saddle and replied, in a confidential whisper, "old moore chucked his orf, so there ain't no blinkin' gas abaht--_'e_ knows." we finished the rest of that journey in comfort. old moore had prophesied correctly.--_s. harvey (late r.f.a.), belmont park road, leyton, e. _. he wouldn't insult the mule one day, while our field ambulance was on the dorian front, salonika, our new colonel and the regimental sergeant-major were visiting the transport lines. they came across a cockney assiduously grooming a pair of mules--rogues, both of them. [illustration: "... because i didn't want to hurt his feelings."] said the r.s.m.: "well, brown, what are the names of your mules?" brown: "well, that one is ananias, because his looks are all lies. this one is satan, but i nearly called him something else. it was a toss-up." with a smile at the c.o., the sergeant-major remarked: "i would like to know what the other name was. tell the colonel, what was it?" brown: "well, i was going to call him 'sergeant-major,' but i didn't want to hurt his feelings."--_"commo" (ex-sergeant, r.a.m.c.), london, n. _. "don't touch 'em, sonny!" we had just come back from passchendaele, that land of two options--you could walk on the duck boards and get blown off or you could step off them yourself and get drowned in the shell-holes. a draft from home had made us up to strength, and when fritz treated us to an air raid about eight miles behind the line i am afraid he was almost ignored. anyway, our cockney sergeant was voicing the opinion that it wasn't a bad war when up rushed one recruit holding the chin strap of his tin hat and panting, "aero--aero--aeroplanes." the sergeant looked at him for a second and said, "all right, sonny, don't touch 'em." a flush came to the youngster's face, and he walked away--a soldier.--_r. c. ida, d.c.m. (late nd royal berks), hoylake road, east acton, w. ._ "ze english--zey are all mad!" early in an anti-aircraft brigade landed at dunkirk. their guns were mounted in armoured cars, the drivers for which were largely recruited from london busmen. by arrangement with the french staff it was decided that the password to enable the drivers to pass the french lines should be the french word _aviation_. the men were paraded and made to repeat this word, parrot fashion, with orders to be careful to use it, as it was said that french sentries had a nasty habit of shooting first and making any inquiries afterwards. about a month later i asked my lorry driver how he got on with the word. "quite easy, sir," said he. "i leans aht over the dash and yells aht 'ave a ration,' and the frenchies all larfs and lets me by." a bit worried about this i interviewed the french staff officer and asked him if the men were giving the word satisfactorily. "oh," he said, "zose men of yours, zey are comique. your man, he says somezing about his dinner, and ze ozzers zey say 'ullo, charlie chaplin,' and 'wotcher, froggy'--all sorts of pass-words." i apologised profusely. "i will get fresh orders issued," i said, "to ensure that the men say the correct word." "no," replied the french officer, "it ees no use. we know your men now. ze english will never alter--_zey are all mad_."--_g. h. littleton (lieut.-col.), russell square mansions, southampton row, w.c. ._ mixed history the scene: qurnah, mesopotamia. cockney tommy--obviously an old sunday school boy--fed up with arabs, turks, boils, scorpions, flies, thirst, and dust: "well, if this is the garden of eden, no wonder the twelve apostles 'opped it!"--_g. t. c., hendon, n.w. ._ got his goat! we, a field company of the r.e.'s in france, were on the move to a new sector, and amongst our "properties" was a mobile "dairy"--a goat. "nanny" travelled on top of a trestle-wagon containing bridging gear, with a short rope attached to her collar to confine her activities. but a "pot-hole" in the narrow road supplied a lurch that dislodged her, with the result that she slid overboard, and the shortness of the rope prevented her from reaching the ground. [illustration: "nanny, you'll hang next time!"] the driver of the wagon behind saw her predicament, and, dismounting, ran to her assistance, shouting for the column to halt. then he took nanny in his arms to relieve the weight on her neck, whilst others clambered aboard and released the rope. nanny was then put on her legs while her rescuer stood immediately in front, watching her recover. this she speedily did, and, raising her head for a moment, apparently discerned the cause of her discomfiture peering at her. at any rate, lowering her head, she sprang and caught bermondsey bill amidships, sending him backwards into a slimy ditch at the side of the road. as he lay there amidst the undergrowth he yelled, "strike me pink, nanny! you'll hang next time."--_e. martin, chelverton road, putney, s.w. ._ a difficult top note somewhere in palestine the band of a famous london division had been called together for very much overdue practice. the overture "poet and peasant" called for a french horn solo ending on a difficult top note. after the soloist had made many attempts to get this note the bandmaster lost his temper and gave the player a piece of his mind. looking at the battered instrument, which had been in france, the balkans, and was now in the wilderness, and was patched with sticking-plaster and soap, the soloist, who hailed from mile end, replied: "here, if you can do it better you have a go. i don't mind trying it on an _instrument_, but i'm darned if i can play it on a cullender."--_d. beland, ridgdale street, london, e. ._ [illustration: "... but i'm darned if i can play it on a cullender."] home by underground a cold, wet night in france. my company was making its way up a communication trench on the right of the arras-cambrin road. it was in some places waist deep in mud. i was in front next to my officer when the word was passed down that one of the men had fallen into the mud and could not be found. the officer sent me back to find out what had happened. on reaching the spot i found that the man had fallen into the mouth of a very deep dug-out which had not been used for some time. peering into the blackness, i called out, "where are you?" back came the reply: "you get on wiv the blinkin' war. i've fahnd the channel tunnel and am going 'ome." i may say it took us six hours to get him out.--_h. f. b. (late th batt. middlesex regt.), london, n.w. ._ a job for samson during allenby's big push in palestine the men were on a forced night march, and were tired out and fed up. an officer was trying to buck some of them up by talking of the british successes in france and also of the places of interest they would see farther up in palestine. he was telling them that they were now crossing the plains of hebron where samson carried the gates of gaza, when a deep cockney voice rang out from the ranks, "what a pity that bloke ain't 'ere to carry this pack of mine!"--_c. w. blowers, little roke avenue, kenley, surrey._ jerry wins a bet in the salient, : alf, who owned a crown and anchor board of great antiquity, had it spread out on two petrol cans at the bottom of a shell-hole. around it four of us squatted and began to deposit thereon our dirty half and one franc notes, with occasional coins of lesser value. the constant whistle of passing fragments was punctuated by the voice of alf calling upon the company to "'ave a bit on the 'eart" or alternately "to 'ave a dig in the grave" when a spent bullet crashed on his tin hat and fell with a thud into the crown square. "'struth," gasped alf, "old squarehead wants to back the sergeant-major." he gave a final shake to the cup and exposed the dice--one heart and two crowns. "blimey," exclaimed alf, "would yer blinkin' well believe it? jerry's backed a winner. 'arf a mo," and picking up the spent bullet he threw it with all his might towards the german lines, exclaiming, "'ere's yer blinking bet back, jerry, and 'ere's yer winnings." he cautiously fired two rounds.--_g. s. raby (ex- nd k.r.r.c.), shoeburyness, essex._ lucky he was born british many ex-soldiers must remember the famous major campbell, who (supported by the late jimmy driscoll), toured behind the lines in france giving realistic demonstrations of bayonet fighting. i was a spectator on one occasion when the major was demonstrating "defence with the naked hands." "now," he shouted as jimmy driscoll (who acted the german) rushed upon him with rifle and bayonet pointed for a thrust, "i side-step" (grasping his rifle at butt and upper band simultaneously); "i twist it to the horizontal and fetch my knee up into the pit of his stomach, so! and then, as his head comes down, i release my right hand, point my fore and third fingers, so! and stab at his eyes." "lor'!" gasped a little cockney platoon chum squatting beside me, "did yer see that lot? wot a nice kind of bloke he is! wot a blinkin' stroke of luck he was born on our side!"--_s. j. wilson (late / th county london regt.), cressingham road, lewisham._ you never can tell scene: turk trench, somme, on a cold, soaking night in november, . a working party, complete with rifles, picks, and spades, which continually became entangled in the cats' cradle of miscellaneous r.e. wire, is making terribly slow progress over irregular trench-boards hidden under mud and water. brisk strafing ahead promising trouble. impatient officer (up on the parapet): "for heaven's sake, you lads, get a move on! you're not going to a funeral!" cockney voice (from bottom of trench): "'ow the dooce does _'e_ know!"--_w. ridsdale, manor road, beckenham, kent._ the window gazer in the early part of , when the box periscope was in great use in the trenches, we received a draft of young recruits. one lad, of a rather inquisitive nature, was always looking in the glass trying to find jerry's whereabouts. an old cockney, passing up and down, had seen this lad peeping in the glass. at last he stopped and addressed the lad as follows: "you've been a-looking in that bloomin' winder all the die, an' nah yer ain't bought nuffink."--_e. r. gibson (late middlesex regt.), maldon road, edmonton, n. ._ "i don't fink" after we landed in france our officer gave us a lecture and told us that our best pal in this world was our rifle. he warned us that on no account must we part with it. a couple of nights later gunner brown, a cockney, was on guard. when the visiting officer approached him and said, "your rifle is dirty, gunner," he replied, "i don't fink so sir, 'cos i cleaned it." "give it to me," said the officer sternly, which brown did. then the officer said, "you fool, if i were an enemy in english uniform i could shoot you." to which brown replied, "i don't fink you could, sir, 'cos i've got the blinkin' bolt in my pocket."--_e. w. houser (late st division, r.f.a.) hamlet road, southend._ why the attack _must_ fail november . the next day we were to move up in readiness for the great advance of the rd army. some of us were trying to sleep in a cellar when the silence was broken by a small voice: "i'm sure this attack will go wrong, you chaps! i feel it in my bones!" it can be imagined how this cheerful remark was received, but when the abuse had died down, the same voice was heard again: "yes, i knows it. some blighter will step orf wi' the wrong foot and we'll all 'ave to come back and start again!"--_"d" coy., m.g.c. ( th batt.), westcliff._ the "shovers" during the retreat of i was standing with my company on the side of the road by outersteene farm, outside bailleul, when three very small and youthful german tommies with helmets four sizes too large passed on their way down the line as prisoners for interrogation. as they reached us i heard one of my men say to another: "luv us, 'arry, look what's shovin' our army abaht!"--_l. h. b., beckenham._ [illustration: "luv us, 'arry; look what's shovin' our army abaht!"] rehearsal--without the villain a small party with a subaltern were withdrawn from the line to rehearse a raid on the german line. a replica of the german trenches had been made from aircraft photographs, and these, with our own trench and intervening wire, were faithfully reproduced, even to shell-holes. the rehearsal went off wonderfully. the wire was cut, the german trenches were entered, and dummy bombs thrown down the dug-outs. back we came to our own trenches. "everything was done excellently, men," said the subaltern, "but i should like to be sure that every difficulty has been allowed for. can any man think of any point which we have overlooked?" "yus," came the terse reply--"jerry."--_edward nolan ( th london regt.), dalmeny avenue, s.w. ._ poetry before the push during february and march the / th battalion london regiment (the kensingtons), who were at vimy ridge, had been standing-to in the mornings for much longer than the regulation hour because of the coming big german attack. one company commander--a very cheery officer--was tired of the general "wind up" and determined to pull the legs of the officers at battalion h.q. it was his duty to send in situation reports several times a day. to vary things he wrote a situation report in verse, sent it over the wire to b.h.q., where, of course, it was taken down in prose and read with complete consternation by the c.o. and adjutant! it showed the gay spirit which meant so much in the front line at a time when everyone's nerves were on edge. it was written less than two days before the german offensive of march . here are the verses: (_c company situation report / / _) there is nothing i can tell you that you really do not know-- except that we are on the ridge and fritz is down below. i'm tired of "situations" and of "wind" entirely "vane." the gas-guard yawns and tells me "it's blowing up for rain." he's a human little fellow. with a thoughtful point of view, and his report (uncensored) i pass, please, on to you. "when's old fritzie coming over? does the general really know? the colonel seems to think so, the captain tells us 'no.' "when's someone going to tell us we can 'stand-to' as before? an hour at dawn and one at dusk, lor' blimey, who wants more?" the word "vane" in the second verse refers, of course, to the weather-vane used in the trenches to indicate whether the wind was favourable or not for a gas attack.--_frederick heath (major), / th batt. london regt. (kensingtons)._ 'erb's consolation prize a narrow communication trench leading up to the front line; rain, mud, shells, and everything else to make life hideous. enter the ration party, each man carrying something bulky besides his rifle and kit. one of the party, a londoner known as 'erb, is struggling with a huge mail-bag, bumping and slipping and sliding, moaning and swearing, when a voice from under a sack of bread pipes: "never mind, 'erb; perhaps there's a postcard in it for you!"--_l. g. austin ( th london regiment), almeida street, upper street, islington, n. ._ [illustration: "never mind, 'erb, perhaps there's a postcard in it for you!"] rum for sore feet whilst doing duty as acting q.m.s. i was awakened one night by a loud banging on the door of the shack which was used as the stores. without getting up i asked the reason for the noise, and was told that a pair of boots i had issued that day were odd--one was smaller than the other. the wearer was on stable piquet, and could hardly walk. i told him he would have to put up with it till the morning--i wasn't up all night changing boots, and no doubt i should have a few words to say when i did see him! "orl right, quarter," came the reply, "i'm sorry i woke yer--but could yer give us a tot of rum to stop the pain?"--_p. k. (late rd batt. st div. r.f.a.), kilburn, n.w. ._ two guineas' worth in france during november i received an abrupt reminder that soldiering with the honourable artillery company entails an annual subscription. the battalion had marched out during the night to a small village named croix barbée to carry out some operation, and returned at daybreak to its "lodging" near la couture, another village some four or five miles away. being a signaller, i had the doubtful privilege of owning a bicycle, which had to be pushed or carried every inch of the way. on the march back the mud was so bad that it was impossible for me to keep up with the battalion, owing to the necessity every quarter of a mile or so of cleaning out the mudguards. i was plodding along all by myself in the early hours of daylight, very tired of the bike and everything else, and i approached an old soldier of the middlesex regiment sitting by the roadside recovering slowly from the strain of the fatiguing night march. he looked at me and, with a twinkle in his eye, said, "well, mate, 'ad yer two guineas wurf yet?"--_j. h. may, ravenswood, ashford, middlesex._ the four-footed spy whilst we were at arras a horse was found entangled in some barbed wire, having presumably strayed from the german lines. he was captured by a rifleman and brought back to the horse lines to be used by the transport driver. a cockney groom was detailed to look after him. the two never seemed to agree, for the groom was always being bitten or kicked by "jerry." one morning the picket discovered that "jerry" was missing, and concluded that he must have broken away during the night. the matter was reported to the sergeant, who went and routed out the groom. "what about it? ain't you goin' to look for 'im?" said the sergeant. "not me, sarge! i always said the blighter was a blinkin' spy!" replied the groom.--_j. musgrave (late th infantry brigade), cedar grove, south ealing, w. ._ not every dog has his night our battalion arrived in a french village late on the night of september , , after marching all day in pouring rain. to add to our troubles no billets were available (the place was teeming with reserve troops for the attack at loos). we were told to find some sort of shelter from the rain and get a good night's rest, as we were to move up to the attack on the morrow. my chum, a londoner, and i scouted round. i found room for one in an already overcrowded stable; my chum continued the search. he returned in a few minutes to tell me he had found a spot. i wished him good night and went to sleep. in the morning, when i came out of the stable, i saw the long legs of a guardsman (who proved to be my chum) protruding from a dog kennel. beside them sat a very fed-up dog!--_f. martin (late st batt. scots guards), mostyn road, brixton, s.w._ [illustration: "...a very fed-up dog."] the brigadier's glass eye a brigadier of the th infantry brigade ( th division), who had a glass-eye, and his cockney runner, were on their way up the line when they observed a dead german officer who had a very prominent gold tooth. the next day, passing by the same spot, the brigadier noticed that the gold tooth was missing. "i see that his gold tooth has gone, johnson," he said. "yessir." "i suppose someone will take my glass eye, if i am knocked out." "yessir. i've put meself dahn fer that, fer a souvenir!"--_w. t. pearce, "southernhay," bethune avenue, friern barnet, n. ._ the chaplain-general's story in june i shared a g.h.q. car with the chaplain-general to the forces, bishop gwynne, who was on his way from st. omer to amiens, whilst i was on my way to the third army school at auxi-le-château. during the journey our conversation turned to chaplains, and the bishop asked me whether i thought the chaplains then coming to france were of the right type, especially from the point of view of the regimental officers and men. my reply was that the chaplains as a whole differed very little from any other body of men in france: they were either men of the world and very human, and so got on splendidly with the troops, or else they were neither the one nor the other, cut very little ice, and found their task a very difficult one. the bishop then told me the following story, which he described as perfectly true: "a chaplain attached to a london regiment made a practice of always living in the front line whenever the battalion went in to the trenches rather than remaining with battalion headquarters some way back, and he had his own dug-out over which appeared the words 'the vicarage.' "one day a young cockney in the line for the first time was walking along the trench with an older soldier, and turning a corner suddenly came on 'the vicarage.' "'gorblimey, bill!' he said, 'who'd 'ave fought of seein' the b---- vicarage in the front line?'" "immediately the cheery face of the padre popped out from behind the blanket covering the entrance and a voice in reply said: 'yes! and who'd have thought of seeing the b---- vicar too?'" "that's the kind of chaplain," said the bishop, "i'm trying to get them to send out to france."--_(brig.-gen.) r. j. kentish, c.m.g., d.s.o., shalford park, guildford._ a thirst worth saving during the summer of our battalion--the / th buffs--formed part of general thompson's flying column operating between the tigris and the shatt al-'adhaim. one morning we discovered that the native camel drivers had deserted to the enemy's lines, taking with them the camels that were carrying our water. no man had more than a small cup of water in his bottle yet we waited orders until dawn the next day, when a 'plane dropped a message for us to return to the tigris. i shall not dwell on that -mile march back to the river over the burning sand--i cannot remember the last few miles of it myself. none of us could speak. our lips and tongues were bursting. when we reached the tigris we drank and drank again--then lay exhausted. the first man i heard speak was "busty" johnson, who, with great effort hoarsely muttered: "lumme, if i can only keep this blinkin' first till i goes on furlough!"--_j. w. harvey (late / th buffs, m.e.f.), queen's avenue, greenford park, middlesex._ points of view on a wet and cold winter's night in the hills south of nablus (palestine) a sentry heard sounds as of slipping feet and strange guttural noises from the direction of the front line. he waited with his rifle at the port and then challenged: "halt! who goes there?" a thin, dismal voice came from the darkness. "a pore miserable blighter with five ruddy camels." "pass, miserable blighter, all's well," replied the sentry. into the sentry's view came a rain-soaked disconsolate-looking tommy "towing" five huge ration camels. "all's well, is it? coo! not 'arf!" said he.--_w. e. bickmore (late "c" brigade, r.f.a., th div.), gouville road, thornton heath, surrey._ not the british museum the labyrinth sector. three of us--signallers--having just come off duty in the front line, were preparing to put in a few hours' sleep, when a voice came floating down the dug-out steps: "is corporal stone down there?" chorus: "no!" ten minutes later came the same voice: "is sergeant fossell down there?" "go away," replied our cockney; "this ain't the blinkin' british museum!"--_g. j. morrison (late th london regt.), "alness," colborne way, worcester park, surrey._ jerry would not smile i met him coming from the front line, one of "london's own." he was taking back the most miserable and sullen-looking prisoner i have ever seen. "got a light, jock?" he asked me. i obliged. "'ave a ruby queen, matey?" i accepted. "cheerful-looking customer you've got there, fusie," i ventured, pointing to his prisoner. [illustration: "... and if that don't make a bloke laugh, well, it's 'opeless."] he looked up in disgust. "cheerful? lummie, he gives me the creeps. i've orfered 'im a fag, and played 'katie' and 'when this luvly war is over' on me old mouf orgin for him, but not a bloomin' smile. an' i've shown him me souvenirs and a photograph of me old woman, and, blimey, if that don't make a bloke laugh, well, it's 'opeless!" and then, with a cheery "mercy bokoo, matey," and a "come on, 'appy," to his charge, he pushed on.--_charles sumner (late london scottish), butler's cottage, sutton lane, heston, middlesex._ "birdie" had to smile while i was serving with the australians at gallipoli in i was detailed to take charge of a fatigue party to carry water from the beach to the front line, a distance of about a mile. our way lay over rather dangerous and extremely hilly country. the weather was very hot. each man in the party had to carry four petrol tins of water. while trudging along a narrow communication trench we were confronted by general birdwood and his a.d.c. as was the general's cheery way, he stopped, and to the man in front (one "stumpy" stewart, a cockney who had been in australia for some time) he remarked, "well, my man, how do you like this place?" "stumpy" shot a quick glance at the general and then blurted out, "well, sir, 't'aint the sort of plice you'd bring your jane to, is it?" i can see "birdie's" smile now.--_c. barrett (lieut., aust. flying corps, then th aust. light horse), charing cross, w.c._ their very own secret we were on a forced march to a sector on vimy ridge. it was a wicked night--rain and thick fog--and during a halt several of our men got lost. i was ordered to round them up, but i also got hopelessly lost. i had been wandering about for some time when i came across one of our men--a young fellow from the borough. we had both lost direction and could do nothing but wait. at last dawn broke and the fog lifted. we had not the slightest idea where we were, so i told my friend to reconnoitre a hill on the right and report to me if he saw anyone moving, while i did the same on the left. after a while i heard a cautious shout, and my companion came running towards me, breathless with excitement, and in great delight gasped, "sergeant, sergeant! germans! germans! fousands of 'em--and there's nobody but you and me knows anyfing abaht it!"--_g. lidsell (late devon regt.), brixton, s.w. ._ window cleaners coming! we were passing through ypres, in , in a wolseley signals tender when we came upon a battalion of the middlesex on their way out to rest, very tired and very dirty. our cable cart ladders, strapped to the sides of the lorry, caught the eyes of one wag. "blimey, boys," he cried, "we're orl right nah; 'ere comes the blinkin' winder-cleaners."--_"sigs.," haslemere, surrey._ first blow it was outside albert, during the somme attack, that i met a lone army service corps wagon, laden with supplies. one of the horses was jibbing, and the driver, a diminutive cockney, was at its head, urging it forward. as i approached i saw him deliberately kick the horse in the flank. i went up to the man and, taking out notebook and pencil, asked him for his name, number, and unit, at the same time remonstrating with him severely. "i wasn't doin' 'im no 'arm," pleaded the man; "i've only got my gum-boots on, and, besides, 'e kicked me first." [illustration: "an' besides, he kicked me first."] i tore up my entry, mounted my motor-cycle, and left an injured-looking driver rubbing a sore shin.--_r. d. blackman (capt., r.a.f.), abbey road, st. john's wood, n.w. ._ m.m. (mounted marine) after riding for several hours one wet, windy, and miserable night, with everyone soaked to the skin and fed up generally, we were halted in a field which, owing to the heavy rain, was more like a lake. on receiving the order to dismount and loosen girths, one of our number remained mounted and was busy flashing a small torch on the water when the sergeant, not too gently, inquired, "why the dickens are you still mounted, and what the deuce are you looking for anyway?" to which a cockney voice replied, "blimey, sergeant, where's the landing stage?"--_"jimmy" (late essex yeomanry)._ his german 'arp having been relieved, after our advance at loos in , we were making our way back at night. we had to pass through the german barbed wire, which had tins tied to it so that it rattled if anyone tried to pass it. our sergeant got entangled in it and caused a lot of noise, whereupon a cockney said: "you're orl right on the old banjo, sergeant, but when it comes to the german 'arp you're a blinkin' washaht."--_w. barnes, m.m. (late st bn. k.r.r.c.), streatfeild avenue, east ham._ [illustration: "when it comes to the german 'arp you're a washaht."] jack went a-riding early in we were on outpost duty at a place called ayun musa, about four miles east of suez. one day a british monitor arrived in the gulf of suez, and we were invited to spend an hour on board as the sailors' guests. the next day the sailors came ashore and were our guests. [illustration: "don't ask me--ask the blinkin' 'oss."] after seeing the canteen most of them were anxious for a ride on a horse. so we saddled a few horses and helped our guests to mount. every horse chose a different direction in the desert. one of the sailors was a cockney. he picked a fairly fresh mount, which soon "got away" with him. he lost his reins and hung round the animal's neck for dear life as it went at full gallop right through the camp commandant's quarters. hearing the commotion, the commandant put his head out of his bivouac and shouted, "what the dickens do you mean galloping through here?" back came the retort, "don't ask me--ask the blinkin' 'oss."--_h. f. montgomery (late h.a.c.), cavenham gardens, ilford._ bitter memories during an attack near beer-sheba, palestine, our regiment had been without water for over twenty-four hours. we were suffering very badly, as the heat was intense. most of us had swollen tongues and lips and were hardly able to speak, but the company humorist, a cockney, was able to mutter, "don't it make you mad to fink of the times you left the barf tap running?"--_h. owen (late queen's royal west surrey regt.), edgwarebury gardens, edgware, middlesex._ tommy "surrounded" them it was in july . the somme battle had just begun. the troops in front of us had gone over the top and were pushing forward. we were in support and had just taken over the old front line. just on our right was a road leading up and through the german lines. looking up this road we saw a small squad strolling towards us. it was composed of four germans under the care of a london tommy who was strolling along, with his rifle under his arm, like a gamekeeper. it made quite a nice picture. when they reached us one of our young officers shouted out: "are you looking for the hounds?" then the cockney started: "blimey, i don't know abaht looking for 'ounds. i got four of 'em 'ere--and now i got 'em i don't know where to dump 'em." the officer said: "where did you find them?" "i surrounded 'em, sir," was the reply. our officer said: "you had better leave them here for the time being." "right-o, sir," replied the cockney. "you hang on to 'em until i come back. i'm going up the road to get some more. there's fahsends of 'em up there."--_r. g. williams, dean cottages, hanworth road, hampton, middlesex._ shell-holes and southend my pal (a battersea boy) and i were two of a draft in transferred from the k.r.r.s to the r.i.r.s. on the first night in the trenches we were detailed for listening post. my pal said: "that's good. i'll be able to tell father what no man's land is like, as he asked me." after we had spent what was to me a nerve-wracking experience in the mud of a shell-hole, i asked him what he was going to tell his father. he said: "it's like southend at low tide on the fifth of november."--_f. tuohey (late th batt. r.i.r.), winchester road, edmonton._ "make me a good 'orse" having come out of action, we lay behind the line waiting for reinforcements of men and horses. the horses arrived, and i went out to see what they were like. i was surprised to see a cockney, who was a good groom, having trouble in grooming one of the new horses. every time he put the brush between its forelegs the animal went down on its knees. [illustration: "gawd bless farver an' make me a good 'orse."] at last in desperation the cockney stepped back, and gazing at the horse still on its knees, said: "go on, yer long-faced blighter. 'gawd bless muvver. gawd bless farver, an' make me a good 'orse.'"--_charles gibbons (late rd cavalry brigade), grove street, deptford, s.e. ._ the lost gumboot an n.c.o. in the engineers, i was guiding a party of about seventy royal fusiliers (city of london regt.) through a trench system between cambrin, near loos, and the front line. about half-way the trenches were in many places knee-deep in mud. it was about a.m. and shelling made things far from pleasant. then word came up that we had lost touch with the tail-end of the party, and a halt was called, most of us standing in mud two feet deep. the officer in charge sent a message back asking why the tail-end had failed to keep up. the reply came back in due course: "man lost his gumboot in the mud." the officer, becoming annoyed at the delay, sent back the message: "who's the fool who lost his gumboot?" i heard the message receding into the distance with the words "fool" "gumboot" preceded by increasingly lurid adjectives. in about three or four minutes i heard the answer being passed up, getting louder and louder: "charlie chaplin," "charlie chaplin," "charlie chaplin." even our sorely-tried officer had to laugh.--_p. higson, lancashire._ "compree 'sloshy'?" during one of the passchendaele advances in my battery was situated astride a board roadway leading over the ridge. after this particular show was over i happened to be in the telephone dug-out when prisoners started coming back. one weary little lance-jack in a london regiment arrived in charge of an enormous, spectacled, solemn-looking fritz. as he reached the battery position he paused to rest and look at the guns. leaning against the side of the dug-out he produced a cigarette end and, lighting it, proceeded to make conversation with his charge which, being out of sight, i was privileged to overhear. "ain't 'arf blinkin' sloshy 'ere, ain't it, fritz? compree sloshy?" no reply. he tried again. "got a cushy job these 'ere artillery blokes, ain't they? compree cushy?" still no answer. he made a third attempt. "s'pose you're abart fed up with this blinkin' guerre. compree guerre?" again the stony, uncomprehending silence; and then: "garn, yer don't know nuffink, yer don't, yer ignorant blighter. say another blinkin' word and i'll knock yer blinkin' block orf."--_a. e. joyce (late r.f.a.), swallowcroft, broxbourne road, orpington, kent._ looking-glass luck during the second battle of ypres, in may , i was attached to the st cavalry brigade, and after a terrific strafing from fritz there was a brief lull, which gave us a chance for a "wash and brush up." while we were indulging in the luxury of a shave, a cockney trooper dropped his bit of looking-glass. seeing that it was broken i casually remarked, "bad luck for seven years." and the reply i got was, "if i live seven years to 'ave bad luck it'll be blinking good luck."--_j. tucker, langton road, brixton, s.w._ mine that was his just before our big push in august we were resting in "tank wood." the place was dotted with shell holes, one of which was filled with rather clean water, evidently from a nearby spring. a board at the edge of this hole bore the word "mine," so we gave it a wide berth. imagine our surprise when later we saw "tich," a lad from the old kent road, bathing in the water. one of our men yelled, "hi, tich, carn't yer read?" "yus," replied "tich," "don't yer fink a bloke can read 'is own writing?"--_walter f. brooks (late r.w. kent regt.), cavendish road, highams park, e. ._ "geography" hour just before going over the top a private, wishing to appear as cheerful as possible, turned to his platoon sergeant and said: "i suppose we will be making history in a few minutes, sergeant?" "no," replied the sergeant: "our first objective is about yards straight to the front. what you have to do is to get from here to there as quickly as your legs will carry you. we are making geography this morning, my lad!"--_"arras," london, s.w. ._ to the general, about the colonel the colonel of the regiment, gifted with the resonant voice of a dare-devil leader, was highly esteemed for his rigid sense of duty, especially in the presence of the enemy. the germans had been troubling us a lot with gas, and this kept everyone on the _qui vive_. accompanied by the colonel, the divisional commander was making his usual inspection of the front line intent on the alertness of sentries. in one fire-bay the colonel stopped to give instructions regarding a ventilating machine which had been used to keep the trench clear of gas after each attack. meanwhile the general moved on towards the other end of the fire-bay, where the sentry, fresh out from the reserve battalion recruited in bermondsey, stood with his eyes glued to the periscope. a natural impulse of the general as he noticed the weather-vane on the parapet was to test the sentry's intelligence on "gas attack by the enemy," so as he approached the soldier he addressed him in a genial and confiding manner: "well, my lad, and how's the wind blowing this morning?" welcoming a little respite, as he thought, from periscope strain, by way of a short "chin-wag" with one or other of his pals, the unsuspecting sentry rubbed his hands gleefully together as he turned round with the reply: "'taint 'arf so dusty arter all." then, suddenly through the corner of his eye he caught sight of his colonel at the other end of the fire-bay. his face instantly changed its cheerful aspect as he breathlessly whispered to his inquirer, "lumme, the ole man! 'ere, mate, buzz orf quick--a-a-an' don't let 'im cop yer a-talkin' to the sentry on dooty, or jerry's barrage will be a washaht when the big noise starts _'is_ fireworks!"--_william st. john spencer (late east surrey regiment), "roydsmoor," arneson road, east molesey, surrey._ bow bells-- style we were going up the line at bullecourt in april . i have rather bad eyesight and my glasses had been smashed. being the last of the file i lost touch with the others and had no idea where i was. however, i stumbled on, and eventually reached the front line. [illustration: "take those bells orf."] upon the ground were some empty petrol cans tied up ready to be taken down to be filled with water. i tripped up amongst these and created an awful din, whereupon an angry voice came from out the gloom.--"i don't know 'oo or wot the dickens you are, but for 'eaven's sake take those bells orf!"--_w. g. root (late th london regt.), harrington square, n.w. ._ "the awfentic gramerphone!" this happened on that wicked march , . during a lull in the scrapping, a lone german wandered too near, and we collared him. he was handed over to alf, our cockney cookie. things got blacker for us. we could see germans strung out in front of us and on both flanks--germans and machine guns everywhere. "well, boys," said our major, "looks as if it's all up with us, doesn't it?" "there's this abaht it, sir," said alf, pointing to his prisoner; "when it comes to chuckin' our 'ands in, we've got the awfentic gramerphone to yell 'kamerad!'--ain't we?"--_c. vanon, frederick street, w.c. ._ the muffin man two companies of a london regiment were relieving each other on a quiet part of the line, late in the evening of a dismal sort of day. the members of the ingoing company were carrying sheets of corrugated iron on their heads for the purpose of strengthening their position. a member of the outgoing company, observing a pal of his with one of these sheets on his head, bawled out: "'ullo, 'arry, what'cher doing of?" to which came the laconic reply: "selling muffins, but i've lost me blinkin' bell."--_h. o. harries, seymour road, harringay, n. ._ the holiday resort early in october a half company of the rd middlesex regiment occupied a front-line sector at givenchy, known as the "duck's bill," which ran into the german line. in spite of our proximity to the enemy our chief annoyance was occasional sniping, machine gunning, rifle grenades, and liquid fire, for the area had been given over mainly to mining and counter-mining. it was expected that the "duck's bill" would "go up" at any moment, so it was decided to leave only one officer in charge, with instructions to keep every available man engaged either in furiously tunnelling towards the enemy to counter their efforts, or in repairing our breast-works, which had been seriously damaged in a german attack. my men worked like trojans on a most tiring, muddy, and gruesome task. at last we were relieved by the leicestershire regiment, and one of my men, on being asked by his leicester relief what the place was like, replied: "well, 'ow d'yer spend yer 'olidies, in the country or at the seaside? 'cos yer gits both 'ere as yer pleases: rabbit 'unting (pointing to the tunnelling process) and sand castle building (indicating the breastwork repairs), wiv fireworks in the evening." the leicesters, alas! "went up" that evening.--_s. h. flood (late middlesex regiment and m.g.c.), "prestonville," maidstone road, chatham, kent._ the "tich" touch we had survived the landing operations at murmansk, in north russia, and each company had received a number of sets of skis, which are very awkward things to manage until you get used to them. on one occasion when we were practising, a "son of london," after repeated tumbles, remarked to his pals, who were also getting some "ups and downs": "fancy seein' me dahn poplar way wiv these fings on; my little old bunch of trouble would say, 'what's 'e trying ter do nah? cut aht little tich in the long-boot dance?'"--_c. h. mitchell (late staff-sergt. a.s.c.), kingsholm gardens, eltham, s.e. ._ [illustration: "trying to cut aht little tich in the long-boot dance."] smart men all one of the usual orders had come through to my battalion of the middlesex regiment for a number of men to be detailed for extra regimental duties which would be likely to take them away from the battalion for a considerable time. the company i commanded had to provide twenty men. it was a golden opportunity to make a selection of those men whose physical infirmities were more evident than the stoutness of their hearts. together with my company sergeant-major i compiled a list of those who could best be spared from the trenches, and the following day they were paraded for inspection before moving off. as i approached, one of the men who had been summing up his comrades and evidently realised the reason for their selection, remarked in a very audible cockney whisper, "what i says is, if you was to search the 'ole of norvern france you wouldn't find a smarter body o' men!"--_"nobby" (late captain, middlesex regiment), potters bar, middlesex._ "you'd pay a tanner at the zoo!" during the floods in palestine in i had to be sent down the line with an attack of malaria. owing to the roads being deep in water, i was strapped in an iron chair pannier on the back of a camel. my sick companion, who balanced me on the other side of the camel, was a member of the london regiment affectionately known as the hackney gurkhas. the johnnie patiently trudged through the water leading the camel, and kept up the cry of "ish! ish!" as it almost slipped down at every step. i was feeling pretty bad with the swaying, and said to my companion, "isn't this the limit?" "shurrup, mate!" he replied. "yer don't know when yer well orf. you'd 'ave to pay a tanner for this at the zoo!"--_frederick t. fitch (late / th batt. norfolk regt.), the gordon boys' home, west end, woking, surrey._ smoking without cigarettes most ex-soldiers will remember the dreary monotony of "going through the motions" of every movement in rifle exercises. we had just evacuated our position on the night of december - , , at cambrai, after the german counter-attack, and, after withstanding several days' severe battering both by the enemy and the elements, were staggering along, tired and frozen and hungry, and generally fed up. when we were deemed to be sufficiently far from the danger zone the order was given to allow the men to smoke. as practically everyone in the battalion had been without cigarettes or tobacco for some days the permission seemed to be wasted. but i passed the word down, "'c' company, the men may smoke," to be immediately taken up by a north londoner: "yus, and if you ain't got no fags you can go through the motions."--_h. h. morris, m.c. (late lieut., th middlesex regt.), herbert street, malden road, n.w. ._ an expensive light winter , at wieltje, on the st. jean road. we were on listening post in a shell-hole in no man's land, and the night was black. without any warning, my cockney pal nobby threw a bomb towards the german trench, and immediately fritz sent up dozens of verey lights. i turned anxiously to nobby and asked, "what is it? did you spot anything?" and was astonished when he replied, "i wanted ter know the time, and i couldn't see me blinkin' watch in the dark."--_e. w. fellows, m.m. (late th battn. d.c.l.i.), dunlace road, clapton, e. ._ modern conveniences a tommy plugging it along the arras-doullens road in the pouring rain. "ole bill," the omnibus, laden with cockneys going towards the line, overtakes him. tommy: "sitting room inside, mate?" cockney on bus: "no, but there's a barf-room upstairs!"--_george t. coles (ex-lieut., r.a.f.), glebe crescent, hendon, n.w. ._ [illustration: "there's a barf-room upstairs!"] the trench fleet a certain section of the line, just in front of levantie, being a comparatively peaceful and quiet spot, was held by a series of posts at intervals of anything up to three hundred yards, which made the task of bringing up rations an unhappy one, especially as the trenches in this sector always contained about four feet of water. one november night a miserable ration party was wading through the thin slimy mud. the sentry at the top of the communication trench, hearing the grousing, splashing, and clanking of tins, and knowing full well who was approaching, issued the usual challenge, as per army orders: "'alt! 'oo goes there?" out of the darkness came the reply, in a weary voice: "admiral jellicoe an' 'is blinkin' fleet."--_w. l. de groot (late lieut., th west yorks regt.), wentworth road, golders green, n.w. ._ the necessary stimulant on the st. quentin front in we were relieved by the french artillery. we watched with rather critical eyes their guns going in, and, best of all, their observation balloon going up. the ascent of this balloon was, to say the least, spasmodic. first it went up about a hundred feet, then came down, then a little higher and down again. this was repeated several times, until at last the car was brought to the ground and the observer got out. he was handed a packet, then hastily returned, and up the balloon went for good. then i heard a cockney voice beside me in explanatory tones: "there! i noo wot it was all the time. 'e'd forgotten his vin blong!"--_ernest e. homewood (late st london heavy battery), park avenue, willesden green, n.w. ._ a traffic problem a dark cloudy night in front of lens, two patrols of the th london regt., one led by lieut. r----, the other by corporal b----, were crawling along the barbed wire entanglements in no man's land, towards each other. two tin hats met with a clang, which at once drew the attention of fritz. lieut. r---- sat back in the mud, while snipers' and machine-gun bullets whistled past, and in a cool voice said, "why don't you ring your perishing bell?"--_l. c. pryke (late th london regt.), "broughdale," rochford avenue, rochford, essex._ scots, read this! on the afternoon of christmas day, , three pipers, of whom i was one, went into the trenches at loos, and after playing at our battalion h.q., proceeded to the front line, where we played some selections for the benefit of the germans, whose trenches were very close at this point. probably thinking that an attack was imminent, they sent up innumerable verey lights, but, deciding later that we had no such intention, they responded by singing and playing on mouth-organs. having finished our performance, my friends and i proceeded on our way back, and presently, passing some men of another regiment, were asked by one of them: "was that you playin' them bloomin' toobs?" we admitted it. "'ear that, joe?" he remarked to his pal. "these blokes 'ave bin givin' the 'uns a toon." "serve 'em right," said joe, "they started the blinkin' war."--_robert donald marshall (late piper, st bn. london scottish), cranley drive, ilford._ met his match a london tommy was standing near the leave boat at calais, which had just brought him back to france on his way to the firing line. it was raining, and he was trying to get a damp cigarette to draw. just then a french soldier approached him with an unlighted cigarette in his hand, and, pointing to tommy's cigarette, held out his hand and exclaimed "allumette?" [illustration: poilu: "allumette?" tommy: "'allo, mate." (shakes.)] the tommy sadly shook hands and replied "allo, mate."--_a. j. fairer, mirigama, red down road, coulsdon, surrey._ why jerry was "clinked" on august , , as our battery began the long trail which landed us in cologne before christmas we met a military policeman who had in his charge three very dejected-looking german prisoners. "brummy," our battery humorist, shouted to the red-cap: "'ullo, bobby, what are yer clinkin' those poor old blokes for?" "creatin' a disturbance on the western front," replied the red-cap.--_wm. g. sheppard (late sergeant, th siege bty., r.a.), benares road, plumstead, s.e. ._ stick-in-the-mud we were in reserve at roclincourt in february , and about twenty men were detailed to carry rations to the front line. the trenches were knee-deep in mud. after traversing about two hundred yards of communication trench we struck a particularly thick, clayey patch, and every few yards the order "halt in front!" was passed from the rear. the corporal leading the men got very annoyed at the all-too-frequent halts. he passed the word back, "what's the matter?" the reply was, "shorty's in the mud, and we can't get 'im out." waiting a few minutes, the corporal again passed a message back: "haven't you got him out yet? how long are you going to be?" reply came from the rear in a cockney voice: "'eaven knows! there's only 'is ears showin'."--_g. kay, devonshire avenue, southsea, hants._ "if _that_ can stick it, _i_ can!" owing to the forced marching during the retreat from mons, men would fall out by the roadside and, after a rest, carry on again. one old soldier, "buster" smith, was lying down puffing and gasping when up rode an officer mounted upon an old horse that he had found straying. going up to "buster" the officer asked him if he thought he could "stick it." "buster" looked up at the officer and then, eyeing the horse, said: "if _that_ can stick it, _i_ can," and, getting up, he resumed marching.--_e. barwick, st. peter's street, hackney road, e. ._ wheeling a mule in november ' we were relieved in the early hours of the morning. it had been raining, raining most of the time we were in the trenches, and so we were more or less wet through and covered in mud when we came out for a few days' rest. about two or three kilometres from béthune we were all weary and fed-up with marching. scarcely a word was spoken until we came across an engineer leading a mule with a roll of telephone wire coiled round a wheel on its back. the mule looked as fed-up as we were, and a cockney in our platoon shouted out, "blimey, mate, if you're goin' much furver wiv the old 'oss yer'll 'ave to turn it on its back and wheel it."--_w. s. (late coldstream guards), chelsea, s.w. ._ three brace of braces while i was serving with the th siege battery at carnoy, on the somme, in , a young cockney of the th division was discovered walking in front of three german prisoners. over his shoulders he had three pairs of braces. [illustration: "... while i got their 'harness' they can't get up to any mischief."] a wag asked him if he wanted to sell them, and his reply was: "no, these fritzies gets 'em back when they gets to the cage. but while i got their 'harness' they can't get up to any mischief."--_e. brinkman, hornsey street, holloway road, n. ._ "bow bells" warning at the beginning of march , near flesquières, we captured a number of prisoners, some of whom were put in the charge of "nipper," a native of limehouse. i heard him address them as follows: "nah, then, if yer wants a fag yer can have one, but, blimey, if yer starts any capers, i'll knock 'bow bells' aht of yer stepney church."--_j. barlow ( th london regt.), roding lane, buckhurst hill, essex._ "'ave a sniff" my father tells of a raw individual from london town who had aroused great wrath by having within a space of an hour given two false alarms for gas. after the second error everyone was just drowsing off again when a figure cautiously put his head inside the dug-out, and hoarsely said: "'ere, sergeant, yer might come and 'ave a sniff."--_r. purser, st. oama, vista road, wickford, essex._ the dirt track while my regiment was in support at ecurie, near arras, i was detailed to take an urgent message to b.h.q. i mounted a motor-cycle and started on my way, but i hadn't gone far when a shell burst right in my path and made a huge crater, into which i slipped. after going round the inside rim twice at about twenty-five miles an hour, i landed in the mud at the bottom. pulling myself clear of the cycle, i saw two fellows looking down and laughing at me. "funny, isn't it?" i said. "yus, matey, thought it was sanger's circus. where's the girl in the tights wot rides the 'orses?" words failed me.--_london yeomanry, brixton, s.w._ babylon and bully after a dismal trek across the mud of mespot, my batman and i arrived at the ruins of babylon. as i sat by the river under the trees, and gazed upon the stupendous ruins of the one-time mightiest city in the world, i thought of the words of the old psalm--"by the waters of babylon we sat down and wept----" and this was the actual spot! moved by my thoughts, i turned to my batman and said, "by jove, just think. this is really _babylon_!" "yes, sir," he replied, "but i'm a-wonderin' 'ow i'm goin' to do your bully beef up to-night to make a change like."--_w. l. lamb (late r.e., m.e.f.), "sunnings," sidley, bexhill-on-sea._ twice nightly an attack was expected, and some men were kept in reserve in an underground excavation more closely resembling a tunnel than a trench. after about twenty hours' waiting in knee-deep mud and freezing cold, they were relieved by another group. as they were filing out one of the relief party said to one of those coming out, "who are you?" "'oo are we?" came the reply. "cahn't yer see we're the fust 'ouse comin' aht o' the pit?"--_k. haddon, rotherhithe new road, north camberwell, s.e. ._ in shining armour a horrible wet night on the locre-dranoutre road in . a narrow strip of pavé road and, on either side, mud of a real flanders consistency. i was on my lawful occasions in a car, which was following a long supply column of five-ton lorries. [illustration: "'ere, ally off the perishin' pavé, you knight in shinin' armour."] i need scarcely say that the car did not try to forsake the comparative security of the pavé, but when a check of about a quarter of an hour occurred, i got down from the car and stumbled through the pouring rain, well above the boot-tops in mud, to the head of the column. impasse barely describes the condition of things, for immediately facing the leading lorry was a squadron of french cuirassiers, complete with "tin bellies" and helmets with horse-hair trimmings. this squadron was in command of a very haughty french captain, who seemed, in the light of the lorry's head-lamps, to have a bigger cuirass and helmet than his men. he was faced by a diminutive sergeant of the a.s.c., wet through, fed up, but complete with cigarette. neither understood the other's language, but it was quite obvious that neither would leave the pavé for the mud. did the sergeant wring his hands or say to the officer, "mon capitaine, je vous en prie, etc."? he did not. he merely stood there, and, removing his cigarette from his mouth, uttered these immortal words: "'ere, ally off the perishing pavé, you son of a knight in shinin' armour!" and, believe me or believe me not, that is what the haughty one and his men did.--_"the ancient mariner," sutton, surrey._ "a blinkin' paper-chase?" one pitch black rainy night i was bringing up the rear of a party engaged in carrying up the line a number of trench mortar bombs known as "toffee-apples." we had become badly tailed-off during our progress through a maze of communication trenches knee-deep in mud, and as i staggered at last into the support trench with my load i spied a solitary individual standing on the fire-step gazing over the parapet. "seen any queen's pass this way?" i inquired. "blimey," he replied, apparently fed-up with the constant repetition of the same question, "wot 'ave you blokes got on to-night---a blinkin' piper-chise?"--_w. h. blakeman (late sergt., queen's r.w.s. regt.), shorts road, carshalton._ biscuits--another point of view in april my battalion was on the way up to take over a line of "grouse-butts"--there were no continuous trenches--in front of a pleasure resort by the name of festubert. arrived at gore, a couple of miles or so from the line, we ran into some transport that had got thoroughly tied up, and had a wait of about half-an-hour while the joy-riders sorted themselves out. it was pitch dark and raining hard, and the occasional spot of confetti that came over added very little to the general enjoyment. as i moved up and down my platoon, the usual profane but humorous grousing was in full spate. at that time the ration arrangements were not so well organised as they afterwards became, and for some weeks the bulk of our banquets had consisted of bully and remarkably hard and unpalatable biscuits. the latter were a particularly sore point with the troops. as i listened, one rifleman held forth on the subject. "no blinkin' bread for five blinkin' weeks," he wound up--"nothin' but blinkin' biscuits that taste like sawdust an' break every tooth in yer perishin' 'ed. 'ow the 'ell do they expect yer to fight on stuff like that?" "whatcher grousin' about?" drawled another weary voice. "dawgs _lives_ on biscuits, and they can fight like 'ell!"--_s. b. skevington (late major, st london irish rifles), berkeley street, w. ._ his bird bath a battalion of the royal fusiliers (city of london regiment) was in support, and a private was endeavouring to wash himself as thoroughly as possible with about a pint of water in a mess-tin. a kindly disposed staff officer happened to come along, and seeing the man thus engaged, said, "having a wash, my man?" [illustration: "wish i was a blinkin' canary: i could have a bath then."] back came the reply, "yus, and i wish i was a blinkin' canary. could have a bath then."--_r. g. scarborough, tennyson avenue, new maiden, surrey._ ducking 'em---then nursing 'em after the cambrai affair of november our company came out of the line, but we had to salvage some very large and heavy shells. we had been carrying the shells in our arms for about an hour when i heard a fed-up cockney turn to the sergeant and say: "'ere 'ave i been duckin' me nut for years from these blinkin' fings---blimey, and nah i'm nursin' 'em!"---_rfn. elliott (late th k.r.r.c.), leghorn road, harlesden, n.w._ salonika rhapsody three of us were sitting by the support line on the salonika front, conditions were fairly bad, rations were short and a mail was long overdue. we were fed-up. but the view across the vardar valley was some compensation. the wadis and plains, studded with bright flowers, the glistening river and the sun just setting behind the distant ridges and tinting the low clouds, combined to make a perfect picture. one of my pals, with a poetic temperament, rhapsodised on the scene for several minutes, and then asked our other mate what he thought. "sooner see the blinkin' old kent road!" was the answer of the peace-time costermonger.--_w. w. wright, borthwick road, e. ._ a ticklin' tiddler in january , near richebourg, i was one of a ration-party being led back to the front line by a lance-corporal. the front line was a system of breast-works surrounded by old disused trenches filled with seven feet or so of icy-cold water. it was a very dark moonless night, and near the line our leader called out to those in the breast-works to ask them where the bridge was. he was told to step off by the broken tree. he did so and slid into the murky depths--the wrong tree! we got him out and he stood on dry (?) land, shining with moisture, full of strange oaths and vowing vengeance on the lad who had misdirected him. at stand-down in the dawn (hours afterwards) he was sipping his tot of rum. he had had no chance of drying his clothes. i asked how he felt. "fresh as a pansy, mate," was his reply. "won'erful 'ow a cold plunge bucks yer up! blimey, i feel as if i could push a leave train from 'ere to the base. 'ere, put yer 'and dahn my tunic and see if that's a tiddler ticklin' me back."--_f. j. reidy (late st k.r.r.s), mayfair avenue, ilford._ biscuits and geometry during a spell near st. quentin our company existed chiefly on biscuits--much to the annoyance of one of our officers, who said he detested dogs' food. one evening he met the cockney corporal who had just come up in charge of the ration party. officer: "any change to-night, corporal?" corporal: "yessir!" officer: "good! what have we got?" corporal: "rahnd 'uns instead of square 'uns, sir."--_r. pitt (late m.g.c.), holland park avenue, w. ._ all that was wrong with the war taking up ammunition to the guns at passchendaele ridge, i met a few infantrymen carrying duckboards. my mule was rather in the way and so one of the infantrymen, who belonged to a london regiment, gave him a push with his duckboard. naturally, the mule simply let out and kicked him into a shell-hole full of water. [illustration: "... and that's mules."] we got the unlucky fellow out, and his first action was to shake his fist at the mule and say: "there's only one thing i don't like in this blinking war and that's those perishin' mules!"--_h. e. richards (r.f.a.), topsham road, upper tooting, s.w. ._ not a single cockney in , when we were acting as mobile artillery, we had halted by the roadside to water and feed our horses, and were just ready to move off when we were passed by a column of the chinese labour corps, about , of them. after they had all passed, a gunner from clerkenwell said: "would yer believe it? all that lot gorn by and i never reckernised a townie!"--_c. davis (late sergeant, r.a., rd cavalry division), yew tree villas, welling, kent._ sanger's circus on the marne! on the way from the marne to the aisne in september the th cavalry brigade passed a column of algerian native troops, who had been drawn up in a field to allow us to continue along the nearby road. the column had all the gaudy appearance of shop windows at christmas. there were hooded vehicles with stars and crescents blazoned on them, drawn by bullocks, mules, and donkeys. the natives themselves were dressed, some in white robes and turbans, others in red "plus four" trousers and blue "eton cut" jackets; and their red fezzes were adorned with stars and crescents. altogether a picturesque sight, and one we did not expect to meet on the western front. on coming into view of this column, one of our lead drivers (from bow) of a four-horse team drawing a pontoon wagon turned round to his wheel driver, and, pointing to the column with his whip, shouted, "alf! sanger's circus!"--_h. w. taylor (late r.e.), the lodge, radnor works, strawberry vale, twickenham._ "contemptible" stuff when the rumour reached us about a medal for the troops who went out at the beginning, a few of us were sitting in a dug-out outside ypres discussing the news. "mac" said: "i wonder if they'll give us anything else beside the medal?" our cockney, alf, remarked: "you got a lot to say about this 'ere bloomin' 'gong' (medal); anybody 'd fink you was goin' ter git one." "i came out in september ' , any way," said mac. alf (very indignant): "blimey, 'ark at 'im! you don't 'arf expect somefink, you don't. why, the blinkin' war was 'arf over by then."--_j. f. grey (late d.l.i, and r.a.o.c.), ducane road, shepherd's bush, w. ._ a cockney on horseback---just we were going out to rest after about four months behind the guns at ypres, and the drivers brought up spare horses for us to ride. one cockney gunner was heard to say, "i can't ride; i've never rode an 'orse in me life." we helped him to get mounted, but we had not gone far when jerry started sending 'em over. so we started trotting. to see our cockney friend hanging on with his arms round the horse's neck was quite a treat! however, we eventually got back to the horse lines where our hero, having fallen off, remarked: "well, after that, i fink if ever i do get back to blighty i'll always raise me 'at to an 'orse."--_a. lepley (late r.f.a.), blackwell buildings, whitechapel, e. ._ a too sociable horse we were asleep in our dug-out at bray, on the somme, in november . the dug-out was cut in the bank of a field where our horse lines were. one of the horses broke loose and, taking a fancy to our roof, which was made of brushwood and rushes, started eating it. suddenly the roof gave way and the horse fell through, narrowly missing myself and my pal, who was also a cockney. [illustration: "they want to come to bed wiv us."] after we had got over the shock my pal said, "well, if that ain't the blinkin' latest. these long-eared blighters ain't satisfied with us looking after them--they want to come to bed with us."--_f. e. snell (late th brigade, r.f.a.), woodchester street, harrow road, w. ._ general salute! while "resting" at bully-grenay in the winter of i witnessed the following incident: major-general ---- and his a.d.c. were walking through the village when an elderly cockney member of a labour battalion (a typical london navvy) stumbled out of an estaminet. he almost collided with the general. quickly pulling himself together and exclaiming "blimey, the boss!" he gave a very non-military salute; but the general, tactfully ignoring his merry condition, had passed on. in spite of his pal's attempts to restrain him, he overtook the general, shouting "i did serlute yer, didn't i, guv'nor?" to which the general hastily replied: "yes, yes, my man!" "well," said the cockney, "here's anuvver!"--_a. j. k. davis (late th london regt., att. rd m.g.c.), minnis croft, reculver avenue, birchington._ wipers-on-sea scene, "wipers"; time, winter of . a very miserable-looking r.f.a. driver, wet to the skin, is riding a very weary mule through the rain. voice from passing infantryman, in the unmistakable accent of bow bells: "where y' goin', mate? pier an' back?"--_a. gelli (late h.a.c.), langdon park road, highgate, n. ._ he rescued his shirt during the latter stages of the war, with the enemy in full retreat, supply columns and stores were in most cases left far behind. those in the advance columns, when marching through occupied villages, often "won" articles of underclothing to make up for deficiencies. camberwell alf had a couple of striped "civvy" shirts, and had lent a less fortunate battery chum one of these on the understanding that it would be returned in due course. the same evening the battery was crossing a pontoon bridge when a mule became frightened at the oscillation of the wooden structure, reared wildly, and pitched its rider over the canvas screen into the river. camberwell alf immediately plunged into the water and rescued his unfortunate chum after a great struggle. later the rescued one addressed his rescuer: "thank yer, alf, mate." "don't yer 'mate' me, yer blinkin' perisher!" alf replied. "wot the 'ell d'yer mean by muckin' abaht in the pahny (water) wiv my shirt on?"--_j. h. hartnoll (late th div. artillery), durning road, upper norwood, s.e. ._ a smile from the prince one morning towards the end of may , just before the battle of festubert, my pal bill and i were returning from the village bakery on the festubert road to our billets at gorre with a loaf each, which we had just bought. turning the corner into the village we saw approaching us a company of the grenadier guards in battle order, with a slim young officer at the head carrying a stick almost as tall as himself. directly behind the officer was a hefty guardsman playing "tipperary" on a concertina. we saluted the officer, who, after spotting the loaves of bread under our arms, looked straight at us, gave us a knowing smile and acknowledged our salute. it was not till then that we recognised who the officer was. it was the prince of wales. "lumme!" said bill. "there goes the prince o' wales hisself a-taking the guard to the bank o' england!"--_j. f. davis, faunce street, s.e. ._ "just to make us laugh" we were one of those unlucky fatigue parties detailed to carry ammunition to the forward machine gun positions in the ypres sector. we started off in the dusk and trudged up to the line. the transport dumped the "ammo" at a convenient spot and left us to it. then it started raining. the communication trenches were up to our boot tops in mud, so we left them and walked across the top. the ground was all chalky slime and we slipped and slid all over the place. within a very short time we were wet through and, to make matters worse, we occasionally slipped into shell-holes half full of water (just to relieve the monotony!). we kept this up all night until the "ammo" had all been delivered; then the order came to march back to billets at dranoutre. it was still pouring with rain, and when we came to shrapnel corner we saw the famous notice board: "avoid raising dust clouds as it draws enemy's shell fire." we were new to this part of the line and, just then, the idea of raising dust clouds was extremely ludicrous. i asked my pal jarvis, who came from greenwich, what he thought they put boards like that up for. his reply was typically cockney: "i 'spect they did that just to make us laugh, as we cawnt go to the picshures."--_mack (late m.g.c.), cathcart, the heath, dartford._ no use arguing with a mule whilst "resting" after the jerusalem battle, my battalion was detailed for road-making. large stones were used for the foundation of the road and small and broken stones for the surface. our job was to find the stones, _assisted_ by mules. a mule was new to joe smith--a great-hearted boy from limehouse way--but he must have heard about them for he gingerly approached the one allotted to him, and as gingerly led him away into the hills. presently joe was seen returning, but, to our amazement, he was struggling along with the loaded baskets slung across his own shoulders, and the mule was trailing behind. when i asked why _he_ was carrying the load, he replied: "well, i was loading 'im up wiv the stones, but he cut up rusty, so to save a lot of argument, i reckoned as 'ow i'd better carry the darned stones meself."---_a. c. wood, glasslyn road, n. ._ kissing time it was towards the end of ' , and we had got old jerry well on the run. we had reached a village near lille, which had been in german occupation, and the inhabitants were surging round us. [illustration: "take the rough with the smooth."] a corporal was having the time of his life, being kissed on both cheeks by the girls, but when it came to a bewhiskered french papa's turn the corporal hesitated. "nah, then, corporal," shouted one of our boys, "be sporty! take the rough with the smooth!"---_g. h. harris (late c.s.m., th london regt.), nelson road, south chingford, e. ._ "playin' soldiers" we were in the cambrai salient, in support in the old hindenburg line. close to us was a road where there were a ration dump and every other sort of dump. everybody in the sector went through us to get rations, ammunition, stores, etc. there was just room in the trench for two men to pass. snow had been on the ground for weeks, and the bottom of the trench was like glass. one night at stand-to the drake battalion crowded past us to get rations. on their return journey the leading man, with two sandbags of rations round his neck and a petrol can of water in each hand, fell over at every other step. things were further complicated by a party of r.e.'s coming down the line with much barbed wire, in which this unfortunate "drake" entangled himself. as he picked himself up for the umpteenth time, and without the least intention of being funny, i heard him say: "well, if i ever catch that nipper of mine playin' soldiers, i won't 'arf knock 'is blinkin' block orf."--_a. m. b. (late artists rifles), savage club, w.c. ._ per carrier during the occupation of the "foreshores of gallipoli" in the troops were suffering from shortage of water. i and six more, including tich, were detailed to carry petrol cans full of water up to the front line. we had rather a rough passage over very hilly ground, and more than one of us tripped over stones that were strewn across the path, causing us to say a few strong words. by the time we reached our destination we were just about all in, and on being challenged "halt; who goes there?" tich answered: "carter paterson and co. with 'adam's ale,' all nice and frothy!"--_d. w. jordan (late / th essex, th division), a gilmore road, lewisham, s.e. ._ "enemy" in the wire i was in charge of an advanced post on the dorian front, salonica, , which had been often raided by the bulgars, and we were advised to be extra wary. in the event of an attack we were to fire a red flare, which was a signal for the artillery to put over a barrage. about a.m. we heard a commotion in our wire, but, receiving no answer to our challenge, i decided to await further developments. the noise was soon repeated in a way that left no doubt in my mind that we were being attacked, so i ordered the section to open fire and sent up the signal for the guns. imagine our surprise when, after all was quiet again, we heard the same noise in the wire. one of the sentries was a cockney, and without a word he crawled over the parapet and disappeared in the direction of the noise. a few minutes later came the sound of smothered laughter, and the sentry returned with a hedgehog firmly fixed in an empty bully tin. it was the cause of our alarm! after releasing the animal from its predicament, the sentry said: "we'd better send the blighter to the zoo, corp, wiv a card to say 'this little pig put the wind up the troops, caused a fousand men to open fire, was bombed, machine-gunned, and shelled.' blimey! i'd like to see the gunner officer's face if he knew this."--_d. r. payne, m.m. (ex-worcester regt.), high street, overton, hants._ straight from the heart under canvas at rousseauville with th squadron, r.f.c., early --wet season--raining hard--everything wet through and muddy--a "fed-up" gloomy feeling everywhere. we were trying to start a -ton lorry that was stuck in the mud on the aerodrome. after we had all had a shot at swinging the starting handle, the very cockney driver of the lorry completely exhausted himself in yet another unsuccessful attempt to start up. then, leaning against the radiator and pushing his cap back, he puffed out: "i dunno! these perishin' lorries are enough to take all the flamin' romance out of any blinkin' camp!"--_r. s. w. (flying-officer, r.a.f. reserve), cavendish road, n.w. ._ smile! smile! smile!! conversation between two cockney members of a north country regiment whilst proceeding along the menin road in march as members of a wiring party: st: i'm fed up with this stunt. nd: same 'ere. 'tain't 'arf a life, ain't it? no rest, no beer, blinkin' leave stopped--er, got any fags? st: no, mate. nd: no fags, no nuffink. it's only us keepin' so ruddy cheerful as pulls us through.--_v. marston, worple road, wimbledon, s.w. ._ war's lost charm time, winter of : scene, a track towards langemarck from pilkem. weather and general conditions--flanders at its worst. my companion that night was an n.c.o. "out since 'fourteen," and we had plodded on in silence for some time. suddenly behind me there was a slither, a splash, and a smothered remark as the sergeant skidded from the duckboard into an especially dirty shell hole. i helped him out and asked if he was all right. the reply came, "i'm all right, sir; but this blinkin' war seems to have lost its charm!"--_j. e. a. whitman (captain, late r.f.a.), the hampden club, n.w. ._ taking it lying down the st battalion of the th londons was preparing to march into waziristan. old bert, the cook, diligently loading up a kneeling camel with dixies, pots and pans, and general cooking utensils, paused for a bit, wiped the sweat from his brow, and stood back with arms akimbo gazing with satisfaction upon his work. then he went up to the camel, gave him a gentle prod, and grunted "ooush, yer blighter, ooush" (i.e. rise). the camel turned gently over on his back, unshipping the whole cargo that bert had worked so hard upon, and kicked his legs in the air. [illustration: "don't yer understand yer own langwidge, yer kitten?"] poor old bert looked at the wreckage and exclaimed, more in sorrow than in anger: "blimey, don't yer understand yer own langwidge, yer kitten?"--_t. f. chanter, atalanta street, fulham._ the first twenty years it was round about christmas , and we were resting (?) at "dirty bucket corner." the christmas present we all had in view was a return to the line in front of ypres. on the day before we were due to return the christmas post arrived, and after the excitement had abated the usual "blueness" settled in--the craving for home comforts and "blighty." my partners in the stretcher-bearing squad included a meek and mild man (i believe he was a schoolmaster before the war) and a cockney from seven dials. we used to call him "townie." although the ex-schoolmaster would have had cause in more normal times to rejoice--for the post contained a letter telling him that he had become the father of a bonny boy--the news made him morbid. of course, we all congratulated him. meanwhile "townie" was busy with a pencil and writing pad, and after a few minutes handed to the new parent a sheet of paper folded in half. the recipient unfolded it and looked at it for several seconds before the rest of us became interested and looked over his shoulder. the paper was covered with lines, circles, and writing that appeared to us like "double-dutch." "what's this?" the father asked. "that's a map i drawed fer yer kid. it'll show him where the old pot and pan is when he's called up," and he concluded with this afterthought: "tell 'im ter be careful of that ruddy shell-hole just acrost there. i've fallen in the perishin' thing twice this week."--_"medico" ( th (london) division), clapham common, s.w. ._ shell as a hammer at one time the area just behind vimy ridge was plentifully sprinkled with enemy shells which had failed to explode. as these were considered a great source of danger they were indicated by "danger boards" nailed to pointed stakes driven into the ground. on one occasion, seeing a man engaged in so marking the resting-place of a "dud"--he was a cheerful cockney, who whistled as he went about his job--i was much amused (though somewhat scared) to see him stop at a nearby shell, select a "danger board," pick up the shell, and proceed to use it as a hammer to drive the stake into the ground!--_h. s. a. (late lieut., suffolk regt.), glebe road, cheam._ sore feet after the first battle of ypres an old driver, whom we called "krongie," had very bad feet, and one day reported sick at the estaminet where the m.o. held office. after the examination he ambled up the road, and when he was about yards away the m.o.'s orderly ran out and called: "krongie, when you get to the column tell the farrier the m.o.'s horse has cast a shoe." "krongie": "ho, yus. you tell 'im ter give the blinkin' cheval a couple of number nines like he gave me for _my_ feet."--_p. jones (r.h.a.), ennis road, n. ._ my sword dance--by the c.o. a bitterly cold morning in winter, , in the ypres salient. i was on duty at a gas alarm post in the front line when along came the colonel. he was the finest soldier and gentleman i ever had the pleasure to serve under (being an old soldier in two regiments before, i had experienced a few c.o.s). it was said he knew every man's name in the regiment. no officer dare start his own meal until every man of his company had been served. no fatigue or working party ever went up the line, no matter at what hour, without the colonel first inspected it. he had a mania for collecting spare ammunition, and more than once was seen taking up to the front line a roll of barbed wire over his shoulder hooked through his stick. to him every man was a son, and to the men's regret and officers' delight he soon became a general. this particular morning he approached me with "good morning, walker. you look cold. had your rum?" to which i replied that i had, but it was a cold job remaining stationary for hours watching the wind. "well," said the c.o., "do this with me." with that he started marking time at a quick pace on the duckboards and i did likewise. we kept it up for about two minutes, while others near had a good laugh. "now you feel better, i know. do this every ten minutes or so," he said, and away he went to continue his tour of inspection. my cockney pal in the next bay, who, i noticed, had enjoyed the scene immensely, said, "blimey, jock, was he giving you a few lessons in the sword dance or the highland fling?"--_"jock" walker (late royal fusiliers), brockbank road, lewisham, s.e. ._ a big bone in the soup in baghdad, , "buzzer" lee and i were told off to do "flying sentry" round the officers' lines from to a.m. well, we commenced our duty, and buzzer suggested we visit the mess kitchen to see all was well, and in case there was anything worth "knocking off" (as he called it) in the way of char or scran (tea or bread and butter). the mess kitchen was in darkness, and buzzer began scrounging around. after a while he said: "i've clicked, mate! soup in a dixie!" by the light of a match he found a cup, removed the dixie lid, and took a cup of the "soup." "we're in the market this time, mate," said buzzer, and took out a cupful for me. "it don't taste like wood's down the new cut," i said, doubtfully. he dipped the cup again and exclaimed: "'ere, i've fahnd a big bone!" it was a new broom-head, however; it had been left in the dixie to soak for the night!--_g. h. griggs (late somerset l.i.), ribstone street, hackney, e. ._ "i shall have to change yer!" in the ypres salient in july headquarters were anxious to know which german regiment was facing us. an immense cockney corporal, who was particularly good on patrol, was instructed to secure a prisoner. [illustration: "i shall have to take yer aht to-night and change yer."] after a night spent in no man's land he returned at dawn with a capture, an insignificant little german, trembling with fear, who stood about five foot nothing. lifting him on to the fire-step and eyeing him critically, the corporal thus addressed him: "you won't do for our ole man; i shall have to take yer aht to-night and change yer!"--_s. back, merriams farm, leeds, near maidstone._ scots reveille ours was the only kilted battalion in the division, and our bagpipes were often the subject of many humorous remarks from the other regiments. [illustration: "there goes them perishin' 'toobs' agin."] on one occasion, while we were out resting just behind the line at château de la haye, we were billeted opposite a london regiment. very early in the morning the bagpipes would sound the scottish reveille--a rather long affair compared with the usual bugle call--and it did not please our london friends to be awakened in this manner. one morning while i was on early duty, and just as the pipers were passing, a very dismal face looked out of a billet and announced to his pals inside, "there goes them perishin' 'toobs' again."--_arthur r. blampied, d.c.m. (late london scottish), lyndhurst avenue, streatham hill, s.w. ._ in the negative a battalion of the london regiment had been having a particularly gruelling time in the trenches, but some of the men were cheered with thoughts of impending leave. in fact, permission for them to proceed home was expected at any moment. at this time the germans started a "big push" in another sector, and all leave was suddenly cancelled. an n.c.o. broke the news to the poor unfortunates in the following manner: "all you blokes wot's going on leaf, ain't going on leaf, 'cause you're unlucky." in spite of the great disappointment, this way of putting it amused even the men concerned. the real cockney spirit!--_s. c., brighton._ "an' that's all that 'appened" before going up the line we were stationed at etaples, and were rather proud of our cook-house, but one day the colonel told the sergeant-major that he had heard some of the most unparliamentary language he had ever heard in his life emanating from the cook-house. the sergeant-major immediately called at the cook-house to find out the cause of the trouble, but our cockney cook was very indignant. "what, _me_ lord mayor? [slang for 'swear']. no one's ever 'eard me lord mayor." "don't lie to me," roared the sergeant-major. "what's happened here?" "nuffin'," said the cook, "except that i slopped a dixie full of 'ot tea dahn bill's neck. i said 'sorry, bill,' and bill said 'granted, 'arry,' an' that's all what's 'appened."--_ryder davies (late st kent cyclists, royal west kents), villa road, s.w. ._ watching them "fly past" our first big engagement was a counter-attack to recapture the trenches lost by the k.r.r.'s and r.b.'s on july , , when "jerry" used liquid fire for the first time and literally burned our chaps out. to get into action we had to go across open country in full view of the enemy. we began to get it "in the neck" as soon as we got to "hell fire corner," on our way to zillebeke lake. our casualties were heavy, caused by shell fire, also by a german aeroplane which was flying very low overhead and using its machine gun on us. my pal, wally robins (later awarded m.m., promoted corporal, and killed at lens), our company humorist, was looking up at the 'plane when a shell landed, killing several men in front of him. as he fell i thought he too had caught it. i rushed to him anxiously and said, "are you hurt?" this was his reply: "i should think i am. i wish they would keep their bloomin' aeroplanes out of the way. if i hadn't been looking up at that i shouldn't have fallen over that blinkin' barbed wire stake."--_e. w. fellows, m.m. (late corporal, th battn., d.c.l.i.), dunlace road, clapton, e. ._ high necks and low after the first battle of ypres in the scots guards were being relieved by a well-known london regiment. a diminutive cockney looked up at a six-foot guardsman and asked him what it was like in the front line. [illustration: "'oo's neck?"] "up to your neck in mud," said the guardsman. "blimey, oo's neck?" asked the little chap.--_h. rogers (late th battery, st div. r.f.a.), ashley road, richmond, surrey._ too light--by one rissole during the night before my division ( st) attacked, on october , , my unit was in the tunnel under the road at "clapham junction," near hooge. rations having failed to arrive, each man was given a rissole and a packet of chewing-gum. we went over about a.m., and, despite rather severe losses, managed to push our line forward about , yards. when we were back in "rest" dug-outs at zillebeke, our officer happening to comment on our "feed" prior to the attack, my mate said: "yus. blinkin' good job for old jerry we never had two rissoles a man--we might have shoved him back to berlin!"--_c. hartridge, lancaster street, s.e. ._ psyche--"at the barf!" i was billeting at witternesse, near aire, for a battery coming out of the line for rest and training prior to the august push. i was very anxious to find a place where the troops could have a much-needed bath. the only spot was a barn, in which were two rusty old iron baths. further inspection showed that one was in use. on being asked who he was, the occupant stood up and replied in a cockney voice: "sikey at the barf!"--_h. thomas, "ivydene," herne grove, east dulwich, s.e. ._ a juggler's struggles we were disembarking at ostend in . each man was expected to carry as much stores as he could. our cockney marine was struggling down the gangway--full marching order, rifle slung round his neck, kitbag under his arm, and a box in each hand. as he balanced the boxes we heard him mutter, "s'pose, if i juggle this lot orlright they'll poke annuver in my mouf."--_thomas bilson (late colour-sergeant, royal marines), the strand, walmer, kent._ almost a wireless story sir sidney lawford was to inspect our wagon lines in italy, and we had received notice of his coming. consequently we had been up since about a.m. making things ship-shape. one of the fatigues had been picking up all the spare wire lying about--wire from hay and straw bales, telephone wire, barbed wire, wire from broken hop poles, miscellaneous wire of all sorts. sir sidney lawford arrived about a.m. with a number of his staff, dismounted ... and promptly tripped over a piece of wire. imagine our chagrin. however, the feeling passed away when a cockney driver (evidently one of the wire-collecting fatigue) said in a voice audible to everyone as he peeped from under the horse he was supposed to be grooming: "blimey, if he ain't fallen over the only piece of blinking wire in italy!"--_f. praid (late lieut., r.f.a., st div.), a high street, staines._ when the s.m. got loose we were behind the lines at merville in . it was raining hard and it was night. "smudger" smith, from lambeth, was on night guard. the horses were pulling their pegs out of the mud and getting loose, and "smudger" was having a busy time running around and catching them and knocking the pegs in again with a mallet. [illustration: "wot, yer loose again, yer blighter?"] the sergeant-major, with a waterproof sheet over his head, visited the lines. "smudger," seeing something moving about in the dark, crept up, and muttered, "wot, yer loose again, yer blighter?"--and down went the sergeant-major.--_w.s. (late queen's bays), winsover road, spalding._ mons, --not moscow, ! in we of the nd cavalry brigade were going up to support the infantry somewhere near mons, and when nearing our destination we saw several wounded being carried from the line. following them, seemingly quite unconcerned, was an infantry transport driver, who cut a queer figure. he was wearing a stocking hat, and was mounted on an old mule. thrown over the mule, with the tail-end round the mule's neck, was a german's blood-bespattered overcoat. [illustration: "napoleon's retreat from moscow ain't in it wiv this!"] one of our troop addressed the rider thus: "many up there, mate?" he answered: "millions! you 'ave a go. we can't shift 'em. they've took root, i fink." he then dug both heels into the mule and, looking round with a bored expression, exclaimed: "talk about napoleon's blinkin' retreat from moscow, it ain't ruddy well in it wiv this!" and he rode on.--_w. baker (late rd hussars), tunstall road, brixton, s.w. ._ the s.m. knew "mulese" during the somme offensive in i was one of a party carrying rations up to the front line. we came upon a mule which was having a few pranks and pulling the chap who was leading it all over the road. this man turned out to be an old cockney pal of mine in the east surreys. i said, "hello, jim, what's the matter?" "blimey," he replied, "'e won't do nuffink for me, so i'm taking 'im back to our sergeant-major, as 'e talks the mule langwidge."--_c. a. fairhead (late r.w. kent regt.), council cottages, ford corner, yapton, sussex._ lost: one star we were on our way to the front line trenches one wet and dreary night when our subaltern realised that we were lost. he asked our sergeant if he could see the north star. my cockney pal, fed up, as we all were, turned to me and said: "pass the word back and ask if anyone 'as got a nawth star in his pocket."--_h. j. perry, wells house road, willesden junction, n.w. ._ simpler than sounding it after leaving gallipoli in december our battalion ( th essex) were in camp near the pyramids in egypt. "pro tem." we reverted to peace-time routine, and brought the buglers into commission again. one bugler was making a rather rotten show at sounding the "fall-in"--his "lip" being out of practice, i suppose--when a bored cockney roared out, "go rahnd and tell 'em."--_h. barlow, brooklands, abbs cross lane, hornchurch._ under the cart the place was a rest billet, which we had just reached after a gruelling on the somme. time, . a.m., dark as pitch and pouring with rain. a despatch-rider arrived with an "urgent" message from h.q., "must have the number of your water-cart." out of bed, or its substitute, were brought the regimental sergeant-major, the orderly-room clerk, and the quartermaster-sergeant (a director of a london shipping firm bearing his name). all the light we had was the end of a candle, and as the q.m.s. was crawling in the mud under the water-cart trying to find the number the candle flickered, whereupon the cockney sergeant-major exclaimed: "for heaven's sake, stop that candle from flickerin', or our blinkin' staff will think we're signalling to jerry!" the look on the q.m.s.'s face as he sat in the mud made even the soaked despatch-rider laugh. "what's the number of your water-cart?" became a byword with the boys.--_w. j. smallbone (late r.m.s., th field ambulance, th division), stoneycroft road, woodford bridge, woodford green, essex._ the lion laughed up his sleeve i had been driving a lorry all day in the east african bush with a cockney escort. when we "parked" for the night i invited the escort to sleep under cover in the lorry, as i was going to do. but he refused, saying proudly that he had slept in the open since he had landed in africa. so, undressing, he proceeded to make the rim of the rear wheel his pillow, covering himself with a blanket and greatcoat. about a.m. i was awakened by hearing someone climbing over the tail-board. responding to my challenge the cockney said: "it's all right. the blighter's been and pinched my blanket and greatcoat. it's a good job i had my shirt on." we found next morning that a lion had run off with them: about yards away they lay, and one sleeve was torn out of the coat.--_h. j. lake, a chagford street, n.w. ._ the carman's sarcasm while our allies, the portuguese, were holding part of the line to the left of festubert, a portuguese officer rode up on the most emaciated and broken-down old "crock" i had set eyes on. he dismounted and was looking round for somewhere to tether the horse, when one of our drivers, a cockney carman in "civvy" life, cast a critical eye over the mount and bawled out, "don't worry abaht tying it up, mate. _lean it up agin this 'ere fence._"--_a. g. lodge (sergeant, th division artillery), derinton road, s.w. ._ burying a lorry during the battle of the somme, near ginchy, a r.a.s.c. motor-lorry ran off the main track in the darkness and got stuck in the mud. the driver came to our battery near by and asked for help, so six gunners and i volunteered and set out with shovels. on arriving at the scene, there was the motor-lorry almost buried to the top of the wheels. we all stood around surveying the scene in silence, wondering how best to make a start, when the cockney member of the volunteer party burst out with: "lummy, the quickest way out of this is to shovel some more blinkin' dirt on top, an' bury it."--_h. wright (ex-sig./bdr., c/ bde., r.f.a.), colehill lane, fulham, s.w. ._ striking a bargain during the battle of the narrows at the dardanelles (march , ) i was in charge of no. stokehold in h.m.s. _vengeance_. the front line of ships engaged consisted of _irresistible_, _ocean_, _vengeance_, and an old french battleship, the _bouvet_. the stokers off watch were the ambulance party and fire brigade. [illustration: "give us yer week's 'navy' and i'll let yer aht."] when the battle was at its height one of the fire brigade, a cockney, kept us informed of what was going on, and this is the news we received down the ash hoist: "_ocean_ and _irresistible_ 'as gorn darn, the froggy's gone up in smoke: our blinkin' turn next. "pat, give us yer week's 'navy' (rum ration) and i'll lift this bloomin' 'atch (armoured grating) and let yer aht!"--_"ajax," king's drive, gravesend, kent._ bugling in 'indoostanee after the evacuation of gallipoli a transport was conveying british troops to egypt. the o.c. wanted a trumpeter or bugler to follow him around during the daily lifeboat parade and to sound the "dismiss" at the end. the only one available was an indian trumpeter, who had not blown a trumpet or bugle since . he was ordered for the duty. on the first day, immediately after the inspection was over, the o.c. gave orders for the trumpeter to sound the "dismiss." after the trumpeter had finished, the o.c., with a look of astonishment on his face, gasped, "what's that? i never heard it sounded like that before." came a cockney voice from the rear rank, "'e sounded it in 'indoostanee, sir."--_m. c., surrey._ "for 'eaven's sake, stop sniffin'!" our sector of the line at loos was anticipating a raid by the germans and the whole battalion was ordered to "stand to" all night. double sentries were posted at intervals of a few feet with orders to report any suspicious shadows in no man's land. all eyes and ears were strained in an effort to locate any movement in the darkness beyond the parapet. strict silence was to be maintained, and the guns had been ordered to hang fire so that we might give the germans a surprise welcome if they came over. the ominous stillness was broken at last by a young cockney saying to his pal standing with him on the fire-step: "for 'eaven's sake, stop sniffin', porky. how d'yer fink we'll 'ear jerry if he comes acrorst?"--_c. j. blake, a collingbourne road, shepherd's bush, w. ._ babes in the salonika wood i was with the salonika force on the dorian front. one night while an important raid was on my platoon was told off to seize a big wood between the lines and make sure it was clear of bulgars, who could otherwise have enfiladed the main raiding party. the orders were "absolute silence, and no firing unless the other side fires first." i halted my men behind a fold in the ground near the wood and called up two men and told them to creep forward and see if the wood was occupied. it was nasty work as the first news of any bulgars would almost certainly have been a bayonet in the back from somebody perfectly concealed behind a tree. i asked them if the instructions were quite clear and one of them, charlie, from limehouse, whispered back: "yessir! we're going to be the babes in the wood, and if the wicked uncles is out to-night we don't fire unless they fires first. come on, george (to his companion), there's going to be some dirty work for the little robin redbreasts to-morrer!"--_a. forsyth (late army cyclist corps), st. martin's lane, w.c. ._ bringing it home to him for several months in matches were rationed in a y.m.c.a. rest-camp canteen, somewhere in france. there entered during this time a war-worn cockney, a drawn, tired look still in his eyes, and the mud of the trenches on his uniform and boots. he asked for cigarettes and matches, and was told there were no matches. "wot, no matches? 'ow am i goin' ter light me fags, miss?" "you see matches are rationed now," i said, "and the few we are allowed run out at once." with a weary sigh, as if a great truth had dawned upon him, he said pathetically: "lumme, that do bring the war 'ome to a bloke, don't it, miss?"--_miss h. campbell, pennerly lodge, beaulieu, hants._ after the feast the company dinner on christmas day was eaten in a large barn at ribemont, on the somme, and before this extra special feast began an affable "old sweat," one billy williams, of london town, volunteered for the clearing-up party. it was a long sitting and some considerable time before the men began to wander back to their billets, and it fell to the most capable of the orderlies to clear up the debris. this had just been accomplished to the satisfaction of the orderly officer when out of the barn strode old billy carrying a dixie full of beer. "where are you going with that, williams?" asked the officer. springing smartly to attention, and with a pained look upon his face, old billy replied: "this 'ere, sir? sick man in the 'ut, sir!"--_r. e. shirley (late the london regiment), staunton road, kingston, surrey._ wait for the "two pennies, please" near the river struma, on the salonika front, in march our brigade h.q. was on the extreme right of the divisional artillery and near a french artillery brigade. for the purpose of maintaining communication a french telephonist was quartered in our dug-out. whenever he wished to get into communication with his headquarters he unmercifully thumped the field telephone and in an excitable voice called out: "_'ullo, mon capitaine_," five or six times in half as many seconds. greatly impressed by one of these sudden outbursts, the adjutant's batman--a typical cockney--exclaimed in a hurt voice: "nah then, matey, jest cool yerself a bit till the young lidy tells yer to put in yer two coppers!"--_f. g. pickwick ( brigade r.f.a.), hubert grove, stockwell, s.w. ._ the general goes skating one horribly wet day during the winter of i met the brigadier paying his morning visit to the front line and accompanied him along my section of the trench. entering one fire-bay, the gallant general slipped and sat down uncommonly hard in the mud. [illustration: "'ere, chum, get up; this ain't a skatin' rink."] discipline stifled any desire on my part for mirth, but to my horror, the sentry in that bay, without turning away from his periscope, called over his shoulder in unmistakable cockney accents: "'ere, chum, get up; this ain't a blinkin' skatin' rink!" fortunately the general's sense of humour was equal to the occasion, and he replied to the now horror-stricken sentry with an affable "quite."--_"company commander," orpington, kent._ "to top things up" during the early part of a few picked men from the north sea fleet were sent on a short tour of the western front to get an accurate idea of the work of the sister service. one or two of these men were attached to my company for a few days in january when we were at givenchy--a fairly lively spot at that time. the morning after their arrival there was some pretty heavy firing and bombing, which soon died down to normal. later in the day, as i was passing down the line, i asked one of our guests (an out-and-out londoner) what he thought of things. he shook his head mournfully. "i thought the blighters was coming over after all that gun-fire this morning, sir," he said. "i been in a naval action; i been submarined; i been bombed by aeroplanes; and, blimey, i did 'ope i'd be in a bay'nit charge, just to top things up."--_l. v. upward (late capt. r.n.), lyndhurst road, hampstead, n.w. ._ luck in the family a cockney r.a.s.c. driver had been knocked down and badly injured by a staff-officer's car. on recovering consciousness in hospital, he highly amused the doctor by exclaiming, "well, me gran'farver was kicked by a derby winner, me farver knew dr. crippen, an' 'ere's me gets a blighty orf a brass-'at's rolls-bloomin'-royce. it's funny 'ow luck runs in famblys!"--_j. f. c., langdon park road, n. ._ "i'm drownded" we were going into the line in front of cambrai, in november , and were walking in single file. the night was pitch black. word came down at intervals from the leading file, "'ware wire," "'ware shell-hole." my pal, a cockney, was in front of me. suddenly i heard a muffled curse--he had deviated and paid the penalty by falling into a particularly deep shell-hole filled with mud and water. i stumbled to the edge of the hole and peered down and saw his face. i asked him if he was all right, and back came the reply, "blimey, i'm drownded, so let the missus know i died like a sailor." three days later he did die ... like a soldier.--_ex-rfn. john s. brown, masterman road, east ham, e. ._ not a new world's wonder the regiment had reached hebuterne after marching from st. amand, and a party of us was detailed to carry stuff up to the front line. [illustration: "there's only seven wonders."] one of our number, a hefty cockney, besides being in full marching order, had a bag of bombs and a couple of screw pickets. a sergeant then handed him some petrol tins. with a look of profound disgust, the cockney dropped the tins and remarked, "chuck it, mate; there's only seven wonders in this blinkin' world."--_w. g. h. cox (late th london regt.), longstaff crescent, southfields, s.w. ._ lads of the village while en route from the western to the italian front we were held up at an italian wayside station and, hearing that we had some time to wait, our cook says, "nah's our chance to make some tea." so we dragged our boiler on to the end of the platform, scrounged some wood, and soon had the fire going and the water on the boil. "nah we will get the tea and sugar," says the cook. when we returned we found that the chimney of the boiler had disappeared, smoke and flames were roaring up, and the water was ruined by soot. an italian soldier was standing by, looking on. "somebody's pinched our chimbley," gasped the cook, "and i've got an idea that this italian fellow knows somefing abaht it." back came the reply from the italian, in pure cockney: "i ain't pinched yer chimbley, mate!" "what! yer speak our lingo?" says the cook. "what part of the village do yer come from?" "clerkenwell," was the reply. "give us yer mitt," says the cook. "i'm from the same parish. and nah i knows that yer couldn't 'ave pinched our chimbley. it must have been one of them scrounging cockneys."--_h. howard, hanover street, islington, n. ._ before , when men worked night after night, for three weeks, with never a night off, we took ammunition up for the guns at ypres in . sometimes we couldn't get back until a.m. or a.m.--and the day was spent feeding and grooming the horses, cleaning harness, and a hundred odd jobs besides. we had built a bit of a shack, and in this i was writing a letter home, and one of my drivers noticed my handwriting on the envelope. "coo, corp! you can't 'arf write! 'ow did yer learn it?" he said. i told him i had been in an insurance office before i joined up. "lumme!" he exclaimed, "did yer _work_ once, corp?"--_david phillips (late r.f.a.), the ship inn, soham, near ely, cambridgeshire._ their fatigue in august , our division was moved to the loos area in preparation for the battle which began on september , and i well remember the long march which brought us to our destination--the mining village of noeux-les-mines, about a mile from mazingarbe. we ended the hard and tiring journey at a spot where a huge slag-heap towered above our heads to a height of seventy or eighty feet. on our arrival here there were the usual fatigue parties to parade, and with everyone tired and weary this was an unthankful duty. the youngest cockney in my section, who was always cheerful, hearing me detailing men for fatigue, shouted out, "come on, mites; paride with spoons and mess-tins. the blinking fattygue party will shift this perishin' slag-heap from 'ere to mazingarbe."--_herbert w. bassett (cpl. attached th london division), argyle road, sevenoaks, kent._ teaching bulgars the three-card trick at butkova, on the right of lake doiran, in , we had surprised the bulgar and had pushed forward as far as the foot of the belashitsa mountains, the reserve position of the enemy. after a sharp encounter we retired, according to plan, and on the return to our lines we heard murmurings in a nullah to our right. [illustration: "find der lidy--dere you are--over yer go--under yer go--nah find 'er!"] motioning to me and the section corporal, our platoon commander advanced cautiously towards the nullah and you can imagine our surprise when we discovered "dido" plumpton calmly showing the "three-card trick" to the two bulgar prisoners he had been detailed to escort. he was telling his mystified audience: "find der lidy--dere you are--over yer go--under yer go--_nah_ find 'er!"--_alfred tall (late nd east kents), hoxton street, n. ._ . hospital "tich" meets the king in a large ward in a military hospital in london there was a little cockney drummer boy of eighteen years who had lost both legs from shell fire. in spite of his calamity and the suffering he endured from numerous operations for the removal of bone, he was one of the cheeriest boys in the ward. at that time many men in the ward had limbs amputated because of frost-bite, and it was quite a usual thing for a visitor to remark, "have you had frost-bite?" nothing made tich so furious as the suggestion that he should have lost his limbs by any, to his mind, second-rate way. if he were asked, "have you had frost-bite?" he would look up with disgust and reply, "naow---a flea bit me!" if, however, he was asked, "were you wounded?" he would smile and say, "not 'arf!" a visit was expected from the king, and the tommies kept asking tich what he would say if the king said, "have you had frost-bite?" "you wite!" said tich. i was standing with the sister near to tich in his wheel-chair when the king approached. his majesty at once noticed tich was legless, and said in his kind way, "well, my man, how are you getting on?" "splendid, sir!" said tich. "how did it happen?" asked the king. "wounded, sir--shell," replied tich, all smiles. tich's opinion of the king soared higher than ever.---_m. a. kennedy (late v.a.d., royal military hospital, woolwich), windmill hill, enfield, middlesex._ putting the lid on it it was "clearing day" at the th general hospital, wimereux. nurses and orderlies were having a busy morning getting ready the patients who were going to blighty. nearly all of them had been taken out to the waiting ambulances except my cockney friend in the bed next to mine, who had just had an arm amputated and was very ill. two orderlies came down the ward bearing a stretcher with an oblong box fixed on to it (to prevent jolting while travelling). they placed it beside my friend's bed, and, having dressed him, put him in the box on the stretcher. then a nurse wrapped him up in blankets, and after she had finished she said: "there you are. feeling nice and comfortable?" "fine," said he, "but don't put the lid on before i have kissed the orderly good-bye."--_e. c., hackney, e. ._ riddled in the sands one of the finest exhibitions of cockney spirit i saw during the war occurred in mesopotamia after the battle of shaiba (april ), in which we had completely routed the turkish army. [illustration: "don't drop me in the water, sir. i'm so full of holes i'd be sure to sink."] we were busy evacuating the wounded in boats across the six-mile stretch of water which separated us from basra. a sergeant who had been hit by no fewer than six machine-gun bullets was brought down in a stretcher to be put in one of the boats. as i superintended this manoeuvre he said to me: "don't drop me in the water, sir. i'm so full of holes i'd be sure to sink!"--_f. c. fraser (lieut.-col., ind. med. service), brownhill road, catford, s.e. ._ season! a cockney soldier, badly hit for the third time, was about to be carried once more on board the ambulance train at folkestone. when the bearers came to his stretcher, one said to the other, "what's it say on his ticket?" "season!" said a voice from the stretcher.--_rev. a. t. greenwood, wallington, surrey._ where's the milk and honey? a medical officer of a london division in palestine was explaining to a dying cockney in his field ambulance at bethlehem how sorry he was that he had no special comforts to ease his last moments, when the man, with a cheery grin, remarked: "oh, that's all right, sir. yer reads as 'ow this 'ere 'oly land is flowing with milk and 'oney; but i ain't seen any 'oney myself, and in our battery there's men to a tin o' milk."--_e. t. middleton, denmark road, west ealing, w. ._ "lunnon" he was my sergeant-major. having on one occasion missed death literally by inches, he said coolly: "them blighters can't 'it 'arf as smart as my missus when she's roused." i last saw him at charing cross station. we were both casualties. all the way from dover he had moaned one word--"lunnon." at charing cross they laid his stretcher beside mine. he was half conscious. suddenly he revived and called out, his voice boyish and jolly: "good 'ole charin' crawss," and fell back dead.--_g. w. r., norwich, norfolk._ sparing the m.o. it was during some open warfare in france. the scene a small room full of badly wounded men; all the remainder have been hurriedly removed, or rather, not brought in here. there are no beds; the men lie on the floor close together. i rise to stretch my back after dressing one. my foot strikes another foot. a yell of agony--the foot was attached to a badly shattered thigh. an insistent, earnest chorus: "you _didn't_ 'urt him, sir. 'e often makes a noise like that." i feel a hand take mine, and, looking down, i see it in the grasp of a man with three gaping wounds. "it _wasn't_ your fault, sir," he says, in a fierce, hoarse whisper. and then i realise that not a soul in that room but takes it for granted that my mental anguish for my stupidity is greater than his own physical pain, and is doing his best to deaden it for me--one, at any rate, at great cost to himself. in whose ranks are the world's great gentlemen?--_"the clumsy fool," guy's hospital, e.c._ "robbery with violence" a cockney soldier had his leg shattered. when he came round in hospital the doctors told him they had been obliged to take his leg off. "taken my leg off? blimey! where is it? hi, wot yer done wiv it? fer 'eaven's sake, find my leg, somebody; it's got seven and a tanner in the stocking."--_s. w. baker, trinity road, bedford._ seven his lucky number scene: the plank road outside st. jean. stretcher-bearers bringing down a man whose left leg had been blown away below the knee. a man coming up recognises the man on the stretcher, and the following conversation ensues: "hello, bill!" then, catching sight of the left leg: "blimey! you ain't 'arf copped it." the reply: a faint smile, a right hand feebly pointing to the left sleeve already bearing _six_ gold stripes, and a hoarse voice which said, "anuvver one, and seven's me lucky number."--_s. g. wallis norton, norton house, peaks hill, purley._ blind man's buff the hospital ship _dunluce castle_, on which i was serving, was taking the wounded and sick from gallipoli. among the wounded brought on board one evening was a man who was badly hurt about his face. our m.o. thought the poor chap's eyes were sightless. imagine our surprise when, in the morning, finding that his eyes were bandaged, he pulled himself to a sitting posture in bed, turned his head round and cried out, "s'y, boys, who's fer a gime of blind man's buff?" i am glad to say that the sight of one eye was saved.--_f. t. barley, , station avenue, prittlewell, southend._ self-supporting after being wounded at ypres in july , i was being sent home. when we were all aboard, an orderly came round with life-belts. when he got to the next stretcher to me, on which lay a man who had his arm and leg in splints, he asked the usual question ("can you look after yourself if anything happens going across?"), and received the faint answer: "lumme, mate, i've enough wood on me to make a raft."--_a. e. fuller ( th battery r.f.a.), pendragon road, downham estate, bromley._ in the butterfly division on arriving at the hospital at dames camiers, we were put to bed. in the next bed to mine was a young cockney who had lost three fingers of his right hand and his left arm below the elbow. the hospital orderly came to take particulars of our wounds, etc. having finished with me, he turned to the cockney. rank, name, and regimental number were given, and then the orderly asked, "which division are you from?" "why, the th," came the answer; and then, as an afterthought, "that's the butterfly division, yer know, but i've 'ad me blinkin' wings clipped."--_h. redford (late r.f.a.), anselm road, fulham, s.w. ._ an unfair leg-pull i was working in a surgical ward at a base hospital, and among the patients was a tommy with a fractured thigh-bone. he had his leg in a splint and, as was customary in these cases, there was an extension at the foot-piece with a heavy weight attached to prevent shortening of the leg. this weight was causing him a good deal of pain, and as i could do nothing to alleviate it i asked the m.o. to explain to him the necessity for the extension. he did so and ended up by saying, "you know, we want your leg to be straight, old man." the tommy replied: "wot's the good of making that leg strite w'en the uvver one's bowed?"--_muriel a. batey (v.a.d. nurse), the north cottage, adderstone crescent, newcastle-upon-tyne._ he saw it through in the big general hospital at colchester the next bed to mine was occupied by a typical cockney who was very seriously wounded. it was little short of marvellous that he was alive at all. early one morning he became so ill that the hospital chaplain was sent to administer the last sacrament and the little londoner's parents were telegraphed for. about nine o'clock he rallied a little, and apparently realised that the authorities had given him up as hopeless, for with a great effort he half-sat up and, with his eyes ablaze, cried: "wot? you fink i'm goin' ter die? well, you're all wrong! i've bin in this war since it started, an' i intends to be in it at the finish. so i just _won't_ die, to spite yer, see?" his unconquerable spirit pulled him through, and he is alive--and well--to-day!--_a. c. p. (late th (london) division), fulham, s.w. ._ as good as the pictures in salonika during i was taken to a field hospital, en route for the base hospital. all merry and bright when lying down, but helpless when perpendicular, was a comrade in the next bed to me. we were to be moved next day. i was interested in him, as he told me he belonged to "berm-on-sea," which happens to be my birth-place. well, close to our marquee were the dump and transport lines, which we could plainly see through the entrance to the marquee. sister was taking our temperatures when we heard an explosion. johnnie had "found" the dump. an officer ran through the marquee, ordering everyone to the dug-outs, and they promptly obeyed. i looked at bermondsey bill. he said: "we are beat. let's stop and watch the fireworks." we were helpless on our feet. i tried to walk, but had to give it up. a new commotion then began, and bill exclaimed: "blimey, 'ere comes flying fox rahnd tattenham corner." it was a badly-wounded and panic-stricken mule. it dashed through our marquee, sent sister's table flying, found the exit and collapsed outside. sister returned (she was the right stuff) and said: "hello, what's happened here? and you boys still in bed! hadn't you better try and get to the dug-outs?" bermondsey bill said: "we'll stick it aht nah, sister, an' fancy we're at the pictures."--_j. w. fairbrass, sutton dwellings, upper street, islington, n. ._ room for the comforter at etaples in i was in a hospital marquee with nothing worse than a sprained ankle. a y.m.c.a. officer was visiting us, giving a cheery word here and there, together with a very welcome packet of cigarettes. in the next cot to me was a young cockney of the "diehards," who had been well peppered with shrapnel. his head was almost entirely swathed in bandages, openings being left for his eyes, nose, and mouth. "well, old chap," said the good samaritan to him, "they seem to have got you pretty badly." "i'm all right, guv'nor--ser long as they leaves me an 'ole to put me fag in."--_a. e. jeffreys (late th q.o. hussars), byne road, sydenham, s.e. ._ "war worn and tonsillitis" my son, gunner e. smith (an "old contemptible"), came home on leave in september , and after a day or two had something wrong with his throat. i advised him to see the m.o. he went and came back saying, "just look at this." the certificate said "war worn and tonsillitis." he went to the hospital, and was kept in for three weeks. the first time i went to see him, he said, "what do you think of it? a man, and knocked over by a kid's complaint."--_f. smith, saunders road, plumstead, s.e. ._ "... fort i was in 'ell" it was at the american general hospital in rouen. there was the usual noise created by chaps under anesthetic, swearing, shouting, singing, and moaning; but the fellow in the next bed to me had not stirred since they had brought him from the operating theatre many hours before. suddenly he sat up, looked around him in amazement, and said, "strike, i've bin a-lying 'ere fer abaht two 'ours afraid ter open me peepers. i fort i was in 'ell."--_p. webb (late e. surreys), rossiter road, balham, s.w. ._ pity the poor fly! amongst my massage patients at one of the general hospitals was a very cheery cockney sergeant, who had been badly damaged by shrapnel. in addition to other injuries he had lost an eye. one morning he was issued with a new eye, and was very proud of it. after admiring himself in a small mirror for a considerable time he turned to me and said, "sister, won't it be a blinkin' sell for the fly who gets into my glass eye?"--_(mrs.) a. powell, ritherdon road, s.w. ._ temperature by the inch i was a patient in a general hospital in , when a cockney gunner was put into the bed next to mine. he was suffering from a severe form of influenza, and after ten days' treatment showed little sign of improvement. one evening the sister was going her rounds with the thermometers. she had taken our friend's temperature and registered it on the chart hanging over his head. as she passed to the next bed he raised himself and turned round to read the result. then he looked over to a canadian in a bed in the far corner of the ward, and this dialogue ensued: gunner: canada! canadian: hallo! gunner: up agin. canadian: go on! how much? gunner: 'arf inch.--_e. a. taylor (late th london field ambulance), drouvin, the chase, wallington, surrey._ "'arf price at the pickshers!" on the way across channel with a blighty in i chummed up with a wounded cockney member of the sussex. his head was swathed in bandages. "done one o' me eyes in altergevver," he confided lugubriously. "any blinkin' 'ow," he added in cheerier tones, "if that don't entitle a bloke to 'arf price at the pickshers fer the rest of 'is blinkin' natural i don't know wot will do!"--_james vance marshall, , manette street, w. ._ twenty-four stitches in time during the reverses suffered by the turks on various fronts large numbers of mules were captured and sent to the veterinary bases to be reconditioned, sorted, and shod, for issue to various units in need of them. it was no mean feat to handle and shoe the worst-tempered brutes in the world. they had been made perfect demons through privation. "ninty," a shoeing-smith (late of grange road, bermondsey), was laid out and savaged by a mule, and carried off to hospital. at night his bosom pal goes over to see how his "old china" is going on. "'ow are ye, ninty?" "blimey, ted, nineteen stitches in me figh an' five in me ribs. ted--wot d'ye reckon they done it wiv? a sewin' machine?"--_a. c. weekley (late farrier staff sergeant, th veterinary hospital, abbassair), denbigh road, east ham, e. ._ his second thoughts a bluejacket who was brought into the naval hospital at rosyth had had one of his legs blown off while he was asleep in his hammock. the late mr. thomas horrocks oppenshaw, the senior surgeon-in-charge, asked him what his first thought was when the explosion woke him up. "my first thought was 'torpedoed, by gum!'" "and what did you think next?" "i think what i thought next was 'ruddy good shot!'"--_h.r.a., m.d., llford manor, near lewes, sussex._ hats off to private tanner the following story, which emphasises the cockney war spirit in the most adverse circumstances, and how it even impressed our late enemy, was related to me by a german acquaintance whose integrity is unimpeachable. it was at a german prisoner-of-war clearing station in douai during the summer of , where wounded british prisoners were being cleared for prison-camp hospital. a number of wounded of a london regiment has been brought in, and a german orderly was detailed to take their names and particulars of wounds, etc. later, looking over the orderly's list, the german sergeant-major in charge came across a name written by the orderly which was quite unintelligible to the sergeant-major. he therefore requested an intelligence officer, who spoke perfect english, to ask this particular man his name. the intelligence officer sought out the man, a cockney, who had been severely wounded, and the following conversation took place. i.o.: you are number ----? cockney: yussir. i.o.: what is your name? cockney: fourpence'a'penny. i.o.: i understand this is a term of english money, not a name. cockney: well, sir, i used to be called tanner, but my right leg was took orf yesterday. the final words of the intelligence officer, as related to me, were: "i could have fallen on the 'begrimed ruffian hero's' neck and kissed him."--_j. w. rourke, m.c. (ex-lieut. essex regt.), mill green road, welwyn garden city._ the markis o' granby wounded at sheria, palestine, in november . i was sent to the nearest railhead in a motor-ambulance. a fellow-passenger--also from a london battalion--was wounded very badly in both thighs. the orderly who tucked him up on his stretcher before the start asked him if he would like a drink. "no, thanks, chum--not nah," he replied; "but you might arsk the driver to pull up at the ole markis o' granby, and we'll all 'ave one!" i heard later that he died in hospital.--_c. dickens (late / th london regiment), wheathill road, anerley, s.e. ._ a one-legged turn wounded about half an hour after the final attack on gaza, i awoke to consciousness in the m.o.'s dug-out. "poor old concert party," he said; "you're the fifth 'ragamuffin' to come down." eventually i found myself sharing a mule-cart with another wounded man, but he lay so motionless and quiet that i feared i was about to journey from the line in a hearse. the jolting of the cart apparently jerked a little life into him, for he asked me, "got a fag, mate?" with a struggle i lighted my one remaining cigarette. after a while i asked him, "where did you catch it, old fellow?" "lumme," he replied, "if it ain't old george's voice." then i recognised sam, the comedian of our troupe. "got it pretty rotten in the leg," he added. "will it put paid to your comedy act, sammy?" i asked. "dunno," he replied with a sigh in his voice--"i'm tryin' to fink 'art a one-legged step dance."--_g. w. turner (late th london regt.), sunny view, kingsbury, n.w. ._ . high seas the skipper's cigar bradley (a deptford flower-seller before joining up) was the "comic" of the stokers' mess deck. he was always late in returning from shore leave. one monday morning he returned half an hour "adrift," and was promptly taken before the skipper. the skipper, a jovial old sort, asked him his reason for being adrift again, and bradley replied: "well, sir, townsend and me were waiting for the liberty boat, and i was telling him that if ever i sees the skipper round deptford i'll let him 'ave a 'bob' bunch of flowers for a 'tanner,' and we looked round and the blinkin' boat was gorne." the skipper smiled and dismissed him. on christmas day bradley received a packet containing a cigar in it, with the following written on the box: "for the best excuse of the year.--f. h. c., capt." i saw bradley three years ago and he told me he still had that cigar in a glass case with his medals.--_f. h. (late stoker, r.n.), little ilford lane, manor park, e. ._ breaking the spell we were in a twelve-inch gun turret in a ship during the dogger bank action. the ship had been hit several times and big explosions had scorched the paint and done other damage. there came a lull in the firing, and with all of us more or less badly shaken there was a queer silence. our captain decided to break it. looking round at the walls of the turret he remarked in a cockney, stuttering voice: "well, lads, this blinking turret couldn't 'arf do with a coat of paint."--_j. bone, victoria road, surbiton._ a v.c.'s story of friendship a transport packed with troops and horses for the dardanelles was suddenly hailed by a german cruiser and the captain was given a few minutes in which to abandon ship. one young soldier was found with his arms round his horse's neck, sobbing bitterly, and when ordered to the boats he stubbornly refused to move. "where my white-faced willie goes _i_ goes," he said proudly. his loyalty to his dumb friend was rewarded, for the german cruiser fired twice at the transport, missed each time, and before a third effort british destroyers were on the scene to chase her away. it was then the young soldier had the laugh over his friends, for they in many cases arrived back on the ship half frozen and soaked to the skin!--_a colonel, who wishes to remain anonymous: he holds the v.c., d.s.o., and m.c._ the stoker sums it up i was on a large transport (normally a freighter), which had just arrived at a port on the east african coast, very rusty, and with a very un-naval-looking crew. we were taken in charge by a very small but immaculate gun-boat. orders were shouted to us by megaphone, and our men were leaning over the side watching the gun-boat rather enviously, when a poplar stoker came up from below for a "breather," and summed up his mates' feelings in eight words. [illustration: "do yer stop aht all night in 'er?"] cupping his hands about his mouth, he shouted in a voice of thunder: "_do yer stop aht all night in 'er?_"--_r. n. spence (late lieutenant, r.n.v.r.), croydon road, beckenham._ channel swimming his next job during the war i had to fly a machine over to france. i had as passenger a cockney tommy who had recently transferred from the infantry to the r.f.c., and was joining his unit overseas. half-way over the channel my engine failed and i glided down towards the nearest boat i could see. the landing was not very successful; the under-carriage struck the crest of a wave and the aeroplane hit the water almost vertically. we were both thrown out, my passenger being somewhat badly knocked about in the process. we clung to the almost submerged wreckage and gazed hopefully towards the vessel i had sighted. she continued on her course, however. [illustration: "i know me way across nah!"] the machine soon sank and we were left bobbing about in our life-belts. things began to look far from bright, especially as my cockney observer was in a pretty bad way by now. suddenly the sun broke through the clouds, and the white cliffs of grisnez, about eight miles away, stood out clearly. "what's them hills, sir?" asked tommy. "cape grisnez, where burgess landed after his channel swim," i replied. "blimey," he said, "if we ever gets out of this perishing mess, and i can't get me old job back after the war, i'll be a blooming channel swimmer. i know the ruddy way across nah."--_"pilot r.f.c.," london, w. ._ it _was_ a collapsible boat i was one of the survivors of the transport ship _leasowe castle_. just before she took her final plunge, i was standing on deck when an empty boat was seen drifting near by. our section officer called for swimmers, and five or six men went overboard in a jiffy and brought the boat alongside. there was a bit of a scuffle to get over the rail and into the boat, and one man jumped straight into her from a height of about thirty feet. to our dismay he went clean through--it was a collapsible boat! no sooner had this happened than a typical cockney voice said: "blimey, he's got the anchor in his pocket, i'll bet yer!"--_g. p. gregory (late m.g. company), tunkar street, greenwich._ luck in odd numbers we were on board h.m.s. _sharpshooter_, doing patrol off the belgian coast. the signalman on watch, who happened to be a cockney, suddenly yelled out: "aeroplane on the starboard bow, sir." the "old man," being fairly tired after a night of rain, said: "all right, it's only a friendly going back home." about two minutes later the plane dropped three bombs, the last of which was much too close to be comfortable. after our friend the signalman had wiped the splash off his face he turned round to the first lieutenant and casually remarked: "strike! it's a thundering good job he wasn't hostile or he might have hit us."--_r. walmsley, d.s.m., watcombe road, south norwood, s.e. ._ "your barf, sir!" we were a mixed crowd on board the old _archangel_ returning "off leave" from southampton to havre on the night of january , . the sea was calm, and a moon made conditions ideal for jerry's "skimmers." when we were well under way i chummed up with a typical son of the mile end road, one of the middlesex men, and we talked for some time whilst watching the long, white zig-zag wake. then he suggested looking for a "kip." after nosing around several dark corners, a strip of carpet along the alley between the first-class cabins appealed to us, and quietly unslinging kit and putting our packs for a pillow, we made ourselves as comfortable as possible. during the process my pal jerked his thumb towards the closed doors and whispered "orficers." how long we had been asleep i don't know, but we were rudely awakened by a dull booming thud and a sound of splintering wood, and at the same time we were jolted heavily against the cabins. we hurriedly scrambled to our feet, looked at each other (no need to ask what had happened!), then grabbed our kit and made for the deck. as my companion passed the last cabin he banged on the door with his fist and called out: "oi, yer barf'll be ready in a minute, sir!"--_a. e. ulyett, smith terrace, king's road, chelsea, s.w. ._ "mind my coat" middle watch, h.m.s. _bulldog_ on patrol off the dardanelles: a dirty and a black night. a shout of "man overboard!" from the fore-gun crew.... we located an a.b. in the water, and with a long boat-hook caught his coat and pulled him towards the boat. as he drew nearer he cried: "don't pull so bloomin' hard; you'll tear my blinkin' coat!" then we knew it was our "ginger," from poplar. now "ginger" has the life-saving medal. a few weeks after his ducking the ship struck a mine and the after-part went west: "ginger" was discovered in the water, having gone in after a wounded sub-lieutenant who had been blown overboard.--_henry j. wood, d.s.m., gracechurch street, e.c. ._ "wot's the game--musical chairs?" it was a bitterly cold day in december, somewhere in the north sea. a section of mine-sweepers were engaged clearing an area well sown by jerry's submarines. suddenly the expected happened, and in a few minutes one of the sweepers was settling down fast by the stern. those who did not "go west" in the explosion were with difficulty picked up; among them was a cockney stoker rating. he arrived on board, wet, cold, and pretty well "pumped," and the bo'sun's peg of rum had almost disappeared between his chattering teeth when there was another explosion, and once again he was in a sinking ship. his reply to the order "abandon ship," which he had heard for the second time within half an hour, was: "wot blinkin' game's this--musical chairs?"--_h. waterworth, grasmere road, muswell hill, n. (late engineer-lieutenant, r.n.r. (retired))._ a voice in the dark dawn of a day in march found submarine f on patrol near the terschelling lightship. as we broke surface two german destroyers were seen only a few hundred yards away. we immediately dived again, and shortly afterwards the depth charges began to explode. lower and lower we went until we touched the bottom. bangs to the right of us, bangs to the left of us, bangs above us--then one glorious big bang and out went the lights. deadly silence, and then out of the darkness came the voice of our battersea bunting-tosser--"anyone got six pennorth o' coppers?"--_frederick j. h. alsford, north street, s.w. ._ why the stoker washed h.m.q. ship was sinking sixty miles off the french coast as the result of gun-fire, after destroying a german submarine. after getting away we had a hurried call-over and found that a cockney fireman was missing. we hailed the ship which seemed about to take the plunge any minute, and at last the stoker appeared, spotlessly clean and dressed in "ducks." he had to jump and swim for it. as we hauled him to our boat we asked him why he had waited to clean himself. "well," he explained, "if i am going to hell there's no need to let the blighter know i'm a stoker."--_wm. c. barnaby (late chief coxswain, r.n.), seville street, knightsbridge, s.w. ._ accounts rendered the first-lieutenant of a warship i was in, though a first-class sailor, had no great liking for clerical work, consequently the ship's store-books were perhaps not quite as they should have been. [illustration: "well, _that_ clears up those blessed accounts anyhow."] he therefore got an able seaman (who had been a london clerk in civil life) to give him a hand in his "off watches" in putting the books in order. shortly afterwards the ship stopped a torpedo and sank in eight minutes. before the first-lieutenant had very much time to look round he found himself in the "ditch." as he was clambering out of the water on to the bottom of an upturned boat, he saw his "chief accountant" climbing up the other side, and the first thing he did was to reach out and shake hands with the a.b. across the keel of the boat, at the same time remarking, "well, _that_ clears up those blessed accounts anyhow."--_john bowman (able seaman, r.n.v.r.), handel mansions, w.c. ._ an ocean greyhound on one occasion when the _diligence_ was "somewhere in the north sea," shore leave was granted. one of the sailors, a cockney, returned to the ship with his jumper "rather swollen." the officer of the watch noticed something furry sticking out of the bottom of his jumper, and at once asked where he had got it from, fearing, probably, that he had been poaching. [illustration: "... to nurse it back to 'ealth and strength."] the cockney thought furiously for a moment and then said: "i chased it round the church army hut, sir, until it got giddy and fell over, and so i picked it up and brought it aboard to nurse it back to 'ealth and strength."--_j. s. cowland, tylney road, forest gate, e. ._ margate in mespot. october , --england declares war on turkey and transports laden with troops sail from bombay. one evening, within a week, these transports anchor off the flat mesopotamian coast at the top of the persian gulf. in one ship, a county regiment ( per cent. countrymen, the remainder cockney) is ordered to be the first to land. h.m.s. _ocean_ sends her cutters and lifeboats, and into these tumble the platoons at dusk, to be rowed across a shallow "bar." [illustration: "wot price this fer margate?"] under cover of an inky darkness they arrive close to the beach by midnight. it is very cold, and all feel it the more because the kit worn is shorts and light khaki shirts. in the stone-cold silence a whisper passes from boat to boat--"_remove puttees; tie boots round the neck; at signal, boats to row in until grounded; platoons to disembark and wade ashore_." so a shadowy line of strange-looking waders is dimly to be seen advancing through the shallow water and up the beach--in extended order, grim and frozen stiff. as dawn breaks they reach the sandy beach, and a few shots ring out from the distant fort of fas--but no one cares. each and all are looking amazedly at the grotesque appearance of the line--silent, miserable figures, boots wagging round their necks, shorts rolled as high as possible, while their frozen fingers obediently cling to rifles and ammunition. it is too much for one soul, and a cockney voice calls out: "'ere, wot price this fer margate?" the spell is broken. the mesopotamian campaign begins with a great laugh!--_john fiton, m.c., a.f.c., high grove, welwyn garden city, herts._ urgent and personal! the ss. _oxfordshire_, then a hospital ship, was on her way down from dar-es-salaam to cape town when she received an s.o.s. from h.m.t. _tyndareus_, which had been mined off cape agulhas, very near the spot where the famous _birkenhead_ sank. the _tyndareus_ had on board the th (pioneer) battalion, middlesex regiment, under the command of colonel john ward, then on their way to hong kong. as the hospital boat drew near it was seen that the _tyndareus_ was very low in the water, and across the water we could hear the troops singing "tipperary" as they stood lined up on the decks. the lifeboats from both ships were quickly at work, every patient capable of lending a hand doing all he could to help. soon we had hundreds of the middlesex aboard, some pulled roughly up the side, others climbing rope-ladders hastily thrown down. they were in various stages of undress, some arriving clad only in pants. on the deck came one who, pulled up by eager hands, landed on all fours with a bump. as he got up, hands and toes bleeding from contact with the side of the vessel, i was delighted to recognise an old london acquaintance. the following dialogue took place: myself: hallo, bill! fancy meeting you like this! hurt much? bill: not much. seen nobby clark? has he got away all right? myself (_not knowing nobby clark_): i don't know. i expect so; there are hundreds of your pals aboard. bill: so long. see you later. must find nobby; he collared the "kitty" when that blinking boat got hit!--_j. p. mansell (late) th royal fusiliers._ victoria! (very cross) while i was an a.b. aboard h.m.s. _aboukir_ somewhere in the north sea we received a signal that seven german destroyers were heading for us at full speed. we were ordered at the double to action stations. my pal, a cockney, weighing about stone, found it hard to keep up with the others, and the commander angrily asked him, "where is your station?" [illustration: "where's your station?" "victoria--if i could only get there."] to which the cockney replied, "victoria--if i could only get there."--_j. hearn, christchurch street, s.w. ._ he saw the force of it in february we beat out our weary patrol near the scillies. our ship met such heavy weather that only the bravest souls could keep a cheery countenance. running into a growing storm, and unable to turn from the racing head seas, we beat out our unwilling way into the atlantic. three days later we limped back to base with injured men, hatches stove in, winch pipes and boats torn away. our forward gun was smashed and leaned over at a drunken angle. early in the morning the crew were taking a well-earned rest, and the decks were deserted but for the usual stoker, taking a breath of air after his stand-by watch. a dockyard official, seeing our damage, came on board, and, after viewing the wrecked gun at close quarters, turned to the stoker with the remark: "do you mean to say that the sea smashed a heavy gun like that, my man?" the stoker, spitting with uncanny accuracy at a piece of floating wood overside, looked at the official: "nah," he said, "it wasn't the blinking sea; the ryne done it!"--_a. marsden (engineer-lieutenant-commander, r.n.), norbrook cottage, leith park road, gravesend._ new skin--brand new! two mines--explosion--many killed--hundreds drowned. we were sinking fast. i scrambled quickly out of my hammock and up the hatchway. on deck, leaning against the bulkhead, was a shipmate, burned from head to foot. more amazing than fiction was his philosophy and coolness as he hailed me with, "'cher, darby! got a fag? i ain't had a 'bine since pa died." i was practically "in the nude," and could not oblige him. three years later i was taking part at a sports meeting at dunkirk when i was approached by--to me--a total stranger. "what 'cher, darby--ain't dead yet then. what! don't you remember h.m.s. _russell_? of course i've altered a bit now--new skin--just like a two-year-old--brand new." brand new externally, but the philosophy was unaltered.--_"darby," valence avenue, chadwell heath, essex._ a zeebrugge memory during the raid on zeebrugge, one of our number had his arms blown away. when things quietened a little my chum and i laid him on a mess table and proceeded to tend his wounds. my chum tried to light the mess-deck "bogey" (fire), the chimney of which had been removed for the action. after the match had been applied, we soon found ourselves in a fog. then the wounded man remarked: "i say, chum! if i'm going to die, let's die a white man, not a black 'un." the poor fellow died before reaching harbour.--_w. a. brooks, ramsden road, n. ._ another perch in the roost on the morning of september , , when the cruisers _aboukir_, _hogue_, and _cressy_ were torpedoed, we were dotted about in the water, helping each other where possible and all trying to get some support. when one piece got overloaded it meant the best swimmers trying their luck elsewhere. such was my position, when i saw a piece of wreckage resembling a chicken coop, large enough to support four men. i reached it just ahead of another man who had been badly scalded. we were both exhausted and unable to help another man coming towards us. he was nearly done, and my companion, seeing his condition, shouted between breaths: "come along, ole cock. shake yer bloomin' feavers. there's a perch 'ere for anover rooster." both were stokers on watch when torpedoed, and in a bad state from scalds. exposure did the rest. i was alone, when picked up.--_w. stevens (late r.m.l.i.), lower range road, denton, near gravesend._ uncomfortable cargo (_a -in. shell weighs about cwt. high explosives were painted yellow and "common" painted black._) in october h.m.s. _venerable_ was bombarding the belgian coast and thames tugs were pressed into service to carry ammunition to ships taking part in the bombardment. the sea was pretty rough when a tug came alongside the _venerable_ loaded with -in. shells, both high explosive and common. deck hands jumped down into the tug to sling the shells on the hoist. the tug skipper, seeing them jumping on the high explosives, shouted: "hi! dahn there! stop jumping on them yaller 'uns"; and, turning to the commander, who was leaning over the ship's rail directing operations, he called out: "get them yaller 'uns aht fust, guvnor, or them blokes dahn there 'll blow us sky high."--_a. gill, down road, teddington, middlesex._ good old "vernon" several areas in the north sea were protected by mines, which came from the torpedo depot ship, h.m.s. _vernon_. the mines floated several feet below the surface, being kept in position by means of wires attached to sinkers. in my submarine we had encountered very bad weather and were uncertain of our exact position. the weather got so bad that we were forced to cruise forty feet below the surface. everything was very still in the control room. the only movements were an occasional turn of the hydroplanes, or a twist at the wheel, at which sat "shorty" harris, a real hard case from shadwell. suddenly we were startled by a scraping sound along the port side. before we could put our thoughts into words there came an ominous bump on the starboard side. _bump!_ ... _bump!_ ... seven distinct thuds against the hull. no one moved, and every nerve was taut. then "shorty" broke the tension with, "good old _vernon_, another blinkin' dud."--_t. white, empress avenue, ilford._ any time's kissing time! a torpedo-boat destroyer engaged on transport duty in the channel in had been cut in two by collision whilst steaming with lights out. a handful of men on the after-part, which alone remained afloat, were rescued after several hours by another destroyer, just as the after-part sank. [illustration: "ain't nobody a-goin' ter kiss me?"] a howling gale was raging and some of the survivors had to swim for it. as the first swimmer reached the heaving side of the rescuing ship he was caught by willing hands and hauled on board. when he got his breath he stood up and, shaking himself to clear the water somewhat from his dripping clothes, looked around with a smile at the "hands" near by and said: "well, ain't nobody a-goin' ter kiss me?"--_j. w., bromley, kent._ the fag end the captain of the troopship _transylvania_ had just called the famous "every man for himself" order after the boat had received two torpedoes from a submarine. the nurses had been got off safely in a boat, but our own prospects of safety seemed very remote. along came a cockney with his cigarettes and the remark, "who'll 'ave a fag afore they get wet?"--_a. w. harvey, elderfield road, clapton, e. (late th london regiment)._ "spotty" the jonah on board the s.s. _lorrento_ in with me was one "spotty" smith, a.b., of london. he had been torpedoed five times, and was reputed to be the sole survivor on the last two occasions. such a jonah-like reputation brought him more interest than affection from sailormen. approaching bizerta--a danger spot in the south mediterranean--one dark night, all lights out, "spotty" so far forgot himself as to strike matches on deck. in lurid and forcible language the mate requested him "not to beat his infernal record on this ship." "spotty," intent on turning away wrath, replied, "s'elp me, sir, i've 'ad enough of me heroic past. this next time, sir, i made up me mind to go down with the rest of the crew!"--_j. e. drury, eridge road, thornton heath._ he just caught the bus! after an arduous spell of patrol duty, our submarine had hove to to allow the crew a much-needed breather and smoke. for this purpose only the conning-tower hatch was opened so as to be ready to submerge, if necessity arose, with the minimum of delay. eager to take full advantage of this refreshing interlude, the crew had emerged, one by one, through the conning-tower and had disposed themselves in sprawling attitudes around the upper deck space, resting, reading, smoking. sure enough, soon the alarm was given, "smoke seen on the horizon." the order "diving stations" was given and, hastily scuttling down the conning-tower, the crew rapidly had the boat submerging, to leave only the periscope visible. the commander kept the boat slowly cruising with his periscope trained on the approaching smoke, ready for anything. judge of his amazement when his view was obscured by the face of "nobby" clark (our cockney a.b.) at the other end of the periscope. realising at once that "nobby" had been locked out (actually he had fallen asleep and had been rudely awakened by his cold plunge), we, of course, "broke surface" to collect frightened, half-drowned "nobby," whose only ejaculation was: "crikey! i ain't half glad i caught the ole bus."--_j. brodie, manor road, mitcham, surrey._ dinner before mines! "somewhere in the north sea" in , when i was a stoker on h.m.s. _champion_, there were plenty of floating mines about. one day, several of us were waiting outside the galley (cook house) for our dinners, and the cook, a man from walworth, was shouting out the number of messes marked on the meat dishes which were ready for the men to take away. he had one dish in his hand with no number marked on it, when a stoker rushed up and shouted: "we nearly struck a mine--missed it by inches, cookey." but cookey only shouted back: "never mind about blinkin' mines nah; is this _your_ perishin' dish with no tally on it?"--_w. downs (late stoker, r.n.), tracey street, kennington road, s.e._ a philosopher at sea we were a helpless, sorry crowd, many of us with legs in splints, in the hold of a "hospital" ship crossing from boulogne. the boat stopped dead. "what are we stopping for, mate?" one man asked the orderly. "the destroyers wot's escortin' of us is chasin' a german submarine. i'm just a-goin' on deck agin to see wot's doin'." as he got to the ladder he turned to say: "nah, you blokes: if we gits 'it by a torpedo don't go gettin' the ruddy wind up an' start rushin' abaht tryin' ter git on deck. it won't do yer wounds no bloomin' good!"--_e. bundy (late l/corporal, / th l.f.a., th division), upton gardens, barkingside, ilford, essex._ extra heavyweight amongst the crew of our mine-sweeper during the war "sparks," the wireless operator, was a hefty, fat chap, weighing about stone. one day while clearing up a mine-field, laid overnight by a submarine, we had the misfortune to have four or five of the mines explode in the "sweep." the explosion shattered every piece of glass in the ship, put the engines out of action, and nearly blew the ship out of the water. "bill," one of our stokers--a cockney who, being off watch, was asleep in his bunk--sat up, yawned, and exclaimed in a sleepy voice: "'ullo, poor ole 'sparks' fallen out of 'is bunk again! 'e'll 'urt 'isself one of these days!"--_r.n.v.r., old windsor, berks._ three varieties the boat on which i was serving as a stoker had just received two new men as stokers. on coming down the stokehold one of them seemed intent on finding out what different perils could happen to him. after he had been inquiring for about an hour a little cockney, rather bored, got up and said, "now look here, mate. the job ain't so bad, looking at it in this light--you've three ways of snuffing it: one is _burnt_ to death, the other is _scalded_ to death; or, if you're damn lucky, _drowned_. that's more chances than they have upstairs."--_b. scott (late stoker, h.m.s. "marlborough"), stanley road, southend-on-sea, essex._ he was a bigger fish the battleship in which i was serving was picking up survivors from a torpedoed merchantman in the north atlantic. they had been drifting about for hours clinging to upturned boats and bits of gear that had floated clear of the wreckage. our boat had picked up three or four half-drowned men and was just about to return to the ship when we espied a fat sailor bobbing about with his arms around a plank. we pulled up close to him and the bow-man leaned out with a boat-hook and drew him alongside. [illustration: "wot d'yer fink i am--a blinkin' tiddler?"] he seemed to have just strength enough left to grasp the gunwale, when we were surprised to hear him shout, in an unmistakable cockney voice: "all right, cockey, un'itch that boat 'ook. wot d'yer fink i am--a blinkin' tiddler?"--_leslie e. austin, northumberland avenue, squirrels heath, romford, essex._ the "arethusa" touch during the action off heligoland in august the light cruiser _arethusa_ came under a hot fire. a shell penetrated the chief stoker's mess, knocked a drawer full of flour all over the deck, but luckily failed to explode. a cockney stoker standing in the mess had a narrow escape, but after surveying the wreckage and flour-covered deck all he said was: "blowed if they ain't trying to make a blinkin' duff in our mess!"--_c. h. cook (lieut., r.n.v.r.), great russell street, w.c. ._ his chance to dive during the early part of , whilst i was serving with one of h.m. transports, we had occasion to call at panama for coaling purposes before proceeding to england via new york. one of our many cockney sailors was a fine swimmer and diver. he took every opportunity to have what he termed "a couple of dives." owing to the water being rather shallow immediately along the quay, his diving exhibitions were limited to nothing higher than the forecastle, which was some ft. his one desire, however, was to dive from the boat-deck, which was about ft. whilst steaming later in the front line of our convoy, which numbered about forty-two ships, we became the direct target of a deadly torpedo. every soul dashed for the lifeboats. after things had somewhat subsided i found our cockney friend--disregarding the fact that our ship was badly damaged and was now listing at an almost impossible angle--posing rather gracefully for a dive. he shouted, "hi! hi! wot abaht this 'un? i told yer i could do it easy!" he then dived gracefully and swam to a lifeboat.--_bobbie george bull (late mercantile marine), warren road, leyton, e. ._ wot abaht wot? in our job on an armed merchantman, h.m.a.s. _marmora_, was to escort food ships through the danger zone. one trip we were going to sierra leone, but in the middle of the afternoon, when about two days out from cardiff, we were torpedoed. the old ship came to a standstill and we all proceeded to action stations. just as we were training our guns in the direction of the submarine another torpedo struck us amidships and smashed practically all the boats on the port side. "abandon ship" was given, as we were slowly settling down by the bows. our boat was soon crowded out, and there seemed not enough room for a cat. the last man down the life-line was "tubby," our cook's mate, who came from poplar. when he was about half way down the boat was cut adrift and "tubby" was left hanging in mid-air. "hi!" he shouted. "what abaht it?" another cockney (from battersea) replied: "what abaht what?" "abaht coming back for me." "what do you take us for," said the lad from battersea; "do yer fink we all want the sack fer overcrowdin'?" "tubby" was, of course, picked up after a slight immersion.--_c. phelps (late r.m.l.i.), oxford road, putney, s.w. ._ water on the watch i was one of the crew of a patrol boat at the nore in the winter of . most of the crew had gone to the dockyard to draw stores and provisions, and i was down in the forecastle when i heard a shout for help. i nipped up on deck and discovered that our cockney stoker had fallen overboard. he was trying to swim for dear life, though handicapped by a pair of sea boots and canvas overalls over his ordinary sailor's rig. a strong tide was running and was carrying him away from the boat. i threw a coil of rope to him, and after a struggle i managed to haul him aboard. i took him down to the boiler room and stripped off his clothes. around his neck was tied a bootlace, on the end of which was hanging a metal watch, which he told me he had bought the day before for five shillings. the watch was full of sea water, and there was an air bubble inside the glass. as he held it in his hand he looked at it with disgust. when i said to him what a wonderful escape his wife had had from being left a widow, he replied, "yes, it was a near fing, ole' mate, but wot abaht me blinkin' bran' noo watch? it's gone and turned itself into a perishin' spirit level, and i've dipped five bob."--_w. carter, minet avenue, harlesden, n.w. ._ [illustration: "a perishin' spirit level."] a gallant tar an awe-inspiring sight met the eyes of the th division as they came into view of gallipoli on the morning of april , . shells from our ships were bursting all over that rugged coast, and those from the enemy bespattered the water around us. while i gazed at the scene from the deck of the _andania_, carried away by the grandeur of it all, my reverie was broken by a cockney voice from the sailor in charge of the small boat that was to take us ashore. "'op in, mate," said the sailor. "i've just lorst three boats. i reckon i'll soon have to take the blooming island meself." his fourth trip was successfully accomplished, but the fifth, alas! was fatal both to this gallant tar and to the occupants of his boat.--_g. pull (late st r. innis. fus.), friars place lane, acton, w. ._ a cap for jerry dawn, september , , h.m. destroyer _rosalind_ was engaged with enemy ships off jutland. i was serving on one of the guns, and we were approaching the enemy at full speed. the ship was vibrating from end to end, and the gun fire, the bursting of shells, and the smell of the cordite had got our nerves at high tension. when we were very near the enemy one of the german ships blew up completely in a smothering cloud of smoke. at this time something went wrong with our ammunition supply, and we had used up all that we usually carried on the gun platform. one of the gun's crew, a cockney, put his cap in the breech, and said "quick! send 'em this to put the lid on that blinkin' chimney." we all had to laugh, and carried on.--_w. e. m. (late h.m.s. "rosalind"), kimberley road, leytonstone, e. ._ give 'im 'is trumpet back after the _britannia_ was torpedoed in november , and the order "abandon ship" had been given, the crew had to make their way as best they could to a destroyer which had pulled up alongside. hawsers were run from the _britannia_ to the destroyer, down which we swarmed. some got across. others were not so lucky. one of the unlucky ones who had a free bath was a cockney stoker nicknamed "shorty," who, after splashing and struggling about, managed to get near the destroyer. to help him a burly marine dangled a rope and wooden bucket over the side, this being the only means of rescue available. the marine, who was puffing at a large meerschaum pipe, called out: "here y'are, shorty, grab 'old o' this bucket an' mind yer don't drown yerself in it." "shorty" makes sure of bucket, then wipes the water from his eyes, looks up to the marine, and says: "garn, give the kid 'is trumpet back."--_g. lowe (ex-r.m.l.i.), brocas street, eton, bucks._ getting the range it was on h.m. monitor _general wolfe_, my first ship, and this was my first taste of actual warfare. we were lying anchored off the belgian coast, shelling an inland objective with our -in. gun, the ammunition for which, by the way, was stowed on the upper deck. all ratings other than this gun's crew were standing by for "action stations." just then the shore batteries opened fire on us. the first shot fell short, the next went over. a cockney member of my gun's crew explained it thus: "that's wot they calls a straddle," he said. "they finds our range that way--one short, one over, and the next 'arf way between. got a 'bine on yer before it's too late?"--_regd. w. ayres (late a.b., r.n.), lewisham high road, new cross, s.e. ._ coco-nut shies early in i was attached to one of our monitors in the far east. we had painted the ship to represent the country we were fighting in. the ship's side was painted green with palm trees on it, and up the funnel we painted a large coco-nut tree in full bloom. when we went into action, a shell penetrated our funnel, and a splinter caught my breech worker in the shoulder. after we had ceased fire we carried him below on a stretcher. looking at the funnel, he said, "blimey, tom, 'appy 'ampstead and three shies a penny. all you knock down you 'ave." later i went to see him in zanzibar hospital, and told him he had been awarded the d.s.m. he seemed more interested to know if the german had got his coco-nut than in his own award.--_t. spring (late chief gunner's mate, r.n.), maidenstone hill, greenwich, s.e. ._ "any more for the 'skylark'?" passing through the mediterranean in , the p. & o. liner _arabia_, returning from the east with a full complement of passengers, was torpedoed. i was in charge of a number of naval ratings returning to england, who, of course, helped to get the boats away. while some of my boys were getting out one of the port boats a woman passenger, who had on a gieves waistcoat, rushed up, holding the air tube in front of her, and shouting hysterically, "oh, blow it up somebody, will somebody please blow it up?" a hefty seaman with a couple of blasts had the waistcoat inflated, and as he screwed up the cap said, "look 'ere, miss, if yer 'oller like that fritzy will 'ear yer and he _will_ be angry. 'ere you are, miss, boat all ready; 'op in." then, turning round to the waiting passengers, he said, "come on, any more for the 'skylark'?"--_f. m. simon (commander, r.n., retd.), lower northdown road, margate._ still high and dry whilst patrolling on an exceptionally dark night, the order being "no lights showing," we had the misfortune to come into collision with a torpedo boat. owing to the darkness and suddenness of the collision we could not discover the extent of the damage, so the officer of the watch made a "round," accompanied by the duty petty officer. upon reaching a hatchway leading down to the stokers' mess deck, he called down: "is there any water coming in down there?" in answer a cockney stoker, who was one of a number in their hammocks, was heard to reply: "i don't fink so; it ain't reached my 'ammock yet."--_j. norton (late ldg. stoker, r.n.), lochaline street, hammersmith, w. ._ trunkey turk's sarcasm we were serving in a destroyer (h.m.s. _stour_) in , steaming up and down the east coast. as we passed the different coastguard stations the bunting-tosser had to signal each station for news. one station, in particular, always had more to tell than the others. one day this station signalled that a merchant ship had been torpedoed and that german submarines were near the coast. my cockney chum--we called him trunkey turk because of his big nose--asked the bunting-tosser for his news as he was coming down from the bridge, and when he was told, said, "why didn't you ask them if they saw a tin of salmon in their tot of rum to-day?"--_j. tucknott, wisbeach road, west croydon._ running down the market on board a destroyer in the north sea in . look-out reports, "sail ahead, sir." the captain, adjusting his glasses, was able to make out what at first appeared to be a harmless fisherman. as we drew nearer we could see by her bow wave that she had something more than sails to help her along: she had power. "action stations" was sounded, the telegraphs to engine-room clanged "full speed ahead." our skipper was right. it was a german submarine, and as our foremost gun barked out we saw the white sails submerge. depth charges were dropped at every point where we altered course. imagine our surprise to find the resulting flotsam and jetsam around us consisted of trestles, boards, paint-brushes, boxes, and a hat or two, which the crafty germans had used to camouflage their upper structure. the scene was summed up neatly by "spikey" merlin, a.b., a real product of mile end road: "lor' luv old aggie weston, we've run dahn the blinkin' calerdonian markit."--_a. g. reed (late r.n.), william street, gravesend, kent._ five to one against the "tinfish" h.m.s. morea, on convoy duty, was coming up the channel when the silver streak of a "tinfish" was seen approaching the port side. the _morea_ was zig-zagging at the time, so more helm was given her to dodge the oncoming torpedo. the guns' crews were at action stations and were grimly waiting for the explosion, when a cockney seaman gunner sang out, "i'll lay five to one it doesn't hit us." this broke the tension, and, as luck would have it, the torpedo passed three yards astern.--_j. bowman (r.n.), handel mansions, handel street, w.c. ._ a queer porpoise in september i was in h.m.s. _vanguard_, patrolling in the north sea. one day four of us were standing on the top of the foremast turret, when all of a sudden my pal nobby shouted to the bridge above us, "periscope on the port bow, sir." at once the captain and signalman levelled their telescopes on the object. then the captain looked over the bridge and shouted, "that's a porpoise, my man." nobby looked up at the bridge and said, "blimey, that's the first time i've seen a porpoise wiv a glass eye." he had no sooner said it than the ship slewed to port and a torpedo passed close to our stern, the signalman having spotted the wake of a torpedo.--_m. froggat, laleham road, catford, s.e._ "hoctopus" with one arm at the time when the german submarine blockade was taking heavy toll of all general shipping i was serving aboard a destroyer doing escort work in the channel. one night three ships had been torpedoed in quick succession, and we understood they were carrying wounded. we were kept pretty busy dodging from one place to another to pick up survivors, and during our "travels" a ship's boat was sighted close at hand. in the darkness we could just make out the figure of a soldier endeavouring to pull a full-sized oar. after hailing the boat someone on our destroyer shouted, "why didn't you get some more oars out?" a voice replied: "don't be so funny. d'yer fink i'm a hoctopus? our engines 'ave all conked aht." which remark raised a laugh from the entire boatload. on getting closer alongside the tragedy dawned on us. this cockney was the only man (out of about thirty) who was sound enough to handle an oar, and he only had one arm and a half.--_h. g. vollor (late ldg.-seaman, r.n.), playford-road, finsbury park, n. ._ interrupted duel the c.o. of my ship had his own way of punishing men who were brought before him for fighting. he would send for the gunner's mate and tell him to have the two men up on the upper deck, in view of the ship's company, armed with single-sticks. the gunner's mate would get them facing each other, give them the first order of "cutlass practice"--"guard!" then "loose play." at that order they would go for each other hammer and tongs till one gave in. such a dispute had to be settled one day while we were patrolling the north sea. the combatants were just getting warm to it when the alarm buzzers went--enemy in sight. the gunner's mate, who was refereeing the combat, said: "pipe dahn, you two bounders. hop it to your action stations, and don't forget to come back 'ere when we've seen them off." fortunately they were both able to "come back."--_john m. spring (late p.o., r.n.), bank chambers, forest hill, s.e. ._ enter dr. crippen our ship, the s.s. _wellington_, was torpedoed on august , , and we were a despondent crew in the only two boats. the u-boat that had sunk our ship appeared and we were wondering what was going to happen to us. as the u-boat bore down upon us my mate, nigger smith (from shoreditch) spotted its commander, who wore large spectacles, on its conning tower bridge. "blimey," said nigger, "'ere's old crippen!"--_j. cane (late gunner, r.m.), rahere street, e.c. ._ the all-seeing eye my pal pincher and i volunteered out of the destroyer _vulture_ for the q-boats, and got detailed for the same mystery ship. after a lot of drills--"abandon ship," "panic crews away," etc.--we thought we were hot stuff. knocking about the channel one fine day the order came, "panic crews to stations." thinking it was drill, pincher and i nipped into our boat, when the after fall carried away, letting pincher, myself, and crew into the "drink." pincher must have caught sight of the periscope of a u-boat, for on coming up (although he couldn't swim much) he said when i grabbed him: "lumme, i'm in for fourteen penn'orth!" ( days a, i.e. punishment involving extra work). "there's the skipper lookin' at me through 'is telescope, and they aven't piped 'ands to bathe yet."--_p. willoughby (late r.n.), evelyn street, s.e. ._ the submarine's gamps while patrolling in the sea of marmora a british submarine came across several umbrellas floating in the sea, presumably from a sunken ship. some of them were acquired by the crew. on the passage down the dardanelles the submarine was damaged in the conning tower by gun-fire from the turkish batteries, and water began to come in. at this critical stage i overheard one sailor remark to another, "i say, bill, don't you think it is about time we put those blinkin' umbrellas up?"--_naval officer retired, hampstead, n.w. ._ polishing up his german about january , , we were on patrol duty in the north sea. near daybreak we came across a number of german drifters, with carrier pigeons on board, that were suspected of being in touch with submarines. we were steaming in line abreast, and the order was signalled for each ship to take one drifter in tow. our jerry objected to being towed to england, and cut our tow-rope, causing us a deal of trouble. our captain was in a rage and shouted down from the bridge to the officer of the watch, "is there anyone on board who can speak german?" the officer of the watch called back, "yes, sir; knight speaks german"--meaning an officer. so the captain turned to the bos'n's mate and said, "fetch him." the bos'n's mate sends up able seaman "bogey" knight, to whom the captain says, over his shoulder: "tell those fellows that i'll sink 'em if they tamper with the tow again." with a look of surprise bogey salutes and runs aft. putting his hands to his mouth. bogey shouts: "hi! there, drifterofsky, do yer savvy?" and makes a cut with his hand across his arm. "if yer makes de cut agin, i makes de shoot--(firing an imaginary rifle)--and that's from our skipper!" [illustration: "i makes de shoot."] bogey's mates laughed to hear him sprachen the german; but jerry didn't cut the tow again.--_e. c. gibson, slatin road, stroud, kent._ . here and there answered we were a working party of british prisoners marching through the german barracks on our way to the parcel office. coming towards us was a german officer on horseback. when he arrived abreast of us he shouted in very good english: "it's a long way to tipperary, boys, isn't it?" this was promptly answered by a cockney in the crowd: "yus! and it's a ruddy long way to paris, ain't it?"--_c. a. cooke, o.b.e. (late r.n.d.), brandram road, lee high road, s.e._ a prisoner has the last laugh scene: a small ward in cologne fortress, occupied by about twelve british prisoners of war. time: the german m.o.'s inspection. action: the new sentry on guard in the corridor had orders that all must stand on the m.o.'s entry. seeing the m.o. coming, he called out to us. we jumped to it as best we could, except one, a cockney, who had just arrived minus one leg and suffering from other injuries. not knowing this, the sentry rushed over to him, yelling that he must stand. seeing that no notice was being taken, he pointed his rifle directly at the cockney. with an effort, since he was very weak and in great pain, the cockney raised himself, caught hold of the rifle and, looking straight at it, said: "dirty barrel--seven days!" the m.o., who had just arrived, heard the remark, and, understanding it, explained it to the sentry, who joined in our renewed laughter.--_a. v. white, mayville road, leytonstone, e. ._ not yet introduced we were prisoners of war, all taken before christmas , and had been drafted to libau, on the baltic coast. towards the end of a party of us were working on the docks when a german naval officer approached and began talking to us. during the conversation he said he had met several english admirals and named some of them. after a little while a cockney voice from the rear of our party said, "'ave you ever met jellicoe, mate?" the officer replied in the negative, whereupon the cockney said, "well, take yer bloomin' ships into the north sea: he's looking for yer."--_f. a. f. (late k.o.y.l.i.), shaftesbury road, w. ._ on the art of conversation in the british r.n.a.s. armoured cars, under commander oliver locker-lampson, went from russia to rumania to help to stem the enemy's advance. one day, at the frontier town of reni, i saw a cockney petty officer engaged in earnest conversation with a russian soldier. finally, the two shook hands solemnly, saluted, and parted. "did he speak english?" i asked when the russian had gone away. "not 'im," said the p.o. "perhaps you speak russian?" i asked, my curiosity aroused. "no bloomin' fear!" he said, for all the world as if i had insulted him. "then how do you speak to each other?" "that's easy, sir," he said. "'e comes up to me an' says 'ooski, kooski, wooski, fooski.' 'same to you,' says i, 'an' many of 'em, ol' cock.' 'bzz-z-z, mzz-z-z, tzz-z-z,' says 'e. 'thanks,' i says. 'another time, ol' boy. i've just 'ad a couple.' 'tooralski, looralski, pooralski,' 'e says. 'ye don't say!' says i. 'an' very nice, too,' i says, 'funny face!' "'armony," he explained. "no quarrellin', no argifyin', only peace an' 'armony.... of course, sir, every now an' again i says 'go to 'ell, y' silly blighter!'" "what for?" he looked at me coldly. "'ow do i know but what the blighter's usin' insultin' words to me?" he asked.--_r. s. liddell, rosebery avenue, e.c. ._ down hornsey way here is a story of the cockney war spirit at home. we called him "london" as he was the only londoner in the troop. very pale and slight, he gave the impression of being consumptive, yet he was quite an athlete, as his sprinting at the brigade sports showed. we had been on a gunnery course up hornsey way, and with skeleton kit were returning past a large field in which were three gas chambers used for gas drill. no one was allowed even to go in the field unless equipped with a gas-mask. suddenly a voice called out, "look, there's a man trying to get in yon chamber." we shouted as loud as we could, but beyond waving his arms the figure--which looked to be that of a farm labourer--continued to push at the door. then i saw "london" leap the gate of the field and sprint towards the chamber. when he was about yards off the man gave a sudden lurch at the door and passed within. we called to "london" to come back, but a couple of seconds later he too was lost from view. one minute--it seemed like an hour--two, three, five, ten, and out came "london." he dragged with him the bulky labourer. five yards from the chamber he dropped. disregarding orders, we ran to his assistance. both his eyes were swollen, his lip was cut, and a large gash on the cheek-bone told not of gas, but of a fight. he soon came to--and pointing to his many cuts said, "serves me right for interfering. thought the fellah might have been gassed, but there's none in there; and hell--he _can_ hit."--_"selo-sam," late yorks dragoons._ "... wouldn't come off" he hailed from walworth and was the unfortunate possessor of a permanent grin. the trouble began at the training camp at seaford when the captain was inspecting the company. "who are you grinning at?" said he. "beg parding," replied smiler, "but i can't help it, sir. i was born like it." on the "other side" it was the same. the captain would take smiler's grin as a distinct attempt to "take a rise" out of him. the result was that all the worst jobs seemed to fall upon the luckless londoner. he was one of the "lucky lads" selected one night for a working party. while he was so engaged jerry sent over a packet which was stopped by smiler, and it was quickly apparent to him and to us that this was more than a blighty one. as i knelt by his side to comfort him he softly whispered, "say, mate, has jerry knocked the blinkin' smile off?" "no," i replied, "it's still there." then, with a strange light in his eyes, he said, "won't the captain be darned wild when he hears about it?"--_p. walters (late cpl., royal fusiliers), church street, woolwich, s.e. ._ when in greece...? on a greek island overlooking the dardanelles, where we were stationed in , my pal sid and i were one day walking along a road when we saw approaching us a poor-looking knock-kneed donkey. on its back, almost burying it, was a huge pile of brushwood, and on top of this sat a greek, whilst in front walked an elderly woman, probably his wife, also with a load of twigs on her back. sid's face was a study in astonishment and indignation. "strewth!" he muttered to himself. to the greek he said, "hi, 'oo the dickens d'you fink you are--the lord mayor? come down orf of there!" the greek didn't understand, of course, but sid had him down. he seemed to be trying to remonstrate with sid, but sid wasn't "'avin' no excuses of that sort," and proceeded to reverse the order of things. he wanted "ma" to "'op up an' 'ave a ride," but the timid woman declined. her burden, however, was transferred to the man's back, and after surveying him in an o.c. manner, sid said: "nah, pass on, an' don't let it 'appen again!"--_h. t. coad (late r.m.l.i.), moat place, stockwell, s.w. ._ the chef drops a brick at a prisoners of war camp, in havre, it was my duty to make a daily inspection of the compound within the barbed wire, and also the officers' quarters. in charge of the officers' mess was a little cockney corporal, but practically all the cooking and other work was done by german prisoners. we had just put on trial a new cook, a german, who had told us that he had been a chef before the war at one of the big london hotels. i was making my usual inspection with my s. m., and when we came to the officers' mess he bawled out "'shun! officer's inspection, any complaints?" the new german cook apparently did not think that this applied to him, and, wanting to create a good impression, he strolled across to me in the best _maître d'hôtel_ style, and exclaimed, "goot mornung, sir. i tink ve are go'n to haf som rain." [illustration: "'ow long 'ave you bin a partner in the firm?"] our little corporal appeared astounded at this lack of respect, and, going over to the german, he said in a loud voice: "put thet knife dahn, an' stand to attention. ve'r gorn to 'ave some rine, indeed!" and then, in a louder voice, "_ve_ are. 'ow long 'ave _you_ bin a partner in the firm?"--_lieut. edwin j. barratt (ex-"queens" r.w. surrey regt.), elborough street, southfields, s.w. ._ his "read" letter day at sorrel le grand, which our division had just taken in , we took up a good position for our machine gun in a small dug-out. i was cleaning my revolver on one of the steps, and it accidentally went off. to my surprise and horror the bullet struck one of my comrades (who was in a sitting position) in the centre of his steel helmet, creating a huge dent. his remark was: "lummy, it was a jolly good job i was reading one of my girl's letters," and then continued reading.--_robt. fisher (late corpl., m.g.c.), mayesbrook road, goodmayes, essex._ dan, the dandy detective jerry's front line trench and ours were not three hundred yards apart. over that sinister strip of ground attack and counter-attack had surged and ebbed in a darkness often turned to day by verey lights and star-shells. brave men on each side had reached their objective, but "fell sergeant death" often took charge. in our sector was a "contemptible," who, despite mud and adverse conditions, made his new army comrades smile at his barrack-room efforts to keep his uniform and equipment just so. of coster ancestry, his name was dan, and, of course, they called him dandy. he felt distinctly annoyed when on several days an officer passed him in the trench with the third button of his tunic missing. "'is batman ought bloomin' well be for it," he soliloquised. another night visit to jerry's trench, and again some poor fellows stay there for keeps. in broad noonday dan is once more aggrieved by seeing an officer with a button missing who halts in the trench to ask him the whereabouts of b.h.q. and other details. the tunic looked the same, third button absent, _but it was not the same officer_. now dan's platoon sergeant, also a londoner, was a man who had exchanged his truncheon for a more deadly weapon. him dan accosts: "i've a conundrum i'd like to arsk you, sergeant, as i don't see sherlock 'olmes nowhere. w'y do orficers lose their third button?" as became an ex-policeman, the sergeant's suspicions were aroused by the coincidence, so much so indeed that he made discreet enquiries and discovered that the original owner of a tunic minus a third button had been reported missing, believed dead, after a recent trench raid. the adjutant very soon made it his business to intercept the new wearer and civilly invite him to meet the o.c. at b.h.q. result: a firing party at dawn. when the news of the spy filtered through, dan's comment was; "once, when a rookie, i was crimed at the tower for paradin' with a button missin', but i've got even now by havin' an orficer crimed for the same thing, even if he _was_ only a blinkin' 'un!"--_h. g., plaistow._ the apology a heavily-laden and slightly intoxicated tommy, en route to france, entered the tube at oxford circus. as the train started he lurched and trod heavily on the toes of a very distinguished "brass hat." grabbing hold of the strap, he leaned down apologetically and murmured: "_sorry, sergeant!_"--_bert thomas, church farm, pinner, middlesex._ [illustration: "sorry, sergeant!"] too scraggy we were prisoners in the infamous fort macdonald, near lille, early in may , rammed into the dungeons there for a sort of "levelling down process," i.e. starvation, brutal treatment, and general misery. after eleven days of it we were on our way, emaciated, silent, and miserable, to the working camps close behind the german lines, when a cockney voice piped up: "nah then, boys, don't be down 'earted. they kin knock yer abaht and cut dahn yer rations, but, blimey, they won't _eat_ us--not nah!"--_g. f. green, alma square, st. john's wood, n.w. ._ so why worry? the following, written by a london colonel, was hung up in one of our dug-outs: "when one is a soldier, it is one of two things. one is either in a dangerous place, or a cushy one. if in the latter, there is no need to worry. if one is in a dangerous place, it is one of two things. one is wounded, or one is not. if one is not, there is no need to worry. if the former, it is either dangerous or slight. if slight, there is no need to worry, but if dangerous, it is one of two alternatives. one dies or recovers. if the latter, why worry? if you die you cannot. in these circumstances the real tommy never worries."--_"alwas," windmill road, brentford, middlesex._ commended by the kaiser as prisoners of war we were unloading railway sleepers from trucks when a shell dump blew up. german guards and british prisoners scattered in all directions. some of the germans were badly wounded and, as shells continued to explode, no attempt was made by their comrades to succour them. seeing the plight of the wounded, a cockney lad called to some fellow-prisoners crouching on the ground, "we can't leave 'em to die like this. who's coming with me?" he and others raced across a number of rail tracks to the wounded men and carried them to cover. for this act of bravery they were later commended by the then kaiser.--_c. h. porter (late east surrey regiment), fairlands avenue, thornton heath, surrey._ only fog signals we were resting in poperinghe in december . one morning about . a.m. we were called out and rushed to entrain for vlamertinghe because jerry was attacking. the train was packed with troops, and we were oiling our rifle bolts and checking our ammunition to be ready for action. we had not proceeded far when jerry started trying to hit the train with some heavy shells. several burst very close to the track. there was one young chap in our compartment huddled in a corner looking rather white. "they seem to be trying to hit the train," he said. "darkie" webb, of poplar, always cheerful and matter-of-fact, looked across at the speaker and said, "'it the train? no fear, mate, them's only signals; there's fog on the line."--_b. pigott (late essex regt.), burdett avenue, westcliff-on-sea._ an american's hustle i was on the extreme right of the british line on march , , and was severely wounded. i was picked up by the u.s. red cross. there was accommodation for four in the ambulance, and this was apportioned between two frenchmen, a cockney gunner, and myself. anxious to keep our spirits up, the kindly yankee driver said, "cheer up! i'll soon get you there and see you put right," and as if to prove his words he rushed the ambulance off at express speed, with the result that in a few moments he knocked down a pedestrian. a short rest whilst he adjusted matters with the unfortunate individual, then off again at breakneck speed. the cockney had, up to now, been very quiet, but when our driver barely missed a group of tommies and in avoiding them ran into a wagon, the londoner raised himself on his elbow and in a hoarse voice said, "naw then, sam, what the 'ell are you playing at? 'aint yer got enough customers?"--_john thomas sawyer ( th east surreys), wilcox road, s.w. ._ truth about parachutes most english balloon observers were officers, but occasionally a non-commissioned man was taken up in order to give him experience. on one such occasion the balloon burst in the air. the two occupants made a hasty parachute exit from the basket. the courtesy usually observed by the senior officer, of allowing the other parachute to get clear before he jumps, was not possible in this instance, with the result that the officer got entangled with the "passenger's" parachute, which consequently did not open. fortunately the officer's parachute functioned successfully and brought both men safely to earth. upon landing they were rather badly dragged along the ground, being finally pulled up in a bush. the "passenger," a cockney sergeant, was damaged a good deal, but upon being picked up and asked how he had enjoyed his ride he answered, "oh, it was all right, but a parachute is like a wife or a toof-brush--you reely want one to yourself."--_basil mitchell (late r.a.f.), long lane, finchley, n. ._ the linguist [illustration: "moi--vous--'im--avec allah!"] an indian mule driver had picked up a german hand grenade of the "potato masher" type, which he evidently regarded as a heaven-sent implement for driving in a peg. two tommies tried to dissuade him, but, though he desisted, he was obviously puzzled. so one of the cockneys tried to explain. "vous compree allah?" he asked, and raised his hand above his head. satisfied that the increasing look of bewilderment was really one of complete enlightenment, he proceeded to go through a pantomime of striking with the "potato masher" and, solemnly pointing in turn to himself, to the indian, and to his companion, said: "moi, vous, and 'im--avec allah."--_j. f. seignoir (lt., r.a.), moray place, cheshunt, herts._ billiards isn't all cannons my regiment was in action on the marne on september , . we had been hammering, and had been hammered at, for some hours, until there were very few of us left, and those few, being almost all of them wounded or short of ammunition, were eventually captured and taken behind the german lines. as we passed their trenches we saw a great number of german wounded lying about. one of our lads, a reservist, who was a billiards marker in stepney, although badly wounded, could not resist a gibe at a german officer. "strewth, old sausage and mash," he cried, "your blokes may be good at the cannon game, but we can beat yer at pottin' the blinkin' red. look at yer perishin' number board" (meaning the german killed and wounded). and with a sniff of contempt he struggled after his mates into captivity.--_t. c. rainbird (late pte., st west yorks), cavalry crescent, eastbourne, sussex._ run?--not likely it was the beginning of the spring offensive, , and the nd army gun school, wisques, was empty, as the men had gone into the line. a handful of q.m.a.a.c. cooks were standing by. i sent two little cockney girls over to the instructors' château to keep the fires up in case the men returned suddenly. i went to the camp gate as an enemy bombing plane passed over. the girls had started back, and were half-way across the field. the plane flew so low that the men leaned over the side and jeered at us. i held my breath as it passed the girls--would they shoot them in passing? the girls did not hasten, but presently reached me with faces as white as paper. "why didn't you run?" i said. "lor', mum," came the reply, "yer didn't think as 'ow we was a-goin' ter run with them there germans up there, did ye? not much!"--_c. n. (late u.a., q.m.a.a.c.), heathcroft, hampstead way, n.w._ at "the bow bells" concert whilst having a short spell away from the front line i attended a performance given in arras by the divisional concert party, "the bow bells." during one of the items a long-range shell struck the building, fortunately without causing any casualties among the audience. although front-line troops are not given to "windiness," the unexpectedness of this unwelcome arrival brought about a few moments' intense silence, which was broken by a cockney who remarked, "jerry _would_ come in wivvaht payin'."--_l. s. smith (late - middlesex regt., th division, b.e.f.), langham road, n. ._ a bomb and a pillow during part of the war my work included salving and destroying "dud" shells and bombs in the back areas. on one occasion in an air-raid a "dud" bomb glanced through the side of a hut occupied by some fitters belonging to an m.t. section of r.e.'s. this particular bomb (weighing about lb.), on its passage through the hut had torn the corner of a pillow on which the owner's head was lying and carried feathers for several feet into the ground. we dug about ten feet down and then, as the hole filled with water as fast as we could pump it out, we gave it up, the tail, which had become detached a few feet down, being the only reward of our efforts. while we were in the midst of our operations the owner of the pillow--very "bucked" at being unhurt after such a narrow shave--came to look on, and with a glance down the hole and a grin at me said, "well, sir, if i'd known it 'ud give yer so much trouble, i'd 'a caught it!"--_arthur g. grutchfield (late major (d.a.d.o.s. ammn.) r.a.o.c.), hill rise, sanderstead road, sanderstead, surrey._ athletics in the khyber pass during the afghan operations i was resting my company on the side of the road at the afghan entrance to the khyber pass. it was mid-day and the heat was terrific, when along that heat-stricken road came a british battalion. they had marched miles that morning from ali musfd. their destination was landi kana, five miles below us on the plain. as they came round the bend a cheer went up, for they spotted specks of white canvas in the distance. most of the battalion seemed to be on the verge of collapse from the heat, but one tommy, a cockney, broke from the ranks and had a look at the camp in the distance, and exclaimed: "coo! if i 'ad me running pumps i could sprint it!"--_capt. a. g. a. barton, m.c., indian army, "the beeches," the beeches road, perry bar, birmingham._ jack and his jack johnsons in september our battery near ypres was crumped at intervals of twenty minutes by -in. shells. the craters they made could easily contain a lorry or two. one hit by the fifth shell destroyed our château completely. leaving our dug-outs i found a gunner smoking fags under the fish-net camouflage at number one gun. asked sternly why he had not gone to ground, he replied, "well, yer see, sir, i'm really a sailor and when the earth rocks with jack johnsons i feels at 'ome like. besides, the nets keeps off the flies."--_g. c. d. (ex-gunner subaltern, th div.), sister agnes officers' hospital, grosvenor crescent, s.w. ._ even davy jones protested towards the final stages of the palestine front operations, when johnny turk was retreating very rapidly, i was detailed with others to clear and destroy enemy ammunition that had been left behind. when near the sea of galilee there was discovered a dump of aerial bombs, each approximately lb. in weight. thinking it quicker and attended by less risk than the usual detonation, i decided to drop them in the sea. about ten bombs were placed aboard a small boat, and i with three others pushed out about two hundred yards. two of the bombs were dropped overboard without ever a thought of danger when suddenly there was a heavy, dull explosion beneath us, and boat, cargo, and crew were thrown into the air. nobody was hurt. all clung to the remains of the boat, and we were brought back to our senses by one of our cockney companions, who remarked: "even davy jones won't have the ruddy fings."--_a. w. owen (late corporal, desert corps), keith road, walthamstow, e. ._ "parti? don't blame 'im!" one summer afternoon in i was asked to deliver an official letter to the mayor of poperinghe. the old town was not then so well known as toc h activities have since made it. at the time it was being heavily strafed by long-range guns. many of the inhabitants had fled. i rode over with a pal. the door of the _mairie_ was open, but the building appeared as deserted as the great square outside. just then a belgian gendarme walked in and looked at us inquiringly. i showed him the buff envelope inscribed "_monsieur le maire_," whereupon he smiled and said, "_parti_." at that moment there was a deafening crash outside and the air was filled with flying debris and acrid smoke. in a feeling voice my chum quietly remarked, "and i don't blinkin' well blame 'im, either!"--_f. street, greenfield road, eastbourne._ _printed in great britain by hasell, watson & viney, ltd., london and aylesbury._ _published by associated newspapers, ltd., london, e.c. ._ transcriber's notes obvious errors of punctuation and diacritics repaired. hyphenation was made consistent. p. : "dorian lake" changed to "doiran lake". p. : "hindenbrug" changed to "hindenburg". transcriber's notes: obvious punctuation errors and misprints have been corrected. blank pages have been deleted. text in italics is indicated between _underscores_ text in small capitals has been replaced by regular uppercase text. "jayhawkers" is defined in a footnote in page of the original book, although it appears for the first time in page . for clarity, the footnote has been consequently moved. * * * * * how beauty was saved [illustration] how beauty was saved _and other memories of the sixties_ by mrs. james madison washington (_mrs. a. a. washington_) new york and washington the neale publishing company copyright, , by the neale publishing company _to southern girls_ contents how beauty was saved the telltale gloves the magic sign a labor of love the "jayhawkers" memories of slave days a narrow escape _green and golden memories of the thrilling time when hearts and hands were true as steel in our sunny southern clime._ _a. a. w._ how beauty was saved how beauty was saved in the summer of , in the bayou manchac country near baton rouge, louisiana, there was a modest little schoolhouse called the "dove's nest." to that school came two young girls to complete a course of study begun in baton rouge before the federals captured that city. the country was visited quite often by bands of confederates, "jayhawkers,"[ ] and federals; the slaves on the vast sugar plantations were in a demoralized condition from being so near the enemy's lines; yet the girls braved all these dangers, and rode on horseback (both on the same horse) three miles through forest and field to attend school. they had no fear, for both could shoot a pistol, and always carried a loaded one, and a small spanish dirk for self-protection. all the valuable horses on the plantation having been given to the confederate army, only two were left for family use, an old one, not of much service, and a young beautiful bay, the individual property of one of the girls. [ ] "jayhawkers" were bands of deserters and outlaws that kept in hiding from both armies and preyed upon helpless citizens. this horse the girls rode to school. naturally he had a shambling, uncomfortable gait, but the girls determined to teach him to pace, which they did by the use of a small steel spur. the days sped on, the year blushed into spring, bloomed into summer, and the girls grew accustomed to meeting bands of the "blue and the gray," sometimes riding along only fifty yards apart, yet totally ignorant of the fact. the girls narrowly missed being shot on one occasion, as some soldiers were firing down the road for practice, and the bullets whistled near their heads as they turned a curve in the lane. the booming of cannon could be heard from the mississippi river; now and then a friend was killed in a roadside skirmish; loved ones were captured and imprisoned; but the little school was undisturbed outwardly, though thrilled with anxiety and patriotism for the beloved southland. when the days grew too long and hot for study, the earnest little teacher decided to close the term with a thorough, old-fashioned examination, and a modest exhibition. the neighborhood had been quiet for some weeks and no one feared a visit from the enemy. the "dove's nest" was prettily decorated, a piano moved in, and all made ready. the day of the exhibition dawned bright and fair, the woods were full of flowers, and nature seemed to laugh in the glad sunshine. the two girls arrived early, and one of them decided to ride to a friend's home a mile beyond, for a basket of fresh roses; she told her friend, the owner of beauty, of her intention, then sprang into the saddle and rode away. when she reached the house she noticed a horse and buggy under an old oak near by. she knew it belonged to an old bachelor who was slightly deaf (else he would have been in the southern army), and that he had come to take the little teacher to the schoolhouse. when she dismounted she fastened her horse under the same tree, in full view of the road. the house was surrounded by spacious grounds, some distance from the main road, and a broad avenue led up to it from a large outer gate. the flowers were soon gathered, and after a chat with her friends, the girl started back, when someone cried, "just look at the yankees!" sure enough, the house was surrounded and a company was stationed at the big gate. the family stood together on the piazza, pale with fear, for they never knew what would happen in those troublous times. the officer in command told them that they were in need of fresh horses to make a raid, and had orders to "press" any into service that they could find. turning to a soldier he said, "take that horse from the buggy, saddle him and see if he is fit for use." this caused the girl some uneasiness about her friend's horse, but she hoped the side-saddle would save him, as it had done when the southern army were pressing horses. anxiously she waited and listened. when the man returned, the colonel said, "try the other one." the girl was trembling now; the horse was not hers, it was the only one the family with whom she boarded could use to send to mill, or for a physician in case of illness; and she felt that she could not give him up without an effort to save him. "surely, sir, you are not going to take a schoolgirl's horse for the federal government!" he smiled and asked her if she could swear that the horse was hers. she told him no, the horse belonged to a schoolgirl friend. he looked incredulous and said that he suspected it belonged to a rebel soldier; and, bowing an apology, again spoke to the man, "try that horse." like a flash a thought came to the girl. she would not plead or beg,--she was too proud for that,--but she said: "colonel, let me try him for you." "very well," he replied, much amused. "bring him up, lieutenant." the girl had no time or chance to ask advice from anyone; but she _wore the sharp steel spur_. the colonel politely offered to assist her in the saddle, but she sprang up without touching his hand. dressed in white muslin, with braided hair looped back with pink rosebuds; without gloves, hat or riding skirt, she slowly started down the avenue in front of the house. she let the horse shamble along in the ugly way he liked until he reached the large gate where the company of soldiers were stationed. they looked surprised to see her riding down alone on one of the horses they had stopped to take, but thinking it must be all right, as the colonel was in view, they lined up, saluted respectfully, and let her pass out. when she was beyond the last guard, she said, "now, beauty, fly!" and, as she used the spur freely, they did fly. for some distance they were in full view of the colonel and her friends who stood waiting on the piazza for her return, then a curve in the road put her out of sight. in a few minutes she heard the clatter of hoofs behind her, but as the road was hard, dry and level, and she knew every foot of it, she hoped to outrun her pursuers. glancing back she saw two soldiers splendidly mounted tearing after her. the "dove's nest" was in sight now, but the soldiers were gaining ground. she could hear the clanking of swords, the rattle of spurs, and the hoof beats. on she flew, faster and faster, for beauty seemed to feel, with the rider, that an enemy was after them. the schoolyard gate was wide open, and she dashed through it and up to the porch where an eager, startled bevy of girls were assembled. she jumped off quickly and called to her friend, "here is your horse. the yankees are after him!" just then the men rode up, very red, very angry, and somewhat scared, for they were in dense woods over a mile from their command. they ordered the girl to get back on that horse and return to the colonel. she told them that she would not do anything of the kind; she was a southern girl, not subject to federal orders, and that they could not compel her to return. the owner of the horse said she would go with them, but they insisted on the girl who ran away going, too. this she refused to do, and she told them if they did not want to be captured by the southern boys, they had better not linger. this had the desired effect, and the girl who owned the horse, taking a small child behind her, rode back with the soldiers. when she arrived, the colonel was surprised to see a different girl on the horse and to know that his men did not overtake the other one. the owner of beauty was very pretty, very eloquent and spirited, and she could swear that the horse was hers, and prove it by people present, so the colonel allowed her to keep the horse. her friend was greatly relieved, and all rejoiced that beauty was not surrendered to the federal government to make a raid on our own dear soldier boys! this is a true story, for the writer was the runaway. the telltale gloves the telltale gloves the federals having left, and beauty being safe, we proceeded with our exercises that summer day at the "dove's nest." we passed a good examination, and just as we were singing our gayest songs a party of confederates rode up. they tied their horses to the windows and doors, came in, and enjoyed the little concert. after the last melody had died away and the shades of evening were falling, we rode slowly homeward, each girl with a soldier boy beside her. one of the soldiers, in particular, was a reckless, daring young man, who had shot at the federals from ambush many times, had captured some of their horses, and was quite a terror to the raiders. his father's home was in that neighborhood, and the federals were trying to capture him. now, when the boys--for they were only boys--left us at the gate this particular one forgot his gloves--left them on a gate post. we found them, took them into the house, and threw them carelessly on the hall table. there were no millinery stores, in fact no stores of any kind in the country, so the girls, for riding hats, wore boys' hats, with a plume jauntily pinned on the side. we took our hats off and laid them on the table _by the gloves_. the boy's nickname, "little dare devil," was on the inside of the buckskin cuffs, but we had not noticed it. that night we were aroused from sleep by the barking of dogs, the rattling of sabers and spurs. we knew, as soon as we were well awake, that the federals were in the house, and, slipping on our wrappers, we ran to mother's room, for we could hear them beating on our doors. we were dreadfully frightened, for there was an unfinished suit of confederate gray in the house, and we knew that if it was found the house would be burned to ashes. mother, who had the suit in her room, would not "strike a light" until the suit was concealed, and the pelican buttons slipped into her pocket. the federals kept calling loudly for _light_, and we heard them burst into our room, saying, "here they are, boys! the bed is right warm! be quick!" we knew, then, that they were looking for confederate soldiers. the house was searched from garret to cellar, but, finding no one except members of the family, the intruders hurriedly departed. next morning our hats and gloves were missing, having been taken from the hall table. a few days after this the federals were out again, but this time in daylight. one of the officers came in the house and asked for a drink of water. while waiting for it to be drawn cool and fresh from the well (for southerners were courteous to an enemy when he stood upon their threshold), he seemed disposed to chat with the girls. "we came very near catching those fellows the other night," he said; "we got their hats and gloves, and saw their blankets on the floor. where in the world did they hide, young ladies?" we were very indignant; and told him that no southern soldier would sleep in a private house so near the enemy's lines, and thus endanger the lives and property of his relatives and friends. we said that the hats _were ours_, and we would like them returned, and that the roll of blankets was used by a little colored girl who slept in the house, which fact they would have discovered if they had not been nearly scared to death. the officer looked astonished and seemed somewhat ashamed of the whole affair, but some of them did not believe us, for they rode away laughing about the _name inside the gloves_. the magic sign the magic sign "i have come to destroy your tannery and burn down your house." the officer spoke calmly, and my father did not answer for a moment. after school closed i had returned to my home, which was about nine miles from the federal lines. we had a small, rude tannery, for our family, including the servants, was quite large, and, as there was no place to get shoes in that part of louisiana, my father employed a shoemaker and tanned his own leather. our home was beautiful, with spacious grounds around it, and every nook and corner was dear to us. a clear winding stream ran nearly around the plantation, and on the river was our "primitive" tannery. we had all been supplied with hard yellow shoes (the first tan-colored shoes we had ever seen, which we were much ashamed of), and there were some hides left. my father, hearing one day that the report had been carried to baton rouge that he was tanning leather for the southern army, anticipated trouble, fearing the loss of his precious leather. he decided the best thing he could do would be to hide it in some secret place. he was afraid to trust the servants,--for while some were faithful, others were not,--so he told the two youngest girls of his plan, and asked them to help him store away his valuable leather. when the servants were all asleep in their cottages, we three, father and two young girls, dragged those things to the house, then upstairs, and into a long, dark closet. the house was two and a half stories high, so there was quite a space under the roof. we conquered our dread of dark, dust, spiders, and mice, and climbed up into the space just under the roof. father handed up the hides to us and we hid them carefully and with many frights from imaginary terrors. after all was done we came down, closed the narrow little door, hung some dresses over it, and awaited future action on the part of the enemy. sure enough, in a day or two the federals came. before we knew it the house was entirely surrounded by troops. the officer dismounted and knocked at the door. he asked to see my father, who met him at the hall door. "sir," he said, "i am informed that you are tanning leather, and making boots for the confederate army. i have come to destroy your tannery and burn down your house. take your family out immediately." my father, my aged mother, and we, his daughters, who had enjoyed and loved the beautiful home so long, were speechless for a moment, and pale with fear. then father said, slowly, "the report is false. we have a rude tannery, but only for home use," and begged him to spare the sacred old place. the colonel said that he must search the house and see if any evidence could be found against us, and, taking several well-armed soldiers with him, he went through every room. of course we could not follow them, but we anxiously waited for their return. the colonel must have been touched by our mute grief, but he only said, "i have orders to burn the house, and though i find no proof against you, i must obey orders." then father asked him to step out on the veranda. they talked a few minutes, clasped hands, and the colonel, quickly wheeling around, ordered the troops out of the house. in a few minutes every one was in line and rapidly marching away. in answer to our astonished inquiries, we were told that a masonic sign, the secret of true brotherhood, had saved our dear home from desolating flames. a labor of love a labor of love one day a little girl was reading a story-book on the green lawn in front of a southern home; two gentlemen were seated near under a wide-spreading magnolia tree talking about the political situation, the number of presidential candidates, and the possible results of the election. suddenly one of them said, "yes, there is trouble ahead. before that child is grown this country will be plunged into bloody war." the child was startled. the prophetic words were indelibly stamped on her mind. she could not sleep until long after midnight, and when she slept she dreamed that she, like the "maid of monterey," gave food and water to the thirsty soldiers, and dressed their bleeding wounds. the dream came true. while she was attending school in the capital city, talk of secession began, and then came preparations for war. i remember the day the arsenal at baton rouge was seized by louisiana, and all the citizens and the college girls marched down to the barracks on the river to see our soldiers drill. the women and girls went to work making clothes and little conveniences for the soldiers to take with them. in a few weeks we were thrilled with enthusiasm when our first companies marched through the city with their knapsacks, blankets, and a half loaf of bread strapped on their backs. poor boys, they lived to learn that "a half loaf is better than none." some time after two companies[ ] were camped near us on the comite river, and real work began. how young and brave the soldiers were, and how proud every woman was who had a son, brother, or sweetheart in the army! for a time all was excitement, gaiety, and preparation; bands played, soldiers drilled, and citizens flocked to the camps to encourage and help in every way possible. one sad day orders came to move to the front. knapsacks were packed, tents were folded, the last good-byes were spoken, tears fell softly but were dashed away, and our boys were gone--gone to meet their fate, whatever it might be! [ ] bynum's and buffington's. soon after came the hard times. luxuries were given up, privation was felt in every home, but no one complained. people seemed proud to endure, and often met to exchange opinions and plans as to how to "make something out of nothing," as they expressed it. old looms were brought out and repaired, and the spinning wheels were put to work. flour, tea, coffee, and even salt ceased to be used on the family table. from the smoke-houses, where the salt meats had dripped for years, the salt-soaked earth was taken up, boiled in a vessel, the salt extracted, and dried in the sun. sweet potatoes were sliced thin, cut in little pieces, browned in an oven, ground in a coffee mill, and a breakfast drink made from them. it looked like coffee, it was not injurious, so it was cheerfully taken in place of fragrant mocha. okra seed, parched corn meal, and parched peanuts were also used for making a morning drink. "confederate cake" was made by sifting corn meal through a sieve, and then through cloth. rice was harvested, and husked in a wooden mortar, a work which required time and strength. all dress-goods became scarce--calico was $ per yard and very hard to get. jaunty dresses were made of coarse yellow domestic, piped with bright colors. no hats could be purchased, but stylish turbans were made of old straw covered with scraps of black silk or velvet, and were worn with pride, and called "beauregard" hats. this recalls a song that was very popular in louisiana during the war. it is a wee bit touching to read it over now, for the southern girls, daintily reared, sadly missed their fine linen, their soft silks and sheer muslins. the song was sung to the air of "the bonny blue flag." "oh, yes, i am a southern girl, i glory in the name, and boast it with far greater pride than glittering wealth or fame. "i envy not the northern girl, her robes of beauty rare; though diamonds grace her snowy neck and pearls bedeck her hair. "my homespun dress is plain, i know, my hat's palmetto, too, but then it shows what southern girls for southern rights will do." the war dragged on. new orleans fell. baton rouge was in the hands of the enemy. some of the baton rouge people refugeed to the country, living in churches, schoolhouses and deserted log cabins; others were compelled to remain, as they had no shelter and no means of living outside of the city. then followed the sieges on the mississippi river, port hudson, and vicksburg. night after night and all day long we could hear the heavy guns booming and the deadly shells hissing, and we had no means of knowing how our armies were faring. i remember the sad and anxious dread which came over me every time a gun was fired, and how i covered my head with pillows to shut out the fearful sound. one day in august the news came that gen. john c. breckinridge was on his way to attack baton rouge; that his army of less than three thousand were tired and in need of food, and would be glad if the citizens would send out something to the road on which they were marching. every family in the country began to prepare food; quantities of green corn, potatoes, vegetables, egg-bread, chickens, in fact, everything that could be had was cooked, packed in baskets, and carried out to meet the army. general breckinridge pitched camp on the comite river. on a foggy morning, august , the battle was fought. historians have told all about the short, desperate battle. i remember the great disappointment that was expressed, and how people wondered why the _arkansas_ did not do her part on the river, where the enemy's three gunboats made such havoc. we did not know that she was lying, entirely disabled, only four miles away. after the battle the sick and wounded were taken to green-well springs, a pretty little summer resort near us, where a hospital was established, mattresses being laid on the floors of the parlors and dining-room of the hotel. southern women then proved their love and devotion to their country's defenders. every day buggies, drays, and carts went to the springs, loaded with jellies, soups, and every delicate thing that we could make with our limited means. the surgeons had no lint to dress the wounds, so we went home, tore our finest linen sheets and table cloths into strips, and with sharp knives scraped them into fine, soft lint, for linen makes much better lint than plain cotton. during this time general breckinridge, who was a very handsome man, visited our home and dined with us several times. on one occasion, just after a charming dinner with the general and several of his staff as guests, a heavy storm gathered. the rain fell in torrents all the afternoon. my parents urged the guests to spend the night as it was so dark and threatening, but the general said, "while it is a great temptation to enjoy for a few hours the comforts of a home, duty calls me to my camp and my boys." we learned to enjoy our "labor of love," and memory treasures green-well springs as a sacred spot where hands, heads, and hearts were used freely in the service of our beloved southland. the "jayhawkers" the "jayhawkers" on new year's day, , one of the coldest days ever known in louisiana, we were all seated around a bright wood fire talking as usual of the war, and of our absent boys. all were gone to the front--not a man was left, except my father, an aged clergyman. as we talked, we were startled by the furious barking of dogs, the tramp of horses, and a loud "hello" at the front gate. when the door was opened we saw about twenty or twenty-five men muffled up to their eyes, muffled quite beyond recognition. the men were riding miserable ponies, and they looked dreadful in their disguise, and seemed numb with cold. father answered the call, and asked what was wanted. the man in front replied that they were "government officials"; that they had come to search the house, as they had heard it contained contraband articles and smuggled goods. we knew that there was not a shadow of truth in the statement, so my father asked to see the government order. "you need not trouble about that, we have it all right!" replied the leader. then they pushed their way into the hall, the parlor, the bedrooms, and all over the house, opening trunks, bureau drawers, desks, and closets. they took every yard of cloth they could find and everything that looked new or valuable, piling them on the front piazza. toilet articles, ladies' underwear, everything! my brother was a physician, at that time a surgeon in a louisiana regiment, and we had quite a collection of jars and bottles of medicine that had been left over, among them a bottle of quinine valued at one hundred dollars, and prized above gold or silver. this medicine they found, and, sneering and jeering, placed it with other things. when they had gone through every room, they went to the old-fashioned smoke-house in the yard, where the home-cured meat, the corn meal and other such things were kept, broke open the door and entered. hidden away there was a small demijohn of whiskey, kept for medicinal purposes, and a box of sugar, kept also for the sick and suffering. when they found that, the men went wild with glee, and they ran, shouting, to the kitchen for cups and were soon drinking the fiery liquid. we stood looking on in agony,--the old father, the physician's wife, two young girls, and several small children,--all helpless, at the mercy of a band of drunken outlaws, two miles from any help! after they had swallowed every drop, and felt warmed and cheered by the whiskey, they came out and began to talk about the sad duty of obeying "government orders." we then told them that the report they had heard was false; that all the things they had collected on the piazza were in the house when the war broke out, and that we could prove it by the home guards, who would probably be along soon from their camp near by. of course, this was a ruse resorted to in our desperation, but it had a magical effect. the men ran to their horses, mounted in haste, and dashed off through the woods in a wild gallop. oh! what a relief, and how thankful we were! the goods were left on the piazza floor, quinine, clothing and all. they never came again, but the fear of their return never left us by night or day, until the war was over. memories of slave days memories of slave days rows and rows of white-washed cottages constituted the "quarters," with narrow streets between them, many of the little homes adorned with bright-hued, old-fashioned flowers in the front yards, or with potato and melon patches. on cold winter evenings bright firelight shone from every door and window. inside, the father sitting in the chimney corner, smoking his pipe while he deftly wove white-oak splints into cotton baskets; the mother, mending, or knitting, while the fat little darkies tumbled about on the floor, or danced to the music of uncle tom's fiddle. the slaves were well fed, well clothed, well housed, and when ill they were well nursed, and attended by a good doctor. their houses were warmed by fires in broad fireplaces, fires which they kept burning all night. they had gay "sunday-go-to-meetin' clothes," and they generally went to church, either to the "white folkses' church," where an upper gallery was provided for them, or to their own special service. if a planter allowed his slaves to be mistreated in any way, he and his family were ostracized from society, and made to feel the disapprobation of their neighbors. so general was this method of administering rebuke that it seemed to be an unwritten law throughout the south. sometimes, as it often happens to-day, an overseer of quick or ungovernable temper would be severe in punishing an offender; but he soon lost his place and a kinder man was employed in his instead. somewhere in the "quarters" a large nursery was situated, and there the babies and small children were cared for by the old women while their mothers worked in the cotton-fields. white children were taught to treat the grown-up servants with respect, and as they could not say "mrs." or "mr.," they called them "aunt" or "uncle." on sunday afternoons the white children were often sent to read the bible to the old colored people, and the children thought it quite an honor. if any of the house servants wanted to learn to read, they were taught, though after the war we heard this was against the law. we never knew it! half of every saturday was given to "the hands" to "clean up," tend their garden, or go fishing, as they chose. from ten days' to two weeks' holiday was given at christmas time, and a jolly good time they had--balls, parties, and weddings galore! the white family and their guests would be cordially invited down, and they always enjoyed the festivities. _noblesse oblige_ was recognized everywhere, and we felt bound to treat kindly the class dependent upon us. young ladies parted with many a handsome gown or ribbon because their maids wanted them and boldly asked for them. we simply could not refuse, and they knew it. the faithfulness and devotion of the slaves has been written of by historians, and they deserve all praise, for many of them were noble and self-sacrificing. after the war many of them remained at the old homestead with their former owners, as long as they could be provided for, and when poverty compelled a separation, they left the homestead with sorrow. we of the south are glad and thankful that the negroes are free. we would not have them in bondage again if we could. _"social equality" can never exist in the south_, but the race can be, and many of them are, well educated, happy and prosperous: living in peace and harmony with their white neighbors, who are, and have been for many years paying taxes to educate them. it is the "floating" class of colored people that cause the trouble we read about in the daily papers. those negroes who have been reared in the south, and know the old traditions, are law-abiding citizens with comfortable homes, good schools, fine churches, and every chance to be prosperous and contented. a narrow escape a narrow escape one bright, beautiful day, we were all made happy by a visit from the oldest son of the family, a surgeon in the confederate army. the river, winding almost around the plantation, was "up to its banks" from recent heavy rains, all the bridges had been destroyed, and we felt comparatively safe from the federals on the other side, though baton rouge was only nine miles away. the doctor, who wore confederate gray ornamented with louisiana pelican buttons, rode a fine large horse, which he left in the stables some distance from the house. sitting around the broad fireplace in mother's room, talking of the home people and the war, we were enjoying the unexpected visit, when one of the girls chanced to look out through the south door. she turned very pale, and exclaimed, "look at the soldiers!" all around the kitchen, talking to the servants, and all over the grounds were federal soldiers on horseback. what was to be done? if our brother was captured it meant imprisonment to the end of the war, and perhaps death. when he realized the situation, for he had been near the door and knew they had come for him and were questioning the servants, he dropped on his knees, crept into a small room adjoining, where two of us pulled off his gray coat and replaced it by an old one from the wardrobe, gave him a book, and someone whispered, "go into the guest-chamber and wait. take these old trousers with you." he slipped into the quiet room, and taking a seat by the window, and opening the book, assumed the rôle of an invalid. then we hastily concealed the confederate uniform, but where we put it i can never remember. it was securely hidden. by that time the federal officers and some of the men were in the house looking around with curiosity, but they offered no explanation about their call. there were five or six bright, pretty girls in the house, and, contrary to our usual custom, we chatted with the officers and used all our attractive powers to keep them in front of the house and on the broad veranda. our attentions seemed to please them, and the private soldiers were quietly ordered out and were not allowed to search for and appropriate valuables as they usually did. in a little while the federals, the girls, and the family were all engaged in pleasant conversation on the piazza overlooking the beautiful flower-yard and the lovely, peaceful scene. someone quietly stole back to the prisoner's room, told him the chance to escape had come, gave him an old hat, and helped him get out of the window near the garden, a garden bordered by a dense hedge. then the messenger returned to the group on the porch, and we chatted gaily, while our hearts were beating with excitement and anxiety for the fugitive. after some time the soldiers began to mount their horses, the servant having told us in the mean time that the yankees had the doctor's horse. we concluded that the fugitive would need his horse to get back to port hudson, if he had escaped, and we felt encouraged to believe he had, and we determined we would try to save the horse also. two of us requested the colonel to step into the parlor, as we wished to speak to him. he looked a little suspicious and seemed ill at ease when he had entered the room and the door was closed. the large, beautiful room with its heavy furniture, its bright brass andirons, its elegant pictures and wealth of flowers seemed harmless enough, and one of the girls was beautiful and bewitching, so he braved the danger (if there were danger!) and asked what he could do for us. we told him a fine horse had been taken out of our stables by his men; that we needed the animal as we were fond of horseback riding, and only the old carriage horses were left to us. he said he was sorry to refuse our polite request, but his men had seen the army saddle and bridle; that it looked like a "u. s." horse,--in fact, was branded "u. s.,"--and under the circumstances he would be obliged to take him. all this time our soldier-brother was hurrying across fields and woods, hills and valleys to the banks of the river, which meant safety on the other side. the officer, as i remember across the long years now passed, enjoyed the novelty of his position and looked with interest and a touch of sympathy at the southern home and the piquant southern girls. when he returned to the veranda the soldiers mounted their horses, gave us a respectful salute, and galloped down the broad avenue. when they reached the gate a large flock of geese, about a hundred, furiously attacked the enemy; their horses reared and plunged, and the "rank and file" were so angry because they had not been allowed any spoils, that they unsheathed their swords and, leaning over as far as they could, cut off the heads of some of our bravest ganders--the officers sitting erect, and trying to look grave. it was an amusing sight. "they routed them, they scouted them, nor lost a single man!" when all had gone we sent a boy in haste to the ford of the river to find out about our soldier. he had crossed the swollen stream in a rude dug-out with board paddles, and was safe, safe on the other side. +-------------------------------------------------+ |transcriber's note: | | | |the erratum note has been applied to the text. | | | |obvious typographic errors have been corrected. | | | +-------------------------------------------------+ men we meet in the field. [illustration] men we meet in the field. by a. g. bagot ("bagatelle"). [illustration] . tinsley brothers, , catherine street, strand, london. men we meet in the field or the bullshire hounds. by a. g. bagot ("bagatelle"), author of "sporting sketches in three continents." london: tinsley brothers, , catherine street, strand. . [_all rights reserved._] charles dickens and evans, crystal palace press. preface. the present series of sketches in the hunting field have, from time to time, appeared in the columns of _the country gentleman and sporting gazette_, to the editor of which journal i am indebted for leave to reprint them. all, or nearly all, the characters i have endeavoured to portray have come under my personal observation, and are from life; but i have done my utmost to avoid depicting peculiarities that might serve to identify my models, or using personalities that might offend them. in placing men we meet in the field before the public, beyond acknowledging that i have perhaps not done full justice to the subject, i offer no apology; for anything said or done, painted or written, that serves in any way to call attention to our glorious old national sport, or to recall perchance the scenes of our youth, is not done amiss. in that it is one more stone, however humble, in the wall of defence which, alas! it is now becoming necessary to build against the attacks of those whose aim seems to be the demolition of all sport, dazzled as they are by the glamour of notoriety, won by sensational legislation, at the expense of all that has made england what she is, and her sons and daughters what they are. i do not for a moment wish to enter into political argument. in the field, liberal and conservative, radical and home-ruler, meet as one, save only in the struggle for the lead. but what i do hold is that, by measures such as the ground game bill and the abolition of all freedom of contract, our national sports are fast being blotted out, and that it behoves all true sportsmen to array themselves against such things. of the matter contained in the volume i am now sending on its way, others must judge. i confess that i have enjoyed the writing of it. if i am fortunate enough to find some at least who enjoy the reading i shall be content, and shall feel i have not laboured in vain. to those who so kindly received my maiden venture, "sporting sketches" (messrs. swan, sonnenschein, and allen), i offer my best thanks. like a young hound who has not felt too much whipcord, encouragement has given confidence. i can only hope i may not have flashed over the line. the author. contents. page introductory the master the huntsman the whips the secretary the farmer the parson the doctor the dealers the grumbler the lady who hunts and rides the lady who hunts and does not ride the schoolboys the boaster hodge the keeper the authority the blacksmith the runner the man at the toll-bar who-whoop! the first of the season uncle john's new horse the hog-backed stile erratum. _for_ "hollo!" _read throughout_ "holloa!" men we meet in the field. introductory. for those fond of studying character under various circumstances and in various positions, there is, perhaps, no medium affording so good an opportunity, or so vast a scope, as the hunting-field. there more than in any other place do men's characters appear in their true lights. at the covert-side the irritable man, however well he may on ordinary occasions be able to conceal his irritability, will fret and fume if things do not go exactly as he wishes. the boaster, who in the safety of his armchair astonishes his friends with anecdotes of his own daring exploits, is, after a fast forty minutes, more often than not weighed in the balance and found wanting. the garrulous individual, who invariably knows where the fox has gone and what the huntsman ought to do, is in the field estimated at his proper value. there also the grumblers never fail to find a grievance, nor the elder generations of sportsmen to lament the "good old days gone by." in fact, the "bell-mouthed pack and tuneful horn" seem to act in some occult way in bringing out the idiosyncrasies of all their followers. this being so, a few sketches may not be uninteresting, and i shall endeavour to draw with my pen some portraits of those with whom we yearly ride, and who are so well known to most of us. to do this the more concisely, i propose to describe the field, subscribers, visitors, and others, who are to be found at the meets from the st of november to the end of april, and who go to make up the members of that justly celebrated pack--the bullshire hounds. before individualising, however, it will be necessary to give a short history of the hunt, with a brief outline of the country, and its gradual growth. the bullshire country is one of the oldest in england, and was originally hunted on what is known as the "trencher system," that is everybody, in lieu of paying a subscription, kept (according to his means) one or more hounds, which he was bound to bring with him to the spot selected by the master (who was yearly elected as huntsman) for the meet. no sinecure was the office of m.f.h., carrying the horn, for as every hound recognised the rule of a different master, and every master considered himself entitled to an opinion in the case of his own hound, there was a good deal of jealousy among the latter and no small amount of "tail" among the former. the "tailing," however, was augmented by the different system of preparation and feeding the bullshire hounds received, for while bellman before hunting was treated to no supper, truelove had to deal with a sumptuous repast placed before her by the compassionate but ignorant goodwife, "who couldn't abear the idea of the old dog doing all that work on an empty stomach." after a little the system proved unsatisfactory, and a step in the proper direction was taken. old gregory the whip was sent round early in the morning the day before the meet to collect the pack, and it thus became his business to see that all fared alike--wisely, and not too well. from this it was an easy stage to kennels, and somehow, before the inhabitants knew how it happened, they found themselves paying their subscriptions with and without a murmur, and were able to point with pride to the bullshire kennels. once this an accomplished fact, everything went on smoothly; and from old gregory and a master whose office was the subject of an annual election, they now turn out a huntsman, two whips, and a second horseman, and, for a provincial pack, stand first on the list. their present master is one of the right sort, who takes an interest in his hounds and his servants, perhaps at times a little free with his tongue, but only when absolutely necessary, and it is because of their large and varied field that i have selected the bullshire for description. the country, though not a flying one, has a fair share of grass, and is acknowledged by all to hold a good scent. as there is every conceivable sort of obstacle, of every conceivable size, shape, and form, wet and dry, it requires a clever horse to get over it. indeed, when some of the swells from the shires condescend to patronise the bullshire (no uncommon occurrence, by-the-way), there are generally two or three to be found, like water, at the bottom of a ditch. i remember hearing a description of his day by a meltonian, when he returned to his quarters with a battered head-piece and covered in mud. in reply to a question of "where had he been?" he said: "lord knows where i have not been. to the bottom of about ten ditches, three brooks, nearly into a gravel-pit, hung up in a bullfinch for five minutes, and almost broke my neck at the biggest post and rails i ever saw." "well," continued his interlocutor, "did you have a good run?" "run!" said he; "i believe you! ran three miles after my horse and then nicked in, and was up at the finish. blessed if ever i saw such a country. they think nothing of an hour and ten minutes, and they do stick to it, i can tell you; fox hasn't a chance with the bullshire. it's for all the world like a stoat and a hare. rare place to send creditor to; give him a mount on a green nag, he's bound to kill himself." added to these advantages, so ably set forth by the leicestershire sportsman, foxes are plentiful, and, with one notable exception, of whom more anon, everybody looks after them, and does his best to demonstrate the fact that the fox and the pheasant can both be preserved, despite what velveteens and his myrmidons may say. the man who rules the destinies of this sporting pack will form the subject of my first sketch. the master. "morning, gentlemen," accompanied by a bow to the ladies, apprises us of the fact that sir john lappington has arrived, and as we turn round in our saddles we see a cheery face beaming with health and goodnature, and note what a thorough business look both man and horse present. the horse is one of those rare specimens of weight-carriers, known as "a good thing in a small parcel." standing about fifteen hands two inches, with quarters fit to jump over a house, and shoulders of equal value when landing the other side, clean flat legs with plenty of bone, and excellent feet, well ribbed up, with a broad deep chest, it stands a living picture of the old-fashioned hunter that could and would go anywhere. and surely the man is not far behind in appearance. riding about thirteen stone, or a little lighter, with somewhat a careless seat, one's first impression is that he is by no means smartly turned out, though the eye acknowledges at once the workman. a second and more careful study shows us that, while there is an entire absence of gilt and gingerbread, of varnish and veneer, still, from the crown of his-well-brushed hat to the sole of his well-cleaned boot, everything is neatness itself. it may be that we take exception to the brown cords which sir john always wears; but when one has tried to follow the clever cobby horse and his master through some of the roughest places in the day's work, and our leathers show plainly where we have been, we are fain to confess the wisdom of the said brown cords. notwithstanding the cheery goodnature that beams from the master's face, there is something in his eye and chin that warns instinctively against riding over the hounds or heading a fox, and shows a latent power of anathema and rebuke which, when once heard, is not in a hurry forgotten. sir john lappington has been master of the bullshire for four seasons. he took the hounds at the request of the county on the death of mr. billington, who had hunted them for six-and-twenty years without hardly missing a day. some few people urged that the new master would not be found old enough to control so large a field, being but thirty years of age when he commenced his reign; but the first day dispelled their doubts, for on some of the "galloping-and-jumping" contingent trying to have things their own way, and paying no heed to repeated remonstrances to "give hounds a chance," the young master astonished everyone by saying to the huntsman: "stop 'em, tom;" and when that was effected, turning to the offenders: "now, gentlemen, when you have done your d----d steeplechasing we will go on hunting. if you want to break your necks you may put down my name for five pounds to bury the first who does so, provided you run it off at once, so that other people who prefer hunting to rough-riding may not be kept waiting." this effectually stopped them, and from that day very little trouble has been shown, and when any have offended, it has generally required but one talking-to to bring them to a sense of what was required of them. such is the man who now rides up punctual to the minute, and is greeted by all with a hearty welcome. the hunt servants, with old tom the huntsman at their head, are as proud of being under him as they can be, and the hounds simply adore him. see how they fly, heedless of harry's "ware 'oss, ger away baik," clustering all round the cobby hunter, and leaving the marks of their affection on boot and saddle. "eu leu, minstrel, old boy; ay, harbinger, good old man," says sir john, a word for each by name; and back they go to the rule of tom, who cannot for the life of him help feeling a twinge of jealousy, that "the hounds should be so 'nation fond of t' young master, most as much as they are o' me, i'll be blessed if they ain't." five minutes of friendly chaff with the carriages, two more with old farmer simms, who, on being shown his wife's poultry bill, says: "give it here, sir john, give it here. the ould woman would take the money out of a man's breeches if he did not keep his hands in his pockets," and with a laugh tom gets the signal to move off, sir john stopping before he canters on to the hounds to say: "never mind, simms, i daresay we shall make it all right. the missus and i are old friends," and replying to simms's loudly-expressed opinion that "the ould wench 'ull fleece you, i fear," with a deprecatory wave of the hand as he ranges up alongside the old huntsman. the first draw is a gorse lying on the side of a hill, where there is always a little difficulty in restraining the impatience of the field, who, anxious for a start, are rather apt to override the hounds. there is a hunting-gate, beyond which no one is allowed to go until the hounds are well away, and here the master posts himself, saying in a loud voice that can be heard by all: "if there is any stranger in the field to-day, he must understand that while hounds are drawing no one is allowed farther than this." at this moment his quick eye catches sight of a youngster who has jumped the rails lower down, and hopes he has escaped detection. "come back, you sir," rings out; "come back; and as you are so fond of timber you can take the rails up hill. dash your impudence, when i have just said no one is allowed to go for'ard! come, at them--no funking;" and as, amid roars of laughter, the culprit, looking exceedingly foolish, rides at the rails, and gets a rattling fall, sir john chuckles to himself: "don't think he'll try that game on again." the hounds are by this time hard at work, and from the way they throw themselves out of the gorse there are evident signs of a speedy find. with keen enjoyment the master watches the young entry, and as first one and then another of his favourites momentarily expose themselves to view, he thinks he would not exchange his empire for untold wealth. in this enviable frame of mind he is interrupted by the appearance of a tall cadaverous-looking individual on foot, who, addressing himself to him, says: "sir john lappington, i believe?" "that's me; what can i do for you?" is the reply. "ah! they told me i should find you here, ah! i--my name is simpkins, mr. simpkins, secretary of the young men's improvement society. i have been requested to ask for your patronage and subscription for a new school our society have decided on opening for young men in lappington; and as they told me you were following the chase, ah! and my time is limited, i thought i should not be intruding if i could persuade you to" (pulling out a long subscription-list) "look over this." here, luckily, "away, g-o-rne a-wa-a-y!" cut short the conversation, and the master, swinging down the hill and slipping over the bank and ditch at the bottom, almost before the astonished simpkins has made out what has happened, might have been heard muttering to himself: "well, i am blowed! did anyone hear of a man being asked to subscribe to a school when hounds had just found? following the chase too! if they don't teach the young men better than that, the future lappingtonians won't be much in the sporting line. hark for'ard; for'ard away!" and sending his horse somewhat viciously at a bigger pace than usual he is shut out from sight, where for the time i will leave him. the huntsman. "hounds, please, gentlemen; hounds, please," says old tom wilding, as he threads his way through the field, who have, in their eagerness, ridden over the line. "now, where the deuce should t' fox a gotten to, i wonder?" thinks he to himself; "harbinger made it good across the lane, i swear, for i saw 'im, and there's naught to turn 'im that i can see." but there is; for an old woman, innocent of mischief, suddenly raises her much-be-bonneted head out of the turnips right in front, and with a "dang her ugly mug," tom makes a swinging cast for'ard. minstrel, hitting off the scent under the gate out of the field, is promptly corroborated in his statement by gaylad, and in a second things are going as jolly as a peal of bells. the old huntsman stops just a moment before pulling his horse together at the timber, to give "t' ould wench" a bit of his mind. "look here," says he, "you've frightened fox away with that danged ould top-knot o' your'n. i be a good mind to----" but the old lady drops a most humble curtsy, and looks so penitent, that his anger vanishes, a smile steals over his face, and with a "coom up," he pops over the rails and gets to his hounds. a bit of a martinet is tom, and right well does he know how to keep his whips in order. ay, and for the matter of that, some of the fire-eaters of the field besides. woe betide the unfortunate harry who, keen as mustard, slips away, leaving two couple and a half behind. "all here?" says tom. "a couple coming up, sir," replies harry (he thinks it better to economise the truth as to numbers); "they are close behind." "then what the devil business have you in front of them? get back and bring 'em along at once. d'ye suppose my second whip's come out as a horniment?" (tom, when excited, is a little shaky with his h's.) "if you don't know your business i can jolly soon get someone who does. there's lots of chaps to do the riding without you a-figuring about here. get back at once, and let me catch you a-leaving hounds behind again." yet in his heart he thinks none the worse of the lad for being keen to get along in front, and remembers how often he himself has been rated in bygone days for the same offence. of course tom has his aversions, and there is one particular individual who, he says, he "just can't abear"--a captain stockley, one of the galloping-and-jumping division, who, although he can ride anything and over anything, knows little of hunting as hunting _per se_, and is always getting on top of the pack. one day, when he had managed to head the fox twice, the first whip, charles, allowed his feelings to get the better of him, and holloed: "hold hard, sir; d----n it, give 'em a chance;" whereupon stockley rode up to tom, and with a bland smile said: "i am sorry to be obliged to make a complaint, but one of the whips has been very impudent--in fact, he cursed me." the reply was not quite what the captain expected, for tom, seeing the cause of the two mischances in front of him, growled out: "he cursed yer, did he? well, if it 'ad a-been me, i'd a gi'en yer a jolly good hiding;" and then catching his horse by the head he drove him at the wood fence, and was cheering on the pack before the captain had recovered from his surprise. however, we left him just out of the turnips, with the hounds settling down to the line. everything goes well for some ten minutes, there is a burning scent, lots of fencing for those who like it, and a convenient lane for those who don't. all of a sudden the hounds throw their heads up and spread like a fan. not a sign does the huntsman make beyond holding up his hand to stop the rush of the field. but with one eye on the pack, and the other looking forward to where the sheep are scampering across the meadow on the hillside and huddling together in a close column, he sits like a statue. deaf is he to the remonstrances of the eager ones, who say: "it's for'ard, tom; get along," merely remarking: "let 'em puzzle it out; they want to hunt now. yer can always lift 'em, but yer can't always get their heads down again;" and in a few moments he is rewarded by seeing the hounds work it out of their own accord, and dash forward, proud of their own cleverness. some of the strangers to the bullshire country say tom is slow, but they do not know the old man. see him in another half hour, when the fox is beginning to run short. they are beginning to look for their second horses, and someone remarks that charles is away. suddenly a cap is seen in the air some four fields to the right, and "hoick, holloa, hoick, holloa!" rings out clear. "who is that?" ask some of the field. "why, it's charles! how the deuce did he get there?" say others. the huntsman, however, knows well how it all came about, for did not he send charles off to the high ground overlooking bromley wood on the off chance of a view? and now he does not wait an instant to discuss the question, but with a "chink-wink" of the horn and with cap in hand he gallops off, lifting the pack almost on to the fox's back. two fields farther on his "who-whoop" tells everybody that all is over, and as they ride up one after another they see the old man, with his gray hairs streaming in the breeze, standing in the middle of his hounds, holding aloft the fox at arm's length, preparatory to giving his body over to the tender mercies of traveller, gaylad, and co. "eugh, tear 'im and eat 'im," and the "worry, worry" begins. tom looks up at his young master with a smile, and says: "we've got the ould divil this time, sir; he's beat us often enough before;" and then raising his voice so as to be heard by all, he continues: "none so slow either. if we had'na let t' hounds work it out theirselves, fox would a-been a-going now. where to, sir?" as he swings into his saddle. "bromley wood? right, sir. coom away, hounds; coop, coop, coom away;" and tom trots off with the pack best pace, for, as he remarks: "it's lunch-time now, and if so be i bestirs mysen i can leave about half t' field behind; and that's just what i like. i can get away comfortable without a lot a-trampling and messing over t' hounds, and them as likes eating better nor hunting, why they've no cause to grumble if they're chucked out." as he approaches the wood, a wave of the hand sends the whole pack tumbling in, the two whips taking their stations like clockwork. with a "'war'oss!" the old huntsman jumps into cover, and though lost to sight his voice is heard out of the woods cheering on his hounds. "eugh, at 'im, my beauties. eugh, doit, eugh, boys," he shouts; and the pack, who have learnt to love, ay, and what is more, respect their tutor, fly to his holloa, each doing what our american cousins call their "level best" to please him. tom, when he gets home, will not fail over his glass and pipe to recount exactly what each of his favourites did at each particular spot, for nothing escapes his quick eye, and he fully returns with interest the love of the bullshire hounds, of which he has been huntsman for some eighteen years, and in which position he hopes to remain until he is, as he puts it, "run to ground." before leaving him, one anecdote will suffice to show the kindliness of the old man's heart towards dumb animals. they had had a long wearing day over a heavy country, with but little or no scent, and tom found himself on leaving off some eighteen miles from the kennels. on arrival, after seeing that his darlings were all right (a duty he never neglected), he thought it about time to look after himself, and had just sat down to his well-earned supper, when a small boy arrived at his house, crying fit to break his heart. "what's up, my lad?" said tom. "p-p-please, sir," replied the urchin between his sobs, "old bob's b-b-een runned over, and they is broke 'is leg, bo-hoo! and mother s-says as how he mun be shot--for her canna mend it; and if yer p-please, bob allas slept along wi' me sin' 'e wur a puppy, a-and i c-can't abear it, bo-hoo!" "well, boy, don't 'e cry; i'll come down mysen and see tew 'im," said the old huntsman; and, tired and supperless as he was, he there and then put on his coat and tramped off the best part of a mile to see to the crippled terrier, and after setting the leg and making the poor dog as comfortable as he could, he sat up best part of the night nursing it as a mother would her baby. it was three o'clock in the morning before tom got into his bed; and he will tell you how tired he was, but he will also say: "poor old doggie, 'e was just for all the world like a christian. there was none on 'em as knowed aught about it, and when i'd done 'is leg he wagged 'is stump of a tail, saying plain enough: 'don't 'e go now; i'm main thankful to yer, but don't 'e go,' that i couldna a-bear to leave 'im till 'e wur a bit more comfortable like. you see, we can holloa out, but them dum' animals canna." bob, the old dog, is still alive, and the boy is now an under-keeper, but neither of them forget old tom's kindness, and both would almost lay down their lives for the huntsman of the bullshire hounds. the whips. "'say, harry, the old man killed his fox well to-day," says charles, the first whip, to his junior, as they jog home to the kennels in the evening. "umph!" replies harry; "but he need not have dropped it so hot on to me just because them two couple of loiterers stopped back. blessed if i ever saw such hounds as them for messing about in cover. it's always the same. caterer and bellman, pillager and marksman, never up in time; and then if i gets on a bit, it's 'where's them two couple? go back and fetch 'em at once.' dashed if i oughtn't to take a return ticket to every field in the county." charles, who thinks it by no means improbable that some day he may find himself with the horn of office, and harry promoted to first whip's place, merely says: "well, you shouldn't be in such a thundering hurry to get off. you know your place is back, and back you should be." at this juncture they ride up to the bell and horns, a famous halfway house, where they brew the best of ale, and can, if so disposed, give you a glass of the best whisky out of ireland. the landlord, a sporting old veteran, bustles out and takes tom's order for "three pints of dog's nose" (a compound of ale and gin), "and some gruel for the nags." "well, what sort of a day have you had?" says he. "nay, nay, don't mind the hound, let him be," as harry is proceeding to correct minstrel's attack of curiosity concerning the construction of boniface's waistcoat. "the old boy and i are friends," and he pats the hound's sensible head. old tom, having taken his face out of the pint pot, and smacking his lips, replies: "a first-rate day. found in the gorse, run through bouffler's meadows up to the mere, turned in the lane, where the fox was headed, then over the ring hills, and killed by bromley wood. charles here," pointing to his aide-de-camp, "was the means of our killing; and i must say harry did uncommon well, though he does always want to be in front." at this meed of praise from their chief both the whips feel some inches taller, and harry quite forgets his rating in the morning. the horses gruelled and the score paid by the huntsman, they are again on the road, having been joined by a couple of farmers going their way as far as the cross-roads, and with whom old tom is soon in close confabulation. harry rides for some distance without vouchsafing a word, save an occasional "whip, get for'ard," to some straggler of the pack. at last he says: "charles, the old man is a good 'un, and no mistake. i'd sooner have a kick from him than sixpence from anyone else. he's quite right--business is business; but when it's over how many of 'em would stand a glass, 'specially after a bit of a word?" "you're right, my lad," replies charles. "you'll go mony a day afore you pitch on a man like old tom, or, for the matter o' that, on a pack like our'n. look you, it ain't every huntsman as 'ull let his whips into the secret of breeding; but i'll be bound there ain't a hound as you and i don't know as much about as he does hisself." "what are you two a-chattering about?" interrupts tom. "only a-saying as how we knowed the pedigrees, sir," said harry. "so you ought. i'm sure i lets charles and you know all i can. my system is 'fair do's.' every man's got a summut to do with the run, and they're our hounds; and though i say it as perhaps shouldn't, we've the best master and the best pack in england; and when i comes on the society, if charles there ain't ready to take my place, why it will break my heart. ay, my lad, and then you can get for'ard as much as you like." "i knows one thing," says harry, whose heart is getting too big for his waistcoat, "the bullshire have got the best huntsman in england, or, for the matter o' that, in the world; and i'm main sorry as i vexed you to-day leaving them hounds in cover." "not a bit, lad, not a bit; it's over now. i like to see yer keen; but duty first, yer know," replies tom. "charles," he continues, "it looks all like a frost to-night. what do yer think?" "freezes now, and there are two or three of these hounds going lame a bit, and they find the ground a bit hardish," says charles. by this time they have arrived at the cross-roads, and the two farmers turn off, leaving the huntsman and his two whips with a three-mile trot before them. it may be gathered from the above the sort of terms that the bullshire hunt servants were on with each other, and what good feeling existed between them. charles, the first whip, had served his apprenticeship with the pack--first as a lad in the kennel, then as second whip, and lastly where we find him. his whole soul lay in his work, and the most miserable time he owns to in his life was when he broke his leg riding over a gate, and was laid up for six weeks away from his darlings. "i shouldn't a minded if it had been in the summer," said he; "but having to lay up abed in the middle of this beautiful scenting weather, it's d----d hard luck, and i know the beauties will be wondering where the deuce i've got to." as soon as he could move, his first outing was to the kennels, where the reception, or rather ovation, he obtained corroborated his opinion anent the hounds missing him. equally fond of hunting was harry, though, it must be confessed, he liked the riding part the best. originally a farmer's boy, he first made his appearance in the hunting-field on the top of a leader out of the plough, which he had surreptitiously detached, and the way he rattled the old nag along, chains and all, over or through everything, gained him his place. sir john lappington, happening to see him, made inquiries about the boy, and when he was turned off by his indignant master--for of course he was turned off when his escapade came to light--he asked the lad if he would like to go to the kennels. harry jumped at the offer, and when there he made himself so useful and learnt to ride so quickly that on the second whip leaving suddenly, through misplaced confidence in the amount of liquid he could "carry," harry was put in as a stopgap, and did so well that he was officially appointed second whip, and has been so now for three seasons, giving every satisfaction. of his powers of riding the following anecdote will show: they had been running hard one day last season, and were getting on terms with their fox, when, just as they approached the swill (a deep muddy brook, to jump which when low was a thing to talk of, and when full almost an impossibility), a fresh fox jumped up right in the centre of the pack, and took half of them over the stream, which was bank full. to stop them was a necessity, and there was no bridge nearer than half a mile. harry, without waiting a minute, pulled his nag together, and shouting: "here's in or over. i canna swim; but i've naught to leave 'cept my togs, and the're master's," rode at it, and, to the astonishment of everybody, in another second was safe across and had stopped the hounds on the far side. how he got over is a mystery to this day, and no one was so astonished as himself. if you ask him he will tell you "he only knew hounds had to be stopped, and if he had gone under he could not have helped it. he trusted to luck and his spurs, and they pulled him through." it is small wonder that everything works like clockwork when master, huntsman, and whips all act in concert and harmony, and charles and harry know full well the value of their situations. after the horses are done up for the night, and the hounds are seen to, fed, warm and comfortable on their benches, the two will as like as not go up and smoke a pipe at old tom's cottage before turning in; and the knowledge they gain in those "evenings at home" is untold, for, as charles said, the old man keeps nothing back, and is never so pleased as when he is giving his whips the benefit of his long experience. should the frost set in, the master will be down at the kennels in the morning for a certainty, and two or three instructive hours will be passed in talk of horse and hounds. the secretary. a man of immense importance is mr. j. boulter of the grange, quite as essential to the welfare of the bullshire hunt as either master or servants; and, indeed, if you could see through the double-breasted pink, the corduroy waistcoat, and the gray flannel beneath, into his innermost heart, you would, i am almost convinced, find that mr. b. was there written down as the man of the lot. no light task is his, namely that of professional beggar. for he is secretary and treasurer to the hunt, and on him falls the onus of collecting as well as receiving subscriptions. long practice has made him an adept in the art of "cornering" a defaulter, for he has been in office for fifteen years, and it is his boast that if a pound is to be got he is the man to get it. on one occasion he was sorely put about by a man (i was going to say a gentleman, but his conduct precludes the use of the term), who came down from town and established himself in the country, bringing with him a large stud of hunters. naturally the secretary fixed his eagle eye on so promising a subject, and after a month or so began to hint at a subscription, which of course was promised but never came. well, the season was drawing to a close and no cheque had been received from the stranger, who, by-the-way, had not forgotten to find fault with everything and everybody; moreover mr. boulter had heard by a side-wind that half the large stud were gone, and the rest, accompanied by their owner, would shortly follow. this, coupled with the oft-repeated question at the covert-side of "holloa, boulter, got his coin yet?" put our secretary on his mettle. so one off-day he rode over to the inn and interviewed the individual, asking him point blank for his cheque, as he (mr. b.) was making up the accounts. the answer was not propitious, for the snob replied: "i have not got my cheque-book with me, but here are two sovereigns, which is quite sufficient for such a provincial pack as yours." boulter pocketed the sovereigns and retired, meditating revenge. at last, however, he hit on a plan. the meet on the following monday was fixed for bindley park, and the first draw was a long wood, at one end of which lay the house of a market-gardener and small farmer. the only way from the park to the wood was through the farmyard-gate and out into the field, unless you jumped the fence into the market-garden. mr. boulter accordingly took the owner of the said gate into his confidence, as well as those of the field he could trust, and on the day of the meet the gate was found to be locked, and no one knew where the farmer had gone. to lift it off the hinges was impossible, and old tom, with a twinkle in his eye, said: "dang it all; but we mun go round," and forthwith made a pretence of trotting off. "never heard such a thing in my life," said the non-subscriber, falling into the trap. "dashed piece of impudence; sort of thing one might expect in this benighted country. i'm dashed if i'm going round; i shall go through the beggar's garden;" and he proceeded to put his threat into execution by riding at the hedge. as he rose at the fence the farmer's face was seen peeping round the gate, and as the horse descended into the garden a terrific smash was heard, followed by a loud altercation with, "damage to my glass and pots and that there bed of young stuff," etc. etc. the next morning the owner of the large stud was presented with a bill of costs to the amount of £ , which, after a deal of blustering, he paid, fifteen sovereigns finding their way into mr. boulter's cash-box, the remaining five amply repaying the market-gardener for the loss of two broken and useless lights, a few cabbage-stalks, and a selection of old pots, which he, together with the secretary, had placed under the hedge at likely spots. thus did mr. boulter score, and he enjoys nothing so much as telling the story of how he trapped the stranger, though, by-the-way, the same story increases in dramatic incident year by year. most amusing it is to watch the reception of the secretary as he rides up on his famous jumping cob. those who have paid up greet him with: "morning, boulter; you're looking very fit;" and sometimes, when perchance he is arrayed more gorgeously than usual as to his headpiece, "what! a new hat? dash it all, but that's the second this season; there'll be no money left if you go buying hats like this out of the fund. here, lappington" (to the master), "here's the secretary been embezzling again, and broken out into another new topper." while those who have as yet not forwarded their subscription nod him a good-morning, and then somehow their steeds, which up to the present have been behaving in a most rational manner, suddenly get excited, and it requires the undivided attention of their riders to prevent them running away. in fact, they do run away until they manage to place a convenient distance between themselves and the jumping cob. the secretary, however, is fully up to all these little dodges, and generally brings down confusion on one or other member by saying with a chuckle: "dear me, so-and-so, what a funny thing it is, your horse is always fidgety when i come near him. one would think he was afraid of being asked for a subscription, and forgets that his master has paid." after a pause: "by jove, no! i'm wrong and the horse is right. your cheque has not come yet. what a sensible beast the animal is!" he says this is a most infallible remedy, and that the following morning he invariably finds a letter on his table enclosing the required article, and apologising for forgetfulness. perhaps the secret of his success lies in his great popularity, for his cheery manners and jovial smile have endeared him to all. among the farmers' wives he is worshipped, and though they one and all swear that "next time they are not a-going to be talked over about that poultry-bill," it is always the same. before the secretary rides or drives away from the homestead the bill is forgotten, and all the children are crowing after him to tell them one more "'tory." one good dame in particular is most emphatic on the subject of his powers of persuasion. "you see, my dear," says she, "i sends in a bill for two turkeys, six couple of ducks, just a-fatting too, three couple of hens, and a whole brood of chickens. when i sees mr. boulter a-coming up i says to myself says i, 'now, mrs. styles, don't you go for to be bamboozled.' but, laws! afore he's been in the place half an hour i've nearly busted myself a-larfin', and i finds myself a-drinking a dish of tea with him, and as fully persuaded as how it's my place to keep the turkeys for them beastly foxes as i don't know what; and then the blessed bill goes in the fire, and i'm a loser of close on twenty-eight shillings. but then i knowed him as a lad, bless 'im; and there's never a christmas but what a hamper of game and a bottle of sherry comes to the farm; so there's no bones broke." with all his wheedling powers, mr. boulter is a thorough sportsman. there is not an earth in the country that he does not know as well as his own house; and he is equally well acquainted with the run of every fox. every hound he knows by name, and can give you chapter and verse for both pedigree and performance. a sure find for breakfast, dinner, or lunch, too, is the grange, and for a bottle of real old ' port never drawn blank. unbounded hospitality is the order in that establishment, where throughout the season mrs. boulter takes care that something is always on the table "in case the hounds should come that way." talking of mrs. boulter, there is a piece of chaff against her husband that the day he was married he not only got a subscription to the hounds out of the parson, but by exercising his persuasive powers actually got off the fees! the annual hunt-dinner is a great day for the secretary. on that occasion he takes the vice-chair, and proposes the health of sir john, the master, in a speech which poor mrs. b. has to listen to off and on for the three previous days. once the meek little woman did rebel. the speech she had put up with, but when her lord and master returned home at two o'clock, exceedingly jovial, and kept her awake till six o'clock by alternately treating her to "john peel," and informing her, with a somewhat foolish laugh, that "they called me besht f'ller in shworld, drunk m'very good shealth, 'pon m'shoul," she thought it was a little too much; and when the orator awoke next day, headachey, chippy, and penitent, she gave him a piece of her mind which so astonished him that he has never exceeded again, and now returns at eleven sharp. sometimes during the summer months boulter is to be seen struggling with a pile of luggage at a foreign railway station, looking as miserable as a man can look, and heavily handicapped as to the language of the country in which his wife has elected to travel. but the trip never lasts long. some business connected with the hunt invariably calls him back, and on a hot august day you will find him at the kennels chatting with tom wilding over the prospects of the coming season or the young entry, and anxiously longing for the "beastly harvest" to be over, and for november leaves to fall. if not there he will be riding round looking up velveteens and his satellites, and endeavouring to imbue them with the motto of "live and let live," as applicable to the fox. the farmer. "like master like man" is a very old saying, and, like many of those ancient saws, very true. therefore, in such a sporting country as the bullshire, with such a sporting master at the head of affairs, it stands to reason that the field, or at all events the majority of them, should be equally imbued with the love of the chase. now in every country the mainstay and backbone of the hunt is the farmer, for without his consent and co-operation fox-hunting would become a thing of the past, and instead of a series of brilliant gallops and a successful season, we should read of a series of actions for trespass and verdicts for damages, carrying costs. keen sportsmen and true friends to the hunt are the farmers of bullshire, so there is little fear of opposition on their part. indeed, on one occasion they combined to make it very "warm" for a stranger who came among them, and who did not fall in with their views concerning the necessary amount of support to be given to the hounds. the erring member was a man who, having made some money in the chandler line in london, took it into his head that he was cut out for a farmer, and accordingly took a farm in the centre of the hunt. from the moment he set his foot in the place he gave offence, for the first thing he did was to wire the whole of his fences, and then gave notice that anyone riding across his land would be summoned for trespass and "prosecuted according to law." "he was not a-going to 'ave them beastly dorgs and 'osses a-running over his land, not if he knowed it." a climax, however, was reached when the surly brute assaulted one of the members of the hunt with a pitchfork, and swore he would lay down poison for the hounds. a meeting was there and then called to discuss the question, and it was unanimously decided to give the individual "what for." accordingly, some of the younger farmers assembled one evening, and by the following morning there was not a trace of wire to be seen nor a gate-post standing in the holding of the ex-chandler. strange to say, the local police, into whose hands the matter was immediately put, failed to discover the offenders, and the country-side was straightway ringing with the candleman's discomfiture. the next time he went to market not a beast could he sell, and it was the same with everything. he found a strong league against him, none would buy from him and none would sell to him; so at the end of a year he retired in disgust, much to the delight of the conspirators. no two better representatives of the bullshire farmers, old and young, could be found than simms and his son. the father--hard-working, hard-riding, hard-headed, with fifty years of practical knowledge on his shoulders--is a firm believer in church and state and the rotation of crops. with a horror of anything like steam, and a decided prejudice against the school board, he stands out a true type of the warm-hearted old-fashioned yeoman. the son, equally hard-working in his way, and still harder perhaps in his riding, is full of what his sire is pleased to call "danged rattletrap notions," born of the agricultural college. steam ploughs or "cultivators" he pins his faith on. church and state he has not much time, he says, to think about. the rotation of crops must be regulated by manuring, and he drives the old man nearly wild by learned treatises on the subject of superphosphates, nitrates, and guano. each in his own way is an excellent farmer--the one of the old school, practical and working in a groove, the other of the new, mechanical and enterprising. in the hunting-field, however, they meet on common ground, and as there are but few fixtures at which both father and son do not turn up, it may be taken for granted that in this respect their opinions coincide. mark the difference in the respective "get-up" of the two as they jog along together to highfield cross-roads. old simms' long-coat is, from constant exposure, more of a brown than the black it originally was; and his hat has evidently had a few words with the hat-brush (the latter having revenged itself by running "heel"), for the silk is all the wrong way, and there is a large dent in the top. he still adheres to a bird's-eye fogle, wound three times round a high white collar, the corners of which only are visible, and contrast strongly with his jovial red face. high jack-boots, and stout cords that have seen the end of many a hard day, complete his attire, while his horse, a real "good 'un," is, like himself, all in the rough. his son, on the contrary, is as neat as a new pin, in a hunting-cap, double-breasted melton coat, white breeches and tops; and the horse is on a par with his rider. "ah simms, i knew you would turn up," say a cluster of sportsmen as the pair arrive at the meet. "good morning, gentlemen; bound to be at highfield, if possible. james here" (pointing to his son) "would never forgive me if i did not come and see his gorse drawn, though i do tell him as how, with all the stinking stuff be puts on the land, there ain't a ghost of a chance of any scent," is the reply. "never you fear, father," retorts james; "you wait till they find, and if they don't run as well over my land as any other i'll eat my hat." "all right, my boy," laughs the old man. "i hope you and your young 'un may come across one of those infernal steam ploughs of yours, like i did this morning, all of a sudden. the mare nearly put me down, old stager as she is, and what that cocktail of yours'll do, lord knows." this raises a general laugh against james, in the middle of which the master rides up. "well, james, have you got one for us to-day?" he asks. "tom tells me that we are sure of a fox in the osiers at the bottom, but if you know of one in the gorse we'll go there first." "try the gorse first, sir john, if you please. i think i can promise one there," replies james simms, in momentary dread that tom and the osiers might win the day. and as sir john, nodding to the huntsman, says: "high field gorse, tom," james's face beams with pleasure, and, together with his father, he trots off to superintend the arrangements. "a chip of the old block" is the general verdict, as james, sending his "young 'un" at a low post and rails, which he hits hard all round, cuts off a corner, and canters on to the bottom end, where he remains as mute as a sphinx, merely telegraphing to tom and his father that he was there. just as the hounds are thrown in, a boy runs up to him and, with a grin, says: "mayster, ay's theer; i'n sayd 'un. ay's down at bottom end by t' ould stump." "all right, jim, my lad; you keep quiet. if he's there you shall have a bob," replies james, burning with impatience as he hears no sound save tom's "eleu, in, eleu 'ave at 'm. eugh, boys." "blank, by the lord harry!" he ejaculates, as two or three hounds appear outside; and, turning to the boy, he asks: "my lad, are you sure you saw a fox?" "i'n sayd 'un; ay's theer," is the reply. "ay mun bay up stump." "here," cries james, "take my whip, and if you can get him out your bob will be two-and-six." the boy does not wait a moment, but, heedless of furze, dashes on to where the old ivy-covered stump stands, and is soon swarming up to the top. a crack of the whip, a scuffle, a shout from the lad of "look out, mayster," and a fine old dog jumps out and makes off right under james's nose. "good lad," he says, as the boy returns with his whip; "here, catch." and while james utters a view holloa that would wake the dead, the lad, having spat upon it for luck, transfers half-a-crown to his pocket. "all right, tom; down the field and over the fence to the right. come on, dad;" and tom, getting his hounds on the line in a twinkling, the trio are hard at it. "pull that young 'un together," says old simms as they neared the fence; "it's a big 'un." his old mare slips over as if it was child's play. not so the "young 'un." going like an express train, he never rises an inch, and james finds himself and the nag somewhat mixed up on the other side. "that's a buster. no damage, eh?" says tom. "not a bit; for'ard on," replies james, swinging himself into his saddle, and giving his astonished animal a gentle reminder. "it'll teach him to rise next time. there goes the governor," as his father landed in a blind ditch at the next obstacle, but was up and going again in a moment. at this crisis they are joined by the master and a chosen few. "all, this is something like a fox, worthy of the family," laughs sir john lappington as he gallops alongside. "did you breed him on purpose?" "no, sir john; i can't quite say that. he's an artful old dodger though, and mother says she's had the feeding of him. he was up in the stump, and a lad fetched him out with my whip," replies simms the younger as they stride over the grass. "by gad, fox is bound for your place," says tom to the father. and tom is right. straight as a die he heads for old simms' farm, and now that they are on his land the son does not forget to chaff his father most unmercifully about the roughness of the fences. a few fields farther on a labourer hollos him, and in the meadow before the house the hounds view, and they run into him almost in the garden. "who-whoop," yells the old man, as pleased as punch. "now then, missus," as mrs. simms comes out to see the end of the destroyer of her chickens, "ale and beer and anything you have. what is it, gentlemen? give it a name," as the field one by one jump off their smoking horses. "we must drink the health of this one; it's, as sir john says, a family fox. oh, bother the turkeys, missus," as mrs. s. mutters something about feeding the fox; "you can think of nothing but turkeys. we's all a-dry here;" and he bustles off to fetch out some more of the rare old home-brewed, reappearing in a few minutes with an enormous jug. "now, sir john, one more glass. no? anybody else say anything? here, tom, i must have that brush. best thing we've had this season. oh, _you_ don't want any more beer, james; you ought to feed on phosphates," as his son holds out a horn to be replenished. "there, bring my horse, lad," to a labourer; and the old man, his face beaming with pleasure, is ready for the fray again. that evening there is what james calls a "symposium" at the farm, and the run is run over again. "twenty-five minutes without a check, and thank you kindly for the missus, self, and son. i only hope we shall be able to find as good a one next time we draw the gorse, and if every one of us has a family fox on his place, the bullshire need have no fear about sport," is what old simms says in acknowledging the toast of himself and family, which is drunk with three times three. the parson. it is related of the late bishop of winchester that, on one occasion when shooting, he was asked by his host to remonstrate with the keeper for his non-attendance at church, and accordingly he did so. "well, my lord," replied the man, "i owns i doesn't go much to church, but i reads my bible regular, and i can't say as i've found anything there about t' apostles going a-shooting, and they was bishops." "quite right, my man, quite right," was the ready answer. "you see they did not preserve much in those days, so they went fishing instead." equally ready was the answer of the rev. william halston, when his diocesan informed him that so much hunting did not meet with his approval, and on the argument waxing warm had allowed himself to make use of a somewhat unclerical expression. "sir," said the angry bishop, "you go galloping all over the country, and your parish is going to the dogs." "exactly the reason, my lord, why i hunt," replied his reverence with a smile. "when all my parishioners are going to the dogs, it is my positive duty to go also, if only to look after them." the bishop thought somehow that he had met his match, and so nothing further was said on the subject. that little episode occurred some twenty years ago, when mr. halston was a younger man, but his love of hunting has if anything increased with his age, and seldom is his well-known face absent from any of the meets within reasonable distance (which he computes at eighteen miles); and a bold rider must be the man who, when hounds are running, sets himself down to cut out "t' ould parson," as the rector of copthorpe is called. copthorpe, i may mention, in early days was the only church for miles on that side of the country, and the living embraced no less than four straggling parishes, the farthest being some twenty miles distant. with the growth of the population came the necessity for more places of worship, and besides a new church built at lappington by sir john's father there is also one at highfield, situated at the other extremity, the mother church still being, of course, at copthorpe. from this it may be wondered how the rector can find time to do his work and hunt as well. but that he does so is undeniable, for there is not a cottage in the whole parish that some time or other during the week he does not visit, and high and low, rich and poor, one and all love and honour their parson. the cottagers simply adore him, for numerous are the tales round the country-side of how "t' ould mon sot up night after night wi' jack bliss when ay fell down t' gravel-pit drunk, and welly killed hisself;" and how "ay used to ride o'er every other day wi' some port-wine or summut in his pocket when so-and-so's wife was bad in t' fever-time, six years back." often does the old gentleman (for he now numbers close on seventy years), coming back after a long day with the hounds, snatch a hasty meal, and, jumping on the back of his famous pony jerry, canter off some six or seven miles to see a poor parishioner that one of his curates had reported sick; and, should occasion require it, the morning light will find him seated by the bedside of the sufferer, speaking to him or her such words of consolation and hope as make the pain seem less and the heart seem lighter. his power, too, is unlimited, and on more than one occasion has the arrival of parson halston put a sudden stop to a free fight that looked strangely like ending in bloodshed. for the men know that he will stand no nonsense; and still fresh in the memory of most of the pitmen is the discomfiture of one of their number, black joe, who in his drunken fury attacked his pastor, and went down like an ox before a deadly left-hander, delivered with a science born of alma mater and "town and gown." they caught "t' ould parson" up in their stalwart arms then and there, and how they did cheer him as they carried him down the street! from that day his rule was established, and a word now is sufficient, without anything else, to stop "riot." but it is not only those workers in the mines that have their story; the farm-labourers are equally loud in singing his praises, for did not he, when a paid hireling was stumping the country urging them to strike against their masters, jump on the cart from whence the ranter was hurling forth denunciations against "the landlords' tyranny and the farmers' oppression," and holding him forcibly down with one hand, address them all as they gazed in wonder, and say to them how they had "worked together and drank together, hunted together and suffered together, for many years; and now would they listen--they, the men of bullshire--to a miserable whimpering cockney from london, who could neither mow a swath nor pitch a load to save his life?" and when they were all for ducking the vermin in the mill-pond, did not he drive him off to the town in his own cart, and never lose sight of the agitator till he saw the train safely out of the station with, the individual well on his road back to town and his employers? ay, there are many of them now who shake their heads, and pointing to their fellows in the neighbouring counties, say: "if it 'adna been for our ould parson we should a' been in the same fettle. strikes mean starvation, and when a man's clemmed" (hungry), "and' ain't got no one but hisself to thank for't, ay begins to look a fule, that ay does." mr. halston employs three curates, to each of whom he gives a particular district, and they have every evening to bring in their reports of what goes on, and what they have done during the day. eagerly sought after are these positions, for it is a well-known fact that, after their years of training at copthorpe, if they are worth their salt they are pretty sure to tumble into a good berth. one thing is however made a _sine quâ non_--that during their stay they must do their share of work. "duty first and pleasure afterwards," is the motto of the rector, and he sees that it is strictly carried out. such is a brief description of the man who may be ranked among the best of sportsmen and truest of friends in bullshire, or indeed any country in the world. as a man and a friend he is full of the milk of human kindness, hospitable to a fault, and never so happy himself as when giving pleasure to others. as a sportsman, a bold and forward rider, yet always with excellent judgment, displaying as much knowledge of what a fox is likely to do as if he was being hunted himself; a knowledge of the country second to none, a capital judge of both horse and hound, and with a love of hunting that, as i have said, advancing years serve only to increase. small wonder that when tom hears _his_ "view holloa" he knows it is right, and gets forward at once, though there are those who may shout themselves hoarse without attracting the desired attention. "parson's like my old solomon," says he; "'e never throws his tongue till he's d----d well certain; but then, by guy! 'e does let 'em have it." whenever it is possible mr. halston goes to cover with the hounds, and back again in the same company (unless called away by parish work) after the day is over, and dearly does old tom love those rides and cheery chats, learning himself, he freely admits, as much as ever he can teach. see them now both in the centre of the pack, jogging homeward in the failing light. says tom: "that was a straight-necked 'un we had to-day, sir; but i'm main puzzled what made you guess he'd try them earths at billowdon." "well, tom," replies the rector, "i argued it out by common sense. suppose you'd been hard pressed and knew of a house you could turn into, wouldn't you go for it?" "yes, but it was turning right into the mouths of the pack. i was 'nation mad when i found 'em open that i hadna ta'en your hint," continues the huntsman. "live and learn, tom; live and learn," laughs the parson. "you forget three seasons ago we lost one just in the same place." "by guy! so we did, and i forgot it at the moment. it was the day as young mayster bell jumped atop of melody; but what's become of him, sir?" asks tom. "how sir john did pitch it into him that time to be sure." "oh, he's getting on first rate; he is inspector at the deep-seam pits. i was afraid, though, he was going to the bad at one time. he took a liking to the bottle; but bliss's accident cured him," replies mr. halston. "but here we are at the kennels, and i must get on; i want to ride over to halstead and see old widow greaves; she's a bit ailing; so good-night, tom." "good-night, sir; good-night. see you out, i suppose, on friday at fearndale? sure to find in the wood," says tom, muttering to himself as he gets off his horse: "there's one of the best men in the world, danged if he ain't." mr. halston is trotting along home, thinking over the events of the day and a hundred-and-one other things, when he is startled by the sudden reappearance of old tom at his side, who, looking rather scared in answer to his inquiry of "what's the matter?" says: "there's been a fearful accident at the pits, sir; my nephew's just come over. explosion or summat; there's five-and-twenty poor chaps blocked up, 'e do say, and i thought you'd like to know on it." before tom has well finished speaking, the parson is urging his horse at best pace in the direction of the deep-seam pit, much to that animal's disgust. he pulls up at the first cottage he comes to, and, calling out a boy, sends him off to copthorpe with a message to say where he has gone, and they need not expect him home at present, and that his groom is to ride jerry over at once to take back his hunter. "look sharp, my lad," says he, tossing the boy a shilling, "and tell james to bring over my bottles with him--port and brandy--he'll know." and again he is on his way. on arriving at the scene of the accident he finds a large crowd of weeping women collected round the pit-mouth, making "confusion worse confused," and seriously interfering with the work of salvation. amidst the universal grief and terror he is not noticed at first, but when men and women simultaneously recognise him, if ever a man had reason to be proud, surely mr. halston is that man, for such a shout is raised of "here's t' ould parson; god bless 'un! we knowed 'e'd come; it's right now," as tells him plainly the place he holds in the hearts of these rough men and sorrowing women. "here, take my horse," says he to one of the men; and as bell comes up he asks: "what is being done?" "volunteers for an exploring party," briefly answers the inspector; and mr. halston steps forward and addresses the crowd. "my lads," he says, "i am an old man, and perhaps some of you will think it ain't my place to go down; but, thank god, i can still wield a pick with anyone, and with his help we'll get the boys out. no, mr. bell," as the inspector tries to dissuade him; "if i ain't much use myself, they'll work all the better for having their rector with them. and now one word to you, my daughters. you can do no good here. go home, and get things ready for your husbands against the time we bring them up safe and sound. now" (to the engineer) "we are ready. steady, keep your breath for work, lads," as cheer after cheer rends the air; and in a few moments the group of brave volunteers are descending the shaft on their errand of mercy. all through the night they toil, relieving each other in shifts, working as only men can work when the lives of fellow-creatures depend on their exertions. the parson is everywhere, quiet, calm, and collected, encouraging and directing, yet taking all his share of manual labour. twice he has to be sent to the surface, faint and gasping for breath; but almost before his absence is detected, he is back again in the centre of the noble band. by a.m. the first six of the imprisoned miners are found, badly burned, but still alive; and before the sun has risen the whole of the twenty-five are restored to their wives, with the exception of three, whose work in this world is finished for ever. worn out as he is, mr. halston stops to comfort as best he can the fatherless and widow, and then jerry carries him home. men miss his kindly face at fearndale on the friday, but they know where he is, for the story of his heroism spreads far and wide; and when next he appears in the field, all press forward to do him honour. on the way to their first draw that day a fox jumps up in the open, and goes straight over milston brook. tom has his hounds on the line in a crack, and before anyone has time to look round, three figures are seen sailing away over the grass on the far side of the water--tom; charles the first whip, and, in front of all--the parson. the doctor. "never saw such weather or such a season in my life, sir john. they tell us that 'a green winter makes a full churchyard,' but the saying doesn't hold good down here. why, bless my heart, everybody's out hunting instead of being ill, and there's nothing for me to do at all." "ah doctor," replies the master, laughing, "it's better for us than for you then; and yet, in the long run, if the truth was known, i expect you can score more kills than my hounds." a busy man is edward wilson, esq., m.d., with an increasing practice necessitating the help of an assistant. yet so devoted is he to hunting, that he thinks it a very hard case if he does not manage one day a-week with the hounds. as he rides up, the picture of robust health and the pink of neatness, one would scarcely imagine, as one listens to his chaffing about the weather and the paucity of patients, that he had had exactly two hours' sleep the night before, and was almost certain to find a message on his return home, calling him away some seven or eight miles, with the prospect of another nocturnal vigil. yet such is the case. yesterday afternoon, when he came back from his round, he had said to thomas his coachman: "i shall manage a day to-morrow, thomas; i don't think there is anything likely to happen, so have old ladybird ready for me in the morning. they meet at willowfield lodge, and are certain to draw towards home." just as he was going to bed, a groom from lorton towers came galloping into his yard with an urgent message "as 'ow doctor wur wanted at once; lady slowboy's took bad;" and away he had to go to assist the future lord slowboy on his "first appearance on any stage." "hang it all; she might have put it off," he said to himself as he buttoned his coat; "but i'm not going to lose my day's hunting for fifty heirs of lorton;" and at . a.m., the ceremony being over, before turning in he gave orders that he was to be called at half-past seven, and at half-past ten he arrives, as we see him, hale and hearty, at willowfield lodge. very well mounted is the doctor, for he knows a horse when he sees one; and though he only keeps two--or rather, as he himself puts it, "one and a half" (the second one having to take him occasionally on professional trips)--they are both something above the average, and when hounds are running, ladybird or precipitate, the two horses, are pretty nearly certain to be seen in the van. it does not require a second glance at the keen eyes, the determined mouth, wreathed in a cheery smile, and the strong nervous hands, to show that before one is a man of iron will. prompt of decision, quick at diagnosing disease, with a heart full of sympathy for suffering, yet never faltering when forced to resort to the knife, edward wilson has made a name for himself second to none in that part of england. indeed, over and over again his old friend and patron, sir george fennel, the great london physician, has urged him to migrate to town; but his answer is always the same: "couldn't live through one season. i must be in the fresh air; and if i did not see hounds now and then, i should pine away. besides, i should miss all my old friends in bullshire so; and as for fame, old widow fletcher and john billings the blacksmith would not believe you if you told them there was a cleverer man than myself living! poor souls! it shows their ignorance; but what more can i want?" the doctor is quite right. among the poor he and the parson run a neck-and-neck race for popularity. perhaps from the fact of being associated with that, to them, great mystery--medicine--the doctor is held in greater awe; but they all remember how, hand-in-hand, the two fought death in the fever-time; and the great authorities i have mentioned--the widow and the blacksmith--assert that "doctor ay does know summat about rheumatiz; ay's got some stuff as sends it away all in a jiff like." it is fifteen years ago since edward wilson, then five-and-twenty, came down to bullshire as assistant to old dr. johnstone. he rather astonished the methodical old practitioner with his theories, for the young doctor, whose whole soul was in his profession, had read deeply and judiciously, and was far in advance of the old-fashioned routine of blood-letting, cupping, and epsom salts. at first folks shook their heads, and muttered "quackery;" but one or two bad cases, which had been given over as hopeless by the principal, being successfully pulled through by the assistant, they began to think that after all there was something in the young fellow; and the surgical skill he displayed when, together with every other available medical man, he was called to the scene of the fearful railway accident at billingdon, confirmed their opinion. a year after this, old johnstone died suddenly, and wilson, after a brisk competition, bought his practice. directly he felt himself his own master, he allowed his ideas a free scope, and consequently in a very short time his undoubted talent made itself known throughout the country-side, and the practice increased so enormously that, young and energetic as he was, he found it necessary to take an assistant, choosing after much deliberation the son of an old college chum and fellow-student. "why, doctor, who'd have thought of seeing you to-day? i thought you were at lorton all last night," exclaims mr. noble, lord slowboy's agent, who rides up as sir john finishes his repartee. "so i was, noble," replies our m.d., "but her ladyship, i am thankful to say, let me off at half-past five; and, as i was just telling sir john, there being nothing else for me to do this weather, i thought i would come out on the chance of a job in the field." "i hope you may be disappointed, then, for once. what a blood-thirsty villain! did you ever hear such a thing, boulter?" says the master to the secretary, who has just arrived on a new steed. "hear what?" rejoins that worthy. "why," continues sir john, "the doctor here says he saw you pass his window on that new horse, and has come out to follow in your wake all day, as he feels convinced you will break your neck, leg, or arm, or do something which he can turn into a fee." "don't you believe it," interrupts mr. wilson with a laugh; "it would not pay me to mend you, for directly you got well you'd be dunning me for a subscription, and i might whistle for my fees. but look at tom; he evidently thinks it is time to be moving. who-ho, old lady" (to his horse), "who-ho," as old tom, having got the signal, trots by with the pack, and, lifting his cap in response to the doctor's greeting, says: "main glad to see you out, doctor; hope we shall find a good 'un for you." in a few minutes the hounds are thrown in, and mr. wilson finds himself with mr. halston (the clergyman) and charles at a convenient corner of the covert. as bad luck will have it, though, the fox breaks away on the far side. "bless my soul, this is rough," exclaims the doctor; "come on;" and putting old ladybird at the fence he goes crashing through the wood, followed by his two companions. as they emerge on the other side they see the hounds streaming away some three fields off below them, and have the satisfaction of knowing that for once they have got as bad a start as could well be. "it's for blessington osiers," says charles. "if we cut across to the left and over the brook we shall hit it off." "you are right, charles," rejoins the parson. "what do you say, wilson?" "for'ard on, then," replies the doctor; and the trio gallop off almost in a contrary direction to the hounds. they negotiate the water in safety, and pull up by the side of the osiers just as the hunted fox enters them. charles rides off to the bottom end to view him through, and as tom comes up with the pack his "tailly-ho, for'ard a-w-a-i-y!" proclaims the fact that reynard has not found blessington a place of rest. "why, where the deuce have you arrived from?" is the universal question asked by all the field. "home," says the doctor with a chuckle, as he sets ladybird going now in her proper place--in the front rank--and swings over a nasty fence with a double ditch. as he lands on the other side he notices the secretary's nephew, a young lad who is riding a chestnut that is evidently as much as the boy can manage, and as his eye falls on the stiff timber which appears at the far end of the field he wonders what will happen. "don't go too fast at the rails, my boy," he says. "steady. my g--d, what a smash!" as the impetuous brute rushes at the fence, and, breasting the top rail, turns a regular somersault, throwing the boy, luckily, clear of him. the doctor is off his horse in a moment, and hounds and hunting are forgotten as he kneels by the side of the pale little face, supporting the lad's head on his breast, and feeling with professional skill for any injury. "stand back, gentlemen, please," he exclaims, as some of the field collect round. "give the boy air. there's nothing wrong beyond a slight shock and a broken arm. ah boulter, don't be alarmed," as the secretary rides up. "get him in a cart, and drive him home. i'll be round and set his arm directly." "i'm all right, uncle," says the nephew, who has revived after a pull at the doctor's flask. "let me go on." "no, my boy, you can't go on. you've broken your arm, and will have to be quiet for a bit," replies mr. boulter. "what a bore!" ejaculates the lad; but adds, with a twinkle in his eye, "you'll have to pay doctor wilson a fee after all, uncle." everybody laughs at this, and the doctor mutters under his breath: "that's what i call pluck." then, trotting off home to fetch his paraphernalia, he is at the grange almost as soon as the invalid. after making him comfortable, the doctor has to go off on other errands of mercy, and as he drives the seven miles to visit his next patient, he tells thomas that he is sorry to have missed the end of the run, but if anything could repay him it is the amount of pluck shown by the secretary's little nephew. once a year he takes a two months' holiday, in july and august, when he, together with three old college chums, may be seen clad in blue serge and drinking in great draughts of health on the deck of the yacht which belongs to the eldest of them. they generally wind up with a fortnight at the grouse, and then the doctor returns to bullshire with renewed life and with a fund of anecdote and adventures by sea and land, to hear him relate which is as good for a sick man as any of the prescriptions which he writes in his peculiarly neat handwriting. wherever he goes, castle or cottage, hall or homestead, his presence always cheers and lights up the sick-room, and doctor wilson's visit is looked forward to by the invalid as the pleasantest bit of his long day. the dealers. "yes, sir, he's a niceish little horse, up to a goodish bit of weight too, and carries a lady. my daughter rides him often, and she says he's as handy as a kitten." there is nothing very remarkable about the speaker, and but for the undeniable bit of "good stuff" he is riding, one would scarcely notice him in the crowd assembled at the meet. as he turns half round to make the foregoing remark, allowing his right hand to rest on his horse's flank, a dark bay of wondrous shape, one may perhaps be struck with the peculiar look of shrewdness displayed in his eyes, and notice the ease with which he sits in his saddle; but beyond that there is nothing at first sight to mark a difference from any other man in the field. but mr. james holden the dealer, more generally known as old jimmy holden, is something out of the common. first, he is one of the best judges of a horse in england, with some forty years' experience to back him. secondly, he is a man of the keenest perception. in two seconds he will sum you up as well as if he had been acquainted with you for a lifetime, and knows intuitively at a glance how much you are "good for." thirdly, he is one of the best and neatest riders imaginable, with a supreme contempt for such superfluous matter as nerves. being possessed of hands of silk and will of iron, he can hand a raw young 'un over the stiffest country in the hunt, and make him perform as well as a thoroughly seasoned hunter. lastly, he is absolutely trustworthy--that is to say, if you tell him that you want a horse and cannot afford more than such-and-such a sum, he will supply you with the best article that can be got for the money, frankly telling you any defects, and leaving himself but a fair margin of profit. if, however, a purchaser thinks himself very knowing and pits himself against jimmy holden, it is long odds that that bumptious individual, the purchaser, will find himself in the wrong box, for jimmy takes a pleasure in getting what he calls "six to four the best of a knowing card." he displays a vast amount of _esprit de corps_ concerning his own hunt, always keeping the pick of the bunch for some of his bullshire customers. "you see," he says with a smile, "i meet them all out in the field, and if i was to come across any of my gents riding one of my 'osses that i knew to be a bad 'un, why i could not say good-morning with a free conscience or a light heart. that horse would be always staring me in the face, and making me uncomfortable." to outsiders, however, he does not always show so much compunction, as the following anecdote will show. there was a young cotton lord who one season came down to stay with one of the members of the bullshire for a month's hunting, and, being in want of a horse, was advised to go to mr. holden. exceedingly knowing in matters of horseflesh did this young gentleman consider himself, and as he was rolling in wealth he also gave himself pretty considerable airs. accordingly he despatched the following epistle to freshfield, where jimmy's house and stables were situated: "mr. tinsel, being in want of a hunter, and hearing that james holden is an honest dealer, will thank him to bring over two or three for his inspection to-morrow to the shrubbery. mr. tinsel begs to say he requires a good horse and not a screw." now old jimmy holden was not accustomed to this sort of thing. he had, with his father before him, become quite an institution in the bullshire country, and everybody knowing what a right-down good sportsman he was, always treated him more as an equal than anything else, or at all events with respect and in good-fellowship. indeed it was considered rather a privilege to buy one of his horses, and his company in the field was always sought after, where his fund of anecdote and quaint humour were wont to keep everybody in a roar. therefore it may be imagined that the letter rubbed him up the wrong way in no slight degree, and not a word did he vouchsafe in reply. the next time the hounds met, mr. tinsel, who was riding one of his friend's horses, came up to him and said, in a most offensive way: "you are holden, the horse-dealer, ain't you?" "my name is holden, sir," replied old jimmy, looking over the top of the young snob's head. "well, then, why the devil did not you answer my letter? i want a horse, and told you to bring me over two or three to look at," continued young manchester. "is that your sort of way of doing business? because it ain't mine." "i presume, sir, your name is tinsel. if so, i beg to inform you that i am not in the habit of bringing over horses for strangers to look at. if you like to drive over to freshfield, my foreman will show you one at my stables," said jimmy, and straightway rode off fuming, while a visible smile was seen on the faces of all those within hearing. "sell him the baron," said two or three of them; "it will serve him right." the baron was a grand-looking beast, whose appearance had deceived the wily james into buying him over in the "land of the shamrock;" but with his good looks his virtues came to an end, for he was without exception the veriest brute to ride imaginable, being a confirmed bolter, with no mouth, and with an awkward habit, if he did manage to get rid of his rider, of rushing at him open-mouthed, or else trying to kick his brains out. he had been tried at everything, but it was always the same, whether in saddle or harness; he was a regular man-eating savage. hitherto holden had refused absolutely to part with him, though he had had more than one offer; but so outraged were his feelings on this occasion that he took the advice given, and mr. tinsel shortly became the owner of the baron in exchange for a cheque for two hundred pounds. it must be owned that at the last moment jimmy relented, and told the young gentleman he had better not buy; but with the obstinacy of ignorance tinsel insisted on the bargain, and so had his way. the result was a foregone conclusion. the first day he took him out the brute ran away with him for six miles straight on end, jumping into the river to wind up with, from which predicament mr. tinsel was rescued just in time to save him from a watery grave. the baron emerged safely on the far side, and when caught was there and then despatched to town for sale without reserve, being followed in a couple of days by his owner. this, however, happened some years ago, and jimmy holden does not care to say very much about it now. as the hounds move off, one of the field, a mr. briggs, finds it impossible to help breaking the tenth commandment and coveting the little bay, and when he sees the easy way in which the animal pops over the stiff rails out of the big grass-meadow, making as little of them as if they were a flight of hurdles, while he himself has been in vain looking all round for a convenient gate, the covetous desire increases, and a settled determination takes possession of him to become the owner or perish in the attempt. meanwhile jimmy has noted all this, and though that jump seemed so carelessly and easily done, he well knows the value of it, and is quite prepared to hear mr. briggs say, as he does: "is that bay for sale, holden?" "all my horses are for sale, sir," he replies with a smile; adding, after a pause, "at a price." thereupon briggs tries to look as if he was not the least interested in the matter, and accordingly shows most plainly how anxious he is to buy. "oh, ah, yes," says he, "he seems likely to make a hunter. how much do you ask?" "well, sir, seeing that you are an old customer, i will let you have him at a hundred and twenty; but take my advice, mr. briggs, and when you are buying don't show as you're so sweet on the animal; it's as good as putting another five-and-twenty guineas on the price. however, you shall try him the day after to-morrow, and if you like the horse, which i am sure you will, you can have him at the price i said." needless to say mr. briggs _does_ like him, and a piece of paper signed with his name transfers one hundred and twenty guineas to the account of james holden at the local bank, though it must be confessed that the little bay does not perform quite so brilliantly under his new master's guidance as he did on the occasion when the exhibition at the rails so delighted his heart. it was not to be supposed that jimmy holden would be left for ever in undisputed possession of such a lucrative position as dealer-in-ordinary to the bullshire hunt, and at one time there was quite an influx of veterinary surgeons, job-masters, and copers of all sorts; but they all dropped off and disappeared with the exception of one individual, who was a constant thorn in jimmy's side, and whom he hated with a hate surpassing that of women (the inverse applies equally to the fair sex, love and hatred both being qualities they excel in). he was named seaford--captain seaford he called himself, though the army list was innocent and silent as to his name or his regiment. "a nasty, snivelling, horse-coping snob," was jimmy's verdict; "brings discredit on the profession, and makes people think as we're all rogues." there was a deal of truth in this, for seaford was as big a scamp as ever doctored a broken-winded nag or bishoped an old stager. now and then he had a good horse, but it was the exception; and when such an accident did happen it was a wonder that he ever managed to shut his mouth again, so wide did he open it. farmer simms used to say on those occasions: "ay could see right through un' like a telescope." a most plausible scoundrel is he notwithstanding, and if he manages to get hold of some new-comer he will stick to him like a leech till he has screwed something out of him. of course he hunts, and equally of course he arrives rather late, not being over fond of letting his wares get cool--and stiff--at the meet. he is mounted, perhaps, on a raking-looking chestnut mare. there is a good deal of "furniture" about her, such as breast-plate and martingale; the throat-strap is broad, and the band across the forehead is blue and white enamel. that the mare can jump there is no doubt, for she sails over the big bank and ditch in rare form, and for two or three fields (captain) seaford is in front. after a little he is to be seen on another animal, which, when there are enough people round to see, can perform nearly as well as the chestnut, who is now on her way home. if anyone happens to meet her they will be somewhat surprised to see how lame she goes. "run a nail into 'er 'oof," is the groom's version; but an f.r.c.v.s. would be puzzled to find that nail, and his certificate would show the lameness to proceed from a very different cause. it is a marvel how seaford manages to "pick up" so many flats, but he does a thriving trade; and though occasionally he has to square an unpleasant business, he has always a plausible tale ready to hand, and so comes out with merely a scratch on his somewhat shady character. once he outdid himself, and was as nearly put in prison as ever he wishes to be. it happened as follows. one evening, late, a couple of fur-capped individuals brought a horse into his yard and asked him if he would buy. a glance showed him the animal was valuable, and the price asked being only twenty pounds seaford naturally concluded that it was a stolen one. however, he argued, it was nothing to do with him, and bought it there and then. next day the police found it in his stables, and hard work it was for the freshfield lawyer to prevent the magistrates committing the gallant captain as a receiver of stolen goods. the reason for his having incurred jimmy's hatred is because he was sharp enough once, soon after he had come into the country, to sell him a broken-winded nag; and jimmy never hears the last of it to this day. however, he swears he will be "even with the scamp yet," and being a man of his word there is little doubt but that he will. the grumbler. a very enthusiastic individual is mr. bowles, j.p., or, as he is more generally called, the major, from his connection with the local volunteer force, which, it may almost be said, he founded. liberal with his money, and at heart a good fellow and keen sportsman, his one great failing is the use, or abuse, of that englishman's acknowledged privilege--grumbling. he is never happy unless he is finding fault with something or somebody. no matter what it is, the stars in their courses have always conspired against him personally, or some unfortunate person has done the very thing they should not have done, and so brought the matter in hand to utter grief. of course if they had listened to the major everything would have progressed swimmingly; but as his opinions were seldom given until the fiasco had occurred (if occur it did), and even then were conflicting--not to say contradictory--recourse was seldom had to that fount of advice. it is generally whispered in bullshire that when bowles, after an infinity of trouble and expense, managed to inspire a certain amount of military enthusiasm sufficient for the formation of the corps of bullshire rifles, he refused to accept the command of them, in order that he might afterwards be able to say: "just like my luck; took all the trouble of getting the thing up, and then they go and put in a man over my head. a man, sir, who does not know his right hand from his left; a duffer, sir; a rank impostor, who calls himself colonel, and is as ignorant of the drill-book as---- but, there; it's always the same." as a magistrate and justice of the peace he is equally aggrieved. witnesses somehow never can give their evidence in a straightforward manner, and the decisions of the bench afford him vast scope for criticism. "never heard of such a thing," he will tell you. "man brought up for poaching. found with a gun, going along the road. asked what he was doing. said he was taking it to be mended. would you believe it? they dismissed the case, notwithstanding all i could say. gave him the benefit of the doubt, sir; and they call that justice, by heaven!" it is no use pointing out that ample evidence was produced at the inquiry to show that the man's story was correct, he was taking the gun to be mended, and an over-zealous local policeman had, as is by no means unusual, exceeded his duty. the major will reply that he knows, and if the magistrates don't choose to exercise their powers, every loafer in bullshire will be carrying a gun to be mended. a stranger would naturally suppose from this that mr. bowles was not blessed with much heart; but he would be wrong. for it is a well-known fact that often when, in his official capacity, he has been forced to fine some poor devil who had been "looking on the wine when it was red"--or rather the beer when it was amber--and the sight had been too much for him, the major, after the bench had dispersed, would drive round to the delinquent's cottage and gladden the sorrowing wife by putting into her hand double the amount of the fine that had been inflicted. in the hunting-field he is looked upon as a standing joke, and if there are signs of a cover being blank, or a long wait at a cold corner, there is sure to be a party made up to "draw" the major, the best of it being that he never sees men are laughing at him, but lays down the law, and abuses, condemns, and complains with the utmost heartiness and volubility. though a good horseman and forward rider, he never knows one horse from another if they are anything at all alike in colour; and it is the same with dogs. if you were to put any of his own retrievers along with some others, and ask him to point out those which belonged to him, he could not do it to save his life. two rather funny incidents happened to him from this cause, the first with a horse, and the second concerning a dog. one season he had a particularly good-looking bay, but finding it too hot for him he determined to sell, and so sent it up to london to a dealer, whom, when old jimmy holden had nothing that suited, he was wont to employ, getting a hundred guineas for it. a short time after he went to town himself, and going to the same man's yard was struck with the appearance of a good-looking bay, and bought it at a hundred and forty guineas. when the horse came down to his stables the stud-groom came in and said to him: "why, sir, you didn't tell me as how you'd bought the prince again." "prince, you fool," replied the major; "i've not bought the prince." but he had, and had also paid forty guineas, besides railway fares, for the animal's trip to london and back. the other affair, though perhaps almost telling more against himself, was not so expensive. he had given his friend, lord acres, a black retriever with a high character and a long pedigree, and had made no little parade of the gift. a few weeks afterwards he was shooting at home wood (acres' place), and the dog was out. according to his usual custom, bowles was grumbling at everything; guns, birds, cartridges, weather, and his servant all came in for their share. at last he pitched on the dog, and turning to his host during the process of lunch, he said: "can't think, acres, where you manage to pick up your dogs! look at that mongrel brute there. never saw such a beast in my life. he's only fit to run behind a butcher's cart." "why, major," replied his lordship, roaring with laughter, "that's looking a gift-horse in the mouth with a vengeance. it's your own dog that you gave me." bowles acknowledges now that for once in his life he wishes he had not spoken. it is a beautiful morning for hunting. the late frost--which, though it lasted but a week, was sharp--is well out of the ground, and everybody who owns anything with four legs, besides a number who are dependent on their own, have turned out with the hounds at mickleborough green. the landlord of the three bells, that quaint old inn--with its remains of past glories, as shown by its spacious coach-stables--which stands back from the road facing the green, is doing a roaring trade; and lizzie the barmaid says her "arms do just ache a-drawing the beer." the hounds gathered round old tom on the green, with pink coats dotted here and there, present as pretty a picture as one could wish to see. all are in high spirits and congratulating each other and themselves on the change in the weather and the prospects of a run. chaff is flying thick about "the old mare's big leg," or "the lucky thing the frost was for that young horse who was pulled out on all occasions;" and old tom comes in for his share, being told that "both the hounds and himself look as if they had been doing themselves well on those non-hunting days--waistcoat buttons a bit tight, eh tom?" and such-like banter. presently, along the road the major appears, in company with mr. boulter the secretary, and young earnshaw, who is learning farming--by hunting four days a-week--with mr. noble. "here's bowles," say two or three sportsmen; "he can't find much to grumble at to-day, anyhow." as he rides up they greet him with a hearty "good-morning, major; lovely day, isn't it?" "lovely day? lovely fiddlestick!" is the reply. "up to your neck in mud. country so heavy you can't ride, and then of all places to pick out mickleborough! why, the water will be out all over the bottom. but there, it's always the same. i told lappington he ought to meet at the kennels; but nobody ever listens to me." "well, but bowles," interrupts the secretary; "we met at the kennels the last fixture before the frost." "and you ought to meet the first day after. by heavens, i'd meet every day there till the country was fit to ride," grumbles the major. "look at the hounds too. why, tom must have got the whole pack out, and borrowed some besides. now i ask you, can we expect any sport with such a pack as that? 'pon my soul the hunt's going to the devil." "short of work, major; must give 'em a bit of exercise," puts in the huntsman, as bowles rides off to anathematise the landlord of the three bells, for presuming to offer him a glass of "d----d muddy home-brewed," calling, however, for a second edition of the same. by this time the master has arrived and there is a general bustle, a tightening of girths, a shortening of stirrups, and the usual preparations for a start. the word goes round that the first draw will be mickleborough wood, and tom with the hounds is already on his way there before it reaches the ear of the major, at that moment engaged in an altercation with his servant, who, according to bowles, has put a wrong bridle on his second horse, but, according to the man himself, has only obeyed his master's instructions. no sooner does he hear the appointed place than he gives up the bridle argument, and making his way to where the master and others are trotting down the lane, commences: "you don't mean to say, lappington, you're going to put them into the wood? why, we shall never get away, and the rides will be impassable. my good sir, just think. here, some of you fellows, try and persuade him, he never listens to me, nobody ever does;" adding, under his breath, "never heard such d----d folly in my life." "why, bowles," replies sir john, laughing, "you said a minute ago that the bottoms would be under water, and now you object to the high ground. where would you go to, you old growler?" "growler be hanged: i never grumble. but it is a little bit too much, when one comes out for a day's hunting, to be turned loose into a forest of trees growing on a bog. the man who planted mickleborough wood ought to have been hung," says bowles. what more he might have added will never be known, for at this instant a ringing view holloa is heard, and the hounds are away full cry, a fox having jumped up in a spinney on the road to the wood. "just like my luck," the major is heard to ejaculate, as he puts his nag at the fence out of the lane. "whenever i try and give anybody advice they tell me i am growling. hold up, you awkward devil," to his horse, who pecks a bit on landing. "and here have i been wasting my time teaching a pack of idiots how to hunt the country, and lost my start." after running hard for a quarter of an hour, the hounds check in a road, half the pack having flashed over the line. here the major is in his glory, and holds forth. "what did i say this morning? if they will bring out every hound in the kennel, how can they expect them to hunt. look there, now; look there. what the devil's the use of taking them up the road? the fox is for'ard, i'll wager. 'pon my oath, i believe old tom is getting past his work. there's that young ass, simms, too, messing about--always in the way. i should like to know how he finds time to hunt. every farmer seems to be able to do everything nowadays, and when they want to pay their corn-bill they cry out about the weather and ask for a reduction of rent." "not quite so bad as all that, major," exclaim one or two farmers, who think it time to stick up for their characters. "not quite so bad as all that. we likes to ride as well as anyone, and we likes to see others enjoy themselves over our land. but there, we know you don't mean it." just then, as if to convict the major, harbinger hits off the line up the road, and they are away again a cracker, bowles coming in for plenty of chaff about the fox being for'ard and tom being past his work. to give him his due, he was right when he blamed the country, for it is precious heavy, and plenty of grief is the order of the day. the scent, too, improving, with every hundred yards, it becomes hard work to live with them. sir john, as usual, is well up, and a few others are close in his wake, among them bowles, whose coat, by-the-way, shows evident signs of contact with mother-earth--a catastrophe that was brought about, he says, "by the idiotic way that people mend their fences, with a great rail run through them." however, when, after an hour and ten minutes, they run to ground, even he is fain to allow that they have had a real good thing, though he qualifies the admission with a few scathing remarks on the slovenly way in which the earths are stopped: "a disgrace to the country, by heaven!" riding home he asks a few men to dinner the next day at his house, amongst them sir john lappington and mr. wilson the doctor--in case of accidents, he says. his invitation is eagerly accepted, for his dinners are proverbial and his wine undeniable. to see him at his own table you would scarcely know him again for the same man. the grumbling has all been got over before the guests arrive; and as you drive home--with that comfortable feeling of having dined well, wisely, and in pleasant company--you bear away a cheerful remembrance of witty sayings and thorough good-fellowship, of a countenance beaming with fun, and stories which, if you wake in the night and think of, will cause you to laugh afresh. nearly all these happy feelings and memories you may safely put down to the skill of your host the major, whose sole failing, as i have said, lies in the fact that, from habit, in the field, he has become a grumbler. the lady who hunts and rides. wildmere house is a favourite meet with the bullshire, consequently there is always a large field out at that fixture, every class of sportsman being represented, both those who mean business and those who merely come to partake of the good cheer offered them, and afterwards, when hounds begin to run, retire into the background, unless, indeed, some handy highroad lies parallel to the chase, when they reappear, splashed with mud, and enthusiastic _ad nauseam_. most hospitable of entertainers is colonel talford, who occupies the house; and with his pretty wife to assist him, there is little fear of any complaints being heard as to the quality or quantity of the breakfast. equally certain is old tom that a real straight-necked good-hearted fox is ready for him either in the home wood or ravenshill copse, for the colonel makes it a rule with his keepers that there shall be foxes, and they know well that his rules are like the laws of the medes and persians--unalterable. "no foxes, no keepers," is what he says; and if the quarry is not forthcoming, unless a very good reason can be given, go they have to. he once came upon velveteens in the act of burying a fox that he had trapped and knocked on the head--or, to be more accurate, mrs. talford, who was riding back from the dairy farm, saw the funeral going on, and told her husband. the man was a new keeper, who had been with him barely a month, and as a keeper was considered quite first-class. but there and then the colonel went out, had the fox dug up, and made the man take it over to sir john lappington, riding himself all the way behind him to see that he did it. through the main street of the village they went in procession, the men (for it was evening) turning out and hooting the unfortunate vulpecide; and when he had delivered his burden and apologised, the colonel said: "now you can go back and pack up your things; this is your last day in my service." his wages were paid that night, and in spite of all entreaties, the next day he left colonel talford and bullshire for ever. it is a lovely morning as tom rides up with his beauties in front of the house, and, saluting the host and hostess, tosses off the glass of sparkling ale that is handed to him. there had been a catch of frost on the monday, and folks learned in weather-lore had predicted a hard time; but nothing came of it, for a shower of rain on tuesday night had utterly routed the destroyer of sport; and on the thursday at wildmere it is as fine a hunting-day as one could wish--if anything perhaps a shade too warm. "we must give them a few minutes, sir john," says mrs. talford to the master, who has just arrived. "the melton train is late, and there are always a few who honour us on this occasion by trying to cut us all down." "certainly, mrs. talford," replies lappington, smiling and taking out his watch. "we will give them a quarter of an hour; but you need not be so fearfully sarcastic about the meltonians. i think it is generally the other way. if i remember rightly, i have seen a lady on a horse called queen bee who generally requires a great deal of cutting down, and i have heard it said that this same lady is impossible to beat." "nonsense, sir john; you know that if i do manage to get over the country it is all the queen's doing, not mine. she's a dear, is not she? but come in and have something; my husband wants to see you about drawing the copse first," rejoins mrs. talford, leading the way into the dining-room, and evidently pleased at the master's flattery. in a quarter of an hour, the melton detachment having come up, the signal is given to move, and a long cavalcade trot off for ravenshill. a minute or two later two horses are seen cantering across the grass to catch up the hounds; one carries colonel talford, and the other (the redoubtable queen bee) his wife. as they come up and press forward to where tom's white head is seen bobbing in the middle of the pack, men point her out, and you hear a whisper of "there she is, that's her--riding the same horse too; by jove, old fellow, it's all very well to say 'only a woman,' but if you can beat her you'll do. why, the last time we met here she cut us all down and hung us up to dry; only rode one horse all day. dick valpy had three out, and you know how he can ride; but i'm blessed if he didn't get nearly drowned in the brook, while she sailed over it as if it was nothing. we'd been running for forty minutes then, but she can save her horse as well as ride, i can tell you." some who have not seen her express their doubts, and vow that "no woman ever beat them yet, and, by gad, sir, they never shall;" but they do not know mrs. talford or queen bee, and before the day is over they will tell another tale. yet you would never take her for a hard rider, though anyone at a glance can see she is a finished horsewoman. nothing could possibly be quieter than her turn-out. a well-fitting, well-cut, rough cloth habit, rather short; a neat white silk handkerchief tied and folded round a high stand-up linen collar, just showing, like a man's scarf, where the habit is made with a step; a small black felt hat, of the kind known as a "billycock," covering her well-shaped head, the hair of which is gathered into a small knot behind; while in her hand she carries a hunting-crop, made of a holly that she herself cut from the lawn in front of the house. her seat is easy yet firm, and very square on her saddle. those small hands too, which look as if they could hurt no living thing, can hold and control a puller with wondrous power, a fact her horses seem to recognise directly she takes up the reins of her bridle, for they go so quietly under her hand that one is forced to wonder what it was that made them fret and tear in such a disagreeable way when mrs. a---- or lady b---- claimed them for their own, in the days before they found that they were "too much for them," and had to sell them to the colonel at a discount. with all this, as she, having ranged up alongside of the pack, pulls up queen bee into a trot, and pats the neck of that more than perfect animal, one cannot help a feeling of astonishment that so slight and delicate-looking a woman should be able to go so hard; and in our inmost hearts we feel that if we could lay claim to half as straight a course as mrs. talford we should not hide our light quite so much under a bushel as she does. they are close to the copse now, and mrs. talford and the colonel slip down to the far side with charles; the right of proprietorship allowing this, which is courteously yet firmly forbidden to the rest of the field. "gentlemen," says the master, "for your own sport i wish the whole of the left side and bottom of the covert kept free. it's a clear start either way, therefore i must beg you not to get for'ard. give the fox a chance, and then, so long as you don't ride over the hounds, go as you like." someone suggests that the colonel and his wife have gone down to the bottom, whereupon sir john shuts him up by saying: "that, sir, is only another reason why nobody else should go. when we draw your coverts we will allow you to go where you like, and keep the rest out of your way." as the individual happens to be a gentleman who has only that season come down to bullshire, and has not subscribed as yet to the hounds, the remark causes a general titter, and the man wishes he had not spoken. his discomfiture is, however, of short duration, for at this instant the hounds find, and from the chorus and way they rattle him up and down the covert it is clear that they are not far behind their fox. two rings round the wood and he finds it too hot to hold him, so away he goes across the slope in full view of the whole field. "hold hard one moment, gentlemen," shouts the master, as tom, horn in hand, tops the wood fence, and claps the hounds on to the line. "now"--and a hundred or more horses are rattling down the hill towards the fence at the bottom. some visibly diminish their pace as they near the obstacle, and some make a determined point to the gate in the corner, which a friendly yeoman is holding open. but there is little time to notice all this, for the pace is a cracker, and the scent is breast-high. two or three loose horses are careering about the next field, and two or three dismounted riders are running after them. "catch hold, sir," says young simms, as he stops one of the horses and delivers him up to his owner; "catch hold--i can't stop;" and he is over the next bank and ditch before the spilt one has recovered the effects of his acrobatic performance. such a jam at the double post and rails! there are but three or four negotiable places, and everybody is racing for them madly. the parson and the doctor fly them together, and so shake themselves clear of the ruck, while a hard-riding meltonian carries away a heap of them. but where is mrs. talford? there she is on the left, close to the hounds, yet well wide of them, slipping along with an easy grace, looking as if she was merely cantering, queen bee taking everything before her, and making as little of the fences as if they were the lowest of hurdles. how the deuce did she get there? everybody who has time to notice her wonders. but no one ever knows how she does get anywhere. no matter what sort of a start she gets, unless hopelessly thrown out mrs. talford before long is certain to be found sailing along in close proximity to the hounds. presently they come to a check in the road, but it is only for a minute, for beadsman hits off the line on the far side, over the wall, and across the fallows. some of the road-riders come up at this moment, and stare blankly at the wall. one, a stranger, seeing a lady, and not knowing who she is, vainly endeavours to open the gate (a low one), which is locked, and thereby prevents anybody else getting over. "thank you, sir; i think i can manage it," is all mrs. talford says in her quiet way, and in another minute the would-be "pew-opener" is greeted with a sight of queen bee's hind feet, and the lady has resumed her former place with the hounds. "well done, mrs. colonel!" says old tom (he always calls her mrs. colonel). "we shall show them the road again to-day. it's the old line, straight for marston. hold up," to his horse, who dropped his hind legs in a ditch. "yonder he goes," as he catches sight of the fox making the best of his way up the rising ground in the distance; and, contrary to his usual custom, he catches hold of the hounds and lifts them for nearly half a mile, thereby cutting off a big slice. "oh tom, you shouldn't have done that," says mrs. talford, as soon as they have settled on to the line again. "they were hunting beautifully." "don't mean anyone to get in front of the queen, mrs. colonel, this time," is all he vouchsafes as they gallop down a lane, thereby saving their horses, and nicking in again at the corner. a holloa from the right, close in front of the hounds, shows the rest of the field that the end is approaching, and the melton detachment are riding their hardest to catch the bullshire lady; but the only men who have as yet succeeded are mr. halston, the master, and old simms. "it's over the brook, for a hundred, sir," shouts tom, and he is right. with a splash that sends the water sparkling high in the air, the whole pack dash in, and are away on the other side racing in view. "surely she's not going to ride at that," men say to each other as mrs. talford catches her mare by the head. but she is; and, with sir john on the one side and the parson on the other, she skims over like a bird. old tom's horse is done, and refuses, but being crammed at it again just gets over with a scramble. the rest ride at it in a body, some in, some over; some think better of it and turn back; but before any but the leading quartet are well over, sir john's "who-whoop" rings out clear and loud, and tells them that they have again been beaten by "only a woman." the lady who hunts and does not ride. if anyone could be found rash enough to hint to mrs. polson that in the hunting-field she was, to say the least of it, rather a bore than otherwise, the look of undisguised astonishment with which that individual's remarks would be met, ought, if he had any right feeling, to convince him that he was wrong; and that, if there was a woman in this world who was a useful addition to the hunt, and who, wherever and whenever she thought proper to grace the scene, was always rapturously welcomed, that woman was mrs. polson, wife of joseph polson, esq., m.p., better known as the right hon. j.p. although as yet no one has dared to breathe a word to the lady herself, there are men, and a large number to boot, who, among themselves, vote her a nuisance; in fact they have been known to say that she is "one of the most infernal nuisances out. always in the way. never happy unless she is talking horse and hound, and for ever trying to catch some unfortunate novice 'just to give her a lead here, or to open a gate there;' while to answer her questions a man needs to be a walking glossary." i am afraid there is a deal of truth in what these unappreciative men say, for mrs. polson before she was married had never got farther in the equestrian art than an occasional ride on a shaggy pony when staying with her aunt in devonshire, or the _haute école_ as practised up and down the king's road at so much per hour when staying with her uncle at brighton. it was at the latter place that she met good-natured easy-going joseph polson; and when her father, who was rector of a small parish in dorset, heard that his letty had said "yes" to a rich man, there were great rejoicings at the parsonage, for she was one of seven, and the living being by no means a large one, mr. becket found some difficulty in making both ends meet. however, no sooner had she married polson and settled down in bullshire as the member's wife, than she must needs become a hunting-woman, and, as a hunting-woman and the member's wife, give herself airs. perhaps among her acquaintances there is no one that she hates with such a cordial hatred as poor unoffending mrs. talford, for although when she meets her the greeting (on her side at all events) is most effusive, still, deep down in her memory, rankles a speech that she once overheard mrs. talford make to her husband. she had come up rather late, just as the hounds were moving off, and the colonel and his wife, ignorant of her proximity, were discussing her powers of riding. "my dear," said the colonel, "i have not seen mrs. polson. have you?" "no," replied mrs. talford; "i don't suppose she is coming; it's rather a stiff country to-day;" and then, laughing, "how glad young mr. bevan will be. he said that she tacked herself on to him at deanfield the other day, and after she had bored his life out for more than an hour, and made him open at least twenty gates, she asked him to come over some day and look at her hunters. it's a pity somebody can't tell her that men hate being bothered in the hunting-field." mrs. polson's sudden appearance stopped further conversation on the subject. but from her over-affectionate manner ever since, mrs. talford knows perfectly well that the unlucky speech went farther than it was intended. "good morning, tom. got the dog-pack out to-day, i see, looking none the worse for saturday," says mrs. polson as she rides up, followed by a groom bearing at his back a large sandwich-case, and at his saddle-bow a holster-flask filled with sherry and water (for the member's wife does not see the fun of hunting without her luncheon). "get away, good dog, get away; 'war hoss,'" to bellman, who leaves the main body of the pack in order to make a closer inspection of mrs. p. or the sandwich-case. "mornin', mum," replies old tom, doffing his cap; and then to avoid further conversation he calls away bellman and trots off to a distant point, bringing the hounds back at a walk to allow time for her to "collar someone else," as he puts it. while he is away on his little tour we may just glance at the external appearance of the member's wife. certainly she is not a good riding figure, being of the order "dumpy," and her seat in the saddle reminds one strongly of a plum-pudding on a dish. her habit is a close copy of mrs. talford's, with the exception that it is much exaggerated. in the front of the collar, which is turned over, is displayed an elaborate necktie, with a fox's head painted on crystal as a pin, two heads of the same pattern serving as studs for her wristbands. she also affects the hunt-button, plain brass, with "b.h." in a monogram: and a hat-guard made of a small gold chain, secured to a most curly-brimmed hat by a fox's tooth, completes the dress; while the hunting-crop she carries in her fat little pudgy hand is more fitted for a first whip than a lady, being, both heavy and cumbersome. tom evidently knows her pretty well, for before he returns from his self-imposed trot to his original place, mrs. polson has "collared someone else," and is making herself agreeable (or trying to) to two strangers who are staying with the master for a week, and whom she has met at dinner at lappington. a small group standing a little way off, after bowing, smile among themselves and pity the innocent strangers who, as young bevan says, are "being let in for a day in waiting." "it's a shame of lappington not to have put them on their guard," he continues; "i shall tell him so." "she landed you once, bevan, did not she?" asks another, laughing. "yes, but never again," is the reply. "five-and-twenty gates to open, a treatise on scent, the pedigree of every hound in the pack, and some weak sherry-and-water, hardly compensate one for missing one of the best things of the season. by gad, we never saw hounds from the time they found till they killed, and yet to hear the woman talk, you would fancy she was in the first flight all the way. look out, she is bearing down on us;" and the little group disperse, each one seemingly having caught sight of a man in the distance that he "must speak to for a moment." time's up now, and they move off to the big wood, mrs. p. closely attended by the two strangers, to whom she has promised to show the country. they feel obliged, or rather under an obligation to her, and do not like to leave her side, though both think they would rather see the country for themselves without a cicerone. it is her day all over, for it is even betting they do not get out of the wood; and even if they do, what so convenient as a false turn down a ride that leads to nowhere? by the time they get outside hounds will be well away, and the only chance of catching them will be through that line of gates that mrs. polson knows so well. as they come up to the wood the trio find their progress barred by a low rail, over which tom has popped, followed by a good many of the field. the two strangers naturally suppose that so great a sportswoman as mrs. polson will make nothing of a small obstacle like the one before them, so one politely gives her a lead over, turning round on the other side to say: "it's rather a boggy place on the left, but if you jump well to the right you will find it quite firm," while the other holds back till the lady has successfully negotiated the fence. they are a little surprised when she says, in the blandest possible tones: "i hope you will not think me a bore, but there is nothing i dislike so much as jumping in cold blood. it only takes it out of one's horse for nothing. if you would not mind taking that rail down--it drops off easily--i should be so much obliged." this necessitates someone dismounting, and the man who gave the lead over has to get off and stand in a pool of muddy water, which he feels oozing through his boots, while he struggles manfully with the offending rail. at last his efforts are successful. mrs. poison gallops triumphantly through, splashing him all over as she passes. "oh, i am so sorry," she exclaims, when she sees what she has done. "it is my naughty horse; he can't bear to be kept waiting." the splashed one is too polite to say much, but that does not prevent him from "thinking a lot;" and as he wipes the mud from his face he registers a vow to give my lady the slip on the first possible opportunity. this comes shortly, for a few minutes later there is an unmistakable find, and the hounds are seen tearing through the underwood to the right. "this way--this way," pants mrs. polson, making the best of her road for a gate in an exactly opposite direction; "they are sure to turn to the left, and we shall be all right." a view holloa on the right, followed by tom's horn, decides the mud-bespattered gentleman, and he turns off, galloping down a ride which, as far as he can judge, leads to where he hears the hounds. he arrives just in time to see them top the bank, and when he finds himself well out of the wood, with some seven or eight men and one lady, who have got an equally good start, he congratulates himself on having escaped, and thinks how his friend must be gnashing his teeth. luck, however, favours mrs. polson, for the hounds swing round to the left, and she and her attendant squire ride through a hand-gate just as they go by. "there, i told you we should be all right," she says, highly gratified with herself, yet the while casting an anxious glance round the field for a gate which is nowhere visible. "for'ard on; he's away over the plough, tom," shouts sir john as he gallops up; and they race him down towards a most uncompromising-looking stake and bound. mrs. talford is first over, and her husband follows close in her wake. the emancipated sportsman goes next, and barely saves a fall; then comes a farmer on a stout cob, who goes crash through the whole fabric, rolling himself far into the next field, while the cob reposes in the ditch. however he has made a most convenient gap, at which the member's wife keeps a score or more impatient people waiting, while she, holding her steed tight by the head, vainly endeavours to summon up sufficient courage to ride him over the place. "hang the woman; she's an impostor," mutters stranger no. , now thoroughly exasperated, as he sees his friend sailing merrily away in the distance. "oh dear, i am afraid you must think me very tiresome," said mrs. polson to him; "i never knew my horse to refuse before; there must be something wrong with him. please don't wait for me;" and, turning to her sandwich-bearer: "john, follow me down into the lane; i am afraid one of the horse's shoes are loose." again, to her squire: "please go on, i will catch you up again directly;" and she goes off to the road, where of course john finds the shoes, as he knew he would, perfectly tight. "thank goodness for that," thinks her ex-equerry-in-waiting, making best haste to get to the hounds again; and as he manages to come up with them while tom is making a cast, he tells his host the master that he owes him one for not putting him up to mrs. p. and her riding powers. sir john laughs and says: "all right, old boy, you won't see her again till we have killed or lost and are going to draw for a fresh one. she will have finished her lunch by then; but i daresay there will be some sherry-and-water left for you as a reward." before his marriage the hon. member for bullshire was a most punctual man; but now, somehow, he always turns up late, and is seldom, if ever, seen at the meet, or till hounds are running, when he will suddenly appear riding as forward as ever. when asked by his friends the reason for this strange behaviour, he merely winks and looks over towards where his estimable spouse may be seen in the far distance pounding along through the gates, followed by the faithful john with the luncheon. the schoolboys. for the last week parents have been receiving letters from young hopefuls, in which allusions have been made to the absolute necessity of sending by return of post some more pocket-money wherewith to liquidate sundry small accounts, and to enable him to give his friends who are "leaving this half" some presents. most of the documents have wound up with the announcement that there are only three or four days to the holidays, and with requests that john, or thomas, or sam may be told to get the pony fit for them to ride. in some instances the father, or, as the "young gentleman" prefers to call him, "the governor," has been reminded of his promise to buy a new horse; and as he knows full well that unless he does so the word "peace," so far as he is concerned, may be scratched out of the dictionary, jimmy holden is called into council and the animal is procured. as the down-train runs into lappington station, four or five eager faces may be seen, one over the other, filling up the window of the railway carriage; and before the train has well stopped four or five equally eager bodies jump out; and the porters, without waiting for instructions, immediately proceed to empty the compartment of rugs, sticks, two-shilling novels, bags, and the numerous other items which invariably accompany a boy on his return from school. "there's the governor, charlie," says a bright-looking lad to his schoolfellow, whom he has brought home with him for the first fortnight of the holidays. "how are you, dick? and how is the pony?" exclaims another, addressing the neat-looking servant, who is evidently as pleased to see his young master as that worthy is to have put by his books for a time. "no signs of frost; we shall be out to-morrow at the grange," shouts a third, as he disappears within the portals of the booking-office. the hero of the hour, however, is harold lappington, sir john's youngest brother, a tall good-looking young fellow, who in the field is known to combine the fearlessness of youth with the knowledge of old age. he has come that morning from eton, where he has been keeping his hand in by hunting the college beagles. old tom and his brother have come to meet him, and many of the other boys envy him the honour of shaking hands with so great a man as the huntsman. "by guy, mayster harold, but you are growed, looking well and all," says tom; and then, turning to the master: "eh, sir john, ay's gettin' a rare-topped 'un." "by jove, tom, there's no need to ask how you are, you're looking as fit as a fiddle. is that young gray horse fit for me to ride? the one you had at the kennels, i mean," ejaculates harold: and, receiving an answer in the affirmative, walks off with sir john to where an obsequious porter is hoisting his traps into a dog-cart which is standing outside. "here, john," he says to his brother, as he jumps up, "i'm going to drive." "not if i know it," replies the master. "i have not forgotten that last exploit of yours, when you upset me over a heap of stones." but of course the boy has his way, and with a "good-night, tom," and a wave of the hand, they rattle round the corner, shaving the gate-post so close as to cause the master to clench his teeth and hold on like grim death. "well," mutters tom, when they, are out of sight, "there'll be some riding to-morrow, i know, and some tumbling too. i 'opes we gets away quick, for though i loves to see the lads go, they do myther (bother) me terrible at the first;" and he turns up the road towards the kennels, exchanging good-nights and bright hopes for the morrow with the young occupants of the various traps as they pass him on their way to their respective homes. by ten o'clock the next morning the road to the grange is lively with the usual symptoms of a meet. grooms with led-horses are riding alongside the tax-cart of the butcher or baker. men and boys on foot keep up that peculiar kind of shuffle, half run, half walk, which is seen nowhere save in the country. the keeper and the poacher jostle one another and combine to chaff the merry vendor of crockery and hardware who, perched on the top of his wares and drawn by his trotting "moke," has chosen the centre of the road, somewhat to the inconvenience of those in his rear. he is well able to hold his own, and gives as much as he gets. indeed, in the matter of chaff, it takes the allied forces all their time to keep on even terms until they overtake the local policeman, when the channel of wit and repartee is diverted against "poor robert," who of course being ignominiously defeated at once, takes refuge under official dignity, and thinks of the time when his turn will come. the keepers have held aloof from the latter entertainment, for it would not be right to make a butt of the law, they think; and so, joining him, all proceed towards the grange as merry as crickets. presently there is a shout from behind, and turning round they see old tom and the pack, with many a bit of pink in his wake, and, what is more (in their own eyes, at all events), many an emancipated schoolboy. "lend us one of them dorgs to run under my carriage," says the itinerant hardware merchant as they pass him. tom rather winces at the word "dorgs" being applied to his darlings, and is preparing a stinging rejoinder; but before it is ready, eton, harrow, rugby, and winchester have (verbally) fallen on the rash jester and silenced him completely. however, he manages to make his way to the grange, and while there disposes of some of his crockery, and drinks tom's health in some of mr. boulter's beer, calling him, by-the-way, "lord topboots." such greetings and chaff, too, among lads! criticisms of their respective animals, mutual challenges, and hurried arrangements for all sorts of sport. the secretary is not forgotten either, and various inquiries are made concerning "his last speech and what time he came home." at last the master and his brother harold drive up, and in a few moments are mounted and ready. one glass of sherry "just to keep the secretary in tune," as harold says, and tom, getting a nod, trots off to the wood about half a mile away. "charles," says he to the first whip, "you get down to corner, and if so be as t' fox breaks, dunna holloa; just crack yer whip when ay's well away. maybe then i shall have a chance of getting hounds on to the line." on the road to the wood there are two small fences, and though the gates are open wide, with the exception of harold lappington, every boy has his pony over, into, or through them. a fall or two brings down a torrent of jeers on the unfortunates, and one youngster in particular, who goes careering round the field, half on, half off his animal, is most productive of sport. "stick to him, johnny," shout some; "he's off; no he isn't; well saved," as, more by good luck than good management, he regains his seat, and comes back looking rather crestfallen. some of the farmers think for a moment of their fences and what a lot of "making up" there will be on the morrow; but the joyous faces and boisterous spirits of the schoolboys are infectious, and they feel with old simms, who said, when last year they broke three of his gates down and let his sheep out all over the country: "we were all boys once, and not a bit better. bless 'em, they don't mean any harm, and i love 'em." the first draw is a blank, much to the disappointment of all, boulter in particular, for he catches it most unmercifully from all his young friends. a move is then made for a piece of rough stuff called shepherd's gorse. sir john has a difficult task to keep his field in order here, for it is a crooked in-and-out-shaped place, and the ponies will creep forward into forbidden corners. as fast as he orders one back he finds another expectant and overanxious youth somewhere else. however, they are not kept long in suspense, for a quick find is followed by a ringing "gone away," and his field gallop round to find tom and the pack sailing along merrily, he having slipped off with the hounds well on to the line before he vouchsafed to proclaim his departure. hard work it is to catch them, for they are racing with a scent breast-high, but the schoolboys sit down and send their ponies along with a will, thinking no more of the big bank and ditch that confront them than they would if it was only a broken sheep-hurdle. harold lappington is first down to it, and his young gray pecks badly on the far side, for the animal is a bit fresh and over-jumps himself. harold's fine seat, however, saves him from a fall, and turning round to where he sees young charlie whistler riding his pony, scarce thirteen hands three inches in height, at the biggest place he can find, he shouts: "steady, charlie; it's too big for you; take it in two, on and off." "go on," replies the monkey, "i'm all----" he would have said "right," but as he was turning head over heels like a rabbit before he could finish his sentence, he found further conversation somewhat difficult. next in order came two hard-riding members with sir john and mrs. talford, and then a whole crowd of horses and ponies, a good many of which plumbed the depths of the ditch on the landing-side. it is wonderful what a good pony will do with a resolute youngster on his back. where it can't jump it will creep or climb, and generally manages to pull through somehow or other; but this particular fence is a rasper to commence with, and in most cases the cause of grief is over-excitement. "you're a nice sort of fellow, tom, slipping off like that," says harold, as he comes up with the old huntsman, who is gnashing his teeth because they've checked, and "them blessed lads will be all among t' hounds again." "what did you do it for?" he continues. "ah mayster harold; must get a start, or we should never get through all them ponies," replies tom. "here they come, by gad. that's it, praise the lord," as the hounds hit it off just as the rest arrive. "for'ard on," yell the lads, as pleased as punch to have caught the hounds again. "harold, it's my idea the fox will make over the swill," says sir john to his brother, as they gallop along the grass. "there are two or three deuced stiff ploughs before we get there, and as you can't jump it we had better take the road and round by the bridge." "not i; i'm going with the hounds," replies harold. "if they go over i can but go in and out." "don't you be a fool," retorts the master. "by jove, i'm right! it is for the swill," as the hounds swung to the left towards the line of pollards that denote the course of that "meandering streamlet." "hold hard, young gentlemen, hold hard," roars tom, as they hang for a moment on the plough, and five or six reeking ponies get unpleasantly near his darlings. "you canna jump swill; you must go round by t' bridge." but they pay no heed to either him or paternal warning, and pound away over the plough towards the willows. "here, i'm dashed if some on 'em won't get drownded, for they'll have it, as sure as my name's wilding," he continues. the two simms and a few adventurous spirits follow in the wake of the lads, while the rest of the field follow the master to the bridge. as the hounds plunge in tom gallops off for the same goal, saying: "this way, young gents, this way." he might as well have spared his breath, for eton is not going to be beaten by harrow, nor winchester by rugby, nor clifton by any of them, and the rivals feel the honour of their schools to be at stake. harold again heads the charge, and the young 'un makes a gallant effort, just getting his fore-legs on the opposite bank. quick as thought the boy is over his head on _terra firma_, while the gray falls back into the brook. "bravo," shout the rest of the field, "bravo!" and, as his horse scrambles out, harold's heart swells with pride, and he says to his brother: "the dear old school bested them all." harrow, rugby, winchester, and clifton, all go at it in a lump, and all four are splashing about together, when little phillips, a lad of twelve, who has just completed his first half, at marlborough, comes down, and handling his rat of a pony down the bank, the pair swim across, and out the other side they scramble, the urchin shouting at the top of his voice: "hooray, eton first, marlborough second." all, happily, manage, contrary to tom's expectations, to escape being "drownded;" and, wet as they are, ride harder than ever to make up their "leeway." about a mile farther on the fox is viewed heading straight for braby main earths, where he goes to ground with the pack close at his brush. then paternal authority asserts itself, and the dripping schoolboys are promptly ordered home. they plead hard to stay, but paterfamilias is firm, and the lads turn to go with a last wistful look at tom and the hounds. it is late in the afternoon, and they have had a right down good gallop, thinks sir john; so turning to the field he says: "gentlemen, i shall send the hounds home. we will call this the schoolboys' day, and i am sure after the way they have ridden it would be a shame to go on without them." the boaster. if one could only believe one quarter of the strange adventures, hairbreadth escapes, and marvellous performances in the field of which mr. story says he has been the hero, one might well set him down as a wonderful nimrod. but, unfortunately, veracity does not form part of his character. he is good-natured, generous, hospitable, and amusing, yet one of the most confirmed liars in the country. not that he is what is known as a harmful liar, for he would as soon think of telling an anecdote reflecting on the character of any of his friends or acquaintances as he would of picking their pockets. no, his embroidery is strictly personal. it appertains solely to what he has done or can do, and such a habit has this become with him that he firmly believes every word he says, and will pledge his honour that such and such a thing happened, that he did this or that, the while relating some performance that effectually puts that prince of fibbers baron munchausen in the background. nothing seems to cure him. over and over again has he been caught out by a sceptical audience, who have then and there endeavoured to put him to the blush, but it has been of no avail, for two minutes afterwards he will be romancing away as gaily as ever on some fresh subject. men have got tired of trying to break him of it, and now only sit and laugh, acknowledging that "old story is devilish good fun though he is such a thundering liar." of course in the hunting-field he is the veriest impostor that ever got on a horse, never, if he can possibly help it, leaving the glorious safety of the hard highway. yet the description of the run as told by him in the evening fairly takes your breath away, and, supposing you to be a stranger, makes you feel that you have come into a country the like of which you have never seen. sheep-hurdles are (according to mr. story) five-barred gates, the smallest ditch a veritable river; and as he turns to some one or the other guest at his table and says: "did you notice that horse i was riding to-day? deuced clever animal, i can tell you. jumped a double post and rails with about twelve foot of water on the far side, and made nothing of them, 'pon my honour!" you wonder whether there are many fences of the same species to be encountered, or many horses with the same supreme contempt for them to be picked up in bullshire. once in his life he did jump a brook, and it is even betting that before you have been long in his presence he will tell you all about it, though his version of the occurrence differs slightly from that of those who saw it. they had been having a very slow hunting-run on a cold scent, barely out of a trot most of the time, the hounds picking it out inch by inch, and at last they came to a dead lock in a field, round two-thirds of which ran the marston brook. mr. story, who had been as usual very prominent in the centre of the road, which ran conveniently adjacent, thought he might as well turn into the field through the gate, which he did. unfortunately for him there was a bull in the corner, which neither he nor anyone else had noticed, and just as the gate swung to and latched again, the hounds hit off the line and went over the brook. at the same moment the bull, having lashed himself into a rage, and maddened by the cry of the hounds, singled out story's red coat and charged down on him. this startled his gallant steed. away he went, followed by the bull, and, to everyone's intense astonishment and amusement, story was seen on his horse's neck well over the water. he himself will tell you that he cut the whole field down--"pounded them, sir, on my honour, at the brook;" but the real facts of the case are those i have just narrated. most particular is mr. story as to his external appearance, and the bows of his well-fitting leathers are tied with a mathematical accuracy attainable only by long and patient manipulation, aided by the use of various scientific instruments, such as pincers and button-hooks, of which he keeps a large assortment. his necktie is the envy of half the men in the field, while the peculiar shade of his tops has caused more envy, hatred, and malice among the valets than one would have believed possible. it is very fine to hear the contemptuous tone he assumes when dilating on the performances of those sportsmen who come under the head of the "galloping-and-jumping division." "look at them," he will say. "i ask you, what do they know about hunting? they've only one idea--jump, jump, jump, all day. now no one is fonder of a quick thing than i am, but you never see me galloping about, jumping over everything i can find" (the only true thing in his speech), "and yet when it comes to riding, i flatter myself i can give them a stone and a beating. valpy! faugh, a rough-rider, sir, a rough-rider. nowhere in a run. have beaten him over and over again, 'pon my honour. you remember that forty minutes we had," etc. etc.; and then follows a glowing description of some imaginary run over the stiffest part of the country, where story had the hounds all to himself after the first ten minutes, and never saw a soul again till they had broken up their fox. if he happens to be at his own house he will take you off to his den, and, by way of corroborating the tale, will point out the brush of the identical fox hanging over the mantelpiece, and handling it carefully, will say: "ah, there is some satisfaction in having a brush that one gets all by one's self." (quite so, mr. story; but what was that small piece of gold for, that found its way out of your pocket into that of charles the first whip?) quite a museum of sport is story's den, or "sanctum," as he calls it. round the walls are hung innumerable sporting pictures, foxs' brushes and masks, all mounted, and bearing the date, length of run, find, and kill, emblazoned in gold letters underneath. on the left-hand side of the fireplace is a gun-cupboard, well stocked with breechloaders and rifles; for story has some wonderful adventures in the rocky mountains to relate. opposite, on the other side, is a stick-rack, crowded with crops, cutting-whips, ash-plants, spurs of all sizes, and hunting-caps; while underneath are arranged a pile of white band-boxes, each containing a shining lincoln and bennett. between the windows are a row of hat-pegs, four in number, and on every peg hangs a hat reduced to the state of flatness said to be peculiar to pancakes. naturally one is struck with so novel an arrangement in dilapidated head-gear, and in a weak moment, perhaps, one asks "what on earth those old hats are for? are they used in the summer to keep the birds from the peas, or what?" "peas, my dear fellow; no, by gad," will be the ready reply. "they are the hats i have come to grief in. i keep them for old lang syne. in that one on the right i rode the famous willowfield run. fourteen falls, and finished up in the swill. on my honour, i thought i never should have got out. horse got on the top of me, and i was under water for a minute;" and then, taking down the other three in succession, story will relate the romance attached to each. ill-natured slander says that their present shape is attributable to having been violently sat upon in the garden after two days' rain, and the authority of a discharged valet, who remonstrated on this wholesale destruction of his perquisites, is given. but then there is nothing that ill-natured slander will not say. one good point about the boaster is that he is a most stanch preserver of foxes, and although his property is not a large one, lappington is always perfectly certain of finding in his coverts. it is a great-day for him when the hounds meet in the village. no general commanding a division feels half such a great man as mr. story, who, having confidentially informed sir john that there are no less than five foxes in the wood, takes charge of tom and the pack and leads them on to victory. should they not find immediately, the various stages of anxiety depicted on his face are intensely amusing, and the triumphant "i-told-you-so" expression he assumes when at last the swelling chorus proclaims the varmint at home, is well worth coming any distance to see. no sooner are they well away than the highroad claims him for its own, and, followed by a small detachment, story's figure is seen vanishing through the toll-gate, making for some distant point which he seems to know by intuition the fox is bound for. his knowledge of the country and the lanes thereof is wonderful, and having, by slipping down a byway, shaken off his retinue, he arrives on the high ground just as the fox crosses the bottom and crawls into watson's osiers. the hounds are not yet in sight though he can hear them in the distance, so he has time to let himself into the field through the gate, and inspect the low wattle fence at the far end, over which he knows the line will be. finding it is very plain sailing, and that there is a most convenient gap again into the lane which leads direct to the osiers, he gets behind a haystack, and waits the arrival of tom and the pack. most men would holloa the fox, but story knows a trick worth two of that. he has a reputation to keep up, and a history to tell of "those big rails by brown's farm," and "that double after we came out of the water-meadows," which would hardly sound so well if he was known to have arrived at his present position in front of the hounds. presently the hounds come up, and he notes with glee that there are but four or five anywhere near them. as they top the wattle he dashes round the haystack as if he had ridden all the way wide on their left, and flying the fence is in the same field with them--alone. "dang 'im, how did ay get theer? ay never rode along wi' us, i know," mutters tom to himself; but the pace is too hot to think about it at the moment. "capital run, tom," shouts story, as they gallop down the field together; "but, my eye, what a stiff bit we have had! those rails of brown's were a stopper. you should have had them where i did, on the left." (tom had been deuced nearly down there, a circumstance story had noticed from the road.) "he'll be in the osiers; i'll get on and view him out the far side;" and away goes our friend through the gap and down the lane. "now, i should just like to know wheer in the name of fortun' ay's coom from. there's some hanky-panky, i knows. did you see mayster story, charles?" says tom, as they check, to the first whip, who has just arrived, his coat showing pretty evident signs of where he had been. "saw him going down the road when we found; but craftsman has it," replies charles, and "for'ard on" is again the order. into the osiers they crash, and a "tally-ho!" from story on the far side shows them to be close behind their fox. "for'ard, for'ard, for'ard away," screams tom, blowing the hounds out of the covert; and in the second field it is all up, and tom is off his horse in the middle of the pack, with story and five others only there to see. as the remainder of the field gallop up by twos and threes our friend takes his watch out, and, addressing the master, says: "best thing i've seen for many a day--fifty-three minutes with hardly a check. 'pon my honour, it's marvellous that so few of us came to grief. awful stiff country. give you my word, i thought i should break my neck every fence." "could not afford to lose such a sportsman as you, story," replies sir john, laughing and turning to tom. "here, give mr. story the brush; it's worthy of a place in his den." "right, sir," says tom; but he winks at charles and whispers: "there'll be a fine tale over this one, i'll lay." story is dining out that night, so he does not accompany them to find their second fox, but by the time the ladies have come into the drawing-room and the chairs are drawn round the fire, the fifty-three minutes have grown to an hour and twenty minutes, and the deeds of daring performed by himself have increased in proportion. as he drives home he turns it over in his own mind whether another hat and peg shall not be added to the relics between the window, with the glorious history of "the crumpler over brown's rails" attached thereto. but he eventually decides, as so many of the field saw him at the finish with his headpiece in its normal condition, that perhaps on the whole it would be better not. this, however, does not prevent him from entering a full and true (?) account of the run to watson's osiers in his hunting-diary, and executing a small yet carefully-drawn map of the country, with crosses marked thereon denoting the locality of some of the terrific obstacles he encountered--and negotiated in safety. should the conversation turn on hunting (which it is pretty certain to do) while smoking the post-prandial cigar in story's sanctum, he will read a few extracts from this diary, which the assembled guests may believe or not--as they like. hodge. "which is the way to langley, my good man?" asks mr. tyrol of a countryman he overtakes on his way to the meet. mr. tyrol, who is a stranger to the bullshire, and has come down just to look at the country and see what it is like with a view to future operations, as yet does not know his way about, so is glad of any information he can obtain as to the most direct route. "yew mun tak furst turnin to right till yer com' to smithy, then keep straight on past jack spender's down t' green lane, but mind yer dunna mistake t' road past ould betty wilson's cottage, and then you're sure to be right," replies the man, with a glance at his interlocutor. "thanks," says mr. tyrol, not much the wiser. "let me see. i've got to go down to the green lane, and then past mrs. wilson's cottage; but how am i to know which is the right cottage--and how far it is?" "oh, any chap 'ull tell yer ould betty's place; it's better nor six mile if yer go one way and under four if yer tak t' other." "and which is the short way?" is mr. t.'s next question. "well," replies his director, "yew mun go as i've tould yer, till yer come t' lane, then turn into field past the works. yer know the works maybe?" and on mr. tyrol confessing his ignorance, after a pause: "ah, that maks a 'nation difference, doan't it?" the fact is not for a moment to be disputed, and mr. tyrol is in despair, when suddenly a bright idea strikes hodge, and he looks up, saying: "perhaps you're a-going fox-'unting?" as it is not customary for people to ride about in pink, save in civic processions, unless they are "on sport intent," it becomes hardly necessary to answer, and mr. t. wonders what hodge could possibly have thought he was going to do. "if so be," however, continues the pedestrian, "i'm a-going t' meet mysen, and i can show yer t' road. can that 'oss jump? acos we've got to go through farmer danby's meaders, and 'e most allus locks his gates." notwithstanding the chance of a locked gate and a nasty fence in cold blood, mr. tyrol thinks it an opportunity not to be lost, and gladly avails himself of the proffered guidance, while hodge sees a prospective shilling in the horizon, which, with great accuracy, he divides as he tramps along into "three pots o' four." "and what sort of a country is langley?" asks the directee of his guide and director, after about a quarter of a mile passed in silence. "foine country for turnips," is the reply. "i mind when mr. arles--you knows him i'll be bound? not know mr. arles! why i thought everyone know'd him, he's the biggest man about these parts; he was the dook's agent. well, i mind when he got better nor----" here mr. tyrol thinks it advisable to check the flow of hodge's conversation, as he sees plainly that unless he does so he will be in for an agricultural dissertation on the producing power per acre of mr. arles' land, so he cuts him short with "i don't mean that; i mean what sort of a country is it to ride over? stiff big fences, or what?" "some big, some littel; but there's allus a road as you can git along if so be as you don't care about leping; and there's any amount o' foxes--swarms on 'em. why, it was only last week as ould jim tould me as bill upton 'ad tould him as he see'd two when he wor working in squire beale's plantation. but there's langley, sir. thank ye kindly." and hodge, the richer by a shilling, stops at the wayside public-house to drink the stranger's health. happy in having arrived at his destination, and much instructed and amused by what he had heard, mr. tyrol rides on to where old tom and the hounds are visible, and is soon lost to sight in the crowd of horses and men at the meet. by the time he has done contemplating the hounds, hodge has finished his libation, and, in company with a "mate," comes on the scene of action. "mornin', mayster," says he to old tom; "whear be you a-going furst?" and on hearing that collingly wood will be the first draw, he turns to his companion and says: "by guy, mate, we mun look slippy or we shanna be there in time." it is not every day in the week that these "horny-handed sons of toil" get an outing, and they do not mean to lose their chance of seeing the fun if they can help it. so away they go, followed by three or four boys, towards the big wood seen in the distance. they have not gone far before they discover that they have followers, and knowing well that with these in their wake it will be impossible to secrete themselves in an advantageous position, they turn round and deliver a few home-truths, which, though not particularly elegant, answer the purpose, and have the desired effect of getting rid of the boys. this done, they continue their route till they arrive at the hunting-gate leading into the covert. "now i wonder which end t' ould mon will begin at?" asks the elder of his companion. "i dunna knoa," replies number two, putting his finger into his mouth and holding it up; "but from the way o' the wind i should say as 'e'll start down here; bound to go up-wind." no fool in matters of sport is hodge, and, chawbacon as you may call him, you would find it hard to puzzle him on the subject of the "run of a fox," always provided he understood your questions. old tom knows his value well, and over and over again have things been put straight by the far-seeing blue eye; and "'e's gone yonder by th' ould barn," or "i'v seed 'im cross o'er bottom," has enabled the huntsman to hit off the line without wasting the precious moments in a long and speculative cast. the two "mates" have barely ensconced themselves comfortably on the top of a stack of "cordwood," from whence they can command more than half the wood, when the pack arrive, and the horsemen, as they file through the gateway, are subjected to a running fire of criticism. woe betide the man whose animal obstinately refuses some small fence within sight of hodge and co. although the rider will not hear the speech, the loud laugh from one or the other tells him plainly enough that he is the cause of their merriment, and he wishes himself--or them--farther away. as soon as the hounds are thrown in the occupants of the cordwood stack become excited, and the younger of them, our friend of the road, suggests an adjournment to a tree where he thinks a better view can be obtained. "stop where yer be, jim," says the elder; "yer canna do better, and if yer gets messing about now you'll only have t' master and old tom atop o' yer back." so jim is persuaded, and remains quiet. presently a yellow body is seen stealing through the underwood, and the chorus of music shows that the hounds are aware of mr. reynard's presence. "there 'e goes," whispers jim, "and here they come. by guy, the're away," as the hounds dash through the covert, and a loud "tally-ho" is heard on the other side. to slip down is the work of an instant, and both jim and his companion are making the best of their way to the corner where the fox has broken. here they find a regular crush; the hunting-gate is locked or jammed, and no one can get out. threading their way through the horses, however, with the help of a good heave, a strong heave, and a heave both together, the pair manage to have the gate off its hinges, and the impatient field rush through, nearly overturning jim in their mad career. "oh, go on, go on," says that worthy, as he jumps out of the way; "some on yer won't go much farther than the first fence at that pace." and he is right. there are two or three loose horses running about, one of which he manages to catch and restore to the owner, receiving in return a small acknowledgment, which--having submitted to the universal test, his teeth--he slips into the pocket of his brown corduroys. the next field is a stiffish plough, and by the time he is halfway across hodge is done, and he finds his heavy boots none the lighter for three or four inches of wet clay adhering to the soles. however, the sight of a friendly hayrick in the distance consoles him, and to his great delight he sees a ladder is reared against it and a man at work cutting out some trusses. "can yer see ought on 'em, ould man?" he pants, as he reaches the foot of the ladder, and the "ould man" from his coign of vantage, shouts back: "nip up, lad, nip up, the're a-going like billy o'." jim is quickly alongside, his face beaming with excitement as he sees the whole panorama of the chase stretched out before him. as he watches, he notices his friend of the morning--mr. tyrol--and points him out to the man on the rick. luck favouring the spectators, the hounds suddenly swing sharp round and cross close beneath and within hearing. there is a nasty fence over which the line lies, and a goodish few turn away for the gate, but mr. tyrol heads straight for it with the rest of the hard-riders. "well done, sir; well done!" roars hodge from the rick, and mr. t., recognising him, gives him a nod as he rides at the fence. his horse, however, jumps short, and the result is a rattling fall. "laws, that's a buster," says jim; "i mun go and help him, he gied me a bob;" showing by his words the triumph of filthy lucre over christian charity. not that he would not have been just as ready to pick up anyone without the shilling, but the gift had made a profound impression, and the thought that was uppermost found vent in words. by the time he reaches the spot mr. tyrol has picked himself up, and, catching his horse, is away; and hodge returns to the rick to see the last he can of the receding chase. as he trudges homewards he hears various accounts of how "the hounds are been by," etc., and lighting his pipe he makes his way towards his own particular inn where he usually takes his glass. he is going along leisurely over the fields when he hears a loud voice behind him, and turning round, finds himself face to face with two men on horseback, one of whom is ordering him to "open that gate there, do you hear?" hodge knows in a moment that he is not a bullshire man; and what is more, he recognises in an equally short space that he is not a gentleman for all his pink coat and fine feathers, and his native pride rebels; so he takes no notice, but turns round and continues his journey, and getting over the stile with a laugh, he mutters to himself: "'e's got some cheek an' all, d----n him; i shanna open gate unless 'e's a bit more civil." "here, you fellah, do you hear--open this gate, will you?" shouts the angry _parvenu_ again, and then commences a course of good solid abuse. this is more than even hodge can stand, so he slowly faces round again and says: "jump o'er it or get off and open it yerself. i ain't paid ter go about t' country helping the likes o' you home." when he tells the story in the public-house, as tell it he will, after recounting all he saw of the chase and a bit more besides, he will say: "i knowed he wanna out of bullshire. none of our gents are like that; sum city chap maybe, 'ain't larned manners;" and while spending the rest of the eighteen-pence he has earned out hunting he is as happy as a king, with whom he would not change places for the world, much preferring, so long as he can get occasionally a day off and plenty to eat and drink, to remain as simple--hodge. the keeper. one of the richest men in the county of bullshire next to "the dook" is a mr. betteridge, a retired partner of the well-known firm of betteridge, woolsey, and co., of manchester, who about five years back purchased the medemere estate, which originally belonged to the slowboy family. of course he immediately improved (?) the fine old elizabethan hall by adding thereto sundry wings and towers, and also converting the old-fashioned gardens, with their quaint yew-edges, into trim parterres and terraces, after what he was pleased to call "the italian style." he has two great objects in life, in both of which unfortunately he appears bound to be frustrated. the first is to be what is known as "a popular sportsman," and the second to be considered somebody of importance. with regard to number one--beyond having made a gorse and keeping the most expensive cattle, which, needless to say, he cannot ride himself--his ideas are limited; while, in the second instance, he has a deadly rival, before whom he sinks into insignificance, and whose word he has learnt to look on as law. this individual is neither more nor less than his head-keeper, "mr. james," who (in his own estimation) combines all the virtues under the sun, and speaks in the most grandiloquent way of "our shooting," "our woods," "our coverts," "our foxes," "our parties," and "our" heaven knows what. mr. james will inform you that he is a most ardent fox-hunter, that it is "our pride always to have foxes for sir john. in fact, i told mr. betteridge that it must be when we first agreed on the shooting," etc. yet, strange to say, there is a scarcity of the commodity in the medemere woods that does not tally with these high-sounding assertions. certainly the gorse generally contains one or two, but that is quite on the outsides, and near nothing in the pheasant interest. betteridge himself would pay anything, do anything (except adopt the only proper method), to have foxes, and has many a time and oft remonstrated with "mr. james" on the subject. but he is invariably snubbed and subdued by this mighty potentate, and made to wish he had not spoken. it is unfortunate that "mr. james" should have lived, before he condescended to "assist" mr. betteridge, with the earl of upcroft, for the "hearl" is his great rallying-point; and whenever there is anything that his present employer does not quite like, and ventures to suggest alterations upon, it is always: "when i lived with the 'hearl' we never did in no way different to what we are a-doing now, and the 'hearl,' he used to say as how, thanks to me--'i puts it all down to you, james,' was his very words--'heverything works just like clockwork.' of course if so be as you wants it different, why it can be done, but depend hon it the 'hearl' knowed what was what." after this "cottonopolis" has nothing to say, and james and the "hearl" carry it. give him his due as a keeper, he is excellent; for getting up a head of game his equal is not to be found, nor can his method of beating the covers or showing his birds be surpassed. but in his heart, notwithstanding his outward professions, he is a vulpecide, and his satellites are too well trained and hold him in too much awe to say anything. sir john lappington distrusts him; indeed, he has gone so far as to speak to betteridge on the subject, and old tom is perfectly convinced on the point; but james and his "hearl" have hitherto been more than they can manage. last season things very nearly came to a climax, for after drawing mr. betteridge's coverts blank three times running, sir john vowed he would not come there again. mr. james was most profuse in his apologies, and his astonishment was grand. "i'm sure," said he, "i can't imagine where them foxes has got to. bill saw two in the big wood last night, and i've been most pertickerler about it. bill tells me as he knows of another in the cross spinney. didn't yer, bill? where's bill?" (that worthy having carefully slipped out of sight on the first signs of a cross-examination.) "ah! 'e's never here when he's wanted," continued the great man. "tom, i'm thinking you must have drawed over 'em." "more than i'm thinking you've done," returned old tom; adding, _sotto voce_, "nasty deceitful beggar." "well, mr. betteridge," said sir john after a pause, and with his eye fixed on "mr. james," "it's a great pity, but i think i must be to blame to a certain extent. i ought to have brought out some different hounds. i must get some truffle-dogs if i come here again. it seems our only chance of finding foxes, and i daresay your keeper is right and we have drawn over them." the shouts of laughter that followed this speech made it clear to both master and man that there was some sarcasm, but neither of them could make out quite what it was--until the evening, when mr. james, happening to meet the village schoolmaster, asked him what sir john meant by truffle-dogs, and was informed that they were a peculiar breed that found things underground. the joke went round the village in a trice, and mr. james is still known as "truffles," though it is not quite safe to call him so to his face. for more than half the season the master kept his word, and the hounds never came near medemere. but at last a piteous appeal from mr. betteridge is listened to, and "monday, medemere hall," appears in the paper. such a turn-out! a breakfast, more than half of it down from gunter's; powdered footmen rushing about in everybody's way; footmen out of powder doing the same thing; a butler, whose busy appearance is worth a hundred a-year to him, superintending the champagne, which flowed freely; and over all mr. betteridge, flushed, excited, and uncomfortable. outside is the same profusion, and mr. james and his army of retainers dispense good cheer with a liberal hand. no fear has he to-day, for bill has actual and _bonâ-fide_ knowledge of a fox in the osiers, and to make quite certain, a small box from leadenhall market came down two days before, and the contents have been shaken out in the big wood. under the circumstances he can afford to pass by tom's remark of "hope you haven't stopped no foxes in to-day" in silence, merely saying: "i think we had better draw our osiers first, if sir john is agreeable. i have told mr. betteridge that would be the first draw." "oh, you have, have yer?--that was kind of you," says tom; and turning to the whip: "charles, put those hounds to me; they might go and injure mr. james's flower-beds." what the result of this speech, which of course raised a laugh, might have been it is hard to say, for at this moment out comes the master and mr. betteridge, followed by the rest of the field. mr. james takes off his hat with a low bow, and says: "beg pardon, sir john, i was a just saying to the huntsman that we'd better try the hosiers first. bill knows of a fox there." "i hope he does this time, james," replies sir john; "but i am going to draw the big wood, and then the osiers." "very good, sir john; of course you knows best," remarks mr. james, and then hurries off, thinking how deuced lucky it is that he had a bagman down on the chance. when they arrive at the bottom of the wood they find the great man standing at the gate full of importance, and with an air of self-satisfaction on his face. "i'm sure there's summut up, sir," says old tom to sir john, as the hounds dash into cover. "he'd never look so 'nation pleased if there was not some roguery in the wind. eleu, in; eleu, at him; eugh, boys. bagman, maybe. eleu, try." a tally-ho from the far side before the hounds have opened on the line cuts him short, and with a "danged if i don't think i'm right," the old huntsman, blowing his horn, gallops down the ride to where the holloa was heard. the hounds do not settle on the line kindly, in fact, the old hounds will scarcely own it; however, they get along somehow for about a quarter of an hour, when poor bagman's race is run and they pull him down. "who-whoop," yells tom; "who-whoop, and if that don't make yer ashamed of yourself nothin' will; i know'd he were a bagman--dang the cheek of the man." not a hound will touch him, not even the young entry, and sir john is perfectly furious. "mr. betteridge," he says; as that worthy appears, quite innocent and highly delighted at there being a fox at all. "mr. betteridge, i came here at your request to draw your covers; i came here on your assurance that there were foxes; and you, sir, have the audacity to turn out a stinking bagman in front of my hounds." "my dear sir john," replied the unfortunate man, "i never should dream of doing such a thing; my keeper told me there were foxes; but i never would have turned out a bagman, i assure you. how can you tell it is a bag fox?" "i believe, mr. betteridge, you are innocent, and i apologise," says sir john after a pause. "you ask me how i know. look there at the hounds, they know well enough. frankly, i tell you that unless you arrange matters with your keeper james, who is the author of this, i will not draw your covers again, nor will i take your subscription to the hounds;" and then, turning to tom, "try the osiers, and if that's blank, trot off to lappington." mr. betteridge is quite flabbergasted, and in the first flush of the thing vows vengeance against the keeper, but this cools down considerably before they get to the osiers, and he begins to turn over in his mind what the "hearl" would have done. mr. james is ignorant of the little scene that has been enacted, so meets the hounds at the osiers, and, touching his hat to sir john, with a smile says: "killed him, sir? you'll find another here." he is somewhat astonished, therefore, when he is told that if he dare do such a thing again he as likely as not will get his discharge, and if mr. betteridge can't be persuaded to do that he is still more likely to get a good thrashing for his impertinence. "dang your ugly mug," says tom to him, as soon as sir john is out of hearing; "you thought to come the clever over me and t' hounds, did yer? ugh, they'd no more eat a bag fox than they'd touch your dirty overgrown carcass. i'd like to gi' yer what for, big as yer are;" and then the hounds crash over into the witheys, and tom begins to draw. from the way they dash there is no doubt of a good fox this time, and presently a whimper from bonnibel strikes the key-note. up and down the osiers twice he goes, with the pack close at him, and then away. no. one of the keeper's satellites, and under-velveteens, heads him, and he sneaks back along the wet ditch, while the hounds flash into the grass-field. "tall'o baik," screams charles, who has seen it. "will you take yourself away from there?" and velveteens removes himself and feels humble. one more round, and then he does go, and sets his head straight for colliston, a grand line, grass the whole way. the first fifty minutes is racing pace, and the grief over the big fences plentiful. four or five minutes are lost in a small pit-hole by a farm, where the fox had tried an earth, and then they are away again, rolling him over in the open twenty minutes later. "a real good thing," is the unanimous verdict, and the master is only too glad to tell mr. betteridge, when he arrives (which he does after all has been over some time) that the present animal makes up for the morning's performance, whereat the heart of "cottonopolis" is made joyful again. as they ride together to the next draw--colliston gorse--mr. betteridge begs sir john to come and dine with him that night quite alone, and to help him to interview mr. james. sir john, foreseeing a good result, accepts, and after dinner, at which meal mr. betteridge hears some good wholesome truths, mr. james is sent for. directly he appears and sees sir john he knows it is all up, and that the "hearl" will not serve him a bit; and his heart fails when sir john commences by saying: "your master has left the matter on which we have sent for you entirely in my hands." then, after keeping him on tenter-hooks for a quarter of an hour, and turning the man inside out, he relieves him by saying: "the fox from the osiers saved you, but mr. betteridge has given his word of honour that the next time the hounds come here and there are no foxes--wild ones i mean--that day is your last with him, and you go--without a character." mr. james, humbled and apologetic, commences a long string of protestations and assurances of amendment, but is cut short by "that will do; go and act, don't talk." betteridge thinks the master the most wonderful man, and cannot make out how he braved mr. james and the "hearl" so cleverly; but he is awfully grateful, and being a man of his word it is to be hoped that in future there will be foxes at medemere, and that he will no longer be under the thumb of--the keeper. the authority. it is ten years since mr. hall did the bullshire country the honour of becoming a resident, and in that time he has managed to assert himself considerably, and may now be considered "no small pumpkins." at least the hall family look on themselves in that light, and surely they must be the best judges. hall _père_ is a good-natured open-handed sportsman, who rides the best horses, smokes the best cigars, and drinks the best wine that money can procure, but who has the misfortune to consider himself an authority on sport and hunting, and is also afflicted with a weakness for seeing his lucubrations in print. mrs. hall, on the other hand, affects the evangelical rôle, and is forever establishing _crèches_, forming night-schools, and endeavouring to lead the young men of bullshire in the way that they should go. she is also of a literary turn of mind, and has published more than once under the auspices of the s.p.c.k. her latest effort was not quite a success, owing, she says, to "bitter and unchristian hostility." she had spent much time on the completion of a "sporto-religious" novel--"one that anybody might read without a blush," as she put it; and when finished she called it "a heavenly hunt, or hints by the way." harold lappington and a few kindred spirits, however, were unkind enough to parody the book; and a week afterwards was distributed broadcast throughout the country, "running a ring, or hints on matrimony." the joke was too good not to be appreciated, and one may safely say that the only person who did not see it was mrs. hall herself. even her husband laughed at her, and talked grandiloquently about writing on subjects that she did not understand. it was for a long time a mystery to the members of the hunt how the accounts of their sport got into the papers, and sir john tried in vain to discover the reporter. marvellously accurate were the descriptions of the run, names of places, distances, what each particular hound did, where tom made his cast for better or for worse, and the various incidents or accidents of the chase were all set forth without an error. so men came to the conclusion that it must be some one of the hard-riders, and consequently were more puzzled than ever. everybody was accused in turn--the doctor, the parson, even mrs. talford; but all denied the soft impeachment. when the matter was alluded to at the hunt-dinner by sir john, it was noticed that mr. hall did not look quite as if he was enjoying his dinner, and whispers of "it's old hall; look at him," passed from one to the other. "but then hall never rides a yard. how the deuce could he know all about it?" said others; and the matter was as far from being solved as ever. old tom, however, determines to get at the bottom of it, and as he rides to brainsty cross-roads, he maps out a plan of operations. it is not a nice day by any means, a high blustering north-east wind blowing, as tom says, "fit to turn yer inside out;" and, as he takes refuge with the pack behind a barn, the old huntsman does not anticipate much sport. the field arrive by twos and threes, with heads bent down and upturned collars, looking as wretched as men generally do when beating up against a gale. almost the last comer is mr. hall, who immediately gives it as his opinion that there cannot possibly be any fun, and that he should not be surprised if sir john took the hounds home. "i've seen 'em run hard in worse weather nor this, sir," says tom, with a smile and a shiver. "well, i never have, and you may take it i know something about hunting," replies the authority. "what's that?" asks the master, who has just got on to his horse. "nothing, sir john; nothing. i only said that there would be no sport, and tom seems to think differently;" and then, turning to the men about him, mr. hall continues: "it's impossible for any scent to lie with this wind. besides, what fox in his senses would face it?" "there's more nor one kind o' scent, and if t' fox wunna face t' wind, ay mun travel wi' it," puts in tom, and then trots off best pace to draw ambleside banks. when they arrive at the covert, mr. hall informs everybody that "it is no use going to the far side; no fox ever breaks there. never has done yet;" and on some of his audience paying no attention, he shouts: "oh, all right; don't blame me if you're thrown out." scarcely are the words out of his mouth than the sound of tom's horn comes down on the wind, and the pack are away in full cry, the fox breaking just where mr. hall had said he would not. a sharp burst over two fields, a quick turn, and then down-wind like lightning, the pace increasing every yard. unfortunately for the authority, he does not notice the turn, and, riding hard along the lane for a point, he finds himself on reaching the top of a small hill utterly lost, no sign of the hounds and no sound of any sort to guide him. after riding about aimlessly in every direction for the best part of an hour, he at last hears tidings of their being down hinckley way, and off he goes, only to hear that "t' hounds a-been gone better nor twenty minutes." it is now getting late, so mr. hall makes up his mind to ride home viâ the kennels, where for a moment we will leave him and return to tom and the rest of the field. after ten minutes as fast as they can go, the fox tries the low wall of a farmyard, but the pace has been too hot for him, and he falls back right into the mouths of the pack. having performed the funeral rites, tom gets his orders for hinckley, and then commence a series of disappointments. foxes there are, for one is soon halloed away; but the hounds can make nothing of it directly they get into the open. two or three times this happens, and it becomes evident that mr. hall was right in the main, and that they could not hunt that day. so at last the master gives the word for home, for which few blame him. as tom rides along the road to the kennels, he tells charles and harry they are to be sure and say that it has been a first-class thing, and to back him up in everything he says. naturally they both wonder what the old man is up to, but tom holds his peace, and will tell them nothing, looking the while as knowing as a jackdaw who has just hidden something valuable. evidently he has concocted some scheme, and a light begins to dawn on the two whips when the figure of mr. hall is seen in the distance. "why, mayster hall, wheer an yer been to?" says tom, as they overtake the lost one. "well," replies mr. hall, "i don't know how it was, but when i got to kirby i found i was clean out of it. i took the wrong turn in the wood, you see. you must have dipped the hill, and the infernal wind was so high i could not hear you." "dear-a me, that was a pity! you missed summat good," exclaims tom, with a sorrowful or rather pitiful expression. mr. hall eagerly snaps at the bait and asks for full particulars--whether they killed? where they went? who was up? etc. etc.; all of which information the huntsman supplies with the gravest of countenances, inventing as he goes along. charles and harry are nearly convulsed, and it is with the utmost difficulty that they are able to speak when appealed to by old tom to corroborate his statements. "by jove, tom, that was a good thing," says the authority. "i said that they could only run down wind. you may always trust me about hunting. why, its nearly nine miles straight on end! how long did you say?" "fifty-five minutes, weren't it, charles?" replies tom, appealing to the first whip. "summat about there," answers charles, turning away and muttering: "lord forgive us, what a start!" mr. hall then bids good-night to the hunt-servants, and trots home as pleased as punch. that evening, after sir john has finished his dinner, his butler tells him that the huntsman wishes to speak a word to him, and then tom tells his master the story, and what he expected would come of it. "he'll never forgive you, tom, if you are right in what you think; and he's one of our best supporters," exclaimed sir john, roaring with laughter. "never fear, sir, never fear. i can work round him right enow; and i'm thinking, sir john, if so be as you will say naught, but just write up the week after to contradict the whole thing, it will give mr. hall a lesson. he dursn't say anything, as he knows you don't like the 'ounds wrote of, and the paper won't have no more from mr. 'black hat'" (the _nom de plume_ of the bullshire correspondent). next saturday morning, as sure as fate, men are surprised to see a description of an extraordinary run from ambleside, as follows: "a remarkably good day with the bullshire. "on tuesday last this sporting pack had a wonderfully good run in a gale of wind. there was not a large muster at the meet (brainsty cross-roads) owing to the inclemency of the weather, but those who were bold enough to face the elements had no cause to regret their temerity. the first draw was ambleside banks, noted throughout the country for the stoutness of its foxes; and on the day in question it fully kept up its reputation, for scarcely had that best of huntsmen, tom wilding, thrown his hounds into covert, than a real traveller broke away with the pack almost at his brush. strange to say he headed straight up wind, notwithstanding that, as i have said, it was blowing a gale, and made the best of his way to kirby village; then, turning to the right, he led them a cracking pace over the vale through shawston to hinckley wood; here he was inclined to hang in covert, but the hounds would not be denied, and forced him out, when he made his point for lyston, some three miles off. the pace had been very fast and the country very stiff, so that the field was greatly reduced, and there were many cases of _profundit humi_. most of the first flight, however, were 'all there,' including, among others, _place aux dames_, mrs. talford, sir john lappington (the master), mr. halston, and mr. bowles. about a mile from lyston there was a short but welcome check, owing to the fox having been coursed by a sheep-dog; but tom, by a judicious cast, hit off the line, and they were away again. leaving lyston on the left (reynard having tried the earths there, and found no admittance), the line lay through oxley, over the brook--which proved a serious obstacle to more than one sportsman--indeed, there were, as might have been expected considering the pace, more in than over. but to continue. having run straight through the village of oxley, this gallant fox made for mr. browne's farm on the hill; but, unfortunately for him, the hounds were close at his brush, and before he could reach that bourne the 'who-whoop' had sounded his _requiem_. mr. browne, with his usual hospitality, regaled those who were there to see the end, and a nip of his famous ginger brandy was an offer not to be refused, especially with a long ride home in the teeth of the wind. the time from start to finish was an hour and five minutes, almost without a check, and the distance from point to point could not be less than nine miles. when this celebrated pack have another run such as that i have endeavoured to describe, may i be again there to see. "black hat." "who the deuce can have written all that farrago of nonsense?" says mr. boulter. "why, we never ran more than a mile and a half." and the secretary is not the only one who makes anxious inquiries. mr. hall has been away in london, and, having only returned that morning is in blissful ignorance of the way he has been taken in. as he arrives there is a general shout of "here, hall, you're an authority; some idiot has been cooking up an account of tuesday's sport and writing to the papers. you never read such a pack of lies in your life. we must stop this sort of thing. what should be done?" the gentleman's feelings can be better imagined than described, and as he stammers out "i have not seen the paper," he wishes himself elsewhere. it is noticed that that day he does not give his opinion on the whereabouts of a fox in quite such an authoritative manner, and avoids everybody as much as possible. of course he soon hears the true account, and on the following saturday his cup is filled when he reads under the same heading as his own--viz. "a remarkably good day with the bullshire"-- "sir,--i beg to inform you that the account of a run on tuesday week with these hounds, which you gave in your last issue, was entirely fictitious, as we had no sport after the first ten minutes, the hounds being unable to hunt.--i remain yours obediently, "j. lappington, master b.h." how old tom managed to smooth the irate individual down is not known, but nothing more ever came of it, save that "black hat" no longer sends accounts to the papers of sport with the bullshire hounds. the blacksmith. seven a.m. the church clock rings out the hour in the clear still morning, and the smoke goes up straight into the air from the chimneys of the cottages of lappington village. one by one the good dames appear at their doors with tucked-up sleeves and heads beshawled, and commence the operation of vigorously shaking strips of carpet, and generally setting things straight. their lords and masters have ere this gone to their work, and, with the inevitable short pipe in their mouths, are tramping along best pace to keep up a circulation and keep out the chill of the early morn. but there is another sound which mingles itself with the chiming clock and the babel of female voices; it is the measured "clang, clang" of iron to iron, and as one wends ones way towards that part of the village from whence it comes, the dull roar of the furnace and the sparks flying upwards tell us that we are approaching "t' smithy," and that joe billings and his mate are hard at work. presently, three of the squires horses are seen coming up the road in their clothing, and joe, having nearly completed the shoeing of the farm nags that had been there since half-past six, turns his attention to the wants of their more noble companions. "two shod all round and one removed," says the groom as he comes up; "and look here, old man, don't keep us waiting no longer than you can help; it's a bit chilly this morning." "first come first served," replies joe; and turning to his mate: "'ere, bill, look out them 'unting shoes for t' squire's 'osses. who-ho, mare, 'old up;" and the rasp of the file again plays an accompaniment to the tune that joe whistles as he works. "now then, mayster," says he to the squire's groom as he finishes; and the hunters being brought up to the forge the anvil chorus strikes up, and the lads clap their hands as the sparks fly from the red-hot iron. more horses arrive, and grooms grumble among themselves at having to wait their turn. some try and persuade joe by soft words to give them precedence, others say they wish they had gone to some rival shop; but joe pays no attention to them, merely giving vent to his favourite maxim: "first come first served." at last one impatient youngster who does not know the lappington blacksmith, having only come down from london a few days before, commences to bully, and says: "look 'ere, i ain't going to 'ave my 'osses catch their deaths of cold while you tinkers that moke," pointing to a rough pony belonging to a small market-gardener. "i'll just speak to my governor about it. i'm d----d if i'll come here again. gemmen's 'osses first's what i say--do'e hear, slow coach?" never a word answers joe, and the bystanders smile; but the young groom loses his temper, and tries to take the "moke," as he calls it, away, and substitute his own horses. then joe does look up, and dropping the foot on which he was at work, says: "my lad, you'll get yourself into trouble in a minute." "how's that?" asks the groom. "why," replies joe slowly, "if you don't drop that pony's head in two twos, i shall have to teach you manners. i ain't a quarrelsome chap, but when a whipper-snapper like you comes messing with my business it's a bit too hot. i'm blowed if i shan't have to lock you up, or put you in the pond. drop it, will yer?" and then, as the young fool persists, he suddenly walks up to him, seizes him as he would a dog, and putting him into a shed where he keeps his old iron, turns the key, and with a chuckle resumes his work, whistling the while as gaily as ever. nor does he let the infuriated master of the horse out of his confinement till he has finished the quadrupeds, when, opening the door, with mock politeness, he says: "your lordship's 'osses is done, if so be you've a mind to take 'em away." shouts of laughter greet the groom as he emerges from the shed, and angry as he is he has sense enough to see that the laugh is not on his side; so without a word he trots off, inwardly vowing vengeance against joe billings. "there'll be a bother over this job, joe," says harry the second whip, who has come down to the forge from the kennels. "young cock-a-hoop will make a fine tale of it when he gets home." "well," replies joe, "what can they do? if they takes the shoeing away it won't break me, and when i says a thing i means it. them as comes first is served first, and if they don't like it they can lump it." after finishing off with harry, joe slips on his coat (such a coat too! all patched, grimy, and full of small holes burnt by the sparks), and, rolling up his leather apron, he takes himself away to see if "t' missus has got breakfust ready." half an hour suffices for his meal, and by the time he returns he finds quite a string awaiting his arrival, and he sets to work with a will. at last he comes to a horse shod on the french system, with the shoe let in and the frog on the ground, and he calls his mate to point it out. "here, bill," says he, "here's one of them charley shoes as i was a-telling you of. did yer ever see such a fanglement?" "why, there ain't no bloomin' shoe at all," replies his assistant, gazing open-mouthed, and listening to joe's lecture on the subject. "be we to shoe 'un like that, i wonder?" "no, no, my lad," interrupts the groom in charge; "the governor only tried it as an experiment, and he wants the 'oss shod in the usual way again." "proper way, you means," says joe; "you won't catch me a-doing an animal after that fashion, i can tell yer. them experiments is all very well for the mossoos, who don't 'unt, but when it comes to gitting over a country--laws, it's ridickerlous!" by ten o'clock joe has pretty nearly finished, except an odd job or two, such as tacking on a loose shoe for mr. grimes the butcher, or "fettling up" old betty wilson's donkey, and he has time to turn his attention to a ploughshare or a harrow that requires doctoring, or maybe the springs of farmer giles's tax-cart. as he is engaged on one of these a lad runs in panting and out of breath with a message as "'ow mr. stiles would be main glad if mayster billings would step over and look at t' red coo, as 'e's afeard on 'er dropping." "right, my lad," says joe; "just nip down and tell my missus to give yer my medicine-box and that bottle of stuff as stands in the winder, and then come back wi' 'em." it may be gathered from this that joe combines the office of cow-doctor with his other employment; and i may safely say that a better one of the old-fashioned school could hardly be found anywhere. certainly his remedies for both cow and horse are simple to a degree. nevertheless, he is entirely successful, and by a sort of rule of thumb dispenses medicine, of which the analysis may be peculiar, but the efficacy undoubted. he has the greatest contempt for all veterinary surgeons, and is wont to say he "would as soon shoot the beast as let them mess any cow of his about." patent medicine is another of his pet aversions, and it is a sort of standing joke to ask him his opinion of "hoplemuroma" or "neurasthenhipponskellisterizon." "oh, get out. don't come blathering me with yer hops and skillyrison!" he will say. "'ow the deuce do i know what muck they puts into 'em? suppose i was to call one of my oils 'smithyjoebillingtonyeyson,' what the ---- would old farmer stiles say, and what better stuff would it be for all its crack-jaw name? no, damme, call a spade a spade. none o' that new-fangled bosh for joe billings." joe has been at the smithy for some five-and-twenty years now, and though he numbers considerably over fifty years of age, is as hale and hearty a man as one would wish to see. one failing he has got which generally attacks him on saturday nights, and that is a miscalculation as to the amount of liquor he can comfortably carry. a dangerous man is he to cross when in his cups, moreover, for his arm is as powerful as the leg of a horse, and he has besides got some knowledge of the noble art. indeed it is within the recollection of many a lappingtonian how joe at one time fought with the "brummagem pet" for twenty-five pounds a-side, and how, though terribly mauled, he stuck to it like a man, and, blinded as he was, managed in the sixteenth round to knock "the pet" out of time with a terrific left-hander on the temple, shouting as he delivered the blow: "there's a taste of bullshire for yer!" however, it is not often that the sturdy blacksmith gets into a row, for he would far sooner sit still and listen to an account of a good run or the records of some bygone champion of the ring. indeed, everything connected with sport of any kind goes straight to his soul, and that there are few sporting subjects you can mention he does not know something about is evident from the pertinent remarks he occasionally lets fall. on a hunting-day, if the hounds are anywhere within reach, joe may be seen at the smithy with an array of different-sized shoes ready laid out beside him, and as he works on some job in the shop he keeps one eye down the road, on the look-out for some unfortunate sportsman who has had the misfortune to get a shoe off. it is his pride that he can tack a shoe on quicker than any man in the country. "yer see," he says, "i 'as 'em all ready by me, and when i sees the gent a-coming, i 'ain't got no cause to look 'ere and there and heverywhere for the stuff i wants. there they are, and it's on and away in a jiff." all the time he is asking the sportsman about the day: "what sort of a run? where he left the hounds? and where they was a-going to draw next?" and then, having received his due, he will step outside, take a look which way the wind is, and direct the thrown-out fox-hunter as to his most likely course in order to hit off the hounds again. odd to say, he is seldom wrong (unless, indeed, they have had a quick find, and gone away before the sportsman arrives at the indicated spot); for long experience has taught joe all the short cuts in the country, together with which he combines an innate knowledge of the run of a fox. old tom wilding the huntsman, and sir john lappington the master, are, in his opinion, the two greatest men in england. for, as he puts it, "without them two where would be the 'ounds? and without the 'ounds where would my bloomin' business go to?" then perhaps someone will point out that he might make a better thing out of cow-doctoring; but his reply will be: "oh, that's your opinion, is it? well; it ain't mine. look'ee 'ere--any fool, 'cept a vetery, who's got a ounce of sense, can do a cow; but mark yer, it takes a goodish time to make a man a blacksmith; and though i say it as perhaps shouldn't, there ain't a man as i gives in to in the matter of shoeing an 'oss, no matter where he comes from. no, as long as i can use my arm" (and he bares a limb that would not disgrace a statue of hercules), "and there's any wind in the old bellows, i sticks to t' smithy. blacksmith i was bred, and so i'll die; and all i wants is, when our ould parson 'as finished the reading over my grave, to 'ave a plain bit of a 'eadstone put up, with simple 'joe billings, the lappington blacksmith,' wrote on it;" and then joe will turn to and whistle a lively air, just to get the idea of his demise out of his head, and the bystanders will say among themselves that at present they can't spare old joe, who has for five-and-twenty years made the sparks fly and rung out the anvil chorus in the smithy at lappington. the runner. there is no better-known individual in the whole of the bullshire hunt perhaps than jack whistler the runner, or, as is he more commonly called, "jumping jack." his antecedents are somewhat obscure, and various contradictory stories are told as to who he is and what he was; but his presence at the end of a long run, or in any spot where he thinks he may have the chance of earning an honest shilling, is a positive certainty. how he manages to turn up at the right moment is only another of the mysteries which surround him; but the fact remains the same, that jack has solved the problem of "how to be in two places at once" most satisfactorily. no matter how long the day has been, or how many miles he has to go back to the place where he is supposed to have his home, the next day you will see him at the meet as fresh as paint, in his old pink-and-brown leather gaiters, with the same keen eye and half-saucy smile on his face as he doffs his well-worn velvet cap at your approach. full of quaint humour is jack, with many a story of sport, and many a reminiscence of flood and field, which he delights in relating to anyone he can get to listen to him. "ger on with yer," he will say to a crowd of gaping rustics; "ger on with yer--call last wednesday's a run? why, bless yer, i remember in the old squire's time, when we run from finchley cross-roads to ipply gorse, better nor five-and-twenty mile, and old mayster simpson got up to his neck in the brook, and i stood on the bank fit to bust mysen with larfin, and wouldna pull un out under two half-crowns. ah! them was days, i can tell yer." and then, some mounted cavalier arriving, off goes the hunting-cap, and he accosts the sportsman with "morning, captin'; fine scenting day; hold your horse? thankee, sir," all in one breath. not a hound in the pack but what knows him and is glad to see him; and he can call them all by name, and give you their pedigree without a mistake. as old tom says: "where he picks up his knowledge lord knows, but 'e's never wrong, and, by guy, 'e's a puzzler to be sure." it is getting near the end of the season, and the weather is just a trifle warm, as old tom with the hounds overtakes jack whistler making his way towards the meet at fairleigh. there is a breakfast there, and jack likes to be in time on those occasions, for he knows that he will earn many a sixpence before the actual work begins, besides getting his day's food and drink gratis. "holloa, old man, what have yer got there? going a-fishing?" exclaims tom as he comes up with the pedestrian. "what's that thing for?" pointing to a light pole that jack is balancing on his shoulder. "fishing be blowed," is the reply, "it's my jumper. don't yer see it's a bit 'ot, and old riley" (a fellow-runner in a neighbouring pack) "put me up to the tip last week as ever was. he says, says he: 'why don't yer have a pole made? it ain't much to carry, and you can get over hanythink with it.' so i've had this fettled up, and i've been pract_is_ing a bit with it, and i can go fine now i can tell yer." "oh, that's it, is it?" says tom. "well, i should a thought it were more trouble than it were worth carrying a great fishing-rod of a thing like that about." "ger out," retorts jack; "it ain't nothing when yer used to it. i thought it were a new-fangled notion at first, and i came nigh breaking my neck two or three times over a pigsty wall afore i got into it; but look'ee 'ere, it's as easy as shelling peas;" and jack proceeds to show tom his prowess in the noble art of saltation. taking a short run, with a "ger back, hounds," he essays to top the fence out of the road; but, alas, to the intense amusement of tom and the two whips, his pole sinks into some soft ground, and poor jack falls all of a heap into the wet ditch on the far side, uttering the while exclamations the reverse of complimentary against the treacherous friend of his travels that had so basely betrayed him. when he appears, scratched and muddy, in the road again, as soon as tom can stop laughing he advises him to "leave the bloomin' pole where it is, and not go cutting any more capers of that sort." but jack's dander is up, and his only reply is to shoulder his weapon and walk on. presently they arrive at the fixture, and mr. whistler's hands are quite full. indeed, what between laying in a cargo for himself and looking after horses while their owners do the like, he has not much time to talk. then comes the business of altering stirrups, tightening girths, and looking after his tips. a marvellous memory does jack show in this latter respect. vain indeed is it to try and put on an air of unconcern at his approach, as if you had never seen him before, or as if you had entirely forgotten the service he rendered you when you got that spill last week, and he recovered your horse for you on the promise of half-a-crown. jack remembers the circumstance well and the promise better, and he will sidle up to you with a smile, and say: "morning cap'n. none the worse for the fall? have not seen yer out since. hope you won't forget jack;" and then, having received his recompense, his quick eye catches sight of another debtor, and with a "thank'ee kindly, sir," he is off to collect more dues. what he likes best is being taken as a pilot by some comparative stranger to the country, whose heart is not placed in that position requisite to enable him to follow the hounds or ride straight. then he is in his glory, and from his knowledge of the highways and byways he invariably manages to nick in at various points, and eventually brings his craft safely into port without any casualties. of course for this he expects something handsome, and though he makes no bargain he has got a way of returning thanks for any gift he deems insufficient that shows plainly enough his opinion, and generally extracts something in addition. to-day, by the time the hounds move off, jack has made quite a haul, for, being near the end of the season, men have "remembered the runner." he is in high feather, and what between pleasure and the effects of the old ale, he is a little unsteady and more garrulous than usual. "wheer to, mayster wilding?" he asks tom, as he shoulders his pole and swings it in close proximity to the huntsman's head. "mind what you're a-doin' of, a-poking a fellow's eye out with that thing. we're a goin' to draw the gorse first, but you'd better leave that blessed article behind, or you'll be killing somebody," retorts tom, riding off, while jack, with a laugh, swings off best pace towards the first draw, and as soon as he arrives at the gorse places himself in a commanding position to await the turn of events. just as the hounds are thrown in there is a bit of commotion down at the other end, and a loose horse galloping past tells the tale of a misfortune. away goes jack in hot chase, and manages to catch the riderless steed in a trice. when he returns he finds it is mr. betteridge, who, having trusted himself on a new purchase, has been fain to dismount rather more hurriedly than he intended. however, no bones are broken, and jack, having added another bit of silver to his day's earnings, betakes himself to where he had left his pole. it is a quick find, and the fox breaks close by mr. whistler, who, as soon as he sees him well away, gives vent to his feelings in a somewhat beery view holloa, and then proceeds to follow as fast as he can. at the bottom of the meadow, below the gorse, runs a broadish brook, and a good many turn away for the road and bridge which spans the obstacle. on any other occasion jack would have done the same, but his failure in the road and old tom's laughter still rankles in his bosom, and as he runs down towards the water he clutches his pole and says to himself: "i'll show some on 'em as i ain't a-going to be second. i'll pound a few on 'em i'll bet. i do 'ope that old beggar tom 'ull get a wet jacket." as the hounds dash in and feather about on the other side, tom and the hard-riders pull up to see which way the line lies and whether the fox is over or not. but jack does not stop a moment, and with an exultant shout of "come on, gents, what are yer waiting for?" he jumps as far as he can, and, holding his pole in a slanting position, plunges it in to aid him in his journey over the water. the pole touches the bottom and then sinks into about two feet of mud, leaving jack suspended in mid-air. a momentary pause, and with a "rot the thing!" the runner disappears from view beneath the waters of the brook, emerging on the other side half drowned and covered with black slime, while the instrument of his misfortune remains erect in the middle. "i _thought_ you was a-going fishing," says tom with a chuckle; as he lands safe by the side of jack, and then as he passes him to get to the hounds: "you'd better take a few lessons from your pal riley afore you try again." the rest of the spectators are nearly in a state of collapse with laughter, both at the pitiable sight jack presents as well as at the murderous glances he casts at the pole; but hounds are running and there is no time to lose, so the chase sweeps past and he is left alone in his misery to make the best of his way home. as soon as jack has scraped himself a bit clean and wrung out his coat, he feels carefully in his pockets to see if all his gains are safe; and finding everything right in that respect he brightens up, and leaving his pole where it is, moves off at a brisk jog-trot to the nearest public to _dry_ the outer and _wet_ the inner man. when next he appears at the door he shows evident signs that he has accomplished the latter part of his purpose, for his course is anything but straight, and after taking nearly an hour to do half a mile he manages to stagger into a barn, where in a few moments he is "wrapt in sweet slumber." he is not, however, likely to take any harm from the proceeding, for he is used to the sort of sleeping-place, and will turn out next morning--a little red about the eyes perhaps--but ready to go any distance with the hounds, and, what is more, equally ready for some more of the "hair of the dog that bit him." passionately fond of hounds and hunting, he enjoys life thoroughly during the winter, and lives on the fat of the land; but when what he calls the "stinking violets and primroses" appear, things are not so pleasant. "othello's occupation gone," he has to fall back on odd jobs and an occasional half-a-crown from sir john or some of his friends, and, failing these, may be generally found "at home" at the "red house," maybe better known as the "workus." vagabond he is, and vagabond he will remain. nevertheless, there is many a man who would be sorry to hear of anything serious happening to jack whistler the bullshire runner. the man at the toll-bar. the greatest friend or enemy of john pillings could hardly accuse him of being either an over-sociable or too-genial individual. in fact, he has earned throughout the length and breadth of the county the nickname of "ould sulky," and is perhaps better known by that sobriquet than by the more lawful patronymic bestowed upon him by his parents and his godfather and godmother at his baptism. this being the case, it may fairly be said that pillings has at last settled down into his proper place, and is one of the few instances of the "round man in a round hole." he has not always been at the toll-gate; on the contrary, his life has been somewhat varied, and he has experienced a good many of the ups and downs of the world. he began by being "bound 'prentice" to a carpenter, but his temper was against him, and so when his time was up he took to the more active life of a sailor. here again his enemy found him out, and he said good-bye to his shipmates without much sorrow on their part. "'bout as much use a-talking to _him_ as a marlinspike. mate yer calls him! nasty sulky beggar! in everybody's mess and nobody's watch," was the general verdict of the men; so it was no wonder they were glad to see him go over the side. for the second time mr. pillings was in want of a job, and on this occasion he took to butchering, which he thought might be more likely to agree with his temperament. but in about two months he quarrelled with his master, and after they had had it out in the slaughter-house pillings found himself once more in the world with three half-crowns in his pocket, about ten pounds at the bank, and a pair of as beautiful black eyes as one would wish to see, to say nothing of a nose three times its proper size, and a good many teeth very shaky. when he had got his countenance back to its pristine beauty he tried his hand at the red cow as barman, and, strange to say, he managed to get on in this capacity very well. the red cow, it must be known, is an inn much frequented by the knights of the pencil, so that pillings, by keeping his ears open, and by a few judicious investments, soon managed to make a nice little nest-egg for himself; and having fallen a victim to the charms of the chambermaid, he offered to share his fortune with her. unfortunately for him the lady was "willing," and in a few months became mrs. p., and shortly afterwards a mother. the landlord of the red cow, on finding it out, was exceeding wroth, and sent john and his spouse packing instanter, which, as may be supposed, did not improve the man's temper or conduce to the domestic happiness of his wife. after various ups and downs too numerous to enter into, to make a long story short, john pillings, through the interest of a "friend at court," found himself installed at the gate-house, with nothing to do but open the gate, take the toll, and occasionally vary the monotony of existence by getting tipsy and belabouring his spouse. the latter event has become more frequent of late years, as, unlike the generality of things, the older he gets the _tighter_ he gets, and often people are surprised to find the gate open and no one to take the money, "old sulky" being drunk in bed, and his wife having taken refuge with a neighbour until her husband is all right again. when he is not in a hopeless condition he is as smart as needs be, and a very 'cute man indeed it would have to be who could manage to evade the toll while the man at the gate was on the look-out. what pillings likes best is, on a market morning to keep the gate shut, and then when the farmers come hurrying up and shout: "now then, gate; hi! gate," he will turn out, look up and down the road, and go slowly up to the tax-cart, or whatever the indignant individual may be in, and say "toll." "hang you; open the gate, and look sharp," is the probable reply, as the money is handed down. "sha'n't go no quicker; ain't paid no more for looking sharp. if ye'r in such a bloomin' hurry, open it yerself," says pillings, as he slowly unfastens the bolt and swings the gate back, laughing to himself as the farmers, pouring imprecations on his head, dash through. more than once has "ould sulky" been the object of such delicate attentions as having his door nailed up, and twice has the toll-gate been lifted off its hinges and carried bodily into the next parish. a very short time ago a few adventurous spirits, coming home from the market-town and finding the toll-gate open, stormed the gate-house, where pillings was lying dead-drunk upstairs, and lifting him into their trap they carried him off to the nearest pound, where, having borrowed a wheelbarrow, they left him for the night; and the next morning the people of the village were astonished to see the keeper of the tollbar reposing, _à la_ pickwick, "drunk in a wheelbarrow." john pillings was perfectly furious, and did all he could to find out with the aid of the police who the offenders were; but the matter coming to the ears of sir john lappington in his capacity as chairman of the bench of magistrates, he thought it best to give "ould sulky" a timely hint that, unless he reformed, he would find himself again on the world, and also recommended him strongly to give up searching for his abductors. perhaps the master's brother, harold lappington, having been the prime mover in the freak, had as much to do with this sage counsel as sir john's magisterial capacity; but no matter how that is, suffice it that pillings dropped the subject like a hot potato, and fell back on his own thoughts for comfort. he says now: "i'll be even with them scamps some day, or my name ain't pillings. as soon as ever i finds out--and find 'em i will, police or no police--i'll smash 'em; you see." old tom and the master he holds in great dread, and looks up to them with as much veneration as his nature is capable of feeling. but for the common herd, _alias_ the field, he has no respect, and often makes himself exceedingly unpleasant to boot. if the hounds happen to run his way, and the macadam brigade come galloping down the road, "ould sulky" is out in a jiff, and bang goes the gate, while he stands in front and utters the monosyllabic "toll." "oh, all right, open the gate, the last man will pay," shouts someone. "you'll only go through one at a time, and you'll each pay, or i'll know the reason why. i've never found that last cove 'as any money along with him," retaliates pillings; and there he will stand taking each man's money and fumbling about for the change, till all the luckless ones are through and the hounds are well out of sight and hearing. then "sulky" will retire to his den with a chuckle and put away the money, muttering to himself: "last chap 'ull pay! likely as i'm going to be took in a that 'uns. don't fancy they'll see much of t' hounds again anyhow." of course if sir john or tom happens to be there pillings is civility itself, and there is no question of first or last, for he knows it would not do, and that if he were to play those sort of pranks with the master his place would not be worth an hour's purchase. as it is, he is often hard put to it to find an excuse for his behaviour; but he somehow manages to escape by the skin of his teeth, and from constant repetition his performances are looked upon as a regular institution in the county. it is, however, whispered abroad that another year will see a different face at the gate, for even the most conservative of mortals is apt to tire of john's rudeness, and so they are only waiting a favourable opportunity in order to get rid of him altogether. they have repeatedly tried to have the turnpike removed from the road, and have pointed out the inconvenience and annoyance of the thing; but hitherto their efforts have been of no avail, so now they have given it up as a bad job, and have banded themselves together to catch out the principal cause of the nuisance. if they are successful, and pillings is again out of employment, it will be a difficult matter with him to find bread for himself and wife, for it is extremely doubtful whether anyone in bullshire would care to have so morose and drunken a servant about their premises. perhaps after a month or two in the workhouse, he may turn over a new leaf and so get some berth; but under existing circumstances, as old tom told him one day, if he loses his place he will have either to starve or let himself out as a scarecrow at so much a-day. therefore, for his own sake, it is to be hoped next season he will improve his manners, and so remain in the only position for which he is suited--to wit, the man at the toll-bar. who-whoop! a bright warm morning in april, with just enough keenness in the air to make one say to oneself: "there's a chance of a scent this morning." a day on which that peculiar freshness of the new-born spring seems to pervade everything. the buds on the roadside hedges, wet with a passing shower, sparkle and glint in the sunshine, and the grass on the banks is green and moist. even old tom feels the effect of the glorious day, though he does anathematise the "stinking violets" as he rides to the closing meet at fallow field, and wonders "'ow in the name of all that's merciful t' hounds can work in cover with the 'nation primroses a-coming out." still, he knows well that there has been such a thing before now as a real "buster" in april, and he looks approvingly on the surroundings, and mutters to himself that, "if t' sun wunna come out too strong, they may be able to do summat arter all." as the hounds move jauntily along, it is evident to the merest tyro that their condition is as nearly perfect as can be, and that the wear and tear of the past season has had but little effect on them. indeed tom is quite ready to go on the whole year round if it were possible; and as harry rides after belldame, whose spirits have got the better of her discipline (an old hare in the hedgerow having proved irresistible), he says: "let t' ould bitch alone, harry; 'er won't 'ave another chance this year, more's the pity; they mun do as they're a-mind to-day--till wa cum to business at all events." so belldame saves her bacon, and the old hare having got clean off, she returns to her place looking somewhat crestfallen. everybody in the country is at fallow field--men on horses of all sorts, shapes, and sizes. even a donkey carries a living freight for the day, and is transformed into a "perfect fencer." vehicles of every description are drawn up at the trysting-place, from the mail-phaeton and pair of steppers to the more humble conveyance of the costermonger. those who can find nothing whereon they may ride are fain to turn out afoot, but turn out they do in scores; and no wonder, for in a country like bullshire, where every man, woman, and child have the spirit of sport strong upon them, each one is bound to see the last day of the season, and if they cannot all hope to be in at the death, still they can see the hounds find and go away, which is more than half the battle, and will give food for conversation for many a week afterwards. of course all our old friends are there. the parson and doctor ride up together, and receive quite an ovation from the foot-people; then shortly afterwards the popular secretary arrives, and causes the usual commotion among the gentlemen in arrears with their subscriptions. the simmses have joined old tom and the hounds on the road, and their advent is the signal for a ringing cheer, which is quickly suppressed when sir john is seen cantering up with harold, mrs. talford, and the colonel; the major, with a heap more, bringing up the rear. of course the major has a deal of fault to find with everything, as usual; and, equally of course, the boaster is spinning a yarn of his own prowess, and endeavouring to impress mr. betteridge with the idea that he is the only man of the hunt who has gone straight during the season. jack the runner is making a good haul, and, were he provident, might be able to lay by a little store to help through the summer; but, as we know, he is exactly the reverse, and whatever he earns to-day will be clean gone by the end of the week, if not before. "well, tom," says the parson, from the middle of the pack (he has dismounted, and is surrounded by his favourites), "i suppose you won't be sorry to give the horn a bit of rest, eh? what say you, minstrel?" turning to the old hound. "sorry, master halston; i shanna know what to do wi' mysen till wa begin cubbing. it's allas the same, and t' hounds feel it just like i," replies tom. "but never mind," he continues with a smile, "if so be as you'll gie us a sermon now and again about fox-'unting, i make no doubt we shall do." "well, tom, i should be puzzled for a text, i think," rejoins the parson; "perhaps you will find one for me." at which remark the bystanders smile, for old tom is not a very regular attendant; but the smile breaks into a loud peal of laughter when the huntsman retaliates as quick as thought by saying: "ay, i wull; you wunna have far to look. you can take for the first sunday, 'many dogs a-cum about me;' and then for the next week, as a wind-up, you can give us 'the fat bulls of bashan,' and say what a murdering nuisance they was a-crossing the line." and with a "coop, coom away, hounds," he rides away, having scored one most emphatically. at this juncture sir john, having pulled out his watch, gives the signal, and away they trot to the first draw, which unfortunately proves a blank, as does the next, whereat tom's soul waxeth wroth, and for five minutes the vengeance of the gods is called down on the "stinking violets," and other articles which in his opinion militate against the scent. the third essay seems likely for a long time to be as unproductive as the two former, when suddenly a whimper from ranter, backed up by harbinger, sends a thrill through the veins of the eager field. tom is all life in a moment, and his "'ave at 'im. eugh, 'ave at 'im! eugh, boys!" rings out clear and shrill. not so shrill, though, as charles's "tally-ho! gone awa-a-y! awa-a-a-y!" which comes pealing through the trees from the bottom end, while the pack, catching it up, ring out a chorus that would waken the dead. "hounds, please, hounds! hold hard, gentlemen!" roars sir john to some of the too enthusiastic fire-eaters as they gallop down the squashy ride, vainly endeavouring to get ahead of tom, who, with white hair flying in the breeze, is vigorously cheering his hounds on to the line, occasionally giving them a chink of music to dance to. at last the wood is cleared, and the pack are streaming over the grass. nearly everybody has got a good start, and each man, knowing it is his last day, rides his best. mrs. talford, as usual, is going along to the fore, second to none; and mr. halston is determined that if the "fat bulls" do cross the line, he at all events will be well enough up to note the exact spot where the catastrophe occurred. falls are plentiful, for the pace is hot, and the weather being of the same temperature, horses are soon, as tom says, "all a muck o' sweat," and find the fencing no light matter. however, "for'ard on" they race, and for five-and-thirty minutes without a check, till they throw up suddenly by a thick ivy-grown hedge. "by guy," says tom, as he makes his cast and mops his face with a large red silk bandana, "by guy, it's warm, and no mistak'." then after a bit, as the hounds seem quite at sea: "dashed if the varmint 'ain't melted." not quite. he has only run the hedge right along the top of the ivy till he came to the cross-fence, and then jumping down has set his head straight for woodborough; and minstrel, casting on his own account, hits off the spot where he landed on terra-firma, and in loud tones proclaims it to the world in general and his companions in particular. at it again they are in a crack, and the welcome check having allowed a chance of getting "second wind," the field are all well up and as merry as crickets. soon, however, the pace begins to tell, and the "tailing" is terrible; as they go on each successive ditch holds a victim, and the flyers of the hunt are all forced to take a pull. the best of the horses are beginning to sob, and old tom has serious misgivings about having to finish the run afoot. but it's a long lane that has no turning, and two fields ahead the fox is seen crawling along dead beat. the hounds run from scent to view, then comes a last final rush. a confused mass, a worry, and then tom's "who-whoop! who-whoop!" is heard a mile back, and tells those struggling in the wake that the gallant pack have run into their fox, and that the bullshire hounds have finished their season with a rattling run ending in a kill. as the word "home" is given by sir john, and old tom rides off amid the congratulations of all who have managed to get to the end, he casts a look of pride at his darlings clustered round him, and mutters: "ay, bad luck to it; it's 'who-whoop' till next season." the first of the season. old friends are all meeting and gathered together in batches, discussing the crops and the weather; it has been a hard struggle for some with the rent, but their troubles grow light as the talk turns on scent. the landlord and tenant, the farmer and squire, have all had to suffer and pocket their ire, at the sun's fitful gleam and the rain's ceaseless pour; but they meet in good fellowship round the inn-door. their thoughts are all bent upon horses and hounds, for shortly the covert will echo with sounds, as the eager pack top the wood-fence with a crash, the young entry all bustle and brimful of dash. now see to your girths if you mean to be there. old tom looks like business; his hand's in the air. a whimper--a chorus--hark, holloa! they've found, and his old mare pops over the rails with a bound. away fling that weed, catch your horse by the head, he's young, and he's hot, but he's clean thoroughbred; don't rush at the timber or else you'll be down. let him see what's before him--he'll jump o'er a town. they are over the brook, which is bankful, i swear; see, yonder they go with their sterns in the air. there's young flyaway in, and, by jove, what a cropper! ah, the others won't have it--i thought 'twas a stopper. thank goodness, they're checked by that herd of scotch kine. but, hark for'ard, old minstrel has hit off the line. there'll be "bellows to mend" if this goes on, i fear, for the pace is too hot for the first of the year. down the meadow--they view--see the hounds how they tear! they have him! who-whoop! and the field are all--where? here we come. scarce a coat but betokens a fall, but who-whoop! what a cracker to open the ball! moral. fox-hunting and fellowship go hand in hand, and a true sporting mind by a friend's sure to stand; so let each drain a bumper nor think it high treason to follow the queen with "the first of the season." the bond of good feeling is found in the field; as the squire meets the farmer the compact is sealed. and each vows, as the moments flit merrily by, the world has no music like hounds in full cry. uncle john's new horse. a letter i found on my table, addressed to edward milford, esq., duke street, st. james's, which, being my name and address, i took the liberty of opening, reminded me of the fact that i was engaged to my uncle for the christmas holidays. it ran as follows: "the grange, slopton. "my boy, "you are booked to us for christmas, so don't fail. it is to be ten days this time, and no telegram 'on important business' to call you away, as, if i remember right, was the case on your last visit. there are many attractions here, or will be by the time you arrive. first, myself; secondly, a new horse, which you will have the pleasure of trying for me; and, thirdly, your cousin grace. there are a few pheasants, and, besides, some of the old port. you will find a hearty welcome from your affectionate "uncle john." uncle john (whose surname was dawson) was the sole surviving relation from whom i had any expectations. he was my mother's brother, and on the death of both my parents had been left my guardian. he had never married; but about the same time that he undertook to train me in the path in which i should go, he had adopted the orphan child of his brother, and it was almost an understood thing that his property would, at his demise, be equally divided between myself and grace dawson, the lady referred to in his letter as cousin grace. a thorough sportsman of the old school, whose creed lay in horse, hound, and hospitality, he made the grange as pleasant a place to stop at as one could well find. but there was (as there is in every enjoyment) one drawback--to me at least--and that lay in the "new horse." my worthy uncle, excellent rider as he was, happened to be the worst judge of a horse in the world, and was always picking up wonderful bargains which, unfortunately, he insisted on my trying for him. how it is that i have hitherto escaped with an unbroken neck i cannot say; for there is scarcely any circus-rider in the united kingdom who dare lay claim to more double somersaults, and i might almost say that i am an expert at flying in all its branches. however, nothing venture nothing have; and i was not going to quarrel with uncle john through any fear of uncle john's new horse, besides the attraction of cousin grace. so i sent an answer accepting the invitation, and giving the train by which i should arrive. it was a cold cheerless afternoon when, having wrapped myself up in my railway-rug, i selected a regalia reina and proceeded to settle myself in the space allotted to me by a magnanimous railway company in a smoking carriage attached to the . p.m. to slopton. there are three things that, when travelling, invariably strike me as peculiar; and which i am forced to put down either to the perversity of human nature or the desire not to give too much comfort for the money. first: why is it that the examination of tickets never takes place until nearly the last moment, when one is well wrapped up and settled--the finding of the required piece of cardboard entailing an undoing of the whole arrangement, a search through an infinity of pockets, a loss of temper, a letting in of much cold air, and, to wind up, the almost positive certainty that, having worked oneself into a fever because the blessed article is not forthcoming, one suddenly remembers that, with a chuckle at one's own 'cuteness and in order not to be disturbed, it had been slipped into the band of one's hat, where it had been staring an idiotic examiner in the face for fully five minutes, he pretending all the while not to have seen it? secondly: why, just as you have recovered from the effects of the official visit and have rearranged yourself with, perhaps, your feet on the opposite cushion, if the door opens and another passenger gets in, should he be certain to choose the very seat where you have deposited your legs, notwithstanding that there may be three or four other vacant places, and that by sitting opposite he inflicts the maximum of discomfort on both? thirdly: why is it that the carriages are built with a projection, whereupon you are supposed to recline your head if disposed to sleep, but to effect which purpose you must perforce sit bolt upright, the said projection invariably being, for ordinary mortals, some four inches too high? and why, if either you yourself or your next-door neighbour, neglect to assume the rigid and perpendicular position necessary, but venture to fall asleep in a more comfortable posture, should it be very long odds that you find yourself reposing peacefully on his shirt-front, or vice-versa? before i had arrived at any solution of these phenomena, the train ran into crosby junction, and, together with a foot-warmer--which, so far as i could make out, was filled with cold water--there entered a portly individual, whose vocation was plainly stamped on his garments--to wit, a horse-dealer. after the lapse of a few minutes, during which time the portly one kept the door open, he was joined by another member of the fraternity, who, from the likeness between them, was evidently his son. after we had started again, the father began the conversation by saying to his son: "jim, i wonder how the old gent likes his horse," at which the youth allowed a smile to steal over his face, and remarked sententiously: "lucky you got the money down, dad." who, i wondered, was the old gent? somebody else's "uncle john" perhaps, i thought, and began to reflect on the possibility of his having a nephew to risk his neck over doubtful purchases. i felt a curiosity on the subject, as i knew most of the inhabitants of the country we were approaching, and made up my mind to try and find out. so turning to the elder i said: "i see, sir" (it is always "sir" in a first-class, "mister" in a second, and "mayster" in a third, i have noticed), "that you know something about horses, and, being a stranger in this country, i should be extremely glad if you could tell me where i am likely to pick up a couple or three at a reasonable price. i have a commission to buy three hunters for a friend in london, and am going down to a place called the grange, to look at one belonging to a mr.--dawson i think is the name; but i should be glad to hear of two others. by-the-way, do you know what sort of cattle mr. dawson keeps?" as i concluded my speech, which i thought decidedly artful, i saw father and son exchange significant glances, and then my portly friend replied: "well, sir, you've come to the right shop for what you want. i have three of the very best you ever clapped your eyes on. if you will favour me with a call to-morrow or the next day we might do business. though i must tell you that i am a one-price man, and keep none but the best. perhaps, sir, you would take my card," and he presented for my inspection a highly-glazed piece of pasteboard, whereon was imprinted +-----------------------------------+ | | | josiah bell & son, | | commission stables, | | _ , bridge street, | | muxford_. | | | | _hacks, hunters, harness._ | +-----------------------------------+ when he saw that i had digested the contents and had transferred the card to my pocket, he continued in a more confidential tone: "i'll give you a little bit of advice, sir. don't be too sweet on mr. dawson's horse; i know he has one for sale which he bought up in town, a rare good 'un to look at, but a regular beast. if he takes it into his head he will do nothing but stand still and kick, and if he can't shift you at that he'll lie down and roll. poor old gentleman, he was awful took in over it! he should have come to me. you can't mistake the 'oss, it's a big upstanding bay with a white stocking on the near fore. but here's muxford, so i'll wish you good-day, and 'opes to see you to-morrow or the next day. if i ain't at home my son here will show you the nags;" and he got down. just before the train moved on again, however, he came to the window and said, "don't you buy the bay 'oss on no account." it was not hard to put, in this instance, two and two together, and when we arrived at slopton i had quite made up my mind where the "new horse" had been bought. on getting out of the train i was nearly deposited under the wheels by a vigorous slap, administered in the centre of my back, coupled with the remark: "why, my lad, you look like a polar bear in that ulster. it isn't cold. how are you?" having recovered my equilibrium, i turned round and encountered the jovial face of uncle john, whose nose, however, belied his speech anent the weather, for it was glistening red, like the sun through a london fog. "i'm all right, uncle," i replied; "i can see you are. how are they all at the grange?" "fit as fiddles," responded my guardian. "grace is outside in the carriage, so get your traps together and let's be off. by-the-bye, i have such a grand new horse for you to try. you shall ride him on tuesday, when the hounds meet at abbot's hill. a big upstanding bay; such a beauty! got him dirt cheap; but there, i'll tell you all about him when we get home." "has he got a white stocking on the near fore?" i asked. "yes; how the deuce did you know, i wonder?" queried my uncle. "but look sharp with those things: you take as long collecting your traps as a fox does to leave a big wood." "alas, poor me!" i thought. "it is mr. bell's horse;" and i went out to see cousin grace with anything but a feeling of "pleasures to come." the sight of her dear face and the warmth of her greeting, however, soon made me forget all about the white stocking, and the journey home was passed in questions asked and answers given. she told me that on the morrow the remainder of the party were expected down, among them old lady ventnor and her son lord ventnor, a young gentleman who gave himself considerable airs on the strength of his title, and for whom i had an intense dislike, owing perhaps in a great measure to an idea that he had designs on grace's affections, which, although i had never hinted a word of love to her, caused me more uneasiness than i liked to say. as a set-off against this (to me) obnoxious element, my old school-fellow and almost brother, jack fisher, was already in the house, together with his sister, who was a whether across country or in a ball-room, and the life and soul of any house she might be staying in. old "young ladies" no doubt used to shake their heads and say, in their jealousy, that she was "so fast;" but a better girl, in every sense of the word, than lettie fisher did not exist, despite her boisterous spirits and reckless daring. naturally when we arrived at the grange jack and i had lots to talk over--old days, old sayings, and old friends; and in the smoking-room, when uncle john, seated in his favourite armchair, with a long churchwarden, fast colouring from constant usage, in his hand, endeavoured to inflict on us a detailed description of the big upstanding bay, we simply refused to listen to him, and i told him i would prefer to form my judgment from actual experience. next day the rest of the guests arrived, and i had the pleasure of seeing young ventnor doing his little best to ingratiate himself with my cousin. i am afraid that my manner showed that something was wrong, for after dinner in the drawing-room grace, having for a moment freed herself from his lordship's attentions, came across to where i was sitting moodily contemplating the piano, and said: "what is the matter, ned? you look as cross as two sticks. everyone will think you have committed a murder if you go on staring into vacancy. ventnor says you would make a beautiful hamlet." "very likely," i retorted. "i was just then thinking with the prince of denmark that some of nature's journeymen had made men, and not made them well, they imitated humanity so abominably. tell ventnor i am highly flattered by his opinion of me as a representative of the dane." grace only raised her eyebrows and left me to my thoughts, which were interrupted by the arrival of the butler, who informed uncle john that the stud-groom was waiting for orders about the morrow. my uncle, who had gone to sleep over his paper and was still in the land of dreams, astonished us all by saying: "no more, thanks; not a drop more. excellent claret, but no more, thank you." however, the roar of laughter thoroughly awoke him, and he proceeded to tell us off to our respective mounts. of course it fell to my lot to ride the "new horse." ventnor had brought his nags with him. jack and his sister were to ride the drake and topthorn, two of the best hunters in the country, while grace had her own mare kitty, uncle john reserving to himself his favourite animal corkscrew, so called from his ability to bore through any bullfinch in the world. having arranged these matters, candles were lighted and we all retired--the ladies to bed and the men to the land of tobacco and long tumblers. "are you nearly ready, ned? it's a a lovely day," said jack, as he rushed into my room on the following morning to borrow a razor (jack had a way of borrowing razors, and a most inconvenient habit of forgetting to return them). "tell you what it is, if i were you i should take plenty of sticking-plaster in my pocket, and, if you have any, a bandage or two, for james (the footman) has been gratifying me with an account of your mount for to-day. he says no one can ride the beast if it takes it into its head to be obstinate, and that it has nearly reduced one of the helpers to a wafer by going down with him at exercise and rolling over with him." "well," i replied, "you are a nice sort of job's comforter. here, drop it," as jack seized my razor. "do, for goodness' sake, go and get one of ventnor's." but he turned a deaf ear, and, making good his retreat, left me to struggle into my boots, and reflect on the pleasures of the chase before me. when i arrived downstairs i found everyone assembled at breakfast in full hunting fig, and uncle john sticking up for his new purchase, utterly refusing to believe jack's history of the brute's manners. "ah ned," said he, as i entered the room, "they are all trying to put me out of conceit with my nag, but you will show them a different story; even if he is a little awkward--which, mind you, boy, i don't believe--he will find his master to-day, eh?" "ladies and gentlemen," said the incorrigible jack, rising, "i venture to propose a toast, with which i am sure you will all agree--ahem! the toast is that of my esteemed friend mr. edward milford, who is about to be created master of the rolls." shouts of laughter greeted this sally from all except grace, who remarked: "i think it is a great shame to chaff my cousin, and if there is any accident you will all be sorry." i thanked the dear girl by a look, and turned my attention to pigeon-pie, ignoring ventnor's question as to "whether i did not feel too nervous to eat?" ten o'clock saw us under weigh, and strangely enough the big upstanding bay was on his best behaviour, and walked along by the side of kitty most sedately--a circumstance which ventnor, who hoped to monopolise grace, did not seem particularly thankful for. arriving at the meet in good time, i found myself in the midst of a host of old friends, who admired my horse, and said he looked all over like going. the first draw from abbots hill was a cover called "the rough," and it was noted for being a very nasty one to get a start from, as there were only two ways to choose, either through a boggy hunting gateway at the corner, which was always kept closed until the fox was away, or over a rasping great fence, with a ditch fully ten feet broad on the far side, which was, to say the least of it, not an inviting object to commence with. knowing the topography of the land, i slipped down to the gate as the hounds were thrown in, and soon had the satisfaction of seeing a fine old fox steal away and make across the long grass-field on the other side of "the rough." giving him a few moments to make good his departure, i holloed, and down came the whole field pounding away for the gate. directly my uncle's steed heard them coming he began his tricks by shooting up straight on end. a crack between the ears with my crop, and a gentle reminder of both spurs as he came down fully roused his temper, and, placing himself across the gateway, he started to kick in a way i should never have believed possible. with his head (notwithstanding all i could do) nearly touching the ground, he pirouetted round in a circle, lashing out viciously the whole time, and rendering it perfectly impossible for anyone to pass. a few adventurous spirits charged the fence, but the majority of the field were kept back, and seeing that hounds were running hard with a burning scent, blessings (or the reverse) fell fast and thick on my devoted head. at last, after i had thrashed him till my arm ached, and tried everything i could think of to induce him to shift his ground, the brute played his trump card, and down he went as if he had been shot, rolling over into the ditch, where he lay, and sending me flying well into the middle of the boggiest place, but fortunately clear of himself, so that i escaped without personal injury. covered with mud, and my hat squashed flat, i presented a pretty picture as i picked myself up and scrambled out of the way to allow the more fortunate sportsmen a means of egress, which they were not slow to take advantage of. grace, riding through, pulled up on the other side, and asked me, with some concern, if i was hurt. "not a bit," i said; "go on, i am all right, only take care of yourself." "don't get on that brute's back again, dear boy," shouted uncle john. "it has frightened me out of my life. i thought you were going to be killed." "never mind me, uncle, you will lose the hounds if you wait here; get for'ard and see after grace; i will get this beast home," i replied; and, beckoning to two labourers who were standing gazing at the prostrate form of the "upstanding" one, i sent for a cart-horse and ropes, and we soon had him out of the ditch and standing, thoroughly subdued, in the field. the saddletree i found smashed, and the stirrup-iron crumpled up, so there was no use in trying to go on. the horse was not damaged, luckily, with the exception of some hair off; but i had to lead the brute four miles home, and had had quite enough of it by the time i reached the grange. "good lord, sir, you are in a mess!" remarked the stud-groom; "i was afraid there would be summat happen. he is a nasty one; why, i rode him myself the other mornin' into the village, and he played me the very identical caper, just before you come to the bridge. he wouldn't pass that there duck-pond by the pub., and when he went down, as near as a toucher put me into the water. the lads do tell me as nothing will make him go by there now. ah, master should a listened to me, and not go a-buying nags from a pair of copers like them bells of muxford." "oh," i said, "he came from bell's, did he? i thought so;" and i recounted my conversation in the train. when the rest returned of course they had had a capital day, and i (as is usual in these cases) had to stand the brunt of many condolences and much sympathy with my bad luck. i bore it for some time, but a climax came at dinner. everybody, uncle john included, had been vilifying the new purchase, when young ventnor broke in with affected drawl, saying: "ah, yes, but a fellah, you know, should not ride such a horse unless he knows how to prevent him rolling. it ain't safe--ah--you know." grace flew up in arms in a moment, and, with her eyes flashing with anger, said: "i do not believe, lord ventnor, that you or any man could have prevented the horse rolling. my cousin ned can ride as well as most men, and" (here came the unkindest cut of all) "anyhow i do not think _he_ would have turned away from cleasby brook." then, catching my eye, she stopped short, and blushing crimson betrayed her secret, for i knew in that moment that she cared for me, and that i had nothing to fear from fifty ventnors. uncle john, seeing how the land lay, said: "well, ventnor, if you are so confident that my nephew ought to have done better you shall have a chance of showing him how, for you shall ride the horse to-morrow if you like." ventnor was about to reply, when grace gave the signal for the ladies to retire, and as soon as they had gone and we had drawn round the fire, jack turned to his lordship and spoke up as follows: "if you ride the bay to-morrow, i'll bet you ten sovereigns he puts you down." "oh yes, i'll--ah--ride him, and take your bet, fisher," replied ventnor. "i'll do more than that," said i; "i'll lay you fifty pounds to thirty that you do not ride from this door to the village and back in half an hour; it's under a mile, so you have ample time." "ah--done," quoth the young gentleman; and the bets were promptly booked, the time being fixed for the start at a.m. next morning everybody, from my uncle down to the boy who cleaned the knives, turned out to see lord ventnor give me a lesson in riding. jack, lettie, and grace i had let into the secret of the duck-pond, and thither we repaired to see the fun. in a few moments along the road came ventnor with a sort of i-told-you-how-it-would-be smile on his face. a snort--a full stop--down went the bay's head, and up went his heels. "mind he doesn't roll with you, or it will cost you forty pounds," shouted jack, and "look out, man," as the animal's forelegs began to tremble. nearer and nearer the pond they got, when all of a sudden down dropped the new horse, ventnor jumping off as he fell; but unfortunately for himself he caught his near spur in the saddle as the animal turned over, and with an "oh!" from the two girls, we saw him disappear head first into the pond, while the "white stocking" made tracks homeward as hard as he could go. "my dear sir," said jack, as we pulled the dripping lord out of the pond, "a fellah, you know, should not ride unless he knows how to prevent a horse rolling; it isn't safe, you know." this was too much for both grace and lettie, and they were forced to retire in order to hide their laughter. ventnor was so angry that he would not speak, and he paid us our money with a very bad grace the same evening. however, it taught him a lesson that it will take him years to forget. i told uncle john after this of my meeting in the train with the messrs. bell, and he decided at once to send the brute up to aldridge's, where the fine upstanding bay fetched exactly twenty-five guineas, and was dear at that. on christmas eve i ventured to ask grace for a christmas present, to wit, herself, and as jack, who was my best man, said at the wedding breakfast: "though the mount was not a pleasant one, still as it was instrumental in obtaining for me my wife, i had no right to be too hard on uncle john's new horse." the hog-backed stile. chapter i. coming events. towards the middle of december, , a dog-cart might have been seen standing outside the small station of newcome, in slopshire. there was nothing particularly remarkable about the turn-out--a goodish-looking animal in the shafts and a certain air of neatness stamped it as belonging to a gentleman, but beyond that there was no particular feature to attract attention. no gaudy red wheels, nothing dazzling in the way of "picking out;" simply an ordinary dog-cart, which had come down from belton hall to meet the . train from london. belton hall, an old elizabethan mansion, belonged to the vivians, was inhabited by colonel george vivian and his daughter mildred, and they were expecting two visitors, who had been asked to the hall for christmas and hunting--one, jack vivian, the colonel's nephew; the other, a mr. thomas simpson, who was known to the world in general to be following that calling which covers a multitude of sins, which means so much yet expresses so little, viz. "something in the city." colonel vivian was as keen a sportsman and as good a man to hounds as there was in slopshire, and his daughter followed closely in his footsteps--too closely sometimes, for on one occasion, when the colonel came down at a stiffish stake-and-bound fence, mildred, unable to stop in time, jumped right on the top of him, her horse's near hind-foot going slap through the crown of his new hat, which luckily did not at the moment contain her father's head. belton was therefore a certain find, and the master, knowing this, always had a fixture there in the christmas week. both mildred and her father were too apt to gauge a man by his powers of getting over a country, and woe betide any unfortunate individual who had been seen to exhibit any--well, i will say hesitation--when hounds were running. if he happened to be staying at the hall, he was chaffed most unmercifully, and under any other circumstances he was immediately set down in the mental tablets of the vivians as a man who was not worth knowing. there was but little fear of jack not coming up to the mark in the way of riding, for, born and brought up in the country, his first recollections were associated with hounds, and his earliest lessons comprised "the run of a fox." of late years he had not been able to hunt as much as he would have liked, for there were two fatal objections in his way--want of time and want of money. jack vivian was a barrister, and a hard-working one withal. he had got his foot on the second rung of the ladder of success and meant going upwards; therefore he had little time for play, and but a small balance of spare cash; so it was only now and again that he could snatch a brief holiday, and, finding neck and spurs against a friend's horse, engage in his favourite pursuit. notwithstanding this, there were few men who would care to back themselves against jack across country, and there was probably not one (old jim the huntsman excepted) who knew more about a fox or what hounds were doing. mr. simpson, on the other hand, was rolling in wealth, and as his "something in the city" did not occupy much of his time, he tried in every way to assume the appearance of a country gentleman, and to be considered a modern nimrod. somehow, though, his three hundred-guinea hunters did not carry mr. simpson to the end, and it was marvellous the extraordinary and unforeseen obstacles that had prevented his appearance at the death. rivers suddenly had sprung up where none had been known before, and six-foot posts and rails, with broad double ditches, had caused mr. simpson alone to tarry on his course. in other words he was an arrant "funk," though of course he would not have acknowledged the soft impeachment. it was, as you may think, very odd that such a man should be the guest of so ardent a sportsman as the owner of belton, but it happened thus. the previous year the colonel and his daughter were staying in leicestershire, and at a friend's house they met mr. simpson. so taken up with admiring his horses was the colonel that he either omitted to look at the owner, or else invested him with a halo which was the overflow of the equine worship. besides, open house, hunters five days a week for himself and daughter, and a large establishment, were not to be maintained for nothing; and the colonel, in the matter of £ s. d., was a remarkably practical man, and had no objection to the possibility of a rich son-in-law, even though he might be "in the city." therefore, for christmas week, simpson and his horses were offered bed and board at belton; and already, in his own mind, had mr. s. drawn up a deed of partnership, with miss vivian as the co., for he had been completely knocked out of time at the first sight of mildred, and had fallen head over ears in--what he was pleased to call--love. what his chances of success were may be gathered from the following conversation, which took place in the drawing-room after the dog-cart had gone down to the station. mildred--it was a non-hunting day--was seated in a low easy-chair, occupied with five-o'clock tea, and by her side, on a cushion, reclined her cousin ethel, a young girl of sixteen, while opposite was the rev. mr. wilton, the clergyman of the place--one of the old school of sporting parsons, who was good for a fast twenty minutes either in the field or the pulpit; and though he had, for fifty odd years, hunted regularly four days a-week, there was not a man, woman, or child in the parish whose every trouble was not known to him, and there was not one of them who would not willingly have given up everything to help their idol, "t' owd parson." with his back to the fire stood the colonel, engaged in conversation with florence wingfield, sister to the expected jack. she was staying in the house with her husband, captain tom wingfield, of the rd hussars, who at this moment was trying a new purchase by riding over to the kennels, some ten miles away. "which room has mr. simpson got, milly?" said the colonel suddenly. "the best bachelor's room, papa," replied the young lady; "i put him there because i thought the gorgeous pattern of the new carpet you chose would suit his taste, and i have hung up some of those old sporting prints for him to take a lesson from." "and what room has jack got?" continued the colonel, not best pleased at the impression his intended guest had produced on his daughter. "oh, dear old jack has, of course, his own room. florence arranged it just as it used to be, and before tea came i saw the fire was all right." "i suppose you did not happen to see if mr. simpson's fire was all right, mildred?" said mr. wilton, with a sly twinkle in his eye. "no; ethel did that," she replied, laughing; "besides, with that red face he can't be cold." "milly, never judge by appearances," interrupted mrs. wingfield, who saw by her uncle's face that the conversation was not particularly agreeable to him. woman-like, she had read him like a book; and, though willing to keep the peace, she had long ago made up her mind that mildred was to be her brother's wife or an old maid--_aut cæsar aut nihil_; and having settled this, she set herself down to carry out her plans. "who is talking about judging by appearances?" put in a manly voice, as tom wingfield, somewhat muddy of coat, walked into the room. "i was," said his wife. "i was telling milly not to judge by appearances, for i thought you a nice fellow once, and--ahem!--i was taken in by your appearance." "all right, mrs. impudence," retorted tom; "no hunting for you. i thought i had two beautiful ladies' hunters, but i was deceived by appearances. anyhow, let me have a cup of tea. i have given my new nag a lesson he won't forget. he refused that fence out of the road by the windmill, and put me down twice; then tried to bolt for paradise hill, but after a fight we got on terms, and he goes like an angel now." "i must make a note of that, wingfield," interrupted mr. wilton. "it is a curious coincidence of an animal being stopped on its way to paradise, yet suddenly becoming an angel." "capital text for next sunday, wilton," said the colonel. "but hark! i hear the dog-cart, and here they come round the corner of the drive." "oh lord!" ejaculates tom; "can anyone tell me how gray shirtings are? must talk to a man who is in the city about shirtings or backwardations, you know. i'll ask jack what he gave for his flannel shirts." amid the shouts of laughter which followed this sally the door opened, and the butler announced: "mr. simpson and master jack." chapter ii. of the city civic. "delighted to see you, mr. simpson," said the colonel, taking that gentleman's somewhat flabby hand, and introducing him to the others in turn. "ah jack, my boy, how are you? i have such a horse for you; but no spurs allowed, mind." "all right, uncle," replied jack, coming to the fire; "i'll remember. but how are you all? florence, you are getting most abominably fat. why, milly, ain't you going to say how do you do to me?--not that way," as mildred put out her hand. "i ask you, is that the way to welcome your long-lost cousin? come to my arms"--a proceeding that he promptly tried to put into force, and had he not stumbled head over heels over ethel, who from her position on the ground he had not noticed, would have succeeded in his endeavour. as it was, like a drowning man, he clutched at the first thing that came to hand, which, happening to be simpson's coat-tail, brought that worthy gentleman down with him, and cut short the polite little speech he was about to address to mildred. it was rather hard lines on the unfortunate individual, for all the way down in the train he had been (when jack's eye was not upon him) rehearsing it, and now it was lost for ever. "i beg your ten thousand pardons, simpson," said jack, struggling to his feet. "why, it's ethel. what on earth do you go and curl yourself up like a fox-terrier on the hearthrug for, and make people do these pantomime tricks over you? you nearly were the death of two of her majesty's most esteemed subjects." "heavy fall in shirtings," whispered the irrepressible tom to mildred, who was obliged to go out of the room, ostensibly to see the housekeeper, but in reality to hide her laughter. "not hurt, i hope?" asked the colonel. "no--ah--colonel vivian, i thank you; but i must apologise to miss vivian. it must have astonished her. ah, she is gone," said simpson, who was, if possible, of a more rosy hue than ever. "oh, mildred's all right," put in jack; "it's not the first time she has seen a man down by many a hundred, nor will it be the last if hounds run to-morrow. which is my room, uncle? i'll show simpson his too. it's nearly time to dress." "you are in your old quarters, jack, and mr. simpson is in the bachelor's room, which, i hope, he will find comfortable," said his uncle. "come on then, simpson; i'll take you to your diggings, and then i'll go and see phillips the stud-groom, and tell him to show your man where to put himself and his horses too," continued jack, and out they went. "what a ridiculous _contretemps_!" said florence as the door closed. "i never saw anything half so funny as mr. simpson's face. my dear ethel, i thought i should have died." "i thought i should have been smothered," replied ethel. "i shall never be able to look mr. simpson in the face again." mr. wilton, who had hitherto been a silent spectator, here interrupted with "i am afraid the gentleman is not in the same happy state as wingfield's horse, for i distinctly heard him as he fell utter a most unangelic word beginning with a d." "a falling angel can't be particular," said tom. "what do you say, colonel?" "i say that it's very wrong of you to make fun of our guest, and that if you don't go to dress at once you will be all late for dinner;" with which the master of the house walked out of the room followed by the rest. at seven o'clock the whole party were reassembled in the drawing-room. mr. simpson, in all the consciousness of a spotless shirt in which blazed an elaborate diamond stud the size of a sixpenny piece, was trying to make himself agreeable to mildred, while jack was in a deep discussion with tom and his uncle over the prospects of the season, and listening to the accounts of past performances. "dinner is served" from the butler took them all into the dining-room, where they were soon hard at what tom called "trencher-work." "what horses have you brought, mr. simpson?" said the colonel during the pause after the soup. "ah--two, colonel vivian. a bay mare i had last season, and a new horse i bought from ward the other day; a splendid fencer--nothing is too big for him. ah--i had to give four hundred for him though, so he ought to be good," replied simpson. "he ought indeed. i wish i could afford to give such prices," rejoined the colonel, on whose ear the statement of £ s. d. grated somewhat harshly. "i advise you to ride him to-morrow; the hounds meet here, and the keeper tells me there are a brace of foxes in the osiers, and if they take the usual line it wants a good horse to live with them." mr. simpson's face did not express a vast amount of rapture at this, and he almost wished he had not been quite so fulsome on the subject of his new purchase. however, turning to mildred, he said: "miss vivian--ah--i suppose you follow the hounds to-morrow?" "yes," replies mildred; "i ride my favourite horse birdcatcher, and i hope we shall show you some sport." "follow the hounds!" muttered jack under his breath, who was getting rather jealous of his fellow-traveller. "he did not suppose the hounds would follow her, did he?" an idea that he imparted to ethel, who was next to him, and which seemed to amuse her mightily. "i believe the fellow's a funk," he went on. "anyhow, i'll draw him," and across the table he said: "simpson, is your nag good at water and timber, for the belton brook runs below the osiers, and there are one or two rather awkward stiles to be negotiated?" "oh yes. ah--he is a first-rate water-jumper, and, i believe, very good all round." "that's all right then; you will be cutting us all down," put in tom; whereat simpson smiled a sickly and most unbecoming smile, by which he meant to insinuate that he was going to try, and thought it extremely probable that he would succeed, but which conveyed to everybody the impression that he wished belton brook and the stiles at the bottom of the sea. florence, who saw this, immediately proceeded to set his mind at rest by telling a number of stories anent the difficulties of the country, and the number of men that had come out in the morning in all the pride of their scarlet, and had returned bemudded and besmirched after a visit to the bottom of the brook, all of which anecdotes she referred to mr. wilton for verification. after dinner mr. simpson made the running very strongly with mildred, much to jack's disgust; and as he found that, do what he would, he was unable to get a word in edgeways without having his eyes nearly put out by the glitter of the city gentleman's diamond stud, he took refuge behind the paper, which position, notwithstanding mildred's glance of entreaty, he maintained resolutely till the appearance of candles and the colonel's orders for the morning warned everybody that it was bedtime. "good-night, jack, my boy," said his uncle, after the ladies had retired. "i shan't come to the smoking-room to-night. mind, breakfast at nine sharp. i have ordered a real flyer for you to-morrow, and i want you to keep up your reputation and show them the way, also to give an eye to milly. i can trust her with most horses, but birdcatcher is, as you know, an awkward customer if he gets his temper up. mr. simpson," turning to his guest, "you will find everything in the smoking-room. jack and tom will show you where it is. i am rather tired, and will wish you good-night and good sport to-morrow." "tom," said jack to his brother-in-law, "you take simpson to the den. i'm off to bed; you will excuse my not coming. i've a bad headache, and i want to look over a case i have in hand which is rather important. good-night, old man; good-night, simpson;" and with that he retired, muttering to himself: "how the deuce uncle george could have invited such a cad down here i can't think." on arriving in his room he found his sister waiting for him, and she immediately commenced: "dear old jack, i knew you would not smoke to-night, for i saw you were put out. you need not be afraid about milly and mr. simpson; she detests him. if uncle george thinks she will ever marry a man like that he is mistaken." "what's the odds, florence," said jack in a desponding tone; "it is no use denying the fact that i am awfully fond of milly, but what chance have i, as poor as a church mouse, against a man rolling in wealth? and even if she doesn't marry simpson, some other rich son of a gun will be after her, and it will break my heart to see her married. by-the-way, how can uncle ever tolerate such a vulgarian as simpson?" "'money makes the mare to go,'" replied his sister; "and i fancy uncle george has been spending a little too much lately. but cheer up, jack dear; perhaps our old indian will die, and leave you a heap of money. meanwhile, rely on me to keep off all intruders: 'trespassers will be prosecuted,' and all that sort of thing; spring-guns and the extreme penalty of the law, you know." "florence, you are a darling," said jack, kissing her; "but you can't kill the nabob, and even a woman's wit can't keep milly under lock and key till your pauper brother makes enough money to enable him to see papa in the study without feeling that he may be shown out of the door by the butler." "_si c'est possible c'est fait, si c'est impossible cela ce fera_," laughed florence, as she left her brother to think over what she had said. the old indian, sandford by name, was the great hope of both jack and his sister. he was their mother's only brother, and though he had been home but once in forty years, an event which occurred some nine years back, he had on that occasion intimated that jack was to be his heir, and when driven to india by what he called "the cursed climate and infernal fogs" of his native country, he had left a thousand pounds to be used for jack's advancement in life, and regularly every christmas a letter arrived from simla to jack, enclosing an order on messrs. drummond for two hundred pounds, bearing the simple signature "john sandford." when his sister had gone jack threw himself into a chair, and after musing for some time tumbled into bed, and was soon dreaming of milly, the nabob, and simpson, all of whom were trying to catch an animal that occasionally took the shape of birdcatcher, and as often that of his sister. chapter iii. flood and field. "a southerly wind and a cloudy sky," sung loudly by his bedside, woke jack on the following morning, and, opening his eyes, he encountered those of tom wingfield, who, as soon as he saw that he had effected his purpose--to wit, waking jack--said: "how's the head, old man? it's a ripping fine morning; tumble up. here's the shaving-water," as the footman entered the room. "i've called simpson. by jove, what a bore that man is! he told me last night exactly how much he had given for everything he possessed. however, phillips, whom i saw just now, says his four hundred guineas worth looks a nailer, but i doubt if our friend's heart is in the right place." "heart be blowed!" growled jack; "the only heart he knows of is the heart of the city. clear out, tom, though; its late, and i shall never be dressed in time for breakfast." however, he was, and as he entered the dining-room he thought he had never seen milly look so well as, in her well-fitting and workmanlike habit, she dispensed the honours of the tea. simpson was simply gorgeous, and evidently fancied himself considerably, though as the clock marked the hour of ten and the first contingent arrived, his rubicund features went many degrees paler at the thought of belton brook and his four-hundred-guinea hunter. punctual to the minute the hounds arrived, and after a quarter of an hour, during which time refreshment for man and horse was in full swing, the signal to move off was given. "mornin', master jack," said old jim the huntsman, as jack came out of the stable-yard, his mount bucking like an australian. "i'm main glad to see you wi' us again; we shall soon find summat to take the play out o' you" (alluding to the horse). "if i mistake not, you mean a-showing 'em what for, and i'm sure i hope you will." "jim, you get younger every day. they tell me you are going to be married again and give up hunting; is it true?" was jack's reply. "get along with you; you're no better than you used to be, master jack," retorted the old man, who was fast nearing his seventieth year. at this moment the colonel rode up, accompanied by mildred and mr. simpson, the latter, it must be confessed, looking far from comfortable. "jim," said he, "we will draw the osiers first, please, up-wind, and send williams" (the first whip) "down to the corner. mr. wilton and myself will stop by the gate and view him if he tries back. mr. talbot" (the master) "has gone on to the wood, and wished me to tell you." "right, colonel," replied the huntsman, lifting his cap; and with a "coop, coome away!" he trotted off down to the bottom end, the hounds clustering all round his horse. "this way, milly," said jack. "come on, simpson and tom," and the quartet established themselves out of sight at the top end of the osier-bed. presently old jim was heard cheering his hounds, and a whimper from old solomon proclaimed the fox to be at home, as usual. "eugh, at him!" cheered jim, and as the whimper swelled into a chorus a regular traveller slipped out close to mr. simpson, and headed straight over the dreaded brook. "by gad, he's off!" said jack, and "gorne awa-a-y!" proclaimed his departure to the expectant field. the hounds tumbled out of covert all of a heap, and plunging into the brook in a body were away on the other side in a trice, with a scent breast high. "miss vivian, for goodness' sake don't attempt the brook," implored simpson; "i will stop and look after you." but mildred, vouchsafing him not so much as a look, caught the impatient birdcatcher by the head, and with jack and tom on either side the trio rattled down at the water, which was negotiated with safety. "bravo!" said jack; "here comes simpson;" and come he did, for his perfect hunter was not made of the stuff to be left behind if he could help it, and seeing his three companions careering away down the opposite field, he, to use a nautical expression, "took charge," and, before his rider knew what had happened, had landed him safely on the other side of the obstacle. "down the lane," said jack to mildred as they popped over the fence that led out of the meadow; "it's straight for boltby big wood. here you are, jim," as the huntsman came up to where the hounds had checked for a moment in the lane; "they made it good as far as this. hark for'ard! minstrel has it;" and away they went a cracker, turning sharp to the right into some rolling grass-fields. by this time mr. simpson was beginning to pluck up his courage, and in company with those who had not been so favoured at the start was going fairly well. ten minutes more brought them to the stiles that had been the subject of discussion at dinner the previous evening, and nasty-looking objects they were. the first was not so bad, but the second was a regular teaser--hog-backed, with a yawning ditch, spanned by a footboard on the far side. "steady, milly," said tom, as birdcatcher rushed at no. . "by gad, she'll be down if she goes at that pace," shouted jack in an agony, his horse, a young 'un, having refused. at this crisis mr. simpson appeared on the scene, the rest of the field preferring the safer course down the lane. tom managed the hog-back successfully, and was too much occupied with the hounds, now racing a field ahead, to think of mildred, who had evidently got as much as she could manage in the thoroughly-roused birdcatcher. jack's feelings can be better imagined than described as he saw milly rush at the stile and birdcatcher turn a complete somersault, sending his mistress flying, happily, some yards away from where he fell. "come up, you brute," he yelled, driving his spurs home and fairly lifting the astonished young 'un over both fences. scarcely had he landed over the hog-back than he was off his horse and kneeling by milly in a paroxysm of grief. "my darling child, are you hurt? my god, she's dead!" he cried, as he tried to lift her. but she was only stunned for the moment, and to his ineffable joy milly opened her eyes and said: "it's all right, jack; i'm not hurt. catch my horse and let's get on." the "thank god" came from the bottom of his heart as he caught the two nags and lifted her on; but the agonised expression on his face told mildred plainer than any words the "old old tale," and in her inmost heart she blessed the fall for the revelation. the fox meanwhile, who had been headed by a labourer, turned short back, and as they came round, about two fields above the spot where the accident took place, everyone was much amused at the sight of mr. simpson, who, unable to muster up courage to ride at the place, and thinking that no one was likely to see him, had got off his horse, and having promised a yokel a sovereign to catch him on the other side, was doing his best, with the aid of his hunting-whip, to induce his four hundred guineas' worth to take it by himself. no further mishap occurred, and in half an hour, after running hard all the time, they viewed and killed their fox in the open, mr. simpson arriving just as the last morsel disappeared down old solomon's throat. by this time mildred was feeling the effects of her fall, and simpson was only too glad to offer to be her escort home; an opportunity which he took advantage of to propose in due form, the effect of his solicitations being somewhat marred by the aversion his horse displayed to walking. "i'm very sorry, mr. simpson," said mildred, in reply to his entreaties that she would consent to be the "co.," "i'm very sorry, but it can never be." "there's some other fellow in the case; i _will_ know who. it's that horrid cousin of yours," said the man of money with his innate vulgarity, for he could not understand any girl refusing his gold. "mr. simpson, you have no right to speak to me like that; and seeing that my cousin picked me up when i fell, while you were too much alarmed for your own safety, _i_ have no reason to consider him horrid," was mildred's cutting reply, after which she refused to speak till they arrived at the hall. whether it was the rebuff that he had received, or joy at finding himself safe, i cannot say, but at dinner simpson drank more than was his custom, and was proportionately talkative and bombastic in consequence, and towards the end he entertained the company with a description of how he got over the most enormous places. "you--ah--see, my horse" (he called it "'orse"' now that the wine was in) "refused that stile where miss vivian fell, and mr. ward told me it was no use riding him at the same thing twice, so i had to look out--ah--for another place. i saw there was nothing for it but the fence at the side" (it was an overgrown blackthorn, with a six-feet post and rails run through the middle), "and--ah--by jove! my horse cleared it without touching a twig--ah." "my word, simpson, that was a jump--almost as big as the cow took when it vaulted over the moon," said tom. "fact, sir, 'shure you," replied he of the city, when the butler came up behind his chair and in an audible voice said: "i beg pardon, sir, but there's a man downstairs who says you told him to call--says you promised him a sovereign for catching your horse when you turned it over the stile." it may have been rude, but the guilty look of simpson and the utter ludicrousness of the whole affair was too much, and everybody, including the colonel, fairly shrieked with laughter, during which mr. simpson bowed himself out to see about this "tale of the sovereign," as he called it. later on the butler appeared a second time, bearing in his hand a yellow envelope, which he handed to jack. opening it carelessly he read: "as agents to john sandford, acquaint you of his death. yourself left sole heir. telegraph instructions. money and securities, eighty thousand. three large tea estates, besides other property. letter follows.--kirkman and co., calcutta." i am afraid jack's face did not express great sorrow for his deceased uncle. indeed, as he glanced across at milly, a great look of joy came into his eyes, and after dinner he found an opportunity to ask her a question, receiving a very different answer to that vouchsafed to mr. simpson. christmas morning he interviewed "papa in the study" without fear of the butler, and that evening the colonel, with tears in his eyes, made a long speech, wherein he gave his daughter to his favourite nephew, with solemn injunctions to take care of her. jack, in returning thanks, said he would do his best to see that she did not break her neck; he had already had a turn he should never forget; but as it was somewhat instrumental in helping him to gain milly, he begged to propose the health of the hog-backed stile. simpson, when he saw the game was lost, turned out a much better fellow than anyone gave him credit for, and milly found on her table a pearl necklace and a card, on which was written: "with t. simpson's best wishes and apologies for rudeness." now, whenever he meets jack and his wife, he tells them that the lesson he got at belton taught him that money and bluster were not everything in this merry world of ours. the end. charles dickens and evans, crystal palace press. transcriber's note illustration captions in {brackets} have been added by the transcriber, with reference to the list of illustrations, for the convenience of the reader. the animal story book edited by andrew lang _with numerous illustrations by h. j. ford_ [illustration: {two oran otans}] longmans, green, and co. fourth avenue & th street, new york london, bombay, calcutta and madras _copyright, ,_ by longmans, green, & co. _all rights reserved._ first edition, september, . reprinted, november, , july, , june, , february, , september, . the fairy book series edited by andrew lang _new and cheaper issue_ each volume, $ . net the blue fairy book. with illustrations. the red fairy book. with illustrations. the green fairy book. with illustrations. the grey fairy book. with illustrations. the yellow fairy book. with illustrations. the pink fairy book. with illustrations. the blue poetry book. with illustrations. the true story book. with illustrations. the red true story book. with illustrations. the animal story book. with illustrations. the red book of animal stories. with illustrations. the arabian nights entertainments. with illustrations. the violet fairy book. with coloured plates and other illustrations. the crimson fairy book. with coloured plates and other illustrations. the brown fairy book. with coloured plates and other illustrations. the olive fairy book. with coloured plates and other illustrations. the orange fairy book. with coloured plates and other illustrations. the book of romance. with coloured plates and other illustrations. the red romance book. with coloured plates and other illustrations. the book of princes and princesses. by mrs. lang. with coloured plates and other illustrations. the red book of heroes. by mrs. lang. with coloured plates and other illustrations. the lilac fairy book. with coloured plates and other illustrations. the all sorts of stories book. by mrs. lang. with coloured plates and other illustrations. the book of saints and heroes. by mrs. lang. with coloured plates and other illustrations. the strange story book. by mrs. lang. with portrait of andrew lang, coloured plates and other illustrations. longmans, green, and co., new york [illustration: androcles in the arena] _to_ _master frederick longman_ this year our book for christmas varies, deals not with history nor fairies (i can't help thinking, children, you prefer a book which is _not_ true). we leave these intellectual feasts, to talk of fishes, birds, and beasts. these--though his aim is hardly steady-- these are, i think, a theme for freddy! trout, though he is not up to fly, he soon will catch--as well as i! so, freddy, take this artless rhyme, and be a sportsman in your time! _preface_ children who have read our fairy books may have noticed that there are not so very many fairies in the stories after all. the most common characters are birds, beasts, and fishes, who talk and act like christians. the reason of this is that the first people who told the stories were not very clever, or, if they were clever, they had never been taught to read and write, or to distinguish between vegetable, animal, and mineral. they took it that all things were 'much of a muchness:' they were not proud, and held that beast and bird could talk like themselves, only, of course, in a different language. after offering, then, so many fairy books (though the stories are not all told yet), we now present you (in return for a coin or two) with a book about the friends of children and of fairies--the beasts. the stories are all true, more or less, but it is possible that monsieur dumas and monsieur théophile gautier rather improved upon their tales. i own that i have my doubts about the bears and serpents in the tales by the baron wogan. this gentleman's ancestors were famous irish people. one of them held cromwell's soldiers back when they were pursuing charles ii. after worcester fight. he also led a troop of horse from dover to the highlands, where he died of a wound, after fighting for the king. the next wogan was a friend of pope and swift; he escaped from prison after preston fight, in , and, later, rescued prince charlie's mother from confinement in austria, and took her to marry king james. he next became governor of don quixote's province, la mancha, in spain, and was still alive and merry in . baron wogan, descended from these heroes, saw no longer any king to fight for, so he went to america and fought bears. no doubt he was as brave as his ancestors, but whether all his stories of serpents are absolutely correct i am not so certain. people have also been heard to express doubts about mr. waterton and the cayman. the terrible tale of mr. gully and his deeds of war i _know_ to be accurate, and the story of oscar, the sentimental tyke, is believed in firmly by the lady who wrote it. as for the stories about greek and roman beasts, pliny, who tells them, is a most respectable author. on the whole, then, this is more or less of a true story-book. there ought to be a moral; if so, it probably is that we should be kind to all sorts of animals, and, above all, knock trout on the head when they are caught, and don't let the poor things jump about till they die. a chapter of a very learned sort was written about the cleverness of beasts, proving that there must have been great inventive geniuses among beasts long ago, and that now they have rather got into a habit (which i think a very good one) of being content with the discoveries of their ancestors. this led naturally to some observations on instinct and reason; but there may be children who are glad that there was no room for this chapter. the longer stories from monsieur dumas were translated from the french by miss cheape. 'a rat tale' is by miss evelyn grieve, who knew the rats. 'mr. gully' is by miss elspeth campbell, to whom mr. gully belonged. 'the dog of montargis,' 'more faithful than favoured,' and 'androcles' are by miss eleanor sellar. snakes, bears, ants, wolves, monkeys, and some lions are by miss lang. 'two highland dogs' is by miss goodrich freer. 'fido' and 'oscar' and 'patch' are by miss a. m. alleyne. 'djijam' is by his master. 'the starling of segringen' and 'grateful dogs' are by mr. bartells. 'tom the bear,' 'the frog,' 'jacko the monkey' and 'gazelle' are from dumas by miss blackley. all the rest are by mrs. lang. _contents_ page 'tom': an adventure in the life of a bear in paris saï the panther the buzzard and the priest cowper and his hares a rat tale snake stories what elephants can do the dog of montargis how a beaver builds his house the war horse of alexander stories about bears stories about ants the taming of an otter the story of androcles and the lion monsieur dumas and his beasts the adventures of pyramus the story of a weasel stories about wolves two highland dogs monkey tricks and sally at the zoo how the cayman was killed the story of fido beasts besieged mr. gully stories from pliny the strange history of cagnotte still waters run deep; or, the dancing dog theo and his horses: jane, betsy, and blanche madame théophile and the parrot the battle of the mullets and the dolphins monkey stories eccentric bird builders the ship of the desert hame, hame, hame, where i fain wad be nests for dinner fire-eating djijam the story of the dog oscar dolphins at play the starling of segringen grateful dogs gazelle cockatoo stories the otter who was reared by a cat stories about lions builders and weavers more faithful than favoured dolphins, turtles, and cod more about elephants bungey lions and their ways the history of jacko i. signora and lori of the linnet, popinjay, or parrot, and other birds that can speak patch and the chickens the fierce falcon mr. bolt, the scotch terrier a raven's funeral a strange tiger halcyons and their biographers the story of a frog the woodpecker tapping on the hollow oak tree dogs over the water the capocier and his mate owls and marmots eagles' nests _list of illustrations_ page tom is invited to the ball 'the minuet was tom's greatest triumph' tom discovered in the box 'they at last all took hold of his tail' terror of the orang-outang at saï saï has to take a pill the cats no match for the buzzard the buzzard carries off hat and wig 'seeing such a number of rats, he left his horses and ran for his life' the rats in the larder the baron kills the snake the baron slays the horned snake how the indians make the horned snake disgorge his dinner the elephant helps the gardener de narsac recognises his friend's dog the dog flies at macaire in the presence of the king the baron kills the bear the grizzly androcles in the lion's cave androcles in the arena 'monsieur dumas, may i accommodate you with my monkey and my parrot?' the auvergnat and his monkey the last of the laidmanoirs and mademoiselle desgarcins dumas arrives at stora with his vulture 'it's a regular kennel' jugurtha becomes diogenes pritchard and the hens 'pritchard reappeared next moment with a hare in his mouth' cartouche outwits pyramus mademoiselle de laistre and her weasel 'when day broke' the death of the famous wolf of gévaudan 'the long vigil' the capture of the cayman the wounding of fido the dream of the hungry lion cagnotte comes out of his skin 'and what do you think she saw' blanche telling ghost stories to jane in the stable how the dolphins helped the fishermen to catch the mullets two oran otans the baboons who stole the poor man's dinner birds' nests for dinner 'in the full enjoyment of a large lighted log on the dining-room carpet' 'oscar would charge and rout them' 'oscar felt rather frightened' 'oh, oscar, oscar, lad what _have_ you done?' the boy goes to school on the dolphin's back dumas finds joseph standing on gazelle's back dumas brings gazelle to no. faubourg st.-denis the lion caught in the pit the ambush 'all three stopped to gaze at the man who dared to put himself in their path' 'and pinned him to the ground' 'long, long ago.' the elephant dreams of his old companions the elephant falls on his knees before the little scotch terrier bungey at the spanish ambassador's house the hottentot noticed a huge lion lying in the water annoyance of the captain on finding his flask of rum upset lori refuses to share with the signora a raven's funeral the tiger and his friend love's disgraceful behaviour out shooting the sole result of his day's sport mademoiselle camargo becomes a barometer the faithful spaniel _'tom'_ _an adventure in the life of a bear in paris_ from alexandre dumas. some sixty years ago and more, a well-known artist named décamps lived in paris. he was the intimate friend of some of the first authors, artists, and scientific men of the day, and was devotedly fond of animals of all sorts. he loved to paint them, and he kept quite a small ménagerie in his studio where a bear, a monkey, a tortoise, and a frog lived (more or less) in peace and harmony together. the bear's name was 'tom,' the monkey was called 'jacko i.,'[ ] the frog was 'mademoiselle camargo,' and the tortoise 'gazelle.' [ ] to distinguish him from jacko ii., a monkey belonging to tony johannot, the painter. here follows the story of tom, the bear. it was the night of shrove tuesday in the year . tom had as yet only spent six months in paris, but he was really one of the most attractive bears you could wish to meet. he ran to open the door when the bell rang, he mounted guard for hours together, halberd in hand, standing on his hind legs, and he danced a minuet with infinite grace, holding a broomstick behind his head. he had spent the whole day in the exercise of these varied accomplishments, to the great delight of the frequenters of his master's studio, and had just retired to the press which did duty as his hutch, to seek a little repose, when there was a knock at the street door. jacko instantly showed such signs of joy that décamps made a shrewd guess that the visitor could be no other than fan, the self-elected tutor in chief to the two animals--nor was he mistaken. the door opened, fan appeared, dressed as a clown, and jacko flung himself in rapture into his arms. 'very good, very good,' said fan, placing the monkey on the table and handing him a cane. 'you're really a charming creature. carry arms, present arms, make ready, fire! capital!' 'i'll have a complete uniform made for you, and you shall mount guard instead of me. but i haven't come for you to-night; it's your friend tom i want. where may he be?' 'why, in his hutch, i suppose,' said décamps. 'tom! here, tom!' cried fan. tom gave a low growl, just to show that he knew very well who they were talking of, but that he was in no hurry to show himself. 'well!' exclaimed fan, 'is this how my orders are obeyed? tom, my friend, don't force me to resort to extreme measures.' tom stretched one great paw beyond the cupboard without allowing any more of his person to be seen, and began to yawn plaintively like a child just wakened from its first sleep. 'where is the broomstick?' inquired fan in threatening tones, and rattling the collection of indian bows, arrows, and spears which stood behind the door. 'ready!' cried décamps, pointing to tom, who, on hearing these well known sounds, had roused himself without more ado, and advanced towards his tutor with a perfectly innocent and unconscious air. 'that's right,' said fan: 'now be a good fellow, particularly as one has come all this way on purpose to fetch you.' [illustration: tom is invited to the ball] tom waved his head up and down. 'so, so--now shake hands with your friends:--first rate!' 'do you mean to take him with you?' asked décamps. 'rather!' replied fan; 'and give him a good time into the bargain.' 'and where are you going?' 'to the carnival masked ball, nothing less! now then tom, my friend, come along. we've got a cab outside waiting by the hour.' as though fully appreciating the force of this argument, tom trundled down stairs four steps at a time followed by his friend. the driver opened the cab door, and tom, under fan's guidance, stepped in as if he had done nothing else all his life. 'my eye! that's a queer sort of a fancy dress,' said cabby; 'anyone might take him for a real bear. where to, gentlemen?' 'odéon theatre,' said fan. 'grrrooonnn,' observed tom. 'all right,' said the cabman. 'keep your temper. it's a good step from here, but we shall get there all in good time.' half an hour later the cab drew up at the door of the theatre. fan got down first, paid the driver, handed out tom, took two tickets, and passed in without exciting any special attention. at the second turn they made round the crush-room people began to follow fan. the perfection with which the newcomer imitated the walk and movements of the animal whose skin he wore attracted the notice of some lovers of natural history. they pressed closer and closer, and anxious to find out whether he was equally clever in imitating the bear's voice, they began to pull his hairs and prick his ears--'grrrooonnn,' said tom. a murmur of admiration ran through the crowd--nothing could be more lifelike. fan led tom to the buffet and offered him some little cakes, to which he was very partial, and which he proceeded to swallow with so admirable a pretence of voracity that the bystanders burst out laughing. then the mentor poured out a tumbler full of water, which tom took gingerly between his paws, as he was accustomed to whenever décamps did him the honour of permitting him to appear at table, and gulped down the contents at one draught. enthusiasm knew no bounds! indeed such was the delight and interest shown that when, at length, fan wished to leave the buffet, he found they were hemmed in by so dense a crowd that he felt nervous lest tom should think of clearing the road with claws and teeth. so he promptly led his bear to a corner, placed him with his back against the wall, and told him to stay there till further orders. as has been already mentioned, this kind of drill was quite familiar to tom, and was well suited to his natural indolence, and when a harlequin offered his hat to complete the picture, he settled himself comfortably, gravely laying one great paw on his wooden gun. 'do you happen to know,' said fan to the obliging harlequin, '_who_ you have lent your hat to?' 'no,' replied harlequin. 'you mean to say you don't guess?' 'not in the least.' 'come, take a good look at him. from the grace of all his movements, from the manner in which he carries his head, slightly on one side, like alexander the great--from the admirable imitations of the bear's voice--you don't mean to say you don't recognise him?' 'upon my word i don't.' 'odry!'[ ] whispered fan mysteriously; 'odry, in his costume from "the bear and the pacha"!' [ ] a well-known actor of the time. 'oh, but he acts a _white_ bear, you know.' 'just so; that's why he has chosen a brown bear's skin as a disguise.' 'ho, ho! you're a good one,' cried harlequin. 'grrooonnn,' observed tom. 'well, now you mention it, i _do_ recognise his voice. really, i wonder it had not struck me before. do ask him to disguise it better.' 'yes, yes,' said fan, moving towards the ball-room, 'but it will never do to worry him. however, i'll try to persuade him to dance a minuet presently.' 'oh, could you really?' 'he promised to do so. just give a hint to your friends and try to prevent their teasing him.' 'all right.' tom made his way through the crowd, whilst the delighted harlequin moved from one mask to another, telling his news with warnings to be discreet, which were well received. just then, too, the sounds of a lively galop were heard, and a general rush to the ball-room took place, harlequin only pausing to murmur in tom's ear: 'i know you, my fine mask.' 'grroooonnn,' replied tom. 'ah, it's all very well to growl, but you'll dance a minuet, won't you, old fellow?' tom waved his head up and down as his way was when anyone asked him a question, and harlequin, satisfied with this silent consent, ran off to find a columbine and to dance the galop. meanwhile, tom remained alone with the waiters; motionless at his post, but with longing eyes turned towards the counter on which the most tempting piles of cake were heaped on numerous dishes. the waiters, remarking his rapt attention, and pleased to tempt a customer, stretched out a dish, tom extended his paw and gingerly took a cake--then a second--then a third: the waiters seemed never tired of offering, or tom of accepting these delicacies, and so, when the galop ended and the dancers returned to the crush-room, he had made short work of some dozens of little cakes. harlequin had recruited a columbine and a shepherdess, and he introduced these ladies as partners for the promised minuet. with all the air of an old friend he whispered a few words to tom, who, in the best of humours after so many cakes, replied with his most gracious growl. the harlequin, turning towards the gallery, announced that his lordship had much pleasure in complying with the universal request, and amidst loud applause, the shepherdess took one of tom's paws and the columbine the other. tom, for his part, like an accomplished cavalier, walked between his two partners, glancing at them by turns with looks of some surprise, and soon found himself with them in the middle of the pit of the theatre which was used as a ball-room. all took their places, some in the boxes, others in the galleries, the greater number forming a circle round the dancers. the band struck up. the minuet was tom's greatest triumph and fan's masterpiece, and with the very first steps success was assured and went on increasing with each movement, till at the last figure the applause became delirious. tom was swept off in triumph to a stage box where the shepherdess, removing her wreath of roses, crowned him with it, whilst the whole theatre resounded with the applause of the spectators. tom leant over the front of the box with a grace all his own; at the same time the strains of a fresh dance were heard, and everyone hurried to secure partners except a few courtiers of the new star who hovered round in hope of extracting an order for the play from him, but tom only replied to their broadest hints with his perpetual 'grroonnn.' by degrees this became rather monotonous, and gradually tom's court dwindled away, people murmuring that, though his dancing powers were certainly unrivalled, his conversation was a trifle insipid. an hour later tom was alone! so fleeting is public favour. [illustration: 'the minuet was tom's greatest triumph'] and now the hour of departure drew near. the pit was thinning and the boxes empty, and pale rays of morning light were glinting into the hall when the box-opener, who was going her rounds, heard sounds of snoring proceeding from one of the stage boxes. she opened the door, and there was tom, who, tired out after his eventful night, had fallen fast asleep on the floor. the box-opener stepped in and politely hinted that it was six o'clock and time to go home. 'grrooonnn,' said tom. 'i hear you,' said the box-opener; 'you're asleep, my good man, but you'll sleep better still in your own bed. come, come, your wife must be getting quite anxious! upon my word i don't believe he hears a word i say. how heavily he sleeps!' and she shook him by the shoulder. 'grrrooonnn!' 'all right, all right! this isn't a time to make believe. besides, we all know you. there now, they're putting out the lights. shall i send for a cab for you?' 'grrroooonnn.' 'come, come, the odéon theatre isn't an inn; come, be off! oh, _that's_ what you're after, is it? fie, monsieur odry, fie! i shall call the guard; the inspector hasn't gone to bed yet. ah, indeed! you won't obey rules! you are trying to beat me, are you? you would beat a woman--and a former artiste to m. odry, would you? for shame! but we shall see. here, help--police--inspector--help!' 'what's the matter?' cried the fireman on duty. 'help!' screamed the box-opener, 'help!' 'what's the matter?' asked the sergeant commanding the patrol. 'oh, it's old mother what's her name, shrieking for help in one of the stage boxes.' 'coming!' shouted the sergeant. 'this way, mr. sergeant, this way,' cried the box-opener. 'all right, my dear, here i am. but where are you?' 'don't be afraid; there are no steps--straight on this way--he's in the corner. oh, the rascal, he's as strong as a turk!' 'grrrooonnn,' said tom. 'there, do you hear him? is that to be called a christian language?' 'come, come, my friend,' said the sergeant, who had at last managed to distinguish tom in the faint twilight. 'we all know what it is to be young--no one likes a joke better than i do--but rules are rules, and the hour for going home has struck, so right about face, march! and quick step too.' 'grrrooonnn'-- 'very pretty; a first-rate imitation. but suppose we try something else now for a change. come, old fellow, step out with a good will. ah! you won't. you're going to cut up rough, are you? here, my man, lay hold and turn him out.' 'he won't walk, sergeant.' 'well, what are the butt ends of your muskets for? come, a tap or two will do no harm.' 'grrrooonnn--grrrooonnn--grrrooonnn--' 'go on, give it him well!' 'i say, sergeant,' said one of the men, 'it strikes me he's a _real_ bear. i caught hold of him by the collar just now, and the skin seems to grow on the flesh.' 'oh, if he's a real bear treat him with every consideration. his owner might claim damages. go and fetch the fireman's lantern.' 'grrrooonnn.' 'here's the lantern,' said a man; 'now then, throw some light on the prisoner.' the soldier obeyed. 'it is certainly a real snout,' declared the sergeant. 'goodness gracious me!' shrieked the box-opener as she took to her heels, 'a real live bear!' 'well, yes, a real live bear. let's see if he has any name or address on him and take him home. i expect he has strayed, and being of a sociable disposition, came in to the masked ball.' 'grrrooonnn.' 'there, you see, he agrees.' 'hallo!' exclaimed one of the soldiers. 'what's the matter?' [illustration: tom discovered in the box] 'he has a little bag hung round his neck.' 'open the bag.' 'a card.' 'read the card.' the soldier took it and read: 'my name is tom. i live at no. rue faubourg st.-denis. i have five francs in my purse. two for a cab, and three for whoever takes me home.' 'true enough; there are the five francs,' cried the sergeant. 'now then, two volunteers for escort duty.' 'here!' cried the guard in chorus. 'don't all speak at once! let the two seniors have the benefit of the job; off with you, my lads.' two of the municipal guards advanced towards tom, slipped a rope round his neck and, for precaution's sake, gave it a twist or two round his snout. tom offered no resistance--the butt ends of the muskets had made him as supple as a glove. when they were fifty yards from the theatre, 'bah!' said one of the soldiers, ''tis a fine morning. suppose we don't take a cab. the walk will do him good.' 'besides,' remarked the other, 'we should each have two and a half francs instead of only one and a half.' 'agreed.' half an hour later they stood at the door of . after some knocking, a very sleepy portress looked out. 'look here, mother wideawake,' said one of the guard; 'here's one of your lodgers. do you recognise him?' 'why, i should rather think so. it's monsieur décamps' bear!' the same day, odry the actor received a bill for little cakes, amounting to seven francs and a half. _saÏ the panther_ from loudon's _magazine of natural history_. about seventy or eighty years ago two little panthers were deserted by their mother in one of the forests of ashantee. they were too young to get food for themselves, and would probably have died had they not been found by a passing traveller, and by him taken to the palace as a present to the king. here they lived and played happily for several weeks, when one day the elder and larger, whose name was saï, gave his brother, in fun, such a dreadful squeeze that, without meaning it, he suffocated him. this frightened the king, who did not care to keep such a powerful pet about him, and he gave him away to mr. hutchison, an english gentleman, who was a sort of governor for the english traders settled in that part of africa. mr. hutchison and saï took a great fancy to each other, and spent a great deal of time together, and when, a few months later, mr. hutchison returned to cape coast he brought saï with him. the two friends always had dinner at the same time, saï sitting at his master's side and eating quietly whatever was given him. in general he was quite content with his portion, but once or twice, when he was hungrier than usual, he managed to steal a fowl out of the dish. for the sake of his manners the fowl was always taken from him, although he was invariably given some other food to satisfy his hunger. at first the inhabitants of the castle and the children were much afraid of him, but he soon became very tame, and his teeth and claws were filed so that he should not hurt anyone, even in play. when he got a little accustomed to the place, he was allowed to go where he liked within the castle grounds, and a boy was told off to look after him. sometimes the boy would go to sleep when he ought to have been watching his charge, and then saï, who knew perfectly well that this was not at all right, would steal quietly away and amuse himself till he thought his keeper would be awake again. one day, when he returned from his wanderings, he found the boy, as usual, comfortably curled up in a cool corner of the doorstep sound asleep. saï looked at him for a moment, and then, thinking that it was full time for him to be taught his duty, he gave him one pat on his head, which sent the boy over like a ninepin and gave him a good fright, though it did not do him any harm. saï was very popular with everybody, but he had his own favourites, and the chief of these was the governor, whom he could not bear to let out of his sight. when his master went out he would station himself at the drawing-room window, where he could watch all that was going on, and catch the first sight of his returning friend. being by this time nearly grown up, saï's great body took up all the space, to the great disgust of the children, who could see nothing. they tried to make him move, first by coaxings and then by threats, but as saï did not pay the smallest attention to either one or the other, they at last all took hold of his tail and pulled so hard that he was forced to move. [illustration: 'they at last all took hold of his tail'] strange to say, the black people were a great deal more afraid of saï than any of the white ones, and one of his pranks nearly caused the death of an old woman who was the object of it. it was her business to sweep out and keep clean the great hall of the castle, and one morning she was crouching down on all fours with a short broom in her hand, thinking of nothing but how to get the dust out of the floor, when saï, who had hidden himself under a sofa, and was biding his time, suddenly sprang on to her back, where he stood triumphantly. the old woman believed her last hour had come, and the other servants all ran away shrieking, lest it should be their turn next. saï would not budge from his position till the governor, who had been alarmed by the terrible noise, came to see what was the matter, and soon made master saï behave himself. [illustration: terror of the orang-outang at saÏ] at this time it was settled that saï was to travel to england under the care of one of his cape coast friends and be presented to the duchess of york, who was very fond of animals. in those days, of course, journeys took much longer than they do now, and there were other dangers than any which might arise from storms and tempests. while the strong cage of wood and iron was being built which was to form saï's house on the way to england, his lady keeper thought it would be a good opportunity to make friends with him, and used to spend part of every day talking to him and playing with him; for this, as everyone knows, is the only way to gain the affection of bird or beast. it was very easy to love saï; he was so gentle and caressing, especially with children; and he was very handsome besides in his silky yellow coat with black spots, which, as the french say, does not spoil anything. many creatures and many men might have made a great fuss at being shut into a cage instead of being allowed to walk about their own house and grounds, but everyone had always been kind to saï, so he took for granted it was all right, and made himself as comfortable as he could, and was quite prepared to submit to anything disagreeable that he thought reasonable. but it very nearly happened that poor saï had no voyage at all, for while he was being hauled from the canoe which had brought him from the shore into the ship, the men were so afraid to come near him that they let his cage fall into the sea, and if the sailors from the vessel had not been very quick in lowering a boat it would have been too late to save him. as it was, for many days he would not look up or eat or speak, and his friend was quite unhappy about him, although the same symptoms have sometimes been shown by human beings who have only been _on_ the sea instead of _in_ it. at last he was roused from his sad condition by hearing the lady's voice. he raised his head and cocked his ears, first a little, then more; and when she came up to the cage he rolled over and over with delight, and howled and cried and tried to reach her. when he got a little calmer she told him to put his paws through the bars and shake hands, and from that moment saï was himself again. now it was a very strange taste on the part of a panther whose fathers and grandfathers had lived and died in the heart of african forests, but saï loved nothing so much as lavender water, which white people use a great deal in hot countries. if anyone took out a handkerchief which had been sprinkled with lavender water, saï would instantly snatch it away, and in his delight would handle it so roughly that it was soon torn to atoms. his friend in charge knew of this odd fancy, and on the voyage she amused herself regularly twice a week with making a little cup of paper, which she filled with the scent and passed through the bars, taking care never to give it him till he had drawn back his claws into their sheaths. directly he got hold of the cup saï would roll over and over it, and would pay no attention to anyone as long as the smell lasted. it almost seemed as if he liked it better than his food! for some reason or other the vessel lay at anchor for nearly two months in the river gaboon, and saï might have been allowed to leave his cage if he had not been an animal of such very strong prejudices. black people he could not endure, and, of course, they came daily in swarms with food for the ship. pigs, too, he hated, and they ran constantly past his cage, while as for an orang-outang monkey about three feet high, which a black trader once tried to sell to the sailors, saï showed such mad symptoms at the very sight of it that the poor beast rushed in terror to the other end of the vessel, knocking down everything that came in its way. if the monkey took some time to recover from his fright, it was very long before saï could forget the shock he had received. day and night he watched and listened, and sometimes, when he fancied his enemy was near, he would give a low growl and arch his back and set up his tail; yet, as far as we know, he had never from his babyhood killed anything. [illustration: saÏ has to take a pill] but when at last the winds were favourable, and the ship set sail for the open sea, other adventures were in store for the passengers. pirates infested the coast of africa in those days, and they came on board and carried off everything of value, including the stores of provisions. the only things they did not think worth removing were the parrots, of which three hundred had been brought by the sailors, and as these birds could not stand the cold, and died off fast as the ship steered north, saï was allowed one a day, which just managed to keep him alive. still, there is very little nourishment to be got out of a parrot, especially when you eat it with the feathers on, and saï soon became very ill and did not care even for parrots. his keeper felt his nose and found it dry and feverish, so she begged that she might take him out of his cage and doctor him herself. a little while before, saï would have been enchanted to be free, but now he was too ill to enjoy anything, and he just stretched himself out on deck, with his head on his mistress's feet. luckily she had some fever medicine with her, good for panthers as well as men and women, and she made up three large pills which she hoped might cure saï. of course it was not to be expected that he would take them of his own free will, so she got the boy who looked after him to hold open his mouth, while she pushed down the pills. then he was put back into his cage, the boy insisting on going with him, and both slept comfortably together. in a few days, with the help of better food than he had been having, he got quite well, and on his arrival in england won the admiration of the duchess of york, his new mistress, by his beauty and gentle ways. as his country house was not quite ready for him, he was left for a few weeks with a man who understood animals, and seemed contented and happy, and was allowed to walk about as he liked. here the duchess of york used constantly to visit him and play with him, even going to see him the very day before he--and she--were to move into the country. he was in excellent spirits, and appeared perfectly well, but he must somehow have taken a chill, for when, on the following day, the duchess's coachman came to fetch him, he found poor saï had died after a few hours' illness from inflammation of the lungs. after all he is not so much to be pitied. he had had a very happy life, with plenty of fun and plenty of kindness, and he had a very rapid and painless death. _the buzzard and the priest_ bingley's _animal biography_. about one hundred and forty years ago a french priest received a present of a large brown and grey bird, which had been taken in a snare intended for some other creature, and was very wild and savage. the man who brought it was quite ignorant what kind of bird it was, but the priest knew it to be the common buzzard, and made up his mind to try to tame it. he began by keeping it shut up, and allowing it to take no food except out of his hand, and after about six weeks of this treatment it grew much quieter, and had learnt to know its master. the priest then thought it would be safe to give the buzzard a little more freedom, and after carefully tying its wings, so that it could not fly away, he turned it out into the garden. of course it was highly delighted to find itself in the sun once more, and hopped about with joy, and the time passed quickly till it began to get hungry, when it was glad to hear its master calling it to come in to dinner. indeed, the bird always seemed so fond of the priest, that in a few days he thought he might leave it quite free, so he unfastened its wings and left them loose, merely hanging a label with his own name round its neck, and putting a little bell round its leg. but what was the poor man's disgust, to see the buzzard instantly spread out its great wings and make for the neighbouring forest, deaf to all his calls! he naturally expected that, in spite of his trouble and precautions, the bird had flown away for ever, and sat sadly down to prepare his next day's sermon. now sermons are things that take up a great deal of attention, and he had almost forgotten his lost favourite when he was startled by a tremendous noise in the hall outside his study, and on opening the door to see what was the matter, he saw his buzzard rushing about, followed by five others, who were so jealous of its copper plate and bell, that they had tried to peck them off, and the poor thing had flown as fast as it could to its master's house, where it knew it was safe. after this it took care not to wander too far from home, and came back every night to sleep on the priest's window sill. soon it grew bolder still, and would sit on the corner of the table when he was at dinner, and now and then would rub his head against his shoulder, uttering a low cry of affection and pleasure. sometimes it would even do more, and follow him for several miles when he happened to be riding. but the buzzard was not the only pet the priest had to look after. there were ducks, and chickens, and dogs, and four large cats. the ducks and chickens it did not mind, at least those that belonged to the house, and it would even take its bath at the same time with the ducklings, and never trod upon them when they got in its way, or got cross and pecked them. and if hawks or any such birds tried to snap up the little ones who had left their mother's wing to take a peep at the world, the buzzard would instantly fly to their help, and never once was beaten in the battle. curiously enough, however, it seemed to think it might do as it liked with the fowls and ducks that belonged to other people, and so many were the complaints of cocks and hens lamed and killed, that the priest was obliged to let it be known that he would pay for all such damage, in order to save his favourite's life. as to dogs and cats, it always got the better of _them_; in any experiment which it amused the priest to make. one day he threw a piece of raw meat into the garden where the cats were collected, to be scrambled for. a young and active puss instantly seized it and ran away with her prize, with all the other cats after her. but quick as she was, the buzzard, who had been watching her movements from the bough of a tree, was quicker still. down it pounced on her back, squeezed her sides with its claws, and bit her ears so sharply, that she was forced to let go. in one moment another cat had picked the morsel up in its teeth, but it did not hold it long. the process that had answered for one cat would answer for a second, as the buzzard very well knew. down he swooped again, and even when the whole four cats, who saw in him a common enemy, attacked the bird at once, they proved no match for him, and in the end they were clever enough to find that out. [illustration: the cats no match for the buzzard] it is not easy to know what buzzards in general think about things, but this one hated scarlet as much as any bull. whenever he saw a red cap on any of the peasants' heads, he would hide himself among the thick boughs overhanging the road where the man had to pass, and would nip it off so softly that the peasant never felt his loss. he would even manage to take off the wigs which every one wore then, and that was cleverer still, and off he would carry both wigs and caps to a tall tree in a park near by, and hang them all over it, like a new kind of fruit. [illustration: the buzzard carries off hat and wig] as may be imagined, a bird so bold made many enemies, and was often shot at by the keepers, but for a long time it appeared to bear a charmed life, and nothing did it any harm. however, one unlucky day a keeper who was going his rounds in the forest, and who did not know what a strange and clever bird this buzzard was, saw him on the back of a fox which he had attacked for want of something better to do, and fired two shots at them. one shot killed the fox; the other broke the wing of the buzzard, but he managed to fly out of reach of the keeper, and hid himself. meanwhile the tinkling of the bell made the keeper guess that this must be the priest's pet, of which he had so often heard; and being anxious to do what he could to repair the damage he had done, he at once told the priest what had happened. the priest went out directly to the forest, and gave his usual whistle, but neither on that evening nor on several others was there any reply. at last on the seventh night he heard a low answer, and on searching narrowly all through the wood, the priest found the poor buzzard, which had hopped nearly two miles towards its old home, dragging its broken wing after it. the bird was very thin, but was enchanted to see his old master, who carried him home and nursed him for six weeks, when he got quite well, and was able to fly about as boldly as ever. _cowper and his hares_ from bingley's _british quadrupeds_. no one was fonder of animals, or kinder to them, than cowper the poet, who lived towards the end of the last century; but of all creatures he loved hares best, perhaps because he, like them, was timid and easily frightened. he has left a very interesting account of three hares that were given to him when he was living in the country in the year , and as far as possible the poet shall tell his own story of the friendship between himself and his pets--puss, tiney, and bess, as he called them. cowper was not at all a strong man, and suffered terribly from fits of low spirits, and at these times he could not read, and disliked the company of people, who teased him by giving him advice or asking him questions. it was during one of these seasons of solitude and melancholy that he noticed a poor little hare belonging to the children of one of his neighbours, who, without meaning really to be unkind, had worried the little thing almost to death. soon they got tired even of playing with it, and the poor hare was in danger of being starved to death, when their father, whose heart was more tender than theirs, proposed that it should be given to their neighbour mr. cowper. now cowper, besides feeling pity for the poor little creature, felt that he should like to teach and train it, and as just then he was too unhappy to care for his usual occupations, he gladly accepted the present. in a very short time puss was given two companions, tiney and bess, and could have had dozens more if cowper had wanted them, for the villagers offered to catch him enough to have filled the whole countryside if he would only give the order. however, cowper decided that three would be ample for his purposes, and as he wished them to learn nice clean habits, he began with his own hands to build them a house. the house contained a large hall and three bedrooms, each with a separate bed, and it was astonishing how soon every hare knew its own bedroom, and how careful he was (for in spite of their names they were all males) never to go into those of his friends. very soon all three made themselves much at home in their comfortable quarters, and puss, the first comer, would jump on his master's lap and, standing up on his hind legs, would bite the hair on his temples. he enjoyed being carried about like a baby, and would even go to sleep in cowper's arms, which is a very strange thing for a hare to do. once puss got ill, and then the poet took care to keep him apart from the other two, for animals have a horror of their sick companions, and are generally very unkind to them. so he nursed puss himself, and gave him all sorts of herbs and grasses as medicine, and at last puss began to get better, and took notice of what was going on round him. when he was strong enough to take his first little walk, his pleasure knew no bounds; and in token of his gratitude he licked his master's hand, first back, then front, and then between every finger. as soon as he felt himself quite strong again, he went with the poet every day, after breakfast, into the garden, where he lay all the morning under a trailing cucumber, sometimes asleep, but every now and then eating a leaf or two by way of luncheon. if the poet was ever later than usual in leaving the house, puss would down on his knees and look up into his eyes with a pleading expression, or, if these means failed, he would seize his master's coat between his teeth, and pull as hard as he could towards the window. puss was, perhaps, the pleasantest of all the hares, but bess, who died young, was the cleverest and most amusing. he had his little tempers, and when he was not feeling very well, he was glad to be petted and made much of; but no sooner had he recovered than he resented any little attentions, and would growl and run away or even bite if you attempted to touch him. it was impossible really to tame tiney, but there was something so serious and solemn in all he did, that it made you laugh even to watch him. bess, the third, was very different from the other two. he did not need taming, for he was tame from the beginning, as it never entered into his head that anyone could be unkind to him. in many things he had the same tastes as his friends. all three loved lettuces, dandelions, and oats; and every night little dishes were placed in their bedrooms, in case they might feel hungry. one day their master was clearing out a birdcage while his three hares were sitting by, and he placed on the floor a pot containing some white sand, such as birds use instead of a carpet. the moment they saw the sand, they made a rush for it and ate it up greedily. cowper took the hint, and always saw, after that, that sand was placed where the hares could get at it. after supper they all spent the evenings in the parlour, and would tumble over together, and jump over each other's backs, and see which could spring the farthest, just like a set of kittens. but the cleverest of them all was bess, and he was also the strongest. poor bess! he was the first to die, soon after he was grown up, and tiney and puss had to get on as best they could without him, which was not half as much fun. there was no one now to invent queer games, or to keep the cat in order when it tried to take liberties; and no one, too, to prevent tiney from bullying puss, as he was rather fond of doing. tiney lived to be nine, quite a respectable age for a hare, and died at last from the effects of a fall. puss went on for another three years, and showed no signs of decay, except that he was a little less playful, which was only to be expected. his last act was to make friends with a dog called marquis, to whom he was introduced by his master; and though the spaniel could not take the place of puss's early companions, he was better than nobody, and the two got on quite happily together, till the sad day (march , ) when puss stretched himself at his master's feet and died peacefully and without pain, aged eleven years and eleven months. _a rat tale_ huggy was an old rat when he died--very old indeed. he was born in the middle of a corn-rick, and there he might have lived his little life had not the farmer who owned the rick caused it to be pulled down. that was huggy's first experience of flitting, and it was done in such a hurry that he had hardly time to be sorry. it was pitch dark when his mother shook him up roughly and told him to 'come along, or he would be killed by the farmer,' and poor huggy, blinking his sleepy eyes, struggled out of his snug little bed into the cold black night. several old rats met him at the entrance, and sternly bade him stay where he was and make no noise, for the leader was about to speak. huggy was wide-awake by this time. the rat spirit of adventure was roused within him by the scent of coming danger, and eagerly he listened to the shrill, clear voice of the leader: 'friends, old and young, this is not a time for many words, but i want you all to know the cause of this sudden disturbance. last night i was scavenging round the farmer's kitchen, seeking what i might devour, when in came the stable-boy tapping an empty corn-sieve which he had in his hand. he said a few words to the farmer, who rose hastily, and together they left the kitchen, i following at a convenient distance. they went straight to the stable, and talked for some time with their backs to the corn-bin, which was standing open in the window. after a while i managed to scramble up and peer into it, only to confirm what i dreaded most--the corn-bin was empty! to-morrow they will pull down this rick, thresh the corn, and replenish the empty bin. so, my friends, unless we mean to die by dog, stick, or fork, we had better be off as soon as it is daylight.' there was a shuffle of feet all round, and a general rush of anxious mothers into the rick to fetch out their young. huggy was waiting at the entrance; so, as soon as he caught sight of his mother, he raced off with her to join the fast-assembling crowd at the back of the rick. the leader ranged them in lines of ten abreast, and, after walking up and down to see that all were in their places, he gave a shrill squeak, and the column started. they marched steadily for about two miles--slowly, of course, because of the young ones. nothing proved an obstacle to them. sometimes a high wall crossed their path, but they merely ran up one side and down the other, as if it was level road. sometimes it was a broad river which confronted them, but that they swam without hesitation--rats will not stop at such trifles. at length they came to a field where a man with a pair of horses was ploughing. his coat, in which his dinner was wrapt, lay on the wall some little distance from him. seeing such a number of rats, he left his horses and ran for his life, and hid behind a knoll, whence he could view the proceedings without himself being seen. to his great disgust, he saw the creatures first crowd round his coat, then run over it, and finally eat out of his pocket the bread and cheese his wife had provided for his dinner! that was a stroke of luck for the rats. they had not counted on so early a breakfast; so it was with lightsome hearts they performed the rest of their journey. huggy was very glad when it was over. he had never been so far in his life--he was only three weeks old. their new home proved to be a cellar, which communicated on one side with sundry pipes running straight to the kitchen, and on the other with a large ventilator opening to the outside air. a paradise for rats! and as to the inhabitants of the house--we shall see. it was early in the afternoon when they arrived, so they had plenty of time to settle down before night. huggy, having selected his corner, left his mother to make it comfortable for him, and scampered off for 'a poke round,' as he called it. first he went to the kitchen, peeped up through a hole in the floor, and, seeing no one about, cautiously crept out and sniffed into all the cupboards. as he was emerging from the last he beheld a sight which made his little heart turn sick. there, in a corner which huggy had not noticed before, lay a huge dog half asleep! and so great was huggy's fright that he squeaked, very faintly indeed, yet loud enough to set master dog upon his feet. next minute they were both tearing across the kitchen. huggy was a wee bit in front, but so little that he could feel the dog's hot breath behind him. there was the hole--bump--scrabble, scrabble--huggy was safe! safe! yes--but oh, so frightened!--and what made him smart so dreadfully? why, his tail ... was gone--bitten off by the dog! ah, huggy, my poor little rat, if it had not been for that foolish little squeak of fright you might have been as other rats are--but now! huggy almost squeaked again, it was so very sad--and painful. slowly he crept back to the cellar, where he had to endure the jeers of his young companions and the good advice of his elders. [illustration: 'seeing such a number of rats, he left his horses and ran for his life'] it was some weeks before huggy fully recovered himself, and more weeks still before he could screw up his courage to appear among his companions as the 'tailless rat;' but at long and at last he did crawl out, and, because he looked so shy and frightened, the other rats were merciful, and let him alone. the old rat, too--the leader--took a great fancy to him, and used to allow huggy to accompany him on his various exploits, which was considered a great privilege among the older rats, and huggy was very proud of it. one night he and the leader were out together, when their walk happened to take them (as it generally did) round by the pantry. as a matter of course, they went in, and had a good meal off a loaf which the careless table-maid had left standing on the shelf. beside the loaf was a box of matches, and huggy could not be happy till he had found out what was inside. first he gnawed the box a little, then he dragged it up and down, then he gnawed a little more, and, finding it was not very good to eat, he began to play with it. suddenly, without any warning, there was a splutter and a flare. huggy and the leader were outside in a twinkling, leaving the pantry in a blaze. luckily no great damage was done, for the flames were seen and put out in time. so, little by little, huggy was led on. in vain did his mother plead with him to be careful. he was 'a big rat now, and could look after himself,' he said. the following week the leader organised a party to invade the hen-house. of course huggy was among the number chosen. it required no little skill to creep noiselessly up the broken ladder, visiting the various nests ranged along each side of the walls; for laying hens are nervous ladies, and, if startled, make enough noise to waken a town. but the leader had selected his party well, and not a sound was made till the proper time came. once up the ladder, each rat took it in turn to slip in behind the hen, and gently roll one egg at a time from under her. the poor birds rarely resisted; experience had taught them long since the futility of such conduct. it was the young and ignorant fowls who gave all the trouble; they fluttered about in a fright and disturbed the whole house. but the rats knew pretty well which to go to; so they worked on without interruption. when they had collected about a dozen eggs, the next move was to take them safely down the ladder into the cellar. this was very soon done. huggy lay down on his back, nestled an egg cosily between himself and his two front paws; a feather was put through his mouth, by which means a rat on either side dragged him along. huggy found it rather rough on his back going down the ladder, but, with a good supper in view, he could bear most things. the eggs having been brought thus to the level of the ground, the rats dragged them in the same way slowly and carefully down to the cellar. so time went on. night after night parties of rats went out, and each morning they returned with tales of adventure and cunning--all more or less daring. but the leader was getting old. huggy had noticed for some time how grey and feeble he was becoming; nor was he much surprised when, one day, the leader told him that he (huggy) would have to take his place as leader of the rats. two days after this the old rat died, leaving huggy to succeed him; and a fine lot of scrapes did that rat and his followers get into. the larder was their favourite haunt, where joints of meat were hung on hooks 'quite out o' reach o' them rats,' as the cook said. but huggy thought differently, and in a trice ten large rats had run up the wall and down the hook, and were gobbling the meat as fast as they could. but there was one hook in the centre of the ceiling which huggy could not reach; from this hook a nice fat duck was suspended by a string. 'if only i could get on to that hook i should gnaw the string, and the duck would fall, and----' huggy got no further. an idea had come to him which he communicated quickly to the others. the plan seemed to be appreciated, for they all ran to an old chair, which was standing just under this difficult centre hook. the strongest rat went first, climbed up the back of the chair, and balanced himself on the top; number followed, and carefully balanced on number ; number then squeaked, which meant he could bear no more. it was a pity he could not stand _one_ more; for, as they were, the topmost rat could just reach the prize, and though he nibbled all round as far as he could, it was not what might be called 'a square meal.' the cook was indeed amazed when, next morning, she found only three-fourths of her precious duck remaining. 'ah!' she said, 'i'll be even with you yet, you cunning beasts!' and that night she sliced up part of a duck with some cheese, and put it in a plate on the larder floor. at his usual hour, when all was dark and quiet, huggy and his followers arrived, and, seeing their much-coveted prize under their very noses, were cautious. but huggy was up to the trick. 'to-night and to-morrow night you may eat it,' he said, 'but beware of the third.' so they partook of the duck, and enjoyed it that night and the next, but the third the dish was left untouched. [illustration: {the rats in the larder}] the cook was up betimes that morning, so that she might bury the corpses before breakfast. her dog (the same who had robbed huggy of his tail), according to his custom, followed her into the larder. on seeing the plate just as she had left it the night before, the cook, in her astonishment, forgot the dog, who, finding no one gainsay him, licked the dish with infinite relish. poor dog! in spite of all efforts to save him he died ten minutes afterwards; and the cook learnt her lesson also, for she never tried poisoning rats again. here end the chief events of huggy's life--all, at least, that are worth recording. some years after the death of the dog i was sitting in the gloaming close to a steep path which led from the cellar down to the river, when what should i see but three large rats coming slowly towards me. the middle one was the largest, and evidently blind, for he had in his mouth a long straw, by which the other two led him carefully down the path. as the trio passed i recognised the centre one to be huggy the tailless. next morning my little irish terrier, jick, brought him to me in his mouth, dead; and i buried him under a gloire de dijon in a sunny corner of the garden. * * * * * fantastic as some of the incidents may sound, they are, nevertheless, true, having been collected mainly from an old rat-catcher living in the town of hawick. _snake stories_ in baron de wogan, a french gentleman, left his native land and set sail for north america, to seek his fortune and adventures. he was descended from two noble adventurers, the wogan who led a cavalry troop from dover to the highlands, to fight for charles ii., and the wogan who rescued queen clementina, wife of james iii., from prison in innspruck. in adventures, wild beasts, and red indians were more plentiful than now, and wogan had some narrow escapes from snakes and bears. soon after coming to north america he had his first adventure with a rattlesnake; he was then camping at the gold fields of california, seeking for gold in order to have money enough to start on his voyages of discovery. his house was a log hut, built by himself, and his bed a sack filled with dry oak leaves. one day, finding that his mattress required renewing, he went out with the sack and his gun. having filled the sack with leaves, he went off with his gun in search of game for his larder, and only came home at nightfall. after having cooked and eaten his supper, he threw himself on his new mattress, and soon was asleep. he awoke about three, and would soon have fallen asleep again, but he felt something moving in the sack. his first thought was that it was a rat, but he soon felt by the way it moved that it was no quadruped, but a reptile, no rat, but a snake! he must have put it in the sack with the leaves, as might easily happen in winter when these creatures are torpid from the cold, and sleep all curled up. with one leap the baron was out of its reach, but wishing to examine it more closely, he took his gun to protect him in case of danger, and came near the bed again; but the ungrateful beast, forgetting that they had been bedfellows, threw itself on the gun and began to bite the muzzle. fearing that it might turn and bite him next the baron pulled the trigger, and hitting the serpent, literally cut it in two. it measured two feet long, and when the baron cut off its tail, he found a quantity of scales which made the rattling sound from which this serpent gets its name. [illustration: the baron kills the snake] as soon as the baron had found enough gold, he bought a mule whom he called cadi, and whom he became very fond of, and set off into the backwoods in search of sport and adventure. (poor cadi eventually met a terrible end, but that is a bear story.) he soon added another companion, a young indian girl, calooa by name. she was the daughter of a chief of the utah tribe, and had been taken prisoner, with several other women, by a tribe of hostile indians whom the baron fell in with. she would have been tortured and then burnt with the other prisoners had the baron not saved her life by buying her for a silk handkerchief, a knife and fork, and some coloured pictures. she wandered with him and shared all his adventures, till she was found again by her tribe and taken back to them. one hot day they had been marching together about thirty miles through a country infested with panthers and pumas. the baron was heading the little procession, when suddenly a cry from calooa that she only used in moments of danger made him turn round. then he saw that what he had taken to be a huge rotten branch of a tree, and had even thought of taking with him for their camp fire, that evening, was in reality an enormous serpent. it lay across the path asleep, its head resting on the trunk of a tree. the baron raised his gun to his shoulder, and came nearer the monster to get a good aim. he fired, but missed. the horrid creature reared itself nearly on end and looked at him with that fixed stare by which the serpent fascinates and paralyses its victim. the baron felt all the fascination, but conquering it, he fired a second time, and this time wounded the creature without killing it outright. though mortally wounded, the snake's dying struggles were so violent that the young trees all round were levelled as if they had been cut with a scythe. as soon as they were sure that life was extinct, calooa and the baron came nearer to examine the snake's dead body. though part of his tail was missing, he measured nevertheless five yards long and eighteen inches round. thinking that it seemed of unusual girth, the baron cut it open with an axe, and found inside the body of a young prairie wolf, probably about a week old. the peculiarity of this snake was that it gave out a strong odour of musk, like the sea serpent in mr. kipling's book. [illustration: {the baron slays the horned snake}] the most horrible serpent that the baron encountered and slew was the horned snake; he learned afterwards from the indians that it is the most deadly of all the snakes of north america, for not only is its bite venomous, but its tail has a sting which contains the same poison. it crawls like other snakes, but when it attacks it forms itself into a circle, and then suddenly unbending itself flings itself like a lion on its victim, head forward and tail raised, thus attacking with both ends at once. if by chance it misses its aim and its tail strikes a young tree and penetrates the bark, that tree immediately begins to droop, and before long withers and dies. on the occasion when the baron encountered it, calooa and he had been fleeing all night fearing an attack of hostile indians. about daylight they ventured to stop to take rest and food. while calooa lit the fire the baron took his gun and went in search of game. in about half an hour he returned with a wild turkey. when they had cooked and eaten it, he lay down and fell asleep, but had only slept two hours when he awoke, feeling his hand touched. it was calooa, who woke him with a terror-stricken face. looking in the direction she pointed, he saw about fifty yards away an enormous horned snake wound round a branch of sassafras. it was lying in wait for a poor little squirrel, that cowered in the hollow of an oak. as soon as the squirrel dared to show even the tip of its nose, the serpent flung itself at it, but in vain, as its great head could not get into the hole. [illustration: how the indians make the horned snake disgorge his dinner] 'fortunately,' the baron says, 'my gun was by my side. i rose and went to the rescue of the defenceless little creature. when the serpent saw me he knew he had another sort of enemy to deal with, and hissing furiously hurled himself in my direction, though without quitting his branch. i stopped and took aim. the serpent evidently understood my attitude perfectly, for unwinding himself he began to crawl with all his speed towards me. between us there was fortunately an obstacle, a fallen chestnut tree; to reach me he must either climb over it or go round, and he was too furious to put up with any delay. ten paces from the tree i waited for him to appear, one knee on the ground, my gun at my shoulder, and the other elbow resting on my knee to steady my aim. at last i saw his horrid head appear above the fallen tree, at the same moment i fired, and the ball pierced his head through and through, though without instantly killing him. quick as lightning he wound himself round a branch, lashing out with his tail in all directions. it was his dying struggle; slowly his fury subsided, and uncoiling himself he fell dead alongside the tree. i measured him and found he was eight feet long, and seven or eight inches round. he was dark brown, and his head had two horns, or rather hard knobs. wishing to carry away some souvenir to remember him by when i should be at home again in france, i tried to cut off his horns, but found it impossible. out of curiosity i then took an axe and cut him open, when i found inside a little bird, dazed but living. presently it revived and began to flutter about, and soon flew away among the bushes and was lost to sight. i did not then know that this is a common occurrence, and that when the indians find a serpent asleep, as is generally the case after the creature has gorged itself, they hit it on the head with a stick, which makes it throw up what it has swallowed whole, and its victims are often still living.' calooa on one occasion had a narrow escape. she had put her hand into a hollow in a branch of a cherry-tree where was a blue jay's nest, to take eggs as she thought. hardly had she put in her hand when she screamed with pain; a rattlesnake that had taken possession of the nest had stung her. the baron, much alarmed, expected to see calooa die before his eyes. he did not know of the remedy the indians use for snake bites. calooa herself was quite undisturbed, and hunted about among the bushes till she found the plant she knew of, then crushing some of the leaves between two stones, she applied them to the bite, and in a couple of hours was completely cured. besides these snakes the baron learned from the indians that there is another even more dangerous, not from its sting, which is not poisonous, but because it winds itself round its victim, and strangles him to death. fortunately the baron never met one, or he would probably not have lived to tell his snake stories. _what elephants can do_ long, long ago the earth was very different from what it is now, and was covered with huge forests made up of enormous trees, and in these forests there roamed immense beasts, whose skeletons may sometimes be seen in our museums. of all these beasts there is only one remaining, and that is the elephant. now the elephant is so big and shapeless that he makes one think he has been turned out by a child who did not know how to finish his work properly. he seems to need some feet badly and to want pinching about his body. he would also be the better for a more imposing tail; but such as he is, the elephant is more useful and interesting than many creatures of ten times his beauty. large and clumsy though he may be, he alone of all animals has 'between his eyes a serpent for a hand,' and he turns his trunk to better account than most men do their two hands. ever since we first read about elephants in history they were just the same as they are now. they have not learnt, from associating with men, fresh habits which they hand down from father to son; each elephant, quick though he is to learn, has to be taught everything over again. yet there is no beast who has lived in such unbroken contact with man for so many thousands of years. we do not know when he first began to be distinguished for his qualities from the other wild animals, but as far back as we can trace the sculptures which adorn the indian temples the elephant has a place. several hundred years before christ, the greek traveller herodotus was passing through babylon and found a large number of elephants employed in the daily life of the city, and from time to time we catch glimpses of them in eastern warfare, though it was not till the third century b.c. that they were introduced into europe by alexander the great. the mediterranean nations were quick to see the immense profit to which the elephant could be put, both in respect to the great weights he could carry, and also for his extraordinary teachableness. in india at the present day he performs all kinds of varied duties, and many are the stories told about his cleverness, for he is the only animal that can be taught to push as well as pull. most of us have seen elephants trained to perform in a circus, and there is something rather sad in watching their great clumsy bodies gambolling about in a way that is unnatural as well as ungraceful. but there is no question as to the amount that elephants can be taught, particularly by kindness, or how skilfully they will revenge themselves for any ill-treatment. in the early part of this century an elephant was sent by a lady in india as a present to the duke of devonshire, who had a large villa at chiswick. this lucky captive had a roomy house of its own, built expressly for it in the park, a field to walk about in, and a keeper to look after it, and to do a little light gardening besides. this man treated the elephant (a female) with great kindness, and they soon became the best of friends. the moment he called out she stopped, and at his bidding would take a broom in her trunk and sweep the dead leaves off the grass; after which she would carefully carry after him a large pail of water for him to re-fill his watering pot--for in those days the garden-hose was not invented. when the tidying up was all done, the elephant was given a carrot and some of the water, but very often the keeper would amuse himself with handing her a soda-water bottle tightly corked, and telling her to empty it. this she did by placing the bottle in an inclined position on the ground and holding it at the proper angle with her foot, while she twisted the cork out with her trunk. this accomplished, she would empty all the water into her trunk without spilling a drop, and then hand the bottle back to her keeper. in india small children are often given into the charge of an elephant, and it is wonderful to see what care the animals take of them. one elephant took such a fancy to a small baby, that it used to stand over its cradle, and drive away the flies that teased it while it slept. when it grew restless the elephant would rock the cradle, or gently lift it to the floor and let it crawl about between its legs, till the child at last declined to take any food unless her friend was by to see her eat it. amazing tales have been told of what elephants can be trained to do, but none is stranger than a story related by a missionary named caunter, about some wild elephants in ceylon. some native soldiers who had been set to guard a large storehouse containing rice, were suddenly ordered off to put down a rising in a village a little distance away. hardly were their backs turned when a wild elephant was seen advancing to the storehouse, which was situated in a lonely place, and after walking carefully round it, he returned whence he came. in a short time he was noticed advancing for the second time, accompanied by a whole herd of elephants, all marching in an orderly and military manner. [illustration: the elephant helps the gardener] now in order to secure the granary as much as possible, the only entrance had been made in the roof, and had to be reached by a ladder. this was soon found out by the elephants, who examined the whole building attentively, and being baffled in their designs, retired to consult as to what they should do next. finally one of the largest among them began to attack one of the corners with his tusks, and some of the others followed his example. when the first relay was tired out, another set took its place, but all their efforts seemed useless; the building was too strong for them. at length a third elephant came forward and attacked the place at which the others had laboured with such ill-success, and, by a prodigious effort, he managed to loosen one brick. after this it did not take long to dig a hole big enough to let the whole herd pass through, and soon the two spectators, hidden in a banyan-tree, saw little companies of three or four enter the granary and take their fill of rice until they all were satisfied. the last batch were still eating busily, when a shrill noise from the sentinel they had set on guard caused them to rush out. from afar they could perceive the white dress of the soldiers who had subdued the unruly villagers and were returning to their post, and the elephants, trunks in air, took refuge in the jungle, and only wagged their tails mockingly at the bullets sent after them by the discomfited soldiers. _the dog of montargis_ for three days aubrey de montdidier had not been seen by his friends and comrades in arms. on sunday morning he had attended mass in the church of our lady, but it was noticed that in the afternoon he was absent from the great tournament which was held at saint katherine's. this astonished his friend the young sieur de narsac, who had appointed to meet him there, that they might watch together the encounter between a burgundian knight and a gentleman from provence, both renowned in tilting, who were to meet together for the first time that day in paris. it was unlike aubrey to fail to be present on such an occasion, and when for three successive days he did not appear at his accustomed haunts, his friends grew anxious, and began to question among themselves whether some accident might not have befallen him. early on the morning of the fourth day de narsac was awakened by a continuous sound, as of something scratching against his door. starting up to listen, he heard, in the intervals of the scratching, a low whine, as of a dog in pain. thoroughly aroused, he got up and opened the door. stretched before it, apparently too weak to stand, was a great, gaunt greyhound, spent with exhaustion and hunger. his ribs stood out like the bars of a gridiron beneath his smooth coat; his tongue hung down between his jaws, parched and stiff; his eyes were bloodshot, and he trembled in every limb. [illustration: de narsac recognises his friend's dog] on seeing de narsac the poor creature struggled to his feet, feebly wagged his tail, and thrust his nose into the young man's hands. then only did de narsac recognise in the half-starved skeleton before him the favourite dog and constant companion of his friend, aubrey de montdidier. it was clear from the poor animal's emaciated appearance that it was in the last stage of exhaustion. summoning his servant, de narsac ordered food and water to be brought at once, and the dog devoured the huge meal set before it. from his starved appearance, and from the voracity with which he devoured the food set before him, it was evident that he had had nothing to eat for some days. no sooner was his hunger appeased than he began to move uneasily about the room. uttering low howls of distress from time to time, he approached the door; then, returning to de narsac's side, he looked up in his face and gently tugged at his mantle, as if to attract attention. there was something at once so appealing and peculiar in the dog's behaviour that de narsac's curiosity was aroused, and he became convinced that there was some connection between the dog's starved appearance and strange manner and the unaccountable disappearance of his master. perhaps the dog might supply the clue to aubrey's place of concealment. watching the dog's behaviour closely, de narsac became aware that the dumb beast was inviting him to accompany him. accordingly he yielded to the dog's apparent wish, and, leaving the house, followed him out into the streets of paris. looking round from time to time to see that de narsac was coming after him, the greyhound pursued its way through the narrow, tortuous streets of the ancient city, over the bridge, and out by the porte st.-martin, into the open country outside the gates of the town. then, continuing on its track, the dog headed for the forest of bondy, a place of evil fame in those far-off days, as its solitudes were known to be infested by bands of robbers. stopping suddenly in a deep and densely wooded glade of the wood, the dog uttered a succession of low, angry growls; then, tugging at de narsac's mantle, it led him to some freshly turned-up earth, beneath a wide-spreading oak-tree. with a piteous whine the dog stretched himself on the spot, and could not be induced by de narsac to follow him back to paris, where he straightway betook himself, as he at once suspected foul play. a few hours later a party of men, guided to the spot by the young sieur de narsac, removed the earth and dead leaves and ferns from the hole into which they had been hastily flung, and discovered the murdered body of aubrey de montdidier. hurriedly a litter was constructed of boughs of trees, and, followed by the dog, the body was borne into paris, where it was soon afterwards buried. from that hour the greyhound attached himself to the sieur de narsac. it slept in his room, ate from his table, and followed close at his heels when he went out of doors. one morning, as the two were threading their way through the crowded rue st.-martin, de narsac was startled by hearing a low, fierce growl from the greyhound. looking down he saw that the creature was shaking in every limb; his smooth coat was bristling, his tail was straight and stiff, and he was showing his teeth. in another moment he had made a dart from de narsac's side, and had sprung on a young gentleman named macaire, in the uniform of the king's bodyguard, who, with several comrades in arms, was sauntering along on the opposite side of the street. there was something so sudden in the attack that the chevalier macaire was almost thrown on the ground. with their walking-canes he and his friends beat off the dog, and on de narsac coming up, it was called away, and, still trembling and growling, followed its master down the street. a few days later the same thing occurred. de narsac and the chevalier macaire chanced to encounter each other walking in the royal park. in a moment the dog had rushed at macaire, and, with a fierce spring at his throat, had tried to pull him to the ground. de narsac and some officers of the king's bodyguard came to macaire's assistance, and the dog was called off. the rumour of this attack reached the ears of the king, and mixed with the rumour were whisperings of a long-standing quarrel between macaire and aubrey de montdidier. might not the dog's strange and unaccountable hatred for the young officer be a clue to the mysterious murder of his late master? determined to sift the matter to the bottom, the king summoned de narsac and the dog to his presence at the hôtel st.-pol. following close on his master's heels, the greyhound entered the audience-room, where the king was seated, surrounded by his courtiers. as de narsac bowed low before his sovereign, a short, fierce bark was heard from the dog, and, before he could be held back, he had darted in among the startled courtiers, and had sprung at the throat of the chevalier macaire, who, with several other knights, formed a little group behind the king's chair. it was impossible longer to doubt that there was some ground for the surmises that had rapidly grown to suspicion, and that had received sudden confirmation from the fresh evidence of the dog's hatred. the king decided that there should be a trial by the judgment of god, and that a combat should take place between man, the accused, and dog, the accuser. the place chosen for the combat was a waste, uninhabited plot of ground, frequently selected as a duelling-ground by the young gallants of paris. in the presence of the king and his courtiers the strange unnatural combat took place that afternoon. the knight was armed with a short thick stick; the dog was provided with an empty barrel, as a retreating ground from the attacks of his adversary. at a given signal the combatants entered the lists. the dog seemed quite to understand the strange duel on which it was engaged. barking savagely, and darting round his opponent, he made attempts to leap at his throat; now on this side, now on that he sprang, jumping into the air, and then bounding back out of reach of the stick. there was such swiftness and determination about his movements, and something so unnatural in the combat, that macaire's nerve failed him. his blows beat the air, without hitting the dog; his breath came in quick short gasps; there was a look of terror on his face, and for a moment, overcome by the horror of the situation, his eye quailed and sought the ground. at that instant the dog sprang at his throat and pinned him to the earth. in his terror, he called out and acknowledged his crime, and implored the king's mercy. but the judgment of god had decided. the dog was called off before it had strangled its victim, but the man was hurried away to the place of execution, and atoned that evening for the murder of the faithful greyhound's master. [illustration: the dog flies at macaire in the presence of the king] the dog has been known to posterity as the dog of montargis, as in the castle of montargis there stood for many centuries a sculptured stone mantelpiece, on which the combat was carved. _how a beaver builds his house_ bingley's _animal biography_. if we could look back and see england and wales as they were about a thousand years ago, we should most likely think that the best houses and most prosperous villages were the work not of the saxon or british natives, but of the little beavers, which were then to be found in some of the rivers, though they have long ceased to exist there. those who want to see what beavers can do, must look to america, and there, either in canada or even as far south as louisiana, they will find the little creatures as busy as ever and as clever at house-building as when they taught our forefathers a lesson in the time of athelstan or canute. a beaver is a small animal measuring about three feet, and has fine glossy dark brown hair. its tail, which is its trowel, and call bell, and many other things besides, is nearly a foot long, and has no hair at all, and is divided into little scales, something like a fish. beavers cannot bear to live by themselves, and are never happy unless they have two or three hundred friends close at hand whom they can visit every day and all day, and they are the best and most kindly neighbours in the world, always ready to help each other either in building new villages or in repairing old ones. of course the first thing to be done when you wish to erect a house or a village is to fix on a suitable site, and the spot which every beaver of sense thinks most desirable is either a large pond or, if no pond is to be had, a flat low plain with a stream running through, out of which a pond can be made. it must be a very, very long while since beavers first found out that the way to make a pond out of a stream was to build a dam across it so strong that the water could not break through. to begin with, they have to know which way the stream runs, and in this they never make a mistake. then they gather together stakes about five feet long, and fix them in rows tight into the ground on each side of the stream; and while the older and more experienced beavers are doing this--for the safety of the village depends on the strength of the foundation--the younger and more active ones are fetching and heaping up green branches of trees. these branches are plaited in and out of the rows of stakes, which by this time stretch right across the river, and form a dam often as much as a hundred feet from end to end. when the best workmen among them declare the foundation solid, the rest form a large wall over the whole, of stones, clay, and sand, which gradually tapers up from ten or twelve feet at the bottom, where it has to resist the pressure of the stream, to two or three at the top, so that the beavers can, if necessary, pass each other in comfort. and when the dam is pronounced finished, the overseer or head beaver goes carefully over every part, to see that it is the proper shape and exactly smooth and even, for beavers cannot bear bad work, and would punish any of their tribe who were lazy or careless. the dam being ready and the pond made, they can now begin to think about their houses, and as all beavers have a great dislike to damp floors and wet beds, they have to raise their dwellings quite six or eight feet above the level of the stream, so that no sudden swelling of the river during the rainy season shall make them cold and uncomfortable. beavers are always quite clear in their minds as to what they want, and how to get it, and they like to keep things distinct. when they are in the water they are perfectly happy, but when they are out of it they like to be dry, and in order to keep their houses warm and snug they wait till the water is low during the summer, and then they can drive piles into the bed of the stream with more safety and less trouble than if the river is running hard. it generally takes two or three months before the village is finished, and the bark and shoots of young trees, which is their favourite food, collected and stored up. but the little round huts, not unlike beehives, are only intended for winter homes, as no beaver would think of sleeping indoors during the summer, or, indeed, of staying two days in the same place. so every three or four years they spend the long days in making their village of earth, stones, and sticks, plastered together with some kind of mortar which they carry about on their tails, to spread neatly over the inside of their houses. all that a beaver does is beautifully finished as well as substantial. the walls of his house are usually about two feet thick, and sometimes he has as many as three stories to his house, when he has a large family or a number of friends to live with him. one thing is quite certain: no beaver will ever set up housekeeping alone; but sometimes he will be content with one companion, and sometimes he will have as many as thirty. but however full the hut may be, there is never any confusion; each beaver has his fixed place on the floor, which is covered with dried leaves and moss, and as they manage to keep open a door right below the surface of the stream, where their food is carefully stored up, there is no fear that they will ever be starved out. and there they lie all through the winter, and get very fat. once a french gentleman who was travelling through louisiana, was very anxious to see the little beaver colony at work, so he hid himself with some other men close to a dam, and in the night they cut a channel about a foot wide right through, and very hard labour they found it. the men had made no noise in breaking the dam, but the rush of the water aroused one beaver who slept more lightly than the rest, and he instantly left his hut and swam to the dam to examine what was wrong. he then struck four loud blows with his tail, and at the sound of his call every beaver left his bed and came rushing to see what was the matter. no sooner did they reach the dam and see the large hole made in it, than they took counsel, and then the one in whom they put the most trust gave orders to the rest, and they all went to the bank to make mortar. when they had collected as much as they could carry, they formed a procession, two and two, each pair loading each others' tails, and so travelling they arrived at the dam, where a relay of fresh labourers were ready to load. the mortar was then placed in the hole and bound tight by repeated blows from the beavers' tails. so hard did they work and so much sense did they show, that in a short time all was as firm as ever. then one of the leading spirits clapped his tail twice, and in a moment all were in bed and asleep again. beavers are very hard-working, but they know how to make themselves comfortable too, and if they are content with bark and twigs at home, they appreciate nicer food if they can get it. a gentleman once took a beaver with him to new york, and it used to wander about the house like a dog, feeding chiefly upon bread, with fish now and then for a treat. not being able to find any moss or leaves for a bed, it used to seize upon all the soft bits of stuff that came in its way, and carry them off to its sleeping corner. one day a cat discovered its hiding place, and thought it would be a nice comfortable place for her kittens to sleep, and when the beaver came back from his walk he found, like the three bears, that someone was sleeping in his bed. he had never seen things of that kind before, but they were small and he was big, so he said nothing and lay down somewhere else. only, if ever their mother was away, he would go and hold one of them to his breast to warm it, and keep it there till its mother came back. _the war horse of alexander_ part of the story of bucephalus is taken from plutarch. there are not so many stories about horses as there are about dogs and cats, yet almost every great general has had his favourite horse, who has gone with him through many campaigns and borne him safe in many battle-fields. at a town in sicily called agrigentum, they set such store by their horses, that pyramids were raised over their burial-place, and the emperor augustus built a splendid monument over the grave of an old favourite. the most famous horse, perhaps, who ever lived, was one belonging to alexander the great, and was called bucephalus. when the king was a boy, bucephalus was brought before philip, king of macedon, alexander's father, by philonicus the thessalian, and offered for sale for the large sum of thirteen talents. beautiful though he was, philip wisely declined to buy him before knowing what manner of horse he was, and ordered him to be led into a neighbouring field, and a groom to mount him. but it was in vain that the best and most experienced riders approached the horse; he reared up on his hind legs, and would suffer none to come near him. so philonicus the thessalian was told to take his horse back whence he came, for the king would have none of him. now the boy alexander stood by, and his heart went out to the beautiful creature. and he cried out, 'what a good horse do we lose for lack of skill to mount him!' philip the king heard these words, and his soul was vexed to see the horse depart, but yet he knew not what else to do. then he turned to alexander and said: 'do you think that you, young and untried, can ride this horse better than those who have grown old in the stables?' to which alexander made answer, 'this horse i know i could ride better than they.' 'and if you fail,' asked philip, 'what price will you pay for your good conceit of yourself?' and alexander laughed out and said gaily, 'i will pay the price of the horse.' and thus it was settled. so alexander drew near to the horse, and took him by the bridle, turning his face to the sun so that he might not be frightened at the movements of his own shadow, for the prince had noticed that it scared him greatly. then alexander stroked his head and led him forwards, feeling his temper all the while, and when the horse began to get uneasy, the prince suddenly leapt on his back, and gradually curbed him with the bridle. suddenly, as bucephalus gave up trying to throw his rider, and only pawed the ground impatient to be off, alexander shook the reins, and bidding him go, they flew like lightning round the course. this was alexander's first conquest, and as he jumped down from the horse, his father exclaimed, 'go, my son, and seek for a kingdom that is worthy, for macedon is too small for such as thee.' henceforth bucephalus made it clear that he served alexander and no one else. he would submit quietly to having the gay trappings of a king's steed fastened on his head, and the royal saddle put on, but if any groom tried to mount him, back would go his ears and up would go his heels, and none dared come near him. for ten years after alexander succeeded his father on the throne of macedon (b.c. ), bucephalus bore him through all his battles, and was, says pliny, 'of a passing good and memorable service in the wars,' and even when wounded, as he once was at the taking of thebes, would not suffer his master to mount another horse. together these two swam rivers, crossed mountains, penetrated into the dominions of the great king, and farther still into the heart of asia, beyond the caspian and the river oxus, where never european army had gone before. then turning sharp south, he crossed the range of the hindoo koosh, and entering the country of the five rivers, he prepared to attack porus, king of india. but age and the wanderings of ten years had worn bucephalus out. one last victory near the hydaspes or jelum, and the old horse sank down and died, full of years and honours (b.c. ). bitter were the lamentations of the king for the friend of his childhood, but his grief did not show itself only in weeping. the most splendid funeral alexander could devise was given to bucephalus, and a gorgeous tomb erected over his body. and more than that, alexander resolved that the memory of his old horse should be kept green in these burning indian deserts, thousands of miles from the thessalian plains where he was born, so round his tomb the king built a city, and it was called 'bucephalia.' _stories about bears_ baron de wogan, a french gentleman, whose adventures with snakes are also curious, was the hero of some encounters with the grizzly bear of north america. first, i would have you understand what sort of a creature he had for an opponent. imagine a monster measuring when standing upright eight or nine feet, weighing lbs., of a most terrifying appearance, in agility and strength surpassing all other animals, and cruel in proportion. like his cousin the brown bear, whom he resembles in shape, he is a hermit and lives alone in the immense trackless forests which covered the rocky mountains, and indeed (at least in olden times) the greater part of north america. during the day he sleeps in the depths of some mountain cavern, and wakes up at dusk to go out in search of prey. all the beasts of the forest live in terror of him--even the white bear flies before him. he would go down to the valleys and attack the immense herds of buffaloes which grazed there, and which were powerless against him, in spite of their numbers and their great horns. they join themselves closely together and form one compact rank, but the grizzly bear hurls himself at them, breaks their ranks, scatters them, and then pursuing them till he catches them up, flings himself on the back of one, hugs it in his iron embrace, breaks its skull with his teeth, and so goes slaying right and left before he eats one. before the baron's first, so to say, hand-to-hand encounter with a grizzly, he had been long enough in the country to know something of their ways, and how worse than useless a shot is unless in a fatal spot. after the return to her tribe of calooa, a young indian girl, who had been his one human companion in many days of wandering, the baron was left with only his mule cadi for friend and companion, and naturally felt very lonely. he set his heart on getting to the top of the rocky mountains, at the foot of which he then happened to be. their glittering summits had so irresistible an attraction for him, that he did not stay to consider the difficulties which soon beset him at every step. no sooner did he conquer one than another arose, added to which the cold of these high regions was intense, and it constantly snowed. after three days he had to declare himself not only beaten, but so worn out that he must take a week's rest if he did not want to fall ill. first it was necessary to have some sort of a shelter, and by great good luck he found just at hand a cavern in the rock, which, without being exactly a palace, seemed as if it would answer his purpose. upon closer examination he found that it had more drawbacks than he cared about. all round were scattered gnawed bones of animals, and the prints of bear's claws on the ground left no doubt as to who the last inmate had been. the baron, however, preferred to risk an invasion rather than seek another abode, and prepared for probable inroads by making across the entrance to the cave a barricade of branches of oak tied together with flax, a quantity of which grew near. he then lit a good fire inside the cave, but as the last tenant had not considered a chimney necessary; the dense smoke soon obliged him to beat a hasty retreat. besides he had to go out to get supplies for his larder, at present as bare as mother hubbard's. with his usual good luck the baron found, first, a large salmon flapping wildly in its effort to get out of a pool, where the fallen river had left it. this he killed, and next he shot a young deer about a mile away and carried it to camp on his back. in order to preserve these eatables he salted some of them with salt that he had previously found in a lake near, and had carefully preserved for future use. he then dug a hole in a corner of the cave, putting a thick layer of dry hay at the bottom, and buried his provisions indian fashion, in order to preserve them. as it was still only twelve o'clock, the baron thought he would spend the rest of the day in exploring the neighbourhood; first he examined the cave, which he found to be formed of big blocks of rock firmly joined together; above the cave rose the cliff, and in front of it grew a fir-tree, which served at the same time to defend the entrance, and as a ladder to enable him to mount the cliff. as he could not take cadi with him, he fastened him to the fir-tree by his halter and girth joined together, so as to leave him plenty of room to graze. then he put some eatables in his game bag, and set off on a tour of discovery. when he had walked about three hours, and had reached a rocky point from which he had a fine view of the surrounding country, he sat down to rest under an oak-tree. he knew nothing more till the cold awoke him--it was now six o'clock, and he had slept three hours. he started with all the haste he could to get back to his cave and cadi before dark, but so tired and footsore was he that he was obliged to give in and camp where he was, for night was coming on fast. it was bitterly cold and snow fell constantly, so he lit a large fire, which at the same time warmed him, and kept away the bears whom he heard wandering round the camp most of the night. as soon as the sun was up in the morning, he set off with all his speed to see what had become of cadi; but though fifteen miles is not much to bears balked of their prey, it is much to a weary and footsore man, and when he had hobbled to within half a mile of the camp, he saw that it was too late: the bears, whom he had driven away from his camp in the night with fire-brands, had scented poor cadi, and four of them were now devouring him--father, mother, and two cubs. imagine his rage and grief at seeing his only friend and companion devoured piecemeal before his very eyes! his first impulse was to fire, but he reflected in time that they were four to one, and that, instead of avenging cadi, he would only share his fate. he decided to wait on a high rock till the meal was ended. it lasted an hour, and then he saw the whole family set off to climb the mountain, from the top of which he had been watching them. they seemed to be making straight for him, and as it would be certain death to sit and wait for them, he slipped into a cranny in the rock, hoping that he might not be perceived; even if he was, he could only be attacked by one at a time. he had not long to wait: soon all four bears passed in single file, without smelling him or being aware of him; for this he had to thank poor cadi: their horrid snouts and jaws being smeared with his blood prevented their scenting fresh prey. [illustration: {the baron kills the bear}] when he had seen them at a safe distance, he ventured to go down to the cave he could no longer call his own. of cadi, nothing remained but his head, still fastened to the tree by his halter. the barricade was gone, too, and from the cave came low but unmistakable growls. with one bound the baron was up the tree, and from the tree on to the cliff. from there he threw stones down before the entrance to the cave, to induce the present inmate to come out, in order that he might take possession again. the bear soon came out, and, perceiving him, made for the fir-tree. by its slow and languid movements the baron saw that it was curiosity more than anger that prompted it, and, moreover, it was evidently a very old bear, probably a grandfather, whose children and grandchildren had been to pay it a visit. curiosity or not, the baron had no wish to make a closer acquaintance, and fired a shot at the brute by way of a hint to that effect. this immediately turned his curiosity into wrath. seizing the fir-tree, which he was going to use as a ladder, he began to climb up. a second shot hit him in the shoulder. he fell mortally wounded, but even after a third shot, which took him in the flank, his dying struggles lasted twenty minutes, during which he tore at the roots of the fir-trees with his terrific claws. the baron did not care to waste any of his bullets, now getting scarce, in putting out of his pain one of cadi's murderers. when finally the bear was dead, the baron came down to take possession of his cave, and at the same time of the bear's skin. on penetrating into the cave, he found that the rascal had paid him out in his own coin, and, in revenge for the baron taking his cave, had eaten his provisions. the baron was quits in the end, however, as the bear's carcase furnished him meat enough for several days. the baron cut off pounds of steak, which he salted and dried over the fire. the useless remains he threw over the nearest precipice, so that they should not attract wild beasts, to keep him awake all night with their cries. then, having made a huge fire in front of the entrance, which, moreover, he barricaded with branches, he threw himself on his bed of dry leaves to sleep the sleep of exhaustion. some time passed before the baron's next encounter with a bear. he was camping one night in a dense forest, sleeping, as usual, with one eye and one ear open, and his weapon at hand, all ready loaded. his rest was broken by the usual nightly sounds of the forest, of leaves crunched and branches broken, showing that many of the inmates of the woods were astir; but he did not let these usual sounds disturb him, till he heard in the distance the hoarse and unmistakable cry of the bear; then he thought it time to change the shot in his gun for something more worthy of such a foe. this preparation made, he set off at dawn on his day's march, which up to midday led him along the bank of a large river. he thought no more of the blood-curdling howls of the night, till suddenly he heard from a distance terror-stricken cries. he put his ear to the ground, indian fashion, to listen better, and as the danger, whatever it was, seemed to be coming nearer, he jumped into a thicket of wild cherry and willow trees, and waited there in ambush, gun in hand. in a few minutes, a band of indians with their squaws appeared on the opposite bank of the river, and straightway leaped into the water, like so many frogs jumping into an undisturbed swamp. at first he thought he was being attacked, but soon saw it was the indians who were being pursued, and that they all, men and women, were swimming for dear life; moreover, the women were laden with their children, one, and sometimes two, being strapped to their backs in a sort of cradle of birch bark. this additional weight made them swim slower than the men, who soon reached the opposite shore, and then took to their heels helter-skelter, except three, who remained behind to encourage the women. [illustration: {the grizzly}] the baron at first thought it was an attack of other indians, and that it would be prudent to beat a retreat, when suddenly the same terrible cry that had kept him awake in the latter part of the night resounded through the forest, and at the same time there appeared on a high bank on the other shore a huge mass of a dirty grey colour, which hurled itself downhill, plunged into the river, and began to swim across at a terrific speed. it was a grizzly bear of tremendous size. so fast did it swim, that in no time it had nearly caught up with the last of the squaws, a young woman with twin babies at her back, whose cries, often interrupted by the water getting into their mouths, would have melted the heart of a stone. the three indians who had remained on the bank did their utmost to stop the bear by shooting their poisoned arrows at it; but the distance was too great, and the huge animal came on so fast that in another minute mother and children would be lost. the baron could not remain a spectator of so terrible a scene. he came out of the thicket where he was hidden, and frightened the indians almost as much as if he had been another bear. resting his gun on the trunk of a tree, he fired at the distance of yards, and hit the animal right on the head. it dived several times, and the water all round was dyed red with blood; but the wound was not mortal, and it continued on its way, only more slowly. after urging the indian, who seemed to be the unhappy woman's husband, to go into the water to help her--for, through terror and fatigue, she could no longer swim--the baron took deliberate aim again and fired. the second shot, like the first, hit the bear on the head, but again without killing it. it stopped the brute, however, long enough to let the poor woman get to shore, where she fainted, and was carried away by the men to the forest, leaving the baron and the bear to fight out their duel alone. the baron had barely time to reload and climb to the top of one of the trees, when the bear was already at the foot of it. so near was he when he stood upright, that the baron could feel his horrid breath. up to then the baron thought that all bears could climb like squirrels; fortunately for him he was mistaken. expecting to be taken by storm, he fired straight in the creature's face. the two balls took a different course: one went through the jaw and came out by the neck, the other went into the chest. the bear uttered a terrific roar, stiffened itself in a last effort to reach him, and fell heavily on its back at the foot of the tree. the baron might have thought him dead had he not already seen such wonderful resurrections on the part of bears; but the four shots, though at first they dazed and troubled the beast, seemed afterwards to act as spurs, and he rose furious and returned to the charge. the baron tried to use his revolver, but, finding it impossible, he drew out his axe from his belt, and dealt a violent blow at the bear's head, which nearly split it in two, and sent the blood splashing in all directions. the bear again fell to the ground, this time to rise no more. the baron being now convinced that the grizzly bear is no tree-climber, took his time to draw out his revolver, to take aim and fire. the shot put out one of the bear's eyes, the axe had already taken out the other. this finished him, but his death struggles lasted twenty minutes, during which the tree was nearly uprooted. when all was at an end the baron came down; he cut off the formidable claws, and broke off the teeth with an axe to make a trophy in imitation of the indians, and then proceeded to skin him and cut him up. the indians, who had been watching the combat at a safe distance, now came back, enthusiastic. they surrounded them, the victor and the vanquished, and danced a war-dance, singing impromptu words. the baron, seated on the bear's carcase, joined in the chorus; but the indians, not content with that, insisted on his joining in the dance as well. the rejoicing over, the baron divided among the twenty indians the flesh of the bear--about lb. or lb. fell to each. the skin he kept to himself, and the claws, of which the indians made him a warrior's necklace, hanging it round his neck like an order of knighthood.[ ] [ ] the young reader must no longer expect such adventures as the baron de wogan achieved. _stories about ants_ if any one will watch an ant-hill on a fine day in april, he will see the little inhabitants begin to rouse themselves from their winter's sleep, which lasts from the month of october, with the red ant at all events. groups of them come out to the top of the ant-hill to warm and thaw themselves in the rays of the sun. some, more active and robust, run in and out, waking up the lazy, hurrying the laggards, and rousing all the little community to begin their summer habits. but this activity does not last long; they are as yet only half awake, and still numb and torpid from the winter's cold, and the little throng increases or diminishes as the sun shines or disappears behind a cloud. as two, half-past two, and three o'clock arrive, they have nearly all disappeared inside the ant-heap, leaving only a few warriors, of a larger make and tried courage, to watch over the well-being of the little republic and to close up all openings with tiny chips of wood, dry leaves, and shreds of moss, so as to hide the entrances from human eye. two or three sentinels wander round to see that all is secure. and then they enter, and all is still. if we come back again in about a week, we shall find the ants in the middle of their regular migration to their summer quarters, not far from their winter ones. this takes place, with the red ant, at all events, with great regularity every april and october. the red ant is beyond doubt a slave-owner; the slaves may be easily recognised from their masters by being of a smaller make and light yellow colour. as soon as the masters have fixed the day of their 'flitting,' they begin probably to ensure the consent of the slaves by violently seizing them, and rolling them into a ball, and then grasping them firmly they set off towards the summer quarters at full gallop, if an ant can be said to gallop. the master ant is in a great hurry to get rid of his living burden; he goes straight ahead in spite of all obstacles, avoiding all interruptions and delays, and as soon as he arrives at the summer ant-heap, plunges in, deposits the slave all breathless and terrified from his forced journey, and sets off back for another. darwin, who closely studied the migrations of the ant, says that they differ in their means of transport: one sort is carried by the slaves; the other, our friend the red ant, scientifically called 'formica sanguinea,' carries his property carefully in his mouth. it seems strange to us that the master should carry the slave, but no stranger than it would appear to the ants if they should begin to study our habits, that some of us should sit in a carriage and be driven by the coachman. the slave, once installed in his summer quarters, seldom appears again before the autumn exodus, unless in the event of some disturbance in the camp, or its invasion by some ants of a hostile tribe, when the slaves take part in the defence and especially watch over the young ones. the slaves seem to be carpenters and miners, and warriors when necessary. they build the dwelling, repair it, of which it has constant need, and defend it in case of attack with dauntless courage. but their principal duties seem to be to take charge of the development of the young, and to feed the masters--no small task, as there seem to be ten masters to one slave, and they seem incapable of eating unless fed. experiments have been tried of removing the slaves from them, and though sugar and every sort of tempting food is put down beside them, they will starve rather than help themselves. in fact, one wonders what the masters can be left for but to drive the slaves, which they do with great ardour. a french gentleman who spent years studying the habits of the ants, tried one day, by way of experiment, to take a slave away from its master; he had great difficulty in removing it from its bearer, who struggled furiously and clung to its burden. when at last the slave was set free, instead of profiting by its liberty, it turned round and round in a circle as if dazed, then hid itself under a dead leaf. a master ant presently came along, an animated conversation took place, and the slave ant was seized upon and borne off again to bondage. the same gentleman another day observed a slave ant venture out to the entrance to the ant-hill to enjoy the warmth of the sun. a great master ant spied it and set to with blows of its horns (antennæ they are called) to persuade it that that was not its place. finding the slave persisted in not understanding, the master resorted to force, and seizing it by its head, without taking the trouble to roll it up, as they are generally carried, he hurled it into the ant-hill, where no doubt it received the punishment it deserved. if we came back to the ant-heap a week after our last visit, we should find the migration finished if the weather has been fine; but ants, especially after their first awaking, are extremely sensitive to wind and rain, and only work well in fine weather. they are equally affected by weather before a storm: even though the sun may be shining, they will remain in the ant-heap with closed doors. if it is shut before midday, the storm will burst before evening; if it is shut before eight or nine in the morning, the rain will fall before noon. all this time we have been speaking only of the red ant; but there are any number of different kinds in europe, not to mention the enormous ants of the tropics, who march in such armies that the people fly before them, deserting their villages. different species differ totally in their habits and ways of building and living. the greater number of species live apart, and not in a community with an elaborately constructed house like the red ant. the little black ant is the commonest in this country, and the busiest and most active. she is the first to awake, in march, sometimes in february, and the last to sleep, sometimes not till november. their instincts and habits of activity, however, are apt to deceive them, and they get up too soon. the french gentleman already mentioned observed an instance of the kind. on february , after an unusually mild winter, the sun shone as if it were already summer, and it was difficult to persuade oneself that it was not, except that there were no leaves on the trees, no birds singing in the branches, and no insects humming in the air. first our friend went to examine the red-ant heap, which was closed as usual, all the inhabitants being still plunged in their winter sleep. the black ants, on the contrary, were all awake and lively, and seemed persuaded that the fine weather had come to stay. their instincts deceived them, for that night it froze; rain, snow, and fog succeeded each other in turn, and when next he visited the ant-heap he found them lying in masses, stiff and dead, before the entrance to their dwelling. between the red and black ants there is great enmity, and terrible combats take place. when they fight they grasp each other like men wrestling, and each tries to throw the other down, and break his back. the conquered remain on the battlefield, nearly broken in two, and feebly waving their paws, till they slowly expire in agonies. the conqueror, on the other hand, carries away his dead to burial and his wounded to the camp, and then, entering triumphantly himself, closes the doors after him. the gentleman already quoted witnessed the funeral of an ant. he had passed the ant-heap about a quarter of an hour, and left, as he thought, all the inhabitants behind him, when he saw what appeared to be an enormous red ant making for home. on stooping to look more closely, he saw that it was one ant carrying another. he succeeded in separating them from each other, and then saw that the burden was neither a slave nor a prisoner, but a dead comrade being carried back to the ant-heap for a decent burial; for if ants fall into the hands of the enemy, they are subjected if alive to the most cruel tortures and if dead to mutilations. usually, when an ant is relieved of anything it is carrying--whether it be a slave, a wounded ant, or some eatable--it will set off at full speed and let the burden be picked up by the next passing ant; but this one made no attempt to run away, and only turned round and round in a perplexed and irresolute way, till its dead friend was put down beside it, then it seized its precious burden and set off homewards with it. travellers even tell that in algeria there are ant cemeteries near the ant-heaps. no lover of animals doubts that they have a language of their own, which we are too stupid or deaf to understand. anyone who studies the ways of the ants sees, beyond a doubt, that they too have a way of communicating with each other. for instance, an ant was one day seen at some distance from the ant-hill, and evidently in no hurry to go back to it. in the middle of the path she perceived a large dead snail. she began by going round and round it, then climbed on its back, and walked all over it. having satisfied herself that it was a choice morsel, but too large for her to carry home alone, she set off at once to seek help. on the way she met one of her companions; she ran at once to her; they rubbed their antennæ together, and evidently an animated conversation took place, for the second ant set off immediately in the direction of the snail. the first one continued on her way home, communicating with every ant she met in the same way; by the time she disappeared inside the ant-heap, an endless file of busy little ants were on their way to take their share of the spoil. in ten minutes the snail was completely covered by the little throng, and by the evening every trace of it had vanished. recent observations have proved that the time-honoured idea of the ant storing up provision for the winter is a delusion, a delusion which la fontaine's famous fable, 'le fourmis et la cigale,' has done much to spread and confirm. it is now known, as we have already seen, that ants sleep all winter, and that the food which we constantly see them laden with is for immediate consumption in the camp. they eat all kinds of insects--hornets and cockchafers are favourite dishes--but the choicest morsel is a fine fat green caterpillar, caught alive. they seize it, some by its head, some by its tail; it struggles, it writhes, and sometimes succeeds in freeing itself from its enemies; but they do not consider themselves beaten, and attack it again. little by little it becomes stupefied from the discharges of formic acid the ants throw out from their bodies, and presently it succumbs to their renewed forces. finally, though the struggle may last an hour or more, it is borne to the ant-heap and disappears, to be devoured by the inmates. perhaps these short 'stories about ants' may induce some of you to follow the advice of the preacher, and 'go to the ant' yourselves for more. _the taming of an otter_ from bingley's _british quadrupeds_. otters used once to be very common in england in the neighbourhood of rivers, and even in some instances of the sea, but in many places where they once lived in great numbers they have now ceased to exist. they destroy large quantities of fish, though they are so dainty that they only care for the upper parts of the body. if the rivers are frozen and no fish are to be had, they will eat poultry, or even lambs; and if these are not to be found, they can get on quite well for a long time on the bark of trees or on young branches. fierce though otters are when brought to bay, they can easily be tamed if they are caught young enough. more than a hundred years ago the monks of autun, in france, found a baby otter only a few weeks old, and took it back to the convent, and fed it upon milk for nearly two months, when it was promoted to soup and fish and vegetables, the food of the good monks. it was not very sociable with strange animals, but it made great friends with a dog and cat who had known it from a baby, and they would play together half the day. at night it had a bed in one of the rooms, but in the day it always preferred a heap of straw when it was tired of running about. curious to say, this otter was not at all fond of the water, and it was very seldom that it would go near a basin of water that was always carefully left near its bed. when it did, it was only to wash its face and front paws, after which it would go for a run in the court-yard, or curl itself to sleep in the sun. indeed it seemed to have such an objection to water of all kinds, that the monks wondered whether it knew how to swim. so one day, when they were not so busy as usual, some of the brothers took it off to a good-sized pond, and waited to see what it would do. the otter smelt about cautiously for a little, and then, recognising that here was something it had seen before, ducked its head and wetted its feet as it did in the mornings. this did not satisfy the monks, who threw it right in, upon which it instantly swam to the other shore, and came round again to its friends. all tame otters are not, however, as forgetful of the habits and manners of their race as this one was, and in some parts they have even been taught to fish for their masters instead of themselves. careful directions are given for their proper teaching, and a great deal of patience is needful, because if an animal is once frightened or made angry, there is not much hope of training it afterwards. to begin with, it must be fed while it is very young on milk or soup, and when it gets older, on bread and the heads of fishes, and it must get its food from one person only, to whom it will soon get accustomed and attached. the next step is to have a sort of leather bag made, stuffed with wool and shaped like a fish, large enough for the animal to take in its mouth. finally, he must wear a collar formed on the principle of a slip noose, which can tighten when a long string that is fastened to it, is pulled. this is, of course, to teach the otter to drop the fish after he has caught it. the master then leads the otter slowly behind him, till by this means he has learned how to follow, and then he has to be made to understand the meanings of certain words and tones. so the man says to him, 'come here,' and pulls the cord; and after this has been repeated several times, the otter gradually begins to connect the words with the action. then the string is dropped, and the otter trots up obediently without it. after that, the sham fish is placed on the ground, and the collar, which seems rather like a horse's bit, is pulled so as to force the mouth open, while the master exclaims 'take it!' and when the otter is quite perfect in this (which most likely will not happen for a long time) the collar is loosened, and he is told to 'drop it.' last of all, he is led down to a river with clear shallow water, where a small dead fish is thrown in. this he catches at once, and then the cord which has been fastened to his neck is gently pulled, and he gives up his prize to his master. then live fish are put in instead of the dead one, and when they are killed, the otter is given the heads as a reward. of course some masters have a special talent for teaching these things, and some otters are specially apt pupils. this must have been the case with the otter belonging to a mr. campbell who lived near inverness. it would sometimes catch eight or ten salmon in a day, and never attempted to eat them; while a man in sweden, called nilsson, and his family, lived entirely on the fish that was caught for them by their otter. when he is in his wild state, the otter lives in holes in the rocks, or among the roots of trees, though occasionally he has been known to burrow under ground, having his door in the water, and only a very tiny window opening landwards, so that he may not die of suffocation. _the story of androcles and the lion_ many hundred years ago, there lived in the north of africa a poor roman slave called androcles. his master held great power and authority in the country, but he was a hard, cruel man, and his slaves led a very unhappy life. they had little to eat, had to work hard, and were often punished and tortured if they failed to satisfy their master's caprices. for long androcles had borne with the hardships of his life, but at last he could bear it no longer, and he made up his mind to run away. he knew that it was a great risk, for he had no friends in that foreign country with whom he could seek safety and protection; and he was aware that if he was overtaken and caught he would be put to a cruel death. but even death, he thought, would not be so hard as the life he now led, and it was possible that he might escape to the sea-coast, and somehow some day get back to rome and find a kinder master. so he waited till the old moon had waned to a tiny gold thread in the skies, and then, one dark night, he slipped out of his master's house, and, creeping through the deserted forum and along the silent town, he passed out of the city into the vineyards and corn-fields lying outside the walls. in the cool night air he walked rapidly. from time to time he was startled by the sudden barking of a dog, or the sound of voices coming from some late revellers in the villas which stood beside the road along which he hurried. but as he got further into the country these sounds ceased, and there was silence and darkness all round him. when the sun rose he had already gone many miles away from the town in which he had been so miserable. but now a new terror oppressed him--the terror of great loneliness. he had got into a wild, barren country, where there was no sign of human habitation. a thick growth of low trees and thorny mimosa bushes spread out before him, and as he tried to thread his way through them he was severely scratched, and his scant garments torn by the long thorns. besides the sun was very hot, and the trees were not high enough to afford him any shade. he was worn out with hunger and fatigue, and he longed to lie down and rest. but to lie down in that fierce sun would have meant death, and he struggled on, hoping to find some wild berries to eat, and some water to quench his thirst. but when he came out of the scrub-wood, he found he was as badly off as before. a long, low line of rocky cliffs rose before him, but there were no houses, and he saw no hope of finding food. he was so tired that he could not wander further, and seeing a cave which looked cool and dark in the side of the cliffs, he crept into it, and, stretching his tired limbs on the sandy floor, fell fast asleep. suddenly he was awakened by a noise that made his blood run cold. the roar of a wild beast sounded in his ears, and as he started trembling and in terror to his feet, he beheld a huge, tawny lion, with great glistening white teeth, standing in the entrance of the cave. it was impossible to fly, for the lion barred the way. immovable with fear, androcles stood rooted to the spot, waiting for the lion to spring on him and tear him limb from limb. [illustration: androcles in the lion's cave] but the lion did not move. making a low moan as if in great pain, it stood licking its huge paw, from which androcles now saw that blood was flowing freely. seeing the poor animal in such pain, and noticing how gentle it seemed, androcles forgot his own terror, and slowly approached the lion, who held up its paw as if asking the man to help it. then androcles saw that a monster thorn had entered the paw, making a deep cut, and causing great pain and swelling. swiftly but firmly he drew the thorn out, and pressed the swelling to try to stop the flowing of the blood. relieved of the pain, the lion quietly lay down at androcles' feet, slowly moving his great bushy tail from side to side as a dog does when it feels happy and comfortable. from that moment androcles and the lion became devoted friends. after lying for a little while at his feet, licking the poor wounded paw, the lion got up and limped out of the cave. a few minutes later it returned with a little dead rabbit in its mouth, which it put down on the floor of the cave beside androcles. the poor man, who was starving with hunger, cooked the rabbit somehow, and ate it. in the evening, led by the lion, he found a place where there was a spring, at which he quenched his dreadful thirst. and so for three years androcles and the lion lived together in the cave; wandering about the woods together by day, sleeping together at night. for in summer the cave was cooler than the woods, and in winter it was warmer. at last the longing in androcles' heart to live once more with his fellow-men became so great that he felt he could remain in the woods no longer, but that he must return to a town, and take his chance of being caught and killed as a runaway slave. and so one morning he left the cave, and wandered away in the direction where he thought the sea and the large towns lay. but in a few days he was captured by a band of soldiers who were patrolling the country in search of fugitive slaves, and he was put in chains and sent as a prisoner to rome. here he was cast into prison and tried for the crime of having run away from his master. he was condemned as a punishment to be torn to pieces by wild beasts on the first public holiday, in the great circus at rome. when the day arrived androcles was brought out of his prison, dressed in a simple, short tunic, and with a scarf round his right arm. he was given a lance with which to defend himself--a forlorn hope, as he knew that he had to fight with a powerful lion which had been kept without food for some days to make it more savage and bloodthirsty. as he stepped into the arena of the huge circus, above the sound of the voices of thousands on thousands of spectators he could hear the savage roar of the wild beasts from their cages below the floor on which he stood. of a sudden the silence of expectation fell on the spectators, for a signal had been given, and the cage containing the lion with which androcles had to fight had been shot up into the arena from the floor below. a moment later, with a fierce spring and a savage roar, the great animal had sprung out of its cage into the arena, and with a bound had rushed at the spot where androcles stood trembling. but suddenly, as he saw androcles, the lion stood still, wondering. then quickly but quietly it approached him, and gently moved its tail and licked the man's hands, and fawned upon him like a great dog. and androcles patted the lion's head, and gave a sob of recognition, for he knew that it was his own lion, with whom he had lived and lodged all those months and years. and, seeing this strange and wonderful meeting between the man and the wild beast, all the people marvelled, and the emperor, from his high seat above the arena, sent for androcles, and bade him tell his story and explain this mystery. and the emperor was so delighted with the story that he said androcles was to be released and to be made a free man from that hour. and he rewarded him with money, and ordered that the lion was to belong to him, and to accompany him wherever he went. and when the people in rome met androcles walking, followed by his faithful lion, they used to point at them and say, 'that is the lion, the guest of the man, and that is the man, the doctor of the lion.'[ ] [ ] apparently this nice lion did not bite anybody, when he took his walks abroad. or, possibly, he was muzzled.--ed. [illustration: androcles in the arena] _monsieur dumas and his beasts_ i most people have heard of alexandre dumas, the great french novelist who wrote 'the three musketeers' and many other delightful historical romances. besides being a great novelist, m. dumas was a most kind and generous man--kind both to human beings and to animals. he had a great many pets, of which he gives us the history in one of his books. here are some of the stories about them in his own words. i was living, he says, at monte cristo (this was the name of his villa at st.-germains); i lived there alone, except for the visitors i received. i love solitude, for solitude is necessary to anyone who works much. however, i do not like complete loneliness; what i love is that of the garden of eden, a solitude peopled with animals. therefore, in my wilderness at monte cristo, without being quite like adam in every way, i had a kind of small earthly paradise. this is the list of my animals. i had a number of dogs, of which the chief was pritchard. i had a vulture named diogenes; three monkeys, one of which bore the name of a celebrated translator, another that of a famous novelist, and the third, which was a female, that of a charming actress. we will call the writer potich, the novelist the last of the laidmanoirs, and the lady mademoiselle desgarcins. i had a great blue and yellow macaw called buvat, a green and yellow parroquet called papa everard, a cat called mysouff, a golden pheasant called lucullus, and finally, a cock called cæsar. let us give honour where honour is due, and begin with the history of pritchard. i had an acquaintance named m. lerat, who having heard me say i had no dog to take out shooting, said, 'ah! how glad i am to be able to give you something you will really like! a friend of mine who lives in scotland has sent me a pointer of the very best breed. i will give him to you. bring pritchard,' he added to his two little girls. how could i refuse a present offered so cordially? pritchard was brought in. he was an odd-looking dog to be called a pointer! he was long-haired, grey and white, with ears nearly erect, mustard-coloured eyes, and a beautifully feathered tail. except for the tail, he could scarcely be called a handsome dog. m. lerat seemed even more delighted to give the present than i was to receive it, which showed what a good heart he had. 'the children call the dog pritchard,' he said; 'but if you don't like the name, call him what you please.' i had no objection to the name; my opinion was that if anyone had cause to complain, it was the dog himself. pritchard, therefore, continued to be called pritchard. he was at this time about nine or ten months old, and ought to begin his education, so i sent him to a gamekeeper named vatrin to learn his duties. but, two hours after i had sent pritchard to vatrin, he was back again at my house. he was not made welcome; on the contrary, he received a good beating from michel, who was my gardener, porter, butler, and confidential servant all in one, and who took pritchard back to vatrin. vatrin was astonished; pritchard had been shut up with the other dogs in the kennel, and he must have jumped over the enclosure, which was a high one. early the next morning, when the housemaid had opened my front door, there was pritchard sitting outside. michel again beat the dog, and again took him back to vatrin, who this time put a collar round his neck and chained him up. michel came back and informed me of this severe but necessary measure. vatrin sent a message to say that i should not see pritchard again until his education was finished. the next day, while i was writing in a little summer-house in my garden, i heard a furious barking. it was pritchard fighting with a great pyrenean sheepdog which another of my friends had just given me. this dog was named mouton, because of his white woolly hair like a sheep's, not on account of his disposition, which was remarkably savage. pritchard was rescued by michel from mouton's enormous jaws, once more beaten, and for the third time taken back to vatrin. pritchard, it appears, had eaten his collar, though how he managed it vatrin never knew. he was now shut up in a shed, and unless he ate the walls or the door, he could not possibly get out. he tried both, and finding the door the more digestible, he ate the door; and the next day at dinner-time, pritchard walked into the dining-room wagging his plumy tail, his yellow eyes shining with satisfaction. this time pritchard was neither beaten nor taken back; we waited till vatrin should come to hold a council of war as to what was to be done with him. the next day vatrin appeared. 'did you _ever_ see such a rascal?' he began. vatrin was so excited that he had forgotten to say 'good morning' or 'how do you do?' 'i tell you,' said he, 'that rascal pritchard puts me in such a rage that i have crunched the stem of my pipe three times between my teeth and broken it, and my wife has had to tie it up with string. he'll ruin me in pipes, that brute--that vagabond!' 'pritchard, do you hear what is said about you?' said i. pritchard heard, but perhaps did not think it mattered much about vatrin's pipes, for he only looked at me affectionately and beat upon the ground with his tail. 'i don't know what to do with him,' said vatrin. 'if i keep him he'll eat holes in the house, i suppose; yet i don't like to give him up--he's only a dog. it's humiliating for a man, don't you know?' 'i'll tell you what, vatrin,' said i. 'we will take him down to vésinet, and go for a walk through your preserves, and then we shall see whether it is worth while to take any more trouble with this vagabond, as you call him.' 'i call him by his name. it oughtn't to be pritchard; it should be bluebeard, it should be blunderbore, it should be judas iscariot!' vatrin enumerated all the greatest villains he could think of at the moment. i called michel. 'michel, give me my shooting shoes and gaiters; we will go to vésinet to see what pritchard can do.' 'you will see, sir,' said michel, 'that you will be better pleased than you think.' for michel always had a liking for pritchard. we went down a steep hill to vésinet, michel following with pritchard on a leash. at the steepest place i turned round. 'look there upon the bridge in front of us, michel,' i said, 'there is a dog very like pritchard.' michel looked behind him. there was nothing but the leather straps in his hand; pritchard had cut it through with his teeth, and was now standing on the bridge amusing himself by looking at the water through the railing. 'he _is_ a vagabond!' said vatrin. 'look! where is he off to now?' 'he has gone,' said i, 'to see what my neighbour corrège has got for luncheon.' sure enough, the next moment pritchard was seen coming out of m. corrège's back door, pursued by a maid servant with a broom. he had a veal cutlet in his mouth, which he had just taken out of the frying-pan. 'monsieur dumas!' cried the maid, 'monsieur dumas! stop your dog!' we tried; but pritchard passed between michel and me like a flash of lightning. 'it seems,' said michel, 'that he likes his veal underdone.' 'my good woman,' i said to the cook, who was still pursuing pritchard, 'i fear that you are losing time, and that you will never see your cutlet again.' 'well, then, let me tell you, sir, that you have no right to keep and feed a thief like that.' 'it is you, my good woman, who are feeding him to-day, not i.' 'me!' said the cook, 'it's--it's m. corrège. and what will m. corrège say, i should like to know?' 'he will say, like michel, that it seems pritchard likes his veal underdone.' 'well, but he'll not be pleased--he will think it's my fault.' 'never mind, i will invite your master to luncheon with me.' 'all the same, if your dog goes on like that, he will come to a bad end. that is all i have to say--he will come to a bad end.' and she stretched out her broom in an attitude of malediction towards the spot where pritchard had disappeared. we three stood looking at one another. 'well,' said i, 'we have lost pritchard.' 'we'll soon find him,' said michel. we therefore set off to find pritchard, whistling and calling to him, as we walked on towards vatrin's shooting ground. this search lasted for a good half-hour, pritchard not taking the slightest notice of our appeals. at last michel stopped. 'sir,' he said, 'look there! just come and look.' 'well, what?' said i, going to him. 'look!' said michel, pointing. i followed the direction of michel's finger, and saw pritchard in a perfectly immovable attitude, as rigid as if carved in stone. 'vatrin,' said i, 'come here.' vatrin came. i showed him pritchard. 'i think he is making a point,' said vatrin. michel thought so too. 'but what is he pointing at?' i asked. we cautiously came nearer to pritchard, who never stirred. 'he certainly is pointing,' said vatrin. then making a sign to me--'look there!' he said. 'do you see anything?' 'nothing.' 'what! you don't see a rabbit sitting? if i only had my stick, i'd knock it on the head, and it would make a nice stew for your dinner.' 'oh!' said michel, 'if that's all, i'll cut you a stick.' 'well, but pritchard might leave off pointing.' 'no fear of him--i'll answer for him--unless, indeed, the rabbit goes away.' vatrin proceeded to cut a stick. pritchard never moved, only from time to time he turned his yellow eyes upon us, which shone like a topaz. 'have patience,' said michel. 'can't you see that m. vatrin is cutting a stick?' and pritchard seemed to understand as he turned his eye on vatrin. 'you have still time to take off the branches,' said michel. when the branches were taken off and the stick was quite finished, vatrin approached cautiously, took a good aim, and struck with all his might into the middle of the tuft of grass where the rabbit was sitting. he had killed it! pritchard darted in upon the rabbit, but vatrin took it from him, and michel slipped it into the lining of his coat. this pocket had already held a good many rabbits in its time! vatrin turned to congratulate pritchard, but he had disappeared. 'he's off to find another rabbit,' said michel. and accordingly, after ten minutes or so, we came upon pritchard making another point. this time vatrin had a stick ready cut; and after a minute, plunging his hands into a brier bush, he pulled out by the ears a second rabbit. 'there, michel,' he said, 'put that into your other pocket.' 'oh,' said michel, 'there's room for five more in this one.' 'hallo, michel! people don't say those things before a magistrate.' and turning to vatrin i added, 'let us try once more, vatrin--the number three is approved by the gods.' 'may be,' said vatrin, 'but perhaps it won't be approved by m. guérin.' m. guérin was the police inspector. next time we came upon pritchard pointing, vatrin said, 'i wonder how long he would stay like that;' and he pulled out his watch. 'well, vatrin,' said i, 'you shall try the experiment, as it is in your own vocation; but i am afraid i have not the time to spare.' michel and i then returned home. vatrin followed with pritchard an hour afterwards. 'five-and-twenty minutes!' he called out as soon as he was within hearing. 'and if the rabbit had not gone away, the dog would have been there now.' 'well, vatrin, what do you think of him?' 'why, i say he is a good pointer; he has only to learn to retrieve, and that you can teach him yourself. i need not keep him any longer.' 'do you hear, michel?' 'oh, sir,' said michel, 'he can do that already. he retrieves like an angel!' this failed to convey to me an exact idea of the way in which pritchard retrieved. but michel threw a handkerchief, and pritchard brought it back. he then threw one of the rabbits that vatrin carried, and pritchard brought back the rabbit. michel then fetched an egg and placed it on the ground. pritchard retrieved the egg as he had done the rabbit and the handkerchief. 'well,' said vatrin, 'the animal knows all that human skill can teach him. he wants nothing now but practice. and when one thinks,' he added, 'that if the rascal would only come in to heel, he would be worth twenty pounds if he was worth a penny.' 'true,' said i with a sigh, 'but you may give up hope, vatrin; that is a thing he will never consent to.' ii i think that the time has now come to tell my readers a little about mademoiselle desgarcins, potich, and the last of the laidmanoirs. mademoiselle desgarcins was a tiny monkey; i do not know the place of her birth, but i brought her from havre, where i had gone--i don't know why--perhaps to look at the sea. but i thought i must bring something home with me from havre. i was walking there on the quay, when at the door of a bird-fancier's shop i saw a green monkey and a blue and yellow macaw. the monkey put its paw through the bars of its cage and caught hold of my coat, while the blue parrot turned its head and looked at me in such an affectionate manner that i stopped, holding the monkey's paw with one hand, and scratching the parrot's head with the other. the little monkey gently drew my hand within reach of her mouth, the parrot half shut its eyes and made a little purring noise to express its pleasure. [illustration: 'monsieur dumas, may i accommodate you with my monkey and my parrot?'] 'monsieur dumas,' said the shopman, coming out with the air of a man who was more decided to sell than i was to buy; 'monsieur dumas, may i accommodate you with my monkey and my parrot?' it would have been more to the purpose if he had said, 'monsieur dumas, may i _incommode_ you with my monkey and my parrot?' however, after a little bargaining, i bought both animals, as well as a cage for the monkey and a perch for the parrot; and as soon as i arrived at home, i introduced them to michel. 'this,' said michel, 'is the green monkey of senegal--_cercopithecus sabæa_.' i looked at michel in the greatest astonishment. 'do you know latin, michel?' 'i don't know latin, but i know my "dictionary of natural history."' 'oh, indeed! and do you know what bird this is?' i asked, showing him the parrot. 'to be sure i know it,' said michel. 'it is the blue and yellow macaw--_macrocercus arararanna_. oh, sir, why did you not bring a female as well as a male?' 'what is the use, michel, since parrots will not breed in this country?' 'there you make a mistake, sir; the blue macaw will breed in france.' 'in the south, perhaps?' 'it need not be in the south, sir.' 'where then?' 'at caen.' 'at caen? i did not know caen had a climate which permits parrots to rear their young. go and fetch my gazetteer.' 'you will soon see,' said michel as he brought it. i read: 'caen, capital of the department of calvados, upon the orne and the odon: kilomètres west of paris, , inhabitants.' 'you will see,' said michel, 'the parrots are coming.' 'great trade in plaster, salt, wood--taken by english in --retaken by the french &c., &c.--never mind the date--that is all, michel.' 'what! your dictionary never says that the arararanna, otherwise called the blue macaw, produces young at caen?' 'no, michel, it does not say that here.' 'what a dictionary! just wait till i fetch you mine and you will see.' michel returned in a few minutes with his book of natural history. 'you will soon see, sir,' he said, opening his dictionary in his turn. 'parrot--here it is--parrots are monogamous.' 'as you know latin, michel, of course you know what monogamous means.' 'that means that they can sing scales--gamut, i suppose?' 'well, no, michel, not exactly. it means that they have only one "wife."' 'indeed, sir? that is because they talk like us most likely. now, i have found the place: "it was long believed that parrots were incapable of breeding in europe, but the contrary has been proved on a pair of blue macaws which lived at caen. m. lamouroux furnishes the details of these results."' 'let us hear the details which m. lamouroux furnishes.' '"these macaws, from march until august , including a period of four years and a half, laid, in all, sixty-two eggs."' 'michel, i never said they did not lay eggs; what i said was--' '"out of this number,"' continued michel in a loud voice, '"twenty-five young macaws were hatched, of which only ten died. the others lived and continued perfectly healthy."' 'michel, i confess to having entertained false ideas on the subject of macaws.' '"they laid at all seasons of the year,"' continued michel, '"and more eggs were hatched in the latter than in the former years."' 'michel, i have no more to say.' '"the number of eggs in the nest varied. there have been as many as six at a time."' 'michel, i yield, rescue or no rescue!' 'only,' said michel, shutting the book, 'you must be careful not to give them bitter almonds or parsley.' 'not bitter almonds,' i answered, 'because they contain prussic acid; but why not parsley?' michel, who had kept his thumb in the page, reopened the book. '"parsley and bitter almonds,"' he read, '"are a violent poison to parrots."' 'all right, michel, i shall remember.' i remembered so well, that some time after, hearing that m. persil had died suddenly (persil being the french for parsley), i exclaimed, much shocked: 'ah! poor man, how unfortunate! he must have been eating parrot!' however, the news was afterwards contradicted. the next day i desired michel to tell the carpenter to make a new cage for mademoiselle desgarcins, who would certainly die of cramp if left in her small travelling cage. but michel, with a solemn face, said it was unnecessary. 'for,' said he, 'i am sorry to tell you, sir, that a misfortune has happened. a weasel has killed the golden pheasant. you will, however, have it for your dinner to-day.' i did not refuse, though the prospect of this repast caused me no great pleasure. i am very fond of game, but somehow prefer pheasants which have been shot to those killed by weasels. 'then,' said i, 'if the cage is empty, let us put in the monkey.' we brought the little cage close to the big cage, and opened both doors. the monkey sprang into her new abode, bounded from perch to perch, and then came and looked at me through the bars, making grimaces and uttering plaintive cries. 'she is unhappy without a companion,' said michel. 'suppose we give her the parrot?' 'you know that little boy, an auvergnat, who comes here with his monkey asking for pennies. if i were you, sir, i would buy that monkey.' 'and why that monkey rather than another?' 'he has been so well educated and is so gentle. he has a cap with a feather, and he takes it off when you give him a nut or a bit of sugar.' [illustration: {the auvergnat and his monkey}] 'can he do anything else?' 'he can fight a duel.' 'is that all?' 'no, he can also catch fleas on his master.' 'but, michel, do you think that that youth would part with so useful an animal?' 'we can but ask him, and there he is at this moment!' and he called to the boy to come in. the monkey was sitting on a box which the little boy carried on his back, and when his master took off his cap, the monkey did the same. it had a nice gentle little face, and i remarked to michel that it was very like a well-known translator of my acquaintance. 'if i have the happiness to become the owner of this charming animal,' i continued, 'we will call it potich.' and giving michel forty francs, i left him to make his bargain with the little auvergnat. iii i had not entered my study since my return from havre, and there is always a pleasure in coming home again after an absence. i was glad to come back, and looked about me with a pleased smile, feeling sure that the furniture and ornaments of the room, if they could speak, would say they were glad to see me again. as i glanced from one familiar object to another, i saw, upon a seat by the fire, a thing like a black and white muff, which i had never seen before. when i came closer, i saw that the muff was a little cat, curled up, half asleep, and purring loudly. i called the cook, whose name was madame lamarque. she came in after a minute or two. 'so sorry to have kept you waiting, but you see, sir, i was making a white sauce, and you, who can cook yourself, know how quickly those sauces curdle if you are not looking after them.' 'yes, i know that, madame lamarque; but what i do not know is, where this new guest of mine comes from.' and i pointed to the cat. 'ah, sir!' said madame lamarque in a sentimental tone, 'that is an antony.' 'an antony, madame lamarque! what is that?' 'in other words, an orphan--a foundling, sir.' 'poor little beast!' 'i felt sure that would interest you, sir.' 'and where did you find it, madame lamarque?' 'in the cellar--i heard a little cry--miaow, miaow, miaow! and i said to myself, "that _must_ be a cat!"' 'no! did you actually say that?' 'yes, and i went down myself, sir, and found the poor little thing behind the sticks. then i recollected how you had once said, "we ought to have a cat in the house."' 'did i say so? i think you are making a mistake, madame lamarque.' 'indeed, sir, you did say so. then i said to myself, "providence has sent us the cat which my master wishes for." and now there is one question i must ask you, sir. what shall we call the cat?' 'we will call it mysouff, if you have no objection. and please be careful, madame lamarque, that it does not eat my quails and turtle-doves, or any of my little foreign birds.' 'if m. dumas is afraid of that,' said michel, coming in, 'there is a method of preventing cats from eating birds.' 'and what is the method, my good friend?' 'you have a bird in a cage. very well. you cover three sides of the cage, you make a gridiron red-hot, you put it against the uncovered side of the cage, you let out the cat, and you leave the room. the cat, when it makes its spring, jumps against the hot gridiron. the hotter the gridiron is the better the cat is afterwards.' 'thank you, michel. and what of the troubadour and his monkey?' 'to be sure; i was coming to tell you about that. it is all right, sir; you are to have potich for forty francs, only you must give the boy two white mice and a guinea-pig in return.' 'but where am i to find two white mice and a guinea-pig?' 'if you will leave the commission to me, i will see that they are found.' i left the commission to michel. 'if you won't think me impertinent, sir,' said madame lamarque, 'i should so like to know what _mysouff_ means.' 'mysouff just means mysouff, madame lamarque.' 'it is a cat's name, then?' 'certainly, since mysouff the first was so-called. it is true, madame lamarque, you never knew mysouff.' and i became so thoughtful that madame lamarque was kind enough to withdraw quietly, without asking any questions about mysouff the first. that name had taken me back to fifteen years ago, when my mother was still living. i had then the great happiness of having a mother to scold me sometimes. at the time i speak of, i had a situation in the service of the duc d'orléans, with a salary of , francs. my work occupied me from ten in the morning until five in the afternoon. we had a cat in those days whose name was mysouff. this cat had missed his vocation--he ought to have been a dog. every morning i started for my office at half-past nine, and came back every evening at half-past five. every morning mysouff followed me to the corner of a particular street, and every evening i found him in the same street, at the same corner, waiting for me. now the curious thing was that on the days when i had found some amusement elsewhere, and was not coming home to dinner, it was no use to open the door for mysouff to go and meet me.[ ] mysouff, in the attitude of the serpent with its tail in its mouth, refused to stir from his cushion. on the other hand, the days i did come, mysouff would scratch at the door until someone opened it for him. my mother was very fond of mysouff; she used to call him her barometer. [ ] a remarkable instance of telepathy in the cat.--a. l. 'mysouff marks my good and my bad weather,' my dear mother would say; 'the days you come in are my days of sunshine; my rainy days are when you stay away.' when i came home, i used to see mysouff at the street corner, sitting quite still and gazing into the distance. as soon as he caught sight of me, he began to move his tail; then as i drew nearer, he rose and walked backwards and forwards across the pavement with his back arched and his tail in the air. when i reached him, he jumped up upon me as a dog would have done, and bounded and played round me as i walked towards the house; but when i was close to it he dashed in at full speed. two seconds after, i used to see my mother at the door. never again in this world, but in the next perhaps, i shall see her standing waiting for me at the door. that is what i was thinking of, dear readers, when the name of mysouff brought back all these recollections; so you understand why i did not answer madame lamarque's questions. henceforth mysouff ii. enjoyed the same privileges that mysouff i. had done, although, as will be seen later, he was not distinguished by similar virtues, but was, in fact, a very different sort of cat. iv the following sunday, when my son alexandre and one or two intimate friends were assembled in my room, a second auvergnat boy, with a second monkey, demanded admittance, and said that a friend having told him that m. dumas had bought his monkey for forty francs, two white mice, and a guinea-pig, he was prepared to offer his for the same price. my friends urged me to buy the second monkey. 'do buy this charming creature,' said my artist friend giraud. 'yes, do buy this ridiculous little beast,' said alexandre. 'buy him, indeed,' said i; 'have i forty francs to give away every day, to say nothing of a guinea-pig and two white mice?' 'gentlemen,' said alexandre, 'i am sorry to tell you that my father is, without exception, the most avaricious man living.' my guests exclaimed, but alexandre said that one day he would prove the truth of his assertion. i was now called upon to admire the monkey, and to remark how like he was to a friend of ours. giraud, who was painting a portrait of this gentleman, said that if i would let the monkey sit to him, it would help him very much in his work, and maquet, another of my guests, offered, amidst general applause, to make me a present of it.[ ] this decided me. [ ] maquet. the immortal augustus mackeat. 'you see,' said alexandre, 'he accepts.' 'come, young man,' said i to the auvergnat, 'embrace your monkey for the last time, and if you have any tears to shed, shed them without delay.' when the full price was paid, the boy made an attempt to do as i told him, but the last of the laidmanoirs refused to be embraced by his former master, and as soon as the latter had gone away, he seemed delighted and began to dance, while mademoiselle desgarcins in her cage danced, too, with all her might. 'look!' said maquet, 'they like each other. let us complete the happiness of these interesting animals.' we shut them up in the cage together, to the great delight of mademoiselle desgarcins, who did not care for potich, and much preferred her new admirer. potich, indeed, showed signs of jealousy, but, not being armed with the sword which he used to have when he fought duels, he could not wash out his affronts in the blood of his rival, but became a prey to silent melancholy and wounded affection. while we were still looking at the monkeys, a servant came in bringing a tray with wine and seltzer water. 'i say,' said alexandre, 'let us make mademoiselle desgarcins open the seltzer-water bottle!' and he put the bottle inside the cage on the floor. no sooner had he done so, than all three monkeys surrounded it and looked at it with the greatest curiosity. mademoiselle desgarcins was the first to understand that something would happen if she undid the four crossed wires which held down the cork. she accordingly set to work, first with her fingers, and then with her teeth, and it was not long before she undid the first three. she next attacked the fourth, while the whole company, both men and monkeys, watched her proceedings with breathless attention. presently a frightful explosion was heard: mademoiselle desgarcins was knocked over by the cork and drenched with seltzer water, while potich and the last of the laidmanoirs fled to the top of their cage, uttering piercing cries. 'oh!' cried alexandre, 'i'll give my share of seltzer water to see her open another bottle!' mademoiselle desgarcins had got up, shaken herself, and gone to rejoin her companions, who were still howling lamentably. 'you don't suppose she'll let herself be caught a second time,' said giraud. 'do you know,' said maquet, 'i should not wonder if she would. i believe her curiosity would still be stronger than her fear.' 'monkeys,' said michel, who had come in on hearing their cries, 'are more obstinate than mules. the more seltzer-water bottles you give them, the more they will uncork.' 'do you think so, michel?' 'you know, of course, how they catch them in their own country.' 'no, michel.' 'what! you don't know _that_, gentlemen?' said michel, full of compassion for our ignorance. 'you know that monkeys are very fond of indian corn. well, you put some indian corn into a bottle, the neck of which is just large enough to admit a monkey's paw. he sees the indian corn through the glass----' 'well, michel?' 'he puts his hand inside, and takes a good handful of the indian corn. at that moment the hunter shows himself. they are so obstinate--the monkeys, i mean--that they won't let go what they have in their hand, but as they can't draw their closed fist through the opening, there they are, you see, caught.' 'well, then, michel, if ever our monkeys get out, you will know how to catch them again.' 'oh! no fear, sir, that is just what i shall do.' the seltzer-water experiment was successfully repeated, to the triumph of michel and the delight of alexandre, who wished to go on doing it; but i forbade him, seeing that poor mademoiselle desgarcins' nose was bleeding from the blow of the cork. 'it is not that,' said alexandre; 'it is because you grudge your seltzer water. i have already remarked, gentlemen, that my father is, i regret to say, an exceedingly avaricious man.' v it is now my painful duty to give my readers some account of the infamous conduct of mysouff ii. one morning, on waking rather late, i saw my bedroom door gently opened, and the head of michel thrust in, wearing such a concerned expression that i knew at once that something was wrong. 'what has happened, michel?' 'why, sir, those villains of monkeys have managed to twist a bar of their cage, i don't know how, until they have made a great hole, and now they have escaped.' 'well--but, michel, we foresaw that that might occur, and now you have only to buy your indian corn, and procure three bottles the right size.' 'ah! you are laughing, sir,' said michel, reproachfully, 'but you won't laugh when you know all. they have opened the door of the aviary----' 'and so my birds have flown away?' 'sir, your six pairs of turtle doves, your fourteen quails, and all your little foreign birds, are eaten up!'[ ] [ ] let the reader compare the conduct of mr. gully, later! 'but monkeys won't eat birds!' 'no, but master mysouff will, and he has done it!' 'the deuce he has! i must see for myself.' 'yes, go yourself, sir; you will see a sight--a field of battle--a massacre of st. bartholomew!' as i was coming out, michel stopped me to point to potich, who had hung himself by the tail to the branch of a maple, and was swinging gracefully to and fro. mademoiselle desgarcins was bounding gaily about in the aviary, while the last of the laidmanoirs was practising gymnastics on the top of the greenhouse. 'well, michel, we must catch them. i will manage the last of the laidmanoirs if you will get hold of mademoiselle desgarcins. as to poor little potich, he will come of his own accord.' 'i wouldn't trust him, sir; he is a hypocrite. he has made it up with the other one--just think of that!' 'what! he has made friends with his rival in the affections of mademoiselle desgarcins?' 'just so, sir.' 'that is sad indeed, michel; i thought only human beings could be guilty of so mean an action.' 'you see, sir, these monkeys have frequented the society of human beings.' [illustration: {the last of the laidmanoirs and mademoiselle desgarcins}] i now advanced upon the last of the laidmanoirs with so much precaution that i contrived to shut him into the greenhouse, where he retreated into a corner and prepared to defend himself, while potich, from the outside, encouraged his friend by making horrible faces at me through the glass. at this moment piercing shrieks were heard from mademoiselle desgarcins; michel had just caught her. these cries so enraged the last of the laidmanoirs that he dashed out upon me; but i parried his attack with the palm of my hand; with which he came in contact so forcibly that he lost breath for a minute, and i then picked him up by the scruff of the neck. 'have you caught mademoiselle desgarcins?' i shouted to michel. 'have you caught the last of the laidmanoirs?' returned he. 'yes!' we both replied in turn. and each bearing his prisoner, we returned to the cage, which had in the meantime been mended, and shut them up once more, whilst potich, with loud lamentations, fled to the top of the highest tree in the garden. no sooner, however, did he find that his two companions were unable to get out of their cage, than he came down from his tree, approached michel in a timid and sidelong manner, and with clasped hands and little plaintive cries, entreated to be shut up again with his friends. 'just see what a hypocrite he is!' said michel. but i was of opinion that the conduct of potich was prompted by devotion rather than hypocrisy; i compared it to that of regulus, who returned to carthage to keep his promised word, or to king john of france, who voluntarily gave himself up to the english for the countess of salisbury's sake. michel continued to think potich a hypocrite, but on account of his repentance he was forgiven. he was put back into the cage, where mademoiselle desgarcins took very little notice of him. all this time mysouff, having been forgotten, calmly remained in the aviary, and continued to crunch the bones of his victims with the most hardened indifference. it was easy enough to catch _him_. we shut him into the aviary, and held a council as to what should be his punishment. michel was of opinion that he should be shot forthwith. i was, however, opposed to his immediate execution, and resolved to wait until the following sunday, and then to cause mysouff to be formally tried by my assembled friends. the condemnation was therefore postponed. in the meantime mysouff remained a prisoner in the very spot where his crimes had been committed. he continued, however, to refresh himself with the remains of his victims without apparent remorse, but michel removed all the bodies, and confined him to a diet of bread and water. next sunday, having convoked a council of all my friends, the trial was proceeded with. michel was appointed chief justice and nogent saint-laurent was counsel for the prisoner. i may remark that the jury were inclined to find a verdict of guilty, and after the first speech of the judge, the capital sentence seemed almost certain. but the skilful advocate, in a long and eloquent speech, brought clearly before us the innocence of mysouff, the malice of the monkeys, their quickness and incessant activity compared with the less inventive minds of cats. he showed us that mysouff was incapable of contemplating such a crime; he described him wrapped in peaceful sleep, then, suddenly aroused from this innocent slumber by the abandoned creatures who, living as they did opposite the aviary, had doubtless long harboured their diabolical designs. we saw mysouff but half awake, still purring innocently, stretching himself, opening his pink mouth, from which protruded a tongue like that of a heraldic lion. he shakes his ears, a proof that he rejects the infamous proposal that is being made to him; he listens; at first he refuses--the advocate insisted that the prisoner had begun by refusing--then, naturally yielding, hardly more than a kitten, corrupted as he had been by the cook, who instead of feeding him on milk or a little weak broth, as she had been told to do, had recklessly excited his carnivorous appetite by giving him pieces of liver and parings of raw chops; the unfortunate young cat yields little by little, prompted more by good nature and weakness of mind than by cruelty or greed, and, only half awake, he does the bidding of the villainous monkeys, the real instigators of the crime. the counsel here took the prisoner in his arms, showed us his paws, and defied any anatomist to say that with paws so made, an animal could possibly open a door that was bolted. finally, he borrowed michel's dictionary of natural history, opened it at the article 'cat,' 'domestic cat,' 'wild cat'; he proved that mysouff was no wild cat, seeing that nature had robed him in white, the colour of innocence; then smiting the book with vehemence, 'cat!' he exclaimed, 'cat! you shall now hear, gentlemen, what the illustrious buffon, the man with lace sleeves, has to say about the cat. '"the cat," says m. de buffon, "is not to be trusted, but it is kept to rid the house of enemies which cannot otherwise be destroyed. although the cat, especially when young, is pleasing, nature has given it perverse and untrustworthy qualities which increase with age, and which education may conceal, but will not eradicate." well, then,' exclaimed the orator, after having read this passage, 'what more remains to be said? did poor mysouff come here with a false character seeking a situation? was it not the cook herself who found him--who took him by force from the heap of sticks behind which he had sought refuge? it was merely to interest and touch the heart of her master that she described him mewing in the cellar. we must reflect also, that those unhappy birds, his victims--i allude especially to the quails, which are eaten by man--though their death is doubtless much to be deplored, yet they must have felt themselves liable to death at any moment, and are now released from the terrors they experienced every time they saw the cook approaching their retreat. finally, gentlemen, i appeal to your justice, and i think you will now admit that the interesting and unfortunate mysouff has but yielded, not only to incontrollable natural instincts, but also to foreign influence. i claim for my client the plea of extenuating circumstances.' the counsel's pleading was received with cries of applause, and mysouff, found guilty of complicity in the murder of the quails, turtle-doves, and other birds of different species, but with extenuating circumstances, was sentenced only to five years of monkeys. vi the next winter, certain circumstances, with which i need not trouble my readers, led to my making a journey to algiers. i seldom make any long journey without bringing home some animal to add to my collection, and accordingly i returned from africa accompanied by a vulture, which i bought from a little boy who called himself a beni-mouffetard. i paid ten francs for the vulture, and made the beni-mouffetard a present of two more, in return for which he warned me that my vulture was excessively savage, and had already bitten off the thumb of an arab and the tail of a dog. i promised to be very careful, and the next day i became the possessor of a magnificent vulture, whose only fault consisted in a strong desire to tear in pieces everybody who came near him. i bestowed on him the name of his compatriot, jugurtha. he had a chain fastened to his leg, and had for further security been placed in a large cage made of spars. in this cage he travelled quite safely as far as philippeville, without any other accident than that he nearly bit off the finger of a passenger who had tried to make friends with him. at philippeville a difficulty arose. it was three miles from stora, the port where we were to embark, and the diligence did not go on so far. i and several other gentlemen thought that we would like to walk to stora, the scenery being beautiful and the distance not very great; but what was i to do about jugurtha? i could not ask a porter to carry the cage; jugurtha would certainly have eaten him through the spars. i thought of a plan: it was to lengthen his chain eight or ten feet by means of a cord; and then to drive him in front of me with a long pole. but the first difficulty was to induce jugurtha to come out of his cage; none of us dared put our hands within reach of his beak. however, i managed to fasten the cord to his chain, then i made two men armed with pickaxes break away the spars. jugurtha finding himself free, spread out his wings to fly away, but he could of course only fly as far as his cord would permit. now jugurtha was a very intelligent creature; he saw that there was an obstacle in the way of his liberty, and that i was that obstacle; he therefore turned upon me with fury, in the hope of putting me to flight, or devouring me in case of resistance. i, however, was no less sagacious than jugurtha; i had foreseen the attack, and provided myself with a good switch made of dogwood, as thick as one's forefinger, and eight feet long. with this switch i parried jugurtha's attack, which astonished but did not stop him; however, a second blow, given with all my force, made him stop short, and a third caused him to fly in the opposite direction, that is, towards stora. once launched upon this road, i had only to use my switch adroitly to make jugurtha proceed at about the same pace as we did ourselves, to the great admiration of my fellow-travellers, and of all the people whom we met on the road. on our arrival at stora jugurtha made no difficulty about getting on board the steamer, and when tied to the mast, waited calmly while a new cage was made for him. he went into it of his own accord, received with gratitude the pieces of meat which the ship's cook gave him, and three days after his embarkation he became so tame that he used to present me with his head to scratch, as a parrot does. i brought jugurtha home without further adventure, and committed him to the charge of michel. it was not until my return from algiers on this occasion that i went to live at monte cristo, the building of which had been finished during my absence. up to this time i had lived in a smaller house called the villa medicis, and while the other was building, michel made arrangements for the proper lodging of all my animals, for he was much more occupied about their comfort than he was about mine or even his own. they had all plenty of room, particularly the dogs, who were not confined by any sort of enclosure, and pritchard, who was naturally generous, kept open house with a truly scottish hospitality. it was his custom to sit in the middle of the road and salute every dog that passed with a little not unfriendly growl; smelling him, and permitting himself to be smelt in a ceremonious manner. when a mutual sympathy had been produced by this means, a conversation something like this would begin: 'have you a good master?' asked the strange dog. 'not bad,' pritchard would reply. 'does your master feed you well?' 'well, one has porridge twice a day, bones at breakfast and dinner, and anything one can pick up in the kitchen besides.' the stranger licked his lips. 'you are not badly off,' said he. 'i do not complain,' replied pritchard. then, seeing the strange dog look pensive, he added, 'would you like to dine with us?' the invitation was accepted at once, for dogs do not wait to be pressed, like some foolish human beings. at dinner-time pritchard came in, followed by an unknown dog, who, like pritchard, placed himself beside my chair, and scratched my knee with his paw in such a confiding way that i felt sure that pritchard must have been commending my benevolence. the dog, after spending a pleasant evening, found that it was rather too late to return home, so slept comfortably on the grass after his good supper. next morning he took two or three steps as if to go away, then changing his mind, he inquired of pritchard, 'should i be much in the way if i stayed on here?' [illustration: dumas arrives at stora with his vulture] pritchard replied, 'you could quite well, with management, make them believe you are the neighbour's dog, and after two or three days, nobody would know you did not belong to the house. you might live here just as well as those idle useless monkeys, who do nothing but amuse themselves, or that greedy vulture, who eats tripe all day long, or that idiot of a macaw, who is always screaming about nothing.' the dog stayed, keeping in the background at first, but in a day or two he jumped up upon me and followed me everywhere, and there was another guest to feed, that was all. michel asked me one day if i knew how many dogs there were about the place. i answered that i did not. 'sir,' said michel, 'there are thirteen.' 'that is an unlucky number, michel; you must see that they do not all dine together, else one of them is sure to die first.' 'it is not that, though,' said michel, 'it is the expense i am thinking of. why, they would eat an ox a day, all those dogs; and if you will allow me, sir, i will just take a whip and put the whole pack to the door, to-morrow morning.' 'but, michel, let us do it handsomely. these dogs, after all, do honour to the house by staying here. so give them a grand dinner to-morrow; tell them that it is the farewell banquet, and then, at dessert, put them all to the door.' 'but after all, sir, i cannot put them to the door, because there isn't a door.' 'michel,' said i, 'there are certain things in this world that one must just put up with, to keep up one's character and position. since all these dogs have come to me, let them stay with me. i don't think they will ruin me, michel. only, on their own account, you should be careful that there are not thirteen.' 'i will drive away one,' suggested michel, 'and then there will only be twelve.' 'on the contrary, let another come, and then there will be fourteen.' michel sighed. 'it's a regular kennel,' he murmured. it was, in fact, a pack of hounds, though rather a mixed one. there was a russian wolfhound, there was a poodle, a water spaniel, a spitz, a dachshund with crooked legs, a mongrel terrier, a mongrel king charles, and a turkish dog which had no hair on its body, only a tuft upon its head and a tassel at the end of its tail. our next recruit was a little maltese terrier, named lisette, which raised the number to fourteen. after all, the expense of these fourteen amounted to rather over two pounds a month. a single dinner given to five or six of my own species would have cost me three times as much, and they would have gone away dissatisfied; for, even if they had liked my wine, they would certainly have found fault with my books. out of this pack of hounds, one became pritchard's particular friend and michel's favourite. this was a dachshund with short crooked legs, a long body, and, as michel said, the finest voice in the department of seine-et-oise. portugo--that was his name--had in truth a most magnificent bass voice. i used to hear it sometimes in the night when i was writing, and think how that deep-toned majestic bark would please st. hubert if he heard it in his grave. but what was portugo doing at that hour, and why was he awake while the other dogs slumbered? this mystery was revealed one day, when a stewed rabbit was brought me for dinner. i inquired where the rabbit came from. 'you thought it good, sir?' michel asked me with a pleased face. 'excellent.' 'well, then, you can have one just the same every day, sir, if you like.' [illustration: 'it's a regular kennel'] 'every day, michel? surely that is almost too much to promise. besides, i should like, before consuming so many rabbits, to know where they come from.' 'you shall know that this very night, if you don't mind coming out with me.' 'ah! michel, i have told you before that you are a poacher!' 'oh, sir, as to that, i am as innocent as a baby--and, as i was saying, if you will only come out with me to-night--' 'must i go far, michel?' 'not a hundred yards, sir.' 'at what o'clock?' 'just at the moment when you hear portugo's first bark.' 'very well, michel, i will be with you.' i had nearly forgotten this promise, and was writing as usual, when michel came into my study. it was about eleven o'clock, and a fine moonlight night. 'hallo!' said i, 'portugo hasn't barked yet, has he?' 'no, but i was just thinking that if you waited for that, you would miss seeing something curious.' 'what should i miss, michel?' 'the council of war which is held between pritchard and portugo.' i followed michel, and sure enough, among the fourteen dogs, which were mostly sleeping in different attitudes, portugo and pritchard were sitting up, and seemed to be gravely debating some important question. when the debate was ended, they separated; portugo went out at the gate to the high road, turned the corner, and disappeared, while pritchard began deliberately, as if he had plenty of time before him, to follow the little path which led up to a stone quarry. we followed pritchard, who took no notice of us, though he evidently knew we were there. he went up to the top of the quarry, examined and smelt about over the ground with great care, and when he had found a scent and assured himself that it was fresh, he lay down flat and waited. almost at the same moment, portugo's first bark was heard some two hundred yards off. now the plan the two dogs had laid was clear to us. the rabbits came out of their holes in the quarry every evening to go to their feeding ground; pritchard found the scent of one; portugo then made a wide circuit, found and chased the rabbit, and, as a rabbit or a hare always comes back upon its former track, pritchard, lying in ambush, awaited its return. accordingly, as the sound of portugo's barking came closer, we saw pritchard's yellow eyes light up and flame like a topaz; then all of a sudden he made a spring, and we heard a cry of fright and distress. 'they've done it!' said michel, and he went to pritchard, took out of his mouth a nice plump rabbit, gave it a blow behind the ears to finish it, and, opening it on the spot, gave the inside to the two dogs, who shared their portion contentedly, although they probably regretted michel's interference. as michel told me, i could have eaten a stewed rabbit every day for dinner, if such had been my desire. but after this, events of a different kind were taking place, which obliged me to leave my country pursuits, and i spent about two months in paris. the day before i returned to st.-germains i wrote and told michel to expect me, and found him waiting for me on the road half way from the station. 'i must tell you, sir,' he said, as soon as i was within hearing, 'that two important events have happened at monte cristo since you went away.' 'well, michel, let me hear.' 'in the first place, pritchard got his hind foot into a snare and instead of staying where he was as any other dog would have done, he bit off his foot with his teeth, and so he came home upon three legs.' 'but,' said i, much shocked, 'is the poor beast dead after such an accident?' 'dead, sir? was not i there to doctor him?' 'and what did you do to him then?' 'i cut off the foot properly at the joint with a pruning knife. i then sewed the skin neatly over it, and now you would never know it was off! look there, the rascal has smelt you and is coming to meet you.' [illustration: jugurtha becomes diogenes] and at that moment pritchard appeared, coming at full gallop, so that, as michel had said, one would hardly have noticed that he had only three feet. my meeting with pritchard was, as may be supposed, full of deep emotion on both sides. i was sorry for the poor animal. when i had recovered a little, i asked michel what his other piece of news was. 'the latest news, sir, is that jugurtha's name is no longer jugurtha.' 'what is it then?' 'it is diogenes.' 'and why?' 'look, sir!' we had now reached the little avenue of ash-trees which formed the entrance to the villa. to the left of the avenue the vulture was seen walking proudly to and fro in an immense tub, which michel had made into a house for him. 'ah! now i understand,' said i. 'of course, directly he lives in a tub----' 'that's it!' said michel. 'directly he lives in a tub, he cannot be jugurtha any more; he _must_ be diogenes.' i admired michel's historical learning no less than i did his surgical skill, just as the year before, i had bowed before his superior knowledge of natural history. vii in order to lead to more incidents in the life of pritchard i must now tell my readers that i had a friend called charpillon, who had a passion for poultry, and kept the finest hens in the whole department of yonne. these hens were chiefly cochins and brahmapootras; they laid the most beautiful brown eggs, and charpillon surrounded them with every luxury and never would allow them to be killed. he had the inside of his hen-house painted green, in order that the hens, even when shut up, might fancy themselves in a meadow. in fact, the illusion was so complete, that when the hen-house was first painted, the hens refused to go in at night, fearing to catch cold; but after a short time even the least intelligent among them understood that she had the good fortune to belong to a master who knew how to combine the useful with the beautiful. whenever these hens ventured out upon the road, strangers would exclaim with delight, 'oh! what beautiful hens!' to which some one better acquainted with the wonders of this fortunate village would reply, 'i should think so! these are m. charpillon's hens.' or, if the speaker were of an envious disposition, he might add, 'yes indeed! hens that _nothing_ is thought too good for!' when my friend charpillon heard that i had returned from paris, he invited me to come and stay with him to shoot, adding as a further inducement that he would give me the best and freshest eggs i had ever eaten in my life. though i did not share charpillon's great love of poultry, i am very fond of fresh eggs, and the nankeen-coloured eggs laid by his brahma hens had an especially delicate flavour. but all earthly pleasures are uncertain. the next morning charpillon's hens were found to have only laid three eggs instead of eight. such a thing had never happened before, and charpillon did not know whom to suspect; however he suspected every one rather than his hens, and a sort of cloud began to obscure the confidence he had hitherto placed in the security of his enclosures. while these gloomy doubts were occupying us, i observed michel hovering about as if he had something on his mind, and asked him if he wanted to speak to me. 'i should be glad to have a few words with you, sir.' 'in private?' 'it would be better so, for the honour of pritchard.' 'ah, indeed? what has the rascal been doing now?' 'you remember, sir, what your solicitor said to you one day when i was in the room?' 'what did he say, michel? my solicitor is a clever man, and says many sensible things; still it is difficult for me to remember them all.' 'well, sir,' he said, 'find out whom the crime benefits, and you will find the criminal.' 'i remember that axiom perfectly, michel. well?' 'well, sir, whom can this crime of stolen eggs benefit more than pritchard?' 'pritchard? you think it is he who steals the eggs? pritchard, who brings home eggs without breaking them!' 'you mean who _used_ to bring them. pritchard is an animal who has vicious instincts, sir, and if he does not come to a bad end some day, i shall be surprised, that's all.' 'does pritchard eat eggs, then?' 'he does; and it is only right to say, sir, that that is _your_ fault.' 'what! my fault? my fault that pritchard eats eggs?' michel shook his head sadly, but nothing could shake his opinion. 'now really, michel, this is too much! is it not enough that critics tell me that i pervert everybody's mind with my corrupt literature, but you must join my detractors and say that my bad example corrupts pritchard?' 'i beg pardon, sir, but do you remember how one day, at the villa medicis, while you were eating an egg, m. rusconi who was there said something so ridiculous that you let the egg fall upon the floor?' 'i remember that quite well.' 'and do you remember calling in pritchard, who was scraping up a bed of fuchsias in the garden, and making him lick up the egg?' 'i do not remember him scraping up a bed of fuchsias, but i do recollect that he licked up my egg.' 'well, sir, it is that and nothing else that has been his ruin. oh! he is quick enough to learn what is wrong; there is no need to show it him twice.' 'michel, you are really extremely tedious. how have i shown pritchard what is wrong?' 'by making him eat an egg. you see, sir, before that he was as innocent as a new-born babe; he didn't know what an egg was--he thought it was a badly made golf ball. but as soon as you make him eat an egg, he learns what it is. three days afterwards, m. alexandre came home, and was complaining to me of his dog--that he was rough and tore things with his teeth in carrying them. "ah! look at pritchard," i said to him, "how gentle _he_ is! you shall see the way he carries an egg." so i fetched an egg from the kitchen, placed it on the ground, and said, "fetch, pritchard!" pritchard didn't need to be told twice, but what do you think the cunning rascal did? you remember, some days before, monsieur ---- the gentleman who had such a bad toothache, you know. you recollect his coming to see you?' 'yes, of course i remember.' 'well, pritchard pretended not to notice, but those yellow eyes of his notice everything. well, all of a sudden he pretended to have the same toothache that that gentleman had, and crack! goes the egg. then he pretends to be ashamed of his awkwardness--he swallows it in a hurry, shell and all! i believed him--i thought it was an accident and fetched another egg. scarcely did he make three steps with the egg in his mouth than the toothache comes on again, and crack! goes the second egg. i began then to suspect something--i went and got a third, but if i hadn't stopped then he'd have eaten the whole basketful. so then m. alexandre, who likes his joke, said, "michel, you may possibly make a good musician of pritchard, or a good astronomer, but he'll never be a good incubator!"' 'how is it that you never told me this before, michel?' 'because i was ashamed, sir; for this is not the worst.' 'what! not the worst?' michel shook his head. 'he has developed an unnatural craving for eggs; he got into m. acoyer's poultry-yard and stole all his. m. acoyer came to complain to me. how do you suppose he lost his foot?' 'you told me yourself--in somebody's grounds where he had forgotten to read the notice about trespassing.' 'you are joking, sir--but i really believe he can read.' 'oh! michel, pritchard is accused of enough sins without having _that_ vice laid to his charge! but about his foot?' 'i think he caught it in some wire getting out of a poultry-yard.' 'but you know it happened at night, and the hens are shut up at night. how could he get into the hen-house?' 'he doesn't need to get into the hen-house after eggs; he can charm the hens. pritchard is what one may call a charmer.' 'michel, you astonish me more and more!' 'yes, indeed, sir. i knew that he used to charm the hens at the villa medicis; only m. charpillon has such wonderful hens, i did not think they would have allowed it. but i see now all hens are alike.' 'then you think it is pritchard who----' 'i think he charms m. charpillon's hens, and that is the reason they don't lay--at least, that they only lay for pritchard.' 'indeed, michel, i should much like to know how he does it!' 'if you are awake very early to-morrow, sir, just look out of your window--you can see the poultry-yard from it, and you will see a sight that you have never seen before!' 'i have seen many things, michel, including sixteen changes of governments, and to see something i have never seen before i would gladly sit up the whole night!' 'there is no need for that--i can wake you at the right time.' the next day at early dawn, michel awoke me. 'i am ready, michel,' said i, coming to the window. 'wait, wait! let me open it very gently. if pritchard suspects that he is watched, he won't stir; you have no idea how deceitful he is.' michel opened the window with every possible precaution. from where i stood, i could distinctly see the poultry-yard, and pritchard lying in his couch, his head innocently resting upon his two fore-paws. at the slight noise which michel made in opening the window, pritchard pricked up his ears and half opened his yellow eye, but as the sound was not repeated he did not move. ten minutes afterwards we heard the newly wakened hens begin to cluck. pritchard immediately opened both eyes, stretched himself and stood upright upon his three feet. he then cast a glance all round him, and seeing that all was quiet, disappeared into a shed, and the next moment we saw him coming out of a sort of little window on the other side. from this window pritchard easily got upon the sloping roof which overhung one side of the poultry-yard. he had now only to jump down about six feet, and having got into the inclosure he lay down flat in front of the hen-house, giving a little friendly bark. a hen looked out at pritchard's call, and instead of seeming frightened she went to him at once and received his compliments with apparent complacency. nor did she seem at all embarrassed, but proceeded to lay her egg, and that within such easy reach of pritchard that we had not time to see the egg--it was swallowed the same instant. she then retired cackling triumphantly, and her place was taken by another hen. 'well, now, sir,' said michel, when pritchard had swallowed his fourth egg, 'you see it is no wonder that pritchard has such a clear voice. you know great singers always eat raw eggs the first thing in the morning.' 'i know that, michel, but what i don't know is how pritchard proposes to get out of the poultry-yard.' 'just wait and see what the scoundrel will do.' pritchard having finished his breakfast, or being a little alarmed at some noise in the house, stood up on his hind leg, and slipping one of his fore-paws through the bars of the gate, he lifted the latch and went out. 'and when one thinks,' said michel, 'that if anybody asked him why the yard door was left open, he would say it was because pierre had forgotten to shut it last night!' [illustration: pritchard and the hens] 'you think he would have the wickedness to say _that_, michel?' 'perhaps not to-day, nor yet to-morrow, because he is not come to his full growth, but some day, mind you, i should not be surprised to hear him speak.' viii before going out to shoot that day, i thought it only right to give m. charpillon an account of pritchard's proceedings. he regarded him, therefore with mingled feelings, in which admiration was more prominent than sympathy, and it was agreed that on our return the dog should be shut up in the stable, and that the stable-door should be bolted and padlocked. pritchard, unsuspicious of our designs, ran on in front with a proud step and with his tail in the air. 'you know,' said charpillon, 'that neither men nor dogs are allowed to go into the vineyards. i ought as a magistrate to set an example, and gaignez still more, as he is the mayor. so mind you keep in pritchard.' 'all right,' said i, 'i will keep him in.' but michel, approaching, suggested that i should send pritchard home with him. 'it would be safer,' he said. 'we are quite near the house, and i have a notion that he might get us into some scrape by hunting in the vineyards.' 'don't be afraid, michel; i have thought of a plan to prevent him.' michel touched his hat. 'i know you are clever, sir--very clever; but i don't think you are as clever as that!' 'wait till you see.' 'indeed, sir, you will have to be quick, for there is pritchard hunting already.' we were just in time to see pritchard disappear into a vineyard, and a moment afterwards he raised a covey of partridges. 'call in your dog,' cried gaignez. i called pritchard, who, however, turned a deaf ear. 'catch him,' said i to michel. michel went, and returned in a few minutes with pritchard in a leash. in the meantime i had found a long stake, which i hung crosswise round his neck, and let him go loose with this ornament. pritchard understood that he could no longer go through the vineyards, but the stake did not prevent his hunting, and he only went a good deal further off on the open ground. from this moment there was only one shout all along the line. 'hold in your dog, confound him!' 'keep in your pritchard, can't you! he's sending all the birds out of shot!' 'look here! would you mind my putting a few pellets into your brute of a dog? how can anybody shoot if he won't keep in?' 'michel,' said i, 'catch pritchard again.' 'i told you so, sir. luckily we are not far from the house; i can still take him back.' 'not at all. i have a second idea. catch pritchard.' 'after all,' said michel, 'this is nearly as good fun as if we were shooting.' and by-and-bye he came back, dragging pritchard by his stake. pritchard had a partridge in his mouth. 'look at him, the thief!' said michel. 'he has carried off m. gaignez's partridge--i see him looking for it.' 'put the partridge in your game-bag, michel; we will give him a surprise.' michel hesitated. 'but,' said he, 'think of the opinion this rascal will have of you!' 'what, michel? do you think pritchard has a bad opinion of me?' 'oh, sir! a shocking opinion.' 'but what makes you think so?' 'why, sir, do you not think that pritchard knows in his soul and conscience that when he brings you a bird that another gentleman has shot, he is committing a theft?' 'i think he has an idea of it, certainly, michel.' 'well, then, sir, if he knows he is a thief, he must take you for a receiver of stolen goods. look at the articles of the code; it is said there that receivers are equally guilty with thieves, and should be similarly punished.' [illustration: 'pritchard reappeared next moment with a hare in his mouth'] 'michel, you open my eyes to a whole vista of terrors. but we are going to try to cure pritchard of hunting. when he is cured of hunting, he will be cured of stealing.' 'never, sir! you will never cure pritchard of his vices.' still i pursued my plan, which was to put pritchard's fore-leg through his collar. by this means, his right fore-foot being fastened to his neck, and his left hind-foot being cut off, he had only two to run with, the left fore-foot and the right hind-foot. 'well, indeed,' said michel, 'if he can hunt now, the devil is in it.' he loosed pritchard, who stood for a moment as if astonished, but once he had balanced himself he began to walk, then to trot; then, as he found his balance better, he succeeded in running quicker on his two legs than many dogs would have done on four. 'where are we now, sir?' said michel. 'it's that beast of a stake that balances him!' i replied, a little disappointed. 'we ought to teach him to dance upon the tight-rope--he would make our fortunes as an acrobat.' 'you are joking again, sir. but listen! do you hear that?' the most terrible imprecations against pritchard were resounding on all sides. the imprecations were followed by a shot, then by a howl of pain. 'that is pritchard's voice,' said michel. 'well, it is no more than he deserves.' pritchard reappeared the next moment with a hare in his mouth. 'michel, you said that was pritchard that howled.' 'i would swear to it, sir.' 'but how could he howl with a hare in his mouth?' michel scratched his head. 'it was he all the same,' he said, and he went to look at pritchard. 'oh, sir!' he said, 'i was right. the gentleman he took the hare from has shot him. his hind-leg is all over blood. look! there is m. charpillon running after his hare.' 'you know that i have just put some pellets into your pritchard?' charpillon called out as soon as he saw me. 'you did quite right.' 'he carried off my hare.' 'there! you see,' said michel, 'it is impossible to cure him.' 'but when he carried away your hare, he must have had it in his mouth?' 'of course. where else would he have it?' 'but how could he howl with a hare in his mouth?' 'he put it down to howl, then he took it up again and made off.' 'there's deceit for you, gentlemen!' exclaimed michel. pritchard succeeded in bringing the hare to me, but when he reached me he had to lie down. 'i say,' said charpillon, 'i hope i haven't hurt him more than i intended--it was a long shot.' and forgetting his hare, charpillon knelt down to examine pritchard's wound. it was a serious one; pritchard had received five or six pellets about the region of his tail, and was bleeding profusely. 'oh, poor beast!' cried charpillon. 'i wouldn't have fired that shot for all the hares in creation if i had known.' 'bah!' said michel; 'he won't die of it.' and, in fact, pritchard, after spending three weeks with the vet. at st.-germains, returned to monte cristo perfectly cured, and with his tail in the air once more. ix soon after the disastrous event which i have just related the revolution of occurred in france, in which king louis philippe was dethroned and a republic established. you will ask what the change of government had to do with my beasts? well, although, happily, they do not trouble their heads about politics, the revolution did affect them a good deal; for the french public, being excited by these occurrences, would not buy my books, preferring to read the 'guillotine,' the 'red republic,' and such like corrupt periodicals; so that i became for the time a very much poorer man. i was obliged greatly to reduce my establishment. i sold my three horses and two carriages for a quarter of their value, and i presented the last of the laidmanoirs, potich, and mademoiselle desgarcins to the jardin des plantes in paris. i had to move into a smaller house, but my monkeys were lodged in a palace; this is a sort of thing that sometimes happens after a revolution. mysouff also profited by it, for he regained his liberty on the departure of the monkeys. as to diogenes, the vulture, i gave him to my worthy neighbour collinet, who keeps the restaurant henri iv., and makes such good cutlets à la béarnaise. there was no fear of diogenes dying of hunger under his new master's care; on the contrary, he improved greatly in health and beauty, and, doubtless as a token of gratitude to collinet, he laid an egg for him every year, a thing he never dreamt of doing for me. lastly, we requested pritchard to cease to keep open house, and to discontinue his daily invitations to strange dogs to dine and sleep. i was obliged to give up all thoughts of shooting that year. it is true that pritchard still remained to me, but then pritchard, you must recollect, had only three feet; he had been badly hurt when he was shot by charpillon, and the revolution of february had occasioned the loss of one eye. it happened one day during that exciting period, that michel was so anxious to see what was going on that he forgot to give pritchard his dinner. pritchard therefore invited himself to dine with the vulture, but diogenes, being of a less sociable turn, and not in a humour to be trifled with, dealt poor pritchard such a blow with his beak as to deprive him of one of his mustard-coloured eyes. pritchard's courage was unabated; he might be compared to that brave field marshal of whom it was said that mars had left nothing of him whole except his heart. but it was difficult, you see, to make much use of a dog with so many infirmities. if i had wished to sell him i could not have found a purchaser, nor would he have been considered a handsome present had i desired to give him away. i had no choice, then, but to make this old servant, badly as he had sometimes served me, a pensioner, a companion, in fact a friend. some people told me that i might have tied a stone round his neck and flung him into the river; others, that it was easy enough to replace him by buying a good retriever from vatrin; but although i was not yet poor enough to drown pritchard, neither was i rich enough to buy another dog. however, later in that very year, i made an unexpected success in literature, and one of my plays brought me in a sufficient sum to take a shooting in the department of yonne. i went to look at this shooting, taking pritchard with me. in the meantime my daughter wrote to tell me that she had bought an excellent retriever for five pounds, named catinat, and that she was keeping him in the stable until my return. as soon as i arrived, my first care was to make catinat's acquaintance. he was a rough, vigorous dog of three or four years old, thoughtless, violent, and quarrelsome. he jumped upon me till he nearly knocked me down, upset my daughter's work-table, and dashed about the room to the great danger of my china vases and ornaments. i therefore called michel and informed him that the superficial acquaintance which i had made with catinat would suffice for the time, and that i would defer the pleasure of his further intimacy until the shooting season began at auxerre. poor michel, as soon as he saw catinat, had been seized with a presentiment of evil. 'sir,' he said, 'that dog will bring some misfortune upon us. i do not know yet what, but something will happen, i know it will!' 'in the meantime, michel,' i said, 'you had better take catinat back to the stable.' but catinat had already left the room of his own accord and rushed downstairs to the dining-room, where i had left pritchard. now pritchard never could endure catinat from the first moment he saw him; the two dogs instantly flew at one another with so much fury that michel was obliged to call me to his assistance before we could separate them. catinat was once more shut up in the stable, and pritchard conducted to his kennel in the stable-yard, which, in the absence of carriages and horses, was now a poultry-yard, inhabited by my eleven hens and my cock cæsar. pritchard's friendship with the hens continued to be as strong as ever, and the household suffered from a scarcity of eggs in consequence. that evening, while my daughter and i were walking in the garden, michel came to meet us, twisting his straw hat between his fingers, a sure sign that he had something important to say. 'well, what is it, michel?' i asked. 'it came into my mind, sir,' he answered, 'while i was taking pritchard to his kennel, that we never have any eggs because pritchard eats them; and he eats them because he is in direct communication with the hens.' 'it is evident, michel, that if pritchard never went into the poultry-yard, he would not eat the eggs.' 'then, do you not think, sir,' continued michel, 'that if we shut up pritchard in the stable and put catinat into the poultry-yard, it would be better? catinat is an animal without education, so far as i know; but he is not such a thief as pritchard.' 'do you know what will happen if you do that, michel?' i said. 'catinat will not eat the eggs, perhaps, but he will eat the hens.' 'if a misfortune like that were to occur, i know a method of curing him of eating hens.' 'well--but in the meantime the hens would be eaten.' scarcely had i uttered these words, when a frightful noise was heard in the stable-yard, as loud as that of a pack of hounds in full cry, but mingled with howls of rage and pain which indicated a deadly combat. 'michel!' i cried, 'do you hear that?' 'oh yes, i hear it,' he answered, 'but those must be the neighbours' dogs fighting.' 'michel, those are catinat and pritchard killing each other!' 'impossible, sir--i have separated them.' 'well, then, they have met again.' 'it is true,' said michel, 'that scoundrel pritchard can open the stable-door as well as any one.' 'then, you see, pritchard is a dog of courage; he'll have opened the stable-door for catinat on purpose to fight him. be quick, michel, i am really afraid one of them will be killed.' michel darted into the passage which led to the stable, and no sooner had he disappeared than i knew from the lamentations which i heard that some misfortune had happened. in a minute or two michel reappeared sobbing bitterly and carrying pritchard in his arms. 'look, sir! just look!' he said; 'this is the last we shall see of pritchard--look what your fine sporting dog has done to him. catinat, indeed! it is catilina he should be called!' i ran up to pritchard, full of concern--i had a great love for him, though he had often made me angry. he was a dog of much originality, and the unexpected things he did were only a proof of genius. 'what do you think is the matter?' i asked michel. 'the matter?--the matter is that he is dead!' 'oh no, surely not!' 'anyhow, he'll never be good for anything again.' and he laid him on the ground at my feet. 'pritchard, my poor pritchard!' i cried. at the sound of my voice, pritchard opened his yellow eye and looked sorrowfully at me, then stretched out his four legs, gave one sigh, and died. catinat had bitten his throat quite through, so that his death was almost immediate. 'well, michel,' said i, 'it is not a good servant, it is a good friend that we have lost. you must wash him carefully--you shall have a towel to wrap him in--you shall dig his grave in the garden and we will have a tombstone made for him on which shall be engraved this epitaph: 'like conquering rantzau, of courage undaunted, pritchard, to thee mars honour has granted, on each field of fight of a limb he bereft thee, till nought but thy gallant heart scatheless was left thee.' as my habit was, i sought consolation for my grief in literary labours. michel endeavoured to assuage his with the help of two bottles of red wine, with which, mingled with his tears, he watered the grave of the departed. i know this because when i came out early next morning to see if my wishes with regard to pritchard's burial had been carried out, i found michel stretched upon the ground, still in tears, and the two bottles empty by his side. _the adventures of pyramus_ pyramus was a large brown dog, born of a good family, who had been given, when a mere pup, to alexandre dumas, the great french novelist, then quite a young man. now the keeper to whom pyramus first belonged had also a tiny little fox-cub without any relations about the place, so both fox-cub and dog-pup were handed over to the same mother, who brought them up side by side, until they were able to do for themselves. so when the keeper made young dumas a present of pyramus, he thought he had better bestow cartouche on him as well. of course it is hardly necessary to say that these fine names were not invented by the keeper, who had never heard of either pyramus or cartouche, but were given to his pets by dumas, after he had spent a little time in observing their characters. certainly it was a very curious study. here were two animals, who had never been apart since they were born, and were now living together in two kennels side by side in the court-yard of the house, and yet after the first three or four months, when they were mere babies, every day showed some difference, and soon they ceased to be friends at all and became open enemies. the earliest fight known to have taken place between them happened in this way. one day some bones were thrown by accident within the bounds of cartouche's territory, and though if they belonged to anybody, it was clearly cartouche, pyramus resolved most unfairly to get hold of them. the first time pyramus tried secretly to commit this act of piracy, cartouche growled; the second time he showed his teeth; the third time he bit. it must be owned that cartouche had shown some excuse for his violent behaviour, because he always remained chained up, whereas pyramus was allowed certain hours of liberty; and it was during one of these that he made up his mind to steal the bones from cartouche, whose chain (he thought) would prevent any attempt at reprisals. indeed, he even tried to make out to his conscience that probably the bones were not dainty enough for cartouche, who loved delicate food, whereas anything was good enough for him, pyramus. however, whether he wanted to eat the bones or not, cartouche had no intention of letting them be stolen from him, and having managed to drive off pyramus on the first occasion, he determined to get safely hold of the bones before his enemy was unchained again. now the chains of each were the same length, four feet, and in addition to that, pyramus had a bigger head and longer nose than cartouche, who was much smaller altogether. so it follows that when they were both chained up, pyramus could stretch farther towards any object that lay at an equal distance between their kennels. pyramus knew this, and so he counted on always getting the better of cartouche. but cartouche had not been born a fox for nothing, and he watched with a scornful expression the great pyramus straining at his chain with his eyes nearly jumping out of his head with greed and rage. 'really,' said cartouche to himself, 'if he goes on like that much longer, i shall have a mad dog for a neighbour before the day is out. let me see if _i_ can't manage better.' but as we know, being a much smaller animal than pyramus, his nose did not come nearly so close to the bones; and after one or two efforts to reach the tempting morsel which was lying about six feet from each kennel, he gave it up, and retired to his warm bed, hoping that he might somehow hit upon some idea which would enable him to reach the 'bones of contention.' all at once he jumped up, for after hard thought he had got what he wanted. he trotted merrily to the length of his chain, and now it was pyramus's turn to look on and to think with satisfaction: 'well, if _i_ can't get them, _you_ can't either, which is a comfort.' [illustration: cartouche outwits pyramus] but gradually his grin of delight changed into a savage snarl, as cartouche turned himself round when he had got to the end of his chain, and stretching out his paw, hooked the bone which he gradually drew within reach, and before pyramus had recovered from his astonishment, cartouche had got possession of all the bones and was cracking them with great enjoyment inside his kennel. it may seem very unjust that cartouche was always kept chained up, while pyramus was allowed to roam about freely, but the fact was that pyramus only ate or stole when he was really hungry, while cartouche was by nature the murderer of everything he came across. one day he broke his chain and ran off to the fowl-yard of monsieur mauprivez, who lived next door. in less than ten minutes he had strangled seventeen hens and two cocks: nineteen corpses in all! it was impossible to find any 'extenuating circumstances' in his favour. he was condemned to death and promptly executed. henceforth pyramus reigned alone, and it is sad to think that he seemed to enjoy it, and even that his appetite grew bigger. it is bad enough for any dog to have an appetite like pyramus when he was at home, but when he was out shooting, and should have been doing his duty as a retriever, this fault became a positive vice. whatever might be the first bird shot by his master, whether it happened to be partridge or pheasant, quail or snipe, down it would go into pyramus's wide throat. it was seldom, indeed, that his master arrived in time to see even the last feathers. a smart blow from a whip kept him in order all the rest of the day, and it was very rarely that he sinned twice in this way while on the same expedition, but unluckily before the next day's shooting came round, he had entirely forgotten all about his previous caning, and justice had to be done again. on two separate occasions, however, pyramus's greediness brought its own punishment. one day his master was shooting with a friend in a place where a small wood had been cut down early in the year, and after the low shrubs had been sawn in pieces and bound in bundles, the grass was left to grow into hay, and this hay was now in process of cutting. the shooting party reached the spot just at the time that the reapers were having their dinner and taking their midday rest, and one of the reapers had laid his scythe against a little stack of wood about three feet high. at this moment a snipe got up, and m. dumas fired and killed it. it fell on the other side of the stack of wood against which the scythe was leaning. as it was the first bird he had killed that day, he knew of course that it would become the prey of pyramus, so he did not hurry himself to go after it, but watched with amusement, pyramus tearing along, even jumping over the stack in his haste. but when after giving the dog the usual time to swallow his fat morsel, monsieur did not see pyramus coming back to him as usual in leaps and bounds, he began to wonder what could have happened, and made hastily for the stack of wood behind which he had disappeared. there he found the unlucky pyramus lying on the ground, with the point of the scythe right through his neck. the blood was pouring from the wound, and he lay motionless, with the snipe dead on the ground about six inches from his nose. the two men raised him as gently as possible, and carried him to the river, and here they bathed the wound with water. they then folded a pocket-handkerchief into a band, and tied it tightly round his neck to staunch the blood, and when this was done, and they were wondering how to get him home, a peasant fortunately passed driving a donkey with two panniers, and he was laid in one of the panniers and taken to the nearest village, where he was put safely into a carriage. for eight days pyramus lay between life and death. for a whole month his head hung on one side, and it was only after six weeks (which seems like six years to a dog) that he was able to run about as usual, and appeared to have forgotten his accident. only, whenever he saw a scythe he made a long round to avoid coming in contact with it. some time afterwards he returned to the house with his body as full of holes as a sieve. on this occasion he was taking a walk through the forest, and, seeing a goat feeding, jumped at its throat. the goat screamed loudly, and the keeper, who was smoking at a little distance off, ran to his help; but before he could come up the goat was half dead. on hearing the steps of the keeper, and on listening to his strong language, pyramus understood very well that this stout man dressed in blue would have something very serious to say to him, so he stretched his legs to their fullest extent, and started off like an arrow from a bow. but, as man friday long ago remarked, 'my little ball of lead can run faster than thou,' the keeper's little ball of lead ran faster than pyramus, and that is how he came home with all the holes in his body. there is no denying that pyramus was a very bad dog, and as his master was fond of him, it is impossible to believe that he can _always_ have been hungry, as, for instance, when he jumped up in a butcher's shop to steal a piece of meat and got the hook on which it was hung through his own jaws, so that someone had to come and unhook him. but hungry or not, monsieur dumas had no time to be perpetually getting him out of scrapes, and when a few months later an englishman who wanted a sporting dog took a fancy to pyramus, his master was not altogether sorry to say good-bye. _the story of a weasel_ bingley's _animal biography_. weasels are so sharp and clever and untiring, that their activity has been made into a proverb; and, like many other sharp and clever creatures, they are very mischievous, and fond of killing rabbits and chickens, and even of sucking their eggs, which they do so carefully that they hardly ever break one. a french lady, called mademoiselle de laistre, a friend of the great naturalist, monsieur de buffon, once found a weasel when he was very young indeed, and, as she was fond of pets, she thought she would bring him up. now a weasel is a little creature, and very pretty. it has short legs and a long tail, and its skin is reddish brown above and white below. its eyes are black and its ears are small, and its body is about seven inches in length. but this weasel was much smaller than that when it went to live with mademoiselle de laistre. of course it had to be taught: all young things have, and this weasel knew nothing. the good lady first began with pouring some milk into the hollow of her hand and letting it drink from it. very soon, being a weasel of polite instincts, it would not take milk in any other way. after its dinner, when a little fresh meat was added to the milk, it would run to a soft quilt that was spread in its mistress's bedroom, and, having soon discovered that it could get inside the quilt at a place where the stitches had given way, it proceeded to tuck itself up comfortably for an hour or two. this was all very well in the day, but mademoiselle de laistre did not feel at all safe in leaving such a mischievous creature loose during the night, so whenever she went to bed, she shut the weasel up in a little cage that stood close by. if she happened to wake up early, she would unfasten the cage, and then the weasel would come into her bed, and, nestling up to her, go to sleep again. if she was already dressed when he was let out, he would jump all about her, and would never once miss alighting on her hands, even when they were held out three feet from him. [illustration: mademoiselle de laistre and her weasel] all his ways were pretty and gentle. he would sit on his mistress's shoulder and give little soft pats to her chin, or would run over a whole room full of people at the mere sound of her voice. he was very fond of the sun, too, and would tumble about and murmur with delight whenever it shone on him. the little weasel was rather a thirsty animal, but he would not drink much at a time, and, when he had once tasted milk, could not be persuaded to touch rain-water. baths were quite new to him, too, and he could not make up his mind to them, even in the heat, from which he suffered a good deal. his nearest approach to bathing was a wet cloth wrapped round him, and this evidently gave him great pleasure. cats and dogs about the place condescended to make friends with him, and they never quarrelled nor hurt each other. indeed, in many of their instincts and ways, weasels are not very unlike cats, and one quality they have in common is their curiosity. nothing was dull or uninteresting to this little weasel. it was impossible to open a drawer or take out a paper without his little sharp nose being thrust round the corner, and he would even jump on his mistress's hands, the better to read her letters. he was also very fond of attracting attention, and in the midst of his play would always stop to see if anyone was watching. if he found that no one was troubling about him, he would at once leave off, and, curling himself up, go off into a sleep so sound that he might be taken up by the head and swung backwards and forwards quite a long time before he would wake up and be himself again. _stories about wolves_ wolves are found in the colder and more northern parts of asia and north america, and over the whole of europe, except the british isles, where they were exterminated long ago. some say lochiel killed the last wolf in scotland, some say a gamekeeper was the hero. the wolf very much resembles the dog in appearance, except that his eyes are set in obliquely, and nearer his nose. his coat is commonly of a tawny grey colour, but sometimes black or white, and he varies in size according to the climate. some wolves only measure two and a half feet in length, not counting the tail, others are much larger. they have remarkably keen sight, hearing, and sense of smell, and such a stealthy gait, that their way of slinking along has passed into a proverb in countries where wolves are common. they live in rocky caverns in the forest, sleep by day like other beasts of prey, and go out at night to forage for food. they eat small birds, reptiles, the smaller animals, such as rats and mice, some fruits, grapes among others, and rotten apples; they do not disdain even dead bodies, nor garbage of any sort. but in times of famine or prolonged snow, when all these provisions fail them, and they feel the pinch of hunger, then woe betide the flocks of sheep or the human beings they may encounter. in wolves actually came into paris and attacked the citizens. even so lately as the long and severe winter of - , the wolves came down into the plains of piedmont and the lower alpes maritimes in such numbers that the soldiery had to be called out to destroy them. in such times a wolf in broad daylight will steal up to a flock of sheep peacefully feeding, seize on a fine fat one, and make away with it, unseen and unsuspected even by the watchful sheep dog. should a first attempt prove successful, he will return again and again, till, finding he can no longer rob that flock unmolested, he will look out for another one still unsuspicious. if he once gets inside a sheep-fold at night, he massacres and mangles right and left. when he has slain to his heart's content, he goes off with a victim and devours it, then comes back for a second, a third, and a fourth carcase, which he carries away to hide under a heap of branches or dead leaves. when dawn breaks, he returns gorged with food to his lair, leaving the ground strewn with the bodies of the slain. the wolf even contrives to get the better of his natural enemy, the dog, using stratagem and cleverness in the place of strength. if he spies a gawky long-legged puppy swaggering about his own farmyard, he will come closer and entice him out to play by means of every sort of caper and gambol. when the young simpleton has been induced to come out beyond the farmyard, the wolf, throwing off his disguise of amiable playfulness, falls upon the dog and carries him away to make a meal of. in the case of a dog stronger and more capable of making resistance the stratagem requires two wolves; one appears to the dog in its true character of wolf, and then disappears into an ambush, where the other lies hidden. the dog, following its natural instinct, pursues the wolf into the ambush, where the two conspirators soon make an end of it. so numerous have wolves always been in the rural districts of france, that from the earliest times there has been an institution called the _louveterie_, for their extermination. since the french revolution this has been very much modified, but there is still a reward of so much per head for every wolf killed. under ordinary circumstances the wolf will not only not attack man, but will flee from him, for he is as cowardly as he is crafty. but if driven by hunger he will pursue, or rather he will follow a solitary traveller for miles, dogging his footsteps, and always keeping near, sometimes on one side, sometimes on the other, till the man, harassed and worn out by fatigue and fright, is compelled to halt; then the wolf, who had been waiting for this opportunity, springs on him and devours him. audubon, in his 'quadrupeds of america,' tells a story of two young negroes who lived on a plantation on the banks of the ohio in the state of kentucky, about the year . they each had a sweetheart, whom they used to go to visit every evening after their work was done. these negresses lived on another plantation about four miles away, but a short cut led across a large cane brake. when winter set in with its long dark nights no ray of light illuminated this dismal swamp. but the negroes continued their nightly expeditions notwithstanding, arming themselves by way of precaution with their axes. one dark night they set off over a thin crust of snow, the reflection from which afforded all the light they had to guide them on their way. hardly a star appeared through the dense masses of cloud that nearly covered the sky, and menaced more snow. about half way to their destination the negroes' blood froze at the sound of a long and fearful howl that rent the air; they knew it could only come from a pack of hungry and perhaps desperate wolves. they paused to listen, and only a dismal silence succeeded. in the impenetrable darkness nothing was visible a few feet beyond them; grasping their axes they went on their way though with quaking hearts. suddenly, in single file, out of the darkness sprang several wolves, who seized on the first man, inflicting terrible wounds with their fangs on his legs and arms; others as ravenous leapt on his companion, and dragged him to the ground. both negroes fought manfully, but soon one had ceased to move, and the other, despairing of aiding his companion, threw down his axe and sprang on to the branch of a tree, where he found safety and shelter for the rest of that miserable night. when day broke, only the bones of his friend lay scattered on the blood-stained, trampled snow; three dead wolves lay near, but the rest of the pack had betaken themselves to their lair, to sleep away the effects of their night's gorge. [illustration: 'when day broke'] a sledge journey through the plains of siberia in winter is a perilous undertaking. if a pack of hungry wolves get on the track of a sledge, the travellers know, as soon as they hear the horrid howls and see the grey forms stealing swiftly across the snow, that their chances of escape are small. if the sledge stops one instant men and horses are lost; the only safety is in flight at utmost speed. it is indeed a race for life! the horses, mad with terror, seem to have wings; the wolves, no less swift, pursue them, their cruel eyes gleaming with the lust for blood. from time to time a shot is fired, and a wolf falls dead in the snow; bolder than the others, he has tried to climb into the sledge and has met his reward. this incident gives a momentary respite to the pursued, for the murderous pack will pause to tear in pieces and devour their dead comrade; then, further inflamed with the taste of blood, they will continue the headlong pursuit with redoubled vigour. should the travellers be able to reach a village or friendly farmhouse before the horses are completely exhausted, the wolves, frightened by the lights, will slink away into the forest, balked this time of their prey. on the other hand, should no refuge be near, the wolves will keep up with the horses till the poor beasts stumble and fall from fatigue, when the whole pack will instantly spring upon men and horses, and in a few moments the blood-stained snow alone tells the tale. there have been instances, but fortunately few, of wolves with a perfect craving for human flesh. such was the notorious bête (or beast) du gévaudan, that from the year and onwards ravaged the district of that name, in auvergne, to the south of the centre of france. this wolf was of enormous size, measuring six feet from the point of its nose to the tip of its tail. it devoured eighty-three persons, principally women and children, and seriously wounded twenty-five or thirty others. it was attacked from first to last by between _two and three hundred thousand_ hunters, probably not all at once. with half a dozen wolves, each equal to , men, a country could afford to do without an army. but the wolf of gévaudan was no common wolf. he never married, having no leisure, fortunately for the human race. the whole of france was in a state of alarm on its account; the peasants dared no longer go to their work in the fields alone and unarmed. every day brought tidings of some fresh trouble; in the morning he would spread terror and confusion in some village in the plains, in the evening he would carry off some hapless victim from some mountain hamlet fifteen or twenty leagues away. five little shepherd boys, feeding their flocks on the mountain-side, were attacked suddenly by the ferocious beast, who made off with the youngest of them; the others, armed only with sticks, pursued the wolf, and attacked it so valiantly that they compelled it to drop its prey and slink off into the wood. a poor woman was sitting at her cottage door with her three children, when the wolf came down on them and attempted to carry off each of the children in turn. the mother fought so courageously in defence of her little ones that she succeeded in putting the wolf to flight, but in so doing was terribly bitten herself, and the youngest child died of his wounds. sometimes twenty or thirty parishes joined forces to attack the beast, led by the most experienced huntsmen and the chief _louvetier_ of the kingdom. on one occasion twenty thousand hunters surrounded the forest of preinières, where it lay concealed; but on this, as well as every other occasion, the wolf escaped in the most surprising--one might almost say miraculous--manner, disappearing as if he had been turned into smoke. some hunters declared that their bullets had rebounded off him, flattened and harmless. others alleged that when he had been shot, like the great dundee, with a silver bullet (a well-known charm against sorcery) at such close quarters that it appeared impossible he should not be mortally wounded, in a day or two some fresh horror would announce that the creature was still uninjured. the very dogs refused at length to go after him, and fled howling in the opposite direction. the belief became general that it was no ordinary wolf of flesh and blood, but the fiend himself in beast shape. prayers were put up in the churches, processions took place, and the host remained exhibited as in the times of plague and public calamity. the state offered a reward of , francs to whosoever should slay the monster; the syndics of two neighbouring towns added francs, making a total of _l._ english money, a large sum in those days. the young countess de mercoire, an orphan, and châtelaine of one of the finest estates of the district, offered her hand and fortune in marriage to whoever should rid the country of the scourge. this inspired the young count léonce de varinas, who, though no sportsman by nature, was so deeply in love with the countess that he determined to gain the reward or perish in the attempt. assisted by a small band of well-trained hunters, and by two formidable dogs, a bloodhound and a mastiff, he began a systematic attack on the wolf. after many fruitless attempts they succeeded one day in driving the creature into an abandoned quarry of vast size, the sides of which were twenty or thirty feet high and quite precipitous, and the only entrance a narrow cart track blasted out of the rock. the young count, determined to do or die alone, sternly refused to allow his men to accompany him into the quarry, and left them posted at the entrance with orders only to fire on the beast should it attempt to force its way out. taking only the dogs with him, and having carefully seen to the state of his weapons, he went bravely to the encounter. the narrow defile was so completely hemmed in on every side that, to the vanquished, there was no escape nor alternative but death. here and there, on patches of half-melted snow, were footprints, evidently recent, of the huge beast; but the creature remained invisible, and for nearly ten minutes the count had wandered among the rocks and bushes before the dogs began to give sign of the enemy's presence. about a hundred yards from where he stood was a frozen pool, on the edge of which grew a clump of bulrushes. among their dry and yellow stalks léonce suddenly caught a glimpse of a pair of fiery eyes--nothing more; but it was enough to let him know that the longed-for moment had at length arrived. léonce advanced cautiously, his gun cocked and ready to fire, and the dogs close at his heels, growling with rage and fear. still the wolf did not stir, and léonce, determining to try other tactics, stopped, raised his gun to his shoulder, and aimed between the gleaming eyes, nothing more being yet visible. before he could fire the beast dashed from among the crackling reeds and sprang straight at him. léonce, nothing daunted, waited till it was within ten paces and then fired. with a howl of anguish the wolf fell as if dead. before léonce had time to utter a shout of joy, it was on its feet again. streaming with blood and terrible in its rage it fell on the young man. he attempted to defend himself with his bayonet, which, though of tempered steel, was broken as if it had been glass; his gun, too, was bent, and he himself was hurled to the ground. but for his faithful dogs it would soon have been all over with him. they flew at the wolf's throat, who quickly made an end of the bloodhound; one crunch broke his back, while one stroke of the ruthless paw disembowelled him. castor, the mastiff, had, however, the wolf by the throat, and a fearful struggle ensued over the prostrate body of léonce. they bit, they tore, they worried, they rolled over and over each other, the wolf, in spite of its wounds, having always the advantage. half stunned by the fall, suffocated by the weight of the combatants, and blinded by the dust and snow they scattered in the fray, léonce had just sufficient strength to make one last effort in self-defence. drawing his hunting-knife, he plunged it to the hilt in the shaggy mass above him. from a distance he seemed to hear shouts of 'courage, monsieur! courage, castor! we are coming!' then conscious only of an overwhelming weight above him, and of iron claws tearing at his chest, he fainted away. when he came to himself he was lying on the ground, surrounded by his men. starting up, he exclaimed, 'the beast! where is the beast?' [illustration: the death of the famous wolf of gÉvaudan] 'dead, monsieur! stone dead!' answered the head-keeper, showing him the horrid creature, all torn and bloody, stretched out on the snow beside the dead bloodhound. castor, a little way off, lay panting and bruised, licking his wound. the count's knife was firmly embedded in the beast's ribs; it had gone straight to the heart and death had been instantaneous. a procession was formed to carry the carcase of the wolf in triumph to the castle of the countess. the news had flown in advance, and she was waiting on the steps to welcome the conquering hero. it was not long before the countess and the gallant champion were married; and, as the wolf left no family, the country was at peace. are you not rather sorry for the poor wolf? _two highland dogs_ i righ and speireag were two highland dogs who lived in a beautiful valley not far from the west coast of scotland, where high hills slope down to the shores of a blue loch, and the people talk a strange language quite different from english, or even from french, or german, or latin, which is called gaelic. the name 'righ,' means a king, and 'speireag' means a sparrow-hawk, but they are words no one, except a highlander, can pronounce properly. however, the dogs had a great many friends who could not talk gaelic, and when english-speaking people called them 'ree' and 'spearah,' they would always answer. righ was a great tawny deerhound, tall and slender, very stately, as a king should be, and as gentle as he was strong. he had a rough coat and soft brown eyes, set rather near together, and very bright and watchful. his chief business in life was to watch the faces of his friends, and to obey their wishes quickly, to take his long limbs away from the drawing-room hearth-rug when the butler came in to put on the coals, not to get in the way more than so big a dog could help, and not to get too much excited when anything in the conversation suggested the likelihood of a walk. but his father and all his ancestors had led very different lives; they had been trained to go out on the mountains with men who hunted the wild deer, and to help them in the chase, for the deerhounds run with long bounds and are as fleet as the stag himself. then, when the beautiful creature had been killed, it was their duty to guard the body, and to see that carrion crows, and eagles, and other wild birds should not molest it. but righ's master was a bishop, who, though he lived quite near to a great deer forest, and often took his dogs over the hills to where the deer lived, never killed anything, but loved to see all his fellow-creatures happy among the things they liked best. speireag was a very little dog, of the kind that is called a skye terrier, though the island of skye is one of the few places in which a long-haired terrier is very rare. he was quite small, what his highland friends called 'a wee bit doggie;' he was very full of life and courage, wonderfully plucky for his size, like the fierce little bird whose name he bore. like a good many little people he lacked the dignity and repose of his big companion, and, though very good-tempered among his friends, was quite ready to bite if beaten, and did not take a scolding with half the gentleness and humility with which righ would submit to punishment, perhaps because he needed it oftener, for he was so busy and active that he sometimes got into scrapes. he was only three years old at the time of this story and righ was seven, so it was perhaps natural that righ should be the wiser of the two. they lived in a beautiful house quite near the loch, and they had a large garden to play in, and they could go in and out of the house and do just as they liked so long as they came when they were called and did as they were bid, and did not climb on the sofa cushions when their feet were muddy. there were very few houses on their side the water, and as their friends went about in boats as often as other people go out in carriages, the dogs were used to the water, and could swim as easily as walk, and what is more, knew how to sit still in a boat, so that they were allowed to go everywhere with their friends because they gave no trouble. they had a very happy life, for there was always something going on, which is what dogs like, and plenty of people to go walks with. their young masters sometimes went out with guns, and a dog, a country dog, loves a gun better than anything in the world, because he knows it means business in which he can help. sometimes their mistress took them for a walk, and then they knew that they must be on their best behaviour, and not wander too far away from the road and have to be whistled back, and not fight with the collies at the cottage doors, nor chase cats, nor be tiresome in any way; they generally kept close beside her, righ walking very slowly so as to accommodate his big strides to the progress of a poor human thing with only two legs, and speireag trotting along with tiny little footsteps that seemed to make a great fuss and to be in a great hurry about nothing at all. there was nothing, however, so delightful as going for walks with their own master, the bishop. for one thing, they generally knew he really meant to do something worth while. pottering about with a gun or escorting a lady is pleasant enough, but it generally means coming home to lunch or tea, and the real joy of a dog's walk is to feel that you are getting further and further away from home, and that there are miles of heather and pine-wood behind you, and yet you are still going on and on, with chances of more hares and more squirrels to run after. sometimes the bishop would stop at a shepherd's hut or a lonely cottage under the lee of a hill, and sometimes he would sit down to examine a flower he had gathered in the wood, but they forgave him very good-temperedly, and could always find something to interest them while they waited. righ generally sat down beside his master and stretched out his great limbs on the heather, for he liked to think he was taking care of somebody or something. speireag would lie down for a minute, panting, with his little red tongue hanging out and his hairy little paws all wet and muddy; but he never rested for long, but would dart off, pretending to have found a rat or a squirrel, even if none really existed. it was in december, , the weather was raw and cold, there was ice floating about on the loch, and the sea gulls used to come up to the garden terrace to be fed. the young masters were away, and mistress could only take walks along the road, there was nothing to tempt her to a mountain scramble or a saunter in the woods. the bishop was very busy, and day after day the dogs would start up from the rug at the sound of the opening of his study door upstairs, and after a minute's anxious listening, with ears cocked and heads erect, they would lie down again with a sigh of disappointment, for there was no sound of approach to the hat-stand nor of whistled invitation for a walk. finally came a sad day when the bishop went away, and dog-life threatened to become monotonous. then, one saturday, hope revived, for a visitor came to the house, an old friend whom they loved and trusted as a good dog always loves what is trustworthy. he was a frequent visitor, and had, in fact, left the house but three weeks before. he was there for a holiday rest, and had leisure to bestow on dogs and on long walks, which they always shared. he was very thoughtful for them, not the sort of man who would set off on a whole afternoon's ramble and say, when half a mile on his way, 'i wish i'd remembered righ and speireag!' he always remembered them, and thought for them; and when he fed them after dinner, would always give big bits of biscuit to the big dog, and little bits to the little dog, and it is not every one who has the sense for that! every day, and often twice a day, he took them out, down to the church or the pier, or across the lake and up to the pass of glencoe, where stern grey hills and hovering eagles and a deep silent valley still seem to whisper together of a sad true story that happened there in just such weather as this two hundred years ago. these were very happy days for dogs, for they did not mind the cold, it was only an excuse for wild scampering and racing, and they were very grateful for their friend's return. he had been ill, but was able to enjoy his walks and though about sixty years of age he had all those qualities of youth which endear a man to a dog or a child. he was brave and unselfish, and strong to love and to endure, and they loved him without knowing why; without knowing that he had lost his health from overwork in the service of the poor and suffering, and among outcasts so low as to be beyond the sympathy of any heart less loving than that of a dog or of a very good man. 'father' mackonochie he was always called, and though he had never had wife or children of his own, many a fatherless child, and many a lonely grown-up man or woman, felt that it was quite easy and natural to call him by a name so sacred. on the wednesday after he came, he took righ and speireag for a glorious walk through the shrubberies and out through a gate on to the road at the foot of the hills behind, a road that winds on and on for many miles, the mountains rising steeply above, the lake being cold and grey below; the bank, that slopes away from the road to the water, in places covered with gorse and low bushes and heather, where an enterprising dog may hunt for rats and rabbits, or rush headlong after a pee-wit or moor-fowl as it rises with a scream at his approach and flutters off high into the air, and then descending to within a few feet of him, skims low before him, hopelessly far, yet tantalisingly near. the way was familiar to them by land or by water. often had they sailed up the loch in the same direction, further and further into the heart of the mountains, the valley becoming more and more narrow, the shores of the lake nearer and nearer to each other, till, had they gone far enough, they would have reached the dog's ferry, a spot where the water is so narrow that a dog may easily swim across. righ, strong swimmer that he was, had often crossed the loch near his master's house, where the ferry boats ply, and needed no dog's ferry, but few dogs made such powerful strokes in the water as he. this day, however, they did not reach the dog's ferry. the afternoon was closing in, there were streaks of gold in the dull grey sky, and it was, the good father thought, time to return. 'never mind, little man,' he said as speireag looked reproachfully at him with wistful brown eyes gleaming through overhanging silvery locks, 'we'll do it to-morrow, only we must set off earlier.' this was good news, and the little dog started home gaily, running, as little dogs will, ten miles, at least, to every one of the road, and tired enough when home was reached at last. dinner was a welcome feast, and righ and speireag slept sound till it was time for evening service. they always attended chapel night and morning, and took their places at the foot of the steps, half-way, when both were present, between mistress in her seat and master at the place of his sacred office. to-night, as usual, they remained perfectly quiet and apparently indifferent to what was going on till, at the words 'lighten our darkness,' bed-time came into immediate prospect, and they started into expectant attitudes, awaiting the final 'amen.' ii the next morning, though cold, was fine and fairly bright, and the dogs watched eagerly for signs of the promised walk. the service in chapel was rather long this morning, for, as it was advent, the 'benedicite' was read, and though righ and speireag noticed only that they had time for a longer nap than usual, there were some present who will never forget, as the season comes round again each year, the special significance of part of that song of praise-- o ye frost and cold--o ye ice and snow--o ye nights and days o ye light and darkness, o ye mountains and hills, o ye beasts and cattle, o ye holy and humble men of heart, bless ye the lord, praise him and magnify him for ever! but at last the service was over and the dogs trotted out into the hall, and followed mistress and their friend to the front door to see 'what the weather was like.' it was not a specially pleasant morning, but it would do for a walk, and after waiting a few minutes to have some sandwiches cut, the only detention that could be endured with patience, the three set out. after about six miles they were on new ground, but on they went, the lake to the right of the road getting narrower--on past the dog's ferry and still on, till the loch had become a river, and could be crossed by a bridge. righ and speireag knew, by a more certain method than looking at clocks, that it was lunch time, half past one at least, and they never thought of doubting that they would cross the bridge and turn homewards along the other side the loch, and so get in about tea-time; or, for their friend was enterprising, by a longer way also on the further side, either of which would involve a delightful long walk, but with just that hint of a homeward turn which, even to dogs, is acceptable when breakfast has become a mere memory. they accordingly followed the road on to the bridge, but as father mackonochie did not overtake them, righ, ever watchful of his friends, turned to look back and saw him speaking to a girl, after which, to their surprise, he whistled them back, and instead of continuing along the road as it turned off to the right, kept straight on, though there was now only a rough track leading through a gate into the wood beyond. when they had advanced a few paces into the wood, he sat down under a tree and took out his packet of sandwiches. righ and speireag, sitting close beside him, had their share, or perhaps more, for their wistful brown eyes hungrily reminded him that they had multiplied the distance many times over, and that an unexpected luncheon out of doors is a joy in a dog's day, of a kind for which a man may well sacrifice a part of his minor pleasure. starting off again was a fresh delight. on they went, further and further, always climbing higher and getting deeper into the wood. to the left, the steep mountain-side rose abruptly above them; to the right, below the path, the river tore its way between steep banks down, down to its home in the lake. now and then the trees parted and made way for a wild mountain torrent leaping from rock to rock down the hill side, and rushing across their path to join the river below. as they climbed further these became more frequent. their friend could stride across, setting an occasional foot upon a stepping-stone, and righ, too, could cross safely enough, long-limbed as he was, though now and then he had to swim, and the streams were so rapid that it needed all his strength to cross the current. sometimes he helped speireag, for the brave little dog would always try to follow his big companion, and sometimes, with an anxious bark, would give warning that help was needed, and then the kind father would turn back to pick up the little dog and carry him till they were in safety. it was very hard work, they were always climbing, and in many places the road was polished with a thin coating of ice, but the dogs feared nothing and kept on bravely. the path dwindled to a mere track, and the climbing became steeper still. the streams crossed their road still oftener, and the stones were slippery with ice. the wood became thinner, and as they had less shelter from the trees, great flakes of half-frozen snow were driven against their faces. there was no thought now of hares or stags, righ and speireag had no energies left for anything but patient following. poor little speireag's long coat was very wet, and as it dried a little, it became hard and crisp with frost. the long hair falling over his eyes was matted together and tangled with briers, and his little feet were sore and heavy with the mud that had caked in the long tassels of silky hair. even righ was very weary, and he followed soberly now instead of bounding along in front, his ears and tail drooped, and each time he crossed the ice-cold water he seemed more and more dejected. as they left the wood behind them, the snow fell thick and blinding, but just at first, as they came out into the open, it seemed not quite so dark as under the trees. there was nothing to be seen but grey sky and grey moor, even the river had been left behind, and only blackened patches remained to show where, in summer, the ground was spread with a gay carpet of purple heather and sweet bog-myrtle. they got deeper at each step into half-frozen marsh; there was no sound or sign of life. the dogs felt hungry and weary, and they ached with the cold and wet. but they were following a friend, and they trusted him wholly. well they knew that each step was taking them farther from home, and farther into the cold and darkness. but dog-wisdom never asserts itself, and in trustful humility they followed still, and the snow came down closer and closer around them, and even the grey sky and the grey moor were blotted out--and the darkness fell. iii it was a disappointing home-coming for the bishop that thursday evening! there was no hearty handshake from waiting friend, no rejoicing bay of big dog or extravagant excitement of little dog to welcome him. the three had been out the whole day, he was told, and had not yet reappeared. a long walk had been projected, but they had been expected home long before this. when dinner-time came, and they did not appear, two servants had been sent out with lanterns to meet them, as the road, though not one to be missed, was dark, and some small accident might have happened. the men were not back yet, but doubtless the missing party would soon return. the night was dark and stormy, and father mackonochie had been for some time somewhat invalided, and as time passed the bishop became increasingly anxious. at length he ordered a carriage, and with the gardener set off towards kinloch, the head of the loch, thinking that accident or weariness might have detained his friend, and the carriage might be useful. on the way they met the first messengers returning with the news that nothing could be heard at kinloch of the missing three, except that they had passed there between one and two o'clock in the afternoon. the bishop and his men sought along the road, and inquired for tidings at the very few houses within reach, but in vain. the night was dark and little could be done, and there was always the hope that on their return they might find that some tidings had been heard, that the lost friends might have come back by the other side of the lake. so at last they turned back, reaching home about four o'clock in the morning. no news had been heard, and all felt anxious and perplexed, but most believed that some place of shelter had been reached, as the dogs had not come home. they could find their way home from anywhere, and there seemed little doubt that, overtaken by darkness, all three had found shelter in a shepherd's or gamekeeper's hut, perhaps on the other side of the lake, as they had almost certainly crossed the bridge, no one having met them on the road by which they had started. nevertheless all that was possible must be done in case of the worst, and as soon as daylight returned four parties of men were despatched in different directions, the bishop himself choosing that which his friend and his dogs were known to have taken the day before. a whole day of search over miles and miles of the desolate wintry mountains revealed but one fact, that the party had eaten their luncheon under a tree in the wood, beyond the bridge. the squirrels had left the sandwich paper there to tell the tale, and for the first time it seemed likely that they had not turned homewards on reaching the head of the lake, either by the same road they had come, or by that on the other side of the water and through glencoe. one by one, the search parties came home with no tidings. no trace of the wanderers had been seen, no bark of dogs had been heard, no help had been found towards the discovery of the sad secret. weary and heartsick as all felt, no time was to be lost, every hour made the anxiety greater, and all were ready in a very short time to start afresh. again, for the second time, all through the long night they wandered over the mountains, through the wood, and across the deer-forest beyond. it was an awful night. again and again were their lights blown out; the snow lay deep in all the hollows; where the streams had overflowed their banks, the path was a sheet of solid ice; the rocks, polished and slippery, were climbed with utmost difficulty. at every opening in the hills an ice-cold wind whirled down glen and corrie, sleet and hail-stones beat against their faces, the frozen pools in the marshes gave way beneath their feet. the night was absolutely dark, not a star shone out to give them courage. the silence and the sounds were alike awful. sometimes they could hear each other's laboured breathing as they tottered on the ice or waded through the snow, sometimes all other sounds were lost in the shrieking of the whirlwinds, the crackling of the ice, and the roaring of the swollen, angry streams. what could have happened? even if accident had occurred, either or both of the dogs would surely have returned, and how could even a highland dog, hungry and shelterless, live through such a night as this? morning came again, and returning to the point, near the bridge at which the carriage had been left, two of the parties met, and drove home for food and dry clothing, and to learn what others might have to tell. there was no news, and again the same earnest friends, with many more kind helpers, set out on their almost hopeless journey. the trackless wilds of the deer-forest seemed the most likely field for search, and all now, in various groups, set off in this direction. hour after hour passed without any gleam of hope, and even the bishop began to feel that everything possible had been done, and was turning sadly homewards. a second party, a few hundreds yards behind, had almost come to the same resolve, many of the men had been without rest since thursday, and even the dog, who with one of the keepers of the deer-forest had joined the party, was limping wearily and was exhausted by the cold and the rough walking. suddenly he stopped, and, with ears pricked and head erect, listened. no one knows better than a highlander the worth of a collie's opinion, and more than one stopped to listen too. not far away, and yet faint, came the bark of a dog! among the men was sandy, one of the bishop's stablemen, who knew and loved righ and speireag, and his heart leapt up as he recognised the deerhound's bay! away, to their left, the mountains were cleft by a narrow glen, the sound came from the bank on the hither side. the bishop and his party had climbed to the further side, but a shout reached them, alert and watchful as they were. they turned back wondering, scarcely daring to hope. the men who had called to them were hastening to a given point, the dog, nose to ground, preceding them. there is no mistaking the air of a dog on business. the collie's intentness was as different from his late dejection as was the present haste of the men from the anxious watchful plodding of their long search. in another moment they came in sight of something which made them hold back the dog, and which arrested their own footsteps. the bishop himself must be the first to tread on what all felt was holy ground. there, on the desolate hillside, lay the body of father mackonochie, wreathed about with the spotless snow, a peaceful expression on his face. one on either side sat the dogs, watching still, as they had watched through the two long nights of storm and darkness. even the approach of friends did not tempt them to forsake their duty. with hungry, weary faces they looked towards the group which first came near them, but not till their own master knelt down beside all that remained of his old friend, did they yield up their trust, and rise, numbed and stiff, from the posts they had taken up, who knows how long before? to say a few words of prayer and thanksgiving was the bishop's first thought, his second to take from his pocket the sandwiches he carried, and to give all to righ and speireag. a bier was contrived of sticks from a rough fence that marked the boundary of the deer-forest, and the body was lifted from the frozen ground on which it lay. the return to kinloch, where the carriage waited, was very difficult, and the bearers had to change places very often. slow as was their progress, it was as rapid as righ could manage, numbed with cold, and exhausted with hunger. the little dog was easily carried, and for once little speireag was content to rest. [illustration: 'the long vigil'] no one will ever know what those faithful dogs felt and endured during those two days and nights of storm and loneliness. those who sought them in the darkness of that second awful night must have passed very near the spot where they lay, sleeping perhaps, or deafened by the storm, or even, possibly, listening anxiously with beating hearts to the footsteps which came so near, and yet turned away, leaving them, faithful to their post, in the night. they in their degree, like the man whose last sleep they guarded, were 'true and faithful servants.' * * * * * it is pleasant to know that righ and speireag did not suffer permanently for all they had undergone! they lived for five years and a half after, and had many and many a happy ramble when the sun was bright and the woods were green, and squirrels and hares were merry. they could not be better cared for than they had always been, but, if possible, they were more indulged. if they contrived to get a dinner in the kitchen as well as in the dining-room, their friends remembered the days when they had none, and nobody told tales. if they lay in the sun quite across the front door, or took up the whole of the rug before the winter fire, everyone felt that there were arrears of warmth to be made up to them. their portraits were painted, and in the sculpture which in his own church commemorates father mackonochie's death, the dogs have not been forgotten. righ was the elder of the two, and towards the end of his thirteen years showed signs of old age and became rheumatic and feeble, but speireag, though three years younger, did not long survive him. they rest now under a cairn in the beautiful garden they loved so well; dark green fir trees shelter their grave, a gentle stream goes merrily by on its way to the lake below, and in the crannies of the stones of which the cairn is built, fox-gloves and primroses and little ferns grow fresh and green. on the cairn is this inscription: in memory of th december, . righ died th january, . speireag died th august, . _monkey tricks and sally at the zoo_ _naturalist's note-book._ some monkeys are cleverer and more civilised than others, and the chiefs have their followers well in hand; every monkey having his own especial duties, which he is very careful to fulfil. when the stores of food which have been collected are getting low, the elders of the tribe--grey beards with long manes--meet together and decide where they shall go to lay in fresh supplies. this important point being settled, the whole body of monkeys, even down to the very little ones, leave the woods or mountain ravine where they live, and form into regular order. first scouts are posted; some being sent on to places in advance, others being left to guard the rear, while the main body, made up of the young and helpless monkeys, follow the chiefs, who march solemnly in front and carefully survey every precipice or doubtful place before they suffer anyone to pass over it. it is not at all easy, even for an elderly and experienced monkey, to keep order among the host of lively chattering creatures for whose safety he is responsible, and indeed it would often be an impossible task if it were not for the help of the rear-guard. these much-tried animals have to make up quarrels which often break out by the way; to prevent the greedy ones from stopping to eat every scrap of fruit or berry that hangs from the trees as they pass, and to scold the mothers who try to linger behind in order to dress their children's hair and to make them smart for the day. under these conditions, it takes a long time even for monkeys to reach their destination, which is generally a corn-field, but, once there, scouts are sent out to every rock or rising ground, so as to guard against any surprise. then the whole tribe fall to, and after filling their cheek pouches with ears of corn, they make up bundles to tuck under their arms. after the long march and the hasty picking, they begin to get thirsty as well as hungry, and the next thing is to find some water. this is very soon done, as they seem able to detect it under the sand, however deep down it may be, and by dint of taking regular turns at digging, it does not take long before they have laid bare a well that is large enough for everybody. monkeys love by nature to imitate what they see, and have been known to smoke a pipe, and to pretend to read a book that they have seen other people reading. but sometimes they can do a great deal more than this, and show that they can calculate and reason better than many men. a large abyssinian monkey was one day being taken round khartoum by its master, and made to perform all sorts of tricks for the amusement of the bystanders. among these was a date-seller, who was squatting on the ground beside his fruit. now the monkey was passionately fond of dates, but being very cunning was careful not to let this appear, and went on performing his tricks as usual, drawing little by little nearer to the date basket as he did so. when he thought he was near enough for his purpose, he first pretended to die, slowly and naturally, and then, after lying for a moment on the sand as stiff as a corpse, suddenly bounded up with a scream straight in front of the date-seller's face, and stared at him with his wild eyes. the man looked back at him spell-bound, quite unaware that one of the monkey's hind feet was in the date basket, clawing up as much fruit as its long toes could hold. by some such trick as this the monkey managed to steal enough food daily to keep him fat and comfortable. no cleverer monkey ever lived than the ugly old sally, who died at the zoological gardens of london only a few years ago. her keeper had spent an immense deal of time and patience in training her up, and it was astonishing what she was able to do. 'sally,' he would say, putting a tin cup full of milk into her hands, with a spoon hanging from it, 'show us how you used to drink when you were in the woods,' upon which sally stuck all her fingers into the milk and sucked them greedily. 'now,' he continued, 'show us how you drink since you became a lady,' and then sally took the spoon and drank her milk in dainty little sips. next he picked up a handful of straw from the bottom of the cage, and remarked carelessly, 'here, just tear those into six, will you, all the same length.' sally took the straws, and in half a minute the thing was done. but she had not come to the end of her surprises yet. 'you're very fond of pear, i know,' said the keeper, producing one out of his pocket and cutting it with his knife; 'well, i'm going to put some on my hand, but you're not to touch it until i've cut two short pieces and three long ones, and then you may take the second long one, but you aren't to touch any of the rest.' the man went on cutting his slices without stopping, and was quite ready to begin upon a sixth, when sally stretched out her hand, and took the fourth lying along the row, which she had been told she might have. very likely she might have accomplished even more wonderful things than this, but one cold day she caught a chill, and died in a few hours of bronchitis. _how the cayman was killed_ waterton's _wanderings in s. america_. in the year there was born in the old house of walton, near pontefract, in yorkshire, a boy named charles waterton, who afterwards became very famous as a traveller and a naturalist. as soon as he could walk, he was always to be found poking about among trees, or playing with animals, and both at home and at school he got into many a scrape through his love of adventure. he was only about ten when some other boys dared him to ride on a cow, and of course he was not going to be beaten. so up he got while the cow was only thinking how good the grass tasted, but the moment she felt a strange weight on her back, she flung her heels straight into the air, and off flew master waterton over her head. many years after this, waterton was travelling in south america, seeing and doing many curious things. for a long time he had set his heart on catching a cayman, a kind of alligator that is found in the rivers of guiana. for this purpose he took some indians with him to the essequibo, which falls into the sea not far from demerara, and was known to be a famous place for caymans. it was no good attempting to go after them during the long, bright day. they were safely in hiding, and never thought of coming out till the sun was below the horizon. so waterton and his indians waited in patience till the moon rose, and everything was still, except that now and then a huge fish would leap into the air and plunge again under water. suddenly there broke forth a fearful noise, unlike the cry of any other creature. as one cayman called another answered; and although caymans are not very common anywhere, that night you would have thought that the world was full of them. the three men stopped eating their supper of turtle and turned and looked over the river. waterton could see nothing, but the indian silently pointed to a black log that lay in the stream, just over the place where they had baited a hook with a large fish, and bound it on a board. at the end of the board a rope was fastened, and this was also made fast to a tree on the bank. by-and-bye the black log began to move, and in the bright moonlight he was clearly seen to open his long jaws and to take the bait inside them. but the watchers on shore pulled the rope too soon, and the cayman dropped the bait at once. then for an hour he lay quite still, thinking what he should do next, but feeling cross at having lost his supper, he made up his mind to try once more, and cautiously took the bait in his mouth. again the rope was pulled, and again the bait was dropped into the river; but in the end the cayman proved more cunning than the indians, for after he had played this trick for three or four times he managed to get the fish without the hook, and when the sun rose again, waterton knew that cayman hunting was over for that day. for two or three nights they watched and waited, but did not ever get so near success as before. let them conceal a hook in the bait ever so cleverly, the cayman was sure to be cleverer than they, and when morning came, the bait was always gone and the hook always left. the indians, however, had no intention of allowing the cayman to beat them in the long run, and one of them invented a new hook, which this time was destined to better luck. he took four or five pieces of wood about a foot long, barbed them at each end, and tied them firmly to the end of a rope, thirty yards long. above the barb was baited the flesh of an acouri, a creature the size of a rabbit. the whole was then fastened to a post driven into the sand, and the attention of the cayman aroused to what was going on by some sharp blows on an empty tortoiseshell, which served as a drum. about half-past five the indian got up and stole out to look, and then he called triumphantly to the rest to come up at once, for on the hook was a cayman, ten feet and a half long. but hard as it had been to secure him, it was nothing to the difficulty of getting him out alive, and with his scales uninjured, especially as the four indians absolutely refused to help, and that left only two white men and a negro, to grapple with the huge monster. of these, too, the negro showed himself very timid, and it was not easy to persuade him to be of any use. the position was certainly puzzling. if the indians refused their help, the cayman could not be taken alive at all, and if they gave it, it was only at the price of injuring the animal and spoiling its skin. at length a compromise occurred to waterton. he would take the mast of the canoe, which was about eight feet long, and would thrust it down the cayman's throat, if it showed any signs of attacking him. on this condition, the indians agreed to give their aid. matters being thus arranged, waterton then placed his men--about seven in all--at the end of the rope and told them to pull till the cayman rose to the surface, while he himself knelt down with the pole about four yards from the bank, ready for the cayman, should he appear, roaring. then he gave the signal, and slowly the men began to pull. but the cayman was not to be caught without a struggle. he snorted and plunged violently, till the rope was slackened, when he instantly dived below. then the men braced all their strength for another effort, and this time out he came and made straight for waterton. [illustration: the capture of the cayman] the naturalist was so excited by his capture, that he lost all sense of the danger of his position. he waited till the cayman was within a few feet of him, when he flung away his pole, and with a flying leap landed on the cayman's back, twisting up the creature's feet and holding tightly on to them. the cayman, very naturally, could not in the least understand what had happened, but he began to plunge and struggle, and to lash out behind with his thick scaly tail, while the indians looked on from afar, and shouted in triumph. to waterton the only fear was, lest the rope should prove too weak for the strain, in which case he and the cayman would promptly disappear into the depths of the essequibo. but happily the rope was strong, and after being dragged by the indians for forty yards along the sand, the cayman gave in, and waterton contrived to tie his jaws together, and to lash his feet on to his back. then he was put to death, and so ended the chase of the cayman. _the story of fido_ fido's master had to go a long journey across the country to a certain town, and he was carrying with him a large bag of gold to deposit at the bank there. this bag he carried on his saddle, for he was riding, as in those days there were no trains, and he had to travel as quickly as he could. fido scampered cheerfully along at the horse's heels, and every now and then the man would call out to her, and fido would wag her tail and bark back an answer. the sun was hot and the road dusty, and poor fido's little legs grew more and more tired. at last they came to a cool, shady wood, and the master stopped, dismounted, and tied his horse to a tree, and took his heavy saddle-bags from the saddle. he laid them down very carefully, and pointing to them, said to fido, 'watch them.' then he drew his cloak about him, lay down with his head on the bags, and soon was fast asleep. little fido curled herself up close to her master's head, with her nose over one end of the bags, and went to sleep too. but she did not sleep very soundly, for her master had told her to watch, and every few moments she would open her eyes and prick up her ears, in case anyone were coming. [illustration: the wounding of fido] her master was tired and slept soundly and long--much longer than he had intended. at last he was awakened by fido's licking his face. the dog saw that the sun was nearly setting, and knew that it was time for her master to go on his journey. the man patted fido and then jumped up, much troubled to find he had slept so long. he snatched up his cloak, threw it over his horse, untied the bridle, sprang into the saddle, and calling fido, started off in great haste. but fido did not seem ready to follow him. she ran after the horse and bit at his heels, and then ran back again to the woods, all the time barking furiously. this she did several times, but her master had no time to heed her and galloped away, thinking she would follow him. at last the little dog sat down by the roadside, and looked sorrowfully after her master, until he had turned a bend in the road. when he was no longer in sight she sprang up with a wild bark, and ran after him again. she overtook him just as he had stopped to water his horse at a brook that flowed across the road. she stood beside the brook and barked so savagely that her master rode back and called her to him; but instead of coming she darted off down the road still barking. her master did not know what to think, and began to fear that his dog was going mad. mad dogs are afraid of water, and act in a strange way when they see it. while the man was thinking of this, fido came running back again, and dashed at him furiously. she leapt at the legs of his horse, and even jumped up and bit the toe of her master's boot. then she ran down the road again, barking with all her might. her master was now sure that she was mad, and, taking out his pistol he shot her. he rode away quickly, for he loved her dearly and could not bear to see her die. he had not ridden very far when he stopped suddenly. he felt under his coat for his saddle-bags. they were not there! could he have dropped them, or had he left them behind in the wood where he had rested? he felt sure they must be in the wood, for he could not remember having picked them up or fastening them to his saddle. he turned his horse and rode back again as hard as he could. when he came to the brook he sighed and said, 'poor fido!' but though he looked about he could see nothing of her. when he crossed the brook he saw some drops of blood on the ground, and all along the road he still saw drops of blood. tears came into his eyes, and he felt very sad and guilty, for now he understood why little fido had acted so strangely. she knew that her master had left behind his precious bags of gold, and so she had tried to tell him in the only way she could. all the way to the wood lay the drops of blood. at last he reached the wood, and there, all safe, lay the bags of gold, and beside them, with her little nose lying over one end of them, lay faithful fido, who, you will be pleased to hear, recovered from her wound, and lived to a great age. _beasts besieged_ adapted from théophile gautier. twenty-five years ago (in the winter of - ) paris was closely besieged by the germans, who had beaten one french army after another on the frontier, and had now advanced into the very heart of the country. the cold was frightful, and no wood could be got, and as if this was not enough, food began to give out, and the people inside the city soon learned to know the tortures of hunger. there was no hay or corn for the horses; after sheep and oxen they were the first animals to be eaten, and then whispers were heard about elephants and camels and other beasts in the jardin des plantes, which is the french name for their zoological gardens. now it is quite bad enough to be taken from the forests and deserts where you never did anything but just what you chose, and to be shut up in a small cage behind bars; but it is still worse not to have enough food to eat, and worst of all to be made into food for other people. luckily the animals did not know what was being talked about in the world outside, or they would have been more uncomfortable than they were already. any visitor to the jardin des plantes about christmas time in , and for many weeks later, would have seen a strange sight. some parts of the gardens were set aside for hospitals, and rows of beds occupied every sheltered building. passing through these, the visitor found himself in the kingdom of the beasts, who were often much more gentle than their gaolers. after coming from the streets where nothing was the same as it had been six months before, and everything was topsy-turvy, it was almost soothing to watch the animals going on in their usual way, quite regardless of what men might be doing outside. there was the white bear swinging himself from side to side and rubbing his nose against the bars, just as he had done on the day that he had first taken up his abode there. there was a camel still asking for cakes, and an elephant trumpeting with fury because he didn't get any. nobody had cakes for themselves, and it would have been far easier to place a gold piece in the twirling proboscis. an elephant who is badly fed is not a pretty spectacle. its skin is so large that it seems as if it would take in at least three or four extra bodies, and having only one shrunken skeleton to cover, it shrivels up into huge wrinkles and looks like the earth after a dry summer. on the whole, certain kinds of bears come off best, for they can sleep all the winter through, and when they wake up, the world will seem the same as when they last shut their eyes, and unless their friend the white bear tells them in bear language all that has happened they will never be any the wiser. still it is not all the bears who are lucky enough to have the gift of sleep. some remained broad awake, and stood idly about in the corners of their dens, not knowing how to get rid of the time that hung so heavily on their paws. what was the use for the big brown marten to go up to the top of his tree, when there was no one to tickle his nose with a piece of bread at the end of a string? why should his brother take the trouble to stand up on his hind legs when there was nobody to laugh and clap him? only one very young bear indeed, with bright eyes and a yellow skin, went on his own way, regardless of spectators, and he was busily engaged in looking at himself in a pail of water and putting on all sorts of little airs and graces, from sheer admiration of his own beauty. [illustration: the dream of the hungry lion] perhaps the most to be pitied of all were the lions, for they do not know how to play, and could only lie about and remember the days when towards sunset they crept towards the cool hill, and waited till the antelopes came down for their evening drink. and then, ah _then_! but that is only a memory, while stretched out close by is the poor lioness in the last stage of consumption, and looking more like those half-starved fighting lions you see on royal coats of arms than a real beast. at such times most children would give anything to catch up the zoological gardens and carry them right away into the centre of africa, and let out the beasts and make them happy and comfortable once more. but that was not the feeling of the little boy who had been taken by his mother to see the beasts as a treat for his birthday. at each cage they passed he came to a standstill, and gazing at the animal with greedy eyes, he said, 'mother, wouldn't you like to eat that?' every time his mother answered him, 'no one eats these beasts, my boy; they are brought from countries a long way off, and cost a great deal of money.' the child was silent for a moment, but at the sight of the zebra, the elk, or the little hyæna, his face brightened again, and his voice might be heard piping forth its old question, 'mother, wouldn't you like to eat that?' it is a comfort to think that the horrid greedy boy was disappointed in his hopes. whatever else he may have eaten, the taste of lions and of bears is still strange to him, for the siege of paris came to an end at last, and the animals were made happy as of old with their daily portions. _mr. gully_ he was a herring gull, and one of the largest i have ever seen. he was beautiful to look at with his soft grey plumage, never a feather of which was out of place. of his character i will say nothing; that can be best judged by reading the following truthful biography of my 'dove of the waters.' i cannot begin at the beginning. of his youth, which doubtless, in every sense of the word, was a stormy one, i know nothing. he had already acquired the wisdom, or perhaps in his case slyness is a better word, of years by the time that he came to us. gully was found one day in a field near our house in a very much exhausted condition. he had probably come a long distance, which he must have accomplished on foot, as he was unable to fly owing to his wing having been pinioned. he was very hungry and greedily bolted a small fish that we offered him, and screamed for more. we then turned him into the garden, where he soon found a sheltered corner by our dining-room window and went to sleep standing on one leg. the other one he always kept tucked away so that was quite invisible. next morning i came out to look for gully and feed him. he had vanished! i thought of the pond where i kept my goldfish, forty beautiful goldfish. there sure enough was mr. gully swimming about contentedly, but where were the goldfish? instead of the crystal clear pond, was a pool of muddy water; instead of forty goldfish, all that i could make out, when mr. gully had been chased away and the water given time to settle, was one miserable little half-dead fish, the only survivor of the forty. this was the first of gully's misdeeds. to look at gully, no one could believe him to be capable of hurting a fly. he had the most lovely gentle brown eyes you ever saw, and seemed more like a benevolent old professor than anything else. he generally appeared to be half asleep or else sunning himself with a contented smile on his thoughtful countenance. gully next took to killing the sparrows; he was very clever at this. when he had finished eating, the sparrows were in the habit of appropriating the remnants of the feast. this gully strongly disapproved of, so when he had eaten as much as he wanted, he retired behind a chair and waited till the sparrows were busy feasting, then he would make a rush and seize the nearest offender. he sometimes used to kill as many as from two to four sparrows a day in this manner. the pigeons then took to coming too near his reach. at first he was afraid of them and left them alone; but the day came when a young fan-tail was foolish enough to take his airing on the terrace, close to mr. gully's nose. this was too much for mr. gully, who pounced upon the unfortunate 'squeaker' and slew him. _l'appétit vient en mangeant_, and after this mr. gully took the greatest delight in hunting these unfortunate birds and murdering them. no pigeon was too large for him to attack. i only just succeeded in saving the cock-pouter, a giant among pigeons, from an untimely death, by coming up in time to drive mr. gully away from his victim. after this we decided to shut mr. gully up. we thought he would make a charming companion for the guinea-pigs. at that time i used to keep about fifty of various species in a hen-run. so to the guinea-pigs gully was banished. at first the arrangement answered admirably, gully behaved as nicely as possible for about a month, and we were all congratulating ourselves on having found such a good way out of our difficulty, when all at once his thirst for blood was roused afresh. one day he murdered four guinea-pigs and the next day three more of these unfortunate little beasts. we then let him join the hens and ducks. he at once constituted himself the leader of the latter; every morning he would lead them down to a pond at the bottom of the fields, a distance of about a quarter of a mile; and every evening he would summon them round him and lead them home. at his cry the ducks and drakes would come waddling up to him with loud quacks; he used always to march in the most stately manner about two yards ahead of them. of the cocks and hens gully deigned to take no notice. on two occasions he made an exception to this rule of conduct. on the first, he and a hen had a dispute over the possession of a worm. this dispute led to a fight of which gully was getting the best when the combatants were separated. on the second occasion gully was accused of decapitating a hen. no one saw him do it, but it looked only too like his work. he had a neat clean style. one day he led his ducks to the pond as usual, but in the evening they returned by themselves. we came to the conclusion that the poor old bird must be dead. we quite gave him up for lost, and had mourned him for two or three weeks, when what should we see one day but mr. gully leading his ducks as usual to his favourite pond, as if he had never been away. where he had spent all the time he was absent remains a mystery to this day. after this he remained with us some time, during which he performed no new feat of valour with the exception of one fight which he had with a cat. in this fight he had some feathers pulled out, but ultimately succeeded in driving her off after giving her leg such a bite that she was lame for many a long day. since then he has again disappeared. will he ever return? mysterious was his coming and mysterious his going. _stories from pliny_ how dogs love now there was living at rome, under the emperors vespasian and titus (a.d. - ) a man called pliny, who gave up his life to the study of animals and plants. he not only watched their habits for himself, but he listened eagerly to all that travellers would tell him, and sometimes happened to believe too much, and wrote in his book things that were not true. still there were a great many facts which he had found out for himself, and the stories he tells about animals are of interest to every one, partly because it seems strange to think that dogs and horses and other creatures were just the same then as they are now. the dogs that pliny writes about lived in all parts of the roman empire, and were as faithful and devoted to their masters as our dogs are to us. one dog called hyrcanus, belonging to king lysimachus, one of the successors of alexander the great, jumped on to the funeral pyre on which lay burning the dead body of his master. and so did another dog at the burial of hiero of syracuse. but during the lifetime of pliny himself, a dog's devotion in the heart of rome had touched even the roman citizens, ashamed though they generally were of showing their feelings. it had happened that a plot against the life of nero had been discovered, and the chief conspirator, titus sabinus by name, was put to death, together with some of his servants. one of these men had a dog of which he was very fond, and from the moment the man was thrown into prison, the dog could not be persuaded to move away from the door. at last there came a day when the man suffered the cruel death common in rome for such offences, and was thrown down a steep flight of stairs, where he broke his neck. a crowd of romans had gathered round the place of execution, in order to see the sight, and in the midst of them all the dog managed to reach his master's side, and lay there, howling piteously. then one of the crowd, moved with pity, threw the dog a piece of meat, but he only took it, and laid it across his master's mouth. by-and-bye, the men came for the body in order to throw it into the river tiber, and even then the dog followed and swam after it, and held it up and tried to bring it to land, till the people came out in multitudes from the houses round about, to see what it was to be faithful unto death--and beyond it. _the strange history of cagnotte_ _ménagerie intime._ in the early part of this century, a little boy of three years old, named théophile gautier, travelled with his parents from tarbes, in the south of france, to paris. he was so small that he could not speak any proper french, but talked like the country people; and he divided the world into those who spoke like him and were his friends, and those who did not, and were strangers. but though he was only three, and a great baby in many ways, he loved his home dearly, and everything about it, and it nearly broke his heart to come away. his parents tried to comfort him by giving him the most beautiful chocolates and little cakes, and when that failed they tried what drums and trumpets would do. but drums and trumpets succeeded no better than cakes and chocolates, for the greater part of poor théophile's tears were shed for the 'dog he had left behind him,' called cagnotte, which his father had given away to a friend, as he did not think that any dog who had been accustomed to run along the hills and valleys above tarbes, could ever make himself happy in paris. théophile, however, did not understand this, but cried for cagnotte all day long; and one morning he could bear it no longer. his nurse had put out all his tin soldiers neatly on the table, with a little german village surrounded by stiff green trees just in front of them, hoping théophile might play at a battle or a siege, and she had also placed his fiddle (which was painted bright scarlet) quite handy, so that he might play the triumphal march of the victor. nothing was of any use. as soon as josephine's back was turned théophile threw soldiers and village and fiddle out of the window, and then prepared to jump after them, so that he might take the shortest way back to tarbes and cagnotte. luckily, just as his foot was on the sill, josephine came back from the next room, and saw what he was about. she rushed after him and caught him by the jacket, and then took him on her knee, and asked him why he was going to do anything so naughty and dangerous. when théophile explained that it was cagnotte whom he wanted and must have, and that nobody else mattered at all, josephine was so afraid he would try to run away again, that she told him that if he would only have patience and wait a little cagnotte would come to him. all day long théophile gave josephine no peace. every few minutes he came running to his nurse to know if cagnotte had arrived, and he was only quieted when josephine went out and returned carrying a little dog, which in some ways was very like his beloved cagnotte. théophile was not quite satisfied at first, till he remembered that cagnotte had travelled a long, long way, and it was not to be expected that he should look the same dog as when he started; so he put aside his doubts, and knelt down to give cagnotte a great hug of welcome. the new cagnotte, like the old, was a lovely black poodle, and had excellent manners, besides being full of fun. he licked théophile on both cheeks, and was altogether so friendly that he was ready to eat bread and butter off the same plate as his little master. the two got on beautifully, and were perfectly happy for some time, and then gradually cagnotte began to lose his spirits, and instead of jumping and running about the world, he moved slowly, as if he was in pain. he breathed shortly and heavily, and refused to eat anything, and even théophile could see he was feeling ill. one day cagnotte was lying stretched out on his master's lap, and théophile was softly stroking his skin, when suddenly his hand caught in what seemed to be string, or strong thread. in great surprise, josephine was at once called, to explain the strange matter. she stooped down, and peered closely at the dog's skin, then took her scissors and cut the thread. cagnotte stretched himself, gave a shake, and jumped down from théophile's lap, leaving a sort of black sheep-skin behind him. [illustration: cagnotte comes out of his skin] some wicked men had sewn him up in this coat, so that they might get more money for him; and without it he was not a poodle at all, but just an ugly little street dog, without beauty of any kind. after helping to eat théophile's bread and butter and soup for some weeks, cagnotte began to grow fatter, and his outside skin became too tight for him, and he was nearly suffocated. once delivered from it, he shook his ears for joy, and danced a waltz of his own round the room, not caring a straw how ugly he might be as long as he was comfortable. a very few weeks spent in the society of cagnotte made the memory of tarbes and its mountains grow dim in the mind of théophile. he learnt french, and forgot the way the country people talked, and soon he had become, thanks to cagnotte, such a thorough little parisian, that he would not have understood what his old friends said, if one of them had spoken to him. _still waters run deep; or the dancing dog_ _ménagerie intime._ when little théophile became big théophile, he was as fond as ever of dogs and cats, and he knew more about them than anybody else. after the death of a large white spaniel called luther, he filled the vacant place on his rug by another of the same breed, to whom he gave the name of zamore. zamore was a little dog, as black as ink, except for two yellow patches over his eyes, and a stray patch on his chest. he was not in the least handsome, and no stranger would ever have given him a second thought. but when you came to know him, you found zamore was not a common dog at all. he despised all women, and absolutely refused to obey them or to follow them, and neither théophile's mother nor his sisters could get the smallest sign of friendship from him. if they offered him cakes or sugar, he would accept them in a dignified manner, but never dreamed of saying 'thank you,' still less of wagging his tail on the floor, or giving little yaps of delight and gratitude, as well-brought-up dogs should do. even to théophile's father, whom he liked better than anyone else, he was cold and respectful, though he followed him everywhere, and never left his master's heels when they took a walk. and when they were fishing together, zamore would sit silent on the bank for hours together, and only allowed himself one bark when the fish was safely hooked. now no one could possibly have guessed that a dog of such very quiet and reserved manners was at heart as gay and cheerful as the silliest kitten that ever was born, but so he was, and this was how his family found it out. one day he was walking as seriously as usual through a broad square in the outskirts of paris, when he was surprised at meeting a large grey donkey, with two panniers on its back, and in the panniers a troop of dogs, some dressed as swiss shepherdesses, some as turks, some in full court costume. the owner of the animals stopped the donkey close to where zamore was standing, and bade the dogs jump down. then he cracked his whip; the fife and drum struck up a merry tune, the dogs steadied themselves on their hind legs, and the dance began. zamore looked on as if he had been turned into stone. the sight of these dogs, dressed in bright colours, this one with his head covered by a feathered hat, and that one by a turban, but all moving about in time to the music, and making pirouettes and little bows; were they really _dogs_ he was watching or some new kind of men? anyway he had never seen anything so enchanting or so beautiful, and if it was true that they were only dogs--well, _he_ was a dog too! with that thought, all that had lain hidden in zamore's soul burst forth, and when the dancers filed gracefully before him, he raised himself on his hind legs, and in spite of staggering a little, prepared to join the ring, to the great amusement of the spectators. the dog-owner, however, whose name was monsieur corri, did not see matters in the same light. he raised his whip a second time, and brought it down with a crack on the sides of zamore, who ran out of the ring, and with his tail between his legs and an air of deep thought, he returned home. [illustration: 'and what do you think she saw?'] all that day zamore was more serious and more gloomy than ever. nothing would tempt him out, hardly even his favourite dinner, and it was quite plain that he was turning over something in his mind. but during the night his two young mistresses were awakened by a strange noise that seemed to come from an empty room next theirs, where zamore usually slept. they both lay awake and listened, and thought it was like a measured stamping, and that the mice might be giving a ball. but could little mice feet tread so heavily as that? supposing a thief had got in? so the bravest of the two girls got up, and stealing to the door softly opened it and looked into the room. and what do you think she saw? why, zamore, on his hind legs, his paws in the air, practising carefully the steps that he had been watching that morning! this was not, as one might have expected, a mere fancy of the moment, which would be quite forgotten the next day. zamore was too serious a dog for that, and by dint of hard study he became in time a beautiful dancer. as often as the fife and drum were heard in the streets, zamore rushed out of the house, glided softly between the spectators, and watched with absorbed attention the dancing dogs who were doing their steps: but remembering the blow he had had from the whip, he took care not to join them. he noted their positions, the figures, and the way they held their bodies, and in the night he copied them, though by day he was just as solemn as ever. soon he was not contented with merely copying what he saw, he invented for himself, and it is only just to say that, in stateliness of step, few dogs could come up to him. often his dances were witnessed (unknown to himself) by théophile and his sisters, who watched him through the crack of the door; and so earnest was he, that at length, worn out by dancing, he would drink up the whole of a large basin of water, which stood in the corner of the room. when zamore felt himself the equal of the best of the dancing dogs, he began to wish that like them he might have an audience. now in france the houses are not always built in a row as they are in england, but sometimes have a square court-yard in front, and in the house where zamore lived, this court was shut in on one side by an iron railing, which was wide enough to let dogs of a slim figure squeeze through. one fine morning there met in this court-yard fifteen or twenty dogs, friends of zamore, to whom the night before he had sent letters of invitation. the object of the party was to see zamore make his _début_ in dancing, and the ball-room was to be the court-yard, which zamore had carefully swept with his tail. the dance began, and the spectators were so delighted, that they could not wait for the end to applaud, as people ought always to do, but uttered loud cries of 'ouah, ouah,' that reminded you of the noises you hear at a theatre. except one old water spaniel who was filled with envy at zamore's talents, and declared that no decent dog would ever make an exhibition of himself like that, they all vowed that zamore was the king of dancers, and that nothing had ever been seen to equal his minuet, jig, and waltz for grace and beauty. it was only during his dancing moments that zamore unbent. at all other times he was as gloomy as ever, and never cared to stir from the rug unless he saw his old master take up his hat and stick for a walk. of course, if he had chosen, he might have joined monsieur corri's _troupe_, of which he would have made the brightest ornament; but the love of his master proved greater than his love of his art, and he remained unknown, except of his family. in the end he fell a victim to his passion for dancing, and he died of brain fever, which is supposed to have been caused by the fatigue of learning the schottische, the fashionable dance of the day. _theo and his horses; jane, betsy, and blanche_ from _ménagerie intime_. after théophile grew to be a man, he wrote a great many books, which are all delightful to read, and everybody bought them, and théophile got rich and thought he might give himself a little carriage with two horses to draw it. and first he fell in love with two dear little shetland ponies who were so shaggy and hairy that they seemed all mane and tail, and whose eyes looked so affectionately at him, that he felt as if he should like to bring them into the drawing-room instead of sending them to the stable. they were charming little creatures, not a bit shy, and they would come and poke their noses into théophile's pockets in search for sugar, which was always there. indeed their only fault was, that they were so very, very small, and that, after all, was _not_ their fault. still, they looked more suited to an english child of eight years old, or to tom thumb, than to a french gentleman of forty, not so thin as he once was, and as they all passed through the streets, everybody laughed, and drew pictures of them, and declared that théophile could easily have carried a pony on each arm, and the carriage on his back. now théophile did not mind being laughed at, but still he did not always want to be stared at all through the streets, whenever he went out. so he sold his ponies and began to look out for something nearer his own size. after a short search he found two of a dapple grey colour, stout and strong, and as like each other as two peas, and he called them jane and betsy. but although, to look at, no one could ever tell one from the other, their characters were totally different, as jane was very bold and spirited, and betsy was terribly lazy. while jane did all the pulling, betsy was quite contented just to run by her side, without troubling herself in the least, and, as was only natural, jane did not think this at all fair, and took a great dislike to betsy, which betsy heartily returned. at last matters became so bad that, in their efforts to get at each other, they half kicked the stable to pieces, and would even rear themselves upon their hind legs in order to bite each other's faces. théophile did all he could to make them friends, but nothing was of any use, and at last he was forced to sell betsy. the horse he found to replace her was a shade lighter in colour, and therefore not quite so good a match, but luckily jane took to her at once, and lost no time in doing the honours of the stable. every day the affection between the two became greater: jane would lay her head on blanche's shoulder--she had been called blanche because of her fair skin--and when they were turned out into the stable-yard, after being rubbed down, they played together like two kittens. if one was taken out alone, the other became sad and gloomy, till the well-known tread of its friend's hoofs was heard from afar, when it would give a joyful neigh, which was instantly answered. never once was it necessary for the coachman to complain of any difficulty in harnessing them. they walked themselves into their proper places, and behaved in all ways as if they were well brought up, and ready to be friendly with everybody. they had all kinds of pretty little ways, and if they thought there was a chance of getting bread or sugar or melon rind, which they both loved, they would make themselves as caressing as a dog. [illustration: blanche telling ghost stories to jane in the stable] nobody who has lived much with animals can doubt that they talk together in a language that man is too stupid to understand; or, if anyone _had_ doubted it, they would soon have been convinced of the fact by the conduct of jane and blanche when in harness. when jane first made blanche's acquaintance, she was afraid of nothing, but after they had been together a few months, her character gradually changed, and she had sudden panics and nervous fits, which puzzled her master greatly. the reason of this was that blanche, who was very timid and easily frightened, passed most of the night in telling jane ghost stories, till poor jane learnt to tremble at every sound. often, when they were driving in the lonely alleys of the bois de boulogne after dark, blanche would come to a dead stop or shy to one side as if a ghost, which no one else could see, stood before her. she breathed loudly, trembled all over with fear, and broke out into a cold perspiration. no efforts of jane, strong though she was, could drag her along. the only way to move her was for the coachman to dismount, and to lead her, with his hand over her eyes for a few steps, till the vision seemed to have melted into air. in the end, these terrors affected jane just as if blanche, on reaching the stable, had told her some terrible story of what she had seen, and even her master had been known to confess that when, driving by moonlight down some dark road, where the trees cast strange shadows, blanche would suddenly come to a dead halt and begin to tremble, he did not half like it himself. with this one drawback, never were animals so charming to drive. if théophile held the reins, it was really only for the look of the thing, and not in the least because it was necessary. the smallest click of the tongue was enough to direct them, to quicken them, to make them go to the right or to the left, or even to stop them. they were so clever that in a very short time they had learned all their master's habits, and knew his daily haunts as well as he did himself. they would go of their own accord to the newspaper office, to the printing office, to the publisher's, to the bois de boulogne, to certain houses where he dined on certain days in the week, so very punctually that it was quite provoking; and if it ever happened that théophile spent longer than usual at any particular place, they never failed to call his attention by loud neighs, or by pawing the ground, sounds of which he quite well knew the meaning. but alas, the time came when a revolution broke out in paris. people had no time to buy books or to read them; they were far too busy in building barricades across the streets, or in tearing up the paving stones to throw at each other. the newspaper in which théophile wrote, and which paid him enough money to keep his horses, did not appear any more, and sad though he was at parting, the poor man thought he was lucky to find some one to buy horses, carriage, and harness, for a fourth part of their worth. tears stood in his eyes as they were led away to their new stable; but he never forgot them, and they never forgot him. sometimes, as he sat writing at his table, he would hear from afar a light quick step, and then a sudden stop under the windows. and their old master would look up and sigh and say to himself, 'poor jane, poor blanche, i hope they are happy.' _madame thÉophile and the parrot_ _ménagerie intime._ after the death of cagnotte, whose story you may have read, théophile was so unhappy that he would not have another dog, but instead, determined to fill the empty place in his heart with cats. one of those that he loved the best was a big yellowy-red puss, with a white chest, a pink nose, and blue eyes, that went by the name of madame théophile, because, when he was in the house, it never left his side for a single instant. it slept on his bed, dreamed while sitting on the arm of théophile's chair while he was writing (for théophile was by this time almost a grown-up man), walked after him when he went into the garden, sat by his side while he had his dinner, and sometimes took, gently and politely, the food he was conveying to his own mouth. one day, a friend of théophile's, who was leaving paris for a few days, brought a parrot, which he begged théophile to take care of while he was away. the bird not feeling at home in this strange place, climbed up to the top of his cage and looked round him with his funny eyes, that reminded you of the nails in a sofa. now madame théophile had never seen a parrot, and it was plain that this curious creature gave her a shock. she sat quite still, staring quietly at the parrot, and trying to think if she had ever seen anything like it among the gardens and roofs of the houses, where she got all her ideas of the world. at last she seemed to make up her mind: 'of course, it must be a kind of green chicken.' having set the question at rest, madame théophile jumped down from the table where she had been seated while she made her observations, and walked quickly to the corner of the room, where she laid herself flat down, with her head bent and her paws stretched out, like a panther watching his prey. the parrot followed all her movements with his round eyes, and felt that they meant no good to him. he ruffled his feathers, pulled at his chain, lifted one of his paws in a nervous way, and rubbed his beak up and down his food tin. all the while the cat's blue eyes were talking in a language the parrot clearly understood, and they said: 'although it is green, that fowl would make a nice dinner.' but madame théophile had not lain still all this while. slowly, without even appearing to move, she had drawn closer and closer. her pink nostrils trembled, her eyes were half shut, her claws were pushed out and pulled into their sheaths, and little shivers ran down her back. suddenly her back rounded itself like a bent bow, and with one bound she leapt on the cage. the parrot knew his danger, and was too frightened to move; then, calling up all his courage, he looked his enemy full in the face, and, in a low and deep voice he put the question: 'jacky, did you have a good breakfast?' this simple phrase struck terror into the heart of the cat, who made a spring backwards. if a cannon had been fired close to her ear, or a shopful of glass had been broken, she could not have been more alarmed. never had she dreamed of anything like this. 'and what did you have--some of the king's roast beef?' continued the parrot. 'it is not a chicken, it is a man that is speaking,' thought the cat with amazement, and looking at her master, who was standing by, she retired under the bed. madame théophile knew when she was beaten. _the battle of the mullets and the dolphins_ many singular stories may be found in pliny, but the most interesting is how men and dolphins combine together on the coast of france, near narbonne, to catch the swarms of mullet that come into those waters at certain seasons of the year. [illustration: how the dolphins helped the fishermen to catch the mullets] 'in languedoc, within the province of narbonne, there is a standing pool or dead water called laterra, wherein men and dolphins together used to fish; for at one certain time of the year an infinite number of fishes called mullets, taking the vantage of the tide when the water doth ebb, at certain narrow weirs and passages with great force break forth of the said pool into the sea; and by reason of that violence no nets can be set and pitched against them strong enough to abide and bear their huge weight and the stream of the water together, if so be men were not cunning and crafty to wait and espie their time and lay for them and to entrap them. in like manner the mullets for their part immediately make speed to recover the deep, which they do very soon by reason that the channel is near at hand; and their only haste is for this, to escape and pass that narrow place which affordeth opportunities to the fishers to stretch out and spread their nets. the fishermen being ware thereof and all the people besides (for the multitude knowing when fishing time is come, run thither, and the rather for to see the pleasant sport), cry as loud as ever they can to the dolphins for aid, and call "simo, simo," to help to make an end of this their game and pastime of fishing. the dolphins soon get the ear of their cry and know what they would have, and the better if the north winds blow and carry the sound unto them; for if it be a southern wind it is later ere the voice be heard, because it is against them. howbeit, be the wind in what quarter soever, the dolphins resort thither flock-meal, sooner than a man would think, for to assist them in their fishing. and a wondrous pleasant sight it is to behold the squadrons as it were of those dolphins, how quickly they take their places and be arranged in battle array, even against the very mouth of the said pool, where the mullets are to shoot into the sea, to see (i say) how from the sea they oppose themselves and fight against them and drive the mullets (once affrighted and scared) from the deep on the shelves. then come the fishers and beset them with net and toile, which they bear up and fortify with strong forks; howbeit, for all that, the mullets are so quick and nimble that a number of them whip over, get away, and escape the nets. but the dolphins are ready to receive them; who, contenting themselves for the present to kill only, make foul work and havoc among them, and put off the time of preying and feeding upon, until they have ended the battle and achieved the victory. and now the skirmish is hot, for the dolphins, perceiving also the men at work, are the more eager and courageous in fight, taking pleasure to be enclosed within the nets, and so most valiantly charging upon the mullets; but for fear lest the same should give an occasion unto the enemies and provoke them to retire and fly back between the boats, the nets, and the men there swimming, they glide by so gently and easily that it cannot be seen where they get out. and albeit they take great delight in leaping, and have the cast of it, yet none essayeth to get forth but where the nets lie under them, but no sooner are they out, but presently a man shall see brave pastime between them as they scuffle and skirmish as it were under the ramparts. and so the conflict being ended and all the fishing sport done, the dolphins fall to spoil and eat those which they killed in the first shock and encounter. but after this service performed, the dolphins retire not presently into the deep again, from whence they were called, but stay until to-morrow, as if they knew very well they had so carried themselves as that they deserved a better reward than one day's refection and victuals; and therefore contented they are not and satisfied unless to their fish they have some sops and crumbs of bread given them soaked in wine, and had their bellies full.' _monkey stories_ before telling you more stories about monkeys, we must tell you some dry facts about them, in order that you may understand the stories. there are three different kinds of monkeys--apes, baboons, and monkeys proper. the difference is principally in their tails, so that when you see them at the zoo (for there are none wild in europe, except at gibraltar), you will know them by the apes having no tails and walking upright; baboons have short tails and go on all fours; and monkeys have tails sometimes longer than their whole bodies, by which they can swing themselves from tree to tree. apes and monkeys are so ready to imitate everything which men do, that the negroes believe that they are a lazy race of men, who will not be at the trouble to work. baboons, on the contrary, can be taught almost nothing. there are two kinds of apes, called oran otans and chimpanzees. they are both very wild and fierce, and difficult to catch, but, when caught, become not only tame, but very affectionate, and can be taught anything. nearly two hundred years ago, in , one was brought to london that had been caught in angola. on board ship he became very fond of the people who took care of him, and was very gentle and affectionate, but would have nothing to do with some monkeys who were on the same ship. he had had a suit of clothes made for him, probably to keep him warm. as the ship got into colder regions he took great pleasure in dressing himself in them, and anything he could not put on for himself he used to bring in his paw to one of the sailors, and seem to ask him to dress him. he had a bed to sleep in, and at night used to put his head on the pillow and tuck himself in like a human being. his story is unfortunately a short one, for he died soon after coming to london. he could not long survive the change from his native forests to the cage of a menagerie. [illustration: two oran otans] another, a female, was brought to holland nearly a hundred years later, in , but she, too, pined and died after seven months' captivity. she was very gentle and affectionate, and became so fond of her keeper that when they left her alone, she used to throw herself on the ground screaming, and tearing in pieces anything in her reach, just like a naughty child. she could behave as well as any lady in the land when she liked. when asked out to tea, she used to bring a cup and saucer, put sugar in the cup, pour out the tea, and leave it to cool; and at dinner her manners were just as good. she used her knife and fork, table napkin, and even toothpick, as if she had been accustomed to them all her life, which, of course, in her native forest was far from being the case. she learnt all her nice habits either from watching people at table, or from her keeper's orders. she was fond of strawberries, which she ate very daintily, on a fork, holding the plate in the other hand. she was particularly fond of wine, and drank it like a human being, holding the glass in her hand. she was better behaved than two other oran otans, who, though they could behave as well at table as any lady, and could use their knives and forks and glasses, and could make the cabin boy (for it was on board ship) understand what they wanted, yet, if he did not attend to them at once, they used to throw him down, seize him by the arm, and bite him. a french priest had an oran otan that he had brought up from a baby, and who was so fond of his master that he used to follow him about like a dog. when the priest went to church he used to lock the oran otan up in a room; but one day he got out, and, as sometimes happens with dogs, who cannot get reconciled to sunday, he followed his master to church. he managed, without the priest's seeing him, to climb on the sounding board above the pulpit, where he lay quite still till the sermon began. he then crept forward till he could see his master in the pulpit below, and imitated every one of his movements, till the congregation could not keep from laughing. the priest thought they were making fun of him, and was naturally very angry. the more angry he became the more gestures he used, every one of which the ape overhead repeated. at last a friend of the priest stood up in the congregation, and pointed out the real culprit. when the priest looked up and saw the imitation of himself, he could not keep from laughing either, and the service could not go on till the disturber had been taken down and locked up again at home. another kind is called the barbary ape, because they are found in such numbers in barbary that the trees in places seem nearly covered with them, though there are quantities as well in india and arabia. they are very mischievous and great fighters. in india the natives sometimes amuse themselves by getting up a fight among them. they put down at a little distance from each other baskets of rice, with stout sticks by each basket, and then they go off and hide themselves among the trees to watch the fun. the apes come down from the trees in great numbers, and make as though they were going to attack the baskets, but lose courage and draw back grinning at each other. the females are generally the boldest, and the first to seize on the food; but as soon as they put their heads down to eat, some of the males set-to to drive them off. others attack them in their turn. they all seize on the sticks, and soon a free fight begins, which ends in the weakest being driven off into the woods, and the conquerors enjoying the spoil. they are not only fierce but revengeful, and will punish severely any person who kills one of them. some english people who were driving through a country full of these apes in the east indies, wished, out of sheer wantonness, to have one shot. the native servants, knowing what the consequences would be, were afraid; but, as their masters insisted, they had to obey, and shot a female whose little ones were clinging to her neck. she fell dead from the branches, and the little ones, falling with her, were killed too. immediately all the other apes, to the number of about sixty, came down and attacked the carriage. they would certainly have killed the travellers if the servants, of whom there was fortunately a number, had not driven the apes off; and though the carriage set off as fast as the horses could lay legs to the ground, the apes followed for three miles. [illustration: the baboons who stole the poor man's dinner] _baboons_ are as ugly, revolting creatures as you could wish to see, and very fierce, so they can seldom be tamed nor even caught. there are, of course, few stories about them. when people try to catch them, they let their pursuers come so near that they think they have them, and then they bound away ten paces at once, and look down defiantly from the tree-top as much as to say, 'don't you wish you may get me?' one baboon had so wearied his pursuers by his antics that they pointed a gun at him, though with no intention of firing. he had evidently seen a gun before, and knew its consequences, and was so frightened at the bare idea, that he fell down senseless and was easily captured. when he came to himself again he struggled so fiercely that they had to tie his paws together, and then he bit so that they had to tie his jaws up. baboons are great thieves, and come down from the mountains in great bodies to plunder gardens. they cram as much fruit as they possibly can into their cheek pouches to take away and eat afterwards at their leisure. they always set a sentinel to give the alarm. when he sees anyone coming, he gives a yell that lasts a minute, and then the whole troop sets off helter-skelter. they will rob anyone they come upon alone in the most impudent way. they come softly up behind, snatch away anything they can lay their hands on, and then run off a little way and sit down. very often it is the poor man's dinner that they devour before his eyes. sometimes they will hold it out in their hands and pretend they are going to give it back, in such a comic way that i would defy you not to laugh, though it were your own dinner that had been snatched away and then offered to you. _monkeys_ live in the tree-tops of the forests of india and south africa, where they keep up a constant chattering and gambolling, all night as well as all day, playing games and swinging by their tails from tree to tree. one kind, the four-fingered monkey, can pass from one high tree-top to another, too far even for a monkey to jump, by making themselves into a chain, joined to each other by their tails. they can even cross rivers in this way. there are any number of different kinds of monkeys, as you can see any day in the monkey house at the zoo. one kind is well named the howling monkey, because they howl in chorus every morning two hours before daylight, and again at nightfall. the noise they make is so fearful that, if you did not know, you would think it was a forest full of ferocious beasts quite near, thirsting for their prey, instead of harmless monkeys a mile or two away. there is always a leader of the chorus, who sits on a high branch above the others. he first howls a solo, and then gives a signal for the others to join in; then they all howl together, till he gives another signal to stop. the egret monkeys are great thieves. when they set to work to rob a field of millet, they put as many stalks as they can carry in their mouths, in each paw, and under each arm, and then go off home on their hind legs. if pursued, and obliged for greater speed to go on all their four legs, they drop what they carry in their paws, but never let go what they have in their mouths. the chinese monkey is also a great thief, and even cleverer about carrying away his booty. they always set a sentinel on a high tree; when he sees anyone coming, he screams 'houp, houp, houp!' the others then seize as much as they can carry in their right arm, and set off on three legs. they are called chinese, not because they come from china, but because the way the hair grows on their heads is like a chinese cap. it is long and parts in the middle, spreading out all round. in many parts of india monkeys are worshipped by the natives, and temples are erected for them. but monkeys of one tribe are never allowed to come into any of these sanctuaries when another tribe is already in possession. a large strong monkey was once seen by some travellers to steal into one of these temples; as soon as the inhabitants saw that he did not belong to their tribe, they set on him to drive him out. as he was only one against many, though bigger and stronger than the others, he saw that he had no chance, and bounded up to the top, eleven stories high. as the temple ended in a little round dome just big enough for himself, he was master of the situation, and every monkey that ventured to climb up he flung down to the bottom. when this had happened three or four times, his enemies thought it best to let him alone, and he stayed there in peace till it was dark and he could slip away unseen. _eccentric bird builders_ from jones' _glimpses of animal life_. everybody knows how fond birds are of building their nests in church, and if we come to think of it, it is a very reasonable and sensible proceeding. churches are so quiet, and have so many dark out-of-the-way corners, where no one would dream of poking, certainly not the woman whose business it is to keep the church clean. so the birds have the satisfaction of feeling that their young are kept safe and warm while they are collecting food for them, and there is always some open door or window to enable the parents to fly in or out. but all birds have not the wisdom of the robins, and swallows, and sparrows that have selected the church for a home, and some of them have chosen very odd places indeed wherein to build their nests and lay their eggs. hinges of doors, turning lathes, even the body of a dead owl hung to a ring, have all been used as nurseries; but perhaps the oddest spot of all to fix upon for a nest is the outside of a railway carriage, especially when we remember how often railway stations are the abode of cats, who move safely about the big wheels, and even travel by train when they think it necessary. yet, in spite of all the drawbacks, railway carriages remain a favourite place for nesting birds, and there is a curious story of a pair of water-wagtails which built a snug home underneath a third-class carriage attached to a train which ran four times daily between cosham and havant. the father does not seem to have cared about railway travelling, which, to be sure, must appear a wretched way of getting about to anything that has wings; for he never went with the family himself, but spent the time of their absence fluttering restlessly about the platform to which the train would return. he was so plainly anxious and unhappy about them, that one would have expected that he would have insisted on some quieter and safer place the following year when nesting time came round again; but the mother apparently felt that the situation had some very distinct advantages, for she deliberately passed over every other spot that her mate pointed out, and went back to her third-class carriage. yet a railway carriage seems safety itself in comparison with a london street lamp, where a fly-catcher's nest was found a few years ago. composed as it was of moss, hair, and dried grass, it is astonishing that it never caught fire, but no doubt the great heat of the gas was an immense help in hatching the five eggs which the birds had laid. those fly-catchers had built in a hollow iron ornament on the top of the lamp, but some tomtits are actually known to have chosen such a dangerous place as the spot close to the burner of a paraffin street lamp. and even when the paraffin was exchanged for gas, the birds did not seem to mind, and would sit quite calmly on the nest, while the lamplighter thrust his long stick past them to put out the light. birds reason in a different way from human beings, for a letter-box would not commend itself to us as being a very good place to bring up a family, with letters and packages tumbling on to their heads every instant. a pair of scotch tomtits, however, thought otherwise, and they made a comfortable little nest at the back of a private letter-box, nailed on to the trunk of a tree in dumfriesshire. the postman soon found out what was going on, but he took great pains not to disturb them, for he was fond of birds, and was very curious to see what the tomtits would do. what the tomtits did was to go peacefully on with their nest, minding their own business, and by-and-bye eight little eggs lay in the nest. by this time the mother had got so used to the postman, that she never even moved when he unlocked the door, only giving his hand a friendly peck when he put it in to take out the letters, and occasionally accepting some crumbs which he held out to it. but no sooner did the little birds break through their shells than the parents became more difficult to deal with. they did not mind knocks from letters for themselves, but they grew furiously angry if the young ones ever were touched by so much as a corner, and one day, when a letter happened to fall plump on top of the nest, they tore it right to pieces. in fact, it was in such a condition, that when the postman came as usual to make his collection, he was obliged to take the letter back to the people who had written it, for no post office would have sent it off in such a state. _the ship of the desert_ from burckhardt's _travels in nubia_. of all animals under the sun, perhaps the very ugliest is the camel; but life in the deserts of africa and arabia could not go on at all without the constant presence of this clumsy-looking creature. some african tribes keep camels entirely for the use of their milk and flesh; and it is noticeable that these animals are much shyer and more timid than their brothers in syria and arabia, who will instantly come trotting up to any fresh camel that appears on the scene, or obey the call of any bedouin, even if he is a stranger. in general, the camel is merely employed as a beast of burden, and from this he gets his name of the 'ship of the desert.' like other ships, he sways from side to side, and his awkward motion is apt to make his rider feel very sick, till he gets accustomed to this way of travelling. camels are wonderfully strong and enduring animals, and can stow up water within them for several days, besides having an extraordinary power of smelling any water or spring that is far beyond the reach of man's eyes. these qualities are naturally very valuable in the burning deserts which stretch unbroken for hundreds of miles, where everything looks alike, and the sun as he passes across the heavens is the traveller's only guide. partly from fear of warlike tribes, which wander through the deserts of arabia and nubia, and partly from the help and protection which a large body can give, the one to the other, it is the custom for merchants and travellers to band together and travel in great caravans of men and camels. they try, if possible, to find some well by which they can encamp, and every man fills his own skins with water before starting afresh on his journey. more quarrels arise about water than people who live in countries with plenty of streams and rivers can have any idea of. one man will sell his skinful to another at a very high price, while if a traveller thinks he will be very prudent and lay in a large store, the rest are certain to take it from him directly their own supply runs short. foods they can do without on those burning plains, but not water. some of these misfortunes befel a traveller of the name of burckhardt, who left switzerland in the opening years of this century, to pass several years in africa and the east. after going through syria, he began to make his way up the nile, and even penetrated as far as nubia, joining for that purpose a caravan of traders under the leadership of a ababde--an arab race who from the earliest days have been acknowledged to be the best guides across the desert. owing to the intense heat which prevails in those countries, the marches always take place in the small hours of the morning, and midnight seems to have been the usual hour for the start. very commonly the march would continue for eleven hours, during which time the men were only allowed to drink twice, while the asses, who with the camels formed part of the caravan, were put on half their allowance. sometimes a detachment was sent on to wells that were known to lie along the route, to get everything ready for the rest when they came up; but it often happened that the springs were so choked up by drifting sand that no amount of digging would free them. then there was nothing for it but to go on again. it was in the month of march that burckhardt and his companions had their hardest experience of the dreadful desert thirst. the year had been drier than was common even in nubia, and even in the little oases or fertile spots, most of the trees and acacias were withered and dead. hour after hour the travellers toiled on, and soon the asses gave out, and their riders were forced to walk over the scorching sand. burckhardt had been a little more careful of his stock of water than the other members of the caravan, and for some days had cooked no food or eaten anything but biscuits, so that he had been able to spare a draught every now and then for his own ass, and still had enough to last both of them for another day. however, it was quite clear that unless water was quickly found they must all die together, and a council was held as to what was best to be done. the ababde chief's advice was--and always had been--to send out a company of ten or twelve of the strongest camels, to try to make their way secretly to the nile, through the ranks of unfriendly arab tribes encamped all along its eastern shore. this was agreed upon; and about four in the afternoon the little band set out, loaded with all the skins in the caravan. the river was a ride of five or six hours distant; so that many hours of dreadful suspense must pass before the watchers left behind could know what was to be their fate. soon after sunset a few stragglers came in, who had strayed from the principal band; but they had not reached the river, and could give no news of the rest. as the night wore on, several of the traders came to burckhardt to beg for a taste of the water he was believed to have stored up; but he had carefully hidden what remained, and only showed them his skins which were empty. then the camp gradually grew silent, and all sat and waited under the stars for the verdict of life or death. it was three in the morning when shouts were heard, and the camels, refreshed by deep draughts of the nile water, came along at their utmost speed, bearing skins full enough for many days' journey. only one man was missing; but traders are a cruel race, and these cared nothing about his fate, giving themselves up to feasting and song, and joy at their deliverance. yet only a year later, the fate that had almost overtaken them befel a small body of merchants who set out with their camels from berber to daraou. the direct road, which led past the wells of nedjeym, was known to be haunted at that date by the celebrated robber naym, who waylaid every caravan from berber; so the merchants hired an ababde guide to take them by a longer and more easterly road, where there was another well at which they could water. unluckily the guide knew nothing of the country that lay beyond, and the whole party soon lost themselves in the mountains. for five days they wandered about, not seeing a creature who could give them help, or even direct them to the right path. then, their water being quite exhausted, they turned steadily westwards, hoping by this means soon to reach the nile. but the river at this point takes a wide bend, and was, if they had known it, further from them than before; and after two days of dreadful agony, fifteen slaves and one merchant died. in desperation, another merchant, who was an ababde, and owner of ten camels, had himself lashed firmly on to the back of the strongest beast, lest in his weakness he should fall off, and then ordered the whole herd to be turned loose, thinking that perhaps the instinct of the animals would succeed where the knowledge of man had failed. but neither the ababde nor his camels were ever seen again. the merchants struggled forwards, and eight days after leaving the well of owareyk they arrived in sight of some mountains which they knew; but it was too late, and camels and merchants sank down helpless where they lay. they had just strength to gasp out orders for two of their servants to make their way on camels to the mountains where water would be found, but long before the mountains were reached, one of the men dropped off his camel and, unable to speak, waved his hands in farewell to his comrade. the other mechanically rode on, but his eyes grew dim and his head dizzy, and well though he knew the road, he suffered his camel to wander from it. after straying aimlessly about for some time, he dismounted and lay down in the shade of a tree to rest, first tying his camel to one of the branches. but a sudden puff of wind brought the smell of the water to the camel's nostrils, and with a furious bound, he broke the noose and galloped violently forward, and in half an hour was sucking in deep draughts from a clear spring. the man, understanding the meaning of the camel's rush, rose up and staggered a few steps after him, but fell to the ground from sheer weakness. just at that moment a wandering bedouin from a neighbouring camp happened to pass that way, and seeing that the man still breathed, dashed water in his face, and soon revived him. then, laden with skins of water, the two men set out for those left behind, and hopeless though their search seemed to be, they found they had arrived in time, and were able to save them from a frightful death. _'hame, hame, hame, where i fain wad be'_ nothing in nature is more curious or more difficult of explanation than the stories recorded of animals conveyed to one place, finding their way back to their old home, often many hundreds of miles away. not very long ago, a lady at st. andrews promised to make a present to a friend who lived somewhere north of perth, of a fine cat which she wished to part with. when the day arrived, the cat was tied safely up in a hamper, put in charge of the guard, and sent on its way. it was met at the station by its new mistress, who drove it home, and gave it an excellent supper and a comfortable bed. this was on friday. all saturday it poked about, examining everything as cats will, but apparently quite happy and content with its quarters. about seven on sunday morning, as the lady drew up her blind to let in the sunshine, she saw the new puss trotting down the avenue. she did not pay much attention to the fact till the day went on, and the cat, who generally had a good appetite, did not come in to its meals. when monday came, but the puss did not, the lady wrote to her friend at st. andrews saying she feared that the cat had wandered away, but she would make inquiries at all the houses round, and still hoped to find it. on tuesday evening loud mews were heard outside the kitchen door of the st. andrews house, and when it was opened, in walked the cat, rather dirty and very hungry, but otherwise not at all the worse for wear. now as anybody can see if he looks at the map, it is a long way from st. andrews to perth, even as the crow flies. there are also two big rivers which _must_ be crossed, the tay and the eden, or if the cat preferred coming by train, at least two changes have to be made. so you have to consider whether, granting it an instinct of _direction_, which is remarkable enough in itself, the animal was sufficiently strong to swim such large streams; or whether it was so clever that it managed to find out the proper trains for it to take, and the places where it must get out. any way, home it came, and was only two days on the journey, and there it is still in st. andrews, for its mistress had not the heart to give it away a second time. trains seem to have a special fascination for cats, and they are often to be seen about stations. for a long while one was regularly to be seen travelling on the metropolitan line, between st. james's park and charing cross, and a whole family of half-wild kittens are at this moment making a play-ground of the lines and platforms at paddington. one will curl up quite comfortably on the line right under the wheel of a carriage that is just going to start, and on being disturbed bolts away and hides itself in some recess underneath the platform. occasionally you see one with part of its tail cut off, but as a rule they take wonderfully good care of themselves. the porters are very kind to them, and they somehow contrive to get along, for they all look fat and well-looking, and quite happy in their strange quarters. of course cats are not the only animals who have what is called the 'homing instinct.' sheep have been known to find their way back from yorkshire to the moors north of the cheviots where they were born and bred, although sheep are not clever beasts and they had come a roundabout journey by train. but there are many such stories of dogs, and one of the most curious is told by an english officer who was in paris in the year . one day, as the officer was walking hastily over the bridge, he was annoyed by a muddy poodle dog rubbing up against him, and dirtying his beautifully polished boots. now dirty boots were his abhorrence, so he hastily looked round for a shoe-black, and seeing one at a little distance off, at once went up to him to have his boots re-blacked. a few days later the officer was again crossing the bridge, when a second time the poodle brushed against him and spoilt his boots. without thinking he made for the nearest shoe-black, just as he had done before, and went on his way; but when the same thing happened a third time, his suspicions were aroused, and he resolved to watch. in a few minutes he saw the dog run down to the river-side and roll himself in the mud, and then come back to the bridge and keep a sharp look-out for the first well-dressed man who would be likely to repay his trouble. the officer was so delighted with the poodle's cleverness, that he went at once to the shoe-black, who confessed that the dog was his and that he had taught him this trick for the good of trade. the officer then proposed to buy the dog, and offered the shoe-black such a large sum that he agreed to part with his 'bread-winner.' so the officer, who was returning at once to england, carried the dog, by coach and steamer to london, where he tied him up for some time, in order that he should forget all about his old life, and be ready to make himself happy in the new one. when he was set free, however, the poodle seemed restless and ill at ease, and after two or three days he disappeared entirely. what he did then, nobody knows, but a fortnight after he had left the london house, he was found, steadily plying his old trade, on the pont henri quatre. a northumbrian pointer showed a still more wonderful instance of the same sagacity. he was the property of one mr. edward cook, who after paying a visit to his brother, the owner of a large property in northumberland, set sail for america, taking the dog with him. they travelled south together as far as baltimore, where excellent shooting was to be got; but after one or two days' sport the dog disappeared, and was supposed to have lost itself in the woods. months went by without anything being known of the dog, when one night a dog was heard howling violently outside the quiet northumberland house. it was admitted by the owner, mr. cook, who to his astonishment recognised it as the pointer which his brother had taken to america. they took care of him till his master came back, and then they tried to trace out his journey. but it was of no use. how the pointer made its way through the forest, from what port it started, and where it landed, remain a mystery to this day. _nests for dinner_ however wonderful and beautiful nests may be, very few english people would like to eat them; yet in china the nest of a particular variety of swallow is prized as a great delicacy. these nests are chiefly gathered from java, sumatra, and other islands of the malay archipelago, and are carried thence to china, where they fetch a large price. although, within certain limits, they are very plentiful, they are very difficult and dangerous to get, for the swallows build in the depths of large and deep caverns, mostly on the seashore, and the men have to be let down from above by ropes, or descend on ladders of bamboo. in java, so many men have lost their lives in nest gathering, that in some parts a regular religious ceremony is held, twice or three times a year, before the expedition is undertaken; prayers are said, and a bull is sacrificed. it is not easy to know what the nests are really made of, because from the time that europeans first noticed the trade--about two hundred years ago--they have differed among themselves in their accounts of the jelly-like substance used by the swallows. some naturalists have thought it is the spawn of the fish, which floats thickly on the surface of these seas; others, that it is a kind of deposit of dried sea foam gathered by the birds from the beach, while others again think that the substance is formed of sea plants chewed by the birds into a jelly; but, whatever it may be, the chinese infinitely prefer nests to oysters or anything else, and are willing to pay highly for them. [illustration: {bird's nests for dinner}] the nests, which take about two months to build, are always found to be of two sorts: an oblong one just fitted to the body of the male bird, and a rounder one for the mother and her eggs. the most valuable nests are those which are whitest, and these generally belong to the male; they are very thin, and finely worked. the birds are small and feed chiefly on insects, which are abundant on these islands; their colour is grey, and they are wonderfully quick in their movements, like the humming birds, which are about their own size. they are sociable, and build in swarms, but they seldom lay more than two eggs, which take about a fortnight to hatch. _fire-eating djijam_ some curious notes about walking unharmed through fire, in the november ( ) number of 'longman's magazine,' under the heading 'at the sign of the ship,' suggested that a record might be kept of djijam's eccentricities, especially as they differed somewhat from those of most other dogs. anyone accustomed to animals knows, and anyone who is not can imagine, that dogs differ as much in their behaviour and ways as human beings. djijam was as unlike any dog i have ever had, seen, or heard of, as could be. my wife, who is a patient and successful instructor of animals, never managed to teach him anything, any attempt to impart usual or unusual accomplishments being met with the most absolute, impenetrable idiocy, which no perseverance could conquer or diminish in the least degree. that this extreme stupidity was really assumed is now pretty clear, though at the time it was attributed to natural density. it was at christmas-tide, about two years ago, that my wife and i drove over to a village some few miles away, to choose one of a litter of four fox-terrier pups, which we heard were on sale at a livery stable. we found the mother of the lively litter almost overpowered by her boisterous progeny, who though nearly three months old had not yet found other homes. without any particular objection on the part of the parent we examined the pups, and selected and brought away one which seemed to have better points than the rest, whom we left to continue their gambols in the straw, unconscious probably that any other means of warming themselves were possible. the journey home was accomplished with the customary puppish endeavors to escape restraint. the same evening, after the servants had retired to bed, master djijam was placed in the kitchen, out of harm's way as it was thought. the last thing at night we went to inspect the little animal, and could not at first discover his whereabouts. when a thing is lost it is customary to hunt about in unlikely places, so we looked into the high cinder-box under the kitchener, and found the object of our search comfortably curled up directly under the red-hot fire. it was fairly warm work fishing him out. for another reason, not connected with heat, he was subsequently christened djijam, a truly oriental name, which some of our friends think may have helped to develop his original taste for fire. when djijam was about six months old we observed that he frequently jumped up to people who were seated smoking. this induced a humorous friend one day to offer him the lighted end of a cigarette, which djijam promptly seized in his mouth and extinguished. after that triumph djijam usually watched for, and plainly demanded the lighted fag ends of cigarettes and cigars, so that his might be the satisfaction of finishing them off. this led to lighted matches being offered to him, which he eagerly took in his mouth, and if wax vestas, swallowed as a welcome addition to his ordinary diet. from matches to lighted candles was an easy step, and these he rapidly extinguished with great gusto as often as they were presented to him. he would also attack lighted oil lamps if placed on the floor, but they puzzled him, and defied his efforts to bite or breathe them out. a garden bonfire used to drive him wild with delight, and snatching brands from the fire, indoors or out, was a delirious joy. my wife discovered him once in the full enjoyment of a large lighted log on the dining-room carpet. red-hot cinders he highly relished, though in obtaining them he frequently singed off his moustaches. perhaps the oddest of his fiery tricks was performed one day when he wished the cook to hand him some dainty morsel on which she chanced to be operating. this was against the rules, as he well knew, so she declined to accept the hint. djijam was at once provoked to anger and cast round for some way of obtaining compensation, at the same time hoping, perhaps, to retaliate. he naturally went for the kitchen fire, out of which he drew a red-hot cinder and carried it in his mouth across the kitchen, through a small lobby into the scullery, to his box-bed, into the straw of which he must have speedily dropped the live coal, and jumped in after it. soon after, the cook smelt wood burning and searched the lower part of the house lest anything were afire. finding nothing wrong, she last of all visited the scullery, and found djijam enjoying the warmth of his smouldering straw bed and wooden box. [illustration: 'in the full enjoyment of a large lighted log on the dining-room carpet'] alas, djijam grew snappish even to his best friends, and although it was suggested that he might be found an engagement on the variety stage of the westminster aquarium, as a fire-eating hound, it was reluctantly decided that he should go the way of all flesh. i am sure if he had been asked, he would in some way have indicated that he preferred cremation to any other mode of disposal. but it was not to be, yet it was a melancholy satisfaction to learn that his end was peaceful though commonplace. _the story of the dog oscar_ in the north-west of scotland there is a very pretty loch which runs far up into the land. on one side great hills--almost mountains--slope down into the water, while on the opposite side there is a little village, with the road along which the houses straggle, almost part of the loch shore. at low tide, banks of beautiful golden seaweed are left at the edges of the water, and on this seaweed huge flocks of sea-gulls come and feed. a few years ago there lived in this village a minister who had a collie-dog named oscar. he lived all alone in his little cottage, and as jean, the woman who looked after him, was a very talkative person, by no means congenial to him. oscar was his constant companion and friend. he seemed to understand all that was said to him, and in his long, lonely walks across the hills, it cheered him to have oscar trotting quietly and contentedly beside him. and when he came home from visiting sick people, and going to places where he could not take oscar, he would look forward to seeing the soft brown head thrust out of the door, peering into the darkness, ready to welcome him as soon as he should come in sight. one of oscar's favourite games was to go down to the shore when the tide was low, and with his head thrown up and his tail straight out, he would run at the flocks of gulls feeding on the seaweed, and scatter them in the air, making them look like a cloud of large white snow-flakes. in a minute or two the gulls would settle down again to their meal, and again oscar would charge and rout them. [illustration: 'oscar would charge and rout them'] this little manoeuvre of his would be repeated many times, till a long clear whistle was heard from the road by the loch. then the gulls might finish their supper in peace, for oscar's master had called him, and now he was walking quietly along by his side, looking as if there were no such things in the world as gulls. 'no, oscar, lad! not to-day! not to-day!' said the minister one afternoon, as he put on his hat and coat and took his stick from the dog who always fetched it when he saw preparations being made for a walk. 'i can't take you with me; you must stay in the paddock. no run by the loch this afternoon, lad. 'tis too long, and you are not so strong as you were. we are growing old together, oscar.' the dog watched his master till he disappeared over the little bridge and up the glen, and then he went and lay down by the paling which surrounded the bit of field. jean soon went out to a friend's house to have a little gossip, and oscar was left alone. he felt rather forlorn. across the road he heard the distant splashing of the waves as they ran angrily up the beach of the loch, and the whistling of the wind down the glen. he watched the grey clouds scudding away overhead, and he envied the children he heard playing in the street, or racing after the tourist coach on its way up the pass. he began to feel drowsy. 'the gulls will be feeding on the banks now! how i wish ...' and his eyes closed, and he dreamt a nice dream, that he was dashing along through shallow pools of water towards the white chattering flock, when--what was this in front of him? white feathers! two gulls! was he dreaming still? no the gulls were real! what luck! he could not go to the gulls, so the gulls had come to him. in a moment he was wide awake, and made a rush at the two birds who were gazing at him inquiringly with their heads on one side. but after two or three rushes, 'what stupid gulls these are!' thought oscar. 'they can scarcely fly.' and, indeed, the birds seemed to have great difficulty in lifting themselves off the ground, and appeared to grow more and more feeble after each of oscar's onslaughts. at last one of them fell. 'lazy creature! you have had too much dinner! up you get!' but the gull lay down gasping. oscar made for the other. why, that was lying down too! he went to the first one. it was quite still and motionless, and after one or two more gasps its companion was the same. oscar felt rather frightened. was it possible that he had killed them? what would his master say? how was he to tell him it was quite a mistake? that he had only been in fun? he must put the gulls out of sight. he dragged them to one side of the cottage where the minister used to try every year to grow a few cherished plants, and there in the loose earth he dug a grave for the birds. then he went back to his old place, and waited for his master's return. when the minister came back, for the first time in his life, oscar longed to be able to speak and tell him all that had happened. how could he without speech explain that the death of the birds was an accident--an unfortunate accident? he felt that without an explanation it was no use unearthing the white forms in the border. 'sir, sir!' cried jean, putting her head in at the door. 'here's widow mcinnes come to see you. she's in sore trouble.' the minister rose and went to the door. 'stay here, oscar,' he said, for widow mcinnes was not fond of oscar. in a few minutes the minister came back. he patted oscar's soft head. [illustration: 'oscar felt rather frightened'] 'she wanted to accuse thee, oscar lad, of killing the two white pigeons which her son sent her yesterday from the south, and which escaped this afternoon from their cage. as if you would touch the bairnies, as the poor woman calls them! eh, lad?' oscar wagged his tail gratefully. then in a sudden flash it came upon him that he _had_ killed the pigeons. now he saw the birds were pigeons, not gulls, and, worse than killing them, he had, all unknowingly, told his master a lie; and he could not undo it. he whined a little as if in pain, and moved slowly out of the room. the minister sat on, deep in thought, and then went outside the house to see the sunset. great bands of thick grey cloud wrapped the hill-tops in their folds, and lay in long bands across the slopes, while here and there in the rifts were patches of pale lemon-coloured sky. the loch waters heaved sullenly against the shore. the minister looked away from the sunset, and his eye fell on a little mound in the bed by the cottage. 'what did i plant there?' he thought, and began poking it with his stick. 'oscar, oscar!' oscar was bounding down the path. he had just determined to unbury the pigeons and bring them to his master, and, even if he received a beating, his master would know he had not meant to deceive. but now, hearing the call, and the tone of the minister's voice, he knew it was too late. he stopped, and then crept slowly towards that tall black figure standing in the twilight, with the two white pigeons lying at his feet. 'oh, oscar, oscar lad, what _have_ you done?' at that moment a boy came running to the gate. 'ye'll be the minister that sandy johnston is speiring after. he says, "fetch the minister, and bid him come quick."' [illustration: 'oh, oscar, oscar lad, what _have_ you done?'] the minister gave a few directions to jean, and in a moment or two was ready to go with the boy. it was a long row to the head of the loch, and a long walk to reach the cottage where sandy johnston lay dying. the minister stayed with him for two nights, till he seemed to need his help no more, and then started off to come home. but while he was being rowed along the loch, a fierce snowstorm came on. the boat made but little way, and they were delayed two or three hours. cold and tired, the minister thought with satisfaction of his warm fireside, with oscar lying down beside his cosy chair. then, for the first time since it had happened, he thought of the pigeons, and he half smiled as he recalled oscar's downcast face as he came up the path. with quick steps he hurried along the street from the landing-place. the snow was being blown about round him, and the night was fast closing in. he was quite near his own gate now, and he looked up, expecting to see the familiar brown head peering out of the door for him; but there was no sign of it. he opened the gate and strode in. still no oscar to welcome him. 'jean, jean!' he called. jean appeared from the kitchen, and even in the firelight he could see traces of tears on her rough face. 'where is oscar?' 'ah, sir, after ye were gone wi' the lad, he wouldna' come into the house, and wouldna' touch a morsel o' food. he lay quite still in the garden, and last night he died. an' it's my belief, sir, he died of a broken heart, because ye did na' beat him after killing the pigeons, and he couldna' make it up wi' ye.' and the minister thought so, too; and when jean was gone, he sat down by his lonely fireside and buried his face in his hands. _dolphins at play_ for some reason or other, dolphins, those queer great fish that always seem to be at play, have been subjects for many stories. pliny himself has told several, and his old translator's words are so strange, that, as far as possible, we will tell the tale as he tells it. 'in the days of augustus cæsar, the emperor,' says pliny, 'there was a dolphin entered the gulf or pool lucrinus, which loved wondrous well a certain boy, a poor man's son; who using to go every day to school from baianum to puteoli, was wont also about noon-tide to stay at the water side and call unto the dolphin, "simo, simo," and many times would give him fragments of bread, which of purpose he ever brought with him, and by this means allured the dolphin to come ordinarily unto him at his call. well, in process of time, at what hour soever of the day this boy lured for him and called "simo," were the dolphin never so close hidden in any secret and blind corner, out he would and come abroad, yea, and scud amain to this lad, and taking bread and other victuals at his hand, would gently offer him his back to mount upon, and then down went the sharp-pointed prickles of his fins, which he would put up as it were within a sheath for fear of hurting the boy. thus, when he once had him on his back, he would carry him over the broad arm of the sea as far as puteoli to school, and in like manner convey him back again home; and thus he continued for many years together, so long as the child lived. but when the boy was fallen sick and dead yet the dolphin gave not over his haunt, but usually came to the wonted place, and missing the lad seemed to be heavy and mourn again, until for very grief and sorrow he also was found dead upon the shore.' [illustration: the boy goes to school on the dolphin's back] _the starling of segringen_ translated from the german of johann peter hebel. in a little german village in suabia, there lived a barber, who combined the business of hair-cutting and shaving with that of an apothecary; he also sold good brandy, so that he had no lack of customers, not to speak of those who merely wished to pass an hour in gossiping. not the least of the attractions, however, was a tame starling, named hansel, who had been taught to speak, and had learnt many sayings which he overheard, either from his master, the barber, or from the idlers who gathered about the shop. his master especially had some favourite sayings, or catchwords, such as, 'truly, i am the barber of segringen'--for this is the name of the village--'as heaven will,' 'by keeping bad company,' and the like; and these were most familiar to the starling. everybody for miles round had at least heard of hansel, and many came on purpose to see him and hear him talk, for hansel would often interpose a word into the conversation, which came in very aptly. but it happened one day, hansel's wings--which had been cut--having grown again, that he thought to himself: 'i have now learnt so much, i may go out and see the world.' and when nobody was looking, whirr!--away he went out of the window. seeing a flock of birds, he joined them, thinking: 'they know the country better than i.' but alas! this knowledge availed them little, for all of them, with hansel, fell into a snare which had been laid by a fowler, who soon came to see what was in his net. putting in his hand, he drew out one prisoner after another, callously wringing their necks one by one. but suddenly, when he was stretching out his murderous fingers to seize another victim, this one cried out: 'i am the barber of segringen!' the man almost fell backwards with astonishment and fright, believing he had to do with a sorcerer at least; but presently recovering himself a little, he remembered the starling, and said: 'eh, hansel, is it you! how did you come into the net?' 'by keeping bad company,' replied hansel. 'and shall i carry you home again?' 'as heaven will,' replied the starling. then the fowler took him back to the barber, and related the manner of his capture, receiving a good reward. the barber also reaped a fine harvest, for more people came to his shop on purpose to see the clever bird, who had saved his life by his ready tongue. _grateful dogs_ from 'das echo,' june , . letter to the editor, signed g. m., mexico, purporting to be an extract from a letter of his brother in nebraska. i have translated and recast it. a farmer in nebraska--one of the western states of north america--possessed two dogs, a big one called fanny, and a small one who was named jolly. one winter day the farmer went for a walk and took with him his two pets; they came to a brook that ran through the farm, and was now frozen up. fanny crossed it without much ado, but jolly, who was always afraid of water, distrusted the ice, and refused to follow. fanny paused at the other side, and barked loudly to induce her companion to come, but jolly pretended not to understand. then fanny ran back to him, and tried to explain that it was quite safe, but in vain, jolly only looked after his master, and whimpered; upon which, fanny, losing patience, seized him by the collar, and dragged him over. for this kindness jolly showed himself grateful some time afterwards. fanny, greedy creature, was fond of fresh eggs. when she heard a hen cackle she always ran to look for the nest, and one day she discovered one under the fruit-shed. but, alas! she could not get the beloved dainty because she was too large to go under the shed. looking very pensive and thoughtful, she went away, and soon returned with jolly, bringing him just before the hole. jolly, however, was stupid and did not understand; fanny put her head in, and then her paws, without being able, with all her efforts, to reach the egg; the smaller dog, seeing that there was something in the hole, went in to look, but not caring for eggs, came out empty-handed. thereupon fanny looked at him in such a sad and imploring way, that her master, who was watching them, could scarcely suppress his laughter. at last jolly seemed to understand what was wanted; he went under the shed again, brought out the egg, and put it before fanny, who ate it with great satisfaction, and then both dogs trotted off together. _gazelle_ passages in the life of a tortoise alexandre dumas, in whose book, as i told you, i read the story of tom the bear, as well as those of other animals, was one day walking past the shop of a large fishmonger in paris. as he glanced through the window he saw an englishman in the shop holding a tortoise, which he was turning about in his hands. dumas felt an instant conviction that the englishman proposed to make the tortoise into turtle soup, and he was so touched by the air of patient resignation of the supposed victim that he entered the shop, and with a sign to the shopwoman asked whether she had kept the tortoise for him which he had bespoken. the shopwoman (who had known dumas for many years) understood with half a word, and gently slipping the tortoise out of the englishman's grasp, she handed it to dumas, saying, 'pardon, milord, the tortoise was sold to this gentleman this morning.' the englishman seemed surprised, but left the shop without remonstrating, and dumas had nothing left for it but to pay for his tortoise and take it home. as he carried his purchase up to his rooms on the third floor he wondered what could have possessed him to buy it, and what on earth he was to do with it now he had got it. it was certainly a remarkable tortoise, for the moment he put it down on the floor of his bedroom it started off for the fireplace at such a pace as to earn for itself the name of 'gazelle.' once near the fire, gazelle settled herself in the warmest corner she could find, and went to sleep. dumas, who wished to go out again and was afraid of his new possession coming to any harm, called his servant and said: 'joseph, whilst i am out you must look after this creature.' joseph approached with some curiosity. 'ah!' he remarked, 'why, it's a tortoise; that creature could bear a carriage on its back.' 'yes, yes, no doubt it might, but i beg you won't try any experiments with it.' 'oh, it wouldn't hurt it,' assured joseph, who enjoyed showing off his information. 'the lyons diligence might drive over it without hurting it.' 'well,' replied his master, 'i believe the great sea turtle _might_ bear such a weight, but i doubt whether this small variety----' 'oh, _that's_ of no consequence,' interrupted joseph; 'it's as strong as a horse, and small though it is, a cartload of stones might pass----' 'very good, very good; never mind that now. just buy the creature a lettuce and some snails.' 'snails! why, is its chest delicate?' 'no, why on earth do you ask such a thing?' 'well, my last master used to take an infusion of snails for his chest--not that it prevented----' dumas left the room without waiting for the end. before he was half-way downstairs he found that he had forgotten his handkerchief, and on returning surprised joseph standing on gazelle's back, gracefully poised on one leg, with the other out-stretched behind him in such a way that not an ounce of his eleven-stone weight was lost on the poor creature. 'idiot! what are you about?' 'there, sir, didn't i say so?' rejoined joseph, proudly. 'there, there, give me a handkerchief and mind you don't touch that creature again.' [illustration: dumas finds joseph standing on gazelle's back] 'there, sir,' said the irrepressible joseph, bringing the handkerchief. 'but indeed you need not be at all afraid; a waggon could drive over----' dumas fled. he returned rather late at night, and no sooner took a step into his room than he felt something crack under his boot. he hastily raised his foot and took a further step with the same result: he thought he must be treading on eggs. he lowered his candlestick--the carpet was covered with snails. joseph had obeyed orders literally. he had bought the lettuces and the snails, had placed them all in a basket and gazelle on the top, and then put the basket in the middle of his master's bedroom. ten minutes later the warmth of the fire thawed the snails into animation, and the entire caravan set forth on a voyage of discovery round the room, leaving silvery tracks behind them on carpet and furniture. as for gazelle, she was quietly reposing at the bottom of the basket, where a few empty shells proved that all the fugitives had not been brisk enough to make their escape. dumas, feeling no fancy for a possible procession of snails over his bed, carefully picked up the stragglers one by one, popped them back into the basket, and shut down the lid. but in five minutes' time he realised that sleep would be out of the question with the noise going on, which sounded like a dozen mice in a bag of nuts. he decided to move the basket to the kitchen. on the way there it occurred to him that if gazelle went on at this rate she would certainly die of indigestion before morning. he remembered that the owner of the restaurant on the ground floor had a tank in the back yard where he often put fish to keep till wanted, and it struck him that the tank would be the very place for his tortoise. he at once put his idea into execution, got back to his room and to bed, and slept soundly till morning. joseph woke him early. 'oh, sir, such a joke!' he exclaimed, standing at the foot of the bed. 'what joke?' 'why, what your tortoise has been up to!' 'what on earth do you mean?' 'well, sir, could you believe that it got out of your room--goodness knows how--and walked downstairs and right into the tank?' 'you owl! you might have guessed i put it there myself.' 'did you indeed, sir? well, you certainly _have_ made a mess of it then.' 'how so?' 'why the tortoise has eaten up a tench--a superb tench weighing three pounds--which the master of the restaurant put into the tank only last night. the waiter has just been telling me about it.' 'go at once and fetch me gazelle and the scales.' during joseph's absence his master took down a volume of buffon, and consulted that eminent authority on the subject of tortoises and turtles. there seemed to be no doubt, according to the celebrated naturalist, that these creatures did eat fish voraciously when they got the chance. 'dear, dear,' thought dumas, 'i fear the owner of the tank has buffon on his side.' just then joseph returned with the accused in one hand and the kitchen scales in the other. 'you see,' began the irrepressible valet, 'these sort of creatures eat a lot. they need it to keep up their strength, and fish is particularly nourishing. only see how strong sailors are, and they live so much on fish----' his master cut him short. 'how much did you say that tench weighed?' 'three pounds. the waiter asks nine francs for it.' 'and gazelle ate it all?' 'every bit except the head, the back-bone, and the inside.' 'quite correct, monsieur buffon had said as much. very well--but still--three pounds seems a good deal.' he put gazelle in the scale. she weighed exactly two pounds and a half! the deduction was simple. either gazelle had been falsely accused or the theft had been much smaller than was represented. indeed the waiter readily took this view of the matter, and was quite satisfied with five francs as an indemnity. the varied adventures of gazelle had become rather a bore, and her owner felt that he must try to find some other home for her. she spent the following night in his room, but thanks to the absence of snails all went well. when joseph came in next morning, his first act as usual was to roll up the hearth-rug, and, opening the window, to shake it well out in the air. suddenly he uttered an exclamation and flung himself half out of the window. 'what's the matter, joseph?' asked his master, only half awake. 'oh, sir--it's your tortoise. it was on the rug, and i never saw it--and----' 'well! and----?' 'and i declare, before i knew what i was about, i shook it out of the window.' 'imbecile!' shouted dumas, springing out of bed. 'ah!' cried joseph with a sigh of relief. 'see, she's eating a cabbage!' and so she was. her fall had been broken by a rubbish heap, and after a few seconds in which to recover her equanimity, she had ventured to thrust her head out, when finding a piece of cabbage near, she at once began her breakfast. 'didn't i say so, sir?' cried joseph, delighted. 'nothing hurts those creatures. there now, whilst she's eating that cabbage a coach-and-four might drive over her----' 'never mind, never mind; just run down and fetch her up quick.' [illustration: dumas brings gazelle to no. faubourg st.-denis] joseph obeyed, and as soon as his master was dressed he called a cab, and taking gazelle with him, drove off to no. in the faubourg st.-denis. here he climbed to the fifth floor and walked straight into the studio of his friend, who was busy painting a delightful little picture of performing dogs. he was surrounded by a bear, who was playing with a log as he lay on his back, a monkey, busy pulling a paint brush to pieces, and a frog, who was half-way up a little ladder in a glass jar. you will, i dare say, have guessed already that the painter's name was décamps, the bear's tom, the monkey's jacko i., and the frog's mademoiselle camargo, and you will not wonder that dumas felt that he could not better provide for gazelle than by leaving her as an addition to the menagerie in his friend's studio.[ ] [ ] see p. . _cockatoo stories_ _naturalist's note-book._ reeves & turner: . about thirty years ago a gentleman, who was fond of birds and beasts, took into his head to try if parrots could not be persuaded to make themselves at home among the trees in his garden. for a little while everything seemed going beautifully, and the experimenter was full of hope. the parrots built their nests in the woods, and in course of time some young ones appeared, and gradually grew up to their full size. then, unluckily, they became tired of the grounds which they knew by heart, and set off to see the world. the young parrots were strong upon the wing, and their beautiful bright bodies would be seen flashing in the sun, as much as fifteen miles away, and, then, of course, some boy or gamekeeper with a gun in his hand was certain to see them, and covet them for the kitchen mantel-shelf or a private collection. the cockatoos however did not always care to choose trees for their building places. one little pair, whose grandparents had whisked about in the heat of a midsummer day in australia, found the climate of england cold and foggy, and looked about for a warm cover for their new nest. they had many conversations on the subject, and perhaps one of these may have been overheard by a jackdaw, who put into their minds a brilliant idea, for the very next morning the cockatoos were seen carrying their materials to one of the chimneys, and trying to fasten them together half-way up. but cockatoos are not as clever as jackdaws about this kind of thing, and before the nest had grown to be more than a shapeless mass, down it came, and such a quantity of soot with it, that the poor cockatoos were quite buried, and lay for a day and night nearly smothered in soot, till they happened to be found by a housemaid who had entered the room. but in spite of this mishap they were not disheartened, and as soon as their eyes and noses had recovered from their soot bath, they began again to search for a more suitable spot. to the great delight of their master, they fixed upon a box which he had nailed for this very purpose under one of the gables, and this time they managed to build a nest that was as good as any nest in the garden. still, they had no luck, for though the female laid two eggs, and sat upon them perseveringly, never allowing them to get cold for a single instant, it was all of no use, for the eggs turned out to be both bad! some cousins of theirs, a beautiful white cockatoo and his lovely rose-coloured wife, were more prosperous in their arrangements. they scooped out a most comfortable nest with their claws and bills in the rotten branch of an acacia tree, and there they brought up two young families, all of them white as snow, with flame-coloured crests. the eldest son, unhappily for himself, got weary of his brothers and sisters, and the little wood on the outskirts of the garden, where he was born, and one winter day took a flight towards the town. his parents never quite knew what occurred, but the poor young cockatoo came back severely wounded, to the great fury of all his family, who behaved very unkindly to him. it is a curious fact that no animals and very few birds can bear the sight of illness, and these cockatoos were no better than the rest. they did not absolutely ill-treat him, but they refused to let him enter their nest, and insisted that he should live by himself in a distant bush. at last his master took pity on him, and brought him into the garden, but this so enraged the cockatoos who were already in possession, that they secretly murdered him. however it is only just to the race of cockatoos to observe that they are not always so bad as this, for during the very same season an unlucky young bird, whose wing and leg were broken by an accident, was adopted by an elderly cockatoo who did not care for what her neighbours said, and treated him as her own son. the following year, when nesting time came round, the white cockatoos went back to their acacia branch, but were very much disgusted to find a pair of grey parrots there before them, and a little pair of bald round heads peeping over the edge. these little parrots grew up with such very bad tempers that no one would have anything to do with them, and as for their own relations, they looked upon them with the contempt that a cat often shows to a man. to be sure these relations were considered to be rather odd themselves, for they did not care to be troubled with a family of their own, so had taken under their protection two little kittens, who had been born in one of the boxes originally set apart for the parrots. the two birds could not endure to see the old cat looking after her little ones, and whenever she went out for a walk or to get her food, one of the parrots always took her place in the box. it would have been nice to know how long this went on, and if the kittens adopted any parrot-like ways. luckily, there was one peculiarity of the parrots which it was beyond their power to imitate, and that was the horrible voice which renders the society of a parrot, and still more of a cockatoo, unendurable to most people. _the otter who was reared by a cat_ _naturalist's note-book._ there is still living in the kingdom of galloway a wonderful cat who is so completely above all the instincts and prejudices of her race, that she can remain on friendly terms with young rabbits, and wile away a spare hour by having a game with a mouse. a _real_ game, where the fun is not all on one side, but which is enjoyed by the mouse as much as by the cat. hardly less strange, from the opposite point of view, is the friendship that existed between two cats and an otter, which had been taken from its mother when only a few hours old, to be brought up by hand by a gentleman. this was not a very easy thing to manage. it was too young to suck milk out of a spoon, which was the first thing thought of, but a quill passed through a cork and stuck into a baby's bottle proved a success, and through this the little otter had its milk five times every day, until he was more than five weeks old. then he was introduced to a cat who had lately lost a kitten, and though not naturally very good-tempered, the puss took to him directly, evidently thinking it was her own kitten grown a little bigger. in general this cat, which was partly persian, and, as i have said, very cross, did not trouble herself much about her young ones, which had to take care of themselves as well as they could; but she could not make enough of the little otter, and when he was as big as herself she would walk with him every day to the pond in the yard, where he had his bath, watching his splashings and divings with great anxiety, and never happy till he got out safe. but, like human children, the baby otter would have been very dull without someone to play with, and as there were no little otters handy, he made friends with a young cat called tom. all through the long winter, when the pond was frozen, and diving and swimming were no longer possible, he and tom used to spend happy mornings playing hide and seek among the furniture in the dining-room, till tom began to feel that the otter was getting rather rough, and that his teeth were very sharp, and that it would be a good thing to get out of his reach, on the top of a high cupboard or chimney piece. but at last the snow melted, and the ice became water again, and the first day the sun shone, the otter and the old cat went out for a walk in the yard. after the little fellow had had his dive, which felt delicious after all the weeks that he had done without it, he wandered carelessly into a shed where he had never been before, and to his astonishment he suddenly heard a flutter of wings, and became conscious of a sharp pain in his neck. this was produced by the beak of a falcon, who always lived in the shed, and seeing the strange creature enter his door, at once made up his mind that it was its duty to kill it. the cat and the gentleman who happened to come in at the same moment rushed forward and beat off the bird, and then, blinded by excitement, like a great many other people, and not knowing friends from foes, the cat rushed at her master. in one moment she had severely bitten the calf of his leg, given his thigh a fearful scratch, and picked up the otter and carried him outside. then, not daring to trust him out of her sight, she marched him sternly up the hill, keeping him all the while between her legs, so that no danger should come near him. as the otter grew bigger the cats became rather afraid of his claws and teeth, which grew bigger too, and inflicted bites and scratches without his knowing it. but if the cats tired of him, he never tired of the cats, and was always dull and unhappy when they were out of his way. sometimes, when his spirits were unusually good (and his teeth unusually sharp), the poor playfellows were obliged to seek refuge in the bedrooms of the house, or even upon the roof, but the little otter had not lived so long with cats for nothing, and could climb nearly as well as they. when he had had enough of teasing, he told them so (for, of course, he knew the cat language), and they would come down, and he would stretch himself out lazily in front of the fire, with his arms round tom's neck. it would be nice to know what happened to him when he really grew up, whether the joys of living in a stream made him forget his old friends at the farm, or whether he would leave the chase of the finest trout at the sound of a mew or a whistle. but we are not told anything about it, so everybody can settle it as they like. _stories about lions_ the lion in its wild state is a very different animal from the lion of menageries and wild-beast shows. the latter has probably been born in captivity, reared by hand, and kept a prisoner in a narrow cage all its life, deprived not only of liberty and exercise, but of its proper food. the result is a weak, thin, miserable creature, with an unhappy furtive expression, and a meagre mane, more like a poodle than the king of beasts in a savage state. the lion of south africa differs in many points from that of algeria, of whom we are going to speak. in algeria there are three kinds of lions--the black, the tawny, and the grey. the black lion, more rarely met with than the two others, is rather smaller, but stronger in build. he is so called from the colour of his mane, which falls to his shoulder in a heavy black mass. the rest of his coat is the colour of a bay horse. instead of wandering like the other two kinds, he makes himself a comfortable dwelling, and remains there probably all his life, which may last thirty or forty years, unless he falls a victim to the hunter. he rarely goes down to the plains in search of prey, but lies in ambush in the evening and attacks the cattle on their way down from the mountain, killing four or five to drink their blood. in the long summer twilights he waits on the edge of a forest-path for some belated traveller, who seldom escapes to tell the tale. the tawny and grey lion differ from each other only in the colour of their mane; all three have the same habits and characteristics, except those peculiar to the black lion just described. they all turn night into day, and go out at dusk to forage for prey, returning to their lair at dawn to sleep and digest in peace and quiet. should a lion, for any reason, shift his camp during the day, it is most unlikely that he will attack, unprovoked, any creature, whether human or otherwise, whom he may chance to meet; for during the day he is 'full inside,' and the lion kills not for the sake of killing, but to satisfy his hunger. the lion is a devoted husband; when a couple go out on their nightly prowl, it is always the lioness who leads the way; when she stops he stops too, and when they arrive at the fold where they hope to procure their supper, she lies down, while he leaps into the midst of the enclosure, and brings back to her the pick of the flock. he watches her eat with great anxiety lest anything should disturb her, and never begins his own meal till she has finished hers. as a father he is less devoted; the old lion being of a serious disposition, the cubs weary him with their games, and while the family is young the father lives by himself, but at a short distance, so as to be at hand in case of danger. when the cubs are about three months old, and have finished teething (a process which often proves fatal to little lionesses), their mother begins to accustom them to eat meat by bringing them mutton to eat, which she carefully skins, and chews up small before giving to them. between three and four months old they begin to follow their mother at night to the edge of the forest, where their father brings them their supper. at six months the whole family change their abode, choosing for the purpose a very dark night. between eight months and a year old they begin to attack the flocks of sheep and goats that feed by day in the neighbourhood of their lair, and sometimes venture to attack oxen, but being still young and awkward, they often wound ten for one killed, and the father lion is obliged to interfere. at the age of two years they can slay with one blow an ox, horse, or camel, and can leap the hedges two yards high that surround the folds for protection. this period in the history of the lion is the most disastrous to the shepherds and their flocks, for then the lion goes about killing for the sake of learning to kill. at three years they leave their parents and set up families of their own, but it is only at the age of eight that they attain their full size and strength, and, in the case of the male, his full mane. [illustration: the lion caught in the pit] the question is sometimes asked, why does the lion roar? the answer is, for the same reason that the bird sings. when a lion and lioness go out together at night, the lioness begins the duet by roaring when she leaves her den, then the lion roars in answer, and they roar in turn every quarter of an hour, till they have found their supper; while they are eating they are silent, and begin roaring as soon as satisfied, and roar till morning. in summer they roar less and sometimes not at all. the arabs, who have good reason to know and dread this fearsome sound, have the same word for it as for the thunder. the herds being constantly exposed to the ravages of the lion, the natives are obliged to take measures to protect them, but, the gun in their unskilled hands proving often as fatal to themselves as to their enemy, they are forced to resort to other means. some tribes dig a pit, about ten yards deep, four or five wide, and narrower at the mouth than the base. the tents of the little camp surround it, and round them again is a hedge two or three yards high, made of branches of trees interlaced; a second smaller hedge divides the tents from the pit in order to prevent the flocks from falling into it. the lion prowling in search of food scents his prey, leaps both hedges at one bound, and falls roaring with anger into the pit digged for him. the whole camp is aroused, and so great is the rejoicing that no one sleeps all night. guns are let off and fires lit to inform the whole district, and in the morning all the neighbours arrive, not only men, but women, children, and even dogs. when it is light enough to see, the hedge surrounding the pit is removed in order to look at the lion, and to judge by its age and sex what treatment it is to receive, according to what harm it may have done. if it is a young lion or a lioness the first spectators retire from the sight disgusted, to make room for others whose raptures are equally soon calmed. but if it is a full-grown lion with abundant mane, then it is a very different scene; frenzied gestures and appropriate cries spread the joyful news from one to another, and the spectators crowd in such numbers that they nearly edge each other into the pit. when everyone has thrown his stone and hurled his imprecation, men armed with guns come to put an end to the noble animal's torture; but often ten shots have been fired before, raising his majestic head to look contemptuously on his tormentors, he falls dead. not till long after this last sign of life do the bravest venture to let themselves down into the pit, by means of ropes, to pass a net under the body of the lion, and to hoist it up to the surface by means of a stake planted there for the purpose. when the lion is cut up, the mothers of the tribe receive each a small piece of his heart, which they give to their sons to eat to make them strong and courageous; with the same object they make themselves amulets of hairs dragged out from his mane. other tribes make use of the ambush, which may be either constructed underground or on a tree. if underground a hole is dug, about one yard deep, and three or four wide, near a path frequented by the lion; it is covered with branches weighted down by heavy stones, and loose earth is thrown over all. four or five little openings are left to shoot through, and a larger one to serve as a doorway, which may be closed from within by a block of stone. in order to ensure a good aim the arabs kill a boar and lay it on the path opposite the ambush; the lion inevitably stops to sniff this bait, and then they all fire at once. nevertheless he is rarely killed on the spot, but frantically seeking his unseen enemies, who are beneath his feet, he makes with frenzied bounds for the nearest forest, there sometimes to recover from his wounds, sometimes to die in solitude. the ambush in a tree is conducted on the same lines as the other, except that the hunters are above instead of below their quarry, from whom they are screened by the branches. [illustration: the ambush] there are, however, in the province of constantine some tribes of arabs who hunt the lion in a more sportsmanlike manner. when a lion has made his presence known, either by frequent depredations or by roarings, a hunting party is formed. some men are sent in advance to reconnoitre the woods, and when they return with such information as they have been able to gather as to the age, sex, and whereabouts of the animal, a council of war is held, and a plan of campaign formed. each hunter is armed with a gun, a pistol, and a yataghan, and then five or six of the younger men are chosen to ascend the mountain, there to take their stand on different commanding points, in order to watch every movement of the lion, and to communicate them to their companions below by a pre-arranged code of signals. when they are posted the general advance begins; the lion, whose hearing is extremely acute, is soon aware of the approach of enemies, who in their turn are warned by the young men on the look-out. finally, when the lion turns to meet the hunters the watchers shout with all their might 'aoulikoum!' 'look out!' at this signal the arabs draw themselves up in battle array, if possible with their backs to a rock, and remain motionless till the lion has approached to within twenty or thirty paces; then the word of command is given, and each man, taking the best aim he can, fires, and then throws down his rifle to seize his pistol or yataghan. the lion is generally brought to the ground by this hail of bullets, but unless the heart or the brain have been pierced he will not be mortally wounded; the hunters therefore throw themselves upon him before he can rise, firing, stabbing right and left, blindly, madly, without aim, in the rage to kill. sometimes in his mortal agony the lion will seize one of the hunters, and, drawing him under his own body, will torture him, almost as a cat does a mouse before killing it. should this happen, the nearest relation present of the unhappy man will risk his own life in the attempt to rescue him, and at the same time to put an end to the lion. this is a perilous moment; when the lion sees the muzzle of the avenger's rifle pointed at his ear he will certainly crush in the head of his victim, even if he has not the strength left to spring on his assailant before the latter gives him the _coup de grâce_. the arabs in the neighbourhood of constantine used, about fifty years ago, to send there for a famous french lion-hunter, jules gérard by name, to rid them of some unusually formidable foe. they never could understand his way of going to work--alone and by night--which certainly presented a great contrast to their methods. on one occasion a family of five--father, mother, and three young lions--were the aggressors. the arab sheik, leading monsieur gérard to the river, showed him by their footprints on the banks where this fearful family were in the habit of coming to drink at night, but begged him not to sacrifice himself to such fearful odds, and either to return to the camp, or to take some of the tribe with him. gérard declining both suggestions, the sheik was obliged to leave, as night was at hand, and the lions might appear at any moment. first he came near the hunter, and spoke these words low: 'listen, i have a counsel to give thee. be on thy guard against the lord of the mighty head; he will lead the way. if thy hour has come, he will kill thee, and the others will eat thee.' coming still nearer the sheik whispered: '_he_ has stolen my best mare and ten oxen.' 'who? who has stolen them?' asked monsieur gérard. '_he_,' and the sheik pointed for further answer to the mountain. 'but name him, name the thief.' the answer was so low as to be barely audible: 'the lord of the mighty head,' and with this ominous counsel the sheik departed, leaving gérard to his vigil. as the night advanced the moon appeared, and lit up the narrow ravine. judging by its position in the heavens it might be eleven o'clock, when the tramp of many feet was heard approaching, and several luminous points of reddish light were seen glittering through the thicket. the lions were advancing in single file, and the lights were their gleaming eyes. instead of five there were only three, and the leader, though of formidable dimensions, did not come up to the description of the lord of the mighty head. all three stopped to gaze in wonder at the man who dared to put himself in their path. gérard took aim at the shoulder of the leader and fired. a fearful roar announced that the shot had told, and the wounded lion began painfully dragging himself towards his assailant, while the other two slunk away into the wood. he had got to within three paces when a second shot sent him rolling down into the bed of the stream. again he returned to the charge, but a third ball right in the eye laid him dead. it was a fine, large, young lion of three years, with formidable teeth and claws. as agreed upon with the sheik, monsieur gérard immediately lit a bonfire in token of his victory, in answer to which shots were fired to communicate the good news to all the surrounding district. at break of day two hundred arabs arrived to insult their fallen enemy, the sheik being the first to appear, with his congratulations, but also with the information that at the same hour that the young lion had been shot, the lord of the mighty head had come down and taken away an ox. these devastations went on unchecked for more than a year, one man alone, lakdar by name, being robbed of forty-five sheep, a mare, and twenty-nine oxen. finally he lost heart, and sent to beg monsieur gérard to come back and deliver him if possible of his tormentor. for some nights the lion made no sign, but on the thirteenth evening lakdar arrived at the lion-hunter's camp, saying: 'the black bull is missing from the herd; to-morrow morning i shall find his remains and thou wilt slay the lion for me.' [illustration: 'all three stopped to gaze at the man who dared to put himself in their path'] accordingly next morning at dawn lakdar returned to announce that he had found the dead bull. gérard rose and, taking his gun, followed the arab. through the densest of the forest they went, till at the foot of a narrow rocky ravine, close to some large olive trees, they found the partially devoured carcase. monsieur gérard cut some branches the better to conceal himself, and took up his position under one of the olive trees, there to await the approach of night, and with it the return of the lion to the spoil. towards eight o'clock, when the feeble light of the new moon barely penetrated into the little glade, a branch was heard to crack at some distance. the lion-hunter rose and, shouldering his weapon, prepared to do battle. from about thirty paces distant came a low growl, and then a guttural sound, a sign of hunger with the lion, then silence, and presently an enormous lion stalked from the thicket straight towards the bull, and began licking it. at this moment monsieur gérard fired, and struck the lion within about an inch of his left eye. roaring with pain, he reared himself up on end, when a second bullet right in the chest laid him on his back, frantically waving his huge paws in the air. quickly reloading, monsieur gérard came close to the helpless monster, and while he was raising his great head from the ground fired two more shots, which laid the lion stone dead, and thus brought to an end the career of the 'lord of the mighty head.' _builders and weavers_ no one can examine birds and their ways for long together without being struck by the wonderful neatness and cleverness of their proceedings. they make use of a great many different kinds of materials for their nests, and manage somehow to turn out a nest which not only will hold eggs, but is strong and of a pretty shape. rotten twigs are, curiously enough, what they love best for the outside, and upon the twigs various substances are laid, according to the species and taste of the builder. the jay, for instance, collects roots and twists them into a firm mass, which he lays upon the twigs; the american starling uses tough wet rushes and coarse grass, and after they are matted together, somehow ties the nest on to reeds or a bush; while the missel thrush lines the casing of twigs with tree moss, or even hay. to these they often add tufts of wool, and lichen, and the whole is fastened together by a kind of clay. the favourite spot chosen by the missel thrush is the fork of a tree in an orchard, where lichens are large and plentiful enough to serve as a covering for the nests. still, if the account given by vaillant and paterson is true, the sociable grosbeaks surpass all the other birds in skill and invention. they have been known to cover the trunks of trees with a huge kind of fluted umbrella, made of dry, fine grass, with the boughs of the trees poking through in various places. no doubt in the beginning the nest was not so large, but it is the custom of these birds to live together in clans, and each year fresh 'rooms' have to be added. when examined, the bird city was found to have many gates and regular streets of nests, each about two inches distant from the other. the structure was made of 'boshman's' grass alone, but so tightly woven together that no rain could get through. the nests were all tucked in under the roof, which, by projecting, formed eaves, thus keeping the birds warm and dry. sometimes the umbrella has been known to contain as many as three hundred separate nests, so it is no wonder that the tree at last breaks down with the weight, and the city has to be founded again elsewhere. now in the nests of all these birds there has been a good deal of what we called 'building' and 'carpentry' when we are talking of our own houses and our own trades. but there are a whole quantity of birds spread over the world, who are almost exclusively weavers, and can form nests which hang down from the branch of a tree without any support. to this class belongs the indian sparrow, which prefers to build in the tops of the very highest trees (especially on the indian fig) and particularly on those growing by the river-side. he weaves together tough grass in the form of a bottle, and hangs it from a branch, so that it rocks to and fro, like a hammock. the indian sparrow, which is easily tamed, does not like always to live with his family, so he divides his nest into two or three parts, and is careful to place its entrance underneath, so that it may not attract the notice of the birds of prey. in these nests glow-worms have frequently been found, carefully fastened into a piece of fresh clay, but whether the bird deliberately tries in this way to light up his dark nest, or whether he has some other use for the glow-worm, has never been found out. but it seems quite certain that he does not _eat_ it, as sir william jones once supposed. the indian sparrow is a very clever little bird, and can be taught to do all sorts of tricks. he will catch a ring that is dropped into one of the deep indian wells, before it reaches the water. he can pick the gold ornament neatly off the forehead of a young hindu woman, or carry a note to a given place like a carrier pigeon. at least so it is said; but then very few people have even a bowing acquaintance with the indian sparrow. _'more faithful than favoured'_ there never was a more faithful watch-dog than the great big-limbed, heavy-headed mastiff that guarded sir harry lee's manor-house, ditchley, in oxfordshire.[ ] the sound of his deep growl was the terror of all the gipsies and vagrants in the county, and there was a superstition among the country people, that he was never known to sleep. even if he was seen stretched out on the stone steps leading up to the front entrance of the house, with his massive head resting on his great fore-paws, at the sound of a footfall, however distant, his head would be raised, his ears fiercely cocked, and an ominous stiffening of the tail would warn a stranger that his movements were being closely watched, and that on the least suspicion of anything strange or abnormal in his behaviour, he would be called to account by leo. strangely enough, the mastiff had never been a favourite of his master's. the fact that dogs of his breed are useless for purposes of sport, owing to their unwieldy size and defective sense of smell, had prevented sir harry from taking much notice of him. he looked upon the mastiff merely as a watch-dog. the dog would look after him, longing to be allowed to join him in his walk, or to follow him when he rode out, through the lanes and fields round his house, but poor leo's affection received little encouragement. so long as he guarded the house faithfully by day and night, that was all that was expected of him: and as in doing this he was only doing his duty, and fulfilling the purpose for which he was there, little notice was taken of him by any of the inmates of the house. his meals were supplied to him with unfailing regularity, for his services as insuring the safety of the house were fully recognised; but as sir harry had not shown him any signs of favour, the servants did not think fit to bestow unnecessary attention on him. so he lived his solitary neglected life, in summer and winter, by night and day, zealous in his master's interests, but earning little reward in the way of notice or affection. [ ] more about this gentleman and his dog may be read in _woodstock_, by sir walter scott. one night, however, something occurred that suddenly altered the mastiff's position in the household, and from being a faithful slave, he all at once became the beloved friend and constant companion of sir harry lee. it was in winter, and sir harry was going up to his bedroom as usual, about eleven o'clock. great was his astonishment on opening the library door, to find the mastiff stretched in front of it. at sight of his master leo rose, and, wagging his tail and rubbing his great head against sir harry's hand, he looked up at him as if anxious to attract his attention. with an impatient word sir harry turned away, and went up the oak-panelled staircase, leo following closely behind him. when he reached his bedroom door, the dog tried to follow him into the room, and if sir harry had been a more observant man, he must have noticed a curious look of appeal in the dog's eyes, as he slammed the door in his face, ordering him in commanding tones to 'go away!' an order which leo did not obey. curling himself up on the mat outside the door, he lay with his small deep-sunk eyes in eager watchfulness, fixed on the door, while his heavy tail from time to time beat an impatient tattoo upon the stone floor of the passage. antonio, the italian valet, whom sir harry had brought home with him from his travels, and whom he trusted absolutely, was waiting for his master, and was engaged in spreading out his things on the toilet table. 'that dog is getting troublesome, antonio,' said sir harry. 'i must speak to the keeper to-morrow, and tell him to chain him up at night outside the hall. i cannot have him disturbing me, prowling about the corridors and passages all night. see that you drive him away, when you go downstairs.' 'yes, signor,' replied antonio, and began to help his master to undress. then, having put fresh logs of wood on the fire, he wished sir harry good-night, and left the room. finding leo outside the door, the valet whistled and called gently to him to follow him; and, as the dog took no notice, he put out his hand to take hold of him by the collar. but a low growl and a sudden flash of the mastiff's teeth, warned the italian of the danger of resorting to force. with a muttered curse he turned away, determined to try bribery where threats had failed. he thought that if he could secure a piece of raw meat from the kitchen, he would have no difficulty in inducing the dog to follow him to the lower regions of the house, where he could shut him up, and prevent him from further importuning his master. scarcely had antonio's figure disappeared down the passage, when the mastiff began to whine in an uneasy manner, and to scratch against his master's door. disturbed by the noise, and astonished that his faithful valet had disregarded his injunctions, sir harry got up and opened the door, on which the mastiff pushed past him into the room, with so resolute a movement that his master could not prevent his entrance. the instant he got into the room, the dog's uneasiness seemed to disappear. ceasing to whine, he made for the corner of the room where the bed stood in a deep alcove, and, crouching down, he slunk beneath it, with an evident determination to pass the night there. much astonished, sir harry was too sleepy to contest the point with the dog, and allowed him to remain under the bed, without making any further attempt to dislodge him from the strange and unfamiliar resting-place he had chosen. when the valet returned shortly after with the piece of meat with which he hoped to tempt the mastiff downstairs, he found the mat deserted. he assumed that the dog had abandoned his caprice of being outside his master's door, and had betaken himself to his usual haunts in the basement rooms and passages of the house. whether from the unaccustomed presence of the dog in his room, or from some other cause, sir harry lee was a long time in going to sleep that night. he heard the different clocks in the house strike midnight, and then one o'clock; and as he lay awake watching the flickering light of the fire playing on the old furniture and on the dark panels of the wainscot, he felt an increasing sense of irritation against the dog, whose low, regular breathing showed that he, at any rate, was sleeping soundly. towards two in the morning sir harry must have fallen into a deep sleep, for he was quite unconscious of the sound of stealthy steps creeping along the stone corridor and pausing a moment on the mat outside his room. then the handle of the door was softly turned, and the door itself, moving on its well-oiled hinges, was gently pushed inward. in another moment there was a tremendous scuffle beneath the bed, and with a great bound the mastiff flung himself on the intruder, and pinned him to the floor. startled by the unexpected sounds, and thoroughly aroused, sir harry jumped up, and hastily lit a candle. before him on the floor lay antonio, with the mastiff standing over him, uttering his fierce growls, and showing his teeth in a dangerous manner. stealthily the italian stole out his hand along the floor, to conceal something sharp and gleaming that had fallen from him, on the dog's unexpected onslaught, but a savage snarl from leo warned him to keep perfectly still. calling off the mastiff, who instantly obeyed the sound of his master's voice, though with bristling hair and stiffened tail he still kept his eyes fixed on the italian, sir harry demanded from the valet the cause of his unexpected intrusion into his bedroom at that hour, and in that way. there was so much embarrassment and hesitation in antonio's reply, that sir harry's suspicions were aroused. in the meantime the unusual sounds at that hour of the night had awakened the household. servants came hurrying along the passage to their master's room. confronted by so many witnesses, the italian became terrified and abject, and stammered out such contradictory statements, that it was impossible to get at the truth of his story, and sir harry saw that the only course open to him was to have the man examined and tried by the magistrate. [illustration: 'and pinned him to the ground'] at the examination the wretched valet confessed that he had entered his master's room with the intention of murdering and robbing him, and had only been prevented by the unexpected attack of the mastiff. among the family pictures in the possession of the family of the earls of lichfield, the descendants of sir harry lee, there is a full-length portrait of the knight with his hand on the head of the mastiff, and beneath this legend, 'more faithful than favoured.' _dolphins, turtles, and cod_ stories from audubon from _audubon's life_, by robert buchanan. sampson low & co. in the excellent life of mr. audubon, the american naturalist (published in by sampson low, marston & co.), some curious stories are to be found respecting the kinds of fish that he met with in his voyages both through the atlantic and the gulf of mexico. audubon's remarks about the habits of dolphins are especially interesting, and will be read with pleasure by everybody who cares for 'the sea and all that in them is.' dolphins abound in the gulf of mexico and the neighbouring seas, and are constantly to be seen chasing flying fish, which are their food. flying fish can swim more rapidly than the dolphins, which of course are far larger creatures; but if they find themselves much outnumbered, and in danger of being surrounded, they spread the fins that serve them for wings, and fly through the air for a short distance. at first this movement throws out the dolphins, who are unable to follow the example of their prey, but they soon contrive to keep up with the flying fish by giving great bounds into the air; and as the flying fish's powers are soon exhausted, it is not long before the hunt comes to an end and the dolphins seize the fish as they tumble into the sea. sailors are fond of catching dolphins, and generally bait their hooks with a piece of shark's flesh. when the fish is taken, its friends stay round it till the last moment, only swimming away as the dolphin is hauled on board. for its size, which is generally about three feet long and has rarely been known to exceed four feet, the dolphin has a remarkably good appetite, and sometimes he eats so much that he is unable to escape from his enemy, the bottle-nosed porpoise. a dolphin that was caught in the gulf of mexico was opened by the sailors, and inside him were counted twenty-two flying fish, each one six or seven inches long, and all arranged quite neatly with their tails foremost. before they have their dinner they are full of fun, and their beautiful blue and gold bodies may often be seen leaping and bounding and diving about the ship--a sight which the sailors always declare portends a gale. indeed, the stories to which dolphins give rise are many and strange. the negroes believe that a silver coin, fried or boiled in the same water as the fish, will turn into copper if the dolphin is in a state unfit for food; but as no one can swear that he has ever seen the transmutation of the metal, it may be suspected that the tale was invented by the cook for the sake of getting an extra dollar. * * * * * about eighty miles from the peninsula of florida are a set of low, sandy banks known as the _tortuga_ or _turtle islands_, from the swarms of turtles which lay their eggs in the sand, and are eagerly sought for by traders. turtles are of many sorts, but the green turtle is considered the best, and is boiled down into soup, which is both rich and strengthening. they are cautious creatures, and never approach the shore in the daylight, or without watching carefully for some time to see if the coast is indeed clear. they may be seen on quiet moonlight nights in the months of may and june, lying thirty or forty yards from the beach, listening intently, and every now and then making a loud hissing noise intended to frighten any enemies that may be lurking near. if their quick ears detect any sound, however faint, they instantly dive and swim to some other place; but if nothing is stirring, they land on the shore, and crawl slowly about with the aid of their flappers, until they find a spot that seems suitable for the hatching of their eggs, which often number two hundred, laid at one time. the operations are begun by the turtle scooping out a hole in the burning sand by means of her hind flappers, using them each by turns, and throwing up the sand into a kind of rampart behind her. this is done so quickly that in less than ten minutes she will often have dug a hole varying from eighteen inches to two feet. when the eggs are carefully placed in separate layers, the loose sand is laid over them, and the hole not only completely hidden but made to look exactly like the rest of the beach, so that no one could ever tell that the surface had been disturbed at all. then the turtle goes away and leaves the hot sand to do the rest. in course of time the young turtles, hardly bigger than a five-shilling piece, leave their shells, and make their way to the water, unless, before they are hatched, their nest has been discovered by men, or by the cougars and other wild animals, who feed greedily on them. if they belong to the tribe of the green turtles, they will at once begin to seek for sea plants, and especially a kind of grass, which they bite off near the roots, so as to get the tenderest parts. if they are young hawk-bills, they will nibble the seaweed, and soon go on to crabs and shell-fish, and even little fishes. the loggerheads grow a sharp beak, which enables them to crack the great conch shells, and dig out the fish that lives inside, while the trunk turtle, which is often of an immense size but with a very soft body, loves sea-urchins and shell-fish. all of them can swim so fast that they often seem to be flying, and it needs much quickness of eye and hand to spear them in the water. even to catch them on shore is a matter of great difficulty, and in general more than one man is required for the service. the turtle is raised up from behind by a man on his knee, pushing with all his might against her shoulder; but this has to be done with great caution, or else the hunter may get badly bitten. when the turtle is fully raised up, she is thrown over on her back, and, like a sheep in a similar position, can seldom recover herself without help. the turtles, when caught, are put into an enclosure of logs with a sandy or muddy bottom through which the tide flows, and here they are kept and fed by their captors till they are ready for the market. unlike most creatures, their price is out of all proportion to their weight, and a loggerhead turtle weighing seven hundred pounds has been known to cost no more than a green turtle of thirty. * * * * * early in may, and well into june, the seas extending northwards from maine to labrador are alive with ships just starting for the cod fishing. their vessels are mostly small but well stocked, and a large part of the space below is filled with casks, some full of salt and others empty. these empty ones are reserved for the oil that is procured from the cod. every morning, as soon as it is light, some of the crew of each ship enters a small boat, which can be sailed or rowed as is found necessary. when they reach the cod banks every man boards up part of his boat for the fish when caught, and then takes his stand at the end with two lines, baited at the opening of the season with salted mussels, and later with gannets or capelings. these lines are dropped into the sea on either side of the boat, and when the gunwale is almost touching the water and it is dangerous to put in any more fish, they give up work for the morning and return to the harbour. in general, fishing is a silent occupation, but cod fishers are rather a talkative race, and have bets with each other as to the amount of the 'takes' of the respective crews. when they get back to their vessels, often anchored eight or ten miles away, they find that the men who have been left behind have set up long tables on deck, carried the salt barrels on shore, placed all ready the casks for the livers, and cleared the hold of everything but a huge wedge of salt for the salting. then, after dinner, some of the men row back to the cod banks, while the others set about cleaning, salting, and packing the fish, so as to be quite finished when the men return from their second journey. it is almost always midnight before the work is done, and the men can turn in for their three hours' sleep. if, as often happens, the hauls have been very large, the supply soon threatens to become exhausted, so on sunday the captain sails off for a fresh bank. then, the men who are the laziest or most unskilful in the matter of fishing take out the cargo that has been already salted, and lay it out on scaffolds which have been set up on the rocks. when the sun has dried the fish for some time, they are turned over; and this process is repeated several times in the day. in the evening they are piled up into large stacks, and protected from the rain and wind. in july the men's work is in one way less hard than before, for this is the season when the capelings arrive to spawn upon the shores, and where capelings are, cod are sure to follow. now great nets are used, with one end fastened to the land, and these nets will sometimes produce twenty or thirty thousand fish at a haul. with so many men engaged in the cod fishing, and considering the number of diseases to which cod are subject, it is perhaps quite as well that each fish should lay such a vast supply of eggs, though out of the eight million laid by one fish which have been counted, it is calculated that, from various causes, only about a hundred thousand come to maturity. _more about elephants_ from _the wild elephant_. sir j. emerson tennent. long, long ago, when the moon was still young, and some of the stars that we know best were only gradually coming into sight, the earth was covered all over with a tangle of huge trees and gigantic ferns, which formed the homes of all sorts of enormous beasts. there were no men, only great animals and immense lizards, whose skeletons may still be found embedded in rocks or frozen deep down among the siberian marshes; for, after the period of fearful heat, when everything grew rampant, even in the very north, there came a time of equally intense cold, when every living creature perished in many parts of the world. when the ice which crushed down life on the earth began to melt, and the sun once more had power to pierce the thick cold mists that had shrouded the world, animals might have been seen slowly creeping about the young trees and fresh green pastures, but their forms were no longer the same as they once were. the enormous frames of all sorts of huge monsters, and the great lizard called the ichthyosaurus, had been replaced by smaller and more graceful creatures, who could move lightly and easily through this new world. but changed though it seemed to be, one beast still remained to tell the story of those strange old times, and that was the elephant. now anybody who has ever stood behind a big, clumsy cart-horse going up a hill cannot fail to have been struck with its likeness to an elephant; and it is quite true that elephants and horses are nearly related. of course in the east, where countries are so big and marches are so long, it is necessary to have an animal to ride of more strength and endurance than a horse, and so elephants, who are, when well treated, as gentle as they are strong, were very early trained as beasts of burden, or even as 'men-of-war.' in their wild condition they have a great many curious habits. they roam about the forests of india or africa in herds, and each herd is a real family, who have had a common grandfather. the elephants are very particular as to the number of their herd; it is never less than ten, or more than twenty-one, but being very sociable they easily get on terms of civility with other herds, and several of these groups may be seen moving together towards some special pond or feeding ground. but friendly as they often are, each clan keeps itself as proudly distinct from the rest as if they were all highlanders. any unlucky elephant who has lost his own herd, and tries to attach himself to a new one, is scouted and beaten away by every member of the tribe, till, like a man who is punished and scorned for misfortunes he cannot help, the poor animal grows desperate, and takes to evil courses, and is hunted down under the name of 'a rogue.' elephants have a great idea of law and order, and carefully choose a leader who is either strong enough or clever enough to protect the herd against its enemies. even a female has sometimes been chosen, if her wisdom has been superior to that of the rest; but male or female, the leader once fixed upon, the herd never fails to give him absolute obedience, and will suffer themselves to be killed in their efforts to save his life. [illustration: 'long, long ago.' the elephant dreams of his old companions] as everyone knows, during the dry season in india water becomes very scarce, and even the artificial tanks that have been built for reservoirs are very soon empty. about the middle of this century, an english officer, major skinner by name, had drawn up to rest on the embankment of a small indian tank, which, low though it was, contained the only water to be found for a great distance. on three sides of the tank there was a clearing, but on the fourth lay a very thick wood, where the herd lay encamped all day, waiting for darkness to fall, so that they might all go to drink. major skinner knew the habits of elephants well, and what to expect of them, so he sent all his natives to sleep, and climbed himself into a large tree that sheltered the tank at one corner. however, it appeared that the elephants were unusually cautious that night, for he sat in his tree for two hours before a sound was heard, though they had been lively enough as long as the sun was shining. suddenly a huge elephant forced his way through the thickest part of the forest, and advanced slowly to the tank, his ears at full cock, and his eyes glancing stealthily round. he gazed longingly at the water for some minutes, but did not attempt to drink--perhaps he felt it would be a mean advantage to take of his comrades--and then he quietly retraced his steps backwards till he had put about a hundred yards between himself and the water, when five elephants came out of the jungle and joined him. these he led forward, listening carefully as before, and placed them at certain spots where they could command a view both of the open country and the forest. this done, and the safety of the others provided for, he went to fetch the main body of the herd, which happened to be four or five times as large as usual. silently, as if preparing for an assault, the whole of this immense body marched up to where the scouts were standing, when a halt was signalled, so that the leader might for the last time make sure that no hidden danger, in the shape of man, lion, or tiger, awaited them. then permission was given, and with a joyful toss of their trunks in the air, in they dashed, drinking, wallowing, and rolling over with delight, till one would have thought it had been years since they had tasted a drop of water, or known the pleasures of a bath. from his perch in the tree major skinner had been watching with interest the movements of the herd, and when he saw that they had really had their fill, he gently broke a little twig and threw it on the ground. it seemed hardly possible that such a tiny sound could reach the ears of those great tumbling, sucking bodies, but in one instant they were all out of the tank, and tearing towards the forest, almost carrying the little ones between them. of course it is not always that elephants can find tanks without travelling many hundreds of miles after them, and on these occasions their wonderful sagacity comes to their aid. they will pause on the banks of some dried-up river, now nothing but a sandy tract, and feel instinctively that underneath that sand is the water for which they thirst. but then, how to get at it? the elephants know as well as any engineer that if they tried to dig a hole straight down, the weight of their bodies would pull down the whole side of the pit with them, so that is of no use. in order to get round this difficulty, long experience has taught them that they must make one side to their well a gentle slope, and when this is done they can wait with perfect comfort for the water, whose appearance on the surface is only a question of time. [illustration: the elephant falls on his knees before the little scotch terrier] much might be written about the likes and dislikes of elephants, which seem as a rule to be as motiveless as the likes and dislikes of human beings. till they are tamed and treated kindly by some particular person, elephants show a decided objection to human beings, and in ceylon have a greater repugnance to a white skin than to a brown one. in fact, they are shy of anything new or strange, but will put up with any animal to which they are accustomed. elks, pigs, deer, and buffaloes are their feeding companions, and the elephants take no more notice of their presence than if they were so many canaries. indeed, as far as can be gathered, the elephant is much more afraid of the little domestic animals with which it is quite unacquainted than of the huge vegetable-eating beasts with which both it and its forefathers were on intimate terms. goats and sheep it eyes with annoyance; they are new creatures, and were never seen in jungles or forests; but, bad as they might be, dogs, the shadows of men, were worse still. they were so quick, so lively, and had such hideous high voices, which they were always using, not keeping them for special occasions like any self-respecting quadruped. really they might almost as well be parrots with their incessant chatter. but of all kinds of dogs, surely the one called a scotch terrier was the most alarming and detestable. one day an animal of this species actually seized the trunk of an elephant in its teeth, and the elephant was so surprised and frightened that it fell on its knees at once. at this the dog was a little frightened too, and let go, but recovered itself again as the elephant rose slowly to its feet, and prepared to charge afresh. the elephant, not knowing what to make of it, backed in alarm, hitting out at the dog with its front paws, but taking care to keep his wounded trunk well beyond its reach. at last, between fright and annoyance he lost his head completely, and would have fairly run away if the keeper had not come in and put a stop to the dog's fun. if Æsop had known elephants--or scotch terriers--he might have made a fable out of this; but they had not visited greece in his day. _bungey_ from jesse's _british dogs_. during the reigns of queen elizabeth and james, there lived a brave and accomplished knight called sir john harington, who had been knighted on the field of battle by the famous earl of essex, and had translated into english a long poem, by an italian called ariosto. but busy though he was in so many ways, sir john still had time to spare for his 'raw dogge' bungey, and in the year he writes a long letter to prince henry, elder brother of charles i., full of the strange doings of his favourite. bungey seems to have been used by sir john as a sort of carrier pigeon, and he tells how he would go from bath to greenwich palace, to 'deliver up to the cowrte there such matters as were entrusted to his care.' the nobles of the court made much of him, and sometimes gave him errands of their own, and it was never told to their 'ladie queen, that this messenger did ever blab ought concerning his highe truste, as others have done in more special matters.' more wonderful even than this was his behaviour concerning two sacks of wheat which bungey had been commissioned by sir john's servant combe, to carry from bath to his own house at kelston, a few miles distant. the sacks were tied round the dog's body by cords, but on the way the cords got loose, and bungey, clever though he was, could not tie them up again. however he was not to be beaten, and hiding one 'flasket' in some bushes that grew near by, he bore the other in his teeth to kelston, and then returning, fetched the hidden one out of the rushes and arrived with it in good time for dinner. sir john is plainly rather afraid that prince henry may not quite believe this instance of sagacity, for he adds, 'hereat your highnesse may perchance marvell and doubte; but we have living testimonie of those who wroughte in the fields, and espied his work, and now live to tell they did muche long to plaie the dogge, and give stowage to the wine themselves, but they did refraine, and watchede the passinge of this whole business.' as may be well guessed, the fame of bungey's talents soon spread, and then, as now, there were many dog stealers in the country. on one occasion, as sir john was riding from bath to london, bungey was tempted to leave his side by the sight of a pond swarming with wild duck or mallard. unluckily other people besides bungey thought it good sport to hunt wild fowl, and did not mind seizing valuable dogs, so poor bungey was caught and bound, till it could be settled who would give the highest price for him. at last his captors decided that they would take him to london, which was not very far off, and trust to chance for finding a buyer. as it happened, the spanish ambassador was on the look out for a dog of that very kind, and he was so pleased with bungey, that he readily agreed to give the large sum asked by the men who brought him. now bungey was a dog who always made the best of things, and as sir john tells the prince, 'suche was the courte he did pay to the don, that he was no lesse in good likinge there than at home.' in fact, everybody grew so fond of him, that when after six weeks sir john discovered where he was and laid claim to him, no one in the house could be prevailed on to give him up. poor sir john, who, as we know, was very much attached to bungey, was at his wit's end what to do, when it suddenly occurred to him to let the dog himself prove who was his real master. so, having the ambassador's leave to what he wished in the matter, he called all the company together at dinner-time and bade bungey go into the hall where dinner was already served, and bring a pheasant from the dish. this, as sir john says, 'created much mirthe; but much more, when he returned at my commandment to the table, and put it again in the same cover.' after such a proof there was no more to be said, and sir john was allowed to be the dog's master. but bungey's life was not destined to be a very long one, and his death was strange and sudden. as he and his master were once more on the road from london to bath on their return journey, he began jumping up on the horse's neck, and 'was more earneste in fawninge and courtinge my notice, than what i had observed for time backe; and after my chidinge his disturbing my passinge forwardes, he gave me some glances of such affection as moved me to cajole him; but alas! he crept suddenly into a thorny brake, and died in a short time.' [illustration: bungey at the spanish ambassador's house] it is impossible to guess what kind of illness caused the death of poor bungey, but it is pleasant to think that sir john never forgot him, and also loved to talk of him to his friends. 'now let ulysses praise his dogge argus,' he writes to prince henry, 'or tobit be led by that dogge whose name doth not appear; yet could i say such things of my bungey as might shame them both, either for good faith, clear wit, or wonderful deedes; to say no more than i have said of his bearing letters to london and greenwich, more than a hundred miles. as i doubt not but your highness would love my dogge, if not myselfe, i have been thus tedious in his storie; and again saie, that of all the dogges near your father's courte, not one hathe more love, more diligence to please, or less paye for pleasinge, than him i write of.' _lions and their ways_ bingley's _animal biography_. although it would not be safe to put one's self into the power of a lion, trusting to its generosity to make friends, there are a great many stories of the kindness of lions to other creatures which are perfectly true. one day, more than a hundred years ago, a lion cub only three months old was caught in one of the great forests near the river senegal, and brought to a frenchman as a gift. the frenchman, who was fond of animals, undertook to train it, and as the cub was very gentle and quiet this was easily done. he soon grew very fond of his master, and enjoyed being petted both by him and his friends, and what was more strange in a beast whose forefathers had passed all their lives in solitude, the lion hated being by himself. the more the merrier was clearly _his_ motto, and whether the company consisted of dogs, cats, ducks, sheep, geese, or monkeys (which were his bedfellows), or men and women, did not matter to him; and you may imagine his joy, when one night as he went to bed he found two little new-born pups in his straw. he was quite as pleased as if he had been their mother; indeed he would hardly let the mother go near them, and when one of them died, he showed his grief in every possible way, and became still more attached to its brother. after six months the lion, now more than a year old, was sent off to france, still with the little pup for company. at first his keepers thought that the strangeness of everything would make him frightened and savage, but he took it quite calmly and was soon allowed to roam about the ship as he pleased. even when he landed at havre, he only had a rope attached to his collar, and so he was brought to versailles, the pup trotting happily by his side. unfortunately, however, the climate of europe did not agree with the dog as with the lion, for he gradually wasted away and died, to the terrible grief of his friend. indeed he was so unhappy that another dog was put into the cage to make up for the lost one, but this dog was not used to lions, and only knew that they were said to be savage beasts, so he tried to hide himself. the lion, whose sorrow, as often happens, only made him irritable and cross, was provoked by the dog's want of confidence in his kindness, and just gave him one pat with his paw which killed him on the spot. but he still continued so sad, that the keepers made another effort, and this time the dog behaved with more sense, and coaxed the lion into making friends. the two lived happily together for many years, and the lion recovered some of his spirits, but he never forgot his first companion, or was quite the same lion again. [illustration: 'the hottentot noticed a huge lion lying in the water'] many hundreds of miles south of senegal a hottentot who lived in namaqualand was one evening driving down a herd of his master's cattle, to drink in a pool of water, which was fenced in by two steep walls of rock. it had been a particularly hot summer, and water was scarce, so the pool was lower than usual, and it was not until the whole herd got close to the brink, that the hottentot noticed a huge lion, lying right in the water, preparing to spring. the hottentot, thinking as well as his fright would let him think at all, that anything would serve as supper for the lion, dashed straight through the herd, and made as fast as he could for some trees at a little distance. but a low roar behind him told him that he had been wrong in his calculations, and that the lion was of opinion that man was nicer than bull. so he fled along as quickly as his trembling legs would let him, and just reached one of the tree aloes in which some steps had been cut by the natives, as the lion bounded into the air. however the man swung himself out of his enemy's range, and the lion fell flat upon the ground. now the branches of the tree were covered with hundreds of nests of a kind of bird called the sociable grosbeak, and it was to get these nests that the natives had cut in the smooth trunk the steps which had proved the salvation of the hottentot. behind the shelter of the nests the hottentot cowered, hoping that when he was no longer seen, the lion would forget him and go in search of other prey. but the lion seemed inclined to do nothing of the sort. for a long while he walked round and round the tree, and when he got tired of that he lay down, resolved to tire the man out. the hottentot hearing no sound, peeped cautiously out, to see if his foe was still there, and almost tumbled down in terror to meet the eyes of the lion glaring into his. so the two remained all through the night and through the next day, but when sunset came again the lion could bear his dreadful thirst no longer, and trotted off to the nearest spring to drink. then the hottentot saw his chance, and leaving his hiding place he ran like lightning to his home, which was only a mile distant. but the lion did not yield without a struggle; and traces were afterwards found of his having returned to the tree, and then scented the man to within three hundred yards of his hut. _the history of jacko i._ the ship 'roxalana' of marseilles lay anchored in the bay of loando, which as we all know is situated in south guinea. the 'roxalana' was a merchant vessel, and a brisk traffic had been going on for some time with the exchange of the european goods with which the ship had been laden, for ivory and other native produce. all hands were very busy getting on board the various provisions and other stores needed for a long voyage, for it was in the days of sailing vessels only, and it would be some time before they could hope to return to marseilles. now the captain of the 'roxalana' was a mighty hunter, and seeing that all was going on well under the first officer's direction, he took his gun and a holiday and went up country for one more day's sport. he was as successful as he was brave, and he had the great good luck to meet a tiger, a young hippopotamus, and a boa constrictor. all these terrible creatures fell before the unerring aim of the provençal nimrod, and after so adventurous a morning's work the captain naturally began to feel tired and hungry, so he sat down under the shade of some trees to rest and have some lunch. he drew a flask of rum out of one pocket, and having uncorked it placed it on his right side; from his other pocket he produced a huge guava, which he laid on his left side, and finally he drew a great wedge of ship biscuit from his game bag and put it between his knees. then he took out his tobacco pouch and began to fill his pipe so as to have it ready at hand when he had finished his meal. [illustration: annoyance of the captain on finding his flask of rum upset] imagine his surprise when, having filled his pipe, he found the flask had been upset and the guava had disappeared! i am afraid the captain made use of some very strong language, but there was nothing for it but to make the best of the biscuit, the sole relic of his feast. as he munched it he warily turned his head from side to side, watching for the thief, when all of a sudden something fell upon his head. the captain put up his hand and found--the skin of his guava. then he raised his eyes and saw a monkey dancing for joy at his own pranks in the tree just above him. as i have already shown the captain was an excellent shot. without stirring from his seat, he took up his gun and with a shot snapped the end of the branch on which his persecutor was sitting. down came branch and monkey, and the captain at once captured the latter before it had time to recover from the surprise of its rapid fall. he was small and quite young, only half grown, but of a rather rare kind, as the captain, who had an ever-ready eye to the main chance, at once perceived. 'ah ha!' said he, 'this little fellow will be worth fifty francs if he's worth a farthing by the time we get back to marseilles.' so saying he popped the monkey into his game-bag and buttoned it carefully up. then, feeling that a piece of biscuit was not quite a sufficient lunch after the fatigues of his morning's sports, he retraced his steps and returned to his ship in company with his monkey, whom he named 'jacko.' before leaving loando the captain, who was fond of pets, bought a beautiful white cockatoo with a saffron crest and jet black beak. 'cataqua' (that was his harmonious name) was indeed a lovely creature and extremely accomplished into the bargain. he spoke french, english, and spanish equally well, and sang 'god save the king,' the 'marseillaise,' and the spanish national anthem with great perfection. the aptitude for languages made him a ready pupil, and his vocabulary was largely increased by daily association with the crew of the 'roxalana,' so that before they had been very long at sea cataqua swore freely in the purest provençal, to the delight and admiration of his captain. the captain was very fond of his two pets, and every morning, after inspecting the crew and giving each man his orders for the day, he would go up to cataqua's cage, followed by jacko, and give the cockatoo a lesson. when this was well said he would reward his pupil by sticking a lump of sugar between the wires of the cage, a reward which delighted cataqua whilst it filled jacko with jealousy. he too loved sugar, and the moment the captain's back was turned he would draw near the cage and pull and pinch till the lump of sugar generally changed its destination, to the despair of cataqua, who, crest erect and with brandished claw, rent the air with shrieks of rage mingled with angry oaths. jacko meanwhile stood by affecting an innocent air and gently sucking the sugar which he had stowed away in one of his pouches. unluckily none of cataqua's owners had taught him to cry 'stop thief' and he soon realised that if jacko were to be punished he must see to it himself. so one day, when the monkey after safely abstracting the sugar pushed a paw between the bars of the cage to gather up some remaining crumbs, cataqua, who was gently swinging, head down, and apparently unconscious of what was going on, suddenly caught jacko's thumb in his beak and bit it to the bone. jacko uttered a piercing shriek, rushed to the rigging and climbed as far as he could, when he paused, clinging on by three paws and piteously brandishing the fourth in the air. dinner-time came, and the captain whistled for jacko, but contrary to all customs no jacko came. the captain whistled again, and this time he thought he heard an answering sound which seemed to come from the sky. he raised his eyes and beheld jacko still waving his injured paw. then began an exchange of signals, with the result that jacko firmly refused to come down. now the captain had trained his crew to habits of implicit obedience and had no notion of having his orders resisted by a monkey, so he took his speaking trumpet and called for double mouth. double mouth was the cook's boy, and he had well earned his nickname by the manner in which he took advantage of his culinary position to make one meal before the usual dinner hour without its interfering in the least with his enjoyment of a second at the proper time. at the captain's call double mouth climbed on deck from the cook's galley and timidly approached his chief. the captain, who never wasted words on his subordinates, pointed to jacko, and double mouth at once began to give chase with an activity which proved that the captain had chosen well. as a matter of fact jacko and double mouth were dear friends, the bond of sympathy which united them being one of greediness, for many a nice morsel jacko had to thank the cook's boy for. so when the monkey saw who was coming, instead of trying to escape him he ran to meet him, and in a few minutes the two friends, one in the other's arms, returned to the deck where the captain awaited them. the captain's one treatment for wounds of all kinds consisted of a _compress_ steeped in some spirit, so he at once dipped a piece of rag in rum and bandaged the patient's thumb with it. the sting of the alcohol on the wound made jacko dance with pain, but noticing that the moment the captain's back was turned double mouth rapidly swallowed the remains of the liquid in which the rag had been dipped, he realised that however painful as a dressing it might possibly be agreeable to the palate. he stretched out his tongue and very delicately touched the bandage with its tip. it was certainly rather nice, and he licked more boldly. by degrees the taste grew on him, and he ended by putting his thumb, bandage and all, into his mouth and sucking it bodily. the result was that (the captain having ordered the bandage to be wetted every ten minutes) by the end of a couple of hours jacko began to blink and to roll his head, and as the treatment continued he had at length to be carried off by double mouth, who laid him on his own bed. jacko slept without stirring for some hours. when he woke the first thing which met his eyes was double mouth busy plucking a fowl. this was a new sight, but jacko seemed to be particularly struck by it on this occasion. he got up from the bed and came near, his eyes steadily fixed on the fowl, and carefully watched how the whole operation proceeded. when it was ended, feeling his head a little heavy still, he went on deck to take the air. the weather was so settled and the wind so favourable that the captain thought it only a waste to keep the poultry on board alive too long, so he gave orders that a bird should be served daily for his dinner in addition to his usual rations. soon after a great cackling was heard amongst the hencoops and jacko climbed down from the yard where he was perched at such a rate that one might have thought he was hastening to the rescue. he tore into the kitchen, where he found double mouth already plucking a newly killed fowl, till not an atom of down was left on it. jacko showed the deepest interest in the process, and on returning to deck he, for the first time since his accident, approached cataqua's cage, carefully keeping beyond range of his beak however. after strolling several times round, he at last seized a favourable moment and clutching hold of one of cataqua's tail feathers, pulled hard till it came out regardless of the cockatoo's screams and flappings. this trifling experiment caused jacko the greatest delight, and he fell to dancing on all fours, jumping up and falling back on the same spot which all his life was the way in which he showed his supreme content about anything. meantime the ship had long lost sight of land and was in full sail in mid ocean. it appeared unnecessary to the captain, therefore, to keep his cockatoo shut up in a cage, so he opened the door and released the prisoner, there being no means of escaping beyond the ship. cataqua instantly took advantage of his freedom to climb to the top of one of the masts, where, with every appearance of rapture, he proceeded to regale the ship's company with his entire large and varied vocabulary, making quite as much noise by himself as all the five-and-twenty sailors who formed his audience. whilst this exhibition was taking place on deck a different scene was being enacted below. jacko had as usual approached double mouth at plucking time, but this time the lad, who had noticed the extreme attention with which the monkey watched him, thought that possibly there might be some latent talent in him which it was a pity not to develop. double mouth was one of those prompt and energetic persons who waste no time between an idea and its execution. accordingly he quietly closed the door, put a whip into his pocket in case of need, and handed jacko the duck he was about to pluck, adding a significant touch to the handle of the whip as a hint. but jacko needed neither hint nor urging. without more ado he took the duck, placed it between his knees as he had seen his tutor do, and fell to with a will. as he found the feathers giving place to down and the down to skin, he became quite enthusiastic, so much so that when his task was done he fell to dancing for joy exactly as he had done the day before by cataqua's cage. double mouth was overjoyed for his part. he only regretted not having utilised jacko's talents sooner, but he determined to do so regularly in the future. next day the same operation took place, and on the third day, double mouth, recognising jacko's genius, took off his own apron and tied it round his pupil, to whom from that moment he resigned the charge of preparing the poultry for the spit. jacko showed himself worthy of the confidence placed in him, and by the end of a week he had quite distanced his teacher in skill and quickness. meantime the ship was nearing the equator. it was a peculiarly sultry day, when the very sky seemed to sink beneath its own weight; not a creature was on deck but the man at the helm and cataqua in the shrouds. the captain had flung himself into his hammock and was smoking his pipe whilst double mouth fanned him with a peacock's tail. even jacko seemed overcome by the heat, and instead of plucking his fowl as usual, he had placed it on a chair, taken off his apron, and appeared lost in slumber or meditation. his reverie, however, did not last long. he opened his eyes, glanced round him, picked up a feather which he first stuck carelessly in his mouth and then dropped, and at length began to slowly climb the ladder leading on deck, pausing and loitering at each step. he found the deck deserted, which apparently pleased him, as he gave two or three little jumps whilst he glanced about to look for cataqua, who with much gesticulation was singing 'god save the king' at the top of his voice. then jacko seemed to forget his rival's existence altogether, and began lazily to climb the rigging on the opposite side, where he indulged in various exercises, swinging by his tail head down, and generally appearing to have only come with a view to gymnastics. at length, seeing that cataqua took no notice of him, he quietly sidled that way, and at the very moment that the performance of the english national anthem was at its height, he seized the singer firmly with his left hand just where the wings join the body. cataqua uttered a wild note of terror, but no one was sufficiently awake to hear it. 'by all the winds of heaven!' exclaimed the captain suddenly. 'here's a phenomenon--snow under the equator!' 'no,' said double mouth, 'that's not snow, that's--ah, you rascal!' and he rushed towards the companion. 'well, what is it then?' asked the captain, rising in his hammock. 'what is it?' cried double mouth from the top of the ladder. 'it's jacko plucking cataqua!' the captain was on deck in two bounds, and with a shout of rage roused the whole crew from their slumbers. 'well!' he roared to double mouth, 'what are you about, standing there? come, be quick!' double mouth did not wait to be told twice, but was up the rigging like a squirrel, only the faster he climbed the faster jacko plucked, until when the rescuer reached the spot it was a sadly bare bird which he tore from jacko's vindictive hands and carried back to his master. needless to say that jacko was in dire disgrace after this exploit. however, in time he was forgiven and often amused the captain and crew with his pranks. when the 'roxalana' reached marseilles after a quick and prosperous voyage, he was sold for seventy-five francs to eugène isabey the painter, who gave him to flero for a turkish hookah, who in his turn exchanged him for a greek gun with décamps. _signora and lori_ translated from _deutsche blätter_, . no. . a gentleman living at güstrow, in mecklenburg, who was very fond of animals, possessed a fine parrot, which had beautiful plumage, and could talk better than most of his kind. besides the parrot, he had a poodle, called signora patti, after the great singer, whom the gentleman had once heard when he was upon a visit to rostock; after his return home he bestowed the name upon his dear poodle. under the tuition of her master, the poodle began to be an artist in her way. there was no trick performed by dogs too difficult for her to learn. the parrot, whose name was lori, paid the greatest attention whilst the signora's lessons were going on, and he soon had all the vocabulary, which the signora carried in her head, not only in his memory, but on his tongue. when the dog was told by her master to 'go to the baker,' then lori could croak out the words also. signora patti would hasten to fetch the little basket, seat herself before her master, and, looking up at him with her wise eyes, scrape gently upon the floor with her paw, which signified: 'please put in the money.' her master dropped in a few coins, the signora ran quickly to the baker with the basket, and brought it back filled with little cakes; placing it before her master, she awaited her reward, a good share of the dainties. often, for a variety in the lessons, she had to go to the baker without money; then her master simply gave the order, 'on tick!' and the signora, who knew that the cakes would be sent, obeyed the command at once. [illustration: lori refuses to share with the signora] the parrot made a droll use of these practisings, turning to account his knowledge of speech in the slyest way. if he found himself alone with the poodle, who was perhaps comfortably stretched on her cushion, lori would cry--imitating his master's voice--as if he quite understood the joke: 'go out!' poor patti would get up in obedience to the order and slink out of the door with her ears drooping. and immediately lori would whistle, just in the tone used by his master, and the signora then returned joyfully into the room. but it was not only for pastime that lori exercised his gift; the cunning bird used it for the benefit of his greedy beak. it began to happen often to the master to find that his private account-book, carefully kept in the smallest details, did not agree well with that of his neighbour the baker. the signora, declared the baker, had become most accomplished in the art of running up a long bill, and always, of course, at her master's orders. only he, the master, when he looked over the reckoning, growled to himself: 'my neighbour is a rogue; he chalks up the amount double.' how very much was he astonished, then, and how quickly were his suspicions turned into laughter, when he beheld, through a half-open door, the following absurd scene. it was one fine morning, and lori sat upon the top of his cage, calling out in his shrillest tones: 'signora, signora!' the poodle hastened to present herself before him, wagging her tail, and lori continued, 'go to the baker.' the signora fetched the little basket from its place, and put it before her tyrant, scratching her paw on the floor to ask for money. 'on tick!' was lori's prompt and brief remark; the signora seized the basket, and rushed out of the door. before long she returned, laid the basket, full of the little cakes, before the parrot, and looked with a beseeching air for the reward of her toil. but the wicked lori received her with a sharp 'get out,' putting her to flight, and proceeded to enjoy his ill-gotten gains in solitude. _of the linnet, popinjay, or parrot, and other birds that can speak_ the linnets be in manner the best birds of all others, howbeit, they be very docible. do they will whatsoever they are taught and bidden, not only with their voice, but also with their feet and bills, as if they were hands. in the territory about arelate (arles) there is a bird called taurus (because it loweth like a bull or cow, for otherwise a small bird it is). there is another also named anthus, which likewise resembleth the neighing of horses; and if haply by the approach of horses they be driven from their grass whereof they feed, they will seem to neigh, and flying unto them, chase them away, and to be revenged of them again. but above all other birds of the air, the parrots pass for counterfeiting a man's voice, insomuch as they will seem to parle and prate our very speech. this fowl cometh out of the indies; it is all the body over green, only it hath a collar about the neck of vermilion red, different from the rest of her feathers. the parrot can skill to salute emperors, and bid good-morrow: yea, and to pronounce what words she heareth. she loveth wine well, and when she hath drunk freely, is very pleasant and playful. she hath an head as hard as is her beak. when she learns to speak, she must be beaten about the head with a rod of iron; for otherwise she careth for no blows. when she taketh her flight down from any place, she lighteth upon her bill, and resteth thereupon, and by that means saveth her feet, which by nature are but weak and feeble, and so carrieth her own weight more lightly. there is a certain pie, of nothing so great reckoning and account as the parrot, because she is not far set, but here by near at hand: howbeit, she pronounces that which is taught her more plainly and distinctly than the other. these take a love to the words that they speak; for they not only learn them as a lesson, but they learn them with a delight and pleasure, insomuch that a man shall find them studying thereupon, and conning the said lesson; and by their careful thinking upon that which they learn they show plainly how mindful and intentive they be thereto. it is for certain known that they have died for very anger and grief that they could not learn to pronounce some hard words; as also unless they hear the same words repeated often unto them, their memory is so shittle, they will soon forget the same again. if they miss a word and have lost it, they will seek to call it again to remembrance; and if they fortune to hear the same word in the meantime, they will wonderfully joy thereat. as for their beauty, it is not ordinary, although it be not very lovely. but surely amiable enough are they in this, that they can so well resemble man's speech. it is said that none of their kind are good to be made scholars, but such only as feed upon mast; and among them, those that have five toes to their feet. but even these also are not fit for that purpose, after the first two years of their age. and their tongue is broader than ordinary; like as they be all that counterfeit man's voice, each one in their kind, although it be in manner general to birds whatsoever to be broad-tongued. agrippina the empress, wife to claudius cæsar, had a black-bird or a throstle at what time i compiled this book, which could counterfeit man's speech; a thing never seen or known before. the two cæsars also, the young princes (to wit, germanicus and drusus,) had one stare, and sundry nightingales, taught to parle greek and latin. moreover, they would study upon their lessons, and meditate all day long; and from day to day come out with new words still, yea, and are now able to continue a long speech and discourse. now for to teach them the better, these birds must be in a secret place apart by themselves, when they can hear no other voice; and one is to sit over them, who must repeat often that which he would have them to learn; yea, and please them also with giving them such meat as they best love. _patch and the chickens_ on a farm up in durham, there were six little chickens who were deserted by the mother hen as soon as they were hatched. so the farmer's wife put them in a basket and carried them into the cottage to keep them warm by the fire. there they were discovered by a smooth-coated terrier, named patch, who was at that time very sad because her little puppy had just died, and she began to look after the chickens as if they were her own children. the little chicks also turned to her quite naturally for care and protection. she used to treat them very gently, and would sit and watch them feed with the greatest interest. she would curl herself up, and then let them climb about her, and go to sleep between her paws. sometimes she did not seem to consider the floor comfortable enough for her adopted family, and would jump on to a wooden settle which stood in the kitchen, and then with her feet she would pat the cushions into a cosy bed, and very carefully would take one chicken after another in her mouth, and place them on the softest part. soon the time came for the chickens to be sent out into the world. one day when patch was out for a walk they were taken to the farmyard. when the poor little dog returned she was quite broken-hearted, and ran whining about the cottage. then, as if seized with a sudden thought, she walked out of the door, and in a very short time she reappeared, followed by her feathered family, and again they took up their abode in the cottage. every morning patch used to take them out for a walk, and it was a most amusing sight to see the little terrier followed by a procession of six stately hens. at last their living in the house became such an inconvenience to the farmer's wife that poor patch's children had to be killed. for some time patch was very unhappy, and would still go into the farmyard to look for her six chickens. _the fierce falcon_ from _wild sports of the highlands_. by c. st. john. there are not nearly so many stories about birds as about dogs and cats, because birds can fly away, and it is more difficult to know what becomes of them. perhaps, properly speaking, stories about birds have no business in a 'beast book,' but as long as the story is interesting, it does not do to be too particular. a good many years ago, a gentleman named st. john was exploring the high hills near the source of the findhorn, in inverness-shire, when he found a young falcon which was being reared as a pet by a shepherd boy, who gave her trout to eat. there was not much beauty about the falcon when mr. st. john first saw her, for her plumage was dark-brown, with long-shaped spots on the breast, but in spite of that he took a fancy to her, and persuaded her master to sell her to him. when, however, she had passed her second birthday, and might be considered grown up, she put on all her finest feathers, and was very much admired by everyone. her throat became a lovely soft cream colour, and the brown on her back changed into a lovely dark grey, while on her bosom, each little feather was crossed by a bar. but lovely though she was, mr. st. john felt her to be a great care, for she was very strong as well as very brave, and would never think twice about attacking dogs or even people, if they offended her. as for the fowls, she soon made such short work of _them_, that her master was obliged to chain her up in the kitchen garden, which had hitherto formed the property of a tame owl. luckily for the owl, the falcon at once made friends with him, and he was even allowed to finish up any of the falcon's dinner which she did not want herself. matters went quite smoothly for some weeks, and mr. st. john was beginning to flatter himself that his pet was quieting down, and becoming quite a home bird, when one day a duck, tempted by the sight of the garden, whose gate had been carelessly left open, advanced a few steps along the path. seeing nothing and nobody (for being daylight, the owl was asleep and the falcon too cunning to move) the duck became bolder, and walked merrily on, pecking at anything that took her fancy, and making funny little noises of satisfaction, unconscious of a pair of bright eyes that were watching her from behind a bush. indeed, so absorbed was the duck in her afternoon tea, that she never even saw the falcon steal softly out and soar a little way up into the air, and suddenly swoop down with great force, and before the victim had time to be frightened she was dead, and her body was carried away in the falcon's claws, to serve for her supper. now the duck was the mother of a large family, all newly hatched, and it would have fared very badly with them in their babyhood, had it not been for the kindness of a guinea-fowl, who adopted them as her own, directly she heard that they were left orphans and helpless. the guinea-fowl, indeed, was quite glad of the chance, because she had a warm heart, and had mourned sadly for her husband, who had been lately condemned to death on account of a series of horrible murders he had committed among the young chickens. so the good creature thought the duck's sad accident quite providential, and at once set about filling her place. like many other mothers, instead of making the little ducklings fall into _her_ ways, _she_ fell into theirs, and never left their sides, except on urgent business. and they had, even then, only to call to her if they saw great clumsy animals such as dogs or children coming their way, and down she would rush in a frightful hurry, half scrambling, half flying over bushes and palings, and making furious pecks at the children's legs, if they ventured too close to her little ones. still, not all her love nor all her courage would have prevented the guinea-fowl falling a victim to the falcon, if once the bird had got loose, and as it was, the falcon continued to do a good deal of damage to the creatures about the farmyard. a cock, who had hitherto crowed very loudly and declared himself king of the birds, was foolish enough to give battle to our falcon. an hour after, a few feathers were all that remained of _him_, and as to the pigeons, if they ever happened to get within the length of her chain, their doom was certain. at last the gaps in the poultry yard became so serious that mr. st. john made up his mind that the falcon must be fastened up in a still more out-of-the-way place, and while he was altering her chain away she flew. of course he thought she was gone for ever, and he watched her circling about the house with a very sad heart, for he still was fond of her, though she was such a very bad bird, and gave him so much trouble; but as it was getting dark, he had to go in, and stealing a last look at her as he entered the house, he saw her settling down for the night, in the top of a tall tree. for five days no more was seen or heard of the wanderer, and it was not until the fifth morning that mr. st. john observed her, high in the air, fighting fiercely with some hooded crows. he stood out on the grass, where there was nothing to hide him, and whistled loudly. in an instant the falcon heard him, busily engaged though she was, and wheeled down to her old master, perching on his arm, and rubbing her beak against him. she did not seem to have been softened or improved by her taste of liberty, for she showed herself quite as ready as of old to attack everything within reach of her chain, first killing them, and then pulling off their hair or plucking out their feathers, before she began her meal. the only animal which she could not swallow was a mole, and one day she swooped down on a skye terrier, and it would certainly not have escaped alive, had not its master come to the rescue. but it is time we thought of something nicer than this dreadful bird. _mr. bolt, the scotch terrier_ jesse's _british dogs_. all children who know anything of dogs or cats will have found out very soon that the ugly ones are generally far cleverer and more sensible than the pretty ones, who are very apt to think too much of themselves, and will spend a long time admiring themselves in the glass, just as if they were vain men and women. perhaps it is not altogether their fault if they are stupid, for when they are shaped well, and have fine glossy coats, their masters and mistresses spoil them, and give them too much to eat, so they grow lazy and greedy and disobedient, and like better to lie on the hearth-rug than to do tricks or jump over fences. now, luckily for himself, mr. bolt, the hero of this story, was quite a plain dog. there could be no doubt about it; and those who loved him did so because he was useful and good company, and not because he was elegant or graceful. bolt was a large scotch terrier, rough and hairy, with a thick sort of grey fringe, and great dark eyes looking out from underneath the fringe. his tail and his legs were very short, and his back was very long, so long that he reminded one of a furniture van more than anything else. but, clever though he was, bolt had his faults, and the worst of them was that he was very apt to take offence when none was intended, and was far too ready to pick a quarrel, and to hit out with all his might. he probably owed some of this love of fighting to the country in which he was born; for, although a scotch dog by descent, he was irish by birth, and his earliest home was near dublin. as everybody knows, the happiest moment of an irishman's life is when he is fighting something or somebody, and bolt in his youth was as reckless as any irishman of them all. he was hardly a year old when he turned upon his own mother, who had done something to displease him when they were chained together in a stable, and never let her throat go until she was stone dead. cats, too, were his natural enemies, whom he fought and conquered when no dogs were at hand, and sometimes he would steal out at night from his master's bed, where he always slept, and go for a chase by the light of the moon. early one morning a fearful noise was heard in the house, and when his master, unable to bear it any longer, got out of bed to see what had happened, he found a strange cat lying on the stairs quite dead, and the house-cat, with which bolt was barely on speaking terms, sitting in a friendly manner by the side of the conqueror. it is supposed that the strange cat had been led either by motives of curiosity or robbery to enter by some open window, and that the house-cat, unable to drive him out, had welcomed bolt's ready help for the purpose. fighter though he was by nature, bolt had inherited enough scotch caution not to begin a quarrel unless he had a fair chance of victory; but he was generous, and seldom attacked dogs smaller than himself, unless he was forced into it, or really had nothing better to do. he always began by seizing his enemy's hind leg, which no other dog had been known to do before, and he had such a dislike to dogs whose skins were yellow, that not even the company of ladies, and the responsibility weighing upon him as their escort, would stop bolt's wild rush at his yellow foe. he hated being shut up too, and showed amazing cleverness in escaping from prison. if that was _quite_ impossible, he did the next best thing, which was to gnaw and destroy every article he could in any way reach. one day when he had behaved so oddly that his family feared he must be going mad (children have been known to frighten their parents in a similar way), he was chained up in a little room, and, feeling too angry to sleep, he amused himself all night with tearing a bible, several shoes, and a rug, while he gnawed a hole through the door, and bit through the leg of a table. in the morning, when his master came to look at him, he seemed quite recovered, and very well pleased with himself. as you will see, bolt had plenty of faults, but he also had some very good qualities, and when he did not think himself insulted by somebody's behaviour, he could show a great deal of sense. one night the cook had been sitting up very late, baking bread for the next day, and being very tired, she fell asleep by the kitchen fire, and a spark fell out on her woollen dress. as there was no blaze, and the girl was a heavy sleeper, she would most likely never have waked at all till it was too late, only luckily for her, the smell reached bolt's nose as he was lying curled up on his master's bed, near the door which always stood open. before rousing the house, and giving them all a great fright, he thought he had better make sure exactly what was wrong, so he ran first down to the kitchen from which the smell seemed to come, and finding the cook half stupefied by the smoke, he rushed back to call his master. this he managed to do by tearing up and down the room, leaping on the bed, and pulling off all the clothes, so that the poor man was quite cold. his master was much astonished at the state of excitement bolt was in, and feared at first that he had gone mad, but after a few minutes he decided that he would get up and see what was the matter. bolt went carefully before him into the kitchen and sat down by the side of the sleeping girl, turning his face anxiously to the door, to make sure that his master should make no mistake. so in a few seconds the fire was put out, and the girl escaped with nothing worse than a slight scorching. i might tell you many stories of bolt and his funny ways, but i have only room for one now. after some time his mistress and her daughter left the house in which bolt had spent so many years, and took lodgings in dublin. bolt went with them, but when they all arrived, the landlady declared she did not like dogs, and bolt must be placed elsewhere. now this was very awkward; of course it was out of the question that bolt could be left behind, yet it was too late to make other arrangements, so after some consideration he was sent back to some lodgings near by, where his master had formerly lived, and where they promised to take great care of him. his young mistress called every day to carry him off for a walk, and she often tried to get him to enter the house she herself was living in, but nothing would persuade the offended bolt to go inside the door. he would sit on the step for some time, hoping she would be persuaded to return with _him_, but when he found _that_ was hopeless, he walked proudly back to his own rooms. his mistresses stayed in that house for nearly a year, and in all that time bolt never forgot or forgave the slight put upon him, or could be induced to enter the house. indeed, his feelings were so bitterly hurt, that even when they all set up house again, it was months before bolt could be got to do anything more than pay his family a call now and then, and sometimes dine with them. so you see it is a serious thing to offend a dog, and he needs to be as delicately handled as a human being. _a raven's funeral_ in the days of tiberius the emperor, there was a young raven hatched in a nest upon the church of castor and pollux; which to make a trial how he could fly, took his first flight into a shoemaker's shop just over against the said church. the master of the shop was well enough content to receive this bird, as commended to him from so sacred a place, and in that regard set great store by it. this raven in short time being acquainted to man's speech, began to speak, and every morning would fly up to the top of the rostra, or public pulpit for orations, when, turning to the open forum or market place, he would salute and bid good-morrow to tiberius cæsar, and after him to germanicus and drusus, the young princes, every one by their names: and anon the people of rome also that passed by. and when he had so done, afterwards would fly again to the shoemaker's shop aforesaid. this duty practised, yea and continued for many years together, to the great wonder and admiration of all men. now it fell out so, that another shoemaker who had taken the next shop unto him, either upon a malicious envy or some sudden spleen and passion of anger, killed the raven. whereat the people took such indignation, that they, rising in an uproar, first drove him out of that street, and made that quarter of the city too hot for him; and not long after murdered him for it. but contrariwise, the carcase of this raven was solemnly interred, and the funeral performed with all the ceremonial obsequies that could be devised. for the corpse of this bird was bestowed in a coffin, couch, or bed, and the same bedecked with chaplets of fresh flowers of all sorts, carried upon the shoulders of two blackamoors, with minstrels before, sounding the haut-boys, and playing on the fife, as far as the funeral fire, which was piled and made in the right hand of the causey appia, in a certain plain or open field. [illustration: a raven's funeral] so highly reputed the people of rome that ready wit and apt disposition in a bird, as they thought it a sufficient cause to ordain a sumptuous burial therefore. _a strange tiger_ bingley's _animal biography_. in the year , a baby tiger only six weeks old, whose skin was most beautifully marked in black and yellow, and whose figure was as perfectly modelled as the figure of any tiger could be, was put on board a large east india company's ship called the 'pitt,' to be brought to london as a present to george iii. of course, in those days, no one ever thought of coming through the red sea, but all vessels sailed all the way round by the atlantic, so the voyage naturally took many months, especially if the winds were unfavourable. under these circumstances it was as well to choose your fellow-passengers carefully, as you had to live such a long time with them. [illustration: the tiger and his friend] unlike most of its tribe, the little tiger soon made itself at home on board ship, and as it was too small to do much harm, it was allowed to run about loose and played with anybody who had time for a game. it generally liked to sleep with the sailors in their hammocks, and they would often pretend to use it for a pillow, as it lay at full length on the deck. partly out of fun, and partly because it was its nature so to do, the tiger would every now and then steal a piece of meat, if it found one handy. one day it was caught red-handed by the carpenter, who took the beef right out of its mouth, and gave it a good beating, but instead of the man getting bitten for his pains, as he might have expected, the tiger took his punishment quite meekly, and bore the carpenter no grudge after. one of its favourite tricks was to run out to the very end of the bowsprit, and stand there looking over the sea, and there was no place in the whole ship to which it would not climb when the fancy took it. but on the whole, the little tiger preferred to have company in its gambols, and was especially fond of dogs, of which there were several on board. they would chase each other and roll over together just like two puppies, and during the ten months or so that the voyage from china lasted, they had time enough to become fast friends. when the vessel reached london, the tiger was at once taken to the tower, which was the zoological gardens of those days. the little fellow did not mind, for he was always ready to take what came and make the best of it, and all the keepers grew as fond of him as the sailors had been. no more is known about him for eleven months, when he was quite grown up, and then one day, just after he had had his dinner, a black rough-haired terrier pup was put into his cage. most tigers would have eaten it at once, but not this one, who still remembered his early friends on board ship. he used to watch for the pup every day, and lick it all over, taking care never to hurt it with his rough tongue. in general, the terrier had its food outside the cage, but sometimes it was forgotten, and then it would try to snatch a bit of the tiger's meat; but this the tiger thought impertinent, and made the dog understand that it was the one thing he would not stand. after several months of close companionship, the terrier was for some reason taken away, and one day, when the tiger awakened from his after-dinner nap, he found the terrier gone, and a tiny dutch mastiff in its place. he was surprised, but as usual made no fuss, and proceeded to give it a good lick, much to the alarm of the little mastiff. however, its fright soon wore off, and in a day or two it might be seen barking round him and even biting his feet, which the tiger never objected to, perhaps because he could hardly have felt it. two years after the tiger had been settled in the tower, the very same carpenter who had beaten him for stealing the beef came back to england and at once paid a visit to his old friend. the tiger was enchanted to see him, and rushing to the grating, began rubbing himself against it with delight. the carpenter begged to be let into the cage, and though the keepers did not like it, he declared there was no danger, and at last they opened the door. in a moment the tiger was by his side, nearly knocking him down with joy and affection, licking his hands and rubbing his head on his shoulders, and when, after two or three hours, the carpenter got up to go, the tiger would hardly let him leave the den, for he wanted to keep him there for ever. but all tigers cannot be judged by this tiger. _halcyons and their biographers_ some of the old writers, such as pliny, plutarch, ovid, and aristotle, tell a pretty story about a bird called the halcyon, which flew sporting over the seas, and in midwinter, when the days were shortest, sat on its nest and brooded over its eggs. and neptune, who loved these small, gay-plumaged creatures, took pity on them, and kept the waves still during the time of their sitting, so that by-and-bye the days in a man's life that were free from storm and tempest became known as his 'halcyon days,' by which name you will still hear them called. now after a careful comparison of the descriptions of the ancient writers, modern naturalists have come to the conclusion that the 'halcyon' of pliny and the rest was no other than our beautiful kingfisher, which flashes its lovely green and blue along the rivers and cascades both of the old world and the new. it is now known that the kingfisher is one of the burrowing birds, and that it scoops out in the sand or soft earth of the river banks a passage which is often as much as four feet long and grows wider as it recedes from the water. it feeds upon fish, and fish bones may be found in large numbers on the floor of the kingfisher's house, which, either from laziness or a dislike to change, he inhabits for years together. his eyes are wonderfully quick, and he can detect a fish even in turbulent waters from the bough of a tree. then he makes a rapid dart, and rarely misses his prey. no bird has been the subject of so many superstitions and false stories as the kingfisher, which attracted much attention from its great beauty. ovid changes the king of magnesia and his wife alcyone into kingfishers, pliny talks of the bird's sweet voice (whereas its note is particularly harsh and ugly), and plutarch mistakes the sea-urchin's shell for that of the halcyon. even the tartars have a story to tell of this bird, and assure us that a feather plucked from a kingfisher and then cast into the water will gain the love of every woman it afterwards touches, while the ostiacs held that the possession of the skin, bill, and claws of the kingfisher will ensure the owner a life made up of 'halcyon days.' _the story of a frog_ part i everyone knows what excitement the approach of the shooting season causes to a certain class of people in paris. one is perpetually meeting some of them on their way back from the canal where they have been 'getting their hands in' by popping at larks and sparrows, dragging a dog after them, and stopping each acquaintance to ask: 'do you like quails and partridges?' 'certainly.' 'ah, well, i'll send you some about the second or third of next month.' 'many thanks.' 'by the way i hit five sparrows out of eight shots just now. not bad, was it?' 'first rate indeed!' well, towards the end of august, , one of these sportsmen called at no. , in the faubourg st.-denis, and on being told that décamps was at home, climbed to the fifth floor, dragging his dog up step by step, and knocking his gun against every corner till he reached the studio of that eminent painter. however, he only found his brother alexandre, one of those brilliant and original persons whose inherent laziness alone prevented his bringing his great natural gifts to perfection. he was universally voted a very good fellow, for his easy good nature made him ready to do or give whatever anyone asked. it was not surprising, therefore, that the new comer soon managed to persuade alexandre that nothing could be more delightful than to attend the opening of the shooting season on the plains of st.-denis, where, according to general report, there were swarms of quails, clouds of partridges, and troops of hares. as a result of this visit, alexandre décamps ordered a shooting coat from his tailor, a gun from the first gun-maker's in paris, and a pair of gaiters from an equally celebrated firm; all of which cost him francs, not to mention the price of his licence. on august alexandre discovered that one important item was still wanting to his outfit--a dog. he went at once to a man who had supplied various models to his brother eugène's well-known picture of 'performing dogs,' and asked if he happened to have any sporting dogs. the man declared he had the very thing, and going to the kennel promptly whipped off the three-cornered hat and little coat worn by a black and white mongrel whom he hastened to present to his customer as a dog of the purest breed. alexandre hinted that it was not usual for a pointer to have such sharp-pointed ears, but the dealer replied that 'love' was an english dog, and that it was considered the very best form for english dogs to have pointed ears. as this statement _might_ be true, alexandre made no further objections, but paid for the dog and took love home with him. at five o'clock next morning alexandre was roused up by his sporting friend, who, scolding him well for not being ready earlier, hurried him off as fast as possible, declaring the whole plain would be shot before they could get there. it was certainly a curious sight; not a swallow, not even the meanest little sparrow, could rise without a volley of shots after it, and everyone was anxiously on the look-out for any and every sort of bird that could possibly be called game. alexandre's friend was soon bitten by the general fever and threw himself energetically amidst the excited crowd, whilst alexandre strolled along more calmly, dutifully followed by love. now everyone knows that the first duty of any sporting dog is to scour the field and _not_ to count the nails in his master's boots. this thought naturally occurred to alexandre, and he accordingly made a sign to love and said: 'seek!' [illustration: love's disgraceful behaviour out shooting] love promptly stood up on his hind legs and began to dance. 'dear me,' said alexandre, as he lowered his gun and contemplated his dog: 'it appears that love unites the lighter accomplishments to his more serious education. i seem to have made rather a good bargain.' however, having bought love to point and not to dance, he waited till the dance was over and repeated in firm tones: 'seek!' love stretched himself out at full length and appeared to be dead. alexandre put his glass into his eye and inspected love. the intelligent creature was perfectly immovable; not a hair on his body stirred, he might have been dead for twenty-four hours. 'this is all very pretty,' said alexandre, 'but, my friend, this is not the time for these jokes. we are here to shoot--let us shoot. come! get up.' love did not stir an inch. 'wait a bit,' remarked alexandre, as he picked up a stick from the ground and took a step towards love, intending to stir him up with it: 'wait a bit.' but no sooner did love see the stick in his master's hand than he sprang to his feet and eagerly watched his movements. alexandre thinking the dog was at last going to obey, held the stick towards him, and for the third time ordered him to 'seek.' love took a run and sprang gracefully over the stick. love could do three things to perfection--dance on his hind legs, sham dead, and jump for the king! alexandre, however, who did not appreciate the third accomplishment any more than he had done the two others, broke the stick over love's back, which sent him off howling to his master's friend. as fate would have it the friend fired at that very moment, and an unfortunate lark fell right into love's jaws. love thankfully accepted this windfall, and made but one mouthful of the lark. the infuriated sportsman threw himself on the dog, and seizing him by the throat to force open his jaws, thrust in his hand and drew out--three tail feathers: the bird itself was not to be thought of. bestowing a vicious kick on the unhappy love, he turned on alexandre, exclaiming: 'never again do you catch me shooting with you. your brute of a dog has just devoured a superb quail. ah! come here if you dare, you rascal!' poor love had not the least wish to go near him. he ran as fast as he could to his master, a sure proof that he preferred blows to kicks. however, the lark seemed to have whetted love's appetite: and perceiving creatures of apparently the same kind rise now and then from the ground, he took to scampering about in hopes of some second piece of good luck. alexandre had some difficulty in keeping up with him, for love hunted his game after a fashion of his own, that is to say with his head up and his tail down. this would seem to prove that his sight was better than his scent, but it was particularly objectionable to his master, for he put up the birds before they were within reach, and then ran barking after them. this went on nearly all day. towards five o'clock alexandre had walked about fifteen miles and love at least fifty; the former was exhausted with calling and the latter with barking, when, all of a sudden love began to point, so firmly and steadily that he seemed changed to stone. at this surprising sight alexandre, forgetful of all his fatigues and disappointments, hurried up, trembling lest love should break off before he could get within reach. no fear; love might have been glued to the spot. alexandre came up to him, noted the direction of his eyes and saw that they were fixed on a tuft of grass, and that under this grass there appeared to be some greyish object. thinking it must be a young bird which had strayed from its covey, he laid down his gun, took his cap in his hand, and cautiously creeping near, like a child about to catch a butterfly, he flung the cap over the unknown object, put in his hand and drew out--a frog! anyone else would have flung the frog away, but alexandre philosophically reflected that there must certainly be some great future in store for this, the sole result of his day's sport; so he accordingly put the frog carefully into his game bag and brought it home, where he transferred it to an empty glass jam jar and poured the contents of his water-bottle on its head. [illustration: the sole result of his day's sport] so much care and trouble for a frog may appear excessive; but alexandre knew what this particular frog had cost him, and he treated it accordingly. it had cost him francs, without counting his licence. part ii 'ah, ah!' cried dr. thierry as he entered the studio next day, 'so you've got a new inmate.' and without paying any attention to tom's friendly growls or to jacko's engaging grimaces, he walked straight up to the jar which contained mademoiselle camargo--as she had already been named.[ ] [ ] a fashionable dancer in paris. mademoiselle camargo, unaware that thierry was not only a learned doctor, but also a most intellectual and delightful person, fell to swimming round and round her jar as fast as she could go, which however did not prevent her being seized by one of her hind legs. [illustration: mademoiselle camargo becomes a barometer] 'dear me,' said thierry, as he turned the little creature about, 'a specimen of the _rana temporaria_. see, there are the two black spots near the eyes which give it the name. now if you only had a few dozens of this species, i should advise you to have a fricassée made of their hind legs, to send for a couple of bottles of good claret, and to ask me to dinner. but as you only happen to have one, we will, with your leave, content ourselves with making a barometer. 'now,' said thierry, opening a drawer, 'let us attend to the prisoner's furniture.' saying which he took out two cartridges, a gimlet, a penknife, two paint-brushes, and four matches. décamps watched him without in the least understanding the object of all these preparations, which the doctor was making with as much care as though for some surgical operation. first he emptied the powder out of the cartridges into a tray and kept the bullets. then he threw the brushes and ties to jacko and kept the handles. 'what the deuce are you about?' cried décamps, snatching his two best paint-brushes from jacko. 'why you're ruining my establishment!' 'i'm making a ladder,' gravely replied thierry. and true enough, having bored holes in the bullets, he fixed the brush handles into them so as to form the sides of the ladder, using the matches to make the rungs. five minutes later the ladder was completed and placed in the jar, where the weight of the bullets kept it firmly down. no sooner did mademoiselle camargo find herself the owner of this article of furniture than she prepared to test it by climbing up to the top rung. 'we shall have rain,' said thierry. 'you don't say so,' replied décamps, 'and there's my brother who wanted to go out shooting again to-day.' 'mademoiselle camargo does not advise his doing so,' remarked the doctor. 'how so?' 'my dear friend, i have been providing you with an inexpensive but reliable barometer. each time you see mademoiselle camargo climb to the top of her ladder it's a sure sign of rain; when she remains at the bottom you may count on fine weather, and if she goes up half-way, don't venture out without your umbrella; changeable, changeable.' 'dear me, dear me,' said décamps. during the next six months mademoiselle camargo continued to foretell the weather with perfect and unerring regularity. but for painful reasons into which we need not inquire too closely, mademoiselle's useful career soon closed, and she left a blank in the ménagerie. _the woodpecker tapping on the hollow oak tree_ most children who were taught music forty or fifty years ago, learnt as one of their first tunes an air called 'the woodpecker tapping on the hollow oak tree.' oak trees are not the only ones that woodpeckers, and especially american woodpeckers, 'tap' on. there is hardly any old tree which they disdain to work upon, sometimes for food, sometimes for nesting purposes, sometimes it would seem merely for the sake of employment and of keeping their bills in order. for the woodpecker's bill is a very powerful instrument, and can get through a great deal of work. in the case of the 'ivory-billed woodpecker,' it is not only white, and hard, and strong, but it has a ribbed surface, which tends to prevent its breaking, and even if he does not form one of this class, the woodpecker is as clever in his own line as any carpenter, and more industrious than many. the moment that he notices symptoms of decay in any tree, he flies off to make a careful examination of it, and when he has decided on the best mode of attack, he loses no time, and has even been known to strip all the bark off a dead pine tree of thirty feet long in less than twenty minutes. and this not in little bits, but in sheets five or six feet long, and as whole as the fleece of a sheep when it is sheared. of course different varieties of woodpeckers have little differences in their habits, in the same way that habits differ in different families; but certain customs and ways of digging are common to them all. every woodpecker, for instance, when placed in a wooden cage, will instantly set to work to dig himself out of it, and to keep him safe, he needs to be surrounded by wire, against which his bill is utterly useless. in general the male and female work by turns at the hole, which is always begun by the male, and is as perfectly round as if it had been measured and drawn from one point to another. for a while the boring is quite straight, and then it takes a sloping direction, so as to provide a partial shelter against the rain. sometimes the bird will begin by a slope, and end in a direct line, but the hole is never straight all through, and the depth varies from two to five feet, according to the kind of woodpecker that is digging. the inside of the nest and the passage to it are as smooth as if they had been polished with a plane, and the chips of wood are often thrown down in a careless manner, at some distance, in order that attention may not be attracted to the spot. often the bird's labours have to begin, especially in orchards, which are favourite nesting places with them, with having to turn out swarms of insects, nestling comfortably between the bark and the tree. these he either kills or eats; anyhow he never rests until they are safely got rid of. the woodpecker is never still, and, in many respects, is like a mischievous boy; so, as can be imagined, he is not very easy to make a pet of. one adventurous person, however, captured a woodpecker in america, and has left us a history of its performances during the three days it lived in captivity. the poor bird was very miserable in its prison, and cried so like a child that many persons were completely taken in. left alone for a short time in the room while his captor had gone to look after his horse, he examined the room carefully to see where lay his best chance of escape. his quick eye soon detected the plaster between the window and the ceiling, and he began at once to attack the weak place. he worked so hard that when his master returned he had laid bare the laths, and had bored a hole bigger than his own head, while the bed was strewn with big fragments of plaster. a very little while longer and he would have been free, and what a pity that he was disturbed in his work! but his master was most anxious to keep him a little longer, to observe his ways, so he tied him to the leg of the table, and went off to get him some food. by the time the man came back the mahogany table was lying in bits about the floor, and the woodpecker was looking eagerly round to see what other mischief he could do. he would not eat food of any kind, and died in three days, to the great regret of his captor. _dogs over the water_ no animal, not even the horse, has made itself so many friends as the dog. a whole library might be filled with stories about what dogs have done, and men could learn a great deal from the sufferings dogs have gone through for masters that they love. whatever differences there may be between foreigners and englishmen, there is at any rate none in the behaviour of british and foreign dogs. 'love me, love my dog,' the proverb runs, but in general it would be much more to the point to say 'love my dog, love me.' we do not know anything of the austrian officer of whose death i am going to tell you, but after hearing what his dog did, we should all have been pleased to make the master's acquaintance. in the early years of this century, when nearly every country in europe was turned into a battlefield by napoleon, there was a tremendous fight between the french and the austrians at castiglione in lombardy, which was then under the austrian yoke. the battle was hard fought and lasted several hours, but at length the austrian ranks were broken and they had to retreat, after frightful losses on both sides. after the field had been won, napoleon, as his custom was, walked round among the dead and dying, to see for himself how the day had gone. not often had he performed this duty amidst a greater scene of blood and horror, and as he came to a spot where the dead were lying thickest, he saw to his surprise a small long-eared spaniel standing with his feet on the breast of an austrian officer, and his eyes fixed on his face, waiting to detect the slightest movement. absorbed in his watch, the dog never heard the approach of the emperor and his staff, but napoleon called to one of his attendants and pointed out the spaniel. at the sound of his voice the spaniel turned round, and looked at the emperor, as if he knew that to him only he must appeal for help. and the prayer was not in vain, for napoleon was very seldom needlessly cruel. the officer was dead and beyond any aid from him, but the emperor did what he could, and gave orders that the dog should be looked after by one of his own men, and the wounded austrians carefully tended. _he_ knew what it was to be loved as blindly by men as that officer was loved by his dog. nearly two years before this time, france was trembling in the power of a set of bloody ruffians, and in paris especially no man felt his head to be safe from one hour to the other. hundreds of harmless people were clapped into prison on the most paltry charges, and if they were not torn to pieces by infuriated crowds, they ended their lives on the guillotine. [illustration: {the faithful spaniel}] among the last of the victims before the fall of robespierre, which finished the reign of terror, was a magistrate in one of the departments in the north of france whom everyone looked up to and respected. it may be thought that it would not have been easy to find a pretext for throwing into prison a man of such an open and honourable life, but when other things failed, a vague accusation of conspiracy against the government was always possible, and accordingly the magistrate was arrested in his own house. no one was there to help him or to share his confinement. he had long sent away his children to places of safety; some of his relations were in gaol like himself, and his friends dared not come forward. they could have done him no good, and would only have shared his fate. in those dark days every man had to suffer alone, and nobly they did it. only one friend the magistrate had who ventured openly to show his affection, and even _he_ might go no farther than the prison doors, namely, his spaniel, who for twelve years had scarcely left his side; but though dogs were not yet proscribed, the spaniel's whinings availed nothing, and the gates were shut against him. at first he refused to believe that his master would never come back, and returned again and again with the hopes of meeting the magistrate on his way home. at last the dog's spirits gave way, and he went to the house of a friend of the family who knew him well, and received him kindly. even here, however, he had to be carefully hidden lest his protector should be charged with sheltering the dog of an accused person, and have to pay the penalty on the guillotine. the animal seemed to know what was expected of him, and never barked or growled as dogs love to do; and indeed he was too sad to take any interest in what was going on around him. the only bright spot in his day was towards evening when he was secretly let out, and he made straight for the gate of the prison. the gate was never opened, but he always hoped that _this_ time it would be, and sat on and on till he felt that his chance was gone for that day. all the prison officials knew him by sight, and were sorry for him, and one day the gaoler's heart was softened, and he opened the doors, and led him to his master's cell. it would be difficult to say which of the two was the happier, and when the time came for the prisoners to be locked up for the night, the man could scarcely tear away the dog, so closely did he cling to his master. however, there was no help for it, he had to be put outside, lest it should occur to some one in authority to make a visit of inspection to the prison. next evening the dog returned at the same hour and was again admitted, and when his time was up, he went home with a light heart, sure that by sunset next day he would be with his beloved master. this went on for several weeks, and the dog, at any rate, would have been quite satisfied if it had gone on for ever. but one morning the magistrate was told that he was to be brought before his judges to make answer to his charge and receive his sentence. in the midst of a vast crowd, which dared not show sympathy even if it felt it, the magistrate pleaded for the last time, without a friend to give him courage except his dog, which had somehow forced himself through guards and crowd, and lay crouched between his legs, happy at this unexpected chance of seeing his master. sentence of death was pronounced, as was inevitable, and the hour of execution was not long delayed. in the wonderful way that animals always _do_ know when something out of the common is passing, the spaniel was sitting outside the door when his master walked out for the last time, although it was long before the hour of his daily visit. alone, of all the friends that he had known and loved, his dog went with him, and stood beside him on the steps of the guillotine, and sat at his feet when his head fell. vaguely the spaniel was aware that something terrible had happened; his master, who had never failed him before, would not speak to him now. it was in vain to lick his hand: he got no pat in answer. but if his master was asleep, and his bed was underground, then he too must sleep by his side till the morning came and the world awoke again. so two nights passed, and three. then his friend, who had sheltered him during these long weeks, came to look for him, and, after much coaxing and caressing, persuaded him to return to his old hiding-place. with great difficulty he was induced to swallow some food, but the moment his protector's back was turned, he rushed out and fought his way to his master's grave. this lasted for three months, and every day the dog looked sadder and thinner than the day before. at length his friend thought he would try a new plan with him, and tied him firmly up. but in the morning he found that the dog had, like samson, broken through his bonds, and was lying on the grave, which he never left again. food was brought to him--he never came to seek it himself, and in time he refused even what was lying there before him. one day his friends found him trying to scratch up the earth where his master lay; and all at once his strength gave way, and with one howl he died, showing the two men who stood around of love that was stronger than death, and fidelity that lasted beyond the grave.[ ] [ ] from _observations in natural history_. one more story of a little dog--this time an english one--and i have done. it was on february , , that mary queen of scots ended her eighteen years of weary captivity upon a scaffold at fotheringay. carefully dressed in a robe of black velvet, with a long mantle of satin floating above it, and her head covered with a white crape veil, mary ascended the platform, where the executioner was awaiting her. some english nobles, sent by queen elizabeth to see that her orders were carried out, were standing by, and some of queen mary's faithful women. but besides these was one whose love for her was hardly less--the queen's little dog, who had been her constant companion in the prison. 'he was sitting there the whole time,' says an eye-witness, 'keeping very quiet, and never stirring from her side; but as soon as the head was stricken off and placed upon the seat, he began to bestir himself and cry out; afterwards he took up a position between the body and the head, which he kept until some one came and removed him, and this had to be done by violence.' we are not told who took him away and tenderly washed off the blood of mary which was staining his coat, but we may be sure that it was one of the queen's ladies who cherished everything that belonged to her, and in memory of her mistress would care for her little dog to the end of its days. _the capocier and his mate_ when vaillant the traveller was in africa, he made the acquaintance of a bird to which he gave the name of capocier. it was a small creature, which was in the habit of coming with its mate several times a day into vaillant's tent; a proceeding which he thought arose from pure friendship, but which he soon found sprang from interested motives. vaillant was making a collection of birds, and his table was strewn about with moss, wool, and such things as he used for stuffing. the capocier, with more sense than might have been expected of him, found out very soon that it was much easier to steal vaillant's soft material than to collect it laboriously for himself, and the naturalist used to shut his eyes with amusement while the birds flew off with a parcel of stuffing as big as themselves. he followed them, and tracked them to a bush which grew by a spring in the corner of a deserted garden. here they had placed a thick layer of moss, in a fork of one of the branches, and were now engaged in weaving in grass, cotton, and flax. the whole of the second day the little pair worked hard, the male making in all forty-six journeys to vaillant's room, for thieving purposes. the spoil was always laid either on the nest itself, or within the reach of the female, and when enough had been collected, they both trampled it in, and pressed it down with their bodies. at last the male got tired, and tried to prevail on his wife to play a game. she declined, and said she had no time for such things; so, to revenge himself, the male proceeded to pull to pieces her work. seeing that he would have his own way, the female at length consented to play for a little, and fluttered from bush to bush, while her mate flew after her, but she always managed to keep just out of his reach. when he had had enough, he let her go back to her work, while he sang a song for a little, and then made ready to help build the nest. he found, or stole, the materials necessary, and carried them back to his wife, who packed them firmly in and made all tidy. but her husband was much more idle than she, and he soon tired of steady labour. he complained of the heat, and laughed at her for being in such a hurry, and said there was plenty of time before them, and he wanted a little fun. so eight times during that one morning the poor wife had to leave off her building, and hide her impatience, and pretend to play, when she would much rather have been doing something else, and it was three days before the bottom was finished and the sides begun. certainly the making of the bottom _was_ rather a troublesome business; for the birds had to roll over every part of it, so as to get it firm and hard. then, when all was right, they made a border, which they first trimmed round, and next overlaid with cotton, pressing it all together with their breasts and shoulders. the twigs of the bush in which the nest was built were interlaced into the sides to prevent the whole structure being blown down, and particular care was taken that none of them should stick out in the inside of the nest, which was absolutely smooth and solid. after seven days it was done, and very pretty it was. it was perfectly white in colour, and about nine inches high on the outside where it had been made very thick, and not more than five inches within. however that was quite big enough for two such little people. _owls and marmots_ it is curious, when we come to think of it, how very few of the creatures that live upon the earth ever take the trouble to build any kind of house to live in. for the most part, they are contented to find out some cave or hole or convenient place where they can be hidden, and from which they can steal forth to get their food, but as for collecting materials from the outside to make their dwelling place stronger or more beautiful, as do the beavers, for instance, why, we might all look for many years before we should find a horse or a tiger employing himself like that! yet we all know that all the birds that live (the cuckoo excepted) manage to build some kind of a nest, and so do some fishes and many insects. it would take too long to write about them all, but we will just see how some of the cleverest among them go to work. one of the first things that struck europeans travelling sixty or seventy years ago in the wild country beyond the great mississippi, was the fact that whole districts, sometimes several acres in extent and sometimes several miles, were covered with little mounds of the shape of a pyramid, about two feet wide at the bottom, and at the most eighteen inches high. these are the houses of the marmots or prairie dogs, and when deserted as they often are by their original inhabitants, they become the homes of burrowing owls. now a neat, comfortable, well-built house is really quite necessary for the marmot, as he goes fast to sleep when the weather begins to get cold, and does not wake up till the sun is shining warmly again on the earth above him. then he sets to work, either to repair the walls of his house which have been damaged by the heavy rains and hard frosts, or if that seems useless labour, to dig a fresh one somewhere else. but industrious as he is, the hard work does not make the marmot at all a 'dull boy,' and he can still spare time for a good game now and then. of course, as we are talking about birds, perhaps we ought not to be describing marmots, which are naturally not birds at all; but as they build for the burrowing owls to inhabit, a description of the houses may not be out of place. the entrance to the marmot's house is either at the top or on the side of the little mound above ground. then he hollows out a passage straight down for one, or sometimes two feet, and this passage is continued in a sloping direction for some distance further, when it leads, like a story in the 'arabian nights,' into a large warm room, built of soft dry grass, which has been packed into a tight, firm mass. in general the outside of the little mounds is covered with small plants and grasses, so that the marmot always has his food near at hand, but occasionally they prefer to make their villages in barren spots, as being safer from enemies. still, wherever they are, the sociable little colony of marmots are said to be haunted by at least one burrowing owl, a bird about nine inches long, and from a distance not very unlike the marmot itself, when it is sitting up, listening for the approach of danger. if no burrow seems likely to be vacant at the time he wants one, the owl does not scruple to turn out the owner, who has to begin all his labour over again. sometimes, when affairs above ground are more than usually disturbed, and foes of all kinds are prowling about, seeking whom they may devour, owls and marmots and rattlesnakes, and lizards rush helter-skelter into the underground city, taking refuge from the dangers of the upper world. it would be a strange sight if we could see it, and it would be stranger still if the fugitives manage to separate without some of the party having gone to make the dinners of the rest. _eagles' nests_ eagles, as a rule, build their nests on the shelves of rocks, high out of reach of any but the boldest climbers. there are, however, some species among them who prefer the tops of trees, at a height varying from fifteen to fifty feet. these nests are constructed of long sticks, grass, and even reeds, and are often as much as five or six feet high, and at least four broad. soft pine tops form the lining, and a bed for the young. many eagles are clever divers, and like the excitement of catching their own fish, instead of merely forcing the fish-hawks to give up their prey, and an american naturalist gives an interesting account of the sporting proceedings of two eagles on the green river in kentucky. the naturalist had been lying hidden among the rocks on the bank of the river for about two hours, when suddenly far above his head where the eagle had built his nest, he heard a loud hissing, and on looking up, saw that the little eaglets had crawled to the edge of the nest, and were dancing with hope and excitement at the idea of a good dinner. in a few moments the parent eagle reached the rock and balancing himself on the edge by the help of his wings and tail, handed over his spoil to the young ones. the little eagles seemed in luck that day, for soon their mother appeared in sight carrying in her claws a perch. but either the watcher below made some movement, or else her eyes were far sharper than her mate's, for with a loud cry she dropped her fish, and hovered over the nest to protect it in case of an attack. when all was quiet again, the naturalist went out cautiously to examine the perch, which he found to weigh as much as ½ lbs. you do not catch such big perch in england. the end. transcriber's note some stories have a source provided, which appeared as footnotes in the original book. the transcriber has instead presented them as subtitles below the main chapter title. archaic and variant spelling is preserved as printed. minor punctuation errors have been repaired. hyphenation has been made consistent. the following typographic errors have been repaired: page --wrapt amended to rapt--"the waiters, remarking his rapt attention, ..." page --be amended to he--"then, having made a huge fire in front of the entrance, which, moreover, he barricaded ..." page --by-and-by amended to by-and-bye, for consistency--"and by-and-bye he came back, dragging pritchard by his stake." page --then amended to the--"the ababde chief's advice was--and always had been--to send out ..." page --northumbriam amended to northumbrian--"a northumbrian pointer showed a still more wonderful instance ..." page --idemnity amended to indemnity--"... and was quite satisfied with five francs as an indemnity." page --quiet amended to quite--"his parents never quite knew what occurred, ..." page --coupe amended to coup--"... before the latter gives him the _coup de grâce_." illustrations have been moved where necessary so that they are not in the middle of a paragraph. {transcriber's note: quotation marks have been standardized to modern usage. footnotes have been placed to immediately follow the paragraphs referencing them. transcriber's notes are in curly braces; square brackets and parentheses indicate original content.} {illustration: frontispiece--norman b. wood.} lives of famous indian chiefs from cofachiqui, the indian princess, and powhatan; down to and including chief joseph and geronimo. also an answer, from the latest research, of the query, whence came the indian? together with a number of thrillingly interesting indian stories and anecdotes from history * * * * * copiously and splendidly illustrated, in part, by our special artist. * * * * * by norman b. wood historian, lecturer, and author of "the white side of a black subject" (out of print after twelve editions) and "a new negro for a new century," which has reached a circulation of nearly a _hundred thousand copies._ {illustration: two indians in a canoe.} published by american indian historical publishing company brady block, aurora, ill. copyrighted in by american indian historical publishing co., aurora, illinois. * * * * * all rights of every kind reserved. {illustration: seal.} printing and binding by the henry o. shepard co. engraving by the inland-walton co. chicago. to theodore roosevelt, president of the united states, who has observed closely and recorded justly the character of the red man, and who, in the words of chief quanah parker, "is the indian's president as well as the white man's," this volume is respectfully dedicated by the author. contents * * * * * page introduction, chapter i. cofachiqui, the indian princess, chapter ii. powhatan, or wah-un-so-na-cook, chapter iii. massasoit, the friend of the puritans, chapter iv. king philip, or metacomet, the last of the wampanoaghs, chapter v. pontiac, the red napoleon, head chief of the ottawas and organizer of the first great indian confederation, chapter vi. logan, or tal-ga-yee-ta, the cayuga (mingo) chief, orator and friend of the white man. also a brief sketch of cornstalk, chapter vii. captain joseph brant, or thay-en-da-ne-gea, principal sachem of the mohawks and head chief of the iroquois confederation, chapter viii. red jacket, or sa-go-ye-wat-ha, "the keeper awake." the indian demosthenes, chief of the senecas, chapter ix. little turtle, or michikiniqua, war chief of the miamis, and conqueror of harmar and st. clair, chapter x. tecumseh, or "the shooting star," famous war-chief of the shawnees, organizer of the second great indian confederation and general in the british army in the war of , chapter xi. black hawk, or ma-ka-tai-me-she-kia-kiak, and his war, chapter xii. shabbona, or built like a bear, the white man's friend, a celebrated pottawatomie chief, chapter xiii. sitting bull, or tatanka yotanka, the great sioux chief and medicine man, chapter xiv. chief joseph, of the nez perces, or hin-mah-too-yah-lat-kekt, thunder rolling in the mountains, the modern xenophon, chapter xv. geronimo, or go-yat-thlay, the yawner, the renowned apache chief and medicine man, chapter xvi. quanah parker, head chief of the comanches, with, an account of the captivity of his mother, cynthia anne parker, known as "the white comanche," chapter xvii. a sheaf of good indian stories from history, chapter xviii. indian anecdotes and incidents, humorous and otherwise, chapter xix. whence came the aborigines of america? list of illustrations. * * * * * page frontispiece. cofachiqui, the indian princess, american horse, sioux chief, powhatan, captain smith and pocahontas, pocahontas, or lady rebecca, ope-chan-ca-nough, massasoit and pilgrims, nellie jumping eagle, king philip, or metacomet, philip rejecting elliot's preaching, pontiac, the red napoleon, montcalm at massacre of quebec, hollow-horn bear, sioux chief, major campbell and pontiac, hollow horn, starved rock, logan, the mingo orator, logan and the two hunters, joseph brant, mohawk chief, king hendrick, mohawk chief, sir william johnson and the mohawks, leading hawk, red jacket, seneca chief and orator, massacre at wyoming, corn planter, seneca chief, adolph knock and family, red jacket presenting deer, little turtle, miami war-chief, little turtle's warriors chasing st. clair's scout ouray, late principal chief of utes, tecumseh, the noblest indian of them all, tecumseh rebuking proctor, the prophet, brother of tecumseh, red cloud, noted sioux chief, death of tecumseh, black hawk, sac and fox chief, buffalo hunt, keokuk, sac and fox chief, shabbona, "the white man's friend," pottawatomie chief, fort dearborn massacre, annie red shirt, indian beauty, waubonsie, pottawatomie chief, plan of sitting bull's tepee, sitting bull, noted sioux chief and medicine man, sitting bull's family, chief gall, sioux war-chief, chief one bull and family, rain-in-the-face, noted sioux warrior, sitting bull's autograph, indian village, chief joseph, of the nez perces, greatest indian since tecumseh, buckskin charlie, war-chief of utes, "comes out holy," sioux, geronimo, noted apache chief and medicine man, group of apaches, naiche, apache chief, quanah parker, comanche chief, quanah parker and two of his wives, comanche indians stealing cows, needle parker, indian beauty, the mohawk's last arrow, lone wolf, orator and principal chief of the kiowas, kiowa annie, noted indian beauty, se-quo-yah, the cherokee cadmus, big tree, second kiowa chief, satanta, kiowa chief and noted orator, chief simon pokagon, pottawatomie, dr. charles a. eastman, dr. carlos montezuma, the last shot, chief charles journey cake, indian maiden in japanese costume, japanese maiden in indian costume, map showing how america was peopled, japanese man in garb of indian, indian man in japanese garb, introduction. we do not propose to apologize for writing this book, for the reasons that those who approve would not consider it necessary and those who oppose would not accept the apology. therefore, we can only offer the same explanation as that made twenty-four centuries ago by the "father of history" when he said: "to rescue from oblivion the noble deeds of those who have gone before, i, herodotus of halicarnassus, write this chronicle." we deem it well, however, to mention a few of the many reasons which impelled us to attempt the somewhat laborious but congenial task of preparing this work. first of all, we were gratified and inspired by the kind reception accorded our first literary venture, "the white side of a black subject," which is now out of print after reaching twelve editions. added to this was the still more generous treatment of our second production, "a new negro for a new century." nearly a hundred thousand copies of this book have been sold up to date, and the demand is still increasing. having done what we could to vindicate the afro-american, we next began to consider the first american, when by chance a copy of thatcher's "indian biography" fell into our hands. we read this book with much interest, and were impressed with two facts. first of all, we noticed that while the author gave the lives of a few chiefs well known to this generation, he filled the book up with village or sub chiefs, of whom even historians of this age never heard. then, too, the book in question was seventy-four years old. thatcher's biography tended to create an appetite for that kind of literature, and we inquired for other lives of noted indians, but, strange to say, could only hear of one other book devoted to that subject. this was a small volume written by s. g. goodrich, sixty-two years ago, and he gave only short sketches of perhaps half a dozen indians of the united states, but the greater portion of the contents was devoted to the indians of peru and mexico. we now concluded that if there were only two books giving the lives of famous indians, and both of these published so many years ago, there was certainly room for another book on the subject, which should be confined to the indian tribes of the united states and cover their entire history from powhatan to the present time. we trust we will not be misunderstood. we know that many indian books have been written since the date of those mentioned, but they were on "the indian wars," "the pioneer and the indian," "the winning of the west," "the manners and customs of the indian," "folklore tradition and legend," and many other phases of the question. we know that pontiac, brant, red jacket, tecumseh, shabbona, black hawk, sitting bull, and perhaps others, have had their lives written, but in each of these cases an entire book is devoted to one indian and his war. our claim is that we have written the only book giving in a condensed form the lives of practically all the most famous indian chiefs from the colonial period to the present time. lest it be thought that we have an exaggerated idea of our people's interest in the indian, we will digress long enough to prove the statement to our own satisfaction, and we trust also to that of the reader. mrs. sigourney has well said with reference to this point "ye say they all have passed away, that noble race and brave, that their light canoes have vanished from off the crested wave that 'mid the forests where they roamed there rings no hunter's shout, but their name is on your waters ye may not wash it out. "ye say their cone like cabins that clustered o'er the vale have fled away like withered leaves before the autumn gale. but their memory liveth on your hills, their baptism on your shore; your everlasting rivers speak their dialect of yore." we have ventured to add a third verse ye say no lover wooes his maid, no warrior leads his band. all in forgotten graves are laid, e'en great chiefs of the clan; that where their council fires were lit the shepherd tends his flock. but their names are on your mountains and survive the earthquake shock. the mark of our contact with the indian is upon us indelibly and forever. he has not only impressed himself upon our geography, but on our character, language and literature. bancroft, our greatest historian, is not quite right when he says, "the memorials of their former existence are found only in the names of the rivers and mountains." these memorials have not only permeated our poetry and other literature, but they are perpetuated in much of the food we eat, and every mention of potatoes, chocolate, cocoa, mush, green corn, succotash, hominy and the festive turkey is a tribute to the red man, while the fragrance of the tobacco or indian weed we smoke is incense to their memory. on one occasion, according to aesop, a man and a lion got into an argument as to which of the two was the stronger, and thus contending they walked together until they came to a statue representing a man choking and subduing a lion. "there," exclaimed the man, "that proves my point, and demonstrates that a man is stronger than a lion." to which the king of beasts replied, "when the lions get to be sculptors, they will have the lion choking and overcoming the man." the indians are neither sculptors, painters nor historians. the only record we have of many of their noblest chiefs, greatest deeds, hardest fought battles, or sublimest flights of eloquence, are the poor, fragmentary accounts recorded and handed down by their implacable enemies, the all-conquering whites. it is hard indeed for one enemy to do another justice. the man with whom you are engaged in a death struggle is not the man to write your history; but such has been the historian of the indian. his destroyer has covered him up in an unmarked grave, and then written the story of his life. can any one believe that the spaniards, cruel, hard-hearted and remorseless as the grave, who swept whole nations from the earth, sparing neither men, women nor children, could or would write a true story of their silent victims? is it not reasonable to believe that had philip, pontiac, cornstalk, tecumseh, black hawk or chief joseph been able to fling their burning thoughts upon the historic page, it would have been very different from the published account? we believe that god will yet raise up an indian of intellectual force and fire enough to write a defense of his race to ring through the ages and secure a just verdict from generations yet unborn. in the preparation of this work we have honestly tried to do the subject justice, and have endeavored to put ourself in the indian's place, as much as it is possible for a white man to do. we have prosecuted the self-imposed task with enthusiasm and interest from its inception to its completion. we fully agree with bishop whipple when he said: "our indian wars were most of them needless and wicked. the north american indian is the noblest type of a heathen man on the earth. he recognizes a great spirit; he believes in immortality; he has a quick intellect; he is a clear thinker; he is brave and fearless, and until betrayed, he is true to his plighted faith; he has a passionate love for his children, and counts it joy to die for his people. our most terrible wars have been with the noblest types of the indians, and with men who had been the white man's friend. nicolet said the sioux were the finest type of wild men he had ever seen. old traders say it used to be the boast of the sioux that they had never taken the life of a white man. lewis and clark, governor stevens and colonel steptoe bore testimony to the devoted friendship of the nez percÃ�© for the white man." one evidence that our indian wars were unnecessary is seen in the fact that while our country has been constantly involved in them, canada has not had any; although our government has spent for the indians a hundred dollars to their one. they recognize, as we do, that the indian has a possessory right to the soil. they purchase this right, as we do, by treaty but their treaties are made with the indian subjects of his majesty, the king, while our government has enacted the farce of making treaties with indian tribes or their representatives, as if they were sovereign nations. those tribes of blanket indians, roaming the wilderness and prairie, living by hunting, trapping, fishing or plundering, without a code of laws to practice, or a government to maintain, are not nations, and nothing in their history or condition could properly invest them with a treaty-making power. there are other lessons we can learn from canada concerning the indian question. they set apart a permanent reservation for them; they seldom move them, while our government has continually moved whole tribes at the demand of greedy white men who were determined to have the indian's land by fair means or foul, generally the latter. moreover, the canadian government selects agents of high character, who receive their appointments for life; they make fewer promises, but they fulfil them; they give the indians christian missions, which have the hearty support of christian people and all their efforts are toward self help and civilization. in bishop whipple visited washington, and had a long talk with president lincoln. said he: "i found the president a willing listener. as i repeated the story of specific acts of dishonesty (on the part of indian agents of that period) the president said: 'did you ever hear of the southern man who bought monkeys to pick cotton? they were quick; their long, slim fingers would pull out the cotton faster than negroes; but he found it took two overseers to watch one monkey. this indian business needs ten honest men to watch one indian agent.'" in speaking of this interview with the bishop, lincoln afterwards said to a friend "as i listened to bishop whipple's story of robbery and shame, i felt it to my boots;" and, rising to his full height, he added: "if i live this accursed system shall be reformed." but unfortunately he did not live to carry out his plans. however, we are glad to note an improvement in the condition of our indians, of recent years, which shows that the public conscience has at last been aroused, and one object of this book is to further that good work. another object is to disprove the oft-quoted saying of general sherman that "the only good indian is a dead one." {fn} we have written the biographies of twenty or more famous chiefs, any one of whom was a good indian, or would have been had he received kind treatment from the whites, who were almost invariably the aggressors. it makes one's soul sick to read of the white men selling the indian "firewater," to brutalize and destroy; of violated treaties; of outrageous treatment which aroused the worst passions of the indian's nature. * * * * * {fn} general sherman used this phrase at a banquet at delmonico's, new york, in the winter of . in selecting the subjects for our biographical sketches, we were confronted with an embarrassment of riches. and while there are none in the book which could well have been omitted, yet there are many outside richly deserving a place in it. there are so many famous chiefs, we found it impossible to give them all a place in one volume. so we tried to select those who, in our judgment, were the greatest, those who for special reasons could not be omitted, and those whom we thought would make the most interesting sketches. we may say in this connection, that we refrained from writing the biographies of mixed breeds, such as osceola powell, weatherford or red eagle, simply because we knew, from our experience with other books, that people would be prone to say that their greatness was due to the infusion of the blood of the superior white race. as far as we know, all of our subjects treated at length were full-blooded indians, except sequoyah and quanah parker, and most of them, as we shall see, were nature's noblemen. we have enjoyed peculiar facilities for prosecuting our studies on indian biography and history, having free access to the four great libraries of chicago. for the benefit of others interested in the same subject, we will mention a few of the many books we found helpful, in the preparation of this work, besides the two already named. at the head of the list we place roosevelt's "winning of the west," parkman's "conspiracy of pontiac," mason's "pioneer history," ellis's "indian wars of the united states." in our judgment these are about the strongest books we have read on the subject, especially in relation to the indian, the pioneer, and the border wars. in the next group we place dunn's "massacres of the mountains," finerty's "war-path and bivouac," helen hunt jackson's "century of dishonor," and eggleston's "biographies of brant, red jacket, tecumseh," etc. in addition to our library work, we spent much time traveling among the indian tribes and making the acquaintance of many of the most famous living chiefs, and cultivating their friendship, so we record many of the incidents in the book as an eye-witness. we referred to the indian in this introduction as a so-called "vanishing race." as a matter of fact the indian is not vanishing at all but slowly increasing in numbers. the census of gave the number of indians in the united states as , , while that of gave the total as , , a net gain of , in ten years. another erroneous conception many people have of the indian we can only call attention to here. they somehow have come to believe that the red man is very dignified and solemn, has no appreciation of the ludicrous, or conception of a joke. never was a greater mistake. no one enjoys what he considers a good joke more than an indian. you will find some evidence that he can be as funny as his white brother, in the chapter on "indian anecdotes." we determined to have the illustrations one of the very best features of the book, fully in keeping with the subject matter; and, wherever possible, absolutely authentic. for this reason alone, the publication has been held back several months, the publishers sparing neither pains nor expense in procuring pictures from photographers and collectors, who made a specialty of the indian, such as d. f. barry, drake, the field museum, the newberry library and the ethnological bureau at washington; some of the latter being copies of paintings made before photography was known. we also procured photographs of several rare paintings never published in any book before. should the book prove instructive in demonstrating that there is a brighter, better side to indian life and character than is usually seen, the author will feel that he has not written in vain, and he will be gratified if, in addition to this, it also gives pleasure. {illustration: cofachiqui, the indian princess, presenting the string of pearls to de soto.} chapter i. cofachiqui, the indian princess. a true story of de soto and his cavaliers. cofachiqui seems to have been the name of a populous and wealthy indian province visited by hernando de soto and his army of adventurers and cavaliers in their wanderings in search of gold. they also applied this name to the beautiful and intelligent young queen or princess who ruled the indians of this and a confederation of neighboring tribes. it is impossible to trace the route traversed by de soto, as it was at times an aimless wandering through what is now the states of florida, georgia, and, perhaps, the border of south carolina. but indian traditions locate yupaha, the capital of the province of cofachiqui, at what is now silver bluff, on the east bank of the savannah river, in barnwell county, south carolina. from time to time rumor reached de soto and his men of this great princess, a veritable "she-who-must-be-obeyed," whose subjects were so devoted and faithful that her slightest wish was law. one day an indian youth, who had been brought into camp with other prisoners, told the spaniards that all the neighboring chiefs paid tribute to this great ruler, and sent her at stated intervals provision, fine clothing and gold. the cavaliers cared nothing for the provision and clothing, but they were all interest when gold was mentioned, and asked the youth many questions, through their interpreter, which he answered in full. he told how the gold was taken from the earth, how it was melted and refined. his description was so exact that the spaniards had no longer any doubt. they were greatly elated at the news, and after robbing and plundering the indians who had fed and sheltered them during the winter months--the usual return for such kindness--they broke camp and marched northward. many times during the march the spaniards were on the verge of starvation and wandering aimlessly in the wilderness, where they must have perished, had they not been rescued and fed by the simple-minded, hospitable natives. even those from whom they received such timely aid were often robbed and murdered indiscriminately. no doubt the indians regarded them as demons rather than christians, for the unprovoked savage ferocity of the spaniards would be beyond belief if the sickening details were not piously set forth by the historian of the expedition. on the th day of april, , de soto and his spaniards reached the neighborhood of cofachiqui. while the army camped for the night the enterprising juan de aÃ�±asco with a band of thirty foot-soldiers went out to reconnoiter. they soon found a broad, well-worn path leading along the banks of a large river, probably the savannah. they followed this path about two leagues when, just as it grew dark, they reached a landing opposite a large indian town. there was no means of crossing the river, neither would it have been prudent to have crossed with such small numbers, not knowing the kind of reception to expect, or the force they might encounter. so aÃ�±asco dispatched couriers back in the night to inform de soto of their discovery. by daylight the vanguard of the army, consisting of one hundred horse and as many foot, was in motion, led by de soto himself. when he reached the banks of the river, and the natives upon the opposite shore caught sight of his glittering dragoons on their magnificent steeds, they were struck with amazement and consternation. the interpreter shouted loudly for some one to bear a message to their chief. after some little hesitation and deliberation, the indians launched a large canoe, in which six warriors took seats. they were men of fine appearance and probably the counselors of the chief. quite a number of lusty men grasped the oars, and the canoe was driven rapidly through the water. de soto, who had watched these movements with interest, knew he was about to be visited by the head men of the town, he therefore ordered his showy throne or chair of state, which he had with him for such occasions, to be placed in position. here he took his seat with his officers around. the distinguished natives landed without any apparent fear, and, advancing toward the spaniards, all six of them at the same time made three profound bows, the first toward the east, to the sun, the second toward the west, to the moon, and the third to de soto. "sir," said their spokesman, "do you wish peace or war?" "peace," answered the spanish general, as usual, "not war"; adding that he only asked passage through the territory and provision, in order to reach other provinces, which were his destination; he desired rafts and canoes also to cross the army over the river, and lastly friendly treatment while he was marching through the country so that he might cause it the least damage possible. peace, the ambassadors said they could promise; as for food, they had themselves but little, because during the past year a pestilence had swept off many of their people and driven others from their villages into the woods, so that they had not planted their fields; and although the pestilence was now over, yet many of the indians had not returned to their homes. the settlement opposite alone had escaped the scourge. they went on to explain that their chief was a woman--a young princess, but recently raised to the position. they would return and bear to her the request of the strangers, who in the meantime must await her answer with good confidence, however, for although their ruler was a maiden, she had the judgment and spirit of a man, and they doubted not would do for the spaniards all she possibly could. with this the six envoys returned to their boats, and crossing the river were soon lost to sight in the waiting crowd upon the other shore. after a short interval the spaniards saw a decided commotion among the indians. a large and highly decorated canoe appeared and was hastily made ready, mats and cushions were placed in it and a canopy raised over one end. then quite a gorgeous palanquin was seen borne by four stalwart men, descending toward the stream a young squaw, evidently the princess descended from it, and seated herself in the canoe that had the awning. eight indian women followed, taking the paddles; the men went in the other canoes. the women rowed the princess across the river, and when she stepped out of her barge they followed, walking up the bank after her. if there were any among the cavaliers who knew classical history they must have been reminded (although the scene was rustic and simple in comparison) of cleopatra going up the river cydnus to meet mark antony, when according to shakespeare, "the barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne, burn'd on the water. . . . . . . for her own person, it beggar'd all description: she did lie in her pavilion. . . . her gentlewomen, like the nereids, so many mermaids, tended her . . . . . . at the helm a seeming mermaid steers." the princess, making a low and graceful bow before the spanish general, seated herself upon the throne, which he brought and placed for her at his side, and without waiting an instant began to speak. she repeated what her warriors had said; that the pestilence of the past year made it impossible for her to furnish the amount of provision she would wish, but that she would do all in her power. and that de soto might see her will in her deed, she gave him at once one of her two storehouses of corn, collected in her village for the relief of her people who had escaped from the pestilence; the other one she requested de soto to kindly spare, for her own necessities were great. she said she had another store of corn in a neighboring village, part of which he could take if necessary. she offered half of her own residence for de soto's accommodation, and half of the houses in the village as barracks for his soldiers. if it would please him more, she and all her people would abandon the village and retire to a neighboring one. she also promised that by the next day rafts and canoes should be in readiness to transport the spaniards across the river. abbott informs us that "the generous soul of de soto was deeply touched as he assured her of his lasting friendship and that of his sovereign." but there is not the slightest evidence that de soto was ever actuated by a generous motive. we are inclined to believe, with joel chandler harris, that the truth seems to be that de soto and his men cared nothing for the courtesy and hospitality of the queen and that they were not moved by her beauty and kindness. according to the historian of the expedition, the spaniards had quite a conversation with the young princess and were astonished at her sound judgment and well ordered ideas. but they also noticed that the indians of this tribe were more refined and intelligent in appearance, more affable and less warlike, than the others they had met in their explorations. they were, moreover, quite graceful and attractive, and almost as white as the spaniards. while talking the princess had quietly and slowly unwound a long string of pearls, as large as hazelnuts, that coiled three times around her neck and fell to her waist. when the interview was over she handed the string of pearls to juan ortiz, the interpreter, and told him to give them to the governor. the interpreter told her his commander would appreciate them more if presented with her own hands. she replied that she dare not do that for fear of being considered immodest. de soto now inquired of the interpreter what was said, and being informed, answered with much earnestness like a truly gallant cavalier (which he was not) "more than the pearls themselves would i value the favor of receiving them from her hands; and in acting so she would not go against modesty, for we are treating of peace and friendship, of all things the most important, most serious between strange people." having heard this the princess arose and with her own fair hands suspended the string of costly pearls around the neck of de soto. the governor then arose and taking from his finger a gold ring set with a handsome ruby that he always wore (which he had probably pillaged from the peruvians) he gave it to the princess. she received it with great dignity and placed it on one of her fingers. grace king, in her book, "de soto and his men in florida," says, in this connection: "this little ceremony over, she took her leave and returned to her village, leaving the spanish cavaliers charmed and half in love with her, not only on account of her mind, but of her beauty, which they vowed then and ever afterward she possessed to the extreme of perfection. and so also then and afterward they called her by no other name or title than la sanora, the lady of cofachiqui; and the name was right, says the chronicler, for a lady she was in all respects." the master of camp arrived with the rest of the army and it was put across the river next day by means of the rafts and canoes provided by the indians. de soto and his cavaliers found themselves surrounded by the most hospitable indians they had yet seen. they were supplied with everything the land afforded and rested in comfortable houses and wigwams under the shades of the mulberry trees. the soldiers were so delighted with the situation that they were anxious to form a settlement there; but de soto refused to forget the only object of the expedition, which was to search for gold and other treasures. the general was a man of few words but an iron will, and his determination had the desired effect. his men soon recovered their energies. while enjoying the hospitalities of the princess they found out the burial place of her people, and robbed their graves, according to the spanish historian, of three hundred and fifty weight of pearls, and figures of babies and birds made from iridescent shells. learning that the widowed mother of the princess lived in retirement about forty miles down the river, and that she was said to be the owner of many fine pearls, de soto determined to get her in his power. he pretended, however, to be actuated only by a desire to make sure of peace and tranquillity as long as he was in the country. at his request cofachiqui dispatched twelve of her principal officers inviting her mother to come to town and meet a people never before seen by the indians and see the wonderful animals on which they rode. the queen's mother, instead of complying, sent her daughter a severe reprimand for having admitted into her capitol a body of strangers of whom she knew nothing. all this being reported to de soto made him more determined than ever to get her in his power. accordingly he ordered juan de aÃ�±asco to take thirty soldiers, and disregarding the privacy and seclusion of the queen mother to bring her kindly but with force with him to the camp. aÃ�±asco, although the day was well advanced, set out at once on his mission. a young warrior about the age of the princess was appointed by her to be guide for the party. the princess also gave him special instructions that when the men neared the dwelling place of the queen mother, he was to go in advance and warn her of the spaniards coming, and supplicate her to go peaceably and as a friend with them, and he was to be sure and say that her daughter and all her people made the same petition to her. the young warrior had been reared in the very arms of the queen mother, and she loved him as her own son, and the princess chose him for this very reason, hoping that love for the messenger would mitigate the pain inflicted by this message. the young warrior matched his princess chief in looks and learning and was strikingly attractive in face and figure. he wore a diadem of rarest feathers, a mantle of finest and softest deerskin. at his back was a magnificent bow just his own height and an elegant quiver of arrows. about midday the party stopped to eat and to rest a while under the shade of a grove of trees, for it was quite warm. sitting apart the guide seemed to give himself up to thought, resting his head on his hand and every now and then breathing a low sigh. presently he took his quiver of arrows and placing it before him on the ground, began slowly to draw them out one by one and passed them to the spaniards, who broke into exclamations of surprise and pleasure, for each one was different from the other and had a beauty and novelty of its own. in polish and workmanship they were indeed remarkable. some were tipped with staghorn, others with fishbones wonderfully and cunningly adapted. at last the young warrior drew out a flint head, pointed and edged like a dagger. casting an anxious glance around and seeing the attention of the spaniards engrossed in examining his weapons, he plunged the sharp-pointed arrow into his throat, severing an artery, and fell. before the spaniards could rush to him he was dead. there were several indian attendants in the company who seemed overwhelmed with distress, uttering loud cries of grief over the corpse. these were now questioned by the spaniards, and it was learned that the young guide knew that the queen mother was very unwilling to have any acquaintance with the spaniards, because she had emphatically refused to meet them when first importuned; and now for him to guide those same spaniards to her that they might compel her to come by fair means or foul, would make him appear as a miserable ingrate after her great kindness. on the other hand the princess, whom he revered and loved, had commissioned him to conduct the spaniards to her mother's abode. he did not dare to disobey her commands. either alternative was more to be dreaded by him than death. the ingenious young man had therefore endeavored to escape the dilemma by self-destruction. savage history offers not, perhaps, another instance of such refined and romantic devotion. he could not live to please both, so he determined to die for both. the other indians were now pressed to act as guides, but they all swore, truly or falsely, that they did not know where the queen mother lived; that the young warrior alone knew the secret of her hiding place. the cavaliers pushed on as best they could without a guide, but the bad walking, the excessive heat and the weight of their armor wearied and disgusted them, and after two days they returned empty-handed to the camp. two days after his return an indian came to aÃ�±asco and offered to conduct him down the river in a canoe to the home of the queen mother. he gladly accepted the proposition. two large canoes with strong rowers were quickly made ready, and aÃ�±asco with twenty companions set out on this second expedition. but it was also doomed to failure. the queen mother heard of his approach and with a few attendants secretly fled to another retreat far away. after a fruitless search of six days, the canoes returned. de soto never again attempted to get possession of the widow. {illustration: american horse, sioux chief.} in the meantime, while aÃ�±asco was engaged in these unsuccessful expeditions, de soto had been making anxious inquiries respecting the silver and gold he had been informed was to be found in the province. he began by summoning the princess before him and his officers and commanding her to bring all the yellow and white metals and pearls she possessed, like the finger rings and pieces of silver and pearls and stones set in the rings that the spaniards showed her. the princess replied that both the white and yellow metals were to be found in great abundance in her territory. she immediately sent out indians to bring him in specimens. they quickly returned laden with a yellow metal somewhat resembling gold in color, but which proved to be copper. the shining substance which he had supposed was silver was nothing but a worthless species of mica or quartz. the sight of these articles dissipated, in an instant, all the bright and chimerical hopes which had prompted the spaniards to undertake this long and perilous expedition. it would seem that the warm-hearted princess sympathized with the spaniards in their great disappointment, or she may have feared they would vent their rage on her hapless people; certain it is, she informed them that while there were no precious stones in her realm, they did have great abundance of pearls. pointing with her fingers to a temple that stood upon a neighboring mound, she said: "that is the burial place of the warriors of this village, there you will find our pearls. take what you wish; and if you wish more not far from here there is a village which was the home of my forefather; its temple is far larger than this, you will find there so many pearls that even if you loaded all your horses with them and yourselves with as much as you could carry, you would not come to the end of them. many years have my people been collecting and storing pearls. take all, and if you still want more, we can get more, and even more still for you from the fishing places of my people." this great news and the magnificently queenly manner in which it was told soon raised the drooping spirits of the spaniards and consoled them for the bitter disappointments about the gold and silver. the fact of her inviting the spaniards to ransack the tombs of her forefathers for pearls, seems, as goodrich says, "utterly inconsistent with all our notions of the reverence for ancestry which is so striking a characteristic of the indians. we should have a strong doubt of the truth of the statement, were it not distinctly asserted in both the narratives of the expedition." to our mind there is only one of two explanations of it--either the two historians deliberately falsified their statements to cover up the impious sacrilege of de soto and his cavaliers, or else the princess was intimidated until she pursued the peace-at-any-price policy, even to the profanation of her ancestors' tombs. the spaniards soon visited the temple which the princess had pointed out and took from it pearls amounting to fourteen bushels, according to one author, while others record a very much larger amount. two days later de soto, with a large retinue of his own officers and of the household of the princess, started out to visit the large temple at talomeco, as it was called, situated upon the high bank of the river about three miles distant. the country through which they passed en route was very fertile and in places covered with fruit trees filled with ripe fruit which the spaniards picked and ate with relish, while they congratulated themselves that the golden dawn of a realization of their dreams was brightening before them. they found this village contained about five hundred cabins, all substantially built, and from its superiority of size and appearance over other villages they inferred it had one day been the seat and residence of several powerful chiefs. the chief's residence on a mound rose larger and more conspicuous than the others, but it was in turn dominated by the temple. the spaniards' eyes, in fact, could see nothing but the temple as it loomed up before them on a commanding eminence at the side of this deserted village. as it was by far the largest and most imposing edifice they saw in their journey through the southland it merits a description. it was about three hundred feet in length by one hundred and twenty in breadth, with a tall pointed roof that glittered like an enchanted palace. canes, slender and supple, woven into a fine mat, served for thatching, and this was studded with row upon row of all kinds and sizes of shells with the bright side out. there were great sea shells of curious shapes, conchs and periwinkles--a marvel of playing light and color. grace king has given such a full description of the interior of this temple that she must have received her information from the records of the historians of the expedition. said she, "throwing open the two large doors the spaniards paused at the threshold spellbound. twelve gigantic statues of wood confronted them, counterfeiting life with such ferocity of expression and such audacity of posture as could not but awe them. six stood on one side and six on the other side of the door as if to guard it and to forbid any one to enter. the first ones, those next the door, were giants about twelve feet high, the others diminished in size by regular gradation. each pair held a different kind of weapon and stood in attitude to use it. the first and largest raised in both hands great clubs, ornamented a quarter of their length with points and facets of copper; the second brandished broadswords of wood shaped much like the steel swords of the spaniards. the next wielded wooden staves about six feet long, the end flattened out into a blade or paddle. the fourth pair had tomahawks with blades of brass or flint; the fifth held bows with arrows aimed and strung, drawn ready to shoot; the sixth and last statues grasped pikes pointed with copper. "passing between the file of monsters the spaniards entered the great room. overhead were rows of lustrous shells such as covered the roof, and strands of pearls interspersed with strings of bright feathers, all seemed to be floating in the air in wildering tapestry. looking lower the spaniards saw that along the upper sides of the four walls ran two rows of statues, figures of men and women of natural size, each placed on a separate pedestal. the men held various weapons and each weapon was ornamented with strings of pearl. the women had nothing in their hands. all the space around these statues was covered with shields of skins and fine cane mats. the burial chests were placed on benches around the four sides of the room, but in the center upon the floor were also rows of caskets, placed one on top of another in regular gradation like pyramids. all the caskets, large and small, were filled with pearls; and the pearls, too, were distributed according to size, the largest in the largest caskets, the smallest, the seed pearls, in the smallest caskets. in all there was such a quantity of pearls that seeing it with their own eyes, the spaniards confessed that what the princess had told them about the temple was truth and not pride and exaggeration. as she declared, even if they loaded themselves with as much as they could carry (and there were more than nine hundred of them) and loaded their three hundred horses with them, they could not take them all, there would still be hundreds of bushels of them left. and in addition there were great heaps of the largest and handsomest deerskins, dyed in different colors, and skins of other animals dressed with the hair on--cured and dressed as perfectly, the spaniards said, as could have been done in germany or muscovy. around this great room were eight small rooms all filled with different weapons--pikes, clubs, tomahawks, bows and arrows of all varieties and of the most exquisite workmanship; some with three-pronged heads, like harpoons, some two-pronged; some with chisel edges, like daggers; some shaped like thorns. in the last room were mats of cane, so finely woven that there were few among the spanish crossbowmen could have put a bolt through them." the revenue officers now proposed to take from the spoils the royal fifth that belonged to his imperial majesty and to carry it away with them. but de soto said that this would only embarrass the movements of the army with excessive luggage, that even now it could not carry its necessary munitions and provisions. "they were not dividing the land now," he reminded them, "only exploring it." such is the story taken from the historians of the expedition. but, as joel chandler harris says "it is just as well to believe a little of this as to believe a great deal. it was an easy matter for the survivors of the expedition to exaggerate these things and they probably took great liberties with the facts, but there is no doubt the indians possessed many pearls. mussels like those from which they took the gems are still to be found in the small streams and creeks of georgia, and an enterprising boy might even now be able to find a seed pearl if he sought for it patiently." it is not to be doubted that rich stores of pearls were found. some were distributed to the officers and men, but the bulk of them, strange to say, were left undisturbed to await the return of the spaniards another day. it is said that de soto dipped into the pearls and gave his two joined hands full to each cavalier to make rosaries of, he said to say prayers for their sins on. we imagine if their prayers were in proportion to their sins they must have spent the most of their time at their devotions. the spaniards were greatly elated at the discovery of these riches. some of them must have known that real pearls were estimated at a value next to diamonds, and there were undoubtedly many real pearls of great value in so large a collection, possibly rivaling the one possessed by philip ii. of spain, which was about the size of a pigeon egg and valued at one hundred and sixty thousand dollars, or that of cleopatra, which was valued at three hundred and seventy-five thousand dollars. de soto was urged to establish his colony in this country, which was at once beautiful, fertile and rich in treasures. but the persistent spirit of de soto was not to be turned from its one great all-absorbing object, the search for gold. he was a man of few words but of wonderful will power. accordingly he eagerly inquired of the indians if they knew of any still greater land or chief farther inland. the princess and her advisers had learned by this time that the best way to get rid of such unwilling guests was to answer such questions in the affirmative. they assured him that further on was a greater and more powerful chief ruling over a richer country called chiaha. he determined at once to march thither. in answer to the objections of those who wished to remain where they were, he urged that in consequence of the recent pestilence there was not sufficient provision in the country to support the army for a month. that by continuing their march they might find gold mines. should they fail, they could then return, and in the meantime, the indians having replanted their land, there would be abundance of food. he had his way and preparations were made for the journey. the conduct of the spaniards had been so cruel during their stay at cofachiqui that the princess and her people had come to regard them with fear and hatred. there were some indications that the princess so far distrusted the treacherous and marble-hearted spaniards, that, like her more prudent mother, she was about to secretly escape from them by flight. in some way de soto heard of this and appointed a guard who was to keep a constant watch upon the princess, so that she could by no possibility escape. and when he took up his march for chiaha, may , , the princess who had received him with so much grace, dignity and hospitality was compelled to accompany him on foot with an escort of female attendants. even the old spanish chronicler is moved to remark that, "it was not so good usage as she deserved for the good will she showed and the good entertainment that she made him." we fully agree with him, for there are but few instances in all history of baser ingratitude. one reason why de soto made the princess his prisoner and carried her with the expedition was to use her influence in controlling the indians along his line of march. in fact, the indians of florida, mexico and peru were so loyal and devoted to their rulers that they often refrained from attacking the spaniards, lest they should imperil their lives. it was true in this case that the indians not only did not attack the invaders while the princess was with them, but at her command they supplied them with guides to conduct them through the wilderness, porters to carry their extra baggage and provision as it was needed along the route through her domain. but had the spaniards treated the princess and her people kindly and with justice all this would have been done from motives of hospitality and good will. kindness begets kindness even among savage races. de soto did not accept the spirit of the letter from the noble isabella, in which she wrote, "i will no longer persevere in this invasion of the lands of others which is always plunging me more and more deeply into difficulties." instead of this he followed the infamous example which pizarro, in peru, and cortez, in mexico, had set him. there is nothing whatever to justify his action, as it was alike cruel, dastardly and unnecessary. after being dragged a prisoner in the spanish army for two or three weeks and covering a distance of about three hundred miles, she found an opportunity to escape from her treacherous and brutal captors. passing one day through a thick forest she and her attendants suddenly darted from the train and disappeared. de soto never saw her or heard from her again, though every effort was made to recapture her, partly because of the casket of splendid pearls which one of her attendants carried off with her. undoubtedly a band of her warriors were in rendezvous there to receive her. the historian of florida, garcilasode la vega, terminates his account of this princess by declaring that she possessed a truly noble soul and was worthy of an empire. shame for his country-men has induced him to suppress all mention of the brutal indignity to which she was subjected by de soto, and for which, as a castilian knight, he deserved to have been deprived of his spurs. the portuguese narrator who accompanied the expedition states the facts too circumstantially to leave us in any doubt about the matter, and the noble and generous cofachiqui is to be numbered among those who suffered by trusting to the honor and justice of the plunderers of the new world. again quoting from joel chandler harris (uncle remus), we feel moved to say that "de soto's expedition was organized by the spirit of greed. it spread desolation wherever it went and it ended in disaster and despair. de soto himself found a grave in the waters of the mississippi, and the survivors who made their way back home were broken in health and spirit." an attempt has been made to throw a halo of romance over the march of the spaniards through the wilderness of the new world, but there is nothing romantic or inspiring about it. it was simply a search for riches in which hundreds of lives were most cruelly sacrificed and thousands of homes destroyed. the only permanent good which resulted from it was the discovery of the father of waters and this noble, indian princess cofachiqui. {illustration: powhatan, or wah-un-so-na-cook. atypical american indian.} chapter ii. powhatan, or wah-un-so-na-cook. when the english colonists first landed in virginia, in , they found the country occupied by three large tribes of natives known by the general names mannahoack, monacans and powhatans. of these the two former might be called highland or mountain indians, because they occupied the hill country east of the alleghany ridge, while the powhatan nation inhabited the lowland region extending from the seacoast westward to the falls of the rivers and from the patuxent southward to carolina. mr. jefferson, in his "notes on virginia," estimates that the powhatan confederacy at one time occupied about eight thousand square miles of territory, with a population of about eight thousand people, of whom twenty-four hundred were warriors. when it is remembered that there were thirty tribes in this coalition, and that this estimate is less than one hundred warriors to the tribe, it seems moderate enough, especially since it is recorded by an early writer that three hundred warriors appeared under one indian chief in one body at one time and seven hundred at another, all of whom were apparently of his own tribe. moreover, the powhatan confederacy inhabited a country upon which nature bestowed her favors with lavish profusion. their settlements were mostly on the banks of the james, elizabeth, nansamond, york and chickahominy rivers, all of which abounded with fish and fowl. the forest was filled with deer and wild turkey, while the toothsome oyster was found in great abundance on the shores of the chesapeake and its numerous inlets. indeed, the whole region seems to have been a veritable paradise for hunter and fisherman. vast quantities of corn, too, yearly rewarded even the crude agriculture of the indians, bestowed as it was upon the best portion of a fertile soil. captain john smith, the hero and historian of early virginia, informs us that at one time "the rivers became so covered with swans, geese, ducks and cranes that we daily feasted with good bread, virginia pease, pumpions (pumpkins) and putchamins (a wild plum), fish, fowl and diverse sorts of wild beasts so fat as we could eat them." he might have added, "and the barbarous people showed us no little kindness," but at first were ready to divide with them their ample store, for on one occasion when smith undertook an exploring tour into the interior late in the season a violent storm obliged him and his men to keep christmas among the savages. "and we were never more merry," he relates, "nor fed on more plenty of good oysters, fish, flesh, wild fowl and good bread, nor ever had better fires in england." the mention of oysters here is the first account of this palatable bivalve we have found in history. they also graced the first thanksgiving dinner, as will be seen in another chapter. but it might be asked, why is it, since virginia was a land of such great abundance of food, we read so much of famine and "the starving time" among the colonists at jamestown? simply because the men sent over by king james were for the most part so idle, improvident and utterly worthless that they would have literally starved to death "with stewed pigeons flying into their mouths." shortly after the settlement at jamestown captains smith and newport, accompanied by twenty-three others, sailed up the james river to its falls. a few miles below where richmond now stands, near what is known as mayo's plantation, they visited an indian village of a dozen houses called powhatan. here they met and were entertained by the leading chief, or werowance, of the powhatan confederacy, who, strange to say, was also called powhatan. indeed, the english understanding but little of the indian language, and hearing this name often mentioned, and always with awe or reverence, by turns regarded it as the name of a river, of the country, of the people, of a town and of their head sachem. but little is known of this, the first interview between captain smith and company and the great sagamore and his people, but it is recorded that the english were kindly and hospitably received, as they usually were, and feasted on fruit, fish and vegetables, as well as roast deer and cakes. bancroft says the savages at first murmured at this intrusion of strangers into the country; but their crafty chief disguised his fear and would only say, "they hurt you not; they take but a little waste land." but even powhatan grew suspicious of a cross which newport insisted on erecting as a sign of english dominion until the latter, probably at the suggestion of smith, told him the arms represented powhatan and himself, and the middle their united league. the interview ended by the return of the explorers to jamestown, but before doing so newport presented the chief with a hatchet, with which he was much delighted. the english invested savage life with all the dignity of european courts. powhatan was styled "king" or "emperor," his wives, of whom he had many, were "queens," his daughter was a "princess" and his principal warriors were "lords of the kingdom." in his younger days powhatan had been a great warrior. hereditarily he was sachem of eight tribes and by his arms he subdued twenty-two others, so that at this time he was the mighty werowance, or sagamore, of thirty of the forty tribes of virginia. this great chief has been called the indian caesar, and certainly his system of government was strikingly similar to that of the roman empire, for the hereditary chiefs or "kings" of the subject tribes were permitted to rule their own people as before the conquest and their local laws and customs were not interfered with on condition of their paying annual tribute to powhatan of "skinnes, beads, copper, pearle, deere, turkies, wild beasts and corne. what he commandeth they dare not disobey in the least thing." moreover, as if to make the resemblance more remarkable, his subjects regarded him as half man and half god, just as the roman people regarded their emperors as demi-gods. he is described as a "tall, well-proportioned man with a sower looke, his head somewhat gray, his beard so thinne that it seemeth none at all, his age neare sixtie, of a very able and hardy body, to endure any labor." and certainly the extent of his conquests, his unlimited power over his subjects and the pomp which he maintained invested powhatan with no little courtly though savage dignity. besides this village of his own name where he entertained smith and newport, powhatan had a larger town on the york river called we-ro-wo-co-mo-co, a hunting town in the wilderness called orapax, and others. at each of his hereditary towns there was a house built in the form of a long arbor for his especial reception, and when the great chief made a visit to one of his towns a feast was made ready in advance and spread in the long house. a mile from orapax, deep in the woods, he had another arbor-like house in which he kept all his treasures, such as furs, copper, pearls and beads, to have them ready for his burial. though isolated, the contents of this treasure-house were never disturbed, but whether this was due to the terror inspired by the owner or to superstitious reverence is not known. perhaps it was both. it is said that powhatan had twenty sons and eleven daughters living at the time of the jamestown settlement. we know nothing of his sons except nantaquans, who is described as "the most manliest, comliest and boldest spirit, ever seen in a savage." pocahontas, the favorite daughter of powhatan, was thought to have been born in , which would make her about thirteen years of age at the time of captain smith's trial before her august father. nothing is known of her mother; she was simply one of powhatan's numerous wives, and it is within the bounds of possibility that, growing tired of her, the chief had presented her to one of his subjects whom he wished to honor, for such was his custom. the indians believed that a knowledge of the real names of persons gave their enemies power to cast spells upon them, so they were frequently known by several names and endeavored to conceal their true ones. they also had a custom of changing the name upon great occasions. pocahontas, signifying, it is said, "bright stream between two hills," was the household name of powhatan's "dearest daughter." she had also two other names, amonate and matoaka, the last being her "real name." besides her favorite brother, nantaquans, we know the names of two sisters, matachanna and cleopatre. the real name of powhatan, it seems, was wah-un-so-na-cook. this powerful indian sagamore was at first attended by a bodyguard of forty or fifty tall warriors, which was increased to two hundred after hostilities commenced with the english. captain smith informs us that "every night upon the foure quarters of his house are four sentinels, each from other a slight shoot, and at every halfe houre one from the corps on guard doth hollow, shaking his lips with his finger betweene them, unto whom every sentinel doth answer round from his stand; if any faile, they presently send forth an officer that beateth him extremely." this is the first description we have of the indian warwhoop still in vogue among certain tribes, and while it was a safeguard to prevent surprise, it must have tended to murder sleep about every half-hour during the watch of the night. we also read that powhatan had a fleet, of which he was very proud. it consisted of a large number of the canoes called "dugouts," which are still in use among some tribes of indians. these boats were made by a very laborious process. trees of a kind of timber which would float readily were felled by fire and from the trunks a boat was shaped and hollowed out by means of burning and scraping with shells and tomahawks. the family of powhatan was numerous and influential. besides his sons and daughters there were also three brothers younger than himself; and upon them successively (and not his sons) according to their several ages, custom seems to have required that the government should devolve after his own death. the eldest, opitchipan, accordingly succeeded him, in form at least. but this chief proved to be an inactive and unambitious man, owing in part to the fact that he was well advanced in years. he was soon thrown into the shade by the superior energy and greater talent of ope-chan-ca-nough, who, before many years, ruled the entire federation acquired by powhatan. of the younger brother, kekataugh, scarcely anything is known. he is thought to have died before an opportunity occurred to show his ability in a public station. it was ope-chan-ca-nough, then sachem of the pamunkies, who captured the indomitable captain smith while the latter was engaged in exploring the chickahominy river. having gone as far as they could in a barge, captain smith left it moored in the middle of a small lake out of the reach of the savages on the banks, and accompanied by robinson, emry and two friendly indians, pushed on up the stream in a smaller boat. those with the barge were ordered on no account to go ashore. but the order was disobeyed and they came near forfeiting their lives by their rashness, for two or three hundred indians lay in ambush on the banks. when, on landing, the english discovered the crouching savages, they fled precipitately to their boat and escaped, leaving one of their number, george cassen, a prisoner. him the indians compelled to show the direction taken by smith, after which he was put to death in a barbarous manner. smith's party was overtaken among the chickahominy swamps or "slashes," as they are called in virginia, robinson and emry were killed and smith himself captured, but only after a terrible resistance. he fought like a lion at bay, tied one of the indian guides to his left arm for a shield, killed three indians, wounded several others and would have escaped had he not stepped backward into a deep quagmire. he now surrendered to the indian sachem ope-chan-ca-nough, who conducted him in triumph through the indian villages on the potomac and the rappahannock, thence to his own town, pamunkey. at this place the medicine men practiced incantations and ceremonies for the space of three days, hoping to obtain some insight into the mysterious character and designs of the captive in order to determine his fate. by this time smith had so overawed his captors that they feared to inflict the death penalty without the concurrence of their great werowance, powhatan. accordingly he was conveyed to we-ro-wo-co-mo-co, the favorite home of this chieftain of the chiefs, on the york river, a few miles from the historic field of yorktown. arriving at we-ro-wo-co-mo-co, captain smith was detained near the town until preparations had been made to receive him in state. when powhatan and his train had time to array themselves in all "their greatest braveries" the noted prisoner was admitted to the great chief's presence. powhatan "looked every inch a king" as he sat on a kind of throne in the longhouse, covered with a robe of raccoon skin, and with a coronet of immense gaily colored plumes on his head. his two favorite daughters sat on right and left while files of warriors and women of rank, his favorite wives or sisters, were ranged around the hall. on smith's entrance into the hall of state a great shout arose from those present. at a signal a handsome indian woman, perhaps a sister of the great chief, whom smith styles "the queen of appamatuck," brought water in a copper basin to wash the prisoner's hands, while her companion presented a bunch of feathers with which to dry them. powhatan now proceeded to question smith closely as to where he was from, where he was going, what brought the whites to his country, what were their intentions, what kind of a country they lived in and how many warriors they had. no doubt the captain was equal to the occasion, but it is quite probable that the grim old savage regarded him as a liar. again quoting smith, "a long consultation was held, but the conclusion was, two great stones were brought before powhatan, then as many savages as could, layd hands on him, dragged him to them and thereon layd his head," in position to be crushed with a war club. a stalwart warrior was appointed executioner. the signal was given, the grim executioner raised his heavy war club and another moment had decided the fate both of the illustrious captive and his colony. but that uplifted bludgeon was not destined to fall upon the head of smith. matoaka, or pocahontas, the eldest daughter of powhatan, sprang from her seat, and rushing between the big warrior and his intended victim, she clasped "his head in her arms and laid her own upon his to save him from death." she held on with the resolution of despair until her father, yielding to her frantic appeals, lifted them up and ordered smith to be released. "the emperor was contented; he should live to make him hatchets" (like the one newport had presented) "and her beads and copper trinkets." ridpath well says, "there is no reason in the world for doubting the truth of this affecting and romantic story, one of the most marvelous and touching in the history of any nation." bancroft also records the incident as a historical fact and moralizes on it by saying, "the gentle feelings of humanity are the same in every race and in every period of life; they bloom, though unconsciously, even in the bosom of a young indian maiden." the truth of this beautiful story was never doubted until , when the eminent antiquarian, dr. charles deane, of cambridge, massachusetts, in reprinting smith's first book, "the true relation of ," pointed out that it contains no reference to this hair-breadth escape. since then many american historians and scholars have concluded that it never happened at all, and in order to be consistent they have tried to prove that smith was a blustering braggadocio, which is the very last thing that could in truth be said of him. the rescue of a captive doomed to death, by a woman, is not such an unheard-of thing in indian stories. if the truth of this deliverance be denied, how then did smith come back to jamestown loaded with presents when the other three men were killed, george cassen, in particular, in a most horrible manner? and how is it, supposing smith's account of it to be false, that pocahontas afterward frequently came to jamestown with her attendants bringing baskets of corn and was, next to smith himself, the salvation of the colony? she was also sent by her father to intercede with smith for the release of prisoners. the fact is, nobody doubted the story in smith's life time and he had enemies enough. pocahontas never visited jamestown after smith went to england in october, , until she was kidnapped and taken there in april, , by the infamous captain argall, with the aid of japazaws, the chief sachem of the patawomekes or potomacs. {illustration: captain smith making toys for pocahontas.} it is true there is no mention of pocahontas saving the life of smith in the "true relation," but it must not be forgotten that it is confessed that the editor came upon his copy at second or third hand; that is, we suppose that it had been copied in ms. he also confesses to selecting what he thought "fit to be printed." "can any one doubt," says eggleston, "that the 'true relation' was carefully revised, not to say corrupted, in the interest of the company and the colony? and, if so, what more natural than that the hostility of so great a chief as powhatan would be concealed? for the great need of the colony was a fresh supply of colonists. nothing would have so much tended to check emigration to virginia (especially women) as a belief that the most powerful neighboring prince was at war with the settlement." but smith does mention the thrilling incident in his letter to queen anne, on behalf of his protege, and rings the changes on it. said he, "pocahontas, the king's most dear and well-beloved daughter, being but a child of twelve or thirteen years of age, whose compassionate, pitiful heart, of desperate estate, gave me much cause to respect her." . . . for "at the minute of my execution she hazarded the beating out of her own brains to save mine; and not only that, but so prevailed with her father that i was safely conducted to jamestown." the amiable young "princess," pocahontas, became the first christian convert in virginia, as well as the first bride, when she married john rolfe, in . at her baptism she received the name "lady rebecca," no doubt in allusion to rebekah, the wife of isaac, who became the mother of two distinct nations and two manner of people. in she and her husband went to england. here the "lady rebecca" received great attentions at court and was entertained by the bishop of london. pocahontas remained in england about a year; and when, with her husband and son, she was about to return to virginia, with her father's counselor, tomocomo, she was seized with smallpox at gravesend and died in june, , aged twenty-two. it may assist the reader to remember the place by recalling that at _gravesend_ her beautiful life came to an _end_ and she found a _grave_ under the chancel of the parish church. john rolfe returned to virginia and became a prominent official of the colony. his son, thomas rolfe, was taken to london, where he was brought up by an uncle. when he was a young man he came to virginia, and, as "lieutenant rolfe," commanded fort james, on the chickahominy. in , when about twenty-six, he petitioned the governor for permission to visit his great uncle, ope-chan-ca-nough, and his aunt, cleopatre, who still lived in the woods on the york river. he married a young lady of england, became a gentleman of "note and fortune" in virginia, and some of the most prominent families of that state are descended from him. john randolph, of roanoke, was the best known of his descendants and was proud of his indian blood. his manner of walking and the peculiar brightness of his eyes are said to have shown his origin, and he once said he came of a race who never forgot a kindness or forgave an injury. randolph was sixth in descent from pocahontas, through jane rolfe, her grand-daughter. "and," as john esten cook says, "the blood of powhatan mingled with that of his old enemies. dead for many years, and asleep in his sepulcher at orapax, the savage old emperor still spoke in the voice of his great descendant, the orator of roanoke." the crafty powhatan, seeing how much superior the english weapons were to his own, determined to possess some of them. accordingly, after sparing the life of captain smith, he told him that they were now friends and that he would presently send him home, and when he arrived at jamestown he must send him two great guns and a grindstone. he also promised to consider him his son and give him the country of capahowosick. smith was shortly afterward sent to jamestown with twelve guides and arrived safely after seven weeks' captivity. here he treated his savage guides with great hospitality and showed rawhunt, their leader, two demi-culverins (long cannon carrying a nine-pound shot) and a millstone to carry to powhatan. the indians, however, "found them somewhat too heavy." to give them a wholesome fright, smith caused a cannon to be loaded with stone and fired among the boughs of trees filled with icicles. the effect may easily be imagined. presents of various toys and trinkets were now given the indians for powhatan and his family and they went away satisfied. during the same winter smith visited powhatan in company with newport. attended by a guard of thirty or forty men they sailed as far as we-ro-wo-co-mo-co the first day. here newport's courage failed him. but smith, with twenty men, went on and visited the chief at his town. powhatan exerted himself to the utmost to give his adopted son a royal entertainment. the warriors shouted for joy to see smith; orations were addressed to him and a plentiful feast provided to refresh him after his journey. the great sachem received him, reclining upon his bed of mats, his pillow of dressed skin lying beside him with its brilliant embroidery of shells and beads, and his dress consisting chiefly of a handsome fur robe. along the sides of the house sat twenty comely females, each with her head and shoulders painted red and a great chain of white beads about her neck. "before these sat his chiefest men in like order, and more than fortie platters of fine bread stood in two piles on each side of the door. foure or five hundred people made a guard behind them for our passage; and proclamation was made, none upon paine of death to presume to doe us any wrong or discourtesie. with many pretty discourses to renew their old acquaintance, this great king and our captain spent the time, till the ebbe left our barge aground. then renewing their feast with feates, dauncing and singing, and such like mirth, we quartered that night with powhatan." the next day captain newport came ashore and was received with savage pomp, smith taking the part of interpreter. newport presented powhatan with a boy named thomas salvage. in return the chief gave him a servant of his named namontack, and several days were spent in 'feasting, dancing and trading, during which time the old sachem manifested so much dignity and so much discretion as to create a high admiration of his talents in the minds of his guests. newport had brought with him a variety of articles for barter, such as he supposed would command a high price in corn. not finding the lower class of indians profitable, as they dealt on a small scale and had but little corn to spare, he was anxious to drive a bargain with powhatan himself. this, however, the haughty chief affected to decline and despise. "captain newport," said he, "it is not agreeable to my greatness to truck in this peddling manner for trifles. i am a great werowance and i esteem you the same. therefore lay me down all your commodities together; what i like i will take and in return you shall have what i conceive to be a fair value." newport fell into the trap. he did as requested, contrary to smith's advice. powhatan selected the best of his goods and valued his corn so high that smith says it might as well have been purchased in old spain. they did not get four bushels, where they expected twenty hogsheads. it was now smith's turn to try his skill; and he made his experiment not upon the sagacity of powhatan but upon his simplicity. picking up a string of large brilliant blue beads he contrived to glance them as if by accident, so that their glint attracted the eye of the chief, who at once became eager to see them. smith denied having them, then protested he could not sell them as they were made of the same stuff as the sky and only to be worn by the greatest kings on earth. powhatan immediately became "half-mad" to own "such strange jewels." it ended by smith securing two or three hundred bushels of corn for a pound or two of blue beads. having loaded their barges, they floated with the next tide. they also visited ope-chan-ca-nough before their return and "fitted this chief with blue beads on the same terms." on september , , smith was made president of the colony and things had begun to run smoothly when the marplot newport returned with several wild schemes. he brought with him orders from king james for a coronation of powhatan as emperor, together with elaborate presents for the old chief. a more foolish thing was never perpetrated. smith, with his usual hard sense, protested against it. he well knew that it would tend to increase the haughty chief's notions of his own importance and make it impossible to maintain friendly relations with him. finding his opposition in vain he insisted on at least trying to get powhatan to come to jamestown for the ceremony, and even offered to go himself and extend the invitation to the chief. smith took with him four companions only and went across the woods by land, about twelve miles, to we-ro-wo-co-mo-co. powhatan was then absent at a distance of twenty or thirty miles. pocahontas immediately sent for him and he arrived the following day. smith now delivered his message desiring him to visit "his father" newport at jamestown for the purpose of receiving the newly arrived presents and also concerting a campaign in common against the monacans. but this proud representative in the american forest of the divine right of kings haughtily replied, "if your king has sent me a present, i also am a king and this is my land; eight days i will stay to receive them. your father is to come to me, not i to him, nor yet to your fort neither will i bite at such a bait; as for the monacans i can revenge my own injuries." "this is the lofty potentate," says a charming writer, "whom smith could have tickled out of his senses with a glass bead and who would have infinitely preferred a big shining copper kettle to the misplaced honor intended to be thrust upon him, but the offer of which puffed him up beyond the reach of negotiation." after some further general conversation smith returned with his answer. if the mountain would not come to mahomet, then mahomet must go to the mountain. the presents were sent by water around to we-ro-wo-co-mo-co and the two captains with a guard of fifty men went by land. smith describes the ridiculous ceremony of the coronation, the last act of which shows that the old sachem himself saw the size of the joke. "the presents were brought him, his basin and ewer, bed and furniture setup, his scarlet cloak and apparel with much adoe put on him, being assured they would not hurt him. but a foule trouble there was to make him kneel to receive his crown; he not knowing the majesty, nor wearing of a crown, nor bending of the knee, endured so many persuasions, examples and instructions as tyred them all. at last by bearing hard on his shoulders, he a little stooped, and three having the crown in their hands, put it on his head, when by the warning of a pistoll the boats were prepared with such a volly of shot, that the king started up in a horrible feare, till he saw all was well. then, remembering himself, to congratulate their kindness, he gave his old shoes (moccasins) and his mantell (of raccoon skins) to captain newport." the mountain labored and brought forth a mouse. little was heard of powhatan for some time after this, except occasionally through the medium of some of his tribes, who refused to trade with the english in consequence of his orders to that effect. he had evidently become jealous, but appearances were still kept up, and in december, , the emperor (for he is now one of the crowned heads) invited the captain to visit him. he wanted his assistance in building a house, and if he would bring with him a grindstone, fifty swords, a few muskets, a cock and hen, with a quantity of beads and copper, he might depend upon getting a ship load of corn. smith accepted the invitation and set off with a pinnace and two barges manned by forty-six volunteers. it was on this occasion that a severe storm drove smith and his men to seek shelter and spend christmas with friendly indians, where they enjoyed the good cheer and hospitality mentioned elsewhere in this narrative. they reached we-ro-wo-co-mo-co january , quartered without much ceremony at the first house they found, and sent to powhatan for a supply of provisions. the wily old chief furnished them with plenty of bread, venison and turkeys, but pretended not to have sent for them at all. in reply smith asked if he had forgotten his own invitation thus suddenly, and then produced the messengers who had carried it, and who happened to be near at hand. powhatan affected to regard the whole affair as a mere joke and laughed heartily. smith reproached him with deceit and hostility. the chief replied by wordy evasions and seemed very indifferent about his new house. he demanded guns and swords in exchange for corn, which smith, of course, refused. by this time the captain was provoked and gave the chief to understand that necessity might force him to use disagreeable expedients in relieving his own wants and the need of the colony. powhatan listened to this declaration with cool gravity and replied with corresponding frankness. said he, "i will spare you what i can and that within two days. but, captain smith, i have some doubts as to your object in this visit. i am informed that you wish to conquer more than to trade, and at all events you know my people must be afraid to come near you with their corn so long as you go armed and with such a retinue. lay aside your weapons then. here they are needless. we are all friends, all powhatans." the information here alluded to was probably gained from the two dutchmen who had deserted the colony and gone among the indians. a great contest of ingenuity now ensued between the englishman and the savage, the latter endeavoring to temporize only for the purpose of putting smith and his men off their guard. he especially insisted on the propriety of laying aside their arms. "captain smith," he continued, "i am old and i know well the difference between peace and war. i wish to live quietly with you and i wish the same for my successors. now, rumors which reach me on all hands make me uneasy. what do you expect to gain by destroying us who provide you with food? and what can you get by war if we escape you and hide our provisions in the woods? we are unarmed, too, you see. do you believe me such a fool as not to prefer eating good meat, sleeping quietly with my wives and children, laughing and making merry with you, having copper and hatchets and anything else--as your friend--to flying from you as your enemy, lying cold in the woods, eating acorns and roots, and being so hunted by you meanwhile that if but a twig break, my men will cry out, 'there comes captain smith.' let us be friends, then. do not invade us with such an armed force. lay aside these arms." but smith was proof against this eloquence, which, it will be conceded, was of a high order. believing the chief's purpose was to disarm the english and then massacre them, he ordered the ice broken and the pinnace brought nearer shore. more men were then landed preparatory to an attack. the white man and the indian were well matched in general intelligence, insight into character and craftiness. no diplomacy inferior to that of the indian emperor could have so long retained the upper hand of smith. no leader of less courage and resources than john smith could so long have maintained a starving colony in the hostile dominions of the great powhatan. while waiting until the re-enforcements could land. smith tried to keep powhatan engaged in a lengthy conversation. but the indian outwitted him. leaving three of his handsomest and most entertaining wives to occupy smith's attention, powhatan slipped through the rear of his bark dwelling and escaped, while his warriors surrounded the house. when smith discovered the danger he rushed boldly out. flourishing his sword and firing his pistol at the nearest savage he escaped to the river, where his men had just landed. the english had already traded a copper kettle to powhatan for eighty bushels of corn. this was now delivered, and with loaded muskets they forced the indians to fill the boat. by the time this was done night had come on, but the loaded vessel could not be moved until high tide. smith and his men must remain ashore until morning. powhatan and his warriors plotted to attack them while at their supper. once again pocahontas saved smith. slipping into the camp she hurriedly warned him of his danger and revealed the whole plot. the captain offered her handsome presents and rewards, but with tears in her eyes she refused them all, saying it would cost her her life to be seen to have them. {illustration: pocahontas, or lady rebecca.} presently ten lusty warriors came bearing a hot supper for the english and urging them to eat. but smith compelled the waiters first to taste their own food as an assurance against poison. he then sent them back to tell powhatan the english were ready for him. no one was permitted to sleep that night, but all were ordered to be ready to fight any moment, as large numbers of indians could be seen lurking around. their vigilance saved them, and with the high tide of the morning the homeward trip was commenced. such benefits resulted from the marriage of rolfe and pocahontas that governor dale piously ascribed it to the divine approval resting on the conversion of the heathen, and reflecting that another daughter of powhatan would form an additional pledge of peace, sent ralph hamer and the interpreter, thomas savage, to powhatan to procure a second daughter for himself. they found the aged chief at matchcat, further up the river than we-ro-wo-co-mo-co, and after a pipe of tobacco had been passed around powhatan inquired anxiously about his daughter's welfare, "her marriage, his unknown son, and how they liked, lived and loved together." hamer answered that they "lived civilly and lovingly together," and "that his daughter was so well content that she would not change her life to return and live with him, whereat he laughed heartily and said he was very glad of it." powhatan now asked the particular cause of mr. hamer's visit. on being told it was private, the emperor ordered the room cleared of all except the inevitable pair of queens, who sat on either side of the monarch. hamer began by saying that he was the bearer of a number of presents from governor dale, consisting of coffee, beads, combs, fish hooks and knives, and a promise of the much-talked-of grindstone whenever powhatan would send for it. he then added that the governor, hearing of the fame of the emperor's youngest daughter, was desirous of making her "his nearest companion and wife." he conceived there could not be a finer bond of union between the two people than such a connection; and, besides, pocahontas was exceedingly anxious for her sister's companionship at jamestown. he hoped that powhatan would at least suffer her to visit the colony when he should return. powhatan more than once came very near interrupting the delivery of this message. but he controlled himself, and when hamer had finished, the emperor gracefully acknowledged the compliment, but protested that his daughter had been three days married to a certain young chief. to this the brazen hamer replied that this was nothing; that the groom would readily relinquish her for the ample presents which governor dale would make, and further that a prince of his greatness might easily exert his authority to reclaim his daughter on some pretext. to this base proposition the old sachem made an answer of which the nobility and purity might have put to shame the unscrupulous hamer. he confessed that he loved his daughter as his life and though he had many children he delighted in her most of all. he could not live without seeing her every day and that would be impossible if she went among the colonists, for he had resolved upon no account to put himself in their power or to visit them. he desired no other pledge of friendship than the one already existing in the marriage of his pocahontas, unless she should die, in which case he would give up another child. he concluded with the following pathetic eloquence: "i hold it not a brotherly part for your king to endeavor to bereave me of my two darling children at once. give him to understand that if he had no pledge at all, he need not distrust any injury from me or my people. there has already been too much of blood and war; too many of my people and of his have already fallen in our strife, and by my occasion there shall never be any more. i, who have power to perform it, have said it; no, not though i should have just occasion offered, for i am now grown old and would gladly end my few remaining days in peace and quiet. even if the english should offer me injury, i would not resent it. my country is large enough and i would remove myself further from you. i hope this will give satisfaction to my brother, he can not have my daughter. if he is not satisfied, i will move three days' journey from him and never see englishmen more." his speech was ended. the barbarian's hall of state was silent. the council fire unreplenished had burned low during the interview and the great crackling logs lay reduced to a dull heap of embers--fit symbol of the aged chieftain who had just spoken. as mason well says, "call him a savage, but remember that his shining love for his daughter only throws into darker shadow the infamous proposition of the civilized englishman to tear away the three days' bride from the arms of her indian lover and give her to a man who had already a wife in england. call him a barbarian, but forget not that when his enemies hungered he gave them food. when his people were robbed, whipped and imprisoned by the invaders of his country, he had only retaliated and had never failed to buy the peace to which he was entitled without money and without price. call him a heathen, but do not deny that when he said that, if the english should do him an injury, he would not resent it but only move further from them, he more nearly followed the rule of the master, of whom he was ignorant, than did the faithless, pilfering adventurers at the fort, who rolled their eyes heavenward and called themselves christians." no candid person can read the history of this famous indian with an attentive consideration of the circumstances under which he was placed without forming a high estimate of his character as a warrior, statesman and a patriot. his deficiencies were those of education and not of genius. his faults were those of the people whom he governed and of the period in which he lived. his great talents, on the other hand, were his own and these are acknowledged even by those historians who still regard him with prejudice. smith calls him "a prince of excellent sense and parts, and a great master of all the savage arts of government and policy." he died in , just one year after the untimely death of pocahontas, "full of years and satiated with fightings, and the delights of savage life." he is a prominent character in the early history of our country and well does he deserve it. in his prime he was as ambitious as julius caesar and not less successful, considering his surroundings. he and pocahontas were the real "f. f. v.'s," for, beyond controversy, they were of the "first families of virginia." chapter iii massasoit. the friend of the puritans. "welcome, englishmen!" a terrific peal of thunder from a cloudless sky would not have astonished the plymouth fathers as did these startling words. it was march , , a remarkably pleasant day, and they had assembled in town meeting to plan and discuss ways and means for the best interests of the colony. so engrossed were they with the matter under consideration they did not notice the approach of a solitary indian as he stalked boldly through the street of this village until he advanced towards the astonished group, and with hand outstretched in a friendly gesture and with perfectly intelligible english addressed them with the words, "welcome, englishmen!" the astonished settlers started to their feet and grasped their ever ready weapons. but reassured by his friendly gestures and hearty repetition of the familiar english phrase in which only kindness lurked, the settlers cordially returned his greeting and reciprocated his "welcome," which is the only one the pilgrims ever received. "he who would have friends must show himself friendly." this their dusky guest had done and it paved the way for a pleasant interview, which resulted in mutual good. knowing that the way to the heart lies through the stomach, they at once gave their visitor "strong water, biscuit, butter, cheese and some pudding, with a piece of mallard." the heart of the savage was gained: the taciturnity characteristic of his race gave way and he imparted valuable information, much of it pertaining to things they had long desired to know. they ascertained that his name was samoset, that he was a subordinate chief of the wampanoag tribe, and his hunting-grounds were near the island of monhegan, which is at the mouth of penobscot bay. with a strong wind it was but a day's sail eastward, but it required five days to make the journey by land. this was a noted fishing place and he had learned something of the english language from crews of fishing vessels which frequented his coast. he told them the country in their vicinity was called pawtuxet; that four years previous a terrible pestilence had swept off the tribes that inhabited the district, so that none remained to claim the soil. he also informed them that a powerful sachem named massasoit was their nearest neighbor. he lived about montaup (afterward corrupted by the english into mount hope), and was chief of the wampanoag tribe as well as head sachem of the pokanoket confederacy of thirty tribes. massasoit, he said, was disposed to be friendly. but another tribe, called the nausets, were greatly incensed against the english, and with just cause. samoset was able to define this cause, which also served to explain the fierce attack the pilgrims received from the savages in their memorable "first encounter." it seems that a captain by the name of hunt who had been left in charge of a vessel by captain john smith, while exploring the coast of new england in , had exasperated the indians beyond endurance. captain smith thus records this infamous crime in his "generale historie of new england." "he (hunt) betraied foure and twentie of these poore salvages aboord his ship, and most dishonestly and inhumanely for their kind usage of me and all our men, carried them with him to maligo, and there for a little private gaine sold those silly salvages for rials of eight; but this vilde act kept him ever after from any more emploiement to these parts." samoset had heard from his red brothers all about this kidnapping, as well as the attack on the pilgrims in revenge for it. the sequel of hunt's outrageous crime is quite interesting. he sold his victims, as we have seen, at malaga, for eighty pounds each, but some of them, including an indian by the name of squanto, were ransomed and liberated by the monks of that island. squanto now went first to cornhill, england, afterward to london. here he acquired some knowledge of the english language and obtained the friendship and sympathy of mr. john slaney, a merchant of that city, who protected him and determined to send the poor exile back to his native land. about this time ( ) sir f. gorges was preparing to send a ship to new england under the command of captain thomas dermer, and it was arranged for squanto to embark on board this ship. "when i arrived," says dermer in his letter to purchas, "at my savage's native country, finding all dead (because of the pestilence), i traveled along a day's journey to a place called nummastaquyt, where, finding inhabitants, i dispatched a messenger a day's journey further west, to pacanokit, which bordereth on the sea; whence came to see me two kings, attended with a guard of fifty armed men, who being well satisfied with that my savage and i discoursed unto them (being desirous of novelty) gave me content in whatsoever i demanded. here i redeemed a frenchman and afterwards another at masstachusitt, who three years since escaped shipwreck at the northeast of cape cod." one of these two "kings," as the sachems were frequently entitled by the early writers, must have been massasoit, the other was probably his brother, quadepinah. the good captain dermer was faithful to his trust and delivered the poor exile squanto to his native land, but not to his own people at plymouth, as they had been swept off by the pestilence in his absence. he, however, became a loyal subject of massasoit. he was introduced to the english settlers at plymouth by samoset on his third visit. squanto was disposed to return good for evil, and forgetting the outrage of the knave who had kidnapped him and remembering only the great kindness which he had received from his benefactor, mr. slaney, and from the people generally in london, in generous requital now attached himself cordially to the pilgrims and became their firm friend. his residence in england, as we have stated, had rendered him quite familiar with the english language, and he proved invaluable, not only as an interpreter, but also in instructing them respecting fishing, woodcraft, planting corn and other modes of obtaining support in the wilderness. squanto brought the welcome intelligence that his sovereign chief, the great massasoit, had heard of the arrival of the pilgrims and was approaching to pay them a friendly visit, attended by a retinue of sixty warriors. an hour later massasoit and his warriors, accompanied by his brother, quadepinah (sometimes written quadequina) appeared on a neighboring hill. the wily sachem was well acquainted with the conduct of the unprincipled hunt and other english seamen who had skirted the coast and committed all manner of outrages on the natives, and he was too wary to place himself in the power of strangers, respecting whom he entertained such well grounded suspicions. he therefore took a position on a hill where he could not be taken by surprise and in case of attack could retreat if necessary. as they seemed unwilling to approach nearer, squanto was sent to ascertain their designs, and was informed that they wished some one should be sent to hold a parley. edward winslow was appointed to discharge this duty, and he immediately waited on the sachem and conveyed a present consisting of a pair of knives and a copper chain with a jewel attached to it. also a knife, a jewel to hang on his ear, "a pot of strong water, a good quantity of biscuit and some butter" for quadepinah. massasoit received him with dignity, yet with courtesy. mr. winslow, with the aid of squanto as interpreter, addressed the chief in a speech of some length, to which the indians listened with the decorous gravity characteristic of the race. the purport of the speech was that king james saluted the sachem, his brother, with the words of peace and love; that he accepted him as his friend and ally; and that the governor desired to see him and to trade and treat with him upon friendly terms. massasoit made no special reply to these words, probably for the sufficient reason that he did not fully comprehend the drift of it, except the last clause. he observed the sword and armor of winslow during the harangue, and, when he had ceased speaking, signified his disposition to commence the proposed trade immediately by buying them. they were not, however, for sale; and after a brief parley winslow was left behind as a hostage in the custody of quadepinah, while massasoit and twenty unarmed followers met standish, williamson and six musketeers at the brook which divided the parties. {illustration: ope-chan-ca-nough.} the sachem and his retinue, marching in indian file one behind the other, led by the chief, were escorted to the best house in the village. here a green rug was spread upon the floor and several cushions piled on it for his accommodation. presently governor carver entered the house in as great state as he could command, with beat of drum and blare of trumpet, and a squad of armed men as a bodyguard. the governor took the hand of massasoit and kissed it. the indian chieftain immediately imitated his example and returned the salute. the two leaders now sat down together and regaled themselves with refreshments consisting chiefly of "strong waters, a thing the savages love very well; and the sachem took such a large draught of it at once as made him sweat all the while he staid." the white man's "firewater" thus in evidence in this treaty has been the most fruitful source of the red man's ruin from that day to the present time. following are the terms of the treaty concluded upon this occasion: . that neither he nor any of his (massasoit's) should injure or do hurt to any of their people. . that if any of his did any hurt to any of theirs, he should send the offender, that they might punish him. . that if anything were taken away from any of theirs, he should cause it to be restored, and they should do the like to his. . that if any did unjustly war against him, they would aid him; and if any did war against them, he should aid them. . that he should send to his neighbor confederates, to inform them of this, that they might not wrong them, but might be like wise comprised in these conditions of peace. . that when his came to them upon any occasion, they should leave their arms behind them. . that so doing, their sovereign lord, king james, would esteem him as his friend and ally. such was the first treaty made with the indians of new england, which remained in force fifty-four years. nor was massasoit or any of the wampanoags during his lifetime convicted by the harshest revilers of his race of having violated or attempted to violate any of its provisions. it was eminently satisfactory to both parties to the compact, but a close reading will show hints (as usual) of the white man overreaching his red brother. in the first place they got an immense territory for a few baubles and gewgaws, part of which were utterly useless. then, too, the indians were required to come unarmed in their interviews with the pilgrims, but we fail to find it stated that the white men should leave their pieces behind them on going among the indians. it is also noticed that the indians were to aid the english should any foe war against them, and the english should aid the indians should any foe "unjustly war against them." why this word "unjustly" on the one side and not on the other? and who was to decide the matter? certainly the puritans. but to their credit be it said, they did send aid to their ally promptly in his time of need, as we shall see. massasoit is thus described in the pilgrim's journal: "in his person he is a very lusty man in his best years, an able body, grave of countenance and spare of speech; in his attire little or nothing differing from the rest of his followers, save only in a great chain of white beads about his neck; behind his neck, attached to the chain, hangs a pouch of tobacco which he drank (smoked) and gave us to drink. his face was painted with a seal red, and he was oiled both head and face that he looked greasily." he and his companions were picturesquely dressed in skins and plumes of brilliant colors. being tall, strongmen, and the first natives whom most of the colonists had ever seen near at hand, they must have impressed them as a somewhat imposing as well as interesting spectacle. after the conclusion of this famous treaty, massasoit was conducted by the governor to the brook and rejoined his party, leaving hostages behind. presently his brother, quadepinah, came over with a retinue, and was entertained with like hospitality. the next day, on an invitation from the chief, standish and allerton returned his visit and were regaled with "three or four ground-nuts and some tobacco." governor carver sent for the chief's kettle and returned it "full of pease, which pleased them well, and so they went their way." the next interview the colonists had with massasoit was in july, . at this time an embassy consisting of edward winslow and stephen hopkins, with squanto as interpreter, was sent to make the sachem a formal visit at montaup, his seat near the narragansett bay. the objects of this embassy were, says mourt, "that forasmuch as his subjects came often and without fear upon all occasions amongst us, becoming, in fact, a sad annoyance to the colonists as they went to the sea shore in search of lobsters and to fish. men, women and children always hanging about the village, clamorous for food and pertinaciously inquisitive." it was partly to abate this nuisance and "partly," says the old chronicle, "to know where to find our savage allies, if occasion served, as also to see their strength, explore the country, make satisfaction for some injuries conceived to have been done on our parts, and to continue, the league of peace and friendship between them and us." the "injuries" here mentioned refer to the fact that the colonists shortly after their arrival found corn buried in the ground. seeing no inhabitants in the neighborhood, "but some graves of the dead newly buried," they took the corn with the intention of making full satisfaction for it whenever it became practicable. the owners of it were supposed to have fled through fear. it was now proposed that the owners of this corn should be informed by massasoit, if they could be found, that the english were ready to pay them with an equal quantity of corn, english meal, or "any other commodities they had to pleasure them withal"; and full satisfaction was offered for any trouble which the sachem might do them the favor to take. all of which shows that the pilgrim fathers were scrupulously just in their dealings with the indians. the two ambassadors and their guide, bearing presents for the sachem, started on their journey through the forest. much they marveled at the well-nigh infallible skill of squanto in always leading right, even when confronted with a mazy labyrinth of paths pointing in every direction. they met several bands of indians en route, and partook of such hospitality as they had to offer. their number was augmented by six stalwart savages, who insisted not only on bearing them company but bearing their arms and baggage. at the various fords the friendly indians carried the englishmen over dry-shod upon their shoulders, which is quite remarkable, in view of the proverbial laziness of the indians in general and those of the new england coast in particular. in due time the envoys arrived at montaup, or sowams, the residence of massasoit. the sachem was not at home, but was quickly summoned by a runner and was saluted by his visitors with a discharge of musketry. he welcomed them heartily after the indian manner, took them into his lodge and seated them by himself. the envoys then delivered their message and presents, the latter consisting of a copper chain and a horseman's coat of red cotton embroidered with lace. massasoit proudly hung the chain about his neck and arrayed himself in this superb garment without delay, evidently enjoying the admiration of his people, who gazed upon him at a distance. the great chief now gathered his leading warriors around him, and after the pipe of peace had been smoked by all, he answered the message in detail. expressing his desire to continue in peace and friendship with his neighbors, he promised to promote the traffic in furs, to furnish a supply of corn for seed and, in short, to comply with all their requests. the two commissioners stated the case concerning the too frequent and protracted visits of the indians to the colony with great tact and delicacy, assuring the sachem that he himself or any he might send would always be welcome. "to the end that we might know his messengers from others," wrote winslow, "we desired massasoit, if any one should come from him to us to send the copper chain, that we might know the savage and harken and give credit to his message accordingly." as it grew late and he offered no more substantial entertainment than this, "no doubt for the sound reason," as thatcher says, "that he had nothing to offer," his guests expressed a desire to retire for the night. the chief at once complied with their request in the language of winslow, "he laid us on the bed with himself and his wife, they at one end and we at the other, it being only planks laid a foot from the ground, and a thin mat upon them. two more of chief men, for want of room, pressed by and upon us, so that we were worse weary of our lodging than of our journey." the next day the two ambassadors had no breakfast, but the morning was taken up in receiving, as visitors, several subordinate sachems and their warriors, and in witnessing indian games which had been gotten up for their entertainment. about noon massasoit, who had gone hunting at dawn, returned, bringing with him two large fishes which he had speared or shot with arrows. these were soon boiled and divided among forty persons this was the first meal taken by the envoys for a day and two nights. the afternoon passed slowly away and again the two white men went supperless to bed, only to spend another sleepless night, being kept awake by vermin, hunger and noise of the savages. friday morning they arose at dawn resolved to immediately commence their journey home. at this massasoit greatly importuned them to remain longer with him. "but we determined," they recorded in their graphic narrative, "to keep the sabbath at home, and feared that we should either be light-headed for want of sleep, for what with bad lodgings, the savages' barbarous singing (for they used to sing themselves to sleep), lice and fleas within doors and mosquitoes without, we could hardly sleep all the time of our being there; we much fearing that if we should stay any longer we should not be able to recover home for want of strength; so that on the friday morning before the sun rising we took our leave and departed, massasoit being both grieved and ashamed that he could no better entertain us." it is thus apparent that massasoit, in spite of his many virtues and the conceded fact that he was the greatest chief of all the new england tribes of this period, was in his housekeeping the smallest possible removed above brute life. with the streams and bays swarming with fish, the neighboring forest filled with turkey, deer and other game, he and his people seem to have lived in semi-starvation. this fact is all the more startling when it is contrasted with the great abundance enjoyed by powhatan, joseph brant, red jacket and others, mentioned elsewhere, and their tribes. but it is also true of this great chief that despite his pinching poverty, when the test came he proved to be pure gold refined by fire. thatcher informs us that "massasoit's friendship was again tested in march, , when an indian known to be under squanto's influence came running in among a party of colonists with his face gashed and the blood fresh upon it, calling out to them to flee for their lives, and then looking behind him as if pursued. on coming up he told them that the indians under massasoit were gathering at a certain place for an attack upon the colony; that he had received his wounds in consequence of opposing their designs and had barely escaped from them with his life. the report occasioned no little alarm, although the correctness of it was flatly denied by hobbamak, a pokanoket indian residing at plymouth, who recommended that a messenger be sent secretly to sowams for the purpose of ascertaining the truth. this was done and the messenger, finding everything in its usually quiet state, informed massasoit of the reports circulated against him. he was excessively incensed against squanto, but sent his thanks to the governor for the opinion of his fidelity which he understood him to retain, and directed the messenger to assure him that he should instantly apprise him of any conspiracy which might at any further time take place;" this whole affair seems to have been a plot on the part of squanto, out of jealousy, to array the colonists against their ally, but happily for both parties it miscarried through the common-sense suggestion of hobbamak. early in the spring of news came to plymouth that massasoit was very sick at his home, and it was determined to send mr. winslow to pay him a second visit in token of the friendship of the colonists. that gentleman started on his journey at once, taking with him hobbamak as guide and interpreter, and accompanied by "one master john hampden, a london gentleman who had wintered with him and desired much to see the country and the indians in their wigwam homes." this hampden afterward became cromwell's distinguished friend and counselor, and is alluded to in gray's "elegy." the envoys had not gone far before they met some indians who told them massasoit was dead. the white men were shocked and hobbamak began to wail forth his chief's death song: "oh, great sachem. oh, great heart, with many have i been acquainted, but none ever equaled thee." then turning to his companions he said, "oh, master winslow, his like you will never see again. he was not like other indians, false and bloody and implacable; but kind, easily appeased when angry, and reasonable in his requirements. he was a wise sachem, not ashamed to ask advice, governing better with mild, than other chiefs did with severe measures. i fear you have not now one faithful friend left in the wigwams of the red men." he would then break forth again in loud lamentations, "enough." says winslow, "to have made the hardest heart sob and wail." but time pressed, and winslow, bidding hobbamak "leave wringing of his hands" and follow him, trudged on through the forest until they came to corbitant's village. the sachem was not at home but his squaw informed them that massasoit was not yet dead, though he could scarcely live long enough to permit his visitors to close his eyes. believing that while there was life there was hope, the envoys pressed on and soon reached massasoit's humble abode. "when we arrived thither," wrote winslow, "we found the home so full that we could scarce get in, though they used their best diligence to make way for us. they were in the midst of their charms for him, making such a fiendish noise that it distempered us who were well, and therefore was unlike to ease him that was sick. about him were six or eight women who chafed his arms, legs and thighs, to keep heat in them. when they had made an end of their charming, one told him that his friends, the english, were come to see him. having understanding left, but his sight was wholly gone, he asked who was come. they told him winsnow, for they can not pronounce the letter l, but ordinarily n in the place thereof. he desired to speak with me. when i came to him they told him of it, he put forth his hand to me, which i took. then he said twice, though very inwardly, 'keen winsnow?' which is to say, 'art thou winslow?' i answered 'ahhe,' that is, 'yes.' then he doubled these words: 'matta neen wonckanet namen winsnow'; that is to say, ' , winslow, i shall never see thee again;'" hobbamak was now called in and desired to assure the sachem of the governor's kind remembrance of him in his affliction, and to inform him of the medicine and delicacies they had brought with them for his use. winslow, who seems to have possessed some knowledge of the healing art, then proceeded to use measures for his relief, consisting of a "confection of many comfortable conserves," which soon worked a cure. the convalescent sachem said, "now i know that the english are indeed my friends, and love me; while i live i will not forget this kindness." as martyn well says, "nobly did he keep his word; for, after requesting 'the pale-face medicine' to exercise his skill upon others of his tribe, who were down with the same disease which had laid him low, his gratitude was so warm that he disclosed to winslow, through hobbamak, the fact that a widespread and well matured conspiracy was afoot to exterminate weston's colony, in revenge for injuries heaped upon the indian; that all the northeastern tribes were in the league; and that the massacre was to include the pilgrims also, lest they should avenge the fall of their neighbors." "a chief was here at the setting of the sun," added massasoit, "and he told me that the pale-faces did not love me, else they would visit me in my pain, and he urged me to join the war party. but i said, 'no.' now, if you take the chiefs of the league and kill them, it will end the war-trail in the blood of those who made it, and save the setllements." the chief's advice was afterward taken by miles standish and his men, and proved to be successful in nipping the conspiracy in the bud. {illustration: massasoit and pilgrims.} mr. winslow remained several days and his fame as a physician spread so rapidly that great crowds gathered in an encampment around montaup to gain relief from various ills. some came from the distance of more than a hundred miles. but on hearing of the plot above mentioned, immediately started for home. the other leading events in the life of massasoit may be soon detailed. in he was assaulted at sowams by a party of narragansetts and obliged to take refuge in the home of an englishman. his situation was soon ascertained at plymouth, and an armed force being promptly dispatched to his relief under his old friend standish, the narragansetts were compelled to retreat. massasoit and ninety of his people were also present at the first celebration of thanksgiving in the autumn of , and were feasted by the colonists for three days, though the indians contributed five fat deer to the festivity. oysters, turkey and pumpkin pie also graced this occasion, and no thanksgiving feast is considered _complete_ to-day without these essentials. governor winthrop records this anecdote of the great sachem: "it seems that his old friend 'winsnow,' made a trading voyage to connecticut, during the summer of . on his return he left his vessel upon the narragansett coast for some reason or other, and commenced his journey for plymouth across the woods. finding himself at a loss, probably, as to his route, he made his way to sowams, and called upon his ancient acquaintance, the sachem. the latter gave him his usual kind welcome, and upon his resuming his journey offered to conduct him home, a pedestrian journey of two days. he had just dispatched one of his wampanoags to plymouth with instructions to inform the friends of winslow that he was dead, and to persuade them of this melancholy fact by specifying such particulars as their own ingenuity might suggest. all this was done accordingly, and the tidings occasioned, as might be expected, a very unpleasant excitement throughout the colony. in the midst of it, however, the sachem entered the village attended by winslow, with more than his usual complacency in his honest and cheerful countenance. he was asked why such a report had been circulated the day previous. 'that winsnow might be the more welcome,' he answered, 'and that you might be the more happy; it is my custom.' he had come thus far to enjoy the surprise personally; and he returned homeward more gratified by it, without doubt, than he would have been by the most fortunate foray among the narragansetts." we have seen it intimated more than once that massasoit's fear of those warlike neighbors lay at the foundation of his friendship for the english settlers. it might have been nearer the truth, considering all the known facts in the case, to say that his interest happened to coincide with his inclination. at all events, it was in the power of any of the other sachems of the surrounding country to have established the same friendly relation with the colonists had they been prompted by as much good breeding or good sense. "on the contrary," as thatcher says, "the massachusetts were plotting and threatening on one hand, as we have seen--not without provocation, it must be allowed--while the narragansett sachem, upon the other, had sent in his compliments as early as , in the shape of a bundle of arrows, tied up with a rattlesnake's skin. nor should we forget the wretched feebleness of the colony at the period of their first acquaintance with massasoit. indeed the instant measures which he took for their relief and protection look more like the promptings of compassion than either hope or fear. a month previous to his appearance among them, they were reduced to such a pitiable condition by sickness, that only six or seven men of their whole number were able to perform labor in the open air; and probably their entire fighting force, could they have been mustered together, would scarcely have equaled that little detachment of twenty which massasoit brought with him into the village, delicately leaving twice as many with the arms of all behind him, as he afterward exchanged six hostages for one. no wonder the colonists 'could not yet conceive but that he was willing to have peace with them.'" massasoit was unique among indian sachems, in the fact that he was ever a lover of peace; nor is he known to have been once engaged in waging war with the powerful and warlike tribes who environed his territory. all the native tribes of new england but the pokanoket confederation were involved in dissensions and wars with each other and the white settlers; and all shared sooner or later the fate which he avoided. this chief vied with canonicus and miantonomoh, the narragansett sachems, in giving a hearty welcome to roger williams at the time of his banishment from salem, when he "fled from christians to the savages, who knew and loved him, till at last he reached the kind-hearted but stupid indian heathen, massasoit." these three friends in his time of distress shouted their welcome salutation of "wha-cheer, wha-cheer?" and grasped his hand with cordial sympathy as he stepped ashore. the reason for this warm welcome accorded roger williams the baptist, the father of "soul liberty," is obvious when it is remembered that he took great interest in the indians, so mastering their dialects as to be able to prepare "a key to the languages of america." except eliot, his coworker, he was the most successful missionary among the indians of this period. "my soul's desire," he said, "was to do the natives good." and later he wrote. "god was pleased to give me a painful patient spirit, to lodge with them in their filthy, smoky holes to gain their tongue." while at plymouth he had written a pamphlet against the validity of the colonial charter and submitted it to governor bradford. this he afterward published while at salem, and in it he said: "why lay such stress upon your patent from king james? tis but idle parchment; james has no more right to give away or sell massasoit's lands, and cut and carve his country, than massasoit has to sell james' kingdom or to send his indians to colonize warwickshire." thus did he run a tilt against the established law and order of his time; but while it endeared him to massasoit, who became to him "a friend in need and a friend in deed," it led to his banishment from salem "in winter snow and inclement weather"--without guide, without food, without shelter, he suffered tortures. "fourteen weeks," he wrote, "i was sorely tossed in a bitter season, not knowing what bread or bed did mean." he must inevitably have perished in the frozen wilderness without giving to the world his immortal idea, had he not found shelter and food with massasoit. great events turn on seemingly trivial circumstances. who shall say that massasoit, in saving the life of the great reformer, did not preserve to all time the casket containing the priceless jewel--religious tolerance. bancroft well says of roger williams: "in the capacious recesses of his mind, he had revolved the nature of intolerance, and he, and he alone, had arrived at the grand principle which is its sole effectual remedy. he announced his discovery under the simple proposition of the sanctity of conscience. the civil magistrate should restrain crime, but never control opinion; should punish guilt, but never violate the freedom of the soul." this divinely inspired idea of the pioneer american reformer is embodied in the first article of amendment to our constitution: "congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof." tracing the effect back to its cause, we find behind this first article of amendment and responsible for it, roger williams, and behind him, aiding, though in ignorance, we find the great-hearted, honest, benevolent savage, massasoit. chapter iv. king philip, or metacomet. the last of the wampanoags. the "great and good massasoit" was gathered to his fathers in the year , but to the last remained firm in his fidelity to the english. near the close of his life he took his two sons, wamsutta and pometaeom, or metacomet, to plymouth and requested the governor in token of friendship to give them english names. they were very bright, attractive young men of fine physical developments. the governor related to the aged sachem the history of philip and alexander, the renowned kings of macedon, and gave to wamsutta, the older, the name of alexander, the conqueror of asia, and to his younger brother the less renowned name of philip, and by these names they are known in history. the two young chieftains married sisters, the handsome daughters of the sachem of pocasset. the wife of alexander was named wetamoo, who, as we shall see had an eventful life and a sad and untimely death. the wife of philip had the euphonious name of wootonekanuske. alexander became sachem on the death of his father and was deeply grieved that the english were so rapidly increasing, while his people were decreasing. moreover his lands were fast slipping away to the possession of the english. year by year the territory of the wampanoags had narrowed until they had nothing left they could call their own but the two narrow peninsulas of bristol and tiverton on the east coast of narragansett bay. there were personal grievances also on both sides. with prosperity came avarice. unprincipled men flocked to the new settlements which sprang up everywhere; the indians were despised and often harshly treated; and the forbearance which marked the pilgrims with the indians was forgotten. the english were quick to notice a change in the indians and a less friendly disposition in their young chief. it was decided to summon alexander before the plymouth court to answer charges of plotting against the colony. the sachem refused to come. upon this, governor prince assembled his counselors, and, after deliberation, ordered major josiah winslow, son of massasoit's old friend, edward winslow, to take an armed force, go to mount hope and arrest alexander and bring him to plymouth. this was accordingly done, and though his rage knew no bounds, he was forced at the muzzle of a gun to march in front of his captors. the indignity offered him crushed his kingly spirit. he was taken alarmingly ill with a burning fever, caused by his fury, grief and humiliation. his warriors, greatly alarmed for the safety of their beloved chieftain, entreated that they might be permitted to take alexander home. the privilege was granted on condition that the chief's son should be sent to them as a hostage, and the sachem returned as soon as he had recovered. the warriors, accompanied by alexander's beautiful queen, wetamoo, started on the sad journey, bearing their unhappy and suffering chieftain upon a litter on their shoulders. slowly they traveled until they arrived at taunton river; there they took to canoes, but had not paddled far before it became evident that their chieftain was dying. landing, they placed him on a grassy mound under an overshadowing tree. while the stoical warriors gathered around in stern sadness and the faithful and heroic wetamoo held the head of her dying lord and wiped his clammy brow, his proud spirit departed "for the land of the hereafter." this event filled the hearts of his people with sullen and vindictive malice, for they believed alexander to have been poisoned by the english. wetamoo immediately became the unrelenting foe of the english. she was by birth a princess in another tribe, one of the numerous "squaw sachems" of new england, and able to lead three hundred warriors into the field. all the energies of her soul were aroused to avenge her husband's death. alexander was succeeded by his brother philip, who also became the head of the pokanoket confederacy, and in a few years, by his superior diplomacy, he held sway over nearly all the tribes of new england. philip, of mount hope, was a man of superior endowments and one of the few indians acknowledged by all historians to have been truly great. he clearly understood the power of the english and the peril he encountered in measuring arms with them. and yet he also saw that unless the encroachments of the english could be arrested his own race was doomed to destruction. he deliberately made up his mind to avenge his brother's untimely death; to drive the english from the country or perish in the attempt. had he belonged to the proud caucasian race, and especially the anglo-saxon division of it, he would have been called a patriot; but, belonging to a so-called inferior race, we find that hubbard and other earlier historians, whenever they had occasion to mention his name, pay him the passing compliment of "caitiff," "hellhound," "fiend," "arch-rebel" and various similar designations of respect and affection. verily it makes a great difference as to whether it was my bull gored your ox, or vice versa. philip and his wampanoags are unlucky enough, like the lion in the fable, to have no painter. at one time philip is thought to have been quite interested in the christian religion, "but," as abbott says, "apparently foreseeing that with the introduction of christianity all the peculiarities in manners and customs of indian life must pass away, he adopted the views of his father, massasoit, and became bitterly opposed to any change of religion among his people." mr. goodkin, speaking of the wampanoags, says: "there are some that have hopes of the greatest and chiefest sachem, named philip. some of his chief men, as i hear, stand well inclined to hear the gospel, and himself is a person of good understanding and knowledge in the best things. i have heard him speak very good words, arguing that his conscience is convicted. but yet, though his will is bound to embrace jesus christ, his sensual and carnal lusts are strong bands to hold him fast under satan's dominion." before the war rev. john elliot, the great apostle to the indians, made the most persistent efforts to induce philip to embrace christianity. the courtly savage had always received his arguments and persuasions politely, but without other effect. one day he took hold of a button on elliot's regulation black threadbare coat and said, "i care no more for your religion than i do for that old button. let me hear no more about it." the character of philip is further illustrated by an incident which happened in . at that time he heard that a christian-indian named assasamooyh, whom the colonists called john gibbs, had spoken disrespectfully of his father, massasoit. it was not a mere personal insult but a violation of reverence due from a subject to his king, and the offender forfeited his life, according to their code, at the hand of the nearest relative, who thus became the "avenger of blood." hearing that assasamooyh was on the island of nantucket, philip took a canoe and went in pursuit. the offender was sitting at the table of one of the colonists when a messenger rushed in breathlessly and informed him that the dreaded avenger was near the door. assasamooyh had but just time to rush from the house when the enraged chieftain was upon him. from house to house the indian fled like a frightened deer, closely pursued by philip with brandished tomahawk, who considered himself but the honored executor of justice. assasamooyh, however, at length leaped a bank and plunging into a forest eluded his foe. with difficulty the colonists then succeeded in purchasing the life of his intended victim by a very heavy ransom. the muttering warclouds grew darker and more threatening on the horizon, and while, for a time, there was no open rupture, yet many things, real and imaginary, indicated an impending crisis. {illustration: nellie jumping eagle, ogalalla sioux.} it is not recorded that the old men dreamed dreams, but young and old appear to have "seen visions." in that superstitious witch-burning age it is not surprising that many of the colonists at this time began to give way to superstitious fears. among other things it was asserted that a sign of impending evil in the form of an indian bow was clearly defined against the heavens, and during the eclipse of the moon the figure of an indian scalp was clearly seen imprinted on its disk. the northern heavens glowed with auroral lights of unusual brilliancy; troops of phantom horsemen were heard to dash through the air; the sighing of the night-wind was like the sound of whistling bullets; and the howling of wolves was fiercer and more constant than usual. these things, the superstitious declared, were warnings that the colonists were about to be severely punished for their sins, among which they named profane swearing, the neglect of bringing up their children in more rigid observances, the licensing of ale houses, and the wearing of long hair by the men and of gay apparel by the women. the more extreme even declared that they were about to be "judged" for not exterminating the quakers. historians have given philip credit for a grand scheme, conceived with deep foresight and carried on with the most crafty and persevering dissimulation--a scheme to lull the suspicions of the whites by a constant show of friendship, till a general combination of all the indian tribes could be formed to extirpate them at a single blow. the english meantime felt as if standing over a powder magazine which might explode at any time. they were fully persuaded that a plot was making for their destruction. they felt that something must be done to meet the coming storm or dissipate it before it should burst on their heads. what confirmed them in this belief was the fact that philip exerted every effort to accumulate guns and ammunition for his warriors. unlike powhatan, he succeeded in obtaining a good supply of the deadly weapons of the english, and even made a great effort to obtain the formula for making gunpowder. his men became expert marksmen and continually practiced athletic exercises, all in pursuit of their common purpose. in philip was discovered to be making warlike preparations and summoned to a conference with the plymouth government at taunton. he refused to come unless accompanied by his men. the conference took place in the meeting-house at taunton. on one side of the house were ranged philip's fierce looking warriors, attired, painted and armed as for battle. their long black hair, their eyes glittering with treachery and hate, their fantastic plumes and decorations contrasted strangely with the prim and austere puritans with plain garb, close-cut hair and solemn countenances as they ranged themselves on the opposite side of the church. the massachusetts commissioners, three gentlemen, were to sit alone near the altar as umpires. no fair-minded man can fail to admire the character developed by philip in these arrangements. philip alone was the indian orator and managed his case, which was manifestly a bad one, with such adroitness, that we doubt not prince talleyrand himself, the world's most skillful diplomat, would have assigned him a high place among diplomatists. philip charged the whites with depredations upon his cornfields and denied that he entertained any hostile design; and promptly explained his preparations for war as intended for defense against the narragansetts. evidence was at hand, however, to show that he was on terms of more intimate friendship with the narragansetts at this time than ever before. his plans were by no means perfected and he denied any hostile purposes, signed a new treaty and agreed to surrender all his guns. he is said to have been frightened into this agreement, but his history is written only by his foes. philip and his warriors immediately gave up their guns, seventy in number, and promised to send in the rest within a given time. it was also agreed in the council that in case of further troubles both parties should submit their complaints to the arbitration of massachusetts. this settlement, apparently so important, amounted to nothing. the indians were ever ready, it is said, to sign any agreement whatever which would extricate them from a momentary difficulty, but such promises were broken as promptly as made on the white man's theory, perhaps, that "all is fair in love and war." certain it is that philip, having returned to mount hope, sent in no more guns, but was busy as ever gaining resources for war and entering into alliances with other tribes. at last philip was notified from plymouth that unless the arms were given up by september , force would be used to compel the act. at the same time messengers were also dispatched to the government of massachusetts, at boston, which, it will be remembered, was chosen as umpire to arbitrate between the two contending parties. philip, shrewd enough to have perceived the jealousy and rivalry between the two colonies, set off at once to boston, and thus assumed the position of the "law and order" party. with the rarest diplomacy he flattered the massachusetts colony by certain territorial concessions and made such an adroit statement of his case, representing that plymouth had encroached on the other colonies by summoning him for trial before her own court, and virtually declaring war without consulting them, that the bostonians not only refused to help plymouth at this time but coolly criticised her action as wrong and unwarrantable. they also wrote a letter to plymouth, assuming that there was perhaps equal blame on both sides, and declaring that there did not appear to be sufficient cause for the plymouth people to commence hostilities. in their letter they wrote: "we do not understand how philip hath subjected himself to you. but the treatment you have given him, and your proceedings toward him, do not render him such a subject as that, if there be not at present answering to summons there should presently be a proceeding to hostilities. the sword once drawn and dipped in blood may make him as independent upon you as you are upon him." in short, the bostonians believed that the whole difficulty arose from the puritans' "lust for inflicting justice" and might have been avoided. it was while philip was at boston that josselyn, the english traveler, saw him. "the roytelet of the pokanokets," he informs us, "had a coat on and buskins set thick with beads in pleasant wild work, and a broad belt of the same. his accoutrements were valued at twenty pounds. . . . their beads are their money; of these there are two sorts, blue beads and white beads; the first is their gold, the last their silver. these they work out of certain shells, so cunningly that neither jew nor devil can counterfeit." philip, bent on gaining further time for his plans and preparations, signed a new treaty, in which he confessed himself the author of the troubles and stipulated to pay a hundred pounds "in such things as he had" as an indemnity for the expense to which he had subjected the colony. furthermore, he covenanted to deliver "five wolves' heads if he could get them, or as many as he could procure until they came to five wolves' heads yearly." three years now passed of strained intercourse and suspicious peace. this interval was used by the sachem to concert a most elaborate plan for the extermination of the english. ancient enmities were forgotten. all the new england tribes except the mohegans and the remnant of the pequots were united in a great confederacy, of which philip was to be the chief. the narragansetts alone agreed to furnish four thousand warriors. other tribes were to furnish their hundreds or their thousands, according to their strength. hostilities were to commence in the spring of by a simultaneous assault upon all the settlements, so as to prevent aid being sent from one part of the country to another. as philip's deep laid plans approached maturity he became more independent and bold in his demeanor. the governor of massachusetts, becoming convinced that a dreadful conspiracy was in progress, sent an ambassador to philip demanding an explanation of these threatening appearances, and desiring another treaty of peace and friendship. the proud sachem haughtily replied to the ambassador: "your governor is but a subject of king charles of england. i shall not treat with a subject. i shall only treat with the king, my brother. when he comes i am ready." just before the outbreak john borden, a rhode island man and a great friend of philip, tried to dissuade him from war. his reply is remarkable: "the english who came first to this country were but a handful of people, forlorn, poor and distressed. my father did all in his power to serve them. others came. their numbers increased. my father's counselors were alarmed. they urged him to destroy the english before they became strong enough to give law to the indians and take away their country. my father was also the father to the english. he remained their friend. experience shows that his counselors were right. the english disarmed my people. they tried them by their own laws, and assessed damages my people could not pay. sometimes the cattle of the english would come into the corn-fields of my people, for they did not make fences like the english. i must then be seized and confined till i sold another tract of my country for damages and costs. thus tract after tract is gone. but a small part of the dominion of my ancestors remains. i am determined not to live till i have no country." "this," says a writer, "is a declaration of war more striking in its origin, more true in its statements, than any with which we are acquainted. it is the mournful summary of accumulated wrongs that cry aloud for battle, not for revenge alone, but for the very existence of the oppressed. it is the sad note of preparation sounded by a royal leader that summons to their last conflict the aboriginal lords of new england." the burning words were followed by burning deeds. though still unprepared for war, the pent-up fury of his warriors could hardly be restrained. they became very insolent and boastful, and would actually sharpen their knives and tomahawks upon the door-sills of the colonists, talking in mysterious phrase of the great deeds they were about to perform. one of the most intelligent of elliot's converts was john sassamon, who had acquired considerable education, and had become quite an efficient agent in christian missions to the indians. he was also a great help to elliot in translating the bible and other books into the indian language. he lived in semi-civilized style upon assawompset neck, with his family, including a very pretty daughter, whom he called assowetough, but who was called by the puritans the less sonorous name of betty. the noted place in middleborough now called betty's neck is immortalized by the charms of assowetough. sassamon, though sustaining the most intimate and friendly relations with the english, was a subject of king philip, and became his private secretary. soon after this sassamon became acquainted with philip's conspiracy in all its appalling extent and magnitude of design. he at once repaired to plymouth and informed the governor of his discovery, but enjoined the strictest secrecy respecting his communication, assuring the governor that should the indians learn that he had betrayed them his life would be the inevitable forfeit. sassamon soon after resigned his position as philip's secretary, and returning to middleborough, resumed his employment as teacher and preacher to the indians. by some unknown means philip learned that he had been betrayed by sassamon, and early in the spring of , sassamon was suddenly missing. suspicion immediately arose that he had been murdered either by philip or some of his friends. after a search the body was found beneath the ice of assawompset pond, in middleborough. the murderers, hoping to escape suspicion, left his hat and gun upon the ice, that it might be supposed he had drowned himself or fallen in by accident; but upon an examination of the body it appeared that his neck had been broken, "which," says dr. mather, "is one _indian way of murdering._" three indians were arrested and put upon trial at plymouth, in june, before a jury composed of _eight_ englishmen and _four_ indians. in that superstitious age the colonists were but too ready to believe anything and everything which supported a charge against philip. the leader of the three indians arrested was tobias, one of philip's councilors. dr. increase mather says of him: "when tobias came near the dead body, it fell a bleeding on fresh, as if it had been newly slain, albeit it was buried a considerable time before that." matters looked very black for tobias, and blacker still when a _convenient_ indian, one patuekson, was found who, from a neighboring hill, claimed to have witnessed the death of sassamon, at the hands of tobias and the others. patuekson had not dared to tell what he had seen before this, because of fears for his own life. the three men were all convicted and hung. philip was highly exasperated when he heard of the execution. he did not deny their agency in the affair, but contended that "the english had nothing to do with one indian's killing another." to make matters worse, philip was apprehensive that he also might be kidnapped and hung, as indeed was contemplated, as we learn from a letter written by governor winslow, july , , in which he says: "i do solemnly protest, we know not anything from us which might have put philip upon these motions, nor have heard that he pretends to suffer any wrong from us, save only that we had killed some indians, and intended to send for himself for the murder of john sassamon." we are curious to know what more provocation the good governor would deem necessary before philip would have a _just "casus beli."_ the murder of sassamon precipitated the conflict. at that time philip was training his forces, but had not fully matured his plans. the narragansetts, who had entered into the plot and were to furnish four thousand warriors, were not yet ready. but philip could no longer restrain the vindictive spirit of his young wampanoag warriors, who were roused to a frenzy, and immediately commenced a series of the most intolerable annoyances, shooting the cattle, frightening the women and children, and insulting wayfarers wherever they could find them. according to abbott, "the indians had imbibed the superstitious notion, which had probably been taught them by john sassamon, that the party which should commence the war and shed the first blood would be defeated. they therefore wished, by violence and insult, to provoke the english to strike the first blow." nor had they long to wait. on sunday, june , , a party of eight indians, bent on mischief, entered the little settlement of swanzey, ransacked a house while the settlers were at church and shot the peaceful cattle pasturing on the green. becoming very much exasperated at the attempt of the indians to force an entrance into his house, a settler fired at and wounded one of the savages, who went sullenly away with bloody threats. the first blood was now shed, and the drama of war was opened. in view of the alarming state of affairs, messengers were dispatched to boston and plymouth. thursday, the th, was appointed as a day of fasting and prayer. on that day the village wore the stillness of a sabbath. the pious people were returning with thoughtful faces from the log church. the rough street, filled with stumps, wound past the cabins with their little clearings, and through the noonday shadows of the primeval forest. suddenly there were two sharp reports, two puffs of smoke, and two manly forms lay prostrate, one of them dead. the english were dumb with horror. two who were dispatched for a "chirurgeon" were shot dead in the road, at the same time red flames burst through the roofs of a dozen cabins. leaving their slain where they had fallen, sixteen men and fifty-four women and children fled to a large house, where they prepared to fight for their lives. in another part of the town six others were killed and their bodies shockingly mutilated in attempting to reach this place of safety. one story is recorded of a servant girl in a cabin, who hid two little children under a large brass kettle, fired at an indian entering the house, and, failing to kill him, beat him off by throwing a shovelful of live coals in his face, so that he was found in the woods dead from his wounds. as the terrible news quickly spread through the colonies, little companies of men were soon raised. the people besieged in the strong house at swanzey were relieved, and soon a force of more than a hundred men was collected at that ill-fated village. an expedition was sent to attack philip at mount hope; but that wily sachem, fearing a trap and seeing how untenable the little peninsula was for successful defense, had withdrawn his entire force and taken a strong strategic position in the midst of the great pocasset swamp, where he was finally located by captain church and his men. {illustration: king philip, or metacomet.} in the meantime the massachusetts troops had marched into the narragansett country, and with great show of force concluded a treaty with the narragansetts, which they faithfully observed while the colonists were in sight. the united forces then marched on philip, still intrenched in the great swamp. the colonists, knowing the intellectual supremacy of king philip as the commanding genius of the war, determined to kill or capture him, and offered large rewards for his head. after the english were led into an ambush and fifteen of them killed, they concluded that, as three sides of the swamp were surrounded by water, they had only to closely guard the land side, and philip would be starved out and forced to surrender, as the indians had but a limited store of provisions. so they built a fort and kept guard for thirteen days. but philip and his warriors had been busy constructing rafts and canoes, and one dark night he floated all his fighting men, numbering some two hundred, across the river, and continued his flight far away into the unknown and almost unexplored wilderness of the interior of massachusetts. wetamoo, the widow of his brother alexander, who was ever at philip's side, together with some of her warriors, escaped with him. he left a hundred starving women and children in the swamps, who surrendered themselves the next morning to the english. philip had now penetrated the wilderness and effected his escape beyond the reach of his foes. he had the boundless forest around him for his refuge, with the opportunity of emerging at his leisure upon any point of attack along the new england frontier he might choose. brookfield, an exposed settlement of twenty families, was the first to suffer. twenty horsemen coming to its defense, were ambushed in a deep gully, and eleven killed. emboldened by this success, three hundred indians, yelling like fiends and brandishing their bloody weapons, rushed into the settlement. the terrified people gathered for defense in the strongest house, from the loopholes and windows of which they saw the torch applied to their homes. in an hour every cabin, with all its household furniture, most of it brought from england, was a heap of smoldering embers. the indians now surrounded the house in which the people were gathered. inside, feather beds were fastened to the walls for protection. outside the indians exerted their utmost ingenuity for two days to fire the building; they wrapped around their arrows hemp dipped in oil, and setting them on fire, shot them on the dry, inflammable roof. several times the building was in a blaze, but by great effort the inmates extinguished it. one night a fire was built against the very door, but the colonists rushed out to a near-by well and procured water to quench it. when the ammunition of the colonists was running low, and they were exhausted by two days and as many nights of incessant conflict, and ready to despair, the indians made a last desperate effort to fire the building. filling a cart with hemp, flax and the resinous boughs of fir and pine, fastening to the tongue a succession of long poles, they set the whole contents on fire and pushed it against the garrison house, whose walls were as dry as tinder. but at that critical instant, when all hope was gone. major willard, of boston, with forty-eight dragoons, charged through the indians, scattering them right and left, and entered the garrison. the burning cart was rolled away from the building, and a providential shower aided in extinguishing the flames which had been kindled. the savages, after firing a few volleys into the fortress, sullenly retired. during this remarkable siege, one white man was killed and many wounded, while the indians' loss was about eighty killed. it is said that major willard, who thus rescued the people of brookfield from a cruel death, suffered military censure and disgrace for having gone there instead of remaining at hadley, where there were no indians. the fate of brookfield was also meted out to hatfield, deerfield, northfield and springfield, while north hampton, worcester and hadley, though lacking the name, became "battlefields." a curious incident is recorded in connection with the indians attack on hadley, which occurred on sabbath morning of september , while the people were attending public worship. this town had three companies organized for defense, but the suddenness of the attack caused the people to become panic-stricken; they were about to fly in the wildest confusion, like sheep assailed by wolves. suddenly a stranger of large size, commanding appearance, loud voice and flowing, gray hair and beard, appeared in their midst with a rallying cry and drawn sword. his strange military aspect, and authoritative manner, quickly inspired all with courage. they fought with desperate valor under his leadership, and after a bloody battle the savages were defeated and driven away. the people of hadley now turned to look for their deliverer, but he had disappeared, as suddenly as he had come, and was never seen again. they firmly believed him to have been the angel of the lord, and so it passed into the traditions of the place. years afterward it was discovered that the stranger was william goffe, one of cromwell's major-generals, and one of the judges who signed the death warrant of charles i., called by the royalists "regicides." many of these judges were executed when charles ii. became king. three of them--gen. william goffe, his father-in-law, gen. edward whalley, and col. john dixwell, fled to america on board the same ship that brought the first news of the restoration of the monarchy. they arrived in boston july, , and made their abode at cambridge. soon after this a fencing-master erected a platform on the boston common and dared any man to fight him with swords. goffe, armed with a huge cheese covered with a cloth for a shield, and a mop filled with muddy water, appeared before the champion, who immediately made a thrust at his antagonist. goffe caught and held the fencing-master's sword in the cheese and besmeared him with the mud in his mop. the enraged fencing-master caught up a broadsword, when goffe cried, "hold! i have hitherto played with you; if you attack me. i will surely kill you." the alarmed champion dropped his sword and exclaimed, "who can you be? you must be either goffe, or whalley, or the devil, for there are no other persons who could beat me." feeling insecure at cambridge, for charles ii. offered large rewards for their arrest, and sent officers to take them, the "regicides" fled to new haven, where the rev. mr. davenport and the citizens generally did what they could to protect them. learning that their pursuers were near, they hid in caves, in clefts of the rocks, in mills and other obscure places, where their friends supplied their wants. pastor davenport preached a sermon on the text, "hide the outcasts; betray not him that wandereth." the sermon had the desired effect, and the officers returned without capturing the regicides. finally, in , they went to hadley, massachusetts, where they remained in absolute seclusion, in the house of rev. mr. russell, during a period of about fifteen years. dixwell was with whalley and goffe most of the time until they died--the former in and the latter in --and were buried at new haven, where the colonel lived the latter part of his life under an assumed name. he, too, died and was buried at new haven. in the burying-ground in the rear of the central church, small stones with brief inscriptions mark the graves of the three "regicides." this in brief is the true story of the "angel of the lord, who delivered hadley." soon after this hadley became the headquarters of the colonists' army. quite a large force was assembled there, and most of the inhabitants of the adjoining towns fled to this place for protection. there were three thousand bushels of corn stored in the garrison house at deerfield, fifteen miles above hadley, on the western side of the river. on the th of september, , captain lothrop, with a force of one hundred men, soldiers and teamsters, was sent to bring this corn to hadley. nothing occurred until they had loaded their wagons and were on the return trip. not an indian had been seen; but all the time the lurking foe had been watching their movements, and plotting their destruction. all went well until they reached the banks of a beautiful little stream. it was a bright autumnal day. grape-vines festooned the gigantic forest trees, and purple clusters, ripe and luscious, hung in profusion among the boughs. captain lothrop was so unsuspicious of danger that he allowed many of his men to throw their guns into the carts and to stroll about gathering grapes. the critical moment arrived, and the english being in the midst of the ambush, a thousand indians sprang up from their concealment, as if by magic, and poured a deadly fire upon the straggling column. then, with exultant yells, they rushed from every quarter to close assault. the english were taken entirely by surprise, and being scattered in a long line of march, could only resort to the indian mode of fighting, each one from behind a tree. but they were entirely surrounded and overpowered. some, in their dismay, leaped into the branches of the trees, hoping thus to escape observation. the savages, with shouts of derision, mocked them for a time, and then killed them. but eight escaped to tell of the awful tragedy. ninety young men of the very flower of essex county were thus slaughtered. the little stream running through the south part of deerfield, on whose banks this dreadful tragedy occurred, has since been known as bloody brook, from the fact that the water was discolored as a result of this slaughter. captain mosely heard the firing at deerfield, only five miles distant, and immediately marched to their rescue, but got there too late. he and his seventy men, however, fell upon the indians with undaunted courage. keeping his men in solid phalanx he broke through the lines of the savages, again and again cutting down all in sight, but losing heavily every minute. aided by the swamp, the forest, and overwhelming numbers, the indians maintained the fight with much fierceness for six hours, and in the end mosely and his men would probably have shared the same fate as those for whom they thus imperiled their lives, had not reinforcements arrived at the critical moment, consisting of one hundred and sixty friendly mohegan indians under the command of major treat. these fresh troops fell vigorously upon the foe, and the savages fled, leaving ninety-six of their number dead. philip himself is said to have commanded in this bloody fight, and his men, though defeated in the end, were greatly encouraged and emboldened. the two captains, mosely and treat, encamped near by in an open space, and attended to the burial of the dead the following day. they were deposited in two pits, the colonists in one and the indians in the other. a slab has been placed over the mound which covers the slain, and a marble monument now marks the spot where this battle was fought. up to this time the colonists had acted independently of each other, but it dawned upon them at last that their only hope of avoiding utter destruction lay in union. accordingly commissioners were appointed from massachusetts, plymouth and connecticut, to form a confederation, and plan for a concerted effort, with not less than a thousand troops. this number was quickly raised, and being augmented by one hundred and fifty mohegan indians from connecticut, was placed under the command of col. josiah winslow, of plymouth. meantime the narragansetts annulled the treaty they had been forced to make with the colonists. their chief, canonchet, not only received philip and his wampanoags, but aided them in constructing a strong fortification in an immense swamp, near what is now south kingston, rhode island. it was on high ground near the center of the swamp, including several acres. the walls were an impenetrable hedge, with palisades and breast-works. here they constructed five hundred log houses, almost bulletproof. the only entrance was by means of a bridge, over deep water, consisting of the trunk of a large tree, along which persons were forced to walk in single file. as this bridge was also flanked by a blockhouse, the whole plan of the place was an admirable proof of philip's genius for war. three thousand warriors under the command of philip and canonchet soon assembled at this rendezvous, where they were attacked by the colonists on the morning of december , having been guided to the fallen tree by a treacherous narragansett indian. as the english rushed to cross this narrow bridge, they were instantly cut down by philip's sharpshooters. others promptly took their places only to share their fate. in a few moments six captains and a large number of their men were dead or struggling in the ditch. a few crossed the tree and reached the enclosure, only to fall pierced by the balls of the savages within. at last, captain church, the hero of this war, with thirty picked men, forced an entrance into the fort at a point in the rear, not so strongly defended. in a moment they were supported by hundreds more. once within the enclosure the real struggle was but commenced. the shrieks of the savages mingled with the roar of musketry. "it was," as augustus lynch mason says, "the great struggle of new england. on the one hand fought three thousand indian warriors, inspired by every feeling of patriotism, hatred, revenge, the sense of oppression, and love for their families. they fought for their native land. on the other were the colonists, the offspring of an age of intolerance and fanaticism, of war and revolution. exiled from their native land, these men of iron had wrought out for themselves rude homes in the wilderness. unless they could maintain their settlements in new england against the savages there was no place under the bending sky where they might live in liberty and peace. the inhospitable earth would disown her children. so they fought, nerved by the thought of wife and child, by the memory of the past, by the hopes of the future." the conflict raged for three hours without decisive results, but with great slaughter on both sides. the english could not be driven from the fort, nor could they dislodge the indians. at last the ammunition of the savages ran low, and above the tumult was heard the shout of captain church crying, "fire the wig-wams!" the order was obeyed, and to the din of battle was added the thunderous roar of flames mingled with the shrieks and wailings of old men, women and children, as they were roasted alive in the fiery furnaces. quarter was neither asked nor given, as the combatants fought like demons, contending for every foot of ground. when night came on, with a heavy snow-storm, the savages retreated to the smoky depths of the swamp, where many perished with the cold. the english were left in possession of the charred fort, but it was a dearly bought victory. since daybreak the colonists had marched sixteen miles and fought this terrible battle without food or rest. nor did they stop when the victory was won, but hastily collecting their dead and disabled, they placed them on quickly improvised litters, and wearily trudged away into the forest on the return march. as they slowly stumbled over the rough places, or plowed their way through the deep snow, bearing their slain, many a brave comrade sank by the way to rise no more. in this decisive battle a thousand warriors were killed and hundreds more were captured. besides the non-combatants, nearly all the wounded perished in the flames. the pride of the narragansetts perished in a day, but eighty english soldiers, including six captains, were killed, and one hundred and fifty others wounded. those of the indians who escaped, led by philip, again repaired to the nipmucks. with the opening of spring the war was renewed with more violence than ever. with the decline of their fortunes, the indians grew desperate, and swept the frontier with resistless fury. lancaster, medfield, groton and marlboro were laid in ashes. weymouth, within twenty miles of boston, met the same fate. on every hand were seen traces of murder and rapine. but the end was near at hand; the resources of the savages were wasted and their number daily decreasing. in april, canonchet, the great sachem of the narragansetts, and, next to philip, the master spirit of the war, was captured on the banks of the blackstone. the english offered to spare his life if he would bring about a treaty of peace. but the suggestion was scornfully rejected. it was canonchet who, when the english demanded that he should surrender some of philip's men, who were with him on a former occasion, replied, "not a wampanoag nor the paring of a wampanoag's nail shall be delivered up." when told that he must die he made this memorable answer: "i like it well; i shall die before my heart is soft, or i have said anything unworthy of myself." because he had refused to violate the laws of hospitality by surrendering his friends to certain death or slavery, his father had been murdered, his warriors slain by the hundred, his women and children burned alive in the wigwams of the fort. yet for all this he uttered not a word of reproach. scorning to save his life by the submission of his people to such conquerors, he calmly folded his arms across his kingly breast, and with head erect and eye that never quailed, received the fatal bullets in his heart. in all the lore of chivalry and war their cannot be found a more heroic soul. {illustration: philip rejecting elliot's preaching.} like his father, miantonomo, canonchet (or nannutemo, as he is sometimes called) was a friend to the heroic roger williams, who tried to dissuade him from becoming an ally to philip. mr. williams now seventy-seven years of age, told him that "massachusetts could raise ten thousand men, and even were the indians to destroy them all, old england could send over an equal number every year until the indians were conquered." to which the noble young chief proudly and generously replied: "let them come, we shall be ready for them; but as for you, brother williams, you are a good man; you have been kind to us many years; not a hair of your head shall be touched." and when the town of providence was nearly destroyed by the indians, it was canonchet who gave orders that the person and property of roger williams should be spared, and he was obeyed. and yet there are those who think the indian is devoid of gratitude. the death of canonchet, his most formidable ally, had a very depressing effect on philip, and marked the beginning of the end, for their friendship was like that of david and jonathan, strongest in adversity. other influences were also at work which were surely undermining the power of philip. having had their stores of corn and other provision destroyed by the english, and being prevented from planting more by the desolation of war, his warriors were forced to a diet almost entirely of meat. this caused many to fall a prey to disease. moreover, the allied tribes began to murmur in open discontent and rebellion, saying that philip had promised them easy victories and much plunder, but instead they had gained nothing by this war but hardship, suffering and the hatred of the english. nothing succeeds like success, but it is also true that nothing fails like failure. captain church was made commander-in-chief of all the forces, with full power to conduct the war in his own way. he abandoned the english method of warfare and fought the indians with their own methods. offers of peace were made to all who were discerning enough to see that their cause was hopeless, and various bands of indians began to lay down their arms, only to take them up again as allies to the colonists. queen awashonks, and her saconet tribe, numbering about three hundred warriors, deserted him, and fought under the command of church to the end of the war. it is said that philip never smiled again when he heard of this desertion, for he knew his doom was sealed. but wetamoo (alexander's beautiful widow, who was also the squaw sachem or queen of the pocasset tribe) and her warriors, remained faithful to his waning fortunes. at the beginning of the war, wetamoo, flushed with hope, had marched to the conflict at the head of three hundred warriors. she and her men were always in the thickest of the fight, and her forces had been reduced to a dejected and despairing band of but twenty-six followers. a deserting indian came to taunton and offered to conduct the english to a spot on the river where wetamoo and her surviving warriors were in hiding. twenty english armed themselves and followed him to a place called gardner's neck, near swanzey, where they surprised and captured every one but wetamoo herself. the heroic queen, too proud to be captured, knowing it meant slavery, instantly threw off all her clothing and seizing a broken piece of wood she plunged into the stream. but, weakened by famine and exhaustion, her nerveless arm failed her and she sank to the bottom of the stream. soon after her body, like a bronze statue of marvelous symmetry, was found washed ashore. the english immediately _cut off her head_ and set it upon a pole in one of the streets of taunton, a trophy ghastly, bloody and revolting. many of her subjects were in taunton as captives, and when they saw the features of their beloved queen, they filled the air with shrieks and lamentations. the situation of philip had now become desperate. the indefatigable captain church followed hard after him and tracked him through every covert and hiding place. on the st of august he came up with him and killed and took one hundred and thirty of his men. philip again had a narrow escape and fled so precipitately that his wampum belt, covered with beads, and silver, the ensign of his princedom, fell into the hands of the english, who also captured his wife and only son, young metacomet, both of whom were doomed to slavery and shipped to the west indies. his cup of misfortune was now filled to the brim. "my heart breaks," said he in the agony of his grief, "now i am ready to die." philip now began, like saul of old, when earth was leaving him, to look to the powers beyond it, and applied to his magicians and sorcerers, who, on consulting their oracles, assured him that no englishman should ever kill him, as indeed many had tried to do, and so far had failed. this was a vague consolation, yet it seems to have given him, for a while, a confidence in his destiny, and he took his last stand in the middle of a dense and almost inaccessible swamp just south of mount hope, his old home, where he had spent the only happy years of his eventful life. it was a fit retreat for a despairing man, being one of those waste and dismal places hid by cypress and other trees of dense foliage, that spread their gloomy shades over the treacherous shallows and pools beneath. in the few dry parts oaks and pines grew, and, between them a brushwood so thick that man or beast could hardly penetrate; on the long, rich grass of these parts wild cattle fed, unassailed by the hand of man, save when they ventured beyond the confines of the swamp. there were wolves, deer and other wild animals, and wilder men, it was said, were seen here, supposed to have been the children of some of the indians who had either been lost or left here, and had thus grown up like denizens of this wild, dismal swamp. here, on a little spot of upland, the battled chieftain gathered his little band around him, and, like a lion at bay, made his last stand. in this extremity, an indian proposed to seek peace with the english; the haughty monarch instantly laid him dead at his feet, as a punishment for his temerity and as a warning to others. but this act led to his own undoing. the brother of this murdered indian, named alderman, indignant at such severity, deserted to the english, and offered to guide them to the swamp where philip was secreted. church and his men gladly accepted the offer, and immediately followed the traitor to the place and surrounded the indians. the night before his death it is said that philip, "like him of the army of midian," had been dreaming that he was fallen into the hands of the english; he awoke in alarm and told it to his men and advised them to fly for their lives, for he believed it would come to pass. now, just as he was telling his dream, he was startled by the first shot fired by one of the english, who had surrounded his camp. seizing his gun and powder horn he fled at full speed in a direction guarded by an englishman and the traitor, alderman. the englishman took deliberate aim at him when he was only a few yards away, but the powder was damp and the gun missed fire, as if in fulfilment of the oracle. it was now the indian's turn, and a sharp report rang through the forest and _two bullets,_ for the gun was _double_ charged, passed almost directly through the heart of the heroic warrior. for an instant the majestic frame of the chieftain quivered from the shock, and then he fell heavily and stone dead in the mud and water of the swamp. the traitorous indian ran eagerly to inform captain church that he had shot king philip, and church, by a prearranged signal, called his soldiers together and informed them of the death of their formidable foe. the corpse was dragged out of the swamp, as if it had been the carcass of a wild beast, to where the ground was dry. captain church then said: "forasmuch as he has caused many an englishman's body to lie unburied and to rot above the ground, not one of his bones shall be buried." accordingly, an old indian executioner was ordered to cut off his head and quarter his body, which was immediately done. philip had a mutilated hand, caused by the bursting of a pistol; this hand was given to alderman, who shot him, as his share of the spoil. captain church informs us that alderman preserved it in rum and carried it around the country as a show, "and accordingly he got many a penny by exhibiting it." the head was sent to plymouth, where it was set up on a gibbet and exposed for twenty years, while the four quarters of the body were nailed to as many trees, a terrible exhibition of the barbarism of that age. "such," said edward everett, "was the fate of philip. he had fought a relentless war, but he fought for his native land, for the mound that covered the bones of his parents; he fought for his squaw and papoose; no--i will not defraud them of the sacred names which our hearts understand--he fought for his wife and child." philip, of mount hope, was certainly one of the most illustrious savages upon the north american continent. the interposition of providence alone seems to have prevented him from exterminating the whole english race of new england. though his character has been described only by those who were exasperated against him to the very highest degree, still it is evident that he possessed many of the noblest qualities which can embellish any character. mrs. rowlandson, who was captured by the indians at the time lancaster was destroyed, met king philip on several occasions and received only kind usage at his hands. she says in her narrative: "then i went to see king philip" (who was not present at the attack of lancaster), "and he bade me come in and sit down, and asked me whether i would smoke, a usual compliment, now-a-days, among saints and sinners, but this no ways suited me. during my abode in this place, philip spoke to me to make a shirt for his boy, for which he gave me a shilling. afterward he asked me to make a cap for his boy, for which he invited me to dinner. i went, and he gave me a pancake, about as big as two fingers; it was made of parched wheat, beaten, and fried in bear's grease, but i thought i never tasted pleasanter meat in my life." she met philip again at the rendezvous near mount wachusett. kindly, and with the courtesy of a polished gentleman, he took the hand of the unhappy captive and said "in two more weeks you shall be your own mistress again," in the last talk she had with philip, he said to her, with a smile on his face: "would you like to hear some good news? i have a pleasant word for you. you are to go home to-morrow," and she did. that magnanimity and gratitude were prominent characteristics of this great chieftain is shown by his treatment of the leonard family, who resided at taunton and erected the first forge which was established in the english colonies. though living at mount hope, philip had a favorite summer resort at fowling pond, near taunton, and thus became acquainted with the leonards, who treated him and his warriors with uniform kindness, repairing their guns, and supplying them with such tools as the indians highly prized. "philip," says abbott, "had become exceedingly attached to this family, and in gratitude, at the commencement of the war, had given the strictest orders that the indians should never molest or injure a leonard. apprehending that in a general assault upon the town his friends, the leonards, might be exposed to danger, he spread the shield of his generous protection over the whole place." thus the leonard family did for taunton what the family of lot were unable to do for sodom. the indians were often seen near, and in large numbers, but it was spared the fate of thirteen other towns, some of them larger than taunton. "his mode of making war," says francis baylies, "was secret and terrible. he seemed like a demon of destruction hurling his bolts in darkness. with cautious and noiseless steps, and shrouded by the deep shade of midnight, he glided from the gloomy depths of the woods. he stole on the villages and settlements of new england, like the pestilence, unseen and unheard. his dreadful agency was felt when the yells of his followers roused his victims from their slumbers, and when the flames of their blazing habitations glared upon their eyes. his pathway could be traced by the horrible desolation of its progress, by its crimson print upon the snows and the sands, by smoke and fire, by houses in ruins, by the shrieks of women, the wailing of infants, and the groans of the wounded and dying. well indeed might he have been called the 'terror of new england.' yet in no instance did he transcend the usages of indian warfare." though the generality of the indians were often inhuman, yet it does not appear that philip was personally vindictive. his enmity was national, not individual. nor is there any evidence that philip ever ordered a captive to be tortured, while it is undeniable that the english, in several instances, surrendered their captives to the horrid barbarities of their savage allies. as abbott well says, "we must remember that the indians have no chroniclers of their wrongs, and yet the colonial historians furnish us with abundant incidental evidence that outrages were perpetrated by individuals of the colonists, which were sufficient to drive any people mad. no one can now contemplate the doom of metacomet, the last of an illustrious line, but with emotions of sadness." "even that he lived is for his conqueror's tongue, by foes alone his death-song must be sung. no chronicles but theirs shall tell his mournful doom to future times, may these upon his virtues dwell. and his fate forget his crimes!" philip's war was not only the most serious conflict which new england ever sustained against the savages, but the most fatal to the aborigines themselves. the great tribe of the narragansetts, of old, the leading tribe of new england, was almost entirely exterminated; hardly a hundred warriors remained. the last chief of either tribe capable of leading the indians to battle had fallen. philip's son was sent to bermuda and sold as a slave. the war cost the colonies half a million of dollars, and the lives of about six hundred men, the flower of the population. thirteen towns and six hundred houses were burned, and there was hardly a family in the country that had not occasion to mourn the death of a relative. {illustration: pontiac, the red napoleon.} chapter v. pontiac, the red napoleon. head chief of the ottawas; and organizer of the first great indian confederation. it has been said that the history of the united states began with the triumph of the english on the heights of abraham, resulting in the immediate fall of quebec and the inevitable surrender of all canada. this memorable event took place september , , and from new hampshire to georgia the american colonists welcomed the news with exuberant rejoicings. but their joy was premature and of short duration, for though the french had been subdued, and were suing for peace, their indian allies, under the indomitable pontiac, had, in the language of paul jones, "just begun to fight." this remarkable sachem was principal chief of the ottawas, and the virtual head of a loose kind of confederacy, consisting of the ottawas, ojibways and pottawatomies. over those around him, his authority was almost despotic, and his power extended far beyond the limits of the three united tribes. his influence was great among all the nations of the illinois country; while from the sources of the ohio to those of the mississippi, and, indeed, to the farthest boundaries of the wide-spread algonquin race, his name was known and respected. he is said to have been the son of an ottawa chief and an ojibway mother, a circumstance which proved an advantage to him by increasing his influence over both tribes. but the mere fact that pontiac was born the son of a chief would, as parkman says, "in no degree account for the extent of his power; for, among indians, many a chief's son sinks back into insignificance, while the offspring of a common warrior may succeed to his place." among all the wild tribes of the continent, personal merit is indispensable to gaining or preserving dignity. courage, resolution, wisdom, address and eloquence are sure passports to distinction. with all these pontiac was preeminently endowed, and it was chiefly to them, urged to their highest activity by a vehement ambition, that he owed his greatness, for all authorities, and especially those who came personally in contact with him, concede the fact that he was _indeed great._ a traveler who visited his country about mentions him in the following terms: "pontiac, their present king or emperor, has certainly the largest empire and greatest authority of any indian chief that has appeared on the continent since our acquaintance with it. he puts on an air of majesty and princely grandeur, and is greatly honored and revered by his subjects." pontiac is said to have commanded the ottawas at braddock's defeat, and was treated with much honor by the french officers. the venerable pierre chouteau, of st. louis, remembered to have seen pontiac a few days before the assassination of that chief, attired in the complete uniform of a french officer, which had been given him by the marquis of montcalm, a short time before the fall of quebec. an ojibway indian told parkman that some portion of his power was to be ascribed to his being a chief of the _metai,_ a magical association among the indians of the lakes, in which character he exerted an influence on the superstitions of his followers. the great chief possessed many resources. his intellect was strong and capacious, while his commanding energy and subtle craft could match the best of his wily race. but, though capable of acts of lofty magnanimity, he was a thorough savage, sharing all their passions and prejudices, their fierceness and treachery. yet his faults were those of his race; and they can not eclipse his nobler qualities, the great powers and heroic virtues of his mind. at the time of which we write, pontiac made his home at an ottawa village about five miles above detroit, on the opposite or canadian side of the river. he lived in no royal state. his cabin was a small, oven-shaped structure of bark and rushes. here he dwelt with his squaws and children; and here, doubtless, he might often have been seen, carelessly reclining his half-naked form on a rush mat, or bearskin, like any ordinary warrior. but his vigorous mind was ever active--thinking, scheming, plotting, if you will, how to most effectually unite all the scattered tribes, many of them his hereditary foes, in one great far-reaching effort to regain what the french had lost, by driving back the english invaders from _his_ land. the first time pontiac stands forth distinctly on the page of history, or rather stalks across that page, was in , about a year after the victory of the english at quebec. on september , , the famous major, robert rogers, received orders from sir jeffrey amherst to ascend the lakes with a detachment of two hundred rangers in fifteen whaleboats and take possession, in the name of his britannic majesty, of detroit, michillimackinac, and other western posts included in the late capitulation. on november they reached the mouth of a river called by rogers the chogage. weary with their long voyage they determined to rest a few days, and were preparing their encampment in the neighboring forest when a party of indian chiefs and warriors entered the camp. they proclaimed themselves an embassy from pontiac, "king and lord of that country," and informed rogers and his rangers that their great sachem, in person, proposed to visit the english; that he was then not far distant, coming peaceably, and that he desired the major to halt his detachment "till such time as _he_ could see him with his own eyes." the major drew up his troops as requested, and before long pontiac made his appearance. he wore, we are told, "an air of majesty and princely grandeur." he saluted them, but the salutation, so far from being another "welcome, englishmen!" was very frigid and formal. he at once sternly demanded of rogers his business in his territory, and how he had dared to venture upon it without his permission. rogers very prudently answered that he had no design against the indians, but, on the contrary, wished to remove from their country a nation who had been an obstacle to mutual friendship and commerce between them and the english. he also made known his commission to this effect, and concluded with a present of several belts of wampum. pontiac received them with the single observation, "i shall stand in the path you are walking till morning," and gave at the same time, a small string of wampum. "this," writes the major, "was as much as to say i must not march farther without his leave." such, undoubtedly, was the safest construction, and the sequel shows that pontiac considered it the most civil. before departing for the night he inquired of rogers whether he wanted anything which _his_ country afforded; if so, his warriors should bring it for him. the reply was discreet as the offer was generous, that whatever provisions might be brought in should be well paid for. probably they were; but the english were, at all events, supplied the next morning with several bags of parched corn, game and other necessaries. pontiac himself, at the second meeting, offered the pipe of peace, which he and rogers smoked by turns. he declared that he thereby made peace with rogers and his rangers and that they should pass through his dominions, not only unmolested by his subjects, but protected by them from all other parties who might incline to be hostile. a cold storm of rain set in, and the rangers were detained some days in their encampment. during this time rogers had several interviews with pontiac, and was constrained to admire the native vigor of his intellect, no less than the singular control he exercised over his own warriors and all the indians in the lake regions. in the course of their conversation, rogers informs us that the great chieftain "often intimated to him that he should be content to reign in his country, in subordination to the king of great britain, and was willing to pay him such annual acknowledgment as he was able in furs, and to call him uncle." england was much in his thoughts, and he several times expressed a desire to see it. he told rogers that if he would conduct him there he would give him a part of his country. he was willing to grant the english favors, and allow them to settle in his dominions, but not unless he could be viewed as a sovereign; and he gave them to understand that unless they conducted themselves agreeable to his wishes, "he would shut up the way and keep them out." "as an earnest of his friendship," continued rogers, "he sent one hundred warriors to protect and assist us in driving one hundred fat cattle, which we had brought for the use of the detachment from pittsburg, by the way of presque isle. he likewise sent to the several indian towns, on the south side and west end of lake erie, to inform them that i had his consent to come into the country. he attended me constantly after this interview till i arrived at detroit, and while i remained in the country, and was the means of preserving the detachment from the fury of the indians, who had assembled at the mouth of the strait, with an intent to cut us off. i had several conferences with him, in which he discovered great strength of judgment, and a thirst after knowledge. he was especially anxious to be made acquainted with the english mode of war, to know how their arms and accoutrements were provided, and how their clothing was manufactured." up to this time pontiac had been in word and deed the fast friend and ally of the french; but it is easy to discern the motives that impelled him to renounce his old adherence. the american forest never produced a man more shrewd, politic and ambitious. ignorant as he was of what was passing in the world, he could clearly see that the french power was on the wane, and he knew his own interest too well to prop a falling cause. by making friends of the english he hoped to gain powerful allies, who would aid his ambitious projects, and give him an increased influence over the tribes; and he flattered himself that the newcomers would treat him with the same studied respect which the french had always observed. in this and all his other expectations of advantage from the english, he was doomed to disappointment. there seems no reasonable doubt of the sincerity of pontiac's friendship toward the english at this time, and we can not forbear thinking how different might have been the record of the historian, had the english authorities pursued a friendly and conciliatory policy toward the indians in general, and this mighty chieftain in particular. what massacres and devastation might the country have been spared. instead of "a work of love and reconciliation" toward the indians the _exact opposite policy_ was pursued by the english. flushed with their victory over the more formidable french, they bestowed only a passing thought on the despised savages, and greatly underrated their warlike prowess. a number of things tended to enrage the indians against the english invaders of their land, for such they regarded them from the first. it will be remembered that pontiac, in his interview with major rogers, made his overtures of friendship and alliance with the english _conditional._ his whole conversation sufficiently indicated that he was far from considering himself a conquered prince, and that he expected to be treated with the respect and honor due to a king or emperor by all who came into his country or treated with him. in short, if the english treated him in this manner they were welcome to come into his country, but if they treated him with neglect and contempt, "he should shut up the way and keep them out." the english _did_ treat him and his people with neglect and contempt, and as a consequence the mighty chief was justly indignant. from the small and widely separated forts along the lakes and in the interior, the red men had, with sorrow and anger, seen the _fleur-de-lis_ disappear and the cross of st. george take its place. toward the intruders--victors over their friends, patrons and allies--the indians maintained a stubborn resentment and hostility. the indians were ever lovers of the french, and for good reasons, for when, as parkman says, "the french had possession of the remote forts, they were accustomed, with a wise liberality, to supply the surrounding indians with guns, ammunition and clothing, until the latter had forgotten the weapons and garments of their forefathers and depended on the white men for support. the sudden withholding of these supplies was, therefore, a grievous calamity. want, suffering and death were the consequences, and this cause alone would have been enough to produce general discontent. but, unhappily, other grievances were superadded. when the indians visited the forts, after the english took possession, instead of being treated with politic attention and politeness, as formerly, they were received gruffly, subjected to indignities, and not infrequently helped out of the fort with the butt of a sentry's musket or a vigorous kick from an officer. these marks of contempt were unspeakably galling to their haughty spirits." moreover, the wilderness was overrun with brutal english traders, who plundered, swindled and cursed the warriors, besides changing them into vagabonds by the rum traffic. meanwhile the subjugated french, still smarting under their defeat, dispatched emissaries to almost every village and council house, from the lakes to the gulf, saying that the english had formed a deliberate scheme to exterminate the entire indian race, and with this design had already begun to hem them in with a chain of forts on one side and settlements on the other. king louis of france, they said, had of late years been sleeping, and that, during his slumbers, the english had seized upon canada; but that he was now awake again, and that his armies were advancing up the st. lawrence and the mississippi to drive out the intruders from the country of his red children. the french trading companies, and, it is said, the officers of the crown also, distributed with a liberal hand the more substantial encouragement of arms, ammunition, clothing and provisions. the fierce passions of the indians, excited by their wrongs and encouraged by the representations of the french, were farther wrought upon by disturbing influences of another kind. a great _prophet_ arose among the delawares, preaching the recovery of the indian's hunting grounds from the white man, and claiming to have received a revelation direct from the great spirit. vast throngs, including many from remote regions, listened spellbound by his wild eloquence. the white man was driving the indians from their country, he said, and unless the indians obeyed the great spirit, and destroyed the white man, then the latter would destroy them. this was the state of affairs among the indians in and . everywhere was discontent, sullen hatred and dark foreboding passion. pontiac saw his opportunity; he maintained close relations with the great delaware prophet, and, like philip before and tecumseh after him, he determined to unite all the tribes he could reach or influence in a gigantic conspiracy to exterminate their common enemy, with the help of france, whom, he intended, should regain her foothold on the continent. "the plan of operation," says thatcher, "adopted by pontiac evinces an extraordinary genius, as well as courage and energy of the highest order. this was a sudden and contemporaneous attack upon all the british posts on the lakes--at st. joseph, ouiatenon, green bay, michillimackinac, detroit, the maumee and the sandusky--and also upon the forts at niagara, presque isle, le boeuf, verango and fort pitt. most of the fortifications at these places were slight, being rather commercial depots than military establishments. still, against the indians they were strongholds, and the positions had been so judiciously selected by the french that to this day they command the great avenues of communication to the world of woods and waters in the remote north and west. it was manifest to pontiac, familiar as he was with the geography of this vast tract of country, and with the practical, if not the technical, maxims of war, that the possession or the destruction of these posts--saying nothing of their garrisons--would be emphatically 'shutting up the way.' if the surprise could be simultaneous, so that every english banner which waved upon a line of thousands of miles should be prostrated at the same moment, the garrisons would be unable to exchange assistance, while, on the other hand, the failure of one indian detachment would have no effect to discourage another. certainly, some might succeed. probably the war might begin and be terminated with the same single blow; and then pontiac would again be lord and king of the broad land of his ancestors." {illustration: montcalm trying to stop the massacre at quebec.} but it was necessary, first of all, to form a belligerent combination of the tribes, and the more extensive the better. to this end, toward the close of , dark mysterious messengers from this napoleon of the indians, each bearing a war belt of wampum, broad and long as the importance of the occasion demanded, threaded their ways through the forest to the farthest shores of lake superior, and the distant delta of the mississippi. on the arrival of these ambassadors to a tribe, the chief warriors would assemble in the council house. then the orator, flinging down the red-stained tomahawk before his audience, would deliver, with energetic emphasis and action the message from his lord. the keynote was _war!_ on a certain day in may, after so many moons, the indians, from lakes to gulf, were to take the war-path simultaneously, destroy the english fort nearest, and then throw themselves on the unprotected frontier. "the bugle call of such a mighty leader as pontiac," as mason says, "roused the remotest tribes. everywhere they joined the conspiracy, and sent lofty messages to pontiac of the deeds they would perform. the ordinary pursuits of life were given up. the warriors danced the war-dance for weeks at a time. squaws were set to sharpening knives, moulding bullets and mixing war paint. children caught the fever, and practiced incessantly with bows and arrows. for the one time in their history, a hundred wild and restless tribes were animated by a single inspiration and purpose. that which was incapable of union, united. conjurors practiced their arts. magicians consulted their oracles. prophets avowed revelations from the most high. warriors withdrew to caves and fastnesses, where, with fasting and self-torture, they wrought themselves into more fearful excitement and mania. young men sought to raise their courage by eating raw flesh and drinking hot blood. tall chieftains, crowned with nodding plumes, harangued their followers nightly, striking every chord of revenge, glory, avarice, pride, patriotism and love, which trembled in the savage breast. "as the orator approached his climax he would leap into the air, brandishing his hatchet as if rushing upon an enemy, yelling the war-whoop, throwing himself in a thousand postures, his eyes aflame, his muscles strained and knotted, his face a thunderstorm of passion, as if in the actual struggle. at last, with a triumphant shout, he brandishes aloft the scalp of the imaginary victim. his eloquence is irresistible. his audience is convulsed with passionate interest, and sways like trees tossed in the tempest. at last, the whole assembly, fired with uncontrollable frenzy, rush together in the ring, leaping, stamping, yelling, brandishing knives and hatchets in the firelight, hacking and stabbing the air, until the lonely midnight forest is transformed into a howling pandemonium of devils, from whose fearful uproar the startled animals, miles away, flee frightened into remote lairs." the time for the bursting of the storm drew near. yet at only one place on the frontier was there the least suspicion of indian disturbance. the garrisons of the exposed forts reposed in fancied security. the arch conspirator, pontiac, had breathed the breath of life into a vast conspiracy, whose ramifications spread their network over a region of country of which the northwestern and southeastern extremities were nearly two thousand miles apart. yet the traders, hunters, scouts and trappers who were right among the indians, and were versed in the signs of approaching trouble, suspected nothing wrong. colossal conspiracy! stupendous deceit! pontiac arranged to meet the chiefs of the allied tribes, from far and near, in a grand war council, which was held on the banks of the aux ecorces, or etorces, a little river not far from detroit, on april , . parkman has given us the best description of what occurred at this council. said he, "on the long-expected morning heralds passed from one group of lodges to another, calling the warriors in loud voice to attend the great council before pontiac. in accordance with the summons they came issuing; from their wigwams--the tall, half-naked figures of the wild ojibways, with quivers slung at their backs, and light war clubs resting in the hollow of their arms; ottawas, wrapped close in their gaudy blankets; wyandots, fluttering in their painted shirts, their heads adorned with feathers and their leggings garnished with bells. all were soon seated in a wide circle upon the grass, row within row, a grave and silent assembly. each savage countenance seemed carved in wood, and none could have detected the deep and fiery passion hidden beneath that immovable exterior. "then pontiac rose; according to tradition, not above middle height. his muscular figure was cast in a mold of remarkable symmetry and vigor. his complexion was darker than is usual with his race, and his features, though by no means regular, had a bold and stern expression, while his habitual bearing was imperious and peremptory, like that of a man accustomed to sweep away all opposition by the force of his imperious will. on occasions like this he was wont to appear as befitted his power and character, and he stood before the council plumed and painted in the full costume of war. "looking around upon his wild auditors he began to speak, with fierce gesture and loud, impassioned voice; and at every pause, deep guttural ejaculations of assent and approval responded to his words. said he: 'it is important, my brothers, that we should exterminate from our land this nation, whose only object is our death. you must be all sensible, as well as myself, that we can no longer supply our wants in the way we were accustomed to do with our fathers, the french. they sell us their goods at double the price that the french made us pay, and yet their merchandise is good for nothing; for no sooner have we bought a blanket or other thing to cover us, than it is necessary to procure others against the time of departure for our wintering ground. neither will they let us have them on credit, as our brothers, the french, used to do. when i visit the english chief and inform him of the death of any of our comrades, instead of lamenting, as our brothers, the french, used to do, they make game of us. if i ask him for anything for our sick, he refuses, and tells us he does not want us, from which it is apparent he seeks our death. we must, therefore, in return, destroy them without delay; there is nothing to prevent us; there are but few of them, and we shall easily overcome them--why should we not attack them? are we not men? have i not shown you the belts i received from our great father, the king of france? he tells us to strike--why should we not listen to his words? what do you fear? the time has arrived. do you fear that our brothers, the french, who are now among us, will hinder us? they are not acquainted with our designs, and if they did know them, could they prevent them? you know as well as myself, that when the english came upon our lands, to drive from them our father, bellestre, they took from the french all the guns that they have, so that they have now no guns to defend themselves with. therefore, now is the time; let us strike. should there be any french to take their part, let us strike them as we do the english. i have sent belts and speeches to our friends, the chippeways of saginaw, and our brothers, the ottawas of michillimacinac, and to those of the riviere Ã�¡ la tranche (thames river), inviting them to join us, and they will not delay. in the meantime, let us strike. there is no longer any time to lose, and when the english shall be defeated, we will stop the way, so that no more shall return upon our lands." he also assured them that the indians and their french brothers would again fight side by side against the common foe, as they did in other years on the monongahela, when the banners of the english had been trampled in the bloody mire of defeat. the orator, having lashed his audience into fury, quickly soothed them with the story of the delaware prophet, already mentioned, who had a dream in which it was revealed to him that by traveling in a certain direction he would at length reach the abode of the 'great spirit,' or master of life. "after many days of journeying, full of strange incidents," continued pontiac, "he saw before him a vast mountain of dazzling whiteness, so precipitous that he was about to turn back in despair, when a beautiful woman arrayed in white appeared and thus accosted him: 'how can you hope, encumbered as you are, to succeed in your design? go down to the foot of the mountain, throw away your gun, your ammunition, your provisions and your clothing; wash yourself in the stream which flows there, and you will then be prepared to stand before the master of life.' the indian obeyed, and again began to ascend among the rocks, while the woman, seeing him still discouraged, laughed at his faintness of heart and told him that, if he wished for success, he must climb by the aid of one hand and one foot only. after great toil and suffering, he at length found himself at the summit. the woman had disappeared, and he was left alone. a rich and beautiful plain lay before him, and at a little distance he saw three great villages, far superior to any he had seen in any tribe. as he approached the largest and stood hesitating whether he should enter, a man, gorgeously attired, stepped forth, and, taking him by the hand, welcomed him to the celestial abode. he then conducted him into the presence of the great spirit, where the indian stood confounded at the unspeakable splendor which surrounded him. the great spirit bade him be seated, and thus addressed him: 'i am the maker of heaven and earth, the trees, lakes, rivers and all things else. i am the maker of mankind; and because i love you, you must do my will. the land on which you live i have made for _you,_ and not for others. why do you suffer the white man to dwell among you? my children, you have forgotten the customs and traditions of your forefathers. why do you not clothe yourselves in skins, as they did, and use the bows and arrows, and the stone-pointed lances, which they used? you have bought guns, knives, kettles, and blankets from the white man, until you can no longer do without them; and what is worse, you have drunk the poison fire-water, which turns you into fools. fling all these things away; live as your wise forefathers lived before you. and as for these english--these dogs dressed in red, who have come to rob you of your hunting grounds and drive away the game--you must lift the hatchet against them. wipe them from the face of the earth, and then you will win my favor back again, and once more be happy and prosperous. the children of your great father, the king of france, are not like the english. never forget that they are your brethren. they are very dear to me, for they love the red men, and understand the true mode of worshipping me.'" such is the tale told by pontiac to the council, quoted by parkman from statements recorded both by indians and canadians who were present. before this vast assembly dissolved, the great chieftain unfolded his wide-laid plans for a simultaneous attack on all the forts in possession of the english. the th of may, , was named as the day of destruction, and his schemes, which were constructed with the white man's skill and the red man's cunning, met the hearty approval of all the assembled chiefs and warriors, and the great council dissolved. the plan was now ripe for execution, and with the suddenness of a whirlwind, the storm of war burst forth all along the frontier. nine of the british forts, or stations, were captured. some of the garrisons were completely surprised and massacred on the spot; a few individuals, in other cases, escaped. in case of most, if not all of the nine surprisals, quite as much was effected by stratagem as by force, and that apparently by a pre-concerted system, which indicates the far-seeing superintendence of pontiac himself. in this storm of war, the most thrilling and tragic scenes were enacted at mackinaw, or michillimackinac, and detroit. the former was the scene of a bloody savage triumph; the latter, of a long and perilous siege, in which the savage besiegers were under the personal command of the great pontiac. as it is the only recorded instance of the protracted siege of a fortified civilized garrison by an army of savages, we will tell the story in detail, but will first briefly describe the successful stratagem which resulted in the capture of michillimackinac and the slaughter of the garrison. the name michillimackinac, which, in the algonquin tongue, signifies the great turtle, was first, from a fancied resemblance, applied to the neighboring island and thence to the fort. by reason of its location on the south side of the strait, between lakes huron and michigan, michillimackinac was one of the most important positions on the frontier. it was the place of deposit and point of departure between the upper and lower countries; the traders always assembled there on their voyages to and from montreal. connected with it was an area of two acres, inclosed with tall cedar-wood posts, sharpened at the top, and extending on one side so near the water's edge that a western wind always drove the waves against the foot of the stockade. the place at this time contained thirty families within the palisades of the fort, and about as many more without, with a garrison of about thirty-five men and their officers, according to parkman. warning of the tempest that impended had been clearly given; enough, had it been heeded, to have averted the fatal disaster. several of the canadians least hostile to the english had thrown out hints of approaching danger, and one of them had even told captain etherington, the commander, that the indians had formed a design to destroy, not only his garrison, but all the english on the lakes. etherington not only turned a deaf ear to what he heard, but threatened to send prisoner to detroit the next person who should disturb the fort with such tidings. only the day before the tragic th of june an indian named wawatam, an ojibway chief, who had taken a fancy to alexander henry, a trader, who was in the fort, came over and first advised, then urged, and finally begged henry on his knees, to leave the fort that night. but all in vain! the morning of june , the birthday of king george, was warm and sultry. the plain in front of the fort was covered with indians of the ojibway, chippewa and sac tribes. early in the morning, many ojibways came to the fort, inviting the officers and soldiers to come out and see a grand game of ball, or _baggattaway,_ which was to be played between their nation and the sacs, for a high wager. in consequence of this invitation, the place was soon deserted of half its tenants, and the gates of the palisade were wide open. groups of soldiers stood in the shade looking at the sport, _most of them without their arms._ sober indian chiefs stood as if intently watching the fortunes of the game. in fact, however, their thoughts were far otherwise employed. large numbers of squaws also mingled in the crowd, but gradually gathering in a group near the open gates. and, strange to say, in spite of the warm day they were _wrapped to the throat in blankets._ baggattaway has always been a favorite game with many indian tribes. at either extremity of the open ground, from half a mile to a mile apart, stood two posts, which constituted the stations or goals of the parties. except that the ball was much smaller and that a bat or racket much like those used in lawn tennis served instead of the kick, the game was identical with our well-known football, and just as brutal. the ball was started from the middle of the ground, and the game was for each side to keep it from touching their own post and drive it against that of their adversaries. hundreds of lithe and agile figures were leaping and bounding over each other, turning handsprings and somersaults, striking with the bats, tripping each other up, every way, any way, to get at the ball and foil the adversary. at one moment the whole were crowded together, a dense throng of combatants, all struggling for the ball; at the next, they are scattered again, and running over the ground like hounds in full chase. each, in his excitement, yelled and shouted at the height of his voice. suddenly the ball rose high, and descending in a wide curve, fell near the gate of the fort. this was no chance stroke, but a part of a preconcerted stratagem to insure the surprise and destruction of the garrison. the players instantly bounded toward the ball, a rushing, maddened and tumultuous throng, but just as they neared the gates, the shouts of sport changed suddenly to the ferocious war-whoop. the squaws threw open their blankets, exposing the guns, hatchets and knives, and the players instantly flung away their bats and seized the weapons, before the amazed english had time to think or act. they at once fell upon the defenseless garrison and traders, butchered fifteen on the spot, captured the rest, including the commander, while everything that had belonged to the english was carried off or destroyed, though none of the french families or their property was disturbed. it is said that these captives were afterward ransomed at montreal, at high prices. {illustration: hollow horn bear, sioux chief.} as we have seen, it was a part of pontiac's plan that each tribe should attack the fort or english settlement nearest to them. for this reason, and because it was the largest and best fortified place, he took personal command at the siege of detroit. this settlement was founded by la motte cadillac in , and contained at this time, according to major rogers, about twenty-five hundred people. the center of the settlement was the fortified town or fort, which stood on the western margin of the river, and contained about a hundred houses, compactly built, and surrounded by a palisade twenty-five feet high, with a bastion at each corner, and block-houses over the gates. the garrison of the fort consisted of one hundred and twenty english soldiers, under the command of major gladwyn. there were also forty fur traders, and the ordinary canadian inhabitants of the place, who could not be trusted in case of an indian outbreak. two small armed schooners, the beaver and the gladwyn, lay anchored in the river, while the ordnance of the fort consisted of two six-pounders, one three-pounder and three mortars; all of an indifferent quality. the settlement outside the fort, stretching about eight miles along both sides of the detroit river, consisted of the dwellings of canadians, and three indian villages, the ottawas and wyandots, on the east, and the pottawatomies on the west side of the stream. "such was detroit--a place whose defences could have opposed no resistance to a civilized enemy; and yet situated as it was at a strategic point on the bank of a broad navigable river far removed from the hope of speedy succor, it could only rely, in the terrible struggle that awaited it, upon its own slight strength and feeble resources," as parkman well says. on the afternoon of may a canadian woman, the wife of st. aubin, one of the prominent settlers, crossed the river to the ottawa village to buy some maple sugar and venison. she was surprised at finding several warriors engaged in filing off their gun-barrels, so as to reduce them, stock and all to the length of about a yard. such a weapon could easily be hid under a blanket. that night the woman mentioned the circumstance to a neighbor, the village blacksmith. "oh," said he, "that explains it." "explains what?" "the reason why so many indians have lately wanted to borrow my files and saws." it is not known whether this circumstance reached the ears of the commander; if so, it received no attention at his hands. but, in the hour of impending doom, the love of an indian maiden interposed to save the garrison from butchery. in the pottawatomie village, it is said, there lived an ojibway girl, who could boast a larger share of beauty than is common to the wigwam. she had attracted the eye of gladwyn, who had taken great interest in her, and as she was very bright, had given her some instruction. while she, on her part, had become much attached to the handsome young officer. on the afternoon of may , catharine--for so the officers called her--came to the fort and repaired to gladwyn's quarters, bringing with her a pair of elk skin moccasins, ornamented with beads and porcupine work, which he had requested her to make. but this time the girl's eyes no longer sparkled with pleasure and excitement. her face was anxious, and her look furtive. she said little and soon left the room; but the sentinel at the door saw her still lingering at the street corner, though the hour for closing the gates was nearly come. at length she attracted the attention of gladwyn himself. the major at once saw that the girl knew something which she feared yet longed to tell. calling her to him, he sought to win her secret, but it was not for a long while, and under solemn promises that she should not be betrayed, but rather _protected,_ should it become necessary, that the dusky sweetheart spoke. "to-morrow," she said, "pontiac will come to the fort with sixty of his chiefs, and demand a council. each will be armed with a gun cut short, and hidden under his blanket. when all are assembled in the council-house, and after he has delivered his speech, he will offer a peace belt of wampum, holding it in a reversed position. this will be the signal of attack. the chiefs will spring up and fire upon the officers, and the indians in the street will fall upon the garrison. every englishman will be killed, but not the scalp of a single frenchman will be touched." gladwyn believed the maid, and the words of warning spoken, she went back to her people. the guards that night were doubled. at times the watchers on the walls heard unwonted sounds, borne to them on the night wind from the distant indian villages. they were the steady beat of the indian drum and the shrill choruses of the war-dance. the next day, about ten o'clock, the great war chief, with his treacherous followers, reached the fort, and the gateway was thrown open to admit them. all were wrapped to the throat in colored blankets, their faces smeared with paint, and their heads adorned with nodding plumes. for the most part, they were tall, strong men, and all had a gait and bearing of peculiar stateliness. the leader started as he saw the soldiers drawn up in line, and heard the ominous tap of the drum. arriving at the council-house they saw gladwyn, with several of his officers, in readiness to receive them, and the observant chiefs did not fail to notice that every englishman wore a sword at his side and a pair of pistols in his belt, and the conspirators eyed each other with uneasy glances. "why," demanded pontiac, "do i see so many of my father's young men standing in the street with their guns?" gladwyn replied through his interpreter, la butte, that he had ordered the soldiers under arms for the sake of exercise and discipline. pontiac saw at once that the plot was discovered. he did not lose control of himself, however, but made the customary speech, though the signal for attack was not given. after a short and uneasy sitting he and his chiefs withdrew with marked discomfiture and apprehension. gladwyn has been censured for not detaining the chiefs as hostages for the good conduct of their followers. "perhaps," as parkman says, "the commandant feared lest should he arrest the chiefs when gathered at a public council and guiltless as yet of open violence, the act might be interpreted as cowardly and dishonorable. he was ignorant, moreover, of the true nature or extent of the plot." balked in his treachery, the great chief withdrew to his village, enraged and mortified, yet still resolved to persevere. that gladwyn had suffered him to escape, was to his mind ample proof either of cowardice or ignorance. the latter supposition seeming the more probable, he determined to visit the fort once more and convince the english, if possible, that their suspicions against him were unfounded. accordingly, on the following morning he repaired to the fort, with three of his chiefs, bearing in his hand the sacred calumet, or pipe of peace, the bowl carved in stone, and the stem adorned with feathers. offering it to gladwyn, he addressed him and his officers as follows: "my fathers, evil birds have sung lies in your ear. we that stand before you are friends of the english. we love them as our brothers, and, to prove our love, we have come this day to smoke the pipe of peace." at his departure, he gave the pipe to major campbell, second in command, as a further pledge of his sincerity. that afternoon, the better to cover his designs, pontiac called the young men of all the tribes to a game of ball, which took place in a neighboring field, with great noise and shouting. at nightfall the garrison was startled by a burst of loud, shrill yells. the drums beat to arms and the troops were ordered to their posts; but the alarm was caused only by the victors in the ball game announcing their success by these discordant outcries. meanwhile pontiac spent the afternoon consulting with his chiefs how to compass the ruin of the english. the next day, about eleven o'clock, the common behind the fort was again thronged with indians; pontiac, advancing from among the multitude, approached the gate, only to find it closed and barred against him. he shouted to the sentinels, and demanded why he was refused admittance. gladwyn himself replied that the great chief might enter, if he chose, but the crowd he had brought with him must remain outside. pontiac rejoined that he wished all his warriors to enjoy the fragrance of the friendly calumet. but gladwyn was inexorable, and replied that he would have none of his rabble in the fort. instantly the savage threw off the mask of deceit he had worn so long, and, casting one look of unspeakable rage and hate at the fort, he turned abruptly from the gate and strode toward his followers, who lay in great numbers flat on the ground beyond reach of gunshot. at his approach, they all leaped up and ran off "yelping," in the language of an eye witness, "like so many devils." they rushed to the house of an old english woman and her family, beat down the doors and tomahawked the inmates. another party jumped into their canoes, and paddled with all speed to the isle of cochon, where dwelt an englishman named fisher, formerly a sergeant of the regulars. him they also killed and scalped. that night, while the garrison watched with sleepless apprehension, the entire ottawa village was removed to the west side of the river. "we will be near them," said pontiac. the position taken by the indians was just above the mouth of parent's creek. during the night a canadian, named desnoyers, came down the river in a canoe, and landing at the water gate, informed the garrison that two english officers, sir robert davers and captain robertson, had been murdered on lake st. clair, and that pontiac had been reinforced by the whole war strength of the ojibways. if the indians had prior to this, as it is claimed, a force of from six hundred to two thousand, these accessions would make them quite formidable. every englishman in the fort, whether trader or soldier, was now ordered under arms. no man lay down to sleep, and the commander walked the ramparts all night. not till the blush of dawn tinged the eastern sky did the fierce savages, yelling with infernal power, come bounding naked to the assault. the soldiers looked from their loopholes, thinking to see their assailants gathering for a rush against the feeble barrier. but in this they were agreeably disappointed. for though their clamors filled the air, and their guns blazed thick and hot, while the bullets pelted the fort with leaden hail, yet very few were visible. some were sheltered behind barns and fences, some skulked among bushes, others lay flat in hollows of the ground while those who could find no shelter were leaping about with the agility of monkeys, to render it impossible for the marksmen at the fort to hit them. each had filled his mouth with bullets, for the convenience of loading, and each was charging and firing without suspending these swift movements for a moment. at the end of six hours the assailants grew weary and withdrew. it was found that only five men had been wounded in the fort, while the cautious enemy had sustained but trifling loss. gladwyn, believing the affair ended, dispatched la butte, a neutral interpreter, accompanied by two old canadians, chapeton and godefroy, to open negotiations. many other canadian inhabitants took this opportunity of leaving the place. pontiac received the three ambassadors politely, and heard their offers of peace with seeming acquiescence. he, however, stepped aside to talk the matter over with the other chiefs, after which pontiac declared that, out of their earnest desire for a lasting treaty, they wished to hold council with their english fathers themselves, and they were especially desirous that major campbell, the veteran officer, second in command at the fort, should visit their camp. when the word reached campbell he prepared at once to go, in spite of gladwyn's fears of treachery. he felt, he said, no fear of the indians, with whom he had always been on the most friendly terms. gladwyn, with some hesitation, gave a reluctant consent. campbell left the fort accompanied by lieutenant mcdougal, and attended by la butte and several other canadians. a canadian met them and warned the two british officers they were entering the lion's den, but the brave men refused to turn back. as they entered the indian camp a howling multitude of women and children surrounded them, armed with clubs, sticks and stones. but pontiac, with a word and a gesture, quelled the mob, and conducted them to the council-house, where they were surrounded by sinister faces. campbell made his speech. it was heard in perfect silence, and no reply was made. for a full hour the unfortunate officers saw before them the same concourse of dark faces bending an unwavering gaze upon them. at last campbell rose to go. pontiac made an imperious gesture for him to resume his seat. "my father," said he, "will sleep to-night in the lodges of his red children." the gray-haired soldier and his companion were captives. many of the indians were eager to kill the captives on the spot; but pontiac protected them from injury and insult, and conducted them to the house of m. meloche, near parent's creek, where good quarters were assigned them, and as much liberty allowed as was consistent with safe custody. the peril of their situation was diminished by the circumstance that two indians had been detained at the fort as prisoners, for some slight offense, a few days prior to this, and it is quite possible pontiac designed to effect an exchange. late the same night la butte returned with anxious face to the fort. some of the officers suspected him, no doubt unjustly, with a share in the treachery. feeling the suspicion, he spent the remainder of the night in the narrow street, gloomy and silent. thatcher informs us concerning these two prisoners that mcdougal effected his escape, "but major campbell was tomahawked by an infuriated savage named wasson, in revenge for the death of a relative. one account says 'they boiled his heart and ate it, and made a pouch of the skin of his arms!' the brutal assassin fled to saginaw, apprehensive of the vengeance of pontiac; and it is but justice to the memory of that chieftain to say that he was indignant at the atrocious act and used every possible exertion to apprehend the murderer. doubtless had he been captured the chief would have inflicted the death penalty." it is said that the wily chieftain found out in some manner that the ojibway maiden, catharine, disclosed the plot to gladwyn, and ordered four indians to take her and bring her before him. the order was promptly obeyed, according to the diary of a canadian who was contemporary, and having arrived at the pottawatomie village, they seized catharine "and obliged her to march before them, uttering cries of joy in the manner they do when they hold a victim in their clutches on whom they are going to exercise their cruelty; they made her enter the fort, and took her before the commandant (gladwyn), as if to confront her with him, and asked him if it was not from her he had learned their design; but they were no better satisfied than if they had kept themselves quiet. they obtained from that officer bread and beer for themselves and for her. they then led her to their chief (pontiac) in the village." it will be remembered that before the girl imparted her secret, which was destined to save the lives of all in the fort, gladwyn solemnly promised that she should not be betrayed, but rather protected should it become necessary. and now the exigency has arisen; catharine and her captors are in the fort. but when did a white man ever keep his sacred word to an indian? gladwyn did not betray her, it is true, for he made no answer to the questions asked him. but he afforded her only such protection in this, her hour of peril, "as the wolf shows to the lamb, or the kite to the dove." he gave beer to the four indians, who were already angry, to enrage them still more, and also supplied catharine with beer, which may have been the starting point of her ruin, as we shall see. but he did not lift a finger to save or protect the one to whom he probably owed his life, but permitted her to be dragged from the fort into the presence of the enraged pontiac, who, according to another canadian tradition, seized a bat or racket used by the indians in their ballgame, and flogged her until life was almost extinct. an old indian told henry conner, formerly united states interpreter at detroit, that catharine survived her terrible punishment and lived for many years; but having contracted intemperate habits, she fell, when intoxicated, into a kettle of boiling maple sap, and was so severely scalded that she died in consequence. {illustration: major campbell in conference with pontiac.} pontiac proceeded to redistribute his forces. one band hid in ambush along the river below the fort. others surrounded the fort on the land side. the garrison had only three weeks' provisions, and the indians determined that this scanty store should not be replenished. every house in detroit was searched for grease, tallow, or whatever would serve for food, and all the provisions were placed in a public storehouse. the indians, with their usual improvidence, had neglected to provide against the exigency of a siege, thinking to have taken detroit at a single stroke. the canadian settlers were ruthlessly despoiled of their stores, and the food thus obtained was wasted with characteristic recklessness. aggravated beyond endurance they complained to pontiac. he heard them, and made the following characteristic reply: "i do not doubt, my brothers, that this war is very troublesome to you, for our warriors are continually passing and repassing through your settlement. i am sorry for it. do not think i approve of the damage that is done by them; and as a proof of this, remember the war with the foxes and the part which i took in it. it is now seventeen years since the ojibways of michillimackinac, combined with the sacs and foxes, came down to destroy you. who then defended you? was it not i and my young men? mickinac, great chief of all these nations, said in council that he would carry to his village the head of your commandant--that he would eat his heart and drink his blood. did i not take your part? did i not go to his camp, and say to him, that if he wished to kill the french he must first kill me and my warriors? did i not assist you in routing them and driving them away? and now you think i would turn my arms against you! no, my brothers; i am the same french pontiac who assisted you seventeen years ago. i am a frenchman, and i wish to die a frenchman; and now i repeat to you that you and i are one--that it is for both our interests that i should be avenged. let me alone. i do not ask you for aid, for it is not in your power to give it. i only ask provisions for myself and men. yet, if you are inclined to assist me, i shall not refuse you. it would please me, and you yourselves would be sooner rid of your troubles; for i promise you, that as soon as the english are driven out, we will go back to our villages, and there await the arrival of our french father. you have heard what i have to say; remain at peace, and i will watch that no harm shall be done to you, either by my men or by the other indians." pontiac promptly took measures for bringing the disorders complained of to a close, while at the same time he provided sustenance for his warriors, a veritable commissary department, "and, in doing this, he displayed," as parkman says, "a policy and forecast scarcely paralleled in the history of his race." he first forbade the commission of farther outrages, on the penalty of condign punishment. he next visited in turn the families of the canadians, and, inspecting the property belonging to them, he assigned to each the share of provisions which it must furnish for the support of the indians. the contributions thus levied were all collected at the house of meloche, near parent's creek, whence they were regularly issued to the indians of the different camps. knowing that the character and habits of an indian would render him incapable of being a judicious commissary, pontiac availed himself of canadian help, employing one quilleriez and several others to discharge, under his eye, the duties of this office. but he did another thing which revealed his genius for command, and proved him to be an indian napoleon. anxious to avoid offending the canadians, yet unable to make compensation for the provisions he had levied, pontiac issued _promissory notes,_ drawn upon birch-bark, and signed with the figure of an otter, the totem to which he belonged. under this was drawn the representation of the particular article for which the bill was valid--as a gun, a bag of corn, a deer, a hog, or a beef. these bills passed current among the canadians and indians of the period, and were faithfully redeemed after the war. as goodrich says, "the 'pontiac treasury notes,' we believe, were never below par. repudiation was unknown under savage rule in michigan and canada. let the barbarian chief enjoy the full applause due to his financial honor. his modern successors might find something in his example worthy of imitation." not one of the ottawa tribe dared to infringe the command he had given, that the property of the canadians should be respected. they would not so much as cross the cultivated fields but followed the beaten paths; in such awe did they stand of his displeasure. a few young wyandots, however, still committed nightly depredations on the hog-pen of baby, an old friend of pontiac. the canadian complained of the theft to pontiac, and desired his protection. the great chief hastened to the assistance of his friend, and, arriving about nightfall at the house, walked to and fro among the barns and enclosures. at a late hour he saw the dark forms of hog thieves stealing through the gloom. "go back to your village, you wyandot dogs," he shouted; "if you tread again on this man's land, you shall die." they slunk away abashed; and from that time forward baby's property was safe. pontiac could claim no legitimate authority over the wyandots, but his powerful spirit forced respect and obedience from all who approached him. one night at an early period of the siege, pontiac entered the house of baby, and seating himself by the fire, looked for some time steadily at the embers. at length, raising his head, he said he had heard that the english had offered the canadian a bushel of silver for the scalp of his friend. baby declared that the story was false, and assured him that he would never betray him. pontiac studied his features keenly for a moment and replied: "my brother has spoken the truth, and i will show him that i believe him." so saying, he wrapped his blanket around him, and "lay like a warrior taking his rest," in peaceful slumber until morning. some time after this our old friend rogers, of rogers' rangers, arrived at detroit with a detachment of troops, and the next day sent a bottle of brandy by a friendly indian, as a present to pontiac. the other chiefs urged him not to drink it for fear of poison. pontiac heard them through, and boldly replied "it is not possible that this man, who knows my love for him, and who is also sensible of the great favors i have done him, can think of taking away my life"; then putting the cup to his lips he drank a draught without betraying the slightest apprehension. he could practice treachery himself, yet scorned to suspect it in white men. weeks rolled by with no change in the situation at detroit. the british commander-in-chief at new york, unmindful of the indian outbreak, had, as usual in the spring, sent a detachment up the lakes with food, ammunition and reenforcements for the different forts. on may some faint specks appeared on the distant watery horizon. they grew larger and blacker. the sentry in the bastion called aloud to the officers, who eagerly ran to look with spy-glasses. they recognized the banner of st. george, floating at the masthead of the leading boat of the long expected fleet. the officer at once gave command for a salute of welcome. when the sound of the booming cannon died away, every ear was strained to catch the response. it soon came, but instead of artillery, it was a faint but unmistakable _war-whoop._ the faces of the english grew pale. the approaching flotilla was watched with breathless anxiety. when it was well in view, a number of dark and savage forms rose up in the boats. _the flotilla was in the hands of the indians._ in the foremost of the eighteen barges there were four prisoners and only three indians. in the others, the indians outnumbered the white men and compelled them to row. just as the leading boat was opposite the beaver, the one small schooner which lay at anchor before the fort (the gladwyn having been sent to hasten and escort this very flotilla) one of the soldiers was seen to seize a savage by the hair and belt and throw him overboard. the indian held fast to his enemy's clothes, and drawing himself upward, stabbed him again and again with his knife and then dragged him overboard. both sank grappled in each other's arms. the two remaining indians leaped out of the boat. the prisoners turned, and pulled for the distant schooner, shouting aloud for aid. the indians on shore opened a heavy fire upon them, wounding one of their number, and the light birch canoes gave chase, gaining on them at every stroke of the oar. escape seemed hopeless, when the report of a cannon burst from the side of the schooner. the ball narrowly missed the foremost canoe, beating the water in a line of foam which almost capsized the frail craft. at this the pursuers drew back in dismay; and the indians on shore, being in turn saluted by a second shot, ceased firing and scattered among the bushes. the prisoners thus rescued were greeted as men snatched from the jaws of death. this, in brief, was their story. lieutenant cuyler had left fort niagara on may with twenty barges, ninety-six men and a plentiful supply of provisions and ammunition. coasting along the northern shore of lake erie, they had passed the armed schooner gladwyn without seeing it, and, of course, knew nothing of the indian hostilities. on the twenty-eighth of the month, the flotilla landed at point pelee, not far from the mouth of the detroit river. the boats were drawn on the beach, and the party prepared to encamp. a man and a boy went to gather firewood at a short distance from the spot, when an indian leaped out of the woods, seized the boy by the hair, and tomahawked him. the man ran into the camp shouting that the woods were full of indians. the report was true, for pontiac had stationed the wyandots at this very spot to intercept trading boats or parties of troops. cuyler quickly formed his soldiers into a semicircle before the boats, just as the indians opened fire. for an instant there was a hot blaze of musketry on both sides; then the indians broke out of the woods in a body, and rushed fiercely upon the center of the line, which gave way in every part; the men flinging down their guns, running panic-stricken to the boats and struggling with ill-directed efforts to shove them into the water. five were set afloat, and pushed off from the shore, crowded with terrified soldier's, huddled together like sheep in the shambles. never was rout more complete or soldiers more unnerved and demoralized. cuyler, seeing himself deserted by his men, as he afterward stated, waded up to his neck in the lake and climbed into one of the retreating boats. the indians, on their part, pushed two more boats afloat and went in pursuit of the fugitives, three boatloads of whom allowed themselves to be _captured without resistance._ think of it, two boatloads of indians capture _three boatloads of english,_ who seemingly made no effort to escape the fate of horrible torture which awaited all but a few, who were enslaved. the other two boats, in one of which was cuyler himself, effected their escape, and returning to niagara, he reported his loss to major wilkins, the commanding officer. between thirty and forty men, some of whom were wounded, were crowded in these two boats. these, with the three rescued at detroit, were all of the ninety-six which survived the ill-fated expedition. the little schooner gladwyn, having passed the flotilla probably in the night or during a fog, reached niagara without mishap. she was still riding at anchor in the smooth river above the falls, when cuyler and the remnant of his men returned and reported the terrible disaster that had befallen him. this officer, and the survivors of his party, with a few other troops spared from the garrison of niagara, were ordered to embark on board of her, and make the best of their way back to detroit. the force, amounting to sixty men, with such ammunition and supplies as could be spared from the fort, was soon under sail. in due time they entered the detroit river, and were almost in sight of the fort, but the critical part of the undertaking still remained. the river was in some places narrow, and more than eight hundred indians were on the alert to intercept their passage. on the afternoon of the d the schooner began to move slowly up the river, with a gentle breeze, which gradually died away, and left the vessel becalmed in the narrow channel opposite fighting island, and within gunshot of an indian ambush. of the sixty men on board all were crowded below deck except ten or twelve, in hopes that the indians, encouraged by this apparent weakness, might make an open attack. at sunset the guards on board the vessel were doubled. hours wore on, and nothing had broken the deep repose of the night. at last, the splash of muffled oars was heard. dark objects came moving swiftly down the stream toward the vessel. the men were ordered up from below and took their places in perfect silence. a blow on the mast with a hammer was to be the signal for firing. the indians, gliding stealthily over the water in their birch canoes, thought the prize was theirs. at last the hammer struck the mast. the slumbering vessel burst into a blaze of cannon and musketry, which illumined the night like a flash of lightning. grape and musket shot flew, tearing among the canoes, sinking some outright, killing fourteen indians, wounding about twenty more and driving the rest in consternation to the shore. as the enemy opened fire from their breastwork, the schooner weighed anchor, and, drifting with the river's tide, floated down out of danger. several days afterward, with a favoring wind, she again attempted to ascend. this time she was successful, for though the indians fired at her constantly from the shore, no man was hurt. as she passed the wyandot village she sent a shower of grape among its yelping inhabitants, by which several were killed; and then, furling her sails, lay peacefully at anchor by the side of her companion vessel, abreast of the fort. the schooner brought to the garrison a much-needed supply of men, ammunition and provisions. she also brought the important news that a treaty of peace was concluded between france and england. but pontiac refused to believe it, and his war went on. the two schooners in the river were regarded by the indians with mingled rage and superstition; not alone on account of the broadsides with which their camps were bombarded, but the knowledge that the vessels served to connect the isolated garrison with the rest of the world. they determined, therefore, to destroy them. the inventive genius of pontiac caused a fire raft to be constructed by lashing together a number of canoes, piled high with a vast quantity of combustibles. a torch was applied in several places, and the thing of destruction was pushed off into the current. but fortune or providence protected the schooners, the blazing raft passed within a hundred feet of them, and floating harmlessly down the stream, consumed nothing but itself. this attempt was several times repeated, but gladwyn, on his part, provided boats and floating logs, which were moored by chains at some distance above the vessels, and foiled every attempt. in the meantime, unknown to the garrison, captain dalyell was on his way to detroit with twenty-two barges, bearing two hundred and eighty men, with several small cannon, and a fresh supply of provisions and ammunition. under cover of night and fog they reached the fort in safety, but not until they sustained an attack from the indians which resulted in the loss of fifteen men. with this expedition was major rogers, commander of the famous rogers's rangers, and twenty of his men. {illustration: hollow horn, sioux (upper brule).} captain dalyell had a conference with gladwyn, and requested permission to march out on the following night and attack the indian camp. the commander, better acquainted with the position of affairs, opposed it; but dalyell urged the matter so strongly, gladwyn gave a reluctant consent. about two o'clock on the morning of july , the gates were silently opened, and two hundred and fifty men marched up the road along the river's shore. in the river, keeping abreast of the troops, two bateaux, each carrying a swivel gun, were rowed with muffled oars. as there was no moon shining, everything seemed favorable to strike a deadly blow at the camp of pontiac. but though they knew it not, that vigilant and crafty chieftain was apprised of this movement by his spies, and with several hundred indians lay in ambush at the bridge across parent's creek, a mile and a half from the fort. as the english drew near the dangerous pass they could discern the house of meloche, mentioned before, upon a rising ground to the left, while in front the bridge was dimly visible, and the ridges beyond it seemed like a wall of blackness, partly due to the fog rising from the river. the advance guard were half way over the bridge and the main body just entering upon it. suddenly there was a wild war-whoop in the darkness, and the ridges, fences, trees and anything which could afford shelter to a savage, burst into flame. half the advance guard fell at the first discharge; the terrified survivors fled to the rear, and in a moment the whole column was thrown into confusion. dalyell rushed to the front and did what he could to rally his men. his clarion voice rang out above this infernal din. but all in vain. he received several wounds, and was in the act of rescuing a disabled soldier when he was killed. it is said that pontiac ordered the head of the gallant captain to be cut off and set upon a post. the total command was demoralized by his fall. in this crisis major rogers and his twenty rangers, followed by a number of the regulars, took possession of a strong house, which commanded the road, owned by a canadian named campau. barricading the windows, they held the savages at bay and covered the retreat. captain grant hurried forward and took another strong position near the river. from here he ordered the two armed bateaux to return to a point opposite campau's house, and open a fire of swivels in order to scatter the indians and rescue rogers and his men. this was promptly done, and the gallant rogers and his handful of rangers, who, by their courage, saved the command from total destruction, were in turn rescued, just as the savage horde was about to overpower them by sheer force of numbers. the rangers made their way to the fort under cover of the cannonade. the fight at bloody run, as parent's creek has since been called, cost the garrison at detroit fifty-nine men killed and wounded, according to parkman, while thatcher, strange to say, estimates the loss of the english at _seventy men killed_ and _forty wounded._ this was the last important event attending the prosecution of the siege. not long after this, the schooner gladwyn, having been sent down to niagara with letters and dispatches, made the trip in safety. she was now returning, having on board horst, her master; jacobs, her mate, and a crew of ten men, besides six iroquois indians, supposed to be friendly to the english. she entered the detroit river on the night of september , and in the morning the six indians asked to be put ashore, and the request was foolishly granted. that they went at once to pontiac with a report of the weakness of the crew there can be no doubt. certain it is, the wind failing, the schooner anchored about nine miles below the fort. here she was attacked by three hundred and fifty indians, at night. the savages swarmed over the sides of the vessel by scores, but they were met with such desperate courage and furious resistance that in a few minutes the english had killed and wounded more than twice their own number. there were only twelve men on board and they killed and wounded twenty-seven indians; of the wounded, eight died in a few days. but resistance was useless. ten or fifteen indians surrounded each gallant defender. just as all seemed over, jacobs, the mate, shouted, "fire the magazine, boys, and blow her up!" this desperate command saved her and her crew. some wyandots understood the meaning of the words, and gave the alarm to their companions. with a wild cry of terror the indians leaped from the vessel into the water, and all were seen swimming and diving in all directions, to escape the explosion. the savages did not renew the attack. the next morning the gladwyn sailed up the river, reaching the fort safely. six of her crew escaped unhurt; of the other six, two, including horst, the master, were killed and four seriously wounded, while the indians had seven men killed outright, and about twenty wounded, of whom eight were known to have died within a few days. the whole action lasted but a few minutes, but the fierceness of the struggle is apparent from the loss on both sides. the survivors of the little crew each received a medal. the news of the disaster at bloody run, following on the heels of the ill-fated cuyler's expedition, was conveyed to niagara by the schooner gladwyn on the last voyage, just recorded. these disasters at the siege of detroit, together with the fact that nine out of the twelve forts on the frontier had been captured by pontiac's warriors, forced sir jeffrey amherst to the reluctant conclusion that the tribes had risen in a general insurrection. as commander-in-chief of these english forces, he saw the time had come for decisive action with a large force if he would regain what was lost, and force the indians into subjection. accordingly, he dispatched two armies, from different points, into the heart of the indian country. the command of the first was given to colonel boquet, with orders to advance from philadelphia to fort pitt, and thence to penetrate into the midst of the delawares and shawnees. the other army, under colonel bradstreet, was to ascend the lakes and force the tribes of detroit and the regions beyond to unconditional submission. the first expedition, that under colonel boquet, was very successful. he met the indians at bushy run, and in a two-days' battle--one of the best contested ever fought between white and red men--routed them completely. he now compelled the indians to sue for peace and surrender their captives. news of boquet's victory, and the approach of colonel bradstreet with a force of three thousand men, soon reached the indians besieging detroit, in the summer of . pontiac was too well aware of the superiority of the english arms to indulge a hope of resisting successfully so great a force in battle. many of his allies were now ready to desert him and make peace with the english. early in the summer of , a grand council was held at niagara by sir william johnson and colonel bradstreet, who stopped there on his way to detroit and the northwest. nearly two thousand indians attended, including representatives from twenty-two different tribes, eleven of them western--a fact strikingly indicating the immense train of operations managed by the influence of pontiac. before bradstreet and his army reached detroit, pontiac and his ottawas abandoned the siege, at least temporarily, and repaired to the illinois. his allies at detroit made a treaty of peace with colonel bradstreet, and thus ended the siege which had continued a year, but, as rogers says, "_he_ (pontiac) _would not be personally concerned in it,_ saying, that when he made a peace, it should be such a one as would be useful and honorable to himself and to the king of great britain. _but he has not as yet proposed his terms._" what the great chief attempted to do about this time was to rally the western tribes of indiana and illinois into a new confederation to resist the english invaders to the last. crossing over to the wabash, he passed from village to village, among the kickapoos and the three tribes of the miamis, rousing them by his eloquence and breathing into them his own fierce spirit of resistance. he next, by rapid marches, crossed to the banks of the mississippi, and summoned the four tribes of the illinois to a general council. but these degenerate savages, beaten by the surrounding tribes for several generations past, had lost their warlike spirit, and though still noisy and boastful, they had become "like women, using only tongues for weapons." they showed no zeal for fight, nor did they take any interest in the schemes of the great war chief of the ottawas. but pontiac knew how to deal with such cravens. frowning on the cowering assembly, he exclaimed: "if you hesitate, i will consume your tribes as a fire consumes the dry grass on the prairie." they did not hesitate, but professed concurrence in his views at once. it is quite probable, however, those threatening words cost pontiac his life, as will be seen. even cowards have good memories. leaving the illinois, he hastened to fort chartres, at the head of four hundred warriors, and demanded men and ammunition, which st. ange, the commander, politely refused to grant. he also sent an embassy all the way to new orleans to demand help from the french government, and to convey a war belt to the distant tribes of louisiana, urging them, in the name of the mighty pontiac, to prevent the english from ascending the mississippi, which his military genius foresaw they would attempt. in this he was right, but their attempts were completely foiled. the principal mission of the ambassadors was, however, a complete failure. the government was about to be transferred from france to spain. the governor granted an interview and explained the true situation. from france no help was to be expected. when the report of this embassy reached pontiac, he saw that all was lost. the foundation of all his ambitious schemes had been french interference. he had believed a lie and rested his hopes on a delusion. as mason says, "his solitary will, which had controlled and combined into cooperation a hundred restless tribes, had breathed life into a conspiracy continental in its proportions, and had exploded a mine ramifying to forts, isolated by hundreds of miles of unbroken wilderness, could no longer uphold the crumbling fabric. his stormy spirit had warred with destiny, and had been conquered." for the proud pontiac there remained but two alternatives destruction or submission. with a hell of hate in his heart he chose the latter. at fort quiatenon, on the wabash, near the site of lafayette, indiana, he met george croghan, the commissioner appointed by sir william johnson, and formally tendered the traditional calumet of peace. pontiac and his retinue also accompanied croghan to detroit, and in the same old council-hall where he and his sixty chiefs had attempted to destroy the garrison, the terms of peace were arranged, and ratified by representatives from ojibway and pottawatomie tribes, august , . pontiac's speech on this occasion, in reply to that of croghan, is rich in figures and symbols, and is, therefore, quoted in full: "father, we have all smoked out of this pipe of peace. it is your children's pipe; and as the war is over, and the great spirit and giver of light, who has made the earth and everything therein, has brought us all together this day for our mutual good, i declare to all nations that i have settled my peace with you before i came here, and now deliver my pipe to be sent to sir william johnson, that he may know i have made peace, and taken the king of england for my father, in the presence of all the nations now assembled; and whenever any of those nations go to visit him, they may smoke out of it with him in peace. fathers, we are obliged to you for lighting up our old council-fire for us, and desiring us to return to it; but we are now settled on the miami river, not far from hence. whenever you want us you will find us there. "our people love liquor, and if we dwelt near you in our old village of detroit, our warriors would be always drunk, and quarrels would arise between us and you." the wise chief could see that drunkenness was the bane of his whole unhappy race, and therefore chose to be remote from the white settlement. he kept his young men away from whisky. when will the white chiefs be as wise and keep whisky away from their young men? the following spring, , pontiac was as good as his word, and visited sir william johnson at his castle on the mohawk, and in behalf of the tribes lately banded in his confederation concluded a treaty of peace and amity. from this time he disappears from the page of history, only to reappear in the closing scene in the eventful drama of his life. he is believed to have lived like a common warrior, with a remnant of his tribe, in different parts of what is now the states of indiana and illinois. in april, , he went to st. louis, and made a two days' visit with his old friend, st. ange, who was then in command at that post, having offered his services to the spaniards after the cession of louisiana. st. ange, pierre chouteau and other principal inhabitants of the little settlement, entertained him and his attendant chiefs with cordial hospitality for several days. but hearing that there was a large assembly of illinois indians at cahokia, on the illinois side of the river, pontiac, against the advice of his friends, determined to go over and see what was going forward. it was at this time he was arrayed in the full uniform of a french officer, which had been presented to him by the marquis of montcalm as a token of esteem, and this fact tended to excite uneasiness, as well as to enrage the english traders at cahokia, who believed the chief did it to add insult to injury. the gathering in progress proved to be a trading and drinking bout, in which the remorseless english traders, as usual, plied the indians with whisky in order to swindle them, while intoxicated, out of their furs. the place was full of illinois indians, but pontiac held them in contempt, and accepted the hospitality of the friendly creoles of cahokia, and, at such primitive entertainment the whisky bottle would not fail to play its part. pontiac soon became intoxicated himself, and starting to the neighboring woods was shortly afterward heard singing magic songs, in the mystic influence of which he reposed the greatest confidence. an english trader, named williamson, was then in the village, who, in common with the rest of his countrymen, regarded pontiac with the greatest distrust, probably augmented by the visit of the chief to st. louis, and while the opportunity was favorable, determined to effect his destruction. approaching a strolling indian of the kaskaskia band of the illinois tribe, he bribed him with a barrel of whisky and a promise of a further reward to murder the great chief. it will be remembered that pontiac incurred the hatred of this tribe by saying to them when in council, "if you hesitate, i will consume your tribes as the fire consumes the dry grass on the prairie." no doubt those words had been rankling in the hearts of the illinois indians ever since, for an indian never forgets a friend or forgives an injury, and now the hour of revenge has come. the bargain was quickly made. the assassin glided up behind pontiac in the forest and buried a tomahawk in the mighty brain in which all ambitions were dead forever. thus basely terminated the career of the warrior whose great natural endowments made him the greatest of his race, but his memory is still cherished by the remnant of the tribes who felt the power of his influence. the body was soon found, and the village became a pandemonium of howling savages. his few friends seized their arms to wreak vengeance on the perpetrator of the murder, but the illinois, interposing in behalf of their countryman, drove them from the town. foiled in their attempt to obtain retribution they fled to the tribes over whom pontiac had held sway, to spread the tidings and call them to avenge his murder. meanwhile st. ange procured the body of his guest, and mindful of his former friendship, buried it with warlike honors near the fort under his command at st. louis. a war of extermination was declared against the abettors of this crime. swarms of ottawas, sacs, foxes, pottawatomies and other northern tribes who had been fired by the eloquence, or led to victory by the martyred chief, descended on the prairies of illinois, and whole villages and tribes were extirpated to appease his shade. it was at this time that the famous "starved rock" took its expressive but unpoetical name. it is a rocky bluff about six miles below the beautiful city of ottawa, illinois, named after the tribe of which pontiac was head chief. the great rock overhangs the sluggish illinois river on the left bank, and is about one hundred and twenty-five feet high and inaccessible except by a narrow and difficult path in the rear. its top is nearly an acre in extent. here la salle and tonty built a palisade, which they named fort st. louis, and collected at its base about twenty thousand indians, whom they formed into a defensive league against the encroachments of the dreaded iroquois. tradition states, that in the war of extermination which followed the cold-blooded and unprovoked murder of pontiac in time of peace, a remnant of the illinois indians made their last stand at this famous stronghold. here they were besieged by a vastly superior force of pottawatomies. but the besieged knew that a few warriors could defend this rock against a host, and defied their enemies for a time and kept them at bay. hunger and thirst, more formidable enemies, however, soon accomplished what the foe was unable to effect. their small quantity of provisions quickly failed, and their supply of water was stopped by the enemy severing the cords of rawhide attached to the vessels by which they elevated it from the river below. thus environed by relentless foes, they took a last lingering look at their beautiful hunting grounds, spread out like a panorama on the gently rolling river and slowly gave way to despair. {illustration: starved rock.} charles lanman says of this tragic event, "day followed day, and the last lingering hope was abandoned. their destiny was sealed, and no change for good could possibly take place, for the human bloodhounds that watched their prey were utterly without mercy. the feeble white-haired chief crept into a thicket and breathed his last. the recently strong warrior, uttering a protracted but feeble yell of exultation, hurled his tomahawk at some fiend below and then yielded himself up to the pains of his condition. the blithe form of the soft-eyed youth parted with his strength, and was compelled to totter and fall upon the earth and die. ten weary, weary days passed on, and the strongest man and the last of his tribe was numbered with the dead." years afterward their bones were seen whitening on the summit of this lofty fortress, known since as "starved rock." all this horrible torture and slaughter was because a brutal english indian trader (and most of them were brutal) bribed an indian already drunk on the whisky he had supplied, to murder probably one of the greatest warriors and rulers of all history, considering his environment. "but," as parkman, the great chieftain's biographer, strikingly says, "could his shade have revisited the scene of murder, his savage spirit would have exulted in the vengeance which overwhelmed the abettors of the crime. tradition has but faintly preserved the memory of the event and its only annalists, men who held the intestine feuds of the savage tribes in no more account than the quarrels of panthers or wildcats, have left but a meager record. yet enough remains to tell us that over the grave of pontiac more blood was poured out in atonement than flowed from the hecatombs of slaughtered heroes on the corpse of patroelus. "neither mound nor tablet marked the burial-place of pontiac. for a mausoleum, a city has risen above the forest hero, and the race whom he hated with such burning rancor tramples with unceasing footsteps over his forgotten grave. {fn} but he became a model and inspiration for subsequent chiefs." michigan, where his eventful life was largely spent, and illinois, where it ended, have each a beautiful city preserving his name. it is also embalmed in tradition and legend. and nature, kinder than man, had built for him a colossal monument which will endure for ages, and be known throughout all time as "starved rock." * * * * * {fn} f. m. crunden, librarian, public library of st. louis, wrote the author: "it is believed that pontiac was buried on the site of the present southern hotel here; and a tablet marking his burial-place is there now." chapter vi. logan, or tal-ga-yee-ta, the cayuga (mingo) chief. orator and friend of the white man. also, a brief sketch of cornstalk. this unfortunate chief is better known to the world by the eloquent and pathetic speech, which he has left as a record of his misfortunes and sorrows, than by his exploits in war. his father, shikellimus, was a cayuga chief, whose house was on the borders of cayuga lake, in new york. he was a personal friend of the benevolent james logan, the intimate friend of william penn and the founder of the logonian library, at philadelphia. the name of the second son was probably derived from this person. logan inherited his gifts and noble nature from his father, who was ever a lover of peace, and also known as the white man's friend. his wigwam was famed far and near as the abode of hospitality, friendship, and kindness. it was a wigwam, but there was something of the halo about it which invested a feudal castle in the days of english chivalry and romance. shikellimus was a good provider, and those who gathered around his comfortable fire, which was lighted for every stranger by the forest chieftain, felt the independence of the lone traveler in some old baronial hall; and he who presided at the feast to which all were welcome, was not less noble or less dignified than an english lord. had there been a pen to record his hospitality and _table talk,_ there would probably have been seen in it more wisdom than entered into the discourse of many a prince or potentate. but, alas, for forest eloquence, it was wafted only by the breeze, and its echo died away forever. so much for the environment of the home of his childhood. another thing which no doubt influenced his character was the fact that in boyhood he came under the influence of the sweet-spirited moravian missionaries, with their gentle manners and soothing words. there was about him a similar quiet and softened dignity, a refinement of sentiment and delicacy of feeling, which characterizes none but the lofty, and exhales from none but the pure. logan moved in early life to the banks of the juniata, which is a beautiful little river, flowing through a wild, romantic country, watered also by the susquehanna. in a pleasant valley he built his cabin, and married a shawnee wife. thus he became identified with the shawnees and delawares, though belonging to the six nations. logan inherited his father's talents of oratory and bid fair to be equally prosperous. he took no part in the french and indian war of , nor that of pontiac which followed, except to assume the role of peacemaker. his house, like his father's, was the indian's and the white man's home, the dwelling-place of love. alas! that the milk of human kindness in his bosom should ever have been turned to gall by cruel and inhuman wrongs. in his childhood a little cousin had been taken captive by white men, under aggravating circumstances, but for this he did not become the foe of the white race. "forgive and forget," seems to have been his motto at this time; and he lived to be an aged man, before vengeance took possession of his soul. in all the country where he dwelt he was known, and to every cottage logan was welcome; terror did not creep into the heart of woman nor fear disturb the little child, when his footsteps were heard at their doors. and this, as was afterwards proved, was not because he had not all the traits which make a brave warrior, but from a settled principle that all men were brothers and should love one another. minnie myrtle, in her interesting book, "the iroquois," says of logan: "he set forth at one time on a hunting expedition, and was alone in the forest. two white hunters were engaged in the same sport, and having killed a bear in a wild gorge, were about to rest beside a babbling spring, when they saw an indian form reflected in the water. they sprang to their feet and grasped their rifles, but the indian bent forward and struck the rifles from their hands, and spilt the powder from their flasks. then stretching forth his open palm in token of friendship, he seated himself beside them and won his way to their hearts. for a week they roamed together, hunting and fishing by day and sleeping by the same fire at night. it was logan, and henceforth their brother. at the end of their hunt, he pursued his way over the alleghenies, to his lodge, and they returned to their homes, never again to point a gun at an indian's heart. "some white men on a journey stopped at his cabin to rest. for amusement a shooting match was proposed, at which the wager was to be a dollar a shot. during the sport logan lost five shots, and when they had finished he entered his lodge and brought out five deer skins in payment of his losses, as a dollar a skin was the established price in those days and the red man's money. but his guests refused to take them, saying they had only been shooting for sport and wished no forfeit. but the honorable indian would take no denial, replying, 'if you had lost the shots i should have taken your dollars, but as i have lost, take my skins.' "another time he wished to buy grain, and took his skins to a tailor, who adulterated the wheat, thinking the indian _would not know._ but the miller informed him, and advised him to apply to a magistrate for redress. he went to a mr. brown, who kindly saw that his loss was made up, for logan came often to his house, and he knew his noble heart and grieved to see him wronged. as he was waiting the decision of the magistrate, he played with a little girl, who was just trying to walk, and the mother remarked that she needed some shoes, which she was not able to purchase for her. "the child was very fond of logan and loved to sit upon his knee, and when he went away was ready to go too. he asked the mother if he might take her to his cabin for the day, and she, knowing well the attention which would be bestowed upon her in the indian's lodge, consented. toward night there was a little anxiety about the child, but the shades of evening had scarcely begun to deepen, when logan was seen wending his way to the cottage with his precious charge; and when he placed her in her mother's arms, she saw upon her feet a tiny pair of moccasins, neatly wrought and ornamented with beads, that his own skilful hands had made. was not this a delicate way of showing gratitude and expressing friendship? was it a rude and savage nature that prompted this attention to a little child, to gladden a mother's heart? not all the refined teachings of civilization could have invented a more beautiful tribute of sympathy and grateful affection." the hunters and backwoodsmen of the period describe logan as a chief or headman, among the outlying parties of senecas and cayugas, and the fragments of broken tribes that lived along the upper ohio and its tributaries. they tell us he was a man of splendid appearance, over six feet tall, straight as a spear-shaft, with countenance as open as it was brave and manly, until the wrongs he endured stamped on it an expression of gloomy ferocity. he had always been the friend of the white man, and had been noted particularly for his kindness and gentleness to children. up to this time he had lived at peace with the borderers, for though some of his kin had been massacred by the whites, years before, he had forgiven the deed--probably because he had knowledge of the fact that others of his relatives and people had been concerned in equally bloody massacres of the whites. a skilled marksman and mighty hunter, of commanding presence, who treated all men with grave courtesy and dignity, and exacted the same treatment in return, he was a prime favorite with all the white hunters and borderers whose friendship and goodwill was worth having. they admired him for his skill and courage, and they loved him for his straightforward integrity and his noble loyalty to his friends of both races. in the "american pioneer" an old hunter is quoted as saying that he considered "logan the best specimen of humanity he ever met with, either white or red." logan was never tempted to touch a drop of "fire-water" until after his great wrongs kindled revenge in his soul. he adopted few of the customs and rejected all the vices of civilization. such was logan before the evil days came upon him and his heart was fired with the passion for revenge. and such, indeed, would have been recorded of many other indians had they received the same kind treatment they extended to the whites. but, "alas for the rarity of human charity under the sun." early in the spring the border settlers began to suffer from the deeds of straggling bands of indians. {fn} horses were stolen, one or two murders were committed, the inhabitants of the more outlying cabins fled to the forts, and the frontiersmen began to threaten fierce vengeance. * * * * * {fn} thatcher says these robberies were all charged to indians, "though perhaps, not justly, for it is well known that a large number of civilized adventurers were traversing the frontiers at this time, who sometimes disguised themselves as indians and committed many depredations and even murder." on april an indian trader by the name of butler had his store attacked and plundered by a roving band of cherokees. of the three men in charge at the time one was killed, another wounded, but the third made his escape and raised the alarm. immediately after this, connolly, who was acting as governor dunmore's lieutenant on the border, issued an open letter, commanding the frontiersmen to hold themselves in readiness to repel any attack of the indians, as the shawnees were known to be hostile. among the backwoodsmen was one michael cresap, a maryland borderer, who had moved to the banks of the ohio to establish a home for his family. roosevelt, in "the winning of the west," says of cresap: "he was of the regular pioneer type; a good woodsman, sturdy and brave, a fearless fighter, devoted to his friends and his country; but alas, when his blood was heated, and his savage instincts fairly roused, inclined to regard any red man, whether hostile or friendly as a being who should be slain on sight. nor did he condemn the brutal deeds done by others on innocent indians." cresap, who had been appointed a captain of the frontier militia, was near wheeling at the time connolly's letter was received, with a band of hunters and scouts. these were fearless men who had adopted many of the ways of the indians, including their method both of declaring war and fighting. of course, they put a very liberal interpretation upon the order given them by connolly to repel an attack and proceeded to declare war in the regular indian style. calling a council, they planted the war-post, and after marching around it many times, brandishing their hatchets, knives, swords or whatever weapon they carried, all at a signal from their leader struck the post, leaving their weapons sticking in it, and waited eagerly for a chance to attack their common enemy, the indians. unfortunately, as is often the case, the first blood shed was that of friendly indians. it seems that butler, the indian trader, hoping to recover some of the peltries of which he had been robbed by the cherokees, had sent two friendly shawnees in a canoe to the place of massacre. cresap and his men ambushed these friendly indians on the th near captina, and killed and scalped them. some of the more humane of the frontiersmen strongly protested against this outrage; but a large majority of them were excited and enraged by the rumor of indian hostilities, and threatened to kill whoever interfered with them, cursing the traders as being worse than the indians, as was often the case. cresap boasted of the murder, and never said a word against scalping. the next day he again led out his men and attacked another party of shawnees, who had been trading near pittsburg, killed one and wounded two others, one of the whites being also wounded. shortly after this cresap and his band started to logan's camp, then located at yellow creek, some fifty miles distant. after marching several miles they began to reflect on what they were about to do; calling a halt, they discussed the fact that the camp they were going to attack consisted of friendly indians, and mainly women and children; their better nature asserted itself, and they immediately returned home. {illustration: logan, or tal-ga-yee-ta, the mingo chief and orator.} "but," as roosevelt says, "logan's people did not profit by cresap's change of heart. on the last day of april a small party of men, women and children, including almost all of logan's kin, left his camp and crossed the river to visit daniel greathouse, as had been their custom; for he made a trade of selling rum to the savages, though cresap had notified him to stop. the whole party were plied with liquor, and became helplessly drunk, in which condition greathouse and his associate criminals fell on and massacred them, nine souls in all. it was an inhuman and revolting deed, which should consign the names of the perpetrators to eternal infamy." the whole family of logan perished in this and other similar massacres; in one of the last were his brother and sister. it will excite the wonder of no man that logan from this moment breathed nothing but vengeance against the treacherous and inhuman whites. a general indian war immediately followed. logan was the foremost in leading his countrymen to the slaughter of their perfidious enemies. on july , with a party of only eight warriors, he attacked a settlement on the muskingum, captured two prisoners and carried them off. when they arrived at an indian town, they delivered them to the inhabitants, who at once prepared to put them to death by torture. logan, however, in the heat of his vindictive feelings, displayed the humanity of his nature. he cut the cords of one of the prisoners, a man named robinson, who was about to be burned at the stake, and saved his life at the risk of his own. a few days afterward he suddenly appeared to this prisoner with some gunpowder, ink and a wild-goose quill, wherewith to make a pen, and dictated to him a note. this note was afterward tied to a war-club and left in the house of a settler, whose entire family had been butchered by the savages. it was brief, but written with ferocious directness to the man whom he wrongly believed to be the author of his heart-rending troubles. it read as follows: "captain cresap" "what did you kill my people on yellow creek for? the white people killed my kin at conestoga, a great while ago, and i thought nothing of that. but you killed my kin again on yellow creek, and took my cousin prisoner. then i thought i must kill too; and i have been three times to war since; but all the indians are not angry, only myself. "july , . captain john logan." the frontier was now in a blaze, and the indians made preparations for war. the mingos, shawnees, delawares, wyandots and outlying iroquois, especially the senecas, together with a party of warriors of the miamis from western ohio, all banded themselves together, under the command of cornstalk, the great shawnee chieftain, and logan. meantime governor dunmore was making ready a formidable army with which to overwhelm the hostile indians. the plan was to raise three thousand men; one half, or the northern wing, was to be under the command of lord dunmore in person, while the other, composed entirely of border men, living among the mountains west of the blue ridge, was under gen. andrew lewis. both wings were ordered to take a position at point pleasant, where the great kanawha empties into the ohio. the division led by lewis reached this place and, having camped on a jut of land between the two rivers, waited the coming of lord dunmore and his command. but the crafty cornstalk did not propose to wait for the coming of the other wing; through his runners he had full knowledge of the movements of the frontier militia. he was greatly outnumbered; but he had at his command over a thousand warriors, the very pick of the young men to be found among the tribes between the great lakes and the ohio. his foes were divided, and he determined to strike a decisive blow before they were again united. accordingly, he led his long file of warriors to the mouth of the kanawha, and attacked the division under lewis on the morning of october , , about daylight. this battle, known in history by two names--point pleasant and the great kanawha--was purely an american affair because it was fought solely by the backwoodsmen on one side, and american indians on the other. it was greek meeting greek, or, better still, white american meeting red, and was one of the most stubbornly fought and bravely contested in the annals of history. the fight was a succession of single combats, each man sheltering himself behind a stump, or rock, or tree-trunk, or whatever was at hand. the backwoodsmen were the best shots, but the indians excelled in the art of hiding and shielding themselves from harm. the two lines, though more than a mile in length, were so close together that many of the combatants grappled in hand-to-hand combat, using knife or tomahawk. the crack of the rifles was continuous, while above the noise could be heard the groans of the wounded and the shouts of the combatants, as each encouraged his own side or jeered at the enemy. the cheers of the whites mingled with the war-whoops of the indians. the chiefs continued to exhort their warriors to still greater deeds of valor. cornstalk, the commander of the savages, distinguished himself in all his maneuvers throughout the engagement by the skill as well as the bravery of a consummate general. during the whole of the day his stentorian voice was heard throughout the ranks of his enemies, vociferating, "be strong! be strong!" after an incessant fire of about twelve hours' duration darkness put an end to the conflict. the indians now made a most skilful retreat, carrying all their wounded in safety across the ohio, and the americans were too exhausted to pursue them. this battle was not only stubbornly contested but bloody. the whites, though claiming the victory, had suffered more than their foes, and indeed had won only because it was against the entire policy of indian warfare to suffer a severe loss, even if a victory could be gained thereby. some seventy-five of the whites had been killed or mortally wounded, and one hundred and forty severely or slightly wounded, so that they lost a fifth of their entire number. of the indians, the loss was not much more than half as many; only about forty were killed or mortally wounded. no chief of importance was slain among the indians, while the whites lost in succession their second, third and fourth in command, and had seventeen officers killed or wounded. the spirit of the indians had been broken by their defeat. cornstalk and logan alone were ready and eager to continue the war. but when the former saw that he could not stir the hearts of his warriors, even with his burning eloquence, to continue the war, he stuck his tomahawk into the war-post, and said that if he could not lead them in battle he would lead them in making peace. accordingly, with all his fellow-chiefs, except logan, he went to lord dunmore's camp, and there entered into a treaty. in this the indians agreed to surrender all the white prisoners and stolen horses in their possession, to renounce all claim to the lands south of the ohio, and to give hostages as an earnest of their good faith. cornstalk was their chief spokesman, and though obliged to assent to the conditions imposed, yet preserved through all the proceedings a bearing of proud defiance that showed that he at least was not conquered, and was a stranger to fear. in all his talks, he addressed the white leaders with a tone of vehement denunciation and reproach, that seemed to evince more the attitude of a conqueror than of one of the conquered. the virginians, who prized skill in oratory only less than skill in warfare, were greatly impressed by the chieftain's eloquence, marvelous voice and majestic bearing. some of them afterwards stated that his oratory fully equaled that of their great speakers, richard henry lee and patrick henry. meantime logan remained apart in the mingo village, brooding over his wrongs and the vengeance he had taken. the other indians, when asked about logan and the reason of his absence, replied that he was like an angry dog, whose bristles were still up, but that they were gradually falling, and when he was urged to attend the meeting he replied that he was a warrior, not a councillor, and would not come. since the mountain would not come to mohammed, that prophet was forced to go to the mountain; as it was deemed absolutely imperative to have an understanding with this great leader, and learn his intentions. accordingly a messenger was sent to interview logan. john gibson, a frontier veteran, who had long lived among the indians and knew thoroughly both their language and their manners and customs, was chosen for this task. to him logan was willing to talk. taking him aside, he suddenly addressed him in a speech that will always retain its place as one of the finest outbursts of indian eloquence recorded in the history of our country. john gibson was a plain, honest backwoodsman, utterly incapable of "doctoring" a speech for the better, so he took it down in writing, translating it literally, and, returning to camp, put it into dunmore's hands. the governor then read it in council before the entire frontier army, including george rogers clark and cresap, to whom logan imputed the butchery of his family. the speech, when read, proved no acknowledgment of defeat, nor expression of desire for peace, but rather a pathetic recital of the heartbreaking wrongs which had been perpetrated against him, even though innocent of harming the whites, and a fierce justification of the vengeance he had taken. the justly famous speech is as follows: "i appeal to any white man to say if ever he entered logan's cabin hungry and he gave him not meat; if ever he came cold and naked and he clothed him not? during the course of the last long and bloody war, logan remained idle in his camp, an advocate for peace. {fn} such was my love for the whites that my countrymen pointed as i passed and said, 'logan is the friend of the white man.' i had even thought to have lived with you, but for the injuries of one man, colonel cresap, the last spring, in cold blood and unprovoked, murdered all the relations of logan, not even sparing my women and children. there runs not a drop of my blood in the veins of any living creature. this called on me for revenge. i have sought it. i have killed many. i have fully glutted my vengeance. for my country i rejoice at the beams of peace; but do not harbor a thought that mine is the joy of fear. logan never felt fear. he will not turn on his heel to save his life. who is there to mourn for logan? not one." * * * * * {fn} logan here refers to the french and indian and pontiac wars, when he refused, positively, to join the indians, though often urged to dig up the hatchet. the backwoodsmen listened with almost breathless attention to the reading of this speech, and many of them no doubt regretted the wanton and brutal murder. they were so much impressed by it, that it was the one subject of conversation around the evening campfire, and they continually attempted to rehearse it to each other. {fn} this was especially true of the last clause; one would ask the question, "who is there to mourn for logan?" and another would answer with much feeling, "not one." but they were very well aware that daniel greathouse, and not michael cresap, was the guilty fiend who wantonly murdered this innocent family, and when the speech was read george rogers clark turned to cresap and said, "you must be a very great man, that the indians shoulder you with every mean thing that has happened." whereat cresap, much angered, swore that he had a good mind to tomahawk greathouse for this heinous murder. we can only express a regret that cresap did not carry out his threat, and a hope that some indian meted out justice to greathouse as he richly deserved. * * * * * {fn} jefferson's manuscript concerning this powerful address, thomas jefferson says: "i may challenge the whole orations of demosthenes and cicero, and of any more eminent orator--if europe has furnished more eminent--to produce a single passage superior to the speech of logan"; and clinton, in his "historical discourse," subscribes to this noble eulogium: "old logan was the white man's friend but injuries forced his love to end; of children, wife and kindred shorn, none left for him to joy or mourn, he rose in calm, vindictive ire, and bade them, by their fathers slain, no more in voiceless peace remain, but lift the brand, and battle cry. for vengeance, if not victory." {fn} * * * * * {fn} minnie myrtle. roosevelt says, of the close of his career, "proud, gloomy logan never recovered from the blow that had been dealt him; he drank deeper and deeper, and became more and more an implacable, moody and blood-thirsty savage, yet with noble qualities that came to the surface now and then. again and again he wrought havoc among the frontier settlers; yet we several times hear of his saving the lives of prisoners. once he saved simon kenton from torture and death, when girty, moved by a rare spark of compassion for his former comrade, had already tried to do so and failed. at last he perished in a drunken brawl by the hand of another indian." we notice the authorities differ in their account of logan's death. drake says of him: "the melancholy history of logan must be dismissed with no relief to its gloomy colors. he was himself a victim to the same ferocious cruelty which had already rendered him a desolate man. not long after the treaty (of wayne at greenville) a party of whites murdered him as he was returning from detroit to his own country." there were none to mourn for logan; but as jefferson well says, "his talents and misfortunes have attached to him the respect and commiseration of a world." cornstalk died a noble death, but by an act of cowardly treachery, which is one of the darkest stains on the pages of our frontier history. in the early part of the year he came into the garrison at point pleasant to explain that, while he was anxious to keep the terms of the treaty his warriors were determined to go to war; and frankly added, that if they did he would be compelled to join them. he and three others, including his son, ellinipsieo, and the chief red hawk, were retained as hostages and confined in the fort. about this time a member of a company of rangers was killed by the indians near the fort; whereupon his comrades, headed by their captain, one john hall, rushed furiously into the fort to murder the indian prisoners. cornstalk heard them rushing in and knew what to expect. never for an instant did his courage fail him. turning to ellinipsieo, the youngest of the group, he thus exhorted him: "my son, the great spirit has seen fit that we should die together, and has sent you to that end. it is his will, and let us submit." then, drawing his blanket around him, with the grace and dignity of a roman senator, he faced his assassins, and fell dead, pierced by seven or eight bullets. the other helpless and unarmed indians were butchered at the same time. mr. withers, in his "chronicles," writes thus of cornstalk and this indefensible murder: "thus perished the mighty cornstalk, a sachem of the shawnees, and king of the northern confederacy, in , a chief remarkable for many great and good qualities. he was disposed to be at all times the friend of the white men, as he ever was the advocate of honorable peace. but when his country's wrongs 'called aloud for battle,' he became the thunderbolt of war, and made her oppressors feel the weight of his uplifted arm. his noble bearing, his generous and disinterested attachment to the colonies when the thunder of british cannon was reverberating through the land, his anxiety to preserve the frontier of virginia from desolation and death, the object of his visit to point pleasant--all conspired to win for him the esteem and respect of others; while the untimely and perfidious manner of his death caused a deep and lasting regret to pervade the bosoms even of those who were enemies to his nation, and excited the just indignation of all toward his inhuman and barbarous murderers." {illustration: logan and the two hunters.} chapter vii. captain joseph brant, or thayendanegea, principal sachem of the mohawks, and head chief of the iroquois confederation. this remarkable man was born on the banks of the ohio in . his father, who bore the unpronounceable and unspellable name of tehowaghwengaraghkwin, was a subordinate chief of the wolf totem or clan of the mohawk tribe. there were two other rival clans among the mohawks, known as the tortoise or turtle, and the bear, while among the entire iroquois confederation there were eight, the other five being the crane, snipe, hawk, beaver and deer clans. the following interesting legend is told of the ancestors of our hero. the scene is laid at what is known as the little falls of the mohawk: "long ago, when the river was broader and the falls more lofty, a feud arose between two young chiefs of the respective clans of the mohawk nation, the wolf and the tortoise. a maiden of the bear totem was the cause of the feud, as maidens often are. she was loved by both the young chiefs, and for a time she so coquetted that each thought himself beloved by her in return. her father was a stern old warrior and loved his child tenderly. both chiefs had fought the mingoes and mohegans by his side, and the bravery of each entitled him to the hand of the maiden. her affections were at length stirred by the more earnest importunities of the wolf, and she promised to become his bride. this decision reached the ears of the tortoise, and the embers of jealousy, which disturbed both while unaccepted suitors, burst into a flame of ungenerous revenge in the bosom of the disappointed lover. he determined to possess the coveted treasure before the wolf should take her to his wigwam. with well-dissembled acquiescence in her choice, and expressions of warm friendship for herself and her affianced, he allayed all suspicions, and the maiden rambled with him in the moonlight upon the banks of the river when her affianced was away, unconscious of danger. the day approached for the maiden to go to the wigwam of her lord. the tortoise was with her alone in a secluded nook upon the brink of the river. his light canoe was near and he proposed a voyage to a beautiful little island in the stream, where the fire-flies sparkled and the whippoorwill chanted its evening serenade. they launched, but, instead of paddling for the island, the tortoise turned his prow toward the cataract. like an arrow they sped down the swift current, while the young chief, with vigorous arm, paddled for the western shore. skilful as with the bow and hatchet, he steered his canoe to the mouth of the cavern, then upon the water's brink, seized the affrighted maiden, and leaped ashore, at the same moment securing his canoe by a strong green withe. the cave was dry, a soft bed of the skins of beasts was spread, and abundance of provision was there stored. at the top of the cave, far above the maiden's reach, an opening revealed a passage through the fissures to the rocks above. it was known only to the tortoise; and there he kept the maiden many months, until her affianced gave her up as lost to him forever. at length, while hunting on the southern hills in flowery may, the wolf saw the canoe at the mouth of the cave. it solved the question in his mind. the evening was clear, and the full moon shone brightly. he waited until midnight, when, with an arm as strong and skill as accurate as his rival's, he steered his canoe to the mouth of the cavern, which was lighted up by the moon. by its light he saw the perfidious tortoise sleeping peacefully by the side of his unwilling bride. the wolf smote the tortoise, but the wound was slight. the awakened warrior, unable to grasp his hatchet in the dark, bounded through the opening at the top of the cavern and closed it with a heavy stone. the lovers embraced in momentary joy. it was brief, for a fearful doom seemed to await them. the tortoise would return with force, and they had to make choice of death by the hatchet of the rival chief, or the waters of the cataract. the latter was their choice, and, in affectionate embrace, they sat in their canoe and made the fearful leap. the frail vessel struck propitiously upon the boiling waters, and, unharmed, passed over the gulf below. down the broad stream they glided, and far away, upon the margin of the lower lake, they lived and loved for two generations, and saw their children's children go out to the battle and the chase. in the line of their descent tradition avers, came brant, the mohawk sachem, the _strong_ wolf of his nation." it is said that brant's indian name, thay-en-da-ne-gea, signifies a bundle of sticks, or, in other words, strength. joseph brant, in company with two older brothers, fought his first battle at lake george, under the famous chief, king hendrick. it may be interesting to recall the fact that it was from this noted chief that sir william johnson obtained a choice tract of land on the mohawk, in the following manner. the sachem, being at the baronet's house, saw a richly embroidered coat and coveted it. the next morning he said to sir william, "brother, me dream last night." "indeed," answered sir william, "what did my red brother dream?" "me dream that coat be mine." "it is yours," said the shrewd baronet. not long afterward sir william visited the sachem, and he, too, had a dream. "brother," he said, "i dreamed last night." "what did my pale-faced brother dream?" asked hendrick. "i dreamed that this tract of land was mine," describing a square bounded on the south by the mohawk, on the east by canada creek, and north and west by objects equally well known. hendrick was astonished. he saw the enormity of the request, for it embraced nearly a hundred thousand acres, but he was not to be outdone in generosity. he sat thoughtfully for a moment, and then said, "brother, the land is yours, but you must not dream again." the title was confirmed by the british government, and the tract was called the royal grant. thus did sir william johnson become, next to the penns, and lord fairfax, the largest landholder in the colonies. brant's father died in the ohio country and his mother returned to canajoharie, on the mohawk, with the two younger children--mary, or mollie, as she was usually called, and joseph. by traffic with the indians for furs, sir william johnson acquired a large fortune. he erected two splendid and spacious buildings, which he called the "castle" and "hall," respectively, occupying one in winter, the other in summer. four or five years after he built the castle, the wife of colonel johnson, as he was then called, a plain, fair-haired german girl of humble lineage, died, leaving her husband one boy, john, and two baby daughters. one day the widower attended a muster of the county militia. as an officer came riding by on a prancing steed, a bright-eyed, red-cheeked indian girl of sixteen, a real beauty, with her white teeth, long, flowing black hair, and a form of rare symmetry and grace, laughingly bantered him for a ride. the officer told her she might jump on if she could. quick as a flash the agile girl leaped up on the horse behind the gallant rider, and clinging to him, her hair and ribbons blowing wildly in the breeze, rode round and round on the flying steed before the applauding crowd. one man took more than ordinary interest in the incident. it was the susceptible and lonely widower. that night mollie brant, joseph's sister, who was the dusky beauty, went home with the baronet to johnson castle, becoming thenceforth the mistress alike of it and its proprietor. the motherless daughters were assigned apartments of their own, where they lived in complete seclusion under the care of a devoted friend of their mother, an officer's widow. their time was occupied with needlework or study. their library consisted of the bible and prayer-book, rollin's "ancient history," and a few english novels of the period. a game of chess, a walk in the park, or a drive along the river road, constituted their only amusements. at the age of sixteen they had never seen a lady other than their governess. occasionally some gentleman visitor came to johnson hall. this served to break the monotony for the lonely girls, to whom such a guest was always presented. they married early, and their father built for them two elegant stone residences a few miles from the castle. far different from this conventual life of the two daughters was that led below stairs by their father. from the first, sir william acquired great influence over the warriors of the far-famed six nations or iroquois confederation. the negotiations of the british government with these indians were all carried on through him. the castle was his storehouse, where large supplies of guns, ammunition and trinkets were kept for trade. around the castle were clusters of cabins for the accommodation of indians who came to traffic. sir william also kept a bounteous table open to every comer. the indians would visit him day and night, sleeping in the halls, on the steps or in the cabins, as suited their fancy, and faring on their host's sumptuous provision for days at a time. the natural genius of the baronet for controlling the restless red men was greatly aided by his questionable alliance with mollie brant. she was immensely popular, possessed a shrewd intelligence, and acquired great influence over her people. sir william, moreover, by this alliance, for he married her near the close of his life in order to make her children legitimate, won the hearts of the warriors. his castle, to which they were always glad to come, was considered the splendid establishment of one of their own people. the indians formally adopted the baronet into the mohawk nation; they then gave him an indian name and made him a war-chief. brant is said to have taken that name from the fact that after the death of his father, the mother married an indian who went by the name of brant among the english. thay-en-da-ne-gea would naturally be called by the surname of his stepfather. at first he was known as brant's joseph, afterward joseph brant. women are often designing, and use their influence over men for their own purposes. it is natural to find that "miss mollie brant" made use of her influence over sir william to further the interests of her brother joseph. as he was an unusually intelligent lad he soon became the recipient of sir william's bounty, and was sent by him to school at lebanon, connecticut. this school was taught by rev. eleazer wheelock. in dr. wheelock's letters to sir william johnson, joseph brant is frequently well spoken of, as "joseph and the rest of the boys are well, studious and diligent"; "joseph is indeed an excellent youth." he was employed by the baronet to assist in his duties as indian commissioner. he acted as interpreter, and was often sent on long journeys, to the wild indians of the west. in this work he early exhibited rare diplomatic ability. moreover, brant took great interest in things spiritual, and aided materially in translating portions of the bible, the prayer-book and ritual, into the mohawk tongue. at the time of sir william johnson's death. brant was a powerful mohawk sachem. john johnson, the only son of sir william, inherited the title and much of the wealth; while guy johnson, sir william's son-in-law, became indian commissioner, with joseph brant as his private secretary. meanwhile the revolution was approaching. new york constantly protested her loyalty, but still claimed her liberty. political discussion became loud and heated. the people found themselves ranged into two hostile parties. the great majority were patriots. they believed in the colonies having justice, come what would. these were the whigs. but there was also a minority party who retained their old attachment to england, who justified the home government, and abused the whigs. they were the conservatives, or tories. the one demanded a change--a reform. the other replied, "let well enough alone; peace! peace! when there was no peace." these party dissensions reached the mohawk valley, where a majority of the people were enthusiastic whigs. the johnsons, however, were tories. property and aristocracy are conservative. the johnsons were very wealthy and cared nothing for the tax on tea. what was it to them if troops were quartered in boston? it cost them nothing. so they wanted things to continue as they were. brant had now become, by the exigencies of war, by his connection with the johnsons, and by his own superior mind and gift for leadership, the most powerful and influential of the iroquois war-chiefs. before the americans were yet sure whether brant would take up the tomahawk against them, his old school-master was asked to write to him on the subject. president wheelock accordingly wrote brant a very long letter, using every argument in favor of the colonists that he thought would have weight with an indian. brant answered with indian wit that he very well remembered the happy hours he had spent under the doctor's roof, and he especially remembered the family prayers, and, above all, how his school-master used to pray "that they might be able to live as good subjects, to fear god and honor the king." meantime the american successes in canada were, for a time, very influential with the indians on the american border, many of whom took sides with the colonies. it is possible that brant, too, felt the power of success and wavered a little at this critical time, though he always denied it. in speaking of this period long afterward, brant said: "when i joined the english in the beginning of the war, it was purely on account of my forefathers' engagements with the king. i always looked on these engagements, or covenants between the king and the indian nations, as a sacred thing; therefore i was not to be frightened by the threats of rebels at the time." encouraged by the johnsons and other tories, who wished him to see the mother-country, that he might judge of her resources and population, brant sailed for england in the fall of . on his arrival in london he was conducted to a rather obscure inn, called "the swan with two necks." all haste was made, however, to provide statelier lodgings for the great "indian king," as the englishmen called him. but brant politely but firmly declined, declaring that the people at "the swan" had treated him so kindly he preferred to stay there. "in this joseph showed his innocence," as mason says. "he mistook the broad smile and hearty handshake, which forms such an important part of the landlord's stock in trade, for the genuine article. if he was taken in by the patronizing airs of the shrewd tavern-keeper, brant showed no other signs of verdancy. he dressed in european clothing of the best quality. his courtly manners and clear-cut english caused the throng of titled men and jeweled women who sought his company and pressed upon him the honors of the capital to lose sight of the fact that this lordly gentleman of foreign accent and distinguished air was, in fact, a red-fisted savage, accustomed to lead his yelling band of braves to midnight massacres. "when he appeared at court on visits of business or ceremony, he laid aside his european habit, and wore a gorgeous costume of the fashion of his own people. bands of silver encircled his sinewy arms. tall plumes adorned his head-dress, and highly colored fabrics, hung with copper pendants, formed his clothing. the sight of a glittering tomahawk with his full name, 'j. thay-en-da-ne-gea,' engraved on it must have shocked the ladies at court." brant was much lionized while in england. he was courted by that celebrated worshiper of great men, boswell; and sat for his picture twice during the visit, once at boswell's request, and once for the earl of warwick, who caused romney, the eminent painter, to make a portrait of him for his collection. he bought a gold ring during his stay, upon which he had his full name engraved, that his body might be identified in case of his death in the coming battles. {illustration: joseph brant, or thay-en-da-ne-gea, great war-chief of the mohawks.} before he left england he promised to lead three thousand indians into the field on the royal side. returning to america, by way of new york, early in the spring, he was secretly landed at some quiet spot near the city. from here he undertook the dangerous journey through the country to canada, and succeeded. on reaching canada, he at once collected a large force of indians, which he placed at the disposal of sir guy carleton, commander of the royal forces in canada. carleton ordered him with six hundred iroquois to join a company of regulars in dislodging the americans from a point of land about forty miles above montreal, known as the cedars. the american commander, bedell, when he saw the english and indians approaching, deserted, under pretense of going for reinforcements. the command was left to major butterfield, who seems to have been almost as cowardly as bedell. after a brief fight with musketry, he was intimidated by a threat that the indians would have no mercy if the americans held out any longer, and surrendered, against the wishes of his men. he had hardly surrendered when a detachment was sent to his relief by arnold, which was attacked by brant and his indians, and, after a stubborn fight, captured. the savages murdered several of the prisoners before they could be stopped. brant immediately exerted himself in every way to prevent a massacre. one of the prisoners, captain mckinistry, who was wounded, was selected by the indians to be put to death by torture. brant would not permit this, but a chief's influence is not very great in such eases, and it was with a great deal of trouble that he prevented it. to soothe the feelings of his warriors, he and some of the british officers made up a purse, with which they bought the indians an ox to roast instead of captain mckinistry, who was treated with so much kindness by the young chief that he and brant became fast friends. in after years brant never passed down the hudson without visiting the captain at his home. arnold secured the exchange of the prisoners by promising to release british prisoners in return, which promise was never fulfilled. in brant gathered a large force of indians at oquaga, on the susquehanna. the settlers on the frontier trembled, and there was reason for fear, for brant was planning an attack upon cherry valley. he approached the settlement with his indians one bright may morning, and took an observation from the distant woods. it happened at this moment that the boys of the settlement were parading in front of the rude fort with their wooden swords and guns. brant mistook the amateurs for real soldiers. he, with his party, moved to a hiding place along the roadside, hoping to intercept some one who would give them information. that morning lieutenant wormwood, a rich young man from the mohawk, who had come over to cherry valley to tell the inhabitants that reinforcements would be sent, started home. he was accompanied by one peter sitz, who bore double dispatches, one true, the other exaggerating the strength of the defense at the fort. when they reached the place where the indians were in hiding brant hailed them, but instead of answering they put spurs to their horses and tried to pass. but the savages fired at them, killing the lieutenant outright, and the horse on which sitz rode. the indians now rushed out and scalped wormwood and captured sitz, who delivered the bogus dispatches to brant. by this means he was fortunately deceived as to the strength of cherry valley, and retired. it is said that the chief regretted the death of the young man, as they had formerly been friends. brant's forces at oquaga continued to increase; all believed he was preparing for a hostile movement. the people of the frontier were in terror; general herkimer, who was an old neighbor and friend of brant, determined to visit him, hoping to influence him to remain neutral, and, failing in this, to capture the chief if possible. he sent a messenger, inviting brant to an interview with him at unadilla, and marched to this place with over three hundred militia. brant moved to meet him with some five hundred braves; he encamped within two miles of herkimer and sent a messenger to the general. "captain brant wants to know what you came here for," said the messenger. "i merely came to see and talk with my brother, captain brant," answered herkimer. "do all these men want to talk with captain brant, too?" inquired the indian. "i will carry your talk to captain brant, but you must not come any farther." through messengers a meeting was appointed to take place about midway between the two encampments. after herkimer and his party had been on the ground some time brant and his friends arrived, greeted the general and began to converse, but watched his face with a keen eye. in fact, each observed the other with ill-disguised suspicion. "may i inquire the reason of my being so honored?" said the polite chief. "i came only on a friendly visit," answered herkimer. "and all these have come on a friendly visit, too?" and brant eyed herkimer's companions. "all want to see the poor indians? it is very kind," he added, with just a little curl of the lip. general herkimer wished to go forward to his camp, but brant informed him he was quite near enough at present, and that he must not proceed further in that direction. herkimer questioned brant about his feelings and intentions with regard to the war between england and the colonies, to which the sachem replied earnestly: "the indians are in concert with the king, as their fathers were. we have yet got the wampum belt which the king gave us, and we can not break our word. you and your followers have joined the boston people against your sovereign. yet, although the bostonians are resolute, the king will humble them. general schuyler was very smart on the indians in his treaty with them, but at the same time he could not afford to give them the smallest article of clothing. the indians have made war before upon the white people when they were all united; now they are divided, and the indians are not frightened." brant peremptorily refused to surrender the tories in his party, when this was demanded, but agreed to meet herkimer on the following morning. that night herkimer laid a dark plot to massacre the chief and his few attendants at the next meeting, the following day. but brant was wary. at the appointed time he marched up to general herkimer with great dignity. "i have five hundred warriors with me, armed and ready for battle," said he. "you are in my power; but as we have been friends and neighbors i will not take advantage of you." as he said this he gave a signal to his waiting band, and with a war-whoop that made the forest resound they swept around the spot ready for any work their chief had for them to do. restraining his men, brant faced herkimer and his raw recruits, and with a haughty gesture said: "you may go." the colonists took the hint and went at the highest possible speed. joseph waggoner, one of herkimer's party, in a written statement, declared that the general appointed himself and three others to be present at this meeting, and at a signal from him to shoot brant and his three attendants upon the spot. this was not a very honorable or friendly intention, but white men in indian warfare often become as treacherous as the indians themselves, and it is a relief to know that the plan failed for the reason given. the savage war had now commenced. the tomahawk and scalping-knife were combined with british bayonets for the devastation of the frontier. burgoyne, who had superseded sir guy carleton as commander of the royal forces in canada, in invading new york, detached st. leger against fort stanwix, or schuyler, on the mohawk. brant and his indians formed a part of this force. colonel gansevoort, the commander of the fort, declared his determination to defend it to the last extremity. but the fortifications were weak, and the garrison in peril. a body of militia was raised in the valley of the mohawk for the relief of the place. our old friend general herkimer, took the command and, early in august, began his march for the fort. st. leger, hearing of his approach, dispatched a strong force of british and indians to meet them. brant, knowing from experience that the militia would advance without much order or precaution, planned an ambush, which the misconduct of the americans and their commander enabled him to carry into effect with such success as to cause them a severe loss. he placed his warriors in an ambush where there was a causeway and bridge crossing a low marsh. they were arranged in a circle with an opening at the bridge. as soon as the main body had crossed this marsh, a band of warriors rushed in to close the gap of the circle, completely inclosing the militia, with the exception of the supply train and rear guard, which had not entered the causeway. herkimer's first intimation of the vicinity of an enemy was a terrific indian yell, followed immediately by so heavy and well-aimed a volley as brought nearly every man in his advanced body to the ground. a frightful struggle ensued. from every side the savages poured in the most galling fire. every time the militia attempted to breakthrough the fatal lines which encircled them, they were beaten back with fearful slaughter. yet they bravely maintained a most stubborn resistance by posting themselves in indian fashion behind logs and trees. observing that a savage, waiting till a colonist had discharged his gun from behind a tree, would rush forward and tomahawk him before he could reload, they placed two men behind each tree, one reserving his fire for the defense of his companion. finding themselves pressed on all sides, the militiamen disposed themselves in a circle. it was a small wheel within a larger one. just as the indians charged on their foes with desperate valor, using the murderous bayonet, as well as the tomahawk, a sudden storm which had come up unnoticed by the struggling combatants broke upon them with tropical fury. unearthly bolts of lightning, followed by peal after peal of sky-splitting thunder, lent horror to the scene. the trees of the forest writhed and swayed in the fury of the tempest. in a moment a mighty flood of waters burst forth from the surcharged clouds, dampening the powder and rendering some of the guns of the combatants useless. the conflict of men became puny in comparison with the conflict of the elements. the noise of battle was but a stillness contrasted with the awful roar of the storm. the awed combatants desisted. the dark clans of thay-en-da-ne-gea withdrew in sullen rage to the sheltering distance. the storm lasted about an hour, and the americans availed themselves of this opportunity to take a more advantageous position. when the fighting was again renewed, the red men were reenforced by a detachment of johnson's greens. as the royalists advanced upon the american militia, neighbor recognized neighbor, and with the bitter hatred of civil warfare the battle was waged more fiercely. the americans fired upon the greens as they came up, and then, with uncontrollable ferocity, sprang from the sheltering trees and attacked them with their bayonets and the butts of their muskets. the contest grew even closer, and militiamen and tories, some of whom were neighbors and relatives, throttled and stabbed one another, often dying grappled together. near the commencement of the action a musket ball passed through and killed general herkimer's horse, and shattered his own leg just below the knee. with perfect composure and cool courage, he ordered the saddle to be taken from his dead horse and placed against a large beech tree near. seated there, with his men falling all around him, and the bullets of the enemy like driving sleet, the intrepid old general calmly gave his orders. when advised to take a less exposed position, his reply was, "no, i will face the enemy," and he continued to command his men; at the same time coolly taking out his tinder-box and lighting his pipe, he smoked it with the greatest composure. he did not long survive the battle, but died at his home near by. a body of two hundred and fifty men of the garrison were in the meantime advancing to the relief of herkimer's party. they fell upon the indians and tories, put them to rout, captured their provisions and baggage, with five standards, and returned in safety. brant now drew off his braves, and one of the bloodiest battles of the war ended. herkimer's disaster produced no disheartening effects upon the garrison. they repulsed every attack, and refused to listen to any mention of a surrender, although they no longer had any hope of being relieved. as it was of the utmost importance to reduce this place, in order to leave no military post in the hands of the americans which might threaten the right flank of burgoyne's army in its approach, st. leger tried the arts of intimidation. on august he sent a flag to the fort with a summons to surrender, in which he exaggerated his own strength, and represented that burgoyne had entered albany in triumph, after laying waste the whole country in his victorious march. he further stated that brant and his indians were determined, if they met with further resistance, to massacre every soul on the mohawk river; and, in case they were obliged to wait any longer for the surrender of fort schuyler, every man in the garrison would be tomahawked. gansevoort, maintaining his inflexible resolution, was not moved in the slightest degree by these threats, but determined to make one more attempt to obtain relief. two of his officers volunteered their services, and with much difficulty and many adventures, made their way through the cordon of the enemy to german flats, from which place a message was sent to general schuyler, at stillwater. measures were instantly taken to relieve the fort. general arnold offered to conduct the expedition, and a brigade was detached for this purpose. but an opportunity presented itself for directing a stratagem against the enemy. among the tory spies recently captured was a half-witted fellow named hon-yost schuyler; he was tried by court-martial and condemned to death. his mother and brother interceded with arnold on his behalf; the general at first was inexorable, but at last proposed terms on which he would grant hon-yost's pardon. he must hurry to fort schuyler and alarm st. leger's army, so that he would raise the siege. the foolish fellow immediately accepted these conditions, and his brother became a hostage in his stead. hon-yost now made arrangements with a friendly oneida indian to aid him, and, after firing several shots through his clothes, the two men started by different routes to st. leger's army. brant's indian warriors had been morose and dissatisfied since the battle of oriskany; they had been promised an easy success and much plunder, and they had found neither the one nor the other. they were now holding a great pow-wow to consult the spirits about the success of the present siege. in the midst of the ranting and drumming, and dancing, and other mysterious jugglery, hon-yost arrived in camp. hon-yost was well known to be on their side, and they crowded around him to hear the news. with the trickery of a half-witted man he did not deliver his message in plain words. he knew the effect of mystery with an indian. he shook his head ominously, and pointed to his riddled clothes to denote his narrow escape from the coming foe. "how many men--how many men are there?" asked the eager indians. hon-yost looked up and pointed to the leaves of the trees over his head. the report ran like wild-fire through the camp; it quickly reached the ear of the commander. st. leger sent for hon-yost. the wily fellow adopted a different policy in talking to the english commander. he told a straight and pitiful story; how he had been captured, tried and condemned; how, on the way to his execution, finding himself carelessly guarded, he had fled, thinking he would die any way, and he would as soon be shot as hung. his escape had been narrow, as the colonel might see by looking at his clothes. and the americans were coming in great force to raise the siege. while hon-yost was being interviewed at headquarters, the oneida messenger arrived with wampum to say that the americans were indeed coming in great force. of course, after all this, the spirits consulted in the pow-wow gave ominous warnings. st. leger saw that the indians were about to decamp; he tried to reassure them; he called a council, but neither the influence of thay-en-da-ne-gea nor that of johnson was of any avail. "the pow-wow says we must go--the pow-wow says we must go," persisted the indians. and the besieging army went--as fast as they could, strewing their baggage along the route. the simpleton, whose well-told lie was responsible for this sudden departure, went with them a few miles, and then contrived to slip away. he reported to general arnold, who promptly released his brother, and gave him a full pardon. brant was again at oquaga in , the terror of the border. women turned pale and children trembled at his very name. in the bitter animosity of the day no story of cruelty was too black to be laid upon brant, the great chief of these savage warriors. brant felt keenly the hatred with which he was regarded in afterlife among frontiersmen. the proud chief wished to be regarded as a gentleman in every respect. "he always denied," as edward eggleston says, "that he had ever committed any act of cruelty during this cruel war, and none has been proved against him, while many stories of his mercy are well authenticated. he led, indeed, a savage force, and fought in the savage way, as the english officials who managed the indian alliance desired. when indians were accused of cruelty brant would return the charge upon the whites, who sometimes, in fact, excelled the savages in their revengeful barbarity. to brant the civilized custom of imprisoning men was the worst of cruelty; a man's liberty, he held, was worth more than his life. of the indian custom of torture he did not approve, but when a man must die for a crime, he thought it better to give him some chance to make atonement in a courageous and warrior-like death than to execute him after the manner of the whites by the humiliating gallows. brant used in after-life to defend the indian mode of warfare. he said the indians had neither the artillery, the numbers, the forts, nor the prisons of the white men. in place of artillery they must use stratagem; as their forces were small, they must use every means to kill as many of the enemy with as small a loss to themselves as possible; and, as they had no prisons, their captives must, in some cases, be killed. he held it more merciful to kill a suffering person, and thus put an end to his misery." {illustration: king hendrick, mohawk chief.} during the summer of , when every borderer trembled for his life, a boy named william mckoun was one day making hay in a field alone; when, happening to turn around he saw an indian very near, and involuntarily raised his rake for defense. "don't be afraid, young man, i shan't hurt you," said the indian. "can you tell me where foster's house is?" the youth gave the directions, and then asked, "do you know mr. foster?" "i am slightly acquainted with him. i saw him once at halfway creek," answered the indian. "what is your name?" "william mckoun." "oh, you are a son of captain mckoun, who lives in the northeast part of town, i suppose. i know your father very well; he lives neighbor to mr. foster. i know mckoun very, very well, and a very fine fellow he is, too. i know several more of your neighbors and they are all fine men." "what is your name?" the boy ventured to ask. the indian hesitated a moment and then said: "my name is brant." "what! captain brant?" cried the boy, eagerly. "no; i'm a cousin of his," answered the chief, smiling, as he turned away. the first blow that brant struck in was at a small settlement about ten miles from cherry valley. the inhabitants were aroused by the terrible war-whoop in the dead of night; some escaped, the rest were taken prisoners. under brant's guidance there was no massacreing of helpless women and children. the houses and barns were fired, and their flames lighted up the country; the men were tied and carried into captivity. brant had left one large house unburned. into this he gathered the women and children, and here he left them unharmed. the alarming news that brant's forces were increasing, and that he was fortifying himself at unadilla, reached cherry valley. captain mckoun, of that place, very foolishly wrote brant a challenge to meet him either in single combat, or with an equal number of men, with the insulting addition that if brant would come to cherry valley they would change him "from a brant to a goose." this letter was put in the indian post office; in other words, it was tied to a stick and put in an indian foot-path, and was sure to reach the chief. brant received it in due time, and referred to it in this postscript to a letter written to a loyalist a few days after: "i heard that the cherry valley people are very bold and intend to make nothing of us; they call us wild geese, but i know the contrary. i mean now to fight the cruel rebels as well as i can." early in the fall of brant, with his indian army, made an attack upon german flats, the finest and richest part of mohawk valley. fortunately four scouts from the settlement were out; three of them were killed by the indians, but the fourth one escaped to warn the settlers. men, women and children took to forts dayton and herkimer, near by, for safety. brant did not know that his approach was expected. the indians swept into the settlement from different directions, that they might take it entirely by surprise. they found the houses deserted. a moment more and the settlement was in a blaze. each family could see from the forts its own home and the stored-up fruits of their year's labor fast burning up. but they might be thankful they were not in the houses. the indians dared not brave the artillery of the forts, but could be seen rushing into the pastures after the cattle, and driving away sheep and horses. they left the settlers nothing, but fortunately they had found only two men to kill. a war of retaliation was now begun. a regiment of american troops marched upon brant's headquarters. they approached unadilla with the greatest caution, thinking to surprise the indians in their homes, but indians are not often so surprised. they found that unadilla had been deserted several days. capturing a loyalist, they made him guide them to oquaga. this town had been just deserted in the greatest confusion, and much of the indians' portable property was left behind. here were a number of well-built houses which denoted brant's efforts at civilization. the colonial soldiers feasted upon poultry, fruit and vegetables of the red men; and then everything was destroyed by fire. near to this place was an indian fort. this, too, was laid in ruins. on the return two mills were burned and the village of unadilla was left in a blaze. from his ruined villages brant determined to return to niagara for winter quarters. while on the way he was met by walter n. butler, who, with a force of loyalists, was marching to attack the settlements, and he brought orders for brant to join him. the great sachem was much displeased to be put in a subordinate position under this young man, or rather young fiend, whom he disliked. he was at length persuaded to join him, however, with a force of some five hundred warriors. it was late in the fall. the scattered settlers had returned to their homes thinking it was too late in the season for further danger from the indians, as brant and his warriors had, as they supposed, gone into winter quarters at niagara. they therefore did not apprehend an attack on the settlement. the fort at cherry valley was the church, surrounded with a stockade and garrisoned by eastern soldiers, who knew little of indian fighting. they heard rumors of an approach from the indians, but did not credit them fully. they did, however, send out scouts, who went a few miles, built a fire and lay down to sleep, without appointing a guard. they awoke to find themselves prisoners. butler and brant approached the settlement on a stormy night. they fired upon a straggling settler, who escaped to give the alarm. but, strange to say, the commander did not yet believe the indians were coming in force, until they burst like a storm upon the settlement, surrounding the houses and murdering the inhabitants as they came forth. the house of mr. wells, a prominent citizen, was first surrounded, and every person in it was killed by the ferocious senecas, who were first to rush into the village. captain alden, the unwise commander, paid for his folly with his life. he and the other officers were quartered among the settlers outside the fort, and as soon as the alarm was heard he tried to reach the fort, but a savage hurled his tomahawk at his head with deadly effect. thirty-two settlers, mostly women and children, were killed, although some of them escaped to the woods and from there to the mohawk valley. brant greatly regretted the murder of the wells family, with whom he was well acquainted; although he had tried to anticipate the indians and reach the wells house before the senecas, but failed. he now asked after captain mckoun, and was informed that he had probably escaped to the mohawk with his family. "he sent me a challenge once," said brant. "i have now come to accept it. he is a fine soldier thus to retreat." "captain mckoun would not turn his back upon an enemy when there was any probability of success," answered his informer. "i know it," said brant. "he is a brave man, and i would have given more to take him than any other man in cherry valley, but i would not have hurt a hair of his head." through all that terrible struggle, here and elsewhere, in which so much blood was shed, and so many heart-sickening scenes were enacted by both parties, brant was generally found on the side of mercy; but it was his misfortune to be under the command of tories, whom he declared, "were more savage than the savages themselves." we have called walter n. butler a fiend, and an incident is recorded of the massacre at cherry valley which tends to prove it. butler ordered a little child to be killed because he was a rebel. brant interfered and saved him, remarking: "this child is not an enemy to the king, nor a friend to the colonies; long before he is old enough to bear arms the trouble will be settled." during this massacre brant entered a house where he found a woman going about her regular duties. "how does it happen you are at this kind of work while your neighbors are all murdered around you?" exclaimed the chief. "we are king's people," answered the woman. "that plea won't save you to-day," said brant. "there is one joseph brant; if he is with the indians, he will save us," said the woman. "i am joseph brant," answered the chief; "but i am not in command, and i don't know that i can save you, but i will do what i can." at this moment some senecas approached the house "get into bed and pretend you are sick," said brant. the woman hurried into bed and brant met the senecas. "there's no one here but a sick woman and her children." said he. he prevailed upon the indians to leave, after little conversation. when they were out of sight he went to the door and gave a long, shrill yell. immediately some mohawks came running across the fields. "where is your paint?" brant called out to them. "here, put my mark upon this woman and her children." the order was obeyed, and brant turned to the woman saying, "you are now probably safe, as the indians will understand and respect that sign." the loyalists and indians gained no success by an attempted assault on the fort, while the garrison dared make no sally, on account of the superior numbers of the indians. the enemy encamped for the night in the valley, and spent most of the night distributing and dividing plunder. there were thirty or forty prisoners, men, women and children, who spent a sleepless night, fearing that torture was reserved for them; but the next morning the whole force marched down cherry valley creek. on the morning of the following day, the prisoners were all gathered together, and were informed that the women were all to be sent back with the exception of mrs. moore, mrs. campbell and their children. it seems that the husbands of these two women had been active in border warfare, and it was resolved, as a punishment, to keep their families in captivity. these women and children were finally exchanged for british prisoners among the americans. among other captives the indians carried away, at this time, a man named vrooman, who was an old friend of the chief. desiring to give his friend a chance to escape. brant sent him back about two miles to get some birch-bark. he, of course, expected to see no more of him, but what was his surprise when, a few hours after, vrooman came hurrying up with the bark, which the chief did not want. brant said afterward that he had sent him back on purpose to give him a chance to escape, but he was such a big fool he did not do it and he was compelled to take him to canada. in , when sir john johnson and brant led a desolating army through the schoharie and mohawk valleys, brant's humanity was again displayed. on their way to fort hunter an infant was carried off. the frantic mother followed them as far as the fort, but could get no tidings of her child. on the morning after the departure of the invaders, and while general van rensselaer's officers were at breakfast, a young indian came bounding into the room, bearing the infant in his arms and a letter from captain brant, addressed to "the commander of the rebel army." the letter was as follows: "sir,--i send you, by one of my runners, the child, which he will deliver, that you may know that whatever others may do, i do not make war upon women and children. i am sorry to say that i have those engaged with me who are more savage than the savages themselves." he named colonel john butler, who commanded the tories at wyoming, and his son, walter n., the commander of the british and indians at cherry valley. the former occurred july , the latter, november , of the same year. these were among the most bloody massacres of indian warfare. but let it never be forgotten, that the commander and instigator of the butchery of aged non-combatants, women and children, at each place, was a _white man._ we have seen how brant restrained the fiendish barbarity of the younger butler at cherry valley. and, as to wyoming, it has been proven that the "monster brant," as campbell calls him in his "gertrude of wyoming," _was not present_ at that massacre. the indians who fought with the loyalists at wyoming were not mohawks, but senecas, under their war-chief, gi-en-gwa-tah, which signifies "he who goes in the smoke." it was at wyoming where the garrison sallied forth under colonel zebulon butler, the commander, to attack the tories and indians, under the command of john butler. the americans were ambushed and only a remnant regained the fort. a demand was sent in for the surrender of the fort, accompanied by one hundred and ninety-six bloody scalps, taken from the slain. when the best terms were asked, the infamous john butler replied, "the hatchet." it will be noticed that the hostile commanders bore the same name, as they were cousins and had been old friends. it was believed for many years that brant and his mohawk warriors were engaged in the invasion of wyoming. historians of established reputation, such as gordon, ramsey, thacher, marshall, and allen, assert that he and john butler were joint commanders on that occasion, and upon his memory rested the foul imputation of being a participant in the horrid transactions of wyoming. misled by history, or rather "historical imagination," campbell, in his "gertrude of wyoming," makes the oneida say: "this is no time to fill the joyous cup; the mammoth comes--the foe--the monster brant, with all his howling, desolating band." and again: "scorning to wield the hatchet for his tribe, 'gainst brant himself i went to battle forth; accursed brant! he left of all my tribe nor man, nor child, nor thing of living birth. no! not the dog that watched my household hearth escaped that night of blood upon the plains. all perish'd. i alone am left on earth! to whom nor relative nor blood remains-- no, not a kindred drop that runs in human veins." brant always denied any participation in the invasion, but the evidence of history seemed against him, and the verdict of the world was that he was one of the chief actors in that horrible tragedy. from this aspersion mr. stone vindicated his character in his "life of brant." a reviewer, understood to be caleb cushing, of massachusetts, disputed the point, and maintained that stone had not made out a clear case for the sachem. unwilling to remain deceived, if he was so, mr. stone made a journey to the seneca country, where he found several surviving warriors who were engaged in that campaign. the celebrated seneca chief, kavundvowand, better known as captain pollard, who was a young chief in the battle, gave mr. stone a clear account of the events, and was positive in his declarations that brant and the mohawks were not engaged in that campaign. the indians were principally senecas, and were led by gi-en-gwa-tah, as before mentioned. john brant, a son of the mohawk sachem, while in england in , on a mission in behalf of his nation, opened a correspondence with mr. campbell on the subject of the injustice which the latter had done the chief in his "gertrude of wyoming." the result was a partial acknowledgment of his error by the poet in the next edition of the poem that was printed. he did not change a word of the poem, but referred to the use of brant's name there in a note, in which he says: "his son referred to documents which completely satisfied me that the common accounts of brant's cruelties at wyoming, which i had found in books of travels, and in adolphus's and other similar histories of england, were gross errors. . . . the name of brant, therefore, remains in my poem a pure and declared character of fiction." this was well enough, as far as it went; but an omission, after such a conviction of error, to blot out the name entirely from the poem, was unworthy of the character of an honest man; and the stain upon the poet's name will remain as long as the blot upon a humane warrior shall endure in the epic. {illustration: sir william johnson in treaty with the mohawks.} following is a part of the letter written by campbell to john brant: "sir,--ten days ago i was not aware that such a person existed as a son of the indian leader, brant, who is mentioned in my poem, 'gertrude of wyoming.' . . . lastly, you assert that he was not within many miles of the spot when the battle which decided the fate of wyoming took place; and from your offer of reference to living witnesses, i can not but admit the assertion." another of brant's exploits was the destruction of minisink, near the border of new jersey and pennsylvania. with a band of sixty mohawks and twenty-seven tories disguised as indians, brant stole upon the minisink people, whose first warning was the burning of houses. most of the inhabitants fled, but some were killed and others taken captive. the houses were plundered and burned, property destroyed and cattle driven away. in a massacre during this raid one man, major wood, was about to be killed, when, either by accident or design, he made a masonic signal, though he did not belong to the order. brant was an enthusiastic freemason, and at once rescued him. when the indian leader found out the deception, he boiled over with rage, but yet spared his life. the captive, on his part, it is said, felt bound to join the order immediately on his release from captivity. in the summer of , the colonies resolved on a united effort to crush the power of the six nations by an invasion of their country. the command was given to general sullivan, who went to work as one in earnest. he decided that the expedition should advance in three divisions. the left was to move from pittsburg, under col. daniel broadhead; the right from the mohawk, under gen. james clinton, while sullivan was to lead the center from wyoming. general clinton, with seventeen hundred men, reached otsego lake, the source of the susquehanna. in doing this clinton had traversed a portage of about twenty miles, conveying his baggage and two hundred and twenty boats. owing to the dry season there was not sufficient water to float any craft larger than an indian canoe. while waiting for orders clinton employed his men damming up the outlet of the lake, which raised the surface of the water several feet. when the order came, everything was in readiness; the dam was torn away, and the out rushing torrent carried with it the large boats filled with troops and supplies, where nothing but indian canoes had ever been seen before. the sight astonished the indians, who concluded that the great spirit must have made the flood to show that he was angry with them. the two armies met at tioga in the latter part of august, forming together a force of five thousand men. on august this powerful body marched into the indian country. at the indian village of newtown, where elmira now stands, sullivan found a force of twelve hundred tories and indians under the command of sir john and guy johnson, col. john and walter n. butler, and joseph brant. the battle began at once and raged all day. the americans gradually forced the enemy back. so many indians were killed that "the sides of the rocks next the river appeared as though blood had been poured on them by pailfuls." all was lost. the indian warriors fled, taking women and children with them, and leaving their fertile country, with its populous and well-laid-out villages, its vast fields of waving grain, its numerous orchards, laden with the ruddy fruit, open to the destroyers' advance. town after town was laid in ashes. of kanadaseagea, the capital of the senecas, not one house was left standing. genesee, the principal western town, containing all the winter stores of the confederacy, was completely obliterated. nor were they the ordinary wigwams and cabins, but frame houses, some of which were finely finished, painted and provided with chimneys. these invaders found themselves in a veritable garden, with a soil that needed but to be tickled with a crude implement, to make it laugh with a golden harvest. a soldier took the pains to measure an ear of corn which he plucked from the stalk and found it to be twenty-two inches long. another soldier made a rough count of the number of apple trees in a single orchard which was on the point of destruction. he estimated that there were fifteen hundred bearing trees. nor was this unusually large. of the number of orchards, the men said they were "innumerable." this, probably, included those of peach and pear trees. they were the product of the toil and care of generations of iroquois. "a wigwam can be built in two or three days," the indians sadly said; "but a tree takes many years to grow again." one can not help but contrast the indications of great abundance found here with the abject poverty of the "great and good massasoit," mentioned in another chapter. but massasoit lived in an inhospitable country and his career was near the beginning of the intercourse between the white and red races. evidently the enterprising iroquois had learned much of agriculture and horticulture from the thrifty farmers near them. general sullivan had now destroyed their homes and driven their families abroad to strange and inhospitable regions. more than forty of the villages were laid in ruins. as mason says, "the landscape was no longer variegated with fields of golden grain, with burdened orchards, staggering beneath their tinted fruitage, with verdant pastures, dotted over with sleek and peaceful herds, nor with waving forests of ancient trees, whose emerald foliage formed such a rich contrast with the sunny sky and winding river. as far as the eye could stretch, the prospect presented a single ominous color. that color was black. it was a landscape of charcoal! the american general was happy." the sorrows of the iroquois became the source of dissension. there arose a peace party. the leader of it was a young seneca chief named red jacket. he had the gift of eloquence. he spoke with thrilling earnestness of the folly of war, which was driving them forever from the lovely valley which they had inherited from their fathers; a war, too, in which they fought, not for themselves, but for the english. "what have the english done for us," he exclaimed, with flashing eye, drawing his proud form to its fullest height, and pointing with the zeal of despair toward the winding mohawk, "that we should become homeless and helpless wanderers for their sakes?" his burning words sank deep into the hearts of his passionate hearers. it was secretly resolved by his party to send a runner to the american army, and ask them to offer peace on any terms. brant heard of this plot to make peace. he kept his own counsel. the runner left the camp. two confidential warriors were summoned by him. in a few stern words he explained to them that the american flag of truce must never reach the indian camp. its bearers must be killed on the way, yet with such secrecy that their fate should not be known. the expectant peace party, waiting for the message in vain, were to believe that the americans had scornfully refused to hear their prayer for peace. the plot was carried out. the flag of truce never arrived. meantime colonel broadhead, leading the expedition from pittsburg, ascended the allegheny with six hundred men. his purpose was to create a diversion that would help the general campaign. besides doing that he destroyed many villages and cornfields, and returned after a month's absence without the loss of a man. the winter of - was one of unprecedented rigor. the shivering iroquois, at niagara, suffered severely; but the fire of hate burned in the heart of brant as hot as ever. he had long meditated a terrible revenge upon the oneidas, who had refused to follow his leadership, and persisted in neutrality. upon them he laid the blame of all his disasters. that winter he led his warriors across frozen rivers and through snowy forests, to the home of the unsuspecting oneidas. of what followed we have no detailed history. it is only known that brant fell upon them without mercy, that their villages and wigwams, their store-houses and council buildings were suddenly destroyed, that vast numbers of them were slain, and that the survivors fled to the white men for protection. the poor refugees, stricken for a fault which was not their own, were allotted rude and comfortless quarters near schenectady, where they were supported by the government till the close of the war. the tories and indians, to the number of about one thousand, under sir john johnson, brant and cornplanter, planned another invasion of the mohawk settlements. brant's appetite for vengeance was unabated. he was ambitious to surpass the work of sullivan. on the morning of october , , the occupants of the little fort at middleburg, far down the mohawk valley, looked out at sunrise on a startling sight. in every direction barns, hay-stacks, granaries and many houses were on fire. everywhere the people fled, abandoning everything in their madness of fear. their alarm was justifiable. brant's army, without a moment's warning, was upon them. at first the tories and indians mounted their little cannon and prepared to besiege the fort. but meeting with a stubborn resistance, and finding that the siege would delay them, brant, a past-master of guerrilla warfare, gave up the notion of taking the fort, and swept on down the valley. in their course the whole valley on both sides of the mohawk was laid in ruins. houses and barns were burned, the horses and cattle killed or driven off, and those of the inhabitants who were not safely within the walls of their fortifications were either killed or taken captive. the very churches were fired. but the torch of destruction was stayed wherever lived a tory. they passed by the homes of all who were loyal to england. then one of the strange sides of human nature asserted itself. the settlers, furious at their own wrongs, and aflame with passion at the sight of their tory neighbors' immunity from harm, issued from the forts and with their own hands applied the torch to all houses left standing, thus completing the work which transformed a verdant valley into a mighty cinder. the goal of the expedition was schenectady, but the invaders never reached that settlement. flying horsemen had long since carried the news of the invasion to albany. too much time had been taken up in the advance. general van rensselaer, with a strong force, was on the way to meet the enemy. brant and johnson began a retreat, but it was now too late. a heavy battle was fought. at sunset the advantage was with the americans. but van rensselaer, who was proverbially slow or incompetent, failed to push it. that night was of unusual darkness and favored the retreat of the enemy. an amusing thing happened at this time. nine tories were hurrying through the forest in full retreat. suddenly a stern voice cried out in the darkness, "lay down your arms." they obeyed promptly and were made prisoners. every tory was securely pinioned and led away. in the morning they found themselves in a little block-house. their captors were seven militiamen. the nine had surrendered to the seven. according to eggleston another curious incident happened in connection with this expedition. "the famous cornplanter, who commanded the senecas who served under brant, was a half-breed. he said of himself: 'when i was a child and began to play with the indian boys in the village, they took notice of my skin being a different color from theirs and spoke about it. i inquired of my mother the cause, and she told me that my father was a white man.' cornplanter's father was, in fact, an indian trader named o'beel, who was settled in the mohawk valley at the time of its invasion. during the progress of the army cornplanter went with a band of indians to his father's house, and taking him prisoner, marched off with him. after going some ten or twelve miles, he stopped abruptly, and, walking up in front of his father, said: 'my name is john o'beel, commonly called cornplanter. i am your son. you are my father. you are now my prisoner and subject to the customs of indian war-fare. you shall not be harmed. you need not fear. i am a warrior. many are the scalps which i have taken. many prisoners i have put to death. i am your son. i am a warrior. i was anxious to see you and greet you in friendship. i went to your cabin and took you by force, but your life shall be spared. indians love their friends and their kindred, and treat them with kindness. if now you choose to fellow the fortunes of your yellow son, i will cherish your old age with plenty of venison and you shall live easy. but if you prefer to return to the arms of your pale-face squaw and the caresses of your pale-face children, my brothers, it is well. you are free to choose.' the old man preferred to go back and cornplanter sent him with an indian escort." the last scene of the bloody drama on the mohawk took place october , . the british force of regulars, tories and indians, to the number of a thousand, were under the command of major ross and walter n. butler. the americans, under the command of colonels rowley and willett, met the invaders near johnson hall and a battle immediately ensued. the advantage was with the americans, and the enemy retreated, in a northerly course along west canada creek, pursued by willett. night came on and willett and his force encamped in a thick wood upon the "royal grant," which sir william johnson obtained from king hendrick, the indian chief, in a dreaming contest. the next day the americans overtook the enemy, commanded by walter butler, on the opposite side of the stream. a brisk fire was kept up across the creek, by both parties, until butler was shot in the head by an oneida indian, who knew him and took deliberate aim. his men now fled in confusion. the friendly oneida bounded across the stream, and found his victim not dead, but writhing in great agony. the bloody tory who had never shown mercy to others begged piteously for his life, "save me! save me!" he cried out, "give me quarter!" while the tomahawk of the warrior glittered over his head. "me give you sherry falley quarter!" shouted the indian, and buried his hatchet in the head of his enemy. he took his scalp, and, with the rest of the oneidas, continued the pursuit of the flying host. the body of butler was left to the beasts and birds, without burial, for charity toward one so inhuman and blood-stained had no dwelling place in the bosom of his foes. the place where he fell is still called butler's ford. the pursuit was kept up until evening, when willett, completely successful by entirely routing and dispersing the enemy, wheeled his victorious little army and returned to fort dayton in triumph. quite a different fate was in store for the second in command at cherry valley, the humane brant. at the close of the american revolution, when the treaty of peace was made between great britain and the united states not one word was said in it about the six nations. it was ever thus. indians have a great sense of their own dignity and importance. they were much hurt at being thus overlooked by the power they had aided so materially in the late war. brant immediately exerted himself to get a home for his people. the mohawks had left forever their own beautiful country in new york and were now encamped on the american side of niagara river. the senecas, who were very anxious for the mohawks in any future wars, offered them a home in the genesee valley. but brant said the mohawks were determined to "sink or swim" with the english. accordingly, he went to quebec, and with the aid of general haldiman, secured a grant of land on grand river, which flows into lake erie. brant and his mohawks received a title to the land on both sides of the river from its mouth to its source. this made a tract both beautiful and fertile twelve miles wide and one hundred miles long. the mohawks soon after took possession of their new home. the baroness de riedesel, a charming german lady, who was the wife of the general commanding the hessians during burgoyne's campaign, met brant at quebec. she says in her memoirs: "i saw at that time the famous indian chief, captain brant. his manners are polished; he expressed himself with fluency, and was much esteemed by general haldiman. i dined with him once at the general's. in his dress he showed off to advantage the half military and half savage costume. his countenance was manly and intelligent, and his disposition very mild." {illustration: leading hawk, sioux (upper brule).} like other ambitious warriors, since and before, brant planned at one time a confederacy of the northwestern tribes, over which he should be the head chief. he never succeeded in uniting the indians, however. in brant made a second visit to england, and was received with more splendor and ceremony than before. this was in consideration of his eminent services for the crown during the revolution. he was well acquainted with sir guy carlton, afterward lord dorchester. earl moira, afterward marquis of hastings, had formed an attachment for brant and gave him his picture set in gold. lord percy, who afterward became duke of northumberland, had been adopted by the mohawks, and on the occasion of his adoption brant had given him the name of thorighwegeri, or the evergreen brake. brant, therefore, had many friends among the nobility, and was presented at court. he refused to kiss the king's hand, but gallantly offered to kiss the hand of the queen. he became quite a favorite with the royal family. the prince of wales, afterward george iv., who was then very wild, took a good deal of pleasure in the sachem's company. he invited brant to go with him on some of his rambles, in which he visited places, as brant afterward said, "very queer for a prince to go to." he was often a guest at the prince's table, where he met many whig leaders, among them, the celebrated charles james fox. brant learned from the conversation of these whig leaders to have much less respect for the king than he had been taught in america. fox presented the chief with a silver snuff-box with his initials engraved upon it. brant met, in society, a nobleman (?) save the mark! of whom he had heard the scandalous story that his honors were purchased at the expense of the virtue of his beautiful wife. this nobleman very foolishly hectored brant rather rudely upon the wild customs and manners of the indians. "there are customs in england also which the indians think very strange," said the chief coolly. "and pray what are they?" inquired the nobleman, "why, the indians have heard," said brant, "that it is a practice in england for men who are born chiefs to sell the virtue of their squaws for place and for money to buy their venison." it is unnecessary to add that the nobleman was effectually silenced. eggleston informs us, that, "while brant was in london a great masquerade was given, to which he was invited. he needed no mask. he dressed himself for the occasion in his rich semi-savage costume, wore his handsome tomahawk in his belt, and painted one-half his face in the indian manner. there were some turks also present at the ball. one of them examined brant very closely, and at last raised his hand and pulled the chief's roman nose, supposing it to be a mask. instantly brant gave the war-whoop and swung his glistening tomahawk around the turk's head in that dangerous way in which indians handle this weapon. it was only an indian joke, but the turk cowered in abject terror and the ladies shrieked and ran as though they had been in as much danger as the settlers' wives and daughters of america, who had dreaded this same sound but a few years before." having accomplished the purpose of his visit to england, which was some reparation to the mohawks for losses sustained in the war, and money with which to build a church and school-house, brant returned to canada. he now began his labors for the improvement of his people, and hoped to induce them to devote themselves more to agriculture. the western nations still looked to the great war-chief for advice. brant thus retained his importance. he was under half-pay as a british officer, and held the commission of colonel from the king of england, though he was usually called captain. when he visited philadelphia, then the capital of the united states, the new government offered to double his salary and make him many presents if he would influence the western nations for peace. brant refused the offer, knowing that he would be accused of duplicity if he received anything from the united states. an indian chief quickly loses his influence if he is suspected of being mercenary. brant, in fact, joined the western indians, and is said to have been present with one hundred and fifty mohawks in the fierce battle which resulted in st. clair's defeat, though this fact is disputed. it is well known that little turtle commanded the indians in that battle, and it hardly seems reasonable that the great war-chief and head of the iroquois would take second place to another. he erected for himself a fine mansion on the western shore of lake ontario, where he lived in great splendor. here he held his barbaric court, "with a retinue of thirty negro servants, and surrounded by gay soldiers, cavaliers in powdered wigs and scarlet coats, and all the motley assemblage of that picturesque era." his correspondence, of which much is yet extant, reveals a rugged and powerful intellect, on which his associations with white men had exerted a marked influence. he encouraged missionaries to come among his people, and renewed his christian professions, which had, perhaps, been suspended or eclipsed while he was hurling his warriors like destroying thunderbolts on the people of the mohawk valley. his letters reveal a proud, sensitive spirit, jealous of its dignity, and which could not brook the slightest imputation of dishonor. his mind was eminently diplomatic and nothing escaped his attention, whether in the cabinets of ministers or around the council fire of distant tribes of western indians. the oft-quoted saying that, "uneasy lies the head which wears a crown," was demonstrated in his career. on one of his eastern trips, a dutchman from the mohawk valley, whose entire family had been killed by brant's warriors, swore vengeance. the man shadowed him day and night, seeking an opportunity to kill him. brant had taken a room in a new york hotel, which fronted on broadway. looking out of the window, he saw his enemy on the opposite side of the street aiming a gun at him. our old hero, colonel willet, interfered. he assured the dutchman, whose name was dygert, that the war was over, and he would be hanged if he murdered the chief. this so frightened the man that he went home without carrying his threat into execution. thus we find that the very man who refused burial to the body of walter n. butler, saved the life of brant. the chief had planned to return through the mohawk valley, but learning of a plot to assassinate him en route he changed his course and went home another way. he was most cordially abhorred, and lived and died virtually an exile from his native land. nor was his ascendancy among the iroquois maintained without some heartburning. his old enemy, red jacket, the orator, gathered a number of malcontents around his standard, and at a pretended meeting of the sachems of the confederacy, during brant's absence, he was impeached and formally deposed from the position of head chief of the six nations. when thay-en-da-ne-gea heard of it on his return, he boldly confronted his enemies in public council; he defied them, denied their calumnies and charges, and demanded a fair trial before his people. the military fame and prestige of the great war-chief overcame even the burning eloquence and invectives of red jacket, and brant triumphed over all opposition. brant proved conclusively that he had always been loyal to the british cause, and the best interest of the six nations. it is a little remarkable, therefore, that among his warmest personal friends was colonel aaron burr, who was afterward a traitor to his country, in thought and intention, if not in actual fact. colonel burr was at this time in the zenith of his popularity. he gave brant a letter of introduction to his talented daughter, theodosia, then but fourteen years old. her father said of brant in this letter: "colonel brant is a man of education--speaks and writes the english perfectly--and has seen much of europe and america. receive him with respect and hospitality. he is not one of those indians who drink, but is quite a gentleman; not one who will make you fine bows, but one who understands and practices what belongs to propriety and good breeding. he has daughters; if you could think of some little present to send to one of them-a pair of earrings, for example--it would please him." theodosia burr received brant with great hospitality, and gave him a dinner party, to which she invited some of the most eminent gentlemen in new york. several years afterward, when theodosia was married, she and her husband visited brant and his family at grand river. brant died in , at the age of sixty-four years, leaving unfinished his work for the security of the mohawks in the full possession of their lands. among his last words he said to the chief, norton: "have pity on the poor indian; if you can get any influence with the great, endeavor to do them all the good you can." a few years before the chief's death he had built a large house on a tract of land at the head of lake ontario, a gift from the king. he had a number of negro slaves whom he had captured during the war and who lived with him in contentment, it is said, satisfied with the indian customs. the great chief was buried beside the church which he had built at grand river, the first church in upper canada. there is a monument over his grave, said to have cost thirty thousand dollars, with the following inscription: "this tomb is erected to the memory of thay-en-da-ne-gea, or capt. joseph brant, principal chief and warrior of the six nations indians, by his fellow-subjects, admirers of his fidelity and attachment to the british crown." on the death of joseph brant, his youngest son, john, became chief, and head of the confederacy. he was a gentlemanly young man and distinguished himself on the british side in the war of , and was given a captain's commission. in he was elected a member of the provincial parliament for the county of haldiman. he and his youngest sister, elizabeth, lived in their father's house in civilized style, but their mother preferred to live among the indians in the mohawk village at grand river. a gentleman and his daughters who visited them in found the parlor carpeted and furnished with mahogany tables, the fashionable chairs of the day, a guitar, and a number of books. miss brant proved to be "a noble-looking indian girl." the upper part of her hair was done up in a silk net, while the long lower tresses hung down her back. she wore a short black silk petticoat, with a tunic of the same material, black silk stockings and black kid shoes. she was remarkably self-possessed and ladylike. she afterward married william johnson kerr, a grandson of sir william johnson, and they lived together happily in the brant house. chapter viii. red jacket, or sa-go-ye-wat-ha, "the keeper awake"--the indian demosthenes--chief of the senecas. the subject of this sketch was certainly the greatest orator of the six nations, and it is doubtful if his equal was ever known among all the american indians. his birth is supposed to have taken place about the year , under a great tree which formerly stood near the spring of water at canoga point on the west shore of cayuga lake, in western new york. his parents were of the seneca tribe, the most western of the iroquois confederation, and lived at can-e-de-sa-ga, a large indian village on the present site of geneva. at the time of his birth, owing to scarcity of game, his parents, with others, were hunting on the west shore of cayuga lake. the locality has been purchased by judge sackett, of seneca falls, who derived the statement here quoted from the great orator himself. when interrogated about his birthplace the sachem would answer, counting on his fingers as he spoke, "one, two, three, four above john harris," meaning four miles above where harris kept his ferry across the cayuga, before the erection of the bridge. the orator, whose eloquence was the pride of the race, and the special glory of the senecas, owed nothing to the advantages of illustrious descent, but was of humble parentage. he was a cayuga on his father's side, and the cayugas claim to have been a thoughtful and far-seeing people. the fact of his possessing wonderful eloquence was never disputed at any time. the name which red jacket received in his infancy was o-te-tiana, and signified "always ready." according to the custom of his people, when he became chief he took another--sa-go-ye-wat-ha,--which means "the keeper awake." but little is known of his history until the campaign of sullivan, when red jacket must have been about twenty-nine years of age. tradition says that he was remarkably swift in the chase and possessed a marvelous power of endurance. for these reasons, he was very successful in hunting. on account of his fleetness he was often employed as a messenger or "runner" by his people in his youth, and afterward in a like capacity by the british officers during the revolution. according to mr. stone, the learned indian biographist, sa-go-ye-wat-ha obtained the name of red jacket from the following circumstance: "during the war of the revolution he made himself very useful to the british officers as a messenger. he was doubtless the more so because of his intelligence and gift for oratory. in return for his services the officers presented the young man with a scarlet jacket, very richly embroidered." one can imagine the immense pride with which the "young prince of the wolf clan," as his admiring people were accustomed to call him, donned this brilliant garment. he took such delight in the jacket that he was kept in such garments by the british officers during the revolution. this peculiar dress became a mark of distinction and gave him the name by which he was afterward best known. even after the war, when the americans wished to find a way to his heart, they clothed his back with a red jacket. it has been almost the universal testimony of books that red jacket, the indian orator, like the two greatest of the ancient world, demosthenes and cicero, was a coward. this inference has been drawn very naturally, perhaps, from the fact that he generally, but not always, opposed war and seldom wielded the tomahawk. but the old men of his nation, who knew him best and the motives from which he acted, deny the charge. many even asserted that he was brave, though prudent, and not at all lacking in the qualities they admire in a warrior. they assign other reasons for his persistent opposition to war, and maintain that his superior sagacity led him to see its consequences to the indian. {illustration: red jacket, or sa-go-ye-wat-ha, "the keeper awake." celebrated seneca chief and orator.} in the revolutionary contest the red men generally enlisted on the side of the british, believing it to be for their interests. they could not understand anything of the real nature of the controversy of the two rival powers, and were justifiable in studying their own interest alone. in taking the british side the iroquois were strongly influenced by the johnsons, the tory leaders of new york, and their powerful ally, captain joseph brant, the great war-chief of the mohawks. but it was all done in spite of the eloquent protest of red jacket. "let them alone," said the wise man and orator. "let us remain upon our lands and take care of ourselves. what have the english done for us?" he exclaimed, drawing his proud form to its fullest height and pointing with the zeal of despair toward the winding mohawk, "that we should become homeless and helpless wanderers for their sakes?" but his motives were impugned and misunderstood. some of his own warriors called him a coward and promptly followed cornplanter and brant to battle. these two chiefs seemed to have had a contempt for red jacket because of his supposed cowardice. they nicknamed him _cow-killer,_ and often told with much gusto a story at his expense. this story was to the effect that at the commencement of the revolutionary war, the young chief, with his usual eloquence, exhorted the indians to courage, and promised to be with them in the thickest of the fight. when the battle came off, however, he was missing, having stayed at home to cut up a cow which he had captured. this story, with the speech just quoted in opposition to war, tended to convince many of the indians that the seneca sachem was a coward. but when the very things he prophesied literally happened, when in the progress of the war, as we have recorded in the life of brant, sullivan's army destroyed forty populous towns, with many orchards and fields of golden grain; when the senecas were driven further west, and the proud mohawks across the boundary into canada, the deluded indians saw that red jacket, the sage, was a true prophet. had they followed his advice all would have been well, but they refused, and the mohawks had "become homeless and helpless wanderers" for the sake of the british, who cared nothing for them when the war was over. at the close of the revolution, the influence of red jacket was restored; for the reason that even his enemies had to concede that he was right, that he opposed war not from cowardice, but because his sagacious mind could see the end from the beginning, and he knew that in any case it must end disastrously for the indian. he is to be commended for acting with wisdom and prudence. another sage of old has said: "a prudent man foreseeth the evil, and hideth himself; but the simple pass on and are punished." no one accused washington of cowardice, when he advised his countrymen to keep neutral and make no entangling alliance with a foreign power. this, in its last analysis, was about the same position taken by red jacket. why, then, should it be assumed that he was a coward? but there are other positive proofs of red jacket's courage. on one occasion the mohawks challenged the senecas to a game of ball. the challenge was accepted, and a large number of the iroquois had gathered to witness the game. many valuable articles, such as ornaments, weapons, belts and furs were bet on the result of the game. the stakes were placed under the care of a company of aged indians and the game was called. the ball was of deerskin; the bats, or rackets, were woven with deerskin thongs. a certain number of players were chosen upon each side. they were entirely nude except a breech-cloth about their loins. each party had a gate, or two poles, planted in the ground about three rods apart. the aim of the players on each side was to drive the ball through their own gate a specified number of times. it took several contests to decide the match. the players, provided with bats, were ranged in opposite lines, and between them stood two picked players, one from either side, who were expected to start the game. sometimes a pretty indian girl, very gayly dressed and decked with silver ornaments, ran between the lines until she reached the two leaders in the center, when she would drop the ball between them. the instant it touched the ground each of the two indians would make a struggle to start the ball toward his own gate. it was a rule of the game that the ball must not be touched by foot or hand. but a player might strike it with, or catch it on, his racket and run with it to the goal, if he could. but the opposite side would have men stationed to guard against such easy success. a fierce struggle for the possession of the ball was continually in progress, and players were frequently hurt, sometimes severely. it was usually taken in good part, but at this particular game a mohawk player struck a seneca a hard blow with his bat. instantly the senecas dropped their bats, took up the stakes that they had laid down in betting, and returned to their own country. three weeks after red jacket and some other chiefs sent a belligerent message to the mohawks demanding satisfaction for the insult. brant immediately called a council of his people, and it was decided to recommend a friendly council of both nations to settle the difference. the senecas consented to this, and the council met. red jacket was opposed to a reconciliation. he made a stirring speech, in which he pictured the offense in its blackest light, and was in favor of nothing less than war. but the older senecas, and among them cornplanter, who had not yet lost his influence, were opposed to a break between the two nations, and proposed that presents should be made in atonement to the young man who had been injured. the mohawks consented to this, and the pipe of peace was finally smoked in friendship. now, remember, it was red jacket who sent the belligerent message to the mohawks, demanding satisfaction for the injury to the young man, and insult to his tribe. he it was who favored _war,_ as the only way in which it could be wiped out. in the event of hostilities, he well knew that he and his tribe would be arrayed against the terrible mohawks, under the command of their great war-chief, captain brant, whose name was a terror to white and red foe alike. there was certainly no evidence of cowardice in this transaction. a treaty was made with the six nations on the part of the united states at fort stanwix, in . general lafayette was present at this council, and was struck with the eloquence of red jacket. the war-chief of the senecas, cornplanter, was in favor of peace, while red jacket, who was called a coward, used all his eloquence in favor of war. there are only two ways to account for his action at this time. either he was a courageous leader, or else he believed the war policy would be the most popular, at least with the senecas. red jacket and the senecas also took part in the war of . as early as the orator gave information to the indian agent of attempts made by tecumseh, the prophet, and others, to draw his nation into the great western combination; but the war of had scarcely commenced, when the senecas volunteered their services to their american neighbors. for some time these were rejected, and every exertion was made to induce them to remain neutral. the indians bore the restraint with an ill grace, but said nothing. at length, in the summer of , the english unadvisedly took possession of grand island, in the niagara river, a valuable territory of the senecas. this was too much for the pride of such men as red jacket and farmer's brother. a council was called immediately--the american agent was summoned to attend--and the orator arose and thus addressed him: "brother!" said he, after stating the information received, "you have told us we had nothing to do with the war between you and the british. but the war has come to our doors. our property is seized upon by the british and their indian friends. it is necessary for us, then, to take up this business. we must defend our property; we must drive the enemy from our soil. if we sit still on our lands, and take no means of redress, the british, following the customs of you white people, _will hold them by conquest;_ and you, if you conquer canada, will claim them on the same principles, as conquered _from the british._ brother, we wish to go with our warriors and drive off these bad people, and take possession of those lands." the effect of this reasonable declaration, and especially of the manner in which it was made, was such as might be expected. a grand council of the six nations came together, and a manifesto, of which the following is a literal translation, according to thatcher, was issued against the british in canada, and signed by all the grand councilors of the confederation: "we, the chiefs and councilors of the six nations of indians, residing in the state of new york, do hereby proclaim to all the war-chiefs and warriors of the six nations, that war is declared on our part against the provinces of upper and lower canada. therefore, we do hereby command and advise all the war-chiefs to call forth immediately the warriors under them, and put them in motion to protect their rights and liberties, which our brethren, the americans, are now defending." we regret that no speech of red jacket on this memorable occasion is preserved. but his eloquence, and that of his brother chiefs, must have inspired the warriors to great zeal and courage for although the declaration was made quite late in , we find quite a number of them in the battle near fort george. an official account of this action was given by general boyd, under date of august . the enemy were completely routed, and a number of british indians (mohawks) were captured by our allies. "those," continued the general in his report, "who participated in this contest, _particularly the indians,_ conducted with great bravery and activity. general porter volunteered in the affair, and major chapin evinced his accustomed zeal and courage. the regulars under major cummings, as far as they were engaged, conducted well. the principal chiefs who led the warriors this day were farmer's brother, red jacket, little billy, pollard, black snake, johnson, silver heels, captain halftown, major henry . ball (cornplanter's son) and captain cold, who was wounded. in a council which was held with them yesterday, they covenanted not to scalp or murder, and i am happy to say that they treated the prisoners with humanity, committed no wanton cruelties on the dead, but obeyed orders, and behaved in a soldier-like manner." thatcher says: "we believe all the chiefs here mentioned were senecas except captain cold." in his next bulletin, the general reports, "the bravery and humanity of the indians were equally conspicuous." another authority quoted in nile's "register" says, "they behaved with great gallantry and betrayed no disposition to violate the restrictions which boyd had imposed." "these restrictions," as thatcher says, "it should be observed in justice to red jacket and his brave comrades, had been previously agreed upon at the grand council, and the former probably felt no humiliation in departing in this particular from the usual savagery of his warriors. we have met with no authentic charges against him, either of cruelty or cowardice, and it is well known that he took part in a number of sharply contested engagements." is not all this a complete vindication of red jacket's courage? of the boyhood of this great sachem we know nothing. like many another he owed his celebrity to the troublous times in which he lived. the powers of the orator can only be exhibited on occasions of great interest; and the mighty intellect of red jacket could not have exercised itself upon theology, philosophy, or law, for the indian was a stranger to all these things. he was, however, a natural logician, and had gifts which, in a white man, would have insured success as a lawyer. one of the first forensic efforts of the young chief was in behalf of the women of his people, who, among the iroquois, were permitted to exert their influence in all public and important matters. and to this extent, the six nations of this period were more civilized than many of the _white_ nations of the _twentieth century, including our own._ in the year , when washington wished to secure the neutrality of the six nations, a deputation was sent to treat with them, but was not favorably received, as many of the young chiefs were for war and sided with the british. the women, as is usual, preferred peace, and argued that the land was theirs, for they cultivated and took care of it, and, therefore, had a right to speak concerning the use that should be made of its products. they demanded to be heard on this occasion, and addressed the deputation first themselves in the following words: "brother:--the great ruler has spared us until another day to talk together; for since you came here from general washington, you and our uncles, the sachems, have been counseling together. moreover, your sisters, the women, have taken the same into great consideration, because you and our sachems have said so much about it. now, that is the reason we have come to say something to you, and to tell you that the great ruler hath preserved you, and that you ought to hear and listen to what we women shall speak, as well as the sachems; _for we are the owners of this land,_ and it is ours! it is we that plant it for our and their use. hear us, therefore, for we speak things that concern us and our children; and you must not think hard of us while our men shall say more to you, for we have told them." they then designated red jacket as their speaker, and he took up the speech of his clients as follows: "brothers from pennsylvania: you that are sent from general washington and by the thirteen fires you have been sitting side by side with us every day, and the great ruler has appointed us another pleasant day to meet again. "now, listen, brothers; you know it has been the request of our head warriors, that we are left to answer for our women who are to conclude what ought to be done by both sachems and warriors. so hear what is their conclusion. the business you come on is very troublesome, and we have been a long time considering it; and now the elder of our women have said that our sachems and warriors must _help you,_ for the good of them and their children, and you tell us the americans are strong for peace. "now, all that has been done for you has been done by our women; the rest will be a hard task for us; for the people at the setting sun are bad people, and you have come in too much haste for such great matters of importance. and now, brothers, you must look when it is light in the morning, until the setting sun, and you must reach your neck over the land to take in all the light you can to show the danger. and these are the words of our women to you, and the sachems and warriors who shall go with you. "now, brothers from pennsylvania and from general washington, i have told you all i was directed. make your minds easy, and let us throw all care on the mercy of the great keeper, in hopes that he will assist us." "so," as minnie myrtle says, "there was peace instead of war, as there would often be if the voice of women could be heard! and though the senecas, in revising their laws and customs, have in a measure acceded to the civilized barbarism of treating the opinions of women with contempt, where their interest is equal, they still cannot sign a treaty without the consent of _two-thirds of the mothers!_" on another occasion the women sent a message, which red jacket delivered for them, saying that they fully concurred in the opinion of their sachems, that the white people had been the cause of all the indians' distresses. the white people had pressed and squeezed them together, until it gave them great pain at their hearts. one of the white women had told the indians to repent; and they now, in turn, called on the white people to repent--they having as much need of repentance as the indians. they, therefore, hoped the pale-faces would repent and wrong the indians no more, but give back the lands they had taken. at the termination of the revolution, the indians who were the allies of the english were left to take care of themselves as best they could. though they had fought desperately in their own way, and inflicted every species of suffering on our people, washington extended to them the hand of friendship and offered them protection. his kindness won him the gratitude of the indians. he undoubtedly filled a place in their affections never occupied by any other white man, save roger williams, or william penn. his influence over the indians helps to explain the fact that in all subsequent wars the senecas were either neutral or loyal to the americans; proof that the "father of his country" was also revered by his red children. {illustration: massacre at wyoming.} red jacket was one of fifty chiefs who visited president washington at philadelphia, then the seat of government, in . while there the president presented him with a silver medal, on which washington, in military uniform, was represented as handing a long peace-pipe to an indian chief with a scalp lock decorated with plumes on the top of his head, while a white man was plowing with a yoke of oxen in the background. this last figure was probably intended as a hint for the indians to abandon war and the chase, and adopt the peaceful pursuits of agriculture. on the reverse side was the eagle, and motto of our country, "_e pluribus unum._" indians prefer ornaments of silver to those of gold, for they are more becoming to their red skin. red jacket prized this medal very highly. he wore it on all state occasions. nevertheless, sad to relate, it is stated that the beloved medal was more than once in pawn for whisky. the medal in question was quite large. the exact dimensions were seven inches long, by five broad. the last heard of the medal was in , when it was in possession of brigadier-general parker, of grant's staff, who was at that time chief sachem of the six nations. while in philadelphia, each member of the deputation of chiefs received from general knox, on the part of the government, a military uniform such, as was worn by the officers, together with a cocked hat. when red jacket's suit was offered him he sent back word to general knox that he could not consistently wear such a garb, as he was not a war-chief, and requested that a different suit might be given him, more suitable to his station. but when the plain suit was brought to him, he declined giving up the regimentals, coolly remarking that though as a sachem he could not wear a military uniform in time of peace, yet in time of war the sachem joined the warriors, and he would therefore keep it till war broke out, when he could assume a military dress with propriety. on one occasion, being invited with several of his people to dine at the home of an officer, he ate very heartily of several kinds of meat; and seeing the surprise of the host, he remarked that he belonged to the wolf clan, and "wolves were always fond of meat." about the year , a council was held on the shore of lake canandaigua to negotiate a purchase of land from the indians. after two days spent in discussing the terms, a treaty was agreed upon, and only wanted the formality of a signature to make it complete, when red jacket, who had not yet been heard, arose to speak. an eye-witness thus describes the scene: "with the grace and dignity of a roman senator, he drew his blanket around him, and with a piercing eye surveyed the multitude. all was hushed; nothing interposed to break the silence, save the gentle rustle of the tree-tops, under whose shade they were gathered. after a long and solemn, but not unmeaning pause, he commenced his speech in a low voice and sententious style. rising gradually with the subject, he depicted the primitive simplicity and happiness of his nation, and the wrongs they had sustained from the usurpations of white men, with such bold but faithful eloquence that every auditor was soon roused to vengeance or melted into tears. the effect was inexpressible. but ere the emotions of admiration and sympathy had subsided, the white men became alarmed. they were in the heart of an indian country, surrounded by more than ten times their number, who were inflamed by the remembrance of their injuries and excited to indignation by the eloquence of a favorite chief. appalled and terrified, the white men cast a cheerless gaze upon the hordes around them. a nod from the chiefs might be the onset of destruction. at this portentous moment, farmer's brother interposed. he replied not to his brother chief, but with sagacity truly aboriginal, he caused a cessation of the council, introduced good cheer, commended the eloquence of red jacket, and before the meeting had reassembled, with the aid of other prudent chiefs, he had moderated the fury of his nation to a more salutary view of the question before them." the fame of his great eloquence gained red jacket a powerful influence, not only in his own tribe but among all the six nations of indians. "i am an orator; i was born an orator," was his boastful declaration; and to all future generations his name will descend enrolled on the list with demosthenes and cicero in ancient, and pitt, henry or webster in modern times; and though a pagan and belonging to a rude, uncultured race, his vices were no greater than those of men who lived all their lives under christian influences. he strenuously opposed every effort to introduce christianity among his people, for he could not understand how it could be so valuable or necessary, when he saw how little it influenced the conduct of white men and the wrongs they inflicted in the name of their god upon the red man. he could not make the distinction between those who possessed religion and those who merely _professed_ it; and as he came in contact with very few who walked uprightly, he naturally concluded that a religion which did no more for its followers was not worth adopting. he believed the great spirit had formed the red and white man distinct; that they could no more be of one creed than one color; and when the wars were over and there was nothing more for them to do, he wished his people to be separated entirely from white men, and return as much as possible to their old customs. he saw his people wasting away before the pale-faces; as he once said in a speech before a great assemblage: "we stand a small island in the bosom of the great waters. we are encircled--we are encompassed. the evil spirit rides upon the blast, and the waters are disturbed. they rise, they press upon us, and the waves once settled over us, we disappear for ever. who, then, lives to mourn us? none! what prevents our extermination? nothing! we are mingled with the common elements." from all accounts, the first missionaries sent among the senecas were not very judicious, and did not take the wisest course to make their religion acceptable to any people, and especially to a wronged and outraged race. in a young missionary by the name of cram was sent into the country of the six nations. a council was called to consider whether to receive him, and after he had made an introductory speech, red jacket made the following reply: "friend and brother: it was the will of the great spirit that we should meet together this day. he orders all things, and has given us a fine day for our council. he has taken his garment from before the sun and caused it to shine with brightness upon us. for all these things we thank the great ruler, and him _only!_ "brother, this council-fire was kindled by you. it was, at your request that we came together at this time. we have listened with joy to what you have said. you requested us to speak our minds freely. this gives us great joy, for we now consider that we stand upright before you and can speak what we think. all have heard your voice and can speak to you as one man. our minds are agreed. "brother, listen to what we say. there was a time when our forefathers owned this great island. their seats extended from the rising to the setting sun. the great spirit had made it for the use of indians. he had created the buffalo, the deer and other animals for food. he had made the bear and the beaver. their skins served us for clothing. he had scattered them over the country and taught us how to take them. he had caused the earth to produce corn for bread. all this he had done for his red children because he loved them. if we had some disputes about our hunting-ground, they were generally settled without the shedding of much blood. but an evil day came upon us. your forefathers crossed the great water and landed upon this island. their numbers were small. they found us friends and not enemies. they told us they had fled from their own country on account of wicked men, and had come here to enjoy their religion. they asked for a small seat. we took pity on them and granted their request, and they sat down amongst us. we gave them corn and meat; they gave us poison (rum) in return. "the white people, brother, had now found our country. tidings were carried back, and more came amongst us. yet we did not fear them. we took them to be friends. they called us brothers; we believed them, and gave them a larger seat. at length their numbers had greatly increased. they wanted more land; they wanted our country. our eyes were opened, and our minds became uneasy. wars took place. indians were hired to fight against indians, and many of our people were destroyed. they also brought strong liquor amongst us. it was strong and powerful and has slain thousands. "brother, our seats were once large, and yours were small. you have now become a great people, and we have scarcely a place left to spread our blankets. you have got our country, but are not satisfied you want to force your religion upon us. "brother, continue to listen. you say that you are sent to instruct us how to worship the great spirit agreeable to his mind; and if we do not take hold of the religion which you white people teach, we shall be unhappy hereafter. you say that you are right, and we are lost. how do we know this to be true? we understand that your religion is written in a book. if it was intended for us as well as you, why has not the great spirit given to us--and not only to us, but to our forefathers--the knowledge of that book, with the means of understanding it rightly? we only know what you tell us about it. how shall we know when to believe, being so often deceived by the white people? "brother, you say there is but one way to worship and serve the great spirit. if there is but one religion, why do you white people differ so much about it? why not all agree, as you can all read the book? "brother, we do not understand these things. we are told that your religion was given to your forefathers, and has been handed down from father to son. we, also, have a religion which was given to our forefathers, and has been handed down to us, their children. we worship in that way. it teaches us to be thankful for all the favors we receive; to love each other, and be united. we never quarrel about religion, because it is a matter which concerns each man and the great spirit. "brother, we do not wish to destroy your religion or take it from you; we only want to enjoy our own. "brother, we have been told that you have been preaching to the white people in this place. these people are our neighbors. we are acquainted with them. we will wait a little while and see what effect your preaching has upon them. if we find it does them good, makes them honest and less disposed to cheat indians, we will consider again of what you have said. "brother, you have now heard our talk, and this is all we have to say at present. as we are going to part, we will come and take you by the hand, and hope the great spirit will protect you on your journey, and return you safely to your friends." according to the suggestion of their orator, the indians moved forward to shake hands with the missionary; but he refused, saying, "there was no fellowship between the religion of god and the devil." yet the indians smiled and retired peacefully. at another time red jacket said, referring to this same unwise missionary: "the white people were not content with the wrongs they had done his people, but wanted to cram their doctrines down their throats." the great chief could never be induced to look upon christianity with favor. but it was the _pagan white people,_ with whom he came in contact, who poisoned his mind, and prejudiced him against the missionaries and their religion. they, knowing that the missionaries were the true friends of the indian, and understood their own evil machinations, wished to banish them from the reservations. red jacket lost ten or eleven children by consumption, the grim destroyer of so many of all races. a lady once asked him whether he had any children living. "red jacket was once a great man, and in favor with the great spirit," sorrowfully answered the chief. "he was a lofty pine among the smaller trees of the forest; but after years of glory he degraded himself by drinking the fire-water of the white man. the great spirit has looked upon him in anger and his lightning has stripped the pine of its branches, and left standing only the scarred trunk dead at the top." had he hated the white men sufficiently to resist their temptations, he might have been the glory and the savior of his people. the word which in seneca is used to express strong drink very truly and emphatically describes it as "the mind destroyer." this was its office, and if the noble mind of red jacket had not been partly destroyed by its agency, he would have seen clearly through the dark plots of his enemies, and been able to counter-plot to their destruction and thus rescued his people from the grasp of their pursuers. we find no evidence that he was addicted to any other debasing vice except intemperance, while his life exemplified many ennobling virtues. he had an intuitive perception of propriety, as was observed by an incident which occurred while a white gentleman was traveling with a party of indian chiefs and their interpreter. red jacket was one of the party, but he was uniformly grave. the others were much inclined to merriment, and during an evening, when they were gathered around the fire in a log cabin, the mirth was so great and the conversation so jocular, that red jacket was afraid the stranger, who could not understand their language, would think himself treated with impoliteness, and infer that their sport was at his expense. he evidently enjoyed their happiness, though he took no part, but after a while he spoke to mr. parish, the interpreter, and requested him to repeat a few words to mr. hospres, which were as follows: "we have been made uncomfortable by the storm; we are now warm and comfortable; it has caused us to feel cheerful and merry; but i hope our friend who is traveling with us will not be hurt at this merriment, or suppose that we are taking advantage of his ignorance of our language to make him in any manner the subject of mirth." on being assured that no such suspicion could be entertained of the honorable men who were present, they resumed their mirth and red jacket his gravity. when lafayette visited buffalo in , among those who thronged to pay their respects was red jacket. when the chief was introduced to lafayette he said: "do you remember being at the treaty of peace with the six nations at fort stanwix?" "yes," answered the general, "i have not forgotten that great council. by the way, what has become of that young chief who opposed so eloquently the burying of the tomahawk?" "he is before you," said red jacket. "time has worked great changes upon us both," said lafayette, "ah," replied the chief, "time has not been so severe upon you as it has upon me. it has left you a fresh countenance and hair to cover your head; while to me--behold!" the chief pulled a handkerchief from his head and disclosed its baldness. but lafayette did not leave him to think thus harshly of time but proved to him that the ravages had been nearly the same upon both, by removing a wig and exposing a head almost as bald as the chief's; upon which he remarked, with much pleasantry, that a scalp from some bystander would renew his youth in the same manner! red jacket pretended to understand no language but his own, and entertained a great dislike for english. he would not reply to any of lafayette's questions until his interpreter had translated them into seneca. levasseur states that in his conference with lafayette, he evidently comprehended everything uttered in his presence, while he would speak only indian; and that his former high opinion of the general seemed to be much increased by a few chance-medley seneca words, which the latter had the good fortune to remember, and the courtesy to repeat. thatcher informs us that on another occasion the notorious fanatic, jemima wilkenson, while trying to make proselytes, invited the senecas to a conference. this strange woman professed to be the world's savior at his second appearance upon earth, and was then living in fine style in the western part of new york state with her dupes. red jacket attended the council with his people and listened patiently to the end of a long address. most of it he probably understood, but instead of replying to her argument in detail, he laid the axe at the root of her authority. having risen very gravely and spoken a few words in seneca, he noticed her inquire what he was talking about? "ha!" he exclaimed with an arch look--"she inspired--she jesus christ--and not know _indian?_" the solidity of her pretensions was at once decided adversely, in the minds of at least the heathen part of her audience. {illustration: corn planter, ki-on-twog-ky, seneca chief.} the gifted sachem on one occasion used the following figurative language, in speaking of the enchroachments of the white people: "we first knew you a feeble plant which wanted a little earth whereon to grow. we gave it you and afterward, when we could have trod you under our feet, we watered and protected you; and now you have grown to be a mighty tree, whose top reaches the clouds, and whose branches overspread the whole land, whilst we, who were the tall pine of the forest, have become a feeble plant and need your protection. "when you first came here, you clung around our knee and called us _father;_ we took you by the hand and called you brothers. you have grown greater than we, so that we can no longer reach up to your hand; but we wish to cling around your knee and be called your children." is not this at once beautiful and pathetic? but sa-go-ye-wat-ha could be sarcastic, as well as pathetic; in fact he ran the whole gamut, and was deficient in nothing essential to eloquence. minnie myrtle, in her book. "the iroquois," relates the following incident: "a young french nobleman visited buffalo on one occasion, and having heard much of the fame of red jacket, sent him word that he wished to see him, and invited him to come the next day. red jacket received the message, and affected great contempt, saying: 'tell the _young man_ if he wishes to visit the old chief he will find him with his nation, where other strangers pay their respects to him, and red jacket will be glad to see him.' the count sent back word that he had taken a long journey and was fatigued; that he had come all the way from france to see the great orator of the seneca nation, and hoped he would not refuse to meet him at buffalo. 'tell him,' said the sarcastic chief, 'that, having come so far to see me, it is strange he should stop within seven miles of my lodge.' so the young frenchman was obliged to seek him in his wigwam; after which he consented to dine with the count at buffalo, and was pronounced by him a greater wonder than niagara falls itself." on another occasion he was visited by a gentleman who talked incessantly and to little purpose, and who would go very near the person he was addressing and chatter about as intelligibly as a magpie. red jacket, receiving the message that a stranger wished to see him, dressed himself with great care, and came forth in all his dignity. one glance of his keen eye was sufficient for him to understand the character of his guest, and listening a few moments with contempt in all his features, he then went close to him and exclaimed, "cha! cha! cha!" as fast as he could speak, and turned on his heel to his own cabin "as straight as an indian," nor deigned to look behind him while in sight of the house occupied by the loquacious stranger, who stood for once speechless! like other great orators, he had his full share of vanity. he was fully aware of his importance, and disposed to make others aware of it. colonel pickering was often employed by the government to negotiate treaties, and would take down the speeches on the occasion in writing. at one time, when red jacket was the orator, he thought he would note the words of the interpreter whilst the chief was himself speaking. he immediately paused, and on being requested to proceed, said, "no, not whilst you hold down your head." "why can you not speak whilst i write?" "because, if you look me in the eye, you can tell whether i tell you the truth." at another time he turned his head to speak to a third person, when red jacket very haughtily rebuked him, saying, "when a seneca speaks he ought to be listened to with attention from one end of this great island to the other." when he returned from philadelphia, he was in the habit of using his oratorical powers to embellish the manner of his reception, and would collect around him the chiefs and people of his nation, and, dressed in his uniform, with the cocked hat under his arm, would personify the president, and bow to all present as if they were the company in the great saloon, imitating the manners and gestures of the original with true grace and dignity, and then entertain his audience with the compliments and attentions which had been bestowed upon him. when invited to dine or be present at any social function among white people, he conformed with wonderful tact to the customs to which he was a stranger, never manifesting any surprise or asking any questions till he could consult some friend whose ridicule he did not fear. he once told a gentleman that when he dined with president washington, a man ran off with his knife and fork every now and then and returned with others. "now," said red jacket, "what was that for?" the gentleman told him that there were a great many kinds of dishes, each cooked in a different manner, and that the plates, knives and forks were changed every time a new dish was brought on. "ah," said red jacket thoughtfully, "is that it? you must then suppose that the plates and knives and forks retain the taste of the cookery?" "yes." "have you then," demanded the chief, "any method by which you can change your palates every time you change your plate? for i think the taste would remain on the palate longer than it would on the plate." "we are in the habit of washing that away by drinking wine," answered the gentleman. "ah," said red jacket, "now i understand it. i was persuaded that so general a custom among you must be founded in reason, and i only regret that when i was in philadelphia i did not understand it. the moment the man went off with my plate i would have drunk wine until he brought me another; for although i am fond of eating, i am more so of drinking." red jacket was extremely fond of sugar. he was once at the table of captain jones, the interpreter. mrs. jones handed him his coffee without sugar, for a joke. "my son," said the chief, looking at the captain severely, "do you allow your squaw thus to trifle with your father?" the children giggled. "and do you allow your children to make sport of their chief?" added red jacket. apologies were made and the sugar-bowl was handed to the offended chief. he filled his cup to the brim with sugar and ate it out by the spoonful with the utmost gravity. eggleston informs us that, "red jacket could see no justice in the white man's court of law. an indian who had broken in to a house and stolen some small article of value was indicted for burglary. red jacket made a long speech in court in his defense. but the indian was sentenced to imprisonment for life, much to the orator's disgust. after the proceedings were over red jacket left the courthouse in company with the lawyers. across the street was the sign of a printing-office with the arms of the state, representing liberty and justice. red jacket stopped and pointed to the sign. "what him call?" demanded the chief. "liberty," answered the bystanders. "ugh!" said the sachem. "what him call?" pointing to the other figure upon the sign. "justice," was the answer. "where him live now?" inquired the chief. red jacket was one day met going the opposite direction from an execution to which everybody was crowding. he was asked why he, too, did not go. "fools enough there already. battle is the place to see men die," he answered. although fond of good things, red jacket had a great contempt for a sensualist. when asked his opinion of a chief appropriately named hot bread, who was known to be indolent and gluttonous, he exclaimed, "waugh! big man here (laying his hand upon his abdomen), but very small man here," bringing the palm of his hand with significant emphasis across his forehead. for a long time the great chief refused to sit for his portrait, though often importuned. "when red jacket dies," he would say, "all that belongs to him shall die too." but at length an appeal to his vanity availed, and on being assured that his picture was wanted to hang with those of washington and jefferson, and other great men in the national galleries, he consented; and having once broken his resolution, no longer resisted, and was painted by several artists. the one by weir is considered best, and was taken during a visit of the chief to new york, in , at the request of dr. francis. he dressed himself with great care in the costume he thought most becoming and appropriate, decorated with his brilliant war-dress, his tomahawk, and washington medal. he then seated himself in a large arm-chair, while around him groups of indians were reclining upon the floor. he was more than seventy years of age at the time, but tall, erect and firm, though with many of the traces of time and dissipation upon his form and countenance. he manifested great pleasure as the outlines of the picture were filled up, and especially when his favorite medal came out in full relief; and when the picture was finished, started to his feet and clasped the hand of the artist, exclaiming, "good! good!" one who knew him remarks, "that his characteristics are preserved to admiration, and his majestic front exhibits an attitude surpassing every other i have ever seen of the human skull." mr. stone, in his "life of red jacket," gives an account of an interview between that chief and rev. dr. breckenridge, which took place at the residence of general porter, black rock, new york, in . general porter's wife was a sister to dr. breckenridge, and he was visiting them at the time. several chiefs, including red jacket, were invited to dine with the general and meet his kinsmen. "on the appointed day," wrote dr. breckenridge, "they made their appearance in due form, headed by red jacket, to the number of eight or ten besides himself. he wore a blue dress, the upper garment cut after the fashion of a hunting shirt, with blue leggings, a red jacket and a girdle of red about his waist. i have seldom seen a more dignified or noble looking body of men than the entire group. "after the introduction was over, and the object of their invitation stated, red jacket turned to me familiarly and asked: 'what are you? you say you are not a government agent; are you a gambler (meaning a land speculator), or a black-coat (clergyman), or what are you?' "i answered, 'i am yet too young a man to engage in any profession; but i hope some of these days to be a black-coat.' "he lifted up his hands, accompanied by his eyes, in a most expressive way; and though not a word was uttered, every one fully understood that he very distinctly expressed the sentiment, 'what a fool!' i commanded my countenance and seeming not to have observed him, proceeded to tell him something of our colleges and other institutions." it was during this interview that the objects of speculators were so explained to him that he understood their evil designs; and the true nature of the missionary enterprise was made clear to his comprehension, so that his enmity was never afterward so bitter. when assured that by the course he was pursuing, he was doing more than any one else to break up and drive away his people, and that the effect of the teachings of the missionaries was to preserve them, he grasped the hand of the speaker and said: "if this is so it is new to me, and i will lay it up in my mind," pointing to his noble forehead, "and talk of it to the chiefs and the people." dr. breckenridge continues: "red jacket was about sixty years old at this time, and had a weather-beaten look, which age, and more than all, intemperance, had produced; but his general appearance was striking, and his face noble. his lofty and capacious forehead, his piercing black eye, his gently curved lips, fine cheek and slightly aquiline nose--all marked a great man; and as sustained and expressed by his dignified air, made a deep impression on all who saw him. all these features became doubly expressive, when his mind and body were set in motion by the effort of speaking--if effort that may be called which flowed like a stream from his lips. i saw him in the wane of life, and heard him only in private, and through a stupid and careless interpreter. yet, notwithstanding these disadvantages, he was one of the greatest and most eloquent orators i ever knew. his cadence was measured, and yet very musical; and when excited he would spring to his feet, elevate his head, expand his arms and utter with indescribable effect of manner and tone, some of his noblest thoughts." general porter speaks of him as a man endowed with great intellectual powers, and who, as an orator, was not only unsurpassed, but unequaled by any of his contemporaries. although those who were ignorant of his language could not fully appreciate the force and beauty of his speeches, when received through the medium of an interpreter--generally coarse and clumsy--yet such was the peculiar gracefulness of his person, attitudes and action, and the mellow tones of his seneca dialect, and such the astonishing effects produced on that part of the auditory who did fully understand him, and whose souls appeared to be engrossed and borne away by the orator, that he was listened to by all with perfect delight. his figures were frequently so sublime, so apposite and so beautiful that the interpreter often said the english language was not rich enough to allow of doing him justice. another gentleman says: "it is evident that the best translations of indian speeches must fail to express the beauty and sublimity of the originals--especially of such an original as red jacket. it has been my good fortune to hear him a few times, but only in late years, when his powers were enfeebled by age and intemperance; but i shall never forget the impression made on me the first time i saw him in council. the english language has no figures to convey the true meaning of the original, but though coming through the medium of an illiterate interpreter, i saw the dismembered parts of a splendid oration." through the machinations of his great rival, cornplanter, red jacket was once accused of being a wizard, and actually tried for witchcraft. very likely he was accused of spitting fire at night or some other wizard's performance. at any rate red jacket arose and made his own defense. eggleston says: "for three hours he spoke with the most wonderful eloquence, moving the indians in spite of themselves. they were divided. a bare majority was in favor of red jacket and his life was saved." we question whether his life was actually in any danger, even had the decision gone against him, for the reason that red jacket had a great many white friends, and they would certainly have interfered in his behalf, as they did in the case of other indians of less prominence accused of witchcraft at the same time. near the close of his life red jacket was formally deposed by twenty-six chiefs of his tribe. this was due partly to the jealousy of rival chiefs, but mainly because of his opposition to the christian party, and on account of his intemperate habits. but red jacket was not yet prepared to submit patiently to such degradation, especially when he knew so well the true motives of those who effected it. nor was he by any means so much under the control of his bad habits as not to feel occasionally, perhaps generally, both the consciousness of his power and the sting of shame. "it shall not be said of me" thought the old orator, with a gleam of a fiery soul in his eye--"it shall not be said that sa-go-ye-wat-ha lived in insignificance and died in dishonor. am i too feeble to avenge myself of my enemies? am i not as i have been?" in fine, he roused himself to a great effort. representations were made to the neighboring tribes--for he knew too well the hopelessness of a movement confined to his own--and only a month had elapsed since his deposition, when a grand council of the chiefs of the six nations assembled together at the upper council-house of the seneca village reservation. the document of the christian party was read, and then half-town rose, and, in behalf of the seneca indians, said there was but one voice in his nation, among the common people, and that was of general indignation at contumely cast on so great a man as red jacket. several other chiefs addressed the council to the same, effect. the condemned orator rose slowly, as if grieved and humiliated, but yet with his ancient air of command. {illustration: adolph knock and family, sioux.} "my brothers," he said after a solemn pause, "you have this day been correctly informed of an attempt to make me sit down and throw off the authority of a chief, by twenty-six misguided chiefs of my nation. you have heard the statements of my associates in council, and their explanations of the foolish charges brought against me. i have taken the legal and proper way to meet these charges. it is the only way in which i could notice them. charges which i despise, and which nothing would induce me to notice but the concern which many respected chiefs of my nation feel in the character of their aged comrade. were it otherwise, i should not be before you. i would fold my arms and sit quietly under these ridiculous slanders. "the christian party have not even proceeded legally, according to our usages, to put me down. ah! it grieves my heart, when i look around me and see the situation of my people--in old-time united and powerful, now divided and feeble. i feel sorry for my nation. when i am gone to the other world--when the great spirit calls me away--who among my people can take my place? many years have i guided the nation." here he introduced some artful observations on the origin of the attack upon him. he then alluded to the course taken by the christians, as ruinous and disgraceful, especially in their abandonment of the religion of their fathers, and their sacrifices, for paltry considerations, of the land given them by the great spirit. as for the "black-coats," mr. calhoun had told him at washington, four years before, that the indians must treat with them as they thought proper; the government would not interfere. "i will not consent," he concluded, sagaciously identifying his disgrace with his opposition to the christians, "i will not consent silently to be trampled under foot. as long as i can raise my voice, i will oppose such measures. as long as i can stand in my moccasins, i will do all that i can for my nation." it is scarcely necessary to add that the result of the conference was the triumphant restoration of the orator to his former rank. in a council which was held with the senecas by general tompkins, of new york, a discussion arose concerning some point in a treaty made several years before. the agent stated one thing and red jacket another, insisting that he was correct. he was answered that it was written on paper, in the record of that treaty, and must be so. "the paper then tells a lie," said the orator, "for i have it written here (placing his hand upon his brow). you yankees are born with a feather between your fingers, but your paper does not speak the truth. the indian keeps his knowledge here this is the book the great spirit has given him and it does not lie." on consulting the documents more particularly, it was found that the indian record was, _indeed, the most correct!_ red jacket's early youth was spent in the beautiful valley of the genesee; there were his favorite hunting grounds, and there his memory loved to linger. during the strife of wars and the more bitter strife of treaties, he had indulged very little in his favorite pastime; and when a day of comparative quiet came, he, in company with a friend, took his gun and went forth to enjoy one more hunt in this favored region. they had gone but a short distance, however, when a clearing opened before them. with a contemptuous sneer, the old man turned aside and wandered in another direction. in a little while he came to another, and looking over a fence, he saw a white man holding a plow, which was turning up the earth in dark furrows over a large field. again he turned sadly away, and plunged deeper in the forest, but soon another open field presented itself and though he had been all his life oppressed with the woes of his people, he now for the first time sat down and wept. there was no longer any hope--they had wasted away. a gentleman who knew red jacket intimately for half a century, says: "he was the most graceful public speaker i ever heard. his stature was above the middle size; his eyes fine, and expressive of the intellect which gave them fire; he was fluent without being too rapid; and dignified and stately, without rigidity. when he arose, he would turn toward the indians and ask their attention to what he was about to say in behalf of the commissioner of the united states. he would then turn toward the commissioner, and with a slight but dignified inclination of the head, proceed." red jacket visited the atlantic cities repeatedly, and for the last time as late as the spring of . he was, on these occasions, and especially on the latter, the object of no little curiosity and attention. he enjoyed both, and was particularly careful to demean himself in a manner suited to the dignity of his rank and reputation. one of the boston papers contained the following mention of his visit to that city: "red jacket.--this celebrated indian chief, who has recently attracted so much attention at new york and the southern cities, has arrived in this city, and has accepted an invitation of the superintendent to visit the new england museum this evening, march , in his full indian costume, attended by captain johnson, his interpreter, by whom those who wish it can be introduced and hold conversation with him." boston, then as now, was nothing if not literary, and a poetical friend does him but justice in thus alluding to his washington medal, his forest costume and the stately carriage which the chieftain still gallantly sustained: "thy garb--though austria's bosom-star would frighten that medal pale, as diamonds, the dark mine, and george the fourth wore, in the dance at brighton, a more becoming evening dress than thine. "yet 'tis a brave one, scorning wind and weather. and fitted for thy couch on field and flood. as rob roy's tartans for the highland heather. or forest green for england's robin hood. "is strength a monarch's merit?--like a whaler's-- thou art as tall, as sinewy, and as strong as earth's first kings--the argo's gallant sailors-- heroes in history, and gods in song. "who will believe that, with a smile whose blessing would, like the patriarch's, soothe a dying hour; with voice as low, as gentle, and caressing, as e'er won maiden's lip in moonlight bower "with look like patient job's eschewing evil with motions graceful as a bird's in air thou art in truth, the veriest devil that e'er clenched fingers in a captive's hair! "that in thy veins there springs a poison fountain, deadlier than that which bathes the upas tree; and in thy wrath a nursing cat o' mountain is calm as her babe's sleep compared to thee! "and underneath that face, like summer's oceans-- its lip as moveless, and its cheek as clear-- slumbers a whirlwind of the heart's emotions, love, hatred, pride, hope, sorrow--all, save fear. "love--for thy land, as if she were thy daughter; her pipes in peace, her tomahawk in wars; hatred of missionaries and cold water; pride--in thy rifle-trophies and thy scars; "hope--that thy wrongs will be by the great spirit remembered and revenged when thou art gone; sorrow--that none are left thee to inherit thy name, thy fame, thy passions and thy throne." this poet is not the only civilized authority who noticed that red jacket possessed personal attractions which greatly aided his forensic success, for one of the most distinguished public men of the state of new york was wont to say that the chieftain reminded him strongly of the celebrated john randolph, of roanoke, in his best estate, and that these two were the only orators of nature he had ever heard or seen. in the last stanza quoted is an allusion to the melancholy domestic circumstances of the subject of them. he had been--according to thatcher--the father of thirteen children, during his lifetime, and had buried them all. some time after this visit to the atlantic cities, he was invited to the launching of a schooner which was named after him. he christened the vessel with a short speech. "you have a great name given to you," said he, addressing the ship, "strive to deserve it. be brave and daring. go boldly into the great lakes and fear neither the swift wind nor the strong waves. be not frightened nor overcome by them, for it is in resisting storms and tempest that i, whose name you bear, obtained my renown. let my great example inspire you to courage and lead you to glory." of the domestic character and habits of the great indian orator we know, of course, very little. it has not been the custom of civilized or christian people to relate much concerning the home life of eminent indians. we know, however, that red jacket separated from his first wife after she had become the mother of several children, and that her infidelity was the alleged cause. the repugnance which he ever afterward manifested toward her is in accordance with his known moral purity of character. red jacket married a second wife. she was the widow of a chief named two guns, and a woman of fine face and bearing. she became interested in christianity, and thought of joining the church; whereupon red jacket was enraged. he said that they had lived happily together, but that now if she joined the party to which her husband was opposed, he would leave her. his wife, however, joined the church, and red jacket immediately left her and went to the other reservation. but he was not happy separated from those he loved, and those he left were not happy without him. he missed the caresses of the children, and especially the youngest daughter, of whom he was very fond. through the agency of this little girl a reconciliation was effected. he even promised that he would never again interfere with his wife's religious privileges, and to his credit be it said, he kept the promise. the great orator was suddenly taken ill of cholera morbus in the council house, where he had gone that day dressed with more than ordinary care, with all his gay apparel and ornaments. when he returned he said to his wife, "i am sick; i could not stay till the council had finished. i shall never recover." he then took off all his rich costume and laid it carefully away; reclined himself upon his couch and did not rise again till morning, or speak except to answer some slight question. his wife prepared him medicine which he patiently took, but said, "it will do no good. i shall die." the next day he called her to him, and requested her and the little girl he loved so much, to sit beside him, and listen to his parting words. "i am going to die," he said. "i shall never leave the house again alive. i wish to thank you for your kindness to me. you have loved me. you have always prepared my food and taken care of my clothes, and been patient with me. i am sorry i ever treated you unkindly. i am sorry i left you, because of your new religion, and i am convinced that it is a good religion and has made you a better woman, and wish you to persevere in it. i should like to have lived a little longer for your sake. i meant to build you a new house and make you more comfortable, but it is now too late. but i hope my daughter will remember what i have often told her--not to go in the streets with strangers or improper persons. she must stay with her mother, and grow up a respectable woman. "when i am dead it will be noised abroad through all the world--they will hear of it across the great waters, and say, 'red jacket, the great orator, is dead.' and white men will come and ask you for my body. they will wish to bury me. but do not let them take me. clothe me in my simplest dress put on my leggings and my moccasins, and hang the cross which i have worn so long, around my neck, and let it lie upon my bosom. then bury me among my people. neither do i wish to be buried with pagan rites. i wish the ceremonies to be as you like, according to the customs of your new religion if you choose. your minister says the dead will rise. perhaps they will. if they do, i wish to rise with my old comrades. i do not wish to rise among _pale-faces._ i wish to be surrounded by red men. do not make a feast according to the customs of the indians. whenever my friends chose, they could come and feast with me when i was well, and i do not wish those who have never eaten with me in my cabin to surfeit at my funeral feast." when he had finished, he laid himself again upon the couch and did not rise again. he lived several days, but was most of the time in a stupor, or else delirious. he often asked for mr. harris, the missionary, and afterward would unconsciously mutter--"i do not hate him--he thinks i hate him, but i do not. i would not hurt him." the missionary was sent for repeatedly, but he did not return till the chieftain was dead. when the messenger told him mr. harris had not come, he replied, "very well. the great spirit will order it as he sees best, whether i have an opportunity to speak with him." again he would murmur, "he accused me of being a snake, and trying to bite somebody. this was very true, and i wish to repent and make satisfaction." whether it was mr. harris that he referred to all the time he was talking in this way could not be ascertained, as he did not seem to comprehend if any direct question was put to him, but from his remarks, and his known enmity to him, this was the natural supposition. the cross which he wore was a very rich one, of stones set in gold, and very large; it was given to him, but by whom his friends never knew. this was all the ornament which he requested should be buried with him. it certainly was very remarkable that red jacket, after a life of sworn enmity to christianity, should be so influenced by the unobtrusive example of his christian wife, as to abjure pagan rites and request christian burial. but such was undoubtedly the case, as we are informed by minnie myrtle, who spent much time among the iroquois, especially the senecas, and got her information concerning "the closing scene" from the sachem's favorite stepdaughter. the wife and daughter were the only ones to whom he spoke parting words or gave a parting blessing; but as his last hour drew nigh, his family all gathered around him, and mournful it was to think that the children were not his own--his were all sleeping in the little churchyard where he was soon to be laid--they were his stepchildren--the children of his favorite wife. it has been somewhere stated that his first wife died before him, but this is a mistake; she was living at the time of his death. his last words were still, "where is the missionary?" he then clasped the little girl, whom he loved so devotedly, to his bosom; while she sobbed in anguish her ears caught his hurried breathing--his arms relaxed their hold--she looked up, and he was gone. there was mourning in the household, and there was mourning among the people. the orator, the great man of whom they were still proud, while they lamented his degeneracy, was gone. he had been a true though mistaken friend, and who would take his place? all his requests were complied with strictly. the funeral took place in the little mission church, with appropriate but most simple ceremonies. in these the pagans took but little interest. wrapped in profound and solemn thought, they, however, waited patiently their termination. some of them then arose, and successively addressed their countrymen in their own language. they recounted the exploits and the virtues of him whose remains they were now about to bear to his last home. they remembered his own prophetic appeal--"who shall take my place among my people?" they thought of the ancient glory of their nation, and they looked around them on its miserable remnant. the contrast made their hearts sick, and tears trickled down their cheeks. well might they weep! the strong warrior's arm was mouldering into dust, and the eye of the gifted orator was cold and motionless forever. the last council he attended he recommended to both parties among his people, the christian and pagan, that they should resolve to quarrel no more, but each man believe according, to his own way. in his last public speech to his people he said: "i am about to leave you, and when i am gone, and my warning shall no longer be heard or regarded, the craft and avarice of the white man will prevail. many winters have i breasted the storm, but i am an aged tree and can stand no longer. my leaves are fallen, my branches are withered, and i am shaken by every breeze. soon my aged trunk will be prostrate, and the foot of the exulting foe of the indian may be placed upon it in safety; for i have none who will be able to avenge such an indignity. think not i mourn for myself. i go to join the spirits of my fathers, where age can not come; but my heart fails me when i think of my people, who are so soon to be scattered and forgotten." {illustration: red jacket presents a buck to the delegation from philadelphia.} in less than nine years after his death "the craft and avarice of the white man" had prevailed, as he predicted, and "every foot of the ancient inheritance of the senecas was ceded to the white man, in exchange for a tract west of the mississippi." through the intervention of the friends, however, this calamity was averted, and for the first and only time, the indians recovered their land after it had been fraudulently obtained. red jacket was buried in the little mission burying ground, at the gateway of what was once an old fort. a simple stone was erected to mark his grave, and the spot became a resort for travelers from far and near. the following inscription was cut on his tombstone: sa-go-ye-wat-ha, the keeper awake. red jacket, chief of the wolf tribe of the senecas. died, jan. , . aged, years. his headstone was desecrated by relic-hunting vandals, until his name disappeared from the marble. some among those who knew and honored him, wished to remove his remains to the new cemetery at buffalo. they even caused him to be disinterred and placed in a leaden coffin, preparatory to a second burial. but ere their desire was accomplished, his family had heard of what they considered the terrible sacrilege, and immediately demanded that he should be given up. they had removed from the buffalo to the cattaraugus reservation, and therefore did not wish to bury him again in the mission churchyard, so they brought his precious dust to their own dwelling, where for many years it remained unburied. they almost felt as if he would rise up to curse them, if they allowed him to lie side by side with those he so cordially hated. he did not wish to rise with pale-faces, whom he considered the despoilers of his people, nor to mingle his red dust with that of his white foes. recently a splendid monument, surmounted by a statue of the great seneca orator, has been erected in the beautiful city of buffalo. chapter ix. little turtle, or michikiniqua. war-chief of the miamis, and conqueror of harmar and st. clair. judged from his success on the field of battle and his sagacity in council, little turtle deserves to rank among the four greatest american indians, the other three being pontiac, tecumseh and chief joseph. indeed, when it is remembered that "nothing succeeds like success," and that he alone of all the indian commanders had three victories to his credit (for the defeat of the whites at blue lick, in kentucky, is also conceded to him), he might be regarded as in some respects the greatest american indian. little turtle was thought to have been born on the banks of the miami river, in ohio, about the year . he was the son of a miami chief, but his mother was a mohegan woman, probably captured in war and adopted into the tribe. as the indian maxim in relation to descents is generally the same with that of our obsolete civil law in relation to slaves, that the condition of the offspring follows the condition of the mother. {fn} little turtle had no advantage whatever from his father's rank. he, however, became a chief at an early age, for his extraordinary talents attracted the notice of his countrymen in boyhood. * * * * * {fn} "partus sequitur ventrum." his first services worthy of mention were those of a young warrior in the ranks of his tribe. here the soundness of his judgment and his skill and bravery in battle soon made him chief, and finally bore him on to a commanding influence, not only in his own nation, but among all the neighboring tribes. notwithstanding his name, little turtle was at this time at least six feet tall; strong, muscular and remarkably dignified in his manner, though of a somewhat morose countenance and apparently very crafty and subtle. as a warrior he was fearless, but not rash; shrewd to plan, bold and energetic to execute--no peril could daunt and no emergency could surprise him. politically he was the first follower of pontiac, and the latest model of tecumseh. he indulged in much the same gloomy apprehension that the whites would over top and finally uproot his race; and he sought much the same combination of the indian nations to prevent it. long after the conclusion of the peace of , the british retained possession of several posts within our ceded limits on the north, which were rallying-points for the indians hostile to the american cause, and where they were supplied and subsisted to a considerable extent, while they continued to wage that war with us, which their civilized ally no longer maintained. the infant government made strenuous exertions to pacify all these tribes. with some they succeeded, but the indians of the miami and wabash would consent to no terms. they were strong in domestic combination, besides receiving encouragement from across the canadian border. little turtle, ably assisted by blue jacket, head chief of the shawnees of this period, and buckongahelas, who led the delawares, formed a confederation of the wyandots, pottawatomies, chippewas, ottawas, shawnees, delawares and miamis, and parts of several other tribes. these were substantially the same tribes who had thirty years before been united under pontiac, and formed an exact precedent for the combination of tecumseh and his brother at tippecanoe some years after, as will be seen. on september , --all attempts to conciliate the hostile tribes, who were now ravaging the frontiers, having been abandoned--general harmar, under the direction of the federal government, marched against them from fort washington, where cincinnati now stands, with three hundred and twenty regulars, who were soon after joined by a body of militia, making the whole force about fifteen hundred men. when they reached the miami villages they were found deserted by the indians. the army burned them, destroyed the standing corn, and then encamped on the ground. an indian trail being discovered soon after, hardin, with one hundred and fifty militia, properly officered, and thirty regulars, commanded by captain armstrong, was sent in pursuit. in a prairie at the distance of six miles, the indians had formed an ambush on each side of their own trail, where they were concealed among the bushes and long grass. all unsuspicious of danger the troops followed the trail, but were no sooner involved within the snare laid for them than the enemy poured in a heavy fire from both sides. greatly to the mortification of their colonel, the militia broke ranks at once and fled, deserting the regulars, who stood firm till nearly all of them were killed. the indians remained on the field, and during the night held a dance of victory over their dead and dying enemies. to this ceremony captain armstrong was a constrained and unwilling witness, being sunk to his neck in mud and water, within a hundred yards of the scene. the life of ensign hartshorn was also saved by his having accidentally fallen over a log hidden among the weeds and grass. during the night both these officers eluded the notice of their enemies, and reached camp before sunrise. apparently disheartened by the result of this skirmish, harmar broke up his camp in a day or two afterward and retreated nearer the settlements. on the second day of the march, when about ten miles from the ruined villages, the general ordered a halt, and sent colonel hardin back to the main town with some sixty regulars and three hundred militia. hardin had no sooner reached the point to which he had been ordered, than a small body of indians appeared on the ground. after receiving the fire of the militia, the savages broke into separate parties, and by seeming to fly, as if panic-stricken, encouraged the militia to follow in pursuit. the stratagem was successful. the militia had no sooner disappeared in chase of the fugitives, than the regulars, thus left alone, were suddenly assaulted by large numbers of the foe, who had hitherto remained in concealment. the indians precipitated themselves upon the sixty regulars under major willis, but were received with the most inflexible determination. the indian war-whoop, so appalling even to the bravest hearts, was heard in cool, inflexible silence. the whirling of the tomahawk was met by the thrust of the bayonet. nothing could exceed the intrepidity of the savages on this occasion. the militia they appeared to despise, and with all the undauntedness conceivable threw down their guns and rushed upon the bayonets of the regular soldiers. quite a few of them fell, but being far superior in numbers the regulars were soon overpowered; for, while the poor soldier had his bayonet in one indian two more would sink their tomahawks in his head. the defeat of the troops was complete, the dead and wounded were left on the field of action in possession of the savages. in the meantime, the militia came straggling in from their vain and hopeless pursuit, and the struggle was renewed for a time, but when they realized that the regulars had been almost annihilated during their absence, they lost heart and retreated. of the regulars engaged in this most sanguinary battle only ten escaped back to the camp, while the militia, under hardin, lost ninety-eight in killed and ten others wounded. after this unfortunate repulse, harmar retired without attempting anything further. the conduct of harmar and hardin did not escape severe criticism and censure, not, it would seem, without cause. of the eleven hundred or more men under the command of harmar in this expedition, there were three hundred and twenty regulars and seven hundred and eighty militia. but he sent only thirty regulars and one hundred and fifty militia to the first engagement, and only sixty regulars and three hundred militia to the second. why was it he always sent the raw recruits to find and attack the indians and kept the best soldiers idle in the camp? was it to insure his own safety, by having a strong guard always present? again, it is noticed that, in both cases, instead of advancing himself with the main body, he sent colonel hardin to lead the forlorn hope. he was always ready to give the command, "go!" but in his lexicon there was no such word as "come!" consequently the word "fail" was written so plain that "he who runs might read." colonel hardin, for his part, displayed great courage, and but little skill as an indian fighter, as he was ambushed and out-generaled on both occasions. in fact, the only generalship shown in this campaign was that evinced by the indian commander, who was none other than the hero of this sketch, little turtle. general harmar, deeply chagrined, returned to fort washington. he and hardin both demanded a court-martial; the latter was unanimously and honorably acquitted. harmar was also acquitted, but immediately afterward resigned his commission. elated by their success, the indians continued their depredations with greater audacity than ever, and the situation of the frontiers became truly alarming. the early movements of the newly organized federal government were difficult and embarrassing. with a view, however, to the defense of the northern and western frontiers, an act was passed by congress for increasing the army; st. clair, the governor of the northwestern territories, received a commission as major-general, and steps were taken for raising the new regiment and the levies, the command of which was to be given to general butler. washington, who was president at this time, had been deeply chagrined by the mortifying disasters of general harmar's expedition against the miamis, resulting from indian ambushes. in taking leave, therefore, of his old military comrade, st. clair, he wished him success and honor, and added this solemn warning: "you have your instructions from the secretary of war. i had a strict eye to them, and will add but one word--beware of a surprise! you know how the indians fight. i repeat it--_beware of a surprise!"_ with these warning words sounding in his ear, fresh with washington's awful emphasis, st. clair started to the front to assume command. "old men for council, young men for war," is a good maxim which was not regarded at this time. st. clair was not only old and infirm, but weak and sick with an attack of gout, and at times almost helpless. moreover, he had been very unfortunate in his military career in the revolutionary war. neither he nor the second in command, maj.-gen. richard butler, possessed any of the qualities of leadership save courage. the whole burden fell on the adjutant-general, colonel winthrop sargent, an old revolutionary veteran, without whom the expedition would probably have failed in ignominy even before the indians were reached, and he showed courage and ability of a high order; yet in planning for battle he was unable to remedy to the blunders of his superiors. napoleon is quoted as saying. "better an army of deer led on by a lion than an army of lions led on by a deer," in the light of subsequent events, this was much like an army of deer led on by a deer. the troops were, for the most part, of wretched stuff. st. clair was particularly unpopular in kentucky, and no volunteers could be found to serve under him. the militia of kentucky had been called on, and about one thousand reluctantly furnished by draft; but as they were all unfavorable to the commander-in-chief, many desertions took place daily. they seemed to think that the only possible outcome of this expedition was defeat. st. clair made his headquarters at fort hamilton, now hamilton, ohio, about twenty-five miles northward of fort washington, or cincinnati. {illustration: little turtle, or mich-i-kin-i-qua, miami war-chief, conqueror of harmar and st. clair.} the season was already advanced before st. clair took the field. the whole force of regulars and levies able to march from fort washington did not much exceed two thousand men. desertion reduced the number to about fourteen hundred before they had advanced far into the hostile territory. continuing the march, however, on the d of november he encamped on a piece of commanding ground, within fifteen miles of the miami villages. an interval of only seventy paces was left between the two wings of the army. the right was in some degree protected by a creek with a steep bank; the left by cavalry and pickets. colonel oldham, who commanded the remains of the kentucky levies, was sent across the creek and took a position on the first rising ground beyond it, about a quarter of a mile distant. indians were seen during the afternoon and evening, skulking about the camp, and were fired at by the sentinels, yet neither st. clair nor butler took any adequate measures to ward off the impending blow, or prevent a surprise. indeed, they did not expect to be attacked. meantime the indians were holding a grand war council. the plan of attack was decided, and the order and rank of the various tribes settled, and positions assigned them. the wyandots stretched to the west; the delawares were stationed next to them; the senecas third in order, while the other tribes and bands took similar positions on the other side. the turtle, acting as commander-in-chief, superintended and stimulated the whole, but headed no particular detachment; the arm of the warrior was to do much, but the eye and voice of the chieftain much more. nothing happened during the night to alarm the americans, and the noise and stir of the outskirts in the early part of the evening gradually subsided. all at length was silent, and it might well be supposed, as it probably was, that the enemy had taken advantage of the darkness of the night to make good a precipitate retreat, or that their whole force as yet consisted only of a few scouting and scalping parties. but they were soon undeceived. on the morning of november , the militia were violently attacked between dawn and sunrise by a large body of indians, who, with terrific yells, poured in a volley of musketry along the entire length of the picket line. never was surprise more complete. the ranks of the militia were thrown into confusion at once by the fury of the onset, the heavy firing, and the appalling whoops and yells of the throngs of painted savages. after a brief resistance they broke and fled in wild panic to the camp of the regulars, among whom they rushed like frightened sheep, spreading confusion and demoralization. the troops sprang to arms as soon as they heard the firing at the picket line, and their volleys checked the onrush of the savages but only for a moment. the plumed warriors divided and filed off to either side, as if at the command of their leader, completely surrounding the camp, killing the pickets and advancing close to the main lines. the battle was now fiercely contested on both sides, but it was almost a hopeless struggle for the americans from the beginning, as it was impossible for the gunners to hit an enemy they could not see, as they crept from tree to tree, and log to log. the soldiers stood in close order in the center, where their ranks were steadily thinned by the rapid fire or hurtling tomahawk of the indians. the indians fought with great courage and ferocity, and slaughtered the bewildered soldiers like sheep, as they vainly fired through the dense smoke into the surrounding woods. the best description of this battle we have seen is given in roosevelt's "winning of the west," volume iv, chapter , in which he says: "the officers behaved very well, cheering and encouraging their men: but they were the special targets of the indians, and fell rapidly. st. clair and butler, by their cool fearlessness in the hour of extreme peril, made some amends for their shortcomings as commanders. they walked up and down the lines from flank to flank, passing and repassing each other; for the two lines of battle were facing outward, and each general was busy trying to keep his wing from falling back. st. clair's clothes were pierced by eight bullets, but he was himself untouched. he wore a blanket coat with a hood; he had a long queue, and his thick gray hair flowed from under his three-cornered hat; a lock of his hair was carried off by a bullet. several times he headed the charges, sword in hand. general butler had his arm broken early in the fight, but he continued to walk to and fro along the line, his coat off and the wounded arm in a sling. another bullet struck him in the side, inflicting a mortal wound; and he was carried to the middle of the camp, where he sat propped up by knapsacks. men and horses were falling around him at every moment. st. clair sent an aide, lieut. ebenezer denny, to ask how he was; he displayed no anxiety, and answered that he felt well. while speaking, a young cadet, who stood near by, was hit on the knee-cap by a spent ball, and at the shock cried aloud; whereat the general laughed so that his wounded side shook. the aide left him and there is no further certain record of his fate except that he was slain; but it is said that in one of the indian rushes a warrior bounded toward him and sunk the tomahawk in his brain before any one could interfere. "instead of being awed by the bellowing artillery, the indians made the gunners a special object of attack. man after man was picked off, until every officer was killed but one, who was wounded; and most of the privates were slain or disabled. the artillery was thus almost silenced, and the indians, emboldened by success, swarmed forward and seized the guns, while at the same time a part of the left wing of the army began to shrink back. but the indians were now on comparatively open ground, where the regulars could see them and get at them; and under st. clair's own leadership the troops rushed fiercely at the savages, with fixed bayonets, and drove them back to cover. by this time the confusion and disorder were great; while from every hollow and grass patch, from behind every stump and tree and fallen log, the indians continued their fire. again and again the officers led forward the troops in bayonet charges; and at first the men followed them with a will. each charge seemed for a moment to be successful, the indians rising in swarms and running in headlong flight from the bayonets. in one of these charges colonel darke's battalion drove the indians several hundred yards, across the branch of the wabash; but when the colonel halted and rallied his men, he found the savages had closed in behind him, and he had to fight his way back, while the foe he had been chasing at once turned and harrassed his rear. he was himself wounded, and lost most of his command. on reentering camp he found the indians again in possession of the artillery and baggage, from which they were again driven; they had already scalped the slain, who lay about the guns. major thomas butler had his thigh broken by a bullet; but continued on horseback in command of his battalion until the end of the fight. the only regular regiment present lost every officer killed or wounded. the commander of the kentucky militia, colonel oldham, was killed early in the action, while trying to rally his men and berating them for cowards. "the charging troops could accomplish nothing permanent. the men were too clumsy and ill-trained in forest warfare to overtake their fleet, half-naked antagonists. the latter never received the shock; but though they fled they were nothing daunted, for they turned the instant the battalion did and followed firing, and, indeed, were only visible when raised by a charge. "the indian attack was relentless, and could neither be avoided, parried nor met by counter assault. for two hours the soldiers kept up a slowly lessening resistance; but by degrees their hearts failed. in vain the officers tried, by encouragement, by jeers, and even blows, to drive them back to the fight. they were unnerved. "there was but one thing to do. if possible the remnant of the army must be saved, and it could only be done by instant flight, even at the cost of abandoning the wounded. the broad road by which the army had advanced was the only line of retreat. the artillery had already been spiked and abandoned. most of the horses had been killed, but a few were still left, and on one of these st. clair mounted. he gathered together those fragments of the different battalions which contained the few men who still kept heart and head, and ordered them to charge and regain the road from which the savages had cut them off. repeated orders were necessary before some of the men could be roused from their stupor sufficiently to follow the charging party; and they were only induced to move when told that it was a retreat. "colonel darke and a few officers placed themselves at the head of the column, the coolest and boldest men drew up behind them, and they fell on the indians with such fury as to force them back well beyond the road. this made an opening through which the rest of the troops pressed 'like a drove of bullocks.'" {fn} * * * * * {fn} van cleve's journal. "the indians were surprised by the vigor of the charge and puzzled as to its object. they opened out on both sides and half the soldiers had gone through before they tired more than a chance shot or two. they then fell on the rear and began a hot pursuit. st. clair sent his aide, denny, to the front to try to keep order, but neither he nor any one else could check the flight. major clark tried to rally his battalion to cover the retreat, but he was killed and the effort abandoned." as soon as the men realized that in flight there lay some hope of safety they broke into a stampede which soon became uncontrollable. even st. clair admitted in his dispatches that this retreat "was a precipitate one, in fact, a flight." most of the militia threw away their arms and accoutrements, and in their headlong flight the weak and wounded, and even some of the women who were with the army, were knocked down and ruthlessly trampled by the terrified men. the pursuit continued about four miles, when the indian commander, little turtle, restrained his dusky warriors, saying they had killed enough and should now divide the spoils. the natural greediness of the savage appetite for plunder made the red men willing to obey this command, otherwise hardly a man would have escaped. general st. clair tried to stay behind and stem the torrent of fugitives, but failed utterly, being swept along in the mad stampede. he now attempted to ride to the front to rally the troops, but the clumsy pack-horse which he rode could not be pricked out of a walk. the flight continued from half-past nine until after sunset, when the routed troops reached fort jefferson, some thirty miles distant, completely exhausted. one day's hurried flight had carried them over a space which covered a fortnight's advance. here they met the detached regiment, three hundred strong, which had been sent by st. clair after the deserters. leaving their wounded at fort jefferson, the retreat was continued until the half-armed rabble reached fort washington and the log huts of the infant city of cincinnati. {fn} * * * * * {fn} washington was called "the cincinnati of the west." hence it was an easy and natural change from fort washington to cincinnati. the loss in this disastrous expedition amounted to upward of nine hundred men, including fifty-nine officers. of these six hundred and thirty were killed, and two hundred and eighty wounded. only one or two were taken prisoners, as the savages killed every one who fell into their hands. it is said that the influence of little turtle prevented any captives being tortured, but he could not prevent one case of cannibalism. in brickell's narrative it is stated that the savage chippewas from the far-off north devoured one of the slain soldiers, {fn} probably in a spirit of ferocious bravado; the other tribes expressed horror at the deed. * * * * * {fn} in our investigations we have found several cases of cannibalism, but they have always been canadian indians, especially the tribes living near lakes huron and superior. we believe it was not common. st. clair's defeat, with the possible exception of that of braddock, was the most complete and overwhelming in the annals of indian warfare. he and his apologists always claimed that he was overpowered by numbers; but as no english historian makes the indians more numerous than the americans, some credit must be given to them upon other grounds than the pretext of numerical superiority. indeed, their attack was conducted with astonishing intrepidity. after the first volley of firearms, they fought every inch of the field hand to hand, with their tomahawks. the indians were rich in spoil. they got horses, cattle, tents, guns, axes, powder, bullets, clothing, blankets and a supply of provisions--in short, everything they needed. thatcher is responsible for the statement that "an american officer, who encountered a party of thirty indians near the battle-ground, a day or two after the defeat, and was detained by them till they were made to believe him a friend to their cause, from canada, was informed that the number of the indians engaged in the battle was twelve hundred, of whom the larger portion were miamis, besides half-breeds and renegades, including among the latter the notorious simon girty." this officer was also informed that the number killed on the indian side was fifty-six. these savages were returning home with their share of the plunder. one of them had a hundred and twenty-seven american scalps, strung on a pole, and the rest were laden with various other articles of different values. they had also three pack-horses, carrying as many kegs of wine and spirits as could be piled on their backs. {fn} * * * * * {fn} perhaps this last statement tends to explain the easy victory of the indians. when the remnant of the shattered army reached fort washington, st. clair dispatched his aide, the ever ready lieut. ebenezer denny, to carry the news to philadelphia, the national capital. the manner in which the news of this disaster affected washington is thus described by mr. rush. said he, "mr. lear (the president's private secretary) saw a storm was gathering. in the agony of his emotion he (washington) struck his clenched hands with fearful force against his forehead, and in a paroxysm of anguish exclaimed: 'it's all over! st. clair's defeated--routed; the officers nearly all killed--the men by wholesale--that brave army cut to pieces--the rout complete! too shocking to think of--and a _surprise_ in the bargain!' he uttered all this with great vehemence. then he paused and walked about the room several times, agitated, but saying nothing. near the door he stopped short and stood still a few seconds; then turning to the secretary, who stood amazed at the spectacle of washington in all his wrath, he again broke forth: "'_yes, sir. here, in this very room, on this very spot,_ i took leave of him: i wished him success and honor. 'you have your instructions,' i said, 'from the secretary of war: i had a strict eye to them, and will add but one word--beware of a _surprise!_ i repeat it--beware of a _surprise!_ you know how the indians fight us. he went off with that as my last solemn warning thrown into his ears. and yet to suffer that army to be cut to pieces, hacked by a surprise--the very thing i guarded him against! . god! . god! he's worse than a murderer! how can he answer it to his country? the blood of the slain is upon him--the curse of widows and orphans--the curse of heaven!'" this torrent came out in tone appalling. his very frame shook. "it was awful!" said mr. lear. "more than once he threw his hands up as he hurled imprecations upon st. clair." mr. lear remained speechless--awed into breathless silence. presently the roused chief sat down on the sofa once more. he seemed conscious of his passion, and uncomfortable. he was silent; his wrath began to subside. he at length said, in an altered voice: "this must not go beyond this room." another pause followed--a longer one--when he said in a tone quite low, "general st. clair shall have justice. i looked hastily through the dispatches--saw the whole disaster, but not all the particulars. i will hear him without prejudice; he shall have full justice; yes, long, faithful and meritorious services have their claims." washington was now perfectly calm. half an hour had gone by; the storm of indignation and passion was over, and no sign of it was afterward seen in his conduct or heard in his conversation. his wrath on this occasion was perhaps never before aroused to so great a degree, except when he confronted lee, when the latter was retreating at the battle of monmouth. {illustration: little turtle's warriors chasing st. clair's scout.} the effect of this terrible disaster was at once encouraging to little turtle and his formidable confederation, and correspondingly depressing to the youthful government and the settlers of the northwest territory, where indian depredations increased alarmingly. congress soon took the necessary steps to raise and equip another army, and tendered the command to gen. anthony wayne, commonly called "mad anthony" because of his intrepid courage and energy. general wayne accepted the command on condition that sufficient time be allotted him to thoroughly drill his raw recruits. wayne proved to be the right man for the place and fully sustained the reputation he had won at stony point and other battles of the revolution. he soon had his militia under such perfect discipline that they were ready and anxious to meet the enemy. perhaps no man in the country was better qualified to meet the emergencies of an indian warfare in the woods. thatcher says, "the indians were themselves, indeed, sensible of this fact, and the mere intelligence of his approach had its effect on their spirits. they universally called him the 'black snake,' from the superior cunning which they ascribed to him; and even allowed him the credit of being a fair match for buckongahelas, blue jacket or the turtle himself." wayne prosecuted the decisive campaign of with a spirit which justified the estimate of his enemy, although, owing to the difficulties of transporting stores and provisions through a wilderness, which at that time could not be traversed by wagons, he was unable to commence operations until near midsummer. he had already in the fall of the previous season erected fort recovery, on the site of st. clair's defeat; and early in august, he raised a fortification at the confluence of the au-glaize and miami, which he named fort defiance. his whole force was now nearly two thousand regulars, exclusive of eleven hundred mounted kentucky militia, under general scott. here he had expected to surprise the neighboring villages of the enemy; and the more effectually to insure the success of his _coup-de-main,_ he had not only advanced thus far by an obscure and very difficult route, but taken pains to clear out two roads from greenville in that direction, in order to attract and divert the attention of the indians, while he marched by neither. but his generalship proved of no avail. the turtle and his warriors kept too vigilant an eye on the foe they were now awaiting, to be easily surprised, even had not their movements been quickened, as they were, by the information of an american deserter. on the th of the month the general learned from some of the indians taken prisoners, that their main body occupied a camp near the british fort at the rapids of the miami. but he now resolved before approaching them much nearer to try the effect of one more proposal of peace. he had in his army a man named miller, who had long been a captive with some of the tribes, and spoke their language, and he selected him for the hazardous undertaking. miller did not want to go; he believed the indians were determined on war, and that they would not respect a flag of truce, but would probably kill him. general wayne, however, assured miller that he would hold the eight prisoners then in his custody as pledges for his safety, and that he might take with him any escort he desired. thus encouraged, the soldier consented to go with the message; and to attend him, he selected from the prisoners one of the men and a squaw. with these he left camp at p. m. on the th, and at daybreak next morning arrived at the tents of the hostile chiefs, which were near together, and known by his attendants, without being discovered. he immediately displayed his white flag and proclaimed himself "a messenger with a peace talk." instantly he was assailed on all sides, with a hideous yell, while some of the indians shouted, "kill the runner! kill the spy!" but when he addressed them in their own language and explained to them his real character, they suspended the blow, and took him into custody. he showed and explained the general's letter, not omitting the positive assurance that if they did not send the bearer back to him by the th of the month, he would at sunset on that day cause every indian in his camp to be put to death. miller was closely confined and a council called by the chiefs. on the th he was liberated, and furnished with an answer to general wayne, which was "that if he waited where he was for ten days, and then sent miller for them, they would treat with him; but that if he advanced, they would give him battle." the general's impatience had prevented his waiting the return of his minister. miller came up with the army on the th, however, and delivered the answer; to which he added, that "from the manner in which the indians were dressed and painted, and the constant arrival of parties, it was his opinion they had determined on war and only wanted time to muster their whole force." {fn} * * * * * {fn} marshall. this intelligence caused wayne to rapidly continue his march down the maumee. meantime the red men, through their runners, had full knowledge of his movements. during the night preceding the battle of fallen timbers, the chiefs of the different tribes of the confederation held a council, and it was proposed by some to go up and attack general wayne in his encampment. the proposition was opposed, and it was determined to wait until the next day and fight the battle on ground of their own selection, in front of the british fort. little turtle, more wise than the other chiefs, disapproved of this plan, while blue jacket was warmly in favor of it. the former disliked the idea of fighting wayne under present circumstances, and was even inclined to make peace. schoolcraft informs us that, in his speech in the council, he said, "we have beaten the enemy twice, under separate commanders. we can not expect the same good fortune to always attend us. the americans are now led by a chief who never sleeps. the night and the day are alike to him; and during all the time that he has been marching upon our villages, notwithstanding the watchfulness of our young men, we have never been able to surprise him. think well of it. there is something whispers me, it would be prudent to listen to his offers of peace." on this he was reproached by one of the chiefs with cowardice, and that ended the conference. stung to the quick by a reproach which he felt he never merited; he would have laid the reviler dead at his feet; but his was not the bravery of an assassin. he took his post at the head of the miamis when the battle was fought, determined to do his duty; and that event proved that he had formed a very correct estimate of the ability of general wayne. having been reinforced by sixteen hundred kentuckians, under the brave general, charles scott, wayne's army now numbered about four thousand men, and he was ready for battle. he used every caution while in the indian's country, and invariably went into camp about the middle of the afternoon, in a hollow square, which was inclosed by a rampart of logs. he was well aware that hundreds of eyes were watching his every movement from tree and bush, and he was determined never to be surprised. the battle of fallen timbers, so called because at this place a large number of forest trees had been blown down by a tornado, was fought august , . the indians took this position because it would give them favorable, covert for their mode of warfare, and prevent the successful use of cavalry. moreover, it was practically under the guns of the british fort, on the maumee, from whence the indians doubtless expected aid. the savages were formed in three lines, within supporting distance of each other, and extending for nearly two miles at right angles with the river. a selected battalion of mounted volunteers moved in front of the legion, commanded by major price, who was ordered to keep sufficiently in advance so as to give timely warning for the troops to form for action. after advancing about five miles, major price's corps received the fire of the enemy, who were secreted in the high grass and behind bushes, and fell back to the main army. the legion was immediately formed into two lines and ordered to charge with trailed arms and rouse the indians from their coverts with point of bayonet, and when up to deliver a close and well directed fire on their backs, followed by a brisk charge, so as not to give them time to reload. the cavalry was ordered to make a wide circuit and attack the indians after they were driven from their position. but so impetuous was the charge of the well-trained infantry, they had the red men routed and in full retreat before the cavalry could head them off. the indians were driven in the course of an hour several miles through the thick woods by less than half their numbers. the panic-stricken savages were chased with great slaughter to the very walls of the british fort of maumee, the commander of which had promised, in case of defeat, to open the gates and give them protection. but he probably had no real intention of doing so; certain it is, the gates remained closed while scores of indians were cut down without mercy by the "long knives," {fn} even while huddled about the gates clamoring for admission. thus it was that this fort, instead of being a place of refuge, became a delusion and a snare, and a veritable death trap to the routed indians. * * * * * {fn} the name "long knives" had been given by the indians to the american soldiers before this battle, but it was now revived as the kentucky cavalry, who did much of the slaughter, were all armed with long swords. general wayne, in his official report, gave his killed as thirty-eight, and his wounded, one hundred and one. the loss of the indians' could not be definitely ascertained, but, inasmuch as they had two thousand warriors engaged, it must have been great. the formidable confederation of tribes was so completely crushed, they did not recover from the effects of it for twenty years. after destroying all the cornfields of the indians for miles around, and laying waste all their towns, wayne gave the savages to understand that their alternative was peace or destruction. seeing only starvation confronting them, and knowing, from sad experience, the folly of expecting aid from the british or canadians, the indians determined to make a treaty with wayne in the summer of . this was ratified at greenville, ohio, august . red men were present to the number of eleven hundred and thirty, including a full delegation from every hostile tribe. by the conditions of this treaty the indians solemnly covenanted to keep the peace, and agreed to cede to our government a vast tract of land lying in the present states of ohio, indiana and michigan. the government in its turn agreed to pay the tribes annuities aggregating nine thousand five hundred dollars, and acknowledge the indian title to the remaining territories, probably with the usual mental reservation, until such time as the white men wanted to settle on it. in addition to this, all prisoners on both sides were to be restored. dawson, in his memoirs of general harrison (who was educated in general wayne's family), has given some interesting reminiscences respecting the conclusion of this peace. he states that little turtle took a decided part against the giving up of the large tract of country which general wayne required on the part of the united states. this circumstance, however, was not unfavorable to the attainment of the object, as it was evident there was a violent jealousy of the turtle among most of the ottawas, chippewas and pottawatomies, so that they invariably opposed everything which he advocated. and as they and their friends constituted the majority of the council the turtle was always in the minority. the superiority of his mind was conspicuous not only in their company, but in his deportment in the society of white people. all the chiefs were invited, in their turns, to the general's table, and on these occasions the most of them showed themselves still savages. but the turtle seemed to readily adopt the ways of civilization, and, in comparison with his brother chiefs, was quite a gentleman. after the peace was concluded, the turtle settled upon eel river, about twenty miles from fort wayne, where the americans erected for him a comfortable house. he frequently visited the seat of government, both at philadelphia and washington. his taste for civilized life being observed, the indian agents were desired by the government to furnish him with every reasonable accommodation for his comfortable subsistence, hoping that the example might prove beneficial in their exertions to civilize the other indians. thatcher informs us that, "these indulgences, however, entirely destroyed, for a time at least, the turtle's influence among the savages; for some envied his good fortune and others suspected his honesty. being perfectly sensible of this, and not a little chagrined by it, we may fairly presume that he made various attempts to recover his popularity. this was probably the secret of his opposition to the interests of the united states, on more occasions than one, where it was not altogether indispensable. but we certainly need not deny him on that account the credit of real patriotism, which he manifested at all times. the truth is that in some indifferent cases, when he might have yielded to the demands of the american authorities without disgrace, he opposed them chiefly for the sake of retaining or regaining his influence with his countrymen." schoolcraft, who speaks of little turtle in very complimentary terms, gives him the credit of doing at least as much as any other indian in america "to abolish the rites of human sacrifice." by this he means the torture of prisoners, especially burning them at the stake. in this he is undoubtedly right, for the turtle uniformly enjoyed the reputation of being as humane as he was brave. no prisoner was ever reserved for torture by his warriors. nor was this the only case in which he acted the part of a reformer, so much needed among his countrymen. he was the first chief to originate an efficient system of measures for the suppression of intemperance among his people. and never was a similar system so loudly called for, for the condition of his people was truly deplorable. the turtle was no less mortified than incensed by these abuses. he saw his countrymen destroyed, and destroying each other, every day in peace, and no tribe was more besotted than the eel river miamis; and he saw hundreds of them in war, at one time, surprised and massacred in their cups without resistance, like sheep assailed by wolves, on the very ground still red and wet with his victories. possibly chagrin was as strong a motive with him as philanthropy. but, however that might be, he devoted himself with his usual energy to the correction of the evil. in , or , he went before the legislature of kentucky, attended by his friend and interpreter, captain wells, {fn} and made his appeal to them in person. a committee was appointed to consider the subject, and we believe a law was passed to prevent the sale of whisky to the indians, as he desired. he also visited the legislature of ohio, and made a highly animated address. his description of the indian traders was drawn from life, when he said, "they stripped the poor indian of skins, gun, blanket, everything--while his squaw and the children dependent on him lay starving and shivering in his wigwam." thatcher informs us that nothing came of this eloquent speech except the empty honor of addressing that august body. * * * * * {fn} this captain william wells, when a lad, was captured with four others while hunting near louisville, kentucky. the indians conveyed them to indiana. afterward wells was taken to a village of the miamis in ohio, and, on being adopted into the tribe became a brother-in-law to little turtle. he afterward left the indians to become one of wayne's scouts, and was killed at the fort dearborn massacre in . he left a family of half breed children, and for him wells street, chicago, is named. little turtle seems to have been an all-round reformer. he it was who first introduced the practice of inoculation for the prevention of smallpox among the indians--a scourge second only to whisky, as we learn from the european (london) magazine, of april, . the article was compiled from american papers, and made this statement: "last winter, there was a grand embassy of indians to the president and congress at washington. little turtle was the head warrior. the president had supplied them with plows, spinning-wheels, etc., and to crown all he explained to them how the great spirit had made a donation to the white men--first to one in england (dr. jenner), and then to one in america (dr. waterhouse, of boston)--of a means of preventing the smallpox. such a confidence had the copper-colored king in the words of his 'father,' that he submitted to be inoculated, together with the rest of the warriors. it further appears that he took a quantity of the vaccine matter home with him, which he probably administered in person not long afterward fifteen more of his tribe visited the seat of government in pursuit of the same remedy." {illustration: ouray, late principal chief of he utes.} we shall conclude our sketch of this eminent chief with a few anecdotes preserved by mr. dawson: "what distinguished him most," says that writer, "was his ardent desire to be informed of all that relates to our institutions; and he seemed to possess a mind capable of understanding and valuing the advantages of civilized life, in a degree far superior to any other indian of his time. during the frequent visits which he made to the seat of government, he examined everything he saw with an inquisitive eye, and never failed to embrace every opportunity to acquire information by inquiring of those with whom he could take that liberty. "upon his return from philadelphia, in , he visited governor harrison, at that time a captain in the army, and commander at fort washington. he told the captain he had seen many things, which he wished to have explained, but said he was afraid of giving offense by asking too many questions. 'my friend here,' said he, meaning captain wells, the interpreter, 'being about as ignorant as myself, could give me but little satisfaction.' he then desired the captain to inform him how our government was formed, and what particular powers and duties were exercised by the two houses of congress, by the president, the secretaries, etc. being satisfied on this subject, he told the captain he had become acquainted with a great warrior while in philadelphia, in whose fate he was much interested and whose history he wished to learn. this was no other than the immortal kosciusko; he had arrived at philadelphia a short time before, and hearing that a celebrated indian chief was in the city, he sent for him. they were mutually pleased with each other, and the turtle's visits were often repeated. when he went to take his final leave of the wounded patriot, the latter presented little turtle with an elegant pair of pistols, and a splendid robe, made of sea otter's skin, worth several hundred dollars. "the turtle now told his host that he wished very much to know in what wars his friend had received those grievous wounds which had rendered him so crippled and infirm. the captain showed him, upon a map of europe, the situation of poland, and explained to him the usurpations of its territory by the neighboring powers--the exertions of kosciusko to free his country from this foreign yoke--his first victories, and his final defeat and captivity. while he was describing the last unsuccessful battle of kosciusko, the turtle seemed scarcely able to contain himself. at the conclusion he traversed the room with great agitation, violently flourished the pipe tomahawk which he had been smoking, and exclaimed, 'let that woman take care of herself'--meaning the empress catharine--'this may yet be a dangerous man!' "the captain explained to the turtle some anecdotes respecting the empress and her favorites, one of whom--the king of poland--had at first been by her elevated to the throne and afterward driven from it. he was much astonished to find that men, and particularly warriors, would submit to a woman. he said that perhaps if his friend kosciusko had been a portly, handsome man, he might have had better success with her majesty of all the russias, and might by means of a love-intrigue have obtained that independence for his country, to which his skill and valor in the field had been found unequal. "the turtle was fond of joking, and was possessed of considerable talent for repartee. in the year he lodged in a house in philadelphia, in which was an irish gentleman of considerable wit, who became much attached to the indian and frequently amused himself in drawing out his wit by good-humored jests. the turtle and this gentleman were at that time both sitting for their portraits--the former by order of the president of the united states, the picture to be hung up in the war-office--to the celebrated stewart. the two meeting one morning in the painter's studio, the turtle appeared to be rather more thoughtful than usual. the irishman rallied him upon it, and affected to construe it into an acknowledgment of his superiority in the jocular contest. 'he mistakes,' said the turtle to the interpreter, 'i was just thinking of proposing to this man, to paint us both on one board, and here i would stand face to face with him, and berate him to all eternity.'" little turtle opposed the designs of tecumseh and the prophet, from the time of their first appearance on the political stage, and it was owing to his influence that very little was effected by them among the miamis, as well as other tribes, for a long time. had he lived through the war of , he would undoubtedly have exerted himself more energetically for the american interest than ever before. the following communication indicates the part he was prepared to take, subsequent to the battle of tippecanoe. the "witness" probably acted as amanuensis: "fort wayne, th jan., . governor harrison: "my friend,--i have been requested by my nation to speak to you, and obey their request with pleasure, because i believe their situation requires all the aid i can afford them. "when your speech by mr. dubois was received by the miamis, they answered it, and i made known to you their opinion at that time. "your letter to william wells, of the d november last, has been explained to the miamis and eel river tribes of indians. "my friend, although neither of these tribes have had anything to do with the late unfortunate affair which happened on the wabash, still they all rejoice to hear you say, that if those foolish indians which were engaged in that action would return to their several homes and remain quiet, that they would be pardoned, and again received by the president as his children. we believe there is none of them that will be so foolish as not to accept of this friendly offer; whilst, at the same time, i assure you, that nothing shall be wanting on my part to prevail on them to accept it. "all the prophet's followers have left him (with the exception of two camps of his own tribe); tecumseh has just joined him with eight men only. no danger can be apprehended from them at present. our eyes will be constantly kept on them, and should they attempt to gather strength again, we will do all in our power to prevent it, and at the same time give you immediate information of their intentions. "we are sorry that the peace and friendship which has so long existed between the red and white people, could not be preserved, without the loss of so many good men as fell on both sides in the late action on the wabash; but we are satisfied that it will be the means of making that peace which ought to exist between us more respected, both by the red and the white people. "we have been lately told by different indians from that quarter, that you wished the indians from this country to visit you; this they will do with pleasure when you give them information of it in writing. "my friend, the clouds appear to be rising in a different quarter, which threatens to turn our light into darkness. to prevent this, it may require the united efforts of us all. we hope that none of us will be found to shrink from the storm that threatens to burst upon our nations. "your friend. "(x) mischecanocquah, {fn} or little turtle, for the miami and eel river tribes of indians. witness, wm. turner, surgeon's mate, u. s. army. i certify that the above is a true translation. wm. wells." * * * * * {fn} written also michikiniqua we thus find that the turtle's sympathies were with the americans in the war of , which was about to burst forth in all its fury. but he was not destined to be an active participant in the stirring scenes that succeeded. he died while on a visit to the commandant at fort wayne, july , , deeply deplored by the whites as well as his own people. his last disease, according to the report of the army surgeon, was gout, and from it he was a great sufferer, but he endured it "with the characteristic composure of his race." he died on the turf of his open camp and was buried by his friend, the commandant, with honors of war. he was said to be sixty-five years of age by those who had the opportunity of learning the fact from himself. that account would make him forty-five at the time of his great victory over st. clair; and about thirty at the breaking out of the american revolution, during which he no doubt laid the foundation of his fame. it is known that the miamis gave as much trouble during that period as any other tribe on the continent ever did in as few years, and the turtle was then their rising young chief. there is one other story of little turtle which is too good to omit. when the celebrated french traveler, volney, made the acquaintance of the turtle he asked what prevented him from living among the whites, and if he were not more comfortable in philadelphia than upon the banks of the wabash? to which he replied, "taking all things together, you have the advantage over us; but here i am deaf and dumb. i do not talk your language; i can neither hear nor make myself heard. when i walk through the streets, i see every person in his shop employed about something, one makes shoes, and another hats, a third sells cloth, and every one lives by his labor. i say to myself, 'which of all these things can you do?' not one. i can make a bow or an arrow, catch fish, kill game and go to war; but none of these are of any use here. to learn what is done here would require a long time. old age comes on. i should be a piece of furniture, useless to my nation, useless to the whites and useless to myself. i must return to my own country." savage and heathen as he was, because of his environment, he always had an intense longing for better conditions for himself and people; which goes to prove that little turtle was one of nature's noblemen. chapter x. tecumseh, or "the shooting star." famous shawnee war-chief--organizer of second great indian confederation and general in the british army in the war of . judged from whatever standpoint you will, the subject of this sketch was certainly one of the greatest, if not the very greatest american indian. the name tecumseh means "the shooting star," and it was very appropriate, and seems to have been prophetical of his meteoric career and brilliant genius, to say nothing of his numerous journeys to distant tribes, which were accomplished with incredible speed. this great chief was born at the old indian town of piqua, ohio, on the mad river, in . his father, a shawnee chief named puckeshinwan, was killed in the battle of kanawha, in . his mother was thought to have been a creek or cherokee. her name was methoataske, and she is said to have been a comely, intelligent and very respectable woman. there is a story that he and his brother, elskwatawa, the prophet, were twins, and even that a third brother, kumshaka, were the offspring of the same mother at the same birth, though, according to one account, the prophet and a twin brother were some years younger than tecumseh. eggleston is of the opinion that the prophet and a twin brother were born in . we hear little or nothing of kumshaka, and the presumption is that he died young. there were seven children in this interesting family, two others--cheeseekau, the oldest brother, and menewaula-koosee, or tecumapease, the name given to her later in life, according to the indian usage, to signify her relationship to the great tecumseh--were also famous. his father's death occurring when tecumseh was but six years old, he was placed under the charge of his oldest brother, cheeseekau. the latter was a brave man, of noble character. his chief occupation and care was the proper training of the young tecumseh, who was early recognized as the hope of the family, and coming leader of his people. it was cheeseekau who instructed the fatherless boy thoroughly, until he was "skilled in all the games of hunters, learned in all the lore of old men in all youthful sports and pastimes. in all manly arts and labors." it was this same older brother who, by constant and zealous labor, imbued his mind with a love for truth, a ready generosity, a manly courage in battle, and a dignified fortitude in suffering. he also drilled him in the art of eloquence, and wrought into his mind the idea which afterward became the inspiration of the great chieftain--that of the salvation of his people from the white man. tecumseh always cherished the warmest affection for his only sister, tecumapease. she is described as being "sensible, kind-hearted and uniformly exemplary in her conduct," and must have been an attractive person, with a commanding character, for she is known to have exercised a remarkable influence over the females of her tribe. she was married to a brave called wasegoboah, or stand firm. the mutual affection between the brother and sister continued through life. she was always his favorite. the first fruits of the chase belonged to tecumapease. the choicest presents of the white man to tecumseh, or the best of his share of the spoils of war. became trophies for his sister. educated by the care of his elder brother, and cherished by the affection of a noble sister, tecumseh grew to manhood. {illustration: tecumseh, or the shooting star, famous shawnee war-chief and general in the british army in war of .} war was his ruling passion even in his earlier years. he soon became a recognized leader of his companions. mimic combats and sham battles were his favorite sports. while his brother, the prophet, remained at home engaged in idle and disreputable intrigues, tecumseh followed the hunters in their chase and the war parties on their way to battle. the indian warfare which raged during his earlier years made a great impression on his mind. he must have heard, around the camp-fires, the stories of the indian conflicts of the revolution, the genius of brant, the murder of cornstalk, the massacre of the moravian indians, as well as stories of the great pontiac and his far-reaching confederacy. these were the things upon which his youthful imagination was nourished. tecumseh was only sixteen years of age when he took part in his first battle, near where the city of dayton, ohio, now stands. it is said that the boy took fright and fled. a similar story is told of the great seneca chief, red jacket, and of frederick the great. but, if true, it is the only time he was ever guilty of such weakness. shortly after this he participated in an attack on a flatboat descending the ohio river. at this time he fought like a young lion, completely wiping out the stain of cowardice. all the boatmen were killed but one, who was reserved for torture. strange to say, since it could not have been an unusual occurrence, the young warrior had never before witnessed such a scene. filled with horror, he remonstrated against the practice with such eloquence that all agreed that they would never burn another prisoner. from that time forth no prisoners were burned by any war party of which tecumseh was a member. when he was nineteen years of age, tecumseh and cheeseekau took a long journey to the south. this, the older brother believed, would tend to enlarge the understanding of his pupil with general ideas. they traveled as far as the country of the creeks and cherokees, and found the latter engaged in a war with the whites. the two brothers and their band of warriors at once enlisted in the struggle. in an attack on a certain fort cheeseekau led the charge. just before the attack he told his followers that in the conflict he would be shot in the forehead and killed. the premonition was verified literally, for he fell, pierced by a bullet midway between the eyes. as he fell mortally wounded upon the battlefield he exclaimed with his expiring breath, "happy am i to thus fall in battle, and not die in a wigwam like an old squaw." the indians, panic-stricken at the fall of their leader, as well as the fulfillment of the prophecy, fled in all directions. after the fall of cheeseekau the band of warriors chose tecumseh, though the youngest of the party, as their leader. to show himself worthy of this honor tecumseh took ten men, and going to the nearest white settlement attacked and killed all the men and took the women and children prisoners. no expedition was thought complete without tecumseh, and his military genius won him great renown. one night tecumseh, with a dozen warriors, was encamped on the alabama river. all of the men had lain down for the night except the young chief, who was dressing some meat by the fire. suddenly the camp was attacked by thirty white men. with a shrill cry tecumseh roused every warrior to his feet. their leader at their head, the indians rushed furiously toward a certain point in the circle formed by their foes. two white men were killed outright, and the others, giving way before the impetuous charge, suffered tecumseh and his band to break through and make their way to their boats. after an absence from ohio of three years, during which tecumseh had many adventures, and visited all the southern tribes, he returned to his people in the fall of . during his absence general harmar had been defeated and his army cut to pieces by the indians under the famous miami chief, little turtle, and the shawnee sachem, blue jacket. he was in time, however, to take part in the defeat of general st. clair by the indians under little turtle, which was the most decisive victory ever gained by the american indians. tecumseh was also present at the battle of fallen timbers, so called because the battlefield was covered with fallen forest trees, wrecked by some tornado. it was in this battle that mad anthony wayne crushed the indian power of the ohio valley. he did not attend the council of greenville, when the treaty was made with the indians, but remained at home in his wigwam, sullen and angry. he was at this time still quite young but a man of influence and importance in his nation, for blue jacket, the principal chief of the shawnees, made haste to visit him on deer creek and explain the terms on which peace had been made. he now gathered about him a band of warriors, of whom he became chief. these roving shawnees, after moving several times, accepted an invitation from the delawares and settled on the white river, in indiana, in . here tecumseh remained several years, peacefully occupied in hunting. during this time he was extending his influence among the different tribes, and adding to his band of followers. many incidents are related of him during his sojourn on the white river. he was a great hunter, partly as a matter of sport, and partly because it enabled him to give the highly prized venison to the sick and poor of his tribe. one day a number of young shawnee warriors wagered him that each of them could kill as many deer in a three days' hunt as he. tecumseh quietly accepted the challenge, and the hunters made their preparations that evening for a start before daylight the next morning. at the end of the three days the crowd of boasters once more assembled around the camp-fire of their village. the largest number of deerskins brought in by any one of the party was twelve. tecumseh brought with him thirty. a characteristic anecdote is told of him while he and a party of indians were on a visit to ohio in . it seems that a corpulent and cowardly kentuckian was in the territory at the time for the purpose of exploring lands on the mad river. he lodged one night at the house of capt. abner barrett, residing on the head waters of buck creek. in the course of the evening he learned, with apparent alarm, that there were some indians encamped within a short distance of the house. while the conversation was going on the door opened and tecumseh stalked in with his dignified manner. he saluted captain barrett, and then, observing the agitated visitor, contemplated him scornfully for a minute or two, and turning to the host, and pointing to the agitated kentuckian, he exclaimed: "a big baby!" "a big baby!" he stepped across the room and, patting the kentuckian on the shoulder, repeated the contemptuous remark, "a big baby! won't hurt you!" the stout kentuckian was greatly alarmed, and all present amused. in the year a portion of the shawnee nation residing on the headwaters of the auglaize river, wishing to reassemble their scattered people, sent a deputation to tecumseh and his party (then living on white river), and also to a body of the same tribe upon the mississiniway, another tributary of the wabash, inviting them to remove and join their brethren on the auglaize river. to this proposition both parties assented; and the two bands met at greenville, on their way thither. there, through the influence of laulewasikaw, or the loud voice, tecumseh's brother, they concluded to establish themselves; and accordingly the project of going to the auglaize was abandoned. this is the first incident recorded of laulewasikaw. the name "loud voice" is thought to refer to his self-assertion and boastfulness, as much as to his really stentorian voice. it is thought that tecumseh was behind his brother in influencing the two parties to unite together at greenville, as it increased the number of his immediate followers. it happened about this time that an old shawnee indian, by the name of penagashega, or the-change-of-feathers, "who had for some years been engaged in the respectable calling of a prophet," fell sick and died. as soon as the news of the old prophet's death reached laulewasikaw he rolled his eye (he had but one) piously toward heaven and fell on his face in a trance, and continued a long time motionless and apparently without any signs of life. he was supposed to be dead and preparations were made for his burial. all the principal men of the tribe were assembled, and they were in the act of bearing him away to his grave, when he suddenly revived and uttered these words: _"be not alarmed--i have seen heaven. call the tribe together, that i may reveal to them the whole of my vision."_ the tribe was accordingly collected together, and he proceeded to inform them that two beautiful young men had been sent from heaven by the great spirit, who addressed him in the following language: "the great spirit is angry with you, and will destroy all the red men, unless you abandon drunkenness, lying and stealing. if you will not do this and turn yourselves to him, you shall never enter the beautiful place which we will now show you." he was then conducted to the gates of heaven, where he was indulged with a sight of all its glories, but not permitted to enter. after being tantalized in this manner for several hours he was ordered to return to the earth, to inform the indians of what he had seen and urge them to repent of their vices, and they would visit him again. it was in consequence of this _vision (?)_ that elskwatawa assumed the name and functions of a prophet, and soon acquired an extraordinary celebrity. he established headquarters at greenville and proclaimed himself a prophet and reformer in place of the departed change-of-feathers. prophet wise, he now assumed a new name, that of tenskwatawa, which signifies "the open door." this name pointed him out as a means of deliverance to his people. he soon gathered around him a large band of adherents from the shawnees, delawares, wyandots, pottawatomies, ottawas, chippewas and kickapoos. to these he boldly announced that the great spirit, who had made the red men, was not the same who had made the white men; and that all their misfortunes was due to the fact that they had forsaken the mode of life designed for them, and imitated the manners of the whites. in this address he harangued against witchcraft, a thing much believed in by the indians, and said that those who practiced it or remained bewitched could not enter heaven. he next denounced drunkenness, and stated on his journey to heaven the first place he came to was the dwelling of the devil. here he saw all who had died drunkards, with flames of fire issuing from their mouths. he admitted that previous to this he had himself been a drunkard, but his vision had frightened him so that he drank no more. such was the effect of his preaching against this pernicious vice that many of his followers became alarmed and ceased to drink the "firewater," or "crazywater," as whisky was appropriately called by the indians. he also preached earnestly against the intermarriage of whites and indians, saying that this was one of the chief causes of their unhappiness. and yet he often boasted that his own grandparents were a noble creek warrior, and the daughter of one of the governors of south carolina. but as there is not a scintilla of corroborative evidence we are forced to conclude that however truly the prophet foretold the future, he lied about the past. the prophet advocated a community of goods, an adjustment of things which would have well suited that indolent reformer. he also preached, what tecumseh constantly practiced, the duty of the young to support and cherish the aged and infirm. he denounced innovations in the dress and habits of the red men, and appealed to their national pride, by boasting of the superiority of the shawnees over other nations. he promised to his faithful adherents who would obey his injunctions all the comfort and happiness enjoyed by their ancestors, before the advent of the whites. finally he announced that the great spirit had given him power to confound his enemies, to cure all diseases, and to prevent death, either from sickness or on the battlefield. there can be no doubt that the prophet succeeded in deceiving himself, and was a firm believer in the methods and measures he advocated. neither is there any doubt that tecumseh's gradually developing schemes inspired and shaped the prophet's plans. his was the master mind which controlled the tribes through the machinations of the prophet. elskwatawa shared to some extent the great talents of his brother, but it might have been said of him: "his virtues another's, his faults were his own." he was neither courageous nor truthful, but cunning, shrewd and boastful. he equaled his famous brother in eloquence, and surpassed him in graceful manners. opposition was naturally made to the innovations of the new prophet by the neighboring chiefs, who felt that he sought to undermine their power. a course of fanatical persecution for witchcraft was begun, shocking in its cruelty and injustice, but only too much resembling something which occurred at salem, among people of our own enlightened race. the superstition of the indians was so great that if the prophet denounced some chief who opposed him as a wizard, a loss of reputation and perhaps of life ensued. several delawares were among the first victims. an old woman was denounced as a witch, and was called upon repeatedly to give up her charm and medicine-bag. she was put to the stake and burned. as she was dying, she exclaimed that her grandson, who was out hunting, had it. he was pursued and arrested. he confessed that he had borrowed the charm, and by means of it had flown through the air over kentucky to the banks of the mississippi and back again between twilight and bedtime. he insisted, however, that he had returned the charm to his grandmother, and was finally released. on the following day an old chief named teteboxti was accused of being a wizard. knowing that his doom was fixed, the old man arrayed himself in his finest clothes and confronted the grim circle of inquisitors in the council-house. the trial was speedy. the sentence was passed. the old chief calmly assisted in the construction of his own funeral pile. touched by his white hairs, the council became merciful. they voted to tomahawk him and burn his body afterward. this was done. a council was held over the wife of teteboxti and his nephew, billy paterson. the latter died like a christian, singing and praying. preparations were then made for the burning of teteboxti's wife when her brother, a young man of twenty, suddenly started up and bravely led her by the hand out of the house. he returned to the amazed council and said "the devil" (alluding to the prophet), "has come among us, and we are killing each other." he then reseated himself. this seemed to break the spell and to awaken the indians to a realization of what they were doing, and put a stop for a time to further persecution among the delawares. but with other tribes the witchcraft delusion continued, until governor harrison was justly alarmed. he knew that although the indians had been quiet for ten years, and no ordinary leader could rouse them, yet deceived by a mask of religion, they might once more plunge the frontiers into bloody war. moreover, his sympathies were touched by the stories of the poor wretches doomed to a horrible death by this strange delusion. accordingly he sent the indians an earnest letter, urging them in the name of the seventeen fires (states) to drive out the prophet, and boldly asserted that the latter was a fraud. he told the indians that the pretender could work no miracles. "ask of him to cause the sun to stand still, the moon to alter its course, the rivers to cease to flow, or the dead to rise from their graves." but this letter did not accomplish the end desired. for a time, it is true, the persecutions entirely ceased, but the influence of the prophet was increased by his accepting governor harrison's challenge to work miracles. hearing by chance from an educated white man that an eclipse of the sun would occur on a certain day, he boldly announced that on such a day he would cause darkness to cover the sun. the reports of this prophecy, and the fact that he had accepted the governor's challenge, spread abroad, and on the appointed day there was a large body of indians, from all the neighboring tribes, assembled. an hour before noon the prophet, dressed with dazzling splendor, came out of his wigwam, and strode with slow and stately steps toward the center of the large circle. extending his right arm and turning his face toward the heavens, he pronounced an unintelligible incantation. as he proceeded a disc of darkness was observed to be slowly appearing upon the edge of the sun. the eyes of the vast assemblage were turned from the prophet toward the phenomenon. as the moments progressed the dark spot enlarged. it grew darker and darker. the multitude was thrilled with awe. not a few believed the end of the world was at hand. the deep shadows, the darkened air, the increasing obscurity, which at sunset would have attracted no attention, occurring in the middle of the day, with the sun in high heaven, seemed portentous and awful. the prophet alone remained calm. at the moment of total eclipse he cried out in a loud voice, "behold! did i not prophesy truly? darkness has come over the sun as i told you." {illustration: tecumseh rebuking proctor.} the reports of this miracle (?) gave a wonderful impulse to the fame of the prophet. tecumseh now appeared on the scene. he took care to lend the aid of his powerful name and influence to the prophet by an ostentatious reverence. the latter returned the compliment by pointing out tecumseh as the leader chosen by the great spirit to save the indians. the brothers were thus a mutual benefit. the indians were fired with fanaticism and eager for a fight under such heaven-appointed leaders. the whites were alarmed. the ever increasing throng of savages about tecumseh and his brother seemed ready to break out into violence. at a council in ohio, tecumseh made a three hours' speech. he reviewed all the treaties with the white men, and undertook to prove that all had been broken by the enemies of his people. the indians were roused to a perfect frenzy by his fiery eloquence. in the spring of the pottawatomies and kickapoos granted the two brothers and their band a tract of land on the tippecanoe, one of the tributaries of the wabash river in western indiana. here they established a village, which came to be known as the prophet's town. they drew around them a large body of indians from a number of tribes. the prophet's followers now for the first time began to combine warlike sports with their religious exercises, showing that tecumseh's genius for war was gradually predominating over the prophet's religious fanaticism. the great plan to which tecumseh now devoted all his genius and energies was nothing less than a mighty confederation of all the indian tribes, to drive the white men beyond the alleghenies. as the great scheme took shape in his mind it became less and less that of a mere temporary alliance, such as pontiac had sought; and more and more that of a "great and permanent confederation, an empire of red men, of which tecumseh should be the leader and emperor." for about four years he traveled incessantly in the propagation of his enterprise. now he visited the farthest extremity of lake superior. at another time he passed through the unknown regions beyond the mississippi. again he labored with the creeks of the south, securing red eagle, or weatherford, as his most illustrious convert. in it was reported that tecumseh controlled more than sixteen hundred warriors. the national government became alarmed, for it was evident that the exposed settlements of indiana were in danger. in september, , a treaty was concluded at fort wayne, between the delawares, miamis and pottawatomies, and general harrison, governor of the territory and commissioner on the part of the united states. by this treaty the indians ceded to the government a tract of land extending sixty miles along the wabash above vincennes. this was done without the advice or knowledge of tecumseh, and neither the prophet nor any of his followers were present during the transaction. they had no claim on the land in question, it having been in the legal possession of the miamis time out of mind, while the shawnees were only sojourners. the chiefs of the other tribes attended the council, and advised the cession, and the transaction was in every respect regular and equitable from the white man's stand-point. yet tecumseh, who had been absent during the negotiations on a mission of intrigue among the different tribes, was inflamed with anger when he returned and heard what had been done. he openly threatened to kill the chiefs who had signed the treaty, and declared his determination to prevent the land from being surveyed and occupied by the americans. harrison being informed of this sent mr. dubois to prophet's town to discover more fully, if possible, the designs of the brothers. the messenger was kindly received, but nothing was accomplished. to the suggestion that he should go to vincennes and present his complaints to the governor, the prophet replied, "the great spirit has fixed the spot for the indian to kindle his camp-fire, and he dare not go to any other. elskwatawa's and his brother tecumseh's must be on the banks of the tippecanoe, or the great spirit will be angry with them. evil birds have carried false news to my father, the governor. let him not believe that elskwatawa, the prophet, wishes to make war upon him and his people." this ended the interview. shortly after this governor harrison sent mr. baron, with a letter to tippecanoe. when this messenger reached the prophet's town he was received in a very dramatic fashion. he was first conducted ceremoniously to the place where the prophet, surrounded by a number of indians, was seated. "the prophet looked at me," said mr. baron, "for several minutes, without speaking or making any sign of recognition, although he knew me well. at last, in a tone expressive of anger and scorn, he said: 'for what purpose do you come here? bronilette was here; he was a spy. dubois was here; _he_ was a spy. now _you_ have come; _you,_ too, are a spy. there is your grave! look on it!' the prophet then pointed to the ground near the spot where i stood!" from a lodge near by issued the majestic form of tecumseh, who said in a cold and haughty tone: "your life is in no danger. say why you have come among us." the messenger, in reply, read the letter from governor harrison urging them to submit to the government. "i know your warriors are brave," the governor wrote, "but ours are not less so. what can a few brave warriors do against the innumerable warriors of the seventeen fires? our blue-coats are more numerous than you can count; our hunters are like the leaves of the forest, or the grains of sand on the wabash. do not think that the red-coats can protect you; they are not able to protect themselves. they do not think of going to war with us. if they did, you would in a few moons see our flag wave over all the forts of canada. what reason have you to complain of the seventeen fires? have they taken anything from you? have they ever violated the treaties made with the red men? you say they have purchased lands from those who had no right to sell them. show that this is so and the land will be instantly restored. show us the rightful owners. i have full power to arrange this business; but if you would rather carry your complaints before your great father at washington, you shall be indulged." pleased with this letter, tecumseh said that he would now go to vincennes and show the governor that he had been listening to bad men when he was told that the indians wished to make war. he had never been to see the governor, but remembered him as a very young man riding beside general wayne. thirty of his principal men, he said, would attend him, but the party would probably be larger, as many of the young men would wish to go. notwithstanding the request which the governor made, on hearing this, that but few should come, four hundred descended the wabash on the th of august. painted in the most terrific manner, and armed with tomahawks, they were well prepared for war in case of an attack. governor harrison had made arrangements for holding the council on the portico of his own house, {fn} and here, attended by civil and military officers, a small guard of soldiers and many citizens of vincennes, he awaited the arrival of tecumseh. it was the th of august, . at the appointed hour, tecumseh, attended by about forty warriors, made his appearance, with much dancing and various curious incantations by the prophet. advancing within thirty or forty yards of the house, the chief suddenly halted, as if awaiting some movement on the part of the governor. an interpreter was sent to invite him and his followers to the portico, but tecumseh declined this invitation, saying that he thought a grove near by, to which he pointed as he spoke, was a more suitable place. the governor yielded the point, chairs and benches were removed to the grove, but the indians, according to their habit, sat upon the grass. * * * * * {fn} the old harrison mansion is still standing at vincennes, and was seen by the author a few years ago. the council was opened by tecumseh, who stated his position on the irritating question between the whites and his race. referring to the treaty made by the governor at fort wayne the previous year, he boldly declared that he was determined to fight against the cession of lands by the indians unless assented to by _all_ the tribes acting in concert. he admitted that he had threatened to kill the chiefs who signed the fort wayne treaty, and furthermore, he did not intend to let the village chiefs manage their affairs longer, but would place the power heretofore vested in them in the hands of the war-chiefs. the americans had driven the indians from the seacoast, and would soon drive them into the lakes; and while he disowned any intention of making war upon the united states, he asserted in the most emphatic language, that he would oppose any further intrusion of the whites upon their lands. he made a summary of the wrongs his people had suffered from the close of the revolution to that day. it was plain that this appeal "struck fire" in the hearts of his own people, who would have followed his commands to the death. having finished his speech, tecumseh turned to seat himself, when he observed that no chair had been provided for him. governor harrison immediately ordered one, and, as the interpreter handed it to him, he said, "your father requests you to be seated." "my father?" said tecumseh; "the sun is my father and the earth is my mother, on her bosom will i repose;" and drawing his blanket about him with as much dignity as a roman senator would his toga, he seated himself among his warriors on the ground. we challenge the world to produce a more eloquent sentence than this. replying to this address, governor harrison declared that the indians were not one nation, having a common property in the land. the miamis were the real owners of the tract on the wabash, ceded by the late treaty, and the shawnees had no business to interfere, since, on the arrival of the whites in this country, they had found the miamis in possession of the land, the shawnees at that time being residents of georgia. it was absurd to contend that the indians constituted one nation, for had such been the will of the great spirit, he would not have given them different languages. the interpretation of this speech to tecumseh threw him into a terrible rage. he sprang to his feet and began speaking in a loud and angry manner. the governor did not understand his language, but general gibson, who was present, did, and he remarked to the governor: "those fellows intend mischief you had better bring up the guard." at the same instant the whole forty warriors grasped their tomahawks, leaped to their feet and glared at the governor. harrison leaped to his feet and drew his sword. capt. g. r. floyd, of the army, who stood near him, drew a dirk, and the chief, winnemac, a friendly indian, cocked his pistol. the citizens present who were unarmed, seized clubs and brick-bats, while rev. mr. winans, of the methodist church, ran to the governor's house, got a gun, and posted himself at the door to defend the family. during this scene, no one spoke, until the guard came running up, and appearing to be in the act of firing, the governor ordered them not to do so. he then demanded of the interpreter an explanation of what had happened, who replied that tecumseh had interrupted him, declaring that all the governor had said was false; and that he and the seventeen fires (states) had cheated and imposed on the indians. the governor then told tecumseh that he was a bad man, and that he would hold no further communication with him, that as he had come to vincennes under the protection of a council-fire, he might return in safety, but that he must immediately leave the village. here the council terminated. that night two companies of militia were brought into the town, and the one belonging there was made ready for the expected attack. next morning tecumseh sent an apology to the governor for his hasty action. he begged another interview and declared that he did not intend to attack him, and said that certain white men were the instigators of the whole thing. in the light of subsequent events, the last statement was true, and those white men were british officers. governor harrison consented to meet him again the next day, and this time tecumseh comported himself with dignity and courtesy. in the course of the talk, the governor asked the sachem whether he would oppose the survey of the lands. to which he replied that nothing could shake the determination of himself and followers to insist on the old boundary. when he sat down, his leading chiefs followed with the declaration that the wyandots, kickapoos, pottawatomies, ottawas and winnebagos had entered the shawnee league and would stand by tecumseh to the end. harrison said he would make known this decision to the president, but he was certain that the claim of tecumseh would never be acknowledged, as the land in question was bought from the miamis, the original owners, who alone had the right to sell. on the following day the governor visited tecumseh in his camp, attended only by the interpreter, and was very politely received. a long conversation followed, in the course of which the chieftain repeated his sentiments expressed in the council. he viewed the policy of the united states, in purchasing the lands from the indians, as a mighty flood, which, unless checked, would drown all his people. the confederacy which he had formed to prevent such sales without the consent of all the tribes was the dam he was building to resist the flood. he added that he should be reluctant to take part in a war with the seventeen fires, and if the governor would induce the president to give up the lands lately purchased, and agree never to make another treaty for land without the consent of all the tribes, he would be their faithful ally, and assist them in the war, which he knew was about to take place with england; but if this was not done, he would be compelled to unite with the british, who were very anxious to enlist his warriors for allies. the governor replied that he would make known his views to the president, but there was no hope of their being agreed to. "well," said tecumseh, "as the great chief is to settle the matter, i hope the great spirit will put enough sense into his head to cause him to give up the land; it is true, he is so far off he will not be injured by the war; he may sit still in his town and drink his wine, while you and i will have to fight it out." this prophecy, it will be seen, was literally fulfilled, and the great chieftain attested that fulfillment with his blood. the governor, as he was about to leave, proposed to tecumseh that in the event of war between the indians and the united states, he would use his influence to put an end to the cruel mode of warfare which the indians were accustomed to wage upon prisoners or helpless women and children. to this he cheerfully consented; and, to his everlasting credit, it is recorded that he faithfully kept the pledge. tecumseh must have known that his demands would never be acceded to by the united states, for from this time forward the attitude of himself and brother became distinctively hostile. the great war-belt was sent around to the neighboring tribes, who were invited to join in a confederacy to "confine the great water" and prevent it from overflowing them. the matchless eloquence and sagacity of tecumseh brought most of the tribes into the alliance. in the spring of governor harrison sent a boat up the wabash loaded with salt for the indians, that article constituting a part of their annuity. five barrels were to be left with the prophet, for the kickapoos and shawnees. upon the arrival of the boat at tippecanoe, the prophet called a council, by which it was decided to seize all the salt. this was accordingly done; though the year previous the prophet had refused to take any. when governor harrison referred to the seizure of this salt, at the next council held with the indians, tecumseh hissed back to him, that the governor was hard to please; he was angry at one time when the indians took no salt and another year because they did take it. {illustration: the prophet, brother of tecumseh.} the last council with tecumseh was held at vincennes july , , but nothing was accomplished. the chasm could not be bridged, since neither of the parties concerned would yield a point. war must come. two days after the council adjourned the great chieftain set off on a journey to the south. in a letter to the war department, just after this council, governor harrison speaks of "the implicit obedience and respect which the followers of tecumseh pay to him," as wonderful. he says: "if it were not for the vicinity of the united states, he would perhaps be the founder of an empire that would rival in glory mexico or peru. no difficulties deter him. for four years he has been in constant motion. you see him to-day on the wabash, and in a short time hear of him on the shores of lake erie or michigan, or on the banks of the mississippi; and wherever he goes he makes an impression favorable to his purpose. he is now upon the last round to put a finishing stroke to his work. i hope, however, before his return, that that part of the work which he considered complete will be demolished, and even its foundation rooted up." tecumseh visited the choctaws, creeks or muskogees, seminoles and other tribes. his success was marvelous. there seemed no resisting his persuasive eloquence. in most instances the determination was unanimous to dig up the hatchet whenever he was ready for them. like other great generals, tecumseh gave close attention to details. he invented a calendar showing the exact day on which they were to strike the white settlements. this he did by making little bundles of sticks painted red. each bundle contained sticks equal to the number of days that would pass before the one arrived which he had indicated to them. every morning they were to throw away a stick. thus it was that the seminoles, in the war which followed, became widely known under the name of "red sticks." tecumseh also directed the indians, that should the question be asked, why he had come so far? to answer, that he had advised them to till the soil, to abstain from the use of "firewater," and to live peacefully with the white people. at tuckabatchee, alabama, tecumseh addressed the council of the creek nation, but met a silent opponent in the principal chief, big warrior. he at once divined the feelings of this chief. angrily stamping his foot on the ground, he looked into the eyes of big warrior and said: "your blood is white. you have taken my talk and the sticks, and the wampum, and the hatchet, but you do not mean to fight. i know the reason. you do not believe the great spirit has sent me. you shall know. i leave tuckabatchee directly and shall go straight to detroit; when i arrive there, i will stamp on the ground with my foot and shake down every house in tuckabatchee." this was a wild threat, and big warrior was dumbfounded. he and his people were superstitious and began to dread tecumseh's arrival at detroit. they often met, talked over the strange affair, and actually tried to compute the time it would take the great chieftain to reach that town. when the morning of the day fixed upon arrived, an awful rumbling of the ground was heard; the earth began to shake and down came the flimsy lodges. the frantic indians ran to and fro shouting: "tecumseh has got to detroit!" the threat had been fulfilled and the warriors no longer hesitated to go to war with the great leader. all this was produced by the historical earthquake of new madrid, on the mississippi. strange as it may seem, it is said to have taken place the very day tecumseh reached detroit, and in exact fulfillment of his threat. during the absence of tecumseh in the south, the indians at prophet's town were so warlike and aggressive that governor harrison determined to march to that place and settle the difficulties with the indians, or break up their rendezvous. accordingly, on september , , at the head of nine hundred troops, he started on this expedition. six days afterward the army encamped on the eastern bank of the wabash, two miles above the present bustling city of terre haute. here a log fort was constructed, and named by the soldiers fort harrison. leaving a small guard at the new fort, the troops advanced along the east bank of the wabash, until they passed big raccoon creek. here it was determined to cross to the other side of the river, to avoid a dense woody shore, where there was danger of ambush. this was effected at a point near the town of montezuma, indiana. advancing still further, at the mouth of the vermilion river he built a block-house to protect his boats and heavy baggage, and proceeded thence to the immediate vicinity of the prophet's town. he was desirous of attacking this as soon as possible, because he knew that tecumseh might return any day. the army encamped for the night about three-quarters of a mile from the prophet's town on the now famous tippecanoe battleground, seven miles northeast of the city of lafayette. the place was a beautiful spot of timber-land, about ten feet higher than the marshy prairie in front, which stretched away toward the prophet's town, and nearly twice that height above a similar prairie, on the other side, across which sluggishly flowed a small stream, its course marked by willows and brushwood. at this point he was met by ambassadors, who asked that the white men refrain from hostilities until the following day, when a peace talk could be had. harrison, however, was too prudent to be deluded into a belief that no danger threatened. the army settled itself for the night in order of battle, the men sleeping on their arms. notwithstanding the truce those of the soldiers experienced in indian warfare fully expected an attack before morning light. meanwhile the indians were by no means idle. all night long the chiefs sat in council. a dozen different plans for the attack were proposed. at one time it was decided to meet the whites in council on the next day, agree to their proposals, and withdraw, leaving behind two winnebagos, who were to rush forward and assassinate the governor. this was to be the signal for battle. later in the night, which was dark and rainy, the plan was changed. the prophet, mixing some mysterious concoction of "hell-broth," pretended to read in it the fact that one-half of harrison's army was dead and the other half crazy. encouraged by this assurance, the whole body of warriors, at four o'clock in the morning, began to creep across the miry prairie toward the american camp. a little after four in the morning, a sentinel who was gazing on the wide prairie before him, had his attention roused by a strange movement on its surface. not a breath of wind was stirring, yet the tall grass was waving as if under the influence of a strong breeze. rapidly the noiseless waves approached nearer till they broke against the rising ground at his feet. "who goes there?" he shouted, but no voice answered. suddenly, with the quick thought of a backwoodsman, he stooped down, and looking _through and under_ the grass, beheld an indian stealthily creeping toward him! he fired; in an instant a tremendous war-whoop, the nightmare of all who slept in a hostile indian country, was heard on all sides, and the force of savage warriors rushed upon the american lines. the indians were commanded by white loon, stone eater and winnemac, the pottawatomie chief who had professed so much friendship for the governor, at the time of the first council at vincennes. the guard gave way at the point of attack, but the men who had been sleeping on their arms were immediately prepared to receive the indians bravely. the suddenness of the attack might have created a panic even among veterans, yet the men stood their ground, though only one in twenty had ever been under fire before. but many of them were kentuckians, and "the bravest of the brave." the camp-fires were quickly extinguished, that their light might not assist the indians, and the battle raged in the darkness on all sides. elskwatawa had prophesied that the american bullets would rebound from the bodies of the indians, and that they would be provided with light, while all would be "thick darkness" to their enemies. he had evidently heard of moses and pharaoh. for some reason, however, he did not personally try the truth of his prophecies by engaging in the fight; unwilling "to attest at once the rival powers of a sham prophecy and a real american bullet." stationing himself on a small hill near at hand, he chanted a war-song, and presided like an evil genius over this battle. though invisible in the darkness, his shrill and piercing voice could be distinctly heard above the noise. to the messengers that came to tell him that, despite his assurances, his followers were falling, he said: "tell them to keep on fighting and it will be as the prophet has said." in the confusion of the sudden attack the large white horse of governor harrison could not be found, and he mounted a borrowed plug of a different color instead. this circumstance doubtless saved his life. one of his aides, who also rode a white horse, fell in the very beginning of the attack, pierced by a dozen balls. there can be no doubt he was mistaken for his chief, whom the indians determined to kill at all hazards. during the battle general harrison rode from one side of the camp to the other, disposing his men to the best advantage, and inspiring them by his personal courage. a ball passed through his hat and another his hair, but he escaped unhurt. at one time he stopped to reprove a cowardly french ensign, who sheltered himself behind a tree, and told him he ought to be ashamed to be under shelter when his men were exposed. the frenchman, when the battle was over, complained bitterly. "i vas not behind de tree," he said; "de tree vas before me. dere vas de tree, and here vas my position; how can i help? i can not move de tree; i can not leaf my position." the indians made use of deer hoofs instead of drums to signal an advance or retreat; making with them certain rattling sounds. never were savages known to battle more desperately. for once they quite abandoned their practice of fighting from behind shelter, and rushed right up to the bayonets of their foes. the conflict lasted until shortly after daylight, when with a last charge the troops routed the savages and put them to flight. when the indians fled the whites found thirty-seven of their own number killed and one hundred and fifty-one wounded. twenty-five of the latter died of their wounds. the loss of the indians was thought to be equally great. the prophet's influence was gone forever, "you are a liar," said a winnebago warrior to him whom they had lately revered as a messenger from the great spirit, "for you told us that the white people were dead or crazy, when they were all in their senses and fought like the devil." the prophet replied, in a tone strangely different from that which he was accustomed to use, that there had been some mistake in the compounding of his "medicine." the enraged indians bound him and threatened him with death, but finally released him. the second day after the battle the americans advanced to the prophet's town. no defiant war-whoop greeted them. the place was deserted, having been abandoned in a panic. the indians, more civilized than most tribes, had left behind all their household furniture, many firearms (supplied by the british), great quantities of corn, numbers of hogs and chickens. the only inhabitant was an aged chief with a broken leg, who had been left by his people. having dressed the wound of the chief and provided sufficient food to last him several days, they told him to say to the indians that those who should leave the prophet and return to their own tribes should be forgiven. then taking the provisions for their own use the entire village was destroyed. tecumseh was already on his way home, after a very successful trip. red eagle and the creeks were preparing for war. the cherokees, the osages, the seminoles, were all ready to take up the hatchet. the great confederacy seemed almost an accomplished fact. confident and exultant, tecumseh hurried back to the prophet's town. he was ignorant of what had happened. as he and his party approached they gave the salute-yell. instead of a wild chorus in answer from the direction of the village, all was as silent as the tomb. anxious and alarmed, he hurried forward. he soon saw the spot where the village had stood, but not a cabin was to be seen. he rubbed his eyes and looked again, to see if it was not a dream, a nightmare. not so. the village had disappeared. only heaps of ashes marked its sight; "simply this and nothing more." all its fortifications, all the stores of ammunition, arms and provision, the result of years of weary toil, were gone. tecumseh knew at once what had happened. he was overwhelmed with sorrow. just at the moment of apparent triumph he found the very foundation of the structure dissolved in thin air. guided by some stragglers, tecumseh hurried to the camp, where the disgraced prophet awaited, with fear and trembling, his brother's return. great and terrible was tecumseh's anger. he bitterly reproached his brother, and was so enraged that he seized the unfortunate impostor by the hair and shook him until life was well nigh extinct. the battle had been fought in direct opposition to his orders. the prophet was an object of contempt ever afterward. the very boys yelled and jeered at him as he sneaked through a village. yet, because he was tecumseh's brother, he was saved from further punishment. tecumseh wrote to general harrison that he desired to go to washington and see the great father. the request was granted, but he was required to go alone. this wounded the spirit of the disappointed man. the would-be emperor refused to go without a retinue. filled with unutterable fury, he joined the english army in canada. when invited to take part in a peace council, he said: "no! i have taken sides with my father, the king, and i will suffer my bones to bleach on this shore before i will recross that stream to take part in any council of neutrality." tecumseh took an active part in the war and before long found himself at the head of seven hundred warrior's. nearly all the war-chiefs followed his lead and went over to the british side. shortly after this, because of bravery in what is known as the battle of brownstown, and in recognition of his eminent ability, tecumseh was made a brigadier-general in the british army. he is thought to have been the only american indian who ever held so high a position, except gen. ely s. parker, of the rebellion. major-general brock, a brave and generous gentleman, was now in command of the british army. he was as much honored and respected by his indian ally as general proctor, his successor, was afterward despised. general brock and tecumseh, with their combined force, took a position at sandwich, a place opposite detroit. here the commander-in-chief asked his ally what sort of a country he would have to pass through in order to get to detroit. tecumseh, taking a roll of elm bark, and extending it on the ground and securing it in place by four stones, drew his scalping-knife, and, with the point, etched upon the bark a plan of the country, showing its hills, rivers, woods, morasses and roads. pleased with this unexpected talent in tecumseh, as well as by the fact that he induced the indians not of his immediate party to cross the river first. general brock took off his splendid sash and, in the presence of the army, placed it around the body of the chief. tecumseh received the honor with evident gratification; but was next day seen without his sash. general brock, fearing something had displeased the chief, sent his interpreter for an explanation. the latter soon returned with the report that tecumseh, not wishing to wear such a mark of distinction, when an older, and as he said, abler warrior than himself was present, had transferred the sash to roundhead, the wyandot chief. in this the great chief showed his shrewdness, knowing the indian's love of display and the tendency in human nature to jealousy. moreover, he would not be so conspicuous in battle. as is well known, the american general, hull, made a cowardly surrender of detroit. he was court-martialed and sentenced to be shot, but was pardoned because of his age and his services during the revolution. at the time of the surrender, general brock asked tecumseh not to allow the indians to abuse the prisoners. "have no fear," he replied; "i despise them too much to meddle with them." the surrender of detroit exposed the whole northwestern frontier to the ravages of the enemy. general brock was killed at the battle of queenstown and the command of the british army devolved upon general proctor. he had under him in the spring of fourteen hundred british and eighteen hundred indian allies, commanded by tecumseh. the americans to meet this force had only twelve hundred troops and a small force of indians, under the command of general harrison; but they were _americans,_ and many of them from _kentucky._ {illustration: red cloud, noted sioux chief.} one of the most disastrous affairs of the war was in connection with the attack upon fort meigs. it seems that colonel dudley and his force had been sent to the opposite side of the river to seize a battery erected by the enemy and spike the cannon. they gained possession of the battery, but before they could complete their work the enemy rallied in overwhelming numbers. nearly every one who escaped the rifle and tomahawk was captured, dudley being one of those who was tomahawked and scalped. the prisoners were taken to proctor's headquarters, where the indians tomahawked such as they pleased. more than twenty were murdered in this horrible manner. general proctor made no attempt to restrain them, but was looking calmly upon the fiendish work, when he heard a voice in the indian tongue shouting something at the rear. turning his head he saw tecumseh dashing forward, his horse at full speed. the instant he reached the spot he leaped off, and seeing two indians in the act of killing an american, seized one by the throat and the other by the breast and hurled them to the ground. drawing his tomahawk and scalping-knife he sprang between the indians and their victims, and, brandishing the weapons with the fury of a madman dared any one of the blood thirsty savages to attempt to injure another prisoner. his consuming wrath cowed all, and they slunk away from him. turning to proctor, he sternly demanded why he had not stopped the massacre. "sir," replied the british general, "your indians can not be restrained." "begone!" thundered tecumseh; "you are not fit to command! go home and put on the petticoat of a squaw!" call him barbarian, if you will, but remember, that of the two commanders the fiend who looked on complacently during this cruel butchery of defenseless white prisoners, was _white;_ while he who risked his life to prevent it, was a _red man._ another instance in the career of this truly great man is given by drake. shortly after he had stopped the slaughter of the captives he noticed a small group of indians interested in something. colonel elliott said to him: "yonder are four of your people who have been taken prisoners you may do what you please with them." tecumseh walked over to the group and found four shawnees, who, while fighting on the side of the americans, had been captured. "friends," said tecumseh, "colonel elliott has placed you under my charge and i will send you back to your nation, with a talk to your people." accordingly, he took them with the army as far as raisin, from which point their return home would be less dangerous, and then sent two of his warriors to accompany them with a friendly message to their chiefs. they were thus discharged, under their parole not to fight against the british during the war. tecumseh was an unruly ally, because he despised proctor. one day, provisions being scarce, salt beef was given the english soldiers, while the indians received only horse-flesh. angered at the outrage, tecumseh strode to proctor's tent and demanded an explanation. seeing the english general about to treat the complaint with indifference, tecumseh significantly struck the hilt of the commander's sword, touching at the same time the handle of his tomahawk, and said: "you are proctor. i am tecumseh." this hint at a mode of settling the difficulty brought proctor to terms at once. after an unsuccessful attempt to reduce fort stephenson, then garrisoned by one hundred and sixty men commanded by major croghan, proctor and his forces retreated to malden. about this time, an american citizen, captain le croix, was arrested by order of the british commander and confined on board a ship, to be sent to montreal. tecumseh had an especial friendship for le croix, and it may have been because of his influence with the chief that he was seized. tecumseh, suspecting that le croix had been imprisoned, called on general proctor, and asked if he knew anything of his friend. he even ordered the british general to tell him the truth, adding, "if i ever detect you in a falsehood, i, with my indians, will immediately abandon you." the general was obliged to acknowledge that le croix was a prisoner. tecumseh then demanded that his friend should be instantly liberated. general proctor wrote a line stating that the "king of the woods" desired the release of captain le croix, and that it must be done at once. the order was obeyed. tecumseh treated the american commander with equal contempt. a recent writer gives a challenge which that great chief sent to general harrison at the first siege of fort meigs. it was as follows: "general harrison: i have with me eight hundred braves. you have an equal number in your hiding place. come out with them and give me battle. you talked like a brave when we met at vincennes, and i respected you, but now you hide behind logs and in the earth, like a ground-hog. give me answer. "tecumseh." the americans always had great confidence in tecumseh, though he was an enemy. once when the english and indians were encamped near the river raisin, some sauks and winnebagos entered the house of a mrs. ruland and began to plunder it. she immediately sent her little daughter to ask tecumseh to come to her assistance. the chief was in council and was making a speech when the child entered the building and pulled the skirts of tecumseh's hunting-shirt, saying, "come to our house, there are bad indians there." tecumseh did not wait to finish his speech, but walked rapidly to the house. at the entrance he met some indians dragging a trunk away. he knocked down the first one with a blow from his tomahawk. the others prepared to resist. "dogs!" cried the chief, "i am tecumseh!" the indians immediately fled and tecumseh turned upon some english officers who were standing near: "you," said he, "are worse, than dogs, to break your faith with prisoners." the officers immediately apologized to mrs. ruland, and offered to put a guard around her house. she declined this offer, however, saying that she was not afraid so long as that man, pointing to tecumseh, was near. the ill success which attended the efforts of the british caused tecumseh not only to lose heart, but dissipated what little faith he had felt in proctor. he seriously meditated a withdrawal from the contest. assembling the shawnees, wyandots and ottawas, who were under his command, he declared his intention to them. he told them that when they had taken up the tomahawk and joined their father, the king, they were promised plenty of white men to fight with them; "but the number is not now greater," said he, "than at the commencement of the war; and we are treated by them like the dogs of snipe hunters; we are always sent ahead to start the game. it is better that we should return to our own country, and let the americans come on and fight the british." to this proposition his followers agreed; but the sioux and chippewas discovering his intention, went to him, and insisted that inasmuch as he had first united with the british, and had been instrumental in bringing their tribes into the alliance, he ought not to leave them; and through their influence he was finally induced to remain. tecumseh's last grudge against proctor was on account of the retreat of the english from malden, after commodore perry's victory on lake erie. the indians did not understand the movements of a naval battle, and general proctor, who doubtless dreaded the influence of a defeat upon them, said to tecumseh, "my fleet has whipped the americans, but the vessels being much injured have gone to put-in-bay to refit, and will be here in a few days." the suspicions of tecumseh were soon aroused, however, when he thought he perceived indications of a plan to retreat from maiden. when he spoke to proctor on the subject, that cringing coward told him that he was only going to send all his valuables up the thames, where they would be met by a reinforcement and be safe. tecumseh, however, felt sure that the commander was meditating a retreat. he demanded, in the name of his indians, that he be heard by general proctor. audience was granted him on september , and the indian orator delivered his last speech, a copy of which was afterward found in proctor's baggage when it was captured. we can only quote two paragraphs from it here: "you always told us," said he, "you would never draw your foot off british ground; but now, father, we see that you are drawing back, and we are sorry to see our father doing so without seeing the enemy. we must compare our father's conduct to a fat dog that carries its tail on its back, but when affrighted drops it between its legs and runs off. father, listen! the americans have not yet defeated us by land; neither are we sure they have done so by water; we, therefore wish to remain here and fight our enemy, should they make their appearance. if they defeat us, we will then retreat with our father. "father, you have got the arms and ammunition which our great father sent to his red children. if you have an idea of going away, give them to us and you may go, and welcome. for us, our lives are in the hands of the great spirit. we are determined to defend our lands, and if it be his will, we wish to leave our bones upon them." in spite of tecumseh's protest, proctor burned malden and began a retreat. he pretended from time to time that he would halt and give battle. when the retreat commenced, tecumseh said, "we are now going to follow the british, and i am sure that we shall never return." at last, on october , proctor was forced to halt and oppose the pursuing americans in the battle of the thames. just before the engagement tecumseh said to the group of chiefs around him: "brother warriors, we are about to enter into an engagement, from which i shall never come out--my body will remain on the field of battle." unbuckling his sword and handing it to a chief, he said, "when my son becomes a noted warrior and able to wield a sword, give this to him." the battle which followed was for a time fiercely contested, and the position selected was well adapted for defense. the indians, under their indomitable leader, stood their ground longer than the british regulars. proctor fled, like the coward he was, leaving the great chief and his warriors to receive the brunt of the battle. the flight of the british commander was too rapid for him to be overtaken, though they captured his baggage. with one arm bleeding and almost useless, tecumseh, too proud to fly, stood his ground, dealing prodigious blows right and left, and inspiring his warriors with his loud commanding war-whoop, which was heard above the din of the battle. col. richard m. johnson and his kentucky cavalry were ordered to charge the indians. this they did with such fury that the savage warriors fled; but not until their intrepid leader had received a bullet through his head, which stilled his clarion voice in death. the discussion as to who killed tecumseh became a singularly heated one in subsequent political campaigns, the chief recommendation for office in that day being skill as an indian fighter. the friends of col. richard m. johnson, of kentucky, claimed that _honor_ for their hero when he was a candidate for the vice-presidency. this, indeed, constituted one of his chief claims to the suffrage of his party, just as harrison's victories at tippecanoe and the thames elevated him to the presidency. johnson himself never made the claim, saying that his assailant was so close upon him that he did not stop to ask him his name before shooting him. it may be doubted whether anybody ever did know who fired the shot that killed the great chief. those who saw him shot, from the american side, did not know him from any other indian, for there was nothing in his dress to distinguish him from his warriors, and the indians who saw him fall did not know his slayer. many mistook the body of a gayly dressed and painted warrior for that of tecumseh. james, the english historian, and eggleston, both assert that from the body of this indian much of the skin was actually flayed and converted into razor-strops by some of the pioneer kentuckians, who had become almost as barbarous as the savages against whom they fought. the truth of this statement is confirmed by the testimony of several american officers and privates who were in the battle of the thames. they state, however, that it was the work of a few brutish individuals, and that the great mass of the army were shocked at its perpetration. {fn} * * * * * {fn} the author when a youth was told by dr. william a. moore, of milford, kentucky, a member of the legislature and an old-school gentleman of the highest integrity, that he (the doctor) had seen a razor-strop made from the skin that covered tecumseh's backbone. it has been demonstrated that tecumseh's body was not harmed, but another indian mistaken for him was both scalped and flayed. a short distance from where tecumseh fell, the body of his friend, wasegoboah, the husband of tecumapease, was found. they had often fought side by side, and now, in front of their men, bravely battling the enemy, they side by side closed their mortal careers. the british historian, james, in his account of the battle of the thames, makes the following remarks upon the character and personal appearance of the subject of this sketch. "thus fell the indian warrior, tecumseh, in the forty-fourth year of his age. he was of the shawnee tribe, five feet ten inches high, and with more than the usual stoutness, possessed all the agility and perseverance of the indian character. his carriage was dignified, his eye penetrating, his countenance, which even in death betrayed the indications of a lofty spirit, rather of the sterner cast. "had he not possessed a certain austerity of manners, he could not have controlled the wayward passions of those who followed him to battle. he was of a silent habit; but when his eloquence became roused into action by the reiterated encroachments of the americans, his strong intellect could supply him with a flow of oratory that enabled him, as he governed in the field, so to prescribe in the council. "such a man was the unlettered savage, tecumseh. he has left a son, who, when his father fell, was about seventeen years old, and fought by his side. the prince regent in , out of respect to the memory of the old, sent out as a present to the young tecumseh, a handsome sword. unfortunately, however, for the indian cause and country, faint are the prospects that tecumseh, the son, will ever equal, in wisdom or prowess, tecumseh, the father." the name of tecumseh's son was pugeshashenwa. the prince regent also settled upon him an annual pension, in consideration of his father's services. he was treated with much respect, because he was the son of his father, and removed to indian territory with the remnant of the shawnee nation. tecumseh is described as a perfect apollo in form, his face oval, his nose straight and handsome, and his mouth regular and beautiful. his eyes, singularly enough, were "hazel, clear and pleasant in conversation, but like balls of fire when excited by anger or enthusiasm." his bearing was that of a lofty and noble spirit, a true "king of the woods," as the english called him. he was temperate in his habits, loving truth and honor better than life. he was an ideal indian, and both in body and mind the finest flower of the aboriginal american race. possessing a genius which must have made him eminent in any age or country, like brant, pontiac and king philip, his illustrious predecessors, he had failed yet like them he was great in defeat. he was the first great chieftain to prohibit the massacre of prisoners. trumbull, in his "indian wars," thus refers to this renowned leader: "he was the most extraordinary indian that has ever appeared in history. his acute understanding very early in life informed him that his countrymen had lost their importance that they were gradually yielding to the whites, who were acquiring an imposing influence over them. instigated by these considerations, and perhaps by his natural ferocity and attachment to war, he became a decided enemy to the whites, with an invincible determination to regain for his country the proud independence she had lost. "aware, at length, of the extent, number and power of the united states, he became fully convinced of the futility of any single nation of red men attempting to cope with them." {illustration: death of tecumseh at the battle of the thames.} "he formed, therefore, the grand scheme of uniting all the tribes east of the mississippi into hostility against the united states. this was a field worthy of his great and commanding genius." besides several towns in different states christened in his honor, his name was also borne by one of the greatest of american generals. at the meeting of the republican national committee in washington, november , , to select a city in which to hold a presidential convention, president palmer, of the world's fair commission, gave in an eloquent plea for the selection of detroit, the promise to take the visitors thirty miles over into canada to view the spot where tecumseh, "the greatest indian the american continent ever knew, was slain." paradoxical as it may seem, he was a savage, yet one of nature's noblemen. the words of hamlet apply to this "king of the woods" in a striking manner: "see, what a grace was seated on this brow hyperion's locks; the front of jove himself; an eye like mars, to threaten and command a station like the herald mercury, new-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill a combination, and a form, indeed, where every god did seem to set his seal, to give the world assurance of a man." chapter xi. black hawk, or ma-ka-tai-me she-kia-kiak, and his war. great warriors among the indians, like those of the favored white race, learned from those who preceded them. we have seen that king philip united the tribes of new england against their common enemy, the whites, in the first great indian war, and his example was copied in turn by pontiac and tecumseh. black hawk led a band of his own warriors and fought under tecumseh in the war of , and must have gained much inspiration as well as a knowledge of the most effectual methods of fighting the americans, from that great chieftain. certain it is black hawk also sought to form a confederation of the neighboring tribes, including the pottawatomies, winnebagos, chippewas, menomonees and ottawas. but they had not forgotten the lessons of the preceding half-century or more, and remained neutral. he also visited the commander of the british forces at malden, opposite detroit, hoping to gain encouragement and munitions of war, but in this he was disappointed. the commander, knowing the power of the americans and the feeble resources of the indians, strongly advised against a hopeless war. this was not the kind of advice the enraged chief wanted, and, of course, it was declined. what was the cause of the black hawk war? there are several answers to this question, but we think the explanation of black hawk himself in his autobiography is authentic and the real _"casus belli."_ this autobiography was dictated to an amanuensis, by means of an interpreter. in it the chief said: "in one of our people killed an american and was captured and confined in the prison at st. louis for the offense. we held a council at our village to see what could be done for him, and determined that quashquame, pashepaho, onchequaka and hashequarhiqua should go down to st. louis, see our american father and do all they could to have our friend released, by paying for the person killed, thus covering the blood and satisfying the relations of the murdered man; this being the only means with us for saving a person who had killed another, and we then thought it was the same way with the whites. "the party started with the good wishes of the whole nation, who had high hopes that the emissaries would accomplish the object of their mission. "the relations of the prisoner blacked their faces and fasted, hoping the great spirit would take pity on them and return husband and father to his sorrowing wife and weeping children. "quashquame and party remained a long time, but finally returned and encamped a short distance below the village. they did not come up that day, nor did any one approach their camp. they appeared to be dressed in fine coats and had medals. from these circumstances we were in hopes that they had brought good news. "early the next morning the council lodge was crowded. quashquame and party came up and gave us the following account of their mission: "'on our arrival at st. louis we met our american father and explained to him our business, urging the release of our friend. the american chief told us he wanted land. we agreed to give him some on the west side of the mississippi, likewise more on the illinois side opposite jefferson. when the business was all arranged we expected to have our friend released to come home with us. about the time we were ready to start our brother was let out of prison. he started and ran a short distance, when he was _shot dead!'_ "this was all they could remember of what had been said and done. it subsequently appeared that they had been drunk the greater part of the time while at st. louis. "this was all myself and nation knew of the so-called treaty of . it has since been explained to me. i found by that treaty, that all of the country east of the mississippi and south of jefferson was ceded to the united states for one thousand dollars a year. i will leave it to the people of the united states to say whether our nation was properly represented in this treaty? or whether we received a fair compensation for the extent of country ceded by those four individuals? "i could say much more respecting this treaty, but i will not at this time. it has been the origin of all our serious difficulties with the whites." on june , , black hawk made a treaty with general gaines, and gave a reluctant consent to abandon his village and cornfields on the rock river in illinois and join keokuk's band on their reservation in iowa. general gaines believed the trouble was ended, and so it probably would have been had the whites observed the provisions of the treaty. the indians had been promised corn to supply the wants of their families in lieu of that which was left in their fields, but the amount was so meager that they began to suffer. in this emergency, a party of sacs, to quote the language of black hawk, crossed the river "to steal corn from their own fields." moving with his band up rock river, he was overtaken by a messenger from general atkinson ordering him to return and recross the mississippi. black hawk said he was not on the warpath, but going on a friendly visit to the village of white cloud, the winnebago prophet, and continued his journey. general atkinson now sent imperative orders for him to return at once, or he would pursue him with his entire army and drive him back. in reply black hawk said the general had no right to make the order so long as his band was peaceable, and that he intended to go on to the prophet's village. when black hawk reached a point about forty miles above dixon's ferry he was met in council by some pottawatomie and winnebago chiefs. they assured black hawk that their people would not join him in making war upon the united states, contrary to his expectations. black hawk now saw that the prophet and others had misrepresented the plans and intentions of these tribes, and resolved to send a flag of truce to general atkinson and ask permission to descend rock river, recross the mississippi and return to their reservation. about this time general whitesides had concentrated a large force of militia at dixon's ferry, and, at the solicitation of major stillman, permitted him to take out a scouting party of mounted men. they ascended rock river to the mouth of sycamore creek and encamped within a few miles of black hawk's band, but ignorant of that fact. indian scouts soon reported to black hawk that a large company of mounted militia were coming toward his camp, and the chief at once dispatched three warriors with a white flag of truce, and an invitation for the officers to visit his camp. the whites paid no attention to this flag, but captured the messengers, killing the flag-bearer instantly. black hawk also sent five others to look after the flag-bearers. they were pursued and one killed, but the remainder, together with the two flag-bearers, made their escape in the confusion incident to making preparation to charge the indian camp. when the old chief heard that his flag of truce was disregarded and two of his warriors killed, he gave the war-whoop and prepared to meet the whites. he had only about forty mounted warriors, the others being absent on a hunting trip. having taken a position in a copse of timber and underbrush near sycamore creek, he waited the approach of the whites. the soldiers advanced in disorderly fashion, and, having crossed the creek, were surprised by a terrific war-whoop from the indians who were concealed in the bushes and with deadly aim commenced firing into their ranks. judging from the yelling of the indians their number was variously estimated at from one to two thousand. the entire party was thrown into such confusion that major stillman had no control of them and ordered a retreat. _the forty indians put the two hundred and forty to flight, killing a dozen and losing only two or three._ with one exception the entire company continued their flight to dixon's ferry, a distance of thirty miles; some never stopped until they _were safe at home._ black hawk and fifteen warriors soon gave up the chase, and returned to his camp. but the remainder pursued the fugitives several miles, overtaking and killing a few whose horses were too slow to keep out of their way. among the slow mounted of the retreating party was a methodist preacher, who adopted a novel plan to save himself and horse. on coming to a ravine he left the main track and followed down the ravine until he found a place where the banks were deep enough to shelter himself and horse from view, and remained there for two hours in safety. he had the precaution to keep a strict count of the indians as they crossed the ravine. when they had returned and continued on their way to their camp, he left his hiding-place and trotted leisurely along to dixon's ferry, which he reached about sunrise the next morning. when he reported the stratagem by which he was saved, and was asked the number of the pursuing indians, he promptly replied _"twenty-five by actual count."_ great indignation was manifested by some of the brave volunteers, who reached camp several hours before him and reported the number of the indians at _fifteen hundred to two thousand._ but the minister was well known by many of the volunteers as a high-toned christian gentleman whose veracity had never been questioned, and they stood by him, and no violence was attempted. the news of stillman's defeat "by two thousand blood thirsty indian warriors" spread fast, far and wide, and governor reynolds, of illinois, called for more volunteers. when the news reached washington general scott was ordered to take a thousand soldiers and proceed to the seat of war and take the command. while en route this army was attacked by cholera, which swept off a large number and rendered the remainder unfit for service. it is now generally conceded that the violation of a flag of truce, which is respected in all civilized wars, the wanton murder of its bearers, and the attack upon a mere remnant of black hawk's band when suing for peace, precipitated a war which could have been and should have been avoided. as positive proof that the volunteers were guilty of precipitating the war by killing the bearer of the white flag of truce, we quote the narrative of elijah kilbourn, one of the scouts connected with stillman's command. it seems that kilbourn was captured by black hawk during the war of , and adopted into his tribe. he finally escaped, and was again captured by three of black hawk's braves at the battle of sycamore creek. the story also shows the noble character of black hawk, and will be told in kilbourn's own language. said he: "we had been scouting through the country that lay about fort stephenson, when early one morning one of our number came in with the intelligence that the fort was besieged by a combined force of british and indians. we were soon in the saddle and riding with all speed in the direction of the fort, hoping to join in the fight. but in this we were disappointed, as we learned that the brave little garrison, under the command of major crogan, had repulsed the enemy with great slaughter. we learned, however, that black hawk, the leader of the savages, at the termination of the battle, had gone back with twenty of his warriors, to his village on rock river, and we determined at once to follow him. "at sunrise the next morning we were on his trail and followed it with great care to the banks of a stream. here we ascertained that the savages had separated into nearly equal parties--the one keeping straight down the bank of the stream, while the other had crossed to the other side and continued toward rock river. our leader now detailed four of us to follow the trail across the stream, while he with the rest, some seven or eight in number, immediately took the one down the bank." {illustration: black hawk, or ma-ka-tai-me she-kia-kiak, sac and fox war-chief.} "during the course of the following morning we came across a great many different trails, and by these we were so perplexed that we resolved to return to the main body, but from the signs we had already seen we knew that such a step would be attended with the greatest danger. it was at last decided that it would be far more safe for all hands to separate, and each man look out for himself. this resolve was immediately put into execution, and a few minutes later found me alone in the great wilderness. i had often been so before, but never had i been placed in a situation as dangerous as the present one, for now on all sides i was surrounded by hostile indians. "i encountered nothing very formidable till some two hours before sunset, when, just as i emerged from a tangled thicket, i saw an indian on his knees at a clear, sparkling spring, slaking his thirst. instinctively i placed my rifle to my shoulder, drew a bead upon the savage and pulled the trigger. imagine, if you can, my feelings as the flint came down and was shivered to pieces without igniting the priming. "the next moment the savage was up on his feet, his piece leveled directly at me and his finger pressing the trigger. there was no escape. i had left my horse in the woods some time before. the thicket behind me was too dense to permit me to enter it again quickly, and there was no tree within reach of sufficient size to protect me from the aim of my foe, who, now finding me at his mercy, advanced, his gun still in its threatening rest and ordered me to surrender. resistance and escape were alike out of the question, and i accordingly delivered myself up his prisoner, hoping by some means to escape at some future period. he now told me, in good english, to proceed in a certain direction. i obeyed him and had not gone a stone's throw before, just as i turned a thick clump of trees, i came suddenly upon an indian camp, the one to which my captor undoubtedly belonged. "as we came up all the savages, some six or eight in number, rose quickly and appeared much surprised at my sudden appearance amongst them; but they offered me no harm, and they behaved with most marked respect to my captor, whom, upon a close inspection i recognized to be black hawk himself. the tall chief, with his keen eye, looked every inch a warrior. "'the white mole digs deep, but makataimeshe kiakiak (black hawk) flies high and can see far off,' said the chieftain in a deep guttural tone, addressing me. he then related to his followers the occasion of my capture, and as he did so they glared at me fiercely and handled their weapons in a threatening manner, but at the conclusion of his remarks they appeared better pleased, although i was the recipient of many a passing frown. he now informed me that he had told his young men that they were to consider me a brother, as he was going to adopt me into the tribe. "this was to me little better than death itself, but there was no alternative, and so i was obliged to submit, with the hope of making my escape at some future time. the communication of black hawk, moreover, caused me great astonishment, and after pondering the matter i was finally forced to set down as its cause one of those unaccountable whims to which the savage temperament is often subject. "the next morning my captors forced me to go with them to their village on rock river, where, after going through a tedious ceremony, i was dressed and painted, and thus turned from a white man into an indian. "for nearly three years ensuing it was my constant study to give my adopted brothers the slip, but during the whole of that time i was so carefully watched and guarded that i never found an opportunity to escape. "however, it is a long lane that has no turning, and so it proved in my case. pretending to be well satisfied with my new mode of life, i at last gained upon the confidence of the savages, and one day when their vigilance was relaxed, i made my escape and returned in safety to my friends, who had mourned for me as dead. "many years after this i was a participant in the battle at sycamore creek, which is a tributary of rock river. i was employed by the government as a scout, in which capacity it was acknowledged i had no superior, but i felt no pride in hearing myself praised, for i knew i was working against black hawk, who, although he was an indian, had once spared my life, and i was one never to forget a kindness. and, besides this, i had taken a great liking to him, for there was something noble and generous in his nature. however, my first duty was to my country, and i did my duty at all hazards. "now you must know that black hawk, after moving west of the mississippi, had recrossed, contrary to his agreement; not, however, from any hostile motive, but to raise a crop of corn and beans with the pottawatomies and winnebagos, of which his own people stood in the utmost need. with this intention he had gone some distance up rock river, when an express from general atkinson ordered him peremptorily to return. this order the old chief refused to obey, saying that the general had no right to issue it. a second express from atkinson threatened black hawk that if he did not return peaceably force would be resorted to. the aged warrior became incensed at this and utterly refused to obey the mandate, but, at the same time, sent word to the general that he would not be the first to commence hostilities. "the movement of the renowned warrior was immediately trumpeted abroad as an invasion of the state, and with more rashness than wisdom, governor reynolds ordered the illinois militia to take the field, and these were joined by the regulars under general atkinson, at rock island. major stillman, having under his command two hundred and seventy-five mounted men, the chief part of whom were volunteers, while a few, like myself, were regular scouts, obtained leave of general whitesides--then stationed at dixon's ferry--to go on a scouting expedition. i knew well what would follow; but still, as i was under orders, i was obliged to obey, and together with the rest proceeded some thirty miles up rock river to where sycamore creek empties into it. this brought us to within six or eight miles of the camp of black hawk, who, on that day, may , was engaged in preparing a dog feast for the purpose of fitly celebrating a contemplated visit of some pottawatomie chiefs. "soon after preparing to camp we saw three indians approach us, bearing a white flag; and these, upon coming up, were made prisoners. a second deputation of five were pursued by some twenty of our mounted militia and two of them killed, while the other three escaped. one of the party that bore the white flag was, out of the most cowardly vindictiveness, _shot down while standing a prisoner in camp._ the whole detachment, after these atrocities, now bore down upon the camp of black hawk, whose braves, with the exception of some forty or fifty, were away at a distance, hunting. "as we rode up a galling and destructive fire was poured in upon us by the savages, who, after discharging their guns, sprang from their coverts on either side, with their usual horrible yells, and continued the attack with their tomahawks and knives. my comrades fell around me like leaves; and happening to cast my eyes behind me i beheld the whole detachment of militia flying from the field. some four or five of us were left unsupported in the very midst of the foe, who, renewing their yells, rushed down upon us in a body. gideon munson and myself were taken prisoners, while others were instantly tomahawked and scalped, munson, during the afternoon, seeing, as he supposed, a good opportunity to escape, recklessly attempted it, but was immediately shot down by his captor. and i now began to wish they would serve me in the same manner, for i knew that if recognized by the savages, i should be put to death by the most horrible tortures. nothing occurred, however, to give me any real uneasiness upon this point till the following morning, when black hawk, passing by me, turned and eyed me keenly for a moment or so. then, stepping close to me, he said, in a low tone: _'does the mole think that black hawk forgets?'_ "walking away with a dignified air, he left me, as you may suppose, bordering on despair, for i knew too well the indian character to imagine for a single instant that my life would be spared under the circumstances, i had been adopted into the tribe by black hawk, had lived nearly three years among them, and by escaping had incurred their displeasure, which could only be appeased with my blood. added to this, i was now taken prisoner at the very time that the passions of the savages were most highly wrought upon by the mean and cowardly conduct of the whites. i therefore gave up all hope, and doggedly determined to meet stoically my fate. "although the indians passed and repassed me many times during the day, often bestowing on me a buffet or a kick, yet not one of them seemed to remember me as having formerly been one of the tribe. at times this infused me with a faint hope, which was always immediately after extinguished, as i recalled to mind my recognition by black hawk himself. "some two hours before sunset black hawk again came to where i was bound, and having loosened the cords with which i was fastened to a tree, my arms still remaining confined, bade me follow him. i immediately obeyed him, not knowing what was to be my doom, though i expected nothing short of death by torture. in silence we left the camp, not one of the savages interfering with us or offering me the slightest harm or indignity. for nearly an hour we strode on through the gloomy forest, now and then starting from its retreat some wild animal that fled upon our approach. arriving at a bend of the river, my guide halted, and turning towards the sun, which was rapidly setting, he said, after a short pause: "'i am going to send you back to your chief, though i ought to kill you for running away a longtime ago, after i had adopted you as a son, but black hawk can forgive as well as fight. when you return to your chief i want you to tell him all my words. tell him that black hawk's eyes have looked upon many suns but they shall not see many more, and that his back is no longer straight, as in his youth, but is beginning to bend with age. the great spirit has whispered among the tree-tops in the morning and evening, and says that black hawk's days are few, and that he is wanted in the spirit land. he is half dead, his arm shakes and is no longer strong, and his feet are slow on the warpath. tell him all this, and tell him, too,' continued the untutored hero of the forest, with trembling emotion and marked emphasis, 'that black hawk would have been a friend to the whites, but they would not let him, and that the hatchet was dug up by themselves and not by the indians. tell your chief that black hawk meant no harm to the palefaces when he came across the mississippi, but came peaceably to raise corn for his starving women and children, and that even then he would have gone back; but when he sent this white flag the braves who carried it were treated like squaws and one of them inhumanly shot. tell him, too,' he concluded with terrible force, while his eyes fairly flashed fire, '_that black hawk will have revenge,_ and that he will never stop until the great spirit shall say to him, come away.' "thus saying, he loosened the cord that bound my arms, and after giving me particular directions as to the best course to pursue to my own camp, bade me farewell and struck off into the trackless forest, to commence that final struggle which was decided against the indians." although the winnebagos and the pottawatomies had resolved to take no part in the war, yet a few young warriors from each of these tribes, emboldened by black hawk's easy victory over stillman's raw recruits, decided to join his band. these committed many depredations among the settlements along the fox and illinois rivers. when the warriors returned from their hunting expedition, black hawk concentrated his entire force, consisting of about five hundred warriors, according to his own statement, at a point between the rock and wisconsin rivers. general atkinson, with a force of nearly two thousand men, pressed on to meet him. but the wily chief declined to risk a battle with such odds and withdrew into the wilderness. general atkinson followed, incurring the danger of an ambuscade, but black hawk could not be brought to a stand. when black hawk reached the mississippi river, he let most of his women and children descend it in canoes, but a majority were captured by the whites and quite a number drowned. with the main body of his warriors he approached the river, intending to cross, but was met at this point by the steamboat warrior. the chief was so touched by the suffering of the women and children, the starving condition of his men, and the utter hopelessness of continuing the unequal struggle, that he decided to surrender. accordingly, he sent a hundred and fifty warriors to the edge of the stream with a flag of truce. an effort was also made to communicate with the winnebago interpreter on board the boat. but either the interpreter failed to understand what was shouted to him by the indians on shore or he was treacherous and failed to report the message correctly to captain throckmorton, of the warrior, or lieutenant kingsburg, who commanded the troops, for certain it is those on the boat paid no attention to the white flag of truce or the expressed desire on the part of black hawk to surrender. orders were given to shell the indians on the shore with musketry and a six-pounder loaded with canister. it resulted in killing twenty-three indians outright and wounding a large number. the savages were trying to surrender, and were so astonished at this unexpected attack, that they fired only a few random shots, one of which passed through a man's leg on the warrior. as the wood began to fail, and night was approaching, the warrior went on to prairie du chien. the final battle of the war occurred the next day, august . this is known as the battle of bad axe and was fought where the little stream by that name joins the mississippi. the account we give of it is quoted from black hawk's autobiography, in which the chief said: "early in the morning a party of whites, being in advance of the army, came upon our people, who were attempting to cross the mississippi. they tried to give themselves up; the whites paid no attention to their entreaties, but commenced slaughtering them. in a little while the whole army arrived. our braves, but few in number, finding that the enemy paid no regard to age or sex, and seeing that they were murdering helpless women and little children, determined to fight until they were killed. as many women as could commenced swimming the mississippi, with their children on their backs. a number of them were drowned, and some shot before they could reach the opposite shore. "this massacre, which terminated the war, lasted about two hours. our loss in killed was about sixty, besides a number that was drowned. the loss of the enemy could not be ascertained by my braves exactly; but they think that they killed about sixteen during the action." it was afterward estimated that the loss of the americans in killed and wounded was twenty-seven--that of the indians nearly two hundred. in reviewing the black hawk war the student of history is forced to the conclusion that it was caused by the white man's avarice and determination to swindle the indian out of his birthright, the finest lands of wisconsin, missouri and illinois, for the usual mess of pottage. it began by the deliberate murder of the bearer of a white flag of truce (which is respected by every civilized nation on earth), and it ended in an indiscriminate massacre of men, women and helpless children, while the chief and warriors were suing for peace, and actually trying to surrender. having escaped through the lines of the american army, black hawk, with a small party, fled to the winnebago village at la crosse. on his arrival here he entered the lodge of their chief and told him he intended giving himself up to the american war-chief and die if it pleased the great spirit. black hawk still retained his medicine bag, which he now presented to the chief, and informed him that it was "the soul of the sac nation--that it never had been dishonored in any battle; take it, it is my life--dearer than life--and give it to the american chief!" the winnebago chief received it, promised to take special care of it, and said if black hawk's life was spared he would send it to him, but for some unknown cause this promise was never fulfilled. {illustration: buffalo hunt.} during his stay at this village the squaws made him a suit of white deerskin, which he wore when he went with several winnebagos to prairie du chien and gave himself up. on august , , about noon, black hawk and his companion, called the prophet, surrendered to general street at prairie du chien. on september , black hawk, now a prisoner of war, together with the prophet and others, were taken on board the steamer winnebago and sent to jefferson barracks, in charge of lieut. jefferson davis, of whom the chief said: "he is a good and brave young chief, with whose conduct i was much pleased, and treated us with great kindness." we are here reminded that at least four men who took part in the black hawk war were heard of again. col. zachariah taylor and capt. abraham lincoln each became president; lieut. jefferson davis, taylor's son-in-law, president of the southern confederacy, while gen. winfield scott, "the hero of four wars," escaped the cholera, which almost destroyed his army, to become a strong presidential probability, and the standard-bearer of the whig party. while black hawk was not equal to pontiac, brant or tecumseh as a warrior and leader of men, yet his skill in oratory placed him in the class with red jacket, logan, or even the gifted tecumseh. fortunately many of his speeches were made under circumstances which have permitted them to be preserved and though they were probably "revised," in some instances, by admiring friends, yet he undoubtedly possessed a peculiar poetical eloquence all his own. when the fallen chieftain entered the presence of general street as a prisoner he thus addressed him: "you have taken me prisoner with all my warriors. i am much grieved, for i expected if i did not defeat you to hold out much longer and give you more trouble before i surrendered. i tried hard to bring you into ambush, but your last general understands indian fighting. the first one was not so wise. when i saw i could not beat you by indian fighting, i determined to rush on you and fight you face to face. i fought hard, but your guns were well aimed. the bullets flew like birds in the air, and whizzed by our ears like wind through the trees in winter. my warriors fell around me; it began to look dismal. i saw my evil day at hand. the sun rose dim on us in the morning and at night it sank in a dark cloud, and looked like a ball of fire. that was the last sun that shone on black hawk. his heart is dead and no longer beats quick in his bosom. he is now a prisoner to the white man; they will do with him as they wish. but he can stand torture and is not afraid of death. he is no coward. black hawk is an indian. "he has done nothing for which an indian ought to be ashamed. he has fought for his countrymen, the squaws and pappooses, against white men, who came year after year to cheat him and take away their lands. you know the cause of our making war. it is known to all white men. they ought to be ashamed of it. the white men despise the indians and drive them from their homes. but the indians are not deceitful. the white men speak bad of the indian and look at him spitefully. but the indian does not tell lies; indians do not steal. "an indian who is as bad as the white men could not live in our nation; he would be put to death and eaten up by the wolves. the white men are bad schoolmasters; they carry false looks and deal in false actions; they smile in the face of the poor indian to cheat him; they shake them by the hand to gain their confidence, to make them drunk, to deceive them. we told them to let us alone and keep away from us; but they followed on, and beset our path as they coiled themselves among us, like a snake. they poisoned us by their touch. we were not safe. we lived in danger. we were becoming like them, hypocrites and liars, adulterers, lazy drones--all talkers and no workers. "we looked up to the great spirit. we went to our great father. we were encouraged. his great council gave us fair words and big promises; but we got no satisfaction. things were growing worse. there were no deer in the forest. the opossum and beaver were fled; the springs were drying up and our squaws and pappooses without victuals to keep them from starving; we called a great council and built a large fire. the spirit of our fathers arose and spoke to us to avenge our wrongs or die. we all spoke before the council-fire. it was warm and pleasant. we setup the war-whoop, and dug up the tomahawk; our knives were ready, and the heart of black hawk swelled high in his bosom when he led his warriors to battle. he is satisfied. he will go to the world of spirits contented. he has done his duty. his father will meet him there and commend him. "black hawk is a true indian and disdains to cry like a woman. he feels for his wife, his children and his friends. but he does not care for himself. he cares for his nation and the indians. they will suffer. he laments their fate. the white men do not scalp the head; but they do worse--they poison the heart; it is not pure with them. his countrymen will not be scalped, but they will, in a few years, become like the white men, so that you can't trust them, and there must be, as in the white settlements, nearly as many officers as men, to take care of them and keep them in order. "farewell, my nation! black hawk tried to save you and avenge your wrongs. he drank the blood of some of the whites. he has been taken prisoner and his plans are stopped. he can do no more. he is near his end. his sun is setting and will rise no more. farewell to black hawk." black hawk at the time of his imprisonment was sixty-six years of age. some time during the month of september the united states made a treaty with the sacs and foxes by which six million acres of choice land were ceded, containing the rich lead mine near galena. in payment for this cession the united states agreed "to pay an annuity of $ , for thirty years; to support a blacksmith and gunsmith in addition to those then employed; to pay the debts of the tribes; to supply provisions; and, as a reward for the fidelity of keokuk and the friendly band, to allow a reservation to be made for them of forty square miles, on the iowa river, to include keokuk's principal village." this treaty also required that black hawk, his two sons, the prophet, neopope (the second chief) and five others of the hostile band were to remain in the hands of the whites as hostages during the pleasure of the president of the united states. the captive indians were sent to washington by order of president jackson, and arrived at their destination april , . the day following black hawk had a long interview with the president; it is said that his first greeting on meeting president was, "i am a man, and you are another." "old hickory" had had a wide experience with indians, and at once made them feel at ease by greeting them kindly, and after having the articles of dress provided for them exhibited he told black hawk they would be delivered to him for distribution. he then said they would have to leave shortly for fortress monroe and remain until he gave them permission to return to their country. that date depended upon the conduct of the indians, but he hoped they would soon evince good feeling and thereby shorten the time. during this interview black hawk gave a brief history of the cause of the war, saying: "we did not expect to conquer the whites; no. they had too many houses, too many men. i took up the hatchet, for my part, to revenge injuries which my people could no longer endure. had i borne them longer without striking, my people would have said, 'black hawk is a woman, he is too old to be a chief; he is no sac.' these reflections caused me to raise the war-whoop. i say no more of it, it is known to you. keokuk once was here; you took him by the hand, and, when he wished to return to his home, you were willing. black hawk expects that, like keokuk, we shall be permitted to return too." the president assured him that he was acquainted with the essential facts of the war, and that the chief need feel no uneasiness about the women and children whom they had left behind. they would be looked after and protected from their indian foes. on april the captives arrived at fortress monroe. here they received much kindness, and though confined were not shackled, and their imprisonment made as easy as possible. but they pined for the free air of the prairies, for their rude wigwams and the companionship of their families. time passed slowly, with little to occupy their minds, but their own sad thoughts. we can not help but wonder if the mind of black hawk at this time reverted to the young war-chief (jefferson davis) who treated him so kindly while on board the steamer winnebago en route for jefferson barracks; who was destined at the downfall of the confederacy to be a united states prisoner and confined in fortress monroe, the same grim bastille in which he was now incarcerated. fortunately their behavior was satisfactory to the president and by special order the prisoners were released the th of june. it was thought wise by the government to impress the indians by a contrast of their own feeble resources with the vast wealth and great population of the americans, by giving them a view of several large cities on their journey home. so the day following their release from prison the indians and their escort took a steamer for baltimore, by way of norfolk. when black hawk and his party arrived in baltimore they found that the great father, president jackson, was also in that city. in an interview with the chief, the president said "when i saw you in washington, i told you that you had behaved very badly in going to war against the whites. your conduct then compelled me to send my warriors against you, and your people were defeated with great loss, and several of you surrendered, to be kept until i should be satisfied that you would not try to do any more injury. i told you, too, that i would inquire whether your people wished you to return, and whether if you did return there would be any danger to the frontier. general clark and general atkinson, whom you know, have informed me that your principal chief and your people are anxious you should return, and keokuk has asked me to send you back. your chiefs have pledged themselves for your good conduct, and that you will never again take up the hatchet against the whites, and i have given directions that you should be taken to your own country. "major garland, who is with you, will conduct you through some of our towns. you will see the strength of the white people. you will see that our young men are as numerous as the leaves in the woods. what can you do against us? you may kill a few women and children, but such a force would soon be sent against you as would destroy your whole tribe. let the red men hunt and take care of their families. i hope they will not again raise the tomahawk against their white brethren. we do not wish to injure you. we desire your prosperity and improvement. but if you again make war against our people i shall send a force which will severely punish you. when you go back, listen to the councils of keokuk and the other friendly chiefs; bury the tomahawk and live in peace with the people on the frontier. and i pray the great spirit to give you a smooth path and a fair sky to return." from baltimore the party, conducted by major garland, went to philadelphia. here the indians visited the mint and each received a number of new coins, of which they were very proud. new york was the next city visited. here the indians were amazed at the size of the "village" and the vast throngs of people which greeted them at every turn. indeed, all along the route they were dined and wined and well nigh killed with kindness. black hawk also received a large number of valuable presents. one of the most interesting incidents of what might be called their triumphal tour, was a brief visit to the senecas, at their council-house on their reservation in new york. the seneca chieftain, captain pollard (karlundawana), an aged and respected man, expressed his pleasure at meeting them, urging them to go to their homes in a peaceable frame of mind, to cultivate the soil, and never more to fight against the white men. to which black hawk replied: "our aged brother of the senecas, who has spoken to us, has spoken the words of a wise and good man. we are strangers to each other, though we have the same color, and the same great spirit made us all and gave us this country together. brothers, we have seen how great a people the whites are. they are very rich and very strong. it is folly for us to fight against them. we shall go home with much knowledge. for myself, i shall advise my people to be quiet, and live like good men. the advice which you gave us, brother, is very good, and we tell you now we mean to walk the straight path in the future, and to content ourselves with what we have and with the cultivation of our lands." from buffalo the indians traveled by water to detroit. after leaving this city no incident of importance occurred until they reached fort armstrong, rock island, about the st of august. fort armstrong had been selected as the most appropriate place for the dismissal of the indians. keokuk was away on a buffalo hunt when black hawk arrived, but hurried to the place, attended by a large party, as soon as he heard the news. a large room in the garrison was prepared for the reception of the two parties. about ten o'clock keokuk appeared at the head of a hundred warriors. profound silence prevailed until the arrival of black hawk and his party. as they came in keokuk and the chiefs of his band arose and shook hands with him and the rest. black hawk and party moved around and seated themselves opposite keokuk; but he and his son showed in their looks their dejection and humiliation, for they knew that after years of rivalry the time of triumph for keokuk, the younger chieftain, had arrived. major garland broke the silence by saying that he was glad to find so much good feeling in the tribe toward black hawk and his party. he was confident, from what he had seen and heard, that they would have no more trouble among themselves. he had but little to say as the president's speech to black hawk said all, and this would now be read and interpreted to the indians. this was accordingly done, when keokuk arose and said impressively: "i have listened to the talk of our great father. it is true; we pledged our honors with those of our young braves, for their liberation. we thought much of it; our councils were long; their wives and children were in our thoughts. when we talked of them our hearts were full. their wives and children came to us, which made us feel like women; but we were men. the word which we sent to our great father was one word, the word of all. the heart of our great father was good; he spoke like the father of children. the great spirit made his heart big in council. we received our brothers in friendship our hearts are good toward them. they once listened to bad counsel; now their ears are closed. i give my hand to them; when they shake it they shake the hand of all. i will shake hands with them and then i am done." major garland now delivered the most humiliating insult and the unkindest cut black hawk had ever received. he said he wished all present clearly to understand that the president considered keokuk the principal chief of the tribe, and in the future he should be acknowledged as the only one entitled to that distinction. he wished black hawk to listen and conform to his counsels. the two bands that had heretofore existed in the tribe must be broken up. when this cutting speech was translated to black hawk a bad matter was made worse by a blunder of the interpreter, who represented major garland as declaring that black hawk _must conform_ to the counsels of keokuk. the chief was infuriated, and rising to his feet, his eyes flashing fire, he replied: "i am an old man; i will not conform to the counsel of any one. i will act for myself; no one shall govern me. i am old; my hair is gray. i once gave counsels to my young men; am i to conform to others? i shall soon go to the great spirit, where i shall rest. what i said to our great father in washington, i say again: i will always listen to him. i am done." {illustration: keokuk, head chief of sac and fox tribe.} it was the last flickering spark of grandeur and greatness. his words caused a stir among the listeners. the interpreter hastened to explain that he was only requested to listen to the counsels of keokuk. black hawk made no reply, but seemed absorbed in his own gloomy thoughts, until keokuk said to him in an undertone: "why do you speak thus before the white men? i will speak for you, you trembled and did not mean what you said." black hawk nodded assent and keokuk said: "our brother, who has again come among us, has spoken, but he spoke in wrath, his tongue was forked; he spoke not like a man, a sac. he knew his words were bad; he trembled like the oak, whose roots have been washed by many rains. he is old what he said let us forget. he says he did not mean it; he wishes it were forgotten. i have spoken for him. what i have said is his own words, not mine. let us say he spoke in council to-day and that his words were good; i have spoken." major garland that evening invited the principal chiefs, including black hawk, to meet him at his quarters. after several speeches had been made by the other chiefs, black hawk arose, and in a calm but somewhat subdued manner, said: "i feel that i am an old man. once i could speak, but now i have little to say. to-day we meet many of our brothers. we are glad to see them. i have listened to what my brothers said; their hearts are good; they have been like sacs since i left them; they have taken care of my wife and children, who had no wigwam. i thank them for it; the great spirit knows i thank them. before the sun sets behind the hills to-morrow i shall see them. i want to see them. when i left them i expected to return. i told our great father, when in washington, i would listen to his counsels; i say so to you. i will listen to the counsel of keokuk. i shall soon be far away. i shall have no village, no band; i shall live alone. what i said in council to-day i wish forgotten. if it has been put upon paper, i wish a mark to be drawn over it. i did not mean it. now we are alone; let us say we will forget it. say to our great father and governor cass that i will listen to them. many years ago i met governor cass in councils, far across the prairies to the rising sun. his counsels were good. my ears were closed. i listened to the great father across the waters. my father listened to him, whose band was large. my band was once large, but now i have no band. i and my son and all our party thank our great father for what he has done. he is old; i am old; we shall soon go to the great spirit, where we shall rest. he sent us through his great villages. we saw many white men, who treated us with kindness. we thank them. we thank you and mr. sprague for coming with us. your road was long and crooked. we never saw so many white men before. when you were with us we felt as though we had some friends among them. we felt safe. you knew them all. when you come upon the mississippi again, you shall come to my wigwam. i have none now. on your road home, you pass where my village once was. no one lives there now; all are gone. i give you my hand; we may never meet again. i shall long remember you. the great spirit will be with you and your wives and children. before the sun rises i shall start to my family. my son will be here to see you before you go, i will shake hands with my brothers now, and then i am done." in september, , a delegation of sacs and foxes, and another of sioux and iowas visited washington, and at the suggestion of the president, extended their tour through the principal cities of the east. the idea of impressing the untutored mind of poor lo {?} with our wealth, numbers and importance as a nation, seems to have been a favorite one with many of our presidents. we presume this delegation, which included both black hawk and keokuk, was suitably impressed, as have been many others since. this tour extended to boston, where the delegation was addressed by edward everett, then governor of massachusetts, in one of the best speeches ever delivered to indians, at the conclusion of which keokuk and black hawk each made eloquent addresses. presents were then distributed to the indians by the governor. keokuk received a splendid sword and brace of pistols, his little son a nice little rifle, the other chiefs long swords, and black hawk a sword and brace of pistols. at the close of the ceremonies in the capital, the indians entertained thirty thousand cultured bostonians with a war-dance. soon after his return from boston black hawk moved further west to the des moines river, near the storehouse of an indian trader, where he had previously built a good house for his future home. his family included his wife, two sons, nashashuk and gamesett, and an only daughter and her husband. as he had given up the chase entirely, having sufficient means from his annuities, he now turned his attention to the improvement of his grounds, and soon had everything comfortable around him. here he had frequent visits from the whites, who came through curiosity to see the great war-chief, but all were made welcome and treated with great hospitality. on the fourth of july, , black hawk was at a celebration in fort madison, by special invitation. among the toasts called forth by the occasion was the following: "our illustrious guest, black hawk. may his declining years be as calm and serene as his previous life has been boisterous and full of warlike incidents. his attachment and present friendship to his white brethren fully entitle him to a seat at our festive board." as soon as this sentiment was drunk. black hawk arose and delivered the following speech, which was taken down at the time by two interpreters, and by them furnished for publication: "it has pleased the great spirit that i am here to-day--have eaten with my white friends. the earth is our mother--we are now on it--with the great spirit above us--it is good. i hope we are all friends here. a few summers ago i was fighting against you--i did wrong, perhaps; but that is past--it is buried--let it be forgotten. "rock river was a beautiful country--i liked my towns, my cornfields, and the home of my people. i fought for it. it is now yours--keep it as we did--it will produce you good crops. "i thank the great spirit that i am now friendly with my white brethren. we are here together--we have eaten together--we are friends--it is your wish and mine. i thank you for your friendship. "i was once a great warrior--i am now poor. keokuk has been the cause of my present situation--but do not attach blame to him. i am now old. i have looked upon the mississippi river since i was a child. i love the great river. i have dwelt near its banks from the time i was an infant. i look upon it now. i shake hands with you, and as it is my wish, i hope you are all my friends." black hawk always felt an unrelenting hatred for keokuk, whom he averred excelled him in nothing but drinking whisky. keokuk was, however, beyond his influence, as he was recognized as the principal chief of the tribe by the united states government. he was undoubtedly a man of great talents, excelled as an orator and diplomat. seeing how utterly hopeless it was to go to war with the united states, he advocated peace at any price, even the sale of , , acres of the finest land in missouri, wisconsin and illinois, at three cents an acre. according to his autobiography black hawk was born at the sac village on the rock river in the year . his father's name was pyesa. he was also a chief of the rock river band of the sac tribe, but not very prominent, it would seem. the subject of this sketch was full six feet in height, and well proportioned. it will be remembered that there is a tone of melancholy in all his speeches, as if he considered his life's career ended, and expected his troubles to end in a speedy death. his proud heart was broken by the cruelty of the government in deposing him and recognizing his rival, keokuk, as the principal chief. after this was done he seemed to have lost interest in life and to actually desire the rest of the grave. nor had he long to wait, but passed away october , , at the age of seventy-one years. but he failed to find the much desired repose in the grave, for some of that same race which kept him moving on while living turned ghoul and dug up his bones. this fact is learned from the following letter written to the _burlington hawk eye_ by capt. james h. jordan, a trader among the sacs and foxes before black hawk's death, who was present at the funeral, in which he says: "black hawk was buried on the northeast quarter of section , township , range , davis county, iowa, near the northeast corner of the county, on the des moines river bottom, about ninety rods from where he lived when he died, on the north side of the river. i have the ground on which he lived for a door-yard, it being between my house and the river. the only mound over the grave was some puncheons split out and set over his grave and then sodded over with bluegrass, making a ridge about four feet high. a flagstaff some twenty feet high was planted at the head, on which was a silk flag, which hung there until the wind wore it out. my house and his were only about four rods apart when he died. he was sick only about fourteen days. he was buried right where he sat the year before, when in council with the iowa indians, and was buried in a suit of military clothes, made to order and given to him when in washington city by general jackson, with hat, sword, gold epaulets, etc.. "the annals of iowa of and state that the old chief was buried by laying his body on a board, his feet fifteen inches below the surface of the ground, and his head raised three feet above the ground. on his left side was a sword presented him by general jackson; on his right side a cane presented him by henry clay, and one given him by a british officer, and other trophies. three medals hung about his neck, from president jackson, ex-president john quincy adams, and the city of boston, respectively. the body was covered with boards on each side, six feet long, which formed a ridge; the gables being closed by boards the whole was covered with bluegrass sod. near the flagstaff was the usual hewn post inscribed with indian characters representing his warlike exploits, etc. enclosing all was a strong circular picket fence twelve feet high, his body remained here until july, , when it was carried off by a certain dr. turner, then living at lexington, van buren county, iowa. captain horn says the bones were carried to alton, illinois, to be mounted with wire. mr. barrows says they were taken to warsaw, illinois. black hawk's sons, when they heard of this desecration of their father's grave, were very indignant, and complained of it to governor lucas, of iowa, and his excellency caused the bones to be brought back to burlington in the fall of , or spring of . when the sons came to take possession of them, finding them safely stored 'in a good dry place,' they left them there. the bones were subsequently placed in the collection of the burlington geological and historical society, and it is thought that they perished in the fire, which destroyed the building and all the society's collections in ; though the editor of the annals (april, , p. ) says there is good reason to believe that the bones were not destroyed by the fire, and he is credibly informed that they are now at the residence of a former officer of said society, and thus escaped that catastrophe." in closing this narrative of the life of this noble old chief it may be just to speak briefly of his personal traits. he was an indian, and from that standpoint we must judge him. the make-up of his character comprised those elements in a marked degree which constitutes a noble nature. in all the social relations of life he was kind and affable. in his home he was the affectionate husband and father. he was free from many vices that others of his race had contracted from their association with the white people, never using intoxicating beverages to excess. as a warrior he knew no fear, and on the field of battle his feats of personal prowess stamped him as the "bravest of the brave." but he excelled as an orator and counsellor of his people rather than a military hero. his love of his country, his home, his lands, and the rights of his people to their broad domain, moved his great soul to take up arms. revenge or conquest formed no part of his purpose. right was all he demanded, and for that alone he waged the unequal contest with the superior race to the bitter and inevitable termination. the black hawk watch tower, as it is called, is situated on the rock river a short distance from the mississippi. it had been selected by black hawk's father as a lookout, at the first building up of the sac village. from this point they had an unobstructed view up and down both rivers for many miles, and across the prairies as far as the vision could penetrate. the "tower" is now a summer resort for the people of rock island. in his autobiography black hawk says: "in , a young sioux indian got lost on the prairie in a snowstorm, and found his way into our village. although he was an enemy, he was safe while accepting the hospitality of the sacs. he remained there for some time on account of the severity of the storm. becoming well acquainted, he fell in love with the daughter of one of the head men of the village where he had been entertained, and before leaving for his own country, promised to come back for her at a certain time during the next summer. "in july he made his way to the rock river village, where he secreted himself in the woods until he could meet the maiden he loved, who came out to the field with her mother to assist her in hoeing corn. late in the afternoon her mother left her and went to the village. no sooner had she got out of hearing, than he gave a loud whistle, which assured the maiden that he had returned. she continued hoeing leisurely to the end of the row, when her lover came to meet her, and she promised to come to him as soon as she could go to the lodge and get her blanket, and together they would flee to his country. but, unfortunately for the lovers, the girl's two brothers had seen the meeting, and after procuring their guns started in pursuit of them. a heavy thunderstorm was coming on at the time. the lovers hastened to and took shelter under a cliff of rocks, at black hawk's watch tower. soon after a loud peal of thunder was heard, the cliff of rocks was shattered in a thousand pieces, and the lovers buried beneath, while in full view of her pursuing brothers. this, their unexpected tomb, still remains undisturbed. "this tower, to which my name has been applied, was a favorite resort, and was frequently visited by me alone, when i could sit and smoke my pipe and look with wonder and pleasure at the grand scenes that were presented by the sun's rays even across the mighty water. on one occasion a french-man, who had been making his home in our village, brought his violin with him to the tower, to play and dance for the amusement of a number of our people, who had assembled there, and, while dancing with his back to the cliff, accidentally fell over it and was killed by the fall. the indians say that always at the same time of the year soft strains of the violin can be heard near that spot." the following beautiful word painting by a recent visitor to the tower we take from the rock island union: black hawk's watch tower. by jennie m. fowler. "beautiful tower! famous in history, rich in legend, in old-time mystery, graced with tales of indian lore, crowned with beauty from summit to shore. "below, winds the river, silent and still, nestling so calmly 'mid island and hill. above, like warriors, proudly and grand, tower the forest trees, monarchs of land. "a landmark for all to admire and wonder. with thy history ancient, for nations to ponder, boldly thou liftest thy head to the breeze. crowned with thy plumes, the nodding trees. "years now are gone--forever more fled. since the indian crept with catlike tread. with moccasined foot, with eagle eye the red men our foes in ambush lie. "the owl still his nightly vigil keeps. while the river, below him, peacefully sleeps, the whippoorwill utters his plaintive cry. the trees still whisper, and gently sigh. "the pale moon still creeps from her daily rest, throwing her rays o'er the river's dark breast, the katydid and cricket, i trow, in days gone by, chirruped, even as now. "indian! thy camp-fires no longer are smoldering, thy bones 'neath the forest moss long have been moldering, the 'great spirit' claims thee. he leadeth thy tribe. to new hunting-grounds not won with a bribe. "on thy watch tow'r the paleface his home now makes. his dwelling, the site of the forest tree takes. gone are thy wigwams, the wild deer long fled, black hawk, with his tribe, lie silent and dead." {illustration: shabbona, or "built like a bear," pottwatomie chief. "the white man's friend."} chapter xii. shabbona, the white man's friend--the celebrated pottawatomie chief. "is saul also among the prophets?" is shabbona classed among the _famous_ indian chiefs? he who was only chief of a small band or village? yes, and for the best of reasons. "howe'er it be, it seems to me, 'tis only noble to be good; kind hearts are more than coronets, and simple faith than norman blood." however, we will tell the story of his life, and let the reader judge whether he is rightly classified. according to his own statement he was born in an ottawa village about the beginning of the revolutionary war, in the year or . we have before us, as we write, three different sketches of his life, and though they all agree as to the date, they mention three distinct birth places, widely separated. thus we find that matson, his principal biographer, says "he was born at an indian village on the kankakee river, in what is now will county, illinois." caroline m. mcilvane, librarian of the chicago historical society, in her interesting sketch of shabbona, says, "he was born at an indian village on the maumee river"; while one of the speakers at the dedication of the shabbona monument, which occurred at morris, illinois, october , , said "shabbona was born at the principal village of the ottawas in canada." who shall decide when the doctors disagree? his father, a nephew of the illustrious pontiac, was a war-chief of the ottawas, and was undoubtedly a man of ability, as he was one of the commissioners representing his tribe in wayne's treaty at greenville, in , and made a speech on that occasion. when shabbona was an infant his parents moved to canada, where the boy grew up and was instructed in all the indian lore of his day. in youth he excelled all competitors in the many feats of strength, speed and endurance. his name is usually interpreted to mean "built like a bear," and it was certainly appropriate, as he was five feet nine inches in height, well proportioned, though with very broad, deep chest, heavy shoulders, large neck and a head of extraordinary size. mr. gurdon s. hubbard, agent of the american fur company, at chicago, said of shabbona: "from my first acquaintance with him, which began in , to his death, i was impressed with the nobility of his character. physically he was as fine a specimen of a man as i ever saw--tall, well proportioned, strong and active, with a face expressing great strength of mind, and goodness of heart." fur traders who knew him in the prime of his life, speak of him as a very handsome indian, excelling in horsemanship, dancing and athletics of all kinds. the name of the subject of this sketch was spelled many different ways, but was usually pronounced as though spelled shab-o-nay. hon. george m. hollenback, of aurora, illinois, says: "i have heard 'the old settler' pronounce his own name many times and it was always as though it was spelled shab-o-neh." matson, in "memories of shaubena," says, "in four treaties where his signature appears, the orthography varies, and each of his educated descendants and connections spell the name different. i have in my possession, either written or printed, seventeen different ways of spelling the name. some of these are so unlike that it is hard to believe they were intended for the same person." the french form of the name was chamblee, and this spelling was used by his old friend sauganash, or billy caldwell, in the following document, the original of which reposes in the archives of the chicago historical society: "this is to certify that the bearer of this name, chamblee, was a faithful companion to me during the late war with the united states. the bearer joined the late celebrated warrior, tecumseh, of the shawnee nation, in the year , on the wabash river, and remained with the above warrior from the commencement of hostilities with the united states until our defeat at moravian town, on the thames, october , . i have been witness to his intrepidity and courageous warrior conduct on many occasions, and he showed a great deal of humanity to those unfortunate sons of mars who fell into his hands. "amhurstburg, august , . b. caldwell, captain i. d." we have decided to adopt the style used in spelling the town in illinois named for the chief, as also on the monument over his grave. about the year , according to a letter from frances r. howe, of porter station, indiana, a grandniece of shabbona, "an extended hunting excursion brought him from the ottawa country into the pottawatomie hunting grounds, where he was kindly received by a chief and his family. the young hunter made such a fine impression on spotka and his wife that they gave him their daughter in marriage." this pottawatomie wife of shabbona was wiomex okono, whose home, according to miss mcilvane, was located where the city of chicago now stands. {fn} on the death of spotka, and before he was forty years old, our hero was made chief of his adopted nation. he soon afterward moved his band to what has since been called shabbona's grove, in the southern part of de kalb county. here he resided until . * * * * * {fn} matson locates this pottawatomie band, into which shabbona married, on the illinois river, a short distance above the mouth of the fox. in the summer of , when shabbona was on the wabash, he spent some time at the shawnee village with tecumseh. this was probably his first acquaintance with the great chief. on a warm day in early indian summer, in , while shabbona and his young men were playing ball, tecumseh, accompanied by three chiefs, mounted on spirited black ponies, rode into the village. on the next day a favorite fat dog was killed and a feast made for the distinguished visitors. on their departure their host accompanied them, stirred by tecumseh's eloquence on behalf of his pet scheme of uniting all the western tribes in a confederation, to wage war against the whites. the five chiefs now visited the winnebagos and menomonees. passing through green bay they crossed the southern part of wisconsin to prairie du chien. from here they descended the mississippi to rock island, and visited the sac and fox villages of wapello and black hawk. shabbona now returned to his village, but tecumseh and party continued down the river to st. louis. the following summer shabbona was present at the second council at vincennes, which ended as the former one, without any concessions on either side, and consequently without effecting a reconciliation. the next day after the council shabbona started on a journey south, with tecumseh and two other shawnee chiefs. they spent several months among the creeks, cherokees and choctaws. returning to the wabash late in the fall, about two weeks after the battle of tippecanoe, they saw the remains of soldiers which had been dug up by the indians and scattered over the battlefield. in the summer of messengers from tecumseh visited many villages in northern illinois, informing the tribes that war had been declared between the united states and england, and offering the warriors large sums of money to fight for the latter. these emissaries wished to capture fort dearborn before the garrison knew that war existed. shabbona intended at first to remain at home and take no part in the war, but hearing that a number of warriors from other villages and a few from his own had left for chicago, he mounted his pony and followed them. shabbona and a few warriors arrived at chicago on the afternoon of the fatal day of the fort dearborn massacre. this was august , , the same day of the cowardly surrender of general hull at detroit. the chieftain and his young warriors were horrified at the sight of blood and carnage. the sand along the beach where the massacre had occurred was dyed and soaked with the blood of forty-two dead bodies of soldiers, women and children, all of whom were scalped and mutilated. the body of capt. william wells, for whom wells street, chicago, is named, lay in one place, his head in another, while his arms and legs were scattered about in different places. the captain had been very friendly with black partridge, and that chief now gathered up his remains and gave them decent burial near where they were found, but the remains of the other victims of the massacre lay where they had fallen until the rebuilding of fort dearborn, in , when they were collected and interred by order of captain bradley. the prisoners who had been spared were taken to the indian camp, which was near the present crossing of jackson and state streets, and closely guarded. john kinzie, whose residence stood on the north bank of the river opposite the fort, had been the indian trader at this place for eight years, and, of course, he had many friends among the savages. as a special favor he was permitted to return to his own house, accompanied by his family, including a step-daughter (the wife of lieutenant helm) now badly wounded. the evening after the massacre the chiefs present held a council to decide the fate of the prisoners, and it was agreed to deliver them to the british commander at detroit, according to the terms of surrender. this would have been done, but unfortunately many warriors from a distance came into camp after dark, who were thirsting for blood, and seemed determined to murder the prisoners, in spite of the decision of the chiefs in council and the stipulated terms of surrender. black partridge and shabbona, with a few of their warriors, determined to make an effort to protect the inmates of kinzie's house from the tomahawks of the blood thirsty savages; accordingly they took a position on the porch with their rifles crossing the doorway. but the guard was overpowered by sheer numbers, as a large party of hostile savages, with their faces painted, rushed by them, forcing their way into the house. the parlor and sitting-room were quickly filled with indians, who stood with scalping-knives and tomahawks in hand, waiting the signal from their leader to commence the bloody work. mrs. kinzie, with her children, and mrs. helm, sat in a back room weeping at the thought of the horrible death which awaited them in a moment. even black partridge was in utter despair, and said to mrs. kinzie, "we have done everything in our power to save you, but now all is lost you and your friends, together with the prisoners at the camp, will be slain." but there was a chief in the camp who had more influence than either black partridge or shabbona. at the instant black partridge spoke a loud whoop was heard at the river. he immediately ran to see what it meant, and in the darkness saw a canoe approaching, and shouted to its occupant, "who are you, friend or foe?" the new comer leaped ashore exclaiming in reply, "i am sauganash," his voice rang out like a trumpet on the still night air, reaching the ears of mrs. kinzie and her friends in the back room of her house, and a faint hope sprung up in her heart. she knew sauganash, or billy caldwell, the halfbreed, could save them if he only reached the house in time. black partridge now shouted, "hasten to the house, for our friends are in danger and you alone can save them!" the tall, manly-looking chief, with his head adorned with eagle feathers and rifle in hand, ran to the house, rushed into the parlor, which was still full of scowling savages with weapons drawn, and by entreaties, and threats of the dire vengeance of his friend and kinsman, the great tecumseh, who never, when present, allowed a massacre of prisoners, he prevailed on them to abandon their murderous designs. through his influence kinzie's family and the prisoners at the camp were saved a horrible death. it was afterward found that a young half-breed girl, who had been in kinzie's family for some time, where she had received kind treatment, seeing the hostile savages approaching, ran to billy caldwell's wigwam, and informed him of their danger, when he hastened to the rescue just in time. this young half-breed girl afterward married a frenchman named joseph pathier. sauganash, or billy caldwell, one of the heroes of the fort dearborn massacre, was a son of colonel caldwell, of the british army, who for many years was stationed at detroit. his mother was a squaw of great beauty and intelligence, a connection (possibly a sister) of the renowned tecumseh. he was known by the name of sauganash, which in the pottawatomie language means an englishman. billy caldwell had a good education for that time, was a very popular chief, the idol of his band, and possessed a remarkable influence over the entire tribe. he lived at chicago twenty-six years in a cabin located on the north side of the river, near where north water crosses la salle street. he went west with his tribe in june, , and died in kansas some years after this. late in the autumn after the chicago massacre, just as shabbona and his band were about to start on their winter hunt, two messengers from tecumseh arrived at his village. they brought a good-sized package of presents, consisting of beads, rings and various kinds of ornaments, intended mainly for the squaws. tecumseh had sent the wampum to shabbona, asking him to bring his warriors and join his forces, and for their services they were promised a large amount of british gold. tecumseh's emissaries said, moreover, that all the pottawatomies along the illinois and its tributaries, including the bands of black partridge, como, schwinger and comas, had dug up the hatchet and pledged their support; and that thomas forsyth, a trader at peoria, had raised a company of french and half-breeds and gone to the war. these statements all proved to be false. not one of the bands mentioned had agreed to go to war, and shabbona afterward said had he known the true facts he would have remained at home, and continued the hunt, which would have been more profitable. but believing the report, the winter hunt was indefinitely postponed, and the following day shabbona started for the seat of war at the head of twenty-two warriors. when they reached the st. joseph river they fell in with colonel dixon's recruits, consisting of a large number of warriors led by black hawk, who had followed around the lake from green bay. shabbona became an aide to general tecumseh, served until the end of the war, and stood by his side when he fell in the battle of the thames. he always revered the memory of tecumseh and loved to talk about him. in giving his account of the death of tecumseh to the early settlers around him, shabbona said that on the morning of the battle of the thames, tecumseh, billy caldwell and himself were sitting on a log near the camp-fire, smoking their pipes, when a messenger came to tecumseh, saying general proctor wished to see him immediately. the chief arose and went hastily to the general's headquarters, but soon returned, looking quite melancholy, without saying a word, when billy caldwell said to him, "father, what are we to do? shall we fight the americans?" to which he replied, "yes, my son; before sunset we will be in their smoke, as they are now marching on to us. but the general wants you. go, my son, i shall never see you again." tecumseh appeared, he said, to have a presentiment that the impending battle would be his last. tecumseh posted his warriors in the thick timber flanking the british line, with himself at their head, and here awaited the approach of the americans. soon the battle commenced, and the indian rifles were fast thinning the ranks of the americans, when a large body of horsemen were seen approaching on a gallop. these troopers came bravely on until they approached the line of battle, when tecumseh and his warriors sprang forward with the shawnee war-whoop to meet the charge. for a moment all was confusion, being a hand-to-hand fight, and many were slain on both sides. tecumseh, after discharging his rifle, was about to tomahawk the man on a white horse (col. r. m. johnson), when the latter shot him with a pistol. the tomahawk, missing its deadly aim, took effect on the withers of the horse, while tecumseh, with a shrill whoop, fell to the ground. shabbona said he was standing by the side of tecumseh when he received the fatal shot, and sprang forward, to tomahawk the slayer of the great chief, but at that instant the horse reared and fell, being pierced by many bullets, and the rider, badly wounded, was thrown to the ground but rescued by his comrades. the warriors, no longer hearing the voice of tecumseh, fled from the field, when the battle ended. {illustration: fort dearborn massacre.} that night, after the battle, shabbona accompanied a party of warriors to the fatal field and found tecumseh's remains, where he fell. a bullet had pierced his heart and his skull was broken, probably by the breech of a gun; otherwise the body was untouched. near tecumseh's remains lay the body of a large, fine-looking warrior, decorated with plumes and paint, whom the soldiers, no doubt, mistook for the great chief, as it was scalped and large portions of skins tripped from the body. on the day of the battle tecumseh was dressed in plain buckskin, wearing no ornaments except a british medal suspended from the neck by a cord. the fact that tecumseh was very modest and never wore anything to distinguish him from his warriors, though a british general as well as head chief of the indian confederation, was one cause of his great popularity. he was one with his men, and ruled by force of character and actual ability. this habit probably saved his life in other battles, and his body from being mutilated by the kentucky soldiers, many of whom were backwoodsmen who fought the indians in their own way. shabbona's narrative is the most interesting, and probably the most authentic account of the death of tecumseh we have found in history. many years after, when col. richard m. johnson was vice-president of the united states, shabbona visited washington, and the two got together and had a long conversation about the battle of the thames and the death of tecumseh. before leaving washington colonel johnson presented the chief a heavy solid gold ring, in token of friendship, which he wore until the day of his death, and by his request it was buried with him. at the time of the winnebago war, in the summer of , the settlers along the frontier were very much alarmed, as it was thought that the pottawatomies were about to take part in it. it was now that shabbona first earned his title of "the white man's friend," by mounting his pony and visiting almost every pottawatomie village in the state, explaining to the chiefs the folly of going to war with the united states, and in most cases his arguments were successful. big thunder, who had a village on the kishwaukee, near where belvidere now stands, had agreed to go to war; but when shabbona visited him, and pointed out the impossibility of conquering the whites, he changed his mind, and, returning the wampum which the winnebagos had sent him, decided to remain at peace. shabbona also visited big foot's village, but here his mission was a failure. big foot was in favor of uniting all the western tribes to make war on the frontier and drive the whites from the country. he had promised red bird, the noted winnebago chief, to become his ally, and should take up the tomahawk when the war began. soon after shabbona's visit big foot and his band came to chicago to draw their annual payment from the government, and while there they deported themselves in a way to alarm the people. the night after drawing their pay some of the indians painted their faces, danced around the agency-house singing war songs, and occasionally yelling at the top of their voices. on the following night fort dearborn was struck by lightning and set on fire, when several buildings were burned. big foot and his warriors refused to render any aid in extinguishing the flames, but stood by as idle spectators. the indians were encamped in a grove north of the river and appeared sulky and unfriendly, constantly avoiding conversation with the whites, but frequently engaged in earnest conversation with each other. it was also noticed that they would stop talking as soon as other indians or whites approached. in a few day's the band left at night for their village, and their strange conduct caused the people to believe they intended evil. the next day after big foot's departure the citizens called a meeting to discuss the situation and plan for their safety. this meeting was attended by whites, half-breeds and indians. it was decided at this meeting to send shabbona and billy caldwell as messengers to big foot's village to get an explanation of their strange conduct and learn, if possible, what they intended to do. the two chiefs started on their mission the following morning. big foot was a large, raw-boned, big-footed, dark-visaged indian. his countenance was bloated by intemperance. he is said to have ruled over his band with despotic sway, and usually his will was law. his village was on the banks of the lake, which formerly bore his own name, but is now called lake geneva. when shabbona and billy caldwell reached their destination they thought it prudent for one to hide in the cedar timber on the ridge overlooking the village, to watch proceedings, while the other had the interview with big foot and his band. it was shabbona who rode boldly into the village, but the meeting between the two chiefs was far from friendly. big foot at once accused shabbona of being a friend of the whites and a traitor to his tribe, saying had it not been for him, billy caldwell and robinson, all of the pottawatomies would unite with the winnebagos in making war on the americans; to which shabbona replied that he could not assist the winnebagos against the united states, as the whites were so strong they must eventually conquer, and the war could only result in the ruin of that tribe. a large number of warriors had collected around the two chiefs, listening to their conversation, when big foot became so enraged that he seized his tomahawk and would have killed shabbona had not the warriors interfered and prevented it. shabbona was now disarmed, bound and thrown into an unoccupied wigwam and guarded by two warriors to prevent his escape. billy caldwell, from his hiding place, was watching closely, and when he saw his friend stripped of his arms, bound and led away, probably to be put to death, he became alarmed, fearing he might meet the same fate if caught; consequently he mounted his pony and hastened back to chicago and reported shabbona either killed or a prisoner in big foot's village. the citizens were greatly alarmed, as their worst fears were confirmed. shabbona had been known by the people of chicago a long time. he was held in high estimation by both whites and indians, and all were grieved at his loss. but while grief and excitement was at its height, shabbona returned, his pony covered with foam, and the grief was turned into rejoicing. it seems that a council was called the night after he was taken captive, to consider what to do with him. it was decided in council that it was unsafe to keep shabbona a prisoner, as his band and other bands, as well as the whites at chicago, whose messenger he was, would certainly come to his rescue, and if executed his death would be avenged. so, against the protest of big foot, who was still enraged at him, the warriors decided to set him free the next morning. this was accordingly done, and when his belongings, including his pony, were returned to him, a friend whispered in his ear to ride for his life, as big foot would surely pursue and he would be killed if overtaken. this accounted for the foam on the pony. it was, indeed, a race for life, as big foot and four warriors were hot on his trail for many miles, but shabbona's pony proved to be the best. during the period from to october , , fort dearborn was not permanently occupied by troops. consequently for five years the citizens of chicago were without protection. the inhabitants of chicago consisted principally of french, half-breeds and a few yankee adventurers engaged in the fur trade. the people had been on good terms with the indians, and often exchanged friendly visits with them; but now war existed between the whites and winnebagos, and it was known that big foot's band, and perhaps other of the pottawatomies, were ready to join them. with the exception of the bands controlled by shabbona, billy caldwell and robinson, the country for two hundred miles around was full of discontented indians, who were liable to dig up the tomahawk at any time. so the citizens almost imagined they were in danger of a second massacre. but shabbona quieted their fears by offering to bring his warriors to chicago and guard it, if it became necessary, and his proposition the people hailed with much rejoicing. happily this was not found necessary, as shortly after this an express came from galena with the good news that the winnebago war was over and red bird a prisoner. in the summer of , a connecticut yankee, by the name of george whitney, came to shabbona's village for the purpose of trading with the indians. whitney's outfit consisted of a covered wagon drawn by two mules, and loaded with a miscellaneous stock of articles of indian traffic, including a barrel of whisky. the indian trader had with him a jolly young half-breed named spike, who performed the duties of teamster, cook and interpreter. after pitching his tent in the edge of shabbona's grove near the village, whitney enjoyed an excellent trade with the indians, especially in whisky. many indians got drunk and became noisy and abusive to their families, seeing which, shabbona went to whitney and requested him not to sell any more whisky to his people; but regardless of this request, whitney continued to sell his distilled damnation to all who had the price. at this shabbona became justly indignant, and going to his tent one morning he told the trader that if he did not leave the grove that day he would be at the trouble of moving him. as soon as shabbona had gone, whitney asked spike what the angry chief had said. "he said," answered spike, "that if you are found here at sunset your scalp will be seen to-morrow morning hanging on the top of that pole," pointing to a high, straight pole used by the indians in their crane dances. on hearing this whitney turned pale and trembled; he began at once to take down his tent and pack his goods; at the same time he ordered spike to catch the mules and hitch them to the wagon as soon as possible. when everything had been hastily tumbled into the wagon, whitney seized the reins, and whipping his mules into a gallop, quickly disappeared in the direction of chicago, and was never heard of again in that part of the country. what a pity white men have not pluck enough to try the same experiment when they see a saloon is about to be forced onto them against their wills, to debauch their sons. the sacs and foxes, winnebagos and pottawatomies held a council in february, , at indian town. black hawk, neopope, little bear and many other chiefs of their tribe were present. white cloud, or the prophet, represented the winnebagos, while shabbona, waba, shick shack, meommuse, waseaw, sheatee, kelto, autuckee and waubonsie were the pottawatomie chiefs in attendance. the object of this council was to unite the different tribes in a war against the frontier settlements, hoping to check or drive back the tide of emigration, and save their villages and hunting grounds from the encroachments of the whites. during the council, which lasted a number of days, many speeches were made for and against such a union. the winnebago chief, white cloud, called the prophet, was the leading spirit of the council. his zeal and oratory gave him great influence. he said, in one of his speeches, "if all the tribes are united, their warriors will be like the trees of the forest"; to which shabbona replied, "yes, but the soldiers of the whites will outnumber the leaves on the trees." shabbona, while not a great orator, possessed honesty and good judgment, and this in a measure atoned for his lack of eloquence. after the death of black partridge and senachwine no chief among the pottawatomies had as much influence as shabbona. while black hawk was a prisoner at jefferson barracks, in the fall of , he told thomas forsyth, the former agent of the sacs and foxes, that, had it not been for shabbona the whole pottawatomie nation would have joined his standard, and then he could have continued the war for years, dictated his own terms of peace, and his people would not have been so crushed and humiliated. as evidence of the influence of shabbona it is said that, at the indiantown council, he induced all the pottawatomie chiefs except waubonsie to oppose the union of the tribes against the whites. black hawk now regarded his scheme as a failure, and mounting his pony left for home with a sad heart. however, the prophet, neopope and wisshick were not so easily discouraged, and started on a mission to the villages on the upper rock river, and in wisconsin. a few of the chiefs accepted the wampum, and promised support in case of war, but most of the winnebagos, remembering the disastrous war of a few years ago under red bird, remained neutral and advised against another encounter with the whites. but neopope and wisshick reported that _all_ the pottawatomies at the north and most of the winnebagos would join him in a war if he would come up in their country. deceived by these false statements, black hawk determined to prosecute his original plans and started up the rock river with his entire band. when black hawk ascended to the present site of byron without meeting the expected reinforcements, he became discouraged. after fixing his camp on a stream, since appropriately called stillman's run, he dispatched a runner for his old friends in arms, shabbona and waubonsie, who immediately started to his camp. after dinner black hawk took his two friends a short distance, and seating themselves on a fallen tree, he told them the story of his wrongs. said he, "i was born at the sac village, and here i spent my childhood, youth and manhood. i like to look upon this place, with its surroundings of big rivers, shady groves and green prairies. here is the grave of my father and some of my children; here i expected to live and die and lay my bones by the side of those near and dear unto me; but now, in my old age, i have been driven from my home, and dare not look again upon this loved spot." here the old chief broke down and wept, a rare thing for an indian. after wiping his tears away he continued, almost heartbroken, "before many moons you, too, will be compelled to leave your homes, the haunts of your youth your villages, cornfields and hunting grounds will be in possession of the whites, and by them the graves of your fathers will be plowed over, while your people will be driven westward toward the setting sun to find a new home beyond the father of waters." this prediction was fulfilled in both cases. continuing, the aged chief said, "we have always been as brothers; have fought side by side in the british war; have hunted together and slept under the same blanket; we have met in council at religious feasts; our people are alike and our interests the same. "i am now on the warpath. runners have been sent to different villages bearing wampum and asking the chiefs to meet my band in council. once united we would be so strong the whites would not attack us, but would treat on favorable terms, and return to me my village and the graves of my people." shabbona, in reply, said he could not join him in a war against the whites; that governor clark, general cass and his friends at chicago had made him many presents, some of which he still kept as tokens of friendship, and while in possession of these gifts he could not think of raising the tomahawk against their people. shabbona also declined to attend the proposed council, and advised black hawk to return west of the mississippi as the only means of saving his people; the two chiefs parted, to meet no more in this life. waubonsie, seeing the decided stand taken by shabbona, also refused to take part in the approaching war. however, waubonsie agreed to attend the council of chiefs. the next day after this interview shabbona mounted his pony and went to dixon's ferry to offer the service of himself and warriors to general reynolds. {illustration: annie red shirt, an indian beauty.} there was among the volunteers a worthless vagabond named george mckabe, who was employed as cook in one of the companies. mckabe was married to an indian squaw belonging to black hawk's band, but was too lazy to hunt or work and spent his time loafing around the village drinking whisky and stealing from the settlers. he joined the volunteers at black hawk's suggestion who thought it well to have a spy among the whites to inform him of their plans, and warn the indians when an attack was intended. this wretch, who was equal to any villainy, whether it concerned friend or foe, while strolling through stillman's camp at dixon's ferry, saw shabbona when he arrived, and told some of the rangers that he was a sac indian belonging to black hawk's band, and there as a spy. the rangers, believing mckabe's story, dragged shabbona from his pony, disarmed him, and abused him in a shameful manner. in vain he exclaimed in his broken english, "me shabbona; me pottawatomie; neconche moka man" (a friend of the white man). the drunken ruffians paid no attention to him and would have murdered him outright had not mr. dixon, the keeper of the ferry, heard of it and hurried to his rescue. this gentleman had known shabbona a number of years, and claiming him for his friend and guest he was permitted to take the chief to his home, and afterward introduced him to governor reynolds, general atkinson, colonel taylor and others, and he became a prime favorite with officers and men. black hawk's grand council was interrupted by the arrival of a messenger with his pony in a gallop, bringing tidings of the approach of stillman's army. some of the chiefs were on the way but had not yet arrived, and those who were present, including waubonsie, mounted their ponies and rode back to their villages with all speed. so the council never met, and black hawk failed to obtain the aid of the friendly chiefs; some even became allies of the whites. there were, however, certain disaffected pottawatomies, belonging to different bands, who joined black hawk. these, with a few sac and fox warriors and winnebagos committed many outrages and murders on the defenseless settlers along the illinois, fox and rock rivers, and their tributaries. many others would have been butchered had they not received warning from their friend in need and friend indeed, shabbona. the night after stillman's retreat, as shabbona was sleeping at his home he was awakened by a messenger, who reported that a battle had been fought and black hawk's band had been victorious. the chief knew only too well that war parties would be immediately sent out to murder the nearest settlers. so he made a hasty preparation to warn them of danger. having dispatched his son, pypegee, to holderman's grove settlements and his nephew, pyps, to those on fox river, he mounted his fleetest pony and started for bureau and indian creek. we can not help but think that the words of the hymn writer would apply as well to this heathen, hurrying to save the lives of those nominal christians, as it would to the christian missionary hastening to save the heathen: "take your life in your hand, go quick while you may; speed away, speed away, speed away!" the first house shabbona reached was that of squire dimmick, who lived near the present site of la moille. when informed of his danger, dimmick replied that "he would stay until his corn was planted," adding that "he had left the year before, and it proved a false alarm, and he believed it would be so this time." shabbona's reply to this was, "if you will stay at home, send off your squaw and pappooses, or they will be murdered before the rising of to-morrow's sun!" shabbona had now mounted his pony again, and as he turned to go he raised his hand above his head, and in a loud impressive voice exclaimed "auhaw puckegee" (you must leave) and started off in a gallop to warn others. this last remark caused dimmick to change his mind, and hastily putting his family and a few things into a wagon he left his claim, never to return. shabbona continued to ride until he had warned all the settlers on bureau and indian creeks, and they at once fled to hennepin, peoria and springfield, where they remained until the war was over, while a few never returned to their claims. it was not a false alarm the settlers received, for during the night of the same day that shabbona notified them, girty, a notorious half-breed, led a band of about seventy warriors to bureau. during the night this band of cut-throats visited almost every house in the settlement, in some of which they found the fire still burning, but were surprised to find their intended victims had fled. girty's band encamped in the edge of the timber west of the present site of princeton. when shabbona's nephew, pyps, had warned the settlers on fox river of the commencement of hostilities, he went on a visit to a young squaw, of whom he was enamoured, at rochell's village, south of the illinois. after remaining a few days, he was returning home by way of indian creek when he noticed a large body of indians entering the timber within six miles of the settlement. hurrying home, he immediately informed shabbona about the indians and also of having noticed some of the settlers still in their cabins. knowing that these settlers would be almost certain to fall victims to these savages, shabbona determined to go and warn them a _second time._ accordingly, about midnight, after giving some directions to his family and friends, in case he should be killed, which he knew would be his fate if seen by the hostiles, shabbona started for the indian creek settlement. he thus deliberately periled his life to save his white friends. it was certainly one of the most courageous deeds recorded in history, for-- "the noblest place a man can die is where man dies for _man._" but he seems to have been protected by providence, for the sac bullet was never moulded that was destined to lay our hero low. shabbona arrived at his destination about sunrise, before the people were out of bed, with his pony in a foam of sweat. he quickly informed the settlers that a large band of hostile indians were seen in the timber about six miles above on the evening before, and unless they left immediately they would almost certainly be killed. on hearing this, hall, one of the leading citizens, was in favor of starting for ottawa at once. but another man with greater influence, by the name of davis, opposed it, saying he did not fear the indians, and no redskin could drive him from his home. unfortunately the counsel of davis prevailed, and the settlers refused to heed the warning of shabbona, and, strange to say, made no preparation for defense. on the fatal day of the indian creek massacre, about four o'clock in the afternoon of may , , the red fiends made their attack under the leadership of girty, the infamous half-breed. most of the men were at work in the blacksmith shop, and the women busy with their household affairs. the whites were completely surprised and shot down before they could make an effectual resistance. in less time than it takes to record it, fifteen people were butchered, including hall and davis; the entire community was wiped out of existence, except a few who were in the field, and the two sisters, sylvia and rachel hall, carried off into captivity. the next day after the massacre, a company of rangers from chicago and vicinity, under captain naper, and also a party from putnam county, visited the scene of horror and buried the dead. a fine monument was afterward erected over the remains of the victims by their surviving friends, containing the names and ages of those massacred. the hall sisters were conveyed on horseback to black hawk's camp, near the present site of madison, wisconsin. meantime their brother, john w. hall, marched with his regiment as far north as the lead mines of galena. here he informed col. h. gratiot, agent of the winnebagos, of his sisters' captivity, and the gallant colonel employed two chiefs, white crow and whirling thunder, to ransom the captives, and they started at once to black hawk's camp. a council was now called and it was agreed to ransom the prisoners for two thousand dollars and forty horses, besides a quantity of blankets, beads, etc. but the matter was not yet ended; a young chief claimed rachel as his prize, intending to make her his wife, and was unwilling to give her up. he even threatened to tomahawk her rather than let her go. after some delay a compromise was effected by giving him ten horses; but before parting with her he cut off two of her locks of hair as a trophy. the girls were now taken to galena, where they were rejoiced to meet their brother, john w., whom they supposed was killed in the massacre. an account of the capture of these sisters having been published throughout the country, the people everywhere were much rejoiced at their deliverance. the people of galena also vied with each other in honoring them and bestowing presents, including several handsome dresses, made in the latest fashion. after about a week's stay at galena they started to st. louis, accompanied by their brother, on board the steamer winnebago--the same boat, by the way, on which black hawk himself was afterward conveyed to jefferson barracks. at st. louis the sisters were entertained by governor clark. during their stay with the governor's family money amounting to $ was collected for them, besides many valuable presents. it was here they were met by rev. erastus horn, an old friend of their father, who conveyed them to his home in cass county, illinois. when their brother, john w. hall, married and settled in bureau county, the two girls made their home with him. the state legislature presented them with a quarter section of canal land near joliet, and congress afterward made an appropriation of money for their benefit. sylvia, the older, married rev. william horn, and established a home at lincoln, nebraska. rachel married william munson and settled at freedom, la salle county, near the scene of her captivity. here she remained until her untimely death a few years afterward. when pyps, shabbona's nephew, notified the settlers on fox river he came to a family by the name of harris. it seems that mr. harris and his two sons were away at the time hunting their horses, which had strayed off the day before, so the family had no means of escape except on foot. this would not have been so bad, but for the fact that old mr. combs, mrs. harris' father, made his home with her, and being confined to his bed with inflammatory rheumatism, could not go with the family in their flight. mrs. harris regretted to leave him to almost certain death. but the old hero exclaimed, "flee for your lives, and leave me to my fate; i am an old man and can live but a short time at any rate." mrs. harris and the grandchildren left him with sore hearts, never expecting to see him again. traveling slowly on foot they were overtaken by the aments and clarks, and later by mr. harris and his two sons. in due time they arrived at plainfield. soon after the departure of the harris family, the house was entered by a party of indians, who, finding supper on the table sat down and ate. during the meal they talked about the escape of their intended victims, and one remarked to the rest, "shabbona did this." verily, "the way to a man's heart is through his stomach." others besides "civilized man can not live without cooks," or at least it is here demonstrated that even savages appreciate good cooking. mrs. harris was a famous cook of that day, and this fact probably saved her father's life. it is more than probable that had the indians discovered "grandpa combs" before they had eaten that good supper, while they were hungry and savage, the old gentleman would have been tomahawked and scalped. but after supper the indians were in a better humor, and instead of killing the helpless old man, they actually _administered to his wants,_ and tried to make him comfortable. not only so, but for nearly a week they _visited him daily,_ supplying him with food and drink. thus matters continued until harris's house was visited by a company of rangers commanded by captain naper, who found old mr. combs so much improved in health that he was able to go with them to plainfield, and afterward to chicago with his friends. he survived the war several years, and often spoke of his kind treatment from the indians when he expected to be killed. while the regular army, under the command of general atkinson, camped at dixon's ferry waiting for reinforcements to enable them to pursue black hawk, a number of pottawatomie warriors joined it and were mustered into service. the warriors were led by shabbona, waubonsie and billy caldwell. general atkinson, after consulting with his officers and other parties about the merits of the three chiefs, gave the command of the warriors to shabbona. this gave offense to the other chiefs, each of whom expected the honor, and they shortly left the service, taking with them some of the warriors. shabbona and his band remained with the army during the campaign, doing good service as scouts, and keeping general atkinson posted on the movements of black hawk. general atkinson and his army came up with black hawk's band near four lakes, where they were secreted in the thick timber, surrounded by water and swampy land. an attempt was made to construct rafts to cross the water, but, night coming on, it was abandoned. in the darkness of the night some of black hawk's warriors came within hailing distance of the army and shouted across the narrow lake and swamp that black hawk's braves could whip atkinson's army, and their squaws could whip shabbona's warriors. at these taunting words shabbona became very indignant and asked permission of the general to take his warriors around the head of the lake and attack black hawk's men during the darkness of the night, but the request was not granted. next day the army went around the lake to attack the enemy. shabbona, at the head of his warriors, was ordered to charge the enemy. the order was obeyed. the indians, yelling their war-whoop, charged through the timber, but met with no resistance, as black hawk and his warriors had fled during the night. in the winter of and , governor clark, of st. louis, who had been appointed general indian agent of the west, hearing that shabbona had prevented the pottawatomies from becoming allies of black hawk, sent him a number of presents, among which was a handsome fur hat with a wide silver band. war and carnage were represented on one side of this silver band, on the other friendship, pipe of peace, etc. for safe keeping shabbona carried this hat to his friend, john m. gay, who lived a few miles north of what is now wyanet. mr. gay put it for safekeeping in the garret, but the following spring, during the black hawk war, he and his family fled from home, leaving the hat, with many other things, in his house. on returning at the close of the war he found that the indians had carried off most of his things, including shabbona's hat. after the war the chief called for his hat, and was much grieved to find it gone. the indians who stole the hat took it to black hawk's camp and presented it to that chief, and it was worn by him at the great feast and council near four lakes. it was afterward picked up on the battlefield of wisconsin river by one of general dodge's rangers, who carried it to galena, where it was kept some time as one of the trophies of the war. some years after the close of the war this hat was recognized by an indian as the one stolen from gay's house and worn by black hawk at the council of four lakes. the prediction made by black hawk that shabbona would soon be compelled to abandon his beloved village and go west to a reservation was fulfilled in the summer of . at that time the indian agent, capt. j. b. russell, notified the chief that his band must remove to the lands assigned them by the government, in accordance with the treaty, as no one but himself and family could remain at the grove. in imagination i hear some one say, "but this government order applied only to shabbona's band. of course, the government would not be so ungrateful to 'the white man's friend' as to force him to leave his happy home, where he had spent the most of his life, and go to a new reservation in a distant state." granting that this was the intention of the government, it was still a cruel deed to force the chief in his declining years to make a choice between his village and his band. let it not be forgotten that not only shabbona, but practically his entire band of warriors, fought on the side of the whites during the black hawk war, besides saving the lives of many settlers by warning them of danger. common justice, to say nothing of gratitude, should have impelled the government to make an exception in the case of shabbona and his band. a reservation should have been given them around and including shabbona's grove, and the title should have been secured to them, "while the grass grows and the water flows." {illustration: waubonsie, pottawatomie chief, whose village stood near aurora, ill.} "consistency is a jewel," but our government never displayed any of it in its dealings with the indians. black hawk's warriors, who arrayed themselves against the government, were sent across the mississippi to a reservation in the rich land of southeastern iowa, while shabbona's warriors, who fought bravely as allies of the government, are banished to a reservation in distant western kansas, a somewhat arid and inhospitable region. friend and foe are treated exactly alike, when a few greedy white men covet the indian's village and cornfields. the ways of our government in its dealings with the indians are past finding out. when notified by the agent, shabbona said he did not like to leave his happy home, but could not think of being separated from his people, therefore he would go with them. the agent offered to move them at the expense of the government, but shabbona said he did not require it, as they had plenty of ponies to carry all their tents, and the hunters could supply them with food while making the journey. shabbona's band left their grove in september, but stopped on bureau creek about six weeks, engaged in hunting and fishing. here he received the visits from a number of settlers, some of whom were the people he had warned during the black hawk war. these now expressed their gratitude by bringing into his camp green corn, melons, squashes and fruit of all kinds, and in return he sent them turkeys and venison. shabbona was afflicted with ague at this time and seemed very grateful to his white friends for their visits and presents. he told them he had hunted on bureau thirty years in succession, but this was probably his last hunt, as he was going to his reservation in the far west in a few days, where he expected to leave his bones. he was very sad at the thought of being compelled to leave the country where he had spent his infancy, youth and manhood, and be forced in his old age to seek a new home in a distant land. at the time of his departure for kansas his band consisted of one hundred and forty-two persons, old and young, and they had one hundred and sixty ponies. the journey was resumed late in october. soon after shabbona and his band settled on the reservation in western kansas, the black hawk band of sacs and foxes were moved from iowa to the same locality. this band, under the leadership of neopope, who was second in command during the war, settled on a reservation only about fifty miles from shabbona's, neopope had often declared he would kill shabbona, pypegee and pyps for notifying the settlers of danger and fighting against them during the late war. shabbona had been warned of these threats, but did not believe he would ever be harmed. in the fall of , shabbona, pypegee, pyps and five others went on a buffalo hunt about one hundred miles from home. neopope heard of it, and thinking this a good time to take his revenge, raised a war party and followed them. about midnight, when all were asleep, this party of sacs and foxes attacked the camp, killing pypegee and pyps and wounding another hunter, who was overtaken and slain. shabbona, his son, smoke, and four others escaped from the camp, but neopope and his warriors were hot on their trail and pursued them almost to their village. the fugitives reached home the third day, more dead than alive, having traveled more than one hundred miles on foot, without rest or food. knowing that he would be killed if he remained in kansas, the aged chief left immediately for his farm in de kalb county, illinois, accompanied by his family, consisting of two squaws, children and grandchildren, about twenty-five people in all. he arrived at his destination the latter part of november, . some time during the spring of , some of shabbona's family discovered an old decrepit squaw hid in the thick timber near the village. her face was partly covered with a buckskin headdress, and highly colored with different kinds of paint. strange to say, she was armed with rifle, knife and tomahawk, and a jaded pony hitched near by showed evidence of a long journey. the aged squaw would give no account of herself, nor could they get her to tell whence she came or her destination. she seemed sullen and morose, and having been furnished with food, mounted her pony and left the grove. it was afterward learned that this old squaw was not a squaw at all, but neopope, the war-chief of black hawk's band, who had assumed that disguise and was there to assassinate shabbona. having been discovered and fearing detection caused him to leave without accomplishing his object. shabbona did not know the true character of the old squaw until he visited kansas, after the death of neopope, and the incident was told by some of his friends. in the spring of shabbona, with his family, went to visit his band in kansas and remained there over two years. as soon as he was gone certain parties made affidavits that he had sold and abandoned his reservation and gone west to live. these papers were sent to the general land office at washington, and the commissioner decided that by abandoning his land shabbona had forfeited his right to the reservation. when he returned in the fall of with his family, he was amazed to find the whites in possession of his village, cornfields and grove. when he found himself deprived of all that he held dear, he broke down and cried like a child. many days he gave himself up to sadness and refused to be comforted, and each night he went to a lonely place in the grove and prayed to the great spirit. to add insult to injury, the white ruffian who now had possession of the grove cursed the aged chief for cutting a few camp poles, and burning a few dry limbs for cooking, and ordered him to leave "his" grove, which had been shabbona's home for fifty years. he was now old--past three score and ten--no longer capable of getting a living by hunting, as formerly, and with a number of small grandchildren depending on him for support. with a sad heart shabbona looked for the last time upon the graves of departed loved ones, and then left the grove forever. shabbona never could understand why the government should dispossess him of his reservation in his old age, just when he needed it most. can you understand it, gentle reader? the aged chief and his family now camped in a grove of timber on big rock creek, where he remained some time undecided what to do. here his white friends of other days came to see him and brought many presents. it was during his stay at this place that the citizens of ottawa, at the solicitation of ex-sheriff george e. walker, raised money to buy and improve a small tract of land on the south bank of the illinois river, two miles above seneca, in grundy county. here his friends built a comfortable frame dwelling, with fencing and other improvements, and presented it to shabbona for a home. the house was pleasantly situated and commanded a splendid view of the river, but shabbona preferred to live in a wigwam and the residence was used only as a storehouse. the government gave him an annuity of two hundred dollars, as a black hawk war veteran; this fund, supplemented by gifts from his friends, kept him above want. while living at this place, shabbona received a call from williamson durley, of putnam county, who gave him a special invitation to visit at his house. mr. durley had been a merchant at hennepin a number of years, and shabbona often traded with him for goods for his band, paying for them in furs. their business relations were pleasant and shabbona regarded mr. durley as one of his best friends. while on this visit shabbona was accompanied by three daughters and his grandson, a lad of twelve years of age, named smoke. at the suggestion of mr. durley the whole party dressed themselves in full indian costume, with feathers, paint, rings, beads, etc., and mounted on horseback they visited hennepin, where they attracted much attention. all the citizens turned out to honor them with a hearty reception. at different times shabbona was selected by the pottawatomie tribe to represent their interest at the national capital. on one of these visits to washington, general cass introduced him to the president, some of the members of congress, heads of departments and others. a large crowd had collected in the rotunda of the capitol to see shabbona, when general cass introduced him to the audience, saying, "shabbona is the greatest red man of the west; he has always been a friend to the whites and saved many of their lives during the black hawk war." at the conclusion of this speech people came forward to shake hands with the chief, and many of the ladies _met him with a kiss._ on another of the trips to washington, while shabbona, with other chiefs, was standing on the east portico of the capitol engaged in conversation an elegantly dressed gentleman approached the group, and, looking earnestly at shabbona, exclaimed, "were you not in the battle of frenchtown in ?" on receiving an affirmative answer, he continued, "do you remember saving the life of a wounded lieutenant from kentucky by the name of shelby?" the chief remembered the incident, when the gentleman exclaimed, "well, i am that same lieutenant shelby!" mr. shelby showed his gratitude by the presentation of several gifts. hon. perry a. armstrong, of morris, illinois, for many years an intimate friend of shabbona, says: "we were in joliet one chilly night in november, , and put up at the exchange hotel. arising a little after daylight, we opened the window-blind of our bedroom, when we noticed an indian slowly walking up and down the sidewalk opposite the hotel, beating his arms around his body to keep up a circulation of blood. a high, tight-board fence stood on the west of the sidewalk, close up to which we beheld three persons lying, well wrapped in blankets. on reaching the street we were greeted with 'boozhu coozhu nicon' (how do you do, my friend), in the familiar voice of shabbona. his wife, daughter and grandchild were sleeping sweetly and comfortably under the shelter of the board fence, wrapped in their own blankets, to which the old chief had added his while he kept watch and ward during the long cold night over his sleeping loved ones, although he was over fourscore years of age. always considerate of the rights and comforts of others, shabbona was diffident and cautious in approaching the home of a white man. he had reached joliet late the night previous, and was too diffident to wake anybody to ask for shelter. finding this high fence would ward off the fierce western wind, he arranged his wife and daughter and little grandchild so they could be comfortable, and gave them his own blanket, while he kept himself from chilling by constant exercise." on one occasion shabbona was on a hunting trip in the big woods of the kankakee river, hoping to find a deer, accompanied by his family and some friends from kansas. while the old chief and his friends were off hunting the man who owned the grove where they were encamped came and abused the squaws by calling them hard names, and ordered them to leave. he even tore down one of the tents in his anger. of course shabbona was indignant when he returned and heard of it, and determined to move his camp the next morning. that evening about sunset the owner of the timber, accompanied by two of his neighbors, returned to the indian camp, when the old chief offered his hand, at the same time exclaiming, "me shabbona." this introduction usually acted as a talisman among settlers, by giving him a hearty welcome wherever his camp was pitched, but with this ruffian it failed of its magical effect. his answer was to inform the chief, with an oath, that if he did not immediately leave he would destroy his tents. shabbona took out some pieces of silver and offered them to him in payment for a few tent poles and firewood. but this did not satisfy the enraged man. being in a terrible rage, his voice raised to a high pitch, he told the chief that if he did not leave his timber at once he would move him, and, in carrying out his threats, upset a kettle containing the indian's supper. this was too much for the old chief. it was now his turn to get angry, because forbearance had ceased to be a virtue; therefore, he took his tomahawk and knife out of his belt, laying them on the ground by the side of his rifle, and then going up to the man, said to him in broken english, his eyes flashing fire, that if he did not shut his mouth he would knock every tooth down his throat. the owner of the timber was completely cowed, he turned pale, and without saying another word made a hasty retreat, leaving shabbona to move his encampment when it suited him. one fourth of july the people of ottawa, illinois, determined to celebrate in grand style, and at the same time raise a fund for the benefit of shabbona. mounted on his favorite pony, with all his indian costume, the aged chief led the procession. that evening they gave a splendid ball in a large hall; and as the price of the tickets was high and the attendance large, quite a sum of money was realized. one of the belles of that city proposed that shabbona should be asked to select the prettiest lady at the ball, thinking, of course, she would be the favored one. the proposition was accepted with hilarious approval, because there were many others who had claims to beauty. when all the ladies were seated around the hall and the old chief was informed by his friend, george e. walker, of what they wished him to do, he accepted the task, and with a broad smile on his face and a merry twinkle in his eye, which meant fun, he started at the lower end of the hall, and by a sign made them understand that he wished them to rise _seriatim,_ as he came to each, and required them to walk up the length of the hall and back again and be seated before he examined the next. this he did to every lady in the hall, examining their dress, form and gait as critically as a horse jockey would a horse before purchase. none escaped the examination, old or young, from the girl in her teens to the aged matron, even including okono, his four-hundred-pound squaw. when all had been examined in this way he approached his wife, slapped her on the shoulder, and remarked, "much big, heap prettiest squaw." there was a loud shout of approval--not of his judgment of beauty, but of his good sense and knowledge of human nature. had he selected one of the many really beautiful young ladies, by that selection he would have offended the rest, but by choosing his own squaw, he turned the whole affair into a huge joke. matson informs us that a few years before his death, the aged chief gave all his family christian names, in addition to their indian names, assuming the name of benjamin himself. our tawny hero passed away at his residence on the illinois river, july , , aged eighty-four years, and was buried with much ceremony in morris cemetery. for many years no stone marked the grave. but at the twenty-ninth annual reunion of the old settlers of la salle county, illinois, held at ottawa on august , , with several thousand people present, hon. charles f. gunther, of chicago, offered a motion for the appointment of a committee of old settlers to devise ways and means for the erection of a suitable monument to the memory of shabbona, to be placed where he was buried, which motion was unanimously carried. after the committee was appointed, it organized by electing p. a. armstrong, president; c. f. gunther, r. c. jordan and g. m. hollenbeck, vice-presidents; l. a. williams, secretary, and e. y. griggs, treasurer. they now became incorporated under the statute as "the shabbona memorial association." all this resulted in raising funds and erecting a monument, which was unveiled and dedicated october , . the president of the association, hon. perry a. armstrong, of morris, in dedicating the monument, used corn, beans, pumpkins and tobacco, instead of corn, wine and oil, stating that "they were native products of north america, and used by the indians. corn and beans were their staff of life, pumpkins and squashes their relishes, and tobacco their solace. they used it in their pipes but never chewed it." short addresses were also made by ex-congressman henderson, of princeton; hon. m. n. armstrong, of ottawa, and hon. r. c. jordan. the latter began by saying, "character speaks louder than words. a great man never dies. and great are the people who are great enough to know what is great. man has shown an innate goodness by his disposition in all ages to laud the good deeds of his fellows. and that he has ever cherished ideals higher than self is proven by the tributes offered to the memory of his dead." by the side of shabbona slumber his wife, canoka; mary, his daughter; his granddaughter, mary okonto, and his nieces, metwetch, chicksaw, and soco. the monument is a huge bowlder of granite, fit symbol of the rugged, imperishable character of him who sleeps beneath, and contains the simple inscription: "shabbona, - ." {illustration: plan of sitting bull's tepee, as drawn by scout allison.} {illustration: sitting bull, or tatanka yotanka, renowned sioux chief and medicine man.} chapter xiii. sitting bull, or tatanka yotanka, the great sioux chief and medicine man. the sioux or dakota indians were first seen by the french explorers in , near the head waters of the mississippi river. the algonquins called them nadowessioux, whence the name gradually became shortened into sioux. this was the largest family or confederation in the northwest and was divided into a number of tribes, known as the santee, sisseton, wahpeton, yankton, yanktonnais, teton, brule, ogalalla and unepapa. these are all sioux proper, and still number nearly thirty thousand tall, well-built indians, with large features and heavy, massive faces. they are perhaps the finest type of plains indians, who, until recent years, lived by hunting the buffalo. at one time their territory extended east of the mississippi and from the source of the "father of waters" to the upper missouri, but they live at present chiefly in the states of north and south dakota. undoubtedly the most famous leader of the sioux was the subject of this sketch. he was great in spite of the fact that he was a medicine man, rather than chief proper, and that his tongue was mightier than his tomahawk. sitting bull was born on willow creek, dakota, in . he is said to have been an unepapa, though he signed the treaty in as an oglala. he is described as a heavy built indian, with a large, massive head, and, strange to say, _brown hair,_ which is very rare among indians. his complexion was also light and his face badly marked with smallpox. he was about five feet ten inches tall, possessed a fine physique and striking appearance, with his prominent hooked nose, and fierce half-bloodshot eyes gleaming from under brows which indicate large perceptive organs. judging from his photograph, taken in a standing position, he was slightly bow-legged, and wore his hair in two heavy braids hanging on either side in front of his shoulders. sitting bull's reputation was more of the agitator and schemer than of the warrior. as cyrus townsend bradley, in his "indian fights and fighters," well says, "the indians said he had a big head but a little heart, and they esteemed him something of a coward; in spite of this his influence over the chiefs and the indians was paramount, and remained so until his death. "perhaps he lacked the physical courage which is necessary in fighting, but he must have had abundant moral courage, for he was the most implacable enemy and the most dangerous--because of his ability, which was so great as to overcome the indian's contempt for his lack of personal courage--that the united states had ever had among the indians. he was a strategist, a tactician--everything but a fighter. however, his lack of fighting qualities was not serious, for he gathered around him a dauntless array of war-chiefs, the first among them being crazy horse, an ogalalla, a skilful and indomitable, as well as a brave and ferocious leader." there was probably, no other sioux who could make so proud a showing of the combined essentials of leadership as this prophet, priest, medicine man and chief. the leading events of the early part of his career were recorded by himself and fell into the hands of the whites by an accident soon after the phil. kearney massacre. it seems that a yanktonnais indian brought to fort buford an old roster-book of the thirty-first infantry, which had on the blank sides of the leaves a series of portraitures of the doings of a mighty warrior. they were rather skilfully executed in brown and black inks, with coloring added for the horses and clothing. the totem in the corner of each pictograph, a buffalo bull on its haunches, connected with the hero by a line, revealed the fact that it was a history of sitting bull, who with a band of warriors had been committing depredations in that part of the country for several years. the yanktonnais indian finally admitted that he had stolen it from sitting bull and sold it for a dollar and a half's worth of supplies. almost every picture of the first twenty-five represents the slaughter of enemies of all sorts--indians and white men, women and children, frontiersmen, railroad hands, teamsters and soldiers. he was as impartial as death itself, and all was grist that came to his mill. the next lot of about a dozen show his exploits as a collector of horses, a pursuit at which he was a brilliant success. the last few pictures represent him as leader of the strong hearts--a sioux fraternity of warriors noted for their bravery and fortitude--charging two crow villages. in one of these encounters thirty scalps were taken. these picture diaries are usually correct in detail. ordinarily they are made on buffalo robes, or buckskin, and are kept by the hero to display among his own people who are acquainted with the facts of which he boasts. in this case there were soldiers at the fort who could vouch for the truth of some of the picture records. while, therefore, sitting bull was not a chief of any great prominence during "the piping times of peace," he had a record as a fighter and a reputation as a skilful commander, which made him a powerful loadstone of attraction to the discontented sioux of the agencies. these always thought of him, and flocked to his camp at the first outbreak of hostility. it was stated at one time that sitting bull, while hating the white americans, and disdaining to speak their language, was yet very fond of the french canadians, that he talked french and that he had been converted to christianity by a french jesuit, named father de smet. it is uncertain how much truth there is in the statement, but there is probably some foundation for it. certain it is, the french jesuits have always been noted for their wonderful success in gaining the affections of the indians, as well as for the transitory nature of their conversions. it is quite possible that father de smet may not only have baptized sitting bull some time, but induced him and his braves to attend mass, as performed by himself in the wilderness. there was never any real evidence of a change of heart, and the benefits of the conversion were only skin deep, as far as preventing cruelty in war was concerned. it can not be denied that sitting bull was an indian of unusual powers of mind, and a warrior whose talent amounted to genius. he must have been a general of the highest order, to have set the united states at defiance, as he did, for ten long years. that he was able to do this so long was owing to his skilful use of two advantages: a central position surrounded by "bad-lands," and the quarter circle of agencies from which he and his band drew supplies as wards of the government, and allies, every campaign. these so-called "bad-lands" are large sections of clay soil, baked into chasms, four or five feet wide and perhaps twenty feet deep, by the long and intense droughts of that climate. this rough country, impassable for wagons, surrounded the hostiles at the time of which we write. in the face of these advantages and of sitting bull's talents as a warrior, the government decided to pacify them by giving the indians all they asked, in the treaty of . thus matters stood from to , when sitting bull, accompanied by red cloud and spotted tail, visited the national capital. the three distinguished sioux chiefs attracted marked attention, and were feasted and entertained by some of the leading men of the nation. general grant was then president and the great father granted an audience with the three chiefs. the president and his advisers tried to induce the sioux leaders to sign a new treaty, because--well gold had been discovered in the black hills, most of which by treaty belonged to the sioux, but the three chiefs stubbornly refused to sign any treaty whatever, even at the request of the great father. "peace hath her victories no less renowned than war." she also has her defeats, and this was one of them. finding nothing could be accomplished in the way of a new treaty, or peaceable settlement of the vexatious question, it was determined in to try one more campaign against sitting bull and his hostiles. when gold was discovered in the black hills, there was the usual rush of miners and turbulent frontier population. notwithstanding the fact that our authorities warned the emigrants to keep away, thousands of desperate men were soon engaged in the scramble for the precious metal. by way of retaliation, the sioux left their reservation and began burning houses, stealing horses and killing settlers in montana and wyoming. a strong force of regulars under generals crook and terry marched against them in the mountainous country of the upper yellowstone, and several thousand warriors under sitting bull were driven back toward the big horn mountains and river. gen. george a. custer and major reno were sent forward with the seventh cavalry to locate the hostiles. custer started on june d, and early in the morning of the th, , discovered the camp of sitting bull. the village extended three and a half miles up the little big horn and is estimated to have contained at least five thousand people. any one else but custer would have waited for reinforcements, or retired without risking a battle with such tremendous odds against him, but this was not custer's way. it is quite probable he did not realize what a fearful hornet's nest he was about to stir up. certain it is, custer, as had always been his custom, divided his command into three parts--one division under major reno, one under captain benteen, the third commanded by himself. reno was ordered to charge the lower end of the village, benteen to charge the center on the opposite side, and he intended to strike the enemy on the upper end of the valley. the particulars of what followed can never be known, since custer and every one of his immediate command were killed. as in the case of the fall of the alamo, in , none of the soldiers survived to tell the story. there were, however, two survivors who were not soldiers in the strictest sense of the term. they were curley, the crow scout, who escaped by letting down his hair and donning a blanket, and thus disguising himself as a sioux. he claims to have found an unguarded pass through which he escaped and to have informed general custer of it. he even urged custer to mount his fleet horse and ride for his life. but that gallant hero preferred to die by his men, rather than attempt to escape in this selfish manner. the other survivor was comanche, the famous horse of captain keogh, a relative of general custer. he was found about a day's journey from the battlefield, and as he had seven bad wounds, and was very weak from loss of blood, the soldiers never expected to get him back to camp, but by constructing a strong litter of poles and army blankets this was accomplished. with the best of treatment the equine hero fully recovered, and was given an honorable discharge. special provision was made for the care and support of comanche at fort riley. once in a while, when the cavalry troops were on inspection, comanche was led out, saddled and bridled, but no one ever sat in his saddle after the battle of the little big horn. custer's command used the dead bodies of their horses killed by the indians for a barricade. as the soldiers began the attack with a charge, every horse had been saddled. when, however, comanche was found he was stripped of his saddle, bridle and accoutrements. it is therefore supposed that the indians stripped and left him, believing he could not recover. he is known to be the sole survivor of the cavalry horses, as the body of every other horse was found among the heaps of slain. comanche was one of the original mounts of the seventh cavalry, which was organized in , and had been in almost every battle with the indian service of that thrilling period. he was now taken in charge by captain rowlan and sent to fort riley, where for fourteen years he roamed the pasture at will, and was the pet of the seventh cavalry. he received the kindest of treatment until he died of old age, november , . at the time of his death it was estimated that he was forty-five years old. this is the more remarkable when it is remembered that few horses reach the age of thirty-five years. comanche's skin was stuffed and mounted and placed in the museum of the kansas state university. it was afterward on exhibition at the columbian exposition in chicago, where it was seen by the author. as there were no white survivors of the custer fight on little big horn, the historian is compelled to get his information from the indian leaders. sitting bull, gall and rain-in-the-face, itiomagaju, have each been induced to give their versions of it. we have not thought it best to quote sitting bull's statement. he was absent at the time of the battle "making medicine," took no active part in it, and we consider the whole story as either drawn on his imagination, or that of the reporter who interviewed him. we quote the account of rain-in-the-face, because he at least was present at the battle, and is the accredited slayer of capt. tom custer. it seems that rain-in-the-face had waylaid and murdered dr. houzinger, a veterinary surgeon, and mr. baliran, a sutler, who were stragglers in the rear, at the time of the yellowstone expedition under general stanley. not long after this rain-in-the-face, with other young sioux, took part in the sun dance, a ceremonial performance of great torture in which the aspirants give final proof of endurance and courage which entitles them to the _toga virilis_ of a full-fledged, warrior. one feature of it was the suspension in air of the candidate by a rawhide rope passed through slits cut in the breast, or elsewhere, until the flesh tears and he falls to the ground. if he faints, falters or fails, or even gives way momentarily to his anguish during the period of suspension, he is called and treated as a squaw for the rest of his miserable life. edward esmond says, "rain-in-the-face was lucky when he was so tied up; the tendons gave way easily, and he was released after so short a suspension that it was felt he had not fairly won his spurs. sitting bull, the chief medicine man, decided that the test was unsatisfactory. rain-in-the-face thereupon defied sitting bull to do his worst, declaring there was no test could wring a murmur of pain from his lips. "sitting bull was equal to the occasion. he cut deep slits in the back over the kidneys, the hollows remaining were big enough almost to take in a closed fist years after, and passed the rawhide rope through them. for two days the young indian hung suspended, taunting his torturers, jeering at them, defying them to do their worst, while singing his war songs and boasting of his deeds. the tough flesh, muscles and tendons would not tear loose although he kicked and struggled violently to get free. finally, sitting bull, satisfied that rain-in-the-face's courage and endurance were above proof, ordered buffalo skulls to be tied to his legs, and the added weight, with some more vigorous kicking, enabled the indian stoic to break free. it was one of the most wonderful exhibitions of stoicism, endurance and courage ever witnessed among the sioux, where these qualities were not infrequent." rain-in-the-face had passed the test. no one thereafter questioned his courage. he was an approved warrior, indeed. it was while suspended thus that he boasted of the murder of dr. houzinger and mr. baliran, and was overheard by charley reynolds, the scout, who told custer and the regiment. rain-in-the-face was arrested at standing rock agency by a squad of soldiers under the command of capt. tom custer, whom the indians called little hair, to distinguish him from his brother, the general, whom they called long hair. he was put in the guard-house and condemned to execution, but, with the aid of white prisoners, made his escape. before doing so, however, he told tom custer, in the event of his escape, he would cut his heart out and eat it. {illustration: sitting bull's two wives and daughters.} from now on we will let the noted warrior tell his own story as found in _outdoor life,_ of march, : "i rejoined sitting bull and gall. they were afraid to come and get me there. i sent little hair a picture, on a piece of buffalo skin, of a bloody-heart. he knew i didn't forget my vow. the next time i saw little hair, ugh! i got his heart. i have said all." and, indian-like, he stopped. but we wanted to hear how he took tom custer's heart. mcfadden, who is quite an artist as well as an actor of note, had made an imaginary sketch of "custer's last charge." he got it and handed it to rain, saying: "does that look anything like the fight?" rain studied it for a long time, and then burst out laughing. "no," he said, "this picture is a lie. those long swords, have swords--they never fought us with swords, but with guns and revolvers. these men are on ponies--they fought us on foot, and every fourth man held the others' horses. that's always their way of fighting. we tie ourselves onto our ponies and fight in a circle. these people are not dressed as we dress in a fight. they look like agency indians--we strip naked and have ourselves and our ponies painted. this picture gives us bows and arrows. we were better armed than the long swords. their guns wouldn't shoot but once--the thing would not throw out the empty cartridge shells. (in this he was historically correct, as dozens of guns were picked up on the battlefield by general gibbon's command, two days after, with the shells still sticking in them, showing that the ejector wouldn't work.) when we found they could not shoot we saved our bullets by knocking the long swords over with our war-clubs--it was just like killing sheep. some of them got on their knees and begged; we spared none--ugh! this picture is like all the white man's pictures of indians, a lie. i will show you how it looked." then turning it over he pulled out a stump of a lead pencil from his pouch and drew a large shape of a letter s turned sidewise. "here," said he, "is the little big horn river; we had our-lodges along the banks in the shape of a bent bow." "how many lodges did you have?" asked harry. "oh, many, many times ten. we were like blades of grass." [it is estimated that there were between four and six thousand indians, hence there must have been at least a thousand lodges.] "sitting bull had made big medicine way off on a hill. he came in with it; he had it in a bag on a coup-stick. he made a big speech and said that waukontonka (the great spirit) had come to him riding on an eagle. waukontonka had told him that the long swords were coming, but the indians would wipe them off the face of the earth. his speech made our hearts glad. next day our runners came in and told us the long swords were coming. sitting bull had the squaws put up empty death lodges along the bend of the river to fool the ree scouts when they came up and looked down over the bluffs. the brush and bend hid our lodges. then sitting bull went away to make more medicine and didn't come back till the fight was over. "gall was head chief. crazy horse led the cheyennes; goose, the bannocks. i was not a head chief--my brother, iron horn was--but i had a band of the worst uncpapas; all of them had killed more enemies than they had fingers and toes. when the long swords came we knew their ponies were tired out. we knew they were fooled by the death lodges. they thought we were but a handful. "we knew they made a mistake when they separated. gall took most of the indians up the river to come in between them and cut them off. we saw the ree scouts had stayed back with long yellow hair, and we were glad. we saw them trotting along, and let them come in over the bluffs. some of our young men went up the gully which they had crossed and cut them off from behind. "then we showed our line in front, and the long swords charged. they reeled under our fire and started to fall back. our young men behind them opened fire. then we saw some officers talking and pointing. don't know who they were, for they all looked alike. i didn't see long hair then or afterward. we heard the rees singing their death song--they knew we had them. all dismounted and every fourth man held the others' ponies. then we closed all around them. we rushed like a wave does at the sand out there (this interview occurred at coney island) and shot the pony holders and stampeded the ponies by waving our blankets in their faces. our squaws caught them, for they were tired out. "i had sung the war-song--i had smelt the powder smoke--my heart was bad--i was like one that had no mind. i rushed in and took their flag; my pony fell dead as i took it. i cut the thong that bound me. i jumped up and brained the long-sword flagman with my war-club and ran back to our line with the flag. "the long sword's blood and brains splashed in my face. it felt hot and blood ran in my mouth. i could taste it. i was mad. i got a fresh pony and rushed back, shooting, cutting and slashing. this pony was shot and i got another. "this time i saw little hair. i remembered my vow. i was crazy. i feared nothing. i knew nothing would hurt me, for i had my white-weasel-tail-charm on. {fn} [he was wearing the charm at the time he told this.] i don't know how many i killed trying to get at him. he knew me. i laughed at him and yelled at him. i saw his mouth move, but there was so much noise i couldn't hear his voice. he was afraid. when i got near enough i shot him with my revolver. my gun was gone, i don't know where. i leaped from my pony and cut out his heart and bit a piece out of it and spit it in his face. i got back on my pony and rode off shaking it. i was satisfied and sick of fighting; i didn't scalp him." * * * * * {fn} notwithstanding his white-weasel-tail charm rain-in-the-face was wounded in this battle. a bullet pierced his right leg just above the knee. with a razor the wounded man attempted some surgery. first he cut deeply into the front of his leg, but failed to reach the bullet. then he reached around to the back of his leg and cut into the flesh from that quarter. he got the bullet, also several tendons, and narrowly missed cutting the artery and bleeding to death. he was lame and had to walk on crutches all his life thereafter. [statement of mr. esmond.] "i didn't go back on the field after that. the squaws came up afterward and killed the wounded, cut their bootlegs off for moccasin soles and took their money, watches and rings. they cut their fingers off to get them quicker. they hunted for long yellow hair to scalp him, but could not find him. he didn't wear his fort clothes (uniform), his hair had been cut off, and the indians didn't know him. [this corroborates what mrs. custer says about her husband having his long yellow curls cut at st. paul some weeks before he was killed.] "that night we had a big feast and the scalp dance. then sitting bull came up and made another speech. he said, 'i told you how it would be. i made great medicine. my medicine warmed your hearts and made you brave.' "he talked a long time. all the indians gave him the credit of winning the fight because his medicine won it. but he wasn't in the fight. gall got mad at sitting bull that night. gall said: 'we did the fighting, you only made medicine. it would have been the same anyway.' their hearts were bad towards each other after that always. "after that fight we could have killed all the others on the hill (reno's command) but for the quarrel between gall and sitting bull. both wanted to be head chief. some of the indians said gall was right and went with him. some said sitting bull was. i didn't care, i was my own chief and had my bad young men; we would not obey either of them unless we wanted to, and they feared us. "i was sick of fighting--i had had enough. i wanted to dance. we heard more long swords were coming with wheel guns (artillery, gatlings). we moved camp north. they followed many days till we crossed the line into canada. i stayed over there till sitting bull came back, and i came back with him. that is all there is to tell. i never told it to white men before." when he had finished, i said to him: "rain, if you didn't kill long yellow hair, who did?" "_i don't know. no one knows._ it was like running in the dark." "well," asked mae, "why was it long yellow hair wasn't scalped, when every one else was? did you consider him too brave to be scalped?" "no one is too brave to be scalped; that wouldn't make any difference. the squaws wondered afterward why they couldn't find him. he must have lain under some other dead bodies. i didn't know, till i heard it long afterward from the whites, that he wasn't scalped." rain-in-the-face was about sixty-two years of age at the time of his death, which occurred at standing rock agency, north dakota, september , , and was the last chief to survive and tell the tale of the custer fight, gall and sitting bull have both gone to hunt the white buffalo long since. rain could write his name in english. he was taught to do it at the world's fair in order to sell longfellow's poem entitled, "the revenge of rain-in-the-face." he didn't know the significance of it after he had written it. his knowledge of english was confined to about thirty words, but he could not say them so any one could understand him, though he could understand almost anything that was said in english. the author recalls seeing him at the world's fair while hunting indian data. he looked then very much like his picture and walked with crutches. like many other indians, his gratitude was for favors to come and not for favors already shown. you could depend upon any promise he made, but it took a world of patience to get him to promise anything. even at the age of sixty he was still a hercules. in form and face he was the most pronounced type of the ideal fenimore cooper dime novel indian in america. upon the arrival of news of the custer fight at fort leavenworth, kansas, general miles and the fifth infantry were ordered to proceed to the scene of hostilities and form part of the large command already there. the order was at once obeyed. on october lieut.-col. e. s. otis, commanding a battalion of four companies of the twenty-third infantry, was escorting a wagon train of supplies from glendive, montana, to the cantonment, when he was attacked by a large force of indians. the soldiers had a hard fight to keep the animals from being stampeded, and the train from capture. they finally beat off the indians, and during a temporary cessation of hostilities, a messenger rode out from the indian lines, waving a paper, which was left on a hill in sight. when it was picked up colonel otis found it to be an imperious message, probably written by some half-breed, but dictated by the subject of this sketch. it ran as follows: "yellowstone. "i want to know what you are doing traveling on this road. you scare all the buffalo away. i want to hunt in this place. i want you to turn back from here. if you don't i will fight you again. i want you to leave what you have got here and turn back from here. "i am your friend. sitting bull." "i mean all the rations you have got and some powder. wish you would write as soon as you can." this document was certainly unique in indian warfare, as it illustrates both the spirit and naivete of the noted chief. colonel otis dispatched a scout to sitting bull with the information that he intended to take his wagon train through to headquarters in spite of all the indians on earth, and if sitting bull wanted to have a fight, he (otis) would be glad to accommodate him at any time and on any terms. the train soon started and the indians as promptly resumed the attack. but the engagement was soon terminated by a flag of truce. a messenger from the indians stated that they were tired and hungry and wanted to treat for peace. otis invited sitting bull to come into his lines, but that wily chief refused, although he sent three chiefs to represent him. otis had no authority to treat for peace, but he gave the indians a small quantity of hard bread and two sides of bacon. he also advised them to go to tongue river and communicate with his superior officer, general miles. the train now moved on, and after following a short distance with threatening movements the indians withdrew. the same night otis met general miles with his entire force, who sent the train on to the cantonment, and started after sitting bull. miles's little army at this time numbered three hundred and ninety-eight men, with one gatling gun. with sitting bull were gall and other noted chiefs, and one thousand warriors of the miniconjous, san ares, brules and uncpapas, together with their women and children, in all over three thousand indians. miles overtook sitting bull on october , at cedar creek, when that chief asked for an interview, which was arranged. sitting bull was attended by a sub-chief and six warriors, miles by an aide and six troopers. the meeting took place at a halfway point between the two lines, all parties being mounted. in his "indian fights and fighters," cyrus townsend brady says of this interview: "sitting bull wanted peace on the old basis. the indians demanded permission to retain their arms, with liberty to hunt and roam at will over the plains and through the mountains, with no responsibility to any one, while the government required them to surrender their arms and come into the agencies. the demands were irreconcilable, therefore. the interview was an interesting one, and though it began calmly enough, it grew exciting toward the end. "sitting bull, whom miles describes as a fine, powerful, intelligent, determined looking man, was evidently full of bitter and persistent animosity toward the white race. he said, 'no indian that ever lived loved the white man, and no white man that ever lived loved the indian; that god almighty had made him an indian, but he didn't make him an agency indian, and he didn't intend to be one.' the manner of the famous chief had been cold, but dignified and courteous. as the conversation progressed, he became angry--so enraged, in fact, that in miles's words, 'he finally gave an exhibition of wild frenzy. his whole manner seemed more like that of a wild beast than a human being. his face assumed a furious expression. his jaws were lightly closed, his lips were compressed and you could see his eyes glisten with the fire of savage hatred.' "one can not help admiring the picture presented by the splendid, though ferocious, savage. i have no doubt general miles himself admired him. "at the height of the conference, a young warrior stole out from the indian lines and slipped a carbine under sitting bull's blanket. he was followed by several other indians, to the number of a dozen, who joined the band, evidently meditating treachery. miles, who with his aide, was armed with revolvers only, promptly required these new auxiliaries to retire, else the conference would be terminated immediately. his demand was reluctantly obeyed. after some further talk a second meeting was appointed for the morrow, and the conference broke up. "during the night miles moved his command in position to be able to intercept the movement of the indians the next day. there was another interview with the picturesque and imperious savage, whose conditions of peace were found to be absolutely impossible, since they involved the abandonment of all military posts, the withdrawal of all settlers, garrisons, etc., from the country. he wanted everything and would give nothing. he spoke like a conqueror, and looked like one, although his subsequent actions were not in keeping with the part. miles, seeing the futility of further discussion, peremptorily broke up the conference. he told sitting bull that he would take no advantage of the flag of truce, but that he would give him just fifteen minutes to get back to his people to prepare for fighting. shouting defiance, the chiefs rode back to the indian lines. "there was 'mounting in hot haste' and hurried preparations made for immediate battle on both sides. watch in hand, miles checked off the minutes, and exactly at the time appointed he ordered an advance. the indians set fire to the dry grass, which was not yet covered with snow, and the battle was joined amid clouds of flame and smoke. although outnumbered nearly three to one, the attack of the soldiers was pressed home so relentlessly that the indians were driven back from their camp, which fell into the possession of miles. "the sioux were not beaten, however, for the discomfited warriors rallied a force to protect their flying women and children, under the leadership of gall and others. sitting bull not being as much of a fighter as a talker. they were led to the fight again and again by their intrepid chiefs. on one occasion, so impetuous was their gallantry that the troops were forced to form a square to repel their wild charges. before the battle was over--and it continued into the next day--the indians had been driven headlong for over forty miles." {illustration: chief gall, war chief of the sioux.} "they had suffered a serious loss in warriors, but a greater in the destruction of their camp equipage and winter supplies and other property. two thousand of them came in on the third day and surrendered under promises of good treatment. several hundred broke into small parties and scattered. miles's little force was too small to be divided to form a guard for the indians; he had other things to do, so he detained a number of the principal chiefs as hostages, and exacted promises from the rest that they would surrender at the spotted tail or red cloud agency--a promise which, by the way, the great majority of them kept. sitting bull, gall and about four hundred others refused to surrender, and made for the boundary line, escaping pursuit for the time being." here they were joined by the brothers iron horn and rain-in-the-face, each leading a band. sitting bull now determined to make his home in british america, and seemed to be on friendly terms with his cousin john of the same surname. his following was augmented by discontented indians from the reservations, who were continually crossing the boundary to join the famous chief. canada thus became the sanctuary of refuge for the indian, as it had formerly been for the negro slave, but the two races were impelled by entirely different motives. that of the negro was to escape cruel servitude, often with the accompaniment of the overseer's lash or the bloodhound's fangs; while the incentive of the indian in fleeing from our reservations was the hope of escaping _impending starvation._ one of the military commanders, in his official report, says, "the hostile body was largely reenforced by accessions from the various agencies, where the malcontents were, doubtless in many cases, driven to desperation by starvation and the heartless frauds perpetrated on them"; and that the interior department is obliged to confess that, "such desertions were largely due to the uneasiness which the indians had long felt on account of the infraction of treaty stipulations by the white invasion of the black hills, seriously aggravated at the most critical period by irregular and insufficient issues of rations necessitated by inadequate and delayed appropriations." indeed, it seemed in those dark days the "apparent purpose of the government to abandon them (the reservation indians) to starvation." as if to add insult to injury, about this time a commission consisting of brig.-gen. a. h. terry, hon. a. g. lawrence and colonel (now general) corbin, secretary, was sent to canada to treat with sitting bull, and the malcontents then at fort walsh. general terry recapitulated to them the advantages of being at peace with the united states, the kindly (?) treatment that all surrendered prisoners had received, and said: "the president invites you to come to the boundary of his and your country, and there give up your arms and ammunition, and thence go to the agencies to which he will assign you, and there give up your horses, excepting those which are required for peace purposes. your arms and horses will then be sold, and with all the money obtained for them cows will be bought and sent to you." the reference to the kindly treatment received by the surrendered prisoners would have been amusing if it had not been pitiful. at that moment there were indians in the council who had left our reservations solely to escape starvation, and the indian chiefs knew all about this. the indians must have been totally without sense of humor if they could have listened to the commissioners without laughing. sitting bull's reply, which we can only quote in part, is worthy of being put on record among the notable protests of indian chiefs against the oppressions of their race. said he "for sixty-four years you have kept me and my people and treated us bad. what have we done that you should want us to stop? we have done nothing. it is all the people on your side that have started us to do all these depredations. we could not go anywhere else and we took refuge in this country. . . . i would like to know why you came here? in the first place i did not give you the country; but you followed me from one place to another, so i had to leave and come over to this country. . . . you have got ears to hear, and eyes to see, and you see how i live with these people. you see me. here i am. if you think i am a fool, you are a bigger fool than i am. this house is a medicine-house. you come here to tell us lies, but we don't want to hear them. i don't wish any such language used to me that is to tell me lies in my great mother's (queen victoria's) house. this country is mine, and i intend to stay here and to raise this country full of grown people. see these people here. we were raised with them [shaking hands with the british officers]. that is enough, so no more. . . . the part of the country you gave me you ran me out of. . . . i wish you to go back and take it easy going back." after several others had spoken, and the indians seemed about to leave the room, the interpreter was directed to ask the following questions: "shall i say to the president that you refuse the offers that he has made to you? are we to understand that you refuse those offers?" sitting bull answered: "i could tell you more, but that is all i have to tell. if we told you more, you would not pay any attention to it. this part of the country does not belong to your people. you belong to the other side, this side belongs to us." thus the conference closed. the indians positively refused to give up all their weapons, to exchange their horses for cows and the priceless privilege of being shut up upon reservations, off which they could not go without being pursued, arrested and brought back by troops. sitting bull did not believe the cows would materialize if his people gave up their horses. he had long since lost faith in the government which, as he expressed it, "had made fifty-two treaties with the sioux and kept none of them." it was also in this connection that the great indian leader made his famous reply: "tell them at washington if they have one man who speaks the truth to send him to me, and i will listen to what he has to say." the country originally owned and occupied by the sioux extended many miles beyond the canadian boundary line. hence they had claims to territory in both countries, but their lot at this period was indeed sad. those bands on our side were for the most part confined to reservations where, by reason of crop failure and the other causes already given, they were threatened with starvation. those malcontent indians under sitting bull, on the canadian side, enjoyed liberty, but they had little else. the canadian government would give them protection but no supplies. and now the buffalo, on which they depended mainly for subsistence, was being gradually exterminated or driven off. besides the commission appointed by the government at least two enterprising chicago papers sent reporters all the way to canada to interview the indian sphinx of the northwest. these interviews took place at fort walsh, in the presence of major walsh, who seems to have been a prime favorite with sitting bull and all his followers. in the first one, it is stated: "at the appointed time, half-past eight, the lamps were lighted and the most mysterious indian chieftain who ever flourished in north america was ushered in. there he stood, his blanket rolled back, his head upreared, his right moccasin put forward, his right hand thrown across his chest. i arose and approached him, holding out both hands. he grasped them cordially. 'how!' said he, 'how!' at this time he was clad in a black and white calico shirt, black cloth leggins and moccasins, magnificently embroidered with beads and porcupine quills. he held in his left hand a foxskin cap, its brush drooping to his feet; with the dignity and grace of a natural gentleman he had removed it from his head at the threshold. his eyes gleamed like black diamonds. his visage, devoid of paint, was noble and commanding; nay, it was something more. besides the indian character given to it by high cheek-bones, a broad, retreating forehead, a prominent, aquiline nose and a jaw like a bull-dog's, there was about the mouth something of beauty, but more an expression of exquisite irony. such a mouth and such eyes as this indian's, if seen in the countenance of a white man would appear to denote qualities similar to those which animated the career of mazarin. yet there was something wondrously sweet in his smile as he extended to me his hands. "such hands! they felt as small and soft as a maiden's, but when i pressed them i could feel the sinews beneath the flesh quivering hard like a wild animal's. i led him to a seat, a lounge set against the wall, on which he sat with indolent grace. major walsh, brilliant in red uniform, sat beside him, and a portable table was brought near. two interpreters brought chairs and seated themselves, and at a neighboring desk the stenographer took his place. i afterward learned that two sioux chiefs stood on guard outside the door, and that all the indians in the fort had their arms ready to spring in case of a suspected treachery. on the previous night two of the indians had been taken suddenly ill, and their sickness had been ascribed by some warriors to poison. so restless and anxious were all the savages that nothing but the influence and tact of major walsh could have procured for me and for your readers the following valuable, indeed, historical, colloquy with this justly famous indian. "i turned to the interpreter and said, 'explain again to sitting bull that he is with a friend.' the interpreter explained. 'banee!' said the chief, holding out his hand again and pressing mine. "major walsh here said: 'sitting bull is in the best mood now that you could possibly wish. proceed with your questions and make them as logical as you can. i will assist you and trip you up occasionally if you are likely to irritate him.' "then the dialogue went on. i give it literally:" "'you are a great chief,' said i to sitting bull, 'but you live behind a cloud. your face is dark, my people do not see it. tell me, do you hate the americans very much?" "a gleam as of fire shot across his face. "'i am no chief.' "this was precisely what i expected. it will dissipate at once the erroneous idea which has prevailed that sitting bull is either a chief or a warrior. "'what are you?' "'i am.' said he, crossing both hands upon his chest, slightly nodding, and smiling satirically, 'a man.' "'what does he mean?' i inquired, turning to major walsh. 'he means,' responded the major, 'to keep you in ignorance of his secret if he can. his position among his bands is anomalous. his own tribe, the uncpapas, are not all in fealty to him. parts of nearly twenty different tribes of sioux, besides a remnant of the uncpapas, abide with him. so far as i have learned, he rules over these fragments of tribes, which compose his camp of twenty-five hundred, including between eight hundred and nine hundred warriors, by sheer compelling force of intellect and will. i believe that he understands nothing particularly of war or military tactics, at least not enough to give him the skill or the right to command warriors in battle. he is supposed to have guided the fortunes of several battles, including the fight in which custer fell. that supposition, as you will presently find, is partially erroneous. his word was always potent in the camp or in the field, but he has usually left to the war-chiefs the duties appertaining to engagements. when the crisis came he gave his opinion, which was accepted as law.' "'what was he then?' i inquired, continuing this momentary dialogue with major walsh. 'was he, is he, a mere medicine man?' "'don't for the world,' replied the major, 'intimate to him, in the questions you are about to ask him, that you have derived the idea from me, or from any one, that he is a mere medicine man. he would deem that a profound insult. in point of fact he is a medicine man, but a far greater, more influential medicine man than any savage i have ever known. he has constituted himself a ruler. he is a unique power among the indians. to the warriors, his people, he speaks with the authority of a robert peel, to their chiefs with that of a richelieu. this does not really express the extent of his influence, for behind peel and richelieu there were traitors and in front of them were factions. sitting bull has no traitors in his camp; there are none to be jealous of him. he does not assert himself over strongly. he does not interfere with the rights or duties of others. his power consists in the universal confidence which is given to his judgment, which he seldom denotes until he is asked for an expression of it. it has been, so far, so accurate, it has guided his people so well, he has been caught in so few mistakes and he has saved even his ablest and oldest chiefs from so many evil consequences of their own misjudgment, that to-day his word among them all is worth more than the united voices of the rest of the camp. he speaks; they listen and they obey. now let us hear what his explanation will be? "'you say you are no chief?' 'no!' with considerable hauteur. "'are you a head soldier?' 'i am nothing--neither a chief nor a soldier.' 'what, nothing?' 'nothing.' "'what, then, makes the warriors of your camp, the great chiefs who are here along with you, look up to you so? why do they think so much of you?' sitting bull's lips curled with a proud smile. 'oh, i used to be a kind of a chief; but the americans made me go away from my father's hunting ground.' "'you do not love the americans?' you should have seen this savage's lips. 'i saw to-day that all the warriors around you clapped their hands and cried out when you spoke. what you said appeared to please them. they liked you. they seemed to think that what you said was right for them to say. if you are not a great chief, why do these men think so much of you?' "at this, sitting bull, who had in the meantime been leaning back against the wall, assumed a posture of mingled toleration and disdain. "'your people lookup to men because they are rich; because they have much land, many lodges, many squaws.' 'yes.' "'well, i suppose my people look up to me because i am poor. that is the difference.' in this answer was concentrated all the evasiveness natural to an indian. "'what is your feeling toward the americans now?' he did not even deign an answer. he touched his hip, where his knife was. "i asked the interpreter to insist on an answer. "'listen,' said sitting bull, not changing his posture, but putting his right hand out upon my knee. i told them to-day what my notions were--that i did not want to go back there. every time that i had any difficulty with them they struck me first. i want to live in peace.' "'have you an implacable enmity to the americans? would you live with them in peace if they allowed you to do so or do you think you can only obtain peace here?' 'the white mother is good.' "'better than the great father?' 'hough!' and then, after a pause, sitting bull continued: 'they [the commissioners] asked me to-day to give them my horses. i bought my horses and they are mine. i bought them from men who came up the missouri in mackinaws. they do not belong to the government, neither do the rifles. the rifles are also mine. i bought them i paid for them. why i should give them up, i do not know. i will not give them up.' "'do you really think, do your people believe that it is wise to reject the proffers that have been made to you by the united states commissioners? do not some of you feel as if you were destined to lose your old hunting grounds? don't you see that you will probably have the same difficulty in canada that you have had in the united states?' 'the white mother does not lie.' "'do you expect to live here by hunting? are there buffaloes enough? can your people subsist on the game here?' 'i don't know. i hope so.' "'if not, are any part of your people disposed to take up agriculture? would any of them raise steers and go to farming? 'i don't know.' "'what will they do, then?' 'as long as there are buffaloes that is the way we will live.' "'but the time will come when there will be no more buffaloes.' 'those are the words of an american.' "'how long do you think the buffaloes will last?' sitting bull arose. 'we know,' said he, extending his right hand with an impressive gesture, 'that on the other side the buffaloes will not last very long. why? because the country over there is poisoned with blood--a poison that kills all the buffaloes or drives them away. it is strange,' he continued, with his peculiar smile, 'that the americans should complain that the indians kill buffaloes. we kill buffaloes, as we kill other animals, for food and clothing, and to make our lodges warm. they kill buffaloes for what? go through your country. see the thousands of carcasses rotting on the plains. your young men shoot for pleasure. all they take from a dead buffalo is his tail or his head, or his horns, perhaps, to show they have killed a buffalo. what is this? is it robbery? you call us savages. what are they? the buffaloes have come north. we have come north to find them, and to get away from a place where the people tell lies.'" {illustration: chief one bull and family.} "to gain time, and not to dwell importunately on a single point, i asked sitting bull to tell me something of his early life. in the first place, where he was born? 'i was born on the missouri river; at least i recollect that somebody told me so--i don't know who told me or where i was told of it.' "'of what tribe are you?' 'i am an uncpapa.' "'of the sioux?' 'yes; of the great sioux nation.' "'who was your father?' 'my father is dead.' "'is your mother living?' 'my mother lives with me in my lodge.' "'great lies are told about you. white men say that you lived among them when you were young; that you went to school; that you learned to write and read from books; that you speak english; that you know how to talk french?' 'it is a lie.' "'you are an indian?' (proudly) 'i am a sioux.' "then suddenly relaxing from his hauteur. sitting bull began to laugh. 'i have heard,' he said, 'of some of these stories. they are all strange lies. what i am i am,' and here he leaned back and resumed his attitude and expression of barbaric grandeur. 'i am a man. i see, i know; i began to see when i was not yet born--when i was not in my mother's arms. it was then i began to study about my people. i studied about many things. i studied about the smallpox, that was killing my people--the great sickness that was killing the women and children. i was so interested that i turned over on my side. the great spirit must have told me at that time (and here he unconsciously revealed his secret), that i would be the man to be the judge of all the other indians--a big man, to decide for them in all their ways.' "'and you have since decided for them?' 'i speak. it is enough.' "'could not your people, whom you love so well, get on with the americans?' 'no!' "'why?' 'i never taught my people to trust americans. i have told them the truth--that the americans are great liars. i never dealt with the americans. why should i? the land belonged to my people. i say i never dealt with them--i mean i never treated with them in a way to surrender my people's rights. i traded with them, but i always gave full value for what i got. i never asked the united states government to make me presents of blankets or cloth, or anything of that kind. the most i did was to ask them to send me an honest trader that i could trade with, and i proposed to give him buffalo robes and elk skins, and other hides in exchange for what we wanted. i told every trader who came to our camps that i did not want any favors from him--that i wanted to trade with him fairly and equally, giving him full value for what i got, but the traders wanted me to trade with them on no such terms. they wanted to give little and get much. they told me if i did not accept what they gave me in trade they would get the government to fight me. i told them i did not want to fight.' "'but you fought?' 'at last, yes; but not until i had tried hard to prevent a fight. at first my young men, when they began to talk bad, stole five american horses. i did not like this and was afraid something bad would come of it. i took the horses away from them and gave them back to the americans. it did no good. by and by we had to fight.'" the reporter now drew from the great leader his version of the little big horn fight, and the death of custer. but, as neither party to the dialogue were in the battle, this part of the interview must of necessity be the work of imagination and will not be quoted. it is impossible for any one to give an authentic description of a battle fought in his absence. john f. finnerty, the war correspondent for the chicago _times,_ also visited sitting bull, while he and his band were encamped on mushroom creek, woody mountain, in the summer of . his experience with the "sphinx" was somewhat different from that of the other reporter. the invitation to make this visit also came from major walsh, of the mounted police, who called at general miles's camp, on rocky creek, a few days previous. we can only quote a few paragraphs bearing directly on the famous chief: "so," thought i, "i am going to see the elephant. i have followed sitting bull around long enough, and now i shall behold 'the lion in his den,' in earnest. presently the tramping and shouting of the scalp-dance ceased, and the chiefs, their many colored blankets folded around them, after the fashion of the ancient toga, came filing down to the council, seating themselves according to their tribes in a big semicircle. "major walsh had chairs placed for himself and me under the shade of his garden fence. the chiefs seated themselves on the ground, after the turkish fashion. behind them, rank after rank, were the mounted warriors, and still further back, the squaws and children. the chiefs were all assembled, and i inquired which was sitting bull. 'he is not among them,' said major walsh. 'he will not speak in council where americans are present, because he stubbornly declares he will have nothing to do with them. you will see him, however, before very long.' "soon afterward, an indian mounted on a cream-colored pony, and holding in his hand an eagle's wing, which did duty for a fan, spurred in back of the chiefs and stared stolidly for a minute or two at me. his hair, parted in the ordinary sioux fashion, was without a plume. his broad face and wide jaws were destitute of paint, and as he sat there on his horse, regarding me with a look which seemed blended of curiosity and insolence, i did not need to be told that he was sitting bull. "'that is old bull himself,' said the major. 'he will hear everything, but will say nothing until he feels called upon to agitate something with the tribe? "after a little, the noted savage dismounted, and led his horse partly into the shade. i noticed he was an inch or two over the medium height, broadly built, rather bow-legged, i thought, and he limped slightly, as though from an old wound. he sat upon the ground, and was soon engirdled by a crowd of young warriors, with whom he was an especial favorite, as representing the unquenchable hostility of the aboriginal savage to the hated palefaces. "i amused myself on july by accompanying the major to a bluff immediately overlooking the sioux camp, and from which a complete view of the numbers and surroundings of that great horde of savages could be obtained. i thought there were, at the lowest calculation, from one thousand to eleven hundred lodges in that encampment. there must have been twenty-five hundred fighting men, at the least, in the confederated tribes. arms and ammunition were plentiful, but food of any kind was scarce. the indians did not seem to trouble themselves about concealing their strength; on the contrary, they seemed to glory in it, and the young warriors wore an air of haughty hostility whenever i came near them. their leaders, however, treated me respectfully. sitting bull only stared at me occasionally, but was not rude, as was often his habit when brought in contact with people he supposed to be americans, whom he hated with inconceivable rancor. he said to larrabee, the interpreter: 'that man (meaning me) is from the other side. i want nothing to do with the americans. they do not treat me well. they cheat me when i trade. they have my country now. let them keep it. i never seek anybody. least of all do i seek any americans." "this rather nettled me, for i had made not the slightest attempt to speak to mr. bull, and, in fact, did not care much to interview him, as he had been long ago pumped dry about his hatred of our people, and that was about his chief stock-in-trade, although i am not going to deny that he had some great mysterious power over the sioux, and especially over his own tribe of uncpapas. he was, in fact, their beau-ideal of implacable hostility to the paleface, and he shouted at the united states, from the safe recesses of the queen's dominions, 'no surrender!' "'tell sitting bull,' i said to larrabee, 'that if he does not seek me, neither do i him. i am not going to beg him to speak to me.' "the interpreter laughed and said: 'it is just as well not to take any notice. he may be in better humor by-and-by.' "many of the high-minded and most of the vicious men among the indians of the northwest found their leader in sitting bull, who, although often unpopular with his fellow-chiefs, was always potent for evil with the wild and restless spirits who believed that war against the whites was, or ought to be, the chief object of their existence. this was about the true status of the indian agitator in those days. he had strong personal magnetism. his judgment was said to be superior to his courage, and his cunning superior to both. he had not, like crazy horse, the reputation of being recklessly brave, but neither was he reputed a dastard. sitting bull was simply prudent and would not throw away his life, so long as he had any chance of doing injury to the americans. "it is true that the wily savage was to all intents and purposes, a british subject, but his influence crossed the line, and no settlers would venture on milk river until the implacable savage was thoroughly whipped and humbled. i don't care what any one says about sitting bull not having been a warrior. if he had not the sword, he had at least the magic sway of a mohammed over the rude war tribes that engirdled him. everybody talks of sitting bull, and, whether he be a figure-head or an idea or an incomprehensible mystery, his old-time influence was undoubted. his very name was potent. he was the rhoderick dhu of his wild and warlike race, and when he fell the sioux confederation fell with him. the agitator was then verging on fifty, but hardly looked it. "mrs. allen, wife of the post trader, said sitting bull was the nicest indian around the trading-post, always treating her with the most marked consideration, and never intruding upon the privacy of the household, by hanging around at meal time, as some of the others did. in the hostile camp i had several opportunities of studying his face, and i can say honestly that 'old sit' has a fine aboriginal countenance, and, once seen, he can never be forgotten. i heard his voice many times--deep guttural, but, at the same time, melodious. he called my friend, walsh, 'meejure,' his nearest approach to the pronunciation of 'major.' in manner he was dignified but not stiff, and when in good humor, which occurred pretty often, he laughed with the ease of a schoolboy. the traditional idea of white people that indians never laugh, is but a time-honored absurdity. among themselves they are often gayly boisterous, and i know of no people who can enjoy what they consider a good joke better. "the indians appeared to be pretty short on meat supply during my stay in their camp, but the poor creatures had no more idea of the imminence of the famine which subsequently compelled their surrender, than so many children. the faithful squaws went out on the wooded bluffs and gathered all kinds of berries to make up for the lack of animal food. yet it was the intense humanity of major walsh that absolutely kept the wretched people from eating their horses. i knew then that the reign of sitting bull would not be long in the land." in the fall of , e. h. allison, the army scout, who was master of the sioux language, was ordered by gen. a. h. terry to visit the camp of sitting bull and induce that leader and his band to surrender. accordingly, the scout made preparation to start, by filling an army wagon with provisions and presents for the indians. he now selected the four best mules in the camp to draw the wagon, and private day, a soldier, volunteered as teamster, dressed in citizen's clothes. the scout and his companion started from port buford october , and reached the camp of sitting bull in due time. they found the indians on the west bank of frenchman's creek, just where it joins milk river, which is in the northern part of montana. "we reached the camp," said the scout, "about p. m., when i was rather agreeably surprised and somewhat puzzled by receiving a pressing invitation, which could easily be construed into a command, to make my home at sitting bull's lodge, as long as i stayed in the camp. i accepted the invitation, but stipulated that chief gall should superintend the distribution of the provisions which i had brought them. [he thus satisfied both chiefs and their followers.] to this sitting bull readily acceded, and i was soon comfortably housed, together with the soldier, in the tepee of the great indian priest and prophet. after an early supper, i sought and obtained a private interview with chief gall, who, knowing the object of my visit, informed me that he had resolved to effect the surrender of the entire band. sitting bull and all, but to accomplish this more time would be required than he had first anticipated. he must first go back to canada, to enable sitting bull to keep an engagement to meet major walsh, of the dominion forces, in a council, at the woody mountain trading post. and to insure success, and expedite matters, he advised that i should meet him again at woody mountain, as soon as possible, after reporting to major brotherton, at fort buford. considering the circumstances, i deemed it best to acquiesce in his plans. yet i was anxious to make some kind of a showing on this trip that would encourage major brotherton, and reward him for the confidence he had placed in me. i explained this to chief gail, who told me to remain in the camp two days, to rest my mules, and by that time he would have twenty families ready to send in with me; but he cautioned me not to let silting bull know their real purpose, but to lead him to suppose they were only going in to the agency on a visit to their friends. "perfectly satisfied with these arrangements, i returned a little after dark to sitting bull's lodge, where the soldier, who could not speak a word of the indian language, was having a lonesome time, and growing somewhat anxious for my safety. we were both very tired and soon lay down to rest, while i engaged the old chief in conversation. sitting bull's family at that time consisted of his two wives (sisters), two daughters and three sons, the eldest being a daughter of seventeen, the other daughter being next, about fourteen, the eldest son, crow foot (since dead), seven years old, and the two youngest boys were twins, born about three weeks before the battle of the little big horn, and were, therefore, not more than four and a half years old; one of the twins was named ih-pe-ya-na-pa-pi, from the fact that his mother 'fled and abandoned him in the tepee,' at the time of the battle. the accompanying cut shows the arrangement of beds, etc., in the lodge, while we were there. "i continued in conversation with the chief until about midnight, when i fell asleep. i must have been asleep less than an hour, when i was awakened by the sharp crack of a rifle ringing out on the still night air, and the simultaneous war-whoop of contending savages. the camp was instantly in a state of the wildest confusion. indian women, seizing their babies, fled, screaming, they knew not whither, for safety; warriors suddenly awakened from their slumbers, seized their arms and flew with the speed of the wind to the aid of their comrades, who were already engaged in conflict with an enemy, whose presence could only be determined by the sharp report and flashes of fire from their guns, as they fired in the darkness upon the sioux camp. here was an opportunity for the soldier and myself to prove our friendship, by aiding the sioux warriors in their defense of the camp, which we proceeded to do, by seizing our rifles and hastily joining the warriors, who, by this time, had turned the enemy, whose firing soon ceased altogether, and we all returned to the camp, where comparative quiet was restored; but no one slept any more that night. our muscles were strained and our nervous systems were unstrung." {illustration: rain-in-the face, accredited slayer of tom custer.} "the fact that myself and companion took part in the defense of the camp was favorably commented on by all, and in all probability saved our lives, for the indians are very superstitious, and their blood was up; something was wrong; in fact, things had been going wrong for several days. there must be a 'jonah' in the camp, and how easy it would be to find a pair of 'jonahs' in the persons of two white men in camp; but our prompt action had made a most favorable impression, and diverted their thoughts from the subject of 'jonahs,' and i improved the opportunity by comparing their uncertain, hunted existence with the happy life of their friends at the agencies in dakota, whose wives and little ones were even then sleeping peacefully in their beds, without fear of being disturbed by prowling bands of indian foes. "a number of warriors followed cautiously after the retreating blackfeet, but failed to come up with them. they returned to camp about ten in the morning, and reported finding blood-stained bandages on the trail, so there must have been some of the enemy wounded. among the sioux, no one was hurt, nor did they lose any horses on this occasion. but danger was yet lurking near. about two in the afternoon, a warrior came into camp and reported the discovery of a small herd of buffalo, about four miles from camp. about thirty warriors mounted their horses and went out to kill them; among the number was scarlet plume, a popular young brave, who was a favorite with every one. the warriors approached the buffalo under cover, till they were within easy rifle range, when they opened fire and killed all but one, which struck on across the plain, seemingly unhurt. young scarlet plume alone gave chase, following the animal and finally killing it near the head of a ravine, running up from the milk river, which at that point was densely studded with timber. he had killed his last buffalo. he was alone and more than a mile from his companions. a party of blackfeet braves, concealed in the timber, had been watching his movements, and now, while he was busily engaged skinning the buffalo, they approached, under cover of the ravine, shot him, took his scalp and made good their escape. his body was found by his father. old scarlet thunder, and was brought by him into camp, a little before sunset that evening. then indeed there was weeping and wailing in that camp. language utterly fails me when i try to describe the scene that followed. his old mother, his five sisters, and scores of friends and relatives, tore their hair, slashed their limbs with knives, till the ground where they stood was wet with hot human gore; they rent their garments, calling in a loud wailing voice upon the name of the lost son and brother. "it was no time for negotiations. not a time for anything, in fact, but silence and obscurity on my part; so, with my companion, i sought the seclusion of sitting bull's tepee, where we spent the night in fitful and unrefreshing slumber. early in the morning, at the first faint dawn of day, i was awakened by a call from chief gall, whom i joined in a walk about the camp. he informed me that the twenty lodges he had promised me had silently taken their departure during the night, and that i would find them in the evening encamped about twenty miles down the milk river. he said that five women and nine children belonging to the party, but who had no horses, had remained behind, and desired to ride in my wagon. he also informed me that strong hand would return with me to poplar creek. accordingly, as soon as breakfast was over, we hitched up the mules, and were only too glad to get away from a place, where, to say the least, our experience had been very unpleasant. strong hand was returning afoot, and at his suggestion, i loaned him my horse, to enable him to traverse the river bottoms in quest of deer. the women and children climbed in the wagon with their meager effects, and we began moving out of the camp. strong hand riding just in advance of the mules, while i occupied a seat with the driver. "it was nearly dark when we came up with the twenty lodges sent on ahead by chief gall. strong hand was there with plenty of good venison and we soon had a hot supper. we returned in safety to fort buford, where, i hope, with a pardonable degree of pride i turned over to major brotherton the first fruits of my labor, twenty lodges of the hostile sioux, and submitted an official report to be forwarded to general terry, of this, my visit to the camp of sitting bull." a short time after this scout allison heard from an indian who arrived from sitting bull's camp that an open rupture had occurred between chief gall and sitting bull. this was occasioned by the discovery of some of the adherents of sitting bull that chief gall had instigated the desertion of the twenty lodges who had come with allison to buford. concealment being no longer possible, chief gall, characteristically prompt in action, had leaped into the midst of the camp, and publicly called upon all who acknowledged him as chief to separate themselves from the followers of sitting bull, and prepare immediately to follow him to fort buford. it was a bold thing to do, and the first time in the history of the reign of sitting bull that his authority had been set at defiance. it was clearly a test of supremacy, and chief gall came off victorious, taking away from sitting bull fully two-thirds of the entire band. on july , , sitting bull, with the remainder of his band, surrendered at fort buford. two days later all the captive hostiles, numbering , , were turned over to the agent at standing rock, north dakota. ellis, in his "indian wars," informs us that "for a time the old chief acted like a good indian. he exhibited himself for weeks in new york and other cities, where he naturally aroused much interest and curiosity. a striking scene was that observed in , when, at one of the railway stations of the west, sitting bull sat on a windy eminence selling his autographs for a dollar and a half apiece. in the smiling group of purchasers gathered around him were generals u. s. grant and p. h. sheridan, carl schurz, w. m. evarts, a number of united states senators and congressmen, several british noblemen, besides berlin bankers, german professors, railway presidents, financiers and journalists. the old chief did a thriving trade disposing of his signature, of which this is a facsimile:" {illustration: facsimile of sitting bull's signature.} "in july and august, , sitting bull, at a conference at standing rock, influenced his tribe to refuse to relinquish their lands. he was as defiant as ever, and, but for his death, must have been the leading actor in the last outbreak." nothing more is heard of sitting bull until , when that strange hallucination, the messiah craze, took possession of some of the sioux bands. this strong delusion seems to have had its origin in about the following manner, as we learn from a letter written to general miles by an army officer stationed at los angeles, california, and bearing the date of november , . in it the officer says: "i know you will be surprised when i say to you, i have found the messiah, and the story of my finding him is as follows: last spring an indian called and said he would like to speak to the commander. i took him into the room, and he gave me a history of himself. he said his name was johnson sides; that he was known as the peace-maker among all indians and whites of nevada, where he lived. "to substantiate his statement he showed me a medal which he carried strung around his neck, on which was a legend to the effect that he was presented with the medal by some christian society for his efforts toward doing good to his fellowmen, whether white or red. "he could talk very good english, was dressed like an ordinary laborer, but had the indian's way of wearing his hair. he told me he knew the bible; that he was desirous of making peace with every one, and that is why he was named peacemaker. he said that indians had come from far and near to see him, and he pulled out a pipe, such as are made by northern indians, which pipe was recognized as having come from either montana or dakota. johnson sides said it came from dakota, and the kind of clay of which it was made could not be found in nevada, and that the stem was of a peculiar wood, not found in nevada or california. he mentioned the names of the indians who had visited him, and the tribes to which they belonged; also gave the time they had called. "i firmly believe that this is the good-natured indian that has caused all this trouble; that he has taught the members of his tribe the story of christ, or the messiah, and the time when he will once more visit this earth, as it has been taught him by the christian people interested in his welfare. he has told these visiting indians of the paradise in store for all people when the son shall once more visit the earth; and the indian's paradise is whatever his imagination may lead him to believe, the same as the white man's. he has no doubt delivered the story in its true light, and the indians, in retelling the story, have warped and woven it according to their understanding." it is believed that some of the sioux of the standing rock agency were among those who visited johnson sides, and it is thought that the messiah craze and ghost dance grew out of the excitement incident to their report of the visit, warped by an overwrought imagination. while matters were thus shaping themselves, the wily old medicine man, sitting bull, bided his time watching for an opportunity to regain his former prestige. vague traditions had always existed concerning the second coming of christ. pontiac, tecumseh and black hawk were each in touch with a "prophet" who fired the imaginations of warriors and head chiefs to a frenzy. so the sagacious leader believed that once more his hour had struck. was not he, sitting bull, a great medicine man? a religious teacher? and shall he not lead his people in this? clearly this was his opportunity, but in order to be an effectual leader, he must first see the messiah. this he actually claimed to have done, and the story was related to mr. zook, a montana ranchman, as follows: "sitting bull was hunting one day near the shoshone mountains, and as night came on he was seized with a strange feeling, and at first involuntarily, but finally with alacrity, he followed a star, which moved westward through the sky. all night the star guided him, and near morning he met the messiah, clad in a white robe. his hair flowed upon his shoulders, his beard was long, and around his head shone a bright halo. when sitting bull beheld this wonderful apparition, he fainted and had a strange dream. a band of cheyennes and arapahoes, who had long since been dead, appeared to him and danced, inviting him to join them. presently he was restored to his senses, and the messiah spoke to him. he asked him if the indians would not rejoice to see their dead kindred and the buffalo restored to life, and sitting bull assured him that they would be deeply gratified. then the messiah told him that he had come to save the white men, but that they persecuted him; and now he had come to rescue the long-tormented indian. he showed him the holes in his hands, made by the nails when he was crucified, to convince him that he was the same christ who had appeared nineteen hundred years ago. all day christ instructed him and gave him evidence of his power. he said that the white men had come to take him, but as they approached the soil became quicksand and the men and horses sank. as evening came on, he bade sitting bull depart; and although he had been hunting away from his tepee for ten sleeps, he came to it in a very few minutes. he told his people his story and sent others to verify his statements, and they told the same tales." when the indians heard of this wonderful vision of sitting bull, they came in swarms and pitched their tepees around him. there, at his suggestion, they inaugurated the "worship dances," and forming a ring to the number of three thousand people, they danced around sitting bull and his chiefs, while chanting a monotonous accompaniment of weird strains. thus they danced all night, or until they dropped down from sheer exhaustion, when others would take their place. sitting bull soon became the acknowledged lender in this strange form of worship, which spread like wild fire among the sioux of the reservations. indian agent mclaughlin called on sitting bull at his camp on grand river, forty miles southwest from fort yates, and had an earnest talk with the great medicine man, hoping to dissuade him and his deluded followers from their absurd action and unwarranted expectations. sitting bull seemed a little impressed, but still assumed the role of big chief before his followers. "he finally," said mclaughlin, "made me a proposition, which was that i should accompany him on a journey to trace from the beginning the story of the indian messiah, and when he reached the last tribe, or where it originated, if they could not produce the man who started the story, and we did not find the new messiah, as described, upon the earth, together with the dead indians returning to reinhabit this country, he would return convinced that they (the indians) had been too credulous and imposed upon, which report from him would satisfy the sioux, and all practices of the ghost societies would cease; but if we found the messiah, they be permitted to continue their medicine practices, and organize as they are now endeavoring to do. "i told him that this proposition was a novel one, but that the attempt to carry it out would be similar to an attempt to catch up with the wind that blew last year, but that i wished him to come to my house, where i would give him a whole night, or a day and a night, in which time i thought i could convince him of the absurdity of this foolish craze, and the fact of his making me the proposition that he did was a convincing proof that he did not fully believe in what he was professing and he tried so hard to make others believe. "he did not, however, promise fully to come into the agency to discuss the matter, but said he would consider my talk and decide after deliberation." nothing came of it, however, and when it was found that neither cajolery nor threats availed with sitting bull his arrest was determined on. it was held that his failure to send his children to the agency school, and to report in person, was a sufficient breach of peace to justify such a step. the warrant for the arrest was sent in the form of the following telegram: "headquarters department of dakota, st. paul, minn., dec. , . "_to commanding officer, fort yates, north dakota:_ "the division commander has directed that you make it your especial duty to secure the person of sitting bull. call on the indian agent to cooperate and render such assistance as will best promote the purpose in view. "acknowledge receipt, and if not perfectly clear, report back. "by command of general ruger. "(signed) m. barber, assistant adjutant-general." after colonel drum, the commandant at fort yates, had consulted with major mclaughlin, the indian agent, it was decided that the arrest should be effected through the indian police. accordingly, a band of police, under the command of lieut. henry bull head, was detailed to make the capture. the indian police, to the number of forty, set out to perform their errand, followed at some distance by two troops of cavalry under captain fetchet and a body of infantry, under colonel drum. five miles from sitting bull's camp, the troops and police held a consultation. it was agreed that the soldiers should station themselves within two or three miles of the indian camp, where they could be readily signaled. lieutenant bull head now selected ten policemen, including sergeants shave head and red tomahawk, and at their head entered the house about : o'clock on the morning of december , and arrested sitting bull. he occupied considerable time in dressing, and at first accepted his arrest quietly; but while dressing, his son, crowfoot, commenced upbraiding him for agreeing to go with the police. on this sitting bull became stubborn and refused to go. after some parleying, the police removed him from the house and found themselves and prisoner in the midst of a howling mob of ghost-dancers, frenzied with rage. {illustration: indian village.} in a letter written by major mclaughlin we learn what happened at this time. said he: "the policemen reasoned with the crowd, gradually forcing them back, thus increasing the open circle considerably; but sitting bull kept calling upon his followers to rescue him from the police; that if the two principal men, bull head and shave head, were killed, the others would run away; and he finally called out for them to commence the attack, whereupon catch-the-bear, and strike-the-kettle, two of sitting bull's men, dashed through the crowd and fired. lieutenant bull head was standing on one side of sitting bull and sergeant shave head on the other, with sergeant red tomahawk behind, to prevent his escaping. catch-the-bear's shot struck bull head on the right side, and he instantly wheeled and shot sitting bull, hitting him in the left side, between the tenth and eleventh ribs, and strike-the-kettle's shot having passed through shave head's abdomen, all three fell together. catch-the-bear, who fired the first shot, was immediately shot down by private lone man." it is said that while reeling, sitting bull managed to draw a revolver, which exploded just as he fell, the ball entering bull head's thigh. at the same instant the second sergeant, red tomahawk, shot the old chief in the stomach. the fight now became general, sitting bull's followers swarmed around the police and guns were clubbed. the ground was strewn with broken stocks and bent barrels. the entire force of indian police under red tomahawk now engaged in the fray, but were getting the worst of it and retreated to sitting bull's house. at this instant the white soldiers arrived and quickly formed for action. the cavalry, under captain fechet, charged the indians, while the artillery, under lieutenant brooks, began to shell them with their hotchkiss and gatling guns, and the hostiles fled in disorder. though badly wounded, sitting bull crawled into the bushes, and, like custer before him, made his "last stand," fighting desperately with his winchester. he was dragged forth and an indian policeman sprang forward with a small pole, used on the sides of wagons, and beat in his head, while others broke his rifle over his head, and slashed his face horribly with their knives. lieutenant slocum did all he could to prevent this brutality, but the indian police were infuriated on account of their loss and beyond his control. thus died one of the greatest, and certainly the most famous, indian since tecumseh. he divides honors with little turtle, in having planned and gained the greatest victories ever achieved by the indian over his white foe. nor will any warrior of the future surpass sitting bull, for the last great battle between the two races has been fought. it will be remembered that three among the greatest of the indian chiefs, philip, pontiac and sitting bull, were slain by indians. many sensational writers profess to believe that sitting bull was murdered, and that when his arrest was arranged it was understood that an excuse was to be found for putting him out of the way. we can not believe that our government and military authorities would plot a deliberate and horrible murder. this has never been our record in disposing of vanquished foes. we firmly believe that had the great leader submitted to arrest quietly his life would have been spared. but it was sitting bull who alarmed the camp and ordered the attack, which was commenced by his own warriors. the fight which resulted was brief but desperate, and there fell of the ghost-dancers, besides sitting bull, catch-the-bear, black bird, little assiniboine, crow foot (son of sitting bull, seventeen years old), spotted horse bull, a chief; brave thunder, a chief, and chase, badly wounded. of the police there were killed, bull head, the lieutenant in command; shave head, first sergeant; little eagle, fourth sergeant; afraid-of-soldiers, private; john armstrong and hawk man, special police, and middle, mortally wounded. the bodies of the indian police were all buried with military honors in the agency cemetery at fort yates a few days later. but the surviving police and their friends objected so strenuously to the interment of sitting bull among their dead that he was buried in the cemetery of the post, some distance away. hundreds of tourists go each year to see the last resting place of this truly great indian; and, vandal-like, rob the grave and vicinity of whatever they can find, as relics. sitting bull was an enigma, and never fully understood by white man or indian. he prided himself, like all medicine men, in being mysterious; the fact that he was a true patriot, from the indian's standpoint, none can question. his old friend and fellow-chief, rain-in-the-face, was buried by his side. united during most of their stormy lives, it was appropriate that "in death they were not divided." both sleep peacefully in the indian cemetery of the standing rock reservation. the name, standing rock, comes from a solitary stone which stands on the bank of the missouri river at this point. following is the legend: long years ago, probably before columbus' caravels crossed to the western world, a ree indian took a sioux squaw for his second wife. his first spouse, and mother of his child, could not brook the rival and daily pined in silence and sorrow. in vain her husband's assurances that she was still first in his heart and home. the sight of the usurper ate into her heart, and at last, with her babe on her shoulders, she fled as did hagar with ishmael, although in this case it was sarah who left her husband's home. her friends followed her, pleading with her to return, since only death and starvation awaited her, but she kept on her way until she reached the bank of the missouri. there she sat with the child on her shoulders, paying no heed to her friends, until at last she broke her silence. "leave me," she said. "i am turning to stone, and my child and i shall sit here forever." even as she spoke the change came over her, and there the mother and child sit to-day. the indians called the standing rock "wokan," or holy, and for centuries votive offerings were laid before it. the government placed it upon a pedestal, and sphinx-like it looks toward the east, over the land from which the indian has been driven forever. chapter xiv. chief joseph, of the nez perces, or hin-mah- too-yah-lat-kekt. thunder rolling in the mountains--the modern xenophon. this remarkable man, and greatest indian since tecumseh, was born, according to his own statement, in eastern oregon, in the year . in the _north american review,_ of april, , is an article dictated by joseph, in which he states that his tribe was originally called the chute-pa-lu, and gives the origin of the name nez perces (nose pierced), as applied to them, as follows: "we did not know there were other people besides the indian until about one hundred winters ago, when some men with white faces came to our country. they brought many things with them to trade for furs and skins. they brought tobacco, which was new to us. they also brought guns with flint stones on them, which frightened our women and children. "our people could not talk with these white-faced men, but they used signs which all people understand. these men were frenchmen, and they called our people 'nez perces,' because they wore rings in their noses for ornaments. although very few of our people wear them now, we are still called by the same name. "the first white men of your people who came to our country were named lewis and clark. they also brought many things our people had never seen. they talked straight and our people gave them a great feast, as proof that their hearts were friendly. these men were very kind. they made presents to our chiefs and our people made presents to them. we had a great many horses, of which we gave them what they needed, and they gave us guns and tobacco in return. all the nez perces made friends with lewis and clark, and agreed to let them pass through their country, and never to make war on white men. this promise the nez perces have never broken. no white man can accuse them of bad faith and speak with a straight tongue. it has always been the pride of the nez perces that they were the friends of the white men." chief joseph's father was also a chief, and called joseph. it seems that this name was given to him by rev. mr. spaulding, who was associated with dr. marcus whitman, and at one time a missionary to the lower nez perces. a strange man was old joseph, a sturdy, strong-built man with a will of iron and a foresight that never failed him, save when he welcomed the americans to his country. he had some strange notions, too, one of which was that "no man owned any part of the earth, and a man could not sell what he did not own." he seems to have been an aboriginal henry george in his idea that ownership in land should be limited to occupancy. in governor stevens and rev. mr. spaulding invited all the nez perces to a treaty council. old joseph was present, and when mr. spaulding urged him to sign the treaty, he answered, "why do you ask me to sign away my country? it is your business to talk to us about spirit matters, and not to talk to us about parting with our land." when governor stevens also urged him to sign the treaty he refused, saying, "i will not sign your paper; you go where you please, so do i; you are not a child. i am no child; i can think for myself. no man can think for me. i have no other home than this. i will not give it up to any man. my people would have no home. take away your paper, i will not touch it with my hand!" old joseph was as firm as a rock and would never sign way his rights to wallowa (winding water), claiming that it had always belonged to his people and their title should be perpetuated. he even went so far as to enclose the entire tract with poles firmly planted in the ground, and said, "inside this boundary is the home of my people. the white man may take the land outside. within this boundary all our people were born. it circles around the graves of our fathers, and we will never give up these graves to any man." deluded old joseph! vain was your effort; nor would a chinese wall have long been an effectual barrier against the encroachments of the whites, who had seen and coveted the beautiful valley of the "winding waters." ere long white settlers established homes _inside_ the boundaries of the aged chief, in spite of his remonstrance. and the united states government, instead of protecting him in his rights, coolly claimed that it had bought all the nez perces country outside of lapwai reservation from chief lawyer and others. on account of these encroachments another treaty was made in . by this time old joseph had become blind and feeble, and could no longer speak for his people. it was then that young joseph took his father's place as chief, and made his first speech to white men. said he to the agent who held the council: "i did not want to come to this council, but i came, hoping that we could save blood. the white man has no right to come here and take our country. we have never accepted any presents from the government. neither lawyer nor any other chief had authority to sell this land. it has always belonged to my people. it came unclouded to them from our fathers, and we will defend this land as long as a drop of indian blood warms the hearts of our men." the agent told joseph he had orders from the great white chief at washington for his band to go upon the lapwai reservation, and that if they obeyed he would help them in many ways. "you _must_ move to the agency," he said. to which joseph replied, " will not. i do not need your help; we have plenty, and we are contented and happy if the white man will let us alone. the reservation is too small for so many people with all their stock. you can keep your presents; we can go to your towns and pay for all we need; we have plenty of horses and cattle to sell, and we won't have any help from you; we are free now; we can go where we please. our fathers were born here. here they lived, here they died, here are their graves. we will never leave them." the agent went away, and the indians had peace for a little while. in his narrative young joseph said, "soon after this my father sent for me. i saw he was dying. i took his hand in mine. he said: 'my son, my body is returning to my mother earth, and my spirit is going very soon to see the great spirit chief. when i am gone, think of your country. you are the chief of these people. they look to you to guide them. always remember that your father never sold his country. you must stop your ears whenever you are asked to sign a treaty selling your home. a few years more and white men will be all around you. they have their eyes on this land. my son, never forget my dying words. this country holds your father's body. never sell the bones of your father and your mother.' i pressed my father's hand and told him i would protect his grave with my life. my father smiled and passed away to the spirit land. i buried him in that beautiful valley of 'winding waters.' i love that land more than all the rest of the world. a man who would not love his father's grave is worse than a wild animal." spoken like the noble son of an equally noble sire. inspired by such words of burning patriotism, is it any wonder that young joseph resisted the encroachments of the whites and the machinations of the government authorities to the bitter end, and not only gave them "a run for their money," but the most stubbornly contested campaign of all our indian wars? chief joseph, of the nez perces, was more than six feet in height, of magnificent physique, strikingly handsome and graceful, with a native dignity, and a mind of great strength. he was a true patriot and in defense of his country evinced the genius of a natural born general, and could he have received the training of west point, he would have become the peer of grant, lee or sherman. he conducted, as will be seen, one of the most skilful and masterly retreats in the annals of warfare. {illustration: chief joseph of the nez perces, or hin-mah-too-yah-lat-kekt.} he was, moreover, as eloquent as logan or red jacket, and a gifted logician, who could not be refuted. he disposed of the question in dispute in a manner that was at once logical and unanswerable. said he, "if we ever owned the land we own it still, for we never sold it. in the treaty councils the commissioners have claimed that our country had been sold to the government. suppose a white man should come to me and say, 'joseph, i like your horses and i want to buy them.' i say to him, 'no, my horses suit me; i will not sell them.' then he goes to my neighbor and says to him, 'joseph has some good horses. i want to buy them, but he refuses to sell.' my neighbor answers, 'pay me the money and i will sell you joseph's horses.' the white man returns to me and says, 'joseph, i have bought your horses and you must let me have them.' if we sold our lands to the government this is the way they were bought." after the wrong was consummated, when joseph was permitted to go to washington and talk to our wise men, he said, "i have asked some of the great white chiefs where they get their authority to say to the indian that he shall stay in one place, while he sees white men going where they please. they can not tell me." that question will never be answered. in his report of september, , gen. o. o. howard said, "i think it a great mistake to take from joseph and his band of nez perces indians that (the wallowa) valley. the white people really do not want it. they wish to be bought out. i think gradually this valley will be abandoned by the white people, and possibly congress can be induced to let these really peaceable indians have this poor valley for their own." lieut.-col. h. clay wood was another member of the commission who, in his report of august , , on "the status of young joseph and his band of nez perces indians," gave his opinion that the government had so far failed to comply with its agreements in the treaty of ; that none of the nez perces were bound by it. he also made a minority report as commissioner, recommending that although joseph's band would have to be moved eventually, yet that, "until joseph commits some overt act of hostility, force should not be used to put him upon any reservation." the other members of the commission, d. h. jerome, william stickney and a. c. barstow, must have made a very different report, for certain it is, the department of the interior, acting on its recommendations, ordered the non-treaties to be placed on the lapwai reservation. by virtue of his office as commander of that district, general howard was the agent to enforce this order. he met the non-treaties in may, and found, as he must have anticipated, that they were unwilling to go on the reservation. general howard held three councils with the malcontent indians at fort lapwai, the station of the indian agency for the nez perces reservation, said to be the loveliest valley of idaho. the last of these councils, that of may , , was indeed a stormy session. the principal speaker on this occasion was too-hool-hool-suit, who was a dreamer as well as a prophet, priest and chief. he taught that the earth having been created by god in its completeness, should not be interfered with, disturbed or improved by man, and that if the indians continued steadfast in their belief, a great leader would be raised up in the east, at a single blast of whose trumpet all the dead warriors would start suddenly into life, and that the millions of braves thus collected would expel the white man from the continent of america, and repossess it for their own dusky race. the old dreamer was a man of great importance and remarkable influence among the indians. as the council proceeded, too-hool-hool-suit arose and said to general howard: "the great spirit chief made the world as it is, and as he wanted it, and he made a part of it for us to live upon. i do not see where you get authority to say that we shall not live where he placed us." chief joseph says general howard now lost his temper, and said: "shut up! i don't want to hear any more such talk. the law says you shall go upon the reservation to live, and i want you to do so, but you persist in disobeying the law [meaning the treaty]. if you do not move i will take the matter into my own hand and make you suffer for your disobedience." too-hool-hool-suit answered: "who are you, that you ask us to talk, and then tell me i shan't talk? are you the great spirit? did you make the world? did you make the sun? did you make the river to run for us to drink? or the grass to grow? did you make all these things, that you talk to us as though we were boys? if you did, then you have the right to talk as you do." general howard replied, "you are an impudent fellow, and i will put you in the guard-house," and then ordered a soldier to arrest him. too-hool-hool-suit made no resistance. he asked general howard: "is that your order? i don't care. i have expressed my heart to you. i have nothing to take back. i have spoken for my country. you can arrest me, but you can not change me or make me take back what i have said." continuing, joseph said: "the soldiers came forward and seized my friend and took him to the guard-house. my men whispered among themselves whether they should let this thing be done. i counseled them to submit. if i had said nothing, general howard would never have given another unjust order against my men. i saw the danger, and, while they dragged too-hool-hool-suit to prison, i arose and said: '_i am going to talk now._ i don't care whether you arrest me or not.' i turned to my people and said: 'the arrest of too-hool-hool-suit was wrong, but we will not resent the insult. we were invited to this council to express our hearts, and we have done so.' too-hool-hool-suit was a prisoner five days before he was released." this indian chief was, therefore, put under military arrest and confined for five days for delivering himself of what general howard calls a "_tirade_" in a council to which the indians had been invited to come for the purpose of consultation and expression of sentiment. as the indian commissioner, in his annual report for , well says, "if such and so swift penalty as this, for 'tirades' in council were the law of our land, especially in the district of columbia, it would be 'no just cause of complaint' when indians suffer for it. but considering the frequency, length and safety of 'tirades' in all parts of america, it seems unjust not to permit indians to deliver them. however, they do come under the head of 'spontaneous productions of the soil;' and an indian on a reservation is invested with no such proprietorship in anything which comes under that head." the position of the government was now plain to the indians. they must go to the reservation or fight. they decided to go. joseph wrote: "i said in my heart that rather than have war i would give up my country. i would give up my father's grave. i would give up everything rather than have the blood of white men upon the hands of my people. general howard refused to allow me more than thirty days to move my people and their stock. i said to him, 'my people have always been the friends of the white man. why are you in such a hurry? i can not get ready to move in thirty days. our stock is scattered, and snake river is very high. let us wait until fall, then the river will be low. we want time to hunt up our stock and gather supplies for winter. we want the people who live upon the lands we are to occupy at lapwai to have time to gather their harvest." general howard replied, "if you let the time run over one day, the soldiers will be there to drive you on the reservation, and all your cattle and horses outside the reservation at that time will fall into the hands of the white men." it does seem that this great haste was unnecessary and positively cruel, and that those indians should have been given time to collect their stock, their sole means of subsistence, and get them safely over the river. but the theory is we must have firmness in dealing with the indian, if we have nothing else; yet this time it proved to be a serious and costly blunder. joseph truly said, "if general howard had given me plenty of time to gather up my stock and treated too-hool-hool-suit as a man should be treated, _there would have been no war._" the indians went to make their preparations; they looked on their old home and their love for it increased at the thought that they were about to be deprived of it by fraud, even though they had never sold or signed it away. too-hool-hool-suit's indignation burned because of his imprisonment for the offense of telling his convictions in the council, the very thing he was expected to do. there was a warrior whose father had been killed by a white man, and the wrong was unrebuked. there were the two warriors who had been whipped by one harry mason. these formed a war party, and determined, over joseph's counsel, to fight the soldiers when they came. it is said that at this time, chief joseph rode one day through his village, with a revolver in each hand, saying he would shoot the first one of his warriors who resisted the government. finally, they gathered all the stock they could find, preparatory to moving. a heavy rain raised the river so high some of the cattle could not be taken across. indian guards were put in charge of the cattle left behind. white men attacked these guards and took the cattle. after this joseph could not restrain his young men and the warfare began. it was the desire of joseph and others that the settlers should not be molested, in the hope that they would remain neutral; but it was voted down in the war-council, on the grounds that it was the settlers who brought on all the trouble, because they wanted the nez perces' land and stock, and, in fact, some of them actually got both. the indians now bought arms and ammunition wherever they could. they practiced military movements, in which they were already quite proficient. general shanks says that "joseph's party was thoroughly disciplined; that they rode at full gallop along the mountain side in a steady formation by fours; formed twos, at a given signal, with perfect precision, to cross a narrow bridge; then galloped into line, reined in to a sudden halt, and dismounted with as much system as regulars." june arrived; the thirty days were up; the soldiers had not come. over on salmon river three indians killed an old hermit ranch man named devine. the taste of blood whetted their appetites, and the next day four more fell victims. mounting their horses, they hurried to camas prairie, where the main body of indians was encamped. riding through the camp they displayed the spoils of their bloodshed and exhorted the others to join them. joseph and his brother, ollacut, were not in the camp; they had placed their tepees some distance from the others, on account of joseph's wife, who was sick and wanted quiet. white bird, the next in rank and influence, gave way. riding through the camp, he exclaimed, "all must join now. there is blood. you will be punished if you delay." seventeen warriors joined the three and they hurried back to salmon river. eight more fell victims to them, including harry mason, who had whipped the two indians. on the night of june another party attacked the people of the cottonwood house, a ranch used as a frontier inn, on the road between mount idaho and fort lapwai. at ten o'clock they were warned by a messenger of the approaching indians, and hurriedly started to mount idaho, two on horseback, the rest, including several women and children, in a farm wagon. when they had covered ten miles of their journey they were overtaken by the indians. two men and a boy were killed and the others badly wounded, two men subsequently dying of their injuries. joseph protested against hostilities until he saw that war was inevitable. he then took command and moved his warriors to white bird ca�±on, where they prepared to fight the soldiers. nor had they long to wait. colonel perry, at the head of ninety soldiers, was soon on the road from fort lapwai. on the evening of the th he reached grangerville, four miles from mount idaho, where he was joined by ten citizens. marching on through the night, he reached white bird ca�±on at daylight and began the descent of the broad trail, hoping to surprise the indians. but the vigilant joseph's keen eye was the first to discover the group of horsemen silhouetted against the sky at the head of the ca�±on, just as the sun was rising. "get the white man's glass i tell white bird. horses! the soldiers are here!" he shouted in command. some of his young men became a little nervous as they saw the soldiers approaching and suggested that it would be better to move across the salmon river, where the soldiers could not reach them. "no." said joseph, "we will fight them here." the women and children were sent across the river and a party of mounted warriors under white bird took a position in ambush behind a ridge on the south side of the ca�±on. the rest, under joseph, were crouched on the ground, squarely across the trail, hidden behind rocks and in hollows. on came the soldiers until well within range, when every bush and rock poured out its fire. at the same time white bird's men appeared on the left and poured in another deadly volley. the soldiers were falling fast, and the order was shouted to fall back to the next ridge. this was immediately done, but with the enemy at their heels there was no time to stop. while the officers were trying to rally their men the indians were pressing along the sides of the ca�±on to gain the head and cut off retreat. part of the command reached the ascent and hurried out. the remainder, under lieutenant theller, were cut off, and most of them, including the gallant lieutenant, were killed. across the rugged country the indians pursued the flying troops for twelve miles. but once out of that death trap the officers obtained control, and the retreat was conducted with some degree of order. four miles from mount idaho joseph withdrew his men. he had fought and won his first battle, even though largely outnumbered by his enemy. joseph says of this encounter: "we numbered in that battle sixty men, and the soldiers one hundred. the fight lasted but a few minutes before the soldiers retreated. they lost thirty-three killed, and had seven wounded. when an indian fights, he only shoots to kill; but soldiers shoot at random. none of the soldiers were scalped. we do not believe in scalping nor in killing wounded men. soldiers do not kill many indians unless they are wounded and left upon the battlefield. then they kill indians." the military reputation of the nez perces was altered. it would require a stronger force to subdue them. reinforcements were ordered from all the neighboring forts. skirmishing and minor engagements continued. while waiting for these reinforcements a detachment was sent under captain whipple to attack chief looking-glass and his band, and bring them in before they had time to join the hostiles. whipple discovered the red men in the neighborhood of mount idaho, and dispatched lieutenant rains with ten picked men and a scout named foster to reconnoiter. following this advance-guard at a distance of a mile with his main force, the sound of firing was heard at the front. hurrying forward with his command, whipple was horrified to find that rains and every man in his detachment had been killed. a company of seventeen volunteers, under captain randall, was attacked on the mount idaho road; two were killed and two wounded. all would have been cut to pieces, had not captain whipple and his company hurried to the rescue. as to looking glass, his camp was destroyed, and seven hundred and twenty-five ponies captured, but he and his warriors all escaped and joined joseph. meantime, general howard was at fort lapwai impatiently waiting for reinforcements. but the accounts of indian horrors came so thick and fast that further delay, though desirable, was yet impossible. mason, in his account of this expedition, says: "the little band of men--cavalry and infantry--together with an old mountain howitzer and two gatling guns, are drawn up in marching order. the train of pack-mules, with their immense loads of ammunition and provision, move restlessly back and forward in the parade-ground. the trained white mare, with the tinkling bell attached to her neck, stands thoughtful and attentive, ready to lead her restless followers along the stony trail." {illustration: buckskin charlie, war-chief of the utes.} "the last farewells are said. the last mule pack is adjusted. the last red-shirted artillery man takes his stand by his gun. there is a moment of quiet. suddenly the commanding officer shouts, 'attention!' and then a moment later, 'column, march!' every man steps off with his right foot. the cavalry are in front. the proud bell-mare, with her cavalcade of mules, stubborn to all else, but to her yielding the most perfect obedience, {fn} follow, and behind them, in column of fours, come the infantry." * * * * * {fn} the author's father has taken large droves of mules from lexington, kentucky, on foot to new orleans, with no help but one assistant and an old white mare. if this queen of the drove was inclined to bite or kick her followers on the slightest provocation, her influence over them, was wonderful. without her no fence would hold them overnight; with her in their midst no fence was necessary, for where she was there would they be also. on july , general howard and his little army of four hundred fighting men, besides teamsters and train men, came in sight of the enemy. joseph, at the head of about three hundred warriors, had crossed the country to the lapwai reservation and taken a position on the clearwater, and was waiting to give battle, having erected breast works of the most approved pattern. this was done with the assistance of the squaws, who fought as hard as the men, and, as usual, worked harder. the soldiers advanced in line of battle, leaving the supply trains unguarded. from the high point of vantage he had taken, joseph was quick to notice this and dispatched thirty warriors to attack them. an officer with his field glass caught this movement just in time to send a messenger to warn them to hurry into the lines. a company of cavalry also galloped to their protection. the indians gained the smaller train, killed two packers and disabled their animals, but were driven off by the fire of the cavalry. the large train, however, gained the lines uninjured. the battle raged all that afternoon, with its charges and counter charges, its feinting and fighting. during the night both parties kept up a desultory fire while strengthening their positions. the battle was renewed in the morning, and continued with no perceptible advantage to either side until the middle of the afternoon. at that time a fresh company of cavalry re�«nforced general howard's command. the troops now redoubled their effort by charging the enemy's line on the left. for a short time the indians fought desperately from behind their rocky breastworks, but at length gave way and fled in all directions, bounding from rock to rock through the ravines, or plunging into the river out of sight only to reappear when its swift current had borne them out of range. the victorious troops pressed them so closely that the indian camp, with its blankets, buffalo robes and cooking utensils fell into their hands. the indians, however, made their escape with their herds and sufficient supplies for their purpose, and before the soldiers could cross the clearwater, a large body of warriors was seen on the right front, apparently returning for an attack. while preparations were being made to meet this force, the remainder, of the indians continued their flight and escaped. the returning warriors, having accomplished their purpose by this feint, shortly disappeared. in the morning the troops continued to pursue the retreating indians, only to fall into an ambush by the rear-guard of the nez perces, and be thrown into confusion. as dunn says: "night found the indians safely encamped in an almost impregnable position, at the entrance of lolo trail. joseph had fought his second battle, against heavy odds, and though beaten, had brought off his forces most creditably." finding they were largely outnumbered, the indians retreated through the mountain pass to bitter root valley, over what general sherman says "is universally admitted by all who have traveled it--from lewis and clark to captain winters--as one of the worst trails for man and beast on this continent." the nez perces came safely over this trail, encumbered with their women and children and herds. in the valley of the lou-lou they were confronted by a hastily built fort, held by captain rawn with a few regulars and some volunteers. looking-glass said to them, "we will not fight the settlers if they do not fight us. we are going by you to the buffalo country. will you let us go in peace?" rawn replied, "you can not go by us." to this the indian answered, "we are going by you without fighting if you will let us, but we are going by you anyhow." the volunteers now interfered, and told the commander the nez perces had always been "good indians." the settlers on the bitter root had no grounds for complaint in their conduct, as they passed each year to and from the buffalo country. besides, in the expressive frontier phrase, "they had not lost any indians," and consequently were not hunting for any. the indians might pass, and god speed them out of the country. the nez perces not only passed by in peace, but they stopped at the villages of stevensville and corvallis and traded with the whites. they also left a spy at corvallis, who stopped until howard had come up and passed on, and then sped away to joseph with full particulars. meantime general gibbon, with about two hundred cavalry, had hastened from helena across to fort missoula, on the bitter root, but arrived too late to intercept joseph. gibbon followed the indian trail, and overtook them august . waiting through the night for "that dark still hour which is just before the dawn," he swept through the camp in a furious charge, completely surprising the indians. it seems that joseph and his men supposed the war was over, and having started to the buffalo country, were careless about posting sentinels. though taken by surprise, general joseph rallied his warriors and recaptured the camp. he also drove the soldiers back to a grove of timber, where they erected rude barricades, and made a stand. joseph said of general gibbon: "finding that he was not able to capture us, he sent to his camp for his big guns (cannon), but my men had captured them and all the ammunition. we damaged the big guns all we could and carried away the powder and lead." at eleven o'clock that night the indians withdrew, leaving gibbon wounded and his command so crippled that it could not pursue. joseph had fought and won his third battle. the nez perces remained long enough to bury their dead, but when general howard joined gibbon at this place, his bannock scouts, ghoul-like, dug up the bodies, and in the presence of officers and men, scalped and mutilated them. the body of looking-glass, their ablest diplomat, who fell here, was abused in this manner, although the nez perces, being neither civilized nor the allies of civilization, neither took scalps nor mutilated. it is also their proud boast that they never made war on women and children while the war lasted. joseph said "we would feel ashamed to do so cowardly an act." continuing the retreat, joseph and his band crossed the continental divide again into idaho, and camped on the great camas prairie, on the yellowstone, west of the national park. he had replenished his supplies, captured two hundred and fifty good horses, and his forces were in excellent condition. general howard's troops also camped in the prairie a day's march behind. lieutenant bacon had been dispatched with a squad of men to hold tacher's pass, the most accessible roadway over the divide into the park. the pickets and sentinels were posted, and the weary troopers were soon sleeping, unconscious of war's alarms. in the faint starlight dark forms might have been seen creeping through the tall grass. halter ropes and hobbles were cut and bells removed from the necks of the bell-mares. creeping away in the same manner, but with less caution, a slight noise was made. "what was that?" asked a picket of a comrade. "nothing but a prowling wolf," was the reply. for some time nothing could be heard in the camp but the regular foot falls of the sentinel. suddenly a troop of horsemen came in sight, riding back over the trail of the indians. they rode in column of fours, regularly and without haste. "it must be bacon's men returning," said the pickets. on came the troopers to the very lines of the camp, but when they were challenged by the sentinel they answered with a war-whoop. at once pandemonium was let loose. a wild yell arose, followed by a fusillade of small arms, which startled the soldiers and stampeded the horses and mules, which were seen scampering away, with heads in the air, nostrils spread, snorting with excitement, followed by the indians, yelling like demons. we must credit the great chieftain with a successful surprise. the nez perces next eluded bacon and retreated through tacher's pass into the beautiful national park. in the region of the hot springs and geysers, they met a party of travelers. it consisted of mr. cowan, his wife, sister-in-law, brother-in-law and two guides. three of the men were left for dead, but the other, together with the two ladies, were carried into captivity. horrible fate! general howard said they were "afterward rescued." but joseph said, "on the way we captured one white man and two white women. we released them at the end of three days. they were kindly treated." on september word was brought that general sturgis was coming from the powder river country with three hundred and fifty cavalry and some friendly crows. joseph was now between the two forces. can the indian chieftain again escape? yes, this savage, with a genius for war which would have made him famous among the military heroes of any age or country, made a feint toward the west, fooling sturgis, and sending him on a wild-goose chase to guard the trail down the stinking water. at the same time joseph and his people, under cover of a dense forest, made their way into a narrow and slippery ca�±on. this was immensely deep, but the almost perpendicular walls were but twenty feet apart. through this dark chasm slipped and floundered the cavalry and infantry. it must have been a strange sight as the column moved slowly along the bottom of the defile, men, horses, pack-mules and artillery, with only a narrow ribbon of sky high above them. all in vain, joseph again escaped. there was but one way to reach them and that was by direct pursuit. all day long the indians retreated, fighting desperately as they went, and at dark the exhausted soldiers withdrew to camp at the mouth of the ca�±on. nothing had been accomplished during the day except to round up several hundred ponies which had been abandoned by the nez perces, while they continued their flight on fresh mounts. march as they would, the soldiers could not diminish the distance between pursued and pursuers. the nez perces retreated up the musselshell river, and then, circling back of the judith mountains, struck the missouri september , at cow island. general joseph had fought his fourth battle, against a greatly superior force, which he had held in check, while he brought off his own people in comparative safety. crossing the missouri, the nez perces moved on leisurely to the north. having repulsed the forces of howard, gibbon, and sturgis, each in turn, the indians began to feel secure. they were now entering a beautiful country, a veritable paradise, lying between the bear paw and little rocky mountains. it is also rich in romance and tradition, and the reputed locality of the "lost cabin of montana," the new el dorado of miners' thoughts by day and dreams by night. the indians established their camp on snake creek, a tributary of milk river, within a day's march of the british dominions. there was yet one hope. days before, a messenger had embarked in a canoe and started down the yellowstone river to fort keough, to inform gen. n. a. miles, the commandant, of the situation. general miles at once put his forces in order and started northward to intercept the wily joseph. he reached the indian camp on the morning of september , at the head of three hundred and seventy-five men, and at once began the attack. the nez perces knew of their coming only long enough to take a position in the ravines of the creek valley, and await the attack. general miles ordered a charge upon the indian camp, which succeeded in cutting it in two and capturing most of their horses. the soldiers, however, recoiled under the deadly fire of the indians, with one-fifth of their force killed and wounded. joseph's warriors, though surprised, proved themselves worthy of the reputation they had established at camas prairie, big hole and elsewhere, and fought with great valor. the continuous fire and unerring aim of their magazine guns at close range inflicted a loss to general miles of twenty-six killed and forty wounded, while joseph's loss for the first day and night was eighteen men and three women. each side found foe men worthy of their steel. never, on any occasion, did the american indians display more heroic courage, and never did the american soldiers exhibit more unshaken fortitude. for four days and as many nights the two forces faced each other. the whites controlled the situation, as escape from the ravine was cut off, but were unwilling to attempt to capture the camp by storm. they knew, from their first experience, that such an attempt would involve a terrible loss of life. meantime, joseph strengthened his intrenchments and prepared for a siege. he also dispatched a messenger to sitting bull, who was just over the line of the british dominions with twelve hundred discontented and hostile sioux. the hope was that this chief and his warriors would come to their relief; but for some reason sitting bull failed them in their extremity. the indians could not escape through the lines without abandoning their wounded and helpless. joseph said of this battle: "we could have escaped from bear paw mountain if we had left our wounded, old women and children behind. we were unwilling to do this. we had never heard of a wounded indian recovering while in the hands of white men. i could not bear to see my wounded men and women suffer any longer; we had lost enough already. general miles had promised that we might return to our country with what stock we had left. i believed general miles, or i never would have surrendered. i have heard that he has been censured for making the promise to return us to lapwai. he could not have made any other terms with me at that time. i would have held him in check until my friends came to my assistance, and then neither of the generals nor their soldiers would have ever left bear paw mountain alive." on the morning of october joseph and his band surrendered--those who were left. ollacut, his brother, had fallen here at snake creek, with twenty-seven others. white bird had flown in the night with a band of one hundred and five, including joseph's daughter. they reached the british dominions and joined sitting bull. so, to stop any further bloodshed, chief joseph now handed his gun to general miles, in the presence of general howard, who arrived the day previous with a small escort, and said with impressive dignity: "tell general howard i know his heart. what he told me before i have in my heart. i am tired of fighting. our chiefs are killed. looking-glass is dead; too-hool-hool-suit is dead. the old men are all dead. it is the young men who say yes or no. he who led on the young men (ollacut) is dead. it is cold and we have no blankets. the little children are freezing to death. my people, some of them, have run away to the hills, and have no blankets, no food; no one knows where they are--perhaps freezing to death. i want to have time to look for my children, and see how many of them i can find. maybe i shall find them among the dead. hear me, my chiefs. i am tired; my heart is sick, and sad. from where the sun now stands i will fight no more against the white man forever." "thus," says general sherman, "has terminated one of the most extraordinary indian wars of which there is any record." the indians throughout displayed a courage and skill that elicited universal praise; they abstained from scalping, let captive women go free, did not commit indiscriminate murder of peaceful families, which is usual, and fought with almost scientific skill, using advance and rear guards, skirmish lines and field fortifications. {illustration: "comes out holy," sioux.} gen. nelson a. miles, perhaps the greatest living authority, as he is certainly one of our ablest generals and most successful indian fighters, says in his report: "as these people have been hitherto loyal to the government, and friends of the white race, from the time their country was first explored, and in their skilful campaign have spared hundreds of lives and thousands of dollars' worth of property, that they might have destroyed, and as they have been, in my opinion, grossly wronged in years past; have lost most of their ponies, property and everything except a small amount of clothing, i have the honor to recommend that ample provision be made for their civilization, and to enable them to become self-sustaining. they are sufficiently intelligent to appreciate the consideration which, in my opinion, is due them from the government. the nez perces are the boldest men, and the best marksmen of any indians i have encountered, and chief joseph is a man of more sagacity and intelligence than any indian i have ever met. he counseled against the war, and against the usual atrocities practiced by indians, and is far more humane than such leaders as crazy horse and sitting bull. the campaign of the nez perces is a good illustration of what would be the result of bad faith or ill-treatment toward the large tribes of mountain indians that occupy most of the rocky mountain range." it must be understood that joseph surrendered on honorable terms. general miles said: "i acted on what i supposed was the original design of the government to place these indians on their own reservation, and so informed them, and also sent assurances to the war parties that were out and those who had escaped, that they would be taken to tongue river and retained for a time, and sent across the mountains as soon as the weather permitted in the spring." the indians understood also that they were to retain what stock they still had. general howard also concurred in these conditions and gave orders to general miles to send the indians to his department in the spring, unless he received "instructions from higher authority." the terms of this surrender were shamefully violated. joseph and his band were taken first to fort lincoln. then to fort leavenworth, afterward to the quapaw agency, indian territory. at leavenworth they were placed between a lagoon and the river, the worst possible place for sanitary conditions that could have been selected, with no water but that of the "big muddy" to drink. all were affected by the poisonous malaria of the camp. joseph said, "many of my people sickened and died, and we buried them in this strange land. i can not tell how much my heart suffered for my people while at leavenworth. the great spirit chief, who rules above, seemed to be looking some other way, and did not see what was being done to my people." yet he is just and magnanimous enough to add in the same connection: "i believe general miles would have kept his word if he could have done so. i do not blame him for what we have suffered since the surrender. i do not know who is to blame. we gave up all our horses, over eleven hundred, and all our saddles, over one hundred, and we have not heard from them since. _somehody has got our horses._" as helen hunt jackson well says in her "century of dishonor," "this narrative of chief joseph's is profoundly touching; a very iliad of tragedy, of dignified and hopeless sorrow; and it stands supported by the official records of the indian bureau." the indian commissioner, in his annual report for , says: "after the arrival of joseph and his band in indian territory, the bad effect of their location at fort leavenworth manifested itself in the prostration by sickness at one time of two hundred and sixty out of the four hundred and ten, and within a few months in the death of more than one-quarter of the entire number." it is gratifying to record that general miles left no stone unturned to have the conditions of the surrender respected. some seven years later, when he had been promoted, he succeeded in having chief joseph and the remnant of his band returned to the neighborhood of their old home. joseph and a few others were placed at the colville agency, in washington, and the remainder were put with their people on lapwai reservation. a few years ago chief joseph attended the commencement exercises of the carlisle indian industrial school, and there sat at the same banquet table with gen. . . howard. the two former foes, but at that time fast friends, toasted each other. a special correspondent of the _inter ocean_ wrote of this incident: "these two men were the chief opposing figures in a most remarkable indian war twenty-seven years ago. during this war, in , chief joseph's battle line was fourteen hundred miles long. he proved one of the greatest foes who ever fought against an american army, but his present attitude is vastly different, as was shown by his speech at the banquet. he spoke in the indian language, the literal translation being as follows: "'friends, i meet here my friend, general howard. i used to be so anxious to meet him. i wanted to kill him in war. to-day i am glad to meet him, and glad to meet everybody here, and to be friends with general howard. we are both old men, still we live, and i am glad. we both fought in many wars and we are both alive. ever since the war i have made up my mind to be friendly to the whites and to everybody. i wish you, my friends, would believe me as i believe myself in my heart in what i say. when my friend general howard and i fought together i had no idea that we would ever sit down to a meal together, as to-day, but we have, and i am glad. i have lost many friends and many men, women and children, but i have no grievance against any of the white people, general howard or any one. if general howard dies first, of course i will be sorry. i understand and i know that learning of books is a nice thing, and i have some children here in school from my tribe that are trying to learn something, and i am thankful to know there are some of my children here struggling to learn the white man's ways and his books. i repeat again i have no enmity against anybody. i want to be friends to everybody. i wish my children would learn more and more every day, so they can mingle with the white people and do business with them as well as anybody else, i shall try to get indians to send their children to school.'" during the louisiana purchase exposition, at st. louis, in , chief joseph was one of the greatest attractions at the indian congress, the early part of the season. but the thought of exhibiting himself for money was very distasteful and humiliating to the proud chieftain. this, together with his habit of brooding over the wrongs and afflictions of his unhappy people, brought on a sickness. he went back to the reservation the early part of july, but it was simply going home to die. he lingered along until the st day of the following september, when his great soul took its flight to the "great spirit chief," who will judge between him and the government who (it would almost seem) deliberately wasted and destroyed one of the noblest and most civilized of the native american tribes. soon after his death, dr. e. h. latham, the agency physician, was interviewed by a newspaper reporter, and he declared that "joseph had died of a broken heart." no people on earth have a nobler patriotism, or greater love for their country than the indians. we doubt not the doctor's diagnosis was correct, and we firmly believe that thousands of other leaders of that race have died of the same malady. all fair-minded people now believe it was a mistake, and a burning shame, to take the wallowa valley away from joseph and his band for the benefit of a few greedy settlers, when there were at that very time teeming millions of acres of land just as good, and open to settlement, throughout eastern oregon and border states. all the vast treasure and bloodshed would have been saved, and to-day there would have been in that valley of "winding water" one of the most civilized, prosperous and progressive indian settlements in america. it would actually pay our government in dollars and cents to mete out the same protection and justice to the indian as it does to every one else under the flag whose skin is white. whatever the theory may be, the practice has been to regard the indian as the legal prey and predestined victim for every white scoundrel who wanted to rob or even murder him, and he was often justified on the theory that "the only good indian is a dead one." but it is a long lane that has no turn. those broken-hearted martyrs, like joseph, have not died in vain. we seem to be entering on a new era of human brotherhood, in which the value is placed on the jewel rather than the _color_ of the casket containing it. manhood, worth, virtue, are now sought for and honored even by the proud anglo-saxon, regardless of race or color. the proof of this statement is found in the splendid monument erected by the washington university state historical society over the remains of chief joseph. we are indebted to prof. edmond s. meany, secretary of the above society, for an account of the exercises held at the unveiling and dedication of the monument. this took place at nespelim, washington, june , , in the presence of a large number of white and indian friends and admirers of the great chief. the monument is of white marble and measures seven and one-half feet in height. on the front is carved a fine portrait of the famous warrior. on the base, below this portrait, in large raised letters, appears the name, chief joseph. on one side is his nez perce name, hin-mah-too-yah-lat-kekt, and its translation, "thunder rolling in the mountains." on the other side, "he led his people in the nez perce war of . died september, , age, about years," on the back of the shaft: "erected june, , by the washington university state historical society." we also received from an indian correspondent, tom eagle blanket, of nespelim, a newspaper containing a report of the exercises of the occasion. several speeches were made by representatives of both races. the principal indian orator was yellow bull, an aged nez perce from montana, who was a sub-chief, next in rank to the younger joseph, at the time of the war, and fought with him, side by side. though old and blind. yellow bull walked erect and made quite an imposing appearance in his rich indian dress. he spoke very earnestly, and said in part: "i am very glad to meet you all here to-day, my brothers and sisters, and children and white friends. when the creator created us, he put us on this earth, and the flowers on the earth, and he takes us all in his arms and keeps us in peace and friendship, and our friendship and peace shall never fade, but it will shine forever. our people love our old customs. i am very glad to see our white friends here attending this ceremony, and it seems like we all have the same sad feelings, and that would seem like it would wipe my tears. joseph is dead; but his words are not dead; his words will live forever. this monument will stand--joseph's words will stand as long as this monument. we (the red and the white people) are both here, and the great spirit looks down on us both; and now if we are good and live right, like joseph, we shall see him. i have finished." as soon as the two widows of joseph and other old squaws who were with the fighting nez perces during the war heard the voice of yellow bull once more, and his words of the dead chieftain, they broke forth into loud wailing, thus proving that indian women love as devotedly, and mourn for the loved and lost, exactly like their white sisters. after electing albert waters chief, to succeed joseph, the bands returned to their homes and reservations. chapter xv. geronimo, or go-yat-thlay, the yawner, the renowned apache warrior and medicine man. with the possible exception of the sioux, the apaches were the most formidable of all our western indian tribes. indeed it is conceded that in cunning, ferocity and endurance they have never had an equal on this continent, or a superior on this globe. general crook, who was an acknowledged authority, has seen an apache lope for fifteen hundred feet up the side of a mountain without showing any sign of fatigue, there being neither an increase of respiration or perspiration. a band of apaches have been known to ambush a party of whites on an open plain, where there was neither tree, shrub, nor blade of grass growing. it was done by burrowing in the sand and covering their bodies, all but their eyes, and remaining motionless until the unsuspecting whites were within a hundred yards of them. capt. john g. bourke, who served under crook against the apaches, thus describes those warriors: "physically, he is perfect; he might be a trifle taller for artistic effect, but his apparent 'squattiness' is due more to great girth of chest than to diminutive stature. his muscles are hard as bone, and i have seen one light a match on the sole of his naked foot. twenty years ago, when crook took him in hand, the apache had few wants and cared for no luxuries. war was his business, his life, and victory his dream. to attack a mexican camp or isolated village, and run off a herd of cattle, mules or sheep, he would gladly travel hundreds of miles, incurring every risk and displaying a courage which would have been extolled in an historical novel if it had happened in a raid by highlanders upon southrons; but when it was your stock or your friends, it became quite a different matter. he wore no clothing whatever, save a narrow piece of calico or buckskin about the loins, a helmet, also of buckskin, plentifully crested with the plumage of the wild turkey and eagle, and long-legged moccasins, held to the waist by a string, and turned up at the toes in a shield which protected him from stones and 'cholla' cactus. if he felt thirsty he drank from the nearest brook; if there was no brook near by, he went without, and, putting a stone or twig in his mouth to induce a flow of saliva, journeyed on. when he desired to communicate with friends at home, or to put himself in correspondence with persons whose cooperation had been promised, he rubbed two sticks together, and dense signal smoke rolled to the zenith and was answered from peaks twenty and thirty miles away. by nightfall his bivouac was pitched at a distance from water, generally on the flank of a rocky mountain, along which no trail would be left, and up which no force of cavalry could hope to ascend without making a noise to awaken the dead." the apache had another practice which made it still more difficult to trail or capture a roving band. after striking a murderous blow, and when closely pursued, they would break up into small parties, which, if hard pressed, would continue to dissolve until each one was pursuing his way alone through the mountain fastnesses. when pursuit was suspended and the danger over, they reunited at some remote rendezvous well known to all. another great advantage which the apache had over the soldier is the fact that these people were familiar with all the ravines, caverns, ca�±ons, defiles, gorges and places inaccessible to horses, which are almost innumerable in the mountain ranges of arizona, new mexico and across the headwaters of the rio grande. the apache, when on a raid, could live on rats, mice, terrapin and rabbits; and if all these failed and he was hard pressed, he would kill and eat his horse. {illustration: geronimo, or go-yat-thlay, the yawner, the renowned apache chief and medicine man.} among the arts possessed by these red men was that of concocting a beverage from the maguey plant, called "tizwin," compared to which fusel oil and jersey lightning are as mild and harmless as jersey milk. but the apaches are not at all squeamish as regards the flavor of their liquors; strength and results are all that is demanded, and "tizwin" had plenty of both. so when they wished to indulge in a debauch they would drink copious draughts of this horrible concoction, which brought out all the latent demon in them, provided it had not already come to the surface. ellis, in his "indian wars," says: "the climate of arizona and other parts of the southwest, for weeks at a time, is like a furnace. were not the air dry, life would be unbearable to the whites. if those who remained at home had any conception of the sufferings of our officers and soldiers when prosecuting their indian campaigns, their lips, instead of speaking criticism, would utter expressions of wonder and admiration. "when the troops were trying to run down the apaches, the thermometer, day after day, marked one hundred and twenty degrees, and often more. the metalwork on their guns became so hot that it could not be touched with the bare hand. the air pulsated and the soil was baked under their feet. sometimes, when aflame with thirst, they toiled mile after mile, cheered by the expectation of reaching some spring, they found the apaches had been there ahead of them and befouled it beyond all use for man or beast." various reasons have been assigned to account for the apache outbreak of the spring of . perhaps the following is the most probable of those mentioned. rendered desperate by long-enforced temperance restrictions, the apaches concocted a quantity of their native drink, "tizwin," and the braves got uproariously drunk. with returning sobriety came repentance and a wholesome fear of general crook, who was then in command of the forces in the southwest and had supervision of the posts and reservations. such sprees by his indian charges were strictly forbidden, and surely punished. lieutenant davis, in command of the post, was interviewed regarding their offense and the probability of punishment. "i must report the matter to general crook," replied the officer; "i can not say what steps he will see fit to take in the matter." the braves withdrew anxious and fearful, but concealing their real feelings beneath a sullen gravity. the envoys reported the ominous reply of the lieutenant to the others of the band, and the matter was discussed at length. among those who had the most to say was a woman, huera, the squaw of mangus, one of the principal chiefs of the apaches, who possessed an influence over the braves seldom equaled by indian women. more than once her intercession cast the balance in the fate of a captive, and meant death by torture or life and adoption into the tribe. she now addressed the warriors about as follows: "are you men, old women or children? if old women and children you will stay here and wait to receive your punishment. but if you are warriors you will take the warpath, and then the 'grey fox' must catch you before you are punished. may-be-so you go to sonora, and he no catch you. i have spoken." to her fierce utterances they listened with attention, because she told them what they wanted to hear, and the next day saw them upon the warpath. they had escaped punishment, for a time at least, for it is an axiom of indian warfare, the truth of which is at once apparent, that you can not do anything to an indian until you have caught him. the leader of this band of chiricahua apaches is the subject of this sketch--the far-famed geronimo, the best advertised indian on earth. he is a son of tah-clish-un, and a pupil of cochise, from whom he had learned every detail of indian generalship, and had succeeded him in his marvelous influence over the tribe. lieut. britton davis, third cavalry, under whose control the chiricahuas were, telegraphed at once to general crook a report of the case, but the wires were working badly and the message was never delivered. had the message reached crook, he would at once have taken action to head them off and it is quite probable no trouble would have occurred, as he would have nipped it in the bud. the troops were at once prepared for pursuit, and the long chase began about the middle of april, . their earliest field of operations was in that portion of new mexico between the ladron and magdalena mountains and the boundary of arizona, and just north of the gila river. "geronimo knows this country as well as if he had made it himself," was the quaint remark of a newspaper correspondent; and indeed it would not have suited his purpose better, had it been made to order. from mountain fastnesses beyond the reach of the ordinary white soldier, the warriors of geronimo and naiche could look down upon the troops sent in pursuit. from their hiding-places among the caves and ca�±ons they could make a sudden dash upon scouting parties, or cut off supply trains; and the cunning savages knew how to time these descents so as to avoid danger of diminishing their band. "but," as kelsey says, "it was not only in finding secure hiding-places that the indians were too much for the whites. had that been all, they might have been surrounded by a cordon of soldiers and reduced by famine. they had pathways known only to themselves, by which they could elude pursuit. issuing from their rocky caves and lofty eyries, the untiring children of the plains would descend upon the isolated settlements which are scattered over the two territories, and write in fire and blood the message of defiance to the general whom they had once feared. now and then, perhaps a captive woman or child would be carried off to a fate worse than death; but more often all fell beneath the murderous stroke of the apache. possessing themselves of the horses which had once belonged to the murdered settler, they would ride off. however hot the pursuit they were not to be caught. "the cavalry must have rest, not only for themselves, but for their horses. but if the steeds of the indians tired, they had but to steal others at the settlements which they passed, and freshly mounted, the unwearied red men laughed at the white men's best speed. from ninety to one hundred miles in the course of the day was no unusual achievement, though they were encumbered with their women and children; and if necessity required they could travel much farther without resting." general crook had a theory that the best way to catch geronimo and his band of marauders was to employ other friendly apache warriors as scouts, trailers and indian police. this was accordingly done, and between two and three hundred were sworn into the service of the united states, and placed under the command of captain crawford. with the aid of these apache scouts they were now able to match cunning with cunning, to interpret the smoke signals, to trail the enemy night or day where no track was visible to the eyes of the regulars. geronimo now fled across the mexican line into the provinces of chihuahua and sonora, where in the sierra madre mountains the country was even more rugged than on the american side. fortunately a treaty existed with mexico at this time, whereby troops from either country were permitted to cross the boundary when in chase of fugitive indians. geronimo had with him when he started thirty-four warriors, eight boys and ninety-one women. who were almost as fierce as the bucks. never did so small a band of savages give our government as much trouble. general crook and captain crawford were on their mettle, and the pursuit was continued across the rio grande. from place to place along the border the soldiers followed the fugitives. now and again a sudden encounter would result in the death of one or two on either side, and the retreat of the apaches. the soldiers and indian scouts pushed matters so hard that they finally corraled geronimo. they held him just one night, when he escaped again and the flight was continued. several nights later he had the temerity to steal into camp with four warriors, and, seizing a white woman, told her that the only way to save her life was to point out his wife's tent. she obeyed. geronimo set her down, caught up his squaw, and was off before the alarm could be given. during the fall of , the death of geronimo was regularly reported about every two weeks, but during the first part of november he was sufficiently alive to have three running fights with the pursuing soldiers. the mexicans had also suffered severely from the depredations of the marauding apaches, and they, too, had organized a company of irregular troops from the tarahumari indians, who were almost as wild and fierce as the apaches themselves, and had been their mortal enemy for the past two hundred years. this company, one hundred and fifty strong, officered by mexicans and under the command of santa anna perez, a captain in the mexican army, had trailed a band of thieving apaches seventeen days. meantime captain crawford and his regulars and indian scouts were relentlessly pursuing geronimo and his band, and during the month of january, , they came up with them near nacori, in the state of sonora, and surrounded their camp just before daylight. for once geronimo was surprised; probably worn out at last by the continuous pursuit, the indians slept sounder than usual. certain it is, the surprise was complete, and after a few volleys had been fired the indians saw their case was hopeless and prepared to surrender. hoisting a white flag, which was the signal for the firing to cease, and relying on the white man's chivalry, the squaws of the camp were dispatched, as messengers, to the commanding officer. the squaws stated that geronimo, xaiche and their warriors wished to confer with captain crawford; that they were worn out with the long chase, and were ready to meet general crook and surrender to him. they had no terms to propose, but would throw themselves on the mercy of the victor. captain crawford now demanded that they should surrender their horses, mules, wagons, ammunition and camp outfit. his requirements were at once complied with, and it was agreed that a conference should be held the next day to arrange a meeting between general crook and the hostiles. thus matters stood when the band of thieving, murdering apaches pursued by the mexican soldiers, reached geronimo's band. the fugitives found their comrades treating with a united states officer. they had literally jumped out of the frying-pan into the fire. the mexicans were hot in pursuit, and were not to be deprived of their revenge simply because their foes had received unexpected reinforcements. they promptly opened fire, which was as promptly returned. suddenly above the conflict a shrill voice is heard: "for god's sake, stop firing! these are united states troops." the captain at once ordered his men to stop, but before the command was understood, there was a report from a mexican rifle, and the gallant captain crawford fell back with a bullet in his brain. with a muttered curse, a young apache called dutchy returned the shot and avenged the death of his beloved captain that he was unable to prevent. in this unfortunate skirmish the mexicans lost one of their bravest officers, mauricio coredor, who was one of their best indian fighters, and had rendered great service to both nations by ridding the earth of victorio, that bloodthirsty and cruel apache, a worthy predecessor of geronimo. they also lost another officer and two privates; while four of their number were wounded, or, according to some accounts, nine. of the united states force, two privates were wounded; the commanding officer being the only one whose injury was fatal. when the firing ceased, lieutenant maus, the second in command, accompanied by one comrade, advanced to confer with capt. santa anna perez. the united states uniform is not always an all-sufficient guarantee in such cases, and the mexican commander was doubtful what course to pursue. lieutenant maus proposed that when they should reach nacori, he would produce papers to show that he was what he claimed to be. but captain perez resolved that he would not fail in discretion and refused to allow an apache to approach his camp, even though a united states scout. matters between the two officers were finally adjusted, by each giving the other a letter, stating the manner in which the fight occurred; so that neither would be censured by his superior officer for firing upon the troops of a friendly nation. having escorted the body of captain crawford to nacori, where it was temporarily interred (and afterward conveyed to kearney, nebraska, for burial), lieutenant maus took the command and encamped with all his force on the bank of the san bernardino creek, whence he sent a courier to fort bowie to inform general crook of the request of geronimo's band for an interview, looking to a surrender. meanwhile, as usual, the wishes of the settlers had far outrun the facts, and it was confidently asserted that geronimo had already surrendered with all his warriors. general crook at once assented to the request, and set off for the rendezvous. the journey of forty miles was soon made and communications opened with the hostiles, whose camp was about twenty-five miles south of that of lieutenant maus. the indians called for more time, on the plea that it was difficult to collect all the braves belonging to the band, as they were scattered through a rough mountain country difficult of access by couriers. meantime the settlers were anxious for the surrender, for well they knew that their lives and stock were in constant jeopardy while geronimo and his marauders were at large, so they gave their imaginations full rein, and had the whole business arranged to their satisfaction several times before general crook had even fixed a date for it. so it came about that the slippery geronimo surrendered as many times in the spring of as he had been killed the previous fall. unfortunately for the peace and safety of the people of the three territories, surrendering in imagination and on paper was no more effective than killing done in the same way; and geronimo remained in his camp until the latter part of march. at last the interview took place under the shade of large sycamore and cottonwood trees. captain bourke, who was present, made a verbatim record of the conference. said he: "geronimo began a long disquisition upon the causes which induced the outbreak from camp apache; he blamed 'chato,' 'mickey free,' and lieut. britton davis, who, he charged, were unfriendly to him. he was told by an indian named 'nodiskay' and by the wife of 'mangus,' that the white people were going to send for him, arrest and kill him; he had been praying to the dawn (tapida) and the darkness, to the sun (chigo-na-ay), and the sky (yandestan), to help him and put a stop to those bad stories that people were telling about him and what they had put in the papers. [the old chief was here apparently alluding to the demand made by certain of the southwestern journals at the time of his surrender to crook in , that he should be hanged.] 'i don't want that any more; when a man tries to do right, such stories ought not to be put in the newspapers. what is the matter that you [general crook] don't speak to me? it would be better if you would speak to me and look with a pleasant face; it would make better feeling; i would be glad if you did. i'd be better satisfied if you would talk to me once in a while. why don't you look at me and smile at me? i am the same man. i have the same feet, legs and hands, and the sun looks down on me a complete man; i wish you would look and smile at me. the sun and the darkness, the winds, are all listening to what we now say. to prove to you that i am now telling you the truth, remember i sent you word that i would come from a place far away to speak to you here, and you see me now. some have come on horseback and some on foot; if i were thinking bad or if i had done bad, i would never have come here. if it had been my fault would i have come so far to talk with you?' he then expressed his delight at seeing 'ka-e-ten-na' once more; he had lost all hope of ever having that pleasure; that was one reason why he had left camp apache." {illustration: group of apaches at the time of their surrender.} "to this speech general crook replied, through the interpreter, 'i have heard what you have said. it seems very strange that more than forty men should be afraid of three; but if you left the reservation for that reason, why did you kill innocent people, sneaking all over the country to do it? what did those innocent people do to you that you should kill them, steal their horses, and slip around in the rocks like coyotes? what had that to do with killing innocent people? there is not a week passes that you don't hear foolish stories in your own camp; but you are no child--you don't have to believe them. you promised me in the sierra madre that that peace should last, but you have lied about it. when a man has lied to me once i want some better proof than his own word before i can believe him again. your story about being afraid of arrest is all bosh; there were no orders to arrest you. you sent up some of your people to kill 'chato' and lieutenant davis, and then you started the story that they had killed them, and thus you got a great many of your people to go out. everything that you did on the reservation is known; there is no use for you to try to talk nonsense. i am no child. you must make up your mind whether you will stay out on the warpath or surrender unconditionally. if you stay out i'll keep after you and kill the last one if it takes fifty years. you are making a great fuss about seeing 'ka-e-ten-na'; over a year ago i asked you if you wanted me to bring 'ka-e-ten-na' back, but you said 'no.' it's a good thing for you, geronimo, that we didn't bring 'ka-e-ten-na' back, because 'ka-e-ten-na' has more sense now than all the rest of the chiricahuas put together. you told me the same sort of a story in the sierra madre, but you lied. what evidence have i of your sincerity? how do i know whether or not you are lying to me? have i ever lied to you? i have said all i have to say; you had better think it over to-night and let me know in the morning.'" thus the conference ended with the best of prospects for a treaty, and an immediate end of hostilities. the indians were subdued and had determined to surrender, but it was not to be. there is one power which was not taken into account, but which proved to be more potent for evil than the representatives of the government--crook and his army--were for good. john barleycorn appeared at this turning point of the treaty, and proved to be stronger than uncle sam, by promptly undoing all that crook and the lamented crawford had done. according to captain bourke, "'archaise' and 'ka-e-ten-na' came and awakened general crook before it was yet daylight, on march , and informed him that 'nachita,' one of the chiricahua chiefs, was so drunk he couldn't stand up and was lying prone on the ground; other chiricahuas were also drunk, but none so drunk as 'nachita.' whisky had been sold them by a rascal named tribollet, who lived on the san bernardino ranch, on the mexican side of the line, about four hundred yards from the boundary. these indians asked permission to take a squad of their soldiers and guard tribollet and his men to keep them from selling any more of the soul-destroying stuff to the chiricahuas. a beautiful commentary upon the civilization of the white man! when we reached cajon bonito, the woods and grass were on fire; four or five chiricahua mules, already saddled, were wandering about without riders. pretty soon we came upon 'geronimo,' 'kuthli' and three other chiricahua warriors riding on two mules, all drunk as lords. it seemed to me a great shame that armies could not carry with them an atmosphere of military law which would have justified the hanging of the wretch, tribollet, as a foe to human society. upon arriving at san bernardino springs, mr. frank leslie informed me that he had seen this man tribollet sell thirty dollars' worth of mescal in less than one hour--all to chiricahuas--and upon being remonstrated with, the wretch boasted that he could have sold one hundred dollars' worth that day at ten dollars a gallon in silver. that night, during a drizzling rain, a part of the chiricahuas--those who had been drinking tribollet's whisky stole out from maus' camp and betook themselves to the mountains, frightened, as was afterward learned, by the lies told them by tribollet and the men at his ranch. two of the warriors, upon sobering up, returned voluntarily, and there is no doubt at all that, had general crook not been relieved from the command of the department of arizona, he could have sent out runners from among their own people and brought back the last one without a shot being fired. before being stampeded by the lies and the vile whisky of wicked men, whose only mode of livelihood was from the vices, weaknesses, or perils of the human race, all the chiricahuas--drunk or sober--were in the best of humor and were quietly herding their ponies just outside of maus' camp. "thus was one of the bravest, and, up to this point, most successful generals and his army defeated by one villainous wretch with a barrel of cheap whisky. what did tribollet care how many settlers' homes were burned, their stock driven off, and their families butchered, if he could only sell his vile adulterated whisky at ten dollars a gallon in silver." many settlers of the southwest had long believed that general geronimo was a better officer than general crook, and this result, just at the time of the proposed surrender, seemed to justify them. about the most charitable construction we can put upon general crook's action, or rather want of action, is that he was failing at this time, by reason of age, and "eight years of the hardest work of his life." he certainly was slow, careless and showed a lack of firmness in dealing with the villainous wretch, tribollet. if no other way was open, he could have arrested him, or acted on the suggestion of the apache scout, and detailed a squad of soldiers to guard tribollet and his men to keep them from selling whisky to the indians, contrary to orders. general crook now tendered his resignation as commander of the department of the southwest, and was succeeded by gen. nelson a. miles. general crook's policy had been to surround the hostiles and crush them as an anaconda does his prey; but he might as well have tried to crush an air-cushion. general miles, who was our most successful indian fighter, because he was somehow nearly always _present_ when hostile indians were ready to surrender, adopted a more active and vigorous campaign. he organized the expedient of offering a reward for each indian or head of an indian brought in. it is said that the price of an ordinary brave was $ , while geronimo, dead or alive, was worth $ , to the one who should kill or capture him. in spite of these drastic measures, those who predicted a speedy end of the war were doomed to disappointment. capt. h. w. lawton, fourth cavalry, took the field with his command, may , . he intended at first to operate exclusively in mexico, as it was thought that geronimo had fled to his stronghold in the sierra madre. but this was only a ruse to send the soldiers on the wrong trail, while the band of that wily chief broke up into small companies and raided through southwestern arizona and northwestern sonora. but lawton soon learned the deception and followed the raiding parties. captain lawton's command consisted of thirty-five men of troop b, fourth cavalry, twenty indian scouts, twenty men of company d, eighth infantry, and two pack trains. fresh detachments of scouts and infantry took the places of those first sent out, and by the first part of july the apaches had been driven southeast of oposura. up to this time lawton's command had marched a distance equal to two-thirds of the breadth of the continent, surprised the hostiles once, and forced them to abandon their camps on three different occasions. the country at this time was burned over, and in many places there was neither grass nor water. "every device known to the indian," wrote captain lawton, "was practiced to throw me off the trail, but without avail. my trailers were good, and it was soon proven that there was not a spot the enemy could reach where security was assured." during the month of july the cavalry were so worn out, a fresh start was made with only infantry and indian scouts. assistant leonard wood was given the command of the infantry, while lieutenant brown led the scouts. these charged the camp of the hostiles and captured all their ponies and baggage, but the elusive geronimo and his band escaped, to supply themselves with fresh horses from the nearest corral. when the infantry in turn became exhausted and their shoes worn out on the rocks, they were sent back to the supply camp for rest, while fresh cavalry, under lieut. a. l. smith, continued the campaign. general miles's order at this time was: "commanding officers are expected to continue a pursuit until capture, or until they are assured a fresh command is on the trail." in obedience to this command, the hunt for geronimo was taken up by twenty-five different detachments representing four regiments. this continuous trailing, together with five encounters, soon convinced the apaches that there was no safety in arizona, and they hurried to the mountain fastnesses of the sierra madre in sonora, where they frequently rise , and , feet above the plain, which is a mile above sea level. surgeon wood, in his report, describes sonora as "a continuous mass of mountains of the most rugged character. range follows range with hardly an excuse for a valley, unless the narrow ca�±ons be so considered." spencer says these ca�±ons are a mile deep. lawton's command now resumed the trail, clinging to it like bloodhounds, in spite of heat, hunger, thirst and fatigue. geronimo and naiche could not shake him off. pursued and pursuers reached a point three hundred miles south of the boundary line. the relays of troops on their trail night and day were too much even for geronimo's band, in spite of their marvelous powers of endurance. they were at last perfectly exhausted and willing to surrender. at this time lieut. c. b. gatewood, of the sixth cavalry, at the risk of his life, went into geronimo's camp, where he met him face to face and demanded his surrender. as he and his entire band were helpless and hopeless they expressed themselves as willing to submit. the only terms lawton or his superior, general miles, would consider was unconditional surrender. at last, after some consultation with his warriors, the oft-killed and much surrendering apache submitted himself to the united states authorities on the morning of september , , at skeleton ca�±on, arizona. when the band surrendered, general miles noticed that chief naiche was not among the indians; and messengers were sent after him to induce him to come in; but he delayed until the evening of the next day. the chief explained that his delay was due to two reasons. in the first place, he was fearful of being treated as his grandfather, mangus colorado, had been, that is, murdered after he surrendered. his second reason for delay was that he thought it appropriate that he, the son of the great war-chief, cochise, and the first chief of the chiricahuas, should be the last to lay down his arms and cease fighting the white men, whom he and his fathers had fought for two centuries. never was the surrender of so small a number of savages deemed of more importance. twenty-two warriors comprised the entire fighting force that remained. about eighteen months had been spent in the pursuit, which covered a distance of two thousand miles. general miles had been in command just twenty-one weeks, during which time his men traversed more than one thousand miles. the geronimo war, now ended, had cost the government more than a million dollars. when the news was received, and confirmed by later reports, that geronimo and his band had actually surrendered, there was much rejoicing throughout western texas, new mexico, arizona, and even across the rio grande in mexico. bonfires were made, and congratulatory telegrams poured in upon general miles and captain lawton from many sources. families who had been in daily terror of their lives, now felt they could retire at night with some assurance of living to see the sunrise of the next morning. it was not thought prudent to let geronimo and his band remain in the southwest, even as united states prisoners, as the settlers would have still been in terror lest they should again break out of the reservation or prison and renew their depredations. for this reason, geronimo and sixteen members of his band, including the leading chiefs, were sent to fort pickens, florida. the rest of his band, and the four hundred chiricahua and warm spring indians of fort apache were sent to fort marion, near st. augustine, florida, about the same time. may , , the prisoners from the latter fort were removed to mount vernon, alabama, to improve their health. here they were afterward joined by geronimo and the other prisoners from fort pickens. at least two of the officers engaged in this campaign afterward became distinguished in the spanish-american and philippine wars. we refer to capt. h. w. lawton and surgeon leonard wood, whose subsequent histories are well known. capt. john g. bourke, near the close of his work, "on the border with crook," states that a number of the prisoners sent to florida, including "chato" and his band, "had remained faithful for three years, and had rendered signal service in the pursuit of the renegades." continuing, he wrote, "yet, every one of those faithful scouts--especially the two, 'ki-e-ta' and martinez, who had at imminent personal peril gone into the sierra madre to hunt up 'geronimo' and induce him to surrender--were transplanted to florida, and there subjected to the same punishment as had been meted out to 'geronimo.' and with them were sent men like 'goth-kli' and 'to-klanni,' who were not chiricahuas at all, but had only lately married wives of that band, who had never been on the warpath in any capacity except as soldiers of the government, and had devoted years to its service. there is no more disgraceful page in the history of our relations with the american indians than that which conceals the treachery visited upon the chiricahuas who remained faithful in their allegiance to our people." if these statements are true, and they are quoted from documents of the war department, then the loyal indians of this period have been terribly wronged. and every honorable soldier, and just citizen, should demand that reparation be made and the wrong righted as much as possible, even after the lapse of years. if these indians were unjustly imprisoned, as is here claimed, the accumulating years only serve to augment the shame of those responsible for such an outrage. in the spring of a school was opened for the indian children at mount vernon, alabama, and geronimo was not only present at the opening, but acted as head usher on the occasion. october , , geronimo and a portion of his band, including naiche and other chiefs, were removed to fort sill, oklahoma. they now number people and are called prisoners of war. naiche, the last of the band to surrender, seems to be, according to his own statement, an hereditary chief of the chiricahua apaches. he is said to be a clever artist, and a crack shot, either with the primitive bow and arrow or winchester rifle. he is now one of the united states soldiers at fort sill, having enlisted as a government scout. as we were anxious to learn more of these two noted indians, especially geronimo, we determined to make a visit to fort sill, which is in comanche county, oklahoma territory, three miles from lawton. this we did in april of . the commandant at the fort, lieut. george a. purington, extended every courtesy, and among other things gave me this bit of information. said he: "when geronimo was about to start to washington i gave him a check for $ . he took it to lawton and deposited $ of it in the bank, and started to washington with only $ in his pocket. but wherever the train stopped and people learned that geronimo was on board they crowded around the car windows and bought his autograph as fast as he could write it at cents each." the interpreter, george m. wratton, who was with geronimo, said he had trouble getting him from one depot to another because of the people crowding around, eager for his autograph. he attracted more attention than any one in washington, the president alone excepted. he soon had his pockets full of money. he bought a trunk and filled it with good clothes, and had money in his pocket when he returned to fort sill, ahead of the interpreter, having become separated from him in washington. {illustration: naiche, head chief of he chiricahua apaches.} the commandant also informed us that geronimo's imprisonment was of the mildest form possible. his treatment is kind and humane, and, in fact, he is a well-to-do indian, with money in the bank at lawton and the proceeds of a herd of about two hundred cattle, kept on the reservation by his good friend, uncle sam. continuing, the lieutenant said, warming with his theme; "why, as a matter of fact, geronimo enjoys comparative freedom. besides going to washington city recently and coming all the way back by himself, he is continually going somewhere. here is a letter which i have just received from one of the miller brothers, proprietors of ranch of bliss, oklahoma, asking me to let geronimo be with them june in their great wild west cowboy and indian outfit, which is being arranged to entertain the national editorial association, which will meet at guthrie about that time. they propose to pay geronimo his own price, and i am perfectly willing he should go and earn something for himself. out of the fifty or sixty thousand people expected on the ground that day, it is thought that at least ten thousand will come purposely to see geronimo, as he is the best advertised indian in america. just last night i gave him a permit to visit quanah parker, and he will go to-day. here he enjoys comparative liberty and protection, but should the president pardon him, and he return to his old haunts in arizona or texas, there are a number of white men, whose families he and his warriors butchered, have sworn to kill him on sight." in walking around the grounds of the fort, i went into a sutler's store and purchased a bow and arrow made by geronimo, but i failed to find the chief, and was passing near the depot, going to the home of mr. wratton, the interpreter, to make inquiry, when the station agent called to me and said geronimo was then in the depot waiting for a train. hurrying back, i found the noted chief on the platform of the depot; he took my proffered hand with a smile and a hearty "how!" and pulled me up on the platform. i had expected to see a gray-haired, sour-visaged, skinny-looking old indian, with a scowl on his face and nervous twitching fingers, as if eager to shed more blood. but instead i saw a smiling, well-kept, well-dressed indian, about five feet nine inches tall, with square shoulders and deep chest, indicating the marvelous power of endurance for which he and his warriors were noted. his actual weight that day was pounds, but an old soldier who had followed him over desert and mountain assured me that his fighting weight used to be about a ton. he is rather darker than the average of the apaches, his skin being more of a chocolate than copper color. he has the usual indian features with broad face and high and prominent cheekbones, each covered at the time with a vermilion spot about the size of a silver dollar. but the most remarkable of all his features are his eyes, which are keen and bright and a decided blue, something very rare among indians. he was dressed in a well-fitting blue cloth suit of citizen's clothes, and it was hard to realize that he was the same indian designated by general miles as "the tiger of the human race." i found that while he was quick to understand much that was said to him, he spoke but a few words of english, therefore i suggested by signs that we go to the interpreter's house and have him talk for us. turning to the station agent and looking up the track he asked, "how much?" the agent pulled out geronimo's open-faced silver watch from his vest pocket and running his finger around the dial, and half around again, he indicated an hour and a half. "good," he exclaimed, and we started off to the interpreter's house, about one-fourth of a mile across the prairie from the depot. imagine the writer and geronimo walking arm in arm across the pasture. well, that is what happened. there are other things besides politics which make strange companions. about half way to the house there was a little stream to cross, its width being a good jump for a man. now i rather excelled in jumping in my college sports and saw a chance to test the old chief's activity, so running forward, i vaulted over the stream, but it required an effort, and to my astonishment geronimo leaped it with ease and went a foot farther than where i landed. near the interpreter's yard was a prairie-dog town, the first i had ever seen. it consisted of a number of little hills with a hole in the side least exposed to rain; on top of some of these hills prairie dogs were to be seen, and heard, barking at us as we approached until we got quite near, when they would dart into their holes. the aged chief noticed them, and throwing an imaginary winchester to his shoulder and sighting along the barrel, he made his mouth "pop" several times in imitation of a gun. in the distance i noticed three more hills, each with a prairie dog sentinel on top. calling his attention to them by pointing in that direction, he at once raised the sights on his imaginary gun and again his "pop! pop! pop!" was heard, showing that his eyes are still good. when we reached the house of the interpreter, george m. wratton, and i had explained the object of our call, and convinced him that i was a historian searching for facts and information, he was ready to help me. i found him a very intelligent, well informed gentleman, who, as the commandant had assured me, probably knows more about geronimo than the chief does himself. mr. wratton was present, and one of the two interpreters who did the talking, when geronimo surrendered to general miles. he was a famous scout during the geronimo war and is now interpreter at fort sill. he it was who interpreted geronimo's speech to the "great father," president roosevelt, in washington, as also the reply. my first question to geronimo was, "where were you born?" "in arizona," was the reply. "how old are you?" "he says he is seventy-three," said my interpreter, "but i tell you he is at least eighty, if not more." continuing, he added, "i don't believe he knows his age, few indians do." "is he a full-blood indian?" i asked. "yes," was the reply. "then how is it that he has a mexican or spanish name? geronimo is from one of those languages and is the same as gerome." the chief's reply was that this name was given him in mexico many years ago, when but a youth, and took the place of his indian name, as it was much easier to pronounce. "do you know this indian name?" i asked, "and will you kindly write it on my note-book?" "certainly," he answered, and this is what he wrote: "go-yat-thlay." having obtained through the interpreter a promise from geronimo to write his autograph on my bow and note-book, we returned to the depot, where this promise was at once made good. while waiting for the trains, which were to meet at fort sill. i showed geronimo a book which i had bought in lawton that morning. it was a short history of the comanche and apache tribes and contained a number of indian pictures, including several of geronimo. he was greatly interested in these cuts, especially those of himself, and took pains to show them to the other indians around. at last he turned to me, and pointing first to himself and then to the picture, he uttered one expressive word, "me." a few minutes later geronimo and the writer waved a last adieu to each other from the rear platforms of receding trains and the interview ended. i learned at fort sill that geronimo, in point of fact, is not a chief at all, that honor belonging to naiche, but, like sitting bull, is an indian medicine man with the authority of a chief. be that as it may, he is recognized not only as a chief but as the most famous living chief. the words of spartacus to the gladiators would be as true if spoken by this barbarian, "ye call me chief and ye do well." while in washington last march attending the inauguration of president roosevelt, geronimo called on the president, accompanied by the five other chiefs who were in the procession, and his interpreter, mr. wratton. at this time he made the following address to the "great father," through his interpreter, and received a characteristic reply: geronimo's appeal. "great father, i look to you as i look to god. when i see your face i think i see the face of the great spirit. i come here to pray to you to be good to me and to my people. "when i was young, many years ago, i was a fool. did i know that i was a fool? no. my heart was brave. my limbs were strong. i could follow the warpath days and nights without rest and without food. i knew that fear of me was in the heart of every chief of red men who was my enemy. "then came the warriors of the great white chief. did i fear them? no. did i fear the great white chief? no. he was my enemy and the enemy of my people. his people desired the country of my people. my heart was strong against him. i said that he should never have my country. "great father, in those days my people were as the leaves of the trees. the young men were strong. they were brave. the old men were glad to die in battle. our children were many. should we let strangers take their country from them? no. should our women say that our livers were white? no. i defied the great white chief, for in those days i was a fool. "i had a bad heart, great father. my heart was bad then, but i did not know it. is my heart bad now? no. my heart is good and my talk is straight. i am punished and i suffer. i ask you to think of me as i was then. i lived in the home of my people. i was their chief. they trusted me. it was right that i should give them my strength and my wisdom. "when the soldiers of the great white chief drove me and my people from our home we went to the mountains. when they followed we slew all that we could. we said we would not be captured. no. we starved, but we killed. i said that we would never yield, for i was a fool. "so i was punished, and all my people were punished with me. the white soldiers took me and made me a prisoner far from my own country, and my people were scattered. what was geronimo then? was he the great chief of the apache nation? no. his hands were tied. he was no more than a woman. "great father, other indians have homes where they can live and be happy. i and my people have no homes. the place where we are kept is bad for us. our cattle can not live in that place. we are sick there and we die. white men are in the country that was my home. i pray you to tell them to go away and let my people go there and be happy. "great father, my hands are tied as with a rope. my heart is no longer bad. i will tell my people to obey no chief but the great white chief. i pray you to cut the ropes and make me free. let me die in my own country, an old man who has been punished enough and is free." roosevelt's reply. "geronimo, i do not see how i can grant your prayer. you speak truly when you say that you have been foolish. i am glad that you have ceased to commit follies. i am glad that you are trying to live at peace and in friendship with the white people. "i have no anger in my heart against you. i even wish it were only a question of letting you return to your country as a free man. then i should not have the same feeling about it. i must think and act for the good of all the people of this country. "you must remember that there are white people in your old home. it is probable that some of these have bad hearts toward you. if you went back there some of these men might kill you, or make trouble for your people. it is hard for them to forget that you made trouble for them. i should have to interfere between you. there would be more war and more bloodshed. "my country has had enough of these troubles. i want peace for all, for both the red and the white men. you and your people are not confined within doors. you are allowed to cut the timber and till your farms. the results of your labor are for your own benefit. "i feel, geronimo, that it is best for you to stay where you are. for the present, at least, i can not give you any promise of a change. i will confer with the commissioner and with the secretary of war about your case, but i do not think i can hold out any hope for yon. that is all that i can say, geronimo, except that i am sorry, and have no feeling against you." we have had some correspondence with mr. wratton, the interpreter, and are indebted to him for much information contained in this sketch. in a recent letter, he says: "geronimo has a daughter at fort sill named eva, aged sixteen years; a daughter at mescalero, new mexico, named lena, aged twenty years; also a son at mescalero, new mexico, aged about eighteen years. the aged chief also thinks he has some children living in old mexico, who were captured by the mexicans many years ago." geronimo was the most conspicuous figure at miller brothers' "last buffalo hunt," at ranch , near bliss, oklahoma territory, june , . and when one of the visitors, dr. homer m. thomas, of chicago, shot and wounded a buffalo from his automobile, it was geronimo who rushed forward and finished the animal with neatness and dispatch. his latest achievement was his marriage to his eighth wife, a widow named mary loto, which took place christmas day. perhaps now he will be more contented at fort sill. {illustration: quanah parker, principal chief of the comanches.} chapter xvi. quanah parker, head chief of the comanches with some account of the captivity of his mother, cynthia anne parker, known as "the white comanche." up to this point we have refrained from writing the biography of half-breed indians, lest people should imagine their greatness was due to the infusion of the blood of the superior white race. but the story of quanah parker is so interesting, and he has such a remarkable personality in many ways, that we have decided to make an exception in his case. then, too, as will be seen, his mother, cynthia anne parker, at the time of his birth, was to all intents and purposes an indian, though born of white parents. it is said on good authority that the apaches and comanches are related through intermarriage and consanguinity, and at one period formed a single tribe. during a scarcity of food these people were divided into the mountain tribes, who pledged their word and honor to their brothers who lived on the fish, water-fowl and swine, that they would never eat the fish from the streams, nor the fowls from the waters, nor the hogs from the mud. their bottom-land brothers were to abstain from the game of the mountains and plains. this treaty, made in the time of famine, was sacredly kept in the days of plenty, and ever afterward those highland indians refused to eat pork, fish or water-fowl. the best account of cynthia anne parker and her famous son, quanah, is found in white's "experiences of an indian agent." in it he quotes an article from general alford on "the white comanche," in which the general says: "amongst numerous illustrations of heroism which illuminate the pages of texas history perhaps none shines with a brighter halo than the capture of fort parker. in a small colony formed in illinois, moved to the then mexican province of texas, and settled in a beautiful and fertile region on the navasota river, about two miles from the present city of groesbeck, the county seat of limestone county. the colony consisted of nine families, in all thirty-four persons, of which elder john parker was the patriarchal head. they erected a block-house, which was known as fort parker, for protection against the assaults of hostile indians. this structure was made of solid logs, closely knit together and hewn down so as to make a compact perfect square, without opening of any kind until it reached a height of ten or twelve feet, where the structure widened on each side, forming a projection impossible to climb. the lower story, reached only by an interior ladder, was used as a place of storage for provisions. the upper story was divided into two large rooms with port-holes for the use of guns. these rooms were also the living rooms, and reached only by a ladder from the outside, which was pulled up at night, after the occupants had ascended, making a safe fortification against any reasonable force unless assailed by fire. "these hardy sons of toil tilled their adjacent fields by day, always taking their arms with them, and retired to the fort at night. success crowned their labors and they were prosperous and happy. on the morning of may , , the men left as usual for their fields, a mile distant. scarcely had they left the inclosure when the fort was attacked by about seven hundred comanches and kiowas, who were waiting in ambush. a gallant and most resolute defense was made, many savages being sent to their 'happy hunting grounds,' but it was impossible to stem the terrible assault, and fort parker fell. then began the carnival of death. elder john parker, silas m. parker, ben f. parker, sam m. frost and robert frost were killed and scalped in the presence of their horror-stricken families. mrs. john parker, granny parker and mrs. duty were dangerously wounded and left for dead, and the following were carried into a captivity worse than death: mrs. rachel plummer, james pratt plummer, her two-year-old son, mrs. elizabeth kellogg, cynthia anne parker, nine years old, and her little brother, john, aged six, both children of silas m. parker. the remainder of the party made their escape, and after incredible suffering, being forced even to the dire necessity of eating skunks to save their lives, they reached fort houston, now the residence of hon. john h. reagan, about three miles from the present city of palestine, in anderson county, where they obtained prompt succor, and a relief party buried their dead." cynthia anne parker and her little brother, john, were held by separate bands. john grew up to athletic young manhood, married a beautiful, night-eyed young mexican captive, donna juanita espinosa, escaped from the savages, or was released by them, joined the confederate army under gen. h. p. bee, became noted for his gallantry and daring, and at last accounts was leading a happy, contented, pastoral life as a ranchero, on the western llano estacado (staked plains) of texas. four long and anxious years had passed since cynthia anne was taken from her weeping mother's arms, during which time no tidings had been received by her anxious family, when in , col. len williams, an old and honored texan, mr. stout, a trader, and jack harry, a delaware indian guide, packed mules with goods and engaged in an expedition of private traffic with the indians. on the canadian river they fell in with pahauka's band of comanches, with whom they were on peaceable terms. cynthia anne was with this tribe, and from the day of her capture had never beheld a white person. colonel williams proposed to redeem her from the old comanche who held her in bondage, but the fierceness of his countenance warned him of the danger of further mentioning the subject. pahauka, however, reluctantly permitted her to sit at the foot of a tree, and while the presence of the white men was doubtless a happy event to the poor stricken captive, who in her doleful captivity had endured everything but death, _she refused to speak one word._ as she sat there, musing perhaps, of distant relatives and friends, and her bereavement at the beginning and progress of her distress, they employed every persuasive art to evoke from her some expression of her feelings. they told her of her relatives and her playmates, and asked what message of love she would send them, but she had been commanded to silence, and with no hope of release was afraid to appear sad or dejected, and by a stoical effort controlled her emotions, lest the terrors of her captivity should be increased. but the anxiety of her mind was betrayed by the quiver of her lips, showing that she was not insensible to the common feelings of humanity. as the years rolled by cynthia anne developed the charms of captivating womanhood, and the heart of more than one dusky warrior was pierced by the elysian darts of her laughing eyes and the ripple of her silvery voice, and laid at her feet the trophies of the chase. among the number whom her budding charms brought to her shrine was peta nocona, a redoubtable young comanche war-chief, in prowess and renown the peer of the famous "big foot," who fell in a desperate hand-to-hand combat with the famous indian fighter, capt. shapley p. ross, of waco, the illustrious father of the still more distinguished son, gen. sul ross, now the governor of texas. it is a remarkable and happy coincidence that the son, emulating the father's contagious deeds of valor and prowess, afterward, in single combat, in the valley of the pease, forever put to rest the brave and knightly peta nocona. cynthia anne, stranger now to every word of her mother tongue, save only her childhood name, became the bride of the brown warrior, peta nocona, bore him three children, and loved him with a fierce passion and wifely devotion, evinced by the fact that, fifteen years after her capture a party of hunters, including friends of her family, visited the comanche encampment on the upper canadian river, and recognizing cynthia anne, through the medium of her name, endeavored to induce her to return to her kindred and the abode of civilization. she shook her head in a sorrowful negative, and pointing to her little naked barbarians sporting at her feet, and the great, lazy chief sleeping in the shade near by, the locks of a score of fresh scalps dangling at his belt, replied: "i am happy wedded, i love my husband and my little ones, who are his, too, and i can not forsake them." the account of the death of peta nocona, and the recapture of cynthia anne parker, is best told in a letter written by governor ross to gen. george f. alford, from which we will quote a few paragraphs. it was dated: "executive office, austin, april , . "my dear general--in response to your request, i herewith inclose you my recollections, after a lapse of thirty years, of the events to which you refer. . . . on december , , while marching up pease river, i had suspicions that indians were in the vicinity by reason of the great number of buffalo which came running toward us from the north, and while my command moved to the low ground i visited neighboring high points to make discoveries. to my surprise i found myself within two hundred yards of a large comanche village, located on a small stream winding around the base of a hill. a cold, piercing wind from the north was blowing, bearing with it clouds of dust, and my presence was thus unobserved and the surprise complete. "in making disposition for the attack the sergeant and his twenty men were sent at a gallop behind a chain of sand hills to cut off their retreat, while, with my forty men, i charged. the attack was so sudden that a large number were killed before they could prepare for defense. they fled precipitately, right into the arms of the sergeant and his twenty. here they met with a warm reception, and finding themselves completely encompassed, every one fled his own way and was hotly pursued and hard pressed. the chief, a warrior of great repute, named peta nocona, with an indian girl about fifteen years of age mounted on his horse behind him, and cynthia anne parker, his squaw, with a girl child about two years old in her arms, and mounted on a fleet young pony, fled together. lieut. tom kelliheir and i pursued them, and after running about a mile, kelliheir ran up by the side of cynthia anne's horse, and supposing her to be a man, was in the act of shooting her when she held up her child and stopped. {fn} i kept on alone at the top of my horse's speed, after the chief, and about half a mile further, when in about twenty yards of him, i fired my pistol, striking the girl, whom i supposed to be a man, as she rode like one, and only her head was visible above the buffalo robe with which she was wrapped--near the heart, killing her instantly. and the same ball would have killed both but for the shield of the chief, which hung down, covering his back. when the girl fell from the horse, dead, she pulled the chief off also, but he caught on his feet, and, before steadying himself, my horse, running at full speed, was nearly upon him, when he sped an arrow, which struck my horse and caused him to pitch or 'buck,' and it was with the greatest difficulty i could keep my saddle, meantime narrowly escaping several arrows coming in quick succession from the chief's bow. being at such disadvantage, he undoubtedly would have killed me, but for a random shot from my pistol while i was clinging with my left hand to the pommel of my saddle, which broke his right arm at the elbow, completely disabling him. my horse then becoming more quiet, i shot the chief twice through the body; whereupon he deliberately walked to a small tree near by, the only one in sight, and leaning against it with one arm around it for support, began to sing a weird, wild song--the death song of the savage. there was a plaintive melody in it which, under the dramatic circumstances, filled my heart with sorrow. at this time my mexican servant, who had once been a captive with the comanches and spoke their language as fluently as his mother tongue, came up in company with others of my men. through him i summoned the chief to surrender, but he promptly treated every overture with contempt, and emphasized his refusal with a savage attempt to thrust me through with his lance, which he still held in his left hand. i could only look upon him with pity and admiration, for, deplorable as was his situation with no possible chance of escape, his band utterly destroyed, his wife and child captives in his sight, he was undaunted by the fate that awaited him, and as he preferred death to life, i directed the mexican to end his misery by a charge of buckshot from the gun which he carried, and the brave savage, who had been so long the scourge and terror of the texas frontier, passed into the land of the shadows and rested with his fathers. taking up his accoutrements, which i subsequently delivered to gen. sam houston, as governor of texas and commander-in-chief of her soldiery, to be deposited in the state archives at austin, we rode back to the captive woman, whose identity was then unknown, and found lieutenant kelliheir, who was guarding her and her child, bitterly reproaching himself for having run his pet horse so hard after an old squaw. she was very dirty and far from attractive, in her scanty garments, as well as her person, but as soon as i looked her in the face, i said: 'why, tom, this is a white woman; indians do not have blue eyes.' on our way to the captured indian village, where our men were assembling with the spoils we had captured, i discovered an indian boy about nine years old, secreted in the tall grass. expecting to be killed, he began to cry, but i made him mount behind me and carried him along, taking him to my home at waco, where he became an obedient member of my family. when, in after years, i tried to induce him to return to his people, he refused to go, and died in mclennan county about four years ago." * * * * * {fn} another account says she threw back her robe, held her child in front of her and exclaimed in broken spanish, "americano! americano!" "when camped for the night, cynthia anne, our then unknown captive, kept crying, and thinking it was caused by fear of death at our hands, i had the mexican tell her in the comanche language, that we recognized her as one of our own people and would not harm her. she replied that two of her sons, in addition to the infant daughter, were with her when the fight began, and she was distressed by the fear that they had been killed. it so happened, however, that both escaped, and one of them--quanah--is now the chief of the comanche tribe, and the beautiful city of quanah, now the county seat of hardeman county, is named in his honor. the other son died some years ago on the plains. through my mexican interpreter i then asked her to give me the history of her life with the indians, and the circumstances attending her capture by them, which she promptly did in a very intelligent manner, and as the facts detailed by her corresponded with the massacre at parker's fort in , i was impressed with the belief that she was cynthia anne parker. "returning to my post, i sent her and her child to the ladies at camp cooper, where she received the attention her sex and situation demanded, and at the same time i dispatched a messenger to col. isaac parker, her uncle, near weatherford, parker county, named as his memorial, for he was many years a distinguished senator in the congress of the republic, and in the legislature of the state after annexation. when colonel parker came to my post i sent the messenger with him to camp cooper, in the capacity of interpreter, and her identity was soon discovered to colonel parker's entire satisfaction. she had been a captive just twenty-four years and seven months, and was in her thirty-fourth year when recovered. i remain, my dear general, "sincerely your friend. l. s. ross." a few more incidents of her subsequent life are told by general alford. said he: "cynthia anne and her infant barbarian were taken to austin, the capital of the state; the immortal sam houston was governor, the secession convention was in session. she was taken to the magnificent statehouse, where this august body was holding grave discussion as to the policy of withdrawing from the union. comprehending not one word of her mother tongue, she concluded it was a council of mighty chiefs, assembled for the trial of her life, and in great alarm tried to make her escape. her brother, col. dan parker, who resided near parker's bluff, in anderson county, was a member of the legislature from that county, and a colleague of this writer, who then represented the eleventh senatorial district. colonel parker took his unhappy sister to his comfortable home, and essayed by the kind offices of tenderness and affection to restore her to the comforts and enjoyments of civilized life, to which she had been so long a stranger. but as thorough an indian in manner and looks as if she had been a native born, she sought every opportunity to escape and rejoin her dusky companions, and had to be constantly and closely watched." {illustration: quanah parker and two of his wives.} "the civil strife then being waged between the north and south, between fathers, sons and brothers, necessitated the primitive arts of spinning and weaving, in which she soon became an adept, and gradually her mother tongue came back, and with it occasional incidents of her childhood. but the ruling passion of her bosom seemed to be the maternal instinct, and she cherished the hope that when the cruel war was over she would at least succeed in reclaiming her two sons, who were still with the comanches. but the great spirit had written otherwise, and cynthia anne and little prairie flower were called in to the spirit land, and peacefully sleep side by side under the great oak trees on her brother's plantation near palestine. "thus ends the sad story of a woman whose stormy life, darkened by an eternal shadow, made her far-famed throughout the borders of the imperial lone star state. "cynthia anne's son has been for some years the popular hereditary chief of the once powerful confederacy of comanche indians, which, though greatly decimated by war and the enervating influences of semi-civilization, is still one of the most numerous tribes in the united states. he is intelligent and wealthy; in personal appearance he is tall, muscular and graceful in his movements; is a friend of the white man, and rules his tribe with firmness, moderation and wisdom. he is located on his picturesque reservation in oklahoma, not many miles distant from the city of quanah, so named in his honor. "a few years since i met the chief in wichita falls, and when informed that i had personally known his pale-faced mother, cynthia anne, or prelock--as she was called by the indians--he had a thousand questions to ask about her personal appearance, size, shape, form, height, weight, color of hair and eyes, etc. he gave me a cordial invitation to visit him at his 'tepee,' or wigwam, near fort sill, profusely promising all the fish, game, ponies and _squaws_ i desired." general alford's statement that quanah is the hereditary chief is incorrect. it is true he is the son of chief peta nocona, but it by no means follows that the son of a chief will succeed to the chieftaincy, by "divine right" of inheritance. the son of a common warrior, if he possesses the elements of leadership, force of character, eloquence in council, and general ability, will stand a much better show of becoming a chief, than the son of a chief lacking in these essentials. fortunately we know how quanah parker became chief; he told part of his story to the author of this book and the entire account to e. e. white, the special indian agent. as the story is very romantic and interesting we will give it in full. said mr. white: "by the death of his father and the recapture of his mother, quanah was left an orphan at an age which could not have been more than twelve years. the same disaster that reduced him to orphanage also made him a pauper. although the son of a deceased chief, now having no parents, no home and no fortune, he became, not the ruler of his tribe, but a waif of the camp. but being self-reliant, an expert archer, a successful hunter for one of his age, good natured and intelligent, he made friends, among the boys of the tribe at least, and found whereon to lay his head, and plenty to eat and wear. and while orphanage and poverty entailed sorrow and suffering upon the young savage, it was happily contrary to nature for those sad misfortunes to divest him of the 'divine right' to love and be loved. and although he was half a savage by blood and a complete one by habit and association, abundant proof that he was not devoid of the finer instincts of humanity is found in the ardent and constant love which he has always borne for his first wife, weckeah, and the strong and undying affection and sympathy that he has always exhibited for his most unhappy mother. it is said that his first question upon surrendering the tribe to general mackenzie, in , was concerning her, and that his first request was for permission to go to see her, her death not then being known either to himself or the general. "proof of his captive mother's love for him, and the sentiment of her nature, are shown in the name she bestowed upon him, its meaning in the comanche language being fragrance. i was one day on the prairie with a large party of comanches. we stopped at a spring for water, and the chiefs, tabannaka and white wolf, the jonathan and david of the tribe, walked down the branch a short distance and gathered a large handful of wild mint. holding it to my nose, white wolf said, 'quanah, quanah. you take it.' i said, 'sweet smell; is that quanah?' they replied: 'yes; quanah--heap good smell.' then plucking a bunch of wild flowers they inhaled their fragrance to show me what they meant, and then handing them to me said, 'quanah--quanah--heap quanah--good smell.' "quanah's best friend and most constant playmate in his orphanage was weckeah, chief yellow bear's daughter. they rode her father's ponies to the water holes, played through the camps together, and were inseparable. he shot antelope and other game for her amusement, and she learned to bead his moccasins and ornament his bow quiver. "the years went by and quanah and weckeah were no longer papooses. they were in the very bloom of young manhood and womanhood, and each in form and feature without flaw or blemish. but they did not know that they loved each other. "there were other young men in the village, however, and one day one of them, gaudily painted and bedecked with beads and small mirrors, came near yellow bear's tepee, blowing his reed flutes. three days later he came again, and nearer than before. only two days passed until he came the third time. spreading his blanket on the grass in front of yellow bear's tepee, and seating himself on it, he looked straight at the doorway and played softly all the love songs of the tribe. weckeah showed not her face to the wooer. her heart was throbbing violently with a sensation that had never thrilled her before, but it was not responsive to the notes of the flutes. "nor had quanah been unobservant and there were strange and violent pulsations through his veins also. it was the first time he had ever seen the arts of the lover attempted to be employed on weckeah. instantly his very soul was aflame with love for her. there was just one hot, ecstatic, overpowering flush of love, and then there came into his leaping heart the chilling, agonizing thought that this wooing might be by weckeah's favor or encouragement. then a very tempest of contending emotions raged in his breast. "when the sun's rays began to slant to the east there came to yellow bear's tepee a rich old chief by the name of eckitoacup, who had been, when a young man, the rival of peta nocona for the heart and hand of the beautiful 'white comanche,' cynthia anne parker. eckitoacup and yellow bear sat down together, on buffalo robes under the brush wickiup in front of the tepee. they smoked their pipes leisurely, and talked a long time, not in whispers, but very slow and in low tones. when quanah and weckeah met that evening it was with feelings never experienced before by either of them. "weckeah was greatly agitated. she fluttered like a bird, and kneeling at quanah's feet, she locked her arms around his knees, looked up in his face and begged him to save her. "the lover with the flutes was tannap, the only son of rich old eckitoacup. weckeah abhorred him, but his father had offered yellow bear ten ponies for her. yellow bear loved his daughter, and notwithstanding it was the tribal custom he was loath to sell her against her will. he had given eckitoacup no answer for the present, and weckeah implored quanah to get ten ponies and take her himself. "quanah was filled with deepest pity for weckeah, and alarmed at the prospect of losing her, for he owned but one pony, and tannap's father owned a hundred. after telling weckeah to be brave and note everything said and done in her sight and hearing, quanah tore away from her, and gathering all of his young friends together, explained his situation to them. they loved him and hated tannap, but calamities in war had made them all poor like himself. they separated to meet again in secret with others next morning. during the day nine ponies were tendered to him, which, with the one he owned made ten. these quanah accepted on condition that others should be received in exchange for them whenever he could get them, which he was ambitious and hopeful enough to believe he could some day do. "driving these ponies, with the haste of an anxious lover, to yellow bear's tepee, quanah there met old eckitoacup, who greeted him with a taunting chuckle of exultation and a look of wicked revenge. his spies having informed him of the action of quanah's friends, he had raised his bid to twenty ponies. this being an exceptionally liberal offer, yellow bear had promptly accepted it, and now the jealous and unforgiving old savage was exulting in his triumph over the poor but knightly rival of his arrogant and despised son, and gloating in his revenge upon the valiant and rising son of his own late successful and hated rival. "entering the tepee, quanah found weckeah prostrated at her mother's feet in deepest distress. in two sleeps tannap would bring the twenty ponies and claim his prize. weckeah was heartbroken and quanah was desperate. he hurried back for another consultation with his friends, but not to ask for more ponies. it was to submit a new and startling proposition to them--to tell them of a new thought that had come to him--a new resolution that had taken possession of his very soul. though he himself did not suspect it, the star of a new chief was about to rise above the horizon. "the new scheme promising spoils and adventure, as well as triumph over a hated rival, quanah's zealous young friends agreed to it with an enthusiasm which they could hardly avoid showing in their faces and actions. "the unhappy lovers stole another brief twilight meeting in the shadows of yellow bear's tepee. weckeah's quick eyes noted with increasing admiration and confidence that the past two days had marked a great change in quanah. he was now no longer a boy. he seemed to have grown taller, was more serious and thoughtful, and spoke with an evident courage and consciousness of strength which gave her great hope and comfort. he told her that their only hope was in flight, and, as she knew, according to the inexorable law of the tribe, that meant certain death to him and at least the delivery of herself to tannap, and possibly death to herself also, if they should be overtaken. "weckeah, instead of being deterred by the hazards of the attempt at elopement, was eager to go, for in that step she could see the possibility of a life of happiness, and escape from a fate which, in her detestation of tannap, she regarded as even worse than death. "just at moondown the next night, which, from the description given me, i suppose was about eleven o'clock, quanah and one of his friends met weckeah at the door of her father's tepee and conducted her to the edge of the camp, where their horses and twenty-one other young men were waiting. "then began the most remarkable elopement, and, in some respects, at least, the most remarkable ride ever known on the plains, among either whites or indians. "quanah took the lead with weckeah next behind him, and the twenty-two young men following in single file. for seven hours they did not break a lope, except to water their ponies in crossing streams. at daylight they stopped to graze their ponies and make a repast on dried buffalo meat. here weckeah saw with pride and increasing confidence that many of those twenty-two tall sinewy young men carried guns, and all of them revolvers, shields, bows, and quivers full of arrows, and were mounted and equipped throughout as a select war party. "stopping only a few hours, they changed their course, separated and came together again at a designated place at sunset. there they stopped again until moondown, and then resuming their journey, traveled together all night. "they were now in texas, and dared not travel any more in daylight. when night came on they changed their course again, separated into couples, and traveled that way several nights, coming together at a place which, from the description, i think probably was double mountain, in scurry county, texas. there they stopped several days to recruit their ponies, subsisting themselves on game, which then abounded in that region. from that place they traveled in couples from high point to high point until they came to a river, which i suppose, from the description, was one of the main branches of the concho, and there they established their rendezvous, and, as quanah expressed it, 'went to stealin' hosses.' "it has been said--indeed, i believe it has been universally conceded--that the comanches, before their subjugation, were 'the finest horse thieves the world ever saw.' whether this has been conceded or not, i am sure no one who knew them then will deny that it was a well-deserved 'compliment.' and i doubt not that quanah and his bridal party, or _bridle party,_ whichever it may seem most appropriate to call it, contributed generously to the weaving of that wreath for the tribal brow. "eckitoacup's band being utterly unable to follow the trail, the fugitives remained undiscovered in that region for more than a year, and, in quanah's own candid and comprehensive language, 'just stole hosses all over texas.' in a few months they had a large herd, including many valuable american horses and mules. "but it was not long until the young men began to sigh for the girls they had left behind them, and to venture back, a few at a time, to see them, and always with laudations of their chief, and glowing accounts of the magnitude and 'profits' of their 'business.' they invariably returned with their sweethearts, and many other indians, of both sexes, also. with quanah's encouragement their visits became frequent, and at the end of a year his band numbered several hundred. "but through these visits old eckitoacup had heard of the fugitive, and was now coming with a large war party to punish him and take weckeah. weckeah again became badly frightened. she would get behind quanah from the direction of tannap's approach, clasp her arms around him and beg him not to give her up. but her entreaties were wholly unnecessary. quanah, of his own accord, was ready to die rather than suffer her to be taken from him. "eckitoacup found quanah's band posted for battle. he was astounded at their numbers and became so alarmed for his own safety that he was glad to agree to an offer of compromise, rather than risk the hazard of battle. four chiefs were sent from each side to meet half way between the two bands and arrange the compromise. after a great deal of smoking and haggling eckitoacup's men proposed to accept nineteen horses, the pick of quanah's herd, in full satisfaction of all demands. quanah promptly approved the agreement with the cheerful and significant observation that he knew a ranch where he could get nineteen others just as good in a few hours. "this gave quanah the right to return to the tribe, and as the texans had him pretty well 'located' in that rendezvous and were becoming quite 'impudent' and inhospitable to him, and his band was now too large to be longer concealed anywhere in the state, he followed close after eckitoacup. continuing in the territory, to receive accessions from the other bands, including eckitoacup's, he soon became the acknowledged chief of the tribe, and as a war-chief, before being overpowered and conquered, he had achieved great renown for prowess, enterprise, sagacity and true military genius, his sway perhaps never being greater, or even as great, as it is at the present day. he lives in a picturesque valley on the south side of the wichita mountains, where he owns a good home, a hundred horses, perhaps a thousand cattle, and has two hundred and fifty acres of land in cultivation, though i doubt if he has ever plowed a furrow himself, _or would do it if he could._ weckeah presides over his household, happy and contented, proud of her husband, with immunity from burdensome duties, and provided with all the comforts and luxuries befitting her station in life. but there is a good deal of brigham young, or the sultan of turkey, in this untutored comanche, and instead of weckeah being his only wife, she is merely one of a harem of five--his devotion to her, which has always been constant and unquestioned, not precluding him from the polygamous custom of the tribe. it must be said to his credit, however, that weckeah is still his favorite. this is quite evident to those who see much of them, and on one occasion, when something was said of the possibility of the government arbitrarily divorcing all the indians from their plural wives, i asked him which of his he would choose to retain if that were done. without a moment's hesitation he said weckeah." {illustration: comanche indians stealing cows.} "yellow bear, weckeah's father, became an ardent friend and admirer of quanah, and lived until , when he got what the texans considered 'a mighty good joke' on himself. he and quanah got to feeling rich and 'civilized,' put on their 'white man's clothes,' and went down to fort worth to have a big 'blow out' with a 'herd' of cattle barons who were grazing cattle on their reservation. they put up at the leading 'chuck-away tepee' of the town, the pickwick, and coming in from a round-up of the city with their white friends at a late hour of the night, they dragged themselves wearily up to their room, and '_blowedout' the gas._ when discovered next morning, yellow bear's spirit had been blown away to the boundless prairies of the great spirit above, never to return, and quanah was crouched on his 'all-fours' at a window, unconscious, his own soul just about to wing its flight to the same mysterious realms." i was living in oklahoma in the spring of , employed in preparing the manuscript of this book. as i needed a good sketch of quanah parker, in order to complete my "lives of famous indian chiefs," i decided to go and interview him and get my information at first hands and authentic. arriving at lawton, i was informed that quanah parker was at cache, a small town in comanche county, twelve miles distant. i immediately boarded the 'frisco train, and in due time found myself at cache, which is located at the foot of the wichita mountains. i found the chief in his buggy just starting out of town, and seemingly in a hurry, but when i introduced myself and stated my business, he alighted from the buggy and expressed himself as willing to talk. though a half-breed, quanah parker has every appearance of a typical indian, being tall, straight, athletic and as dark as the full bloods of his tribe. he rules his people with wisdom and moderation, by sheer force of character, and is very popular with both white and red neighbors. he is quite wealthy, and ambitious withal to represent the new state, shortly to be formed of the two territories, in the united states senate. he argues that a large percentage of the population of the new state will be of his race, who will also be affected by many of the laws to be enacted, therefore there should be an indian in the united states senate, or it would be another case of taxation without representation. as the population of the new state will be of both races, so a logical representative in the senate should belong to both races. all of which clearly means chief parker. and he is perfectly willing to serve his people in that august body, when the time comes. and indeed the new state might hunt further for senatorial timber and fare worse, only in case of his election he would likely be refused a seat on the grounds of being a polygamist. the prophecy that "seven women shall take hold of one man" was fulfilled in his case; but of late years he has reduced his harem. he prides himself on being a personal friend of president roosevelt and was one of the six chiefs who were in the parade at the time of the inauguration last march, the others being little plume, of the blackfoot tribe; american horse and hollow horn bear, of the sioux; geronimo, of the apaches, and buckskin charley, of the utes. when we were seated in the shade the chief said: "what do you want to talk about?" i answered by way of a leader, "tell me of your last trip to washington and the president's inauguration." he proceeded to comply with the request, but as this was reported in all the papers at the time, we will omit it and refer to something of more general interest. the chief was easily understood, but spoke somewhat broken, and in a manner peculiar to the indian. we will try to give his exact language: "how about the president's wolf hunt in the big prairie," we asked. "it's like this," he answered. "president came along in his special car. it stopped. president stood on platform of car, fix glasses on his nose, look all over crowd. i standing back good way among injuns. president see me, motion first with one hand, then two hands, like this, but i no go." "why you no go," i asked in astonishment, "when the president motioned for you to come?" "how i know he mean me? plenty injuns in crowd, other chiefs around. might mean other chiefs, so i no go at first; then he sent messenger after me. messenger say, 'president roosevelt want to see chief quanah parker at car.' then i know he mean me and i follow messenger to car through crowd; we elbow our way through crowd like this, and this [showing me how it was done]. president reach out over heads of people and grip my hand, so. he then give me big pull right up steps side him, shook my hand may-be-so like pump handle and pat me on back with other hand. he made a little speech and say, 'this is my friend, chief quanah parker. i met him in washington city. he friend to white and father to red man and 'titled to respect and honor of both.' "then people in crowd around car shout out, 'two big chiefs, big white chief, big red chief, both good men, and good friends,' and they do like this [clapping his hands], long time. president say: 'won't you go hunting with me in big prairie, and stay week and show us where to find the wolves?' i went with him, stayed five days, took tent, camping and cooking outfit, and some of my men and my family, or some of my family; had good time, killed plenty wolves." continuing, the chief said: "president roosevelt, him all right, him different from mckinley and cleveland. they way up in the air, standing on their dignity, but him down here on level with the people. him injuns' president, as well as white man's president. him all kinds of man; when he with cowboys, he cowboy; when he with rough riders, he roughest rider of all; when he with statesmen, he statesman; and when he with injuns, he just like injun; all same he white injun. we personal friends. i talk to him and use influence with him for pardon geronimo. i got message for geronimo, but i no tell you, tell him first." "then you will be going to fort sill in a few days to deliver the president's message?" i ventured to remark. but the reply was, "no! no! i much heap big chief; he come to see me." i told him i realized that fact and intended to give him a good mention in my indian history i was just completing, and asked him if he could furnish me a late photograph to enable me to have a good cut made for the book. he said that he and geronimo had some pictures taken together in washington city, and added, "they no come yet, may-be-so they come to-morrow, may-be-so next week; when they come i send you one." the chief kept his word, and some time afterward i got a photograph from him. it was hard to realize as i saw the good-natured looking comanche indians loafing or trading in the stores of the enterprising little town of cache, that only a few years ago some of those same warriors had doubtless made night hideous with their dreaded war-whoop, which is said to resemble the 'rah, 'rah! of the college boys. quanah parker is really a great man, and a born ruler. he seems to combine the shrewdness and stoicism of the indian with the intelligence and diplomacy of the white race. he manages to conciliate that element of his tribe which hates the whites and doggedly opposes all innovations, while vigorously advocating progress. when the lands were allotted to the comanches he advised them to choose good farming lands and become peaceable, industrious citizens of the united states. they took his advice and chose lands close to those of their chief, thus forming a comanche settlement and village which is beautiful for situation at the base of the picturesque wichita mountains, about eighteen miles from the military post of fort sill. about two and one-half miles from cache, on the south side of one of the wichita mountains, stands quanah's home, known as the "white house of the comanches." it is quite an imposing square, two-story frame building, with wide galleries running entirely around it. it gleams startlingly white and tall against the blue of the sky and the vivid green of the prairie, and presents a striking contrast to the somber gray and brown of the mountain side, which forms a background. built in the days when lumber had to be hauled hundreds of miles over rough prairie trails, it cost at least double what it would to-day. it is said to contain thirty rooms, and is furnished with all the comforts and many of the luxuries of civilization. over the organ in his parlor hangs a life-sized oil painting of his white mother, to which the chief proudly calls the attention of all his visitors. for many years his was the only house on the reservation, and it became an object of wonder to the indians and of interest to the white visitors. the shrewd chief is a good financier, and looks after his own interest closely; owning large droves of cattle and at least a hundred ponies, and controlling thousands of acres of land, the allotments of his wives and children. to-day there are three "ladies of the white house," to-ah-nook, too-pay and too-ni-ce (we never supposed a lady could be too nice). they have separate apartments and each has her own sewing machine, of which she is as proud as a small boy with a new toy. quanah not only belongs to the two races, but is somewhat dual-natured. in appearance, as we have stated, he is decidedly more indian than white, and when he is with the full bloods, the moccasins, buckskin leggings, gaudy blanket and eagle-plume headdress or war bonnet adorn his stalwart person. but when mingling with his white friends, he adopts the garb of civilization--cutaway coat, stiffly laundered linen and soft felt hat. too-ni-ce, his youngest wife, accompanies him on his trips abroad, when she, too, dresses like the white ladies at the agency, and poses as "mrs. quanah parker," driving with the chief in his handsome turnout behind his team of prize-winning sorrels, that even a kentuckian might admire. quanah has a large family of children, and is giving all of them good educational advantages, at the mission schools on the reservation, the large school at chilocco, oklahoma, and at carlisle, pennsylvania. we met one of his sons, baldwin, who is a sprightly and handsome youth of about seventeen, the day we spent at cache, and from him derived much of the information contained in this chapter. he has also a beautiful and accomplished daughter, needle parker, whose sad, sweet face resembles somewhat the portrait of her grandmother. she also brings to mind one of the night-eyed castilian beauties of old mexico, whose blood mingles with and tinges the life-current of the comanche indians. chapter xvii. a sheaf of good indian stories from history. i. an indian stratagem. during the revolutionary war, a regiment of soldiers was stationed upon the confines of an extensive savanna in georgia. its particular office was to guard every avenue of approach to the main army. the sentinels, whose posts penetrated into the woods, were supplied from the ranks; but they were perpetually surprised upon their posts by the indians and borne off their stations, without communicating any alarm or being heard of afterward. one morning, the sentinels having been stationed as usual over night, the guard went at sunrise to relieve a post which extended a considerable distance into the wood. the sentinel was gone. the surprise was great; but the circumstance had occurred before. they left another man, and departed, wishing him better luck. "you need not be afraid," said the man, with warmth, "i shall not desert." the sentinels were replaced every four hours, and, at the appointed time, the guard again marched to relieve the post. to their inexpressible astonishment the man was gone. they searched around the spot, but no traces of him could be found. it was now more necessary than ever that the station should not remain unoccupied; they left another man and returned to the guardhouse. the superstition of the soldiers was awakened and terror ran through the regiment. the colonel, being apprised of the occurrence, signified his intention to accompany the guard when they relieved the sentinel they had left. at the appointed time, they all marched together; and again, to their unutterable wonder, they found the post vacant, and the man gone. under these circumstances, the colonel hesitated whether he should station a whole company on the spot or whether he should again submit the post to a single sentinel. the cause of these repeated disappearances of men whose courage and honesty were never suspected must be discovered, and it seemed not likely that this discovery could be obtained by persisting in the old method. three brave men were now lost to the regiment, and to assign the fourth seemed nothing less than giving him up to destruction. the poor fellow whose turn it was to take the station, though a man in other respects of incomparable resolution, trembled from head to foot. "i must do my duty," said he to the officer; "i know that; but i should like to lose my life with more credit." "i will leave no man," said the colonel, "against his will." a man immediately stepped from the ranks and desired to take the post. every mouth commended his resolution. "i will not be taken alive," said he, "and you shall hear of me at the least alarm. at all events, i will fire my piece if i hear the least noise. if a crow chatters, or a leaf falls, you shall hear my musket. you may be alarmed when nothing is the matter; but you must take the chance as the condition of the discovery." the colonel applauded his courage, and told him he would do right to fire upon the least noise that he could not satisfactorily explain. his comrades shook hands with him, and left him with a melancholy foreboding. the company marched back and awaited the event in the guardhouse. an hour had now elapsed and every ear was upon the rack for the discharge of the musket, when, upon a sudden, the report was heard. the guard immediately marched, accompanied, as before, by the colonel and some of the most experienced officers of the regiment. as they approached the post they saw the man advancing toward them, dragging another man on the ground by the hair of his head. when they came up to him, it appeared to be an indian whom he had shot. an explanation was immediately required. {illustration: needle parker, the beautiful and accomplished daughter of quanah parker.} "i told you, colonel," said the man, "that i should fire if i heard the least noise. that resolution i took has saved my life. i had not been long at my post when i heard a rustling at some short distance; i looked and saw a wild hog, such as are common in the woods, crawling along the ground, and seemingly looking for nuts under the trees, among the leaves. "as these animals are so very common, i ceased to consider it seriously, but kept my eyes fixed upon it, and marked its progress among the trees; still there was no need to give the alarm. it struck me, however, as somewhat singular to see this animal making, by a circuitous passage, for a thick grove immediately behind my post. i therefore kept my eye more constantly fixed upon it, and, as it was now within a few yards of the coppice, i hesitated whether i should fire. "my comrades, thought i, will laugh at me for alarming them by shooting a pig. i had almost resolved to let it alone, when, just as it approached the thicket, i thought i observed it give an unusual spring. i no longer hesitated; i took my aim, discharged my piece, and the animal was immediately stretched before me, with a groan which i thought to be that of a human creature. "i went up to it, and judge of my astonishment when i found that i had killed an indian. he had enveloped himself with the skin of one of these wild hogs so artfully and completely, his hands and his feet were so entirely concealed in it, and his gait and appearance were so exactly correspondent to that of the animals, that, imperfectly as they were always seen through the trees and bushes the disguise could not be detected at a distance, and scarcely discovered upon the nearest inspection. he was armed with a dagger and a tomahawk." the cause of the disappearance of the other sentinels was now apparent. the indians, sheltered in this disguise, secreted themselves in the coppice, watched for the moment to throw off the hog skin, burst upon the sentinels without previous alarm, and, too quick to give them an opportunity to discharge their pieces, either stabbed or tomahawked them. they then bore their bodies away and concealed them at some distance in the leaves, which were thick on the ground. ii. the mohawk's last arrow. when the grand monarque, louis xiv., ruled france, he appointed one of his favorite courtiers, the chevalier de frontenac, governor-general of new france, or konnedieya. {fn} some years after count de frontenac became viceregent, the war-like five nations (afterward six), "the romans of america," proved themselves soldiers of the highest order. this they did not only by carrying their arms among the native tribes a thousand miles away, and striking their enemies alike upon the lakes of maine, the mountains of carolina and the prairies of missouri; but they had already bearded one european army beneath the walls of quebec, and shut up another for weeks within the defenses of montreal, with the same courage that, half a century later, vanquished the battalions of dieskau, upon the banks of lake george. * * * * * {fn} since corrupted into canada, "beautiful water," probably so called from the amber-like color of many of its streams. to punish the savages for their "insolence," and bring them under subjection, the commander-in-chief, the veteran governor frontenac, organized an expedition to invade the country of the five nations, and marshaled his forces at la chine on july , . the aged chevalier was said to have other objects in view besides the political motives for the expedition. it seems that many years previous, when the five nations had invested the capital of new france and threatened the extermination of that thriving colony, a beautiful half-blood girl, whose education had been commenced under the immediate auspices of the governor-general, and in whom, indeed, m. de frontenac was said to have a parental interest, was carried off, with other prisoners, by the retiring foe. every effort had been made in vain during the occasional cessations of hostilities between the french and the iroquois, to recover this girl; and though, in the years that intervened, some wandering jesuit from time to time averred that he had seen the christian captive living as the contented wife of a young mohawk warrior, yet the old nobleman seems never to have despaired of reclaiming his "nut-brown daughter." indeed the chevalier must have been impelled by some such hope when, at the age of seventy, and so feeble that he was half the time carried in a litter, he ventured to encounter the perils of an american wilderness and place himself at the head of the heterogeneous bands which now invaded the country of the five nations, under his command. among the half-breed spies, border scouts and mongrel adventurers that followed in the train of the invading army was a renegade fleming of the name of hanyost. this man in early youth had been made a sergeant-major, when he deserted to the french ranks in flanders. he had subsequently taken up a military grant in canada, sold it after emigrating, and then, making his way down to the dutch settlements on the hudson, had become a sojourner among their old allies, the mohawks, and adopted the life of a hunter. hanyost, hearing that his old friends, the french, were making such a formidable descent, did not hesitate to desert his more recent acquaintances and offer his services as a guide to count frontenac the moment he entered the hostile country. it was not, however, mere cupidity or the habitual love of treachery which actuated the base fleming in this instance. hanyost, in a difficulty with an indian trapper, which had been referred for arbitrament to a young mohawk chief, kiodago (a settler of disputes), whose cool courage and firmness fully entitled him to so distinguished a name, conceived himself aggrieved by the award which had been given against him. the scorn with which the arbitrator met his charge of unfairness stung him to the soul, and fearing the arm of the powerful savage, he had nursed the revenge in secret, whose accomplishment seemed now at hand. kiodago, ignorant of the hostile force which had entered his country, was off with his band at a fishing station, or summer camp, among the wild hills, and when hanyost informed the commander of the french forces that by surprising this party his long-lost daughter, the wife of kiodago, might be once more given to his arms, a small but efficient force was instantly detached from the main body of the army to strike the blow. a dozen musketeers, with twenty-five pikemen, led severally by the baron de bekancourt and the chevalier de grais, the former having the chief command of the expedition, were sent upon this duty, with hanyost to guide them to the village of kiodago. many hours were consumed upon the march, as the soldiers were not yet habituated to the wilderness; but just before dawn on the second day the party found themselves in the neighborhood of the indian village. the place was wrapped in repose, and the two cavaliers trusted that the surprise would be so complete that their commander's daughter must certainly be taken. the baron, after a careful examination of the hilly passes, determined to head the onslaught, while his companion in arms, with hanyost to mark out his prey, should pounce upon the chieftain's wife. this being arranged, their followers were warned not to injure the female captives while cutting their defenders to pieces, and then, a moment being allowed for each man to take a last look at the condition of his arms, they were led to the attack. the inhabitants of the fated village, secure in their isolated situation, aloof from the war-parties of that wild district, had neglected all precaution against surprise, and were buried in sleep when the whizzing of a grenade, that terrible but superseded engine of destruction, roused them from their slumbers. the missile, to which a direction had been given that carried it in a direct line through the main row of wigwams which formed the little street, went crashing among their frail frames of basket-work, and kindled the dry mats stretched over them into instant flames. and then, as the startled warriors leaped, all naked and unarmed, from their blazing lodges, the french pikemen, waiting only for a volley from the musketeers, followed it up with a charge still more fatal. the wretched savages were slaughtered like sheep in the shambles. some, overwhelmed with dismay, sank unresisting upon the ground, and covering up their heads, after the indian fashion when resigned to death, awaited the fatal stroke without a murmur; others, seized with a less benumbing panic, sought safety in flight, and rushed upon the pikes that lined the forest paths around them. many there were, however, who, schooled to scenes as dreadful, acquitted themselves like warriors. snatching their weapons from the greedy flames, they sprang with irresistible fury upon the bristling files of pikemen. their heavy war-clubs beat down and splintered the fragile spears of the europeans, whose corslets, ruddy with the reflected fires amid which they fought, glinted back still brighter sparks from the hatchets of flint which crashed against them. the fierce veterans pealed the charging cry of many a well-fought field in other climes; but wild and high, the indian war-whoop rose shrill above the din of conflict, until the hovering raven in mid air caught up and answered that discordant shriek. de grais, in the meantime, surveyed the scene of action with eager intentness, expecting each moment to see the paler features of the christian captive among the dusky females, who ever and anon sprang shrieking from the blazing lodges, and were instantly hurled backward into the flames by fathers and brothers, who even thus would save them from the hands that vainly essayed to grasp their distracted forms. the mohawks began now to wage a more successful resistance, and just when the fight was raging hottest, and the high-spirited frenchman, beginning to despair of his prey, was about launching into the midst of it, he saw a tall warrior who had hitherto been forward in the conflict, disengage himself from the melee, and wheeling suddenly upon a soldier, who had likewise separated from his party, brain him with a tomahawk before he could make a movement in his defense. the quick eye of the young chevalier, too, caught a glance of another figure, in pursuit of whom, as she emerged with an infant in her arms, from a lodge on the further side of the village, the luckless frenchman had met his doom. it was the christian captive, the wife of kiodago, beneath whose hand he had fallen. the chief now stood over the body of his victim, brandishing a war-club which he had snatched from a dying indian near. quick as thought, de grais leveled a pistol at his head, when the track of the flying girl brought her directly in his line of sight, and he withheld his fire. kiodago, in the meantime, had been cut off from the rest of his people by the soldiers, who closed in upon the space which his terrible arm had a moment before kept open. a cry of agony escaped the high-souled savage, as he saw how thus the last hope was lost. he made a gesture as if about to again rush into the fray, and sacrifice his life with his tribesmen; and then perceiving how futile must be the act, he turned on his heel, and bounded after his retreating wife, with arms outstretched to shield her from the dropping shots of the enemy. the rising sun had now lighted up the scene, but all this passed so instantaneously that it was impossible for de grais to keep his eye upon the fugitives amid the shifting forms that glanced continually before him; and when, accompanied by hanyost and seven others, he had got fairly in pursuit, kiodago, who still kept behind his wife, was far in advance of the chevalier and his party. her forest training had made the christian captive as fleet of foot as an indian maiden. she heard, too, the cheering voice of her loved warrior behind her, and pressing her infant to her heart, she urged her flight over crag and fell and soon reached the head of a rocky pass, which it would take some moments for any but an american forester to scale. but the indefatigable frenchmen are urging their way up the steep; the cry of pursuit grows nearer as they catch a sight of her husband through the thickets, and the agonized wife finds her onward progress prevented by a ledge of rock that impends above her. but now again kiodago is by her side; he has lifted his wife to the cliff above, and placed her infant in her arms and already the indian mother is speeding on to a cavern among the hills, well known as a fastness of safety. kiodago looked a moment after her retreating figure, and then coolly swung himself to the ledge which commanded the pass. he might now easily escape his pursuers; but as he stepped back from the edge of the cliff and looked down the narrow ravine, the vengeful spirit of the red man was too strong within him to allow such an opportunity of striking a blow to escape. his tomahawk and war-club had both been lost in the strife, but he still carried at his back a more efficient weapon in the hands of so keen a hunter. there were but three arrows in his quiver, and the mohawk was determined to have the life of an enemy in exchange for each of them. his bow was strung quickly, but with as much coolness as if there was no exigency to require haste. yet he had scarcely time to throw himself upon his breast, a few yards from the brink of the declivity, before one of his pursuers, more active than the rest, exposed himself to the unerring archer. he came leaping from rock to rock, and had nearly reached the head of the glen, when, pierced through and through by one of kiodago's arrows, he toppled from the crags, and rolled, clutching the leaves in his death agony, among the tangled furze below. a second met a similar fate, and a third victim would probably have been added, if a shot from the fusil of hanyost, who sprang forward and caught sight of the indian just as the first man fell, had not disabled the thumb joint of the bold archer, even as he fixed his last arrow in the string. resistance seemed now at an end, and kiodago again betook himself to flight. yet anxious to divert the pursuit from his wife, the young chieftain pealed a yell of defiance, as he retreated in a different direction from that which she had taken. the whoop was answered by a simultaneous shout and rush on the part of the whites; but the indian had not advanced far before he perceived that the pursuing party, now reduced to six, had divided, and that three only followed him. he had recognized the scout, hanyost, among his enemies, and it was now apparent that that wily traitor, instead of being misled by his _ruse,_ had guided the other three upon the direct trail to the cavern which the christian captive had taken. quick as thought, the mohawk acted upon the impression. making a few steps within a thicket, still to mislead his present pursuers, he bounded across a mountain torrent, and then leaving his foot-marks dashed in the yielding bank, he turned shortly on a rock beyond, recrossed the stream, and concealed himself behind a falling tree; while his pursuers passed within a few paces of his covert. a broken hillock now only divided the chief from the point to which he had directed his wife by another route, and to which the remaining party, consisting of de grais, hanyost and a french musketeer, were hotly urging their way. the hunted warrior ground his teeth with rage when he heard the voice of the treacherous fleming in the glen below him; and springing from crag to crag, he circled the rocky knoll, and planted his foot by the roots of a blasted oak, that shot its limbs above the cavern, just as his wife had reached the spot, and pressing her babe to her bosom, sank exhausted among the flowers that waved in the moist breath of the cave. it chanced that at that very instant, de grais and his followers had paused beneath the opposite side of the knoll, from whose broken surface the foot of the flying indian had disengaged a stone, which crackling among the branches, found its way through a slight ravine into the glen below. the two frenchmen stood in doubt for a moment. the musketeer, pointing in the direction whence the stone had rolled, turned to receive the order of his officer. the chevalier, who had made one step in advance of a broad rock between them, leaned upon it, pistol in hand, half turning toward his follower while the scout, who stood furthest out from the steep bank, bending forward to discover the mouth of the cave, must have caught a glimpse of the sinking female, just as the shadowy form of her husband was displayed above her. god help thee now, bold archer! thy quiver is empty; thy game of life is nearly up; the sleuth-hound is upon thee; and thy scalp-lock, whose plumes now flutter in the breeze, will soon be twined in the fingers of the vengeful renegade. thy wife--but hold! the noble savage has still one arrow left! {illustration: the mohawk's last arrow.} disabled, as he thought himself, the mohawk had not dropped his bow in his flight. his last arrow was still gripped in his bleeding fingers; and though his stiffening thumb forbore the use of it to the best advantage, the hand of kiodago had not lost its power. {fn} the crisis which it takes so long to describe had been realized by him in an instant. he saw how the french-men, inexperienced in woodcraft, were at fault; he saw, too, that the keen eye of hanyost had caught sight of the object of their pursuit, and that further flight was hopeless, while the scene of his burning village in the distance inflamed him with hate and fury toward the instrument of his misfortunes. bracing one knee upon the flinty rock, while the muscles of the other swelled as if the whole energies of his body were collected in that single effort, kiodago aims at the treacherous scout, and the twanging bowstring dismisses his last arrow upon its errand. the hand of the spirit could alone have guided that shaft! but waneyo smiles upon the brave warrior, and the arrow, while it rattles harmless against the cuirass of the french officer, glances toward the victim for whom it was intended, and quivers in the heart of hanyost! the dying wretch grasped the sword-chain of the chevalier, whose corslet clanged among the rocks, as the two went rolling down the glen together; and de grais was not unwilling to abandon the pursuit when the musketeer, coming to his assistance, had disengaged him, bruised and bloody, from the embrace of the stiffening corpse. * * * * * {fn} the english mode of holding the arrow, as represented in the plate, is not common among our aborigines, who use the thumb for a purchase. what more is there to add. the bewildered europeans rejoined their comrades, who were soon after on their march from the scene they had desolated; while kiodago descended from his eyrie to collect the fugitive survivors of his band, and, after burying the slain, to wreak a terrible vengeance upon their murderers; the most of whom were cut off by him before they joined the main body of the french army. the count de frontenac, returning to canada, died soon afterward, and the existence of his half-blood daughter was soon forgotten. and--though among the dozen old families in the state of new york who have indian blood in their veins, many trace their descent from the off spring of the noble kiodago and his christian wife--yet the hand of genius, as displayed in the admirable picture of chapman, which we reproduce, has alone rescued from oblivion the thrilling scene of the mohawk's last arrow! iii. audubon's night of peril. "on my return from the upper mississippi," said john j. audubon, the celebrated ornithologist, "i found myself obliged to cross one of the wide prairies which, in that portion of the united states, vary the appearance of the country. the weather was fine; all around me was as fresh and blooming as if it had just issued from the bosom of nature. my knapsack, my gun and my dog were all i had for baggage and company. the track that i followed was an old indian trail, and as darkness overshadowed the prairie, i felt some desire to reach at least a copse in which i might lie down to rest. the night-hawks were skimming over and around me, attracted by the buzzing wings of the beetles, which form their food, and the distant howlings of wolves gave me some hope that i should soon arrive at the skirts of some woodland. "i did so; and almost at the same instant a fire-light attracted my attention. i moved toward it, full of confidence that it proceeded from the camp of some wandering indians. i was mistaken. i discovered by its glare that it was from the open door of a small log cabin, and that a tall figure passed and repassed between it and me, as if busily engaged in house-hold affairs. "i reached the place, and presenting myself at the door, asked the tall figure, which proved to be a woman, if i might take shelter under her roof for the night. her voice was gruff and her attire negligently thrown about her. she answered in the affirmative. i walked in, took a stool and quietly seated myself by the fire. "the next object that attracted my attention was a finely formed young indian resting his head between his hands, with his elbows on his knees. a long bow rested against a log wall near him, while a quantity of arrows and two or three raccoon skins lay at his feet. he moved not--he apparently breathed not. "accustomed to the habits of the indians, and knowing that they pay little attention to the approach of civilized strangers (a circumstance which in some countries is considered to evince the apathy of their character), i addressed him in french, a language not unfrequently partially known to the people in that neighborhood. "he raised his head, pointed to one of his eyes with his finger, and gave me a significant look with the other. his face was covered with blood. the fact was that about an hour or so before this, as he was in the act of discharging an arrow at a raccoon in the top of a tree, the arrow had split upon the cord and sprung back with such violence into his right eye as to destroy it forever. "feeling hungry, i inquired what sort of fare i might expect. such a thing as a bed was not to be seen, but many large untanned bear and buffalo hides lay piled up in a corner. i drew a fine timepiece from my breast and told the woman that it was late and that i was fatigued. she had espied my watch, the richness and beauty of which seemed to operate upon her feelings with electrical quickness. she told me that there was plenty of venison and jerked buffalo meat, and that on removing the ashes i should find a cake. but my watch had struck her fancy, and her curiosity had to be gratified by an immediate sight of it. i took off the gold chain that secured it from around my neck and handed it to her. she was all ecstasy, spoke of its beauty, asked me its value and put my chain around her brawny neck, saying how happy the possession of such a watch would make her. "thoughtless, and, as i fancied myself in so retired a spot secure, i paid little attention to her talk or her movements. i helped my dog to a good supper of venison, and was not long in satisfying the demands of my own appetite. "the indian rose from his seat as if in extreme suffering. he passed and repassed me several times, and once pinched me on the arm so violently that the pain nearly brought forth an exclamation of anger. i looked at him; his eye met mine, but his look was so forbidding that it struck a chill into the more nervous part of my system. he again seated himself, drew his butcher's knife from its greasy scabbard, examined its edge as i would do that of a razor suspected dull, replaced it, and again taking his tomahawk from his belt, filled the pipe of it with tobacco, and sent me expressive glances whenever our hostess chanced to have her back toward us. "never until that moment had my senses been awakened to the danger which i now suspected to be about me. i returned glance for glance to my companion, and rested well assured that whatever enemies i might have, he was not one of their number. i asked the woman for my watch, wound it up, and under pretense of wishing to see how the weather might probably be on the morrow, took up my gun and walked out of the cabin. i slipped a ball into each barrel, scraped the edges of my flints, renewed the primings, and returning to the hut, gave a favorable account of my observations. i now took a few bearskins, made a pallet of them, and calling my faithful dog to my side, lay down, with my gun close to my body, and in a few minutes was to all appearances fast asleep. "a short time had elapsed when some voices were heard, and from the corner of my eyes i saw two athletic youths making their entrance, bearing a dead stag on a pole. they disposed of their burden, and asking for whisky, helped themselves freely to it. observing me and the wounded indian, they asked who i was, and why that rascal (meaning the indian, who, they knew, understood not a word of english) was in the house. the mother--for so she proved to be--bade them speak less loudly, made mention of my watch, and took them to a corner, where a conversation took place in a low tone, the purport of which it required little shrewdness in me to guess. i tapped my dog gently; he moved his tail, and with indescribable pleasure i saw his fine eyes alternately fixed on me, and raised toward the trio in the corner. i felt that he perceived danger in my situation. the indian exchanged a last glance with me. "the lads had eaten and drunk themselves into such condition that i already looked upon them as _hors de combat,_ and the frequent visits of the whisky bottle to the ugly mouth of their dam i hoped would soon reduce her to a like state. judge of my astonishment, reader, when i saw this incarnate fiend take a large butcher's knife and go to the grindstone to whet its edge. i saw her pour the water on the turning stone, and watched her working away with the dangerous instrument until the cold sweat covered every part of my body, despite my determination to defend myself to the last. her task finished, she walked to her reeling sons and said, 'there, that'll soon settle him. boys, you kill the indian and then for the watch!' "i turned, cocked my gunlocks silently, touched my faithful companion, and lay ready to startup and shoot the first that might attempt my life. the moment was fast approaching, and that night might have been my last in this world, had not providence made preparations for my rescue. all was ready; the infernal hag was advancing slowly, probably contemplating the best way of despatching me whilst her sons should be engaged with the indian. i was several times on the eve of rising and shooting her on the spot; but she was not to be punished thus. the door was suddenly opened, and there entered two stout travelers, each with a long rifle on his shoulder. i bounced upon my feet, and making them most heartily welcome, told them how well it was for me that they should have arrived at that moment. the tale was told in a minute. the drunken young men were secured, and the woman, in spite of her defense and vociferations, shared the same fate. the indian fairly danced with joy, and gave us to understand that as he could not sleep for pain, he would watch over us. you may suppose we slept much less than we talked. "the two strangers gave me an account of their once having been themselves in a somewhat similar situation. day came, fair and rosy, and with it the punishment of our captives. they were quite sobered. their feet were unbound, but their arms were still securely tied. we marched them into the woods off the road, and having disposed of them as regulators were wont to treat such wretches, we set fire to the cabin, gave all their skins and implements to the young indian warrior and proceeded, well pleased, toward the settlements. "during upward of twenty-five years, when my wanderings extended to all parts of our country, this was the only time at which my life was in danger from my fellow-creatures. indeed, so little risk do travelers run in the united states that no one born there ever dreams of any to be encountered on the road; and i can only account for the occurrence by supposing that the inhabitants of the cabin were not americans." iv. an hour of terror, and midnight feast. the following story, though somewhat similar to the foregoing, had a very different termination: the year was one of anxiety and alarm to the frontier settlers of our country, for the indians, incited by british emissaries, were sullen, and in many portions of the ohio valley and on the canadian border openly hostile to the americans. three families dwelling in a little settlement on the banks of a small stream which emptied into lake erie had refrained in every way possible from giving offense to their indian neighbors, the miamis of the lake, whose nearest village was thirty miles distant. however, to be safe, they built a block-house surrounded by a tall stockade, and always had their guns and other weapons ready for use. one dark night, minor spicer, who lived in one of these isolated cabins, heard some one call in front of his house. it was late, and spicer's family, with the exception of himself and wife, had retired. seizing his rifle, minor, in spite of his wife's entreaty that he should pay no attention to the hail, opened the door and stepped outside. a large indian, mounted on a big raw-boned gray horse, with a deer across the withers, and a rifle in each hand, confronted the settler. "what do you want?" the white man asked. the indian replied in the wyandotte tongue, a language perfectly unintelligible to spicer. "speak english! speak english!" shouted spicer, "or as sure as a gun is iron i will draw a bead on you." the indian was not alarmed by this threat, since he understood not one word of it. but he knew three english, words, and now used them to good purpose. pointing to the cabin, he exclaimed, "injun tired, cold, sleepy," and minor understood at once that he desired a night's lodging. now, among the frontiersmen, hospitality was universal. the latch string literally hung on the outside. no matter how humble the guest, and whether friend or foe, shelter was never denied, and even the last crust would be divided with the stranger. in the present instance the request was promptly granted, spicer showing the indian where to put his horse, and then, it must be confessed with inward misgivings, leading the way into the house, the indian bringing in his venison. the good woman fairly trembled with terror as she looked upon the towering form and forbidding face of their savage guest, as he hung up his venison with an air of proprietorship after which he placed his guns and tomahawk in a corner of the backroom which served as kitchen. with his scalping-knife the indian now cut a large piece from the venison and intimated by signs that he was hungry and desired mrs. spicer to cook it for him. mrs. spicer complied with the request, her husband standing near, his rifle always within reach, watching every movement of the sullen-faced guest, regretting more and more that he had permitted him to enter. he consoled himself with the thought that had he refused he would have incurred his undying hatred, and resolved, while seemingly at ease, to be on the alert for treachery, and repay it with death. the wife broiled the meat upon the coals, seasoned it well with pepper and salt, and motioned the indian toward the table. he ate only a few mouthfuls, and when he thought he was unobserved, slyly slipped the greater portion of it in his pouch, clearly refuting, according to the watchful white man's mind, his claim that he was hungry, and convincing spicer that mischief was intended. the host and hostess signified their intention of retiring, and the indian lay down before the fire. mr. and mrs. spicer retired to the front room, which opened through a door from the kitchen, which was occupied by the indian. of course, sleep was impossible, for their own lives and that of their children, and indeed the fate of the whole settlement, might depend upon their vigilance. the door of the room they occupied was left wide open, so that the indian was in full view. would the tall warrior, who had gained entrance to their home under pretense of being weary and hungry, attempt to murder them himself, or would he, when he thought the family sound asleep, unbar the door to admit his confederates to assist him in his bloody work? the husband and wife said nothing to each other regarding their fears, but the necessity of remaining awake was fully understood and agreed upon between them. the bed upon which spicer and his wife lay was without the circle of the firelight, and in heavy shadow; and their faces were not discernible in the gloom. they breathed deeply to deceive the indian, whom they believed to be as wakeful as they themselves, although he lay perfectly still for an hour. at the end of that time he raised himself upon his elbow and listened. all was silent, and he sat upright, and again listened as before. no sound disturbed the silence but the deep breathing of the sleeping children in the loft above him and the regular respiration of spicer and his wife, who were watching the indian with mingled feelings of anger and alarm, for now his evil intention seemed about to be made known. rising to his feet, the indian stepped as swiftly and softly as a panther to the corner where his weapons were piled. {illustration: lone wolf, famous orator and principal chief of the kiowas.} "shall i shoot him in his tracks?" thought spicer, whose hand was now upon his gun. "no, i can't shoot a man in my own house whose back is toward me, but if he draws the bolt of the outside door, or makes a motion to attack us, he will find me ready." by this time the savage had reached the corner, and stood silently listening to see if he had awakened any one. satisfied that he had not, he took up his glittering scalping-knife. mrs. spicer shuddered as he passed his fingers across the edge of the blade to assure himself of its keenness. already she seemed to feel the cold steel upon her naked flesh. she touched her husband's hand as if to urge him to shoot. he gave her hand a reassuring pressure, and grasped his gun, awaiting the indian's onslaught. the savage, however, seemed in no haste, and instead of turning toward the door of the cabin, or the room in which spicer and his wife lay, he quietly stole toward the opposite corner of the room. surprised and puzzled, spicer and his wife watched the indian's mysterious movements, which in another minute explained themselves. reaching the corner where the venison hung, he took it down, and laying it upon the floor, deftly cut off a piece weighing a pound or two, and then made his way back to the fire and placed it on the embers. carefully wiping his scalping-knife and placing it again with his weapons, he sat down before the fire, watching his meat cook, and, when it was done to his satisfaction, he devoured it with much apparent relish, and lay down again and was soon sleeping the sleep of the weary. indians as a rule (especially those around the great fresh-water lakes) dislike salt and pepper, and mrs. spicer had so seasoned the venison she cooked for her guest that it was unpalatable, and with innate delicacy he attempted to conceal the fact that it was not done to his liking by slipping it into his pouch. both spicer and his wife knew in an instant that this was the case, when the indian, unconscious how near his dislike for pepper and salt had brought him to death sat down to watch his venison broil. their minds at ease, they too, were soon peacefully sleeping. afterward, when the indian, who came season after season to visit spicer and his family, learned enough english to speak quite well, he told them that upon the occasion of his first visit to their cabin he had lost his trail, and had been guided to their door by the light from the window. he had left his father, who was too tired to travel farther, in an abandoned hunting-hut they found in the woods, and had given him his blanket. the other rifle was his father's, and the next morning he went back to him, and the two found their trail and went onward to their village. every spring and autumn the indian, who called himself "heno," which is the wyandot for "thunder," used to call at the cabin of the spicer's with gifts of game and skins, and when the settler, upon one of these visits, told him of the hour of terror he spent watching his movements the first night of their acquaintance, heno, who was a merry fellow in spite of his looks, chuckled softly to himself, the humor of the situation evidently striking him forcibly. heno became very fond of the spicer children, and upon his visits to their home they would importune their father to tell again the tale of heno's midnight raid upon his venison, the indian accompanying the narrator with expressive pantomime, which much delighted himself and his auditors. v. story of an honest indian. the inhabitants along the north shore of lake superior are nearly all indians, who are largely dependent upon the fisheries for their living; when these fail or are good, so is their general condition. it has been my good fortune, writes stanley du bois, to spend many summers there. my custom is to get a large mackinac boat, the white man's improvement on the birch bark canoe, to put into it my tent, stores, camping and other equipment, and, together with a couple of indians, to sail along the north shore of the great lake, usually making a new camp every night, not bound by any hard and fast rule to do so; staying longer if it is agreeable or too stormy to make sailing safe or pleasant. sometimes i have to anchor and ride out a heavy swell, for there are hundreds of miles of shore line where the rocky cliffs come down to the water's edge, and if there is any surf there is no such thing as landing from a boat. one evening, having made a landing, pitched the tent, and had a good supper, while sitting alone, the indians busy about the boat hauled up on the narrow beach, a huge dog came stalking up to me. he was in a pitiable condition. evidently he had been in a fight with a bear or lynx, or some other fierce, powerful creature, for nearly half his scalp had been torn loose from his skull and hung down over his face, completely blinding one eye. at first i was uncertain how to act, but i soon saw that he meant no harm, really in dog language he very plainly gave me to understand that he looked to me for relief. going into the tent i got a needle and thread, and together we went down to the water's edge, where i washed the dirt and vermin out of the great wound, and then placing the skin back where it belonged sewed it up. the indians pricked a quantity of balsam blisters, and after smearing that plentifully over the edges of the wound, we gave the dog his supper. during the night he disappeared. the indians and myself finished the season according to our pleasure, and the incident of the dog was fast becoming a fading memory. two years later, with these same two indians, i was again sailing along the north shore of lake superior. seeing a little wooden pier put out into the water we headed for it. as soon as we came near, some twenty-five or thirty half-wild, savage dogs stormed out on the pier and threatened to eat us alive! an elderly indian came down from the shore, and with a stout club beat them mercilessly and drove them to the shore; all except one, who, changing his bark of anger and defiance to yelps of delight, fawned and whined on me most unaccountably, and despite blows and commands refused to leave. "now i know who fix my dog; come to my house. i too wish to thank you as well as my dog." that was the greeting i received, and the first i had heard of the mutilated dog of two years previous. the house was a log hut of one room only on the ground floor, with a low, dark loft above; no luxuries and few comforts anywhere. his wife busied herself to get us something to eat; it didn't take long, and when dinner was called we sat down to the table. reverently bowing their heads he asked god's blessing on what was before us, a broiled whitefish and a bucket of water, that was all, for the season's fishing so far had been a failure. the man and children could speak fairly good english, his wife could not speak it at all. after our meal i gave him a little bag of smoking tobacco. it was the first he had used for several months, and you can hardly know how happy he was. moved by its influence and of gratitude for my care to his dog, he told me a strange experience that had come into his life. i have taken the liberty of altering his broken english and idioms into plain talk, but the facts are just as he told me that beautiful summer day, with the hum of the wind through the great pine trees over and back of his home, and the wash of the waves on the rocky shore in front. but for the little group around that home it was a grand solitude for hundreds of miles in every direction. this is his story: "some thirty years ago there came to my cabin a young englishman, not a hunter or a fisherman, but one who would sit for hours at a time on that old bent tree yonder, and make the strangest and sweetest music i ever heard. i never saw an instrument like his. he made me forget myself, and sometimes when he would play i would cry just like a dog. then he would put that aside and go off into the woods alone, taking with him a stranger and even more curious instrument. what he was trying to do i do not know, but he looked into it, and then made marks in a book. i said he went alone, but that is hardly true; no white man went with him, only one of my little boys. they are men grown now, and have families of their own. one day a sailboat came to my little pier, and a gentleman called out, 'hello baker! you must go back with me right away,' and after a few minutes' talk he called out to me, 'i am going away, but will be back again. keep what is mine till i return,' and they sailed away. "that was more than thirty years ago, and he has not returned yet. if you care to see what he left with me i will show it to you." we went back into the cabin, and his wife climbed into the loft overhead and passed down a violin case, a theodolite, and a small, silver-trimmed leather grip. opening the case he took out as fine a violin as it has ever been my pleasure to handle. there was no name of maker or owner on it. the strings were loose, but after tuning it up as best i could after so long a time out of use, i found it had a marvelously pure, sweet, strong tone. the theodolite was of london make, and had seen much hard usage, but was in good condition. opening the grip, which was not locked, we took out and laid on the table a surveyor's memorandum book, a few pencils, a silver telescopic pen holder with a gold pen in its end, and an intaglio seal cut in a red stone in the other end, the letter b, some postage stamps, some sheets of paper and envelopes, and a small copy of shakespeare's plays. turning to the fly leaf of the book i read the name in pencil, "s. baker." "this is not all," said the indian to his wife, and she went up to the loft again and brought down a canvas bag. it would have held about a quart. untying the string which closed it, he turned the contents out on the table, gold and silver coins. we counted it. sixty-two sovereigns and a few small pieces of silver, all english money. to say that i was amazed but mildly expressed my thoughts at the time. here was an indian family, poor as poverty, yet with over three hundred dollars in gold for years in their cabin, and knowing its purchasing power perfectly well all the time. i asked him why he did not use it to buy necessities at such a time as this. he gave me a look of mingled sorrow and wonder that i would so much as suggest such a thing, and said that these things were left with him for safe keeping, and that he would sooner starve than betray his trust. they were starving then, and it was not the first time so either. i tried to persuade him to use it, but he said "no," and put it all back into the bag, and everything belonging to the young stranger was taken up and put away in the loft. the next day i went away. my summer trips took me elsewhere for several years, but this past summer i was back to the north shore of lake superior again. having a mind to look up my old indian friend, i went to the place where we had parted company, but the little pier was wholly gone. we made a landing and soon came upon the ruins of the house. the roof had fallen in and the walls were partly rotted down. the little garden patch was a tangle of briers and weeds; desolation reigned everywhere. a couple of days later, still sailing along the shore, we came in sight of a long, strong, handsome pier, with a tall flag staff on its outer end. back of it, about a hundred yards up the shore, was a tiny indian village of maybe two hundred souls. landing at the dock, a handsome young man greeted me and called me by name. he was a grandson of my old indian friend. i immediately asked him of his grandfather. "come and see where we have laid him," was his answer; and taking me by the hand he led me to a beautiful little grassy plot, surrounded with a neat white paling fence. there, beside the wife of his youth, who had shared with him his privations, his joys and his sorrows, there his children had reverently laid him away. we then went to the home of the young indian. he had a neat story-and-a-half house, nearly covered with trailing vines. it was well furnished, a cabinet organ, a sewing machine, some books and pictures, a gasoline stove, carpets, curtains and other furniture of civilization. he was a prosperous lumberman, and a full-blooded indian. i asked him regarding the violin, theodolite, books, money, etc. the money had been used after his grandfather's death, the other articles he has in his possession now. going back as well as we could we came to the conclusion that they originally belonged to the man who afterward became sir samuel baker, but we could not be certain. of this we are sure, that the keeping of the money and other valuables so many years was a rare example of fidelity. and the strangest part of it all is, that my knowledge of it, and yours, should come about through kindness to a dog in distress. i have had considerable experience with indians, from the far north of our land to south america, from the atlantic to the pacific. times without number have i trusted my person and valuables to them, and in not a single instance was the confidence misplaced. vi. "go!" a story of red cloud. the new el dorado was in sight, writes calkins. gordon's party of twelve tired frontiersmen had mounted the high divide which separates the sources of the running water from those of the cheyenne. for five weeks the men had shoveled drifts, buffeted blizzards and kept a constant vigil among the interminable sand-hills. by means, too, of stable canvas, shovels, axes, iron picket-pins and a modicum of dry feed, they had kept in good condition the splendid eight-mule team which drew their big freighter. in fact "gordon's outfit" was a model one in every respect, and probably no similar body of men ever faced our snow-bound, trackless plains, better equipped for the adventure. and now the muffled marchers cheered as "cap" gordon halted them and pointed to a blurred and inky upheaval upon the far rim of a limitless waste of white. the famous black hills, a veritable wonderland, unseen hitherto by any party of whites save the men of custer's expedition, lay before them. two more days and the gold-seekers would gain the shelter of those pine-covered hills, where their merry axes would "eat chips" until shelter, comfort and safety from attack were secured. out of the bitter cold, after weeks of toil and danger, into warmth and safety--no wonder they were glad. as yet they had seen no sign of the hostile sioux, but their frosty cheers, thin and piping, had hardly been borne away by the cutting wind when a moving black speck appeared on the western horizon. the speck drew nearer, and resolved itself into a solitary horseman. could it be that a single sioux would approach a party of their strength? they watched the rider without anxiety. they were so near the goal now that no war party of sufficient strength to become a menace was likely to be gathered. they were equipped with an arsenal of modern guns, with fifty thousand rounds of ammunition, and had boasted they were "good to stand off three hundred sioux." nearer and nearer drew the horseman, his pony coming on in rabbit-like jumps to clear the drifts. speculation ceased. it was an indian--probably a hunter strayed far from his village, half-starved and coming to beg for food. well, the poor wretch should have frozen bread and meat, as much as he could eat they could not stop to give him better fare. it was as cold as greenland. the bundled driver upon the great wagon slapped his single line, and yelled at the plodding mules. eleven buffalo-coated, fur-encased men with feet clad in snow-packs, marched at the tail of the freighter. in such weather their cold "shooting-irons" were left in the wagon, nor did they deem it necessary now to get them out. they were prepared for a begging indian, but the apparition which finally rode in upon the monotony of the long march seemed to them a figure as farcical as savage. as the sioux horseman confronted them he lowered his blanket, uncovering his solemn, barbarian face, and stretching out one long arm, pointed them back upon their trail. "go!" he said, and he repeated the command with fierce insistence. the freight wagon rattled on, but the footmen halted for a moment to laugh. {illustration: kiowa annie, noted indian beauty.} the indian stretched his lean arm and shouted, "go!" still more savagely. it was immensely funny. gordon's men jeered the solitary autocrat, and laughed until their icicled beards pulled. they bade him get into a drift and cool off; asked him if his mother knew he was out, and whether his feet were sore, and if it hurt him much to talk, and if he hadn't a brother who could chin-chin _washitado?_ his sole answer to their jeering, as he rode along side, was "go! go! go!" repeated with savage emphasis and a flourish of his arm to southward. the footmen were plodding a dozen rods in the rear of their freight wagon, and still laughing frostily at this queer specimen of "injun," when the savage spurred his pony forward. a few quick leaps carried him up to the toiling eight-mule team. his blanket dropped around his hips, and a repeating carbine rose to his face. both wheelers dropped at the first shot, killed by a single ounce slug. a rapid fusillade of shots was distributed among the struggling mules, and then the sioux was off, shaking his gun and yelling defiance, his pony going in zigzag leaps and like the wind. men ran tumbling over each other to get into the wagon and at their guns. the teamster and two or three others, who, despite the cold, carried revolvers under their great coats, jerked their mittens and fumbled with stiff fingers for their weapons. they had not been nerved up with excitement, like the sioux, and before they could bring their guns to bear, the savage was well out upon the prairie. and when these men tried, with rifle or revolver, to shoot at the swiftly moving erratic mark presented by the cunning sioux and his rabbit-like pony, the cutting wind numbed their fingers and filled their eyes with water, the glistening snow obscured their front sights, and they pelted a white waste harmlessly with bullets. the anger which raged in them when they knew the sioux had escaped scot-free was something frightful. six mules of the splendid eight lay weltering in blood; another was disabled, and only one had come off without hurt. half the counties of northwestern iowa had been scoured to get together "gordon's pride," as this fine freight-team had been named before the party left sioux city. the blight of their hopeful expedition, the frightful peril of their situation, were lost sight of in the absorbing desire for revenge which burned in every man of them as they gazed upon the stricken, stiffening heap of animals. all were for giving chase immediately. they believed they could easily overtake the sioux among the drifts of the lower lands, where creeks and snow-filled ravines must cause him to shift his course continually. "boys," said gordon, when some of them had hastily begun to strip for the chase, "boys, this is my particular affair. you make camp and fix it for fightin'. i'll either get that sioux, or he'll fetch his tribe back an' get us." cy gordon was their captain. he had been a hay and wood contractor for many years in the sioux country, and his word was law to this little band. there was no need to argue that no man could have even guessed at the daring and disaster they had looked upon. the performance had been too appallingly simple and easy. it had come as unexpectedly as the flood of a cloudburst or the bursting of a gun. while his men stood vengefully watching the flying sioux, gordon stripped himself of superfluous wrappings, stocked his pockets with frozen bread and cartridges, slipped on a pair of snowshoes kept for emergency, tightened his belt, and launched himself in pursuit. horse and rider were again no more than a speck upon the vast snowfield. gordon, with an "express" rifle under his arm, took the long, swinging stride of the accomplished snowshoer. in an hour the speck upon the snow had not grown smaller. at high noon, by the sun, upon a broad flat where tall grass held the snow, gordon came almost within bullet range of the sioux. an hour later, among a tangle of drifted ravines, there was an exchange of shots, and the sioux's pony dropped in its tracks. the indian dodged out of sight, and gordon pushed wearily on with a grin of hate under his icicles. he took up the sioux tracks, and noted with satisfaction that the indian's moccasined feet punched through the light crust at every other step. in just a little while! but he followed an hour or more among a seemingly interminable tangle of gullies without catching a glimpse of the wary dodger. then he emerged into a wider valley, to find that the artful rascal had escaped out of range and out of sight upon a wind-swept stretch of river ice. gordon ground his teeth and swept over the smooth surface, sweating, despite the sharp cold, from fierce exertion. at a turn in the river he saw the sioux; but there were others, more than a score of them, mounted and approaching the runner. the mule-killer's camp or town was close at hand. exhausted from his long run, gordon, in his own language, "threw up the sponge." he hastily sought the cover of river-drifts, and scooped himself a kind of rifle-pit. then, with a pile of cartridges between his knees and slapping his hands to keep his fingers ready for action, he waited, meaning to do what execution he could before the end. there was considerable parley among the sioux, and then only a single indian advanced toward the white man. this one came on foot within gunshot, then stopped and shook his blanket in token that he wanted to approach and talk. gordon laughed. the situation seemed to him grimly humorous. he motioned to the indian to come on, and kept him well covered with his rifle. a moment later, however, he lowered his gun. whatever fate awaited gordon, he knew that he stood in no danger of a treacherous stroke from the approaching sioux. it was the chief, red cloud. gordon arose, and the chief came forward with a hand out-stretched. "my young man has killed your mules," was red cloud's greeting in the sioux tongue. gordon understood. "yes," he said, "and i will not take your hand until you have done right." the grave old chief drew his blanket about his shoulders with a shrug. "now listen," he said. "if one of your soldiers had approached a party of my soldiers and had killed all their horses, and so crippled them and escaped, your people would have made him a big captain. it is so. my young man is very brave. he did as he was told. you can not come here and take my country--not yet. i have watched your advance and complained to your soldiers at white river. when i saw they did not go out and catch you as our great father has said they should do, i sent my young man to stop you. you will find your soldiers at the three forks of white river. now go!" and without another word, red cloud turned upon his heel and stalked away. this time gordon was glad enough to obey the injunction to "go." three days later his little party filed in at the military camp on white river, and when, some time afterward, their boxes of freight had been recovered, not so much as a blanket or a pound of sugar had been taken by red cloud's sioux. vii. mcdougal and his kind indian neighbor. one james mcdougal, a native of argyleshire, having emigrated to upper canada, from anxiety to make the most of his scanty capital, purchased a location where the price of land was merely nominal, in a country sparsely settled, and on the extreme verge of civilization. his first care was to construct a log house in which to live, and a barn for his few domestic animals, consisting of cattle, sheep and hogs. this task finished, he busily employed himself in bringing a few acres of ground under cultivation, and, though his task was hard and slow, yet he became in a rough way fairly comfortable, as compared with the poverty he had left behind. his greatest discomforts were distance from his neighbors, the church, the markets and even the mill; and along with these the suspension of those endearing charities, and friendly offices, which lend such a charm to social life. on one occasion, mr. mcdougal found it necessary to take a sack of grain to the nearest mill, about fifteen miles distant, over a rough country. he got an early start, hoping to make the journey and return by sunset of the same day. in his absence, the care of the cattle devolved on his wife, and as they did not come up to the barn as usual at the close of day the careful matron went in quest of them. beyond the mere outskirts of the cleared land there was a forest, which to her, unpracticed in woodcraft, became a _terra incognita;_ tall trees arose on every side--"a boundless contiguity of shade"--and with neither compass nor notched trees to guide her, it is not surprising that she soon found herself completely lost. having wandered aimlessly until almost exhausted and completely discouraged, she dropped down by a large tree and wept bitterly. at this moment the noise of approaching footsteps was heard. her heart almost ceased beating with terror, for she knew that fierce wild beasts roamed through that forest. it proved to be neither bear nor panther, but what has been designated as "the still wilder red man of the forest." an indian hunter stood before her, a veritable "stoic of the woods, a man without fear." mrs. mcdougal knew that indians lived at no great distance, but as she had never seen a member of the tribe, her emotions were those of terror, quickening every pulse and yet paralyzing every limb. the indian's views were more comprehensive; he had observed her, without being observed himself. he recognized her person, knew her home, comprehended her mishap, divined her errand and immediately beckoned her to follow him. the unfortunate woman understood his signal, and obeyed it, as far as terror left her power; and after a lengthened walk, which added not a little to her previous fatigue, they arrived at the door of an indian wigwam. her conductor, by signs, invited her to enter; but this she persistently refused to do, dreading the consequence, preferring death in the open air to the tender mercies of cannibals within. perceiving her reluctance, and surmising her feelings, the hospitable indian rushed into his wigwam and held a hasty consultation with his wife, who, in a few minutes, also appeared, and, by certain signs and sympathies known only to females, calmed the stranger's fears, and induced her to enter their lowly abode. venison was instantly prepared for supper, and mrs. mcdougal, though still alarmed at the strangeness of her situation, found the food well cooked, and, in her hungry condition, delicious. aware that their guest was weary, the indians stretched two deerskins across the wigwam, thus dividing it into two apartments. mats and soft furs were then spread upon the floor of each, and the visitor was given to understand that the further room from the entrance was for her accommodation. but here again her courage failed her, and to the most pressing entreaties she replied by signs, as well as she could, that she would prefer to sit and sleep by the fire. this determination seemed to puzzle the two entertainers sadly, often they looked at each other and conversed softly in their own language, and, at last, the red took the white woman by the hand, led her to her couch and became her bedfellow. in the morning she awoke greatly refreshed, and anxious to depart, without further delay--but her host and hostess would on no account permit it. breakfast was prepared--another savory and well-cooked meal--and then the indian conducted his guest to the very spot where the cattle were grazing. these he kindly drove from the woods, on the verge of which mrs. mcdougal saw her husband running about everywhere, hallooing and seeking for her in a state of mind bordering on distraction. great was his joy, and great his gratitude to her indian benefactor, who was invited to the house and treated to the best the larder afforded, and presented on his departure with a suit of clothes. some time after this the indian returned and endeavored to induce mr. mcdougal to follow him into the forest. but this invitation was positively declined--and the poor savage went on his way obviously grieved and disappointed. but again he returned and renewed his entreaties, yet without effect. at last he hit upon an expedient, which none save an indian hunter would have thought of. the mcdougals had a nursling in the crib only a few months old, a fact the indian failed not to observe. so, after his pantomimic eloquence availed nothing, he approached the crib, seized the child, wrapped a blanket around it, and darted out of the house with the speed of an antelope. the alarmed parents instantly followed (as he knew they would) supplicating and beseeching at the top of their voices. but the indian's resolves were as fixed as fate--and away he went, slow enough to encourage his pursuers, but still in the lead by a good many paces. the indian was in no hurry, only aiming to keep out of the reach of mcdougal's arms, and glancing back now and then to see that his pursuers were still following. the parents noticed, too, that the indian carried the babe very gently and took pains to keep the blanket carefully wrapped around it. they now realized that he meant no harm to the child, but they were still puzzled to know what he did mean. after traveling in this manner several miles the savage stopped abruptly on the margin of a most beautiful little prairie, teaming with the richest vegetation and comprising several thousand acres of choice land. when mcdougal and his wife reached the indian, he quietly restored the babe to its mother, and spreading both hands toward the little paradise, he uttered the only english word he had acquired, which was, "look!" the shrewd scotchman did look with astonishment and delight, and the more he examined it the better he liked the prospect. he found the soil to be of the best quality of black prairie loam, which would need but the tickle of the plowshare to make it laugh with the golden harvest. as mcdougal had sufficient cattle to break it, he could begin farming operations at once without the slow, laborious process of cleaning up forest. moreover a good sized stream gushed out of a near-by cliff, affording abundance of never failing water for flocks and herds, and a fine mill site. it was one of the most beautiful and fertile spots in all canada, and the white man immediately saw the propriety of the advice given by the untutored one. by a sort of tacit agreement, a day was fixed for the removal of the materials of our countryman's cabin, goods and chattels; and the indian friend, true to his word, brought a detachment of his village to assist in one of the most romantic "flittings" ever undertaken. in a few days a roomy log house was erected near the headwaters of the beautiful little stream, just in the edge of the prairie, with a forest on the north for a windbrake. a garden was enclosed, and preparations made to break the virgin prairie. mcdougal was greatly pleased at the change--and no wonder, seeing that he could almost boast a bodyguard as bold and true as the bowmen of robin hood. his indian friend speedily became a sort of foster brother, and his tribe as faithful as the most attached tail of gillies that ever surrounded a highland chieftain. even, the stupid kine lowed, on finding themselves suddenly transferred to a boundless range of richest pasture, and soon began improving rapidly in condition and increasing in numbers. the little garden was also smiling like a rose, the over-abundant grass gradually giving way to thriving crops. the indians continued friendly and faithful, occasionally bringing presents of venison and other game, and were uniformly rewarded from the stores of a dairy overflowing with milk and cream, and filled with butter and cheese. in time a small grist and saw mill was built on the banks of the little stream, for the profit of the owner, and the accommodation of neighboring settlers. the indian friend who made all this prosperity possible was at length induced to form a part of the establishment in the capacity of head shepherd a duty he undertook most cheerfully, as it still left him opportunities for hunting, trapping and keeping in touch with his tribe. let us hope, therefore, that nothing will occur to mar this beautiful picture of sylvan life; that the mcdougal colony will wax stronger, till every acre of the beautiful prairie is forced to yield tribute to the plow and sickle. {illustration: se-quo-yah, the cherokee cadmus with his alphabet in his hands.} viii. story of se-quo-yah, the cherokee cadmus. about the year a child was born to an indian woman in the old cherokee country of georgia. he was on his father's side the grandson of a german by the name of guess, or ghiest, and was given the name george guess, though he is better known as se-quo-yah. he was early impressed with the thought of the superiority of the white over the red race, and wisely concluded that much of this was due to the white man's learning, and ability to represent his thoughts on paper in a way to mean the same thing to every one who saw it; unlike the picture writing then in vogue among the cherokees, which was necessarily lacking in clearness and liable to misinterpretation. he could neither read nor speak any language other than cherokee, but he was a close observer, and a mechanical genius, and determined to invent a system of writing his language. in some manner, se-quo-yah found out that the writing of the white man consisted in the use of characters to represent sounds. at first he thought of using one character for each word; but this was not possible because there are so many words it complicated matters too much. he finally concluded that as there were eighty-six syllables in cherokee, he would form a series of eighty-six characters to represent them. he found that these characters could be so combined as to represent every word in the cherokee language. many of these characters were taken from an english spelling-book which he managed to get hold of. some are greek characters, and others are letters of the english alphabet reversed, the rest were specially invented. it happened, too, from the structure of the cherokee language or dialect, that the syllabic alphabet is also in the nature of a grammar; so that those who know the language by ear and master the alphabet, can at once read and write. owing to the extreme simplicity of this system, it can be acquired in a few days. some have even learned it in one day; which is certainly very remarkable. so much for the invention. the reader is no doubt interested in knowing more of the history of the inventor of this wonderful alphabet, which has proven such a blessing to the cherokees. the only remarkable thing about se-quo-yah's early years appears to have been his preference for playing alone and building houses of sticks in the woods, rather than to join in the sports of indian children of his age. his mother owned a few cows that furnished her the means of living. when her son was grown to be a sturdy boy he built a substantial milk house, where he helped his mother with the dairy work, showing himself an expert dairyman and adding materially to her profits. he early displayed great interest in natural forms and unusual power of observation, and developed much skill in representing what he saw in drawing. his pictures were at first as crude as the common picture-writing of his people; but with practice his animals and men assumed more and more a living shape and an accurate expression of action. he became famed as an artist, and many visited his mother's cabin to see his pictures and to watch the wonderful process of their creation. when he had reached early manhood this same artistic faculty led him to desire to create objects of beauty, and he turned his attention to making the silver ornaments so much prized by his people, such as armlets, brooches and clasps. there was great demand for these products of his hands, owing to the novelty of their design and the fineness of their execution. but se-quo-yah possessed a practical vein of artistic talent. not content with making silver trinkets, he became a blacksmith, and turned out from his forge the finest spades, rakes and hoes, which were highly appreciated by some of his tribesmen who failed to perceive the artistic quality of his silver work. there was an individual quality about his hoes as well as his bracelets which he valued and desired to have the credit of, and he wished to put some mark upon his work that would prove it to be his own. with this thought in mind, he went to a white neighbor with whom he was on the most friendly terms, and asked him to write his name on paper. mr. lowrey wrote it, using his english name, george guess. from this se-quo-yah made a die with which he stamped all the articles of silver or iron that he made. his work had not only put much money in his pouch, but was fast making him the most popular young man of the tribe. this popularity came near being his ruin. the young men flocked about him, praised his skill, and envied him the gain it brought him. he requited their flattery with generous entertainment, according to the fashion of his people. unfortunately contact with the white man had changed this fashion for the worse. indians of an earlier generation had entertained their friends with feasts of game and sweet potatoes; but the young braves of and thereabouts preferred rum, se-quo-yah would buy a keg of rum, and with a party of companions, would retire into the woods to remain until the rum supply was exhausted and they had recovered from its effects. the work of the forge stood still; money was getting low in the pouch. through the efforts of his good friend, mr. lowrey, se-quo-yah was aroused to a sense of his folly and degradation before it was too late to break away from his bad habits; he gave up his idle companions, resumed his work with renewed industry and spent his leisure time among the more sedate and intelligent men of his tribe. among the people in whose society he was now to be found, a frequent subject of discussion was the wonderful power possessed by the white man of making curious marks upon paper, which meant the same thing to every white man to whom they might be shown; unlike the indian's picture-writing, which meant this or that, according to the interpretation put upon it. some characterized it as sorcery; some reverently called it a gift of the great spirit to his favorite children; some believed it to be a mere trick, and with the object of detecting the fraud would show a written sentence to one white man after another, expecting some variation in the interpretation. se-quo-yah alone pronounced it an art which might be practiced by all men, if they had only the ingenuity. he expressed the belief that he could "talk on paper," and in spite of the ridicule of his friends set to work to make good his assertion. in the woods he gathered birch bark which he separated into thin sheets; on these, with dyes extracted from plants, he painted pictures, each one of which represented the name of some natural object. this process was very laborious and he abandoned it when he found that he had accumulated a number of characters greater than he could remember, while the vocabulary of the language still remained far from complete. he now procured coarse paper and made a rough book, in which he began another series of experiments. at this point he had some assistance from a collection of "talking leaves," as the indians called a printed page. an english spelling-book fell into his hands, but he could not read a word of it; he did not even know any english, but the "talking leaves" were covered all over with figures of distinct shape, such figures as he was taxing his ingenuity to invent. some of them he copied and adopted in his work, where, however, they play a part quite unlike that with which we associate them in the english alphabet. for instance, among the eighty-six characters of the alphabet invented by se-quo-yah, we recognize the forms of our w, h, b and other letters, but w stands for the sound la, and the others represent sounds just as far from their english equivalents. after about two years' work se-quo-yah had the satisfaction of seeing that he had really achieved the end for which he had labored so patiently. he had made a complete alphabet of the cherokee language, an alphabet of which it may safely be affirmed that it is the most perfect in the world, since its characters represent exactly the sound for which they stand, unlike the letters of our english alphabet, which in many cases do not even suggest the sound of the word they spell. for example, a cherokee who read the letters b-u-t would take for granted that he had spelled the word beauty; reading l-e-g, he would pronounce it elegy. the consequence of this is that when a cherokee school boy has once mastered the alphabet he knows how to read without any further labor. there are no spelling lessons to learn. if he hears a word correctly pronounced he knows exactly what letters must be used to form it. having composed his alphabet, se-quo-yah tested it by teaching it to his little daughter, six years old. to his joy, he found that as soon as she had become familiar with the characters she could form correctly any word he spoke. it had taken him two years to perfect his method; it took him a longer time to convince his people of its value. during those years, his neglect of his forge and the chase, his idle dreaming over his "talking leaves," had aroused the ridicule and contempt of his neighbors and the head men of his tribe, and angered his wife, who resented finding her husband a lazy drone in place of the prosperous blacksmith she had married. the most kindly opinion expressed of him was that he was insane; even the children laughed at the madman and his "talking leaves." when he assured them that those "talking leaves" contained a secret of inestimable value to the cherokee nation, they only laughed the more and passed on, shaking their heads and saying, "poor old se-quo-yah!" with considerable difficulty he persuaded his old friend, mr. lowrey to come to his cabin and make a test of his discovery. mr. lowrey consented from mere good-nature, not expecting to learn anything of interest. se-quo-yah asked him to dictate to him some words and sentences, which he wrote in his characters. he then called in his little daughter, who read without difficulty the sentences that she had not heard spoken. there was no possibility of doubting that here was a great discovery. mr. lowrey became se-quo-yah's earnest helper in his efforts to gain recognition. but the obstacles in the way were hard to overcome. prejudice against "white men's ways," distrust of a thing so contrary to the traditions of the tribe, fear of sorcery, all had to be met and conquered. at length the chiefs of the nation consented to a public test of se-quo-yah's claims. a number of the most intelligent young men of the tribe were selected and placed under his tuition. the result confirmed in the minds of the more superstitious their belief in the magical nature of se-quo-yah's characters. some of the scholars learned the alphabet in three days and were then able to read anything that se-quo-yah had written at the dictation of any of the judges. the triumph of the inventor was complete. the tide once turned swelled to a flood. so many students flocked about the master that he could not teach them all. the youth of the nation were seized with a mad desire for knowledge of the "talking leaves." the old men began to grumble about the spell of enchantment that se-quo-yah had cast over the young braves, making them indifferent to the corn-dance and neglectful of the chase, while they spent their days poring over foolish bits of paper. but the objection of the conservatives was overruled by the enthusiasm of the more progressive party. study of the new art became general among the younger generation. schools were opened, text-books were prepared. english books were translated and printed in the cherokee character. one of the earliest translations made was of the third chapter of the gospel of st. john, which was prepared by a christian indian and printed before any other part of the scriptures. se-quo-yah now made a journey to the west, visiting a portion of his tribe that had emigrated to arkansas. to them also he communicated his discovery and instructed them in the use of his alphabet. after his return to georgia, he held a correspondence with these disciples in the west that was eyed askance by the conservative elders as savoring too much of the black art. during this absence in the west, his admirers in the east had secured from the council of the nation an appropriation of a sum of money to provide a medal to be presented to se-quo-yah in commemoration of his great achievement. this medal was made in washington. it was of silver and bore on one side the medallion portrait of the indian cadmus, on the other a complimentary inscription. during the remainder of his life he wore it constantly suspended about his neck, and took great pride in exhibiting it to his friends. a natural consequence of the popular interest in the new art of reading and letter-writing was a demand for news--more news than could be had through personal correspondence. this demand was met five years after the nation had accepted the alphabet, by the publication of a newspaper, the first paper printed in the indian character. it was called _the phoenix,_ and the editor was elias boudinot, a cherokee, who had received a liberal education at the north. the paper was printed partly in the cherokee character and partly in english. another paper, similarly arranged, was started one year after the death of se-quo-yah by an appropriation of the national council, and is still issued weekly at tahlequah, indian territory. this paper is called the _cherokee advocate._ a copy of it is on the author's desk as he writes this article, and he hopes some day to be able to read it. in , when the cherokees were removed from their old home in georgia, se-quo-yah emigrated with them to western arkansas. there he remained for about four years, extending the knowledge of literature among his people and enjoying his late-earned fame. here in the new west there reached his ears rumors from the still remote west of a people whom he believed to be a lost portion of the cherokee nation, and he felt a great desire to reach and extend to them also the benefits he had conferred upon the nation at large. he determined to go in search of these lost cherokees. the means to carry out this plan may have been secured through a grant made to him by the nation about this time of an annuity equal to the salary of a chief. he fitted up a prairie wagon with camp equipage and added books, writing materials, and everything necessary for the instruction of any who might come to him to be taught. this indomitable old man, now in his seventy-third year, started across the mountains and prairies en route for new mexico. his granddaughter, mrs. lucy keys, of woods, indian territory, writes, concerning this last journey: "i was about twelve years old when my grandfather, se-quo-yah, left his home in the cherokee nation in . "i remember well the morning they left. his son, teece, and several other men, i do not know their names, went with him. he limped a little as he walked, and coughed a great deal. it was said that he had the breast complaint. his friends thought a change of climate would help him. i was present when the men returned and reported his death. "they told how his health began to improve, and they had great hopes of his recovery, until after passing grand river. then they found only bad water; and his health failed again; the provisions became scarce, and they depended entirely on game. it seemed that there was nothing for them. one of the men always stayed with se-quo-yah, until at last he sent them all to hunt. they remained over night, and on their return to the place next day where they had left him, he was gone, but had left directions for them to follow him to another place which he described. "they hurried on, but found him dead. they put his papers with his body and wrapped it with blankets and placed it away, upon a kind of shelf, in a small cave, where nothing could disturb it. they said they marked the place so they could find it, but the men sent to bring the body failed to find the place." in the council house of tahlequah is a marble bust of se-quo-yah, showing him a man of mild and thoughtful countenance. his true monument is the literature of his nation; the memory of his great achievement is perpetuated in the name of those giant trees that tower above the western forests as he over topped other men of his tribe. shortly after the knowledge of se-quo-yah's system became general among his people, col. thomas l. mckenney made a report to the war department on the condition of the cherokee nation, in which he says: "the success which has attended the philological researches of one of the nation, whose system of education has met with universal approbation among the cherokees, certainly entitles him to great consideration and to rank with the benefactors of men. his name is guess and he is a native and unlettered cherokee; but, like cadmus, he has given to his people the alphabet of their language." {illustration: big tree, second kiowa chief and baptist deacon.} ix. john jaybird, the indian relic-maker, and the city dude. a remnant of the cherokees remained in north carolina, georgia and tennessee, after the most of the tribe removed to indian territory. among these was a young man named john jaybird, known among both whites and indians as "the indian relic-maker." his chief employment is carving the images of men and animals in a kind of soft stone found near the little tennessee river, of western north carolina. with no other implement than a pocket-knife he can carve an exact image of any animal he has ever seen, or of which he has ever seen a picture. for these curiosities, or "indian relics," as he calls them, he finds a profitable sale among the whites. he lived on the banks of the little tennessee river, and when not carving was fishing. e. e. white, the special indian agent, tells the following amusing story in which this young cherokee figured. he said "a dude came out from the city to visit mr. siler, a prominent young lawyer of charleston, north carolina. he professed to be fond of fishing, and from the first manifested great impatience to embark in that delightful pastime. he was very loud, and so extremely blustering and energetic that mr. siler's village friends stood off and looked on in amazement, and sometimes in great amusement also. but mr. siler was courteous and obliging and not disposed to be critical. nevertheless it was whispered about among his home friends that at heart he would be glad enough to get the dude off in the woods out of sight. at all events, he said, the dude should fish as much as he wished. "equipped with bait and tackle they betook themselves to the river. to the dude's evident astonishment the fish refused to come out on the bank and suffer him to kill them with a club, and he shifted about too much to give them a chance at his hook. he could always see a better place somewhere else. he soon began to manifest disappointment in the fish and disgust for the country, and intimated that the people were shamefully deficient in enterprise and style, and in no respect what they should be. rambling on down the river, the dude leading and siler following--they came in sight of jaybird, who was also fishing. sitting motionless on a rock, with his gaze fixed on the cork on his line, he seemed the counterpart of 'the lone fisherman.' "by jove! yonder's an indian," said the dude; "let's make him get away and let us have that place." "oh, no," replied siler; "that's john jaybird, one of the best fellows in the world. let's not bother him." mr. siler and jaybird were close friends. "no," said the dude; "that's the most decent place i've seen, and i intend to have it; i do, by jove!" "oh, no; don't do that," siler pleaded; "he wouldn't disturb us. besides, if we try to make him go, he's liable to get stubborn, and we had better not have any trouble with him. wait and i'll ask him to let you have the place; may be he'll do it." "oh, get out," the dude ejaculated; "what's the use of so much politeness with a lazy, sleepy-looking indian? watch me wake him up and make him trot. by jove, watch me!" swelling himself up to the highest tension, he strode up to jaybird, who was still unaware of their approach. slapping his hand down on jaybird's head and snatching his hat off, he exclaimed: "here, you indian; clear out from here! by jove, clear out!" jaybird looked up at the intruder, but with a face as barren of expression as the rock upon which he sat. comprehending the demand, however, he replied: "yes; me no clear out. me heap like it, this place. me heap ketch him, fish." "get out, i tell you! by jove, get out!" roared the dude, with visible signs of embarrassment and rage. "yes, me no git out. me heap like it, this." before jaybird could finish the sentence the dude slapped him on the side of the head with his open hand. springing to his feet, jaybird uttered a whoop and ran into the dude, butting him with his head and shoulders instead of striking him. the dude's breath escaped from him with a sound not unlike the bleat of a calf, and he fell at full length on his back. jaybird went down on top of him, pounding and biting with a force and ferocity that suggested a combination of pugilist and wild cat. the dude tried to call siler, but jaybird put his mouth over the dude's and bit his lips half off. he bit the dude's nose, eyebrows, cheeks, ears and arms. he choked him and beat him from his waist to his head. when jaybird thus sprung himself head foremost at the dude, siler fell over on the ground in a spasm of laughter. this did not escape jaybird's notice, and he jumped to a wrong conclusion as to the cause of it. siler always said he had no idea the indian was hurting the dude half so bad, but that the turn the affair had taken was so absurd and ridiculous, he would have been bound to laugh any way. his friends believed that he was simply glad to see the dude get a whipping. possibly both these causes contributed to his hilarity. but the conviction had fastened itself on jaybird's mind that this man siler, whom he had always regarded as a friend, was laughing _because the dude was making him clear out._ so, while the _dude was performing that feat,_ jaybird kept one eye on siler and silently determined in his own mind what he would do for him when he got through with the dude. the dude had scarcely raised a hand in resistance since this human catapult struck him, and now he lay there as limp and motionless as a dead man. siler had laughed until he was almost exhausted, and was leaning against a sapling, still laughing. suddenly jaybird uttered another whoop, sprang from the dude and rushed furiously on siler. before the hilarious lawyer could recover from his surprise, he was down on his back, rapidly being pounded and chewed into pulp himself. the dude dragged himself to the root of a tree, carefully placed his single eyeglass, and began, as siler expressed it, "to hold an inquest on himself, and take an inventory of his bruises and mutilations!" siler called to him for help. he seemed surprised, and could repress his resentment of siler's conduct no longer. readjusting his eyeglass, and taking a closer look at jaybird and siler, he exclaimed in a tone of mingled revenge and satisfaction: "ah, by jove! you're calling for help yourself now, are you? you played the deuce helping me you did, by jove! i hope he'll beat you to death and scalp you, and if it were not for the law i'd help him do it; i would, by jove!" jaybird relaxed no effort until siler was as badly whipped as the dude. then rising and deliberately _spitting on his bait_ afresh he resumed his seat on the rock, and again remarked in the same half deprecating tone, though with rather an ominous shake of his head: "yes, me no git out. me heap like it, this place. me heap ketch him, fish." none of their bones being broken, siler and the dude were able to get back to charleston. the whole town gathered in to look at them, and the affair provoked many witty comments. the doctor said he could patch up their wounds well enough for all practical purposes, but he shook his head discouragingly when asked if they would ever be pretty any more. mr. jaybird came out without a scratch, and siler said the last they saw of him he was sitting on the rock gazing at the cork on his line, precisely as he was when they found him. it is certainly refreshing to read of one indian who had rights white men were bound to respect, and who knew so well how to maintain them. "_may his tribe increase._" x. proof that the indian population of the united states is increasing. in order to disprove the impression which prevails among a large majority of our people that the indians are decreasing constantly, we quote the following from the government report relative to the population of our reservations: indian reservations in the united states and territories. area in sq. indian area in acres. miles. population. arizona , , , , california , , colorado florida idaho , , , , indian territory , , , , iowa , kansas , , michigan , , minnesota , , , , montana , , , , nebraska , , nevada , , , new mexico , , , , new york , , north carolina , , north dakota , , , , oklahoma , , , , oregon , , , , south dakota , , , , texas utah , , , , washington , , , , wisconsin , , wyoming , , , , miscellaneous or scattering ____________ ________ _______ total in the year , , , , total in the year , , , , ____________ ________ ________ total gain of indian population in ten years , xi. rich indian maid. annie dillion, a little kiowa girl, who is heiress to more than $ , , --saves a rich cattleman's life and he fittingly rewarded her--pretty and intelligent. because she proved true to her white friend in his time of need, annie trueheart dillion, a little kiowa maiden, fourteen years old, has become the richest indian girl in all the west. annie is the daughter of chief black wolf and is heiress to the entire fortune of $ , , and more left by john dillion, a rich cattleman. dillion was born and raised in ireland, and when he came to america he went to texas and worked on a ranch in that state as laborer and cowboy. by careful management he became rich. from his cattle ranch on the rio grande he shipped every year large herds of cattle to the indian territory to fatten upon the fine pasture lands of that favored region during the spring and summer. he had been in this business so long that he was pretty well acquainted with all of the kiowa chiefs and various members of the nation, and from the fact that he always had dealt fairly with his red brothers he was popular. he leased vast areas of pasture lands every year, and was always prompt in the payment of the rents. he was liberal, good-hearted and kindly disposed, but with one grave fault--he dearly loved a glass of grog, and as he grew older and his constitution began to yield to the hardships incident to his career he drank much. he enjoyed the company of his cowboys and cattlemen, and nothing pleased him better after a successful deal than to surround himself with a crowd of good fellows and make a night of it with plenty of red liquor. seven years ago a little affair of this kind came near ending his career. he had visited the territory to meet the agent of a big syndicate, with whom he expected to make a deal that would relieve him of several thousand head of steers. the deal was made and dillion was in a most felicitous frame of mind. at that time the old texan had in his employ a half-breed cherokee, bill hawk. this rascal happened to be present when dillion received a large sum of money in bills, which he saw the old man roll together and put in his pocket. the elated texan, after taking several more toddies, decided to go out to a pasture about ten miles from chickasha, where he had a fine herd of cattle that were being looked after by some of his favorite texan cowboys, and he asked hawk to hitch up a buggy and go with him. the man was eager to go, but his conduct did not arouse any suspicion at the time. the road to the pasture passed through a small indian village, where dillion had many acquaintances. when the old man reached this place several indians and half-bloods gathered about his buggy and begged him to stay over night to attend a dance. he did so and enjoyed himself to the utmost until he finally succumbed to slumber. late in the night the old texan felt something pulling his arm, and when he opened his eyes he found that a little indian girl was trying to wake him. as soon as the child saw that his eyes were opened she whispered: "dillion, now you go putty quick. hawk heap bad man. putty soon him come. him got big knife--kill white man--take boss--take heap money. me hear him talk. him heap drunk. you go now." the child ran away, and dillion slipped from under his blankets and rolled them together. after placing his hat at one end of the roll and his boots at the other he crawled away a short distance and lay down under a tree to watch for further developments. he did not wait long before he saw a man cautiously approach the pile of blankets. the drunken assassin was deceived by the hat and boots. he thought that his victim was at his mercy, and he drew a big knife from his belt and drove it into the roll of blankets with all his strength. the next instant hawk sprang into the air with a wild yell and fell dead across the blankets, with a bullet in his heart. dillion had killed him. the old texan never afterward was the same man. he continued to attend to his business and make money, but it was easy to see that there was a cloud on his mind. he never suspected his friend, black wolf, or any of the indians of the village of having aided the assassin. he became attached devotedly to the indian girl who had saved his life, and he finally got the chief's consent to let him educate her and make her his heiress. she was to be given to him when she became fourteen years old, but he died a short time before she reached that age, and now the girl's future and fortune are in the hands of important persons. john rogers, of presidio, who was in the millionaire's employ for nearly a quarter of a century, is the executor of his will, and he says that the indian girl will inherit a fortune of $ , , in cash that is with a safe deposit company in new york, and besides this, when she is of legal age, or when she marries, she will come into possession of a fine ranch on the rio grande that is well stocked with cattle, and one of the prettiest haciendoes in old mexico. miss annie, who is now but fifteen years old, is at present a student at hardin college, mexico, missouri. when she completes the course there she will go to some eastern school for the finishing touches. she is a pure-blooded indian girl and few heiresses have come into their fortunes in a way more romantic. xii. monuments erected to some of the famous indians. will m. clemens, in writing recently for a chicago paper, says: "in the united states to-day are nine monuments erected by white men to perpetuate the memory of famous indians, and the nine great warriors of the early wilderness thus remembered are miantonomoh, uncas, keokuk, leatherlips, seattle, red jacket, cornstalk, tomo-chi-chi and pokagon. "miantonomoh, famous sachem of the narragansetts, was one of the first indian chiefs of whom early english settlers of connecticut and rhode island had knowledge. he was captured and executed in and was buried a mile east of norwich, connecticut, on the spot where he died. for many years thereafter members of his tribe made visits to the grave, and each added to a pile of stone until a considerable monument was raised in this way to his memory by his own tribe. in the citizens of norwich and vicinity placed over the grave of miantonomoh a solid block of granite, eight feet long, five feet high and five feet in thickness, with the inscription, 'miantonomoh, ,' cut in large deep letters." {illustration: satanta, kiowa chief and noted orator.} "this was the first monument actually erected by white men over the grave of an indian; and nothing could better illustrate the advance in civilization than this act of rescuing the grave of this noted chief from neglect and oblivion, who two hundred years before had been condemned and executed by the english settlers. "uncas was the most noted chief of the mohegan tribe, a branch of the pequots. he died of advanced age about , at norwich, connecticut, to which town he deeded a large tract of land shortly before his death. the people of norwich long contemplated a monument to uncas, but the project did not take active form until the summer of , when general jackson, then president of the united states, visited norwich, and his visit was made the occasion of awakening an active interest in the project of erecting a monument for their 'old friend,' as they expressed it--the mohegan sachem, uncas. "president jackson formally 'moved the foundation-stone to its place.' it has been described by the historian caulkins as 'an interesting, suggestive ceremony; a token of respect from the modern warrior to the ancient--from the emigrant race to the aborigines.' "but the project of completing the monument languished, and not until july, , was the uncas memorial finally completed. it is a granite obelisk or shaft, about twenty feet in height, supported by a huge granite block upon which the simple name 'uncas' is cut in large letters. all about the grave of uncas repose the ashes of many chiefs and members of his tribe. the place had been used before and has been used since by the indians as a burying-place, but little or no evidence now remains to distinguish their respective graves. "the monument to chief keokuk, 'the watchful fox,' was erected at keokuk, iowa, in . subsequent to the black hawk war, keokuk removed with his tribe from iowa to the territory of kansas, where he died in . over his grave was placed a marble slab, which marked his place of burial until , when the remains were exhumed and taken to keokuk and interred in the city park, where a durable monument was erected by public-spirited citizens to designate the final resting-place of the noted chieftain. later a bronze bust of keokuk was placed in the marble room of the united states senate at washington. "chief leatherlips of the wyandots, who was executed by the people of his own race in , is remembered by his white brothers with a lasting monument on the spot where he died in franklin county, ohio, fifteen miles from columbus. leather-lips was put to death 'for witchcraft,' and his execution was witnessed by william sells, a white man. the wyandot club, of columbus, in , erected a scotch granite monument, which stands in the center of a one-acre park surrounded by a substantial stone wall. the monument stands upon the summit of the east bank of the scioto river, about fifteen rods from the river's edge. the view from the monument, both up and down the scioto, is most picturesque and beautiful. "the monument to seattle, or sealth, as called by the indians, chief of the squamish and allied tribes, stands at fort madison, on puget sound, fifteen miles northwest of seattle, washington. sealth was perhaps the greatest indian character of the western country. as a statesman he had no superior among the red men and ruled his people for more than half a century. at the time of his death, in , he was the acknowledged head and chief sachem of all the tribes living on or near puget sound. he had reached the age of eighty when he passed away and had made many warm friends with the white pioneers in washington. over a hundred white men were in attendance at his funeral. in his friends erected a monument of italian marble, seven feet high, with a base or pedestal surmounted by a cross bearing the letters 'i. h. s.' on one side of the monument is the following inscription: "seattle, chief of the squamish and allied tribes, died june th, . the firm friend of the whites and for him the city of seattle was named by its founders. "the memorial to the great seneca chief, red jacket, or sa-go-ye-wat-ha. 'the keeper awake,' stands in forest lawn cemetery, buffalo, new york, and was erected in june, . red jacket was born at seneca lake, new york, in , and died on the seneca reservation, near buffalo, in . his fame is that of a statesman and orator rather than as a warrior, and he was regarded as the most noted chief among the six nations of the iroquois. he has been described as the perfect indian in dress, character and instinct. he refused to acquire the english language, and never dressed other than in his native costume. he had an unalterable dislike for the missionary and contempt for the clothes of the white man. "when red jacket died, in , his remains were given over to ruth stevenson, a stepdaughter, who retained them in her cabin for some years, and finally secreted them in a place unknown to any person but herself. after she had become advanced in age, she became anxious to have the remains of her step father receive a final and known resting-place, and with that view, in october, , she delivered them to the buffalo historical society, which assumed their care and custody and deposited them in the vaults of the western savings bank of buffalo, where they remained until october, , when their final interment was made in forest lawn cemetery at buffalo. the splendid monument which now marks the spot was not completed until some years after the interment. "the monument to chief cornstalk, warrior and sachem of the shawnees, was erected at point pleasant, west virginia, in . it stands in the courthouse yard and was made possible by the thoughtfulness and generosity of the leading citizens of point pleasant. here in october, , was fought that great battle where cornstalk won fame for his prowess and general-ship. he was, too, a man endowed with superior intellectual faculties and was an orator of transcendent eloquence. his murder in by a party of infuriated soldiers was the result of the killing of a white settler by some roving indians. the death of cornstalk destroyed the only hope of reconciliation and peace between the white settlers south of the ohio river and the indian tribes north of it. it was followed by a succession of wars, forays and murders, down to the battle of 'fallen timbers' in , during which time many thousands of white men, women and children, and many thousands of the red race of all ages and conditions perished. "there never has been and never can be any excuse or palliation for the murder of cornstalk, and no one event in the history of those bloody times so much enraged the vindictive spirit of the indian tribes, particularly of the shawnees. it can never be known how many deaths of white men, women and children during the next twenty years were owing to this murder. one hundred and twenty years later an enduring monument was raised to his memory by a few generous-minded white men on the spot where he fought one of the greatest battles in all indian warfare, and where three years afterward he gave up his life. "in the heart of savannah, georgia, reposes a huge granite boulder, erected in honor of the indian chief, tomo-chi-chi. this noble red man was the special friend of gen. james oglethorpe, the english knight who, in early colonial days, endured much hardship in the new country of america to befriend both the georgia colony and the indians thereabout. chief tomo-chi-chi, also mighty in the camp-fire councils of the braves, easily ranked as one of the foremost of his race in those times. and so when the stately descendants of colonial sires, known as colonial dames of america, sought to commemorate the spirit of the georgia colony, four years ago, they placed this monument in the state capital. the bronze tablet on the side reads: 'in memory of tomo-chi-chi, the mico of the yamacrans, the companion of oglethorpe, and the friend and ally of the colony of georgia, this stone has been here placed by the georgia society of the colonial dames of america, - .' "the monument erected by the citizens of chicago to leopold and simon pokagon, chiefs of the pottawatomie indians, in jackson park, chicago, completes the known list of memorials erected by white men to their red brethren in this country. the pokagons, father and son, were successive chiefs and sachems of the once powerful pottawatomie tribe, which long occupied the region around the southern and eastern shores of lake michigan. leopold pokagon is described as a man of excellent character and habits, a good warrior and hunter, and as being possessed of considerable business capacity. he was well known to the early white settlers in the region about lake michigan, and his people were noted as being the most advanced in civilization of any of the neighboring tribes. he ruled over his people for forty-three years. "in he sold to the united states one million acres of land at cents an acre, and on the land so conveyed has since been built the city of chicago. he died in in cass county, michigan. "his son, simon, then ten years of age, became the rightful hereditary chief of the tribe. at the age of fourteen he began the study of english, which he successfully mastered, as well as latin and greek. no full-blooded indian ever acquired a more thorough knowledge of the english language. in he wrote an article for a new york magazine on the 'future of the red man,' in which he said: 'often in the stillness of the night, when all nature seems asleep about me, there comes a gentle rapping at the door of my heart. i open it and a voice inquires: "pokagon, what of your people? what will be their future?" my answer is: "mortal man has not the power to draw aside the veil of unborn time to tell the future of his race. that gift belongs to the divine alone. but it is given to him to closely judge the future by the present and the past."' pokagon died january , , at his old home in allegan county, michigan, at the age of seventy years; and thus passed away the last and most noted chief of the once powerful pottawatomie tribe. his remains were buried in graceland cemetery, chicago." we are somewhat surprised that mr. clemens should think that the nine chiefs he mentions form a complete list of those to whom monuments have been built. there are several others, including joseph brant, the great mohawk sachem and head of the iroquois confederation, who was buried beside the church he had erected at grand river, canada. there is a monument over his grave, said to have cost $ , , with the following inscription: "this tomb is erected to the memory of thayendanegea, or captain joseph brant, principal chief and warrior of the six nations, indians, by his fellow subjects, admirers of his fidelity and attachment to the british crown." shabbona, the white man's friend, the pottawatomie chief, also has a monument on his grave in the cemetery at morris, illinois, recently erected by his white friends. in some cases the contributors were the children of the very people whose lives shabbona saved by warning them at the time of the black hawk war. it is a massive boulder of granite, containing only the following simple inscription: shabbona, - . a full description of the unveiling of this monument is given in our sketch of shabbona. in the month of june of the year a substantial monument was erected over the remains of chief joseph, of the nez perces, known as the indian xenophon, and one of the noblest red men of all history. this monument now stands in the cemetery at nespelim, washington, on a commanding point, where the remains of the great chief were interred. the monument is of white marble and measures seven and one-half feet in height. a full account of the dedication is in our sketch of chief joseph. there is, as stated elsewhere, in the council house of the cherokees, at tallequah, a marble bust of se-quo-yah, the inventor of the cherokee alphabet. there is also over the entrance to "tammany hall," city of new york, a statue of the celebrated delaware sachem, from whom the name is derived. this image is probably fanciful, but there was undoubtedly such an individual as the illustrious tamenend, who stands foremost in the list of all the great men of his tribe in any age. this chief certainly exerted a far-reaching influence over both red and white men, even though his history is rather obscure. it is known, however, that he was a mighty warrior, an accomplished statesman, and a pure and high-minded patriot. in private life he was still more distinguished for his virtues than in public for his talents. his countrymen could only account for the perfections they ascribed to him by supposing him to be favored with the special communications of the great spirit. ages have elapsed since his death, but his memory was so fresh among the delawares of the eighteenth century that when colonel morgan, of new jersey, was sent as an agent among them by congress, during the revolution, they conferred on him the title of tamenend, as the greatest mark of respect they could show for the manners and character of that gentleman; and he was known by his indian appellation ever afterward. about this time the old chieftain had so many admirers among the whites also that they made him a saint, inserted his name in calendars, and celebrated his festival on the first day of may, yearly. on that day a numerous society of his votaries walked in procession through the streets of philadelphia, their hats decorated with buck-tails, and proceeded to a sylvan rendezvous out of town, which they called the wigwam, where after a long talk or speech had been delivered, and the _calumet_ of friendship passed around, the remainder of the day was spent in high festivity. a dinner was prepared and indian dances performed on the green. the custom ceased a few years after the conclusion of peace, at the close of the revolution, and though other tammany associations have since existed, they retain little of the model they were formed upon but the name. new york city gradually absorbed the name (which was changed from tamenend to tammany for the sake of the euphony) and whatever of political prestige was included with it. the name tammany has come to be a synonym for municipal politics from a democratic standpoint, as regards new york city, and it is interesting to know that the name and fame was literally captured from philadelphia, where it first existed. there are two other indians who have been honored with memorials, one of whom was the indian woman who was the guide to lewis and clark, and the other, logan, the celebrated mingo chief. within the corporate limits of the city of auburn, new york, there is a high elevation called fort hill, which derives its name from the fact that it was formerly surmounted by a fort, built to protect the citizens from attacks of indians. when the fort was demolished, the stones of which it was composed were used to construct a monument in memory of logan. it is a tall shaft, in the face of which a slab of marble is inserted bearing logan's pathetic words: "who is there to mourn for logan--not one." in summer the shaft is covered with ivy, and as it is on a high point it can be viewed from a great distance. fort hill is now used as a cemetery. there were thirty-five people in the lewis and clark exploring expedition in , of whom thirty-four were men, and one a woman, but without her aid, it is quite probable, the expedition would have been a failure. this woman, sacajawea, or the bird-woman, wife of chaboneau, who accompanied them as a local interpreter, was a captive whose birthplace was in the rocky mountains. she proved to be the only person found, after a winter's search, who could by any possibility serve them as interpreter and guide among the unknown tongues and labyrinthine fastnesses through which they must force their way. sacajawea, therefore, became the chief counselor, guide, and interpreter of lewis and clark. she alone knew the edible roots, springs, passes and fords. so with her baby on her back, she proudly trudged on in the lead, for _two thousand miles._ onward and upward they scrambled, threading ca�±ons, fording torrents, scaling mountains, until they crossed the backbone of the continent. when food was scarce she went on alone to the indian villages, where her presence with her infant proved to the savages that the expedition could not be hostile. making her wants known to the squaws, she was given provisions for herself and the men. when hope sank in the hearts of the bravest she alone was able to cheer and inspire, by word and example. {illustration: chief simon pokagon, son of leopold pokagon, the pottawatomie chief who owned the land on which chicago stands.} one day in their long and perilous journey they surprised a squaw so encumbered with papooses (which she would not desert) that she could not escape, and winning her heart by painting her cheeks, and presenting a looking-glass for their inspection, they made friends with her tribe, one of whose chiefs proved to be a brother to their bird-woman, and her heart was gladdened by the reunion. many an episode in this eventful journey will hereafter glorify with romantic association, mountains, ca�±ons, rocks, rivers and islands, all along the route; and none can be more touching than the story of the courageous and faithful sacajawea, the bird-woman. but when bounties in land and money were granted to others, she was forgotten. it was ever thus with the great benefactors of the race in general, and the indian in particular. they stone them while living, and stone them when dead by building monuments to their memory. in portland, oregon, the grateful white women have caused to be erected a statue of this noble red woman. those who have seen it inform us that the artist has been especially happy in his modeling--sober, patient, silent, head firmly poised, she looks out wistfully to the western mountains and points the way. on her back is her papoose, chubby and contented, yet innocent of the thought that he is making history. this noble bronze reveals the honest wife, the loving mother, the faithful friend, the unerring guide. "thousands looking upon this statue," as elbert hubbard says, "have been hushed into silence and tears. there is an earnestness in it--a purity of purpose--that rebukes frivolity and makes one mentally uncover." xiii. piskaret, the hero of the adirondacks. the iroquois, or "romans of the west," called also mingoes and massawomeks, had a formidable rival in a powerful tribe known as the adirondacks, whose home was on the canadian side of the st. lawrence. when the french settled canada, in , they found the iroquois living where montreal now stands, and engaged, even then, in a war with the adirondacks. as the french wanted the country occupied by the iroquois they promptly made common cause with the adirondacks, and their united forces drove the five nations across the st. lawrence and south and east of the great lakes, erie and ontario. but this warlike confederation soon rallied from their temporary defeat, and, turning on their old enemies, renewed the struggle with such valor that the adirondacks fled three hundred miles into the wilderness to escape extermination. the adirondacks now adopted the plan of sending out small parties, and of relying especially on their captains. five of these men, alone, are said, by their astonishing energy and bravery, to have well-nigh turned the balance of the war. the chief and leader of this noble quintet was piskaret, in his own day the most celebrated chieftain of the north. he and his four comrades solemnly devoted themselves to the purpose of redeeming the sullied glory of the nation, at a period when the prospect of conquest, and perhaps of defense, had already become desperate. they set out for three rivers in one canoe; each of them being provided with three muskets, which they loaded severally with two bullets, connected by a small chain ten inches in length. in sorel river they met with five boats of the iroquois, each having on board ten men. as the parties rapidly came together, piskaret and his men pretended to give themselves up for lost, and began singing their death song. this was continued till their enemy was just at hand, for the iroquois intended to capture them alive for torture. but at a signal from piskaret, the five men seized their muskets from the bottom of the canoe and fired simultaneously on the five canoes. the charge was repeated with the arms which lay ready loaded, and the slight birches of the iroquois were torn asunder, and the frightened occupants tumbled overboard as fast as possible. piskaret and his comrades, after knocking as many on the head as they pleased, reserved the remainder to feed their revenge, which was soon afterward done by burning them alive in the most cruel tortures. this exploit, creditable as it might be to the actors in the eyes of their countrymen, served only to sharpen the fierce eagerness for blood which still raged in the bosom of piskaret. his next enterprise was far more hazardous than the former; and so much more so, indeed, even in prospect, that not a single warrior would bear him company. he set out alone, therefore, for the country of the five nations (with which he was well acquainted), about that period of the spring when the snow was beginning to melt. accustomed, as an indian must be to all emergencies of traveling as well as warfare, he took the precaution of putting the hinder part of his snowshoes forward, so that if his footsteps should happen to be observed by his vigilant enemy, it might be supposed he had gone the contrary way. for further security he went along the ridges and high ground, where the snow was melted, that his track might be lost. on coming near one of the villages of the five nations, he concealed himself until night, and then entered a cabin, while the inmates were fast asleep, killed the whole family and carried the scalps to his lurking-place. the next day the people of the village sought for the murderer, but in vain. he came out again at midnight and repeated his deed of blood. the third night a watch was kept in every house and piskaret was compelled to exercise more caution. but his purpose was not abandoned. he bundled up the scalps he had already taken, to carry home with him as a proof of his victory, and then stole warily from house to house until he at last discovered an indian nodding at his post. this man he dispatched at a blow, but that blow alarmed the neighborhood, and he was forced immediately to fly for his life. being, however, the fleetest indian then alive, he was under no apprehension of danger from the chase. he permitted his pursuers to approach him from time to time, and then suddenly darted away from them, hoping in this manner to discourage, as well as escape them. when the evening came on he hid himself and his enemies stopped to rest. feeling no danger from a single enemy, and he a fugitive, they even indulged themselves in sleep, without posting a guard. piskaret, who watched every movement, turned about, tomahawked every man of them, added their scalps to his bundle, and leisurely resumed his way home, where he was greeted with great joy, and a dance, that lasted all day was celebrated in his honor. when even these heroic deeds failed to arouse the remnant of his once powerful tribe, piskaret is said to have journeyed far toward the setting sun, and joined the warlike sioux, among whom he became a war-chief. perhaps the four indians of the broadest culture and most liberal education of the present and recent past are simon pokagon, already mentioned, who was succeeded by his son charles, gen. ely samuel parker, dr. charles alexander eastman and dr. carlos montezuma. xiv. gen. ely s. parker. was a full-blooded seneca indian, born on the tonawanda reservation in new york, in . he was chief of the seneca tribe and head of the iroquois confederation. his indian name was do-no-hoh-ga-wa, which means "keeper of the western gate." general parker was educated at ellicottsville, where he studied the profession of civil engineering. he also studied law and was admitted to the new york bar, but never practiced. he lived for a time in galena, illinois, where he was a friend of general grant. general parker received a commission as captain in the united states army from president lincoln and joined grant at vicksburg in , where he was made a member of the general's staff, with the rank of colonel. he wrote the famous surrender of lee at appomattox in . grant made him a brigadier-general, and when he became president he appointed him commissioner of indian affairs, which place he held until . for several years he had been superintendent and architect of police stations in new york city. general parker married miss minnie sackett of washington, d. c, in . president grant attended the marriage ceremony and gave the bride away. an old veteran who was present at the surrender of lee at appomattox, told the author that general parker, who was then grant's military secretary, had the appearance of a mulatto, and was mistaken for one by some of the southern generals, who were indignant that general grant should dictate the terms of capitulation to a "nigger." they were mollified, however, when it was explained to them that the secretary belonged to another swarthy race, which was never enslaved. general parker died at fairfield, connecticut, august , . xv. biographical sketch of doctor eastman. charles alexander eastman, whose indian name is ohiyesa, "the winner," was born in minnesota about . his father was a full-blood sioux of a leading family, by the name of many lightnings, and his mother a half-blood, called in indian the goddess, or in english nancy eastman. she died soon after the birth of ohiyesa, who was carefully reared by his paternal grandmother. when he was four years old the so-called "minnesota massacre" broke up his family and drove the uncle and grandmother, with the boy, into exile in manitoba, where they roamed about for ten years, living by the chase. in the meantime ohiyesa was educated by his uncle, a notable hunter and warrior, in woodcraft and all the lore of the red man. at the age of fifteen the boy was sought and found by his father, who had in the meantime embraced christianity and civilization. he brought him to his home at flandreau, south dakota, a little community of citizen indians, and sent him to school. after a year at a mission day-school and two years at dr. riggs's indian boarding-school at santee, nebraska, he went east to beloit, wisconsin, then to knox college, illinois, taking his final year of preparatory work at kimball union academy, new hampshire. he entered dartmouth college in , where he was successful both in scholarship and athletics, his specialty in the latter being long-distance running, and graduated in . he graduated in medicine in at the boston university. immediately after graduation, dr. eastman was appointed government physician to the pine ridge agency in south dakota, and served through the "ghost dance war" and for two years afterward. he married, in , miss elaine goodale, of massachusetts. in he went to st. paul, minnesota, and for several years engaged in medical practice, and also represented the international committee of young men's christian associations among the indians. he afterward went to washington as attorney for the santee sioux, and for several years furthered their interests at the national capital. his first literary work was a series of sketches of his early life for st. nicholas, published in - . these were begun without much deliberation and originally intended to preserve some of his recollections for his own children. several sketches and stories were published by other magazines, and in his first book, "indian boyhood," embodying the story of his own youth, was published by mcclure, phillips & co. two years later a book of wild animal and indian hunting tales, "red hunters and the animal people," appeared with the imprint of harper and brothers. dr. eastman has recently been appointed by the government to revise the allotment rolls of the sioux, grouping them under appropriate family names. he is well known as a lecturer and is everywhere welcomed for his sympathetic interpretations of indian life and character. beyond a doubt he is, as hamlin garland says, "far and away the ablest living expositor of sioux life and character." the boston transcript says of him: "dr. charles a. eastman is a sioux indian, and in his life, which began in , has traversed almost the whole course of human civilization, from the life of a very child of the woods to that of the honored graduate of the white man's college and professional school of highest rank. . . . dr. eastman came back to his alma mater last month, when the corner-stone of the new dartmouth hall was laid, and at the banquet in the evening he made so good a speech that president tucker had the warm applause of the great company when he exclaimed, 'almost thou persuadest me to be an indian!'" dr. eastman's present home is amherst, massachusetts. xvi. dr. carlos montezuma. is a full-blood apache indian. in the year , when he was five years old, he was captured by the pimas and brought to their camp, where he was offered for sale, a horse being the price asked. a traveling photographer, mr. charles gentile, who happened to be in the pima camp taking photographs, became interested in the boy and offered $ , the price of a horse, which the indians accepted. he brought the boy east, and sent him to the public schools of brooklyn, boston and chicago, and finally, through the interest of friends, he entered the illinois state university. he developed special aptitude for chemistry, and when he graduated a place was found for him in a drug store near the chicago medical college, where as a clerk he supported himself and earned means for the expense of a course in that college. he graduated in , and, by the advice of friends, located as a physician in chicago. when general morgan became commissioner of indian affairs he heard of dr. montezuma and offered him an appointment as physician for the indian school at fort stephenson, north dakota. the doctor accepted, and after about a year's service there was promoted to the position of agency physician at an agency in nevada. afterward he held a similar position at the colville agency, washington. his next appointment was that of school physician at carlisle indian school in . in dr. montezuma returned to chicago, where he enjoys a large and increasing practice in his profession. he knows nothing of his native apache language, nor is there a trace of indian superstition or habit to be found in him. he is not only civilized in habit and thought, but is also a high-toned, cultured gentleman and a member of the first baptist church of chicago. in addition to his profession, he is teaching in the college of physicians and surgeons, and in the post-graduate medical school of chicago, and at the same time writing in the interest of his people, so he is a very busy man. he is a warm friend and admirer of general pratt, founder of carlisle school; and believes the true solution of the indian problem consists in educating the children of the white and red race in the same school and thus making american citizens of both, instead of a citizen of one and a ward and dependent of the other race. he thinks, moreover, that an indian should be treated exactly as any other man. dr. montezuma demonstrates in his own life the fallacy of the evolutionists, that several generations are necessary before a savage can be transformed into a civilized man, by actually undergoing a complete metamorphosis in one short generation. can the indian be civilized, and is he capable of a high-class education? this is our answer; here are four men from as many representative tribes, two of which are wild, blanket tribes, and yet each of them became men of broad culture and a high degree of civilization. and what is true of these could have been and should have been true of ten thousand others, had our government pursued a policy of common justice to the race. {illustration: dr. charles alexander eastman, or ohiyesa "the winner." noted author and lecturer.} chapter xviii. indian anecdotes and incidents, humorous and otherwise. a gentleman who wished to make a present of oranges to a lady, sent them with a letter, by his indian servant. the letter told how many were sent. on the way the fragrant smell of the fruit proved too great a temptation for the indian boy. his mouth fairly watered for a taste, but having seen his master read and write letters, he was possessed with the idea that the paper he carried would tell on him if he touched the oranges. he therefore put the letter carefully under a stone, and then, going off to a distance, ate several oranges, feeling perfectly safe. when he came to deliver the remainder of the oranges the lady saw by the letter that some were missing. she charged the indian with the theft, but he for some time stoutly denied it, and asserted that the letter lied nor was it until threatened with punishment that he confessed, so certain was he that he had put the letter where it could not see him. the indians are very grave, attentive and courteous. even if they did not believe or could not understand a thing, they took care not to let it be seen. on one occasion when a minister had explained to them the history of the christian religion--the fall of our first parents by eating an apple, the coming of christ, his miracles and sufferings, etc., an indian orator stood up to thank him. "what you have told us," he began, "is all very good. it is indeed bad to eat apples; it is better to make them all into cider." he then related in his turn an ancient tradition handed down through many generations of his people concerning the origin of maize, or indian corn, and tobacco. said he, "two starving hunters, having killed a deer, were about to satisfy their hunger when they saw a beautiful young woman descend out of the clouds and stand beside them. they were at first afraid, but taking courage offered the spirit the choicest portion of their meat. she tasted it, and then, telling them to return in thirteen moons to the same spot, vanished. they returned as she bade them, at the appointed time. where the good spirit had touched the ground with her right hand they found maize; with her left, beans; and where she stood was the luxuriant tobacco plant." the missionary plainly showed his disgust and disbelief in this tradition, saying to the indian: "what i delivered to you were sacred truths; but what you tell me is mere fable, fiction and falsehood." the offended indian gravely replied: "my brother, it seems your friends have not well instructed you in the rules of civility. you saw that we, who understand and practice these rules, believed all your stories; why do you refuse to believe ours?" the following is said to be the origin of the term "fire-water," as applied by the indians to whisky: when the fur company first began to supply ardent spirits to the indians in order to help their trade, the liquor was imported from england. it was the cheapest and most poisonous brand manufactured at the time, and for that reason was all the more acceptable to the indian. when it reached the hudson bay territory, or the great region within which the rival fur companies traded, it had to be carried overland to the various posts. for convenience of transportation, barrels of such whisky were divided into kegs. the carriers soon learned that they could make a profit by diluting the liquor with water, when changing it from the barrels into kegs. the indians, however, missed the powerful effects and suspected that they were being cheated. they learned how to test the liquor before exchanging their peltries for it. they poured a small quantity of the liquor on the fire and if the flame was extinguished it was evident to them that the liquor was watered, and they at once pronounced it "bad." if, on the contrary, the liquor added to the flame, they knew that the alcohol had not been tampered with, and it was accepted as genuine "_fire-water._" that the "fire-water" supplied to the indians of that day was comparable to the villainous stuff of present-day manufacture is illustrated by the statement of an indian chief who had experienced its effects, and who had witnessed the sad havoc it had produced among his people. "fire-water," exclaimed this savage, "can only be distilled from the hearts of wildcats and the tongues of women, it makes my people at once so fierce and so foolish." the reference to the hudson bay company reminds us of a speech made by smohalla, chief of the wa napum, or "columbia river" nez perces. said he, "i know all kinds of men. first there were my people (the indians); god made them first. then he made a frenchman (referring to the canadian voyagers of the hudson bay company), and then he made a priest (priests accompanied these expeditions). a long time after that came boston men (americans are thus called because the first of our nation came into the columbia river in in a ship from boston), and then king george men (the english). later came black men, and last god made a chinaman with a tail. he is of no account and has to work all the time like a woman. all these are new people. only the indians are of the old stock. after a while, when god is ready, he will drive away all the people except those who have obeyed his laws. those who cut up the lands or sign papers for lands will be defrauded of their rights and will be punished by god's anger. "it is a bad word that comes from washington. it is not a good law that would take my people away from me to make them sin against the laws of god. "you ask me to plow the ground! shall i take a knife and tear my mother's bosom? then when i die she will not take me to her bosom to rest. you ask me to dig for stone! shall i dig under her skin for her bones? then when i die i can not enter her body to be born again. "you ask me to cut grass and make hay and sell it, and be rich, like white men! but how dare i cut off my mother's hair? it is a bad law and my people can not obey it. i want my people to stay with me here. all the dead men will come to life again. their spirits will come back to their bodies again. we must wait here in the homes of our fathers and be ready to meet them in the bosom of our mother." {fn} * * * * * {fn} macmurray's notes. chief charles journey cake, the aged baptist minister and head of the delawares, of indian territory, was credited with the following account of the origin of the three races of people known to the indians, the chinese, or yellow race, being unknown at the time this was spoken. said journey cake, "in the beginning the great spirit created three men and placed them on the earth. as they were all made, in the image of god, they were all white. "wishing to test their endurance, courage and intelligence, he sent them on a long journey of many sleeps. in the course of their travels they came to a wide, muddy stream. here two of the men hesitated, but the third plunged bravely in and made for the opposite bank. seeing that the stream was sufficiently shallow to wade, the others followed their leader, one behind the other. when the first man reached the further shore he was still white, being only slightly discolored by the muddy water. the second man came out red or copper-colored, while the last, crossing behind the others after the stream was thoroughly stirred up, came out black. the trio found three packages awaiting them on the further shore. the white man was disposed to be generous, and gave the others their choice. {fn} the red man gave the same privilege to the black, who promptly selected the largest package, and found it contained a shovel, spade and hoe; the red man chose the next largest, which contained a tomahawk, bow and quiver of arrows; this left the smallest for the white man, and behold it contained a book, pen, ink-horn and paper; and as the pen is mightier than the tomahawk or spade, it indicated that he should rule over both the red and black man." * * * * * {fn} he afterward departed from this precedent in his dealings with both his red and black brothers. this indian made a decided "hit." during a football game at cambridge between the harvard eleven and the carlise indian school team malcomn donald was playing opposite a splendidly built indian. the play was exceedingly rough, and donald had in the course of the play landed some pretty hard elbow blows on the slower moving indian. presently the indian began to take notice of the punishment he was receiving and during a pause between plays walked slowly over to donald and said with a certain note of remonstrance in his voice: "you hit me three times. i think i shall have to hit you." donald thanked him for his courteous warning and resolved to be on his guard, but during the heat of the play he wholly forgot the little matter. presently, at the end of a scrimmage, while donald was standing watching the crowd. the indian strode up to him and deliberately dealt him a blow over the head which stretched him out. with difficulty donald picked himself up and resumed the play. at the end of the game the indian came up to him again and said rather apologetically. "i hit you." "so i noticed." said donald, rubbing his head ruefully. "well, i guess we are square now. shake!" and the indian stretched out a brawny fist. they were wined and dined at the expense of the government. they were two big burly indians. the long eagle feather in the hat of one who is known as "chief" and the bright red ostrich tip in the sombrero of the other would have told that if the unmistakable features had not evidenced it. a government employee, it matters not who, but one who may possibly in certain events happening make a "stake" out of the tribe to which these indians belong, was doing the honors of the capitol and showing the braves about the corridors. they left the indian committee-room and came to the door of the house restaurant. "let's have a bite to eat," suggested the man with the graft. "all right," was the quick reply of the aborigines. at the luncheon counter the one who could master the most english asked, "guv'munt pay?" "oh, yes," responded the host thinking that the quickest way to inform them that they would not have to stand good for the bill. "ugh!" grunted the brave, "we eat lot, guv'munt pay." and they did--four cups of coffee each, half a dozen hard-boiled eggs, three ham sandwiches, one dozen doughnuts, a whole baked chicken, ice cream, a whole pie each and besides that a thirst for fire-water that was absolutely appalling. the luncheon counter looked as though a cyclone might have paid it a visit by the time the indians got through, and the bill that the "guv'munt" clerk had to foot made his week's salary look like cents. "guv'munt heap good," grunted the brave as he picked his teeth in true "white brother" fashion in the corridor. "we eat here again." but it will not be in company with that particular clerk. an indian's glass wagon. the osages as a people are the richest on earth. from the interest on the money which the united states government borrowed from them as a nation and from the rental of their grasslands the osages, men, women and children, collect about $ each every three months. in addition to this they have extensive oil wells. the osages, therefore, are very fond of large families, and it is to the material interest of every indian to have as many children as possible. in this case the new child does not represent another mouth to feed, but another source of income. the father on payday collects from the government paymaster the money coming to his family, and this often amounts to a considerable sum. the indian has never fully realized the value of money--it comes too easily. when he gets his funds he goes around and pays his debts, for he is always given credit by the traders, and he settles his accounts because he will shortly need credit again until payday comes around once more. with the money he has leftover he buys anything that takes his fancy, and sometimes he makes remarkable and ludicrous purchases. an osage who had missed payday until he had accumulated riches beyond his most avaricious dreams went to coffeyville, in southern kansas, one day with his pockets bulging with money. he shopped around in the stores, buying everything he fancied, until he had accumulated a larger load than his pony could carry. he was wandering along the street wondering how he would transport it to his home, when he saw a large black wagon with glass sides standing in front of a store. he looked at it wistfully for some time, examined the horses and harness, and wagged his head in an appreciative way. the undertaker, who had observed him, came out. "how much?" asked the indian. the undertaker, for a joke, named a price. the indian went into his pocket, counted out the money, mounted the box of the hearse and drove away before the undertaker could remonstrate. and now mr. indian comes to town in style, with his squaw beside him on the seat and the inside of the hearse full of very lively pappooses, who lookout through the glass sides of their strange carriage. the hearse also does service when the indian comes to town with a load of wheat, which looks very nice through the glass sides. by nature the indian is a perfect child; when he wants anything he wants it with all his heart and mind and soul, immediately. like the child who would gladly exchange the $ bill given him as a christmas present for a doll or toy, the indian will give anything he possesses for the merest bauble to which he takes a fancy. a novelty has the greatest charm, and he will pay a hundred times its value for an article new to him. colonel dodge states that while he was in command of fort sedgwick "a sioux indian came in having in his possession a very fine and elaborately painted buffalo robe. many efforts were made by the officers to purchase it; money, sugar, coffee, flour, etc., to the amount of $ were offered and refused. "some time after a sergeant passed who had in his hand a paper containing two or three pounds of loaf sugar, cut into cubic blocks (cut-loaf, then new to frontier people and to indians). "he gave the indian a few lumps and passed on. in a few moments the indian came running after him, took the robe from his shoulders and offered it for the paper of sugar. the exchange being made, he sat down on the ground and deliberately ate up every lump." "years ago, when matches were not so universally known and used as now, a lapwai indian was visiting fort martin scott, in texas. one day an officer to whom he was talking took from his pocket a box of what, to the indian, were merely little sticks, and scratching one on a stone, lit his pipe. the indian eagerly inquired into this mystery, and looked on with astonishment while several matches were lighted for his gratification. going to his camp near by, he soon came back, bringing half a dozen beautifully dressed wildcat skins, which he offered for the wonderful box. the exchange was accepted, and he went off greatly pleased. some time after the indian was found sitting by a large stone, on which he was gravely striking match after match, holding each in his fingers until forced to drop it, and then, carefully inspecting the scorched finger, as if to assure himself that it was real fire. this he continued until every match was burned." the indian has a keen appreciation of humor, and is like a child in his mirthfulness. no orator can see the weak points in his adversary's armor, or silence a foolish speaker, more quickly. according to bishop whipple, "old shah-bah-skong, the head chief of mille lac, brought all his warriors to defend fort ripley in . the secretary of the interior and the governor and legislature of minnesota promised these indians that for this act of bravery they should have the special care of the government and never be removed." {illustration: dr. carlos montezuma, full-blooded apache indian writer, and a prominent physician of chicago, ill.} "a few years later, in spite of these solemn promises, a special agent was sent from washington to ask these ojibways to cede their lands and remove to a country north of leech lake. the agent asked my help. i said, 'i know that country. i have camped on it. it is the most utterly worthless land in minnesota. don't attempt that folly; you will surely fail.' "the agent determined, however, to make the effort to induce the indians to give up their good land and accept the other tract, which nobody wanted. accordingly he called a council of the chiefs and principal men and thus addressed them: 'my red brothers, your great father at washington said he was determined to send an honest man to treat with his red children. he looked toward the north, the east, the south and west to find this honest man. when he saw me he said, "this is the honest man whom i will send to treat with my red children." brothers, look at me; the winds of more than fifty-five winters have blown over my head and silvered it with gray, but during all these years, i have never wronged any man. brothers, as your friend and as an honest man, i ask you to sign this treaty.' after the usual meditative pause. old shah-bah-skong arose and answered as follows: 'the winds of more than fifty-five years have blown over my head and silvered my hair, but they have not _blown away my brains._' this ended the council." an agent who had won the distinction of a militia general desired to impress the indians. dressed in uniform with chapeau, epaulets and dangling sword, he said: "your great father thinks that one reason why he has had so much trouble with the indians is that he has always sent to them civilians. this time he said, 'these red men are warriors; i will send to them a warrior,' and he sent me." an old chief arose, drew a long breath, and said: "i have heard ever since i was a boy that white men had their great warriors. i have always wanted to see one. i have looked at him, and _i am now ready to die._" bishop whipple, while on a visit to a dacotah mission, was horrified at a scalp dance which was held near the mission-house. said he: "i was indignant. i went to wabasha, the head chief, and said 'wabasha, you asked me for a missionary and teacher. i gave them to you. i visited you, and the first sight is this brutal scalp-dance. i knew the chippewa whom your young men have murdered; he had a wife and children; his wife is crying for her husband; his children are asking for their father. wabasha, the great spirit hears his children cry. he is angry. some day he will ask wabasha, 'where is your red brother?' the old chief smiled, drew his pipe from his mouth, blew a cloud of smoke upward and said: 'white man go to war with his own brother in the same country [this was during the rebellion]; kill more men than wabasha can count in all his life. great spirit smiles; says, "good, white man; he has my book; i love him very much; i have a good place for him by and by." the indian is a wild man; he has no great spirit book; he kills one man; has a scalp-dance; great spirit is mad, and says, "bad indian; i will put him in a bad place by and by;" wabasha don't believe it.'" the commissioner of indian affairs says that from march , , to june , , this government has spent $ , , for the benefit of the indians. the expenditures for were $ , , , of which one-third was for education. there are nearly sixty thousand indians who are now receiving rations or help to some extent. the report urges that hereafter rations should be given only to the aged or otherwise helpless, as the system of promiscuous relief breeds idleness and unthrift. the indians now have in the treasury to their credit $ , , of trust funds, on which the government pays them four and five per cent interest. there are two hundred and fifty government indian schools, and the enrollment and attendance in them is increasing, though eight thousand of the thirty-four thousand indian children are still unprovided for. the report combats the popular idea that the indian population necessarily decreases when in contact with the whites. it asserts that the indian population has decreased very little since the days of columbus and other early explorers. major pratt, the united states army officer who founded the carlisle indian school, admits that many of his graduates who return to tribal life fall into indian ways again. therefore he believed in doing all he could to prevent the educated indians from going back to the reservations. he tells of an incident he saw at a western indian agency. a squaw entered a trader's store, wrapped in a blanket, pointed to a straw hat and asked: "how muchee?" "fifty cents," said the merchant. "how muchee?" she asked again, pointing to another article. the price was quoted and was followed by another query of "how muchee?" then she suddenly gazed blandly at the merchant and asked, mildly: "do you not regard such prices as extortionate for articles of such palpably and unmistakably inferior quality? do you not really believe that a reduction in your charges would materially enhance your pecuniary profits, as well as be ethically proper? i beg you to consider my suggestion." she was a graduate of the carlisle indian school. a teacher in an indian school in michigan writes as follows: "it is especially interesting to study these children, especially as we have them from four different tribes, and i should very much like to write up my impressions, only that i can scarcely keep up with my work as it is. these boys have a sense of humor. in my flag drill last friday the partners were a boy and girl, and where the lines intersect to form the cross i taught the boys to let their partners go first, and hard trouble i had to do it, too. after the exercises isaac crane came up to me, and, in his solemn way, said: 'miss b. . . . in letting the girls pass in front of the boys, you have struck at the root of an indian national custom.' i said: 'how so, isaac?' and he answered: 'it is the custom for the man to go first, carrying his dignity, and for the woman to follow, carrying everything else.'" "heap smell." the indian knew what he wanted and where to get it. some indians from "buffalo bill's wild west," arrayed in bright colored blankets and an exceptional amount of face paint, were taking in the sights of kansas city one afternoon. they strolled down walnut street, single file, and headed by a brave who now and then gave a grunt of satisfaction when something that pleased him caught his eye, they halted in front of a drug store and gazed at the window display for a moment. then the band filed into the establishment and began to look around. the clerk thought the place was going to be besieged and that he was likely to lose his scalp, but when the "big chief," who acted as spokesman, addressed him with the customary indian greeting of "how!" the clerk regained his composure enough to ask the indian what he wanted. "heap smell," was the reply. directed by the indian's finger to a showcase, the clerk produced a bar of soap. the brave took it gingerly, removed the wrapper, smelled it and bit into the toothsome-looking article. with a deep grunt of displeasure he handed it back to the drug clerk. with a disgusted look he remarked, "heap smell!" the clerk began to tremble, and the indian pointed to a perfume bottle in the showcase. the bottle of perfume was handed to him. the indian held it in both hands for a moment, closely scrutinizing it. he slowly removed the stopper, closely watching it as if he expected it to explode, and took a big sniff at the bottle, gave a grunt of satisfaction, handed the clerk some money and led his band of braves out of the store, to the delight of the frightened clerk, who had not been in the practice of waiting on real indians. truth of the choctaws. when they give their word they keep it. probably there is no other class of people in the world so faithful as the choctaws. they believe in each other as a child believes in its mother. when one choctaw indian tells another that a certain thing will be done, it can be depended upon that it will be done. the custom of turning a prisoner loose without bail commenced among the choctaws half a century ago. an indian murdered his sister. there was no jail, and the choctaws had no money to hire a guard. after the indian judge had sentenced him to be shot, the former said: "now you can go free until your execution day. then i want you to come without being told. if you fail to obey it will disgrace your family." the indian gave his promise and appeared at the appointed time. ever since then it has been the custom to allow condemned indians to run loose. never but once has a prisoner failed to come freely and alone to his execution. the number of indians thus shot within the last half century is over one hundred. a null and void drink. in the _sunset magazine_ for a recent month a writer gives some interesting reminiscences of the late johnson sides, indian. he was born in the sagebrush, and throughout his long life he was a friend of the paleface and a peacemaker. it is recalled to his credit that many a band of immigrants passing over the plains in the early rush for california owed it to johnson that they were not waylaid and murdered. he became quite influential with the national authorities as well as with his tribe, and to his sagacity considerable legislation beneficial to the aborigines in the last quarter of a century is attributed. he was one of those indians who saw that much of the trouble which befell the red man was due to fire-water, and, a temperance man himself, he seldom missed an opportunity of preaching temperance to his tribesmen. "my friends," he would say, "i think whisky no good, but very bad. mebbe you take a drink it not much bad, but you take two drinks you kill somebody. mebbe you want more, you hurt your brother or you lickem squaw, or you burn down a wickiup. mebbe sheriff catch you and workem on the streets in the chain-gang, with big iron ball hitched on your leg, in the hot sun. not much good any of this. indian who drink whisky, no good." sad to relate, johnson sides was once caught in the act of swallowing a glass of whisky, a serious offense, made so by reason of the danger which was likely to ensue when an indian lost control of himself in a white settlement. he pleaded guilty, but contended that he drank because he was very sick. being a popular indian he was subjected to a fine of only $ , but the sagebrush papers made fun of him and called him a fallen reformer, which wounded his feelings greatly. in his distress he asked a friend in the nevada legislature, senator doolin, to set him right by passing some sort of a bill and senator doolin introduced and carried through "senate joint concurrent resolution no. ," which was as follows: _resolved,_ by the senate, the people of the state of nevada concurring. that the drink of whisky taken by johnson sides on the th day of september, in the city of virginia, county of story, be and is hereby declared null and void. this was entirely satisfactory to johnson sides. his wounded pride was healed; he held his head up again, and resumed his temperance lectures as though nothing had happened. moreover, the act of the legislature restored his standing among all classes, white and red, in nevada, and he was everywhere respected and looked up to as a vindicated reformer, for these were simple days, when the west was young and trustful and charitable and kind. it would have been a blessed thing indeed if all the whisky sold to indians in violation of law, had been "null and void and without effect," but unfortunately it had the same debasing effect with the indian as upon the white man, as the following eloquent appeal from an indian would seem to indicate: simon pokagon, mentioned in the previous chapter, of hartford, michigan, was chief of the pottawatomie band of indians of his state. in an address to the white people, he employed this very remarkable language in denunciation of the evil of drunkenness: "while i appreciate and laud those noble christian missionaries, i can not do otherwise than openly condemn those white traders who, dog-like, tagged them into the wilderness and beside the christian altars they had built, stuck out their signs, and dealt out to our young men and old men that liquid hell which lures but to destroy. could you see what i have seen and feel what i have felt, as this snake, born of the white man, has coiled itself closer and tighter like a vise around the heartstrings of your own family, you would cry out: 'pokagon, we do not blame, but pity you!' and well you may, for the blood of my people, as the blood of abel, is crying from the ground against the cains of humanity who, for paltry gold in times past and even now, are dealing out to our race that cursed abomination of misery and death. you send missionaries across the great deep to save hindoo children from being drowned in the ganges, or crushed under the wheels of juggernaut, and yet in your own christian land thousands are yearly being drowned in the american ganges of fire-water, while the great juggernaut of king alcohol is ever rolling on night and day, crushing its victims without mercy. hark! do you hear that agonizing wail on every side? fathers and sons are falling into drunkards' graves; mothers and daughters are weeping over them; wives are lamenting as they bend over the bruised heads of their husbands as they return from the midnight brawl; and briars of bitter disappointment encumber the bridal garden; brave men and women who have fought long and well to redeem and save the fallen are beginning to fear the power of the saloon and its votaries, while the pious who in faith have prayed long and well are beginning to doubt the favor of god. "soon i will stand in the presence of the great spirit and shall there plead with him in heaven, as i have plead with him on earth, that he will take those by the hand who have so bravely fought against the old dragon, drink, the destroyer of your children and ours, and lead them on to glorious victory." said a missionary to a chief of the little ottawas, "i am glad that you do not drink whisky; but it grieves me to find that your people use so much of it." "ah, yes," replied the chief, and he fixed an arch and impressive eye upon the missionary which communicated the reproof before he uttered it "we indians use a great deal of whisky, but we do not make it." while going through the indian village of the world's fair at chicago, in , the author of this book made the acquaintance of deerfoot, the famous runner, the indian who defeated all human racers and outstripped horses. concerning this remarkable man, the buffalo _news_ had this to say: "the death of louis bennett, known all over the world as deerfoot, removes the most picturesque character from the native tribes of this state. "in , having outdone all the runners of his tribe, he thought he would try conclusions with white athletes. the conclusions were invariably in favor of the native and his fame as a long-distance runner became in a short time the talk of the land. backed by a well known 'sport' of those days, he made a tour of american cities, easily outdoing all the local champions. then his fame spread to england, whose athletics were then much more firmly established than those of this country. he visited the brawny islands in . "despite the boastful predictions the remarkable indian, with his peculiar stride, met and defeated the english champions, although he was given a couple of hard brushes. his endurance was nothing less than wonderful and he always ended a race fresh, and while his antagonist was running on sheer pluck deerfoot was still running on wind. he remained in england almost two years and came back loaded with medals. "on his return to america, not finding any men for a contest, he turned his attention to horses, and at chicago he actually beat a number of horses in races. since that time he receded from the public view, living quietly at his farm. up to his death, however, he retained his remarkable powers and he was accustomed to take, as an old man, walks that would tax the endurance of an average youth. "his fastest recorded time was when in , in england, he ran ten miles in fifty-two minutes. this time, he claimed, was never beaten, though it is said an englishman named cummings, in , did the distance a trifle under this figure. but he was certainly never beaten in a race." {illustration: the last shot, a typical scene from the indian wars on the plains.} tiger tail, the seminole chief, and the plate-glass window. mr. c. . livingston had an ambition to have the first plate-glass front in the everglades. so when his brick block in west palm beach was nearing completion he made a special trip down from jacksonville and personally superintended the placing of the polished plates in the frames. they were of large size and reached nearly to the level of the sidewalk. he was standing outside with his chest in the air, swelled with gratified ambition, admiring the crystal sheets, when along came tiger-tail, big chief of the once powerful but now fast disappearing seminoles. when his foot treads his native heath tiger-tail scorns to hide his noble form with any of the habiliments affected by his civilized brethren, but he has a white shirt hung up in his wigwam, which was given him by a commercial drummer in the early s and which he was wont to don when he made his monthly pilgrimages to palm beach for "fire-water," "fire-powder" and lead. he was thus attired when he walked up to mr. livingston and exchanged "hows." this was a good opportunity for the proud builder to impress the savage red man with the march of civilization, so he pointed out the building to tiger-tail, calling his particular attention to the plate-glass front. tiger-tail looked at the polished surfaces, but his unpracticed eye could see nothing except openings in the front windows. he walked up close, and thinking to get a better view, he tried to step through the window inside. his roman nose came in contact with the glass, which surprised him very much. he rubbed his nose, gave a grunt and looked hard at the window, and still, not seeing any reason why he could not step inside, made a second essay. he bumped his nose harder this time, which caused mr. livingston to laugh long and loud. now the indian is essentially a man of action and without emotions. without the least sign of anger visible in his face, tiger-tail backed away to the edge of the sidewalk, picked up a scantling and went for that plate-glass front--the first in the everglades--and before the owner could protest there wasn't a piece left big enough for a paper-weight. mr. livingston stormed and cursed, but the big chief, adjusting his shirt, and explaining the whole matter by uttering the single word "huh!" continued his search for more mysteries to unravel. in telling this experience while on a visit to boston, one of mr. livingston's friends asked him why he did not sue the indian. "what," he exclaimed, "sue tiger-tail? sue a man who ain't got nothing but a shirt? what would i get? the shirt?" indian etiquette. the _red man and helper,_ published by the students at the carlisle (pa.) indian school, has this to say on indian etiquette: "it was an actual desire for information and no attempt to be funny that a boy in looking up from reading about 'squaw men' asked if the white women who marry indian men were called 'buck women.' we could not answer why they were not. such a name would be no more insulting to a woman than the first appellation is to a man. all indian women are no more squaws than white women are wenches. the name squaw emanated from 'squa,' an indian word of a massachusetts tribe meaning woman, but it has since come to be used commonly by illiterate people for indian women of any tribe. no educated or refined people use the words 'squaw' or 'buck,' and we advise our students when they hear them not to pay any attention to the speaker, but to mark him or her down in their minds as a person of low breeding." doll averted war. kindness to apache child prevented trouble with the indians. a doll once averted a war with redskins. an american general was trying to put a band of apaches back on their own territory, from which they had persisted in breaking out, but could not catch them without killing them, and that he did not wish to do. his men captured a little indian girl and took her to the fort. she was quiet all day, but her beady black eyes watched everything. when night came, however, she broke down, just as any white child would have done. the men tried in vain to comfort her, but finally the agent borrowed a beautiful doll from an officer's wife, which had belonged to her little daughter, and promised the apache girl that she could have it if her sobs ceased. she then fell asleep. when morning came the doll was clasped in her arms. eventually the little apache girl, with her doll, was sent back to her people. when the child reached the indians with the doll in her chubby hands it made a great sensation among them, and the next day the mother came with the child to the post. she was hospitably received, and through her the tribe was persuaded to move back to its own territory. moving pictures amaze the indians. burton holmes, the lecturer, visited the home of the moki indians in arizona to witness the weird snake-dance, which those indians have practiced at intervals for centuries. while near the home of the mokis he set up his moving picture machine and made a film showing apache indians and cowboys in horse races and in feats of daring while on horseback. the film was developed and proved to be excellent. a year later mr. holmes visited the same region again and one night gave an exhibition for the benefit of the natives. the indians observed the pictures which mr. holmes threw on the screen, which was stretched on the side of a store building, with stolidity, and made no comment until the moving picture machine was started and the film made in the neighborhood a year before was thrown on the screen. "then there was almost a riot," said mr. holmes in telling of the affair. "several of the indians who had taken part in the races the year before had died, and when they were shown on the screen, riding for dear life, their friends were amazed. the dead had been brought to life. it was astounding. the indians gazed at the picture, then looked at each other as if uncertain that they saw what they saw. then they began to talk excitedly, pointing at the moving images of those who were dead. it did not strike the savage mind as unusual that live men should appear on the screen and be moving, but with dead men it was different. "when the film had all gone through the machine the indians hastened forward to examine the white cloth on which the pictures had been shown. they raised it to look behind it, in a vain endeavor to find the solution to what was to them a mystery. they paid no attention at all to the machine that had projected the picture." a witty red man who was grateful for kindness. in "travels in new england and new york," president dwight, of yale college, tells a good story of indian wit and friendship. in the early days of litchfield, connecticut, an indian called at the tavern and asked the landlady for food, frankly stating that he had no money with which to pay for it. she refused him harshly, but a white man who sat by noted the red man's half-famished state, and offered to pay for his supper. the meal was furnished, and the indian, his hunger satisfied, returned to the fire and told his benefactor a story. "you know bible?" said the indian. the man assented. "well," said the indian, "the bible say, god made world, and then he took him and look at him and say, 'he good, very good.' he made light, and he took him and look at him and say, 'he good, very good.' then he made dry land and water and sun and moon and grass and trees, band took him and look at him and say, 'he good, very good.' then he made beast and birds and fishes, and took him and look at him and say, 'he good, very good.' "then he made man, and took him and look at him and say, 'he good, very, very good.' then he make woman, and took him and look at him, and he no dare say one such word!" this last conclusion was uttered with a meaning glance at the landlady. some years after this occurrence, the man who had paid for the indian's supper was captured by redskins and carried to canada, where he was made to work like a slave. one day an indian came to him, recalled to his mind the occurrence at the litchfield tavern, and ended by saying: "i that indian. now my turn pay. i see you home. come with me." and the indian guided the white man back to litchfield. medicine hat, an enterprising little city in the heart of the wheat belt of the northwest territory of canada, took its name from the following legend: it seems that many years ago the young and beautiful daughter of a great chief, while strolling along the banks of the saskatchewan one day, accidentally lost her footing and fell into the raging torrent. she was a good swimmer and managed to keep herself afloat for a long time as the stream swept her along, but finally her strength began to fail her, and she would have been drowned if a young indian brave had not happened to catch sight of her in the stream. he immediately leaped from the high bank into the stream, and after a hard struggle managed to bear the maiden to the bank and to safety. gave the brave his hat. the grateful father, as a mark of his appreciation of this heroic deed, took off his own hat and placed it upon the head of the young brave. possibly the latter would have been better satisfied if the father had given him the maiden, but of this history does not tell, and therefore the romantic side of the story will have to remain incomplete. the hat, though, was the distinctive mark of a chief among the indians, and therefore its bestowal upon the young brave at once raised him to the highest dignity known to his people. the rescue of the girl took place at the point where the railroad bridge crosses the river, and when the white people founded the town here they commemorated this legend by the name they gave the town. "the black white man." the following story was told by black horse, second chief of the comanches, to special indian agent white: "a long time ago--maybe so thirty snows, maybe so forty, i dunno--i went with a large war party on a raid into mexico. we went far enough south to see hundreds of monkeys and parrots. we thought the monkeys were a kind of people and captured two of them one day. that night we whipped them nearly to death trying to make them talk, but they would not say a word, just cry, and finally we turned them loose, more puzzled than ever to know what they were. "on the return trip we came back through texas. one day i was scouting off to one side alone, and met a man riding through the mesquite timber. he started to run and my first thought was to kill him, but just as i was about to send an arrow he looked back over his shoulder and i saw that his skin was as black as a crow and that he had great big white eyes. i had never seen or heard of that kind of a man, and seeing that he was unarmed, i determined to catch him and take him to camp alive, so that all the other indians could see him. i galloped around in front of him with my bow and arrow drawn, and he was heap scared. he fell off his mule pony and sit down on his knees and hold his hands up high and heap cry and say: '_please,_ massa injun, don't kill poor nigger! _please,_ massa injun, don't kill poor nigger! bi-yi-yi! _please,_ massa injun, don't kill poor nigger! bi-yi-yi.'" although at that time black horse did not know a word of english, the negro's crying and begging made such an impression on him that, with his common indian gift of mimicry, he could imitate it in a wonderfully natural manner. continuing, he said: "the 'black white man' was heap poor. his pony was an old mule that could not run fast at all. his saddle was 'broke' all over and his bridle was made of ropes. his clothes were dirty and all 'broke' full of holes, and his shoes were all gone--got none at all. "i started back with him and on the way we came to a deep water-hole. i was nearly dead for a drink, and motioned to the 'black white man' to get down and drink, too. he got down but shook his head to say that he did not want to drink. he was heap scared--just all time shake and teeth rattle, and all time cry, and maybe so pray to great spirit to make indian turn him loose, and he be a good man and never make it (the great spirit) mad any more, and heap o' things like that. i lay down to drink. the bank was sloping and my feet were considerably higher than my head. suddenly, the 'black white man' caught my back hair with one hand and my belt with the other and raised me way up over his head with my face upward. before i could do a thing he pitched me head foremost away out in the middle of the water hole. {fn} i went clear to the bottom, and when i came to the top and rubbed the water out of my eyes, i saw the 'black white man' running off on my pony, kicking with both feet and whipping with his hat. i rode his old 'mule pony' back to camp and all the indians heap laugh at black horse." * * * * * {fn} black horse, though a great fighter, is a comparatively small indian. indian mode of getting a wife. an aged indian, who had spent many years in a white settlement, remarked one day that the indians had not only a much easier way of getting a wife than the whites, but were also more certain of getting a good one; "for," said he, in his broken english, "white man court--court--maybe so one whole year! maybe so two, before he marry! well! maybe so then get _very good_ wife--but, maybe so not--maybe so _very cross!_ well, now, suppose cross! scold so soon as get wake in the morning! scold all day! scold until sleep! all one; he must keep _him!_ white people have law forbidding throwing away wife, be he ever so cross! must keep _him_ always! {fn} well, how does indian do? indian when he see industrious squaw, which he like, he go to _him,_ place his two forefingers close aside each other, make two look like one--look squaw in the face--see _him_ smile--which is all one _he_ say, yes! so he take _him_ home--no danger _he_ be cross! no! no! squaw know too well what indian do if _he_ be cross! throw _him_ away and take another! squaw love to eat meat. no husband, no meat. squaw do everything to please husband; he do the same to please squaw! live happy!" * * * * * {fn} this was in . laws concerning divorce have changed materially since. john elliot, the great apostle to the indians, had been preaching on the trinity, when one of his auditors, after a long and thoughtful pause, thus addressed him: "i believe, mr. minister, i understand you. the trinity is just like water and ice and snow. the water is one, the ice another, and the snow is another; and yet they are all one water." this illustration of the trinity is fully equal to st. patrick's use of the shamrock. {illustration: chief charles journey cake, late delaware leader, and baptist preacher.} indians are usually truthful, but some of them learned the art of prevarication from their intercourse with the whites. a few years before the revolution, one tom hyde, an indian famous for his cunning, went into a tavern in brookfield, massachusetts, and after a little chat told the landlord he had been hunting and had killed a fine fat deer, and if he would give him a quart of rum he would tell him where it was. mine host, unwilling to let slip so good an opportunity of obtaining venison, immediately struck the bargain and poured the indian his quart of rum, at the same time asking where the deer was to be found. "well," says tom, "do you know where the great meadow is?" "yes." "well, do you know the great marked maple tree that stands in it?" "yes." "well, there lies the deer." away posted the landlord with his team in quest of his purchase. he found the meadow and the tree, it is true; but all his searching after the deer was fruitless, and he returned home no heavier than he went, except in mortification and disappointment. some days after mine host met the indian, and feeling indignant at the deception practised on him, accused him in no gentle terms of the trick. tom heard him out--and, with the coolness of a stoic, replied--"did you not find the meadow i said?" "yes." "and the tree?" "yes." "and the deer?" "no." "very good," continued he, "you found _two truths for one lie, which is very well for an indian._" move farther. when general lincoln went to make peace with the creek indians, one of the chiefs asked him to sit down on a log; he was then desired to move, and in a few minutes to move still farther; the request was repeated till the general got to the end of the log. the indian said, "move farther." to which the general replied, "i can move no farther." "just so it is with us," said the chief; "you have moved us back to the water, and then ask us to move farther." indians are close observers, and reach unerring conclusions with marvelous rapidity. a noise inappreciable to an ordinary ear, a broken twig or leaf or the faintest impression on the grass, the hooting of an owl or the gobbling of a turkey, was sufficient to attract their attention. from these faint indications they are quick to discern the presence of a wild beast or of an enemy. an indian, on returning to his wigwam one day, discovered that his venison, which had been hung up to dry, had been stolen. after hastily looking around for "signs," he started in pursuit of the thief. he soon met a party of traders, of whom he inquired whether they had seen a _little old white man with a short gun, and followed by a small dog with a bob-tail._ they replied in the affirmative, and asked the indian how he could give such a perfect description of the thief. he answered, "i know he is a little man by his having made a pile of stones in order to reach the venison, from the height i hung it, standing on the ground. i know he is an old man by his short steps, which i have traced over the dead leaves in the woods. i know he is a white man by his turning out his toes when he walks, which an indian never does. i know his gun was short by the mark which the muzzle made upon the bark of a tree against which it leaned. i know the dog is small by his tracks, and that he had a bob-tail i discovered by the marks of it in the dust, where he was sitting at the time his master took down the meat." the shrewd indian now continued the pursuit, and with the help of a white man who loved fair play, actually regained his stolen venison. the gunpowder harvest. a trader went to a certain indian nation to dispose of a stock of goods. among other things he had a quantity of gunpowder. the indians traded for his clothes, hats, axes, beads and other things, but would not take the powder, saying: "we do not wish for the powder; we have plenty." the trader did not like to carry all the powder back to his camp, so he thought he would play a trick on the indians, and induce them to buy it. going to an open piece of ground near the indian camp he dug up the soft, rich soil; then mixing a quantity of onion seed with his powder he began to plant it. the indians were curious to know what he was doing, and stood by greatly interested. "what are you doing?" said one. "planting gunpowder," replied the trader. "why do you plant it?" inquired another. "to raise a crop of powder. how could i raise it without planting?" said the trader. "do you not plant corn in the ground?" "and will gunpowder grow like corn?" exclaimed half a dozen at once. "certainly it will," said the trader. "did you not know it? as you do not want my powder, i thought i would plant it and raise a crop which i could gather and sell to the crows." now the crows were another tribe of indians which was always at war with this tribe (the blackfeet). the idea of their enemies having a large supply of powder increased the excitement, and one of the indians said: "well, well, if we can raise powder like corn, we will buy your stock and plant it." but some of the indians thought best to wait, and see if the seed would grow. so the trader agreed to wait a few days. in about a week the tiny sprouts of the onion seed began to appear above the ground. the trader, calling the indians to the spot, said: "you see now for yourselves. the powder already begins to grow, just as i told you it would." the fact that some small plants appeared where the trader had put the gunpowder was enough to convince the indians. every one of them became anxious to raise a crop of gunpowder. the trader sold them his stock, in which there was a large mixture of onion seeds (which it closely resembles) at a very high price, and then left. from this time the indians gave no attention to their corn crop. if they could raise gunpowder they would be happy. they took great care of the little plants as they came up out of the ground, and watched every day for the appearance of the gunpowder blossoms. they planned a buffalo hunt which was to take place after the powder harvest. after a while the onions bore a plentiful crop of seeds, and the indians began to gather and thresh it. they believed that threshing the onion seeds would produce the powder. but threshing failed to bring it. then they discovered that they had been cheated. of course the swindling trader avoided these indians, and did not make them a second visit. after some time, however, he sent his partner to them for the purpose of trading goods for furs and skins. by chance they found out that this man was the partner of the one who had cheated them. they said nothing to him about the matter; but when he had opened his goods and was ready to trade, they coolly helped themselves to all he had and walked off. the trader did not understand this. he became furiously angry, and went to make his complaint to the chief of the tribe. "i am an honest man." said he to the chief. "i came here to trade honestly: but your people are thieves; they have stolen all my goods." the old chief looked at him some time in silence, smoking a meditative pipe, at last he blew a puff of smoke into the air, removed the pipe from his lips, and then said: "my children are all honest. they have not stolen your goods. they will pay you _as soon as they gather their gun powder harvest._" tarhe, or the crane, the patriotic wyandot chief. at the commencement of the war of a council was called by the british officer commanding at malden, in upper canada. it was held at brownstown in the state of michigan, and its object was to induce the wyandots to take sides with the british in the war which was inevitable. several speeches were first delivered, and great promises made by the british agent about what their great father, king george, would do for them if the nation would fight the americans; and he closed by presenting tarhe with a likeness of king george. holding it in his hand, the head chief arose and said: "we have no confidence in king george. he is always quarreling with his white children in this country. he sends his armies over the great water, in their big canoes, and then he gets his indian friends here to join with him to conquer his children, and promises if they will fight for him, he will do great things for them. so he promised if we would fight wayne and if he whipped us, he would open his gates of his fort on the maumee and let us in, and open his big guns on our enemies; but when we were whipped, and the flower of our nation were killed, we fled to this place, but instead of opening his gates, and letting us in, you shut yourselves up in your ground-hog hole, and kept out of sight, while my warriors were killed at your gates. {fn} we have no confidence in any promise you make. when the americans scratch your backs with their war-clubs, you jump into your big canoes and run home, and leave the poor indians to fight it out, or make peace with them, the best they may." * * * * * {fn} see battle of fallen timbers; in sketch of little turtle. he then took the likeness of general washington from his bosom and said: "this is our great father, and for him we will fight." then taking the likeness of king george in his left hand he drew his tomahawk and with the edge struck the likeness, and added, "and so we will serve your great father." this so excited the british officer that it is said he turned black in the face. he replied that he would make the chief repent that act. "this is my land and country," said tarhe; "go home to your own land, and tell your country men that tarhe and his warriors are ready and that they are the friends of the americans." thus broke up the council. tarhe returned to his home at upper sandusky, and with his warriors aided the americans, with all their force, till the battle of the thames; numbers of his wyandots were in the army of general harrison at the time he fought the last battle with the british and indians. noble deed of a young pawnee warrior. at one time the pawnees, who lived at the foot of the rocky mountains, engaged in the horrible practice of burning at the stake prisoners taken in war. about the year an unfortunate female, taken in a war with the paducah tribe, was destined to this horrible death. the fatal hour had arrived, the trembling victim, far from her home and her friends, was fastened to the stake; the whole tribe was assembled on the surrounding plain to witness the awful scene. just when the fire was about to be kindled, and the spectators on the tiptoe of expectation, a young warrior, only twenty-one years of age, who sat composedly among the chiefs, having prepared two fleet horses, with the necessary provisions, sprang from his seat, rushed through the crowd, loosed the intended victim, seized her in his arms, placed her on one of the horses, mounted the other himself, and made the utmost speed toward the nation and friends of the captive. the crowd around were so completely unnerved and amazed at the daring deed, that they made no effort to recapture their victim from her deliverer. they regarded it as an act of the great spirit, and submitted to it without a murmur. the released captive was accompanied by her deliverer through the wilderness toward her home, till all danger was past. the young warrior then gave her the horse on which she rode, with the necessary provisions for the remainder of the journey, and they parted. on his return to the village, such was the respect entertained for him, that no inquiry was made into his conduct; no censure was passed on it, and, since the transaction, no human sacrifice has been offered in this or any other band of the pawnee tribe. of what influence is one brave and noble act in a good cause! on the publication of this incident at washington the young ladies of miss white's seminary, in that city, presented that brave and humane young warrior with a handsome silver medal, on which was engraven an appropriate inscription, accompanied by an address, of which the following is the close: "brother, accept this token of our esteem; always wear it for our sake; and when you have again the power to save a poor woman from death and torture, think of this, and of us, and fly to her rescue." indian girl's romance. enters harvard because her ancestor spared a white man. wah-ta-waso, a full-blooded penobscot indian girl, will soon enter harvard university. the girl's indian name means bright eyes, and she is said to be pretty enough and intelligent enough to be worthy of the name. there is a romantic story connected with the girl's proposed entrance into harvard. montague chamberlain, recorder of the lawrence scientific school at harvard, has taken the indian girl under his protection because one of her ancestors spared the life of one of his forefathers. about the time of the french and indian war, some of the penobscots who had wandered from maine to the st. lawrence joined the indians under the french and made a raid into english territory, including an attack on ticonderoga. with the english force was a trader from boston named chamberlain, who got into a hand-to-hand conflict with a powerful penobscot indian. in the struggle they clinched, but the redskin was the better wrestler and threw the white. chamberlain managed to regain his feet and start on a run, but the indian overtook him, and, having picked up a club, knocked chamberlain down before he could use his knife. the strength and courage of the white evidently won the admiration of the indian, for as he stood over chamberlain with club in hand the penobscot said in english: "i like you. make you my son. you good fighter." chamberlain was accordingly treated as a prisoner and was taken to the indian village of st. francis, on the st. lawrence river. while he was permitted to roam freely about the village, the indians kept a watchful eye on him, and he knew he was a captive. he learned, however, to like the indian life and remained three years. then in a fit of homesickness he decided to go home, but the captor refused to let him depart. chamberlain had won the hearts of many of the squaws by lending them a helping hand in their drudgery, and some of the maidens of the tribe aided him in escaping under cover of darkness, he afterward became a man of consequence in boston, and the university professor of to-day is one of his descendants. the penobscot indians in time returned to maine and settled on the island in the penobscot river, which is still their home. montague chamberlain in the course of his investigations discovered that wah-ta-waso was descended from the indian who had taken his ancestor captive at ticonderoga, and took it upon himself to give her an opportunity to gain an excellent education. she has had the advantage of common and high schools, and is now preparing to enter the harvard annex next spring. mr. chamberlain has helped a number of the penobscots to go to carlisle, and he has built them a library on their island. an indian girl's taste of civilization. on his way back from the recent snake dance at oribi, dr. beecher, of yale university, felt a sense of thirst. turning in his saddle he looked back. a cloud of white rising above the point of red sandstone mesa told him that the "chuck wagon" and the main outfit with water were fully two miles behind. glancing about over the sage-covered sand dunes and across the sun-curled crust of an adobe flat to his right, his eye fell upon a little moqui dwelling hugged up in a niche of the cliff at the edge of the mesa. a wolfish dog, barking angrily, flew out at him as he galloped up. a young moqui woman in moccasins, leggings and blankets, came to the door. when she saw the visitor she called to the dog and nodded "how." "qui bamus ahwah?" asked dr. beecher after the dog ceased barking. the young woman smiled, and then replied pleasantly: "i beg your pardon, sir, but if it is water you wish it may be found just a little way down the draw." the doctor grabbed the pommel of his saddle in his surprise. he managed to say "thank you," and then turned his horse toward the spring, as he was directed. for some time after he had satisfied his thirst he sat in the shade of a bowlder and watched his horse carefully and cautiously nibble off little bunches of gramma grass that grew closeup under the big thorny melon-cacti, and all the while he was wondering how it was that the indian woman spoke such perfect english. suddenly his horse threw up its head, jumped a few feet to one side, then dropped quietly back to browsing. looking over his shoulder, the doctor saw the moqui woman coming down the trail with a huge water jar hung on her back in a large fold of her blanket. she smiled when she came up and made a remark about the sandstorm of the day before. the doctor gallantly caught up the gourd dipper and insisted on filling the jar for her. all the while he kept up a running conversation, and when he poured the last dipper full of water into the jar he had reached the point where he could ask her with propriety to tell him all about herself, and he did. she was reluctant at first, but finally she began her story by saying she had been left an orphan at four years of age. then she continued her story: "you see there was no one to take care of me but my grandfather. one day a missionary prevailed upon him to send me to the indian school at ream's ca�±on. i stayed there until i was sixteen years old. i became much interested in my work, and at the end of my last year at ream's ca�±on i was told that i was to be sent east to the carlisle school in pennsylvania. i look back upon that day as the happiest of my life--no, i won't say that, either, for the day i left carlisle was a great day to me. it had been told me every day that i should go back to my people and show them the error of their ways. it was with a happy feeling of duty and responsibility that i started west. "but what a fool i was! i hate to think about it. when i arrived in oribi in my eastern clothes i immediately became the laughing-stock of the village. every time i spoke i was either jeered at by my companions or rebuked by my elders. the young men of the village made unpleasant remarks about me as i passed, and the old men and women upbraided me for having no respect for my ancestors' customs and traditions. i endured their reproaches and sneers for a long while, but at last i gave up in despair, threw away my eastern clothes and my eastern manners with them. then i left oribi and came here to live with a distant relative and to forget the past. "i thought of going back to pennsylvania, of clerking in a store, of doing housework and all that sort of thing; but after a time i gave it all up and resigned myself to my fate." "and what did fate have in store for you?" asked the doctor. she answered, smiling, "a husband." "now you are wrapped up in your children and are happy?" "no, i have no children. my only child died when it was but six months old. it took a fever, and when i saw that it was in danger i tried to get my husband to go to winslow for a physician, but it was all in vain. he would not listen. he feared the wrath of the chief and of the native priests. i saw it was no use, so i simply nursed my child until one night it died in my lap. the next day we took the little thing back to the graveyard up on the mesa and buried it with the regular moqui ceremony." "well," said the doctor, after a pause, "what can be done for the moquis?" "nothing. let them alone. they are happy now, and, you know, 'where ignorance is bliss 'tis folly to be wise.'" in the meantime the "chuck wagon" had gone by, and the doctor rose to leave. he offered to send her some books and magazines, but she begged him not to do so, saying that she wanted to forget such things. {illustration: a ukiah (alaska) indian maiden in japanese costume.} leaving the latch-string out. during the french and indian war many towns and settlements in pennsylvania and new jersey, as in other sections of the country, suffered severely from indian raids. a family of friends, who lived in a lonely house not far from the delaware river, and seemed to feel no fear, took no precautions against the savages. their simple dwelling had never known a lock or bolt, and the only concession they had ever made to the custom of "the world's people" was to pull in at night the string that lifted the wooden latch of their door. even this precaution seemed to them needless, and was as often forgotten as remembered. prowling parties of indians had begun frightful ravages in the vicinity of the settlement, and evidences of their cruel work could be seen every day nearer and nearer. warnings came to the quaker and his wife, and one night the effect of the fears of others more than their own kept them awake. the argument of the old friend with himself, as he lay thinking was after this fashion: he had always trusted in god; yet to-night he had pulled in the latch-string. a measure to prevent intrusion meant suspicion. suspicion under the circumstances, meant fear. he talked the matter over with his wife. it would be safer now to test their faith than to throw it away, he said. she agreed with him, and he got up and hung out the latch-string again. less than half an hour afterward the indians came. the defenseless inmates of the house were wholly at their mercy. they heard the savage band creep by their bedroom window and pause as if surprised to find the latch-string out. then they heard them open the door. a muttered talk in the native tongue kept the listeners in suspense for a minute or two; then the door was shut softly and the raiders went away. the next day the smoke of ruined dwellings in sight of their cabin, and the lamentation of neighbors over their killed or captured kindred, told the friends what they had escaped. it was not until years afterward, during a conference between the colonists and the indians, that the story was told of what had passed that fatal night at the quaker's door. a chief, who had himself been a leader of the gang in the attack on the white settlement, declared that when he saw the latch-string out, the sign of fearless confidence made him change his mind. he held a short parley with his followers, and the substance of it was: "these people are no enemies. see, they are not afraid of us. they are protected by the great spirit." "a woman can't hold her tongue." saratoga lake, in new york, is such a calm and beautiful sheet of water that indians had a legend that it was the special resort of manitou, or the great spirit, and they professed to believe that all who shouted or made a noise while crossing would offend the great spirit, and he, in punishment for the indignity, would cause the offender to sink to the bottom like a stone. now, it happened that an indian boatman was conveying a lady across the lake, who, knowing the indian's superstition and the reason for it, determined to teach him a lesson and disprove the legend. accordingly, when half way across, she shouted aloud several times. but the indian boatman, charon-like, pulled grimly and silently at the oars, until the keel touched the further shore. "there!" exclaimed the lady, "did i not tell you the great spirit had no more to do with this lake than any other. you see i did not sink to the bottom when i shouted." fixing his eyes sternly on the offender, the indian replied: "the great spirit is very patient and all wise. he knows white squaws can't keep their mouths shut." enormous amount of money spent on indians. in the indian census report an interesting attempt is made for the first time to cast up in figures an aggregate of the government expenditures on account of the red men residing within the united states since the union was established in . the result of this attempt indicates in the statistics presented that the gigantic sum of $ , , , was spent by the government up to the year either upon the indians directly or indirectly because of indians. counting in, however, the civil and military expenses for indians since then, together with incidental expenses not recognized in the official figures given, it is safe to say that up to june , , a further sum of $ , , may be added to the aggregate figures, making a grand aggregate of $ , , , chargeable to indians to date. the indian wars under the government of the united states are stated to have numbered more than forty and to have cost the lives of about nineteen thousand white men, women and children, including about five thousand killed in individual encounters of which history takes no note and of thirty thousand indians, including eighty-five hundred killed in personal encounters. the surprised indians. on one occasion a company of soldiers was attacked by indians while ascending a steep mountain pass. it happened that the soldiers had several small cannon packed on the backs of burros. wishing to frighten the indians, who were in close pursuit, and not having time to unpack the cannon, it was decided to load and fire them from the backs of the sturdy little beasts of burden. this was accordingly done. but one of the gunners in his haste and excitement put in an extra large charge of powder. when, therefore, the burro was backed to the edge of the precipice, and the cannon aimed downward at the indians and touched off, the concussion was so great as to hurl both cannon and burro over the precipice and down the mountain side, pell mell, loosening stones as they tumbled right in the midst of the astonished indians, some of whom were knocked over and in turn hurled on down the mountain side. the war-whoop was changed to a yell of terror as the surviving indians fled down the mountain pass. the next day one of this band of indians was captured, and on being asked, through the interpreter, what caused the indians to retreat so fast at the commencement of the fight, he answered "injuns no fraid of guns, pistols, swords or cannons, but when white soldier shoot whole donkey at injun, injun run 'cause he cannot fly." charles f. lummis, in "some strange corners of our country," says of the navajo magicians: "but the crowning achievement of the navajo--and, in my knowledge, of any indian--magicians, is the growing of the sacred corn. at sunrise the shaman plants the enchanted kernel before him, in full view of his audience, and sits solemnly in his place, singing a weird song. presently the earth cracks, and the tender green shoot pushes forth. as the magician sings on the young plant grows visibly, reaching upward several inches an hour, waxing thick and putting out its drooping blades. if the juggler stops his song the growth of the corn stops, and is resumed only when he recommences his chant. by noon the corn is tall and vigorous and already tasseled out; and by sunset it is a mature and perfect plant, with tall stalk, sedgy leaves and silk-topped ears of corn! how the trick is performed i have never been able to form so much as a satisfactory guess; but done it is, as plainly as eyes ever saw anything done, and apparently with as little chance for deception." a professor in wolf's clothing. prof. frederick starr, of the university of chicago, a friend and correspondent of the author, is a high authority on anthropology and ethnography, and for some years has been closely studying the native tribes of this continent. his investigations have taken him to many reservations, and hosts of indians are his friends. whenever he revisits the iroquois people he will receive a cordial welcome. not long ago he was made a member of that federation--a seneca, and therefore a brother of all the iroquois--and has as much right to sit in a council of the senecas as any indian whose ancestry antedates the landing of columbus. that he is capable of occupying this place with honor the indians did not doubt, for, when they adopted him formally, he was not named pale moon, lively beetle, or any such appellation, but haysetha, the wisest speaker in the council. when the anthropologist first met his future brethren they did not take to him very kindly. their suspicious natures do not allow them to make friends easily with the white men, or permit one to make a careful study of tribal customs. one of the large reservations of the iroquois is near chautauqua, where the professor was delivering a series of lectures on the american indian. he happened to mention that the iroquois near by were different from other indian peoples thrown in contact with civilization, in that they still used rites and ceremonies which were in vogue centuries ago. the pupils wished to witness these and an expedition was organized. the rig broke down midway. the distance back to town or to the reservation was a little over twelve miles. no one was in the humor for such a long walk, and it devolved upon the professor to scurry about to find a wagon large enough to hold twenty-five people. near by was an old iroquois who had a hay wagon which would fill the bill, but the indian refused point blank to aid them. neither pleadings nor money could swerve him from his purpose not to let the white men have his wagon. the case seemed hopeless, and professor starr had about made up his mind to take the long trudge back without paying the visit when a happy thought struck him. he remembered that many of the iroquois belong to the wolf family--that is, have the wolf as their "totem"--and are always loyal to each other. consequently he determined to pass himself off as a "wolf," since there are many white men with indian blood in their veins who are members of the family. "now, you must not refuse me," said the professor. "i'm no ordinary white man. i'm a 'wolf.'" the effect was magical. the indian hitched up his horses and did not even want to take pay for his trouble. when the reservation was reached professor starr saw an old man making a rattle, he wanted it. "how much?" he inquired. "one dollar, white man," was the reply. professor starr, however, had no intention of paying this exorbitant price. he determined to play the "wolf" again. "i'm no ordinary white man," he said. "i'm a 'wolf,' a brother. you won't charge me more than cents." the indian took the half-dollar. farther on the professor found a corn mask used in a sacred dance. he wanted this to take back to chicago with him. "one dollar, white man," said the squaw who owned it. the "wolf" had served him twice and the professor resolved to try it thrice. "i'm no common white man," he declared. "i'm a 'wolf.' you shouldn't charge me more than cents." "no difference, white man," she replied. "i'm 'bear' (another totem who are rivals of the 'wolves'). pay one dollar." and the professor paid the price demanded. chapter xix. whence came the aborigines of america? many and varied are the answers to this interrogation, like gaul, they are divided into three parts, or classes, the impossible and absurd, the possible, and the probable. most of the writers on this subject seem to have evolved out of their inner consciences or imaginations a fine-spun theory, and then to have marshaled all the evidence possible in support of it. should there be other facts which do not support their theory, so much the worse for those facts. wherever it is possible they are tortured and perverted into supporting what it is predetermined to prove. but if this can not be done by any sophistry or jugglery of words, then the facts in question are coolly ignored. now we do not expect to settle this long-mooted question, but we have honestly and carefully investigated the subject in all its bearings, and without any preconceived theory to support. instead of trying to begin with the american indian and trace the line of descent back to its source, we have reversed this order, and, beginning with the source and starting point of all the nations and tribes of the earth, which is the dispersion of mankind at the tower of babel, we have endeavored to trace that branch or branches of the shemites which peopled this hemisphere. but it might be asked, is such a thing possible after the lapse of ages? the reader shall be the judge _after,_ not _before,_ he knows the position we take, and our reasons for it. however, before beginning our task proper, we want to consider other theories which have been advanced and stoutly defended, to account for the inhabitants and civilization found in america. one of these theories is (or was) that the original civilizers of mexico and central america were the "lost ten tribes of israel." it was first promulgated by the spanish monks, who established missions in mexico and central america, a class of men to whom the world is indebted for a great variety of amazing contributions to the literature of hagiology. according to this theory the "lost ten tribes" left syria, or assyria, or whatever country they dwelt in at the time, traversed the whole extent of asia, crossed over into america at behring's strait, went down the pacific coast almost the full length of north america and established that wonderful civilization of central america. if it required forty years for the ancestors of those same ten tribes to journey from egypt to canaan, a distance of a few hundred miles at most, we are curious to know how much time, in the estimation of those who advocate this theory, would be necessary for this interminable journey? the kingdom of the ten tribes was destroyed not long previous to the year b. c., at which period the jews of the northern kingdom were not noted for their architecture or other evidences of civilization. they were incapable of building their own temple without aid from the tyrians. moreover, there is nowhere a fact, a suggestion, or a circumstance of any kind to show that the "lost ten tribes" _ever left_ the countries of southwestern asia, where they dwelt after the destruction of their kingdom. they were "lost" to the jewish nation because they rebelled against god and worshiped idols. after their subjugation by the assyrians in b. c. they were to a great extent absorbed by the surrounding nations. to assume that a population came over and passed down to mexico, yucatan and even to south america, carrying with them their arts, but not exercising them on this interminable journey, is ridiculous. no pottery has yet been found between the yukon and the humbolt, or even further south. it was also assumed that either the ten tribes, or a jewish colony, were the ancestors of the american indians. but, as j. h. beadle well says: "it would certainly be an amazing thing if such a people as the jews could, in a few centuries, lose all trace of their language, religion, laws, form of government, art, science and general knowledge, and sink into a tribe of barbarians. but when we add that their bodily shape must have completely changed, their skulls lengthened, the beard dropped from their faces, and their language undergone a reversion from a derivative to a primitive type--a thing unknown in any human tongue--the supposition becomes too monstrous even to be discussed." there are three other characteristics in which the jew and the indian are diametrically opposite. from the time of david and his harp, the jewish people have been among the great musicians of the world, while the indian, like the chinese, can make a diabolical din sufficient to drive orpheus crazy, but has no idea of harmony. the jews have been the financiers of the world throughout the ages, but the indians have no conception of the value of a dollar. from the very beginning of jewish history certain animals, such as cattle, sheep and fallow deer were considered "clean" and allowed by their law for food. other animals, such as swine, dogs and hares, were considered "unclean," and forbidden as food. the same rule obtains among orthodox jews to this day. but among the north american indians there is no such thing as "clean" or "unclean" animals. "all is grist that comes to their mill." an indian will positively eat anything, from the paunch and intestines of a buffalo or beef and their _contents,_ to a dog, skunk, snake or horned toad. most of the so-called "blanket" indians have no conception of cleanliness in their food or cooking, but to a civilized man it is indescribably filthy. we might add that the theory that america was peopled by a colony of jews is substantially that of the mormons, who, to bolster it up, ask us to believe that an angel appeared to one joseph smith and told him to dig in a certain hill in ontario county, new york. this he did september , , and found certain gold plates engraved with egyptian characters. having translated it through the aid of a scribe (smith being a poor writer), and by means of a "curious instrument, called by the ancients the urim and thummim, which consisted of two transparent stones, clear as crystal, set in the two rims of a bow, and used by seers to receive revelation of things distant, or of things past or future," {fn} he found it a divine revelation, which proved conclusively that the indians were descendants from a jewish colony which came in ships to this continent. * * * * * {fn} parley p. pratt. is it not remarkable that those plates, though giving an account of _jews,_ were engraved in _egyptian_ characters? and that smith, though confessedly an ignorant man and a poor writer, could translate egyptian, one of the most difficult languages in the world? we are skeptical and can only say, show us the golden plates and the urim and thummim, and it sufficeth us. we are persuaded that joseph smith did not find any such plates, but that he preceded barnum in discovering that "the american people delight to be humbugged." we desire now to consider what is designated as the _phoenician theory._ intelligent investigators who use reason in their inquiries sufficiently to be incapable of accepting the absurdities of monkish fancy, maintained that this civilization came originally from the phoenicians. to those who believe that this civilization was imported, this seems more reasonable than any other theory, for more can be said to give it the appearance of probability. {illustration: japanese girl in ukiah (alaska) indian costume.} it is well known that the phoenicians were preeminent as the colonizing navigators of antiquity. they were an enlightened and enterprising maritime people, whose commerce traversed every known sea, and extended its operations beyond the "pillars of hercules" into the "great exterior ocean." the early greeks said of these people that they "went everywhere from the extreme east to the extreme west, multiplying settlements on all seas." but the great ages of this race are in the distant past, far beyond the beginning of recorded history. indeed, history has knowledge of only a few of their later communities--the sabeans of southern arabia, the people of tyre and sidon, the carthaginians, and the settlements on the coast of spain and britain. in fact, the phoenicians gave the name to great britain which it still retains, that of brittan-nock, the _land of tin._ it is not difficult to believe that communities of phoenicians were established all around the mediterranean, and even beyond the strait of gibraltar, in ages quite as old as egypt or chaldea, and that they had communication with this hemisphere. why did the ancients say so much about a "great saturnian continent" beyond the atlantic if nobody in prehistoric ages had ever seen that continent? they said it was there and we know they were right; but whence came their knowledge of it, and such knowledge as led them to describe it as "larger than asia (meaning asia minor), europe and libya together?" this ancient belief must have been due to the fact that their greatest navigators, the phoenicians, had communication with america in early prehistoric times. the phoenicians undoubtedly had more communication with this continent than they had with surrounding nations with reference to it. they of all the ancient peoples knew how to keep state secrets. they would rather _supply_ other nations with gold, silver, precious stones, tin, peacocks, ivory, almug wood, and other commodities, than to tell whence they obtained them. the voyages to this continent must have taken place at a very remote period, which was imperfectly recollected and never fully revealed to other nations. but they must have had some vague knowledge of ancient america, as is shown by plutarch's mention of a "great saturnian continent beyond the cronian sea," meaning the atlantic ocean, and the fact that solon brought from egypt to athens the story of the atlantic island, which was not entirely new in greece. humbolt tells us that procles, an ancient carthaginian historian, says: "the historians who speak of the islands of the exterior sea (the atlantic ocean) tell us that in their time there were seven islands consecrated to proserpine, and three others, of immense extent, of which the first was consecrated to plato, {_sic_ pluto?} the second to ammon, and the third to neptune. the inhabitants of the latter had preserved a recollection (transmitted to them by their ancestors) of the island atlantis, which was extremely large, and for a longtime held sway over all the islands of the atlantic ocean." diodorus siculus, another great historian, who lived about forty years before the christian era, gives this account of a country which was evidently mexico, or central america: "over against africa lies a great island in the vast ocean, _many days sail from libya westward._ the soil is very fruitful. it is diversified with mountains and pleasant vales, and the towns are adorned with stately buildings." after describing the gardens, orchards, and fountains, he tells how this pleasant country was discovered. he says, the phoenicians, having built gades (cadiz) in spain, sailed along the western coast of africa. a phoenician ship, voyaging down south, was "on a sudden driven by a furious storm far into the main ocean, and, _after they had lain under this tempest many days,_ they at last arrived at this island." there is a similar statement in a work attributed to aristotle, in which the discovery is ascribed to carthaginians, who were phoenicians. according to strabo, the art of night sailing was taught in ancient tyre; and the arabians and chinese certainly used the mariner's compass before it was brought from china to venice by marco polo in . after doubling the cape of good hope, and while continuing his voyage to india, vasco de gama found the arabians on the coast of the indian ocean using the mariner's compass, and vessels equal in quality to his own. the world has always been prone to underrate the achievements of the ancients, especially with reference to their maritime skill, but many concede that the phoenicians were exceptional. their known enterprise, and this ancient knowledge of america, so variously expressed, strongly encourage the hypothesis that the people called phoenicians came to this continent, established colonies in the region where ruined cities are found, and filled it with civilization. it is also claimed that symbolic devices similar to those of the phoenicians are found in the ruins of mexico and central america, and that old traditions of the natives described the first civilizers as "bearded white men who came from the east in ships." it will be remembered that this same tradition was communicated to cortez by montezuma. therefore it is urged that the people described in the native books and traditions as "colhuas" must have been phoenicians. if correct, this theory would be certain of demonstration for they were preeminently a people of letters and monuments. the phoenician alphabet is said to be the parent of all the alphabets of europe except the turkish. if they were responsible for this civilization they must have left some trace of their language. but none has been found. nor can any similarity be traced in the ruins of copan and palanque with other ruins known to have been erected by the phoenicians. therefore we can not reasonably suppose this american civilization originated by people of the phoenician race, whatever may be thought of the evidence of their acquaintance with this continent. the most strenuous advocate of the theory that america, was first peopled from the sunken continent of atlantis, was brasseur de bourbourg. he studied the monuments, writings and traditions left by this civilization more than any other man; and actually learned to decipher some of the central american writings. his atlantic theory of the old american civilization is that it was originated on a portion of this continent which is now under waters of the atlantic ocean. it supposes the continent extended, anciently, from new granada, central america and mexico, in a long, irregular peninsula, so far across the atlantic that the canary, madeira, and azores, or western islands, may be remains of this portion of it. in other words, it was not a large island or continent, as the ancients claimed, but a large peninsula joined on to the main land at central america. high mountains stood where we now find the west india islands. beyond these, toward africa and europe, was a great extent of fertile and beautiful land, and here arose the first civilization of mankind, which flourished many ages, until at length this extended portion of the continent was engulfed by a tremendous convulsion of nature, or by a succession of such convulsions, which made the ruin complete. after the cataclysm, a part of the atlantic people who escaped destruction settled in central america, where, perhaps, their civilization had been previously introduced. the reasons urged in support of this hypothesis make it seem possible, if not probable, to imaginative minds. even men like humboldt have recognized in the original legend the possible vestige of a widely spread tradition of earliest times. from this standpoint only can it be seriously considered. plutarch, in his life of solon, mentions the fact that while that sage was in egypt "he conferred with the priests of psenophis, sonchis, heliopolis and sais, and learned from them the story of atlantis." brasseur de bourbourg cites cousin's translation of plato's record of this story, to strengthen his position, as follows: "among the great deeds of athens, of which recollection is preserved in our books, there is one which should be placed above all others. our books tell that the athenians destroyed an army which came across the atlantic sea, and insolently invaded europe and asia; for this sea was then navigable, and beyond the strait where you place the pillars of hercules there was an island larger than asia (minor) and libya combined. from this island one could pass easily to the other islands, and from these to the continent which lies around the interior sea. the sea on this side of the strait (the mediterranean), of which we speak, resembles a harbor with its narrow entrance; but there is a genuine sea, and the land which surrounds it is a veritable continent. in the island of atlantis reigned three kings with great and marvelous power. they had under their dominion the whole atlantis, several other islands, and some parts of the continent. at one time their power extended into libya, and into europe as far as tyrrhenia: and uniting their whole force, they sought to destroy our countries at a blow; but their defeat stopped the invasion and gave entire independence to all the countries on this side the pillars of hercules. afterward in one day and one fatal night, there came mighty earthquakes and inundations, which engulfed that warlike people. atlantis disappeared beneath the sea and then that sea became inaccessible, so that navigation on it ceased on account of the quantity of mud which the engulfed island left in its place." this invasion took place many ages before athens was known as a greek city. it is referred to an extremely remote antiquity. the festival known as the "lesser panathenaea," which, as symbolic devices used in it show, commemorated this triumph over the atlantes, is said to have been instituted by the mythical erichthonius in the earliest times remembered by athenian tradition. brasseur de bourbourg also claims that there is in the old central american books a constant tradition of an immense catastrophe of the character supposed; that this tradition existed everywhere among the people when they first became known to europeans; and that recollections of the catastrophe were preserved in some of their festivals, especially in one celebrated in the month of izcalli, which was instituted to commemorate this frightful destruction of land and people, and in which "princes and people humbled themselves before the divinity, and besought him to withhold a return of such terrible calamities." this tradition affirms that a part of the continent extending into the atlantic was destroyed in the manner supposed, and appears to indicate that the destruction was accomplished by a succession of frightful convulsions. three are constantly mentioned, and sometimes there is mention of one or two others. "the land was shaken by frightful earthquakes, and the waves of the sea combined with volcanic fires to overwhelm and engulf it." each convulsion swept away portions of the land, until the whole disappeared, leaving the line of the coast as it is now. most of the inhabitants, overtaken amid their regular employments, were destroyed; but some escaped in ships, and some fled for safety to the summits of high mountains, or to portions of the land which, for a time, escaped immediate destruction. quotations are made from the old books in which this tradition is said to be recorded, verifying abbe brasseur's position. but, as j. d. baldwin says, "to criticise intelligently his interpretation of their significance, one needs to have a knowledge of those books and traditions equal at least to his own." in addition to this so-called proof by the traditions of both the old and new world, he adds this philological argument: "the words _atlas_ and _atlantic_ have no satisfactory etymology in any language known to europe. they are not greek, and can not be referred to any known language of the old world. but in the nahnatl language we find immediately the radical _a. atl,_ which signifies water. "from this comes a series of words, such as _atlan,_ on the border of or amid the water, from which we have the adjective atlantic. a city named _atlan_ existed when the continent was discovered by columbus, at the entrance of the gulf of uraba, in darien, with a good harbor; it is now reduced to an unimportant pueblo named aela." we think the foregoing is a fair statement of the argument advanced by the abbe brasseur de bourbourg, in support of his theory. we might add that the late ignatius donnelly, in his popular work, "atlantis, the antediluvian world," takes much the same position, and, like the venerable abbe, gives free rein to his vivid imagination, and is restrained by no doubts suggested by scientific indications. so far from geology lending the slightest confirmation to the idea of an engulfed atlantis, prof. wyville thompson has shown, in his "depths of the sea," that while oscillations of the land have considerably modified the boundaries of the atlantic ocean, the geological age of its basin dates as far back, at least, as the later secondary period. the study of its animal life, as revealed in dredging, strongly confirms this, disclosing an unbroken continuity of life on the atlantic sea-bed from the cretaceous to the present time; and, as sir charles lyell has pointed out, in his "principles of geology," the entire evidence is adverse to the idea that the canaries, the madeiras, and the azores are surviving fragments of a vast submerged island, or continuous area of the adjacent continent. there are, indeed, undoubted indications of volcanic action; but they furnish evidence of local upheaval, not of the submergence of extensive continental areas. the leading geologists all agree that "our continents have long remained in nearly the same relative position," and the highest authorities in science concur in the belief that "the main features of the atlantic basin have undergone no change within any recent geological period." while, therefore, this theory appeals with subtle power to the imagination, by reason of its seductive plausibility; yet to those who attach any value to scientific evidence, such speculations present no serious claims on their study. on the other hand, it will be rejected without much regard to what can be said in its favor, for it interferes with current beliefs concerning antiquity and ancient history, and must encounter vehement contradiction from habits of thought fixed by these beliefs. baldwin well says, that "some of the uses made of this theory can not endure criticism. for instance, when he makes it the basis of an assumption that all the civilization of the old world went originally from america, and claims particularly that the supposed 'atlantic race' created egypt, he goes quite beyond reach of the considerations used to give his hypothesis a certain air of probability. it may be, as he says, that for every pyramid in egypt there are a thousand in mexico and central america, but the ruins in egypt and those in central america have nothing in common. the two countries were entirely different in their language, in their styles of architecture, in their written characters, and in the physical characteristics of their earliest people, as they are seen sculptured or painted on the monuments. an egyptian pyramid is no more the same thing as a mexican pyramid than a chinese pagoda is the same thing as an english light-house. it was not made in the same way, nor for the same uses. the ruined monuments show, in general and in particular, that the original civilizers in america were profoundly different from the ancient egyptians. the two peoples can not possibly explain each other." with reference to this theory, from the foregoing reasons, we are compelled to bring in the scotch verdict, "_not proven._" one other theory we must notice briefly before giving what we believe to be the true theory, which will meet the requirements. it is claimed by certain intelligent men, of sufficient learning to know better, that the north american indian is indigenous to this continent, his ancestors, or first parents, having been created here just as were adam and eve in the garden of eden. in other words, the western hemisphere was peopled from one pair and one center just as was the eastern hemisphere. j. lee humfreville, in his "twenty years among our savage indians," takes this position. even the distinguished naturalist, professor agassiz, is quoted as saying that "the anatomical differences between the different races, and especially those which distinguish the black and white, indicate a diversity of origin." it is contended by others that, "the separation of the races from each other for unknown ages by great oceans and by formidable and almost impassable continental barriers, opposes the probability that they are descended from one parentage, and migrated from one spot." if there be any logic in this theory, it is essential not only to have an adam and eve in america for the red race, but another pair in africa for the black race, another in china for the yellow race, and still another in polynesia for the brown. perhaps the learned comparative anatomists (all of whom belong to the white race) will be gracious enough to concede that adam and eve were _their first parents?_ dr. j. l. cabell, in his work on "the common parentage of the human race," gives the following very good reason why it is more rational to suppose that the world was peopled by the progeny of a single pair radiating from one spot, than by many miraculous creations of the ancestors of the races placed originally in their present habitats: "inasmuch as it has been shown that man has the power of undergoing acclimation in every habitable quarter of the globe, and had the means of facilitating his migration from his original birthplace, while moreover, he is susceptible of undergoing variations in bodily stricture, and in intellectual and moral tendencies, which variations, once acquired, are subsequently perpetuated by descent, _it is contrary to the observed ways of providence to multiply miracles, and especially the highest miracles, in order to achieve a result which was clearly practicable by natural processes._" baron humboldt, the great german scholar, has advanced an unanswerable argument to prove the unity of the human race and their descent from one pair. in his "cosmos" he says: "the different races of men are forms of one sole species. they are not different species of a genus, since in that case their hybrid descendants would be unfruitful. but it is known that people of every race and color, from the highest to the lowest, intermingle and propagate descendants different from either parent." however, it is unnecessary to go outside of the scripture to prove the unity of the human race. in genesis iii: , we read, "adam called his wife's name eve, because she was the mother of all living." the same thought is brought out in i. cor. xv: , by the declaration, "for as in adam all die even so in christ shall all be made alive." in gen. ix: , we read, "and god blessed noah and his sons, and said unto them, be fruitful, and multiply, and replenish the earth." in verse of the same chapter we read, "these are the three sons of noah: and of them was the _whole earth overspread._" in this chapter we find a command of god touching this question, and proof that it was literally obeyed. in gen. x: , we find this statement: "these are the families of the sons of noah, after their generations, in their nations; and by these were the nations divided in the earth after the flood." the argument in the new testament is just as strong in support of the unity of the race. in giving the great commission christ said "go ye into _all the world,_ and preach the gospel to every creature" (mark xvi: ). in the seventeenth chapter of acts we find that paul said on mars' hill, "god, that made the world and all things therein . . . _hath made of one blood all nations of men for to dwell on all the face of the earth,_ and hath determined the times before appointed, and the bounds of their habitation." in gal. iii: paul also assures us, "there is neither jew nor greek, there is neither bond nor free; for ye are all _one_ in christ jesus." in john xvii: - , christ uttered both a prayer and a prophecy sure of fulfilment when he said: "neither pray i for these alone, but for them also which shall believe on me through their word; that they all may be _one;_ as thou father, art in me, and i in thee, that they also may be _one in us._" since, then, the theories of a diversity of origin of the races, and that the american indian is indigenous to this continent, are both opposed by the teaching of god's word, it follows that both are wrong, and can not be sustained. we stand squarely by the bible. _men_ may come and men may go, but _god's word_ will endure _forever._ having disposed of these "_theories,_" and proven that all of them are more or less fallacious, and the last rather more than less, we are ready to "take up the white man's burden," and show how the ancestors of the red man got to this hemisphere, as also to account for the civilization found here. {illustration: original map showing author's theory that south and central america were peopled by {shemites. ? word missing in original}} let us go back to the tower of babel, or confusion, so called because god there confounded the language of the people, and "scattered them abroad from thence upon the face of all the earth." concerning ham, japheth and shem, it is written: "these are the three sons of noah; and of them was the whole earth overspread" (gen. ix: ). broadly speaking, we find that ham and his descendants received africa, arabia, canaan and persia. japheth and his descendants received central, northern and western asia and all of europe. we will not follow the history of these two sons of noah further at this time except to say that the descendants of ham were the first, and those of japheth the last to establish civilization. as to shem and his descendants, broadly speaking, their possessions began with canaan, which was taken from the hamites and extended east and southeast through southern asia, including what is now known as india, burmah, china, japan, and the great ancient malay or polynesian empire. as proof that they migrated eastward, we read of the sons of joktan, a near descendant from shem, "and their dwelling was from mesha, as thou goest unto sephar, _a mount of the east._" we thus find that the general direction of the shemites was east. as proof that the adjacent islands were peopled at this early age, josephus says, in his "antiquities of the jews," chap. v., "after this they were dispersed abroad on account of the difference of their languages, and went out by colonies everywhere, and each colony took possession of that land unto which god led them, so that the whole continent was filled with them, both the inland and maritime countries. there were some also who passed over the sea in _ships,_ and inhabited _the islands;_ and some of those nations still retain the denominations which were given them by their first founders, but some have lost them, and some have only admitted certain changes in them, that they might be more intelligible to the inhabitants." there can be but one meaning to this language. it is that the hamites extended their settlements to the islands adjacent to africa, such as madagascar and the cape verde islands. the japhethites extended their settlements to those adjacent to europe, such as the british islands, and the shemites extended their settlements to those islands they found east and southeast from asia, which were beyond a doubt what afterward became the malay or polynesian empire. this empire was described by el-masudi, who wrote in the tenth century. he represented it as lying between the dominions of india and china, and as an empire whose splendor and high civilization were greatly celebrated; and he says: "the population, and the number of the troops of this kingdom, can not be counted, and the islands under the sceptre of its monarch (the mahrajh, the lord of the sixth sea) are so numerous that the fastest sailing-vessel is not able to go round them in two years." we find this empire was referred to by ptolemy and marco polo, the great venetian traveler, who visited it. they called it ja-ba-din. it included the peninsula of malacca, aracan, chittagong, the country of the lower ganges, the coast of coromandel, the island of borneo, one of the largest in the world, celebes, java and sumatra, and all others between australia and eastern asia. traces of the colonies and ancient commercial power of the malays are found in the indian ocean, the isles of bourbon and mauritius in the southern hemisphere, whose aborigines are of malayan descent. moreover, the descendants of the malays, with much of their language, and traces of their ancient civilization, are found on all the larger islands between asia and this hemisphere, as also the western part of south america. pickering, the learned ethnologist of the united states exploring expedition, commanded by lieutenant wilkes, during a three-years' voyage, who had an excellent opportunity for comparing the different races of the pacific ocean and the opposite shores of the continents separated by it, thinks that all the copper-colored aborigines of north and south america are of mongolian descent except the esquimaux (who seem to be of the same race with the northern asiatics), and the aboriginal peruvians and chilians, whom he supposes to be of malayan extraction; and he has made that distribution of them upon the ethnographical chart published with the maps of the report of the expedition. his opinion is entitled to great respect, and is substantially the same as that of the celebrated missionary, williams, who, after spending thirty years among the tropical islands of the pacific ocean, was massacred by the savages of one lately discovered. he was a devoted christian hero, a splendid scholar, and was deeply interested in natural science. he published an account of his researches and life in the pacific in a work known as "the missionary enterprise," in which he proved conclusively that all the copper-colored occupants of the sandwich, society and friendly isles, and, indeed, all the other groups of that ocean, and also the quichuas, or incas indians of peru, are of malayan origin. their complexion and anatomical traits are the same; and their languages are all dialects of those of malacca, as he has proved by placing a sufficient number of common words from each of their tongues in parallel columns. the malays, and their kindred in these clusters of isles, are, as their ancestors were in past ages, as nautical in their habits as the ancient phoenicians or the northmen. as prof. edward fontaine well says in his great work, "how the world was peopled," "the settlement of the islands of the pacific, and even of the western shores of south america, was not only an easy task to the nautical malays of the empire of 'the islands of the sixth sea,' but, in some cases, an unavoidable consequence of their adventurous life upon the ocean. the strong and regular winds which blow across the pacific facilitate the voyages of all who attempt its passage. the inhabitants of it use now, as they have done from time immemorial, vessels admirably adapted to its navigation. they still send 'ambassadors in vessels of bulrushes upon the waters.' {fn} their double canoes, made of the hollowed trunks of trees strongly lashed together, and furnished with what are termed 'outriggers,' formed of light and buoyant logs of bamboo attached to their gunwales, and projected a considerable distance beyond their sides, can not be capsized. the _bamboo_ is the _arundo giganteus_ (the gigantic bulrush); and, when the boat is rolled by the waves from side to side, these outriggers rest upon them and prevent it from turning over. they are dexterous anglers and expert swimmers. the feat of leander, in swimming across the hellespont, is often outdone by the almost amphibious natives of the polynesian isles. embarked with their families in their double canoes, and supplied with their calabashes (large, strong gourds of water), and angling and fowling implements, they live upon the ocean's breast, which affords ample nourishment for all their simple wants. the copious showers, which fall during the prevalence of the monsoons (winds which blow six months in one direction, and the other six in the opposite), furnish them with an abundant supply of water. so free is that ocean from storms that it has acquired the name it bears, the pacific. far out of sight of land, they are in no great danger of any accident, except that of losing their reckoning. they are very liable to this misfortune from the want of a compass, a knowledge which their ancestors probably possessed, but which they have lost. if they miss their course, which often happens, their lives are not much imperiled, but it is then almost impossible for them to regain their native isles. they can live upon the fish, aquatic fowl, eggs, coconuts and other food afforded by the surface of the deep, and drift before the gale until it wafts them to america, or to some island west of its shores." * * * * * {fn} isaiah xviii, . in this manner south america undoubtedly received her largest, earliest and most civilized population. they were of the _shemitic_ branch of the human family, _malay polynesian division,_ and reached the shores of chile and peru, by way of _the islands of the pacific._ we have shown by quotations from the bible and josephus that one branch of the descendants of shem journeyed east, took to ships and settled the adjacent islands of the sea. now these people must have had some knowledge of ship-building and navigation. had not their ancestors been saved in the ark? {fn} and were not the hamites, or phoenicians, becoming a great maritime people possibly at this very period, on the shores of the mediterranean and atlantic ocean? * * * * * {fn} a ship recently constructed on the plan of the ark has proven a perfect success as a vessel for heavy freight. so we have proven that they actually started across the pacific ocean not many centuries after the dispersion at babel. is it not the most reasonable and probable conclusion that since the western shore of the pacific was their place of embarkation, and eastward their direction (and we have certainly proven these two points), that america would eventually be their _goal_ or _destination?_ god had told the descendants of noah to "multiply and replenish the earth"; they at first refused to obey his command, whereupon he determined to make them obey, and, as we have seen, confounded their language and dispersed them. now is it reasonable that he would have been satisfied with a partial obedience, resulting only in the peopling of a few islands of the pacific, when the boundless continent of america lay upon its other shore? can any reasonable man believe that those ancient mariners, propelled by the power of omnipotence in fulfilment of his command, and with the known spirit of restlessness and discontent which has characterized the progressive men of all ages, could discover a few islands lying in the direction they were sailing, but fail to eventually find a _vast hemisphere_ lying in the same course and extending through four of the zones of the earth? we submit that in drifting before the wind, or even in a voyage of discovery, many islands lying almost in the wake of the ship might be passed at night without discovery, but it is absolutely impossible to pass a continent without seeing it and touching it at some point. men find islands peopled and evidence of a former civilization which the inhabitants can give no account of, and it excites little or no interest, but if a continent is discovered with civilized people, and evidence of a greater civilization in its past history, they at once get excited and begin to evolve a fine-spun theory out of the thin air, and charge it all up to the phoenicians, lost ten tribes of israel, the inhabitants of the sunken continent of atlantis, or that god created another adam and eve, from whom the people of this continent had their origin. in the classic language of puck, "what fools these mortals be." they can people the islands of the pacific without another adam and eve, or the aid of the phoenicians, but if it is a continent under consideration, it is impossible. why not, in the study of ethnology and history, follow the leading of facts, rather than force the facts to prove a pet theory? besides the ancient evidence given, there is much modern proof that south america, at least, was first settled by the malays from polynesia. captain cook found at watteoo three natives of otaheite, who had lost their ocean-path and had been blown away miles from the land of their birth. kotzebue found on one of the caroline isles a native of ulea, who had been driven by the wind, after a voyage of eight months, to this spot, which is fifteen hundred miles from his native isle. he and his companions had performed this remarkable voyage in an open single canoe with outriggers. numerous similar involuntary exploits of this maritime race are related. a singular case is mentioned in the official narrative of the japan expedition, conducted by commodore perry. on his return voyage, in the open west pacific ocean, he took on board a boat-load of twelve savages, who called themselves sillibaboos. they could give no intelligible idea of the island from whence they came, and which has not been discovered. they were lost and were drifting before the wind, they knew not where, and had been wandering upon the unknown waters many days; but they were in good condition, and supporting themselves well upon the produce of the prolific ocean which swelled around them. amid the numerous clusters of islands which gem its bosom, they would probably have soon found a new home. one of the most remarkable voyages recorded of modern times was that of captain bligh and his companions. it seems that the worthy captain of the good ship-of-war bounty was sent by the british government in , to transplant the bread-fruit and other esculents, indigenous to the tropical islands of the pacific, to jamaica, and other islands of the west indies belonging to great britain. he remained more than a year in otaheite, completed his cargo of seeds and plants and set sail for jamaica. but while they were yet in sight of the island, a majority of the crew, headed by lieutenant christian, mutinied and seized the ship. captain bligh and twenty men who were faithful to him were put in an open boat only twenty-five feet long. only five days' rations of wine, water, bread and pork were thrown into it with them. they had a compass, but no weapons, mast or sail and the gunwales rose only a few inches above the surface of the water. in this frail craft they were turned adrift to perish upon the ocean. the mutineers doubtless thought that they would be sunk by the first storm that might arise or be massacred by the first savages they might meet. these desperate mutineers were incited to commit this crime by an aversion to leave the lazy life they had led the past year with the amiable and profligate natives of otaheite, among whom they had formed attachments, and an unwillingness to resume the hardships of sailors under the strict discipline of captain bligh. this officer proved himself a hero, able to meet successfully the dangers of his desperate situation, and to triumph over them by his skill and courage, and lived to be promoted to the rank of admiral, under lord nelson, for services at the battle of copenhagen. with a pair of apothecary's scales he divided the scant provisions of five days to make them last for _fifty_ in which he hoped to reach the philippine islands, or java, nearly four thousand miles distant. favored by the monsoon, which blew steadily from the east (six months later it would have blown in the opposite course), in the direction of those islands, by stormless showers, by alternate rowing, bailing and resting the crew, by his persevering watchfulness, and their implicit obedience to his judicious orders, he accomplished in that time this almost miraculous voyage, with the loss of only one man, who was killed by the savages of an unknown island lying in his course, with whom he attempted to barter for supplies. remember this successful voyage of nearly four thousand miles (farther than across the atlantic ocean) from the society islands to timour, was made in fifty days. moreover, it was made in an open boat, inferior to those mentioned by homer and virgil, or to any sculptured upon the monuments of egypt and assyria, and with only the tenth part of the provisions necessary for such an enterprise. this voyage shows that the malays or the arabians could have accomplished a similar feat of nautical skill in past ages. again we are indebted to prof. edward fontaine for this remarkable story. should the reader care to follow the fortunes of christian and his fellow mutineers he will find the entire account in the sixth chapter of "how the world was peopled." the malay empire began to decline about the tenth century, when their continental possessions were taken from them by the tartar khans, mohammedan sultans and rajahs, who founded new dynasties in china, farther india and hindostan. they also lost their distant island colonies, and their civilization waned in asia. myriads of them, dwelling upon the islands near that continent, degenerated into the fierce and daring pirates who were so long the terror of the eastern seas. others, more remote, lost even the use of the compass, and sank into the condition of the sandwich and society islanders; while those in peru, separated long from their asiatic mother-country, and thrown on their own resources, established and maintained an _original_ civilization which amazed their spanish conquerors. there is evidence of ancient civilization in the ruins found on many of the larger islands of the pacific ocean, especially the society, friendly, easter and sandwich groups, but these ruins are essentially different from anything found in america. it has been proven conclusively that the ancient malayan empire was maritime and commercial; it had fleets of great ships, and there is evidence that its influence reached most of the pacific islands. this is shown by the fact that dialects of the malay language have been found in most of these islands as far in this direction as easter island. the language of the sandwich (hawaiian) islanders, for instance, is malayan, and has a close relationship to that now spoken in the malay islands. the malays still read and write, have some literature and retain many of the arts and usages of civilization, but they are now very far below the condition indicated by their ancient ruins, and described by el masudi, who traveled among them a thousand years ago. it is practically certain that their ships visited the western coast of america, and traded with the ancient mexicans and peruvians in the days of their greatest power and activity. this theory amounts almost to a certainty when it is remembered that the malays made such a permanent settlement of the easter islands as to leave their language there. according to old traditions of both mexico and peru, the pacific coast in both countries was anciently visited by a foreign people, who came in ships. the unmistakable traces of malay influence everywhere in the islands of the pacific can have but one meaning. the malays formerly sailed the ocean, occupied its islands and doubtless visited america. the abb�© de bourbourg is responsible for the statement that "it has been known to scholars nearly a century, that the chinese and japanese were acquainted with the american continent in the fifth century of our era. their ships visited it. they called it fu-sang, and said it was situated at the distance of twenty thousand _li_ from ta-han. m. leon de rosny has ascertained that fu-sang is the topic of a curious notice in the 'wa-kan-san-tai-dzon-ye,' which is the name of the great japanese encyclopedia. in that work fu-sang is said to be situated east of japan, beyond the ocean, at a distance of about twenty thousand _li_ (between seven and eight thousand miles) from ta-nan-kouek. readers who may desire to make comparisons between the japanese descriptions of fu-sang and some country in america, will find astonishing analogies in the countries described by castaneda, fra-marcos de niza, in the province of cibola." in peru, in the time of pizarro, the oldest and most enduring stone structures were said to have been built by "bearded white men," who came from the _west_ and were called "sons of the sea." they were probably malays or arabians. this is the only evidence we have found of an imported civilization in peru, and this is more legend and tradition than positive history. we are firmly convinced that civilization or self-improvement began among the savages of america, probably peru, as it did three thousand years or more ago among the savages of egypt and babylon. we believe that the civilization found in america originated _here_ and nowhere else. it is neither an importation nor imitation of anything else on earth. as a recent explorer of the ruins of peru, central america and mexico well says, "the american monuments are different from those of any other known people, of a new order, and entirely and absolutely anomalous; they stand alone." it is quite probable that, having been established in peru, civilization gradually drifted north to central america and mexico. certain it is the spaniards first heard of the wealth of the incas from the people inhabiting the isthmus and the region north of it. we purpose, however, only to show _how_ the aborigines and civilization got to america, not how they spread over the land, and our conclusions are that the first inhabitants came through the pacific islands from southeastern asia and landed in south america at least three thousand years ago, and there established an original civilization, perhaps only a few centuries later than egypt or babylonia. many other peoples, including the phoenicians, must have visited the eastern shore of america since, but they found a high degree of civilization _already established._ all these seafaring people could possibly do was to augment, or suggest improvements to the civilization they found here, or else do as the foolish and wicked spaniards, destroy it. {illustration: japanese man in the garb of a ukiah (alaska) indian.} so much for the primeval settlement and civilization of south and central america, but what about the aborigines of the northern continent? again we will go back to the dispersion of mankind at babel. we have seen that of the three sons of noah, the descendants of japheth peopled the greater portion of asia, including the northern and northeastern sections. and the japhethites were the last to establish a civilization, though they are to-day the most civilized people on earth. from this branch of the family of noah came the mongolians, tartars and scythians, those rude barbarians who spread over the steppes of northern asia. these nomadic people were constantly waging war with each other, and weak tribes often fled before the devastating approach of a stronger to escape destruction. in this manner the vast continent of asia was gradually traversed until pursued and pursuers reached the extreme limits of the peninsula of kamtchatka. occasionally a multitude of their tribes, dwelling as cultivators of the earth, or migrating in hordes over the grassy steppes of asia, have been united under the sway of such conquerors as tamerlane and genghis khan. at one time , , horsemen marched under the banner of the latter, who boasted that the grass would never grow again in the tracks made by the withering march of his squadrons. gibbon, in his "decline and fall of the roman empire," informs us that the hosts of warlike nomads from western asia, who overran the roman empire, were generally tartar tribes with different names, flying from the invasions of great conquerors who were devastating the central regions of that vast continent, and whose revolutions were only made known to europe by the swarms of barbarians poured upon her borders, who were escaping from their enemies. their weaker enemies had to save themselves by a prompt and abject submission, or by a precipitate flight to regions far beyond their reach. to escape such dangers many of them at different times doubtless crossed the aleutian archipelago and behring's strait, as the modern asiatics in kamtchatka yet do, to north america. having reached their destination on the further shore, they would naturally tend toward the south and southeast, attracted by a climate continually improving in mildness, and a country more fertile and abounding in wild fruit and game, the farther south they proceeded. they seem to have followed one another in different centuries; and those who first found their way to the valleys of the ohio and lower mississippi, and to mexico, came in contact with other races from southeastern asia, who had preceded them long enough to establish a civilization. in this manner was the continent of north america peopled, because the esquimaux or "eaters of raw flesh," for this is the meaning of the word, came also from the extreme northern portion of asia, having been expelled by their more warlike neighbors, who seemed to have literally wanted them to "get off the earth," for they were dwelling then, as they do now, on the extreme northern edge of it. either through choice, or from fear of the red indians, the esquimaux spread out along the coast of the arctic ocean until their habitat extended from the shores of eastern greenland to asia, a length of more than three thousand miles though only a few leagues in breadth. the esquimaux are a curious and interesting people. they are, moreover, very ingenious and courageous, or they could not subsist in that inhospitable and treeless region of "icy mountains." {fn} they have a swarthy appearance because of their habit of greasing, and never washing their faces; but when once this filth is scrubbed off it is found that they are white, rather than copper-colored, and entirely unlike the north american indians, being also very short and stout, but fully equal to them in strength and superior in some respects, for while the north american indians had no domestic animals or beasts of burden when discovered, the esquimaux had domesticated the reindeer and arctic dog, and yoked them to his sled. * * * * * {fn} the author once heard miss olof krarer, "the little esquimaux lady," living then at ottawa, illinois, whose age at the time was thirty-eight years; height, inches; weight, pounds. she had been well educated, and her lecture about the manners and customs of her people was intensely interesting. she was born in greenland, but crossed with her family to iceland in sledges. we will now give other evidence in support of our theory. it should be of some significance that the traditions of many of the north american savages point to the northwest as the direction whence their ancestors migrated originally. cuvier, the great naturalist, and the greatest of all comparative anatomists, classifies the whole human race into only three varieties, the white, black and yellow. this is certainly the most simple and correct. he includes the whole of the aboriginal races of the american continent in the same class to which he assigns the chinese, japanese, mongols and malays. he could find nothing to distinguish our american aborigines from these asiatics, except a greater average projection of the nose, and somewhat larger eyes. he is evidently correct in placing them all in one class--_the yellow race._ he asserts that if a congregation of twelve representatives from malacca, china, japan, mongolia and the unmixed natives of the sandwich islands, the pure-blooded chilian, peruvian and brazilian indians, and others selected from the unmixed chickasaws, comanches, or any other north american tribes, were all assembled, and dressed in the same costume, or exhibited undressed and unshaven, that the most skilful painter or the most practised anatomist, judging from their appearance only, could not separate them into their different nationalities. he would decide that they were all the same people, and men of one type. another evidence of the tartar origin of the north american indian is the universal practice of scalping their enemies, which bloody custom was observed by their ancestors, the scythians, whose ancient dominion embraced all russia in asia, and even extended into europe. their complexion, straight black hair, scant beards, black eyes and general appearance, identify them with the asiatic yellow race of cuvier. the great majority of the aboriginal tribes of north america prove their descent from the scythians of northeastern mongolia, by their anatomical marks, as we have seen, their manners, customs and superstitions, as strongly as their relations, the modern japanese, chinese and tartars. they show substantially the same color, and high cheek-bones. they exhibit the same fondness for narcotics and stimulants, substituting indigenous plants, like the tobacco, and coca, for the betel-nut, hemp and poppy. their wandering habits, the use of the bow, the wearing of the scalp-lock, represented by the long, plaited cue of the chinese, and cultivated by all the warriors of the most savage and warlike of the north american tribes, and observed by no nation of antiquity except the scythians; the common belief among them all, that all material things, whether men, animals, or weapons, have souls or spiritual counterparts, in the invisible and eternal world; the worship of the spirits of their ancestors, and many other strongly marked peculiarities, identify all the branches of this yellow race as blood relations and the descendants of the scythians. the great german scholar, oscar peschel, in his work called "the races of man," says: "it is not impossible that the first migrations took place at a time when what is now the channel of behring's strait was occupied by an isthmus. the climate of those northern shores must then have been much milder than at the present day, for no currents from the frozen ocean could have penetrated into the pacific. that the severance of asia from america was, geologically speaking, very recent, is shown by the fact that not only the strait, but the sea which bears the name of behring is _extraordinarily shallow,_ so much so indeed that whalers lie at anchor in the middle of it." sir daniel wilson, ll.d., f.r.s.e., president of the university of toronto, says, in "the lost atlantis," "the present soundings of behring's strait, and the bed of the sea extending southward to the aleutian islands, entirely accord with the assumption of a former continuity of land between asia and america." but it is always dangerous to rely on geological events, which themselves require more accurate proof. we therefore prefer to assume that at the time at which the asiatics passed over into america, behring's strait already possessed its present character. in this connection it is worth remembering that the first question asked by gauss, the great german mathematician, of adalbert von chamisso, the circumnavigator, at berlin, in , was whether the coast of america was visible from any point in asia; in such a way that the two continents might be connected by a triangle? chamisso was able to answer this query in the affirmative, so that no accidental discovery need be supposed, for the asiatics of behring's strait, when they crossed over to america, saw their goal before their eyes. lest it should be thought strange that people who were still without adequate means of protection could have continued to exist in a climate so severe, we will quote from george steller, who states that children of the north are more comfortable in severe weather than in a milder temperature. "when, in winter mornings," he wrote, "i was freezing under my feather-bed and fur coverlets, i saw the itelmes, and even their little children, lying in their _kuklanka_ naked and bare halfway down the chest, without coverlets or feather-beds, and yet were warmer to the touch than i was." in another place he adds that the kamtskadals always place a large vessel filled with water, which they cool with pieces of ice, by their side at night, and drain this to the last drop before the break of day. this shows that the rigid climate would not impede a migration from asia to america. in fact, as peschel assures us, "trade has always been carried on between the behring's strait nations of asia and america. the tshuktshi pass over to diomede's island, and the malemutes cross from the extreme northwesterly point of america to exchange reindeer hides for furs. the trade is so brisk that the clothing of the natives several hundred miles up the yukon river consists of asiatic skins obtained from the tshuktshi." george steller states that, "the inhabitants of choumagin islands, on the coast of alaska, are as like the itelmes of kamtchatka as one egg is to another." when the exploring expedition sent out by the empress of russia (catherine) made their report it was stated that the narrow sea which divides kamtchatka from alaska is full of islands, and that the distance from a promontory at the eastern extremity of asia, and the coast of america, is not more than two degrees and a half of a great circle. the report further stated that there is the greatest reason to suppose that asia and america once joined at this place, as the coasts of both continents appear to have been broken into capes and bays, which answer each other. moreover, the inhabitants of both sides resemble each other in their persons, habits, customs, food and language. it is also added that the boats of the inhabitants of each coast are very similar. and when they found that the natives on the american side pointed across to the opposite shore as the source whence their ancestors came, they considered that it amounted to little less than a demonstration that north america was peopled from this part of asia. after we had reached our conclusions, we were gratified to find that ridpath, the greatest historian of recent years, takes substantially the same position. in his great work on "the races of mankind," he says: "there is hardly any longer doubt as to the ethnic relationship of these races and their connection with the peoples of asia and polynesia. the testimony of many sciences--linguistics, archeology, traditions, and especially ethnology proper--points uniformly to the asiatic and pacific derivation of the ancestors of those widely distributed races extending northward and southward from the arctic archipelago to the strait of magellan, and westward and eastward from the alaskan peninsula to pernambuco. "by common consent the ethnic history of our american continents should begin from the _west._ it is evident that the american mongoloids--for so we may designate the aboriginal nations of the new world--are connected by race affinity and descent with the asiatic and polynesian mongoloids. "the routes by which they came were two or, at the most, four: the one by way of polynesia; the other, siberia. the first, or polynesian line, seems to have divided, sending one branch through lower polynesia against the central western coast of south america, while the upper or western branch was directed by way of the sandwich islands to mexico and central america. the second, or siberian route (many centuries later), one branch appears to have gone by way of behring's strait, and the other through the aleutian islands." in this manner, we believe south america was peopled in remote antiquity by the malays of polynesia, and north america by rude barbarians from northeastern asia. we do not assume that all the aborigines of the two continents came in this way. but for the many unanswerable reasons given, we do believe that the earliest, most numerous and probably most disposed to civilization, came in this manner to south and central america, where they established an original civilization; and that the most numerous, but also the latest and most barbarous aborigines of north america came from northeastern asia. having become established in america, they gradually spread from west to east until they reached the atlantic coast. here in time they came in contact with a few representatives of other races from europe, western asia and africa, who, at various times and at different points, reached the eastern shore. but the few were absorbed by the larger population, with little visible result save to augment their numbers, give variety to the physiognomy of certain tribes, and perhaps modify the civilization where it existed. we know of at least two modern instances of voyages having been made from europe to america, and there were doubtless others of prehistoric times. we refer now to the discovery of america by herjulfson in a. d. , who was driven in sight of newfoundland or labrador while sailing from iceland to greenland. fourteen years later, the actual discovery of america was made by lief erickson, who sailed from greenland and reached labrador in the spring of the year . after landing and making explorations, he and his companions continued along the coast southward until they reached massachusetts, rhode island and possibly new york harbor. other norsemen afterward reached america, but they made no permanent settlements, planted no colonies, and kept their knowledge of the new continent a state secret. the other instance of a pre-columbian voyage to america is that of the welsh prince, modoc or madog, which is told in the old welsh books as follows: about the year or a. d., owen gwyneeld, ruling prince of north wales, died, and among his sons there was a contest for the succession, which produced a civil war. his son madog, who had "command of the fleet," took no part in this strife. greatly disturbed by the public trouble, and unable to reconcile his two brothers, he resolved to leave wales and go across the ocean to the new land at the west, of which he had probably heard through the irish or norse navigators. accordingly, in the year a. d., he left with a few ships, going south of ireland, and sailing westward. the object of this voyage was to explore the western land and select a place for settlement. he found a pleasant and fertile region, where his settlement was established. leaving one hundred and twenty persons, he returned to wales, prepared ten ships, induced a large company, some of whom were irish, to join him, and sailed again to america. nothing more was ever heard in wales of prince madog or his settlement. it is supposed that madog settled somewhere in the carolinas, and that his colony, unsupported by new arrivals from europe, and cut off from communication with that side of the ocean, became weak, and, after being much reduced, was destroyed or absorbed by some powerful indian tribe. in our colonial times, and after, there was no lack of reports that relics of madog's welshmen, and even their language, had been discovered among the indians; but generally they were entitled to no credit. the report of rev. morgan jones, made in , and published in the _gentleman's magazine_ for the year , is quoted by baldwin in his "ancient america," as follows: "these presents certify all persons whatever, that in the year , being an inhabitant of virginia, and chaplain to major-general bennet, of mansoman county, the said major-general bennet and sir william berkley sent two ships to port royal, now called south carolina, which is sixty leagues southward of cape fear, and i was sent therewith to be their minister. upon the th of april we set out from virginia and arrived at the harbor's mouth of port royal the th of the same month, where we waited for the rest of the fleet that was to sail from barbadoes with one mr. west, who was to be deputy governor of said place. as soon as the fleet came in, the smallest vessels that were with us sailed up the river to a place called oyster point; there i continued about eight months. at last, being almost starved for want of provisions, i and five others traveled through the wilderness till we came to the tuscarora country. "there the tuscarora indians took us prisoners, because we told them we were bound to roanock. that night they carried us to their town and shut us up close, to our no small dread. the next day they entered into a consultation about us, and, after it was over, their interpreter told us that we must prepare ourselves to die next morning, whereupon, being very much dejected, i spoke to this effect in the welsh tongue: 'have i escaped so many dangers, and must i now be knocked on the head like a dog!' then presently came an indian to me, which afterward appeared to be a war captain belonging to the sachem of the doegs (whose original, i find, must needs be from the old britons), and took me up by the middle, and told me in the british (welsh) tongue i should not die, and thereupon went to the emperor of tuscarora, and agreed for my ransom and the men that were with me. "they (the doegs) then welcomed us to their town, and entertained us very civilly and cordially four months, during which time i had the opportunity of conversing with them familiarly in the british (welsh) language, and did preach to them in the same language three times a week, and they would confer with me about anything that was difficult therein, and at our departure they abundantly supplied us with whatever was necessary to our support and well doing. they are settled upon pontigo river, not far from cape atros. this is a brief recital of my travels among the doeg indians. "morgan jones, the son of john jones, of basateg, near newport, in the county of monmouth. i am ready to conduct any welshmen or others to the country. new york. march th, ." baldwin says, "other accounts of his 'travels' among the 'doegs' of the tuscarora nation were published much earlier, but no other has been preserved. his veracity was never questioned. what shall be said of his statement? were the remains of prince madog's company represented in these 'doeg' tuscaroras? he is very explicit in regard to the matter of language, and it is not easy to see how he could be mistaken. they understood his welsh, not without needing explanation of some things, 'difficult therein.' he was able to converse with them and preach to them in welsh; and yet, if he got an explanation of the existence of the welsh language among these 'doegs,' or sought to know anything in regard to their traditional history, he omits entirely to say so. without meaning to doubt his veracity, one can only regret that he did not give a more intelligent and complete account of these 'travels.'" {illustration: ukiah (alaska) indian in the garb of a japanese.} it may be remembered that in the early colonial times, the tuscaroras were sometimes called "white indians." fontaine adds the following facts, which may be regarded as an imperfect continuation of the history of this welsh colony, whose lost annals can never be completely restored: "the tribe of mandan indians was discovered by lewis and clarke on the upper missouri, during their expedition to discover the sources of the missouri and columbia rivers, sent to perform that perilous duty under the presidency of mr. jefferson, and which embraced the years - . they spent the winter of - among these indians, but did not learn their traditions. to the astonishment of lewis and clarke many of these savages had blue eyes, and their hair was generally silky and very abundant, and, except red and auburn, of all the colors which distinguish the tresses of the various inhabitants of england and wales. the ethnological problem presented by their peculiarities was, i think, solved satisfactorily by george catlin, the painter, who visited them and spent some months with them in . he understood welsh, and found in their language _fifty pure welsh_ words, one hundred and thirty nearly so, and many others of welsh derivation. they used a circle of stones in the construction of the hearths of their huts; they preserved the art of making _the welsh blue beads;_ and they navigated the missouri river in a canoe, like the welsh _coracle,_ made of willow limbs and rawhide of a peculiar construction, and used nowhere in the world except in wales. it was _a tub pulled,_ instead of being _propelled,_ by a paddle. their tradition was, that their ancestors came across the 'great water' from the east; while other tribes of the united states point to the northwest as the direction from which they migrated. catlin verified the correctness of their tradition as having come from the east, down the ohio, and up the missouri, by tracing the ruins of their huts, easily recognized by the welsh hearthstones, up the ohio river, as far as he examined it. this interesting tribe, he tells us, was nearly exterminated by the smallpox in ; and their destruction, as a separate clan, was completed soon afterward, when they were vanquished by their inveterate enemies, the rickarees, and their remnant became incorporated with that tribe. "the tuscaroras inhabited the banks of the yadkin, and other rivers of the northwestern parts of north carolina, whose waters interlock with those of green river, and other tributaries of new river, the principal branch of the great kanawha, which empties into the ohio. the great forests of these regions abounded in game, and many of their valleys, and the mountain-plateaus separating them, still afford excellent hunting-grounds. the migration of these welsh indians up the yadkin, and down the ararat, green, new and kanawha rivers to the ohio, was easily accomplished; and this, i think, was their route to the missouri. connecting these facts and examining them properly led to the conclusion of catlin, that _the mandans are the descendants of madog and his followers,_ mixed with various indian tribes." during the reign of charles ii., a book known as "the turkish spy," was written by an italian, john paul marana, who was at one time in the service of the sultan of turkey. this book was published in london, in , and gives an interesting account of the condition of affairs of the kingdoms of western europe. speaking of the british possessions in north america, he says: "there is a region of that continent inhabited by a people whom they call tuscoards and doegs. their language is the same spoken by the british or welsh; and these tuscoards and doegs are thought to be descended from them." but it might be asked how is it these indians are called tuscaroras or tuscoards, and doegs in north carolina, and mandans on the upper missouri? catlin has given an ingenious and plausible explanation of this change of name. he says mandan is the name of the _woodroof,_ or welsh madder, used for dying red, and he thinks the welsh gave the name mandan to these indians on account of the beautiful red they used in dying the porcupine-quills. it is claimed by some writers that the cherokees, who were neighbors to the tuscaroras, and the most intelligent and predisposed to civilization of all the north american tribes, had also a fusion of welsh blood, but the evidence is not so complete as that of the tuscaroras and mandans. with reference to the mounds and mound builders there have been many learned but unreasonable theories advanced which have resulted only in "confusion worst confounded." we have reached a conclusion, and have since been gratified to find that two among the clearest and most reasonable writers on this subject, practically indorse our position in almost every detail. we refer now to j. h. beadle, in his great work, "the undeveloped west"; and j. d. baldwin, in "ancient america." the general term "mound builders" is applied to a people who have left evidence of extensive works in various parts of the united states, especially in the vicinity of the mississippi and ohio rivers and their tributaries. these are of three kinds: mounds, square and circular enclosures, and raised embankments of various forms. unlike all the mounds in mexico, central and south america, those in our country have no trace of buildings on them. why? we will let j. w. beadle answer this question. said he, "until i visited arizona i had no answer. there the solution was easy. in those regions stone was abundant and timber was scarce here the reverse was the case. our predecessors built of wood, the others of stone; the works of the latter remain to this day, while wooden buildings would leave no trace after one or two centuries, if indeed they were not burned by the savages as soon as abandoned." from what is seen in the southern and western states antiquarians have reached the following conclusions: . the so-called mound builders were no wandering and feeble tribes, but constituted a large population under one central government; this is shown by the extent of the works, as well as their completeness and scientific exactness. . a large area around their settlements was cleared of timber and cultivated, showing that they were an agricultural people. . as nature does not give a forest growth to abandoned fields, without a preparatory growth of shrubs and softer timber, and as forest trees have been found on their mounds showing at least six hundred years of growth, it follows that they left our country nearly a thousand years ago. . from the increase of fortifications north-ward, and the broad flat mounds, suitable only for buildings southward, it is proven that at the south they were at peace; but as they advanced northward they came more and more into contact with the wild tribes, before whom they finally retired toward the south. the excavations of the mounds show clearly that their builders had commercial intercourse with mexico and central america, and it seems probable that they had otherwise a very close relation to the people of those countries. antiquarians have therefore searched diligently in the few remaining books and traditions of the mexicans, and central americans, for mention of the origin and history of the mound builders. nor have they searched in vain. "it is believed," says baldwin, "that distinct reference to their country has been found in the books still in existence, and there appears to be reason for this belief." brasseur de bourbourg, one of the few investigators who have explored them, says: "previous to the history of the toltec domination in mexico, we notice in the annals of the country two facts of great importance, but equally obscure in their details: first, the tradition concerning the landing of a foreign race, conducted by an illustrious personage, who came from an eastern country; and, second, the existence of an ancient empire known as huehue-tlapalan, from which the toltecs or nahuas came to mexico, in consequence of a _revolution_ or _invasion,_ and from which they had a long and toilsome migration to the aztec plateau." he believes that huehue-tlapalan was the country of the mound builders in the mississippi and ohio valleys. according to the native books he has examined, it was somewhere at a distance in the northeast; and it is constantly said that some of the toltecs came by land and some by sea. sahagun learned from the old books and traditions that the toltecs came from that distant northeastern country; and he mentions a company that came by sea, settled near the tampico river, and built a town called panuco. brasseur de bourbourg finds that an account of this or another company was preserved at xilanco, an ancient city situated on the point of an island between lake terminos and the sea, and famous for its commerce, wealth and intelligence. the company described in this account came from the northeast in the same way, it is said, to tampico river, and landed at panuco. it consisted of twenty chiefs and a numerous company of people. torquemada found a record which describes them as people of fine appearance. they went forward into the country and were well received. he says they were industrious, orderly and intelligent, and that they worked metals and were skilful artists and lapidaries. all the accounts say the toltecs came at different times, by land and sea, mostly in small companies, and always from the northeast. this can be explained only by supposing they came by sea from the mouth of the mississippi river, and by land through texas. but the country from which they came was invariably huehue-tlapalan. cabrera says huehue-tlapalan was the ancient country of the toltecs. its simple name was tlapalan, but they called it huehue, old, to distinguish it from three other tlapalans which they founded in the districts of their new kingdom. torquemada says the same. we are compelled to accept a fact so distinctly stated and so constantly reported in the old books, especially as the following statement is also made in connection with it, to account for the toltec migration, that huehue-tlapalan was successfully invaded by chichinecs, meaning _barbarous aboriginal tribes,_ who were united under one great leader. here is the statement (a little condensed) touching this point: "there was a terrible struggle, but, after about thirteen years, the toltecs, no longer able to resist successfully, were obliged to abandon their country to escape complete subjugation. two chiefs guided the march of the emigrating nation. at length they reached a region near the sea named 'tlapalan-conco,' where they remained several years. but they finally undertook another migration, and reached mexico, where they built a town called 'tollanzinco,' and later the city of tullan, which became the seat of their government." brasseur de bourbourg says: "in the histories written in the nahuatl language, the oldest certain date is nine hundred and fifty-five years before christ." if this date is authentic it would follow that the nahuas, or toltecs, left huehue-tlapalan more than a thousand years previous to the christian era, for they dwelt a long time in the country of xibalba as peaceable settlers before they organized the civil war which raised them to power. the toltecs were in turn overthrown by the aztecs, who held sway at the time of the spanish conquest. the toltecs came originally from mexico or central america, and when they were expelled from the ohio and mississippi valleys by hordes of wild indians from the north, they simply returned to their "father land"; but they had been absent so long they appeared as a different people. baldwin well says "the fact that the settlements and works of the mound builders extended through texas and across the rio grande indicates very plainly their connection with the people of mexico, and goes far toward explaining their origin. in fact, the connection of settlements by way of texas appears to have been unbroken from ohio to mexico. these people could not have come from any other part of north america, for nowhere else north of the isthmus was there any other people capable of producing such works as they left in the places where they dwelt. we have other evidence of intercourse between the two peoples; for the _obsidian_ dug from the mounds, and perhaps the _porphyry_ also, can be explained only by supposing commercial relations between them." the aztecs, whom the spaniards found, were the last of at least three civilized races, and much inferior to the toltecs immediately preceding them. their history indicates that they were merely one of the original races, who overthrew and mingled with the toltecs, adopting part of their religion and civilization. the peruvian incas, found by pizarro, seem to have been the second of the series of races or dynasties. but civilization is of slow growth; it must have required at least a thousand years for the first of the three dynasties to have developed art and learning enough to erect the buildings we find. de bourbourg and other antiquarians have given to that race before the incas, the authors of the original civilization, the name of colhuas. this much is, to say the least, reasonable conjecture. it is probably a thousand years since the mound builders left our country; a previous thousand years of settlement and occupation; and a thousand years for the precedent civilization to develop. or, beginning in mexico, we have a thousand years of spaniard and aztec; a previous thousand years for toltec immigration and settlement, and a thousand years before that for the colhuas to develop, flourish and decline. this carries us back near to the time when the same course of events was inaugurated in the eastern hemisphere. we _know_ that it has required so long to produce the civilization of europe and asia; all reasoning by analogy goes to show that at least as long a time has been required to produce equally as great civilization in america. indeed it is not a stretch of the imagination to conclude that within a few centuries of the same period when the northern barbarians were sweeping down on southern europe and smiting its civilization with the besom of destruction, that history was repeating itself on this continent in the expulsion of our civilized mound builders, and the destruction of everything perishable by _our_ northern barbarians, the wild indian tribes, the american tartars, who also came from northern asia, and who were, broadly speaking, the same race. these are my views on this much mooted question. i do not pretend to have settled the matter, and still look for more light. but, "what i have written, i have written," after much investigation and careful thought. i send this book forth on its mission, and through its printed pages have endeavored to "speak as to wise men;" and to _that class_ will only add, "judge ye what i say." just as we were about to publish this work, our attention was called to an illustrated article in the _cosmopolitan_ giving an account of the expedition sent out by morris k. jesup, president of the american museum of natural history, of new york. mr. jesup has spent a large sum of money, and eight years' time, in a minute study of the aboriginal tribes of northwest america and siberia, the results of which will soon be published in twelve volumes. the principal object of this expedition was to find an answer to the question, how was this continent peopled? it was believed by mr. jesup and his advisers that by studying tribal customs, characteristics, traditions and languages of the oldest remaining tribes of northeastern asia and northwestern america, the mooted question could be settled. this was accordingly done, but, strange to say, their conclusions are, that instead of america being peopled by tribes from northeastern asia, "it seems most probable that the emigration has been from the interior of america westward to the pacific coast, and thence on to asia." there is not a hint in the article under consideration of anything like proof (whatever there may be in the twelve volumes), and even if it were established, which is not claimed, it would still fail of an answer to the question as to how america was peopled. the world cares but little for a fine-spun theory as to how asia was peopled, and if this is the principal result of the millions of money, eight years of time and twelve quarto volumes, then it would almost seem that "the mountain has labored and brought forth a mouse." but we believe the twelve volumes will throw very much more light on the subject, and concede that it would be an injustice to judge of the results of the expedition by a brief magazine article, and await the complete report with intense interest. the illustrations of this article, four of which we are able to reproduce by courtesy of the _cosmopolitan,_ are very fine and very suggestive. the reader will remember that our position is that the tribes of eastern asia and western america, more especially those of siberia and alaska, were originally one race and sprang from the same source. moreover, we agree with cuvier that the chinese, japanese, mongols and american indians all belong to the same yellow race. these four pictures, representing a japanese man and maiden in the dress of ukiah (alaska) indians; and a ukiah man and maiden in the japanese costume, prove our position beyond cavil. a study of the pictures will convince the most skeptical, that, dressed the same, they would look like brothers and sisters of one family. they show further what an important part dress and visual impression play in the formation of popular ideas of racial characteristics. an indian costume effectually changes a japanese into a very life-like american aborigine. in the same way japanese dress works the most puzzling transformation in the indians. we were looking for pictures to illustrate this last chapter in general, and the unity of the yellow and red race in particular, when we received the article and four pictures. they have interested the author, and he trusts they will the reader, as they are rare and out of the usual order. our task is done. it is for the reader to say whether or not it is well done. {illustration: finis.} animal heroes by ernest thompson seton note to reader a hero is an individual of unusual gifts and achievements. whether it be man or animal, this definition applies; and it is the histories of such that appeal to the imagination and to the hearts of those who hear them. in this volume every one of the stories, though more or less composite, is founded on the actual life of a veritable animal hero. the most composite is the white reindeer. this story i wrote by utrovand in norway during the summer of , while the reindeer herds grazed in sight on the near uplands. the lynx is founded on some of my own early experiences in the backwoods. it is less than ten years since the 'jack warhorse' won his hero-crown. thousands of "kaskadoans" will remember him, and by the name warhorse his coursing exploits are recorded in several daily papers. the least composite is arnaux. it is so nearly historical that several who knew the bird have supplied additional items of information. the nest of the destroying peregrines, with its owners and their young, is now to be seen in the american museum of natural history of new york. the museum authorities inform me that pigeon badges with the following numbers were found in the nest: -s, , u. , , j. f. , ex. , - , c . perhaps some pigeon-lover may learn from these lines the fate of one or other wonderful flier that has long been recorded "never returned." contents the slum cat arnaux--the chronicle of a homing pigeon badlands billy--the wolf that won the boy and the lynx little warhorse--the history of a jack-rabbit snap--the story of a bull-terrier the winnipeg wolf the legend of the white reindeer the slum cat life i i "m-e-a-t! m-e-a-t!" came shrilling down scrimper's alley. surely the pied piper of hamelin was there, for it seemed that all the cats in the neighborhood were running toward the sound, though the dogs, it must be confessed, looked scornfully indifferent. "meat! meat!" and louder; then the centre of attraction came in view--a rough, dirty little man with a push-cart; while straggling behind him were a score of cats that joined in his cry with a sound nearly the same as his own. every fifty yards, that is, as soon as a goodly throng of cats was gathered, the push-cart stopped. the man with the magic voice took out of the box in his cart a skewer on which were pieces of strong-smelling boiled liver. with a long stick he pushed the pieces off. each cat seized on one, and wheeling, with a slight depression of the ears and a little tiger growl and glare, she rushed away with her prize to devour it in some safe retreat. "meat! meat!" and still they came to get their portions. all were well known to the meat-man. there was castiglione's tiger; this was jones's black; here was pralitsky's "torkershell," and this was madame danton's white; there sneaked blenkinshoff's maltee, and that climbing on the barrow was sawyer's old orange billy, an impudent fraud that never had had any financial backing,--all to be remembered and kept in account. this one's owner was sure pay, a dime a week; that one's doubtful. there was john washee's cat, that got only a small piece because john was in arrears. then there was the saloon-keeper's collared and ribboned ratter, which got an extra lump because the 'barkeep' was liberal; and the rounds-man's cat, that brought no cash, but got unusual consideration because the meat-man did. but there were others. a black cat with a white nose came rushing confidently with the rest, only to be repulsed savagely. alas! pussy did not understand. she had been a pensioner of the barrow for months. why this unkind change? it was beyond her comprehension. but the meat-man knew. her mistress had stopped payment. the meat-man kept no books but his memory, and it never was at fault. outside this patrician 'four hundred' about the barrow, were other cats, keeping away from the push-cart because they were not on the list, the social register as it were, yet fascinated by the heavenly smell and the faint possibility of accidental good luck. among these hangers-on was a thin gray slummer, a homeless cat that lived by her wits--slab-sided and not over-clean. one could see at a glance that she was doing her duty by a family in some out-of-the-way corner. she kept one eye on the barrow circle and the other on the possible dogs. she saw a score of happy cats slink off with their delicious 'daily' and their tiger-like air, but no opening for her, till a big tom of her own class sprang on a little pensioner with intent to rob. the victim dropped the meat to defend herself against the enemy, and before the 'all-powerful' could intervene, the gray slummer saw her chance, seized the prize, and was gone. she went through the hole in menzie's side door and over the wall at the back, then sat down and devoured the lump of liver, licked her chops, felt absolutely happy, and set out by devious ways to the rubbish-yard, where, in the bottom of an old cracker-box, her family was awaiting her. a plaintive mewing reached her ears. she went at speed and reached the box to see a huge black tom-cat calmly destroying her brood. he was twice as big as she, but she went at him with all her strength, and he did as most animals will do when caught wrong-doing, he turned and ran away. only one was left, a little thing like its mother, but of more pronounced color--gray with black spots, and a white touch on nose, ears, and tail-tip. there can be no question of the mother's grief for a few days; but that wore off, and all her care was for the survivor. that benevolence was as far as possible from the motives of the murderous old tom there can be no doubt; but he proved a blessing in deep disguise, for both mother and kit were visibly bettered in a short time. the daily quest for food continued. the meat-man rarely proved a success, but the ash-cans were there, and if they did not afford a meat-supply, at least they were sure to produce potato-skins that could be used to allay the gripe of hunger for another day. one night the mother cat smelt a wonderful smell that came from the east river at the end of the alley. a new smell always needs investigating, and when it is attractive as well as new, there is but one course open. it led pussy to the docks a block away, and then out on a wharf, away from any cover but the night. a sudden noise, a growl and a rush, were the first notice she had that she was cut off by her old enemy, the wharf dog. there was only one escape. she leaped from the wharf to the vessel from which the smell came. the dog could not follow, so when the fish-boat sailed in the morning pussy unwillingly went with her and was seen no more. ii the slum kitten waited in vain for her mother. the morning came and went. she became very hungry. toward evening a deep-laid instinct drove her forth to seek food. she slunk out of the old box, and feeling her way silently among the rubbish, she smelt everything that seemed eatable, but without finding food. at length she reached the wooden steps leading down into jap malee's bird-store underground. the door was open a little. she wandered into a world of rank and curious smells and a number of living things in cages all about her. a negro was sitting idly on a box in a corner. he saw the little stranger enter and watched it curiously. it wandered past some rabbits. they paid no heed. it came to a wide-barred cage in which was a fox. the gentleman with the bushy tail was in a far corner. he crouched low; his eyes glowed. the kitten wandered, sniffing, up to the bars, put its head in, sniffed again, then made toward the feed-pan, to be seized in a flash by the crouching fox. it gave a frightened "mew," but a single shake cut that short and would have ended kitty's nine lives at once, had not the negro come to the rescue. he had no weapon and could not get into the cage, but he spat with such copious vigor in the fox's face that he dropped the kitten and returned to the corner, there to sit blinking his eyes in sullen fear. the negro pulled the kitten out. the shake of the beast of prey seemed to have stunned the victim, really to have saved it much suffering. the kitten seemed unharmed, but giddy. it tottered in a circle for a time, then slowly revived, and a few minutes later was purring in the negro's lap, apparently none the worse, when jap malee, the bird-man, came home. jap was not an oriental; he was a full-blooded cockney, but his eyes were such little accidental slits aslant in his round, flat face, that his first name was forgotten in the highly descriptive title of "jap." he was not especially unkind to the birds and beasts whose sales were supposed to furnish his living, but his eye was on the main chance; he knew what he wanted. he didn't want the slum kitten. the negro gave it all the food it could eat, then carried it to a distant block and dropped it in a neighboring iron-yard. iii one full meal is as much as any one needs in two or three days, and under the influence of this stored-up heat and power, kitty was very lively. she walked around the piled-up rubbish, cast curious glances on far-away canary-birds in cages that hung from high windows; she peeped over fences, discovered a large dog, got quietly down again, and presently finding a sheltered place in full sunlight, she lay down and slept for an hour. a slight 'sniff' awakened her, and before her stood a large black cat with glowing green eyes, and the thick neck and square jaws that distinguish the tom; a scar marked his cheek, and his left ear was torn. his look was far from friendly; his ears moved backward a little, his tail twitched, and a faint, deep sound came from his throat. the kitten innocently walked toward him. she did not remember him. he rubbed the sides of his jaws on a post, and quietly, slowly turned and disappeared. the last that she saw of him was the end of his tail twitching from side to side; and the little slummer had no idea that she had been as near death to-day, as she had been when she ventured into the fox-cage. as night came on the kitten began to feel hungry. she examined carefully the long invisible colored stream that the wind is made of. she selected the most interesting of its strands, and, nose-led, followed. in the corner of the iron-yard was a box of garbage. among this she found something that answered fairly well for food; a bucket of water under a faucet offered a chance to quench her thirst. the night was spent chiefly in prowling about and learning the main lines of the iron-yard. the next day she passed as before, sleeping in the sun. thus the time wore on. sometimes she found a good meal at the garbage-box, sometimes there was nothing. once she found the big black tom there, but discreetly withdrew before he saw her. the water-bucket was usually at its place, or, failing that, there were some muddy little pools on the stone below. but the garbage-box was very unreliable. once it left her for three days without food. she searched along the high fence, and seeing a small hole, crawled through that and found herself in the open street. this was a new world, but before she had ventured far, there was a noisy, rumbling rush--a large dog came bounding, and kitty had barely time to run back into the hole in the fence. she was dreadfully hungry, and glad to find some old potato-peelings, which gave a little respite from the hunger-pang. in the morning she did not sleep, but prowled for food. some sparrows chirruped in the yard. they were often there, but now they were viewed with new eyes. the steady pressure of hunger had roused the wild hunter in the kitten; those sparrows were game--were food. she crouched instinctively and stalked from cover to cover, but the chirpers were alert and flew in time. not once, but many times, she tried without result except to confirm the sparrows in the list of things to be eaten if obtainable. on the fifth day of ill luck the slum kitty ventured forth into the street, desperately bent on finding food. when far from the haven hole some small boys opened fire at her with pieces of brick. she ran in fear. a dog joined in the chase, and kitty's position grew perilous; but an old-fashioned iron fence round a house-front was there, and she slipped in between the rails as the dog overtook her. a woman in a window above shouted at the dog. then the boys dropped a piece of cat-meat down to the unfortunate; and kitty had the most delicious meal of her life. the stoop afforded a refuge. under this she sat patiently till nightfall came with quiet, then sneaked back like a shadow to her old iron-yard. thus the days went by for two months. she grew in size and strength and in an intimate knowledge of the immediate neighborhood. she made the acquaintance of downey street, where long rows of ash-cans were to be seen every morning. she formed her own ideas of their proprietors. the big house was to her, not a roman catholic mission, but a place whose garbage-tins abounded in choicest fish scrapings. she soon made the acquaintance of the meat-man, and joined in the shy fringe of cats that formed the outer circle. she also met the wharf dog as well as two or three other horrors of the same class. she knew what to expect of them and how to avoid them; and she was happy in being the inventor of a new industry. many thousand cats have doubtless hung, in hope, about the tempting milk-cans that the early milk-man leaves on steps and window-ledges, and it was by the merest accident that kitty found one with a broken lid, and so was taught to raise it and have a satisfying drink. bottles, of course, were beyond her, but many a can has a misfit lid, and kitty was very painstaking in her efforts to discover the loose-jointed ones. finally she extended her range by exploration till she achieved the heart of the next block, and farther, till once more among the barrels and boxes of the yard behind the bird-man's cellar. the old iron-yard never had been home, she had always felt like a stranger there; but here she had a sense of ownership, and at once resented the presence of another small cat. she approached this newcomer with threatening air. the two had got as far as snarling and spitting when a bucket of water from an upper window drenched them both and effectually cooled their wrath. they fled, the newcomer over the wall, slum kitty under the very box where she had been born. this whole back region appealed to her strongly, and here again she took up her abode. the yard had no more garbage food than the other and no water at all, but it was frequented by stray rats and a few mice of the finest quality; these were occasionally secured, and afforded not only a palatable meal, but were the cause of her winning a friend. iv kitty was now fully grown. she was a striking-looking cat of the tiger type. her marks were black on a very pale gray, and the four beauty-spots of white on nose, ears, and tail-tip lent a certain distinction. she was very expert at getting a living, and yet she had some days of starvation and failed in her ambition of catching a sparrow. she was quite alone, but a new force was coming into her life. she was lying in the sun one august day, when a large black cat came walking along the top of a wall in her direction. she recognized him at once by his torn ear. she slunk into her box and hid. he picked his way gingerly, bounded lightly to a shed that was at the end of the yard, and was crossing the roof when a yellow cat rose up. the black torn glared and growled, so did the yellow tom. their tails lashed from side to side. strong throats growled and yowled. they approached each other with ears laid back, with muscles a-tense. "yow-yow-ow!" said the black one. "wow-w-w!" was the slightly deeper answer. "ya-wow-wow-wow!" said the black one, edging up half an inch nearer. "yow-w-w!" was the yellow answer, as the blond cat rose to full height and stepped with vast dignity a whole inch forward. "yow-w!" and he went another inch, while his tail went swish, thump, from one side to the other. "ya-wow-yow-w!" screamed the black in a rising tone, and he backed the eighth of an inch, as he marked the broad, unshrinking breast before him. windows opened all around, human voices were heard, but the cat scene went on. "yow-yow-ow!" rumbled the yellow peril, his voice deepening as the other's rose. "yow!" and he advanced another step. now their noses were but three inches apart; they stood sidewise, both ready to clinch, but each waiting for the other. they glared for three minutes in silence and like statues, except that each tail-tip was twisting. the yellow began again. "yow-ow-ow!" in deep tone. "ya-a-a--a-a!" screamed the black, with intent to strike terror by his yell; but he retreated one sixteenth of an inch. the yellow walked up a long half-inch; their whiskers were mixing now; another advance, and their noses almost touched. "yo-w-w!" said yellow, like a deep moan. "y-a-a-a-a-a-a!" screamed the black, but he retreated a thirty-second of an inch, and the yellow warrior closed and clinched like a demon. oh, how they rolled and bit and tore, especially the yellow one! how they pitched and gripped and hugged, but especially the yellow one! over and over, sometimes one on top, sometimes another, but mostly the yellow one; and farther till they rolled off the roof, amid cheers from all the windows. they lost not a second in that fall to the junk-yard; they tore and clawed all the way down, but especially the yellow one. and when they struck the ground, still fighting, the one on top was chiefly the yellow one; and before they separated both had had as much as they wanted, especially the black one! he scaled a wall and, bleeding and growling, disappeared, while the news was passed from window to window that cayley's nig had been licked at last by orange billy. either the yellow cat was a very clever seeker, or else slum kitty did not hide very hard; but he discovered her among the boxes, and she made no attempt to get away, probably because she had witnessed the fight. there is nothing like success in warfare to win the female heart, and thereafter the yellow tom and kitty became very good friends, not sharing each other's lives or food,--cats do not do that way much,--but recognizing each other as entitled to special friendly privileges. v september had gone. october's shortening days were on when an event took place in the old cracker-box. if orange billy had come he would have seen five little kittens curled up in the embrace of their mother, the little slum cat. it was a wonderful thing for her. she felt all the elation an animal mother can feel, all the delight, and she loved them and licked them with a tenderness that must have been a surprise to herself, had she had the power to think of such things. she had added a joy to her joyless life, but she had also added a care and a heavy weight to her heavy load. all her strength was taken now to find food. the burden increased as the offspring grew up big enough to scramble about the boxes, which they did daily during her absence after they were six weeks old. that troubles go in flocks and luck in streaks, is well known in slumland. kitty had had three encounters with dogs, and had been stoned by malee's negro during a two days' starve. then the tide turned. the very next morning she found a full milk-can without a lid, successfully robbed a barrow pensioner, and found a big fish-head, all within two hours. she had just returned with that perfect peace which comes only of a full stomach, when she saw a little brown creature in her junk-yard. hunting memories came back in strength; she didn't know what it was, but she had killed and eaten several mice, and this was evidently a big mouse with bob-tail and large ears. kitty stalked it with elaborate but unnecessary caution; the little rabbit simply sat up and looked faintly amused. he did not try to run, and kitty sprang on him and bore him off. as she was not hungry, she carried him to the cracker-box and dropped him among the kittens. he was not much hurt. he got over his fright, and since he could not get out of the box, he snuggled among the kittens, and when they began to take their evening meal he very soon decided to join them. the old cat was puzzled. the hunter instinct had been dominant, but absence of hunger had saved the rabbit and given the maternal instinct a chance to appear. the result was that the rabbit became a member of the family, and was thenceforth guarded and fed with the kittens. two weeks went by. the kittens romped much among the boxes during their mother's absence. the rabbit could not get out of the box. jap malee, seeing the kittens about the back yard, told the negro to shoot them. this he was doing one morning with a -calibre rifle. he had shot one after another and seen them drop from sight into the crannies of the lumber-pile, when the old cat came running along the wall from the dock, carrying a small wharf rat. he had been ready to shoot her, too, but the sight of that rat changed his plans: a rat-catching cat was worthy to live. it happened to be the very first one she had ever caught, but it saved her life. she threaded the lumber-maze to the cracker-box and was probably puzzled to find that there were no kittens to come at her call, and the rabbit would not partake of the rat. pussy curled up to nurse the rabbit, but she called from time to time to summon the kittens. guided by that call, the negro crawled quietly to the place, and peering down into the cracker-box, saw, to his intense surprise, that it contained the old cat, a live rabbit, and a dead rat. the mother cat laid back her ears and snarled. the negro withdrew, but a minute later a board was dropped on the opening of the cracker-box, and the den with its tenants, dead and alive, was lifted into the bird-cellar. "say, boss, look a-hyar--hyar's where de little rabbit got to wot we lost. yo' sho t'ought ah stoled him for de 'tater-bake." kitty and bunny were carefully put in a large wire cage and exhibited as a happy family till a few days later, when the rabbit took sick and died. pussy had never been happy in the cage. she had enough to eat and drink, but she craved her freedom--would likely have gotten 'death or liberty' now, but that during the four days' captivity she had so cleaned and slicked her fur that her unusual coloring was seen, and jap decided to keep her. life ii vi jap malee was as disreputable a little cockney bantam as ever sold cheap canary-birds in a cellar. he was extremely poor, and the negro lived with him because the 'henglish-man' was willing to share bed and board, and otherwise admit a perfect equality that few americans conceded. jap was perfectly honest according to his lights, but he hadn't any lights; and it was well known that his chief revenue was derived from storing and restoring stolen dogs and cats. the half-dozen canaries were mere blinds. yet jap believed in himself. "hi tell you, sammy, me boy, you'll see me with 'orses of my own yet," he would say, when some trifling success inflated his dirty little chest. he was not without ambition, in a weak, flabby, once-in-a-while way, and he sometimes wished to be known as a fancier. indeed, he had once gone the wild length of offering a cat for exhibition at the knickerbocker high society cat and pet show, with three not over-clear objects: first, to gratify his ambition; second, to secure the exhibitor's free pass; and, third, "well, you kneow, one 'as to kneow the valuable cats, you kneow, when one goes a-catting." but this was a society show, the exhibitor had to be introduced, and his miserable alleged half-persian was scornfully rejected. the 'lost and found' columns of the papers were the only ones of interest to jap, but he had noticed and saved a clipping about 'breeding for fur.' this was stuck on the wall of his den, and under its influence he set about what seemed a cruel experiment with the slum cat. first, he soaked her dirty fur with stuff to kill the two or three kinds of creepers she wore; and, when it had done its work, he washed her thoroughly in soap and warm water, in spite of her teeth, claws, and yowls. kitty was savagely indignant, but a warm and happy glow spread over her as she dried off in a cage near the stove, and her fur began to fluff out with wonderful softness and whiteness. jap and his assistant were much pleased with the result, and kitty ought to have been. but this was preparatory: now for the experiment. "nothing is so good for growing fur as plenty of oily food and continued exposure to cold weather," said the clipping. winter was at hand, and jap malee put kitty's cage out in the yard, protected only from the rain and the direct wind, and fed her with all the oil-cake and fish-heads she could eat. in a week a change began to show. she was rapidly getting fat and sleek--she had nothing to do but get fat and dress her fur. her cage was kept clean, and nature responded to the chill weather and the oily food by making kitty's coat thicker and glossier every day, so that by midwinter she was an unusually beautiful cat in the fullest and finest of fur, with markings that were at least a rarity. jap was much pleased with the result of the experiment, and as a very little success had a wonderful effect on him, he began to dream of the paths of glory. why not send the slum cat to the show now coming on? the failure of the year before made him more careful as to details. "'t won't do, ye kneow, sammy, to henter 'er as a tramp cat, ye kneow," he observed to his help; "but it kin be arranged to suit the knickerbockers. nothink like a good noime, ye kneow. ye see now it had orter be 'royal' somethink or other--nothink goes with the knickerbockers like 'royal' anythink. now 'royal dick,' or 'royal sam,' 'ow's that? but 'owld on; them's tom names. oi say, sammy, wot's the noime of that island where ye wuz born?" "analostan island, sah, was my native vicinity, sah." "oi say, now, that's good, ye kneow. 'royal analostan,' by jove! the onliest pedigreed 'royal analostan' in the 'ole sheow, ye kneow. ain't that foine?" and they mingled their cackles. "but we'll 'ave to 'ave a pedigree, ye kneow." so a very long fake pedigree on the recognized lines was prepared. one dark afternoon sam, in a borrowed silk hat, delivered the cat and the pedigree at the show door. the darkey did the honors. he had been a sixth avenue barber, and he could put on more pomp and lofty hauteur in five minutes than jap malee could have displayed in a lifetime, and this, doubtless, was one reason for the respectful reception awarded the royal analostan at the cat show. jap was very proud to be an exhibitor; but he had all a cockney's reverence for the upper class, and when on the opening day he went to the door, he was overpowered to see the array of carriages and silk hats. the gate-man looked at him sharply, but passed him on his ticket, doubtless taking him for stable-boy to some exhibitor. the hall had velvet carpets before the long rows of cages. jap, in his small cunning, was sneaking down the side rows, glancing at the cats of all kinds, noting the blue ribbons and the reds, peering about but not daring to ask for his own exhibit, inly trembling to think what the gorgeous gathering of fashion would say if they discovered the trick he was playing on them. he had passed all around the outer aisles and seen many prize-winners, but no sign of slum kitty. the inner aisles were more crowded. he picked his way down them, but still no kitty, and he decided that it was a mistake; the judges had rejected the cat later. never mind; he had his exhibitor's ticket, and now knew where several valuable persians and angoras were to be found. in the middle of the centre aisle were the high-class cats. a great throng was there. the passage was roped, and two policemen were in place to keep the crowd moving. jap wriggled in among them; he was too short to see over, and though the richly gowned folks shrunk from his shabby old clothes, he could not get near; but he gathered from the remarks that the gem of the show was there. "oh, isn't she a beauty!" said one tall woman. "what distinction!" was the reply. "one cannot mistake the air that comes only from ages of the most refined surroundings." "how i should like to own that superb creature!" "such dignity--such repose!" "she has an authentic pedigree nearly back to the pharaohs, i hear"; and poor, dirty little jap marvelled at his own cheek in sending his slum cat into such company. "excuse me, madame." the director of the show now appeared, edging his way through the crowd. "the artist of the 'sporting element' is here, under orders to sketch the 'pearl of the show' for immediate use. may i ask you to stand a little aside? that's it; thank you. "oh, mr. director, cannot you persuade him to sell that beautiful creature?" "hm, i don't know," was the reply. "i understand he is a man of ample means and not at all approachable; but i'll try, i'll try, madame. he was quite unwilling to exhibit his treasure at all, so i understand from his butler. here, you, keep out of the way," growled the director, as the shabby little man eagerly pushed between the artist and the blue-blooded cat. but the disreputable one wanted to know where valuable cats were to be found. he came near enough to get a glimpse of the cage, and there read a placard which announced that "the blue ribbon and gold medal of the knickerbocker high society cat and pet show" had been awarded to the "thoroughbred, pedigreed royal analostan, imported and exhibited by j. malee, esq., the well-known fancier. (not for sale.)" jap caught his breath and stared again. yes, surely; there, high in a gilded cage, on velvet cushions, with four policemen for guards, her fur bright black and pale gray, her bluish eyes slightly closed, was his slum kitty, looking the picture of a cat bored to death with a lot of fuss that she likes as little as she understands it. vii jap malee lingered around that cage, taking in the remarks, for hours--drinking a draught of glory such as he had never known in life before and rarely glimpsed in his dreams. but he saw that it would be wise for him to remain unknown; his "butler" must do all the business. it was slum kitty who made that show a success. each day her value went up in her owner's eyes. he did not know what prices had been given for cats, and thought that he was touching a record pitch when his "butler" gave the director authority to sell the analostan for one hundred dollars. this is how it came about that the slum cat found herself transferred from the show to a fifth avenue mansion. she evinced a most unaccountable wildness at first. her objection to petting, however, was explained on the ground of her aristocratic dislike of familiarity. her retreat from the lap-dog onto the centre of the dinner-table was understood to express a deep-rooted though mistaken idea of avoiding a defiling touch. her assaults on a pet canary were condoned for the reason that in her native orient she had been used to despotic example. the patrician way in which she would get the cover off a milk-can was especially applauded. her dislike of her silk-lined basket, and her frequent dashes against the plate-glass windows, were easily understood: the basket was too plain, and plate-glass was not used in her royal home. her spotting of the carpet evidenced her eastern modes of thought. the failure of her several attempts to catch sparrows in the high-walled back yard was new proof of the royal impotency of her bringing up; while her frequent wallowings in the garbage-can were understood to be the manifestation of a little pardonable high-born eccentricity. she was fed and pampered, shown and praised; but she was not happy. kitty was homesick! she clawed at that blue ribbon round her neck till she got it off; she jumped against the plate-glass because that seemed the road to outside; she avoided people and dogs because they had always proved hostile and cruel; and she would sit and gaze on the roofs and back yards at the other side of the window, wishing she could be among them for a change. but she was strictly watched, was never allowed outside--so that all the happy garbage-can moments occurred while these receptacles of joy were indoors. one night in march, however, as they were set out a-row for the early scavenger, the royal analostan saw her chance, slipped out of the door, and was lost to view. of course there was a grand stir; but pussy neither knew nor cared anything about that--her one thought was to go home. it may have been chance that took her back in the direction of gramercy grange hill, but she did arrive there after sundry small adventures. and now what? she was not at home, and she had cut off her living. she was beginning to be hungry, and yet she had a peculiar sense of happiness. she cowered in a front garden for some time. a raw east wind had been rising, and now it came to her with a particularly friendly message; man would have called it an unpleasant smell of the docks, but to pussy it was welcome tidings from home. she trotted down the long street due east, threading the rails of front gardens, stopping like a statue for an instant, or crossing the street in search of the darkest side, and came at length to the docks and to the water. but the place was strange. she could go north or south. something turned her southward; and, dodging among docks and dogs, carts and cats, crooked arms of the bay and straight board fences, she got, in an hour or two, among familiar scenes and smells; and, before the sun came up, she had crawled back--weary and foot-sore through the same old hole in the same old fence and over a wall to her junk-yard back of the bird-cellar--yes, back into the very cracker-box where she was born. oh, if the fifth avenue family could only have seen her in her native orient! after a long rest she came quietly down from the cracker-box toward the steps leading to the cellar, engaged in her old-time pursuit of seeking for eatables. the door opened, and there stood the negro. he shouted to the bird-man inside: "say, boss, come hyar. ef dere ain't dat dar royal ankalostan am comed back!" jap came in time to see the cat jumping the wall. they called loudly and in the most seductive, wheedling tones: "pussy, pussy, poor pussy! come, pussy!" but pussy was not prepossessed in their favor, and disappeared to forage in her old-time haunts. the royal analostan had been a windfall for jap--had been the means of adding many comforts to the cellar and several prisoners to the cages. it was now of the utmost importance to recapture her majesty. stale meat-offal and other infallible lures were put out till pussy, urged by the reestablished hunger-pinch, crept up to a large fish-head in a box-trap; the negro, in watching, pulled the string that dropped the lid, and, a minute later, the analostan was once more among the prisoners in the cellar. meanwhile jap had been watching the 'lost and found' column. there it was, "$ reward," etc. that night mr. malee's butler called at the fifth avenue mansion with the missing cat. "mr. malee's compliments, sah. de royal analostan had recurred in her recent proprietor's vicinity and residence, sah. mr. malee had pleasure in recuperating the royal analostan, sah." of course mr. malee could not be rewarded, but the butler was open to any offer, and plainly showed that he expected the promised reward and something more. kitty was guarded very carefully after that; but so far from being disgusted with the old life of starving, and glad of her ease, she became wilder and more dissatisfied. viii the spring was doing its new york best. the dirty little english sparrows were tumbling over each other in their gutter brawls, cats yowled all night in the areas, and the fifth avenue family were thinking of their country residence. they packed up, closed house and moved off to their summer home, some fifty miles away, and pussy, in a basket, went with them. "just what she needed: a change of air and scene to wean her away from her former owners and make her happy." the basket was lifted into a rumble-shaker. new sounds and passing smells were entered and left. a turn in the course was made. then a roaring of many feet, more swinging of the basket; a short pause, another change of direction, then some clicks, some bangs, a long shrill whistle, and door-bells of a very big front door; a rumbling, a whizzing, an unpleasant smell, a hideous smell, a growing horrible, hateful choking smell, a deadly, griping, poisonous stench, with roaring that drowned poor kitty's yowls, and just as it neared the point where endurance ceased, there was relief. she heard clicks and clacks. there was light; there was air. then a man's voice called, "all out for th street," though of course to kitty it was a mere human bellow. the roaring almost ceased--did cease. later the rackety-bang was renewed with plenty of sounds and shakes, though not the poisonous gas; a long, hollow, booming roar with a pleasant dock smell was quickly passed, and then there was a succession of jolts, roars, jars, stops, clicks, clacks, smells, jumps, shakes, more smells, more shakes,--big shakes, little shakes,--gases, smokes, screeches, door-bells, tremblings, roars, thunders, and some new smells, raps, taps, heavings, rumblings, and more smells, but all without any of the feel that the direction is changed. when at last it stopped, the sun came twinkling through the basket-lid. the royal cat was lifted into a rumble-shaker of the old familiar style, and, swerving aside from their past course, very soon the noises of its wheels were grittings and rattlings; a new and horrible sound was added--the barking of dogs, big and little and dreadfully close. the basket was lifted, and slum kitty had reached her country home. every one was officiously kind. they wanted to please the royal cat, but somehow none of them did, except, possibly, the big, fat cook that kitty discovered on wandering into the kitchen. this unctuous person smelt more like a slum than anything she had met for months, and the royal analostan was proportionately attracted. the cook, when she learned that fears were entertained about the cat staying, said: "shure, she'd 'tind to thot; wanst a cat licks her futs, shure she's at home." so she deftly caught the unapproachable royalty in her apron, and committed the horrible sacrilege of greasing the soles of her feet with pot-grease. of course kitty resented it--she resented everything in the place; but on being set down she began to dress her paws and found evident satisfaction in that grease. she licked all four feet for an hour, and the cook triumphantly announced that now "shure she'd be apt to shtay." and stay she did, but she showed a most surprising and disgusting preference for the kitchen, the cook, and the garbage-pail. the family, though distressed by these distinguished peculiarities, were glad to see the royal analostan more contented and approachable. they gave her more liberty after a week or two. they guarded her from every menace. the dogs were taught to respect her. no man or boy about the place would have dreamed of throwing a stone at the famous pedigreed cat. she had all the food she wanted, but still she was not happy. she was hankering for many things, she scarcely knew what. she had everything--yes, but she wanted something else. plenty to eat and drink--yes, but milk does not taste the same when you can go and drink all you want from a saucer; it has to be stolen out of a tin pail when you are belly-pinched with hunger and thirst, or it does not have the tang--it isn't milk. yes, there was a junk-yard back of the house and beside it and around it too, a big one, but it was everywhere poisoned and polluted with roses. the very horses and dogs had the wrong smells; the whole country round was a repellent desert of lifeless, disgusting gardens and hay-fields, without a single tenement or smoke-stack in sight. how she did hate it all! there was only one sweet-smelling shrub in the whole horrible place, and that was in a neglected corner. she did enjoy nipping that and rolling in the leaves; it was a bright spot in the grounds; but the only one, for she had not found a rotten fish-head nor seen a genuine garbage-can since she came, and altogether it was the most unlovely, unattractive, unsmellable spot she had ever known. she would surely have gone that first night had she had the liberty. the liberty was weeks in coming, and, meanwhile, her affinity with the cook had developed as a bond to keep her; but one day after a summer of discontent a succession of things happened to stir anew the slum instinct of the royal prisoner. a great bundle of stuff from the docks had reached the country mansion. what it contained was of little moment, but it was rich with a score of the most piquant and winsome of dock and slum smells. the chords of memory surely dwell in the nose, and pussy's past was conjured up with dangerous force. next day the cook 'left' through some trouble over this very bundle. it was the cutting of cables, and that evening the youngest boy of the house, a horrid little american with no proper appreciation of royalty, was tying a tin to the blue-blooded one's tail, doubtless in furtherance of some altruistic project, when pussy resented the liberty with a paw that wore five big fish-hooks for the occasion. the howl of downtrodden america roused america's mother. the deft and womanly blow that she aimed with her book was miraculously avoided, and pussy took flight, up-stairs, of course. a hunted rat runs down-stairs, a hunted dog goes on the level, a hunted cat runs up. she hid in the garret, baffled discovery, and waited till night came. then, gliding down-stairs, she tried each screen-door in turn, till she found one unlatched, and escaped into the black august night. pitch-black to man's eyes, it was simply gray to her, and she glided through the disgusting shrubbery and flower-beds, took a final nip at that one little bush that had been an attractive spot in the garden, and boldly took her back track of the spring. how could she take a back track that she never saw? there is in all animals some sense of direction. it is very low in man and very high in horses, but cats have a large gift, and this mysterious guide took her westward, not clearly and definitely, but with a general impulse that was made definite simply because the road was easy to travel. in an hour she had covered two miles and reached the hudson river. her nose had told her many times that the course was true. smell after smell came back, just as a man after walking a mile in a strange street may not recall a single feature, but will remember, on seeing it again, "why, yes, i saw that before." so kitty's main guide was the sense of direction, but it was her nose that kept reassuring her, "yes, now you are right--we passed this place last spring." at the river was the railroad. she could not go on the water; she must go north or south. this was a case where her sense of direction was clear; it said, "go south," and kitty trotted down the foot-path between the iron rails and the fence. life iii ix cats can go very fast up a tree or over a wall, but when it comes to the long steady trot that reels off mile after mile, hour after hour, it is not the cat-hop, but the dog-trot, that counts. although the travelling was good and the path direct, an hour had gone before two more miles were put between her and the hades of roses. she was tired and a little foot-sore. she was thinking of rest when a dog came running to the fence near by, and broke out into such a horrible barking close to her ear that pussy leaped in terror. she ran as hard as she could down the path, at the same time watching to see if the dog should succeed in passing the fence. no, not yet! but he ran close by it, growling horribly, while pussy skipped along on the safe side. the barking of the dog grew into a low rumble--a louder rumble and roaring--a terrifying thunder. a light shone. kitty glanced back to see, not the dog, but a huge black thing with a blazing red eye coming on, yowling and spitting like a yard full of cats. she put forth all her powers to run, made such time as she had never made before, but dared not leap the fence. she was running like a dog, was flying, but all in vain; the monstrous pursuer overtook her, but missed her in the darkness, and hurried past to be lost in the night, while kitty crouched gasping for breath, half a mile nearer home since that dog began to bark. this was her first encounter with the strange monster, strange to her eyes only; her nose seemed to know him and told her this was another landmark on the home trail. but pussy lost much of her fear of his kind. she learned that they were very stupid and could not find her if she slipped quietly under a fence and lay still. before morning she had encountered several of them, but escaped unharmed from all. about sunrise she reached a nice little slum on her home trail, and was lucky enough to find several unsterilized eatables in an ash-heap. she spent the day around a stable where were two dogs and a number of small boys, that between them came near ending her career. it was so very like home; but she had no idea of staying there. she was driven by the old craving, and next evening set out as before. she had seen the one-eyed thunder-rollers all day going by, and was getting used to them, so travelled steadily all that night. the next day was spent in a barn where she caught a mouse, and the next night was like the last, except that a dog she encountered drove her backward on her trail for a long way. several times she was misled by angling roads, and wandered far astray, but in time she wandered back again to her general southward course. the days were passed in skulking under barns and hiding from dogs and small boys, and the nights in limping along the track, for she was getting foot-sore; but on she went, mile after mile, southward, ever southward--dogs, boys, roarers, hunger--dogs, boys, roarers, hunger--yet on and onward still she went, and her nose from time to time cheered her by confidently reporting, "there surely is a smell we passed last spring." x so a week went by, and pussy, dirty, ribbon-less, foot-sore, and weary, arrived at the harlem bridge. though it was enveloped in delicious smells, she did not like the look of that bridge. for half the night she wandered up and down the shore without discovering any other means of going south, excepting some other bridges, or anything of interest except that here the men were as dangerous as the boys. somehow she had to come back to it; not only its smells were familiar, but from time to time, when a one-eye ran over it, there was that peculiar rumbling roar that was a sensation in the springtime trip. the calm of the late night was abroad when she leaped to the timber stringer and glided out over the water. she had got less than a third of the way across when a thundering one-eye came roaring at her from the opposite end. she was much frightened, but knowing their stupidity and blindness, she dropped to a low side beam and there crouched in hiding. of course the stupid monster missed her and passed on, and all would have been well, but it turned back, or another just like it came suddenly spitting behind her. pussy leaped to the long track and made for the home shore. she might have got there had not a third of the red-eyed terrors come screeching at her from that side. she was running her hardest, but was caught between two foes. there was nothing for it but a desperate leap from the timbers into-she didn't know what. down, down, down-plop, splash, plunge into the deep water, not cold, for it was august, but oh, so horrible! she spluttered and coughed when she came to the top, glanced around to see if the monsters were swimming after her, and struck out for shore. she had never learned to swim, and yet she swam, for the simple reason that a cat's position and actions in swimming are the same as her position and actions in walking. she had fallen into a place she did not like; naturally she tried to walk out, and the result was that she swam ashore. which shore? the home-love never fails: the south side was the only shore for her, the one nearest home. she scrambled out all dripping wet, up the muddy bank and through coal-piles and dust-heaps, looking as black, dirty, and unroyal as it was possible for a cat to look. once the shock was over, the royal-pedigreed slummer began to feel better for the plunge. a genial glow without from the bath, a genial sense of triumph within, for had she not outwitted three of the big terrors? her nose, her memory, and her instinct of direction inclined her to get on the track again; but the place was infested with those thunder-rollers, and prudence led her to turn aside and follow the river-bank with its musky home-reminders; and thus she was spared the unspeakable horrors of the tunnel. she was over three days learning the manifold dangers and complexities of the east river docks. once she got by mistake on a ferryboat and was carried over to long island; but she took an early boat back. at length on the third night she reached familiar ground, the place she had passed the night of her first escape. from that her course was sure and rapid. she knew just where she was going and how to get there. she knew even the more prominent features in the dog-scape now. she went faster, felt happier. in a little while surely she would be curled up in her native orient--the old junk-yard. another turn, and the block was in sight. but--what! it was gone! kitty couldn't believe her eyes; but she must, for the sun was not yet up. there where once had stood or leaned or slouched or straggled the houses of the block, was a great broken wilderness of stone, lumber, and holes in the ground. kitty walked all around it. she knew by the bearings and by the local color of the pavement that she was in her home, that there had lived the bird-man, and there was the old junk-yard; but all were gone, completely gone, taking their familiar odors with them, and pussy turned sick at heart in the utter hopelessness of the case. her place-love was her master-mood. she had given up all to come to a home that no longer existed, and for once her sturdy little heart was cast down. she wandered over the silent heaps of rubbish and found neither consolation nor eatables. the ruin had taken in several of the blocks and reached back from the water. it was not a fire; kitty had seen one of those things. this looked more like the work of a flock of the red-eyed monsters. pussy knew nothing of the great bridge that was to rise from this very spot. when the sun came up she sought for cover. an adjoining block still stood with little change, and the royal analostan retired to that. she knew some of its trails; but once there, was unpleasantly surprised to find the place swarming with cats that, like herself, were driven from their old grounds, and when the garbage-cans came out there were several slummers at each. it meant a famine in the land, and pussy, after standing it a few days, was reduced to seeking her other home on fifth avenue. she got there to find it shut up and deserted. she waited about for a day; had an unpleasant experience with a big man in a blue coat, and next night returned to the crowded slum. september and october wore away. many of the cats died of starvation or were too weak to escape their natural enemies. but kitty, young and strong, still lived. great changes had come over the ruined blocks. though silent on the night when she first saw them, they were crowded with noisy workmen all day. a tall building, well advanced on her arrival, was completed at the end of october, and slum kitty, driven by hunger, went sneaking up to a pail that a negro had set outside. the pail, unfortunately, was not for garbage; it was a new thing in that region: a scrubbing-pail. a sad disappointment, but it had a sense of comfort--there were traces of a familiar touch on the handle. while she was studying it, the negro elevator-boy came out again. in spite of his blue clothes, his odorous person confirmed the good impression of the handle. kitty had retreated across the street. he gazed at her. "sho ef dat don't look like de royal ankalostan! hyar, pussy, pussy, pu-s-s-s-s-y! co-o-o-o-m-e, pu-u-s-s-sy, hyar! i 'spec's she's sho hungry." hungry! she hadn't had a real meal for months. the negro went into the building and reappeared with a portion of his own lunch. "hyar, pussy, puss, puss, puss!" it seemed very good, but pussy had her doubts of the man. at length he laid the meat on the pavement, and went back to the door. slum kitty came forward very warily; sniffed at the meat, seized it, and fled like a little tigress to eat her prize in peace. life iv xi this was the beginning of a new era. pussy came to the door of the building now whenever pinched by hunger, and the good feeling for the negro grew. she had never understood that man before. he had always seemed hostile. now he was her friend, the only one she had. one week she had a streak of luck. seven good meals on seven successive days; and right on the top of the last meal she found a juicy dead rat, the genuine thing, a perfect windfall. she had never killed a full-grown rat in all her lives, but seized the prize and ran off to hide it for future use. she was crossing the street in front of the new building when an old enemy appeared,--the wharf dog,--and kitty retreated, naturally enough, to the door where she had a friend. just as she neared it, he opened the door for a well-dressed man to come out, and both saw the cat with her prize. "hello! look at that for a cat!" "yes, sah," answered the negro. "dat's ma cat, sah; she's a terror on rats, sah! hez 'em about cleaned up, sah; dat's why she's so thin." "well, don't let her starve," said the man with the air of the landlord. "can't you feed her? "de liver meat-man comes reg'lar, sah; quatah dollar a week, sah," said the negro, fully realizing that he was entitled to the extra fifteen cents for "the idea." "that's all right. i'll stand it." xii "m-e-a-t! m-e-a-t!" is heard the magnetic, cat-conjuring cry of the old liver-man, as his barrow is pushed up the glorified scrimper's alley, and cats come crowding, as of yore, to receive their due. there are cats black, white, yellow, and gray to be remembered, and, above all, there are owners to be remembered. as the barrow rounds the corner near the new building it makes a newly scheduled stop. "hyar, you, get out o' the road, you common trash," cries the liver-man, and he waves his wand to make way for the little gray cat with blue eyes and white nose. she receives an unusually large portion, for sam is wisely dividing the returns evenly; and slum kitty retreats with her 'daily' into shelter of the great building, to which she is regularly attached. she has entered into her fourth life with prospects of happiness never before dreamed of. everything was against her at first; now everything seems to be coming her way. it is very doubtful that her mind was broadened by travel, but she knew what she wanted and she got it. she has achieved her long-time great ambition by catching, not a sparrow, but two of them, while they were clinched in mortal combat in the gutter. there is no reason to suppose that she ever caught another rat; but the negro secures a dead one when he can, for purposes of exhibition, lest her pension be imperilled. the dead one is left in the hall till the proprietor comes; then it is apologetically swept away. "well, drat dat cat, sah; dat royal ankalostan blood, sah, is terrors on rats." she has had several broods since. the negro thinks the yellow tom is the father of some of them, and no doubt the negro is right. he has sold her a number of times with a perfectly clear conscience, knowing quite well that it is only a question of a few days before the royal analostan comes back again. doubtless he is saving the money for some honorable ambition. she has learned to tolerate the elevator, and even to ride up and down on it. the negro stoutly maintains that once, when she heard the meat-man, while she was on the top floor, she managed to press the button that called the elevator to take her down. she is sleek and beautiful again. she is not only one of the four hundred that form the inner circle about the liver-barrow, but she is recognized as the star pensioner among them. the liver-man is positively respectful. not even the cream-and-chicken fed cat of the pawn-broker's wife has such a position as the royal analostan. but in spite of her prosperity, her social position, her royal name and fake pedigree, the greatest pleasure of her life is to slip out and go a-slumming in the gloaming, for now, as in her previous lives, she is at heart, and likely to be, nothing but a dirty little slum cat. arnaux the chronicle of a homing pigeon we passed through the side door of a big stable on west nineteenth street. the mild smell of the well-kept stalls was lost in the sweet odor of hay, as we mounted a ladder and entered the long garret. the south end was walled off, and the familiar "coo-oo, cooooo-oo, ruk-at-a-coo," varied with the "whirr, whirr, whirr" of wings, informed us that we were at the pigeon-loft. this was the home of a famous lot of birds, and to-day there was to be a race among fifty of the youngsters. the owner of the loft had asked me, as an unprejudiced outsider, to be judge in the contest. it was a training race of the young birds. they had been taken out for short distances with their parents once or twice, then set free to return to the loft. now for the first time they were to be flown without the old ones. the point of start, elizabeth, n. j., was a long journey for their first unaided attempt. "but then," the trainer remarked, "that's how we weed out the fools; only the best birds make it, and that's all we want back." there was another side to the flight. it was to be a race among those that did return. each of the men about the loft as well as several neighboring fanciers were interested in one or other of the homers. they made up a purse for the winner, and on me was to devolve the important duty of deciding which should take the stakes. not the first bird back, but the first bird into the loft, was to win, for one that returns to his neighborhood merely, without immediately reporting at home, is of little use as a letter-carrier. the homing pigeon used to be called the carrier because it carried messages, but here i found that name restricted to the show bird, the creature with absurdly developed wattles; the one that carries the messages is now called the homer, or homing pigeon--the bird that always comes home. these pigeons are not of any special color, nor have they any of the fancy adornments of the kind that figure in bird shows. they are not bred for style, but for speed and for their mental gifts. they must be true to their home, able to return to it without fail. the sense of direction is now believed to be located in the bony labyrinth of the ear. there is no creature with finer sense of locality and direction than a good homer, and the only visible proofs of it are the great bulge on each side of the head over the ears, and the superb wings that complete his equipment to obey the noble impulse of home-love. now the mental and physical equipments of the last lot of young birds were to be put to test. although there were plenty of witnesses, i thought it best to close all but one of the pigeon-doors and stand ready to shut that behind the first arrival. i shall never forget the sensations of that day. i had been warned: "they start at ; they should be here at : ; but look out, they come like a whirlwind. you hardly see them till they're in." we were ranged along the inside of the loft, each with an eye to a crack or a partly closed pigeon-door, anxiously scanning the southwestern horizon, when one shouted: "look out--here they come!" like a white cloud they burst into view, low skimming over the city roofs, around a great chimney pile, and in two seconds after first being seen they were back. the flash of white, the rush of pinions, were all so sudden, so short, that, though preparing, i was unprepared. i was at the only open door. a whistling arrow of blue shot in, lashed my face with its pinions, and passed. i had hardly time to drop the little door, as a yell burst from the men, "arnaux! arnaux! i told you he would. oh, he's a darling; only three months old and a winner--he's a little darling!" and arnaux's owner danced, more for joy in his bird than in the purse he had won. the men sat or kneeled and watched him in positive reverence as he gulped a quantity of water, then turned to the food-trough. "look at that eye, those wings, and did you ever see such a breast? oh, but he's the real grit!" so his owner prattled to the silent ones whose birds had been defeated. that was the first of arnaux's exploits. best of fifty birds from a good loft, his future was bright with promise. he was invested with the silver anklet of the sacred order of the high homer. it bore his number, c, a number which to-day means much to all men in the world of the homing pigeon. in that trial flight from elizabeth only forty birds had returned. it is usually so. some were weak and got left behind, some were foolish and strayed. by this simple process of flight selection the pigeon-owners keep improving their stock. of the ten, five were seen no more, but five returned later that day, not all at once, but straggling in; the last of the loiterers was a big, lubberly blue pigeon. the man in the loft at the time called: "here comes that old sap-headed blue that jakey was betting on. i didn't suppose he would come back, and i didn't care, neither, for it's my belief he has a streak of pouter." the big blue, also called "corner-box" from the nest where he was hatched, had shown remarkable vigor from the first. though all were about the same age, he had grown faster, was bigger, and incidentally handsomer, though the fanciers cared little for that. he seemed fully aware of his importance, and early showed a disposition to bully his smaller cousins. his owner prophesied great things of him, but billy, the stable-man, had grave doubts over the length of his neck, the bigness of his crop, his carriage, and his over-size. "a bird can't make time pushing a bag of wind ahead of him. them long legs is dead weight, an' a neck like that ain't got no gimp in it," billy would grunt disparagingly as he cleaned out the loft of a morning. ii the training of the birds went on after this at regular times. the distance from home, of the start, was "jumped" twenty-five or thirty miles farther each day, and its direction changed till the homers knew the country for one hundred and fifty miles around new york. the original fifty birds dwindled to twenty, for the rigid process weeds out not only the weak and ill-equipped, but those also who may have temporary ailments or accidents, or who may make the mistake of over-eating at the start. there were many fine birds in that flight, broad-breasted, bright-eyed, long-winged creatures, formed for swiftest flight, for high unconscious emprise, for these were destined to be messengers in the service of man in times of serious need. their colors were mostly white, blue, or brown. they wore no uniform, but each and all of the chosen remnant had the brilliant eye and the bulging ears of the finest homer blood; and, best and choicest of all, nearly always first among them was little arnaux. he had not much to distinguish him when at rest, for now all of the band had the silver anklet, but in the air it was that arnaux showed his make, and when the opening of the hamper gave the order "start," it was arnaux that first got under way, soared to the height deemed needful to exclude all local influence, divined the road to home, and took it, pausing not for food, drink, or company. notwithstanding billy's evil forecasts, the big blue of the corner-box was one of the chosen twenty. often he was late in returning; he never was first, and sometimes when he came back hours behind the rest, it was plain that he was neither hungry nor thirsty, sure signs that he was a loiterer by the way. still he had come back; and now he wore on his ankle, like the rest, the sacred badge and a number from the roll of possible fame. billy despised him, set him in poor contrast with arnaux, but his owner would reply: "give him a chance;'soon ripe, soon rotten,' an' i always notice the best bird is the slowest to show up at first." before a year little arnaux had made a record. the hardest of all work is over the sea, for there is no chance of aid from landmarks; and the hardest of all times at sea is in fog, for then even the sun is blotted out and there is nothing whatever for guidance. with memory, sight, and hearing unavailable, the homer has one thing left, and herein is his great strength, the inborn sense of direction. there is only one thing that can destroy this, and that is fear, hence the necessity of a stout little heart between those noble wings. arnaux, with two of his order, in course of training, had been shipped on an ocean steamer bound for europe. they were to be released out of sight of land, but a heavy fog set in and forbade the start. the steamer took them onward, the intention being to send them back with the next vessel. when ten hours out the engine broke down, the fog settled dense over the sea, and the vessel was adrift and helpless as a log. she could only whistle for assistance, and so far as results were concerned, the captain might as well have wigwagged. then the pigeons were thought of. starback, c, was first selected. a message for help was written on waterproof paper, rolled up, and lashed to his tail-feathers on the under side. he was thrown into the air and disappeared. half an hour later, a second, the big blue corner-box, c, was freighted with a letter. he flew up, but almost immediately returned and alighted on the rigging. he was a picture of pigeon fear; nothing could induce him to leave the ship. he was so terrorized that he was easily caught and ignominiously thrust back into the coop. now the third was brought out, a small, chunky bird. the shipmen did not know him, but they noted down from his anklet his name and number, arnaux, c. it meant nothing to them. but the officer who held him noted that his heart did not beat so wildly as that of the last bird. the message was taken from the big blue. it ran: a.m., tuesday. we broke our shaft two hundred and ten miles out from new york; we are drifting helplessly in the fog. send out a tug as soon as possible. we are whistling one long, followed at once by one short, every sixty seconds. (signed) the captain. this was rolled up, wrapped in waterproof film, addressed to the steamship company, and lashed to the under side of arnaux's middle tail-feather. when thrown into the air, he circled round the ship, then round again higher, then again higher in a wider circle, and he was lost to view; and still higher till quite out of sight and feeling of the ship. shut out from the use of all his senses now but one, he gave himself up to that. strong in him it was, and untrammelled of that murderous despot fear. true as a needle to the pole went arnaux now, no hesitation, no doubts; within one minute of leaving the coop he was speeding straight as a ray of light for the loft where he was born, the only place on earth where he could be made content. that afternoon billy was on duty when the whistle of fast wings was heard; a blue flyer flashed into the loft and made for the water-trough. he was gulping down mouthful after mouthful, when billy gasped: "why, arnaux, it's you, you beauty." then, with the quick habit of the pigeon-man, he pulled out his watch and marked the time, : p.m. a glance showed the tie string on the tail. he shut the door and dropped the catching-net quickly over arnaux's head. a moment later he had the roll in his hand; in two minutes he was speeding to the office of the company, for there was a fat tip in view. there he learned that arnaux had made the two hundred and ten miles in fog, over sea, in four hours and forty minutes, and within one hour the needful help had set out for the unfortunate steamer. two hundred and ten miles in fog over sea in four hours and forty minutes! this was a noble record. it was duly inscribed in the rolls of the homing club. arnaux was held while the secretary, with rubber stamp and indelible ink, printed on a snowy primary of his right wing the record of the feat, with the date and reference number. starback, the second bird, never was heard of again. no doubt he perished at sea. blue corner-box came back on the tug. iii that was arnaux's first public record; but others came fast, and several curious scenes were enacted in that old pigeon-loft with arnaux as the central figure. one day a carriage drove up to the stable; a white-haired gentleman got out, climbed the dusty stairs, and sat all morning in the loft with billy. peering from his gold-rimmed glasses, first at a lot of papers, next across the roofs of the city, waiting, watching, for what? news from a little place not forty miles away--news of greatest weight to him, tidings that would make or break him, tidings that must reach him before it could be telegraphed: a telegram meant at least an hour's delay at each end. what was faster than that for forty miles? in those days there was but one thing--a high-class homer. money would count for nothing if he could win. the best, the very best at any price he must have, and arnaux, with seven indelible records on his pinions, was the chosen messenger. an hour went by, another, and a third was begun, when with whistle of wings, the blue meteor flashed into the loft. billy slammed the door and caught him. deftly he snipped the threads and handed the roll to the banker. the old man turned deathly pale, fumbled it open, then his color came back. "thank god!" he gasped, and then went speeding to his board meeting, master of the situation. little arnaux had saved him. the banker wanted to buy the homer, feeling in a vague way that he ought to honor and cherish him; but billy was very clear about it. "what's the good? you can't buy a homer's heart. you could keep him a prisoner, that's all; but nothing on earth could make him forsake the old loft where he was hatched." so arnaux stayed at west nineteenth street. but the banker did not forget. there is in our country a class of miscreants who think a flying pigeon is fair game, because it is probably far from home, or they shoot him because it is hard to fix the crime. many a noble homer, speeding with a life or death message, has been shot down by one of these wretches and remorselessly made into a pot-pie. arnaux's brother arnolf, with three fine records on his wings, was thus murdered in the act of bearing a hasty summons for the doctor. as he fell dying at the gunner's feet, his superb wings spread out displayed his list of victories. the silver badge on his leg was there, and the gunner was smitten with remorse. he had the message sent on; he returned the dead bird to the homing club, saying that he "found it." the owner came to see him; the gunner broke down under cross-examination, and was forced to admit that he himself had shot the homer, but did so in behalf of a poor sick neighbor who craved a pigeon-pie. there were tears in the wrath of the pigeon-man. "my bird, my beautiful arnolf, twenty times has he brought vital messages, three times has he made records, twice has he saved human lives, and you'd shoot him for a pot-pie. i could punish you under the law, but i have no heart for such a poor revenge. i only ask you this, if ever again you have a sick neighbor who wants a pigeon-pie, come, we'll freely supply him with pie-breed squabs; but if you have a trace of manhood about you, you will never, never again shoot, or allow others to shoot, our noble and priceless messengers." this took place while the banker was in touch with the loft, while his heart was warm for the pigeons. he was a man of influence, and the pigeon protective legislation at albany was the immediate fruit of arnaux's exploit. iv billy had never liked the corner-box blue ( c); notwithstanding the fact that he still continued in the ranks of the silver badge, billy believed he was poor stuff. the steamer incident seemed to prove him coward; he certainly was a bully. one morning when billy went in there was a row, two pigeons, a large and a small, alternately clinching and sparring all over the floor, feathers flying, dust and commotion everywhere. as soon as they were separated billy found that the little one was arnaux and the big one was the corner-box blue. arnaux had made a good fight, but was overmatched, for the big blue was half as heavy again. soon it was very clear what they had fought over--a pretty little lady pigeon of the bluest homing blood. the big blue cock had kept up a state of bad feeling by his bullying, but it was the little lady that had made them close in mortal combat. billy had no authority to wring the big blue's neck, but he interfered as far as he could in behalf of his favorite arnaux. pigeon marriages are arranged somewhat like those of mankind. propinquity is the first thing: force the pair together for a time and let nature take its course. so billy locked arnaux and the little lady up together in a separate apartment for two weeks, and to make doubly sure he locked big blue up with an available lady in another apartment for two weeks. things turned out just as was expected. the little lady surrendered to arnaux and the available lady to the big blue. two nests were begun and everything shaped for a "lived happily ever after." but the big blue was very big and handsome. he could blow out his crop and strut in the sun and make rainbows all round his neck in a way that might turn the heart of the staidest homerine. arnaux, though sturdily built, was small and except for his brilliant eyes, not especially good-looking. moreover, he was often away on important business, and the big blue had nothing to do but stay around the loft and display his unlettered wings. it is the custom of moralists to point to the lower animals, and especially to the pigeon, for examples of love and constancy, and properly so, but, alas there are exceptions. vice is not by any means limited to the human race. arnaux's wife had been deeply impressed with the big blue, at the outset, and at length while her spouse was absent the dreadful thing took place. arnaux returned from boston one day to find that the big blue, while he retained his own available lady in the corner-box, had also annexed the box and wife that belonged to himself, and a desperate battle followed. the only spectators were the two wives, but they maintained an indifferent aloofness. arnaux fought with his famous wings, but they were none the better weapons because they now bore twenty records. his beak and feet were small, as became his blood, and his stout little heart could not make up for his lack of weight. the battle went against him. his wife sat unconcernedly in the nest, as though it were not her affair, and arnaux might have been killed but for the timely arrival of billy. he was angry enough to wring the blue bird's neck, but the bully escaped from the loft in time. billy took tender care of arnaux for a few days. at the end of a week he was well again, and in ten days he was once more on the road. meanwhile he had evidently forgiven his faithless wife, for, without any apparent feeling, he took up his nesting as before. that month he made two new records. he brought a message ten miles in eight minutes, and he came from boston in four hours. every moment of the way he had been impelled by the master-passion of home-love. but it was a poor home-coming if his wife figured at all in his thoughts, for he found her again flirting with the big blue cock. tired as he was, the duel was renewed, and again would have been to a finish but for billy's interference. he separated the fighters, then shut the blue cock up in a coop, determined to get rid of him in some way. meanwhile the "any age sweepstakes" handicap from chicago to new york was on, a race of nine hundred miles. arnaux had been entered six months before. his forfeit-money was up, and notwithstanding his domestic complications, his friends felt that he must not fail to appear. the birds were sent by train to chicago, to be liberated at intervals there according to their handicap, and last of the start was arnaux. they lost no time, and outside of chicago several of these prime flyers joined by common impulse into a racing flock that went through air on the same invisible track. a homer may make a straight line when following his general sense of direction, but when following a familiar back track he sticks to the well-remembered landmarks. most of the birds had been trained by way of columbus and buffalo. arnaux knew the columbus route, but also he knew that by detroit, and after leaving lake michigan, he took the straight line for detroit. thus he caught up on his handicap and had the advantage of many miles. detroit, buffalo, rochester, with their familiar towers and chimneys, faded behind him, and syracuse was near at hand. it was now late afternoon; six hundred miles in twelve hours he had flown and was undoubtedly leading the race; but the usual thirst of the flyer had attacked him. skimming over the city roofs, he saw a loft of pigeons, and descending from his high course in two or three great circles, he followed the ingoing birds to the loft and drank greedily at the water-trough, as he had often done before, and as every pigeon-lover hospitably expects the messengers to do. the owner of the loft was there and noted the strange bird. he stepped quietly to where he could inspect him. one of his own pigeons made momentary opposition to the stranger, and arnaux, sparring sidewise with an open wing in pigeon style, displayed the long array of printed records. the man was a fancier. his interest was aroused; he pulled the string that shut the flying door, and in a few minutes arnaux was his prisoner. the robber spread the much-inscribed wings, read record after record, and glancing at the silver badge--it should have been gold--he read his name--arnaux; then exclaimed: "arnaux! arnaux! oh, i've heard of you, you little beauty, and it's glad i am to trap you." he snipped the message from his tail, unrolled it, and read: "arnaux left chicago this morning at a.m., scratched in the any age sweepstakes for new york." "six hundred miles in twelve hours! by the powers, that's a record-breaker." and the pigeon-stealer gently, almost reverently, put the fluttering bird safely into a padded cage. "well," he added, "i know it's no use trying to make you stay, but i can breed from you and have some of your strain." so arnaux was shut up in a large and comfortable loft with several other prisoners. the man, though a thief, was a lover of homers; he gave his captive everything that could insure his comfort and safety. for three months he left him in that loft. at first arnaux did nothing all day but walk up and down the wire screen, looking high and low for means of escape; but in the fourth month he seemed to have abandoned the attempt, and the watchful jailer began the second part of his scheme. he introduced a coy young lady pigeon. but it did not seem to answer; arnaux was not even civil to her. after a time the jailer removed the female, and arnaux was left in solitary confinement for a month. now a different female was brought in, but with no better luck; and thus it went on--for a year different charmers were introduced. arnaux either violently repelled them or was scornfully indifferent, and at times the old longing to get away, came back with twofold power, so that he darted up and down the wire front or dashed with all his force against it. when the storied feathers of his wings began their annual moult, his jailer saved them as precious things, and as each new feather came he reproduced on it the record of its owner's fame. two years went slowly by, and the jailer had put arnaux in a new loft and brought in another lady pigeon. by chance she closely resembled the faithless one at home. arnaux actually heeded the newcomer. once the jailer thought he saw his famous prisoner paying some slight attention to the charmer, and, yes, he surely saw her preparing a nest. then assuming that they had reached a full understanding, the jailer, for the first time, opened the outlet, and arnaux was free. did he hang around in doubt? did he hesitate? no, not for one moment. as soon as the drop of the door left open the way, he shot through, he spread those wonderful blazoned wings, and, with no second thought for the latest circe, sprang from the hated prison loft--away and away. v we have no means of looking into the pigeon's mind; we may go wrong in conjuring up for it deep thoughts of love and welcome home; but we are safe in this, we cannot too strongly paint, we cannot too highly praise and glorify that wonderful god-implanted, mankind-fostered home-love that glows unquenchably in this noble bird. call it what you like, a mere instinct deliberately constructed by man for his selfish ends, explain it away if you will, dissect it, misname it, and it still is there, in overwhelming, imperishable master-power, as long as the brave little heart and wings can beat. home, home, sweet home! never had mankind a stronger love of home than arnaux. the trials and sorrows of the old pigeon-loft were forgotten in that all-dominating force of his nature. not years of prison bars, not later loves, nor fear of death, could down its power; and arnaux, had the gift of song been his, must surely have sung as sings a hero in his highest joy, when sprang he from the 'lighting board, up-circling free, soaring, drawn by the only impulse that those glorious wings would honor,--up, up, in widening, heightening circles of ashy blue in the blue, flashing those many-lettered wings of white, till they seemed like jets of fire--up and on, driven by that home-love, faithful to his only home and to his faithless mate; closing his eyes, they say; closing his ears, they tell; shutting his mind,--we all believe,--to nearer things, to two years of his life, to one half of his prime, but soaring in the blue, retiring, as a saint might do, into his inner self, giving himself up to that inmost guide. he was the captain of the ship, but the pilot, the chart and compass, all, were that deep-implanted instinct. one thousand feet above the trees the inscrutable whisper came, and arnaux in arrowy swiftness now was pointing for the south-southeast. the little flashes of white fire on each side were lost in the low sky, and the reverent robber of syracuse saw arnaux nevermore. the fast express was steaming down the valley. it was far ahead, but arnaux overtook and passed it, as the flying wild duck passes the swimming muskrat. high in the valleys he went, low over the hills of chenango, where the pines were combing the breezes. out from his oak-tree eyrie a hawk came wheeling and sailing, silent, for he had marked the flyer, and meant him for his prey. arnaux turned neither right nor left, nor raised nor lowered his flight, nor lost a wing-beat. the hawk was in waiting in the gap ahead, and arnaux passed him, even as a deer in his prime may pass by a bear in his pathway. home! home! was the only burning thought, the blinding impulse. beat, beat, beat, those flashing pinions went with speed unslacked on the now familiar road. in an hour the catskills were at hand. in two hours he was passing over them. old friendly places, swiftly coming now, lent more force to his wings. home! home! was the silent song that his heart was singing. like the traveller dying of thirst, that sees the palm-trees far ahead, his brilliant eyes took in the distant smoke of manhattan. out from the crest of the catskills there launched a falcon. swiftest of the race of rapine, proud of his strength, proud of his wings, he rejoiced in a worthy prey. many and many a pigeon had been borne to his nest, and riding the wind he came, swooping, reserving his strength, awaiting the proper time. oh, how well he knew the very moment! down, down like a flashing javelin; no wild duck, no hawk could elude him, for this was a falcon. turn back now, o homer, and save yourself; go round the dangerous hills. did he turn? not a whit! for this was arnaux. home! home! home! was his only thought. to meet the danger, he merely added to his speed; and the peregrine stooped; stooped at what?--a flashing of color, a twinkling of whiteness--and went back empty. while arnaux cleft the air of the valley as a stone from a sling, to be lost--a white-winged bird--a spot with flashing halo--and, quickly, a speck in the offing. on down the dear valley of hudson, the well-known highway; for two years he had not seen it! now he dropped low as the noon breeze came north and ruffled the river below him. home! home! home! and the towers of a city are coming in view! home! home! past the great spider-bridge of poughkeepsie, skimming, skirting the river-banks. low now by the bank as the wind arose. low, alas! too low! what fiend was it tempted a gunner in june to lurk on that hill by the margin? what devil directed his gaze to the twinkling of white that came from the blue to the northward? oh, arnaux, arnaux, skimming low, forget not the gunner of old! too low, too low you are clearing that hill. too low--too late! flash--bang! and the death-hail has reached him; reached, maimed, but not downed him. out of the flashing pinions broken feathers printed with records went fluttering earthward. the "naught" of his sea record was gone. not two hundred and ten, but twenty-one miles it now read. oh, shameful pillage! a dark stain appeared on his bosom, but arnaux kept on. home, home, homeward bound. the danger was past in an instant. home, homeward he steered straight as before, but the wonderful speed was diminished; not a mile a minute now; and the wind made undue sounds in his tattered pinions. the stain in his breast told of broken force; but on, straight on, he flew. home, home was in sight, and the pain in his breast was forgotten. the tall towers of the city were in clear view of his far-seeing eye as he skimmed by the high cliffs of jersey. on, on--the pinion might flag, the eye might darken, but the home-love was stronger and stronger. under the tall palisades, to be screened from the wind, he passed, over the sparkling water, over the trees, under the peregrines' eyrie, under the pirates' castle where the great grim peregrines sat; peering like black-masked highwaymen they marked the on-coming pigeon. arnaux knew them of old. many a message was lying undelivered in that nest, many a record-bearing plume had fluttered away from its fastness. but arnaux had faced them before, and now he came as before--on, onward, swift, but not as he had been; the deadly gun had sapped his force, had lowered his speed. on, on; and the peregrines, biding their time, went forth like two bow-bolts; strong and lightning-swift they went against one weak and wearied. why tell of the race that followed? why paint the despair of a brave little heart in sight of the home he had craved in vain? in a minute all was over. the peregrines screeched in their triumph. screeching and sailing, they swung to their eyrie, and the prey in their claws was the body, the last of the bright little arnaux. there on the rocks the beaks and claws of the bandits were red with the life of the hero. torn asunder were those matchless wings, and their records were scattered unnoticed. in sun and in storm they lay till the killers themselves were killed and their stronghold rifled. and none knew the fate of the peerless bird till deep in the dust and rubbish of that pirate-nest the avenger found, among others of its kind, a silver ring, the sacred badge of the high homer, and read upon it the pregnant inscription: "arnaux, c." badlands billy the wolf that won i the howl by night do you know the three calls of the hunting wolf:--the long-drawn deep howl, the muster, that tells of game discovered but too strong for the finder to manage alone; and the higher ululation that ringing and swelling is the cry of the pack on a hot scent; and the sharp bark coupled with a short howl that, seeming least of all, is yet a gong of doom, for this is the cry "close in"--this is the finish? we were riding the badland buttes, king and i, with a pack of various hunting dogs stringing behind or trotting alongside. the sun had gone from the sky, and a blood-streak marked the spot where he died, away over sentinel butte. the hills were dim, the valleys dark, when from the nearest gloom there rolled a long-drawn cry that all men recognize instinctively--melodious, yet with a tone in it that sends a shudder up the spine, though now it has lost all menace for mankind. we listened for a moment. it was the wolf-hunter who broke silence: "that's badlands billy; ain't it a voice? he's out for his beef to-night." ii ancient days in pristine days the buffalo herds were followed by bands of wolves that preyed on the sick, the weak, and the wounded. when the buffalo were exterminated the wolves were hard put for support, but the cattle came and solved the question for them by taking the buffaloes' place. this caused the wolf-war. the ranchmen offered a bounty for each wolf killed, and every cowboy out of work, was supplied with traps and poison for wolf-killing. the very expert made this their sole business and became known as wolvers. king ryder was one of these. he was a quiet, gentlespoken fellow, with a keen eye and an insight into animal life that gave him especial power over broncos and dogs, as well as wolves and bears, though in the last two cases it was power merely to surmise where they were and how best to get at them. he had been a wolver for years, and greatly surprised me by saying that "never in all his experience had he known a gray-wolf to attack a human being." we had many camp-fire talks while the other men were sleeping, and then it was i learned the little that he knew about badlands billy. "six times have i seen him and the seventh will be sunday, you bet. he takes his long rest then." and thus on the very ground where it all fell out, to the noise of the night wind and the yapping of the coyote, interrupted sometimes by the deep-drawn howl of the hero himself, i heard chapters of this history which, with others gleaned in many fields, gave me the story of the big dark wolf of sentinel butte. iii in the caÃ�on away back in the spring of ' a wolver was "wolving" on the east side of the sentinel mountain that so long was a principal landmark of the old plainsmen. pelts were not good in may, but the bounties were high, five dollars a head, and double for she-wolves. as he went down to the creek one morning he saw a wolf coming to drink on the other side. he had an easy shot, and on killing it found it was a nursing she-wolf. evidently her family were somewhere near, so he spent two or three days searching in all the likely places, but found no clue to the den. two weeks afterward, as the wolver rode down an adjoining cañon, he saw a wolf come out of a hole. the ever-ready rifle flew up, and another ten-dollar scalp was added to his string. now he dug into the den and found the litter, a most surprising one indeed, for it consisted not of the usual five or six wolf-pups, but of eleven, and these, strange to say, were of two sizes, five of them larger and older than the other six. here were two distinct families with one mother, and as he added their scalps to his string of trophies the truth dawned on the hunter. one lot was surely the family of the she-wolf he had killed two weeks before. the case was clear: the little ones awaiting the mother that was never to come, had whined piteously and more loudly as their hunger-pangs increased; the other mother passing had heard the cubs; her heart was tender now, her own little ones had so recently come, and she cared for the orphans, carried them to her own den, and was providing for the double family when the rifleman had cut the gentle chapter short. many a wolver has dug into a wolf-den to find nothing. the old wolves or possibly the cubs themselves often dig little side pockets and off galleries, and when an enemy is breaking in they hide in these. the loose earth conceals the small pocket and thus the cubs escape. when the wolver retired with his scalps he did not know that the biggest of all the cubs, was still in the den, and even had he waited about for two hours, he might have been no wiser. three hours later the sun went down and there was a slight scratching afar in the hole; first two little gray paws, then a small black nose appeared in a soft sand-pile to one side of the den. at length the cub came forth from his hiding. he had been frightened by the attack on the den; now he was perplexed by its condition. it was thrice as large as it had been and open at the top now. lying near were things that smelled like his brothers and sisters, but they were repellent to him. he was filled with fear as he sniffed at them, and sneaked aside into a thicket of grass, as a night-hawk boomed over his head. he crouched all night in that thicket. he did not dare to go near the den, and knew not where else he could go. the next morning when two vultures came swooping down on the bodies, the wolf-cub ran off in the thicket, and seeking its deepest cover, was led down a ravine to a wide valley. suddenly there arose from the grass a big she-wolf, like his mother, yet different, a stranger, and instinctively the stray cub sank to the earth, as the old wolf bounded on him. no doubt the cub had been taken for some lawful prey, but a whiff set that right. she stood over him for an instant. he grovelled at her feet. the impulse to kill him or at least give him a shake died away. he had the smell of a young cub. her own were about his age, her heart was touched, and when he found courage enough to put his nose up and smell her nose, she made no angry demonstration except a short half-hearted growl. now, however, he had smelled something that he sorely needed. he had not fed since the day before, and when the old wolf turned to leave him, he tumbled after her on clumsy puppy legs. had the mother-wolf been far from home he must soon have been left behind, but the nearest hollow was the chosen place, and the cub arrived at the den's mouth soon after the mother-wolf. a stranger is an enemy, and the old one rushing forth to the defense, met the cub again, and again was restrained by something that rose in her responsive to the smell. the cub had thrown himself on his back in utter submission, but that did not prevent his nose reporting to him the good thing almost within reach. the she-wolf went into the den and curled herself about her brood; the cub persisted in following. she snarled as he approached her own little ones, but disarming wrath each time by submission and his very cubhood, he was presently among her brood, helping himself to what he wanted so greatly, and thus he adopted himself into her family. in a few days he was so much one of them that the mother forgot about his being a stranger. yet he was different from them in several ways--older by two weeks, stronger, and marked on the neck and shoulders with what afterward grew to be a dark mane. little duskymane could not have been happier in his choice of a foster-mother, for the yellow wolf was not only a good hunter with a fund of cunning, but she was a wolf of modern ideas as well. the old tricks of tolling a prairie dog, relaying for antelope, houghing a bronco or flanking a steer she had learned partly from instinct and partly from the example of her more experienced relatives, when they joined to form the winter bands. but, just as necessary nowadays, she had learned that all men carry guns, that guns are irresistible, that the only way to avoid them is by keeping out of sight while the sun is up, and yet that at night they are harmless. she had a fair comprehension of traps, indeed she had been in one once, and though she left a toe behind in pulling free, it was a toe most advantageously disposed of; thenceforth, though not comprehending the nature of the trap, she was thoroughly imbued with the horror of it, with the idea indeed that iron is dangerous, and at any price it should be avoided. on one occasion, when she and five others were planning to raid a sheep yard, she held back at the last minute because some newstrung wires appeared. the others rushed in to find the sheep beyond their reach, themselves in a death-trap. thus she had learned the newer dangers, and while it is unlikely that she had any clear mental conception of them she had acquired a wholesome distrust of all things strange, and a horror of one or two in particular that proved her lasting safeguard. each year she raised her brood successfully and the number of yellow wolves increased in the country. guns, traps, men and the new animals they brought had been learned, but there was yet another lesson before her--a terrible one indeed. about the time duskymane's brothers were a month old his foster-mother returned in a strange condition. she was frothing at the mouth, her legs trembled, and she fell in a convulsion near the doorway of the den, but recovering, she came in. her jaws quivered, her teeth rattled a little as she tried to lick the little ones; she seized her own front leg and bit it so as not to bite them, but at length she grew quieter and calmer. the cubs had retreated in fear to a far pocket, but now they returned and crowded about her to seek their usual food. the mother recovered, but was very ill for two or three days, and those days with the poison in her system worked disaster for the brood. they were terribly sick; only the strongest could survive, and when the trial of strength was over, the den contained only the old one and the black-maned cub, the one she had adopted. thus little duskymane became her sole charge; all her strength was devoted to feeding him, and he thrived apace. wolves are quick to learn certain things. the reactions of smell are the greatest that a wolf can feel, and thenceforth both cub and foster-mother experienced a quick, unreasoning sense of fear and hate the moment the smell of strychnine reached them. iv the rudiments of wolf training with the sustenance of seven at his service the little wolf had every reason to grow, and when in the autumn he began to follow his mother on her hunting trips he was as tall as she was. now a change of region was forced on them, for numbers of little wolves were growing up. sentinel butte, the rocky fastness of the plains, was claimed by many that were big and strong; the weaker must move out, and with them yellow wolf and the dusky cub. wolves have no language in the sense that man has; their vocabulary is probably limited to a dozen howls, barks, and grunts expressing the simplest emotions; but they have several other modes of conveying ideas, and one very special method of spreading information--the wolf-telephone. scattered over their range are a number of recognized "centrals." sometimes these are stones, sometimes the angle of cross-trails, sometimes a buffalo-skull--indeed, any conspicuous object near a main trail is used. a wolf calling here, as a dog does at a telegraph post, or a muskrat at a certain mud-pie point, leaves his body-scent and learns what other visitors have been there recently to do the same. he learns also whence they came and where they went, as well as something about their condition, whether hunted, hungry, gorged, or sick. by this system of registration a wolf knows where his friends, as well as his foes, are to be found. and duskymane, following after the yellow wolf, was taught the places and uses of the many signal-stations without any conscious attempt at teaching on the part of his foster-mother. example backed by his native instincts was indeed the chief teacher, but on one occasion at least there was something very like the effort of a human parent to guard her child in danger. the dark cub had learned the rudiments of wolf life: that the way to fight dogs is to run, and to fight as you run, never grapple, but snap, snap, snap, and make for the rough country where horses cannot bring their riders. he learned not to bother about the coyotes that follow for the pickings when you hunt; you cannot catch them and they do you no harm. he knew he must not waste time dashing after birds that alight on the ground; and that he must keep away from the little black and white animal with the bushy tail. it is not very good to eat, and it is very, very bad to smell. poison! oh, he never forgot that smell from the day when the den was cleared of all his foster-brothers. he now knew that the first move in attacking sheep was to scatter them; a lone sheep is a foolish and easy prey; that the way to round up a band of cattle was to frighten a calf. he learned that he must always attack a steer behind, a sheep in front, and a horse in the middle, that is, on the flank, and never, never attack a man at all, never even face him. but an important lesson was added to these, one in which the mother consciously taught him of a secret foe. v the lesson on traps a calf had died in branding-time and now, two weeks later, was in its best state for perfect taste, not too fresh, not over-ripe--that is, in a wolf's opinion--and the wind carried this information afar. the yellow wolf and duskymane were out for supper, though not yet knowing where, when the tidings of veal arrived, and they trotted up the wind. the calf was in an open place, and plain to be seen in the moonlight. a dog would have trotted right up to the carcass, an old-time wolf might have done so, but constant war had developed constant vigilance in the yellow wolf, and trusting nothing and no one but her nose, she slacked her speed to a walk. on coming in easy view she stopped, and for long swung her nose, submitting the wind to the closest possible chemical analysis. she tried it with her finest tests, blew all the membranes clean again and tried it once more; and this was the report of the trusty nostrils, yes, the unanimous report. first, rich and racy smell of calf, seventy per cent.; smells of grass, bugs, wood, flowers, trees, sand, and other uninteresting negations, fifteen per cent.; smell of her cub and herself, positive but ignorable, ten per cent.; smell of human tracks, two per cent.; smell of smoke, one per cent.; of sweaty leather smell, one per cent.; of human body-scent (not discernible in some samples), one-half per cent.; smell of iron, a trace. the old wolf crouched a little but sniffed hard with swinging nose; the young wolf imitatively did the same. she backed off to a greater distance; the cub stood. she gave a low whine; he followed unwillingly. she circled around the tempting carcass; a new smell was recorded--coyote trail-scent, soon followed by coyote body-scent. yes, there they were sneaking along a near ridge, and now as she passed to one side the samples changed, the wind had lost nearly every trace of calf; miscellaneous, commonplace, and uninteresting smells were there instead. the human track-scent was as before, the trace of leather was gone, but fully one-half per cent, of iron-odor, and body smell of man raised to nearly two per cent. fully alarmed, she conveyed her fear to the cub, by her rigid pose, her air intent, and her slightly bristling mane. she continued her round. at one time on a high place the human body scent was doubly strong, then as she dropped it faded. then the wind brought the full calf-odor with several track-scents of coyotes and sundry birds. her suspicions were lulling as in a smalling circle she neared the tempting feast from the windward side. she had even advanced straight toward it for a few steps when the sweaty leather sang loud and strong again, and smoke and iron mingled like two strands of a parti-colored yarn. centring all her attention on this, she advanced within two leaps of the calf. there on the ground was a scrap of leather, telling also of a human touch, close at hand the calf, and now the iron and smoke on the full vast smell of calf were like a snake trail across the trail of a whole beef herd. it was so slight that the cub, with the appetite and impatience of youth, pressed up against his mother's shoulder to go past and eat without delay. she seized him by the neck and flung him back. a stone struck by his feet rolled forward and stopped with a peculiar clink. the danger smell was greatly increased at this, and the yellow wolf backed slowly from the feast, the cub unwillingly following. as he looked wistfully he saw the coyotes drawing nearer, mindful chiefly to avoid the wolves. he watched their really cautious advance; it seemed like heedless rushing compared with his mother's approach. the calf smell rolled forth in exquisite and overpowering excellence now, for they were tearing the meat, when a sharp clank was heard and a yelp from a coyote. at the same time the quiet night was shocked with a roar and a flash of fire. heavy shots spattered calf and coyotes, and yelping like beaten dogs they scattered, excepting one that was killed and a second struggling in the trap set here by the ever-active wolvers. the air was charged with the hateful smells redoubled now, and horrid smells additional. the yellow wolf glided down a hollow and led her cub away in flight, but, as they went, they saw a man rush from the bank near where the mother's nose had warned her of the human scent. they saw him kill the caught coyote and set the traps for more. vi the beguiling of the yellow wolf the life game is a hard game, for we may win ten thousand times, and if we fail but once our gain is gone. how many hundred times had the yellow wolf scorned the traps; how many cubs she had trained to do the same! of all the dangers to her life she best knew traps. october had come; the cub was now much taller than the mother. the wolver had seen them once--a yellow wolf followed by another, whose long, awkward legs, big, soft feet, thin neck, and skimpy tail proclaimed him this year's cub. the record of the dust and sand said that the old one had lost a right front toe, and that the young one was of giant size. it was the wolver that thought to turn the carcass of the calf to profit, but he was disappointed in getting coyotes instead of wolves. it was the beginning of the trapping season, for this month fur is prime. a young trapper often fastens the bait on the trap; an experienced one does not. a good trapper will even put the bait at one place and the trap ten or twenty feet away, but at a spot that the wolf is likely to cross in circling. a favorite plan is to hide three or four traps around an open place, and scatter some scraps of meat in the middle. the traps are buried out of sight after being smoked to hide the taint of hands and iron. sometimes no bait is used except a little piece of cotton or a tuft of feathers that may catch the wolf's eye or pique its curiosity and tempt it to circle on the fateful, treacherous ground. a good trapper varies his methods continually so that the wolves cannot learn his ways. their only safeguards are perpetual vigilance and distrust of all smells that are known to be of man. the wolver, with a load of the strongest steel traps, had begun his autumn work on the 'cottonwood.' an old buffalo trail crossing the river followed a little draw that climbed the hills to the level upland. all animals use these trails, wolves and foxes as well as cattle and deer: they are the main thoroughfares. a cottonwood stump not far from where it plunged to the gravelly stream was marked with wolf signs that told the wolver of its use. here was an excellent place for traps, not on the trail, for cattle were here in numbers, but twenty yards away on a level, sandy spot he set four traps in a twelve-foot square. near each he scattered two or three scraps of meat; three or four white feathers on a spear of grass in the middle completed the setting. no human eye, few animal noses, could have detected the hidden danger of that sandy ground, when the sun and wind and the sand itself had dissipated the man-track taint. the yellow wolf had seen and passed, and taught her giant son to pass, such traps a thousand times before. the cattle came to water in the heat of the day. they strung down the buffalo path as once the buffalo did. the little vesper-birds flitted before them, the cowbirds rode on them, and the prairie-dogs chattered at them, just as they once did at the buffalo. down from the gray-green mesa with its green-gray rocks, they marched with imposing solemnity, importance, and directness of purpose. some frolicsome calves, playing along-side the trail, grew sober and walked behind their mothers as the river flat was reached. the old cow that headed the procession sniffed suspiciously as she passed the "trap set," but it was far away, otherwise she would have pawed and bellowed over the scraps of bloody beef till every trap was sprung and harmless. but she led to the river. after all had drunk their fill they lay down on the nearest bank till late afternoon. then their unheard dinner-gong aroused them, and started them on the backward march to where the richest pastures grew. one or two small birds had picked at the scraps of meat, some blue-bottle flies buzzed about, but the sinking sun saw the sandy mask untouched. a brown marsh hawk came skimming over the river flat as the sun began his color play. blackbirds dashed into thickets, and easily avoided his clumsy pounce. it was too early for the mice, but, as he skimmed the ground, his keen eye caught the flutter of feathers by the trap and turned his flight. the feathers in their uninteresting emptiness were exposed before he was near, but now he saw the scraps of meat. guileless of cunning, he alighted and was devouring a second lump when--clank--the dust was flirted high and the marsh hawk was held by his toes, struggling vainly in the jaws of a powerful wolf-trap. he was not much hurt. his ample wings winnowed from time to time, in efforts to be free, but he was helpless, even as a sparrow might be in a rat-trap, and when the sun had played his fierce chromatic scale, his swan-song sung, and died as he dies only in the blazing west, and the shades had fallen on the melodramatic scene of the mouse in the elephant-trap, there was a deep, rich sound on the high flat butte, answered by another, neither very long, neither repeated, and both instinctive rather than necessary. one was the muster-call of an ordinary wolf, the other the answer of a very big male, not a pair in this case, but mother and son--yellow wolf and duskymane. they came trotting together down the buffalo trail. they paused at the telephone box on the hill and again at the old cottonwood root, and were making for the river when the hawk in the trap fluttered his wings. the old wolf turned toward him,-a wounded bird on the ground surely, and she rushed forward. sun and sand soon burn all trail-scents; there was nothing to warn her. she sprang on the flopping bird and a chop of her jaws ended his troubles, but a horrid sound--the gritting of her teeth on steel--told her of peril. she dropped the hawk and sprang backward from the dangerous ground, but landed in the second trap. high on her foot its death-grip closed, and leaping with all her strength, to escape, she set her fore foot in another of the lurking grips of steel. never had a trap been so baited before. never was she so unsuspicious. never was catch more sure. fear and fury filled the old wolf's heart; she tugged and strained, she chewed the chains, she snarled and foamed. one trap with its buried log, she might have dragged; with two, she was helpless. struggle as she might, it only worked those relentless jaws more deeply into her feet. she snapped wildly at the air; she tore the dead hawk into shreds; she roared the short, barking roar of a crazy wolf. she bit at the traps, at her cub, at herself. she tore her legs that were held; she gnawed in frenzy at her flank, she chopped off her tail in her madness; she splintered all her teeth on the steel, and filled her bleeding, foaming jaws with clay and sand. she struggled till she fell, and writhed about or lay like dead, till strong enough to rise and grind the chains again with her teeth. and so the night passed by. and duskymane? where was he? the feeling of the time when his foster-mother had come home poisoned, now returned; but he was even more afraid of her. she seemed filled with fighting hate. he held away and whined a little; he slunk off and came back when she lay still, only to retreat again, as she sprang forward, raging at him, and then renewed her efforts at the traps. he did not understand it, but he knew this much, she was in terrible trouble, and the cause seemed to be the same as that which had scared them the night they had ventured near the calf. duskymane hung about all night, fearing to go near, not knowing what to do, and helpless as his mother. at dawn the next day a sheepherder seeking lost sheep discovered her from a neighboring hill. a signal mirror called the wolver from his camp. duskymane saw the new danger. he was a mere cub, though so tall; he could not face the man, and fled at his approach. the wolver rode up to the sorry, tattered, bleeding she-wolf in the trap. he raised his rifle and soon the struggling stopped. the wolver read the trail and the signs about, and remembering those he had read before, he divined that this was the wolf with the great cub--the she-wolf of sentinel butte. duskymane heard the "crack" as he scurried off into cover. he could scarcely know what it meant, but he never saw his kind old foster-mother again. thenceforth he must face the world alone. vii the young wolf wins a place and fame instinct is no doubt a wolf's first and best guide, but gifted parents are a great start in life. the dusky-maned cub had had a mother of rare excellence and he reaped the advantage of all her cleverness. he had inherited an exquisite nose and had absolute confidence in its admonitions. mankind has difficulty in recognizing the power of nostrils. a gray-wolf can glance over the morning wind as a man does over his newspaper, and get all the latest news. he can swing over the ground and have the minutest information of every living creature that has walked there within many hours. his nose even tells which way it ran, and in a word renders a statement of every animal that recently crossed his trail, whence it came, and whither it went. that power had duskymane in the highest degree; his broad, moist nose was evidence of it to all who are judges of such things. added to this, his frame was of unusual power and endurance, and last, he had early learned a deep distrust of everything strange, and, call it what we will, shyness, wariness or suspicion, it was worth more to him than all his cleverness. it was this as much as his physical powers that made a success of his life. might is right in wolf-land, and duskymane and his mother had been driven out of sentinel butte. but it was a very delectable land and he kept drifting back to his native mountain. one or two big wolves there resented his coming. they drove him off several times, yet each time he returned he was better able to face them; and before he was eighteen months old he had defeated all rivals and established himself again on his native ground; where he lived like a robber baron, levying tribute on the rich lands about him and finding safety in the rocky fastness. wolver ryder often hunted in that country, and before long, he came across a five-and-one-half-inch track, the foot-print of a giant wolf. roughly reckoned, twenty to twenty-five pounds of weight or six inches of stature is a fair allowance for each inch of a wolf's foot; this wolf therefore stood thirty-three inches at the shoulder and weighed about one hundred and forty pounds, by far the largest wolf he had ever met. king had lived in goat country, and now in goat language he exclaimed: "you bet, ain't that an old billy?" thus by trivial chance it was that duskymane was known to his foe, as 'badlands billy.' ryder was familiar with the muster-call of the wolves, the long, smooth cry, but billy's had a singular feature, a slurring that was always distinctive. ryder had heard this before, in the cottonwood cañon, and when at length he got a sight of the big wolf with the black mane, it struck him that this was also the cub of the old yellow fury that he had trapped. these were among the things he told me as we sat by the fire at night. i knew of the early days when any one could trap or poison wolves, of the passing of those days, with the passing of the simple wolves; of the new race of wolves with new cunning that were defying the methods of the ranchmen, and increasing steadily in numbers. now the wolver told me of the various ventures that penroof had made with different kinds of hounds; of foxhounds too thin-skinned to fight; of greyhounds that were useless when the animal was out of sight; of danes too heavy for the rough country, and, last, of the composite pack with some of all kinds, including at times a bull-terrier to lead them in the final fight. he told of hunts after coyotes, which usually were successful because the coyotes sought the plains, and were easily caught by the greyhounds. he told of killing some small gray-wolves with this very pack, usually at the cost of the one that led them; but above all he dwelt on the wonderful prowess of "that thar cussed old black wolf of sentinel butte," and related the many attempts to run him down or corner him--an unbroken array of failures. for the big wolf, with exasperating persistence, continued to live on the finest stock of the penroof brand, and each year was teaching more wolves how to do the same with perfect impunity. i listened even as gold-hunters listen to stories of treasure trove, for these were the things of my world. these things indeed were uppermost in all our minds, for the penroof pack was lying around our camp-fire now. we were out after badlands billy. viii the voice in the night and the big track in the morning one night late in september after the last streak of light was gone from the west and the coyotes had begun their yapping chorus, a deep, booming sound was heard. king took out his pipe, turned his head and said: "that's him--that's old billy. he's been watching us all day from some high place, and now when the guns are useless he's here to have a little fun with us." two or three dogs arose, with bristling manes, for they clearly recognized that this was no coyote. they rushed out into the night, but did not go far; their brawling sounds were suddenly varied by loud yelps, and they came running back to the shelter of the fire. one was so badly cut in the shoulder that he was useless for the rest of the hunt. another was hurt in the flank--it seemed the less serious wound, and yet next morning the hunters buried that second dog. the men were furious. they vowed speedy vengeance, and at dawn were off on the trail. the coyotes yelped their dawning song, but they melted into the hills when the light was strong. the hunters searched about for the big wolf's track, hoping that the hounds would be able to take it up and find him, but they either could not or would not. they found a coyote, however, and within a few hundred yards they killed him. it was a victory, i suppose, for coyotes kill calves and sheep, but somehow i felt the common thought of all: "mighty brave dogs for a little coyote, but they could not face the big wolf last night." young penroof, as though in answer to one of the unput questions, said: "say, boys, i believe old billy had a hull bunch of wolves with him last night." "didn't see but one track," said king gruffly. in this way the whole of october slipped by; all day hard riding after doubtful trails, following the dogs, who either could not keep the big trail or feared to do so, and again and again we had news of damage done by the wolf; sometimes a cowboy would report it to us; and sometimes we found the carcasses ourselves. a few of these we poisoned, though it is considered a very dangerous thing to do while running dogs. the end of the month found us a weather-beaten, dispirited lot of men, with a worn-out lot of horses, and a foot-sore pack, reduced in numbers from ten to seven. so far we had killed only one gray-wolf and three coyotes; badlands billy had killed at least a dozen cows and dogs at fifty dollars a head. some of the boys decided to give it up and go home, so king took advantage of their going, to send a letter, asking for reënforcements including all the spare dogs at the ranch. during the two days' wait we rested our horses, shot some game, and prepared for a harder hunt. late on the second day the new dogs arrived--eight beauties--and raised the working pack to fifteen. the weather now turned much cooler, and in the morning, to the joy of the wolvers, the ground was white with snow. this surely meant success. with cool weather for the dogs and horses to run; with the big wolf not far away, for he had been heard the night before; and with tracking snow, so that once found he could not baffle us,--escape for him was impossible. we were up at dawn, but before we could get away, three men came riding into camp. they were the penroof boys back again. the change of weather had changed their minds; they knew that with snow we might have luck. "remember now," said king, as all were mounting, "we don't want any but badlands billy this trip. get him an' we kin bust up the hull combination. it is a five-and-a-half-inch track." and each measured off on his quirt handle, or on his glove, the exact five and a half inches that was to be used in testing the tracks he might find. not more than an hour elapsed before we got a signal from the rider who had gone westward. one shot: that means "attention," a pause while counting ten, then two shots: that means "come on." king gathered the dogs and rode direct to the distant figure on the hill. all hearts beat high with hope, and we were not disappointed. some small wolf tracks had been found, but here at last was the big track, nearly six inches long. young penroof wanted to yell and set out at full gallop. it was like hunting a lion; it was like finding happiness long deferred. the hunter knows nothing more inspiring than the clean-cut line of fresh tracks that is leading to a wonderful animal, he has long been hunting in vain. how king's eye gleamed as he gloated over the sign! ix run down at last it was the roughest of all rough riding. it was a far longer hunt than we had expected, and was full of little incidents, for that endless line of marks was a minute history of all that the big wolf had done the night before. here he had circled at the telephone box and looked for news; there he had paused to examine an old skull; here he had shied off and swung cautiously up wind to examine something that proved to be an old tin can; there at length he had mounted a low hill and sat down, probably giving the muster-howl, for two wolves had come to him from different directions, and they then had descended to the river flat where the cattle would seek shelter during the storm. here all three had visited a buffalo skull; there they trotted in line; and yonder they separated, going three different ways, to meet--yes--here--oh, what a sight, a fine cow ripped open, left dead and uneaten. not to their taste, it seems, for see! within a mile is another killed by them. not six hours ago, they had feasted. here their trails scatter again, but not far, and the snow tells plainly how each had lain down to sleep. the hounds' manes bristled as they sniffed those places. king had held the dogs well in hand, but now they were greatly excited. we came to a hill whereon the wolves had turned and faced our way, then fled at full speed,--so said the trail,--and now it was clear that they had watched us from that hill, and were not far away. the pack kept well together, because the greyhounds, seeing no quarry, were merely puttering about among the other dogs, or running back with the horses. we went as fast as we could, for the wolves were speeding. up mesas and down coulees we rode, sticking closely to the dogs, though it was the roughest country that could be picked. one gully after another, an hour and another hour, and still the threefold track went bounding on; another hour and no change, but interminable climbing, sliding, struggling, through brush and over boulders, guided by the far-away yelping of the dogs. now the chase led downward to the low valley of the river, where there was scarcely any snow. jumping and scrambling down hills, recklessly leaping dangerous gullies and slippery rocks, we felt that we could not hold out much longer; when on the lowest, dryest level the pack split, some went up, some went down, and others straight on. oh, how king did swear! he knew at once what it meant. the wolves had scattered, and so had divided the pack. three dogs after a wolf would have no chance, four could not kill him, two would certainly be killed. and yet this was the first encouraging sign we had seen, for it meant that the wolves were hard pressed. we spurred ahead to stop the dogs, to pick for them the only trail. but that was not so easy. without snow here and with countless dog tracks, we were foiled. all we could do was to let the dogs choose, but keep them to a single choice. away we went as before, hoping, yet fearing that we were not on the right track. the dogs ran well, very fast indeed. this was a bad sign, king said, but we could not get sight of the track because the dogs overran it before we came. after a two-mile run the chase led upward again in snow country; the wolf was sighted, but to our disgust, we were on the track of the smallest one. "i thought so," growled young penroof. "dogs was altogether too keen for a serious proposition. kind o' surprised it ain't turned out a jack-rabbit." within another mile he had turned to bay in a willow thicket. we heard him howl the long-drawn howl for help, and before we could reach the place king saw the dogs recoil and scatter. a minute later there sped from the far side of the thicket a small gray-wolf and a black one of very much greater size. "by golly, if he didn't yell for help, and billy come back to help him; that's great!" exclaimed the wolver. and my heart went out to the brave old wolf that refused to escape by abandoning his friend. the next hour was a hard repetition of the gully riding, but it was on the highlands where there was snow, and when again the pack was split, we strained every power and succeeded in keeping them on the big "five-fifty track," that already was wearing for me the glamour of romance. evidently the dogs preferred either of the others, but we got them going at last. another half hour's hard work and far ahead, as i rose to a broad flat plain, i had my first glimpse of the big black wolf of sentinel butte. "hurrah! badlands billy! hurrah! badlands billy!" i shouted in salute, and the others took up the cry. we were on his track at last, thanks to himself. the dogs joined in with a louder baying, the greyhounds yelped and made straight for him, and the horses sniffed and sprang more gamely as they caught the thrill. the only silent one was the black-maned wolf, and as i marked his size and power, and above all his long and massive jaws, i knew why the dogs preferred some other trail. with head and tail low he was bounding over the snow. his tongue was lolling long; plainly he was hard pressed. the wolvers' hands flew to their revolvers, though he was three hundred yards ahead; they were out for blood, not sport. but an instant later he had sunk from view in the nearest sheltered cañon. now which way would he go, up or down the cañon? up was toward his mountain, down was better cover. king and i thought "up," so pressed westward along the ridge. but the others rode eastward, watching for a chance to shoot. soon we had ridden out of hearing. we were wrong--the wolf had gone down, but we heard no shooting. the cañon was crossable here; we reached the other side and then turned back at a gallop, scanning the snow for a trail, the hills for a moving form, or the wind for a sound of life. "squeak, squeak," went our saddle leathers, "puff-puff" our horses, and their feet "ka-ka-lump, ka-ka-lump." x when billy went back to his mountain we were back opposite to where the wolf had plunged, but saw no sign. we rode at an easy gallop, on eastward, a mile, and still on, when king gasped out, "look at that!" a dark spot was moving on the snow ahead. we put on speed. another dark spot appeared, and another, but they were not going fast. in five minutes we were near them, to find--three of our own greyhounds. they had lost sight of the game, and with that their interest waned. now they were seeking us. we saw nothing there of the chase or of the other hunters. but hastening to the next ridge we stumbled on the trail we sought and followed as hard as though in view. another cañon came in our path, and as we rode and looked for a place to cross, a wild din of hounds came from its brushy depth. the clamor grew and passed up the middle. we raced along the rim, hoping to see the game. the dogs appeared near the farther side, not in a pack, but a long, straggling line. in five minutes more they rose to the edge, and ahead of them was the great black wolf. he was loping as before, head and tail low. power was plain in every limb, and double power in his jaws and neck, but i thought his bounds were shorter now, and that they had lost their spring. the dogs slowly reached the upper level, and sighting him they broke into a feeble cry; they, too, were nearly spent. the greyhounds saw the chase, and leaving us they scrambled down the cañon and up the other side at impetuous speed that would surely break them down, while we rode, vainly seeking means of crossing. how the wolver raved to see the pack lead off in the climax of the chase, and himself held up behind. but he rode and wrathed and still rode, up to where the cañon dwindled--rough land and a hard ride. as we neared the great flat mountain, the feeble cry of the pack was heard again from the south, then toward the high butte's side, and just a trifle louder now. we reined in on a hillock and scanned the snow. a moving speck appeared, then others, not bunched, but in a straggling train, and at times there was a far faint cry. they were headed toward us, coming on, yes! coming, but so slowly, for not one was really running now. there was the grim old cow-killer limping over the ground, and far behind a greyhound, and another, and farther still, the other dogs in order of their speed, slowly, gamely, dragging themselves on that pursuit. many hours of hardest toil had done their work. the wolf had vainly sought to fling them off. now was his hour of doom, for he was spent; they still had some reserve. straight to us for a time they came, skirting the base of the mountain, crawling. we could not cross to join them, so held our breath and gazed with ravenous eyes. they were nearer now, the wind brought feeble notes from the hounds. the big wolf turned to the steep ascent, up a well-known trail, it seemed, for he made no slip. my heart went with him, for he had come back to rescue his friend, and a momentary thrill of pity came over us both, as we saw him glance around and drag himself up the sloping way, to die on his mountain. there was no escape for him, beset by fifteen dogs with men to back them. he was not walking, but tottering upward; the dogs behind in line, were now doing a little better, were nearing him. we could hear them gasping; we scarcely heard them bay--they had no breath for that; upward the grim procession went, circling a spur of the butte and along a ledge that climbed and narrowed, then dropped for a few yards to a shelf that reared above the cañon. the foremost dogs were closing, fearless of a foe so nearly spent. here in the narrowest place, where one wrong step meant death, the great wolf turned and faced them. with fore-feet braced, with head low and tail a little raised, his dusky mane a-bristling, his glittering tusks laid bare, but uttering no sound that we could hear, he faced the crew. his legs were weak with toil, but his neck, his jaws, and his heart were strong, and--now all you who love the dogs had better close the book--on--up and down--fifteen to one, they came, the swiftest first, and how it was done, the eye could scarcely see, but even as a stream of water pours on a rock to be splashed in broken jets aside, that stream of dogs came pouring down the path, in single file perforce, and duskymane received them as they came. a feeble spring, a counter-lunge, a gash, and "fango's down," has lost his foothold and is gone. dander and coalie close and try to clinch; a rush, a heave, and they are fallen from that narrow path. blue-spot then, backed by mighty oscar and fearless tige--but the wolf is next the rock and the flash of combat clears to show him there alone, the big dogs gone; the rest close in, the hindmost force the foremost on--down-to their death. slash, chop and heave, from the swiftest to the biggest, to the last, down--down--he sent them whirling from the ledge to the gaping gulch below, where rocks and snags of trunks were sharp to do their work. in fifty seconds it was done. the rock had splashed the stream aside--the penroof pack was all wiped out; and badlands billy stood there, alone again on his mountain. a moment he waited to look for more to come. there were no more, the pack was dead; but waiting he got his breath, then raising his voice for the first time in that fatal scene, he feebly gave a long yell of triumph, and scaling the next low bank, was screened from view in a cañon of sentinel butte. we stared like men of stone. the guns in our hands were forgotten. it was all so quick, so final. we made no move till the wolf was gone. it was not far to the place: we went on foot to see if any had escaped. not one was left alive. we could do nothing--we could say nothing. xi the howl at sunset a week later we were riding the upper trail back of the chimney pot, king and i. "the old man is pretty sick of it," he said. "he'd sell out if he could. he don't know what's the next move." the sun went down beyond sentinel butte. it was dusk as we reached the turn that led to dumont's place, and a deep-toned rolling howl came from the river flat below, followed by a number of higher-pitched howls in answering chorus. we could see nothing, but we listened hard. the song was repeated, the hunting-cry of the wolves. it faded, the night was stirred by another, the sharp bark and the short howl, the signal "close in"; a bellow came up, very short, for it was cut short. and king as he touched his horse said grimly: "that's him, he is out with the pack, an' thar goes another beef." the boy and the lynx i the boy he was barely fifteen, a lover of sport and uncommonly keen, even for a beginner. flocks of wild pigeons had been coming all day across the blue lake of cayggeonull, and perching in line on the dead limbs of the great rampikes that stood as monuments of fire, around the little clearing in the forest, they afforded tempting marks; but he followed them for hours in vain. they seemed to know the exact range of the old-fashioned shotgun and rose on noisy wings each time before he was near enough to fire. at length a small flock scattered among the low green trees that grew about the spring, near the log shanty, and taking advantage of the cover, thorburn went in gently. he caught sight of a single pigeon close to him, took a long aim and fired. a sharp crack resounded at almost the same time and the bird fell dead. thorburn rushed to seize the prize just as a tall young man stepped into view and picked it up. "hello, corney! you got my bird!" "your burrud! sure yours flew away thayre. i saw them settle hayer and thought i'd make sure of wan with the rifle." a careful examination showed that a rifle-ball as well as a charge of shot had struck the pigeon. the gunners had fired on the same bird. both enjoyed the joke, though it had its serious side, for food as well as ammunition was scarce in that backwoods home. corney, a superb specimen of a six-foot irish-canadian in early manhood, now led away to the log shanty where the very scarcity of luxuries and the roughness of their lives were sources of merriment. for the colts, though born and bred in the backwoods of canada, had lost nothing of the spirit that makes the irish blood a world-wide synonym of heartiness and wit. corney was the eldest son of a large family. the old folks lived at petersay, twenty-five miles to the southward. he had taken up a "claim" to carve his own home out of the woods at fenebonk, and his grown sisters, margat, staid and reliable, and loo, bright and witty, were keeping house for him. thorburn alder was visiting them. he had just recovered from a severe illness and had been sent to rough it in the woods in hope of winning some of the vigor of his hosts. their home was of unhewn logs, unfloored, and roofed with sods, which bore a luxuriant crop of grass and weeds. the primitive woods around were broken in two places: one where the roughest of roads led southward to petersay; the other where the sparkling lake rolled on a pebbly shore and gave a glimpse of their nearest neighbor's house--four miles across the water. their daily round had little change. corney was up at daybreak to light the fire, call his sisters, and feed the horses while they prepared breakfast. at six the meal was over and corney went to his work. at noon, which margat knew by the shadow of a certain rampike falling on the spring, a clear notification to draw fresh water for the table, loo would hang a white rag on a pole, and corney, seeing the signal, would return from summer fallow or hayfield, grimy, swarthy, and ruddy, a picture of manly vigor and honest toil. thor might be away all day, but at night, when they again assembled at the table, he would come from lake or distant ridge and eat a supper like the dinner and breakfast, for meals as well as days were exact repeats: pork, bread, potatoes, and tea, with occasionally eggs supplied by a dozen hens around the little log stable, with, rarely, a variation of wild meat, for thor was not a hunter and corney had little time for anything but the farm. ii the lynx a huge four-foot basswood had gone the way of all trees. death had been generous--had sent the three warnings: it was the biggest of its kind, its children were grown up, it was hollow. the wintry blast that sent it down had broken it across and revealed a great hole where should have been its heart. a long wooden cavern in the middle of a sunny opening, it now lay, and presented an ideal home for a lynx when she sought a sheltered nesting-place for her coming brood. old was she and gaunt, for this was a year of hard times for the lynxes. a rabbit plague the autumn before had swept away their main support; a winter of deep snow and sudden crusts had killed off nearly all the partridges; a long wet spring had destroyed the few growing coveys and had kept the ponds and streams so full that fish and frogs were safe from their armed paws, and this mother lynx fared no better than her kind. the little ones--half starved before they came--were a double drain, for they took the time she might have spent in hunting. the northern hare is the favorite food of the lynx, and in some years she could have killed fifty in one day, but never one did she see this season. the plague had done its work too well. one day she caught a red-squirrel which had run into a hollow log that proved a trap. another day a fetid blacksnake was her only food. a day was missed, and the little ones whined piteously for their natural food and failing drink. one day she saw a large black animal of unpleasant but familiar smell. swiftly and silently she sprang to make attack. she struck it once on the nose, but the porcupine doubled his head under, his tail flew up, and the mother lynx was speared in a dozen places with the little stinging javelins. she drew them all with her teeth, for she had "learned porcupine" years before, and only the hard push of want would have made her strike one now. a frog was all she caught that day. on the next, as she ranged the farthest woods in a long, hard hunt, she heard a singular calling voice. it was new to her. she approached it cautiously, up wind, got many new odors and some more strange sounds in coming. the loud, clear, rolling call was repeated as the mother lynx came to an opening in the forest. in the middle of it were two enormous muskrat or beaver-houses, far bigger than the biggest she ever before had seen. they were made partly of logs and situated, not in a pond, but on a dry knoll. walking about them were a number of partridges, that is, birds like partridges, only larger and of various colors, red, yellow, and white. she quivered with the excitement that in a man would have been called buck-fever. food--food--abundance of food, and the old huntress sank to earth. her breast was on the ground, her elbows above her back, as she made stalk, her shrewdest, subtlest stalk; one of those partridges she must have at any price; no trick now must go untried, no error in this hunt; if it took hours--all day--she must approach with certainty to win before the quarry took to flight. only a few bounds it was from wood shelter to the great rat-house, but she was an hour in crawling that small space. from stump to brush, from log to bunch of grass she sneaked, a flattened form, and the partridges saw her not. they fed about, the biggest uttering the ringing call that first had fallen on her ear. once they seemed to sense their peril, but a long await dispelled the fear. now they were almost in reach, and she trembled with all the eagerness of the hunting heart and the hungry maw. her eye centred on a white one not quite the nearest, but the color seemed to hold her gaze. there was an open space around the rat-house; outside that were tall weeds, and stumps were scattered everywhere. the white bird wandered behind these weeds, the red one of the loud voice flew to the top of the rat-mound and sang as before. the mother lynx sank lower yet. it seemed an alarm note; but no, the white one still was there; she could see its feathers gleaming through the weeds. an open space now lay about. the huntress, flattened like an empty skin, trailed slow and silent on the ground behind a log no thicker than her neck; if she could reach that tuft of brush she could get unseen to the weeds and then would be near enough to spring. she could smell them now--the rich and potent smell of life, of flesh and blood, that set her limbs a-tingle and her eyes a-glow. the partridges still scratched and fed; another flew to the high top, but the white one remained. five more slow-gliding, silent steps, and the lynx was behind the weeds, the white bird shining through; she gauged the distance, tried the footing, swung her hind legs to clear some fallen brush, then leaped direct with all her force, and the white one never knew the death it died, for the fateful gray shadow dropped, the swift and deadly did their work, and before the other birds could realize the foe or fly, the lynx was gone, with the white bird squirming in her jaws. uttering an unnecessary growl of inborn ferocity and joy she bounded into the forest, and bee-like sped for home. the last quiver had gone from the warm body of the victim when she heard the sound of heavy feet ahead. she leaped on a log. the wings of her prey were muffling her eyes, so she laid the bird down and held it safely with one paw. the sound drew nearer, the bushes bent, and a boy stepped into view. the old lynx knew and hated his kind. she had watched them at night, had followed them, had been hunted and hurt by them. for a moment they stood face to face. the huntress growled a warning that was also a challenge and a defiance, picked up the bird and bounded from the log into the sheltering bushes. it was a mile or two to the den, but she stayed not to eat till the sunlit opening and the big basswood came to view; then a low "prr-prr" called forth the little ones to revel with their mother in a plenteous meal of the choicest food. iii the home of the lynx at first thor, being town-bred, was timid about venturing into the woods beyond the sound of corney's axe; but day by day he went farther, guiding himself, not by unreliable moss on trees, but by sun, compass, and landscape features. his purpose was to learn about the wild animals rather than to kill them; but the naturalist is close kin to the sportsman, and the gun was his constant companion. in the clearing, the only animal of any size was a fat woodchuck; it had a hole under a stump some hundred yards from the shanty. on sunny mornings it used to lie basking on the stump, but eternal vigilance is the price of every good thing in the woods. the woodchuck was always alert and thor tried in vain to shoot or even to trap him. "hyar," said corney one morning, "time we had some fresh meat." he took down his rifle, an old-fashioned brass-mounted small-bore, and loading with care that showed the true rifleman, he steadied the weapon against the door-jamb and fired. the woodchuck fell backward and lay still. thor raced to the place and returned in triumph with the animal, shouting: "plumb through the head--one hundred and twenty yards." corney controlled the gratified smile that wrestled with the corners of his mouth, but his bright eyes shone a trifle brighter for the moment. it was no mere killing for killing's sake, for the woodchuck was spreading a belt of destruction in the crop around his den. its flesh supplied the family with more than one good meal and corney showed thor how to use the skin. first the pelt was wrapped in hardwood ashes for twenty-four hours. this brought the hair off. then the skin was soaked for three days in soft soap and worked by hand, as it dried, till it came out a white strong leather. thor's wanderings extended farther in search of the things which always came as surprises however much he was looking for them. many days were blanks and others would be crowded with incidents, for unexpectedness is above all the peculiar feature of hunting, and its lasting charm. one day he had gone far beyond the ridge in a new direction and passed through an open glade where lay the broken trunk of a huge basswood. the size impressed it on his memory. he swung past the glade to make for the lake, a mile to the west, and twenty minutes later he started back as his eye rested on a huge black animal in the crotch of a hemlock, some thirty feet from the ground. a bear! at last, this was the test of nerve he had half expected all summer; had been wondering how that mystery "himself" would act under this very trial. he stood still; his right hand dived into his pocket and, bringing out three or four buckshot, which he carried for emergency, he dropped them on top of the birdshot already in the gun, then rammed a wad to hold them down. the bear had not moved and the boy could not see its head, but now he studied it carefully. it was not such a large one--no, it was a small one, yes, very small--a cub. a cub! that meant a mother bear at hand, and thor looked about with some fear, but seeing no signs of any except the little one, he levelled the gun and fired. then to his surprise down crashed the animal quite dead; it was not a bear, but a large porcupine. as it lay there he examined it with wonder and regret, for he had no wish to kill such a harmless creature. on its grotesque face he found two or three long scratches which proved that he had not been its only enemy. as he turned away he noticed some blood on his trousers, then saw that his left hand was bleeding. he had wounded himself quite severely on the quills of the animal without knowing it. he was sorry to leave the specimen there, and loo, when she learned of it, said it was a shame not to skin it when she "needed a fur-lined cape for the winter." on another day thor had gone without a gun, as he meant only to gather some curious plants he had seen. they were close to the clearing; he knew the place by a fallen elm. as he came to it he heard a peculiar sound. then on the log his eye caught two moving things. he lifted a bough and got a clear view. they were the head and tail of an enormous lynx. it had seen him and was glaring and grumbling; and under its foot on the log was a white bird that a second glance showed to be one of their own precious hens. how fierce and cruel the brute looked! how thor hated it! and fairly gnashed his teeth with disgust that now, when his greatest chance was come, he for once was without his gun. he was in not a little fear, too, and stood wondering what to do. the lynx growled louder; its stumpy tail twitched viciously for a minute, then it picked up its victim, and leaping from the log was lost to view. as it was a very rainy summer, the ground was soft everywhere, and the young hunter was led to follow tracks that would have defied an expert in dryer times. one day he came on piglike footprints in the woods. he followed them with little difficulty, for they were new, and a heavy rain two hours before had washed out all other trails. after about half a mile they led him to an open ravine, and as he reached its brow he saw across it a flash of white; then his keen young eyes made out the forms of a deer and a spotted fawn gazing at him curiously. though on their trail he was not a little startled. he gazed at them open-mouthed. the mother turned and raised the danger flag, her white tail, and bounded lightly away, to be followed by the youngster, clearing low trunks with an effortless leap, or bending down with catlike suppleness when they came to a log upraised so that they might pass below. he never again got a chance to shoot at them, though more than once he saw the same two tracks, or believed they were the same, as for some cause never yet explained, deer were scarcer in that unbroken forest than they were in later years when clearings spread around. he never again saw them; but he saw the mother once--he thought it was the same--she was searching the woods with her nose, trying the ground for trails; she was nervous and anxious, evidently seeking. thor remembered a trick that corney had told him. he gently stooped, took up a broad blade of grass, laid it between the edges of his thumbs, then blowing through this simple squeaker he made a short, shrill bleat, a fair imitation of a fawn's cry for the mother, and the deer, though a long way off, came bounding toward him. he snatched his gun, meaning to kill her, but the movement caught her eye. she stopped. her mane bristled a little; she sniffed and looked inquiringly at him. her big soft eyes touched his heart, held back his hand; she took a cautious step nearer, got a full whiff of her mortal enemy, bounded behind a big tree and away before his merciful impulse was gone. "poor thing," said thor, "i believe she has lost her little one." yet once more the boy met a lynx in the woods. half an hour after seeing the lonely deer he crossed the long ridge that lay some miles north of the shanty. he had passed the glade where the great basswood lay when a creature like a big bob-tailed kitten appeared and looked innocently at him. his gun went up, as usual, but the kitten merely cocked its head on one side and fearlessly surveyed him. then a second one that he had not noticed before began to play with the first, pawing at its tail and inviting its brother to tussle. thor's first thought to shoot was stayed as he watched their gambols, but the remembrance of his feud with their race came back. he had almost raised the gun when a fierce rumble close at hand gave him a start, and there, not ten feet from him, stood the old one, looking big and fierce as a tigress. it was surely folly to shoot at the young ones now. the boy nervously dropped some buckshot on the charge while the snarling growl rose and fell, but before he was ready to shoot at her the old one had picked up something that was by her feet; the boy got a glimpse of rich brown with white spots--the limp form of a newly killed fawn. then she passed out of sight. the kittens followed, and he saw her no more until the time when, life against life, they were weighed in the balance together. iv the terror of the woods six weeks had passed in daily routine when one day the young giant seemed unusually quiet as he went about. his handsome face was very sober and he sang not at all that morning. he and thor slept on a hay-bunk in one corner of the main room, and that night the boy awakened more than once to hear his companion groaning and tossing in his sleep. corney arose as usual in the morning and fed the horses, but lay down again while the sisters got breakfast. he roused himself by an effort and went back to work, but came home early. he was trembling from head to foot. it was hot summer weather, but he could not be kept warm. after several hours a reaction set in and corney was in a high fever. the family knew well now that he had the dreaded chills and fever of the backwoods. margat went out and gathered a lapful of pipsissewa to make tea, of which corney was encouraged to drink copiously. but in spite of all their herbs and nursing the young man got worse. at the end of ten days he was greatly reduced in flesh and incapable of work, so on one of the "well days" that are usual in the course of the disease he said: "say, gurruls, i can't stand it no longer. guess i better go home. i'm well enough to drive to-day, for a while anyway; if i'm took down i'll lay in the wagon, and the horses will fetch me home. mother'll have me all right in a week or so. if you run out of grub before i come back take the canoe to ellerton's." so the girls harnessed the horses; the wagon was partly filled with hay, and corney, weak and white-faced, drove away on the long rough road, and left them feeling much as though they were on a desert island and their only boat had been taken from them. half a week had scarcely gone before all three of them, margat, loo, and thor, were taken down with a yet more virulent form of chills and fever. corney had had every other a "well day," but with these three there were no "well days" and the house became an abode of misery. seven days passed, and now margat could not leave her bed and loo was barely able to walk around the house. she was a brave girl with a fund of drollery which did much toward keeping up all their spirits, but her merriest jokes fell ghastly from her wan, pinched face. thor, though weak and ill, was the strongest and did for the others, cooking and serving each day a simple meal, for they could eat very little, fortunately, perhaps, as there was very little, and corney could not return for another week. soon thor was the only one able to rise, and one morning when he dragged himself to cut the little usual slice of their treasured bacon he found, to his horror, that the whole piece was gone. it had been stolen, doubtless by some wild animal, from the little box on the shady side of the house, where it was kept safe from flies. now they were down to flour and tea. he was in despair, when his eye lighted on the chickens about the stable; but what's the use? in his feeble state he might as well try to catch a deer or a hawk. suddenly he remembered his gun and very soon was preparing a fat hen for the pot. he boiled it whole as the easiest way to cook it, and the broth was the first really tempting food they had had for some time. they kept alive for three wretched days on that chicken, and when it was finished thor again took down his gun--it seemed a much heavier gun now. he crawled to the barn, but he was so weak and shaky that he missed several times before he brought down a fowl. corney had taken the rifle away with him and three charges of gun ammunition were all that now remained. thor was surprised to see how few hens there were now, only three or four. there used to be over a dozen. three days later he made another raid. he saw but one hen and he used up his last ammunition to get that. his daily routine now was a monotony of horror. in the morning, which was his "well time," he prepared a little food for the household and got ready for the night of raging fever by putting a bucket of water on a block at the head of each bunk. about one o'clock, with fearful regularity, the chills would come on, with trembling from head to foot and chattering teeth, and cold, cold, within and without. nothing seemed to give any warmth--fire seemed to have lost its power. there was nothing to do but to lie and shake and suffer all the slow torture of freezing to death and shaking to pieces. for six hours it would keep up, and to the torture, nausea lent its horrid aid throughout; then about seven or eight o'clock in the evening a change would come; a burning fever set in; no ice could have seemed cool to him then; water--water--was all he craved, and drank and drank until three or four in the morning, when the fever would abate, and a sleep of total exhaustion followed. "if you run out of food take the canoe to ellerton's," was the brother's last word. who was to take the canoe? there was but half a chicken now between them and starvation, and no sign of corney. for three interminable weeks the deadly program dragged along. it went on the same yet worse, as the sufferers grew weaker--a few days more and the boy also would be unable to leave his couch. then what? despair was on the house and the silent cry of each was, "oh, god! will corney never come?" v the home of the boy on the day of that last chicken, thor was all morning carrying water enough for the coming three fevers. the chill attacked him sooner than it was due and his fever was worse than ever before. he drank deeply and often from the bucket at his head. he had filled it, and it was nearly emptied when about two in the morning the fever left him and he fell asleep. in the gray dawn he was awakened by a curious sound not far away--a splashing of water. he turned his head to see two glaring eyes within a foot of his face--a great beast lapping the water in the bucket by his bed. thor gazed in horror for a moment, then closed his eyes, sure that he was dreaming, certain that this was a nightmare of india with a tiger by his couch; but the lapping continued. he looked up; yes, it still was there. he tried to find his voice but uttered only a gurgle. the great furry head quivered, a sniff came from below the shining eyeballs, and the creature, whatever it was, dropped to its front feet and went across the hut under the table. thor was fully awake now; he rose slowly on his elbow and feebly shouted "sssh-hi," at which the shining eyes reappeared under the table and the gray form came forth. calmly it walked across the ground and glided under the lowest log at a place where an old potato pit left an opening and disappeared. what was it? the sick boy hardly knew--some savage beast of prey, undoubtedly. he was totally unnerved. he shook with fear and a sense of helplessness, and the night passed in fitful sleep and sudden starts awake to search the gloom again for those fearful eyes and the great gray gliding form. in the morning he did not know whether it were not all a delirium, yet he made a feeble effort to close the old cellar hole with some firewood. the three had little appetite, but even that they restrained since now they were down to part of a chicken, and corney, evidently he supposed they had been to ellerton's and got all the food they needed. again that night, when the fever left him weak and dozing, thor was awakened by a noise in the room, a sound of crunching bones. he looked around to see dimly outlined against the little window, the form of a large animal on the table. thor shouted; he tried to hurl his boot at the intruder. it leaped lightly to the ground and passed out of the hole, again wide open. it was no dream this time, he knew, and the women knew it, too; not only had they heard the creature, but the chicken, the last of their food, was wholly gone. poor thor barely left his couch that day. it needed all the querulous complaints of the sick women to drive him forth. down by the spring he found a few berries and divided them with the others. he made his usual preparations for the chills and the thirst, but he added this--by the side of his couch he put an old fish-spear--the only weapon he could find, now the gun was useless--a pine-root candle and some matches. he knew the beast was coming back again--was coming hungry. it would find no food; what more natural, he thought, than take the living prey lying there so helpless? and a vision came of the limp brown form of the little fawn, borne off in those same cruel jaws. once again he barricaded the hole with firewood, and the night passed as usual, but without any fierce visitor. their food that day was flour and water, and to cook it thor was forced to use some of his barricade. loo attempted some feeble joke, guessed she was light enough to fly now and tried to rise, but she got no farther than the edge of the bunk. the same preparations were made, and the night wore on, but early in the morning, thor was again awakened rudely by the sound of lapping water by his bed, and there, as before, were the glowing eyeballs, the great head, the gray form relieved by the dim light from the dawning window. thor put all his strength into what was meant for a bold shout, but it was merely a feeble screech. he rose slowly and called out: "loo, margat! the lynx--here's the lynx again!" "may god help ye, for we can't," was the answer. "sssh-hi!" thor tried again to drive the beast away. it leaped on to the table by the window and stood up growling under the useless gun. thor thought it was going to leap through the glass as it faced the window a moment; but it turned and glared toward the boy, for he could see both eyes shining. he rose slowly to the side of his bunk and he prayed for help, for he felt it was kill or be killed. he struck a match and lighted his pine-root candle, held that in his left hand and in his right took the old fish-spear, meaning to fight, but he was so weak he had to use the fish-spear as a crutch. the great beast stood on the table still, but was crouching a little as though for a spring. its eyes glowed red in the torchlight. its short tail was switching from side to side and its growling took a higher pitch. thor's knees were smiting together, but he levelled the spear and made a feeble lunge toward the brute. it sprang at the same moment, not at him, as he first thought--the torch and the boy's bold front had had effect--it went over his head to drop on the ground beyond and at once to slink under the bunk. this was only a temporary repulse. thor set the torch on a ledge of the logs, then took the spear in both hands. he was fighting for his life, and he knew it. he heard the voices of the women feebly praying. he saw only the glowing eyes under the bed and heard the growling in higher pitch as the beast was nearing action. he steadied himself by a great effort and plunged the spear with all the force he could give it. it struck something softer than the logs: a hideous snarl came forth. the boy threw all his weight on the weapon; the beast was struggling to get at him; he felt its teeth and claws grating on the handle, and in spite of himself it was coming on; its powerful arms and claws were reaching for him now; he could not hold out long. he put on all his force, just a little more it was than before; the beast lurched, there was a growling, a crack, and a sudden yielding; the rotten old spear-head had broken off, the beast sprang out--at him--past him--never touched him, but across through the hole and away, to be seen no more. thor fell on the bed and lost all consciousness. he lay there he knew not how long, but was awakened in broad daylight by a loud, cheery voice: "hello! hello!--are ye all dead? loo! thor! margat!" he had no strength to answer, but there was a trampling of horses outside, a heavy step, the door was forced open, and in strode corney, handsome and hearty as ever. but what a flash of horror and pain came over his face on entering the silent shanty! "dead?" he gasped. "who's dead--where are you? thor?" then, "who is it? loo? margat?" "corney--corney," came feebly from the bunk. "they're in there. they're awful sick. we have nothing to eat." "oh, what a fool i be!" said corney again and again. "i made sure ye'd go to ellerton's and get all ye wanted." "we had no chance, corney; we were all three brought down at once, right after you left. then the lynx came and cleared up the hens, and all in the house, too." "well, ye got even with her," and corney pointed to the trail of blood across the mud floor and out under the logs. good food, nursing, and medicine restored them all. a month or two later, when the women wanted a new leaching-barrel, thor said: "i know where there is a hollow basswood as big as a hogshead." he and corney went to the place, and when they cut off what they needed, they found in the far end of it the dried-up bodies of two little lynxes with that of the mother, and in the side of the old one was the head of a fish-spear broken from the handle. little warhorse the history of a jack-rabbit the little warhorse knew practically all the dogs in town. first, there was a very large brown dog that had pursued him many times, a dog that he always got rid of by slipping through a hole in a board fence. second, there was a small active dog that could follow through that hole, and him he baffled by leaping a twenty-foot irrigation ditch that had steep sides and a swift current. the dog could not make this leap. it was "sure medicine" for that foe, and the boys still call the place "old jacky's jump." but there was a greyhound that could leap better than the jack, and when he could not follow through a fence, he jumped over it. he tried the warhorse's mettle more than once, and jacky only saved himself by his quick dodging, till they got to an osage hedge, and here the greyhound had to give it up. besides these, there was in town a rabble of big and little dogs that were troublesome, but easily left behind in the open. in the country there was a dog at each farm-house, but only one that the warhorse really feared; that was a long-legged, fierce, black dog, a brute so swift and pertinacious that he had several times forced the warhorse almost to the last extremity. for the town cats he cared little; only once or twice had he been threatened by them. a huge tom-cat flushed with many victories came crawling up to where he fed one moonlight night. jack warhorse saw the black creature with the glowing eyes, and a moment before the final rush, he faced it, raised up on his haunches,--his hind legs,--at full length on his toes,--with his broad ears towering up yet six inches higher; then letting out a loud churrr-churrr, his best attempt at a roar, he sprang five feet forward and landed on the cat's head, driving in his sharp hind nails, and the old tom fled in terror from the weird two-legged giant. this trick he had tried several times with success, but twice it turned out a sad failure: once, when the cat proved to be a mother whose kittens were near; then jack warhorse had to flee for his life; and the other time was when he made the mistake of landing hard on a skunk. but the greyhound was the dangerous enemy, and in him the warhorse might have found his fate, but for a curious adventure with a happy ending for jack. he fed by night; there were fewer enemies about then, and it was easier to hide; but one day at dawn in winter he had lingered long at an alfalfa stack and was crossing the open snow toward his favorite form, when, as ill-luck would have it, he met the greyhound prowling outside the town. with open snow and growing daylight there was no chance to hide, nothing but a run in the open with soft snow that hindered the jack more than it did the hound. off they went--superb runners in fine fettle. how they skimmed across the snow, raising it in little puff-puff-puffs, each time their nimble feet went down. this way and that, swerving and dodging, went the chase. everything favored the dog,--his empty stomach, the cold weather, the soft snow,--while the rabbit was handicapped by his heavy meal of alfalfa. but his feet went puff--puff so fast that a dozen of the little snow-jets were in view at once. the chase continued in the open; no friendly hedge was near, and every attempt to reach a fence was cleverly stopped by the hound. jack's ears were losing their bold up-cock, a sure sign of failing heart or wind, when all at once these flags went stiffly up, as under sudden renewal of strength. the warhorse put forth all his power, not to reach the hedge to the north, but over the open prairie eastward. the greyhound followed, and within fifty yards the jack dodged to foil his fierce pursuer; but on the next tack he was on his eastern course again, and so tacking and dodging, he kept the line direct for the next farm-house, where was a very high board fence with a hen-hole, and where also there dwelt his other hated enemy, the big black dog. an outer hedge delayed the greyhound for a moment and gave jack time to dash through the hen-hole into the yard, where he hid to one side. the greyhound rushed around to the low gate, leaped over that among the hens, and as they fled cackling and fluttering, some lambs bleated loudly. their natural guardian, the big black dog, ran to the rescue, and warhorse slipped out again by the hole at which he had entered. horrible sounds of dog hate and fury were heard behind him in the hen-yard, and soon the shouts of men were added. how it ended he did not know or seek to learn, but it was remarkable that he never afterward was troubled by the swift greyhound that formerly lived in newchusen. ii hard times and easy times had long followed in turn and been taken as matters of course; but recent years in the state of kaskado had brought to the jack-rabbits a succession of remarkable ups and downs. in the old days they had their endless fight with birds and beasts of prey, with cold and heat, with pestilence and with flies whose sting bred a loathsome disease, and yet had held their own. but the settling of the country by farmers made many changes. dogs and guns arriving in numbers reduced the ranks of coyotes, foxes, wolves, badgers, and hawks that preyed on the jack, so that in a few years the rabbits were multiplied in great swarms; but now pestilence broke out and swept them away. only the strongest--the double-seasoned--remained. for a while a jack-rabbit was a rarity; but during this time another change came in. the osage-orange hedges planted everywhere afforded a new refuge, and now the safety of a jack-rabbit was less often his speed than his wits, and the wise ones, when pursued by a dog or coyote, would rush to the nearest hedge through a small hole and escape while the enemy sought for a larger one by which to follow. the coyotes rose to this and developed the trick of the relay chase. in this one coyote takes one field, another the next, and if the rabbit attempts the "hedge-ruse" they work from each side and usually win their prey. the rabbit remedy for this, is keen eyes to see the second coyote, avoidance of that field, then good legs to distance the first enemy. thus the jack-rabbits, after being successively numerous, scarce, in myriads, and rare, were now again on the increase, and those which survived, selected by a hundred hard trials, were enabled to flourish where their ancestors could not have outlived a single season. their favorite grounds were, not the broad open stretches of the big ranches, but the complicated, much-fenced fields of the farms, where these were so small and close as to be like a big straggling village. one of these vegetable villages had sprung up around the railway station of newchusen. the country a mile away was well supplied with jack-rabbits of the new and selected stock. among them was a little lady rabbit called "bright-eyes," from her leading characteristic as she sat gray in the gray brush. she was a good runner, but was especially successful with the fence-play that baffled the coyotes. she made her nest out in an open pasture, an untouched tract of the ancient prairie. here her brood were born and raised. one like herself was bright-eyed, in coat of silver-gray, and partly gifted with her ready wits, but in the other, there appeared a rare combination of his mother's gifts with the best that was in the best strain of the new jack-rabbits of the plains. this was the one whose adventures we have been following, the one that later on the turf won the name of little warhorse and that afterward achieved a world-wide fame. ancient tricks of his kind he revived and put to new uses, and ancient enemies he learned to fight with new-found tricks. when a mere baby he discovered a plan that was worthy of the wisest rabbit in kaskado. he was pursued by a horrible little yellow dog, and he had tried in vain to get rid of him by dodging among the fields and farms. this is good play against a coyote, because the farmers and the dogs will often help the jack, without knowing it, by attacking the coyote. but now the plan did not work at all, for the little dog managed to keep after him through one fence after another, and jack warhorse, not yet full-grown, much less seasoned, was beginning to feel the strain. his ears were no longer up straight, but angling back and at times drooping to a level, as he darted through a very little hole in an osage hedge, only to find that his nimble enemy had done the same without loss of time. in the middle of the field was a small herd of cattle and with them a calf. there is in wild animals a curious impulse to trust any stranger when in desperate straits. the foe behind they know means death. there is just a chance, and the only one left, that the stranger may prove friendly; and it was this last desperate chance that drew jack warhorse to the cows. it is quite sure that the cows would have stood by in stolid indifference so far as the rabbit was concerned, but they have a deep-rooted hatred of a dog, and when they saw the yellow cur coming bounding toward them, their tails and noses went up; they sniffed angrily, then closed up ranks, and led by the cow that owned the calf, they charged at the dog, while jack took refuge under a low thorn-bush. the dog swerved aside to attack the calf, at least the old cow thought he did, and she followed him so fiercely that he barely escaped from that field with his life. it was a good old plan--one that doubtless came from the days when buffalo and coyote played the parts of cow and dog. jack never forgot it, and more than once it saved his life. in color as well as in power he was a rarity. animals are colored in one or other of two general plans: one that matches them with their surroundings and helps them to hide--this is called "protective"; the other that makes them very visible for several purposes--this is called "directive." jack-rabbits are peculiar in being painted both ways. as they squat in their form in the gray brush or clods, they are soft gray on their ears, head, back, and sides; they match the ground and cannot be seen until close at hand--they are protectively colored. but the moment it is clear to the jack that the approaching foe will find him, he jumps up and dashes away. he throws off all disguise now, the gray seems to disappear; he makes a lightning change, and his ears show snowy white with black tips, the legs are white, his tail is a black spot in a blaze of white. he is a black-and-white rabbit now. his coloring is all directive. how is it done? very simply. the front side of the ear is gray, the back, black and white. the black tail with its white halo, and the legs, are tucked below. he is sitting on them. the gray mantle is pulled down and enlarged as he sits, but when he jumps up it shrinks somewhat, all his black-and-white marks are now shown, and just as his colors formerly whispered, "i am a clod," they now shout aloud, "i am a jack-rabbit." why should he do this? why should a timid creature running for his life thus proclaim to all the world his name instead of trying to hide? there must be some good reason. it must pay, or the rabbit would never have done it. the answer is, if the creature that scared him up was one of his own kind--i.e., this was a false alarm--then at once, by showing his national colors, the mistake is made right. on the other hand, if it be a coyote, fox, or dog, they see at once, this is a jack-rabbit, and know that it would be waste of time for them to pursue him. they say in effect, "this is a jack-rabbit, and i cannot catch a jack in open race." they give it up, and that, of course, saves the jack a great deal of unnecessary running and worry. the black-and-white spots are the national uniform and flag of the jacks. in poor specimens they are apt to be dull, but in the finest specimens they are not only larger, but brighter than usual, and the little warhorse, gray when he sat in his form, blazed like charcoal and snow, when he flung his defiance to the fox and buff coyote, and danced with little effort before them, first a black-and-white jack, then a little white spot, and last a speck of thistledown, before the distance swallowed him. many of the farmers' dogs had learned the lesson: "a grayish rabbit you may catch, but a very black-and-white one is hopeless." they might, indeed, follow for a time, but that was merely for the fun of a chivvy, and his growing power often led warhorse to seek the chase for the sake of a little excitement, and to take hazards that others less gifted were most careful to avoid. jack, like all other wild animals, had a certain range or country which was home to him, and outside of this he rarely strayed. it was about three miles across, extending easterly from the centre of the village. scattered through this he had a number of "forms," or "beds" as they are locally called. these were mere hollows situated under a sheltering bush or bunch of grass, without lining excepting the accidental grass and in-blown leaves. but comfort was not forgotten. some of them were for hot weather; they faced the north, were scarcely sunk, were little more than shady places. some for the cold weather were deep hollows with southern exposure, and others for the wet were well roofed with herbage and faced the west. in one or other of these he spent the day, and at night he went forth to feed with his kind, sporting and romping on the moonlight nights like a lot of puppy dogs, but careful to be gone by sunrise, and safely tucked in a bed that was suited to the weather. the safest ground for the jacks was among the farms, where not only osage hedges, but also the newly arrived barb-wire, made hurdles and hazards in the path of possible enemies. but the finest of the forage is nearer to the village among the truck-farms--the finest of forage and the fiercest of dangers. some of the dangers of the plains were lacking, but the greater perils of men, guns, dogs, and impassable fences are much increased. yet those who knew warhorse best were not at all surprised to find that he had made a form in the middle of a market-gardener's melon-patch. a score of dangers beset him here, but there was also a score of unusual delights and a score of holes in the fence for times when he had to fly, with at least twoscore of expedients to help him afterward. iii newchusen was a typical western town. everywhere in it, were to be seen strenuous efforts at uglification, crowned with unmeasured success. the streets were straight level lanes without curves or beauty-spots. the houses were cheap and mean structures of flimsy boards and tar paper, and not even honest in their ugliness, for each of them was pretending to be something better than itself. one had a false front to make it look like two stories, another was of imitation brick, a third pretended to be a marble temple. but all agreed in being the ugliest things ever used as human dwellings, and in each could be read the owner's secret thought--to stand it for a year or so, then move out somewhere else. the only beauties of the place, and those unintentional, were the long lines of hand-planted shade-trees, uglified as far as possible with whitewashed trunks and croppy heads, but still lovable, growing, living things. the only building in town with a touch of picturesqueness was the grain elevator. it was not posing as a greek temple or a swiss chalet, but simply a strong, rough, honest, grain elevator. at the end of each street was a vista of the prairie, with its farm-houses, windmill pumps, and long lines of osage-orange hedges. here at least was something of interest--the gray-green hedges, thick, sturdy, and high, were dotted with their golden mock-oranges, useless fruit, but more welcome here than rain in a desert; for these balls were things of beauty, and swung on their long tough boughs they formed with the soft green leaves a color-chord that pleased the weary eye. such a town is a place to get out of, as soon as possible, so thought the traveller who found himself laid over here for two days in late winter. he asked after the sights of the place. a white muskrat stuffed in a case "down to the saloon"; old baccy bullin, who had been scalped by the indians forty years ago; and a pipe once smoked by kit carson, proved unattractive, so he turned toward the prairie, still white with snow. a mark among the numerous dog tracks caught his eye: it was the track of a large jack-rabbit. he asked a passer-by if there were any rabbits in town. "no, i reckon not. i never seen none," was the answer. a mill-hand gave the same reply, but a small boy with a bundle of newspapers said: "you bet there is; there's lots of them out there on the prairie, and they come in town a-plenty. why, there's a big, big feller lives right round si kalb's melon-patch--oh, an awful big feller, and just as black and as white as checkers!" and thus he sent the stranger eastward on his walk. the "big, big, awful big one" was the little warhorse himself. he didn't live in kalb's melon-patch; he was there only at odd times. he was not there now; he was in his west-fronting form or bed, because a raw east wind was setting in. it was due east of madison avenue, and as the stranger plodded that way the rabbit watched him. as long as the man kept the road the jack was quiet, but the road turned shortly to the north, and the man by chance left it and came straight on. then the jack saw trouble ahead. the moment the man left the beaten track, he bounded from his form, and wheeling, he sailed across the prairie due east. a jack-rabbit running from its enemy ordinarily covers eight or nine feet at a bound, and once in five or six bounds, it makes an observation hop, leaping not along, but high in the air, so as to get above all herbage and bushes and take in the situation. a silly young jack will make an observation hop as often as one in four, and so waste a great deal of time. a clever jack will make one hop in eight or nine, do for observation. but jack warhorse as he sped, got all the information he needed, in one hop out of a dozen, while ten to fourteen feet were covered by each of his flying bounds. yet another personal peculiarity showed in the trail he left. when a cottontail or a wood-hare runs, his tail is curled up tight on his back, and does not touch the snow. when a jack runs, his tail hangs downward or backward, with the tip curved or straight, according to the individual; in some, it points straight down, and so, often leaves a little stroke behind the foot-marks. the warhorse's tail of shining black, was of unusual length, and at every bound, it left in the snow, a long stroke, so long that that alone was almost enough to tell which rabbit had made the track. now some rabbits seeing only a man without any dog would have felt little fear, but warhorse, remembering some former stinging experiences with a far-killer, fled when the foe was seventy-five yards away, and skimming low, he ran southeast to a fence that ran easterly. behind this he went like a low-flying hawk, till a mile away he reached another of his beds; and here, after an observation taken as he stood on his heels, he settled again to rest. but not for long. in twenty minutes his great megaphone ears, so close to the ground, caught a regular sound--crunch, crunch, crunch--the tramp of a human foot, and he started up to see the man with the shining stick in his hand, now drawing near. warhorse bounded out and away for the fence. never once did he rise to a "spy-hop" till the wire and rails were between him and his foe, an unnecessary precaution as it chanced, for the man was watching the trail and saw nothing of the rabbit. jack skimmed along, keeping low and looking out for other enemies. he knew now that the man was on his track, and the old instinct born of ancestral trouble with weasels was doubtless what prompted him to do the double trail. he ran in a long, straight course to a distant fence, followed its far side for fifty yards, then doubling back he retraced his trail and ran off in a new direction till he reached another of his dens or forms. he had been out all night and was very ready to rest, now that the sun was ablaze on the snow; but he had hardly got the place a little warmed when the "tramp, tramp, tramp" announced the enemy, and he hurried away. after a half-a-mile run he stopped on a slight rise and marked the man still following, so he made a series of wonderful quirks in his trail, a succession of blind zigzags that would have puzzled most trailers; then running a hundred yards past a favorite form, he returned to it from the other side, and settled to rest, sure that now the enemy would be finally thrown off the scent. it was slower than before, but still it came--"tramp, tramp, tramp." jack awoke, but sat still. the man tramped by on the trail one hundred yards in front of him, and as he went on, jack sprang out unseen, realizing that this was an unusual occasion needing a special effort. they had gone in a vast circle around the home range of the warhorse and now were less than a mile from the farm-house of the black dog. there was that wonderful board fence with the happily planned hen-hole. it was a place of good memory--here more than once he had won, here especially he had baffled the greyhound. these doubtless were the motive thoughts rather than any plan of playing one enemy against another, and warhorse bounded openly across the snow to the fence of the big black dog. the hen-hole was shut, and warhorse, not a little puzzled, sneaked around to find another, without success, until, around the front, here was the gate wide open, and inside lying on some boards was the big dog, fast asleep. the hens were sitting hunched up in the warmest corner of the yard. the house cat was gingerly picking her way from barn to kitchen, as warhorse halted in the gateway. the black form of his pursuer was crawling down the far white prairie slope. jack hopped quietly into the yard. a long-legged rooster, that ought to have minded his own business, uttered a loud cackle as he saw the rabbit hopping near. the dog lying in the sun raised his head and stood up, and jack's peril was dire. he squatted low and turned himself into a gray clod. he did it cleverly, but still might have been lost but for the cat. unwittingly, unwillingly, she saved him. the black dog had taken three steps toward the warhorse, though he did not know the rabbit was there, and was now blocking the only way of escape from the yard, when the cat came round the corner of the house, and leaping to a window-ledge brought a flower-pot rolling down. by that single awkward act she disturbed the armed neutrality existing between herself and the dog. she fled to the barn, and of course a flying foe is all that is needed to send a dog on the war-path. they passed within thirty feet of the crouching rabbit. as soon as they were well gone, jack turned, and with-out even a "thank you, pussy," he fled to the open and away on the hard-beaten road. the cat had been rescued by the lady of the house; the dog was once more sprawling on the boards when the man on jack's trail arrived. he carried, not a gun, but a stout stick, sometimes called "dog-medicine," and that was all that prevented the dog attacking the enemy of his prey. this seemed to be the end of the trail. the trick, whether planned or not, was a success, and the rabbit got rid of his troublesome follower. next day the stranger made another search for the jack and found, not himself, but his track. he knew it by its tail-mark, its long leaps and few spy-hops, but with it and running by it was the track of a smaller rabbit. here is where they met, here they chased each other in play, for no signs of battle were there to be seen; here they fed or sat together in the sun, there they ambled side by side, and here again they sported in the snow, always together. there was only one conclusion: this was the mating season. this was a pair of jack-rabbits--the little warhorse and his mate. iv next summer was a wonderful year for the jack-rabbits. a foolish law had set a bounty on hawks and owls and had caused a general massacre of these feathered policemen. consequently the rabbits had multiplied in such numbers that they now were threatening to devastate the country. the farmers, who were the sufferers from the bounty law, as well as the makers of it, decided on a great rabbit drive. all the county was invited to come, on a given morning, to the main road north of the county, with the intention of sweeping the whole region up-wind and at length driving the rabbits into a huge corral of close wire netting. dogs were barred as unmanageable, and guns as dangerous in a crowd; but every man and boy carried a couple of long sticks and a bag full of stones. women came on horseback and in buggies; many carried rattles or horns and tins to make a noise. a number of the buggies trailed a string of old cans or tied laths to scrape on the wheel-spokes, and thus add no little to the deafening clatter of the drive. as rabbits have marvellously sensitive hearing, a noise that is distracting to mankind, is likely to prove bewildering to them. the weather was right, and at eight in the morning the word to advance was given. the line was about five miles long at first, and there was a man or a boy every thirty or forty yards. the buggies and riders kept perforce almost entirely to the roads; but the beaters were supposed, as a point of honor, to face everything, and keep the front unbroken. the advance was roughly in three sides of a square. each man made as much noise as he could, and threshed every bush in his path. a number of rabbits hopped out. some made for the lines, to be at once assailed by a shower of stones that laid many of them low. one or two did get through and escaped, but the majority were swept before the drive. at first the number seen was small, but before three miles were covered the rabbits were running ahead in every direction. after five miles--and that took about three hours--the word for the wings to close in was given. the space between the men was shortened up till they were less than ten feet apart, and the whole drive converged on the corral with its two long guide wings or fences; the end lines joined these wings, and the surround was complete. the drivers marched rapidly now; scores of the rabbits were killed as they ran too near the beaters. their bodies strewed the ground, but the swarms seemed to increase; and in the final move, before the victims were cooped up in the corral, the two-acre space surrounded was a whirling throng of skurrying, jumping, bounding rabbits. round and round they circled and leaped, looking for a chance to escape; but the inexorable crowd grew thicker as the ring grew steadily smaller, and the whole swarm was forced along the chute into the tight corral, some to squat stupidly in the middle, some to race round the outer wall, some to seek hiding in corners or under each other. and the little warhorse--where was he in all this? the drive had swept him along, and he had been one of the first to enter the corral. but a curious plan of selection had been established. the pen was to be a death-trap for the rabbits, except the best, the soundest. and many were there that were unsound; those that think of all wild animals as pure and perfect things, would have been shocked to see how many halt, maimed, and diseased there were in that pen of four thousand or five thousand jack-rabbits. it was a roman victory--the rabble of prisoners was to be butchered. the choicest were to be reserved for the arena. the arena? yes, that is the coursing park. in that corral trap, prepared beforehand for the rabbits, were a number of small boxes along the wall, a whole series of them, five hundred at least, each large enough to hold one jack. in the last rush of driving, the swiftest jacks got first to the pen. some were swift and silly; when once inside they rushed wildly round and round. some were swift and wise; they quickly sought the hiding afforded by the little boxes; all of these were now full. thus five hundred of the swiftest and wisest had been selected, in, not by any means an infallible way, but the simplest and readiest. these five hundred were destined to be coursed by greyhounds. the surging mass of over four thousand were ruthlessly given to slaughter. five hundred little boxes with five hundred bright-eyed jack-rabbits were put on the train that day, and among them was little jack warhorse. v rabbits take their troubles lightly, and it is not to be supposed that any great terror was felt by the boxed jacks, once the uproar of the massacre was over; and when they reached the coursing park near the great city and were turned out one by one, very gently,--yes, gently; the roman guards were careful of their prisoners, being responsible for them,--the jacks found little to complain of, a big inclosure with plenty of good food, and no enemies to annoy them. the very next morning their training began. a score of hatchways were opened into a much larger field--the park. after a number of jacks had wandered out through these doors a rabble of boys appeared and drove them back, pursuing them noisily until all were again in the smaller field, called the haven. a few days of this taught the jack-rabbits that when pursued their safety was to get back by one of the hatches into the haven. now the second lesson began. the whole band were driven out of a side door into a long lane which led around three sides of the park to another inclosure at the far end. this was the starting pen. its door into the arena--that is, the park--was opened, the rabbits driven forth, and then a mob of boys and dogs in hiding, burst forth and pursued them across the open. the whole army went bobbing and bounding away, some of the younger ones soaring in a spy-hop, as a matter of habit; but low skimming ahead of them all was a gorgeous black-and-white one; clean-limbed and bright-eyed, he had attracted attention in the pen, but now in the field he led the band with easy lope that put him as far ahead of them all as they were ahead of the rabble of common dogs. "luk at thot, would ye--but ain't he a little warhorse?" shouted a villainous-looking irish stable-boy, and thus he was named. when halfway across the course the jacks remembered the haven, and all swept toward it and in like a snow-cloud over the drifts. this was the second lesson--to lead straight for the haven as soon as driven from the pen. in a week all had learned it, and were ready for the great opening meet of the coursing club. the little warhorse was now well known to the grooms and hangers-on; his colors usually marked him clearly, and his leadership was in a measure recognized by the long-eared herd that fled with him. he figured more or less with the dogs in the talk and betting of the men. "wonder if old dignam is going to enter minkie this year?" "faix, an' if he does i bet the little warhorse will take the gimp out av her an' her runnin' mate." "i'll bet three to one that my old jen will pick the warhorse up before he passes the grand stand," growled a dog-man. "an' it's meself will take thot bet in dollars," said mickey, "an', moore than thot, oi'll put up a hull month's stuff thot there ain't a dog in the mate thot kin turrn the warrhorrse oncet on the hull coorse." so they wrangled and wagered, but each day, as they put the rabbits through their paces, there were more of those who believed that they had found a wonderful runner in the warhorse, one that would give the best greyhounds something that is rarely seen, a straight stern chase from start to grand stand and haven. vi the first morning of the meet arrived bright and promising. the grand stand was filled with a city crowd. the usual types of a racecourse appeared in force. here and there were to be seen the dog-grooms leading in leash single greyhounds or couples, shrouded in blankets, but showing their sinewy legs, their snaky necks, their shapely heads with long reptilian jaws, and their quick, nervous yellow eyes--hybrids of natural force and human ingenuity, the most wonderful running-machines ever made of flesh and blood. their keepers guarded them like jewels, tended them like babies, and were careful to keep them from picking up odd eatables, as well as prevent them smelling unusual objects or being approached by strangers. large sums were wagered on these dogs, and a cunningly placed tack, a piece of doctored meat, yes, an artfully compounded smell, has been known to turn a superb young runner into a lifeless laggard, and to the owner this might spell ruin. the dogs entered in each class are paired off, as each contest is supposed to be a duel; the winners in the first series are then paired again. in each trial, a jack is driven from the starting-pen; close by in one leash are the rival dogs, held by the slipper. as soon as the hare is well away, the man has to get the dogs evenly started and slip them together. on the field is the judge, scarlet-coated and well mounted. he follows the chase. the hare, mindful of his training, speeds across the open, toward the haven, in full view of the grand stand. the dogs follow the jack. as the first one comes near enough to be dangerous, the hare balks him by dodging. each time the hare is turned, scores for the dog that did it, and a final point is made by the kill. sometimes the kill takes place within one hundred yards of the start--that means a poor jack; mostly it happens in front of the grand stand; but on rare occasions it chances that the jack goes sailing across the open park a good half-mile and, by dodging for time, runs to safety in the haven. four finishes are possible: a speedy kill; a speedy winning of the haven; new dogs to relieve the first runners, who would suffer heart-collapse in the terrific strain of their pace, if kept up many minutes in hot weather; and finally, for rabbits that by continued dodging defy and jeopardize the dogs, and yet do not win the haven, there is kept a loaded shotgun. there is just as much jockeying at a kaskado coursing as at a kaskado horse-race, just as many attempts at fraud, and it is just as necessary to have the judge and slipper beyond suspicion. the day before the next meet a man of diamonds saw irish mickey--by chance. a cigar was all that visibly passed, but it had a green wrapper that was slipped off before lighting. then a word: "if you wuz slipper to-morrow and it so came about that dignam's minkie gets done, wall,--it means another cigar." "faix, an' if i wuz slipper i could load the dice so minkie would flyer score a p'int, but her runnin' mate would have the same bad luck." "that so?" the diamond man looked interested. "all right--fix it so; it means two cigars." slipper slyman had always dealt on the square, had scorned many approaches--that was well known. most believed in him, but there were some malcontents, and when a man with many gold seals approached the steward and formulated charges, serious and well-backed, they must perforce suspend the slipper pending an inquiry, and thus mickey doo reigned in his stead. mickey was poor and not over-scrupulous. here was a chance to make a year's pay in a minute, nothing wrong about it, no harm to the dog or the rabbit either. one jack-rabbit is much like another. everybody knows that; it was simply a question of choosing your jack. the preliminaries were over. fifty jacks had been run and killed. mickey had done his work satisfactorily; a fair slip had been given to every leash. he was still in command as slipper. now came the final for the cup--the cup and the large stakes. vii there were the slim and elegant dogs awaiting their turn. minkie and her rival were first. everything had been fair so far, and who can say that what followed was unfair? mickey could turn out which jack he pleased. "number three!" he called to his partner. out leaped the little warhorse,--black and white his great ears, easy and low his five-foot bounds; gazing wildly at the unwonted crowd about the park, he leaped high in one surprising spy-hop. "hrrrrr!" shouted the slipper, and his partner rattled a stick on the fence. the warhorse's bounds increased to eight or nine feet. "hrrrrrr!" and they were ten or twelve feet. at thirty yards the hounds were slipped--an even slip; some thought it could have been done at twenty yards. "hrrrrrr! hrrrrrrr!" and the warhorse was doing fourteen-foot leaps, not a spy-hop among them. "hrrrrr!" wonderful dogs! how they sailed; but drifting ahead of them, like a white sea-bird or flying scud, was the warhorse. away past the grand stand. and the dogs--were they closing the gap of start? closing! it was lengthening! in less time than it takes to tell it, that black-and-white thistledown had drifted away through the haven door,--the door so like that good old hen-hole,--and the grey-hounds pulled up amidst a roar of derision and cheers for the little warhorse. how mickey did laugh! how dignam did swear! how the newspaper men did scribble--scribble--scribble! next day there was a paragraph in all the papers: "wonderful feat of a jackrabbit. the little warhorse, as he has been styled, completely skunked two of the most famous dogs on the turf," etc. there was a fierce wrangle among the dog-men. this was a tie, since neither had scored, and minkie and her rival were allowed to run again; but that half-mile had been too hot, and they had no show for the cup. mickey met "diamonds" next day, by chance. "have a cigar, mickey." "oi will thot, sor. faix, thim's so foine; i'd loike two--thank ye, sor." viii from that time the little warhorse became the pride of the irish boy. slipper slyman had been honorably reinstated and mickey reduced to the rank of jack-starter, but that merely helped to turn his sympathies from the dogs to the rabbits, or rather to the warhorse, for of all the five hundred that were brought in from the drive he alone had won renown. there were several that crossed the park to run again another day, but he alone had crossed the course without getting even a turn. twice a week the meets took place; forty or fifty jacks were killed each time, and the five hundred in the pen had been nearly all eaten of the arena. the warhorse had run each day, and as often had made the haven. mickey became wildly enthusiastic about his favorite's powers. he begot a positive affection for the clean-limbed racer, and stoutly maintained against all that it was a positive honor to a dog to be disgraced by such a jack. it is so seldom that a rabbit crosses the track at all, that when jack did it six times without having to dodge, the papers took note of it, and after each meet there appeared a notice: "the little warhorse crossed again today; old-timers say it shows how our dogs are deteriorating." after the sixth time the rabbit-keepers grew enthusiastic, and mickey, commander-in-chief of the brigade, became intemperate in his admiration. "be jabers, he has a right to be torned loose. he has won his freedom loike ivery amerikin done," he added, by way of appeal to the patriotism of the steward of the race, who was, of course, the real owner of the jacks. "all right, mick; if he gets across thirteen times you can ship him back to his native land," was the reply. "shure now, an' won't you make it tin, sor?" "no, no; i need him to take the conceit out of some of the new dogs that are coming." "thirteen toimes and he is free, sor; it's a bargain." a new lot of rabbits arrived about this time, and one of these was colored much like little warhorse. he had no such speed, but to prevent mistakes mickey caught his favorite by driving him into one of the padded shipping-boxes, and proceeded with the gate-keeper's punch to earmark him. the punch was sharp; a clear star was cut out of the thin flap, when mickey exclaimed: "faix, an' oi'll punch for ivery toime ye cross the coorse." so he cut six stars in a row. "thayer now, warrhorrse, shure it's a free rabbit ye'll be when ye have yer thirteen stars like our flag of liberty hed when we got free." within a week the warhorse had vanquished the new greyhounds and had stars enough to go round the right ear and begin on the left. in a week more the thirteen runs were completed, six stars in the left ear and seven in the right, and the newspapers had new material. "whoop!" how mickey hoorayed! "an' it's a free jack ye are, warrhorrse! thirteen always wuz a lucky number. i never knowed it to fail." ix "yes, i know i did," said the steward. "but i want to give him one more run. i have a bet on him against a new dog here. it won't hurt him now; he can do it. oh, well. here now, mickey, don't you get sassy. one run more this afternoon. the dogs run two or three times a day; why not the jack?" "they're not shtakin' thayre loives, sor." "oh, you get out." many more rabbits had been added to the pen,--big and small, peaceful and warlike,--and one big buck of savage instincts, seeing jack warhorse's hurried dash into the haven that morning, took advantage of the moment to attack him. at another time jack would have thumped his skull, as he once did the cat's, and settled the affair in a minute; but now it took several minutes, during which he himself got roughly handled; so when the afternoon came he was suffering from one or two bruises and stiffening wounds; not serious, indeed, but enough to lower his speed. the start was much like those of previous runs. the warhorse steaming away low and lightly, his ears up and the breezes whistling through his thirteen stars. minkie with fango, the new dog, bounded in eager pursuit, but, to the surprise of the starters, the gap grew smaller. the warhorse was losing ground, and right before the grand stand old minkie turned him, and a cheer went up from the dog-men, for all knew the runners. within fifty yards fango scored a turn, and the race was right back to the start. there stood slyman and mickey. the rabbit dodged, the greyhounds plunged; jack could not get away, and just as the final snap seemed near, the warhorse leaped straight for mickey, and in an instant was hidden in his arms, while the starter's feet flew out in energetic kicks to repel the furious dogs. it is not likely that the jack knew mickey for a friend; he only yielded to the old instinct to fly from a certain enemy to a neutral or a possible friend, and, as luck would have it, he had wisely leaped and well. a cheer went up from the benches as mickey hurried back with his favorite. but the dog-men protested "it wasn't a fair run--they wanted it finished." they appealed to the steward. he had backed the jack against fango. he was sore now, and ordered a new race. an hour's rest was the best mickey could get for him. then he went as before, with fango and minkie in pursuit. he seemed less stiff now--he ran more like himself; but a little past the stand he was turned by fango and again by minkie, and back and across, and here and there, leaping frantically and barely eluding his foes. for several minutes it lasted. mickey could see that jack's ears were sinking. the new dog leaped. jack dodged almost under him to escape, and back only to meet the second dog; and now both ears were flat on his back. but the hounds were suffering too. their tongues were lolling out; their jaws and heaving sides were splashed with foam. the warhorse's ears went up again. his courage seemed to revive in their distress. he made a straight dash for the haven; but the straight dash was just what the hounds could do, and within a hundred yards he was turned again, to begin another desperate game of zigzag. then the dog-men saw danger for their dogs, and two new ones were slipped--two fresh hounds; surely they could end the race. but they did not. the first two were vanquished--gasping--out of it, but the next two were racing near. the warhorse put forth all his strength. he left the first two far behind--was nearly to the haven when the second two came up. nothing but dodging could save him now. his ears were sinking, his heart was pattering on his ribs, but his spirit was strong. he flung himself in wildest zigzags. the hounds tumbled over each other. again and again they thought they had him. one of them snapped off the end of his long black tail, yet he escaped; but he could not get to the haven. the luck was against him. he was forced nearer to the grand stand. a thousand ladies were watching. the time limit was up. the second dogs were suffering, when mickey came running, yelling like a madman--words--imprecations--crazy sounds: "ye blackguard hoodlums! ye dhirty, cowardly bastes!" and he rushed furiously at the dogs, intent to do them bodily harm. officers came running and shouting, and mickey, shrieking hatred and defiance, was dragged from the field, reviling dogs and men with every horrid, insulting name he could think of or invent. "fair play! whayer's yer fair play, ye liars, ye dhirty cheats, ye bloody cowards!" and they drove him from the arena. the last he saw of it was the four foaming dogs feebly dodging after a weak and worn-out jack-rabbit, and the judge on his horse beckoning to the man with the gun. the gate closed behind him, and mickey heard a bang-bang, an unusual uproar mixed with yelps of dogs, and he knew that little jack warhorse had been served with finish no. . all his life he had loved dogs, but his sense of fair play was outraged. he could not get in, nor see in from where he was. he raced along the lane to the haven, where he might get a good view, and arrived in time to see--little jack warhorse with his half-masted ears limp into the haven; and he realized at once that the man with the gun had missed, had hit the wrong runner, for there was the crowd at the stand watching two men who were carrying a wounded greyhound, while a veterinary surgeon was ministering to another that was panting on the ground. mickey looked about, seized a little shipping-box, put it at the angle of the haven, carefully drove the tired thing into it, closed the lid, then, with the box under his arm, he scaled the fence unseen in the confusion and was gone. 'it didn't matter; he had lost his job anyway.' he tramped away from the city. he took the train at the nearest station and travelled some hours, and now he was in rabbit country again. the sun had long gone down; the night with its stars was over the plain when among the farms, the osage and alfalfa, mickey doo opened the box and gently put the warhorse out. grinning as he did so, he said: "shure an' it's ould oireland thot's proud to set the thirteen stars at liberty wance moore." for a moment the little warhorse gazed in doubt, then took three or four long leaps and a spy-hop to get his bearings. now spreading his national colors and his honor-marked ears, he bounded into his hard-won freedom, strong as ever, and melted into the night of his native plain. he has been seen many times in kaskado, and there have been many rabbit drives in that region, but he seems to know some means of baffling them now, for, in all the thousands that have been trapped and corralled, they have never since seen the star-spangled ears of little jack warhorse. snap the story of a bull-terrier i it was dusk on hallowe'en when first i saw him. early in the morning i had received a telegram from my college chum jack: "lest we forget. am sending you a remarkable pup. be polite to him; it's safer." it would have been just like jack to have sent an infernal machine or a skunk rampant and called it a pup, so i awaited the hamper with curiosity. when it arrived i saw it was marked "dangerous," and there came from within a high-pitched snarl at every slight provocation. on peering through the wire netting i saw it was not a baby tiger but a small white bull-terrier. he snapped at me and at any one or anything that seemed too abrupt or too near for proper respect, and his snarling growl was unpleasantly frequent. dogs have two growls: one deep-rumbled, and chesty; that is polite warning--the retort courteous; the other mouthy and much higher in pitch: this is the last word before actual onslaught. the terrier's growls were all of the latter kind. i was a dog-man and thought i knew all about dogs, so, dismissing the porter, i got out my all-round jackknife--toothpick--nailhammer-hatchet-toolbox-fire-shovel, a specialty of our firm, and lifted the netting. oh, yes, i knew all about dogs. the little fury had been growling out a whole-souled growl for every tap of the tool, and when i turned the box on its side, he made a dash straight for my legs. had not his foot gone through the wire netting and held him, i might have been hurt, for his heart was evidently in his work; but i stepped on the table out of reach and tried to reason with him. i have always believed in talking to animals. i maintain that they gather something of our intention at least, even if they do not understand our words; but the dog evidently put me down for a hypocrite and scorned my approaches. at first he took his post under the table and kept up a circular watch for a leg trying to get down. i felt sure i could have controlled him with my eye, but i could not bring it to bear where i was, or rather where he was; thus i was left a prisoner. i am a very cool person, i flatter myself; in fact, i represent a hardware firm, and, in coolness, we are not excelled by any but perhaps the nosy gentlemen that sell wearing-apparel. i got out a cigar and smoked tailor-style on the table, while my little tyrant below kept watch for legs. i got out the telegram and read it: "remarkable pup. be polite to him; it's safer." i think it was my coolness rather than my politeness that did it, for in half an hour the growling ceased. in an hour he no longer jumped at a newspaper cautiously pushed over the edge to test his humor; possibly the irritation of the cage was wearing off, and by the time i had lit my third cigar, he waddled out to the fire and lay down; not ignoring me, however, i had no reason to complain of that kind of contempt. he kept one eye on me, and i kept both eyes, not on him, but on his stumpy tail. if that tail should swing sidewise once i should feel i was winning; but it did not swing. i got a book and put in time on that table till my legs were cramped and the fire burned low. about p.m. it was chilly, and at half-past ten the fire was out. my hallowe'en present got up, yawned and stretched, then walked under my bed, where he found a fur rug. by stepping lightly from the table to the dresser, and then on to the mantel-shelf, i also reached bed, and, very quietly undressing, got in without provoking any criticism from my master. i had not yet fallen asleep when i heard a slight scrambling and felt "thump-thump" on the bed, then over my feet and legs; snap evidently had found it too cool down below, and proposed to have the best my house afforded. he curled up on my feet in such a way that i was very uncomfortable and tried to readjust matters, but the slightest wriggle of my toe was enough to make him snap at it so fiercely that nothing but thick woollen bedclothes saved me from being maimed for life. i was an hour moving my feet--a hair's-breadth at a time--till they were so that i could sleep in comfort; and i was awakened several times during the night by angry snarls from the dog--i suppose because i dared to move a toe without his approval, though once i believe he did it simply because i was snoring. in the morning i was ready to get up before snap was. you see, i call him snap-ginger-snap in full. some dogs are hard to name, and some do not seem to need it--they name themselves. i was ready to rise at seven. snap was not ready till eight, so we rose at eight. he had little to say to the man who made the fire. he allowed me to dress without doing it on the table. as i left the room to get breakfast, i remarked: "snap, my friend, some men would whip you into a different way, but i think i know a better plan. the doctors nowadays favor the 'no-breakfast cure.' i shall try that." it seemed cruel, but i left him without food all day. it cost me something to repaint the door where he scratched it, but at night he was quite ready to accept a little food at my hands. in a week we were very good friends. he would sleep on my bed now and allow me to move my feet without snapping at them, intent to do me serious bodily harm. the no-breakfast cure had worked wonders; in three months we were--well, simply man and dog, and he amply justified the telegram he came with. he seemed to be without fear. if a small dog came near, he would take not the slightest notice; if a medium-sized dog, he would stick his stub of a tail rigidly up in the air, then walk around him, scratching contemptuously with his hind feet, and looking at the sky, the distance, the ground, anything but the dog, and noting his presence only by frequent high-pitched growls. if the stranger did not move on at once, the battle began, and then the stranger usually moved on very rapidly. snap sometimes got worsted, but no amount of sad experience could ever inspire him with a grain of caution. once, while riding in a cab during the dog show, snap caught sight of an elephantine st. bernard taking an airing. its size aroused such enthusiasm in the pup's little breast that he leaped from the cab window to do battle, and broke his leg. evidently fear had been left out of his make-up and its place supplied with an extra amount of ginger, which was the reason of his full name. he differed from all other dogs i have ever known. for example, if a boy threw a stone at him, he ran, not away, but toward the boy, and if the crime was repeated, snap took the law into his own hands; thus he was at least respected by all. only myself and the porter at the office seemed to realize his good points, and we only were admitted to the high honor of personal friendship, an honor which i appreciated more as months went on, and by midsummer not carnegie, vanderbilt, and astor together could have raised money enough to buy a quarter of a share in my little dog snap. ii though not a regular traveller, i was ordered out on the road in the autumn, and then snap and the landlady were left together, with unfortunate developments. contempt on his part--fear on hers; and hate on both. i was placing a lot of barb-wire in the northern tier of states. my letters were forwarded once a week, and i got several complaints from the landlady about snap. arrived at mendoza, in north dakota, i found a fine market for wire. of course my dealings were with the big storekeepers, but i went about among the ranchmen to get their practical views on the different styles, and thus i met the penroof brothers' cow-outfit. one cannot be long in cow country now without hearing a great deal about the depredations of the ever wily and destructive gray-wolf. the day has gone by when they can be poisoned wholesale, and they are a serious drain on the rancher's profits. the penroof brothers, like most live cattle-men, had given up all attempts at poisoning and trapping, and were trying various breeds of dogs as wolf-hunters, hoping to get a little sport out of the necessary work of destroying the pests. foxhounds had failed--they were too soft for fighting; great danes were too clumsy, and greyhounds could not follow the game unless they could see it. each breed had some fatal defect, but the cow-men hoped to succeed with a mixed pack, and the day when i was invited to join in a mendoza wolf-hunt, i was amused by the variety of dogs that followed. there were several mongrels, but there were also a few highly bred dogs--in particular, some russian wolfhounds that must have cost a lot of money. hilton penroof, the oldest boy, "the master of hounds," was unusually proud of them, and expected them to do great things. "greyhounds are too thin-skinned to fight a wolf, danes are too slow, but you'll see the fur fly when the russians take a hand." thus the greyhounds were there as runners, the danes as heavy backers, and the russians to do the important fighting. there were also two or three foxhounds, whose fine noses were relied on to follow the trail if the game got out of view. it was a fine sight as we rode away among the badland buttes that october day. the air was bright and crisp, and though so late, there was neither snow nor frost. the horses were fresh, and once or twice showed me how a cow-pony tries to get rid of his rider. the dogs were keen for sport, and we did start one or two gray spots in the plain that hilton said were wolves or coyotes. the dogs trailed away at full cry, but at night, beyond the fact that one of the greyhounds had a wound on his shoulder, there was nothing to show that any of them had been on a wolf-hunt. "it's my opinion yer fancy russians is no good, hilt," said garvin, the younger brother. "i'll back that little black dane against the lot, mongrel an' all as he is." "i don't unnerstan' it," growled hilton. "there ain't a coyote, let alone a gray-wolf, kin run away from them greyhounds; them foxhounds kin folly a trail three days old, an' the danes could lick a grizzly." "i reckon," said the father, "they kin run, an' they kin track, an' they kin lick a grizzly, maybe, but the fac' is they don't want to tackle a gray-wolf. the hull darn pack is scairt--an' i wish we had our money out o' them." thus the men grumbled and discussed as i drove away and left them. there seemed only one solution of the failure. the hounds were swift and strong, but a gray-wolf seems to terrorize all dogs. they have not the nerve to face him, and so, each time he gets away, and my thoughts flew back to the fearless little dog that had shared my bed for the last year. how i wished he was out here, then these lubberly giants of hounds would find a leader whose nerve would not fail at the moment of trial. at baroka, my next stop, i got a batch of mail including two letters from the landlady; the first to say that "that beast of a dog was acting up scandalous in my room," and the other still more forcible, demanding his immediate removal. "why not have him expressed to mendoza?" i thought. "it's only twenty hours; they'll be glad to have him. i can take him home with me when i go through." iii my next meeting with gingersnap was not as different from the first as one might have expected. he jumped on me, made much vigorous pretense to bite, and growled frequently, but it was a deep-chested growl and his stump waggled hard. the penroofs had had a number of wolf-hunts since i was with them, and were much disgusted at having no better success than before. the dogs could find a wolf nearly every time they went out, but they could not kill him, and the men were not near enough at the finish to learn why. old penroof was satisfied that "thar wasn't one of the hull miserable gang that had the grit of a jack-rabbit." we were off at dawn the next day--the same procession of fine horses and superb riders; the big blue dogs, the yellow dogs, the spotted dogs, as before; but there was a new feature, a little white dog that stayed close by me, and not only any dogs, but horses that came too near were apt to get a surprise from his teeth. i think he quarrelled with every man, horse, and dog in the country, with the exception of a bull-terrier belonging to the mendoza hotel man. she was the only one smaller than himself, and they seemed very good friends. i shall never forget the view of the hunt i had that day. we were on one of those large, flat-headed buttes that give a kingdom to the eye, when hilton, who had been scanning the vast country with glasses, exclaimed: "i see him. there he goes, toward skull creek. guess it's a coyote." now the first thing is to get the greyhounds to see the prey--not an easy matter, as they cannot use the glasses, and the ground was covered with sage-brush higher than the dogs' heads. but hilton called, "hu, hu, dander," and leaned aside from his saddle, holding out his foot at the same time. with one agile bound dander leaped to the saddle and there stood balancing on the horse while hilton kept pointing. "there he is, dander; sic him--see him down there." the dog gazed earnestly where his master pointed, then seeming to see, he sprang to the ground with a slight yelp and sped away. the other dogs followed after, in an ever-lengthening procession, and we rode as hard as we could behind them, but losing time, for the ground was cut with gullies, spotted with badger-holes, and covered with rocks and sage that made full speed too hazardous. we all fell behind, and i was last, of course, being least accustomed to the saddle. we got several glimpses of the dogs flying over the level plain or dropping from sight in gullies to reappear at the other side. dander, the greyhound, was the recognized leader, and as we mounted another ridge we got sight of the whole chase--a coyote at full speed, the dogs a quarter of a mile behind, but gaining. when next we saw them the coyote was dead, and the dogs sitting around panting, all but two of the foxhounds and gingersnap. "too late for the fracas," remarked hilton, glancing at these last foxhounds. then he proudly petted dander. "didn't need yer purp after all, ye see." "takes a heap of nerve for ten big dogs to face one little coyote," remarked the father, sarcastically. "wait till we run onto a gray." next day we were out again, for i made up my mind to see it to a finish. from a high point we caught sight of a moving speck of gray. a moving white speck stands for antelope, a red speck for fox, a gray speck for either gray-wolf or coyote, and which of these is determined by its tail. if the glass shows the tail down, it is a coyote; if up, it is the hated gray-wolf. dander was shown the game as before and led the motley mixed procession--as he had before--greyhounds, wolfhounds, foxhounds, danes, bull-terrier, horsemen. we got a momentary view of the pursuit; a gray-wolf it surely was, loping away ahead of the dogs. somehow i thought the first dogs were not running so fast now as they had after the coyote. but no one knew the finish of the hunt. the dogs came back to us one by one, and we saw no more of that wolf. sarcastic remarks and recrimination were now freely indulged in by the hunters. "pah--scairt, plumb scairt," was the father's disgusted comment on the pack. "they could catch up easy enough, but when he turned on them, they lighted out for home--pah!" "where's that thar onsurpassable, fearless, scaired-o'-nort tarrier?" asked hilton, scornfully. "i don't know," said i. "i am inclined to think he never saw the wolf; but if he ever does, i'll bet he sails in for death or glory." that night several cows were killed close to the ranch, and we were spurred on to another hunt. it opened much like the last. late in the afternoon we sighted a gray fellow with tail up, not half a mile off. hilton called dander up on the saddle. i acted on the idea and called snap to mine. his legs were so short that he had to leap several times before he made it, scrambling up at last with my foot as a half-way station. i pointed and "sic-ed" for a minute before he saw the game, and then he started out after the greyhounds, already gone, with energy that was full of promise. the chase this time led us, not to the rough brakes along the river, but toward the high open country, for reasons that appeared later. we were close together as we rose to the upland and sighted the chase half a mile off, just as dander came up with the wolf and snapped at his haunch. the gray-wolf turned round to fight, and we had a fine view. the dogs came up by twos and threes, barking at him in a ring, till last the little white one rushed up. he wasted no time barking, but rushed straight at the wolf's throat and missed it, yet seemed to get him by the nose; then the ten big dogs closed in, and in two minutes the wolf was dead. we had ridden hard to be in at the finish, and though our view was distant, we saw at least that snap had lived up to the telegram, as well as to my promises for him. now it was my turn to crow, and i did not lose the chance. snap had shown them how, and at last the mendoza pack had killed a gray-wolf without help from the men. there were two things to mar the victory somewhat: first, it was a young wolf, a mere cub, hence his foolish choice of country; second, snap was wounded--the wolf had given him a bad cut in the shoulder. as we rode in proud procession home, i saw he limped a little. "here," i cried, "come up, snap." he tried once or twice to jump to the saddle, but could not. "here, hilton, lift him up to me." "thanks; i'll let you handle your own rattlesnakes," was the reply, for all knew now that it was not safe to meddle with his person. "here, snap, take hold," i said, and held my quirt to him. he seized it, and by that i lifted him to the front of my saddle and so carried him home. i cared for him as though he had been a baby. he had shown those cattle-men how to fill the weak place in their pack; the foxhounds may be good and the greyhounds swift and the russians and danes fighters, but they are no use at all without the crowning moral force of grit, that none can supply so well as a bull-terrier. on that day the cattlemen learned how to manage the wolf question, as you will find if ever you are at mendoza; for every successful wolf pack there has with it a bull-terrier, preferably of the snap-mendoza breed. iv next day was hallowe'en, the anniversary of snap's advent. the weather was clear, bright, not too cold, and there was no snow on the ground. the men usually celebrated the day with a hunt of some sort, and now, of course, wolves were the one object. to the disappointment of all, snap was in bad shape with his wound. he slept, as usual, at my feet, and bloody stains now marked the place. he was not in condition to fight, but we were bound to have a wolf-hunt, so he was beguiled to an outhouse and locked up, while we went off, i, at least, with a sense of impending disaster. i knew we should fail without my dog, but i did not realize how bad a failure it was to be. afar among the buttes of skull creek we had roamed when a white ball appeared bounding through the sage-brush, and in a minute more snap came, growling and stump-waggling, up to my horse's side. i could not send him back; he would take no such orders, not even from me. his wound was looking bad, so i called him, held down the quirt, and jumped him to my saddle. "there," i thought, "i'll keep you safe till we get home." 'yes, i thought; but i reckoned not with snap. the voice of hilton, "hu, hu," announced that he had sighted a wolf. dander and riley, his rival, both sprang to the point of observation, with the result that they collided and fell together, sprawling, in the sage. but snap, gazing hard, had sighted the wolf, not so very far off, and before i knew it, he leaped from the saddle and bounded zigzag, high, low, in and under the sage, straight for the enemy, leading the whole pack for a few minutes. not far, of course. the great greyhounds sighted the moving speck, and the usual procession strung out on the plain. it promised to be a fine hunt, for the wolf had less than half a mile start and all the dogs were fully interested. "they 'ye turned up grizzly gully," cried garvin. "this way, and we can head them off." so we turned and rode hard around the north side of hulmer's butte, while the chase seemed to go round the south. we galloped to the top of cedar ridge and were about to ride down, when hilton shouted, "by george, here he is! we're right onto him." he leaped from his horse, dropped the bridle, and ran forward. i did the same. a great gray-wolf came lumbering across an open plain toward us. his head was low, his tail out level, and fifty yards behind him was dander, sailing like a hawk over the ground, going twice as fast as the wolf. in a minute the hound was alongside and snapped, but bounded back, as the wolf turned on him. they were just below us now and not fifty feet away. garvin drew his revolver, but in a fateful moment hilton interfered: "no; no; let's see it out." in a few seconds the next greyhound arrived, then the rest in order of swiftness. each came up full of fight and fury, determined to go right in and tear the gray-wolf to pieces; but each in turn swerved aside, and leaped and barked around at a safe distance. after a minute or so the russians appeared--fine big dogs they were. their distant intention no doubt was to dash right at the old wolf; but his fearless front, his sinewy frame and death-dealing jaws, awed them long before they were near him, and they also joined the ring, while the desperado in the middle faced this way and that, ready for any or all. now the danes came up, huge-limbed creatures, any one of them as heavy as the wolf. i heard their heavy breathing tighten into a threatening sound as they plunged ahead; eager to tear the foe to pieces; but when they saw him there, grim fearless, mighty of jaw, tireless of limb, ready to die if need be, but sure of this, he would not die alone--well, those great danes--all three of them--were stricken, as the rest had been, with a sudden bashfulness: yes, they would go right in presently--not now, but as soon as they had got their breath; they were not afraid of a wolf, oh, no. i could read their courage in their voices. they knew perfectly well that the first dog to go in was going to get hurt, but never mind that--presently; they would bark a little more to get up enthusiasm. and as the ten big dogs were leaping round the silent wolf at bay, there was a rustling in the sage at the far side of place; then a snow-white rubber ball, it seemed, came bounding, but grew into a little bull-terrier, and snap, slowest of the pack, and last, came panting hard, so hard he seemed gasping. over the level open he made, straight to the changing ring around the cattle-killer whom none dared face. did he hesitate? not for an instant; through the ring of the yelping pack, straight for the old despot of range, right for his throat he sprang; and the gray-wolf struck with his twenty scimitars. but the little one, if fooled at all, sprang again, and then what came i hardly knew. there was a whirling mass of dogs. i thought i saw the little white one clinched on the gray-wolf's nose. the pack was all around; we could not help them now. but they did not need us; they had a leader of dauntless mettle, and when in a little while the final scene was done, there on the ground lay the gray-wolf, a giant of his kind, and clinched on his nose was the little white dog. we were standing around within fifteen feet, ready to help, but had no chance till were not needed. the wolf was dead, and i hallooed to snap, but he did not move. i bent over him. "snap--snap, it's all over; you've killed him." but the dog was very still, and now i saw two deep wounds in his body. i tried to lift him. "let go, old fellow; it's all over." he growled feebly, and at last go of the wolf. the rough cattle-men were kneeling around him now; old penroof's voice was trembling as he muttered, "i wouldn't had him hurt for twenty steers." i lifted him in my arms, called to him and stroked his head. he snarled a little, a farewell as it proved, for he licked my hand as he did so, then never snarled again. that was a sad ride home for me. there was the skin of a monstrous wolf, but no other hint of triumph. we buried the fearless one on a butte back of the ranch-house. penroof, as he stood by, was heard to grumble: "by jingo, that was grit--cl'ar grit! ye can't raise cattle without grit." the winnipeg wolf i it was during the great blizzard of that i first met the winnipeg wolf. i had left st. paul in the middle of march to cross the prairies to winnipeg, expecting to be there in twenty-four hours, but the storm king had planned it otherwise and sent a heavy-laden eastern blast. the snow came down in a furious, steady torrent, hour after hour. never before had i seen such a storm. all the world was lost in snow--snow, snow, snow--whirling, biting, stinging, drifting snow--and the puffing, monstrous engine was compelled to stop at the command of those tiny feathery crystals of spotless purity. many strong hands with shovels came to the delicately curled snowdrifts that barred our way, and in an hour the engine could pass--only to stick in another drift yet farther on. it was dreary work--day after day, night after night, sticking in the drifts, digging ourselves out, and still the snow went whirling and playing about us. "twenty-two hours to emerson," said the official; but nearly two weeks of digging passed before we did reach emerson, and the poplar country where the thickets stop all drifting of the snow. thenceforth the train went swiftly, the poplar woods grew more thickly--we passed for miles through solid forests, then perhaps through an open space. as we neared st. boniface, the eastern outskirts of winnipeg, we dashed across a little glade fifty yards wide, and there in the middle was a group that stirred me to the very soul. in plain view was a great rabble of dogs, large and small, black, white, and yellow, wriggling and heaving this way and that way in a rude ring; to one side was a little yellow dog stretched and quiet in the snow; on the outer part of the ring was a huge black dog bounding about and barking, but keeping ever behind the moving mob. and in the midst, the centre and cause of it all, was a great, grim, wolf. wolf? he looked like a lion. there he stood, all alone--resolute-calm--with bristling mane, and legs braced firmly, glancing this way and that, to be ready for an attack in any direction. there was a curl on his lips--it looked like scorn, but i suppose it was really the fighting snarl of tooth display. led by a wolfish-looking dog that should have been ashamed, the pack dashed in, for the twentieth time no doubt. but the great gray form leaped here and there, and chop, chop, chop went those fearful jaws, no other sound from the lonely warrior; but a death yelp from more than one of his foes, as those that were able again sprang back, and left him statuesque as before, untamed, unmaimed, and contemptuous of them all. how i wished for the train to stick in a snowdrift now, as so often before, for all my heart went out to that gray-wolf; i longed to go and help him. but the snow-deep glade flashed by, the poplar trunks shut out the view, and we went on to our journey's end. this was all i saw, and it seemed little; but before many days had passed i knew surely that i had been favored with a view, in broad daylight, of a rare and wonderful creature, none less than the winnipeg wolf. his was a strange history--a wolf that preferred the city to the country, that passed by the sheep to kill the dogs, and that always hunted alone. in telling the story of le garou, as he was called by some, although i speak of these things as locally familiar, it is very sure that to many citizens of the town they were quite unknown. the smug shopkeeper on the main street had scarcely heard of him until the day after the final scene at the slaughter-house, when his great carcass was carried to hine's taxidermist shop and there mounted, to be exhibited later at the chicago world's fair, and to be destroyed, alas! in the fire that reduced the mulvey grammar school to ashes in . ii it seems that fiddler paul, the handsome ne'er-do-well of the half-breed world, readier to hunt than to work, was prowling with his gun along the wooded banks of the red river by kildonan, one day in the june of . he saw a gray-wolf come out of a hole in a bank and fired a chance shot that killed it. having made sure, by sending in his dog, that no other large wolf was there, he crawled into the den, and found, to his utter amazement and delight, eight young wolves--nine bounties of ten dollars each. how much is that? a fortune surely. he used a stick vigorously, and with the assistance of the yellow cur, all the little ones were killed but one. there is a superstition about the last of a brood--it is not lucky to kill it. so paul set out for town with the scalp of the old wolf, the scalps of the seven young, and the last cub alive. the saloon-keeper, who got the dollars for which the scalps were exchanged, soon got the living cub. he grew up at the end of a chain, but developed a chest and jaws that no hound in town could match. he was kept in the yard for the amusement of customers, and this amusement usually took the form of baiting the captive with dogs. the young wolf was bitten and mauled nearly to death on several occasions, but he recovered, and each month there were fewer dogs willing to face him. his life was as hard as it could be. there was but one gleam of gentleness in it all, and that was the friendship that grew up between himself and little jim, the son of the saloonkeeper. jim was a wilful little rascal with a mind of his own. he took to the wolf because it had killed a dog that had bitten him. he thenceforth fed the wolf and made a pet of it, and the wolf responded by allowing him to take liberties which no one else dared venture. jim's father was not a model parent. he usually spoiled his son, but at times would get in a rage and beat him cruelly for some trifle. the child was quick to learn that he was beaten, not because he had done wrong, but because he had made his father angry. if, therefore, he could keep out of the way until that anger had cooled, he had no further cause for worry. one day, seeking safety in flight with his father behind him, he dashed into the wolf's kennel, and his grizzly chum thus unceremoniously awakened turned to the door, displayed a double row of ivories, and plainly said to the father: "don't you dare to touch him." if hogan could have shot the wolf then and there he would have done so, but the chances were about equal of killing his son, so he let them alone and, half an hour later, laughed at the whole affair. thenceforth little jim made for the wolf's den whenever he was in danger, and sometimes the only notice any one had that the boy had been in mischief was seeing him sneak in behind the savage captive. economy in hired help was a first principle with hogan. therefore his "barkeep" was a chinaman. he was a timid, harmless creature, so paul des roches did not hesitate to bully him. one day, finding hogan out, and the chinaman alone in charge, paul, already tipsy, demanded a drink on credit, and tung ling, acting on standing orders, refused. his artless explanation, "no good, neber pay," so far from clearing up the difficulty, brought paul staggering back of the bar to avenge the insult. the celestial might have suffered grievous bodily hurt, but that little jim was at hand and had a long stick, with which he adroitly tripped up the fiddler and sent him sprawling. he staggered to his feet swearing he would have jim's life. but the child was near the back door and soon found refuge in the wolf's kennel. seeing that the boy had a protector, paul got the long stick, and from a safe distance began to belabor the wolf, the grizzly creature raged at the end of the chain, but, though he parried many cruel blows by seizing the stick in his teeth, he was suffering severely, when paul realized that jim, whose tongue had not been idle, was fumbling away with nervous fingers to set the wolf loose, and soon would succeed. indeed, it would have been done already but for the strain that the wolf kept on the chain. the thought of being in the yard at the mercy of the huge animal that he had so enraged, gave the brave paul a thrill of terror. jim's wheedling voice was heard--"hold on now, wolfie; back up just a little, and you shall have him. now do; there's a good wolfie"--that was enough; the fiddler fled and carefully closed all doors behind him. thus the friendship between jim and his pet grew stronger, and the wolf, as he developed his splendid natural powers, gave daily evidence also of the mortal hatred he bore to men that smelt of whiskey and to all dogs, the causes of his sufferings. this peculiarity, coupled with his love for the child--and all children seemed to be included to some extent--grew with his growth and seemed to prove the ruling force of his life. iii at this time--that is, the fall of --there were great complaints among the qu'appelle ranchmen that the wolves were increasing in their country and committing great depredations among the stock. poisoning and trapping had proved failures, and when a distinguished german visitor appeared at the club in winnipeg and announced that he was bringing some dogs that could easily rid the country of wolves, he was listened to with unusual interest. for the cattle-men are fond of sport, and the idea of helping their business by establishing a kennel of wolfhounds was very alluring. the german soon produced as samples of his dogs, two magnificent danes, one white, the other blue with black spots and a singular white eye that completed an expression of unusual ferocity. each of these great creatures weighed nearly two hundred pounds. they were muscled like tigers, and the german was readily believed when he claimed that these two alone were more than a match for the biggest wolf. he thus described their method of hunting: "all you have to do is show them the trail and, even if it is a day old, away they go on it. they cannot be shaken off. they will soon find that wolf, no matter how he doubles and hides. then they close on him. he turns to run, the blue dog takes him by the haunch and throws him like this," and the german jerked a roll of bread into the air; "then before he touches the ground the white dog has his head, the other his tail, and they pull him apart like that." it sounded all right; at any rate every one was eager to put it to the proof. several of the residents said there was a fair chance of finding a gray-wolf along the assiniboine, so a hunt was organized. but they searched in vain for three days and were giving it up when some one suggested that down at hogan's saloon was a wolf chained up, that they could get for the value of the bounty, and though little more than a year old he would serve to show what the dogs could do. the value of hogan's wolf went up at once when he knew the importance of the occasion; besides, "he had conscientious scruples." all his scruples vanished, however, when his views as to price were met. his first care was to get little jim out of the way by sending him on an errand to his grandma's; then the wolf was driven into his box and nailed in. the box was put in a wagon and taken to the open prairie along the portage trail. the dogs could scarcely be held back, they were so eager for the fray, as soon as they smelt the wolf. but several strong men held their leash, the wagon was drawn half a mile farther, and the wolf was turned out with some difficulty. at first he looked scared and sullen. he tried to get out of sight, but made no attempt to bite. however, on finding himself free, as well as hissed and hooted at, he started off at a slinking trot toward the south, where the land seemed broken. the dogs were released at that moment, and, baying furiously, they bounded away after the young wolf. the men cheered loudly and rode behind them. from the very first it was clear that he had no chance. the dogs were much swifter; the white one could run like a greyhound. the german was wildly enthusiastic as she flew across the prairie, gaining visibly on the wolf at every second. many bets were offered on the dogs, but there were no takers. the only bets accepted were dog against dog. the young wolf went at speed now, but within a mile the white dog was right behind him--was closing in. the german shouted: "now watch and see that wolf go up in the air." in a moment the runners were together. both recoiled, neither went up in the air, but the white dog rolled over with a fearful gash in her shoulder--out of the fight, if not killed. ten seconds later the blue-spot arrived, open-mouthed. this meeting was as quick and almost as mysterious as the first. the animals barely touched each other. the gray one bounded aside, his head out of sight for a moment in the flash of quick movement. spot reeled and showed a bleeding flank. urged on by the men, he assaulted again, but only to get another wound that taught him to keep off. now came the keeper with four more huge dogs. they turned these loose, and the men armed with clubs and lassos were closing to help in finishing the wolf, when a small boy came charging over the plain on a pony. he leaped to the ground and wriggling through the ring flung his arms around the wolf's neck. he called him his "wolfie pet," his "dear wolfie"--the wolf licked his face and wagged its tail--then the child turned on the crowd and through his streaming tears, he--well it would not do to print what he said. he was only nine, but he was very old-fashioned, as well as a rude little boy. he had been brought up in a low saloon, and had been an apt pupil at picking up the vile talk of the place. he cursed them one and all and for generations back; he did not spare even his own father. if a man had used such shocking and insulting language he might have been lynched, but coming from a baby, the hunters did not know what to do, so finally did the best thing. they laughed aloud--not at themselves, that is not considered good form--but they all laughed at the german whose wonderful dogs had been worsted by a half-grown wolf. jimmie now thrust his dirty, tear-stained little fist down into his very-much-of-a-boy's pocket, and from among marbles and chewing-gum, as well as tobacco, matches, pistol cartridges, and other contraband, he fished out a flimsy bit of grocer's twine and fastened it around the wolf's neck. then, still blubbering a little, he set out for home on the pony, leading the wolf and hurling a final threat and anathema at the german nobleman: "fur two cents i'd sic him on you, gol darn ye." iv early that winter jimmie was taken down with a fever. the wolf howled miserably in the yard when he missed his little friend, and finally on the boy's demand was admitted to the sick-room, and there this great wild dog--for that is all a wolf is--continued faithfully watching by his friend's bedside. the fever had seemed slight at first, so that every one was shocked when there came suddenly a turn for the worse, and three days before christmas jimmie died. he had no more sincere mourner than his "wolfie." the great gray creature howled in miserable answer to the church-bell tolling when he followed the body on christmas eve to the graveyard at st. boniface. he soon came back to the premises behind the saloon, but when an attempt was made to chain him again, he leaped a board fence and was finally lost sight of. later that same winter old renaud, the trapper, with his pretty half-breed daughter, ninette, came to live in a little log-cabin on the river bank. he knew nothing about jimmie hogan, and he was not a little puzzled to find wolf tracks and signs along the river on both sides between st. boniface and fort garry. he listened with interest and doubt to tales that the hudson bay company's men told of a great gray-wolf that had come to live in the region about, and even to enter the town at night, and that was in particular attached to the woods about st. boniface church. on christmas eve of that year when the bell tolled again as it had done for jimmie, a lone and melancholy howling from the woods almost convinced renaud that the stories were true. he knew the wolf-cries--the howl for help, the love song, the lonely wail, and the sharp defiance of the wolves. this was the lonely wail. the trapper went to the riverside and gave an answering howl. a shadowy form left the far woods and crossed on the ice to where the man sat, log-still, on a log. it came up near him, circled past and sniffed, then its eye glowed; it growled like a dog that is a little angry, and glided back into the night. thus renaud knew, and before long many townfolk began to learn, that a huge gray-wolf was living in their streets, "a wolf three times as big as the one that used to be chained at hogan's gin-mill." he was the terror of dogs, killing them on all possible occasions, and some said, though it was never proven, that he had devoured more than one half-breed who was out on a spree. and this was the winnipeg wolf that i had seen that day in the wintry woods. i had longed to go to his help, thinking the odds so hopelessly against him, but later knowledge changed the thought. i do not know how that fight ended, but i do know that he was seen many times afterward and some of the dogs were not. thus his was the strangest life that ever his kind had known. free of all the woods and plains, he elected rather to lead a life of daily hazard in the town--each week at least some close escape, and every day a day of daring deeds; finding momentary shelter at times under the very boardwalk crossings. hating the men and despising the dogs, he fought his daily way and held the hordes of curs at bay or slew them when he found them few or single; harried the drunkard, evaded men with guns, learned traps--learned poison, too--just how, we cannot tell, but learn it he did, for he passed it again and again, or served it only with a wolf's contempt. not a street in winnipeg that he did not know; not a policeman in winnipeg that had not seen his swift and shadowy form in the gray dawn as he passed where he would; not a dog in winnipeg that did not cower and bristle when the telltale wind brought proof that old garou was crouching near. his only path was the warpath, and all the world his foes. but throughout this lurid, semi-mythic record there was one recurring pleasant thought--garou never was known to harm a child. v ninette was a desert-born beauty like her indian mother, but gray-eyed like her normandy father, a sweet girl of sixteen, the belle of her set. she might have married any one of the richest and steadiest young men of the country, but of course, in feminine perversity her heart was set on that ne'er-do-well, paul des roches. a handsome fellow, a good dancer and a fair violinist, fiddler paul was in demand at all festivities, but he was a shiftless drunkard and it was even whispered that he had a wife already in lower canada. renaud very properly dismissed him when he came to urge his suit, but dismissed him in vain. ninette, obedient in all else, would not give up her lover. the very day after her father had ordered him away she promised to meet him in the woods just across the river. it was easy to arrange this, for she was a good catholic, and across the ice to the church was shorter than going around by the bridge. as she went through the snowy wood to the tryst she noticed that a large gray dog was following. it seemed quite friendly, and the child (for she was still that) had no fear, but when she came to the place where paul was waiting, the gray dog went forward rumbling in its chest. paul gave one look, knew it for a huge wolf, then fled like the coward he was. he afterward said he ran for his gun. he must have forgotten where it was, as he climbed the nearest tree to find it. meanwhile ninette ran home across the ice to tell paul's friends of his danger. not finding any firearms up the tree, the valiant lover made a spear by fastening his knife to a branch and succeeded in giving garou a painful wound on the head. the savage, creature growled horribly but thenceforth kept at a safe distance, though plainly showing his intention to wait till the man came down. but the approach of a band of rescuers changed his mind, and he went away. fiddler paul found it easier to explain matters to ninette than he would to any one else. he still stood first in her affections, but so hopelessly ill with her father that they decided on an elopement, as soon as he should return from fort alexander, whither he was to go for the company, as dog-driver. the factor was very proud of his train dogs--three great huskies with curly, bushy tails, big and strong as calves, but fierce and lawless as pirates. with these the fiddler paul was to drive to fort alexander from fort garry--the bearer of several important packets. he was an expert dog-driver, which usually means relentlessly cruel. he set off blithely down the river in the morning, after the several necessary drinks of whiskey. he expected to be gone a week, and would then come back with twenty dollars in his pocket, and having thus provided the sinews of war, would carry out the plan of elopement. away they went down the river on the ice. the big dogs pulled swiftly but sulkily as he cracked the long whip and shouted, "allez, allez, marchez." they passed at speed by renaud's shanty on the bank, and paul, cracking his whip and running behind the train, waved his hand to ninette as she stood by the door. speedily the cariole with the sulky dogs and drunken driver disappeared around the bend--and that was the last ever seen of fiddler paul. that evening the huskies came back singly to fort garry. they were spattered with frozen blood, and were gashed in several places. but strange to tell they were quite "unhungry." runners went on the back trail and recovered the packages. they were lying on the ice unharmed. fragments of the sled were strewn for a mile or more up the river; not far from the packages were shreds of clothing that had belonged to the fiddler. it was quite clear, the dogs had murdered and eaten their driver. the factor was terribly wrought up over the matter. it might cost him his dogs. he refused to believe the report and set off to sift the evidence for himself. renaud was chosen to go with him, and before they were within three miles of the fatal place renaud pointed to a very large track crossing from the east to the west bank of the river, just after the dog sled. he ran it backward for a mile or more on the eastern bank, noted how it had walked when the dogs walked and run when they ran, before he turned to the factor and said: "a beeg voolf--he come after ze cariole all ze time." now they followed the track where it had crossed to the west shore. two miles above kildonan woods the wolf had stopped his gallop to walk over to the sled trail, had followed it a few yards, then had returned to the woods. "paul he drop somesin' here, ze packet maybe; ze voolf he come for smell. he follow so--now he know zat eez ze drunken paul vot slash heem on ze head." a mile farther the wolf track came galloping on the ice behind the cariole. the man track disappeared now, for the driver had leaped on the sled and lashed the dogs. here is where he cut adrift the bundles. that is why things were scattered over the ice. see how the dogs were bounding under the lash. here was the fiddler's knife in the snow. he must have dropped it in trying to use it on the wolf. and here-what! the wolf track disappears, but the sled track speeds along. the wolf has leaped on the sled. the dogs, in terror, added to their speed; but on the sleigh behind them there is a deed of vengeance done. in a moment it is over; both roll off the sled; the wolf track reappears on the east side to seek the woods. the sled swerves to the west bank, where, after half a mile, it is caught and wrecked on a root. the snow also told renaud how the dogs, entangled in the harness, had fought with each other, had cut themselves loose, and trotting homeward by various ways up the river, had gathered at the body of their late tyrant and devoured him at a meal. bad enough for the dogs, still they were cleared of the murder. that certainly was done by the wolf, and renaud, after the shock of horror was past, gave a sigh of relief and added, "eet is le garou. he hab save my leel girl from zat paul. he always was good to children." vi this was the cause of the great final hunt that they fixed for christmas day just two years after the scene at the grave of little jim. it seemed as though all the dogs in the country were brought together. the three huskies were there--the factor considered them essential--there were danes and trailers and a rabble of farm dogs and nondescripts. they spent the morning beating all the woods east of st. boniface and had no success. but a telephone message came that the trail they sought had been seen near the assiniboine woods west of the city, and an hour later the hunt was yelling on the hot scent of the winnipeg wolf. away they went, a rabble of dogs, a motley rout of horsemen, a mob of men and boys on foot. garou had no fear of the dogs, but men he knew had guns and were dangerous. he led off for the dark timber line of the assiniboine, but the horsemen had open country and they headed him back. he coursed along the colony creek hollow and so eluded the bullets already flying. he made for a barb-wire fence, and passing that he got rid of the horsemen for a time, but still must keep the hollow that baffled the bullets. the dogs were now closing on him. all he might have asked would probably have been to be left alone with them--forty or fifty to one as they were--he would have taken the odds. the dogs were all around him now, but none dared to close in, a lanky hound, trusting to his speed, ran alongside at length and got a side chop from garou that laid him low. the horsemen were forced to take a distant way around, but now the chase was toward the town, and more men and dogs came running out to join the fray. the wolf turned toward the slaughter-house, a familiar resort, and the shooting ceased on account of the houses, as well as the dogs, being so near. these were indeed now close enough to encircle him and hinder all further flight. he looked for a place to guard his rear for a final stand, and seeing a wooden foot-bridge over a gutter he sprang in, there faced about and held the pack at bay. the men got bars and demolished the bridge. he leaped out, knowing now that he had to die, but ready, wishing only to make a worthy fight, and then for the first time in broad day view of all his foes he stood--the shadowy dog-killer, the disembodied voice of st. boniface woods, the wonderful winnipeg wolf. vii at last after three long years of fight he stood before them alone, confronting twoscore dogs, and men with guns to back them--but facing them just as resolutely as i saw him that day in the wintry woods. the same old curl was on his lips--the hard-knit flanks heaved just a little, but his green and yellow eye glowed steadily. the dogs closed in, led not by the huge huskies from the woods--they evidently knew too much for that--but by a bulldog from the town; there was scuffling of many feet; a low rumbling for a time replaced the yapping of the pack; a flashing of those red and grizzled jaws, a momentary hurl back of the onset, and again he stood alone and braced, the grim and grand old bandit that he was. three times they tried and suffered. their boldest were lying about him. the first to go down was the bulldog. learning wisdom now, the dogs held back, less sure; but his square-built chest showed never a sign of weakness yet, and after waiting impatiently he advanced a few steps, and thus, alas! gave to the gunners their long-expected chance. three rifles rang, and in the snow garou went down at last, his life of combat done. he had made his choice. his days were short and crammed with quick events. his tale of many peaceful years was spent in three of daily brunt. he picked his trail, a new trail, high and short. he chose to drink his cup at a single gulp, and break the glass-but he left a deathless name. who can look into the mind of the wolf? who can show us his wellspring of motive? why should he still cling to a place of endless tribulation? it could not be because he knew no other country, for the region is limitless, food is everywhere, and he was known at least as far as selkirk. nor could his motive be revenge. no animal will give up its whole life to seeking revenge; that evil kind of mind is found in man alone. the brute creation seeks for peace. there is then but one remaining bond to chain him, and that the strongest claim that anything can own--the mightiest force on earth. the wolf is gone. the last relic of him was lost in the burning grammar school, but to this day the sexton of st. boniface church avers that the tolling bell on christmas eve never fails to provoke that weird and melancholy wolf-cry from the wooded graveyard a hundred steps away, where they laid his little jim, the only being on earth that ever met him with the touch of love. the legend of the white reindeer skoal! skoal! for norway skoal! sing ye the song of the vand-dam troll. when i am hiding norway's luck on a white storbuk comes riding, riding. bleak, black, deep, and cold is utrovand, a long pocket of glacial water, a crack in the globe, a wrinkle in the high norwegian mountains, blocked with another mountain, and flooded with a frigid flood, three thousand feet above its mother sea, and yet no closer to its father sun. around its cheerless shore is a belt of stunted trees, that sends a long tail up the high valley, till it dwindles away to sticks and moss, as it also does some half-way up the granite hills that rise a thousand feet, encompassing the lake. this is the limit of trees, the end of the growth of wood. the birch and willow are the last to drop out of the long fight with frost. their miniature thickets are noisy with the cries of fieldfare, pipit, and ptarmigan, but these are left behind on nearing the upper plateau, where shade of rock and sough of wind are all that take their place. the chilly hoifjeld rolls away, a rugged, rocky plain, with great patches of snow in all the deeper hollows, and the distance blocked by snowy peaks that rise and roll and whiter gleam, till, dim and dazzling in the north, uplifts the jotunheim, the home of spirits, of glaciers, and of the lasting snow. the treeless stretch is one vast attest to the force of heat. each failure of the sun by one degree is marked by a lower realm of life. the northern slope of each hollow is less boreal than its southern side. the pine and spruce have given out long ago; the mountain-ash went next; the birch and willow climbed up half the slope. here, nothing grows but creeping plants and moss. the plain itself is pale grayish green, one vast expanse of reindeer-moss, but warmed at spots into orange by great beds of polytrichum, and, in sunnier nooks, deepened to a herbal green. the rocks that are scattered everywhere are of a delicate lilac, but each is variegated with spreading frill-edged plasters of gray-green lichen or orange powder-streaks and beauty-spots of black. these rocks have great power to hold the heat, so that each of them is surrounded by a little belt of heat-loving plants that could not otherwise live so high. dwarfed representatives of the birch and willow both are here, hugging the genial rock, as an old french habitant hugs his stove in winter-time, spreading their branches over it, instead of in the frigid air. a foot away is seen a chillier belt of heath, and farther off, colder, where none else can grow, is the omnipresent gray-green reindeer-moss that gives its color to the upland. the hollows are still filled with snow, though now it is june. but each of these white expanses is shrinking, spending itself in ice-cold streams that somehow reach the lake. these snö-flaks show no sign of life, not even the 'red-snow' tinge, and around each is a belt of barren earth, to testify that life and warmth can never be divorced. birdless and lifeless, the gray-green snow-pied waste extends over all the stretch that is here between the timber-line and the snow-line, above which winter never quits its hold. farther north both come lower, till the timber-line is at the level of the sea; and all the land is in that treeless belt called tundra in the old world, and barrens in the new, and that everywhere is the home of the reindeer--the realm of the reindeer-moss. i in and out it flew, in and out, over the water and under, as the varsimle', the leader doe of the reindeer herd, walked past on the vernal banks, and it sang:-- "skoal! skoal! gamle norge skoal!" and more about "a white reindeer and norway's good luck," as though the singer were gifted with special insight. when old sveggum built the vand-dam on the lower hoifjeld, just above the utrovand, and set his ribesten a-going, he supposed that he was the owner of it all. but some one was there before him. and in and out of the spouting stream this some one dashed, and sang songs that he made up to fit the place and the time. he skipped from skjaeke to skjaeke of the wheel, and did many things which sveggum could set down only to luck--whatever that is; and some said that sveggum's luck was a wheel-troll, a water-fairy, with a brown coat and a white beard, one that lived on land or in water, as he pleased. but most of sveggum's neighbors saw only a fossekal, the little waterfall bird that came each year and danced in the stream, or dived where the pool is deep. and maybe both were right, for some of the very oldest peasants will tell you that a fairy-troll may take the form of a man or the form of a bird. only this bird lived a life no bird can live, and sang songs that men never had sung in norway. wonderful vision had he, and sights he saw that man never saw. for the fieldfare would build before him, and the lemming fed its brood under his very eyes. eyes were they to see; for the dark speck on suletind that man could barely glimpse was a reindeer, with half-shed coat, to him and the green slime on the vandren was beautiful green pasture with a banquet spread. oh, man is so blind, and makes himself so hated! but fossekal harmed none, so none were afraid of him. only he sang, and his songs were sometimes mixed with fun and prophecy, or perhaps a little scorn. from the top of the tassel-birch he could mark the course of the vand-dam stream past the nystuen hamlet to lose itself in the gloomy waters of utrovand or by a higher flight he could see across the barren upland that rolled to jotunheim in the north. the great awakening was on now. the springtime had already reached the woods; the valleys were a-throb with life; new birds coming from the south, winter sleepers reappearing, and the reindeer that had wintered in the lower woods should soon again be seen on the uplands. not without a fight do the frost giants give up the place so long their own; a great battle was in progress; but the sun was slowly, surely winning, and driving them back to their jotunheim. at every hollow and shady place they made another stand, or sneaked back by night, only to suffer another defeat. hard hitters these, as they are stubborn fighters; many a granite rock was split and shattered by their blows in reckless fight, so that its inner fleshy tints were shown and warmly gleamed among the gray-green rocks that dotted the plain, like the countless flocks of thor. more or less of these may be found at every place of battle-brunt, and straggled along the slope of suletind was a host that reached for half a mile. but stay! these moved. not rocks were they, but living creatures. they drifted along erratically, yet one way, all up the wind. they swept out of sight in a hollow, to reappear on a ridge much nearer, and serried there against the sky, we marked their branching horns, and knew them for the reindeer in their home. the band came drifting our way, feeding like sheep, grunting like only themselves. each one found a grazing-spot, stood there till it was cleared off, then trotted on crackling hoofs to the front in search of another. so the band was ever changing in rank and form. but one there was that was always at or near the van--a large and well-favored simle', or hind. however much the band might change and spread, she was in the forefront, and the observant would soon have seen signs that she had an influence over the general movement--that she, indeed, was the leader. even the big bucks, in their huge velvet-clad antlers, admitted this untitular control; and if one, in a spirit of independence, evinced a disposition to lead elsewhere, he soon found himself uncomfortably alone. the varsimle', or leading hind, had kept the band hovering, for the last week or two, along the timber-line, going higher each day to the baring uplands, where the snow was clearing and the deer-flies were blown away. as the pasture zone had climbed she had followed in her daily foraging, returning to the sheltered woods at sundown, for the wild things fear the cold night wind even as man does. but now the deer-flies were rife in the woods, and the rocky hillside nooks warm enough for the nightly bivouac, so the woodland was deserted. probably the leader of a band of animals does not consciously pride itself on leadership, yet has an uncomfortable sensation when not followed. but there are times with all when solitude is sought. the varsimle' had been fat and well through the winter, yet now was listless, and lingered with drooping head as the grazing herd moved past her. sometimes she stood gazing blankly while the unchewed bunch of moss hung from her mouth, then roused to go on to the front as before; but the spells of vacant stare and the hankering to be alone grew stronger. she turned downward to seek the birch woods, but the whole band turned with her. she stood stock-still, with head down. they grazed and grunted past, leaving her like a statue against the hillside. when all had gone on, she slunk quietly away; walked a few steps, looked about, made a pretense of grazing, snuffed the ground, looked after the herd, and scanned the hills; then downward fared toward the sheltering woods. once as she peered over a bank she sighted another simle', a doe reindeer, uneasily wandering by itself. but the varsimle' wished not for company. she did not know why, but she felt that she must hide away somewhere. she stood still until the other had passed on, then turned aside, and went with faster steps and less wavering, till she came in view of utrovand, away down by the little stream that turns old sveggum's ribesten. up above the dam she waded across the limpid stream, for deep-laid and sure is the instinct of a wild animal to put running water between itself and those it shuns. then, on the farther bank, now bare and slightly green, she turned, and passing in and out among the twisted trunks, she left the noisy vand-dam. on the higher ground beyond she paused, looked this way and that, went on a little, but returned; and here, completely shut in by softly painted rocks, and birches wearing little springtime hangers, she seemed inclined to rest; yet not to rest, for she stood uneasily this way and that, driving away the flies that settled on her legs, heeding not at all the growing grass, and thinking she was hid from all the world. but nothing escapes the fossekal. he had seen her leave the herd, and now he sat on a gorgeous rock that overhung, and sang as though he had waited for this and knew that the fate of the nation might turn on what passed in this far glen. he sang: skoal! skoal! for norway skoal! sing ye the song of the vand-dam troll. when i am hiding norway's luck on a white storbuk comes riding, riding. there are no storks in norway, and yet an hour later there was a wonderful little reindeer lying beside the varsimle'. she was brushing his coat, licking and mothering him, proud and happy as though this was the first little renskalv ever born. there might be hundreds born in the herd that month, but probably no more like this one, for he was snowy white, and the song of the singer on the painted rock was about good luck, good luck, and a white storbuk, as though he foresaw clearly the part that the white calf was to play when he grew to be a storbuk. but another wonder now came to pass. before an hour, there was a second little calf--a brown one this time. strange things happen, and hard things are done when they needs must. two hours later, when the varsimle' led the white calf away from the place, there was no brown calf, only some flattened rags with calf-hair on them. the mother was wise: better one strongling than two weaklings. within a few days the simle' once more led the band, and running by her side was the white calf. the varsimle' considered him in all things, so that he really set the pace for the band, which suited very well all the mothers that now had calves with them. big, strong, and wise was the varsimle', in the pride of her strength, and this white calf was the flower of her prime. he often ran ahead of his mother as she led the herd, and rol, coming on them one day, laughed aloud at the sight as they passed, old and young, fat simle' and antlered storbuk, a great brown herd, all led, as it seemed, by a little white calf. so they drifted away to the high mountains, to be gone all summer. "gone to be taught by the spirits who dwell where the black loon laughs on the ice," said lief of the lower dale; but sveggum, who had always been among the reindeer, said: "their mothers are the teachers, even as ours are." when the autumn came, old sveggum saw a moving sno-flack far off on the brown moor-land; but the troll saw a white yearling, a nekbuk; and when they ranged alongside of utrovand to drink, the still sheet seemed fully to reflect the white one, though it barely sketched in the others, with the dark hills behind. many a little calf had come that spring, and had drifted away on the moss-barrens, to come back no more; for some were weaklings and some were fools; some fell by the way, for that is law; and some would not learn the rules, and so died. but the white calf was strongest of them all, and he was wise, so he learned of his mother, who was wisest of them all. he learned that the grass on the sun side of a rock is sweet, and though it looks the same in the dark hollows, it is there worthless. he learned that when his mother's hoofs crackled he must be up and moving, and when all the herd's hoofs crackled there was danger, and he must keep by his mother's side. for this crackling is like the whistling of a whistler duck's wings: it is to keep the kinds together. he learned that where the little bomuldblomster hangs its cotton tufts is dangerous bog; that the harsh cackle of the ptarmigan means that close at hand are eagles, as dangerous for fawn as for bird. he learned that the little troll-berries are deadly, that when the verra-flies come stinging he must take refuge on a snow-patch, and that of all animal smells only that of his mother was to be fully trusted. he learned that he was growing. his flat calf sides and big joints were changing to the full barrel and clean limbs of the yearling, and the little bumps which began to show on his head when he was only a fortnight old were now sharp, hard spikes that could win in fight. more than once they had smelt that dreaded destroyer of the north that men call the gjerv or wolverene; and one day, as this danger-scent came suddenly and in great strength, a huge blot of dark brown sprang rumbling from a rocky ledge, and straight for the foremost--the white calf. his eye caught the flash of a whirling, shaggy mass, with gleaming teeth and eyes, hot-breathed and ferocious. blank horror set his hair on end; his nostrils flared in fear: but before he fled there rose within another feeling--one of anger at the breaker of his peace, a sense that swept all fear away, braced his legs, and set his horns at charge. the brown brute landed with a deep-chested growl, to be received on the young one's spikes. they pierced him deeply, but the shock was overmuch; it bore the white one down, and he might yet have been killed but that his mother, alert and ever near, now charged the attacking monster, and heavier, better armed, she hurled and speared him to the ground. and the white calf, with a very demon glare in his once mild eyes, charged too; and even after the wolverene was a mere hairy mass, and his mother had retired to feed, he came, snorting out his rage, to drive his spikes into the hateful thing, till his snowy head was stained with his adversary's blood. thus he showed that below the ox-like calm exterior was the fighting beast; that he was like the men of the north, rugged, square-built, calm, slow to wrath, but when aroused "seeing red." when they ranked together by the lake that fall, the fossekal sang his old song: when i am hiding norway's luck on a white storbuk comes riding, riding, as though this was something he had awaited, then disappeared no one knew where. old sveggum had seen it flying through the stream, as birds fly through the air, walking in the bottom of a deep pond as a ptarmigan walks on the rocks, living as no bird can live; and now the old man said it had simply gone southward for the winter. but old sveggum could neither read nor write: how should he know? ii each springtime when the reindeer passed over sveggum's mill-run, as they moved from the lowland woods to the bleaker shore of utrovand, the fossekal was there to sing about the white storbuk, which each year became more truly the leader. that first spring he stood little higher than a hare. when he came to drink in the autumn, his back was above the rock where sveggum's stream enters utrovand. next year he barely passed under the stunted birch, and the third year the fossekal on the painted rock was looking up, not down, at him as he passed. this was the autumn when rol and sveggum sought the hoifjeld to round up their half-wild herd and select some of the strongest for the sled. there was but one opinion about the storbuk. higher than the others, heavier, white as snow, with a mane that swept the shallow drifts, breasted like a horse and with horns like a storm-grown oak, he was king of the herd, and might easily be king of the road. there are two kinds of deer-breakers, as there are two kinds of horse-breakers: one that tames and teaches the animal, and gets a spirited, friendly helper; one that aims to break its spirit, and gets only a sullen slave, ever ready to rebel and wreak its hate. many a lapp and many a norsk has paid with his life for brutality to his reindeer, and rol's days were shortened by his own pulk-ren. but sveggum was of gentler sort. to him fell the training of the white storbuk. it was slow, for the buck resented all liberties from man, as he did from his brothers; but kindness, not fear, was the power that tamed him, and when he had learned to obey and glory in the sled race, it was a noble sight to see the great white mild-eyed beast striding down the long snow-stretch of utrovand, the steam jetting from his nostrils, the snow swirling up before like the curling waves on a steamer's bow, sled, driver, and deer all dim in flying white. then came the yule-tide fair, with the races on the ice, and utrovand for once was gay. the sullen hills about reechoed with merry shouting. the reindeer races were first, with many a mad mischance for laughter. rol himself was there with his swiftest sled deer, a tall, dark, five-year-old, in his primest prime. but over-eager, over-brutal, he harried the sullen, splendid slave till in mid-race--just when in a way to win--it turned at a cruel blow, and rol took refuge under the upturned sled until it had vented its rage against the wood; and so he lost the race, and the winner was the young white storbuk. then he won the five-mile race around the lake; and for each triumph sveggum hung a little silver bell on his harness, so that now he ran and won to merry music. then came the horse races,--running races these; the reindeer only trots,--and when balder, the victor horse, received his ribbon and his owner the purse, came sveggum with all his winnings in his hand, and said: "ho, lars, thine is a fine horse, but mine is a better storbuk; let us put our winnings together and race, each his beast, for all." a ren against a race-horse--such a race was never seen till now. off at the pistol-crack they flew. "ho, balder! (cluck!) ho, hi, balder!" away shot the beautiful racer, and the storbuk, striding at a slower trot, was left behind. "ho, balder!" "hi, storbuk!" how the people cheered as the horse went bounding and gaining! but he had left the line at his top speed; the storbuk's rose as he flew--faster--faster. the pony ceased to gain. a mile whirled by; the gap began to close. the pony had over-spurted at the start, but the storbuk was warming to his work--striding evenly, swiftly, faster yet, as sveggum cried in encouragement: "ho, storbuk! good storbuk!" or talked to him only with a gentle rein. at the turning-point the pair were neck and neck; then the pony--though well driven and well shod-slipped on the ice, and thenceforth held back as though in fear, so the storbuk steamed away. the pony and his driver were far behind when a roar from every human throat in filefjeld told that the storbuk had passed the wire and won the race. and yet all this was before the white ren had reached the years of his full strength and speed. once that day rol essayed to drive the storbuk. they set off at a good pace, the white buk ready, responsive to the single rein, and his mild eyes veiled by his drooping lashes. but, without any reason other than the habit of brutality, rol struck him. in a moment there was a change. the racer's speed was checked, all four legs braced forward till he stood; the drooping lids were raised, the eyes rolled--there was a green light in them now. three puffs of steam were jetted from each nostril. rol shouted, then, scenting danger, quickly upset the sled and hid beneath. the storbuk turned to charge the sled, sniffing and tossing the snow with his foot; but little knute, sveggum's son, ran forward and put his arms around the storbuk's neck; then the fierce look left the reindeer's eye, and he suffered the child to lead him quietly back to the starting-point. beware, o driver! the reindeer, too, "sees red." this was the coming of the white storbuk for the folk of filefjeld. in the two years that followed he became famous throughout that country as sveggum's storbuk, and many a strange exploit was told of him. in twenty minutes he could carry old sveggum round the six-mile rim of utrovand. when the snow-slide buried all the village of holaker, it was the storbuk that brought the word for help to opdalstole and returned again over the forty miles of deep snow in seven hours, to carry brandy, food, and promise of speedy aid. when over-venturesome young knute sveggumsen broke through the new thin ice of utrovand, his cry for help brought the storbuk to the rescue; for he was the gentlest of his kind and always ready to come at call. he brought the drowning boy in triumph to the shore, and as they crossed the vand-dam stream, there was the troll-bird to sing: good luck, good luck, with the white storbuk. after which he disappeared for months--doubtless dived into some subaqueous cave to feast and revel all winter; although sveggum did not believe it was so. iii how often is the fate of kingdoms given into child hands, or even committed to the care of bird or beast! a she-wolf nursed the roman empire. a wren pecking crumbs on a drum-head aroused the orange army, it is said, and ended the stuart reign in britain. little wonder, then, that to a noble reindeer buk should be committed the fate of norway: that the troll on the wheel should have reason in his rhyme. these were troublous times in scandinavia. evil men, traitors at heart, were sowing dissension between the brothers norway and sweden. "down with the union!" was becoming the popular cry. oh, unwise peoples! if only you could have been by sveggum's wheel to hear the troll when he sang: the raven and the lion they held the bear at bay; but he picked the bones of both when they quarrelled by the way. threats of civil war, of a fight for independence, were heard throughout norway. meetings were held more or less secretly, and at each of them was some one with well-filled pockets and glib tongue, to enlarge on the country's wrongs, and promise assistance from an outside irresistible power as soon as they showed that they meant to strike for freedom. no one openly named the power. that was not necessary; it was everywhere felt and understood. men who were real patriots began to believe in it. their country was wronged. here was one to set her right. men whose honor was beyond question became secret agents of this power. the state was honeycombed and mined; society was a tangle of plots. the king was helpless, though his only wish was for the people's welfare. honest and straightforward, what could he do against this far-reaching machination? the very advisers by his side were corrupted through mistaken patriotism. the idea that they were playing into the hands of the foreigner certainly never entered into the minds of these dupes--at least, not those of the rank and file. one or two, tried, selected, and bought by the arch-enemy, knew the real object in view, and the chief of these was borgrevinck, a former lansman of nordlands. a man of unusual gifts, a member of the storthing, a born leader, he might have been prime minister long ago, but for the distrust inspired by several unprincipled dealings. soured by what he considered want of appreciation, balked in his ambition, he was a ready tool when the foreign agent sounded him. at first his patriotism had to be sopped, but that necessity disappeared as the game went on, and perhaps he alone, of the whole far-reaching conspiracy, was prepared to strike at the union for the benefit of the foreigner. plans were being perfected,--army officers being secretly misled and won over by the specious talk of "their country's wrongs," and each move made borgrevinck more surely the head of it all,--when a quarrel between himself and the "deliverer" occurred over the question of recompense. wealth untold they were willing to furnish; but regal power, never. the quarrel became more acute. borgrevinck continued to attend all meetings, but was ever more careful to centre all power in himself, and even prepared to turn round to the king's party if necessary to further his ambition. the betrayal of his followers would purchase his own safety. but proofs he must have, and he set about getting signatures to a declaration of rights which was simply a veiled confession of treason. many of the leaders he had deluded into signing this before the meeting at laersdalsoren. here they met in the early winter, some twenty of the patriots, some of them men of position, all of them men of brains and power. here, in the close and stifling parlor, they planned, discussed, and questioned. great hopes were expressed, great deeds were forecast, in that stove-hot room. outside, against the fence, in the winter night, was a great white reindeer, harnessed to a sled, but lying down with his head doubled back on his side as he slept, calm, unthoughtful, ox-like. which seemed likelier to decide the nation's fate, the earnest thinkers indoors, or the ox-like sleeper without? which seemed more vital to israel, the bearded council in king saul's tent, or the light-hearted shepherd-boy hurling stones across the brook at bethlehem? at laersdalsoren it was as before: deluded by borgrevinck's eloquent plausibility, all put their heads in the noose, their lives and country in his hands, seeing in this treacherous monster a very angel of self-sacrificing patriotism. all? no, not all. old sveggum was there. he could neither read nor write. that was his excuse for not signing. he could not read a letter in a book, but he could read something of the hearts of men. as the meeting broke up he whispered to axel tanberg: "is his own name on that paper?" and axel, starting at the thought, said: "no." then said sveggum: "i don't trust that man. they ought to know of this at nystuen." for there was to be the really important meeting. but how to let them know was the riddle. borgrevinck was going there at once with his fast horses. sveggum's eye twinkled as he nodded toward the storbuk, standing tied to the fence. borgrevinck leaped into his sleigh and went off at speed, for he was a man of energy. sveggum took the bells from the harness, untied the reindeer, stepped into the pulk. he swung the single rein, clucked to the storbuk, and also turned his head toward nystuen. the fast horses had a long start, but before they had climbed the eastward hill sveggum needs must slack, so as not to overtake them. he held back till they came to the turn above the woods at maristuen; then he quit the road, and up the river flat he sped the buk, a farther way, but the only way to bring them there ahead. squeak, crack-squeak, crack-squeak, crack--at regular intervals from the great spreading snow-shoes of the storbuk, and the steady sough of his breath was like the nordland as she passes up the hardanger fjord. high up, on the smooth road to the left, they could hear the jingle of the horse-bells and the shouting of borgrevinck's driver, who, under orders, was speeding hard for nystuen. the highway was a short road and smooth, and the river valley was long and rough; but when, in four hours, borgrevinck got to nystuen, there in the throng was a face that he had just left at laersdalsoren. he appeared not to notice, though nothing ever escaped him. at nystuen none of the men would sign. some one had warned them. this was serious; might be fatal at such a critical point. as he thought it over, his suspicions turned more and more to sveggum, the old fool that could not write his name at laersdalsoren. but how did he get there before himself with his speedy horses? there was a dance at nystuen that night; the dance was necessary to mask the meeting; and during that borgrevinck learned of the swift white ren. the nystuen trip had failed, thanks to the speed of the white buk. borgrevinck must get to bergen before word of this, or all would be lost. there was only one way, to be sure of getting there before any one else. possibly word had already gone from laersdalsoren. but even at that, borgrevinck could get there and save himself, at the price of all norway, if need be, provided he went with the white storbuk. he would not be denied. he was not the man to give up a point, though it took all the influence he could bring to bear, this time, to get old sveggum's leave. the storbuk was quietly sleeping in the corral when sveggum came to bring him. he rose leisurely, hind legs first, stretched one, then the other, curling his tail tight on his back as he did so, shook the hay from the great antlers as though they were a bunch of twigs, and slowly followed sveggum at the end of the tight halter. he was so sleepy and slow that borgrevinck impatiently gave him a kick, and got for response a short snort from the buk, and from sveggum an earnest warning, both of which were somewhat scornfully received. the tinkling bells on the harness had been replaced, but borgrevinck wanted them removed. he wished to go in silence. sveggum would not be left behind when his favorite ren went forth, so he was given a seat in the horse-sleigh which was to follow, and the driver thereof received from his master a secret hint to delay. then, with papers on his person to death-doom a multitude of misguided men, with fiendish intentions in his heart as well as the power to carry them out, and with the fate of norway in his hands, borgrevinck was made secure in the sled, behind the white storbuk, and sped at dawn on his errand of desolation. at the word from sveggum the white ren set off with a couple of bounds that threw borgrevinck back in the pulk. this angered him, but he swallowed his wrath on seeing that it left the horse-sleigh behind. he shook the line, shouted, and the buk settled down to a long, swinging trot. his broad hoofs clicked double at every stride. his nostrils, out level, puffed steady blasts of steam in the frosty morning as he settled to his pace. the pulk's prow cut two long shears of snow, that swirled up over man and sled till all were white. and the great ox-eyes of the king ren blazed joyously in the delight of motion, and of conquest too, as the sound of the horse-bells faded far behind. even masterful borgrevinck could not but mark with pleasure the noble creature that had balked him last night and now was lending its speed to his purpose; for it was his intention to arrive hours before the horse-sleigh, if possible. up the rising road they sped as though downhill, and the driver's spirits rose with the exhilarating speed. the snow groaned ceaselessly under the prow of the pulk, and the frosty creaking under the hoofs of the flying ren was like the gritting of mighty teeth. then came the level stretch from nystuen's hill to dalecarl's, and as they whirled by in the early day, little carl chanced to peep from a window, and got sight of the great white ren in a white pulk with a white driver, just as it is in the stories of the giants, and clapped his hands, and cried, "good, good!" but his grandfather, when he caught a glimpse of the white wonder that went without even sound of bells, felt a cold chill in his scalp, and went back to light a candle that he kept at the window till the sun was high, for surely this was the storbuk of jotunheim. but the ren whirled on, and the driver shook the reins and thought only of bergen. he struck the white steed with the loose end of the rope. the buk gave three great snorts and three great bounds, then faster went, and as they passed by dyrskaur, where the giant sits on the edge, his head was muffled in scud, which means that a storm is coming. the storbuk knew it. he sniffed, and eyed the sky with anxious look, and even slacked a little; but borgrevinck yelled at the speeding beast, though going yet as none but he could go, and struck him once, twice, and thrice, and harder yet. so the pulk was whirled along like a skiff in a steamer's wake; but there was blood in the storbuk's eye now; and borgrevinck was hard put to balance the sled. the miles flashed by like roods till sveggum's bridge appeared. the storm-wind now was blowing, but there was the troll. whence came he now, none knew, but there he was, hopping on the keystone and singing of norway's fate and norway's luck, of the hiding troll and the riding buk. down the winding highway they came, curving inward as they swung around the corner. at the voice on the bridge the deer threw back his ears and slackened his pace. borgrevinck, not knowing whence it came, struck savagely at the ren. the red light gleamed in those ox-like eyes. he snorted in anger and shook the great horns, but he did not stop to avenge the blow. for him was a vaster vengeance still. he onward sped as before, but from that time borgrevinck had lost all control. the one voice that the ren would hear had been left behind. they whirled aside, off the road, before the bridge was reached. the pulk turned over, but righted itself, and borgrevinck would have been thrown out and killed but for the straps. it was not to be so; it seemed rather as though the every curse of norway had been gathered into the sled for a purpose. bruised and battered, he reappeared. the troll from the bridge leaped lightly to the storbuk's head, and held on to the horns as he danced and sang his ancient song, and a new song, too: ha! at last! oh, lucky day, norway's curse to wipe away! borgrevinck was terrified and furious. he struck harder at the storbuk as he bounded over the rougher snow, and vainly tried to control him. he lost his head in fear. he got out his knife, at last, to strike at the wild buk's hamstrings, but a blow from the hoof sent it flying from his hand. their speed on the road was slow to that they now made: no longer striding at the trot, but bounding madly, great five-stride bounds, the wretched borgrevinck strapped in the sled, alone and helpless through his own contriving, screaming, cursing, and praying. the storbuk with bloodshot eyes, madly steaming, careered up the rugged ascent, up to the broken, stormy hoifjeld; mounting the hills as a petrel mounts the rollers, skimming the flats as a fulmar skims the shore, he followed the trail where his mother had first led his tottering steps, up from the vand-dam nook. he followed the old familiar route that he had followed for five years, where the white-winged rype flies aside, where the black rock mountains, shining white, come near and block the sky, "where the reindeer find their mysterie." on like the little snow-wreath that the storm-wind sends dancing before the storm, on like a whirlwind over the shoulder of suletind, over the knees of torholmenbrae--the giants that sit at the gateway. faster than man or beast could follow, up--up--up--and on; and no one saw them go, but a raven that swooped behind, and flew as raven never flew, and the troll, the same old troll that sang by the vand-dam, and now danced and sang between the antlers: good luck, good luck for norway with the white storbuk comes riding. over tvindehoug they faded like flying scud on the moorlands, on to the gloomy distance, away toward jotunheim, the home of the evil spirits, the land of the lasting snow. their every sign and trail was wiped away by the drifting storm, and the end of them no man knows. the norse folk awoke as from a horrid nightmare. their national ruin was averted; there were no deaths, for there were no proofs; and the talebearer's strife was ended. the one earthly sign remaining from that drive is the string of silver bells that sveggum had taken from the storbuk's neck--the victory bells, each the record of a triumph won; and when the old man came to understand, he sighed, and hung to the string a final bell, the largest of them all. nothing more was ever seen or heard of the creature who so nearly sold his country, or of the white storbuk who balked him. yet those who live near jotunheim say that on stormy nights, when the snow is flying and the wind is raving in the woods, there sometimes passes, at frightful speed, an enormous white reindeer with fiery eyes, drawing a snow-white pulk, in which is a screaming wretch in white, and on the head of the deer, balancing by the horns, is a brown-clad, white-bearded troll, bowing and grinning pleasantly at him, and singing of norway's luck and a white storbuk-- the same, they say, as the one that with prophetic vision sang by sveggum's vand-dam on a bygone day when the birches wore their springtime hangers, and a great mild-eyed varsimle' came alone, to go away with a little white renskalv walking slowly, demurely, by her side. the doliver romance and other pieces tales and sketches by nathaniel hawthorne dr. bullivant his person was not eminent enough, either by nature or circumstance, to deserve a public memorial simply for his own sake, after the lapse of a century and a half from the era in which he flourished. his character, in the view which we propose to take of it, may give a species of distinctness and point to some remarks on the tone and composition of new england society, modified as it became by new ingredients from the eastern world, and by the attrition of sixty or seventy years over the rugged peculiarities of the original settlers. we are perhaps accustomed to employ too sombre a pencil in picturing the earlier times among the puritans, because at our cold distance, we form our ideas almost wholly from their severest features. it is like gazing on some scenes in the land which we inherit from them; we see the mountains, rising sternly and with frozen summits tip to heaven, and the forests, waving in massy depths where sunshine seems a profanation, and we see the gray mist, like the duskiness of years, shedding a chill obscurity over the whole; but the green and pleasant spots in the hollow of the hills, the warm places in the heart of what looks desolate, are hidden from our eyes. still, however, a prevailing characteristic of the age was gloom, or something which cannot be more accurately expressed than by that term, and its long shadow, falling over all the intervening years, is visible, though not too distinctly, upon ourselves. without material detriment to a deep and solid happiness, the frolic of the mind was so habitually chastened, that persons have gained a nook in history by the mere possession of animal spirits, too exuberant to be confined within the established bounds. every vain jest and unprofitable word was deemed an item in the account of criminality, and whatever wit, or semblance thereof, came into existence, its birthplace was generally the pulpit, and its parent some sour old genevan divine. the specimens of humor and satire, preserved in the sermons and controversial tracts of those days, are occasionally the apt expressions of pungent thoughts; but oftener they are cruel torturings and twistings of trite ideas, disgusting by the wearisome ingenuity which constitutes their only merit. among a people where so few possessed, or were allowed to exercise, the art of extracting the mirth which lies hidden like latent caloric in almost everything, a gay apothecary, such as dr. bullivant, must have been a phenomenon. we will suppose ourselves standing in cornhill, on a pleasant morning of the year , about the hour when the shutters are unclosed, and the dust swept from the doorsteps, and when business rubs its eyes, and begins to plod sleepily through the town. the street, instead of running between lofty and continuous piles of brick, is but partially lined with wooden buildings of various heights and architecture, in each of which the mercantile department is connected with the domicile, like the gingerbread and candy shops of an after-date. the signs have a singular appearance to a stranger's eye. these are not a barren record of names and occupations yellow letters on black boards, but images and hieroglyphics, sometimes typifying the principal commodity offered for sale, though generally intended to give an arbitrary designation to the establishment. overlooking the bearded saracens, the indian queens, and the wooden bibles, let its direct our attention to the white post newly erected at the corner of the street, and surmounted by a gilded countenance which flashes in the early sunbeams like veritable gold. it is a bust of aesculapius, evidently of the latest london manufacture; and from the door behind it steams forth a mingled smell of musk and assafaetida and other drugs of potent perfume, as if an appropriate sacrifice were just laid upon the altar of the medical deity. five or six idle people are already collected, peeping curiously in at the glittering array of gallipots and phials, and deciphering the labels which tell their contents in the mysterious and imposing nomenclature of ancient physic. they are next attracted by the printed advertisement of a panacea, promising life but one day short of eternity, and youth and health commensurate. an old man, his head as white as snow, totters in with a hasty clattering of his staff, and becomes the earliest purchaser, hoping that his wrinkles will disappear more swiftly than they gathered. the doctor (so styled by courtesy) shows the upper half of his person behind the counter, and appears to be a slender and rather tall man; his features are difficult to describe, possessing nothing peculiar, except a flexibility to assume all characters it, turn, while his eye, shrewd, quick, and saucy, remains the same throughout. whenever a customer enters the shop, if he desire a box of pills, he receives with them an equal number of hard, round, dry jokes,--or if a dose of salts, it is mingled with a portion of the salt of attica,--or if some hot, oriental drug, it is accompanied by a racy word or two that tingle on the mental palate,--all without the least additional cost. then there are twistings of mouths which never lost their gravity before. as each purchaser retires, the spectators see a resemblance of his visage pass over that of the apothecary, in which all the ludicrous points are made most prominent, as if a magic looking-glass had caught the reflection, and were making sport with it. unwonted titterings arise and strengthen into bashful laughter, but are suddenly hushed as some minister, heavy-eyed from his last night's vigil, or magistrate, armed with the terror of the whipping-post and pillory, or perhaps the governor himself, goes by like a dark cloud intercepting the sunshine. about this period, many causes began to produce an important change on and beneath the surface of colonial society. the early settlers were able to keep within the narrowest limits of their rigid principles, because they had adopted them in mature life, and from their own deep conviction, and were strengthened in them by that species of enthusiasm, which is as sober and as enduring as reason itself. but if their immediate successors followed the same line of conduct, they were confined to it, in a great degree, by habits forced upon them, and by the severe rule under which they were educated, and in short more by restraint than by the free exercise of the imagination and understanding. when therefore the old original stock, the men who looked heavenward without a wandering glance to earth, had lost a part of their domestic and public influence, yielding to infirmity or death, a relaxation naturally ensued in their theory and practice of morals and religion, and became more evident with the daily decay of its most strenuous opponents. this gradual but sure operation was assisted by the increasing commercial importance of the colonies, whither a new set of emigrants followed unworthily in the track of the pure-hearted pilgrims. gain being now the allurement, and almost the only one, since dissenters no longer dreaded persecution at home, the people of new england could not remain entirely uncontaminated by an extensive intermixture with worldly men. the trade carried on by the colonists (in the face of several inefficient acts of parliament) with the whole maritime world, must have had a similar tendency; nor are the desperate and dissolute visitants of the country to be forgotten among the agents of a moral revolution. freebooters from the west indies and the spanish main,--state criminals, implicated in the numerous plots and conspiracies of the period,--felons, loaded with private guilt,--numbers of these took refuge in the provinces, where the authority of the english king was obstructed by a zealous spirit of independence, and where a boundless wilderness enabled them to defy pursuit. thus the new population, temporary and permanent, was exceedingly unlike the old, and far more apt to disseminate their own principles than to imbibe those of the puritans. all circumstances unfavorable to virtue acquired double strength by the licentious reign of charles ii.; though perhaps the example of the monarch and nobility was less likely to recommend vice to the people of new england than to those of any other part of the british empire. the clergy and the elder magistrates manifested a quick sensibility to the decline of godliness, their apprehensions being sharpened in this particular no less by a holy zeal than because their credit and influence were intimately connected with the primitive character of the country. a synod, convened in the year , gave its opinion that the iniquity of the times had drawn down judgments from heaven, and proposed methods to assuage the divine wrath by a renewal of former sanctity. but neither the increased numbers nor the altered spirit of the people, nor the just sense of a freedom to do wrong, within certain limits, would now have permitted the exercise of that inquisitorial strictness, which had been wont to penetrate to men's firesides and watch their domestic life, recognizing no distinction between private ill conduct and crimes that endanger the community. accordingly, the tide of worldly principles encroached more and more upon the ancient landmarks, hitherto esteemed the enter boundaries of virtue. society arranged itself into two classes, marked by strong shades of difference, though separated by an uncertain line: in one were included the small and feeble remnant of the first settlers, many of their immediate descendants, the whole body of the clergy, and all whom a gloomy temperament, or tenderness of conscience, or timidity of thought, kept up to the strictness of their fathers; the other comprehended the new emigrants, the gay and thoughtless natives, the favorers of episcopacy, and a various mixture of liberal and enlightened men with most of the evil-doers and unprincipled adventurers in the country. a vivid and rather a pleasant idea of new england manners, when this change had become decided, is given in the journal of john dunton, a cockney bookseller, who visited boston and other towns of massachusetts with a cargo of pious publications, suited to the puritan market. making due allowance for the flippancy of the writer, which may have given a livelier tone to his descriptions than truth precisely warrants, and also for his character, which led him chiefly among the gayer inhabitants, there still seems to have been many who loved the winecup and the song, and all sorts of delightful naughtiness. but the degeneracy of the times had made far less progress in the interior of the country than in the seaports, and until the people lost the elective privilege, they continued the government in the hands of those upright old men who had so long possessed their confidence. uncontrollable events, alone, gave a temporary ascendency to persons of another stamp. james ii., during the four years of his despotic reign, revoked the charters of the american colonies, arrogated the appointment of their magistrates, and annulled all those legal and proscriptive rights which had hitherto constituted them nearly independent states. among the foremost advocates of the royal usurpations was dr. bullivant. gifted with a smart and ready intellect, busy and bold, he acquired great influence in the new government, and assisted sir edmund andros, edward randolph, and five or six others, to browbeat the council, and misrule the northern provinces according to their pleasure. the strength of the popular hatred against this administration, the actual tyranny that was exercised, and the innumerable fears and jealousies, well grounded and fantastic, which harassed the country, may be best learned from a work of increase mather, the "_remarkable providences of the earlier days of american colonization_." the good divine (though writing when a lapse of nearly forty years should have tamed the fierceness of party animosity) speaks with the most bitter and angry scorn of "'pothecary bullivant," who probably indulged his satirical propensities, from the seat of power, in a manner which rendered him an especial object of public dislike. but the people were about to play off a piece of practical full on the doctor and the whole of his coadjutors, and have the laugh all to themselves. by the first faint rumor of the attempt of the prince of orange on the throne, the power of james was annihilated in the colonies, and long before the abduction of the latter became known, sir edmund andros, governor-general of new england and new york, and fifty of the most obnoxious leaders of the court party, were tenants of a prison. we will visit our old acquaintance in his adversity. the scene now represents a room of ten feet square, the floor of which is sunk a yard or two below the level of the ground; the walls are covered with a dirty and crumbling plaster, on which appear a crowd of ill-favored and lugubrious faces done in charcoal, and the autographs and poetical attempts of a long succession of debtors and petty criminals. other features of the apartment are a deep fireplace (superfluous in the sultriness of the summer's day), a door of hard-hearted oak, and a narrow window high in the wall,--where the glass has long been broken, while the iron bars retain all their original strength. through this opening come the sound of passing footsteps in the public street, and the voices of children at play. the furniture consists of a bed, or rather an old sack of barley straw, thrown down in the corner farthest from the door, and a chair and table, both aged and infirm, and leaning against the side of the room, besides lending a friendly support to each other. the atmosphere is stifled and of an ill smell, as if it had been kept close prisoner for half a century, and had lost all its pure and elastic nature by feeding the tainted breath of the vicious and the sighs of the unfortunate. such is the present abode of the man of medicine and politics, and his own appearance forms no contrast to the accompaniments. his wig is unpowdered, out of curl, and put on awry; the dust of many weeks has worked its way into the web of his coat and small-clothes, and his knees and elbows peep forth to ask why they are so ill clad; his stockings are ungartered, his shoes down at the heel, his waistcoat is without a button, and discloses a shirt as dingy as the remnant of snow in a showery april day. his shoulders have become rounder, and his whole person is more bent and drawn together, since we last saw him, and his face has exchanged the glory of wit and humor for a sheepish dulness. at intervals, the doctor walks the room, with an irregular and shuffling pace; anon, he throws himself flat on the sack of barley straw, muttering very reprehensible expressions between his teeth; then again he starts to his feet, and journeying from corner to corner, finally sinks into the chair, forgetful of its three-legged infirmity till it lets him down upon the floor. the grated window, his only medium of intercourse with the world, serves but to admit additional vexations. every few moments the steps of the passengers are heard to pause, and some well-known face appears in the free sunshine behind the iron bars, brimful of mirth and drollery, the owner whereof stands on tiptoe to tickle poor dr. bullivant with a stinging sarcasm. then laugh the little boys around the prison door, and the wag goes chuckling away. the apothecary would fain retaliate, but all his quips and repartees, and sharp and facetious fancies, once so abundant, seem to have been transferred from himself to the sluggish brains of his enemies. while endeavoring to condense his whole intellect into one venomous point, in readiness for the next assailant, he is interrupted by the entrance of the turnkey with the prison fare of indian bread and water. with these dainties we leave him. when the turmoil of the revolution had subsided, and the authority of william and mary was fixed on a quiet basis throughout the colonies, the deposed governor and some of his partisans were sent home to the new court, and the others released from imprisonment. the new englanders, as a people, are not apt to retain a revengeful sense of injury, and nowhere, perhaps, could a politician, however odious in his power, live more peacefully in his nakedness and disgrace. dr. bullivant returned to his former occupation, and spent rather a desirable old age. through he sometimes hit hard with a jest, yet few thought of taking offence; for whenever a man habitually indulges his tongue at the expense of all his associates, they provide against the common annoyance by tacitly agreeing to consider his sarcasms as null and void. thus for many years, a gray old man with a stoop in his gait, he continued to sweep out his shop at eight o'clock in summer mornings, and nine in the winter, and to waste whole hours in idle talk and irreverent merriment, making it his glory to raise the laughter of silly people, and his delight to sneer at them in his sleeve. at length, one pleasant day, the door and shutters of his establishment kept closed from sunrise till sunset, and his cronies marvelled a moment, and passed on; a week after, the rector of king's chapel said the death-rite over dr. bullivant; and within the month a new apothecary, and a new stock of drugs and medicines, made their appearance at the gilded head of aesculapius. wild animals at home +---------------------------------------+ | | | by the same author | | | | | | the book of woodcraft and indian lore | | | | wild animals i have known | | | | two little savages | | | | biography of a grizzly | | | | life histories of northern animals | | | | rolf in the woods | | | | the foresters' manual | | | +---------------------------------------+ [illustration: i. a prairie-dog town _in n. y. zoo. photo by e. t. seton_] _wild animals at home_ _by_ _ernest thompson seton_ author of "_wild animals i have known_," "_two little savages_," "_biography of a grizzly_," "_life histories of northern animals_," "_rolf in the woods_," "_the book of woodcraft_." head chief of the woodcraft indians _with over sketches and photographs by the author_ _garden city new york_ _doubleday, page & company_ _ _ _copyright, , by_ ernest thompson seton _all rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign languages, including the scandinavian_ printed in the united states at the country life press, garden city, n. y. foreword my travels in search of light on the "animals at home" have taken me up and down the rocky mountains for nearly thirty years. in the canyons from british columbia to mexico, i have lighted my campfire, far beyond the bounds of law and order, at times, and yet i have found no place more rewarding than the yellowstone park, the great mountain haven of wild life. whenever travellers penetrate into remote regions where human hunters are unknown, they find the wild things half tame, little afraid of man, and inclined to stare curiously from a distance of a few paces. but very soon they learn that man is their most dangerous enemy, and fly from him as soon as he is seen. it takes a long time and much restraint to win back their confidence. in the early days of the west, when game abounded and when fifty yards was the extreme deadly range of the hunter's weapons, wild creatures were comparatively tame. the advent of the rifle and of the lawless skin hunter soon turned all big game into fugitives of excessive shyness and wariness. one glimpse of a man half a mile off, or a whiff of him on the breeze, was enough to make a mountain ram or a wolf run for miles, though formerly these creatures would have gazed serenely from a point but a hundred yards removed. the establishment of the yellowstone park in was the beginning of a new era of protection for wild life; and, by slow degrees, a different attitude in these animals toward us. in this reservation, and nowhere else at present in the northwest, the wild things are not only abundant, but they have resumed their traditional garden-of-eden attitude toward man. they come out in the daylight, they are harmless, and they are not afraid at one's approach. truly this is ideal, a paradise for the naturalist and the camera hunter. the region first won fame for its canyon, its cataracts and its geysers, but i think its animal life has attracted more travellers than even the landscape beauties. i know it was solely the joy of being among the animals that led me to spend all one summer and part of another season in the wonderland of the west. my adventures in making these studies among the fourfoots have been very small adventures indeed; the thrillers are few and far between. any one can go and have the same or better experiences to-day. but i give them as they happened, and if they furnish no ground for hair-lifting emotions, they will at least show what i was after and how i went. i have aimed to show something of the little aspects of the creatures' lives, which are those that the ordinary traveller will see; i go with him indeed, pointing out my friends as they chance to pass, adding a few comments that should make for a better acquaintance on all sides. and i have offered glimpses, wherever possible, of the wild thing in its home, embodying in these chapters the substance of many lectures given under the same title as this book. the cover design is by my wife, grace gallatin seton. she was with me in most of the experiences narrated and had a larger share in every part of the work than might be inferred from the mere text. ernest thompson seton. contents page =i. the cute coyote= an exemplary little beast, my friend the coyote the prairie-dog outwitted the coyote's sense of humour his distinguishing gift the coyote's song =ii. the prairie-dog and his kin= merry yek-yek and his life of troubles the whistler in the rocks the pack-rat and his museum a free trader the upheaver--the mole-gopher =iii. famous fur-bearers--fox, marten, beaver and otter= the most wonderful fur in the world the poacher and the silver fox the villain in velvet--the marten the industrious beaver the dam the otter and his slide =iv. horns and hoofs and legs of speed= the bounding blacktail the mother blacktail's race for life the blacktail's safety is in the hills the elk or wapiti--the noblest of all deer stalking a band of elk the bugling elk snapping a charging bull the hoodoo cow the moose--the biggest of all deer my partner's moose-hunt the siren call the biggest of our game--the buffalo the shrunken range the doomed antelope and his heliograph the rescued bighorn =v. bats in the devil's kitchen= =vi. the well-meaning skunk= his smell-gun the cruelty of steel traps friendliness of the skunk photographing skunks at short range we share the shanty with the skunks the skunk and the unwise bobcat my pet skunks =vii. old silver-grizzle--the badger= the valiant harmless badger his sociable bent the story of the kindly badger the evil one the badger that rescued the boy finding the lost one home again the human brute =viii. the squirrel and his jerky-tail brothers= the cheeky pine squirrel chipmunks and ground-squirrels the ground-squirrel that plays picket-pin chink and the picket-pins chipmunks the ground-squirrel that pretends it's a chipmunk a four-legged bird--the northern chipmunk a striped pigmy--the least chipmunk =ix. the rabbits and their habits= molly cottontail--the clever freezer the rabbit that wears snowshoes the terror of the mountain trails bunny's ride the rabbit dance the ghost rabbit a narrow-gauge mule--the prairie hare the bump of moss that squeaks the weatherwise coney his safety is in the rocks =x. ghosts of the campfire= the jumping mouse the calling mouse =xi. sneak-cats, big and small= the bobcat or mountain wildcat misunderstood--the canada lynx the shyest thing in the woods the time i met a lion in peril of my life the dangerous night visitor =xii. bears of high and low degree= the different kinds of bears bear-trees a peep into bear family life the day at the garbage pile lonesome johnny further annals of the sanctuary the grizzly and the can =appendix: mammals of yellowstone park= list of half-tone plates a prairie-dog town _frontispiece_ facing page chink's adventures with the coyote and the picket-pin (a) the whistler watching me from the rocks (b) a young whistler red fox foxes quarrelling beaver mule-deer blacktail family blacktail mother with her twins a young investigator among the deer at fort yellowstone elk in wyoming elk on the yellowstone in winter the first shots at the hoodoo cow the last shots at the hoodoo cow elk on the yellowstone moose--the widow buffalo groups near yellowstone gate mountain sheep on mt. evarts track record of bobcat's adventure with a skunk the six chapters of the bobcat's adventure my tame skunks red-squirrel storing mushrooms for winter use chink stalking the picket-pin the snowshoe hare is a cross between a rabbit and a snowdrift the cottontail freezing the baby cottontail that rode twenty miles in my hat snowshoe rabbits dancing in the light of the lantern snowshoe rabbits fascinated by the lantern the ghost rabbit the coney or calling hare the coney barns full of hay stored for winter use (a) tracks of deer escaping and (b) tracks of mountain lion in pursuit the mountain lion sneaking around us as we sleep sketch of the bear family as made on the spot two pages from my journal in the garbage heap while i sketched the bears, a brother camera-hunter was stalking me without my knowledge one meets the bears at nearly every turn in the woods the shyer ones take to a tree, if one comes too near clifford b. harmon feeding a bear the bears at feeding time (a) tom newcomb pointing out the bear's mark, (b) e. t. seton feeding a bear johnnie bear: his sins and his troubles johnnie happy at last * * * * * i the cute coyote * * * * * i the cute coyote an exemplary little beast, my friend the coyote if you draw a line around the region that is, or was, known as the wild west, you will find that you have exactly outlined the kingdom of the coyote. he is even yet found in every part of it, but, unlike his big brother the wolf, he never frequented the region known as eastern america. this is one of the few wild creatures that you can see from the train. each time i have come to the yellowstone park i have discovered the swift gray form of the coyote among the prairie-dog towns along the river flat between livingstone and gardiner, and in the park itself have seen him nearly every day, and heard him every night without exception. [illustration] coyote (pronounced _ky-o'-tay_, and in some regions _ky-ute_) is a native mexican contribution to the language, and is said to mean "halfbreed," possibly suggesting that the coyote looks like a cross between the fox and the wolf. such an origin would be a very satisfactory clue to his character, for he does seem to unite in himself every possible attribute in the mental make-up of the other two that can contribute to his success in life. he is one of the few park animals not now protected, for the excellent reasons, first that he is so well able to protect himself, second he is even already too numerous, third he is so destructive among the creatures that he can master. he is a beast of rare cunning; some of the indians call him god's dog or medicine dog. some make him the embodiment of the devil, and some going still further, in the light of their larger experience, make the coyote the creator himself seeking amusement in disguise among his creatures, just as did the sultan in the "arabian nights." [illustration] the naturalist finds the coyote interesting for other reasons. when you see that sleek gray and yellow form among the mounds of the prairie-dog, at once creating a zone of blankness and silence by his very presence as he goes, remember that he is hunting for something to eat; also, that there is another, his mate, not far away. for the coyote is an exemplary and moral little beast who has only one wife; he loves her devotedly, and they fight the life battle together. not only is there sure to be a mate close by, but that mate, if invisible, is likely to be playing a game, a very clever game as i have seen it played. furthermore, remember there is a squealing brood of little coyotes in the home den up on a hillside a mile or two away. father and mother must hunt continually and successfully to furnish their daily food. the dog-towns are their game preserves, but how are they to catch a prairie-dog! every one knows that though these little yapping ground-squirrels will sit up and bark at an express train but twenty feet away, they scuttle down out of sight the moment a man, dog or coyote enters into the far distant precincts of their town; and downstairs they stay in the cyclone cellar until after a long interval of quiet that probably proves the storm to be past. then they poke their prominent eyes above the level, and, if all is still, will softly hop out and in due course, resume their feeding. the prairie-dog outwitted [illustration] this is how the clever coyote utilizes these habits. he and his wife approach the dog-town unseen. one coyote hides, then the other walks forward openly into the town. there is a great barking of all the prairie-dogs as they see their enemy approach, but they dive down when he is amongst them. as soon as they are out of sight the second coyote rushes forward and hides near any promising hole that happens to have some sort of cover close by. meanwhile, coyote number one strolls on. the prairie-dogs that he scared below come up again. at first each puts up the top of his head merely, with his eyes on bumps, much like those of a hippopotamus, prominent and peculiarly suited for this observation work from below, as they are the first things above ground. after a brief inspection, if all be quiet, he comes out an inch more. now he can look around, the coast is clear, so he sits up on the mound and scans his surroundings. [illustration] yes! ho! ho! he sees his enemy, that hated coyote, strolling away off beyond the possibility of doing harm. his confidence is fully restored as the coyote gets smaller in the distance and the other prairie-dogs coming out seem to endorse his decision and give him renewed confidence. after one or two false starts, he sets off to feed. this means go ten or twenty feet from the door of his den, for all the grass is eaten off near home. [illustration] among the herbage he sits up high to take a final look around, then burying his nose in the fodder, he begins his meal. this is the chance that the waiting, watching, she-coyote counted on. there is a flash of gray fur from behind that little grease bush; in three hops she is upon him. he takes alarm at the first sound and tries to reach the haven hole, but she snaps him up. with a shake she ends his troubles. he hardly knows the pain of death, then she bounds away on her back track to the home den on the distant hillside. she does not come near it openly and rashly. there is always the possibility of such an approach betraying the family to some strong enemy on watch. she circles around a little, scrutinizes the landscape, studies the tracks and the wind, then comes to the door by more or less devious hidden ways. the sound of a foot outside is enough to make the little ones cower in absolute silence, but mother reassures them with a whining call much like that of a dog mother. they rush out, tumbling over each other in their glee, six or seven in number usually, but sometimes as high as ten or twelve. eagerly they come, and that fat prairie-dog lasts perhaps three minutes, at the end of which time nothing is left but the larger bones with a little coyote busy polishing each of them. strewn about the door of the den are many other kindred souvenirs, the bones of ground-squirrels, chipmunks, rabbits, grouse, sheep, and fawns, with many kinds of feathers, fur, and hair, to show the great diversity of coyote diet. [illustration] the coyote's sense of humour to understand the coyote fully one must remember that he is simply a wild dog, getting his living by his wits, and saving his life by the tireless serviceability of his legs; so has developed both these gifts to an admirable pitch of perfection. he is blessed further with a gift of music and a sense of humour. when i lived at yancey's, on the yellowstone, in , i had a good example of the latter, and had it daily for a time. the dog attached to the camp on the inner circle was a conceited, irrepressible little puppy named chink. he was so full of energy, enthusiasm, and courage that there was no room left in him for dog-sense. but it came after a vast number of humiliating experiences. [illustration] a coyote also had attached himself to the camp, but on the outer circle. at first he came out by night to feed on the garbage pile, but realizing the peace of the park he became bolder and called occasionally by day. later he was there every day, and was often seen sitting on a ridge a couple of hundred yards away. [illustration: ii. chink's adventures with the coyote and the picket-pin _sketches by e. t. seton_] [illustration: iv. (a) the whistler watching me from the rocks. _photo by e. t. seton_ (b) a young whistler _photo by g. g. seton_] one day he was sitting much nearer and grinning in coyote fashion, when one of the campers in a spirit of mischief said to the dog, "chink, you see that coyote out there grinning at you. go and chase him out of that." burning to distinguish himself, that pup set off at full speed, and every time he struck the ground he let off a war-whoop. away went the coyote and it looked like a good race to us, and to the picket-pin ground-squirrels that sat up high on their mounds to rejoice in the spectacle of these, their enemies, warring against each other. the coyote has a way of slouching along, his tail dangling and tangling with his legs, and his legs loose-jointed, mixing with his tail. he doesn't seem to work hard but oh! how he does cover the prairie! and very soon it was clear that in spite of his magnificent bounds and whoops of glory, chink was losing ground. a little later the coyote obviously had to slack up to keep from running away altogether. it had seemed a good race for a quarter of a mile, but it was nothing to the race which began when the coyote turned on chink. uttering a gurgling growl, a bark, and a couple of screeches, he closed in with all the combined fury of conscious might and right, pitted against unfair unprovoked attack. and chink had a rude awakening; his war-whoops gave place to yelps of dire distress, as he wheeled and made for home. but the coyote could run all around him, and nipped him, here and there, and when he would, and seemed to be cracking a series of good jokes at chink's expense, nor ever stopped till the ambitious one of boundless indiscretion was hidden under his master's bed. this seemed very funny at the time, and i am afraid chink did not get the sympathy he was entitled to, for after all he was merely carrying out orders. but he made up his mind that from that time on, orders or no orders, he would let coyotes very much alone. they were not so easy as they looked. [illustration] the coyote, however, had discovered a new amusement. from that day he simply "laid" for that little dog, and if he found him a hundred yards or so from camp, would chase and race him back in terror to some shelter. at last things got so bad that if we went for a ride even, and chink followed us, the coyote would come along, too, and continue his usual amusement. at first it was funny, and then it became tedious, and at last it was deeply resented by chink's master. a man feels for his dog; he wasn't going to stand still and see his dog abused. he began to grumble vaguely about "if something didn't happen pretty soon, something else would." just what he meant i didn't ask, but i know that the coyote disappeared one day, and never was seen or heard of again. i'm not supposed to know any thing about it, but i have my suspicions, although in those days the coyote was a protected animal. his distinguishing gift the scientific name of the coyote (_canis latrans_), literally "barking dog," is given for the wonderful yapping chorus with which they seldom fail to announce their presence in the evening, as they gather at a safe distance from the campfire. those not accustomed to the sound are very ready to think that they are surrounded by a great pack of ravening wolves, and get a sufficiently satisfactory thrill of mingled emotions at the sound. but the guide will reassure you by saying that that great pack of howling wolves is nothing more than a harmless little coyote, perhaps two, singing their customary vesper song, demonstrating their wonderful vocal powers. their usual music begins with a few growling, gurgling yaps which are rapidly increased in volume and heightened in pitch, until they rise into a long squall or scream, which again, as it dies away, breaks up into a succession of yaps and gurgles. usually one coyote begins it, and the others join in with something like agreement on the scream. i believe i never yet camped in the west without hearing this from the near hills when night time had come. last september i even heard it back of the mammoth hot springs hotel, and i must say i have learned to love it. it is a wild, thrilling, beautiful song. our first camp was at yancey's last summer and just after we had all turned in, the coyote chorus began, a couple of hundred yards from the camp. my wife sat up and exclaimed, "isn't it glorious? now i know we are truly back in the west." the park authorities are making great efforts to reduce the number of coyotes because of their destructiveness to the young game, but an animal that is endowed with extraordinary wits, phenomenal speed, unexcelled hardihood, and marvellous fecundity, is not easily downed. i must confess that if by any means they should succeed in exterminating the coyote in the west, i should feel that i had lost something of very great value. i never fail to get that joyful thrill when the "medicine dogs" sing their "medicine song" in the dusk, or the equally weird and thrilling chorus with which they greet the dawn; for they have a large repertoire and a remarkable register. the coyote is indeed the patti of the plains. the coyote's song[a] i am the coyote that sings each night at dark; it was by gobbling prairie-dogs that i got such a bark. at least a thousand prairie-dogs i fattened on, you see, and every bark they had in them is reproduced in me. _refrain_: i can sing to thrill your soul or pierce it like a lance, and all i ask of you to do is give me half a chance. with a yap--yap--yap for the morning and a yoop--yoop--yoop for the night and a yow--wow--wow for the rising moon and a yah-h-h-h for the campfire light. yap--yoop--yow--yahhh! i gathered from the howling winds, the frogs and crickets too, and so from each availing fount, my inspiration drew. i warbled till the little birds would quit their native bush. and squat around me on the ground in reverential hush. _refrain_: i'm a baritone, soprano, and a bass and tenor, too. i can thrill and slur and frill and whirr and shake you through and through. i'm a jews' harp--i'm an organ--i'm a fiddle and a flute. every kind of touching sound is found in the coyoot. _refrain_: i'm a whooping howling wilderness, a sort of malibran. with lind, labache and melba mixed and all combined in one. i'm a grand cathedral organ and a calliope sharp, i'm a gushing, trembling nightingale, a vast Ã�olian harp. _refrain_: i can raise the dead or paint the town, or pierce you like a lance and all i ask of you to do is to give me half a chance. etc., etc., etc. (encore verses) although i am a miracle, i'm not yet recognized. oh, when the world does waken up how highly i'll be prized. then managers and vocal stars--and emperors effete shall fling their crowns, their money bags, their persons, at my feet. _refrain_: i'm the voice of all the wildest west, the patti of the plains; i'm a wild wagnerian opera of diabolic strains; i'm a roaring, ranting orchestra with lunatics be-crammed; i'm a vocalized tornado--i'm the shrieking of the damned. _refrain_: [illustration] footnotes: [footnote a: all rights reserved.] * * * * * ii the prairie-dog and his kin * * * * * ii the prairie-dog and his kin merry yek-yek and his life of troubles the common prairie-dog is typical of the west, more so than the buffalo is, and its numbers, even now, rival those of the buffalo in its palmiest days. i never feel that i am truly back on the open range till i hear their call and see the prairie-dogs once more upon their mounds. as you travel up the yellowstone valley from livingstone to gardiner you may note in abundance this "dunce of the plains." the "dog-towns" are frequent along the railway, and at each of the many burrows you see from one to six of the inmates. as you come near gardiner there is a steady rise of the country, and somewhere near the edge of the park the elevation is such that it imposes one of those mysterious barriers to animal extension which seem to be as impassable as they are invisible. the prairie-dog range ends near the park gates. general george s. anderson tells me, however, that individuals are occasionally found on the flats along the gardiner river, but always near the gate, and never elsewhere in the park. on this basis, then, the prairie-dog is entered as a park animal. [illustration] it is, of course, a kind of ground-squirrel. the absurd name "dog" having been given on account of its "bark." this call is a high-pitched "yek-yek-yek-yeeh," uttered as an alarm cry while the creature sits up on the mound by its den, and every time it "yeks" it jerks up its tail. old timers will tell you that the prairie-dog's voice is tied to its tail, and prove it by pointing out that one is never raised without the other. as we have seen, the coyote looks on the dog-town much as a cow does on a field of turnips or alfalfa--a very proper place, to seek for wholesome, if commonplace, sustenance. but coyotes are not the only troubles in the life of yek-yek. ancient books and interesting guides will regale the traveller with most acceptable stories about the prairie-dog, rattlesnake, and the burrowing owl, all living in the same den on a basis of brotherly love and christian charity; having effected, it would seem, a limited partnership and a most satisfactory division of labour: the prairie-dog is to dig the hole, the owl to mount sentry and give warning of all danger, and the rattler is to be ready to die at his post as defender of the prairie-dog's young. this is pleasing if true. there can be no doubt that at times all three live in the same burrow, and in dens that the hard-working rodent first made. but the simple fact is that the owl and the snake merely use the holes abandoned (perhaps under pressure) by the prairie-dog; and if any two of the three underground worthies happen to meet in the same hole, the fittest survives. i suspect further that the young of each kind are fair game and acceptable, dainty diet to each of the other two. [illustration] farmers consider prairie-dogs a great nuisance; the damage they do to crops is estimated at millions per annum. the best way to get rid of them, practically the only way, is by putting poison down each and every hole in the town, which medieval italian mode has become the accepted method in the west. poor helpless little yek-yek, he has no friends; his enemies and his list of burdens increase. the prey of everything that preys, he yet seems incapable of any measure of retaliation. the only visible joy in his life is his daily hasty meal of unsucculent grass, gathered between cautious looks around for any new approaching trouble, and broken by so many dodges down the narrow hole that his ears are worn off close to his head. could any simpler, smaller pleasure than his be discovered? yet he is fat and merry; undoubtedly he enjoys his every day on earth, and is as unwilling as any of us to end the tale. we can explain him only if we credit him with a philosophic power to discover happiness within in spite of all the cold unfriendly world about him. the whistler in the rocks [illustration] when the far-off squirrel ancestor of yek-yek took to the plains for a range, another of the family selected the rocky hills. he developed bigger claws for the harder digging, redder colour for the red-orange surroundings, and a far louder and longer cry for signalling across the peaks and canyons, and so became the bigger, handsomer, more important creature we call the mountain whistler, yellow marmot or orange woodchuck. in all of the rugged mountain parts of the yellowstone one may hear his peculiar, shrill whistle, especially in the warm mornings. [illustration] you carefully locate the direction of the note and proceed to climb toward it. you may have an hour's hard work before you sight the orange-breasted whistler among the tumbled mass of rocks that surround his home, for it is a far-reaching sound, heard half a mile away at times. those who know the groundhog of the east would recognize in the rock woodchuck its western cousin, a little bigger, yellower, and brighter in its colours, living in the rocks and blessed with a whistle that would fill a small boy with envy. now, lest the critical should object to the combination name of "rock woodchuck," it is well to remind them that "woodchuck" has nothing to do with either "wood" or "chucking," but is our corrupted form of an indian name "ot-choeck," which is sometimes written also "we-jack." in the ridge of broken rocks just back of yancey's is a colony of the whistlers; and there as i sat sketching one day, with my camera at hand, one poked his head up near me and gave me the pose that is seen in the photograph. the pack-rat and his museum among my school fellows was a boy named waddy who had a mania for collecting odds, ends, curios, bits of brass or china, shiny things, pebbles, fungus, old prints, bones, business cards, carved peach stones, twisted roots, distorted marbles, or freak buttons. anything odd or glittering was his especial joy. he had no theory about these things. he did not do anything in particular with them. he found gratification in spreading them out to gloat over, but i think his chief joy was in the collecting. and when some comrade was found possessed of a novelty that stirred his cupidity, the pleasure of planning a campaign to secure possession, the working out of the details, and the glory of success, were more to waddy than any other form of riches or exploit. [illustration] the pack-rat is the waddy of the mountains, or waddy was the pack-rat of the school. imagine, if you would picture the pack-rat, a small creature like a common rat, but with soft fur, a bushy tail, and soulful eyes, living the life of an ordinary rat in the woods, except that it has an extraordinary mania for collecting curios. there can be little doubt that this began in the nest-building idea, and then, because it was necessary to protect his home, cactus leaves and thorny branches were piled on it. the instinct grew until to-day the nest of a pack-rat is a mass of rubbish from one to four feet high, and four to eight feet across. i have examined many of these collections. they are usually around the trunks in a clump of low trees, and consist of a small central nest about eight inches across, warm and soft, with a great mass of sticks and thorns around and over this, leaving a narrow entrance well-guarded by an array of cactus spines; then on top of all, a most wonderful collection of pine cones, shells, pebbles, bones, scraps of paper and tin, and the skulls of other animals. and when the owner can add to these works of art or vertu a brass cartridge, a buckle or a copper rivet, his little bosom is doubtless filled with the same high joy that any great collector might feel on securing a raphael or a rembrandt. i remember finding an old pipe in one rat museum. pistol cartridges are eagerly sought after, so are saddle buckles, even if he has to cut them surreptitiously from the saddle of some camper. and when any of these articles are found missing it is usual to seek out the nearest rat house, and here commonly the stolen goods are discovered shamelessly exposed on top. i remember hearing of a set of false teeth that were lost in camp, but rescued in this very way. a free trader "pack" is a western word meaning "carry," and thus the rat that carries off things is the "pack-rat." but it has another peculiarity. as though it had a conscience disturbed by pilfering the treasure of another, it often brings back what may be considered a fair exchange. thus a silver-plated spoon may have gone from its associate cup one night, but in that cup you may find a long pine cone or a surplus nail, by which token you may know that a pack-rat has called and collected. sometimes this enthusiastic fancier goes off with food, but leaves something in its place; in one case that i heard of, the rat, either with a sense of humour or a mistaken idea of food values, after having carried off the camp biscuit, had filled the vacant dish with the round pellets known as "elk sign." but evidently there is a disposition to deal fair; not to steal, but to trade. for this reason the creature is widely known as the "trade rat." [illustration] although i have known the pack-rat for years in the mountains, i never saw one within the strict lines of the yellowstone sanctuary. but the guides all assure me that they are found and manifest the same disposition here as elsewhere. so that if you should lose sundry bright things around camp, or some morning find your boots stuffed with pebbles, deer sign, or thorns, do not turn peevish or charge the guide with folly; it means, simply, you have been visited by a mountain rat, and any _un_eatables you miss will doubtless be found in his museum, which will be discovered within a hundred yards--a mass of sticks and rubbish under a tree--with some bright and shiny things on the top where the owner can sit amongst them on sunny days, and gloat till his little black eyes are a-swim, and his small heart filled with holy joy. the upheaver--the mole-gopher [illustration: pack-rat nest] as you cross any of the level, well-grassed prairie regions in the yellowstone you will see piles of soft earth thrown up in little hillocks, sometimes a score or more of them bunched together. the drivers will tell you that these are molehills, which isn't quite true. for the mole is a creature unknown in the park, and the animal that makes these mounds is exceedingly abundant. it is the common mole-gopher, a gopher related very distantly to the prairie-dog and mountain whistler, but living the underground life of a mole, though not even in the same order as that interesting miner, for the mole-gopher is a rodent (order _rodentia_) and the mole a bug-eater (order _insectivora_); just as different as lion and caribou. the mole-gopher is about the size of a rat, but has a short tail and relatively immense forepaws and claws. it is indeed wonderfully developed as a digger. examine the mound of earth thrown up. if it is a fair example, it will make fully half a bushel. next count the mounds that are within a radius of fifty paces; probably all are the work of this gopher, or rather this pair, for they believe in team play. search over the ground carefully, and you will discern that there are scores of ancient mounds flattened by the weather, and traces of hundreds, perhaps, that date from remote years. now multiply the size of one mound by the number of mounds, and you will have some idea of the work done by this pair. finally, remembering that there may be a pair of gophers for every acre in the park, estimate the tons of earth moved by one pair and multiply it by the acres in the park, and you will get an idea of the work done by those energetic rodents as a body, and you will realize how well he has won his indian name, the "upheaver." we are accustomed to talk of upheaval in geology as a frightful upset of all nature, but here before our eyes is going on an upheaval of enormous extent and importance, but so gently and pleasantly done that we enjoy every phase of the process. [illustration: the mole-gopher] * * * * * iii famous fur-bearers-- * * * * * iii famous fur-bearers fox, marten, beaver, and otter fair lady multo millionaire riding in the dusty stagecoach, comparing as you go the canyons of the yellowstone with memories of colorado, overland, and stalheim, you, in your winter home, know all about fur as it enters your world with its beauty, its warmth, its price--its gauge of the wearer's pocket. let me add a segment of the circle to round your knowledge out. when nature peopled with our four-foot kin the cold north lands, it was necessary to clothe these little brethren of ours in a coat that should be absolutely warm, light, durable, of protective colour, thick in cold weather, thin in warm. under these conditions she produced _fur_, with its densely woolly undercoat and its long, soft, shining outer coat, one for warmth, the other for wet and wear. some northern animals can store up food in holes or in the fat of their bodies, so need not be out when the intensest cold is on the land. some have to face the weather all winter, and in these we find the fur of its best quality. of this class are the marten and the northern fox. they are the finest, warmest, lightest, softest of all furs. but colour is a cardinal point when beauty is considered and where fashion is queen. so the choicest colours are the soft olive brown with silver hairs, found in the russian sable, and the glossy black with silver hairs, found in the true silver fox of the north. the most wonderful fur in the world what is the silver fox? simply a black freak, a brunette born into a red-headed family. but this does not cast any reflection on the mother or on father's lineage. on the contrary, it means that they had in them an element of exceptional vigour, which resulted in a peculiar intensifying of all pigments, transmuting red into black and carrying with it an unusual vigour of growth and fineness of texture, producing, in short, the world-famed silver fox, the lightest, softest, thickest, warmest, and most lustrous of furs, the fur worth many times its weight in gold, and with this single fault, that it does not stand long wear. [illustration] [illustration: v. red fox _captive; photo by e. t. seton_] [illustration: vi. foxes quarrelling _captive; photo by e. t. seton_] cold and exposure are wonderful stimulants of the skin, and so it is not surprising that the real silver fox should appear only in very cold climates. owing to its elevation the yellowstone park has the winter climate of northern canada, and, as might have been predicted, the silver fox occurs among the many red-headed or bleached blonde foxes that abound in the half open country. you may travel all round the stage route and neither see nor hear a fox, but travel quietly on foot, or better, camp out, and you will soon discover the crafty one in yellow, or, rather, he will discover you. how? usually after you have camped for the night and are sitting quietly by the fire before the hour of sleep, a curious squall is heard from the dark hillside or bushes, a squall followed by a bark like that of a toy terrier. sometimes it keeps on at intervals for five minutes, and sometimes it is answered by a similar noise. this is the bark of a fox. it differs from the coyote call in being very short, very squally, much higher pitched, and without any barks in it that would do credit to a fair-sized dog. it is no use to go after him. you won't see him. you should rather sit and enjoy the truly wildwood ring of his music. in the morning if you look hard in the dust and mud, you may find his tracks, and once in a while you will see his yellow-brown form drifting on the prairie as though wind-blown under sail of that enormous tail. for this is the big-tailed variety of red fox. but if you wish to see the fox in all his glory you must be here in winter, when the deep snow cutting off all other foods brings all the fox population about the hotels whose winter keepers daily throw out scraps for which the foxes, the magpies, and a dozen other creatures wait and fight. from a friend, connected with one of the park hotels during the early ' 's, i learned that among the big-tailed pensioners of the inn, there appeared one winter a wonderful silver fox; and i heard many rumours about that fox. i was told that he disappeared, and did not die of sickness, old age, or wild-beast violence; and what i heard i may tell in a different form, only, be it remembered, the names of the persons and places are disguised, as well as the date; and my informant may have brought in details that belonged elsewhere. so that you are free to question much of the account, but the backbone of it is not open to doubt, and some of the guides in the park can give you details that i do not care to put on paper. the poacher and the silver fox how is it that all mankind has a sneaking sympathy with a poacher? a burglar or a pickpocket has our unmitigated contempt; he clearly is a criminal; but you will notice that the poacher in the story is generally a reckless dare-devil with a large and compensatory amount of good-fellow in his make-up--yes, i almost said, of good citizenship. i suppose, because in addition to the breezy, romantic character of his calling, seasoned with physical danger as well as moral risk, there is away down in human nature a strong feeling that, in spite of man-made laws, the ancient ruling holds that "wild game belongs to no man till some one makes it his property by capture." it may be wrong, it may be right, but i have heard this doctrine voiced by red men and white, as primitive law, once or twice; and have seen it lived up to a thousand times. well, josh cree was a poacher. this does not mean that every night in every month he went forth with nefarious tricks and tools, to steal the flesh and fur that legally were not his. far from it. josh never poached but once. but that's enough; he had crossed the line, and this is how it came about: as you roll up the yellowstone from livingston to gardiner you may note a little ranch-house on the west of the track with its log stables, its corral, its irrigation ditch, and its alfalfa patch of morbid green. it is a small affair, for it was founded by the handiwork of one honest man, who with his wife and small boy left pennsylvania, braved every danger of the plains, and secured this claim in the late ' 's. old man cree--he was only forty, but every married man is "old man" in the west--was ready to work at any honest calling from logging or sluicing to grading and muling. he was strong and steady, his wife was steady and strong. they saved their money, and little by little they got the small ranch-house built and equipped; little by little they added to their stock on the range with the cattle of a neighbour, until there came the happy day when they went to live on their own ranch--father, mother, and fourteen-year-old josh, with every prospect of making it pay. the spreading of that white tablecloth for the first time was a real religious ceremony, and the hard workers gave thanks to the all-father for his blessing on their every effort. one year afterward a new event brought joy; there entered happily into their happy house a little girl, and all the prairie smiled about them. surely their boat was well beyond the breakers. [illustration] [illustration] but right in the sunshine of their joy the trouble cloud arose to block the sky. old man cree was missing one day. his son rode long and far on the range for two hard days before he sighted a grazing pony, and down a rocky hollow near, found his father, battered and weak, near death, with a broken leg and a gash in his head. he could only gasp "water" as josh hurried up, and the boy rushed off to fill his hat at the nearest stream. [illustration] they had no talk, for the father swooned after drinking, and josh had to face the situation; but he was western trained. he stripped himself of all spare clothing, and his father's horse of its saddle blanket; then, straightening out the sick man, he wrapped him in the clothes and blanket, and rode like mad for the nearest ranch-house. the neighbour, a young man, came at once, with a pot to make tea, an axe, and a rope. they found the older cree conscious but despairing. a fire was made, and hot tea revived him. then josh cut two long poles from the nearest timber and made a stretcher, or travois, indian fashion, the upper ends fast to the saddle of a horse, while the other ends trailed on the ground. thus by a long, slow journey the wounded man got back. all he had prayed for was to get home. every invalid is sure that if only he can get home all will soon be well. mother was not yet strong, the baby needed much care, but josh was a good boy, and the loving best of all was done for the sick one. his leg, set by the army surgeon of fort yellowstone, was knit again after a month, but had no power. he had no force; the shock of those two dire days was on him. the second month went by, and still he lay in bed. poor josh was the man of the place now, and between duties, indoors and out, he was worn body and soul. then it was clear they must have help. so jack s---- was engaged at the regular wages of $ a month for outside work, and a year of struggle went by, only to see john cree in his grave, his cattle nearly all gone, his widow and boy living in a house on which was still $ of the original mortgage. josh was a brave boy and growing strong, but unboyishly grave with the weight of care. he sold off the few cattle that were left, and set about keeping the roof over his mother and baby sister by working a truck farm for the market supplied by the summer hotels of the park, and managed to come out even. he would in time have done well, but he could not get far enough ahead to meet that per cent mortgage already overdue. the banker was not a hard man, but he was in the business for the business. he extended the time, and waited for interest again and again, but it only made the principal larger, and it seemed that the last ditch was reached, that it would be best to let the money-man foreclose, though that must mean a wipe-out and would leave the fatherless family homeless. [illustration] winter was coming on, work was scarce, and josh went to gardiner to see what he could get in the way of house or wage. he learned of a chance to 'substitute' for the park mail-carrier, who had sprained his foot. it was an easy drive to fort yellowstone, and there he readily agreed, when they asked him, to take the letters and packages and go on farther to the canyon hotel. thus it was that on the th day of november --, josh cree, sixteen years old, tall and ruddy, rode through the snow to the kitchen door of the canyon hotel and was welcomed as though he were old santa claus himself. [illustration] two magpies on a tree were among the onlookers. the park bears were denned up, but there were other fur-bearers about. high on the wood-pile sat a yellow red fox in a magnificent coat. another was in front of the house, and the keeper said that as many as a dozen came some days. and sometimes, he said, there also came a wonderful silver fox, a size bigger than the rest, black as coal, with eyes like yellow diamonds, and a silver frosting like little stars on his midnight fur. "my! but he's a beauty. that skin would buy the best team of mules on the yellowstone." that was interesting and furnished talk for a while. in the morning when they were rising for their candlelight breakfast, the hotel man glancing from the window exclaimed, "here he is now!" and josh peered forth to see in the light of sunrise something he had often heard of, but never before seen, a coal-black fox, a giant among his kind. how slick and elegant his glossy fur, how slim his legs, and what a monstrous bushy tail; and the other foxes moved aside as the patrician rushed in impatient haste to seize the food thrown out by the cook. "ain't he a beauty?" said the hotel man. "i'll bet that pelt would fetch five hundred." oh, why did he say "five hundred," the exact sum, for then it was that the tempter entered into josh cree's heart. five hundred dollars! just the amount of the mortgage. "who owns wild beasts? the man that kills them," said the tempter, and the thought was a live one in his breast as josh rode back to fort yellowstone. [illustration] at gardiner he received his pay, $ , for three days' work and, turning it into groceries, set out for the poor home that soon would be lost to him, and as he rode he did some hard and gloomy thinking. on his wrist there hung a wonderful indian quirt of plaited rawhide and horsehair with beads on the shaft, and a band of elk teeth on the butt. it was a pet of his, and "good medicine," for a flat piece of elkhorn let in the middle was perforated with a hole, through which the distant landscape was seen much clearer--a well-known law, an ancient trick, but it made the quirt prized as a thing of rare virtue, and josh had refused good offers for it. then a figure afoot was seen, and coming nearer, it turned out to be a friend, jack day, out a-gunning with a . rifle. but game was scarce and jack was returning to gardiner empty-handed and disgusted. they stopped for a moment's greeting when day said: "huntin's played out now. how'll you swap that quirt for my rifle?" a month before josh would have scorned the offer. a ten-dollar quirt for a five-dollar rifle, but now he said briefly: "for rifle with cover, tools and ammunition complete, i'll go ye." so the deal was made and in an hour josh was home. he stabled grizzle, the last of their saddle stock, and entered. [illustration] love and sorrow dwelt in the widow's home, but the return of josh brought its measure of joy. mother prepared the regular meal of tea, potatoes, and salt pork; there was a time when they had soared as high as canned goods, but those prosperous days were gone. josh was dandling baby sister on his lap as he told of his trip, and he learned of two things of interest: first, the bank must have its money by february; second, the stable at gardiner wanted a driver for the cook city stage. then the little events moved quickly. his half-formed plan of getting back to the canyon was now frustrated by the new opening, and, besides this, hope had been dampened by the casual word of one who reported that "that silver fox had not been seen since at the canyon." then began long days of dreary driving through the snow, with a noon halt at yancey's and then three days later the return, in the cold, the biting cold. it was freezing work, but coldest of all was the chill thought at his heart that february st would see him homeless. [illustration] small bands of mountain sheep he saw at times on the slope of evarts, and a few blacktail, and later, when the winter deepened, huge bull elk were seen along the trail. sometimes they moved not more than a few paces to let him pass. these were everyday things to him, but in the second week of his winter work he got a sudden thrill. he was coming down the long hill back of yancey's when what should he see there, sitting on its tail, shiny black with yellow eyes like a huge black cat unusually long and sharp in the nose, but a wonderful silver fox! possibly the same as the one he saw at the canyon, for that one he knew had disappeared and there were not likely to be two in the park. yes, it might be the same, and josh's bosom surged with mingled feelings. why did he not carry that little gun? why did he not realize? were the thoughts that came--$ ! a noble chance! broad daylight only twenty-five yards! and gone! the fox was still there when josh drove on. on the next trip he brought the little rifle. he had sawed off the stock so he could hide it easily in his overcoat if need be. no man knew that he carried arms, but the foxes seemed to know. the red ones kept afar and the black one came no more. day after day he drove and hoped but the black fox has cunning measured to his value. he came not, or if he came, was wisely hidden, and so the month went by, till late in the cold moon of snow he heard old yancey, say "there's a silver fox bin a-hanging around the stable this last week. leastwise dave says he seen him." there were soldiers sitting around that stove, game guardians of the park, and still more dangerous, a scout, the soldiers' guide, a mountaineer. josh turned not an inch, he made no sound in response, but his heart gave a jump. half an hour later he went out to bed his horses for the night, and peering around the stable he saw a couple of shadowy forms that silently shifted until swallowed by the gloom. then the soldiers came to bed their horses, and josh went back to the stove. his big driving coat hung with the little sawed-off rifle in the long pocket. he waited till the soldiers one by one went up the ladder to the general bunk-room. he rose again, got the lantern, lighted it, carried it out behind the lonely stable. the horses were grinding their hay, the stars were faintly lighting the snow. there was no one about as he hung the lantern under the eaves outside so that it could be seen from the open valley, but not from the house. [illustration] a faint _yap-yah_, of a fox was heard on the piney hillside, as he lay down on the hay in the loft, but there were no signs of life on the snow. he had come to wait all night if need be, and waited. the lantern might allure, it might scare, but it was needed in this gloom, and it tinged the snow with faint yellow light below him. an hour went by, then a big-tailed form came near and made a little bark at the lantern. it looked very dark, but it had a paler patch on the throat. this waiting was freezing work; josh's teeth were chattering in spite of his overcoat. another gray form came, then a much larger black one shaped itself on the white. it dashed at the first, which fled, and the second one followed but a little, and then sat down on the snow, gazing at that bright light. when you are sure, you are _so_ sure--josh knew him now, he was facing the silver fox. but the light was dim. josh's hand trembled as he bared it to lay the back on his lips and suck so as to make a mousey squeak. the effect on the fox was instant. he glided forward intent as a hunting cat. again he stood in, oh! such a wonderful pose, still as a statue, frozen like a hiding partridge, unbudging as a lone kid antelope in may. and josh raised--yes, he had come for that--he raised that fatal gun. the lantern blazed in the fox's face at twenty yards; the light was flung back doubled by its shining eyes; it looked perfectly clear. josh lined the gun, but, strange to tell, the sights so plain were lost at once, and the gun was shaking like a sorghum stalk while the gopher gnaws its root. [illustration] he laid the weapon down with a groan, cursed his own poor trembling hand, and in an instant the wonder fox was gone. poor josh! he wasn't bad-tongued, but now he used all the evil words he had ever heard, and he was western bred. then he reacted on himself. "the fox might come back!" suddenly he remembered something. he got out a common sulphur match. he wet it on his lips and rubbed it on the muzzle sight: then on each side of the notch on the breech sight. he lined it for a tree. yes! surely! what had been a blur of blackness had now a visible form. a faint bark on a far hillside might mean a coming or a going fox. josh waited five minutes, then again he squeaked on his bare hand. the effect was a surprise when from the shelter of the stable wall ten feet below there leaped the great dark fox. at fifteen feet it paused. those yellow orbs were fiery in the light and the rifle sights with the specks of fire were lined. there was a sharp report and the black-robed fur was still and limp in the snow. who can tell the crack of a small rifle among the louder cracks of green logs splitting with the fierce frost of a yellowstone winter's night? why should travel-worn, storm-worn travellers wake at each slight, usual sound? who knows? who cares? * * * * * and afar in livingston what did the fur dealer care? it was a great prize--or the banker? he got his five hundred, and mother found it easy to accept the indians' creed: "who owns wild beasts? the man who kills them." "i did not know how it would come," she said; "i only knew it would come, for i prayed and believed." we know that it came when it meant the most. the house was saved. it was the turn in their fortune's tide, and the crucial moment of the change was when those three bright sulphur spots were lined with the living lamps in the head of the silver fox. yes! josh was a poacher. just once. [illustration] the villain in velvet--the marten this beautiful animal, the sable of america, with its rich brown fur and its golden throat, comes naturally after the silver fox, for such is the relative value of their respective coats. the fox is a small wild dog; the marten is a large tree weasel. it is a creature of amazing agility, so much so that it commonly runs down the red-squirrel among the tree tops. its food consists mainly of mice and squirrels, but it kills rabbits and grouse when it can find them, and sometimes even feasts on game of a far more noble size. tom newcomb, my old guide, has given me an interesting note on the marten, made while he was acting as hunting guide in the shoshoni mountains. in october, , he was out with baron d' epsen and his party, hunting on miller creek east of yellowstone park. they shot at a deer. it ran off as though unharmed, but turned to run down hill, and soon the snow showed that it was spurting blood on both sides. they followed for three or four hundred yards, and then the deer track was joined by the tracks of five marten. in a few minutes they found the deer down and the five marten, a family probably, darting about in the near trees, making their peculiar soft purr as though in anticipation of the feast, which was delayed only by the coming of the hunters. these attempts to share with the killers of big game are often seen. [illustration] the industrious beaver in some respects the beaver is the most notable animal in the west. it was the search for beaver skins that led adventurers to explore the rocky mountains, and to open up the whole northwest of the united states and canada. it is the beaver to-day that is the chief incentive to poachers in the park, but above all the beaver is the animal that most manifests its intelligence by its works, forestalls man in much of his best construction, and amazes us by the well-considered labour of its hands. [illustration: vii. beaver: (a) pond and house; (b) stumps of tree cut and removed by beaver, near yancey's, _photos by e. t. seton_] [illustration: viii. mule-deer _photo by e. t. seton_] [illustration] there was a time when the beaver's works and wisdom were so new and astounding that super-human intelligence was ascribed to this fur-clad engineer. then the scoffers came and reduced him to the low level of his near kin, and explained the accounts of his works as mere fairy tales. now we have got back to the middle of the road. we find him a creature of intelligence far above that of his near kinsmen, and endowed with some extraordinary instincts that guide him in making dams, houses, etc., that are unparalleled in the animal world. here are the principal deliberate constructions of the beaver: first the lodge. the beaver was the original inventor of reinforced concrete. he has used it for a million years, in the form of mud mixed with sticks and stones, for building his lodge and dam. the lodge is the home of the family; that is, it shelters usually one old male, one old female and sundry offspring. it is commonly fifteen to twenty feet across outside, and three to five feet high. within is a chamber about two feet high and six feet across, well above water and provided with a ventilator through the roof, also two entering passages under water, one winding for ordinary traffic, and one straight for carrying in wood, whose bark is a staple food. this house is kept perfectly tidy, and when the branch is stripped of all eatable parts, it is taken out and worked into the dam, which is a crooked bank of mud and sticks across the running stream. it holds the water so as to moat the beaver castle. [illustration] but the canal is one of this animal's most interesting undertakings. it is strictly a freight canal for bringing in food-logs, and is dug out across level ground toward the standing timber. canals are commonly three or four hundred feet long, about three feet wide and two feet deep. there was a small but good example at yancey's in ; it was only seventy feet long. the longest i ever saw was in the adirondacks, n. y.; it was six hundred and fifty-four feet in length following the curves, two or three feet wide and about two feet deep. three other beaver structures should be noticed. one, the dock or plunge hole, which is a deep place by a sharply raised bank, both made with careful manual labour. next, the sunning place, generally an ant-hill on which the beaver lies to enjoy a sun-bath, while the ants pick the creepers out of his fur. third, the mud-pie. this is a little patty of mud mixed with a squeeze of the castor or body-scent glands. it answers the purpose of a register, letting all who call know that so and so has recently been here. the chief food of the beaver, at least its favourite food, is aspen, also called quaking asp or poplar; where there are no poplars there are no beavers. the dam usually the beavers start a dam on some stream, right opposite a good grove of poplars. when these are all cut down and the bark used for food, the beaver makes a second dam on the same stream, always with a view to having deep water for safety, close by poplars for food. in this way i found the beavers at yancey's in had constructed thirteen dams in succession. but when i examined the ground again in , the dams were broken, the ponds all dry. why? the answer is very simple. the beavers had used up all the food. instead of the little aspen groves there were now nothing but stumps, and the beavers had moved elsewhere. [illustration: beaver using his tail as a trowel] similarly in the largest beaver pond in the park was at obsidian cliff. i should say the dam there was over four hundred yards long. but now it is broken and the pond is drained. and the reason as before--the beavers used all the food and moved on. of course the dam is soon broken when the hardworking ones are not there in their eternal vigilance to keep it tight. there are many good beaver ponds near yancey's now and probably made by the same colonies of beavers as those i studied there. last september i found a fine lots of dams and dammers on the southeast side of yellowstone lake where you may go on a camera hunt with certainty of getting beaver pictures. yes, in broad daylight. let me correct here some popular errors about the beaver: it does not use its tail as a trowel. it does not use big logs in building a dam. it does not and cannot drive stakes. it cannot throw a tree in any given way. it finishes the lodge outside with sticks, not mud. the otter and his slide [illustration] every one of us that ever was a small boy and rejoiced in belly-bumping down some icy hill, on a sled of glorious red, should have a brotherly sympathy for the otter. while in a large sense this beautiful animal belongs to the weasel family, it has so far progressed that it is one of the merriest, best-natured, unsanguinary creatures that ever caught their prey alive. this may be largely owing to the fact that it has taken entirely to a fish diet; for without any certain knowledge of the reason, we observe that fisherfolk are gentler than hunterfolk, and the otter among his weasel kin affords a good illustration of this. we find the animals going through much the same stages as we do. first, the struggle for food, then for mates, and later, when they have no cause to worry about either, they seek for entertainment. quite a number of our animals have invented amusements. usually these are mere games of tag, catch, or tussle, but some have gone farther and have a regular institution, with a set place to meet, and apparatus provided. this is the highest form of all, and one of the best illustrations of it is found in the jovial otter. coasting is an established game with this animal; and probably every individual of the species frequents some otter slide. this is any convenient steep hill or bank, sloping down into deep water, prepared by much use, and worn into a smooth shoot that becomes especially serviceable when snow or ice are there to act as lightning lubricants. and here the otters will meet, old and young, male and female, without any thought but the joy of fun together, and shoot down one after the other, swiftly, and swifter still, as the hill grows smooth with use, and plump into the water and out again; and chase each other with little animal gasps of glee, each striving to make the shoot more often and more quickly than the others. and all of this charming scene, this group and their merry game, is unquestionably for the simple social joy of being together in an exercise which gives to them the delicious, exhilarating sensation of speeding through space without either violence or effort. in fact, for the very same reason that you and i went coasting when we were boys. do not fail to get one of the guides to show you the otter slides as you travel about the lake. some of them are good and some are poor. the very best are seen after the snow has come, but still you can see them with your own eyes, and if you are very lucky and very patient you may be rewarded by the sight of these merry creatures indulging in a game which closely parallels so many of our own. * * * * * iv horns and hoofs and legs of speed * * * * * iv horns and hoofs and legs of speed the bounding blacktail when lewis and clark reached the big sioux river in dakota, on their famous journey up the missouri, one hundred and ten years ago, they met, on the very edge and beginning of its range, the mule deer, and added the new species to their collection. it is the characteristic deer of the rough country from mexico to british columbia, and from california to manitoba; and is one of the kinds most easily observed in the yellowstone sanctuary. [illustration] driving from gardiner, passing under the great tower of eagle rock on which an osprey has nested year after year as far back as the records go, and wheeling into the open space in front of the mammoth hot springs hotel, one is almost sure to come on a family of deer wandering across the lawn, or posing among the shrubbery, with all the artless grace of the truly wild creature. these are the representatives of several hundred that collect in fall on and about this lawn, but are now scattered for the summer season over the adjoining hills, to come again, no doubt in increased numbers, when the first deep snow shall warn them to seek their winter range. like the other animals, these are natives of the region and truly wild, but so educated by long letting alone that it is easy to approach within a few yards. the camera hunter should not fail to use this opportunity, not only because they are wild and beautiful things, but because he can have the films developed at the hotel over night, and so find out how his camera is behaving in this new light and surroundings. [illustration] this is the common blacktailed deer of the hill country, called mule deer on account of its huge ears and the shape of its tail. in canada i knew it by the name of "jumping deer," from its gait, and in the rockies it is familiar as the "bounding blacktail"--"bounding" because of the wonderful way in which it strikes the ground with its legs held stiffly, then rises in the air with little apparent effort, and lands some ten or fifteen feet away. as the hunters say, "the blacktail hits only the high places in the landscape." on the level it does not run so well as the antelope or the whitetailed deer, and i often wondered why it had adopted this laborious mode of speeding, which seemed so inferior to the normal pace of its kin. but at length i was eyewitness of an episode that explained the puzzle. the mother blacktail's race for life [illustration] in the fall of i was out for a wolf hunt with the eaton boys in the badlands near medora, n. d. we had a fine mixed pack of dogs, trailers, runners, and fighters. the runners were thoroughbred greyhounds, that could catch any four-foot on the plains except perhaps a buck antelope; that i saw them signally fail in. but a wolf, or even the swift coyote, had no chance of getting away from them provided they could keep him in view. we started one of these singers of the plains, and at first he set off trusting to his legs, but the greyhounds were after him, and when he saw his long start shrinking so fearfully fast he knew that his legs could not save him, that now was the time for wits to enter the game. and this entry he made quickly and successfully by dropping out of sight down a brushy canyon, so the greyhounds saw him no more. then they were baffled by prairie-dogs which dodged down out of reach and hawks which rose up out of reach, and still we rode, till, rounding a little knoll near a drinking place, we came suddenly on a mother blacktail and her two fawns. all three swung their big ears and eyes into full bearing on us, and we reined our horses and tried to check our dogs, hoping they had not seen the quarry that we did not wish to harm. but bran the leader gave a yelp, then leaping high over the sage, directed all the rest, and in a flash it was a life and death race. again and frantically the elder eaton yelled "come back!" and his brother tried to cut across and intercept the hounds. but a creature that runs away is an irresistible bait to a greyhound, and the chase across the sage-covered flat was on, with every nerve and tendon strained. [illustration: x. blacktail family _photo by e. t. seton_] away went the blacktail, bounding, bounding at that famous beautiful, birdlike, soaring pace, mother and young tapping the ground and sailing to land, and tap and sail again. and away went the greyhounds, low coursing, outstretched, bounding like bolts from a crossbow, curving but little and dropping only to be shot again. they were straining hard; the blacktail seemed to be going more easily, far more beautifully. but alas! they were losing time. the greyhounds were closing; in vain we yelled at them. we spurred our horses, hoping to cut them off, hoping to stop the ugly, lawless tragedy. but the greyhounds were frantic now. the distance between bran and the hindmost fawn was not forty feet. then eaton drew his revolver and fired shots over the greyhounds' heads, hoping to scare them into submission, but they seemed to draw fresh stimulus from each report, and yelped and bounded faster. a little more and the end would be. then we saw a touching sight. the hindmost fawn let out a feeble bleat of distress, and the mother, heeding, dropped back between. it looked like choosing death, for now she had not twenty feet of lead. i wanted eaton to use his gun on the foremost hound, when something unexpected happened. the flat was crossed, the blacktail reached a great high butte, and tapping with their toes they soared some fifteen feet and tapped again; and tapped and tapped and soared, and so they went like hawks that are bounding in the air, and the greyhounds, peerless on the plain, were helpless on the butte. yes! rush as they might and did, and bounded and clomb, but theirs was not the way of the hills. in twenty heartbeats they were left behind. the blacktail mother with her twins kept on and soared and lightly soared till lost to view, and all were safely hidden in their native hills. [illustration: xi. blacktail mother with her twins _photo by e. t. seton_] the blacktail's safety is in the hills that day i learned the reason for the bounding flight, so beautiful, but not the best or swiftest on the plain, yet the one that gives them dominion and safety on the hills, that makes of them a hill folk that the dangers of the plain can never reach. so now, o traveller in the park, if you approach too near the blacktail feeding near the great hotel, and so alarm them--for they are truly wild--they make not for the open run as do the antelope and the hares, not for the thickest bottomland as do the whitetail and the lynxes, but for the steeper hillsides. they know right well where their safety lies, and on that near and bushy bank, laying aside all alarm, they group and pose in artless grace that tempts one to a lavish use of films and gives the chance for that crowning triumph of the art, a wild animal group, none of which is looking at the camera. one more characteristic incident: in i was riding, with my wife, from yancey's over to baronett's bridge, when we came on a young buck blacktail. now, said i, "i am going to show you the most wonderful and beautiful thing to be seen in the way of wild life speeding. you shall now see the famous bounding of the blacktail." then i spurred out after the young buck, knowing that all he needed was a little alarm to make him perform. did he take alarm and run? not at all. he was in the yellowstone sanctuary. he knew nothing of guns or dogs; he had lived all his life in safety. he would trot a few steps out of my way, then turn and gaze at me, but run, bound, and make for the high land, not a bit of it. and to this day my fair companion has not seen the blacktail bounding up the hills. the elk or wapiti--the noblest of all deer the rocky mountain elk, or wapiti, is the finest of all true deer. the cows weigh to pounds, the bulls or , but occasionally . at several of the hotels a small herd is kept in a corral for the pleasure and photography of visitors. the latest official census puts the summer population of elk in the yellowstone park at , , but the species is migratory, at least to the extent of seeking a winter feeding ground with as little snow as possible, so that most of them move out as snow time sets in. small herds linger in the rich and sheltered valleys along the yellowstone, snake and nearby rivers, but the total of those wintering in the park is probably less than , . stalking a band of elk [illustration] in the summer months the best places in which to look for these deer are all the higher forests, especially along the timber-line. i had an interesting stalk after a large band of them among the woods of tower falls in the june of . i had found the trail of a considerable herd and followed it up the mountain till the "sign" was fresh. then i tied up my horse and went forward on foot. for these animals are sufficiently acquainted with man as a mischief-maker to be vigilant in avoiding him, even in the park. i was cautiously crawling from tree to tree, when out across an open space i descried a cow elk and her calf lying down. a little more crawling and i sighted a herd all lying down and chewing the cud. about twenty yards away was a stump whose shelter offered chances to use the camera, but my present position promised nothing, so i set out carefully to cross the intervening space in plain view of scores of elk; and all would have been well but for a pair of mischievous little chipmunks. they started a most noisy demonstration against my approach, running back and forth across my path, twittering and flashing their tails about. in vain i prayed for a paralytic stroke to fall on my small tormentors. their aggravating plan, if plan it was, they succeeded in fully carrying out. the elk turned all their megaphone ears, their funnel noses and their blazing telescopic eyes my way. i lay like a log and waited; so did they. then the mountain breeze veered suddenly and bore the taint of man to those watchful mothers. they sprang to their feet, some fifty head at least, half of them with calves by their sides, and away they dashed with a roaring sound, and a rattling and crashing of branches that is wonderfully impressive to hear, and nothing at all to tell about. i had made one or two rough sketches as i lay on the ground, but the photographs were failures. [illustration: xii. a young investigator among the deer at fort yellowstone _photo by e. t. seton_] [illustration: xiii. elk in wyoming: (a) "dawn" _photo by e. t. seton_ (b) "nightfall" _photo by g. g. seton_] this band contained only cows engaged in growing their calves. according to elk etiquette, the bulls are off by themselves at a much higher elevation, engaged in the equally engrossing occupation of growing their antlers. most persons are surprised greatly when first they learn that the huge antlers of the elk, as with most deer, are grown and shed each year. it takes only five months to grow them. they are perfect in late september for the fighting season, and are shed in march. the bull elk now shapes his conduct to his weaponless condition. he becomes as meek as he was warlike. and so far from battling with all of their own sex that come near, these big "moollys" gather in friendly stag-parties on a basis of equal loss, and haunt the upper woods whose pasture is rich enough to furnish the high power nutriment needed to offset the exhausting drain of growing such mighty horns in such minimum time. they are more free from flies too in these high places, which is important, for even the antlers are sensitive while growing. they are even more sensitive than the rest of the body, besides being less protected and more temptingly filled with blood. a mosquito would surely think he had struck it rich if he landed on the hot, palpitating end of a wapiti's thin-skinned, blood-gorged antlers. it is quite probable that some of the queer bumps we see on the finished weapons are due to mosquito or fly stings suffered in the early period of formation. the bugling elk during the summer the bulls attend strictly to their self-development, but late august sees them ready to seek once more the mixed society of their kind. their horns are fully grown, but are not quite hardened and are still covered with velvet. by the end of september these weapons are hard and cleaned and ready for use, just as a thrilling change sets in in the body and mind of the bull. he is full of strength and vigour, his coat is sleek, his neck is swollen, his muscles are tense, his horns are clean, sharp, and strong, and at their heaviest. a burning ambition to distinguish himself in war, and win favours from the shy ladies of his kind, grows in him to a perfect insanity; goaded by desire, boiling with animal force, and raging with war-lust, he mounts some ridge in the valley and pours forth his very soul in a wild far-reaching battle-cry. beginning low and rising in pitch to a veritable scream of piercing intensity, it falls to a rumbled growl, which broken into shorter growls dies slowly away. this is the famed bugling of the elk, and however grotesque it may seem when heard in a zoo, is admitted by all who know it in its homeland to be the most inspiring music in nature--because of what it means. here is this magnificent creature, big as a horse, strong as a bull, and fierce as a lion, standing in all the pride and glory of his primest prime, announcing to all the world: "i am out for a fight! do any of you want a f-i-g-h-t----!-!-!?" nor does he usually have long to wait. from some far mountainside the answer comes: "yes, yes, yes! _yes, i do_, do, do, do!" a few more bugle blasts and the two great giants meet; and when they do, all the world knows it for a mile around, without it being seen. the crashing of the antlers as they close, the roars of hate, the squeals of combat, the cracking of breaking branches as they charge and charge, and push and strive, and--_sometimes_ the thud of a heavy body going down. many a time have i heard them in the distant woods, but mostly at night. often have i gone forth warily hoping to see something of the fight, for we all love to see a fight when not personally in danger; but luck has been against me. i have been on the battlefield next morning to see where the combatants had torn up an acre of ground, and trampled unnumbered saplings, or tossed huge boulders about like pebbles, but the fight i missed. one day as i came into camp in the shoshonees, east of the park, an old hunter said: "say, you! you want to see a real old-time elk fight? you go up on that ridge back of the corral and you'll sure see a hull bunch of 'em at it; not one pair of bulls, but _six_ of 'em." i hurried away, but again i was too late; i saw nothing but the trampled ground, the broken saplings, and the traces of the turmoil; the battling giants were gone. [illustration] back i went and from the hunter's description made the sketch which i give below. the old man said: "well, you sure got it this time. that's exactly like it was. one pair was jest foolin', one was fencing and was still perlite; but that third pair was a playin' the game for keeps. an' for givin' the facts, that's away ahead of any photograph i ever seen." once i did come on the fatal battle-ground, but it was some time after the decision; and there i found the body of the one who did not win. the antlers are a fair index of the size and vigour of the stag, and if the fallen one was so big and strong, what like was he who downed him, pierced him through and left him on the plain. snapping a charging bull at one time in a californian park i heard the war-bugle of an elk. he bawled aloud in brazen, ringing tones: "anybody want a f-i-g-h-t t-t-t-t!!" i extemporized a horn and answered him according to his mood. "_yes, i do; bring it along!_" and he brought it at a trot, squealing and roaring as he came. when he got within forty yards he left the cover and approached me, a perfect incarnation of brute ferocity and hate. [illustration] his ears were laid back, his muzzle raised, his nose curled up, his lower teeth exposed, his mane was bristling and in his eyes there blazed a marvellous fire of changing opalescent green. on he marched, gritting his teeth and uttering a most unpleasantly wicked squeal. then suddenly down went his head, and he came crash at me, with all the power of half a ton of hate. however, i was not so much exposed as may have been inferred. i was safely up a tree. and there i sat watching that crazy bull as he prodded the trunk with his horns, and snorted, and raved around, telling me just what he thought of me, inviting him to a fight and then getting up a tree. finally he went off roaring and gritting his teeth, but turning back to cast on me from time to time the deadly, opaque green light of his mad, malignant eyes. a friend of mine, john fossum, once a soldier attached to fort yellowstone, had a similar adventure on a more heroic scale. while out on a camera hunt in early winter he descried afar a large bull elk lying asleep in an open valley. at once fossum made a plan. he saw that he could crawl up to the bull, snap him where he lay, then later secure a second picture as the creature ran for the timber. the first part of the programme was carried out admirably. fossum got within fifty feet and still the elk lay sleeping. then the camera was opened out. but alas! that little _pesky_ "click," that does so much mischief, awoke the bull, who at once sprang to his feet and ran--not for the woods--but _for the man_. fossum with the most amazing nerve stood there quietly focussing his camera, till the bull was within ten feet, then pressed the button, threw the camera into the soft snow and ran for his life with the bull at his coat-tails. it would have been a short run but for the fact that they reached a deep snowdrift that would carry the man, and would not carry the elk. here fossum escaped, while the bull snorted around, telling just what he meant to do to the man when he caught him; but he was not to be caught, and at last the bull went off grumbling and squealing. the hunter came back, recovered his camera, and when the plate was developed it bore the picture no. xiv, b. [illustration: xiv. elk on the yellowstone in winter: (a) caught in eight feet of snow; _photo by f. jay haynes_ (b) bull elk charging _photo by john fossum_] it shows plainly the fighting light in the bull's eye, the back laid ears, the twisting of the nose, and the rate at which he is coming is evidenced in the stamping feet and the wind-blown whiskers, and yet in spite of the peril of the moment, and the fact that this was a hand camera, there is no sign of shake on landscape or on elk, and the picture is actually over-exposed. the hoodoo cow one of the best summer ranges for elk is near the southeast corner of the yellowstone lake, and here it was my luck to have the curious experience that i call the "story of a hoodoo elk." [illustration] in the september of , when out with tom newcomb of gardiner, i had this curious adventure, that i shall not try to explain. we had crossed the yellowstone lake in a motor boat and were camped on the extreme southeast finger, at a point twenty-five miles as the crow flies, and over fifty as the trail goes, from any human dwelling. we were in the least travelled and most primitive part of the park. the animals here are absolutely in the wild condition and there was no one in the region but ourselves. on friday, september th, we sighted some elk on the lake shore at sunrise, but could not get nearer than two hundred yards, at which distance i took a poor snap. the elk wheeled and ran out of sight. i set off on foot with the guide about : . we startled one or two elk, but they were very wild, and i got no chance to photograph. about : , when several miles farther in the wilderness, we sighted a cow elk standing in a meadow with a coyote sneaking around about one hundred yards away. "that's my elk," i said, and we swung under cover. by keeping in a little pine woods, i got within one hundred yards, taking picture no. , plate xv. as she did not move, i said to tom: "you stay here while i creep out to that sage brush and i'll get a picture of her at fifty yards." by crawling on my hands i was able to do this and got picture no. . now i noticed a bank of tall grass some thirty yards from the cow, and as she was still quiet, i crawled to that and got picture no. . she did not move and i was near enough to see that she was dozing in a sun-bath. so i stood up and beckoned to tom to come out of the woods at once. he came on nearly speechless with amazement. "what is the meaning of this?" he whispered. [illustration: xv. the first shots at the hoodoo cow _photos by e. t. seton_] i replied calmly: "i told you i was a medicine man, perhaps you'll believe me now. don't you see i've made elk medicine and got her hypnotized? now i am going to get up to about twenty yards and take her picture. while i do so, you use the second camera and take me in the act." so tom took no. while i was taking no. , and later no. . "now," i said, "let's go and talk to her." we walked up to within ten yards. the elk did not move, so i said: "well, bossie, you have callers. won't you please look this way?" she did so and i secured shot no. , plate xvi. "thank you," i said. "now be good enough to lie down." she did, and i took no. . i went up and stroked her, so did tom; then giving her a nudge of my foot i said: "now stand up again and look away." she rose up, giving me nos. , and . "thank you, bossie! now you can go!" and as she went off i fired my last film, getting no. . [illustration: xvi. the last shots at the hoodoo cow _photos by e. t. seton_] by this time tom had used up all his allowable words, and was falling back on the contraband kind to express his surging emotions. "what the ---- is the ---- meaning ---- of this ----?" and so on. i replied calmly: "maybe you'll believe i have elk medicine. now show me a moose and i'll give you some new shocks." our trip homeward occupied a couple of hours, during which i heard little from tom but a snort or two of puzzlement. as we neared camp he turned on me suddenly and said: "now, mr. seton, what _is_ the meaning of this? that wasn't a sick elk; she was fat and hearty. she wasn't poisoned or doped, 'cause there's no possibility of that. it wasn't a tame elk, 'cause there ain't any, and, anyhow, we're seventy miles from a house. now what is the meaning of it?" i replied solemnly: "tom! i don't know any more than you do. i was as much surprised as you were at everything but one, and that was when she lay down. i didn't tell her to lie down till i saw she was going to do it, or to get up either, or look the other way, and if you can explain the incident, you've got the field to yourself." the moose, the biggest of all deer the moose is one of the fine animals that have responded magnificently to protection in canada, maine, minnesota, and the yellowstone park. formerly they were very scarce in wyoming and confined to the southwest corner of the reserve. but all they needed was a little help; and, receiving it, they have flourished and multiplied. their numbers have grown by natural increase from about fifty in to some five hundred and fifty to-day; and they have spread into all the southern half of the park wherever they find surroundings to their taste; that is, thick level woods with a mixture of timber, as the moose is a brush-eater, and does not flourish on a straight diet of evergreen. the first deer, almost the only one i ever killed, was a moose and that was far back in the days of my youth. on the yellowstone, i am sorry to say, i never saw one, although i found tracks and signs in abundance last september near the lake. my partner's moose-hunt though i have never since fired at a moose, i was implicated in the killing of one a few years later. it was in the fall of the year, in the hunting moon, i was in the kippewa country with my partner and some chosen friends on a camping trip. our companions were keen to get a moose; and daily all hands but myself were out with the expert moose callers. but each night the company reassembled around the campfire only to exchange their stories of failure. [illustration] moose there were in plenty, and good guides, indian, halfbreed and white, but luck was against them all. without being a very expert caller i have done enough of it to know the game and to pass for a "caller." so one night i said in a spirit of half jest: "i'll have to go out and show you men how to call a moose." i cut a good piece of birch-bark and fashioned carefully a horn. disdaining all civilized materials as "bad medicine," i stitched the edge with a spruce root or wattap, and soldered it neatly with pine gum flowed and smoothed with a blazing brand. and then i added the finishing touch, a touch which made the indian and the halfbreed shake their heads ominously; i drew two "hoodoo moose"--that is, men with moose heads dancing around the horn. [illustration: xvii. elk on the yellowstone: (a) in billings park; (b) wild cow elk _photos by e. t. seton_] the siren call "you put that on before you catch one moose, moose never come," they said. still i put them on, and near sundown set off in a canoe, with one guide as paddler, and my partner in charge of the only gun. in half an hour we reached a lonely lake surrounded by swamps, and woods of mixed timber. the sunset red was purpling all the horizon belt of pines, and the peace of the still hour was on lake and swamp. with some little sense of profanity i raised the hoodoo horn to my mouth, gave one or two high-pitched, impatient grunts, then poured forth the softly rising, long-drawn love-call of a cow moose, all alone, and "oh, so lonesome." the guide nodded in approval, "that's all right," then i took out my watch and waited for fifteen minutes. for, strange to tell, it seems to repel the bull moose and alarm him if the cow seems over-eager. there is a certain etiquette to be observed; it is easy to spoil all by trying to go too fast. and it does not do to guess at the time; when one is waiting so hard, the minute is like twenty. so when fifteen minutes really had gone, i raised the magic horn again, emitted a few hankering whines, then broke into a louder, farther reaching call that thrilled up echoes from across the lake and seemed to fill the woods for miles around with its mellifluous pleading. again i waited and gave a third call just as the sun was gone. then we strained our eyes and watched at every line of woods, and still were watching when the sound of a falling tree was heard far off on a hillside. then there was a sort of after-clap as though the tree had lodged the first time, and hanging half a minute, had completed its fall with breaking of many branches, and a muffled crash. we gazed hard that way, and the guide, a very young one, whispered, "bear!" there was silence, then a stick broke nearer, and a deep, slow snort was heard; it might have been the "woof" of a bear, but i was in doubt. then without any more noises, a white array of shining antler tips appeared above the near willows, and swiftly, silently, there glided into view a huge bull moose. "how solid and beefy he looks!" was my first thought. he "woofed" again, and the guide, with an eye always to the head, whispered to my partner: "take him! he's a stunner." striding on he came, with wonderful directness, seeing i had not called for twenty minutes, and that when he was a mile or more away. as he approached within forty yards, the guide whispered, "now is your chance. you'll never get a better one." my partner whispered, "steady the canoe." i drove my paddle point into the sandy bottom, the guide did the same at the other end, and she arose standing in the canoe and aimed. then came the wicked "crack" of the rifle, the "pat" of the bullet, the snort and whirl of the great, gray, looming brute, and a second shot as he reached the willows, only to go down with a crash, and sob his life out on the ground behind the leafy screen. it all seemed so natural, so exactly according to the correct rules of sporting books and tales, and yet so unlovely. there were tears in the eyes of the fair killer, and heart wrenches were hers, as the great sobs grew less and ceased; and a different sob was heard at my elbow, as we stood beside the biggest moose that had been killed there in years. it was triumph i suppose; it is a proud thing to act a lie so cleverly; the florentine assassins often decoyed and trapped a brave man, by crying like a woman. but i have never called a moose since, and that rifle has hung unused in its rack from that to the present day. [illustration] the biggest of our game--the buffalo "yes, that's a buffalo-bird," said the old indian, pointing to some black birds, with gray mates, that flitted or ran across the plain. "pretty bad luck when the buffalo gone. them little birds make their nest in a buffalo's wool, right on his head, and when the buffalo all gone, seem like the buffalo-bird die too; 'cause what's the use, no got any nest." this is a fragment that reached me long ago in montana. it seemed like a lusty myth, whose succulent and searching roots were in a bottomless bog, with little chance of sound foundation. but the tale bore the searchlight better than i thought. for it seems that the buffalo-bird followed the buffalo everywhere, and was fond of nesting, not in the shaggy mane between the horns of the ruling monarch, but on any huge head it might find after the bull had fallen, and the skull, with mane attached, lay discarded on the plain. while always, even when nesting on the ground, the wool of the buffalo was probably used as lining of the black-bird's nest. i know of one case where an attendant bird that was too crippled to fly when autumn came, wintered in the mane of a large buffalo bull. it gathered seed by day, when the bull pawed up the snow, and roosted at night between the mighty horns, snuggling in the wool, with its toes held warm against the monster's blood-hot neck. in most of the northwest the birds have found a poor substitute for the buffalo in the range-cattle, but oh! how they must miss the wool. [illustration: xviii. moose--the widow _drawing by e. t. seton_] [illustration: xix. buffalo groups (a) bull and cow at banff; (b) yellowstone bulls _photos by g. g. seton_] the shrunken range it is not generally known that the american buffalo ranged as far east as syracuse, washington city, and carolina, that they populated the forests in small numbers, as well as the plains in great herds. i estimate them at over , , in a.d. . in they were down to ; probably this was the low-ebb year. since then they have increased under judicious protection, and now reach about , . in the june of , as i stood on a hill near baronett's bridge, overlooking the yellowstone just beyond yancey's, with an old timer, dave roberts, he said: "twenty years ago, when i first saw this valley, it was black-speckled with buffalo, and every valley in the park was the same." now the only sign of the species was a couple of old skulls crumbling in the grass. in the remnant in the park had fallen to thirty, and their extinction seemed certain. but the matter was taken up energetically by the officers in charge. protection, formerly a legal fiction, was made an accomplished fact. the buffalo have increased ever since, and to-day number , with the possibility of some stragglers. we need not dwell on the story of the extinction of the great herds. that is familiar to all,[b] but it is well to remind the reader that it was inevitable. the land was, or would be, needed for human settlement, with which the buffalo herds were incompatible; only we brought it on forty or fifty years before it was necessary. "could we not save the buffalo as range-cattle?" is the question that most ask. the answer is: it has been tried a hundred times and all attempts have been eventually frustrated by the creature's temper. buffalo, male or female, are always more or less dangerous; they cannot be tamed or trusted. they are always subject to stampede, and once started, nothing, not even sure destruction, stops them; so in spite of their suitability to the climate, their hardihood, their delicious meat, and their valuable robes, the attempts at domesticating the buffalo have not yet been made a success. [illustration] a small herd of a dozen or so is kept in a fenced range near the mammoth hot springs, where the traveller should not fail to try for pictures, and with them he will see the cowbirds, that in some regions replace the true buffalo-birds. perched on their backs or heads or running around them on the ground are these cattle birds as of yore, like boats around a man-o'-war, or sea-gulls around a whale; living their lives, snapping up the tormenting flies, and getting in return complete protection from every creature big enough to seem a menace in the eyes of the old time king of the plains. the doomed antelope and his heliograph the antelope, or pronghorn, is one of the most peculiar animals in the world. it is the only known ruminant that has hollow horns on a bony core as with cattle, and also has them branched and shed each year as in the deer. it is a creature of strangely mixed characteristics, for it has the feet of a giraffe, the glands of a goat, the coat of a deer, the horns of an ox and deer combined, the eyes of a gazelle, the build of an antelope, and--the speed of the wind. it is the swiftest four-footed creature native to the plains, and so far as known there is nothing but a blooded race horse that can outrun it on a mile. but the peculiarity that is most likely to catch the eye of the traveller is the white disc on its rear. [illustration: the heliograph] the first day i was in the yellowstone i was riding along the upland beyond blacktail creek with t. e. hofer. miles away to the southeast we saw some white specks showing, flashing and disappearing. then as far to the northeasterly we saw others. hofer now remarked, "two bunches of antelope." then later there were flashes _between_ and we knew that these two bands had come together. how? when you have a chance in a zoo or elsewhere to watch antelope at short range you will see the cause of these flashes. by means of a circular muscle on each buttock they can erect the white hair of the rump patch into a large, flat, snow-white disc which shines in the sun, and shows afar as a bright white spot. [illustration: xx. near yellowstone gate: (a) antelope _photo by f. jay haynes_ (b) captive wolf _photo by e. t. seton_] [illustration: xxi. mountain sheep on mt. evarts _photo by e. t. seton_] this action is momentary or very brief; the spread disc goes down again in a few seconds. the flash is usually a signal of danger, although it answers equally well for a recognition mark. in the antelope in the park were estimated at , . now they have dwindled to about one third of that, and, in spite of good protection, continue to go down. they do not flourish when confined even in a large area, and we have reason to fear that one of the obscure inexorable laws of nature is working now to shelve the antelope with the creatures that have passed away. a small band is yet to be seen wintering on the prairie near gardiner. the rescued bighorn at one time the bighorn abounded along all the rivers where there was rough land as far east as the western edge of the dakotas, westerly to the cascades, and in the mountains from mexico and southern california to alaska. in one form or another the mountain sheep covered this large region, and it is safe to say that in the united states alone their numbers were millions. but the dreadful age of the repeating rifle and lawless skin-hunter came on, till the end of the last century saw the bighorn in the united states reduced to a few hundreds; they were well along the sunset trail. but the new york zoölogical society, the camp fire club, and other societies of naturalists and sportsmen, bestirred themselves mightily. they aroused all thinking men to the threatening danger of extinction; good laws were passed and then enforced. the danger having been realized, the calamity was averted, and now the sheep are on the increase in many parts of the west. during the epoch of remorseless destruction the few survivors were the wildest of wild things; they would not permit the approach of a man within a mile. but our new way of looking at the bighorn has taught them a new way of looking at us, as every traveller in colorado or the protected parts of wyoming will testify. in i spent several months rambling on the upper ranges of the yellowstone park, and i saw not a single sheep, although it was estimated that there were nearly a hundred of the scared fugitives hiding and flying among the rocks. [illustration] in it was believed that in spite of poachers, cougars, snow slides, and scab contracted from domestic sheep, the bighorn in the yellowstone park had increased to considerably over two hundred, and the traveller can find them with fair certainty if he will devote a few days to the quest around mt. evarts, washburn, or the well-known ranges. [illustration] in september, , i left gardiner with tom newcomb's outfit. i was riding at the end of the procession watching in all directions, when far up on the slide rock i caught sight of a sheep. a brief climb brought me within plain though not near view, to learn that there were half a dozen at least, and i took a few shots with my camera. i think there were many more hidden in the tall sage behind, but i avoided alarming them, so did not find out. there were neither rams nor lambs with this herd of ewes. the rams keep their own company all summer and live, doubtless, far higher in the mountains. on mt. washburn a week later i had the luck to find a dozen ewes with their lambs; but the sky was dark with leaden clouds and the light so poor that i got no good results. in winter, as i learn from colonel brett, the sheep are found in small bands between the mammoth hot springs and gardiner, for there is good feed there, and far less snow than in the upper ranges. i have just heard that this winter four great rams are seen there every day with about forty other sheep; and they are so tame that one can get pictures within ten feet if desired. alas! that i have to be so far away with such thrilling opportunities going to waste. footnotes: [footnote b: see "life histories of northern animals," by e. t. seton.] * * * * * v bats in the devil's kitchen * * * * * v bats in the devil's kitchen it is unfortunate that the average person has a deep prejudice against the bat. without looking or thinking for himself, he accepts a lot of absurd tales about the winged one, and passes them on and on, never caring for the injustice he does or the pleasure he loses. i have loved the bat ever since i came to know him; that is, all my mature life. he is the climax of creation in many things, highly developed in brain, marvellously keen in senses, clad in exquisite fur and equipped, above all, with the crowning glory of flight. he is the prototype and the realization of the fairy of the wood we loved so much as children, and so hated to be robbed of by grown-ups, who should have known better. i would give a good deal to have a bat colony where i could see it daily, and would go a long way to meet some new kind of bat. [illustration] i never took much interest in caverns, or geysers, or in any of the abominable cavities of the earth that nature so plainly meant to keep hidden from our eyes. i shall not forget the unpleasant sensations i had when first, in , i visited the yellowstone wonderland and stood gazing at that abominable mud geyser, which is even worse to-day. the entry in my journal of the time runs thus: "the mud geyser is unlike anything that can be seen elsewhere. one hears about the bowels of the earth; this surely is the end of one of them. they talk of the mouth of hell; this is the mouth with a severe fit of vomiting. the filthy muck is spewed from an unseen gullet at one side into a huge upright mouth with sounds of oozing, retching and belching. then as quickly reswallowed with noises expressive of loathing on its own part, while noxious steam spreads disgusting, unpleasant odours all around. the whole process is quickly repeated, and goes on and on, and has gone on for ages, and will go. and yet one feels that this is merely the steam vent outside of the huge factory where all the actual work is being done. one does not really see the thing at all, but only stands outside the building where it is going on. one never wishes to see it a second time. all are disgusted by it, but all are fascinated." * * * * * no, i like them not. i have a natural antipathy to the internal arrangements of mother earth. i might almost say a delicacy about gazing on such exposure. anyhow, we shall all get underground soon enough; and i usually drop off when our party prepares to explore dark, horrible, smelly underground places that have no possible claim (i hold) for the normal being of healthy instincts. but near the mammoth hot springs is a hellhole that did attract me. it is nothing else than the stuffy, blind alley known as the devil's kitchen. there is no cooking going on at present, probably because it is not heated up enough, but there is a peculiarly hot, close feeling suggestive of the monkey house in an old-time zoo. i went down this, not that i was interested in the satanic cuisine, but because my ancient antipathy was routed by my later predilection--i was told that bats "occurred" in the kitchen. sure enough, i found them, half a dozen, so far as one could tell in the gloom, and thanks to the park superintendent, colonel l. m. brett, i secured a specimen which, to my great surprise, turned out to be the long-eared bat, a southern species never before discovered north of colorado. it will be interesting to know whether they winter here or go south, as do many of their kin. they would have to go a long way before they would find another bedroom so warm and safe. even if they go as far as the equator, with its warmth and its pests, they would probably have reason to believe that the happiest nights of their lives were those spent in the devil's kitchen. [illustration] * * * * * vi the well-meaning skunk * * * * * vi the well-meaning skunk [illustration] i have a profound admiration for the skunk. indeed, i once maintained that this animal was the proper emblem of america. it is, first of all, peculiar to this continent. it has stars on its head and stripes on its body. it is an ideal citizen; minds its own business, harms no one, and is habitually inoffensive, as long as it is left alone; but it will face any one or any number when aroused. it has a wonderful natural ability to take the offensive; and no man ever yet came to grips with a skunk without being sadly sorry for it afterward. nevertheless, in spite of all this, and the fact that several other countries have prior claims on the eagle, i could not secure, for my view, sufficient popular support to change the national emblem. from atlantic to pacific and from mexico far north into the wilds of canada the skunk is found, varying with climate in size and colour indeed, but everywhere the same in character and in mode of defense. it abounds in the broken country that lies between forest and prairie, but seems to avoid the thicker woods as well as the higher peaks. in yellowstone park it is not common, but is found occasionally about mammoth hot springs and yancey's, at which latter place i had much pleasant acquaintance with its kind. his smell-gun every one knows that the animal can make a horrible smell in defending itself, but most persons do not realize what the smell is, or how it is made. first of all, and this should be in capitals, it has nothing at all to do with the kidneys or with the sex organs. it is simply a highly specialized musk secreted by a gland, or rather, a pair of them, located under the tail. it is used for defense when the skunk is in peril of his life, or thinks he is. but a skunk may pass his whole life without using it. [illustration] he can throw it to a distance of seven to ten feet according to his power or the wind. if it reaches the eyes of his assailant it blinds him temporarily. if it enters his mouth it sets up a frightful nausea. if the vapour gets into his lungs, it chokes as well as nauseates. there are cases on record of men and dogs being permanently blinded by this awful spray. and there is one case of a boy being killed by it. most americans know somewhat of its terrors, but few of them realize the harmlessness of the skunk when let alone. in remote places i find men who still think that this creature goes about shooting as wildly and wantonly as any drunken cowboy. the cruelty of steel traps a few days ago while walking with a friend in the woods we came on a skunk. my companion shouted to the dog and captured him to save him from a possible disaster, then called to me to keep back and let the skunk run away. but the fearless one in sable and ermine did not run, and i did not keep back, but i walked up very gently. the skunk stood his ground and raised his tail high over his back, the sign of fight. i talked to him, still drawing nearer; then, when only ten feet away, was surprised to see that one of his feet was in a trap and terribly mangled. [illustration] i stooped down, saying many pleasant things about my friendliness, etc. the skunk's tail slowly lowered and i came closer up. still, i did not care to handle the wild and tormented thing on such short acquaintance, so i got a small barrel and quietly placed it over him, then removed the trap and brought him home, where he is now living in peace and comfort. i mention this to show how gentle and judicious a creature the skunk is when gently and judiciously approached. it is a sad commentary on our modes of dealing with wild life when i add that as afterward appeared this skunk had been struggling in the tortures of that trap for three days and three nights. friendliness of the skunk these remarks are preliminary to an account of my adventures with a family of skunks in the park. during the summer i spent in the little shanty still to be seen, opposite yancey's, i lost no opportunity of making animal investigations. one of my methods was to sweep the dust on the trail and about the cabin quite smooth at night so that any creature passing should leave me his tracks and i should be sure that they were recent. [illustration] one morning on going out i found the fresh tracks of a skunk. next night these were seen again, in fact, there were two sets of them. a day or so later the cook at the nearby log hotel announced that a couple of skunks came every evening to feed at the garbage bucket outside the kitchen door. that night i was watching for them. about dusk one came, walking along sedately with his tail at half mast. the house dog and the house cat both were at the door as the skunk arrived. they glanced at the newcomer; then the cat discreetly went indoors and the dog rumbled in his chest, but discreetly he walked away, very stiffly, and looked at the distant landscape, with his hair on his back still bristling. the skunk waddled up to the garbage pail, climbed in, though i was but ten feet away, and began his evening meal. [illustration] another came later. their tails were spread and at each sharp noise rose a little higher, but no one offered them harm, and they went their way when they were filled. after this it was a regular thing to go out and see the skunks feed when evening came. photographing skunks at short range i was anxious to get a picture or two, but was prevented by the poor light; in fact, it was but half light, and in those days we had no brilliant flash powders. so there was but one thing to do, that was trap my intended sitters. next night i was ready for them with an ordinary box trap, and even before the appointed time we saw a fine study in black and white come marching around the cow stable with banner-tail aloft, and across the grass toward the kitchen. the box trap was all ready and we--two women including my wife, and half a dozen men of the mountaineer type--were watching. the cat and the dog moved sullenly aside. the skunk, with the calm confidence of one accustomed to respect, sniffed his way to the box trap with its tempting odorous bait. a mink or a marten, not to say a fox, would have investigated a little before entering. the skunk indulged in no such waste of time. what had he to fear--he the little lord of all things with the power of smell? he went in like one going home, seized the bait, and down went the door. the uninitiated onlookers expected an explosion from the skunk, but i knew quite well he never wasted a shot, and did not hesitate to approach and make all safe. now i wanted to move the box with its captive to my photographic studio, but could not carry it alone, so i asked the mountaineers to come and help. had i asked them to join me in killing a man, shooting up the town, or otherwise taking their lives in their hands, i would doubtless have had half a dozen cheerful volunteers; but to carry a box in which was a wild skunk--"not for a hundred dollars," and the warriors melted into the background. then i said to my wife, "haven't _you_ got nerve enough to help with this box? i'll guarantee that nothing will happen." so she came and we took the box to my prepared enclosure, where next day i photographed him to my heart's content. more than once as i worked around at a distance of six or eight feet, the skunk's tail flew up, but i kept perfectly still then; talked softly, apologizing and explaining: "now don't shoot at me. we are to be good friends. i wouldn't hurt you for anything. now do drop that fighting flag, if you please, and be good." [illustration] gradually the tail went down and the captive looked at me in mere curiosity as i got my pictures. i let him go by simply removing the wire netting of the fence, whereupon he waddled off under the cabin that i called "home." we share the shanty with the skunks [illustration] the next night as i lay in my bunk i heard a sniffing and scratching on the cabin floor. on looking over the edge of the bed i came face to face with my friend the skunk. our noses were but a foot apart and just behind him was another; i suppose his mate. i said: "hello! here you are again. i'm glad to see you. who's your friend?" he did not tell me, neither did he seem offended. i suppose it was his mate. that was the beginning of his residence under the floor of my cabin. my wife and i got very well acquainted with him and his wife before the summer was over. for though we had the cabin by day, the skunks had it by night. we always left them some scraps, and regularly at dusk they came up to get them. they cleaned up our garbage, so helped to rid us of flies and mice. we were careful to avoid hurting or scaring our nightly visitors, so the summer passed without offense. we formed only the kindest feelings toward each other, and we left them in possession of the cabin, where, so far as i know, they are living yet, if you wish to call. the skunk and the unwise bobcat [illustration] as already noted, i swept the dust smooth around our shanty each night to make a sort of visitors' book. then each morning i could go out and by study of the tracks get an exact idea of who had called. of course there were many blank nights; on others the happenings were trifling, but some were full of interest. in this way i learned of the coyote's visits to the garbage pail and of the skunk establishment under the house, and other interesting facts as in the diagram. i have always used this method of study in my mountain trips, and recall a most interesting record that rewarded my patience some twenty years ago when i lived in new mexico. [illustration: xxii. track record of bobcat's adventure with a skunk] during the night i had been aroused by a frightful smell of skunk, followed by strange muffled sounds that died away. so forth i went at sunrise and found the odour of skunk no dream but a stern reality. then a consultation of my dust album revealed an inscription which after a little condensing and clearing up appeared much as in plate xxii. at a a skunk had come on the scene, at b he was wandering about when a hungry wild cat or bobcat lynx appeared, c. noting the promise of something to kill for food, he came on at d. the skunk observing the intruder said, "you better let me alone." and not wishing to make trouble moved off toward e. but the bobcat, evidently young and inexperienced, gave chase. at f the skunk wheeled about, remarking, "well, if you will have it, here goes!" at g the lynx was hit. the tremendous bound from g to h shows the effect. at j he bumped into a stone, showing probably that he was blinded, after which he went bouncing and bounding away. the skunk merely said, "i told you so!" then calmly resumed the even tenor of his way. at k he found the remains of a chicken, on which he feasted, then went quietly home to bed. this is my reading of the tracks in the dust. the evidence was so clear that i have sketched here from imagination the succession of events which it seemed to narrate. [illustration: xxiii. the six chapters of the bobcat's adventure. (a) the bobcat appears on the scene; (b) "ha," he says, "a meal for me." "beware," says the skunk; (c) "no! then take that," says the skunk; (d) "ow-w-ow-w"; (e) "i told you so"; (f) "how pleasant is a peaceful meal" _sketches by e. t. seton_] my pet skunks it would not be doing justice to the skunk if i did not add a word about certain of the kind that i have at home. for many years i have kept at least one pet skunk. just now i have about sixty. i keep them close to the house and would let them run loose indoors but for the possibility of some fool dog or cat coming around, and provoking the exemplary little brutes into a perfectly justifiable endeavour to defend themselves as nature taught them. but for this i should have no fear. not only do i handle them myself, but i have induced many of my wild-eyed visitors to do so as a necessary part of their education. for few indeed there are in the land to-day that realize the gentleness and forbearance of this righteous little brother of ours, who, though armed with a weapon that will put the biggest and boldest to flight or disastrous defeat, yet refrains from using it until in absolute peril of his life, and then only after several warnings. by way of rounding out this statement, i present a picture of my little daughter playing among the skunks, and need add only that they are full-grown specimens in full possession of all their faculties. plate xxiv. [illustration: xxiv. my tame skunks: (a) mother skunk and her brood; (b) ann seton feeding her pets _photos by e. t. seton_] * * * * * vii old silver-grizzle--the badger * * * * * [illustration] vii old silver-grizzle--the badger a brilliant newspaper man once gave vast publicity to the story that at last a use had been found for the badger, with his mania for digging holes in the ground. by kindness and care and the help of an attached little steam-gauge speedometer plumb compass, that gave accurate aim, improved perpendicularity, and increased efficiency to the efforts of the strenuous excavator, he had been able to produce a dirigible badger that was certain to displace all other machinery for digging postholes. unfortunately i was in a position to disprove this pretty conceit. but i think of it every time i put my foot in a badger hole. such lovely holes, so plentiful, so worse than useless where the badger has thoughtlessly located them. if only we could harness and direct such excavatory energies. [illustration] this, indeed, is the only quarrel civilized man can pick with the honest badger. he _will_ dig holes that endanger horse's legs and rider's necks. he may destroy gophers, ground-squirrels, prairie-dogs, insects, and a hundred enemies of the farm; he may help the crops in a thousand different ways, _but he will dig post-holes where they are not wanted_, and this indiscretion has made many enemies for the kindest and sturdiest of all the squatters on the plains. the valiant, harmless badger from the saskatchewan to mexico he ranges, and from illinois to california, wherever there are dry, open plains supplied with ground-squirrels and water. [illustration] many times, in crossing the rolling plains of montana, the uplands of arizona and new mexico, or the prairies of manitoba, i have met with mittenusk, as the redmen call him. like a big white stone perched on some low mound he seems. but the wind makes cracks in it at places, and then it moves--giving plain announcement to the world with eyes to see that this is a badger sunning himself. he seldom allows a near approach, even in the yellowstone, where he is safe, and is pretty sure to drop down out of sight in his den long before one gets within camera range. the badger is such a subterranean, nocturnal creature at most times that for long his home life escaped our observation, but at last a few paragraphs, if not a chapter of it, have been secured, and we find that this shy creature, in ill odour among cattlemen as noted, is a rare and lovely character when permitted to unbend in a congenial group. sturdy, strong and dogged, and brave to the last ditch, the more we know of the badger the more we respect him. let us pass lightly over the facts that in makeup he is between a bear and a weasel, and that he weighs about twenty pounds, and has a soft coat of silvery gray and some label marks of black on his head. he feeds chiefly on ground-squirrels, which he digs out, but does not scorn birds' eggs, or even fruit and grain at times. except for an occasional sun-bath, he spends the day in his den and travels about mostly by night. he minds his own business, if let alone, but woe be to the creature of the plains that tries to molest him, for he has the heart of a bulldog, the claws of a grizzly, and the jaws of a small crocodile. i shall never forget my first meeting with old silver-grizzle. it was on the plains of the souris, in . i saw this broad, low, whitish creature on the prairie, not far from the trail, and, impelled by the hunter instinct so strong in all boys, i ran toward him. he dived into a den, but the one he chose proved to be barely three feet deep, and i succeeded in seizing the badger's short thick tail. gripping it firmly with both hands, i pulled and pulled, but he was stronger than i. he braced himself against the sides of the den and defied me. with anything like fair play, he would have escaped, but i had accomplices, and the details of what followed are not pleasant reminiscences. but i was very young at the time, and that was my first badger. i wanted his skin, and i had not learned to respect his exemplary life and dauntless spirit. in the summer of i was staying at yancey's in the park. daily i saw signs of badgers about, and one morning while prowling, camera in hand, i saw old gray-coat wandering on the prairie, looking for fresh ground-squirrel holes. keeping low, i ran toward him. he soon sensed me, and to my surprise came rushing toward me, uttering sharp snarls. this one was behaving differently from any badger i had seen before, but evidently he was going to give me a chance for a picture. after that was taken, doubtless i could save myself by running. we were within thirty yards of each other and both coming strong, when "crash" i went into a badger hole _i_ had not seen, just as he went "thump" down tail first into a hole _he_ had not seen. for a moment we both looked very foolish, but he recovered first, and rushing a few yards nearer, plunged into a deep and wide den toward which he evidently had been heading from the first. his sociable bent the strongest peculiar trait of the badger is perhaps his sociability--sociability being, of course, a very different thing from gregariousness. usually there are two badgers in each den. nothing peculiar about that, but there are several cases on record of a badger, presumably a bachelor or a widower, sharing his life with some totally different animal. in some instances that other animal has been a coyote; and the friendship really had its foundation in enmity and intended robbery. this is the probable history of a typical case: the badger, being a mighty miner and very able to dig out the ground-squirrels of the prairie, was followed about by a coyote, whose speed and agility kept him safe from the badger's jaws, while he hovered close by, knowing quite well that when the badger was digging out the ground-squirrels at their front door, these rodents were very apt to bolt by the back door, and thus give the coyote an excellent chance for a cheap dinner. so the coyote acquired the habit of following the hard-working badger. at first, no doubt, the latter resented the parasite that dogged his steps, but becoming used to it "first endured, then pitied, then embraced", or, to put it more mildly, he got accustomed to the coyote's presence, and being of a kindly disposition, forgot his enmity and thenceforth they contentedly lived their lives together. i do not know that they inhabited the same den. yet that would not be impossible, since similar things are reported of the british badger and the fox. more than one observer has seen a badger and a coyote travelling together, sometimes one leading, sometimes the other. evidently it was a partnership founded on good-will, however it may have been begun. the story of the kindly badger but the most interesting case, and one which i might hesitate to reproduce but for the witnesses, reached me at winnipeg. [illustration] in there was a family named service living at bird's hill, on the prairie north of winnipeg. they had one child, a seven-year-old boy named harry. he was a strange child, very small for his age, and shy without being cowardly. he had an odd habit of following dogs, chickens, pigs, and birds, imitating their voices and actions, with an exactness that onlookers sometimes declared to be uncanny. one day he had gone quietly after a prairie chicken that kept moving away from him without taking flight, clucking when she clucked, and nodding his head or shaking his "wings" when she did. so he wandered on and on, till the house was hidden from view behind the trees that fringed the river, and the child was completely lost. there was nothing remarkable in his being away for several hours, but a heavy thunderstorm coming up that afternoon called attention to the fact that the boy was missing, and when the first casual glance did not discover him it became serious and a careful search was begun. father and mother, with the near neighbours, scoured the prairie till dark, and began the next day at dawn, riding in all directions, calling, and looking for signs. after a day or two the neighbours gave it up, believing that the child was drowned and carried away by the river. but the parents continued their search even long after all hope seemed dead. and there was no hour of the day when that stricken mother did not send up a prayer for heavenly help; nor any night when she did not kneel with her husband and implore the one who loved and blessed the babes of jerusalem to guard her little one and bring him back in safety. the evil one [illustration] there was one neighbour of the family who joined in the search that had nevertheless incurred the bitter dislike of little harry service. the feeling was partly a mere baby instinct, but pointedly because of the man's vicious cruelty to the animals, wild or tame, that came within his power. only a week before he had set steel traps at a den where he chanced to find a pair of badgers in residence. the first night he captured the father badger. the cruel jaws of the jag-toothed trap had seized him by both paws, so he was held helpless. the trap was champed and wet with blood and froth when grogan came in the morning. of what use are courage and strength when one cannot reach the foe? the badger craved only a fair fight, but grogan stood out of reach and used a club till the light was gone from the brave eyes and the fighting snarl was still. the trap was reset in the sand and grogan went. he carried the dead badger to the service house to show his prize and get help to skin it, after which he set off for the town and bartered the skin for what evil indulgence it might command, and thought no more of the trap for three days. meanwhile the mother badger, coming home at dawn, was caught by one foot. strain as she might, that deadly grip still held her; all that night and all the next day she struggled. she had little ones to care for. their hungry cries from down the burrow were driving her almost mad; but the trap was of strong steel, beyond her strength, and at last the crying of the little ones in the den grew still. on the second day of her torture the mother, in desperation, chewed off one of her toes and dragged her bleeding foot from the trap. [illustration] down the burrow she went first, but it was too late; her babies were dead. she buried them where they lay and hastened from that evil spot. water was her first need, next food, and then at evening she made for an old den she had used the fall before. the badger that rescued the boy and little harry, meanwhile, where was he? that sunny afternoon in june he had wandered away from the house, and losing sight of the familiar building behind the long fringe of trees by the river, he had lost his bearings. then came the thunder shower which made him seek for shelter. there was nothing about him but level prairie, and the only shelter he could find was a badger hole, none too wide even for his small form. into this he had backed and stayed with some comfort during the thunderstorm, which continued till night. then in the evening the child heard a sniffing sound, and a great, gray animal loomed up against the sky, sniffed at the tracks and at the open door of the den. next it put its head in, and harry saw by the black marks on its face that it was a badger. he had seen one just three days before. a neighbour had brought it to his father's house to skin it. there it stood sniffing, and harry, gazing with less fear than most children, noticed that the visitor had five claws on one foot and four on the other, with recent wounds, proof of some sad experience in a trap. doubtless this was the badger's den, for she--it proved a mother--came in, but harry had no mind to surrender. the badger snarled and came on, and harry shrieked, "get out!" and struck with his tiny fists, and then, to use his own words, "i scratched the badger's face and she scratched mine." surely this badger was in a generous mood, for she did him no serious harm, and though the rightful owner of the den, she went away and doubtless slept elsewhere. [illustration] night came down. harry was very thirsty. close by the door was a pool of rainwater. he crawled out, slaked his thirst, and backed into the warm den as far as he could. then remembering his prayers, he begged god to "send mamma," and cried himself to sleep. during the night he was awakened by the badger coming again, but it went away when the child scolded it. next morning harry went to the pool again and drank. now he was so hungry; a few old rose hips hung on the bushes near the den. he gathered and ate these, but was even hungrier. then he saw something moving out on the plain. it might be the badger, so he backed into the den, but he watched the moving thing. it was a horseman galloping. as it came near, harry saw that it was grogan, the neighbour for whom he had such a dislike, so he got down out of sight. twice that morning men came riding by, but having once yielded to his shy impulse, he hid again each time. the badger came back at noon. in her mouth she held the body of a prairie chicken, pretty well plucked and partly devoured. she came into the den sniffing as before. harry shouted, "get out! go away." the badger dropped the meat and raised her head. harry reached and grasped the food and devoured it with the appetite of one starving. there must have been another doorway, for later the badger was behind the child in the den, and still later when he had fallen asleep she came and slept beside him. he awoke to find the warm furry body filling the space between him and the wall, and knew now why it was he had slept so comfortably. [illustration] that evening the badger brought the egg of a prairie chicken and set it down unbroken before the child. he devoured it eagerly, and again drank from the drying mud puddle to quench his thirst. during the night it rained again, and he would have been cold, but the badger came and cuddled around him. once or twice it licked his face. the child could not know, but the parents discovered later that this was a mother badger which had lost her brood and her heart was yearning for something to love. now there were two habits that grew on the boy. one was to shun the men that daily passed by in their search, the other was to look to the badger for food and protection, and live the badger's life. she brought him food often not at all to his taste--dead mice or ground-squirrels--but several times she brought in the comb of a bee's nest or eggs of game birds, and once a piece of bread almost certainly dropped on the trail from some traveller's lunch bag. his chief trouble was water. the prairie pool was down to mere ooze and with this he moistened his lips and tongue. possibly the mother badger wondered why he did not accept her motherly offerings. but rain came often enough to keep him from serious suffering. their daily life was together now, and with the imitative power strong in all children and dominant in him, he copied the badger's growls, snarls, and purrs. sometimes they played tag on the prairie, but both were ready to rush below at the slightest sign of a stranger. two weeks went by. galloping men no longer passed each day. harry and the badger had fitted their lives into each other's, and strange as it may seem, the memory of his home was already blurred and weakened in the boy. once or twice during the second week men had passed near by, but the habit of eluding them was now in full possession of him. finding the lost one [illustration] one morning he wandered a little farther in search of water and was alarmed by a horseman appearing. he made for home on all fours--he ran much on all fours now--and backed into the den. in the prairie grass he was concealed, but the den was on a bare mound, and the horseman caught a glimpse of a whitish thing disappearing down the hole. badgers were familiar to him, but the peculiar yellow of this and the absence of black marks gave it a strange appearance. he rode up quietly within twenty yards and waited. after a few minutes the gray-yellow ball slowly reappeared and resolved itself into the head of a tow-topped child. the young man leaped to the ground and rushed forward, but the child retreated far back into the den, beyond reach of the man, and refused to come out. nevertheless, there was no doubt that this was the missing harry service. "harry! harry! don't you know me? i'm your cousin jack," the young man said in soothing, coaxing tones. "harry, won't you come out and let me take you back to mamma? come harry! look! here are some cookies!" but all in vain. the child hissed and snarled at him like a wild thing, and retreated as far as he could till checked by a turn in the burrow. [illustration] now jack got out his knife and began to dig until the burrow was large enough for him to crawl in a little way. at once he succeeded in getting hold of the little one's arm and drew him out struggling and crying. but now there rushed also from the hole a badger, snarling and angry; it charged at the man, uttering its fighting snort. he fought it off with his whip, then swung to the saddle with his precious burden and rode away as for his very life, while the badger pursued for a time, but it was easily left behind, and its snorts were lost and forgotten. home again the father was coming in from another direction as he saw this strange sight: a horse galloping madly over the prairie, on its back a young man shouting loudly, and in his arms a small dirty child, alternately snarling at his captor, trying to scratch his face, or struggling to be free. the father was used to changing intensity of feeling at these times, but he turned pale and held his breath till the words reached him: "i have got him, thank god! he's all right," and he rushed forward shouting, "my boy! my boy!" [illustration] but he got a rude rebuff. the child glared like a hunted cat, hissed at him, and menaced with hands held claw fashion. fear and hate were all he seemed to express. the door of the house was flung open and the distracted mother, now suddenly overjoyed, rushed to join the group. "my darling! my darling!" she sobbed, but little harry was not as when he left them. he hung back, he hid his face in the coat of his captor, he scratched and snarled like a beast, he displayed his claws and threatened fight, till strong arms gathered him up and placed him on his mother's knees in the old, familiar room with the pictures, and the clock ticking as of old, and the smell of frying bacon, his sister's voice, and his father's form, and, above all, his mother's arms about him, her magic touch on his brow, and her voice, "my darling! my darling! oh! harry, don't you know your mother? my boy! my boy!" and the struggling little wild thing in her arms grew quiet, his animal anger died away, his raucous hissing gave place to a short panting, and that to a low sobbing that ended in a flood of tears and a passionate "mamma, mamma, mamma!" as the veil of a different life was rolled away, and he clung to his mother's bosom. [illustration] but even as she cooed to him, and stroked his brow and won him back again, there was a strange sound, a snarling hiss at the open door. all turned to see a great badger standing there with its front feet on the threshold. father and cousin exclaimed, "look at that badger!" and reached for the ready gun, but the boy screamed again. he wriggled from his mother's arms and rushing to the door, cried, "my badgie! my badgie!" he flung his arms about the savage thing's neck, and it answered with a low purring sound as it licked its lost companion's face. the men were for killing the badger, but it was the mother's keener insight that saved it, as one might save a noble dog that had rescued a child from the water. it was some days before the child would let the father come near. "i hate that man; he passed me every day and would not look at me," was the only explanation. doubtless the first part was true, for the badger den was but two miles from the house and the father rode past many times in his radiating search, but the tow-topped head had escaped his eye. it was long and only by slow degrees that the mother got the story that is written here, and parts of it were far from clear. it might all have been dismissed as a dream or a delirium but for the fact that the boy had been absent two weeks; he was well and strong now, excepting that his lips were blackened and cracked with the muddy water, the badger had followed him home, and was now his constant friend. [illustration] it was strange to see how the child oscillated between the two lives, sometimes talking to his people exactly as he used to talk, and sometimes running on all fours, growling, hissing, and tussling with the badger. many a game of "king of the castle" they had together on the low pile of sand left after the digging of a new well. each would climb to the top and defy the other to pull him down, till a hold was secured and they rolled together to the level, clutching and tugging, harry giggling, the badger uttering a peculiar high-pitched sound that might have been called snarling had it not been an expression of good nature. surely it was a badger laugh. there was little that harry could ask without receiving, in those days, but his mother was shocked when he persisted that the badger must sleep in his bed; yet she so arranged it. the mother would go in the late hours and look on them with a little pang of jealousy as she saw her baby curled up, sleeping soundly with that strange beast. it was harry's turn to feed his friend now, and side by side they sat to eat. the badger had become an established member of the family. but after a month had gone by an incident took place that i would gladly leave untold. the human brute grogan, the unpleasant neighbour, who had first frightened harry into the den, came riding up to the service homestead. harry was in the house for the moment. the badger was on the sand pile. instantly on catching sight of it, grogan unslung his gun and exclaimed, "a badger!" to him a badger was merely something to be killed. "bang!" and the kindly animal rolled over, stung and bleeding, but recovered and dragged herself toward the house. "bang!" and the murderer fired again, just as the inmates rushed to the door--too late. harry ran toward the badger shouting, "badgie! my badgie!" he flung his baby arms around the bleeding neck. it fawned on him feebly, purring a low, hissing purr, then mixing the purrs with moans, grew silent, and slowly sank down, and died in his arms. "my badgie! my badgie!" the boy wailed, and all the ferocity of his animal nature was directed against grogan. "you better get out of this before i kill you!" thundered the father, and the hulking halfbreed sullenly mounted his horse and rode away. a great part of his life had been cut away and it seemed as though a deathblow had been dealt the boy. the shock was more than he could stand. he moaned and wept all day, he screamed himself into convulsions, he was worn out at sundown and slept little that night. next morning he was in a raging fever and ever he called for "my badgie!" he seemed at death's door the next day, but a week later he began to mend and in three weeks was strong as ever and childishly gay, with occasional spells of sad remembering that gradually ceased. he grew up to early manhood in a land of hunters, but he took no pleasure in the killing that was such sport to his neighbour's sons, and to his dying day he could not look on the skin of a badger without feelings of love, tenderness, and regret. this is the story of the badger as it was told me, and those who wish to inquire further can do so at winnipeg, if they seek out archbishop matheson, dr. r. m. simpson, or mrs. george a. frazer of kildonan. these witnesses may differ as to the details, but all have assured me that in its main outlines this tale is true, and i gladly tell it, for i want you to realize the kindly disposition that is in that sturdy, harmless, noble wild animal that sits on the low prairie mounds, for then i know that you will join with me in loving him, and in seeking to save his race from extermination. * * * * * viii the squirrel and his jerky-tail brothers * * * * * viii the squirrel and his jerky-tail brothers you remember that hiawatha christened the squirrel "adjidaumo"--"tail-in-air" and this tail-in-air was chattering overhead as i sat, some twenty-five years ago, on the shore of the lake of the woods with an ojibwa indian, checking up the animals' names in the native tongue. of course the red-squirrel was early in our notice. "ad-je-_daw_-mo" i called it, but the indian corrected me; "ah-chit-aw-_mo_" he made it; and when i translated it "tail-in-air" he said gravely, "no, it means head downward." then noting my surprise, he added, with characteristic courtesy, "yes, yes, you are right; if his head is down, his tail must be up." thoreau talks of the red-squirrel flicking his tail like a whip-lash, and the word "squirrel," from the latin "_sciurus_" and greek "_skia-oura_" means "shady tail." thus all of its names seem to note the wonderful banner that serves the animal in turn as sun-shade, signal-flag, coverlet, and parachute. the cheeky pine squirrel [illustration] a wonderfully extensive kingdom has fallen to adjidaumo of the shady tail; all of canada and most of the rockies are his. he is at home wherever there are pine forests and a cool climate; and he covers so many ranges of diverse conditions that, responding to the new environments in lesser matters of makeup, we have a score of different squirrel races from this parent stock. in size, in tail, in kind or depth of coat they differ to the expert eye, but so far as i can see they are exactly alike in all their ways, their calls and their dispositions. the pine squirrel is the form found in the rockies about the yellowstone park. it is a little darker in colour than the red-squirrel of the east, but i find no other difference. it has the same aggressive, scolding propensities, the same love of the pinyons and their product, the same friends and the same foes, with one possible partial exception in the list of habits, and that is in its method of storing up mushrooms. [illustration] the pinyons, or nuts of the pinyon pine, are perhaps the most delicious nuts in all the lap of bountiful dame nature, from fir belt in the north to equatorial heat and on to far fuego. all wild creatures revel in the pinyons. to the squirrels they are more than the staff of life; they are meat and potatoes, bread and honey, pork and beans, bread and cake, sugar and chocolate, the sum of comfort, and the promise of continuing joy. but the pinyon does not bear every year; there are off years, as with other trees, and the squirrels might be in a bad way if they had no other supply of food to lay up for the winter. [illustration: xxv. red-squirrel storing mushrooms for winter use _sketched from life in the selkirk mountains, by e. t. seton_] [illustration: xxvi. chink stalking the picket-pin _photo by e. t. seton_] a season i spent in the southern rockies was an off year for pinyons, and when september came i was shown what the squirrels do in such an emergency. all through autumn the slopes of the hills were dotted with the umbrellas of countless toadstools or mushrooms, representing many fat and wholesome species. it is well known that while a few of them are poisonous, a great many are good food. scientists can find out which is which only by slow experiment. "eat them; if you live they are good, if you die they are poisonous" has been suggested as a certain method. the squirrels must have worked this out long ago, for they surely know the good ones; and all through late summer they are at work gathering them for winter use in place of the pine-nuts. [illustration] now if the provident squirrel stored these up as he does the pinyons, in holes or underground, they would surely go to mush in a short time and be lost. he makes no such mistake. he stores them in the forked branches of trees, where they dry out and remain good until needed; and wisely puts them high enough up to be out of reach of the deer and low enough to avoid being dislodged by the wind. as you ramble through the squirrel-frequented woods, you will often come across a log or stump which is littered over with the scales fresh cut from a pine cone; sometimes there is a pile of a bushel or more by the place; you have stumbled on a squirrel's workshop. here is where he does his husking, and the "clear corn" produced is stored away in some underground granary till it is needed. the pine squirrel loves to nest in a hollow tree, but also builds an outside nest which at a distance looks like a mass of rubbish. this, on investigation, turns out to be a convenient warm chamber some six inches wide and two or three high. it is covered with a waterproof roof of bark thatch, and entered by a door artfully concealed with layers and fringes of bark that hide it alike from blood-thirsty foes and piercing winter blasts. [illustration] chipmunks and ground-squirrels the red-squirrel is safe and happy only when in the tall trees, but his kinsmen have sought out any and every different environment. one enormous group of his great grandfather's second cousins have abandoned tree life altogether. they have settled down like the dakota farmers, to be happy on the prairie, where, never having need to get over anything higher than their own front doorstep, they have lost the last vestige of power to climb. these are the ground-squirrels, that in a variety of forms are a pest in gardens and on farms in most of the country west of the mississippi. standing between these and the true squirrels are the elegant chipmunks, the prettiest and most popular of all the family. they frequent the borderland between woods and prairie; they climb, if anything is to be gained by it, but they know, like the ground-squirrels, that mother earth is a safer retreat in time of danger than the tallest tree that ever grew. the ground-squirrel that plays picket-pin conspicuous in its teeming numbers in the yellowstone park is the picket-pin ground-squirrel. on every level, dry prairie along the great river i found it in swarms. [illustration] it looks much like a common squirrel, but its coat has become more mud-coloured, and its tail is reduced by long ages of neglect to a mere vestige of the ancestral banner. it has developed great powers of burrowing, but it never climbs anything higher than the little mound that it makes about the door of its home. the picket-pin is an interesting and picturesque creature in some ways, but it has one habit that i cannot quite condone. in this land of sun and bright blue air, this world of outdoor charm, it comes forth tardily in late spring, as late sometimes as the first of may, and promptly retires in mid-august, when blazing summer is on the face of the earth, and the land is a land of plenty. down it goes after three and one half short months, to sleep for eight and a half long ones; and since during these three and a half months it is above ground only in broad daylight, this means that for only two months of the year it is active, and the other ten, four fifths of its life, it passes in a deathlike sleep. of course, the picket-pin might reply that it has probably as many hours of active life as any of its kind, only it breaks them up into sections, with long blanks of rest between. whether this defense is a good one or not, we have no facts at present to determine. [illustration] it has a fashion of sitting up straight on the doorway mound when it wishes to take an observation, and the more it is alarmed by the approach of an enemy the straighter it sits up, pressing its paws tight to its ribs, so that at a short distance it looks like a picket-pin of wood; hence the name. oftentimes some tenderfoot going in the evening to stake out his horse and making toward the selected patch of grassy prairie, exclaims, "good luck! here's a picket-pin already driven in." but on leading up his horse within ten or twelve feet of the pin, it gives a little "_chirr_" and dives down out of sight. then the said tenderfoot realizes why the creature got the name. the summer of i spent in the park about yancey's and there had daily chances of seeing the picket-pin and learning its ways, for the species was there in thousands on the little prairie about my cabin. i think i am safe in saying that there were ten families to the acre of land on all the level prairie in this valley. chink and the picket-pins as already noted in the coyote chapter, we had in camp that summer the little dog called chink. he was just old enough to think himself a remarkable dog with a future before him. there was hardly anything that chink would not attempt, except perhaps keeping still. he was always trying to do some absurd and impossible thing, or, if he did attempt the possible, he usually spoiled his best efforts by his way of going about it. he once spent a whole morning trying to run up a tall, straight, pine tree in whose branches was a snickering pine squirrel. the darling ambition of his life for some weeks was to catch one of the picket-pin ground-squirrels that swarmed on the prairie about the camp. chink had determined to catch one of these ground-squirrels the very first day he came into the valley. of course, he went about it in his own original way, doing everything wrong end first, as usual. this, his master said, was due to a streak of irish in his makeup. so chink would begin a most elaborate stalk a quarter of a mile from the ground-squirrel. after crawling on his breast from tussock to tussock for a hundred yards or so, the nervous strain would become too great, and chink, getting too much excited to crawl, would rise on his feet and walk straight toward the squirrel, which would now be sitting up by its hole, fully alive to the situation. after a minute or two of this very open approach, chink's excitement would overpower all caution. he would begin running, and at the last, just as he should have done his finest stalking, he would go bounding and barking toward the ground-squirrel, which would sit like a peg of wood till the proper moment, then dive below with a derisive chirrup, throwing with its hind feet a lot of sand right into chink's eager, open mouth. day after day this went on with level sameness, and still chink did not give up, although i feel sure he had bushels of sand thrown in his mouth that summer by the impudent picket-pins. [illustration] perseverance, he seemed to believe, must surely win in the end, as indeed it did. for, one day, he made an unusually elaborate stalk after an unusually fine big picket-pin, carried out all his absurd tactics, finishing with the grand, boisterous charge, and actually caught his victim; but this time it happened to be a _wooden_ picket-pin. any one who doubts that a dog knows when he has made a fool of himself should have seen chink that day as he sheepishly sneaked out of sight behind the tent. chipmunks every one recognizes as a chipmunk the lively little creature that, with striped coat and with tail aloft, dashes across all the roads and chirrups on all the log piles that line the roads throughout the timbered portions of the park. i am sure i have often seen a thousand of them in a mile of road between the mammoth hot springs and norris geyser basin. the traveller who makes the entire round of the park may see a hundred thousand if he keeps his eyes open. while every one knows them at once for chipmunks, it takes a second and more careful glance to show they are of three totally distinct kinds. the ground-squirrel that pretends it's a chipmunk first, largest, and least common, is the big striped ground-squirrel, the golden ground-squirrel or say's ground-squirrel, called scientifically _citellus lateralis cinerascens_. this, in spite of its livery, is not a chipmunk at all but a ground-squirrel that is trying hard to be a chipmunk. and it makes a good showing so far as manners, coat and stripes are concerned, but the incontrovertible evidence of its inner life, as indicated by skull and makeup, tells us plainly that it is merely a ground-squirrel, a first cousin to the ignoble picket-pin. i found it especially common in the higher parts of the park. it is really a mountain species, at home chiefly among the rocks, yet is very ready to take up its abode under buildings. at the lake hotel i saw a number of them that lived around the back door, and were almost tamed through the long protection there given them. like most of these small rodents, they are supposed to be grain-eaters but they really are omnivorous, and quite ready to eat flesh and eggs, as well as seeds and fruit. warren in his "mammals of colorado," tells of having seen one of these ground-squirrels kill some young bluebirds; and adds another instance of flesh-eating observed in the yellowstone park, where he and two friends, riding along one of the roads, saw a say ground-squirrel demurely squatting on a log, holding in its arms a tiny young meadow mouse, from which it picked the flesh as one might pick corn from a cob. meadow mice are generally considered a nuisance, and the one devoured probably was of a cantankerous disposition; but just the same it gives one an unpleasant sensation to think of this elegant little creature, in appearance, innocence personified, wearing all the insignia of a grain-eater, yet ruthlessly indulging in such a bloody and cannibal feast. a four-legged bird--the northern chipmunk the early naturalists who first made the acquaintance of the eastern ground-squirrel named it tamias or "the steward." later the northern chipmunk was discovered and it was found to be more of a chipmunk than its eastern cousin. the new one had all the specialties of the old kind, but in a higher degree. so they named this one _eutamias_, which means "good" or "extra good" chipmunk. and extra good this exquisite little creature surely is in all that goes to make a charming, graceful, birdy, pert and vivacious four-foot. in everything but colours it is eutamias or tamias of a more intensified type. its tail is long in proportion and carried differently, being commonly held straight up, so that the general impression one gets is of a huge tail with a tiny striped animal attached to its lower end. [illustration] its excessive numbers along the roads in the park are due to two things: first, the food, for oats are continually spilled from the freighting wagons. second, the protection of piles of pine trees cut and cast aside in clearing the roadway. there is one habit of the eastern chipmunk that i have not noted in the mountain species, and that is the habit of song. in the early spring and late autumn when the days are bright and invigorating, the eastern chipmunk will mount some log, stump or other perch and express his exuberant joy in a song which is a rapid repetition of a bird-like note suggested by "chuck," "chuck," or "chock," "chock." this is kept up two or three minutes without interruption, and is one of those delightful woodland songs whose charm comes rather from association than from its inherent music. if our western chipmunk is as far ahead in matters musical as he is in form and other habits, i shall expect him to render no less than the song of a nightingale when he gives himself up to express his wild exuberance in a chant. i shall never forget the days i spent with a naturalist friend in an old mill building in western manitoba. it was in a pine woods which was peopled with these little chipmunks. they had hailed the mill and its wood piles, and especially the stables, with their squandered oats, as the very gifts of a beneficient providence for their use and benefit. they had concentrated on the mill; they were there in hundreds, almost thousands, and whenever one looked across the yard in sunny hours one could see a dozen or more together. the old mill was infested with them as an old brewery with rats. but in many respects besides beauty they were an improvement on rats: they did not smell, they were not vicious, and they did not move by night. [illustration] during the daytime they were everywhere and into everything. our slender stock of provisions was badly reduced when, by mischance, the tin box was left open a few hours, but we loved to see so much beautiful life about and so forgave them. one of our regular pleasures was to sit back after a meal and watch these pert-eyed, four-legged birds scramble onto the table, eat the scraps and lick all the plates and platters clean. like all the chipmunks and ground-squirrels, this animal has well-developed cheek-pouches which it uses for carrying home seeds and roots which serve for food in the winter. or perhaps we should say in the early spring, for the chipmunk, like the ground-squirrel, goes into the ground for a long repose as soon as winter comes down hard and white. yet it does not go so early or stay so late as its big cousin. october still sees it active, even running about in the snow. as late as october st at breckenridge, col., i saw one sitting up on a log and eating some grass or seeds during a driving snowstorm. high up in the shoshonees, after winter had settled down, on october , , i saw one of these bright creatures bounding through the snow. on a stone he paused to watch me and i made a hasty sketch of his attitude. [illustration] then, again, it is out in the spring, early in april, so that it is above ground for at least seven months of the year. its nest is in a chamber at the end of a long tunnel that it digs under ground, usually among roots that make hard digging for the creatures that would rout them out. very little is known as yet, however, about the growth or development of the young, so here is an opportunity for the young naturalist who would contribute something to our knowledge of this interesting creature. a striped pigmy--the least chipmunk closely akin to this one and commonly mistaken for its young, is the least chipmunk (_eutamias minimus_), which is widely diffused in the great dry central region of the continent. although so generally found and so visible when found, its history is practically unknown. it probably lives much like its relatives, raising a brood of four to six young in a warm chamber far underground, and brings them up to eat all manner of seeds, grains, fruits, herbs, berries, insects, birds, eggs, and even mice, just as do most of its kinsmen, but no one has proved any of these things. any exact observations you may make are sure to be acceptable contributions to science. * * * * * ix the rabbits and their habits * * * * * [illustration: xxvii. the snowshoe hare is a cross between a rabbit and a snowdrift _captives; photo by e. t. seton_] [illustration: xxviii. the cottontail freezing _photos after sunset, by e. t. seton_] ix the rabbits and their habits [illustration] if the wolf may be justly proud of his jaws and the antelope of his legs, i am sure that the rabbit should very properly glory in his matchless fecundity. to perfect this power he has consecrated all the splendid energies of his vigorous frame, and he has magnified his specialty into a success that is worth more to his race than could be any other single gift. [illustration] rabbits are without weapons of defense, and are simple-minded to the last degree. most are incapable of long-distance speed, but all have an exuberance of multiplication that fills their ranks as fast as foe can thin the line. if, indeed, they did not have several families, several times a year, they would have died out several epochs back. [illustration] there are three marked types of rabbits in the rockies--the cottontail, the snowshoe, and the jackrabbit. all of them are represented on the yellowstone, besides the little coney of the rocks which is a remote second cousin of the family. molly cottontail, the clever freezer [illustration: molly freezing] i have often had occasion to comment on the "freezing" of animals. when they are suddenly aware of a near enemy or confronted by unexpected situations, their habit is to _freeze_--that is, become perfectly rigid, and remain so until the danger is past or at least comprehended. molly cottontail is one of the best "freezers." whenever she does not know what to do, she does nothing, obeying the old western rule, "never rush when you are rattled." now molly is a very nervous creature. any loud, sharp noise is liable to upset her, and feeling herself unnerved she is very apt to stop and simply "freeze." keep this in mind when next you meet a cottontail, and get a photograph. in july, , i tried it myself. i was camped with a lot of sioux indians on the banks of the cheyenne river in dakota. they had their families with them, and about sundown one of the boys ran into the tepee for a gun, and then fired into the grass. his little brother gave a war-whoop that their "pa" might well have been proud of, then rushed forward and held up a fat cottontail, kicking her last kick. another, a smaller cottontail, was found not far away, and half a dozen young redskins armed with sticks crawled up, then suddenly let them fly. bunny was hit, knocked over, and before he could recover, a dog had him. [illustration] i had been some distance away. on hearing the uproar i came back toward my own campfire, and as i did so, my indian guide pointed to a cottontail twenty feet away gazing toward the boys. the guide picked up a stick of firewood. the boys saw him, and knowing that another rabbit was there they came running. now i thought they had enough game for supper and did not wish them to kill poor molly. but i knew i could not stop them by saying that, so i said: "hold on till i make a photo." some of them understood; at any rate, my guide did, and all held back as i crawled toward the rabbit. she took alarm and was bounding away when i gave a shrill whistle which turned her into a "frozen" statue. then i came near and snapped the camera. the indian boys now closed in and were going to throw, but i cried out: "hold on! not yet; i want another." so i chased bunny twenty or thirty yards, then gave another shrill whistle, and got a fourth snap. again i had to hold the boys back by "wanting another picture." five times i did this, taking five pictures, and all the while steering molly toward a great pile of drift logs by the river. i had now used up all my films. the boys were getting impatient. so i addressed the cottontail solemnly and gently: "bunny, i have done my best for you. i cannot hold these little savages any longer. you see that pile of logs over there? well, bunny, you have just five seconds to get into that wood-pile. now git!" and i shooed and clapped my hands, and all the young indians yelled and hurled their clubs, the dogs came bounding and molly fairly dusted the earth. "go it, molly!" "go it, dogs!" "ki-yi, injuns!" the clubs flew and rattled around her, but molly put in ten feet to the hop and ten hops to the second (almost), and before the chase was well begun it was over; her cotton tuft disappeared under a log; she was safe in the pile of wood, where so far as i know she lived happy ever after. [illustration] the rabbit that wears snowshoes the snowshoe rabbit is found in all parts of the park, though not in very great numbers. it is called "snowshoe" on account of the size of its feet, which, already large, are in snow time made larger by fringes of stiff bristles that give the creature such a broad area of support that it can skip on the surface of soft snow while all its kinsmen sink in helplessness. [illustration] here is the hind foot of a snowshoe in winter, contrasted with the hind foot of a jackrabbit that was nearly three times its weight. rabbits are low in the scale of intelligence, but they are high enough to have some joy in social life. it always gives one a special thrill of satisfaction when favoured with a little glimpse into the home ways, the games, or social life of an animal; and the peep i had into the rabbit world one night, though but a small affair, i have always remembered with pleasure, and hope for a second similar chance. this took place in the bitterroot mountains in idaho, in . my wife and i were out on a pack-train trip with two new york friends. we had seen some rough country in colorado and wyoming, but we soon agreed that the bitterroots were the roughest of all the mountains. it took twenty-eight horses to carry the stuff, for which eighteen were enough in the more southern rockies. [illustration] the trails were so crooked and hidden in thick woods, that sometimes the man at the rear might ride the whole day, and never see all the horses until we stopped again for the night. the terror of the mountain trails [illustration] there were other annoyances, and among them a particularly dangerous animal. the country was fairly stocked with moose, elk, blacktail, sheep, goats, badgers, skunks, wolverines, foxes, coyotes, mountain lions, lynx, wolves, black bears and grizzly bears, but it was none of these that inspired us with fear. the deadly, dangerous creature, the worst of all, was the common yellow-jacket-wasp. these wasps abounded in the region. their nests were so plentiful that many were on, or by, the narrow crooked trails that we must follow. generally these trails were along the mountain shoulder with a steep bank on the upside, and a sheer drop on the other. it was at just such dangerous places that we seemed most often to find the yellow-jackets at home. roused by the noise and trampling, they would assail the horses in swarms, and then there would be a stampede of bucking, squealing, tortured animals. some would be forced off the trail, and, as has often happened elsewhere, dashed to their death below. this was the daily danger. [illustration] one morning late in september we left camp about eight, and set off in the usual line, the chief guide leading and the rest of us distributed at intervals among the pack-horses, as a control. near the rear was the cook, after him a pack-horse with tins and dishes, and last of all myself. at first we saw no wasps, as the morning was frosty, but about ten the sun had become strong, the air was quite mild, and the wasps became lively. for all at once i heard the dreaded cry, "_yellow-jackets_!" then in a moment it was taken up by the cook just ahead of me. "yellow-jackets! look out!" with a note almost of terror in his voice. at once his horse began to plunge and buck. i saw the man of pots clinging to the saddle and protecting his face as best he could, while his mount charged into the bushes and disappeared. then "_bzz-z-z-z_" they went at the pot-horse and again the bucking and squealing, with pots going clank, clink, rattle and away. "_bzz-z-z-z-z_" and in a moment the dark and raging little terrors came at me in a cloud. i had no time to stop, or get off, or seek another way. so i jerked up a coat collar to save my face, held my head low, and tried to hold on, while the little pony went insane with the fiery baptism now upon him. plunging, kicking, and squealing he went, and i stuck, to him for one--two--three jumps, but at number four, as i remember it, i went flying over his head, fortunately up hill, and landed in the bushes unhurt, but ready for peace at any price. it is good old wisdom to "lay low in case of doubt," and very low i lay there, waiting for the war to cease. it was over in a few seconds, for my horse dashed after his fellows and passed through the bushes, so that the winged scorpions were left behind. presently i lifted my head and looked cautiously toward the wasp's-nest. it was in a bank twenty feet away, and the angry swarm was hovering over it, like smoke from a vent hole. they were too angry, and i was too near, to run any risks, so i sank down again and waited. in one or two minutes i peered once more, getting a sight under a small log lying eight or ten feet away. and as i gazed waspward my eye also took in a brown furry creature calmly sitting under the log, wabbling his nose at me and the world about him. it was a young snowshoe rabbit. [illustration] bunny's ride there is a certain wild hunter instinct in us all, a wish to capture every wood creature we meet. that impulse came on me in power. there was no more danger from wasps, so i got cautiously above this log, put a hand down at each side, grabbed underneath, and the rabbit was my prisoner. now i had him, what was i going to do with him--kill him? certainly not. i began to talk to him. "now what _did_ i catch you for?" his only reply was a wobble of his nose, so i continued: "i didn't know when i began, but i know now. i want to get your picture." and again the nose wobbled. i could not take it then as my camera had gone on with my horse. i had nothing to put the rabbit in. i could not put it in my pocket as that would mean crushing it in some early tumble; i needed both my hands to climb with and catch my horse, so for lack of a better place i took off my hat and said, "bunny, how would you like to ride in that?" he wobbled his nose, which i understood to mean that he didn't care. so i put the rabbit on my head, and put the hat on again. [illustration] then i went forward and found that the cook had recovered his pots and pans; all was well now and my horse was awaiting me. i rode all the rest of that day with the rabbit quietly nestling in my hair. it was a long, hard day, for we continued till nightfall and then made a dark camp in a thick pine woods. it was impossible to make pictures then, so i put the little rabbit under a leatheroid telescope lid, on a hard level place, gave him food and water, and left him for use in the morning. the rabbit dance about nine o'clock that night we were sitting about the fire, when from the near woods was heard a tremendous "_tap-tap-taptrrr_," so loud and so near that we all jumped and stared into the darkness. again it came, "_tap-tap-tap trrrrr_," a regular drum tattoo. "what is that?" we all exclaimed, and at that moment a large rabbit darted across the open space lighted by the fire. again the tattoo and another rabbit dashed across. then it dawned on me that that was the young rabbit signalling to his friends. he was using the side of his box for a drum. again the little prisoner rolled his signal call, and then a third snowshoe rabbit appeared. "look at all the rabbits!" exclaimed my friend. "where is my gun?" "no," i said, "you don't need your gun. wait and see. there is something up. that little chap is ringing up central." "i never saw so many together in all my life," said he. then added: "i've got an acetylene lantern; perhaps we can get a picture." [illustration] as soon as he had his camera and lantern, we went cautiously to the rabbity side of the woods; several ran past us. then we sat down on a smooth place. my friend held the camera, i held the light, but we rested both on the ground. very soon a rabbit darted from the darkness into the great cone of light from the lantern, gazed at that wonder for a moment, gave a "thump" and disappeared. then another came; then two or three. they gazed into this unspeakably dazzling thing, then one gave the alarm by thumping, and all were lost to sight. but they came again and in ever-increasing numbers, , , , , at last, now in plain view, gazing wildly at the bright light, pushing forward as though fascinated. some two or three so close together that they were touching each other. then one gave the thumping alarm, and all scattered like leaves, to vanish like ghosts. but they came back again, to push and crawl up nearer to that blazing wonder. some of the back ones were skipping about but the front ones edged up in a sort of wild-eyed fascination. closer and closer they got, then the first one was so near that reaching out to smell the lantern he burnt his nose, and at his alarm thump, all disappeared in the woods. but they soon returned to disport again in that amazing brightness; and, stimulated by the light, they danced about, chasing each other, dodging around in large circles till one of the outermost leaped over the camera box and another following him, leaped up and sat on it. my friend was just behind, hidden by the light in front, and he had no trouble in clutching the impudent rabbit with both hands. instantly it set up a loud squealing. the other rabbits gave a stamping signal, and in a moment all were lost in the woods, but the one we held. quickly we transported it to another leatheroid box, intending to take its picture in the morning, but the prisoner had a means of attack that i had not counted on. just as we were going to sleep he began with his front feet on the resounding box and beat a veritable drum tattoo of alarm. every one in camp was awakened, and again, as we were dropping off, the camp was roused by another loud "tattoo." for nearly two hours this went on; then, about midnight, utterly unable to sleep, i arose and let the drummer go about his business, do anything or go anywhere, so only he would be quiet and let us attend to ours. [illustration: xxix. the baby cottontail that rode twenty miles in my hat _photo by e. t. seton_] [illustration: xxx. snowshoe rabbits dancing in the light of the lantern _sketch by e. t. seton_] next morning i photographed the little bunny, and set him free to join his kin. it is a surprising fact that though we spent two weeks in this valley, and a month in those mountains, we did not see another wild rabbit. this incident is unique in my experience. it is the only time when i found the snowshoe hares gathered for a social purpose, and is the only approach to a game that i ever heard of among them. the ghost rabbit an entirely different side of rabbit life is seen in another mysterious incident that i have never been able to explain. at one time when i lived in ontario, i had a very good hound that was trained to follow all kinds of trails. i used to take him out in the woods at night, give him general instructions "to go ahead, and report everything afoot"; then sit down on a log to listen to his reports. and he made them with remarkable promptness. slight differences in his bark, and the course taken, enabled me to tell at once whether it was fox, coon, rabbit, skunk, or other local game. and his peculiar falsetto yelp when the creature treed, was a joyful invitation to "come and see for yourself." [illustration] the hound's bark for a fox was deep, strong, and at regular intervals as befitted the strong trail, and the straightaway run. but for a rabbit it was broken, uncertain, irregular and rarely a good deep bay. [illustration] one night the dog bawled in his usual way, "rabbit, rabbit, rabbit," and soon leaving the woods he crossed an open field where the moon shone brightly, and i could easily see to follow. still yelping "rabbit, rabbit, rabbit," he dashed into a bramble thicket in the middle of the field. but at once he dashed out again shrieking, "police! help! murder!" and took refuge behind me, cowering up against my legs. at the same moment from the side of that bramble thicket there went out--_a rabbit_. yes, a common rabbit all right, but it was a _snow-white_ one. the first albino cottontail i had ever seen, and apparently the first albino cottontail that[c] ranger had ever seen. dogs are not supposed to be superstitious, but on that occasion ranger behaved exactly as though he thought that he had seen a ghost. a narrow-gauge mule--the prairie hare [illustration] one has to see this creature with its great flopping ears, and its stiff-legged jumping like a bucking mule, to realize the aptness of its western nickname. as it bounds away from your pathway its bushy snow-white tail and the white behind the black-tipped ears will point out plainly that it is neither the texas jackrabbit nor the rocky mountain cottontail, but the white-tailed jackrabbit, the finest of all our hares. i have met it in woods, mountains, and prairies, from california to manitoba and found it the wildest of its race and almost impossible of approach; _except_ in the great exceptional spot, the yellowstone park. here in the august of i met with two, close to the mammoth hot springs hotel. at a distance of thirty feet they gave me good chances to take pictures, and though the light was very bad i made a couple of snaps. fifteen years ago, when first i roamed in the park, the prairie hare was exceedingly rare, but now, like so many of the wild folk, it has become quite common. another evidence of the efficacy of protection. this silvery-gray creature turns pure white in the winter, when the snow mantle of his range might otherwise make it too conspicuous. the bump of moss that squeaks no matter how horrible a certain climate or surroundings may seem to us, they are sure to be the ideal of some wild creature, its very dream of bliss. i suppose that slide rock, away up in cold, bleak, windy country above the timber-line, is absolutely the unloveliest landscape and most repulsive home ground that a man could find in the mountains and yet it is the paradise, the perfect place of a wonderful little creature that is found on the high peaks of the rockies from california to alaska. it is not especially abundant in the yellowstone park, but it was there that first i made its acquaintance, and easterners will meet with it in the great reserve more often than in all other parts of its range put together. [illustration] as one reaches the golden gate, near mammoth hot springs, many little animals of the ground-squirrel group are seen running about, and from the distance comes a peculiar cry, a short squeak uttered every ten or fifteen seconds. you stop, perhaps search with your eye the remote hillside, but you are looking too far afield. glance toward the tumbled rock piles, look at every high point. there on top of one you note a little gray lump, like a bump of moss, the size of your fist, clinging to the point of the rock. fix your glasses on it, and you will see plainly that the squeak is made by this tiny creature, like a quarter-grown rabbit with short, round, white-rimmed ears and no visible tail. this is the curious little animal that cannot be happy anywhere but in the slide rock; this is the calling hare. "little chief hare" is its indian name, but it has many others of much currency, such as "pika," and "starved rat," the latter because it is never fat. the driver calls it a "coney," or "rock rabbit." in its colour, size, shape, and habits it differs from all other creatures in the region; it is impossible to mistake it. though a distant kinsman of the rabbits, it is unlike them in looks and ways. thus it has, as noted, the very un-rabbit-like habit of squeaking from some high lookout. this is doubtless a call of alarm to let the rest of the company know that there is danger about, for the coney is a gregarious creature; there may be a hundred of them in the rock-slide. some years ago, in colorado, i sketched one of the coneys by help of a field glass. he was putting all the force of his energetic little soul into the utterance of an alarm cry for the benefit of his people. but the most interesting habit of this un-rabbity rabbit is its way of preparing for winter. [illustration] when the grass, the mountain dandelions, and the peavines are at their best growth for making hay, the coney, with his kind, goes warily from his stronghold in the rocks to the nearest stretch of herbage, and there cuts as much as he can carry of the richest growths; then laden with a bundle as big as himself, and very much longer, he makes for the rocks, and on some flat open place spreads the herbage out to be cured for his winter hay. out in full blaze of the sun he leave it, and if some inconsiderate rock comes in between, to cast a shadow on his hay a-curing, he moves the one that is easiest to move; he never neglects his hay. when dry enough to be safe, he packs it away into his barn, the barn being a sheltered crevice in the rocks where the weather cannot harm it, and where it will continue good until the winter time, when otherwise there would be a sad pinch of famine in the coney world. the trappers say that they can tell whether the winter will be hard or open by the amount of food stored up in the coney barns. [illustration] many a one of these i have examined in the mountains of british columbia and colorado, as well as in the park. the quantity of hay in them varies from what might fill a peck measure to what would make a huge armful. among the food plants used, i found many species of grass, thistle, meadow-rue, peavine, heath, and the leaves of several composite plants. i suspect that fuller observations will show that they use every herb not actually poisonous, that grows in the vicinity of their citadel. more than one of these wads of hay had in the middle of it a nest or hollow; not, i suspect, the home nest where the young are raised, but a sort of winter restaurant where they could go while the ground was covered with snow, and sitting in the midst of their provisions, eat to their heart's content. it is not unlikely that in this we see the growth of the storage habit, beginning first with a warm nest of hay, which it was found could be utilized for food when none other was available. the fact that these barns are used year after year is shown by the abundance of pellets in several layers which were found in and about them. the weatherwise coney [illustration] a very wise little people is this little people of the rocks. not only do they realize that in summer they must prepare for winter, but they know how to face a present crisis, however unexpected. to appreciate the following instance, we must remember that the central thought in the coney's life is his "grub pile" for winter use, and next that he is a strictly daytime animal. i have often slept near a coney settlement and never heard a sound or seen a sign of their being about after dark. nevertheless, merriam tells us that he and vernon bailey once carried their blankets up to a coney colony above timber-line in the salmon river mountains of idaho, intending to spend the night there and to study the coneys whose piles of hay were visible in all directions on their rocks. as this was about the first of september, it was natural to expect fair weather and a complete curing of the hay in a week or so. but a fierce storm set in with the descending night. the rain changed to hail and then to snow, and much to the surprise of the naturalists, they heard the squeak of the coneys all night long. these animals love the sunshine, the warmth and the daylight, and dread cold and darkness as much as we do. it must have been a bitter experience when at the call of the older ones every little coney had to tumble out of his warm bed in the chill black hours and face the driving sleet to save the winter's supplies. but tumble out they did, and overtime they worked, hard and well, for when the morning dawned the slide-rock and the whole world was covered deep in snow, but every haycock had been removed to a safer place under the rocks, and the wisdom of the coney once more exemplified, with adequate energy to make it effective. [illustration] [illustration: xxxi. snowshoe rabbits fascinated by the lantern _sketched in the bitterroot mts. by e. t. seton_] [illustration: xxxii. the ghost rabbit _sketch by e. t. seton_] his safety is in the rocks no one has ever yet found the home nest of the calling hare. it is so securely hidden under rocks, and in galleries below rocks, that all attempts to dig it out have thus far failed. i know of several men, not to mention bears, badgers, wolverines, and grizzlies, who have essayed to unearth the secret of the coney's inner life. following on the trail of a coney that bleated derisively at me near pagoda peak, col., i began at once to roll rocks aside in an effort to follow him home to his den. the farther i went the less satisfaction i found. the uncertain trail ramified more and more as i laboured. once or twice from far below me i heard a mocking squeak that spurred me on, but that too, ceased. when about ten tons of rock had been removed i was baffled. there were half a dozen possible lines of continuation, and while i paused to wipe the "honest sweat" from my well-meaning brow, i heard behind me the "weak," "weak," of my friend as though giving his estimate of my resolution, and i descried him--i suppose the same--on a rock point like a moss-bump against the sky-line away to the left. only, one end of the moss-bump moved a little each time a squeak was cast upon the air. i had not time to tear down the whole mountain, so i did as my betters, the bears and badgers have done before me, i gave it up. i had at least found out why the coney avoids the pleasant prairie and the fertile banks, and i finished with a new and profounder understanding of the scripture text which says in effect, "as for the coney, his safe refuge is in the rocks." footnotes: [footnote c: it proved later to be an albino domestic rabbit run wild.] * * * * * x ghosts of the campfire * * * * * [illustration] x ghosts of the campfire it is always worth while to cultivate the old guides. young guides are often fresh and shallow, but the quiet old fellows, that have spent their lives in the mountains, must be good or they could not stay in the business; and they have seen so much and been so far that they are like rare old manuscript volumes, difficult to read, but unique and full of value. it is not easy to get them to talk, but there is a combination that often does it. first, show yourself worthy of their respect by holding up your end, be it in an all-day climb or breakneck ride; then at night, after the others have gone to bed, you sit while the old guide smokes, and by a few brief questions and full attention, show that you value any observations he may choose to make. many happy hours and much important information have been my reward for just such cautious play, and often as we sat, there flitted past, in the dim light, the silent shadowy forms of the campfire ghosts. swift, not twinkling, but looming light and fading, absolutely silent. sometimes approaching so near that the still watcher can get the glint of beady eyes or even of a snowy breast, for these ghosts are merely the common mice of the mountains, abounding in every part of the west. [illustration] there are half a dozen different kinds, yet most travellers will be inclined to bunch them all, and pass them by as mere mice. but they are worthy of better treatment. three, at least, are so different in form and ways that you should remember them by their names. first is the _whitefooted or deer-mouse_. this is the one that you find in the coffee pot or the water bucket in the morning; this is the one that skips out of the "grub box" when the cook begins breakfast; and this is the one that runs over your face with its cold feet as you sleep nights. it is one of the most widely diffused mammals in north america to-day, and probably the most numerous. it is an elegant little creature, with large, lustrous black eyes like those of a deer, a fact which, combined with its large ears, the fawn-coloured back, and the pure white breast, has given it the name of "deer-mouse." it is noted for drumming with one foot as a call to its mate, and for uttering a succession of squeaks and trills that serve it as a song. sometimes its nest is underground; and sometimes in a tree, whence the name tree-mouse. it breeds several times in a year and does not hibernate, so is compelled to lay up stores of food for winter use. to help it in doing this it has a very convenient pair of capacious pockets, one in each cheek, opening into the mouth. the jumping mouse he glides around the fire much as the others do, but at the approach of danger, he simply fires himself out of a catapult, afar into the night. eight or ten feet he can cover in one of these bounds and he can, and does, repeat them as often as necessary. how he avoids knocking out his own brains in his travels i have not been able to understand. this is the new world counterpart of the jerboa, so familiar in our school books as a sort of diminutive but glorified kangaroo that frequents the great pyramids. it is so like a jerboa in build and behaviour that i was greatly surprised and gratified to find my scientist friends quite willing that i should style it the american representative of the african group. [illustration] the country folk in the east will tell you that there are "seven sleepers" in our woods, and enumerate them thus: the bear, the coon, the skunk, the woodchuck, the chipmunk, the bat, and the jumping mouse. all are good examples, but the longest, soundest sleeper of the whole somnolent brotherhood is the jumping mouse. weeks before summer is ended it has prepared a warm nest deep underground, beyond the reach of cold or rain, and before the early frost has nipped the aster, the jumping mouse and his wife curl up with their long tails around themselves like cords on a spool, and sleep the deadest kind of a dead sleep, unbroken by even a snore, until summer is again in the land, and frost and snow unknown. this means at least seven months on the yellowstone. [illustration] since the creature is chiefly nocturnal, the traveller is not likely to see it, excepting late at night when venturesome individuals often come creeping about the campfire, looking for scraps or crumbs; or sometimes other reckless youngsters of the race, going forth to seek their fortunes, are found drowned in the tanks or wells about the hotels. [illustration: xxxiv. the coney or calling hare _photo by w. e. carlin_] [illustration: xxxv. the coney barns full of hay stored for winter use _photos by e. t. seton_] here is a diagram of a jumper in the act of living up to its reputation. and at once one asks what is the reason for this interminable tail. the answer is, it is the tail to the kite, the feathering to the arrow; and observation shows that a jumping mouse that has lost its tail is almost helpless to escape from danger. a good naturalist records that one individual that was de-tailed by a mowing machine, jumped frantically and far, but had no control of the direction, and just as often as not went straight up or landed wrong end to, and sometimes on a second bound was back where it had started from. it is very safe to say that all unusual developments serve a very vital purpose in the life of the creature, but we are not always so fortunate as in this case, to know what that purpose is. the calling mouse one day fifteen years ago i was sitting on a low bank near baronett's bridge across the yellowstone, a mile and a half from yancey's. the bank was in an open place, remote from cliffs or thick woods; it was high, dry, and dotted with holes of rather larger than field-mouse size, which were further peculiar in that most of them went straight down and none was connected with any visible overland runways. all of which is secondary to the fact that i was led to the bank by a peculiar bleating noise like the "weak" of a calling hare, but higher pitched. as i passed the place the squeakers were left behind me, and so at last i traced the noise to some creature underground. but what it was i could not see or determine. i knew only from the size of the hole it must be as small as a mouse. [illustration] not far away from this i drew some tracks i found in the dust, and later when i showed the drawing, and told the story to a naturalist friend, he said: "i had the same experience in that country once, and was puzzled until i found out by keeping a captive that the creature in the bank was a grasshopper mouse or a calling mouse, and those in your drawing are its tracks." at one time it was considered an extremely rare animal, but now, having discovered its range, we know it to be quite abundant. in northern new mexico i found one species so common in the corn-field that i could catch two or three every night with a few mousetraps. but it is scarce on the yellowstone, and all my attempts to trap it were frustrated by the much more abundant deer-mice, which sprang the bait and sacrificed themselves, every time i tried for the squeaker. in the fall of i was staying at standing rock agency in north dakota. on the broken ground, between the river and the high level prairie, i noted a ridge with holes exactly like those i had seen on the yellowstone. a faint squeak underground gave additional and corroborative evidence. so i set a trap and next night had a specimen of the squeaker as well as a couple of the omnipresent deer-mice. doubtless the calling mouse has an interesting and peculiar life history, but little is known of it except that it dwells on the dry plains, is a caller by habit;--through not around the campfire--it feeds largely on grasshoppers, and is in mortal terror of ants. * * * * * xi sneak-cats big and small * * * * * [illustration] xi sneak-cats--big and small you may ride five hundred miles among the mountains, in a country where these beasts of prey abound, and yet see never a hair of a living wildcat. _but how many do you suppose see you?_ peeping from a thicket, near the trail, glimpsing you across some open valley in the mountains, or inspecting you from various points as you recline by the campfire, they size you up and decide they want no nearer dealings with you; you are bad medicine, a thing to be eluded. and oh! how clever they are at eluding us. if you turn out the biggest lynx on the smoothest prairie you ever saw, he will efface himself before you count twenty. the grass may be but three inches high and the lynx twenty-three, but he will melt into it, and wholly escape the searching eyes of the keenest. one would not think an empty skin could lie more flat. add to this the silent sinuosity of his glide; he seems to ooze around the bumps and stumps, and bottle up his frightful energy for the final fearsome leap. his whole makeup is sacrificed to efficiency in that leap; on that depends his life; his very existence turns on the wondrous perfection of the sneak, of which the leap is the culmination. hunters in all parts where these creatures abound, agree in calling wildcat, lynx, and cougar by the undignified but descriptive name of sneak-cat. the bobcat or mountain wildcat the wildcat of europe, and of literature, is a creature of almost unparalleled ferocity. our own wildcat is three times as big and heavy, so many persons assume that it is three times as ferocious, and therefore to be dreaded almost like a tiger. the fact is, the american wildcat or bobcat is a very shy creature, ready to run from a very small dog, never facing a man and rarely killing anything bigger than a rabbit. i never saw but one bobcat in the yellowstone park, and that was not in the park, but at gardiner where it was held a captive. but it came from the park, and the guides tell me that the species is quite common in some localities. it is readily recognized by its cat-like form and its short or bob-tail, whence its name. [illustration: xxxvi. (a) tracks of deer escaping and (b) tracks of mountain lion in pursuit _photos by e. t. seton_] [illustration: xxxvii. the mountain lion sneaking around us as we sleep _sketch by e. t. seton_] misunderstood--the canada lynx the southern part of north america is occupied by bobcats of various kinds, the northern part by lynxes, their very near kin, and there is a narrow belt of middle territory occupied by both. the yellowstone park happens to be in that belt, so we find here both the mountain bobcat and the canada lynx. i remember well three scenes from my childhood days in canada, in which this animal was the central figure. a timid neighbour of ours was surprised one day to see a large lynx come out of the woods in broad daylight, and walk toward his house. he went inside, got his gun, opened the door a little, and knelt down. the lynx walked around the house at about forty yards distance, the man covering it with the gun most of the time, but his hand was shaking, the gun was wabbling, and he was tormented with the thought, "what if i miss, then that brute will come right at me, and then, oh, dear! what?" he had not the nerve to fire and the lynx walked back to the woods. how well i remember that man. a kind-hearted, good fellow, but oh! so timid. his neighbours guyed him about it, until at last he sold out his farm and joined the ministry. the next scene was similar. two men were out coon-hunting, when their dogs treed something. a blazing fire soon made, showed plainly aloft in the tree the whiskered head of a lynx. the younger man levelled his gun at it, but the other clung to his arm begging him to come away, reminding him that both had families dependent on them, and earnestly protesting that the lynx, if wounded, would certainly come down and kill the whole outfit. the third was wholly different. in broad daylight a lynx came out of the woods near a settler's house, entered the pasture and seized a lamb. the good wife heard the noise of the sheep rushing, and went out in time to see the lynx dragging the victim. she seized a stick and went for the robber. he growled defiantly, but at the first blow of the stick he dropped the lamb and ran. then that plucky woman carried the lamb to the house; finding four deep cuts in its neck she sewed them up, and after a few days of careful nursing restored the woolly one to its mother, fully recovered. [illustration] the first two incidents illustrate the crazy ideas that some folks have about the lynx, and the last shows what the real character of the animal is. i have once or twice been followed by lynxes, but i am sure it was merely out of curiosity. many times i have met them in the woods at close range and each time they have gazed at me in a sort of mild-eyed wonder. there was no trace of ferocity in the gaze, but rather of innocent confidence. the earliest meeting i ever had with a lynx i shall remember when all the other meetings have been dimmed by time, but i have used the incident without embellishment in the early part of "two little savages," so shall not repeat it here. the shyest thing in the woods--mountain lion, puma or cougar reference to the official report shows that there are about one hundred mountain lions now ranging the yellowstone park. and yet one is very safe in believing that not twenty-five persons of those living in the park have ever seen one. by way of contrast, the report gives the number of blackbear at the same--about one hundred--and yet every one living in the park or passing through, has seen scores of bears. why this difference? chiefly owing to their respective habits. the cougar is the most elusive, sneaking, adroit hider, and shyest thing in the woods. i have camped for twenty-five years in its country and have never yet seen a wild cougar. almost never are they found without dogs specially trained to trail and hunt them. although i have never seen a cougar at large, it is quite certain that many a one has watched me. yes! even in the yellowstone park. remember this, oh traveller, sitting in front of the mammoth hot springs hotel! you are in sight of two famous cougar haunts--mt. evarts and bunsen peak, and the chances are that, as you sit and perhaps read these lines, a cougar lolling gray-brown among the gray-brown rocks of the mountain opposite, is calmly surveying all the world about, including yourself. [illustration] if you consult the witching contraband books that we of a bygone age used to read surreptitiously in school hours, you will learn that "the cougar is a fearsome beast of invincible prowess. he can kill a buffalo or an ox with a blow of his paw, and run off with it at full speed or carry it up a tree to devour, and he is by choice a man-eater. commonly uttering the cry of a woman in distress to decoy the gallant victim to his doom." if, on the other hand, you consult some careful natural histories, or one or two of the seasoned guides, you learn that the cougar, though horribly destructive among deer, sheep, and colts, rarely kills a larger prey, and never is known to attack man. i have had many persons take exception to the last statement, and give contrary proof by referring to some hair-lifting incident which seemed to be a refutation. but most of these attacks by cougars have failed to stand the disintegrating power of a carefully focussed searchlight. there is no doubt that the cougar is addicted to horseflesh, as his scientific name implies (_hippolestes_=horse pirate). he will go a long way to kill a colt, and several supposed cases of a cougar attacking a man on horseback at night prove to have been attacks on the horse, and in each case on discovering the man the cougar had decamped. this creature is also possessed of a strong curiosity and many times is known to have followed a man in the woods merely to study the queer creature, but without intent to do him harm. nevertheless the timid traveller who discovers he is "pursued by a cougar" may manage to persuade himself that he has had a hairbreadth escape. the time i met a lion a newspaper reporter asked me once for a story of terrible peril from our wild animals, a time "when i nearly lost my life." [illustration] my answer was, "i never had such an experience. danger from wild animals is practically non-existent in america to-day." "did you never meet a grizzly or a mountain lion?" he asked. "yes, many grizzlies, and one or two lions. i've had one look me over while i slept," was the answer. and now the thrill-monger's face lighted up, he straightened his paper and stuck his pencil in his mouth by way of getting ready, and ejaculated: "say! now you're getting it; let's hear the details. don't spare me!" "it was back in september, ," i said. "my wife and i were camping in the high sierra near mt. tallac. at this season rain is unknown, so we took no tent. each of us had a comfortable rubber bed and we placed these about a foot or two apart. in the narrow alley between we put a waterproof canvas, and on that each night we laid the guns. "we had a couple of cowboys to look after the outfit. a fortnight had gone by with sunny skies and calm autumn weather, when one evening it began to blow. black, lumpy clouds came up from the far-off sea; the dust went whirling in little eddies, and when the sun went down it was of a sickly yellowish. the horses were uneasy, throwing up their noses, snorting softly and pricking their ears in a nervous way. "everything promised a storm in spite of the rule 'no rain in september,' and we huddled into our tentless beds with such preparation as we could make for rain. "as night wore on the windstorm raged, and one or two heavy drops spattered down. then there was a loud snort or two and a plunge of the nearest horse, then quiet. "next morning we found every horse gone, and halters and ropes broken, while deep hoofprints showed the violence of the stampede which we had scarcely heard. the men set out on foot after the horses, and by good luck, recovered all within a mile. meanwhile i made a careful study of the ground, and soon got light. for there were the prints of a huge mountain lion. he had prowled into camp, coming up to where we slept, sneaked around and smelt us over, and--i think--walked down the alley between our beds. after that, probably, he had got so close to the horses that, inspired by terror of their most dreaded foe, they had broken all bonds and stampeded into safety. nevertheless, though the horses were in danger, there can be no question, i think, that we were not." the reporter thought the situation more serious than i did, and persisted that if i dug in my memory i should yet recall a really perilous predicament, in which thanks to some wild brute, i was near death's door. and as it proved he was right. i had nearly forgotten what looked like a hairbreadth escape. in peril of my life it was on the same sierra trip. our outfit had been living for weeks among the tall pines, subsisting on canned goods; and when at length we came out on the meadows by leaf lake we found them enlivened by a small herd of wild--that is, range-cattle. "my!" said one of the cowboys, "wouldn't a little fresh milk go fine after all that ptomaine we've been feeding on?" "there's plenty of it there; help yourself," said i. "i'd soon catch one if i knew which, and what to do when i got her," he answered. then memories of boyhood days on the farm came over me and i said: "i'll show you a cow in milk, and i'll milk her if you'll hold her." "agreed! which is the one?" i put my hands up to my mouth and let off a long bleat like a calf in distress. the distant cattle threw up their heads and began "sniffing." another bleat and three cows separated from the others; two ran like mad into the woods, the third kept throwing her head this way and that, but not running. "that one," i said, "is your cow. she's in milk and not too recently come in." [illustration: milk lady] then away went the cowboys to do their part. the herd scattered and the cow tried to run, but the ponies sailed alongside, the lariats whistled and in a flash she was held with one rope around her horns, the other around one hind leg. "now's your chance, milk-lady!" they shouted at me, and forward i went, pail in hand, to milk that snorting, straining, wild-eyed thing. she tried to hold her milk up, but i am an old hand at that work. she never ceased trying to kick at me with her free hind leg, so i had to watch the leg, and milk away. the high pitched "_tsee tsee_" had gradually given place to the low "_tsow tsow_" of the two streams cutting the foam when a peculiar smell grew stronger until it was nothing less than a disgusting stench. for the first time i glanced down at the milk in the pail, and there instead of a dimpled bank of snowy foam was a great yeasty mass of yellowish brown streaked with blood. hastily rising and backing off, i said: "i've got plenty of milk now for you two. the rest of us don't care for any. hold on till i get back to the trees." then, when i was safely under cover, the boys turned the cow loose. of course, her first impulse was revenge, but i was safe and those mounted men knew how to handle a cow. she was glad to run off. [illustration] "there's your milk," i said, and pointed to the pail i had left. evidently that cow had been suffering from more than one milk malady. the boys upset the bloody milk right there, then took the pail to the stream, where they washed it well, and back to camp, where we scalded it out several times. the dangerous night visitor that night about sundown, just as we finished supper, there came from the near prairie the mighty, portentous rumbling roar of a bull--the bellow that he utters when he is roused to fight, the savage roar that means "i smell blood." it is one of those tremendous menacing sounds that never fail to give one the creeps and make one feel, oh! so puny and helpless. we went quietly to the edge of the timber and there was the monster at the place where that evil milk was spilt, tearing up the ground with hoofs and horns, and uttering that dreadful war-bellow. the cowboys mounted their ponies, and gave a good demonstration of the power of brains in the ruling of brawn. they took that bull at a gallop a mile or more away, they admonished him with some hard licks of a knotted-rope and left him, then came back, and after a while we all turned in for the night. just as we were forgetting all things, the sweet silence of the camp was again disturbed by that deep, vibrating organ tone, the chesty roaring of the enraged bull; and we sprang up to see the huge brute striding in the moonlight, coming right into camp, lured as before by that sinister blood trail. the boys arose and again saddled the ready mounts. again i heard the thudding of heavy feet, the shouts of the riders, a few loud snorts, followed by the silence; and when the boys came back in half an hour we rolled up once more and speedily were asleep. to pass the night in peace! not at all. near midnight my dreams were mixed with earthquakes and thunder, and slowly i waked to feel that ponderous bellow running along the ground, and setting my legs a-quiver. [illustration] "_row-ow-ow-ow_" it came, and shook me into full wakefulness to realize that that awful brute was back again. he could not resist the glorious, alluring chance to come and get awfully mad over that "bluggy milk." now he was in camp, close at hand; the whole sky seemed blocked out and the trees a-shiver as he came on. "_row-ow-ow-ow_" he rumbled, also snorted softly as he came, and before i knew it he walked down the narrow space between our beds and the wagon. had i jumped up and yelled, he, whether mad or scared, might have trampled one or other of us. that is the bull of it; a horse steps over. so i waited in trembling silence till that horrid "_row-ow-ow-ow_" went by. then i arose and yelled with all my power: "louie! frank! help! here's the bull." the boys were up before i had finished. the ready ponies were put in commission in less than three minutes. then came the stampede, the heavy thudding, the loud whacks of the ropes, and when these sounds had died in the distance, i heard the "pop, pop" of side arms. i asked no questions, but when the boys came back and said, "well, you bet he won't be here again," i believed them. [illustration] [illustration: xxxviii. sketch of the bear family as made on the spot _by e. t. seton_] [illustration: xxxix. two pages from my journal in the garbage heap _by e. t. seton_] * * * * * xii bears of high and low degree * * * * * [illustration: the snorer] xii bears of high and low degree why is snoring a crime at night and a joke by day? it seems to be so, and the common sense of the public mind so views it. in the september of i went with a good guide and a party of friends, to the region southeast of yellowstone lake. this is quite the wildest part of the park; it is the farthest possible from human dwellings, and in it the animals are wild and quite unchanged by daily association with man, as pensioners of the hotels. our party was carefully selected, a lot of choice spirits, and yet there was one with a sad and unpardonable weakness--he always snored a dreadful snore as soon as he fell asleep. that is why he was usually put in a tent by himself, and sent to sleep with a twenty-five foot deadening space between him and us of gentler somnolence. he had been bad the night before, and now, by request, was sleeping _fifty_ feet away. but what is fifty feet of midnight silence to a forty-inch chest and a pair of tuneful nostrils. about a.m. i was awakened as before, but worse than ever, by the most terrific, measured snorts, and so loud that they seemed just next me. sitting up, i bawled in wrath, "oh, jack, shut up, and let some one else have a chance to sleep." the answer was a louder snort, a crashing of brush and a silence that, so far as i know, continued until sunrise. then i arose and learned that the snorts and the racket were made, not by my friend, but by a huge grizzly that had come prowling about the camp, and had awakened me by snorting into my tent. but he had fled in fear at my yell; and this behaviour exactly shows the attitude of the grizzlies in the west to-day. they are afraid of man, they fly at whiff or sound of him, and if in the yellowstone you run across a grizzly that seems aggressive, rest assured he has been taught such bad manners by association with our own species around the hotels. the different kinds of bears [illustration] some guides of unsound information will tell the traveller that there are half a dozen different kinds of bears in or near the yellowstone park--blackbear, little cinnamon, big cinnamon, grizzlies, silver-tip, and roach-backs. this is sure however, there are but two species, namely, the blackbear and the grizzly. the blackbear is known by its short front claws, flat profile and black colour, with or without a tan-coloured muzzle. sometimes in a family of blackbears there appears a red-headed youngster, just as with ourselves; he is much like his brethren but "all over red complected" as they say in canada. this is known to hunters as a "little cinnamon." the grizzly is known by its great size, its long fore claws, its hollow profile and its silver-sprinkled coat. sometimes a grizzly has an excessive amount of silver; this makes a silver-tip. sometimes the silver is nearly absent, in which case the bear is called a "big cinnamon." sometimes the short mane over his humped shoulders is exaggerated; this makes a "roach-back." any or all of these are to be looked for in the park, yet remember! they form only two species. all of the blackbear group are good climbers; none of the grizzly group climb after they are fully grown. bear-trees there is a curious habit of bears that is well known without being well understood; it is common to all these mentioned. in travelling along some familiar trail they will stop at a certain tree, claw it, tear it with their teeth, and rub their back and head up against it as high as they can reach, even with the tip of the snout, and standing on tiptoes. there can be no doubt that a bear coming to a tree can tell by scent whether another bear has been there recently, and whether that bear is a male or female, a friend, a foe or a stranger. thus the tree serves as a sort of news depot; and there is one every few hundred yards in country with a large bear population. these trees, of course, abound in the park. any good guide will point out some examples. in the country south of the lake, i found them so common that it seemed as if the bears had made many of them for mere sport. a peep into bear family life when we went to the yellowstone in to spend the season studying wild animal life, we lived in a small shanty that stood near yancey's, and had many pleasant meetings with antelope, beaver, etc., but were disappointed in not seeing any bears. one of my reasons for coming was the promise of "as many bears as i liked." but some tracks on the trail a mile away were the only proofs that i found of bears being in the region. one day general young, then in charge of the park, came to see how we were getting along. and i told him that although i had been promised as many bears as i liked, and i had been there investigating for six weeks already, i hadn't seen any. he replied, "you are not in the right place. go over to the fountain hotel and there you will see as many bears as you wish." that was impossible, for there were not bears enough in the west to satisfy me, i thought. but i went at once to the fountain hotel and without loss of time stepped out the back door. [illustration] i had not gone fifty feet before i walked onto a big blackbear with her two roly-poly black cubs. the latter were having a boxing match, while the mother sat by to see fair play. as soon as they saw me they stopped their boxing, and as soon as i saw them i stopped walking. the old bear gave a peculiar "_koff koff_," i suppose of warning, for the young ones ran to a tree, and up that they shinned with alacrity that amazed me. when safely aloft, they sat like small boys, holding on with their hands, while their little black legs dangled in the air, and waited to see what was to happen down below. the mother bear, still on her hind legs, came slowly toward me, and i began to feel very uncomfortable indeed, for she stood about six feet high in her stocking feet, and i had not even a stick to defend myself with. i began backing slowly toward the hotel, and by way of my best defense, _i_ turned on her all the power of my magnetic eye. we have all of us heard of the wonderful power of the magnetic human eye. yes, _we_ have, but apparently this old bear had not, for she came on just the same. she gave a low woof, and i was about to abandon all attempts at dignity, and run for the hotel; but just at this turning-point the old bear stopped, and gazed at me calmly. then she faced about and waddled over to the tree, up which were the cubs. underneath she stood, looking first at me, then at her family. i realized that she wasn't going to bother me, in fact she never seemed very serious about it, so i plucked up courage. i remembered what i came for and got down my camera. but when i glanced at the sky, and gauged the light--near sundown in the woods--i knew the camera would not serve me; so i got out my sketch book instead, and made the sketch which is given on plate xxxviii; i have not changed it since. [illustration: xli. while i sketched the bears a brother camera hunter was stalking me without my knowledge _photo by f. linde ryan, flushing, l. i._] [illustration: xlii. one meets the bears at nearly every turn in the woods _photo by e. t. seton_] meanwhile the old bear had been sizing me up, and evidently made up her mind that, "although that human being might be all right, she would take no chances for her little ones." [illustration] she looked up to her two hopefuls, and gave a peculiar whining "_er-r-r er-r_," whereupon, like obedient children, they jumped as at the word of command. there was nothing about them heavy or bear-like as commonly understood; lightly they swung from bough to bough till they dropped to the ground, and all went off together into the woods. i was much tickled by the prompt obedience of these little bears. as soon as their mother told them to do something they did it. they did not even offer a suggestion. but i also found out that there was a good reason back of it, for, had they not done as she had told them, they would have got such a spanking as would have made them howl. yes, it is quite the usual thing, i find, for an old blackbear to spank her little ones when in her opinion they need it, and she lays it on well. she has a good strong paw, and does not stop for their squealing; so that one correction lasts a long time. this was a delightful peep into bear home-life, and would have been well worth coming for, if the insight had ended there. but my friends in the hotel said that that was not the best place for bears. i should go to the garbage-heap, a quarter-mile off in the forest. there, they said, i surely could see as many bears as i wished, which was absurd of them. the day at the garbage pile [illustration] early next morning i equipped myself with pencils, paper and a camera, and set out for the garbage pile. at first i watched from the bushes, some seventy-five yards away, but later i made a hole in the odorous pile itself, and stayed there all day long, sketching and snapshotting the bears which came and went in greater numbers as the day was closing. a sample of my notes made on the spot will illustrate the continuity of the bear procession, yet i am told that there are far more of these animals there to-day than at the time of my visit. those readers who would follow my adventures in detail will find them fully and exactly set forth in the story of johnny bear, which appears in "lives of the hunted," so i shall not further enlarge on them here, except to relate one part which was omitted, as it dealt with a photographic experience. [illustration] in the story i told how, backed by a mounted cowboy, i sat on the garbage pile while the great grizzly that had worsted old grumpy, came striding nearer, and looming larger. [illustration] he had not quite forgotten the recent battle, his whole air was menacing, and i had all the appropriate sensations as he approached. at forty yards i snapped him, and again at twenty. still he was coming, but at fifteen feet he stopped and turned his head, giving me the side view i wanted, and i snapped the camera again. the effect was startling. that insolent, nagging little click brought the wrath of the grizzly onto myself. he turned on me with a savage growl. i was feeling just as i should be feeling; wondering, indeed, if my last moment had not come, but i found guidance in the old adage: "when you don't know a thing to do, don't do a thing." for a minute or two the grizzly glared, and i remained still; then calmly ignoring me he set about his feast. all of this i tell in detail in my story. but there was one thing i did not dare to do then; that was show the snaps i made. surely it would be a wonderful evidence of my courage and coolness if i could show a photograph of that big grizzly when he was coming on--maybe to kill me--i did not know, but i had a dim vision of my sorrowing relatives developing the plate to see how it happened, for i pressed the button at the right time. the picture, such as it is, i give as plate xl, c. i was so calm and cool and collected that i quite forgot to focus the camera. lonesome johnny [illustration] during all this time johnny had been bemoaning his sad lot, at the top of the tree; there i left him, still lamenting. that was the last i ever saw of him. in my story of johnny bear, i relate many other adventures that were ascribed to him, but these were told me by the men who lived in the park, and knew the lame cub much better than i did. my own acquaintance with him was all within the compass of the one day i spent in the garbage-pile. it is worthy of note that although johnny died that autumn, they have had him every year ever since; and some years they have had two for the satisfaction of visitors who have read up properly before coming to the park. indeed, when i went back to the fountain hotel fifteen years afterward, a little bear came and whined under my window about dawn, and the hotel folk assured me it was little johnny calling on his creator. further annals of the sanctuary all of this was fifteen years ago. since then there have been some interesting changes, but they are in the line of growth. thirteen bears in view at one time was my highest record, and that after sundown; but i am told that as many as twenty or twenty-five bears are now to be seen there at once in june and july, when the wildwood foods are scarce. most of them are blackbears, but there are always a few grizzlies about. [illustration: xliii. the shyer ones take to a tree, if one comes too near _photo by e. t. seton_] [illustration: xliv. clifford b. harmon feeding a bear _photo by e. t. seton_] in view of their reputation, their numbers and the gradual removal of the restraining fear of men, one wonders whether these creatures are not a serious menace to the human dwellers of the park. the fundamental peacefulness of the unhungry animal world is wonderfully brought out by the groups of huge shaggy monsters about the hotels. at one time, and for long it was said, and truthfully, that the bears in the park had never abused the confidence man had placed in them. but one or two encounters have taken place to prove the exception. an enthusiastic camera-hunter, after hearing of my experiences at the garbage pile, went there some years later, duly equipped to profit by the opportunity. [illustration] a large she bear, with a couple of cubs appeared, but they hovered at a distance and did not give the artist a fair chance. he waited a long time, then seeing that they would not come to him, he decided to go to them. quitting that sheltering hole, he sneaked along; crouching low and holding the camera ready, he rapidly approached the family group. when the young ones saw this strange two-legged beast coming threateningly near them, they took alarm and ran whining to their mother. all her maternal wrath was aroused to see this smallish, two-legged, one-eyed creature, evidently chasing her cubs to harm them. a less combination than that would have made her take the war-path, and now she charged. she struck him but once; that was enough. his camera was wrecked, and for two weeks afterward he was in the hospital, nursing three broken ribs, as well as a body suffering from shock. there was another, an old grizzly that became a nuisance about the hotels, as he did not hesitate to walk into the kitchens and help himself to food. around the tents of campers he became a terror, as he soon realized that these folk carried food, and white canvas walls rising in the woods were merely invitations to a dinner ready and waiting. it is not recorded that he hurt any one in his numerous raids for food. but he stampeded horses and broke the camp equipments, as well as pillaged many larders. [illustration] one of my guides described a lively scene in which the bear, in spite of blazing brands, ran into the cook's quarters and secured a ham. the cook pursued with a stick of firewood. at each whack the bear let off a "whoof" but he did not drop the ham, and the party had to return to fort yellowstone for supplies. incidents of this kind multiplied, and finally buffalo jones, who was then the chief scout of the park, was permitted to punish the old sinner. mounted on his trained saddle-horse, swinging the lasso that has caught so many different kinds of beasts in so many different lands, the colonel gave chase. old grizzly dodged among the pines for a while, but the pony was good to follow; and when the culprit took to open ground, the unerring lasso whistled in the air and seized him by the hind paw. it takes a good rope to stand the jerk of half a ton of savage muscle, but the rope was strong; it stood, and there was some pretty manoeuvring, after which the lasso was found over a high branch, with a couple of horses on the "jones end" and they hauled the bear aloft where, through the medium of a stout club, he received a drubbing that has become famous in the moving-picture world. [illustration] another of these big, spoiled babies was sent to washington zoo, where he is now doing duty as an exhibition grizzly. the comedy element is far from lacking in this life; in fact, it is probably the dominant one. but the most grotesque story of all was told me by a friend who chummed with the bears about ten years ago. one day, it seems, a blackbear more tame than usual went right into the bar-room of one of the hotels. the timid floating population moved out; the bar-keep was cornered, but somewhat protected by his bar; and when the bear reared up with both paws on the mahogany, the wily "dispenser" pushed a glass of beer across, saying nervously, "is that what you are after?" the bear liked the smell of the offering, and, stooping down, lapped up the whole glassful, and what was spilt he carefully licked up afterward, to the unmeasured joy of the loafers who peeped in at doors and windows, and jeered at the bar-keep and his new customer. "say, bar-keep, who's to pay?" "don't you draw any color line?" "if i come in a fur coat, will you treat me?" "no! you got to scare him to drink free," etc., etc., were examples of their remarks. whatever that bear came for, she seemed satisfied with what she got, for she went off peaceably to the woods, and was seen later lying asleep under a tree. next day, however, she was back again. the scene in the bar-room was repeated with less intensity. [illustration] on the third and fourth days she came as before, but on the fifth day she seemed to want something else. prompted by a kindred feeling, one of the loafers suggested that "she wants another round." his guess was right, and having got it, that abandoned old bear began to reel, but she was quite good-natured about it, and at length lay down under a table, where her loud snores proclaimed to all that she was asleep--beastly drunk, and asleep--just like one of the lords of creation. from that time on she became a habitual frequenter of the bar-room. her potations were increased each month. there was a time when one glass of beer made her happy, but now it takes three or four, and sometimes even a little drop of something stronger. but whatever it is, it has the desired effect, and "swizzling jinnie" lurches over to the table, under which she sprawls at length, and tuning up her nasophone she sleeps aloud, and unpeacefully, demonstrating to all the world that after all a "bear is jest a kind o' a man in a fur coat." who can doubt it that reads this tale, for it is true; at least it was told me for the truth, by no less an authority than one of jennie's intimate associates at the bar-room. the grizzly and the can when one remembers the grizzly bear as the monarch of the mountains, the king of the plains, and the one of matchless might and unquestioned sway among the wild things of the west, it gives one a shock to think of him being conquered and cowed by a little tin can. yet he was, and this is how it came about. a grand old grizzly, that was among the summer retinue of a park hotel, was working with two claws to get out the very last morsel of some exceptionally delicious canned stuff. the can was extra strong, its ragged edges were turned in, and presently both toes of the bear were wedged firmly in the clutch of that impossible, horrid little tin trap. the monster shook his paw, and battered the enemy, but it was as sharp within as it was smooth without, and it gripped his paw with the fell clutch of a disease. his toes began to swell with all this effort and violence, till they filled the inner space completely. the trouble was made worse and the paw became painfully inflamed. all day long that old grizzly was heard clumping around with that dreadful little tin pot wedged on his foot. sometimes there was a loud succession of _clamp, clamp, clamp's_ which told that the enraged monarch with canned toes was venting his rage on some of the neighbouring blackbears. the next day and the next that shiny tin maintained its frightful grip on the grizzly, who, limping noisily around, was known and recognized as "can-foot." his comings and goings to and from the garbage heap, by day and by night, were plainly announced to all by the clamp, clamp, clamp of that maddening, galling tin. some weeks went by and still the implacable meat box held on. the officer in charge of the park came riding by one day; he heard the strange tale of trouble, and saw with his own eyes the limping grizzly, with his muzzled foot. at a wave of his hand two of the trusty scouts of the park patrol set out with their ponies and whistling lassoes on the strangest errand that they, or any of their kind, had ever known. in a few minutes those wonderful raw-hide ropes had seized him and the monarch of the mountains was a prisoner bound. strong shears were at hand. that vicious little can was ripped open. it was completely filled now with the swollen toes. the surgeon dressed the wounds, and the grizzly was set free. his first blind animal impulse was to attack his seeming tormenters, but they were wise and the ponies were bear-broken; they easily avoided the charge, and he hastened to the woods to recover, finally, both his health and his good temper, and continue about the park, the only full-grown grizzly bear, probably, that man ever captured to help in time of trouble, and then set loose again to live his life in peace. [illustration] [illustration: xlv. the bears at feeding time _photos by f. jay haynes_] [illustration: xlvi. (a) tom newcomb pointing out the bear's mark. _photo by e. t. seton_ (b) e. t. seton feeding a bear. _photo by c. b. harmon_] * * * * * appendix mammals of the yellowstone park * * * * * appendix mammals of the yellowstone park a list of the species found in the park in by ernest thompson seton _with assistance from the u. s. biological survey, and colonel l. m. brett, in charge of the park._ elk or wapiti (_cervus canadensis_) abundant. by actual official count, and estimate of stray bands, they number at least , , of which about , winter in the park. mule deer or rocky mt. blacktail (_odocoileus heminus_) common. the official census gives their number at , of which at least winter about fort yellowstone. whitetail deer (_odocoileus virginianus macrourus_) a few found about gardiner, on willow creek, on indian creek, at crevasse mt. and in cottonwood basin. the official census gives their number at . moose (_alces americanus_) formerly rare, now abundant in all the southerly third of the park. in they were estimated at . the official census gives their number at in . antelope or pronghorn (_antilocapra americana_) formerly abundant, now rare; found only in broad open places such as lamar valley, etc. their numbers have shrunk from many thousands in the ' 's to about , in , and in . mountain sheep or bighorn (_ovis canadensis_) formerly rare, now common about mt. evarts, mt. washburn and the western boundary. in there were about , perhaps only ; in they are reported numbering by actual count. american buffalo or bison (_bison bison_) steadily increasing. in there were about ; they now number by actual count. these are in two herds, of wild, and in the fenced corrals. richardson red-squirrel (_sciurus hudsonicus richardsoni_) abundant in all pine woods. northern chipmunk (_eutamias quadrivittatus luteiventris_) extremely abundant everywhere. least chipmunk (_eutamias minimus pictus_) common about mammoth hot springs. golden ground-squirrel (_citellus lateralis cinerascens_) common. picket-pin ground-squirrel (_citellus armatus_) abundant on all level prairies. prairie-dog (_cynomys ludovicianus_) gen. geo. s. anderson told me long ago that the prairie-dogs, so abundant on the lower yellowstone, were sometimes seen as far up as the park at gardiner. [illustration: xlvii. johnnie bear: his sins and his troubles _sketches by e. t. seton_] [illustration: xlviii. johnnie happy at last _photo by miss l. griscom_] yellow woodchuck, rock chuck or marmot (_marmota flaviventer_) abundant on all mountains. rocky mt. flying squirrel (_sciuropterus alpinus_) said to be found. i did not see one. beaver (_castor canadensis_) abundant and increasing. grasshopper mouse (_onychomys leucogaster_) i found a typical colony of this species on the yellowstone near yancey's but did not secure any. mountain deer-mouse (_peromyscus maniculatus artemisiae_) abundant everywhere. mountain rat, pack-rat or wood-rat (_neotoma cinerea_) said to be found, but i saw none. redbacked vole or field-mouse (_evotomys gapperi galei_) not taken yet in the park but found in all the surrounding country, therefore, probable. common field-mouse (_microtus pennsylvannicus modestus_) recorded by vernon bailey from lower geyser basin in the park. long-tailed vole (_microtus mordax_) vernon bailey records this from various surrounding localities, also from tower falls. doubtless it is generally distributed. this is the bobtailed, short-eared, dark gray mouse that is found making runs in the thick grass, especially in low places. big-footed vole (_microtus richardsoni macropus_) not yet taken in the park, but found in surrounding mountains, therefore probable. muskrat (_fiber zibethicus osoyoosensis_) common and of general distribution. mole-gopher or gray gopher (_thomomys talpoides_) a gopher of some kind abounds in the park. i assume it to be this. rocky mt. jumping mouse (_zapus princeps_) found in all the surrounding country, and recorded by e. a. preble from near yellowstone lake. yellow-haired porcupine (_erethizon epixanthus_) somewhat common in the pine woods on the continental divide. coney, rock rabbit, pika, or calling hare (_ochotona princeps_) abundant in all slide rock. rocky mt. cottontail (_sylvilagus nuttalli grangeri_) plentiful about gardiner and in some of the lower regions of the park, but not general. snowshoe rabbit (_lepus bairdi_) common and generally distributed. white-tailed jack rabbit (_lepus campestris_) common and generally distributed. mountain lion, cougar or puma (_felis hippolestes_) in it was considered extremely rare; probably not more than a dozen were then living in the park; since then it seems to have increased greatly and is now somewhat common in the mountainous parts. their numbers are given officially at in . canada lynx (_lynx canadensis_) common. bobcat or mountain-cat (_lynx uinta_) somewhat common. the big-tailed fox (_vulpes macrourus_) common. timber wolf (_canis occidentalis_) very rare, noticed only at hell roaring creek and slough creek. on august , , lieut. m. murray saw two in a meadow two miles southeast of snow shoe cabin on slough creek. they were plainly seen in broad daylight; and were nearly white. coyote (_canis latrans_) abundant everywhere, although officially reckoned they numbered only in . otter (_lutra canadensis_) common, particularly around the lake and the canyon. mink (_lutreola vison energumenos_) common. long-tailed weasel (_putorius longicauda_) said to be found. i did not see any. short-tailed weasel (_putorius cicognanii_) included because its range includes the park. marten (_mustela caurina_) found throughout the park, but not common. pekan or fisher (_mustela pennanti_) rare. gen. g. s. anderson tells me that in the early ' 's he took the skin of one from a poacher. wolverine (_gulo luscus_) of general distribution, but not common. northern skunk (_mephitis hudsonica_) rare, but found at mammoth hot springs and yancey's. badger (_taxidea taxus_) common. raccoon or coon (_procyon lotor_) said to occur. fifteen years ago at gardiner i was shown one that was said to have been taken in the park, but it was not certain. grizzly bear (_ursus horribilis_) common. the official count gives in . blackbear (_ursus americanus_) abundant and increasing. the official count gives in . common or masked shrew (_sorex personatus_) never taken, but included because its known range surrounds the park. marsh shrew or water shrew (_neosorex palustris_) probably occurs there, since its known range surrounds the park. long-eared bat (_corynorhinus macrotis pallescens_) a few were seen in the devil's kitchen, mammoth hot springs, and one sent to the biological survey for identification. this is the only bat taken, but the following are likely to be found, as their known range surrounds the park: little brown bat (_myotis lucifugus_) silver-haired bat (_lasionycteris noctivagans_) big brown bat (_eptesicus fuscus_) great hoary bat (_nycteris cinereus_) * * * * * transcriber's notes bold text is indicated by equal symbols: =text=. italic text is indicated by underscores: _text_. moved some illustrations from their original positions to avoid breaking up paragraphs of text. the list of half-tone plates displays the original page numbers. some apparently missing plates may have been edited out of the original version. corrected minor punctuation errors. page : clomb could be a typo for climb: (rush as they might and did, and bounded and clomb,) page : changed pased to passed: (men had passed near) page : changed bitteroot to bitterroot: (this took place in the bitterroot mountains) page : added missing exclamation point: (i heard the dreaded cry, "yellow-jackets!") page : changed conspicious to conspicuous: (might otherwise make it too conspicuous.) page : changed inclinded to inclined: (travellers will be inclined to bunch them) page : changed go to to: (we went quietly to the edge of the timber) page : plate xl was not included in the original book. (the picture, such as it is, i give as plate xl, c.) page : manoeuvring had an oe ligature in the original book: (it stood, and there was some pretty manoeuvring,) the doliver romance and other pieces tales and sketches by nathaniel hawthorne a book of autographs we have before us a volume of autograph letters, chiefly of soldiers and statesmen of the revolution, and addressed to a good and brave man, general palmer, who himself drew his sword in the cause. they are profitable reading in a quiet afternoon, and in a mood withdrawn from too intimate relation with the present time; so that we can glide backward some three quarters of a century, and surround ourselves with the ominous sublimity of circumstances that then frowned upon the writers. to give them their full effect, we should imagine that these letters have this moment been brought to town by the splashed and way-worn postrider, or perhaps by an orderly dragoon, who has ridden in a perilous hurry to deliver his despatches. they are magic scrolls, if read in the right spirit. the roll of the drum and the fanfare of the trumpet is latent in some of them; and in others, an echo of the oratory that resounded in the old halls of the continental congress, at philadelphia; or the words may come to us as with the living utterance of one of those illustrious men, speaking face to face, in friendly communion. strange, that the mere identity of paper and ink should be so powerful. the same thoughts might look cold and ineffectual, in a printed book. human nature craves a certain materialism and clings pertinaciously to what is tangible, as if that were of more importance than the spirit accidentally involved in it. and, in truth, the original manuscript has always something which print itself must inevitably lose. an erasure, even a blot, a casual irregularity of hand, and all such little imperfections of mechanical execution, bring us close to the writer, and perhaps convey some of those subtle intimations for which language has no shape. there are several letters from john adams, written in a small, hasty, ungraceful hand, but earnest, and with no unnecessary flourish. the earliest is dated at philadelphia, september , , about twenty days after the first opening of the continental congress. we look at this old yellow document, scribbled on half a sheet of foolscap, and ask of it many questions for which words have no response. we would fain know what were their mutual impressions, when all those venerable faces, that have since been traced on steel, or chiselled out, of marble, and thus made familiar to posterity, first met one another's gaze! did one spirit harmonize them, in spite of the dissimilitude of manners between the north and the south, which were now for the first time brought into political relations? could the virginian descendant of the cavaliers, and the new-englander with his hereditary puritanism,--the aristocratic southern planter, and the self-made man from massachusetts or connecticut,--at once feel that they were countrymen and brothers? what did john adams think of jefferson?--and samuel adams of patrick henry? did not north and south combine in their deference for the sage franklin, so long the defender of the colonies in england, and whose scientific renown was already world-wide? and was there yet any whispered prophecy, any vague conjecture, circulating among the delegates, as to the destiny which might be in reserve for one stately man, who sat, for the most part, silent among them?--what station he was to assume in the world's history?--and how many statues would repeat his form and countenance, and successively crumble beneath his immortality? the letter before us does not answer these inquiries. its main feature is the strong expression of the uncertainty and awe that pervaded even the firm hearts of the old congress, while anticipating the struggle which was to ensue. "the commencement of hostilities," it says, "is exceedingly dreaded here. it is thought that an attack upon the troops, even should it prove successful, would certainly involve the whole continent in a war. it is generally thought that the ministry would rejoice at a rupture in boston, because it would furnish an excuse to the people at home" [this was the last time, we suspect, that john adams spoke of england thus affectionately], "and unite them in an opinion of the necessity of pushing hostilities against us." his next letter bears on the superscription, "favored by general washington." the date is june , , three days after the battle of bunker hill, the news of which could not yet have arrived at philadelphia. but the war, so much dreaded, had begun, on the quiet banks of concord river; an army of twenty thousand men was beleaguering boston; and here was washington journeying northward to take the command. it seems to place us in a nearer relation with the hero, to find him performing the little courtesy of leaving a letter between friend and friend, and to hold in our hands the very document intrusted to such a messenger. john adams says simply, "we send you generals washington and lee for your comfort"; but adds nothing in regard to the character of the commander-in-chief. this letter displays much of the writer's ardent temperament; if he had been anywhere but in the hall of congress, it would have been in the intrenchment before boston. "i hope," he writes, "a good account will be given of gage, haldiman, burgoyne, clinton, and howe, before winter. such a wretch as howe, with a statue in honor of his family in westminster abbey, erected by the massachusetts, to come over with the design to cut the throats of the massachusetts people, is too much. i most sincerely, coolly, and devoutly wish that a lucky ball or bayonet may make a signal example of him, in warning to all such unprincipled, unsentimental miscreants for the future!" he goes on in a strain that smacks somewhat of aristocratic feeling: "our camp will be an illustrious school of military virtue, and will be resorted to and frequented, as such, by gentlemen in great numbers from the other colonies." the term "gentleman" has seldom been used in this sense subsequently to the revolution. another letter introduces us to two of these gentlemen, messrs. acquilla hall and josias carvill, volunteers, who are recommended as "of the first families in maryland, and possessing independent fortunes." after the british had been driven out of boston, adams cries out, "fortify, fortify; and never let them get in again!" it is agreeable enough to perceive the filial affection with which john adams, and the other delegates from the north, regard new england, and especially the good old capital of the puritans. their love of country was hardly yet so diluted as to extend over the whole thirteen colonies, which were rather looked upon as allies than as composing one nation. in truth, the patriotism of a citizen of the united states is a sentiment by itself of a peculiar nature, and requiring a lifetime, or at least the custom of many years, to naturalize it among the other possessions of the heart. the collection is enriched by a letter dated "cambridge, august , " from washington himself. he wrote it in that house,--now so venerable with his memory,--in that very room, where his bust now stands upon a poet's table; from this sheet of paper passed the hand that held the leading-staff! nothing can be more perfectly in keeping with all other manifestations of washington than the whole visible aspect and embodiment of this letter. the manuscript is as clear as daylight; the punctuation exact, to a comma. there is a calm accuracy throughout, which seems the production of a species of intelligence that cannot err, and which, if we may so speak, would affect us with a more human warmth, if we could conceive it capable of some slight human error. the chirography is characterized by a plain and easy grace, which, in the signature, is somewhat elaborated, and becomes a type of the personal manner of a gentleman of the old school, but without detriment to the truth and clearness that distinguish the rest of the manuscript. the lines are as straight and equidistant as if ruled; and from beginning to end, there is no physical symptom--as how should there be?--of a varying mood, of jets of emotion, or any of those fluctuating feelings that pass from the hearts into the fingers of common men. the paper itself (like most of those revolutionary letters, which are written on fabrics fit to endure the burden of ponderous and earnest thought) is stout, and of excellent quality, and bears the water-mark of britannia, surmounted by the crown. the subject of the letter is a statement of reasons for not taking possession of point alderton; a position commanding the entrance of boston harbor. after explaining the difficulties of the case, arising from his want of men and munitions for the adequate defence of the lines which he already occupies, washington proceeds: "to you, sir, who are a well-wisher to the cause, and can reason upon the effects of such conduct, i may open myself with freedom, because no improper disclosures will be made of our situation. but i cannot expose my weakness to the enemy (though i believe they are pretty well informed of everything that passes), by telling this and that man, who are daily pointing out this, and that, and t' other place, of all the motives that govern my actions; notwithstanding i know what will be the consequence of not doing it,--namely, that i shall be accused of inattention to the public service, and perhaps of want of spirit to prosecute it. but this shall have no effect upon my conduct. i will steadily (as far as my judgment will assist me) pursue such measures as i think conducive to the interest of the cause, and rest satisfied under any obloquy that shall be thrown, conscious of having discharged my duty to the best of my abilities." the above passage, like every other passage that could be quoted from his pen, is characteristic of washington, and entirely in keeping with the calm elevation of his soul. yet how imperfect a glimpse do we obtain of him, through the medium of this, or any of his letters! we imagine him writing calmly, with a hand that never falters; his majestic face neither darkens nor gleams with any momentary ebullition of feeling, or irregularity of thought; and thus flows forth an expression precisely to the extent of his purpose, no more, no less. thus much we may conceive. but still we have not grasped the man; we have caught no glimpse of his interior; we have not detected his personality. it is the same with all the recorded traits of his daily life. the collection of them, by different observers, seems sufficiently abundant, and strictly harmonizes with itself, yet never brings us into intimate relationship with the hero, nor makes us feel the warmth and the human throb of his heart. what can be the reason? is it, that his great nature was adapted to stand in relation to his country, as man stands towards man, but could not individualize itself in brotherhood to an individual? there are two from franklin, the earliest dated, "london, august , ," and addressed to "mrs. franklin, at philadelphia." he was then in england, as agent for the colonies in their resistance to the oppressive policy of mr. grenville's administration. the letter, however, makes no reference to political or other business. it contains only ten or twelve lines, beginning, "my dear child," and conveying an impression of long and venerable matrimony which has lost all its romance, but retained a familiar and quiet tenderness. he speaks of making a little excursion into the country for his health; mentions a larger letter, despatched by another vessel; alludes with homely affability to "mrs. stevenson," "sally," and "our dear polly"; desires to be remembered to "all inquiring friends"; and signs himself, "your ever loving husband." in this conjugal epistle, brief and unimportant as it is, there are the elements that summon up the past, and enable us to create anew the man, his connections and circumstances. we can see the sage in his london lodgings,--with his wig cast aside, and replaced by a velvet cap,--penning this very letter; and then can step across the atlantic, and behold its reception by the elderly, but still comely madam franklin, who breaks the seal and begins to read, first remembering to put on her spectacles. the seal, by the way, is a pompous one of armorial bearings, rather symbolical of the dignity of the colonial agent, and postmaster general of america, than of the humble origin of the newburyport printer. the writing is in the free, quick style of a man with great practice of the pen, and is particularly agreeable to the reader. another letter from the same famous hand is addressed to general palmer, and dated, "passy, october , ." by an indorsement on the outside it appears to have been transmitted to the united states through the medium of lafayette. franklin was now the ambassador of his country at the court of versailles, enjoying an immense celebrity, caressed by the french ladies, and idolized alike by the fashionable and the learned, who saw something sublime and philosophic even in his blue yarn stockings. still, as before, he writes with the homeliness and simplicity that cause a human face to look forth from the old, yellow sheet of paper, and in words that make our ears re-echo, as with the sound of his long-extinct utterance. yet this brief epistle, like the former, has so little of tangible matter that we are ashamed to copy it. next, we come to the fragment of a letter by samuel adams; an autograph more utterly devoid of ornament or flourish than any other in the collection. it would not have been characteristic, had his pen traced so much as a hair-line in tribute to grace, beauty, or the elaborateness of manner; for this earnest-hearted man had been produced out of the past elements of his native land, a real puritan, with the religion of his forefathers, and likewise with their principles of government, taking the aspect of revolutionary politics. at heart, samuel adams was never so much a citizen of the united states, as he was a new-englander, and a son of the old bay province. the following passage has much of the man in it: "i heartily congratulate you," he writes from philadelphia, after the british have left boston, "upon the sudden and important change in our affairs, in the removal of the barbarians from the capital. we owe our grateful acknowledgments to him who is, as he is frequently styled in sacred writ, 'the lord of hosts.' we have not yet been informed with certainty what course the enemy have steered. i hope we shall be on our guard against future attempts. will not care be taken to fortify the harbor, and thereby prevent the entrance of ships-of-war hereafter?" from hancock, we have only the envelope of a document "on public service," directed to "the hon. the assembly, or council of safety of new hampshire," and with the autograph affixed, that, stands out so prominently in the declaration of independence. as seen in the engraving of that instrument, the signature looks precisely what we should expect and desire in the handwriting of a princely merchant, whose penmanship had been practised in the ledger which he is represented as holding, in copley's brilliant picture, but to whom his native ability, and the circumstances and customs of his country, had given a place among its rulers. but, on the coarse and dingy paper before us, the effect is very much inferior; the direction, all except the signature, is a scrawl, large and heavy, but not forcible; and even the name itself, while almost identical in its strokes with that of the declaration, has a strangely different and more vulgar aspect. perhaps it is all right, and typical of the truth. if we may trust tradition, and unpublished letters, and a few witnesses in print, there was quite as much difference between the actual man, and his historical aspect, as between the manuscript signature and the engraved one. one of his associates, both in political life and permanent renown, is said to have characterized him as a "man without a head or heart." we, of an after generation, should hardly be entitled, on whatever evidence, to assume such ungracious liberty with a name that has occupied a lofty position until it, has grown almost sacred, and which is associated with memories more sacred than itself, and has thus become a valuable reality to our countrymen, by the aged reverence that clusters round about it. nevertheless, it may be no impiety to regard hancock not precisely as a real personage, but as a majestic figure, useful and necessary in its way, but producing its effect far more by an ornamental outside than by any intrinsic force or virtue. the page of all history would be half unpeopled if all such characters were banished from it. from general warren we have a letter dated january , , only a few months before he attested the sincerity of his patriotism, in his own blood, on bunker hill. his handwriting has many ungraceful flourishes. all the small d's spout upward in parabolic curves, and descend at a considerable distance. his pen seems to have had nothing but hair-lines in it; and the whole letter, though perfectly legible, has a look of thin and unpleasant irregularity. the subject is a plan for securing to the colonial party the services of colonel gridley the engineer, by an appeal to his private interests. though writing to general palmer, an intimate friend, warren signs himself, most ceremoniously, "your obedient servant." indeed, these stately formulas in winding up a letter were scarcely laid aside, whatever might be the familiarity of intercourse: husband and wife were occasionally, on paper at least, the "obedient servants" of one another; and not improbably, among well-bred people, there was a corresponding ceremonial of bows and courtesies, even in the deepest interior of domestic life. with all the reality that filled men's hearts, and which has stamped its impress on so many of these letters, it was a far more formal age than the present. it may be remarked, that warren was almost the only man eminently distinguished in the intellectual phase of the revolution, previous to the breaking out of the war, who actually uplifted his arm to do battle. the legislative patriots were a distinct class from the patriots of the camp, and never laid aside the gown for the sword. it was very different in the great civil war of england, where the leading minds of the age, when argument had done its office, or left it undone, put on their steel breastplates and appeared as leaders in the field. educated young men, members of the old colonial families,--gentlemen, as john adams terms them,--seem not to have sought employment in the revolutionary army, in such numbers as night have been expected. respectable as the officers generally were, and great as were the abilities sometimes elicited, the intellect and cultivation of the country was inadequately represented in them, as a body. turning another page, we find the frank of a letter from henry laurens, president of congress,--him whose destiny it was, like so many noblemen of old, to pass beneath the traitor's gate of the tower of london,--him whose chivalrous son sacrificed as brilliant a future as any young american could have looked forward to, in an obscure skirmish. likewise, we have the address of a letter to messrs. leroy and bayard, in the handwriting of jefferson; too slender a material to serve as a talisman for summoning up the writer; a most unsatisfactory fragment, affecting us like a glimpse of the retreating form of the sage of monticello, turning the distant corner of a street. there is a scrap from robert morris, the financier; a letter or two from judge jay; and one from general lincoln, written, apparently, on the gallop, but without any of those characteristic sparks that sometimes fly out in a hurry, when all the leisure in the world would fail to elicit them. lincoln was the type of a new england soldier; a man of fair abilities, not especially of a warlike cast, without much chivalry, but faithful and bold, and carrying a kind of decency and restraint into the wild and ruthless business of arms. from good old baron steuben, we find, not a manuscript essay on the method of arranging a battle, but a commercial draft, in a small, neat hand, as plain as print, elegant without flourish, except a very complicated one on the signature. on the whole, the specimen is sufficiently characteristic, as well of the baron's soldier-like and german simplicity, as of the polish of the great frederick's aide-de-camp, a man of courts and of the world. how singular and picturesque an effect is produced, in the array of our revolutionary army, by the intermingling of these titled personages from the continent of europe, with feudal associations clinging about them,--steuben, de kalb, pulaski, lafayette!--the german veteran, who had written from one famous battle-field to another for thirty years; and the young french noble, who had come hither, though yet unconscious of his high office, to light the torch that should set fire to the antiquated trumpery of his native institutions. among these autographs, there is one from lafayette, written long after our revolution, but while that of his own country was in full progress. the note is merely as follows: "enclosed you will find, my dear sir, two tickets for the sittings of this day. one part of the debate will be on the honors of the pantheon, agreeably to what has been decreed by the constitutional assembly." it is a pleasant and comfortable thought, that we have no such classic folly as is here indicated, to lay to the charge of our revolutionary fathers. both in their acts, and in the drapery of those acts, they were true to their several and simple selves, and thus left nothing behind them for a fastidious taste to sneer at. but it must be considered that our revolution did not, like that of france, go so deep as to disturb the common-sense of the country. general schuyler writes a letter, under date of february , , relating not to military affairs, from which the prejudices of his countrymen had almost disconnected him, but to the salt springs of onondaga. the expression is peculiarly direct, and the hand that of a man of business, free and flowing. the uncertainty, the vague, hearsay evidence respecting these springs, then gushing into dim daylight beneath the shadow of a remote wilderness, is such as might now be quoted in reference to the quality of the water that supplies the fountains of the nile. the following sentence shows us an indian woman and her son, practising their simple process in the manufacture of salt, at a fire of wind-strewn boughs, the flame of which gleams duskily through the arches of the forest: "from a variety of information, i find the smallest quantity made by a squaw, with the assistance of one boy, with a kettle of about ten gallons' capacity, is half a bushel per day; the greatest with the same kettle, about two bushels." it is particularly interesting to find out anything as to the embryo, yet stationary arts of life among the red people, their manufactures, their agriculture, their domestic labors. it is partly the lack of this knowledge--the possession of which would establish a ground of sympathy on the part of civilized men--that makes the indian race so shadow-like and unreal to our conception. we could not select a greater contrast to the upright and unselfish patriot whom we have just spoken of, than the traitor arnold, from whom there is a brief note, dated, "crown point, january , ," addressed to an officer under his command. the three lines of which it consists can prove bad spelling, erroneous grammar, and misplaced and superfluous punctuation; but, with all this complication of iniquity, the ruffian general contrives to express his meaning as briefly and clearly as if the rules of correct composition had been ever so scrupulously observed. this autograph, impressed with the foulest name in our history, has somewhat of the interest that would attach to a document on which a fiend-devoted wretch had signed away his salvation. but there was not substance enough in the man--a mere cross between the bull-dog and the fox--to justify much feeling of any sort about him personally. the interest, such as it is, attaches but little to the man, and far more to the circumstances amid which he acted, rendering the villainy almost sublime, which, exercised in petty affairs, would only have been vulgar. we turn another leaf, and find a memorial of hamilton. it is but a letter of introduction, addressed to governor jay in favor of mr. davies, of kentucky; but it gives an impression of high breeding and courtesy, as little to be mistaken as if we could see the writer's manner and hear his cultivated accents, while personally making one gentleman known to another. there is likewise a rare vigor of expression and pregnancy of meaning, such as only a man of habitual energy of thought could have conveyed into so commonplace a thing as an introductory letter. this autograph is a graceful one, with an easy and picturesque flourish beneath the signature, symbolical of a courteous bow at the conclusion of the social ceremony so admirably performed. hamilton might well be the leader and idol of the federalists; for he was pre-eminent in all the high qualities that characterized the great men of that party, and which should make even a democrat feel proud that his country had produced such a noble old band of aristocrats; and he shared all the distrust of the people, which so inevitably and so righteously brought about their ruin. with his autograph we associate that of another federalist, his friend in life; a man far narrower than hamilton, but endowed with a native vigor, that caused many partisans to grapple to him for support; upright, sternly inflexible, and of a simplicity of manner that might have befitted the sturdiest republican among us. in our boyhood we used to see a thin, severe figure of an ancient mail, timeworn, but apparently indestructible, moving with a step of vigorous decay along the street, and knew him as "old tim pickering." side by side, too, with the autograph of hamilton, we would place one from the hand that shed his blood. it is a few lines of aaron burr, written in ; when all his ambitious schemes, whatever they once were, had been so long shattered that even the fragments had crumbled away, leaving him to exert his withered energies on petty law cases, to one of which the present note refers. the hand is a little tremulous with age, yet small and fastidiously elegant, as became a man who was in the habit of writing billet-doux on scented note-paper, as well as documents of war and state. this is to us a deeply interesting autograph. remembering what has been said of the power of burr's personal influence, his art to tempt men, his might to subdue them, and the fascination that enabled him, though cold at heart, to win the love of woman, we gaze at this production of his pen as into his own inscrutable eyes, seeking for the mystery of his nature. how singular that a character imperfect, ruined, blasted, as this man's was, excites a stronger interest than if it had reached the highest earthly perfection of which its original elements would admit! it is by the diabolical part of burr's character that he produces his effect on the imagination. had he been a better man, we doubt, after all, whether the present age would not already have suffered him to wax dusty, and fade out of sight, among the mere respectable mediocrities of his own epoch. but, certainly, he was a strange, wild offshoot to have sprung from the united stock of those two singular christians, president burr of princeton college, and jonathan edwards! omitting many, we have come almost to the end of these memorials of historical men. we observe one other autograph of a distinguished soldier of the revolution, henry knox, but written in , when he was secretary of war. in its physical aspect, it is well worthy to be a soldier's letter. the hand is large, round, and legible at a glance; the lines far apart, and accurately equidistant; and the whole affair looks not unlike a company of regular troops in marching order. the signature has a point-like firmness and simplicity. it is a curious observation, sustained by these autographs, though we know not how generally correct, that southern gentlemen are more addicted to a flourish of the pen beneath their names, than those of the north. and now we come to the men of a later generation, whose active life reaches almost within the verge of present affairs; people of dignity, no doubt, but whose characters have not acquired, either from time or circumstances, the interest that can make their autographs valuable to any but the collector. those whom we have hitherto noticed were the men of an heroic age. they are departed, and now so utterly departed, as not even to touch upon the passing generation through the medium of persons still in life, who can claim to have known them familiarly. their letters, therefore, come to us like material things out of the hands of mighty shadows, long historical, and traditionary, and fit companions for the sages and warriors of a thousand years ago. in spite of the proverb, it is not in a single day, or in a very few years, that a man can be reckoned "as dead as julius caesar." we feel little interest in scraps from the pens of old gentlemen, ambassadors, governors, senators, heads of departments, even presidents though they were, who lived lives of praiseworthy respectability, and whose powdered heads and black knee-breeches have but just vanished out of the drawing-room. still less do we value the blotted paper of those whose reputations are dusty, not with oblivious time, but with present political turmoil and newspaper vogue. really great men, however, seem, as to their effect on the imagination, to take their place amongst past worthies, even while walking in the very sunshine that illuminates the autumnal day in which we write. we look, not without curiosity, at the small, neat hand of henry clay, who, as he remarks with his habitual deference to the wishes of the fair, responds to a young lady's request for his seal; and we dwell longer over the torn-off conclusion of a note from mr. calhoun, whose words are strangely dashed off without letters, and whose name, were it less illustrious, would be unrecognizable in his own autograph. but of all hands that can still grasp a pen, we know not the one, belonging to a soldier or a statesman, which could interest us more than the hand that wrote the following: "sir, your note of the th inst. is received. i hasten to answer that there was no man 'in the station of colonel, by the name of j. t. smith,' under my command, at the battle of new orleans; and am, respectfully, "yours, andrew jackson. "oct. th, ." the old general, we suspect, has been insnared by a pardonable little stratagem on the part of the autograph collector. the battle of new orleans would hardly have been won, without better aid than this problematical colonel j. t. smith. intermixed with and appended to these historical autographs, there are a few literary ones. timothy dwight--the "old timotheus" who sang the conquest of cancan, instead of choosing a more popular subject, in the british conquest of canada--is of eldest date. colonel trumbull, whose hand, at various epochs of his life, was familiar with sword, pen, and pencil, contributes two letters, which lack the picturesqueness of execution that should distinguish the chirography of an artist. the value of trumbull's pictures is of the same nature with that of daguerreotypes, depending not upon the ideal but the actual. the beautiful signature of washington irving appears as the indorsement of a draft, dated in , when, if we may take this document as evidence, his individuality seems to have been merged into the firm of "p. e. irving & co." never was anything less mercantile than this autograph, though as legible as the writing of a bank-clerk. without apparently aiming at artistic beauty, it has all the sketch book in it. we find the signature and seal of pierpont, the latter stamped with the poet's almost living countenance. what a pleasant device for a seal is one's own face, which he may thus multiply at pleasure, and send letters to his friends,--the head without, and the heart within! there are a few lines in the school-girl hand of margaret davidson, at nine years old; and a scrap of a letter from washington allston, a gentle and delicate autograph, in which we catch a glimpse of thanks to his correspondent for the loan of a volume of poetry. nothing remains, save a letter from noah webster, whose early toils were manifested in a spelling-book, and those of his later age in a ponderous dictionary. under date of february , , he writes in a sturdy, awkward hand, very fit for a lexicographer, an epistle of old man's reminiscences, from which we extract the following anecdote of washington, presenting the patriot in a festive light:-- "when i was travelling to the south, in the year , i called on general washington at mount vernon. at dinner, the last course of dishes was a species of pancakes, which were handed round to each guest, accompanied with a bowl of sugar and another of molasses for seasoning them, that each guest might suit himself. when the dish came to me, i pushed by me the bowl of molasses, observing to the gentlemen present, that i had enough of that in my own country. the general burst out with a loud laugh, a thing very unusual with him. 'ah,' said he, 'there is nothing in that story about your eating molasses in new england.' there was a gentleman from maryland at the table; and the general immediately told a story, stating that, during the revolution, a hogshead of molasses was stove in, in west chester, by the oversetting of a wagon; and a body of maryland troops being near, the soldiers ran hastily, and saved all they could by filling their hats or caps with molasses." there are said to be temperaments endowed with sympathies so exquisite, that, by merely handling an autograph, they can detect the writer's character with unerring accuracy, and read his inmost heart as easily as a less-gifted eye would peruse the written page. our faith in this power, be it a spiritual one, or only a refinement of the physical nature, is not unlimited, in spite of evidence. god has imparted to the human soul a marvellous strength in guarding its secrets, and he keeps at least the deepest and most inward record for his own perusal. but if there be such sympathies as we have alluded to, in how many instances would history be put to the blush by a volume of autograph letters, like this which we now close! [illustration: king penguins.] eccentricities of the animal creation. by john timbs. author of "things not generally known." with eight engravings. seeley, jackson, and halliday, , fleet-street. london. mdccclxix. _the right of translation is reserved._ contents. introductory.--curiosities of zoology. natural history in scripture, and egyptian records, .--origin of zoological gardens, .--the greeks and romans, .--montezuma's zoological gardens, .--menagerie in the tower of london, .--menagerie in st. james's park, .--john evelyn's notes, .--ornithological society, .--continental gardens, .--zoological society of london instituted, ; its most remarkable animals, .--cost of wild animals, .--sale of animals, .--surrey zoological gardens, .--wild-beast shows, . the rhinoceros in england. ancient history, , .--one-horned and two-horned, , .--tractability, .--bruce and sparmann, .--african rhinoceros in , .--description of, .--burchell's rhinoceros, .--horn of the rhinoceros, , . stories of mermaids. sirens of the ancients, .--classic pictures of mermaids, .--leyden's ballad, .--ancient evidence, , , .--mermaid in the west indies, .--mermaids, seals, and dugongs, .--mermaids and manatee, .--test for a mermaid, .--mermaid of , .--japanese mermaids, .--recent evidence, , . is the unicorn fabulous? ctesias and wild asses, .--aristotle, herodotus, and pliny, .--modern unicorns, .--ancient evidence, .--hunting the unicorn, .--antelopes, , .--cuvier and the oryx, .--tibetan animal, .--klaproth's evidence, .--rev. john campbell's evidence, .--baikie on, .--factitious horns in museums, .--unicorn in the royal arms, .--catching the unicorn, .--belief in unicorns, . the mole at home. economy of the mole, .--its structure, .--fairy rings; feeling of the mole, .--le court's experiments, , .--hunting-grounds, .--loves of the moles, , .--persecution of moles.--shrew mole, .--hogg, the ettrick shepherd, on moles, . the great ant-bear. the ant-bear of , , .--mr. wallace, on the amazon, describes the ant-bear, .--food of the ant-bear, .--his resorts, .--habits in captivity, by professor owen, - .--fossil ant-bear, , .--tamandua ant-bear, --von sack's ant-bear, .--porcupine ant-eater, .--ant-bears in the zoological gardens, . curiosities of bats. virgil's harpies, .--pliny on the bat, .--rere-mouse and flitter-mouse, .--bats, not birds but quadrupeds, .--sir charles bell on the wing of the bat, .--vampire bat from sumatra, .--lord byron and vampire, .--levant superstition, .--bat described by heber, waterton, and steadman, .--lesson on bats, .--bat fowling or folding, , .--sowerby's long-eared bat, , .--wing of the bat, .--_nycteris_ bat, .--_kalong_ bat of java, .--bats, various, , . the hedgehog. hedgehog described, .--habits, .--eating snakes, .--poisons, , .--battle with a viper, .--economy of the hedgehog, , . the hippopotamus in england. living hippopotamus brought to england in , .--capture and conveyance, .--professor owen's account, - .--described by naturalists and travellers, - .--utility to man, - .--ancient history, .--in scripture, .--alleged disappearance, .--fossil, . lion-talk. character, .--reputed generosity, .--burchell's account, .--lion-tree in the mantatee country, .--lion-hunting, .--disappearance of lions, , .--human prey, .--maneless lions of guzerat, .--a lion family in bengal, , .--prickle on the lion's tail, - .--nineveh lions, .--lions in the tower of london, , .--feats with lions, .--lion-hunting in algeria, by jules gerard, .--the prudhoe lions, . bird-life. rate at which birds fly, , .--air in the bones of birds, .--flight of the humming-bird, .--colour of birds, .--song of birds, .--beauty in animals, .--insectivorous birds, .--sea-fowl slaughter, .--hooded crow in zetland, .--brain of birds, .--danger-signals, .--addison's love of nature, , . birds' eggs and nests. colours of eggs, .--bird's-nesting, .--mr. wolley, the ornithologist, , .--european birds of prey, .--large eggs, , , .--baya's nest, .--oriole and tailor-bird, , .--australian bower-bird, .--cape swallows, .--"bird confinement," by dr. livingstone. the epicure's ortolan. origin of the ortolan, ; described, , ; fattening process, , .--prodigal epicurism, , . talk about toucans. toucan family, .--gould's grand monograph, .--toucans described, - ; food, ; habits, .--gould's toucanet, . eccentricities of penguins. penguins on dassent island, .--patagonian penguins, .--falkland islands, .--king penguins, , .--darwin's account, .--webster's account, .--swainson's account, . pelicans and cormorants. pelicans described by various naturalists, , .--the pelican island, .--popular error, - .--cormorants, and fishing with cormorants, - . talking birds, instincts, etc. sounds by various birds, .--umbrella bird, .--bittern, .--butcher-bird and parrots, .--wild swan, laughing goose, cuckoo, and nightingale, .--talking canaries, .--neighing snipe, .--trochilos and crocodiles, .--instinct. intelligence, and reason in birds, - .--songs of birds and seasons of the day, . owls. characteristics of the owl, .--owl in poetry, .--bischacho or coquimbo, .--waterton on owls, , .--owls. varieties of, - . weather-wise animals. atmospheric changes, .--stormy petrel, .--wild geese and ducks, .--frogs and snails, .--the mole, .--list of animals, by forster, the meteorologist, .--weatherproof nests, .--"signs of rain," by darwin, .--shepherd of banbury, . fish-talk. how fishes swim, .--fish changing colour, .--"fish noise," .--hearing of fish, .--the carp at fontainebleau, , .--affection of fishes, .--cat-fish, anecdote of, .--great number of fishes, .--little fishes eaten by medusæ, .--migration of fishes, .--enormous grampus, .--bonita and flying-fish, .--jaculator fish of java, .--port royal, jamaica fish, .--the shark, .--california. fish of, .--wonderful fish, .--vast sun-fish, .--double fish, .--the square-browed malthe, .--gold fish, .--the miller's thumb, .--sea-fish observatory, .--herring question, .--aristotle's history of animals, - . fish in british colombia. salmon-swarming, .--candle-fish, .--octopus, the, .--sturgeon and sturgeon fishing, - . the tree-climbing crab. locomotion of fishes, .--climbing perch, .--crabs in the west indies, .--crabs, varieties of, - .--robber and cocoa-nut crab, - .--fish of the china seas, . musical lizards. lizard from formosa isle, .--its habits, - . chameleons and their changes. the chameleon described by aristotle and calmet, , .--change of colour, .--reproduction of, , .--tongue, .--lives in trees, .--theory of colours, .--the puzzle solved, .--mrs. belzoni's chameleons, .--lady cust's chameleons, .--chameleon's antipathy to black, . running toads. dr. husenbeth's toads at cossey, .--frog and toad concerts, . song of the cicada. greeks' love for the song, .--cicada in british colombia, .--tennyson and keats on the grasshopper, . stories about the barnacle goose. baptista porta's account, .--max müller on, .--gerarde's account, .--giraldus cambrensis, .--professor rolleston. drayton's _poly-olbion_, .--sir kenelm digby and sir j. emerson tennent, .--finding the barnacle, . leaves about bookworms. bookworms, their destructiveness, , .--how to destroy, .--the death-watch, .--lines by swift, . boring marine animals, and human engineers. life and labours of the pholas, .--family of the pholas, .--curious controversy, .--boring apparatus, .--several observers, , .--boring annelids, . list of illustrations. page king penguins frontispiece the two-horned african rhinoceros seal and mermaid the great ant-bear (zoological society's) fraser's eagle owl, from fernando po square-browed malthe and double fish the tree-climbing crab chameleons eccentricities of the animal creation. introductory.--curiosities of zoology. curious creatures of animal life have been objects of interest to mankind in all ages and countries; the universality of which may be traced to that feeling which "makes the whole world kin." it has been remarked with emphatic truth by a popular writer, that "we have in the bible and in the engraven and pictorial records the earliest evidence of the attention paid to natural history in general. the 'navy of tarshish' contributed to the wisdom of him who not only 'spake of the trees from the cedar of lebanon, even unto the hyssop that springeth out of the wall,' but 'also of beasts, and of fowls, and of creeping things, and of fishes,'[ ] to say nothing of numerous other passages showing the progress that zoological knowledge had already made. the egyptian records bear testimony to a familiarity not only with the forms of a multitude of wild animals, but with their habits and geographical distribution." the collections of living animals, now popularly known as zoological gardens, are of considerable antiquity. we read of such gardens in china as far back as , years; but they consisted chiefly of some favourite animals, such as stags, fish, and tortoises. the greeks, under pericles, introduced peacocks in large numbers from india. the romans had their elephants; and the first giraffe in rome, under cæsar, was as great an event in the history of zoological gardens at its time as the arrival in of the hippopotamus was in london. the first zoological garden of which we have any detailed account is that in the reign of the chinese emperor, wen wang, founded by him about a.d., and named by him "the park of intelligence;" it contained mammalia, birds, fish, and amphibia. the zoological gardens of former times served their masters occasionally as hunting-grounds. this was constantly the case in persia; and in germany, so late as , the emperor maximilian ii. kept such a park for different animals near his castle, neugebah, in which he frequently chased. alexander the great possessed his zoological gardens. we find from pliny that alexander had given orders to the keepers to send all the rare and curious animals which died in the gardens to aristotle. splendid must have been the zoological gardens which the spaniards found connected with the palace of montezuma. the letters of ferdinand cortez and other writings of the time, as well as more recently "the history of the indians," by antonio herrera, give most interesting and detailed accounts of the menagerie in montezuma's park. the buildings belonging to these gardens were all gorgeous, as became the grandeur of the indian prince; they were supported by pillars, each of which was hewn out of a single piece of some precious stone. cool, arched galleries led into the different parts of the garden--to the marine and fresh-water basins, containing innumerable water-fowl,--to the birds of prey, falcons and eagles, which latter especially were represented in the greatest variety,--to the crocodiles, alligators, and serpents, some of them belonging to the most venomous species. the halls of a large square building contained the dens of the lions, tigers, leopards, bears, wolves, and other wild animals. three hundred slaves were employed in the gardens tending the animals, upon which great care was bestowed, and scrupulous attention paid to their cleanliness. to this south american zoological garden of the sixteenth century no other of its time could be compared.[ ] more than six centuries ago, our plantagenet kings kept in the tower of london exotic animals for their recreation. the lion tower was built here by henry iii., who commenced assembling here a menagerie with three leopards sent to him by the emperor frederic ii., "in token of his regal shield of arms, wherein those leopards were pictured." here, in , the sheriffs built a house "for the king's elephant," brought from france, and the first seen in england. our early sovereigns had a mews in the tower as well as a menagerie:-- "merry margaret, as midsomer flowre, gentyll as faucon and hawke of the towre."--_skelton._ in the reign of charles i., a sort of royal menagerie took the place of the deer with which st. james's park was stocked in the days of henry viii, and queen elizabeth. charles ii. greatly enlarged and improved the park; and here he might be seen playing with his dogs and feeding his ducks. the bird-cage walk, on the south side of the park, had in charles's time the cages of an aviary disposed among the trees. near the east end of a canal was the decoy, where water-fowl were kept; and here was duck island, with its salaried governor. evelyn, in , went to "the physique garden in st. james's," where he first saw "orange trees and other fine trees." he enumerates in the menagerie, "an ornocratylus, or pelican; a fowle between a storke and a swan; a melancholy water-fowl, brought from astracan by the russian ambassador; a milk-white raven; two balearian cranes," one of which, had a wooden leg "made by a soulder:" there were also "deere of severall countries, white, spotted like leopards; antelopes, an elk, red deer, roebucks, staggs, guinea goates, arabian sheepe, &c." there were "withy-potts, or nests, for the wild fowle to lay their eggs in, a little above y^e surface of y^e water." " feb. . this night i walk'd into st. james his parke, where i saw many strange creatures, as divers sorts of outlandish deer, guiny sheep, a white raven, a great parrot, a storke.... here are very stately walkes set with lime trees on both sides, and a fine pallmall."[ ] upon the eastern island is the swiss cottage of the ornithological society, built in with a grant of l. from the lords of the treasury: it contains a council-room, keepers' apartments, steam-hatching apparatus; contiguous are feeding-places and decoys; and the aquatic fowl breed on the island, making their own nests among the shrubs and grasses. the majority of zoological gardens now in existence have been founded in this century, with the exception of the jardin des plantes, which, although founded in , did not receive its first living animals until the year - . hitherto, it had been a garden of plants exclusively. we shall not be expected to enumerate the great continental gardens, of which that at berlin, half an hour's drive beyond the brandenburg gates, contains the royal menagerie; it is open upon the payment of an admission fee, and generally resembles our garden at the regent's park. berlin has also its zoological collection in its museum of natural history. this collection is one of the richest and most extensive in europe, especially in the department of ornithology: it includes the birds collected by pallas and wildenow, and the fishes of bloch. the best specimens are those from mexico, the red sea, and the cape. the whole is exceedingly well arranged, and _named_ for the convenience of students. still, our zoological collection in the british museum (to be hereafter removed to south kensington) is allowed to be the finest in europe. the zoological society of london was instituted in , and occupies now about seventeen acres of gardens in the regent's park. among the earliest tenants of the menagerie were a pair of emues from new holland; two arctic bears and a russian bear; a herd of kangaroos; cuban mastiffs and thibet watch-dogs; two llamas from peru; a splendid collection of eagles, falcons, and owls; a pair of beavers; cranes, spoonbills, and storks; zebras and indian cows; esquimaux dogs; armadilloes; and a collection of monkeys. to the menagerie have since been added an immense number of species of _mammalia_ and _birds_; in , a collection of _reptiles_; and in , a collection of _fish_, _mollusca_, _zoophytes_, and other _aquatic animals_. in , the menagerie collected by george iv. at sandpit-gate, windsor, was removed to the society's gardens; and the last of the tower menagerie was received here. it is now the finest public vivarium in europe. the following are some of the more remarkable animals which the society have possessed, or are now in the menagerie:-- _antelopes_, the great family of, finely represented. the beautiful _elands_ were bequeathed by the late earl of derby, and have bred freely since their arrival in . the leucoryx is the first of her race born out of africa. _ant-eater. giant_, brought to england from brazil in , was exhibited in broad-street, st. giles's, until purchased by the zoological society for l. _apteryx_, or _kiwi_ bird, from new zealand; the first living specimen brought to england of this rare bird. the _fish-house_, built of iron and glass, in , consisting of a series of glass tanks, in which fish spawn, zoophytes produce young, and algæ luxuriate; crustacea and mollusca live successfully, and ascidian polypes are illustrated, together with sea anemones, jelly-fishes, and star-fishes, rare shell-fishes, &c.: a new world of animal life is here seen as in the depths of the ocean, with masses of rock, sand, gravel, corallines, sea-weed, and sea-water; the animals are in a state of natural restlessness, now quiescent, now eating and being eaten. _aurochs_, or _european bisons_: a pair presented by the emperor of russia, in , from the forest of bialowitzca: the male died in , the female in , from pleuro-pneumonia. _bears_: the collection is one of the largest ever made. _elephants_: including an indian elephant calf and its mother. in died here the great indian elephant jack, having been in the gardens sixteen years. adjoining the stable is a tank of water, of a depth nearly equal to the height of a full-grown elephant. in the society possessed a _herd of four elephants_, besides a hippopotamus, a rhinoceros, and both species of tapir; being the largest collection of pachydermata ever exhibited in europe. _giraffes_: four received in cost the society upwards of , _l._, including , _l._ for steamboat passage: the female produced six male fawns here between and . _hippopotamus_, a young male (the first living specimen seen in england), received from egypt in may, , when ten months old, seven feet long, and six and a-half feet in girth; also a female hippopotamus, received . _humming-birds_: mr. gould's matchless collection of , examples was exhibited here in and . _iguanas_, two from cuba and carthagena, closely resembling, in everything but size, the fossil iguanodon. the _lions_ number generally from eight to ten, including a pair of cubs born in the gardens in . _orang-utan_ and _chimpanzee_: the purchase-money of the latter sometimes exceeds _l._ the orang "darby," brought from borneo in , is the finest yet seen in europe, very intelligent, and docile as a child. _parrot-houses_: they sometimes contain from sixty to seventy species. _rapacious birds_: so extensive a series of eagles and vultures has never yet been seen at one view. _the reptile-house_ was fitted up in ; the creatures are placed in large plate-glass cases: here are pythons and a rattle-snake, with a young one born here; here is also a case of the tree-frogs of europe: a yellow snake from jamaica has produced eight young in the gardens. _cobra de capello_, from india: in , a keeper in the gardens was killed by the bite of this serpent. _a large boa_ in swallowed a blanket, and disgorged it in thirty-three days. a _one-horned rhinoceros_, of continental india, was obtained in , when it was about four years old, and weighed cwt.; it died in : it was replaced by a female, about five years old. _satin bower-birds_, from sydney: a pair have built here a bower, or breeding-place. _tapir_ of the old world, from mount ophir; the nearest existing form the paleotherium. _tigers_: a pair of magnificent specimens, presented by the guicoway of baroda in ; a pair of clouded tigers, . _the wapiti deer_ breeds every year in the menagerie. the animals in the gardens, although reduced in number, are more valuable and interesting than when their number was higher. the mission of the society's head-keeper, to collect rare animals for the menagerie, has been very profitable. the additional houses from time to time, are very expensive: the new monkey house, fittings, and work cost , _l._; and in , the sum of , _l._ was laid out in permanent additions to the establishment. very rare, and consequently expensive, animals are generally purchased. thus, the first rhinoceros cost , _l._; the four giraffes, _l._, and their carriage an additional _l._ the elephant and calf were bought in for _l._; and the hippopotamus, although a gift, was not brought home and housed at less than , _l._--a sum which he more than realised in the famous exhibition season, when the receipts were , _l._ above the previous year. the lion albert was purchased for _l._; a tiger, in , for _l._ the value of some of the smaller birds will appear, however, more startling: thus, the pair of black-necked swans were purchased for _l._; a pair of crowned pigeons and two maleos, _l._; a pair of victoria pigeons, _l._; four mandarin ducks, _l._ most of these rare birds (now in the great aviary) came from the knowsley collection, at the sale of which, in , purchases were made to the extent of _l._ it would be impossible from these prices, however, to judge of the present value of the animals. take the rhinoceros, for example: the first specimen cost , _l._; the second, quite as fine a brute, only _l._ lions range again from _l._ to _l._, and tigers from _l._ to _l._ the ignorance displayed by some persons as to the value of well-known objects is something marvellous.--a sea-captain demanded _l._ for a pair of pythons, and at last took _l._! an american offered the society a grisly bear for , _l._, to be delivered in the united states; and, more laughable still, a moribund walrus, which had been fed for nine weeks on salt pork and meal, was offered for the trifling sum of _l._! there is a strange notion that the zoological society has proposed a large reward for a "tortoiseshell tom-cat," and one was accordingly offered to the society for _l._! but male tortoiseshell cats may be had in many quarters.[ ] the surrey zoological gardens were established in . thither cross removed his menagerie from the king's mews, where it had been transferred from exeter change. at walworth a glazed circular building, feet in diameter, was built for the cages of the carnivorous animals (lions, tigers, leopards, &c.); and other houses for mammalia, birds, &c. here, in , was first exhibited a young indian one-horned rhinoceros, for which cross paid _l._ it was the only specimen brought to england for twenty years. in were added three giraffes, one fifteen feet high. the menagerie was dispersed in . the menagerie at exeter change was a poor collection, though the admission-charge was, at one period, half-a-crown! the collections of animals exhibited at fairs have added little to zoological information; but we may mention that wombwell, one of the most noted of the showfolk, bought a pair of the first boa constrictors imported into england: for these he paid _l._, and in three weeks realised considerably more than that sum by their exhibition. at the time of his death, in , wombwell was possessed of three huge menageries, the cost of maintaining which averaged at least _l._ per day; and he used to estimate that, from mortality and disease, he had lost, from first to last, from , _l._ to , _l._ our object in the following succession of sketches of the habits and eccentricities of the more striking animals, and their principal claims upon our attention, is to present, in narrative, their leading characteristics, and thus to secure a willing audience from old and young. footnotes: [ ] kings iv. . [ ] "athenæum." [ ] journal of mr. e. browne, son of sir thomas browne. [ ] in april, , mr. batty's collection of animals was sold by auction, when the undermentioned animals brought--large red-faced monkey (clever), _l._ _s._; fine coatimondi, _l._ _s._; mandril (the only one in england), _l._ _s._; pair of java hares, _l._ _s._; a puma, _l._; handsome senegal lioness, _l._; a hyæna, _l._; splendid barbary lioness, _l._; handsome bengal tigress, _l._; brown bear, _l._; the largest polar bear in europe, _l._; pair of esquimaux sledge-dogs, _l._ _s._; pair of golden pheasants, _l._ _s._; a blue-and-buff macaw (clever talker), _l._ _s._; a horned owl, from north america, _l._ _s._; a magnificent barbary lion, trained for performance, guineas; a lioness, similarly trained, guineas; handsome senegal performing leopard, guineas; two others, guineas; ursine sloth, guineas; indian buffalo, guineas; sagacious male elephant, trained for theatrical performances, guineas. the above is stated to have been the first sale of the kind by public auction in this country. the rhinoceros in england. the intellectual helps to the study of zoology are nowhere more strikingly evident than in the finest collection of pachyderms (thick-skinned animals) in the world, now possessed by our zoological society. here we have a pair of indian elephants, a pair of african elephants, a pair of hippopotami, a pair of indian rhinoceroses, and an african or two-horned rhinoceros. the specimens of the rhinoceros which have been exhibited in europe since the revival of literature have been few and far between. the first was of the one-horned species, sent from india to emmanuel. king of portugal, in the year . the sovereign made a present of it to the pope; but the animal being seized during its passage with a fit of fury, occasioned the loss of the vessel in which it was transported. a second rhinoceros was brought to england in ; a third was exhibited over almost the whole of europe in ; and a fourth, a female, in . a fifth specimen arrived at versailles in , and it died in , at the age of about twenty-six years. the sixth was a very young rhinoceros, which died in this country in the year . the seventh, a young specimen, was in the possession of mr. cross, at exeter change, about ; and an eighth specimen was living about the same time in the garden of plants at paris. in mr. cross received at the surrey gardens, from the birman empire, a rhinoceros, a year and a-half old, as already stated at page . in the zoological society purchased a full-grown female rhinoceros; and in they received a male rhinoceros from calcutta. all these specimens were from india, and _one-horned_; so that the _two-horned_ rhinoceros had not been brought to england until the arrival of an african rhinoceros, _two-horned_, in september, .[ ] the ancient history of the rhinoceros is interesting, but intricate. it seems to be mentioned in several passages of the scriptures, in most of which the animal or animals intended to be designated was or were the _rhinoceros unicornis_, or great asiatic one-horned rhinoceros. m. lesson expresses a decided opinion to this effect: indeed, the description in job (chap. xxxix.) would almost forbid the conclusion that any animal was in the writer's mind except one of surpassing bulk and indomitable strength. the impotence of man is finely contrasted with the might of the rhinoceros in this description, which would be overcharged if it applied to the less powerful animals alluded to in the previous passages. it has also been doubted whether accounts of the indian wild ass, given by ctesias, were not highly coloured and exaggerated descriptions of this genus; and whether the indian ass of aristotle was not a rhinoceros. agatharchides describes the one-horned rhinoceros by name, and speaks of its ripping up the belly of the elephant. this is, probably, the earliest occurrence of the name _rhinoceros_. the rhinoceros which figured in the celebrated pomps of ptolemy philadelphus was an ethiopian, and seems to have marched last in the procession of wild animals, probably on account of its superior rarity, and immediately after the cameleopard. dion cassius speaks of the rhinoceros killed in the circus with a hippopotamus in the show given by augustus to celebrate his victory over cleopatra; he says that the hippopotamus and this animal were then first seen and killed at rome. the rhinoceros then slain is thought to have been african, and two-horned. the rhinoceros clearly described by strabo, as seen by him, was one-horned. that noticed by pausanias as "the bull of ethiopia," was two-horned, and he describes the relative position of the horns. wood, in his "zoography," gives an engraving of the coin of domitian (small roman brass), on the reverse of which is the distinct form of a two-horned rhinoceros: its exhibition to the roman people, probably of the very animal represented on the coin, is particularly described in one of the epigrams attributed to martial, who lived in the reigns of titus and domitian. by the description of the epigram it appears that a combat between a rhinoceros and a bear was intended, but that it was very difficult to irritate the more unwieldy animal so as to make him display his usual ferocity; at length, however, he tossed the bear from his double horn, with as much facility as a bull tosses to the sky the bundles placed for the purpose of enraging him. thus far the coin and the epigram perfectly agree as to the existence of the double horn; but, unfortunately, commentators and antiquaries were not to be convinced that a rhinoceros could have more than one horn, and have at once displayed their sagacity and incredulity in their explanations on the subject. two, at least, of the two-horned rhinoceroses were shown at rome in the reign of domitian. the emperors antoninus, heliogabalus, and gordian also exhibited rhinoceroses. cosmas speaks expressly of the ethiopian rhinoceros as having two horns, and of its power of moving them. the tractability of the asiatic rhinoceros has been confirmed by observers in the native country of the animal. bishop heber saw at lucknow five or six very large rhinoceroses, of which he found that prints and drawings had given him a very imperfect conception. they were more bulky animals, and of a darker colour than the bishop supposed; though the latter difference might be occasioned by oiling the skin. the folds of their skin also surpassed all which the bishop had expected. those at lucknow were quiet and gentle animals, except that one of them had a feud with horses. they had sometimes howdahs, or chaise-like seats, on their backs, and were once fastened in a carriage, but only as an experiment, which was not followed up. the bishop, however, subsequently saw a rhinoceros (the present of lord amherst to the guicwar), which was so tamed as to be ridden by a mohout quite as patiently as an elephant. no two-horned rhinoceros seems to have been brought alive to europe in modern times. indeed, up to a comparatively late period, their form was known only by the horns which were preserved in museums; nor did voyagers give any sufficient details to impart any clear idea of the form of the animal. the rude figure given by aldrovandus, in , leaves no doubt that, wretched as it is, it must have been taken from a two-horned rhinoceros. dr. parsons endeavoured to show that the one-horned rhinoceros always belonged to asia, and the two-horned rhinoceros to africa; but there are two-horned rhinoceroses in asia, as well as in africa. flacourt saw one in the bay of soldaque, near the cape of good hope, at a distance. kolbe and others always considered the rhinoceros of the cape as two-horned; but colonel gordon seems to be the first who entirely detailed the species with any exactness. sparrman described the cape rhinoceros, though his figure of the animal is stiff and ill-drawn. at this period it was well known that the cape species was not only distinguished by having two horns from the indian rhinoceros then known, but also by an absence of the folds of the skin so remarkable in the latter. we should here notice the carelessness, to call it by the mildest name, of bruce, who gave to the world a representation of a two-horned rhinoceros from abyssinia, with a strongly folded skin. the truth appears to be that the body of the animal figured by bruce was copied from that of the one-horned rhinoceros given by buffon, to which bruce added a second horn. salt proved that the abyssinian rhinoceros is two-horned, and that it resembles that of the cape. [illustration: the two-horned african rhinoceros.] sparmann exposes the errors and poetic fancies of buffon respecting the impenetrable nature of the skin. he ordered one of his hottentots to make a trial of this with his hassagai on a rhinoceros which had been shot. though this weapon was far from being in good order, and had no other sharpness than that which it had received from the forge, the hottentot, at the distance of five or six paces, not only pierced with it the thick hide of the animal, but buried it half a foot deep in its body. mr. tegetmeier has sufficiently described in the "field" journal the african rhinoceros just received at the zoological society's menagerie in the regent's-park, and which has been sketched by mr. t. w. wood expressly for the present volume. it was captured about a year ago in upper nubia by the native hunters in the employment of mr. casanova, at kassala; and was sent, by way of alexandria and trieste, to mr. karl hagenbeck, of hamburg, a dealer in wild beasts, who sold it to the zoological society. "this animal is very distinct from its asiatic congeners; it differs strikingly in the number of horns, as well as in the character of its skin, which is destitute of those large folds, which cause the indian species to remind the observer of a gigantic 'hog in armour.' "the arrival of this animal will tend to clear up the confusion that prevails respecting the number of distinct species of african rhinoceros. some writers--as sir w. c. harris--admit the existence of two species only, the dark and the light, or, as they are termed, the 'white' and the 'black.' others, as dr. a. smith, describe three; some, as the late mr. anderssen, write of four; and mr. chapman even speaks of a fifth species or hybrid. "three of these species are very distinctly defined--the ordinary dark animal, the _rhinoceros bicornis_, in which the posterior horn is much shorter than the anterior; the _rhinoceros keitloa_, in which the two horns are of equal length; and the 'white' species, _rhinoceros simus_. the last, among other characters, is, according to dr. smith, distinguished by the square character of the upper lip, which is not prehensile. "the young animal now (october, ) in the zoological society's garden, appears to belong to the first-named species, the largest specimens of which when full grown reach a height of ft., and a length of ft., the tail not included. its present height is - / ft., and length about ft. in general appearance the mature animal resembles a gigantic pig, the limbs being brought under the body. the feet are most singular in form, being very distinctly three-toed, and the remarkable trefoil-like _spoors_ that they make in the soil render the animal easy to track. the horns vary greatly in length in different animals; the first not unfrequently reaches a length of ft., the second being considerably shorter. these appendages differ very much from ordinary horns; they are, in fact, more of the nature of agglutinated hair, being attached to the skin only, and consequently they separate from the skull when the latter is preserved. "the head is not remarkable for comeliness, especially in the mature animal, in which the skin of the face is deeply wrinkled, and the small eyes are surrounded with many folds. the upper lip is elongated, and is used in gathering the food. the adult animals are described by sir w. c. harris, in his 'illustrations of the game animals of south africa,' as 'swinish, cross-grained, ill-tempered, wallowing brutes.'" mr. burchell, during his travels in africa, shot nine rhinoceroses, besides a smaller one. the latter he presented to the british museum. the animal is, however, becoming every day more and more scarce in southern africa; indeed, it is rarely to be met with in some parts. it appears that, in one day, two rhinoceroses were shot by speelman, the faithful hottentot who attended mr. burchell. he fired off his gun but twice, and each time he killed a rhinoceros! the animal's sense of hearing is very quick: should he be disturbed, he sometimes becomes furious, and pursues his enemy; and then, if once he gets sight of the hunter, it is scarcely possible for him to escape, unless he possesses extraordinary coolness and presence of mind. yet, if he will quietly wait till the enraged animal makes a run at him, and will then spring suddenly on one side, to let it pass, he may gain time enough for reloading his gun before the rhinoceros gets sight of him again, which, fortunately, owing to its imperfection of sight, it does slowly and with difficulty. speelman, in shooting a large male rhinoceros, used bullets cast with an admixture of tin, to render them harder. they were flattened and beat out of shape by striking against the bones, but those which were found lodged in the fleshy parts had preserved their proper form, a fact which shows how little the hardness of the creature's hide corresponds with the vulgar opinion of its being impenetrable to a musket-ball. mr. burchell found this rhinoceros nearly cut up. on each side of the carcase the hottentots had made a fire to warm themselves; and round a third fire were assembled at least twenty-four bushmen, most of whom were employed the whole night long in broiling, eating, and talking. their appetite seemed insatiable, for no sooner had they broiled and eaten one slice of meat than they turned to the carcase and cut another. the meat was excellent, and had much the taste of beef. "the tongue," says mr. burchell, "is a dainty treat, even for an epicure." the hide is cut into strips, three feet or more in length, rounded to the thickness of a man's finger, and tapering to the top. this is called a _shambok_, and is universally used in the colony of the cape for a horsewhip, and is much more durable than the whips of european manufacture. the natural food of the rhinoceros, till the animal fled before the colonists, was a pale, bushy shrub, called the rhinoceros-bush, which burns while green as freely as the driest fuel, so as readily to make a roadside fire. the horn of the rhinoceros, single or double, has its special history by the way of popular tradition. from the earliest times this horn has been supposed to possess preservative virtues and mysterious properties--to be capable of curing diseases and discovering the presence of poison; and in all countries where the rhinoceros exists, but especially in the east, such is still the opinion respecting it. in the details of the first voyage of the english to india, in , we find rhinoceros' horns monopolised by the native sovereigns on account of their reputed virtues in detecting the presence of poison. thunberg observes, in his "journey into caffraria," that "the horns of the rhinoceros were kept by some people, both in town and country, not only as rarities, but also as useful in diseases, and for the purpose of detecting poisons. as to the former of these intentions, the fine shavings were supposed to cure convulsions and spasms in children. with respect to the latter, it was generally believed that goblets made of these horns would discover a poisonous draught that was poured into them, by making the liquor ferment till it ran quite out of the goblet. of these horns goblets are made, which are set in gold and silver and presented to kings, persons of distinction, and particular friends, or else sold at a high price, sometimes at the rate of fifty rix-dollars each." thunberg adds:--"when i tried these horns, both wrought and unwrought, both old and young horns, with several sorts of poison, weak as well as strong, i observed not the least motion or effervescence; but when a solution of corrosive sublimate or other similar substance was poured into one of these horns, there arose only a few bubbles, produced by the air which had been enclosed in the pores of the horn and which were now disengaged." rankin (in his "wars and sports") states this mode of using it: a small quantity of water is put into the concave part of the root, then hold it with the point downwards and stir the water with the point of an iron nail till it is discoloured, when the patient is to drink it. footnote: [ ] the conveyance of a rhinoceros over sea is a labour of some risk. in a full-grown specimen on his voyage from calcutta to this country became so furious that he was fastened down to the ship's deck, with part of a chain-cable round his neck; and even then he succeeded in destroying a portion of the vessel, till, a heavy storm coming on, the rhinoceros was thrown overboard to prevent the serious consequence of his getting loose in the ship. stories of mermaids. less than half a century ago, a pretended mermaid was one of the sights of a london season; to see which credulous persons rushed to pay half-crowns and shillings with a readiness which seemed to rebuke the record--that the existence of a mermaid is an exploded fallacy of two centuries since. mermaids have had a legendary existence from very early ages, for the sirens of the ancients evidently belonged to the same remarkable family. shakspeare uses the term mermaid as synonymous with siren:-- "o train me not, sweet mermaid, with thy note, to drown me in thy sister's flood of tears; sing, syren, for thyself."--_comedy of errors_, iii. . elsewhere, shakspeare's use of the term is more applicable to the siren than to the common idea of a mermaid; as in the "midsummer night's dream," where the "mermaid on a dolphin's back" could not easily have been so placed. a merman, the male of this imaginary species, is mentioned by taylor, the water-poet:-- "a thing turmoyling in the sea we spide, like to a meareman." an old writer has this ingenious illustration:--"mermaids, in homer, were witches, and their songs enchantments;" which reminds us of the invitation in haydn's mermaid's song:-- "come with me, and we will go where the rocks of coral grow." the orthodox mermaid is half woman, half fish; and the fishy half is sometimes depicted as doubly tailed, such as we see in the heraldry of france and germany; and in the basle edition of ptolemy's "geography," dated , a double-tailed mermaid figures in one of the plates. in the arms of the fishmongers' company of london, the supporters are "a merman and maid, first, armed, the latter with a mirror in the left hand, proper." from this heraldic employment, the mermaid became a popular tavern sign; and there was an old dance called the mermaid. sir thomas browne refers to the _picture_ of mermaids, though he does not admit their existence. they "are conceived to answer the shape of the ancient sirens that attempted upon ulysses; which, notwithstanding, were of another description, containing no fishy composure, but made up of man and bird." sir thomas is inclined to refer the mermaid to dagon, the tutelary deity of the philistines, which, according to the common opinion, had a human female bust and a fish-like termination; though the details of this fish idolatry are entirely conjectural. leyden, the scottish poet, has left a charming ballad, entitled "the mermaid," the scene of which is laid at corrievreckin: the opening of this poem sir walter scott praised as exhibiting a power of numbers which, for mere melody of sound, has seldom been excelled in english poetry:-- "on jura's heath how sweetly swell the murmurs of the mountain bee! how softly mourns the writhèd shell of jura's shore its parent sea! "but softer floating, o'er the deep, the mermaid's sweet sea-soothing lay, that charmed the dancing waves to sleep before the bark of colonsay." the ballad thus describes the wooing of the gallant chieftain:-- "proud swells her heart! she deems at last to lure him with her silver tongue, and, as the shelving rocks she passed, she raised her voice, and sweetly sung. "in softer, sweeter strains she sung, slow gliding o'er the moonlight bay, when light to land the chieftain sprung, to hail the maid of colonsay. "o sad the mermaid's gay notes fell, and sadly sink remote at sea! o sadly mourns the writhèd shell of jura's shore, its parent sea "and ever as the year returns, the charm-bound sailors know the day; for sadly still the mermaid mourns the lovely chief of colonsay." curious evidences of the existence of mermaids are to be found in ancient authors. pliny says that "the ambassadors to augustine from gaul declared that sea-women were often seen in their neighbourhood." solinus and aulus gellius also speak of their existence. some stories are, however, past credence. it is related in the "histoire d'angleterre" that, in the year , a merman was "fished up" off the coast of suffolk, and kept for six months. it was like a man, but wanted speech, and at length escaped into the sea! in , in the great tempests which destroyed the dykes in holland, some women at edam, in west friesland, saw a mermaid who had been driven by the waters into the meadows, which were overflowed. "they took it, dressed it in female attire, and taught it to spin!" it was taken to haarlem, where it lived some years! then we read of ceylonese fishermen, in , catching, at one draught, seven mermen and mermaids, which were dissected! in , a mermaid, caught in the baltic, was sent to sigismund, king of poland, with whom she lived three days, and was seen by the whole court! in merollo's "voyage to congo," in , mermaids are said to be plentiful all along the river zaire. in the "aberdeen almanack" for , it is predicted that "near the place where the famous dee payeth his tribute to the german ocean," on the st, th, and th of may, and other specified times, curious observers may "undoubtedly see a pretty company of mar maids," and likewise hear their melodious voices. in another part of scotland, about the same time, brand, in his "description of orkney and shetland," tells us that two fishermen drew up with a hook a mermaid, "having face, arm, breast, shoulders, &c., of a woman, and long hair hanging down the neck, but the nether part, from below the waist, hidden in the water." one of the fishermen stabbed her with a knife, and she was seen no more! the evidence went thus:--brand was told by a lady and gentleman, who were told by a baillie to whom the fishing-boat belonged, who was told by the fishers! valentyn describes a mermaid he saw in , on his voyage from batavia to europe, "sitting on the surface of the water," &c. in , a mermaid is said to have been exhibited at the fair of st. germain, in france. it was about two feet long, and sported about in a vessel of water. it was fed with bread and fish. it was a female, with negro features. in appeared a very circumstantial account of a mermaid which was captured in the grecian archipelago in the preceding year, and exhibited in london. the account is ludicrously minute, and it ends with: "it is said to have an enchanting voice, which it never exerts except before a storm." this imposture was craftily made up out of the skin of the angle shark. in mr. morgan's "tour to milford haven in the year ," appears an equally circumstantial account of a mermaid, said to have been seen by one henry reynolds, a farmer, of ren-y-hold, in the parish of castlemartin, in . it resembled a youth of sixteen or eighteen years of age, with a very white skin: it was bathing. the evidence is very roundabout, so that there were abundant means for converting some peculiar kind of fish into a merman, without imputing intentional dishonesty to any one. "something akin to this kind of evidence is observable in the account of a mermaid seen in caithness in , which attracted much attention in england as well as in scotland, and induced the philosophical society of glasgow to investigate the matter. the editor of a newspaper, who inserted the statement, had been told by a gentleman, who had been shown a letter by sir john sinclair, who had obtained it from mr. innes, to whom it had been written by miss mackay, who had heard the story from the persons (two servant girls and a boy) who had seen the strange animal in the water." (chambers's "book of days.") then we read of a so-called mermaid, shown in the year at no. , broad-court, bow-street. covent-garden, said to have been taken in the north seas by captain foster. it was of the usual description. much evidence comes from scotland. thus, in the year , a schoolmaster of thurso affirmed that he had seen a mermaid, apparently in the act of combing her hair with her fingers! twelve years afterwards, several persons observed near the same place a like appearance. dr. chisholm, in his "essay on malignant fever in the west indies," in , relates that, in the year , happening to be at governor van battenburg's plantation, in berbice, "the conversation turned on a singular animal which had been repeatedly seen in berbice river, and some smaller rivers. this animal is the famous mermaid, hitherto considered as a mere creature of the imagination. it is called by the indians _méné_, mamma, or mother of the waters. the description given of it by the governor is as follows:--'the upper portion resembles the human figure, the head smaller in proportion, sometimes bare, but oftener covered with a copious quantity of long black hair. the shoulders are broad, and the breasts large and well-formed. the lower portion resembles the tail of a fish, is of great dimensions, the tail forked, and not unlike that of the dolphin, as it is usually represented. the colour of the skin is either black or tawny.' the animal is held in veneration by the indians, who imagine that killing it would be attended with calamitous consequences. it is from this circumstance that none of these animals have been shot, and consequently examined but at a distance. they have been generally observed in a sitting posture in the water, none of the lower extremity being seen until they are disturbed, when, by plunging, the tail agitates the water to a considerable distance round. they have been always seen employed in smoothing their hair, and have thus been frequently taken for indian women bathing." in , a young man, named john m'isaac, of corphine, in kintyre, in scotland, made oath, on examination at campbell-town, that he saw, on the th of october in the above year, on a rock on the sea-coast, an animal which generally corresponded with the form of the mermaid--the upper half human shape, the other brindled or reddish grey, apparently covered with scales; the extremity of the tail greenish red; head covered with long hair, at times put back on both sides of the head. this statement was attested by the minister of campbell-town and the chamberlain of mull. in august, , mr. toupin, of exmouth, in a sailing excursion, and when about a mile south-east of exmouth bar, heard a sound like that of the Æolian harp; and saw, at about one hundred yards distance, a creature, which was regarded as a mermaid. the head, from the crown to the chin, formed a long oval, and the face seemed to resemble that of the seal, though with more agreeable features. the presumed hair, the arms, and the hand, with four fingers connected by a membrane, are then described, and the tail with polished scales. the entire height of the animal was from five feet to five and a-half feet. in , a creature approached the coast of ireland. it was about the size of a child ten years of age, with prominent bosom, long dark hair, and dark eyes. it was shot at, when it plunged into the sea with a loud scream. [illustration: seal and mermaid.] in reviewing these stories of mermaids, it may be remarked that there is always a fish in each tale--either a living fish of a peculiar kind, which a fanciful person thinks to bear some resemblance in the upper part to a human being, or a fish which becomes marvellous in the progress of its description from mouth to mouth. it is commonly thought the seals may often have been mistaken for mermaids. but, of all the animals of the whale tribe that which approaches the nearest in form to man is, undoubtedly, the dugong, which, when its head and breast are raised above the water, and its pectoral fins, resembling hands, are visible, might easily be taken by superstitious seamen for a semi-human being, or a mermaid. of this deception a remarkable instance occurred in . the skeleton of a mermaid, as it was called, was brought to portsmouth, which had been shot in the vicinity of the island of mombass. this was submitted to the members of the philosophical society, when it proved to be the skeleton of a dugong. to those who came to the examination with preconceived notions of a fabulous mermaid, it presented, as it lay on the lecture-table, a singular appearance. it was about six feet long; the lower portion, with its broad tail-like extremity, suggested the idea of a powerful fish-like termination, whilst the fore-legs presented to the unskilful eye a resemblance to the bones of a small female arm; the cranium, however, had a brutal form, which could never have borne the lineaments of "the human face divine." the mermaid has been traced to the manatee as well as to the dugong: the former is an aquatic animal, externally resembling a whale, and named from its flipper, resembling the human hand, _manus_. again, the _mammæ_ (teats) of the manatees and dugongs are pectoral; and this conformation, joined to the adroit use of their flippers (whose five fingers can easily be distinguished through the inverting membranes, four of them being terminated by nails) in progression, nursing their young, &c., have caused them, when seen at a distance with the anterior part of their body out of the water, to be taken for some creature approaching to human shape so nearly (especially as their middle is thick set with hair, giving somewhat of the effect of human hair or a beard), that there can be little doubt that not a few of the tales of mermen and mermaids have had their origin with these animals as well as with seals and walruses. thus the portuguese and spaniards give the _manatee_ a denomination which signifies woman-fish; and the dutch call the dugong _baardanetjee_, or little-bearded man. a very little imagination and a memory for only the marvellous portion of the appearance sufficed, doubtless, to complete the metamorphosis of this half woman or man, half fish, into a siren, a mermaid, or a merman; and the wild recital of the voyager was treasured up by writers who, as cuvier well observes, have displayed more learning than judgment. the comb and the toilet-glass have already been incidentally mentioned as accessories in these mermaid stories; and these, with the origin of the creature. sir george head thus ingeniously attempts to explain:--"the resemblance of the seal, or sea-calf, to the calf consists only in the voice, and the voice of the calf is certainly not dissimilar to that of a man. but the claws of the seal, as well as the hand, are like a lady's back-hair comb; wherefore, altogether, supposing the resplendence of sea-water streaming down its polished neck, on a sunshiny day, the substitute for a looking-glass, we arrive at once at the fabulous history of the marine maiden or mermaid, and the appendages of her toilet." the progress of zoological science has long since destroyed the belief in the existence of the mermaid. if its upper structure be human, with lungs resembling our own, how could such a creature live and breathe at the bottom of the sea, where it is stated to be? for our most expert divers are unable to stay under water more than half an hour. suppose it to be of the cetaceous class, it could only remain under the water two or three minutes together without rising to the surface to take breath; and if this were the case with the mermaid, would it not be oftener seen? half a century has scarcely elapsed since a _manufactured_ mermaid was shown in london with all the confidence of its being a natural creature. in the winter of there was exhibited at the egyptian hall, in piccadilly, this pretended mermaid, which was visited by from to persons daily! the imposture, however, was too gross to last long; and it was ascertained to be the dried skin of the head and shoulders of a monkey attached very neatly to the dried skin of a fish of the salmon kind with the head cut off; the compound figure being stuffed and highly varnished, the better to deceive the eye. this grotesque object was taken by a dutch vessel from on board a native malacca boat; and from the reverence shown to it by the sailors it is supposed to have represented the incarnation of one of the idol gods of the malacca islands. a correspondent of the "magazine of natural history," , however, avers that the above "mermaid" was brought from the east indies; for being at st. helena in he saw it on board the ship which was bringing it to england. the impression on his mind was that it was an artificial compound of the upper part of a small ape with the lower half of a fish; and by aid of a powerful glass he ascertained the point of union between the two parts. he was somewhat staggered to find that this was so neatly effected that the precise line of junction was not satisfactorily apparent: the creature was then in its best state of preservation. in a volume of "manners and customs of the japanese," published in , we, however, find the following version of the history of the above mermaid:--"a japanese fisherman seems to have displayed ingenuity for the mere purpose of making money by his countrymen's passion for everything odd and strange. he contrived to unite the upper half of a monkey to the lower half of a fish so neatly as to defy ordinary inspection. he then gave out that he had caught the creature in his net, but that it had died shortly after being taken out of the water; and he derived considerable pecuniary profit from his cunning in more ways than one. the exhibition of the sea monster to japanese curiosity paid well; yet more productive was the assertion that the half-human fish, having spoken during the five minutes it existed out of its native element, had predicted a certain number of years of wonderful fertility and a fatal epidemic, the only remedy for which would be the possession of the marine prophet's likeness! the sale of these _pictured mermaids_ was immense. either the composite animal, or another, the offspring of the success of the first, was sold to the dutch factory and transmitted to batavia, where it fell into the hands of a speculating american, who brought it to europe; and here, in the year - , exhibited his purchase as a real mermaid to the admiration of the ignorant, the perplexity of the learned, and the filling of his own purse." the editor of the "literary gazette," mr. jerdan, was the first to expose the fabulous creature of the egyptian hall. he plainly said:--"our opinion is fixed that it is a _composition_; a most ingenious one, we grant, but still nothing beyond the admirably put-together members of various animals. the extraordinary skill of the chinese and japanese in executing such deceptions is notorious, and we have no doubt that the mermaid is a manufacture from the indian sea, where it has been pretended it was caught. we are not of those who because they happen not to have had direct proof of the existence of any extraordinary natural phenomenon, push scepticism to the extreme and deny its possibility. the depths of the sea, in all probability, from various chemical and philosophical causes, contain animals unknown to its surface-waters, rarely if ever seen by human eye. but when a creature is presented to us having no other organization but that which is suitable to a medium always open to our observation, it in the first instance excites suspicion that only one individual of the species should be discovered and obtained. when knowledge was more limited, the stories of mermaids seen in distant quarters might be credited by the many, and not entirely disbelieved by the few; but now, when european and especially british commerce fills every corner of the earth with men of observation and science, the unique becomes the incredible, and we receive with far greater doubt the apparition of such anomalies as the present. it is curious that though medical men seem in general to regard the creature as a possible production of nature, no naturalist of any ability credits it after five minutes' observation! this may, perhaps, be accounted for by their acquaintance with the parts of distinct animals, of which it appears the mermaid is composed. the cheeks of the blue-faced ape, the canine teeth, the _simia_ upper body, and the tail of the fish, are all familiar to them in less complex combinations, and they pronounce at once that the whole is an imposture. and such is our settled conviction." though naturalists and journalists fully exposed the imposture, this did not affect the exhibition, which for a considerable time continued as crowded as ever; but the notoriety had dwindled down to "a penny show," at bartholomew fair, by the year . after so many exposures of the absurd belief in mermaids, it could scarcely be expected that any person could be found in europe weak enough to report the existence of one of these creatures to an eminent scientific society. yet, on the d of june, , the first secretary of the ottoman embassy at paris addressed a note to the academy of sciences, stating that his father, who was in the admiralty department at constantinople, had recently seen a mermaid while crossing the bosphorus, which communication was received with much laughter. we have still another recorded instance--and in scotland. in the year two fishermen on the argyleshire coast declared that when on their way to the fishing-station, lochindale, in a boat, and when about four miles south-west from the village of port charlotte, about six o'clock in a june evening, they distinctly saw, at about six yards distance, an object in the form of a woman, with comely face and fine hair hanging in ringlets over the neck and shoulders. it was above the surface of the water gazing at the fishermen for three or four minutes--and then vanished! yet this declaration was officially attested! in mermaids were supposed to abound in the ponds and ditches of suffolk, where careful mothers used them as bugbears to prevent little children from going too near the water. children described them as "nasty things that crome you (hook you) into the water;" others as "a great big thing like a feesh," probably a pike basking in the shallow water. sometimes the mermaid has assumed a picturesqueness in fairy tale; and her impersonation has been described by dryden as "a fine woman, with a fish's tail." and, laying aside her scaly train, she has appeared as a lovely woman, with sea-green hair; and crofton croker relates, in his "fairy legends," a marriage between an irish fisherman and a "merrow," as the mermaid is called in ireland. is the unicorn fabulous? to this question we may reply, in the words of a writer of , "concerning the unicorn, different opinions prevail among authors: some doubt, others deny, and a third class affirm its existence." the question has lasted two thousand years, and is every now and then kept alive by fresh evidences. ctesias, a credulous greek physician, who appears to have resided at the court of persia, in the time of the younger cyrus, about years before the birth of christ, describes the wild asses of india as equal to the horse in size, and even larger, with white bodies, red heads, bluish eyes, and a horn on the forehead a cubit in length; the part from the forehead entirely white, the middle black, and the extremity red and pointed. drinking-vessels were made of it, and those who used them were subject neither to convulsions, epilepsy, nor poison, provided that before taking the poison, or after, they drank from these cups water, wine, or any other liquor. ctesias describes these animals as very swift and very strong. naturally they were not ferocious; but when they found themselves and their young surrounded by horsemen, they did not abandon their offspring, but defended themselves by striking with their horns, kicking, and biting, and so slew many men and horses. this animal was also shot with arrows and brought down with darts; for it was impossible to take it alive. its flesh was too bitter for food, but it was hunted for its horn and astragalus (ankle-bone), which last ctesias declares he saw. aristotle describes the indian ass with a single horn. herodotus mentions asses having horns; and strabo refers to unicorn horses, with the heads of deers. oppian notices the aonian bulls with undivided hoofs, and a single median horn between their temples. pliny notices it as a very ferocious beast, similar in its body to a horse, with the head of a deer, the feet of an elephant, the tail of a boar, a deep bellowing voice, and a single black horn standing out in the middle of its forehead. he adds, that it cannot be taken alive; and some such excuse may have been necessary in those days for not producing the living animal upon the arena of the amphitheatre. out of this passage most of the modern unicorns have been described and figured. the body of the horse and the head of the deer appear to be but vague sketches; the feet of the elephant and the tail of the boar point at once to a pachydermatous (thick-skinned) animal; and the single black horn, allowing for a little exaggeration as to its length, well fits the two last-mentioned conditions, and will apply to the indian rhinoceros, which, says the sound naturalist, ogilby, "affords a remarkable instance of the obstructions which the progress of knowledge may suffer, and the gross absurdities which not unfrequently result from the wrong application of a name." mr. ogilby then refers to the account of ctesias, which we have just quoted, and adds:--"his account, though mixed up with a great deal of credulous absurdity, contains a very valuable and perfectly recognisable description of the rhinoceros, under the ridiculous name, however, of the _indian ass_; and, as he attributed to it a whole hoof like the horse, and a single horn in the forehead, speculation required but one step further to produce the fabulous unicorn." the ancient writers who have treated of the unicorn are too numerous for us to specify. some of the moderns may be referred to. garcias describes this marvellous creature from one who alleges that he had seen it. the seer affirmed that it was endowed with a wonderful horn, which it would sometimes turn to the left and right, at others raise, and then again depress. ludovicus vartomanus writes, that he saw two sent to the sultan from ethiopia, and kept in a repository at mahomet's tomb in mecca. cardan describes the unicorn as a rare animal, the size of a horse, with hair very like that of a weasel, with the head of a deer, on which one horn grows three cubits in length (a story seldom loses anything in its progress) from the forehead, ample at its lowest part, and tapering to a point; with a short neck, a very thin mane, leaning to one side only, and less on the ear, as those of a young roe. in jonston's "historia naturalis," , we see the smooth-horned solipede, "wald esel;" and the digitated and clawed smooth-horned "meer wolff," the latter with his single horn erect in the foreground, but with it depressed in the background, where he is represented regaling on serpents. then there are varieties, with the head, mane, and tail of a horse; another smooth-horned, with a horse's head and mane, a pig's-tail and camel-like feet; the "meer stenbock, capricornus marinus," with hind webbed feet, and a kind of graduated horn, like an opera-glass pulled out, in the foreground, and charging the fish most valiantly in the water in the distance. then there is another, with a mule's head and two rhinoceros-like horns, one on his forehead and the other on his nose; and a horse's tail, with a collar round his neck; a neck entirely shaggy--and a twisted horn, a shaggy gorget, and curly tail, are among other peculiarities. the unicorn seems to have been a sad trouble to the hunters, who hardly knew how to come at so valuable a piece of game. some described the horn as moveable at the will of the animal--a kind of small sword, in short, with which no hunter who was not exceedingly cunning in fence could have a chance. others told the poor foresters that all the strength lay in its horn, and that when pressed by them it would throw itself from the pinnacle of the highest rock, horn foremost, so as to pitch upon it, and then quietly march off not a bit the worse! modern zoologists, disgusted as they well may be with fables, such as we have glanced at, disbelieve, generally, the existence of the unicorn, such, at least, as we have referred to; but there is still an opinion that some land animal bearing a horn on the anterior part of its head, exists besides the rhinoceros. the nearest approach to a horn in the middle of the forehead of any terrestrial mammiferous animal known to us is the bony protuberance on the forehead of the giraffe; and though it would be presumptuous to deny the existence of a one-horned quadruped other than the rhinoceros, it may be safely stated that the insertion of a long and solid horn in the living forehead of a horse-like or deer-like cranium is as near an impossibility as anything can be. rupell, after a long sojourn in the north-east of africa, stated that in kordofan the unicorn exists; stated to be the size of a small horse, of the slender make of the gazelle, and furnished with a long straight horn in the male, which was wanting in the female. according to the statements made by various persons, it inhabits the deserts to the south of koretofan, is uncommonly fleet, and comes only occasionally to the koldagi heive mountains on the borders of kordofan. other writers refer the unicorn to the antelope. the origin of the name of antelope is traced by cuvier to the greek _anthalops_, applied to a fabulous animal living on the banks of the euphrates, with long jagged horns, with which it sawed down trees of considerable thickness! others conjecture this animal to have been the _oryx_, a species of antelope, which is fabulously reported to have had only one horn, and to have been termed _panthalops_ in the old language of egypt. in his "revolutions on the surface of the globe." cuvier refers the idea of the unicorn to the coarse figures traced by savages on rocks. ignorant of perspective, and wishing to present in profile the horned antelope, they could only give it one horn; and thus originated the _oryx_. the oryx of the egyptian monuments is, most probably, but the production of a similarly crude style, which the religion of the country imposed on the artist. many of the profiles of quadrupeds have only one leg before and one behind: why, then, should they show two horns? it is possible that individual animals might be taken in the chase whom accident had despoiled of one horn, as it often happens to chamois and the scythian antelope; and that would suffice to confirm the error which these pictures originally produced. it is thus, probably, that we find anew the unicorn in the mountains of thibet. the _chiru antelope_ is the supposed unicorn of the bhotians. in form it approaches the deer; the horns are exceedingly long, are placed very forward in the head, and may be popularly described as erect and straight. it is usually found in herds, and is extremely wild, and unapproachable by man. it is much addicted to salt in summer, when vast herds are often seen at the rock-salt beds which abound in tibet. they are said to advance under the conduct of a leader, and to post sentinels around the beds before they attempt to feed. major salter is stated to have obtained information of the existence of an animal in tibet closely resembling the unicorn of the ancients, which revived the belief of naturalists by adducing testimonies from oriental writings. upon this statement, m. klaproth remarks, that previous to major salter's reports, the catholic missionaries, who returned to europe from china by way of tibet and nepal, in the seventeenth century, mentioned that the unicorn was found in that part of the great desert which bounds china to the west, where they crossed the great wall; that captain turner, when travelling in tibet, was informed by the raja of boutan that he had one of these animals alive; and that bell, in his "travels to peking," describes a unicorn which was found on the southern front of siberia. he adds:--"the great 'tibetan-mongol dictionary' mentions the unicorn; and the 'geographical dictionary of tibet and central asia,' printed at peking, where it describes a district in the province of kham, in tibet, named sera-zeong, explains this name by 'the river of unicorns,' because," adds the author, "many of these animals are found there." in the "history of the mongol-khans," published and translated at st. petersburg, we find the following statement:--genghiz khan, having subjected all tibet in , commenced his march for hindustan. as he ascended mount jadanarung, he beheld a beast approaching him of the deer kind, of the species called _seron_, which have a single horn at the top of the head. it fell on its knees thrice before the monarch, as if to pay respect to him. every one was astonished at this incident. the monarch exclaimed. "the empire of hindustan is, we are assured, the country where are born the majestic buddhas and bodhisatwas, as well as the potent bogdas and princes of antiquity: what can be the meaning, then, of this animal, incapable of speech, saluting me like a man?" upon this, he returned to his own country. "this story," continues m. klaproth, "is also related by mahommedan authors who have written the life of genghiz. something of the kind must, therefore, have taken place. possibly, some of the mongol conqueror's suite may have taken a unicorn, which genghiz thus employed, to gain a pretext for abstaining from an expedition which promised no success." upon this statement, it was observed in the "asiatic register," , that "when we consider that seventeen years have elapsed since the account of major salter was given, and that, notwithstanding our increased opportunities of intercourse with tibet, no fact has since transpired which supplies a confirmation of that account, except the obtaining of a supposed horn of the supposed unicorn, we cannot participate in these renewed hopes." the rev. john campbell, in his "travels in south africa," describes the head of another animal, which, as far as the horn is concerned, seems to approach nearer than the common rhinoceros to the unicorn of the ancients. while in the machow territory, the hottentots brought to mr. campbell a head differing from that of any rhinoceros that had been previously killed. "the common african rhinoceros has a crooked horn, resembling a cock's spur, which rises about nine or ten inches above the nose, and inclines backward; immediately behind which is a straight thick horn. but the head brought by the hottentots had a straight horn projecting three feet from the forehead, about ten inches above the tip of the nose. the projection of this great horn very much resembles that of the fanciful unicorn in the british arms. it has a small thick horny substance, eight inches long, immediately behind it, which can hardly be observed on the animal at the distance of a hundred yards; so that this species must look like an unicorn (in the sense 'one-horned') when running in the field." the author adds:--"this animal is considered by naturalists, since the arrival of the above skull in london, to be the unicorn of the ancients, and the same that is described in job xxxix. --'will the unicorn be willing to serve thee, or abide by thy crib? . canst thou bind the unicorn with his band in the furrow? or will he harrow the valleys after thee? . wilt thou trust him because his strength is great? or wilt thou leave thy labour to him?' again, deuteronomy xxxiii. --'his horns are like the horns of unicorns: with them he shall push the people together to the ends of the earth.'" a fragment of the skull, with the horn, is deposited in the museum of the london missionary society. mr. w. b. baikie writes to the _athenæum_ from bida núpe, central africa, in , the following suggestions:--"when i ascended the niger, now nearly five years ago, i frequently heard allusions to an animal of this nature, but at that time i set it down as a myth. since then, however, the amount of testimony i have received, and the universal belief of the natives of all the countries which i have hitherto visited, have partly shaken my scepticism, and at present i simply hold that its non-existence is not proven. a skull of this animal is said to be preserved in a town in the country of bonú, through which i hope to pass in the course of a few weeks, when i shall make every possible inquiry. two among my informants have repeatedly declared to me that they have seen the bones of this animal, and each made particular mention of the long, straight, or nearly straight, black horn. in countries to the east, and south-east, as márgi and bagirmi, where the one-horned rhinoceros is found, the hunters carefully distinguished between it and the supposed unicorn, and give them different names. in the vast forests and boundless wastes which occur over central africa, especially towards the countries south and east of lake tsád, bórnú, bagirmi and adamáwa, are doubtless numerous zoological curiosities as yet unknown to the man of science, and among them possibly may exist this much-talked-of, strange, one-horned animal, even though it may not exactly correspond with our typical english unicorn." the factitious horn has been preserved in various museums. the "monocero horn," in tradescant's collection, was, probably, that which ordinarily has passed for the horn of the unicorn, namely, the tooth of a narwhal. old legends assert that the unicorn, when he goes to drink, first dips his horn in the water to purify it, and that other beasts delay to quench their thirst till the unicorn has thus sweetened the water. the narwhal's tooth makes a capital twisted unicorn's horn, as represented in the old figures. that in the repository of st. denis, at paris, was presented by thevet, and was declared to have been given to him by the king of monomotapa, who took him out to hunt unicorns, which are frequent in that country. some have thought that this horn was a carved elephant's tooth. there is one at strasburg, some seven or eight feet in length, and there are several in venice. great medical virtues were attributed to the so-called horn, and the price it once bore outdoes everything in the _tulipomania_. a florentine physician has recorded that a pound of it (sixteen ounces) was sold in the shops for fifteen hundred and thirty-six crowns, when the same weight in gold would only have brought one hundred and forty-eight crowns. from what source we derive the stories of the animosity between the lion and the unicorn is not clearly understood, although this is the principal medium through which the fabulous creature has been kept in remembrance by being constantly before us in the royal arms, which were settled at the accession of george i. we owe the introduction of the unicorn, however, to james i., who, as king of scotland, bore two unicorns, and coupled one with the english lion, when the two kingdoms were united. the position of the lion and unicorn in the arms of our country seems to have given rise (naturally enough in the mind of one who was ignorant of heraldic decoration) to a nursery rhyme which most of us remember:-- "the lion and the unicorn were fighting for the crown; the lion beat the unicorn all round the town," &c. unless it alludes to a contest for dominion over the brute creation, which the "rebellious unicorn," as spenser calls it, seems to have waged with the tawny monarch. spenser, in his "faerie queen," gives the following curious way of catching the unicorn:-- "like as a lyon, whose imperiall powre, a prowd rebellious unicorn defyes, t'avoide the rash assault and wrathful stowre of his fiers foe, him a tree applyes, and when him rousing in full course he spyes, he slips aside; the whiles that furious beast his precious home, sought of his enemyes, strikes in the stocke, ne thence can be releast. but to the mighty victor yields a bounteous feast." shakspeare, also ("julius cæsar," act ii. scene ), speaks of the supposed mode of entrapping them:-- "for he loves to hear that unicorns may be betrayed with trees, and bears with glasses, elephants with holes, lions with toils, and men with flatterers." we have no satisfactory reason for believing that man ever coexisted with mastodons; otherwise professor owen's discovery of the retention of a single tusk only by the male gigantic mastodon, might have afforded another form of unicorn. whatever the zoologists may have done towards extirpating the belief in the existence of the unicorn, it is ever kept in sight by heraldry, which, with its animal absurdities, has contributed more to the propagation of error respecting the natural world than any other species of misrepresentation. the mole at home. the mole, though generally a despised and persecuted animal, is nevertheless useful to the husbandman in being the natural drainer of his land and destroyer of worms. to other inferior animals he is a sapper and miner, forming for them their safe retreats and well-secured dormitories. the economy of the mole has been much controverted among naturalists. it is found throughout the greater part of europe. we are overrun with it in most parts of england and wales; but it does not appear to have been found in the northern extremity of scotland, and there is no record of its having been seen in the orkney isles, zetland, or ireland. its most diligent and instructive historian is henri le court, who, flying from the terrors that came in the train of the french revolution, betook himself to the country, and from being the attendant on a court, became the biographer of this humble animal. m. geoffroy st. hilaire, the celebrated french naturalist, visited le court for the purpose of testing his observations, and appears to have been charmed by the facility and ingenuity with which le court traced and demonstrated the subterraneous labours of this obscure worker in the dark. we shall first briefly describe the adaptation of its structure to its habits. the bony framework is set in motion by very powerful muscles, those of the chest and neck being most vigorous. the wide hand, which is the great instrument of action, and performs the offices of a pickaxe and shovel, is sharp-edged on its lower margin, and when clothed with the integuments the fingers are hardly distinguishable. the muzzle of the mole is evidently a delicate organ of touch, as are also the large and broad hands and feet; and the tail has much sensitiveness to give notice to the animal of the approach of any attack from behind. its taste and smell, especially the latter, are very sensitive. its sight is almost rudimentary. the little eye is so hidden in the fur that its very existence was for a long time doubted. it appears to be designed for operating only as a warning to the animal on its emerging into the light; indeed, more acute vision would only have been an encumbrance. if the sight be imperfect, the sense of hearing is very acute, and the tympanum very large, though there is no external ear, perhaps because the earth assists considerably in vibration. the fore-feet are inclined sideways, so as to answer the use of hands, to scoop out the earth to form its habitation or pursue its prey, and to fling all the loose soil behind the animal. the breastbone in shape resembles a ploughshare. the skin is so tough as only to be cut by a very sharp knife. the hair is very short and close-set, and softer than the finest silk; colour black; some spotted and cream-coloured. this hair is yielding; had it been strong, as in the rat or mouse, it would doubly have retarded the progress of the creature; first by its resistance, and then acting as a brush, so as to choke up the galleries, by removing the loose earth from the sides and ceilings of the galleries. it is supposed that the verdant circles so often seen in grass ground, called by country people _fairy rings_, are owing to the operations of moles: at certain seasons they perform their burrowings in circles, which, loosening the soil, gives the surface a greater fertility and rankness of grass than the other parts within or without the ring. the larger mole-hills denote the nests or dens of the mole beneath. the feeling of the mole is so acute that when casting up the earth, it is sensible of very gentle pressure; hence mole-catchers tread lightly when in quest of moles; and unless this caution is used the mole ceases its operation, and instantly retires. again, so acute is the smell, that mole-catchers draw the body of a captured mole through their traps and the adjoining runs and passages to remove all suspicious odours which might arise from the touch of their fingers. during summer the mole runs in search of snails and worms in the night-time among the grass, which pursuit makes it the prey of owls. the mole shows great art in skinning a worm, which it always does before it eats it, by stripping the skin from end to end, and squeezing out the contents of the body. it is doubtful whether any other animal exists which is obliged to eat at such short intervals as the mole, ten or twelve hours appearing to be the maximum of its fasting; at the end of that time it dies. cuvier tells us that if two moles are shut up together without food, there will shortly be nothing left of the weakest but its skin, slit along the belly! buffon accuses moles of eating all the acorns of a newly-set soil. its voracity makes the mole a great drinker: a run is always formed to a pond or ditch as a reservoir; when it is too distant, the animal sinks little wells, which have sometimes been seen brimfull. we now return to le court's experiments with moles, which are very interesting. to afford proof of the rapidity with which the mole will travel along its passages, le court watched his opportunity, and when the animal was on its feed at one of the most distant points from its sanctuary or fortress, to which point the mole's high road leads. le court placed along the course of that road, between the animal and the fortress, several little camp colours, so to speak, the staff of each being a straw, and the flag a bit of paper, at certain distances, the straws penetrating down into the passage. near the end of this subterraneous road he inserted a horn, the mouthpiece of which stood out of the ground. when all was ready, le court blew a blast loud enough to frighten all the moles within hearing. down went the little flags in succession with astonishing velocity, as the terrified mole, rushing along towards his sanctuary, came in contact with the flag-straws; and the spectators affirmed that the mole's swiftness was equal to the speed of a horse at a good round trot. to test its amount of vision, le court took a spare water-pipe, or gutter, open at both ends. into this pipe he introduced several moles successively. geoffroy st. hilaire stood by to watch the result at the further end of the tube. as long as the spectators stood motionless the introduced mole made the best of his way through the pipe and escaped; but if they moved, or even raised a finger, the mole stopped, and then retreated. several repetitions of this experiment produced the same results. in the domain of the mole, the principal point is the habitation, or fortress, constructed under a considerable hillock raised in some secure place, often at the root of a tree, or under a bank. the dome of the fortress is of earth, beaten by the mole-architect into a compact and solid state. inside is formed a circular gallery at the base, which communicates with a smaller upper gallery by means of five passages. within the lower gallery is the chamber or dormitory, which has access to the upper gallery by three passages. from this habitation extends the high road by which the proprietor reaches the opposite end of the encampment; the galleries open into this road, which the mole is continually carrying out and extending in his search for food; this has been termed the _hunting-ground_. another road extends, first downwards, and then up into the open road of the territory. some eight or nine other passages open out from the external circular gallery. from the habitation a road is carried out, nearly straight, and connected with the encampment and the alleys leading to the hunting-ground which open into it on each side. in diameter the road exceeds the body of a mole, but its size will not admit of two moles passing each other. the walls, from the repeated pressure of the animal's sides, become smooth and compact. sometimes a mole will lay out a second or even a third road; or several individuals use one road in common, though they never trespass on each other's hunting-grounds. if two moles should happen to meet in the same road, one must retreat into the nearest alley, unless they fight, when the weakest is often slain. in forming this tunnel the mole's instinct drives it at a greater or less depth, according to the quality of the soil, or other circumstances. when it is carried under a road or stream, a foot and a-half of earth, or sometimes more, is left above it. then does the little engineering mole carry on the subterraneous works necessary for his support, travelling, and comfort; and his tunnels never fall in. the quality or humidity of the soils which regulates the abundance of earth-worms, determines the greater or less depth of the alleys; and when these are filled with stores of food the mole works out branch alleys. the main road communicating with the hunting-grounds is of necessity passed through in the course of the day; and here the mole-catcher sets his traps to intercept the mole between his habitation and the alley where he is carrying on his labours. some mole-catchers will tell you the hours when the moles move are nine and four; others that near the coast their movements are influenced by the tides. besides the various traps which are set for moles, they are sometimes taken by a man and a dog; when the latter indicates the presence of a mole, the man spears the animal out as it moves in its run. pointers will stop as steadily as at game, at the moles, when they are straying on the surface. the mole is a most voracious animal. earthworms and the larvæ of insects are its favourite food; and it will eat mice, lizards, frogs, and even birds; but it rejects toads, even when pressed by hunger, deterred, probably, by the acrid secretions of their skin. moles are essentially carnivorous; and when fed abundantly on vegetable substances they have died of hunger. during the season of love, at which time fierce battles are fought between the males, the male pursues the female with ardour through numerous runs wrought out with great rapidity. the attachment appears to be very strong in the moles. le court often found a female taken in his trap and a male lying dead close to her. from four to five is the general number of young. the nest is distinct, usually distant from the habitation. it is constructed by enlarging and excavating the point where three or four passages intersect each other; and the bed of the nest is formed of a mass of young grass, root fibres, and herbage. in one nest geoffroy st. hilaire and le court counted two hundred and four young wheat-blades. m. st. hilaire describes the pairings, or as he calls it, "the loves of the moles." as soon as the mole has finished the galleries he brings his mate along with him, and shuts her up in the bridal gallery, taking care to prevent the entrance of his rivals: in case of a fight they enlarge the part of the gallery where they are met; and the victory is decided in favour of him who first wounds his adversary before the ear. the female, during the fight, is shut up in the bridal gallery, so as to be unable to escape; for which purpose, however, she uses all her resources in digging, and attempts to get away by the side passages. should she succeed the conqueror hastens to rejoin his faithless mate, and to bring her back into his galleries. this manoeuvre is repeated as often as other males enter the lists. at length the conqueror is recognised, and his mate becomes more docile. the pair work together and finish the galleries; after which the female digs alone for food. as soon as the galleries are formed, the male conducts his mate to a certain point, and from this time the female no longer digs in the solid earth, but towards the surface, advancing by merely separating the roots of the grass. the mole is a great friend to the farmer; but there are places in which he is a public enemy. he is not a vegetable feeder, and he never roots up the growing corn in spring-time, except when he is after grubs, snails, and wire-worms. it has been calculated that two moles destroy , white worms in a year. he is very destructive to under drains; and where the land is low we are in danger of a deluge from his piercing holes in the drain-banks. thus it would be madness not to extirpate moles in those places where the waters, in drains or rivers, are above the level of the lands around, especially when the banks are made of sand or earth of loose texture. the persecution of moles in cultivated countries amounts almost to a war of extermination. the numbers annually slaughtered are enormous. a mole-catcher, who had followed the craft for thirty-five years, destroyed from forty to fifty thousand moles. but all mole exterminators must yield to le court, who, in no large district, took, in five months, six thousand of them. moles are good swimmers, and their bite is very sharp; their attacks are ferocious, and they keep their hold like a bull-dog. the shrew mole of north america resembles the european mole in its habits. dr. goodman describes it as most active early in the morning, at mid-day, and in the evening; and they are well known in the country to have the custom of coming daily to the surface _exactly at noon_. we read of a captive shrew mole which ate meat, cooked or raw, drank freely, and was lively and playful, following the hand of his feeder by the scent, burrowing for a short distance in the loose earth, and after making a small circle, returning for more food. in eating he employed his flexible snout to thrust the food into his mouth, doubling it so as to force it directly backwards, as described in dr. richardson's "north american zoology." james hogg, the ettrick shepherd, remarks, in his usual impressive manner:--"the most unnatural persecution that ever was raised in a country is that against the mole--that innocent and blessed little pioneer, who enriches our pastures annually with the first top-dressing, dug with great pains and labour from the fattest of the soil beneath. the advantages of this top-dressing are so apparent that it is really amazing how our countrymen should have persisted, for nearly half a century, in the most manly and valiant endeavours to exterminate the moles! if a hundred men and horses were employed on a pasture farm of from fifteen hundred to two thousand acres, in raising and driving manure for a top-dressing of that farm, they would not do it so effectually, so neatly, or so equally as the natural number of moles. in june, july, and august, the mole-hills are all spread by the crows and lambs--the former for food, and the latter in the evenings of warm days after a drought has set in. the late duke of buccleuch was the first who introduced mole-catching into scotland." the great ant-bear. a fine living specimen of this comparatively rare animal was first exhibited in the zoological society's gardens, in the regent's-park, . it is stated to be the first specimen brought alive to england, and accordingly excited considerable attention. it was one of a pair, captured near the rio negro, in the southern province of brazil, and shipped for england by some german travellers. the male died on the voyage; the female arrived in london in , and was exhibited in broad-street, st. giles's, until purchased by the zoological society for the sum of _l._ the advantage of this live specimen to naturalists has been very great. hitherto the examples engraved by buffon and shaw were both derived from stuffed specimens, and had the inevitable defects and shortcomings of such. sir john talbot dillon, in his "travels through spain," published in , states that a specimen of the ant-bear, from buenos ayres, was alive at madrid in : it is now stuffed and preserved in the royal cabinet of natural history at madrid. the persons who brought it from buenos ayres say it differs from the ant-eater, which only feeds on emmets and other insects, whereas this would eat flesh, when cut in small pieces, to the amount of four or five pounds. from the snout to the extremity of the tail this animal is two yards in length, and his height is about two feet; the head very narrow, the nose long and slender. the tongue is so singular that it looks like a worm, and extends above sixteen inches. the body is covered with long hair of a dark brown, with white stripes on the shoulders; and when he sleeps, he covers his body with his tail. this account, it will be seen hereafter, corresponds very accurately with that of the animal purchased by the zoological society. [illustration: the great ant-bear.] mr. wallace, who travelled on the amazon and rio negro, about the year , relates:--"the living specimen of this singular animal is a great rarity, even in its native country. in fact, there is not a city in brazil where it would not be considered almost as much a curiosity as it is here. in the extensive forests of the amazon the great ant-eater is, perhaps, as abundant as in any part of south america; yet, during a residence there of more than four years, i never had an opportunity of seeing one. once only i was nearly in at the death, finding a bunch of hairs from the tail of a specimen which had been killed (and eaten) a month previous to my arrival, at a village near the capiquiare. in its native forests the creature feeds almost entirely on white ants, tearing open their nests with its powerful claws, and thrusting in its long and slender tongue, which, being probably mistaken for a worm, is immediately seized by scores of the inhabitants, who thus become an easy prey. the indians, who also eat white ants, catch them in a somewhat similar manner, by pushing into the nest a grass-stalk, which the insects seize and hold on to most tenaciously. it may easily be conceived that such an animal must range over a considerable extent of country to obtain a plentiful supply of such food, which circumstance, as well as its extreme shyness and timidity, causes it to be but rarely met with, and still more rarely obtained alive." we have seen that the ant-bear lives exclusively upon ants, to procure which he tears open the hills, and when the ants flock out to defend their dwellings, draws over them his long, flexible tongue, covered with glutinous saliva, to which the ants consequently adhere; and he is said to repeat this operation twice in a second. "it seems almost incredible," says azara, "that so robust and powerful an animal can procure sufficient sustenance from ants alone; but this circumstance has nothing strange in it, for those who are acquainted with the tropical parts of america, and have seen the enormous multitude of these insects, which swarm in all parts of the country to that degree that their hills often almost touch one another for miles together." the same author informs us that domestic ant-bears were occasionally kept by different persons in paraguay, and that they had even been sent alive to spain, being fed upon bread-and-milk mixed with morsels of flesh minced very small. like all animals which live upon insects, the ant-eaters are capable of sustaining a total deprivation of nourishment for an almost incredible time. the great ant-bear's favourite resorts are low, swampy savannahs, along the banks of rivers and stagnant ponds; also frequenting humid forests, but never climbing trees, as falsely reported by buffon. his pace is slow and heavy, though, when hard pressed, he increases his rate, yet his greatest velocity never half equals the ordinary running of a man. when pressed too hard, or urged to extremity, he turns obstinate, sits upon his hind-quarters like a bear, and defends himself with his powerful claws. like that animal, his usual and only mode of assault is by seizing his adversary with his fore-paws, wrapping his arms round him, and endeavouring, by this means, to squeeze him to death. his great strength and powerful muscles would easily enable him to accomplish his purpose in this respect, even against the largest animals of his native forests, were it but guided by ordinary intelligence, or accompanied with a common degree of activity; but in these qualities there are few animals indeed who do not greatly surpass the ant-bear; so that the different stories handed down by writers on natural history from one to another, and copied, without question, into the histories and descriptions of this animal, may be regarded as pure fictions. "it is supposed," says don felix d'azara, "that the jaguar himself dares not attack the ant-bear, and that, if pressed by hunger, or under some other strong excitement, he does so, the ant-bear embraces and hugs him so tightly as very soon to deprive him of life, not even relaxing his hold for hours after life has been extinguished in his assailant. such is the manner in which the ant-eater defends himself; but it is not to be believed that his utmost efforts could prevail against the jaguar, who, by a single bite, or blow of his paw, could kill the ant-eater before he was prepared for resistance, so slow are his motions, even in an extreme case; and, being unable to leap or turn with ordinary rapidity, he is forced to act solely upon the defensive. the flesh of the ant-eater is esteemed a delicacy by the indians; and, though black, and of a strong musky flavour, is sometimes even met with at the tables of europeans." the habits of the great ant-bear in captivity have been described scientifically yet popularly, from the zoological society's specimen, by professor owen, who writes:--"when we were introduced to this, the latest novelty at the noble vivarium in the regent's-park, we found the animal busy sucking and licking up--for his feeding is a combination of the two actions--the contents of a basin of squashed eggs. the singularly long and slender head, which looks more like a slightly bent proboscis, or some such appendage to a head, was buried in the basin, and the end of the lithe or flexible tongue, like a rat's tail, or a writhing black worm, was ever and anon seen coiling up the sides of the basin, as it was rapidly protruded and withdrawn. the yellow yolk was dripping with the abundant ropy saliva secreted during the feeding process from the exceedingly small terminal mouth; for the jaws are not slit open, as in the ordinary construction of the mouths of quadrupeds, and the head, viewed sideways, seems devoid of mouth; but this important aperture--by some deemed the essential character of an animal--is a small orifice or slit at the end of the tubular muzzle, just being enough, apparently, to let the vermiform tongue slip easily in and out. the tongue, the keeper told us, was sometimes protruded as far as fourteen inches from the mouth." by the qjuarani indians the beast is known by a name which is, in spanish, "little mouth." the portuguese and spanish peons call it by a name equivalent to "ant-bear." in the zoological catalogue the animal is denominated _myrmocophaga jubata_, or the "maned ant-eater." this appellation would very well suit the animal if, as most spectators commonly imagine at first sight, its head was where its tail is, for the tail is that part of the animal on which the hair is most developed, after the fashion of a mane; whilst the actual head appears much more like a tail, of a slender, almost naked, stiff, rounded kind. the body is wholly covered by long, coarse hair, resembling hay, rapidly lengthening from the neck backwards to six or eight inches, and extending on the tail from ten to eighteen inches. the colour is greyish brown, with an oblique black band, bordered with white, on each shoulder. the animal measures about four feet from the snout to the root of the tail; and the tail, three feet long, resembles a large screen of coarse hair. when the animal lies down, it bends its head between its fore legs, slides these forward, and crosses them in front of the occiput, sinks its haunches by bending its hind legs and bringing them close to the fore feet; then, leaning against the wall of its den, on one side, it lays the broad tail over the other exposed side of the body, by the side bend of that part, like the movement of a door or screen. nothing is now visible of the animal but the long coarse hair of its _natural and portable blanket_. when it is enjoying its siesta, you cannot form any conception of its very peculiar shape and proportions; an oblong heap of a coarse, dry, _greyish thatch_ is all that is visible. when, however, the keeper enters the den with any new dainty, as cockroaches, crickets, maggots, or meal-worms, to tempt the huge insect-devourer, the quick-hearing animal unveils its form by a sweeping movement of the thatch outwards, the tail that supports it rotating, as if joined by a kind of door-hinge to the body; the head is drawn out from between the fore limbs; the limbs are extended, and the entire figure of this most grotesque of quadrupeds stalks forth. the limbs are short; the fore limbs grow rather thicker to their stumpy ends, which look as if the feet had been amputated. the four toes, with their claws, are bent inwards, and are of very unequal length. this is the most singular part of the animal: it is also the most formidable member, and, indeed, bears the sole weapon of defence the beast possesses. the innermost toe, answering to the thumb on the fore limb of the neighbouring chimpanzee, is the shortest. a fifth toe seems to be buried in the outside callosity, on which the animal rests its stumpy feet while walking. at the back part of the sole, or palm, of the fore foot, is a second large callosity, which receives the point of the great claw in its usual state of inward inflection. against this callosity the animal presses the claw when it seizes any object therewith; and azara, as we have seen, avers that nothing can make the ant-bear relax its grasp of an object so seized. with respect to the jaguar being sometimes found dead in the grasp of the great ant-eater, professor owen observes that its muscular force resembles that of the cold-blooded reptiles in the force and endurance of the contractile action; and, like the reptiles, the sloths and ant-bears can endure long fasts. woe to the unlucky or heedless aggressor whose arm or leg may be seized by the ant-bear. the strength of the grasp sometimes breaks the bone. the ant-bear never voluntarily lets go, and the limb so grasped can be with difficulty extricated, even after the animal has been killed. to put the beast, however, _hors de combat_, no other weapon is needed than a stout stick. "with this," says azara. "i have killed many by dealing them blows on the head, and with the same security as if i had struck the trunk of a tree. with a mouth so small, and formed as already described, the ant-bear cannot bite; and, if it could, it would be useless, for it has no teeth." "like a lawyer," says professor owen, "the tongue is the chief organ by which this animal obtains its livelihood in its natural habitat. the warmer latitudes of south america, to which part of the world the ant-bear is peculiar, abound in forests and luxuriant vegetation; the insects of the ant and termite tribes that subsist on wood, recent or decaying, equally abound. with one link in the chain of organic independencies is interlocked another; and as the surplus vegetation sustains the surplus insect population, so a peculiar form of mammalian life finds the requisite conditions of existence in the task of restraining the undue multiplication of the wood-consuming insects." the number of male ant-eaters is supposed to be considerably smaller than that of the females, which circumstance favours the inference that the extinction of the species, like those of the _edentata_ in general, is determined upon.[ ] large as the ant-bear is in comparison with the animals on which it naturally feeds, there appear to have been still larger ant-bears in the old times of south america. fossil remains of nearly allied quadrupeds have been detected in both the fresh-water deposits and bone-caves of the post-pliocene period in buenos ayres and brazil. in examining the fossil remains has been found evidence that the nervous matter destined to put in action the muscular part of the tongue was equal to half of that nervous matter which influences the whole muscular system of a man. no other known living animal offers any approximation to the peculiar proportions of the lingual nerves of the fossil animal in question except the great ant-eater; but the size of the animal indicated by the fossil was three times that of our ant-eater. for this strange monster, thus partially restored from the ruins of a former world, professor owen proposes the name of _glossotherium_, which signifies tongue-beast. evidence of such a creature has been given by dr. lund, the danish naturalist, resident in brazil: among the fossil remains here (limestone caves of the province minas) he discovered traces of the great ant-eater, which, however, are too imperfect to enable us to determine more accurately its relation to existing species. the fragments indicate an animal the size of an ox! were the insect prey of these antediluvian ant-eaters correspondingly gigantic? two circumstances very remarkable were observed in the zoological society's great ant-eater: the hinge-like manner in which the animal worked its tail when it had laid itself down, throwing it over the whole of its body and enveloping itself completely; and the peculiar vibratory motion of the long vermiform tongue when protruded from the mouth in search of food. the tongue is not shot forth and retracted, like that of the chameleon, but protruded gradually, _vibrating_ all the time, and in the same condition withdrawn into the mouth. another species of ant-eater is the _tamandua_, much inferior in size to the great ant-bear, being scarcely so large as a good sized cat, whilst the other exceeds the largest greyhound in length. the tamandua inhabits the thick primæval forests of tropical america, and is never found on the ground, but exclusively in trees, where it lives upon termites, honey, and, according to azara, even bees, which in those countries form their hives among the loftiest branches of the forest; and having no sting, they are more readily despoiled of their honey than their congeners of our own climate. when about to sleep it hides its muzzle in the fur of its breast, falls on its belly, letting its fore-feet hang down on each side, and wrapping the whole tightly round with its tail. the female, as in the great ant-eater, has but two pectoral mammæ, and produces but a single cub at a birth, which she carries about with her on her shoulders for the first three or four months. _tamandua_ is the portuguese name; the french and english call it _fourmiller_ and little ant-bear. the latter are the names of a still smaller species, which does not exceed the size of the european squirrel. its native country is guayana and brazil. it is called in surinam _kissing-hand_, as the inhabitants pretend it will never eat, at least when caught, but that it only licks its paws in the same manner as the bear; that all trials to make it eat have proved in vain, and that it soon dies in confinement. von sack, in a voyage to surinam, had two of these ant-eaters which would not eat eggs, honey, meat, or ants; but when a wasps'-nest was brought they pulled out the nymphæ and ate them eagerly, sitting in the posture of a squirrel. von sack showed this phenomenon to many of the inhabitants of surinam, who all assured him that it was the first time they had ever known that species of animal to take any nourishment. von sack describes his ant-eaters as often sleeping all the day long curled together, and fastened by their prehensile tails to one of the perches of the cage. when touched they raised themselves on their hind-legs, and struck with their fore-paws at the object which disturbed them, like the hammer of a clock striking a bell, with both paws at the same time, and with a great deal of force. they never attempted to run away, but were always ready for defence when attacked. the discovery of the true nature of the food of this species is particularly desirable, and may enable us to have the animal brought alive to this country, a thing which we believe has not been attempted; and which, if attempted, has certainly never succeeded. to procure or carry ants during a long sea-voyage is impracticable, but the larvæ of wasps can be obtained in any quantity, and will keep for months; so that the most serious difficulty to the introduction of the little ant-eater being thus removed, it would only require to be protected from the effects of a colder climate, which may be as easily done in its case as in that of other south america mammalia. the porcupine ant-eater of new holland, now very uncommon in new south wales, is regarded, of its size, the strongest quadruped in existence. it burrows readily. its mode of eating is very curious, the tongue being used sometimes in the manner of that of the chameleon, and at other times in that in which a mower uses his scythe, the tongue being curved laterally, and the food, as it were, swept into the mouth. the original great ant-bear, received at the gardens of the zoological society on the th of september, , died on the th of july, . there are now two of these animals living in the gardens, one of which is a remarkably fine specimen. footnote: [ ] proceedings of the zoological society. curiosities of bats. these harmless and interesting little animals have not only furnished objects of superstitious dread to the ignorant, but have proved to the poet and the painter a fertile source of images of gloom and terror. the strange combination of character of beast and bird, which they were believed to possess, is supposed to have given to virgil the idea of the harpies. aristotle says but little about the bat; and pliny is considered to have placed it among the birds, none of which, he observes, with the exception of the bat, have teeth. again, he notices it as the only winged animal that suckles its young, and remarks on its embracing its two little ones, and flying about with them. in this arrangement he was followed by the older of the more modern naturalists. belon, doubtingly, places it at the end of the night-birds; and the bat, _attaleph_ (bird of darkness), was one of the unclean animals of the hebrews; and in deuteronomy xxv. , it is placed among the forbidden birds. even up to a late period bats were considered as forming a link between quadrupeds and birds. the common language of our own ancestors, however, indicates a much nearer approach to the truth in the notions entertained by the people than can be found in the lucubrations of the learned. the words _rere-mouse_ and _flitter-mouse_, the old english names for the bat--the former derived from the anglo-saxon "aræan," to raise, or rear up, and mus; the latter from the belgic, signifying "flying or flittering mouse,"--show that in their minds these animals were always associated with the idea of quadrupeds. the first of these terms is still used in english heraldry; though it may have ceased to belong to the language of the country. "the word _flitter-mouse_," says mr. bell, "sometimes corrupted into _flintymouse_, is the common term for the bat in some parts of the kingdom, particularly in that part of the county of kent in which the language, as well as the aspect and names of the inhabitants, retain more of the saxon character than will be found, perhaps, in any other part of england. ben jonson has-- "once a bat, and ever a bat! a rere-mouse, and bird o'twilight, he has broken thrice. . . . come, i will see the flicker-mouse, my fly." _play._--_new inn._ the same author uses flitter-mouse also:-- "and giddy flitter-mice, with leather wings." _sad shepherd._ calmet describes the bat as an animal having the body of a mouse and the wings of a bird; but he erroneously adds, "it never grows tame." some persons are surprised at bats being classed by naturalists, not with birds, but quadrupeds. they have, in fact, no other claim to be considered as birds than that of their being able to suspend and move themselves in the air, like some species of fish, but to a greater degree. they suckle their young, are covered with hair, and have no wings, but arms and lengthened fingers or toes furnished with a membrane, by which they are enabled to fly. sir charles bell, in his valuable treatise on the "hand," considers the skeleton of the bat as one of the best examples of the moulding of the bones of the extremity to correspond with the condition of the animal. contemplating this extraordinary application of the bones of the extremity, and comparing them with those of the wing of a bird, we might say that this is an awkward attempt--"a failure." but, before giving expression to such an opinion, we must understand the objects required in this construction. it is not a wing intended merely for flight, but one which, while it raises the animal, is capable of receiving a new sensation, or sensations, in that exquisite degree, so as almost to constitute a new sense. on the fine web of the bat's wing nerves are distributed, which enable it to avoid objects in its flight during the night, when both eyes and ears fail. could the wing of a bird, covered with feathers, do this? here, then, we have another example of the necessity of taking every circumstance into consideration before we presume to criticise the ways of nature. it is a lesson of humility. in this animal the bones are light and delicate; and whilst they are all marvellously extended, the phalanges of the fingers are elongated so as hardly to be recognised, obviously for the purpose of sustaining a membranous web, and to form a wing. in there was received at the surrey zoological gardens, from sumatra, a specimen of the vampire bat. this was a young male; the body was black, and the membranous wing, in appearance, resembled fine black kid. he was rarely seen at the bottom of his cage, but suspended himself from the roof or bars of the cage, head downwards, his wings wrapped round his body; when spread, these wings extended nearly two feet. although this specimen was the vampire bat to which so many bloodthirsty feats have been attributed, his appearance was by no means ferocious; he was active, yet docile, and the only peculiarity to favour belief in his blood-sucking propensity was his long pointed tongue. the species has popularly been accused of destroying, not only the large mammiferous animals, but also men, when asleep, by sucking their blood. "the truth," says cuvier, in his "regne animal," "appears to be, that the vampire inflicts only small wounds, which may, probably, become inflammatory and gangrenous from the influence of climate." in this habit, however, may have originated the celebrated vampire superstition. lord byron, in his beautiful poem of "the giaour," thus symbolises the tortures that await the "false infidel:"-- "first, on earth as vampire sent, my corse shall from its tomb be rent; then ghastly haunt thy native place, and suck the blood of all thy race; there, from thy daughter, sister, wife, at midnight drain the stream of life; yet loathe the banquet which perforce must feed thy livid living corse. thy victims, ere they yet expire, shall know the demon for their sire, as cursing thee, thou cursing them, thy flowers are withered on the stem. but one that for thy crime must fall, the youngest, most beloved of all, shall bless thee with _a father's_ name-- that word shall wrap thy heart in flame! yet must thou end thy task, and mark her cheek's last tinge, her eye's last spark, and the last glassy glance must view which freezes o'er its lifeless blue; then with unhallowed hand shall tear the tresses of her yellow hair, of which in life a lock, when shorn, affection's fondest pledge was worn, but now is borne away by thee, memorial of thine agony! wet with thine one best blood shall drip thy gnashing tooth and haggard lip; then stalking to thy sullen grave, go, and with gouls and afrits rave; till there in horror shrink away from spectre more accursed than they!" in a note, the noble poet tells us:--"the vampire superstition is still general in the levant." honest tournefort tells a long story, which mr. southey, in the notes on "thalaba," quotes, about these vardoulacha, as he calls them. "i recollect a whole family being terrified by the screams of a child, which they imagined must proceed from such a visitation. the greeks never mention the word without horror." bishop heber describes the vampire bat of india as a very harmless creature, entirely different from the formidable idea entertained of it in england. "it only eats fruit and vegetables; indeed, its teeth are not indicative of carnivorous habits; and from blood it turns away when offered to it. during the daytime it is, of course, inert; but at night it is lively, affectionate, and playful, knows its keeper, but has no objection to the approach and touch of others." mr. westerton, the traveller, when speaking, in his "wanderings," of the vampire of south america, says:--"there are two species in demerara, both of which suck living animals; one is rather larger than the common bats, the other measures above two feet from wing to wing, extended. so gently does this nocturnal surgeon draw the blood, that instead of being roused, the patient is lulled into a profound sleep." the large vampire sucks men, commonly attacking the toes; the smaller seems to confine itself chiefly to birds. captain stedman, who states that he was bitten by a bat, thus describes the operation:--"knowing by instinct that the person they intend to attack is in a sound slumber, they generally alight near the feet, where, while the creature continues fanning with its enormous wings, which keeps one cool, he bites a piece out of the tip of the great toe, so very small indeed that the head of a pin would scarcely be received into the wound, which is, consequently, not painful; yet through this orifice he continues to suck the blood until he is obliged to disgorge. he then begins again, and thus continues sucking and disgorging until he is scarcely able to fly; and the sufferer has been often known to sleep from time into eternity. having applied tobacco-ashes as the best remedy, and washed the gore from myself and my hammock, i observed several small heaps of congealed blood all round the place where i had lain upon the ground, on examining which the surgeon judged that i had lost at least twelve or fourteen ounces during the night." lesson, in , says:--"the single american species of bat is celebrated by the fables with which they have accompanied its history. that bats suck the blood of animals as well as the juices of succulent fruits zoologists are agreed. the rough tongue of one genus was, i suppose, to be employed for abrading the skin, to enable the animal to suck the part abraded; but zoologists are now agreed that the supposition is groundless. it is more than probable that the celebrated vampire superstition and the blood-sucking qualities attributed to the bat have some connection with each other." bat-fowling is mentioned by shakspeare. this is the mode of taking bats in the night-time, while they are at roost, upon perches, trees, or hedges. they light torches or straw, and then beat the bushes, upon which the bats, flying to the flames, are caught, either with nets or otherwise. bat-fowling, or bat-folding, is effected by the use of a net, called a trammel-net, and is practised at night. the net should be made of the strongest and finest twine, and extended between two poles about ten feet high, tapering to a point at the top, and meeting at the top of the net. the larger ends are to be held by the persons who take the management of the net, and who, by stretching out the arms, keep the net extended to the utmost, opposite the hedge in which the bats or birds are supposed to be. another of the party carries a lantern upon a pole at a short distance behind the centre of the net. one or two others place themselves on the opposite side of the hedge, and by beating it with sticks disturb the bats or birds, which, being alarmed, fly towards the light, but are interrupted in their flight by the net which is immediately _folded_ upon them, often fifteen or twenty in number. this sport cannot be followed with much success except when the night is very dark, or until very late in the autumn, when the trees, having lost their leaves, the bats or birds are driven for shelter to the hollies, yews, hayricks, &c. we remember reading, in the "philosophical magazine," in , a curious account of the habits of a long-eared bat, a living specimen of which was given to the children of mr. de carle sowerby, the naturalist. "we constructed," says mr. sowerby, "a cage for him, by covering a box with gauze, and making a round hole in the side, fitted with a phial cork. when he was awake, we fed him with flies, introduced through this hole, and thus kept him for several weeks. the animal soon became familiar, and immediately a fly was presented alive at the hole, he would run or fly from any part of the cage, and seize it in our fingers; but a dead or quiet fly he would never touch. at other times, dozens of flies and grasshoppers were left in his cage, and, waking him by their noise, he dexterously caught them as they hopped or flew about, but uniformly disregarded them while they were at rest. the cockroach, hard beetles, and caterpillars he refused. "as we became still more familiar, our new friend was invited to join in our evening amusements, to which he contributed his full share by flitting round the room, at times settling upon our persons, and permitting us to handle and caress him. he announced his being awake by a shrill chirp, which was more acute than that of the cricket. now was the proper time for feeding him. i before stated that he only took his food alive. it was observed that not only was motion necessary, but that generally some noise on the part of the fly was required to induce him to accept it; and this fact was soon discovered by the children, who were entertained by his taking flies from their fingers as he flew by them, before he was bold enough to settle upon their hands to devour his victims. they quickly improved upon this discovery, and, by imitating the booming of a bee, induced the bat, directed by the sound, to settle upon their faces, wrapping his wings round their lips, and searching for the expected fly. we observed that, if he took a fly while on the wing, he frequently settled to masticate it; and, when he had been flying about a long time, he would rest upon a curtain, pricking his ears, and turning his head in all directions, when, if a fly were made to buzz, or the sound imitated, he would proceed directly to the spot, even on the opposite side of the room, guided, it would appear, entirely by the ear. sometimes he took his victim in his mouth, even though it was not flying; at other times he inclosed it in his wings, with which he formed a kind of bag-net. this was his general plan when in his cage, or when the fly was held in our fingers, or between our lips." from these observations mr. sowerby concludes that many of the movements of the bat upon the wing are directed by his exquisite sense of hearing. may not the sensibility of this organ be naturally greater in these animals, whose organs of vision are too susceptible to bear daylight, when those organs, from their nature, would necessarily be of most service?--such as the cat, who hunts by the ear, and the mole, who, feeding in the dark recesses of his subterranean abode, is very sensible of the approach of danger, and expert in avoiding it. in the latter case, large external ears are not required, because sound is well conveyed by solids, and along narrow cavities. in the cases of many bats, and of owls, the external ears are remarkably developed. cats combine a quickness of sight with acute hearing. they hunt by the ear, but they follow their prey by the eye. some bats are said to feed upon fruits: have they the same delicacy of hearing, feeling, &c., as others? mr. sowerby has further described the singular mode adopted by the long-eared bat in capturing his prey. the flying apparatus is extended from the hind legs to the tail, forming a large bag or net, not unlike two segments of an umbrella, the legs and tail being the ribs. the bat, having caught the fly, instead of eating it at once, generally covers it with his body, and, by the aid of his arms, &c., forces it into his bag. he then puts his head down under his body, withdraws the fly from his bag, and leisurely devours it. mr. sowerby once saw an unwary bluebottle walk beneath the body of the apparently sleeping bat into the sensitive bag, in which it was immediately imprisoned. white, of selborne, speaking of a tame bat, alludes to the above described action, which he compares to that of a beast of prey, but says nothing respecting the bag. bell, in his "british quadrupeds," says that the interfemoral membrane of bats "is probably intended to act as a sort of rudder, in rapidly changing the course of the animal in the pursuit of its insect food. in a large group of foreign bats, which feed on fruit or other vegetable substances, as well as in some of carnivorous habits, but whose prey is of a less active character, this part is either wholly wanting or much circumscribed in extent and power." may it not be, asks mr. sowerby, that they do not require an entomological bag-net? the wing of the bat is commonly spoken of as of leather; that it is an insensible piece of stuff--the leather of a glove or of a lady's shoe; but nothing can be further from the truth. if one were to select an organ of the most exquisite delicacy and sensibility, it would be the bat's wing. it is anything but leather, and is, perhaps, the most acute organ of touch that can be found. bats are supposed to perceive external objects without coming actually in contact with them, because in their rapid and irregular flight, amidst various surrounding bodies, they never fly against them; yet, to some naturalists, it does not appear that the senses of hearing, seeing, or smelling serve them on these occasions, for they avoid any obstacles with equal certainty when the eye, ear, and nose are closed: hence has been ascribed a _sixth sense_ to these animals. the nerves of the wing are large and numerous, and distributed in a minute network between the integuments. the impulse of the air against this part may possibly be so modified by the objects near which the animal passes as to indicate their situation and nature. the bat tribe fly by means of the fingers of the fore feet, the thumb excepted, being, in these animals, longer than the whole body; and between them is stretched a thin membrane, or web, for flying. it is probable that, in the action of flight, the air, when struck by this wing, or very sensitive hand, impresses a sensation of heat, cold, mobility, and resistance on that organ, which indicates to the animal the existence or absence of obstacles which would interrupt its progress. in this manner blind men discover by their hands, and even by the skin of their faces, the proximity of a wall, door of a house, or side of a street, even without the assistance of touch, and merely by the sensation which the difference in the resistance of the air occasions. hence they are as little capable of walking on the ground as apes with their hands, or sloths with their hooked claws, which are calculated for climbing. in a certain kind of bat, the _nycteris_, there exists a power of inflation to such a degree that, when inflated, the animal looks, according to geoffroy st. hilaire, like a _little balloon_ fitted with wings, a head, and feet. it is filled with air through the cheek-pouches, which are perforated at the bottom, so as to communicate with the spaces of the skin to be filled. when the bat wishes to inflate, it draws in its breath, closes its nostrils, and transmits the air through the perforations of the cheek-pouches to the spaces; and the air is prevented from returning by the action of a muscle which closes those openings, and by valves of considerable size on the neck and back. there was formerly a vulgar opinion that bats, when down on a flat surface, could not get on the wing again, by rising with great ease from the floor; but white saw a bat run, with more dispatch than he was aware of, though in a most ridiculous and grotesque manner. the adroitness with which this bat sheared off the wings of flies, which were always rejected, was very amusing. he did not refuse raw flesh when offered; so that the notion that bats go down chimneys, and gnaw men's bacon, seems no improbable story. mr. george daniell describes a female bat, who took her food with an action similar to that of a dog. the animal took considerable pains in cleaning herself, parting the hair on either side, from head to tail, and forming a straight line along the middle of the back. the membrane of the wings was cleaned by forcing the nose through the folds, and thereby expanding them. this bat fed freely, and at some times voraciously, the quantity exceeding half an ounce, although the weight of the animal itself was not more than ten drams. the _kalong_ bat of the javanese is extremely abundant in the lower parts of java, and uniformly lives in society. the more elevated districts are not visited by it. "numerous individuals," says dr. hornfield, "select a large tree, and, suspending themselves with the claws of their posterior extremities to the naked branches, often in companies of several hundreds, afford to a stranger a very singular spectacle. a species of ficus (fig-tree), resembling the _ficus religiosa_ of india, affords them a very favourite retreat, and the extended branches of one of these are sometimes covered by them. they pass the greater portion of the day in sleep, hanging motionless, ranged in succession, with the head downwards, the membrane contracted about the body, and often in close contact. they have little resemblance to living beings; and, by a person not accustomed to their economy, are readily mistaken for a part of the tree, or for a fruit of uncommon size suspended from its branches." in general, these societies are silent during the day; but if they are disturbed, or a contention arises among them, they emit sharp, piercing shrieks; and their awkward attempts to extricate themselves, when oppressed by the light of the sun, exhibit a ludicrous spectacle. soon after sunset they gradually quit their hold, and pursue their nocturnal flight in quest of food. they direct their course by an unerring instinct to the forests, villages, and plantations, attacking and devouring every kind of fruit, from the abundant and useful cocoa-nut, which surrounds the dwellings of the meanest peasantry, to the rare and most delicate productions which are cultivated by princes and chiefs of distinction. various methods are employed to protect the orchards and gardens. delicate fruits are secured by a loose net or basket, skilfully constructed of split bamboo, without which precaution little valuable fruit would escape the ravages of the _kalong_. there are few situations in the lower part of java in which this night wanderer is not constantly observed. as soon as the light of the sun has retired, one animal is seen to follow the other at a small but irregular distance, and this accession continues uninterrupted till dark:-- "the night came on apace, and falling dews bewet around the place; the bat takes airy rounds, on leathern wings, and the hoarse owl his woful dirges sings." gay's "_pastoral iii_." bats of the ordinary size are very numerous in jamaica. they are found in mills and old houses. they do great mischief in gardens, where they eat the green peas, opening the pod over each pea, and removing it very dexterously. gilbert white, of selborne, first noticed a large species of bat, which he named _altivolans_, from its manner of feeding high in the air. in the extent of its wings it measured - / inches; and it weighed, when entirely full, one ounce and one drachm. it is found in numbers together, so many as having been taken in one night from the eaves of queens' college, cambridge. in the northern zoological gallery of the british museum are representatives of the several species of bats, all bearing a family resemblance to each other. in england alone there are eighteen known species. here is the curious leaf-nosed bat, from brazil, supposed to excel in the sense of smell; also, the vampire, or large blood-sucking bat, from the same country; and the different kinds of fruit-eating bats, found in america and australia, and sometimes called flying foxes, on account of their great size. the bats of temperate climates remain torpid during the winter. gay has these lines:-- "where swallows in the winter season keep; and here the drowsy bat and dormouse sleep." young bats have been taken, when hovering near the ground, by throwing handfuls of sand, but they rarely live in confinement: they often die within a week after their capture. a bat, taken in elgin, gave birth to a young one, which was for two days suckled by its parent. before she reached the age of three days the young bat died, and the parent only survived another day to mourn her loss. sometimes females, when taken, have young ones clinging to their breast, in the act of sucking; and the female can fly with ease, though two little ones are attached to her, which weigh nearly as much as the parent. to return to an exaggeration of a famous old traveller. in "purchas his pilgrimage," the materials for which he borrowed from above thirteen hundred authors, when speaking of the island of madura, in the south of india, he says:--"in these partes are battes as big as hennes, which the people roast and eat." the hedgehog. of this animal some strange things are recorded. it is placed by cuvier at the head of the insect-devouring mammifera. it is found in europe, africa, and india. its body is covered with strong and sharp prickles, and by the help of a muscle it can contract itself into a ball, and so withdraw its whole underpart, head, belly, and legs, within this thicket of prickles: "like hedgehogs, which lie tumbling in my barefoot way, and mount their pricks at my foot-fall."--shakspeare's "_tempest_." sir thomas browne, in his "vulgar errors," has this odd conceit:--"few have belief to swallow, or hope enough to experience, the collyrium of albertus; that is, to make one see in the dark: yet thus much, according to his receipts, will the right eye of an hedgehog, boiled in oil, and preserved in a brazen vessel, effect." hedgehog was an old term of reproach; but we have heard a well-set argument compared to a hedgehog--all points. the food of the hedgehog, which is a nocturnal animal, consists principally of insects, worms, slugs, and snails. that it will eat vegetables is shown by white of selborne, who relates how it eats the root of the plantain by boring beneath it, leaving the tuft of leaves untouched. the hedgehog is reputed to supply itself with a winter covering of leaves. so far as we are aware, it has not been observed in the act of forming the covering of leaves, though it is supposed to roll itself about till its spines take up a sufficient number, in the same way as it is popularly believed (without proof) to do with apples. blumenbach states that he was assured, "by three credible witnesses," that hedgehogs so gather fruit; but buffon, who kept several hedgehogs for observation, declares they never practise any such habit. the voracity of the hedgehog is very great. a female, with a young one, was placed in a kitchen, having the run of the beetles at night, besides having always bread and milk within their reach. one day, however, the servants heard a mysterious crunching sound in the kitchen, and found, on examination, that nothing was left of the young hedgehog but the skin and prickles--the mother had devoured her little pig! a hedgehog has also been known to eat a couple of rabbits which had been confined with it, and killing others; it has likewise been known to kill hares. a hedgehog was placed in one hamper, a wood-pigeon in another, and two starlings in a third; the lid of each hamper was tied down with string, and the hampers were placed in a garden-house, which was fastened in the evening. next morning the strings to the hampers were found severed, the starlings and wood-pigeon dead and eaten, feathers alone remaining in their hampers, and the hedgehog alive in the wood-pigeon's hamper. as no other animal could have got into the garden-house it was concluded that the hedgehog had killed and eaten the birds. in the "zoological journal," vol. ii., is an account by mr. broderip of an experiment made by professor buckland proving that in captivity at least the hedgehog will devour snakes; but there is no good reason for supposing that it will not do the same in a state of nature, for frogs, toads, and other reptiles, and mice, have been recorded as its prey. from its fondness for insects it is often placed in the london kitchens to keep down the swarm of cockroaches with which they are infested; and there are generally hedgehogs on sale at covent garden market for this purpose. the idle story that the persecuted hedgehog sucks cows has been thus quaintly refuted:--"in the case of an animal giving suck, the teat is embraced round by the mouth of the young one, so that no air can pass between; a vacuum is made, or the air is exhausted from its throat, by a power in the lungs; nevertheless the pressure of the air remains still upon the outside of the dug of the mother, and by these two causes together the milk is forced in the mouth of the young one. but a hedgehog has no such mouth as to be able to contain the teat of a cow; therefore any vacuum which is caused in its own throat cannot be communicated to the milk in the dug. and if he is able to procure no other food but what he can get by sucking cows in the night, there is likely to be a vacuum in his stomach too." (_new catalogue of vulgar errors._ by stephen fovargue, a.m., .) yet, according to sir william jardine, the hedgehog is very fond of eggs; and is consequently very mischievous in the game-preserve and hen-house. one of the most interesting facts in the natural history of the hedgehog is that announced in by m. lenz, and subsequently confirmed by professor buckland: this is, that the most violent poisons have no effect upon it; a fact which renders it of peculiar value in forests, where it appears to destroy a great number of noxious reptiles. m. lenz says that he had in his house a female hedgehog, which he kept in a large box, and which soon became very mild and familiar. he often put into the box some adders, which it attacked with avidity, seizing them indifferently by the head, the body, and the tail, and not appearing alarmed or embarrassed when they coiled themselves around its body. on one occasion m. lenz witnessed a fight between a hedgehog and a viper. when the hedgehog came near and smelled the snake, for with these animals the sense of sight is very obtuse, she seized it by the head, and held it fast between her teeth, but without appearing to do it much harm; for having disengaged its head, it assumed a furious and menacing attitude, and, hissing vehemently, inflicted severe bites on the hedgehog. the animal did not, however, recoil from the bites of the viper, or indeed seem to care much about them. at last, when the reptile was fatigued by its efforts, she again seized it by the head, which she ground beneath her teeth, compressing the fangs and glands of poison, and then devouring every part of the body. m. lenz says that battles of this sort often occurred in the presence of many persons, and sometimes the hedgehog received eight or ten wounds on the ears, the snout, and even on the tongue, without seeming to experience any of the ordinary symptoms produced by the venom of the viper. neither herself nor the young which she was then suckling seemed to suffer from it. this observation agrees with that of pallas, who assures us that the hedgehog can eat about a hundred cantharides (spanish flies) without experiencing any of the effects which this insect, taken inwardly, produces on men, dogs, and cats. a german physician, who made the hedgehog a particular object of study, gave it strong doses of prussic acid, of arsenic, of opium, and of corrosive sublimate, none of which did it any harm. the hedgehog in its natural state only feeds on pears, apples, and other fruits when it can get nothing it likes better. the hedgehog hybernates regularly, and early in the summer brings forth from two to four young ones at a birth, which, at the time of their production, are blind, and have the spines white, soft, and flexible. the nest wherein they are cradled is said to be very artificially constructed, the roof being rain-proof. the flesh of the hedgehog, when it has been well fed, is sweet and well flavoured, and is eaten on the continent in many places. in britain a few besides gipsies partake of it. the prickly skin appears to have been used by the romans for hackling hemp. gilbert white notes that when the hedgehog is very young it can draw its skin down over its face, but is not able to contract itself into a ball, as the creature does, for the sake of defence when full grown. the reason, white supposes, is because the curious muscle that enables the hedgehog to roll itself up into a ball has not then arrived at its full tone and firmness. hedgehogs conceal themselves for the winter in their warm _hybernaculum_ of leaves and moss; but white could never find that they stored in any winter provision, as some quadrupeds certainly do. the hippopotamus in england. in the year there was exhibited in london a living hippopotamus, for many centuries the only instance of this extraordinary animal being seen in europe. there is something irresistibly striking in seeing a living animal, not one of whose species we have before seen, and especially when that animal is a large one, as in the instance before us. we had been wonderstruck at forms of this creature in the old british museum, where were two finely-preserved specimens. the rhinoceros alive was, until of late years, very rare in england. in mr. cross paid some , _l._ for a young indian one-horned rhinoceros, this being the only one brought to england for twenty years. he proved attractive, but slightly so in comparison with the expectation of a living hippopotamus, never witnessed before in this country. the circumstances of his acquisition were as follows:-- the zoological society of london had long been anxious to obtain a living hippopotamus for their menagerie, but without success. an american agent at alexandria had offered , _l._ for an animal of this species, but in vain; no speculator could be induced to encounter the risk and labour of an expedition to the white nile for the purpose of securing the animal. the desire of the zoological society was communicated to the viceroy of egypt, who saw the difficulty. hasselquist states it to have been impossible to bring the living animal to cairo; and the french _savans_, attached to the expedition to egypt, who ascended the nile above syene, did not meet with one hippopotamus. caillaud, however, asserts that he saw forty hippopotami in the upper nile, though their resort lay fifteen hundred miles or more from cairo. here they were often shot with rifle-balls, but to take one alive was another matter. however, by command of the viceroy, the proper parties were sent in search of the animal. in august, , the hunters having reached the island of fobaysch, on the white nile, about , miles above cairo, shot a large female hippopotamus in full chase up the river. the wounded creature turned aside and made towards some bushes on the island bank, but sank dead in the effort. the hunters, however, kept on towards the bushes, when a young hippopotamus, supposed to have been recently brought forth, not much bigger than a new-born calf, but stouter and lower, rushed down the bank of the river, was secured by a boatman and lifted into the boat. the captors started with their charge down the nile. the food of their young animal was their next anxiety; he liked neither fish, flesh, fruit, nor grass. the boat next stopped at a village; their cows were seized and milked, and the young charge lapped up the produce. a good milch cow was taken on board, and with this supply the hippopotamus reached cairo. the colour of his skin at this time was a dull reddish brown. he was shown to the pasha in due form; the present created intense wonder and interest in cairo; gaping crowds filled its narrow sandy streets, and a whale at london-bridge would scarcely excite half so much curiosity. it being thought safer for the animal to winter in cairo than to proceed forthwith on his journey, the consul had duly prepared to receive the young stranger, for whom he had engaged a sort of nurse. hamet safi cannana. an apartment was allotted to the hippopotamus in the court-yard of the consul's house, leading to a warm or tepid bath. his milk-diet, however, became a troublesome affair, for the new comer never drank less than from twenty to thirty quarts daily. by the next mail after the arrival of the hippopotamus, the consul despatched the glad tidings to the zoological society. the animal was shipped at alexandria, in the ripon steamer. on the main deck was built a house, from which were steps down into an iron tank in the hold, containing gallons of water, as a bath: it was filled with fresh water every other day. early in may, the hippopotamus was conveyed in the canal-boat, with hamet safi cannana, to alexandria, where the debarkation was witnessed by , spectators. the animal bore the voyage well. he lived exclusively on milk, of which he consumed daily about forty pints, yielded by the cows taken on board. he was very tame, and, like a faithful dog, followed his arab attendant hamet, who was seldom away more than five minutes without being summoned to return by a loud grunt. hamet slept in a berth with the hippopotamus. on may they were landed at southampton, and sent by railway to london. on arriving at the zoological society's gardens, hamet walked first out of the transport van, with a bag of dates over his shoulder, and the hippopotamus trotted after him. next morning he greatly enjoyed the bath which had been prepared for him. although scarcely twelve months old, his massive proportions indicated the enormous power to be developed in his maturer growth; while the grotesque expression of his physiognomy far exceeded all that could be imagined from the stuffed specimens in museums, and the figures which had hitherto been published from the reminiscences of travellers. among the earliest visitors was professor owen, who first saw the hippopotamus lying on its side in the straw, with its head resting against the chair in which sat the swarthy attendant. it now and then grunted softly, and, lazily opening its thick, smooth eyelids, leered at its keeper with a singular protruding movement of the eyeball from the prominent socket, showing an unusual proportion of the white. the retraction of the eyeball was accompanied by a simultaneous rolling obliquely downwards, or inwards, or forwards. the young animal, then ten months' old, was seven feet long, and six and a-half in girth at the middle of the barrel-shaped trunk, supported, clear of the ground, on very short and thick legs, each terminated by four spreading hoofs, the two middle ones being the largest, and answering to those in the hog. the naked hide, covering the broad back and sides, was of a dark, india-rubber colour, with numerous fine wrinkles crossing each other, but disposed almost transversely. the beast had just left its bath, when a glistening secretion gave the hide, in the sunshine, a very peculiar aspect. when the animal was younger, the secretion had a reddish colour, and the whole surface of the hide became painted over with it every time he quitted his bath. the ears, which were very short, conical, and fringed with hairs, it moved about with much vivacity. the skin around them was of a light reddish-brown colour, and almost flesh-coloured round the eyelids, which defended the prominent eyes, which had a few short hairs on the margin of the upper lid. the colour of the iris was of a dark brown. the nostrils, situated on prominences, which the animal had the power of raising on the upper part of the broad and massive muzzle, were short oblique slits, guarded by two valves, which were opened and closed spontaneously, like the eyelids. the movements of these apertures were most conspicuous when the beast was in the bath. the wide mouth was chiefly remarkable for the upward curve of its angles towards the eyes, giving a quaintly comic expression to the massive countenance. the short and small milk-tusks projected a little, and the minute incisors appeared to be sunk in pits of the thick gums; but the animal would not permit any close examination of the teeth, withdrawing his head from the attempt, and then threatening to bite. the muzzle was beset with short bristles, split into tufts or pencils of hairs; and fine and short hairs were scattered all over the back and sides. the tail was not long, rather flattened and tapering to an obtuse point. we may here observe that, at certain moments, the whole aspect of the head suggested to one the idea of what may have been the semblance of some of the gigantic extinct batrachians (as sirens), the relics of a former world, whose fossil bones in the galleries of palæontology in the british museum excite our special wonder. after lying about an hour, now and then raising its head, and swivelling its eyeballs towards the keeper, or playfully opening its huge mouth, and threatening to bite the leg of the chair on which the keeper sat, the hippopotamus rose, and walked very slowly about its room, and then uttered a loud and short harsh snort four or five times in quick succession, reminding one of the snort of a horse, and ending with an explosive sound, like a bark. the keeper understood the language--the animal desired to return to its bath. the hippopotamus carried its head rather depressed, reminding one of a large prize hog, but with a breadth of muzzle and other features peculiarly its own. the keeper opened the door leading into a paddock, and walked thence to the bath, the hippopotamus following, like a dog, close to his heels. on arriving at the bath-room, the animal descended with some deliberation the flight of low steps leading into the water, stooped and drank a little, dipped his head under, and then plunged forwards. the creature seemed inspired with new life and activity. sinking to the bottom of the bath, and moving about submerged for a while, it suddenly rose with a bound almost bodily out of the water. splashing back, it commenced swimming and plunging about, rolling from side to side, taking in mouthfuls of water and spirting them out again, raising every now and then its huge and grotesque head, and biting the woodwork of the margin of the bath. the broad rounded back of the animal being now chiefly in view, it seemed a much larger object than when out of the water. after half an hour spent in this amusement, the hippopotamus quitted the water at the call of its keeper, and followed him back to the sleeping-room, which was well bedded with straw, and where a stuffed sack was provided for its pillow, of which the animal, having a very short neck, thicker than the head, availed itself when it slept. when awake, it was very impatient of any absence of its favourite attendant. it would rise on its hind legs, and threaten to break down the wooden fence, by butting and pushing against it in a way very significant of its great muscular force. the animal appeared to be in perfect health, and breathed, when at rest, slowly and regularly, from three to four times in a minute. its food was now a kind of porridge, of milk and maize-meat, it being more than half weaned from milk diet. its appetite had been in no respect diminished by the confinement and inconvenience of the sea voyage, or by change of climate. all observers appear to have agreed that, to see the hippopotamus rightly, is to see him in the water. there his activity is only surpassed by that of the otter or the seal. such was one of the opportunities afforded to zoologists for "studying this most remarkable and interesting african mammal, of which no living specimen had been seen in europe since the period when hippopotami were last exhibited by the third gordian in the amphitheatre of imperial rome."[ ] it is now time to glance at the general economy of the hippopotamus, as he is seen in his native rivers and wilds. in early days, as his roman name imports, it was usual to consider him as a species of horse, inhabiting rivers and marshy grounds, and, in a more especial manner, the denizen of the nile. the genus is placed by linnæus among his _belluæ_, between _equus_ and _sus_. the skeleton approaches that of the ox and of the hog, but it presents differences from that of any other animal. the hippopotamus is found not only in the nile, but in the rivers of southern africa. in the former stream of marvels, hasselquist relates that "the oftener the river horse goes on shore, the better hope have the egyptians of a sufficient swelling or increase of the nile." again, they say that the river horse is an inveterate enemy to the crocodile, and kills it whenever he meets it; adding that he does much damage to the egyptians in those places he frequents. he goes on shore, and, in a short space of time, destroys an entire field of corn or clover, not leaving the least verdure, for he is very voracious. yet neither of these stories is so marvellous as that which a sailor related to dampier, the old traveller:--"i have seen," says the mariner, "one of these animals open its jaws, and, seizing a boat between its teeth, at one bite sink it to the bottom. i have seen it, on another occasion, place itself under one of our boats, and, rising under it, overset it with six men who were in it, but who, however, happily received no other injury." professor smith and captain tuckey, in exploring the congo river, in south africa, saw in a beautiful sandy cove, at the opening of a creek, behind a long projecting point, an immense number of hippopotami; and in the evening a number of alligators were also seen there; an association hardly consistent with the hostility related by hasselquist. captain tuckey observed hippopotami with their heads above the water, "snorting in the air." in another part of his narrative he says:--"many hippopotami were visible close to our tents at condo yanga. no use firing at these animals in the water; the only way is to wait till they come on shore to feed at night." le vaillant had an opportunity of watching the progress of a hippopotamus under water at great river, which contained many of these animals. on all sides he could hear them bellow and blow. anxious to observe them, he mounted on the top of an elevated rock which advanced into the river, and he saw one walking at the bottom of the water. le vaillant killed it at the moment when it came to the surface to breathe. it was a very old female, and many people, in their surprise, and to express its size, called it the grandmother of the river. the traveller lander tells us that, on the niger. hippopotami are termed water-elephants. one stormy night, as they were sailing up this unexplored current, they fell in with great numbers of hippopotami, who came plashing, snorting, and plunging all round the canoe. thinking to frighten them off, the travellers fired a shot or two at them, but the noise only called up from the water and out of the fens about as many more hippopotami, and they were more closely beset than before. lander's people, who had never, in all their lives, been exposed to such formidable beasts, trembled with fear, and absolutely wept aloud; whilst peals of thunder rattled over their heads, and the most vivid lightning showed the terrifying scene. hippopotami frequently upset canoes in the river. when the landers fired, every one of them came to the surface of the water, and pursued them over to the north bank. a second firing was followed by a loud roaring noise. however, the hippopotami did the travellers no kind of mischief whatever. captain gordon, when among the bakalahari, in south africa, bagged no fewer than fifteen first-rate hippopotami; the greater number of them being bulls. in , there was brought to england the head of a hippopotamus, with all the flesh about it, in high preservation. the animal was harpooned while in combat with a crocodile in a lake in the interior of africa. the head measured nearly four feet in length, and eight feet in circumference; the jaws opened two feet, and the cutting teeth, of which it had four in each jaw, were above a foot long, and four inches in circumference. the utility of this vast pachydermatous, or thick-skinned animal, to man is considerable. that he can be destructive has already been shown in his clearance of the cultivated banks of rivers. the enormous ripping, chisel-like teeth of the lower jaw fit him for uprooting. the ancient egyptians held the animal as an emblem of power, though this may have arisen from his reputed destruction of the crocodile. the flesh is much esteemed for food, both among the natives and colonists of south africa. the blood of the animal is said to have been used by the old indian painters in mixing their colours. the skin is extensively employed for making whips. but there is no part of the hippopotamus more in request than the great canine teeth, the ivory of which is so highly valued by dentists for making artificial teeth, on account of its keeping its colour better than any other kind. this superiority was not unknown to the ancients pausanias mentions the statue of dindymene, whose face was formed of the teeth of hippopotami, instead of elephants' ivory. the canine teeth are imported in great numbers into england, and sell at a very high price. from the closeness of the ivory, the weight of the teeth, a part only of which is available for the artificial purpose above mentioned, is great in proportion to its bulk; and the article has fetched about thirty shillings per pound. the ancient history of the hippopotamus is extremely curious, and we have many representations of him in coins, in sculpture, and in paintings, which prove, beyond question, that the artists, as well as the writers, had a distinct knowledge of what they intended to represent. the earliest notice which occurs in any author, and which has been considered by many to be a description of the hippopotamus, is the celebrated account in the fortieth and forty-first chapter of the book of job of behemoth and leviathan. many learned men have contended that "behemoth" really means "elephant," and thus the zurich version of the bible translates the hebrew by "elephas." in the edition of the english bible, printed by robert barker, in , for king james i., and since considered as the authorised version, the word "behemoth" is preserved in the text, and the following annotation is added:--"this beast is thought to bee the elephant, or some other which is unknowen." bochart, ludolph, and some others, have contended warmly in favour of the hippopotamus. cuvier thinks, that though this animal is probably intended, yet that the description is too vague for any one to hold a certain opinion on the subject. the theory started by bochart, and in the main supported by cuvier, is generally supposed the real one. the description in the book of job, though doubtless vague, and in the highest degree poetical, has yet sufficient marks to render the identification perfectly easy, while there are certain peculiarities mentioned, which even a poetical imagination could hardly apply to the elephant. thus, when it is said of him, "he lieth under the shady trees, in the desert of the reed and fens; ... the willows of the brook compass him round about," this would seem to be the description of an animal which frequented the water much more than elephants are accustomed to do. again, in the fuller description of "leviathan," in the forty-first chapter, we think it is quite clear that a water animal is intended, though what is there stated might be held to apply to the crocodile as well as the hippopotamus; both are animals remarkable for extreme toughness of skin, and both are almost equally difficult to kill or to take alive. of profane authors, herodotus is the first who notices this animal, but his account is far from accurate: the size he states as large as the biggest ox. that the animal was sacred, in some parts at least, appears from herodotus, who says:--"those which are found in the district of paprennis are sacred, but in other parts of egypt they are not considered in the same light." aristotle makes it no bigger than an ass; diodorus, an elephant; pliny ascribes to it the tail and teeth of a boar, adding, that helmets and bucklers are made of the skin. hippopotami figured in the triumphal processions of the roman conquerors on their return home. m. scaurus exhibited five crocodiles and an hippopotamus; and augustus one in his triumph over cleopatra. antoninus exhibited hippopotami, with lions and other animals; commodus no less than five, some of which he slew with his own hand. heliogabalus, and the third gordian, also exhibited hippopotami. the hippopotamus of the london zoological society was joined by his mate, the more juvenile "adhela," in . two hippopotami have lately been born in europe; one in the garden of plants, at paris, in ; and another in the zoological gardens at amsterdam, in . with regard to the alleged disappearance of the hippopotamus from lower egypt, cuvier remarks, that the french savans attached to the expedition to egypt, who ascended the nile above syene, did not meet with one. in some of the rivers of liberia, and other parts, perhaps, of western africa, a second species of hippopotamus exists, and is proved to be a very distinct animal. we have yet to glance at the hippopotami of a former world. many species are recognised in the fossil remains of europe and asia as formerly existing in england and in france. cuvier detected bones of the hippopotamus among the fossil wealth of the great kirkdale cavern in yorkshire, in . they have also been found in france, and especially in the sewatick hills in india. in the museum of the london zoological society are two skulls of hippopotami--one fossil. this measures two feet three inches, and allowing for skin and lip, two feet six inches. now, as the head is about one-fifth the length of the body, without the tail, the full-grown animal would be little, if any, short of fifteen feet from nose to tail--a size worthy the description of the behemoth. we may here add, that burckhardt, in his "travels in nubia," describes the voice of the hippopotamus as a hard and heavy sound, like the creaking or groaning of a large wooden door. this noise, he says, is made when the animal raises his huge head out of the water, and when he retires into it again. footnote: [ ] professor owen. lion-talk. the lion has, within the present century, lost caste, and fallen considerably from his high estate. he has been stripped of much of his conventional reputation by the spirit of inquiry into the validity of olden notions, which characterises the present age; and it appears that much of his celebrity is founded upon popular error. nor are these results the work of stay-at-home travellers; but they are derived from the observation and experience of those who, amidst scenes of perilous adventure, seek to enlarge and correct our views of the habit and character of the overrated lion. mr. bennett, in his admirable work, "the tower menagerie," has these very sensible remarks:--"in speaking of the lion we call up to our imaginations the splendid picture of might unmingled with ferocity, of courage undebased by guile, of dignity tempered by grace and ennobled by generosity. such is the lion of buffon; who, in describing this animal, as in too many other instances, has suffered himself to be borne along by the strong tide of popular opinion; but, as the lion appears in his native regions, according to the authentic accounts of those travellers and naturalists who have had the best means of correctly observing his habits, he is by no means so admirable a creature. where the timid antelope and powerless monkey fall his easy and unresisting prey--or where the elephant and buffalo find their unwieldy bulk and strength no adequate protection against his impetuous agility--he stalks boldly to and fro in fearless majesty. but in the neighbourhood of man--even in that of uncultivated savages--_he skulks in treacherous ambush for his prey_. of his forbearance and generosity it can merely be said, that when free, he destroys only what is sufficient to satiate his hunger or revenge; and when in captivity--his wants being provided for, and his feelings not irritated--he suffers smaller animals to live unmolested in his den, or submits to the control of a keeper by whom he is fed. but even this limited degree of docility is liable to fearful interruptions from the calls of hunger, the feelings of revenge--and these he frequently cherishes for a long period--with various other circumstances which render it dangerous to approach him in his most domesticated state, without ascertaining his immediate mood and temper. that an animal which seldom attacks by open force, but silently approaches his victim, and when he imagines his prey to be within his reach, bounds upon it with an overwhelming leap, should ever have been regarded as the type of courage and the emblem of magnanimity, is indeed most astonishing!" the generosity of disposition so liberally accorded to this powerful beast has been much and eloquently praised; and it seems hard to dissipate the glowing vision which buffon has raised; but, if there is any dependence to be placed on the observations of those travellers who have had the best opportunities of judging, and have the highest character for veracity, we must be compelled to acknowledge that buffon's lion is the lion of poetry and prejudice, and very unlike the cautious lurking savage that steals on its comparatively weak prey by surprise, overwhelms it at once by the terror, the weight, and the violence of the attack, and is intent only on the gratification of the appetite. "at the time," says mr. burchell, "when men first adopted the lion as the emblem of courage, it would seem that they regarded great size and strength as indicating it; but they were greatly mistaken in the character they had given of the indolent animal." indeed, mr. burchell calls the lion an "indolent skulking animal." the fact of the lion sparing the dog that was thrown to him, and making a friend of the little animal that was destined for his prey, has been much dwelt on; but these and other such acts of mercy, as they have been called, may be very easily accounted for. if not pressed by hunger, the lion will seldom be at the trouble of killing prey; and the desire for a companion has created much stronger friendships between animals in confinement than between a lion and a little dog. st. pierre touchingly describes the lion of versailles, who, in , lived most happily with a dog, and on whose death he became disconsolate and miserable; and in confinement the "lordly lion," as young calls him, has been known to be deeply afflicted with melancholy at similar losses. the lion is easily tamed, and capable of attachment to man. the story of androdas, frequently called androcles, is too well known to need more than allusion; but in this and other stories of lions licking men's hands without injuring them, there must be a stretch of fancy; for the lion's tongue has sharp thorn-points, inclining backwards, so as not to be able to lick the hand without tearing away the skin, which any one will understand who has _heard_ the lion tear the raw meat away from the bone of his food. still, very different accounts are given by travellers of the cruelty or generosity of the lion's nature; which results, in all probability, from a difference in time or circumstances, or the degree of hunger which the individual experienced when the respective observations were made upon him. meanwhile, there are many points in the history of the lion which are yet but imperfectly understood; the explanations of which, whilst they are interesting, add to our correct knowledge of this still extraordinary animal. the lion has been styled "the king of the forest," which is not very applicable to him, seeing that mr. burchell at least never met with but one lion on the plains; nor did he ever meet with one in any of the forests where he had been. the low cover that creeps along the sides of streams, the patches that mark the springs in the rank grass of the valley, seem to be the shelter which the african lion, for the most part, seeks. his strength is extraordinary. to carry off a man (and there are dismal accounts of this horrible fact, which there is no reason to doubt) appears a feat of no difficulty to this powerful brute. a cape lion, seizing a heifer in his mouth, has carried her off with the same ease as a cat does a rat; and has leaped with her over a broad dyke without the least difficulty. a young lion, too, has conveyed a horse about a mile from the spot where he had killed it. there seems to be an idea that the lion preserves human prey; but, be this as it may, the inhabitants of certain districts have been under the necessity of resorting to a curious expedient to get out of the lion's reach. Ælian, by the way, records the extinction of a libyan people by an invasion of lions. we read of a large tree, in the country of the mantatees, which has amidst its limbs fourteen conical huts. these are used as dormitories, being beyond the reach of the lions, which, since the incursions of the mantatees, when so many thousands of persons were massacred, have become very numerous in the neighbourhood, and destructive to human life. the branches of the above trees are supported by forked sticks or poles, and there are three tiers or platforms on which the huts are constructed. the lowest is nine feet from the ground, and holds ten huts; the second, about eight feet high, has three huts; and the upper story, if it may be so called, contains four. the ascent to these is made by notches cut in the poles; the huts are built with twigs, and thatched with straw, and will contain two persons conveniently. this tree stands at the base of a range of mountains due east of kurrichaine, in a place called "ongorutcie fountain," about , miles north-east of cape town. kurrichaine is the staffordshire as well as the birmingham of that part of south africa. there are likewise whole villages of huts erected on stakes, about eight feet from the ground; the inhabitants, it is stated, sit under the shade of these platforms during the day, and retire to the elevated huts at night. though mortal accidents frequently occur in lion-hunting, the cool sportsman seldom fails of using his rifle with effect. lions, when roused, it seems, walk off quietly at first, and if no cover is near, and they are not pursued, they gradually mend their pace to a trot, till they have reached a good distance, and then they bound away. their demeanour is careless, as if they did not want a fray, but if pressed, are ready to fight it out. if they are pursued closely, they turn and crouch, generally with their faces to the adversary: then the nerves of the sportsman are tried. if he is collected, and master of his craft, the well-directed rifle ends the scene at once; but if, in the flutter of the moment, the vital parts are missed, or the ball passes by, leaving the lion unhurt, the infuriated beast frequently charges on his enemies, dealing destruction around him. this, however, is not always the case; and a steady, unshrinking deportment has, in some instances, saved the life of the hunter. there is hardly a book of african travels which does not teem with the dangers and hair-breadth escapes of the lion-hunters; and hardly one that does not include a fatal issue to some engaged in this hazardous sport. the modes of destruction employed against the powerful beast are very various--from the poisonous arrow of the bushman to the rifle of the colonist. the lion may be safely attacked while sleeping, because of the dullness of his sense of hearing, the difficulty of awakening him, and his want of presence of mind if he be so awakened. thus the bushmen of africa are enabled to keep the country tolerably clear of lions, without encountering any great danger. the bone of the lion's fore-leg is of remarkable hardness, from its containing a greater quantity of phosphate of lime than is found in ordinary bones, so that it may resist the powerful contraction of the muscles. the texture of this bone is so compact that the substance will strike fire with steel. he has little sense of taste, his lingual or tongue-nerve not being larger than that of a middle-sized dog. the true lions belong to the old world exclusively, and they were formerly widely and abundantly diffused; but at present they are confined to asia and africa, and they are becoming every day more and more scarce in those quarters of the globe. that lions were once found in europe there can be no doubt. thus it is recorded by herodotus that the baggage-camels of the army of xerxes were attacked by lions in the country of the reonians and the crestonæi on their march from acanthus (near the peninsula of mount athos) to therma, afterwards thessalonica (now saloniki); the camels alone, it is stated, were attacked, other beasts remaining untouched, as well as men. pausanias copies the above story, and states, moreover, that lions often descended into the plains at the foot of olympus, which separate macedonia from thessaly, and that polydamas, a celebrated athlete, slew one of the lions, although he was unarmed. nor is europe the only part of the world from which the form of the lion has disappeared. lions are no longer to be found in egypt, palestine, or syria, where they once were evidently far from uncommon. the frequent allusions to the lion in the holy scriptures, and the various hebrew terms there used to distinguish the different ages and sex of the animal, prove a familiarity with the habits of the race. even in asia generally, with the exception of some countries between india and persia and some districts of arabia, these magnificent beasts have, as cuvier observes, become comparatively rare, and this is not to be wondered at. to say nothing of the immense draughts on the race for the roman arena,--and they were not inconsiderable, for, as zimmerman has shown, there were , lions killed at rome in the space of forty years,--population and civilization have gradually driven them within narrower limits, and their destruction has been rapidly worked in modern times, when firearms have been used against them instead of the bow and the spear. sylla gave a combat of one hundred lions at once in his ædileship; but this exhibition is insignificant when compared with those of pompey and cæsar, the former of whom exhibited a fight of six hundred, and the latter of four hundred lions. in pompey's show three hundred and fifteen of the six hundred were males. the early emperors consumed great numbers, frequently a hundred at a time, to gratify the people. the african lion is annually retiring before the persecution of man farther and farther from the cape. mr. bennett says of the lion:--"his true country is africa, in the vast and untrodden wilds of which, from the immense deserts of the north to the trackless forests of the south, he reigns supreme and uncontrolled. in the sandy deserts of arabia, in some of the wild districts of persia, and in the vast jungles of hindostan, he still maintains a precarious footing; but from the classic soil of greece, as well as from the whole of asia minor, both of which were once exposed to his ravages, he has been entirely dislodged and extirpated." niebuhr places lions among the animals of arabia; but their proper country is africa, where their size is the largest, their numbers are greatest, and their rage more tremendous, being inflamed by the influence of a burning sun upon a most arid soil. dr. fryer says that those of india are feeble and cowardly. in the interior parts, amidst the scorched and desolate deserts of zaara or biledugerid, they reign the masters; they lord it over every beast, and their courage never meets with a check where the climate keeps mankind at a distance. the nearer they approach the habitations of the human race the less their rage, or rather the greater is their timidity: they have often had experienced unequal combats, and finding that there exists a being superior to themselves, commit their ravages with more caution; a cooler climate, again, has the same effect, but in the burning deserts, where rivers and springs are denied, they live in a perpetual fever, a sort of madness fatal to every animal they meet with. the watchfulness and tenacity of the lion for human prey are very extraordinary. mr. barrow relates that a lion once pursued a hottentot from a pool of water, where he was driving his cattle to drink, to an olive-tree, in which the man remained for twenty-four hours, while the lion laid himself at the foot of the tree. the patience of the beast was at length worn out by his desire to drink, and while he satisfied his thirst the hottentot fled to his house, about a mile off. the lion, however, returned to the tree, and tracked the man within three hundred yards of his dwelling. dr. philip relates a horrible story of a very large lion recorded at cape town in the year . he was known to have seized a sentry at a tent, and was pursued and fired at by many persons without effect. next morning the lion walked up a hill _with the man in his mouth_, when about forty shots were fired at him without hitting him; and it was perceived by the blood, and a piece of the clothes of the sentry, that the lion had taken him away and carried him with him. he was pursued by a band of hottentots, one of whom he seized with his claws by the mantle, when the man stabbed him with an assagai. other hottentots adorned him with their assagais, so that he looked like a porcupine; he roared and leaped furiously, but was at length shot dead. he had a short time before carried off a hottentot and devoured him. the bengal or asiatic lion is distinguished from that of southern africa principally by the larger size, the more regular and graceful form, the generally darker colour, and the less extensive mane than the african. william harvey, the graceful artist, drew a portrait of a very fine bengal lion, little more than five years old, and then in the tower collection, and called by the keepers "the old lion;" the magnificent development of the mane is very striking in this figure. maneless lions have been found on the confines of arabia, and were known to aristotle and pliny; a maneless lion is also said to be represented on the monuments of upper egypt. the lion of arabia has neither the courage nor the stature, nor even the beauty, of the lion of africa. he uses cunning rather than force; he crouches among the reeds which border the tigris and euphrates, and springs upon all the feeble animals which come there to quench their thirst; but he dares not attack the boar, which is very common there, and flies as soon as he perceives a man, a woman, or even a child. if he catches a sheep he makes off with his prey; but he abandons it to save himself when an arab looks after him. if he is hunted by horsemen, which often happens, he does not defend himself unless he is wounded, and has no hope of safety by flight. in such a case he will fly on a man and tear him to pieces with his claws, for it is courage more than strength that he wants. achmed, pasha of bagdad from to , would have been torn by one, after breaking his lance in a hunt, if his slave suleiman, who succeeded him in the pashalik, had not come promptly to his succour and pierced with a blow of his yataghan the lion already wounded by his master. in december, , captain walter smee exhibited to the zoological society of london the skins of a lion and lioness killed by him in guzerat, and distinguished from those previously known by the absence of a mane; the tail was shorter than that of the ordinary lion, and furnished at its tip with a much larger brush or tuft; and in the tuft of the older lion was a short horny claw or nail. the colour is fulvous; which in darker specimens has a tinge of red. a male maneless lion, killed by captain smee, measured, including the tail, feet - / inches in length; the impression of his paw on the sand - / inches across, and his height was feet inches. these maneless lions are found in guzerat, along the banks of the sombermultee, in low, bushy-wooded plains, being driven out of the large adjoining tracts of high grass jungle by the natives annually setting fire to the grass. here captain smee killed his finest specimens: they were so common in this district that he killed no fewer than eleven during a residence of about a month, yet scarcely any of the natives had seen them previously to his coming amongst them. the cattle were frequently carried off by these lions: some natives attributed this to tigers, which, however, do not exist in this part of the country. captain smee could not learn that men had been attacked by these lions: when struck by a ball they exhibited great boldness, standing as if preparing to resist their pursuers, and then going off slowly, and in a very sullen manner. in captivity the lioness usually turns extremely savage when she becomes a mother; and, in a state of nature, both parents guard their young with the greatest jealousy. early in the year general watson, then on service in bengal, being out one morning on horseback, armed with a double-barrelled rifle, was suddenly surprised by a large male lion, which bounded out upon him from the thick jungle, at the distance of only a few yards. he instantly fired, and the shot taking complete effect, the animal fell almost dead at his feet. no sooner had the lion fallen than the lioness rushed out, which the general also shot at and wounded severely, so that she retired into the thicket. thinking that the den could not be far distant, he traced her to her retreat, and there despatched her; and in the den were found two beautiful cubs, a male and a female, apparently not more than three months old. this is a very touching narrative, even of the lion family. the general brought the cubs away; they were suckled by a goat and sent to england, where they arrived in september, , as a present to george iv., and were lodged in the tower. when young, lions mew like a cat; at the age of ten or twelve months the mane begins to appear in the male; at the age of eighteen months this appendage is considerably developed, and they begin to roar. the _roar_ of the adult lion is terrific, from the larynx or upper part of the wind-pipe being proportionately greater than in the whale or the elephant, or any other animal. mr. burchell describes the roar on some occasions to resemble the noise of an earthquake; and this terrific effect is produced by the lion laying his head upon the ground and uttering, as it were, a half-stifled roar or growl, which is conveyed along the earth. the natural period of the lion's life is generally supposed to be twenty or twenty-two years. such is buffon's limitation; but the animal will, it seems, live much longer. pompey, the great lion, which died in , was said to have been in the tower above seventy years; and a lion from the river gambia is stated to have since died in the tower menagerie at the age of sixty-three. there had been for ages a popular belief that the lion lashes his sides with his tail to stimulate himself into rage; when, in , there was exhibited to the zoological society a claw obtained from the tip of the tail of a barbary lion, presented to the society's menagerie by sir thomas reade. it was detected on the living animal by mr. bennett, and pointed out to the keeper, in whose hands it came off while he was examining it. blumenbach quotes homer, lucan, and pliny, among others who have described the lion (erroneously) as lashing himself with his tail, when angry, to provoke his rage. none of these writers, however, advert to any peculiarity in the lion's tail to which so extraordinary a function might, however incorrectly, be attributed. didymus alexandrinus, a commentator on the "iliad," cited by blumenbach, having found a black prickle, like a horn, among the hair of the tail, immediately conjectured that he had ascertained the true cause of the stimulus when the animal flourishes his tail in defiance of his enemies, remarking that, when punctured by this prickle, the lion became more irritable from the pain which it occasioned. the subject, however, appears to have slumbered till , when m. deshayes announced that he had found the prickle both of a lion and lioness, which had died in the french menagerie, and described it as a little nail, or horny production, adhering by its base only to the skin, and not to the last caudal vertebra. from that period mr. wood, the able zoologist, examined the tail of every lion, living or dead, to which he could gain access; but in no instance had he succeeded in finding the prickle till the above specimen, which was placed in his hands within half an hour after its removal from the living animal, and while yet soft at its base, where it had been attached to the skin. its shape was nearly straight, then slightly contracted, forming a very obtuse angle, and afterwards swelling out like the bulb of a bristle, to its termination. it was laterally flattened throughout its entire length, which did not amount to quite three-eighths of an inch, of horn colour, and nearly black at the tip. its connexion with the skin must have been very slight, which accounts for its usual absence in stuffed as well as living specimens. this does not depend upon age, as it was found alike in the paris lions, of considerable size, as well as in the zoological society's lions, very small and young; nor did it depend upon sex. it appears to be occasionally present in the leopard; and, in both lion and leopard, it is seated at the extreme tip of the tail, and is altogether unconnected with the terminal caudal vertebra; not fitted on like a cap, but rather inserted into the skin. the use of the prickle, however, it still remained difficult to conjecture; but that its existence was known to the ancients is proved by the nimroud sculptures in the british museum, in an exaggerated representation of the claw, in support of this curious fact in natural history. the existence of the claw has been proved by mr. bennett; and "it is no small gratification to be able now to quote in evidence of the statement of mr. bennett, and of his predecessor. didymus, of alexandria, the original and authentic document, on the authority of the veritable descendants of the renowned hunter nimroud; which any one may read who will take the trouble to examine the sculptured slab in the british museum."[ ] in the nineveh galleries of the british museum we also see pictured in stone the employment of the lion, in the life of assyria and babylonia, three thousand years since; in the events of a succession of dynasties, recording the sieges of cities, the combats of warriors, the triumphs of kings, the processions of victors, the chains and fetters of the vanquished. to the zoological observer these sculptures present drawings _ad naturam_ of tableaux of lions and lion-hunts; lions in combat, as well as in moveable dens and cages, and the ferocity of the chase; and lions transfixed with arrows or javelins in the arena. one of the finest of these sculptures is in the representation of a lion-hunt, on a long slab that lined the principal chamber of the most ancient palace at nimroud. the king is in his chariot, drawn by three horses, which the charioteer is urging forward to escape the attack of an infuriated lion that has already placed its fore-paws upon the back of the chariot. at this critical moment, the royal descendant of the mighty hunter aims a deadly shaft at the head of the roaring and wounded lion, the position of whose tail and limbs is finely indicative of rage and fury. behind the lion are two of the king's attendants, fully armed, and holding their daggers and shields, ready to defend themselves in case the prey should escape the arrow of the king. before the chariot is a wounded lion, crawling from under the horses' feet. the cringing agony conveyed in its entire action is well contrasted with the undaunted fury of the former. in another slab we have the continuation of the same lion-hunt, representing the triumphant return of the king from the chase. at his feet lies the lion subdued, but not dead. of the pageantry of the lion, we read, in bell's "travels," that the monarch of persia had, on days of audience, two great lions chained on each side of the passage to the state-room, led there by keepers in golden chains. our early english sovereigns had a menagerie in the tower from the reign of henry iii. ( .) in ( edward iii.) are entries of payments made to "the keeper of the king's lions and leopards" there, at the rate of _d._ a-day for his wages, and _d._ a-day for each beast. the number of beasts varied from four to seven. two young lions are specially mentioned; and "a lion lately sent by the lord the prince, from germany to england, to our lord the king." and we read, in lord burghley's "diary," , of the grant of the keeping of the lions in the tower, with "the fine of _d._ per diem, and _d._ for the meat of those lions." the first menagerie-building was the lion tower, to which was added a semicircular inclosure, where lions and bears were baited with dogs, with which james i. and his court were much delighted. a lion was named after the reigning king; and it was popularly believed that "when the king dies, the lion of that name dies after him." the last of the tower animals were transferred to the zoological society's menagerie, in the regent's-park, in . the tower menagerie is well described in a handsome volume, with woodcut portraits, by william harvey. the punishment of being _thrown to lions_ is stated as common among the romans of the first century; and numerous tales are extant, in which the fierce animals became meek and lamb-like before the holy virgins of the church. this, indeed, is the origin of the superstition, nowhere more beautifully expressed than in lord byron's "siege of corinth":-- "'tis said that a lion will turn and flee from a maid in the pride of her purity." every wild beast show almost has its tame lion, with which the keeper takes the greatest liberties; liberties which the beast will suffer, generally speaking, from none but him. major smith relates that he had seen the keeper of a lioness stand upon the beast, drag her round the cage by her tail, open her jaws, and thrust his head between her teeth. another keeper, at new york, had provided himself with a fur cap, the novelty of which attracted the notice of the lion, which, making a sudden grapple, tore the cap off his head as he passed the cage; but, perceiving that the keeper was the person whose head he had thus uncovered, he immediately laid the cap down. wombwell, in his menagerie, had a fine lion, nero, that allowed _strangers_ to enter his den, and even put their heads within his jaws. this tameness is not, however, to be trusted, since the natural ferocity of some lions is never safely subdued. lions which have been sometimes familiar, have, on other occasions, been known to kill their keepers, and dart at those who have incautiously approached too near their cage. all these exhibitions have been entirely eclipsed by the feats of van amburgh, in his exercise of complete control over lions. the melancholy fate of "the lion queen," however, tells of the fatal result of her confidence. the lion-killing feats of captain gordon cumming had a more legitimate object in view--to render us more familiar with the zoological character of the lion. colonization has scarcely yet extirpated the lion in algeria, where the french colonists make fine sport of "the king of the beasts." m. jules gerard, a nimroud in his way, has been noted for his lion-killing feats. we read of his tracking a large old lion in the smauls country, one hundred leagues in ten days, without catching a glimpse of anything but his foot-prints. at length, accompanied by a native of the country and a spahi, gerard took up his quarters at the foot of a tree upon the path which the old lion had taken. it was moonlight, and gerard made out two lions sitting about one hundred paces off, and exactly in the shadow of the tree. the arab lay snoring ten paces off, in the full light of the moon, and had, doubtless, attracted the attention of the lions. gerard expressly forbade the spahi to wake the arab. our lion-hunter then got up the hill to reconnoitre; the boldest of the lions came up to within ten paces of gerard, and fifteen of the arab: the lion's eye was fixed on the latter, and the second lion placed himself on a level with, and four or five paces from, the first. they proved to be both full-grown lionesses. gerard took aim at the first as she came rolling and roaring down to the foot of the tree. the arab was scarcely awakened, when a second ball stretched the lioness dead upon the spot. gerard then looked out for the second lioness, who was standing up within fifteen paces, looking around her. he fired, and she fell down roaring, and disappeared in a field of maize; she fell, but was still alive. next morning at daybreak, at the spot where the lioness had fallen, were blood marks, denoting her track in the direction of a wood. after sending off the dead lioness. gerard returned to his post of the preceding night. a little after sunset the lion roared in his lair, and continued roaring all night. convinced that the wounded lioness was there, gerard sent two arabs to explore the cover, but they durst not. he next evening reached the lair, taking with him a goat, which he left with the arabs: the lioness appeared. gerard fired, and she fell without a struggle; she was believed dead, but she got up again as though nothing was the matter, and showed all her teeth. one of the arabs, within six paces of her, seeing her get up, clung to the lower branches of a tree and disappeared like a squirrel. the lioness fell dead at the foot of the tree, a second bullet piercing her heart: the first had passed out of the nape of the neck without breaking the skull-bone. the lions presented by lord prudhoe to the british museum are the best sculptured representations of the animal in this country. although the lion is our national hieroglyphic, and there are many statues of him, yet not one among them all appears without a defect, which makes our representations of him belong to the class _canis_ instead of _felis_, a fault not found in any egyptian sculpture.[ ] footnotes: [ ] bonomi; "nineveh and its palaces," p. . [ ] bonomi; "proc. royal soc., literature." bird-life. "behold the fowls of the air: for they sow not, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly father feedeth them."--matthew vi. . "free tenants of land, air, and ocean, their forms all symmetry, their motions grace; in plumage delicate and beautiful, thick without burthen, close as fishes' scales, or loose as full-blown poppies on the gales; with wings that seem as they'd a soul within them, they bear their owners with such sweet enchantment." _james montgomery._ birds, as regards structure, are perhaps the most perfectly endowed, as they are certainly the most beautiful and interesting, of all the lower animals. in birds there is an admirable mechanism and adaptation both for gliding in the air and swimming in the water. they surpass all other animals in the faculty of continuing their motion without resting, as well as in its rapidity. the fleetest courser can scarcely ever run more than a mile in a minute, nor support that speed beyond five or six such exertions. but the joyous swallow does this tenfold for pleasure. in his usual way he flies at the rate of one mile in a minute; and wilson, the ornithologist, ascertained that the swallow is so engaged for ten hours every day. so can the blue-bird of america, for a space of miles. our carrier-pigeons move with half that celerity: one flew from liskeard to london, miles, in six hours. the golden eagle is supposed to dart through the fiercest storm at the rate of miles an hour; but one of our smallest birds, the swift, can even quadruple the most excited quickness of the race-horse for a distance. spallanzani thought that the little swift travelled at the rate of miles an hour. inquiries into the phenomena of the flight of birds would lead us far beyond our limits. the subject is beset with error. thus, we read:--"every one has remarked the manner in which birds of prey float, as it were, without any effort, and with steady expanded wings, at great heights in the atmosphere. this they are enabled to do from the quantity of air contained in the air-cells of their bodies, which air being taken in at a low level in the atmosphere, of course rarefies and expands as the bird ascends into higher regions. their rapidity of descent must be accomplished by the sudden expulsion of this air, aided by their muscular efforts." now, dr. crisp has read to the zoological society a paper "on the presence or absence of air in the bones of birds," for the purpose of showing the prevailing error upon the subject--viz., "that the bones of the bird are filled with air." of fifty-two british birds recently dissected by him, only one, the sparrow-hawk, had the bones generally perforated for the admission of air. in thirteen others, the humeri only were hollow, and among these were several birds of short flight. in the remaining thirty-eight, neither the _humeri_ nor _femora_ contained air, although in this list were several birds of passage and of rapid flight--dr. crisp's conclusion being, that the majority of british birds have no air in their bones, and that, with the exception of the falcons, but very few british birds have hollow femora. mr. gould records a most remarkable instance of rapid and sustained flight, which he witnessed on his return from north america, whither he had proceeded for the purpose of studying the habits and manners of the species of _trochilus_ (humming bird), frequenting that portion of america. having remarked that he arrived just prior to the period of the migration of this bird from mexico to the north, and had ample opportunities for observing it in a state of nature, he noticed that its actions were very peculiar, and quite different from those of all other birds: the flight is performed by a motion of the wings so rapid as to be almost imperceptible; indeed, the muscular power of this little creature appears to be very great in every respect, as, independently of its rapid and sustained flight, it grasps the small twigs, flowers, &c., upon which it alights with the utmost tenacity. it appears to be most active in the morning and evening, and to pass the middle of the day in a state of sleepy torpor. occasionally it occurs in such numbers that fifty or sixty birds may be seen in a single tree. when captured it so speedily becomes tame that it will feed from the hand or mouth within half an hour. mr. gould having been successful in keeping a humming-bird alive in a gauze bag attached to his breast button for three days, during which it readily fed from a bottle filled with a syrup of brown sugar and water, he determined to make an attempt to bring some living examples to england, in which he succeeded; but unfortunately they did not long survive their arrival. the adaptation of colour in birds to their haunts strikingly tends to their preservation. the small birds which frequent hedges have backs of a brownish or brownish-green hue; and their bellies are generally whitish, or light-coloured, so as to harmonize with the sky. thus, they become less visible to the hawk or cat that passes above or below them. the wayfarer across the fields also treads upon the skylark before he sees it warbling to heaven's gate. the goldfinch or thistlefinch passes much of its time among flowers, and is vividly coloured accordingly. the partridge can hardly be distinguished from the fallow or stubble among which it crouches; and it is considered an accomplishment among sportsmen to have a good eye for finding a hare sitting. in northern countries the winter dress of the hares and ptarmigans is white, to prevent detection among the snows of those inclement regions. the song of birds is popularly explained by the author of a work, entitled, "the music of nature," in which he illustrates the vocal machinery of birds as follows:--"it is difficult to account for so small a creature as a bird making a tone as loud as some animal a thousand times its size; but a recent discovery shows that in birds the lungs have several openings communicating with corresponding air-bags or cells, which fill the whole cavity of the body from the neck downward, and into which the air passes and repasses in the progress of breathing. this is not all. the very bones are hollow, from which air-pipes are conveyed to the most solid parts of the body, even into the quills and feathers. the air being rarefied by the heat of their body, adds to their levity. by forcing the air out of their body, they can dart down from the greatest heights with astonishing velocity. no doubt the same machinery forms the basis of their vocal powers, and at once resolves the mystery into a natural ordering of parts." this is a very pretty story; but, unfortunately, it is not correct, as already shown. a correspondent of the "athenæum," writing in , says:--"he would be a bold man who should say that birds have no delight in their own songs. i have been led to conclude from experiments which i have made, and from other observations, that certain animals, especially birds, have not only an ear for fine sounds, but also a preference for the things they see out of respect to fine colours or other pleasing external features. it is chiefly among birds, when we consider the case of animals, that a taste for ornament and for glittering objects, often very startling and human-like, is to be found. the habits of the pheasant, peacock, turkey, bird of paradise, several birds of the pigeon and crow kind, and certain singing birds, are evidence. the australian satin bower-bird is the most remarkable of that class which exhibit taste for beauty or for glittering objects out of themselves--that is, beauty not directly personal; collecting, in fact, little museums of shells, gaudy feathers, shining glass, or bits of coloured cloth or pottery. it will be found with many birds that fine plumes, a mirror, and an admirer, are not altogether objects devoid of interest. "another consideration leading me to the same conclusion, is the fact, that beauty in animals is placed on prominent parts, or on parts which by erection or expansion are easily, and at the pairing season, frequently rendered prominent, such as a crest or tail. a spangle of ruby or emerald does not exist, for instance, on the side under the wing, which is seldom raised, of our domestic poultry. such jewels are hung where man himself wears his, on the face and forehead, or court attention, like our own crowns, trains, shoulder-knots, breast-knots, painted cheeks, or jewelled ears. i cannot account for the existence of these gaudy ornaments to please man, for nowhere are they more gorgeous than in birds which live in the depth of the tropical forest, where man is rarely a visitor; i cannot account for them on the principle that they do good to their possessors in the battle for life, because they rather render them conspicuous to their enemies, or coveted by man." but the beauty of these beings glows most brightly at the season of their pairing, and the selection of their mates. baron von tschudi, the swiss naturalist, has shown the important services of birds in the destruction of insects. without birds, no agriculture or vegetation would be possible. they accomplish in a few months the profitable work of destruction which millions of human hands could not do half so well in as many years; and the sage, therefore, blamed in very severe terms the foolish practice of shooting and destroying birds, which prevails more especially in italy, recommending, on the contrary, the process of alluring birds into gardens and corn-fields. among the most deserving birds he counts swallows, finches. titmice, redtails, &c. the naturalist then cites numerous instances in support of his assertion. in a flower-garden of one of his neighbours three rose-trees had been suddenly covered with about , tree-lice. at his recommendation a marsh-titmouse was located in the garden, which in a few hours consumed the whole brood, and left the roses perfectly clean. a redtail in a room was observed to catch about flies in an hour. a couple of night-swallows have been known to destroy a whole swarm of gnats in fifteen minutes. a pair of golden-crested wrens carry insects as food to their nestlings upon an average thirty-six times in an hour. for the protection of orchards and woods titmice are of invaluable service. they consume, in particular, the eggs of the dangerous pine-spiders. one single female of such spiders frequently lays from to eggs twice in the summer season, while a titmouse with her young ones consume daily several thousands of them. wrens, nuthatches, and woodpeckers often dexterously fetch from the crevices of tree-bark numbers of insects for their nestlings. yet, profitless and wanton bird-murder is common. the cliffs on the coasts of these islands are the resort of numerous kinds of sea-fowl, and these fowl, we are told, are slaughtered by thousands, not merely for the sake of their feathers, but actually for the mere savage pleasure of killing. what speculation can enter into such a proceeding it may puzzle the reader to imagine; but it seems that the wing feathers of the poor white gull are now inquired for in the plume-trade, and we are actually told of an order given by a single house for , of these unhappy birds. when these facts were stated at the meeting of the british association, in august, , at norwich, a lady stood up boldly in defence of her sex, and declared that they sinned only through ignorance, and would never willingly wear the feathers of a bird destroyed in the act of feeding its young. that part of the case, therefore, ought to be now in safe hands. in the isle of man a law has been passed, called the "seagull preservation act," protecting these birds by heavy penalties, on the ground of their utility in removing fish offal and guiding fishermen to shoals of fish. at a certain point of our shores a similar protection has been established. a visitor to the south stack lighthouse, on the coast of anglesey, may see prodigious numbers of sea-fowl as tame as complete safety can make them. it has been ascertained that in thick weather, when neither light can be distinguished nor signal seen, the incessant scream of these birds gives the best of all warnings to the mariner of the vicinity of the rock. the noise they make can be heard at a greater distance than the tolling of the great bell; and so valuable was this danger-signal considered, that an order from the trinity house forbad even the firing of the warning gun, lest the colony of the sea-fowl should be disturbed. the signals of the bell and the cannon might be neglected or overpowered, but the birds were always there and always audible. it is inferred that birds possess some notion of power, and of cause and effect, from the various actions which they perform. "thus," relates dr. fleming, "we have seen the hooded crow in zetland, when feeding on small shell-fish, able to break some of the tenderer kinds by means of its bill, aided in some cases by beating them against a stone; but, as some of the larger shells, such as the buckie and the welk, cannot be broken by such means, the crow employs another method, by which, in consequence of applying foreign power, it accomplishes its object. seizing the shell with its claws, it mounts up into the air, and then loosing its hold, causes the shell to fall among stones (in preference to the sand, the water, or the soil on the ground), that it may be broken, and give easier access to the contained animal. should the first attempt fail, a second or third is tried, with this difference, that the crow rises higher in the air, in order to increase the power of the fall, and more effectually remove the barrier to the contained morsel. on such occasions we have seen a strong bird remain an apparently inattentive spectator of the process of breaking the shell, but coming to the spot with astonishing keenness when the efforts of its neighbour had been successful, in order to share the spoil. pennant mentions similar operations performed by crows on mussels." the brain of birds is, in general, large in proportion to the size of the body, and the instinctive powers are very perfect. a few kinds are rather dull and stupid; but the parrot, magpie, raven, and many others, show great vivacity and quickness of intellect. the raven has a great deal of humour in him. one, a most amusing and mischievous creature, would get into a well-stocked flower-garden, go to the beds where the gardener had sowed a great variety of seeds, with sticks put in the ground with labels, and then he would amuse himself with pulling up every stick, and laying them in heaps of ten or twelve on the path. this used to irritate the old gardener, who drove him away. the raven knew that he ought not to do it, or he would not have done it. he would soon return to his mischief, and when the gardener again chased him (the old man could not run very fast), the raven would just keep clear of the rake or the hoe in his hand, dancing before him, and singing as plainly as a raven could. "tol de rol de rol! tol de rol de rol!" with all kinds of mimicking gestures. the signal of danger among birds seems to be of universal comprehension; because the instant it is uttered we hear the whole flock, though composed of various species, repeat a separate moan, and away they all scuttle into the bushes for safety. the sentinel birds give the signal, but in some cases they are deceived by false appearances. dr. edmonstone, in his "view of the zetland isles," relates a very striking illustration of the neglect of the sentinel, in his remarks on the shag. "great numbers of this species of the cormorant are sometimes taken during the night, while asleep on the rocks of easy access; but before they commit themselves to sleep, one or two of the number are appointed to watch. until these sentinels are secured, it is impossible to make a successful impression on the whole body; to surprise them is, therefore, the first object. with this view, the leader of the expedition creeps cautiously and imperceptibly along the rock, until he gets within a short distance of the watch. he then dips a worsted glove into the sea, and gently throws water in the face of the guard. the unsuspecting bird, either disliking the impression, or fancying, from what he considers to be a disagreeable state of the weather, that all is quiet and safe, puts his head under his wing and soon falls asleep. his neck is then immediately broken, and the party dispatch as many as they choose." addison was a true lover of nature, which he shows in two letters written by him to the earl of warwick (afterwards his son-in-law), when that nobleman was very young. "my dear lord," he writes, "i have employed the whole neighbourhood in looking after birds'-nests, and not altogether without success. my man found one last night, but it proved a hen's, with fifteen eggs in it, covered with an old broody duck, which may satisfy your lordship's curiosity a little; though i am afraid the eggs will be of little use to us. this morning i have news brought me of a nest that has abundance of little eggs, streaked with red and blue veins, that, by the description they give me, must make a very beautiful figure in a string. my neighbours are very much divided in their opinions upon them: some say they are a skylark's; others will have them to be a canary-bird's; but i am much mistaken in the colour and turn of the eggs if they are not full of tomtit's." again, addison writes:--"since i am so near your lordship, methinks, after having passed the day amid more severe studies, you may often take a trip hither and relax yourself with these little curiosities of nature. i assure you no less a man than cicero commends the two great friends of his age, scipio and lælius, for entertaining themselves at their country-house, which stood on the sea-shore, with picking up cockle-shells, and looking after birds'-nests." in another letter addison writes:--"the business of this is to invite you to a concert of music which i have found out in a neighbouring wood. it begins precisely at six in the evening, and consists of a blackbird, a thrush, a robin-redbreast, and a bullfinch. there is a lark, that, by way of overture, sings and mounts till she is almost out of hearing; and afterwards, falling down leisurely, drops to the ground as soon as she has ended her song. the whole is concluded by a nightingale, that has a much better voice than mrs. tofts, and something of the italian manner in her divisions. if your lordship will honour me with your company, i will promise to entertain you with much better music, and more agreeable scenes, than you ever met with at the opera; and will conclude with a charming description of a nightingale out of our friend virgil:-- "'so close, in poplar shades, her children gone, the mother nightingale laments alone; whose nest some prying churl had found, and thence by stealth convey'd the unfeathered innocence: but she supplies the night with mournful strains, and melancholy music fills the plains.'" birds' eggs and nests. the eggs of birds are variously tinted and mottled, and hence they become objects of interest to the collector. in this diversity of colour nature has, doubtless, some final object in view; and though not in every instance, yet in many, we can certainly see a design in the adaptation of the colours to the purpose of concealment, according to the habits of the various classes of birds. thus, as a general rule, the eggs of birds which have their nests in dark holes, or which construct nests that almost completely exclude the light, are white; as is also the case with those birds that constantly sit on their eggs, or leave them only for a short time during the night. eggs of a light blue or light green tint will also be found in nests that are otherwise well concealed; while, on the other hand, a great proportion of those nests that are in exposed situations have eggs varying in tints and spots in a remarkable degree, corresponding with the colours of external objects in their immediate neighbourhood. thus, a dull green colour is common in most gallinaceous birds that form their nests in grass, and in aquatic birds among green hedges; a bright green colour is prevalent among birds that nestle among trees and bushes; and a brown mottled colour is found in those eggs that are deposited among furze, heath, shingle, and grey rocks and stones. birds'-nesting, we need hardly remark, is a favourite pursuit of boyhood; but, in some cases, its attractions have induced young persons to take up more important branches of natural history, or the collection, systematic arrangement, and comparison of birds' eggs, which is, in scientific study, termed oology; and as the study of birds cannot be considered complete until they are known in every stage, it forms a branch of ornithology. in this case birds'-nesting has an useful object; but many persons are content to acquire collections of eggs without troubling themselves about the birds which have laid them. the late mr. john wolley, m.a., was one of the leading authorities upon the subject of european ornithology, and was one of a number of university men, who, about twelve years ago, established the ornithological journal called "the ibis," and who visited far-distant and unexplored regions, where they might hope to discover strange birds and unknown eggs. for several years algiers and tunis were their favourite resorts, and the meeting-places of many of our rarer birds were hunted up in these countries, even so far as the desert of the great sahara. others preferred the new world as the scene of their labours, and collected long series of specimens in the highland of guatemala, and the tropical forests of belize. mr. wolley, however, confined his attention principally to the northern parts of europe--that region being the breeding-quarters of a large number of birds which are only known in this country as winter visitants. in order to be at his collecting-station at muonioniska, on the frontier of finnish lapland, at the earliest commencement of the breeding-season, mr. wolley frequently passed the whole winter in that remote region. but the rigour of the climate under the arctic circle contributed to bring on a malady which terminated fatally in november, . upon the decease of mr. wolley, his large collection of birds' eggs, in accordance with his last wishes, became the property of his friend, mr. alfred newton, who is publishing a catalogue of mr. wolley's egg cabinet, with notes from the deceased naturalist's journals. the first part contains the eggs of birds of prey (_accipitres_), recognisable at once by their strongly-hooked bill, formed to assist them in tearing their prey, and their large feet and sharpened claws, which aid them to grasp it. they are divisible into two very distinct groups--the diurnal birds of prey, consisting of the hawks, vultures, and eagles; and the nocturnal birds of prey, or owls. in the latter the eggs are invariably colourless; in the former they are often strongly marked, and present some of the most beautiful objects in the whole series of birds' eggs. in the most recently published list of european birds fifty-two species of birds of prey are given as occurring more or less frequently within the limits of our continent. of the three generally-recognised species of european vultures two are well represented, as regards their eggs, in the wolleyan series. a few years ago the nesting of all these birds was utterly unknown to naturalists, and it was mainly through the exertions of mr. wolley and his friends that specimens first reached our collectors' cabinets. here were found both the egyptian vulture and the griffon breeding abundantly in the eastern atlas in ; and the eyries of these birds have since been visited by other collectors in the same country. the eggs of the former of these vultures are remarkable for their deep and rich coloration. the productions of the griffon are not nearly so handsome, and are occasionally altogether destitute of markings. of the eagles of europe the series of eggs is very full, especially of the two well-known british species--the golden eagle and sea eagle. the golden or mountain eagle is even now-a-days much more common in the remote parts of the british islands than is usually supposed to be the case. in mr. wolley was acquainted with five nests of this bird in various parts of scotland, and there were undoubtedly at least as many more of which he did not learn the particulars. the eyrie is usually placed in some mountainous district, on the ledge of some "warm-looking" rock, well clothed with vegetation, and often by no means wild or exposed. not unfrequently, under proper guidance, one can walk into the nest almost without climbing. mr. newton gives a very entertaining account of the taking of a pair of eggs from a nest in argyllshire in , where this seems to have been the case. in the whole ascent there was only one "ticklish place," where it was necessary to go sideways on a narrow ledge round some rocks. the sea eagle, on the other hand, generally breeds on the high cliffs upon the coast, often selecting the most inaccessible position for its eyrie. sometimes, however, it will choose an island in the middle of an inland loch, and in such case places its nest upon the ground or in a tree. mr. wolley's well-written notes of his adventures in quest of both these eagles, as also those relating to the other rapacious birds, will be read with much interest; as will also the details concerning the nesting-habits of many of the rarer species of european birds, several of which, such as the rough-legged buzzard and the lapp owl, were first tracked to their breeding-quarters in the remotest wilds of scandinavia by this indefatigable naturalist.[ ] of large eggs we are most familiar with those of the ostrich, of which mr. burchell, when in africa, found twenty-five eggs in a hollow scratched in the sand, six feet in diameter, surrounded by a trench, but without grass, leaves, or sticks, as in the nests of other birds. in the trench were nine more eggs, intended, as the hottentots observed, as the first food of the twenty-five young ostriches. between sixty and seventy eggs have been found in one nest; each is equal to twenty-four eggs of the domestic hen, and holds five pints and a quarter of liquid. the shells are dirty white. the hottentots string them together as belts, or garlands, and they are frequently mounted as cups. one ostrich egg is a sufficient meal for three persons. the egg is cooked over the fire without either pot or water, the shell answering the purpose of the first, and the liquid nature of its contents that of the other. less familiar to the reader are the gigantic eggs of the epyornis, a bird which formerly lived in madagascar. one of these eggs contains the substance of hens' eggs. mr. geoffroy st. hilaire describes some portions of an egg of the epyornis which show the egg to have been of such a size as to be capable of containing about ten english quarts; that in the museum of the jardin des plantes can only contain - / quarts. mr. strickland, in some notices of the dodo and its kindred, published in , says that in the previous year a mr. dumarele, a french merchant at bourbon, saw at port leven, madagascar, an enormous egg which held "_thirteen wine quart bottles of fluid_." the natives stated that the egg was found in the jungle, and "that such eggs were _very, very rarely_ met with." a word or two about the nests of such gigantic birds. captain cook found, on an island near the north-east coast of new holland, a nest "of a most enormous size. it was built with sticks upon the ground, and was no less than six-and-twenty feet in circumference, and two feet eight inches high." (kerr's "collection of voyages and travels," xiii., .) captain flinders found two similar nests on the south coast of new holland, in king george's bay. in his "voyage," &c., london, , he says, "they were built upon the ground, from which they rose above two feet, and were of vast circumference and great interior capacity; the branches of trees and other matter of which each nest was composed being enough to fill a cart." among the varieties of birds'-nests are some very curious homes, of which we have but space to notice a few. the pendulous nest of the indian baya-bird is usually formed of the fibres of the palmyra, the cocoa-nut palm, and wild date of india, sometimes mixed with grass, neatly interlaced, and very strongly made. it consists of only one circular chamber, with a long tubular passage leading to it, and is suspended from a tree, preferred if overhanging water. the natives of india say the baya lights up its nest with fire-flies. the bird lays from four to six white eggs. bayas are of a very social disposition: numbers build on the same tree, or neighbouring trees, and singing in concert during the breeding season. the baya is very docile, and taught to fly off the finger and return again; to dart after a ring or small coin, dropped into a deep well, and catch it before it reaches the water; to fetch and carry, and perform similar tricks. the nest of the brilliant golden-banded oriole is a hammock of twisted fibrous substances, and is suspended in a low shrub, so as to swing to the breeze. the twine-like fibres of which it is woven are the filaments of the gigantic palm. the threads break away from the leaf, and hang like fringe to the magnificent foliage. the tailor-birds are the best nest-builders of all the feathered tribes. they interweave their nests between the twigs and branches of shrubs, or suspend the nests from them; and some of these birds have exercised arts from the creation which man has found of the greatest benefit to him since he discovered them. these birds, indeed, may be called the inventors of the several arts of the weaver, the sempstress, and the tailor; whence some of them have been denominated weaver and tailor birds. the nests of the latter are, however, most remarkable. india produces several species of tailor-birds that sew together leaves for the protection of their eggs and nestlings from the voracity of serpents and apes. they generally select the end of a branch or twig, and sew with cotton, thread, and fibres. colonel sykes has seen some in which the thread was literally knotted at the end. the inside of these nests is lined usually with down and cotton. tailor-birds are not confined to india or tropical countries. italy can boast a species which exercises the same art. mr. gould has a specimen of this bird in his possession, and the zoological society have a nest in their museum. this little bird, a species of the genus _sylvia_, in summer and autumn frequents marshes; but in the spring it seeks the meadows and corn-fields, in which, at that season, the marshes being bare of the sedges which cover them in summer, it is compelled to construct its nest in tussocks of grass on the brinks of ditches; but the leaves of these being weak, easily split, so that it is difficult for our little sempstresses to unite them, and so form the skeleton of the fabric. from this and other circumstances, the spring nests of these birds differ so widely from those made in the autumn that it seems next to impossible that both should be the work of the same artisan. the latter are constructed in a thick bunch of sedge or reed: they are shaped like a pear, being dilated below and narrow above, so as to leave an aperture sufficient for the ingress and egress of the bird. the greatest horizontal diameter of the nest is about two inches and a half, and the vertical is five inches. the most wonderful thing in the construction of these nests is the method to which the little bird has recourse to keep united the living leaves of which it is composed. the sole in the weaving, more or less delicate, of the materials, forms the principle adopted by other birds to bind together the walls of their nests; but this sylvia is no weaver, for the leaves of the sedges or reeds are united by real stitches. in the edge of each leaf she makes, probably with her beak, minute apertures, through which she contrives to pass, perhaps by means of the same organ, one or more cords formed of spiders' web, particularly that of their egg-pouches. those threads are not very long, and are sufficient to pass two or three times from one leaf to another. they are of unequal thickness, and have knots here and there, which, in some places, divide into two or three branches. this is the manner in which the exterior of the nest is formed: the interior consists mainly of down, chiefly from plants, a little spiders' web being intermixed, which helps to keep the other substances together. the upper part and sides of the nest, that is, the external and internal, are in immediate contact; but in the lower part a greater space intervenes, filled with the slender foliage of grasses, and other materials, which render soft and warm the bed on which the eggs are to repose. this little bird feeds on insects. its flight is rectilinear, but consists of many curves, with the concavity upwards. these curves equal in number the strokes of the wing, and at every stroke its whistle is heard, the intervals of which correspond with the rapidity of its flight. the australian bower-bird, as its name implies, builds its nest like an arbour or bower, with twigs: in the british museum are two specimens, each decorated--one with bones and fresh-water shells, and the other with feathers and land-shells; remarkable instances of taste for ornament already referred to in a preceding page. the satin or bower-bird is described by settlers in australia as "a very troublesome rascal," which besets gardens; if once allowed to make a lodgment there it is very troublesome to get rid of him; he signalizes his arrival by pulling up, in his restless fussy way, everything in the garden that he can tug out of the ground, even to the little sticks to mark the site of seeds. a settler had formed a garden in the bush; there was no enclosure of the kind for miles in any direction: a flock of bower-birds came; he got his gun and shot two or three; the flock went off, and he never saw another bird of the kind. the cape swallows build nests which show extraordinary instinct allied to reason. a pair of these built their nest on the outside of a house at cape town against the angle formed by the wall and the board which supported the eaves. the whole of this nest was covered in, and it was furnished with a long neck or passage, through which the birds passed in and out. it resembled a longitudinal section of a florence oil flask. this nest having crumbled away after the young birds had quitted it, the same pair, or another of the same species, built on the old foundation again. but this time an improvement was observable in the plan of it that can hardly be referred to the dictates of mere instinct. the body of the nest was of the same shape as before, but instead of a single passage it was furnished with one at each side, running along the angle of the roof; and on watching the birds, they were seen invariably to go in at one passage and come out at the other. besides saving themselves the trouble of turning in the nest and disturbing, perhaps, its interior arrangement, they were guarded by this contrivance against a surprise by serpents, which frequently creep up along the wall, or descend from the thatch, and devour both the mother and her brood. dr. livingstone relates a very curious instance of "bird confinement" under very strange circumstances. in passing through mopane country, in south africa, his men caught a great number of the birds called _korwé_ in their breeding-places, which were holes in the mopane trees. they passed the nest of a korwé just ready for the female to enter; the orifice was plastered on both sides, but a space was left of a heart shape, and exactly the size of the bird's body. the hole in the tree was in every case found to be prolonged some distance upwards above the opening, and thither the korwé always fled to escape being caught. in another nest that was found, one white egg, much like that of a pigeon, was laid, and the bird dropped another when captured: she had four besides in the ovarium. dr. livingstone first saw this bird at kolenbeng in the forest: he saw a slit only, about half an inch wide and three or four inches long, in a slight hollow of a tree; a native broke the clay which surrounded the slit, put his arm into the hole, and brought out a red-beaked hornbill, which he killed. he told dr. livingstone that when the female enters her nest she submits to a real confinement. the male plasters up the entrance, leaving only a narrow slit by which to feed his mate, and which exactly suits the form of his beak. the female makes a nest of her own feathers, lays her eggs, hatches them, and remains with the young till they are fully fledged. during all this time, which is stated to be two or three months, the male continues to feed her and the young family. the prisoner generally becomes quite fat, and is esteemed a very dainty morsel by the natives; while the poor slave of a husband gets so lean that, on the sudden lowering of the temperature, which sometimes happens after a fall of rain, he is benumbed, falls down, and dies. dr. livingstone, on passing the same tree at kolenbeng about eight days afterwards, found the hole plastered up again, as if, in the short time that had elapsed, the disconsolate bird-husband had procured another wife. dr. l. saw a nest with the plastering not quite finished, and others completed; he also received elsewhere, besides kolobeng, the same account that the bird comes forth when the young are fully-fledged, at the period when the corn is ripe; indeed, her appearance abroad with her young is one of the signs they have for knowing when it ought to be so: the time is between two and three months. she is said sometimes to hatch two eggs, and, when the young of these are full-fledged, the other two are just out of the egg-shells: she then leaves the nest with the two elder, the orifice is again plastered up, and both male and female attend to the wants of the young. there is a specimen of a nest in the gardens of the zoological society, which merits description, besides that of the bower-bird. such is the nest of the brush turkey, which appears more like a small haystack than an ordinary nest, and the methodical manner in which it is constructed is thus described:--tracing a circle of considerable radius, the birds begin to travel round it, continually grasping with their huge feet the leaves and grasses and dead twigs which are lying about, and flinging them inwards towards the centre. each time that they complete their round, they narrow their circle, so that in a short time they clear away a circular belt, having in its centre a low irregular mass. by repeating the same process, however, they decrease the diameter of the mound as they increase its height, and at last a large and rudely conical mound is formed. in this nest as many as a bushel of eggs are deposited, at regular intervals, long end downwards. the leaves form a fermenting mass, which relieves the mother of the necessity of setting upon them. the male, however, has to regulate the temperature of the mass, which would otherwise get too hot. this he does by making a central ventilating shaft, which carries off the superfluous heat; and, lest the temperature should fall too low, he is constantly engaged in covering and uncovering the eggs in order to hit the exact temperature to be applied until the egg is warmed into life. footnote: [ ] abridged from the "saturday review." the epicure's ortolan. we have allotted this bird to the epicure, because it is rarely heard of but in association with his luxurious table. mr. beckford describes the ortolans among the delicacies which he saw in the kitchen of the monastery of batalha as "lumps of celestial fatness." ortolan is the french and english names for a species of _fringillidæ_ (finches). it is the _hortulanus_ of gesner and other naturalists; _miliaria pinguescens_ of frisch; _emberiza hortulana_ of linnæus; _ortolano_ of the italians generally; _tordino berluccio_ of the venetians; _garton ammer_ and _fetammer_ of the germans; and _gerste keneu_ of the netherlanders. this wide dispersion on the continent bespeaks the pet character of the bird. montagu terms it the green-headed bunting. the french have a fanciful derivation of the name: they say it is from the italian word for gardener, which is from the latin _hortus_, garden; because, according to menage, in italy, where the bird is common, it is quite at home in the hedges of gardens. the male bird has the throat, circle round the eyes, and a narrow band springing from the angle of the bill, yellow; head and neck grey, with a tinge of olive, and small brown spots; feathers black, edged with red; breast, belly, and abdomen, reddish grey, the feathers terminated with ash-colour; tail blackish, two external feathers, in part white; length rather more than six inches. there are, also, varieties marked white, green, blackish, and entirely black. the nest, which is constructed of fibres of plants and leaves, is frequently found on the ground in corn-fields, and sometimes in hedges and bushes. the ortolan is not famed for its song, which is, however, soft and sweet. like the nightingale, to which it has other points of resemblance, the ortolan sings after, as well as before sunset. it was this bird that varro, the lyric poet, called his companion by night and day. the south of europe may be considered the summer and autumnal head-quarters of the ortolan, though it is a summer visitor in the central and northern parts. in italy it is said to be common by temminck and others. the prince of musignano states it to be found in the sabine mountains; adding that it rarely flies in the plains of rome, but is frequent in tuscany. lapland, russia, denmark. sweden, and norway, are among the countries visited by it. in the british isles it seems only entitled to rank as an autumnal visitor, but it may occur more frequently than is generally supposed; for, especially to an unpractised eye, it might be mistaken for the yellow hammer, and in some states of plumage for other buntings. it has been taken in the neighbourhood of london. in there was a live specimen in an aviary of the zoological society in regent's-park; and many ortolans are sent alive to the london market from prussia. there is, however, some consolation for the rarity of the ortolan in england. it is approached in delicacy by our wheatear, which is termed the _english ortolan_. hence it has been pursued as a delicate morsel throughout all its island haunts. bewick captured it at sea, off the coast of yorkshire, in may, . every spring and autumn it may be observed at gibraltar, on its migration. mr. strickland saw it at smyrna in april. north africa is its winter residence. colonel sykes notes it in his catalogue of the birds of the deccan. ortolans are solitary birds; they fly in pairs, rarely three together, and never in flocks. they are taken in traps from march or april to september, when they are often poor and thin; but if fed with plenty of millet-seed and other grain, they become sheer lumps of fat, and delicious morsels. they are fattened thus in large establishments in the south of europe; mr. gould states this to be effected in italy, and the south of france, in dark rooms; and the prince of musignano, having described the process, adds the relishing words. "carne exquisita." the fattening process in italy is one of great refinement in the manner of feeding. it is the fat of the ortolan which is so delicious; but it has a peculiar habit of feeding which is opposed to the rapid fattening, this is, it feeds only at the rising of the sun. yet this peculiarity has not proved an insurmountable obstacle to the italian gourmands. the ortolans are placed in a dark chamber, perfectly dark, with only one aperture in the wall. the food is scattered over the floor of the chamber. at a certain hour in the morning the keeper of the birds places a lantern in the orifice of the wall; when the dim light thrown from the lantern on the floor of the apartment induces the ortolans to believe that the sun is about to rise, and they greedily consume the food upon the floor. more food is now scattered over it, and the lantern is withdrawn. the ortolans, rather surprised at the shortness of the day, think it their duty to fall asleep, as night has spread her sable mantle round them. during sleep, little of the food being expended in the production of force, most of it goes to the formation of muscle and fat. after they have been allowed to repose for one or two hours, in order to complete the digestion of the food taken, their keeper again exhibits the lantern through the aperture. the "rising sun" a second time illumines the apartment, and the birds, awaking from their slumber, apply themselves voraciously to the food on the floor; after having discussed which, they are again enveloped in darkness. thus the sun is made to shed its rising rays into the chamber floor four or five times every day, and as many nights following. the ortolans thus treated become like little balls of fat in a few days. this not uninteresting process has been detailed by dr. lyon playfair to the royal agricultural society. it may, probably, be applied to purposes with less luxurious objects than fattening ortolans. notwithstanding its delicacy, the ortolan fattens very fast; and it is this lump of fatness that is its merit, and has sometimes caused it to be preferred to the becafico. according to buffon, the greeks and romans understood fattening the ortolan upon millet. but a lively french commentator doubts this statement: he maintains that had the ancients known the ortolan, they would have deified it, and built altars to it upon mount hymettus and the saniculum; adding, did they not deify the horse of caligula, which was certainly not worth an ortolan? and caligula himself, who was not worth so much as his horse? however, this dispute belongs to the "classics of the table." the ortolan is considered sufficiently fat when it is a handful, and is judged by feeling it, and not by appearance. it should not be killed with violence, like other birds; this might crush and bruise the delicate flesh, and spoil the _coup-d'oeil_, to avoid which it is recommended to plunge the head of the ortolan into a glass of brandy. the culinary instruction is as follows: having picked the bird of its feathers, singe it with the flame of paper or spirits of wine; cut off the beak and ends of the feet; do not draw it; put it into a paper case soaked in olive oil, and broil it over a slow fire of slack cinders, like that required for a pigeon _à la crapaudine_; in a few minutes the ortolan will swim in its own fat, and will be cooked. some gourmands wrap each bird in a vine-leaf. a gourmand will take an ortolan by the legs and craunch it in delicious mouthfuls, so as absolutely to lose none of it. more delicate feeders cut the bird into quarters, and lay aside the gizzard; the rest may be eaten, even to the bones, which are sufficiently tender for the most delicate mouth to masticate without inconvenience. on the continent, ortolans are packed in tin boxes for exportation. they may be bought in london for half-a-crown a-piece. a few poulterers import ortolans in considerable numbers, and some have acquired the art of fattening these birds.[ ] alexis soyer put into the hundred guinea dish which he prepared for the royal table at the grand banquet at york, in , five pounds worth of ortolans, which were obtained from belgium. footnote: [ ] the ortolan figures in a curious anecdote of individual epicurism in the last century. a gentleman of gloucestershire had one son, whom he sent abroad to make the grand tour of the continent, where he paid more attention to the cookery of nations, and luxurious living, than anything else. before his return his father died and left him a large fortune. he now looked over his note-book to discover where the most exquisite dishes were to be had, and the best cooks obtained. every servant in his house was a cook; his butler, footman, coachman, and grooms--all were cooks. he had also three italian cooks--one from florence, another from vienna, and another from viterbo--for dressing one florentine dish. he had a messenger constantly on the road between brittany and london to bring the eggs of a certain kind of plover found in the former country. this prodigal was known to eat a single dinner at the expense of _l._, though there were but two dishes. in nine years he found himself getting poor, and this made him melancholy. when totally ruined, having spent , _l._, a friend one day gave him a guinea to keep him from starving, and he was found in a garret next day _broiling an ortolan_, for which he had paid a portion of the alms. talk about toucans. the toucans, a family of climbing-birds of tropical america, appear to have been known in europe by the length and great size of their bills, long before the birds themselves found their way to england. belon, in , described the bill of one of the family as half a foot long, large as a child's arm, pointed, and black at the tip, white elsewhere, notched on the edges, hollow within, and so finely delicate as to be transparent and thin as parchment; and its beauty caused it to be kept in the cabinets of the curious. for more than a century after belon's work, the birds themselves had not been seen in england; for, in the _museum tradescantianum_, the standard collection of the time, and which, from the list of contributors, appears to have been the great receptacle for all curiosities, we read of an "azacari (or toucan) of brazil; has his beak four inches long, almost two thick, like a turk's sword" (a.d. ). from this description tradescant knew the nature of the bird, if he had not seen it. mr. swainson states, that the enormous bills give to these birds a most singular and uncouth appearance. their feet are formed like those of the parrot, more for grasping than climbing; and as they live among trees, and proceed by hopping from branch to branch, their grasping feature is particularly adapted for such habits. they live retired in the deep forests, mostly in small companies. their flight is strait and laborious, but not graceful; while their movements, as they glide rather than hop from branch to branch, are elegant. mr. gould, in his grand monograph of the toucans, or _ramphastidæ_, remarks, that it was only within a few years of the time of linnæus that actual specimens of the toucan had been received in europe. the beaks, however, of these birds, regarded as curiosities, had occasionally found their way to our shores, and had occasioned some curious conjectures. the earliest shape resembled a turkish scimitar. the toucans (a word derived from their brazilian name, _taca, tucà_) received from linnæus the title of _ramphastos_, in allusion to the great volume of the beak ([greek: ramphos]--ramphos), a family (_ramphastidæ_). in some respects, indeed, they resemble the hornbills in the development of the beak. the toucans may be said to represent in america the hornbills in india and africa. large as is the beak of the toucan compared with the size of the body, it is in reality very light. its outer sheathing is somewhat elastic, very thin, smooth, and semi-transparent; and the interior consists of a maze of delicate cells, throughout which the olfactory nerves are multitudinously distributed. the nostrils are basal, the edges of each mandible are serrated, and the colouring of the whole beak is bright, rich, and often relieved by contrasted markings. but these tints begin to fade after death, and become ultimately dissipated. the eyes are surrounded by a considerable space of naked skin, often very richly tinted. the tongue is very long, slender, horizontally flattened, pointed, and, except at its base, horny; it is fringed or feathered along each side. the wings are short, concave, and comparatively feeble. the tail is variable, equal and squared; it is remarkable for the facility with which it can be retroverted or turned up, so as to lie upon the back. this peculiarity results from a modification of structure in the caudal vertebræ, which enables the tail to turn with a jerk by the action of certain muscles, as if it were fixed on a hinge put into action by means of a spring. when the retroversion is accomplished, the muscles which caused it become passive, and offer no resistance to their antagonists, which restore the tail to its ordinary direction. when they sleep they puff out their plumage, they retrovert the tail over the back, draw the head between the shoulders; the bill begins to turn over the right shoulder, and becomes at last buried in the plumage of the back; at the same time the pinions of the wings droop, and conceal the feet. the bird now resembles an oval ball of puffed-up feathers, and is well protected against the cold. toucans utter, from time to time, harsh, clattering, and discordant cries. "some," says mr. gould, "frequent the humid woods of the temperate regions, while others resort to comparatively colder districts, and dwell at an elevation of from six to ten thousand feet. those inhabiting the lofty regions are generically different from those residing in the low lands, and are clothed in a more thick and sombre-coloured plumage. all the members of the hill-toucans are distinguished by their bills being strong, heavy, and hard, when compared with those of the true toucans and araçaris, all of which have their bills of a more delicate structure, and in several species so thin and elastic on the sides as to be compressible between the fingers." their food in a state of nature consists of fruit, eggs, and nestling birds; to which, in domestication, are added small birds, mice, caterpillars, and raw flesh. they incubate in the hollows of gigantic trees. faber was told by fryer, alaysa, and other spaniards who had lived long in america, and also by the indians, that the toucan even hews out holes in trees, in which to nidify; and oviedo adds, that it is from this habit of chipping the trees that the bird is called by the spaniards _carpintero_, and by the brazilians _tacataca_, in imitation, apparently, of the sound it thus makes. the larger feed upon bananas and other succulent plants; the smaller upon the smaller fruits and berries. prince maximilian de wied states, that in brazil he found only the remains of fruits in their stomachs, and adds, that they make sad havoc among plantations of fruit-trees. he was informed, however, that they steal and eat birds, but never himself saw them in the act. they abound in the vast forests, and are killed in great number in the cooler season in the year for the purposes of the table. in their manners the toucans resemble the crow tribe, and especially the magpies: like them, they are very troublesome to the birds of prey, particularly to the owls, which they surround, making a great noise, all the while jerking their tails upwards and downwards. their feathers, especially from their yellow breasts, are used by the indians for personal decoration. azara states that they attack even the solid nests of the white ants, when the clay of which their nests are formed becomes moistened with the rain; they break them up with their beaks, so as to obtain the young ants and their eggs; and during the breeding season the toucan feeds upon nothing else; during the rest of the year he subsists upon fruit, insects, and the buds of trees. edwards, in his voyage up the amazon, observes, that when a party of toucans alight on a tree, one usually acts the part of a sentinel, uttering the loud cry of "tucano," whence they derive their name; the others disperse over the branches in search of fruit. while feeding they keep up a hoarse chattering, and at intervals unite with the noisy sentry, and scream a concert that may be heard a mile. having appeased their appetites, they seek the depths of a forest, and there quietly doze away the noon. in early morning a few of them may be seen sitting quietly upon the branches of some dead tree, apparently awaiting the coming sunlight before starting for their feeding-trees. some species of toucans have been seen quarrelling with monkeys over a nest of eggs. their carnivorous propensity has been strikingly shown in the specimens which have been kept in england. on the approach of any small bird the toucan becomes highly excited, raises itself up, erects its feathers, and utters a hollow clattering sound, the irides of the eyes expand, and the toucan is ready to dart on its prey. a toucan, exhibited in st. martin's-lane in , seized and devoured a canary-bird. next day mr. broderip tried him with a live goldfinch. the toucan seized it with the beak, and the poor little victim uttered a short weak cry, for within a second it was dead, killed by the powerful compression of the mandibles. the toucan now placed the dead bird firmly between its foot and the perch, stripped off the feathers with its bill, and then broke the bones of the wings and legs, by strongly wrenching them, the bird being still secured by the toucan's foot. he then continued to work with great dexterity till he had reduced the goldfinch to a shapeless mass. this he devoured piece by piece with great gusto, not even leaving the legs or the beak of his prey: to each morsel he applied his tongue as he masticated it, chattering and shivering with delight. he never used his foot, but his bill, for conveying his food to his mouth by the sides of the bill. mr. swainson remarks:--"the apparent disproportion of the bill is one of the innumerable instances of that beautiful adaptation of structure to use which the book of nature everywhere reveals. the food of these birds consists principally of the eggs and young of others, to discover which nature has given them the most exquisite powers of smell." again, the nests in which the toucan finds its food are often very deep and dark, and its bill, covered with branches of nerves, enables the bird to feel its way as accurately as the finest and most delicate finger could. from its feeding on eggs found in other birds' nests, it has been called the egg-sucker. probably there is no bird which secures her young offspring better from the monkeys, which are very noisome to the young of most birds. for when she perceives the approach of these enemies she so settles herself in her nest as to put her bill out at the hole, and give the monkeys such a welcome therewith that they presently break away, and are glad to escape. professor owen, in his minute examination of the mandibles, remarks that the principle of the cylinder is introduced into the elaborate structure; the smallest of the supporting pillars of the mandibles are seen to be hollow or tubular when examined with the microscope. light and almost diaphonous as is the bill of the toucan, its strength and the power of the muscles, which act upon the mandibles, are evident in the wrenching and masticatory processes. when taking fruit, the toucan generally holds it for a short time at the extremity of his bill, applying to it, with apparent delight, the pointed tip of the slender tongue: the bird then throws it, with a sudden upward jerk, to the throat, where it is caught and instantly swallowed. mr. gould divides the toucans into six genera. . the true toucans, with large and gaily-coloured bills, plumage black. . the araçaris, with smaller beaks, plumage green, yellow, and red. . the banded aracauris, an amazonian genus, proposed by prince c. l. bonaparte. . toucanets, small, with crescent of yellow on the back, and brilliant orange and yellow ear-coverts. . hill toucans of the andes. . groove-bills, grass-green plumage. a very fine true toucan, figured by mr. gould, is remarkable for the splendour and size of the bill, of a fine orange-red, with a large black patch on each side. powder-flasks are made of large and finely-coloured bills. the naked skin round the eye is bright orange. the chest is white, with a tinge of sulphur below, and a slight scarlet margin. upper tail-coverts, white; under tail-coverts, scarlet; the rest of the plumage, black. several specimens of this beautiful bird lived both in the menagerie of the late earl of derby, at knowsley, and in the gardens of the zoological society. it is a native of cayenne, paraguay, &c. toucans in their manners are gentle and confident, exhibiting no alarm at strangers, and are as playful as magpies or jackdaws; travellers assure us that they may be taught tricks and feats like parrots; and although they cannot imitate the human voice, they show considerable intelligence. one of the toucanets is named from mr. gould, the plates in whose _monograph_, from their size, beauty, and accuracy, have all the air of portraits. eccentricities of penguins. this group of amphibious birds, though powerless in the wing as an organ of flight, are assisted by it as a species of fin in their rapid divings and evolutions under water, and even as a kind of anterior of extremity when progressing on the land. their lot has been wisely cast on those desolate southern islands and shores where man rarely intrudes, and in many instances where a churlish climate or a barren soil offers no temptations to him to invade their territory. le vaillant, when on dassen island, found that the smaller crevices of the rocks served as places of retreat for penguins, which swarmed there. "this bird," says le vaillant, which is about two feet in length, "does not carry its body in the same manner as others: it stands perpendicularly on its two feet, which gives it an air of gravity, so much the more ridiculous as its wings, which have no feathers, hang carelessly down on each side; it never uses them but in swimming. as we advanced towards the middle of the island we met innumerable troops of them. standing firm and erect on their legs, these animals never deranged themselves in the least to let us pass; they more particularly surrounded the mausoleum, and seemed as if determined to prevent us from approaching it. all the environs were entirely beset with them. nature had done more for the plain tomb of the poor danish captain than what proceeds from the imaginations of poets or the chisels of our artists. the hideous owl, however well sculptured in our churches, has not half so dead and melancholy an air as the penguin. the mournful cries of this animal, mixed with those of the sea-calf, impressed on my mind a kind of gloom which much disposed me to tender sensations of sadness. my eyes were sometime fixed on the last abode of the unfortunate traveller, and i gave his manes the tribute of a sigh." sir john narborough says of the patagonian penguins that their erect attitude and bluish-black backs, contrasted with their white bellies, might cause them to be taken at a distance for young children with white pinafores on. a line of them is engraved in webster's "voyage of the chanticleer," and reminds us of one of the woodcuts in hood's "comic annual." the "towns, camps, and rookeries," as they have been called, of penguins have been often described. at the falkland islands are assemblies of penguins, which give a dreary desolation to the place, in the utter absence of the human race. in some of the towns voyagers describe a general stillness, and when the intruders walked among the feathered population to provide themselves with eggs, they were regarded with side-long glances, but they seemed to carry no terror with them. in many places the shores are covered with these birds, and three hundred have been taken within an hour; for they generally make no effort to escape, but stand quietly by whilst their companions are knocked down with sticks, till it comes to their turn. the rookeries are described as designed with the utmost order and regularity, though they are the resort of several different species. a regular camp, often covering three or four acres, is laid out and levelled, and the ground disposed in squares for the nests, as accurately as if a surveyor had been employed. their marchings and countermarchings are said to remind the observer of the manoeuvres of soldiers on parade. in the midst of this apparent order there appears to be not very good government, for the stronger species steal the eggs of the weaker if they are left unguarded; and the king penguin is the greatest thief of all. three species are found in the falkland islands. two, the _kings_ and the _macaroni_, deposit their eggs in these rookeries. the _jackass_, which is the third, obtained its english name from its brayings at night. it makes its nests in burrows on downs and sandy plains; and forster describes the ground as everywhere so much bored, that a person, in walking, often sinks up to the knees; and if the penguin chance to be in her hole, she revenges herself on the passenger by fastening on his legs, which she bites very hard. but these rookeries are insignificant when compared with a settlement of king penguins, which mr. g. bennett saw at the north end of macquarrie island, in the south pacific ocean--a colony of these birds, which covered some thirty or forty acres. here, during the whole of the day and night, , or , penguins are continually landing, and an equal number going to sea. they are ranged, when on shore, in as regular ranks as a regiment of soldiers, and are classed, the young birds in one situation, the moulting birds in another, the sitting hens in a third, the clean birds in a fourth, &c.; and so strictly do birds in a similar condition congregate, that, should a moulting bird intrude itself among those which are clean, it is immediately ejected from them. the females, if approached during incubation, move away, carrying their eggs with them. at this time the male bird goes to sea, and collects food for the female, which becomes very fat. captain fitzroy describes, at noir island, multitudes of penguins swarming among the bushes and tussac-grass near the shore, for moulting and rearing their young. they were very valiant in self-defence, and ran open-mouthed by dozens at any one who invaded their territory. the manner of feeding their young is amusing. the old bird gets on a little eminence and makes a loud noise, between quacking and braying, holding its head up as if haranguing the penguinnery, the young one standing close to it, but a little lower. the old bird then puts down its head, and opens its mouth widely, into which the young one thrusts its head, and then appears to suck from the throat of its mother; after which the clatter is repeated, and the young one is again fed: this continues for about ten minutes. mr. darwin, having placed himself between a penguin, on the falkland islands, and the water, was much amused by watching its habits. "it was a brown bird," says mr. darwin, "and, till reaching the sea, it regularly fought and drove me backwards. nothing less than heavy blows would have stopped him: every inch gained, he firmly kept standing close before me, erect and determined. when thus opposed, he continually rolled his head from side to side in a very odd manner. while at sea, and undisturbed, this bird's note is very deep and solemn, and is often heard in the night time. in diving, its little plumeless wings are used as fins, but on the land as front legs. when crawling (it may be said on four legs) through the tussacks, or on the side of a grassy cliff, it moved so very quickly that it might readily have been mistaken for a quadruped. when at sea, and fishing, it comes to the surface for the purpose of breathing with such a spring, and dives again so instantaneously, that i defy any one, at first sight, to be sure that it is not a fish leaping for sport." bougainville endeavoured to bring home a penguin alive. it became so tame that it followed the person who fed it; it ate bread, flesh, or fish; but it fell away and died. the four-footed duck of gesner might have owed its origin to an ill-preserved penguin. the notion of its being four-footed might have been fortified by some voyager who had seen the bird making progress as mr. darwin has above described. mr. webster describes the feathers of penguins as very different from those of other birds, being short, very rigid, and the roots deeply embedded in fat. they are, in general, flat, and bent backwards, those on the breast being of a satin or silky white, and those on the flippers so short and small as to approach the nature of scales, overlaying each other very closely. the skins are loaded with fat. their feet are not regularly webbed, but present a broad, fleshy surface, more adapted for walking than swimming. mr. webster saw great numbers of penguins on staten island. they are the only genus of the feathered race that are there, and live in the water, like seals. he saw them at the distance of miles from the land, swimming with the rapidity of the dolphin, the swiftest of fishes. when they come up to the surface for fresh breath, they make a croaking noise, dip their beaks frequently in the water, and play and dive about near the surface, like the bonita. penguins have great powers of abstinence, and are able to live four or five months without food. stones have been occasionally found in their stomachs, but they generally live on shrimps and crustacea, gorging themselves sometimes to excess. the sensations of these curious birds do not seem to be very acute. sparrman stumbled over a sleeping one, and kicked it some yards, without disturbing its rest; and forster left a number of penguins apparently lifeless, while he went in pursuit of others, but they afterwards got up and marched off with their usual gravity. the bird is named from the welsh word, _pengwyn_. white head (_pen_, head; _gwyn_, white), and is thought to have been given to the bird by some welsh sailors, on seeing its white breast. davis, who discovered, in , the straits which are named after him, was of welsh parents. might he not have given the name _pengwyn_ to the bird? swainson considers the penguins, on the whole, as the most singular of all aquatic birds; and he states that they clearly point out that nature is about to pass from the birds to the fishes. others consider penguins more satisfactorily to represent some of the aquatic reptiles, especially the marine _testudinata_. pelicans and cormorants. pelicans are described as a large, voracious, and wandering tribe of birds, living for the most part on the ocean, and seldom approaching land but at the season of incubation. they fly with ease, and even with swiftness. their bill is long, and armed at the end with an abrupt hook; the width of the gape is excessive; the face is generally bare of feathers, and the skin of the throat sometimes so extensible as to hang down like a bag; it will occasionally contain ten quarts. "by this curious organization," observes swainson, "the pelicans are able to swallow fish of a very large size; and the whole family may be termed _oceanic vultures_." the neighbourhood of rivers, lakes, and the sea-coast, is the haunt of the pelican, and they are rarely seen more than twenty leagues from the land. le vaillant, upon visiting dassen island, at the entrance of saldanha bay, beheld, as he says, after wading through the surf, and clambering up the rocks, such a spectacle as never, perhaps, appeared to the eye of mortal. "all of a sudden there arose from the whole surface of the island an impenetrable cloud, which formed, at the distance of forty feet above our heads, an immense canopy, or, rather, a sky, composed of birds of every species and of all colours--cormorants, sea-gulls, sand-swallows, and, i believe, the whole winged tribe of this part of africa, were here assembled." the same traveller found on the klein-brak river, whilst waiting for the ebb-tide, thousands of pelicans and flamingoes, the deep rose-colour of the one strongly contrasting with the white of the other. mr. gould says the bird is remarkable for longevity and the long period requisite for the completion of its plumage. the first year's dress is wholly brown, then fine white. the rosy tints are only acquired as the bird advances in age, and five years are required before the pelican becomes fully mature. the expanse of wings is from twelve to thirteen feet. although the bird perches on trees, it prefers rocky shores. it is found in the oriental countries of europe; and is common on the rivers and lakes of hungary and russia, and on the danube. that the species exists in asia there is no doubt. belon, who refers to leviticus xi. , where the bird is noted as unclean, says that it is frequent on the lakes of egypt and judæa. "when he was passing the plain of roma, which is only half a day's journey from jerusalem, he saw them flying in pairs, like swans, as well as in a large flock. hasselquist saw the pelican at damietta, in egypt. "in flying, they form an acute angle, like the common wild geese when they migrate. they appear in some of the egyptian drawings."--(_rossellini._) von siebold saw the pelican in japan. "pelicans," says dr. richardson, "are numerous in the interior of the fur countries, but they seldom come within two hundred miles of hudson's bay. they deposit their eggs usually on small rocky islands, on the brink of cascades, where they can scarcely be approached; but they are otherwise by no means shy birds. they haunt eddies under waterfalls, and devour great quantities of carp and other fish. when gorged with food they doze on the water, and may be easily captured, as they have great difficulty in taking wing at such times, particularly if their pouches be loaded with fish." the bird builds on rocky and desert shores: hence we read of "the pelican of the wilderness," alluded to in these beautiful lines:-- "like the pelicans on that lone island where they built their nests, nourish'd their young, and then lay down to die." the bird lives on fish, which it darts upon from a considerable height. james montgomery thus describes this mode of taking their prey:-- "eager for food, their searching eyes they fix'd on ocean's unroll'd volume, from a height that brought immensity within their scope; yet with such power of vision look'd they down, as though they watch'd the shell-fish slowly gliding o'er sunken rocks, or climbing trees of coral, on indefatigable wing upheld, breath, pulse, existence, seem'd suspended in them; they were as pictures painted on the sky; till suddenly, aslant, away they shot, like meteors chang'd from stars in gleams of lightning. and struck upon the deep; where, in wild play, their quarry flounder'd, unsuspecting harm. with terrible voracity they plunged their heads among the affrighted shoals, and beat a tempest on the surges with their wings, till flashing clouds of foam and spray conceal'd them. nimbly they seized and secreted their prey, alive and wriggling, in th' elastic net which nature hung beneath their grasping beaks; till, swoll'n with captures, th' unwieldy burthen clogg'd their slow flight, as heavily to land these mighty hunters of the deep return'd. there on the cragged cliffs they perched at ease, gorging their hapless victims one by one; then, full and weary, side by side they slept, till evening roused them to the chase again." _pelican island._ great numbers of pelicans are killed for their pouches, which are converted by the native americans into purses, &c. when carefully prepared, the membrane is as soft as silk, and sometimes embroidered by spanish ladies for work-bags, &c. it is used in egypt by the sailors, whilst attached to the two under chaps, for holding or baling water. with the pelican has been associated an old popular error, which has not long disappeared from books of information: it is that of the pelican feeding her young with her blood. in reference to the actual economy of the pelican, we find that, in feeding the nestlings--and the male is said to supply the wants of the female, when sitting, in the same manner--the under mandible is pressed against the neck and breast, to assist the bird in disgorging the contents of the capacious pouch; and during this action the red nail of the upper mandible would appear to come in contact with the breast, thus laying the foundation, in all probability, for the fable that the pelican nourishes her young with her blood, and for the attitude in which the imagination of painters has placed the bird in books of emblems, &c., with the blood spirting from the wounds made by the terminating nail of the upper mandible into the gaping mouths of her offspring. sir thomas browne, in his "vulgar errors," says:--"in every place we meet with the picture of the pelican opening her breast with her bill, and feeding her young ones with the blood distilling from her. thus it is set forth, not only in common signs, but in the crest and scutcheon of many noble families; hath been asserted by many holy writers, and was an hieroglyphic of piety and pity among the egyptians; on which consideration they spared them at their tables." sir thomas refers this popular error to an exaggerated description of the pelican's fondness for her young, and is inclined to accept it as an emblem "in coat-armour," though with great doubt. in "a choice of emblems and other devices," by geoffrey whitney, are these lines:-- "the pelican, for to revive her younge, doth pierce her breste, and geve them of her blood. then searche your breste, and as you have with tonge, with penne procede to do your countrie good: your zeal is great, your learning is profounde; then help our wantes with that you do abound." in george wither's "emblems," , we find:-- "our pelican, by bleeding thus, fulfill'd the law, and cured us." shakspeare, in "hamlet," thus alludes to the popular notion:-- "to his good friends thus wide i'll ope my arms; and like the kind, life-rendering pelican, repast them with my blood." in a holier light, this symbol signifies the saviour giving himself up for the redemption of mankind. in lord lindsay's "christian art," vols. i., xx., xxi., we find in the text, "god the son (is symbolized) by a pelican--'i am like a pelican of the wilderness.' (psalm cii. .)" to which is added the following note:--"the mediæval interpretation of this symbol is given by sir david lindsay, of the mount, lion king, nephew of the poet, in his ms. 'collectanea,' preserved in the advocates' library. edinburgh." sir thomas browne hints at the probability of the pelican occasionally nibbling or biting itself on the itching part of its breast, upon fulness or acrimony of blood, so as to tinge the feathers in that part. such an instance is recorded by mr. g. bennett of a pelican living at dulwich, which wounded itself just above the breast; but no such act has been observed among the pelicans kept in the menagerie of the zoological society or elsewhere; and the instance just recorded was probably caused by local irritation. of the same genus as the _pelican_ is the _cormorant_, an inhabitant of europe generally and of america. it swims very deep in the water; even in the sea very little more than the neck and head are visible above the surface. it is a most expert diver, pursuing the fish which forms its food with great activity under water; it is said to be very fond of eels. it perches on trees, where it occasionally builds its nests, but it mostly selects rocky shores and islands. upon the fern islands its nest is composed of a mass of sea-weed, frequently heaped up to the height of two feet. the species is easily domesticated; and its docility is shown by the use often made of cormorants in fishing. willughby, quoting faber, says:--"they are wont in england to train up cormorants to fishing. when they carry them out of the room where they are kept they take off their hoods, and having tied a leather thong round the lower part of their necks, that they may not swallow down the fish they catch, they throw them into the river. they presently dive under water, and there for a long time, with wonderful swiftness, pursue the fish, and when they have caught them they arise presently to the top of the water, and pressing the fish tightly with the bills, they swallow them, till each bird hath after this manner devoured five or six fishes. then their keepers call them to the fish, to which they readily fly, and little by little, one after another, vomit up all the fish, a little bruised with the nip they gave them with their bills." when they have done fishing they loosen the string from the birds' necks, and for their reward they throw them part of the prey they have caught, to each, perchance, one or two fishes, which they catch most dexterously in their mouths as they are falling in the air. pennant quotes whitelock, who said that he had a cast of them, manned like hawks, and which would come to hand. he took much pleasure in them, and relates that the best he had was one presented him by mr. wood, master of the corvorants (as the older name was) to charles i. pennant adds, it is well known that the chinese make great use of a congenerous sort in fishing, and that not for amusement but profit. sir george staunton, in his account of his embassy to china, describes the place where the _leu-tze_, or famed fishing-bird of china, is bred and instructed in the art and practice of supplying his owner with fish in great abundance. the bird, a cormorant, is figured in sir george's work, with two chinese fishermen carrying their light boat, around the gunnel of which their cormorants are perched by a pole resting on their shoulders between them. on a large lake are thousands of small boats and rafts built entirely for this species of fishery. on each boat or raft are ten or a dozen birds, which, on a signal from the owner, plunge into the water; and it is astonishing to see the enormous size of fish with which they return grasped between their bills. they appeared to be so well trained that it did not require either ring or cord about their throats to prevent them from swallowing any portion of their prey except what the master was pleased to return to them for encouragement and food. the boat used by these fishermen is remarkably light, and is often carried to the lake, together with the fishing-birds, by the men who are there to be supported by it. belon gives an amusing account of the chase of this bird during calms, especially in the neighbourhood of venice: the hunt is carried on in very light boats, each of which being rowed by five or six men, darts along the sea like the bolt from an arbalest, till the poor cormorant, who is shot at with bows as soon as he puts his head above water, and cannot take flight after diving to suffocation, is taken quite tired out by his pursuers. cormorant fishing has occasionally been reintroduced upon our rivers. in there were brought from holland four tame cormorants, which had been trained to the chinese mode of fishing. upon one occasion they fished three miles on a river, and caught a pannier-full of trout and eels. a ring placed round their necks to prevent them from swallowing large fish, but which leaves them at liberty to gulp down anything not exceeding the size of a gudgeon. the birds on these occasions are put into such parts of the river as are known to be favourite haunts of fish; and their activity under water in pursuit of fish can be compared to nothing so appropriate as a swallow darting after a fly. blumenbach tells us the cormorant occasionally increases in a few years to many thousands on coasts where it was previously unknown. it varies much both in size and colour. the late joshua brookes, the surgeon, possessed a cormorant, which he presented to the zoological society. the cormorant has a small sabre-shaped bone at the back of its vertex; which bone may serve as a lever in throwing back the head, when the animal tosses the fishes into the air and catches them in its open mouth. the same motion is, however, performed by some piscivorous birds, which are not provided with this particular bone. aubrey, in his "natural history of wilts," quotes the following weather presage from may's "virgil's georgics":-- "the seas are ill to sailors evermore when cormorants fly crying to the shore." talking birds, etc. certain birds are known to utter strange sounds, the origin of which has much puzzled the ornithologists. the brown owl which hoots, is hence called the screech owl: a musical friend of gilbert white tried all the owls that were his near neighbours with a pitch-pipe set at a concert pitch, and found they all hooted in b flat; and he subsequently found that neither owls nor cuckoos keep to one note. the whidah bird, one of the most costly of cage-birds, rattles its tail-feathers with a noise somewhat resembling that made by the rattle-snake. the chinese starling, in china called _longuoy_, in captivity is very teachable, imitating words, and even whistling tunes: we all remember sterne's starling. the piping crow, to be seen in troops in the blue mountains, is named from its ready mimicry of other birds: its imitation of the chucking and cackling of a hen and the crowing of a cock, as well as its whistling of tunes, are described as very perfect: its native note is said to be a loud whistle. the blue jay turns his imitative faculty to treacherous account: he so closely imitates the st. domingo falcon as to deceive even those acquainted with both birds; and the falcon no sooner appears in their neighbourhood than the jays swarm around him and insult him with their imitative cries; for which they frequently fall victims to his appetite. the bullfinch, according to blumenbach, learns to whistle tunes, to sing in parts, and even to pronounce words. the note of the crowned crane has been compared by buffon to the hoarseness of a trumpet; it also clucks like a hen. mr. wallace, in his "travels on the amazon," saw a bird about the size and colour of the raven, which uttered a loud, hoarse cry, like some deep musical instrument, whence its indian name, _ueramioube_, trumpet bird: it inhabits the flooded islands of the rio negro and the solimoes, never appearing on the mainland.[ ] the only sound produced by storks is by snapping their bills. the night heron is called the qua bird; from its note _qua_. the bittern, the english provincial names of which are the mire-drum, bull of the bog, &c., is so called for the bellowing or drumming noise or booming for which the bird is so famous. this deep note of the "hollow-sounding bittern" is exerted on the ground at the breeding season, about february or march. as the day declines he leaves his haunt, and, rising spirally, soars to a great height in the twilight. willughby says that it performs this last-mentioned feat in the autumn, "making a singular kind of noise, nothing like to lowing." bewick says that it soars as above described when it changes its haunts. ordinarily it flies heavily, like the heron, uttering from time to time a resounding cry, not bellowing; and then willughby, who well describes the bellowing noise of the breeding season, supposes it to be the night raven, at whose "deadly voice" the superstitious wayfarer of the night turned pale and trembled. "this, without doubt," writes willughby, "is that bird our common people call the night raven, and have such a dread of, imagining its cry portends no less than their death or the death of some of their near relations; for it flies in the night, answers their description of being like a flagging collar, and hath such a kind of hooping cry as they talk of." others, with some reason, consider the qua bird already mentioned (which utters a loud and most disagreeable noise when on the wing, conveying the idea of the agonies of a person attempting to vomit) to be the true night raven. the bittern was well known to the ancients, and aristotle mentions the fable of its origin from staves metamorphosed into birds. the long claw of the hind toe is much prized as a toothpick, and in the olden times it was thought to have the property of preserving the teeth. the greater-billed butcher bird, from new holland, has extraordinary powers of voice: it is trained for catching small birds, and it is said to imitate the notes of some other birds by way of decoying them to their destruction. the mere imitative sounds of parrots are of little interest compared with the instances of instinct, apparently allied to reason, which are related of individuals. of this tribe the distinguishing characteristics are a hooked bill, the upper mandible of which is moveable as well as the lower, and not in one piece with the skull, as in most other birds, but joined to the head by a strong membrane, with which the bird lifts it or lets it fall at pleasure. the bill is also round on the outside and hollow within, and has, in some degree, the capacity of a mouth, allowing the tongue, which is thick and fleshy, to play freely; while the sound, striking against the circular border of the lower mandible, reflects it like a palate: hence the animal does not utter a whistling sound, but a full articulation. the tongue, which modulates all sounds, is proportionally larger than in man. the wild swan has a very loud call, and utters a melancholy cry when one of the flock is killed; hence it was said by the poets to sing its own dying dirge. such was the popular belief in olden times; and, looking to the anatomical characteristics of the species, it was, in some degree, supported by the more inflated wind-pipe of the wild when compared with that of the tame species. the _song of the swan_ is, however, irreconcileable with sober belief, the only noise of the wild swan of our times being unmelodious, and an unpleasing monotony. the laughing goose is named from its note having some resemblance to the laugh of man; and not, as wilson supposes, from the grinning appearance of its mandibles. the indians imitate its cry by moving the hand quickly against the lips, whilst they repeat the syllable _wah_. the cuckoo may be said to have done much for musical science, because from that bird has been derived the _minor scale_, the origin of which has puzzled so many; the cuckoo's couplet being the _minor third_ sung downwards. the germans are the finest appreciators of the nightingale; and it is a fact, that when the prussian authorities, under pecuniary pressure, were about to cut down certain trees near cologne, which were frequented by nightingales, the alarmed citizens purchased the trees in order to save the birds and keep their music. yet one would think the music hardly worth having, if it really sounded as it looks upon paper, transcribed thus by bechstein, from whom it is quoted by broderip:-- zozozozozozozozozozozozo zirrhading hezezezezezezezezezezezezezezeze cowar ho dze hoi higaigaigaigaigaigaigaigaigaigai, guaiagai coricor dzio dzio pi.[ ] m. wichterich, of bonn, remarks:--"it is a vulgar error to suppose that the song of the nightingale is melancholy, and that it only sings by night. there are two varieties of the nightingale; one which sings both in the night and the day, and one which sings in the day only." in the year , mr. leigh sotheby, in a letter to dr. gray, of the british museum, described a marvellous little specimen of the feathered tribe--a talking canary. its parents had previously and successfully reared many young ones, but three years before they hatched only _one_ out of four eggs, the which they immediately neglected, by commencing the rebuilding of a nest on the top of it. upon this discovery, the unfledged and forsaken bird, all but dead, was taken away and placed in flannel by the fire, when, after much attention, it was restored, and then brought up by hand. thus treated, and away from all other birds, it became familiarised only with those who fed it; consequently, its first singing notes were of a character totally different to those usual with the canary. constantly being talked to, the bird, when about three months old, astonished its mistress by repeating the endearing terms used in talking to it, such as "kissie, kissie," with its significant sounds. this went on, and from time to time the little bird repeated other words; and then, for hours together, except during the moulting season, it astonished by _ringing the changes_, according to its own fancy, and as plainly as any human voice could articulate them, on the several words, "dear sweet titchie" (its name), "kiss minnie," "kiss me, then, dear minnie." "sweet pretty little titchie," "kissie, kissie, kissie." "dear titchie," "titchie wee, gee, gee, gee, titchie. titchie." the usual singing-notes of the bird were more of the character of the nightingale, mingled occasionally with the sound of the dog-whistle used about the house. it is hardly necessary to add, that the bird was by nature remarkably tame. in , a canary-bird, capable of distinct articulation, was exhibited in regent-street. the following were some of its sentences:--"sweet pretty dear," "sweet pretty dear dicky," "mary," "sweet pretty little dicky dear;" and often in the course of the day, "sweet pretty queen." the bird also imitated the jarring of a wire, the ringing of a bell; it was three years old, and was reared by a lady who never allowed it to be in the company of other birds. this canary died in october, ; it was, it is believed, the only other talking instance publicly known. we read of some experiments made in the rearing of birds at kendal by a bird-fancier, the result of which was, that upwards of birds--canaries. greenfinches, linnets, chaffinches, titlarks, and whitethroats--were reared in one cage by a pair of canaries. the experiments were continued until the extraordinary number of thirty-eight birds had been brought up within two months by the canaries. it may be worth while to enumerate them. in the month of june the canaries--the male green, and the female piebald--were caged for the purpose of breeding. the female laid five eggs, and while she was sitting a greenfinch egg was introduced into the nest. all of these were hatched, and the day after incubation was completed five grey linnets, also newly hatched, were put into the cage, in their own nest. next day a newly-hatched nest of four chaffinches was also introduced; and afterwards five different nests, consisting of six titlarks, six whitethroats, three skylarks, three winchars, and three blackcaps. while rearing the last of these nests, the female canary again laid and hatched four eggs, thus making thirty-eight young birds brought up by the pair of canaries. it will be noticed that most of these birds are soft-billed, whose natural food is small insects; but they took quite kindly to the seeds upon which they were fed by their step-parents. the pair of canaries fed at one time twenty-one young birds, and never had less than sixteen making demands upon their care; and while the female was hatching her second nest she continued to feed the birds that occupied the other nest. of the origin of the _neighing sound_ which accompanies the single snipe's play-flight during pairing-time, opinions are various. bechstein thought it was produced by means of the beak; naumann and others, again, that it originated in powerful strokes of the wing. pratt, in hanover, observing that the bird makes heard its well-known song or cry, which he expresses with the words, "gick jack, gick jack!" at the same time with the _neighing sound_, it seemed to be settled that the latter is not produced through the throat. in the meantime, m. meves, of stockholm, remarked with surprise, that the humming sound could never be observed whilst the bird was flying upwards, at which time the tail is closed; but only when it was casting itself downwards in a slanting direction, with the tail strongly spread out. m. meves has written for the zoological society a paper upon the origin of this sound, which all the field-naturalists and sportsmen of england and other countries had, for the previous century, been trying to make out, but had failed to discover. of this paper the following is an abstract:-- the peculiar form of the tail-feathers in some foreign species nearly allied to our snipe encouraged the notion that the tail conduced to the production of the sound. m. meves found the tail-feathers of our common snipe, in the first feather especially, very peculiarly constructed; the shaft uncommonly stiff and sabre-shaped; the rays of the web strongly bound together and very long, the longest reaching nearly three-fourths of the whole length of the web, these rays lying along or spanning from end to end of the curve of the shaft, _like the strings of a musical instrument_. if you blow from the outer side upon the broad web, it comes into vibration, and a sound is heard, which, though fainter, resembles very closely the well-known _neighing_. but to convince yourself fully that it is the first feather which produces the peculiar sound, it is only necessary carefully to pluck out such an one, to fasten its shaft with fine thread to a piece of steel wire a tenth of an inch in diameter, and a foot long, and then to fix this at the end of a four-foot stick. if now you draw the feather, with this outer side forward, sharply through the air, at the same time making some short movements or shakings of the arm, so as to represent the shivering motion of the wings during flight, you produce the neighing sound with the most astonishing exactness. if you wish to hear the humming of both feathers at once, as must be the case from the flying bird, this also can be managed by a simple contrivance. take a small stick, and fasten at the side of the smaller end a piece of burnt steel wire in the form of a fork; bind to each point a side tail-feather; bend the wire so that the feathers receive the same direction which they do in the spreading of the tail as the bird sinks itself in flight; and then, with this apparatus, draw the feathers through the air as before. such a sound, but in another tone, is produced when we experiment with the tail-feathers of other kinds of snipe. since in both sexes these feathers have the same form, it is clear that both can produce the same humming noise; but as the feathers of the hen are generally less than those of the cock-bird, the noise made by them is not so deep as in the other case. besides the significance which these tail-feathers have as a kind of musical instrument, their form may give a weighty character in the determination of a species standing very near one another, which have been looked upon as varieties. this interesting discovery was first announced by m. meves in an account of the birds observed by himself during a visit to the island of gottland, in the summer of the year , which narrative was published at stockholm in the following winter. in the succeeding summer, m. meves showed his experiments to mr. wolley, whose services to ornithology we have already noticed. the mysterious noise of the wilderness was reproduced in a little room in the middle of stockholm: first, the deep bleat, now shown to proceed from the male snipe, and then the fainter bleat of the female, both most strikingly true to nature, neither producible with any other feathers than the outer ones of the tail. mr. wolley inquired of mr. meves how, issuing forth from the town on a summer ramble, he came to discover what had puzzled the wits and strained the eyes of so many observers. he freely explained how, in a number of "naumannia," an accidental misprint of the word representing tail-feathers instead of wing-feathers,--a mistake which another author ridiculed--first led him to think on the subject. he subsequently examined in the museum at stockholm the tail-feathers of various species of snipe, remarked their structure, and reasoned upon it. then he blew upon them, and fixed them on levers that he might wave them with greater force through the air; and at the same time he made more careful observation than he had hitherto done in the living birds. in short, in him the obscure hint was thrown upon fruitful ground, whilst in a hundred other minds it had failed to come to light. dr. walsh saw at constantinople a woodpecker, about the size of a thrush, which was very active in devouring flies, and tapped woodwork with his bill with a noise _as loud as that of a hammer_, to disturb the insects concealed therein, so as to seize upon them when they appeared. among remarkable bird services should not be forgotten those of the trochilos to the crocodile. "when the crocodile," says herodotus, "feeds in the nile, the inside of his mouth is always covered with _bdella_ (a term which the translators have rendered by that of _leech_). all birds, _except one_, fly from the crocodile; but this one bird, the _trochilos_, on the contrary, flies towards him with the greatest eagerness, and renders him a very great service; for every time that the crocodile comes to the land to sleep, and when he lies stretched out with his jaws open, the trochilos enters and establishes himself in his mouth, and frees him from the bdella which he finds there. the crocodile is grateful, and never does any harm to the little bird who performs for him this office." this passage was long looked upon as a pleasant story, and nothing more; until m. geoffroy st. hilaire, during his long residence in egypt, ascertained the story of herodotus to be correct in substance, but inexact in details. it is perfectly true that a little bird does exist, which flies incessantly from place to place, searching everywhere, even in the crocodile's mouth, for the insects which form the principal part of its nourishment. this bird is seen everywhere on the banks of the nile, and m. geoffroy has proved it to be of a species already described by hasselquist, and very like the small winged plover. if the trochilos be in reality the little plover, the bdella cannot be leeches, (which do not exist in the running waters of the nile) but the small insects known as _gnats_ in europe. myriads of these insects dance upon the nile: they attack the crocodile upon the inner surface of his palate, and sting the orifice of the glands, which are numerous in the crocodile's mouth. then the little plover, who follows him everywhere, delivers him from these troublesome enemies; and that without any danger to himself, for the crocodile is always careful, when he is going to shut his mouth, to make some motion which warns the little bird to fly away. at st. domingo there is a crocodile which very nearly resembles that of egypt. this crocodile is attacked by gnats, from which he would have no means of delivering himself (his tongue, like that of the crocodile, being fixed) if a bird of a particular species did not give him the same assistance that the crocodile of the nile receives from the little plover. these facts explain the passage in herodotus, and demonstrate that the animal, there called bdella, is not a leech, but a flying insect similar to our gnat. exemplifications of instinct, intelligence, and reason in birds are by no means rare, but this distinction must be made: instinctive actions are dependent on the nerves, intelligence on the brain; but that which constitutes peculiar qualities of the mind in man has no material organ. the rev. mr. statham has referred to the theory of the facial angle as indicative of the amount of sagacity observable in the animal race, but has expressed his opinion that the theory is utterly at fault in the case of birds; many of these having a very acute facial angle being considerably more intelligent than others having scarcely any facial angle at all. size also seems to present another anomaly between the two races of beasts and birds; for while the elephant and the horse are among the most distinguished of quadrupeds for sagacity and instinct, the larger birds seem scarcely comparable to the smaller ones in the possession of these attributes. the writer instances this by comparing the ostrich and the goose with the wren, the robin, the canary, the pigeon, and the crow; and amusingly alludes to the holding of parliaments or convocations of birds of the last species, while the ostrich is characterised in scripture as the type of folly. the author then refers to the poisoning of two young blackbirds by the parent birds, when they found that they could neither liberate them nor permanently share their captivity. the two fledglings had been taken from a blackbirds' nest in surrey-square, and had been placed in a room looking over a garden, in a wicker cage. for some time the old birds attended to their wants, visited them regularly, and fed them with appropriate food; but, at last, getting wearied of the task, or despairing of effecting their liberation, they appear to have poisoned them. they were both found suddenly dead one morning, shortly after having been seen in good health; and on opening their bodies a small leaf, supposed to be that of _solanum nigrum_, was found in the stomach of each. the old birds immediately deserted the spot, as though aware of the nefarious deed befitting their name. as an exemplification of instinct dr. horner states that rooks built on the infirmary trees at hull, but never over the street. one year, however, a young couple ventured to build here: for eight mornings in succession the old rooks proceeded to destroy the nest, when at last the young ones chose a more fitting place. mr. a. strickland, having referred to the tendency of birds to build their nests of materials of a colour resembling that around such nests, relates an instance in which the fly-catcher built in a red brick wall, and used for the nest mahogany shavings. referring to the meeting of rooks for judicial purposes. mr. strickland states that he once saw a rook tried in this way, and ultimately killed by the rest. songs of birds and seasons of the day. although nearly half a century has elapsed since the following observations were communicated to the royal society by dr. jenner, their expressive character is as charming as ever, and their accuracy as valuable:-- "there is a beautiful propriety in the order in which singing birds fill up the day with their pleasing harmony. the accordance between their songs, and the aspect of nature at the successive periods of the day at which they sing, is so remarkable that one cannot but suppose it to be the result of benevolent design. "from the _robin_ (not the _lark_, as has been generally imagined), as soon as twilight has drawn its imperceptible line between night and day, begins his artless song. how sweetly does this harmonize with the soft dawning of the day! he goes on till the twinkling sunbeams begin to tell him that his notes no longer accord with the rising sun. up starts the _lark_, and with him a variety of sprightly songsters, whose lively notes are in perfect correspondence with the gaiety of the morning. the general warbling continues, with now and then an interruption by the transient croak of the _raven_, the scream of the _jay_, or the pert chattering of the _daw_. the _nightingale_, unwearied by the vocal exertions of the night, joins his inferiors in sound in the general harmony. the _thrush_ is wisely placed on the summit of some lofty tree, that its piercing notes may be softened by distance before it reaches the ear, while the mellow _blackbird_ seeks the lower branches. "should the sun, having been eclipsed by a cloud, shine forth with fresh effulgence, how frequently we see the _goldfinch_ perch on some blossomed bough, and hear his song poured forth in a strain peculiarly energetic; while the sun, full shining on his beautiful plumes, displays his golden wings and crimson crest to charming advantage. indeed, a burst of sunshine in a cloudy day, or after a heavy shower, seems always to wake up a new gladness in the little musicians, and invite them to an answering burst of minstrelsy. "as evening advances, the performers gradually retire, and the concert softly dies away. at sunset the _robin_ again sends up his twilight song, till the still more serene hour of night sends him to his bower of rest. and now, in unison with the darkened earth and sky, no sooner is the voice of the _robin_ hushed, than the _owl_ sends forth his slow and solemn tones, well adapted to the serious hour." footnotes: [ ] the popular name of this bird is the _umbrella bird_. on its head it bears a crest, different from that of any other bird. it is formed of feathers more than two inches long, very thickly set, and with hairy plumes curving over at the end. these can be laid back so as to be hardly visible, or can be erected and spread out on every side, forming a dome completely covering the head, and even reaching beyond the point of the beak; the individual feathers then stand out something like the down-bearing seeds of the dandelion. besides this, there is another ornamental appendage on the breast, formed by a fleshy tubercle, as thick as a quill and an inch and a-half long, which hangs down from the neck, and is thickly covered with glossy feathers, forming a large pendent plume or tassel. this, also, the bird can either press to its breast, so as to be scarcely visible, or can swell out so as almost to conceal the forepart of its body. [ ] "athenæum," no. . owls. these nocturnal birds of prey have large heads and great projecting eyes, directing forwards, and surrounded with a circle of loose and delicate feathers, more or less developed, according to the nocturnal or comparatively diurnal habits of the species. the position of the eyes, giving a particular fulness and breadth to the head, has gained for the owl the intellectual character so universally awarded to it. the concave facial disc of feathers with which they are surrounded materially aids vision by concentrating the rays of light to an intensity better suited to the opacity of the medium in which power is required to be exercised. "they may be compared," says mr. yarrell, "to a person near-sighted, who sees objects with superior magnitude and brilliancy when within the prescribed limits of his natural powers of vision, from the increased angle these objects subtend." their beaks are completely curved, or raptorial; they have the power of turning the outer toe either backwards or forwards; they fly weakly, and near the ground; but, from their soft plumage, stealthily, stretching out their hind legs that they may balance their large and heavy heads. their sense of hearing is very acute: they not only look, but listen for prey. the owl is a bird of mystery and gloom, and a special favourite with plaintive poets. we find him with ariel:-- "there i couch when owls do cry." he figures in the nursery rhyme of "cock robin." in reply to "who dug his grave?"-- "i, says the owl, with my little shovel-- i dug his grave." he hoots over graves, and his dismal note adds to the terror of darkness:-- "'tis the middle of night by the castle clock, and the owls have awakened the crowing cock; tu-whit! tu-whoo! and hark again the crowing cock, how drowsily it crew. . . . . . . . . . "when blood is nipt, and ways be foul, then nightly sings the staring owl, tu-whoo! tu-whit! tu-whoo! _a merry note_, while greasy joan doth keel the pot!" titania sings of "the clamorous owl, that nightly hoots and wonders at our quaint spirits." bishop hall has this "occasional meditation" upon the sight of an owl in the twilight:--"what a strange melancholic life doth this creature lead; to hide her head all the day long in an ivy-bush, and at night, when all other birds are at rest, to fly abroad and vent her harsh notes. i know not why the ancients have _sacred_ this bird to wisdom, except it be for her safe closeness and singular perspicuity; that when other domestrial and airy creatures are blind, she only hath insured light to discern the least objects for her own advantage." we may here note that linnæus, with many other naturalists and antiquaries, have supposed the horned owl to have been the bird of minerva; but blumenbach has shown, from the ancient works of grecian art, that it was not this, but rather some smooth-headed species, probably the _passerina_, or little owl. the divine has, in the above passage, overstated the melancholy of the owl; as has also the poet, who sings:-- "from yonder ivy-mantled tower the moping owl does to the moon complain of such as, wandering near her secret bower, molest her ancient solitary reign." shakspeare more accurately terms her "the mousing owl," for her nights are spent in barns, or in hunting and devouring sparrows in the churchyard elms. "moping, indeed!" says a pleasing observer. "so far from this, she is a sprightly, active ranger of the night, who had as lief sit on a grave as a rose-bush; who is as valiant a hunter as nimroud, chasing all sorts of game, from the dormouse to the hare and the young lamb, and devouring them, while her mate hoots to her from some picturesque ruin, and invites her, when supper is over, to return to him and her babes." but the tricks of the owl by night render her the terror of all other birds, great and small. in northern italy, persons in rustic districts which are well wooded, catch and tame an owl, put a light chain upon her legs, and then place her on a small cross-bar on the top of a high pole, which is fixed in the earth. half-blinded by the light, the defenceless captive has to endure patiently the jeers and insults of the dastardly tribes from the surrounding groves and thickets, who issue in clouds to scream, chirp, and flit about their enemy. some, trusting to the swiftness of their wings, sweep close by, and peck at her feathers as they pass, and are sometimes punished by the owl with her formidable beak for their audacity. meanwhile, from darkened windows, sportsmen, with fowling-pieces well charged with shot, fire at the hosts of birds, wheeling, shrieking, screaming, and thickening around the owl. all the guns are fired at once, and the grass is strewn for many yards round with the slain; while the owl, whom they have been careful not to hit, utters a joyous whoo! whoo! at the fate of her persecutors. major head thus describes the _biscacho_, or coquimbo, a curious species of owl, found all over the pampas of south america:--"like rabbits, they live in holes, which are in groups in every direction. these animals are never seen in the day, but as soon as the lower limb of the sun reaches the horizon, they are seen issuing from the holes. the biscachos, when full-grown, are nearly as big as badgers, but their head resembles a rabbit's, except that they have large bushy whiskers. in the evening they sit outside the holes, and they all appear to be moralizing. they are the most serious-looking animals i ever saw; and even the young ones are grey-headed, wear moustachios, and look thoughtful and grave. in the daytime their holes are guarded by two little owls, which are never an instant away from their posts. as one gallops by these owls, they always stand looking at the stranger, and then at each other, moving their old-fashioned heads in a manner which is quite ridiculous, until one rushes by them, when they get the better of their dignified looks, and they both run into the biscacho's hole." of all birds of prey, owls are the most useful to man, by protecting his corn-fields, or granaried provision, from mice and numberless vermin. yet, prejudice has perverted these birds into objects of superstition and consequent hate. the kind-hearted mr. waterton says:--"i wish that any little thing i could write or say might cause this bird to stand better with the world at large than it has hitherto done; but i have slender hope on this score, because old and deep-rooted prejudices are seldom overcome; and when i look back into annals of remote antiquity, i see too clearly that defamation has done its worst to ruin the whole family, in all its branches, of this poor, harmless, useful friend of mine." the barn owl is common throughout europe, known in tartary, and rare in the united states of america. in england it is called the barn owl, the church owl, gillihowlet, and screech owl; the last name is improperly applied, as it is believed not to hoot, though sir william jardine asserts that he has shot it in the act of hooting. to the screech superstition has annexed ideas of fatal portent; "but," says charlotte smith, "it has, of course, no more foreknowledge of approaching evil to man than the lark: its cry is a signal to its absent mate." "if," says mr. waterton, "this useful bird caught its food by day instead of hunting for it by night, mankind would have ocular demonstration of its utility in thinning the country of mice; and it would be protected and encouraged everywhere. it would be with us what the ibis was with the egyptians. when it has young, it will bring a mouse to the nest every twelve or fifteen minutes." mr. waterton saw his barn owl fly away with a rat which he had just shot; he also saw her drop perpendicularly into the water, and presently rise out of it with a fish in her claws, which she took to her nest. birds and quadrupeds, and even fish, are the food of owls, according to the size of the species. hares, partridges, grouse, and even the turkey, are attacked by the larger horned owls of europe and america; while mice, shrews, small birds, and crabs suffice for the inferior strength of the smaller owls. mr. yarrell states that the short-eared owl is the only bird of prey in which he ever found the remains of a bat. william bullock reports that a large snowy owl, wounded on the isle of baltoc, disgorged a young rabbit; and that one in his possession had in its stomach a sandpiper with its feathers entire. it preys on lemmings, hares, and birds, particularly the willow-grouse and ptarmigan. it is a dexterous fisher, grasping the fish with an instantaneous stroke of the foot as it sails along near the surface of the water, or sits on a stone in a shallow stream. it has been seen on the wing pursuing an american hare, making repeated strokes at the animal with its foot. in winter, when this owl is fat, the indians and white residents in the fur countries esteem it to be good eating; its flesh is delicately white. small snakes are the common prey of this owl during the daytime. and to show on what various kinds of food owls subsist, mr. darwin states that a species that was killed among the islets of the chonos archipelago had its stomach full of good-sized crabs. such are a few of the facts which attest the almost omnivorous appetite of the owl. the flight of the snowy owl is stronger and swifter than any other bird of the family; its ears are very large; its voice (says pennant) adds horror even to the regions of greenland by its hideous cries, resembling those of a man in deep distress. the eye is very curious, being immovably fixed in its socket, so that the bird, to view different objects, must always turn its head; and so excellently is the neck adapted to this purpose, that it can with ease turn the head round in almost a complete circle, without moving the body. the virginian eagle-owl, amidst the forests of indiana, utters a loud and sudden _wough o! wough o!_ sufficient to alarm a whole garrison; another of its nocturnal cries resembles the half-suppressed screams of a person being suffocated or throttled. the javanese owl is found in the closest forests, and occasionally near villages and dwellings. dr. horsfield says:--"it is not, however, a favourite with the natives; various superstitious notions are also in java associated with its visits; and it is considered in many parts of the island as portending evil." one of this species never visits the villages, but resides in the dense forests, which are the usual resort of the tiger. the natives even assert that the _wowo-wiwi_ approaches the animal with the same familiarity with which the jallack approaches the buffalo, and that it has no dread to alight on the tiger's back. dr. horsfield adds, that it has never been seen in confinement. the boobook owl has the native name of buck-buck, and it may be heard in australia every night during winter, uttering a cry corresponding with that word. the note is somewhat similar to that of the european _cuckoo_, and the colonists have given it that name. the lower order of settlers in new south wales are led away by the idea that everything is the reverse in that country to what it is in england; and the _cuckoo_, as they call this bird, singing by night, is one of the instances which they point out. tame owls are described as nearly as playful, and quite as affectionate, as kittens; they will perch upon your wrist, touch your lips with their beak, and hoot to order; and they are less inclined to leave their friends than other tame birds. a writer in "chambers's journal" relates, that a friend lost his favourite owl, which flew away, and was absent many days. in time, however, he came back, and resumed his habits and duties, which, for a while, went on uninterruptedly. at length, one severe autumn, he disappeared; weeks, months passed, and he returned not. one snowy night, however, as his master sat by the blazing fire, some heavy thing came bump against the shutters. "whoo, whoo, whoo." the window was opened, and in flew the owl, shaking the thick snow from his wings, and settling lovingly on his master's wrist, the bird's eyes dilating with delight. the owls at arundel castle have a sort of historic interest; they are kept within the circuit of the keep-tower, the most ancient and picturesque portion of the castle. among the australian owls here we read of one larger than a turkey, measuring four feet across the wings when expanded. the owl named "lord thurlow," from his resemblance to that judge, is a striking specimen. the accompanying illustration shows a fine specimen of fraser's eagle-owl, brought from fernando po. it is the size of an ordinary fowl; colour, very dark reddish-brown mottling; back and wings passing through all shades of the same colour into nearly white on the under parts, where the feathers are barred; bill, pale greenish; eyes, nearly black. [illustration: fraser's eagle-owl, from fernando po.] among the owls but recently described is the masked owl of new holland, named from the markings of the disk of the face, somewhat grotesque; the colours are brown variegated with white. a fine specimen of the abyssinian owl is possessed by mr. r. good, of yeovil: the bird, although quite young, is of immense size. lastly, the owl is thought to be of the same sympathy or kindred likings as the cat: a young owl will feed well, and thrive upon fish. cats, too, it is well known, like fish. both the cat and the owl, too, feed upon mice. the sight of owls, also, similar to that of cats, appears to serve them best in the dark. weather-wise animals. whatever may be the worth of weather prognostications, it is from the animal kingdom that we obtain the majority. how these creatures become so acutely sensible of the approach of particular kinds of weather is not at present well understood. that in many cases the appearance of the heavens is not the source from which their information is derived is proved by the signs of uneasiness frequently expressed by them when, as yet, the most attentive observer can detect no signs of change, and even when they are placed in such circumstances as preclude the possibility of any instruction from this quarter. for instance. dogs, closely confined in a room, often become very drowsy and stupid before rain; and a leech, confined in a glass of water, has been found, by its rapid motions or its quiescence, to indicate the approach of wet or the return of fair weather. probably the altered condition of the atmosphere with regard to its electricity, which generally accompanies change of weather, may so affect their constitution as to excite in them pleasurable or uneasy sensations; though man is far from insensible to atmospheric changes, as the feelings of utter listlessness which many persons experience before rain, and the aggravated severity of toothache, headache, and rheumatism abundantly testify. the cat licking itself is a special influence of the above electric influence, which denotes the approach of rain. birds, as "denizens of the air," are the surest indicators of weather changes. thus, when swallows fly high, fine weather is to be expected or continued; but when they fly low, or close to the ground, rain is almost surely approaching; for swallows follow the flies and gnats, which delight in warm strata of air. now, as warm air is lighter, and usually moister than cold air, when the warm strata of air are high there is less chance of moisture being thrown down from them by their mixture with cold air; but when the warm and moist air is close to the surface, it is almost certain that, as the cold air flows down into it, a deposition of water will take place. when seagulls assemble on the land, very stormy and rainy weather is approaching. the cause of this migration to the land is the security of these birds finding food; and they may be observed at this time feeding greedily on the earth-worms and larvæ driven out of the ground by severe floods; whilst the fish on which they prey in fine weather in the sea, leave the surface, and go deeper in storms. the search after food is the principal cause why animals change their places. the different tribes of the wading birds always migrate when rain is about to take place. there is a bird which takes its name from its apparent agency in tempests. such is the stormy petrel, which name hawkesworth, in his "voyages," mentions the sailors give to the bird, but explains no further. navigators meet with the little petrel, or storm finch, in every part of the ocean, diving, running on foot, or skimming over the highest waves. it seems to foresee the coming storm long ere the seamen can discover any signs of its approach. the petrels make this known by congregating together under the wake of the vessel, as if to shelter themselves, and they thus warn the mariner of the coming danger. at night they set up a piercing cry. this usefulness of the bird to the sailor is the obvious cause of the latter having such an objection to their being killed. mr. knapp, the naturalist, thus pictures gulls, describing the petrel's action:--"they seem to repose in a common breeze, but upon the approach or during the continuation of a gale, they surround the ship, and catch up the small animals which the agitated ocean brings near the surface, or any food that may be dropped from the vessel. whisking like an arrow through the deep valleys of the abyss, and darting away over the foaming crest of some mountain-wave, they attend the labouring barque in all her perilous course. when the storm subsides they retire to rest, and are seen no more." our sailors have, from very early times, called these birds "mother carey's chickens," originally bestowed on them, mr. yarrell tells us, by captain cartaret's sailors, probably from some celebrated ideal hag of the above name. mr. yarrell adds:--"as these birds are supposed to be seen only before stormy weather, they are not welcome visitors," a view at variance with that already suggested. the editor of "notes and queries" considers the petrels to have been called _chickens_ from their diminutive size. the largest sort, "the giant petrel," is "mother carey's _goose_;" its length is forty inches, and it expands seven feet. the common kind are about the size of a swallow, and weigh something over an ounce; length, six inches; expansion, thirteen inches; these are mother carey's _chickens_ (_latham_). it should be borne in mind that our language does not restrict the term chickens to young birds of the gallinaceous class. the missel-bird is another bird of this kind: in hampshire and sussex it is called the _storm cock_, because it sings early in the spring, in blowing, showery weather. petrels, by the way, are used by the inhabitants of the faroe islands as lamps: they pass a wick through their bodies which, when lighted, burns a long time from the quantity of fat they contain. the fulmar petrel, in boothia, follows the whale-ships, availing itself of the labours of the fishermen by feeding on the carcases of the whales when stripped of their blubber. in return the bird is exceedingly useful to the whalers by guiding them to the places where whales are most numerous, and crowding to the spots where they first appear on the surface of the water. wild geese and ducks are unquestionably weather-wise, for their early arrival from the north in the winter portends that a severe season is approaching; because their early appearance is most likely caused by severe frost having already set in at their usual summer residence. the rev. f. o. morris, the well-known writer on natural history, records from nunburnholme, yorkshire. december , :--"this season, for the first time i have lived here, i have missed seeing the flocks of wild geese which in the autumnal months have heretofore wended their way overhead, year after year, as regularly as the dusk of the evening came on. almost to the minute, and almost in the same exact course, they have flown over aloft from the feeding-places on the wolds to their resting-places for the night; some, perhaps, to extensive commons, while others have turned off to the mud-banks of the humber, whence they have returned with equal regularity in the morning. "but this year i have seen not only not a single flock, but not even a single bird. one evening one of my daughters did indeed see a small flock of six, but even that small number only once. whether it portends a very hard winter, or what the cause of it may be, i am utterly at a loss to know or even to guess. i quite miss this year the well-known cackle of the old gander as he has led the van of the flock that has followed him; now in a wide, now in a narrow, now in a short, now in a long wedge, over head, diverging just from the father of the family, or separating from time to time further back in the line. "i may add, as a possible prognostication of future weather, that fieldfares have, i think, been unusually numerous this year, as last year they were the contrary. i have also remarked that swallows took their departure this year more than ordinarily in a body, very few stragglers being subsequently seen." it will be sufficient to state that the mean temperature of january and february was below that of the same month in the preceding year, and that of march had not been so low for twenty years. the opinion that sea-birds come to land in order to avoid an approaching storm is stated to be erroneous; and the cause assigned is, that as the fish upon which the birds prey go deep into the water during storms, the birds come to land merely on account of the greater certainty of finding food there than out at sea. we add a few notes on bird naturalists. the redbreast has been called _the naturalist's barometer_. when on a summer evening, though it be unsettled and rainy, he sings cheerfully and sweetly on a lofty twig or housetop, it is an unerring promise of succeeding fine days. sometimes, though the atmosphere be dry and warm, he may be seen melancholy chirping and brooding in a bush or low in a hedge; this promises the reverse. in the luxuriant forests of brazil the toucan may be heard rattling with his large hollow beak, as he sits on the outermost branches, calling in plaintive notes for rain. when mr. loudon was at schwetzingen, rhenish bavaria, in , he witnessed in the post-house there for the first time what he afterwards frequently saw--an amusing application of zoological knowledge for the purpose of prognosticating the weather. two tree-frogs were kept in a crystal jar about eighteen inches high and six inches in diameter, with a depth of three or four inches of water at the bottom, and a small ladder reaching to the top of the jar. on the approach of dry weather the frogs mounted the ladder, but when moisture was expected they descended into the water. these animals are of a bright green, and in their wild state climb the trees in search of insects, and make a peculiar singing noise before rain. in the jar they got no other food than now and then a fly; one of which, mr. loudon was assured, would serve a frog for a week, though it would eat from six to twelve flies in a day if it could get them. in catching the flies put alive into the jar the frogs displayed great adroitness. snails are extraordinary indicators of changes in the weather. several years ago, mr. thomas, of cincinnati, known as an accredited observer of natural phenomena, published some interesting accounts of weather-wise snails. they do not drink (he observes), but imbibe moisture in their bodies during rain, and exude it at regular periods afterwards. then a certain snail first exudes the pure liquid; when this is exhausted, a light red succeeds, then a deep red, next yellow, and lastly a dark brown. the snail is very careful not to exude more of its moisture than is necessary. it is never seen abroad _except before rain_, when we find it ascending the bark of trees and getting on the leaves. the tree-snail is also seen ascending the stems of plants _two days before rain_: if it be a long and hard rain they get on the sheltered side of the leaf, but if a short rain the outside of the leaf. another snail has the same habits, but differs only in colour: before rain it is yellow, and after it blue. others show signs of rain, not only by means of exuding fluids, but by means of pores and protuberances; and the bodies of some snails have large tubercles rising from them _before rain_. these tubercles commence showing themselves ten days previous to the fall of rain they indicate; at the end of each of these tubercles is a pore; and at the time of the fall of rain these tubercles, with their pores opened, are stretched to their utmost to receive the water. in another kind of snail, a few days before rain appears a large and deep indentation, beginning at the head between the horns, and ending with the jointure at the shells. other snails, a few days before the rain, crawl to the most exposed hill-side, where, if they arrive before the rain descends, they seek some crevice in the rocks, and then close the aperture of the shell with glutinous substance; this, when the rain approaches, they dissolve, and are then seen crawling about. our cincinnati observer mentions three kinds of snails which move along at the rate of a mile in forty-four hours; they inhabit the most dense forests, and it is regarded as a sure indication of rain to observe them moving towards an exposed situation. others indicate the weather not only by exuding fluids, but by the colour of the animal. after rain the snail has a very dark appearance, but it grows of a bright colour as the water is expended; whilst just before rain it is of yellowish white colour, also just before rain streaks appear from the point of the head to the jointure of the shell. these snails move at the rate of a mile in fourteen days and sixteen hours. if they are observed ascending a cliff it is a sure indication of rain: they live in the cavities of the sides of cliffs. there is also a snail which is brown, tinged with blue on the edges before rain, but black after rain: a few days before appears an indentation, which grows deeper as the rain approaches. the leaves of trees are even good barometers: most of them for a short, light rain, will turn up so as to receive their fill of water; but for a long rain they are doubled, so as to conduct the water away. the frog and toad are sure indicators of rain; for, as they do not drink water but absorb it into their bodies, they are sure to be found out at the time they expect rain. the locust and grasshopper are also good indicators of a storm; a few hours before rain they are to be found under the leaves of trees and in the hollow trunks. the mole has long been recorded as a prognosticator of change of weather, before which it becomes very active. the temperature or dryness of the air governs its motions as to the depth at which it lives or works. this is partly from its inability to bear cold or thirst, but chiefly from its being necessitated to follow its natural food, the earth-worm, which always descends as the cold or drought increases. in frosty weather both worms and moles are deeper in the ground than at other times; and both seem to be sensible of an approaching change to warmer weather before there are any perceptible signs of it in the atmosphere. when it is observed, therefore, that moles are casting hills through openings in the frozen turf or through a thin covering of snow, a change to open weather may be shortly expected. the cause of this appears to be--the natural heat of the earth being for a time pent in by the frozen surface accumulates below it; first incites to action the animals, thaws the frozen surface, and at length escapes into the air, which is warm, and softens; and if not counterbalanced by a greater degree of cold in the atmosphere brings about a change, such as from frosty to mild weather. the mole is most active and casts up most earth immediately before rain, and in the winter before a thaw, because at those times the worms and insects begin to be in motion, and approach the surface. forster, the indefatigable meteorologist, has assembled some curious observations on certain animals, who, by some peculiar sensibility to electrical or other atmospheric influence, often indicate changes of the weather by their peculiar motions and habits. thus:-- _ants._--an universal bustle and activity observed in ant-hills may be generally regarded as a sign of rain: the ants frequently appear all in motion together, and carry their eggs about from place to place. this is remarked by virgil, pliny, and others. _asses._--when donkeys bray more than ordinarily, especially should they shake their ears, as if uneasy, it is said to predict rain, and particularly showers. forster noticed that in showery weather a donkey brayed before every shower, and generally some minutes before the rain fell, as if some electrical influence, produced by the concentrating power of the approaching rain-cloud, caused a tickling in the wind-pipe of the animal just before the shower came on. whatever this electric state of the air preceding a shower may be, it seems to be the same that causes in other animals some peculiar sensations, which makes the peacock squall, the pintado call "come back," &c. an expressive adage says:-- "when that the ass begins to bray, be sure we shall have rain that day." haymakers may derive useful admonitions from the braying of the ass: thus the proverb:-- "be sure to cock your hay and corn when the old donkey blows his horn." _bats_ flitting about late in the evening in spring and autumn foretel a fine day on the morrow; as do dorbeetles and some other insects. on the contrary, when bats return soon to their hiding-places, and send forth loud cries, bad weather may be expected. _beetles_ flying about late in the evening often foretel a fine day on the morrow. _butterflies_, when they appear early, are sometimes forerunners of fine weather. moths and sphinxes also foretel fine weather when they are common in the evening. _cats_, when they "wash their faces," or when they seem sleepy and dull, foretel rain. _chickens_, when they pick up small stones and pebbles, and are more noisy than usual, afford a sign of rain; as do fowls rubbing in the dust, and clapping their wings; but this applies to several kinds of fowls, as well as to the gallinaceous kinds. cocks, when they crow at unwonted hours, often foretel rain; when they crow all day, in summer particularly, a change to rain frequently follows. _cranes_ were said of old to foretel rain when they retreated to the valleys, and returned from their aërial flight. the high flight of cranes in silence indicates fine weather. _dolphins_ as well as _porpoises_, when they come about a ship, and sport and gambol on the surface of the water, betoken a storm. _dogs_, before rain, grow sleepy and dull, lie drowsily before the fire, and are not easily aroused. they also often eat grass, which indicates that their stomachs, like ours, are apt to be disturbed before change of weather. it is also said to be a sign of change of weather when dogs howl and bark much in the night. dogs also dig in the earth with their feet before rain, and often make deep holes in the ground. _ducks._--the loud and clamorous quacking of ducks, geese, and other water-fowl, is a sign of rain; as also when they wash themselves, and flutter about in the water more than usual. virgil has well described all these habits of aquatic birds. _fieldfares_, when they arrive early, and in great numbers, in autumn, foreshow a hard winter, which has probably set in in the regions from which they have come. _fishes_, when they bite more readily, and gambol near the surface of streams or pools, foreshow rain. _flies_, and various sorts of insects, become more troublesome, and sting and bite more than usual, before, as well as in the intervals of rainy weather, particularly in autumn. _frogs_, by their clamorous croaking, indicate rainy weather, as does likewise their coming about in great numbers in the evening; but this last sign applies more obviously to toads. _geese_ washing, or taking wing with a clamorous noise, and flying to the water, portend rain. _gnats_ afford several indications. when they fly in a vortex in the beams of the setting sun they forebode fair weather; when they frisk about more widely in the open air at eventide they foreshow heat; and when they assemble under trees, and bite more than usual, they indicate rain. _hogs_, when they shake the stalks of corn, and spoil them, often indicate rain. when they run squeaking about, and jerk up their heads, windy weather is about to commence; hence the wiltshire proverb, that "pigs can see the wind." _horses_ foretel the coming of rain by starting more than ordinarily, and by restlessness on the road. _jackdaws_ are unusually clamorous before rain, as are also _starlings_. sometimes before change of weather the daws make a great noise in the chamber wherein they build. _kine_ (cattle) are said to foreshow rain when they lick their fore-feet, or lie on their right side. some say oxen licking themselves against the hair is a sign of wet. _kites_, when they soar very high in the air, denote fair weather, as do also _larks_. _magpies_, in windy weather, often fly in small flocks of three or four together, uttering a strong harsh cry. _mice_ when they squeak much, and gambol in the house, foretel a change of weather, and often rain. _owls._--when an owl hoots or screeches, sitting on the top of a house, or by the side of a window, it is said to foretel death. "the fact," says forster, "seems to be this: the owl, as virgil justly observes, is more noisy at the change of weather, and as it often happens that patients with lingering diseases die at the change of weather, so the owl seems, by a mistaken association of ideas, to forebode the calamity." _peacocks_ squalling by night often foretel a rainy day. forster adds, "this prognostic does not often fail; and the indication is made more certain by the crowing of cocks all day, the braying of the donkey, the low flight of swallows, the aching of rheumatic persons, and by the frequent appearance of spiders on the walls of the house." _pigeons._--it is a sign of rain when pigeons return slowly to the dove-houses before the usual time of day. _ravens_, when observed early in the morning, at a great height in the air, soaring round and round, and uttering a hoarse, croaking sound, indicate that the day will be fine. on the contrary, this bird affords us a sign of coming rain by another sort of cry; the difference between these two voices being more easily learned from nature than described. the raven frequenting the shore and dipping himself in the water is also a sign of rain. _redbreasts_, when they, with more than usual familiarity, lodge on our window-frames, and peck against the glass with their bills, indicate severe weather, of which they have a presentiment, which brings them nearer to the habitations of man. _rooks_ gathering together, and returning home from their pastures early, and at unwonted hours, forebode rain. when rooks whirl round in the air rapidly, and come down in small flocks, making a roaring noise with their wings, rough weather invariably follows. on the contrary, when rooks are very noisy about their trees, and fly about as if rejoicing, virgil assures us they foresee a return of fine weather, and an end of the showers. _spiders_, when seen crawling on the walls more than usual, indicate rain. "this prognostic," says forster, "seldom fails, i have noticed it for many years, particularly in winter, but more or less at all times of the year. in summer the quantity of webs of the garden spiders denote fair weather." _swallows_, in fine and settled weather, fly higher in the air than they do just before or during a showery or rainy time. then, also, swallows flying low, and skimming over the surface of a meadow where there is tolerably long grass, frequently stop, and hang about the blades, as if they were gathering insects lodged there. _swans_, when they fly against the wind, portend rain, a sign frequently fulfilled. _toads_, when they come from their holes in an unusual number in the evening, although the ground be still dry, foreshow the coming rain, which will generally fall more or less during the night. _urchins of the sea_, a sort of fish, when they thrust themselves into the mud, and try to cover their bodies with sand, foreshow a storm. _vultures_, when they scent carrion at a great distance, indicate that state of the atmosphere which is favourable to the perception of smells, and this often forebodes rain. _willow wrens_ are frequently seen, in mild and still rainy weather, flitting about the willows, pines, and other trees, in quest of insects. _woodcocks_ appear in autumn earlier, and in greater numbers, previous to severe winters; as do snipes and other winter birds. _worms_ come forth more abundantly before rain, as do snails, slugs, and almost all limaceous animals. some birds build their nests weather-proof, as ascertained by careful observation of mr. m. w. b. thomas, of cincinnati, ohio. thus, when a pair of migratory birds have arrived in the spring, they prepare to build their nest, making a careful reconnaissance of the place, and observing the character of the season. if it be a windy one, they thatch the straw and leaves on the inside of the nest, between the twigs and the lining; if it be very windy, they get pliant twigs, and bind the nest firmly to the limb of the tree, securing all the small twigs with their saliva. if they fear the approach of a rainy season, they build their nests so as to be sheltered from the weather; but if a pleasant one, they build in a fair open place, without taking any of these extra precautions. of all writers, dr. darwin has given us the most correct account of the "signs of rain," in a poetical description of the approach of foul weather, as follows. this passage has been often quoted, but, perhaps, never exceeded in the accuracy of its phenomenal observation:-- "the hollow winds begin to blow; the clouds look black, the glass is low; the soot falls down, the spaniels sleep; and spiders from their cobwebs peep. last night the sun went pale to bed; the moon in haloes hid her head; the boding shepherd heaves a sigh, for, see, a rainbow spans the sky. the walls are damp, the ditches smell, clos'd is the light red pimpernel. hark! how the chairs and tables crack, old betty's joints are on the rack; her corns with shooting pains torment her, and to her bed untimely send her. loud quack the ducks, the sea-fowls cry, the distant hills are looking nigh. how restless are the snorting swine! the busy flies disturb the kine. low o'er the grass the swallow wings, the cricket, too, how sharp he sings! puss on the hearth, with velvet paws, sits wiping o'er her whisker'd jaws. the smoke from chimneys right ascends; then spreading back, to earth it bends. the wind unsteady veers around, or settling in the south is found. through the clear stream the fishes rise, and nimbly catch th' incautious flies. the glowworms num'rous, clear, and bright, illum'd the dewy hill last night. at dusk, the squalid toad was seen, like quadruped, stalk o'er the green. the whirling wind the dust obeys, and in the rapid eddy plays. the frog has chang'd his yellow vest, and in a russet coat is drest. the sky is green, the air is still, the mellow blackbird's voice is shrill. the dog, so altered is his taste, quits mutton-bones on grass to feast. behold the rooks, how odd their flight, they imitate the gliding kite, and seem precipitate to fall, as if they felt the piercing ball. the tender colts on banks do lie, nor heed the traveller passing by. in fiery red the sun doth rise, then wades through clouds to mount the skies. ''twill surely rain, we see 't with sorrow, no working in the fields to-morrow.'" the shepherd of banbury says:--"the surest and most certain sign of rain is taken from bees, which are more incommoded by rain than almost any other creatures; and, therefore, as soon as the air begins to grow heavy, and the vapours to condense, they will not fly from their hives, but either remain in them all day, or else fly but to a small distance." yet bees are not always right in their prognostics, for réaumur witnessed a swarm which, after leaving the hive at half-past one o'clock, were overtaken by a heavy shower at three. fish-talk. "man favours wonders;" and this delight is almost endlessly exemplified in the stories of strange fishes--of preternatural size and odd forms, which are to be found in their early history. in our present talk we do not aim at re-assembling these olden tales, but propose rather to glance at recent accessions to our acquaintance with the study of fish-life, and a few modern instances of the class of wonders. fishes, like all other animals, have a very delicate sense of the equilibrial position of their bodies. they endeavour to counteract all change in their position by means of movements partly voluntary and partly instinctive. these latter appear in a very remarkable manner in the eye; and they are so constant and evident in fishes while alive, that their absence is sufficient to indicate the death of the animal. the equilibrium of the fish, its horizontal position, with the back upwards, depends solely on the action of the fins, and principally that of the vertical fins. the swimming-bladder may enable a fish to increase or diminish its specific gravity. by compressing the air contained in it, the fish descends in the water; it rises by releasing the muscles which produced the compression. by compressing more or less the posterior or anterior portion of the bladder, the animal, at pleasure, can make the anterior or posterior half of its body lighter; it can also assume an oblique position, which permits an ascending or descending movement in the water. there is a small fish found in the rivers of the burmese empire, which, on being taken out of the water, has the power of blowing itself up to the shape of a small round ball, but its original shape is resumed as soon as it is returned to the river. mr. st. john, in his "tour in eastern lanarkshire," gives some curious instances of fish changing colour, which takes place with surprising rapidity. put a living black burn trout into a white basin of water, and it becomes, within half an hour, of a light colour. keep the fish living in a white jar for some days, and it becomes absolutely white; but put it into a dark-coloured or black vessel, and although on first being placed there the white-coloured fish shows most conspicuously on the black ground, in a quarter of an hour it becomes as dark-coloured as the bottom of the jar, and consequently difficult to be seen. no doubt this facility of adapting its colour to the bottom of the water in which it lives, is of the greatest service to the fish in protecting it from its numerous enemies. all anglers must have observed, that in every stream the trout are very much of the same colour as the gravel or sand on which they live: whether this change of colour is a voluntary or involuntary act on the part of the fish, the scientific must determine. anglers of our time have proved that tench croak like frogs; herrings cry like mice; gurnards grunt like hogs; and some say the gurnard makes a noise like a cuckoo, from which he takes one of his country names. the maigre, a large sea-fish, when swimming in shoals, utters a grunting or piercing noise, that may be heard from a depth of twenty fathoms. m. dufossé asserts that facts prove that nature has not refused to all fishes the power of expressing their instinctive sensations by sounds, but has not conferred on them the unity of mechanism in the formation of sonorous vibrations as in other classes of vertebrated animals. some fishes, he says, are able to emit musical tones, engendered by a mechanism in which the muscular vibration is the principal motive power; others possess the faculty of making blowing sounds, like those of certain reptiles; and others can produce the creaking noise resembling that of many insects. these phenomena m. dufossé has named "fish-noise." the river plate swarms with fish, and is the _habitat_ of one possessed of a very sonorous voice, like that found in the river borneo--the account of which is quoted by dr. buist from the journal of the samarang; and there is similar testimony of a loud piscatory chorus being heard on board h.m.s. eagle, anchored, in - , about three miles from monte video, during the night. that fishes hear has been doubted, although john hunter was of this opinion, and has been followed by many observers. when standing beside a person angling, how often is the request made not to make a noise, as that would _alarm_ the fish. on the other hand, the chinese drive the fish up to that part of the river where their nets are ready to capture them by loud yells and shouts, and the sound of gongs; but old Æsop writes of a fisherman who caught no fish because he alarmed them by playing on his flute while fishing. in germany the shad is taken by means of nets, to which bows of wood, hung with a number of little bells, are attached in such a manner as to chime in harmony when the nets are moved. the shad, when once attracted by the sound, will not attempt to escape while the bells continue to ring. Ælian says the shad is allured by castanets. macdiarmid, who declares that fishes hear as well as see, relates that an old codfish, the patriarch of the celebrated fish-pond at logan, "answered to his name; and not only drew near, but turned up his snout most beseechingly when he heard the monosyllable 'tom;' and that he evidently could distinguish the voice of the fisherman who superintended the pond, and fed the fish, from that of any other fisherman." in the "kaleidoscope" mention is made of three trout in a pond near the powder-mills at faversham, who were so tame as to come at the call of the person accustomed to feed them. izaak walton tells of a carp coming to a certain part of a pond to be fed "at the ringing of a bell, or the beating of a drum;" and sir john hawkins was assured by a clergyman, a friend of his, that at the abbey of st. bernard, near antwerp, he saw a carp come to the edge of the water to be fed, at the whistle of the person who fed it. the carp at fontainebleau, inhabiting the lake adjoining the imperial palace, are of great size, and manifest a curious instinct. a correspondent of the "athenæum" remarks:-- "enjoying entire immunity from all angling arts and lures, the fontainebleau carp live a life of great enjoyment, marred only, we imagine, by their immense numbers causing the supply of food to be somewhat below their requirements. it is not, however, very easy to define what a carp's requirements in the form of pabulum are, as he is a voracious member of the ichthyological family, eating whenever he has an opportunity until absolutely surfeited. his favourite food consists of vegetable substances masticated by means of flat striated teeth, which work with a millstone kind of motion against a singular process of the lower part of the skull covered with horny plates. when this fish obtains an abundant supply of food it grows to an enormous size. several continental rivers and lakes are very congenial to carp, and especially the oder, where this fish occasionally attains the enormous weight of lb. it is not probable that any carp in the lake at fontainebleau are so large as this; but there are certainly many weighing lb., patriarchs of their kind, which, though olive-hued in their tender years, are now white with age. that the great size of these fish is due to ample feeding is, we think, evident, and, as we shall see presently, it is the large fish that are the best fed. during many years the feeding of the carp at fontainebleau has been a favourite court pastime. but it is from the visitors who frequent fontainebleau during a great part of the year that the carp receive their most bountiful rations. for big carp have an enormous swallow, soft penny rolls being mere mouthfuls, bolted with ostrich-like celerity. so to prevent the immediate disappearance of these _bonnes bouches_, bread, in the form of larger balls than the most capacious carp can take into his gullet, is baked until it becomes as hard as biscuit, and with these balls the carp are regailed. throw one into the lake, and you will quickly have an idea of the enormous carp population it contains. for no sooner does the bread touch the water than it is surrounded by hundreds of these fish, which dart to it from all sides. and now, if you look attentively, you will witness a curious display of instinct, which might almost take a higher name. conscious, apparently, of their inability to crush these extremely hard balls, the carp combine with surprising unanimity to push them to that part of the lake with their noses where it is bounded by a wall, and when there they butt at them, until at last their repeated blows and the softening effect of the water causes them to yield and open. and now you will see another curious sight. while shoals of carp have been pounding away at the bread-balls, preparing them for being swallowed, some dozen monsters hover round, indifferent, apparently, to what is passing. but not so, for no sooner is the bread ready for eating, than two or three of these giants, but more generally one--the tyrant, probably, of the lake--rush to the prize, cleaving the shoals of smaller carp, and shouldering them to the right and left, seize the bread with open jaws, between which it quickly disappears." some of the finest and oldest carp are found in the windings of the spree, in the tavern-gardens of charlottenburg, the great resort of strollers from berlin. visitors are in the habit of feeding them with bread, and collect them together by ringing a bell, at the sound of which shoals of the fish may be seen popping their noses upwards from the water. the affection of fishes has only been properly understood of late years. it might be supposed that little natural affection existed in this cold-blooded race; and, in fact, fishes constantly devour their own eggs, and, at a later period, their own young, without compunction or discrimination. some few species bear their eggs about with them until hatched. this was long thought to be the utmost extent of care which fishes lavished on their young; but dr. hancock has stepped in to rescue at least one species from this unmerited charge. "it is asserted," he says, "by naturalists, that no fishes are known to take any care of their offspring. both species of _hassar_ mentioned below, however, make a regular nest, in which they lay their eggs in a flattened cluster, and cover them over most carefully. their care does not end here; they remain by the side of the nest till the spawn is hatched, with as much solicitude as a hen guards her eggs, both the male and female hassar, for they are monogamous, steadily watching the spawn and courageously attacking the assailant. hence the negroes frequently take them by putting their hands into the water close to the nest, on agitating which the male hassar springs furiously at them, and is thus captured. the _roundhead_ forms its nest of grass, the _flathead_ of leaves. both, at certain seasons, burrow in the bank. they lay their eggs only in wet weather. i have been surprised to observe the sudden appearance of numerous nests in a morning after rain occurs, the spot being indicated by a bunch of froth which appears on the surface of the water over the nest. below this are the eggs, placed on a bunch of fallen leaves or grass, which they cut and collect together. by what means this is effected seems rather mysterious, as the species are destitute of cutting-teeth. it may, possibly, be by the use of their arms, which form the first ray of the pectoral fin." there is another operation by fishes, which seems to require almost equal experience. professor agassiz, while collecting insects along the shores of lake sebago, in maine, observed a couple of cat-fish, which, at his approach, left the shore suddenly, and returned to the deeper water. examining the place which the fishes had left, he discovered a _nest_ among the water-plants, with a number of little tadpoles. in a few moments the two fishes returned, looking anxiously towards the nest, and approached within six or eight feet of where professor agassiz stood. they were evidently not in search of food, and he became convinced that they were seeking the protection of their young. large stones, thrown repeatedly into the middle of the nest after the fishes had returned to it, only frightened them away for a brief period, and they returned to the spot within ten or fifteen minutes. this was repeated four or five times with the same result. this negatives the assertion made by some naturalists--that no fishes are known to take any care of their offspring. but affection is scarcely to be looked for where the offspring is so very numerous as to put all attempts at even recognising them out of the question. how could the fondest mother love , little ones at once? yet the number is far exceeded by some of the matrons of the deep. petit found , eggs in a single carp; lenwenhoeck , , in a single cod; mr. harmer found in a sole , ; in a tench , ; in a mackerel , ; and in a flounder , , .[ ] m. rousseau disburthened a pike of , , and a sturgeon of , , , while from this latter class has been gotten pounds weight of eggs, which, at the rate of to a grain, would give a total amount of , , eggs! if all these came to maturity the world would be in a short time nothing but fish: means, however, amply sufficient to keep down this unwelcome superabundance have been provided. fish themselves, men, birds, other marine animals, to say nothing of the dispersions produced by storms and currents, the destruction consequent on their being thrown on the beach and left there to dry up, all combine to diminish this excessive supply over demand. yet, on the other hand (so wonderfully are all the contrivances of nature so harmonized and balanced), one of these apparent modes of destruction becomes an actual means of extending the species. the eggs of the pike, barbel, and many other fish, says m. virey, are rendered indigestible by an acid oil which they contain, and in consequence of which they are passed in the same condition as they were swallowed; the result of which is, that being taken in by ducks, grebes, or other water-fowls, they are thus transported to situations, such as inland lakes, which otherwise they could never have attained; and in this way only can we account for the fact, now well ascertained, that several lakes in the alps, formed by the thawing of the glaciers, are now abundantly stocked with excellent fish. little fishes are ordinarily the food of larger marine animals; but a remarkable exception occurs in the case of the larger medusæ, which are stated in various works to prey upon fishes for sustenance. mr. peach, the naturalist, has, however, by observations at peterhead, in aberdeenshire, thus corrected this statement. he observed several small fishes playing round the larger medusæ in the harbour and bay. when alarmed, they would rush under the umbrella, and remain sheltered in its large folds till the danger had passed, when they would emerge, and sport and play about their sheltering friend. when beneath the umbrella they lay so close that they were frequently taken into a bucket with the medusæ. they proved to be young whitings, varying from - / to inches long. these little creatures, so far from becoming the prey of the medusæ, experienced from them protection; and, moreover, they preferred the _stinging_ one. in no instance did mr. peach see a fish in the stomach of the medusæ, but all could liberate themselves when they pleased. in one case, mr. peach witnessed a small whiting, in the first instance chased by a single young pollack, whose assault the little fellow easily evaded by dodging about; but the chaser being joined by others, the whiting was driven from its imperfect shelter, and after being much bitten and dashed about by its assailants, became at length completely exhausted, and lay to all appearance dead. recovering, however, after action, it swam slowly to the medusæ, and took refuge as before; but its movements being soon observed, it was again attacked, after a very brief respite, driven into open water, and speedily despatched. fishes appear to execute annually two great migrations. by one of these shiftings they forsake the deep water for a time, and approach the shallow shores, and by the other they return to their more concealed haunts. these movements are connected with the purposes of spawning, the fry requiring to come into life, and to spend a certain portion of their youth in situations different from those which are suited to the period of maturity. it is in obedience to these arrangements that the cod and haddock, the mackerel, and others, annually leave the deeper and less accessible parts of the ocean, the region of the zoophytic tribes, and deposit their spawn within that zone of marine vegetation which fringes our coasts, extending from near the high-water mark of neap-tides to a short distance beyond the low-water mark of spring-tides. amidst the shelter in this region afforded by the groves of arborescent fuci, the young fish were wont in comfort to spend their infancy, but since these plants have been so frequently cut down to procure materials for the manufacture of kelp, and the requisite protection withdrawn, the fisheries have greatly suffered. many species of fish, as the salmon, smelt, and others, in forsaking the deep water, and approaching a suitable spawning station, leave the sea altogether for a time, ascend the rivers and their tributary streams, and, having deposited their eggs, return again to their usual haunts. even a certain species of fish, inhabiting lakes, as the roach, betake themselves to the tributary streams, as the most suitable places for spawning. the goramy, of india, are stated by general hardwicke to watch most actively the margins of the spot which they select and prepare for depositing their spawn, driving away with violence every other fish which approaches their cover. the general adds that from the time he first noticed this circumstance about one month had elapsed, when one day he saw numerous minute fishes close to the margin of the grass, on the outer side of which the parent fishes continued to pass to and fro. there is a species of grampus from two to three tons weight, and about sixteen feet in length, that amuses itself with jumping, or rather springing its ponderous body entirely out of the water, in a vertical position, and falling upon its back. this effort of so large a fish is almost incredible, and informs us how surprisingly great the power of muscle must be in this class of animal. a correspondent writes to the "united service journal":--"i have seen them spring out of the water within ten yards of the ship's side, generally in the evening, after having swam all the former part of the day in the ship's wake, or on either quarter. when several of these fish take it into their heads to 'dance a hornpipe,' as the sailors term their gambols, at the distance of half a mile, they, especially at or just after sundown, may easily be mistaken for the sharp points of rocks sticking up out of the water, and the splashing and foam they make and produce have the appearance of the action of waves upon rocks. an officer of the navy informed me that, after sunset, when near the equator, he was not a little alarmed and surprised at the cry of 'rocks on the starboard bow!' looking forward, he indistinctly saw objects which he and all on board took to be pinnacles of several rocks of a black and white colour. in a short time, however, he discovered this formidable danger to be nothing more than a company of dancing grampuses with white bellies. as one disappeared, another rose; so that there were at least five or six constantly above the surface." captain owen relates that "the bonita has the power of throwing itself out of the water to an almost incredible distance when in pursuit of its prey, the flying fish; and, the day previous to our arrival at mozambique, one of these fish rose close under our bow, and passed under the vessel's side, and struck with such force against the poop, that, had any one received the blow, it must have been fatal. stunned by the violence of the contact, it fell motionless at the helmsman's feet; but, soon recovering, its struggles were so furious that it became necessary to inflict several blows with an axe before it could be approached with safety. the greatest elevation it attained above the surface of water was eighteen feet, and the length of the leap, had no opposition occurred, would have exceeded ." of winged or flying fish we find this extravagant account in a philosophical romance, entitled, "telliamed," by m. maillet, an ingenious frenchman, of the days of louis xv.:-- he believed, like lamarck, that the whole family of birds had existed one time as fishes, which, on being thrown ashore by the waves, had got feathers by accident; and that men themselves are but the descendants of a tribe of sea-monsters, who, tiring of their proper element, crawled upon the beach one sunny morning, and, taking a fancy to the land, forgot to return. the account is as amusing as a fairy tale. "winged or flying fish," says maillet, "stimulated by the desire of prey, or the fear of death, or pushed near the shore by the billows, have fallen among the reeds or herbage, whence it was not possible for them to resume their flight to the sea, by means of which they had contracted their first facility of flying. then their fins, being no longer bathed in the sea-water, were split and became warped by their dryness. while they found among the reeds and herbage among which they fell many aliments to support them, the vessels of their fins being separated, were lengthened, or clothed with beards, or, to speak more justly, the membranes which before kept them adherent to each other were metamorphosed. the beard formed of these warped membranes was lengthened. the skin of these animals was insensibly covered with a down of the same colour with the skin, and this down gradually increased. the little wings they had under their belly, and which, like their wings, helped them to walk into the sea, became feet, and helped them to walk on the land. there were also other small changes in their figure. the beak and neck of some were lengthened, and of others shortened. the conformity, however, of the first figure subsists in the whole, and it will be always easy to know it. examine all the species of fowl, even those of the indies, those which are tufted or not, those whose feathers are reversed--such as we see at damietta, that is to say, whose plumage runs from the tail to the head--and you will see fine species of fish quite similar, scaly or without scales. all species of parrots, whose plumages are different, the rarest and most singular marked birds, are, conformable to fact, painted, like them, black, brown, grey, yellow, green, red, violet colour, and those of gold and azure; and all this precisely in the same parts, where the plumages of these birds are diversified in so curious a manner." the jaculator fish, of java, has been called "a sporting fish," from the precision with which it takes aim at its prey. in mr. mitchell saw several of these fishes in the possession of a javanese chief; and here is the account of the curious manner in which these jaculators were employed. they were placed in a small circular pond, from the centre of which projected a pole upwards of two feet in height. at the top of the pole were inserted small pieces of wood, sharp-pointed, and on each of these were placed insects of the beetle tribe. when the slaves had placed the beetles, the fish came out of their holes, and swam round the pond. one of them came to the surface of the water, rested there, and after steadily fixing its eyes for some time on an insect, it discharged from its mouth a small quantity of watery fluid, with such force, and precision of aim, as to strike it off the twig into the water, and in an instant swallowed it. after this, another fish came, and performed a similar feat, and was followed by the others, until they had secured all the insects. if a fish failed in bringing down its prey at the first shot, it swam round the pond till it came opposite the same object, and fired again. in one instance, a fish returned three times to the attack before it secured its prey; but in general the fish seemed very expert gunners, bringing down the beetle at the first shot. the fish, in a state of nature, frequents the shores and sides of the rivers in search of food. when it spies a fly sitting on the plants that grow on shallow water, it swims on to the distance of five or six feet from them, and then, with surprising dexterity, it ejects out of its tubular mouth a single drop of water, which rarely fails to strike the fly into the sea, where it soon becomes its prey. curious fish, in great numbers, may be seen in the harbour of port royal, jamaica, on the surface of the water, and are ranked among the peculiarities of the place. they are the guardo, or guard-fish; the jack (sword-fish); and the ballahou. the jack is the largest, and appears to be always at war with the two others; it is armed with formidable teeth; it basks on the surface of the water during the heat of the day, in a sort of indolent, unguarded state; but this is assumed, the better to ensnare the other fish, and to catch the floating bodies that may happen to pass near it; for the moment anything is thrown into the sea from the ship, the jack darts with the rapidity of lightning upon it, and seizing it as quickly, retreats. this warrior-fish possesses a foresight or instinctive quality which we see sometimes exemplified in different animals, almost amounting to second reason, such as the sagacity it displays in avoiding the hook when baited; although extremely voracious, it seems aware of the lure held out for its destruction, and avoids it with as much cunning as the generality of fishes show eagerness to devour it. the situation it takes, immediately in the wake of the ship at anchor, is another instance of its sagacity; as whatever is thrown overboard passes astern, where the fish is ever on the alert for the articles thrown over. no other fish of equal size dare approach. the jack is, however, sometimes enticed with the bait; but he is more frequently struck with a barbed lance, or entrapped in a net. the guardo has similar habits with the jack, but is generally beaten by him; yet the former tyrannizes with unrelenting rigour over the weaker associate, the ballahou. the tiger of the ocean, the shark, is often cruising about port royal, but rarely injures human life. at kingston, however, such distressing events often occur. there was a pet shark known as "old tom of port royal;" it was fed whenever it approached any of the ships, but was at last killed by the father of a child which it had devoured. whilst it remained here, no other of the shark tribe dare venture on his domain; he reigned lord paramount in his watery empire, and never committed any depredation but that for which he suffered. attending the shark is seen the beautiful little pilot fish, who, first approaching the bait, returns as if to give notice, when, immediately after, the shark approaches to seize it. it is a curious circumstance, that this elegant little fish is seen in attendance only upon the shark. after the shark is hooked, the pilot fish still swims about, and for some time after he has been hauled on deck; it then swims very near the surface of the water. when the shark has been hooked, and afterwards escapes, he generally returns, and renews the attack with increased ferocity, irritated often by the wound he has received. sharks appear to have become of late years much more numerous in faroe, as they have also in other parts of the north seas, especially on the coast of norway. the reader may, probably, have found on the sea-shore certain cases, which are fancifully called sea-purses, mermaids' purses, &c. now, some sharks bring forth their young alive, whilst others are enclosed in oblong semi-transparent, horny cases, at each extremity of which are two long tendrils. these cases are the above _purses_, which the parent shark deposits near the shore in the winter months. the twisting tendrils hang to sea-weed, or other fixed bodies, to prevent the cases being washed away into deep water. two fissures, one at each end, allow the admission of sea-water; and here the young shark remains until it has acquired the power of taking food by the mouth, when it leaves what resembles its cradle. the young fish ultimately escapes by an opening at the end, near which the head is situated. california has yielded an extraordinary novelty in fish history. in mr. jackson, while fishing in san salita bay, caught with a hook and line a fish of the perch family _containing living young_. these were supposed to be the prey which the fish had swallowed, but on opening the belly was found next to the back of the fish, and slightly attached to it, a long very light violet bag, so clear and transparent that there could already be distinguished through it the shape, colour, and formation of a multitude of small fish (all facsimiles of each other), with which the bag was filled. they were in all respects like the mother, and like each other; and there cannot remain a single doubt that these young were the offspring of the fish from whose body they were taken; and that this species of fish gives birth to her young alive and perfectly formed, and adapted to seek its own livelihood in the water. professor agassiz has confirmed the truth of this extraordinary statement by a careful examination of the specimens, and has ascertained that there are two very distinct species of this remarkable type of fishes. tales of "wonderful fish" are common in the works of the old naturalists, whence they are quoted from generation to generation. sir john richardson has lately demolished one queer fish, which was as certain to reappear whenever opportunity offered, as the elephant pricked with the tailor's needle does in books of stories of the animal world. we allude to that monstrous myth, the great manheim pike, with a collar round his neck, put into a lake by the emperor frederick ii. in the year ; and taken out in the th year of his age, the th foot of his length, and the th pound of his weight. m. valenciennes, a naturalist of repute, has entered into a critical history of this monster, and has found him to be apocryphal. the creature was, at any rate, taken in several places at once, the legends written on his brass collar do not agree, and his alleged skeleton has been found to be made up of various bones of various fishes; while the vertebræ are, unfortunately, so many, that professor owen would order him out of court in an instant as a rank impostor. probably some specimen of the _mecho_, the monstrous fish of the danube--which has even now been scarcely described, and which has only recently been identified as one of the salmon tribe--having been called a pike, may be at the bottom of the legend of the great manheim fish. but sir john richardson produces another big pike, killed by an intrepid "angler seventy years of age, with a single rod and bait"--an observation which leads to the inquiry of the possibility of catching a single fish with more than one rod and bait--"that weighed seventy-eight pounds." this is stated to have happened in the county of clare; the angler's name was o'flanagan. here is another wonderful story:--the bohemians have a proverb--"every fish has another for prey:" that named the wels has them all. this is the largest fresh-water fish found in the rivers of europe, except the sturgeon; it often reaches five or six feet in length. it destroys many aquatic birds, and we are assured that it does not spare the human species. on the d of july, , a peasant took one near thorn, that had an infant entire in its stomach! they tell in hungary of children and young girls being devoured on going to draw water; and they even relate that, on the frontiers of turkey, a poor fisherman took one that had in its stomach the body of a woman, her purse full of gold, and a _ring_! the fish is even reported to have been taken sixteen feet long. the old stories of rings found in the stomachs of fishes will be remembered; as well as here and there a _book_ found in the stomach of a fish! the sun-fish is exceedingly rare. a large specimen was captured off start point in . attention was first drawn to a huge dark object on the water. on a boat being sent out, it was soon discovered to be the back fin of a very large fish, apparently asleep. a very exciting chase commenced, extending over an hour, the crew meanwhile battling with harpoons, boat-hooks, &c.; the fish trying several times to upset the boat by getting his back under it. at length a line was thrown over its head, and the fish, being weakened by the struggle, was towed alongside the yacht, hoisted on board, and slaughtered. yarrell, in his work on british fishes, states the largest sun-fish to be about cwt., but the above specimen weighed nearly cwt. sun-fish are found occasionally in the tropical seas of large dimensions, but those found in the channel seldom if ever exceed from cwt. to cwt. the peculiarities in regard to this fish are, that it has no bones, but the whole of the formation is of cartilage, which can easily be cut with a knife. the skin is cartilage of about an inch and a-half thick, under which there is no backbone or ribs. this specimen was of extraordinary dimensions-- ft. in. in length, and ft. from the tip of the dorsal to the point of the anal fin. the "courrier de sagon" brings, as a contribution to natural history, the not very credible-sounding description of a fish called "ca-oug" in the anamite tongue, which is said to have saved the lives already of several anamites; for which reason the king of anam has invested it with the name of "nam hai dui bnong gnan" (great general of the south sea). this fish is said to swim round ships near the coast, and, when it sees a man in the water, to seize him with his mouth, and to carry him ashore. a skeleton of this singular inhabitant of the deep is to be seen at wung-tau, near cape st. james. it is reported to be thirty-five feet in length, to have tusks "almost like an elephant," very large eyes, a black and smooth skin, a tail like a lobster, and two "wings" on its back.[ ] the grouper must be a voracious fish, for we read of a specimen being caught off the coast of queensland, which is thus described:--"it was ft. long, ft. in circumference at its thickest part, and its head weighed lb. when opened, there were found in its stomach two broken bottles, a quart pot, a preserved milk tin, seven medium-sized crabs; a piece of earthenware, triangular in shape, and three inches in length, incrusted with oyster shells, a sheep's head, some mutton and beef bones, and some loose oyster shells. the spine of a skate was imbedded in the grouper's liver." the double-fish, here represented, is a pair of cat-fish, which were taken alive in a shrimp-net, at the mouth of cape fear river, near fort johnston. north carolina, in , and presented to professor silliman. one of them is three and a-half, and the other two and a-half inches long, including the tail--the smallest emaciated, and of sickly appearance. they are connected in the manner of the siamese twins, by the skin at the breast, which is marked by a dark streak at the line of union. the texture and colour otherwise of this skin is the same as that of the belly. the mouth, viscera, &c., were entire and perfect in each fish; but, on withdrawing the entrails, through an incision made on one side of the abdomen, the connecting integument was found to be hollow. a flexible probe was passed through from one to the other, with the tender and soft end of a spear of grass, drawn from a green plant. but there was no appearance of the entrails of one having come in contact with those of the other, for the integument was less than one-tenth of an inch in its whole thickness; in length, from the body or trunk of one fish to the other, it was three-tenths; and in the water, when the largest fish was in its natural position, the small one could, by the length and pliancy of this skin, swim in nearly the same position. when these fish came into existence it is probable they were of almost equal size and strength, but one "born to better fortune," or exercising more ingenuity and industry than the other, gained a trifling ascendency, which he improved to increase the disparity, and, by pushing his extended mouth in advance of the other, seized the choicest and most of the food for himself. from the northern parts of british america we have received extraordinary contributions to our fish collections. one of these is the square-browed malthe, obtained in one of the land expeditions under the command of captain sir john franklin. r.n. it was taken on the labrador coast, and then belonged to a species hitherto undescribed. its intestines were filled with small crabs and univalve shells. the extreme length of the fish is inches lines. the upper surface is greyish white, with brown blotches, and the fins are whitish. the head is much depressed and greatly widened; the eyes far forward; the snout projecting like a small horn. most of the fish of this family can live long out of water, in consequence of the smallness of their gill-openings; indeed, those of one of the genera are able, even in warm countries, to pass two or three days in creeping over the land. all the family conceal themselves in the mud or sand, and lie in wait to take their prey by surprise. the accompanying engraving is from the very able work of dr. richardson, f.r.s., published by the munificence of government. [illustration: square-browed malthe and double fish.] gold fish (of the carp family) have been made to distinguish a particular sound made by those from whom they receive their food; they recognise their footsteps at a distance, and come at their call. captain brown says gold fish, when kept in ponds, are "frequently taught to rise to the surface of the water at the sound of a bell to be fed;" and mr. jesse was assured that gold fish evince much pleasure on being whistled to. hakewill, in his "apology for god's power and providence," cites pliny to show that a certain emperor had ponds containing fish, which, when called by their respective _names_ that were bestowed upon them, came to the spot whence the voice proceeded. bernier, in his "history of hindustan," states a like circumstance of the fish belonging to the great mogul. the old poet, martial, also mentions fish coming at the call, as will be seen by the following translation from one of his epigrams:-- "angler! could'st thou be guiltless? then forbear: for these are sacred fishes that swim here; who know their sovereign, and will lick his hand. than which none's greater in the world's command; nay, more; they've names, and when they called are. do to their several owners' call repair." who, after reading so many instances, can doubt that fish hear? it has been found that the water from steam-engines, which is thrown into dams or ponds for the purpose of being cooled, conduces much to the nutriment of gold fish. in these dams, the average temperature of which is about eighty degrees, it is common to keep gold fish; in which situation they multiply much more rapidly than in ponds of lower temperature exposed to variations of the climate. three pair of fish were put into one of these dams, where they increased so rapidly that at the end of three years their progeny, which was accidentally poisoned by verdigris mixed with the refuse tallow from the engine, were taken out by wheel-barrow-fuls. gold fish are by no means useless inhabitants of these dams, as they consume the refuse grease which would otherwise impede the cooling of the water by accumulating on its surface. it is not improbable that this unusual supply of aliment may co-operate with increase of temperature in promoting the fecundity of the fishes. most of our readers have heard of the fish popularly known as the miller's thumb, the origin of the name of which mr. yarrell has thus explained:--"it is well known that all the science and tact of a miller is directed so to regulate the machinery of his mill that the meal produced shall be of the most valuable description that the operation of grinding will permit, when performed under the most advantageous circumstances. his ear is constantly directed to the note made by the running stone in its circular course over the bedstone, the exact parallelism of their two surfaces, indicated by a particular sound, being a matter of the first consequence; and his hand is constantly placed under the meal-spout to ascertain, by actual contact, the character and quality of the meal produced, which he does by a particular movement of his thumb in spreading the sample over his fingers. by this incessant action of the miller's thumb, a peculiarity in its shape is produced, which is said to resemble exactly the shape of the _river bull-head_, a fish constantly found in the mill-stream, and which has obtained for it the name of the miller's thumb." m. coste has constructed a kind of marine observatory at concarneau (finisterre) for the purpose of studying the habits and instincts of various sea-fish. a terrace has been formed on the top of a house on the quay, with reservoirs arranged like a flight of steps. the sea-water is pumped up to the topmost reservoir, and thence flows down slowly, after the manner of a rivulet. the length is divided into cells by wire net partitions, which, allowing free passage to the water, yet prevent the different species of fish from mingling together. by this ingenious contrivance each kind lives separate, enjoying its peculiar food and habits, unconscious of its state of captivity. some species, such as the mullet, the stickleback, &c., grow perfectly tame, will follow the hand that offers them food, and will even allow themselves to be taken out of the water. the goby and bull-head are less familiar. the turbot, which looks so unintelligent, will, nevertheless, take food from the hand; it changes colour when irritated, the spots with which it is covered growing pale or dark, according to the emotions excited in it. but the most curious circumstance concerning it is, that it swallows fish of a much larger size than would appear compatible with the apparent smallness of its mouth. thus, a young turbot, not more than ten inches in length, has been seen to swallow pilchards of the largest size. the pipe-fish has two peculiarities. these fish form groups, entwining their tails together, and remaining immoveable in a vertical position, with their heads upwards. when food is offered them, they perform a curious evolution--they turn round on their backs to receive it. this is owing to the peculiar position of the mouth, which is placed under a kind of beak, and perpendicular to its axis. the crustaceous tribes have also furnished much matter of observation. the prawn and crab, for instance, exercises the virtue of conjugal fidelity to the highest degree; for the male takes hold of his mate, and never lets her go; he swims with her, crawls about with her, and if she is forcibly taken away from him, he seizes hold of her again. the metamorphoses to which various crustaceous tribes are subject have also been studied with much attention.[ ] much as the nature and habits of fish have been studied of late years, the economy of some is to this day involved in obscurity. the herring is one of these fishes. the swedish herring fisheries were, at one time, the largest in europe, but at present, during the temporary disappearance of the fish, they have dwindled away. the causes which influence the movements of the herring--one of the most capricious of fish--are a puzzle which naturalists have as yet failed to solve. they are not migratory, as was at one time believed--that is, they seldom wander far from the place where they were bred; but they are influenced by certain hidden and unexplained causes at one time to remain for years in the deep sea, and at another to come close in to land in enormous numbers. during the first half of the sixteenth century, herrings entirely deserted the swedish coasts. in they reappeared, and remained for thirty-one years in the shallow waters. throughout this period they were taken in incalculable numbers; "thousands of ships came annually from denmark, germany, friesland, holland, england, and france, to purchase the fish, of which sufficient were always found for them to carry away to their own or other countries.... from the small town of marstrand alone some two million four hundred thousand bushels were yearly exported." in the herrings disappeared, and remained absent for seventy-three years, till . in they returned, and again in , remaining till , and during this last period the fisheries were prosecuted with extraordinary zeal, industry, and success. the government gave every encouragement to settlers, and it was computed that during some years as many as fifty thousand strangers took part in them. in the herrings once more disappeared, and have never returned since. the cause must still be considered as quite unknown; but we may fairly assume, according to historical precedents, that after a certain period of absence, the herrings will again return.[ ] aristotle, in his "history of animals," makes some extremely curious observations on fish and cetaceous animals, as might be expected from the variety of these animals in the grecian seas. in spratt and forbes's "travels in syria" the account of the habits and structure of the cuttle-fish in aristotle's work is ranked amongst the most admirable natural history essays ever written. it is, moreover, remarkable for its anticipation. dr. osborne, in , read to the royal society a short analysis of this work, in which he showed that aristotle anticipated dr. jenner's researches respecting the cuckoo; as also some discoveries respecting the incubated egg, which were published as new in the above year. aristotle describes the economy of bees as we have it at present; but mistakes the sex of the queen. the various organs are described as modified throughout the different classes of animals (beginning with man) in nearly the same order as that afterwards adopted by cuvier. the chief value of this body of knowledge, which has been buried for above , years, is, that it is a collection of facts observed under peculiar advantages, such as never since occurred, and that _it is at the present day to be consulted for new discoveries_. according to pliny, for the above work some thousands of men were placed at aristotle's disposal throughout greece and asia, comprising persons connected with hunting and fishing, or who had the care of cattle, fish-ponds, and apiaries, in order that he might obtain information from all quarters, _ne quid usquam gentium ignoretur ab eo_. according to athenæus, aristotle received from the prince, on account of the expenses of the work, talents, or upwards of , _l._ footnotes: [ ] a tench was brought to mr. harmer so full of spawn that the skin was burst by a slight knock, and many thousands of the eggs were lost; yet even after this misfortune he found the remainder to amount to , ! of other marine animals, which he includes under the general term fish, the fecundity, though sufficiently great, is by no means enormous. a lobster yielded , eggs; a prawn , ; and a shrimp , . see mr. harmer's paper, "philosophical transactions," . [ ] "athenæum." [ ] see "the tree-climbing crab," pp. - . [ ] "saturday review." fish in british colombia. in this bitterly cold country, where the snow lies deep six months out of the twelve, the natives subsist principally on fish, of which there is an extraordinary abundance generally, and of salmon particularly. salmon swarm in such numbers that the rivers cannot hold them. in june and july every rivulet, no matter how shallow, is so crammed with salmon that, from sheer want of room, they push one another high and dry upon the pebbles; and mr. lord[ ] tells us that each salmon, with its head up, struggles, fights, and scuffles for precedence. with one's hands only, or more easily by employing a gaff or a crook-stick, tons of salmon have been procured by the simple process of hooking them out. once started on their journey, the salmon never turn back. as fast as those in front die, fresh arrivals crowd on to take their places, and share their fate. "it is a strange and novel sight to see three moving lines of fish--the dead and dying in the eddies and slack water along the bank, the living breasting the current in the centre, blindly pressing on to perish like their kindred." for two months this great _salmon army_ proceeds on its way up stream, furnishing a supply of food without which the indians must perish miserably. the winters are too severe for them to venture out in search of food, even if there was any to be obtained. from being destitute of salt, they are unable to cure meat in the summer for winter provisions, and hence for six months in the year they depend upon salmon, which they preserve by drying in the sun. but the indian has another source of provision for the winter, fully as important as the salmon. the candle-fish supplies him at once with light, butter, and oil.[ ] when dried, and perforated with a rush, or strip of cypress-bark, it can be lighted, and burns steadily until consumed. strung up, and hung for a time in the smoke of a wood fire, it is preserved as a fatty morsel to warm him when pinched with cold; and, by heat and pressure, it is easily converted into liquid oil, and drunk with avidity. that nothing may be wanting, the hollow stalk of the sea-wrack, which at the root is expanded into a complete flask, makes an admirable bottle; and so, when the indian buries himself for long dreary months in his winter quarters, neither his larder nor his cellar are empty, and he has a lamp to lighten the darkness. the steamers have, however, frightened away the candle-fish and the indian from their old haunts, and they have both retreated to the north of the colombia river. amongst the other inhabitants of the salt and fresh waters of these regions are the halibut and the sturgeon, both of which attain to an immense size. the bays and inlets along the coast abound with marine wonders. there feasts and fattens the clam, a bivalve so gigantic that no oyster-knife can force an entrance, and only when his shell is almost red-hot will he be at last constrained to open his dwelling. and there lies in wait the awful octopus, a monster of insatiable voracity, of untameable ferocity, and of consummate craft; of sleepless vigilance, shrouded amidst the forest of sea-weed, and from the touch of whose terrible arms no living thing escapes. it attains to an enormous size in those seas, the arms being sometimes five feet in length, and as thick at the base as a man's wrist. no bather would have a chance if he once got within the grasp of such a monster, nor could a canoe resist the strength of its pull; but the indian, who devours the octopus with great relish, has all the cunning created by necessity, and takes care that none of the eight sucker-dotted arms ever gain a hold on his frail bark. professor owen has figured a species of octopus, the eight-armed cuttle of the european seas, representing it in the act of creeping on shore, its body being carried vertically in the reverse position, with its head downwards, and its back being turned towards the spectator, upon whom it is supposed to be advancing. this animal is said to be luminous in the dark. linnæus quotes bartholinus for the statement that one gave so much light that when the candle was taken away, it illuminated the room. the sturgeon is one of the finest fishes of the country, and mr. lord's account of the indian mode of taking them is a very graphic picture of this river sport. "the spearman stands in the bow, armed with a most formidable spear. the handle, from seventy to eighty feet long, is made of white pine-wood; fitted on the spear-haft is a barbed point, in shape very much like a shuttlecock, supposing each feather represented by a piece of bone, thickly barbed, and very sharp at the end. this is so contrived that it can be easily detached from the long handle by a sharp, dexterous jerk. to this barbed contrivance a long line is made fast, which is carefully coiled away close to the spearman, like a harpoon-line in a whale-boat. the four canoes, alike equipped, are paddled into the centre of the stream, and side by side drift slowly down with the current, each spearman carefully feeling along the bottom with his spear, constant practice having taught the crafty savages to know a sturgeon's back when the spear comes in contact with it. the spear-head touches the drowsy fish; a sharp plunge, and the redskin sends the notched points through armour and cartilage, deep into the leather-like muscles. a skilful jerk frees the long handle from the barbed end, which remains inextricably fixed in the fish; the handle is thrown aside, the line seized, and the struggle begins. the first impulse is to resist this objectionable intrusion, so the angry sturgeon comes up to see what it all means. this curiosity is generally repaid by having a second spear sent crashing into him. he then takes a header, seeking safety in flight, and the real excitement commences. with might and main the bowman plies the paddle, and the spearman pays out the line, the canoe flying through the water. the slightest tangle, the least hitch, and over it goes; it becomes, in fact, a sheer trial of paddle _versus_ fin. twist and turn as the sturgeon may, all the canoes are with him. he flings himself out of the water, dashes through it, under it, and skims along the surface; but all is in vain, the canoes and their dusky oarsmen follow all his efforts to escape, as a cat follows a mouse. gradually the sturgeon grows sulky and tired, obstinately floating on the surface. the savage knows he is not vanquished, but only biding a chance for revenge; so he shortens up the line, and gathers quietly on him to get another spear in. it is done,--and down viciously dives the sturgeon; but pain and weariness begin to tell, the struggles grow weaker and weaker as life ebbs slowly away, until the mighty armour-plated monarch of the river yields himself a captive to the dusky native in his frail canoe." there is a very rare spoonbill sturgeon found in the western waters of north america: its popular name is paddle-fish. one, five feet in length, weighed forty pounds; the nose, resembling a spatula, was thirteen inches in length. it was of a light slate colour, spotted with black; belly white; skin smooth, like an eel; the flesh compact and firm, and hard when boiled--not very enticing to the epicure. the jaws are without teeth, but the fauces are lined with several tissues of the most beautiful network, evidently for the purpose of collecting its food from the water by straining, or passing it through these membranes in the same manner as practised by the spermaceti whale. near the top of the head are two small holes, through which it is possible the sturgeon may discharge water in the manner practised by cetaceous animals. it is conjectured that the long "spoonbill" nose of this fish is for digging up or moving the soft mud in the bottom of the river, and when the water is fully saturated, draw it through the filamentory strainers in search of food. sturgeons resemble sharks in their general form, but their bodies are defended by bony shields, disposed in longitudinal rows; and their head is also well curiassed externally. the sturgeons of north america are of little benefit to the natives. a few speared in the summer-time suffice for the temporary support of some indian hordes; but none are preserved for winter use, and the roe and sounds are utterly wasted. the northern limit of the sturgeon in america is probably between the th and th parallels of latitude. dr. richardson did not meet with any account of its existence to the north of stewart's lake, on the west side of the rocky mountains; and on the east side it does not go higher than the saskatchewan and its tributaries. it is not found in churchill river, nor in any of the branches of the mackenzie or other streams that fall into the arctic seas--a remarkable circumstance when we consider that some species swarm in the asiatic rivers which flow into the icy sea. sturgeons occur in all the great lakes communicating with the st. lawrence, and also along the whole atlantic coast of the united states down to florida. peculiar species inhabit the mississippi; it is, therefore, probable that the range of the genus extends to the gulf of mexico. the great rapid which forms the discharge of the saskatchewan into lake winnipeg appears quite alive with these fish in the month of june; and some families of the natives resort thither at that time to spear them with a harpoon, or grapple them with a strong hook tied to a pole. notwithstanding the great muscular power of the sturgeon, it is timid; and dr. richardson saw one so frightened at the paddling of a canoe, that it ran its nose into a muddy bank, and was taken by a _voyageur_, who leaped upon its back. in colombia river, a small species of sturgeon attains eleven feet in length, and a weight of six hundred pounds.[ ] it is caught as high up as fort colville, notwithstanding the numerous intervening cataracts and rapids which seem to be insuperable barriers to a fish so sluggish in its movements. the sturgeon is styled a royal fish in england, because, by a statute of edward ii. it is enacted, "the king shall have sturgeon taken in the sea, or elsewhere, within the realm." footnotes: [ ] "the naturalist in vancouver island and british columbia." by john keast lord, f.z.s., naturalist to the british north american boundary commission. [ ] the petrel is similarly used in the faroe islands. (see _ante_, p. .) it may, therefore, be called the candle bird. [ ] dr. richardson. the _huro_ is reported by pallas to attain a weight of nearly three thousand pounds, and a length exceeding thirty feet. the tree-climbing crab. the transition from the ordinary mode of the locomotion of fishes by swimming to that of climbing has been ably illustrated by the rev. dr. buckland, who showed, in a communication to the ashmolean society, in , that the fins in certain genera perform the functions of feet and wings. thus, "fishing-frogs" have the fins converted into feet, or paddles, by means of which they have the power of crawling or hopping on sand and mud; and another species can live three days out of the water, and walk upon dry land. the climbing perch of the indian rivers is known to live a long time in the air, and to climb up the stems of palm-trees in pursuit of flies, by means of spinous projections on its gill-covers. fishes of the _silurus_ family have a bony enlargement of the first ray of the pectoral fin, which is also armed with spines; and this is not only an offensive and defensive weapon, but enables the fish to walk along the bottom of the fresh waters which it inhabits. the flying-fishes are notorious examples of the conversion of fins into an organ of movement in the air. m. deslongchamps has published, in the "transactions of the linnæan society of normandy," , a curious account of the movements of the gurnard at the bottom of the sea. in , he observed these movements in one of the artificial fishing-ponds, or fishing-traps, surrounded by nets, on the shore of normandy. he saw a score of gurnards closing their fins against their sides, like the wing of a fly in repose, and without any movement of their tails, walking along the bottom by means of six free rays, three on each pectoral fin, which they placed successively on the ground. they moved rapidly forwards, backwards, to the right and left, groping in all directions with these rays, as if in search of small crabs. their great heads and bodies seemed to throw hardly any weight on the slender rays, or feet, being suspended in water, and having their weight further diminished by their swimming-bladder. during these movements the gurnards resembled insects moving along the sand. when m. deslongchamps moved in the water, the fish swam away rapidly to the extremity of the pond; when he stood still, they resumed their ambulatory movement, and came between his legs. on dissection, we find these three anterior rays of the pectoral fins to be supported each with strong muscular apparatus to direct their movements, apart from the muscles that are connected with the smaller rays of the pectoral fin. dr. buckland states that miss potts, of chester, had sent to him a flagstone from a coalshaft at mostyn, bearing impressions which he supposed to be the trackway of some fish crawling along the bottom by means of the anterior rays of its pectoral fins. there were no indications of feet, but only scratches, symmetrically disposed on each side of a space that may have been covered by the body of the fish whilst making progress, by pressing its fin-bones on the bottom. as yet, no footsteps of reptiles, or of any animals more highly organized than fishes, have been found in strata older than those which belong to the new red sandstone. the abundant remains of fossil fishes, armed with strong bony spines, and of other fishes allied to the gurnard, in strata of the carboniferous and old red sandstone series, would lead us to expect the frequent occurrence of impressions made by their locomotive organs on the bottoms of the ancient waters in which they lived. dr. buckland proposed to designate these petrified traces or trackways of ancient fishes by the term of fish-tracks. crabs and lobsters are strange creatures: strange in their configurations; strange in the transmutations which they exhibit from the egg to maturity; strange in the process they undergo of casting off, not only their shell, but the covering of their eyes, of their long horns, and even the lining of their tooth-furnished stomach; strange, also, are they in their manners and habits. many a reader, in wandering along the sea-shore, may have disturbed little colonies of crabs quietly nestling in fancied security amidst banks of slimy sea-weed; and in the nooks and recesses of the coast, the shallows, and strips of land left dry at ebb-tide, may be seen numbers of little, or perchance large, crabs, some concealed in snug lurking-places, others tripping, with a quick _side-long_ movement, over the beach, alarmed by the advance of an unwelcome intruder. some are exclusively tenants of the water, have feet formed like paddles for swimming, and never venture on land; others seem to love the air and sunshine, and enjoy an excursion, not without hopes of finding an acceptable repast, over the oozy sands; some, equally fond of the shore and shallow water, appropriate to themselves the shells of periwinkles, whelks, &c., and there live in a sort of castle, which they drag about with them on their excursions, changing it for a larger as they increase in measure of growth. they vary in size from microscopic animalcules to the gigantic king crab:[ ] to the former, the luminosity of the ocean, or of the foam before the prows of vessels, is, to a great extent, attributable, each minute creature glowing with phosphoric light. the bernhard crab has been proved to have the power of dissolving shells, it not being unusual to find the long fusiform shells which are inhabited by these animals with the inner lip, and the greater part of the pillar on the inside of the mouth, destroyed, so as to render the aperture much larger than usual. dr. gray is quite convinced that these crabs have the above power, some to a much greater degree than others. certain crabs, especially in the west indies, are almost exclusively terrestrial, visiting the sea only at given periods, for the deposition of their eggs. these crabs carry in their gill-chambers sufficient water for the purpose of respiration; they live in burrows, and traverse considerable tracts of land in the performance of their migratory journeys. of these, some, as the violet crab, are exquisite delicacies. of a great crab migration we find these details in the "jamaica royal gazette:"--in there was a very extraordinary production of black crabs in the eastern part of jamaica. in june or july the whole district of manchidneed was covered with countless numbers, swarming from the sea to the mountains. of this the writer was an eye-witness. on ascending over hill from the vale of plantain garden river, the road appeared of a reddish colour, as if strewed with brick-dust. it was owing to myriads of young black crabs, about the size of the nail of a man's finger, moving at a pretty quick pace, direct for the mountains. "i rode along the coast," says the writer, "a distance of about fifteen miles, and found it nearly the same the whole way. returning the following day, i found the road still covered with them, the same as the day before. how have they been produced, and where do they come from? were questions everybody asked, and nobody could answer. it is well known that crabs deposit their eggs once a year, in may; but, except on this occasion, though living on the coast, i had never seen above a dozen young crabs together; and here were myriads. no unusual number of old crabs had been observed in that season; and it is worthy of note, that they were moving from a rock-bound coast of inaccessible cliffs, the abode of sea-birds, and exposed to the constant influence of the trade winds. no person, as far as i know, ever saw the like, except on that occasion; and i have understood that since black crabs have been more abundant further in to the interior of the island than they were ever known before." cuvier describes the burrowing crab as displaying wonderful instinct:--"the animal closes the entrance of its burrow, which is situated near the margin of the sea, or in marshy grounds, with its largest claw. these burrows are cylindrical, oblique, very deep, and very close to each other; but generally each burrow is the exclusive habitation of a single individual. the habit which these crabs have of holding their large claw elevated in advance of the body, as if making a sign of beckoning to some one, has obtained for them the name of calling crabs. there is a species observed by mr. bosc in south carolina, which passes the three months of the winter in its retreat without once quitting it, and which never goes to the sea except at the epoch of egg-laying." the same observations apply to the chevalier crabs (so called from the celerity with which they traverse the ground). these are found in africa, and along the borders of the mediterranean. some crabs, truly aquatic, as the vaulted crab of the moluccas, have the power of drawing back their limbs, and concealing them in a furrow, which they closely fit; and thus, in imitation of a tortoise, which retracts its feet and head within its shell, they secure themselves, when alarmed. other aquatic species have their limbs adapted for clinging to weeds and other marine objects. of these some have the two or four hind pairs of limbs so placed as to appear to spring from the back; they terminate in a sharp hook, by means of which the crab attaches itself to the valves of shells, fragments of coral, &c., which it draws over its body, and thus lurks in concealment. allied, in some respects, to the hermit or soldier crabs, which tenant empty shells, is one which, from its manners and habits, is one of the most extraordinary of its race. the hermit crabs are voracious, and feed on animal substances. the hermit, or bernhard crab, is so called from its habit of taking up its solitary residence in deserted shells, thus seeking a protection for its tail, which is long and naked. it is found in shells of different dimensions, and from time to time leaves its abode, as it feels a necessity, for a more commodious dwelling. it is said to present, on such occasions, an amusing instinct as it inserts the tail successively into several empty shells until one is found to fit. we learn from professor bell, however, that it does not always wait until the home is vacant, but occasionally rejects the rightful occupant with some violence. on the contrary, the crab, or rather lobster-crab (for it takes an intermediate place between them), is more delicate in its appetite, and feeds upon fruits, to obtain which it is said to climb up certain trees, at the feet of which it makes a burrow. this species is the purse crab, or robber crab, of amboyna and other islands in the south pacific ocean. "according to popular belief among the indians," says cuvier, "the robber crab feeds on the nuts of the cocoa-tree, and it makes its excursions during the night; its places of retreat are fissures in the rocks, or holes in the ground." the accounts of the early writers and travellers, as well as of the natives, were disbelieved; but their truth has since been abundantly confirmed. mm. quoy and guimard assure us that several robber crabs were fed by them for many months on cocoa-nuts alone; and a specimen of this crab was submitted to the zoological society, with additional information from mr. cuming, in whose fine collection from the islands of the south pacific several specimens were preserved. mr. cuming states these crabs to be found in great numbers in lord hood's island, in the pacific. he there frequently met with them on the road. on being disturbed, the crabs instantly assumed a defensive attitude, making a loud snapping with their powerful claws, or pincers, which continued as they retreated backwards. they climb a species of palm to gather a small kind of cocoa-nut that grows thereon. they live at the roots of trees, and not in the holes of rocks; and they form a favourite food among the natives. such is the substance of mr. cuming's account. mr. darwin, in his "researches in geology and natural history," saw several of these crabs in the keeling islands, or cocos islands, in the indian ocean, about miles distant from the coast of sumatra. in these islands, of coral formation, the cocoa-nut tree is so abundant as to appear, at first glance, to compose the whole wood of the islands. here the great purse crab is abundant. mr. darwin describes it as a crab which lives on the cocoa-nut, is common on all parts of the dry land, and grows to a monstrous size. this crab has its front pair of legs terminated by very strong and heavy pincers, and the last pair by others which are narrow and weak. it would at first be thought quite impossible for a crab to open a strong cocoa-nut, covered with the husk; but mr. liesk assures me that he has repeatedly seen the operation effected. the crab begins by tearing away the husk, fibre by fibre, and always from that end under which the three eye-holes are situated. when this is completed the crab commences hammering with its heavy claws on one of these eye-holes till an opening is made. then, turning its body, by the aid of its posterior and narrow pair of pincers, it extracts the white albuminous substance. i think this as curious a case as i ever heard of, and likewise of adaptation in structure between two objects apparently so remote from each other in the scheme of nature as a crab and a cocoa-nut tree. the crab is diurnal in its habits; but it is said to pay every night a visit to the sea for the purpose of moistening its gills. these gills are very peculiar, and scarcely fill up more than a tenth of the chamber in which they are placed: it doubtless acts as a reservoir for water, to serve the crab in its passage over the dry and heated land. the young are hatched and live for some time on the coast; at this period of existence we cannot suppose that cocoa-nuts form any part of their diet; most probably soft saccharine grasses, fruits, and certain animal matters, serve as their food until they attain a certain size and strength. the adult crabs, mr. darwin tells us, inhabit deep burrows, which they excavate beneath the roots of trees; and here they accumulate great quantities of the picked fibres of the cocoa-nut husk, on which they rest as on a bed. the malays sometimes take advantage of the labours of the crab by collecting the coarse fibrous substance, and using it as junk. these crabs are very good to eat; moreover, under the tail of the larger ones there is a great mass of fat, which, when melted, yields as much as a quart bottleful of limpid oil. the crab's means of obtaining the cocoa-nuts have, however, been much disputed. it is stated by some authors to crawl up the trees for the purpose of stealing the nuts. this is doubted; though in the kind of palm to which mr. cuming refers as being ascended by this crab, the task would be much easier. now, mr. darwin states, that in the keeling islands the crab lives only on the nuts which fall to the ground. it may thus appear that mr. cuming's and mr. darwin's respective accounts of the _non-climbing_ of this crab on the one side, and its _actually climbing trees_ on the other, are contradictory. the height of the stem of the cocoa-nut tree, its circumference, and comparative external smoothness, would prove insurmountable, or at least very serious obstacles, to the most greedy crab, however large and strong it might be. but these difficulties are by no means so formidable in the tree specified by mr. cuming: this is arborescent, or bushy, with long, thin, rigid, sword-shaped leaves, resembling those of the pineapple, usually arranged spirally, so that they are commonly called screw pines. they are of the genus _pandanus_, a word derived from the malay _pandang_. the ascent of these arborescent plants, having the stem furnished with a rigging of cord-like roots, and bearing a multitude of firm, long, and spirally-arranged leaves, would be by no means a work of difficulty, as would necessarily be that of the tall feathery-topped cocoa-tree, destitute of all available points of aid or support. hence the contradiction in the two accounts referred to is seeming, and not real, and the two statements are reconciled. to sum up, mr. cuming fully testifies to the crab climbing the screw pines; and he has told professor owen that he has actually seen the crab climbing the cocoa-nut tree. the crab has been kept on cocoa-nuts for months; and is universally reported by the natives to climb the trees at night. [illustration: the tree-climbing crab.] we may here, too, observe, that fine specimens of the climbing crab are to be seen in the british museum. here, too, arranged in cases, are spider crabs; crabs with oysters growing on their backs, thus showing that crabs do not shed their shells every year, or that the oyster increases very rapidly in bulk; oval-bodied crabs; and fin-footed or swimming crabs. here are also telescope, or long-eyed crabs, and land crabs, found in india , feet above the sea-level; another of similar habits in the plains of the deccan, that may be seen swarming in the fields, some cutting and nipping the green rice-stalks, and others waddling off backwards with sheaves bigger than themselves. to these may be added square-bodied crabs, crested crabs; porcelain crabs, with delicate, china-like shells; and death's-head crabs, which usually form cases for themselves from pieces of sponge and shells. certain species of crabs are remarkably tenacious of life, and have been known to live for weeks buried, and without food. it is in the crab tribe that the fact of the metamorphosis of _crustacea_ has been most distinctly perceived; a small, peculiar crustacean animal, that had long passed for a distinct species, under the name of _zoea_, having at length been identified with the young of the common crab before it had attained its full development. that among the crab tribes a tree-climbing species is to be found is certainly curious, but it is not without a parallel among fishes. many of the latter leave the water, some even for a long time, and perform overland journeys, aided in their progress by the structure of their fins. in these fishes the gills and gill-chambers are constructed for the retention of water for a considerable time, so as to suffice for the necessary degree of respiration. in our country, we may mention the eel, which often voluntarily quits the river or lake, and wanders during the night over the adjacent meadows, probably in quest of dew-worms. but the marshes of india and china present us with fishes much more decidedly terrestrial, and some of which were known to the ancients. among these are several fishes of a snake-like form: they have an elongated, cylindrical body, and creep on land to great distances from their native waters. the boatmen of india often keep these fishes for a long time out of water, for the sake of diverting themselves and others by their terrestrial movements, and children may often be seen enjoying this sport. of these land-haunting fishes, the most remarkable is the tree-climber, so called in tranquebar. this fish inhabits india, the indian islands, and various parts of china, as chusan, &c., living in marshes, and feeding on aquatic insects, worms, &c. according to daldorf, a danish gentleman, who, in , communicated an account of the habits of this fish to the linnæan society, it _mounts up_ the bushes or low palms to some elevation. this gentleman states that he had himself observed it in the act of ascending palm-trees near the marshes, and had taken it at a height of no less than five feet, measured from the level of the adjacent water. it effects its ascent by means of its pectoral and under fins, aided by the action of the tail and the spines which border the gill covers. it is by the same agency that it traverses the land. the statement of m. daldorf is corroborated by m. john, also a danish observer, to whom we are indebted for the knowledge of its name in tranquebar, which alludes to its arboreal proceedings. it is true that many other naturalists who have observed the habits of this fish in its native regions, while they concur in describing its terrestrial journeys, and its living for a long time out of water, either omit to mention, or mention with doubt, its reputed attempts at _tree-climbing_. the habits and instincts of certain crawfishes are very extraordinary. thus, the _astaci_ are migratory, and in their travels are capable of doing much damage to dams and embankments. on the little genesee river they have, within a few years, compelled the owner of a dam to rebuild it. the former dam was built after the manner of dykes, _i.e._, with upright posts, supporting sleepers, laid inclining up the stream. on these were laid planks, and the planks were covered with dirt. the _astacus_ proceeding up the stream would burrow under the planks where they rested on the bottom of the stream, removing bushels of dirt and gravel in the course of a night. they travel over the dam in their migrations, _often climbing posts_ two or three feet high to gain the pond above.[ ] we have to add a new and eccentric variety of nature--the pill-making crab, which abounds at labuan, singapore, and lahore, and is described in mr. collingwood's "rambles of a naturalist." when the tide is down, this little creature, if stealthily watched, may be seen creeping up a hole in the sandy shore, taking up rapidly particles of the loose powdery sand in its claws, and depositing them in a groove beneath the thorax. a little ball of sand, about the size of a filbert, is forthwith projected, though whether it passes actually through the mouth is not made clear. pill after pill is seized with one claw, and laid aside, until the beach is covered with these queer little pellets. this is evidently the creature's mode of extracting particles of food from the sand. mr. collingwood also describes, as met with on the shores and waters of the china seas, glass crabs, whose flat, transparent, leaf-like bodies seem made of fine plates of mica. the dredge brings up many a rich haul of sponges, corals, and gorgoniæ, of the most splendid colours, certain of the sponges harbouring within their cells minute crabs of a new genus. between aden and galle the sea is of a pinkish colour, owing to the immense accumulation of minute kinds of medusæ, in solid masses of red jelly. over fiery cross reef, the mirror-like sea reveals, at the depth of sixty or seventy feet, this wealth of natural treasures. "glorious masses of living coral strew the bottom: immense globular madrepores--vast overhanging mushroom-shaped expansions, complicated ramifications of interweaving branches, mingled with smaller and more delicate species--round, finger-shaped, horn-like and umbrella-form--lie in wondrous confusion. here and there is a large clam-shell, wedged in between masses of coral, the gaping, zigzag mouth covered with the projecting mantle of the deepest prussian blue; beds of dark purple, long-spined echini, and the thick black bodies of sea-cucumbers vary the aspect of the sea bottom."[ ] footnotes: [ ] this crab has an elongated spine-like tail, the use of which was long misunderstood. dr. j. gray was shown at the liverpool museum some living king crabs, and the use they made of the tail-like appendages. when turned over on their backs, he saw them bend down the tail until they could reach some point of resistance, and then employ it to elevate the body, and regain their normal position. dr. gray states that they never have been seen to use this tail for the purpose which has been often assigned to it--that is, for leaping from place to place by bending it under the body, like the toy called a "spring-jack," or "leaping frog." [ ] american journal of science and art. [ ] w. c. linnæus martin, f.l.s. musical lizards. a small lizard, lately brought home from the isle of formosa by mr. swinhoe, is decided to be a new species by dr. günther, of the british museum. mr. swinhoe found the eggs of this gecko, or lizard, in holes of walls or among mortar rubbish. they are round, and usually lie several together, resembling eggs of ordinary lizards. the young, when first hatched, keep much under stones in dark cellars, where they remain until they attain about two-thirds of the adult size, when they begin to appear in public to catch insects, but evincing great shyness of their seniors. mr. swinhoe states that on the plaster-washed sides of his bedroom, close to the angle of the roof, every evening when the lamp was placed on the table below, four little musical lizards used to make their appearance and watch patiently for insects attracted by the light. a sphinx or a beetle buzzing into the room would put them into great excitement, and they would run with celerity from one part of the wall to the other after the deluded insect as it fluttered in vain, buffeting its head, up and down the wall. two or three would run after the same insect, but as soon as one had succeeded in securing it, the rest would prudently draw aloof. in running over the perpendicular face of the wall they keep so close, and their movements are made so quickly, with one leg in advance of the other, that they have the appearance at a distance of gliding rather than running. the tail is somewhat writhed as the body is jerked along, and much so when the animal is alarmed and doing its utmost to escape; but its progress even then is in short runs, stopping at intervals and raising its head to look about. if a fly perch on the wall it cautiously approaches to within a short distance, then suddenly darts forwards, and with its quickly-protruded, glutinous tongue, fixes it. apart from watching its curious manoeuvres after its insect-food, the attention of the most listless would be attracted by the singular series of loud notes these creatures utter at all hours of the day and night, more especially during cloudy and rainy weather. these notes resemble the syllables "chuck-chuck," several times repeated; and, from their more frequent occurrence during july and august, they are thought to be the call notes of the male to the female. during the greater part of the day, the little creature lies quiescent in some cranny among the beams of the roof or in the wall of the house, where, however, it is ever watchful for the incautious fly that approaches its den, upon whom it darts forth with but little notice. but it is by no means confined to the habitations of men. every old wall, and almost every tree, possesses a tenant or two of this species. it is excessively lively, and even when found quietly ensconced in a hole, generally manages to escape--its glittering little eyes (black, with yellow ochre iris) appearing to know no sleep; and an attempt to capture the runaway seldom results in more than the seizure of an animated tail, wrenched off with a jerk by the little fellow as it slips away, without loss of blood. the younger individuals are much darker than the larger and older animals, which are sometimes almost albinoes. in ordinary fly-catching habits, as they stick to the sides of a lamp, there is much similarity between this gecko and the little papehoo, or wall-lizard of china; but this is decidedly a larger and much more active animal, and often engages in a struggle with insects of very large size. the chinese colonists of formosa greatly respect the geckos, in consequence of a legend which attributes to them the honour of having once poisoned the supplies of an invading rebellious army, which was thereby totally cut to pieces. the geckos were raised to the rank of generals by the grateful emperor of china; which honour, the legend states, they greatly appreciated, and henceforth devoted their energies to the extermination of mosquitoes and other injurious insects. chameleons, and their changes. "nil fuit unquam sic impar sibi."--_horat._ "sure such a various creature ne'er was seen." _francis, in imit._ the chameleon tribe is a well-defined family of lizard-like reptiles, whose characters may be summed up as existing in the form of their feet; the toes, which are joined together or bound up together in two packets or bundles, opposed to each other; in their shagreen-like skin; in their prehensile tail; and in their extensile and retractile vermiform tongue. that the chameleon was known to the ancients there is no doubt. its name we derive directly from the _chamelæo_ of the latins. aristotle's history of the animal proves the acute observation of that great zoologist--the absence of a sternum, the disposition of the ribs, the mechanism of the tail, the motion of the eyes, the toes bound up in opposable bundles, &c.--though he is not entirely correct on some points. pliny mentions it, but his account is for the most part a compilation from aristotle. calmet's description of the chameleon is curiously minute:--"it has four feet, and on each foot three claws. its tail is long: with this, as well as with his feet, it fastens itself to the branches of trees. its tail is flat, its nose long, ending in an obtuse point; its back is sharp, its skin plaited, and jagged like a saw, from the neck to the last joint of the tail, and upon its head it has something like a comb; like a fish, it has no neck. some have asserted that it lives only upon air, but it has been observed to feed on flies, catched with its tongue, which is about ten inches long and three thick, made of white flesh, round, but flat at the end, or hollow and open, resembling an elephant's trunk. it also shrinks, and grows longer. this animal is said to assume the colour of those things to which it is applied; but our modern observers assure us that its natural colour, when at rest, and in the shade, is a bluish-grey; though some are yellow, others green, but both of a smaller kind. when it is exposed to the sun, the grey changes into a darker grey, inclining to a dun colour, and its parts which have least of the light upon them are changed into spots of different colours. sometimes, when it is handled, it seems speckled with dark spots, inclining to green. if it be put upon a black hat, it appears to be of a violet colour; and sometimes, if it be wrapped up in linen, it is white; but it changes colour only in some parts of the body." its changes of colour have been commemorated by the poets. shakspeare has-- "i can add colours ev'n to the chameleon: change shapes with proteus, for advantage." dryden has-- "the thin chameleon, fed with air, receives the colour of the thing to which it cleaves." prior has-- "as the chameleon, which is known to have no colours of his own, but borrows from his neighbour's hue his white or black, his green or blue." gay, in his charming fable of the spaniel and the chameleon, "scarce distinguished from the green," makes the latter thus reply to the taunts of the pampered spaniel:-- "'sir,' says the sycophant, 'like you, of old, politer life i knew: like you, a courtier born and bred, kings lean'd their ear to what i said: my whisper always met success; the ladies prais'd me for address; i knew to hit each courtier's passion, and flatter'd every vice in fashion: but jove, who hates the liar's ways, at once cut short my prosperous days, and, sentenced to retain my nature, transform'd me to this crawling creature. doom'd to a life obscure and mean, i wander'd in the silvan scene: for jove the heart alone regards; he punishes what man rewards. how different is thy case and mine! with men at least you sup and dine; while i, condemned to thinnest fare, like those i flatter'd, fed on air.'" upon this fable a commentator acutely notes:--"the raillery at court sycophants naturally pervades our poet's writings, who had suffered so much from them. here, however, he intimates something more, namely, the apposite dispensations to man's acts, even in this world. the crafty is taken in by his own guile, the courtier falls by his own arts, and the ladder of ambition only prepares for the aspirant a further fall."[ ] with respect to the air-food of the chameleon. cuvier observes that its lung is so large that, when it is filled with air, it imparts a transparency to the body, which made the ancients say that it lived upon air; and he inclines to think that to its size the chameleon owes the property of changing its colour; but, with regard to this last speculation, he was wrong, as we shall presently see. it was long thought that the chameleon, like most of the lizard tribe, was produced from an egg. the little animal is, however, most clearly viviparous, and not oviparous, although the tales told of the lizard tribe in the story books are most perplexing. to name a few of them:-- . the crocodile, which is the largest of the lizard tribe, and has even attained the size of - / ft. in length, is confidently stated as laying eggs, which she covers with sand and leaves, to be hatched by the sun; and these have been met with in the rivers nile, niger, and ganges. . _lacerta gangetica_, unknown to linnæus, but brought to this country from bengal in by the late dr. mead, is said to be furnished with a false belly, like the opossum, where the young can be received for protection in time of danger. in this case the egg must have been hatched in the belly of the animal, like the viper. . the alligator, or american crocodile, lays a vast quantity of eggs in the sand, near the banks of lakes and rivers, and leaves them to be hatched by the sun; and the young are seldom seen. . the cayman, or antilles crocodile, has furnished its eggs to many collections. . a salamander was opened by m. maupertuis, and its belly was found full of eggs; but in "les mémoires de l'académie royale des sciences" it is stated that, after a similar operation of the kind, "fifty young ones, resembling the parent animal, were found in its womb all alive, and actively running about the room." the tongue is the chief organ for taking the insects on which the chameleon lives. by a curious mechanism, of which the tongue-bone is a principal agent, the chameleon can protrude this cylindrical tongue, which has its tip covered with a glutinous secretion from the sheath at the lower part of the mouth, to the length of six inches. when the chameleon is about to seize an insect, it rolls round its extraordinary eyeballs so as to bring them to bear on the doomed object; as soon as it arrives within the range of the tongue, that organ is projected with unerring precision, and returns into the mouth with the prey adhering to the viscous tip. the wonderful activity with which this feat is performed, forms a strong contrast to the almost ridiculously slow motions of the animal. their operation of taking meal-worms, of which they are fond, though comparatively rapid, is not remarkable for its quickness, but done with an act of deliberation, and so that the projection and retraction of the tongue can be very distinctly followed with the eye. the eyes of the chameleon are remarkable objects; large, projecting, and almost entirely covered with the shagreen-like skin, with the exception of a small aperture opposite the pupil; their motions are completely independent of each other. it adds to the strange and grotesque appearance of this creature to see it roll one of its eye-globes backwards, while the other is directed forwards, as if making two distinct surveys at one time. its sight must be acute, from the unerring certainty with which it marks and strikes its prey. the chameleons spend their lives in trees, for clinging to the branches of which their organization is admirably adapted. there they lie in wait for the insects which may come within their reach; and it has been thought that, in such situations, their faculty of changing colour becomes highly important in aiding them to conceal themselves. the powers of abstinence possessed by this singular race are very great; and hence, most probably, arose the old fable of their _living on air_, which was for a long time considered to be "the chameleon's dish." one has been known to fast upwards of six weeks without taking any sustenance, though meat-food and insects were procured for it. notwithstanding this fast, it did not appear to fall away much. it would fix itself by the feet and tail to the bars of the fender, and there remain motionless, enjoying the warmth of the fire for hours together. hasselquist describes one, that he kept for nearly a month, as climbing up and down the bars of its cage in a very lively manner. the power of the chameleon's changing colour long exercised the ingenuity of the old naturalists. hasselquist thought that the changes of colour depended on a kind of disease, more especially a sort of jaundice, to which the animal was subject, particularly when it was put in a rage. m. d'obsonville thought that he had discovered the secret in the blood, and that the change of colour depended upon a mixture of blue and yellow, whence the different shades of green were derived; and these colours he obtains from the blood and the blood-vessels. thus he says that the blood is of a violet hue, and will retain its colour on linen or paper for some minutes if previously steeped in a solution of alum, and that the coats of the vessels are yellow; consequently, he argues, that the mixture of the two will produce green. he further traces the change of colour to the passions of the animal. thus, when a healthy chameleon is provoked, the circulation is accelerated, the vessels that are spread over the skin are distended, and a superficial blue-green colour is produced. when, on the contrary, the animal is imprisoned, impoverished, and deprived of free air, the circulation becomes languid, the vessels are not filled, the colour of their coats prevails, and the chameleon changes to a yellow-green, which lasts during its confinement. barrow, in his "travels in africa," declares that previously to the chameleon's assuming a change of colour, it makes a long inspiration, the body swelling out to twice its usual size; and as the inflation subsides, the change of colour gradually takes place, the only permanent marks being two small dark lines passing along the sides. mr. wood conceives from this account that the animal is principally indebted for these varied tints to the influence of oxygen. mr. spittal also regards these changes as connected with the state of the lungs; and mr. houston considers this phenomenon as dependent on the turgescency of the skin. dr. weissenborn thinks it not unlikely that the nervous currents may directly co-operate in effecting the changes of colour in the chameleon. mr. h. n. turner, writing from personal observation of the phenomenon in a live chameleon in his possession, says:--"it has been generally imagined that the purpose of the singular faculty accorded to the chameleon is to enable it to accommodate its appearance to that of surrounding objects." mr. turner's observations do not, however, favour the idea, but seem rather to negative it. the box in which mr. turner's chameleon was kept was of deal, with glass at the top, and a piece of flannel laid at the bottom, a small branching stick being placed there by way of a perch. he introduced, at various times, pieces of coloured paper, covering the bottom of the box, of blue, yellow, and scarlet, but without the slightest effect upon the appearance of the animal. considering that these primary colours were not such as it would be likely to be placed in contact with in a state of nature, he next tried a piece of green calico, but equally without result. the animal went through all its usual changes without their being in any way modified by the colour placed underneath it. the general tint approximated, as may be readily observed, to those of the branches of trees, just as those of most animals do to the places in which they dwell; but mr. turner did not observe the faculty of changing called into play with any apparent object. it is only when the light is removed that the animal assumes a colour which absorbs but little of it. not to go further into the numerous treatises which have been published on this intricate subject without arriving at a just conclusion, we refer to the able and interesting paper of mr. milne edwards, for whose acuteness the solution of this puzzling phenomenon was reserved. the steps by which he first overthrew the received theories on the subject, and then arrived at the cause of the change of colour, is shown in the following results, derived from observing two chameleons living, and researches after the animals had died, on the structure of their skin, and the parts immediately beneath it. . that the change in the colour of the chameleon does not depend essentially either on the more or less considerable swelling of their bodies, or the changes which might hence result to the condition of their blood or circulation; nor does it depend on the greater or less distance which may exist between the several cutaneous tubercles; although it is not to be denied that these circumstances probably exercise some influence upon the phenomenon. . that there exist in the skin of these animals two layers of membranous pigment, placed the one above the other, but disposed in such a way as to appear simultaneously under the cuticle, and sometimes in such a manner that the one may hide the other. . that everything remarkable in the changes of colour in the chameleon may be explained by the appearance of the pigment of the deeper layer to an extent more or less considerable, in the midst of the pigment of the superficial layer, or from its disappearance beneath this layer. . that these displacements of the deeper pigment do in reality occur; and it is a probable consequence that the chameleon's colour changes during life, and may continue to change even after death. . that there exists a close analogy between the mechanism by the help of which the change of colour appears to take place in these reptiles, and that which determines the successive appearance and disappearance of coloured spots in the mantles of several of the cephalopods. chameleons are found in warm climates of the old world, south of spain, africa, east indies. isles of sechelles, bourbon, france, moluccas. madagascar (where it is said there are seven of the species which belong to africa), fernando po, and new south wales. in the year , a new and curiously formed species of chameleon was brought from the interior of the old calabar district of west africa, by one of the natives. it is characterised by three horny processes on the head. many lizards have singular spiny projections on all parts of the body; but this very well marked species had not been hitherto recorded. mrs. belzoni, the wife of the celebrated traveller in the east, made some careful observations upon the habits of chameleons, which are worth quoting. the arabs in lower egypt catch chameleons by jumping upon them, flinging stones at them, or striking them with sticks, which hurts them very much. the nubians lay them down gently on the ground, and when they come down from the date-trees, they catch hold of the tail of the animal, and fix a string to it; therefore the body does not get injured. mrs. belzoni had some chameleons for several months in her house, and her observations are as follows:-- "in the first place they are very inveterate towards each other, and must not be shut up together, else they will bite each other's tails and legs off. [illustration: chameleons.] "there are three species of chameleons, whose colours are peculiar to themselves: for instance, the commonest sort are those which are generally green, that is to say, the body all green, and, when content, beautifully marked on each side regularly on the green with black and yellow, not in a confused manner, but as if drawn. this kind is in great plenty; they never have any other colour except a light green when they sleep, and when ill, a very pale yellow. out of near forty i had the first year when in nubia, i had but one, and that a very small one of the second sort, which had red marks. one chameleon lived with me eight months, and most of that time i had it fixed to the button of my coat: it used to rest on my shoulder or on my head. i have observed, when i have kept it shut up in a room for some time, that on bringing it out in the air it would begin drawing the air in, and on putting it on some marjorum it has had a wonderful effect on it immediately: its colour became most brilliant. i believe it will puzzle a good many to say what cause it proceeds from. if they did not change when shut up in a house, but only on taking them in a garden, it might be supposed the change of the colours was in consequence of the smell of the plants; but when in a house, if it is watched, it will change every ten minutes: some moments a plain green, at others all its beautiful colours will come out, and when in a passion it becomes of a deep black, and will swell itself up like a balloon, and, from being one of the most beautiful animals, it becomes one of the most ugly. it is true that chameleons are extremely fond of the fresh air, and on taking them to a window when there is nothing to be seen, it is easy to observe the pleasure they certainly take in it: they begin to gulp down the air, and their colour becomes brighter. i think it proceeds, in a great degree, from the temper they are in: a little thing will put them in a bad humour: if in crossing a table, for instance, you stop them, and attempt to turn them another road, they will not stir, and are extremely obstinate: on opening the mouth at them, it will set them in a passion: they begin to arm themselves by swelling and turning black, and will sometimes hiss a little, but not much. "the third i brought from jerusalem was the most singular of all the chameleons i ever had: its temper, if it can be so called, was extremely sagacious and cunning. this one was not of the order of the green kind, but a disagreeable drab, and it never once varied in its colour in two months. on my arrival in cairo. i used to let it crawl about the room on the furniture. sometimes it would get down, if it could, and hide itself away from me, but in a place where it could see me; and sometimes, on my leaving the room and on entering it, would draw itself so thin as to make itself nearly on a level with whatever it might be on, so that i might not see it. it had often deceived me so. one day having missed it for some time, i concluded it was hid about the room; after looking for it in vain, i thought it had got out of the room and made its escape: in the course of the evening, after the candle was lighted, i went to a basket that had got a handle across it: i saw my chameleon, but its colour entirely changed, and different to any i ever had seen before: the whole body, head and tail, a brown with black spots, and beautiful deep orange-coloured spots round the black. i certainly was much gratified. on being disturbed, its colours vanished, unlike the others; but after this i used to observe it the first thing in the morning, when it would have the same colours. some time after, it made its escape out of my room, and i suppose got into the garden close by. i was much vexed, and would have given twenty dollars to have recovered it again, though it only cost me threepence, knowing i could not get another like it; for, afterwards being in rosetta, i had between fifty and sixty; but all those were green, yellow, and black; and the arabs, in catching them, had bruised them so much, that after a month or six weeks they died. it is an animal extremely hard to die. i had prepared two cages with separate divisions, with the intention of bringing them to england; but though i desired the arabs that used to get them for me to catch them by the tail, they used to hurt them much with their hands; and if once the body is squeezed, it will never live longer than two months. when they used to sleep at night, it was easy to see where they had been bruised; for being of a very light colour when sleeping, the part that had been bruised, either on the body or the head, which was bone, was extremely black, though when green it would not show itself so clear. their chief food was flies: the fly does not die immediately on being swallowed, for upon taking the chameleon up in my hands, it was easy to feel the fly buzzing, chiefly on account of the air they draw in their inside: they swell much, and particularly when they want to fling themselves off a great height, by filling themselves up like a balloon: on falling, they get no hurt, except on the mouth, which they bruise a little, as that comes first to the ground. sometimes they will not drink for three or four days, and when they begin they are about half an hour drinking. i have held a glass in one hand while the chameleon rested its two fore-paws on the edge of it, the two hind ones resting on my other hand. it stood upright while drinking, holding its head up like a fowl. by flinging its tongue out of its mouth the length of its body, and instantaneously catching the fly, it would go back like a spring. they will drink mutton broth: how i came to know this was, one day having a plate of broth and rice on the table where it was: it went to the plate and got half into it, and began drinking, and trying to take up some of the rice, by pushing it with its mouth towards the side of the plate, which kept it from moving, and in a very awkward way taking it into its mouth." in the autumn of , a pair of chameleons, in the possession of the hon. lady cust, of leasowe castle, cheshire, produced nine active young ones, like little alligators, less than an inch long. such a birth has been, it is believed, very rare in this country. it was remarked, in the above case, that the male and female appeared altogether indifferent about their progeny. whatever may be the cause, the fact seems to be certain, that the chameleon has an antipathy to objects of a black colour. one, which forbes kept, uniformly avoided a black board which was hung up in the chamber; and, what is most remarkable, when the chameleon was held forcibly before the black board, it trembled violently and assumed a _black colour_.[ ] it may be something of the same kind which makes bulls and turkey-cocks dislike the colour of scarlet, a fact of which there can be no doubt. footnotes: [ ] the fables of john gay. illustrated. with original memoir, introduction, and annotations. by octavius freire owen, m.a., f.s.a. . [ ] this, it will be seen by referring to page , does not correspond with calmet's statement. running toads. that the toad, by common repute "ugly and venomous," should be made a parlour pet, is passing strange; yet such is the case, and we find in a letter from dr. husenbeth, of cossey, the following curious instances. thus he describes a species, there often met with, the eyes of which have the pupil surrounded with bright golden-yellow, whereas in the common toad the circle is red or orange. this remarkable peculiarity dr. h. has not seen anywhere noticed. the head is like that of the common sort, but much more blunt, and rounded off at the nose and mouth, and the arches over the eyes are more prominent. the most remarkable difference is a line of yellow running all down the back. also down each side this toad has a row of red pimples, like small beads, which are tolerably regular, but appear more in some specimens than in others. the general colour is a yellowish-olive, but the animal is beautifully marked with black spots, very regularly disposed, and exactly corresponding on each side of the yellow line down the back. like all other toads, this one occasionally changes its colour, becoming more brown, or ash-colour, or reddish at times, probably in certain states of the weather. this species is much more active than the common toad. it never leaps, and very seldom crawls, but makes a short run, stops a little, and then runs on again. if frightened or pursued, it will run along much quicker than one would suppose. during the previous summer dr. h. kept three toads of this kind in succession. "the first (says dr. h.) i procured in july; but after a few days, when i let him have a run on the carpet of my parlour, he got into a hole in a corner of the floor, of which i was not aware, and fell, as i suppose, underneath the floor, into the hollow space below. i concluded that he could never get up again, and gave him up to his fate. i then began to keep another running toad, which fed well at first, but after three weeks refused food, and evidently wasted; so i turned him out into the garden, and have not met with him since. after more than three weeks, the former toad reappeared, but how he came up from beneath the floor i never could conceive, or how he had picked up a living in the meantime. he was, however, in good condition, and seemed to have lived well, probably on spiders and woodlice. he had been seen by a servant running about the carpet, but i knew nothing of his having come forth again, till in the evening, when he had got near the door, and it was suddenly opened so as to pass over the poor creature, and crush it terribly. i took it up apparently dead. it showed no sign of life; the eyes were closed, it did not breathe, and the backbone seemed quite broken, and the animal was crushed almost flat. i found a very curious milky secretion exuding from it, where it had been most injured and the skin was most broken. this was perfectly white, and had exactly the appearance of milk thrown over the toad. it did not bleed, though much lacerated; but instead of blood appeared this milky fluid, which had an odour of a most singular kind, different from anything i ever smelt. it is impossible to describe it. it was not fetid, but of a sickly, disgusting, and overpowering character, so that i could not endure to inhale it for a moment. i had read and seen a good deal of the extraordinary powers of revivification in toads, but was not prepared for what i witnessed on this occasion. i laid this poor animal, crushed, flattened, motionless, and to all appearance dead, upon a cold iron plate of the fireplace. he fell over on one side, and showed no sign of life for a full hour. after that he had slightly moved one leg, and so remained for about another half-hour. then he began to breathe feebly, and gathered up his legs, and his back began to rise up into its usual form. in about two hours from the time of the accident, he had so far recovered as to crawl about, though with difficulty. the milky liquor was reabsorbed, and gradually disappeared as the toad recovered. the next morning it was all gone, and no mark of injury could be seen, except a small hole in his back, which soon closed. he recovered so far as to move about pretty well, but his back appeared to have been broken, and one fore-leg crippled. i therefore thought it best to give him his liberty in the garden. but so wonderful and speedy a recovery i could never have believed without ocular testimony. "i then tried my third and last running toad. i began to keep him on sept. th. he was a very fine specimen, and larger than the two former. he fed well, and amused me exceedingly. he was very tame, and would sit on my hand quite quiet, and enjoy my stroking him gently down his head and back. soon after i got him he began to cast his skin. i helped him to get rid of it by stripping it down each side, which he seemed to like much, and sat very quiet during the operation. the new skin was quite beautiful, and shone as if varnished. this toad lived in a crystal palace, or glass jar, where i had kept all the others before him. he took food freely, and his appetite was so good that in one day he ate seven large flies and three bees without stings. he was particularly fond of woodlice and earwigs, but would take centipedes, moths, and even butterflies. being more active than common toads, he often made great efforts to get out of his glass jar. i used to let him run about the room nearly every day for a short time, and often treated him to a run in the garden. toads make a slight noise sometimes in the evenings, uttering a short sound like 'coo,' but i never heard them croak. before wet weather, and during its continuance, my toad was disinclined for food, and took no notice of flies even walking over his nose. he would then burrow and hide himself in the moss at the bottom of his glass palace. thus i kept him, and found him very tame and amusing. but after about two months he became more impatient of confinement, and refused to take any food. i did not perceive that he fell away, though his feet and toes turned of a dark colour, which i knew was a sign of being out of condition; and, on the th of november, i found him dead. i have now tried three of this sort, and have come to the conclusion that the running toad will not live in captivity. this i much regret, as its habits are interesting, and its ways very amusing. "f. c. husenbeth, d.d." * * * * * frog and toad concerts. it would be hard to believe the stories of the vocal powers of frogs and toads were they not related by trustworthy travellers, who tell of animal concerts, "wild as the marsh, and tuneful as the harp." mr. priest, the traveller in america, who was himself a musician, records:--"prepared as i was to hear something extraordinary from these animals, i confess the first _frog concert_ i heard in america was so much beyond anything i could conceive of the power of these musicians, that i was truly astonished. this performance was _al fresco_, and took place on the eighteenth of april, in a large swamp, where there were at least , performers; and i really believe not two exactly in the same pitch, if the octave can possibly admit of so many divisions, or shades of semitones." professor and mrs. louis agassiz, in their recent "journey in brazil," record:--"we must not leave parà without alluding to our evening concerts from the adjoining woods and swamps. when i first heard this strange confusion of sounds, i thought it came from a crowd of men shouting loudly, though at a little distance. to my surprise. i found that the rioters were the frogs and toads in the neighbourhood. i hardly know how to describe this babel of woodland noises; and, if i could do it justice, i am afraid my account would hardly be believed. at moments it seems like the barking of dogs, then like the calling of many voices on different keys; but all loud, rapid, excited, full of emphasis and variety. i think these frogs, like ours, must be silent at certain seasons of the year, for on our first visit to parà we were not struck by this singular music, with which the woods now resound at nightfall." song of the cicada. the greeks have been scoffed at for rendering in deathless verse the song of so insignificant an insect as the cicada; and hence it has been asserted that their love for such slender music must have been either exaggerated or simulated. it is pleasant, however, to hear an independent observer in the other hemisphere confirm their testimony. mr. lord tells us that in british colombia there is one sound or song which is clearer, shriller, and _more singularly tuneful than any other_. it never appears to cease, and it comes from everywhere--from the tops of the trees, from the trembling leaves of the cotton-wood, from the stunted under-brush, from the flowers, the grass, the rocks and boulders--nay, the very stream itself seems vocal with hidden minstrels, all chanting the same refrain. an especial feature of the cicada's song is, that it increases in intensity when the sun is hottest; and one of the later latin poets mentions the time when its music is at its highest, as an alternative expression for noon. mr. tennyson, inadvertently, speaks in "Ænone" of the grasshopper being silent in the grass, and of the cicada sleeping when the noonday quiet holds the hill. keats sings more truly:-- "when all the birds are faint with the hot sun, and hide in cooling trees, a voice will run from hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead: that is the grasshopper's." then the greek poets show us how intimately the song of the cicada is associated with the hottest hours of the day. aristophanes describes it as mad for the love of the sun; and theocritus, as scorched by the sun. when all things are parched with the heat (says alcæus), then from among the leaves issues the song of the sweet cicada. his shrill melody is heard in the full glow of noontide, and the vertical rays of a torrid sun fire him to sing. over and over again mr. lord met with allusions to the same peculiarity. cicadæ are regularly sold for food in the markets of south america. they are not eaten now, like they were at athens, as a whet to the appetite; but they are dried in the sun, powdered, and made into a cake. stories about the barnacle goose. "as barnacles turn poland geese in th' islands of the orcades."--_hudibras._ one of the earliest references to this popular error is in the "natural magic" of baptista porta, who says:--"late writers report that not only in scotland, but also in the river of thames by london, there is a kind of shell-fish in a two-leaved shell, that hath a foot full of plaits and wrinkles.... they commonly stick to the keel of some old ship. some say they come of worms, some of the boughs of trees which fall into the sea; if any of them be cast upon shore, they die; but they which are swallowed still into the sea, live and get out of their shells, and grow to be ducks, or such-like birds." professor max müller, in a learned lecture, enters fully into the origin of the different stories about the barnacle goose. he quotes from the "philosophical transactions" of a full account by sir robert moray, who declared that he had seen within the barnacle shell, as through a concave or diminishing glass, the bill, eyes, head, neck, breast, wings, tail, feet, and feathers of the barnacle goose. the next witness was john gerarde, master in chirurgerie, who, in , declared that he had seen the actual metamorphosis of the muscle into the bird, describing how-- "the shell gapeth open, and the first thing that appeareth is the fore said lace or string; next come the leg of the birde hanging out, and as it groweth greater, it openeth the shell by degrees, till at length it is all come forth, and hangeth only by the bill, and falleth into the sea, when it gathereth feathers and groweth to a foule, bigger than a mallart; for the truth hereof, if any doubt, may it please them to repair unto me, and i shall satisfie them by the testimonies of good witnesses." as far back as the thirteenth century, the same story is traced in the writings of giraldus cambrensis. this great divine does not deny the truth of the miraculous origin of the barnacle geese, but he warns the irish priests against dining off them during lent on the plea that they were not flesh, but fish. for, he writes, "if a man during lent were to dine off a leg of adam, who was not born of flesh either, we should not consider him innocent of having eaten what is flesh." this modern myth, which, in spite of the protests of such men as albertus magnus, Æneas sylvius, and others, maintained its ground for many centuries, and was defended, as late as , in a book by count maier, "de volucri arborea," with arguments, physical, metaphysical, and theological, owed its origin to a play of words. the muscle shells are called _bernaculæ_ from the latin _perna_, the mediæval latin _berna_; the birds are called _hibernicæ_ or _hiberniculæ_, abbreviated to _berniculæ_. as their names seem one, the creatures are supposed to be one, and everything conspires to confirm the first mistake, and to invest what was originally a good irish story--a mere _canard_--with all the dignity of scientific, and all the solemnity of theological truth. the myth continued to live until the age of newton. specimens of _lepadidæ_, prepared by professor rolleston of oxford, show how the outward appearance of the _anatifera_ could have supported the popular superstition which derived the _bernicla_, the goose, from the _bernicula_, the shell. drayton ( ), in his "poly-olbion," iii., in connexion with the river lee, speaks of "th' anatomised fish and fowls from planchers sprung;" to which a note is appended in southey's edition, p. , that such fowls were "barnacles, a bird breeding upon old ships." a bunch of the shells attached to the ship, or to a piece of floating timber, at a distance appears like flowers in bloom; the foot of the animal has a similitude to the stalk of a plant growing from the ship's sides, the shell resembles a calyx, and the flower consists of the tentacula, or fingers, of the shell-fish. the ancient error was to mistake the foot for the neck of a goose, the shell for its head, and the tentacula for feathers. as to the body, _non est inventus_. sir kenelm digby was soundly laughed at for relating to a party at the castle of the governor of calais, that "the barnacle, a bird in jersey, was first a shell-fish to appearance, and, from that striking upon old wood, became in time a bird." in , there was exhibited in spring-gardens, london, a "wonderful natural curiosity, called the goose tree, barnacle tree, or tree bearing geese," taken up at sea on january th, and more than twenty men could raise out of the water.[ ] sir j. emerson tennent asks whether the ready acceptance and general credence given to so obvious a fable may not have been derived from giving too literal a construction to the text of the passage in the first chapter of genesis:-- "and god said, let the _waters bring forth abundantly_ the moving creature that hath life, and the _fowl_ that may fly in the open firmament of heaven." the barnacle goose is a well-known bird, and is eaten on fast-days in france, by virtue of this old belief in its marine origin. the belief in the barnacle origin of the bird still prevails on the west coast of ireland, and in the western highlands of scotland. the finding of the barnacle is thus described by mr. sidebotham, to the microscopical and natural history section of the literary and philosophical society:--"in september, i was at lytham with my family. the day was very stormy, and the previous night there had been a strong south-west wind, and evidences of a very stormy sea outside the banks. two of my children came running to tell me of a very strange creature that had been washed up on the shore. they had seen it from the pier, and pointed it out to a sailor, thinking it was a large dog with long hair. on reaching the shore i found a fine mass of barnacles, _pentalasinus anatifera_, attached to some staves of a cask, the whole being between four and five feet long. several sailors had secured the prize, and were getting it on a truck to carry it away. the appearance was most remarkable, the hundreds of long tubes with their curious shells looking like what one would fancy the fabled gorgon's head with its snaky locks. the curiosity was carried to a yard where it was to be exhibited, and the bellman went round to announce it under the name of the sea-lioness, or the great sea-serpent. another mass of barnacles was washed up at lytham, and also one at blackpool, the same day or the day following. this mass of barnacles was evidently just such a one as that seen by gerard at the pile of foulders. it is rare to have such a specimen on our coasts. the sailors at lytham had never seen anything like it, although some of them were old men who had spent all their lives on the coast." footnote: [ ] "notes and queries," no. . leaves about bookworms. on paper, leather, and parchment are found various animals, popularly known as "bookworms." johnson describes it as a worm or mite that eats holes in books, chiefly when damp; and in the "guardian" we find this reference to its habits:--"my lion, like a moth or bookworm, feeds upon nothing but paper." many years ago an experienced keeper of the ashmolean museum at oxford collected these interesting details of bookworms:--"the larvæ of _crambus pinguinalis_ will establish themselves upon the binding of a book, and spinning a robe will do it little injury. a mite, _acarus eruditus_, eats the paste that fastens the paper over the edges of the binding and so loosens it. the caterpillar of another little moth takes its station in damp old books, between the leaves, and there commits great ravages. the little boring wood-beetle, who attacks books and will even bore through several volumes. an instance is mentioned of twenty-seven folio volumes being perforated in a straight line, by the same insect, in such a manner that by passing a cord through the perfect round hole made by it the twenty-seven volumes could be raised at once. the wood-beetle also destroys prints and drawings, whether framed or kept in a portfolio." there is another "bookworm," which is often confounded with the death-watch of the vulgar; but is smaller, and instead of beating at intervals, as does the death-watch, continues its noise for a considerable length of time without intermission. it is usually found in old wood, decayed furniture, museums, and neglected books. the female lays her eggs, which are exceedingly small, in dry, dusty places, where they are least likely to meet with disturbance. they are generally hatched about the beginning of march, a little sooner or later, according to the weather. after leaving the eggs, the insects are so small as to be scarcely discerned without the use of a glass. they remain in this state about two months, somewhat resembling in appearance the mites in cheese, after which they undergo their change into the perfect insect. they feed on dead flies and other insects; and often, from their numbers and voracity, very much deface cabinets of natural history. they subsist on various other substances, and may often be observed carefully hunting for nutritious particles amongst the dust in which they are found, turning it over with their heads, and searching about in the manner of swine. many live through the winter buried deep in the dust to avoid the frost. the best mode of destroying the insects which infest books and mss. has often occupied the attention of the possessors of valuable libraries. sir thomas phillips found the wood of his book-case attacked, particularly where beech had been introduced, and appeared to think that the insect was much attracted by the paste employed in binding. he recommended as preservatives against their attacks spirits of turpentine and a solution of corrosive sublimate, and also the latter substance mixed with paste. in some instances he found the produce of a single impregnated female sufficient to destroy a book. turpentine and spirit of tar are also recommended for their destruction; but the method pursued in the collections of the british museum is an abundant supply of camphor, with attention to keeping the rooms dry, warm, and ventilated. mr. macleay states it is the _acari_ only which feed on the paste employed in binding books, and the larvæ of the coleoptera only which pierce the boards and leaves. the ravages of the bookworm would be much more destructive had there not been a sort of guardian to the literary treasures in the shape of a spider, who, when examined through a microscope, resembles a knight in armour. this champion of the library follows the worm into the book-case, discovers the pit he has digged, rushes on his victim, which is about his own size, and devours him. his repast finished, he rests for about a fortnight, and when his digestion is completed, he sets out to break another lance with the enemy. the death-watch, already referred to, and which must be acquitted of destroying books, is chiefly known by the noise which he makes behind the wainscoting, where he ticks like a clock or watch. how so loud a noise is produced by so small an insect has never been properly explained; and the ticking has led to many legends. the naturalist degeer relates that one night, in the autumn of , during an entomological excursion in brittany, where travellers were scarce and accommodation bad, he sought hospitality at the house of a friend. he was from home, and degeer found a great deal of trouble in gaining admittance; but at last the peasant who had charge of the house told degeer that he would give him "the chamber of death," if he liked. as degeer was much fatigued, he accepted the offer. "the bed is there," said the man, "but no one has slept in it for some time. every night the spirit of the officer, who was surprised and killed in this room by some chouans, comes back. when the officer was dead, the peasants divided what he had about him, and the officer's watch fell to my uncle, who was delighted with the prize, and brought it home to examine it. however, he soon found out that the watch was broken, and would not go. he then placed it under his pillow, and went to sleep; he awoke in the night, and to his terror heard the ticking of a watch. in vain he sold the watch, and gave the money for masses to be said for the officer's soul, the ticking continued, and has never ceased." degeer said that he would exorcise the chamber, and the peasant left him, after making the sign of the cross. the naturalist at once guessed the riddle, and, accustomed to the pursuit of insects, soon had a couple of death-watches shut up in a tin case, and the ticking was reproduced. swift has prescribed this destructive remedy by way of ridicule:-- "a wood-worm that lies in old wood, like a hare in her form: with teeth or with claws it will bite, or will scratch; and chambermaids christen this worm a death-watch, because like a watch it always cries click: then woe be to those in the house that are sick! for, sure as a gun, they will give up the ghost if the maggot cries click when it scratches the post. but a kettle of scalding hot water ejected, infallibly cures the timber affected: the omen is broken, the danger is over; the maggot will die, the sick will recover." boring marine animals, and human engineers. were a young naturalist asked to exemplify what man has learned from the lower animals, he could scarcely adduce a more striking instance than that of a submarine shelly worker teaching him how to execute some of his noblest works. this we have learned from the life and labours of the _pholas_, of which it has been emphatically said:--"numerous accounts have been published during the last fourteen years in every civilized country and language of the boring process of the _pholas_; and machines formed on the model of its mechanism have for years been tunnelling mont cenis." in the eastern zoological gallery of the british museum, cases and , as well as in the museum of economic geology in piccadilly, may be seen specimens of the above very curious order of _conchifers_, most of the members of which are distinguished by their habits of boring or digging, a process in which they are assisted by the peculiar formation of the foot, from which they derive their name. of these ten families one of the most characteristic is that of the razor-shells, which, when the valves are shut, are of a long, flattened, cylindrical shape, and open at both ends. projecting its strong pointed foot at one of these ends, the _solen_ can work itself down into the sand with great rapidity, while at the upper end its respiratory tubes are shot out to bring the water to its gills. of the _pholadæ_, the shells of which are sometimes called multivalve, because, in addition to the two chief portions, they have a number of smaller accessory pieces, some bore in hard mud, others in wood, and others in rocks. they fix themselves firmly by the powerful foot, and then make the shell revolve; the sharp edges of this commence the perforation, which is afterwards enlarged by the rasp-like action of the rough exterior; and though the shell must be constantly worn down, yet it is replaced by a new formation from the animal, so as never to be unfit for its purpose. the typical bivalve of this family is the _pholas_, which bores into limestone-rock and other hard material, and commits ravages on the piers, breakwaters, &c., that it selects for a home. in the same family as the above dr. gray ranks the _teredo_,[ ] or wood-boring mollusc, whose ravages on ships, piles, wooden piers, &c., at sea resemble those of the white ant on furniture, joints of houses, &c., on shore. perforating the timber by exactly the same process as that by which the pholas perforates the stones, the teredo advances continually, eating out a contorted tube or gallery, which it lines behind it with calcareous matter, and through which it continues to breathe the water. the priority of the demonstration of the pholas and its "boring habits" has been much disputed. the evidence is full of curious details. it appears that mr. harper, of edinburgh, author of "the sea-side and aquarium," having claimed the lead. mr. robertson, of brighton, writes to dispute the originality; adding that he publicly exhibited pholades in the pavilion at brighton in july, , perforating chalk rocks by the raspings of their valves and squirtings of their syphons. professor flourens (says mr. robertson) taught my observations to his class in paris in ; i published them in , and again more fully in the "journal de conchyliologie," in ; and m. emile blanchard illustrated them in the same year in his "organisation du règne animal." i published a popular account of the perforating processes in "household words" in . after obtaining the suffrages of the french authorities, i have been recently honoured with those of the british naturalist. (see woodward's "recent and fossil shells," p. . family, pholadidæ.) on returning to england last autumn i exhibited perforating pholades to all the naturalists who cared to watch them. an intelligent lady whom i supplied with pholades has made a really new and original observation, which i may take this opportunity of communicating to the public. she observed two pholades whose perforations were bringing them nearer and nearer to each other. their mutual raspings were wearing away the thin partition which separated their crypts. she was curious to know what they would do when they met, and watched them closely. when the two perforating shell-fish met and found themselves in each other's way, the stronger just bored right through the weaker pholas.[ ] mr. robertson has communicated to "jameson's journal," no. , the results of his opportunities of studying the pholas, during six months, to discover how this mollusc makes its hole or crypt in the chalk: by a chemical solvent? by absorption? by ciliary currents? or by rotatory motions? between twenty and thirty of these creatures were at work in lumps of chalk, in sea-water, in a finger-glass, and open for three months; and by watching their operations. mr. robertson became convinced that the pholas makes its hole by grating the chalk with its rasp-like valves, licking it up when pulverized with its foot, forcing it up through its principal orbrambial syphon, and squirting it out in oblong nodules. the crypt protects the pholas from _confervæ_, which, when they get at it, grow not merely outside, but even with the lips of the valves, preventing the action of the syphons. in the foot there is a gelatinous spring or style, which, even when taken out, has great elasticity, and which seems the mainspring of the motions of the pholas. upon this dr. james stark, of edinburgh, writes: --"mr. robertson, of brighton, claims the merit of teaching that pholades perforate rocks by 'the rasping of their valves and the squirting of their syphons.' his observations only appear to reach back to . but the late mr. john stark, of edinburgh, author of the 'elements of natural history,' read a paper before the royal society of edinburgh, in , which was printed in the society's 'transactions' of that year, in which he demonstrated that the pholades perforate the shale rocks in which they occur on this coast, by means of the rasping of their valves, and not by acids or other secretions. from also finding that their shells scratched limestone without injury to the fine rasping rugosities, he inferred that it was by the same agency they perforated the hard limestone rocks." to this mr. robertson replies, that mr. osler also, in , demonstrated that the pholades "perforate the shale rocks by means of the rasping of their valves; and more, for he actually witnessed a rotatory movement. but réaumur and poli had done as much as this in the eighteenth and sibbald in the seventeenth century: and yet i found the solvent hypothesis in the ascendant among naturalists in , when i first interested myself in the controversy. what i did in was, i exhibited pholades at work perforating rocks, and explained how they did it. what i have done is, i have made future controversy impossible, by exhibiting the animals at work, and by discovering the anatomy and the physiology of the perforating instruments. in the words of m. flourens, 'i made the animals work before my eyes,' and i 'made known their mechanism.' the discovery of the function of the hyaline stylet is not merely a new discovery, it is the discovery of a kind of instrument as yet unique in physiology." mr. harper having termed the boring organ of the pholas the "hyaline stylet," found it to have puzzled some of the disputants, whereupon mr. harper writes:--"its use up to the present time has been a mystery, but the general opinion of authors seems to be, that it is the gizzard of the pholas. this i very much doubt, for it is my belief that the presence of such an important muscle is solely for the purpose of aiding the animal's boring operations. being situated in the centre of the foot, we can readily conceive the great increase of strength thus conveyed to the latter member, which is made to act as a powerful fulcrum, by the exercise of which the animal rotates--and at the same time presses its shell against and rasps the surface of the rock. the question being asked, 'how can the stylet be procured to satisfy curiosity?' i answer, by adopting the following extremely simple plan. having disentombed a specimen, with the point of a sharp instrument cut a slit in the base of its foot, and the object of your search will be distinctly visible in the shape of, if i may so term it, an opal cylinder. sometimes i have seen the point of this organ spring out beyond the incision, made as above described." lastly, mr. harper presented the editor of the "athenæum" with a piece of bored rock, of which he has several specimens. he adds, "on examination, you will perceive that the larger pholas must have bored through its smaller and weaker neighbour (how suggestive!), the shell of the latter, most fortunately, remaining in its own cavity." now, mr. robertson claimed for his observation of this phenomenon novelty and originality; but mr. harper stoutly maintained it to be "as common to the eye of the practised geologist as rain or sunshine." the details are curious; though some impatient, and not very grateful reader, may imagine himself in the condition of the shell of the smaller pholas, and will be, as he deserves to remain, in the minority.[ ] it may be interesting to sum up a few of the opinions of the mode by which these boring operations are performed. professor forbes states the mode by which molluscs bore into wood and other materials is as follows:--"some of the gauterspods have tongues covered with silica to enable them to bore, and it was probably by some process of this kind that all the molluscs bored." mr. peach never observed the species of pholas to turn round in their holes, as stated by some observers, although he had watched them with great attention. mr. charlesworth refers to the fact that, in one species of shell, not only does the hole in the rock which the animal occupies increase in size, but also the hole through which it projects its syphons. professor john phillips, alluding to the theories which have been given of the mode in which molluscs bore into the rocks in which they live, believes that an exclusively mechanical theory will not account for the phenomenon; and he is inclined to adopt the view of dr. t. williams--that the boring of the pholades can only be explained on the principle which involves a chemical as well as a mechanical agency. mr. e. ray lankester notices that the boring of annelids seems quite unknown; and he mentions two cases, one by a worm called leucadore, the other by a sabella. leucadore is very abundant on some shores, where boulders and pebbles may be found worm-eaten and riddled by them. only stones composed of carbonate of lime are bored by them. on coasts where such stones are rare, they are selected, and others are left. the worms are _quite soft_, and armed only with horny bristles. _how, then, do they bore?_ mr. lankester maintains that it is by carbonic acid and other acid excretions of their bodies, _aided_ by the mechanical action of their bristles. the selection of a material soluble in these acids is most noticeable, since the softest chalk and the hardest limestone are bored with the same facility. this can only be by chemical action. if, then, we have a case of chemical boring in these worms, is it not probable that many molluscs are similarly assisted in their excavations? footnotes: [ ] how brunel took his construction of the thames tunnel from observing the bore of the _teredo navalis_ in the keel of a ship, in , is well known. [ ] "athenæum," no. . [ ] see also "life in the sea," in "strange stories of the animal world," by the author of the present volume. second edition. . index. ancient zoological gardens, animals, rare, of london zoological society, , , annelids, boring, annelids and molluscs, boring habits of, ant-bear in captivity, ant-bear, the great, ant-bear at madrid, ant-bear described, ant-bear, domestic, in paraguay, ant-bear, economy of, ant-bear and its food, ant-bears, fossil, , ant-bear, muscular force of, ant-bear, wallace's account of, ant-bear, zoological society's, , , ant-eater, porcupine, ant-bear, professor owen on, ant-eaters, scarcity of, ant-eater, tamandua, ant-eaters, von saek's account of, aristotle's history of animals, , barnacle geese, finding of the, barnacle goose, gerarde on, barnacle goose, giraldus cambrensis on, barnacle goose, max müller on, barnacle goose, name of, barnacle goose, sir e. tennent on, barnacle goose, sir kenelm digby on, barnacle goose, sir r. moray on, barnacle goose, stories of the, - barnacles breeding upon old ships, barnacle geese in the thames, bat, altivolans, by gilbert white, bat, american, by lesson, bat, aristotle on, bat, mr. bell on, bats, curiosities of, bat, described by calmet, bat, flight and wing of, bats, in england, bat, heber, stedman, and waterton on, bats in jamaica, bat, kalong, of java, bat, long-eared, by sowerby, , - bat, nycteris, bat, rere-mouse and flitter-mouse, bat skeleton, sir c. bell on, bat in scripture, bat, vampire, from sumatra, bat, vampire, lines on, by byron, bat, vulgar errors respecting, bat-fowling or bat-folding, berlin zoological gardens and museum, bible natural history, birds, addison on their nests and music, , bird, australian bower, nest of, bird, baya, indian, nest of, birds and animals, beauty in, birds, brain of, birds, characteristics of, birds, colour of, bird confinement, dr. livingstone on, birds' eggs, large, birds' eggs, colours of, birds' eggs and nests, birds, european, list of, birds, flight of, , birds, insectivorous, ; instinct, intelligence, and reason, bird-life, bird-murder, wanton, birds' nesting, birds' nests--cape swallows, birds' nests--brush turkey, birds' nests, large, birds' eggs--ostrich and epyornis, , birds' nests--tailor birds, - birds, rapid flight of, birds, signal of danger among, birds, song of, birds, mr. wolley's collections, , bookworms, leaves about, bookworms and death-watch, boring marine animals, and human engineers, chameleon of the ancients, chameleon's antipathy to black, chameleons, mrs. belzoni's, - chameleons, birth of, in england, chameleon changing colour, , chameleon, cuvier on, chameleon, described by calmet, chameleon family, chameleon, air-food of, chameleon, milne edwards on its change of colour, - chameleons, native countries of, chameleon of the poets, chameleons, reproduction of, chameleon, tongue and eyes of, , chinese zoological gardens, cicada, song of the, cormorant's bone, curious, cormorants, chase of, cormorant fishery in china, cormorant, habits of the, cormorant trained for fishing, curiosities of zoology, eccentricities of penguins, : darwin, mr., his account of falkland islands penguin, ; dassent island penguins, ; death-watch and bookworm, , ; falkland islands penguins, ; king penguins, ; patagonian penguins, ; penguin, the name, ; webster, mr., his account of penguins, epicure's ortolan, the, epicurism extravagant, evelyn and st. james's physique garden, fish in british colombia, : candle-fish, ; octopus, ; salmon army, ; spoonbill sturgeon, ; sturgeons, and sturgeon fishing, - fish-talk, : affection of fishes, ; bohemian wels fish, ; bonita and flying fish, ; californian fish, ; carp at fontainebleau, ; cat-fish, curious account of, ; double fish, ; fish changing colour, ; fish noise, ; gold fish, ; grampus, gambols of, ; great general of the south sea, ; grouper, the, ; hassar, the, ; hearing of fishes, ; herring puzzle, ; jaculator fish of java, ; jamaica, curious fish at, ; little fishes the food of larger, ; marine observatory, ; mecho of the danube, ; migration of fishes, ; miller's thumb, ; numbers, vast, of fishes, ; pike, wonderful, ; pilot fish, ; sharks, ; singing fish, ; square-browed malthe, ; strange fishes, ; sun-fish, ; swimming of fishes, ; sword-fish, ; warrior fish, frog and toad concerts, hedgehog, the, hedgehog devouring snakes, hedgehog, food of, hedgehogs, gilbert white on, hedgehog and poisons, hedgehogs, sir t. browne on, hedgehog sucking cows, hedgehog and viper, fight between, , hedgehog, voracity of, hippopotamus, ancient history of, hippopotamus, described by aristotle and herodotus, hippopotamus, economy of the, hippopotamus, the, in england, hippopotami, fossil, hippopotami on the niger, hippopotamus, professor owen's description of, - hippopotamus and river horse, hippopotamus in scripture, hippopotamus, utility of, hippopotamus from the white nile, hippopotamus, zoological society's, in , - leaves about bookworms, lions in algeria, and jules gerard, lion, african, lion, bengal, lion described by bennett, lion described by buffon, - lion described by burchell, lion, disappearance of, lion and hottentots, , - lion-hunting feats, lion, "king of the forest," lion, longevity of, lion, maneless, - lion, niebuhr on, lion in the nineveh sculptures, , lions, the drudhoe, lions, popular errors respecting, lion, prickle or claw in the tail, - lion, roar of, lions in the tower of london, "lion tree" in the mantatee country, lion stories of the shows, lion-talk, lioness and her young, mermaid of , - mermaid in berbice, mermaid in the bosphorus, mermaid and dugong, mermaids, evidences of, mermaid at exmouth, mermaid, leyden's ballad, mermaid and manatee, mermaid at milford haven, mermaid, japanese, mermaid, scottish, , mermaids and sirens, mermaid's song, haydn's, mermaids, stories of, mermaid, structure of, mermaids in suffolk, mole, its economy controverted, mole, the ettrick shepherd on, mole, le court on, , mole and fairy rings, mole and farming, mole, feeling of, mole at home, mole, its hunting-ground, moles, loves of the, mole, structure of the, mole, st. hilaire on, mole, shrew, of north america, mole, voracity of, montezuma's zoological gardens, musical lizard, : climbing walls, , ; formosa isle, ; gecko ennobled, ornithological society, ortolan described, , ortolans, how fattened, ortolan, mr. gould on, , owls, : abyssinian owl, ; barn owl, ; bischaco, or coquimbo, ; boobook owl, ; cats and owls, ; fraser's eagle owl, from fernando po, ; food of owls, ; javanese owl, ; snowy owl, ; tricks by night, ; utility of, ; waterton on the owl, pelicans and cormorants, pelicans described by gould, pelican in japan, pelican popular error, , pelican pouches, pelican symbol, "pelican of the wilderness," pholas, life and labours of, pholades, charlesworth and peach on, pholades, harper on, pholades, robertson on, rhinoceros in england, : african rhinoceros in , ; ancient history, ; bruce and sparmann, ; burchell's shooting, ; horn of the rhinoceros, , ; indian wild ass, ; one-horned and two-horned, - ; scripture, rhinoceros of, ; speehnan's rhinoceros shooting, ; tegetmeir describes the african rhinoceros, ; tractability, ; varieties of rhinoceros, ; zoological society's rhinoceros, , sale of wild animals, sentinel birds, song of the cicada, songs of birds and seasons of the day, st. james's park menagerie, stories of the barnacle goose, - stories of mermaids, surrey zoological gardens, talking birds, : bittern and night raven, ; blue jay, ; canaries, talking, - ; chinese starling, ; crowned crane, ; cuckoo, ; laughing goose, ; nightingale, ; piping crow, ; snipe, neighing, ; trochilos and crocodile, ; umbrella bird, ; whidaw bird, ; wild swan, ; woodpecker at constantinople, talk about toucans, : bills of toucans, ; carnivorous propensity, ; economy of, ; food of, ; gould, mr., his grand monograph, , ; owen, professor, on the mandibles, ; swainson, mr., on toucans, toucan family, , ; white ants' nests, ; toucanet, gould's, toad and frog concerts, - toads, running, dr. husenbeth's, - tower of london menagerie, tree-climbing crab, the, : bernhard, hermit, and soldier crab, ; climbing perch, ; crab, burrowing, ; crab migration in jamaica, ; fishing-frogs, ; glass crabs, ; pill-making crabs, ; purse crab feeding on cocoa-nuts, ; robber crab, ; screw-pines, crab climbing, ; vaulted crab of the moluccas, unicorns, ancient, unicorn and antelope, unicorn in central africa, unicorn described by ctesias, , unicorn, cuvier on, unicorn, is it fabulous? unicorn, klaproth on, unicorn in kordofan, unicorn and its horn, , unicorn, modern, unicorn, ogilby on, unicorn, rev. j. campbell on, unicorn in the royal arms, weather-wise animals, : ants, asses, ; darwin's signs of rain, ; frogs and snails, - ; list of animals, - ; mole, ; mother carey's chickens and goose, ; redbreast, ; seagulls, ; signs of rain, ; stormy petrels, ; shepherd of banbury, ; toucans, ; weatherproof birds' nests, ; wild geese and ducks, wild animals, cost of, wild beast shows, zoological gardens, origin of, zoological society of london, zoology, curiosities of, c. a. macintosh, printer, great new-street, london. +----------------------------------------------------------------- + | transcriber's note: | | | | obvious punctuation and spelling errors repaired. | | word combinations that appeared with and without hyphens | | were changed to the predominant hyphenated form. | | original spelling and its variations were not standardized. | | | | corrections in the spelling of names were made when those | | could be verified. otherwise the variations were left as they | | were. | | | | page : "parrot-houses, the, sometimes...." changed to | | "parrot-houses: they sometimes contain...." | | | | page and others: kolobeng and kolenbeng. both spellings were | | retained. | | | | page and others: tussa, tussack and tussock. all spellings | | were retained. | | | | page : finisterre changed to finistère. | | | | page : cennexion changed to connexion "... in connexion with | | the river lee...." | | | | page : screw-pines, crab climbing, ; pagination changed | | to . | | | | the name of shakespeare appears with varying spellings. all | | variants were kept. | | | | some index entries are not in alphabetical order. they were not | | corrected. | | | | footnotes were moved to the ends of the chapters in which they | | belonged and numbered in one continuous sequence. the | | pagination in index entries which referred to these footnotes | | was not changed to match their new locations and is therefore | | incorrect. | +----------------------------------------------------------------- + online distributed proofreaders europe at http://dp.rastko.net (produced from page scans provided by the digital and multimedia center, michigan state university libraries) [illustration: dean swift.] irish wit and humor, anecdote biography of swift, curran, o'leary and o'connell. new york: j. a. mcgee, barclay street. . entered according to the act of congress, in the year , by james mcgee in the office of the librarian of congress, at washington. stereotyped at the new york catholic protectory, west chester, n. y. contents. dean swift. his birth--singular event a certificate of marriage grace after dinner the three crosses chief justice whitshed to quilca mr. pulteney resolutions when i come to be old miss bennet the feast of o'rourke swift's behavior at table countess of burlington swift's political principles swift's charity public absurdity in ireland swift's peculiarity of humor dr. bolton the scriblerus club the upstart meditation upon a broomstick cossing a dog trade of ireland a beggar's wedding the pies--short charity sermon a courtier's retort--lying dr. sacheverell taxing the air--wisdom epitaph on judge boat on stephen duck, the thresher and favorite poet dialogue between swift and his landlord roger cox roger and the poultry kelly the blacksmith birth-day presents the dean's contributory dinner swift and bettesworth swift among the lawyers preaching patriotism swift and his butler his saturnalia the dean and faulkner swift, arbuthnot, and parnell dean swift and the preacher who stole his sermon swift's queer testimonial to his servant swift at thomastown swift's last lines john philpot curran. his birth curran as punch's man at a debating society the bank--duel with st. leger the monks of the screw lord avonmore his first client curran and the informer lord clare curran's eloquence scene between fitzgibbon and curran defence of rowan encounter with a fishwoman curran and lord erskine duel with bully egan massy versus headfort the serenading lover employment of informers curran and the farmer curran and the judge curran's quarrel with fitzgibbon high authority red tape--curran and the mastiff arthur o'leary. his birth controversy with an infidel interview with dr. mann controversy with john wesley meeting of o'leary and wesley dr. o'leary and father callanan o'leary and the quakers his reception by the volunteers o'leary and john o'keefe o'leary and the irish parliament his interview with daniel danser a fop his person--captain rock lots drawn to have him at dinner reply to charge of recantation o'leary and the rector lady morgan a batch of interesting anecdotes a dog's religion howard and mr. henry shears his habits of study edmond burke his charity o'leary versus curran his triumph over dr. johnson a nolle prosequi the prince of wales the closing scenes of his life daniel o'connell. darby moran a dead man with life in him a young judge done o'connell and a snarling attorney his encounter with biddy moriarty o'connell and a bilking client sow-west and the wigs election and railway dinners scene at killiney an insolent judge a witness cajoled his duel with captain d'esterre o'connell and secretary goulburn entrapping a witness gaining over a jury paddy and the parson a martial judge retentive memory a political hurrah at a funeral refusal of office a mistaken frenchman epistolary bores sir r. peel's opinion of o'connell anecdote of o'connell's uncle a slight rebuke irish wit and humor. dean swift. his birth. dr. jonathan swift, dean of st. patrick's, was born a.d. , in hoey's court, dublin, the fourth house, right hand side, as you enter from werburgh-street. the houses in this court still bear evidence of having been erected for the residence of respectable folks. the "dean's house," as it is usually designated, had marble chimney-pieces, was wainscotted from hall to garret, and had panelled oak doors, one of which is in possession of doctor willis, rathmines--a gentleman who takes a deep interest in all matters connected with the history of his native city. singular event. when swift was a year old, an event happened to him that seems very unusual; for his nurse, who was a woman of whitehaven, being under the absolute necessity of seeing one of her relations, who was then extremely sick, and from whom she expected a legacy; and being extremely fond of the infant, she stole him on shipboard unknown to his mother and uncle, and carried him with her to whitehaven, where he continued for almost three years. for, when the matter was discovered, his mother sent orders by all means not to hazard a second voyage till he could be better able to bear it. the nurse was so careful of him that before he returned he had learned to spell; and by the time that he was five years old, he could read any chapter in the bible. after his return to ireland he was sent at six years old to the school of kilkenny, from whence at fourteen he was admitted into the dublin university. a certificate of marriage. swift, in one of his pedestrian journeys from london towards chester, is reported to have taken shelter from a summer tempest under a large oak on the road side, at no great distance from litchfield. presently, a man, with a pregnant woman, wore driven by the like impulse to avail themselves of the same covert. the dean, entering into conversation, found the parties were destined for litchfield to be married. as the situation of the woman indicated no time should be lost, a proposition was made on his part to save them the rest of the journey, by performing the ceremony on the spot. the offer was gladly accepted, and thanks being duly returned, the bridal pair, as the sky brightened, was about to return: but the bridegroom suddenly recollecting that a certificate was requisite to authenticate the marriage, requested one, which the dean wrote in these words: under an oak, in stormy weather, i joined this rogue and wench together, and none but he who rules the thunder, can put this wench and rogue asunder. grace after dinner. swift was once invited by a rich miser with a large party to dine; being requested by the host to return thanks at the removal of the cloth, uttered the following grace:-- thanks for this miracle!--this is no less than to eat manna in the wilderness. where raging hunger reign'd we've found relief, and seen that wondrous thing, a piece of beef. here chimneys smoke, that never smok'd before, and we've all ate, where we shall eat no more! the three crosses. swift in his journeys on foot from dublin to london, was accustomed to stop for refreshments or rest at the neat little ale-houses at the road's side. one of these, between dunchurch and daventry, was formerly distinguished by the sign of the _three crosses_, in reference to the three intersecting ways which fixed the site of the house. at this the dean called for his breakfast, but the landlady, being engaged with accommodating her more constant customers, some wagoners, and staying to settle an altercation which unexpectedly arose, keeping him waiting, and inattentive to his repeated exclamations, he took from his pocket a diamond, and wrote on every pane of glass in her best room:-- to the landlord. there hang three crosses at thy door: hang up thy wife, and she'll make four. chief justice whitshed. swift, in a letter to pope, thus mentions the conduct of this worthy chief justice:-- "i have written in this kingdom a discourse to persuade the wretched people to wear their own manufactures instead of those from england: this treatise soon spread very fast, being agreeable to the sentiments of a whole nation, except of those gentlemen who had employments, or were expectants. upon which a person in great office here immediately took the alarm; he sent in haste to lord chief justice whitshed, and informed him of a seditious, factious, and virulent pamphlet, lately published, with a design of setting the two kingdoms at variance, directing at the same time that the printer should be prosecuted with the utmost rigor of the law. the chief justice had so quick an understanding that he resolved, if possible, to outdo his orders. the grand juries of the county and city were practised effectually with to represent the said pamphlet with all aggravating epithets, for which they had thanks sent them from england, and their presentments published for several weeks in all the newspapers. the printer was seized, and forced to give great bail: after this trial the jury brought him in _not guilty_, although they had been culled with the greatest industry. the chief justice sent them back nine times, and kept them eleven hours, until, being tired out, they were forced to leave the matter to the mercy of the judge, by what they call a special verdict. during the trial, the chief justice, among other singularities, laid his hand on his breast, and protested solemnly that the author's design was to bring in the pretender, although there was not a single syllable of party in the whole treatise, and although it was known that the most eminent of those who professed his own principles publicly disallowed his proceedings. but the cause being so very odious and unpopular, the trial of the verdict was deferred from one term to another, until, upon the arrival of the duke of grafton, the lord lieutenant, his grace, after mature advice and permission from england, was pleased to grant a _nolle prosequi_." chief justice whitshed's motto on his coach. _libertas et natale solum._ liberty and my native country. _libertas et natale solum_; fine words! i wonder where you stole 'em: could nothing but thy chief reproach serve for a motto on thy coach? but let me now the words translate: _natale solum_:--my estate: my dear estate, how well i love it! my tenants, if you doubt, will prove it. they swear i am so kind and good, i hug them till i squeeze their blood. _libertas_ bears a large import: first, how to swagger in a court; and, secondly, to show my fury against an uncomplying jury; and, thirdly, 'tis a new invention to favor wood, and keep my pension: and fourthly, 'tis to play an odd trick, get the great seal, and turn out _brod'rick_. and, fifthly, you know whom i mean, to humble that vexatious dean; and, sixthly, for my soul to barter it for fifty times its worth to carteret. now since your motto thus you construe, i must confess you've spoken once true. _libertas et natale solum_, you had good reason when you stole 'em. on the same upright chief justice whitshed. in church your grandsire cut his throat: to do the job too long he tarried, he should have had my hearty vote, to cut his throat before he married. to quilca. this was a country house of dr. sheridan's, where swift and some of his friends spent a summer in the year , and being in very bad repair, swift wrote the following lines on the occasion:-- let me thy properties explain; a rotten cabin dropping rain: chimneys with scorn rejecting smoke: stools, tables, chairs and bedsteads broke. here elements have lost their uses, air ripens not, nor earth produces: in vain we make poor shelah toil, fire will not roast, nor water boil. through all the valleys, hills, and plains, the _goddess want_ in triumph reigns; and her chief officers of state; sloth, dirt, and theft, around her wait. mr. pulteney. swift says, in a letter to mr. pulteney: "i will do an unmannerly thing, which is to bequeath you an epitaph for forty years hence, in two words, _ultimus britannorum_. you never forsook your party. you might often have been as great as the court can make any man so; but you preserved your spirit of liberty when your former colleagues had utterly sacrificed theirs; and if it shall ever begin to breathe in these days, it must entirely be owing to yourself and one or two friends; but it is altogether impossible for any nation to preserve its liberty long under a tenth part of the present luxury, infidelity, and a million of corruptions. we see the gothic system of limited monarchy is extinguished in all the nations of europe. it is utterly extirpated in this wretched kingdom, and yours must be next. such has ever been human nature, that a single man, without any superior advantages either of body or mind, but usually the direct contrary, is able to attach twenty millions, and drag them voluntarily at his chariot wheels. but no more of this: i am as sick of the world as i am of age and disease. i live in a nation of slaves, who sell themselves for nothing." resolutions when i come to be old. these resolutions seem to be of that kind which are easily formed, and the propriety of which we readily admit at the time we make them, but secretly never design to put them in practice. . not to marry a young woman. . not to keep young company, unless they really desire it. . not to be peevish, or morose, or suspicious. . not to scorn present ways, or wits, or fashions, or men, or war, &c. . not to be fond of children. . not to tell the same story over and over to the same people. . not to be covetous. . not to neglect decency or cleanliness, for fear of falling into nastiness. . not to be over severe with young people, but to give allowance for their youthful follies and weaknesses. . not to be influenced by, or give ear to, knavish tattling servants, or others. . not to be too free of advice, nor trouble any but those who desire it. . to desire some good friends to inform me which of these resolutions i break or neglect, and wherein; and reform accordingly. . not to talk much, nor of myself. . not to boast of my former beauty or favor with ladies, &c. . not to hearken to flatteries, or believe i can be beloved by a young woman. . not to be positive or opiniative. . not to set up for observing all these rules, for fear i should observe none. miss bennet. this lady was a celebrated beauty in her day, and often mentioned by swift. dr. arbuthnot thus speaks of her in one of his letters: "amongst other things, i had the honor to carry an irish lady to court that was admired beyond all the ladies in france for her beauty. she had great honors done her. the hussar himself was ordered to bring her the king's cat to kiss. her name is bennet." this circumstance gave rise to the following lines by the dean:-- for when as nelly came to france, (invited by her cousins) across the _tuileries_ each glance kill'd frenchmen by whole dozens. the king, as he at dinner sat, did beckon to his hussar, and bid him bring his tabby cat for charming nell to buss her. the ladies were with rage provok'd, to see her so respected; the men look'd arch as nelly strok'd, and puss her tail erected. but not a man did look employ, except on pretty nelly; then said the duke de villeroi, ah! _qu'elle est bien jolie_! the courtiers all with one accord, broke out in nelly's praises: admir'd her rose, and _lis sans farde_, which are your terms _francaises_. the feast of o'rourke. swift had been heard to say more than once that he should like to pass a few days in the county of leitrim, as he was told that the native irish in that part were so obstinately attached to the rude manners of their ancestors, that they could neither be induced by _promises_, nor forced by _threats_, to exchange them for those of their neighbors. swift, no doubt, wished to know what they would get by the exchange. mr. core was resolved that the dean should be indulged to the fullest extent of his wish; for this purpose he had a person posted in cavan, who was to give him immediate notice when the dean arrived in that town, which he usually did once a year, and where he remained a day or two or longer, if the weather was not fair enough to travel. the instant mr. gore was informed of the dean's arrival, he called and invited him to pass a few days at a noble mansion which he had just finished on a wing of his own estate in that county. the dean accepted the invitation; and, as the season was fine, every thing as he advanced excited his attention; for, like other men, he was at times subject to "the skyey influence," and used to complain of the winds of march, and the gloom of november. mr. gore had heard so much of swift's peculiar manners that he was determined he should have his way in every thing; but was resolved, however, that he should be entertained in the old irish style of hospitality, which mr. gore always kept up to such a degree, that his house might be called a public inn without sign. the best pipers and harpers were collected from every quarter, as well as the first singers, for music is an essential ingredient in every irish feast. the dean was pleased with many of the irish airs, but was peculiarly struck with the feast of o'rourke, which was played by jeremy dignum, the irish timotheus, who swept the lyre with flying fingers, when he was told that in the judgment of the dean, he carried off the _spolia opima_ from all the rest of the musical circle. the words of the air were afterwards sung by a young man with so much taste and execution, that the dean expressed a desire to have them translated into english. dr. gore told him that the author, a mr. macgowran, lived at a little distance, and that he would be proud to furnish a literal translation of his own composition either in latin or english, for he was well skilled in both languages. mr. gore accordingly sent for the bard, the laureate of the plains, as he called himself, who came immediately. "i am very well pleased," said the dean, "with your composition. the words seem to be what my friend pope calls 'an echo to the sense.'" "i am pleased and proud," answered macgowran, "that it has afforded you any amusement: and when you, sir," addressing himself to the dean, "put all the strings of the irish harp in tune, it will yield your reverence a double pleasure, and perhaps put me out of my senses with joy." macgowran, in a short time, presented the dean with a literal translation, for which he rewarded him very liberally, and recommended him to the protection of mr. gore, who behaved with great kindness to him as long as he lived. to this incident we are indebted for the translation of a song or poem, which may be called a true picture of an irish feast, where every one was welcome to eat what he pleased, to drink what he pleased, to say what he pleased, to sing what he pleased, to fight when he pleased, to sleep when he pleased, and to dream what he pleased; where all was native--their dress the produce of their own shuttle--their cups and tables the growth of their own woods--their whiskey _warm from the still and faithful to its fires_! the dean, however, did not translate the whole of the poem; the remaining stanzas were translated some years since by mr. wilson, as follow:-- who rais'd this alarm? says one of the clergy, and threat'ning severely, cease fighting, i charge ye. a good knotted staff, the full of his hand, instead of the _spiradis_, back'd his command. so falling to thrash, fast as he was able, a trip and a box stretch'd him under the table. then rose a big friar, to settle them straight, but the back of the fire was quickly his fate. from whence he cried out, do you thus treat your _pastors_! ye that scarcely were bred to the _sewn wise masters_; that when with the pope i was getting my lore, ye were roasting potatoes at the foot of _sheemor_. swift's behavior at table. swift's manner of entertaining his guests, and his behavior at table, were curious. a frequent visitor thus described them: he placed himself at the head of the table, and opposite to a great pier glass, so that he could see whatever his servants did at the marble side-board behind his chair. he was served entirely in plate, and with great elegance. the beef being once over-roasted, he called for the cook-maid to take it down stairs and do it less. the girl very innocently replied that she could not. "why, what sort of a creature are you," exclaimed he, "to commit a fault which cannot be mended?" then, turning to one that sate next to him, he said very gravely, that he hoped, as the cook was a woman of genius, he should, by this manner of arguing, be able, in about a year's time, to convince her she had better send up the meat too little than too much done: at the same time he charged the men-servants, that whenever they thought the meat was ready, to take it up, spit and all, and bring it up by force, promising to assist them in case the cook resisted. another time the dean turning his eye towards the looking-glass, espied the butler opening a bottle of ale, and helping himself. "ha, friend," said the dean, "sharp is the word with you, i find: you have drunk my ale, for which i stop two shillings out of your board wages this week, for i scorn to be outdone in any thing, even in cheating." countess of burlington. swift was dining one day with the earl of burlington soon after his lordship's marriage, when that nobleman, expecting some diversion from swift's oddities of behavior, purposely neglected to name him to his lady, who was entirely ignorant of the dean's person. the dean generally wore his gowns till they were quite rusty, which being the case, she supposed him to be some clergyman of no great consequence. after dinner, the dean said to her, "lady burlington, i hear you can sing; come, sing me a song." the lady, disgusted with this unceremonious way of asking such a favor, positively refused him. he said she could sing, or he would make her. "what, madam, i suppose you take me for one of your poor paltry english hedge-parsons; sing, when i bid you!" as the earl did nothing but laugh at his freedom, the lady was so vexed that she burst into tears, and retired. his first compliment when he saw her a little time afterwards was, "pray, madam, are you as proud and ill-natured now as when i saw you last?" to which she replied with the greatest good humor, "no, mr. dean; i will sing for you now, if you please." from this time he conceived the greatest esteem for her, and always behaved with the utmost respect. those who knew swift, took no offence at his bluntness of behavior. it seems queen caroline did not, if we may credit his words in the verses on his own death. swift's political principles. in a letter to pope, alluding to the days when he took part in politics, he thus expresses himself:-- "i had likewise in those days a mortal antipathy to standing armies in times of peace. because i always took standing armies to be only servants, hired by the master of the family to keep his own children in slavery; and because i conceived that a prince who could not think himself secure without mercenary troops, must needs have a separate interest from that of his subjects. "as to parliaments, i adored the wisdom of that gothic institution which made them annual, and i was confident that our liberty could never be placed upon a firm foundation until that ancient law were restored among us. for who sees not, that while such assemblies are permitted to have a longer duration, there grows up a commerce of corruption between the ministry and the deputies, wherein they both find account, to the manifest danger of liberty; which traffic would neither answer the design nor expense, if parliaments met once a year. "i ever abominated that scheme of politics (now about thirty years old) of setting up a moneyed interest in opposition to that of the landed: for i conceived there could not be a truer maxim in government than this, that the possessors of the soil are the best judges of what is for the advantage of the kingdom. if others had thought the same way, funds of credit and south sea projects would neither have been felt nor heard of. "i could never see the necessity _of suspending any law_ upon which the liberty of the most innocent persons depend: neither do i think this practice has made the taste of arbitrary power so agreeable as that we should desire to see it repeated. every rebellion subdued, and plot discovered, contributes to the firmer establishment of the prince: in the latter case, the knot of conspirators is entirely broken, and they are to begin their work anew under a thousand disadvantages; so that those diligent inquiries into remote and problematical guilt, with a new power of enforcing them by chains and dungeons to every person whose face a minister thinks fit to dislike, are not only opposite to that maxim which declares it better that ten guilty men should escape than one innocent suffer, but likewise leave a gate wide open to the whole tribe of informers, the most accursed, and prostitute, and abandoned race that god ever permitted to plague mankind." swift's charity. one cold morning a poor ancient woman sat at the deanery steps a considerable time, during which the dean saw her through a window, and, no doubt, commiserated her desolate condition. his footman happened to go to the door, and the poor creature besought him to give a paper to his reverence. the servant read it, and told her his master had something else to do than to mind her petition. "what is that you say, fellow?" said the dean, putting his head out of the window; "come up here directly." the man obeyed him, and was ordered to tell the woman to come up to him. after bidding her to be seated, he directed some bread and wine to be given to her; after which, turning round to the man, he said, "at what time did i order you to open and read a paper directed to me? or to refuse a letter from any one? hark you, sirrah, you have been admonished by me for drunkenness, idleness, and other faults; but since i have discovered your inhuman disposition, i must dismiss you from my service: so pull off your clothes, take your wages, and let me hear no more of you." public absurdities in ireland. among the public absurdities in ireland, swift notices the insurance office against fire; the profits of which to the amount of several thousand pounds, were annually remitted to england. "for," observes he, "as if we could well spare the money, the society-marks upon our houses spread faster and further than the colony of frogs; and we are not only indebted to england for the materials to light our own fires, but for engines to put them out." swift's peculiarity of humor. trifles become of some consequence when connected with a great name, or when they throw any light on a distinguished character. spence thus relates a story told by pope: "dr. swift had an odd blunt way that is mistaken by strangers for ill nature. it is so odd that there is no describing it but by facts. i'll tell you one that first comes into my head. one evening gay and i went to see him: you know how intimately we were all acquainted. on our coming in, "hey-day, gentlemen (says the doctor), what's the meaning of this visit? how came you to leave all the lords that you are so fond of, to come here to see a poor dean?" "because we would rather see you than any of them." "ay, any one that did not know you so well as i do, might believe you. but since you are come, i must get some supper for you, i suppose." "no, doctor, we have supped already." "supped already, that's impossible! why it is not eight o'clock yet. that's very strange! but, if you had not supped, i must have got something for you. let me see what should i have had? a couple of lobsters; ay, that would have done very well; two shillings: tarts, a shilling. but you will drink a glass of wine with me, though you supped so much before your usual time only to spare my pocket." "no, we had rather talk with you than drink with you." "but if you had supped with me, as in all reason you ought to have done, you must then have drank with me. a bottle of wine, two shillings--two and two is four, and one is five; just two and sixpence a piece. there, pope, there's half-a-crown for you; and there's another for you, sir; for i won't save any thing by you, i am determined." this was all said and done with his usual seriousness on such occasions; and in spite of every thing we could say to the contrary, he actually obliged us to take the money." dr. bolton. dr. theophilus bolton was not only a learned divine, but a very fine gentleman. his merit as a preacher was so eminent that it was early rewarded with a mitre. swift went to congratulate him on the occasion, when he observed that as his lordship was a native of ireland, and had now a seat in the house of peers, he hoped he would employ his eloquence in the service of his distressed country. the prelate told him the bishopric was but a very small one, and he could not hope for a better if he disobliged the court. "very well," said swift; "then it is to be hoped when you have a better you will become an honest man." "ay, that i will, mr. dean." "till then, my lord, farewell," answered swift. the prelate was soon translated to a richer see, on which occasion swift called to remind him of his promise; but to no purpose: there was an arch-bishopric in view, and till that was obtained nothing could be done. having in a few years attained this object likewise, he then waited on the dean, and told him, "i am now at the top of my preferment, for i well know that no irishman will ever be made primate; therefore, as i can rise no higher in fortune or station, i will most zealously promote the good of my country." from that he became a most active patriot. the scriblerus club. before swift retired to ireland, mr. pope, dr. arbuthnot, mr. gay, mr. parnell, mr. jervas, and swift formed themselves into a society called the scriblerus club. they wrote a good many things in conjunction, and, according to goldsmith, gay was usually the amanuensis. the connection between these wits advanced the fame and interest of them all. they submitted their several productions to the review of their friends, and readily adopted alterations dictated by taste and judgment, unmixed with envy, or any sinister motive. when the members of the scriblerus club were in town, they were generally together, and often made excursions into the country. they generally preferred walking to riding, and all agreed once to walk down to lord burlington's about twelve miles from town. it was swift's custom in whatever company he might visit to travel, to endeavor to procure the best bed for himself. to secure that, on the present occasion, swift, who was an excellent walker, proposed, as they were leaving town, that each should make the best of his way. dr. parnell, guessing the dean's intentions, pretended to agree; but as his friend was out of sight, he took a horse, and arrived at his lordship's by another way, before swift. having acquainted his noble host with the other's design, he begged of him to disappoint it. it was resolved that swift should be kept out of the house. swift had never had the small-pox, and was, as all his friends knew, very much afraid of catching that distemper. a servant was despatched to meet him as he was approaching the gate, and to tell him that the small-pox was raging in the house, that it would be unsafe for him to enter the doors, but that there was a field-bed in the summer house in the garden, at his service. thither the dean was under the necessity of betaking himself. he was forced to be content with a cold supper, whilst his friends, whom he had tried to outstrip, were feasting in the house. at last after they thought they had sufficiently punished his too eager desire for his own accommodation, they requested his lordship to admit him into the company. the dean was obliged to promise he would not afterwards, when with his friends, attempt to secure the best bed to himself. swift was often the butt of their waggery, which he bore with great good humor, knowing well, that though they laughed at his singularities, they esteemed his virtues, admired his wit, and venerated his wisdom. many were the frolics of the scriblerus club. they often evinced the truth of an observation made by the poet, "_dulce est desipere in loco_." the time for wits to play the fool, is when they are met together, to relax from the severity of mental exertion. their follies have a degree of extravagance much beyond the phlegmatic merriment of sober dulness, and can be relished by those only, who having wit themselves, can trace the extravagance to the real source. this society carefully abstained from their frolics before the stupid and ignorant, knowing that on no occasion ought a wise man to guard his words and actions more than when in the company of fools. how long the scriblerus club lasted is not exactly ascertained, or whether it existed during the intimacy between swift and addison, previous to the doctor's connection with the tory ministry. the upstart. there was one character which, through life, always kindled swift's indignation, _the haughty, presuming, tyrannizing upstart_! a person of this description chanced to reside in the parish of laracor. swift omitted no opportunity of humbling his pride; but, as he was as ignorant as insolent, he was obliged to accommodate the coarseness of the lash to the callosity of the back. the following lines have been found written by swift upon this man:-- the rascal! that's too mild a name; does he forget from whence he came; has he forgot from whence he sprung; a mushroom in a bed of dung; a maggot in a cake of fat, the offspring of a beggar's brat. as eels delight to creep in mud, to eels we may compare his blood; his blood in mud delights to run; witness his lazy, lousy son! puff'd up with pride and insolence, without a grain of common sense, see with what consequence he stalks, with what pomposity he talks; see how the gaping crowd admire the stupid blockhead and the liar. how long shall vice triumphant reign? how long shall mortals bend to gain? how long shall virtue hide her face, and leave her votaries in disgrace? ----let indignation fire my strains, another villain yet remains-- let purse-proud c----n next approach, with what an air he mounts his coach! a cart would best become the knave, a dirty parasite and slave; his heart in poison deeply dipt, his tongue with oily accents tipt, a smile still ready at command, the pliant bow, the forehead bland---- meditation upon a broomstick. this single stick, which you now behold ingloriously lying in that neglected corner, i once knew in a flourishing state in a forest; it was full of sap, full of leaves, and full of boughs: but now in vain does the busy art of man pretend to vie with nature, by tying that withered bundle of twigs to its sapless trunk. it is now at best but the reverse of what it was, a tree turned upside down, the branches on the earth, and the root in the air. it is now handled by every dirty wench, condemned to do her drudgery, and by a capricious kind of fate, destined to make her things clean, and be nasty itself. at length, worn out to the stumps in the service of the maids, it is either thrown out of doors, or condemned to the last use, of kindling a fire. when i beheld this, i sighed and said within myself, _surely, mortal man is a broomstick_! nature sent him into the world strong and lusty, in a thriving condition, wearing his own hair on his head, the proper branches of this reasoning vegetable, until the axe of intemperance has lopped off his green boughs, and left him a withered trunk: he then flies to art, and puts on a periwig, valuing himself upon an unnatural bundle of hairs, all covered with powder, that never grew upon his head; but now, should this, _our broomstick_, pretend to enter the scene, proud of those birchen spoils it never bore, and all covered with dust, though the sweepings of the finest lady's chamber, we should be apt to ridicule and despise its vanity. partial judges that we are of our own excellencies, and other men's defaults! but a _broomstick_, perhaps you will say, is an emblem of a tree standing on its head; and pray what is man but a topsy-turvy creature, his animal faculties perpetually mounted on his rational, his head where his heels should be, groveling on the earth! and yet, with all his faults, he sets up to be a universal reformer and corrector of abuses, a remover of grievances, * * sharing deeply all the while in the very same pollutions he pretends to sweep away: his last days are spent in slavery to women, and generally the least deserving; till worn to the stumps like his brother besom, he is either kicked out of doors, or made use of to kindle flames for others to warm themselves by. cossing a dog. in a humorous paper written in , entitled, "an examination of certain abuses, corruptions, and enormities in the city of dublin," swift mentions this diversion, which he ludicrously enough applies to the violent persecutions of the political parties of the day. the ceremony was this: a strange dog happens to pass through a flesh market; whereupon an expert butcher immediately cries in a loud voice and proper tone, _coss, coss_, several times. the same word is repeated by the people. the dog, who perfectly understands the terms of art, and consequently the danger he is in, immediately flies. the people, and even his own brother animals, pursue: the pursuit and cry attend him perhaps half a mile; he is well worried in his flight; and sometimes hardly escapes. "this," adds swift, "our ill-wishers of the jacobite kind are pleased to call a persecution; and affirm, that it always falls upon dogs of the _tory_ principles." trade of ireland. swift being one day at a sheriffs feast, among other toasts the chairman called out, "mr. dean, the trade of ireland." the dean answered, "sir, _i drink no memories_." the idea of the answer was evidently taken from bishop brown's book against "drinking the memories of the dead," which had just then appeared, and made much noise. a beggar's wedding. as swift was fond of scenes in low life, he missed no opportunity of being present at them when they fell in his way. once when he was in the country, he received intelligence that there was to be a beggar's wedding in the neighborhood. he was resolved not to miss the opportunity of seeing so curious a ceremony; and that he might enjoy the whole completely, proposed to dr. sheridan that he should go thither disguised as a blind fiddler, with a bandage over his eyes, and he would attend him as his man to lead him. thus accoutred, they reached the scene of action, where the blind fiddler was received with joyful shouts. they had plenty of meat and drink, and plied the fiddler and his man with more than was agreeable to them. never was a more joyful wedding seen. they sung, they danced, told their stories, cracked jokes, &c., in a vein of humor more entertaining to the two guests than they probably could have found in any other meeting on a like occasion. when they were about to depart, they pulled out the leather pouches, and rewarded the fiddler very handsomely. the next day the dean and the doctor walked out in their usual dress, and found their companions of the preceding evening scattered about in different parts of the road and the neighboring village, all begging their charity in doleful strains, and telling dismal stories of their distress. among these they found some upon crutches, who had danced very nimbly at the wedding, others stone-blind, who were perfectly clear-sighted at the feast. the doctor distributed among them the money which he had received as his pay; but the dean, who mortally hated these sturdy vagrants, rated them soundly; told them in what manner he had been present at the wedding, and was let into their roguery; and assured them, if they did not immediately apply to honest labor, he would have them taken up and sent to gaol. whereupon the lame once more recovered their legs, and the blind their eyes, so as to make a very precipitate retreat. the pies. swift, in passing through the county of cavan, called at a homely but hospitable house, where he knew he should be well received. the lady bountiful of the mansion, rejoiced to have so distinguished a guest, runs up to him, and with great eagerness and flippancy asks him what he will have for dinner. "will you have an apple-pie, sir? will you have a gooseberry-pie, sir? will you have a cherry-pie, sir? will you have a currant-pie, sir? will you have a plum-pie, sir? will you have a pigeon-pie, sir?" "any pie, madam, but a _magpie_." short charity sermon. the dean once preached a charity sermon in st. patrick's cathedral, dublin, the length of which disgusted many of his auditors; which, coming to his knowledge, and it falling to his lot soon after to preach another sermon of the like kind in the same place, he took special care to avoid falling into the former error. his text was, "he that hath pity upon the poor lendeth unto the lord, and that which he hath given will he pay him again." the dean, after repeating his text in a more than commonly emphatical tone, added, "now, my beloved brethren, you hear the terms of this loan; if you like the security, down with your dust." the quaintness and brevity of the sermon produced a very large contribution. a courtier's retort. while the prosecution for the draper's fourth letter was depending, swift one day waited at the castle for an audience of lord carteret, the lord lieutenant, till his patience was exhausted; upon which he wrote the following couplet on a window, and went away:-- "my very good lord, 'tis a very hard task, for a man to wait here who has nothing to ask." the earl, upon this being shown to him, immediately wrote the following answer underneath:-- "my very good dean, there are few who come here, but have something to ask, or something to fear." lying. swift could not bear to have any lies told him, which his natural shrewdness and knowledge of the world generally enabled him to detect; and when the party attempted to palliate them, his usual reply was--"come, come, don't attempt to darn your cobwebs." dr. sacheverell. some time after the expiration of dr. sacheverell's punishment, having been silenced three years from preaching, and his sermon ordered to be burned, the ministry treated him with great indifference, and he applied in vain for the vacant rectory of st. andrew's, holborn. having, however, a slender acquaintance with swift, he wrote to him for his interest with government in his behalf, stating how much he had suffered in the cause of the ministry. swift immediately carried his letter to lord bolingbroke, then secretary of state, who railed much at sacheverell, calling him a busy intermeddling fellow; a prig and an incendiary, who had set the kingdom in a flame which could not be extinguished, and therefore deserved censure instead of reward. although swift had not a much better opinion of the doctor than lord bolingbroke, he replied, "true, my lord; but let me tell you a story. in a sea fight in the reign of charles the second, there was a very bloody engagement between the english and dutch fleets, in the heat of which a scotch sea-man was very severely bit by a louse on his neck, which he caught; and stooping down to crack it between his nails, many of the sailors near him had their heads taken off by a chain-shot from the enemy, which dashed their blood and brains about him; on which he had compassion upon the poor louse, returned him to his place and bid him live there at discretion, for as he had saved his life, he was bound in gratitude to save his." this recital threw my lord bolingbroke into a violent fit of laughing, who, when it was over, said, "the louse shall have the living for your story." and soon after sacheverell was presented to it. taxing the air. lady carteret, wife of the lord lieutenant, said to swift, "the air of ireland is very excellent and healthy." "for god's sake, madam," said swift, "don't say so in england; for if you do, they will certainly tax it." wisdom. wisdom (said the dean) is a _fox_, who, after long hunting, will at last cost you the pains to dig out: it is a _cheese_, which, by how much the richer, has the thicker, the homelier, and the coarser coat, and whereof to a judicious palate the maggots are the best; it is a _sack-posset_, wherein the deeper you go you will find it the sweeter. wisdom is a _hen_, whose cackling we must value and consider, because it is attended with an egg; but then, lastly, it is a _nut_, which, unless you choose with judgment, may cost you a tooth, and pay you with nothing but a worm. epitaph on judge boat. here lies judge _boat_ within a coffin, pray, gentlefolks, forbear your scoffin'; a _boat_ a judge! yes, where's the blunder a _wooden_ judge is no such wonder! and in his robes you must agree, no _boat_ was better _dekt_ than he. 'tis needless to describe him fuller, in short he was an able _sculler_. on stephen duck, the thresher and favorite poet. the thresher duck could o'er the queen prevail, the proverb says, "_no fence against a flail_." from _threshing_ corn he turns to _thresh his brains_, for which her majesty allows him gains. though 'tis confest, that those who ever saw his poems, think them all not worth a straw! thrice happy duck, employed in threshing _stubble_, thy toil is lessen'd and thy profits double. dialogue between swift and his landlord. the three towns of navan, kells, and trim, which lay in swift's route on his first journey to laracor, seem to have deeply arrested his attention, for he has been frequently heard to speak of the beautiful situation of the first, the antiquity of the second, and the time-shaken towers of the third. there were three inns in navan, each of which claims to this day the honor of having entertained dr. swift. it is probable that he dined at one of them, for it is certain that he slept at kells, in the house of jonathan belcher, a leicestershire man, who had built the inn in that town on the english model, which still exists, and, in point of capaciousness and convenience, would not disgrace the first road in england. the host, whether struck by the commanding sternness of swift's appearance, or from natural civility, showed him into the best room, and waited himself at table. the attention of belcher seems to have won so far upon swift as to have produced some conversation. "you're an englishman, sir?" said swift. "yes, sir." "what is your name?" "jonathan belcher, sir." "an englishman and jonathan too, in the town of kells--who would have thought it! what brought you to this country?" "i came with sir thomas taylor, sir; and i believe i could reckon fifty jonathans in my family, sir." "then you are a man of family?" "yes, sir; i have four sons and three daughters by one mother, a good woman of true irish mould." "have you been long out of your native country?" "thirty years, sir." "do you ever expect to visit it again?" "never." "can you say that without a sigh?" "i can, sir; my family is my country!" "why, sir, you are a better philosopher than those who have written volumes on the subject. then you are reconciled to your fate?" "i ought to be so; i am very happy; i like the people, and, though i was not born in ireland, i'll die in it and that's the same thing." swift paused in deep thought for near a minute, and then with much energy repeated the first line of the preamble of the noted irish statute--_ipsis hibernis hiberniores!_--"(_the english) are more irish than the irish themselves_." roger cox. what perhaps contributed more than any thing to swift's enjoyment, was the constant fund of amusement he found in the facetious humor and oddity of the parish clerk, roger cox. roger was originally a hatter in the town of cavan, trot, being of a lively jovial temper, and fonder of setting the fire-side of a village alehouse in a roar, over a tankard of ale or a bowl of whiskey, with his flashes of merriment and jibes of humor, than pursuing the dull routine of business to which fate had fixed him, wisely forsook it for the honorable function of a parish clerk, which he considered as an office appertaining in some wise to ecclesiastical dignity; since by wearing a band, no small part of the ornament of the protestant clergy, he thought he might not unworthily be deemed, as it were, "_a shred of the linen vestment of aaron_." nor was roger one of those worthy parish clerks who could be accused of merely humming the psalms through the nostrils as a sack-butt, but much oftener instructed and amused his fellow-parishioners with the amorous ditties of the _waiting maid's lamentation_, or one of those national songs which awake the remembrance of glorious deeds, and make each man burn with the enthusiasm of the conquering hero. with this jocund companion swift relieved the tediousness of his lonesome retirement; nor did the easy freedom which he indulged with roger ever lead his humble friend beyond the bounds of decorum and respect. roger's dress was not the least extraordinary feature of his appearance. he constantly wore a full-trimmed scarlet waistcoat of most uncommon dimensions, a light grey coat, which altogether gave him an air of singularity and whim as remarkable as his character. to repeat all the anecdotes and witticisms which are recorded of the prolific genius of roger in the simple annals of laracor, would fill a little volume. he died at the good old age of ninety. soon after swift's arrival at laracor, he gave public notice that he would read prayers every wednesday and friday. on the first of those days after he had summoned his congregation, he ascended the desk, and after sitting some time with no other auditor than his clerk roger, he rose up and with a composure and gravity that, upon this occasion, were irresistibly ridiculous, began--"dearly beloved roger, the scripture moveth you and me in sundry places," and so proceeded to the end of the service. the story is not quite complete. but the fact is, that when he went into the church he found roger _alone_, and exclaimed with evident surprise, "_what, roger! none here but you_?" "_yes, sir_," replied roger drily (turning over the book to find the lessons, for the day), "_sure you are here too_." roger and the poultry. there happened, while swift was at laracor, the sale of a farm and stock, the farmer being dead. swift chanced to walk past during the auction just as a pen of poultry had been put up. roger bid for them, and was overbid by a farmer of the name of hatch. "what, roger, won't you buy the poultry?" exclaimed swift. "no, sir," said roger, "i see they are _just a'going to hatch_." kelly the blacksmith. although roger took the lead, he did not monopolize all the wit, of the parish. it happened that swift, having been dining at some little distance from laracor, was returning home on horseback in the evening, which was pretty dark. just before he reached kellistown, a neighboring village, his horse lost a shoe. unwilling to run the risk of laming the animal by continuing his ride in that condition, he stopped at one kelly's, the blacksmith of the village, where, having called the man, he asked him if he could shoe a horse with a _candle_. "no," replied the smutty son of vulcan, "but i can with a _hammer_." swift, struck with the reply, determined to have a little more conversation with him. accordingly, he alighted and went into the cabin, which was literally rotten, but supported, wherever it had given way at different times, with pieces of timber. swift, as was usual with him, began to rate poor kelly soundly for his indolence in not getting his house put into better repair, in which the wife joined. "hold, doctor, for one moment!" exclaimed kelly, "and tell me, whether you ever saw a _rotten_ house _better_ supported in all your life." birth-day presents. it was for many years a regular custom with swift's most intimate friends to make him some presents on his birth day. on that occasion, th november, , lord orrery presented him with a paper book, finely bound, and dr delany with a silver standish, accompanied with the following verses;-- to dr. swift, with a paper book, by john, earl of orrery to thee, dear swift, those spotless leaves i send; small is the present, but sincere the friend. think not so poor a book below thy care; who knows the price that thou canst make it bear? tho' tawdry now, and like tyralla's face, the spacious front shines out with borrow'd grace; tho' pasteboards, glitt'ring like a tinsell'd coat, a _rasa tabula_ within denote; yet if a venal and corrupted age, and modern vices should provoke thy rage; if, warn'd once more by their impending fate, a sinking country and an injured state thy great assistance should again demand, and call forth reason to defend the land; then shall we view these sheets with glad surprise inspired with thought, and speaking to our eyes: each vacant space shall then, enrich'd, dispense true force of eloquence and nervous sense; inform the judgment, animate the heart, and sacred rules of policy impart. the spangled cov'ring, bright with splendid ore, shall cheat the sight with empty show no more; but lead us inward to those golden mines, where all thy soul in native lustre shines. so when the eye surveys some lovely fair, with bloom of beauty, graced with shape and air, how is the rapture heightened when we find the form excelled by her celestial mind! verses left with a silver standish on the dean's desk, by dr. delany. hither from mexico i came, to serve a proud iernian dame; was long submitted to her will, at length she lost me at quadrille. through various shapes i often passed, still hoping to have rest at last; and still ambitious to obtain admittance to the patriot dean; and sometimes got within his door, but soon turn'd out to serve the poor; not strolling idleness to aid, but honest industry decay'd. at length an artist purchased me, and wrought me to the shape you see. this done, to hermes i applied: "o hermes! gratify my pride! be it my fate to serve a sage, the greatest genius of his age; that matchless pen let me supply, whose living lines will never die!" "i grant your suit," the god replied, and here he left me to reside. verses by swift, on the occasion. a paper book is sent by _boyle,_ too neatly gilt for me to soil: delany sends a silver standish, when i no more a pen can brandish. let both around my tomb be placed, as trophies of a muse deceas'd: and let the friendly lines they writ, in praise of long departed wit, be graved on either side in columns, more to my praise than all my volumes; to burst with envy, spite, and rage, the vandals of the present age. the dean's contributory dinner. dean swift once invited to dinner several of the first noblemen and gentlemen in dublin. a servant announced the dinner, and the dean led the way to the dining-room. to each chair was a servant, a bottle of wine, a roll, and an inverted plate. on taking his seat, the dean desired the guests to arrange themselves according to their own ideas of precedence, and fall to. the company were astonished to find the table without a dish or any provisions. the lord chancellor, who was present, said, "mr. dean, we do not see the joke." "then i will show it you," answered the dean, turning up his plate, under which was half-a-crown and a bill of fare from a neighboring tavern. "here, sir," said he, to his servant, "bring me a plate of goose." the company caught the idea, and each man sent his plate and half-a-crown. covers, with everything that the appetites of the moment dictated, soon appeared. the novelty, the peculiarity of the manner, and the unexpected circumstances, altogether excited the plaudits of the noble guests, who declared themselves particularly gratified by the dean's entertainment. "well," said the dean, "gentlemen, if you have dined, i will order _dessert_." a large roll of paper, presenting the particulars of a splendid dinner, was produced, with an estimate of expense. the dean requested the accountant-general to deduct the half-crowns from the amount, observing, "that as his noble guests were pleased to express their satisfaction with the dinner, he begged their advice and assistance in disposing of the _fragments_ and _crumbs_," as he termed the balance mentioned by the accountant-general--which was two hundred and fifty pounds. the company said, that no person was capable of instructing the dean in things of that nature. after the circulation of the finest wines, the most judicious remarks on charity and its abuse were introduced, and it was agreed that the proper objects of liberal relief were well-educated families, who from affluence, or the expectation of it, were reduced through misfortune to silent despair. the dean then divided the sum by the number of his guests, and addressed them according to their respective private characters, with which no one was, perhaps, better acquainted. "you, my lords," said the dean to several young noblemen, "i wish to introduce to some new acquaintance, who will at least make their acknowledgment for your favors with sincerity. you, my reverend lords," addressing the bishops present, "adhere so closely to the spirit of the scriptures, that your left hands are literally ignorant of the beneficence of your right. you, my lord of kildare, and the two noble lords near you, i will not entrust with any part of this money, as you have been long in the _usurious_ habits of lending your own on such occasions; but your assistance, my lord of kerry, i must entreat, as charity covereth a multitude of sins." swift and bettesworth. dean swift having taken a strong dislike to sergeant bettesworth, revenged himself by the following lines in one of his poems: so at the bar the booby bettesworth, tho' half-a-crown outpays his sweat's worth, who knows in law nor text nor margent, calls singleton his brother sergeant. the poem was sent to bettesworth, when he was in company with some of his friends. he read it aloud, till he had finished the lines relating to himself. he then flung it down with great violence, trembled and turned pale. after some pause, his rage for a while depriving him of utterance, he took out his penknife, and swore he would cut off the dean's ears with it. soon after he went to seek the dean at his house; and not finding him at home, followed him to a friend's, where he had an interview with him. upon entering the room, swift desired to know his commands. "sir," says he, "i am sergeant bet-tes-worth;" in his usual pompous way of pronouncing his name in three distinct syllables. "of what regiment, pray?" says swift. "o, mr. dean, we know your powers of raillery; you know me well enough, that i am one of his majesty's sergeants-at-law." "what then, sir?" "why then, sir, i am come to demand of you, whether you are the author of this poem (producing it), and the villanous lines on me?" at the same time reading them aloud with great vehemence of emphasis, and much gesticulation. "sir," said swift, "it was a piece of advice given me in my early days by lord somers, never to own or disown any writing laid to my charge; because, if i did this in some cases, whatever i did not disown afterwards would infallibly be imputed to me as mine. now, sir, i take this to have been a very wise maxim, and as such have followed it ever since; and i believe it will hardly be in the power of all your rhetoric, as great a master as you are of it, to make me swerve from that rule." bettesworth replied, "well, since you will give me no satisfaction in this affair, let me tell you, that your gown is alone your protection," and then left the room. the sergeant continuing to utter violent threats against the dean, there was an association formed and signed by all the principal inhabitants of the neighborhood, to stand by and support their generous benefactor against any one who should attempt to offer the least injury to his person or fortune. besides, the public indignation became so strong against the sergeant, that although he had made a considerable figure at the bar, he now lost his business, and was seldom employed in any suit afterwards. swift among the lawyers. dean swift having preached an assize sermon in ireland, was invited to dine with the judges; and having in his sermon considered the use and abuse of the law, he then pressed a little hard upon those counsellors, who plead causes which they knew in their consciences to be wrong. when dinner was over, and the glass began to go round, a young barrister retorted upon the dean; and after several altercations, the counsellor asked him, "if the devil was to die, whether a _parson_ might not be found, who, for money, would preach his funeral?" "yes," said swift, "i would gladly be the man, and i would then give the _devil_ his due, as i have this day done his _children_." preaching patriotism. dean swift is said to have jocularly remarked, that he never preached but twice in his life, and then they were not sermons, but pamphlets. being asked, upon what subject? he replied, they were against wood's halfpence. one of these sermons has been preserved, and is from this text, "as we have the opportunity, let us do good to all men." its object was to show the great want of public spirit in ireland, and to enforce the necessity of practising that virtue. "i confess," said he, "it was chiefly the consideration of the great danger we are in, which engaged me to discourse to you on this subject, to exhort you to a love of your country, and a public spirit, when all you have is at stake; to prefer the interest of your prince and your fellow subjects before that of one destructive impostor, and a few of his adherents." "perhaps it may be thought by some, that this way of discoursing is not so proper from the pulpit; but surely when an open attempt is made, and far carried on, to make a great kingdom one large poor-house; to deprive us of all means to excite hospitality or charity; to turn our cities and churches into ruins; to make this country a desert for wild beasts and robbers; to destroy all arts and sciences, all trades and manufactures, and the very tillage of the ground, only to enrich one obscure ill-designing projector, and his followers; it is time for the pastor to cry out that the wolf is getting into his flock, to warn them to stand together, and all to consult the common safety. and god be praised for his infinite goodness, in raising such a spirit of union among us at least in this point, in the midst of all our former divisions; which union, if it continues, will in all probability defeat the pernicious design of this pestilent enemy to the nation." it will scarcely be credited, that this dreadful description, when stripped of its exaggerations, meant no more than that ireland might lose about six thousand a year during wood's patent for coining halfpence! swift and his butler during the publication of the drapers letters, swift was particularly careful to conceal himself from being known as the author. the only persons in the secret, were robert blakely, his butler, whom he employed as an amanuensis, and dr. sheridan. it happened, that on the very evening before the proclamation, offering a reward of £ for discovering the author of these letters, was issued, robert blakely stopped out later than usual without his master's leave. the dean ordered the door to be locked at the accustomed hour, and shut him out. the next morning the poor fellow appeared before his master with marks of great contrition. swift would hear no excuses, but abusing him severely, bade him strip off his livery, and quit the house instantly. "what!" said he, "is it because i am in your power that you dare to take these liberties with me? get out of my house, and receive the reward of your treachery." mrs. johnson (stella), who was at the deanery, did not interfere, but immediately dispatched a messenger to dr. sheridan, who on his arrival found robert walking up and down the hall in great agitation. the doctor bade him not be uneasy, as he would try to pacify the dean, so that he should continue in his place. "that is not what vexes me," replied robert, "though to be sure i should be sorry to lose so good a master; but what grieves me to the soul, is, that my master should have so bad an opinion of me, as to suppose me capable of betraying him for any reward whatever." when this was related to the dean, he was so struck with the honor and generosity of sentiment, which it exhibited in one so humble in life, that he immediately restored him to his situation, and was not long in rewarding his fidelity. the place of verger to the cathedral becoming vacant, swift called robert to him, and asked him if he had any clothes of his own that were not a livery? robert replying in the affirmative, he desired him to take off his livery, and put them on. the poor fellow, quite astonished, begged to know what crime he had committed, that he was to be discharged. the dean bade him do as he was ordered; and when he returned in his new dress, the dean called all the other servants into the room, and told them that they were no longer to consider him as their fellow-servant robert, but as mr. blakely, verger of st. patrick's cathedral; an office which he had bestowed on him for his faithful services, and as a proof of that sure reward, which honesty and fidelity would always obtain. his saturnalia. dean swift, among other eccentricities, determined upon having a feast once a year, in imitation of the saturnalia in ancient rome. in this project he engaged several persons of rank, and his plan was put in execution at the deanery house. when all the servants were seated, and every gentleman placed behind his own servant, the dean's footman, who presided, found fault with some meat that was not done to his taste; and imitating his master on such occasions, threw it at him. but the dean was either so mortified by the reproof, or so provoked at the insult, that he flew into a violent passion, beat the fellow, and dispersed the whole assembly.--thus abruptly terminated the dean's saturnalia. the dean and faulkner. george faulkner, the dublin printer, once called on dean swift on his return from london, dressed in a rich coat of silk brocade and gold lace, and seeming not a little proud of the adorning of his person: the dean determined to humble him. when he entered the room, and saluted the dean with all the respectful familiarity of an old acquaintance, the dean affected not to know him; in vain did he declare himself as george faulkner, the dublin printer; the dean declared him an impostor, and at last abruptly bade him begone. faulkner, perceiving the error he had committed, instantly returned home, and resuming his usual dress, again went to the dean, when he was very cordially received. "ah, george," said he, "i am so glad to see you, for here has been an impudent coxcomb, bedizened in silks and gold lace, who wanted to pass himself off for you; but i soon sent the fellow about his business; for i knew you to be _always_ a plain dressed and honest man, just as you now appear before me." swift, arbuthnot, and parnell. swift, arbuthnot, and parnell, taking the advantage of a fine frosty morning, set out together upon a walk to a little place which lord bathurst had, about eleven miles from london. swift, remarkable for being an old traveller, and for getting possession of the best rooms and warmest beds, pretended, when they were about half way, that he did not like the slowness of their pace; adding, that he would walk on before them, and acquaint his lordship with their journey. to this proposal they readily agreed; but as soon as he was out of sight, sent off a horseman by a private way (suspecting their friend's errand), to inform his lordship of their apprehensions. the man arrived in time enough to deliver his message before swift made his appearance. his lordship then recollecting that the dean never had the small-pox, thought of the following stratagem. seeing him coming up the avenue, he ran out to meet him, and expressed his happiness at the sight of him. "but i am mortified at one circumstance," continued his lordship, "as it must deprive me of the pleasure of your company; there is a raging small-pox in the house: i beg, however, that you will accept of such accommodation as a small house at the bottom of the avenue can afford you." swift was forced to comply with this request: and in this solitary situation, fearful of speaking to any person around him, he was served with dinner. in the evening, the wits thought proper to release him, by going down to him in a body, to inform him of the deception, and to tell him that the first best room and bed in the house were at his service. swift, though he might be inwardly chagrined, deemed it prudent to join in the laugh against himself; they adjourned to the mansion-house, and spent the evening in a manner easily to be conceived by those who are in the least acquainted with the brilliancy of their powers. dean swift and the preacher who stole his sermon. the eccentric dean swift, in the course of one of those journies to holyhead, which, it is well known, he several times performed _on foot_, was travelling through church stretton, shropshire, when he put up at the sign of the crown, and finding the host to be a communicative good-humored man, inquired if there was any agreeable person in town, with whom he might partake of a dinner (as he had desired him to provide one), and that such a person should have nothing to pay. the landlord immediately replied, that the curate, mr. jones, was a very agreeable, companionable man, and would not, he supposed, have any objection to spend a few hours with a gentleman of his appearance. the dean directed him to wait on mr. jones, with his compliments, and say that a traveller would be glad to be favored with his company at the crown, if it was agreeable. when mr. jones and the dean had dined, and the glass began to circulate, the former made an apology for an occasional absence, saying that at three o'clock he was to read prayers and preach at the church. upon this intimation, the dean replied, that he also should attend prayers. service being ended, and the two gentlemen having resumed their station at the crown, the dean began to compliment mr. jones on his delivery of a very appropriate sermon; and remarked, that it must have cost him (mr. jones) some time and attention to compose such a one. mr. jones observed, that his duty was rather _laborious_, as he served another parish church at a distance; which, with the sunday and weekly service at church stretton, straitened him much with respect to the time necessary for the composition of sermons; so that when the subjects pressed, he could only devote a few days and nights to that purpose. "well," says the dean, "it is well for you to have such a talent; for my part, the very sermon you preached this afternoon, cost me some _months_ in the composing." on this observation, mr. jones began to look very gloomy, and to recognize his companion. "however," rejoined the dean, "don't you be alarmed; you have so good a talent at delivery, that i hereby declare, you have done more honor to my sermon this day, than i _could_ do myself; and by way of compromising the matter, you must accept of this half-guinea for the justice you have done in the delivery of it." swift's queer testimonial to his servant. dean swift, standing one morning at the window of his study, observed a decent old woman offer a paper to one of his servants, which the fellow at first refused in an insolent and surly manner. the woman however pressed her suit with all the energy of distress, and in the end prevailed. the dean, whose very soul was compassion, saw, felt, and was determined to alleviate her misery. he waited most anxiously for the servant to bring the paper; but to his surprise and indignation, an hour elapsed, and the man did not present it. the dean again looked out. the day was cold and wet, and the wretched petitioner still retained her situation, with many an eloquent and anxious look at the house. the benevolent divine lost all patience, and was going to ring the bell, when he observed the servant cross the street, and return the paper with the utmost _sang froid_ and indifference. the dean could bear no longer; he threw up the sash, and loudly demanded what the paper contained. "it is a petition, please your reverence," replied the woman. "bring it up, rascal!" cried the enraged dean. the servant, surprised and petrified, obeyed. with swift, to know distress was to pity it; to pity to relieve. the poor woman was instantly made happy, and the servant almost as instantly turned out of doors, with the following written testimonial of his conduct. "the bearer lived two years in my service, in which time he was frequently drunk and negligent of his duty; which, conceiving him to be honest, i excused; but at last detecting him in a flagrant instance of cruelty, i discharge him." such were the consequences of this paper, that for seven years the fellow was an itinerant beggar; after which the dean forgave him; and in consequence of another paper equally singular, he was hired by mr. pope, with whom he lived till death removed him. swift at thomastown. dean swift had heard much of the hospitable festivities of thomastown, the seat of mr. matthew (see anecdotes of conviviality), from his friend dr. sheridan, who had been often, a welcome guest, both on account of his convivial qualities, and as being the preceptor of the nephew of mr. matthew. he, at length, became desirous of ascertaining with his own eyes, the truth of a report, which he could not forbear considering as greatly exaggerated. on receiving an intimation of this from sheridan, mr. matthew wrote a polite letter to the dean, requesting the honor of a visit, in company with the doctor, at his next school vacation. they accordingly set out on horseback, attended by a gentleman who was a near relation to mr. matthew. they had scarcely reached the inn where they intended to pass the first night, and which, like most of the irish inns at that time, afforded but miserable entertainment, when they were surprised by the arrival of a coach and six horses, sent to convey them the remainder of the journey to thomastown; and at the same time, bringing a supply of the choicest viands, wines, and other liquors, for their refreshment. swift was highly pleased with this uncommon mark of attention paid him; and the coach proved particularly acceptable, as he had been a good deal fatigued with his day's journey. when they came in sight of the house, the dean, astonished at its magnitude, cried out, "what, in the name of god, can be the use of such a vast building?" "why, mr. dean," replied the fellow traveller before mentioned, "there are no less than forty apartments for guests in that house, and all of them probably occupied at this time, except what are reserved for us." swift, in his usual manner, called out to the coachman, to stop, and drive him back to dublin, for he could not think of mixing with such a crowd. "well," said he, immediately afterwards, "there is no remedy, i must submit, but i have lost a fortnight of my life." mr. mathew received him at the door with uncommon marks of respect; and then conducting him to his apartments, after some compliments, made his usual speech, acquainting him with the customs of the house, and retired, leaving him in possession of his castle. soon after, the cook appeared with his bill of fare, to receive his directions about supper; and the butler at the same time, with a list of wines, and other liquors. "and is all this really so?" said swift, "and may i command here, as in my own house?" his companion assured him he might, and that nothing could be more agreeable to the owner of the mansion, than that all under his roof should live comformably to their own inclinations, without the least restraint. "well then," said swift, "i invite you and dr. sheridan to be my guests, while i stay; for i think i shall scarcely be tempted to mix with the mob below." three days were passed in riding over the demesne, and viewing the various improvements, without ever seeing mr. mathew, or any of the guests; nor were the company below much concerned at the dean's absence, as his very name usually inspired those who did not know him, with awe; and they were afraid that his presence would put an end to the ease and cheerfulness which reigned among them. on the fourth day, swift entered the room where the company were assembled before dinner, and addressed mr. mathew, in a strain of the highest compliment, expatiating on all the beauties of his improvements, with all the skill of an artist, and with the taste of a connoisseur. such an address for a man of swift's character, could not fail of being pleasing to the owner, who was, at the same time, the planner of these improvements; and so fine an eulogium from one, who was supposed to deal more largely in satire, than panegyric, was likely to remove the prejudice entertained against his character, and prepossessed the rest of the company in his favor. he concluded his speech by saying: "and now, ladies and gentlemen, i am come to live among you, and it shall be no fault of mine, if we do not pass our time agreeably." in a short time, all restraint on his account disappeared, he entered readily into all the little schemes for promoting mirth; and every day, with the assistance of his coadjutor, produced some new one, which afforded a good deal of sport and merriment. in short, never were such joyous scenes know at, thomastown before. when the time came, which obliged sheridan to return to his school, the company were so delighted with the dean, that they earnestly entreated him to remain there some time longer; and mr. mathew himself for once broke through a rule which he observed, of never soliciting the stay of any guest. swift found himself so happy, that he readily yielded to their solicitations; and instead of a fortnight, passed four months there, much to his satisfaction, and that of all those who visited the place during that time. swift's last lines. in one of those lucid intervals which varied the course of swift's unhappy lunacy, his guardians or physicians took him out to give him an airing. when they came to the phoenix park, swift remarked a new building which he had never seen, and asked what it was designed for? dr. kingsbury answered, "that, mr. dean, is the magazine for arms and powder, for the security of the city." "oh! oh!" says the dean, pulling out his pocket-book, "let me take an item of that. this is worth remarking; my tablets, as hamlet says, my tablets--memory, put down that." he then produced the following lines, being the last he ever wrote: behold! a proof of irish sense! here irish wit is seen, when nothing's left for our defence, we build a magazine. the dean then put up his pocket-book, laughing heartily at the conceit, and clenching it with, "after the steed's stolen, shut the stable door." john philpot curran. his birth john philpot curran was born at newmarket, a small village in the county of cork, on the th of july, . his father, james curran, was seneschal of the manor, and possessed of a very moderate income. his mother was a very extraordinary woman. eloquent and witty, she was the delight of her neighbors, and their chronicle and arbitress. her stories were of the olden time, and made their way to the hearts of the people, who delighted in her wit and the truly national humor of her character. little curran used to hang with ecstasy upon his mother's accents, used to repeat her tales and her jests, and caught up her enthusiasm. after her death, he erected a monument over her remains, upon which the following memorial was inscribed:-- "here lieth all that was mortal of martha curran--a woman of many virtues, few foibles, great talents, and no vice. this tablet was inscribed to her memory by a son who loved her, and whom she loved." curran as punch's man. curran's first effort in public commenced when a boy in the droll character of mr. punch's man. it occurred in this way: one of the puppet-shows known as "punch and judy," arrived at newmarket, to the great gratification of the neighborhood. young curran was an attentive listener at every exhibition of the show. at length, mr. punch's man fell ill, and immediately ruin threatened the establishment. curran, who had devoured all the man's eloquence, offered himself to the manager as mr. punch's man. his services were gladly accepted, and his success so complete, that crowds attended every performance, and mr. punch's new man became the theme of universal panegyric. curran at a debating society. curran's account of his introduction and _debut_ at a debating society, is the identical "first appearance" of hundreds. "upon the first of our assembling," he says, "i attended, my foolish heart throbbing with the anticipated honor of being styled 'the learned member that opened the debate,' or 'the very eloquent gentleman who has just sat down.' all day the coming scene had been flitting before my fancy, and cajoling it. my ear already caught the glorious melody of 'hear him! hear him!' already i was practising how to steal a sidelong glance at the tears of generous approbation bubbling in the eyes of my little auditory,--never suspecting, alas! that a modern eye may have so little affinity with moisture, that the finest gunpowder may be dried upon it. i stood up; my mind was stored with about a folio volume of matter; but i wanted a preface, and for want of a preface, the volume was never published. i stood up, trembling through every fibre: but remembering that in this i was but imitating tully, i took courage, and had actually proceeded almost as far as 'mr. chairman,' when, to my astonishment and terror, i perceived that every eye was riveted upon me. there were only six or seven present, and the little room could not have contained as many more; yet was it, to my panic-stricken imagination, as if i were the central object in nature, and assembled millions were gazing upon me in breathless expectation. i became dismayed and dumb. my friends cried 'hear him!' but there was nothing to hear. my lips, indeed, went through the pantomime of articulation; but i was like the unfortunate fiddler at the fair, who, coming to strike up the solo that was to ravish every ear, discovered that an enemy had maliciously soaped his bow; or rather, like poor punch, as i once saw him, grimacing a soliloquy, of which his prompter had most indiscreetly neglected to administer the words." such was the _debut_ of "stuttering jack curran," or "orator mum," as he was waggishly styled; but not many months elapsed ere the sun of his eloquence burst forth in dazzling splendor. curran and the banker. a limerick banker, remarkable for his sagacity, had an iron leg. "his leg," said curran "is the _softest_ part about him." his duel with st. leger. curran was employed at cork to prosecute a british officer of the name of st. leger, for an assault upon a catholic clergyman. st. leger was suspected by curran to be a creature of lord doneraile, and to have acted under the influence of his lordship's religious prejudice. curran rated him soundly on this, and with such effect that st. leger sent him a challenge the next day. they met, but as curran did not return his fire, the affair ended. "it was not necessary," said curran, "for me to fire at him, for he died in three weeks after the duel, of the _report of his own pistol_." the monks of the screw. this was the name of a club that met on every saturday during term in a house in kevin-street, and had for its members curran, grattan, flood, father o'leary, lord charlemont, judge day, judge metge, judge chamberlaine, lord avonmore, bowes daly, george ogle, and mr. keller. curran, being grand prior of the order, composed the charter song as follows:-- when saint patrick our order created, and called us the monks of the screw, good rules he revealed to our abbot, to guide us in what we should do. but first he replenished his fountain with liquor the best in the sky: and he swore by the word of his saintship that fountain should never run dry. my children, be chaste till you're tempted-- while sober, be wise and discreet-- and humble your bodies with fasting, whene'er you've got nothing to eat. then be not a glass in the convent, except on a festival, found-- and this rule to enforce, i ordain it a festival--_all the year round_. lord avonmore. curran was often annoyed when pleading before lord avonmore, owing to his lordship's habit of being influenced by first impressions. he and curran were to dine together at the house of a friend, and the opportunity was seized by curran to cure his lordship's habit of anticipating. "why, mr. curran, you have kept us a full hour waiting dinner for you," grumbled out lord avonmore. "oh, my dear lord, i regret it much; you must know it seldom happens, but--i've just been witness to a most melancholy occurrence." "my god! you seem terribly moved by it--take a glass of wine. what was it?--what was it?"--"i will tell you, my lord, the moment i can collect myself. i had been detained at court--in the court of chancery--your lordship knows the chancellor sits late." "i do, i do--but _go on_."--"well, my lord, i was hurrying here as fast as ever i could--i did not even change my dress--i hope i shall be excused for coming in my boots?" "poh, poh--never mind your boots: the point--come at once to the point of the story."--"oh--i will, my good lord, in a moment. i walked here--i would not even wait to get the carriage ready--it would have taken time, you know. now there is a market exactly in the road by which i had to pass--your lordship may perhaps recollect the market--do you?" "to be sure i do--_go on_, curran--_go on_ with the story."--"i am very glad your lordship remembers the market, for i totally forget the name of it--the name--the name--" "what the devil signifies the name of it, sir?--it's the castle market."--"your lordship is perfectly right--it is called the castle market. well, i was passing through that very identical castle market, when i observed a butcher preparing to kill a calf. he had a huge knife in his hand--it was as sharp as a razor. the calf was standing beside him--he drew the knife to plunge it into the animal. just as he was in the act of doing so, a little boy about four years old--his only son--the loveliest little baby i ever saw, ran suddenly across his path, and he killed--oh, my god! he killed--" "the child! the child! the child!" vociferated lord avonmore. "no, my lord, _the calf_," continued curran, very coolly; "he killed the calf, but--_your lordship is in the habit of anticipating_." his first client. when curran was called to the bar, he was without friends, without connections, without fortune, conscious of talents far above the mob by which he was elbowed, and cursed with sensibility, which rendered him painfully alive to the mortifications he was fated to experience. those who have risen to professional eminence, and recollect the impediments of such a commencement--the neglect abroad--the poverty, perhaps, at home--the frowns of rivalry--the fears of friendship--the sneer at the first essay--the prophecy that it will be the last--discouragement as to the present--forebodings as to the future--some who are established endeavoring to crush the chance of competition, and some who have failed anxious for the wretched consolation of companionship--those who recollect the comforts of such an apprenticeship may duly appreciate poor curran's situation. after toiling for a very inadequate recompense at the sessions of cork, and wearing, as he said himself, his teeth almost to their stumps, he proceeded to the metropolis, taking for his wife and young children a miserable lodging on hog-hill. term after term, without either profit or professional reputation, he paced the hall of the four courts. yet even thus he was not altogether undistinguished. if his pocket was not heavy, his heart was light--he was young and ardent, buoyed up not less by the consciousness of what he felt within, than by the encouraging comparison with those who were successful around him, and his station among the crowd of idlers, whom he amused with his wit or amused by his eloquence. many even who had emerged from that crowd, did not disdain occasionally to glean from his conversation the rich and varied treasures which he did not fail to squander with the most unsparing prodigality; and some there were who observed the brightness of the infant luminary struggling through the obscurity that clouded its commencement. among those who had the discrimination to appreciate, and the heart to feel for him, luckily for curran, was mr. arthur wolfe, afterwards the unfortunate, but respected lord kilwarden. the first fee of any consequence that he received was through his recommendation; and his recital of the incident cannot be without its interest to the young professional aspirant whom a temporary neglect may have sunk into dejection. "i then lived," said he, "upon hog-hill; my wife and children were the chief furniture of my apartments; and as to my rent, it stood much the same chance of its liquidation with the national debt. mrs. curran, however, was a barrister's lady, and what was wanting in wealth, she was well determined should be supplied by dignity. the landlady, on the other hand, had no idea of any other gradation except that of pounds, shillings, and pence. i walked out one morning in order to avoid the perpetual altercations on the subject, with my mind, you may imagine, in no very enviable temperament. i fell into gloom, to which from my infancy i had been occasionally subject. i had a family for whom i had no dinner, and a landlady for whom i had no rent. i had gone abroad in despondence--i returned home almost in desperation. when i opened the door of my study, where _lavater_ alone could have found a library, the first object that presented itself was an immense folio of a brief, twenty golden guineas wrapped up beside it, and the name of _old bob lyons_ marked on the back of it. i paid my landlady--bought a good dinner--gave bob lyons a share of it; and that dinner was the date of my prosperity!" curran and the informer. the following is an extract from curran's speech delivered before a committee of the house of lords, against the bill of attainder on lord edward's property:-- "i have been asked," said he, "by the committee, whether i have any defensive evidence? i am confounded by such a question. where is there a possibility of obtaining defensive evidence? where am i to seek it? i have often, of late, gone to the dungeon of the captive, but never have i gone to the grave of the dead, to receive instructions for his defence; nor, in truth, have i ever before been at the trial of a dead man! i offer, therefore, no evidence upon this inquiry, against the perilous example of which i do protest on behalf of the public, and against the cruelty and inhumanity and injustice of which i do protest in the name of the dead father, whose memory is sought to be dishonored, and of his infant orphans, whose bread is sought to be taken away. some observations, and but a few, upon the evidence of the informer i will make. i do believe all he has admitted respecting himself. i do verily believe him in that instance, even though i heard him assert it upon his oath--by his own confession an informer, and a bribed informer--a man whom respectable witnesses had sworn in a court of justice, upon their oaths, not to be credible on his oath--a man upon whose single testimony no jury ever did, or ever ought to pronounce a verdict of guilty--a kind of man to whom the law resorts with abhorrence, and from necessity, in order to set the criminal against the crime, but who is made use of for the same reason that the most obnoxious poisons are resorted to in medicine. if such be the man, look for a moment at his story. he confines himself to mere conversation only, with a dead man! he ventures not to introduce any third person, living or even dead! he ventures to state no act whatever done. he wishes, indeed, to asperse the conduct of lady edward fitzgerald; but he well knew that, even were she in this country, she could not be called as a witness to contradict him. see therefore, if there be any one assertion to which credit can be given, except this--that he has sworn and forsworn--that he is a traitor--that he has received five hundred guineas to be an informer, and that his general reputation is, to be utterly unworthy of credit." he concludes thus:--"every act of this sort ought to have a practical morality flowing from its principle. if loyalty and justice require that those children should be deprived of bread, must it not be a violation of that principle to give them food or shelter? must not every loyal and just man wish to see them, in the words of the famous golden bull, 'always poor and necessitous, and for ever accompanied by the infamy of the father, languishing in continued indigence, and finding their punishment in living, and their relief in dying?' if the widowed mother should carry the orphan heir of her unfortunate husband to the gate of any man who himself touched with the sad vicissitude of human affairs, might feel a compassionate reverence for the noble blood that flowed in his veins, nobler than the royalty that first ennobled it, that, like a rich stream, rose till it ran and hid its fountain--if, remembering the many noble qualities of his unfortunate father, his heart melted over the calamities of the child--if his heart swelled, if his eyes overflowed, if his too precipitate hand was stretched forth by his pity or his gratitude to the excommunicated sufferers, how could he justify the rebel tear or the traitorous humanity? one word more and i have done. i once more earnestly and solemnly conjure you to reflect that the fact--i mean the fact of guilt or innocence which must be the foundation of this bill--is not now, after the death of the party, capable of being tried, consistent with the liberty of a free people, or the unalterable rules of eternal justice; and that as to the forfeiture and the ignominy which it enacts, that only can be punishment which lights upon guilt, and that can be only vengeance which breaks upon innocence." * * * * * curran was one day setting his watch at the post office, which was then opposite the late parliament house, when a noble member of the house of lords said to him, "curran, what do they mean to do with that useless building? for my part, i am sure i hate even the sight of it." "i do not wonder at it, my lord," replied curran contemptuously; "i never yet heard of a _murderer_ who was not afraid of a _ghost_." lord clare. one day when it was known that curran had to make an elaborate argument in chancery, lord clare brought a large newfoundland dog upon the bench with him, and during the progress of the argument he lent his ear much more to the dog than to the barrister. this was observed at length by the entire profession. in time the chancellor lost all regard for decency; he turned himself quite aside in the most material part of the case, and began in full court to fondle the animal. curran stopped at once. "go on, go on, mr. curran," said lord clare. "oh! i beg a thousand pardons, my lord; i really took it for granted that your lordship was _employed in consultation_." curran's eloquence. in a debate on attachments in the irish house of commons, in , mr. curran rose to speak against them; and perceiving mr. fitzgibbon, the attorney-general (afterwards lord clare), had fallen asleep on his seat, he thus commenced:--"i hope i may say a few words on this great subject, without disturbing the sleep of any right honorable member; and yet, perhaps, i ought rather to envy than blame the tranquility of the right honorable gentleman. i do not feel myself so happily tempered, as to be lulled to repose by the storms that shake the land. if they invited any to rest, that rest ought not to be lavished on the guilty spirit." although mr. curran appears here to have commenced hostilities, it should be mentioned, that he was apprised of mr. fitzgibbon's having given out in the ministerial circles that he would take an opportunity during the debate, in which he knew that mr. curran would take a part, of _putting down the young patriot_. the duchess of rutland, and all the ladies of the castle were present in the gallery, to witness what mr. curran called, in the course of the debate, "this exhibition by command." when mr. curran sat down, mr. fitzgibbon, provoked by the expressions he had used, and by the general tenor of his observation, replied with much personality, and among other things, denominated mr. curran a "_puny babbler_." mr. c. retorted by the following description of his opponent: "i am not a man whose respect in person and character depends upon the importance of his office; i am not a young man who thrusts himself into the fore-ground of a picture, which ought to be occupied by a better figure; i am not one who replies with invective, when sinking under the weight of argument; i am not a man who denies the necessity of parliamentary reform, at the time that he approves of its expediency, by reviling his own constituents, the parish clerk, the sexton, and the grave-digger; and if there be any man who can apply what i am not, to himself, i leave him to think of it in the committee, and contemplate upon it when he goes home." the result of this night's debate was a duel between mr. curran and mr. fitzgibbon; after exchanging shots, they separated, but confirmed in their feeling of mutual aversion. * * * * * at the assizes at cork, curran had once just entered upon his case, and stated the facts to the jury. he then, with his usual impressiveness and pathos, appealed to their feelings, and was concluding the whole with this sentence: "thus, gentlemen, i trust i have made the innocence of that persecuted man as clear to you as"--at that instant the sun, which had hitherto been overclouded, shot its rays into the court-house--"as clear to you," continued he, "as yonder sun-beam, which now burst in among us, and supplies me with its splendid illustration." scene between fitzgibbon and curran in the irish parliament. mr. fitzgibbon (afterwards lord clare) rose and said:--"the politically insane gentleman has asserted much, but he only emitted some effusions of the witticisms of fancy. his declamation, indeed, was better calculated for the stage of sadler's wells than the floor of the house of commons. a mountebank, with but one-half of the honorable gentleman's talent for rant, would undoubtedly make his fortune. however, i am somewhat surprised he should entertain such a particular asperity against me, as i never did him a favor. but, perhaps, the honorable gentleman imagines he may talk himself into consequence; if so, i should be sorry to obstruct his promotion; he is heartily welcome to attack me. of one thing only i will assure him, that i hold him in so small a degree of estimation, either as a man or as a lawyer, that i shall never hereafter deign to make him any answer." mr. curran.--"the honorable gentleman says i have poured forth some witticisms of fancy. that is a charge i shall never be able to retort upon him. he says i am insane. for my part were i the man who, when all debate had subsided--who, when the bill was given up, had risen to make an inflammatory speech against my country, i should be obliged to any friend who would excuse my conduct by attributing it to insanity. were i the man who could commit a murder on the reputation of my country, i should thank the friend who would excuse my conduct by attributing it to insanity. were i a man possessed of so much arrogance as to set up my own little head against the opinions of the nation, i should thank the friend who would say, 'heed him not, he is insane!' nay, if i were such a man, i would thank the friend who had sent me to bedlam. if i knew one man who was 'easily roused and easily appeased,' i would not give his character as that of the whole nation. the right honorable gentleman says he never came here with written speeches. i never suspected him of it, and i believe there is not a gentleman in the house, who, having heard what has fallen from him, would ever suspect him of writing speeches. but i will not pursue him further. i will not enter into a conflict in which victory can gain no honor." his defence of archibald hamilton rowan. the following extracts, commencing with a description of mr. rowan, will be found interesting: "gentlemen, let me suggest another observation or two, if still you have any doubt as to the guilt or the innocence of the defendant. give me leave to suggest to you what circumstances you ought to consider, in order to found your verdict. you should consider the character of the person accused; and in this your task is easy. i will venture to say, there is not a man in this nation more known than the gentleman who is the subject of this persecution, not only by the part he has taken in public concerns, and which he has taken in common with many, but still more so by that extraordinary sympathy for human affliction which, i am sorry to think, he shares with so small a number. there is not a day that you hear the cries of your starving manufacturers in your streets, that you do not also see the advocate of their sufferings--that you do not see his honest and manly figure, with uncovered head soliciting for their relief: searching the frozen heart of charity for every string that can be touched by compassion, and urging the force of every argument and every motive, save that which his modesty suppresses--the authority of his own generous example. or if you see him not there, you may trace his steps to the abode of disease, and famine, and despair; the messenger of heaven--bearing with him food, and medicine, and consolation. are these the materials of which we suppose anarchy and public rapine to be formed? is this the man on whom to fasten the abominable charge of goading on a frantic populace to mutiny and bloodshed? is this the man likely to apostatize from every principle that can bind him to the state--his birth, his property, his education, his character, and his children? let me tell you, gentlemen of the jury, if you agree with his prosecutors in thinking there ought to be a sacrifice of such a man, on such an occasion, and upon the credit of such evidence you are to convict him, never did you, never can you, give a sentence consigning any man to public punishment with less danger to his person or to his fame; for where could the hireling be found to fling contumely or ingratitude at his head whose private distress he had not labored to alleviate, or whose public condition he had not labored to improve?" speaking of the liberty of the press, he says-- "what, then, remains? the liberty of the press only; that sacred palladium, which no influence, no power, no government, which nothing but the folly or the depravity, or the folly or the corruption, of a jury ever can destroy. and what calamities are the people saved from by having public communication kept open to them! i will tell you, gentlemen, what they are saved from; i will tell you also to what both are exposed by shutting up that communication. in one case, sedition speaks aloud and walks abroad; the demagogue goes forth; the public eye is upon him; he frets his busy hour upon the stage; but soon either weariness, or bribe, or punishment, or disappointment, bears him down, or drives him off, and he appears no more. in the other case, how does the work of sedition go forward? night after night the muffled rebel steals forth in the dark, and casts another brand upon the pile, to which, when the hour of fatal maturity shall arrive, he will apply the flame. if you doubt of the horrid consequences of suppressing the effusion of even individual discontent, look to those enslaved countries where the protection of despotism is supposed to be secured by such restraints. even the person of the despot there is never in safety. neither the fears of the despot, nor the machinations of the slave, have any slumber--the one anticipating the moment of peril, the other watching the opportunity of aggression. the fatal crisis is equally a surprise upon both; the decisive instant is precipitated without warning, by folly on the one side, or by frenzy on the other; and there is no notice of the treason till the traitor acts. in those unfortunate countries--one cannot read it without horror--there are officers whose province it is to have the water which is to be drank by their rulers, sealed up in bottles, lest some wretched miscreant should throw poison into the draught. but, gentlemen, if you wish for a nearer and a more interesting example, you have it in the history of your own revolution; you have it at that memorable period, when the monarch found a servile acquiescence in the ministers of his folly--when the liberty of the press was trodden under foot--when venal sheriff's returned packed juries to carry into effect those fatal conspiracies of the few against the many--when the devoted benches of public justice were filled by some of those foundlings of fortune, who, overwhelmed in the torrent of corruption at an early period, lay at the bottom like drowned bodies while sanity remained in them, but at length, becoming buoyant by putrefaction, they rose as they rotted, and floated to the surface of the polluted stream, where they were drifted along, the objects of terror and contagion and abomination. "in that awful moment of a nation's travail, of the last gasp of tyranny, and the first breath of freedom, how pregnant is the example! the press extinguished, the people enslaved, and the prince undone! as the advocate of society therefore--of peace, of domestic liberty, and the lasting union of the two countries, i conjure you to guard the liberty of the press, that great sentinel of the state, that grand detector of public imposture: guard it, because when it sinks, there sink with it, in one common grave, the liberty of the subject and the security of the crown. "gentlemen, i am glad that this question has not been brought forward earlier. i rejoice for the sake of the court, the jury, and of the public repose, that this question has not been brought forward till now. in. great britain, analogous circumstances have taken place. at the commencement of that unfortunate war which has deluged europe with blood, the spirit of the english people was tremblingly alive to the terror of french principles; at that moment of general paroxysm, to accuse was to convict. the danger loomed larger to the public eye from the misty region through which it was surveyed. we measure inaccessible heights by the shadows they project, when the lowness and the distance of the light form the length of the shade. "there is a sort of aspiring and adventurous credulity, which disdains assenting to obvious truths, and delights in catching at the improbabilities of a case as its best ground of faith. to what other cause, gentlemen, can you ascribe that, in the wise, the reflecting, and the philosophic nation of great britain, a printer has been gravely found guilty of a libel for publishing those resolutions to which the present minister of that kingdom had already subscribed his name? to what other cause can you ascribe, what in my mind is still more astonishing, in such a country as scotland--a nation, cast in the happy medium between the spiritless acquiescence of submissive poverty, and the sturdy credulity of pampered wealth--cool and ardent, adventurous and persevering, winging her eagle flight against the blaze of every science, with an eye that never winks, and a wing that never tires; crowned, as she is, with the spoils of every art and decked with the wreath of every muse, from the deep and scrutinizing researches of her hume, to the sweet and simple, but not less sublime and pathetic, morality of her burns--how, from the bosom of a country like that, genius and character and talents [muir, margarot, &c.,] should be banished to a distant and barbarous soil, condemned to pine under the horrid communion of vulgar vice, and base-born profligacy, twice the period that ordinary calculation gives to the continuance of human life! but i will not further press any idea that is painful to me, and i am sure must be painful to you; i will only say, you have now an example of which neither england nor scotland had the advantage; you have the example of the panic, the infatuation, and the contrition of both. it is now for you to decide whether you will profit by their experience of idle panic and idle regret, or whether you meanly prefer to palliate a servile imitation of their frailty by a paltry affectation of their repentance. it is now for you to show that you are not carried away by the same hectic delusions, to acts of which no tears can wash away the fatal consequences or the indelible reproach." he thus speaks of the volunteers of ireland:-- "gentlemen, mr. attorney-general has thought proper to direct your attention to the state and circumstances of public affairs at the time of this transaction: let me also make a few retrospective observations on a period at which he has but slightly glanced. you know, gentlemen, that france had espoused the cause of america, and we became thereby involved in a war with that nation. '_heu, nescia mens hominum futuri_!' "little did that ill-fated monarch know that he was forming the first cause of those disastrous events that were to end in the subversion of his throne, in the slaughter of his family, and the deluging of his country with the blood of his people. you cannot but remember that a time when we had scarcely a regular soldier for our defence--when the old and young were alarmed and terrified with apprehensions of a descent upon our coasts--that providence seemed to have worked a sort of miracle in our favor. you saw a band of armed men at the great call of nature, of honor, and their country; you saw men of the greatest wealth and rank; you saw every class of the community give up its members, and send them armed into the field to protect the public and private tranquility of ireland; it is impossible for any man to turn back to that period, without reviving those sentiments of tenderness and gratitude which then beat in the public bosom; to recollect amidst what applause, what tears, what prayers, what benedictions, they walked forth amongst spectators, agitated by the mingled sensations of terror and of reliance, of danger and of protection, imploring the blessings of heaven upon their heads, and its conquest upon their swords. that illustrious, and adored and abused body of men stood forward and assumed the title, which i trust the ingratitude of their country will never blot from its history--the volunteers of ireland." he thus speaks of the national representation of the people; "gentlemen, the representation of our people is the vital principle of their political existence; without it, they are dead, or they live only to servitude; without it, there are two estates acting upon and against the third, instead of acting in co-operation with it; without it, if the people are oppressed by their judges, where is the tribunal to which the offender shall be amenable?--without it, if they are trampled upon and plundered by a minister, where is the tribunal to which the offender shall be amenable?--without it, where is the ear to hear, or the heart to feel, or the hand to redress their sufferings? shall they be found, let me ask you, in the accursed bands of imps and minions that bask in their disgrace, and fatten upon their spoils, and flourish upon their ruin? but let me not put this to you as a merely speculative question: it is a plain question of fact. rely on it, physical man is everywhere the same: it is only the various operation of moral causes that gives variety to the social or individual character or condition. how otherwise happens it, that modern slavery looks quietly at the despot on the very spot where leonidas expired? the answer is, sparta has not changed her climate, but she has lost that government which her liberty could not survive." speaking of universal emancipation, he says:-- "this paper, gentlemen, insists on the necessity of emancipating the catholics of ireland; and that is charged as part of the libel. if they had waited another year--if they had kept this prosecution pending for another year, how much would remain for a jury to decide upon, i should be at a loss to discover. it seems as if the progress of public information was eating away the ground of prosecution. since its commencement, this part of the libel has unluckily received the sanction of the legislature. in that interval our catholic brethren have re-obtained that admission which, it seems, it was a libel to propose. in what way to account for this i am really at a loss. have any alarms been occasioned by the emancipation of our catholic brethren? has the bigoted malignity of any individual been crushed? or has the stability of the government or that of the country been weakened? or is one million of subjects stronger than four millions? do you think that the benefit they have received, should be poisoned by the sting of vengeance. if you think so, you must say to them: you have demanded emancipation, and you have got it; but we abhor your persons; we are outraged at your success, and we will stigmatize by a criminal prosecution the adviser of that relief which you have obtained from the voice of your country. i ask you, do you think, as honest men anxious for the public tranquility, conscious that there are wounds not yet completely cicatrized, that you ought to speak this language at this time to men who are very much disposed to think that, in this very emancipation, they have been saved from their own parliament by the humanity of their own sovereign? or do you wish to prepare them for the revocation of these improvident concessions? do you think it wise or humane at this moment to insult them, by sticking up in a pillory the man who dared to stand forth as their advocate? i put it to your oaths: do you think that a blessing of that kind--that a victory obtained by justice over bigotry and oppression, should have a stigma cast upon it, by an ignominious sentence upon men bold enough and honest enough to propose that measure;--to propose the redeeming of religion from the abuses of the church, the reclaiming of three millions of men from bondage, and giving liberty to all who had a right to demand it; giving, i say, in the so much censured words of this paper--giving 'universal emancipation.' "i speak in the spirit of the british law, which makes liberty commensurate with, and inseparable from, british soil--which proclaims even to the stranger and sojourner, the moment he sets his foot upon british earth, that the ground on which he treads is holy, and consecrated by the genius of universal emancipation. no matter in what language his doom may have been pronounced--no matter what complexion, incompatible with freedom, an indian or an african sun may have burnt on him--no matter in what disastrous battle the helm of his liberty may been cloven down--no matter with what solemnities he may have been devoted upon the altar of slavery--the moment he touches the sacred soil of britain, the altar and the god sink together in the dust; his soul walks abroad in its own majesty; his body swells beyond the measure of his chains, which burst from around him, and he stands redeemed, regenerated, and disenthralled by the irresistible genius of universal emancipation." (mr. curran was here interrupted with the loud and irresistible acclamations of all within hearing. when, after a long interval, the enthusiasm had in some degree subsided, he thus modestly alluded to the incident). "gentlemen, i am not such a fool as to ascribe any effusion of this sort to any merit of mine. it is the mighty theme, and not the inconsiderable advocate, that can excite interest in the hearer: what you hear is but the testimony which nature bears to her own character; it is the effusion of her gratitude to that power which stamped that character upon her." he concludes with this brilliant peroration:-- "upon this subject, therefore, credit me when i say i am still more anxious for you than i can possibly be for him. not the jury of his own choice, which the law of england allows, but which ours refuses, collected in that box by a person certainly no friend to mr. rowan--certainly not very deeply interested in giving him a very impartial jury. feeling this, as i am persuaded you do, you cannot be surprised, however you may be distressed, at the mournful presage with which an anxious public is led to fear the worst from your possible determination. but i will not, for the justice and honor of our common country, suffer my mind to be borne away by such melancholy anticipation. i will not relinquish the confidence that this day will be the period of his sufferings; and, however mercilessly he has been hitherto pursued, that your verdict will send him home to the arms of his family and the wishes of his country. but if, which heaven forbid! it hath still been unfortunately determined, that because he has not bent to power and authority, because he would not bow down before the golden calf and worship it, he is to be bound and cast into the furnace,--i do trust in god there is a redeeming spirit in the constitution, which will be seen to walk with the sufferer through the flames, and to preserve him unhurt by the conflagration." after this brilliant speech, when curran made his appearance outside the court, he was surrounded by the populace, who had assembled to chair him. he begged of them to desist, in a commanding tone; but a gigantic chairman, eyeing curran from top to toe, cried out to his companion--"arrah, blood and turf! pat, don't mind the little darlin'; pitch him upon _my_ shoulder." he was, accordingly, carried to his carriage, and drawn home by the people. encounter with a fishwoman. there was a fishwoman in cork who was more than a match for the whole fraternity of her order. she could only be matched by mrs. scutcheen, of patrick-street, dublin--the lady who used to boast of her "bag of farthin's," and regale herself before each encounter with a pennorth of the "droppin's o' the cock." curran was passing the quay at cork where this virago held forth, when, stopping to listen to her, he was requested to "go on ou' that." hesitating to retreat as quick as the lady wished, she opened a broadside upon curran, who returned fire with such effect as to bring forth the applause of the surrounding sisterhood. she was vanquished for the first time, though she had been "thirty years on the stones o' the quay." curran and lord erskine. dr. crolly, in speaking of the two great forensic orators of the day, draws a comparison between the circumstances under which both addressed their audiences:-- "when erskine pleaded, he stood in the midst of a secure nation, and pleaded like a priest of the temple of justice, with his hand on the altar of the constitution, and all england waiting to treasure every deluding oracle that came from his lips. curran pleaded--not in a time when the public system was only so far disturbed as to give additional interest to his eloquence--but in a time when the system was threatened with instant dissolution; when society seemed to be falling in fragments round him; when the soil was already throwing up flames. rebellion was in arms. he pleaded, not on the floor of a shrine, but on a scaffold; with no companions but the wretched and culpable beings who were to be flung from it, hour by hour; and no hearers but the crowd, who rushed in desperate anxiety to that spot of hurried execution--and then rushed away, eager to shake off all remembrance of scenes which had torn every heart among them." his duel with bully egan. when curran and bully egan met on the ground, the latter complained of the advantage his antagonist had over him, and declared that he was as easily hit as a turf stack, while, as to firing at curran, he might as well fire at a razor's edge. whereupon, curran waggishly proposed that his size should be chalked out upon egan's side, and that "every shot which hits outside that mark should _go for nothing_!" massy versus headfort. the following extract is from his celebrated speech against the marquis of headfort:-- "never so clearly as in the present instance, have i observed that safeguard of justice which providence has placed in the nature of man. such is the imperious dominion with which truth and reason wave their sceptre over the human intellect, that no solicitation, however artful--no talent, however commanding--can seduce it from its allegiance. in proportion to the humility of our submission to its rule, do we rise into some faint emulation of that ineffable and presiding divinity, whose characteristic attribute it is to be coerced and bound by the inexorable laws of its own nature, so as to be _all-wise_ and _all-just_ from necessity rather than election. you have seen it in the learned advocate who has preceded me, most peculiarly and strikingly illustrated. you have seen _even_ his great talents, perhaps the first in any country, languishing under a cause too weak to _carry_ him, and too heavy to be _carried_ by him. he was forced to dismiss his natural candor and sincerity, and, having no merits in his case, to take refuge in the dignity of his own manner, the resources of his own ingenuity, from the overwhelming difficulties with which he was surrounded. wretched client! unhappy advocate! what a combination do you form! but such is the condition of guilt--its commission mean and tremulous--its defence artificial and insincere--its prosecution candid and simple--its condemnation dignified and austere. such has been the defendant's guilt--such his defence--such shall be my address to you--and such, i trust, your verdict. the learned counsel has told you that this unfortunate woman is not to be estimated at forty thousand pounds. fatal and unquestionable is the truth of this assertion. alas! gentlemen, she is no longer worth anything; faded, fallen, degraded, and disgraced, she is worth less than nothing! but it is for the honor, the hope, the expectation, the tenderness, and the comforts that have been blasted by the defendant, and have fled forever, that you are to remunerate the plaintiff by the punishment of the defendant. it is not her present value which you are to weigh; but it is her value at that time when she sat basking in a husband's love, with the blessing of heaven on her head, and its purity in her heart; when she sat amongst her family, and administered the morality of the parental board. estimate that past value--compare it with its present deplorable diminution--and it may lead you to form some judgment of the severity of the injury, and the extent of the compensation. "the learned counsel has told you, you ought to be cautious, because your verdict cannot be set aside for excess. the assertion is just; but has he treated you fairly by its application? his cause would not allow him to be fair; for why is the rule adopted in this single action? because, this being peculiarly an injury to the most susceptible of all human feelings, it leaves the injury of the husband to be ascertained by the sensibility of the jury, and does not presume to measure the justice of their determination by the cold and chilly exercise of its own discretion. in any other action it is easy to calculate. if a tradesman's arm is cut off, you can measure the loss he has sustained; but the wound of feeling, and the agony of the heart, cannot be judged by any standard with which i am acquainted. and you are unfairly dealt with when you are called on to appreciate the present sufferings of the husband by the present guilt, delinquency, and degradation of his wife. as well might you, if called on to give compensation to a man for the murder of his dearest friend, find the measure of his injury by weighing the ashes of the dead. but it is not, gentlemen of the jury, by weighing the ashes of the dead that you would estimate the loss of the survivor. "the learned counsel has referred you to other cases and other countries, for instances of moderate verdicts. i can refer you to some authentic instances of just ones. in the next county, £ , against a subaltern officer. in travers and macarthy, £ , against a servant. in tighe against jones, £ , against a man not worth a shilling. what, then, ought to be the rule, where rank and power, and wealth and station, have combined to render the example of his crime more dangerous--to make his guilt more odious--to make the injury to the plaintiff more grievous, because more conspicuous? i affect no levelling familiarity, when i speak of persons in the higher ranks of society--distinctions of orders are necessary, and i always feel disposed to treat them with respect--but when it is my duty to speak of the crimes by which they are degraded, i am not so fastidious as to shrink from their contact, when to touch them is essential to their dissection. however, therefore, i should feel on any other occasion, a disposition to speak of the noble defendant with the respect due to his station, and perhaps to his qualities, of which he may have many to redeem him from the odium of this transaction, i cannot so indulge myself here. i cannot betray my client, to avoid the pain of doing my duty. i cannot forget that in this action the condition, the conduct, and circumstances of the parties, are justly and peculiarly the objects of your consideration. who, then, are the parties? the plaintiff, young, amiable, of family and education. of the generous disinterestedness of his heart you can form an opinion even from the evidence of the defendant, that he declined an alliance which would have added to his fortune and consideration, and which he rejected for an unportioned union with his present wife--she too, at that time, young, beautiful and accomplished; and feeling her affection for her husband increase, in proportion as she remembered the ardor of his love, and the sincerity of his sacrifice. look now to the defendant! can you behold him without shame and indignation? with what feelings can you regard a rank that he has so tarnished, and a patent that he has so worse than cancelled? high in the army--high in the state--the hereditary counsellor of the king--of wealth incalculable--and to this last i advert with an indignant and contemptuous satisfaction, because, as the only instrument of his guilt and shame, it will be the means of his punishment, and the source of his compensation." the serenading lover. in the very zenith of curran's professional career, he was consulted in a case of extremely novel character, which arose out of the following circumstances:-- not many doors from eden quay, in upper sackville-street, lived a young lady of very fascinating manners, and whose beauty had attracted considerable attention wherever she made her appearance. amongst the many gentlemen whose hearts she had touched, and whose heads she had deranged, was one young englishman, a graduate of trinity college, and about as fair a specimen of the reverse of beauty as ever took the chair at a dinner of the ugly fellows' club. strange to say, he above all others was the person on whom she looked with any favor. men of rank and fortune had sought her hand--lords and commoners had sought the honor of an introduction; but no!--none for her but the ugly man! in vain did the ladies of her acquaintance quiz her about her taste--in vain did her family remonstrate upon the folly of her conduct, in refusing men of station for such an individual--no go! none for her but the ugly man! her dear papa only seemed to take the affair in a quiet way; not that he was indifferent about the matter, but he loved her too much to throw any obstacle in the way of her happiness. not so, however, with her brother--a splendid young fellow, whose mortification was intense, especially as the whole affair was the theme of ridicule among his fellow-students in old trinity. he, though sharing in all the love and tenderness of the father, could not understand his quiet resignation. what is it to be thought of that one who was the butt of the university--one on whom nature had played her fantastic tricks, should be the person who held the key to his lovely sister's heart? no! the father might resign himself to his quiet philosophy, but _he_, at least, would have none of it. it should never be said within the college walls that he looked tamely on while a farce of this kind was being played out, especially as some of his most intimate fellow-students, and a beloved one in particular, took more than a common interest in the matter. on a summer morning, in the middle of july, he was coming out of his hall-door, when the postman handed him two letters, one of which was directed to his sister. suspecting the party from whom it came, and that a knowledge of its contents might lead to some discovery useful to him in frustrating the writer's designs, he opened it, and found that his suspicion was correct, and that himself was the object of complaint for his manner towards him in college; and further, that, as he was about to leave for england on the following day, and would not return for some weeks, he would do himself the honor of serenading her at twelve o'clock that night. after reading the letter, his first thought was to look to the condition of his horsewhip; but, after a little quiet reflection, he resolved upon another plan of action. breakfast over, he proceeded to the kitchen, summoned all the servants to his presence, to whom he related the whole story from beginning to end, and proposed that they should drench him with water when he made his appearance under the window. but there happened to be among them a corpulent lady called betty devine, who entered a plea of objection to that mode of proceeding on the ground of "waste of water;" that in _edinburgh_, where she had served for seven years, they wouldn't think of such waste; and that, if the young master would only leave the matter in _her_ hands, she would _drown_ the musician in a chorus, the like of which was not to be heard outside the boundaries of bonnie scotland. to this proposition on the part of betty the young gentleman gave a hearty assent; adding, at the same time, a hope that her want of practice since she left _edinburgh_ would be no obstacle to her success. to which miss devine replied, by asking him to name the window out of which she was to present her _compliments_ to the english minstrel. "as to that, betty," said he, "i leave you to select your own ground; but take care that you don't miss fire"--an observation which took the stable-boy, bill mack, by the greatest surprise, as, from betty's powers of administration in his regard, a _faded_ dark-brown coat the master gave him had been restored to its original color. for once in her life-time betty found herself mistress of her situation, and having made her arrangements, despatched bill mack with an invitation to some of her sable friends of the quay to witness the forthcoming concert at twelve o'clock that night. scarcely had the hour arrived, however, when the serenader made his appearance, dressed in the pink of fashion; and, placing himself under his lady's window, proceeded to play the guitar in the best style. the performance hadn't well commenced, when, throwing "his eye to her lattice high," he beheld a female figure at the two-pair window, which she opened gently. then commenced his best efforts in the "art divine." no doubt it was the lady of his love that was there, about to reward him with "nature's choice gifts from above," ----not the wax artificials of these days, but the _real gems_, which he hoped to preserve on his passage to england! that he saw a female figure was but too true: it was miss betty devine, who had been arranging that portion of her toilet which might endanger the free exercise of her right arm. this done, miss devine stood forward, and, grasping a certain utensil of more than ordinary proportions, with one bound, not only "returned its _lining_ on the night," as tom moore says, but also on the head of the devoted serenader, who was so stunned by betty's favor, that it was some time before he realized the nature of the gift. his nasal organ having settled all doubt in that respect, he made his way from the crowd, vowing law and vengeance. "what is the matter?" asked a popular commoner, on his way from the parliament house, to one of the boys of the quay; "it's a consart, yer honor, given by betty de scotch girl; de creature's fond o' harmony; and for my part, de tung is stickin' to de roof of my mout from de fair dint of de corus! i didn't taste a drop since mornin'. ay boys, aint ye all dry?" this appeal having met with a favorable response, the gentlemen of the quay retired to drink "his honor's health, and to wash down de music!" meanwhile, the next morning the serenading gentleman went in all haste to his brother-in-law, one of the leading merchants of the city, to whom he communicated the occurrence of the previous night. he had scarcely finished, when the merchant took him off to his attorney who, without further delay, went with them to the residence of curran, to have his opinion on the case. when they had finished, curran at once gave his opinion. "gentlemen," said he, "in this country, when we go to see a friend or acquaintance, all we ever expect is--pot luck!" * * * * * carew o'dwyer was the first who had the honor of proposing that curran's remains should be brought over from england and laid in glasnevin. * * * * * charles phillips' first introduction to curran took place at the priory, a country villa about four miles from dublin. curran would have no one to introduce him, but went and took him by the hand. * * * * * lundy foot, the tobacconist, was on the table, under examination, and, hesitating to answer--"lundy, lundy," said curran, "that's a poser--a devil of a pinch." employment of informers. "i speak not of the fate of those horrid wretches who have been so often transferred from the table to the dock, and from the dock to the pillory; i speak of what your own eyes have seen, day after day, during the course of this commission, from the box where you are now sitting; the number of horrid miscreants who avowed, upon their oaths, that they had come from the seat of government--from the castle--where they had been worked upon by the fear of death and the hopes of compensation, to give evidence against their fellows; that the mild and wholesome councils of this government are holden over these catacombs of living death, where the wretch that is buried a man lies till his heart has time to fester and dissolve, and is then dug up a witness. is this fancy, or is it fact? have you not seen him after his resurrection from that tomb, after having been dug out of the region of death and corruption, make his appearance upon the table, the living image of life and of death, and the supreme arbiter of both? have you not marked, when he entered, how the stormy wave of the multitude retired at his approach? have you not marked how the human heart bowed to the supremacy of his power, in the undissembled homage of deferential horror? how his glance, like the lightning of heaven, seemed to rive the body of the accused, and mark it for the grave, while his voice warned the devoted wretch of life and death--a death which no innocence can escape, no art elude, no force resist, no antidote preserve? there was an antidote--a juror's oath; but even that adamantine chain, which bound the integrity of man to the throne of eternal justice, is solved and molten in the breath that issues from the informer's mouth; conscience swings from her mooring, and the appalled and affrighted juror consults his own safety in the surrender of his victim.--informers are worshipped in the temple of justice, even as the devil has been worshipped by pagans and savages--even so, in this wicked country, is the informer an object of judicial idolatry--even so is he soothed by the music of human groans--even so is he placated and incensed by the fumes and by the blood of human sacrifices." curran and the farmer. a farmer attending a fair with a hundred pounds in his pocket, took the precaution of depositing it in the hands of the landlord of the public-house at which he stopped. next day he applied for the money, but the host affected to know nothing of the business. in this dilemma the farmer consulted curran. "have patience, my friend," said the counsel; "speak to the landlord civilly, and tell him you are convinced you must have left your money with some other person. take a friend with you, and lodge with him another hundred, and then come to me." the dupe doubted the advice; but, moved by the authority or rhetoric of the learned counsel, he at length followed it. "and now, sir," said he to cumin, "i don't see as i am to be better off for this, if i get my second hundred again; but how is that to be done?" "go and ask him for it when he is alone," said the counsel. "ay, sir, but asking won't do, i'ze afraid, without my witness, at any rate." "never mind, take my advice," said curran; "do as i bid you, and return to me." the farmer did so, and came back with his hundred, glad at any rate to find that safe again in his possession. "now, sir, i suppose i must be content; but i don't see as i am much better off." "well, then," said the counsel, "now take your friend with you, and ask the landlord for the hundred pounds your friend saw you leave with him." it need not be added, that the wily landlord found that he had been taken off his guard, whilst the farmer returned exultingly to thank his counsel, with both hundreds in his pocket. curran and the judge. soon after mr. curran had been called to the bar, on some statement of judge robinson's, the young counsel observed, that "he had never met the law, as laid down by his lordship, in any book in his library." "that may be, sir," said the judge; "but i suspect that your library is very small." mr. curran replied, "i find it more instructive, my lord, to study good works than to compose bad ones.[ ] my books may be few; but the title-pages give me the writers' names, and my shelf is not disgraced by any such rank absurdities, that their very authors are ashamed to own them." "sir," said the judge, "you are forgetting the respect which you owe to the dignity of the judicial character." "dignity!" exclaimed mr. curran; "my lord, upon that point i shall cite you a case from a book of some authority, with which you are, perhaps, not unacquainted." he then briefly recited the story of strap, in _roderick random_, who having stripped off his coat to fight, entrusted it to a bystander. when the battle was over, and he was well beaten, he turned to resume it, but the man had carried it off. mr. curran thus applied the tale:--"so, my lord, when the person entrusted with the dignity of the judgment-seat lays it aside for a moment to enter into a disgraceful personal contest, it is in vain when he has been worsted in the encounter that he seeks to resume it--it is in vain that he tries to shelter himself behind an authority which he has abandoned." "if you say another word, i'll commit you," replied the angry judge; to which mr. c. retorted, "if your lordship shall do so, we shall both of us have the consolation of reflecting, that i am not the worst thing your lordship has committed." curran's quarrel with fitzgibbon. curran distinguished himself not more as a barrister than as a member of parliament; and in the latter character it was his misfortune to provoke the enmity of a man, whose thirst for revenge was only to be satiated by the utter ruin of his adversary. in the discussion of a bill of a penal nature, curran inveighed in strong terms against the attorney-general, fitzgibbon, for _sleeping on the bench_ when statutes of the most cruel kind were being enacted; and ironically lamented that the slumber of guilt should so nearly resemble the repose of innocence. a challenge from fitzgibbon was the consequence of this sally; and the parties having met, were to fire when they chose. "i never," said curran, when relating the circumstances of the duel,--"i never saw any one whose determination seemed more malignant than fitzgibbon's. after i had fired, he took aim at me for at least half a minute; and on its proving ineffectual, i could not help exclaiming to him, 'it was not your fault, mr. attorney; you were deliberate enough,'" the attorney-general declared his honor satisfied; and here, at least for the time, the dispute appeared to terminate. not here, however, terminated fitzgibbon's animosity. soon afterwards, he became lord chancellor, and a peer of ireland, by the title of lord clare; and in the former capacity he found an opportunity, by means of his judicial authority, of ungenerously crashing the rising powers and fortunes of his late antagonist. curran, who was at this time a leader, and one of the senior practitioners at the chancery bar, soon felt all the force of his rival's vengeance. the chancellor is said to have yielded a reluctant attention to every motion he made; he frequently stopped him in the middle of a speech, questioned his knowledge of law, recommended to him more attention to facts, in short, succeeded not only in crippling all his professional efforts, but actually in leaving him without a client. curran, indeed, appeared as usual in the three other courts [of the "four courts" at dublin]; but he had been already stripped of his most profitable practice, and as his expenses nearly kept pace with his gains, he was almost left a beggar, for all hopes of the wealth and honors of the long-robe were now denied him. the memory of this persecution embittered the last moments of curran's existence; and he could never even allude to it, without evincing a just and excusable indignation. in a letter which he addressed to a friend, twenty years after, he says, "i made no compromise with power; i had the merit of provoking and despising the personal malice of every man in ireland who was the known enemy of the country. without the walls of the court of justice, my character was pursued with the most persevering slander; and within those walls, though i was too strong to be beaten down by any judicial malignity, it was not so with my clients, and my consequent losses in professional income have never been estimated at less, as you must have often heard, than £ , ." high authority. curran was once engaged in a legal argument; behind him stood his colleague, a gentleman whose person was remarkably tall and slender, and who had originally intended to take holy orders. the judge observing that the case under discussion involved a question of ecclesiastical law,--"then," said curran, "i can refer your lordship to a high authority behind me, who was intended for the church, though in my opinion he was fitter for the steeple." use of red tape. curran, when master of the rolls, said to mr. grattan, "you would be the greatest man of your age, grattan, if you would buy a few yards of red tape, and tie up your bills and papers." curran and the mastiff. curran used to relate with infinite humor an adventure between him and a mastiff, when he was a boy. he had heard somebody say that any person throwing the skirts of his coat over his head, stooping low, holding out his arms, and creeping along backwards, might frighten the fiercest dog, and put him to flight. he accordingly made the attempt on a miller's animal in the neighborhood, who _would never let the boys rob the orchard_; but found to his sorrow that he had a dog to deal with which did not care what end of a boy went foremost, so that he could get a good bite out of it. "i pursued the instructions," said curran, "and as i had no eyes save those in front, fancied the mastiff was in full retreat; but i was confoundedly mistaken; for at the very moment i thought myself victorious, the enemy attacked my rear, and having got a reasonably good mouthful out of it, was fully prepared to take another before i was rescued. egad, i thought for a time the beast had devoured my entire centre of gravity, and that i should never go on a steady perpendicular again." "upon my word," said sir jonah barrington, to whom curran related this story, "the mastiff may have left you your centre, but he could not have left much gravity behind him, among the by-standers." arthur o'leary. arthur o'leary was born in the year , at acres in the parish of fanlobbus, near dunmanway, in the western part of the county of cork. his parents were undistinguished amongst the industrious and oppressed peasantry, who at the time of his birth suffered under the operation of the penal laws. the family from which he descended was early distinguished in irish history; but if his immediate ancestors ever enjoyed a higher rank in the social scale than that which is derived from successful industry, their circumstances had changed long before his birth, as a name which excited the respect of his countrymen, and a mind worthy the possessor of such a name, were the only inheritance of which he could boast. in the year , after having acquired such share of classical literature as the times he lived in would permit, o'leary went to france, with the intention of devoting himself to the service of the catholic church. a convent of capuchin friars at st. malo in brittany, was the school where o'leary imbibed the principles of the learning, virtue, and philanthropy, which during a long life formed the prominent traits in his character. after having received holy orders, he continued to live in the monastery for some time. in the year he returned to ireland, and became resident in the city of cork. shortly after his arrival there, he contributed to the erection of a small chapel, in which he afterwards officiated, and which was generally known in cork as "father o'leary's chapel." here he preached on the sundays and principal festivals of the year to persons of different religious persuasions who crowded it to excess when it was known that he was to appear in the pulpit. his sermons were chiefly remarkable for a happy train of strong moral reasoning, bold figure, and scriptural allusion. his controversy with an infidel. some time in the year , a book was published, the title of which was--"thoughts on nature and religion," which contained much gross blasphemy. its author, a scottish physician of the name of blair, residing in cork, undertook to be the champion of free-thinking in religion; and, under the plausible pretext of vindicating the conduct of servetus in his controversy with calvin, this writer boldly attacked some of the most universally received articles of the christian creed. the work attracted some share of public attention. a poetical effusion in verse was addressed to blair in reply by a minister of the protestant church; and an anabaptist minister also entered the lists with a pamphlet nearly as sceptical as the one he professed to answer. father o'leary's friends thought his style of controversy better suited to silence the doctor than that of either of the tried opponents, and persuaded him to enter the lists. they were not disappointed. his reply crushed blair; while his wit and logic and grand toleration raised him to the esteem and gratitude of his fellow-men. his first letter opens with this beautiful introduction: "sir--your long expected performance has at length made its appearance. if the work tended to promote the happiness of society, to animate our hopes, to subdue our passions, to instruct man in the happy science of purifying the polluted recesses of a vitiated heart, to confirm him in his exalted notion of the dignity of his nature, and thereby to inspire him with sentiments averse to whatever may debase the excellence of his origin, the public would be indebted to you; your name would be recorded amongst the assertors of morality and religion; and i myself, though brought up in a different persuasion from yours, would be the first to offer my incense at the shrine of merit. but the tendency of your performance is to deny the divinity of christ and the immortality of the soul. in denying the first, you sap the foundations of religion; you cut off at one blow the merit of our faith, the comfort of our hope, and the motives of our charity. in denying the immortality of the soul, you degrade human nature, and confound man with the vile and perishable insect. in denying both, you overturn the whole system of religion, whether natural or revealed; and in denying religion, you deprive the poor of the only comfort which supports them under their distresses and afflictions; you wrest from the hands of the powerful and rich the only bridle to their injustices and passions, and pluck from the hearts of the guilty the greatest check to their crimes--i mean this remorse of conscience which can never be the result of a handful of organized matter; this interior monitor, which makes us blush in the morning at the disorders of the foregoing night; which erects in the breast of the tyrant a tribunal superior to his power; and whose importunate voice upbraids a cain in the wilderness with the murder of his brother, and a nero in his palace with that of his mother." deploring the folly of him who thinks "his soul is no more than a subtile vapor, which in death is to be breathed out in the air," he holds that such a person should "conceal his horrid belief with more secrecy than the druids concealed their mysteries. * * in doing otherwise, the infidel only brings disgrace on himself; for the notion of religion is so deeply impressed on our minds, that the bold champions who would fain destroy it, are considered by the generality of mankind as public pests, spreading disorder and mortality wherever they appear; and in our feelings we discover the delusions of cheating philosophy, which can never introduce a religion more pure than that of the christian, nor confer a more glorious privilege on man than that of an immortal soul." his interview with dr. mann. before he entered into a controversy with doctor blair, he deemed it prudent, owing to the state of sufferance in which catholic priests then lived in ireland, to obtain the sanction of the protestant bishop of the diocese. to this end he waited on doctor mann at the episcopal palace. the interview is said to have been humorous in the extreme. o'leary's figure, joined to an originality of manner, sterling wit, and an imagination which gave a color to every object on which it played, made him a visitor of no common kind; and as the bishop was not cast in the mould of "handsome orthodoxy," the meeting was long remembered by both parties. after some explanation, doctor mann gave his consent to the undertaking; in consequence of which the public were soon gratified by the appearance of his letters to blair, whose discomfiture was so complete that he never wrote a public letter afterwards. controversy with john wesley. wesley published in january, , what he called, "a letter containing the civil principles of roman catholics;" also, "a defence of the protestant association." in these letters he maintained that papists "ought not to be tolerated by any government--protestant, mohometan, or pagan." in support of this doctrine, he says-- "again, those who acknowledge the spiritual power of the pope, can give no security of their allegiance to any government; but all roman catholics acknowledge this: therefore they can give no security for their allegiance." in support of this line of argument, he treated his readers to this bit of lively information:-- "but it might be objected, 'nothing dangerous to english liberty is to be apprehended from them.' i am not so certain of that. some time since a romish priest came to one i know, and after talking with her largely, broke out, 'you are no heretic; you have the experience of a real christian.' 'and would you,' she asked, 'burn me alive?' he said, 'god forbid! unless it were for the good of the church.'" in noticing which father o'leary humorously replies-- "a priest then said to a woman, whom mr. wesley _knows_, 'i see you are no heretic; you have the experience of a real christian.' 'and would you burn me?' says she. 'god forbid!' replied the priest, 'except for the good of the church!' now, this priest must be descended from some of those who attempted to blow up a river with gunpowder, in order to drown a city. or he must have taken her for a witch, whereas, by his own confession, she 'was no heretic.' a gentleman whom _i know_ declared to me, upon his honor, that he heard mr. wesley repeat, in a sermon preached by him in the city of cork, the following words: 'a little bird cried out in hebrew, o eternity! eternity! who can tell the length of eternity?' i am, then, of opinion that a _little hebrew bird_ gave mr. wesley the important information about the priest and the woman. one story is as interesting as the other, and both are equally alarming to the protestant interest." alluding to the statute of henry vi, which bound every englishman of the pale to shave his upper lip, or clip his whiskers, to distinguish himself from an irishman, he says: "it had tended more to their mutual interest, and the glory of that monarch's reign, not to go to the nicety of _splitting a hair_, but encourage the growth of their _fleeces_, and inspire them with such mutual love for each other as to induce them to kiss one another's beards, as brothers salute each other at constantinople, after a few days' absence. i am likewise of opinion that mr. wesley, who prefaces his letter with 'the interest of the protestant religion,' would reflect more honor on his ministry in promoting the happiness of the people, by preaching love and union, than in widening the breach, and increasing their calamities by division. the english and irish were, at that time, of the same religion, but, divided in their affections, were miserable. though divided in speculative opinions, if united in sentiment, we would be happy. the english settlers breathed the vital air in england before they inhaled the soft breezes of our temperate climate. the present generation can say, 'our fathers and grandfathers have been born, bred, and buried here. we are irishmen, as the descendants of the normans who have been born in england are englishmen.' "thus, born in an island in which the ancients might have placed their hesperian gardens and golden apples, the temperature of the climate, and the quality of the soil inimical to poisonous insects, have cleansed our veins from the sour and acid blood of the scythians and saxons. we begin to open our eyes, and to learn wisdom from the experience of ages. we are tender-hearted; we are good-natured; we have feelings. we shed tears on the urns of the dead; deplore the loss of hecatombs of victims slaughtered on gloomy altars of religious bigotry; cry on seeing the ruins of cities over which fanaticism has displayed the funeral torch; and sincerely pity the blind zeal of our scotch and english neighbors, whose constant character is to pity none, for erecting the banners of persecution at a time when the inquisition is abolished in spain and milan, and the protestant gentry are caressed at rome, and live unmolested in the luxuriant plains of france and italy. "the statute of henry vi is now grown obsolete. the razor of calamity has shaved our lower and upper lips, and given us smooth faces. our land is uncultivated; our country a desert; our natives are forced into the service of foreign kings, storming towns, and in the very heat of slaughter tempering irish courage with irish mercy. all our misfortunes flow from long-reigning intolerance and the storms which, gathering first in the scotch and english atmosphere, never failed to burst over our heads. "we are too wise to quarrel about religion. the roman catholics sing their psalms in latin, with a few inflections of the voice. our protestant neighbors sing the same psalms in english, on a larger scale of musical notes. we never quarrel with our honest and worthy neighbors, the quakers, for not singing at all; nor shall we ever quarrel with mr. wesley for raising his voice to heaven, and warbling forth his canticles on whatever tune he pleases, whether it be the tune of 'guardian angels' or 'langolee.' we love social harmony, and in civil music hate discordance. thus, when we go to the shambles, we never inquire into the butcher's religion, but into the quality of his meat. we care not whether the ox was fed in the pope's territories, or on the mountains of scotland, provided the joint be good; for though there be many heresies in old books, we discover neither heresy nor superstition in beef or claret. we divide them cheerfully with one another; and though of different religions, we sit over the bowl with as much cordiality as if we were at a love-feast." he concludes with the following remarkable paragraph, in which humor, eloquence, and philanthropy, are happily blended--a paragraph worthy the honorary chaplain of the irish brigade;-- "we have obtained of late the privilege of planting tobacco in ireland, and tobacconists want paper. let mr. wesley then come with me, as the curate and barber went to shave and bless the library of don quixote. all the old books, old canons, sermons, and so forth, tending to kindle feuds, or promote rancor, let us fling out at the windows. society will lose nothing: the tobacconists will benefit by the spoils of antiquity. and if, upon mature deliberation we decree that mr. wesley's 'journal,' and his apology for the association's 'appeal,' should share the same fate with the old buckrams, we will procure them a gentle fall. after having rocked ourselves in the large and hospitable cradle of the _free press_, where the peer and the commoner, the priest and the alderman, the friar and the swaddler,[ ] can stretch themselves at full length, provided they be not too churlish, let us laugh at those who breed useless quarrels, and set to the world the bright example of toleration and benevolence. a peaceable life and happy death to all adam's children! may the ministers of religion of every denomination, whether they pray at the head of their congregations in embroidered vestments or black gowns, short coats, grey locks, powdered wigs, or black curls, instead of inflaming the rabble, and inspiring their hearers with hatred and animosity to their fellow-creatures, recommend love, peace, and harmony." meeting of o'leary and wesley. "in a short time after this controversy had concluded, the parties met at the house of a mutual friend. their different publications were mentioned; but kindness and sincere good feeling towards each other softened down the asperities of sectarian repulsiveness; and after an evening spent in a manner highly entertaining and agreeable, they parted, each expressing his esteem for the other, and both giving the example, that public difference on a religious or political subject is quite consistent with the exercise of the duties of personal kindness and esteem. wesley is said, in this instance, to have relaxed into a most agreeable companion; and o'leary, by his wit, archness, and information, was an inexhaustible source of delight, entertainment, and instruction." dr. o'leary and father callanan. dr. o'leary, though with great talents for a controversialist, always sedulously avoided the angry theme of religious disputation. once, however, notwithstanding his declared aversion to polemics, he was led into a controversy. while he was at cork, he received a letter through the post office, the writer of which, in terms expressive of the utmost anxiety, stated that he was a clergyman of the established church, on whose mind impressions favorable to the catholic creed had been made by some of o'leary's sermons. the writer then professing his enmity to angry controversy, wished to seek further information on some articles of the catholic creed. his name he forbore to reveal. o'leary, anxious to propagate the doctrine of his church, replied in a manner perfectly satisfactory to his anonymous correspondent. other doubts were expressed, and dissipated, until the correspondence had extended to eight or ten long letters. o'leary, in joy at his supposed triumph, whispered the important secret to a few ecclesiastical confidants; among whom was his bosom friend, the rev. lawrence callanan, a francisan friar, of cork. their congratulations and approbation were not wanting, to urge forward the champion of orthodoxy. his arguments bore all before them; even the obstacles arising from family and legal notions, were disregarded by the enthusiastic convert, and he besought o'leary to name a time and place, at which he might lift the mysterious vizor by which he had hitherto been concealed; and above all, have an opportunity of expressing his gratitude to his friend and teacher. the appointed hour arrived. o'leary arranged his orthodox wig, put on his sunday suit of sable, and sallied forth with all collected gravity of a man fully conscious of the novelty and responsibility of the affair in which he was engaged. he arrived at the appointed place of meeting some minutes after the fixed time, and was told that a respectable clergyman awaited his arrival in an adjoining parlor. o'leary enters the room, where he finds, sitting at the table, with the whole correspondence before him, his brother friar, lawrence callanan, who, either from an eccentric freak, or from a wish to call o'leary's controversial powers into action, had thus drawn him into a lengthened correspondence. the joke, in o'leary's opinion, however, was carried too far, and it required the sacrifice of the correspondence and the interference of mutual friends; to effect a reconciliation. o'leary and the quakers. in his "plea for liberty of conscience," father o'leary pays the following high tribute to that sect:-- "the quakers," said he, "to their eternal credit, and to the honor of humanity, are the only persons who have exhibited a meekness and forbearance, worthy the imitation of those who have entered into a covenant of mercy by their baptism. william penn, the great legislator of that people, had the success of a conqueror in establishing and defending his colony amongst savage tribes, without ever drawing the sword; the goodness of the most benevolent rulers in treating his subjects as his own children; and the tenderness of a universal father, who opened his arms to all mankind without distinction of sect or party. in his republic, it was not the religious creed but personal merit, that entitled every member of society to the protection and emoluments of the state. rise from your grave, great man! and teach those sovereigns who make their subjects miserable on account of their catechisms, the method of making them happy. they! whose dominions resemble enormous prisons, where one part of the creation are distressed captives, and the other their unpitying keepers." his reception at the rotundo by the volunteers. "it was impossible that the high and distinguished claims to respect and esteem which o'leary possessed, should escape unnoticed by the volunteer association. never was a more glorious era in the history of ireland, than whilst the wealth, valor, and genius of her inhabitants became combined for the welfare of their country--whilst every citizen was a soldier, and every paltry political or sectarian difference and distinction was lost in the full glow and fervor of the great constitutional object, which roused the energies and fixed the attention of the people. it was a spectacle worthy the proudest days of greece or rome; but it passed away like the sudden gleam of a summer sun. o'leary was exceeded by none of his contemporaries as a patriot: but, though the coarse and misshapen habit of a poor friar of the order of st. francis forebade his intrusion into the more busy scene of national politics, his pen was not inactive in enlightening and directing his countrymen in their constitutional pursuits. a highly respectable body of the volunteers, the _irish brigade_, conferred on him the honorary dignity of chaplain; and many of the measures discussed at the national convention held in dublin, had been previously submitted to his consideration and judgment. on the th of november, , the same day on which the message said to be from lord kenmare was read at the national convention, then, holding its meetings in the rotundo, father o'leary visited that celebrated assemblage. at his arrival at the outer door, the entire guard of the volunteers received him under a full salute, and rested arms: he was ushered into the meeting amidst the cheers of the assembled delegates; and in the course of the debate which followed, his name was mentioned in the most flattering and complimenting manner, by most of the speakers. on his journey from cork to the capital on that occasion, his arrival had been anticipated in kilkenny, where he remained to dine; and in consequence, the street in which the hotel at which he stopped was situate, was filled from an early hour with persons of every class, who sought to pay a testimony of respect to an individual, whose writings had so powerfully tended to promote the welfare and happiness of his countrymen." o'leary and john o'keefe. in the _recollections of john o'keefe_, the following anecdote is related:-- "in i was in company with father o'leary, at the house of flynn, the printer in cork. o'leary had a fine smooth brogue; his learning was extensive, and his wit brilliant. he was tall and thin, with, a long, pale, and pleasant visage, smiling and expressive. his dress was an entire suit of brown, of the old shape; a narrow stock, tight about his neck; his wig amply powdered, with a high poking foretop. in the year, , my son tottenham and i met him in st. james's park, (london,) at the narrow entrance near spring gardens. a few minutes after, we were joined accidentally by jemmy wilder, well known in dublin--once the famous macheath, in smock alley--a worthy and respectable character, of a fine, bold, athletic figure, but violent and extravagant in his mode of acting. he had quitted the stage, and commenced picture-dealer; and when we met him in the park, was running after a man, who, he said, had bought a picture of rubens for three shillings and sixpence at a broker's stall in drury-lane, and which was to make his (wilder's) fortune. our loud laughing at o'leary's jokes, and his irish brogue, and our stopping up the pathway, which is here very narrow, brought a crowd about us. o'leary was very fond of the drama, and delighted in the company of the 'glorious boys,' as he called the actors--particularly that of johnny johnstone, for his fine singing in a room." o'leary and the irish parliament. on the th february, , the following interesting debate took place, the subject under consideration being a clause in the catholic bill directed against the friars:-- "sir lucius o'brien said, he did not approve of the regulars, though his candor must acknowledge that many men amongst them have displayed great abilities. ganganelli (clement xiv) and the reverend doctor arthur o'leary are distinguished among the franciscans; and many great men have been produced in the benedictine order. he saw no temptation that regulars had for coming here, if it was not to abandon certain competence where they were, for certain poverty in this kingdom. "mr. grattan said, he could not hear the name of father o'leary mentioned without paying him that tribute of acknowledgment so justly due to his merit. at the time that this very man lay under the censure of a law which, in his own country, made him subject to transportation or death, from religious distinctions; and at the time that a prince of his own religion threatened this country with an invasion, this respectable character took up his pen, and unsolicited, and without a motive but that of real patriotism, to urge his own communion to a disposition of peace, and to support the law which had sentenced him to transportation. a man of learning--a philosopher--a franciscan--did the most eminent service to his country in the hour of its greatest danger. he brought out a publication that would do honor to the most celebrated name. the whole kingdom must bear witness to its effect, by the reception they gave it. poor in everything but genius and philosophy, he had no property at stake, no family to fear for; but descending from the contemplation of wisdom, and abandoning the ornaments of fancy, he humanely undertook the task of conveying duty and instruction to the lowest class of the people. if i did not know him (continued mr. grattan) to be a christian clergyman, i should suppose him by his works to be a philosopher of the augustine age. the regulars are a harmless body of men, and should not be disturbed. "mr. st. george declared, notwithstanding his determined opposition to the regulars, he would, for the sake of one exalted character of their body, be tolerant to the rest. but he, at the same time, would uniformly oppose the tolerating any more regular clergy than what were at present in the kingdom. "mr. yelverton said, that he was proud to call such a man as dr. o'leary his particular friend. his works might be placed upon a footing with the finest writers of the age. they originated from the urbanity of the heart; because unattached to the world's affairs, he could have none but the purest motives of rendering service to the cause of morality and his country. had he not imbibed every sentiment of toleration before he knew father o'leary, he should be proud to adopt sentiments of toleration from him. he should yield to the sense of the committee in respect to the limitation of regulars; because, he believed, no invitation which could be held out would bring over another o'leary." "in a more advanced stage of the catholic bill, on the th of march, these eulogies gave rise to some words between 'the rival orators,' as messrs. flood and grattan were then designated in parliament. 'i am not,' said flood towards the end of a speech, 'the missionary of a religion i do not profess; nor do i speak eulogies on characters i will not imitate.' no challenge of this nature ever was given by either of these great men in vain. mr. grattan spoke at some length to the subject under debate, and concluded in these words: 'now, one word respecting dr. o'leary. something has been said about eulogies pronounced, and missionaries of religion. i am not ashamed of the part which i took in that gentleman's panegyric; nor shall i ever think it a disgrace to pay the tribute of praise to the philosopher and the virtuous man.'" his interview with daniel danser. father o'leary, when in london, had a great desire to see daniel danser; but finding access to the king of misers very difficult, invented a singular plan to gain his object. he sent a message to the miser, to the effect that he had been in the indies, become acquainted with a man of immense wealth named danser, who had died intestate, and, without a shadow of doubt, was a relative of his. it may be that a recent dream, coupled with the troubled state of the palm of his right hand, had their share in inducing daniel to allow the witty friar into his apartment. once entered, o'leary contrived to sit down without depriving mr. danser of the least portion of his dust, which, seemed to please him much; for daniel held that cleaning furniture was an invention of the enemy; that it only helped to wear it out; consequently, regarded his dust as the protector of his household gods. daniel's fond dreams of wealth from the indies being dispelled, o'leary began to console him by an historical review of the danser family, whose genealogy he traced from david, who _danced_ before the israelites, down to the welsh _jumpers_, then contemporaries of _dancing_ notoriety. his wit triumphed: for a moment the sallow brow of avarice became illumined by the indications of a delighted mind, and _danser_ had courage enough to invite his visitor to partake of a glass of wine, which, he said, he would procure for his refreshment. a cordial shake hands was the return made for o'leary's polite refusal of so expensive a compliment; and he came from the house followed by its strange tenant, who, to the amusement of o'leary, and the astonishment of the only other person who witnessed the scene, solicited the favor of another visit. a fop. "the "two-edged sword of wit," as that faculty has been termed, was wielded by o'leary in the more serious circumstances of life, as well as in its playful hours. an instance where the painful exercise of this was happily spared, occurred at one of the meetings of the english catholics, during the celebrated _blue book_ controversy. one of the individuals who was expected to advocate the objectionable designation of "protesting catholic dissenters," an appellation equally ludicrous and unnecessary, was remarkable for an affected mode of public speaking. what in dress is termed _foppish_, would be appropriate as applied to his oratory. he was no admirer of o'leary, and the feeling of dislike was as mutual as could well be conceived. him, therefore, o'leary selected as the opponent with whom he meant to grapple. those to whom he communicated his intention, and who knew his powers, looked forward with expectation "on tiptoe" for a scene of enjoyment that no anticipation could exaggerate. disappointment was, however, their lot. the meeting passed over quietly, and neither the objectionable matter nor speaker was brought forward. however much his friends regretted this circumstance, o'leary was himself sincerely pleased; for he never desired to give unnecessary pain. the gentlemen in concert with whom he acted, dined together after the meeting, and the conversation happening to turn on the disappointment which they had experienced in the result of the debate, one of them who knew o'leary intimately, inquired what line of argument he had intended to pursue, if the meeting had assumed the objectionable aspect which was dreaded--this was applying the torch to gunpowder: he commenced an exhibition of the ludicrous so like what would have taken place, so true in manner and matter to what every one who knew the parties could anticipate, that the assemblage was convulsed with laughter to a degree that made it memorable in the recollections of all who witnessed it." his person and mode of argument. mr. butler, in his historical memoirs, describes o'leary's person and mode of argument thus:-- "the appearance of father o'leary was simple. in his countenance there was a mixture of goodness, solemnity, and drollery, which fixed every eye that beheld it. no one was more generally loved or revered; no one less assuming or more pleasing in his manner. seeing his external simplicity, persons with whom he was arguing were sometimes tempted to treat him cavalierly; but then the solemnity with which he would mystify his adversary, and ultimately lead him into the most distressing absurdity was one of the most delightful scenes that conversation ever exhibited." o'leary and "captain rock." in tom moore's "memoirs of captain rock," the outlaw gives the following humorous sketch:-- "the appearance of father arthur at our little chapel was quite unexpected. we had heard, indeed, that he was proceeding through distant parts of the country, but we had no idea that he would pay us a visit. the mind of man is a strange compound of opposite passion. i had everything to apprehend from the poor friar's preaching; yet, strange as it may appear, i was almost willing to have all my bright scenes overturned, provided i could have the pleasure to see and hear the celebrated father o'leary. he opposed our designs, disapproved of our motives, and censured our intentions; yet without having ever seen him, we loved--almost adored him. fame had wafted his name even to rockglen; and how could we but venerate a man who had exalted the character of irishmen, vindicated our oppressed country, and obtained from the ranks of protestantism, friends for our insulted creed. "besides, he was peculiarly adapted to our taste. he made the world laugh at the foibles of our enemies, and put us in good humor with ourselves. it was not, therefore, without some slight satisfaction that we were informed from the altar that the good friar meant to address us on our manifold transgressions. never did men manifest such eagerness to receive reproof. at the sound of his name, there was a general rush towards the altar. the old women, for the first time in their lives, ceased coughing, and the old men desisted from spitting. the short people were elevated on their toes, and the tall people suffered their hats (felt ones) to be crushed as flat as pancakes, sooner then incommode their neighbors--a degree of politeness seldom practised in more polished assemblies. all breathed short and thick; and much as we venerated our good priest, we fancied he was particularly tedious in the lecture he thought fit to read us on our neglecting to go to confession, and on our dilatoriness in paying the last easter dues. at length he concluded by announcing father o'leary." lots drawn to have him at dinner in , o'leary visited dublin on business connected with a bill before parliament, which aimed at the destruction of the friars. during his visit to dublin, at this period, the following circumstance, quite characteristic of o'leary, is said to have taken place. he accidentally met, in the lobby of the house of commons, the late lord avonmore, then mr. yelverton, and two gentlemen, members of the legislature; who, on his appearance, entered into a friendly altercation to determine with which of them o'leary should, on the next day, share the splendid hospitality which reigned in the metropolis during the sessions of parliament. it was at length decided that the prize of his unrivalled wit and sociability should be determined by lot. o'leary was an amused and silent spectator of the contest. the fortunate winner was congratulated on his success; and the rivals separated to meet on the morrow. when the hour of dinner was come, o'leary forgot which of his three friends was to be his host. it was too late to make formal inquiries; and, as he was the honored guest, he dared not absent himself. in this difficulty, his ready imagination suggested an expedient. his friends, he recollected, lived in the same square, and he therefore, some short time after the usual dinner hour, sent a servant to inquire at each of the houses--'if father o'leary was there?' at the two first, where application was made, the reply was in the negative; but at the last, the porter answered, that 'he was not there; but that dinner was ordered to be kept back, as he was every moment expected.' thus directed, 'father arthur's' apology for delay was a humorous and detailed account of his expedient--the evening flew quickly away on the wings of eloquence and wit, and the laughable incident was long remembered and frequently repeated. * * * * * father o'leary's great intimacy with the leading protestants of london, gave rise to a rumor that he, like lord dunboyne and mr. kirwin, had read his recantation. he contradicts it in the following letter:-- "_london, june_ , . "sir--a confusion of names gave rise, some months ago, to a mistake copied from the _dublin evening post_ into the _bath chronicle_, and other papers in this kingdom, viz., that 'i had read my recantation in st. werburgh's church in dublin.' thus a mistake has changed me into a conformist, though i never changed my creed. "if in reality the tenets of my church were such as prejudice and ignorance proclaim them:--if they taught me that a papal dispensation could sanctify guilt, sanction conspiracies, murders, the extirpation of my fellow-creatures on account of difference of religious opinions, perjury to promote the catholic cause, by pious breaches of allegiance to protestant kings, or rebellion against their government;--if it were an article of my belief that a priestly absolution without sorrow for my sins, or a resolution of amendment, had the power of a charm to reclaim me to the state of unoffending infancy, and enable me, like milton's devil, to leap from the gulf of sin into paradise without purifying my heart or changing my affections;--if it were an article of my faith that the grace of an indulgence could give me the extraordinary privilege of sinning without guilt or offending without punishment;--if it inculcated any maxim evasive of moral rectitude:--in a word, if the features of my religion corresponded with the pictures drawn of it in flying pamphlets and anniversary declamations, i would consider myself and the rest of my fraternity as downright idiots, wickedly stupid, to remain one hour in a state which deprives us of our rights as citizens, whereas such an accommodating scheme would make them not only attainable, but certain. "your correspondent does me the honor to rank me with lord dunboyne, formerly titular bishop of cork, and with mr. kirwan. if they have changed their religion from a thorough conviction of its falsehood, they have done well. it is the duty of every sincere admirer after truth to comply with the immediate dictates of his conscience, in embracing that religion which he believes most acceptable to god. deplorable, indeed, must be the state of the man who lives in wilful error. for, however an all-wise god may hereafter dispose of those who err in their honesty, and whose error, is involuntary and invincible, surely no road can be right to the wretch who walks in it against conviction. a thorough conviction, then, that i am in the right road to eternal life, if my moral conduct corresponds with my speculative belief, keeps me within the pale of my church in direct opposition to my temporal interest; and no protestant nobleman or gentleman of my acquaintance esteems me the less for adhering to my creed, knowing that a catholic and an honest man are not contradictory terms. "i do not consider lord dunboyne as a model after whom i should copy. with his silver locks, and at an age when persons who had devoted themselves to the service of the altar in their early days, should, like the emperor charles v, rather think of their coffins than the nuptial couch, that prelate married a young woman. whether the glowing love of truth or hymen's torch induced him to change the roman pontifical for the book of common prayer, and the psalms he and i often sang together for a bridal hymn, his own conscience is the most competent to determine: certain however, it is, that, if the charms of the fair sex can captivate an old bishop to such a degree as to induce him to renounce his breviary, similar motives, and the prospect of aggrandizement, may induce a young ecclesiastic to change his cassock. "having from my early days accustomed myself to get the mastery over ambition and love--the two passions that in every age have enslaved the greatest heroes--your correspondent may rest assured that i am not one of the trio mentioned in this letter.--arthur o'leary." o'leary and the rector. a protestant rector invited o'leary to see his parish church, a building remarkable for its architectural beauty. while the friar was viewing the building, the rector thought he was contrasting its nakedness with the interior beauty of the roman catholic churches, and observed: "you perceive, mr. o'leary," said he, "that, different from you, we are very sparing of ornaments in our churches; we have neither paintings nor statuary to attract the worshipper's attention." "ah!" replied o'leary, with an arch smile, "you are _young housekeepers_, you know." lady morgan. lady morgan, in her "wild irish girl," speaking of "father john," chaplain of the prince of coolavin, says:--"father john was modelled on the character of the dean of sligo, dr. flynn, one of those learned, liberal, and accomplished gentlemen of the irish catholic hierarchy of that day, whom foreign travel and education, and consequent intercourse with european society and opinions, sent back to ireland for its advantage and illustration, thus turning the penalties of its shallow and jealous government into a national benefit. at the head of this distinguished order stood the illustrious father o'leary, the catholic dean swift of his time, the champion of peace, and the eloquent preacher of christian charity. his noble works live to attest his fitness to counsel his country for her good, while his brilliant wit kept up her reputation for that splendid gift which penal statutes can neither give nor take away." a batch of interesting anecdotes. in his "personal sketches," sir jonah barrington gives us a portrait of father o'leary:-- "i frequently had an opportunity of meeting at my father-in-law mr. grogan's, where he often dined, a most worthy priest, father o'leary, and have listened frequently, with great zest, to anecdotes which he used to tell with a quaint yet spirited humor, quite unique. his manner, his air, his countenance, all bespoke wit, talent, and a good heart. i liked his company excessively, and have often regretted i did not cultivate his acquaintance more, or recollect his witticisms better. it was singular, but it was a fact, that even before father o'leary opened his lips, a stranger would say, 'that is an irishman,' and, at the same time, guess him to be a priest. "one anecdote in particular i remember. coming from st. omers, he told us, he stopped a few days to visit a brother-priest in the town of boulogne-sur-mer. here he heard of a great curiosity, which all people were running to see--curious bear that some fishermen had taken at sea out of a wreck; it had sense, and attempted to utter a sort of _lingo_, which they called _patois_, but which nobody understood. "o'leary gave his six sous to see the wonder which was shown at the port by candle-light, and was a very odd kind of animal, no doubt. the bear had been taught a hundred tricks, all to be performed at the keeper's word of command. it was late in the evening when o'leary saw him, and the bear seemed sulky; the keeper, however, with a short spike fixed at the end of a pole, made him move about briskly. he marked on sand what o'clock it was, with his paw; and distinguished the men and women in a very comical way: in fact, our priest was quite diverted. the beast at length grew tired--the keeper hit him with the pole--he stirred a little, but continued quite sullen; his master coaxed him--no! he would not work! at length, the brute of a keeper gave him two or three sharp pricks with the goad, when he roared out most tremendously, and rising on his hind-legs, swore at his tormentors in very good native irish. o'leary waited no longer, but went immediately to the mayor, whom he informed that the blackguard fishermen had sewed up a poor irishman in a bear's-skin, and were showing him about for six sous! the civic dignitary, who had himself seen the bear, would not believe our friend. at last, o'leary prevailed on him to accompany him to the room. on their arrival, the bear was still on duty, and o'leary stepped up to him, says:--'_cianos tha'n thu, a phadhrig_?' (how d'ye do, pat?) '_slan, go raimh math agut_!' (pretty well, thank you,) says the bear. the people were surprised to hear how plainly he spoke--but the mayor ordered him directly to be ripped up; and after some opposition, and a good deal of difficulty, pat stepped forth stark naked out of the bear's-skin wherein he had been fourteen or fifteen days most cleverly stitched. the women made off--the men stood astonished--and the mayor ordered his keepers to be put in goal unless they satisfied him; but that was presently done. the bear afterwards told o'leary that he was very well fed, and did not care much about the clothing; only they worked him too hard: the fishermen had found him at sea on a hencoop, which had saved him from going to the bottom, with a ship wherein he had a little venture of dried cod from dungarvan, and which was bound from waterford to bilboa. he could not speak a word of any language but irish, and had never been at sea before: the fishermen had brought him in, fed him well, and endeavored to repay themselves by showing him as a curiosity. "o'leary's mode of telling this story was quite admirable. i never heard any anecdote (and i believe this one to be true) related with such genuine drollery, which was enhanced by his not changing a muscle himself, while every one of his hearers was in a paroxysm of laughter. "another anecdote he used to tell with incomparable dramatic humor. by the bye, all his stories were somehow national; and this gives me occasion to remark, that i think ireland is, at this moment, as little known in many parts of the continent as it seems to have been then. i have myself heard it more than once spoken of as an _english town_. at nancy, where father o'leary was travelling, his native country happened to be mentioned when one of the party, a quiet french farmer of burgundy, asked, in an unassuming tone, 'if ireland stood _encore_?' 'encore,' said an astonished john bull, a courier coming from germany--'encore! to be sure she does; we have her yet, i assure you, monsieur.' 'though neither very safe, nor very sound,' interposed an officer of the irish brigade, who happened to be present, looking very significantly at o'leary, and not very complacently at the courier. 'and pray, monsieur,' rejoined john bull to the frenchman, 'why _encore_?' '_pardon, monsieur_,' replied the frenchman, 'i heard it had been worn out (_fatigue_) long ago, by the great number of people that were living in it.' the fact is, the frenchman had been told, and really understood, that ireland was a large house, where the english were wont to send their idle vagabonds, and from whence they were drawn out again, as they were wanted, to fill the ranks of the army." a dog's religion. one day, while walking in the suburbs of the city of cork, he met the rev. mr. flack, a protestant clergyman, and mr. solomons, a jew--both friends of his mr. flack's dog was running on before them. "good morrow, friends," said o'leary. "well, what interesting topic engages your attention now?" "to be candid with you," replied the clergyman, "we were just conjecturing what religion this dog of mine would be likely to embrace, if it were possible for him to choose." "strange subject, indeed," said o'leary; "but were i to offer an opinion, i would venture to say he would become a protestant!" "how," asked the protestant clergyman and the jew. "why," replied o'leary, "he would not be a jew, for, you know, he would retain his passion for pork: he would not become a catholic, for i am quite certain he would eat meat on a friday. what religion, then, could he become, but a protestant!" howard, the philanthropist, and mr. henry shears. "about this time it was," says his biographer, "that the philanthropist howard, led by his benevolent enthusiasm to fathom dungeons, vindicate the wrongs, and alleviate the sufferings of the lonely and forgotten victim of vice and crime, arrived at cork. a society had for some years existed in that city 'for the relief and discharge of persons confined for small debts,' of which o'leary was an active and conspicuous member. this association had its origin in the humane mind of henry shears, esq., the father of two distinguished victims to the political distractions of their country in : and a literary production of that gentleman, which in its style and matter emulated the elegance and morality of addison, strengthened and matured the benevolent institution. during mr. howard's stay in cork, he was introduced to o'leary by their common friend, archdeacon austen. two such minds required but an opportunity to admire and venerate each other; and frequently, in after times, howard boasted of sharing the friendship and esteem of the friar." his habits of study--his influence. "in the midst of the cares and distractions," says his biographer, "to which the active duties of the ministry subjected o'leary, he still indulged his usual habits of study. no unexpected visitor ever found him unoccupied: his reading was extensive, profound, and incessant; and his hours of silence and retreat as many as he could abstract from the necessary and inevitable claim of his flock, or could deny to the kind importunity of his numerous and respectable acquaintance. few men ever possessed the power of enjoying an extensive influence over public opinion more than o'leary. every thing he said or wrote was by every one admired. the wise and learned were delighted with the original and correct views which he took of every subject that employed his mind; whilst the amiable simplicity of his manners, the endearing kindness of his disposition, and the worth, purity, and uprightness of his life and conduct, were claims to regard that could neither be denied nor unattended to. it is, therefore, to be lamented that such transcendent faculties should have remained suspended or inactive, or been, for a moment, diverted in their application from their appropriate object or natural sphere--the moral correction of the age." edmond burke. on father o'leary's arrival in london he was anxiously sought after by his countrymen residing in that capital, who all felt gratified by every opportunity which offered itself, of paying respect to one who had done so much honor to religion and their country. mr. edmond burke was very marked in the regard which he manifested to o'leary.--it was, in fact, impossible, after an evening spent in his society, not to seek at every future opportunity a renewal of the delight which his wit, pleasantly, and wisdom afforded. his charity. like dean swift, father o'leary relieved, every monday morning, a number of reduced roomkeepers and working men. the average of his weekly charity amounted to two, sometimes three pounds--though he had no income except that derived from the contributions of those who frequented the poor capuchin little chapel. * * * * * after the publication of his "essay on toleration," father o'leary was elected a member of the "monks of st. patrick," which took its rise under the auspices of that great lawyer, lord avonmore, then mr. yelverton. as a return for the honor thus conferred on him, he expressed his gratitude in the dedication of his various productions, which he collected together, and published in . * * * * * at one of the meetings of the english catholic board, whilst o'leary was addressing the chairman, the late lord petre, it was suggested by the noble president that the speaker was entering on topics not calculated to promote the unanimity of the assembly. o'leary, however, persevered: on which lord petre interrupted him, adding, "mr. o'leary, i regret much to see that you are _out of order_." the reply was equally quick and characteristic--"i thank you for your anxiety, my lord; but i assure you _i never was in letter health in my life_." the archness of manner with which these words were uttered was triumphant, and every unpleasant feeling was lost in the mirth which was necessarily excited. o'leary versus curran. in the "reminiscences" of the celebrated singer and composer, michael kelly, the following interesting anecdotes are given: "i had the pleasure to be introduced to my worthy countryman, the rev. father o'leary, the well-known roman catholic priest; he was a man of infinite wit, of instructing and amusing conversation. i felt highly honored by the notice of this pillar of the roman church; our tastes were congenial, for his reverence was mighty fond of whisky-punch, and so was i; and many a jug of saint patrick's eye-water, night after night, did his reverence and myself enjoy, chatting over the exhilarating and national beverage. he sometimes favored me with his company at dinner; when he did, i always had a corned shoulder of mutton for him, for he, like some others of his countrymen who shall be nameless, was marvellously fond of that dish. "one day the facetious john philpot curran, who was very partial to the said corned mutton, did me the honor to meet him. to enjoy the society of such men was an intellectual treat. they were great friends, and seemed to have a mutual respect for each other's talents and, as it may be easily imagined, o'leary versus curran was no bad match. "one day, after dinner, curran said to him, 'reverend father, i wish you were saint peter.' "'and why, counsellor, would you wish that i were saint peter?' asked o'leary. "'because, reverend father, in that case,' said curran, 'you would have the keys of heaven, and you could _let me in_.' "'by my honor and conscience, counsellor,' replied the divine, 'it would be better for you if i had the keys of the other place, for then i could _let you out_' curran enjoyed the joke, which, he admitted, had a good deal of justice in it." his triumph over dr. johnson. "o'leary told us of a whimsical triumph which he once enjoyed over the celebrated dr. johnson. o'leary was very anxious to be introduced to that learned man, and mr. arthur murphy took him one morning to the doctor's lodgings. on his entering the room, the doctor viewed him from top to toe, without taking any notice of him; and, at length, darting one of his sourest looks at him, he spoke to him in the hebrew language, to which o'leary made no reply. 'why do you not answer me, sir?' 'faith, sir,' said o'leary, 'because i don't understand the language in which you are addressing me.' upon this, the doctor, with a contemptuous sneer, said to murphy, 'why, sir, this is a pretty fellow you have brought hither. sir, he does not comprehend the primitive language.' o'leary immediately bowed very low, and complimented the doctor in a long speech in irish, to which the doctor, not understanding a word, made no reply, but looked at murphy. o'leary, seeing the doctor was puzzled at hearing a language of which he was ignorant, said to murphy, pointing to the doctor, 'this is a pretty fellow to whom you have brought me. sir, he does not understand the language of the sister kingdom.' the reverend _padre_ then made another low bow, and quitted the room." a nolle prosequi. at the time that barry yelverton was attorney-general, himself and o'leary, while enjoying the beauties of killarney, had the rare fortune to witness a staghunt. the hunted animal ran towards the spot where the attorney-general and o'leary stood. "ah!" said father arthur, with genuine wit, "how naturally instinct leads him to come to you, that you may deliver him by a _nolle prosequi_!" the prince of wales. george the fourth, when prince of wales, frequently had as guests at his table sheridan, grattan, curran, flood, and father o'leary. croly, in his "life of george the fourth," says--"an occasional guest, and a sufficiently singular one, was an irish franciscan, arthur o'leary, a man of strong faculties and considerable knowledge. his first celebrity was as a pamphleteer, in a long battle with woodward, the able bishop of cloyne, in ireland.--o'leary abounded in irish anecdote, and was a master of pleasant humor. "sheridan said that he considered claret the true parliamentary wine for the peerage, for it might make a man sleepy or sick, but it never warmed his heart, or stirred up his brains. port, generous port, was for the commons--it was for the business of life--it quickened the circulation and fancy together. for his part, he never felt that he spoke as he liked, until after a couple of bottles. o'leary observed, that this was like a _porter_; he never could go steady without a _load_ on his head." the closing scenes of his life. "the disturbances," says his biographer, "by which ireland was convulsed in pained o'leary's mind. the efforts made by the tools of a base faction, to give the tinge of religious fanaticism to the political distractions of that country, excited his indignation; and, as his name had been wantonly and insultingly introduced by sir richard musgrave, in his libellous compilation on the irish rebellions, he entertained the notion of publishing a refutation of the calumnies which had been so industriously circulated against the catholics, not only in that scandalous work, but likewise in various other historical essays at that time. for this purpose o'leary had prepared some very valuable manuscript collections: he looked back to the history of the earlier periods of the english rule in ireland; and from his friends in various parts of that kingdom he procured authentic details of the insurrectionary disturbances: impartiality was his object; and he left no means untried to collect the most voluminous and exact account of every circumstance connected with, or immediately arising out of, the rebellion, the history of which he ultimately declared it his design to publish. "the progress of disease, and the rapidly increasing infirmities of old age, hindered the fulfilment of o'leary's wishes: he was unable to proceed into any part of the task of composition, but he was relieved from anxiety by the fortunate circumstance of his intimacy with francis plowden esq., whose historical review of ireland, and whose subsequent publication in defence of that country, have raised him to a rank amongst historians, honorably and deservedly conspicuous. when o'leary learned that his friend was engaged, at the desire of mr. pitt, in writing the 'historical review,' he sent him his invaluable collections, as affording the best and most authentic materials for the recent history of ireland; and the manner in which the documents, thus furnished, were applied to the purposes of truth, must have given gratification to o'leary's mind, had he lived long enough to witness this successful vindication of his country and religion. his descent to the grave was too rapid to afford him that pleasure; and it was not till it had closed over his remains, that the world was gratified with the best and most authentic work ever published on the political history of ireland. "we approach now to the last scene of o'leary's busy life; and it is one which, like too many others, preaches to mankind the necessity of being always prepared for the unrevealed hour that shall terminate mortal existence. "towards the end of the year , ill health shed a gloom over his mind, to which the consciousness of approaching dissolution gave facilities and permanency. his contests with bad men had been frequent; and the frailties and follies of the world, and the instability of human friendship, which he had often experienced, haunted his mind at this time to a degree that was painful for those who loved and revered him, to witness. his medical friends tried the resources of their professional skill for the alleviation of his disease in vain; and as a last prescription, they recommended to him a short residence in the south of france, as calculated, if any thing could, to revive his spirits and restore his health. agreeably to this advice, in company with mr. m'grath, a medical friend, to whose kindness he was much indebted, he proceeded to france; but his hopes of relief were disappointed, and he shortly determined on returning to london. the state in which he found society in france--so different from what it had been, when he first visited 'the lovely, fertile south,' shocked him; and he uttered his opinion of the change which he witnessed, by saying, emphatically, 'that there was not now a _gentleman_ in all france.' "his arrival in london was on the th of january, . it was his intention to have landed at dover; but tempestuous weather compelled the vessel in which he was to land at ramsgate. the effects of this voyage tended to hasten his death, which took place the morning after his arrival in london, in the rd year of his age." daniel o'connell. darby moran. o'connell in his celebrated speech in defence of the rev. t. maguire, relates the following story, in which the reader will not fail to perceive the little chance which perjury had in escaping his detection:-- "allow me," said he, addressing the court, "to tell you a story, which is not the worse for being perfectly true. i was assessor of the sheriff at an election in the county of clare; a freeholder came to vote under the name of darby moran, and as darby moran both his signature and mark were attached to the certificate of registry. he, of course, was objected to. it was insisted that if he was illiterate, he could not have written his name--if literate, he should not have added his mark; in either view it was contended, with the vehemence suited to such occasions, that his registry was bad. it is, wherever i have authority to adjudicate, a rule with me to decide as few abstract propositions as i possibly can. i therefore resolved first to ascertain the fact whether darby moran could write or not. i accordingly gave him paper, and asked him could he write his name. he flippantly answered that he could, and in my presence instantly wrote down 'john o'brien'--he totally forgot that he was playing darby moran. thus this trick was exposed and defeated." a dead man with life in him. it was difficult for o'connell, even at an advanced period of his professional career, to exhibit those powers as an advocate, which were afterwards so finely developed; for the silk gown that encased inferior merit gave a precedence to protestant lawyers of even younger standing, and he rarely had an opportunity of addressing a jury. this probably induced him to cultivate with more ardor a talent for cross-examination, which was unquestionably unrivalled, and which was displayed by him at a very early period. it exhibited itself very strongly in a trial on the munster circuit, in which the question was, the validity of a will, by which property to some amount was devised, and which the plaintiffs alleged was forged. the subscribing witnesses swore that the deceased signed the will while _life was in him_. the evidence was going strong in favor of the will--at last o'connell undertook to cross-examine one of the witnesses. he shrewdly observed that he was particular in swearing several times that "life was in the testator when the will was signed," and that he saw his hand sign it. "by virtue of your oath was he alive," said mr. o'connell. "by virtue of my oath, _life was in him_;" and this the witness repeated several times. "now," continued o'connell, with great solemnity, and assuming an air of inspiration--"i call on you, in presence of your maker, before whom you must one day be judged for the evidence you give here to-day, i solemnly ask--and answer me at your peril--was it not a live fly that was in the dead man's mouth when his hand was placed on the will?" 'the witness fell instantaneously on his knees, and acknowledged it was so, and that the fly was placed in the mouth of deceased to enable the witnesses to swear _that life was in him_. the intuitive quickness with which o'connell conjectured the cause of the fellow's always swearing that "life was in him," obtained for him the admiration of every one in court, and very materially assisted in securing his professional success. a young judge done. in the course of his attendance at an assizes in cork, he was counsel in a case in which his client was capitally charged, and was so little likely to escape, and was actually so guilty of the crime, that his attorney considered the case utterly desperate. o'connell entered the court aware of the hopelessness of his client's chances. he knew it was useless to attempt a defence in the ordinary way. there was evidence sufficient to ensure a conviction. at that time it happened that the present chief justice, then sergeant, lefroy presided, in the absence of one of the judges who had fallen ill. o'connell understood the sort of man he had on the bench. he opened the defence by putting to the first witness a number of the most illegal questions. he, of course, knew they were illegal, and that objections would be raised. sergeant goold was the crown prosecutor, and he started up, and expressed his objections. the learned chief justice declared his concurrence, and decided peremptorily that he could not allow mr. o'connell to proceed with his line of examination. "well, then, my lord," said o'connell, after a little expostulation, "as you refuse permitting me to defend my client, i leave his fate in your hands;" and he flung his brief from him, adding, as he turned away, "the blood of that man, my lord, will be on your head, if he is condemned." o'connell then left the court. in half-an-hour afterwards, as he was walking on the flagway outside, the attorney for the defence ran out to him without his hat. "well," said o'connell, "he is found guilty?" "no, sir," answered the solicitor, "he has been acquitted." o'connell is said to have smiled meaningly on the occasion, as if he had anticipated the effect of the _ruse_; for it was a _ruse_ he had recourse to, in order to save the unfortunate culprit's life. he knew that flinging the onus on a young and a raw judge could be the only chance for his client. the judge did take up the case o'connell had ostensibly, in a pet, abandoned. the witnesses were successively cross-examined by the judge himself. he conceived a prejudice in favor of the accused. he, perhaps, had a natural timidity of incurring the responsibility thrown on him by o'connell. he charged the jury in the prisoner's favor, and the consequence was, the unexpected acquittal of the prisoner. "_i knew_," said o'connell afterwards, "the only chance was to throw the responsibility on the judge." o'connell and a snarling attorney. o'connell could be seen to greatest advantage in an irish court of justice. there he displayed every quality of the lawyer and the advocate. he showed perfect mastery of his profession, and he exhibited his own great and innate qualities. who that ever beheld him on the munster circuit, when he was in the height of his fame, but must have admired his prodigious versatility of formidable powers. his pathos was often admirable--his humor flowed without effort or art. what jokes he uttered!--what sarcasms! how well he worked his case, never throwing away a chance, never relaxing his untiring energies. how he disposed of a pugnacious attorney may be gathered from the following:-- "for a round volley of abusive epithets nobody could surpass him. one of his droll comic sentences was often worth a speech of an hour in putting down an opponent, or in gaining supporters to his side. at _nisi prius_, he turned his mingled talent for abuse and drollery to great effect. he covered a witness with ridicule, or made a cause so ludicrous, that the real grounds of complaint became invested with absurdity. "one of the best things he ever said was in an assize-town on the munster circuit. the attorney of the side opposite to that on which o'connell was retained, was a gentleman remarkable for his combative qualities; delighted in being in a fight, and was foremost in many of the political scenes of excitement in his native town. his person was indicative of his disposition. his face was bold, menacing, and scornful in its expression. he had stamped on him the defiance and resolution of a pugilist. upon either temple there stood erect a lock of hair, which no brush could smooth down. these locks looked like horns, and added to the combative expression of his countenance. he was fiery in his nature, excessively spirited, and ejaculated, rather than spoke to an audience; his speeches consisting of a series of short, hissing, spluttering sentences, by no means devoid of talent of a certain kind. add to all this, that the gentleman was an irish attorney, and an orangeman, and the reader may easily suppose that he was 'a character!' "upon the occasion referred to, this gentleman gave repeated annoyance to o'connell--by interrupting him in the progress of the cause--by speaking to the witnesses--and by interfering in a manner altogether improper, and unwarranted by legal custom. but it was no easy matter to make the combative attorney hold his peace--he, too, was an agitator in his own fashion. in vain did the counsel engaged with o'connell in the cause sternly rebuke him; in vain did the judge admonish him to remain quiet; up he would jump, interrupting the proceedings, hissing out his angry remarks and vociferations with vehemence. while o'connell was in the act of pressing a most important question he jumped up again, undismayed, solely for the purpose of interruption. o'connell, losing all patience, suddenly turned round, and, scowling at the disturber, shouted in a voice of thunder--'sit down, you audacious, snarling, pugnacious ram-cat.' scarcely had the words fallen from his lips, when roars of laughter rang through the court. the judge himself laughed outright at the happy and humorous description of the combative attorney, who, pale with passion, gasped in inarticulate rage. the name of _ram-cat_ struck to him through all his life." his encounter with biddy moriarty. one of the drollest scenes of vituperation that o'connell ever figured in took place in the early part of his life. not long after he was called to the bar, his character and peculiar talents received rapid recognition from all who were even casually acquainted with him. his talent for vituperative language was perceived, and by some he was, even in those days, considered matchless as a scold. there was, however, at that time in dublin, a certain woman, biddy moriarty, who had a huckster's stall on one of the quays nearly opposite the four courts. she was a virago of the first order, very able with her fist, and still more formidable with her tongue. from one end of dublin to the other she was notorious for her powers of abuse, and even in the provinces mrs. moriarty's language had passed into currency. the dictionary of dublin slang had been considerably enlarged by her, and her voluble impudence had almost become proverbial. some of o'connell's friends, however, thought that he could beat her at the use of her own weapons. of this, however, he had some doubts himself, when he had listened once or twice to some minor specimens of her billingsgate. it was mooted once, whether the young kerry barrister could encounter her, and some one of the company (in o'connell's presence) rather too freely ridiculed the idea of his being able to meet the famous madam moriarty. o'connell never liked the idea of being put down, and he professed his readiness to encounter her, and even backed himself for the match. bets were offered and taken--it was decided that the match should come off at once. the party adjourned to the huckster's stall, and there was the owner herself, superintending the sale of her small wares--a few loungers and ragged idlers were hanging round her stall--for biddy was 'a character,' and, in her way, was one of the sights of dublin. o'connell was very confident of success. he had laid an ingenious plan for overcoming her, and, with all the anxiety of an ardent experimentalist, waited to put it into practice. he resolved to open the attack. at this time o'connell's own party, and the loungers about the place, formed an audience quite sufficient to rouse mrs. moriarty, on public provocation, to a due exhibition of her powers. o'connell commenced the attack:-- "what's the price of this walking-stick, mrs. what's-your-name?" "moriarty, sir, is my name, and a good one it is; and what have you to say agen it? and one-and-sixpence's the price of the stick. troth, it's chape as dirt--so it is." "one-and-sixpence for a walking-stick? whew! why, you are know no better than an impostor, to ask eighteen pence for what cost you twopence." "twopence, your grandmother!" replied mrs. biddy: "do you mane to say that it's chating the people i am?--impostor, indeed!" "aye, impostor; and it's that i call you to your teeth," rejoined o'connell. "come cut your stick, you cantankerous jackanapes." "keep a civil tongue in your head, you old _diagonal_," cried o'connell, calmly. "stop your jaw, you pug-nosed badger, or by this and that," cried mrs. moriarty, "i'll make you go quicker nor you came." "don't be in a passion, my old _radius_--anger will only wrinkle your beauty." "by the hokey, if you say another word of impudence i'll tan your dirty hide, you bastely common scrub; and sorry i'd be to soil my fists upon your carcase." "whew! boys, what a passion old biddy is in; i protest, as i'm a gentleman----" "jintleman! jintleman! the likes of you a jintleman! wisha, by gor, that bangs banagher. why, you potato-faced pippin-sneezer, when did a madagascar monkey like you pick enough of common christian dacency to hide your kerry brogue?" "easy, now--easy, now," cried o'connell, with imperturbable good humor, "don't choke yourself with fine language, you old whiskey-drinking _parallelogram_." "what's that you call me, you murderin' villian?" roared mrs. moriarty, stung to fury. "i call you," answered o'connell, "a parallelogram; and a dublin judge and jury will say that it's no libel to call you so!" "oh, tare-an-ouns! oh, holy biddy! that on honest woman like me should be called a parrybellygrum to her face. i'm none of your parrybellygrums, you rascally gallowsbird; you cowardly, sneaking, plate-lickin' bliggard!" "oh, not you, indeed!" retorted o'connell; "why, i suppose you'll deny that you keep a _hypothenuse_ in your house." "it's a lie for you, you dirty robber, i never had such a thing in my house, you swindling thief." "why, sure your neighbors all know very well that you keep not only a hypothenuse, but that you have two _diameters_ locked up in your garret, and that you go out to walk with them every sunday, you heartless old _heptagon_." "oh, hear that, ye saints in glory! oh, there's bad language from a fellow that wants to pass for a jintleman. may the divil fly away with you, you micher from munster, and make celery-sauce of your rotten limbs, you mealy-mouthed tub of guts." "ah, you can't deny the charge, you miserable _submultiple_ of a _duplicate ratio_." "go, rinse your mouth in the liffey, you nasty tickle pitcher; after all the bad words you speak, it ought to be filthier than your face, you dirty chicken of beelzebub." "rinse your own mouth, you wicked-minded old _polygon_--to the deuce i pitch you, you blustering intersection of a stinking _superficies_!" "you saucy tinker's apprentice, if you don't cease your jaw, i'll----" but here she gasped for breath, unable to hawk up any more words, for the last volley of o'connell had nearly knocked the wind out of her. "while i have a tongue i'll abuse you, you most inimitable _periphery_. look at her, boys! there she stands--a convicted _perpendicular_ in petticoats. there's contamination in her _circumference_, and she trembles with guilt down to the extremities of her _corollaries_. ah! you're found out, you _rectilineal antecedent_, and _equiangular_ old hag! 'tis with you the devil will fly away, you porter-swiping _similitude_ of the _bisection of a vortex_!" overwhelmed with this torrent of language, mrs. moriarty was silenced. catching up a saucepan, she was aiming at o'connell's head, when he very prudently made a timely retreat. "you have won the wager, o'connell--here's your bet," cried the gentleman who proposed the contest. o'connell knew well the use of sound in the vituperation, and having to deal with an ignorant scold, determined to overcome her in volubility, by using all the _sesquipedalia verba_ which occur in euclid. with these, and a few significant epithets, and a scoffing, impudent demeanor, he had for once imposed silence on biddy moriarty. o'connell and a bilking client. he used to lodge, when at cork, at a stationer's of the name of o'hara, in patrick-street, one of the principal thoroughfares of the city. there, during the assizes, there was always a crowd before his door, lounging under his windows, anxious to get a peep at the counsellor. whenever he made his appearance there was always a hearty cheer. on one occasion, an old friend of his, who had once belonged to the bar, mr. k----, a member of a most respectable family, called on o'connell during the assizes, to pay him a friendly visit. he found o'connell engaged with a shrewd-looking farmer, who was consulting him on a knotty case. heartily glad to see his old friend, o'connell sprang forward, saying, "my dear k----, i'm delighted to see you." the farmer, seeing the visitor come in, cunningly took the opportunity of sneaking away. he had got what he wanted--the opinion; but o'connell had not got what _he_ wanted--the fee. o'connell at once followed the farmer, who had got the start by a flight of stairs. the rustic quickened his pace when he found that the counsellor was in chase. o'connell saw that he could not catch the runaway client, who was now on the flight leading into the hall. he leant over the bannister, and made a grasp at the farmer's collar, but, instead of the collar, he caught the rustic's wig, which came away in his hand. o'connell gave a shout of laughter, and, quick as thought, jumped in high spirits back to his room. "hurrah! see, k----, i've got the rascal's wig." up went the window-- "three cheers for the counsellor!--long life to your honor. arrah! isn't he the man of the people." "ah! boys," said o'connell, with glee, "look here what i've got for you! here's the wig of a rascal that has just bilked me of a fee." shouts of laughter rent the air, as the wig was pitched out, to undergo a rapid process of radical reform at the hands of the mob. as the wigless farmer made his appearance, he was received with groans of derision, and was glad enough to escape with unbroken bones. sow-west and the wigs. the following humorous scene took place in the court-house, green-street, dublin: the city of dublin was often contested by mr. john b. west--a conservative barrister of no ordinary talents, whose early end caused much regret. that gentleman was very heavy and clumsy in appearance, and moved very awkwardly. lord plunket humorously called him _sow_-west, a name that adhered to him most tenaciously. o'connell was opposed to west on three or four different occasions. it is remarkable that the opening scenes at the dublin elections are conducted with far more decorum than similar scenes in other parts of ireland. all the masses are not admitted indiscriminately to the court where the hustings are placed--the people are admitted by tickets, half of which are allotted to each rival party. it is the interest of both parties to keep order, and the candidates and their friends are therefore heard with tolerable fairness. on the first day of a dublin election, the most eloquent members of either party come forward to uphold their favorite principles. on the occasion referred to, o'connell, in addressing the people, referred to the appearance of _sow_-west, whom he humorously quizzed upon the beauty of his appearance. in reply mr. west said, "ah, my friends! it's all very well for mr. o'connell to attack me upon my appearance; but i can tell you, if you saw mr. o'connell without his wig, he does not present a face which is much to boast of." to the surprise of the spectators, no less than of mr. west himself, o'connell walked across, pulled off his wig, stood close by west, and cried out--"there, now, which of us is the better-looking--my wig is off." this sally of practical humor was received with bursts of laughter and cheering. o'connell looked admirably, exhibiting a skull which, for volume and development, was not to be surpassed. election and railway dinners. o'connell's enormous appetite often excited surprise. he ate a prodigious quantity, even for a man of such large frame. at one of the irish elections, he was greatly annoyed at his candidate being unseated for a few months, by the blundering decision of the assessor. on the day when the election terminated, o'connell was engaged to dine with a roman catholic priest, who piqued himself not a little on the honor of entertaining the liberator. the company assembled at the appointed hour, much dispirited at the adverse turn which the election had taken at the last moment. o'connell himself was particularly angry, and chafed with ill-temper at the blunder of the assessor, who would not even listen to his arguments. dinner came on, and a turkey-pout smoked before the hospitable clergyman. "mr. o'connell, what part of the fowl shall i help you to?" cried the reverend host, with an air of _empressement_. his ears were electrified by o'connell's rejoinder--"oh! hang it, cut it through the middle, and give me half the bird!" for an orator of a style so copious and diffuse, it was singular how admirably laconic he could become when he chose. during dinner, while occupied with the viands, he would express himself with the terseness and condensation of tacitus. a railway company once gave a complimentary dinner at kingstown, and o'connell, who had supported the bill in the house of commons, was invited. the sea breeze on the kingstown pier sharpened his appetite. he had already partaken heartily of the second course, when one of the directors, seeing o'connell's plate nearly empty, asked--"pray, sir, what will you be helped to _next_?" hastily glancing at the dishes still untasted, o'connell, with a full mouth, answered--"mutton--well done--and much of it." scene at killiney. o'connell was a capital actor, and his dramatic delivery of a common remark was often highly impressive. many years since, he went down to kingstown, near dublin, with a party, to visit a queen's ship-of-war, which was then riding in the bay. after having seen it, o'connell proposed a walk to the top of killiney hill. breaking from the rest of his party, he ascended to the highest point of the hill, in company with a young and real irish patriot, whose character was brimful of national enthusiasm. the day was fine, and the view from the summit of the hill burst gloriously upon the sight. the beautiful bay of dublin, like a vast sheet of crystal, was at their feet. the old city of dublin stretched away to the west, and to the north was the old promontory of howth, jutting forth into the sea. to the south were the dublin and wicklow mountains, enclosing the lovely vale of shanganah, rising picturesquely against the horizon. the scene was beautiful, with all the varieties of sunlight and shadow. o'connell enjoyed it with nearly as much rapture as his youthful and ardent companion, who broke forth--"it is all ireland--oh! how beautiful! thank god, we see nothing english here. everything we see is irish!" his rapture was interrupted by o'connell, gently laying his hand on his shoulder, and pointing to the ship-of-war at anchor, as he exclaimed--"_a speck of the british power_!" the thought was electric. that speck, significantly pointed out by o'connell, suggested the whole painful history of his fatherland to the memory of the ardent young irishman. an insolent judge. the judges themselves often came in for a share of his animadversions, when he deemed their judicial or other conduct deserved public censure; and when he pleaded as an advocate before them, their resentment betrayed itself. singular to say, his practice was never injuriously affected by his boldness outside. other men have suffered vitally from the political or personal hostility of judges--curran was one of them. but o'connell beat down the most formidable hatred, and compelled, by the sheer force of legal and intellectual power, the bitterest and most obstinate personal rancor to give way. he compelled pompous, despotic, and hostile judges to yield. he could not be awed. if they were haughty, he was proud. if they were malevolent, he was cuttingly sarcastic. it happened that he was by at an argument in one of the courts of dublin, in the course of which a young kerry attorney was called upon by the opposing counsel, either to admit a statement as evidence, or to hand in some documents he could legally detain. o'connell was not specially engaged. the discussion arose on a new trial motion--the issue to go down to the assizes. he did not interfere until the demand was made on the attorney, but he then stood up and told him to make no admission. he was about to resume his seat, when the judge, baron m'cleland, said, with a peculiar emphasis, "mr. o'connell, have you a _brief_ in this case?" "no, my lord, i have not; but i _will_ have one, when the case goes down to the assizes." "when i," rejoined the judge, throwing himself back with an air of lofty scorn, "was at the bar, it was not _my_ habit to anticipate briefs." "when _you_ were at the bar," retorted o'connell, "_i_ never chose _you_ for a model; and now that you are on the bench, i shall not submit to your dictation." leaving his lordship to digest the retort, he took the attorney by the arm, and walked him out of court. in this way he dealt with hostile judges. a witness cajoled. o'connell knew so intimately the habits and character of the humbler class, that he was able, by cajolery or intimidation, to coerce them, when on the table, into truth-telling. he was once examining a witness, whose inebriety, at the time to which the evidence referred, it was essential to his client's case to prove. he quickly discovered the man's character. he was a fellow who may be described as "half foolish with roguery." "well, darby," said the counsellor, taking him on the cross-examination, "you told the whole truth to that gentleman?" pointing to the counsel who had just examined the witness. "yes, your honor, counsellor o'connell." "how, do you know my name?" "ah, sure every one knows our own _pathriot_" "well, you are a good-humored, honest fellow now, tell me, darby, did you take a drop of anything that day?" "why, your honor, i took my share of a pint of spirits." "your share of it; now by virtue of your oath, was not your share of it _all but the pewter_?" "why, then, dear knows, that's true for you, sir." the court was convulsed at both question and answer. it soon came out that the man was drunk, and was not, therefore, a competent witness. thus o'connell won the case for his client. his duel with captain d'esterre. when o'connell found the government determined to strain the convention act to the utmost, and not permit the existence of any delegated committee for the management of catholic affairs, he issued circulars to a number of gentlemen to meet him, as individuals, in capel-street. from that circular arose the catholic association. it was at one of the early meetings of this body that he called the municipal functionaries of dublin, "a beggarly corporation." he had become exceedingly obnoxious to the orange party. he was an object of intense hatred within the precincts of the castle. to get rid of such a man would be an invaluable service. the _insult_ he had put on the _immaculate_ and _wealthy_ corporation, offered too inviting an opportunity to be passed over. a champion of ascendancy appeared in the person of captain d'esterre. on the st of february, , nearly eleven days after the insult was received, and eight days after explanation was demanded and refused, this misled gentleman was advised to send a message. he addressed a letter in the following words:-- "sir--_carrick's paper_, of the rd instant, in its report of the debates of a meeting of the catholic gentlemen, on the subject of a petition, states that you applied the appellation of _beggarly_, to the corporation of this city, _calling it a beggarly corporation_; and, therefore, as a member of that body, and feeling how painful such is, i beg leave to inquire whether you really used or expressed yourself in such language. "i feel the more justified in calling on you on this occasion, as such language was not warranted or provoked by any thing on the part of the corporation; neither was it consistent with the subject of your debate, or the deportment of the other catholic gentlemen, who were present; and, though i view it so inconsistent in every respect, i am in hopes the editor is under error, not you. "i have further to request your reply in the course of the evening--and remain, sir, your obedient servant, "j. n. d'esterre, " bachelor's-walk, th jan. . "to counsellor o'connell, merrion-square." * * * * * "sir--in reply to your letter of yesterday, and without either admitting or disclaiming the expression respecting the corporation of dublin, in the print to which you allude, i deem it right to inform you, that, from the calumnious manner in which the religion and character of the catholics of ireland are treated in that body, no terms attributed to me, however reproachful, can exceed the contemptuous feelings i entertain for that body in its corporate capacity--although, doubtless, it contains many valuable persons, whose conduct, as individuals (i lament), must necessarily be confounded in the acts of the general body. "i have only to add, _that this letter must dose our correspondence on this subject_.--i am, &c., &c., "daniel o'connell. "merrion-square, january , . "to j. n. d'esterre, esq., bachelors-walk, dublin." mr. d'esterre was advised to persist in the correspondence, and addressed another letter (but directed in a different hand-writing), to mr. o'connell. it was returned to him by mr. james o'connell, inclosed in a letter couched in the following terms:-- "sir--from the tenor of your letter of yesterday, my brother did not expect that your next communication would have been made in _writing_. he directed me to open his letters in his absence; your last letter, bearing a different address from the former one, was opened by me; but upon perceiving the name subscribed, i have declined to read it; and by his directions i return it to you inclosed, and _unread_.--i am, sir, your obedient servant, "james o'connell. "merrion-square, friday evening. "to j. n. d'esterre, esq., bachelor's-walk." after a number of insulting letters from d'esterre, his long-expected hostile message arrived. major m'namara, of doolen, having been commissioned by o'connell, proceeded to sir edward stanley, who acted as the friend of d'esterre, to arrange the meeting. the hour appointed was three o'clock on wednesday; the place, bishop's court demesne, lord ponsonby's seat, in the county kildare, thirteen miles distant from dublin. it was proposed by him that the mode of fighting should be after the following fashion:--that both should be handed a brace of pistols; reserve their shots until the signal, and then fire when they pleased; advancing or retiring after each shot, as they thought proper. major m'namara would not assent to this mode of fighting, without first consulting o'connell and his friends. o'connell at once directed him to accept the terms. major m'namara then returned to sir edward stanley, and finally arranged the meeting. the parties proceeded to take their ground, and were handed a brace of pistols each. the signal was given. both reserved their fire for some moments. d'esterre first changed his position, moving a pace towards the left hand, and then stepped towards o'connell. his object was to induce him to fire, more or less, at random. he lifted his pistol, as if about to fire. o'connell instantly presented, pulled the trigger, and the unfortunate man fell. in close attendance on o'connell, at the ground, were major m'namara, nicholas purcell o'gorman, and richard nugent bennett, as seconds and friends; for all may be said to have acted in the double capacity. it was reported in dublin that o'connell was shot; and a party of dragoons were despatched from dublin, for the protection of d'esterre. on their way the officer by whom they were commanded met, on its return, the carriage containing o'connell and his brother. the officer called on the postilion to stop; whereupon mr. james o'connell pulled down the window. the officer, addressing him, asked if they had been present at the duel, to which he replied in the affirmative. the officer then said, "is it true mr. o'connell has been shot?" mr. james o'connell replied, "no; the reverse is the fact; mr. d'esterre has unfortunately fallen." the announcement had a visible effect upon the military; they were not prepared for the intelligence; and something like consternation was exhibited. the carriage was allowed to proceed, the military party being evidently not aware who were its occupants. when d'esterre fell the spectators present could not refrain from giving expression to their excited feelings; they actually shouted; and a young collegian who was present, and who became a protestant clergyman, was so carried away by the general feeling, as to fling up his hat in the air, and shout, "hurra for o'connell!" very different was the conduct of the three occupants of o'connell's carriage. they displayed no exultation. the moment d'esterre fell they went off; and though the place of meeting was near naas, they were close to dublin before a single word was exchanged between them. at last o'connell broke the silence, saying, "i fear he is dead, he fell so suddenly. where do you think he was hit?" "in the head, i think," said his medical friend. "that cannot be--i aimed low; the ball must have entered near the thigh." this will be considered a remarkable observation when, as was subsequently found, the wound was inflicted in the part mentioned by o'connell. being one of the surest shots that ever fired a pistol, he could have hit his antagonist where he pleased. but his object was merely, in self-defence, to wound him in no mortal part, and he aimed low with that intention. the excitement in dublin, when the result was known, cannot be described; and, indeed, is scarcely credited by those who were not then in the metropolis. over seven hundred gentlemen left their cards at o'connell's the day after the occurrence. great commiseration was felt for d'esterre's family, but it was considered that he himself lost his life foolishly. it may be added that he was an officer in the navy, and an eccentric character. he at one time played off rather a serious joke upon his friends, who resided near cork. he wrote to them from aboard that he was sentenced to be hanged for mutiny, and implored of them to use every interest to save him. lord shannon interested himself in the affair, and the greatest trouble was taken to obtain a pardon. but it turned out to be a hoax practised by d'esterre, when under the influence of the jolly god. knowing his character, many even of opposite politics, notwithstanding the party spirit that then prevailed, regretted the issue the unfortunate man provoked. o'connell and secretary goulburn. mr. goulburn, while secretary for ireland, visited killarney, when o'connell (then on circuit) happened to be there. both stopped at finn's hotel, and chanced to get bedrooms opening off the same corridor. the early habits of o'connell made him be up at cock-crow. finding the hall-door locked, and so being hindered from walking outside, he commenced walking up and down the corridor. to pass the time, he repeated aloud some of moore's poetry, and had just uttered the lines-- "we tread the land that bore us, the green flag flutters o'er us, the friends we've tried are by our side--" at this moment goulburn popped his nightcapped head out, to see what was the matter. o'connell instantly pointed his finger at him, and finished the verse-- "and the foe we hate before us!" in went goulburn's head in the greatest hurry. entrapping a witness. an illustration of his dexterity in compassing an unfortunate culprit's acquittal may be here narrated. he was employed in defending a prisoner who was tried for a murder committed in the vicinity of cork. the principal witness swore strongly against the prisoner--one corroborative circumstance was, that the prisoner's hat was found near the place where the murder took place. the witness swore positively the hat produced was the one found, and that it belonged to the prisoner, whose name was james. "by virtue of your oath, are you positive that this is the same hat?" "yes." "did you examine it carefully before you swore in your informations that it was the prisoner's?" "yes." "now, let me see," said o'connell, and he took up the hat, and began carefully to examine the inside. he then spelled aloud the name james--slowly, thus:--"j--a--m--e--s." "now, do you mean those words were in the hat when you found it?" "i do." "did you see them there." "i did." "this is the same hat?" "it is." "now, my lord," said o'connell, holding up the hat to the bench, "there is an end to the case--there is no name whatever inscribed in the hat." the result was instant acquittal. gaining over a jury. at a cork assizes, many years ago, he was employed in an action of damages, for diverting a stream from its regular channel, or diverting so much of it as inflicted injury on some party who previously benefited by its abundance. the injury was offered by a nobleman, and his attorney, on whose advice the proceeding was adopted, was a man of corpulent proportions, with a face bearing the ruddy glow of rude health, but, flushed in a crowded court, assumed momentarily, a color like that imparted by intemperance. he really was a most temperate man. o'connell dwelt on the damage his client had sustained by the unjust usurpation. the stream should have been permitted to follow its old and natural course. there was neither law nor justice in turning it aside from his client's fields. he had a light to all its copiousness, and the other party should have allowed him full enjoyment. in place of that, the latter monopolized the water--he diminished it. it became every day small by degrees and beautifully less. "there is not now," he said, "gentlemen of the jury, a tenth of the ordinary quantity. the stream is running dry--and so low is it, and so little of it is there, that," continued he, turning to the rubicund attorney, and naming him, "there isn't enough in it to make grog for fogatty." a roar of laughter followed, and it was not stopped by the increased rosiness and embarrassment of the gentleman who became the victim of the learned advocate's humorous allusion. the tact in this sally was, in endeavoring to create an impression on the jury that his poor client was sacrificed by the harsh conduct of a grog-drinking attorney, and thus create prejudice against the plaintiff's case. thus did o'connell gain the hearts of irish juries; and thus did he, indulging his own natural humor, on the public platform, gain the affections of his countrymen. paddy and the parson. in june, , o'connell addressed a meeting of the political union of the london working classes. in his address, he humorously and graphically describes the system of passive resistance then adopted against the payment of tithes, in the following amusing dialogue between paddy and the parson:-- "and how does paddy act? does he disobey the laws? no. 'paddy,' says the parson, 'you owe me £l s. d.' 'and what may it be for, your riverence!' says pat (laughter). 'tithes! paddy.' 'arrah! thin i suppose your riverence gave some value fornint i was born; for divil a bit i ever seen since (roars of laughter). but your riverence, i suppose, has law for it? bless the law! your honor, and sure an i wouldn't be after going to disobey it; but plase your riverence, i have no money' (great laughter). 'ah, pat, but you've a cow there. 'yes, your riverence, that's the cow that gives food to norry and the fourteen childer.' 'well, paddy, then i must distrain that cow.' 'if your honor has law for it, to be sure you will.' well, what does paddy do? he stamps the word 'tithes' upon her side, and the parson can't find a soul to take the cow. so he gets a regiment and a half, by way of brokers (much laughter)--fourteen or fifteen companies, with those amiable young gentlemen, their officers, at their head, who march seventeen or eighteen miles across the bog of allen to take his cow; they bring the cow to carlow; when they get there, they find a great crowd assembled; the parson rubs his hands with glee. 'plenty of customers for the cow,' quoth he to himself. the cow is put up at £ --no bidder; £ --no bidder; s-- s.-- d.-- - / d. (cheers). not a soul will bid, and back goes the cow to norry and the fourteen childer (continued cheers)." a martial judge. in court his usual mirth and ready wit never failed him; and he kept the bar and listening by-standers in constant hilarity. he made an excellent hit during the trial of sir george bingham, for assault, during the tithe agitation. the general's aide-de-camp, captain berners, of the royal artillery, was under examination. a junior counsel asked the witness, "what is the meaning of the military phrase, 'ride him down?'" "do you think," interposed o'connell, "we are here to get an explanation of plain english from an english aide-de-camp, with his tongue in holiday dress?" then turning to the witness, he said, "you belong to the artillery and understand horse language?"--"yes." mr. justice moore, who tried the case, here observed--"i ought to understand it, mr. o'connell, for i was a long while captain of cavalry." "yes you were, my lord," replied o'connell, "and i recollect you a long time a _sergeant_, too." this ready sally caused a burst of laughter throughout the whole court. retentive memory. at darrynane, he was sitting one morning, surrounded by country people, some asking his advice, some his assistance, others making their grievances known. amongst the rest was a farmer rather advanced in life, a swaggering sort of fellow, who was desirous to carry his point by impressing the liberator with the idea of his peculiar honesty and respectability. he was anxious that o'connell should decide a matter in dispute between him and a neighboring farmer who, he wished to insinuate, was not as good as he ought to be. "for my part, i, at least, can boast that neither i nor mine were ever brought before a judge or sent to jail, however it was with others." "stop, stop, my fine fellow," cried the liberator--"let me see," pausing a moment. "let me see; it is now just twenty-five years ago, last august, that i myself saved you from transportation, and had you discharged from the dock." the man was thunderstruck; he thought such a matter could not be retained in the great man's mind. he shrunk away, murmuring that he should get justice elsewhere, and never appeared before the liberator afterwards. a political hurrah at a funeral. ascending the mountain road between dublin and glencullen, in company with an english friend, o'connell was met by a funeral. the mourners soon recognized him, and immediately broke into a vociferous hurrah for their political favorite, much to the astonishment of the sassenach; who, accustomed to the solemn and lugubrious decorum of english funerals, was not prepared for an outburst of celtic enthusiasm upon such an occasion. a remark being made on the oddity of a political hurrah at a funeral, it was replied that the corpse would have doubtless cheered lustily too, if he could. refusal of office. in , on the morning when o'connell received from the government the offer to be appointed lord chief baron, he walked over to the window, saying: "this is very kind--very kind, indeed!--but i haven't the least notion of taking the offer. ireland could not spare me now; not but that, _if she could_, i don't at all deny that the office would have great attractions for me. let me see, now--there would not be more than about eight days' duty in the year; i would take a country house near dublin, and walk into town; and during the intervals of judicial labor, i'd go to derrynane. i should be idle in the early part of april, just when the jack-hares leave the most splendid trails upon the mountains. in fact, i should enjoy the office exceedingly upon every account, if i could but accept it consistently with the interests of ireland--but i cannot." a mistaken frenchman. when travelling in france, during the time of his sojourn at st. omer's, o'connell encountered a very talkative frenchman, who incessantly poured forth the most bitter tirades against england. o'connell listened in silence; and the frenchman, surprised at his indifference, at last exclaimed,-- "do you hear, do you understand what i am saying, sir?" "yes, i hear you, i comprehend you perfectly." "yet you do not seem angry?" "not in the least." "how can you so tamely bear the censures i pronounce against your country?" "sir, england is not my country. censure her as much as you please, you cannot offend me. i am an irishman, and my countrymen have as little reason to love england as yours have, perhaps less." epistolary bores. the number of letters received by o'connell upon trivial subjects was sufficient to try his patience, as the following will show:-- a letter once arrived from new york, which, on opening, he found to contain a minute description of a queen anne's farthing recently found by the writer, with a modest request that "ireland's liberator" might negotiate the sale of the said farthing in london; where, as many intelligent persons had assured him, he might make his fortune by it. another modest correspondent was one peter waldron, also of new york, whose epistle ran thus:--"sir, i have discovered an old paper, by which i find that my grandfather, peter waldron, left dublin about the year . you will very much oblige me by instituting an immediate inquiry who the said peter waldron was; whether he possessed any property in dublin or elsewhere, and to what amount; and in case that he did, you will confer a particular favor on me by taking immediate steps to recover it, and if successful, forwarding the amount to me at new york." at another time a protestant clergyman wrote to apprise him that he and his family were all in prayer for his conversion to the protestant religion; and that the writer was anxious to engage in controversy with so distinguished an antagonist. the letters with which he was persecuted, soliciting patronage, were innumerable. "everybody writes to me about everything," said he, "and the applicants for places, without a single exception, tell me that _one word_ of mine will infallibly get them what they want. _one word_! oh, how sick i am of that '_one word_!'" some of his rural correspondents entertained odd ideas of his attributes. he said that "from one of them he got a letter commencing with 'awful sir!'" sir r. peel's opinion of o'connell. sir robert peel is said to have expressed his high appreciation of o'connell's parliamentary abilities. while the reform bill was under discussion, the speeches of its friends and foes were one day canvassed at lady beauchamp's. on o'connell's name being mentioned, some critic fastidiously said, "oh, a broguing irish fellow! who would listen to _him?_ i always walk out of the house when he opens his lips," "come, peel," said lord westmoreland, "let me hear your opinion." "my opinion candidly is," replied sir robert, "that if i wanted an efficient and eloquent advocate, i would readily give up all the other orators of whom we have been talking, provided i had with me this same broguing irish fellow.'" * * * * * at the bishop of waterford's table, the following anecdote was related by o'connell: "my grandmother had twenty-two children, and half of them lived beyond the age of ninety. old mr. o'connell of derrynane, pitched upon an oak tree to make his own coffin, and mentioned his purpose to a carpenter. in the evening, the butler entered after dinner to say that the carpenter wanted to speak with him. 'for what?' asked my uncle. 'to talk about your honor's coffin,' said the carpenter, putting his head inside the door over the butler's shoulder. i wanted to get the fellow out, but my uncle said, 'oh! let him in by all means.--well, friend, what do you want to say to me about my coffin?' 'only, sir, that i'll saw up the oak tree that your honor was speaking of into seven-foot plank.' 'that would be wasteful,' answered my uncle; 'i never was more than six feet and an inch in my vamps, the best day ever i saw.' 'but your honor will stretch after death,' said the carpenter. 'not eleven inches, i am sure, you blockhead! but i'll stretch, no doubt--perhaps a couple of inches or so. well, make my coffin six feet six, and i'll warrant that will give me room enough!'" * * * * * "i remember," said o'connell, "being counsel at a special commission in kerry against a mr. s----, and having occasion to press him somewhat hard in my speech, he jumped up in the court, and called me 'a purse-proud blockhead.' i said to him, 'in the first place i have got no purse to be proud of; and, secondly, if i be a blockhead, it is better for you, as i am counsel against you. however, just to save you the trouble of saying so again, i'll administer a slight rebuke'--whereupon i whacked him soundly on the back with the president's cane. next day he sent me a challenge by william ponsonby of crottoe; but very shortly after, he wrote to me to state, that since he had challenged me, he had discovered that my life was inserted in a very valuable lease of his. 'under these circumstances,' he continued, 'i cannot afford to shoot you, unless, as a precautionary measure, you first insure your life for my benefit. if you do, then heigh for powder and ball! i'm your man.' now this seems so ludicrously absurd, that it is almost incredible; yet it is literally true. s---- was a very timid man; yet he fought six duels--in fact, he fought them all out of pure fear." footnotes: [ ] judge robinson was the author of many stupid, slavish, and scurrilous political pamphlets; and, by his demerits, raised to the eminence which he thus disgraced.--_lord brougham_. [ ] the name by which methodists are known in ireland. mr. punch with rod and gun transcriber's note: minor typographical errors have been corrected without note. irregularities and inconsistencies in the text have been retained as printed. words printed in italics are noted with underscores: _italics_. punch library of humour edited by j. a. hammerton designed to provide in a series of volumes, each complete in itself, the cream of our national humour, contributed by the masters of comic draughtsmanship and the leading wits of the age to "punch", from its beginning in to the present day [illustration] [illustration: a feat of agility.--_voice from the bow_ (_to binks, who is trying to adjust the moorings, and has arrived at the happy moment when he is doubtful whether he will stay with the pole or return to the punt_). "now then, you idiot, keep still! i've got a nibble!"] mr. punch with rod and gun the humours of fishing and shooting [illustration] _with illustrations_ by charles keene, john leech, phil may, george du maurier, l. raven-hill, c. shepperson, cecil aldin, bernard partridge, w. j. hodgson, a. s. boyd, tom browne, reginald cleaver, charles pears, h. m. brock, and others. published by special arrangement with the proprietors of "punch" [illustration] the educational book co. ltd. the punch library of humour _twenty-five volumes, crown vo, pages fully illustrated_ life in london country life in the highlands scottish humour irish humour cockney humour in society after dinner stories in bohemia at the play mr. punch at home on the continong railway book at the seaside mr. punch afloat in the hunting field mr. punch on tour with rod and gun mr. punch awheel book of sports golf stories in wig and gown on the warpath book of love with the children [illustration] [illustration] preface as a fisherman mr. punch is in the best of his humours. he makes merry over the weaknesses of those who follow the craft of old izaak, always with the slyest of genial manners. the angler's habit of exaggerating the size of his catch--his patience or his impatience when the fish won't bite--the conscious or unconscious ridicule he has to endure from onlookers when he is unsuccessful--the proverbial thirst that attacks the fisherman, whether he catches anything or not--mr. punch has a keen eye for all such incidentals and presents them so jovially that nobody laughs over them more heartily than his victims themselves do. [illustration] leech, charles keene, phil may, du maurier, raven-hill, bernard partridge, g. d. armour--most of the best-known punch artists, old and new, have revelled in the humours of both fishing and shooting. [illustration: "potting shrimps"] he gets as much laughter out of those who handle the gun. the infinite variety of jokes he cracks about the bad shot, the man who can't hit the birds, or is always hitting the dogs or his companion guns, is amazing. he does not spare the lady shooter, and jests of the peril in which the rest of the field are placed when she is out after the birds or rabbits; and he gets a good deal of fun out of the frenchman's alien notion of sport. [illustration] observations on ground bait.--boys are often taught, though they never learn, to regard fishing as a cruel amusement, when nevertheless angling, at least as most commonly practised in the thames, is universally admitted to be particularly and pre-eminently the _gentle_ craft. * * * * * epitaph on an angler.--"hooked it." * * * * * the duffer with a salmon-rod from "the confessions of a duffer" no pursuit is more sedentary, if one may talk of a sedentary pursuit, and none more to my taste, than trout-fishing as practised in the south of england. given fine weather, and a good novel, nothing can be more soothing than to sit on a convenient stump, under a willow, and watch the placid kine standing in the water, while the brook murmurs on, and perhaps the kingfisher flits to and fro. here you sit and fleet the time carelessly, till a trout rises. then, indeed, duty demands that you shall crawl in the manner of the serpent till you come within reach of him, and cast a fly, which usually makes him postpone his dinner-hour. but he will come on again, there is no need for you to change your position, and you can always fill your basket easily--with irises and marsh-marigolds. such are our country contents, but woe befall the day when i took to salmon-fishing. the outfit is expensive, "half-crown flees" soon mount up, especially if you never go out without losing your fly-book. if you buy a light rod, say of fourteen feet, the chances are that it will not cover the water, and a longer rod requires in the fisherman the strength of a sandow. you need wading-breeches, which come up nearly to the neck, and weigh a couple of stone. the question has been raised, can one swim in them, in case of an accident? for _one_, i can answer, he can't. the reel is about the size of a butter-keg, the line measures hundreds of yards, and the place where you fish for salmon is usually at the utter ends of the earth. some enthusiasts begin in february. covered with furs, they sit in the stern of a boat, and are pulled in a funereal manner up and down loch tay, while the rods fish for themselves. the angler's only business is to pick them up if a salmon bites, and when this has gone on for a few days, with no bite, influenza, or a hard frost with curling, would be rather a relief. this kind of thing is not really angling, and a duffer is as good at it as an expert. real difficulties and sufferings begin when you reach the cruach-na-spiel-bo, which sounds like gaelic, and will serve us as a name for the river. it is, of course, extremely probable that you pay a large rent for the right to gaze at a series of red and raging floods, or at a pale and attenuated trickle of water, murmuring peevishly through a drought. but suppose, for the sake of argument, that the water is "in order," and only running with deep brown swirls at some thirty miles an hour. suppose also, a large presumption, that the duffer does not leave any indispensable part of his equipment at home. he arrives at the stream, and as he detests a gillie, whose contempt for the duffer breeds familiarity, he puts up his rod, selects a casting line, knots on the kind of fly which is locally recommended, and steps into the water. oh, how cold it is! i begin casting at the top of the stream, and step from a big boulder into a hole. [illustration] stagger, stumble, violent bob forwards, recovery, trip up, and here one is in a sitting position in the bed of the stream. however, the high india-rubber breeks have kept the water out, except about a pailful, which gradually illustrates the equilibrium of fluids in the soles of one's stockings. however, i am on my feet again, and walking more gingerly, though to the spectator my movements suggest partial intoxication. that is because the bed of the stream is full of boulders, which one cannot see, owing to the darkness of the water. there was a fish rose near the opposite side. my heart is in my mouth. i wade in as far as i can, and make a tremendous swipe with the rod. a frantic tug behind, crash, there goes the top of the rod! i am caught up in the root of a pine-tree, high up on the bank at my back. no use in the language of imprecation. i waddle out, climb the bank, extricate the fly, get out a spare top, and to work again, more cautiously. something wrong, the hook has caught in my coat, between my shoulders. i must get the coat off somehow, not an easy thing to do, on account of my india-rubber armour. it is off at last. i cut the hook out with a knife, making a big hole in the coat, and cast again. that was over him! i let the fly float down, working it scientifically. no response. perhaps better look at the fly. just my luck, i have cracked it off! where is the fly-book? where indeed? a feverish search for the fly-book follows--no use: it is not in the basket, it is not in my pocket; must have fallen out when i fell into the river. no good in looking for it, the water is too thick, i _thought_ i heard a splash. luckily there are some flies in my cap, it looks knowing to have some flies in one's cap, and it is not so easy to lose a cap without noticing it, as to lose most things. here is a big silver doctor that may do as the water is thick. i put one on, and begin again casting over where that fish rose. by george, there he came at me, at least i think it must have been at me, a great dark swirl, "the purple wave bowed over it like a hill," but he never touched me. give him five minutes law, the hook is sure to be well fastened on, need not bother looking at that again. five minutes take a long time in passing, when you are giving a salmon a rest. good times and bad times and all times pass, so here goes. it is correct to begin a good way above him and come down to him. i'm past him; no, there is a long heavy drag under water, i get the point up, he is off like a shot, while i stand in a rather stupid attitude, holding on. if i cannot get out and run down the bank, he has me at his mercy. i do stagger out, somehow, falling on my back, but keeping the point up with my right hand. no bones broken, but surely he is gone! i begin reeling up the line, with a heavy heart, and try to lift it out of the water. it won't come, he is here still, he has only doubled back. hooray! nothing so nice as being all alone when you hook a salmon. no gillie to scream out contradictory orders. he is taking it very easy, but suddenly he moves out a few yards, and begins jiggering, that is, giving a series of short heavy tugs. they say he is never well hooked, when he jiggers. the rod thrills unpleasantly in my hands, i wish he wouldn't do that. it is very disagreeable and makes me very nervous. hullo! he is off again up-stream, the reel ringing like mad: he gets into the thin water at the top, and jumps high in the air. he is a monster. hullo! what's that splash? the reel has fallen off, it was always loose, and has got into the water. how am i to act now? he is coming back like mad, and all the line is loose, and i can't reel up. i begin pulling at the line to bring up the reel, but the reel only lets the line out, and now he's off again, down stream this time, and i after him, and the line running out at both ends at once, and now my legs get entangled in it, it is twisted all round me. he runs again and jumps, the line comes back in my face, all slack, something has given. it is the hook, it was not knotted on firmly to start with. he flings himself out of the water once more to be sure that he is free, and i sit down and gnaw the reel. had ever anybody such bad fortune? but it is just my luck! i go back to the place where the reel fell in, and by pulling cautiously i extract it from the stream. it shan't come off again; i tie it on with the leather lace of one of my brogues. then i reel up the slack, and put on another fly, out of my cap--a popham. then i fish down the rest of the pool. near the edge, in the slower part of the water, there is a long slow draw; before i can lift the point of the rod, a salmon jumps high out of the water at me,--and is gone! i never struck him, was too much taken aback at the moment; did not expect him then. thank goodness, the hook is not off this time. the next stream is very deep, strong and narrow; the best chance is close in on my side. by jove! here he is, he took almost beside the rock. he sails leisurely out into the strength of the stream; if he will come up, i can manage him, but if he goes down, the water is very swift and broken, there are big boulders, and then a sheer wall of rock difficult to pass in cold blood, and then the big pool. he insists on going down; i hold hard on him, and refuse line. but he leaps, and then--well he _will_ have it; down he rushes, i after him, over the stones, scrambling along the rocky face; great heavens! _the top joint of the rod is loose_; i did not tie it on, thought it would hold well enough. but down it runs, right down the line; it must be touching the fish. it is; he does not like it, he jiggers like a mad thing, rushes across the big pool, nearly on to the opposite bank. why won't the line run? the line is entangled in my bootlace. he is careering about; i feel that i am trembling like a leaf. there, i knew it would happen; he is off with my last casting-line, hook and all. a beauty he was, clear as silver and fresh from the sea. well, there is nothing for it but a walk back to the house. i have lost one fly-book, two hooks, a couple of casting-lines, three salmon, a top joint, and i have torn a great hole in my coat. on changing my dress before lunch, i find my fly-book in my breast pocket, where i had not thought of looking for it somehow. then the rain comes, and there is not another fishing day in my fortnight. still, it decidedly was "one crowded hour of glorious life," while it lasted. the other men caught four or five salmon apiece; it is their red letter day. it is marked in black in my calendar. * * * * * to well-informed piscatorials.--_query._ what sort of fish is a nod? _note._ a nod is a sea-fish, and is, probably, of the limpet tribe. this we gather from our knowledge of the periwinkle, known in polite circles as the 'wink. the value of the nod has come down to us in the form of an old proverb, "a nod is as good as a 'wink," and this no doubt originated the query to which we have satisfactorily replied. * * * * * [illustration: "what bait are yer usin', billie?" "cheese." "what are yer tryin' ter catch--mice?"] * * * * * [illustration: "a salmon taking a fly"] * * * * * [illustration: trials of a novice.--_friend_ (_in the distance_). "enjoying it, old chap?" _novice._ "_rather!_"] * * * * * [illustration: _diminutive nursemaid_ (_to angler, who has not had a bite for hours_). "oh, please, sir, do let baby see you catch a fish!"] * * * * * [illustration: "not proven."--_presbyterian minister._ "don't you know it's wicked to catch fish on the sawbath?!" _small boy_ (_not having had a rise all the morning_). "wha's catchin' fesh?!"] * * * * * [illustration: _old gent_ (_who has recently purchased the property_). "now, don't you boys know that nobody can catch fish in this stream except with my--er--a--special permit?" _youthful angler._ "get away! why, me and this 'ere kid's catched scores of 'em wi' a worrum!"] * * * * * [illustration: _angler_ (_after landing his tenth--reading notice_). "the man who wrote that sign couldn't have been using the right bait!"] * * * * * [illustration: misplaced sympathy.--"well? have you caught any fish, billy?" "well, i _really_ caught _two_! but they were quite young, poor little things, and so they _didn't know how to hold on_!"] * * * * * [illustration: trials of a novice _angler._ "hush! keep _back_! keep _back_! i had a beautiful rise just then; shall get another directly."] * * * * * [illustration: dreadful situation! _party in waders_ (_on the shallower side, with nice trout on_). "now then, you idiot, bring me the net, can't you, or he'll be off in a second!"] * * * * * [illustration: "deuced odd, donald, i can't get a fish over seven pounds, when they say major grant above us killed half a dozen last week that turned twenty pounds apiece!" _donald._ "aweel, sir, it's no that muckle odds i'th' sawmon,--but thae fowk up the watter is bigger leears than we are doon here!"] * * * * * [illustration: "one good turn," etc.--_city man_ (_to one of his clerks he finds fishing in his ornamental water_). "look here, smithers, i've no objection to giving you a day now and then 'to attend your aunt's funeral'--but i think you might send some of the fish up to the house!"] * * * * * [illustration: missed.--_angus._ "eh, man, that wass a splendid cod! if we had gotten that cod, noo, we micht ha' been ha'ein' a dram." _mr. smith_ (_from glasgow_). "indeed, and ye would, angus." _bauldry._ "mebbe, maister smuth, if we wad have had a dram afore ye wass lettin' doon yer line, we micht have grappit that muckle fush!"] * * * * * [illustration: _friend._ "hullo, old chappie! fallen in?" _dripping angler._ "you don't suppose this is a perspiration, do you?"] * * * * * [illustration: the gentle craftsman (?).--_irascible angler_ (_who hasn't had a rise all day_). "there!"--(_throwing his fly-book into the stream, with a malediction_)--"take your choice!"] * * * * * [illustration: unlucky.--_american cousin_ (_last day of season_). "what sport? 'guess i've been foolin' around all day with a twenty-five-dollar pole, slinging fourteen-cent baits at the end of it, and haven't caught a darned fish!"] * * * * * [illustration: "there's many a slip," etc.--waggles saw a splendid three-pound trout feeding in a quiet place on the thames one evening last week. down he comes the next night, making sure of him! but some other people had seen him too!!] * * * * * [illustration: _contemplative man_ (_in punt_). "i don't so much care about the sport, it's the delicious repose i enjoy so."] * * * * * [illustration: menace _little angler_ (_to her refractory bait_). "keep still, you tiresome little thing! if you don't leave off skriggling, i'll throw you away, and take another!"] * * * * * [illustration: a blank day _old gent_ (_greeting friend_). "hullo, jorkins! 'been fishing? what did you catch?" _jorkins_ (_gloomily_). "ha'-past six train home!"] * * * * * [illustration: an obviously unkind inquiry _brown_ (_to jones, who has, for the first time, been trying his hand at fishing from a boat_). "well, old chap, what sort o' sport?"] * * * * * [illustration: seizing his opportunity _the major_ (_on his way to try for the big trout, and pondering on his fly-book_). "now i wonder what he'll take? what d'you say, smithers, eh?" _smithers_ (_pulling up with alacrity_). "take, sir? well, sir, thanky, sir, sup o' whisky, sir, for choice!"] * * * * * [illustration: conscientious flattery.--_boatman._ "i canna mind a finer fesh for its size!"] * * * * * [illustration: wet and dry.--_careful wife._ "are you very wet, dear?" _ardent angler_ (_turning up his flask_). "no, dry as a lime-kiln--haven't had a drop these two hours!"] * * * * * [illustration: dry-fly entomology.--(scene--_the banks of a hampshire stream in the grayling season_). _angler_ (_the rise having abruptly ceased_). "i think they're taking a _siesta_, thompson." _keeper._ "i dessay they are, sir, but any other fly with a touch o' red in it would do as well."] * * * * * [illustration: egomania.--(scene--_the bar parlour of the "little peddlington arms" during a shower._) _little peddlingtonian_ (_handing newspaper to stranger from london_). "have you seen that account of our fishing competition in the _little peddlington gazette_, sir?" "no, i'm afraid i've not!" "it's a _very_ interesting article, sir. it mentions my name several times!"] * * * * * [illustration: bottom fishing.--_piscator no. _ (_miserably_). "now, tom, _do_ leave off. it isn't of any use, and it's getting quite dark." _piscator no. ._ "leave off!! what a precious disagreeable chap you are! you come out for a day's pleasure, and you're already wanting to go home!"] * * * * * [illustration: trials of a novice.--_unfeeling passer-by._ "say, mister! are you fly-fishing, or 'eaving the lead?"] * * * * * [illustration: _piscator, senior._ "what! yer want to chuck it up jus because we never catches nothing. why, i'd like to know how yer proposes to spend the remainder of yer 'olidays, eh?"] * * * * * [illustration: a broad hint _piscator._ "yes, i like a day at this time of year. get all the _water to myself_, you see." _yokel._ "ah! and mayhap have a sup o' the whisky to spare for somebody else, governor?"] * * * * * [illustration: _tom_ (_writing_).--"i say, bob, i'm rubbing in the local colour for the benefit of the folk at home--could you help me to some correct _fishing_ expressions--just to give the thing an atmosphere?" _bob._ "i've heard a lot one time and another, old man, but the only one i remember is--_'pass the flask'!_"] * * * * * [illustration: "might be worse!"--_first jolly angler_ (_peckish after their walk_). "got the sandwiches and----" _second jolly angler_ (_diving into creel_). "oh, yes, here they are, all right, and here's the whisk--but--tut-t-t, by jove!--i've forgotten the fishing-tackle!!" _first jolly angler._ "oh, ne' mind--we'll get along quite well without _that_!"] * * * * * rebus in arduis tell me, stranger, ere i perish, of the fish men call the trout, ere i lose the hopes i cherish, summer in and summer out, hopes of hooking one and landing him before the day is done, waist deep in the water standing, from the dawn to set of sun. tell me, is his belly yellow? _is_ he spotted red and black? _does_ he look a splendid fellow when you turn him on his back? is there any fly can rise him, any hook can hold him tight? is one able to surprise him any time from morn to night? stranger, years i've passed in trying every artifice and lure, standing, crawling, wading, lying, casting clean and long and sure. empty yet remains my basket, cramped and weary grows my fist, stranger, in despair i ask it, does the trout in truth exist? * * * * * hagiology.--_patron of a fishmarket._--st. polycarp. * * * * * [illustration: _encouraging prospect._--_piscator juvenis._ "any sport, sir?" _piscator senex._ "oh, yes; very good sport." _p.j._ "bream?" _p.s._ "no!" _p.j._ "perch?" _p.s._ "no!" _p.j._ "what sport, then?" _p.s._ "why, keeping clear of the weeds!"] * * * * * [illustration: teaching the teacher.--_new curate._ "now, boy, if, in defiance of that notice, _i_ were to bathe here, what do you suppose would happen?" _boy._ "you'd come out a great lot dirtier than you went in!"] * * * * * [illustration: "small mercies."--_first jolly angler_ (_with empty creel_). "well, we've had a very pleasant day! what a delightful pursuit it is!" _second ditto_ (_with ditto_). "glorious! i sha'n't forget that nibble we had just after lunch, as long as i live!" _both_ "ah!!"] * * * * * [illustration: "very likely a whale" _lady visitor_ (_who has been listening to piscator's story_). "i didn't know that trout grew as large as that!" _piscator's wife._ "oh, yes, they do--after the story has been told a few times!"] * * * * * a reflection by an angler.--nature's aristocracy. mortal man being but a worm, is therefore by nature of _gentle_ birth. * * * * * net profit.--a fisherman's. * * * * * piscatorial.--shakespearian angler's song to his bait: "sleep, gentle, sleep." * * * * * [illustration: our friend briggs contemplates a day's fishing.--he is here supposed to be getting his tackle in order, and trying the management of his running line.] * * * * * [illustration: _robson._ "do you think fishes can hear?" _dobson._ "i should _hope_ not. listen to old smith--he's smashed his rod!"] * * * * * [illustration: _lambertson (who is nervous, and weighs about a cart-load of bricks, to dapperton, who has just nipped across, and weighs about nine stone nothing)._ "oh, yes! all very fine for you to say, 'don't dwell on it.' b--b--but----"] * * * * * the gentle craft (_by our own trout_) how gentle is the fisherman who sits beside the brook, and firmly puts the wriggling worm upon the pointed hook how pleasant for the hapless trout to find, from some strange cause, the fly conceals a something that makes havoc with its jaws! dame juliana berners wrote a book, in which she said the blessing of st. peter rests upon the angler's head; she bid him not be "ravenous in taking game,"--i wish she'd ever asked if he deserved the blessings of the fish. we were a happy family, as merry as could be, "diversified with crimson stains," as pope has said. ah me! there came the cruel fisherman, his flies had deadly gleam, and not a soul remains but me to mourn within the stream. what recked my little troutlets of the palmers, spinners, duns, they headlong rushed, and then got caught, my innocent young sons! they're cooked--excuse an old trout's tear!--but hard it is to feel a monster's ta'en your family for matutinal meal. the "honest angler," walton, cried, and maundered night and day, but byron puts the matter in a very different way; he said that isaac should have hook fixed firmly "in his gullet," and oh! that i might be the trout that he suggests should pull it. * * * * * [illustration: _brown (enthusiastic angler, who has brought his friend and guest out for a "delightful day's fishing")._ "confound it! i've left them--i say, old chap, got any flies with you?" _jones (not enthusiastic, and a non-smoker, wearily)._ "flies!!!"] * * * * * [illustration: cats who catch can uncle george, just returned from a morning's fishing, recounts how he landed some of the "most magnificent trout ever taken in these waters," and his audience anticipate much satisfaction from the contents of his basket.] [illustration: meanwhile the contents of uncle george's basket are being fully appreciated in the hall!] * * * * * [illustration: _lunatic (suddenly popping his head over wall)._ "what are you doing there?" _brown._ "fishing." _lunatic._ "caught anything?" _brown._ "no." _lunatic._ "how long have you been there?" _brown._ "six hours." _lunatic._ "_come inside!_"] * * * * * [illustration: a gentle hint.--_mr. giglamps (who has been caught by keeper with some fish in his basket under taking size)._ "oh--er--well, you see, fact is, my glasses--er--magnify a good deal. make things look larger than they really are!" _keeper (about to receive smaller tip than meets the occasion)._ "ah! makes yer put down a shillin' when yer means 'alf-a-crown, sometimes, i dessay, sir!"] * * * * * [illustration: paying too dear for his whistle.--_donald._ "e--h, sir, yon's a gran' fesh ye've gotten a haud o'!" _the laird._ "oo, aye, a gran' fesh enoo, but i'd be gay an' glad if i saw my twa-and-saxpenny flee weel oot o' his mooth!"] * * * * * [illustration: _jones_ (_the adventurous_). "it--it's gettin' almost too d-deep, i fear, miss hookem!" _miss hookem._ "oh, please do go on! it'll be the fish of my life!" _jones_ (_who is not a champion swimmer_). "m-mine too!"] * * * * * an acute angler.--the judicious hooker. * * * * * angler's motto.--_carpe diem._ a carp a day. * * * * * the angle of incidence.--when you're fishing, and tumble into the water. * * * * * walton's life of hooker.--is this another name for izaak walton's _complete angler_? * * * * * [illustration: hints to beginners--sea fishing in fishing for conger eels, it is sometimes convenient to have a spare boat.] * * * * * [illustration: returned empty.--_old mayfly_ (_who had dropped his flask further down stream, and has just had it returned to him by honest rustic_). "dear me! thank you! thank you!" (_gives him a shilling._) "don't know what i should ha' done without it!" (_begins to unscrew top._) "may i offer you a----" _honest rustic._ "well, thank y', sir, but me and my mate, not seein' a howner about, we've ta'en what there were inside."] * * * * * [illustration: hints to beginners.--when casting with a fly rod, be sure to get your line well out behind you.] * * * * * the compleat duffer [illustration: hooking a lobster] i have fished in every way, fished on every kind of day, but my basket still remains _in statu quo_, not a stickleback will rise, not a gudgeon as a prize to the quite amazing flies that i throw. when i try the purling brook many trout just have a look at my fly, or at the minnow that i spin, with fishy leer they squirm off, and my belief is firm that i'd better use a worm on a pin. wherever i get leave, still i fish from morn to eve, though i never--hardly ever--rightly cast, with a body soaking wet, with a mind intent and set on success achieving yet at the last. in my coat of wondrous tweed, and on every wandering weed, hooks and flies unnamed invariably i fix. _here_ i cannot land a fish-- i can only hope and wish i may creel a goodly dish in the styx. * * * * * [illustration: relief.--_piscator_ (_about the end of a very bad day_). "donald, hang the boat here a bit, we may get a rise." _donald._ "hang!"--(_giving way_)--"i shall tamm the boat if you will, and the trouts--and the loch too!" [_feels better!_ ] * * * * * [illustration: catching her-ring] * * * * * [illustration: deep c fishing] * * * * * _q._ what is the difference between a dunce and an angler? _a._ one hates his books and the other baits his hooks. * * * * * enthusiastic.--that indefatigable angler, trollinson, never forgets his craft. even in writing to you, he is sure to drop a line. * * * * * [illustration: catching min'nose on the bridge] * * * * * [illustration: first instance of the cure of soles (_vide_ life of st. anthony)] * * * * * [illustration: superb _podgson (a recently joined disciple of the gentle craft)._ "ah, now i flatter myself that i played that fellow with considerable skill, and landed him without the net, too!"] * * * * * [illustration: "i'll punch your 'ead, directly, if you don't leave orff. how do yer think the what's-a-names 'll bite, if you keep on a splashin' like that?"] * * * * * an original corner man.--_the complete angler._ * * * * * a brother of the angle.--a fellow mathematician. * * * * * when is a fisherman like a hindoo? when he loses his cast. * * * * * [illustration: _irate landowner_ (_to angler_). "hi, you, sir! this is _my_ water. you can't fish here." _angler._ "oh, all right. whose is that water up there round the bend?" _irate landowner._ "don't know: not mine. but this is." _angler._ "very well. i'll wait till that flows down here!"] * * * * * [illustration: "many a slip."--_boisterous friend_ (_bursting suddenly through the shrubbery, and prodding proprietor with his umbrella_). "hul-lo, hackles, my boy! ketching lots o' salmon!" _angler._ "there! tut-t-t-t--confound you! i should ha' settled that fish if you hadn't come bothering about! three people coming to dinner without notice, and only chops in the house! you'd better go and tell my wife what you've done"] * * * * * [illustration: piscatorial politeness. (_from a yorkshire stream._)--_privileged old keeper_ (_to member of fishing club, of profuse and ruddy locks, who is just about to try for the big trout, a very wary fish_). "keep yer head doon, sir, keep yer head doon!" (_becoming exasperated._) "'ord bou it, man, keep yer head doon! yer m't as weel come wi' a torch-leet procession to tak' a fish!"] * * * * * [illustration: something like preservation.--_irate individual._ "are you aware, sir, that you are fishing in preserved water?" _'arry_ (_not quite so innocent as he would appear_). "preserved water! and is all the fish _pickled_, then? bless'd if i've seen any live 'uns about."] * * * * * [illustration: _mrs. brown._ "well, i must be going in a minute." _mr. b._ "what for?" _mrs. b._ "why, i forgot to order the fish for dinner."] * * * * * [illustration: more ornamental than useful.--"just give that bit o' lead a bite atween yer teeth, will yer, matie?" "ain't ye got no teeth of yer own?" "i got some, but there ain't none of 'em opposite one another."] * * * * * [illustration: anticipation.--_piscator_ (_short-sighted; he had been trolling all day for a big pike that lay in a hole about here_). "quick, jarvis--the landing-net--i've got him!" _jarvis._ "ah, sir, it's only an old fryin'-pan! but that will be useful, y'know, sir, when we do catch him!"] * * * * * a punt poem i'm a fisherman bold, and i don't mind the cold, nor care about getting wet through! i don't mind the rain, or rheumatical pain, or even the tic-douloureux! i'm a fisherman damp, though i suffer from cramp, let weather be foul or be fine, from morning till night will i wait for a bite, and never see cause to repine! i'm a fisherman glad, and i never am sad; i care not to shoot or to hunt; i would be quite content if my whole life were spent from morning to night in a punt! i'm a fisherman brave, and i carol a stave in praise of the rod and the line! from the bank, or a boat, will i gaze on my float-- what life is so happy as mine? * * * * * [illustration: _big scotchman._ "confound these midges!" _little cockney._ "why, they 'aven't touched me!" _big scotchman._ "maybe they have na noticed ye yet!"] * * * * * the greatest angle of elevation.--fishing off the top of shakespeare's cliff. * * * * * bait and whitebait the "gentle" craft some people angling name; the "lobworm" might more truly call the same. * * * * * [illustration: _first angler_ (_to country boy_) "i say, my lad just go to my friend on the bridge there, and say i should be much obliged to him if he'd send me some bait."] [illustration: _country boy_ (_to second angler, in the eastern counties language_). "tha' there bo' sahy he want a wurrum!!"] * * * * * the lay of a successful angler the dainty artificial fly designed to catch the wily trout, full loud _laudabunt alii_, and i will join, at times, no doubt, but yet my praise, without pretence, is not from great experience. i talk as well as anyone about the different kinds of tackle, i praise the gnat, the olive dun, discuss the worth of wings and hackle i've flies myself of each design, no book is better filled than mine. but when i reach the river's side alone, for none of these i wish, no victim to a foolish pride, my object is to capture fish; let me confess, then, since you ask it-- a worm it is which fills my basket! o brown, unlovely, wriggling worm, on which with scorn the haughty look, it is thy fascinating squirm which brings the fattest trout to book, from thee unable to refrain, though flies are cast for him in vain! deep gratitude to thee i feel, and then, perhaps, it's chiefly keen, when rival anglers view my creel, and straightway turn a jealous green; and, should they ask me--"what's your fly?" "a fancy pattern," i reply! * * * * * [illustration: catching crabs and flounders in the thames] * * * * * [illustration: catching wails at whippingham] * * * * * [illustration: catching soles and skate on the (sea) serpentine] * * * * * [illustration: catching whiting from the strand] * * * * * [illustration: something like a catch.--_mrs. binks_ (_sick of it_). "really, john! how can you bear to spend your time whip--whip--whipping at the stream all day long and never a single fish taking the least notice of you?" _john._ "ah, but think o' the delight, maria, when you do get a fish! lor' bless us, my dear, have you forgotten the day when you hooked me?"] * * * * * [illustration: from dee-side.--_piscator._ "yes, my boy, ain't he a beauty? forty pounds--three foot eight from tail to snout--fresh run! i'm going to have him photographed, with a full-grown man standing by, to show the proportions. by the way"--(_faintly_)--"would--er--would _you_ mind being the _man_?"] * * * * * [illustration: _imperturbable boatman._ "haud up yer rod, man! ye have 'm! ye have 'm!"] * * * * * anecdote by izaak walton.--one piscator, whom i will not further name, had a certain acquaintance who, through the credit he had gotten by his wealth, worth, and wit, came to be made a magistrate. whereupon piscator goes me to the river and catches a fish, which having brought home, he sends to the new-made justice with a note, saying, "inasmuch, sir, as you are now promoted to the condition of a beak, i do send you a perch." * * * * * [illustration: angling extraordinary _customer_ (_in a great hurry_). "a small box of gentles, please. and look sharp! i want to catch a 'bus!!"] * * * * * a sportive song _a sojourner in north britain goes salmon-fishing with a new young woman._ far from the busy haunts of men, mid hazel, heather, gorse, you are the beauty of the glen, and i the beast, of course. i fetch and carry at your wish, i wait your beck and nod, and yet your soul is with that fish, your ardour in your rod. he struggles hard, gives now a lunge, like boxer in the ring, and now he executes a plunge that makes your tackle spring; and then again he quiet lies, as if in cunning thought of how to lose this worst of flies that he so gladly caught. anon we see his silver back rush madly up the stream, and then he takes another tack, an effort that's supreme; he tries to leap the rocky wall that environs the pool. how hot that rush! how low that fall! while you are calm and cool. you utter not a word; your wrist must surely be of steel; for, let your captive turn or twist, you never spend the reel. but with your eye fast fixed you stand-- diana with a hook-- determined that good grilse to land, and bring your fly to book. well done! he weakens! with the gaff i'm ready for the prey. and now you give a little laugh that means "he must give way!" "look out!" you cry. i do look out, and then i lose my head. you've missed the fish without a doubt, but captured me instead! * * * * * a point of trespass.--_irate owner of this side of water._ "are you aware that you are trespassing in this water, young man?" _sharp youth._ "but i'm not in the water, sir." _irate owner_ (_more irate_). "confound you, but you've just taken a fish out!" _sharp youth._ "yes, sir. the fish was trespassing!" * * * * * _enthusiastic fisherman._ "what a bore! just like my luck. no sooner have i got my tackle ready, and settled down to a book, than there comes a confounded bite!" * * * * * [illustration: _visitor._ "are there any fish in this river?" _native._ "fish! i should rather think there was. why, the water's simply saturated with 'em!"] * * * * * [illustration: angling in the serpentine.--saturday, p.m.--_piscator no. ._ "had ever a bite, jim?" _piscator no. ._ "not yet--i only come here last wednesday!"] * * * * * [illustration: a bad bargain.--no water!--and after having rented a stream, and travelled five hundred miles, too!!] * * * * * [illustration: di would go sea-fishing to-day. i went too. she says we had a grand day, so i suppose we had. at the same time, i don't think it was quite right to give my lunch to the boatman without asking me whether i wanted it or no. di says she'll ask her cousin--hang him!--to go with her next time.] * * * * * [illustration: _irate angler_ (_waking tramp_). "why can't you look after your beast of a dog? it's been and eaten all my lunch." _tramp_ (_hungrily_). "what, all the lot, mister! well, he shouldn't ave done that if _i_ could 'ave 'elped it!"] [illustration: shakspearian motto for august "now will i hence to seek my lovely moor!" _titus andronicus_, act ii., sc. . ] * * * * * the birds and the pheasant (_after longfellow_) i shot a partridge in the air, it fell in turnips, "don" knew where; for just as it dropped, with my right i stopped another in its flight. i killed a pheasant in the copse, it fell amongst the fir-tree tops; for though a pheasant's flight is strong, a cock, hard hit, cannot fly long. soon, soon afterwards, in a pie, i found the birds in jelly lie; and the pheasant, at a fortnight's end, i found again in the _carte_ of a friend. * * * * * ode on a distant partridge (_by an absent-minded sportsman_) well, i'm blest! i'm pretty nearly speechless, as i watch that bird, saving that i mutter merely one concise, emphatic word-- what that is may be inferred! english prose is, to my sorrow, insufficient for the task. would that i could freely borrow expletives from welsh or basque-- one or two is all i ask! failing that, let so-called verses serve to mitigate my grief doggerel now and then disperses agonies that need relief. (missing birds of these is chief!) blankly tramping o'er the stubbles is a bore, to put it mild; but, in short, to crown my troubles, _one_ mishap has made me riled, driv'n me, like the coveys, wild. for at last i flush a partridge, ten yards rise, an easy pot! click. why, bless me, where's the cartridge? hang it! there, i clean forgot putting _them_ in ere i shot! * * * * * [illustration: "turn about."--_george._ "i say, tom, do take care! you nearly shot my father then!" _tom._ "sh! don't say anything, there's a good fellow! take a shot at mine!!"] * * * * * the fool with a gun (_to the tune of the "temptation of st. anthony"_) [illustration: a little check] there are many fools that worry this world, fools old, and fools who're young; fools with fortunes, and fools without, fools who dogmatise, fools who doubt, fools who snigger, and fools who shout, fools who never know what they're about, and fools all cheek and tongue; fools who're gentlemen, fools who're cads, fools who're greybeards, and fools who're lads; fools with manias, fools with fads, fools with cameras, fools with tracts, fools who deny the stubbornest facts, fools in theories, fools in acts; fools who write theosophist books, fools who believe in mahatmas and spooks; fools who prophesy--races and tophets-- bigger fools who believe in prophets; fools who quarrel, and fools who quack; in fact, there are all sorts of fools in the pack, fools fat, thin, short, and tall; but of all sorts of fools, the fool with a gun (who points it at someone--of course, "in fun"-- and fools around till chance murder is done) is the worsest fool of them all! * * * * * [illustration: his first partridge shoot] * * * * * [illustration: sporting extraordinary--the old dog points capitally "i tell yer wot it is, sam! if this fool of a dog is a going to stand still like this here in every field he comes to, we may as well shut up shop, for we shan't find no partridges!"] * * * * * [illustration: trials of a novice.--"confess now. have you ever hit a haystack, even?" "well, of course i have." "what did you aim at?"] * * * * * the first of september the first of september, remember the day of supremest delight. get ready the cartridge, the partridge must fall in the stubble ere night. the breechloader's ready, and steady the dog that we taught in old days; he's firm to his duty, a beauty that cares for but one person's praise. he's careful in stubble, no trouble in turnips, he's keen as a man; but looks on acutely, and mutely seems saying, "shoot well, if you can!" they flash from the cover--what lover of sport does not thrill as they rise in feathered apparel? each barrel kills one, as the swift covey flies. so on through the morning, still scorning all rest until midday has past, when lunch should be present, and pleasant that _al fresco_ breaking of fast. one pipe, then be doing, pursuing the sport that no sport can eclipse; so homeward to dinner, a winner of praise from the fairest of lips. * * * * * [illustration: a humane instinct.--_snob_ (_who has been making himself very objectionable_). "i say, what do you do with your game?" _host._ "give my friends what they want, and send the rest to market." _snob._ "ah, sell it, do you? with my game, don'tyer-know, i give my friends some, and send the rest to the hospitals." _host._ "and very natural and proper, i'm sure. the only thing i've seen you shoot to-day was a beater!"] * * * * * [illustration: _husband._ "look out, kitty. there are some birds just in front of you!" _wife_ (_out for the first time_). "then, for goodness sake, keeper, call that silly dog of yours! can't you see he's standing right in my way?"] * * * * * [illustration: an unfortunate remark.--_novice_ (_to host, after walking for two hours under a brilliant sun without seeing a single bird_). "grand day, isn't it?" [_n.b._--_he only meant to lighten the general depression, but he wasn't invited again._ ] * * * * * [illustration: a wise precaution _sportsman_ (_to his wife, who is rather a wild shot._) "by jove! nelly, you nearly got us again, that time! if you are not more careful, i'll go home!" _old keeper_ (_sotto voce_). "it's all right, squire. her bag is full of nothing but _blank_ 'uns!"] * * * * * [illustration: "gunning with a smell dog" (_b. jonathan, esq., having missed a hare, the dog drops to the shot_) _b. j._ (_scornfully_). "call that a good dawg? i reckon he ain't worth candy! when the beast's sitting, he stands and looks at him; and when he runs away, he lies down and looks at me!"] * * * * * [illustration: _keeper._ "would you gentlemen kindly tell me which of you two is a lord, _as i've been told to give him the best place_."] * * * * * _gentleman._ "that looks a well-bred dog." _owner._ "i should think he was well-bred. why, he won't have a bit er dinner till he's got his collar on!" * * * * * ss. patrick and partridge "now at the birds, me boy, let dhrive!" says mike, exhorting dan. "that's how we'll keep the game alive, by killing all we can!" * * * * * [illustration: damaged goods.--_sportsman_ (_invited to help shoot some bucks in mr. meanman's park, and has just knocked one over_). "by jove! what a lovely head! you must let me have that for mounting." _mr. meanman_ (_frightfully indignant_). "what! cut his head off! why, man, it would ruin the sale of the carcase!"] * * * * * [illustration: unnecessary questions. _lady_ (_with gun_). "am i holding the thing right?"] * * * * * [illustration: _sportsman_ (_to snobson, who hasn't brought down a single bird all day_). "do you know lord peckham?" _snobson._ "oh dear, yes; i've often shot at his house." _sportsman._ "ever hit it?"] * * * * * [illustration: renting a well-stocked moor] * * * * * [illustration: a shooting party] * * * * * a zoological conundrum.--_intending tenant_ (_to_ lord battusnatch's _head keeper_). and how about the birds? are they plentiful, gaskins? _gaskins._ well, sir, if the foxes of our two neighbours was able to lay pheasants' eggs, i should say there'd be no better shooting south o' the trent. * * * * * sad fatality to one of a shooting party on the moors.--on returning home, after a most successful day's sport, just as he entered the garden he was taken from life by a snap-shot. * * * * * [illustration: a blank day.--_first friend._ "the birds are terribly wild to-day." _second friend._ "not half so wild as our host will be, if it keeps on like this."] * * * * * at a dog-show.--_first fancier._ that's a well-bred terrier of yours, bill. _second fancier._ and so he ought to be. didn't the princess of wales own his great grand-aunt! * * * * * [illustration: choke bore] * * * * * [illustration: birds were strong] * * * * * the anatomy of shooting men we never meet . the man who makes no excuses for shooting badly; such as-- . the light was in his eyes; . he was bilious; . there was something wrong with his cartridges; . too many cigars the night before; . some particular eatable or drinkable taken the night before; . or that morning; . he was afraid of hitting that beater; . we were walking too fast; . he hadn't got his eye in; . or his eye was out; . he didn't think it was his bird; . it was too far off; . he always thought there was something the matter with _that_ gun. . the man whose dog hasn't a good nose. . the man who can't "shoot a bit sometimes." . the man who hasn't some particular theory as to-- . the very best gun; . cartridges; . charges of powder and shot; . best tipple to shoot on; . best sort of boots; . gaiters; . and equipment generally. . the man who doesn't change the said theory every season. . the man who hasn't sometimes said he couldn't shoot after lunch. . or that he could shoot better after lunch. . the man who on your remarking that your friend george lake is a good shot, doesn't answer that you should see billy mountain (or someone else) and then you would know what shooting really was. . the man who hasn't a friend who "can't hit a haystack." . the friend who owns it. . the man who doesn't like to be considered a good shot. . the man who, being a bad shot, doesn't comfort himself by thinking he knows a worse. . the man who hasn't made a longer shot than anyone in the company. . the man who, having made it, doesn't tell the story. . and who, having told the story, doesn't tell it more than once. finally, _mr. punch_ is never likely to meet the man who, having read the above, will not own that it is strictly true of those who pursue the pleasant pastime of shooting when, as the eminent burton puts it, "they have leisure from public cares and business." * * * * * [illustration: the first of september. (_our sporting french friend, voted dangerous, has been given a beat to himself._)--_chorus._ "well, count, what luck?" _count._ "magnifique! i have only shot one! mais voilà! qu'il est beau! the king partridge! regardez ses plumes! n'est ce pas?"] * * * * * [illustration: marking black game] * * * * * [illustration: small bags--one brace] * * * * * [illustration: "every excuse."--_brigson_ (_excited_). "hullo!--there goes a----" (_ups with his gun!_) _his host_ (_clutching his arm_). "good heavens!--you're not going to shoot that fox?" _brigson._ "my dear f'ller! wh'-wh'-why not? this is the last day i shall have this season--and i--i feel as if i could shoot my own mother-in-law--if she rose!"] * * * * * [illustration: giving 'em both barrels] * * * * * [illustration: dropped his bird] * * * * * song of "the missing sportsman" how happy could i be on heather, a-shooting at grouse all the day, if only the birds in high feather would not, when i shoot, fly away! * * * * * [illustration: _brown_ (_after an hour's digging for the ferret_). "call this rabbit shootin'? _i_ call it landscape gardening!"] * * * * * [illustration: "so you don't think much of my retrievers?" "on the contrary. i think you have two most valuable watch dogs."] * * * * * "once hit twice shy."--_guest_ (_taking keeper aside_). "look here, smithers"--(_gives half-a-sov._)--"put me out o' gunshot of the squire. he does shoot so precious wild, and my nerve isn't what it used to be!" * * * * * [illustration: "ground game."--_wife._ "ah, then you've been successful at last, dear!" _husband_ (_prevaricating_). "ye--yes, i bagged----" _wife_ (_sniffing_). "and _high_ time you did! i should say by the--oh! it must be cooked to-day!" [_it came out afterwards the impostor had bagged it at the poulterer's_ ] * * * * * [illustration: scene--_a shooting party, august _ (_m. f. h. is introduced to distinguished foreigner_) "you hunt much of the fox, monsieur? i also, and have already of him shot twenty-five, and have wounded many more!"] * * * * * [illustration: his "first."--_brown_ (_good chap, but never fired a gun in his life_)._ "i say, you fellows, i don't mind confessing that i am a bit nervous, you know. _i hope none of you will pepper me!_"] * * * * * le sport ["the french sportswoman is not ardent, but just now _le sport_ is the thing."--_daily paper._] ze leetle bairds zat fly ze air i vish zem not ze 'arms-- zat is not vy ze gun i bear so _bravement_ in mine arms; 'tis not zat i vould kill--_ah! non!_ it is zat i adore ze noble _institution_ ve call in france _le sport_. and zen ze costume! ah! ze 'at! ze gaitares! vot more sweet for ze young female-chaser zat do 'ave ze leetle feet? ze gun?--i fear 'im much, and oh! 'e makes my shouldare sore, but yet i do 'im bear to show 'ow much i love _le sport_. ze leetle partridge 'e may lay 'is pretty leetle eggs, ze leetle pheasant 'op away upon 'is leetle legs, ze leetle 'are zat run _si vite_ i do not vish 'is gore-- but vile mine ankles zey are neat i'll cry, "_ah! vive le sport!_" * * * * * [illustration: _keeper_ (_to beater_). "what are you doin' here? why don't ye go and spread yourself out?" _beater._ "zo i were spread out, and t'other man 'e told i, i were too wide!"] * * * * * [illustration: _master bob._ "i say, adam, that was a pretty bad miss." _keeper._ "'twasn't even that, master bob. 'twas firing in a totally wrong direction."] * * * * * [illustration: "beg pardon, sir! but if you was to aim at his lordship the next time, i think he'd feel more comforbler, sir!"] * * * * * love among the partridges september's first, the day was fair, we sought the pleasant stubble, the birds were rising everywhere, the old dog gave no trouble. and still my friend missed every shot, while i ne'er fired in vain. i said, "perchance the day's too hot?" he cried, "amelia jane!" we shot throughout the livelong day, we always shoot together, and yet in a disgraceful way, he never touched a feather. i said, "how is it that you muff your birds, my boy? explain." he sighed and said, "i know it's rough but, oh, amelia jane!" quoth i, "amelia jane may be as plump as any partridge, but that's no reason i can see why you should waste each cartridge." he shot the dog, then missed my head, but caused the keeper pain; then broke his gun and wildly fled to join amelia jane! * * * * * [illustration: "enough of it."--_country squire._ "by george! tom, you've gone and shot the dog!" _friend_ (_from town_). "o, i say, old fellow, let's go back and have a game o' billiards, or else i'm quite sure i shall shoot the other one! they keep getting in the way so!"] * * * * * [illustration: hints to beginners.--lion hunting. be quite sure when you go looking for a lion, that you really want to find one.] * * * * * [illustration: the poet goeth gunning hot work "hare up!"] * * * * * the grouse that jack shot (_a solemn tragedy of the shooting season_) this is the grouse that _jack_ shot. this the friend who expected the grouse that _jack_ shot. this is the label addressed to the friend who expected the grouse that _jack_ shot. this is the babel where lost was the label addressed to the friend, &c. this is the porter who "found" the "birds" in the babel where lost was the label, &c. this is the dame with the crumpled hat, wife of the porter who "found" the "birds," &c. this is the cooking-wench florid and fat of the dame with the crumpled hat, &c. this is the table where diners sat, served by the cooking-maid florid and fat of the dame with the crumpled hat, &c. this is the _gourmand_ all forlorn, who dreamed of the table where diners sat, served by the cooking-wench florid and fat, &c. this is the postman who knocked in the morn awaking the _gourmand_ all forlorn from his dream of the table, &c. and this is _jack_ (with a face of scorn), thinking in wrath of "directions" torn from the parcel by railway borne, announced by the postman who knocked in the morn, awaking the _gourmand_ all forlorn, who dreamed of the table where diners sat, served by the cooking-wench florid and fat of the dame with the crumpled hat, wife of the porter who "found" the "birds" in the babel where lost was the label addressed to the friend who expected the grouse that _jack_ shot! moral. if in the shooting season you some brace of birds would send (as per letter duly posted) to a fond expectant friend, pray remember that a railway is the genuine modern babel, and be very very careful _how you fasten on the label_! * * * * * [illustration: a blank day.--"well, dear, did you get anything?" "not a thing! i only fired once, and that was more out of spite than anything else!"] * * * * * "wedded to the moor" the sportive m.p., when the session is done, is off like a shot, with his eye on a gun. he's like _mr. toots_ in the session's hard press, finding rest "of no consequence." could he take less? but when all the long windy shindy is o'er, he, like _oliver twist_, is found "asking for _moor_!" * * * * * a hint in season remember, remember, the month of september-- partridges, rabbits, and hares; any hamper you send, my breech-loading friend, put "paid" on the label it bears. * * * * * sportiana.--a young sportswoman in the highlands is reported to have shot "six fine stags through the heart." must have been "young bucks." of course, she used cupid's bullets on her murderous career amid the harts. * * * * * [illustration: "a most palpable!" _beginner_ (_excitedly, the first shot at the end of a blank morning_). "how's that, john?" _john._ "well, ye seem to 'ave 'it 'im, sir!"] * * * * * on a dangerous shot (_by mr. punch's vagrant_) he seemed an inoffensive man when first i saw him on the stubble; made on the self-same sporting plan as those who shoot with ease or trouble! the average men, in fact, whose skill (a thing of luck far more than habit) tempts them at times to go and kill the hare, the partridge and the rabbit. he rushed not and he did not lag; he kept the line when we were walking. he had a useful cartridge-bag; and was not prone to useless talking. he smoked an ordinary pipe; his guns were hammerless ejectors; he wore a fairly common type of patent pig-skin leg-protectors. he told a story now and then, some ancient tale of fur or feather, that sportsmen love to smile at when on autumn days they come together. in fact, he seemed to outward view in all his gunned and gaitered glory, just such a man as i or you, except--but that's another story. except (i'll tell it) when he shot: then, then he did not care a cuss, sir; he blazed as if he hadn't got the least regard for life or us, sir. our terrors left him unafraid; he tried for full-grown birds and cheepers, and, missing these, he all but made a record bag of guns and keepers. * * * * * [illustration: the sinews of sport.--_the marquis_ (_to head keeper_). "now, grandison, his royal highness will be tired of waiting: why don't you send in the beaters?" _head keeper_ (_sotto voce_). "beg pardon, my lord, the london train's late this morning with the pheasants--we must have half an hour to get 'em into the coverts!"] * * * * * at the quickshot club.--_first sportsman._ well, i killed four rabbits with two barrels last september. _second sportsman._ and i had five partridges on one drive, three coming towards me, and two with fresh cartridges over the hill. _third sportsman_ (_wearily_). but nobody comes up to my slaying of an elephant in assam with a pea rifle. would you like to hear the yarn? [_the third sportsman is immediately left alone._ * * * * * mr. punch has pleasure in directing the attention of sportsmen of his own limited stature to an advertisement in the _field_ announcing the sale of an estate, "including fifty acres of sporting woods, together with a small gentleman's residence." * * * * * [illustration: his first bird "well, i didn't miss _that_ one, at all events!" "no, sir. they _will_ fly into it, sometimes!"] * * * * * [illustration: circumstances over which he has no control oblige the pater to celebrate the _glorious twelfth_ in town this year. with the help of the poulterer, and the boys (at home for the holidays), he enjoys such excellent sport, that he says "never no moor" will he lavish hundreds of pounds on what he can get for next to nothing at home.] * * * * * [illustration: one way of looking at it!--_delinquent_ (_to his host_). "oh, i'm most unfortunate! now, you're the third man i've hit to-day!"] * * * * * [illustration: _sportsman_ (_who has just shot a duck_). "i think he'll come down, duncan." _duncan._ "ay, sir, he'll come down--when he's hungry."] * * * * * [illustration: "the glorious first" _young newstyle_ (_justly indignant, to squire oldacres_). "there!--'knew how it would be when you _would_ bring out those beastly dogs. _always in the way, hang 'em!_"] * * * * * [illustration: brotherly candour.--_jack_ (_to lady, come out to lunch_). "are you coming with the guns this afternoon, miss maud?" _miss maud._ "i would, but i don't think i should like to see a lot of poor birds shot!" _jack._ "oh, if you go with fred, your feelings will be entirely spared!"] * * * * * [illustration: a risky proceeding.--_mr. pipler (of pipler & co.) is having his first day on his recently-acquired moor. any amount of shooting. bag, absolutely--nothing._ _master pipler_ (_after much thought_). "of course, they are far too valuable to be killed and eaten, pa. but isn't it rather dangerous to frighten them so much? i heard ma saying they cost you at least a guinea a brace!"] * * * * * [illustration: trials of a novice _old hand._ "now, for the last time, for goodness' sake don't shoot any of us, or the dogs, or yourself." _novice_ (_sarcastically_). "what about the birds?" _old hand._ "oh, you won't hit them!"] * * * * * [illustration: mr. muggs' grouse moor mr. muggs leaves for the north. mr. m. as he appeared, half a minute before the train started, minus half of his luggage, and with the guard shouting to him to take his seat!] * * * * * [illustration: "pheasant-shooting in some districts will suffer through lack of birds. the wet weather has been fatal to the young broods."--_shooting reports._ _head keeper_ (_on the first_). "werry sorry, my lord, but this 'ere's th' on'y one as we've manisht to rare. will i put it up for your lordship?"] * * * * * [illustration: _beater_ (_to hare that refuses to leave her form_). "get oop, ye lazy little beggar an' join in t' spoort!"] * * * * * [illustration: shooting prospects _johnnie bangs._ "i say, old man, do you mind taking these cartridges out? i've never used a gun before, don't you know!"] * * * * * [illustration: the end of the season.--_passing friend._ "hulloa, jack! why on earth are you hiding there?" _jack._ "only safe place, don't you know. governor's giving the tenants a day to finish the covers. they've just about finished two dogs and a beater already!"] * * * * * the "cheep" of the partridge _perdix cinerea loquitur_ 'tis the voice of the sportsman. i hear him complain, "all my hopes of big bags have been damped by the rain. with birds shy and scarce, flooded furze and no stubble, to beat dripping covers is scarce worth the trouble." aha! the wind's ill that blows nobody good, true, the wet has proved fatal to many a brood, parent birds have made moan over eggs swamped and addled, when our covers were lakes in which ducks might have paddled, but partridges drowned when they'd scarce chipped the shell, yet,--yes, on the whole, 'tis perhaps just as well. water! better than fire; and a cold in the head is not _quite_ so bad as a dose of cold lead. prime time for swell vassals of powder and shot! what's september to them, without plenty to pot? oh! won't they fume, as they look out this morn on these damp furzy swamps, and yon drenched standing corn? poor grumbling gun-maniacs! isn't it fun? in the game "birds _v._ barrels" we birds will score one just for once, i should hope. in this beautiful bog i am safe, i should fancy, from man, gun, and dog. they may bag a few birds on the skirts of the wheat, but i don't think _this_ cover will pay 'em to beat. st. partridge be bothered! st. swithin's _my_ saint, may his rainy rain last, _i_ shall make no complaint. no! farmers and sportsmen may grumble together-- for my part, i rather approve of the weather. [_left chuckling._ * * * * * [illustration: hints to beginners. grouse driving birds coming straight towards you sometimes offer a very unsatisfactory shot.] * * * * * over the stubble.--_mr. winchester poppit_ (_at the luncheon by the coppice_). i must say that i like to see partridges driven. _captain treadfoot trotter_ (_who believes in shooting over dogs_). no doubt, mr. poppit, you'd like to see the poor birds driven in a coach, or a tandem, or a curricle; or, if i may judge by the way you sent my pointer round the last field, ye'd wish to put 'em in a circus! * * * * * wild sports.--_the sportsmen_ (_from the wood_). "hullo, tonsonby! you've had a good place. we've heard you blazing away all the afternoon. how many have you bagged?" _tonsonby_ (_a town man_). "o, bother your tame pheasants. i've tree'd a magnificent tom cat here, and had splendid sport, but i can't hit him. you come and try!" * * * * * [illustration: rather startling "well, count! any sport this morning?" "hélas! mon ami, very sad sport! i 'ave shot three beautiful misses!" [_he means he has missed three beautiful shots._ ] * * * * * [illustration: her "first" _miss nimrod._ "oh, dear! he's pointing! which end do i shoot at?"] * * * * * [illustration: out after partridges. unluckily, tripped up just as di's cousin got in the way. thought di rather unnecessarily sympathetic, as he was by no means dangerously hit.] * * * * * [illustration: risky _mr. o'fluke_ (_whose shooting has been a bit wild_). "very odd, robins, that i don't hit anything?" _robins_ (_dodging muzzle_). "ah, but a'm afeard it's ower good luck to continue, sir!"] * * * * * [illustration: mr. tubbing's shooting pony] [illustration: rather proud of it.--_landlord_ (_who is having a shoot for his tenant-farmers_). "good heavens, mr. mangold! that bird can't have been more than a couple of feet over mr. butter's head!" _mr. mangold._ "oh! that's what _i_ call _shootin'_!"] * * * * * [illustration: mistaken vocation.--_major missemall_ (_an enthusiast on sporting dogs_). "confound the brute! that's the dog i was going to run in the retriever trials, too. but i won't now." _friend._ "i wouldn't. i'd reserve him for the waterloo cup."] * * * * * [illustration: derision.--_bagnidge_ (_to his friend's keeper_). "tut-t-t-t--dear me! woodruff, i'm afraid i've shot that dog!" _keeper._ "oh no, sir, i think he's all right, sir. he mostly drop down like that if anybody misses!!"] * * * * * [illustration: echo answers.--_short-sighted swell_ (_to gamekeeper, who has been told off to see that he "makes a bag"_) "another hit, wiggins! by the way--rum thing--always seem to hear a shot somewhere _behind_ me, just after i fire!" _wiggins_ (_stolidly_). "yes, sir, 'zactly so, sir. wunnerfle place for echoes this 'ere, sir!"] * * * * * ballad of the cunning partridge the partridge is a cunning bird, he likes not those who bring him down: from age to age he has preferred the shots that blaze into the brown, whose stocks come never shoulder high, who never pause to pick and choose, but on whose biceps you descry the black, the blue, the tell-tale bruise. or should a stubborn cartridge swell, and jam, as it may chance, your gun, the sly old partridge knows it well, "great scott!" he seems to chirp "here's fun!" he gathers all his feathered tribe, they leave the stubble or the grass, and with one wild and whirling gibe above your silent muzzles pass. your scheme you carefully contrive, and, while each beater waves his flag, your fancy, as they duly drive, already sees a record bag. but lo! they baulk your keen desire, for, though with birds the sky grows black, not one of them will face the fire, and every blessed bird goes back. for partridges i'll try no more; why should i waste in grim despair? take me to far albania's shore, and let me bag the woodcock there. or on the susquehanna's stream i'll shoot with every chance of luck the gourmet's glory and his dream, the canvas-back, that juicy duck. yea, any other bird i'll shoot, but not again with toil and pain i'll tramp the stubble or the root. nor wait behind a fence in vain. for of all birds you hit or miss (i've tried it out by every test), again i say with emphasis the partridge is the cunningest. * * * * * [illustration: hints to beginners.--when going out before daylight after ducks, waders are advisable. also, better tell your wife she need not come down (just when you expect the ducks) and ask if you are sure you are not getting your feet wet.] * * * * * [illustration: a novelty _mr. cylinder_ (_who always uses his host's cartridges_). "what powder are these loaded with, my boy?" _beater._ "ar doan't rightly know; but ar think they calls it serdlitz pooder!"] * * * * * [illustration: _disgusted keeper_ (_who has just beaten up a brace or so of pheasants, which young snookson has missed "clane and clever"--to dog, which has been "going seek" and "going find" from force of habit_). "ah, ruby, ruby, bad dog! t' heel, ruby, t' heel! ah must apologise for ruby, sir. you see, ruby's been accustomed to pick 'em up!"] * * * * * [illustration: an extended tract of moor] * * * * * [illustration: a second laying] * * * * * [illustration: heavy bags are difficult to secure] * * * * * [illustration: _extract from a private letter._ "our bag on the first was _barely_ up to the average, although the mater, milly, and self were out to help the men. we hunted in couples and threes, as it is a bit dull tramping along alone. and as the mater generally foozles her shots, i did most of her work too. by the way, how absurdly nervous men are 'gunning.'"] * * * * * [illustration: mr. muggs on partridge driving "what i like about the modern system of driving is the nice rest you can have between the beats."] * * * * * [illustration: little chickmouse rashly accepts the offer of a day's partridge-shooting.--_gamekeeper_ (_to little c., who has kicked up a hare_)._ "now for it, sir!" _chickmouse_ (_who finds he can't get over his horror of firearms_)._ "well--fact is--i'd rather you'd----look 'ere, you 'old the gun, and i'll pull the thingummy!!"] * * * * * [illustration: "a hit! a palpable hit!" "oh, i beg your pardon! i did not see you, sir!" "see me! confound it, sir, you can see _through_ me now!"] * * * * * [illustration: the state of the game.--_lady customer._ "how much are grouse to-day, mr. jiblets?" _poulterer._ "twelve shillings a brace, ma'am. shall i send them----" _lady customer._ "no, you need not send them. my husband's out grouse-shooting, and he'll call for them as he comes home!"] * * * * * [illustration: educated. (_from a yorkshire moor_).--_keeper_ (_to the captain, who has missed again, and is letting off steam in consequence_). "oh dear! oh dear! it's hawful to see yer missin' of 'em, sir; but"--(_with admiration_)--"ye're a scholard i' langwidge, sir!"] * * * * * [illustration: self-confidence out shooting.--_nephew._ "jump, uncle! i'll clear you!" [_but he didn't "clear" him, and old brown says he'll carry the marks to his grave!_ ] * * * * * [illustration: "i don't know what it is, mark, but i can't hit a bird to-day!" "let's see your gun, sir. ah!--well, i'd try what you could do _with some cartridges in it_, if i was you, sir!"] * * * * * [illustration: breaking it gently.--_son of the house_ (_who wishes to say something polite about our friend's astounding shooting, but who cannot palter with the truth_). "i should think you were awfully clever at books, sir!"] * * * * * [illustration: a true sportsman (_a last shot of the season_) _old pothunter._ "always show mercy, my boy, always show mercy! much better to shoot 'em sitting, and save poor things a nasty fall!" [_does._ ] * * * * * [illustration: trials of a novice _brown._ "i wish i had the moral courage to go home!"] * * * * * [illustration: sport!--_cockney sportsman_ (_eager, but disappointed_). "i say, my boy, seen any birds this way?" _'cute rustic_ (_likewise anxious to make a bag_). "oh, a rare lot, guv'nor--a rare lot--just flew over this 'ere 'edge, and settled in that 'ere field, close to squire blank's ricks." [_cockney sportsman tips boy a shilling, and goes hopefully after ... a flock of starlings!_ ] * * * * * [illustration: _his lordship_ (_after missing his tenth rabbit_). "i'll tell you what it is, bagster. your rabbits are _all two inches too short_, hereabouts!"] * * * * * [illustration: pleasant for harry _fair sportswoman._ "oh, harry, i feel so excited, i scarcely know what i am doing!"] * * * * * [illustration: blank firing _ancient sportsman_ (_whose sight is not what it used to be_). "pick 'em up, james, pick 'em up! why don't you pick 'em up?" _veteran keeper._ "'cause there bean't any down, my lord!"] * * * * * sport in sport (_game played by dumb-crambo, junior_) [illustration: cartridges] * * * [illustration: stubble and turn-up] * * * [illustration: marking down] * * * [illustration: a breech loader] * * * [illustration: hairs and part-ridges were scarce] * * * [illustration: full cock] * * * * * [illustration: _boy_ (_after watching old sportsman miss a couple of rocketers_). "have you shot often, uncle?" _uncle._ "yes, my boy, a great deal. at one time, in africa, i used to live by my gun." _boy_ (_thoughtfully_). "did you? and is that why you're so thin?"] * * * * * [illustration: _fitz._ "i say, are _all_ your beaters out of the wood?" _keeper._ "yes, sir." _fitz._ "are you sure?" _keeper._ "yes, sir." _fitz._ "have you _counted_ them?" _keeper._ "no, sir; but i know they're a'right." _fitz._ "then i've shot a roe deer!"] * * * * * [illustration: "le sport."--_keeper._ "why didn't you fire the other barrel, m'seer--the other barrel at the last bird?" _monsieur alphonse._ "bah! i did fire ze odher barrel! i do fire bodt barrels togezzer! and in my own country i do shoot ze lark at twenty, twenty-five, and sometimes dirty yards--when he stand quite still! your dogs zey make ze birds to flyaway"--(_insinuatingly_)--"and zey must be fatigued. here is money. take zem, and buy zem somezings to eat! leave me to make my own dogs myself!!"] * * * * * [illustration: behind the scenes.--_beater._ "'ere you are, mr. bags, 'ere's another one, but 'e bain't too fresh. i don't think 'e were killed to-day." _keeper_ (_sotto voce_). "'old your row, stupid! of course he wasn't. we always puts a few down where the gov'nor's goin' to stand!"] * * * * * [illustration: _the laird_ (_to little tomkyns, who is being initiated into the mysteries of deer-stalking_). "don't move a step.] lie down where you are!"] * * * * * how mossoo shot the cock-pheasant (_the gamekeeper's story_) [illustration] he were a sort o' frenchman, sir, and called hisself a duck: i never could make head or tail o' that there furrin muck! he came to stay wi' master there. and brought his guns and that-- but bless you, sir! he could na' shoot, no more than this here hat! [illustration] the master and the frenchman went to shoot the spinney-kivver what reaches from the stable-wall right down to that there river. a rocketing cock flew up at wunst, and mossoo he fired, and missed-- how he did swear, and tear his hair, and shake his little fist! the way that mossoo danced about, it really were a sight! he'd grin, and pull his beard, and shout and screech with all his might. he wore a thing across his nose just like a kind o' shear: i think he said he were "my hop"-- which means his sight were near. mossoo he yelled, "i see him zere, upon ze stable top!" with that he banged off right and left-- i seed a summat drop; i ran to pick up that there bird; and 'neath the stable-clock i found it sure enow--it were our new gilt weather-cock! * * * * * [illustration] bradbury, agnew, & co. ltd., printers, london and tonbridge.